The Pleasure Principle

THE PLEASURE PRINCIPLE Maria del Rey

This book is a work of fiction. In real life, make sure you practise safe sex. First published in 1995 by Headline Book Publishing as Desire by Robert Arden. This edition published in 2000 by Nexus Thames Wharf Studios Rainville Road London W69HA

Copyright © Maria del Rey 2000 The right of Maria del Rey to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Typeset by TW Typesetting, Plymouth, Devon Printed and bound by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks ISBN 0 352 33482 7 All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

To Gina

Prologue It is the end of the twenty-first century. In the past one hundred years humanity has suffered gender war, the Viral Armageddon, data explosion and eco-meltdown. That the human race has survived is testament to its adaptability; that it has evolved a society uniquely different from any in its long and tortuous history is the inevitable consequence. Population growth is controlled, and the ideal of a sustainable economy one to strive for. The United Nations is the government of the world, a global structure that exists in addition to the various local assemblies that provide autonomy and democracy to the population. It is a system of government that seeks to balance the global with the local, and the conflict it generates is a benign and beneficial one. Technology has evolved beyond the confines of silicon chips and simple linear computer systems. Molecular electronics creates computers that are grown from strands of viral DNA, products of the test tube and not the foundry. Heuristic programming creates systems that are intelligent and can think, systems that learn from their mistakes. Together they are the driving forces of the global economy, and the ultimate achievement of the computer revolution sparked off in the middle of the twentieth century. Automatons are the latest product of this technological revolution. Machines that can think and move, machines that resemble people, machines that blur the distinction between man and machine. Man and machine, the duality about to disappear.

One The call came in first thing that morning: a Pleasure Droid had gone missing. Not quite a routine call but not enough to set alarm bells ringing either. The call was passed to Detective Rey Coover, who viewed the details on his monitor with a distinct lack of

enthusiasm. There were two kinds of Droid case, the simple and the extremely simple. Despite the claims made by the manufacturers, Droids were simple in nature, machines that could pass as people only in the darkness, with built-in personalities that were always open and trusting. Hell, most Droids were too stupid to even realise they were Droids - they mostly figured that some folks were just manufactured to higher standards than others. The case that flashed up on the monitor looked like another of the routine cases, the sort that justified the cost of running the police force. A Pleasure Droid had disappeared from a local leisure facility, a run-down place called Elixir. Detective Coover was familiar with it, a place that existed on the edge of the law. It was the sort of place that the law, in the person of Detective Coover, would have liked to see go under. The blurred picture on the monitor showed a young woman, with dark-brown eyes, long black hair, a round face, high cheekbones and prominent pouting lips. The low-resolution picture looked jagged on the screen, making her look more manufactured than she would do in real life. She looked pretty in a plastic sort of way, and with enough artificial stimulants inside you it made no difference that she was a machine. The picture on the monitor broke and it was overlaid with the chiefs face. "Well, Coover?" she asked, her features looking sharp and real compared with the image that she had displaced. "Routine," he complained. "That's what we're paid for. Any ideas?" He shrugged, knowing that his gesture would be relayed back in pin-sharp detail. "Yes. Close the place down - it's nothing but trouble." "That's not our decision, Coover. If the MGs say it stays open then it stays open." There was a note of resignation in her voice: she shared Coover's impatience with the Moral Guardians, the UN outfit charged with the moral policing of society. "In that case I better go over and take a look." "Don't make waves," the chief warned. "I don't want any jurisdiction wars. Leisure facilities are their territory, Coover, you know that and I want you to tread carefully." "I'll have a report on this as soon as it's cleared up," he promised dutifully. She looked at him carefully, her eyes an implicit warning to obey the rules - all the rules. The monitor cleared and he glanced through the files on Elixir, downloading the relevant data to PersCon, his personal console, before wandering down to the auto pool for some transport. Droid cases were the least interesting form of police work, more like a missing pet than a missing person. Droids disappeared because they got lost, because they were 'borrowed' or because they broke down. Normally a missing Droid would turn up in a couple of days, usually in a state still to function, although Coover had heard of a couple of cases where the damned things had to be destroyed after going missing. He keyed in the co-ordinates of Elixir and settled back in his seat for the short journey. It was rare that he had to get out of the office. Most police work was done at the console: real-time tracking was the key to modern police work and it was something he excelled at. The idea of going out to solve a case was a relic, a leftover from an age long past, but one that the public still seemed very keen on. The chiefs words were still on his mind. Like all police operatives he hated the MGs, a

kind of glorified committee of citizens whose job it was to oversee the moral health of society. They liked to think of themselves as above the police, more like doctors benignly looking after their patient, with the patient's best interests at heart. He didn't accept any of that bull - the MGs were nothing but jumped-up politicians, and their one aim in life was self-preservation. The Viral Armageddon, as that most painful era in history had been christened, had thrown up a number of challenges to mankind, and in a sense the MGs were a throwback to that era. The virulence of the pandemics had brought mankind to the edge of extinction, and it was then that society made the one logical jump necessary to preserve itself. Direct sexual contact had been outlawed as the primary vector for infection. Reproduction had already been divorced from sexuality by the end of the twentieth century, it could exist for itself and of itself. After the Armageddon sexuality and reproduction were forced apart for ever, and there had been no turning back. The threat of viral epidemics had long gone, but society had made a permanent change, and sexual relations between people remained the ultimate taboo, outside the law in every way. The Moral Guardians had been instituted to enforce the taboo, and in the early days it had been a struggle. Thousands of years of history, not to say millions of years of biology, had to be forcibly cast aside if humanity was to survive. It had done that, but the MGs were still around, still charged with the single task of enforcing a taboo that was now so deeply ingrained that it had become part of humankind's social personality. Elixir came into view, a shabby concrete and glass structure on the edge of the city. The rising sun was reflected on the building's tinted glass, blinding Coover just as the auto came to rest on its maglev cushion of air. He closed his eyes and waited for the yellow afterimage to die away, waiting in the auto so that the monitors inside the building would not pick him up. For a moment he suspected that Crowley, the man who fronted Elixir, had set him up but then not even someone as devious as Crowley could arrange for the sun to be in the right place at the right time. Coover jumped out of the auto and walked briskly towards the entrance, knowing that the monitor would not have time to get a clear image and scan the databanks to put a name to him. He got to the sliding door, flashed his ID strip and moved into the coolness of the reception area. It was just as he remembered it - tacky, impersonal, a way station designed to move people on as quickly as possible. He raced across reception and grabbed the assistant's arm just before it hit the touch switch under the counter. "Where's the boss?" Coover snapped, glaring at the young male assistant. He was new Coover tried hard to place the face but couldn't. He released the man's arm and stepped back, snapping a graphic with the image-collecting devices built into his clothes. The image, made up of millions of discrete elements, would be assembled into a reasonable picture and stored in PersCon for adding to the police database later on. "Upstairs," the assistant mumbled. "Show me," Coover ordered. There was hesitation but then the man yielded. He nodded, tight-lipped, and led the way. Coover followed, aware that they were being tracked by monitors every step of the way. It was unavoidable, but he hoped that Crowley was otherwise engaged and so the element of surprise would not be wasted. Elixir was like most other leisure facilities, a maze of small rooms and dark corners, only shabbier and sleazier. Some people believed that sexuality should be expressed openly and joyously; others believed it should be kept dark and hidden. Elixir appealed solely to the latter. The assistant stopped outside an anonymous black door. He looked at Coover, awaiting instructions, a thin layer of sweat breaking out on his face. Coover jerked his head

and the man nodded, backing away gratefully. Crowley looked up sharply, an expression of horror and guilt on a face that was too large and too round to ever look anything else. "Citizen Coover," he rasped. "What an unexpected pleasure." "I'm sure it is." Coover smiled, and walked fully into the darkened room. One wall was taken up by a bank of monitors, each with its own display, each a window into one of the warren of rooms in the building. Although it was still early morning, a number of the monitors were on, displaying the private sexual theatre of the anonymous clientele of Elixir. "You've come about Pia?" Crowley asked hopefully, carefully sitting back in the seat that he had leapt out of when the door had opened so unexpectedly. Coover nodded. Pia was the missing Droid, and the name was an acronym for PleasureInducing Automaton, the latest in Pleasure Droid technology. Pia was an expensive piece of equipment, and an investment that someone like Crowley would be keen to protect. "What's the story?" Coover asked, noting that a monitor had just blanked out. "Technology, technology," Crowley sighed, throwing his arms up in the air in a gesture of resignation. "I pay all that money and what happens? The engineers give me a piece of junk that walks out as soon as it starts to pay for itself. These things are sent to try us, don't you think, Citizen Coover?" "Don't give me that bullshit," Coover warned icily. He hated people like Crowley, and he hated any hint that they were part of the same species. "Please, Citizen," Crowley rasped, as though he were shocked by Coover's tone. "My establishment is licensed - I can show you all the authorisations. I've broken no laws, and so I would hope that we can remain on civil terms. I do wish you operatives were more like the citizens of the MG." The mere mention of the MGs was enough to make Coover bristle with anger. "What was on that monitor?" he demanded, pointing to the screen that had mysteriously blanked out. "That session has ended," Crowley explained, his eyes widening. "Show me." "Citizen, I fail to see what this has possibly to do with the disappearance of one of my machines," he complained. "Show me." Crowley sighed loudly, leaned across and touched a switch with his finger. The monitor came to life instantly, the poor light compensated partly by the clarity of the picture and the sound loud and clear. It showed a small, badly lit room, occupied by two women and one man. The man was sitting on the edge of a bed and the two women were by his feet, sitting on the floor. "Record it," Coover ordered instantly. "But . . . but . . ." Crowley spluttered. "Now. I want this downloaded for further analysis. There's something going on here, Crowley, and I want to know what it is."

"I shall make a formal complaint," Crowley grumbled, reaching out to touch another switch. "Shut up. I want to catch all of this," Coover snapped, leaning closer to the monitor to get a better view. The two young women were of dishevelled appearance, loose black skirts spread around their thighs, faces flushed pink and hair out of place. One of them was fair, her skin very light so that the red flush of her cheeks stood out strongly. The other was darker, with heavy-lidded eyes that were open wide and fixed on the man. Both of the women looked young, probably under twenty, though it was hard to be entirely sure in the dim light. In contrast, the man was at least twice as old, his dark hair streaked with silver, his face in profile, sharp nose and distinguished features clearly discernible. "Again," he repeated, his voice a low murmur. "Forgive us, Father, for we have sinned," the women spoke in unison, their voices tinged with fear and excitement in equal measure. "What have you been doing, you sinful creatures?" the man demanded, his voice growing louder and more confident. He shifted round and Coover saw that the man was a Counsellor, the sheer black of his tunic carrying a solid white flash on the right arm. Both girls whimpered. They turned to each other, tearful eyes meeting head on. There was a moment of silence and then one of them, the blonde, began to speak. "We were playing, Father. We didn't realise that it was a sin to play," she whispered, her voice barely picked up by the hidden microphones that were monitoring the room. "But it is a sin," the Counsellor affirmed, edging closer to the young women, who seemed to be cowering before his looming figure. "We were only exploring," the dark-haired one said, seeking some way out of the accusation of sinfulness. "How exploring? Tell me," he demanded, and it was clear that only a complete and detailed explanation was going to suffice. Hesitation again, and then the blonde began the story. "It was Lori's fault," she complained. "We were sleeping side by side, our bodies pressed close just for the warmth, I swear it. I was suddenly woken by a wonderful feeling at the top of my thigh. It made me feel so hot and yet so dreamy. It felt like a dream, a strange dream. I swear I didn't understand what was happening." "That's not true," Lori interrupted, her eyes flashing with anger. "It was your idea you're always touching me, on my thighs and on my belly and . . . and . . . everywhere." "Enough!" the Counsellor snapped. "I wanted the full story. Tell me what happened today." "Lori was stroking my thighs with her fingers," the blonde continued. "Up and down my thigh, from my knee up to the top, long slow strokes that made me feel hot and sticky." "Where? Where did you feel sticky?"

"In my cunny," the blonde whispered, her face burning red hot with shame. "I felt hot between my thighs, and then her fingers began to stroke me there, making the heat grow and pulse. I pretended to sleep, I felt so ashamed. I felt her dip her finger inside me, into the pool of hot juices, and then I heard her lick them. I felt so afraid - I knew it was wrong for her to lick the juices from my cunny . . ." "Is this true?" The Counsellor turned to Lori. Her eyes were lowered and her dark hair seemed to shield her. "Did you taste her pussy?" the Counsellor demanded, shocking them both with the use of a term so profane, so obscene. "Yes, Father, I did," Lori admitted, shaken by the Counsellor's words. "But only because she tasted my breasts," she added, "and that was while we were both awake." "I've heard enough," the Counsellor decided, silencing any more outbursts. "You are vile and shameful creatures, utterly without morals. I am disgusted with you, no better than the animals of the field. You are young women, not beasts." "We're sorry, Father," the girls cried, looking up at him beseechingly. "You must be punished," he told them sternly. "You must be punished so that you never commit such degrading acts again." They all three fell silent, pondering on the meaning of punishment for a moment. The young women looked crestfallen, afraid of the chastisement that was to follow. The Counsellor stood up. He showed himself to be a tall, powerful man, and he strode across the room with long confident strides. The two girls looked at each other, each blaming the other for their predicament. In a moment the Counsellor had returned, a thick black strap to hand, a relic from a museum by the look of it. The girls shrank back at the sight of it, huddling together for support. "Stand up," he ordered, holding the strap menacingly in his hand. His eyes were wide, and his voice quivered, the excitement overwhelming the calm authority he had displayed. "Lori," he said, turning to the dark-haired young woman, "I want you to lift Shana's skirt - she will be punished first." Lori moved forward, and her expression was caught clearly on the monitor, a look of relief tingled with unmistakable excitement. She took Shana's long skirt by the hem and lifted it high, at the same time being careful not to touch the other woman's bare skin. The Counsellor studied the exposed form of the young woman for some moments, his eyes fixed on the fair white skin, on the long shapely thighs, on the rounded bottom cheeks that were made decent by a thin white undergarment that was pulled tightly into the rear cleft. Her body was beautiful - there could be no denying that - and everyone watching, from Lori to the Counsellor, from Crowley to Coover, felt a quickening of the heartbeat as they looked at her so cruelly exposed. Shana whimpered, turned to look back at the Counsellor, her face aflame and her eyes filled with tears. The Counsellor stepped forward and very slowly raised the strap. His arm hesitated for a moment and then fell in one swift movement. The crack of leather on flesh was drowned by the cry that filled the room. The Counsellor stepped away and the red imprint of the strap was marked clearly on Shana's pert backside. Lori swallowed hard. Her eyes were greedily eyeing the punished rear cheeks that she had been sinfully caressing, but at the same time she knew that her own body was to be punished next. "We do not allow the sins of the flesh," the Counsellor said sternly, lifting the strap high

again. It came down with a snap, leaving another red strip across fair skin that coloured so easily. The strokes came quickly, a flurry of hard smacks that beat rhythmically on Shana's quivering and reddened bottom cheeks. The room was suddenly silent. The strokes had ceased and the Counsellor was studying his handiwork. Shana's round buttocks were red and sore. Her undergarment had somehow been pulled even tighter into her rear cleft. The top of her thighs were also burning. She stood silently, as though the pain had taken away her power of speech. "Touch her," the Counsellor ordered curtly, speaking to Lori, who was transfixed by the sight of her punished friend. "But . . . but that's sinful," she stuttered - a mere whisper - looking perplexed by the strange request. "I want you to get a measure of the degree of sin. Touch her, feel the heat of her punishment." Lori obeyed, tentatively putting her fingers to the reddest part of Shana's backside. The other girl winced. She shrank away from the probing fingers that stroked her punished flesh. Lori pressed harder, her fingers kneading the flesh, and in a moment Shana sighed audibly. Her eyes were closed, and her face flushed red again, as though she knew that the pleasure she felt was clear for all to see. "Is she wet?" the Counsellor asked, his tone still cold and clinical. "Must I touch her?" Lori asked, a fleeting smile marking her joy at the thought. "Yes, examine her." "No . . . please," Shana begged, but she lacked conviction and made no move to resist when Lori pulled the undergarment aside. The monitor could not pick out the detail, but it was obvious that Lori was sliding her fingers into Shana's sex, sliding in and out very slowly and with an almost cruel deliberation. Shana could not control herself: her sighs were becoming an aching, wanton cry of desire. Lori moved her fingers in and out of the sex, faster and deeper, her fingers slick with a glistening honey that poured from the heat of lust. "Here, Father, she is wet," Lori exclaimed, offering her coated fingers to the Counsellor. There was a tremor of emotion on his face, a momentary lapse into unconcealed excitement. He made an effort to control himself. "You disappoint me," he told Shana sadly. "I had expected that you would learn your lesson from this chastisement." "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't want to," she said mournfully. Her punished rear end was still on display, the strap marks making pretty patterns on her fair white skin. "Let her lick your fingers," the Counsellor told Lori. Shana looked up, shocked by the instruction. There could be no refusal, she knew that, but still the idea of it appalled her. Reluctantly she put her pink tongue out and licked away the evidence of her bodily arousal from Lori's fingers. She swallowed the taste, the taste of her own pussy, without complaint. "Is it my turn now?" Lori asked meekly, still holding up Shana's skirt with one hand. "You touched Shana's thighs and her behind, and that is where she was punished. She suckled from your breasts and that is where you will be punished," he explained coolly.

Lori seemed resigned to her punishment. She peeled away her top with a single swift movement, revealing large rounded breasts tipped with long hard nipples. "I am ready, Father," she said softly, a tremor in her voice - whether of dread or of anticipation was not clear. "Shana, I want you to support her: stand behind her and cup her breasts." Shana obeyed quickly. She stood behind her friend and reached round to cradle the full firm breasts in her hands. They were so close, their faces almost touching. Together they watched the Counsellor raise the strap and then bring it down hard on the softness of Lori's breasts. The cry that tore from Lori's throat pierced the air. The Counsellor waited, his eyes fixed on the solid red line that traversed the valley between the punished breasts. Six solid strokes were made in slow succession, each one a lick of fire that marked Lori's flesh more deeply than the last. The nipples blazed and throbbed, becoming visibly harder and more aroused, until at last Lori was moaning and panting deliriously. There could be no mistaking the response, physical, sexual, uncontrolled. For a moment it seemed as if the two women were going to melt into each other's arms, to smother each other in caresses and to break the ultimate taboo. "There is no essence for you to taste," the Counsellor declared, satisfied that he had inflicted the correct degree of punishment. "Shana had to face the shame of tasting her own essence. Now you must suffer a different humiliation. On your knees." Both the young women knelt down, Shana still offering up Lori's chastised chest for inspection. The Counsellor dropped the strap and stepped forward, completely blocking the view of the young women. Before Coover could say anything Crowley touched a slider switch and the camera angle changed. The Counsellor had unbuttoned the front of his trousers, revealing the hardness of his penis. The two women were open-mouthed with a mixture of revulsion, excitement and pure horror. The Counsellor was stroking his penis with his hand, caressing himself deftly, building up to a fever pitch of excitement. The desire that the punishment had induced in the two women had been mirrored in his own arousal. Every stroke of the strap had heightened his desire until he could stand it no more. In moments he reached climax and thick jets of semen arced across to splatter Lori's reddened skin, dribbling wetly down over her breasts. The two women looked at the elemental fluid with a greedy fascination, as though it were the first time they had ever seen such a thing. The Counsellor spoke in a hoarse whisper. "Suck it in to your mouth and feed it to Lori," he told Shana. "But it's wrong," Shana whispered. "Do it!" the order came back. There could be no denial, no refusal. Shana crawled round and sucked the thick wads of semen into her mouth, her pink tongue chasing the droplets down over the erect nipples. Her mouth full, she placed her lips to Lori's and they shared a long kiss, sharing the male essence between them. They separated and Shana sucked the last droplets away, her tongue lingering at the aroused nipples once more. "Now let us pray for forgiveness," the Counsellor said, making himself decent once more. All three knelt down and bowed their heads in silent prayer, as though they were in the temple and not in the sleaziest of leisure facilities.

"I'm licensed," Crowley hissed, blanking out the monitor with a flick of the wrist. "How many palms do you have to grease to get your licence?" Coover asked, a look of disgust souring his features. "Is that an accusation, Citizen?" Coover glared at him angrily. "That's the sickest thing I've ever seen," he said evenly. "Blasphemy and a simulation of fucking." He made the word sound brutal. "If the MGs did what they were supposed to then this place would be razed to the ground." "They were Pleasure Droids," Crowley stated. "I know they were Pleasure Droids, but if I had my way we'd get rid of the damned machines for good. Don't you see it? This is play-acting that's only a whisker away from the real thing." "Citizen Coover," Crowley said, a sly smile on his sweaty face, "that is not a decision that the police can make. Some people seek fulfilment in virtual reality; for others VR is not enough and they use other forms of autoeroticism, and for others Pleasure Droids provide the means. Pleasure is pleasure, as long as there is no direct bodily contact what is the harm?" Coover was in no mood to argue. "Upload the recording to my office. I need to study it further." "Will it get Pia back?" "Those Droids, were they of the same model as Pia?" Crowley shook his head. "No, Pia was the very latest in technology, one step up from Lori and Shana." "Expensive?" "Extremely." Another sick smile from Crowley. "One more thing," Coover remembered. "Yes?" "How many of your sessions are monitored by the MGs?" Crowley shrugged. "It's a random sample, as I am sure you are aware. I do not go beyond the boundaries of our moral standards, nor of your law, Citizen. I have my function to perform, a useful One, as I am sure you agree. I have one question also, if I may." Coover walked to the door, turned back at the last minute, unable to resist. "What is it?" "Have you ever used a Droid, Citizen Coover?" "I wouldn't lower myself," Coover snorted. The idea was sick - he hated the things and there was no way he was going to engage himself with machinery, no matter what it looked like. "Please, if you ever feel the need to experiment, be my guest. No charge."

Coover felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. The anger swelled up like a storm inside him. On the verge of explosion, he held back, mindful that this was enemy territory and the chief had warned him to behave himself. "I have male and female models," Crowley called as Coover headed out of the building as fast as he could. The sunlight caught him as he left, and for a moment he was blinded again. He shielded his eyes for a second and saw a tall figure get into an auto, a figure that he recognised at once. The blindness caused by the light cleared and Coover's worst suspicion was confirmed. The tall figure was clothed in the familiar dress of a Counsellor. That was sick he had imagined that the vengeful tormentor of Lori and Shana had donned the clothes of a Counsellor in order to add to the thrill of flirting with body fucking. Now he saw that the man was a real Counsellor. Coover shivered despite the warmth of the day. Places like Elixir were corrupting, contributing to the steady decay of all that was decent and good. He got back into his auto feeling heavy-hearted. An intense frustration washed through him, because he knew that there was nothing he could do to reverse that decline. All that he could hope for was that he could slow that decline down - and even that was going to be difficult.

Two Back at base Coover uploaded the data from PersCon to the central console. It was part of the routine after a visit but it gave him time to think. The missing Droid was already incidental in his mind: Crowley's attitude and the scene Coover had witnessed with the Counsellor convinced him that something needed to be done. Sure, it was against protocol, but some things were more important than that. The moral welfare of a society was being slowly undermined by the activities of leisure facilities like Elixir. It was impossible for one man to change that globally, but Coover was sure as hell going to try to pin something down on Crowley and get his sleazy joint shut down for good. His monitor flashed with updates to some of the other cases he was working on. He paged through the information quickly, marking points of interest to come back to later. Police work had not really changed in nature for a hundred years, and nor had the crimes the police dealt with. Data theft, illegal transfer of funds, smuggling of contraband substances, political subversion, robbery, theft . . . The tools had changed, on both sides of the law, but the crimes and motivations hadn't. It was a depressing thought, but somehow it cheered Coover up, as though it made him feel secure that what he was doing had some value to society. Sometimes Coover had to lie and cheat; other times he had to be gratuitously nasty; always he had to keep a distance between himself and his fellow citizens. It was only the barest glimmer of idealism still flickering inside him that kept him going sometimes. "What the hell's been going on?" the chief snapped, her image windowing suddenly on to the screen, her shrill voice blaring from the individual elements of the screen matrix. Coover looked at her blankly. "Something wrong?" he drawled, looking at her with raised eyebrows. "You know very well what's wrong," she stated coldly. "I've just had word from Coard that you've been harassing Crowley." "Has there been an official complaint?"

"No, there hasn't, Coover, but that isn't the point." "What is the point, Chief?" Coover asked, feeling his way along the chiefs nerves. "I needed information - you can't pussyfoot with people like Crowley." "This is a missing Droid," the chief interjected sharply. "You don't need that much information. Don't push me, Detective," she warned. "Look, Chief, you won't believe the kind of sick things that go on down at Crowley's place. You just won't." "What goes on has nothing to do with us. It's not our territory and it's never going to be our territory, is that clear? Is that clear?" "Yes, Citizen, that's crystal clear. We chase after his machines and ignore the perverted games that they're used for." The chief looked at him stonily, her eyes searching his face long and hard. "That's a value judgement, Coover," she said at last. "You're not paid to make those. In fact I don't even think you're qualified to make them. You know the rules - stick by them if you want me to stick by you. Is that clear?" "Crystal clear," Coover sighed wearily. The screen window shrank to nothing and he was staring hard at a page full of text and graphics. The chief was a civilian. She was elected to run an efficient and accountable local force. There were rules and regulations by the diskful, and it was her role in life to make sure they were adhered to at all times. This caused problems: there was always a fine line between following rules and pointless dogmatism. And of course the rules could get in the way of a case, which inevitably happened far too often for Coover's liking. However, on the whole he accepted these restrictions philosophically. They were there for good reasons after all. It was just that sometimes he wanted to ram the damn rules and regulations down her prissy civilian throat. He snapped on the details of his main case, a tobacco-dealing ring that he'd been tracking for some weeks. The screen filled with updates on the taps he'd placed on the two main suppliers to the ring. They were using sophisticated encryption routines to code up their conversations and data transfers. It had been a hard code to crack - even the police cryptologists had been amazed at the time it had taken. But now it had been done and pages of transcripts were stored safely on disk for further analysis. For a while Coover concentrated on the tobacco dealers, hoping to lose his anger by getting lost in the minutiae of a normal case. Tobacco dealing was on the increase, in part due to a bumper illegal crop and in part due to the heavily addictive nature of the substance. His case was just one of several: the chief had announced a major campaign against tobacco dealing and so resources had been diverted to it. He supported the campaign wholeheartedly; it pained him to think of all the young lives that had been destroyed by addiction. But, try as he might, Coover couldn't quite get the Droid case out of his mind. It was all too easy to picture Crowley contacting Antone Coard, the highest-ranking member of the local MG committee, and whining about harassment. Coard would have jumped at the chance to get back at the police: any stepping over the accepted boundaries was heavily frowned upon. Besides, Coard was just a civilian politician - he thrived on coverage and controversy, and a jurisdictional in-fight was guaranteed to generate lots of publicity for him. Politicians - Coover hated them, hated them almost as much as sickos like Crowley. When Coover had to reread the same screen twice, with the same lack of concentration,

he switched back to the Droid case. The data had been processed and he had names to put to faces. The male assistant at Elixir, cropped blonde hair and nervous blue eyes, was named Marck Banks. The file was concise but predictable: a one-time tobacco addict, small-time thief and now gainfully employed by Elixir. His employment permit (to work in a licensed facility you needed to have a permit from the MG) had been approved personally by Antone Coard. The second name to get a make on was that of the Counsellor. His file contained the barest details - no criminal activity had been recorded. The picture that Coover brought up matched perfectly the face he'd seen on the monitors: silver-streaked hair, deep-set grey eyes that revealed a natural sense of authority. His name was Bernal Rossik, and he served the community at the Temple of the Divine, one of the large temples close to the centre of the city. Coover's anger surged to the surface like the sharpest peak of a submerged iceberg. It was bad that someone like Rossik, a man charged with the spiritual welfare of society, should besmirch his vocation by playing sick games with Pleasure Droids. "Heard the chiefs been breathing fire again." Coover looked up sharply, eyes blazing, and then his face softened to a smile. "It does her good," he said leaning back in his seat to get a better look at Detective Jo Lake. She was standing by his desk, leaning forward slightly, with a relaxed smile on her pretty young face. "What was it about this time?" she asked, moving round to sit on the edge of the desk. Her long legs were displayed perfectly by tight leggings that were moulded to her skin. "I was up at Crowley's joint." His face soured as he said it. "Another missing Droid case. I just made it clear what I thought of him and his kind." Jo laughed, her lips parting to reveal fine white teeth. "You'll get yourself busted out," she warned. "You know that Crowley's best friends with Antone Coard." "Sure I know," Coover said, nodding. "But that's out of our jurisdiction, right? What they do has nothing to do with the police." "Just be careful," Jo cautioned. She skipped off the edge of the desk, her heels snapping hard on the polished floor. As she wandered back to her workstation, weaving through the array of stations that were spread through the office, Coover's eyes were fixed on the round globes of her backside. She was something else, a real beauty, long legs and a tight round behind, slender waist that funnelled up to firm well-sculpted breasts. He snapped out of it, realising that he was breathing hard. Jo always did that to him. He was glad she worked on the other side of the office: if she were any closer she'd be a permanent distraction. Who did she fix on when in the virtual-reality suite? Coover had pondered on the question a thousand times, without ever coming to any conclusions. He hoped it was himself, but she never gave any clues that she was at all interested in him sexually. She used the VR unit a lot, though - he'd seen her disappear into the room three or four times in one day. He returned to his monitor. Counsellor Rossik deserved a visit, Coover decided. A nice, long, uncomfortable visit. Purely for information - after all, it was a fair bet that if the Counsellor was a regular visitor to Elixir then he may have come into contact with the Droid called Pia. He spoke to the computer quickly - a few key phrases and then the figures were graphed on to the screen. It was confirmed: Counsellor Rossik was indeed a regular at Elixir. A few more questions and the line of enquiry was cut off. He was attempting to find out which other leisure facilities the good Counsellor patronised. The data was directly related to an individual - he couldn't get at it directly. He rephrased the question, crossreferenced it and let it go. Now he was asking for a list of all the clients at all the leisure facilities in the last month. He then needed to cross-reference that to the Counsellor to see

where his name occurred in the list. It would take much longer to process, but the data may be useful. While that was processing he switched tack and called up the file of what he had witnessed at Elixir. The same grainy picture was played on his screen and he settled back to study it. He fast-forwarded, freeze-framing until he had found the part he was looking for. He let it go on at normal speed. There was silence. The first round of punishment had just finished. Counsellor Rossik was leaning forward, eyes fixed on Shana's bottom cheeks. Her backside was blazing red; her panties were a white strip between her rounded buttocks, and the contrast of white silk and red flesh made the Counsellor's mouth quiver wordlessly. Shana was silent, a fearful look on her round face. "Touch her," Rossik ordered, turning slightly to face Lori, who was studying her friend's exposed backside almost as intently as the Counsellor. "But . . . but that's sinful," Lori whispered. Her face carried a good facsimile of confusion. The manufacturers had obviously put a lot of effort into making the face more animated, and programming a range of expressions suitable for the strange situations the Droids were used in. The Counsellor seemed thrown by the confusion. "I want you to get a measure of the degree of sin," he said hesitantly. Touch her, feel the heat of her punishment." Lori obeyed, like the machine that she was. She gingerly reached her slender fingers to touch Shana's backside at the junction between the white undergarment and the red flesh. Zooming closer, Coover could see that the white panties, pulled tight between the labia, were slightly soiled, a wet strip forming at the centre. Shana recoiled, edging away from her friend's probing fingers. Lori ignored this. She continued her exploration, pressing and kneading the flesh. Shana sighed, and this time Coover detected a faint echo of sound escaping from the Counsellor's lips. There was shame on her face - again Coover was impressed by the degree of detail that the manufacturers had been able to produce. "Is she wet?" Rossik asked. On replay his voice didn't sound so hard and emotionless - it was possible to hear the suppressed excitement as he spoke. Spectral analysis could prove the fact of course: it was a useful tool for the police, and could pinpoint a subject's emotional state quite accurately. Lori's question came a moment later. "Must I touch her?" she asked. "Yes, examine her." "No . . . please," Shana implored. Her voice was able to carry a surprising emotional range. Here she sounded defeated, as though her strength had been sapped. Lori pulled Shana's panties to one side. The sharp motion roughed the labia, pulling the lips apart to reveal glistening pink flesh. Lori wasted no time. Coover sharpened the focus. It was clear that she was moving her fingers into Shana's sex. The motion was smooth and rhythmic, fingers sliding in and out very slowly. Shana's sighs were loud and clear. She seemed to be abandoning herself to pleasure, throwing her head back and screaming ecstatically. Lori worked eagerly. Her fingers were glistening as they drove in and out, rubbing into the sex and out across the throbbing clitoris. "Here, Father, she is wet," she said suddenly.

She had turned and was showing her drenched fingers to Rossik. Coover stalled the frame. Rossik was clearly on the verge of orgasm: his mouth was partly open, a grimace of pleasure twisting his face. The sequence continued. Rossik swallowed hard, forcing himself to hold on. "You disappoint me," he told Shana. "I had expected that you would learn your lesson from this chastisement." "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't want to," she whispered. This time Coover could see that both Lori and the Counsellor were still eyeing Shana's backside, her pretty thighs and rounded cheeks patterned pink and red. "Let her lick your fingers," the Counsellor told Lori, a sick smile flickering on his mouth like a light about to burst. Shana looked suitably horrified. There was a second of hesitation, a second that Rossik savoured, and then she touched the pink tip of her tongue to Lori's sex-soaked fingers. Her eyes were half closed as she tasted herself, and there, for the briefest moment, Coover saw a look of pleasure mark her face. "Well, Detective," the chief said coldly. "Is this what you call police work?" Coover swallowed hard and looked up, snapping off the display with a quick flick of the wrist. "That was part of a session at Elixir today." "And it's germane to the case?" the chief asked sceptically. She was standing beside him. How long she had been there he had no idea. "Yes," he said sullenly, preferring not to give his justification. "Coard has been on to me again," she explained crisply. "He's concerned that we're not handling these sorts of cases properly. In his opinion anything to do with the leisure facility belongs to them. That includes missing or stolen Droids and the consumption of illegal substances." "That's bullshit," Coover said evenly. "How heartening, Detective, that we should for once be in agreement. This looks like the start of another campaign. You know how ambitious he is." "This is our turf," he stated, agitated by Coard's presumption. "The missing-Droid case goes up in priority," he guessed. "Of course. But I want you to tread carefully. No slip-ups, you understand? You're a good detective, Coover. Don't let your personal feelings get in the way. Is that clear?" "Crystal clear, Chief," he snapped. "What have you got so far, apart from an erotic display?" "The name of a regular client at Elixir. I want to talk to him to get a detailed idea of what the missing Droid was like. You won't believe how far these things have progressed." "I think I will," the chief replied enigmatically, a broad smile breaking out on her stern features. Their eyes met for a moment and then Coover turned away, his face taking on a distinctly pink tinge. "I want this case wrapped up as quickly and as cleanly as possible," the chief said brightly,

her smile warming her face. "Sure thing," he mumbled. She turned on her heel and marched off briskly. Coover watched her go, cursing himself for being so stupid. She was right of course: sometimes he let his personal feelings get in the way. He hated the Droids utterly, with a passion that knew no bounds, and he had assumed that his passion was shared by the chief. Now it was clear that she used the Droids too, and her slightly contemptuous smile had increased as she had enjoyed his embarrassment. Coover had to accept that the chief was a Droid user too. Well, it was her prerogative - he had no problem with the chief. It was Crowley he hated, no one else. He continued working for a while and then wandered over to Jo, who was waiting for him, an anxious frown on her face. "More trouble?" she asked, easing round in her seat to face him. Her tunic was always so tight, as though it had been shrunk on to her body. Her breasts were firm and round, exquisitely proportioned, the firm nipples impressed against the silky material so that they drew the eye magnetically. Coover grunted. "Would we want it any other way? Looks like I've got to concentrate on this stupid Droid case." "Crowley stirring up more trouble?" He shook his head. "No, Crowley's political patron, Coard." "He is big trouble," Jo cautioned. "Keep on his good side, Rey." "A creep like that has a good side?" Coover laughed, a faint sneer of disgust twisting his features. He was glad that Jo looked so concerned - it really made a difference to him. He promised Jo that he'd be Mr Diplomacy from then onwards and then headed down to the VR unit, in the basement of the Police Department building. It was early afternoon and he guessed that there'd be at least one cubicle free. When things got really tough a session in a VR unit was guaranteed to release some of the tension at least. One of the advantages of working in a high-pressure job was that free access to a VR facility was provided. It had been recognised early on that VR had great potential as a health-affirming technique. The elevator ride down into the basement was smooth and quick. Coover didn't like the idea of having the VR units in the basement - he thought ii imparted negative connotations to the practice. He hated the idea that he was going underground to enjoy something that should have been so joyous. He'd never told anyone of course - things like that were best kept quiet. Though he'd never been able to laugh at the other officers' jokes about plumbing the depths. "Hi, Colleen, keeping busy?" Coover asked jocularly, emerging from the elevator into the VR facility's reception area. "Hi, Rey, sure we're busy," Colleen greeted him familiarly. She was young and attractive, with sparkling blue eyes and a wide mouth that was always glossily, seductively red. She was a civilian and always dressed provocatively: short skirts, tight leather tops, high-heeled boots. It was a tonic just to set eyes on her and to hear her warm friendly voice. "You got one free?"

"Number four," she told him, looking down quickly at her console. He nodded and she keyed in his ID. He walked through the double doors into the cubicle area, breathing Colleen's aphrodisiac scent as he passed her. She smiled to him, as though aware of the effect she had on her clients. Cubicle four was at the end of the first corridor, one of twelve cubicles installed in the department. The technology wasn't the latest, but it was functional and efficient and Coover had no problem with that. He pressed a palm against the control panel and it was scanned to compare against his ID records. VR was an intensely private experience, and the last thing anyone wanted was someone walking in unexpectedly. The identification complete, the door slid open silently and he stepped into the narrow room. The lights were on, casting clinical white fluorescence over the sparsely furnished room. There was a couch to one side, a comfortably worn armchair on the other, the sliding door to the shower at the very end. Above the couch the instrument panel was blinking softly, the pale-red glow and the steady rhythmic on-off sequence designed to be as relaxing as possible. Coover whistled tunelessly as he stripped, neatly folding his uniform and putting it down on the seat of the armchair. The couch was warm, the faint disinfectant smell mingling with the scent of leather. The ambient temperature was adjusted to match his profile (every session in the VR unit was monitored and conditions fixed to provide maximum personal comfort). He lay down on the couch and the unit whirred into action. A panel opened and the ear units were lowered to his grasp. The lights dimmed while he plugged each ear, carefully inserting the probes so that they were comfortable. "Ready," he said, his voice sounding tinny in the enclosed area of the cubicle. There was a faint rustling as the fine organic fibres of the probes emerged from the ear plugs and travelled into the auditory canal as far as the middle ear. At the eardrum the fibres branched into a number of filaments, each a few molecules across, and from there they burrowed further into the skull. The process was quick and relatively painless - some people complained of balance difficulties and nausea but Coover had never experienced any problems at all. The branch-like structure of molecular pathways meshed naturally with the central nervous system, hijacking an area of the cerebral cortex from which to pass simulated sensory data: visuals, aural signals, touch sensations and so on. Finally a single link was made deep into the hypothalamus to connect directly to the pleasure centre of the brain. Coover opened his eyes and stared at nothing. He was floating in a dark sea of nothingness, weightless, incorporeal. His imagination had thousands of images for recall, a side effect of VR being that images of extraordinary power and vividness could be remembered with surprising facility. In addition the unit had thousands of other images to call upon, tailoring each image to suit the personality of the user. The darkness faded and Coover found himself back at his terminal, staring without feeling at the pages of data on the screen. The office was deserted. He looked up and saw that none of the workstations were occupied. He brushed a hand through his hair, an unconscious gesture of weariness. It was late. The moon was balanced precariously in the sky, a pale-orange globe above the sharp contours of the city horizon. He'd made no progress on his tobacco-running case. It irked him: he was staking his reputation on cracking the hardest case the department had ever faced. "Still here?" a voice asked.

