5 The Pleasure Dome

The Pleasure Dome didn't exist.

It appeared on no maps, nor was it mentioned in any books. Its accounts did not appear in any tax office, and no police patrolled its hallways. Its name was not advertised, not its function marketed. Its glittering, geodetic dome appeared on no brochures. No scheduled air-services landed on its roof, no land-trains rumbled though its doors. No agency owned it, or controlled it, or admitted its existence. The Pleasure Dome didn't exist - officially.

And the power of those who visited it, kept things that way.

She was beautiful, even more beautiful than I'd remembered, the shimmering semi-transparency of the holographic projection giving that beauty a haunting, delicate quality. Her hair was longer than I remembered it, a loose bob reaching almost to her shoulders, the change in style neatly emphasising how much we'd drifted apart in the last few years. I pressed the play button on the viewer's control pad, and watched the static image come to life.

She smiled and looked straight at me - at the cameras I reminded myself. "I expect you're wondering what's going on?" she asked. I nodded, uselessly. She paused, as if for an answer, then continued.

"Truth is, I don't know. Honest to God Jon, I don't know. But I guess if you're watching this, you probably know a bit more than me." She stopped, muttering to herself, realising - I guessed - that she wasn't making much sense. She waved her hand, as to say I should mentally rewind.

"Perhaps I'd better start with this holo-cartridge, why I'm making it." She smiled again, not so certain this time, and continued. "Thing is - I'm in a bad position, or at least I might be; and I could be headed for some trouble. But the thing is - I can't tell you, not now." Her eyes flashed an apology. "The stuff I'm in, you don't want to know, at least not at the moment. But if something goes wrong..." The words trailed away. "...If something goes wrong, I don't want it to end without saying goodbye, and perhaps trying to tell you something of what was going on. I can't call you, or see you, and I can't mail, and I don't want to get you involved, not right now. Then..." she shot me a quick, tight smile, "I remembered how we used to leave each other messages, when we were kids. Remember?"

I did remember, and I cried inside as I recalled those times. Before life got complicated, and when the world still seemed good.

"Remember the Big House?" she asked. I remembered. I remembered the cluster of single-storey buildings, white ceramic structures set under a private, UV dome. I remembered suiting up and setting off on expeditions into the surrounding rounded hills, standing on the crest of the Chilterns and looking at the sparkling domes of New London in the distance. I remembered a magical place, a safe place, a haven from the storms outside. And I remembered the feeling of sadness I'd felt when I grew older, and realised that it was simply the official residence of the Chief Executive, owned and paid for by the agency. Like everything else.

"Remember how you used to leave messages for me?" she queried. The memory washed over me, a potent mixture of joy and sadness. I'd enjoyed leaving scribbled notes in hidden places, and watching her with a big brother's pride as she scampered through the house and the gardens, looking for them. I remembered how close we'd been, the secret terminology we'd developed.

"So I thought that this time I'd leave you a message - well a holo-vid." She shrugged. "They're always going on here - at the Pleasure Dome that is - about how discrete their safety-deposit boxes are. So I thought I'd make you this tape, and leave it under your name and with one of our old code-words." She stopped speaking, and the warmth flowed out of her face.

"I don't want to get you involved. But I figure - well if you're watching this then something must have happened and you must have got involved. So I guess I'd better fill you in." She turned slightly, then held herself, stifling a nervous giggle. "Sorry. Forgot I've got to stay between the cameras." I smiled wistfully, recalling how she would pace up and down when nervous.

"I'm in big Jonny; I'm stuck, can't get out of this one." Tears formed in her eyes. "Jonny, what I'm caught up in - its huge, and there's a lot of people involved. Powerful people. If you've got this far, if you're looking at this holo - then I guess something's happened. I don't even know if I'm alive or dead as you watch this." She fixed me in her glare, the determined look she'd had even as a toddler. "I have to warn you Jonny, if you carry on - you'll get in the shit just as much as I have. If you don't need to go on, if you don't need to watch this vid, just stop now, and walk away. Please Jonny, don't get involved, just turn off and go. Now!" She turned her face away, her arms folded, and waited. I ignored her plea, and continued watching. Finally she turned back to me, her hands on her hips, an accusing smile on her lips.

"Still here?" she queried.

Sorry, I mouthed to her image, as she carried on, not waiting for an answer. "Never could keep out where your little sister was concerned, could you? I suppose I'd better tell you what's going on. After all I can't have you doing your usual act - you know..? Rampaging all over town..."

...and scaring the living crap out of any boy who looks at you, I thought, supplying the answer to the joking accusation she always used to level at me.

"You see, the scrape I'm in now - well lets just say that dragging people into the nearest toilet, and threatening to pull the flush, isn't going to be enough!" You want to bet? I thought, remembering Kerensky's. She looked up at the ceiling, her eyes closed, and shook her head sadly. "I don't know quite where to start. There's so much."

How about when you went away? I mentally asked her. Tell me why you went away? Three years ago, when she was eighteen, she had left. Left her home, left her family, left New London, left BioMagic. Left me. She had just gone, moved away. And I never knew why.

She seemed to sense my question, or at least knew it needed answering. "I never told you why I left, and I know how much that must have hurt. Especially when I didn't come back for Mum's funeral. I'm sorry, and I was sorry then, but I couldn't tell you why - not till now. I guess it must look pretty strange to an outsider. On one hand," she announced, flipping out a hand, "you have Jon, the eldest son, straight as a die. Goes to work for his father, carries on the family tradition. I was really proud of you, probably a lot more than you know. Every now and then I sneak a look at the papers, have a nosy through the business section." She stifled a mocking smile. "You're quite a star. Aren't you on the board of BioMagic now?" She waited for an imaginary answer.

"And on the other hand, you have Jen, the daughter, the rebel. Leaves college, messes around for a few years, gets into a load of scrapes, then takes off for God knows where, to do God knows what. Not quite the same, eh?"

No.

"I remember you could never understand what was wrong with me; what it was that drove me. Or maybe what didn't drive me - I suppose it depends on which way you look at it. Well, the thing that drove me, was exactly the same as whatever drives you - loyalty. Loyalty to Dad, and to BioMagic!"

Stray thoughts tangled in my mind. Loyalty?

She leant forward, her anger beginning to flood out now. "It was fake Jonny, all of it! The rebellious teenager - fake! All the scrapes I got myself into - fake! Moving away - fake! And leaving BioMagic? Jonny... that was the biggest lie of all!"

"I never left BioMagic!" she cried, angry tears flowing over her cheeks. "I'm still working for them now!"

