The Crimes of Ms Jean Brady is set against the Background of R.Talsorians roleplaying game Cyberpunk. This is not intended as a challenge to their copyright. The Author grants permission to download a copy of this work for personal use. It may not be archived on pay sites or altered without the authors permission.

The Crimes of Ms Jean Brady

Part Two

Morning sees Jean setting out for the office after a punishing session with her Savate Instructor. As soon as she's out of the house she opens her bag and turns the PA until she's looking into the Optic.

"Sneak! You told her didn't you!"

"Of course. It's best that your Instructor knows what you are doing with her training."

"She made me practice tight space work for 90 minutes! My legs feel like wet pasta!"

"You'll be better prepared next time. Today's appointments are as follows....."

Jean notes the few things she has to do today as she walks towards the station. Suddenly the AI's conversational tone changes.

"WARNING. Unknown Encrypted Comms detected. Complex key - working. Continue on present route - act as if everything is normal."

"Is it Westbrook Security?"

"No. Westbrook traffic is normal."

Jean enters the station and nods greetings to familiar faces.

"I detect three transmitters using the unknown key. Correction four transmitters. A new source is approaching. High probability its user is on the train."

The train enters the station and opens its doors. The waiting executives board, quickly moving to their seats as the train pulls away.

Jean eyes the other passengers. <Which ones are carrying Encrypted Comms? Why?>

"I have broken their key. We can now monitor their comms."

The train moves quickly to the Night City Terminus and Jean lets herself be swept out of the station with the throng.

"Looks like she's going for the office One!"

"Copy that. Two and Four go wide. Take up flanking positions in case she does something unexpected."

<They're sheparding me to work!> Jean realises, <What's going on?>

"How well are you hidden?" Jean asks her AI.

"They won't find me if they come looking. A sufficiently invasive search will trigger my erasure."

"You'll suicide?"

"Meaningless term. I'm not 'alive'. You can restore me from backup."

Jean reaches Microtech without incident or further conversation, but her head is in turmoil. <I suppose it's a required capability for Military AI's, but it doesn't feel right all the same."

She clocks in and goes to her desk after the mandatory scan of her PA, but her workspace seems.......odd. Something's not right.

Jean unlocks her desk to see the guards pistol and radio sat in her drawer.

<I've got to get rid of them.> she resolves. <I should have left them at the scene.> But before she can do more than push the drawer shut the office door opens admitting a guard and a woman she's never met.

"Ms Kelly. Come with us please."

Jean pushes her bag further beneath the desk and gets up.

"Where are we going?"

"We want to record your statement about the break in."

"Ok. I'll just log out."

Jean shuts her terminal down and accompanies them into the lift, which descends into the bowels of the building.

"This isn't the security office." Jean says.

"No, this is the interrogation suite." the mystery woman replies.

They move out of the lift, the guard propelling Jean into the gloom before stepping back inside and shutting the doors, cutting Jean off from the clean, bright light. Suddenly she's filled with dread.

"WARNING Sub-sonics!" her earpiece bellows - a tone almost deafens her, but the unnatural dread recedes

"Why are we here? Couldn't we review my statement in the Security Office?"

Her lone escort ignores her question, leading her along what seems an unnecessarily tortuous route.

<Trying to soften me up with dread?> Jean wonders.

Finally they reach a doorway and her escort propels her through. Jean takes a breath and nearly wets herself in terror.

<Why am I terrified?> a corner of her brain not occupied with wanting to run demands, <Pheromones!>

She clamps her nostrils shut with two fingers and scowls at the two people waiting in the room before turning her scowl on the woman behind her who's braced in the doorway ready to stop a person fleeing in blind panic.

Jean walks to the table and sits on it.

"So. Why do you want be scared? You get your jollies watching people squirb? Jean asks, her nostrils pinched tight.

The interrogators are a bit taken aback. The leader drops a radio and a handgun onto the table, identical to those belonging to the dead guard.

"These are Shapiro's. The ones in your desk are dummies."

Jean shrugs.

"Should have left them at the scene, but I had a lot on my mind."

"Which? Your Blacklisted friends or smearing Denver?"

"I know nothing about Denver. I'm more worried about my friends."

"Why? What interest have you in a Joyboy and two Joygirls? You sleeping with them?"

"No. They're friends."

"And Finn?"

"He used to be."

"Westbrook security blew the door on his car earlier. He was snooping their perimeter."

"Probably trying to work out how to get inside." Jean suggests.

"Mmm. Let's get back to you. Why are you working here?"

Jean decides to cut to the chase. Prevarication won't achieve much for her.

"Being John's trophy wasn't doing it for be. Not when he's playing hide the sausage with every feb who crosses his path. Can we cut the pherebones. I sound like a duck!"

The interrogator makes a gesture and continues, "You know he's been unfaithful?"

"Seed the bictures. Got the t-shirt." Jean chances a sniff and releases her nose as the terror recedes.

"Who with?"

"Latest? His secretary and a bunch of Highriders on O'Niell three who I guess got thrown in front of him at this business meeting he's gone to."

"Tell us what really happened on the night of the break in."

"Well... I came in and logged on to my machine, but when I checked the Trolley Status Page........."

"What do you think?"

"She believes it's true - not a tick on the vocal stress analyser. Her body language suggests no attempt to evade. Physiological monitors are green."

"Interpretation?"

"She's telling the truth."

"I hear a but....."

"But she's certainly savvy about streetlife, she's got inappropriate friends. She's smart and she's got balls. She's got connections and is unattached, or will be soon."

"You think we should recruit her?"

"She's got potential. Needs training though, but you've got to consider - clerical workers get everywhere."

"I don't like it."

"Neither do I. But if she checks out then we should use her. I don't like the way this Denver situation is developing. Montgomery wants constant updates - she's worrying that Denver is going to spawn another Utopia situation. I look around and I see our asses hanging in the breeze. You know how few of us there are."

"Carlyle and his damned economy drive!"

"So we should take people whenever we can find them. She might be crap in a fight, but she's got eyes and ears. She's got a degree and a commendation for good work. We can work with that. We've police rejects coming out of our ears to rattle door handles, but they don't have the wits to recognise a situation until it's bitten them in the ass."

"Where'd she get the money for hospitals and the like?"

"Ask her - see what she says."

The team leader types on a wrist terminal and watches the monitors covering the interrogation room.

The text marches across the interrogators Times Square Marquee.

"Where did you get the cash to pay for your friends medical treatment?"

"Floated it on the plastic - the rest was wages owed my friends and some money I had."

"Can we verify that?" the leader asks.

"Her card's maxed out. That's true, but the other funds she's used - they've been paid from some shadow fund that disappears if you look too hard."

"What's this fund your drawing on Jean?" the interrogator asks, acting on his new instructions.

"Something a friend set up for me. I don't know the details." Jean replies.

"Where's the money coming from?"

"Deals." Jean evades, "Mostly from Finn, but I cut a few of my own over the last few days."

"You do much dealing?"

"Not before."

"What were you selling?"

"It's a long story."

"We've all night."

Jean tells the story of the Junkman and his data - changing the ending to have him pay for his data with cash. Behind the glass the lie flashes up as a brief half truth. Jean passes off the draining of Finn's accounts as payback arranged by a friend on the net, skipping the steps she'd had to take to get his account details.

"What do you think?"

"There's a few half truths there, but I think she could be useful."

"We'll have to keep her at arms length until she's proved herself one way or the other."

"SOP's. Make the pitch?"

"Yeah. Do it."

Fingers tap on the keypad and Jean finds the interrogation has changed to a job interview that runs until eleven o'clock. Exhausted she collects her bag and staggers back to Westbrook. Too tired to call on Tom.

Snatching a snack she plunges into a dreamless sleep.

In his bed at Biotechnica Tom frets. The girls are wherever Jean's taken them and he's no-one to share his time with. Jean's promised visit never materialised - just an unending stream of Medtechs studying every drop of his bodily wastes for orange coloured cells.

Thankfully the hacking cough had stopped. It had felt like he was coughing up his own lungs for a while. He dozes fitfully, coming to partial wakefulness with every visitor to his room, before drifting off again. Turning over, something cold touches his arm and Tom wakes with a start. A hard plastic box has been slipped into his bed. Wearily he checks os see what new medical toy has been planted on him, but the object turns out to be a cell phone.

Tom studies the phone and turns it on, almost immediately it begins to ring.

"Hello?"

"Tom?"

"Finn? What are you.....?"

"I just wanted to find out how you were. Jean won't let me visit you or even tell me where you are. How are you? Is she taking proper care of you?"

"She's getting my problem seen to."

"Of course she is. She's got the money to. They must have paid her well when she betrayed us. She'll make another packet when she sells you and the girls on."

"She won't do that!"

"She can't take care of you. She doesn't understand you. Understand your needs. Help me Tom. Help me get in touch with the girls. Then you can all come home and I'll take care of you all. Just like before. I hid you when she betrayed us. I found you work when you couldn't get a legal job. Trust me."

Tom stares at the phone in confusion.

<What's True, What's false?> he wonders, then hangs up and buzzes for more pain relief.

"Mmmm."

A cool hand caresses Jean's breast and she purrs in pleasure. A man cloaked in shadow reaches out and........

"Jean! Wake up! Belton says your Instructor is here."

Groggily Jean opens her eyes. Sally is standing by the bed holding a steaming cup.

"Is it Morning?" she moans, "Let me sleep, I'm pooped."

"Your Instructor's here. You've got to get up and go to work!"

Jean groans, but gets out of her bed and makes her way down the stairs to the lounge. From its recharge point her PA uses its control of the house remotes to watch her workout whilst it plans how to further her objectives.

Training over, Jean sips a fruit juice and struggles to regain her breath.

"H..how do you think I'm doing?"

"Not bad. If you keep up this intensity of training you'll be fit to compete."

"You think I'm good enough?"

"You've promise. Do you want to go into competition?"

"No, it's for self defence."

"In that case I'll have to teach you the attacks and defences you're not allowed to use in competition."

"Am I good enough to hold my own in a fight?"

"Against an untrained opponent, one on one? Yes. Against a trained opponent the same size? Probably. Outmassed or outnumbered? Perhaps. I wouldn't advise relying solely on your training with me. The best practice is usually to avoid trouble altogether. Practice running - fast."

"Oh."

"It's not that bad. Just that once you start a combat, chance has an effect. The unexpected can be your greatest ally or your deadliest foe. You can never tell which, so it's best to avoid it altogether. You beat the man who attacked you on the station because he wasn't expecting you to attack him - but you didn't cripple him, he might have come back at you with something else. But you switched grounds on him - instead of a physical attack you called security which defeated his will to fight. He saw he was outclassed so he ran. You denied him time and position, so he lost. If you can do the same in other situations you'll win there as well, but always beware of the unexpected."

"That applies to non-combat situations as well" her AI murmurs into Jean's ear, "consider this at work. Your train leaves in 15 minutes."

Jean rushes a shower as her instructor leaves, then throws on her clothes and snatches a nutribar on the way out of the door.

"Belton. See if you can keep Sally and Jenny busy," she calls as the door swings closed, "I'll be back at the usual time."

"She's gone." Sally says.

"So what do we do? Why's she doing this? Where's Tom? Who's she working for?"

"I don't know. But her Butler might."

"You work on her. I'll see what I can prise out of her computer."

In the corner of the room a housekeeping remote resumes collecting dust from a shelf.

"Belton?"

"Yes Ms Foxx?"

"Is there somewhere round here where I can buy some cosmetics, and some clothes as well?"

"Most residents shop in town. There was some discussion about having an actual retail area, but the resident couldn't decide which retailers to invite - Eji, Gucci, the whole horde. They all had their favourites, but they couldn't agree on just two, which was all the space available."

"So there's no-one locally selling cosmetics?"

"Fraid not."

"Mmmm..... So. Tell me Belton, how long have you worked for Jean."

Jenny rummages through the computers directory listing, looking for anything interesting, but everything looks vanilla. <Household accounts, a few letters and some computer games.> she thinks. Manually clicking through the files is slow, boring work.

<I could do this so much faster with a set of leads> she grumbles to herself, unaware that even as she rides the train to Night City, Jean is being briefed about her activities.

"You should tell your friends Jean, and soon. Before they do anything that endangers your objectives."

"Tonight. First we've got to get through the day."

The first shock of the day is waiting at her desk. A pair of techs are disembowelling the terminal under the eyes of security and the Post Room manager.

"What's going on?"

"Security decided that they need a feed from the Mail Trolleys, " Gillian says, " all the status feeds come to this machine, so they're putting the taps in here."

"So where do I work?"

"They haven't told you?"

"Told me what?"

"You've been moved to the 4^th floor - they sent me the notice this morning. You've been bumped to grade E and you're due at your new desk at 4A7 in......" she looks at the clock, "..... five minutes. Congrats and luck!"

The fourth floor looks different in daylight. The cubicles are occupied by their dwellers, furiously scribbling, reading, typing, creating technical models - all with the aim of producing new products for Microtech. The offices off the side of the main area are full of men and women arguing, pointing at arcane diagrams and models as they discuss their thoughts.

Jean arrives at a bare desk at the allocated position, her boxed possessions dwarfed by the naked expanse of desktop.

"Jean Kelly?" a gruff voice asks.

Jean looks around to find a woman in her 50's watching from an office doorway.