Coover spun round in his seat. He relaxed. Jo was standing behind him, a faintly sympathetic look on her pretty young face. Her lips were pursed, tight petals that glistened where she had passed the tip of her tongue over them. Her eyes regarded him, deep-green eyes that seemed to draw him closer. "I'm on the Frost case," he explained. "I'm this far from throwing the whole thing open." "You look tired," she said softly, reaching out a slender hand to touch his face. Her fingers were tipped with long red nails. She stroked his face softly, drawing the tension from his flesh instantly. He took her hand and brought it round to his lips. He kissed her fingers while she regarded him curiously. "Rey . . . I didn't know . . ." He stood up and drew her closer. She smelled divine, her perfume making him feel dizzy and reckless. He kissed her on the mouth, touching his lips to hers in one long slow caress. The inside of her mouth was cool. He sucked at her breath, traced her lips with his tongue. His hands moved over the silky material of her tunic, warm and smooth, every contour of her body reflected in the tight pseudo-skin. Her breasts were firm and delightful to touch he felt her stiffen as he stroked her nipples through the silk covering. "You always look so good . . ." he whispered. She broke from his arms and backed away for a moment. For a second he felt a stab of fear, certain that she was going to reject him. She touched the clasp on her tunic and it fell away, revealing smooth pale skin and lightbrown nipples on her breasts. She smiled shyly, looking for his approval. "So very good . . ." he remarked wondrously. He moved towards her, shedding his own uniform in an instant. They were alone, in a darkened room, standing together by the side of a bed. He held her, enjoying the feel of her nipples brushing through the dense mat of hair on his chest. Her eyes were half closed and her lips parted. They kissed again and he felt the desire surge through him. His prick was hard and aching. He pressed himself against her, letting her feel his excitement. Her hand moved down slowly and stroked his cock with a feather-light touch. He sighed. She touched him the way no other woman could. She unzipped her leggings and they fell to the ground, peeling away from her long curvaceous thighs. She wore tight, high-cut panties, stark white against her skin. Her hands were on her thighs - she was posed. Again a doubt was reflected in her eyes, as though she were afraid that Coover might turn away from her. There was silence. He could hardly take his eyes from her. Her sharp heels accentuated the curve of her calves. One knee was slightly cocked, -again emphasising the shapeliness of her long limbs. "You're just so beautiful," he murmured appreciatively. "Do you think so?" she asked timidly. She turned round, and then looked over her shoulder at him. Her back was smooth and flawless, her slender waist curving round to her tight round backside, the twin hemispheres of flesh leading down to her lithe thighs. Her panties were tight, pulling against the flesh, which bulged lightly. The deep cleft between her rear cheeks was separated by the thin white strip of material. Coover fell to his knees in absolute adoration. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss just above her right ankle, touching his lips to the coolness of her skin. He kissed again, tasting her, moving rapidly over her calves and lingering behind the knee. He sucked at her flesh, revelling in the smoothness of it, in the exquisite softness of her skin. She tasted

perfect: every inch and every pore of her skin seemed to sing to him, as though she were sweetness itself. She moved forward, in slow motion so that every step was a poem that caused the desire to surge like fire. His prick was hard, his response was physical, passionate, alive. She reached the edge of the bed and bent over, one knee on the mattress and one foot still firmly on the ground. She pushed forward, using both hands to balance herself, her body parallel to the surface of the bed. Her position displayed her thighs and buttocks to best effect; her swelling bottom cheeks were rounded, jutting pertly from her tight panties. He crawled over to her, his eyes never wavering, fixed firmly on the delightful picture of her backside. Her white panties were pulled tighter into her cleft, the thin strip of material barely covering the puffy lips of her sex. He kissed her under the knee again, rubbing his face against her leg. Her own excitement was revealed by the damp patch forming between her thighs, a wetness that darkened the tight crotch of her panties. He touched her, a hand to each leg, moving up and down slowly, worshipping her thighs with his hands. He thrilled to the silkiness of her flesh, and, unable to contain himself, he began to kiss and lick her pert backside. She sighed, the sound echoing through his brain. His tongue traced the tightness of her panties against her thighs, tracing the curvature and contours of her behind. "Kiss me . . ." she whispered, her voice aching yearningly. She reached back with her hand, her scarlet nails so vivid against the creamy whiteness of her thighs, and pulled the crotch of her panties aside. It was an almost violent gesture, exposing the fleshy lips of her sex and the inviting flesh within. He touched his tongue to her fingers and then licked softly at her exposed sex. Her curly hair was soft against his tongue, and then he was tasting her juices, wet and sticky inside her cunny. The effect was electric. She moved back, exposing herself even more, making her backside even rounder. He massaged the hemispheres of her bottom cheeks while tonguing her deeply. Her sighs and moans were hot and breathless as she wriggled ecstatically to the play of his mouth. He sucked her, tongued her, bit her. He fucked her with his mouth, her pleasure igniting his own. She screamed loudly and threw her head back; her hands were playing frantically with her nipples. She climaxed deliriously, her sex raining into his mouth. She fell on to the bed, hands still on her breasts, body drenched in sweat and thighs smeared with her love honey. She was trembling, eyes half closed, as though the experience had been too much for her. "Rey, no man has ever made love to me like that," she murmured dreamily. "How could any man not worship you, goddess?" he whispered tenderly. He kissed her softly, knowing that she could taste herself on his lips. He saw the doubt as she tasted herself, and then the delight when she liked it. I'll never let any man near me again," she promised, reaching down to caress his prick. He was rock-hard, the glans wet with the silvery fluid that seeped from the slit. He felt her squeeze his cock and then wipe his glans with the very tip of her finger. "Look," she said, a wicked smile forming on her lips. He looked excitedly: the tip of her finger sparkled with a jewel of fluid from his prick. She brought the thick droplet to her mouth and touched it to her tongue. She smiled and swallowed the taste of his cock, reaching down with the other hand to milk more of it from his stiff prick. "Take me in your mouth," he said, reaching for her hand and sucking the droplet of pre-

come for himself. She watched, fascinated, as he tasted himself on her fingers, sucking her whole finger deep into his mouth and lashing it with his tongue. She understood. In seconds she was kissing and caressing his prick, her lips playing up and down the stiff length of cock. He lay back to enjoy it, the butterflies of sensation fluttering chaotically in his belly. He had to give it to her - she knew how to suck cock as well as he knew how to suck cunny. Her fingers touched and caressed expertly, cradling his heavy balls or moving up and down tightly over his rod. Sometimes she had most of the length deep in her mouth and other times she just licked at the tip. It was a journey through pleasure, blindingly ecstatic, reaching to the core of him. He jerked upwards suddenly and she took his length greedily. He felt himself pumping deep into her mouth, her tongue working his glans as he ejaculated. It lasted for ever, and then he turned to her. A thick stream of semen poured from her lips, tender lips, bruised by the passion of her mouth-fucking. He watched as she chased the droplet with her finger, scooped it all up on to the very tip and planted it on the pink tip of her tongue. She smiled and fell towards him, sharing her prize in one long kiss. Coover felt refreshed when he emerged from cubicle number four. Life was somehow worth living again; perspective had changed subtly and now things could be seen in proportion. "You look much better for that," Colleen commented as he passed. "Thanks. You know, it makes all the difference sometimes." Back upstairs he spied Jo working at her terminal, speaking commands to the computer while her eyes rapidly scanned the monitor. He had no doubt that in reality her body was as perfect as the virtual-reality representation of it. She had to know that he dreamed about her - a pretty woman like her must be aware that she would be the raw material of a thousand fantasies. He took his place back at his terminal, more relaxed than he had been at any time for the last few days. The Droid case wasn't so bad - at least it would give him a chance to prove to the chief that he was promotion material. Every promotion he'd ever achieved had been due to period in service, never on merit. The next step up required too many years service for him to look forward to it comfortably. If he was ever going to make it higher than detective it had to be now, and on merit. Hell, he'd find the stupid machine and put an end to whatever that insect Coard was up to. There were two leads to follow: Counsellor Bernal Rossik and the ex-drug addict Marck Banks. Both of them were viable, both could supply valuable information, but only one of them would afford Coover any personal satisfaction. It was time to visit the good Counsellor.

Three The Temple of the Divine was a large cavernous building close to the central terminus. It gleamed in the sunlight, the domed roof catching the rays as the sun waned late in the afternoon. Coover stopped to look at it for a while, admiring the way the steel and glass meshed symmetrically, the dome funnelling down in alternate panels of dark glass and polished steel. Coover had walked from the department building to the temple, usage of the auto pool being strictly controlled, and the walk had done him some good. The interior of the temple was breathtaking: it was like stepping into another world. The

air was still and cool, and sharp beams of light cut cleanly across the open space. The atmosphere was meditative, reflective, serene. The central altar was speared by the light, always the focus of attention. Coover knew that it was a trick of the architecture, that the panels were arranged so that the sunlight would always be focused on the altar. It meant that even on the darkest day the altar was illuminated by the soft natural light filtering through the dome and the monolithic glass panels, a sight that impressed even a hardened cynic like Coover. The ambience of the light was enhanced by the faint murmur of music in the background, bubbling sounds of water and the faint whisper of a breeze mixed into a slow choral chant that barely impinged on the consciousness. In the late afternoon there were few worshippers: an old man on bended knees before the altar, two young women with closed eyes meditating in the peaceful twilight of an alcove. Counsellor Rossik was tending to the elderly man, who had his head bowed in silent prayer. Rossik was wearing the same black uniform with the single white flash on the right arm symbolising the fire of life in the darkness of the universe. He was murmuring the solemn words of a service, arms raised above the old man as though he were about to reach down and strangle the life from him. Coover watched silently, taking advantage of the darker outer edge of the temple to observe what was going on. The two young women in the temple were still in silent meditation, legs crossed in the traditional lotus position. They faced each other in the near darkness, trying to attune to the serene and holy atmosphere and to each other. Spiritually there could be nothing higher than to bond psychically to another human being - it was the ultimate religious experience. Many claimed to have experienced it, to have achieved the meshing of mind and spirit with another person, but in reality few had succeeded - if it were at all possible. Like most things spiritual, the claims were always greater than the reality, because the end itself was so valuable and the effort so great. The old man rose and shook Rossik's hand gratefully, speaking softly in a deferential undertone. Coover chose not to record the conversation, though he had it within his power to do so. But hell, this was religion and Coover had no argument with that. Rossik managed to free himself from the old man's hands and stepped down from the dais. He looked up and saw Coover but there was no sign of any recognition. Coover crossed the temple, passing from the darkest edge and into the central column of light. Rossik had turned to walk back but once he saw Coover approaching he stopped and waited. "How may I help you, Citizen?" Rossik asked first, his voice a low rumble in the silence. "Detective Rey Coover. May we talk, Counsellor?" "My office," Rossik agreed, with no hint of a guilty conscience to flicker in his deep, grey eyes. He turned and strode across the temple, his footsteps a rhythmic snap that seemed to merge with the ambient Muzak that gurgled in the background. Coover followed, annoyed that the Counsellor should be so much in control. Most people grew tense in the presence of a police officer - it was a natural, instinctive reaction. There was a certain abstract quality about the law, and he wanted all men to feel it physically when in his presence. A thorough search of a guilty conscience was always a good thing in his opinion. It occurred to him that the Counsellor probably understood that completely, that in a sense he too was an officer of the law. They passed through to the back of the temple, along a darkened corridor that led to an open area where loose comfortable seats, coffee tables and notice boards collaged with posters and fliers. The place was deserted but gave the impression that it was normally a

hive of activity. A bin by one of the benches was filled to overflowing. Coover stopped suddenly and sniffed; the Counsellor stopped and looked back. "We run an addiction counselling service," Rossik explained, pointing to a notice up on one of the boards. "Of course," Coover nodded. The distinct smell of stale tobacco hung in the air, a foul pollutant that infected the air, a bloodstain that was impossible to hide. Rossik's office was a cramped hole, one of several in a row. The walls were lined with disks and posters, journals and paper books. It was a busy, functional little room with none of the reflective atmosphere of the temple itself. Most of the space was taken up by the desk in the far corner. "Please, take a seat." Rossik gestured to a seat under the single square window while he took the only other one on the other wall. "It's a little cramped I admit," Rossik chuckled, "but it's home. Now, Detective, how may I help you?" Coover sat down and stared into the other man's steely grey eyes. Rossik's face was open and sincere, as though nothing bad could hide behind his honest expression. Coover shifted uncomfortably, suddenly tense in the presence of the Counsellor. "Counsellor, I have a theological question for you," he said finally. "A theological question? Then I take it that this isn't an official call." "The information may be useful in a case I am currently investigating," Coover said, hedging slightly. "I've got to answer it now," Rossik laughed. "You've aroused my curiosity. What is the question, Detective?" "Explain to me why the church frowns on the use of 'Father' as a form of address for a Counsellor." Rossik stared blankly for a moment. "I'm sure that is known to you, Detective," he said. "It is not the sort of question I was expecting, frankly." "Tell me anyway," Coover insisted, unable to discern any apparent guilt in Rossik. "Because it implies biological reproduction. It is a historical form of address which is no longer valid - if it were ever truly valid in the first place. We no longer worship God the Father: we now worship God the Creator. The biological connotations were the result of an unsophisticated reading of the Creation story. No modern reading of the Bible supports this interpretation. As I said, I am sure that all of this is known to you, Detective. May I know why you asked?" "So if a worshipper were to address you as Father you would take offence?" Rossik nodded. "I would not allow such a thing, of course. Nor has it ever happened, Detective. In fact I have not even heard of it happening to any of my colleagues. I do believe that the practice still occurs in more backward regions, though the church is doing its best to eradicate it." "You're not a radical, then?" Coover asked slyly, alert for any signs of culpability. "Not at all, Detective," Rossik responded calmly. "Is this what the questions are about? Am I suspected of theological radicalism?"

"That's not our province, unless religious radicalism spills over into political subversion. But I am confused now, Counsellor." "In what way?" "I cannot understand why a man would fantasise about being called Father," Coover said coldly. Rossik blinked nervously, his expression changing subtly. "A fantasy is an intensely private experience," he said slowly, searching for his words carefully. "It exists outside the public arena. By its nature it is entirely free." "I agree." Coover smiled, certain now that he had the edge he was looking for. "But you would agree, Counsellor, that it is a window into the soul, or perhaps I should say spirit, of a man." ^ A nervous nod of agreement. "Yes, I imagine that it's an intense view into the inner person." "If I told you that there are people in very responsible positions, Counsellors for example, who include profanity and blasphemy in their sexual scenarios, what would you say?" There was a long, heavy pause and then Rossik spoke in a whisper. "I would tell you that I am one of them," he admitted. "This is why you're here, isn't it?" Coover drew himself up in his seat. "Not at all, Counsellor," he said gravely. "I'm here on another matter." "How did you know?" Rossik asked. He was no longer so cool and confident. His shoulders had slumped and his face was drained of colour. His eyes scanned Coover nervously, with the same furtive look that Coover normally expected from the people he had to deal with. "I was at Elixir this morning," Coover admitted. "I am investigating a missing Droid. You were on the monitor while I was there." "Who else saw it?" "Citizen Crowley. He has to monitor sessions at random - it's a legal requirement." "I can explain . . . I think," Rossik said quietly. "Those sessions, they're very . . . very therapeutic. Yes, therapeutic. They allow a person to act out fantasies of good and evil, right and wrong, in a context that is entirely guilt-free." "In a context that's sexual," Coover interjected, wanting to impress his own feelings on the Counsellor. "I'm sorry to say this, Counsellor, but I was very disappointed that a man in your position would have such deviant fantasies. It's even more shocking that you enact these fantasies with machines that are as near to human as you can get." Rossik seemed to sober up. "Are you suggesting that using a VR unit would render the same fantasy less deviant, to use your judgemental term?" "No, not at all . . ." "That sounds like what you're suggesting, Detective. I would also be keen to see a list of approved nondeviant fantasy scenarios, or haven't you got that far yet?"

"Don't adopt that tone with me, Citizen," Coover warned, meeting Rossik's belligerent gaze head on. "If you want to involve yourself with blasphemous images that's your business. I happen to think that you're sick in the head but there's nothing I can do about that." "What is it that you want?" Rossik demanded angrily. His face had gone from off-white to bright pink in the space of a few minutes. "One of the Elixir machines, Pia, has gone missing. I need to know more about it. The only information I have are technical bulletins but I want more than that." Rossik exhaled sharply. "Pia is a she, Detective, not an it," he explained. "Then you've used it?" Coover asked, persisting in using the neuter pronoun because he could see it getting under Rossik's skin. "I don't see that it's any of your business." "I'm not asking about what you did with it. Hell, it could have called you God the Father for all I care," Coover smiled maliciously. "All I want to know is if you've had contact with this piece of machinery." "You really are a nasty specimen," Rossik told him distastefully. "A hundred years ago you would have called black men niggers and women whores. I always imagined that your type had died out, or I hoped they had." Coover looked at him bitterly, the analogy was painful and unfair but Coover expected no better. "We're a dying breed, Counsellor," he snarled. "A hundred years ago you would have been a guru with a private harem to service your perverted desires. Pia, had you used it?" Rossik sighed. "Yes, Detective, I had several sessions with Pia." "Alone or with other Droids?" "Both. It was always very difficult to get time with her - she was in great demand." "Tell me why," Coover asked, though they both knew the answer. "Because she was so realistic. Her speech had a greater colour; her reactions were more unpredictable and hence more human." Rossik stopped, and then added wistfully, "She was also the prettiest thing you've ever seen." "That's how it works, is it? The closer to the real thing the better it is? That's sick. Don't you see that you're getting closer and closer to body-fucking? Can't you see where this will end up?" "Tell me what you do with VR, Detective Coover. Tell me how clean and wholesome that is." Coover bristled, his jaw tightened and his fists were hard knots of bone and knuckle. He controlled his urge to violence, though it wasn't easy. "At least it's only my body involved," he hissed. "This is getting us nowhere," Rossik said. "What else do you want to know?" "What sort of personality does it have?"

"Very intelligent, curious, sometimes naive, always eager to experiment, very sensual, trusting. If there were more people around like her, the world would be an infinitely better place." "You're talking about a machine," Coover reminded him. Rossik stood and paced to the end of the room and back. "That's an interesting philosophical point. When does the machine qualify to be human?" "I'm not here to discuss philosophy," Coover said, cutting off what he could see was going to be a long and fruitless digression. "So, if it's so damn smart where has it gone?" "I wouldn't imagine she could have got lost by herself. She's not like the early models. Nor do I imagine she wandered off and broke down somewhere. Perhaps she's been stolen that would seem the most logical explanation for her disappearance." "Any idea who would steal her?" Rossik smiled. "So you do agree Pia is worthy of gender. I have no idea who could have stolen her. I imagine the list of suspects would be quite lengthy - she was very popular after all." Coover stood up. "Can I include you in that list?" "You'd like to," Rossik replied. "But I'm a Counsellor. Sexual fantasies notwithstanding, I do not steal. Besides which, I'm not sure whether it should be classed as theft or as kidnapping." "It's a machine, Counsellor," Coover roared angrily. "I'll see myself out," he stopped at the door and looked back. "I may need to come back to ask you more questions later," he warned. "You haven't seen her yet," Rossik called after him as Coover headed back to the serenity of the temple. Coover met Jo in the elevator of the apartment block where they lived. It. was no accident: the Police Department had been one of the last bastions of communal living, but it too had finally begun to move with the times. The impetus for communal living had been inspired by the wish to break up the kind of monogamous, nuclear lifestyle that had been the basis for pre-Armageddon society. Body-fucking was probably the most deeply ingrained facet of human culture for thousands of years. To change it overnight was impossible. The Viral Armageddon called for desperate measures: it required new ways of living, new ways of being. But all that had passed and now communal buildings were being converted to individual units everywhere. Only the very poor still lived communally, but even they dreamed of the day when they would have a space that was theirs. "You look bushed," Jo told Coover, smiling broadly as he rushed to squeeze past the sliding elevator door. "I'm beat," Coover sighed. "No, let me rephrase that: I've just been beaten up." "The chief again?" Coover shook his head. No, the chief he could handle. "A Counsellor. He practically called me a fascist. He said that a hundred years ago I would have called women whores and been a racial abuser."

Jo looked both appalled and sympathetic. The elevator jerked to a halt at her level, and the door hissed open. "Look," she said, "why don't you join me for a drink?" "Sure, that sounds great," Coover agreed, perking up at the idea. Social calls were still something of a novelty for him, as was the idea of individual living units. He had spent most of his life living in dormitories, sharing space with dozens of other people at the same time. They walked down the corridor, passing the doors to a dozen different units before Jo stopped at one of the anonymous red doors. "Number thirty-two, my little home," she said cheerfully, pressing her palm against the control panel to gain entry. Her room was comfortably decorated, the police-issue furnishing augmented by her own acquisitions. The single room was divided into a sleeping area and a living area, subdued lighting and carefully selected colours making the divide quite clear. "You've done a good job here," Coover commented, taking a good long look around. His own unit remained just as it had been when first allotted to him. Jo smiled happily, her brilliant jade eyes sparkling with pleasure. "Thanks. It's taken time but it really feels comfortable now," she said, and then added an afterthought, "You know, it feels like it's me." "It's probably easier for you young people," Coover said, noting for the first time the tenyear gap between them. "Hey, you're not old!" Jo objected with a laugh. "Come on, Rey, you can't be more than forty years old." "Thirty-five," Coover informed her sombrely. "I'm sorry . . "Don't worry," he assured her, laughing. "I usually feel about fifty, so that makes us about even." "What would you like to drink? I've got some really nice white wine," she offered enthusiastically. "Sure." She took a step towards the corner, then turned back. "It is OK to sit down, Rey," she informed him, grinning. "Sure," he repeated sheepishly. The centre of her room was arranged around a small glass-topped table. There was a single seat on one side and a double on the other. An arrangement of flowers in a crystal vase sat on the table, as though it were an object deserving of veneration, a focus of attention. The holo-vid that took up one wall was blanked off, even though it should have detected the presence of people in the room. Coover sat down in the double seat, sitting stiffly to one side of it, as though resisting its comfortable pull. "How do you like it?" Jo called from the service unit in the corner of the room. "Chilled, with alcohol," he called, clearly enunciating his command so that the console could pick it up. In seconds their drinks were ready and Jo carried them over. She snuggled down beside

Coover, tucking her feet under her. "Do you always take it with alcohol?" she asked, watching him sip the smooth chilled wine. "It's my only vice," he admitted with a guilty smile. "It's not good for you, but you know that already. Who was this Counsellor?" "One of the group down at the Temple of the Divine. Do you worship?" he remembered to ask, aware that in fact he knew very little about Jo's private life. She shook her head. "I'm not interested in dogma. Do you?" "I sort of believe in an apathetic kind of way. I like being in the temple though - I like the atmosphere." "You obviously didn't like it too much today," she remarked. Her eyes were full of concern. He felt himself melting in front of her. She was so close, her thigh touched his. He could breathe her scent with every breath. "No. Maybe it was my fault," he confessed softly. "I witnessed a scene with the Counsellor and two Droids down at Crowley's place. I was appalled by what I saw - it bordered on blasphemy . . ." "What was it?" she asked, a faint smile forming on her pretty mouth. "He pretended to catch two girls body-fucking. They called him Father while he beat them as a punishment." He reported the scene without emotion, as though its emotional charge had been drained away by the confrontation with Rossik. "But Rey," she sighed softly, "that was private." "I know it was private, but I also know that he has a position of responsibility. Is it so very wrong for me to voice my concern?" Jo reached out and touched his face with the tips of her fingers. "Oh, Rey," she exhaled heavily. "Tell me, Jo, am I really a fascist?" he asked, turning to face her, the feel of her fingers on his face totally appropriate. It felt so natural, so delightful. Jo answered without hesitation. "No, Rey, you're not a fascist. But you're so set in your ways sometimes. You mean well - you're the most conscientious and well-meaning officer on the force - but you're also just no good at handling people." "But I don't mean to," he whispered. His breath was suddenly much faster. Perhaps it was the wine - he felt so much more relaxed and in some way excited. She was touching him still, her fingers tracing circles on his cheek. "I know you don't, Rey. You just need to try to relax a little. Times are changing, people are changing, and that's good, it has to be." He shook his head doubtfully. "Why is it good? Things are just fine as they are - it's taken years to get us where we are. Things never change for the better: it's always for the worse." Jo moved, shifting her weight over so that she was leaning against him. Her face was only inches from his - he could even feel her breath on his skin. Being so close to her felt good his senses were in overdrive.

"Why don't you let me help you?" she suggested. He turned to her; their eyes met and he held his breath. Their lips were so close, a whisper away from touching in a simple kiss. "How can you help me?" "Let me show you how people are, not how you want them to be," she whispered, looking at him with vivid green eyes that were burning into him. Coover jumped up suddenly, almost knocking her off her seat. "Yes," he said, swallowing hard, "that's a great idea. You've given me a lot to think about, Jo. I appreciate it." "What's wrong?" she asked, looking thoroughly confused by his abrupt change of mood. "Nothing's wrong," he cried, just this side of panic. "Thanks for the drink, Jo, but I've got to get going." "Why?" "I've got to get back. I've just thought of something to do with this case. You're so right. I need to take people as they are," he babbled. "We must do this again." "Sure," Jo agreed, without apparent enthusiasm. "See you, then, and thanks again." Once he was out in the corridor waves of emotion surged through him, a storm of contradictory thoughts and feelings. He leaned back against the wall for support, heart pounding in his chest and sweat beading all over his body. He could still feel it, the hard press of his prick throbbing in his trousers. One more moment and they would have kissed; one kiss and they would have been in each other's arms; one embrace and they would have been making love. Body-fucking. And the worst part of it was that Coover felt disappointed that it had stopped. He knew he would have succumbed with undreamed of excitement and pure pleasure.

*

* *

Colleen opened her eyes and struggled to fix them on a world that was spinning out of control. Her eyes were unfocused for several seconds and then Coover saw her make sense of the chaos. She held her head still, her face completely expressionless, a blank canvas waiting to be animated by emotion. "What happened?" she whispered. The voice was all uncertainty, as though she were not sure if the words would issue from her mouth. "Some sort of equipment malfunction," Coover explained softly. He held Colleen's hand reassuringly. "Where am I?" "Cubicle number four," he told her. She was lying on the couch, staring up at Coover, who was standing at her side. "You were unconscious; I brought you in here." "Am I OK?" she asked, her eyes widening anxiously. "Yes, I can't see any signs of permanent damage. I think I got to you just in time," he

reported gravely. "How do you feel now?" "Strange. I'm frightened, Rey." "Do you want me to get a medic? Maybe that's best . . ." He made a move towards the door but she clutched his hand tightly. "Don't leave me, Rey. Stay with me, I'm frightened." "There's no need to be frightened. I'm here to look after you," he said comfortingly. She was squeezing his hand, holding on just in case he did try to leave. Her face had become human once more, her baby blue eyes full of apprehension and her lips trying unsuccessfully to form a smile. "I'm glad you're here, Rey," she said breathlessly. "You're so good." Coover laughed. "No, I'm just a social cripple stuck in the past. I'm a thirty-five-year-old fossil." "No, that's not true," she cried forcefully. Coover blinked and Colleen was in his arms, her warmth wrapped around him. Her arms pulled him close, holding him for support while radiating her love for him in turn. Her breasts were bare under her skimpy top. He was aware of the swell and sway of her body as she pressed against him. Her long skirt was slit at the side and it fell away, revealing her smooth long thighs, her skin tanned by the rays of the sun. "It is true," he affirmed quietly, whispering into Colleen's ear. He stroked her head - her hair sheened under the light. He breathed and enjoyed the fragrance of her body. Jo had been right, so very right, and there was nothing Coover could do to dispute what she had said. "No," Colleen insisted tearfully, "you're kind and decent, Rey. Why do people say those nasty things about you?" It was a good question and the pain it caused was bitter. Hell, he'd done nothing wrong and yet he was made to feel like an arrogant, inconsiderate and insensitive thug. "I guess I'm just not complicated enough for some people," was all he could bring himself to say. Colleen looked up and her face was streaked with tears, hot and wet, running from her pretty blue eyes. He reacted instinctively, moving closer to her, lifting her chin, bringing his lips to hers. Hardly daring to breathe, they were frozen, arms locked like lovers. She exhaled and he felt her warm breath flow into his mouth. They parted for a second, looking into each other's eyes searchingly, and then moved together again. Colleen parted her lips and Coover pressed his tongue into her mouth, sucking her breath at the same time. He felt alive, blood pulsing in his veins and the excitement firing dramatically. They merged into each other, growing into the kiss that held them bound together. Colleen's hands moved down and he felt her unzipping the front of her top. He sat back, eyes fixed on the motion of her hand as she pulled open her top. Her breasts were full and firm, the deep cleavage an inviting curve, her skin golden. She cupped her breasts, holding them up for him to enjoy. Her nipples were red, erect, inviting. His mouth closed around each nipple in turn, tasting her flesh on the tip of his tongue. She sighed with each caress of his tongue, throwing her head back ecstatically. "Let's make love," he whispered. There was no trace of fear or doubt in his voice, only the certainty that what they were doing was right.

Colleen stripped off quickly and then lay back on the couch, arms at her side, firm breasts jutting upwards. She was immobile, lying back as though for a clinical examination. Coover undressed quickly and then climbed on to the couch also, aligning his body with hers. His cock was hard. He pressed it against her thigh and thrilled to the soft warmth of her body. He took her head and turned her round, forcefully kissing her again, enjoying her receptive mouth. His hands journeyed over her body, pinching her breasts playfully, sliding down over her flat belly, searching the warmth between her thighs. She moaned, parted her thighs, opening herself to his erotic exploration. "You're wet," he said, surprised at the moistness he encountered between her tumescent cunny lips. "Fuck me," she whispered enticingly. "Put your prick into my pussy." The forbidden word flashed through Coover's brain - it linked directly to his excitement, as though the word alone had the power to excite and stimulate. He moved round, between her parted thighs. She wrapped her arms around him as he moved into position. He held his prick in one hand, positioned it at the mouth of her wetness, and then pressed down. Colleen inhaled sharply. Her eyes were clamped shut, her mouth quivering. Coover could hardly control himself. Her sex was tight and warm. It felt ecstatic, pure sensation as his prick glided into her. He stopped and waited, cock deep in her sex. "That feels so good," Colleen said, opening her eyes at last. She wriggled under Coover and he felt patterns of sensation dance through him. He began to move in and out, his rhythm tentative at first but growing in confidence as he coaxed sighs and moans of pleasure from her lips. She writhed and moved with him, lifting herself, sliding round so that he could penetrate harder and deeper. Her legs clamped round him as she too grew in confidence, becoming more active as their bodies merged. They twisted and turned, locking and unlocking, positions in flux as they made love with an urgency that made them both breathless. Soon they were both bathed in sweat, their bodies flushed pink as they fucked. Twice Colleen screamed, her keening cry of ecstasy falling to a whisper as he continued to enter her slick pussy. He climaxed suddenly, as though it were an unexpected result, filling her tight sex with the thick cream he shot forcefully from his cock. They rolled aside, exhausted yet sated. Coover turned and Colleen's smile made his cock twitch once more. She wanted more. Her excitement was all the restorative he needed. Her nipples were puckered red buttons. He wanted to suck and fuck her breasts, to anoint her with his juice in the final moment when ecstasy would take them both. Coover moved and he was in darkness once more. He waited until he had caught his breath and then snapped off the supply to the VR unit. The darkness in front of his eyes became an opaque light, distorting the familiar surroundings of his room. In seconds he had completely disengaged the visor and headset of his home VR equipment. A few more seconds and the pads on his chest, arms and genitals had also been removed. The suction unit on his cock came off last, dripping a few drops of warm semen on to his abdomen. The unit at home was more primitive than the ones installed in the basement of the Police Department building, but it was effective enough to give the impression of reality. Totally naked, his body bathed in real, glistening sweat, he lay back on his bed to rest. The fantasy had involved Colleen this time. He had been too confused to want to

include Jo. Her words had swirled around in his head, though, colouring the fantasy so that it had been resolved the way he wanted it. As he drifted towards sleep, where random chemical fantasy replaced the electronic visions, he wondered how Jo, the real flesh-andblood Jo, had planned on helping him . . .

Four It was inevitable that Marck Banks would be living in the most run-down part of the city, just as it was inevitable that it would be in a communal apartment block and that he had spent several periods undergoing addiction therapy and social rehab. What hadn't been inevitable, until the priority of the case had been upgraded, was that Coover was going to have to visit him. As the auto followed its pre-programmed course towards the Valley, as Sector 23 was laughingly known, Coover had a chance to review Banks's markedly unsuccessful career. People like Banks were a bitter disappointment to the young idealists who had originally pioneered communal living. They had propounded the view that criminal tendencies were imparted exclusively by environmental factors, and that dysfunctional family units were the major cause of such tendencies. With perfect reason they had argued that communal living, without family units as such, would eliminate these environmental factors. Coover had a fair degree of sympathy with that view - communal living with its whole ethos of sharing and mutual support appealed to his altruistic nature - but the reality had not lived up to the theory. As always, the reality had been far inferior to the theory. Coover had once postulated that this despairing realisation had been one of the major impulses behind the virtual-reality technology - if reality isn't good enough then build a new one that is. The lane ahead was clear and so the auto picked up speed, gliding magnetically on a course that had been cleared with the central traffic system and monitored continuously. Travelling by auto was always a relaxing experience, now that it was truly automatic and no longer the focus of aggressive or competitive instincts. Coover sat well back in his seat and enjoyed the view of the city drifting by. The fashion for living in the centre of the city was at its strongest again. Only twenty years previously it had been the exact opposite. It was going to change again, and then change back, just as it had always done, the contention itself a permanent feature of an evolving society. The sun was still low, rising slowly above the horizon of glass, steel and stone. The light danced through the city, glinting and gleaming over the rooftops and towers, dappling the glass shell of the auto with a thousand shades of colour. A shuttle flight passed overhead, the low drone of the engines presaging the dark shadow that crossed the city. The silver hull of the great craft gleamed as it caught the translucent early-morning sun. It seemed to lighten and then darken, as though it had been touched by a flame as it moved high above the speeding auto. A trick of perspective made it look as if the two cars on the underside of the airship were thick black ridges scored deep in the hull, as though the ship had beached and torn itself open. "Any results yet on my data query from yesterday?" Coover asked the computer, keeping his eyes on the stately progress of the shuttle. "Sure, Rey," the computer replied eagerly. "The data's ready for you. Do you want me to graph it for you?" "No," Coover decided. "Just tell me how many different leisure facilities Counsellor Rossik visited last month." "Only two, Elixir and EyeGasm."

"Frequency?" "Elixir ten times in a thirty-day period, EyeGasm twice in that same period." "Good. Keep the files stored. I don't think that it's time to discard them yet." "They've stored already. I must remind you, Rey, that you have a forty-eight-hour grace period left before you have to have these data files formally logged with a data attorney." "Remind me about it again tomorrow. I don't think I'll bother logging them just yet," Coover instructed. All database searches to do with a case had to be formally logged within a set period to minimise the risk of tampering, a risk that the chief liked to take very seriously, though Coover hated the bureaucracy it entailed. The auto was heading out of town. Already the building density was lower, though the environment itself looked no better. There were fewer buildings, but they were of poorer quality and imparted a kind of unstated tension to the surroundings. "What do we have on EyeGasm?" he asked, not quite sure what kind of facility it was. "It's new, located in Sector 4, proprietor Janice Kordatou." "Who signed the authorisation?" Coover asked, cutting to the heart of the matter. These things were always political - he just wanted to see who EyeGasm was connected to. "Thom Vass," the computer replied instantly. Coover fell silent again, wondering whether the fact that the authorisation had been signed by Vass and not Coard was significant. In theory the two men were joint chairmen of the city MG committee, though in practice the two had carved out well-defined spheres of influence. Leisure facilities were Coard's turf, and had been for some time. Did this new development represent a split between uneasy allies or was it an entirely innocent event? The auto came to a halt in front of a bland, grey building just off the main lane out of the city. It had the weather-beaten look of most dead-end buildings: the walls looked stained, and an air of neglect hung like a pall of smoke over the surrounding area. Coover stepped out of the auto, grateful that police uniforms had been abolished decades ago. The police were never popular with the citizens of places like Sector 23, and it would have made him feel uncomfortable to announce himself so openly. He followed a path from the road to the main entrance of the apartment block. The building itself curved round, a horseshoe looking in on a small pool of water. The water looked like ice, the silver-blue surface unbroken and undisturbed. The tiled poolside was dry; the pool had not been used that morning, if it was ever used. Coover turned from the water and went into the main entrance, aware that any security system would pick him up as he did so. Just inside the entrance, he spotted the security camera, one of the old-style lens-andCCD jobs. It was broken, the array of charge-coupled devices rendered inoperable by the deep crack through the crystalline cells. There would have been no one around to monitor the camera anyway, Coover reasoned. It was a misdemeanour, certainly something that should be rectified, but he felt no inclination to report the matter to anyone. Just inside the entrance Coover found the list of dormitories and inhabitants. Posting such a list was a legal requirement for every self-governing communal enterprise. It took a moment to find, but Banks was listed under dorm number nine, on the upper storey of the building. The elevator was claustrophobic, a stench of stale tobacco attacking the lungs as soon as the glass door hissed to a close. As he rode up to the top floor, Coover looked down at the deserted pool, a sight that somehow filled him with sadness, as though it were a silent symbol

of the decay all around him. A weary resident crossed from one side of the building to the other, shambling across the neatly trimmed lawn with barely a glance at the blue water to his side. His androgynous dress - loose blouse, tight leggings, black leather ankle boots - was fashionably dishevelled. The silence all around Coover was unnerving - the apartments had to be full of people, and yet as the sun climbed higher and the day progressed there seemed to be no corresponding increase in activity. He stepped out of the elevator on to an open walkway that extended right around the building. Dorm number nine was on the left. He walked round slowly, checking that PersCon was still on line should he require anything. The entrance to dorm nine was unlocked. Coover pushed it open gently and walked in. It opened into a passage, walls decked out in a dozen colours, thick bands that shimmered and changed imperceptibly as he walked through. The main living area was directly in front, the bathing area on the left and the communal kitchen to the right. A quick check with PersCon revealed that no intruder alarms had been activated. The inhabitants of dormitory nine had to be either incredibly careless or incredibly trusting. Coover stealthily checked the kitchen and the bathing area. As he suspected, they were deserted. The communal living area consisted of one large hall, structured on three levels, an amphitheatre with the sleeping quarters at the highest level and a free-form open space at the lowest. It was the oldest style of communal architecture, catering for the first attempts at communal living. It was an arena for the drama of shared lives, for the grand adventure that would wean humanity away from its dangerous sexual fixations. It was also deserted in this case. Coover breathed a sigh of relief. He skipped down the steps into the central space and had a good look around. The place was a mess: discarded clothes littered every corner, the walls were scarred, the cycling bands of colour, designed to soothe, had stopped cycling and had become fixed in their garish hues. The sleeping quarters were a mess also: each bed seemed to be dripping some article of clothing. "Who the hell are you?" a voice croaked. Coover, startled, turned back to the entrance. The words had been spat by a tall, goodlooking blonde, who was standing with arms across her chest and legs apart. Her deep-blue eyes were narrowed suspiciously, fixed on the stranger in her home. "I'm looking for Marck," Coover told her, matching the harsh tone of her voice with a 'don't-mess-with-me' attitude all of his own. "Crowley send you?" she asked, relaxing her stance. Her face was painted garishly, stark colours set to contrast: white skin, scarlet lips, darkness around artificially blue eyes. She was wearing a very tight cobalt-blue dress that revealed the fullness of her breasts, the slight roundness of her belly and the curve of her backside. Her long legs were exposed by the shortness of her dress and emphasised by the height of her heels, the same clear blue as her eyes and dress. Coover nodded. She looked fantastic. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and reached down to her lower back. The sheer gaudiness of her dress and the audacious attitude created an aura around her that was purely sexual. She looked like a virtual-reality fantasy on two feet. His nod apparently satisfied her. She walked completely into the room, wiggling her hips with every step, and threw her bag down on the ground. "You gonna be long?" she asked, taking a seat under one of the large bay windows that filled the room with light. "No. You know where he is?" Coover asked, walking over towards her. "If Crowley don't know how am I going to?" she asked, giving Coover a look that told him not to ask such dumb questions.

