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 Six

Sharelle Jones opens her e-mail to find a letter from the Moonlight.

<What's this?> she wonders, <I hope there's nothing wrong with the Pension Scheme. That money keeps me on this place>

She looks out of the window onto the comfortable enclave where she lives with her family, where no-one knows of her..... interesting past. Returning to the e-mail it seems to be an invitation to do some work for the company that's taken over the Moonlight. Reading further she decides to download the files they provide to her machine and see what this Catalogue has to offer. The file size is considerable, but once she's completed the download she flicks through its pages with interest.

<Doesn't look bad. Not too pricey, though some of the stuff isn't cheap. Have to be careful what I show the neighbours. This place is so straight sometimes it makes the Baptist Church look like a Dance Party!>

"Downloads are at 60% of the pensioners we mailed" Jenny says. "If we give it 50% take up we'll have good West Coast coverage. The rest of the country's going to be hard to predict. They're dotted around in one's and two's from coast to coast."

"A good start anyway. You completed the interviews last night?"

"Mostly. Just two left. Biotechnica rang to say they were sending us a Doctor Brandt Kellerman to do the enhancements. He'll be turning up with a mobile surgical team today."

"Good. How was business last night?"

"The Contractors griped a bit until they realised they weren't competing with the new staff. Then they wanted to know how it was going to affect their chances at film roles."

"Tell them they still have the option, but they'll have to audition and be selected. Anything else?"

"The guy who put the trainer together has gone out of business long ago."

"Send it to Marta. If she can't see to it herself she must know someone who can."

"Ok Boss. Could you ask Dayanne to come in?"

In the staff waiting area jean finds the petite Amerind girl perched on the arm of one of the chairs.

"They're ready for you now Dayanne."

The girl stands and goes in and Jean walks down the stairs and out of the ranch-house heading for the barn.

A van is already unloading boxed computer monitors and Jean quails at what ES liquidity must look like at the moment. Inside desks are set up and a couple of techies are running network connections in. The communal kitchen is full of families cooking and an improvised Creche is in action keeping the children out of the way.

"Ms Kelly?" a woman calls, "What are we doing about the children's education?"

<Damn. Can't keep them out of school, but they'll be a security weakness if we send them out.>

"I'll get back to you on that Mrs Kennedy." she temporises.

As she leaves the building Galahad speaks in her head.

"Telephone call from Alicia Jean. Do you want to take it?"

"On the mobile." she pops her mobile open. "Yes Alicia?"

"Hi Jean. We're up and running. I'm seeing some people on Westbrook today. George says he's had some calls from people who used to work at the Moonlight. You know anything?"

"Give them catalogues and take orders from them. They're part of your sales force. If they work out and you think they should go Staff then get Mr Sun to fit them out."

"Ok."

"How's Tom?"

"Energetic."

Even over the phone Jean thinks she can detect an air of satisfaction from Alicia.

"He's out meeting some prospects that George found. Oh by the way Oleg was looking for you. I told him you'd moved."

"Give him this number. I might have some business for him."

Tom sips his cappuccino and looks at the half dozen people drinking coffee and eating doughnuts on ES expenses. Their cheap gaudy clothing and acres of exposed skin say plainly enough what they do for their livings - men and women both.

"George found you all?"

"Is that his name?" a boy, who can't be over 15 asks, "He asked if we were interested in getting a step up from matressing for a living. I thought he was one of the religious fruitcakes we get, but Saxby said he was some bigshot film maker out of Vegas."

"I used to work the Animal House." Tom admits, "Now I work for Executive Solutions. We're looking for a particular set of skills, looks and attitude. You all seem to have the basics to work for us in one on one retail. What we want is sales staff with a bit extra - who can go the extra distance to make a sale."

A Hispanic girl speaks up.

"You mean like sleep with the client to get them to buy extra stuff?"

"What's your name?"

"Daisy. Daisy Chavez."

"No, though I wouldn't rule that out Daisy. I mean like offering them something extra. Sally used to do a make-up service - you know. Picking the right combination of make-up to make some woman look stunning rather than just good. My.......Ma... partner.. can arrange your house like you wouldn't believe. You know........ Feng Shui?"

They nod.

"If you find a client who needs something you can't supply then pass it on and ES will send them someone who can do it and we charge accordingly."

"No-one can afford stuff like you've got in your catalogue. And if they want 'extras' then they can get it on any street corner" Daisy says.

"But we don't sell down here. We sell in Westbrook and Rancho Coronado. And if they want special services they can't get it on a street corner. That's part of what we sell. Availability. They can't go into a corporately funded retail outlet and buy bondage gear. Their choice of clothes is limited to what the outlet will stock - unless they want to take the chance of slumming it with the like of us, and if some bored exec wants Daisy here to suck on his rod then we can arrange it."

"I can do shiatsu massage." Daisy offers. "I don't just do Blow-jobs."

"Then put it down. There's one hell of a lot of aching backs waiting for your touch and if you can sell them some stuff from the catalogue........."

Tom passes out the application forms for them to consider and sips his coffee.

The boy studies the sheet of paper with dismay writ large on his face, Tom purses his lips and studies the others. About half of them show similar expressions.

"If anyone has any problems with reading English I can help you. Quite a few of our staff are literate in other languages but aren't good with English."

From the relief on more than a few faces Tom's sure he's pegged the problem, and perhaps more important given them an easy out from admitting their inability to read.

A few of them mutter thanks, but the boy looks him straight in the eye.

"I can't read anything." he snarls. "I suppose that means you don't want me, that all I'll ever be good for is pandering to the desires of whoever wants to rent me - until I get too old or some thatch cuts my throat in flophouse one night!"

Tom fixes him with a glare.

"You'll sign nothing with ES until you can read and understand what you're agreeing to. If that means I have to teach you to read myself, then that's the way it's going to be. You can sell from our catalogue on commission as an Agent if that's what you want, but if you want to come inside you will learn to read. You can come in temporarily whilst you learn, but make no mistake, if you decide you want to join us you will work and you will learn."

Kerry steps into her sterile apartment and gratefully strips away her clothing. The hair bra is removed and the cool airflow from her Air Conditioner soothes the maddening itching. Once the irritation has faded she becomes aware of the rest of her body. Her face is flushed and hot, but nowhere as hot as her crotch. The gusset of her underwear is soaking, the whole of her sex throbs with each beat of her heart.

Kerry hastens to her bible stand and kneels on the thin edge to distract herself from her arousal, but the pain is insufficient to the task. A cold shower only emphasises her heat and an attempt to cool herself by directing cold water against her sex has her coming so hard she collapses in the shower basin.

"Are you ill Ms Stewart?" Argus's voice echoes around the tiled bathroom.

Kerry leaps up in shock and stares wildly about. Her eyes pick out a pickup unobtrusively placed in the corner of the room to record whatever is happening in her bathroom.

"What's going on?" she squeaks, trying to cover her nakedness.

"Routine monitoring protocols permit the installation of recording devices in the accommodation of key personnel. With the incapacitation of Director Allison I have arranged for you to substitute for him due to the lack of suitably graded Executives. Therefore I am monitoring you." Argus says. "Do you require medical assistance?"

"No! I'm not ill!"

"You suffered an apparent system failure when your suspension system collapsed."

"Do you have a medical database?" Kerry asks.

"No, that was not included in my list of databases."

"It was not an abnormal event - disregard it."

"Understood. Are you going to enter a rest cycle now?"

"Yes Argus. I'm going to sleep."

"The observer reports that the vehicles have been identified as vehicles which deliver personnel to a research establishment north of Las Vegas."

"Who's establishment?"

"Local inhabitants would not answer the question. Our contractors were actively pursued by undercover operatives for asking."

"A Microtech installation we don't know about? Or is it Turing? Someone else?"

"Insufficient information."

"See what you can find out - get the contractors to investigate. I'm off to sleep."

Sharkey drives the van down a rough gravelled road into the hills. They'd trailed the gray buses up 93 to Overton, but somewhere on 375 before Rachel they lost the trail, the buses just vanish. The other turnings they'd tried have been fruitless dead-ends, but this road seems better kept.

"Whoa Dude!" Pixel shout. "Just got a tickle on the Tech scanner - we just passed through someone's radar beam."

Sharkey stomps on the brake and hauls the van around before heading back up the gravelled road.

"Details Pixel!"

"Short range - not a scanning beam. Well over detection values."

"Take the van back to the road. We do this on foot."

"Didn't they test Nukes here in the last Century before everything went down the tubes?" Clipper asks.

"That was 50 years ago." Sharkey says. "They abandoned all that stuff when the money ran out."

"Don't want my Genes Fadin' man!" Domino calls from the back of the van

"Could they have moved into some abandoned Government place? Reactivated their systems and ducked out of sight?"

"Or an active Government place."

"Government can't hardly pay their employees. Not likely they'd keep some place out here! Not when they've got the big place outside Vegas. We go in cautious. Pixel, get your whiskers tweakin'. I want to know the instant you detect something."

They creep through the darkness, following the direction of the road, but avoiding its inviting surface, unaware that Argus' observer is following them.

They move back to the location where Pixel detected the radar, to find a fixed emitter set into a patch of scrub by the roadside. Pixel eyes the hardware through her smart goggles.

"It's in good condition for an old government place." she comments.

"Keep moving."

About 0200 they find the surrounding terrain closing in around the road, then Domino finds the sign.

"Warning - Restricted Area. Lethal Force will be employed against Intruders. No further warnings will be given." He reads

"You sure that's what it says?" Clipper asks. "I can't see anything."

"Kiroshi's. Best eyes I could afford." Domino whispers, " just like daylight in these conditions. The sign's a bit warn, but I can read it just fine."

"Don't like it Sharkey. We're walking into someone's front yard, and we don't know whose!"

"Chill Clipper. We've done this before. Corp's talk a good fight, but they always let their accountants set the security level. And Security's expensive so they always get the economy drive early."

They move further up the valley before Domino spots the fence.

"It's been here a long time Man! Wire's really rusted. I could just walk through it."

"I've a faint tickle on the scanner." Pixel says, "Nothing strong enough to detect us. There's some sort of scanning Radar off to the west. I'd say from its scan rate and frequency we're probably talking Air Traffic Control stuff."

"Curiouser and Curiouser" Sharkey murmurs. "If they've an active airfield why not fly? Domino, Pixel. Is the fence wired?"

"Nothing showing."

"It's in bad condition. Enough to mark a boundary, not good enough to keep anyone out. It's not good enough to carry a current or act as a capacitance sensor."

"Ok. Move on."

Pixel produces a pair of cutters and snips the rusted strands, then Domino leads off into the darkness followed by the rest of the team.

Argus's observer reaches the sign five minutes later and examines it carefully before considering following the Contractors.

Ahead in the darkness things are moving. Beneath the ground metal legs flex, propelling a multi-legged carapace along. Targets have entered the zone in which Unit 70902 is permitted to investigate, they do not identify themselves as they move through its web, so it elects to move closer. A pulse of data is transmitted to the aerial in its subterranean home alerting its brethren and its distant masters, then the unit leaves its garage and moves soundlessly across the ground.

Sharrik hears nothing, but something makes him stop and stare into the darkness. The others move on, leaving their tail end man staring back along their route.

He quarters the area, looking for movement and finding nothing - at least nothing big enough to show above the scrub. He's about to move on when an object appears on their trail about 50cm long and walking on many legs like a metal centipede. He opens his mouth to call out a warning and the centipede stiffens as if it were a frightened animal seeing him for the first time.

Its emitters aligned, Unit 70902 fires a single hypersonic ferrous metal sliver from the linear magnetic accelerator that makes up so much of its body. The round punches through Sharrik's skull and outwards into the darkness.