I'd know, I muttered out loud, disbelieving. I'd know..?

"Dad kept it totally secret - not even the board know anything about it. Just Dad, and no-one else. It started when I was about fourteen, with one of Dad's talks."

One of the infamous Henderson pep talks, I realised, all about duty, success, purpose - and loyalty.

"It started out like the usual talking to," she said, lifting her chin in a pretty good impersonation of Dad, "all about destiny, what we had to do with our lives, what our roles were to be, and where I fitted in." She looked down at her feet, and her voice dropped. "I really loved Dad, then. I would have done anything to please him, would have done anything for BioMagic. That's all I ever wanted: to work for BioMagic, just like you have." She looked straight at me, a sad bitter smile upon her face. "I expect we would have made a pretty good team, if things had been different."

"Anyway, like I said, Dad gave me this talk, about where I came in. He said a lot of stuff that day; took me for a tour around BioMagic; showed me all the labs, everything. You get the drift? One day all this will be yours - that kind of thing. He said we were a team, you and me that is, that we both had a very important role to play, for the future of the agency. Your role was to serve BioMagic from the inside. Mine was to serve it from the outside."

The pieces of the jigsaw started to click into place.

"He told me that I had to start acting rebellious, unhappy, as though I didn't love BioMagic or what it stood for. Had to make it look good, so that when I left it'd seem genuine. So I did. Like I said, I'd have done anything for him. I never said anything about it to you, because he told me not to. He said that if you knew, you wouldn't be able to carry out your role properly. No-one other than him and I was to know. He made it sound exciting, glamourous even. It would be like being one of those agents on the vid. He taught me all the methods I could use to communicate with him - so that I could stay in regular contact. Secret procedures, code-names, a load of codes and other stuff. Weird huh?" She made a face for a moment, then settled back into her frown.

"At the time I believed him. Everything seemed very simple then, black and white. It seemed worth it, worth all the lies and the deceptions, worth the sacrifices. I even thought it sounded like fun. Now... now I just don't know. It's got so complicated, and the lies have got so terrible. There's only one thing I do know, and that's that it isn't fun. Not even near to it." She composed her thoughts for a moment.

"When I left, I went to North City. It was all part of the plan, even down to the cryptic message I left you. I suppose you're asking, why North City?" she again paused for me to answer.

"You ever heard of an agency called WaveX?" I hadn't. "Probably not," she chuckled, "you always were pretty straight! They're what's termed an alternative agency, if it's possible for an agency to be alternative. You'd probably call them a bunch of useless scroungers, wasting the people's resources!"

When she put it like that, I did recall seeing a vid-report about them.

"They were a kind of hotel cum commune. Still are, I think. Anyway, when I got there, I moved in with them, and started helping out in the cafe. After a few months, a few of us broke away and formed an independent protest group. From there I gradually moved into the pro-democracy movement. Again, this was all planned. That was where things started to come apart."

She licked her lips nervously. "Thing is, I started to believe all that stuff. I don't mean pretend to believe it, like I was supposed to, but actually believe it. I met some good people, made some really good friends, but it's all based on lies, on falsehoods. And that's not the half of it."

"You see the thing is, Dad had it all figured out. Except for one thing." She let a smile creep in, a smile both of regret and of pride. "He hadn't figured on me falling in love." She gave up and let the smile broaden fully.

Then she cried happily, "Of course, you probably don't know!" She smiled sheepishly, her worries pushed aside for a moment and lifted her left hand, the ring finger extended to show the neat gold band nestling above the knuckle. "I got married! One year contract." Her face darkened. "Wonder if I'll still be around to extend it when the year runs out..? I do love him, I really do - and I think he loves me. This is real, not one of Dad's little inventions. If he knew about it..."

"When I started, it all seemed so simple; I never knew it would be like this. The things I've seen, the things I've had to do - they've changed me. I'm not the naive little future-citizen I was. I believed it all then. But my beliefs, they've all been shattered, every one of them. I don't believe in the Knights, or the Eternal Circle. I don't believe in man's hegemony over the coders. I don't believe in destiny. I don't believe that the way we live our lives is right, or even good. I don't believe in BioMagic, and I'm not even sure I believe in Dad."

You're not the only one, I told her silently.

The tears began to flow again. "Now it's like I've run out of options, of choices - and lies. It's crunch time Jonny, time to choose. Father or husband. Past or future, maybe? And my marriage, it might be real, but it's still based on lies." She paused, wiping away some of the tears.

"See the thing is, he knows nothing about me. He doesn't know anything about Dad, or BioMagic, or the grand plan. He doesn't even know my real name." She looked to the side. "Or at least, I don't think he knows, not all of it. But sometimes, when he looks at me, I think maybe he suspects something." She smiled again, the love and pride mixed with fear and uncertainty.

"And then there's him, my husband. He's good and kind, and like I said - I think he loves me. No, I know he loves me. But I don't know much else. He says a lot, about the cause and stuff, but there's something..." Her brows wrinkled, as she searched for words.

"It's like, there's something dark within him, a place I can't get to. I mean all members of the movement have got secrets, you can't be too open if you're a member of an illegal organisation. But with him, there's something else. But then again," she said, her tone lifting, "who am I to talk?"

"I always wanted to tell him, but it was always tomorrow, next week, next month, sometime. But now there's no more time. Now we've got an operation coming up, a big one, much bigger than anything the movement's done so far. I can't tell you what it is, it's better you don't know. If we succeed, then the boost to the cause will be huge; if we fail or get captured - then I guess it's the labour camps for us. So that's it - if I tell Dad, then my husband goes to the labour camps. I can't do that, whatever, or whoever he is, I can't do it. But if I lie to Dad, well this is too big to hide, so he'll know that I lied. If that happens, or if I break communications myself, then it's finally gone - family, the Big House, BioMagic. I'll never have that life again, never be able to go back. I don't know what to do." Her eyes were still fixed on me, concern now showing deep within their core.

"I guess that's it Jonny, nothing else to say. I just wanted you to know why things happened like they did, and to know that I love you; always did, always will. I don't know whether to wish that none of this had ever happened. I've learnt a lot. If I hadn't, then maybe I'd be happier, but would it be real? But I do wish we could have stayed together. I really missed you. Like I said, we'd have made a hell of team."

She smiled impishly. "Maybe one day we will..."

The image froze, as the holo-cartridge reached its end, a final smile on her face. I pressed the clear button and she blinked out of existence, leaving me alone in the darkened room, and more confused than ever.

