One step Forward "It's not often you miscalculate, Eric."
A frown.
"I didn't miscalculate. Cloudie did put a stop to it – when she found out."
"But not before the damage was done."It was late; the Agency's trio of directors sat informally around the small table in Anna's kitchen.
"As for the way she's 'put a stop to it' – " Claudia sighed, fiddling with the ends of the silk shawl draped around her shoulders, "there could be more problems."
"There already are," Anna grumbled, "James has requested he be sent back to Europe as soon as possible."
The heavy-set man tapped a fingertip against the tabletop, thick, dark eyebrows pulled down into a frown.
"That might not be such a bad idea."
Anna looked doubtful.
"Are you sure? I don't like sending James away from our influence when he's in this sort of mood."
"Send Briony with him," Claudia suggested. "She'll bend over backwards to help."
"I don't doubt that at all!" something close to a smirk lifted the corner of Anna's mouth. "Given how she feels about her team leader. She'll be glad of the opportunity to... ease him away from Cloudie."
"Yes, Briony never did approve of their relationship." Eric sighed. "Why is it that emotions always hopelessly tangle relatively simple situations?"
"All part of being human," Claudia twinkled at him.
The heavy-set man quirked an eyebrow but didn't respond.
"There're one or two problems risen in Paris – the staff overseeing those would benefit from James' experience." Anna said thoughtfully. "Nothing extreme, or dangerous, but it should be involving enough to keep his mind off his personal problems."
"I'd still like to know how Cloudie could've missed what was going on." Claudia said, "She's not stupid –"
"She's not a 'path," Eric was brusque, "and both James and Devon are past masters at keeping things quiet."
"Possibly," Claudia frowned, then smiled. "What about her relationship with Ewan?"
Eric's fingers drummed against the tabletop again.
"It's beneficial - we can let that continue..."Razor lay on her side, head propped on her hand, watching Angel sleep.
The telepath's thoughts were... unsettled. The cat-girl had finally been persuaded to let Greg Mahican do an in-depth scan though she'd been extremely reluctant to let the male into her mind. Her fear of men was still as pervasive, still as strong as ever but she'd agreed, first because the 'path could do it remotely, he didn't even need to be in the room, and second because Razor had promised to be there with her, psionically keeping her asleep the whole time. Angel would know nothing about the intrusion and only remember what Greg unearthed as something like a dream.
It'd taken a couple of hours and been draining for the 'paths with both Mahican and Razor having to focus their talents tightly for a sustained length of time. Greg hadn't been able to recover much more than was already known but he did manage to tease out some fragments of memories from Angel's time at the 'clinic'... including a 'snap-shot' glimpse of a very young, very frightened Devon, the boy's peridot eyes disproportionately large in his shocked, pallid face. There was still no clue to Angel's identity but Mahican had exposed something that was pertinent to Razor.
*Angel's heterosexual,* he'd quietly *informed* the special agent, later, while the cat-girl dozed fitfully in a natural sleep, *Under normal circumstances she would never consider a relationship with a woman.*
Razor's jaw tightened.
*And?*
*I think Angel initially reacted to something masculine she perceived in you, but because you're female...*
Razor was silent.
*I don't know - * Greg addressed the question he knew was foremost in his colleague's mind, * - how or if her feelings might change if she ever gets over her phobia of men.* Razor still didn't respond and Greg sighed silently, wishing the 'path would just for once open up a little. *But right now, Razor, she loves you and she needs you. Remember that.*
*Are we finished?* All of the woman's shields were firmly in place.
*Yes, we're done,* Mahican sighed audibly, *I'll make my report...*The cat-girl stirred in her sleep, shifting closer to her guardian, a softly-furred foot stretching out to brush against Razor's shin.
Angel loved her? Needed her? A tiny smile momentarily brightened the 'path's frostily beautiful face. She hadn't been sure - and hadn't wanted to go delving. Razor couldn't remember ever being afraid of anything but the chance of discovering that Angel didn't... care, was frightening.
Green cat eyes blinked open, slitted pupils snapping wide in the dark.
*Razor?* A drowsy enquiry. *Can't you sleep?* Angel had started using the 'path's nickname because - as she'd said - Adelaide simply didn't suit her.
*I'm looking after you.*
Angel grinned and gently forced a knee between Razor's toned thighs.
*We're both awake now.* she pressed close, sliding a hand down between their bodies. *Shall we try doing something to make us sleepy again?* Razor shivered, rolling over on to her back with a helpless moan. *I'll take that as a yes?* Angel's *laugh* was full of light as the 'path canted her hips upwards, pressing against the cat-girl's teasing fingers...Razor's fine black eyebrow quirked fractionally as her partner hurried in to work – half an hour later than agreed.
