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 Three

Jean wakes, strapped into a comfortable seat in a moving vehicle and looks out to see miles of empty desert in the early morning light.

"If you're thirsty there's an energy drink in the refrigerator." a woman says.

Jean looks up. <Marta!> she recalls.

"Thanks. Sorry I passed out."

"No problem. I'd probably have done the same!"

"Where's PA?"

"Galahad? He says there's an AI dogging our trail, so we're heading out into the badlands to loose it."

"It must be tracking me. I'd better turn my phone off."

"Probably help, but it's probably following the wagon. We can't turn the wagon's link off so we're heading for going where there's no cell coverage."

"Oh. Makes sense."

Jean looks around the cab, a neat rack of text books and manuals is tucked into the crew compartment along with a cooker, a bed and a fridge.

"You live here?"

"Got a tract house in the 'burbs with my input, but it's one step from a slum. Maybe if I got a job as a showgirl or a croupier, but my ratings are T grade, not E and pushing a sanitation wagon doesn't pay enough for better."

"So why not.....?" Jean tails off, aware that the question's probably too personal.

"I haven't the body and my inclinations are T not E. Sorry, Technical not Entertainment." Marta says flatly. "If I wanted to look like you I could sell out to one of the casinos - be a showgirl or a bar girl, but that kind of beauty is only skin deep - those people are twenty for a buck in Vegas and they don't last. I could have been a croupier if I'd wanted, I've got the manual dexterity, but that's not much better than a bar girl. You have to put up with the Casino Owners Association watching you all the time. This way I'm not owned by anyone - when I finish my degree, then we'll see what happens."

Galahad speaks from Jean's purse.

"We just dropped the cell connection."

"What shall I do with this refuse?" Marta asks, "I can compact them if you want."

"Let's review what happened." Jean suggests. "They boosted me from my room - the people who knew I was there were my boss - the clerk in accounts and whoever booked by accommodation. But of them, only Dr Larsen knew about the package."

"Agreed" Galahad responds.

"They gave me some sort of shot that made me feel hot and they were scanning for some sort of signal from me. They had a rig in their hideout that would have surrounded my head, but for some reason it didn't work. They thought I would be unconscious, so I was able to take one of them by surprise."

"They gave me some more drugs, and............well, you know. But they didn't seem to work. Then they took me to the hotel to collect the package.

"Marta nullified the rest of their team and I dealt with your escort." Galahad cuts in.

"Why did she have silver foil in her nose?"

"Did she? Curious." Galahad says. "Pity I couldn't examine her."

"Maybe the one I killed in the warehouse has it as well." Jean muses.

"So what are you? Some, like.... Secret Agent?"

Jean grimaces.

"She works for Microtech Security." Galahad says.

"Someone's going to have to sign off on the wagon's rental." Marta tells them, "The company gets twitch about them being used for other purposes. Oh, and you need to do something about the guys in the back."

"I think it's time we called in my bosses." Jean mutters. "I guess I'd better walk back into cell coverage."

A forty minute walk in the early morning sunshine and Jean's back at the truck. During her call Galahad's kept a careful eye on the surrounding Netspace, but there seems to be no sign of the Eye.

Whilst they wait Jean reviews her data with Galahad and go over the artifacts she's gathered.

"I don't think there's any doubt they're from Denver." Jean says.

"When we're back in phone range I'll check the ticket out. What's the case?"

"Some sort of Air Hypo load. They shot me with two of these. The first put me out for a while, but after that they only made me hot and drowsy."

"Keep them to one side Jean. We'll need to analyse them later."

"You don't seem that bothered by what happened to you." Marta says.

"I'm not bothered?" Jean gasps.

"Well..... I mean.... I'd be.... upset if I'd been... you know.... raped."

Jean thinks back over the episode. Her body aches, but the events seem blurred, concealed behind a haze she assumes is the result of the drugs they gave her.

<Was it rape?> she wonders. <I had sex, but was I forced...? They made me do things, but was I really unwilling? >

Still she's definitely been kidnapped, roughed up, interrogated, Threatened with death and forced to kill a man.

"Oh, I'm beyond upset... I'm boiling. It's so tempting to flip the compactor on and squeeze them into red jelly. Thing is, I have to remember that these people are only the fingers of whoever set me up, so fixing them is....."

"Only a first step?" Marta offers.

"They all seem like first steps," Jean muses, "the first step of avoiding death through boredom led to the first step of rescuing Sal, Jen and Tom, led to......."

"What?"

"Never mind. What are you planning to do when you finish your degree?"

Marta and Jean chat for almost an hour before Jean spots the twinkle of propellers in the sky. Five minutes later a Microtech V22 disgorges a security team onto the ground.

Marta watches as the captives are unloaded from the compactor and loaded onto the tilt rotor. Jean talks with a man in a suit then comes over to her.

"Got to fly Marta, but these are for you."

Jean hands over two money transfers. One made out to the company "for the hire of your wagon." and the other to her, "For helping a stranger. Microtech, appreciates your help."

Jean slips her a business card

"I appreciate your help. Without it I'd be royally screwed. If I can ever help........"

"De Nada." Marta responds automatically. <A cheque for two grand. For me!> her brain struggles to catch up and she barely manages a wave as the V22 spins up and leaps down the desert road and into the sky.

As it dwindles into the sky she looks at the card 'Ms Scarlett - Executive Solutions' and a Night City telephone number.

In the V22 Jean is debriefed over a headset and she gives the bare details, glossing over Galahad's existence.

A short while later the V22 drops to the tarmac at McCarron International in Las Vegas. An unmarked van pulls alongside as the rotors stop spinning and two guards carry a filled body bag aboard.

Jean watches the prisoners manacled in the cargo area under the watchful eyes of a pair of Microtech security.

Suddenly all four prisoners twitch

"The Eye!" Galahad bellows from Jean's bag.

The four prisoners move as one. Two throw themselves on their guards, attacking them with nothing more than teeth, whilst the other two pull their hands from behind their backs under their feet.

"STOP OR I SHOOT!" a guard shouts from the detail loading the corpse, but the prisoners pay no attention. The two with freed hands take over attacking the guards whilst the others get their hands around the front of their bodies.

Jean stares at the four men - their faces are empty, expressionless. They fight like animals using every weapon they can. Uncaring about the blood in their mouths, from the wounds they've inflicted on their initial victims, or on their wrists from the damage the handcuffs have caused.

The last guard goes down gurgling from a ripped throat. The four prisoners rush past Jean for the freedom of the tarmac. The guard at the tailgate fires a short burst, then vanishes beneath the rush of bodies.

<I'm unarmed - no threat. That's why they ignored me.>

She dives on the fallen guards, scooping up a pistol.

She can see the prisoners have moved away. People are running around outside and there's shouts, screams and terrible animal noises. There's a banging sound from the cockpit as if something is trying to smash the cockpit canopy. Jean moves forwards and finds one of the prisoners trying to eel himself in through a window whilst choking the pilot.

Jean jams the pistol in his face and pulls the trigger but nothing happens. She withdraws the handgun, checks the safety is off and tries again - nothing.

<I have to cock it!> she realises.

The pistol cocks smoothly and she fires point blank into the inhuman face. The pistol discharges and flesh splashes everywhere, but the man wriggles further into the cockpit and the pilot's struggles are growing weaker. Jean can see shiny metal beneath the torn skin. She puts the muzzle of the pistol against his eye and fires again - blasting flesh out of the socket. She switches aim and fires again blinding the berserker, but doesn't stop his attack

"What do I do?" Jean bellows - struggling top free the pilot from the monsters choking grasp and finally succeeding, leaving it groping blindly.

The pilot gropes above his head, finding a switch and Jean hears the engines start. They rapidly rise in pitch and the huge blades begin to spin overhead.

As soon as they are moving too fast to be clearly seen, the pilot tilts the nacelles. A spinning blade strikes the monster's foot and jerks it out of the window, before the following blade splashes blood and tissue everywhere.

The pilot taxis forwards and turns.

Jean can see one of the prisoners running for the perimeter fence, being shot at by the guards. It takes an obscene number of damage before the figure falls and the bloodied guards retrieve its remains.

The last guard limps onboard and as the ramp closes Jean can see airport security racing after them.

"Get us out of here - LA and best speed." Jean's contact instructs the pilot. The V22 leaps forward and is off the ground before it's reached the edge of the manoeuvring area.

"Explain!" Blyth snaps at Jean.

"Don't ask me. I've no idea what happened!" she protests indignantly.

"The warning." he growls "I heard someone shout a warning and all hell broke loose."

<Shit! How do I get round this?>

"That was me." Galahad says from inside Jean's bag - taking the decision away from her. "Once you opened the doors I re-established my connection to the net. I assume your prisoners did as well. The AI icon I noted before arrived and everything happened."

"What were those things?" Jean asks.

"God knows. They took some putting down, whatever they were!" one of the security detail says.

"I shot the one trying to choke the pilot in the head three times and it was still trying to attack him!"

"Your pistol's loaded with glazers for use on aircraft. The round would have broken up at the first layer of armour. They probably had skinweave."

"But its skull was shiny metal. I shot it in each eye!"

"She sure did!" the pilot calls. "It's eyes and face are all down the side of my seat."

"Couldn't have been a faceplate and cowl or there wouldn't have been bio eyes," Blyth muses, "must have been some sort of Nano replacement." He reaches over and peers into Jeans bag. "So what are you?"

"A Microtech Model 4 Personal Assistant." Galahad says brightly.

"A Model 4." he says, fishing the Personal Assistant out of Jean's bag. "Is that a 4C or a 4M?"

Jean takes her PA back.

"He's my friend."

Blyth pauses, weighing his alternatives. "A good friend if he's watching out for you."

"If you've a team clearing up their safe house I'd appreciate the earpiece back." Jean says, then sits quietly until the Osprey touches down in LA.

The Customs inspectors are waiting when they touch down - keen as ever to closely inspect any flight leaving Nevada.

Blyth waves them off.

"Corporate Immunity."

Jean watches the corpses vanish into a Microtech van then turns to Blyth as they board a minibus to the Microtech building.

"What now?"

"We get you cleaned up, counselled and on your way. Oh, and there'll be a hazardous duty bonus credited to you."

"No. I mean what about Denver, the package and Dr Larsen?"

"Ah yes.... the package. Break it out and lets see what's in it."

The outer packing is stripped away revealing a data storage unit.

"Hmm. We need to check this out on the system. I'll get this checked out. When you've seen the counsellor you'd best head for Night City. I'll get back to you once we know what's on it."

As night falls Jeans train pulls into Night City Central, too late in the day to go to the office and confront Larsen. She's about to hop the train to Westbrook when she recalls the unidentified Air Hypo loads.

"PA. Err, Galahad. How do I find out what's in these capsules?"

"You need someone with Pharmacological experience and I'd suggest some experience with Nanotech. Someone discrete. A street Doc?"

"How do I find one of those?"

"Ask the Junkman for an introduction to the Micropharmer."

"Who?"

"A contact in the Junkman's database. From when I stripped his system?"

"So why don't we go straight to him?"

"He doesn't know who you are. Why should he see you?"

"Point. Ok, call the Junkman and get it set up."

The Junkman is just sorting through the latest pickings when his phone rings

"Speak."

"Hello Junkman - you remember me?"

The Fixer looks nervously at his computer.

"What do you want?"

"An intro to the Micropharmer."

"Who?"

"You want me to come back into your system? The Micropharmer. He's in your contacts list under the entries 'Medical', 'Pharmaceutical' and 'Nanotech', remember?"

"Oh, them. So?"

"Like I said. We'd like an intro."

"It'll cost."

"Price?"

"500."

"We only want a meet, not to buy their internal organs!"

"250."

"Try again Junkman. I've already got the address and phone number remember."

"125."

"Ok. Where and when? Unless an electronic transfer is agreeable."

"If you think I'm letting you anywhere near my bank account you must be...... pixilated! Hospital in 30 minutes?"

"We'll be there."

Jean yawns and takes a sip of coffee from the mug. Across the room a bespeckled man with wild silver hair consults with an equally unkempt woman before coming over.