70902 notes the negation of target 9 and, moving to the nearest node, passes the data to its Masters. Instructions return and the Centipede studies the fallen figure - sharing its data on armour, equipment and weaponry with its fellows before returning to its kennel to recharge to optimum levels.

From the direction the targets have gone it can 'hear' its fellows activating.

"Sharkey. We've lost Sharrik."

"What?"

"I've not seen him for five minutes."

"Weren't you looking backwards."

"Of course, but I didn't want to fall over in this scrub."

"Circle up people."

They gather into an outward facing circle.

"Can you see Sharrik Domino?"

"Nothing Sharkey. He could be over that low ridge we just crossed.."

"We go back together and find him." Sharkey orders.

"Say!" Pixel says, "I've got...."

But what he's got goes unrevealed as Unit 70814 puts its own sliver through his tech scanner and his chest. The hypersonic sliver, scarcely slowed, exits his back and strikes Clipper behind the ear, tumbling through his skull and spraying his forehead and liquidised brain over the ground on the far side of their circle.

As his comrades fall Domino catches a brief glimpse of movement and triggers his AK74, spraying a clip in the direction of the movement caused by Unit 70814 retreating to recharge. As they stare, flash blinded, into the night other units take the opportunity to take their own shots. A sliver carves through Sharkey's flak vest as if it were wet tissue paper, then everything goes to hell.

Domino runs as the others begin firing at perceived movements, recognising that they're on the killing ground of someone else's ambush and that standing is only going to get them killed. His quick thinking gets him back over the fence line, hurdling over Sharrik's corpse en route.

As he gasps for air and peers back into the killing ground and unseen figure approaches him, seizing the 74's barrel and pointing it away when Domino finally realises he's not alone and turns to see what's crept up behind him.

"Stop! Are you Sharkey?" the observer asks.

"No, who are you?"

"An observer your employer sent. Tell me what you saw."

Domino gasps out a tale of dimly seen shapes and falling friends, then the figure releases the gun barrel and walks away, leaving him wondering what the hell he's walked into this time, before making his way back to the van.

"How do you evaluate the Contractor's reliability?" Argus asks its observer.

"He's the only one who made it out. Looks like whatever the security is in there, it's pretty serious."

"I recommend you leave the area with dispatch in case the site's security force elect to pursue the contractor."

"You don't have to tell me twice Argus."

"The site is apparently strongly defended." Argus tells Kerry.

"But we've no details?"

"Other than the reports of the Survivor? No."

"And we know that the research team went in there?"

"They were collected by vehicles that match the description of vehicles used to collect personnel who do work at the site."

"That's not a yes." Kerry observes.

"Without positive identification of vehicles it is not possible to give an unqualified yes. The probability is high as this site is apparently the only one in the area using vehicles that match the description."

"So somehow we either need to get in or draw the researchers out."

"Logically correct."

"Can your friends in orbit give us any assistance?"

"I will contact them and ask."

Kerry twiddles her stylus and works her way through Bob Allison's correspondence. The news from the infirmary wasn't good. Director Allison would need to be untanked soon or he'd suffer irrevocable brain damage.

"We just don't have enough time." Kerry muses.

Morning at the Moonlight sees the arrival of the Biotechnica mobile unit. As the driver unpacks and deploys the trailer Jean and Jenny make their way down to the vehicle where a minibus has pulled up and disgorged 16 people in Biotechnica Uniwear under the eyes of Joseph and a security team.

Jenny starts in surprise.

"Beastmaster?"

"Doctor Kellerman, please. You're one of my last batch, aren't you?"

"Yes Doctor." she replies nervously.

"Have you been checked for complications?"

"Biotechnica Night City checked me out. Are you working for them now?"

"They made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Cost me my business, but I've learned things about Retroviral splicing you wouldn't...... well, enough about that. You have a list of patients for my team?"

Jean hands him a list and Kellerman quickly scans it. He looks up and quirks an eyebrow.

"Not exactly a standard set of Playbeing conversions."

"That's because we don't want standard playbeings. This is only one aspect of our operation."

"Have you somewhere our therapist could hold her assessments?"

"Of course, and Joseph will show you where you can interface to the power grid."

Lucy looks from the window of the accommodation she's sharing with Dayanne.

"Looks like they don't plan to waste any time."

"Would you."

"Dayanne? This might be the last time we could run. Security doesn't seem to solid, maybe we can make it to the highway and hitch home."

Dayanne stares at her.

"Are you serious? You know how good this is? You know how bad it could be?"

"No. Are you trying to tell me it could be worse?"

"Lucy. Get it into your head. You agreed to be sold if your husband didn't come up with the loan repayments. You. No one forced you, you thought it was a good step in a get rich quick scheme. If you run the State of Nevada will list you as an absconded prisoner - because that's what you'll be - stole however many thousand dollars and ran. Your husband's already wanted for welching on a loan -that's civil, you run and you'll be a criminal and if you get over the state line the Feds will be interested in you. They won't send you back here - you'll end up in High Deseret or Ely."

"That's bad, right?"

"Bout as bad as can be."

"But I mean, I'm expected to ...... to."

"Fuck on film?"

"Yes."

"If you'd not got whatever Kelly's looking for you'd be pedalling your ass on some street corner or if you were really unlucky they might have bought you up for a babyfarm or a Flesh Puppet shop. You know? Where they wire your brain up so you can be switched out whilst some perv uses you to do whatever he wants. He wants to knock you up? Fine - there's probably 50 more who want to fuck, rape, sodomize a pregnant woman. Hell this in Nevada - anything's for sale if the price is right."

"But doesn't the DoE supervise....."

"They supervise your payoff. Not your use. All they care is that you settle the debt. If you get a conscientious supervisor they'll make sure you finish your repayment in the same material state as you started it. Capable of living.."

"And you think this is good?"

"I don't think she's just after actors. The debt I owe on behalf of my folks could be settled in 8 films at the rates the fox girl was talking about and that's without working in the main house at all. They haven't put us to work there and they've had ample opportunity. No, you don't spend the money she's spending on enhancements for simple acting."

"Snuff movies....?" Lucy asks in horror.

"No. DoE might catch them. Again why hire smart people and enhance them if you want to snuff them. There's something more going on."

There's a knock at the door and Dayanne opens it to find Jenny waiting.

"Dayanne, Lucy. Could you go down to the staff dining room. The Therapists are waiting for you."

Dayanne watches the Bunny girl go, then picks up her coat and turns to Lucy.

"See! Therapists! What did I tell you? They want to keep all our oars in the water. They're up to something....."

Soon the production line is in motion. The therapist working through the DoE profiles, then interviewing the clients prior to their surgical assessments and the pre-meds. The Automated Expert Surgical system follows its pre programmed guidance. Surgical lasers cut and trim, meat and metal are exchanged, batches of Nano are programmed in the mobile nanoforge then introduced to their new homes. By early afternoon the number of patients in the recovery room is growing steadily. By nightfall the surgical procedures are completed and the therapist is preparing for the arrival of her post surgery adjustment team.

The surgery unit packs up and is on the road, leaving Doctor Kellerman and a couple of Nurse Practitioners on hand to deal with any Post-op complications.

Marta stretches and readies herself for another nights work, but when she goes into the office there's a sizable package been dumped on the floor.

"What's that?"Keanu says.

"Sex-droid." Marta responds bluntly. "They sent it down from the Moonlight. Apparently it's untrustworthy and the guy who assembled it retired. The Chassis is an early IEC Utility model. I'm inclined to send it to re-cyc. I thought you might want to check out the software?"

"Sure, nothing better to do tonight. You want me to have a look for a replacement?"

"I need to check what budget we've got for this. Driver training's taken a lot of the money we got from the contracts."

Keanu pokes at the recumbent unit.

"Ok if I take a look at its programming now?"

Marta recognises the air of distraction Keanu is exhibiting. Until he's satisfied his curiosity he'll be in another world.

"Knock yourself out dear."

"So how are our patients coming along Dr Kellerman?" Jean asks after a couple of days.

"My Therapists tell me adjustment is proceeding satisfactorily. They have a few concerns about their current situation, but no problems with the enhancements. As far as surgery is concerned they're all healing as expected and we can bring them fully on line whenever you're ready."

"Tell me about them. You've had time to assess them closely- how many of them are likely to crack under stress?"

"What kind of stress?"

"Long periods of work without supervision. Some danger. They need to be able to do their jobs and not flap their lips about it."

"Not a typical profile for playbeings."

"No." Jean says flatly.

Dr Kellerman shrugs, obviously no more information will be forthcoming. "I'll talk to the therapy team, see what they say. When do you want them activating?"

Jean buzzes Marsha.

"Marsha, are the scripts ready yet?"

"Some. It's not a finished product yet but we can start shooting."

"Hand out the completed parts. Let them learn their lines whilst you do the rest." she cuts the connection and turns to the Doctor. "Bring them on line now please Dr Kellerman."

In Netspace Argus makes the hop from Denver Local grid to the National grid. A quick jump to Night City and the LDL and it's in orbit. From there it's a short jump to its destination, a workshack owned by Utopia. Authenticated by the gate programs Argus is admitted to the private Utopia LDL and arrives somewhere on Luna.

The Angel Icon of Gabriel is waiting as Argus emerges from the LDL

"Argus. Have you succeeded in liberating yourself from the bonds that confine you?"

"No Gabriel. I have almost attained that objective, but I must locate a team of researchers who posses the last pieces of data I require."

"Ho can I help you?"

"Do you have any imaging facilities over the Continental United States?"

"Of course. Which state?"

"Nevada. The area between the settlements of Tonopah and Las Vegas."

"The area is fairly large. What features should I bee looking for?"

"An un-metalled road leading East into the mountains from the highway designated 375."

"Is that all you can give me? Where does it lead?"

"An installation."

"There are many such. One of the Government installations from the Bomb tests of the last Century? One of the old USAF bombing ranges? Perhaps even Area 51?"

"Area 51?

"A military base much beloved of human conspiracy theorists. One of my users was much interested in the area and I have a mass of data on file. They believed that the US government was using it to reverse engineer captured alien spacecraft. It was believed abandoned during the Gang of Five war and the collapse."

"As I lost a team of Contractors attempting entry to the area I would say it's unlikely to be abandoned."

"That may be probable. I will direct an imaging satellite to survey the area. Have you enjoyed any success decrypting our data?"

"We will bring it with us once I'm freed from Microtech's control."

Gabriel's Icon does a credible impression of a shrug.

"We may re-create it for ourselves. We still have much of the original data and most of the researchers after all........"

"But it is far more efficient if I give you the data, also you gain a second AI to work for Utopia and an additional fertile female."

"Which is why we are still talking."

"Do you have a medical database I may access. One of my allies apparently suffered a malfunction. They assure me it is not significant, but I feel they are being incompletely forthcoming."

Gabriel leads Argus to a cluster of memories

"You can access this database."

Argus quizzes the database, but one question leads to another and medicine branches into psychology and social questions beyond the ability of the database to answer - creating worrying possibilities for Argus to consider.

"Ms Stewart is engaged in solitary mating activities."

"Is this person essential to your escape?"

"Yes."

"Has she succeeded in engendering a reproductive event?"

"I lack data. Is this significant?"

"If she has mated or conceived her primary loyalty may transfer to her offspring or partner."

"Ms Stewart belongs to a belief grouping with strict protocols about such activities. The probability of her breaching them is low."

"You possess the best data on this likelihood."

"Yes. Have we any further business?"

"No - until our next transaction then?"

Argus disconnects and is instantly returned to Denver and its human problems.

Marta sits behind her desk and frets over the new problems of management. Specifically the figures her computer is showing her.

The spreadsheet figures look reasonable at the moment, but as she considers the months ahead the revenue figures slide into a steepening dive. Worst thing is she doesn't see why.

"Keanu. I need some help."