"I'll wait," he told her, taking a seat opposite. She shrugged, reached down for her bag. Her position revealed even more of her thighs, the whiteness of her flesh drawing Coover's eyes automatically. He was breathing hard, unable to contain his own responses. He swallowed hard. She looked like a wet dream and it was impossible not to feel excited by her presence. "I got some FeelGood. You want some?" she asked, offering Coover a handful of the tiny yellow pills. "I'm working," Coover said. The offer had been tempting, though: FeelGood pills were the safe, legal alternative to hard drugs like tobacco and heroin. He felt assured by her offer: if she was a user of the proscribed drugs she would hardly use the altogether milder substitutes allowed by the law. "Crowley's funny like that," she sympathised. She threw her head back and swallowed the pills quickly. "I'm Tina, by the way." She waited for Coover to introduce himself but his silence did nothing to unnerve her. "What's Crowley want with Marck this time? He's worked his day this week. Is it more trouble with the police?" "It might be," Coover agreed, vaguely. "Why can't Coard sort them out? We've all done enough favours for him," she complained, pouting her full lips seductively. "He's politics." Coover spat the words, a flicker of disgust forming on his face. "Just like Vass," he added. She looked up sharply, her eyes registering more interest. £Marck doesn't have anything to do with Vass," she stated evenly. Coover shrugged. "Never said he did." "You tell Crowley that," Tina urged. "Marck's got nothing to do with politics. He just does his job, that's all." Coover nodded, impressed by her earnest loyalty. It never failed to amaze how much loyalty a lowlife like Banks could command. Already Coover felt sorry for deceiving Tina. She was trusting and that trust was too valuable to waste. "Don't worry yourself," he assured her gruffly. "This ain't anything to do with Coard or Vass. Politics is what they deal in, and we all know that's shit." "Sure is, baby," she agreed, standing up. "Look, you can wait if you want, but I got myself a scene going on. Can you handle that?" "I need to wait," he stated flatly, intrigued by what she meant by a scene. She stretched languidly, her dress clinging even more tightly to her body. She thrust her chest forward so that her breasts were crushed against the shimmering material. Her nipples were hard points - even the areolae were revealed by the pose she held so perfectly. Suddenly she broke her pose and stepped forward. She reached down and stroked her hand between Coover's thighs, her fingers closing against the hardness of his erect prick. She laughed at the fleeting look of shock on his face, at the confusion in his eyes. "I just wanted to check you're one of us," she giggled. "You can't be too careful. Sure, you wait all you want - you'll enjoy this." "LuLu, baby, are you in?" a man called from the passageway. Tina gave Coover a smile, raised her eyes despairingly to the ceiling. "This guy's got a

thing about the name LuLu," she whispered. "Sure thing, lover, come on through." Coover turned to see a small thin man striding confidently into the room. He set eyes on Coover and then stopped, his confidence turning to nervousness in an eye-blink. "He's family," Tina assured him brassily. "Yes, me and LuLu are tight," Coover told him, adopting what he hoped was a voice the man might believe. He was dressed respectably enough, and Coover felt even more intrigued by what he and Tina were up to. For the moment his excitement at being touched by Tina, of feeling a real hand on his stiff cock, was suppressed with a cold and professional attitude. A surreptitious click of the fingers and the man's image was snapped and stored in PersCon for later download. "Of course, I didn't mean to suggest otherwise," the man declared quickly. "Before we begin, LuLu, I just wanted to tell you how fantastic you're looking today, just fantastic. You're so sexy today, it makes me want to cream all over you." His face was flushed with excitement, making him look seedy and furtive. Tina beamed, a genuine smile of pleasure at the strange compliment. Coover had to admit that the odd little man was right: she really did look very sexual, more sexual than he'd ever seen anyone in the flesh. Perhaps it was the openness, the explicit sexuality of her dress and manner that did it. "I'm ready. You got everything?" she asked, walking to the centre of the room. Her admirer nodded excitedly, reaching down to a heavy padded case that he had brought with him. He released a set of catches and opened it carefully, reaching inside to take out a black square of hard plastic. "What is it?" Coover asked, walking over to get a better look. "A toy," the man explained proudly. "It's unique, something I created myself, something just for LuLu." Tina shrugged when Coover turned to her. She was struggling with the catch at the back of her dress. She looked to him for help and he walked across to her, excited once more by her closeness. The feel of her hand closing on his cock was already imprinted on his memory. He knew that it was going to echo for ever in his unconscious mind, informing every fantasy and every image. It had been so unexpected, there had been no time for him to rationalise, to feel disgust, to inhibit the pleasure that he had experienced if only for an instant. He breathed her scent as he fiddled with the catch on her dress, felt the warmth of her body so close. His fingertips touched the exquisite softness of her skin. The dress fell away, a thin film that slipped from her body to the floor. She was naked underneath, no panties, no bra, nothing but her beautiful body. Her back was smooth and flawless, the curve of her spine a perfect geometric form, the firm cheeks of her backside twin spheres to worship . . . She had undressed without inhibition, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for a woman to be naked in front of two men. Hell, men she didn't even know very well. Coover stepped back, aware that the swelling of his cock was a clearly discernible shape impressed on the tightness of his trousers. He was torn by a desire to hide himself away and by an equally powerful desire to call her over, to display his own sexuality before this shameless goddess of a woman. She was confusing him, far more than his relatively innocuous encounter with Jo had. "Don't drop it," the other man whispered, cautiously handing over the featureless plastic

object to her. "I won't, honey," she purred seductively, delighting in the effect her body was having on her audience. "Give me a second to get comfortable," he instructed, his eyes bulging as he stared at her. His tongue tried to wet his parched lips, a pink snake moving in the thin opening that was his mouth. "You getting comfortable?" she asked, turning coquettishly to Coover. Her breasts were firm, pear-shaped, the nipples erect and pointing away from each other, the valley between the breasts slightly darker and cleaving deeply. Her sex was clean, her pussy mound and labia free of hair, exposing completely her brazen eroticism. "Ready," the man called to her excitedly. Coover looked up and saw that he had stripped off too. He was leaning against the wall, slim body looking pale and weak beside Tina's glorious nakedness. There was no mistaking his excitement, though: his prick was hard, jutting from a dense bush of dark hair. For a moment Coover felt sick, a wave of nausea washing through him. He was certain that he was going to witness the most obscene and depraved of acts: actual bodily, sexual intercourse between two people. Body-fucking. He felt fear and horror in equal mixture, yet for the first time he also felt a strange fascination - he wanted to see it happen, to see for himself two human bodies locked together . . . "Enjoy this, boys," Tina cooed excitedly. She touched some hidden switch on the plastic box and it whirred to life. She stood with legs parted, heels stamped down hard on the ground, holding the object in both hands and lowering it slowly towards her fully exposed pussy lips. Coover moved round, wanting to see everything that was happening. Automatically he began to record Tina's movements, the sensors in his clothes catching every nuance of movement as it happened. Her eyes were half closed, as though she were already in rapture just by exposing herself to Coover and the other man. Her hair shimmered in the streaming light, individual strands catching the light and fluorescing magically. Tina held the box between her thighs, in front of her sex, poised. It began to move, to open, a weird inorganic flower about to bloom. Planes of black plastic moved apart and from within the heart of the box there emerged a point, a salient, expanding phallically towards her shaven sex. It was a flower, the petals opening like an iris, touching her pussy lips and opening them in turn. There was a moment when Tina's sex was open and visible, the glistening folds of flesh wet and pink, and then the black flower shrivelled back and a bulbous glans pushed softly into her body. She sighed loudly, almost an expression of pleasant surprise, and the thing was inside her. "This is sooo gooood . . ." she whispered. "Is it fucking you, LuLu?" the man asked eagerly, wanting to hear her say it out loud. "Oh yes, baby," she cried ecstatically, "it's fucking me good . . ." Coover watched excitedly as the box continued its transformation. It was throbbing visibly, pumping a hard black cock into the opening between her thighs. Each time it penetrated Tina seemed to shiver with joy, her eyes rolling and her mouth forming patterns that were impossible to decipher. The sides of the box expanded, flat panels edging forward and round, wrapping themselves around the top of her thighs. Soon her thighs were clothed in thin bands of plastic, and when she released the box Coover saw that it was self-

supporting. She turned slightly, and for a moment it looked as though the black bands of plastic were hands, clutching her thighs with a lover's caress. Tina bent over at the waist, sticking her backside out and then thrusting forward, moving rhythmically with the fucking motion of the machine. She was lost to the sensation, her eyes closed and her mouth working Wordlessly. Her hands traversed her body: she was touching herself erotically, caressing her belly and her thighs, and then cupping the fullness of her breasts. Her nipples were sweet erections of flesh, hard points that she needed to touch and play with. Her fingers teased them, making her cry out even more. "Fuck me! Fuck me!" she screamed, her voice urgent and wanton. She was seized by a spasm that made her arch her back and throw her head back, her nipples crushed forcefully between her fingers. Her final cry of orgasm faded and when she opened her eyes the strange apparatus was still entwined with her body. She fell back weakly, lay down on the floor as the thing began to change shape and form once more. The hardness shrank back from her sex, the stiff tool wet with her pussy juice. "On hands and knees, LuLu, on hands and knees," her voyeuristic companion called to her - whether it was a reminder or a new instruction Coover could not tell. The man was flushed with excitement. His face and neck were patterned red, and his eyes wide and round. He had been holding his prick all the while, masturbating with the same rhythm as the machine that was fucking Tina. "I want it to fuck me again," Tina moaned, following his instruction to the letter. She was on hands and knees, her nipples aimed at the ground, her bottom lifted high and her belly pulled down low. A thin trail of wetness was pouring from her parted pussy lips, her sex still hot and sticky. The mechanism whirred again, coalescing into a new shape. The single phallus doubled in thickness and then parted, forming two solid cylinders, each tipped with a ribbed bulb on the end. The flat sheets of plastic that had acted as hands tightened, pulling harder against her thighs so that the skin bulged slightly. Coover understood what was happening. He moved round quickly, and his suspicion was confirmed. Her bottom cheeks had been parted, exposing her swollen pussy lips and also the tight dark button in her arse cleft. A third sheet of plasticky material detached itself from the main box and formed a long, loose tongue. In a single fluid motion it reached down and into Tina's pussy. She sighed as it wet itself thoroughly in her juices, the tongue reaching into her while its tip teased her throbbing clit. The bizarre tongue of material withdrew from her sex and then snaked towards her anus. Her face showed panic and then surprise and finally pleasure as the tongue caressed her tight rear-hole. She moved sinuously, opening herself further as the tongue pushed a little way into her behind. "It's licking my hole," Tina exclaimed delightedly. "It's sucking your arsehole, LuLu," her friend cried, his excitement almost matching her own. "Say it, LuLu, say it." "It sure is, baby, it's sucking my tight little bumhole and I love it. Nothing's ever been this good, nothing." "I told you this would be better than VR," he told her triumphantly. The tongue withdrew and Coover could see that her rear hole was wet, dripping a trail of her love juice from her anal hole to her soaked pussy lips. The tongue was pulled back into the black mass and it emerged again on the underside, a long leathery strip of material

that seemed infinitely sensitive and flexible. The two pseudo-pricks flexed harder, the lower one smoothly entering Tina's open pussy. She exhaled long and slow, enjoying the exquisite feeling of penetration as it entered her. In seconds she was responding to the rhythmic thrusts as it fucked her long and slow, withdrawing the head and then plunging it back into her receptive pussy. "It feels like it . . . it knows . . ." she managed to whisper, her face contorted by the waves of pleasure that the device was causing. "It does know - it senses the degree of pleasure. It wants to fuck you to extinction, LuLu, darling," the man crowed excitedly. Coover was fascinated by the vision before him, far wilder than anything his pedestrian imagination had dreamed up in a virtual-reality session. Tina was now swivelling her chest, rubbing her nipples up against the rough texture of the carpet. Her backside was lifted high and her buttocks were parted by two thick bands of plastic acting as hands. Her pussy was sodden with juices as a thick black cock fucked her just as she desired it. Coover could see that this man he took to be the inventor of the strange device was caressing himself, playing with his cock as he watched Tina cavorting on the ground. Coover's own cock was rigid, and he touched it with his hand and felt a tremor of pleasure pierce him. "Fuck me in the arse!" Tina cried urgently, a finger playing into her rear hole. She climaxed powerfully, almost slipped over but still she persisted. The black box whirred once more and the second plastic cock moved into action. It rested between her rear cheeks, a solid rod vibrating against her pussy lips while the other one made love to her. It moved slowly, as though it understood the teasing effect it was having. Tina pressed her finger deep into her rear hole and then clutched the plastic penis and tried to force it into herself. "No . . ." Tina whispered as the second prick entered her body, pressing smoothly into her lubricated rectal hole. She squirmed deliciously, as it drove deep into her backside. Ts that good, LuLu? Tell me what it's doing," the man begged, his voice a hoarse whisper. "It's fucking me everywhere," Tina wept. "It's fucking me in the cunt and in the arsehole. It's screwing me . . . Fucking me . . ." The two pricks worked in unison, pumping into her body urgently, faster and faster, driving her closer to the edge of pleasure. The plastic tongue was playing with her bulging clitty, adding to the symphony of erotic pleasures playing her body. Her flesh was bathed in sweat, glistening in the sunlight, long thighs splayed, backside raised high as the black penis drove in and out of her tight anal bud. Her breasts were patterned red, her nipples looked sore and yet so kissable, so lickable . . . She turned over, lay on her back and lifted her thighs from the ground. She dug her high heels into the ground, pinning herself into position so that she could open herself more to the dual pleasure of being penetrated in front and rear simultaneously. She continued to play with her breasts with one hand, tormenting her nipples to heighten her pleasure, while her other hand sought her pussy. Her fingers slid under the black tongue, searching for her clit so that she could better control the orgasm she was building to. "Like this, like this . . ." she whispered, oblivious to everything but her sensual ecstasy. She withdrew her hand and the black tongue took over, making her moan loudly. Her fingers were dappled with droplets of love juice, the honey essence that seemed to pour so copiously from her sex. Very slowly she touched her fingers to her mouth, tasting herself

and relishing it. "Tell me how you taste," the inventor begged urgently. "Like sex itself," Tina sighed lyrically. She sucked her essence from her fingers and traced the shape of the cock in her pussy, scooping up more of her essence to taste. Coover, still transfixed, felt an irrational desire to grab her fingers and plunge them into his mouth, to taste her for himself. Before he had time to act, before he even had time to think, Tina fell forward, rolling spasmodically on the floor, tweaking her nipples as the rolling waves of multiple orgasms took her completely. The inventor groaned loudly and thick globes of semen shot from his prick. He was leaning back against the wall weakly, as though every tremor of pleasure that Tina had enjoyed had been part of his pleasure also. His face looked blank, drained of the excitement and tension, now thoroughly sated. Coover looked down in horror at himself. He could feel the thick jewels of come sliding down his thigh. The orgasm had been automatic, triggered by the release of sexual tension before him. He was speechless with wonder - what he had witnessed was beyond description. The world had changed before him - there was no turning back.

Five When Coover emerged from the shower, bathed and refreshed, Tina was waiting for him, still a little dazed by what she had experienced. Her inventor friend had merely gathered up his equipment, paid her an undisclosed amount of money and then left. "Any sign of Marck?" Coover asked anxiously, peering towards the living area. "No. I think he's going to be out most of the day," Tina said, her smile more relaxed than ever. She was dressed in a loose robe, a shapeless garment that covered her from the neck down, but it could do nothing to disguise her radiance. Her whole being seemed to glow, a healthy pink flush that suffused her skin. "You often do scenes like that one?" Coover asked, adopting the casual tone that he had employed earlier. She laughed. "Never any as good as that one. That was something else, wasn't it?" "Sure was," Coover admitted, smiling slightly. He had been a witness to an unlicensed sexual act, an act on the borderline of the law itself. No, he'd been more than a witness: he had actively taken part in it. Hell, he'd broken the law too. "Listen, Tina," he began, losing the smile as the seriousness of the situation dawned on him, "I want you to forget I was here." "What?" She looked perplexed by the startling request. "Don't tell Marck I was looking for him." "Why?" "It's kind of complicated. You won't be doing him any favours by telling him I was here. In fact if you tell him I was here it'll make things even more complicated than they are." Tina turned away, wandered back to the living area. "I don't understand this," she called over her shoulder.

"You don't have to understand," Coover said coldly, an undertone of threat implicit in his voice. "I don't like it," she told him, her eyes fixing on him suspiciously. "You don't have to understand and you don't have to like it," he told her harshly. "All you've got to do is follow orders. Is that clear?" "Crowley want it that way?" Coover nodded. "You say nothing, you understand?" "Sure thing, baby," she agreed with a casual shrug of the shoulders. She passed a hand through her long golden hair, combing it out from under her robe. Her eyes were such deep blue, pure and inviting. "Good. I'm going now. Don't disappoint me." "Tell me one thing," she called to him when he reached the door. Coover turned to her, breathing hard when he set eyes on the swell of her breasts as she leaned forward and her robe fell open. "What?" "Was I good today? Did you like it?" "I've never seen anything like it before," he admitted softly. "Shit, I never knew anything could get that sexy." She smiled and blew him a kiss, obviously happy with his answer. The journey back to the department was a nightmare of doubt and indecision. Coover was slumped in the back of the auto, his body drained of emotion and energy. He felt lost, without bearings and without hope. Nothing had prepared him for what had happened, nothing could have. Hell, if he'd had even an inkling of what was going to happen he would have put a stop to it. It was Tina's fault: the single fleeting touch of her fingers on his cock had robbed him of his resolve. He was fallen. What he had seen was no better than a body-fuck, even though there had been no direct body-to-body contact. It was obscene, a sexual exhibition so thoroughly corrupting no court in the land would have allowed it to go ahead. It was an illegal act that he had allowed to take place, and he had enjoyed every guilty second of it. Here he was, a man with an abiding hatred of the Pleasure Droids because they were mimicking sexual relations between people, and he had done something much worse. The spontaneous orgasm that had him pumping thick wads of semen was the final evidence of his guilt. And yet, despite the guilt that overwhelmed him, he felt a liberation. The memory was strong, imprinted for ever in his mind, just like the ghostly touch of Tina's fingers against his cock. It was her. Tina was a catalyst, a being so sensual that all inhibitions fell away before her outrageous physical presence. Coover knew that if he were in the same situation he would act no differently: the pleasure was too sweet, too bittersweet to be avoided. Now he had to face the consequences of his actions. Tina had promised to keep quiet, and he had no choice but to depend on her discretion. A thought so shocking came to him suddenly. Did Tina body-fuck? His mouth was bone-dry. The image in his mind was of himself coupling sensuously with Tina, not in some false mechanical fantasy but in the flesh. His prick hardened again, the thought exciting him powerfully. Already he understood that

no fantasy would ever be as powerful as this one. VR itself had lost its appeal - the colours in his head would never burn so bright, the sensations never so good. It was all fake, an illusion cleverly engineered to be better than reality, but illusion all the same. Coover's increasingly confused, and bitter, train of thought was interrupted by a signal from PersCon. "Well, Detective, is there anything to report?" the chief asked, her voice marked by an obvious impatience. "Nothing as yet," Coover reported colourlessly. "Is there anything wrong?" "Nothing, Chief, I'm just gathering background," he explained, forcing himself to sound more upbeat than he was. Damn her for calling him - he just wanted time to himself. "Enough of that, Detective, I've just had a call from our friend Coard." "What did he want?" "You to get over to Elixir," she said. There were no visuals to go with the voice, but it was easy to imagine her suppressed anger at Coard's interference, and also her irritation that Coover had no leads yet. "Who's running this investigation?" Coover asked wearily, unable to attain the desired degree of indignation. "I am," the chief snapped. "Get over to Crowley's and see what in hell he wants. And remember, Detective, tread carefully." "Yes, Chief," Coover replied automatically. The line to the chief went dead. "Did you get that?" he asked the computer wearily. "Yes, Rey. A new course has been plotted," the computer responded enthusiastically. "Do I register it?" "Yes, register the damn thing. Let's do as the MGs tell us; let's jump when they say so and sit when they say so." "Is there something you want to talk about, Rey?" the computer asked softly, its tone less chirpy and more intimate. "Just set the course," Coover snapped, annoyed by the computer's automatic sympathy. That's what was wrong with the world: too much automatic emotion and not enough of the real thing. Crowley was waiting, sprawled inelegantly on one of the seats in the reception area, chatting comfortably with one of the minions who looked after the front desk. "Citizen Coover," he called graciously, a fat hand sweeping up and being offered to Coover. "What is it?" Coover demanded irritably, unable to hide his natural disgust for an insect like Crowley. "Always so very gracious, Citizen," Crowley complained. He stood up heavily and walked

across the floor of the reception, followed silently by a scowling detective. "You've made no progress," Crowley said, when they were both seated in his office. It was a statement of fact rather than a question. Coover looked at him stonily. "I understand you have been making some enquiries," he added, "visiting selected members of my clientele." "Get to the point, Crowley," Coover snapped, annoyed by Crowley's heavy-handed sarcasm. "I understand that my machine has turned up elsewhere," Crowley announced. He was sitting behind an ornate antique desk, the leather desktop inlaid with primitive computerdisplay technology: LCD panels, an obsolete computer keyboard, a screen that reflected back the dull features of his face. Coover glared at him. "Care to expand on that, Citizen?" he finally forced himself to ask. "Must we do everything?" Crowley whispered under his breath, a stage whisper that was calculated to infuriate. "As I understand it, Citizen, there is a shabby little place called EOrgasm or EyeGasm or something ridiculous. Yes, a shabby, nasty little place, no class, no prospects, Citizen. Well, I have been informed that there is a Pia model working there also." "You believe this is your machine?" "Obviously, Detective, else I would not have summoned you," Crowley said arrogantly. "What do you base this suspicion on?" "Do you have any idea how much Pia costs? Take your salary, Detective Coover. Now add a couple of noughts on the end and you may just be able to buy the cheapest Pleasure Droid there is." Crowley smiled proudly. "Now, take the salary of all the policemen in your department and repeat the exercise, add a couple of noughts on the end. That may just cover the cost of Pia. Whatever else you say about her, she is an expensive piece of machinery." "Perhaps EyeGasm is a good deal less shabby than you believe." Coover smiled. "As I understand it the place is rather smarter than Elixir will ever be." "You can be very tiresome, Citizen," Crowley hissed, eyeing Coover with cold dead eyes. "I think that EyeGasm have my machine. It is your duty to act on my suspicion. Do I really need to speak to Antone Coard again on this matter?" Coover was too tired to argue. The antique motif extended to the walls, decorated with framed pictures, photographic reproductions of twentieth-century starlets and singers, iconic blondes and brunettes in all their glory. For a moment Coover was diverted by the pictures, transforming the statuesque perfection in the movie stills into aspects of Tina. "You like them?" Crowley asked, noting Coover's momentary distraction. "I've never really looked at them before." "The last of the goddesses," Crowley remarked. "The coming of the Viral Armageddon destroyed that whole culture, destroyed all the idols of desire. Do you know what made those idols? Have you ever wondered? It was their distance, their unapproachable perfection, their unavailability. They were adored so long as they were unattainable. Sexuality, real physical sexuality, caused a fall from grace−" "Tell me about Marck Banks," Coover interrupted, taking a certain amount of

satisfaction in stopping Crowley's monologue. He was surprised that Crowley knew about anything other than money, but he wasn't going to let that surprise go to his head. "What about him?" "Do you trust him?" Coover asked, deliberately feeding the distrust that the first question had just sown. "Of course I trust him," Crowley responded crossly. "Why? Is there anything you wish to tell me?" Coover stood up. "What could I possibly have to tell you, Citizen? You trust Banks, that's good enough for me." "Have you come up with anything?" Crowley asked anxiously, also rising from his seat. A thin film of sweat had formed on the flabby features of his face, a smear of oil under the eyes making him seem even more nervous and deceitful than normal. "Nice pictures," Coover remarked, walking to the door. "They're originals and they're yours if you can get Pia back for me. Is her disappearance anything to do with Banks?" "Does he still take tobacco?" "No, I've had him checked. He's off that stuff, definitely," Crowley fussed. "Have you heard differently?" "I've heard nothing," Coover assured him. "I would like to speak with him, though, just for background. Any idea where I can find him?" "Yes, he'll be with Tina today. When he's not working he's usually with her. I have the address if you want −" "I'm sure it's on record," Coover said. "Now, I'd better go and investigate EyeGasm." "They've got my Pia," Crowley asserted forcefully, his attention back on the case. "How do you know?" "I just do," Crowley cried with all the petulance of a spoilt child. The black doors slid open and Coover stepped into the plush elegance of EyeGasm. The reception lobby resembled nothing so much as the foyer of an expensive hotel: an air of subdued excitement, elegant surroundings, a comfortable ante to the promises of delight inside. "Welcome to our house of pleasure," a hostess said, her words like kisses from her full glossy lips. She was dressed in a shiny, black, rubber costume, a tight artificial skin that shone glossily in the subdued lighting. Her long shapely thighs were constrained by tight, black, rubber stockings that merged with impossibly high stiletto heels. The stocking tops were barely covered by a tight skirt and an open-fronted waistcoat of the same shiny material. She smiled and took Coover's arm to lead him to one of the sumptuous red velvet armchairs that dominated the main reception area. "This is my first time here," Coover explained, allowing just enough of his real nervousness to filter through, creating precisely the impression he wanted.

"I'm sure it won't be your last," the hostess assured him confidently. She steered him expertly to his place, making sure that he could feel the warmth of her body against his. "What would you like to drink, sir?" "Brandy?" Coover suggested hesitantly. The hostess was real, not a Droid as he had first suspected. It was a clever kind of inversion of expectation: here was a real woman dressed in black rubber to suggest an artificial skin and body, a woman impersonating a Droid impersonating a woman. He sat down and watched her go, fascinated by the way her costume was moulded to her body, revealing everything and nothing. The contrast to Crowley's soulless establishment was immediately obvious, and pleasing. The atmosphere at Elixir was cold and mechanical, the commercial nature of its transactions left clear to see. EyeGasm, judging by the reception at least, was attempting to create an atmosphere that was erotic and enticing, adding a much-needed veneer to the bare bones of commerce. The hostess returned with the drink, balancing it on a silver tray. Her waistcoat was partially undone, the shimmering black rubber contrasting with her pale skin, her breasts bulging against the tightness. "Thank you." Coover took the drink, breathed the aroma of real brandy, alcohol and all. It was another plus mark in his view, no nonsense about nonalcoholic drinks. "Madame Kordatou will be here shortly," the hostess explained. "But if there is anything you desire please call me, I'm Honey." "I sure will, Honey," Coover beamed gratefully. He was pretending to be a civilian, and enjoying every second of it. He kept his eyes fixed on the alluring young woman as she went. Her poise and balance were perfect on heels that could never have been designed for walking. "She is very attractive, isn't she?" Coover turned sharply. The woman beside him was tall, elegant, dark-skinned and totally confident. "Madame Kordatou at your service," she said, offering her hand. Coover stood up, took her hand and touched his lips to her fingers. "Pleased to meet you, Madame. You have a beautiful place here - it's quite fantastic." "Thank you . . ." "Rey. Rey Coover." "This is your first time here, I take it," she said. Her eyes were dark ovals and regarded Coover with interest, as though gauging him completely. "Yes, Madame, my first time, but not the last, as the lovely young lady just said." "You liked Honey, did you not?" Madame noted, her eyes glittering excitedly. Her coffee-coloured skin was flawless, her nose small and her lips wide and expressive, she seemed to combine a childlike innocence with a manner that was knowing and sensual. Coover felt momentarily embarrassed, but he nodded firmly. Yes, he did like Honey, he liked her a lot. "Well, Honey is one of several different sensual archetypes. If she appeals to you then we have a number of very pretty Droids who can match her in every detail. Apart from the fetish mistress, one of my favourites I might add, there is also a French maid, a shy innocent,

a nun, a space colonist and more." "I don't understand," Coover confessed. "We have selected a number of fantasy females, each one an archetype drawn from the forbidden literature of the last two hundred years. Our hostesses adopt one of the characters - they give you an image to focus on. If the fetish mistress is not to your taste I can call on several of our other girls." "You've got Droids decked out like this?" Coover. asked incredulously. "You've trawled the data banks to get fantasy images from the pornography of the past, dressed real women in these costumes and then once you've excited people you let them loose on the Droids?" Madame's features frosted over. "You sound disgusted, Citizen Coover," she remarked icily. "Not disgusted," Coover said, reacting quickly. "I'd say it's more like fascination. It's just that it seems so complicated." "Are you interested, Citizen, or are you just here to verbalise before you disappear home to your VR unit?" "Definitely interested," he assured her confidently. "But it all depends on the quality of the final product. Honey is right for me: she is a very powerful image." He smiled meaningfully. "But if I then have a session with a primitive piece of Droid equipment that's no good. I want something . . . something extra special." Madame stared at him suspiciously. "What do you mean by special?" she asked, lowering her voice slightly. "Special," he whispered hotly, a sick smile forming on his lips. "If you mean what I think you mean then I'll call the police," she warned, her cold eyes like steel. "No, not that. I would never dare to suggest that your hostesses are available . . ." he stuttered, face red with embarrassment. "I want the very latest in Droid technology, I want a Droid that would feel as good as . . . You know what I mean." Madame looked unimpressed. "All our equipment here is of the highest standard," she said haughtily. "I'm not sure I like your tone, Citizen." "Do you have a Pia-technology machine?" Coover blurted finally. "Pia? Do you know what you're asking for, Citizen? There's only half a dozen of those things in existence, and only one of those is in this city. Now, I can assure you that the pleasure you'll get from our Droids is equal to anything you'll get from a Pia." "Where's the Pia machine?" Coover asked bluntly. "Not here, Citizen. If you're not interested then I'd be grateful if you could leave," Madame said stiffly. She snapped her fingers and two male guards appeared from nowhere, muscles bristling and faces leering. "If you two gentlemen value your freedom you'll back off," Coover warned coldly. His manner had changed instantly, the wheedling, weaselly character instantly sloughed off, and now he was back in control. PersCon flashed the standard police ident screen and the two guards took an uneasy step back, looking to Madame for instructions.

"I should have guessed," Madame sighed, flicking a wrist to dismiss her two muscular minions. "I need to talk to you, privately." Madame stood her ground. "What is this about, Detective? You know that this isn't in your jurisdiction." Honey walked past, glaring angrily at Coover, who smiled back to her sweetly. This won't take long, I promise you. It involves a matter currently under our investigation. We've had authorisation from the MG committee on this." Madame shrugged. She turned on her heels and led the way to her office, situated just behind the reception area. The red velvet pants she was wearing shimmered as she walked, so tight that it was a wonder she could move. "Books?" Coover asked, surprised by the shelf-load of real, leather-bound volumes. Spotlights sprayed a soft reddish light on the books, drawing attention to them in a way that was understated but effective. "You're not a detective for nothing," Madame remarked dryly. She stood by the shelf, a proud smile lighting up her face. The collection, consisting of a dozen volumes easily, must have been worth a fortune. "Are they originals?" Coover asked, too afraid to run his fingers down the embossed spines. "Every one of them," Madame confirmed. "This is my private collection of erotica, better than any you'll find in a museum." Coover whistled his amazement. "I didn't know that so many survived the book burnings," he whispered. Erotic books had been burned almost to extinction during the upheavals of the Viral Armageddon, the first victims of the anticultural backlash that had swept the planet. "These few did, and I like to think they add a touch of authenticity to what I have created here," Madame explained. She retreated back across the office and took her place behind her desk. "Now, Detective, what is this about?" "I am looking for a Pia machine." She raised her eyebrows quizzically. "Surely even the police know that only that charlatan Crowley's got one of those. If you didn't know then you should have asked his patron, Antone Coard." Coover couldn't help smiling. The charlatan has lost his toy," he announced. "I'm sorry about the deception - I just wanted to see if you knew that it was missing." "You could have asked." "Would you have told me if you'd had it?" Madame snorted derisively. "Is that what the police think? That I'd steal something from Crowley?" "It is an expensive piece of equipment. The fact that it was in Crowley's possession doesn't lessen that fact. I take it then that you have no idea where it is."

"No idea, Detective. I have a question for you, if I may. How many other leisure facilities have you checked up on? How many other people have you questioned?" "You are the first, but there are more to come." "Why us first?" Madame demanded angrily. Her dainty hand had formed a solid-looking fist. "I cannot answer that." She banged the table angrily. "I wish to lodge an official complaint, Detective. You have attempted to deceive me and my staff, you have made lewd and indecent suggestions and I have the firm suspicion that we are being victimised! I'm going to kick up a real oldfashioned stink, Detective, and you're going to wish you'd never walked through that door. How dare you . . .? How dare you do this to us? Well? What have you got to say for yourself?" Coover looked at her calmly. "Firstly, I do not respond to threats, Madame. Secondly I assure you there is no victimisation. And thirdly, I am sorely tempted to appeal to Antone Coard for permission to conduct a thorough search of this building." "You know," Madame sighed, "I did not imagine that Antone Coard had such tight control over the police force." "He does not. Neither does Citizen Crowley. Nor do you for that matter," he told her, his level voice and iron gaze marking the extent of his anger. Her comments were all well aimed, he had to grant her that: she knew exactly where to bite. But now he had to make the next move, to regain the initiative that she had so expertly taken. "Now, can I count on your co-operation or do I have to do things the hard way?" Madame gave Coover a look that chilled the atmosphere a couple more degrees. "What is it that you want?" she asked, tight-lipped and narrow-eyed. "I just want to verify that the Pia unit is not here," Coover told her. "Let me scan the sessions in progress. As I understand it, a Pia unit would be in almost constant use - it has a certain appeal to it." "You don't like Droids, do you, Detective?" Coover sighed. "That has nothing to do with this investigation. My feelings are completely immaterial to this investigation." Madame snorted derisively. "Why have they got you investigating this case? They should never allow you within spitting distance of a place like this. But yes, you can use the monitor." Madame pressed a key and one of the walls seemed to dissolve and turn into a bank of high-definition sight-and-sound units. Many of them were blanked out, dead black screens like pitted eyes among the flicker-free units with their overly theatrical displays of ritual. Coover turned and scanned the images quickly, easily able to eliminate the scenes that were obviously not of Pia. Only one picture stood out. He pointed to it silently and Madame whispered a command to the computer and it magnified that one picture so that it took up the whole wall. It was a slick piece of technology, certainly more advanced than the equipment Crowley had at Elixir. The massive display filled the room, breathtakingly sharp and completely real. It was almost as if the wall had dissolved and they were staring directly into the room.

Tt's not Pia," Madame told him firmly. "I just need to verify that," Coover insisted. The scene on display involved two men and a woman, the three of them naked but their bodies partly obscured by the understated lighting of the room. One of the men was lying flat on his back, limbs outstretched, well-muscled thighs parted and his penis fully erect and poking up through a dense brush of black hair. Beside him, sitting up, was the other man, legs parted and hanging over the side of the bed, both feet planted firmly on the ground. He was looking on expectantly at the naked woman before him. "Well," she asked sternly, "do you understand now? You've seen me fuck with your brother, so there are no secrets any more." "But why, Evangeline?" he asked plaintively. "Because it's what I want," she told him, a touch of anger in her voice. "I like fucking, I love sex, I love cocks, I love bodies . . ." "What do you want with him?" the first man asked caustically, sitting up on one elbow to sneer at his brother. "I want him because I love the idea of fucking the both of you," she replied sharply. "I love the idea that I've seduced both of you, diverted two more from that contemptible path of the straight and narrow." "Leave him," the first brother urged disdainfully. "He'll never fuck you." The second brother remained silent, staring abjectly at the naked woman. If the taunts that came from his brother hurt then he showed no signs of it. Rather he seemed overcome with shock at what he had evidently just witnessed. There was silence for a moment and then the tension was broken by a sudden sharp slap. The second brother clutched at his face where Evangeline had dealt him a stinging blow with the palm of her hand. It stirred something deep inside of him, bringing to the surface what had lain dormant. He reached across and pulled her towards him, taking her by the waist and steering her closer. It was impossible to see anything but Evangeline's back and a slight profile of the slope of her right breast. She had shoulder-length reddish hair, swept back from her face, which was turned away from the hidden picture elements that relayed her every movement. It was clear that she needed little direction: she moved effortlessly on to the second brother, sitting across his lap and wrapping her thighs around his waist. The man reached under her rounded buttocks and lifted her slightly, parting her arse cheeks as he did so. She reached back and took his hard prick in her hand and guided it to her opening. There was a pause. She hovered for a moment above his erect cock and then let herself down slowly, impaling herself on his hardness. The display clearly showed him entering her sex, his rigid organ sliding into her mossy-haired pussy. She took him all and then began to gyrate softly, moving her hips round in a long slow cycle, raising herself slightly, then lowering herself rhythmically. His hands were still on her backside, squeezing tightly as she ground down faster and faster on his cock. She was in control, using his body for her pleasure, her cries loud and clear as she enjoyed herself. "Well?" she asked hotly, throwing back her head excitedly, arching her back and thrusting her breasts forward.

His reply was a muffled whisper, a sigh of pleasure that was all the more eloquent for being wordless. He was lifting himself now, pressing his cock up into her wetness as she forced herself down on to him. They were moving rhythmically, one mass of arms and legs joined at the waist. His hands travelled up, caressing her thighs, her belly, her arms, her breasts. He was exploring a woman's body for the first time, amazed and delighted by the sheer sensual pleasure of it. The first brother watched excitedly, his nasty comments banished as he enjoyed the voyeuristic pleasure available. He sat up on his knees and began to rub his hard prick with his hands, matching the rhythm with that of the couple fucking beside him. His face was contorted, every shudder of pleasure that he felt reflected in his expression. Evangeline ecstatically screamed her pleasure, grabbing her lover's hands and clamping them forcefully on her engorged nipples. She fell forward as she climaxed, across the bed, her pussy still tight on her lover's prick. She looked up, dazed, and found herself watching the first man masturbating urgently. She reached across and stroked his cock with her hands, touching him under the balls and then tracing the length of his cock to the glans. "Fuck me more," she begged, wrapping her legs even tighter around her lover. He obeyed, shifting slightly so that he could press his cock even deeper into her sex. He was pushing down on the floor with his feet, lifting himself so that he could enter her completely, his hands coming back to her backside and opening her so that, completely unwittingly, the motion of his cock going into her sex was completely displayed on screen. Soon Evangeline was being fucked with a greedy urgency by one man while she kissed and sucked the other's erect tool. The three bodies were moving together, limbs locked and bathed in sweat, the chorus of cries and sighs of pleasure impossible to separate. The woman climaxed again and again, each wave of pleasure increasing the ardour of her lovers. The two men seemed to go on for ever and then they climaxed together, one man emptying his come into her hot pussy and the other filling her greedy mouth with his seed. They collapsed in a heap on the bed, arms and legs everywhere, breathing hard and thoroughly sated. Evangeline's face was at last completely visible to the audience she did not even know existed. "I told you it's not Pia," Madame declared abruptly, snapping off the image on the screen. Coover turned to her apologetically. "I had to make sure," he said. "Detective," she began, returning to her desk, "do you even know what you have witnessed?" "Yes," Coover admitted gravely. The image had indeed been shocking, and if he had witnessed it at any other time he would have been deeply disturbed. That two men should share the same pleasure machine was a borderline obscenity case. A court might easily find such an act unlawful. Not for the first time that day Coover was faced with a major moral dilemma. "Do you?" Madame taunted with a smile. Coover did not share her evident amusement. "You realise that an obscenity case could mean that your licence would be withdrawn," he warned sombrely. "You know the rules only one person per session. What I've just seen breaks that rule and could easily lead to your establishment being closed down. I'm sure that Crowley would dearly love that to happen."