When I walked back into the main room of the suite the girl was still kneeling in the corner of the room, where she had gone earlier when I'd asked her to sit. Her face was hidden, her head down-turned, the long dark hair falling straight onto her bare shoulders. I had been in the tiny holo-suite for nearly an hour, and she did not appear to have moved a muscle in that time.

I walked around the stylish, low-slung sofa, and knelt down in front of her. "Can you speak?"

She looked up at me, her stunningly beautiful face only slightly marred by the codes upon her cheeks, and shook her head, slowly.

"Do you have a name?" I asked, unnerved by the blank expression she perpetually wore. She nodded slowly, and tugged at the gold chain she wore around her neck, revealing the set of plastic dog-tags that nestled between her breasts behind the loose fabric of her simple dress. I lifted the tags and read the name written under the Pleasure Dome inscription. "Dana." Recognition showed in her eyes, but her expression barely changed. "Do you need to eat?" I asked her.

She shook her head.

"Do you need anything?" Another slow shake of the head. I mentally cursed whoever had decreed that all male customers were to get a woman supplied, free of charge. Only the men of course, since the old double standard still applied. It was not a distraction I'd wanted, but I couldn't afford to stand out by refusing.

"You can sit on the sofa and watch the vid, if you like," I told her. A confused expression settled on her face, her head gently turning from side-to-side in agitation. Obviously the concept of what she liked was not one she'd been taught. I changed the question into an order, switching the vid on and giving the sofa three quick taps. "Sit there."

She obeyed meekly, neatly drawing her slim legs underneath herself. I flicked quickly through the dozens of vid-channels, finally settling on a children's cartoon network.

"Watch that."

I grabbed my robes and left, leaving her staring vacantly at the screen.

'Anything you want' was the motto of the Pleasure Dome; and while it was not strictly true, the management went to great lengths to try to live up to it. At the centre of the complex, set in a clearing carved out of the rolling forest of twisted, deformed firs, was the huge main dome. Measuring just over three hundred metres across, its geodetic structure was heavy and thick enough - unlike the cheaper domes that covered the cities - to make the area inside completely safe from ultraviolet rays.

Beneath the dome were three underground levels, the uppermost for the entertainment of the clients, the lower two for maintenance and administration. Completing the complex were the four habitation blocks scattered around the southern edge of the dome, each block a hollow cylinder cut into the ground, and lined with self-contained apartments. The central area of each cylinder was left open, as an atrium, its space broken only by the scenic elevator running up to the main dome.

Officially the four blocks were of equal luxury, in line with the management's policy that all their customers were important. However, it was an open secret that of the four blocks, Gemini was the plushiest and most important, and Aquarius the least important. I was in Leo, which was one up from Aquarius. Still, as I leant against the railing, waiting for the lift, it all looked pretty good to me.

In the centre of the atrium, extending the full height of the block, stood a slender central pillar upon which the scenic elevator rode, this being reached by narrow walkways extending from each perimeter balcony. The pillar itself was largely hidden from view by an all-enveloping waterfall, the water's thirty metre fall from the ceiling broken only by the transparent covers shielding the walkways that ran to the elevators. At the bottom of the atrium was a shallow, rock-lined pool, its surface constantly disturbed due to the falling waters crashing into it. A final touch was provided by the incredible variety of plants adorning every exposed surface. The total effect was spectacular.

However in my present mood, the beauty of the surroundings was lost as I waited for the elevator moving up towards me, ignoring the thunder of water on the perspex sheet just above my head. Finally the elevator arrived, the doors sliding open with a ping.

"Level 8," sang the lift, in a reasonably feminine and only slightly mechanical voice. I entered, noting that the lift was empty, and stood against the far wall.

"Ground," I instructed. The lift hummed, and rose briefly, then eased to a halt on the next level. The doors slid open.

"Level 7," sang the lift. A female coder entered, dressed in a 20th century maid's outfit.

"Level 3," she whispered into the speaker grill, before kneeling in the corner, her face held towards the floor. The doors slid shut, and the lift glided upwards for a moment.

"Level 6," sang the lift as the doors slid open. I cursed silently when a family entered - mother, father and three obnoxious kids. They turned and stood facing to the front while the doors slid shut. A slight kick indicated that the lift was moving up.

"Level 5," sang the lift as we moved past without stopping. I noticed that one of the children, a small boy of about five, had shuffled over to the maid, and was looking at her with an expression of malicious curiosity on his face.

"Level 4," sang the lift as the boy gave the kneeling girl a hard, experimental prod in the ribs. She flinched but said nothing and made no move. A delighted grin spread over the boy's face as he prepared for another jab, but it was removed by a quick tap from his mother.

"Don't do that Toby," she scolded, "it's not nice."

The lift glided to a halt and the doors slid open. "Level 3." The girl got submissively to her feet, and tip-toed out onto the walkway. The doors glided shut.

"Level 2," sang the lift while it moved past. "Level 1." Again, it continued. "Ground," it sang, gliding to a final halt. The doors slid open and we walked out into a tropical jungle. I pushed past the family and strode quickly down the winding path, leaving the whining children behind.

The major portion of the main dome interior was filled with an artificial lake, termed the lagoon by the management. To the south of the lagoon was a gently shelving beach, golden sand leading up to the cool shading of palm trees - the jungle, in dome speak. To the east and west the waters extended nearly to the edge of the dome, kept apart from it only by a pair of promenades that wound around the edge of the dome. To the north of the lagoon, the promenades curved away from the dome edge to meet, the area behind filled with bars and small shops. A cooling breeze blew perpetually from the north, whispering across the lagoon to the beach.

I wove around the last palm tree and emerged onto the beach, leaving behind the sure footing of the log path and slithering onto the warm, rippled sand. A gentle aroma of tropical flowers drifted around me. I took a look around and began walking, slipping and sliding on a diagonal path towards the steps that led to the promenade at the western side of the beach. As I walked - well shuffled - I tried to discretely look over the occupants of the beach, spinning round, but pretending it was merely to take in the dome. When I reached the steps I danced up them, onto the promenade, and turned to lean against the rails, taking another look at those on the beach.

The Rook was not there. There were families, small excited children building castles from the sand or playing happily in the small waves that lapped gently onto the shore. Some were supervised by their mothers, others by a coder nanny whilst their mother looked on. There were a few single citizens - of both sexes, naked bodies slowly tanning under the safety of the sun-lamps mounted in the dome's roof. There was even a scattering of fat execs accompanied by their coder mistresses, the dirtiest of dirty weekends. But there was no Rook. I turned to the north and began walking, ignoring the moving pavement that ran alongside the dome wall, keeping close to the railings instead.