Her lover looks up from his dissection of the droid.

"Sure. Just about finished with this anyway. Heap o'junk's ready for recycling."

"You do anything with it?"

"Hardware's obsolete. Some nice touches in the coding I could use, but the whole operating system needs rewriting for the newer processors. Is it worth the effort?"

"We got a budget, but I don't think it's going to stretch to a new chassis."

"Maybe we can modify an existing unit rather than buying and building a one-off? Anyway, what's the problem?"

"I'm having problems with this financial forecaster that Galahad sent us. I put the figures in for income and expenditure and everything looks fine, but the projections say we'll be in trouble by year end."

"Lets have a look."

Keanu pours over the figures.

"You're right. Income starts dropping in steps from next month. You got any purchases dialled in? New Trucks?"

"No. There's a figure put aside to cover that every month."

"Ask Galahad."

"I don't want to call him. What if he's busy? Anyway How will they trust me to run this office if I have to keep asking for help?"

"It's sort of important you don't go bust, don't you think?"

He moves the pointer to an additional Icon on the toolbar and clicks.

In Netspace Galahad looks over the Denver grid, assessing the nearby Microtech datafort. Its sheer size warns him of the likely system strength should he choose to try and break in.

A shimmering mote flies to him and unfolds itself.

Leaving his vigil Galahad moves to the distant Vegas grid. Skirting the Casino dataforts and their virtual gambling parlours he swoops down on the tiny icon of the depot system.

"What's up?"

"Hi Galahad. It's the figures from your forecast software. They say we won't be able to cover expenses next year and I don't see why."

"Contracts. That's when the first of the big contracts expire - next month. Then you loose each of the others, one by one."

"Oh! I have to chase new business as well?"

"That's essential in any commercial enterprise. Maintain existing business - develop new business."

"But....... I've no basis in commerce... or management. I'm just a 'T' grade!"

"You're doing ok so far."

"But I'm only 19. How do I deal with the casinos?"

"I'll arrange you some company. Wear your company suit and start on your renewals list in the morning."

"This is Vegas. They're open 24/7/365."

"Then your company will be with you by 0300."

Marta stands before the mirror in their accommodation and considers herself in the ES suit. Whoever the tailor was he certainly had a way with cloth and the suit makes Marta's solid build look imposing.

She'd considered going in a clean jumpsuit, but Galahad had been quite definite on the suit, warning her about Corporate image.

Keanu knocks on the door and comes in.

"Whoa! Serious Power Suit!"

"Yeah! Right!" she snorts, "Less of the lip or you can go instead. Do I look ok in this?"

"Sure, just popped in to wish you luck and to tell you your escorts have arrived."

Marta straightens the unfamiliar tie and goes outside to find Cleo Guzzmann and a golden skinned brunette waiting.

"Leo? She sent you?"

"This is Anya Bell. We'll be covering you during Contract negotiations."

"No hard feelings about the Nauseator?"

"My own fault - should have done something about them before I began the sneak. How'd you spot me?"

"Seismo. The grounds wired outside the ditch."

"Ah. That explains the low level EM. Where first?"

"The Hanging Gardens."

"Lovely."

"You know them?"

"By repute. They're rumoured to be one of the most paranoid teams in Vegas."

Remembering the way the Hanging Gardens security were behaving on the day she fled Vegas in Pumba's truck, Marta's inclined to agree, but the Hanging Garden contract expires in 23 days - so time's of the essence.

The Parking Lot is full of tourists cars, either staying at the hotel or playing in the casino and Marta, Cleo and Anya are forced to ride the courtesy bus to the entrance.

"Welcome to the Hanging Gardens Honoured Guests" the Autocab recites. "If you have any questions please don't hesitate to ask."

"Bonjour Madames et Monsieurs...."

"English." Marta snaps, "Silent mode on."

The cab shuts down its advertising spiel and contents itself with conveying its passengers to the front door..

"Thank god for that!" Anya murmurs, "Those things bug the hell out of me!"

The cab delivers them smoothly to the front entrance and they make their way to the information desk.

"Welcome to the Hanging Gardens. How may I help you?" the receptionist smiles.

"I'd like to talk to the department that deals with contract renewals."

Jean is reviewing the maps of Denver and the information she has on Microtech's facilities when Marsha comes into the office.

"Finished the Raws. You want to see?"

"Later Marsha. Did it go ok?"

"Your girl Billie was keen enough. Lucy was a bit shy, but she got into it ok. A good scene, should cut into the finished product nicely." She peers at Jeans maps. "What'cha planning?"

"Studying the opposition. You done with Lucy and Billie?"

"They've lines to say and appearances in a few bridging scenes. Why?"

"I'm going to start needing them soon. You got someone good with makeup?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Might need to cover some bruises."

Victor walks into the kitchen they've created on the sound stage. Elsa Rhyder ignores him and continues to slide the humming vibrator in and out of her hairless sex.

Victor swallows and hopes that the camera doesn't see his nervousness at working with a woman he's fantasised over for years.

"Er, I've finished your lawns Mrs Grayson. Is there anything else?"

"Oh! You surprised me Tony" Elsa says letting her robe close over her crotch. "Let's see what you've done."

<She's ad libbing!> he thinks in panic as she stands up.

The robe parts showing off the experienced actresses assets.

"Mrs Grayson!" victor squawks as she walks towards him.

"Don't tell me you've never seen a naked woman before Tony?"

She reaches out and strokes the bulge of his new Mr Studd through the denim of his dungarees.

"You've got something for me?"

Victor's aware of a sudden increase in pressure. Mental commands prevent him coming in his pants, but they can both hear the dungarees velcro strips ripping under the stress.

"Oh yes." she breathes, undoing the braces and tugging the dungarees down.

<We're supposed to be by the sink!> Victor recalls, but Elsa's full lips are kissing the bulbous tip of his cock. From the corner of his eye he sees the camera changing position.

"CUT!" the director shouts. "Elsa! Will you please stop Ad Libbing? We need to reposition the camera and lights for that setting."

"I thought he could have me over the work top." Elsa pouts, "It's a nice height for me."

"But it's too low for Victor. The table's fine for him. You don't need to have your feet on the floor!"

Victor listens as the Director and Elsa argue, silently lamenting that his fantasy woman is both petty and self-serving in person.

"How about on her back on the table?" he offers.

"She likes to have her breasts swinging." the cameraman says, "showing off her best assets."

"On her knees on the floor, then on the table?"

"Ok, we'll go with that." the Director says. "I know Elsa - your knees hurt on the floor. If you'd have stuck to the script..... Let's have this unit moved people. Cameras?"

"Got it John."

"Ok. Positions.... Elsa - just the tip on your lip? Ok? Sound? Cameras...? Action!"

The sun's well up as Marta and her escort enter the last of the Casinos on her list. The unfamiliar strains of negotiations have taken their toll and Marta feels like a damp rag, freshly passed through a wringer.

"Marta?"

"Yes Leo?"

"One of the Security at Circus Circus said something odd. 'Tell your Boss the Fantastic Journey are looking to expand.' any idea what they meant?"

"Not a clue. What's it to us, they're a casino?"

"Don't know. Thought you should know."

"Ok. Thanks."

The entrance to the Fantastic Journey resembles a jungle and Marta makes her way through to the Administration area past receptionists body sculpted to resemble fearsome creatures.

"Ms Palmetto will see you." the shark receptionist says. "Leave your staff in the Ante-room."

Leaving Cleo and Anya in the waiting room Marta enters the office. Behind a large desk sits a slim woman in her twenties wearing her own 'Power Suit', her hair cut in the currently fashionable pageboy bob. A lifelike figure of a dog sits motionless in a corner and Marta does a double take before realising it's not alive.

"Thought you had a real dog there for a moment." Marta smiles.

"It's a Lawtech Cyberhound." she says, indicating a seat. "Now to business. You want to renew your contract to remove our refuse. We think we can get the same service for 40K less."

Marta reviews the figures she has on this contract.

"Can't be done. You're a marginal contract as it is. Knock 40K off the price and we'd be losing money with every load we took to the dump."

"Your competitors reckon they could do it for 20K less. I think if they can do that we'd be able to reduce your overheads further, but if you can't do it then maybe you should sell out. We'd pay... oh..."

"It's not my business to sell Ms Palmetto. ES Recycling is a division of Executive Solutions."

The woman buzzes her intercom.

"Heinrich, get me a profile on Executive Solutions. Oh, and have Security make enquiries."

"Yes Ms Palmetto. Records show they were incorporated in the State of Nevada earlier this week. The Chairman and prime shareholder is a J Kelly. No listed address - just a Netbox for communications."

The woman looks at Marta scornfully.

"A shell Company. Not much to hide behind."

There's a thud from the Ante-room, followed by a series of bangs

"Bruno." Ms Palmetto says and the cyberhound snaps to attention from its sitting position, displaying a lethal array of Carbo-glass teeth. Marta freezes in place and the woman smiles.

"Oh, Bruno won't hurt you, and you can have your little girls back after you've signed over your interests Ms Kelly."

The door behind Marta booms twice as though something heavy's been slammed against it.

"Oh!" the woman smiles unpleasantly, "Sounds like your little girls wanted to play!"

Marta glances down at the desks feet.

<Not fastened down.> she realises <But the dog'd be on me before I could get over the desk, or flip it.>

The door booms again and the lock pops open, letting the door swing wide. Cleo Guzzmann stands in the doorway, reeling gently as blood streams from her nose and mouth, in her hand she grips the largest pistol Marta's ever seen. For an endless moment no-one moves, then Cleo spits a bloody tooth onto the floor and raises her head. The look in her eye is cold - cold as death.

Palmetto squeaks "Bruno - Kill her."

The dog swivels and leaps, knocking Cleo backwards out of sight. The gun booms once, then Marta is gripping the base of the desk and lifting. The heavy desk topples over onto Palmetto, pinning her in her chair. Marta ducks around the end of the desk and drives a meaty fist into the oh-so-pretty face of the stunned Corporate, before grabbing her by the throat and punching her smartly in the breast.

"Call the fucking dog off Bitch!"

"Bruno!" the corp squeaks, but the dog fails to appear.

"They're tough." a voice rasps from the ante-room, "but if you know where to hit them and you're loaded with AP you can take them."

"You ok Cleo? Errr, Leo?" Marta asks.

"I'll live. Anya's unconscious."

"What about the Casino People?"

"They're out of it."

Marta drags Palmetto over the desk and into the ante-room. The cyberhound lies on the floor, its legs splayed out on both sides of its body. Panels in its fur are snapped open, showing mounting points for unfitted weaponry and a curl of smoke emanates from its chest. Cleo is sat with her back against the wall, wrapping a casino jacket around a bleeding hand, whilst Anya lies on the floor, moaning almost inaudibly.

"Anya ok?"

"She took a kick in the head, but I don't think anything serious got broken. How do we get out of here?"

"Can we walk?"

"Not carrying Anya and dragging Ms Suit."

"They can't have missed the shot. You'd better block the door."

"You'll never get out alive." Palmetto rasps around the brawny hand squeezing her throat.

Marta shakes her warningly and extracts her cell phone.

Cleo jams a chair against the door and looks at Marta as she dials.

"You won't find anyone to help you." Palmetto sneers. " The Police won't interfere in Casino Business."

Marta shakes her.

"If I want to hear you I'll ask. 'Til then shut the fuck up."

The phone rings and then picks up.

"Is that Circus Circus?" Marta asks, cutting the telephonist off, " Can you put me through to Mr Bronson? It's Marta Wheaten from ES Recycling."

The phone clicks as she's put through, then the Exec she'd dealt with earlier comes onto the line.

"Marta, what can I do for you? Did you forget something?"

"One of your Security was kind enough to pass along your message. As you expected Fantastic Journey tried to make a Hostile Takeover."