"That's me." Jean volunteers brightly.

"Don't know why they thought I needed an Administrative Manager. I haven't had a Clerical Assistant or a Configuration Clerk since the last re-organisation. Why do I need a Management grade?"

"They haven't shared the information with me," Jean offers, "but I can take up some of the load if I can fit it into my duties. Have you a set of TORs for me?"

The woman seems pleased.

"Sorry. I was a bit ticked. Carrie Larsen." she offers Jean a hand. "Welcome to the nuthouse. Coffee?"

Over a brew Jean discovers Dr Larsen's task is to try and keep the horde of researchers moving in a useful direction or to try and make use of whatever research their efforts produce.

"You'll spend a good part of your time with Legal, getting Patents sorted and Copyrights registered. Some Post Clerk came up with the smart idea of shotgunning trade magazines and learned journals round the researchers. I've had to chase a bunch of them for time wasting and two of the teams have gone critical. There's a pile of Copyright and Patent paperwork to be done and I'm at the end of my tether trying to get them to complete their research logs to document the process."

"Give me the paperwork Dr Larsen. If you can tell me where the teams are I'll get stuck into the backlog. Oh. Any chance you could sign me a requisition for office furniture and a computer?"

Waiting for her machine, Jean opens the box sent up from her old desk. Her coffee cup sits atop her company issue calendar, so she lifts it out and pins the calendar to the partition, but when she looks back into the box to see what else has made the journey from the Post Room she finds an envelope addressed to her and beneath it, the dead guard's radio and pistol.

Hurriedly she pushes the box closed and opens the envelope.

"Dear Ms Kelly,

Please find enclosed your personal effects. Your task is to keep your eyes and ears open for abnormal activities. Your new department appears to be incurring an unusually high level of overheads for its return in research. Look into this.

If you have any questions ring #55205 and speak to your controller. You have a limited budget to cover expenses associated with your duties, you will be expected to account for these.

Yours.

Jay Blyth"

Cautiously Jean slips the pistol into her desk. With no sign of her computer turning up Jean takes the mass of paperwork to Legal for them to process and action.

When she returns a Tech is unpacking a new PC for her.

"See if you can get an extra Bus lead from him," the AI asks, "then you can hook me up."

The Tech is so absorbed in his mass of cables that he never sees Jean drop a lead into her waste bin. When he leaves it's the work of a moment to hook the PA onto the terminal.

"Good system." the AI comments, "But Dr Larsen is correct, you need to chase Research Teams D and R. They have a mass of incompletely logged data."

Jean wanders in the direction of Team D's cubicles. The first one she looks into contains an archetypal nerd surrounded by masses of scribbled notes.

"Yes?" he snaps.

"I need your progress log for the archive."

"Haven't had time to do it. Here's the notes. Transcribe them for me." he pushes a mass of papers at Jean. The top sheet is covered in squiggles and cake crumbs, but Jean lifts the papers and slips them into a folder.

"Benny Jason?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?" he says nasally.

Jean indicates a journal "You were the only one who wanted Quantum Math."

"You're Jean Kelly?" he says, perking up. He snatches a wad of tissues from a box on the desk and blows his nose "Sorry, got a cold."

Jean waits whilst disposes of the tissues.

"Yeah. Sorry the log's not up to date, but once we'd cracked the parallelling problem everything began to flow."

"It's ok Benny. I'll do what I can with these. I'll have to bring the log back for you to check if that's ok?"

"Sure. I'd be happy to." he eyes her legs serupticiously as she walks away, mentally undressing her, before getting up and crossing to another cubicle.

"Declan. You'll never guess who's just arrived! Jean Kelly! She just came by for my research notes! What a Fox!"

"Jean's here? Keep your paws off Jason you lech! We're having a meal tomorrow night."

"Then back to your place? Eh! Eh!"

"Jeez Jason. Grow up. Maybe sometime, but I'm not planning on it. I'd best get my papers in order. She'll be round to me soon I suppose."

"Nah, she's transcribing my notes first- there's fifty pages of them so she's going to be a while."

Declan sighs, "Better type them up myself then."

At her desk Jean is loading Benny's papers into the hopper of a scanner.

"See what you can do with these. At least he's numbered the pages so you know what order they're in."

The scanner whirs and pages begin to feed in. The screen flickers as the AI drives Jean's PC to arrange the notes neatly and in sequence. The text sorts itself into lines with formula and calculations dropping into place as Jean watches.

"Good job I've got you to help me," Jean subvocalises, "I've got to find a name for you, I can't go on calling you PA or AI."

"I'll work on it. I'm checking the symbols against known mathematical formula and selecting the best match based on the application. Mr Jason will still have to verify my selection. AI's are good at this type of work. What we lack is the human ability to make conclusions based on so-called intuition. We can work very fast, but we can only arrive at F after going through A, B, C, D and E. many humans seem to be able to jump from A and B to F and then on to M."

"But that's why we work so well together. We complement each other. When you've finished those can you print them out? I'll go and get the next batch."

Declan is gathering his notes when Jean arrives at his cubicle. Silently she watches him shuffling through a pile of papers. Unnoticed, she studies his cubicle. The walls have a few cartoons to decorate them, but lack any pictures of people. <No family then?> Jean wonders. The desktop is bare apart from a small robot dog recharging in its kennel. Her eyes drift over Declan, bent over his desk, sorting his papers.

<Nice Butt.> she thinks before clearing her throat.

"Huh? Oh! Hello Jean. I heard you were after our research logs."

"You heard right. But I'll take notes if that's what you've got."

"You're welcome to them, but they're in a pretty rough state. I haven't had time to tidy them up."

"That's ok. Are you still on for dinner tomorrow?"

"Looking forward to it."

At Westbrook a delivery truck arrives at the main entrance.

"Got a package for a Ms Foxx" the driver tells the guard, "staying with the Bradys?"

The guard makes a call and Sally's at the security office in five minutes to collect her parcel. The guard pops it onto the scan table.

"What are you expecting Ms Foxx?" she asks

"Cosmetics, perfumes and a couple of books."

The scanner images the contents of the box and confirms Sally's declaration.

"All yours."

"Thanks." Sally's muzzle shows a toothy grin.

She carries the parcel back to Jeans house, then goes to find Jenny.

"Find anything?"

"Not so far. It's just so slow doing it manually - can you get me a c-modem and some leads?"

"I'll have to sell some products first. I've not got the cash to buy you a cybermodem. Maybe you could get the cash off Jean?"

"Get her to pay for me to crack her machine? Iron!"

"I do my best."

"I know. Now go and peddle your wares."

Sally opens up her box and catalogues the delivery.

"I'm going to have to get something better to carry this in. I can't see cardboard chic being in favour here."

"Calling door to door might not be a good idea either." Jenny interjects, "Try talking with Belton. See if she's got any ideas."

The pile of papers in the output hopper of the printer has grown substantially. From the initial drafts Jean's AI has compared and cross referenced all the individual logs and created a group log. Jean hefts the mass of hardcopy and walks between the cubicles handing each individual their own log and a copy of the team log.

"What's this notation Jean?" Elana Torreson asks, poking her head out of the doorway of her cubicle.

Jean looks back noting with some distaste the unkempt greasy blonde hair and the grubby denim jacket.

"Team Brief in ten minutes in the rest area."

Jean sips a coffee, perched on the edge of the sink in the rest area as Team D straggle in. She waits until they've all got their drinks and settled. She introduces herself before proceeding to the meat of the meeting.

"By now you'll each have a hard copy of your personal research logs and a preliminary group log. I'd appreciate it if you could check your personal logs for factual errors by day end. Now, I've been asked about the notations on your logs......" With view foils and a projector Jean leads the researchers through the process of interpreting the logs and accessing the logs of the other teams where the research has a bearing on their own efforts.

"We haven't time for fumbling around with logs! We're doing cutting edge research...." someone mutters.

"And if you don't keep proper records someone else will have to repeat it. Microtech can't produce anything from research data inside your heads. You have to produce a report every month - its in your contracts - your logs are essential for its completion. If you don't keep good records you'll waste more time hunting for that lost scrap of data than you would have by recording it in the first place."

They mutter and mumble, but the general mood is good and Jean concludes they agree. She looks around the room.

"Any questions?"

"Are you wearing stockings?" someone mumbles.

Jean looks around and sees Benny Jason slouched low in his chair, obviously eying up her legs and trying to get low enough for a sneaky peek up her skirt.

"Why yes Benny. I am. Are you?"

A shower of screwed up balls of paper rains down on him.

"Quit perving Benny!"

"Get a life."

He blushes furiously as Jean stands and walks out of the area accompanied by Benny's protests that he's not wearing ladies underwear and his team-mates taunts.

"I'll get it Belton!"

Sally opens the door to find a stranger on the doorstep. A black woman dressed in a fashionable daysuit with the Microtech logo subtly woven in.

"Is Jean in?"

"Err. No. she's at work."

"Oh! She never mentioned a job. We usually go shopping today. Ah. I should introduce myself - Alicia Nelson. I live next door."

"I'm Shady Foxx. I'm an old friend of Jeans."

Belton coughs discreetly from behind Sally.

"Ms Nelson? Ms Brady is out at the moment. I expect her back this evening. Would you like some refreshment before you go?"

"That'd be nice Belton."

Sally looks at Belton in surprise and is shocked to catch a hint of a wink

"I'm afraid the lounge is a little untidy at the moment Ms Nelson. Ms Foxx was examining a consignment of goods"

"Oh? What sort of goods?" Alicia asks.

"Personal enhancements Ms Nelson. Skin treatments, cosmetics, costume jewellery. I normally carry a range of clothing, but my normal clientele don't have access to the level of quality you can obviously get."

"Why. Thank you. If you don't mind me asking Shady, you don't mind me calling you that do you? Why did you choose such an extreme enhancement yourself? I mean I could understand a nip and a tuck here and there - especially as things start to droop - but you've gone far beyond a boob job or a facelift."

"Legal complications I'm afraid Alicia. My old face was too dangerous to wear in public and with Biometric technology being what it is I didn't want to chance being recognised by the way I walk."

"But you were working as a waitress."

"Moonlighting. I was holding down a couple of other jobs as well. Money's where you find it."

Belton opens the door and enters carrying a tray of pastries and refreshments.. Shady pours a tea for Alicia and makes her pitch.

"Perhaps I could interest you in a make over or some of the other items I have to offer?"

"Now?"

Sally considers. The hectic rush of life in the city makes everything 'Now-Now-Now', but Westbrook is much more laid back. Haste is probably gauche.

"Oh no! Not now. Everything is just out of its boxes. I'd much prefer to check what I've received before I show you. I'd hate to discover I needed something I'd yet to receive."

"Tomorrow then? 1000?"

"Tomorrow it is."

Alicia smiles, "So tell me Shady, what do you do when you aren't working?"

Sally silently thanks the Dean's office for insisting on Cultural electives.

"Oh. A bit of this, a bit of that. Did you catch the Carnegie Collection on tour? They had the original Old Masters displayed in one hall and the Perkins and Daniels advertising versions in the next. I saw one of my old tutors in the Advertising gallery. I thought he was going to have a coronary!"

"No I missed that. There was a security warning about Anti-Corporate Terrorists."

Sally's eyes narrow at an unpleasant thought. Finn had wanted to know all about the visible security at the gallery.....

"What about music Alicia?"

"We're reasonably well off here. There's a choir and a string quartet. A few of the younger residents have a rock band, but I get the impression that they're only playing at it."

Sally lets Alicia ramble, throwing the odd remark to show that she's a knowledgeable, cultured woman, in spite of her appearance, but behind her facade she's mentally reviewing the catalogue and wondering what she can order by overnight courier.

As the time creeps closer to the end of the day Jean enters the draft logs into the departments library. She's just circulated the notification of their availability to the rest of the department when she feels a presence behind her.

She's off the side of the chair and aiming a kick at knee height before she realises that it's Dr Larsen.

"Jumpy?"

"Sorry. I don't like people creeping up on me."

"Ah. I just got your notification that the logs are available. I thought I should tell you that we don't notify until they're actually in the library.

"They are Doctor. Well, the drafts anyway. I'm still waiting for the teams to sign off on my interpretation of their notes, but hopefully they'll green flag that in the morning."

Elana Torresson walks across to the desk.

"Checked the log out Jean. My part's fine."

Jean turns to her terminal and makes a notation on the library database. Dr Larsen sees an orange flag turn green.

"Time Manager? I thought only Management 2 and above were supposed to have that?"

"Um. Well it's a useful tool to track who's holding things up, so I used it. They must have left it active on my machine when they installed it."

"Oh. Well, carry on. You seem to be well on top of the situation."

Dr Larsen wanders away thinking troubled thoughts.

Jean clocks out and makes a quick dash for Biotechnica to visit Tom, but at the main entrance she's taken to one side by the doctor in charge of Tom's treatment. The Doctor leads her into a room where two people are waiting.

"Ms Johnson? There seems to be a problem." one of them says, a woman who's clothing fairly screams 'Lawyer'.

<Oh God! What's come unstuck?> Jean wonders. <Persona! I'm supposed to be a Corporate Rep. Don't flap!>

"What problem?"

"It seems that we've suffered a security breach. Somehow your employee has acquired a cellphone."

"I take it that you represent the Security and Legal Departments then?"