"Yes, yes, yes. You were quite right. The hypo loads contain a drug and a limited duration nanite with a single programmed objective."

"Could you explain that in layman's terms please?"

"The loads have a drug - one of the fast acting commercial sedatives and some nanites. The nanites aren't are not intended to stay in the body long, they're not reproducing nanites. They do one job, then shut down."

"What sort of job?"

"My colleague is attempting to answer that question for you. Another pick me up?"

"No thanks."

Jean watches the woman working. The machine she's at spews a pile of printout and she pours over it making notes with a highlighter.

Shortly after midnight the woman puts down her pen and comes over.

"These Nanites....."

"Yes?"

"Did you see anyone acting......oddly?"

"Oddly.....how?"

"Unusually."

"Well.... I did see some people acting like berserkers - no intelligence, feel no pain - that sort of thing."

"Mmm. Well the nanites are programmed to construct an antenna array in the sinus cavities and a switching centre in the area beneath the frontal lobes with connections to various areas of the brain."

"What areas?"

"Well.... Vision and hearing for certain. There also seems to be some sort of connection to the areas dealing with memory and to areas of the Frontal Lobes I'd much rather not poke about in. What exactly they do I couldn't say for sure. But I could hazard a guess....."

"Go on."

"The device that communicates with the switching centre might be capable of monitoring vision and hearing, perhaps even communicating with the person using this modification. Did the people acting oddly seem to be trying to communicate?"

"No."

"Were they..... attacking you?"

"Yes."

"Of their own free will?"

"They were very focussed and determined, but they fought like animals - teeth and claws - made no sound, admitted no pain."

The woman nods. "I'd guess that there's a rudimentary facility for controlling subjects with this modification then."

"If someone had a shot of this stuff how long would it take to.......?"

"Oh, I guess the nanites would assemble the switching node in a couple of hours. The aerial could take much longer, it's the largest component you see...."

"Would it work without the aerial?"

"At close range? No doubt. Wouldn't expect it to work well over a couple of metres - too much chance of garbling your signals."

"Could you produce a written summary for us?" Galahad asks.

"Of course. It's included in the consultation fee." the woman walks off and begins to assemble her report.

"Jean?" Galahad asks.

"What?"

"Would you accept a modified version of these Nanites?"

"Why on earth would I do that?" Jean asks, horrified at the thought. "They tried to take me over before! God alone knows why they didn't."

"That isn't strictly true Jean. You recall when you received your Contraceptive Implant and I got you a bath of Anti-Plague nano to protect you from catching anything?"

"Sure. What of it?"

"I had a batch of Enhanced Antibodies added to the treatment. They were programmed to defend you against any unrecognised nanites. The warmth you felt after the injection was the result of the manufacturies going into overdrive to produce defenders against the unrecognised nano."

"You mean there's been some sort of battle going on inside me? And I never noticed?"

"There's a battle going on inside you every day since you were born - only it was between viruses and bacteria invading your body and your own immune system. I just arranged for you to get some reinforcements in the fight."

"But...... but..."

"I should have told you? Sorry, but I wasn't sure you needed to know."

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell me? Before I go and get a full body scan?"

"You've got limited protection against small calibre rounds now."

"Not 'I've had your skull replaced with composite armour'?"

"You would have noticed that."

"Or both my legs have been secretly swapped with rocket powered skate fitted cyberlegs?"

"No. The procedure would take too long and be of dubious utility."

"Or that you've secretly had me placed in a Biopod for use in a Full Body Conversion?"

"We couldn't afford........... Ah! Humour! I understand."

"So. Tell me why you want these nanoids running around my wetware?

"When your earpiece was removed I lost my link to you. This is unsatisfactory. It conflicts with my stated objectives."

"So you want me wired for sound and vision?"

"If that is acceptable. You needn't have the antenna if you don't......."

"It might be handy if we get separated again. What would you link it to? The mobile phone system?"

"One of the satellite phone systems would be better, but I'd want changes to the controller. Having the links to your forebrain is un-necessary and hazardous in my opinion."

With that he falls silent, leaving Jean to her own thoughts. Eventually the woman returns with her compiled report breaking into Jean's reverie.

"Doctor? Could you reprogram the Nanites to do something similar, but not identical?"

"Sure! No great problems there. What is it you want them to do?"

"Well......."

Jean rides the midnight train to Westbrook concentrating on what's likely to happen tomorrow in order to distract herself from the thoughts of what's going on inside her head.

The ache in her arm has already faded and inside her body her protective nanites are interrogating the newcomers. Codes are exchanged and the visitors permitted to pass. Minerals are collected and a suitable recess located beneath Jean's brain where the visitors begin to construct their programmed edifice, recycling the remnants of previous construction. Specialised units begin running fibres to their programmed destinations whilst their fellows perform their allotted tasks. A set of specialised messengers approach the nano factory in Jeans abdomen. They negociate delivery of their data, transferring responsibility for upkeep of the new implant to Jeans body. Then, once the data has been read back and verified, they shut down, letting Jean's Enhanced Antibodies dismantle and recycle their remains.

Inside Jeans skull the builders review their work. All is as per program and the aerial is proceeding on schedule.

Jean passes the Westbrook security check and heads home. The APEX turrets note her residents pass and ignore her as she passes between sumptuous flowerbeds and along pristine pathways to her front door.

The lights are still on, even at this late hour, so Jean cautiously lets herself in. Light spills from the lounge along with the sound of animated conversation as Tom and the Girls rummage through several large boxes.

Jean smiles secretly at the expression of alert interest on Tom's face, before entering the room.

"Good to see they've let you out Tom!" Jean exclaims, "Is the treatment completed?"

He looks up, a huge grin on his face.

"There's so much room in my head! Thank you Jean!"

He capers over and guides her into a chair, so that he can rest his head in her lap.

Jean looks over his relaxed body at the girls in puzzlement.

"It's the behaviour mod." Sally says, "He's happier resting his head in a virgin's lap."

Jean gives her a hard look and she shrugs.

"Silly, I know, but...."

"As far as I'm concerned, if I'm not stuffing you - then you're a virgin!" Tom mumbles into Jean's clothing.

She absent mindedly strokes his neck.

"What about your other problem?"

"All fixed." he replies, "I've not tried it out yet, but it looks good."

"Not tried it out!" Jean looks at the girls.

"I've only just got home. My therapist suggested that I'd be better not rushing it. Choosing the right Mare is something that deserves careful consideration. Would you like me to sleep with you tonight?"

"No." Jean sighs.

He looks up with hurt eyes. "Why?"

"In the last 48 hours I've been drugged, kidnapped, gang raped and rescued. I've killed 2 men and been dragged into some serious business. It's not you Tom. I need to rest!"

He thinks for a moment then shrugs.

"Oh. That's ok then."

"Good. Now Sally, what's all this stuff?"

"I did what you suggested. This is my stock. Oh and I paid another transfer into the Company account today. Alicia wanted some more stuff, so we're delivering it in the morning."

"Good. Is Belton about? I'm starved!"

"I can do that." Jenny says, and vanishes into the kitchen.

"Tell us all about your trip."

Jenny returns with a sandwich and some drinks whilst Jean relates the whole story, missing nothing. Their animal faces show sympathy and shock at the whole sorry tale.

"Rough trip."

"Mmm. The Microtech Medic gave me something for the abuse. I'd rather not think about it too much at the moment."

"Do you think it's all over?"

"No. Something's going on in the Denver office and I don't think we've seen the last of it."

"How do we recognise one of these........ Zombies?"

The entertainment centre switches itself on and PA speaks over the speakers.

"I've updates the house systems. We'll get some warning from the Estate sensors if one of them comes."

"Well," Jean yawns, "I'm wasted. Night!" and with that she leaves.

They listen to her climb the stairs then resume talking in low tones.

"What do you think?"

"She's doing it again. Taking risks to cover our costs."

"It might have been rough," Tom murmurs, "but it makes her hot!"

The girls look at him with disbelief writ large on their faces.

"I can smell it!" he protests, "I bet you anything you like - she's drenched!"

"Umph!" Sally grunts, "So, about tomorrow?"

"I'll help you around with Mrs Nelson's stuff." Tom offers, "Little else I can do."

"I'll make you up new sections for the e-book with the stuff from 'Leather and Latex' and 'Bound-to-Please'."

"PA, what can you tell us about other potential customers from Microtech?"

The house system switches the entertainment centre back on. "I've synched memories with my 'twin' - we're called Galahad now by the way - and this is what we've learned......."

Jean sleeps deeply, scarcely noticing as her bed settles under the extra weight of another body. Something warm spoons against her back and she snuggles into it, reassured. A hand rests on her hip and she slides back into the dense black ocean of slumber as it cups her breast, then slides back to her hip as she rolls onto her back.

The hand eases between her splayed legs, finding swollen lips guarding an entrance plentifully lubricated. A pair of fingers negociate the gateway and explore. Fingertips stroke around the doorway and then proceed inside, silent as any housebreaker, before stealthily fleeing the scene of the crime.

"See?" Tom murmurs holding up glistening fingers. "I told you she was excited. Finn said she was into the group thing at Uni."

"Do you think she'd love us?" Jenny whispers wistfully.

Sally leads her fried away as Tom resumes gently fingering Jean, stroking and touching using all the skill he's acquired, arousing her body without waking her mind, until the sleeping woman undulates on the bed. Gasping and moaning in her sleep.

Tom snuggles against her, pleased that he's satisfied his....... owner? .....employer? ............ friend? He's not sure, but his persona is satisfied at the rightness of his action. Tom rests easy and drifts off to his own rest.

Jen and Sally tiptoe along the landing, letting the thick carpeting drown any noise they might make as they go to their own room.

"Do you think she can do it? Take proper care of us, I mean? Love us?"

"I hope so Sister Rabbit." Sally says, stroking Jenny's buttock.

"Oh Please Braer Fox, don't touch my breasts!"

Sally smiles hungrily and strips Jenny's T-shirt away, uncovering the pert breasts beneath. Jenny bites her lip and puts on a look of anguish as Sally draws out the soft nipples with sharp teeth that never break the skin, but which pinch excitingly. Sally's hand strokes through the soft fur of Jenny's belly circling closer and closer towards her hips.

"Oh please Braer Fox, don't touch my Puss. Don't stroke the lips. I get all wet if you do."

Sally drops the quivering Bunny onto her bed watching her knees sag wantonly apart in invitation.

"You naughty rabbit" Sally purrs, "You're all swelled up!" A russet furred finger dips between gray-furred lips.

"Oh please Braer Fox, don't finger me."

Sally climbs onto the bed and squats over her friends face.

"I won't finger you Sister Rabbit - if you'll kiss me."

"How can I kiss you Braer Fox? I can't see your face!"

Sally slams two stiffened fingers into Jenny's ready entry, twirling then a quarter turn before pulling them out again."

Jenny whimpers and stifles a moan.

"Oh please Braer Fox. Don't do that! Don't fist me!"

Sally grins and adds a third, then a fourth finger.

"Wicked rabbit! I know you want me to do this to you, or you'd be kissing me."

"But its all wet and sticky.... and......and... I don't want you to stop."

Sally feels her friends Midnight lady shifting and she pushes her slim hand between her friends lust sodden lips and into her belly, savouring the squeals and moans as she curls her fingers to make a fist buried in Jenny's belly.

Sally's eyelids sag lazily shut as her friend begins to kiss and tongue her.

Jean snaps awake, suddenly aware that someone's sharing her bed. Light spills through the blinds, revealing Tom curled against her. Jean moves away and eyes his naked form and especially the intimidating length of his maleness.

His slow, regular breathing re-assures her and she lightly runs a fingertip along his length, feeling its velvet softness. A second touch and she can see it stiffen and begin to shorten. Tom's breathing changes and Jean beats a hasty retreat to the shower in preparation for her workout.

When she emerges he's pulled the sheets back over himself, hiding everything but his head. She lightly touches the tip of the spiral horn jutting from his brow. The point is sharp and Tom's eyes snap open as she makes contact.