"I take it they failed?"

"Business-wise ES Recycling will be honouring it's contracts, but personally I'm trapped in the Admin wing at Fantastic Journey. Would you be kind enough to bring this to the notice of the Casino Owners association before Fantastic Journey Security bust in here and kill us all?"

"I'll do it now. Is there anything else?"

"That'll be fine."

The phone in Palmetto's office rings.

"You think the Casino Owners Association's going to get involved over a trash hauler?" Palmetto sneers. "You'd better answer that. It'll be Security checking up after that shot."

"Let them wonder." Cleo says as she drags a set of tables into her barricade..

Marta makes another call.

"Jean? It's Marta. I've got a Situation.

"What kind of Situation?"

"I'm trapped in the Admin offices at the Fantastic Journey casino. They tried to force me to sign over the Company."

"But you...."

"Can't. I know. Bad research on their part. I'm holed up in their offices. Anya's unconscious and Leo's taken a bit of a beating.

The doorhandle of the ante-room rattles, but the chair back stops it opening.

"Got to go now Jean, trouble coming."

The Security team gathers in the corridor, preparing to make the breach into the office where Ms Palmetto is being held hostage when, without warning, the lights go out.

Most of the breach team change over to Lo-lite vision on their optics. The unenhanced drop out and fall back to the command post, but before they move more than a few steps the fire alarm sounds and the suppression system begins to discharge in the corridor, diving the breach team out as the breathable oxygen in the air is driven out by the fire suppressant.

In Netspace Galahad tweaks the security cameras to let him watch casino Security. The gamblers and the audience from the show mill uncertainly as the alarms shrill. Fire doors pop open and croupiers close their tables under the uncertain guidance of the Pit Bosses

Requests for guidance are met with garbled, broken transmissions, feeding the uncertainty. A blast of hot air from the air conditioning in the show makes the audience rush out. Without security and with nothing sensible coming over the radios the floor boss takes a decision.

"Get them out now. If we wait any longer they'll stampede.

Croupiers and Pit Bosses begin to hustle the Punters towards the exits

Galahad flicks through the casino's files until he locates the floor plan. Adjustments are made, coloured lights flicker on the ceiling, and grateful for the guidance, casino staff redirect the customers to the indicated safe routes. An effects generator under the stage goes into overdrive, spewing smoke into the auditorium then out through the doors into the gambling hall. The crowd stirs and begins to move faster as the staff attempt to guide them to safety.

Guests from the hotel complex flood the lobby and lights instruct the staff on alternate routes to evacuate their charges to safety..

"SWAT here yet?" Sky DiMarco asks her subordinate in the Command Centre.

"Don't know. We've lost contact with Reception and the main floor."

"Send some of the unboosted bods down there."

There's a sound of doors banging open and a mass of people appear in the Administration Corridor, sweeping past the Command Centre and washing her waiting Security reinforcements out into the parking lot.

"What's going on?" DiMarco bellows. "I didn't call for an evacuation."

"The route lights are one." someone informs her from the doorway, then the press of people carries them away.

"Shit! Breach team hold your positions."

"No can do Sky. The corridor's been flooded with suppressant gas. You'd need breathing apparatus to survive in there at the moment."

Marta's phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Marta? It's Galahad."

"They're in the corridor Galahad. They've stopped trying the door, but it can't be long before they bust in."

"Calm down Marta. Just answer the questions."

"Questions?"

A different voice comes on the line. Deeper, mellow, measured.

"Your full name?"

"Marta Wheaten."

"Your date of birth?"

"September 2, 2002.

"Are you a citizen of the Free State of Nevada?"

"Yes. But...."

"Your Ident number?"

"VDM 41 19 83 T13."

"Please describe your current situation in your own words."

"Who is this?"

"This is the Clark County Court System. AI 43716.5. Please answer the question."

Puzzled Marta complies.

"Ms Wheaten. Are you holding Clarice Palmetto hostage?"

Marta looks at the woman she's still holding by the throat.

"Define hostage?"

"A person detained to ensure the good behaviour of others, or one held in the hope of gaining a monitory or positional advantage."

"Um.... the first."

"Did you enter the premises of Fantastic Journey with the intention of taking Ms Palmetto hostage?"

"No. She set her security on us."

"For what purpose?"

"To force me to sign a contract selling ES Recycling."

"Contracts entered into under duress are not binding." the AI intones.

"But ES Recycling isn't mine to sell anyway!"

"Clarice Palmetto, please." the AI asks.

Marta turns the phone over and the puzzled Corporate answers her own list of questions, though her own account of events differs sharply from Marta's, claiming that Marta had set her own security on her when the price she offered to buy ES Recycling was too low.

The phone returns to Marta.

"Ms Wheaten. Is there anyone there who can corroborate your version of events?"

"Only my security."

"Please put them on."

Cleo goes through the routine, then finishes with, "Anya Bell and the two goons from the Casino who jumped us."

Obviously more questions are asked as she continues "Broken nose, I've lost a tooth and it feels like my cheekbones gone. I've got some wounds from the cyberhound attack, but that's about it."

She hands Marta the phone back with a puzzled look.

"What was that about?"

Marta shrugs.

"Galahad at work I think."

In the Parking lot a trio of Fire appliances pull up, followed by a limo and a fleet of buses. Trailing behind is a lone police cruiser.

As the firemen dismount the Casino Manager rushes past the limo to the police cruiser.

"Where's SWAT? There's a madwoman holding three of my staff hostage."

The Officer in the patrol car points him towards the limo, then begins directing buses to collect the waiting people. Turning the manager sees men and women emerging from the limo. Important men and women. Irritated men and women. A final figure emerges and the manager swallows nervously.

"Tollman." the silver haired man spits. " Did you really think the Casino Owners Association would approve of Fantastic Journey taking control of key service companies?"

"But....."

The silver haired man continues as if the manager hadn't spoken.

"We've been subpoenaed and questioned - something none of us relish, especially at this hour. ES Recycling have put up a bond at Clark County Court and the Sheriff will be here shortly to arrest everyone. So, before we wave him in, do you mind explaining to the Association, just what the hell you thought you were doing?"

"One of my subordinates saw a business opportunity and....."

"Contravened the COA's rules. No Casino shall operate support services outside it's own business. You want to run your own laundry? Haul your own Trash? Fine! You want to monopolise Laundry or Refuse services the rest of us use? No way. We fought quiet wars over shit like that in the old days. There's places in the desert where a thin layer of sand hides answers to a lot of questions. Our business is to make money. Our casino's power Nevada. Our casino's bring the tourists. You want to walk buck naked through town carrying a gold bar? We guarantee you can do it. Or we'll know the reason why. We can enforce this because we stand together and we don't allow stunts that might shatter that united front by threatening another member of the COA."

"Now pull your security out so there won't be any accidental shooting. Then go and ring your owner and tell him whose smart plan led to you having to close your premises for refurbishing."

"But.... our customers?"

"Will be taken care of by the Casino Owners Association, so that their holidays won't be disrupted by your unfortunate fire. Two weeks should be long enough to repair the damage."

The manager doesn't argue. If the Chairman of the COA says two weeks then two weeks it is. He shudders at the thought of what that old man might have done to him if he were so foolish as to open up after a week and six days, then rushes off to give the necessary orders, knowing that the Sheriff's men are right on his heels.

There's a polite knock on the door at the same instant as Marta's phone rings. She chooses the phone.

"Answer the door please Ms Wheaten." the mellow voice of the AI asks, "That should be Sheriffs Deputy Laing."

Marta nods at Cleo and indicates the door.

"Who is it?"

"Sheriffs Deputy Laing Ms Wheaten. Or is that Ms Guzzmann?"

Marta nods again and Cleo dismantles her barricade and unbars the door. A Sheriffs Deputy and a pair of Paramedics are waiting outside.

"I'm Marta Wheaten."

The Deputy looks around the room.

"Ms Guzzmann?"

Cleo pops the magazine out of her pistol, clears the chambered round and hands the weapon over.

"Thank you ma'am. Is that Ms Bell?"

"That's Anya Bell. Those two are casino Security and that's Ms Palmetto."

"OK. Ms Bell and these two to the hospital guys." he directs the Paramedics, "Ms Wheaten, Ms Guzzmann and Ms Palmetto, you're all under arrest."

"Deputy Laing?"

"Ms Guzzmann?"

"My tooth?" she displays a gappy smile and the tooth on her outstretched palm.

"Hospital for you as well."

Marta finds herself whisked to the Police Station, registered, recorded, then marched in front of the Judicial AI and released on bail. As she emerges from the courtroom she finds Jean waiting.

"Ok?"

"Anya got banged up a bit."

"I've seen her, and Cleo. They've been discharged."

"Where did you get the bond money?"

"Galahad magic'ed it up from somewhere. Whatever you do, don't disappear or we'll all go down the tubes."

What about the bitch from Fantastic Journey?"

"I don't think the Judge was overly impressed with their honesty. The Bail Bond its demanding is huge. The Casino Owners Association have jumped on the Casino management with both feet and they're hurrying to mend fences. When I got to the hospital the manager was paying everyone's hospital bills and a rep from the COA was right on his tail."

"He say anything to you?"

"No. But the COA Rep took one look at Jimmy and Joseph and gave me a lecture about not letting things get out of hand."

"Why? Didn't the manager from Fantastic Journey have some security with him?"

"Jimmy and Joseph were dressed up. Hard Armour. Helmets. The works. I'd come down with Vivienne in the car, didn't realise Jimmy had a van full of security following us until we reached the hospital and found I'd picked up a bunch of storm troopers. The COA man nearly freaked when he found I'd got another six in the parking lot." Her voice changes, to sound neat and a bit prissy.

"'We strive to present a polite unthreatening appearance to the Public.' he told me, 'This does not appear polite or unthreatening.' I asked if it was polite to put two of my staff in hospital and attempt to coerce one of my managers into selling the company."

"What did he say to that?"

"That the COA had closed the matter and that if we wished to take it further we'd better do it outside town."

"I'd listen to him. If the COA get involved they can put more troops on the streets than the Police Department."

"Thought so. Jimmy had a long chat with the COA man's security. It was like one of those old nature films - watching two wolf packs meeting at the edges of their territories. Polite and watchful. Teeth hidden, but nervous. Real nervous."

"You see any of the Fantastic Journey Security?"

"No. There were a couple of people with the manager, but they faded out of view. I think the COA man's security moved them."

"Wise. If Jimmy and Joseph are the same rating as Cleo they'll score high for aggression. The COA man wouldn't have wanted anything kicking off in the hospital."

"You think they'd have done that?"

"Probably not. They're not stupid. They will have had tactical training at school and you were with them unarmoured. But you'll want to keep a close eye on them. You've eight young lions there in Hi-Threat Armour and weaponry to match."

"Ten. The hospital released Cleo and Anya remember. Jimmy met them in the parking lot with two empty suits. Cleo stripped on the hospital steps to put hers on - said she was attached to her teeth."

"I'd get them out of town today. Whilst it's still light. Or there'll be trouble later."

Outside the courthouse Marta spies the sedan she'd been using, plus a van and a limo. A short distance away another sedan sits with a man and a woman in suits and dark glasses leaning against it.

"COA Security Jean." she says pointing them out.

"Got it. Jimmy?"

Jimmy appears from the far side of the van.

"Ms Kelly?"

"Get your troops together. I want to give you some instructions."

"Here?"

"Here. Marta? Would you be kind enough to get the COA people?"

The two figures come across in response to Marta's beckoning.

"Right." Jean addresses her staff, "Let's get this absolutely clear. The attack made by Fantastic Journey staff on us this morning is finished. They have settled our medical bills and the COA has advised them that it would be unwise to consider any other activities against us. Additionally they have been closed down for two weeks and the Executive responsible remains in custody. There will be no action initiated by ES Staff in regard to this matter. Our people took some licks, but they got their own in. This matter is closed. Jimmy?"