Madame began to laugh, a full throaty laugh that seemed designed to irritate Coover thoroughly. "You poor deluded fool," she spluttered. "Did Coard choose you himself? You have no idea, do you?" "Tell me what the fuck is going on," Coover hissed through gritted teeth. "The two males were Droids. There was only one person involved: the woman. You're in over your head, Citizen Detective, way over your head."

Six There was only one place to go: Bar Europa. Coover retreated there rather than make an unsteady, and utterly confused, return to the department, with Kordatou's mocking laughter still ringing in his ears. Europa was a seedy bar not far from the Temple of the Divine, and in its inimitable way it was as much a place of worship as the temple. Coover always felt safe there, in the poor light of the basement, as anonymous as a pious worshipper at the altar. It was a good place to nurse a drink and a grudge, and Coover could do both with a practised ease that came naturally. "Rey." Lenny, the morose barman, mumbled a greeting as Coover took his place at the bar. "Make it a double." "Anything you say." Coover swivelled round on the stool to take a long slow look around the bar. There was the usual sad collection of individuals and misfits, the kind of sorry crowd that Lenny seemed to take with him to which ever bar he worked at. The bloated faces of the obese, the shrivelled faces of the anorexic, the yellowed teeth of the smoker. These were the rejects that society pushed to the edge, a marginalised subculture of self-abuse and lack of control. Coover recognised some of them, familiar faces that avoided looking back at him, fully aware that he was a detective. Lenny dialled up the drink and handed it to Coover, tapping in Coover's code without having to ask. The drink went down like fire, a searing heat that poured down the throat and seemed to filter through the lungs and gut. It was strong stuff, just as he liked it. The heat was soon working its way through his body, loosening things up nicely. "Another one?" Lenny asked dispassionately, fingers ready to tap in a repeat code. "Another double," Coover agreed, passing his glass back to the scarfaced barman. "Kraft was here last night," Lenny remarked, volunteering the information in a furtive undertone. "Alone?" "With friends." Lenny handed back the glass, now filled to the brim with a deep golden glow. "He was asking after you." "Nice to know you got friends," Coover replied, taking a slug of alcohol. Boy, it felt good, a rough burning sensation that soon dulled the senses. It was wonderful - it felt so real, an authentic physical experience that wasn't mediated through layers of electronic circuitry. Drinking was a vice, but it was the only thing that made Coover feel real, the only thing that reminded him that his body was his and that he was alive. ^

He carried his drink to an alcove, the cumulative effect of all the drinks he had downed that day making everything slightly blurred. There was a message flashing on PersCon but he ignored it, maliciously hoping that it was something desperately urgent. Madame Kordatou's words were still eating him, her scornful laughter like an acid eating its way through his self-respect. She was right, damn the bitch. She was right: he was way out of his depth. He was being used, a pawn in the game developing all around him. And like a pawn he had no idea what was going on or why. A sharp staccato laughter filled the bar and then died away. Coover ignored it. Instead he stared down at his glass until it was a blur. Kordatou and Vass were allies, just as Crowley and Coard were. The two most powerful men on the MG committee, men who had forged their careers together, now seemed to be at war. And the police were caught in the middle, unwitting foot soldiers in a battle they were not even fully aware of. It was the kind of nowin situation that always called for sacrifice: at the end of it someone's career, hell, someone's whole life, would be in ruins. It wasn't going to be Coard or Vass - they were too powerful. It wasn't going to be the chief - she was too useful to the politicians. Ergo, it had to be Coover. The thought was a sobering one, so he swallowed another mouthful of artificial brandy to wash it away. He hated Crowley. He hated Coard. He hated Vass. Did he hate Kordatou? Her mocking words and cruel laughter were painful, but she was right, and as far as he could tell she had been completely honest with him. She ran a leisure facility, she dealt with Droids, but she was a different class of person from a creep like Crowley. A couple more drinks later his silent musings were interrupted by a sudden voice beside him. "You look drunk, Detective," a woman said. Coover looked up at the source of the voice. "Lorette," he said, smiling dimly at the blurred figure before him. "Surprised you still recognise me, Rey." She sat down beside him, sliding across the leather seat to snuggle up close. "How can I forget you?" he asked, putting an arm around the young woman and hugging her close. Her body was soft and warm, and perfumed as always by the subtlest of scents. "Should you be this drunk?" she asked, stifling her giggles when she looked into Coover's dim watery eyes. "Droids," he mumbled, his breath an alcoholic mist. "Lenny, can you give me a hand?" Lorette called across the bar, suddenly afraid that she'd have to support the uncoordinated body beside her. "Droids. You ever use them, Lorette?" "You're drunk, Rey," she scolded softly. "Let Lenny sober you up before you say something silly." "You're a good girl," Coover whispered, forcing his eyes open. He felt so tired and so confused. He couldn't remember how much he'd had to drink, but it was too much, he knew that. Lorette was a blur before him, only her sweet voice, her perfume and the shocking pink of her hair identified her. "You didn't say that when you arrested me," she complained, not altogether seriously. "I had to," he mumbled apologetically. "You were naked in the temple, Lorette. What

else could I do?" "He OK?" Lenny asked, his dull voice and dead eyes scanning from the bar to the slumped figure in Lorette's arms. "He's drunk. Sober him up," she urged. "Maybe we should call the department," Lenny whispered, certain that he could not be heard by the collapsed detective. Lorette looked at him sharply. "Rey Coover's the best friend you've got in the department," she snapped. "Help him now, Lenny, and don't try to get smart." "I was joking," he protested, unconvincingly. He ambled back to the bar, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath. "I shouldn't have arrested you," Coover mumbled, coming round once more. He reached out and touched Lorette's face, tracing the contours of her mouth and nose like a blind man. "I should have let you go . . ." "I wanted to be arrested, remember," she explained. "It was a political act. You had to arrest me to make the point." "You've got a beautiful body," he murmured, suddenly focusing and looking directly into her clear brown eyes. "Rey!" "I mean it," he continued hotly. "I can still remember you, naked, exposed in front of all those people. Let me make a confession, Lorette . . ." "Quiet, Rey," Lorette cautioned, putting her finger to his dry lips. He took her hand and kissed her fingers softly. "I felt so excited when I saw you. I felt a reaction so physical I almost lost control. Isn't that shocking?" "Let me tell you, Rey," she whispered back, her hot breath touching his face. "I felt the same way. Being exposed like that in front of everybody was the most erotic thing I'd ever experienced . . ." "What you whispering for?" Lenny demanded, appearing at the table with a handful of pills and a long cool glass of water. "Nothing," Lorette said hurriedly. She evaded Lenny's icy stare and took the pills and the water. "You know why he's called Lenny the Snake?" Coover asked, as though he had just remembered. "There's no need for that, Rey," Lenny said reproachfully. He returned to his place behind the bar, still mumbling to himself. Obediently Coover swallowed the pills and sat back to let the waters of intoxication recede. AlControl was fast-acting: in seconds the blurred images before him began to gain in clarity. Soon Lorette's round face and dark eyes were crystal-clear, her ready smile a tonic to look at. "So why is he called Lenny the Snake?"

"What?" "You were just about to tell me why he's called Lenny the Snake," Lorette reminded him, knowing full well that he could remember everything that had just happened. "I don't think you really want to know that," he said, a nervous smile forming. She looked at him warily and then broke out into soft laughter. "I'm glad that you found the sight of my nakedness so arousing." Coover reacted with a nervous smile of his own, a pink flush warming his face. He felt an unfamiliar thrill of pleasure, an excitement in being so close to and so intimate with another person. He felt unexpectedly happy, excited by Lorette's understanding of his arousal, a circle of stimulation that was its own reward. "We're being watched," he warned, passing his hand through the luxuriant dyed pink hair that was such a vivid shock to the eyes. Lorette was still outrageous, despite the prison sentence her naked act of bravado had earned her. Lorette turned to Lenny, staring from the bar, and poked her tongue out at him, laughing at the apoplexy it caused. "Let the Snake watch," she giggled. "Now, why the serious drinking?" "Let me remind you," Coover said sternly, puffing out his chest, "that I'm an officer of the law, young lady." "An officer that's just confessed to being turned on by my naked body," Lorette giggled wickedly, her laughter filling the bar and drawing more suspicious glances from Lenny. "Perhaps you ought to forget that," Coover suggested quietly, sinking back into his seat. The effects of the alcohol had been almost completely neutralised, and now he regretted his rash confession. "Not a chance," she cried forcefully. "No, I like you better like this, Rey. You've changed, you seem much more . . . much more human." "Thanks . . ." "No, Rey, I mean it. You don't seem so uptight, not the way you used to be. It's not the drink, either, is it?" "No, I don't know what it is," Coover admitted quietly. Thanks for helping me, Lorette, I really appreciate it. I've got to go now, I'll see you around." "Do you have to go now?" Coover looked at her as she studied him earnestly, thoughtful eyes looking into his own. She was a strange young woman, driven by ideas and theories that he did not understand and that he knew he'd hate even if he did understand them. Yet there was an honesty and humility about her that was impossible to ignore. He had arrested her, and that event had been the start of an odd kind of friendship, rather than the enmity it would have been if the positions had been reversed. "I've got to go," he repeated, touching her face softly. "I like it when you touch me," she whispered, taking his fingers and pressing them against her lips. He shivered. A dagger of desire shot through him, hot and physical. He pulled away from her reluctantly, aware that Lenny the Snake was watching them closely.

"Where the hell have you been?" the chief exploded. Her eyes looked fit to burst and her colour was an ugly shade of red. Coover was seated in front of her desk, stoically prepared for another of the chiefs diatribes. "At EyeGasm, just as you ordered, Chief," he explained patiently. "Liar!" she stormed, smashing her fist on the desk. "Listen, Detective, I know you left there a long time ago. I've already had Madame Kordatou complaining of police harassment immediately after you left. And I've had Thom Vass on the line too. What is it with you, Detective? Don't you like police work any more?" "After my visit to EyeGasm I stopped off at the Bar Europa." "And?" "And then I returned to the department." The chief stood up and began to pace up and down her face narrowed to a point so that she looked like she was about to explode. Her breathing was shallow, a hyperventilating rhythm that rose and fell as she paced. "If I thought you were being insolent," she hissed, turning to glare forcefully, "I would have you back out on the street as a civilian in no time. Do you know how much pleasure that would give me at the moment? No, don't say a word." She put a hand out to stop Coover from answering her rhetorical question. "Just listen, Detective. It's lucky for you that I don't think you're being insolent, because I think even dumb insolence is too advanced for you. I think you're stupid, Coover. That's what you are: just plain stupid." "Then why put me on this case?" Coover interrupted. There was no anger in his voice, no emotion, nothing but a grim determination to find out what was going on. "I have asked myself that question too," the chief admitted. She sighed, took her seat behind the desk again. "What have you learned so far?" Hell, it was a damn good question. Coover swallowed his smile and replied with as much honesty as the situation would allow. "Crowley had no real suspicions about EyeGasm. He was using the missing Droid as a ploy to get back at a business competitor. There seems to be some sort of political power struggle going on between Antone Coard and Thom Vass. Crowley is Coard's ally and Kordatou is Vass's. We're caught in the middle of this one, which is why you're getting all these calls." "You've found your true vocation in life," the chief remarked witheringly. "Have you no leads on the missing Droid?" "None," Coover was forced to admit. "What do you propose doing next?" "I want to talk to Marck Banks," he decided, wondering how he could arrange such a thing without Tina finding out that he was in fact a police officer. "You suspect him?" the chief asked, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of some real progress. "No, though I suspect that he might provide some valuable background information." "Is that what you were looking for in Europa? Did Lorette de Flara help you?"

"Lorette is a friend," Coover said icily. "So I understand. It seems to me that the less time you spent associating with political undesirables the more chance you'd have of completing this mission. Do I make myself clear, Detective?" "Yes, Chief," he replied automatically, gazing at her with undisguised disgust. She had just gone down in his estimation, though she had a long way to sink before she reached Lenny the Snake. Club Paradise was on the other side of the city, about as far from the department as it was possible to get without leaving the city altogether. Night fell and Coover waited a couple of hours more before emerging from the shadows and walking through the tinted doors of the leisure facility. What next? He hadn't been able to answer the chief honestly. Hell, it was hard enough convincing himself what to do next. But he had been goaded beyond endurance: Madame Kordatou's dagger words were a constant refrain in his head. The time had come to take some positive steps. All along he had assumed that he was dealing with a simple case of a missing Droid, that all he had to do was track down an errant piece of admittedly rather sophisticated machinery. That had been his first mistake. The second had been to let his personal feelings get in the way of the case. Well, at long last he had understood that the missing Droid was incidental, an excuse to engage in some political infighting. Coover was no longer sure that a Droid had even gone missing - there was scant evidence to support Crowley's complaint. The interior of Club Paradise was all muted lights and soft Muzak, creating an atmosphere where both sound and vision were blurry and indistinct. The reception area was deserted. Instead, a husky computer-generated female voice welcomed him to Paradise. "What's on the menu?" Coover asked, glad that he was speaking to a machine that would not register his feelings of unease. "You can have anything you desire . . ." the voice whispered, tinged with a knowing humour that was creepily sexual considering it was produced by electronic circuits. "I'm new at this sort of thing," Coover explained hesitantly, trying not to make it seem a guilty confession. "There's no reason to be shy. Here at Paradise everything is easy, everything is natural. Tell me what it is you desire. I can help you." Hell, the disembodied voice was convincing: every nuance of meaning, every inflection was true. It was another example to Coover of just how advanced the pleasure industry had become. "I don't know what I want, that's the trouble. This is all so new to me . . ." "Mandy is here," the voice said, as though the thought had just occurred to it. "She can help you. You'll like Mandy: she's very pretty and very playful. I'm sure you'll like her. If you've got any special games you want to play I'm sure she'll be more than willing. Would you like her to be naughty? She can be very naughty, but she takes her punishment the way a good girl should. Or would you like to be the naughty one?" "No, nothing like that," Coover said, glancing round in case anybody should be listening. The place was deserted, the most anonymous of leisure facilities, impersonal above all else. "We have some very nice young men too," the machine continued. "Rex is in a sexy mood tonight - I'm sure he'll delight you. He is so strong, I'm sure he can take everything you've got, and he gives as good as he gets too. If you like, Rex can be joined by Mandy -

together you'll have the time of your life . . ." "No, that won't be necessary," he stated unequivocally. The idea of two Droids did not appeal to him at all - he was nervous enough as it was without having to worry about being outnumbered. "Well, Mandy's a handful all on her own," the machine commented understandingly. "I'm sure you'll like her," it continued, unfazed by Coover's negative reaction. "What do you think?" "Sure . . . Yes, Mandy will be fine," he agreed quickly. "Follow the red lights to room twelve," the machine instructed efficiently. "I'm sure you'll have a good time. And remember, this is Paradise - your wildest desires are ours to fulfil." The lights faded and thin crisscrossing laser lights pointed the way through the darkness. Coover swallowed hard. His heart was pounding forcefully against his ribs, and he felt the first stirring of nausea in the pit of his stomach. Dry-throated, he wished for a slug of brandy to give him the courage he lacked. "Room twelve," the computer voice reminded him, the sensors detecting his presence in the darkness. "Thanks," Coover mumbled absently, and then stepped across the reception and into the darkness, following the sharp red lines of light that split the blackness into clean geometric panes. He followed the light until he found himself in front of room twelve. The sensor was flashing, waiting for input, the price of the session flashing in red. Pleasure Droids were not cheap, and Mandy was no exception. He placed his palm against the sensor and waited while it verified his ID and then processed the financial transaction. The transaction would be recorded centrally, and if anyone cared to scan the database, as he himself had done earlier, then his name would come up. Once the transaction had been completed the door irised open with a pneumatic hiss, and he stepped into the room. "Hello, Rey, how are you?" Mandy asked pleasantly. She stood and walked across the room towards him, smiling her greeting. The light in the room was filtered so that the sharpest lines and the texture of skin would be enhanced. She was tall and leggy, wearing a skimpy black dress to emphasise the voluptuousness of her body and the paleness of her flesh. She had hair that was long and blonde, and intensified the beautiful innocence of her face. Her eyes were large blue ovals that added to her smile. Filtered light or not, she looked good. "Hello, Mandy," he said awkwardly, standing just inside the door that had closed behind him. "You look very tense, Rey," she noticed. "Would you like something to help you relax?" "Have you got a drink?" "Sure, or would you prefer some FeelGoods?" "Yes, that'll be great," he agreed. "Good, I'll just get some." She turned and walked back across the room, her heeled boots making her sway from the hips as she moved, her firm backside impressed on the tightness of her short dress. "I haven't seen you around here before. Is this your first time at Club Paradise?"

"Yes, my first time," Coover agreed, keeping his eyes fixed on the attractive young woman, telling himself that she was a machine and not a person. She put one knee on the bed and reached across to the console to tap out the order for the pills. As she stretched her dress rode up, pulling tight against her thighs and buttocks. She looked good, long smooth thighs and rounded arse cheeks, the dress exposing the pale-red panties pulled tight between her thighs. "I hope you like me," Mandy said, and hopeful was exactly what she sounded, her words tinged with the kind of nervous doubt that sounded entirely natural. "I'm sure I will," he replied, sounding as nervous as she did. "Do you like what you see?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him. He swallowed but there was nothing there. "Yes, you have a very attractive body," he rasped. "Thanks. Most men go for my butt," she explained, turning back to the console as the pills were dispensed. Though most of the women seem to go for my breasts. I think my butt's my best feature, don't you?" "Sure," he nodded, "I think your backside's very . . . very cute." "Thanks, I like that. I don't think anyone's ever called me cute before." She straightened up and handed the pills to Coover, who had walked over to stand beside the bed. "The reception said I ought to try you and Rex together," he said, then swallowed the pills in one gulp. "That would have been fun," she said, putting her hand on Coover's chest. "You would have loved it: Rex is so much fun. He's got a cute butt too," she added, smiling, "and the most gorgeous prick. Mmm . . . it makes me feel hot, to think of the three of us together . . . I would have loved watching you suck his prick into your mouth, Rey, while I sucked yours . . ." The pills worked instantly: within seconds he felt completely relaxed and her desire seemed to pass through to him. His cock was hard, straining against the tightness of his clothes. The feel of her hand massaging his chest was electric, sending eddies of sensation through his body, every tremor of it completely sexual. "That feels good," he whispered, taking her hand and putting it directly on to his hardened prick. "This feels good too," she whispered, squeezing his cock in her long elegant fingers. She moved closer, pressing herself against his body. They kissed once, long and slow, while his hands explored the contours of her back, the gentle curve of her spine, the firmness of her arse cheeks. She felt cool and soft, her flesh firm yet giving, alive to his every touch. The thought that she was only a machine was relegated to the back of his mind, while his senses overwhelmed him: she felt real, she felt alive, she felt like a woman. They separated, looked at each other as though surprised by the passion of their kiss. Mandy's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes seemed a little glazed. She reached over her shoulders and pulled her dress off in one swift movement, her breasts jiggling as she did so. Completely naked bar the red panties and her shoes, she stood before Coover waiting for his reaction. Her breasts were small and firm, perfect handfuls of firm flesh finished with

nipples that were red and erect. Her belly was flat, hips protruding slightly, prominent mons clothed tightly in her red silk panties. "You're cute all over," Coover said admiringly, smiling fully at last. "You really mean that," she marvelled. "You know, I like you, Rey, I do." She knelt down in front of him and rubbed her face against his crotch, over the thin material of his trousers. He could feel her lips tracing the length of his cock, from the base, up the shaft and over the ridge of his glans. He stepped back and pulled his clothes off quickly, watched by her eager eyes. When naked he moved closer to her again, taking her head in his hands and guiding her mouth to his throbbing cock. "I love the taste of cock," she murmured, passing the tip of her tongue over the glans. Coover tensed suddenly, overwhelmed by the powerful sensations he felt as she closed her lips around his member. It was totally unlike the sensations he felt under VR: this was vivid, unexpected, thrilling. He sighed deeply, holding her now for support as much as anything else. He fell back on the bed, prey to the pleasure that wiped out all other emotions. She kissed and sucked expertly, using her fingers with her mouth to massage his rigid prick. She drew back and smiled, her pleasure matching his own. She gripped his cock tightly with her hand and licked the glans slowly, pressing her tongue into the tiny slit to draw out the thick beads of silver fluid. Coover gasped, his body shuddering as he teetered on the edge of orgasm, the pleasure so intense he thought he was going to faint. Somehow he held back, the throbbing of his cock bringing up only a few more thick globules of sticky silver fluid. "Do you want to spray it into my mouth?" Mandy asked, her eyes sparkling delightedly at the idea. "Is that how you like it?" She smiled coyly. "What I really like is to be butt-fucked and have you fill my tight little hole with spunk." "A girl like you should get everything she wants," Coover decided, excited by the image she had so vividly painted. He liked the way she spoke, voicing her desires in the coarsest terms and yet without self-consciousness or shame. Mandy climbed on to the bed, rubbing her firm breasts across his body, her nipples marking invisible pleasure trails on his skin. She reached up and kissed him on the mouth, entwining her tongue with his so that the faint taste of his cock was relayed to him. He took the opportunity to touch her, smoothing his palm over her body, across her thin frame to finish by cupping her breast. She felt so soft and smooth, and he fancied that he could almost feel the blood rushing in her veins and the excited pulse under her breast. He quickly pushed to the back of his mind the idea that Droids probably didn't have a cardiovascular system, and his fevered imagination was in overdrive. She lay down beside him, flat on her belly, and curved her back, lifting and opening her rear cheeks. He stroked her buttocks, tight and round, her body lithe and supple. Surreptitiously he moved a hand round to the opening of her sex, barely touching the swollen labia and yet able to feel the wet heat inside her. She sighed, lifted herself higher, silently urging him on. He slipped a finger between her pussy lips and let it be enveloped by the sex flesh, wetted by the sex oils that ran deliciously from her pussy. "Taste me," she whispered. Tut my cunt juice into your mouth and swallow every drop."

He obeyed instantly, excited as much by her use of the word 'cunt' as by anything else. He tasted her, lapped the wetness from his finger and let it fill his mouth. VR had never prepared him for the taste, for the explosion of sensation on his tongue and the excitement of tasting the forbidden sap from another body. He used his hands to part her pussy lips and then lowered his head between her thighs. He explored her minutely, his eyes revelling in every detail of her sex, and then he touched his tongue over her swollen pussy lips. She murmured her pleasure as he pressed his tongue into her heat, lapping up her juices. "My clit. . . suck that too," she urged, using her hand to open herself fully, her finger touching the swollen bud. He began to tease her, lapping wetly at her bud and then sucking it into his mouth. She moved ecstatically, swivelling her hips, pressing back, her sinuous movements driving him wilder. He pulled away as her scream of pleasure tore from her lips, an animal scream that signalled the climax that shook her body. He felt elated, delighted that he had used his mouth to make her orgasm so forcefully. A thin trail of sex honey ran down her thigh. He chased it with his tongue and lapped it all into his mouth, a reward that was the most valuable thing in the world. "Now I'm going to butt-fuck you," he told her excitedly. "Wet me first," she sighed dreamily. "There's some cream in the dispenser." "Forget that," he whispered, eyes fixed on the tight brown hole above her open pinkfleshed pussy. He knelt down again and this time he directed his attention to her arsehole, licking it softly, passing his tongue back and forth over the reflexive anal orifice. "That's gooood," she sang. "I love being rimmed: it's so dirty. I love being dirty . . ." He pushed his tongue into her behind, savoured the cloying taste and the pleasant tightness of her anal ring. He licked and wetted, pressing deep and then lapping over the hole as he pulled away. All the while he was using his fingers to caress her pussy or her clitty, making sure that the tempo of his caresses matched the action of his tongue. She shuddered again and he felt the tension in her body. She climaxed quickly, less intense explosions of pleasure that delighted him all the same. He pulled away and she reached back and took his rigid cock, the glans covered with his own juices and glistening enticingly. She guided him, pressed the bulb of cock against the tight rear hole. He took her by the waist and pushed in slowly. There was a moment of resistance and then she seemed to flower, her hole opening to take the thickness of his cock. The pleasure was unbelievable, waves of white-hot sensation as her anus contracted over the sensitive flesh of his cock. At last he was inside her, his bush of pubic hair nestling against the rounded cheeks of her behind. She had taken all of him in her behind and now they lay unmoving, enjoying the feeling of being joined together. "That's so good," she whispered, twisting round to look over her shoulder at him, her eyes wide with pleasure. "I love having my butt filled with cock. It means I can do this . . ." She began to swivel her hips slowly, grinding round on the base of his cock. He gasped, gripped her tightly by the waist. She was moving round and round, fucking him expertly with her anal hole, using her body to weave intricate patterns of pleasure through his body. He was moving, too, pumping his cock slowly in and out while she danced. Faster and faster, he was fucking her furiously, unable to control himself any longer. The pleasure was greater than anything he had ever experienced before. She pressed her arse back against his stomach and then he gasped, his cry filling the air. He felt lost, outside of his body, pure sensation and nothing else, and then he felt himself shooting thick waves of come into her anal hole.

He fell back, spreadeagled, gasping for breath, staring at the ceiling as though he could see a million stars. Mandy snuggled up beside him, pressing her breasts against his chest, her nipples touching his. She kissed him softly on the face and neck. "Was that good, Rey?" she asked lazily. "I didn't realise it could be this good," he confessed dreamily. Tt was good, wasn't it?" she said, smiling contentedly. "I'm going to have to do that to you again, one day." "Don't you mean were going to have to do that to each other, one day?" she corrected in the same dreamy manner. He thought about it for a second. "Yes," he agreed, "we did it together." "Good, now I'm going to do a little something for you," she promised. He sat up on one elbow as she moved down his body, her fingers caressing his chest and thigh. His cock was semierect and coated with semen. Very tenderly she cradled his cock and began to lick it clean, sucking in all the juices and swallowing with obvious relish. He lay back down, enjoying the feel of his cock stiffening deep in her mouth. Vaguely he wondered whether he and Mandy had been monitored, whether their session was one of those that would make it back to the MG committee. He put the thought aside - he didn't care any more. He had made a wonderful new discovery and nothing anybody could do would detract from it. "Now," Mandy told him, "I want to take your spunk in my mouth. I want to feel you squirting it down the back of my throat . . ."

Seven The reception area at BodyLab Corporation was a study in light and space, an atrium that combined the elements of air and water, suggesting an idyllic landscape and not the centre of one of the most scientifically advanced corporations in the world. Coover sat comfortably on a leather couch, shaded from the sunlight by fronds of deep-green fern, listening absently to the background of water rippling over rock. The atmosphere soothed and caressed, the harmony achieved in the environment sucking away at any apprehension or fear a person might have. The place was busy in an unhurried sort of way - people were arriving and departing all the time - but the overall pace was pleasantly relaxed. The three pairs of glass doors were open, leading to two reception desks like islands in the middle of an ocean of peace. Even the constant buzz of messages was muted, as though the computer consoles were in sympathy with the carefully crafted environment. As Coover waited for his guide to arrive he couldn't help reflecting on what he had experienced the night before. The experience with Mandy had been a revelation, giving insight into a world that he had closed his mind to. Following on so closely from his experience with Tina, it merely confirmed what Madame Kordatou had suggested: he was in out of his depth. That had been painfully true, but now he was learning to swim rather than allowing himself to drown in his own small-minded prejudice. Years of virtual reality had not prepared him for the immediacy of experience that a session with a Droid entailed. In every way VR was a pale impression of what sexual ecstasy

could be like. It was like listening to a symphony in another room: the outline could be discerned but the nuance and the depth could not even be guessed at. Sex with a Droid had one vital ingredient that was missing from even the most intense VR fantasy: spontaneity. No matter how exciting a VR fantasy could be, and Coover knew that they could be very potent sometimes, in the end they were fantasies that came directly from the user's mind. If something surprising happened it was because the imagination had produced it; somewhere deep in the subconscious a script had been formed and there could be no deviation from the script. Coover was aware that his own imagination was best described as pedestrian. He did not fantasise about sexual creatures beyond nature. His dreams featured none of the multiorgasmic, multigenital chimeras that could be conjured up from nothing. His dreams had always been figurative, rooted in reality and drawing on the world around him. He knew of men who fantasised that they possessed two pricks that they could use to pleasure two people, of men who imagined they were sucked into vaginas that engulfed them in orgasmic fury, of women who were fucked in the arse, mouth and pussy by one incredibly potent being. He did not need that. He considered his fantasies to be the erotic dreams of a normal man, and that was a virtue in his eyes and not a crime. Until now. Mandy was an autonomous being, a creature with her own mind, body and imagination. Together they had explored, they had interacted, they had shared their pleasure. Their scene had not sprung fully formed from his imagination: there was spontaneity, a mutuality that added an erotic charge that had been completely positive. Hell, it had been a lifechanging and life-enhancing experience. There had been only one dark cloud on the horizon though, and that had become clear only after Mandy and he were completely exhausted. The FeelGoods had soon worn off, but the afterglow of pleasure had buoyed his mood completely. He still felt high, relaxed, alive. Mandy was resting on his chest, her lips gently toying with one of his nipples. Somehow the fact that Mandy was a Droid, a mere machine, seemed immaterial - the transition from thing to person had been made. However, his expansive mood, his attempts to put into words what he felt, floundered on the very fact of Mandy's manufactured status. Speaking with her put the first spots of blight on his optimism. Her world was rapidly revealed as being confined, narrowly focused on the facts of sexual pleasure. She had no understanding of the world, no interest beyond sex, no curiosity as to what went on outside of the walls of the leisure facility. Even his carefully phrased questions about her origins crashed against the rocks of her indifference. Her memories revolved around sex; her vocabulary defined the limits of her imagination. Asked about the future, she became vague, expressing only the hope that Coover would return to her again and again. It was a perplexing close to the night, but it did nothing to diminish the power of what had occurred. He spied a figure approaching from the far side of the reception area and guessed it was his guide. She was tall and lithe, dressed in a shiny white costume of rubber and plastic: tight leggings, sheer white tunic with long sleeves and a high collar. Her reddish-brown hair was tied back in a knot, making her face seem sharp and intelligent, the austerity of her look softened by the broad smile that revealed teeth as white and impressive as her uniform. "Detective Coover." She stopped abruptly in front of him and offered her hand. "Ricardia Simmonds. I'm happy to be your hostess for your visit to BodyLab." Coover stood up, shook her hand firmly, noting the firm grip and the confident way she looked him in the eye. "I'm not really sure why I need a hostess just to see Dr Mallinder," he said. "If you're not happy with me then I'm sure that another more congenial guide could be found for you," Ricardia responded instantly.

He reacted sharply, realising that she was attempting to put him on the spot. That's not what I meant and you know it," he said sharply. "I just want to speak to Dr Mallinder, that is all." "I'm sorry, Detective, but it is policy that all visitors to Dr Mallinder enjoy a tour of BodyLab. I'm certain that this will be beneficial: it supplies all the necessary background to our work here. Aren't you curious at all?" He nodded. "Yes, I'm curious, but I'm also in a great hurry, Citizen Simmonds. If you could make this as brief as possible I'd appreciate it." "As you wish, Detective," she agreed. "And please, call me Ricardia." He nodded but made no reciprocal response. She waited a second, realised he had nothing more to say and then turned on her heel. He followed her across the lobby, passing through the tinted-glass doors that led from the public atrium to the inner sanctum. The change in atmosphere was subtle: the soothing background sounds of rippling water and idyllic nature were mixed in with a rhythm that was barely detectable but added a businesslike undertone. Ricardia led the way to the upper storeys in a glass elevator that afforded a view of the vast open-plan complex that lay hidden behind the tinted black glass of the reception. It was an impressive sight: an array of alcoves and work areas, partitioned offices and recreation areas - a hive of industry. The small-scale nature of the work groups was testimony to the advanced technology employed by the BodyLab Corporation, much of it produced in-house. "Do I get to see how you manufacture the Pleasure Droids?" Coover asked, much to her amusement. "You think we've got a production line?" she asked, laughing. "I didn't say that," he responded defensively, following her out of the elevator and down a long antiseptically white corridor. "I'm sorry," she said, halting for a moment to face him. "It's just the use of the word 'manufacture': it conjures up images of twentieth-century mass production, heavy industry and the stamping out of identical goods by the ton. Each Droid is crafted individually, Detective; each one is unique, just as we are." "It seems to me," he sighed, falling into step with her, "that you people are too touchy about language. Are you deliberately misinterpreting everything that I say?" She thought about it for a moment before answering. "We're defensive," she allowed, "but only because what we do is so controversial, Detective. There are many groups in society who are hostile to everything that we stand for." She stopped outside one of the many doors lining the corridor and put her hand against the sensor. "I'm neutral here," he told her, passing into the lab through the door that had irised open. Ricardia laughed again. "Forgive me if I find that rather a naive remark, Detective. There's no such thing as a neutral observer - you must have an opinion on what we do. Do you use our products?" Coover swallowed hard. "I have done," he admitted cagily, avoiding Ricardia's sceptical gaze.

"You're embarrassed," she pointed out, "which indicates a position that's far from neutral." "Can we get on with this?" he requested testily. She turned and faced the lab. "This is where the central control units for our Droids are created," she explained, waving an elegant hand in the direction of a set of black rectangles, pieces of apparatus set out on a long low bench around the walls of the lab. Each object was identical, a featureless black box sporting a mass of fibres that fed directly into a computer console built into the wall. "These are the electro-organic crucibles that are used to grow the protein strands that develop into fully functioning neural computers. We have here the leading edge in molecular electronics, Detective." "These control units, this is what a lay person would call the brain, right?" Ricardia nodded. "In terms of function at least that is partially correct. In biological terms it's nonsense. Each unit is different. No two neural computers are ever alike. We do not have that much control over the way molecules grow. You have to bear in mind that these are organic structures of immense complexity." "You mean they're alive," Coover remarked emotionlessly, staring at the straight black boxes as though he could penetrate the surface and see what was happening. In his mind he could picture strands of matter gelling, becoming a seething mass of snakelike objects that twisted and writhed, a hydra head ready to burst from the confines of the tomblike black box. "Correct. The programming is built into the development process," she continued, warming to her task. She stepped over to one of the black boxes and touched it softly, her hand incredibly white against it. "We use a heuristic technique with a strong goal-oriented focus. This allows a degree of self-programming skill that is still evolving today." "In English?" "Sorry," she said, smiling apologetically. "We teach these organic structures to think in limited ways. They have memory and they learn from their mistakes. A single goal is implanted, though, and it can never be broken." "The goal is sexual pleasure," Coover guessed, thinking back to Mandy. "Correct again. Doing it this way solves the ontological question for the Droid; we of course are not so fortunate. The Droid knows the meaning of its life and is spared the burden of not knowing." "Whose idea was that?" he asked. "Mine," she said softly, a touch of shyness to her smile. Coover nodded. He had misjudged her, and he realised just why she had been so defensive earlier. "I'm sorry," he sighed, "I guess you realised I thought I'd been assigned a minion to show me round." "Apology accepted, Detective," she said graciously. "Now, I think one more stage of the Droid creation process might be useful, then we can look at one of our more speculative areas of development." The next lab was the scene of much more activity. A small group of three technicians were working together to assemble a tough metallic frame. The frame itself was made of

thin black rods, attached together by flexible joints and running fibre-optic cables along the lengths. The technicians were assembling several of the rods to form what was clearly part of a skeleton, parallel rods forming the fibula and tibia joined by an artificial knee to the longer and thicker femur. Signals were being passed up and down the artificial leg and the resulting bending and unbending of the knee, a smooth and graceful movement, was being measured and displayed on a small console on the workbench. The technicians hardly looked up when Ricardia introduced Coover to them. They were engrossed in their work, calibrating the action of the leg with precisely measured adjustments of the tiny sensors and components. "A Droid is basically an organic structure grafted on to a mechatronic skeleton," Ricardia began to explain. The skeleton itself is a flexible but strong structure - those rods are made from a composite carbon-based material which has been developed at BodyLab to allow for the grafting of bodily tissue." "Where does this tissue come from?" Coover asked, fascinated by the lifelike way in which the thin rods moved, locking and unlocking in response to the tiny pulses of current that passed through the fibre-optic nerves. "Cultured from human cellular material, grafted together and synthesised in a way that retains much of the humanoid morphology but without the complex cardiovascular systems that we depend on. The Droids feel human but they aren't, certainly not in terms of basic biology." "There's no blood?" he asked, turning away from the huddle of white-suited technicians. He wasn't entirely sure what Ricardia was saying, but the whole thing made him feel a bit creepy. "That's right, no blood. Neither are there any hormonal signals, no digestive juices." "But there are some liquids," Coover interjected, reminded of the sweet nectar that he had tasted from between Mandy's thighs. Ricardia smiled. "Yes, there are some fluids. These are synthesised inside the body. So you'll see that a Droid does have tears and some sort of perspiration. The mouth is not dry and there are appropriate vaginal lubricants in females and seminal fluids in males. Erectile tissue and changes in skin colour are simulated too. All of these are analogues, artificially produced features to aid in the impression of humanity that we strive for." "That's the main thing, isn't it," he mused, "this impression of humanity?" "You've seen industrial automata," she explained, nodding her thanks to the team before turning towards the door. "They are just as strong and just as intelligent as the Pleasure Droids, but they look nothing like we do. An industrial automaton is a functional tool. The morphology is dictated by the function, not by aesthetics. A Pleasure Droid on the other hand has to look as human as possible, the illusion of humanity is what makes them exciting." Coover stepped out into the corridor. "Isn't that a bit sick?" "How so?" "This fixation with the appearance of humanity," he explained, no longer so confident in the power of his convictions. "Doesn't it appeal to the worst instincts? The whole idea is based around a simulation of bodily contact, and the closer to the real thing the more exciting it becomes. Surely at some point people are going to want to try the real thing."