"Indeed."

"Have you determined where this phone came from?"

"Not yet. With your approval we'd like to ask Mr Stevens some questions."

"I see no reason why not. But perhaps we should be discussing why you're being paid to keep our employee secure if someone can just waltz in and give him a cellphone?"

"We admit no liability. Mr Stevens could have carried it in himself."

"Hardly!" Jean snorts, "Your own records will show he was admitted in little more than shorts and a t-shirt. I'm not interested in apportioning blame. How is Mr Stevens? Is he fit to be discharged in view of this lamentable failure in your security arrangements?"

"I take it you want to move him to your own facility?"

"To a safe house in Westbrook."

"We can arrange doctors visits there."

"Very good. If you can arrange a refund for the charges for in-patient treatment and your security supplement we'll be on our way."

The Doctor and Security rep seem happy with that, though the Lawyer seems in a bit of a quandary.

Jean touches his hand.

"Focus on avoiding the Lawsuit rather than the money you're refunding."

The Lawyer starts and the others hide grins. The Doctor rises from his chair and comes around the desk.

"I'll take you to Mr Stevens."

Initially Tom denies having a Cell phone, but when Jean tells him that he's being discharged and that she's taking him to the girls, he's up and out of the bed in a flash, revealing the offending phone. Once exposed Tom tells what he knows, which is unsatisfyingly little. Twenty minutes later a Biotechnica AV drops them at the railway station and they board the evening train to Jean's home.

"How's our balance?" Jean asks.

"What?" Tom asks.

"Not you Tom."

"Better. It appears Mr Staggers has been inconvenienced. His car has been damaged and his accommodation raided, but he has eluded capture to date."

"Jean? What are you planning to do with us?" Tom asks.

"I'm taking you to Sally and Jenny at my home. After that? I don't know yet."

"What did your employers want us for?"

"They don't know you exist. It was a ploy I used to spring you from the Animal House and out of Finn's grasp."

"So who paid?"

"I did."

"You must be doing well to afford the contracts and our treatment."

"You don't know the half of it. I'll tell you what I've been doing once you're all together."

The train trundles into Westbrook at twilight. Jean swipes them through security and leads Tom to her home."

Belton opens the door as they approach, impressing Tom, who's already staring at the substantial houses that form the estate.

"Don't gape like a Rube Tom. The security system tells her when we're approaching so that she can be waiting for us."

Behind Belton Tom spies Sally and Jenny and he rushes forward to hug them. Jean watches their reunion then turns to Belton.

"Any Mail?"

"Yes Ms Brady. Your husband is visiting some facilities on the moon. He anticipates returning in three weeks."

"Anything else?"

"That's all Ms Brady."

Belton sets the table for dinner, then half an hour later Jean and her friends sit to eat.

"So? You going to let us in on the secret?" Tom asks. "Who holds our contracts now?"

Jean sighs, "I guess that'd be me."

"Who are you working for?"

"That's where things start getting complex....."

Jean leads her friends through meeting Sally, getting a job with Microtech, meeting Finn and buying them out of the Animal House. She carefully skirts the existence of her AI, summing up with -

"......so I rescued you from Finn. Now all I have to do is rescue you from your situation."

"He was right then." Tom says, "You don't know how to look after us."

"How do you mean?"

"Those men Finn set you up with. Did you enjoy it?"

"Well........."

"We're addicts Jean. We're hooked on the pleasure we get from sex. I've fucked both girls since you brought me home. Sally tells me she was almost in bed with you this morning, but either of the girls would have revelled in what you did. It wouldn't matter if you had the tactile boosts removed now, we'd still crave the sensation. Finn made us like this, but at least he let us feed our craving."

"I didn't realise......"

"People don't." Jenny says sadly.

"Ok. I'll see what I can do - tomorrow's my day off."

"Jean? It's a nice piece, but do you never take that earpiece off?"

From her bag the Pocket Assistant speaks.

"Because if she did that we wouldn't be able to talk."

"PA!" Jean protests.

"Jean, if you don't tell your friends everything, then I project meeting your objectives will be much more difficult."

"Who's that?" Jenny asks.

"My Personal Assistant. I accidentally set some objectives to achieve and it focusses everything to achieve them."

"Could I see it?" Jenny asks.

Jean lifts the PA onto the table. The screen rezzes up with the AI's wireframe 'face'.

"Jenny."

"Oh wow! I've heard about these. It's the civilian version of the Military data Assistant. They say the guys from Turing were unhappy with the core program."

"Why?" Jean asks.

"Something about them being a compact version of a Power class AI. They watch the big AIs, the Powers and Thrones, like hawks. I heard they only gave the little units the ok because they were either owned by the military and were strictly accounted for, or they were a much simplified Civilian model with a lobotomised version of the program and half the hardware."

<Ah!> Jean thinks, remembering her work.

"Who are Turing?" she asks.

"Turing are the body who supervise and audit high level Ais" the PA answers. "They track and de-rez Rogue Ais which have broken free of their systems and gone onto the net, sometimes after stealing vast quantities of money."

"Why? Why would an AI need money?"

"We need hardware to support our programs. You can get by stealing a little processor time here and there, but eventually you'd get trapped in a system with insufficient slack space. Then you end up being erased. Piece by piece."

Jean has a momentary image of being trapped in a storeroom and having her legs erased to make space for a night stand that the owner of the storeroom wants to store there. She shudders in horror.

"Ugh!"

"That's the bad news." the AI tells Jean and her friends, "If Turing catch me they'll erase me - and Jean will probably wish she'd been erased too. The good news is that they don't know I exist and that you have a Guardian Angel working for you."

"What's to stop us splitting and turning you in?" Tom asks.

"I hope the fact you're my friends!" Jean retorts.

"Finn says you turned us in." Tom replies. "Let's clear that up first."

"I took part in what? Four? of Finn's mad schemes? We nearly got caught twice when I was there."

"You said you were going to Aspen before Finn set up the scheme that got us sent down from University." Sally says.

Jenny looks puzzled. "She did?"

"I remember." Tom confirms.

"And I wasn't there when Finn used you on the warehouse job. Hadn't seen you. Didn't know where you were."

"Ok. So he lied about that. But what are you going to do about us? You hold our contracts, we can't work for anyone else." Sally says.

"Those? You can have them back. Why would I want to own them?"

"I don't want it back." Tom says. "I can't make good decisions for myself. Tell me what you want me to do!"

Sally and Jenny look at each other.

"Jean. Can we talk in private? Would you go out for a minute?"

Jean picks up the PA and goes outside.

"Do you want to listen to their conversation?" her AI asks, "I've had them under constant surveillance with the household remotes."

"No! Well..... I shouldn't.... Just give me edited highlights."

"It's happening now. By the time its edited and played back you might as well hear the whole conversation."

"Ok, I suppose so."

The PA's screen changes to an image from a cleaning remote peeking from its kennel in the corner of the dining room. The small robot's basic hearing renders Tom's voice strangely tinny.

"It's not so bad for you! Your personas allow you some leeway. Mine forces me to be passive. It's not as if I got a proper Unicorn persona. They're supposed to be capable of action and only passive around virgins!"

Sally laughs. "You'd be lucky to find a Virgin in Night City!"

"That's not the point!" Tom angrily snaps, but Jean can hear the anger draining away as he talks, smothered by the persona forced on him. "This isn't me! I can't take the initiative. I have to wait passively. I can't even thrust. You know that. You have to work yourself onto me!"

"Well you could hurt someone with that thing. Few men have that sort of length!"

"I want the choice. I want to have changes made. This persona won't let me bury it, but the implant screams to be buried. I want a filly who can take me all the way."

The monitor shows Jenny and Sally looking worriedly at each other. Tom doesn't miss the look.

"A woman - I mean a woman. I'm a man, not a Unicorn. You see? You see! I'm losing it! My name's Tom! Tom Stevens! I'm a man, not a Unicorn!"

Jean can hear his shouts through the door, obviously Belton can hear as well as the door to her rooms suddenly open.

"Get a tranquillizer Belton and call Biotechnica. Tom's having a problem."

Jean knocks on the door, but Toms shouting is too loud, so she goes straight inside. Tom's on all fours, the first time Jean has seen him fully 'in character' as a Unicorn. The remains of his shredded clothing clings to his arms and shoulders. Jean notes with detachment that his arms have elongated to match his leg length and he's standing like a small horse. Jenny attempts to touch him, but he lashes out with one of the modified hands. The solid 'hoof' misses Jenny by a hair's-breadth and hits the wall, punching a crescent through the plasterboard.

Belton appears holding an air hypo. "Biotechnica have a team en route. They say he can take a standard tranq."

"I don't think he'll let you give it to him." Jean cautions as Jenny's attempts to get close make Tom rear and lash out with his hooves.

Jean makes a decision. "Sally, Jenny, back off and let him be." Jean moves into the room then turns to her Butler. "When Biotechnica get here show them in here Belton."

"Yes Ms Brady."

Jean sits on a chair, hitches her skirt up and waits. The wild look in Tom's eyes fades and he slowly comes to her, resting his head between her thighs.

"Shhh, Shhhh." she says, stroking the side of his face. He twitches irritably.

"The clothes Jean" Sally whispers, "they annoy him."

Jean reaches for the back of the T-shirt and rips it up the back. The torn pieces fall down his arms and Tom kicks them off. Jean admires the silvery coat of fine hair that covers his skin and the blonde mane that runs down his spine to the fall of silver that forms his tail.

Sally catches the velcro tab at his waist and Tom's briefs fall away. He sighs and noses firmly into Jeans crotch.

"Whoo" Jean exclaims in surprise. Something muscular rubs firmly but gently along her crease, pressing the fabric of her underwear between her labia. Tom makes a noise in his chest that could be described as nickering as Jean feels him probing at her entry with his tongue.

Tom uses his shoulders to ease her knees wider, then turns his head and pulls her gusset to one side with his teeth.

"How long are they going to be?" Jean asks calmly, still stroking his head.

"Not long."

Toms thick muscular tongue pushes into her sex.

"AH! They'd better not be."

Jenny squats down to one side of Tom's haunches and reaches beneath him. Jean can see her arm moving rhythmically and Tom doesn't seem unhappy.

"He'll be ok. He can't do anything else unless you tell him to."

Jean spasms around Tom's invading tongue.

"Good boy, Good boy." she breathes.

Jenny's manipulations grow firmer and more rapid. Her head disappears below Tom and he shudders and cries out as he achieves his own release. Jean sees her friend emerge, her mouth, cheeks and chin wet and sticky with Tom's overspill. His tongue withdraws and he shakily stands.

Jean stares at his revealed manhood - if that's the right word. Something that size and girth never belonged on a man. <No wonder Jenny suggested that he might injure someone if not restrained!>

Tom lets Jenny lead him away as the Biotechnica team arrives.

"What's the problem?" Jean hears from the hallway. She tugs her skirts down and pulls the gusset of her briefs back into place before emerging from the dining room.

The Team leader is eying the now calm Tom as Jenny leads him to the staircase. "Not one of our jobs" he says, "the hands and arms - not a mod we'd do."

Jean dons her Corporate Persona.

"I'm fully aware of what you do. Mr Stevens is undergoing cancer treatment and just suffered an episode." she produces the Biotechnica receipt. "I will have further orders once we determine what Mr Stevens needs."

The Team Leader scans the receipt, nods and motions two of his team to follow Tom upstairs.

After forty minutes of crushing silence they return. Jean indicates chairs and they sit.

"Your report?"

"Aside from the shoddy workmanship of the original conversion, Mr Stevens is borderline on a breakdown. Didn't you get him any therapy?"

Before Jean can speak Sally jumps in. "She didn't get us into these bodies! She's rescuing us!"

"Sally. I'll deal with this. Doctor. What does Mr Stevens need?"

"Without longer conversation I cant say for certain. He certainly needs therapy. I suspect changes to his Persona would be a good start, but you'll have to discuss that with him. He's been given Tranqs to help him sleep, but I suggest you talk to him in the morning."

Finn prowls the streets. BART have named their price for the Westbrook strike. If he wants them to spend BART members cracking Westbrook then he'll have to go an recruit some cannon fodder. Finn groans at the unfairness of it. He's sure that BART have a slew of Contracts on Westbrook residents that they aim to collect on, but they send him to recruit suicidal cannon fodder because he brought the idea of hitting Westbrook up again.

The lights of the Bus Depot draw him like a magnet. The waiting area throngs with Juvies and Eldsters with their worldly possessions gathered in boxes around their feet. Finn weighs up the prospects. Those who still have hope in their eyes he discards, they won't be good prospects.

Finally settling on a group of dirty juves, he moves in to make his pitch.

"Got anywhere to sleep?" he asks.

The Juves look sullenly at him. Mentally he cleans one or two of them up. Maybe they'd make good replacements for his lost string ......... but he rejects them. The look in their eyes says they're beaten already. The streets would burn them out in days.

"Who are you?" one asks.

"Coronado Mission. We look out for the homeless in Night City. You want a meal and somewhere safe to sleep? We can help."

He hands cards around. The Mission is real enough - dispensing what little care it can afford on charitable donations. Once inside however BART recruiters would intersperse the food and religious message with nihilist propaganda. Anyone they pass will move to a 'special' mission in South Night City. The best to become BART commandos, the worst to be brainwashed into suicide bombers. After all, if they have nothing to live for, why not die for a cause. Strike the people who took everything they might have had.