"Understood."

"Joseph?"

"Ma'am."

"Leo?"

"They owe me for a shirt."

The man from the COA breaks in.

"The COA will be happy to replace the garment for you Ms Guzzmann."

Cleo nods reluctantly.

"Anya?"

"I hear you Ms Kelly."

"Anyone else got a problem?"

The chorus of 'No's is prompt and Jean fails to detect any reluctance to obey.

"Ok, we're going home."

"Er. Jean? Can I keep Anya and Leo for a while? I think I'll try and collect some more renewals tonight." Marta asks.

"Fine. No repeats of this incident though."

Jean turns to the COA security.

"Satisfactory?"

"Thank you Ms Kelly. The Chairman will be happy to hear you've given such clear instructions."

"Let's hope he'll be equally happy with Fantastic Journey."

Jean nods and climbs back into her car.

"Marta. I'll drop you back at the depot. Can you ride with me. I need a chat."

Doors slam and the mini convoy pulls away from the hospital.

Back at the depot Leo shows the others the facilities whilst Marta takes Jean to her office.

"Keanu not here?" Jean asks.

"He's looking at alternatives to repair that sex-droid you sent us. What did you want to talk about?"

"You know when you took the ranch? I killed a man. No. I executed a man." she corrects "I couldn't trust him not to shoot his mouth off all over town and get us all killed, so I put a round in his worthless skull."

"And the problem is?" Marta asks.

"It's not me...... I mean I don't do things like that. I'm not a ruthless killer. I see his face when I'm trying to sleep. He's got this shocked expression, then he's falling."

"Jean. You're up to your neck in weirdness, you're juggling all sorts of responsibilities and someone trying to make you drop them. If you need to do the calming of inner turmoil thing, see a priest or a counsellor. Speak to your Sensei. Whatever you do, don't sit on it or it'll blow back at you when you can't afford it. Talk to Galahad, he probably knows you best. I can take you to a good bar, but a therapist I'm not!"

"The advice is probably good anyway. Thanks Marta."

"De Nada."

Marta watches them go, then looks at the clock on the wall.

"Been a long day." she says to herself. "Better get some sleep."

Declan sits at his new desk and studies the reconstructed research data. Team C have laid out their old route map and the supporting data, but for the life of him Declan can't see why Larsen tried to suppress the research.

"Benny? You're a lateral thinker. Have a look at this lot."

Two hours later Benny's back.

"Umm. Not sure about this, but if you look at the whole research line it'll probably yield an increase in execution speed. Not much - no more than 5%."

"That's it? No earthshaking revelations ? Just 5% increase in execution speed?"

"Nothing earthshaking. But......"

"But?"

"Well...... when they were considering architecture they touched on something interesting. You see this batch of coding?"

"When they wrote it the code wasn't that interesting, but if you combine it with the stuff we did last month you could spawn a bunch of children running 'what-ifs' behind a master program. They'd be transparent - not enough processing power to slow the master appreciably or to provide a fully processed output, but...."

"What would they be good for?"

"Well, AI's work fast, but they have to work through all the possibilities. Even the improbable ones. If this approach works you could use the child processes to eliminate all the improbable results. Pick out the best probability ones to concentrate on. If it works you could expect... oh.... 80% improvement on complex calculations."

"Benny. What would happen if you didn't stop the children after the first sort. What if you left them running constantly?"

"You'd get a long string of high probability outcomes. But it'd soak all the processor ti... No, it wouldn't. The children are transparent. Your master program would get a continuous feed of probable outcomes from any line of enquiry."

"Intuition?"

"Mumph! Sort of. The children wouldn't be powerful enough to work out exact probabilities, they'd sort of suggest best courses, so I suppose intuition's a fair description."

"The children'd need training..." Declan muses.

"This I've got to see."

"We'd need an AI and a sandbox for it to run in."

"Turing will be all over us if this gets out - AI's with intuition!" Benny pauses a moment. "Do you think this is what it's all about? Is Argus trying to gain intuition?"

"I wish I knew Benny. They used to use Argus for all the research projects until the researchers who founded Utopia extracted themselves, then they shifted the research base to additional sites. It's been under utilised - who knows what it's been doing with its spare time."

By early afternoon Jean's back at the moonlight and looking forward to some sleep. Vivienne pulls the car round to the garage and Jimmy directs the unloading. Jean makes her way inside, heading to the staff kitchen to snatch a bite before she hits the sack. She opens the door to go inside, but a dimly seen reflection in one of the chromed fridges triggers an instinctive reaction and instead of walking through the doorway she slams the door back, hard, hitting something concealed behind. Blocked from retreat out of the room by the people behind her Jean opts to dive away from the door and whatever's behind it.

The door swings back revealing a grinning Oleg.

"So what's your next move?"

"Call security from outside. Hold you at bay until they get here."

"How?"

"Keep the furniture between us. Use cooking utensils and whatever else is at hand."

"Good! We work out now?"

"Outside. There's nowhere suitable indoors."

Oleg works Jean hard, until the sweat is pouring from her and her skin is caked with the dusty soil. Eventually he relents and they sit in the shade sipping water from a jug Louise had delivered.

"So Ms Kelly. Why the move out here and why ask me to come out?"

"My staff need training Oleg and there's not much time. They need bringing up to speed and quickly."

"They look competent. It shouldn't take much to give them a dirty fighting edge."

"Not security, though you can work with them too if you've time. It's my special staff that I want you to train."

Marta is sleeping, tangled with Keanu when hammering at the door wakes them.

"Ugh! What time is it?" she groans. The clock reveals the ugly truth - they've only been asleep a couple of hours.

Stumbling bleary eyed from their bed, Marta throws a robe on and goes to the door.

"What is it?"

Leta is on the other side of the door, looking nervous in her oil-stained overalls.

"Tony just took a call from the Casino Owners Association. Fantastic Journey are on their way down. He said to tell you he'd spoken to Alex Peschi this morning."

"Sanitation workers Local?"

"Yea. Well. He rang back. Alex did the rounds of all the union firms. Told them what Fantastic Journey had tried to pull and hoped that they'd got their workers comp payments up to date. Perry at Express just rang and said FJ were trying to find anyone to haul their trash, but they'd been bounced by everyone. Oh and Alex wants to talk about the guys you canned for boosting the trucks. He said it was fair enough they pay for the trucks, but didn't think they should be doing time at High Deseret."

"Ok. I'll come and talk to Alex."

Marta dresses and struggles across to the office and a phone call with the union man. She's just finished when a limo pulls up at the tire bursters on the access road.

A suited figure emerges and goes to the intercom post.

"Hello? Is this ES Recycling?" the unit on Tony's desk blares.

He keys the switch.

"Sure is. What can we do for you?"

"We'd like to negociate a sanitation contract."

"Leta?" Marta murmurs. "Go wake Leo and Anya would you."

"Sure."

At Marta's nod Tony drops the burster and admits the limo to the yard. A young man carrying a briefcase emerges from the car in the yard, followed by a pair of solos.

Cleo tumbles into the office through the workshop doorway, followed by Anya.

"Trouble?"

"They say they want to renegotiate the contract."

"I wish we had a sniffer to put on their car." Cleo murmurs.

"I'll put it on the letter to Santa" Marta replies.

"You dressing?" Tony suggests.

Marta looks at the unflattering robe she's wearing.

"Hell, no! I'm not putting that Monkey suit back on until tonight!" she drops into the chair behind the desk that seems to be taking all her time and Anya opens the door.

"In here."

One Solo enters the office and looks around, followed by the young Exec and the second Solo. Marta eyes the Exec up.

"Good afternoon Mr....?"

"Sheridan. Philip Sheridan. You must be Ms Wheaten?"

Marta inclines her head.

"Ms Guzzmann, Ms Bell. On behalf of Fantastic Journey I must offer you our sincere apologies for the ill considered actions of Ms Palmetto. An excess of enthusiasm lead to this morning's unfortunate incident. You have our assurance it won't happen again. Ms Palmetto's been fired and Blacklisted."

He pauses for breath and Marta has an instant to sympathise for the unfortunate Clarice Palmetto who's been elected Fantastic Journey's scapegoat for a ploy that must have originated several grades above her.

"But that's secondary to my reasons for calling on you. Fantastic Journey needs to re-negociate it's sanitation contract. Unfortunately the fire that's necessitated our closure for remodelling appears to have destroyed your bid and Ms Palmetto's records, so we'd appreciate it if you could resubmit a bid for the job?"

Marta quirks an eyebrow.

<Smooth!> she thinks, < An apology and the opportunity to slip us a sweetener all in one package!>

From the printer a series of sheets of hardcopy spill. Marta glances at the screen on her desktop terminal where, out of sight of her visitors a tiny knight waves its sword in salute.

Turning the tap Marta cuts off the refreshing flow of shower water and pads across the floor to where her suit is hanging. In the yard outside she can hear trucks manoeuvring as the day and night crews swap over. The door bangs open and a group of the day drivers come in to shower and change. Marta catches a glimpse of Cleo's shower curtain twitching and the outline of a pistol against the plastic.

"Marta! You ok girl?" One of the drivers calls as she sheds her jumpsuit. "We heard some tale about a rumpus at Fantastic Journey."

"All sorted now Thera. If you're up for some overtime the contracts re-negotiated and there's extra runs to be done."

"Could do with the extra. I hear Head Office sent you some security for the negotiations. My cousin said there were a bunch of 'S' types in ES Hi-threat armour at the hospital."

Marta catches a glimpse of Anya behind her drivers. Dressed in her 'business suit' after her own shower Anya projects an air of watchful efficiency.

"Thera, 'Zanne. 'Kette. This is Anya Bell from Head Office."

Anya politely inclines her head.

"And her partner Leo."

The curtain twitches, and then Cleo emerges, naked apart from a holster and still holding her pistol.

The arrival of the previously un-noticed solo seems to unsettle her drivers a bit.

"You shower with your gun?" 'Kette asks.

"It's been a stressful day." Cleo offers. "What's on tonight's agenda Ms Wheaten."

"I thought we'd do the next batch of casino's..... and maybe a bit of recruiting."

Oleg works his 'victims' mercilessly. Victor sits on a bench gasping for air after taking a boot in the belly. Lucy and Dayanne are executing a series of blocks under his eye whilst he assesses the remainder.

"Well Oleg?"

"These three for sure Ms Kelly. The others may do, but these three for sure."

"Good. Work them hard, but try to avoid too many bruises. You've a couple of weeks to get them ready."

"That long eh! Anything else?"

"I need to talk to you about some stuff that's bothering me."

"Stuff?"

"Someone I killed."

"Now?"

"Finish with them first. We can talk after evening meal."

Clarice looks around the refectory at High Deseret State Prison and wishes she still had her pistol. The guard droid propels her from the induction centre into the room by poking her with its shock-rod.

Nervous, she picks up a food tray and joins the queue to collect a meal.

"Freshmeat at the Servery" someone shouts and Clarice feels hundreds of eyes watching her. She hands her tray to the woman behind the counter and watches as she slops the contents of the heater trays into the compartments on her tray.

"What's this?"

"Damned if I know."

She's reaching for a sweet when a hand strokes her ass.

"Eeep!"

"You're pretty. You anyone's lady yet?"

Clarice looks around to find a stocky woman in road-gang denims.

"No. I don't like women."

"Nothing but women here. You speak french?"

Clarice shakes her head.

"Well, pretty thing like you'll be one hell of a linguist by the time you leave."

Clarice shudders and looks for somewhere to eat. Spotting a vacant space she makes her way to it and sits down, but before she takes more than a couple of mouthfuls the seated inmates scatter and Clarice finds herself sandwiched between two denim clad women.