"Oh! Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you."

"You can touch my horn whenever you want Jean. After all, you paid for it."

Jean blushes to the roots of her red hair at the double entendre and beats a hasty retreat.

Danielle is waiting downstairs, sipping a fruit juice provided by the ever attentive Belton. But this morning a solid man is waiting with her.

"Good Morning Danielle. Who's your friend?"

The man extends a hand the size of a shovel. "Oleg." he says in accented English. "Just call me Oleg."

Jean extends a hand and he enfolds it in his paw.

"Danielle says you are trying to improve your combat skills - especially the stuff that can't be used in competitions."

"Am I ever!" Jean agrees, then turns to Danielle. "The Prone Double works ok, but the throat stamp isn't quick."

"You've used it?"

"I had to kick in his temple to finish the job!"

"Ok. Let's get warmed up and review what you've learned so far. Oleg will watch, then take over........"

Feeling battered and bruised from her first workout with Oleg, Jean makes her way through the carefully tended parkland to catch her train in to work. The train is filled with the usual people and Jean ignores them, her mind fixed on her forthcoming confrontation with Dr Larsen.

"Nervous Jean?"

"How can you tell Galahad? Hey! I haven't put the earpiece back in!" she subvocalises.

"I'm interpreting the feeds from the link."

"It's active?"

"Sufficient for short range communication."

Jean and Galahad explore the possibilities during their walk from the station.

"You realise that you're scanning the crowd Jean?"

"I am?"

"Yes. There are some members of Research Team F crossing the walkway ahead."

"Where?"

A halo of light appears in Jeans vision, outlining a group of people.

"Is that you?"

"You can see that?"

"Yes."

"Looks like the link is Bi-Directional."

"Can you put text up?"

"Like a Times Square Marquee? I'll try."

Jean's vision blurs and fogs. Odd light patterns swirl, obscuring her vision.

"Stop! I can't see anything."

Her vision clears abruptly.

"Sorry Jean, I don't think the link is broad enough for text."

"Ah well, can't have everything."

The Microtech building comes into view and Jean swipes through the turnstile at the clerical entrance only to be halted by the Security Guard when she connects her PA for its routine scan.

"Ms Kelly? Could you go straight to HR? They've asked for you to report there today."

"Oh? Ok."

Jean rides the elevator up to HR and approaches the receptionist. He smiles politely and directs her to the waiting area. A vending machine grudgingly dispenses a cup of scalding hot liquid, bearing a vague resemblance to coffee, into a thin walled plastic cup, searing her fingers painfully. Jean pulls a face and takes the drink to wait for HR to deign to speak to her.

The waiting area seems designed to crush the spirits of anyone summoned to Human Resources. The seats, whilst new and squeaky, are apparently uncomfortable by design. The only reading material is the company magazine and the walls are decorated with unintelligible posters which, though they feature the Microtech company logo, neither advise, inform, entertain or advertise anything to do with the company, presumably procured at great expense from a firm of Image Consultants who laughed all the way to the bank.

Jean gives up trying to puzzle out their meaning and stares blankly at the featureless partition on the other side of the waiting area.

"Ms Kelly?"

Jean looks up to find a slim blonde beckoning her into the office.

"Mr Nelson will see you now."

The office is much more welcoming than the waiting area. Jean eyes the desk to get a feel for the occupant of the office. A true managers desk, its size is impressive, but it's bare of any adornment, no phone or terminal mar its ebony purity.

Behind the desk the occupant of the office has swivelled his executive chair so that he can gaze out of his picture window over the City and incidentally intimidate his visitor with its broad leather back.

<Trying to impress the peons!> Jean decides.

The chair eventually swivels to reveal its occupant, a tall well built black man Jean recognises as Alicia's husband.

"Well Ms Kelly...." He starts, his eyes on some papers in his lap.

"Good morning Joseph," Jean cuts in <Don't allow him space or time!> "I take it this is about Doctor Larsen?"

"It's about why you've been absent from work for the last two days!"

"Ring this number and call me back when you've finished. I've work to do."

She scribbles Blythe's number on a piece of paper and tosses it onto the desk before strolling out, leaving the Director of HR dumbfounded.

Down in the Research area the office is buzzing. As she exits the lift and walks towards her desk Jean sees Declan's head pop over his partition and then he makes a beeline to intercept her.

"Jean! You heard what happened?" he asks. "Dr Larsen was dragged off by Security yesterday afternoon - and they were taking no prisoners! They put a stun grenade into her office and when the glass blew out they tazered her unconscious, drugged her to keep her that way and carried her away strapped to a stretcher! Weird!"

A repair crew is working in the shattered remains of Dr Larsen's office, sweeping broken glass from around Jean's desk. Jean dusts a few errant fragments from her seat, hooks her PA up and logs onto the system.

"PA er... Galahad. Could you pull the pictures from the personnel files of all employees at the Denver facilities. That way we can recognise any that turn up unexpectedly."

"On it Jean."

Jean's gathered the research logs and is loading them into the scanner hopper when a nervous movement catches her eye.

"What is it Benny?"

"Um. I waited in the conference room like you said, but you left the building..... Is it ok for me to go back to my desk?"

Jean waves at the cubicles "Go, go."

The Team leader of Team C wanders by and a thought strikes Jean.

"Mr Costello? Did Dr Larsen arrange to speak to your team yesterday about your current Research program?"

"She said nothing before the Gestapo marched in and dragged her away. Why?"

"Ok. Could you assemble your team in Conference room 2 in fifteen minutes please."

"I suppose so. Why?"

"I'll brief you in there." She smiles, then subvocalises to Galahad.

"Can you print me up the relevant sections of Team A's work? View foils and all - I think I might have to beat them over the head with this one."

"Presentation on the way Jean."

A small pile of requisition forms is sorted out of the material in Jean's In-Box, so she sets them aside until she can get someone with the necessary authority to sign off on the purchases. There's also an update from Blythe on the situation brewing over Denver, warning all security personnel that transactions involving the Denver office should be subjected to intense scrutiny. Jean grimaces and wonders on the wisdom of keeping the information inside security.

She's on the point of heading to the Conference room when the phone rings.

"Kelly." she snaps.

"Err, Ms Kelly.... Mr Nelson would like to speak to you."

"I'll call by later. I'm just going into a meeting."

Team C had not taken the news that they were sniffing over old research well.

"But Dr Larsen pointed us specifically along that route! She pulled us off our old project to follow a promising line......."

Jean took the whining the first couple of times and then snapped.

"I don't care what Larsen said! Here's Team A's research logs. Everything you've done, plus all the blind alleys you've yet to discover!"

"But Doctor Larsen......"

"Stop whingeing. Dr Larsen didn't want you to investigate something so she put you into a holding pattern. She wasn't working for us! She was an agent for someone else! And that doesn't leave this office or the culprit will be getting their walking papers with a Security Blacklist stamp!"

The researchers clam up at the slap down she just laid on their Team Leader.

"Now get out of here and find out what it was you were working on that Larsen was so keen to see ignored. I want an outline by finishing time today!"

Team C troop out and Jean turns around to see Joseph Nelson stood in the doorway. He watches the chastened researchers leaving then enters, closing the door behind him.

"I rang that number you gave me. I don't know what's going on, but you've some serious pull. They bounced me all the way to Celia Montgomery on the board. She said to 'Leave Kelly the hell alone'. I got the idea the Board want you to run at whatever you're working on without interference.

Jean allows herself a moment to bask in the approval of the Board, then Joseph continues.

"Are you going to run this department, or do we need to get a replacement for Larsen?"

"I can run the department for the moment. Larsen's left a deliberate mess I'll have to clear up. You'll need someone with appropriate technical expertise eventually, but I can get by for the moment. Oh! And I'll need an authorisation to sign off on requisitions now that Larsen's gone."

"I'll get your cover identity promoted to an appropriate grade. By the way, are you really married to John Brady?"

"Legally? Yes. But not for much longer. It's no longer necessary."

"Pity - Alicia liked you."

"That wasn't cover, she is my friend."

"Good - you made her laugh. She hadn't laughed in ages before she met you."

<Probably since you started knobbing your secretary!> Jean thinks.

"Maybe you'd both like to come over for dinner Joseph?" Jean offers.

He grins, flashing brilliant white teeth.

"That'd be great. When?"

"Eight o'clock tonight?"

"Fine. We'll be there."

Jean walks him to the elevator, then returns to her desk and resumes sorting the contents of her In-Box.

"Galahad? Can you call Belton and warn her that we'll have two additional Guests for Dinner tonight?"

"Right away Jean."

Sally leads the way up the path to Alicia's front door, trailed by Tom, carrying some of Alicia's latest purchases.

A call to Mr Sun had produced Tom's suit and both Tom and Sally are suitably attired as representatives for Executive Solutions.

Philips answers the Nelsons door and looks down his nose at the two exotics. Tom draws himself to his full height and responds in kind. Something much more intimidating from someone of his enhanced body mass.

"Ms Nelson's purchases." Sally says.

"Ms Nelson is........ entertaining her interior designer."

"We'll wait."

Ten minutes later Alicia comes downstairs, out of breath and, to those with thermographic visual enhancements, visibly flushed.

"Shady! It's here?"

"Most of it. I expect the balance to be delivered today."

"Oh good. Who's your friend?"

"Alicia, this is Tom. Tom this is Alicia Nelson."

Alicia offers her hand, but instead of shaking it, Tom brushes his lips over her fingers, leaving her surprised and flustered.

"Tom works with me." Sally grins, noting her response to Tom.

"Oh?"

"I'd better go and get the other boxes." Tom murmurs. "Pleased to meet you Alicia."

"Charmed." Alicia replies, watching him go with avid eyes. "He's ahhh...."

"Eye-catching?" Sally suggests.

A noise on the staircase draws her attention to a flamboyantly dressed young man.

"Your interior designer?"

"Ex-designer. I think he's done all he can for me."

The young man gathers up his remaining dignity and his portfolio and leaves.

"Shall we see what you've brought for me?" Alicia suggests.

Sally lets Alicia rummage through her purchases, watching as the coloured woman tries outfits on. Tom returns with the balance of the delivery and Sally quietly enjoys the evident hunger in her customer's eyes.

"Here's your e-book Shady." Tom says, handing it over. "Jenny added the latest sections. Ms Nelson." He nods politely at Alicia, then turns to leave his silver haired tail swishing behind him.

As he passes Alicia reaches out to touch it, letting the silver hair spill over her fingers. She sighs as he closes the door behind him, then composes herself. Sally lets her try out all the clothing, noting her obvious arousal. The selected Lemon theme looks good against her dark skin. Her dark nipples show clearly through a pale lemon bra and her pubes push darkly against the lemon briefs.

"Does Tom offer any...... services?" Alicia asks casually.

"Not as such," Sally says, feigning indifference, "though he might be.... persuaded."

"Oh?"

Sally picks out the Leather Gear Alicia's bought and helps her into it. A leather basque makes a good starting point with cuffs at wrist and ankle."

"He likes this kind of stuff?"

"It's a start. Would you like help selecting an ensemble?"

"He likes Submissive women?"

"No. I think a Spirited one would please him much better."

"Good. I don't think I could do Submissive."

Jean eats a sandwich at her desk whilst completing the research logs. The terminal informs her of incoming mail and she opens it.

<Quick work!> she tinks.

Joseph Nelson sent her notification of her promotion to Exec Grade. Bottom level Exec, but Exec nonetheless. Perhaps more important she's got a code from Finance with which to approve requisitions.

Looking up for a moment Jean notices Elana is nervously peering over the walls of her cubicle.

Finishing the requisitions Jean moves onto the latest Patent application paperwork for the Legal department.

Elana is in an agony of indecision.

The last two days have been an agony. Wanting to throw herself at Jean's feet. Trying to work out the best approach. Should she just straight out ask her? Try and seduce her. What does Jean think of the way she looks? Does she even go for Fems? For Men? For Both?