To the north of the lagoon beyond the promenade was a cluster of low buildings, built in what had apparently been the style of Italian fishing villages, the rugged stonework painted in whites, blues and pinks.

A wide street - named Lagoon Street - followed the edge of the promenade from one side of the dome to the other. Only one structure disturbed the unbroken sweep of the promenade and Lagoon Street. That was PDs, which was the main - though not the only - bar in the Pleasure Dome. It was actually built right up to the edge of the promenade, its rear wall simply an extension of the sea wall. In front of the building was the Square, a wide open area filled with white circular tables arranged around a small elegant structure built to disguise the upper part of a lift shaft. Both the Square and Lagoon Street were paved in a variety of colours, and flanked by a continuous row of small shops and cafes. Behind, and accessible via narrow enclosed alleyways, was a network of carefully landscaped gardens, rising up a gentle slope to the northern edge of the dome.

I worked my way slowly up Lagoon Street, checking each shop in turn, as though interested in the contents. Still there was no sign of him. At the Square I took a rest from the search, buying a coffee from one of the cafes, a small but efficient establishment apparently run by two smiling coder girls. I thanked them and sat down at one of the tables in the centre of the square, from where I could survey the citizens strolling past. Again, I saw many people, some clad in expensive robes like myself, some in flimsier leisure outfits, and some wearing nothing at all. But there was still no sign of the Rook.

After I finished the coffee, I took a glimpse through the windows of PDs, but at this afternoon hour it was nearly deserted, apart from a few hardened drinkers. Again my quarry was not among them. Leaving the Square behind, I set off eastwards, along the second half of Lagoon Street. Not surprisingly I reached the eastern edge of the dome without any discoveries. It was beginning to look like it could be a long search. Sighing to myself, I walked back to the square, and rode the elevator down to level 1.

The high-velocity bullet crashed through the last of the plastic targets, the rifle that had fired it kicking back hard into the shoulder of its ecstatic user.

"Five out of five!" he gloated to his companions while they slapped him on the back. I ignored the celebrations, and instead studied the interior of the shooting range. It was situated on level 2, which was the deepest of the guest levels, in an out of the way area. But surprisingly, the place was packed with at least a dozen citizens, all male.

"Not bad," admitted a fat citizen who stood behind the shooter, "but what are you like against the special targets." He emphasised the word 'special'.

The firer chuckled. "I don't know, I haven't got a couple of thousand credits to burn!"

The fat man nodded, taking a deep drag on his herbal cigar, then waved to the citizen-attendant who was in charge of the range. "Jerry! Let's have some of the special targets. Charge it to my account."

The attendant nodded and began tapping on his comp-keyboard. The lights dimmed, into a gloom across the target area, and near-total blackness at the end where we stood. A hush settled on the watching shooters, except for the fat man who shouted again, to the now invisible Jerry. "And hey, lets have some lights and effects and all that crap."

As he finished speaking, the dimness in front of us was split by a set of many-coloured laser beams that swept an arc from floor to wall to ceiling and back again. A moment later a potent beat of early 21st century rock began to pound from the surrounding loudspeakers. The music died for an instant as the attendant's voice boomed around us.

"First target in five seconds."

I pushed gently through the crowd, searching the faces. Like them, I was counting down. I counted four, then three, then two, then one, and reached nought as a door at the far wall slid open, depositing a shadowy figure onto the floor.

A revolving, wide-beam laser flickered across him, illuminating him for just an instant, revealing the expression of total terror etched across his worn and broken face. Behind him, the door thumped shut. The laser moved on as the sharp crack of the rifle reverberated around the room. The round caught the target across the hip, tearing along the fragile flesh and embedding itself into the crumbling concrete. The coder, who was still crouching in terror on the floor, stunned into immobility by the noise and lights, opened his mouth wide and screamed, a scream of terror and confusion and of pain. Around me the gloating guests laughed while the firer lifted his gun once more and took aim.

The second shot smashed straight through the coder's chest cavity, leaving him sprawled on the floor, dying, his pitiful wailing slowly ebbing away. He was still alive when the crane dropped from the ceiling, its giant hooks digging deep into his flesh, then lifting him away into the darkness.

"Not bad," the fat man admitted grudgingly. "But to take two shots to blow away a dumb bastard who didn't move an inch..?"

"And it wasn't a complete kill," pointed out an officious sounding voice. A stupid sounding wail erupted behind me, someone's mocking impersonation of the coder's death-scream. The fat man spoke again.

"Jerry, another one! I'll show you how it's done, son."

"Next target in five seconds," boomed Jerry's voice. Five seconds later the door slid upwards and another figure tumbled forward into the range. Again a laser tracked across him, revealing a lined but tumour-free face. This was a coder who'd spent his life under a dome, not under the harsh sun. The fat man fired, the snap of his rifle deafening in the enclosed space; but the coder had moved an instant before the bullet arrived, primitive instinct taking over. He ran to the left-hand wall, then back, weaving from wall to wall in terror and confusion. As he ran, he screamed one sentence over and over again.

"The Kanley's, 34 Jackson Levels," he cried repeatedly, as he had presumably been taught to do when lost, "the Kanley's, 34 Jackson Levels. The Kanley's...." It was just like I'd thought; this was a coder who'd spent his life indoors. Not only that, he'd been a house-coder, a personal servant. The line he was repeating like a mantra, was the name and address of the family who'd owned him.

"At least this stupid wanker can run!" chuckled one of the onlookers as the fat man fired again. This time he hit, the shot slicing through the coder's arm leaving it flopping uselessly against his side, held on by only tattered strips of skin and muscle. He cried out, but continued weaving from wall to wall, still repeating the address, a child-like look of pain, fear and betrayal written across his face. I wondered what his former owners had been told, could almost picture the vet in my mind. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but he's getting a bit old and poorly now, and he isn't really up to work. I think you'll agree that it would be kinder for him, to put him out of his misery. Don't you worry, leave him here and I'll make sure that he's put down humanely."

Yeah, sure.

The rifle crashed again and the coder's useless arm disintegrated, leaving only a ragged stump, blood pumping from the severed arteries. He cried out again, then turned and began to run straight towards us, jinking in terror, still sobbing his former address.

"Well shoot the cunt!" someone shouted in a mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty. The fat man waited, allowing the coder to sprint towards us, his tired face whitening as the blood drained out of it.