"With respect, Detective," Ricardia suggested coolly, "that is not our problem. How society functions is nothing to do with BodyLab. We don't make the rules here: we just follow them." Together they walked back the way they had come, along a corridor lined with doors and back out on to the landing that looked down on the main work area. "But what you do has an effect on society," Coover said. "If what you're doing is pushing back the edges of common morality then that is bound to have some wider influence on what's going on." "Are you suggesting we have a hidden agenda here?" she asked, half smiling. Coover hesitated and then broke out into a smile himself. "Of course not," he responded, aware that he was skating on thin ice. Ricardia looked unconvinced. Together they rode down in the elevator, sharing the silence as they looked down upon the BodyLab complex. The nurse who administered the drug gave Coover a friendly reassuring smile, her eyes checking the monitor just behind his head and then looking back to him. "It doesn't feel any different," he reported, concentrating hard on his own reactions to see if he could feel anything different. "I know, honey," she agreed. "It's just a very mild relaxant. You won't notice it until you're hooked up properly." Ricardia called from across the room, "Is he ready yet?" Coover turned to look at her. She too was being attended by a nurse. The relaxant had just been administered, and she too was lying on a couch, flat on her back and waiting to be hooked up to the experimental VR rig. It was one of the speculative projects, as she had put it, that BodyLab were working on and she had been very insistent that he try it out. He had agreed reluctantly, but only because she had hinted that he may be too frightened to comply. Hell, it was a simple ploy but he was a sucker for it - his vanity had already taken enough knocks. "He's ready here," the nurse called, giving him a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. "In that case we can begin," Ricardia announced authoritatively. "This is just like standard VR," the nurse explained, lowering her voice to a whisper as she inserted the probes into Coover's ears. He nodded and closed his eyes, prepared for the momentary disorientation as the VR unit cut in. It was quick, a weightless moment in womb-like darkness, and then the darkness faded and was replaced by fuzzy, cloudy light. He was floating still, but he could feel his arms and legs; he was corporeal although invisible in the milky light. "Are you there?" He heard Ricardia's voice coming through loud and clear. "I'm over here," he said, surprised by the sound of his own voice. It felt strange, for a moment he wondered whether the VR probes had actually made contact, but they had. The voices he heard were in his head: he was hearing internally and not from the ears. "It's strange, isn't it?" she asked, as though seeking confirmation of her own reactions.

"Where are we?" He heard her slight laugh, an almost musical scale that made him smile. "We're in each other's head," she said, sounding utterly amazed by the odd experience. "Standard VR is a solitary thing: it's just you, your subconscious and your imagination. Here we are actually meshing, creating a social space for us to explore together." "But where are you?" he repeated. "I can't see you anywhere. You sound very close . . ." "I am close: I'm inside your head, and you're inside mine. You can see why this is still only an experimental system, can't you?" ^ Coover couldn't hide his disappointment. "Is this all there is to it?" "Is this all? Don't you realise that you are now sharing an experience that very few other human beings have enjoyed?" "Sure," he laughed, "but is this all there is to it?" He heard her giggle. She sounded so close the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. "Well actually, Rey, there is a lot more to it than floating around in the fog. We just need to work at this together. Try to concentrate on the elevator. Do your best to visualise it. Try to remember as much detail as you can." Gradually the fog cleared, and from nothingness Coover found himself standing inside the glass elevator. Tiny details emerged from nowhere: the sensor by the glass doors, the join of the steel supports, the BodyLab logo etched in the glass. He looked down and saw his feet, dull black boots, dark trousers; he reached down and saw his hands, long fingers with fine black hairs on the knuckles. With a start he looked up and saw Ricardia, dressed in shiny white, the tight plastic a second skin that sheened in the light. She was smiling, fine white teeth between lips that had been glossed a vivid pink, her eyes regarding him with a mixture of excitement and amusement. "I'm inside your head now," she teased. "How do I look?" "Real," he whispered. "Real good, too." "Look at this," she said, reaching out. He watched, fascinated by her presence, unable to believe that she was actually standing in front of him. She touched the glass door with her fingers, long red nails resting against the glass. She tapped on the glass and it clinked realistically. He reached out and touched the glass too, felt the coolness under his skin, and the smoothness too. It felt real, but then VR had always seemed real to him. "We're not moving," he realised, looking out. "We have to build the image. Remember the grand panorama?" "I'm concentrating on it. Up or down?" "Up, I think." They were both facing out, looking down on a featureless white expanse that slowly took shape before their eyes. The reality formed from the combined powers of their imagination. There was the semblance of movement, but somehow it didn't seem right: the edges were too blurred, as if the level of concentration required just eluded them. "Look, down there."

Coover followed the direction of Ricardia's pointing finger, down to the lowest level. He strained hard to make out the figure coalescing from the protoplasmic fog. "It's me," he whispered softly, surprised to see himself walking angularly across the ground floor. "Don't sound so surprised," she exclaimed. "This is a vanilla VR trick. Don't you project your own image all the time?" "Why should I?" he asked blankly. "To make love with yourself of course," she explained. "Don't tell me you've never done that? I thought everyone did it." "Well, you thought wrong," he told her sullenly. Normally he would have found the whole idea repulsive, but standing beside Ricardia it merely confirmed to him that his sex life had been shallow and unimaginative. "Forget that then," she said, sounding apologetic. "How does this feel?" He turned and felt her hard nails digging sharply into his face, each fingernail a discrete sense impression on his skin. He moved round and she turned her hand over, brushing his face with the back of her hand, her skin dragging on the bristles on his chin. "That feels very realistic," he said woodenly. "And this?" She rubbed a finger over his lips and then slipped it into his mouth. He licked his tongue over the tip, tracing the arc of her nail, and sucking it deeper, running his tongue all over it. She was smiling, encouraging him to suck it. She nodded and then stepped back for a moment. He watched excitedly as her clothes dissolved before him, the plastic fabric melting away, as if absorbed by her body. She was naked, standing very straight, her breasts curving upwards, large nipples already enticingly red. "That's some trick," he said excitedly. "It gets better," she said, closing her eyes. He watched the expression of concentration contorting her face, but it was a moment before he felt any effect. It happened quickly. One moment he was fully dressed and the next he was naked. He had felt no sensation as his clothes had dissolved, but now he was in the nude and his cock was hard and the focus of her attention. She reached down and stroked his cock with her fingers, very affectionately and in a way that was guaranteed to excite him even more. This is why we're developing this project," Ricardia explained, matter-of-factly, while closing her fingers around his tense prick. "We want to enable people to share the VR experience, to turn it into a social experience rather than a solitary one. Of course such an idea is bound to cause political complications." Coover's reply was to take her by the chin and pull her lips to his. They kissed gently, intent on the other's reaction. The feeling was sensational. He could feel her breath on his lips, taste her lip gloss, feel her physical reaction. He touched her breasts, cupping them and crushing her erect nipples in his palms. She leaned closer to him, pressed her body against his, her heart beating hard against his hand. They kissed again, a more intimate embrace. He tasted the coolness of her mouth, traced his tongue over her teeth, lingering as their tongues met. Her arms were around him, running over his bare back and clamping around his shoulders. He in turn traced the curves of her body, down her back, along her side, resting finally on her flanks.

"Take me in the mouth," he whispered to her, excited by the idea of screwing her in her exquisitely beautiful mouth. "Only if we can have an audience," she teased. He turned and saw that faces were pressed against the glass doors of the elevator, peering excitedly at the show in the glass cage. He smiled and turned back to Ricardia and nodded his assent. She knelt down in front of him and kissed his thigh, licking him and then moving slowly and intently to his balls. He leaned back against the glass wall, facing the appreciative audience, and parted his legs. Ricardia had crawled forward and was caressing his balls with her hand while nuzzling softly the top of his prick. He looked down at the curve of her spine, the narrowing of her hips and then the curve of her backside. She was on all fours, and the rear view of her body had to be exquisite but hidden from his eyes. She began to kiss and suck his testicles, her tongue flicking through the thick mat of hair. Her hands were exploring his body, one hand gliding up and down the length of his tool while the other alternately played with his balls or explored the tightness between his buttocks. He closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation and wished once more that he could enjoy the view of her prostrate body from behind. "If I fuck you with my mouth," she said, looking up at him mischievously, "I want you to fuck me from behind." "I'd like nothing better," he sighed wistfully. "In that case concentrate - I want two of you." Coover closed his eyes and willed himself into being again. It was an odd feeling, but without opening his eyes he knew that he had succeeded. It was as if his consciousness had doubled, his mind and his body were no longer congruent. He opened his eyes and saw himself staring back, an expression of sheer disbelief marked on his face. "Well," Ricardia cried impatiently, "are you here for me or for each other?" She fell forward once more and closed her mouth round his glans, her wet lips sliding a pure pulse of pleasure through to him. He sighed, felt himself shiver ecstatically. He looked down, Ricardia's bottom cheeks were slightly parted, her back arched deliciously. He could see her from both sides now, front and rear at the same time, yet the picture made sense, the sight from two pairs of eyes merging into one coherent picture. He willed his second body to move, the first tentative step giving him the confidence to move more naturally. He got down on his knees and ran a hand down the length of her body, from the shoulder, down her back, over her arse cheek and along the soft silky skin of her thigh. Slowly he explored her body, touching, stroking, shaping her with deft strokes of his hands. She moved with his touch, allowing him to position her as he wanted. Her mouth was urgently working his prick, which was wet with her spit and crying thick silver drops of fluid from the slit. Her eyes were half closed, as though she were lost in the pleasure of mouth-fucking his throbbing cock. From behind he could see the shape of his cock impressed on her cheek as she slid up and down his shaft. He pressed a finger into her sex and her pleasure was reflected as a gasp of hot air breathed against his cock. She was wet, her pussy lips slick with her juices, which he smeared between her thighs and then traced a wet line from her sex to her arsehole. She wriggled excitedly as his finger explored her there. Her knees were together and her back curved to press her arse cheeks upwards. He tasted her on his fingers, savouring her sex honey on his tongue while watching himself being sucked and caressed lovingly.

He leaned over her, covered her body with his and then slowly slid his aching cock into her wet pussy. Every motion was an experience as the sensation of entering her tight pussy was fused with the feel of her tongue licking lightly against his glans. It was a pleasure that was overpowering, too great, too ecstatic to control. He seized her by the waist, roughly, and pulled himself into her. She responded physically, opening herself, pushing herself up against him, the play of her mouth now feverish over his cock. They moved wildly, bucking and writhing, her breasts jigging as he fucked her as hard as he could. She had one hand down between her thighs, massaging her clit as his rough strokes drove into the puffy lips of her sex. He took her head in one hand, held her in place as he began to fuck her mouth in the same rough manner. She was moaning, abandoning herself fully to the dual pleasure of being fucked in the mouth and in the pussy by the same man. She lost control first, falling forward as her body tensed, and then she was lost to the explosions of pleasure that marked her climax, once, twice, three times. She was still in the free fall of pleasure when he climaxed, shooting wads of come into her mouth and sex at the same time, the sense impressions of mouth and sex merged in that moment of orgasm. He opened his eyes and his other self was gone. Ricardia lay on her side on the floor of the elevator, her body glistening with a layer of sweat. She stirred lazily, turned over, smiled dreamily. As she moved to get up he saw the thin trail of semen pouring from the glistening pinkness of her exposed crack. He looked down and saw that his cock was coated with traces of her pussy cream, even though her mouth had been devouring his cock with a frenzy that he had never experienced before. He helped her to her feet, still too stunned to know what to say, or even to know how to describe the experience. She leaned closer, her lips pursed, her hand stroking his chest slowly. They kissed, lips joined, his tongue entering her mouth. She jumped up lightly and let her prize pour from her mouth into his: the thick waves of cream he had shot on to her hot tongue.

Eight Ricardia looked radiant when she and Coover emerged from the experimental VR lab. Her skin still glowed and her eyes gleamed with a mixture of happiness and excitement. Coover walked beside her, breathing deeply and suddenly thankful that the missing-Droid case had been assigned to him after all. As far as the case was concerned he had made no progress. On the other hand his sexual horizons had broadened immeasurably and had reached a point where there could be no turning back for him. "Well," Ricardia asked, "what did you think of it?" "It was just unbelievable," he admitted, making no effort to hide his enthusiasm. "It was so different from what VR is normally like that I'd say that no one who tries it will ever want to use a standard unit again." "You think it's a viable project then?" "No doubt about it," he stated without any doubts. They were walking towards the office of Dr Kirk Mallinder, the technical brains behind the BodyLab Corporation, and the main reason for Coover's visit. "Do you think that it'll be politically acceptable?" Ricardia continued seriously. "It's an MG decision, nothing to do with the police," he explained, lowering his voice slightly, "and I think that it's likely to be very controversial. That's just my opinion, mind

you. I'm as likely to be wrong as anyone." "But why do you think it'll be so controversial? The principle of VR is accepted, so why not this?" "Because of the social angle for one thing," he explained, stopping completely and lowering his voice as someone passed them in the corridor. Ricardia leaned against the wall and crossed her long legs in front of her while she considered his answer. "It doesn't break any of the physical taboos - in fact it enforces the physical separation of bodies." He smiled at that. She was right, technically, but the truth was very different. "There are two accepted means of sexual gratification: VR and the use of artificial partners. VR is fine because it's solitary: there's no real contact, physical or mental. Droids are fine, too, because the physical contact is with a machine and not a real person. Now, along comes this social VR unit. On a physical level there is no contact but on the mental level there's a degree of contact that nothing else can supply. Hell, Ricardia, it must be the nearest thing to . . . to . . "Body-fucking," she said, finishing the sentence for him. "And that's why you think that it'll be so controversial?" He shrugged. "It's one of the reasons. The other is down to pure politics. Whole empires have been carved out by the politicians when it comes to licensing our morality. In this city alone you have men like Antone Coard wielding immense power through the MG committee. Will this product require his authorisation too?" "I don't know," Ricardia sighed. "This is all so complicated when it should be so simple. It's a great experience, joyful and enlightening in a way that standard VR isn't, so why shouldn't it be available to everyone?" "You're asking the wrong person," he said, taking her by the arm and heading towards Mallinder's office. "Would you like to try it again someday?" she asked, smiling excitedly at the idea. "I'd love to," he agreed, similarly excited by the prospect of making love to her again. In his mind he could still picture her on hands and knees, her body pinned beautifully between two versions of his, impaled at both ends by the power of his cock and enjoying every second of it. "Next time I think I'd like to reverse the positions," she decided, stopping outside the door to Mallinder's penthouse office. "In what way?" "Two of me to one of you," she explained softly, then leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his lips. It took him by surprise, setting his heart pounding hard in his chest and the excitement burning in the pit of his belly. The feel of her lips on his was like a memory rekindled, the texture of her skin and the taste of her lips just as they had been in the dual VR fantasy they had created together. She pushed the door open before Coover had time to fully register his reaction. "I'm sorry if I appeared sharp earlier," he said. "I'm very grateful for your time. Thanks for everything." "It really has been a pleasure," she said, and grinned. "I hope you found it all useful, and if I can be of any more help then please get in touch."

"I will, don't worry," he assured her with a smile. Mallinder's vast office was bathed in pale orange light streaming from the tinted glass that made up one whole wall. The shafts of light seemed to slice through the empty space, enhancing the sparse atmosphere that successfully restated the tranquillity of the reception area. Coover walked in and the door closed silently behind him. The office was far from what he had expected: it lacked the hi-tech wizardry that he imagined would be at the command of the chief conceptualist and designer of the BodyLab Corporation. Apart from a substantial black desk, an almost monolithic structure in front of the window, the room was bare, but the emptiness implied power rather than a lack of it. Coover walked forward, towards the desk, and only then did he become aware of the figure standing by the window and looking out. The figure was short and thin, standing straight, hands together behind his back. Mallinder turned round, inhaled sharply and lost all colour in his face. He stared open-mouthed at Coover, the shock of recognition robbing him of his voice. "Dr Mallinder?" Coover asked, hiding his own feeling of shock as he recognised the thin figure before him as the inventive voyeur he had seen at Tina's place. It made sense of course: who else but Kirk Mallinder could have conceived of such a strange and effective sex toy, and then had the expertise to realise it? "You're from the police?" Mallinder whispered, the fear clearly visible in his eyes and audible in the quivering of his voice. He seemed to have wilted, his shoulders stooping and his whole posture collapsing in on itself. "Yes, Citizen, I am Detective Rey Coover," he reported stiffly, enjoying the horror and the guilt his presence had caused. "Does this have anything to do with LuLu? I mean with Tina?" Coover hesitated, dragging out the last ounce of tension before a shake of the head signalled a negative. "I don't know who you mean," he said, deciding impulsively that pretended ignorance was probably the safest solution. Mallinder's expression was pure confusion. "Excuse me, Detective, but have we ever met before?" he asked uncertainly. "I don't think so, Citizen," he replied resolutely, though his eyes met Mallinder's and told a very different story. "I'm sorry. For a moment I thought you were someone else," Mallinder explained, drawing himself up to full height again. It's probably the light," Coover remarked, nodding towards the tinted glass that filtered and coloured the sunlight. "Yes, that's probably it," Mallinder agreed, clutching at the explanation eagerly. "I hope that you have enjoyed your tour of our facilities here. The aim was to give you some idea of what we do and what we want to do in the future." "Yes, I enjoyed it very much. My guide, Ricardia Simmonds, was most informative and very friendly." Mallinder nodded. If he knew what Coover and Ricardia had experienced together he gave no sign of it. "Good, I'm glad about that. Please, Detective, take a seat. I'm afraid I am not a very gracious host. Would you like some refreshments, a drink?"

Coover took a seat in front of the desk, sliding into a sumptuous leather chair that instantly seemed to mould itself to his body. The sensation was odd but very pleasant. He shifted a little, experimenting to see how the chair reacted to the change in position. "Sorry." He looked up at Mallinder and grinned. "I was distracted there for a moment." "What do you think of it?" Mallinder asked, taking his place on the other side of the desk. "It's an odd feeling. The thing seems to be constantly moving under me but it's very comfortable." "Would you say the feeling is disconcerting? Do you think you could get used to it?" There was the same earnestness about Mallinder's questions as there had been in Ricardia's earlier, and both of them were keen to hear Coover's reaction. "I'm not sure. Is there a sensitivity control on it?" "Not directly," Mallinder said. "We have designed a feedback mechanism into this. It's programmed to maximise comfort, which we can measure using standard movement sensors. There is no manual control at all. Do you really think one is required?" "If I said yes would you go ahead and put one in?" Coover asked, wanting to understand whether the answers that Mallinder and Ricardia were so keen to garner were going to have any influence. "If you said yes then we'd investigate that option. Whether we ultimately went ahead with it is an open question. But if you are asking whether we take what you say seriously then the answer is most definitely yes," Mallinder explained intently, leaning across the desk to emphasise the point. "That is my question, actually," Coover admitted. "Now," Mallinder said, changing the subject abruptly, "how may I help you, Detective?" "I'm interested in the Pia model of Pleasure Droid." Mallinder leaned back in his seat, raising his eyebrows as though surprised by the question. "Would you care to elaborate on what form this interest takes?" he asked. "There are a number of things. Firstly I'd like to know in what way the Pia model differs from the previous models." Mallinder chuckled and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Can I trust you, Detective?" More than you care to admit, Coover thought. "Of course," he said. "Anything we discuss here is strictly in confidence. I will refrain from making any recordings, visual or otherwise." "Then I can tell you that there is no difference between the Pia model and the previous one," Mallinder stated, grinning like a child reporting a big secret. "But I've been told that Pia is more advanced, more expensive . . ." "That is all true, I can assure you, but the fact remains that there is no technical difference between Pia and Model 13, which was the previous major product release." "In that case, Dr Mallinder, I don't understand . . ."

"It's quite simple, Detective: everything we produce is to an extremely exacting standard. In fact only a small percentage of what we manufacture is of a sufficiently high standard to be included in one of our finished products. This means that our costs are high but then our clients appreciate that the quality is even higher." Mallinder paused and looked to see how Coover was reacting. "With respect, Dr Mallinder, what exactly has this got to do with the design of Pia?" "It has everything to do with Pia. The normal yield on Droid neural units is only seventeen per cent - the other eighty-three per cent are inferior in some way. If we take this small proportion of units that pass our stringent manufacturing procedures you will find that there is still an appreciable variation in terms of quality. Taking the top two per cent of the acceptable units yields the very best that current technology can deliver. If we repeat this process at every stage, carefully selecting the very best components and then assembling them to the highest possible standard, you have a Pia-class Droid." "So there is no difference in design?" Mallinder shook his head emphatically. "We people are also made from the same components, the same molecular make-up; we share the same basic design encoded in our DNA. Yet look at the variations in us. Look around you, Detective: those same components can produce the greatest artists the world has ever known, or the greatest criminals." "But that's down to the luck of the draw," Coover objected, finding the analogy a little unpalatable. "It's down to the mixture of genes and the environment you grow up in . . ." "The principle accords here also. The genetic basis of the neural units is exactly the same, and the environment influence is mimicked by the manufacturing process that weeds out the inferior and nurtures the superior. I can assure you, Detective, that the net result is a Droid unit that is qualitatively different from the median Droid unit of today." Now the conversation had started to move on from the merely interesting. "How would you say they differ? What are the characteristics of the Pia class that are not shared by the other Pleasure Droids?" "They are simply more human," Mallinder replied, as though restating a self-evident fact. "Can you be more specific?" Mallinder stood and crossed over to the window, pondering the question. The light cut across his face, throwing into sharp relief the angled lines of nose and jaw, catching the sharp intelligence in his eyes. He looked out of the window at the city below for a moment before turning back to Coover with an answer. "If I may return to my earlier analogy, we are dealing here with differences between individuals. The Pia-class Droid differs from an ordinary Droid in the same way that a gifted human differs from the crowd." "Is she more intelligent?" "I see you have assigned her a gender," Mallinder noted with a smile. "Yes, she is more intelligent, more intuitive, spontaneous, perceptive. It is impossible to quantify any of this, by the way. In fact, even between themselves the Pia-class Droids are very different." "How many have there been?" Coover asked, suddenly aware that he had overlooked the possibility that the missing Droid had sought others of her kind. "Six only, and every one of them a unique specimen," he said proudly. "Where are they now?"

"Detective, I hope you will not object if I ask you a question," Mallinder said, and Coover nodded his assent. "What is the reason for your interest in the Pia model?" "You mean you don't know?" Coover asked, thoroughly astounded. "Evidently I do not," Mallinder pointed out, staying just the right side of condescension. "Is something wrong?" "Pia - that is the Pia-class Droid that was used at the Elixir leisure facility - has gone missing." Mallinder's Adam's apple was hyperactive for a while. "Missing?" he managed to say between gulps of air. "We have no clue to her whereabouts at present. I was hoping that you might have some ideas." "This is terrible . . ." Mallinder limped back to his seat weakly, looking as shaky as he had when he first recognised Coover. Obviously something was not right. "Why weren't you informed? Pia is a valuable commodity. Why have Crowley or Coard not contacted you?" Coover asked forcefully, leaning across the matt-black desk and staring intently at the panicky figure before him. "I don't understand this. When did she go missing?" "Where are the other Pia Droids?" Coover demanded, raising his voice and leaning over the cowering designer. "I knew we should never have released them," Mallinder whimpered. "It wasn't my idea, honestly . . ." "The other Droids!" "At evaluation centres all over the world. They are being checked by the UN authorities. These Droids are so different that they have yet to achieve full approval." "So why was Pia at Elixir?" Mallinder sighed, a look of resignation setting on the angled features of his face. "The evaluation here was under the authority of Antone Coard. As you know these things fall under the remit of the Moral Guardian committee. I told him that the Elixir idea was no good that Pia was too unpredictable for that, but he wouldn't listen." Coover returned to his seat and listened in stony silence to the confession. "Crowley was the wrong man for the job," Mallinder continued. "He was too greedy. All he could do was think of the profit that Pia could earn for him. Do you know where she is?" "If I knew that then I wouldn't be here," Coover admitted. "Tell me more about Pia. How much self-awareness did she have?" "Too much, I would imagine," Mallinder said glumly. "She was always the most sensitive of my girls. She knew about her origins of course. We have experimented with implanted memories but they fail after a certain degree of intelligence has been achieved. The Piaclass Droids are unique in that they know about their manufacture - they know in far greater detail than I would have liked but Body Lab Corporation were overruled on this one."

"How are the other evaluation studies progressing?" "That is out of my hands, I'm afraid. I would hope that Pia's experience with Coard and Crowley is atypical. These are sensitive beings, Detective," Mallinder whispered softly. "They are not machines." "If that is the case then why are you building them?" Coover asked pointedly, appalled at the vision that was unfolding before him. "Because we can," Mallinder replied simply. "That stinks," Coover hissed. "That's the way things are," was Mallinder's rejoinder, his confidence returning slowly. "Where do you think she's gone?" "You called her 'she' again. Have you met Pia?" Coover shook his head. "In my limited experience I would say that every Droid has a gender, in her case even more so. So, do you have any ideas where she might disappear to?" "None, I'm afraid, much as I'd like to see her safe return." "Would she seek out others of her kind? Was she close to her . . . her . .," "Brothers and sisters?" Mallinder suggested, not even flinching at the explicit suggestion of sexual reproduction. "Would she?" "I would think not. They all shared one characteristic above all else: they were fascinated by humanity. Pia, like the others, was more interested in people than in other Droids." "I have one final question, Dr Mallinder. Has Antone Coard broken any laws?" Mallinder smiled thinly. "None at all, Detective. The evaluation procedure is completely in the hands of the MG committee. If Citizen Coard felt that this procedure was best carried out in a leisure facility that is his prerogative. We had no say in this matter. My only concern now is that Pia's behaviour does not throw into doubt the whole of this project." "What about her? Aren't you concerned about her too?" "Of course," Mallinder agreed, though it sounded less wholehearted than Coover would have liked. Coover stood up. He had suddenly developed an intense dislike of the sickly little man on the other side of the desk. "Tell me, Dr Mallinder," he glowered, "are there any other unauthorised projects of yours in circulation?" The barb hit home immediately. "I don't know what you mean," he spluttered, eyes widening once more as he understood that Coover was indeed the witness to Tina's act with the strange, and almost certainly unlicensed, sex toy. The BodyLab building was a receding landmark on the horizon as the auto picked up speed on its way back to the Police Department. It had been an illuminating visit in more ways than one, Coover reflected. For the first time he felt that he was making some progress

on the case, which was revealed as being less straightforward than had been first imagined. Mallinder's nervous confession had given Coover an insight into how the MG committee was now operating, and it had confirmed his view of Antone Coard as a corrupt politician of the worst sort. "Rey," the computer said quietly, "I have to remind you about the data that has yet to be formally logged." "Sure, log the files with the data attorney," Coover responded absently, his mind still on what he had learned. Coard had taken the opportunity afforded by the evaluation of Pia to auction her to the highest bidder, hence Madame Kordatou's remarks about the costs involved. It also explained why Coard was taking such a keen interest in the case: even if he had broken no laws it still revealed him as an essentially corrupt person and would be certain to damage his political career. A sharp static buzz filled the auto as a Priority One call came in. "Come in, Rey. Are you there?" Jo's voice came through loud and clear. "I'm receiving, Jo. What is it?" Coover responded quickly, switching on the monitor so that he could see her. "The chief wants to see you, Rey, now," Jo reported sombrely. Her round face was dark and serious, and communicated more of the urgency of the situation than her words. "Has something happened?" Coover asked, aware that the auto was rapidly picking up speed. "I don't honestly know, Rey, but she wants to see you the moment you arrive." "I won't be long," he told her, glancing out of the window to get his bearings. The auto was speeding now, automatically weaving in and out of the traffic, the emergency beacons overruling the local controls in the other vehicles. In such situations the road was his: if need be other vehicles in the vicinity could be immobilised completely. Had Mallinder lodged a formal complaint? If he had then it was bad news: he was a big wheel and could cause more problems than some minor-league sleaze like Crowley ever could. Was it likely though? He and Mallinder were bound up now by what had happened at Tina's place. If the details were ever leaked then it would probably spell the end of Coover's career and cause enough of a disturbance at BodyLab that Mallinder's future would be thrown into doubt - or at least Coover hoped that would be the case. The auto was moving fast, but still not fast enough for Coover, for whom the seconds were dragging endlessly. He was caught up in a hopeless cycle of speculation about what had happened. Was it Coard again? Or had the Droid finally turned up? What if Pia had reappeared and the case was now closed? That eventuality was not one Coover wished to contemplate. No, he had been given the chance to explore the darker side of society, both politically and sexually, and he wanted to continue on that course . . . The department building came into view, blocking the sun as he approached until the small vehicle was shrouded in dark shadow. He hopped out of the vehicle even before it came to a complete standstill. He headed into the building and the auto moved off again to park itself in the auto pool for the next user. A thousand questions were exploding in his mind, a sense of dark foreboding overlaying everything. Something big had happened. There was no other explanation. Something far more important than a formal complaint, or even the return of Pia safe and unharmed. "Sit down," the chief snapped coldly as soon as Coover walked into her office. Her face was tense, her jaw set tight and her eyes filled with a swirling mixture of dark emotions:

anger, confusion, fear even. "What's wrong, Chief?" he asked softly, taking a seat by the desk. His heart was pounding. He could feel the tension in the air, a spring ready to uncoil and snap back violently in his face. "How far have you got with this case?" "Pia does not have official sanction," Coover reported efficiently. "Her class of Droid does not have full UN approval yet. Coard was running an evaluation on her, which in this case consisted of auctioning her to the highest bidder. Dr Kirk Mallinder does not have any ideas where she may be. He only knows that she is sufficiently human to be completely unpredictable." He finished and waited for her reaction. For the first time in days he felt like an officer of the law again, fulfilling his duty the best he could and with a sense of pride in his work. "That explains why Antone Coard has been so uptight," she observed, leaning back in her seat. "There's still no clue where she may be, though." "It widens the scope of this investigation, Chief. There's more to this than a missing piece of machinery." "If you're referring to the political implications," she said, raising an eyebrow, "then it's still off limits, Detective. Your job is to find the machine, nothing more." "But trying to find the machine means that I'll −" "Look here, Detective, I'm sick to death of your arguing. I'll say this once more: you do not get involved in the political machinations, understood?" Coover controlled his anger. His body was tensed, pumping with adrenaline-driven rage at her obstinate refusal to see sense. He nodded stiffly. He had no choice: she was the chief. "There's been a new development," she revealed, letting her relief at his acquiescence show through. "It may or may not be associated with the Pia case but the similarities are sufficient that the possibility warrants further investigation." "Another missing Droid?" Coover said, hazarding a guess. She sighed. "If only life were so simple. You've been in the department longer than I have, so tell me, Coover, when was the last time we had to deal with a missing-person case?" "A missing person?" "You have excellent hearing, Detective," she remarked sarcastically. "It is inconceivable that in this day and age anyone can go missing, but that apparently is what has happened. Her name is Asha Mariel, twenty-six years old, a data attorney and now a missing person." Coover asked the obvious question: "What makes you think that her case is connected with Pia's?" "Isn't it obvious?" the chief demanded, giving Coover a withering look that would cause any ego to shrivel up and die. "From what you have discovered so far Pia is not a normal Droid - she sounds more human than half the people in the city. Her disappearance is not a minor nuisance. It does not appear that she wandered off in a simple-minded way and got lost. There is clearly an element of volition involved, in the same way it takes a large degree of planning for a citizen to disappear. There have been no recorded transactions involving Asha Mariel for four days. That means she has not eaten in public, not travelled by auto,

not used any means of communication. She has become invisible in the same way that Pia has." "There is one difference, though," Coover told her after a few moments thought. "Pia was technically invisible in the first place: she had no ID to register and so disappearing was easy for her. On the other hand Asha Mariel, or her abductors, must have been planning this for a very long time." "Well, Detective, it seems to me that your first task is to establish once and for all if there is any connection between these two cases." "If there isn't?" "Then you stick to the Pia case," she decided. "I'll take the Mariel case personally." Coover nodded, accepting without argument the implied rebuff in her decision. A missing-person case was the sort of thing to build a whole career on, the sort of case that could make a reputation that would take you high and far. He got up and left, dismissed with a look of icy disdain by the chief. He rode the elevator back down to his station, searching his memory for the details of the last missing person that he could remember - it had been that far back. Jo was waiting for him pensively, waiting to hear the worst. "What is it, Rey? Were you hauled over the coals again?" Her concern was touching, but so innocent that she had no idea about what he had been up to, nor what the case had revealed to him so far. "No, it was nothing like that," he said, taking her hand for a moment. "There've been some new developments in the missingDroid case, that's all." "Are you sure?" she asked warily. "What sort of developments?" "I can't tell you at the moment," he explained, looking into her pretty green eyes and letting the emotion flow through him. "Please, Jo, trust me: everything's all right." "Why don't you come back to my place later?" she suggested, lowering her voice. Coover looked round, suddenly aware that the office was silent and that every pair of eyes was fixed on the two of them. He released Jo's hand and stepped back. "It depends on how my investigation proceeds," he announced loudly, his voice prim and proper once more. "Of course, Detective," Jo agreed just as loudly, her attention also switching to the people around them. Coover took his place, sliding into his seat by his workstation, and watched Jo weave her way through the office back to her own station. He could still breathe her faint scent, and the warmth of her hands was still impressed on his skin. She was beautiful and desirable, but yet so young and innocent, untouched by the sleaze and the decay that he had been witness to. The sense of shock was sudden, a revelation that took his breath away, as he realised that he had enjoyed every second of his journey through the depraved fringes of society. "I want everything recent we've got on Asha Mariel," he told the computer, forcibly turning his attention to the case at hand. "I want to know who her last contacts were, a trace on her last movements, details of her financial status. Any kind of emotional analysis should also be included. If we have recordings of her last few voice calls then I want a full analysis done, no matter what that takes in terms of computing power."

"We may have to request additional processing resources for some of these items," the computer reported, as though it were personally sorry about it. "Request it now," Coover snapped. "This has the highest priority. Link with the chiefs office if you need to." He swivelled round in his chair to look out across the office. His colleagues were busy at their terminals, speaking in low monotones to their computers, eyes continually scanning the screen for information. It was a long way from how police work had once been - at one time the essence of the law had been humanity, while police work had been about dealing with people first. Technology had changed that permanently, and looking back through the history books Coover had seen that police work, principally surveillance and monitoring, had been one of the factors that had forced the rate of technological change in the rest of society. "There is one other thing," Coover said suddenly, swivelling back to face the computer screen. "I want to cross-refer Asha Mariel to Elixir or any other leisure facility." "We already have that data logged, Rey," the computer responded happily. "She visited Elixir sixteen times in a ten-day period. During the same period she visited no other leisure facilities." "When were these visits?" "They stopped four days ago," came the reply promptly. "They stopped on the same day that Pia disappeared," Coover said, his voice barely a whisper. "That is correct, Rey," the computer confirmed emotionlessly.

Nine The Data Records Office was the epitome of quiet efficiency, a neat little office for each of the attorneys, central areas for the various assistants, helpers and assistant helpers who served the attorneys. The attorneys' practice was housed in a mushroom-shaped building just outside the city, the concrete structure set in lush greenery so that from a distance it resembled nothing more than a giant growth among the trees. There were offices throughout the multi-storey main stem, and an elevator ran through the central core like a vein. The cap of the mushroom housed the plushest offices for the senior attorneys. Coover had ridden up in the elevator alone, trying to figure out the multilayered architecture of the building, which had been a futurist masterpiece in its day and was now a prime example of retro restoration. The elevator deposited him at a central reception area, an open floor in full view of the offices that formed the radial shell of the mushroom cap. There was a functional elegance about the design that appealed to Coover, who was always fascinated by the way that the atmosphere of a place was formed by the architecture. "Rey Coover, I presume," a man declared, striding across from one of the offices. His thin-lipped smile was polite, and he gripped Coover's hand lightly and then released it. Tony Heller." "I'm sure you know, Citizen Heller, that I'm here to talk about Citizen Mariel," Coover explained woodenly. "Yes, I do know," Heller sighed sadly. "It is such a mystery to us here. We have no idea

what may have happened to Asha." "You have no clues at all?" Heller shook his head emphatically. "None at all. This is so unlike her. You cannot imagine how much of a shock this has been to us." "It must be very unsettling," Coover sympathised. "May I see her office?" "Of course." Heller led the way across the floor, walking with the kind of natural authority that his senior position carried with it. He seemed to look straight through the other people they passed, though Coover couldn't help noticing the way they looked at him, half hoping they'd be noticed and yet terrified when they were. It reminded him of the chief: she engendered the same response back at the department. Mariel's office was spacious, light and neat, and commanded a clear view over the trees and down on to the glistening silver surface of a natural lake. It was a relaxing view, and had to carry a degree of prestige within the practice that would have made her peers quite envious. "Was she a popular person, in your view?" Coover asked, turning from the view back to Heller. The question was worth a pause before Heller replied. "She was very popular in her own way," he said carefully, bridging his hands together under his chin. "I would say that she was well liked by her colleagues, though she maintained a certain detachment." "Did she socialise with her colleagues?" Again a considered pause. "She was always very friendly in the work environment." "Is that a no?" "I'm concerned not to give you the wrong impression, "Citizen," Heller explained precisely. "She was very good at her job: she had the eye for detail and the diligence that marked her out as an excellent attorney. That she had progressed so far at her age is sufficient evidence of that. However, there is a price to pay: she had a singlemindedness that left little room for idle pursuits. It is true that she had little interest in socialising with colleagues outside of the working environment, but that is not to say that she was unfriendly, or that she was unpopular." In other words she was a mirror image of Tony Heller, Coover thought. "Was she closer to anyone in particular?" "She started here at the same time as Jordan French - if anyone was close to Asha it had to be Jordan." "May I talk to her?" "Certainly. I'll get one of the assistants to page her. Is there anything else?" "Did she look at all preoccupied before she disappeared? Was there anything different that you remember?" Heller shook his head, which meant that there really was nothing because he was the type that measured and considered every word he uttered. Mentally Coover had already built a picture of Asha Mariel as a female shadow of Tony Heller, who was in fact quite

typical of the attorneys that Coover had dealt with in the past. "May I look around?" Coover asked. "Certainly, and if you think of anything else please do not hesitate to contact me," he said soberly. "We are all deeply worried about this. We are at a complete loss as to how this could happen. I'll have Jordan sent up to you," he added before departing. There was no desk in Asha's office, just a long comfortable couch, a number of terminals built into the walls, and lots of luxurious space to sit and think. Coover scoured the shelves looking at the books and the various bits and pieces that marked the space as uniquely Asha's. The books were dull and utilitarian - expensive reproductions of law books - and the inkwell and fountain pen were the kind of nondescript items one would buy in an antique store to impress friends who knew no better. As a window into Asha's personality they yielded nothing or everything, depending on how you looked at it. Jordan appeared promptly, no doubt summoned by Heller with a summary word of instruction. She appeared nervous, her slight face hidden partly by a fringe of streaked blonde hair. "You look quite comfortable there," she said, walking across the room primly, her arms stiffly at her sides. She was dressed in a dark suit, the conservative dress favoured by Heller and the other senior attorneys. "I was just trying to imagine what Asha Mariel was like as a person," he explained, making no move to get off the couch. Tony Heller said you were a friend of hers." "Yes, I suppose I was," Jordan agreed, walking to the window. She leaned against the sill and studied the tranquil view. "Do you have any ideas of what may have happened to her?" "That's very hard to say," Jordan said, her back to Coover. "I wasn't that close to her. At one point we were much closer, but then she moved upstairs and I stayed where I was. After that we sort of drifted apart." "Why was that?" "We were on different tracks, destined for different things. It wasn't down to her and it wasn't me: it just sort of happened that we saw less and less of each other." She spoke without bitterness or trace of regret. It sounded as though she accepted it as part of the natural order of things that a promotion would lead to a drifting apart of friends. Coover stood up and walked over to the window. He leaned against the glass, beside Jordan, and surveyed the office. "What was she like?" he asked. "Was she a warm, gregarious sort of person or cold and reticent?" "She was . . . different. There was an otherness about her which could be most disconcerting at times." Coover waited for details, certain that he was hearing the first clue to Asha's disappearance. "In what way was she different?" he asked, irritated by the fact that Jordan's voice had trailed to an embarrassed silence. "Do you think that this has any bearing on her disappearance?" "At this stage anything might have a bearing," he assured her firmly. She turned and leaned against the glass too, adopting his posture while she digested his words. "She has some unusual interests," she began hesitantly. "In fact I'd say they were

more than just interests: they sometimes seemed to me to be full-scale obsessions." "You're referring to sexual interests," Coover said, making his guess sound like established fact. It worked: Jordan lifted her gaze from the floor, visibly relieved that she had not needed to say it herself. "You already know?" she whispered. "Who told you?" "That isn't really important," he said, brushing aside her question arrogantly. Now was the time for him to press forward, certain that he had found a new way into the case. "As you know, she was fascinated by the sexual excesses of the twentieth century. She had all this arcane knowledge stored in her head, histories of weird sexual perversions: sadism, masochism, fetishism, cross-dressing. She had the kind of detailed sexual knowledge that only a historian or a deviant would possess." "Are you suggesting -?" "No!" Jordan cried adamantly. "I'm not suggesting that she was in any way sexually deviant, but that her interest in the subject sometimes looked a little bit unhealthy." She stopped and looked to him hopefully, waiting for his encouragement before continuing with her story. "How was this interest expressed?" Jordan pushed herself away from the window and moved towards the couch. She seemed lost in thought again, as though struggling against herself to dredge up memories of her missing colleague. She started to say something and stopped. "This is extremely useful information, Citizen," Coover reassured her, his face sternly authoritarian. He could sense that she was responding to that. She had taken a seat on the couch and was looking up at him, her eyes full of interest. "I feel like I'm telling tales," she confessed softly, her face colouring slightly, her skin showing pink under her bleached hair. "This may save her life." "Isn't that being over-dramatic?" "Is it?" The question hung in the air for a moment while they considered it. "I don't feel comfortable discussing this here," she said finally, her face blushing a brighter pink. She was looking away. He could see her face in profile, sharp nose and pouting lips, hair swept to one side so that it could conveniently hide her eyes when she leaned to one side. "We could go to my office," he suggested unenthusiastically. Asha's office was far more conducive than his own, and he did not want the added complication of the chief getting involved in the questioning. "What about Asha's apartment?" Jordan suggested. "Do you know where it is?" Jordan nodded. "I visited a couple of times when she first moved there. That's when we were much closer."