Elana aches to be punished. The thump on the chin was a simple statement that Jean wasn't going to be her plaything, but direct and forceful enough to make Elana hope to be Jean's. She watches Jean make her way to the rest rooms and gathers her courage to follow.

In the rest room Jean emerges from a cubicle and is washing her hands as Elana enters. She doesn't even took up as Elana comes to her, dropping to her knees and kissing her hand.

"You said we'd talk later."

Jean's taken aback.

"That was two days ago!"

"I know. You still have to punish me..... Mistress"

"I'm still thinking about it." Jean temporises.

"Thinking about what?" Elana asks hopefully.

"Suitable disciplinary measures."

Elana's face lights up with wild hope, and Jean realises that Elana's taken that to mean something other than what she'd intended.

"Elana. I prefer men."

"That's alright Mistress."

"You're pretty pushy."

"You can discipline me for that as well."

Jean turns as if to leave, and as she does Elana pushes her skirt up and buries her face in Jeans ginger bush, squeezing her buttocks and parting her thighs with her face. Jean struggles as Elana's tongue tries to force its way between her labia and delivers a slap on the top of her head.

"Stop!" Jean commands. "I said I was still thinking about it."

Regretfully Elana pulls back, and Jean strides away to her desk.

"What is it about me Galahad?" she subvocalises. "What I want is a man, maybe just one man. Someone I can trust out of sight. Instead I get Gang-bangs and women throwing themselves at me, wanting to be my love slave!"

"I can't answer that for you Jean. My understanding of human sexuality is limited to anecdotal material. I suspect Ms Torresson fixated on you when you employed force on her."

"Hmph!"

She's no sooner regained the safety of her desk when the Team Leader of Team C approaches.

"Umm. Ms Kelly?"

"Yes?"

"Our previous research. Someone's erased it from the database."

"When was the last time you can be certain it was there?"

"Three weeks ago."

"I thought you were told to drop it almost a year ago?"

"Well...... some of it looked so promising. I've been...." he squirms visibly.

"I understand, billing to your assigned project but doing some moonlighting."

"Umm.... Well..... I put some of the files into my personal area, but the reference files seem to have vanished."

"What were the filenames? I'll see if we can get them restored from backup."

By the end of the day Jean is exhausted. A protracted argument with the IT department over restoring the missing research had almost driven her to the point of threatening the help desk supervisor with the pistol. Finally a combination of bullying and agreeing a charge against the budget had induced the IT department to retrieve an archived backup file from just after the termination of the Project and restore the data onto the research system. Team C had fallen on their data like a pack of feral dogs. As the elevator doors closed Jean had seen them in a huddle over their displays trying to determine exactly what it was that Larsen had tried to bury.

The train ride home is a breather before the Nelson's come for dinner.

"Oleg will be waiting for you when you get home Jean" Galahad cautions her.

"Can we reschedule? I'm wiped."

"That doesn't count. It's only mental exhaustion. A workout will do you good."

The train pulls into Westbrook and Jean exits the carriage with the other commuters, beyond the security barrier she can see Oleg waiting.

"We run" he says.

"But I'm wearing my work clothes."

"Attackers wait for you to change?"

Jean gives silent thanks that she doesn't wear heels, but within a couple of steps realises that her Microtech Uniwear skirt is hampering her movement and halts for long enough to rip it up the seam. The shoes aren't suitable either, but better than running barefoot.

"Galahad make a note - ES clothing must not hamper freedom of movement for the wearer - and the shoes better be ok to run in!"

By the time she reaches her front door she's blowing badly, but at least the cobwebs have faded from her head.

Inside she kicks off her shoes and follows Oleg towards the dining room - already cleared for her training session. She glances towards the kitchen and when she looks back realises Oleg's no longer visible.

<Dive into the room?> she wonders, then knocks on the wall she thinks he's lurking behind.

"If you're hiding behind this wall Oleg, it won't stop a bullet."

"You learn fast. Good!" he grunts, stepping back into view. "Doorways are good places to attack - or be attacked. Unless you are fighting a full Borg your opponent must come through a door or window."

Oleg leads her through a punishing hour of training, then sits and critiques her activities of the past three days whilst they sip Tea from a samovar that mysteriously appeared from somewhere.

Finally he nods in approval. "Good. More tomorrow."

Jean sees him out, then goes to see how dinner is progressing in the kitchen. She's about to open the door when she hears a sound that doesn't belong in the kitchen - a low groan of pleasure.

Easing the door slightly ajar she can see her normally unflappable Butler leaning back against the work top, trousers and briefs round one ankle. Between her pale thighs kneels a grey furred form. Jenny's head is buried in Belton's crotch, guided by a hand lightly resting between her long ears.

Jean watches Belton's sweating face. Sees her biting her lip to stifle any outcry whilst her finger stroke Jenny's head. The wet sounds of lips and tongue hard at work make Jean tingle in memory of her own experience in Vegas.

Belton moans again and her hand cups the back of Jenny's head, grinding her crotch hard against the playbeing's eager lips.

"Oh. Oh, Oh!" the Englishwoman gasps.

A timer on the cooker sounds and Belton regretfully releases her grip on Jenny's head, pushing her back so she can tend to her cooking and Jean lets the door close gently, restoring their privacy once more.

Galahad tracks her husband in orbit - finding him currently sleeping, limbs entwined with his secretary.

"Can you give me a digest of his activities since the last report?" Jean asks.

The house system's screen flickers and Jean reads the bare printed report. Business meetings, meals, sleep, journeys and sex. She skims the report, but she's no longer interested in John's doings - who with, how many times or in what positions.

"Can you assemble this into an evidence pack please Galahad. When it's done upload it to the Divorce court."

"When would you like your divorce finalised by?"

"Can you time it so that the papers will be waiting for John when he gets back?"

"Easily."

The rattle of keys in the door announce the return of Sally and Tom.

"Hi Guys," Jean calls, "Dress up. I've arranged a proper dinner tonight."

"Who's coming?" sally asks.

"The Nelsons. You've got an hour or so."

There's a clatter of hooves on the stairs and Tom knocks on the door, then sticks his head into her room.

"We've been doing some groundwork from Alicia's leads. This place could be a goldmine!"

Jean draws a breath, then, noticing her body's reaction pinches her nostrils.

"Tob! You're wearig pherebones!"

"Ooops! Sorry, I'll get a shower." he calls as he dashes off to his room

"Cobe back, I deed to talk with you." Jean calls after him.

Tom returns, dripping wet and naked, and straightaway puts his head in her lap.

Jean chances a sniff, then releases her nose.

"That's better."

Her fingers stroke his hide absent mindedly.

"Tom, would you describe yourself as a Sub?"

"That's not an easy question to answer." comes the muffled reply.

"Take your head out of my crotch then!" Jean snaps.

Tom Jerks back, as if stung.

"Sorry Mistress. Sometimes. I never was before the Mod, but the first Persona demanded it. There's an odd.... comfort in submitting yourself totally to someone. But I really didn't like having to submit to everyone. This new persona's going to be much better. I think I'm going to be a Switch."

"Switch?"

"With the right partner I'll be the Top."

"What is it that a Sub, a Bottom, wants?"

"Varies. Some want to be looked after, some want to have all their decisions made for them, some want to be given physical pain, some want to be made to do things that they could never do on their own. The common thing is for their Top to control their actions. Why?"

"There's a woman at work who wants me to be her.... Mistress."

"Mistress as in owner, or Mistress as in 'bit on the side'?"

"From her tone I'd say owner."

"This woman Bi or ExFem?"

"ExFem?"

"Only likes girls."

"Don't know for sure, but she dresses like a man, wears Grunge style clothes, cropped hair. She's so year before last that she's almost back in style!"

"And you think she's a Sub?"

"That's how it came over."

"You need to find out what she wants."

"I need to find out if I should even be thinking about this!" I want a nice stable Mel/Fem relationship!"

"Maybe so, but you're building a small company. Executive Solutions started as a money laundering device, but you've 3 contracted employees, assets, you buy and sell goods at a profit. You might want to decide where the company is growing to. Your trade is in goods, but Sally's turning in a health sideline in servicing bored Corporate partners."

"Who? Alicia?"

"Yeah. She says she prefers men, but Sally's been 'demonstrating' how to use sex toys and the finer points of Fem-Fem fun with her."

"Anyone else?"

"Alicia's given us a few potentials leads. Mostly Catalogue stuff, but I expect the market's there for more 'demonstrations'. There's a lot of bored trophy partners on this burb."

"Good God!" Jean exclaims, "This wasn't what I was expecting. A bit of retail, not some sort of covert escort service!"

Tom drops his head back in her lap and nuzzles her thigh. The tip of his tongue touches her above the stocking and Jean jerks as it licks higher, slowly driving her legs apart.

"Tom, don't do this."

"I can smell you Jean. You're hot." he murmurs, "Don't try and tell me that you aren't."

His nose pushes against her naked crotch, rubbing expertly, pressing in precisely the right places.

"You gave up wearing underwear days ago. You're aroused all the time. You could ask any of us to satisfy you, we'd be more than happy to. But you don't."

"You're my friends. It wouldn't be right to use you like that - it's what I rescued you from!" she moans.

His tongue circles her sex - carefully avoiding the places she aches to be touched. He looks up, his chin already glistening with her juices. His tongue spiralling closer, closer to her aching core.

"You like?"

"Yes." she mewls.

"Good."

He returns to his self appointed task, closing on her bud, peeling away its protective covering and trapping the morsel of nerve ends between gentle lips. Jean feels rather than hears the vibration, and knows that Tom is humming gently. She reclines in the chair to give him greater access and hooks her legs over the chair arms. He hums more strongly and she shivers. Suddenly he stops and Jean feels his tongue begin to push between her lips, into her desire soaked entry and beyond. Deeper and deeper into her belly.

Tom's top lip strokes her clit whilst his long, broad tongue fills his boss until its tip is licking at her cervix.

Jeans fingers are white where she grips the chair arms, panting as she's touched like she's never been touched before. Tom waits until the perfect moment - then eases a finger through Jeans twitching ring. Lubricated with her own overflowing juices the finger goes easily home and she thrashes noisily impaled on tongue and finger.

"Intense sensation."

"Wha?" Jean manages

"You experienced an intense sensation." Galahad says.

"You're still monitoring me?"

"Yes. Should I withdraw in these circumstances?"

"Yes! Er.... Let me think about that."

Tom withdraws his tongue as she subsides then stands up.

"Your guests will be here in 30 minutes Jean. You'll need to shower and change."

"I'd better look in on Belton first. Thank you Tom. I think I needed that."

"De Nada."

Jean towels herself dry and considers her wardrobe, selecting a backless dress that hugs her figure, then goes down to meet her guests.

Sally is already downstairs in a similar dress in the ES style, but cut that bit lower than Jeans so that her brush is free, displaying a tantalising glimpse of buttock.

She turns like a model on a catwalk displaying the demure front.

"What do you think?"

"The backs daring."

"It was the only way I could wear the dress that didn't look stupid. Mr Sun tried all sorts of styles. You should see the clubwear he fixed up for me. I ended up with two narrow belts! Maybe we could sell that style - to some exhibitionists."

"You mean 'to the more daring customer' don't you Sally?"

"I know playbeings who wouldn't be comfortable in that, but yeah, I suppose you're right."

With a thump of hooves Tom descends from his room and Jean eyes him carefully. Mr Sun's handiwork is visible in his clothing, his hooves gleam a gloss black beneath the Executive Solutions suit. Jenny's dress is more street style with strips of fabric plunging from her shoulders to cover her breasts, before descending through a broad strip around her waist, and diving between her thighs, the fabric smooth across her crotch, revealing every contour beneath, before emerging on the other side as a mere strap between her buttocks, encircling and emphasising the white tail at the base of her spine.

Jean's about to comment when the doorbell rings announcing the arrival of the Nelsons.

Belton conducts them into the lounge and Jean puts on her best 'Gracious Hostess' face.

"Joseph, Alicia, good to see you. You've met my friends? Sally Foxx, Jenny Rabbett, Tom Stevens."