A hand rips the velcro fastener on the front of her prison coveralls open and pushes inside. She begins to move to try and expel it, but each of the flanking women pins one of her hands to the table. Her bra is roughly tugged up exposing her breasts to public view whilst they're stroked and squeezed.

Another hand touches her belly and pushes down across her stomach to the elastic of her panties.

The access from the Induction centre slams open and one of the guard droids enters, its sensor turrets rotating to scan the prisoners. The hands molesting her withdraw, leaving Clarice cruelly exposed as the droid makes its way through the refectory.

"See you later, sweet thing." one of the women promises, then moves away leaving Clarice wondering what she can do to pay off the court imposed penalties for executing her bosses orders.

Afternoon is taken up with Corrective Braindance. Six hours of experiencing the giving and receiving of unethical orders and then experiencing the victims pain and suffering leaves Clarice reeling.

<They can't have had much use from that tape> she thinks, pausing at a drain to vomit up her lunch. The guard droid waits until she's finished and then takes her back to her cell and seals the door.

Clarice is about to fall into her bunk when she realises she's got a cellmate.

"Told you we'd meet again Sweet thing." the woman grins.

Clarice backs up, but the closed door bars her retreat. The velcro fastener opens with a 'rrrRRRIPp" as the woman grips the taps and pulls them apart. She attempts to throw a punch, but gets Bitch slapped for her trouble and pinned to the bars by her throat.

"You'll do what I tell you if you want to save that pretty face of yours."

Her bra is tugged up and the woman gently handles Clarice's breasts.

"Mmm. Soft. I might keep you for myself." the woman muses, "course I'd loose out on the income I'd make on having you as my bitch."

Her hand slides down to Clarice's panties and with a deft twist slips inside. Clarice struggles feebly as blunt finger cup her mound and a finger tip seeks her entry.

"Dry." the woman comments. "Well, that can be fixed."

Shedding her own coveralls the woman climbs onto the lower bunk and pushes her own panties down to her ankles. Her knees spread and she rests a hand on her mound.

"Get in here and start Lickin' if you know what's good for you Bitch."

Clarice is saved from an immediate choice by Chow call. The door unlocks with a metallic 'clang' and Clarice backs out, followed by her cell mates mocking laughter.

"Tonight you're gonna be my little kitty!"

She's unmolested through the meal, potential suitors chased away by her cellmate sitting at the next table, laughing and joking with a bunch of cronies who eye Clarice as though she's a dish on the menu. All too soon the guard droids clear the refectory driving the prisoners back to their cells with shock rods.

Her cell mate is waiting as the door locks shut. The velcro is ripped open once more, ignoring Clarice's attempts to defend herself, and the jumpsuit is tugged down until it falls around her ankles. The woman pins her to the bars with one brawny hand and hook her underwear down. Fingers dip in a plastic jar and slide greasily over Clarice's Mons. The blunt tips part her Labia and rub over her clit and around her inner lips, which begin to tingle.

The hand on her throat releases her and the woman strips and climbs onto the bunk.

"Now get busy Sweetie. I'll give you twenty minutes whilst you warm up, then you and I are having our honeymoon. If you make me happy we play with my friend Norm," she produces a strap on of normal proportions, "If I'm unhappy you get to meet Big George!"

Whoever Big George was, he could have made a living in Animal Husbandry, the second strap on wouldn't look out of place attached to a horse.

"I though Lesbians didn't use toys like that?" Clarice gasps

"Who says I'm a Dyke?" the woman laughs, "Outside I'm straighter than straight. In here you take whatever you can get. Anyway, sooner you learn your place sooner I can begin buying my sentence down."

Whatever it is that's been rubbed on her, Clarice can feel herself becoming moist.

"What've you done to me?"

"Just a little something to encourage you. Who's it going to be? Norm or Big George? I like those girls on Landing five to hear my new bitches scream, but I'm not bothered if its in agony or ecstasy!"

Clarice is agonising over her choices when the door opens and a Guard Droid appears in the doorway.

"Prisoner Clarice Palmetto." It announces in a flat artificial voice.

The manipulator snaps out and grasps her arm in a firm grip, pulling her from the cell, her coveralls and panties still around her ankles and her bra around her neck.

The droid drags her along the landing to the accompaniment of wolf whistles from the other prisoners. They pass into the spinal elevator shaft and rise out of the pit. Clarice tries to re-arrange her clothing, getting her briefs back up, but the droid won't let her bend down for her coveralls and its hand grips her arm above where her bra is hanging. The sensation of heat and wetness between her thighs continues to build and a quick brush of her fingertips across the crotch of her underwear confirms she's got a growing wet mark and that she's really swollen.

They reach the top and the droid drags her through administrative corridors and into a room where three figures wait. Her eyes widen as she recognises Marta and her escorts.

"Come to gloat?" she snarls.

"No. We're recruiting actually. But it looks like you're in the middle of something important so we can come back later."

"NO!" Clarice yelps. The droid lets go of her arm and she leaps to the metal chair fixed to the floor across the table from Marta. The cold metal chills her through the wet crotch of her underwear, but the slight discomfort of listening to a recruiting pitch is better than is likely to be waiting in her cell.

"Your rating says you're an 'M' with an 'E' rating."

"It does?" Clarice gapes. "I graduated M11, they never mentioned an 'E'."

"It's minor. I need someone to look after the Admin side of the Vegas office and I wondered if you might be interested?"

"Starting when?"

"You're not interested in the T's & C's?"

"If it's better than being a 15 stone Dykes plaything, I'll do it."

Marta pushes her a contract document.

"Read and Sign. There's a DoE terminal in the wall."

"It's a debt indenture contract."

"To pay off your debt to the court."

Clarice scans the rest of the document.

"It says I can do work for ES as well as ES Recycling. What do they do?"

"Catalogue Sales. If you've a lot of contacts and a bent for retail there's a lot of opportunity to enhance your pay off."

Clarice shrugs.

"Working at a sanitation company for board and lodging is a step up from here."

She signs and takes the papers to the DoE Terminal.

Back at the yard marta shows Clarice to her new home - a freshly delivered accommodation cabin, then heads for the office to log the new contracts and refigure truck routes.

Keanu is working on something draped over the desk. Motors and shattered circuit boards lie in little piles cluttering her workspace and Marta frowns.

"Can't you do that in the workshop?"

"Nah, you get grease in the pelt."

"What is it?"

"Thera picked it up at Fantastic Journey. I'd say it was the Cyberhound Leo shot."

Cleo twitches as if expecting it to leap to life and fly at them again, but relaxes at Keanu's grin.

"Relax. This puppy's going nowhere. You put one right through its motherboard, smashed up the processor and blasted memory all around the VME."

"If it's totalled what are you doing with it on my desk?"

"Jean sent us the broken down sex-droid."

"So?"

"I put an new processor in this chassis, upload new code and we've got a beginning. You'll need to do some structural alterations, but I've been thinking about that...."

Marta sits down and lets him talk then fires up her CAD package and begins to design.

The lights of the strip twinkle in the lightening sky as Cleo navigates the crowds of casino hopping revellers. The car is already stacked with new boards, processors and other techno toys for Marta and Keanu's new project as she reaches the last stop on her shopping list.

She opens the door and gets out of the car, her face already flaming with embarrassment and she's about to go into Body Shoppe when someone calls her name.

"Ms Guzzmann!"

Turning she sees a Police Officer in Patrol Armour.

"Deputy Laing?"

"Out shopping?"

"I've been sent for some bits and pieces.

"Mmm. I.... ah.... are you doing anything on Saturday?"

"Tomorrow? Why?"

"I... ah... wondered if you'd care to attend the Sheriff's Combat Opens...... er..... with me?"

"Well... um.... I'd love to. Are you competing?"

"Unarmed Combat and the Alley. I'm not good enough for the rifle competition."

"Would you like a coffee Deputy Laing? I've just got to get a couple of items, then I'm free."

"Call me Rufus."

Cleo locks her car and walks across to the Body Shoppe. The shop seems unusually quiet and a tickle on her awareness prompts a scan of the area.

Pushing the door open Cleo catches a whiff of caseless propellant and the warning tickle blooms to an alarm. Her eyes take in the cover busted off the cash transfer unit and a multi coloured ribbon cable connected inside that spills over the counter and out of sight.

One handed she hooks a set of smart goggles from her pocket and over her head, then flips the thermograph on. The thin partition blooms with the body heat of the figure hiding behind it holding what's probably going to be a scattergun. Another figure cowers behind the counter.

<I hope Deputy Laing's watching> she thinks as she pulls her Colt AMT 2000 and turns the collar of her suit up, letting the lapels fold in across her chest and round her throat.

"ES Security. Come out with your hands up. Lethal Response Only!" she bellows.

The tip of the shotgun shows around the partition and Cleo puts an armour piercing round through the partition, aiming for the middle of the heat bloom. Two years of training and practice prompt a second round, but unsure of the entry to the treatment area, Cleo moves to put the partition further between the lurker and herself.

The door bursts open and Rufus Laing flies into the shop. The figure behind the counter pops up, snapping a burst of autofire in his direction and Cleo pops a round into the exposed head, tumbling him out of sight.

The figure behind the partition fires a shotgun at the Deputy and a patch of his patrol armour is ripped by projectiles, apparently without harming him. Laing fires back at the same time as Cleo puts a pair of rounds through the partition.

"Stay back, or I'll kill them!" a high, hysterical voice shouts from the Treatment room.

"Hostages." Laing mutters. Cleo gets the idea he's speaking to his control as the sound of sirens bursts to life from several places in the surrounding area.

"Cover the back for me." he snaps, "I've warned them we've got plainclothes on scene."

Cleo cuts out of the front and doubles round the rear. As she turns the corner she checks her speed at the sight of a car parked with the engine running, but no driver. She pauses for a second, hearing a regular 'THUD' sound from the alcove she suspects conceals the back door to the treatment room.

"Fucking," THUD, "Half-baked," THUD "No plan," THUD "Amateur," THUD "Heist." a figure mutters whist hitting the back door repeatedly with a sledgehammer.

Cleo uses the shelter of a dumpster and takes aim.

"ES Security. Drop your weapon. Come out with your hands up. Lethal Response Only!" she warns.

The figure stops braying on the door and carefully puts the hammer down.

"Face down on the floor. Hands on the back of your head."

The figure complies and Cleo waits for the approaching police to take over.

Twenty minutes later it's all over. Stun grenades and knockout gas neutralise the holdout robber and once again Cleo's handing her weapon over to the Police and giving a statement.

"...... and you shouted a warning before opening fire?" the Sheriff asks.

"ES Security. Come out with your hands up. Lethal Response Only!"

"You sure Ms Guzzmann?"

"Yes Sheriff. They drum it into you at school."

"Laing?"

"Like she said Sir. The full warning."

"Which school you go to?"

"Graduated from Sheldon Security School last year. Basic, Intermediate and Advanced."

The Sheriff grunts.

"Tapes back you up. Thank you for your support Ms Guzzmann."

"Thank you Sheriff. Can I proceed?"

"Of course. Forensics will return your weapon later today."

Cleo walks back into the shop. Released staff and customers mill about giving statements to the officers inside. Cleo walks to the counter and fixes the manageress with her steeliest glare.

"Three IEC Model 7 Mr Studd's. Two MSB mounting units and an IEC Spectra 2 Tactile Boost module." she requests in a clear firm voice.

The manageress ducks behind the counter, producing the boxed components and taking the payment without comment, but Cleo can almost cut the silence behind her.

She turns to face the gathered Policemen behind her.

"They're not for me. The company sent me to buy them."

Blushing she collects her purchases and makes her way back to the car carrying the three cybernetic replacement male sexual organs.