"The Kanley's, 34 Jackson Levels, the Kanley's, 34 Jackson Levels, the Kanley's, 34 Jack----" the words choked to a halt as the fourth shot crashed through his chest from a range of only a few metres. He crumpled to the ground, a bloody puddle forming under him. Still he whispered his address, while the fat man walked across the few paces separating them, a borrowed pistol in his hand.

"The Kanley's, 34 Jackson Levels, the Kanley's, 34 Jackson Levels, the Ka----" The fat man laughed as he surveyed his handiwork, handing back the pistol to its owner and pointing out the huge hole where the top of the coder's skull had been."

"You couldn't hit a barn door!" someone accused the fat man.

The fat man turned angrily to face him. "You want to put some money on that, dickface!"

"What did you have in mind?"

The fat man stepped past him and shouted to the attendant. "Jerry, I need a girl fixed to the far wall. Can you do that?"

"Give us a minute," Jerry replied, flicking the lights full on, killing the music and leaning forward to his mike, waiting while a loud klaxon sounded throughout the room. "Warning," his amplified voice boomed, "citizen-workers will be entering the range. Do not fire. Repeat, do not fire."

A nervous titter swept the shooters at the thought of accidentally gunning down a citizen. While we waited, the overhead hooks descended and lifted the lifeless body of the second coder away, those alongside me looking on without interest. Jerry's voice echoed out once more.

"Citizen-workers are entering range. Do not fire. Repeat, do not fire." When he finished speaking another door slid open in the far wall. Two citizens clad in grey jumpsuits emerged, dragging a bewildered female coder behind them. She looked on in confusion while they held her against the wall and chained her spread wrists and ankles to small rings set into the concrete. Then they left, leaving her there, blinking at the powerful lights. I looked at her, wondering what kind of cast-off or reject she was. My eyes scanned down, across the stunning face topped by shining hair and down over the perfectly formed breasts to the jagged scar stretching across her stomach. So that was it - a pleasure model who was no longer pleasurable. She looked on with an expression of total incomprehension as the fat man hefted his rifle.

"I got a thousand credits says I can put a bullet straight through her tit?"

"You're on!" replied the other man, adding, "which one?"

The fat man thought for a moment. "Left." He lifted the rifle to his shoulder but was stopped by the other man's hand.

"Hang on. Jerry! Are there any binoculars in here?"

Jerry turned, and indicated a rack of electronic binoculars fixed to the back wall. The shooters swarmed over to the rack, then returned to the firing line, the small boxes held to their eyes. I declined the visual aid; with my eyesight I had no need of them, even if I'd wanted to.

"Can I go now?" asked the fat man sarcastically.

The other man chuckled and waved toward the girl. "Shoot!"

The fat man aimed for a moment, then fired. The bullet tore straight into the nipple to our right, then slammed through her slender body taking most of the breast with it. Her head slumped forward, lifeless. Jerry flicked at his keyboard and the rings on the wall opened, allowing her to crumble to the floor. Above her the hooks started dropping.

"How was that then?" boasted the fat man, waving his rifle in the air.

"It was the wrong one!" spluttered the other man. "You shot the one on the right."

The fat man advanced on him, an angry expression on his face. "Yeah, which was her left."

"Well you should have said!"

I left them to settle their differences and made for the door. By now I'd managed to take a look at everyone in the room, although even if I hadn't, I'd still have had enough. A last snatch of conversation followed me into the outer corridor before the doors clumped shut.

"Jerry! Lets have another one out here!"

I swiped my hotel ID card through the card slot, and pushed the door open as soon as the lock clicked off, pausing in the small entrance hall only to kick off my sandals, before slamming through the inner door to the main room. The girl was still sitting on the sofa staring at the vid-screen, exactly as she had been when I left. I crossed to the vid, and thumbed the off button. After several seconds, she noticed that I'd entered, and shifted rapidly into her customarily kneeling position, though still on the sofa.

"Just sit normally," I asked her, disconcerted by her extreme submissiveness. She obeyed, resuming her previous pose, her face still a frozen mask. Maybe some people liked this sort of thing, but personally it was a hassle I could have done without.

"Have you eaten?" I asked her. She shook her head; no great surprise there. "Come on," I told her, beckoning her to follow, then walking to the small self-contained kitchen. She followed meekly, and knelt by the fridge. This was starting to get depressing.

"Up you get," I commanded gently, grasping her slender waist and lifting her onto one end of the work-surface. "Just sit there. Okay?" She nodded carefully, mutely watching me snap open the panel at the other end of the work-surface to reveal the built-in comp-pad.

"Okay," I muttered to myself, "let's see what's on the menu." I sneaked a glance at the girl, but she was now staring straight ahead. I turned back to the menu, reading through the list of foods on offer. Chicken Supreme, that sounded about right.

"Do you like Chicken Supreme?" I asked her. She turned her face back towards me, but gave no indication that she had understood, or even heard my question. I leaned over to her and pulled out her dog tags, reading through the barely legible lettering under her name. Estimated IQ - 46. I gave up the questioning, settling for a friendly smile and a gentle stroke of her hair. She looked confused, then gave me a hesitant smile in return.

I moved back to the comp-pad and typed in an order for Chicken Supreme times two and a bottle of apple juice, waited until the screen displayed the confirmation of the order, then began pulling open drawers in a muddled search for cutlery. By the time I had found the necessary knives, forks, plates and glasses, the food and drink had arrived at the bottom of the delivery chute. I tipped the Chicken Supremes out of their plastic containers onto the plates, then tossed the empty objects down the recycling chute. Finally, balancing the lot on a large plastic tray, I shuffled gingerly back into the main room.

I carefully slid the contents of the tray onto the table, realising as I did so that the girl was still in the kitchen. "Dana!" I called. A moment later she appeared in the doorway. I pulled out a chair and pointed to it. "Sit."

She sat down.

I took the place opposite her, then pointed at her plate, handing over one of the forks. "Eat."

She took the fork and began eating. Thankfully, this was one skill that someone had bothered to teach her. I suppose they didn't want the guests disturbed by any messy eating habits.

I took a last forkful of chicken and rice and looked up at the digital clock mounted on the wall - 6.57. Across the table the girl was still picking delicately at her food. I left her to it and slumped onto the sofa, flicking the vid-set onto channel 3.

Half an hour later, having got myself up to date with the lives of the fictional characters of the non-existent community of NewHaven Levels, I grabbed my robes and left to continue my search.

By the time I arrived, PDs was filling rapidly, but I was still able to get a seat in the corner from which I could see nearly the entire bar, as well as the entrance from the Square.

"Would you like a drink," asked a cute-looking, silver-haired coder waitress who had glided across the carpet to me, her melodic voice slicing gently through both the pumping music and the surrounding chatter.