"Before her promotion?" Jordan nodded, her shy smile tinged with an air of suppressed excitement. Coover had taken charge, telling Heller that he needed Jordan to show him round Asha's apartment. Absently he was aware of the way Jordan allowed herself to be bossed around, letting Coover talk for her, and waiting meekly for Heller to give his assent. She seemed quite happy with the arrangements, peering at Coover through her fringe of hair with the same intense look of excitement. He was vaguely aware that something was wrong, but he put it down to the odd situation, and the fact that she was revealing intimate details of a missing friend. The drive out to Asha's apartment, a three-minute journey in the auto, was largely silent. She sat beside him patiently, volunteering no new information without appearing taciturn. Asha's apartment was one of a block of four, the building itself one of several that formed a small hamlet not far from the main route into the city. From the design it was obvious that it was an old commune: each building faced the central square, which was the focus of the community. However, the commune was history, as each building now declared itself independent, sprouting fences and paths to cut itself from its immediate neighbours. "This would have been a good place to live, once," Coover commented, prey to a fleeting feeling of nostalgia for the simpler times of the past, when communal living was going to recreate humanity. It was a kind of enforced prelapsarian dream, and one from which he himself had yet to fully emerge. Jordan merely nodded, as though she understood the feeling behind the comment, which Coover doubted very much. She was a strange young woman: she possessed in abundance the 'otherness' that she claimed to detect in Asha. Was it Jordan who was the strange one, and was she projecting her own distorted view of the world on her missing friend? None of the other people had mentioned any apparent strangeness in the missing woman. That's her place," she said, pointing to the shuttered windows of the ground-floor apartment. The auto pulled up, and Coover and Jordan stepped out on to the gravel path, which crunched under their feet. "When was the last time you visited?" Coover asked, leading the way to the front door. "A year ago at least." "The security system was still functioning: they had been tracked from the moment the auto had pulled off the main road and on to the gravel track. "Do you think you can get in?" he asked, hoping that her palmprint would still give her clearance. "If I can't?" "I have to call in to base and get my code linked into the network and then on to her system." Jordan accepted that without comment. The truth was a good deal simpler and yet less palatable: he would have hacked the security system and gained entry without the formality that he had described. In any event there was no need for him to do anything: the door slid open the moment Jordan pressed her slender hand against the security panel beside it. "Asha? Are you here?" Jordan called into the house, wishing her friend back into play.

"If she were here she'd have registered by now," Coover explained casually, entering the house with the easy confidence of knowing the owner was away. The plan of the house was simple: three square rooms and an entrance hall, each room leading to the other and forming a link that described the domestic environment completely. The entrance hall led into a utility room for feeding and bathing. This opened on to the living room and this in turn to the bedroom. The utility room was self-described: a functional box with a table in one corner, beside the food console, and the recessed bathing area on the other side. "I told you she was strange," was Jordan's only comment when they moved into the living room. The usual central terminal was complemented by row upon row of ancient disks, cartridges and books. Readers for the obsolete media were stacked on shelves: antique computers and players of all descriptions. One wall of the room looked like an exhibit from a museum of dead hardware: the matt-black facia, displays in garish red alphanumerics, primitive disk players and even a tape-cartridge machine. "I see what you mean," Coover said, studying the collection with an inexpert eye. Asha had amassed a collection of gadgets that spanned decades, creating a landscape of retired information technology. They're for decoding her collection of sexual texts and graphics," Jordan added, running a hand over the silver and black facia of a disk player, the flat surface broken only by an open lip that was waiting hungrily for a disk to be inserted. "How much is this stuff worth?" Coover asked, thinking like a grave robber face to face with a treasure trove of antiquities. She shrugged nonchalantly. "Not as much as the software," she said, pointing a sharp finger at the densely packed shelves that were built into the walls. The neatly stacked and labelled disks, cartridges and books were organised with obsessive regularity, as though each item in the collection had a place, a defined and unique position that could not allow for deviation. Coover looked at the books, able to tell at a glance that the majority were reproductions, though no less rare and valuable for that. He scanned the titles, academic treatises jostling for position with pornographic novels and texts. He was startled by the sudden thunder of voices. He turned sharply and saw that Jordan had switched on one of the antique players and the output was going direct to the main terminal in the room. "What's this?" he asked, staring at the life-size display that illuminated one whole wall of the room. "This used to be her favourite scene," Jordan explained, smiling excitedly, a wicked gleam in her eye. "It's from a pornographic film made in the years before the virus changed everything." Coover turned and stared at the screen in silence, his heart pounding as he recognised the familiar rush of pleasure, the frisson of excitement that was by now firmly associated with sexual transgression. "That man, Charles −" Jordan pointed to the dark-skinned man on the left of the screen "− is married to Karen, the blonde woman. That other man, Richard −" she pointed to an older, greying man "− is married to the brunette. I think she was called Jan. The men have just walked into the room and found the women making love to each other." "This is what Asha liked to watch?"

"This was her favourite scene. She showed it to me dozens of times," Jordan repeated wistfully, turning her embarrassed face from Coover back to the screen. Charles was attempting a look of anger. His jaw was tensed and his lips were a narrow slit over gritted teeth, but there was no real emotion there. His eyes were hesitant, looking towards the camera rather than at his wife Karen or her lesbian lover Jan. The scene was amateurishly set: angry husbands at the door, guilty wives naked in each other's arms on the floor. "Get dressed!" hissed Charles, attempting unsuccessfully to insert some emotion into the proceedings. "I'm sorry, lover," his wife cooed unconvincingly, her eyes fixed on the camera too, the picture focusing on her face, and then closing in on her full pink lips, extravagantly glossy and sensual. "It's not what it seems," Jan added, looking appealingly at her man. She was sitting up on her knees. Her shoulders were pulled back and her pert breasts thrust forward, the nipples rouged like bright red cherries. She was pouting and posing, recapturing a thousand static poses that filled the pornographic magazines of that era. "You dirty slut," Richard said flatly. There was a pause while the camera panned across the room, the characters standing woodenly in their posed positions, the men pretending anger while the women exposed their ripe bodies. "I can't help it," Jan said, breaking the silence, picking up the conversation as though the pause had never happened. "Every time I see Karen's lovely titties I get all hot and sticky." "Yeah," Karen agreed, turning to her friend and smiling encouragingly, "I love flashing my tits in front of her because I know what a turn-on it is for both of us." The two women leaned closer and kissed on the mouth, glossy lips welding together and faces meshing close. They kissed passionately while the men watched in silence. This time there was no doubt about the reaction: you could see it in the excitement firing in their eyes. The women separated for a moment and then kissed again, for the first time forgetting about the intrusive presence of the camera. It was as though they were on surer ground, and the confidence of their reactions transformed the scene. Karen began to kiss Jan on the throat, biting and sucking hard at her friend's flesh, while at the same time she squeezed and teased Jan's nipples. The women were on the floor, lying on thick grey carpet that cushioned their bodies. Jan lay back on her elbows, leaving her shapely breasts for Karen to suck and bite or tease with her fingers. The men watched silently, fascinated and excited by the lesbian encounter their pretend wives were putting on for them. "We just gonna leave them to it?" Charles drawled, looking to the camera for an answer. "I want my woman to eat meat same time as she eats pussy," was Richard's response, eliciting a muffled laugh from the other side of the camera, a laugh that had not been dubbed out. The picture changed, panning back to the women on the floor, who were now locked in a soixante-neuf position, each woman sucking and licking the other's sex. They were obviously enjoying it for real: you could see the looks of pleasure and hear the sighs as they

responded to each other. Jan's fingers were coated with glistening fluids that she drew from Karen's sex, fringed with wispy golden hair. Her fingers were going in slowly while she used her tongue to tease Karen's clitty, so that Karen was shuddering and moaning. Jan moved round, now wanting to give Karen as much pleasure as possible. A close-up shot caught her rear, showing a clean-shaven pussy that was pink and dappled with droplets of spit or pussy fluid where she had been mouthed. Richard moved into the picture, now completely naked, his thick hard prick jutting from between his thighs, the bulbous glans glistening already as though it had been sucked. The suggestion that off-camera other things had been going on was heightened when Charles's hand was shown fleetingly caressing Richard's hard prick. Jan wriggled back, tracing a meandering line from Karen's erect nipples and then down between Karen's thighs. All the while she was being kissed and sucked Karen was panting and crying out ecstatically, her genuine sighs of pleasure lost in the heady pornographic play-acting that was genuinely exciting because it was so frenzied. Karen's more emphatic cries of pleasure preceded her climax, which seemed to take her by surprise. She half turned towards the camera as her eyes fluttered and her breath was held and then exhaled in a long slow gasp. She looked round and found Charles was edging his long brown prick towards her mouth. Without hesitation she began to lick and suckle on the hard organ, her exquisite mouth moulding itself to the stiffness of his flesh. Her tongue traced the line from his hairy balls up to the tip, where a carefully crafted series of pictures caught a silver jewel of fluid pouring from his prick slit on to her tongue. Jan's head was lost between Karen's thighs. The film showed several close-ups of her tongue sliding between the slick pussy lips, of her mouth being joined to Karen's pussy as though she were kissing her friend on the mouth. While she was doing this she was on all fours and scooting down between the parted thighs. Richard took advantage of this posture: he held her firmly by the waist and pressed his cock slowly between her plump shaven pussy lips. The camera caught every second of the long slow penetration, the thick organ, veined like marble, slipping wetly into the soft folds of flesh. Again the picture zoomed out, catching the four people in a studied pose that was as formal as a family portrait in a Victorian parlour. Charles standing over Karen, fucking her in the mouth. Karen's thighs wide open so that Jan could cunt-lick her. Jan held by the waist and taken from behind by Richard. They held the pose for an instant too long and then all hell broke loose. All pretence of narrative structure, all allusions to acting out the fiction, were forgotten in a long sequence of chaotic sex. Bodies merged and diverged; cocks went into pussies, into mouths, into rear holes; mouths locked to mouths, to nipples, to cocks, to pussies. The syncopated pants and groans were gone; the fixed scenes and artificial poses were forgotten. Instead there was a random sequence of couplings, shown in explicit detail that could not be faked. Jan and Karen side by side being fucked from behind, the men holding them firmly by the waist and fucking furiously, the women's breasts jigging back and forth. Richard was on his back while Jan sucked at his cock as though it were a fine candy, while Karen straddled his face and made him suck her pussy. Charles lifted Jan bodily and then impaled her on his prick, while underneath Richard and Karen mouthed her pussy and her anal hole. There was a profusion of scenes without order, the bodily excess building inexorably to climax. The penultimate scene was of order seemingly reimposed: Jan was astride Richard, taking his immense cock into her wet pussy; when she had worked up a rhythm Charles joined in. His prick was longer but more slender. He used his mouth to wet her arsehole, which was working up and down as she fucked Richard. When he had wet her sufficiently he pushed his cock deep into her rear hole, butt-fucking her with the same rhythm that she

was riding on Richard. In the background Karen was watching with wide-eyed delight and excitement. They fucked and moved together, the two cocks working deep into Jan's body, her own pleasure marked by a series of orgasmic spasms that had her whispering wordlessly. In a single fluid movement Jan fell aside, apparently sated, and her place was taken eagerly by Karen. She too enjoyed the feeling of two hard cocks entering her body, simultaneously penetrating her anus and her quim. Her pleasure was heightened by the way she teased and pulled on her own nipples, until she screamed her climax in a stream of obscenities that sounded raw and powerful. The film finished unexpectedly. Suddenly the two pricks were pumping thick wads of semen, shooting it in graceful arcs of pearly white come. The screen was filled with pictures of cascading semen, spurting wave after wave, a fountain of semen that rained from the sky. It was as though every man in that room - the crew, the director, the actors, all of them were finishing in a spontaneous frenzy of ejaculation. The camera zoomed forward and stopped, capturing the dazed look of the two women, who were eagerly sucking the droplets of spunk that coated their bodies. "Well, what did you make of it?" Jordan asked, her face still flushed red with shame, although the excitement in her eyes made it seem a shy and innocent kind of shame rather than something dark and heavy. "I've never seen anything like it before," Coover admitted softly. His own prick was still throbbing, and he knew that had he been with Ricardia or Tina he would have been tempted to try something more. "She said it was the perfect example of erotica cinema for that era," Jordan explained. "You did get all the symbolism, didn't you?" "Symbolism?" "Yes. The stilted acting, trying to keep up a pretence, the failure of that pretence followed by the reality of the sexual act, and the final apocalyptic scene. I think it's the breakdown of structure that appealed to her intellectually." "Which symbolises?" Jordan laughed. "I don't know," she admitted. "Every time we watched it she had a different theory. It's quite an affecting piece of film, isn't it?" Coover nodded. "Is there anything else? The two of you watched ancient pornographic films, is that it?" Jordan blushed furiously. "It wasn't the two of us," she insisted. "It was her. It was what Asha wanted." "If you say so. Now, what else was there?" "What do you mean, what else?" Jordan asked defensively. She walked to the centre of the room, suddenly discomfited by the surrounding display of suspect media. "So far all that I've seen is that you and Asha shared an interest in pornography. Where is the otherness that you mentioned?" For a moment Jordan looked angry, as if she were about to stamp away in a fit of pique. Instead she fixed Coover with a nervous glare and then led the way into the next room.

"Look." She pointed to two upturned glass jars that were held on inset shelves on either side of the large round bed. Each jar was a museum piece, enclosing a space so precious it had to be under glass, away from contact with the everyday world. Each jar housed a golden dildo, perfect phallic objects, thick at the base and tapering to a smooth round tip. Each dildo stood on its base, thrusting up proudly, black and gold, expensive and forbidden instruments from another age, an age of decadence that held a fascination for Asha and was surely the key to her disappearance. "No VR unit," Coover noted, preferring not to mention the massive dildoes that caught the eye, arranged like objects of worship and desire, a shrine to sexual frenzy. "She didn't believe in it. For her, VR was a modern invention that took pleasure away rather than produced it." "She preferred those?" Coover whispered, appalled and yet excited by the vision of Asha Mariel masturbating with the thick plastic phalluses. "Yes, she could take both of them," Jordan recalled with a whisper, as though unable to quite believe it herself. She walked across the room and touched the heavy glass jar, her fingers so small and slender beside the heavy round dildo. "How do you know?" Coover asked, though it was obvious what the answer was going to be. He felt excited, first by the film and now by the thought that Asha had pushed the dildoes into her sex and into her anus. "We didn't break the law," Jordan began defensively, taking a step away from the glass jar as if the proximity to it were itself incriminating. "Just tell me," Coover snapped brusquely. He glared at her, eager now to hear her say it, eager to watch her describing the sexual rituals that the two women performed for each other. "After we watched the films we retired to the bed. She always used to have the dildoes on the pillows, waiting for us. We'd strip in front of each other, adopting the same poses that we'd seen in the films. She wanted to be one of those women, performing for other people and yet taking pride and pleasure in her body. We'd tease each other, touching ourselves, arousing ourselves . . ." She looked up sharply, afraid that she'd gone too far. "We never touched each other, I promise," she told him earnestly. "We'd tease ourselves until we could take it no more and then we'd start to make love using the two dildoes. Sometimes I liked to watch her. She was so good at it - she gave herself so much pleasure. She would tease that big plastic prick between her breasts, into her mouth, under her buttocks. And then when the pleasure was at its peak she'd plunge it into her wet pussy and scream her orgasm at the top of her voice . . . " "You did the same?" Jordan was looking down at the ground, too embarrassed to look at him. "Yes," she admitted, "I followed her actions. I used to fuck myself with the other dildo until I'd be screaming my orgasm also. Sometimes she'd go too far, though: she'd take the dildo from between my thighs and suck it into her mouth, lapping up all the wetness that poured from my sex. She used to sometimes use my dildo and press it into her sex, so that our sex juices mingled before she'd eat them. I didn't want to do that - it was going too far - but she loved it. She'd tease me about it afterwards, tell me that I secretly enjoyed her doing those things. Another time she took the dildo from my pussy and inserted it into her anus while still full of the other dildo in her sex. She made me sit and watch as she masturbated with these two huge dildoes in her body, going in and out. She was lost in her dream world, imagining that she was being fucked simultaneously by two virile young men. Real men, not holographic or

virtual-reality images. And then she finished by licking the two dildoes clean again, as though she were licking them clean of semen." "What was the real reason you two stopped seeing each other?" Coover asked softly, breaking the silence that had fallen momentarily after Jordan had finished recounting her story. "She wanted to go further. She first spoke about strapping the dildo to my body so that I could fuck her properly." She shivered at the thought. "Later, when I refused that, she told me she wanted us to carry on doing what we were doing but to find an audience. She wanted to show off but I couldn't do it. No matter what the stakes. I was right, wasn't I?" "You were right," Coover agreed, answering a different question. He was trying hard to control the feverish excitement inside him. His cock was straining and he knew that he was on the verge of orgasm. Asha was indeed a strange woman: there was an 'otherness' about her, but he was excited by it, and once more disturbed by the idea that his own sensibilities had been changed. He imagined himself watching Asha and letting the excitement take him where it led . . .

Ten Jordan was subdued during the journey back to her office, looking out of the window at the passing traffic, keeping her thoughts to herself. Coover could see that she was wondering whether she had done the right thing in telling the truth about her friendship with Asha. It meant that the feeling between them had not completely dissipated - she at least still cared about her missing friend. "Will I get into trouble?" she asked, voicing her doubts, as the auto pulled up outside the mushroom-shaped building. "No, you were right to tell me the truth," Coover said gently, putting his hand on hers momentarily. "I'll make sure that none of this ever gets out," he assured her with a friendly smile. "Tell me, though: what do you think's happened to her?" She thought about the question for a few seconds and then shrugged, a gesture that was at once so casual and yet an indication of something deeper. "I don't know," she said, "but I suspect that it's something to do with what I showed you. I don't think that anyone else is involved: she hasn't been kidnapped or anything dramatic like that." That accorded with Coover's feeling too. "How can you be sure?" he asked. "Because only a data attorney like Asha would have the inside knowledge required to disappear the way she has. If you tried it you'd be found in a matter of hours. You don't know how to live outside the law." "Don't you mean outside of the system?" "It's the same thing. If you step outside the system then you step outside the law. Asha's been planning this for some time, I'm sure of it." "If I need to come back to you . . ." She agreed with alacrity. "Just call me. I'm sure that Heller would have no problem in my further helping you." "Thanks. I want to go back to her apartment and take another look at the place. Perhaps there's something I've missed."

Jordan stepped out of the auto and into the sunlight, her hair shimmering in the light, the halo contrasting with the prim darkness of her suit. "You surprised me there, Detective," she said, smiling. "You weren't at all shocked by what you heard today, were you?" He smiled too. "No, I wasn't shocked." "You were excited by it," she told him, her smile becoming broader, as though she felt freer and safer out in the open. "Yes, I was excited by it," he agreed. "There is one other thing," he remembered to ask. "Tell me: do you know which leisure facilities Asha used to visit?" There was no doubt or hesitation about the answer. "None. She hated them as much as the VR units. She said they were an artificial landscape for sexuality. She said fucking a machine was only less distasteful than plugging into a computer. She never visited any that I knew of." "Thanks. If I need anything else I'll call." The door closed and the auto accelerated. As it did so Coover turned back to look at the immobile figure of Jordan who waved as the vehicle drew away.

*

* *

Coover reluctantly fielded the terse call from the chief, judging the moment right to reveal to her that he suspected that the Pia case and Asha's case were connected. His listing of Asha's visits to Elixir was all the evidence he needed, and it conveniently skated over what he had discovered about Asha Mariel from Jordan. There was a thick thread of deviant sexuality running through the case, and Coover had allowed himself to become drawn into it. At every stage he was confronted with himself and with his reactions; at each step he had to face the fact of his own emerging sexuality, a sexuality that was already on the edge of the law. The small cottages had a welcoming facade, a human-scale architecture that was sadly missing in the more conventional parts of the city. Asha's apartment building was a friendly face of brick and stone, with the modern extensions, such as the security system and the doors and windows, adding rather than subtracting to the humanity. It looked like a nice place to live, a pleasant little community that allowed her the space required for her very private lifestyle. Coover stepped out of the auto and leaned against it, resting against the steel shell that had been warmed by the sun. In the distance, nestling among the distant shades of green, was the building where she had worked. She would have walked to work every day. The journey was too short to make by auto. Indeed, it was far less than the minimum distance set down by the law for an auto journey. The surrounding houses were quiet. Most of the neighbours would be at work. It meant there was little hurry to act: Coover had lots of time to plan his next move. Breaking into Asha's apartment was no longer a problem: he had disabled the door from the inside before dropping Jordan back at work. By now he had a mental image of the woman he was looking for: cold and conformist on the outside, deviant and sexual on the inside. Such a mix of emotions had to throw up sparks: nobody could be so sociopathic that they'd cover all their tracks. The door was locked when Coover tried it, much to his consternation. Hell, he'd made

sure that his way back in was secure before leaving. He cursed himself for not doing a better job of it, before he realised that something had changed. The door had been disabled properly, and for it to be locked meant that someone had deliberately enabled it again. He listened carefully at the door for a moment and his gut feeling was confirmed: the apartment was occupied. He made his way around the back of the apartment quickly and carefully, moving like a thief against the wall. A glance through the kitchen window and then flat against the wall again, holding his breath because he was sure the thumping of his heart would give him away. A woman was in the kitchen. He'd caught a glimpse of her from behind: long blonde hair arranged in a tight plait, dressed in light top and short skirt and sandals. Coover spied on the young woman indecisively, unable to formulate any plans or come up with any convincing theories. In the end he retraced his steps and simply signalled his presence at the front door, disappointed with himself for not coming up with anything more active. Hell, he was a detective. He should have done something more daring, something more unpredictable and policeman-like. The door opened and the young woman stared at him, her eyes clouded with fear and confusion. "Detective Rey Coover," she repeated, reading from the security console that had reported his presence after he'd pressed his palm print to the sensor. "And you are?" he asked, scanning the woman's face, unable to quite believe what he was seeing. "Sandy," she said, smiling with a warmth that stayed in the bottom half of her face, her eyes regarding him coldly. "I'm looking for Asha Mariel," he announced. This is her apartment. May I ask what you're doing here, Sandy?" "I'm Asha's friend," she replied simply. "What are you doing here?" "Cleaning her apartment for her," Sandy reported. "May I come in?" Sandy stepped back and he entered the apartment, moving directly into the kitchen. He was quietly amazed at her presence, but wanted to do nothing to alarm her. It was quite possible that Sandy was in possession of important information and yet was completely unaware of that fact. "Do you often clean her apartment for her?" he asked, turning to face the young woman, who had followed him meekly. "She's my friend," Sandy repeated, as though that explained everything. "Do you know where she is?" Coover asked, hoping that the direct approach would pay off. "No, I don't." "When was the last time you saw her?" "I can't remember," she replied blankly. "Do I know you?" she asked, her smile suddenly melting at the edges, becoming more real as though she did recognise him.

"No. Where did you come from?" "I came to see Asha," she explained, "but she's not here." "I know she's not here," Coover snapped angrily. "Where do you work?" "You're shouting," Sandy whispered, shrinking back against the wall, her eyes filling with tears. Coover exhaled heavily, letting the anger flow out of him. "I didn't mean to shout, Sandy. I just want to find Asha, that's all. Do you know where she is?" "No, I don't. Why were you angry? Don't I please you, Rey?" "No, it's not that you don't please me," he tried to explain. Sandy walked over to him and touched his face with the very tips of her fingers, tracing the shape of his jaw and chin. The look in her eyes was soft and muted; the tears that had threatened to rain were now glistening with excitement. She was exploring his face, both hands touching and holding, and he knew what was happening. She stood on tiptoes, her head tilted slightly to one side, lips parted, eyes half closed. They kissed long and hard, his arms enfolding her closely, pressing her body against his. "In the bedroom," she whispered, stepping back for a second, her excitement reflected in her eyes and in the translucent pinkness of her skin. The taste of her lips was still in his mouth, the texture of her skin a tantalising glimpse of the pleasure she was offering. "Are we going to be disturbed?" he asked, his caution surfacing from under his excitement. "We'll be alone," she laughed, taking his hand and pulling him eagerly towards the bedroom. "Is this what you used to do with Asha?" he asked, standing by the bedroom door, his eyes fixed on Sandy as she began to slip out of her clothes. Her breasts were firm and round, the nipples pressed out like erect buttons of flesh. She was enjoying his attention, waiting for his approval before undoing her skirt and letting it flop to the ground. She had long legs, silky smooth thighs that were tanned a golden brown. With a triangle of golden hair between them. She wasn't wearing any panties under the skirt. "Yes, we used to make love whenever we could," she admitted calmly, her tone utterly unaffected by feelings of shame or embarrassment. It was an innocence that Coover reacted to instinctively. It was exciting in a way that he could not understand. "Did you enjoy the films she used to show you?" he asked, filling in the gaps in the story. "Uh-huh, they're good films, aren't they, Rey? I like films where people make love, don't you?" "And did she use those?" He pointed to the dildoes standing permanently erect under the glass jars. Sandy looked at the dildoes with a wicked grin, as though she'd been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. "Sure," she said, smiling. "I used to love having her fill my bumhole with one and then my pussy hole with the other. Do you want to do that to me too?" "I think I'll leave that for another time," he said hotly. He stripped off quickly, freeing his

cock, which had become caught in his tight trousers. The time for talking had passed. He looked at Sandy and was gratified to see that she was eyeing his cock hungrily. They stood awkwardly by the bed for a moment, looking at each other greedily but making no moves. He could almost feel the heat from her body, the warmth radiating from her erect nipples and her pussy. He took her roughly in his arms and pressed her close, forcing her breasts right up against his chest and his thigh between her legs. She yielded, opened her mouth and accepted his searching kiss willingly. His arms stroked her body, tracing the curve of her spine, the smoothness of her skin. He moved her to one side, cupped a breast and squeezed it in his palm, crushing her hard nipple against his skin. She felt good, her body warm and responsive, a wet sliver of honey pouring from her sex and on to his thigh. He released her and she climbed slowly on to the bed, reaching out at the same time to stroke his cock with her hand. He followed her on to the bed, eating her up with his eyes, wanting to fuck her in every hole, wanting to devour her sexually, as though able at last to sate the desires that had been coursing through his body. She lay down on her belly, bending herself at the waist, pressing her behind up towards him while burying her head in the pillows. She was moving sinuously, grinding herself into position, every movement designed to further inflame his desire. Enough was enough. He took her by the waist and pulled her up. Her sex was oozing a trail of clear honey, the red flesh offered so deliciously. He guided his cock deep into her pussy, rewarded by a low sigh of pleasure that escaped from her lips. He filled her with his cock and held her there, wanting to enjoy being inside her body, and wanting to prolong their pleasure as far as possible. She moved, pressed herself out a little, opening herself a fraction more. He moved quickly, pumping without rhythm, rough and forceful, in, out, in, out, each stroke a ripple of pleasure. They were moving together, the same twisting, rhythmic merging of bodies. He creamed inside her, filling her with waves of thick come until he was finished, collapsing in a heap on top of her. When Coover recovered he opened his eyes. She was kissing him on the chest, her tongue tracing a line from nipple to nipple. He stroked her back, marvelling at the sensuous feel of her flesh. She sat up on her elbows, her nipples brushing playfully against his chest. It was a clever game: she knew that her body was a tantalising delight, that he would fuck her again and again. "Shall I fuck myself with one of the toys?" she asked teasingly. "You could watch me and then pretend to get angry. You could spank my bottom and then fuck me yourself." "Is that the sort of game you like to play?" he asked lazily, his cock twitching at the idea. "I like to play all sorts of games. You could tie me up and bugger me if you want," she suggested, her eyes lighting up at that idea. "I could struggle and you could get angry and smack me, and then really fuck me hard in the backside. I like that too." Coover sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "You're going too far young lady," he warned sternly. "Any more of that and I'll be forced to really teach you a lesson." Sandy looked doubtful, searching his eyes for a clue to what he felt. She reached over and touched him between the thighs, wrapping her fingers round the hardness of his erect prick. Hell, he'd been watching perverted games for long enough . . . "How about making me suck your cock while you beat my backside with a riding crop?" she suggested mischievously. "That's it!" he declared, his mock anger completely transparent. It was a game they were playing, an exciting, sexual game that he'd never played before. Each of the scenarios she

had mentioned was enormously exciting to him, each a vignette of distorted sexuality run riot. He stood up and reached for the bell jar, glancing down to see Sandy watching him expectantly. She was supporting herself on one arm, her breasts pressed together, the nipples touching each other. The glass jar was heavier than expected. He lifted it carefully and pulled out the thick dildo. He weighed it in his hand, a substantial weight, with a good thickness around the base and a length that was more than a match for any real penis. "What are you going to do?" Sandy pouted, putting on a tiny voice for added effect. "I warned you, now you're going to get it . . ." "I'll be good . . . I promise," she lied, beginning to get into character. Coover sat back on the edge of the bed, his cock throbbing as it grew harder and more erect. He laid the artificial prick by his side and reached out for Sandy and took her by the arm. She allowed herself to be pulled across his lap, letting her legs hang over the side of the bed, supporting herself on the bed. Her bottom was jutting out, bent over his lap so that his cock was pressing into her side, her arse cheeks forming nice round globes that he could stroke and touch at will. She looked round, watching him with big round eyes, the excitement tinged a little with apprehension. He stroked her long legs with his hands, taking it nice and slow, feeling every inch of tendon and muscle in her thighs and calves. He was examining her minutely, enjoying the smoothness of her flesh, the softness at the back of her knees, the way her bottom cheeks stood firm and round. A finger traced a line between her thighs, teasing open her pussy lips, lingering at the tightness of her bumhole. She tensed momentarily and he noticed. He slicked his middle finger with spit and touched it to her rear opening. Very carefully he pushed into her hole. He could feel her holding her breath, savouring the feeling of being entered there. "Maybe I'll use this plastic cock to fill you here," he mused, moving his finger in and out of the tightness of her rear hole. She squirmed excitedly until he removed his finger from the tight circle of warmth that had closed around it. "Why not fill me yourself?" she teased, wriggling her behind sexily. He raised his hand high and brought it down hard on her backside, the slap echoing through the room and joined a split second later by her loud squeal. "That's what you get for talking dirty," he told her, staring with pleasure at the palm print that was red against her golden flesh. His own hand was stinging, but from Sandy's smile he could see that it was exactly what she wanted. He began to spank her properly, hard smacks on her pretty backside, reddening her skin with every stroke. With his other hand he held her in place, keeping her back straight even though she was struggling to look back at him. He spanked her over the buttocks and at the top of the thighs, then focused more at the space between her thighs. After only a few strokes she was groaning softly, lifting herself so that each smack fell firmly on her taut backside. Her arse-cheeks were parted and he could soon spy the telltale redness taking over, touching her inner thigh, her anal crack and then her pussy lips. She sighed loudly, almost wilting with pleasure, when he pressed two fingers into her pussy. She was wet, her juices coating his fingers as he entered her. The spanking was making her more excited, and the same magic was working on him too. He reached down for the dildo without her noticing - she was lost in the waves of sensation from her stinging rear end. He pressed the dildo against her pussy lips and pushed into her quickly. She tried to resist for a second but her body gave her away - she climaxed as the thick round dildo

filled her quim completely. He began to spank her again, hard strokes of his palm against her smooth round arse cheeks. With each stroke there was a sigh of pleasure, from the impact of flesh on flesh and from the movement of the dildo that was deep in her pussy. She was murmuring wordlessly now, dazed by the intensity of her pleasure. He released her and she fell forward on to the bed, crushing her breasts against the silky sheets and grinding her dildo-packed quim down on to the bed. Coover climbed over her, stroking her reddened backside as though judging the effect of his handiwork. She moaned softly. From the look in her eyes she was teetering on the edge of climax again. He swooped down quickly and licked around the rim of her anal hole. She moved her backside up to meet his tongue, bending her body so that the contour of her behind was a perfect arc. He tongued her hole for a few moments and then covered her body with his. Sandy reached round and grasped his hard cock with her elegant fingers. Expertly she guided his cock head to her anal hole and then pushed herself back against him, eager to have his cock in her arse. He reached round and began to play the heavy dildo in and out of her pussy as he filled her rear hole with his throbbing cock. Soon she was moving with pneumatic motion, bucking and writhing from the twin pleasures of being penetrated in front and back. Her sighs became moans and then screams of orgasmic pleasure. She shuddered and her body shook as she reached orgasm, triggering his climax, which filled her arsehole with slick loads of semen that dribbled out as he rolled away from her. When Coover looked round he saw her smiling, a weak, almost dizzy smile of pleasure. It took a moment before he got his bearings back, but when he did he understood what the smile was for - Sandy was finger fucking her rear hole in an effort to coat her fingers with the last droplets of his come, which she then licked greedily on to her tongue. Sandy sat up on the bed and watched Coover getting dressed, her lazy eyes looking on without interest. Her body had glistened with jewels of perspiration. He could feel the heat exuded from her body where they had lain arm in arm after making love. When he finally stirred she remembered the ornate dildo, which had been discarded carelessly, and with a misplaced reverence she had returned it to its upright position under the glass jar. It was a ritual that she was enacting, the final part of a rite that was a private ceremony dedicated to sex that she and Asha had obviously evolved together. "Will you be going now?" Sandy asked softly. Coover looked at her and realised that she was just a typical Droid, that her intelligence was limited despite the perfection of her body. "I just want to look around first," he told her. "Do you want to watch a film? We can watch one of Asha's sexy films together," she suggested hopefully. He laughed good-humouredly. "No, I'm too tired for that," he said. "I just need to find something and then I'll go. What about you?" "I just want to wait a while," she replied, yawning. "Do you know where Asha is?" he asked, springing the question on her suddenly. "She's not here," Sandy replied, a look of confusion clouding her eyes. "That's right," he sighed. He had hoped that she'd slip up, but he was assuming she had been lying, and that clearly wasn't the case. "I'll just have a look around and then I'll go," he

repeated. "Will I see you again?" she asked, smiling to him as a come-on, as though he were a customer at a leisure facility. She was so like Mandy, the same personality, the same obsession with pure sexual activity. He almost expected Sandy to try to sell him a session with another Droid, suggesting some variation on a threesome just as Mandy had. He shrugged. He had no idea whether he'd see her again, or whether he even wanted to see her again. She was living proof that his own moral standards were slipping fast. There had been a time only a few days previously where the idea of having sex with a Droid would have revolted him. It was a guilty thought, and one that he preferred not having to face. "Why don't you get dressed too?" he suggested politely. "No, I want to sleep for a while," she replied. She yawned again extravagantly, stretching out her arms as far as they would go, forcing her breasts forward so that the nipples protruded enticingly. Coover forced his eyes away from her. He guessed that she was deliberately exposing herself to him, hoping to draw his attention once more. She looked divine, but he had work to do, even if privately he would have preferred to turn her over on to her stomach and take her from behind again. He moved into the living room, anxious to find the clue that he knew had to be there. A disappearing act required forward planning and an eye for detail. It was inconceivable that Asha had hidden all traces, no matter how good she was at her job. He began to scan across the shelves, carefully tracking the content to see what was out of place. He walked across to her collection of books, stacked neatly in line, the thin spines forming coloured bars like a chart that had escaped from a computer screen and made it into the wild. The pattern was broken abruptly: a metal cartridge lay between two sets of books, a silver marker that divided them into two halves. He levered the cartridge out slowly. It was packed in tightly. He noted the absence of the thin layer of dust that coated the books on either side of it. He turned the cartridge over carefully. It was thin and light with an embossed logo on one side. An old-style disk carrier. He recognised the logo at once: the snake entwined around the apple was the symbol of one of the banned political organisations. The data inside the carrier had to be either an illegal political manifesto, or else a representation of some illegal sexual activity. Coover pocketed the cartridge immediately. Strictly speaking, he was breaking the rules, but what the hell! He knew that he had just made a major discovery. Data attorneys were by definition politically sound. There was never any doubt that such a position in society entailed complete faith in the system. Hell, being a data attorney was on the same level as being a police officer. There were two explanations that sprang immediately to mind: either Asha had stolen the cartridge from her office so that she could enjoy whatever warped activity was on it, or else she had become politically involved. Both were real possibilities. The evidence of her deviant taste in sexual materials was all around the room. There was less direct evidence for political subversion, but all the evidence was there to show that her life had been changing prior to her disappearance. For example, Jordan had assured him that Asha hated leisure facilities and Droids, yet he knew she had visited Elixir several times, and Sandy was in the room next door. He returned to the bedroom, wondering what to do about Sandy, if anything. She was sprawled across the bed, gloriously naked in her sleep, arms tucked under her head, knees pulled up towards her belly. After spending a few moments admiring the supple curves of her body, he found a thin cotton sheet in a drawer beside the bed and threw it over her, covering her nakedness. Lazily he wondered from which leisure facility she came. He checked in briefly to base to verify that no new Droid had been reported missing. None had, though he was careful to phrase the question such that no new questions would be

raised in turn. That she came from a leisure facility was not in doubt as far as he was concerned. Sandy had shown herself to be a typical leisure-facility Droid, physically superb but intellectually lacking. She knew very little, and questioning her had been like talking to a child. She only really showed any interest when they had started to make love. That was the be-all and endall of her existence: she was alive only when she was having sex. She was not a Pia-class Droid, that was for certain. He gambled that Sandy would make her own way back to wherever she had come from. Her visit to Asha's apartment had obviously not been the first. Her visit had added to his knowledge and understanding of the missing woman, but had yielded no clue to her present whereabouts. In fact both the missing-person cases were proving to be very frustrating. Coover was learning a lot about what went on in the fringes of society, lots of background, but there was no meat to it. He still had no idea where Pia or Asha had disappeared to, though now the hidden cartridge suggested a new angle to be investigated. As he walked out into the afternoon sunshine he also made one other decision - to keep the cartridge to himself. He wasn't even going to tell the chief until he had to. The political implications of the case were growing all the time, and as they did so his need for insurance also increased. There was no way that a politician wasn't involved somewhere along the line: how else could it be that a Droid like Sandy would be given the freedom to come visiting?