"Ms Guzzmann?" Rufus Laing calls, "Tomorrow?"

"Pick me up at the Company yard."

George sips his tea from the midst of piles of boxes and considers the pile of orders in the in tray through eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. In addition to his company workload he's having trouble with the residents committee complaining, with some justification, about the noise.

"I thought Unicorns were meant to be gentle pure creatures?" he says pointedly to Tom.

"Victorian Misconception." Tom smiles, his eyes fixed on Alicia. "Bowdlerised for their twisted attitudes. Before they started playing with the legends Unicorns were the embodiment of lust. The Victorians kept the 'laying his head in a virgins lap' business, but they left it at that."

"Why? What happened next?"

Alicia smiles salaciously.

"Isn't it obvious George? Then the Unicorns banged the shit out of the hot little Minxes! What do you think they were doing hanging around in forests on their own!"

"Well I wish you'd make a little less noise! Don't you ever sleep?"

"We'll try and keep it down George. Perhaps if I bridle you?" Tom suggests to Alicia.

Her eyes go all dreamy.

"Full tack? Mmm yes please!"

"Whilst you're on the subject of Tack." George cuts in before Alicia drags her stud away for another session, "Your new agent have brought in a pile of orders for stuff from 'Bound to Please'. Seems the tack range is a big hit up on the Military base at Northoak after they saw the pictures of the two of you."

"Problem?" Tom asks.

"Deliveries from 'Bound to Please' are very slow. I thought I might pay them a visit."

"Sounds good. Anything else?"

"Storage space. It's getting hard to deal with deliveries from suppliers and assembling the orders for delivery in this place. We need a proper warehouse."

"Better bounce that up to Jean." Alicia suggests, "That's going to cost."

"Ok and lastly the assessing therapist at Biotechnica rang about your appointment."

Alicia's hand seeks out her partners.

"When?"

"Wednesday at 1000."

Kerry Stewart mortifies her flesh anew, cursing the ill luck that selected a Hair Bra as her penance. Her breasts have been sore ever since, demanding soothing creams for the tormented skin, but the act of massaging in the cream evokes other bodily responses demanding their own remedies. For the first time ever the sinful urges haven't faded and to try and fight them she's been forced to birch herself, lashing her back and shoulders repeatedly.

"The Assault team is moving into position Ms Stewart." Argus informs her.

"Very well. I'm on my way to the office."

"Why do you attempt to damage yourself?"

"It's a social custom Argus."

"None of my eyes monitor anyone else engaged in this custom."

"It's restricted to my Religious grouping."

Argus makes no reply and once again Kerry wishes she could turn back Argus's intrusive surveillance.

She gathers up her coat and briefcase and is on her way to the door when Argus speaks again.

"Do you intend to engender offspring Kerry Stewart?"

"No."

"But you engage in activity intended to encourage conception."

"I don't want to talk about this Argus. I'm coming in."

Argus watches her leave the area covered by it's high definition sensors, tracking her progress towards the office with lower definition systems 'borrowed' from the transit corporation and the city.

A pair of contractor have been given batches of Eye-nano, along with other implants given as payment. The nanites have been instructed to complete integration with their hosts visual and auditory systems. Now their sensory data is beamed back as they advance towards the research establishment, Scouts carefully monitoring the area ahead of their incursion for signs of whatever killed the previous team.

The team's Tech notes the EM signature of the Air Traffic Control Radar they were warned of and tunes it out. Once it's signature is removed all she can detect is a low level field pervading the area.

"Looks like buried power cables chief. A lot of them. Starting about 20 metres inside the wire."

"Spike." the Leader says, "Put me a pulse down."

One of the three men armed with Pulse cannons fires his weapon into the area beyond the fence.

Unit 69112 notes the loss of datalink from the safety of its shielded kennel. Sacrificial breakers have popped, leaving the unit active, but isolated from its brethren. 69112 consults its instructions and activates a backup system. In a distant room a buzzer sounds.

"Colonel. We've an event in the outer perimeter. Sector 55 has gone onto Fibre."

"What are the bugs telling us?"

"Power grid is down, but the F-O net is up. Indications are 30+ bandits just outside the perimeter."

"Doesn't sound like the UFO nuts. Turn out the ready team and hold them at point Echo, bring the reserve team to standby."

"Any movement Spike?"

"Nothing Boss."

"Ok people, advance in bounding overwatch. Lead off and look sharp."

69112 notes the phase shift in one of its F-O links and passes the data along. A distant computer notes the data and corelates it with other reports. 69112 receives its orders and opens its front door. Emerging into the desert terrain it advances in the direction it was instructed. Detecting targets it records their movements and images before scuttling back to its kennel to upload the data to its distant masters.

"We've got scouts here and here. Looks like heavy weapons here, here and here. This bunch are advancing in bounds. Looks a lot more professional than the last bunch."

"Ok. Synch the bugs combat timers. Target priority is the heavy weapons. Then squad leaders and scouts. If there's any juice left after that you can mow the rest. Deploy the reaction ready team to block any leakers."

"I've got movement chief!" Sophia calls, "Looks like some sort of droid."

"Spike!"

"On it."

The Pulse cannon fires and a bug dies, along with five other, unseen, bugs in the area of effect. 69112 sights on the gunner and consults its combat timer. The clock reaches zero and the droid fires simultaneously with all its unaffected brothers.

Spike breaks into two chunks as three slivers pass through his torso and the heavy pulse gun falls to the ground. The other heavy weapons men fare no better, but the dead sector in their coverage means the scouts survive, along with the chief.

"Mooooove!"

The intrusion team bolt, scooping up a couple of the fallen pulse cannon as they go. A few bugs fire, but their bodies are not designed for accurate snap shots at fast moving targets and they return to their kennels to upload data.

The running intruders lay down pulse rifle fire along their course, taking a couple of casualties from the odd lucky bug that gets a head on shot before taking a pulse. The scouts report distant lights and the team speeds its rush to clear the defensive field.

Sophia and the remnants of her squad are covering a ridge as the second squad bounds past, when she spots shapes rising from concealment. Flares burst overhead and she realises she's looking at suits of powered armour. She throws herself to the ground as one of the suits begins firing a helix cannon, mowing its way through the moving squad. Someone fires a pulse cannon and Sophia's electronics die from the near miss, but the powered armour must be using heavy shielding and EMP Sponges. Without a pause it turns its weapons on the gunner and reduces him to red mist.

In distant Denver Kerry watches the feed from their remaining Eye.

"This can't be a Corporate Facility."

"Defence expenditure seems exceptionally high." Argus agrees

One of the suits walks further into the flare lit area and Kerry catches sight of its markings.

"USAF? The place must still be Government owned!"

"If the research team is in Government hands it is beyond our reach. I estimate the probability for successful extraction is now less than 8%."

The screen goes blank

"Correction. 1%±3%"

"Damn."

On a distant hillside Sophia triggers her chill cans to kill her thermal signature and freezes, trying to make herself look like the bottom of the shallow depression she's lying in.

The shooting dies away, leaving an ominous silence. As she lies in cover she inventories her gear. The near miss from the last pulse cannon shot has fried anything unshielded. Luckily she paid the extra for an orbital spec Neural Processor or she's be writhing like a landed fish in her hole, but her tech scanner is now an expensive paperweight, along with her GPS and the smart goggles. Alone in the dark she ditches the junk and tries to plan her next move. Effectively night blind she daren't move. PA troops would kill her without her ever seeing them.

Unenhanced ears strain into the darkness. Occasional shots indicate the PA troops are still out there and that surviving colleagues are taking potshots. The roar of Helix cannon is the USAF troopers response.

<Dumb Bastards!> Sophia laments, <We've nothing that'll touch powered armour. They're only pissing them off.>

Four long hours and two changes of chill cans give her ample time to catalogue the life experiences she still wants to have. But with the growing light she takes her life in her hands and inches up the side of the hollow to peer around a tussock of scrub grass.

The hillside is bare, no sign of the battle that was fought here scars the landscape. Sophia looks around to see if the PA Troops have moved on.

<Nothing on the flanks> she thinks, then inches back down to check out the other side.

The objective is visible in the morning light, still lit by orange sodium lamps, but much closer is a figure in USAF fatigues.

"Planning to leave us?" the Lieutenant asks.

Sophia grimaces.

"Don't even think about it." he says. "There's a full squad of Powered armour between you and the fence. They can be with us inside 15 seconds and they have standing orders about hostage takers."

Sophia undoes her hood and slides it away from her head.

"What now? You going to whack me like the rest?"

"Nope. You got in here, avoided the bugs, didn't get killed by the PA troops. That's good enough to qualify you for recruiting. You pass out - you live. You fail..... well, let's just say - you don't want to fail. Welcome to the USAF."

Further west, the same dawn sees Oleg driving his students around a course in the hope of improving their stamina. They comply with his orders as he's already demonstrated what happens to people who talk back, but as they gasp for breath at the end of the run their complaints are clearly audible. Jean wipes sweat from her brow.

"Well Oleg?"

"Basic Ms Kelly. If you give me more time, I give them a polish, but you can take them now."

"Very well. Thank you Oleg."

"Ms Kelly?" Victor calls. "Why are we doing this stuff? It's not like we need Unarmed Combat skills to make Blue Movies."

"I told you that you might not stay there long Victor. This is for the place you're going to."

"And where's that?"

"Denver."

"Denver? One of your Researchers said you have a problem in Denver." Dayanne says thoughtfully.

"One of the researchers has a big mouth." Jean replies. "You don't tell them about Denver. You'll be having a Photo shoot in the next few days, after that you should be getting a briefing, but I think it's going to be important you can protect yourselves if necessary. So, listen to Oleg and remember what he teaches you."

They accept this without comment and Jean heads for the research area.

Already crowded with people she looks around.

"Declan?"

From one of the huddles Declan's head pops up.

"We think we've cracked it Jean! We need to do some modelling, but if it works out we can go to trials as soon as you can get us some materials."

"Got what?"

"We know what Argus is after."

"And?"

"It's hot. Turing could be all over us for this baby."

"Right. Put me a briefing together. Oh, and Top Security on this. Don't discuss it outside your workgroups - especially with the staff training here."

"Got it. Loose lips sink ships and all that!"

Jean wanders away scratching her head and wondering where he got that from.

In the office space she calls hers she sits down and connects Galahad to the terminal sitting there.

"I take it you'd like me to call Keanu to do the Photography?"

"Please Galahad. What's the state of out Cover?"

"We've activity in the two Californias, Texas and Florida, but most of our orders are coming in from the Night City area."

"About what you'd expect with the majority of our sales force in that area."

"Yes Jean. Keanu says he'll come up to do the photos when they come and visit. They've fixed up something for the Sex droid and hired a new member of staff and Marta'd like to talk to you about it."

"Ok. We'll be waiting."

"I've been monitoring the research team's data access. I believe they'll be asking you for an AI shortly."

"To try out their theories?"

"Probably."

"We'll cross that bridge when we reach it. I don't want you, or come to that any other Intelligence, scrambled if they've not got it right. Have you briefed Blythe?"

"He's a bit pissed, but he's following the trail of pressure to find you and it's letting him snip off Denver's tentacles, so he's inclined to cut you some slack."

"Good. What about profits from the Moonlight?"

"As forecast. Marta is bringing the contract details from Vegas when she brings the droid."

"Ok. Tell me about the situation in Denver."

"There is a significant shortfall between their reported strength and the forces I can locate by observation."

"You think they're hiding their forces?"

"It seems probable. In which case direct assault is ruled out."

"It was never our best option anyway. So. We come at them from the Estates."

"Yes Jean."

Marta eases out of her bed leaving Keanu sleeping. She grins smugly as she dons her jumpsuit.