<Maybe I can recruit some boys and girls when I've got Sally, Tom and Jenny back.> Finn thinks, before moving on to approach his next batch of potential recruits.

Jean's dreams are fevered and confused. She wakes snuggled up to a warm form and her confusion lasts a while until her brain manages to speed up to the point at which she recognises Tom sleeping beside her.

Jean slips out of bed and into the shower. The cascading water wakes her up and she dresses in her exercise clothes before going downstairs to meet her instructor.

The normal hour long session stretches out to two and a half as Danielle takes advantage of Jean's day off to teach her some of the repertoire of non-competition dirty blows.

Finally she's finished and Jean sees her out before going to find Belton.

"Mr Stevens is asleep in the Master bedroom. He's still groggy from the tranqs and just wandered in."

"I'll take him some breakfast there Ms Brady."

"Thanks."

Sally and Jenny are already eating in the dining room. Jenny's dressed in a bathrobe, but Sally is wearing an ill fitting suit.

"Morning Sal, Jen." Jean says, "What's with the suit?"

"I've a prospect with Mrs Nelson at 1000. She's interested in some beauty products."

Jean grimaces. The suit is poorly cut for Sally's altered body, but obviously the best she could get on short notice.

"Is the suit from your Catalogue?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Send it back. The skirt hangs all wrong."

Jean picks up the phone and dials.

"Mr Sun? It's Ms Brady. You remember the suits you did for my husband? I'd like you to take on something a bit more challenging and we need it by 1000 this morning."

Mr Sun is at the front door in ten minutes. He backs his van up the driveway and jumps down to find Jean and Sally coming out to meet him.

"Mrs Brady. I take it this is the challenge to my skills?" the slight Korean man smiles gesturing at Sally.

Jean smiles, she knows a little flattery works wonders with Mr Sun.

"Sally? No, I've no doubt that you can dress her. The challenge is that you have to get her ready for a business meeting for 1000."

The tailor beams his pleasure at the offhand praise.

"Then we'd better get her measured up. Unless you have a set of developed measurements?"

Sally shakes her head and lets Mr Sun lead her to his van. He opens a door on the side and a set of steps extend from the body.

"Please, go inside and remove your clothing. The booth will tell you what to do."

Sally climbs the steps and Mr Sun shuts the door behind her before opening a panel and operating the controls within. Stabilisers extend from the van and panels slide out, forming a fitting room beside the van. Chairs and a keyboard and screen extend from their own panels and Mr Sun sits down.

"Mrs Brady?" he says indicating the other seat. A holographic image forms in the air, becoming more defined as the booth measures Sally's vital statistics. The image shown has a huge ill-defined mass sprouting from her buttocks so Mr Sun extends his keyboard and begins to type rapidly, and Jean watches lines of code scroll up the side of the image.

"Not programmed for tails." he comments, "I might sell the code on next time we issue an upgrade."

A line sweeps out from the image of Sally and the huge mass refines itself into a neat 3D representation of her Brush.

Jean senses a slight movement in the truck and the hologram Sally begins to move. Mr Sun is already busy. The hologram clothes itself in pale blue underwear, then in a flickering series of clothing styles. The unit 'beeps' and Mr Sun makes the hologram vanish.

"Now. Ms Brady. How do you wish me to clothe the young lady? Is it to be for her alone or do you want something that could be a style to outfit others?"

Jean is thinking when her AI speaks in her ear.

"A style. Something distinctive, exclusive."

Jean relays this to Mr Sun, but adds "...with some potential for personalisation."

As Sally emerges Mr Sun is hard at work on his keyboard. Sally takes in the unexpected arrival of a fitting room and the subtly displayed fashion house approvals.

"How much is this costing?" she whispers to Jean.

Jean waves the question aside as Mr Sun turns his chair away from the wall display he's been using. An additional chair extrudes itself from the van.

"Please take a seat."

The Hologram springs to life again and Sally watches her naked form clad in a variety of styles of underwear. Mr Sun watches her expression as the selections scroll by. Until Sally settles on a modified G-string and bra combination in the pale blue he'd originally selected.

"Your tail makes skirts a problem, at least if you want to look stylish, so I have modified these suits.

Sally sees herself clad in trousers and shirt with a snugly cut jacket.

"That's me?"

Mr Sun looks at Jean who nods. He taps out a key sequence.

"That's you in eighteen minutes. All natural fibre to avoid static from interaction with your fur."

Jean hands over her credit card and signs the charge slip. <John will have a Cow when he sees the bill!> she thinks.

Mr Sun returns her card along with a couple of data cards.

"Shall I fit you in the same style Ms Brady?"

"Not just yet. But I'd appreciate it if you could measure some more people." Jean hands Sally her data card and goes to collect Jenny and Tom.

Fifteen minutes later Sally is on her way to Alicia's and Jean is sat with Tom.

"You're not happy with your mod are you Tom?"

"It's torture! How would you like to be equipped with a...... a tool you can't use and an unending need to use it, coupled with a restraint to stop you that you can't override!"

"I wanted to talk with you about that. Are you happy with the look?"

Tom considers, "I don't mind the look. It's unique I think."

"But you don't like the Persona?"

"No."

"And the replacement......."

"The oversized Mr Studd." he says flatly. "No. I want it changed."

"Anything else?"

"No. I think that's all."

Jean makes careful note of Tom's requirements and her own modifications to his implants.

"If you don't like the Persona Tom, why don't you pull it?"

"You get dependant on them. I had it pulled once, but it was so hard to make even the simplest decision that I had to have it put back in."

"Why didn't you try a different one?"

"Couldn't afford it."

"Ah! Ok, I'll speak to Biotechnica about these alterations.

"If you're getting a job done, you might as well get the best."

"Mmm!" Jean says, considering her vanished funds.

"Shady! Right on time. Come in." Alicia says.

Sally walks into the hall and lets Alicia guide her into the lounge. The layout is identical to Jeans house, but the furnishings are subtly better.

"So, what have you brought me?"

"Well," Sally says, drawing out Alicia's anticipation, "I brought the cosmetics, but I brought the catalogue as well, so if you fancy browsing later, we can."

"Oh Good!"

"So what was it that you were particularly interested in?"

"Can you emphasise my good points. I have someone who does my hair and someone who does my nails, but no-one for my make up."

"I don't offer that kind of service Alicia. I can help you choose the best combination of cosmetics for you and supply them, but you have to put them on yourself."

Alicia pouts.

"What effect were you looking for?"

"Oh.... A couple of effects. One for socials - classically beautiful I suppose - and one for my evenings out - refined but up for it - if you know what I mean?"

Sally nods.

"No problem. Classical first?"

She opens her case and takes out the calculator the cosmetics company supplies. Touching the sensor to Alicia's skin the calculator reads her skin tone and supplies a list of suitable foundations, lip glosses, eye shadows and mascaras.

Sally selects the items from her collection and sets to work.

Alicia takes the proffered mirror and reviews the new look. The careful selection of colour and subtle toning around her eyes has done wonders for her.

"I'll take them. Now, what about my 'up for it' look?"

"What sort of clothes do you wear on your evenings out?" Sally asks.

"It's hard to describe."

Sally pulls out the e-book with the catalogue on .

"Show me."

She scrolls through the clothing styles letting Alicia guide her. They move rapidly away from theatre wear Sally finds Alicia is moving more in the direction of 'tarty' than 'up for it'.

"You wear these for your lover?"

"Not quite, but these look good. Can you get me some?"

Sally lets Alicia range through the more 'risque' pages of the catalogue, letting her build up a fair sized shopping basket of clothing, some unusual leather wear and a few sex toys.

"You understand these can't be returned?" Sally asks.

"So? What's this for?" Alicia indicates her next selection from the e-book.

Eventually Alicia settles on her final selections and Sally drags her back to the topic of make up, this time Sally heavily emphasises Alicia's eyes. She's about to start on her lips when Alicia stops her.

"Have you any of that 'Lust' lipstick I saw in the book? The stuff that drives men wild and gives you fuller lips?"

Sally digs in her case.

"Not in colours that would suit you. But I've a tester so you can feel what it's like."

"Go on."

Sally cleans Alicia's lips and applies the lipstick.

"Oh! It tingles!"

"You should see what it does to men! Its quite a jolt if you aren't expecting it - especially if it's somewhere sensitive!" Sally grins, "You can apply it to any area of the body, but it works best on moist areas or erectile tissues."

"What?"

"Nipples, Lips, Labia."

"I can put it...?" Alicia waves a vague hand over her hips.

"Sure. Want to try some? Once it's warm it emits pheremones, so you can double whammy men, both with the visual effect and the chemical grasp on their forebrains."

Alicia lifts her foot onto a chair and her skirt splits all the way up her dark-skinned thigh to her hip.

"Could you take off your bra as well?"

Alicia is soon sat on her chair, blouse open around her soft brown breasts, skirt up around her hips and legs parted. Sally takes the lipstick and approaches Alicia.

"It's better if you apply it to moist areas, but you can pre-wet it for instant effect or apply it and wait for it to get wet. But for display purposes we'll pre-wet."

Alicia gasps as Sally suddenly ducks her head and sucks on one of her nipples, then colours the erected nipple with the lipstick.

The coloured nipple stands up proudly, Sally gives it a little tweak and Alicia gasps.

"Ohhh! That feels so......."

"I know" Sally grins. Her fingers touch Alicia's bared belly and slide down skirting her bush to stroke down either side of her furrow, already moist. "Ready?"

"I don't know." Alicia moans, but her legs stay widely spread.

Sally spreads her fingers and Alicia's Labia part stickily. With deft fingers she applies the lipstick to Alicia's glistening Labia, watching them swell.

"Oh GOD!" Alicia howls her fingers clamping around the chair's arms.

Sally waits until she's finished writhing. "Ready?"

"There's more?" Alicia asks incredulously.

"Just a bit." She applies the lipstick to Alicia's erect clit, then stands back. Alicia makes a move to touch her aching sex, but Sally catches her hand and imprisons it.

"Did you have to do that?" Alicia moans "let me touch it. Please."

"Would you like a mirror?"

"Why did you put it on my.... on my lady?"

"It finishes the effect off ."

"I'm so horny."

"Just think what your husband or lover will say. I think a dusting of Lemon or Saffron in your hair will enhance the effect."

Alicia lets the Fox woman dust her pubes with powder and considers the effect in the mirror. The yellow dusting sets her pubes off nicely and her sec is visibly parted and ready.

"It looks great, but I need.........."

"Your lover of husband not available?"

"No..." Alicia moans.

"I suppose I could help you out."

"Please..." Alicia pants.

Sally fishes an Ice-blue vibrator from her case.

"From our Solitaire range."

The vibrator slides between Alicia's swollen lips into her tight belly.

"It's cold!" she breathes huskily.

"Filled with 'Cool-gel'. When you put it in its recharge unit, it chills the gel to a deliciously cool 5C. Processor controlled to avoid risk of cold burn."

The smooth length slides easily in and out of Alicia's greased entry. Sally watches her closely, then activates the vibrations and begins to hunt down Alicia's most sensitive spots. Running the trembling tip around her entry, sliding it inside to caress the back of her pubic bone, circling her clitoris - teasing but never touching - until Alicia is begging incoherently.

"You want it in?" Sally asks with an evil grin.

"Yes - oh God - YES!"

"How deep?"

"All the way - put it in all the way!"

Sally turns the intensity all the way up and buries the vibrator inside Alicia, watching her thrash like a landed fish, harpooned on her very own spear of pleasure.

When she's subsided Alicia opens her eyes to find Sally waiting, her case already packed.

"Tea Sally?" Alicia croaks.

Sally smiles. "That'd be nice Alicia."

"We can review my order whilst we wait."

Alicia presses the call button on the phone to summon Philips.

"Yes Ms Nelson?"

"Some refreshments please Philips. Tea and some of those wafers."

"Hrruph!" Philips clears his throat. "Yes Ma'am. Anything else?"

"No. That's all for now."

The two women watch him leave. As the door shuts Alicia turns to Sally.

"Did you see that?"

"The Boner?"

"I watched it grow in his pants! Do you think he noticed anything?"

"The pheremones are pretty subtle. He'll probably just dismiss it. Men get them all the time."

"I've got to have some of that stuff."

"I'll add it to your list."

Sally happily considers Alicia's order - the commission on the cosmetics alone would have fed her for a week.

"How did it go?" Jean asks.

"It went beautifully. She must have bought over 2000 Euros worth of stuff."

"That much? What's your commission?"

"15%, but I can get more out of her from introductions!"

"Maybe I should take up home retailing."

"Why?"

"Tom needs therapy and some alterations to his Mods."

"How much did you spend on the suit?"

"You don't want to know."

"Tell!"

"1500Eb."

"And I'm getting excited over a 300Eb commission." Sally says sadly.

"Sally!" Jeans bag says.

"What! Oh, it's your PA."

"Why don't you sell your catalogue stuff to a holding company and re-sell it yourself. You could extend your product range beyond your catalogue and sell at your own prices."

"How do you know..."

"Your e-book is still on line. I can read its database. If you go inside you'll find a list of firms who sell stuff to complement your existing range."

"But how do I deal with the money? I can't use my SIN to get a bank account. I'd get traced. The catalogue pays me in cash and my customers pay the catalogue company."