"A cola," I requested, leaning back in the padded, velvet chair, idly watching her bobbing to the bar. She returned with my drink, flashing me a dazzling white smile. I lifted the glass, took a sip and settled back to watch the room.

A gentle, almost imperceptible vibration rumbled slowly across the floor, as the giant pumps mounted under the foundations pushed yet another wave into the clear, blue waters of the Lagoon. I twisted sideways in my seat and took a long look out of the ornate windows which ran, unbroken, along the whole rear wall of the bar.

The wave that had just been expelled from the promenade was already twenty or thirty metres away and gaining in size every second. In the centre of the lagoon a group of prone figures floated on fibre-glass boards, their conversations drifting through the still, night air. One of the figures detached itself from the group and began paddling frantically towards the shore, his companions meanwhile paddling over and through the white-tipped breaker. The wave accelerated rapidly, catching the shoreward paddling figure and lifting the rear of his board as it slipped up the face of the wave. The figure upon the board paused for a split-second, then sprung to his feet, rocking slightly for a moment before forcing his weight forward to send the board shooting down and along the face of the wave.

I had done a bit of surfing myself, having being introduced to it on a trip to the Confederate States. In fact, if this had been a genuine pleasure trip, I would probably have been down there this evening, instead of sitting in a bar. My mind wondered while I sipped the cola, to that trip I had made just over twelve months ago, shortly before things started to unravel. We, that is myself and two other BioMagic executives, had crisscrossed the country from the Carolina's to Texas, and had even taken a trip beyond the northern borders, through the wastelands of Kentucky and into what had once been called Illinois. Finally, at the end of our trip, one of our hosts had taught us surfing - or at least the basics - in a dome very similar to this one. It had to be, since no-one had been able to surf or swim in the sea since the first half of the previous century. I shook my head, clearing the thoughts away, and turned my attention back to the interior of the bar, watching the guests file in - some in groups, some as a couple, a few alone.

The glass of cola was nearly empty when I was next disturbed.

"Citizen! How are you?" crooned a boisterous voice from beside me. It was the bar's druggist - a middle-aged citizen outfitted in a short, flimsy, garishly coloured tunic, which unfortunately failed to obscure large areas of fat, rolling flesh. He leaned over the table, bringing his face unpleasantly close to mine, and whispered conspiratorially.

"...And how would you like to be?"

I put down the empty glass and reached out, placing my right hand on his shoulder. "Just like I am, thanks!" I growled, squeezing ever so slightly. He gulped slightly, but with the faulty logic of the converted decided to continue.

"No, no citizen," he sung, "that really isn't the attitude to take." He sat down in the chair opposite me and dropped his plastic briefcase onto the table, the catches snapping open as he flicked at the locks. "What have we got?" he muttered to himself, flicking through the many compartments and trays in the case. "Happy pills?" he slurred, looking up at me through narrowed eyes. "No, for them you need to be reasonably happy to begin with." He resumed his search. "Ah! Got it!" He took out two small, clear plastic bags and held them between us, waving them gently.

"Now these are just the thing for uptight macho men!" he smirked. I moved my hand to his throat and wrenched him towards me.

"Uptight macho men?" I asked, my words carefully measured.

"See what I mean?" he burbled, totally unconcerned. Perhaps he'd had a little something himself before leaving for work. He peeled my hand away, then looked at his watch.

"Eight-thirty already!" he exclaimed. "Could you just give me a moment citizen?" He twisted round, not waiting for my answer and called down the bar. "Silver!" The coder waitress who had served me appeared from the crush of bodies and padded gracefully over to us, giving me another bright smile. "It's eight-thirty honey," the dealer told her, "time for your top up." He dropped the two plastic bags onto the table and reached into the case, lifting out a single yellow capsule and dropping it onto the girls outstretched hand. She flicked it between her lips and swallowed it with practised ease.

"Off you go doll!" he commanded, slapping her rump, his eyes lustily following her for a few seconds before flicking back to me. He picked up the pair of plastic bags.

"It's ok----" I began, but was cut-off.

"----Now these... these would be perfect for someone like yourself, citizen." He smirked straight at me. "Perfect for someone who needs to get in touch, with the qualities within themselves that they don't normally tap. The more-feminine qualities."

"I'm sorry?" I queried.

He continued. "They're manufactured by an agency called NuMind, and sold under the name FemQual. But we..." he looked at me, and paused, a stupid grin spread across his face. "...we call them Gender Benders."

"Gender Benders?" I queried, deadpan.

"Yeah," He stuttered. "They give you a chance, to er... explore the other side. And guarantied totally, absolutely safe! Well, you might wake up smashed out of your brain, next to a strange man and with a sore arsehole; but nothing too permanent!"

"I did say that I didn't want anything!" I reminded him. He ignored me.

"Now it comes in two forms," he instructed, holding a bag in each hand. "Normal," he said looking at the first bag, "and suppository," he added, looking at the other.

"They come as suppositories?" I asked him surprised.

"Oh yes!" he answered.

"Why?"

He thought for a moment. "Well, some people just enjoy them more that way. Especially if they're taking them with a partner." He sized me up. "So, which type do you want?"

"I don't want anything!" I told him, grinding each word out.

"You don't?" he asked disappointed.

"No!"

He left, muttering angrily under his breath. I ignored his disgusted glances back over his shoulder, and called to the nearest waitress, ordering another cola. A fashionably dressed figure popped out from a door behind the bar and strode over to me, his hand outstretched.

"Evening Citizen! I'm Ben Benedict, the manager of PDs."

"Nice to meet you," I replied cautiously, shaking his hand. "What can I do for you?"

He swept into the seat opposite me. "Well actually, Mr..?" He paused, waiting for me to complete the sentence.

"Go on," I prodded instead.

He smiled a fake smile. "Well actually, it's a bit delicate."

"Yes?" I really wasn't in the mood for this.

"You must pardon me for saying this, but you don't seem to be in a good mood..?"

"Not particularly," I challenged, "is that a problem?"

He attempted a friendly, empathic smile. "Well, yes. Look around you citizen." He waved his hand around the bar. "People are dancing. People are talking to one another. People are having fun!"

"I'm sorry," I replied, "but I don't follow you." The smile gradually transformed into an embarrassed smirk.

"The thing is, you're making people depressed."

I leant closer to him and lowered my voice. "All I'm doing is sitting here, drinking my drink and minding my own business. Are you telling me that's a problem?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Has anyone complained?" I queried. He gave me another sincere smile.