Alicia makes a bee line to Sally and Tom whilst Joseph makes polite conversation. Jean can sense his heart's not in it. His eyes keep drifting aside to Jenny.

<Tracing those fabric strips I bet!> she thinks to herself.

"95% probability." Galahad replies.

Belton returns from the kitchen with a tray of drinks and they chat whilst waiting for dinner.

On the Freeway Finn concludes his final briefing under the eyes of the BART cell commander, then the convoy of vehicles sets out. Finn boards his bus and watches the point car pull away from their parking place as the rest of the BART team takes their seats.

"Think he'll be ok?" Finn asks the cell commander.

"Eric? He's cool. He'll drive up and do his bit."

The bus lurches into motion, following the car.

"You fixed his mind?" Finn asks, earning a sharp glare. "Er... Sorry. You persuaded him?"

"Didn't need to. The Corps downsized him, cancelled his health insurance and split up his family. They didn't care when the stuff he'd been working with in his job gave him cancer. The Doc's reckon he's on borrowed time anyway. He's as happy as a pig in shit that we've given him the chance to strike the first blow against Petrochem."

"He's not bothered about attacking the other Corps?"

"They're all the same to him."

In the distance Finn can see the car's tail lights leave the freeway on the Westbrook off-ramp, disappearing from view as it dips towards the outer checkpoint. He imagines the Arasaka guards looking over the well dressed man, in his nice car with its Westbrook pass and then waving him through the outer perimeter towards the more intensive security checks at the main gate. Sure enough, as they approach the off ramp Finn can see the cars tail lights moving along the Access road towards the main gates, carrying its load of C-6 jammed into every cavity in the cars bodywork.

Finn looks back, checking out his own team. Committed Nihilists one and all. All armed, each with his own explosive waistcoat. He looks forwards again as the bus begins to descend the off ramp/

At the foot of the ramp two guards stand at a flimsy barrier. One steps from the meagre protection of their booth and raises a hand to stop the bus. A brilliant flash from the west indicates Eric has triggered his suicide car-bomb, hopefully taking out the main gate, the bus driver adjusts his aim and opens the door. The Guards are still staring at the distant explosion when the Bus ploughs though their booth flattening the guard sitting inside. Finn leans out of the open door with an SMG and sprays the guard in the road with a burst of AP, from the rear of the bus another SMG adds its fire and the guard jerks and twitches as the bullets rip through his armour. Finn watches him fall as the bus makes the turn onto the Westbrook approach road.

The main gate building has vanished. All that remains is a crater that fills the road and some scattered burning debris. The bus lurches to a halt on the lip of the crater and Finn climbs down to the tarmac, waving the waiting Nihilists to disembark and move on to their assigned targets. Finn watches them clamber from the bus and the following vehicles, skirting the crater and moving out of sight towards their objectives - People for whom life has no meaning, no purpose other than death. An APEX turret roars briefly inside the complex, but there's an explosion as someone's waistcoat goes off then the turret is silent. Finn listens and grins toothily as the darkness is punctuated with bursts of gunfire and explosions.

Belton is just serving dessert when a distant explosion rattles the windows. The others all turn towards the windows, but Jean is already speaking to Galahad.

"Status?"

"Comms are down. Westbrook is isolated."

"Landlines?"

"Only on site. The Estate gatehouse is off the net. From the radio chatter it seems the guard command post is still active. They're reporting multiple incursions along the perimeter and they lack the forces to cover all of them."

"Denver?"

"Unknown. Probability is low however. I calculate that if they were after you they would be more likely to attack you in transit. The Command Post reports that the attackers are using Suicide Bombers to take out concentrations of guards and the fixed defences."

Jean gives a sigh of relief. <Finn and his Nihilist buddies then - not bunches of insane AI controlled Berserkers!>

"Who's got a weapon?"

The others look puzzled.

"We're being attacked by Nihilist Terrorists."

Joseph perks up.

"I've got a hunting rifle at home."

"Get it and be quick!"

"The terrorists seem to be targeting Petrochem Executives at the moment, though a group seem to be heading this way." Galahad warns. "I recommend you seek a defensible position."

"Upstairs. Now." Jean snaps. "Belton, barricade the doors."

"Leave the kitchen. I can utilise its systems for defence." Galahad orders.

"Forget the kitchen door. Just the front door Belton." Jean amends.

As they exit the dining room the lights go out and Jean feels something brush against her in the darkness. Emergency lights lead the way upstairs to the bedrooms where Jean directs the placement of furniture to block the staircase for the coming confrontation.

Finn leads his group through the streets of plush houses. A little way ahead is a smoking crater where an APEX turret briefly hurled defiance at the tide of the BART Commando.

"Looks like we might run out of Suicide Bombers." Finn comments to the Commander.

"Might have to save them for the money targets." he agrees, "Can you manage with your Cadre if I keep the Initiates?"

"As long as the turrets are out - no problem."

"That should be the last one between here and your target."

"We'll manage."

Fin leads the way past the toppled and twisted turret, his small group moving cautiously after him, eagerly anticipating their promised reward.

Turning into the road where he knows Jean and her Suit live one of his men calls a halt. A figure with a rifle is leaving a house close to the objective.

One of his team raises his SMG and fires. At extreme range the bullets go everywhere but into the target, which lifts its weapon and fires in reply. One of Finn's men drops and the others rush forwards to close the range.

"You ok Styxx?" Finn asks.

"Leg. The sucker went under my vest. Can't stand Finn. Feels like I'm bleeding pretty bad."

"We'll be back."

"Save some of that Corporate poontang for me."

Finn rushes after his men.

Joseph sees his target fall, but doubts it's a kill. <Hit him a bit low I think.> He raises the elevation slightly and aims again. The others are rushing him, so he snaps a shot, seeing one of them stagger, but recover.

<Not like deer!> Joseph realises, <Deer don't wear body armour.>

"Back door! Back door!" he hears Alicia call. Too late to run around the nearside of the house he heads around the far side to reach the kitchen.

He's just entering when he hears running feet and realises the Nihilists have taken the route he should have travelled. Standing to one side of the doorway in the darkened kitchen he waits, and almost immediately a figure runs into view. Straight into the kitchen doorway.

Over open sights Joseph puts a round into the figures ski mask, but before he's fallen two more terrorists arrive and their guns begin stammering faster than Joseph can work the action.

Impacts hammer into his torso and arms. The rifle is suddenly too heavy to raise and his mouth is full of the taste of iron.

<Should have bought the lightweight Ruger> he thinks. <Vincent was right about the weight.......>

Finn arrives at Jeans house to find he's down to three men.

"What happened?"

"I've bust a rib" one groans. "That really hurts!"

"Pauly was in the lead - rushed ahead and took one from Mr Suit. Farbo go here first and took one in the head, then we laced up Laughing Boy."

Finn looks at the fallen suit, still holding a hunting rifle, his expensive clothing covered in red rosettes of blood from the hits he's taken.

"Time's a wastin'. Let's go!"

Fin leads in to the house. He crosses the darkened utility room and pauses at the kitchen door. Appliances hum in the darkness, but nothing seems to move. Covering the distant doorway into the house proper he waves his troops forwards and his men leapfrog his position.

A cleaning remote eyeballs their positions, sharing its data with the house system. As the intruders pass the gas cooker Galahad starts its ignition cycle. The oven's been filling with gas for several minutes, Galahad keeping a virtual finger in its safety system to keep the gas flowing.

The oven explodes, firing its door across the room and smashing one of the terrorists like a fist crushing a cockroach. The ball of flame rushes towards Finn and he dives outside, letting the flame roll over him. The other man is a screaming, burning shape who disappears beneath a blast of foam from the houses fire suppression system.

Finn clambers to his feet and finds the shocked looking Pauly staring at him.

"Not this way. They've rigged the kitchen somehow."

With his sole groaning ally Finn makes his way to the french windows, signing for Pauly to climb onto the utility room roof and attempt to force an entry through one of the upper storey windows whilst he forces an entry here.

Pauly winces, but draws an air hypo and gives himself a shot. The combat drug rushes into his veins and around his body making the pain from his busted rib as nothing and boosting his strength to the point that he pulls himself up the drainpipe onto the low roof with his hands alone.

Finn watches him move to one of the windows then fires a burst from his SMG into the glass of the french windows, shattering them, before reaching inside and disengaging the lock.

On the landing Jean and Tom peer into the darkened hallway and wait for something to happen. Sally and Jenny move from room to room, peeking through curtained windows in the hope of spotting movement outside. Alicia waits nervously. She's heard Joseph's rifle firing, but her husband's not shown up and now she fears the worst.

A burst of gunfire draws everyone's attention downstairs and Alicia moves to the door of the bedroom she's occupying, wondering if she should join Jean on the landing., but then everything goes quiet. She turns to find the bathroom door opening and a shadowy figure emerging. Petrified in fear Alicia freezes, uttering only a squeak as she's grabbed.

Ruthless, brutal hands manhandle her, face down, onto the bed, stifling her cries in a pillow. Hard plastic strips are wrapped about her wrists, securing them behind her back satisfied she's restrained the hands explore her body - from her breasts down over her hip, then down her stockinged leg to her ankle.

Alicia makes a cry of protest as the impudent hand ascends her other leg, burrowing beneath her dress, but a hand on her head keeps her face in the silencing pillow.

The hand reaches her underwear and tugs it down. Alicia kicks and struggles, but to no avail.

"Be quiet you Noisy Bitch!" her attacker hisses sliding a hand under her head to cover her mouth.

Alicia makes an abortive attempt to bite him, then he flips her over and stuffs her own briefs into her mouth silencing her.

Alicia is suddenly aware of just how hot she was for Jean's friend. Her briefs are soaked with her juices. The revelation freezes her in place as her assailant resumes his investigation of her body and though her legs are unrestrained she doesn't resist as he strokes her dark skin. His fingers find the tightly trimmed mass of her saffron dusted pubes and traces the line of her sex.

Shamefully, Alicia finds herself arching her back, involuntarily lifting her hips to his touch.

"Hot Corporate Poontang!" the man mutters as his finger slips deeper into her furrow.

Finn moves into the lounge, his cyberoptics adjusting to the ambient light in order to grant him vision. Before him is a table set for six diners. Plates of dessert half eaten are the only sign of the occupants, chairs fallen and abandoned as they hurriedly rose from their meal.

He's plotting his way to the hallway door when something hits his head. Tiny claws grip skin on his cheek and temple and a tiny dispenser squirts caustic cleaning fluid into his eye.

"ARRGH!"

Finn batters at the tiny cleaning remote and it shatters beneath his fist. But the damage is done. His vision is blurred beyond use on his left side and he can feel his eyelid swelling painfully under the chemicals effect.

Galahad notes the remote's destruction along with its successful impairment of the targets vision. Unseen he increases the volume setting on the entertainment console and waits until the target enters the focal area for the system's speakers.

Finn steps between the fallen chairs closing on the hall doorway when a sudden blast of sound smashes into him. The level dampers on his cyberaudio prevents him being stunned or deafened, but also suppresses the sound of the vacuum cleaner moving beneath the dining table.

A hose smacks him in the crotch and Finn doubles over. Galahad aims his proxy's next blow carefully. The hose slams into Finn's mouth, passing his teeth and ramming into his throat. Finn has a moment to consider what it must have felt like for Jenny and Sally when he had used their mouths, then the suction activates, forcefully evacuating the air from his lungs.

Frantically he struggles to pull the hose from his mouth, but the suction is pulling it deeper and the air coming in through his nose is not enough to satisfy the machines demand. The machine pushes him onto his back and Finn struggles feebly as a final darkness begins to envelop him. In a last moment of consciousness he pulls his SMG across his body and triggers a burst of fire into the murderous appliance.

Upstairs Jean and Tom strain into the darkness, struggling for a hint of the attackers location. The sound of a second burst of fire from the lounge punctuates the night, only just audible over the blaring music.

"I have failed to stop the target in the lounge Jean. He is, however, half blinded and I may have done some internal damage, but he is still armed and dangerous."