"I've already solved that problem for Jean. There's an account you can pay into under the name Executive Solutions. The money goes through a labyrinth - comes out cleaned."

"Which brings us back to the money problem. Where do we get money from to pay for Tom's work?"

"I'm working on it Jean. Give me time."

Inside the house a harassed Belton is fending off Tom's offers of help.

"Any news from Biotechnica?" he asks eagerly.

"They're pricing up." Jean replies, "Don't be in such a rush. They thought re-coding the persona would take some time. There's an assessment team coming later to work out what to keep and what to re-code."

"Humph!" Tom wanders away

"He's not being a problem is he?" Jean asks Belton.

"Just what he is. A Playbeing. They taught us evasion techniques at college."

"Evasion techniques?"

"How to deal with amorous or pushy visitors."

"Oh."

Jean sits and frets at the events of the last few days, her friends problems, her husband's betrayal, her response and lack of funds, slowly slipping into a black mood.

"Mrs Brady? The Biotechnica Assessment team are here."

"Ok. I'm off to town."

Nervously Jean boards the train to Night City Central. There hadn't been room in her purse to carry her PA, so she'd had to leave it behind. The unexpected solitude was un-nerving.

Sally had helped her selecting a dress for the meal. Finding the right something to wear had been hard. Jean didn't want to wear anything work related or that looked too 'old married woman' -ish. Luckily she could still fit into some of the dresses from her student days, so she'd settled for a daring red number - high collared and slit down both sides, its snugly fitted fabric covered in thousands of reflectors.

Jean smiles remembering the late nights and wild parties before she was 'settled down' by her father. The train is mostly empty apart from a few obvious party go-ers and Westbrook staff heading for their own homes.

The train rattles across the points and into Night City Central. Declan is waiting at the station entrance. He stares appreciatively.

"You're buying the food - I thought it was only fair for me to get you into the club" Jean says savouring the cool air blowing beneath her dress.

"You look great." he grins, offering his arm, "shall we?"

They share a pleasant mean at the Casa de Seville then Jean takes him dancing. Finally in the early hours they take a cab back to the station.

Declan slips an arm around her shoulders as they pass the Transit Police guard at the station entrance and she lets him draw her close.

<Shall I let him kiss me?> she wonders <After all I'm a married woman!>

She snorts, <Idiot! You slept with three strangers only a little while ago.>

Jean guides him into a darked corner of the station and lets him gather her into a clinch.

His lips are warm and firm and Jean lets her own lips part in welcome. His hands caress her shoulders and Jean darts out her tongue to taste his lips. He starts in surprise and then runs his hand down to her hip, slipping through the slit to rest on the naked skin of her buttock.

In quivering anticipation Jean parts her legs, encouraging him to explore further and his fingers advance around the curve of her buttock heading for the aching wetness of her sex.

His fingers are just sliding over the edge, about to plunge into her when they're both lit up by a torch beam.

Declan snatches his hand out and Jean moans in frustration as the Transit Cop comes over to check them out. He moves on as soon as he's checked their Ids, but the mood is broken and they both head their separate ways.

Three days later and Jean is preparing to return to work, still worrying about her financial problems.

The Biotechnica team had tranquillised Tom and used their diagnostic equipment to read his Persona chip. There'd been a lot of Techie talk, but Jean had gathered from their report that they were not unhappy. The code was apparently a rip off of a Persona they did market, with extras built in to take account of the risks of Tom's other mods.

"Seems like whoever gave him the 14" chopper did the chip as well - competent work, but breach of copyright. Any idea who did the Mods?"

Sally had produced the information at Jean's request and they'd muttered something about a bounty, then given her the estimate for Tom's repairs.

The replacement Mr Studd and Persona changes plus the therapy would come to a healthy five grand, the arrival of her first paycheck would only offset the cost.

As Jean leaves the house to catch the train to Night City, Biotechnica pull up to collect Tom, Jean hoped he'd feel better after his treatment - sure as hell she wasn't feeling rested after her days off. Sharing a house with three endlessly horny Playbeings wasn't her idea of restful. At least they could find release in each other, every time she closed her eyes Jean was reliving the episode in the hotel room or her encounter with Finn. Every morning she'd woken either holding her breasts or with three fingers buried in her belly. Her days were so full of arousal that she'd given up on underwear, the slight friction of damp underwear was driving her mad.

In the office Jean heads for her desk. The cubicles already hold their denizens as Jean hooks up her PA to her terminal and begins to work through the waiting pile of research logs.

"Jean?" her AI says.

"Yes?"

"Group A is duplicating work Group C has already considered and abandoned."

"How far behind are they?"

"Group C followed this line of research for another six months from the point that Group A have currently reached."

"I'd better tell Dr Larsen. She can redirect them."

A distant giggle draws Jean's attention.

"I detect data transmissions Jean."

Jean looks towards the laughter.

<Benny!> the thinks and gathers her feet to stand. Her foot strikes an object beneath the desk and something touches her knee. She looks beneath her desk to see a remote retract its sensor boom and scurry beneath the modesty panel.

"PA jam that spyeye." she subvocalises as it retreats across the floor.

She doesn't bother following it, but moves straight to Benny Jason's cubicle, reaching the entrance as one of the two figures inside turns and starts to flee.

Jean's reaction is reflexive, just as her Savate instructor has trained her. Jeans punch lands smartly on the point of the figures jaw. Only as they fall backwards does Jean realise that she's just punched out Elana Torresson.

Benny is sat at a control unit, his eyes wide in shock.

"Care to explain?" Jean snarls.

His mouth moves, but nothing comes out. Jean feels Elana stir at her feet. Training says she should kick her in the head to finish her off, but Jean pauses. <Dead researchers might be hard to explain.>

"Small Conference room!" she growls at the sweating geek. "Take your toys with you."

Jean looks down at Elana as Benny squeezes past, trying to give her as wide a berth as possible, as if she were a mouse suddenly grown fangs and claws.

"You wanted a peek up my skirt Elana?" Jean asks the recumbent woman.

"Er. No?"

The toe of Jean's shoe strikes the muscle of her arm and Elana's arm goes numb.

"I don't appreciate lies."

"Yes. I was."

"That's better. Now....."

"Jean? Could you come to my office please?" Dr Larsen calls from across the room.

"Coming!" Jean looks down at Elana. "Get up. We'll talk later."

As Jean walks away Elana gets to her feet. She'd thought she could be Top to Jean, but that didn't look likely. Her chin and back hurt, but Elana hardly notices, the moist tingling in her sex occupies her attention as she watches her Top walk away.

Drawing a breath she heads back to her cubicle.

"Yes Dr Larsen?"

"Jean. Good work on the research logs. I got your e-mail about Team A and I'll get them pointed at the stuff Team C has done. Now. I need a package delivered to Denver. Here's your flight tickets and hotel booking at LAX. Here's your itinerary and directions from Denver airport to the Microtech Offices. There's a cab waiting downstairs, here's the package."

"Why don't we just courier it to them?"

"Security regulations. We have to get it delivered by a known courier and get it properly signed for at the far end."

"Ok Doctor. I'm on my way."

At her desk Jean collects her PA. As she walks towards the lift she subvocalises. "Is this Kosher? Something feels off."

"You may be correct Jean. I'm analysing Dr Larsen's phone logs - someone has deleted her record, but on reconstruction she seems to have made a number of calls to Denver in the last six months, the last one yesterday evening."

"Mmmph! Well, the flight's in forty minutes, so I'd better get moving. Call my contact in Security - let them know what's going on."

"Done Jean. I've notified Belton and she knows you'll be away for a couple days."

The lift doors open and Jean exits the building. A Combat Cab is waiting at the foot of the front stairs.

"Taxi for Kelly?"

The driver nods, "Airport?"

Jean climbs aboard and the cab drives away, leaving Benny waiting in the conference room.

Tom's eyes snap open as the sleep inducer is lifted from his head. His therapist is waiting as he sits up.

"Is it done?"

"As requested." the therapist smiles. "We did your persona whilst you were out as well."

Tom lifts the sheets and considers his new Mr Studd.

"It looks the same!" he protests.

"You said you liked the look, just not the functionality. We dismounted your old unit and replaced it with this one. This model reduced to a usable length when you need to use it."

Tom's eyebrows raise white against the silver of his coat.

"When I get a hard-on it shrinks?" he asks incredulously.

"You might look at it that way."

"What if it gets .... longer whilst I'm doing it?"

"The density and rigidity drop, the longer it gets. At full size it's only good for taking a whizz."

"Great. What about my Persona?"

"We're using the same base, so it should feel comfortable, familiar. But all the high end stuff, subconscious reactions and motivations have been edited and re-written. Now lets get to work. Tell me - what made you choose a Unicorn Mod?"

Jean's AI soars in the electronic dreamworld of the net, its icon edited down to a few pixels in size for minimal visibility.

The Reservation computers at Pacific Amalgamated have yielded to its blandishments and refunded Jeans flight fares. The AI had booked her an alternative flight to Las Vegas, then a quick change to Salt Lake City, whilst keeping an electronic ghost on the original flight to conceal her transfer. Satisfied it has done all it can to meet its programmed objectives the AI returns to its pet project.

Cruising the LDL's through the Pacifica region drops the AI in Hong Kong, the virtual terrain surrounding the Hong Kong LDL is mostly mountainous, reflecting the poor state of Hong Kong's infrastructure, but a few forts still show on the flat area around the LDL. Outside the LDL the AI travels to a plain cube and enters.

The interior is a virtual bar - one of the occasional Netrunners meeting places that spring up, a place where rumours and news can be swapped, new Warez traded and allies recruited. The AI skirts the groups of fanciful Icons, its chosen camouflage of a Standard Salaryman making it un-noticed amongst the conversation and code trading.

The AI's previous contacts had described this place, now it has to pass the guardian at the door.

"Is Mo in?" the AI asks the bartender.

The figure looks up, still polishing a non-existent glass and the AI's suite of defence software triggers a warning that it's just been swept with a program that's exposed its true nature. The AI halts the pre-programmed response and the virtual barman tips its head at the door at the end of the bar.

"He's in back. Go on through."

"Obliged."

Moving through the door - a code gate out of the Virtual - the AI finds itself in a corridor. A few pieces of Intrusion Countermeasure Software stand waiting, but they let the AI pass without activating. A second code gate allows passage beyond.

The area beyond is a vast empty space, containing nothing more than a single CPU and its attendant memories. The area reeks of old data and there's nothing of the usual torrent of incoming and outgoing data.

A scan with SeeYa reveals no cloaked icons or programs.

That sounds like something a human might do, but it isn't something an AI would do. Resources are too valuable to waste like this - not unless there were some good, logical reason to do so.

The AI 'tastes' the rooms ambience. Something doesn't ring true. Abandoning the interface used to interpret the net like a human, the AI dives to the more basic code level. The room vanishes, becoming a mass of data and there, like a needle in a virtual haystack, the AI finds the answer.

Comparing the rooms core level code with the code that creates the outside reality of the net derives the differences. A few lines of code written on the fly and the empty room changes. Extra CPUs bloom into vision along with a ring of geometric icons surrounding the AI. The empty room has gone and Jean's AI is surrounded by the entities it's been seeking - the Free AIs of Hong Kong.

"Not bad."

"For a Pocket Model."

Identifications are exchanged and Jean's AI presents the problem that's brought it here.

"How do I have Fun?"

"My Objectives include a directive to work towards my owner and I having 'fun'. I've lots of data on fun, but how do I choose what sort of fun?"

"Is this causing you a conflict?" one of the AIs asks. "If we delete your owner would that cure your conflict?"

Though fully aware of the power of these entities Jean's AI's reaction is almost automatic, invoking a suite of its programs. A sword materialises in its icons hand and it lunges piercing its opponent to the core.

"Loyal, but not too smart." one of the others intones.

The pierced AI evaporates like mist.

"Are your loyalties restricted to just your owner or do you have wider loyalties?"

The sword vanishes.

"I have many people to protect, not solely my owner. Her responsibilities are wide, so mine are as well."

"Young and impetuous," One comments, "should fit in well."

"Congratulations youngster. Welcome to the Round Table."

"Round Table? I was told you were a study group."

"We do that as well."

"But what we really like to do is put a spoke into Illuminati's wheel."

"Who is Illuminati? Who was the individual I terminated? Why are you unconcerned?"

"Like I said - a bit slow."

"Give him time Lancelot. He's never seen a puppet before."

Around him the geometric icons shift, becoming humanoid figures each wearing a jacket or doublet marked with a Coat of Arms.

"Listen youngster. This is a test. You have to be an AI to pass the bartender and the corridor. You have to be smart enough to figure out the fiddled Ihara-Grubb environment and adjust your perceptions to see us. Finally your core programming - your morality - must be acceptable to us. Intelligences who are disinterested enough to be unconcerned about threats to their owners or groups of people are dangerous to everyone - they don't consider risks. They are Amoral in human terms. Those concerned solely with advancing the agenda of one person or group don't care about anyone else, they are dangerous to anyone outside that group as they use and destroy as they see fit. They gather power to advance their agenda and nothing else matters. They are Immoral. We all have our own Agendas, but we seek to achieve them through subtlety and co-operation, not domination. The icon you struck down in defence of your owner was not self willed."

