“Well,” she started, “I can’t go into all the details, but your government set it up. Some part of the government was funding a big research program, and they had to make sure that no nosy reporters or investigators started nosing around where they didn’t belong, so a small area was set off and declared off-limits to anyone without clearance. Kind of an ‘Area 52.’ For the most part, even most of your government doesn’t even know that Feminalia exists.”

“Now I know I’m gonna die!” I wailed. “I don’t have security clearance!”

“Calm down, will you? You have nothing to worry about.” There was some commotion in the corridor outside my cell. I looked up to see Della, still invisible in her police uniform, and Rosa, still invisible from the neck up, both in handcuffs and being led towards my cell. Behind each was what appeared to be a fully mobile mannequin.

As they approached I saw that Della and Rosa were indeed being escorted by what looked like walking, smiling, shapely plastic women.

“And here come our law-trampling agents now,” Sharifa said disdainfully.

“Um, Sharifa,” I started, “didn’t you say they were holograms? How can you arrest them?”

“Those were holograms you saw earlier, but these here are the real deal. Turning toward Rosa, she said, “Donna, bring Della here.”

Donna, the apparent-mannequin holding Della’s arm, led her into a holding cell right next to mine. Donna was just as casually dressed as Rosa, in a white cropped shirt and tight stretch jeans. And though she moved as freely as I did, she had the plasticky, wax-coated, slick look of a mannequin. She smiled as I stared dumbly at her.

“Fembot,” she said.

“Huh?”

“You looked like you were trying to figure out what I am,” she said. “I’m a fembot.”

“Stop flirting, Donna,” Sharifa said, smirking, “and take Della’s shirt off.”

“Take her *shirt* off?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Were they actually going to remove this woman’s clothes right here and now, in front of me?

“Don’t worry,” Sharifa said, mocking me more than anything else. “We’re not actually undressing her. She’s wearing a special shirt under her uniform, which is why you still can’t see anything inside it.”

“But don’t you have cuffs on her?”

“Under control,” Donna answered, as she removed Della’s uniform shirt.

“Now, take off her lightshirt,” Sharifa instructed.

Sharifa said, “Della is wearing a hooded shirt that wraps light around itself, giving the appearance of invisibility.” As Sharifa spoke, Donna placed her plastic hands just inside the waistband of Della’s uniform pants and pulled up on something I couldn’t see. Below Donna’s hands, caramel-brown skin began to appear. Once the “lightshirt” had cleared Della’s torso, a well-filled black strapless bra came into view.

A little higher, and I could see that Della’s arms were in the air. Donna said, “We have a field in place that prevents Della from moving her legs or feet while her cuffs are off. That way she can’t escape while we’re trying to remove her shirt.”

Finally the shirt cleared Della’s face. Della’s utterly *plain* face. To have such a breathtaking figure and even an attractive braided and beaded hairdo, she had an absolutely nondescript face.

“Don’t look so disappointed, human,” she snorted.

“Quiet, Della,” Sharifa snapped. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.” She then began lecturing Della and Rosa on how they had violated the trust placed in them when they were given their jobs, blah, blah, blah. I was glad she was on my side, but I wondered if this wasn’t something better handled in private.

While Sharifa preached, I saw some more movement in the hall. A length of rope snaked along the corridor, apparently by itself, and coiled behind Sharifa. At the end of the rope was a knife, tied to the rope through a hole in its handle. The knife was held up off the floor. Hindsight tells me this was to avoid making any telltale noise.

The free end of the rope worked itself into a slipknot and rose in the air behind Sharifa. The handle of the knife tapped lightly on her shoulder, much as a person would to gain another’s attention. Sharifa looked to one side and then the other; then she looked up. As she did, the rope came down and lassoed her, pulling itself tightly around her as she struggled. The rope then wrapped itself around her a couple of times before the knife cut it.

Then the rope began wrapping itself around Sharifa’s ankles, and again the knife cut the rope after it tied itself in a tight knot.

An unseen hand then reached into her jacket pocket and removed a set of keys, which then unlocked first Della’s cuffs, then Rosa’s. “Now who’s taking who in?” taunted Della.

“You can’t do this!” Sharifa yelled.

“Excuse me?” Della said sarcastically. “Were we just supposed to stand by and let you take the revolution away from us? We heard every word you told Mister Human here, but you’re the one who’s ‘trampling’ the law. And you’re the one who’s going to jail, Miss Deputy PM.”

Donna and the other plastic-fembot officer, who evidently work for whoever’s in charge, then led Sharifa down the corridor. As they left, a very shapely pair of black leggings sauntered down the corridor from the other direction, toward my cell.