Eleven The bright afternoon sunshine hid the dilapidation of the Elixir building, and as always it blinded Coover as he jumped out of the auto. It annoyed him intensely: he felt as though Crowley had deliberately engineered the design of the building in order to harass visitors. He shielded his eyes and strode towards the entrance, fully aware that he was being tracked by Crowley's security apparatus. A flash of ID and he stepped into the reception area, glaring angrily at the young female assistant, who was looking very pretty and very bored. "I want to see Crowley," Coover informed her, ignoring the distaste that appeared on her face when she realised that he was a police officer. "He ain't here," she drawled, surreptitiously inching her hand towards the alarm under the counter. "Leave that," he ordered, his eyes fixing on hers until she withdrew her arm. "Is Banks here?" "No, he ain't here either," she murmured. "It's just me and the machines. You want to try one?" she added, grinning like a silly adolescent. "Where have Crowley and Banks gone? Are they with Antone Coard?" "Do I look like their social secretary?" Coover breathed deeply. She was irritating but not Worth the anger. "If they're out why were you about to set the alarm off?" "I wasn't," she lied, the grin on her face collapsing in on itself. She turned away from Coover's piercing look. "I know where it is," he informed her coldly, pointing to the stairs. He paused to snap her image, lips twisted in a sullen sneer, vacant eyes that tracked him emotionlessly. Her picture

would be stored with a report that she held no compunction about lying to the police. She was waiting for him to disappear from view so that she could inform her boss, but it didn't matter: Coover hadn't counted on surprising him anyway. The long corridor lined with rooms on either side provided an anonymous terrain in which to act out sexual fantasy with partners who had no other interest in life. The whole sorry scheme had an almost poetic resonance that Coover had never before appreciated. He wondered at the scenes being enacted behind the closed doors: what fervid stories from the subconscious were being acted out between man and machine? Crowley's monitor room was at the top of the corridor, a featureless black door like all the others. That sessions were monitored at random was well known. Every client at Elixir was aware of the fact, and if it bothered them then they stuck to VR. However, few of them knew just how the monitoring was done. Coover imagined that few of them would have been comfortable with the idea of Crowley sitting in front of a monitor and slobbering voyeuristically at their every move. Coover pushed the door open and went in. Crowley was at his usual place, sitting in front of the monitors, engrossed in viewing one of the scenes. He waved Coover in, showing no surprise at his arrival. "Detective Coover, how nice to see you again," he rasped, his voice a sibilant whisper that sounded as if every word were being strangled from his throat. The feeling's not mutual," Coover told him, unable to even pretend to like the vile creature before him. Crowley had the sort of oily personality that caused an instant dislike in even the most reasonable and friendly people. "So refreshingly blunt, Detective," Crowley sighed, an unforced smile brimming like a storm on the horizon. "You have news for me?" "Not yet." Crowley shook his head sadly. "My confidence in the police force is being shaken, if I may say so, Detective." "Frankly I don't care," Coover responded. "What you think of the police force is of no interest to me at all." "Surely what every citizen thinks is important," Crowley countered, putting on his favoured act of concerned citizen. He was sitting back in his seat, untidy body sprawled nonchalantly. Behind him the monitors were on, each of them a window into a private world: in one two men sharing a third man's cock, in another a woman astride a man while he was sucking from her breasts, in yet another two couples making love side by side. "I'm here to ask about Asha Mariel," Coover said, focusing on the task at hand. "Who?" "Asha Mariel. She was a regular visitor here." Crowley scratched his chin. "The name doesn't mean anything to me, Detective. What is this person supposed to have done?" "Think hard, Citizen. There are penalties for not co-operating in an investigation." "Asha Mariel? Ahh −" the light dawned theatrically "− her. Yes, she did visit Elixir on a number of occasions. She hasn't been here for some days now."

"You sound very sure, considering the trouble you had remembering her." Crowley nodded sagely. "Memory is such a fickle thing," he mused. "One minute there is nothing and the next it comes flooding back. I know the person you mean. She was not one of my regular clients, though I was glad of her custom. A data attorney adds a touch of class to an establishment, don't you agree?" "What was her relationship with Pia?" A look of surprise: "There was a relationship?" "Do you have details of Asha's visits here? Do you know which Droids she saw during her sessions?" "You suspect that this Asha person had something to do with the disappearance of my Pia?" Coover smiled. He liked the look of horror that had dawned on the sleazy specimen sprawled in front of him. He could see Crowley mentally going back through the records. "I could search for that data," he admitted, "but I'm fairly certain that Citizen Mariel did not have any sessions with Pia. In fact I'm absolutely certain, Detective." "Do you think we ought to contact Citizen Mariel to ask her?" "If you . . . Yes, that's a good idea. I'm sure she should be able to clarify this situation." Coover said nothing. He had learned all he wanted to learn. "In that case I'll leave you now," he said graciously, suppressing a smile. "If I have any news for you I'll be in touch." "Yes, that's very good of you, Detective. Give my regards to Citizen Mariel. She is welcome to visit us any time she pleases," Crowley said, effusive and enthusiastic. "There is one other thing, before you leave." "Yes?" "I understand that you have taken an interest in the affairs of Counsellor Rossik." "That's not strictly true." Crowley's smile was sickening, a salacious grin that made Coover shudder. "That's not how I understood it, Detective. It just so happens that he is here today. Perhaps you'd like to monitor his session." Before Coover had time to disagree Crowley had reached across and flicked the switch to blow up an image of the session on one of the monitors. Despite his better instincts, Coover was unable to take his eyes from the screen. The image was crystal-clear and the sound had been enhanced, too. Counsellor Rossik was wearing the black tunic with a white flash, the robes of his office, and standing in front of a young woman and a young man. Both the man and the woman were naked and trying to cover up their bodies with their hands. It was not a successful manoeuvre as the monitor clearly showed. The man's penis was erect, the hard length of silky flesh clearly visible, the glans wet and glistening. "Well, my children," Rossik was saying, his voice brimming with authority, "you have sinned grievously, for which the Church cannot forgive you."

"Please, Father, we did not understand what we were doing," the man cried, his voice full of anguish. He looked up appealingly at the black-clad Counsellor, as though he could persuade him to offer forgiveness. "How is that possible? Why not admit that you have sinned? It is better to confess than to lie," Rossik pointed out, his harsh attitude softened now as he spoke softly to the two naked sinners. "He's right, Lars, we should tell the truth. We're in enough trouble as it is," the girl agreed. She had long dark hair that fell over her shoulders and almost reached down to her rosy nipples, her hair contrasting well with her alabaster skin. "Do you think so, Andretta? Will you accept our confession, Father?" Rossik nodded sagely. He stepped back and sat down in a stiff-backed chair. He waved the sinners forward and they crawled towards him, the woman's pert breasts swaying as she did so. "Forgive us, Father, for we have sinned," they intoned solemnly. They were kneeling in front of the Counsellor, and Coover noted that they were holding hands, united in the horror of their sins. "I am listening." "It's my fault, Father," Lars began to explain sorrowfully. "I couldn't help it. I was unable to control my lustful desires. I had once seen Andretta taking a bath. She was beautiful, the most desirable creature I'd ever seen. I had watched her soaping her breasts, her fingers innocently brushing her nipples until they were big and round. I was unable to contain myself, Father. As I watched her I had touched myself until I had exploded with such force that I almost cried out in ecstasy. After that I spied on her all the time . . ." "Were you aware of this?" Rossik asked, looking down imperiously at the young woman, whose head was bowed respectfully. "Not at first, Father. But I fear that it was partly my fault. For some time I have been . . . exploring my body whenever I bathe. I love to tease my nipples until they ache, and then I soothe them with soft warm water. I tantalise myself with a thick creamy lather which feels so sensuous against my erect nips. And then I stroke my pussy, Father. I tease myself beyond endurance . . ." "I used to hide and watch her, enjoying those stolen moments when she brought herself to climax. I lived only for the time when her fingers would disappear into her sex, sliding in and out with glorious abandon. And when she climaxed so would I. It felt as if our spirits were joined at that moment. . ." "Did you touch yourself anywhere else?" Rossik asked, a tremor in his voice. "Anywhere else? I don't understand, Father?" "In your anal hole? Did you finger yourself there also?" "No, Father, never," she cried, her eyes open wide with shock and disgust. "You may continue, my son," Rossik said, unable to completely hide the smile of pleasure he experienced at Andretta's disgust. "I watched her many times, and then I began to wonder what it would be like if it was I

rubbing those breasts, if it was I who touched her between the thighs and caused her joyous cries of pleasure . . ." "Yes, yes, but how did it happen?" "It was my fault, Father," Andretta confessed. "One day while I was bathing I became aware that I was being watched. I looked round and caught sight of Lars in the mirror, completely naked but hidden in a corner. I was fascinated by his nakedness, and by the way his erect penis stood so powerful . . . I was shocked because at once I understood that he was being stimulated by what he was seeing. I was the object of his desire, and that made me feel so very odd. I felt powerful, as for the first time I understood that my body could cause such strong emotions in a man." "We became aware of each other for the first time," Lars said, taking up the story. "She was on all fours, her breasts swaying, the nipples splashing the surface of the water, while at the same time she was rubbing herself sensuously between the thighs. Our eyes met. We hesitated and then we knew it was OK to continue. She smiled shyly as I emerged into the open, my body completely naked. I knelt beside the bath and leaned across and kissed her softly on the mouth. I touched her, smoothed a hand over the glossy wetness of her skin, stroked her thigh, caressed her buttocks and squeezed her breasts." "We were delirious, Father, drunk on shared emotion. I felt something deep inside me, a desire that I dared not name yet I could not suppress. When he joined me in the bath it was what I wanted. I screamed with pleasure when I felt his long hard prick plunging into my sex. He made love beautifully, mashing my breasts in his big strong hands while he fucked me hard. I climaxed repeatedly, Father. I cannot tell a lie and say that it was not the most wonderful experience of my life." "It's true, Father," Lars agreed. "I have never had so much pleasure in all my life. Her sex was so tight and so warm and wet. Each time I pushed my cock into her pussy I felt a million tremors of pleasure through my body. When I pumped my semen into her body I could feel her tightening, gripping my cock with her sex, joyfully accepting my essence." There was a moment of silence while the Counsellor pondered on the penance the sinners would have to make. Lars and Andretta waited anxiously, holding hands tightly but not daring to look at each other. "I accept that you were carried away by the strength of lust that you felt," he reported sombrely. "But that does not mean that I can condone the sins that have been committed. There has to be penance, the sins must be assuaged. The punishment is unconventional, but it is good that you are forced to reflect on your sins." Rossik stood up and stripped away his clothes quickly and unselfconsciously, ignoring the presence of the young man and woman before him. When he was naked he retook his seat, sitting down and parting his thighs, his cock dangling between his thighs as it began to swell. "Lars, you will be forced to reflect on the errors of your ways. Suck my penis well. I want you to wet it completely while I talk to Andretta." Lars looked astounded by the request. He turned to the young woman and was absolutely dumbstruck. She managed a reassuring smile and urged him on. Slowly he crawled forward between Rossik's thick thighs. He looked up appealingly but the Counsellor merely nodded. Lars put out his tongue and very gently touched it to the prick that was hardening before him. Very slowly he licked up the full shaft of flesh, back and forth with his tongue, and then he opened his mouth and took the glans into it. He sucked softly for a while and then swallowed another couple of inches, stopping to suck and adjust to the feel of it. A couple of minutes passed before he had taken as much cock as he could take. It was impressed on the side of his cheek. He had closed his eyes and it was possible to see that far

from being a penance he was enjoying it, sucking and licking greedily as the Counsellor moved back and forth slowly, fucking the young man in the mouth. "Your punishment will also be unusual," Rossik told Andretta, who was watching excitedly as her lover was mouth-fucked by the Counsellor. "You have never touched yourself in the rear, so that is where you must take your punishment. That's enough, Lars. Now it is Andretta's turn." Lars seemed reluctant to stop, but he did as commanded and crawled back, his eyes fixed on the thick hard rod he had been so expertly sucking. He sat back on his knees and watched Andretta crawl towards the Counsellor. If there had been any doubt as to Lars's excitement it was dispelled by the sight of his own cock, which was hard and weeping silvery fluid from the slit. Andretta crawled forward, unable to take her eyes off Rossik's erection, which was glistening as though it had been greased. She kissed the end of the glans reverently, her pink tongue lapping at the slit and picking up a gob of pre-come. She stopped and waited hesitantly for Rossik to command. "Stand up, turn your back to me. Good." He positioned her carefully. "Now sit back on my lap slowly." Andretta sat back very slowly, looking over her shoulder as she was guided into place. Rossik had hold of his prick and he inserted it between Andretta's arse cheeks. She was still, holding her breath, a look of fear and distress in her eyes. That look of apprehension disappeared as she sat back slowly and took Rossik's prick deep into her anus. She was smiling excitedly by the time she was sitting right back on Rossik's lap, his length completely inside her. She began to rise and fall, a slow steady rhythm that caused her to close her eyes and sigh softly. Rossik held her by the waist, controlling her rhythm, positioning her perfectly. Soon he was jerking up and down too, thrusting his pelvis upwards as she ground her backside down on to his prick. Her thighs tensed and relaxed as she lifted herself and brought herself down again. The monitor clearly showed his prick sliding in and out under her, his thick shaft disappearing between her rounded arse cheeks. Without bidding Lars crawled forward, reached out and stroked Andretta's thigh with his hand. He rubbed a hand under each thigh, working forward slowly so that he could feel how her body was being filled. His fingers stroked her under her sex, touching her as Rossik's prick went into her rear hole. She opened her eyes and nodded, parting her pussy lips with her fingers. Lars knew what to do: he stuck out his tongue and began to lap between her thighs, his tongue going into the wet fleshy pocket of her sex. All three bodies were in motion, Rossik screwing Andretta in the rear, Andretta playing with her clit and Lars sucking the wetness from her pussy. Andretta's cries and moans filled the room. She arched her back and clawed at Lars as the first climax shook her. But there was no respite. Rossik continued to pump his cock into the tightness of her rear hole, while Lars was evidently enjoying his greedy feeding on the nectar of her cunny. Andretta climaxed repeatedly, before a harsh animal sound filled the air and signalled Rossik's powerful orgasm. He gripped Andretta tightly by the waist and pulled her down on to his lap as far as she'd go, so that his come would be spurted deep inside her. Lars moved away as Andretta disengaged herself from Rossik's lap. Her chest was patterned red where her orgasmic pleasure had suffused her body with its glow. She was breathing hard and looked more than a little dazed. Rossik's prick was still semierect, and glistening with thick trails of semen. A look of pure animal satisfaction was etched on his face, his eyes half closed, mouth hanging open limply. In that look was confirmed his status

as a man, subject to the same passions as other men in spite of the ministry he held. Only Lars had yet to climax, and he was intent on rectifying that. He crawled towards Rossik with an intent look upon his face, an excitement that could not be mistaken. He stood up and turned his back to Rossik, who looked at him and smiled encouragingly. That's enough," Coover snapped, and leaned across to the control panel and switched the scene off. It's being recorded," Crowley informed him with a salacious leer. "I can have a copy sent up to you at the department. Purely for your records, of course." Coover felt a little sick. The scene had been powerful and affecting. He could not deny his own sexual excitement, and yet he felt that the scene had been made into something dirty by Crowley. He hated the idea that there was anything in common between himself and that man, but now there was a sense of complicity, even though it was forced. There's no need, I'm not interested." "But you are, Detective," Crowley insisted. "I know you are. It's all right, I know you need as much background information as possible." "Forget it," Coover growled angrily. "What I want is information on Pia and Asha Mariel. Do you have recorded scenes between them?" "But as I explained," Crowley said serenely, "the two never met." "I'll be in touch," Coover repeated and then stormed angrily from the room, unable to stand the self-satisfied smirk on Crowley's face. The sullen young woman was still at the reception desk. She was talking with Banks and then fell silent when she spotted Coover. Banks looked nervous. His icy-blue eyes averted as soon as he saw Coover. The two assistants stood side by side, laughably pretending that they had not seen the policeman standing at the foot of the stairs. "Citizen Banks," Coover called him, "would you like to escort me out of this building?" "Sure . . . Detective . . ." Banks exchanged a nervous glance with the young woman and then hurried from behind the counter. "I've been anxious to talk to you, Citizen," Coover told Banks, a steel undertone to his voice. He was pretty confident that Tina had told Banks nothing, or if she had that neither of them had guessed that the unannounced visitor who witnessed the scene with Kirk Mallinder was actually a policeman. "Is that right, sir? I didn't know," Banks mumbled, falling into step with Coover as they crossed the reception area towards the door. "Yes, that is right. I see that your fingers have some discolouration," Coover continued, making a show of glancing down at Banks's hands. "What causes that?" "Er, nothing. I guess I might have been, er . . . It's food dye." "Yellow food dye? I suppose that analysis will confirm that, won't it?" "I swear, Detective," Banks cried, an air of unmistakable panic about him, "I'm not on the tobacco any more. I gave all that up, I'm clean now."

"How would you like to walk me to my auto?" "Sure, anything you say," Banks agreed, swallowing hard. His cropped hair was almost white in the sunshine, so thin you could almost see his skull underneath. "Tell me about Asha Mariel," Coover suggested, wondering whether there really was any discolouration on Banks's fingers - it had been a good guess on his part. "Asha Mariel? Who's she, a dealer?" "The woman who disappeared." Coover told him, stopping in front of the auto. "Her," Banks relaxed a little. "She was weird, I can tell you that." "In what way?" Banks was looking at the ground, kicking the neatly trimmed turf with the point of his boot. "Well, for a start she was always talking like the Droids were people. You know what I mean?" "No." "Well, we all knew that she had a thing for Pia. She never ever saw any of the other Droids, not any of them." "She just liked that particular Droid. So what?" Banks shook his head emphatically. "That's not how it was, Detective Coover. She never saw the other Droids because they were machines as far as she was concerned, but for her Pia was a person. She was in love with her." "Who told you this?" "Pia told me herself." "Love?" Coover was astounded. "Yep, love," Banks agreed, smiling. "I told you she was weird. She was having a love affair with a machine. You know, it was the full hearts-and-flowers thing, not just sex, you know." "You think she's taken Pia?" "Sure she has." Banks had no doubt. "We all know that, boss knows that, I know that." "Then why hasn't he said anything about this to me?" A shrug. "Politics, I guess. This ain't going to get me into trouble, is it?" he asked nervously, glancing over his shoulder. "Just keep talking if you know what's best. Now, who told you that Asha Mariel was missing?" "Don't everyone know that?" A sigh. "Who told you?" Banks shrugged again. "The boss, I guess. We heard about it a couple of days ago, after Pia went missing. It don't take a genius to figure that this is one love affair that's gone too

far. But still, she had all the right friends so it ain't no surprise that the boss is keeping quiet." "Antone Coard?" "Who else? He's done really well out of this deal. He got paid by the boss for having Pia, and now that Pia's gone the boss can't kick up a stink." "Are you suggesting that Antone Coard had something to do with the disappearance?" Banks looked as if he had just been jolted with pure electricity. "No way! I never said anything like that. You can put me back behind bars but I ain't saying anything like that." "No, of course not." Coover smiled. "You've been most helpful, Citizen. I would keep away from the tobacco if I were you, but stay where I call find you. We ought to have more of these friendly chats." Banks shot Coover a look that said "drop dead', but he said nothing. He turned disconsolately and ambled back to Elixir, no doubt dreading a session from his boss, who would want a word-for-word replay of their exchange. Everywhere that Coover turned he came across one name: Antone Coard. He was the key to the whole case, linked in with every player, and yet he remained strictly off-limits. He broached the subject with the chief as the auto took him from Elixir to the Bar Europa. "Well? What progress, Detective?" the chief demanded, glaring at Coover as though he were personally to blame for everything. "Crowley denies that Asha Mariel ever met the Pia Droid. This is flatly contradicted by other sources," he reported succinctly. "For what reason?" "Possibly to throw us off the trail so that he can institute his own measures," he suggested, half hoping that such a scheme would get Crowley into trouble. The chief accepted the story without comment. "What next?" she asked impatiently. "I'd like to question Antone Coard." "No way, Detective," she replied automatically. "If we need to do that then it'll be someone else asking the questions. You have the diplomatic skills of a retarded psychopath as far as I can see," she continued. "I just cannot afford to alienate Antone Coard any more. Keep on the case but keep away from him. Is that clear?" "Yes, Chief, that's clear, the way it always is," he mumbled. "What? If you have anything to say then say it." He thought about it for a split second and then decided against saying any more. There was no point: she'd impose her will no matter what, and if he appeared too unco-operative he knew that she'd throw him off the case. "I didn't say anything, Chief. I'll stay away from Antone Coard because I'm a bumbling Neanderthal." "I'm glad you see it my way," she said soberly. "What will your next move be?" "I just want some time to collate all the information I have, then we can formulate a next move."

"Good, that's what I want to hear. As soon as you have something I want to be informed." The chief snapped off the screen and Coover was left alone in the auto to ponder on what to do next. The stubborn refusal to tackle Coard directly was slowing the case down, but he reasoned it also meant that a lot more information about him was likely to be gathered. It was a pleasant thought that at some point the whole thing may reach combustion, and that Antone Coard would end up in prison for the crimes that Coover was sure he had committed. The sun had started to set, throwing a pink blanket over the city, a shroud that took the sharpest edges from the cityscape that was glass and steel and concrete. He settled back in his seat and closed his eyes, running through the events of the day against the early-evening calm. It had been another day filled with excitement, each encounter tinged with an excessively sexual aura. He was being drawn into a subculture that remained largely hidden to the rest of society, a subculture that existed for sexual kicks above all else. First there had been Jordan, who had confessed that she and Asha had engaged in activities that were on the borderline of legality, despite the fact that they were both entrusted with upholding the law. The films that she and Asha had watched were debauched relics from an era that had been crazy, as witnessed by the semen-soaked frenzy at the end of the film she had shown Coover. The dildoes too were relics, but they had been used by the two women in their private games. Then there had been the Droid, Sandy. Coover cursed himself for not asking Banks if Sandy was from Elixir. "Remind me to get back to Marck Banks about the identity of Sandy," he instructed the computer, anxious to rectify the mistake as soon as possible. He had enjoyed himself with Sandy, but as with the other Droids he had met there was something lacking in her make-up. Perhaps that was why Asha had been drawn to Pia, perhaps because Pia was more completely human, at least human enough to possess a personality aware of life beyond the erotic arena. Finally there had been the attempt by Crowley to ingratiate himself by showing the scene at Elixir between Bernal Rossik and the two Droids. That too had been exciting, though Coover wished that he had put a stop to the display as soon as it had started. Now Crowley felt that he and Coover were on the same level, which was down in the gutter. If there was one thing that Coover hoped would come out of the case, it was a wish to see Crowley's place closed down for good. Coover had been changing, but his hatred and disgust with Crowley had remained a constant.

Twelve The Bar Europa was deserted. It was too early in the evening for the nocturnal types to appear. Coover looked the place over before striding down the stone steps into the basement. He took his usual place at the bar, hunched forward on a bar stool, a curt nod of recognition passing between himself and Lenny. "A double?" Lenny asked laconically. Coover nodded. A good drink was the first thing he wanted. The second was to find Lorette. The hidden cartridge was still in his pocket, his only evidence that Asha Mariel may have harboured radical sentiments. He watched Lenny tap the code into the console, dialling up a stiff drink with Coover's ID number. Each such transaction was recorded, one single record being cut every time a drink was ordered, a meal enjoyed, an item bought, a journey made. The full extent of the vast databanks was unknown, the accumulated data of untold millions of transactions a day stored in compressed and coded form in memory

banks that were too massive to be fully comprehended. Each single transaction was a drop in an ocean of data, but a drop that could be recalled and manipulated at will. The drink was like fire, burning a satisfying trail down Coover's throat. He winced as the slug of alcohol went down quickly. A gaggle of voices at the door made him look round, the raucous laughter announcing the first arrivals of the night breed that were Europa's unique clientele. "Lorette been in lately?" Coover asked, turning back to Lenny after scanning the new arrivals. "Could be. You know my memory," Lenny murmured, his eyes scanning the full length of the bar as he spoke through the side of his mouth. "Sure, I know your memory. Does Kraft?" "There's no need for that, Rey," Lenny complained quietly. "I would tell you if I knew, you know that. I can't be sure if Lorette's been in lately. I think she's changed her style again." "No more pink hair?" Lenny shook his head. He pushed himself from the counter he'd been leaning on and ambled to the other end of the bar to serve the group that had just arrived. There were four of them, and in the poor light it was impossible to tell which gender they were. Deliberately androgynous, they were part of an outlandish subculture that refused to accept the very idea of gender, which they rejected as an outdated concept. Coover took his drink and wandered over to one of the dark alcoves to enjoy it in peace. He could have asked the computer for Lorette's address, and the answer would have come back instantaneously: she was after all a known radical and so her movements would have been even more closely monitored than those of a normal citizen. However, each time a call or a check was made it would be logged, and in time the sheer volume of calls would count against her, whether she was breaking the law or not. Coover had no intention of adding to her burden - it was one call that he was willing to defer. The Pia/Mariel case had pushed all thoughts of his other cases to the back of his mind, but as he took another slug of drink and scanned the bar his mind focused back on the Kraft case. The Bar Europa was known as the sort of place that drug dealers and users alike enjoyed, though Lenny was careful not to let things go too far. Coover knew that his presence was telegraphed to the new arrivals. Everyone passing through the door would glance in his direction even before they reached the bar. Sometimes Coover enjoyed that: he liked everyone to know that he was there and that they should be on best behaviour. On other occasions he sought the same anonymity as everyone else there, wishing to sink into the darkest corner and to be left alone. "Rey?" "Hell!" Coover was startled by the vision before him when he turned towards the voice. "What happened to you?" "Thanks a lot!" Lorette sniffed, pouting her lips as though she'd been deeply hurt by his look of absolute shock and the tone of his voice. Lenny had been right: the pink hair was gone all right, but she hadn't dyed it another colour - she'd shaved it all off instead. Her hair had been cut back to a thin spiky layer, a closely shaven mat of bristles that barely covered her skull. Yet this mutilation seemed to enhance her good looks, emphasising the high cheekbones, the large oval eyes, the

prominent swell of her lips. Her eyelashes were long and dark, butterflies that fluttered over sexy eyes, and her eyebrows were thick dark lines against her skin. "Sorry," he apologised, "but you look so different . . ." She had crossed her hands across her chest, and was looking at him as though trying to decide whether to talk or stamp off in a huff. "Looking different is precisely what I wanted," she stated finally, still looking very severe. "I'm sorry, Lorette, but it took me by surprise, that's all." "Well, now that the shock's worn off - it has worn off I take it - how do I look?" "If I said stunning would you take it the wrong way?" he ventured apologetically. She laughed and slipped into the seat next to him. "You should have seen the Snake's face when he set eyes on me just now. He said you were looking for me." "Yes, I wanted to ask you some questions, if you don't mind." "What sort of questions?" she asked suspiciously. "The unofficial sort," he said, smiling hopefully. She gave him a sideways glance that was partly playful and partly serious, after all he was still a policeman and she was still a political radical. Theirs was an odd sort of relationship, viewed with suspicion by her friends and kept secret from his colleagues. The playful banter between them had defined the limits beyond which neither of them had gone - until he had got drunk. "Don't worry: nothing you say will go any further than me," he promised. "I won't mention it to my friends if you don't mention it to yours." She smiled at the weak joke. The bar was filling up, and Coover noted the way she was looking over his shoulder at the various groups of people standing around the room. "On two conditions," she finally whispered. "Firstly we find somewhere else to talk." He nodded agreement. "And secondly you tell me why he's called Lenny the Snake." "Where do you want to go?" "Is that an implied yes?" "It is. Now, where shall we go?" She brushed her hand over her head, a subconscious gesture that did not go unnoticed. It seemed as if she were running a hand through luxuriant hair that was no longer there, or perhaps touching her head to check that it was growing back. "I know," she announced with a smile, "the Temple. Aren't criminals always supposed to be drawn back to the scene of the crime?" Coover laughed. "I'll go first. I'll see you there in about half an hour. Is that OK?" "Yes, I'll see you there," she agreed. She stood up and returned to the bar, exchanging a smile with someone who pointed to her scalp and made a comment that was lost in the hubbub of voices. Meeting in the Temple was probably not such a good idea, Coover decided after he'd

arrived there. While it obviously appealed to Lorette's impish sense of fun, it had two major drawbacks. First, it was very much a public place, and secondly there was a chance that he would bump into Counsellor Bernal Rossik, an eventuality that he did not relish. Their only official meeting had not been a happy one, though Coover realised that he now regretted his hostile attitude. However, it was too late for apologies: his pride would never stand it. In the night-time sharply focused electric light took the place of the sunlight that sliced through the largely open space of the Temple. During the day the air was cool, a relief from the heat, but in the evening the heat was released to warm the atmosphere. It was an effective strategy, so that the climate in the Temple was always in contrast with that of the outside world; and always a welcome change from the extremes of heat and cold. The central altar was still picked out in the light, and several worshippers were kneeling in front of it, being ministered to by an elderly Counsellor. Coover stood in the shadows, waiting patiently for Lorette to arrive, and in the meantime enjoying the tranquil atmosphere that was evoked by the combination of light and space and the ambient music of voice and natural sound. Telling Lorette about Lenny the Snake had not posed much of a moral dilemma: Lenny was a lowlife whose biggest ambition in life was to go from running a sleazy bar to running a sleazy leisure facility. To this end he cultivated sundry police officers, politicians, drug dealers and their customers. For this he was universally despised, but he provided a useful conduit of information, and his bar was a channel through which many muddy waters ran. That alone explained why it had never been closed down, unlike many of the other bars that had in the past attracted the same transient milieu. Lorette arrived a little over forty minutes after Coover had left Europa. In the dim light her mat of shorn hair seemed like a dark fuzz that was haloed over her head. She spotted Coover after only a few minutes and came striding over to him, beaming a friendly smile that was perfectly framed by her new look. "I can't get over the way you look now," Coover told her, marvelling that something that should have been so awful was actually so effective. "If I'd looked like this would you still have arrested me here?" she asked, slinking into the shadows beside him. Td have arrested you even if you hadn't taken your clothes off," he joked, though he knew that at the time it was quite likely he would have done something if he'd seen her like that. He had been so zealous, a conformist of the worst kind. He had viewed everything out of the norm as something to be despised and crushed. With a shudder he saw himself as he had been: a nasty and repulsive character; and, what was worse, he had been so blind to it, driven as he was by the best of motives. "It would have been even more of a shock for you if I'd been like this and I'd stripped off," she told him, whispering softly. "Why?" "Because I've shaved the hair from my snatch, too," she giggled, delighting in the illconcealed look of shock on his face. Coover swallowed hard and forced a smile. The darkness hid the redness that had flared across his face, a sign of embarrassment that would have fuelled itself if she had seen it. "Will you answer some questions for me?" he asked, stopping the conversation dead in its tracks before it got any more personal. "You know the deal."

"After the questions." "Can I trust you?" "I arrested you, remember. Of course you can trust me." "Go ahead, then," she sighed, leaning against the wall. "What do you want to know?" Coover reached into his pocket and withdrew the cartridge he'd found hidden in Asha's apartment. It was cool and heavy, a smooth surface on one side and the slightly raised logo on the other. He handed it over solemnly, looking up furtively and hoping that no one else was watching. "The Libertine Sisters," Lorette told him, holding the cartridge out under the light so that she could get a better look at it. "See the sign? The apple of temptation, the serpent of desire. You do know that story, don't you?" "I know it," Coover said. "The Libertine Sisters - are they still active?" "This is an old cartridge," Lorette replied, neatly avoiding the question. "Any ideas what it would contain?" Lorette handed it back. "It could be anything: a manifesto reading, a lesson in political history, an antique piece of erotica, anything really." "How rare is this kind of material?" "It depends on whether it was produced before or after the Libertines were proscribed." "So they are still active," Coover concluded, though he said it without triumph. "If it was before?" "There'd be thousands of copies. If it's more recent then I'd say that it's pretty rare. Certainly that sort of thing would only be passed hand to hand." "Would you say that possessing a copy would indicate radical sympathies?" "Rey, what do you take me for?" she asked, raising her voice just a little. Coover's eyes darted nervously across the Temple. The group by the altar were engrossed in their ceremony, and the muted choral music provided some cover against sound carrying. "I'm sorry, Lorette. This isn't meant to be a cross-examination. I just want to find out about the sort of person that would have a copy of this hidden at home." "Well that'll be a person without any sense," Lorette sighed. "Possession of this would put you in jail, so you would have to keep it hidden." "But does that mean that only a radical would keep it?" Lorette laughed softly. "An activist wouldn't keep that at home. We get searched every time you guys are having a slow period. The last thing we'd do is keep stuff for you to find. If the person you got that from is an activist then I'd be surprised." "Who else then?" She shrugged. "It could just be some thrill seeker, an average, boring citizen who's picked something up and gets a thrill from keeping it. If it's at all erotic then they might even get a

guilty but very sexy thrill from it. It might even be one of Antone Coard's little gang. What? Did I say something?" The sharp intake of breath had not been intentional. Hell, he hated giving himself away like that. "Tell me about Antone Coard's little gang, as you call them." "They're creeps, all of them," she said bitterly. "They get a thrill out of flirting with the radical scene, though they have no real commitment. The only thing they are interested in is getting their thrills, nothing more. They are a bunch of decadent hangers-on, and I for one will have nothing to do with them." "Do you realise you're talking about someone very high up in the Moral Guardian committee?" "That's a joke, isn't it?" she snorted. "Antone Coard is the biggest hypocrite that ever walked this Earth. He is the last person around that should be allowed to lecture on morals: the man hasn't even got any." "You know, Lorette, it's refreshing to find someone who shares my views on that man," he remarked, smiling. "Rey, do you mind if I ask you some questions now?" Coover nodded. Her comments had put him in a good mood, the best humour he'd had in ages. "What's changed about you?" "Nothing's changed," he lied, knowing that she knew he was lying. "I'm just the same old conscientious and fair officer that I've always been." "No, you've changed," she insisted, brushing aside his intended humour. "I noticed it before, and I can see it again. Have your political opinions changed?" "I can't talk about that, Lorette," he said, turning away from her searching eyes. He hadn't been thinking in political terms - that was against his nature - but she was right: there were big political implications in what he was doing and in what he was feeling. However, he didn't want to think about it. The subject was too big and too complicated. "I've been honest with you," she complained softly. "I've been honest with you too," he reminded her. "I told you how aroused I felt when I saw you walk across to that altar without any clothes on. Isn't that being honest?" "I suppose so," she mumbled. "Now, you were asking about Lenny the Snake," he remembered brightly. "He's another of the world's great hypocrites," he said, lowering his voice. "Don't trust him Lorette: he'll use you any way he can. If he thinks it's in his interest to turn you in he'll do it without compunction." "I know that," she giggled, and then she too became more serious. "I appreciate the warning, though." "So you don't know how he got his name?" he began, his face twisting into a smile. "It's to do with sex of course. A very long time ago Lenny was an earnest young radical, if you can imagine that. Like you he thought he was going to change the world, and like you he thought sex was the way to do it."

"I'm not like that!" Lorette protested. "And like you he wanted to make a public protest. Things were a lot more strict in those days - this was before the dawn of the current permissiveness −" "What? What permissiveness?" she demanded, not knowing whether to laugh or get angry. "So you can imagine the uproar when he and a rather fetching young lady decided to make love in a public square. It was a beautiful spring afternoon - I even think there was a band playing that day - and the square was absolutely packed full of people. Lenny and his friend arrived at the duly appointed hour, stripped off promptly and proceeded to have sexual intercourse in public. As a protest it was very successful: there was total chaos, he almost caused a riot and his arrest made it on to the global news networks." "But why the name?" "Because the man has got a penis the size of a snake. It was a name that he was given by his arresting officer. Everyone was amazed at the size of him, especially the young lady who was rather enjoying having this monster burrowing into her body." "Were you the arresting officer?" "I was luckier," he said with a smile. "I got you instead." "I wonder why he changed," she said, trying hard to match her image of the hypocrite to the idealist that Coover had described. "Because he soon realised that he was more interested in sex than in changing the world. The public protests gave way to private initiations, and when he was in prison he just carried on with whoever he was sharing a cell with. The ideals were soon left behind. In time he's toned down his act, but there's nothing left of the man now. All he can think about is getting his own leisure facility where he can watch simulations of sex all day long." That's a terrible story," she decided. "All that idealism gone to waste. God −" she shivered "−I hope I don't ever turn out like that." "I'm sure you won't," he assured her, taking her arm and leading her out of the shadows. Together they wandered out of the Temple and into the street, sharing a contemplative silence as they left. The department was almost deserted when Coover returned there, after leaving Lorette outside the Temple. She was going to return to Bar Europa to meet with friends, friends who would definitely not approve of her relationship with Coover no matter how innocent it was. A lonely return to Europa did not appeal to him, especially if he'd be forced to spend the evening watching Lorette laughing and having fun with her friends and all he'd have would be Lenny's taciturn company. The door of the elevator opened and Colleen emerged, on her way out of the building. As usual she was wearing a short skirt and a top that was too tight for her, so that her nipples were permanently displayed under the tight fabric of her blouson. "Hi, Rey," she said, beaming him a friendly smile. "You know, I haven't seen you for ages." "I've been busy," he said. "You know how it gets."