The lounge door opens and a figure staggers into the hall.

"How many of them are left Galahad?"

"Remaining sensors are limited, but I believe two attackers are unaccounted for.

The figure in the hallway moves towards the staircase.

A noise from the main guest bedroom draws Jeans attention and she signs Tom to investigate. The figure downstairs coughs wetly and begins to climb the stairs, negotiating their obstacles as if it were daylight.

"The darkness is hindering us more than him Galahad."

"Lights on."

The house lighting flicks on without further warning revealing Finn climbing the stairs towards her, his mouth and nose bright with running blood.

The pistol seems ridiculously small in her hand, but Jean pops a couple of rounds at him, seeing them impact his torso without visible effect.

"The best Cyberwear money can buy." Finn grins. "Guaranteed to stop pistol rounds - or your money back."

Tom enters the room as the light come on. On the bed across from the door he can see Alicia, her skirts hitched up to her waist, a man clothed in black gently sliding a pair of glistening fingers in and out of her sex.

For a moment Tom freezes - the wetness of the man's fingers - the way Alicia's dark hips thrust up, eager to meet the intruders touch - the little tufts of lemon yellow fabric showing between the full red lips of her mouth - the mass of yellow pubes crowning her prominent mons contrasting with her dark brown skin. Then the man turns around.

"Ah! Pony Boy! Go eat some hay."

Tom shudders - programmed responses in his Neural processor flash to life, but the persona they were designed to act on is no longer there. A Boiling Red Rage rises behind Tom's eyes.

The terrorist returns to his prize. With the control phrase given to the first of the three playbeings he can move on to collect the others..... when he's finished playing with this eager slut.

Alicia moans though the fabric of her own underwear, shuddering in involuntary orgasm.

<God! I'm giving myself to him!>

A sharp snort and a hard thud draws the man's attention away and she moans in frustration as he turns his back on her.

Deep in the Unicorn Dream, Tom follows garbled instructions. Words had been spoken accessing a pre-programmed part of his Persona files. But the files were no longer the same. The passive Unicorn Tom used to be, was gone. The new Persona was a classic Unicorn - Lusty and Powerful, no friend to polluters. The thinking Tom was confused, but the instinctive Unicorn knew what it should do.

Pauly sees the Unicorn on all fours, its misshapen limbs now perfect. Before he can do any more than take in its mad eyed stare the Unicorn charges.

Tom rears up and strikes with both modified cyberhands, the sharp edged hooves gouging into the attacker. A hoof strikes above his knee and drives downward, stripping skin off his thigh and cutting muscle and sinew. As his knee collapses Pauly pushes the mad creature that's attacking him away, but that's the last mistake he gets the chance to make.

Pushed out to perfect range, Tom's head slams down, driving a head butt into his adversary. Four centimetres of horn punches through Pauly's forehead and into his brain.

Tom flicks his head, freeing the spiral horn and Pauly folds neatly to the plushly carpeted floor.

Threat past the Unicorn puts it's head in the virgin's lap and rests.

Finn steps around a table - advancing towards his prizes. Sally and Jenny join Jean holding improvised weapons and Finn grins.

"All girls together. Now isn't that nice! Bunny Girl, Foxy Lady, Go eat some hay!" He coughs bloodily and climbs another step.

Jean stares in alarm as both girls sink passively to their knees. <Verbal Control Codes!> she realises. <Damn, now its just me. Right. Deny him time and space..>

Pocketing the almost useless pistol she considers her options. He's almost in range for physical attacks, but he's prepared and out masses her considerably.

A quick dash takes her to the bathroom and some useful prospects. As he follows her Jean jams the plug in the hand basin, pulls the top from a bottle of toilet cleaner and dumps it into the bowl. A bottle of high strength bleach joins it and she ducks out through the door to the master bedroom, locking the door behind her as the two chemicals mix and begin generating Chlorine gas.

She can hear Finn struggling along the landing towards the bathroom door as she crosses the bedroom to emerge behind him on the landing as he opens the bathroom door. A cloud of corrosive chlorine envelopes him and he gasps in pain as his already damaged lungs feel the burning pain. Jean sucks a deep breath and charges, slamming a shoulder into his back and propelling him into the lethal bathroom.

Chlorine stings her eyes as the grabs the door and slams it shut, trapping Finn inside his personal gas chamber. Jean jams a chair under the door handle to stop it turning, then stands back and waits. The door bangs a couple of times and Finn coughs desperately, trying to purge his lungs of the lethal gas, then there's a thud and all is still. Jean backs away from the door, draws a ragged breath, then goes to check on her friends.

Sally and Jenny are completely passive and Jean sighs at the likely cost of reworking their Personas. Tom rests a bloodied face on Alicia's belly. Nearby, another attacker is laid on the floor, blood and brain spilling from a hole punched through his forehead.

Jean collects the dead man's SMG and goes to check on Alicia.

"Jean! Is it safe now?" she quavers.

"I'm checking."

"My hands are tied."

Tom stirs.

"I'll get you free." He murmurs.

"How come you're not Vegied like the Girls, Tom?"

"Dunno. The dead Gonk said something to me and everything went mad."

"You attacked him like a ..... Unicorn." Alicia blurts, "All hooves and Horn."

"Must have tripped off something in my new Persona." Tom shrugs, unconcerned. A drop of something falls from his horn and Tom looks down at the gobbet of blood on the carpet.

"I'd better get a shower - if it's all over?"

"Don't go in the Master Bathroom. It's full of Chlorine gas."

Belton peers over the edge of the roof from her balcony in the staff accommodation. In the back garden she can see the outlines of two fallen terrorists and what looks like Mr Nelson. She does a quick 360 of the house but all the terrorist activity appears to be some distance away.

A movement at the window in the Nelson's staff accommodation catches her eye and she turns to see Philips, the Nelson's Butler, watching.

Another explosion lights Westbrook and all the remaining lights go out as power dies across the site.

"Is it safe?" Phillips shouts.

"How the....." Belton regains her composure. "I don't know. There seems to be no more activity here. I'm going downstairs to check. I think Mr Nelson's in out back garden."

Phillips disappears from view and Belton makes her way down the staircase to find Jean dealing with her friends by the emergency lighting.

"I can't see any more of them Mrs Brady, but everything is blacked out now."

"I know. Have you any idea where Mr Nelson is?"

"I think they got him. There's a body in a suit by the back door."

"Damn. Help me move the girls."

Suddenly the house is lit by bright light spilling in through the real windows. The scream of jet engines grows louder and blocky shape drops to the back lawn. Figures leap out snatching up one of the corpses before scurrying back into the AV-4. Belton catches a brief glimpse of the Trauma Team Logo on the side of the AV, then it's gone.

By the light of morning Westbrook looks like a warzone. The perimeter is being patrolled by Arasaka troops in Powered Armour and the streets by squads of 5 who are still finding the odd nihilist who hasn't killed themself or fled. Jean can hear the occasional explosion as they deal with the few remnants in the only safe way - firing at them from a distance until they go off.

Two guards in breathing apparatus drag Finn's remains from the bathroom leaving a trail of bloody froth which leaks from his mouth as they pull him down the stairs.

"Looks like it ate his lungs." one of them comments to his partner as the corse had slid untidily down the staircase to be thrown into the back of a dumpster.

Alicia had retreated in silence to the sanctuary of her own home to wait for news of her husband, shrugging off Jeans attempts to talk to her.

"Are you going to work today Mrs Brady?"

Jean turns to find Belton holding a plate with a choice of breakfast bars arrayed on it.

"I'm sorry, but this is all that's survived. I've laid out your clothes and You can make the 0830 train if you hurry."

The journey to the station shows the level of damage the whole Estate has taken. Here and there workers are collecting body parts and attempting to repair what damage they can. Jean gasps at the sight of an entire row of demolished houses. <Looks like they were out for Petrochem People.>

The train is unusually subdued, but the office is its usual, reassuring, busy self. Jean settles into her desk and logs on, letting Galahad sort her mail whilst she goes and gets a coffee. When she returns there's a young woman waiting by her desk. Jean notes the 'Power' shirt and marks the woman as an up and coming Exec.

"Is Ms Kelly in?"

"Sorry? You are....?"

"Katerin Mexali. I hear her neighbourhood took a hit last night and I wondered if any of the houses came vacant. Could you ask her to call me when she gets in please?"

Jean stares at the woman's retreating back and realises she's just been taken for a Clerical.

"Galahad? What happens to Alicia if Joseph doesn't make it?"

"Searching - Alicia will receive a widow's stipend until she remarries or enters a similar type of partnering arrangement."

"How much is that?"

"500 Eb a month."

"She'll never manage that! Phillips' wages alone must be more than that"

"Phillips comes with the house. If she's no longer married to a Microtech employee she loses the right to rent the house at Microtech subsidised rates. The company will settle her husband's outstanding debts to month end, then Alicia will have to rehouse herself."

"They toss her out?"

"In simple terms - Yes. She has until month end to become someone else's trophy partner if she wants to stay in Westbrook or she goes elsewhere."

"Ow! Didn't think it was that harsh."

"Ms Mexali is of sufficient grade to move to Westbrook and is probably angling for a tenancy."

"I couldn't let Alicia become homeless."

"You have little input into the matter."

"But she's my friend."

"You wish to add Alicia Nelson to the list?"

"List?"

"Of people to 'save'?"

"I have to. I can't let her get dumped onto the street. She wouldn't last a week."

"Noted. Ms Torresson has arrived."

"Who?"

"Elana Torresson. Your other problem."

Jean looks around. Elana is trying to sneak into her cubicle unseen. Her trademark tattered Jeans look seedier than usual and her lanky blonde hair looks utterly revolting.

"Do I need another problem?" Jean moans to herself.

"You thrive on problems."

"Thanks." she consciously subvocalises, "I'd be screwed without your help!"

"Nice to be appreciated.."

"Ms Torresson!" Jean calls, ending Elana's attempt to sneak, unnoticed to her desk. "Might I have a word?"

Elana ambles aimlessly towards Jean's desk, affecting the 'don't care' attitude of a teen Grunge ganger and setting Jeans teeth on edge.

"Can you tell me something?" Jean asks.

"Sure."

"What is it you want as a Sub?"

Elana seems to be surprised to be asked so publically, with all the office around her, but Jean continues in a normal voice.

"Do you want me to humiliate you? Hurt you? Compel you to act as I desire? Or do you want to be owned?"

Elana looks around to see if anyone's listening.

"Yes."

"All of that?"

"Yes."

"If I take you on I won't pay much attention to your preferences."

"I understand."

"Your clothes. They won't do. You have thirty minutes to get yourself cleaned up. Come back in a dress or a skirt - something to show your legs off. Lose the sweats. I want you in a blouse or top that will show off your breasts. No boots! And wash your hair! You're going to have to catch my interest."

Elana scurries away and disappears. A couple of minutes later Declan comes over.

"What did you do to Elana?"

"Sent her to get changed. Did you see the state she was in?"

"Um. Well. Traditionally we're allowed to dress down."

"There's dressing down and there's looking like you live out of a dumpster. I've given her half an hour to clean up and look as if she works here."

"Fair enough. On a personal note - Can we make another date?"

"I think so. What's your calendar like?"

"I'll get back to you." he smiles.

Jean watches him go then ploughs into her own work. She's just preparing the latest batch of Patent applications when the phone rings.

"Jean? It's Jay."

"Jay! Are you ok for a Data dump? I discovered some interesting data, but developing conclusions cost a bundle."

"What's the information?"

"Those guys we had in Vegas were linked to the AI we saw on the net. It was tapping their sensorium for a feed and I thing it was controlling them when they went Nutso."

"How?"

"I think they'd been given some nano that wired them up so it could 'face with them from the net. I got the stuff they tried to shot me up with analysed."

"How much?"

"10K and I'll download the report to you."

He sighs. "You're murdering my budget. Send it on."

Galahad fires the download to LA and Jean waits.

"Got that?"

"Yes."

"Right. Now, Denver."

"We're in trouble. We haven't the manpower to investigate and they can tag anyone we send. They have the current personnel database."