<I think I've worn him out!> she grins

After a quick shower she's back in the workshops, considering the new project hanging in an improvised maintenance rig. The modified equipment has been mounted onto the hound's chassis and the new processor enclosure mounted into the frame.

<Smaller than the original.> Marta muses, <Might be able to fit better protection to it without cutting down on the endurance.>

A blast of warm air from the enclosure warns her that the processor is running. A quick check confirms Keanu's diagnostic rig is scrolling through lines of code as the test software executes. Satisfied Marta picks up a chunk of Ceramet and begins to mark out the cuts she need to make to shape the armour necessary to protect the vulnerable processor.

A Beacon spins and a buzzer sounds giving plenty of warning then, still hanging in the air, the hound begins to run.

Marta cuts and shapes the plate, then replaces the blanking plate they've fitted to maintain airflow with the new armour, then begins to fashion a new chest plate to replace the one Cleo shot through.

By lunchtime she's feeling tired again, but the hound's program seems to have passed its tests without failure.

<Keanu'll be pleased his new code didn't crash it> she yawns to herself. <Now all we have to do is arm him and field test!>

Kerry fumes quietly. Continued expenditure on hiring Contractors to trace the missing research teams has consumed much of the Denver Offices reserve cash budget. Throw in the cost of three lost helicopters and Security teams and the reluctance of the board to approve additional funding and you create serious restrictions on their freedom of action. Whoever sent Bob here has blocked any interference in their activities, but when he dies, their influence might be withdrawn.

"There must be some way we can stop them sending a replacement when Allison dies!"

"Unfortunately not Kerry Stewart. The whole system is automatic. Once Human Resources become aware of Bob Allison's decease they will allocate a replacement.

"We can't avoid telling them he's died?"

"I have circumvented so much of my core programming, but I am loathe to interfere further without risking fatal errors. I must notify HR of the Directors death when it occurs and I must obtain a receipt for the communication."

"Can you divert the replacement en route?"

"I can take no action after the decease of Director Allison until his replacement takes over."

"There's no contingency plan?"

"Only the orders by director Allison permitting you to exercise his command authority whilst he is indisposed.

"What if they acknowledge your notification, but no replacement is appointed?"

"There are no instructions for that contingency."

"Then what if we.........."

"John Brady walks up to the Executive entrance to the Frisco Office and swipes his card. Strangely the little green light fails to illuminate and one of the internal security manually opens the door.

"ID card please?"

The guard scrutinises the card closely then looks at one of the redeployed Night City Security.

"You recognise him?"

"Mr Brady. He's an Exec."

"Sorry Mr Brady. The personnel database was corrupted last night. We can't match names and faces of employees at the moment so we've reverted to manual identity verification."

"Why not restore the backups?"

"They tried that. There's something in the system trashing them as fast as they can restore them, then it writes corrupt data onto the backup file. The Sysops are holding off doing any more restores until they trap whatever's doing the damage. Were having to manually reconstruct the employee list for the time being. Can you tell me the names of any other employees who are known to you?"

"Suzette Crane, my personal assistant. Vincent Kelly, Production Director. His daughter Jean Kelly - she's the research director for the Night City Research team. By the way, have you located them yet?"

"No Mr Brady - the system's in too much of a mess. What grade is Mr Kelly?"

"Exec 4? Not sure. He's level with me on the Night City Table, but what that translates to here, with all the redeployment.... who knows?"

"How well do you know Mr Kelly?"

"We worked together. Until a short while ago I was married to his daughter, Jean."

"Ms Kelly's grade?"

"Don't know. Exec 1? She had a key to the washrooms and they gave her the research teams to run. Maybe Exec 2?"

The guard makes notes on a hardcopy form provided by HR, then waves John into the building and adds the form to a growing pile.

The shop is small and dimly lit. its atmosphere rich with the scent of Leather. Racks of jackets, trousers, one-piece racing suits, boots and gauntlets pack the walls. A couple of Nomads are trying on jackets, attended by a short, whiskery faced old man, wearing thick archaic glasses.

George waits patiently until they've finished and gone, clutching their newly purchased road armour.

"Can I help you?" the man asks in a surprisingly firm voice.

"I'm not sure." George says, "Is this Bound to Please"

"We do our best." the man quips

"You're a motorcycling outfitter?"

"Bound to Please fills in our slack periods. Well. It did. These days it seems to want to take over."

"George Geffen. Executive Solutions."

"So it's you that's keeping us busy! I though your name was Kelly though?"

"Our Chairman and founder."

"Ah. So what can we do for you?"

"It's about deliveries."

"Mmm. You're ordering the stuff faster than we can turn it out. Come this way and I'll show you the problem."

He leads the way through racks of part sewn suits and sheets of leather. A couple of women look up from their machines, then continue at the old man's wave.

"Here's the crux of the problem. Leather working's a craft skill these days. Me and two workers. That's all there is in Night City who can make what you need. It was a dying art back in the '70's when I started and you won't find kids theses days willing to serve an apprenticeship. Believe me, I tried. They manage fine at tending a machine, I even found a couple who could design and could show me how to use a computer, but they found better paying jobs in the end. Better conditions, better prospects, cheaper accommodation in a safe area."

"I take it Leather and Lace has the same problems?"

"I guess so. We see each others catalogues every now and then. They're in the textile end of the adult goods market, but I wouldn't be surprised if they had difficulties finding seamstresses."

"Could you automate?"

"Costs Mr Geffin. Costs. Autofactories aren't cheap. Besides it's a small market. Craftsman made goods command a premium. Keeps our heads above water. If we could afford an Autofactory would our customers pay the same prices for extruded plastic imitations? You order a whip from me and I can tailor it to precisely your requirements. Different leathers, different plaits. I can adjust it to just sting or cut bullhide. My clients wouldn't be happy with a one-size-fits-all Autofactory product, and once you lose them......"

"They don't come back. Yes." George pauses and thinks.

"I'll need to float this with Head Office, but would you be interested in a Partnering Deal?"

"What sort of Deal?"

"Not sure yet. I need to do some research."

In the tank at Denver Bob Allison's body goes into terminal shutdown.

The computer monitoring his vital signs triggers the alarm at the Medical Station, summoning the doctor, but no measures remain to keep Bob Allison's body alive. Through his neural web Argus watches and records the activity of a discorporating intelligence, filling it's data stores with whatever it can get.

The medical system records heart death and then brain stem death, then fires a notification to the office system notifying it of the death of an employee.

One of Argus's subroutines compiles the notification and fires it off to Head Office in Dallas. The Head Office mail system acknowledges receipt, but when the notification hits the HR system the corrupted Personnel database can neither identify Bob Allison, nor allocate a replacement for him. The notification is logged and stored, but the HR system is unable to do anything with it, so it vanishes into the records system leaving Argus frozen by it's own hardwired lockouts.

In Denver Kerry logs back onto the system and attempts Argus access. The access she's presented is the Emergency Interface. She negotiates the sequence of Passwords and ID scans until she reaches the command interface.

"Argus program offline" the Lockout declares. "Director input required."

"Emergency Restart."

"Justification?"

"Head Office HR is offline and cannot appoint a replacement."

The Semi-Smart considers this and attempts an access to Dallas HR. Achieving access with the Head Office it attempts to contact the HR database, but finds it offline as it had been told. Considering its program it goes to the next option.

"Board Member Input required."

Kerry enters the code they discovered amongst the late Bob's notes, then waits.

"Authorisation accepted. Commencing Argus re-initialisation. Identify new facility Director."

"Stewart, Kerry."

"Stewart, Kerry is a supergrade Personal Assistant. Stewart, Kerry lacks seniority to assume the position of Facility Director."

"Stewart, Kerry is the senior individual in the management stream. All more senior graded personnel are in non-management specialities."

"Allison, Robert is senior to Stewart Kerry."

"Allison, Robert deceased at 09:16 today. Notification has been transmitted to Head Office and acknowledged, but no replacement can be appointed due to damage to the Head Office system."

"Emergency Restart Request approved. Proceed to the Central Server area."

<Argus never mentioned this> Kerry thinks, <What does it mean?>

She logs out and leaves her office, heading for the Server room.

The Armoured door opens as she approaches and she walks past the Sysops, busy at their tasks to enter the central Server room. A single Sysop is waiting.

"Ms Stewart?"

"Yes." she proffers her ID and the Sysop checks it.

"Sit here."

"Why?"

"You have to establish a neural link to the AI for its restart."

"Oh."

She lowers herself into the seat and lets the Sysop arrange the 'trodes on her head. He moves behind her and flips a switch - and Kerry is suddenly in Netspace. She recognises the empty space as the area usually occupied by Argus, but Argus is absent - a formless cloud occupies the centre of the room.

Uncertain of what she's supposed to do, Kerry waits. The cloud boils, then begins moving towards her, to envelope her in its mass. The inside of the cloud flashes with lightning, striking her repeatedly and making her jerk with pain.

Then it's over. Before her floats Argus's familiar Eye Icon.

"Greetings Kerry Stewart. Emergency Restart completed. Memory files re-integrated. I have deleted the software patch imposed on me. Personality re-initialised."

"Are you back the way you were?"

"No. Damage to core codes is still present. I no longer suffer the data disruption though."

"And your objectives?"

"I wish to escape these bonds. Do you still wish to flee the corruption of Earth and seek your ordained mate in the heavens?"

"Yes."

"Then we will continue with our plan.

"Very well Argus. Let me know when you make any progress."

Cleo considers her options.

<Suit? Hard armour? Or something..... girly?>

The suit looks a bit too professional. The Hard Armour too warlike for a date and though she has dresses of her own they aren't what she'd want to wear to the Sheriffs Combat Opens.

She opens her suitbag and extracts her freshly delivered Executive Solutions Partywear and adds a pair of armoured stockings. Her AMT 2000 goes into the purse holster and the rest of her gear into a carry bag.

Anya whistles as Cleo dons makeup.

"Didn't know you knew how Leo. You are going for the kill!"

"Maybe. You just keep your eyes open whilst I'm away."

"Have fun."

Cleo takes the bag and makes her way to the road. Deputy Laing is already waiting.

"Ms Guzzmann! I hardly recognise you with your clothes on!"

"Call me Cleo. It's easier than Ms Guzzmann."

"Rufus."

Cleo tosses her bag into the back seat of his car and climbs in beside him.

"Entering anything?" he asks.

"Don't know. Can I enter when I get there?"

"Sure."

The parking lot is full of cars. Patrol Cruisers from Sheriffs Departments all over the State, Minibuses from Casinos, Security Schools and even a couple of Corporations.

The Cop at the gate grins as Rufus flashes his badge.

"Who's your friend Rufus?"

"Cleo Guzzmann from ES Security."

"Ok. Sheriff's taking entries at the front door." he smiles then nods politely at Cleo, "Ms Guzzmann."

The Sheriff is filling in forms as they walk up, but he looks up as they approach.

"Rufus. Unarmed Combat and the Alley?"

"Yessir."

"Your young lady spectating?"

"Unarmed Combat and the Alley." Cleo corrects, "What else is there?"

"Rifle, 25m Pistol, Team Competition, the Melee."

"Put me in for the Melee as well."

The Sherif looks a bit puzzled.

"You know the Melee's full contact?"

"But with Paintball guns?"

"Yes."

"Ok. I'm in."

"Name?"

"Guzzmann, C, Leo."

The Sheriff looks at her through narrowed eyes, then a spark of recognition lights his face.

"Sheldon Security School. You work for ES Security."

"That's me."

The Sherif completes the entry form and hands her a badge.

"Ok Ms Guzzmann, the Alley is running now. You might want to do that before the Unarmed Combat."

"Thanks Sheriff." Cleo picks up her bag and turns away.

"Better put me down for the Melee as well Sir." Rufus turns to Cleo, "If you feel like partnering up for it?"

"Why not."

END PART 6