"Citizen, the job of a bar manager is to spot problems before anyone complains."

"Are you asking me to leave?"

An exaggerated look of shock appeared on his face. "Of course not citizen, of course not. To do so would be an admission that we have failed you!" He gently patted my hand. "We will enable you to have fun! Maximum priority."

I let him burble on and continued checking out the sprawl of people packing into the bar area.

"Now let me see," he mouthed to himself.

I heard the thud of the double entrance doors swinging shut, and looked up, spotting the Rook striding toward the bar. He slumped against the wooden counter, shouted an order to one of the bar staff, then idly turned his head, waiting for his drink to be poured. I looked quickly away and didn't look back until he turned to accept his drink, flashing his hotel ID card, and staying put, slowly sipping his drink whilst leaning against the bar.

"Now are you sure you don't want any chemical aids?" pleaded the manager. "They really can be very effective. You could be anyone you wanted to be."

"No," I insisted, turning my head just far enough to the side to be able to keep the Rook in effective view. He was still looking away from me, straight across the bar at the bottles behind - which had a mirror mounted on the wall behind them. Our eyes locked - via the mirror - for a few seconds until he looked away to order a second drink.

"No drugs," mused the manager. "How about one of the waitresses then? I'm sure you'll agree that they are very attractive."

"They are," I agreed, "but no thanks."

"Some of them are male," he pointed out.

"Still no thanks," I confirmed.

He sighed. "You're not being very helpful, are you citizen? Drink?" he suggested desperately.

"Got one," I replied, swirling the cola around the glass.

"I meant a drink drink," he snarled, his composure starting to slip.

"I don't," I grunted, sneaking a quick glance at the mirror and catching the Rook in mid-sip.

"Evidently."

He sat back and took a deep breath. "Now our waitresses are highly trained, and therefore extremely valuable. However, I could call the service department and order someone more - how should I put it? ...Disposable" He leaned back towards me. "That's if er... if damage is more your preference..?"

"It isn't," I informed him, taking another casual look at the mirror, a casual look that the manager still managed to notice. He flashed me a quick - all lads together - smile, twisted right round in his chair, and took a long stare at the mirror himself. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Rook jerk his head away when his eyes met the manager's for an instant.

The manager shuffled happily in his chair, a broad grin upon his face as his looked from the Rook to me.

"So you do like boys!" he teased, adding two and two together and coming up with an answer well into double figures.

"No," I pleaded, "look just go, please!" After what had happened at Kerensky's, I didn't want a confrontation here.

The manager laid his hand on mine. "Of course, I understand completely." He got up, walked around the table and gave me a slight nudge. "Good luck!"

I let out a sigh of relief as he paced away over the red patterned carpet. Until he turned round, and walked back over to me.

"I'm sorry citizen," he told me, "but I can't just leave things to fate. It would be a terrible dereliction of my duty."

"No it wouldn't!" I attempted to inform him, but he was already waving away my protests and striding over to the Rook. Sapphire.

Sapphire: 20:34:46> Activated.

Activate targeting system.

Sapphire: 20:34:49> Targeting system activated. Clearing text.

I risked another sideways glance, and was able to witness the manager damn near drag the Rook away from the bar and over to my table. He pushed my unwilling date into the chair opposite me, then leaned over the table, shoving his head between us.

"Have fun!"

I took a look at the Rook, wondering if he was carrying, laying my arm along the table towards him just in case. The security systems of the Pleasure Dome were ranked among the tightest in the country, but I couldn't afford to take a chance. Hell, they'd let me in. He appeared much as Crazy Horse's still-image had shown, but was freshly shaved and had slightly shorter, neater hair. It was he who broke the silence.

"You know me," he said without emotion, a statement not a question.

"After a fashion," I admitted. "But then, you also seem to know me."

"I know of you."

Again, we lapsed into silence. After a few minutes he waved a waitress over.

"Same again."

"And your friend?" she trilled. I indicated my empty glass. She glided away, then returned after a few moments with our drinks. I thanked her briefly, then returned my gaze to the seat opposite.

"There is something else," she added hesitantly, remaining by our table. She extended her arm and dropped two silver-pink capsules to the table. They spun slowly, while the Rook and I looked at each other, as though an unwanted and unspoken challenge was being agreed. I looked up at the girl.

"Complements of the management," she stuttered, pointing over to the bar. I followed her finger and saw the manager sitting behind the bar, looking nervously at us. Presumably he had noticed that his courtship wasn't quite going to plan. I looked back at the Rook.

"Scared?" he sneered.

"No," I denied, knowing things were getting farcical, but needing to see them through. He plucked up one of the capsules, holding it lightly between forefinger and thumb. I picked up the other, then turned to the girl, who was standing beside us. "This isn't a gender bender, is it?" I queried, "or any thing else like that?"

"Oh no," she stammered, "it's nothing like that."

The Rook looked me straight in the eye, then popped the capsule into his mouth. I matched his stare for an instant, then followed suit, feeling the capsule slowly dissolving across my tongue. The seconds ticked by as we held the stare, each daring the other to spit out the undissolved remains. A few seconds more and the capsule was gone. I took a quick look around the bar, finding out that so far there were no ill-effects; but as my eyes swept through the bar, it occurred to me that perhaps I'd better try to find out what those effects would be. Time to check the database. S

   a
       p
          h
            i
             r
             e...

Shit! Whatever the hell it was, it had evidently screwed up the portion of my brain necessary to communicate with Sapphire. I was already regretting the macho stupidity that had caused me to take this crap. I looked back at the Rook, noting with interest the way the carpet rippled and writhed across the floor.

"Who are you!" he demanded, his voice distorting, doppler-like.

"How do you know me!" I called to him.

"Because you really fucked up Kerensky's," he told me, the pitch of his voice impossibly low. "And I have friends there!" He reached out slowly, as though we were in a dream and took hold of my robes.

"Who are you! Are you following me?"

Thoughts crawled though my brain. He knew that I was up to something, but could only suspect that it had anything to do with him. My brain slowed further. Bluff him. Bluff.

"I'm not following you! I just thought I recognised you!"

"You're lying!" he screamed slowly as his pale blue robes caught fire. I watched in fascination as the flames ate into him, flared bright, pulsed, and then died, leaving his green robes untouched.

"You're lying!" he cried once more, forcing the words out with painful slowness. He grasped the edge of the table, and pulled explosively upwards, sending it spinning weightlessly across the room. His body turned back to face me, a fist already drifting across the now empty space between us. I dropped down below the punch and pushed forward a jab of my own, forcing my fist through the solid air. A voice echoed thinly around us.