"Morning, Razor." Baxter's smile was wreathed in that silly, satisfied smile that meant she'd spent the night with Charles. The 'path shook her head; before she'd entered the relationship with Angel, Lenore's demeanour this morning would've simply been irritating, but now it was mildly ... amusing? No, that wasn't right, not amusing – understandable. Razor smiled ruefully to herself; at this rate it wouldn't be long before she was positively human.
The petite blonde woman got herself a large mug of coffee then settled into her chair on the other side of their shared desk.
"We have a parcel," Razor tossed a small, plainly wrapped item across to her partner.
Lenore deftly caught the matchbox sized item and glanced enquiringly at the 'path.
"You've not opened it?"
Razor held back on the obvious comment – the parcel was still sealed, of course she hadn't opened it.
"I thought I might wait for you." She took a sip of her own coffee. "It's been through all the regular checks – no trace of explosives, or bio-toxins."
"That's comforting." Baxter frowned, scrutinising the wrapping, which was blank except for a label with their names printed on it. "Where did it come from?"
"No idea, apparently it just appeared amongst the building's mail this morning."
Lenore sighed and slid a cautious fingernail under the edge of the brown paper.
"Oh well – death or glory..."
The parcel didn't explode or hiss out a miasma of deadly chemicals.
"It's a neural chip." Lenore held the square piece of plastic gingerly between her thumb and forefinger.
"There's something written on the inside of the wrapping," Baxter reached for the discarded paper. "'View this flat-screen – DON'T plug in to it.'"
"This is from Roadie." Lenore murmured.
"How do you know?"
"Just a hunch." She pushed away from the desk. "Okay, let's get it down to the techs."There was absolute silence from the small group gathered around the chip-reader's monitor.
"Holy shit..." one of the neural-ware technicians, a woman, paled as she stared with sick, horrified fascination at the images. "If this is a real-time recording..."
"If this is genuine and not just some twisted fantasy chip, " Baxter drew a shaky breath, "it's proof positive that the pet industry is real..."
The Agents and two technicians watched as a young woman – they knew it was a woman because the recording was from her perspective and she had cause to look down at her body – was transformed into a pink-furred cat then 'broken in' by several men whose faces had been digitally obscured. Razor watched in grim-faced silence, a cold fury forming in the pit of her stomach as the men repeatedly, viciously raped the victim, telling her over and over again that she was nothing more than an animal, an object to be used. This – this – was the sort of thing that had happened to Angel.
Baxter swallowed: if this was real then the woman had been kept conscious during the transformation. The bio-techs conversed as they worked on the girl, detailing the processes they were using, clinically noting her reactions as she underwent the changes. Lenore shuddered – the Agency staff were only looking at the images and hearing the audio, anyone plugged into the chip would experience all the woman's emotions, physically feel everything that happened to her over the course of the recording. Lenore felt sick, she could only imagine the pain and terror, the despair the subject of the 'documentary' had felt. The real-time length of the scenario was only an hour, subjectively it would feel like days.
Who the hell would think to produce a chip like this? Why?
"Can you find out anything about the manufacturer?" she asked the technicians once the chip had run it's course, deliberately dragging herself back to a professional distance.
"Possibly," Dana straightened up, covertly wiping her eyes, "most chips, even illegally produced ones, have some clue about their origin embedded in the data."
"Good, get on to that." Lenore looked over at her stony-faced partner. *We'll have a chat to Roadie.*The overweight and bearded freelance technician appeared distinctly uncomfortable when he opened the door to the Agents. He rubbed a meaty hand over his shaved skull.
"Oh – hi, Lenore. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Baxter smirked and shook her head.
"You're a lousy liar, Roadie. You know why we're here."
The big man visibly drooped.
"Better come in then." He shut the door to his basement flat behind them, automatically resetting the locks and alarms. "I don't know where it came from," he blurted as soon as the task was completed, "It was just mixed in with a bunch of other chips I bought as a joblot."
"Bought from who?"
"Some guy at the pub," Roadie's gaze shifted around the room. "I don't know him."
"Bullshit," Razor grated, startling the man – this was the first time he'd heard Lenore's partner speak.
"It's true!" the tech protested, "I've bought stuff from him before but I don't know who he is!"
"What does he look like?" Lenore asked.
Roadie frowned, concentrating.
"Um – tall, skinny, late 30's, white, short-brown hair, greasy looking – "
*You got that?* Lenore flashed the enquiry at her partner. Razor nodded, she'd lifted an image from Roadie's surface thoughts – technically not a violation of privacy.
"What else was there?"
Roadie huffed out a breath.
"Some cracked copies of games, pirated movies, software."
"Anything else we'd be interested in?"
"Don't think so," Roadie considered, "I'll do a proper inventory if you like?"