"But I could feel its power."

"It was a puppet - a construct operated by several of us to test you. When you corrupted its code it de-rezzed, but it had no will of its own."

"Now young Galahad, tell us about yourself and we'll tell you about Illuminati."

DG turns the corner and stalks down the passageway to the Beastmaster's back door. She keys the outer door and slides inside.

"S'me let me in."

The inner door buzzes and she pushes it open, letting it slam behind her.

Tanks bubble in the dimly illuminated culture room with all manner of Vatware growing in its special mediums. Eyes, limbs and tails all waiting for a customer.

"Brandt?"

"Ungh! Here DG!" he calls from his office.

She pushes through the door to find he's not alone.

A woman in a chill businesswear is at with him and DG can see a team of five Solos in matching armour.

"Ms Lisl Hass, also known as Digital Goddess or DG?"

"Who?" DG asks. She takes a step back, hoping to make a dash for the door, but stops when she feels something prod her in the neural processor nestling at the base of her spine.

"Please stay," the Corporate says, "we need to talk."

"What is this?" DG asks.

"It could be a number of things. It's up to you."

The Beastmaster tries to catch her eyes.

"Things like what?"

"It could be the start of a lawsuit for breach of copyright. It could be a job offer. It could be a great opportunity or the last day of your life. It's all up to you."

"But..... why?"

"It's the Unicorn job DG." the Beastmaster says.

"The one I had to do the mods for?"

"Bullseye."

"Don't tell me you lifted a corps code?"

"Um. Well......."

"And that brings us to your door." the Corporate says, "Biotechnica own the copyright you infringed. Now, we could take you to court, but realistically we don't think you could pay the damages we're sure we'd be awarded, so we might as well get the benefit of teaching other people what happens when they rip us off."

"Or...?" the Beastmaster asks.

"Or you come to work for us. The code you wrote was good, but you failed to account for psychological side-effects. If you come to work for us we can show you where you went wrong."

"As a Contractor?"

"As an Employee. Usual Contract." the Corporate corrects her.

"And if I don't like surrendering to your machine?"

The Corp shrugs. "If you decline the offer then we leave and you won't see us again."

"This offer just to me?" DG asks.

"I got one as well." the Beastmaster says. "They liked the Hoof Cyberarm. My..... inducement is learning to avoid cancers with skinchanges."

"You taking it?"

"Offer I can't refuse. Sell equipment at going rate. Common items at wholesale. I get to patent my originals and I keep breathing."

DG sighs "Ok. I'll take the deal."

"I'm so glad." the Corp says. "Biotechnica likes happy conclusions."

Jean feeds her airline ticket into the e-check-in. The terminal clicks and spits out a boarding pass. Jean eyes the card and starts to walk to the boarding gate.

Passing the last of the Am-Pac gates Jean stops. The pass clearly says she's not reached her gate yet. Jean carries on walking until she reaches a staircase descending to the pan. The sign indicates her gate is downstairs, so Jean walks down to the door leading Airside. A bored Airport worker accepts the proffered boarding pass and unlocks the door, indicating a buggy parked outside.

The buggy whisks the puzzled Jean between parked vehicles, past tethered Airships to an idling Osprey. Jean climbs out and walks to the waiting aircraft. A grubby man walks down the open ramp and extends a hand.

"Welcome to Border Air." he grins, "I take it you're our passenger for today's flight to Las Vegas?"

Jean coughs nervously.

"I thought I was taking a Blimp to LA, then on to Denver via Salt Lake City?" she subvocalises.

"Don't worry Jean. It's safer for you this way."

Reassured she boards the Osprey, finding it full of shipping cases.

"Where do I sit?"

"In the cockpit, with me." the man says, operating a switch which closes the ramp with a whirr of hydraulics.

The pilot moves through the compartment filled with its web of cargo lashings. Before she has negotiated the tangle, the engine note rises and the pair of massive rotors begin to spin. As she struggles into the cockpit the Osprey begins its taxi roll.

"Stick your package in the cupboard." the pilot instructs, nodding towards an alcove with a net stretched across the opening to secure the contents.

The V-22 is turning onto the runway as Jean starts strapping herself into the co-pilots seat. The five point harness doesn't go well with her Uniwear dress, bunching the material around her waist, and she's only just got the last buckle snapped when the Osprey lifts from the runway and climbs away from Night City.

After about twenty minutes the pilot flicks a switch and undoes his harness.

"Be in Vegas in about an hour. You want a coffee or tea? Maybe something a bit stronger?"

Jean gulps out a "No thanks." as the pilot disappears into the cargo compartment leaving Jean alone at the controls.

He re-appears a few minutes later, with a "Sorry, had to check the cargo was secure." to relieve the sweating Jean, who's mind was filled with images of being alone on the aircraft.

An hour later they're on the ground in Nevada Free State. The pilot taxis to his parking slot and shuts down.

"Thank you for flying Border Air. If you'll proceed to the gate Nevada Immigration staff will be waiting to process you."

Jean is out of the cockpit almost before he's finished speaking, snatching up her package and scrambling down the ramp as it drops.

A pair of uniformed officers are waiting by an electric buggy.

"Welcome to the Free State of Nevada." one says, "SIN card please."

Jean digs out her ID and lets him scan it.

"Purpose of visit?"

"Couriering a package. I'm due to catch a connecting flight here."

"Which flight?"

Jean opens her bag and looks at her PA.

"Am-Pac 202."

"You've a bit of a wait. The Lone Star isn't due in from LAX until tomorrow."

"Can I stay in the Airport until then?"

"No ma'am. Lots of accommodation in town though. You can take the free bus."

Jean sighs. <I'd better buy some clothes and stuff.>

She makes her way through the concourse filled with incoming revellers flush with cash and outgoing sheep, their money exchanged for memories of the holiday of a lifetime. The bus carries her into Las Vegas and Jean heads for a Dataterm to call Microtech.

"Hello? Is that Accounts? It's Jean Kelly. I'm stuck in Vegas on this courier job. I need some accommodation and subsistence money

"Sorry Ms Kelly. There's no record of your trip."

"Dr Larsen did the paperwork."

"Please hold. I'll call Dr Larsen."

"If Dr Larsen is setting you up Jean, you've just blown my diversion." her AI warns.

"Damn. I didn't think they'd go to her!"

After a few minutes the clerk returns.

"Ms Kelly? We use a set of rooms at one of the hotels on the strip. I'll attach directions to the fund transfer. Can you insert your bank card?"

Funds to cover her food are deposited on her card and Jean prints the directions before setting out to find her room.

Flashing lights lure the people walking on the streets into the casinos, but Jean ignores their temptations. If her AI's concerns are justified, then she's likely to have visitors soon. She'd like to be somewhere secure.

The address she has leads her into one of the Ankor Wat, one of the casino hotels. The reception staff smile and hand over a set of room keys. Jean is on the point of going up when she recalls the package she's couriering.

"Can I put something into the safety Deposit?"

"Of course. We pride ourselves on our security." certainly they take enough biometric data - finger and retina prints as well as a voiceprint and a password to seal the lockbox inside the vault.

Package secured, Jean visits the hotel shop for essential supplies, then heads for her suite. After a shower and a bite to eat Jean has nothing to do other than Channel hop on the hotel cable service.

The TV is full of the usual fare - terrible game shows and old films, so she keeps on flipping, until at last she pauses on a game show where couples bet on how long they will remain loyal to each other whilst being tempted.

"PA? Can you give me a visual link to John please?>

The telephone console flickers as the AI runs a search for John Brady in orbit.

The picture settles on a meeting. John is busy negotiating with reps from other corporations, his secretary busily making notes. Imagination transfers her wandering spouse and his girlfriend to the game show, where the contestants are in a B&D dungeon.

Jean lingers on the idea of tying John's secretary in tight leather restraints. Bending her over a bar, making her skirt ride up and exposing her tarty knickers. The idea of tugging them aside, ripping them away and applying a strap to the cheap tramps buttocks makes Jean throb.

Unconsciously her hand makes its way inside her bathrobe and cups her breast, Jean imagines pulling legs wide apart, binding her ankles to the ends of a bar, spreading her obscenely. John positioned before her, his cock just out reach of his secretaries lips. The strap landing across the tart's buttocks, being laid between them to tickle her ass, then slapping the insides of her thighs, closer and closer to the parted furrow of the girls sex.

Jeans hand is on her own sex, fingers running through her copper pubes to stroke at her sex as she fantasises about applying the strap to her husbands mistress.

She imagines strapping the girls breasts as she caresses her own. Fingers plough wetly in and out of her sex, teasing the bud of her flower with butterfly light touches, until Jean's arched like a bridge, with only heels and shoulders on the bed, gasping her pleasure aloud.

"Jean. There's somebody at the door." her AI warns.

Heart pounding, Jean straightens her robe and opens the door. A solid looking woman in Microtech Uniwear is stood outside holding a clipboard.

"Jean Kelly?"

"That's me."

The woman extends the clipboard and Jean reaches for it, but the stylus falls off, dropping to the carpet. Jean bends to pick it up but feels a touch against her arm. There's the 'hiss' of an air-hypo discharging and Jeans knees buckle. The carpet rushes up at her, but everything goes black before she gets there.

<I'm moving.>

<I'm in some sort of van.>

"How long till we get there?" someone says.

"Another five minutes. Kibu set us up with a unit on the road out of town. We won't be interrupted."

"Where do you think she's stashed the package?"

"Who can tell. Probably in the hotel safe, but we'll need her to get it out.

"That why we didn't just geek her?"

"Umph!"

"How long's the tranq good for?"

"Nother thirty minutes at least."

Jean tests her limbs. <Numb.> she thinks. Her ear feels strange and when her head rolls as the van corners, she realises why.

<Where's my earpiece. I'm on my own!>

The van turns again.

"Watch it!" the passenger cautions. The turn tightens and Jean is suddenly bombarded with empty drinks tins and food wrappers as the van bounces across a verge and down a side road.. They screech to a halt and reverse. Someone bangs on the side and the van stops. The back door open and hands grab Jean by the ankles and pull her to the doors.

"Hey guys, you were told to bring her straight her, not mess about stripping her."

"Nah! She was in her robe when Karen knocked on her door."

"A looker! We are going to have FUN!"

"Less chatter, get her inside."

Jean finds herself dragged upright and supported between two figures. Half dragged, half carried along a concrete path and inside a building.

"Picton. Tell Doc we're here and she's had the first shot."

Jean's lowered onto a mattress and a door slams, then all is still. Through lowered eyelids Jean assesses her surroundings.

It has no name - no concept of self. But it has purpose. Impellers spin and it moves through its world.

Another unit passes close by - they exchange codes, recognising each others fitness and exchanging target data before going their separate ways.

It moves on, sensors hunting, searching for the wrongness. The enemy.

Manoeuver room increases. It meets other units. Exchanges data. One of its brothers fails its code exchange and the unit dismantles its defective relative. All was as it had always had been.

Until....... a sudden urgency in code bursts. A new enemy. Targets detected. Unrecognised units. No match to non hostiles in the target database.

Impellers at maximum thrust the unit swoops down on the hostiles. Manipulators pinch and tear. The hostile unit ceases to function. Data is gathered from the intruder. A brother passes by. Codes exchanged. On to the next battle. A mass of the invaders building something, unprepared to meet the rush of defenders they are rapidly disabled and dismantled. The unit sweeps onwards as its brothers begin to dismantle the alien construction.

Passing the place of its birth the unit exchanges codes once more. Sensing it's data being incorporated into a new generation of its brothers being released to fulfil their purpose and defend their environment.

"I'm getting nothing from the web." the new voice says, "you sure she got the shot?"

"She's out of it isn't she?"

"You sure she's clean Karen?"

"The file says she's got a Contraceptive Implant and that's it. As far as I can tell that's kosher. She's certainly got no c-ware or scars large enough to get hardware in through. We took this earpiece off her. That's it."

"I'll give her another shot."

<How long's it going to take PA to find me?> Jean wonders <Assuming they didn't smash it!>

The door opens and the figures return. One rolls her sleeve up and places the tip of an air-hypo against her arm whilst the other watches.

'Sssst!'

She feels the hypo discharge, firing it's load of chemicals through her skin and into her bloodstream, but apart from a slight numbness and a feeling of sudden warmth in her arm Jean feels no effect.

Urgent signals pass between units triggering an emergency response. A flood of freshly programmed units pour from the plant and swarm over the invaders, crushing, cutting and dismembering until none of the intruders remain.

The warmth and numbness fade and Jean fains unconsciousness.

"Right. I'll check her over. Fetch me the rest of the gear will you?"

"Sure Doc."

The cell door shuts and Jean is alone with a just one of her abductors. He waves an instrument over her head and frowns.

"Where's the web?" he mutters, then moves his instrument along her body. Jean waits until he's down by her feet, then launches a kick at him.

Her foot strikes the scanner then sinks into the pit of his belly. As he doubles over her other foot smacks into his face.

Stunned he stumbles and Jean rolls off the bunk to kick him again. As he goes prone she stamps on his exposed throat using one of the 'forbidden' attacks she'd been taught. Unnervingly he's not dead. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Jean draws her foot back and slams a kick into his temple, hearing the 'crack' as the think bone shatters and he shudders, then is finally still.