"You thought about hiring outsiders?"

"Anyone with enough Company or Technological knowledge won't be an outsider."

"Might have a handle on that. Give me a day or two and I may have a proposal for you."

"Urgh!" he groans. "Not a business plan, just an outline will do."

"Weeeell. I'm not sure its practical.......... but I'll let you know what comes out of my research."

"Don't forget to tell me what it's going to cost."

Jean hangs up, her head filled with racing ideas.

"Galahad, get me whatever you can on the Denver office. Accommodation, services the lot. Perhaps we should be offering the Executive Solutions catalogue in Denver."

"Executive Solutions needs more development if you want it to be an effective cover."

"Data. Get me data."

"Ms Kelly?"

Jean looks up to find both Elana and Joseph Nelson's PA waiting in front of her desk.

"What can I do for you?"

"HR need to talk with Mrs Nelson. Could you meet with them at Westbrook this afternoon?"

"Time?"

"3PM?"

"Subject?"

"They didn't say."

"Tell them I'll be there." Jean sighs, then turning to the fidgeting Elana looks her closely over.

"Much better. At least you look like a woman now. Back to work, I'll see you later."

Just before lunch Jean summons Elana to the office that used to belong to Dr Larsen. Stripped of her personal effects the room is without personality. Elana pushes the door open to find Jean sat in the executive chair, looking at her over the span of the desk.

"Come in. Close the door behind you." Jean orders and then stares at her. "What am I going to do with you?" She flicks the switch on the desktop and the glass polarises, hiding the office outside. "You still want me to be your top?"

"Yes." Elana replies without hesitation.

"Tell me about yourself. What you like. What you don't."

"I like women. I don't like men."

"And the rest?"

"There is no rest. I went to University. I graduated. I work here. I live in Rancho Coronado."

"You enjoy pain?"

"I don't know. Hurt me."

"What have you got against men? Don't like penetration?"

"I've nothing against it. It's just that men seem to try and take your life over."

"And women don't?"

"I've never had one try."

"Have you ever had a man try? Have you ever formed a long term relationship with anyone? You say you don't want someone taking your life over, but that's what you're asking me to do."

"Well......"

"Not very logical, is it? You're going to obey me without question?"

"Yes."

"Then later I'm going to re-acquaint you with men. Expect to get fucked. What act would you least enjoy?"

"I'm not sure. Being watched?"

"Then you'll go to your cubicle this afternoon and bring yourself off. Are you noisy?"

"Sometimes."

"This afternoon you'll be loud enough to attract an audience."

Elana's eyelids droop and Jean can imagine what she's thinking.

"Lie on the desk."

Elana complies, letting her long legs sag apart and displaying the crotch of her panties obviously damp with her own juices.

"Lose the underwear, it's only going to get in your way. Now, touch yourself."

Shyly Elana complies, her fingers dipping wetly into her sex and beginning to slowly stroke.

"I'm going to beat you." Jean tells her, "Your butt will glow."

Elana bites her lip.

"What else Mistress?"

"You'll be fucked in the Ass - as much as I think you can bear."

Elana whimpers and speeds her strokes, pushing fingers into her cunt.

"The insides of your thighs will get the same treatment as your butt."

The sound of wet squelching grows louder as Elana pleasures herself.

"I've arranged for you to satisfy the company guard dogs."

Elana gives a little wail and writhes on the shiny desktop. Jean surmises she's come as she slips wobbly off the top to kneel at Jeans feet, panting.

"Ready Elana?"

Without warning Elana moves between Jeans thighs and plants a kiss on her mistresses crotch.

"Ready Mistress. Do we go to the kennels now?"

Jean grimaces and slaps her smartly on the head.

"Don't do that! I was exaggerating for effect. You seemed to really get off on that." she pauses for thought. "I don't even think we use meat dogs anymore. Cyberhounds are cheaper."

"Oh. I was sort of looking forward to that."

"I can see you're going to be difficult" Jean murmurs as she gets up and walks to the office door.

"Back to work Elana. I'll think of some suitable punishment later."

Tom watches the Biotechnica team removing the still passive girls. As the ambulance drives away he goes back into the house. Belton is busily packing the furnishings into transport cases.

"What's up Belty-baby?" he grins.

"Don't call me that!" she snaps. "Belton's fine."

"So what's going on?"

"The place is trashed, so I'm packing for the move."

"Move?"

"We can't stay. The kitchen's wrecked. The bathroom stinks of chlorine and blood. Half the house's remotes are trashed. There's no mains power. Even the house system's gone into suspend mode. My furniture is all broken, shot or stained, its only fit for a fire sale - not for Executive Estates. Mrs Nelson's sat on her back lawn staring at nothing. Phillips is in kitchen next door emptying the drinks cabinet down his neck - and I'd be doing the same if I didn't have to have something for Ms Brady when she gets home from work."

"So you think things aren't good?"

"Don't be stupid Mr Stevens. The only way they could be worse is if we were stretched out with Mr Nelson in the Morgue."

"You should call me Tom. You think we'll be moving out of Westbrook?"

"No doubt about it. They'll need to accommodate the Bradys somewhere."

"You coming with us?"

"No. Executive Estates hold my contract. If I'm lucky I'll be redeployed."

"What do you mean 'Lucky'?"

"One Butler per house. Less houses, same number of Staff. Work it out."

"Leave? Or laid off?"

"Probably laid off. Oh, they might re-hire me if there's a vacancy comes up, but I expect I'll get my papers as soon as the house is packed up."

"Oh..... Don't take this wrong - do you want a hand?"

In the womb of his cubicle Benny's hard at work trying to resolve a nested series of subroutines and command calls. Lines of code swim before his eyes and he finds himself drifting with lines of imaginary code scrolling up the insides of his eyelids. He snaps back to wakefulness at an unusual sound.

A whimper from an adjoining cubicle draws his attention and he reluctantly gets up to see what's amiss. He steps into the aisle, intrigued by the sound, but bumps straight into Jean, clutching a wad of paperwork.

"Benny! Just the person! What does this mean on your requisition list?"

The whimpers from Elana's cubicle get quicker.

<Surely Elana's not....?> he thinks. <I need to check this out.>

But Jean's insistent, and apparently quite deaf to the cries that just have to be Elana coming, and coming hard.

By the time she lets him go the curious noises have stopped and a peek into Elana's cubicle reveals nothing more than a change of style.

"Whoa! Different Girl! Where's Elana?"

"No. It's me Benny. Ms Kelly just made me dress Straight!"

Benny eyes the blonde girl, her hair washed and fluffed, clothes neat, all sing of the Grunge Bitch who they were used to gone.

"Umm.... Err.... Looks good." he mumbles, then scurries back to the safety of his cubicle.

Alone again Elana opens her desk drawer and eyes the Vibrator lying atop her discarded underwear. <Thank God she kept him occupied! The little Perv would have told everyone!> Elana thinks - but finds the idea exciting. Beneath her desk her fingers inch beneath her skirt to dip and stroke again, drawing fresh moisture from her well.

Jean steps off the train and threads her way through the redevelopment zone that Westbrook has become. Already the bombed out Petrochem houses have been bulldozed and the repair program is in full flow, but it looks like it will some time before all the scars are erased.

"Mrs Brady?"

Jean turns to find one of the Executive Estates Customer Service Staff chasing her.

"Mrs Brady? We need to discuss your tenancy."

"Mine?"

"We received notification that you are divorcing your husband. Is this correct?"

"Oh. Yes that's correct."

"Well, the tenancy is in his name. You are aware it can't be part of any settlement."

"Of course, it's not community property."

"Microtech won't pay an allowance large enough for an employee of your grade to rent the property."

"Ah. I see."

"Push them for compensation for last night" Galahad instructs.

"Quiet!" Jean subvocalises.

"Sorry?" the EE Staffer replies thinking the comment was for him.

"That's fine. I'll get ready to move out. But first I'd like to settle the question of compensation for last nights events."

The man sighs

"Executive Estates offer an Ex Gratia payment and an apology for any inconvenience and distress you may have suffered."

"The bottom line?"

"2000 Euro."

Jean practically howls. "Two Thousand. A measly two thousand for total collapse of your security? Two K for being attacked in my own home? We'll see you in court!"

She turns and stalks off in the direction of her home.

On the driveway Belton is tending to a collection of shipping boxes.

"I've packed your personal possessions Mrs Brady."

Jean eyes the collection of furniture stacked on the drive.

"What about this?"

"All damaged. Executive Estates will replace it when they refurbish the house."

Behind Belton Tom is waving, obviously trying to catch Jean's eye about something, so she gestures vaguely at the boxes and walks to him whilst Belton resumes packing.

When he's finished updating her about Belton's fears she looks up to find the EE staffer and a Microtech rep on the front lawn.

"Mrs Brady? Executive Estates have a revised offer."

"Can you wait a second?" Jean interrupts. Turning to the Microtech rep she asks, "You're the rep from HR I'm supposed to be meeting?"

The woman cautiously nods.

"Executive Estates are trying to palm us off with a two K payment for the damage and Trauma of this..... this..... Incident."

The HR rep frowns.

"You're getting ready to move out?"

Jean shrugs, "The house is uninhabitable. I'd be leaving as soon as the divorce was agreed, but we were attacked in our own home. A supposedly secure home. Secured by the very best Arasaka could provide."

The EE rep winces.

"Fifteen K?" he offers

"Each."

"Fifteen K each."

"And we keep all the furnishings."

"You remove all the damaged furnishings and leave the house clear for the building contractors."

Jean looks at Belton and sees she's holding a folder of papers.

"You've terminated Belton's contract?"

"Who?" the EE Staffer asks, "Oh. Your household manager? Yes she's laid off."

"Ok. Give me the cash and papers and I'll have a truck come by to collect everything."

The EE rep opens his E book and makes some notes. "Your payment and transfer papers for the furniture will be here shortly Mrs Brady."

Jean's mouth tightens momentarily <Won't be hearing that much longer.>

"What can I do for HR?"

"You've done one thing already Mrs Brady - leaving the house. The other thing is.... well... you're friendly with the Nelsons?"

"Yes. Is it about Joseph?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Is he dead?"

"Not Per Se. Trauma team managed a revival, but his body was too badly damaged. They couldn't fix everything...."

"Spit it out."

"They had to put him into a Biopod."

"What?"

"He's been installed in a Biopod. As soon as their happy he'll be fitted into a Full Conversion Cyborg Chassis."

Jean laughs.

"That's funny?"

"He was always rather..... vocal about Metalheads. Called them Toasters. It's a bit ironic he's become one."

The HR rep obviously doesn't find it as funny as Jean, so she stifles her amusement.

"So, what do you need me for?"

"No-ones told Mrs Nelson."

"What's the problem?"

"Well..... he left a living will."

"And?"

"One of the instructions covered this possibility."

"It must have been a hell of an inclusive will!"

"Mr Nelson was nothing if not thorough."

"And?" Jean snaps, growing tired of having to extract each snippet of information.

"Mr Nelson indicated that in the event of such an occurrence his wife was to be told that he was in an Persistent Vegetative State and was not going to recover. She would receive a settlement in return for agreeing a divorce. We've sorted the financial package out, she gets the contents of the home and a monthly payment of 50% of his current salary. Better than a pension."

"So why tell me? She's my friend, why should I help deceive her?"

"It's better terms than she'd get in court."

"But why divorce?"

"Mr Nelson fears he might....... cause his wife fatal injury as a result of his conversion."

"Cyberpsycho? But why not wait until he's recovered. He might be fine."

"Because this is what he arranged. Mrs Nelson will be insulated from any physical or financial consequences and Mr Nelson can put his life back together elsewhere. Now, will you help me?"

Jean shrugs and goes to help sell a lie to her friend.

Marta squints at the exam paper, trying to devine the certification board's intent behind this particular question. Revelation fails to materialise, so she goes ahead and gives the answer to the question that she believes they're asking.

Straightening the papers she re-reads her answers, then stands and makes her way to the invigilator's desk. The papers disappear into the slot in the Certification Board's terminal and Marta leaves the hall to wait by the display board.