"No fighting!" It was the manager. "This is a family establishment."

He was still sliding forward, following through with his own attack when my knuckles glanced sharply off his ribs. He roared, a sound like a thousand lions, and rocked back, rising slowly upward as his foot sped forward. I pushed myself to the side, his kick missing by inches, then launched myself towards him. His mouth opened slowly in surprise as I moved into him, grabbing hold of his robes, and continuing forward.

The plasti-glass of the window shattered under our combined weight, my lunge pushing us through the frame and into the still night air.

"You fool!" he droned, as we fell, feather-like, into a sea of cool fire. We sank gently beneath the surface of the flame, still grappled together, still struggling. A low whoosh reached my ears, slowly increasing in volume to become a whine. It was the pumps, I realised, letting go of his robes, and wrapping my hands around my unprotected head.

The wave hit like a thousand hammer-blows, enveloping me, then drawing me into it's whirring heart. I drew myself into a ball, feeling the wave tugging violently at my limbs, and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Muffled sounds whispered through the churning fire, barely audible over the wave's scream. I waited, helpless in the beast's grip, until it spun me out of its vortex, hurling me down through the fire to the bed of the lagoon. I crashed into the wave-swept concrete, tearing the arm of my robe to shreds and scraping some skin off my elbow. Still helpless, I scraped along the bed for a few more timeless seconds, swirling under the outer fringes of the wave. Finally it released me, and I floated, battered and bruised to the surface. My head broke through to the sweet, clean air and I sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, the roof of the dome glowing wonderfully in the subtle 'night' illumination.

Beneath me the water was rising, lifting me up as the whispering increased. I turned, seeing a second wave nearly upon me, the surfer riding upon it carving a trail of frothing flame along the near vertical face. My limbs thrashed frantically as I attempted to dive, the surfer flashing past me only centimetres away, shooting off the wave's forward slope. Behind him the wave broke, hurling a thousand crimson pearls into the void as the flaming roof collapsed onto me.

I dived, barely ducking beneath the wave's fury, and swimming deep before surfacing behind it. Then I treaded water, quickly glancing around as the next wave sped towards me. I was practically in the centre of the lagoon, the shining glass front of PDs about a hundred metres in front of me, and the blue globes of the promenade lights far to the left and right. I turned and began to swim, catching the next wave and body surfing some distance towards the beach. Another wave caught me, then another, the waves broken now, into snaking lines of burning foam. Finally I felt sand beneath my knees, hauled myself to my feet, and staggered onto the warm, dry sand. I lay on my back gasping, as oblivious to the couples strolling arm-in-arm under the palms as they were to me.

The sound of desperate thrashing reached me, disturbing the melodic singing of the waves upon the shore. Looked up, I saw the Rook, struggling about twenty or thirty metres offshore. I slid down the sand and back into the water, wading through the surge. A wave grabbed him, and tumbled him towards me, breaking again in protest when I grasped his robes. Somehow, I dragged him out of the water and a few metres up the beach, dropping him when we reached the dry-line and falling to the sand myself. It was he who eventually spoke first, his voice still broken by barely controlled gasps.

"Thanks."

"It's okay," I replied, taking a long breath, "I presume you can't swim?"

"I could this morning!" he protested, his chuckle turning into a coughing fit. "but they didn't have fucking waves. Not like that anyway."

"I don't think you're supposed to swim in the evening," I reminded him, still staring up at the roof. In the Pleasure Dome, the waves - being artificial - could be precisely controlled. During the day they were kept low, so that families could swim in calm waters. But in the evening the power was massively increased, the Lagoon becoming a dangerous - and exhilarating - playground for the surfers. The Rook spoke again.

"You want a drink?"

"Anywhere but PDs!"

He laughed, and helped me to my feet.

If PDs was a place to have artificial fun, then The Dark Side was the place to get genuinely depressed. It had no pretensions to providing family entertainment. It was simply a place for men to drink, and get drunk.

I took a sip, feeling the unfamiliar rum burn its way down my throat. Beside me, the Rook dropped his empty glass onto the bar and waved the barman over. He waited for the refill, then took a deep gulp, before looking over to me.

"Were you looking for me?"

"Yeah," I confessed.

He took another long gulp, then probed again. "Why?"

I took a sip, delaying my reply while I thought. The man I was talking to might well be my sister's killer, or at least have a role in her death. But equally, he might have nothing to do with it. And either way, what the hell was he doing here?

He lowered his glass, and looked at me quizzically over the rim. "Well?"

I needed answers, and if I wanted him to supply them, then we had to talk. "Because of something that happened to someone who was with you."

Pain flickered across his eyes. "This person, was she a girl?"

I nodded. "I believe you called her Star Fire."

His eyes flicked to mine. "How did you know that name?"

"A girl told me."

He swirled the drink around his glass and then he looked away. "In Bristol?" he queried.

"You heard?"

"It was on the news!" he spat, "every fucking show for three days!"

"I haven't been watching much TV recently," I replied, truthfully.

"Yeah? Well I have. There isn't much else to do in this god-forsaken place!"

"You don't seem too keen on it?" I probed, looking around.

He slumped forward onto the bar and drained the last of his drink. "Try spending a couple of weeks here. After that, well you're not too keen on anything." He tapped the glass on the bar, asking the barman for a refill. The grim-faced coder approached briefly and topped up the glass. He took a large gulp of the clear liquid, then relaxed.

"Do you know what happened to the girl?" I asked him.

He shot me a quick sideways glance. "I know what happened, but not how, or why."

"Well? What do you know?"

He took another swig, and came to a decision. "I can't tell you that, not now."

I leaned towards him. "I could kill you right now!"

He shrugged. "You could, but then you'd never know what happened."

"So when can you tell me?" I asked him, realising he had the advantage.

"I have a kind of job coming up. It's something I've been working towards for a couple of years now. When that's completed, then so is my work. But until then, nothing else counts."

"And I'm just supposed to wait here am I? Until you do whatever it is?"

He glanced at me again. "You could. Or you could speed things up."

"How?" I replied cautiously.

"It's a two-man operation," he answered, "and it was going to be me and the girl. The reason I've been waiting here is because I need a replacement."

"And you haven't been able to get one?"

A smile appeared on his half-hidden face. "Not until now."

"Me! Why should I help you?"

"Because I won't give you any answers until you do."

"Why should you trust me?"

"Because you need those answers."

"And why should I trust you?"

He turned to face me, and his smile broadened. "Because you haven't got any choice."

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