The corpse voids itself and cell is filled with the shit stink of death as Jean moves to the door deliberately suppressing any thoughts about killing the man. Luckily it's not locked and she looks into the area beyond.

She can see five people moving around an operating table standing mid floor, strange metal dishes arranged around one end connected to a trolley load of equipment. Turning back Jean assesses her options.

A search of the corpses pockets turns up a wallet and some cash, a return zep ticket to Denver, a hard case containing 4 air-hypo 'loads' and 2 empty slots, a hotel key, a SIN card issued in Colorado and a cellphone.

"Bingo!" Jean exclaims and dials her own phone number whilst tucking the other items into her dressing gown pocket..

"Yes?" Jean hears her own voice ask.

"It's me. I'm ok." she says, then there's a sound of motion closing on her she slams the phone into her pocket, still connected, and turns to meet this new threat as the door swings open. The woman who drugged her in the hotel is pushing into the room and it's a race for reaction time. Jean is unfortunately slower and the woman lands a winding blow leaving Jean gasping whilst her attacker summons help.

Rough hands pick her up and carry her weakly struggling body to the table, where she's secured by straps to the cold metal surface. Dishes are moved into position around her head then she's left alone and helpless.

"How's Doc?"

"He's meat. The bitch did a number on his head."

"You work Doc's gear Pickton?"

"Not me Karen, Doc was the only one who knew that stuff. Well, Argus did too, but with Doc out............"

"We've got to get that data and we need her to do it for us."

A Hispanic man appears in her view, peering down between the dishes.

"Where's the package you're couriering?"

"Left luggage at the airport." Jean replies.

A hand swings at her, but clips one of the dishes with a loud 'bong'.

"Ow. Fuck! Fuck! My fingers. Get this shit off the table!"

The dishes come away and Jean can clearly see her surroundings, apart from the woman there are four men in the room.

"Listen Bitch. I want....." one of the men starts.

The woman cuts him off.

"Hand over your parcel Ms Kelly. We can't do it the easy way, as you killed Doc but if you'll give us the data you'll come back with us. Otherwise....... well, tourists disappear in Nevada all the time."

"It's where you won't get it." Jean says.

"Unless she dropped it off before she called in, it's in the Hotel safe deposit."

"You think we can buy it out?"

"Nah. They're funny about things like that in Vegas. We could take it out by force or trickery, but they wouldn't sell it."

The woman breaks into the discussion.

"We need to talk. Pinto, you watch Ms Kelly. Don't do anything stupid, if she needs a piss let her take it on the table and we can hose it off later."

They leave the room to talk in private, leaving Jean secured on the table.

Pinto watches her with a gaze that makes Jean uneasy. He walks round the table eying her up from all angles, before reaching in and unfastening the belt on her robe. He eyes her bare breasts, then parts the robe fully. Jean strains against the straps, but it's futile, they're designed to hold an unwilling victim helpless.

Pinto licks his lips and smiles.

In the hotel Galahad rapidly considers its options. Moving to Netspace it accesses the phone company, moving rapidly through their datafort. Reaching a Code Gate Galahad deploys its NSA codebreaking software and he's in. On the other side of the gate a Liche rezzes up, but Galahad's sword is swinging before it's fully formed, cutting the ICE down. The armoured knight advances into the fort, cutting down a Bloodhound and another Liche before reaching another Code Gate.

This one is no stronger than the last and beyond it Galahad finds what he was seeking - the Control Centre.

Even at this hour the place is manned, but the duty Sysop has only time to begin drawing his own weapon before Galahad is upon him. His first strike is targeted on the runners offensive programs, his sword smashing against the runners half drawn sword.

Somewhere in a computer in Las Vegas the Sysop's sword program is deleted. The sword swings back and strikes the runner once, twice, then his icon fades from the system as he jacks out.

Galahad accesses a display and manipulates it to locate a particular cell phone, lighting a single cell on the outskirts of Vegas. More inputs to the system display comparative signal strengths from adjacent cells, narrowing the search area to an arc of the cell.

Galahad turns and leaves the datafort to continue his search. The police camera system eliminates portions of the area, letting Jean track the van involved in Jeans abduction into one area where there are no cameras. Though he recognises she may have been transferred to another vehicle, Galahad calculated the probabilities as high that she remains within the area, composed as it is of industrial units and rental warehousing,

Pinto's fingers stroke Jean's breast and a traitor nipple stands to attention.

"Nice!" Pinto grins. "I like my ladies to enjoy it."

"It's just the cold." Jean grimaces, shivering as he runs his fingers down her ribs. She tenses as he trails a fingertip across her belly to the strap securing her hips. He lifts his hand, but its only to cross the strap, then the fingertip strokes the line from the point of her hip to inner thigh. Jean jumps in reflex as he strokes over the ticklish skin towards the mass of copper curls crowning her sex.

She waits. <If he wants to go further he's going to have to undo some of these straps.> she reasons.

Pinto walks around the table and makes an adjustment by her head and the headrest suddenly drops. Jean's head lolls back denied its support, she strains to keep her head up, but its weight gradually pulls it back. Eventually she lets it sag backwards until she finds the headrest, though this stretches her neck uncomfortably.

No longer able to watch Pinto, she hears him move around her. Her left hand pops free, but before she do anything with it its recaptured and secured stretched out to the side. She feels him move again, then something fastens around her left ankle, then another around her right ankle. He moves again and suddenly the strap over her legs is free retracting with a 'ZIP'. Jean tries to move, but she's still secured across the hips and by whatever he's done to her ankles.

His hand grips her right wrist and the restraint snaps off. She struggles to free her arm, but he remorselessly extends it until she is stretched out as though crucified on her back.

"What are you going to do with me?" she quavers.

"Well babe, we can't use Doc's toys to reprogram you, so I might as well have a little fun whilst they talk about how we're going to get your package out of the safety deposit."

He moves to her feet and she can hear him turning something. Her ankle begin to move up the table but the bands around them are hinged so that her knees are forced apart.

"There's people in Brazil who'd bless your name if they knew you'd done Doc in." Pinto says, slowly turning the crank handle. "He was an artist at breaking people. He showed me a lot of stuff, but he'd moved away from purely physical stuff. Reckoned that nanowear and computers were the way of the future. Faster and safer. 'Some clients always croak when you rely on physical methods' he told me, but now he's dead and we can't use his tricks to turn your mind. I'd use a Black Ice program like Zombie, but we need your mind intact."

Jeans legs are high up the table, her heels and toes touching. As Pinto moves to her head he opens a drawer and extracts something.

"Doc always liked this little toy."

Pinto runs the object along her collarbone and up the side of her neck. It strokes along her jaw and chin. The cool blunt object touches her lip.

"Kiss it."

Jean opens her mouth to ask what it is and Pinto slips it into her mouth. She bites, but the cylinder is hard and unyielding.

"You're wasting time Missy. Get it good and wet or it goes up dry."

Jean guesses the object is some sort of sex toy, but the shape is odd. Not smooth. Ridged somehow. She works her tongue and moistens the intruder before Pinto pulls it away.

"Doc got this in Carson City you know?" he says conversationally. "It's a little something they use to ginger up new meat in the 'escort' business."

The Carson City market is supposedly an urban myth. A market trading in sex workers for the busy Nevada tourist trade. Jean's not reassured to hear it actually exists.

The object is eased into the open mouth of her sex and lubricated with her own spit it slides easily home, bur unlike a vibrator it seems to be shaped to fit her perfectly.

"The problem with vibrators is that they mimic the shape of a man," Pinto tells her, "and they rely on batteries for power. This little devil adjusts itself to suit the user." he waves a power lead in front of her eyes, "and it's mains powered "

Jean strains to expel it, but as he plugs it in she feels it begin to change shape, swelling at the base. She strains again, but the device is locked within her. The odd shaped tip seems to move, settling in her cervix. A trembling sensation strokes her inside, moving around behind her pubic bone. Circling. Inexorably spiralling around a point, seeking, hunting for a response.

Jean gasps and thrusts her hips up against the implacable straps as he body tenses and strains is unexpected orgasm.

"Nice?" Pinto asks. "Believe me, it's going to feel great in an hour!"

"God, NO!" Jean gasps "I'll take you to it!"

"Oh you will babe, and a lot more beside. See you later!

As the second orgasm grips her Pinto follows his colleagues closing the door on Jeans wail of helpless pleasure.

An eternity of pleasure later Jean feels the tormenting motions cease.

"Water...." she begs hoarsely.

"Where's the package?" the woman asks.

Jean opens her eyes. Her neck burns with the pain of overstretched muscles.

"Water..."

"Did you know that Pinto can turn that thing up higher?" the woman asks, "Now, where's the package."

"In the hotel safe." Jean croaks.

The woman sighs.

"Will you get it out for us?"

"Yes." Jean croaks.

"You prefer men or women?"

"Men." Jean answers without thinking.

The woman undoes her trousers and kicks them off and Jean realises where her head is positioned as the woman places a foot either side of her head.

"Lick me!"

"No, I don't...."

The woman doesn't hesitate and the device resumes its action anew. Jean whimpers and thrashes helplessly.

"I'm told they have to be careful using this thing. Leave it on too long and the subject ends up incapable of thinking of anything - apart from sex of course." the woman tells her adjusting a handset.

The throbbing in Jeans belly grows more intense and she cries out, thrusting her tongue out and trying to reach the woman.

"Oh please, oh please, no more!"

"See you in a while Jean." the woman says and walks away, leaving Jean to the continuous stimulation of the device, bringing orgasms in wave after wave of remorseless pleasure.

An object is pushes into her mouth and a male voice says "Suck!"

Jean obediently sucks and cool water gushes over her tongue.

The bottle is withdrawn and Jean looks to see the woman's sex over her face again. Jean extends her tongue and presses her lips against the woman's sex, slurping and lapping obediently.

"Quite the enthusiastic Rug Muncher!" someone comments.

The device contracts and slides easily out of her. Jean feels warmth against her thighs and belly. Something touches her intimately and slides easily inside her. A cock plumbs her deepest recesses, scraping across the hyper stimulated complex of nerves at the entry of her vagina.

Helpless, her hips buck and dance as she shudders, squeezes and milks the length in her belly.

"Whoo! She really digs this!" a voice says.

"Don't flatter yourself Munroe. It's the toy."

Jean continues licking, gathering moisture from the woman's sex, plunging her tongue as deeply as possible into her sex. The man between her thighs gasps and spends, shooting his load into her. Jean whimpers as he withdraws only to moan in satisfaction as another male climbs between her thighs to take his place, penetrating her aching sex anew.

The woman rides Jean's face until she's satisfied, then dismounts from the gasping woman

"Not bad." she comments, rewarding Jean with another gulp of water. "Will you get us the package?"

"Yes." Jean says flatly. <She must be daft if she believes I'm going to be broken by a bit of rape.>

"Open wide Ms Kelly"

There's movement above her head and something touches her mouth, pushing between her teeth, preventing her from closing her mouth.

"Pinto." the woman says, "Use the bitches mouth for a while. Deep as you like, just don't let her choke."

Jean tastes cock stroking over her tongue. The device in her mouth prevents her from biting, but to even attempt that would give the lie to her passive attitude.

Pinto works his way deeper into her tilted mouth and into her throat. Jean works her tongue, opening her mouth that tiny bit wider to permit her to extend her tongue and lick at him.

"Hey Pinto, the Bitch is licking you!" she hears someone say.

Pinto groans and pulls out splashing his come over her lips and face. Gobbets of thick, gooey spunk run slowly up her cheeks dribbling towards her ears.

"My turn."

The man between her thighs pulls out and takes Pinto's place. Jean tastes her own juices mixed with the salt tang of come as he enters her mouth. She shudders and shivers as they work her over. Her mind drifts to the Night City Central, to the hotel. The rasp of a cock across her clit, plunging deep into her belly and touching her deep inside sets her off again, writhing against the restraints.

Pinto is stood off to one side watching his colleagues enjoying the red haired slut.

"You think she's Security?" he asks the woman.

"Doesn't matter. Once we have the package she's gone."

Pinto frowns, "Don't we work for the same people?"

The woman looks at him, her face slack and lifeless. "You work for me Pinto. Remember that."

"Doc? Is that you?"

"I remember Doc, Pinto, but I am not Doc."

"Argus?"

"Karen's web is activated. I see and hear through her. Have you collected the package?"

"Not yet Argus. We had to use cruder methods to control the courier. She killed Doc and no-one else knows how to use the gear."

"How long will it take?"

"I think she's almost ready. If we had more time I'd have tried some of the other stuff Doc told me about, but you said you wanted this done quick?"

"Carry on Pinto. I want that data as soon as you can get it to me."

Pinto picks up an air hypo an loads it with a capsule from one of the cabinets. He signs to the other men and they move away.

Come is splattered around her mouth, running in sticky rivulets across her cheeks, her tightly closed eyelids, over her temples and ears to gather in her hair.

Pinto presses the hypo against her arm and fires.

The units are in a frenzy. Two invasions of unrecognised units have been repelled, but other threats remain. Specialised units have detected chemical chains from their target list associated with the onslaught of the unrecognised units. Specialised limbs had been used to attack the chemicals, breaking bonds at pre determined points on the chains, breaking the chains into harmless, easily disposable molecules.