The 'time remaining' counter runs down to zero and the crowd of anxious students grows. A new countdown appears in the corner of the display, heightening tension as the results are passed back to the central computer and cross checked against the other examination centres, then the countdown disappears and the screen clears.

"Ready."

"Insert Student Cards in Alphabetical order."

The candidates arrange themselves and Marta watches those blessed (or cursed) with a letter earlier than hers slot their cards and get their results.

Finally she steps up to the display and slots her SIN. The combined grades from her assignments and her dissertation flash up along with the assigned grading for her exam.

"Pass with honours."

Marta yelps with pleasure as the certifications are written onto her SIN, and her diploma is printed out.

The machine verifies her card and ejects it and Marta makes her way to the Common room, already filled with students celebrating success and commiserating failure. Marta exchanges a sting of 'what did you get?'s as she works her way to the car park door.

Outside she hops into her battered Metrocar and heads home.

She halts the car outside the prefab tract house she calls home, walks up the worn pathway through the dry lifeless garden, and lets herself in. Keanu is hooked up to his desk, limp and apparently lifeless as his consciousness cruises the web, earning his share of their expenses.

Marta touches his throat - checking his pulse - then changes into her overalls, ready for another night supervising her part in the city's sanitation. Snatching up a Pre-pack meal she tosses it into the microwave and whilst the timer runs down she e-mails a message to her boyfriend. She wolfs the meal then splits for the depot.

The setting sun is dipping beneath the western skyline as Marta turns towards the depot. In the distance she can see a couple of pillars of smoke rising in the twilight sky.

<Big fires somewhere!> she idly thinks.

Its only as she gets closer to her workplace that she realises one of the pillars of smoke is rooted in the compound of the depot.

A Fire Brigade roadblock pulls her up three blocks from the front gate and she can still feel the heat.

Marta turns off the engine and gets out to talk with the Sheriffs Deputy manning the barrier.

"What happened?"

"Some nut with a tanker load of CHOO₂ decided to end it all by totalling the Sanitation Company."

Marta points at the other plume of smoke.

"What's that?"

"Tanker. They think it's another Gamblers anonymous attack. Went straight in through the front of the Ankor Wat Hotel. Most of the Fire Department's down there."

"What's here then?"

"Just enough to contain it. There'll be no more survivors from here so they're doing what they can at the hotel."

"Who got out?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"Hey, it's my job going up in flames."

"They took a couple of folk to the hospital and a couple managed to escape from the workshops. Dunno how badly they're injured but I think you need a new employer."

Marta sighs and returns to her car to drive home. On the journey home she sees a Petrochem tanker pulling off the forecourt of a filling station. But what catches her eye is the way the driver is beating at their window with a tyre iron.

<It's in Automatic Mode!> she realises. <Why doesn't he use the shut-down switch?>

The truck accelerates hard ignoring speed limits, traffic regulations and other vehicles, bulldozing cars out of its way. A spray of glass and a tumbling shape announce the departure of the driver and Marta loses sight of the 18 wheeler as it rams its way around a corner onto Company Row.

A flash, followed a few seconds later by a bang suggests the tankers struck something.

<Jeez! This isn't Gamblers Anonymous. It's more like the 4^th Corporate War!>

Marta U-turns her car and heads away from the City Centre and the rising wail of sirens.

Outside the Hanging Gardens the Casino Security force, dressed in their trademark suits, have sealed the car park entrance with construction equipment, but behind the blockade Marta can see the yellow bulk of one of her Employers Sanitation Wagons. Pulling over she gets out and negotiates the line of boulders that mark the edge of the parking lot and approaches the wagon.

"Pumba."

The window opens and the heavy jowelled face of one of the day drivers glowers down.

"What's going on Girl?"

"You on manual?"

"I always on Manual. You know I don't trus dese tings."

"All hell's kicked off uptown. I saw a tanker take off on auto. The Jockey had to smash his way out of the cab and jump for it."

"Honto?"

"McCoy. That's the third fire. The other two are our yard and the Ankor Wat."

"Why?"

"Dunno! You heard anything about the 4^th Corporate war kicking off?"

"But why hit our Yard? Hey! Wasn't it at the Ankor Wat you mashed that Black Ops team?"

"So?"

"Suddenly I don' feel safe standin' close to you Girl."

"Thanks!"

"Serious!"

"You seriously think someone's gunning for me?"

"Well...."

"Why?"

Before Pumba can reply the casino Guards start shooting.

Marta turns to see a tanker bulldoze her Metrocar into tangled scrap then blunder away down the street, spurting CHOO₂ from rows of bullet holes.

The truck door slams behind her and Marta turns to see Pumba walking away.

"The Mark is onya Girl. You be Jonah. Stay way from me!"

Marta looks at the wreckage of her car and shrugs. With it wrecked she's got no wheels.

She climbs into the cab and looks over Pumba's set up, before reconfiguring the displays to her own preferences. Pumba's Personal effects go into a handy polybag and out of the window as she fires up the rigs engine and moves up to the barricade at the exit.

"You going to let me out?" she demands.

"No way lady. We open the gate to let you out, no saying what's going to try to come in. Orders say it stays blocked."

"Orders say what to do if I back up to the main entrance and dump 10 tons of garbage?"

The supervisor is summoned and they agree that they'll move the dozer. Marta will drive up to the back of the Grader. They put the Dozer back, drive the grader out and Marta drives away.

As soon as she's on the road Marta turns towards home, driving on manual, alert for trouble. But her home's intact, untouched. Parking the truck, she runs inside.

"Keanu. Jack out NOW!" she types and mails it to him.

Her boyfriend stirs and unplugs the cables linking him to his C-Modem. Marta doesn't even wait for him to speak.

"Get your stuff. We're moving."

"Where to?"

"I don't know, but it's going to be safer than sitting still."

Keanu grumbles but packs his stuff up. It doesn't take long to pack their lives up into a small collection of carry bags. Marta is just throwing the bags into the cab when there's a clamour of rending timber and shattering glass from the end of the row of houses.

"What the......?"

Keanu turns towards the noise and stares. Marta takes one look and goes cold. A battered tanker, its cab shattered and empty, shoulders its way out of the wreckage and throws itself into the next house.

"Get in!" she screams, scrambling around the front of the wagon and scrambling up into the cab.

The fires and Marta floors the accelerator. The loaded wagon crawls forwards at its snail like best, but at least it's not got the wreckage of a house impeding its progress.

Marta hauls the heavy wagon around the corner and onto the highway, behind her the tanker regains the tarmac and growls after them.

"Which way do we go?" she asks.

"Away from Vegas. That thing'll be on top of us in no time if we get tied up in traffic."

"Towards Carson City then?"

"How much fuel's in this thing?"

"About 3/4 of a tank."

"See if you can outrun it. Once it's out of sight we can try and loose it by turning off the road."

The sanitation wagon heads north at its best speed, but the Tanker stays firmly in the rear view, gradually getting bigger and bigger.

"We're carrying too much weight." Marta mutters.

"How'd you unload this thing?"

"Release the clamps on the tailgate and raise it, then use the compactor ram to push the refuse out."

"Can we do it on the move?"

"Can you drive whilst I work the mechanism?"

Keanu slides in behind her and reaches around her to take the wheel. There's a brief moment when the accelerator comes up as Marta slides out, but the pedal's to the metal again without the tanker making noticeable headway.

Marta takes a deep breath and pos the passenger door open. The road races by un-nervingly beneath her as she lunges for the ladder onto the roof. The ladder is unpleasantly small when the wagon is stationary. When it's flat out it seems minute. Her hands close on the metal rungs and she begins to climb.

"Hurry up. Its gaining!" Keanu bellows from the cab, stress clear in his voice.

She's just reached the roof when something hits them. Hard.

The wagon swerves and Marta looks back to see the tanker dropping back for another attempt.

Inside the Tankers tractor unit the autodrive consults its latest instructions.. The sensors have identified the woman it's supposed to be targeting, so it pushes the Revs higher in an attempt to reach her. Instructions to limit engine speed to prevent excessive wear are ignored. Additional instructions to contact the source of its order are not executed as the tanker can no longer detect a connection to net, so it presses on with its last set of orders.

Marta crawls back down the roof until she reaches the back. The tanker slams into the back again and the wagon fishtails alarmingly as Keanu fights with the unfamiliar controls..

As the tanker drops back Marta peers over the edge of the roof. The clamp is visible, but out of reach. She looks around for something to extend her reach, but the only thing on top of the wagon is a cargo net.

<Great! Just Great!>

Hooking the net over the cleats atop the wagon she drops it over the side and starts to scramble down. In the rear view mirrors she can see Keanu's wide-eyed look of panic.

The look warns her and she looks back to see the tanker making another charge.

Marta wraps herself into the net and struggles with the locking pin. What's easy when you're stood on the ground is a struggle when you're dangling down the side of a speeding vehicle. The pin comes free and she rotates the clamp as the tanker slams into the back again.

Marta and the net swing wildly and she gives silent thanks that the enveloping darkness spares her the sight of the roadway that must be racing by a half a metre below.

The Tanker drops back again and she scrambles onto the roof to lie panting on the cold metal roof.

It seems to take forever for the tanker to build up enough speed, but eventually it strikes again and Marta casts the net down the opposite side of the wagon and scrambles down to the clamp. With a pull and a twist it's free and she turns her attention to the control panel.

Switches activate the unloading lights - two arc lights that flood the road behind with searing white light, illuminating the advancing tanker all to clearly. Slowly gaining, its front battered and broken by its headlong charges, lights and windows shattered, it still comes on like a berserk bull.

Marta pulls the lever and the hydraulic pump lifts the tailgate. Another lever activates the huge ram and shoves the contents of the compactor out onto the road. Dazzled by the lights the tanker ploughs into the mass of unseen refuse, slowing its charge as it frees itself from the clinging mass.

Twenty tons lighter the wagon picks up speed immediately. Marta drops the tailgate and scrambles back up the net to regain the roof. The wagon's added speed coupled with the refuse fowling the tanker, seem to be enough, letting her climb back into the cab without having to contend with another attack.

Inside the cab she pick up the phone, but there's still no service and they keep a nervous eyes on the rear view until they enter the coverage of Carson City.

Luckily the Carson City police have been warned about events in Vegas and Marta has little difficulty persuading them to act. As they enter the city limits the police are already in position and they're waved over a short distance after the waiting police.

"What are you going to do?" Marta asks one of the officers.

"Pulse it."

"I think it's carrying a full load of fuel."

"Shouldn't be a problem."

On the road the police roll out two black strips completely crossing the road. Then they retreat and wait. Over the radio Marta and Keanu listen to an air unit reporting the tanker's approach.

Finally it roars into view beneath the streetlights and charges towards them. As it crosses the strips there's a flash of brilliant blue fire and the streetlights go out.

The tanker emerges from the pall of darkness, its engine stilled, coasting to a standstill with flickers of electricity arcing across the bodywork. Police officers fall on the stopped vehicle like wolves pulling down a crippled buffalo - hamstringing it before the electrical systems might recover.

Once the autodrive unit is isolated from the net and the vehicle a wrecker drags the tanker away and the police release Marta and her wagon.

Inside an all night diner Marta and Keanu discuss their next move.

"Back to Vegas?"

"Why? I've no job, you've no job. Whoever gets the company is going to want the truck back if they find it's not gone up with the rest."

"And you think you might get the blame for it all?"

"Me!?" Marta screeches in outrage.

"Yeah. You don't think Petrochem will take the rap for its tankers running wild."

"It's not my fault! It must be........... Microtech's."

Keanu laughs.

"Yeah. And, of course, you can prove this?"

"No-one can prove it was me!"

"They have circumstantial evidence, and we can't afford fancy lawyers. Apart from which do you think the owners of the Ankor Wat are likely to use courts!"

Visions of a shallow grave in the desert dance ominously before Marta's eyes.

"Let's not go back."

Marta digs in her wallet and comes up with a card.

"Time to call in a favour."