"Thanks," the big man responded to Lenore's sudden grin with a tentative smile, "and if you can think of anything else that might be relevant..."
"Will do." Roadie couldn't hide his relief when the Agents turned to leave.
"Oh, where do you see him?" Lenore asked. "And how often is he there?"
"At least twice a week I think, at the Red Rock." Roadie smirked, "Think you could pass for a dyke?"
Baxter waggled pale eyebrows.
"I have hidden talents."Razor's black silence continued in the car going back to the Agency.
*Are you all right?* Lenore glanced at her partner.
*Why shouldn't I be?* the 'path *snapped*.
The blonde shrugged, turning her attention back to the congested road.
*I don't think I could've survived what that poor cow did with my sanity intact.* Lenore *murmured* after a moment.
Razor flinched; she knew Lenore was talking about the woman on the neural chip, and that she was also obliquely referring to Angel. Razor had wondered herself about her lover's seeming composure. The cat-girl had been through a terrible ordeal but aside from being scared of men she presented a remarkably balanced personality. The 'path suspected, as Mahican now did, that some sort of suggestion or command had been implanted when Angel's memories had been psionically tampered with. The psi that did that must've had phenomenal skill – Razor mused – overwriting the concern, the natural anxiety and terror of losing your identity. But then, whoever had excised Angel's memories so thoroughly would've had to have been pretty fucking powerful to begin with.
And that was a terrifying thought in itself, that somewhere out there was a powerful, probably amoral psionic – maybe more than one – who was not operating under the Agency's restraints...Wilma de Winter, the head of the field agents section, leant back in the chair and silently contemplated the information Baxter had given her.
"I think it'd be worthwhile seeing if we can get a tail on the man who was selling the chip." Lenore ventured, green eyes calm and serious.
"But if he's just selling on what he or a mate's 'picked up', there's not much chance he's going to get us anything useful."
"Best lead we've had so far," Lenore half-smiled.
"True," Wilma nodded, "right then, two teams, alternating. The Red Rock's a queer pub" as she had reason to know "so Lyle and Toby, Jessica and Zara. They should blend in without too much trouble." She leant forwards, resting her elbows on the desk and steepling her fingers. "Call them in, brief them, and Razor – " she nodded at the psi, " – can give them the image of the target."
"Thanks, boss," Lenore smiled.
"Just keep me up to speed on all this," Wilma threw after the agents as they left her office.Nearly a full day had passed since the chip had come into the building. The first covert surveillance team – Toby and Lyle – had come in straight after the Red Rock had closed at 5 a.m. to give their report before staggering off to bed. Lenore'd made sure she was awake to meet the pair, half-hoping for a quick resolution to this stage of the operation. No such luck, the covert agents had been in the pub from when it opened to closing time without spotting their target. Maybe Jess and Zara would have better luck tonight.
Nathan – the head neural technician – had sounded weary but pleased though when he *contacted* Lenore shortly afterwards to say he might have something for them.
Wilma and Razor, who'd insisted in being included in every aspect of the case, sat with Lenore around the table in the briefing room. The three women looked expectantly at the haggard, youngish man sitting with them.
"First up," Nathan pushed his glasses higher up his slim nose, "it's an actual neural recording though not the original copy, and it's several years old."
"That – actually happened?" Lenore shuddered. "Oh god."
"We've sifted through the coding and come up with a name, a maker's mark, if you will." Nathan chuckled, shaking his shaggy, dark-blonde head, "I've never known a chipper not to want to advertise how clever they are, no matter how illicit the work."
"The name?" Wilma prompted; Nathan tended to waffle when he was fired up about something.
"Ah, right – it's deJones." the tech frowned. "I don't know the moniker but we're seeing what we can find."
Lenore made a note.
"That's a start at least, thanks Nathan."
He held up a long-fingered hand.
"Ah, but that's not all we found." Startlingly blue eyes twinkled smugly as the tech reached into the pocket of his rumpled lab-coat, pulling out a handful of what looked like colour photos. "We pulled together some images of the men in the recording." He spread the sheets of glossy paper out before the women. "It wasn't easy, their faces hadn't just been obscured, the coding for them had been removed - " he grinned triumphantly, " – but not completely. There were fragments, snippets left behind. We managed to piece some together." He frowned at the grainy images. "They're not perfect, but my team and I slogged for eighteen hours straight to get them," he quirked an eyebrow at Wilma, "I expect bonuses."
"I'll see to it," de Winter's smile was wry, "this is good work, Nathan."
"Thanks, Wombat," he beamed, "it was fun!"
Razor was staring, hard, at the image of the man who'd been particularly brutal with the new pet.
"What is it?" Lenore enquired quietly.
"Him - I recognise him from Angel's memories." Icy blue eyes narrowed. "His name is Jackson."
© 2003 December 29th Lutra
Darkside