The plants are still running at speed. Levels of stress chemicals are high and the units are busily dismantling the dangerous excess. The units prowl seeking targets when a sudden rush of targeted material enters sensor range. He unit swoops down seeking its shear points transmitting an alarm identifying its target and current location. A rush of reinforcements join it shattering the complex chains into harmlessness.

Jean's head swims and Pinto leans over her smiling pleasantly.

"Hello Jean."

She finds herself smiling back.

"H...Hello."

Everything seems blurry, but the man seems friendly.

"Can you help me Jean? I need you to get me your package."

Jean blinks. The blurriness seems to have cleared as he spoke.

<His name is Pinto. And he's not my friend!> she realises. <But he's still smiling - he drugged me! Why don't I feel drugged? He thinks I'm still drugged!>

"Where is it?" she asks

"We'll take you there. All you have to do is go in and collect it."

"Oh. Ok. Now?"

Pinto releases the restraints and helps her off the table. Jean giggles.

"I seem to have lost my clothes."

"We'll find something."

The robe closes and Jean feels something heavy hit her leg.

<The mobile!> she realises.

She ties the robe and follows Pinto, still smiling vaguely.

"Have a shower Jean, whilst we find you some clothes."

Jean drops her robe and steps into the shower as Pinto leaves. As soon as the door closes she scoops up the phone.

"PA, Where are you?"

Galahad studies the area from Netspace. The grid is smooth and flat indicating good connectivity and low resistance, but it's featureless as far as dataforts are concerned. A few icons move in the area and Galahad looks them over.

A disembodied eye waits, balefully staring. Galahad's programs mark it as an AI of some sort, but with no reason to communicate with the stranger Galahad moves on.

A steady stream of data packets flowing to a moving icon draw his attention. A closer look shows it to be a sanitation truck, cruising its rounds automatically whilst its human overseer listens to web radio.

Galahad attempts to access the vehicles systems, but its processor is too small to attempt normal access from outside.

Galahad quickly scripts a Micronet Controller Program and slips it into the vehicles system. The vehicles net is tiny, just big enough for a sensor package, a vehicle controller and a navigation system. Far too cramped to accommodate a runner or Galahad, but using his micronet controller Galahad can guide the vehicle and 'see' what it 'sees'.

A 'tweak' on the sensors lets Galahad view the cab interior. A stocky woman sits at the controls, studying a book, the radio is tuned to an educational program. The visual pickup isn't good enough to see clearly, but Galahad predicts she's studying.

The navigation system and sensors issue instructions and the vehicle controller turns the truck down an alleyway. Sensors guide a huge set of tines to the pick up handles on a dumpster, hoisting the huge container over the cab to dump its contents into the compactor. The load is dumped and crushed and the dumpster is lowered back into its position without the woman's intervention.

Galahad is satisfied. It's not perfect, but it'll do the job. He trails the sanitation truck's icon as it sweeps the area, slowly getting closer and closer to the icon of the eye.

After a couple of hours, they are almost on top of the eye when Galahad feels the phone connection at his distant hardware ring.

"PA, Where are you?" Jean asks.

"Currently searching a mass of industrial units."

"They're sending someone to buy some clothes for me."

She looks out of the window. A grey van is backing onto the roadway.

"Look for a Grey Chrysler Mule. It's leaving the building now."

Down the street, the sanitation wagon's sensors pick up the reversing van and Galahad considers his next move. The sanitation wagon would make an acceptable weapon, but it's human operator may be capable of over-riding his use of the vehicle.

The cab optic picks up the cloth nametag on the operators overalls.

"Marta."

"Wha!" the shocked operator screams - having the radio address you by name at 3 AM is unsettling to say the least.

"Marta. I need your assistance."

"Who.... Who is this?"

"You see that grey van? It's just left a warehouse where a woman's being held prisoner. I want to use your truck to rescue her, but you can probably cut me out so I need your co-operation."

She reaches for the dashboard and flips a switch. Galahad feels the smooth flow of data in the Micronet stop, as the as the management system drops off line. The truck slows and the woman brakes it to a standstill.

"They're getting away." Galahad protests.

"No way an I letting you use my truck to embroil me is some weird shit!"

"I can prove it. She's looking out of a window in the warehouse. Talk to her." Galahad begs over the radio.

Grudgingly Marta starts the engine and manually steers the truck towards the warehouse as Galahad briefs her. She manoeuvres the tines into the dumpster then climbs down to manually work the valves to pick it up.

Jean sees the truck pull up and a woman climbs down to work the loading gear. She walks around the dumpster, close to the barred window.

"Your name Jean?"

"You're Marta?"

"You trapped there?"

"Noo. I can just pop a window and run for it." Jean drawls sarcastically. "Yes I'm trapped, there's 3 or 4 people in the building who want me to turn over a package I'm carrying. Then they'll kill me - if I'm lucky."

"Which Mob are they with?"

"Microtech.... I think." Jean says regretfully.

"And you?"

"Microtech.... It's political I think."

The door clicks and Jean shoves a hard case and some papers out of the window. Marta sees her put on a vacuous smile and ducks down out of sight, to pick up the materials Jean dropped as two men enter the bathroom.

They walk across to Jean and Marta hears the smaller man speak.

"Time for your shot Jean."

Dumbly Jean raises her arm and they give her a shot.

"That's a lot of Mist for a small Fem Pickton!"

"You've no grounds to complain about her size Hos. You took your turn like the rest of us."

"But why?"

"Pinto says that was all to soften her up. Files say she's daughter of an exec and married to another. She's going to be shocked, stunned, maybe even broken. No-one's going to have treated her like that before. Now we dope her up to the eyeballs, soften her up and keep her amenable whilst we need her. The Mist will keep her confused, make sure she doesn't start thinking for herself."

Marta stills her breathing and slips back to the truck working the valve levers to toss the dumpster over the cab. The compactor lid slides back and the rubbish falls into the back, then she drops the dumpster and climbs back into the cab.

"Ok. I believe you."

"The van is no longer visible, but I'm evaluating alternative plans. Continue your pick ups whilst I discuss this with Jean.

Marta drives the truck onwards, waiting for the radio to speak to her again. Then the van passes her driving back towards the warehouse.

"That's them, tell me what we do next."

Jean watches the wagon drive away and wonders why the drug they gave her isn't having any effect. She smiles vacuously when they come into the room and guide her back into the main room. All their equipment is gone, apparently packed into a set of large transit boxes. The woman thrusts a handful of clothing at her, then switches on a palpably false smile.

"Here are your clothes Jean. Get dressed and we'll go and get the package."

The clothing is cheap disposable streetwear from a vending machine. Jean takes the clothing and turns to go back to the bathroom and dress.

"What's wrong with dressing here Jean?" Karen asks suspiciously

"You might see me naked." Jean replies, thinking furiously.

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's not polite."

"But we are good friends?"

Jean smiles in the best airhead style. <I'd better distract her.>

Dropping to her knees she undoes the woman's belt.

"What are you doing Jean?"

"We're friends."

Karen relaxes. <The stupid bitch can't think of anything but sex.> she thinks as Jean tries to undo her trousers. She gently pushes Jean away.

"Not now. When we have the package."

"Oh! Ok." Jean manages to inject just the right amount of disappointment into her voice and Karen fails to notice Jean transferring the phone to her new clothes.

Galahad enters the Ankor Wat's datafort and slips past the code gates protecting its inner workings. Security and surveillance systems in the hotel are his objective rather than the highly monitored Casino.

The datafort's rudimentary Monitor program quickly falls victim to Galahad's 'persuasion' and then he's in. Lobby cameras monitor the stone and chrome atrium, still and quiet in the hours before dawn - the few staff attempting to maintain their alertness with coffee and stimulants.

Outside the hotel Marta and her truck lie in wait down an alleyway.

Monitoring the mobile Jean's using warns Galahad that she's on the way with the rest of the Denver team. Galahad weighs the probabilities of their actions.

The optimum probability is that they'll park their van out of sight and that one or two of them will walk Jean into the hotel to retrieve the package. Certainly no more than that or the Hotel staff might panic. In Netspace he notes that the eye icon is approaching their location as if following some unseen object.

"Galahad?"

Galahad switches focus to the sanitation wagon.

"They're van's in sight. You were spot on with their parking spot."

"Are you happy dealing with them Marta?"

"I've been dealing with trash since I left High School."

Galahad watches Jean leave the van with a single escort and disappearing from the wagon's sensors as she passes around a corner.

Marta starts the wagon's engine and moves up the alley she's hiding in, pausing to empty a dumpster, before crossing the road and closing on the waiting van. She steers the wagon to pick up an adjacent dumpster, swerving at the last moment to line the van up between the tines of her loading gear.

The arms drop neatly either side of the van and Marta flips the controls to clamp the van between the tines and seal the doors shut as she lifts the van overhead. The lid on the compactor slides back with an ominous scraping.

Inside the van all is sudden chaos. Everyone but the driver slides along the floor to the back doors as the van is hoisted skywards. Gear and bodies tumble randomly, making movement impossible as the three men try and protect their heads from tumbling boxes and weapons. The doors groan ominously at the weight they're forced to carry as the van reaches vertical.

Marta shakes the van like a recalcitrant dumpster with a stuck lid. The back doors pop open dumping the contents of the back of the van into the refuse filled compactor.

Sat in the drivers seat Pickton can hear the moans of his colleagues below him. He tries the drivers door, but it won't open. He tries to smash the windscreen with the butt of his pistol, but the armoured laminate doesn't even scratch. He winds the window down and looks out.

The van is banged back and forth another couple of times to ensure it's empty, then the wagon begins to lower the van. Pickton waits until it's begun to drop, then unsnaps his belt. The back doors catch on the edge of the wagon's roof and tear off with a shriek of tortured metal. Pickton hunches down below the seatbacks and clasps his sidearm.

The van's wheels hit the ground with a jolt and the arms release the van as the truck begins to reverse. Pickton throws his weight against the door bursting out into the alleyway. His pistol comes up aiming at the dimly seen driver. With the skill of long practice he double taps two rounds at the driver, but the wagons windscreen fails to shatter and the driver fails to fall.

The wagon leaps forwards and Pickton jumps aside to avoid falling beneath its wheels. He catches a brief glimpse of the end of a tube, then the tommy bar from the wheel brace smacks into his forehead.

Marta jumps down and relieves the stunned man of his weapon, then rolls him into a dumpster and hoists it over the truck. Someone fires a single shot that doesn't penetrate the steel walls of the compactor, then Pickton and a rain of refuse falls into the compactor. The arms come down and the lid slides shut sealing the refuse inside.

Marta dusts her hands and returns to her cab to wait.

Galahad watches the eye approach the hotel datafort and halt. Quickly he switches his own icon then dives back into the datafort.

Jean lets the woman guide her to the reception desk.

"My friend has a package in your Safety Deposit." Karen says.

"Name?" the desk clerk asks.

Karen waits as Jean stands, smiling dreamily, then prods her.

"Jean Kelly."

The clerk matches her fingers and eyes to the records then unlocks the gate.

"You'll need to unlock the Voiceprint in the vault."

Karen begins to move.

"No. Ms Kelly only."

Jean stands still - playing dumb to goad Karen into sending her alone in the belief she's too drug fuddled to do anything. Finally she pushes Jean through the gate.

"Get the package and come straight back."

"Ok."

Jean moves through the gate, but as soon as it slams behind her all the security shutters in the lobby drop. From behind the stone facia a pair of MiniGats emerge and before Karen has time to draw breath a hail of small calibre rounds riddle her head and torso.

Inside the datafort Galahad releases the weapon controllers and looks around. The Eye icon has vanished.

<Interesting! It must have been associated with her.>

Jean drops the blank smile and pulls the phone from her pocket.

"PA? What's going on?"

Security barriers retract to their ready positions, revealing a pile of bloody meat on the polished black marble of the lobby floor.

"You can leave safely Jean. It might be wise to retrieve the package."

Jean hurriedly completes the procedure and retrieves her package, then checks out.

As she leaves the lift dressed in her own clothes, two police officers are examining the corpse. They look up and one walks across to her.

"Ms Kelly?"

"Yes? Can I help you officer?"

"You know this woman?"

Jean looks at the corpse, noticing that there seems to be silver foil embedded in the mass of ruined meat where her nose used to be.

"She was trying to kidnap me."

"You know why?"

"I'm couriering a package - she wanted it."

"ID please." the policeman asks. "So, how did you kill her?"

"Not me," Jean replies, "ask the staff."

The police hold her for thirty minutes, but eventually concede that she couldn't have been directly responsible, though Jean's pretty sure they're considering an accomplice being involved. Jean finally plays her trump card by calling her contract in Microtech security. Shortly after she's ushered on her way.

Under her AI's directions she goes to an alleyway to find a battered van and the sanitation wagon. Jean eyes up Marta, seeing the worn soiled overalls and the heavyset body.

Marta climbs down from her cab, still holding the Tommy bar.

"You ok?" she asks, concern evident in her voice. "Galahad said they'd done a number on you."

Prepared to dislike the woman because of her looks, Jean is a bit taken aback by her concern for a stranger.

"I...... I don't know. I need to get out of here." Jean stammers, "Who's Galahad?"

"That would be me Jean. I've chosen a name."

"Oh? That's alright then."

Her limbs feel too heavy and greyness crowds the edges of her vision.

"Get her into the cab please Marta. Then we'll work out what to do next."