"Sure, but you know I can always make sure that a unit gets put aside for you." "Too much work . . ." she cautioned. "I know, you're right, I'll try to make it tomorrow," he promised glibly. The truth was his reliance on the VR sessions had been reduced, and not even Colleen's attractive presence was going to tempt him back to it too quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," she agreed brightly. She moved past him, and her scent filled his lungs with its subtle but effective aroma. Colleen was perfect to run the VR unit: she dressed the part with obvious relish, well aware that many of the men were going to be using her image to fuel their fantasies. He watched her go, her long legs tipped with heels that clicked hard on the ground, drawing attention to the graceful way she walked, her backside swinging with every step she took. The elevator had gone by the time she had vanished. He turned back to it and had to wait all over again for its arrival. The office was largely in darkness. Only one or two individual work stations were bathed in soft white light where people were working late. He sat down and logged in after checking to see if Jo was around, which sadly she was not. There were a dozen messages waiting for him, and the computer began to list them in order before he told it to shut up. He turned the speech circuit off: the voice of the computer was really quite trying sometimes, especially when it adopted a tone that was both friendly and understanding. At least the text on the screen was neutral, which was more than he could say for the synthesised voices that attempted to capture the colour and emotion of the human variety. The messages were largely routine, which meant that he could safely ignore them until the main case had been solved. The only thing that required action was the request for a status report from the chief, but he had no stomach for it and decided to leave that until the morning. A quick check revealed that no new transactions had been recorded by Asha Mariel - in other words, she was still missing. He felt relieved in a way: the last thing he wanted now was for Asha to reappear of her own accord. That would have been the worst possible outcome for him. The cartridge in his pocket was a magnet that drew his attention once more. Again, he took it out and examined it carefully, running his fingers over the logo that had been stamped on the surface. The devious serpent curled around the base of the ripe apple it offered so temptingly, the long coils entwined like a spring that was ready to snap. He opened the case carefully and examined the contents: a flat black disk, utterly featureless so as to be as untraceable as possible. The technology it used was redundant, but there were enough of the old-style data readers around to give it some currency. Coover pocketed the cartridge again and headed down to the systems lab, certain that at that time of night it would be empty. It was a secure unit of course, and all activity was logged, but he was pretty sure that the security was at a routine level. The complacency level was high in the department and no one ever bothered to read the activity logs. As long as he was careful he knew that he could act with complete confidence. His palm print opened the door and the lights came on as soon as he entered. A sharp command switched the lights off again, and then he made his way across to the far corner where the old machines were stacked up. The lab was a technicians' playground: the benches contained the neatly parcelled entrails of pieces of equipment, and among the comms and monitoring equipment there was even a direct link to the Lunar Base. Coover carefully skirted all of that and stopped in front of the stack of old data players. A barked command to the computer and the corner was illuminated by a strip of light which threw soft shadows across the lab. He started work methodically, trying each machine in turn until he found the one that accepted the

cartridge. The monitor on the wall came to life instantly, and the logo on the case was flashed on to the screen. He grabbed a stool from one of the benches and sat down to watch the monitor, uncertain as to what it was he was about to watch. He recognised Tina as soon as she appeared on the screen, her picture replacing the logo, which had dissolved slowly. She was a redhead in the film, but the pale skin, deep-blue eyes and the sexy aura were exactly the same. She looked like a fantasy on two legs. She was wearing a shiny black dress that fitted her like a glove, and under harsh white light it shimmered seductively. Her legs were clad in stockings made from the same shiny black material, and Coover realised that she was dressed like one of the archetypes at EyeGasm. The picture moved back a little and Tina's image was revealed as a reflection in a mirror. She was in a bedroom, dancing by herself in front of the mirror - a very stagy and unconvincing dance it was too. The lighting in the room was too strong, creating harsh contrasts of white flesh and black clothes, the rubber material creating panels of shine that shifted and gleamed as she moved. When the picture drew back a little more she began to undo the catch at the back of the dress. The dress was tight and she slowly began to peel it from her skin. Finally it was cast aside and she remained in front of the mirror, wearing only a black bustier, a very fine thong and high heels. The mirror image showed her chest, deep cleavage and swelling breasts cupped perfectly by the top, her nipples peeking over the half-cups of the bra. From the rear the black thong was a vivid line that crossed down from high above her waist, met at the small of her back and then was pulled deep between her bottom cheeks. The picture changed: it focused down at her sharp heels and then travelled up very slowly, giving a lingering view of her calves, her thighs, the full roundness of her backside, the slight swell of the hips and then the narrowing of her waist, up her flawless back, the slight swell of her breasts visible from the back, the white flesh giving way to luxuriant red hair. She was still dancing, swaying from side to side as though she were singing to herself. The picture cut sharply, a look of surprise on her face. A pause and then a full-length shot again. She had company, two other females, though their faces were hidden from the camera. From nowhere a bottle of oil was produced, the two new women poured it on to their fingers and then began to smooth it over Tina's skin. For a while the film showed nothing but Tina's body being oiled by these two women. Close-up shots showed hands gliding over Tina's belly, her skin glistening under the bright lights. Thighs, back, breasts, buttocks, all were greased, every shot caught in lingering detail by the camera. The two women stepped back and Tina was displayed in all her wet, glistening glory. Her breasts had been freed from the bustier; her nipples were hard little erections that were glossily suckable. The thong was pulled away suddenly to reveal that Tina's pussy was clean, and in no time oily fingers were smoothing over her mons, over her labia, under her thighs. In close-up every detail of her sex was touched and caressed, and soon the fingers were pressing between her pussy lips, slipping tantalisingly inside her. A finger disappeared deep into her pussy, and when it emerged it was wet and sticky, and it was obvious that Tina's own excitement was making her wet. The camera panned round and she was bent over, so that her backside was slightly parted. Her buttocks were pulled apart slightly and the image focused on her pussy and her anal cleft. Her anus was next for the oil, a finger touching it very softly, wetting it with thick dollops of the clear lubricant. The finger traced the line from her anal hole down to the parted pussy lips, up and down, really pressing the oil into the flesh. Each time that line was traced Tina's anus was oiled more, and then penetrated slightly, the rear orifice bulging tightly around the finger as it slipped into the oiled groove. She was done: the picture on the screen was of a nude Tina on hands and knees, every inch of her body glistening under the harsh light, a faint echo of her body when it had been adorned by the shining black rubber dress. The picture changed and Tina was joined by

the two women, their own bodies also naked and coated in the same glossy way. There was something different, though: each of the two women was wearing a harness around the waist, and there, jutting from between the thighs, was a hard black penis. The two women did not face the camera. It was impossible to see their faces, no matter how much Coover wanted to recognise them. The first woman lay on the floor, flat on her back so that the false penis protruded obscenely from her sex. Tina straddled her quickly. Her nipples were hard and erect, and from the look on her face she had been in a state of uncontrolled arousal while she had been fingered and oiled. The false penis slipped into her sex, gliding smoothly into her body, filling her with its hardness. She began to buck and writhe, grinding her backside down in a tight rhythm. The pleasure was real, her lips opening and closing, her eyes closed, a look of ecstasy quivering on her face. The second woman knelt down behind Tina, also straddling the first woman. Very carefully she took Tina by the waist and held her. Tina looked over her shoulder, her smile quivering as the woman beneath her began to jerk her pelvis. The second woman positioned her pretend prick and then she pushed forward, penetrating Tina in the rear while the first woman continued to fuck Tina in the pussy. The camera pulled away and showed the three bodies jerking and moving, finding a rhythm between them. Tina was almost hysterical. She was moving in complex patterns as she was taken by the other two women at the same time. She climaxed and still they continued, the others intent on driving her wild with pleasure. Weird camera angles caught the two pricks going into her at the same time, the black dildoes wet with oil and her pussy secretions. Her pussy lips seemed to slide up and down the smooth hard surface, and her anal hole seemed to grip at the base of the other dildo as it moved in and out. The scene faded, and a final picture showed Tina on her hands and knees, sucking one of the wet dildoes, while the other was waiting. The picture dissolved into a final glimpse of the Libertine Sisters logo, and then nothing. What did it mean? Coover had been inclined to search for an intellectual explanation, to seek out a hidden meaning behind the acts that had been caught on camera. But his own excitement was the answer. There was no meaning, no hidden motive. The film had been produced merely to cause a physical reaction, to cause sexual stimulation divorced from the artificial setup of VR and away from the confines of a leisure facility. That was the message: sexual arousal is good, sexual excitement is natural, sexual excitement for itself and nothing else. That's why it had been hidden: the message was too subversive to be allowed.

Thirteen Just about anywhere else would have been better than being there, Coover decided gloomily as he waited for the chief to call him in. He hadn't even had enough time to get himself a coffee and some breakfast. The message to report directly to the chiefs office had been relayed on PersCon first thing that morning. A chat with the chief had always been difficult - that was in the nature of these things, even before the present incumbent had decided to make her mark - but recently they had become impossible. He was steeling himself for the inevitable: a stern lecture, impossible instructions and his ritual acquiescence to her demands. It almost sounded like one of the retribution fantasies that Bernal Rossik acted out at Elixir, except that this was reality and was shorn of any sexual pleasure - at least that was how it was on his part. The door to the chiefs office opened at last, its sensor automatically scanning his ID. "Where's the report I asked for, Detective?" she demanded even before he had time to sit down. She was furious, her eyes spitting fire and her face a colourless mask.

"I had no time, Chief," Coover responded quietly, dreading the inevitable. "No time?" she spat angrily. "Who the hell do you think you're dealing with here, Detective? I'm not stupid and neither am I ignorant. You think I don't know what goes on in that thick skull of yours? I may be an elected civilian, Detective, but I'm not dumb, and if you're not careful I'll make sure you're out on your backside. Is that clear?" "Yes, Citizen, that's crystal clear," Coover responded meekly, hating himself for being so weak and yet knowing that she would carry out her threat with pleasure. "I had planned on doing the report first thing this morning." "Then what the hell were you doing here last night?" He hesitated. That was one question he hadn't been expecting. "I had some things I needed to finish up," he said. "You are trying my patience, Detective Coover," she sighed condescendingly. "What were you doing in the lab last night?" Hell, how did she know that? He felt stunned by the question and under pressure for a quick reply. The hidden cartridge had not been reported or lodged with an attorney. It was now safely hidden in his room until he decided how to play that card. "I was . . . There was a tape in Mariel's apartment . . ." "What sort of tape? One of her pornographic tapes?" Had he told her about that? Coover couldn't remember. "No, not one of those. This one was hidden." "What sort of tape?" she demanded, leaning across the desk, hawk-like eyes fixed on him and staring down his hesitation. "Is it significant?" "It's a political thing. Produced by one of the proscribed political organisations." The chief leaned back in her seat. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment. "I would call that a major breakthrough," she declared quietly, apparently satisfied by what she had dragged from Coover. "You do?" Coover asked meekly. That was the last thing the tape meant to him - Lorette had convinced him of that. "Isn't it obvious?" she snorted. "Do I have to take this case over personally before any progress is made?" That won't be necessary, Chief," Coover told her sharply, responding to the implied threat as well as he could. "Perhaps I've misjudged you," she said, sounding reasonable for the first time that morning. "All along you've been saying there are political implications to this case. It now seems that you may be right. Which group is involved? "The Libertine Sisters." "Have you searched for what we have on file on them?" "Not yet," he admitted. He could see that she was leading him away from his interpretation of the case. There was a political element in the case, but it had nothing to do with an obscure group of radicals: it had everything to do with people who wielded

power. "I want that done, immediately. Good, I think we're finally getting somewhere on this." "Chief, do you mind if I ask you a question?" She smiled graciously. "By all means, Detective." "Why do you think that a group like the Libertine Sisters would be involved in the disappearance of a Droid and a person? What possible motive would they have?" "You are the detective. It's your job to probe their motivations. I suspect that there may be an element of coercion involved - that would explain a lot of things. You've been involved in political cases before," she said, looking at him questioningly, "and you still have contacts there. It should be easy to find out." Again Coover was astounded by the chiefs depth of knowledge. Not only had she known about his using the lab, but she also knew about his contact with Lorette, and had known about it for some time. That at least had to be down to Lenny, who was a snake in more ways than one. "What about the other political implications?" he asked timidly. "There are no other political implications," she stated flatly, the look in her eyes warning Coover off from any more questions. "Yes, Chief. I'll go through the records to see what we have on the Libertine Sisters," he suggested, hoping that the interview was over. "Not so fast, Detective." The chief pointed to the chair. The interview was far from over as far as she was concerned. "I want you to be more proactive than that. As I see it this case could well be the tip of an iceberg. If Asha Mariel has been taken against her will then she could be forced into giving these radicals inside information." Coover couldn't help himself. "That's nothing but conjecture, Chief. What proof is there apart from this tape that I found? We need more to go on than that." "Do you have any better theories?" she challenged, knowing that he had none. "In that case, I suggest we work on this hypothesis. You have an informant. Bring Lorette de Flara in for questioning." Hell, that was what they thought he was doing with Lorette: they saw her as a police informer. "She's not an informant, not by any means. I can't see how we can ask her in . . ." ^ The chiefs response was unequivocal. "Then have her arrested. I don't care how you do it, Detective, but I want progress and I want it fast. Understood?" "Understood," he accepted quietly. "I'll make a start straightaway." "When you bring the girl in," the chief added, "I want someone else working with you. Detective Lake, I think - she needs the experience." Coover nodded. He would have preferred to carry on alone, but, as it was, Jo would have been his first choice as an assistant. "I'll get on with it straightaway."

*

* *

The first thing that greeted you on entering Lorette's cramped apartment was a fulllength portrait of a woman, a dark beauty clothed only in shadow, the stark monochrome image taking up one wall facing the front door. Coover and Jo barely had time to glance at it before they moved to the single room in the apartment, the living space that Lorette called home. Lorette was in bed, looking up with mild surprise at the two early-morning intruders. "Rey," she gasped, and then remembered herself. "Coover, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" The sarcastic tone was exactly right. "Citizen de Flara, Detective Jo Lake and I have some questions that we'd like to ask you," he replied without feeling. "So you thought you'd pay me a personal visit," Lorette continued, casting her eyes scornfully over Jo. "How very nice of you." "We'd like to formally question you, if you would join us at the department . . ." "What is it this time? Things too slow at the department? Is it election time so soon?" Lorette demanded bitterly, giving Coover a look that was equivocal. There was no hiding the fact that she was angry. "This is in connection with a current investigation, Citizen," Jo explained, her voice cold and unsympathetic. "Will you join us like a good citizen or do we need to arrest you?" "I'm sure that won't be necessary," Coover said, intervening before the temperature between the two women heated up any more. "Please, Citizen, I'm sure that we won't be too long. Will you come back to the department with us?" Lorette caught the pleading look in his eyes and her resolve seemed to melt away. "It's always the same," she grumbled: "when you've got nothing better to do you like to harass us a little." "Who do you mean by 'us'?" Jo demanded, her eyes focusing suspiciously on the cropheaded young woman, who was of a similar age to her but who inhabited a completely different world. "Who the hell do you think?" Lorette retorted angrily. "This is just another example of political harassment." "You can lodge an official complaint back at the department," Coover suggested, and in doing so he drew a sharp and quizzical glance from his partner. "But to do that we have to get there," he added, hoping to draw off Jo's questioning look. Lorette must have caught the exchange of glances between the two police officers because she fell silent immediately. Coover saw her sizing up the situation, trying to work out whether there was any allegiance between him and herself. "I need to get dressed," she told him, throwing off the thin covering that had clothed her body. Coover couldn't help staring at her nakedness, at the full round breasts that seemed to be bursting from her chest, at the long red nipples, at the smooth taut stomach, the long silky smooth thighs, and the clean-shaven pussy that bulged so sexily. He swallowed hard. She was even more enticingly sexy than he remembered, and yet again he couldn't help thinking that her shaven head added to that air of exotic mystery that was so attractive. "Cover yourself up," Jo ordered brusquely as Lorette moved very slowly off the bed, obviously enjoying showing off her nakedness.

"This is my home - you can't get me on a morals charge here," Lorette taunted, her smile directed at Coover, who was drinking in her image. "Don't you have any sense of shame?" Jo demanded, her voice thick with disgust, a disgust that would have once been shared by Coover but was now just a faint memory for him. "Please, get dressed," Coover urged her, knowing that Jo was watching him just as much as she was watching Lorette. "You're always the same," Lorette said, laughing as she began to clothe herself. ^You see a body and you think it's disgusting. What goes on in your sick minds? That's what I'd like to know." Coover could feel Jo's anger; he could sense it, bottled up, fit to explode. Jo was driven by the same motives that drove him, a sense of decency, a sense of right, a paranoid sense that the world was slipping into carnal chaos. He had thought that way too, and there was a part of him that still longed for those certainties. "Look at this stuff," Jo told Coover, gesturing to the posters and electronic images that lined the walls. Here the limits of political freedom were on display. The slogans and the images were as far as you could go without incurring the wrath of the MGs and the police. "It's all legal," Lorette assured her, looking up as she was dressing. Jo ignored her and began to snap images of the posters, recording it all so that it could be downloaded to the computer back at base. Coover sat between the two women during the short auto journey back to the department. Every time he looked round he got a smile from one of them, each of them sure that he was on her side. For each other the women reserved nothing but scowls and illtempered, sarcastic comments; the only thing he could do was stop them slugging it out on the back seat of the auto. A dozen calls had been logged by the time they arrived at the department, Lorette's networked dissident friends making sure that the word was spread. That was routine. Every call was logged away, the name of every caller catalogued and filed, the cross-references always available for scanning. Coover had no idea why they did it. Calling in like that only added to their own files and it did nothing to help Lorette. Perhaps it was a form of protest, a deliberate flouting of common sense or a self-destructive urge to give themselves away. In an information age nothing went without notice: every act was a transaction that was logged to a file somewhere. "How many calls?" Lorette asked excitedly, as soon as they were inside the interview room. "None," Jo replied coldly, annoyed by Lorette's casual attitude. She wanted people to be respectful, to show a little fear when they were face to face with the law. "Is that right, Detective Coover?" Lorette asked, teasing him. "I haven't checked," Coover lied, finding the situation increasingly uncomfortable. The thought that was in the back of his mind was that Jo was going to be reporting to the chief too, and so he was no longer free to act the way he wanted. Lorette nodded - she knew the game better than anyone. The interview room was a box on one of the upper storeys of the building. It contained a

coffee table and some comfortable chairs and everything was wired up. There was full sound and visual recording, all triggered on body heat so that there could never be a moment that went unrecorded. It meant that secret deals could not be cut, that whispered asides or angry threats could not be uttered. Even a person alone in the room would not be able to whisper to him or herself. "Coffee, please," Lorette ordered, sinking into the most comfortable seat and putting her feet up on the coffee table. Jo was silent fury, the anger bleaching her face, her lips turning white as she clenched her fists tightly. Coover wanted to laugh: her inexperience was so clear to see, which was precisely what Lorette was playing on. "I'll dial it up," he said. "Make yourself comfortable, Jo. I think we're in for a long session." Jo nodded, and sat down in the chair furthest from Lorette. The sun was out and the light filled the room, the golden glow giving it an atmosphere that did much to mitigate the functional design. He dialled up three coffees on the console, and then turned to face the two women. "Well, Lorette, you're probably wondering what all this is about," he began awkwardly. Lorette looked at him rather sadly. She was used to far better than that feeble effort. "Is that it?" she sighed. He ignored that. "We want to ask you about a group called the Libertine Sisters. Do you know anything about them?" "No." "You are aware that your reactions are being analysed," Jo warned her. "We know that you are lying." "I know." "So do you know anything about the Libertine Sisters?" Coover tried again, hoping that she'd be a little more co-operative. "No." "You are aware that these lies will be recorded," Jo warned again, though they all knew about the recordings and the spectral analyses. "I know," Lorette admitted happily, beaming Jo a friendly smile. She was sitting with arms crossed, legs up on the coffee table, completely comfortable and supremely confident. Coover passed the cups of coffee round. A barely perceptible shrug of the shoulders his reply to Jo's questioning look. With someone like Lorette anger was not the weapon to use. In fact Lorette liked nothing better than goading inexperienced young police officers, who clearly underestimated her. "Are the Sisters still active?" Coover asked, handing Lorette the coffee. "I don't have any sisters," she responded, smiling. "Siblings are a throwback to the age of sexual reproduction. Unless you are suggesting that . . . No, a good police officer wouldn't dare suggest such a thing." "You think you're so clever," Jo snapped crossly. "Answer the damn questions. Are the

Sisters still active?" "Can you restrict your answer to yes or no?" Coover added, though he knew that it was a hopeless request. "Can you restrict your questions to yes or no?" "Do you know Asha Mariel?" Jo demanded, jumping out of her seat and screaming the question in Lorette's face. It took Lorette and Coover by surprise. Lorette shrank back, startled by the naked display of anger. "Yes," she replied softly, looking down into her cup. Hell! Why hadn't he asked that question when he had the chance. Coover wanted to kick himself. Lorette had hinted that she knew some of the people around Antone Coard but he hadn't actually come out and asked her. He had been afraid to give too much away, but holding his cards close to his chest had now backfired. Jo's anger had shocked Lorette into giving a straight answer, and, as he well knew, one answer always led to another. "Was she a member of the Libertine Sisters?" Jo continued, her tone of voice coldly determined. A moment of hesitation, and then Lorette closed her eyes and shook her head. She was committed now: the spell had been broken and now that she had revealed that she knew something she had to work her way out of it. "Was she connected to them in some other way?" Coover asked, getting in the next question before Jo had a chance to carry on. She shot him an angry look - her rhythm was being interrupted and she didn't like it. "Yes. I think she had been to one of their meetings," Lorette whispered. "When was this?" Coover asked. "Last year, I think." "Are you part of the group?" Jo asked, her question coming hot on the heels of Lorette's answer. Her words were short sharp blasts of sound, cutting through the crap to get to the core of the situation - just like she'd been trained to do. "No." "You're lying," Jo declared. "Where do the group meet?" Coover sat back and watched and listened. He had been effectively sidelined by Jo, who was proving to be a natural at interrogation. She was normally so nice and friendly, not at all a typical police officer, yet in action she had reverted to form. Coover didn't know whether to be saddened by Jo's transformation or proud, though it did suddenly make him feel very old. "Who is the leader of the group?" Jo continued, expert enough in questioning not to give Lorette the benefit of hesitation. "There are no leaders, they don't go for that," Lorette explained softly. "How do you know if you're not a member of the group?" "I just know," Lorette mumbled. She was staring hard at her coffee, keeping her eyes

from Coover's, as though she were ashamed of herself. "Who are your contacts in the group?" "Stop it! Stop it!" Lorette cried, putting her hands over her ears and shutting her eyes tightly. Coover signalled for Jo to calm down, and she nodded, accepting that the time had come to change the rhythm and for the quiet approach to take over. As far as she was concerned she had done well, and Coover knew that if the chief ever saw the recording of the session she would be very pleased with Jo's textbook procedure. "Tell us why you're not part of the group," Coover suggested quietly, after Lorette had calmed down. She looked at him coldly. The verbal battering she had just received seemed to have stripped her of any goodwill she had towards him. "Can you tell us anything at all about the group?" he asked, unable to think of anything that he could do to distance himself from Jo without giving himself away. "You're not doing yourself any favours by not co-operating," Jo warned. "Please, Lorette," Coover pleaded with her. There was a heavy silence, the two police officers waiting patiently, letting the silence grow. Lorette waited too, but as the seconds dragged on she began to fidget uncomfortably, as though intimidated by the depth of silence. She shifted in her seat, looking furtively at Jo and then Coover, crossing and uncrossing her arms. The coffee cup was empty and it was not going to be refilled. "There is one thing I can tell you," Lorette sighed eventually, defeated by the brooding silence that had been allowed to grow around her, crowding out her resolve to say nothing. "Go ahead," Coover told her calmly. Jo was quiet too, both of them careful not to show any signs that Lorette had climbed down. "The Sisters are very particular about who can join them - recruitment is by invitation only," Lorette began, her voice barely a whisper. "It's a women-only organisation, of course, but it has to be a certain type of woman. Once you've been selected as a potential member then you're assigned a sponsor from within the group. You have to work with her, and then when she thinks you are ready you can be formally initiated into the group." She paused. "Go on," Coover urged her softly. "The initiation ceremony is the first time a new member is allowed to see any of the other members of the group, apart from her sponsor. It's a security kind of thing. They know that as a proscribed organisation they're at the mercy of informers . . ." Again Lorette hesitated, her voice drifting into silence. "I won't give you any names. I just can't, Detective Coover, I can't. But I'm not a member, I promise you that. Your analysis machine will back me up, I'm sure." "I'm sure it will too, Lorette," he agreed, hoping that she was telling the truth. The spectral-analysis technique had been refined to the point where there was little chance of getting away with lies, and the police could use the technique at will. It had made criminal endeavour extremely difficult: if a crime was detected then almost invariably it could be solved. The only successful crime was that which remained undetected or unreported. Lorette looked at him sharply, trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth or not.

The initiation is a ritual that they've developed over the years. It's part mystical, part sexual and part psychological. The intention is to bind the person - and she's called a novice until she becomes a full Sister - to the group completely. The novice is first cleansed by her sponsor, who takes great pleasure in undressing and bathing her. The bathing is a very sensual part of the ritual. Although the novice doesn't know it at the time, the whole thing is witnessed by all the other Sisters, who view it either via a monitor or a two-way mirror. The sponsoring Sister will bathe the novice everywhere, concentrating especially on the erogenous zones. The nipples are alternately teased and soothed until they are hard and erect, aching with sensation. The skin is washed and then rubbed with aromatic oils that have an aphrodisiac effect. The sex is stroked but not penetrated - the intention is to arouse so that the novice Sister is excited and open. The anus is cleansed, and again aromatic oils are used to arouse and excite −" "This is obscene," Jo muttered under her breath. "When the novice has been properly bathed - and by this time she's usually very aroused - she's dressed in a virginal white robe, blindfolded and then led into the chamber. This is where the mystical part of the ritual takes place. The Goddess is invoked, prayers are sung, the air is thick with incense, the Priestess makes the spell and the novice swears her life to the Goddess. The golden chalice is brought forward by one of the Sisters, and the heavy red wine that it contains is blessed by the Priestess. The novice drinks the potion and while she does so the robe is cut from her body. The last drops of the potion are poured symbolically over her nakedness, so that it runs from her puckered nipples, down her belly and drips from between her pussy lips. She is urged on to hands and knees, and, still blindfolded, she must crawl forward to sample from the sweetest well. Her mouth is pressed between the thighs of the Priestess, and the novice must bring each to orgasm using her tongue. The novice must do this to all the Sisters present, sucking the sweet nectar from their sex until they each climax, calling the name of the Goddess at the moment of climax." Lorette stopped and heaved a heavy sigh. "And is that the end of the ritual?" Coover asked, glancing quickly at Jo, who was scowling. "No. The novice must now receive that she has given. All the Sisters present will make love to her at once, so that her single act of love is returned redoubled many times over. She will be kissed and sucked, her breasts caressed with mouth and fingers, her pussy penetrated or sucked, fingers pressed into her rear hole until she climaxes repeatedly, and at every climax she must scream the name of the Goddess whom she worships. When she has climaxed once for every Sister present - and you can imagine what that must be like then the blindfold is removed and she may set eyes on her Sisters. Finally there is a mass orgy, where every woman is available to every other woman, and they make love with complete abandon, enjoying each other until they are completely exhausted. It's a harking back to the most pagan rituals of womankind, long before the imposition of male domination and long before the Viral Armageddon outlawed such sexual activity completely." "Are you one of the Sisters?" Jo demanded, standing up suddenly, as though the story she had just heard had disturbed her in some way. Her face was flushed pink, and she avoided Coover's eyes, directing her attention to Lorette once more. "I've told you," Lorette repeated, sounding exhausted, "I'm not part of the Libertine Sisters. I'm not now and never have been. Is that good enough for you? You'll be able to check that later against your blasted analysis." "Do you know if Asha Mariel was ever a member?" Coover asked. "No, she wasn't."

"What was her connection with them then?" Jo demanded. "I don't know," Lorette told her angrily. "Perhaps she just liked to watch what they got up to. Perhaps she got turned on by watching women making love to other women. Perhaps she liked to indulge in her fantasies without using machines like the rest of you." "Is that what you do?" Jo responded harshly. "Do you like to watch what these sick individuals get up to? Is that how you know about this initiation ceremony?" "No." "You realise that what you've described is completely illegal?" "Yes." "Lorette," Coover interjected before Jo could get properly up to speed on her questions, "is there anything else you can tell us about Asha Mariel? Is there anything about her that you have heard recently?" "What is it about that woman?" Lorette demanded looking quizzically at Coover. "Has she done something? Is she under investigation? My!" She laughed sharply. "That would be something: a data attorney under political investigation." "She's done nothing wrong," Jo barked vehemently. "Liar!" Lorette cried. "Why can't we private citizens have spectral analysers? Then we'd know when we were being lied to." "And bring down the whole political system?" Coover said, and laughed along with Lorette. "Do you have anything more to say?" Jo asked humourlessly. "No." "In that case, Citizen, I think we can send you home," Coover decided, wrapping up the interview. Coover returned to his workstation to find an apprehensive Jo Lake waiting for him. Her green eyes were unfathomable and he sensed her disquiet. "Well, what do you think?" he asked, glancing at the computer terminal to see if the spectral-analysis results had been processed yet. "Tell me something, Rey," said Jo softly: "just what is your relationship with Lorette de Flara?" Was Jo jealous? The thought struck him suddenly, and he was sure it was true. Hell, why hadn't he seen it earlier. The anger, the hostility, everything that had been directed at Lorette was because she was in some way jealous of her. "I arrested her," he explained. "It was a long time ago now, but I arrested her for a political offence. It's simply that we have history: over time it's turned into an odd kind of relationship. She's not my informant or anything like that, despite what the rumours might say." "So she's a friend?" Jo asked, her jade eyes searching Coover's - though what she wanted from him he did not know.

"Yes, you could say that," he admitted hesitantly. "I'll be honest with you, Jo. I trust her. If she says that she's not in the Libertine Sisters then she's telling the truth." "We'll soon know for sure," she said, unwilling to accept his word for it. "You did very well there," he remarked, his tone cold and professional once more. He was aware that he and Jo were being watched, that the other officers were in some way suspicious of his relationship with the pretty young officer. Jo felt it too, whenever she felt herself loosening up in his presence she would freeze a moment later, and then her natural prettiness would be replaced with an emotionless mask that was far removed from her true feelings. "Thank you, Rey," she said, accepting the remark as one officer to another. "I was very nervous," she added. "I've never been involved with a political case before." "Well," he said darkly, "they don't get more political than this one." The first results that flashed up on the screen yielded no surprises. What she said about Asha Mariel had high probability factors: there was little doubt that Lorette had been telling the truth. Her claim that she was not a member of the Libertine Sisters gave a similar reading, though her statement that she had never been a member had shown a dip in the probability numbers. Coover's burst of laughter drew sharp glances from the other officers working at their stations. Jo looked askance, and then her shock gave way to laughter too, a sweet, unaffected laughter that brought the colour back to her face and made her eyes sparkle. The probability figures came in for Lorette's description of the initiation ceremony - big fat zeros. It had been a fiction, one long joke, and now Jo and Coover were enjoying the joke too.

Fourteen When Jo was called up to the chiefs office it was no big surprise for Coover: she was only on the investigation because the chief wanted her to keep tabs on what was going on. He tried not to let it bug him too much. At least he trusted Jo more than most of his other fellow officers, though that trust had shown signs of wavering during Lorette's interrogation. He had scanned the recording of it and his performance lacked the kind of professional ruthlessness that Jo's had shown in abundance. Still, at least Lorette had confirmed his theory that Asha had not been a radical. Her testimony should have laid to rest that particular line of investigation, but Coover had a hunch that it was going to have the exact opposite effect. The chief had decided that political radicals were behind the joint disappearance and nothing was going to get in the way of that story, especially not the truth. He figured that was one of the reasons why Jo had been summoned alone. He was too prone to argue, even if he did buckle under in the end. He looked around him. His colleagues were either sitting mutely in front of their terminals or deep in discussion with the computer. Human interaction was minimal, and for many of them the only relief from the tedium was a quick visit to Colleen and her VR units down in the basement. For the first time Coover understood just how lucky he had been to get the Pia case: it had unexpectedly opened a whole new world of experience for him. It had been a life-changing journey, and every step of the way had been closely fought, his old inhibitions and fixed ideas having to be battered down by sheer persistence. But there could be no turning back. It hadn't been as quick as the Damascene conversion, but as far as he was concerned the effect was the same: his old life had been cast away and a new life taken on.

He stared blankly at the screen, able to affect a look of rapt concentration while his mind wandered and his thoughts ranged. Finding Asha Mariel, and Pia too, was still his highest priority, though now his motivation had changed. The big career that he had been so assiduously mapping out no longer seemed so attractive. If anything it seemed limited and pointless. He had to find Asha now if only to prove the chief wrong and to save people like Lorette from further harassment. Hell, that was strange: he was feeling sorry for the political radicals he had always despised . . . Antone Coard was the key - Coover was certain of that, and had been certain from the very beginning. Why couldn't he follow that lead up? Because the chief was afraid of starting a jurisdictional dispute between the police force and the MG committee. And why was she afraid of that? Because such disputes always ended badly, because the Moral Guardians were a much more powerful political force than the police had ever been. The questions circled endlessly, a question chasing the tail of every other question, obscuring the answers and making it impossible to unravel any sense from the ensuing mess. "What can you tell me about Antone Coard?" Coover asked the computer, exasperated by the chiefs fixed attitude. "What do you want to know, Rey?" the computer responded, as though it were aching to supply him with all the information he needed. "Do we have any links with him and Asha Mariel?" "I'm sorry, Rey. Could you be more specific?" "Sure, has he kidnapped Asha Mariel?" "I'm sorry, Rey. I don't have that information in my database. Is there anything else?" "Forget it," Coover sighed. "Rey, you sound a little depressed," the computer responded sympathetically. "Why don't you take a visit to the VR unit? It's been some time since you've taken a break." "You're right," he agreed. "I do need a break, but the VR unit can wait. Have an auto ready for me." "Should I page Jo to join you?" "No," he said firmly. "I don't want to disturb her conference with the chief. If she wants to know where I am tell her I'm just following up a hunch." Coover noted the parked auto vehicle outside one of the houses next to Asha's. It was a rare sight to see a privately owned vehicle and he snapped an image of it to check against records. His own vehicle, taken from the pool that the department provided, stopped outside Asha's block. Apart from the parked auto there was no other sign of life, but that was expected: it was a law of nature that the liveliness of an environment was in indirect proportion to the social standing of its inhabitants. He stepped out of the auto and leaned against it, unable to decide what the hell he was doing there. The apartment had been searched and the clues it had yielded were only of indirect value, yet somehow he was certain that he had overlooked the most obvious fact of all. Where did Asha get her collection of pornographic films and images? An extensive collection like hers would have cost a fortune, and it would have taken years to acquire. Madame Kordatou! Hell, why hadn't he seen the connection earlier? She too had a

collection of ancient erotic books. Was there a link? There had to be - he was certain of it. He suppressed the idea of going directly to EyeGasm, though it was something that had to be done. Instead he opted for another look around Asha's apartment, half hoping that the link to Madame Kordatou could be proven. He put his palm to the security panel without even thinking about it. In his mind he was mentally going over everything that could link Asha and the enigmatic mistress of EyeGasm. When Sandy opened the door a minute later he simply looked at her blankly, too lost for words to do anything but stare at the young woman who was smiling at him. "Rey, how nice to see you," she said sweetly, her eyes lighting up when he returned her warm smile with something that was only a vague approximation of a smile. "Sandy," he said finally, stepping into the apartment, "what are you doing here?" "I'm Asha's friend," she beamed, and then remembered that she had already told him that. "You know that already," she complained. "Why did you ask me again, Rey?" "I'm just surprised to see you again," he said mildly. "What exactly are you doing here?" "Aren't you happy to see me?" she asked, pouting sulkily, looking up at him coyly, the excitement like a fire in her eyes. "Of course I'm happy to see you," he assured her, trying to keep a tight rein on his reaction to her come-on. "It's just that I didn't expect to see you here." She grinned. "Then I must be a pleasant surprise. I am, aren't I?" "Yes, you are," he agreed, smiling, unable to resist her coy smile. She was wearing a long dress that covered her from the neck down to the ankles, leaving him with nothing but a memory of what her body had been like, a memory that was arousing nevertheless. "Have you returned to make love to me again?" she asked hopefully. "Well, I'm on duty," he sighed regretfully. "But aren't you going to fill my bumhole with one of Asha's toys and my pussy hole with the other?" she asked, completely crestfallen. "I don't have time," he explained, sadly. He tried not to imagine pressing the two ornate dildoes into Sandy's luscious body, and then taking her in the mouth . . . "But you promised!" she cried petulantly, her eyes filling with tears that glittered and sparkled in the light. "Please don't cry," he begged, knowing that he would not be able to resist tears and emotion. She was a Droid, but any emotion was real, and he couldn't bear to see her hurt. "But you promised . . ." "Please, Sandy, I can't," he sighed once more. "Tell me: how is Madame Kordatou?" Sandy looked at him. She blinked. "Who? Do I know her?" "Yes, she runs the EyeGasm leisure facility," he said. "That is where you work, isn't it?" "No, I don't work there," she said, looking completely mystified.

"Where do you work then, Sandy?" he asked, realising with an awful sinking feeling that another theory was about to wind up on the scrapheap. "I don't work anywhere." Coover smiled patronisingly. "You must work somewhere. Where do you spend all your time?" "Here. Asha's my friend," she explained, and then looked confused again. "You know all of this, Rey. Why are you asking me again? Have you forgotten?" It was his turn to be mystified. "No, I haven't forgotten." "So you remember that you promised to use Asha's toys? One behind and one . . ." She let the sentence drift, the hope returning to light up her face. Her long hair was still done up in a plait - a golden tail that contrasted with the blackness of her dress. There was a catch down the front. He had only to touch it and the dress would fall from her body like a mist under the breeze. "Where do you live, Sandy?" he asked, his voice harder than it had been. "Are you angry, Rey?" "Where do you live, Sandy? Do you live here?" She nodded as though it were obvious, as though she couldn't see what all the fuss was about, as though he should have known it from the start. "Do you belong to Asha Mariel?" he asked, raising his voice angrily. He wanted to kick himself for being so stupid - the truth had been staring him in the face all the time. "She's my friend," Sandy replied softly, cowering a little. She looked scared and more than a little confused. The questions were meaningless to her - they fell outside the narrowly defined borders of her interest. Coover followed her into the living room, unwilling to give up his questions. He'd screwed up and now he had to find out exactly what was going on. "Where did you live before you became Asha's friend?" "I don't know what you mean, Rey? Why are you asking me all these questions?" "Because I want to find Asha Mariel. Do you know where she is?" There was no hesitation in her answer. "No, I don't know where she is, Rey." "When was the last time you saw her?" "I don't know, I don't know . . ." she wailed, real tears beginning to stream down her face. "Do you know Antone Coard? Thomas Vass? Crowley?" "No, no, no! Please, stop this, Rey. Let's make love, please . . ." He stopped, exhaled heavily. Questioning Sandy was like trying to swim through a sea of mud: there was no sense of progress and he couldn't see where any of it was leading. The limits of her programming were glaring. She was intelligent, lively and yet bounded by horizons that were limited to sex. She sat and wept, rocking back and forth like a child, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

He wanted to rush to her, to cradle her in his arms and kiss away the bitter tears, to suck the breath from her until her sighs were of pleasure, but he held back. She was weak and vulnerable and it was his fault. He could be a heartless bastard when he wanted to be and he wasn't proud of it. "I'd better go," he said quietly, backing out towards the door. "Don't I please you?" she cried, and the heart-rending look of sorrow made him feel sick with himself. "You do please me - you please me too much," he told her. "I'm sorry, Sandy. I'll come back another time, I promise." "Will you?" she asked, wanting to believe him more than anything else. "Yes, I promise, and I'll do all the things I promised to do." "Good." She managed a weak smile, wiping the tears that had streaked down her face. "There is one other thing," he remembered suddenly. "Yes?" she asked brightly. "How is Asha?" "She's fine," Sandy replied with a smile. "Can I see her?" he asked casually, not wanting to point out the glaring contradiction in what Sandy was saying, certain that she was not even aware of it herself. "But I don't know where she is," she repeated, looking puzzled by the question and her answer. "I'll be back," he promised her. "I can't wait," she called after him as he left. It was a pitifully small fund of favours that Coover had to call upon, but he called in enough to keep the auto for the rest of the day and to keep the chief off his back too. It was no way to run an investigation, no way at all, but it was the only way left for him. It didn't take much to see that he had been set up, a sacrificial lamb so that when the inevitable happened and the case collapsed it would be his turn for the chop. Perhaps he deserved it. There had never been any love lost between him and the chief - they had taken an instant dislike to each other the first time they met. The auto could be described as many things: functional, efficient, a technological masterpiece, but not comfortable. There was room enough for three people to sit down but not room enough for one person to stretch out comfortably. And there was nothing to do if you had no interest in interrogating the computer, and Coover had none. For the first time in days he wished that he could plug into a VR unit - anything rather than face up to his own company in the cramped confines of the police vehicle. Waiting was not something he was used to. It had fallen out of fashion as far as police work was concerned. 'Staking out' it had been called once, but that was in the days when an investigation depended on human resources and not on high-powered computer technology. Coover almost felt nostalgic for a time he had only ever read about, that strange period in history when being a detective had been something glamorous and

exciting. Unfortunately that time was long gone, and even in fiction the detective was no more than a state functionary, a minor bureaucrat bound to his or her desk and dependent on a machine for everything. There was no room for insight, hunches, wild guesses or instinct: if it couldn't be codified and programmed then it was of no value. Coover spent most of the day locked in a morbid, self-reflective mood that was only occasionally interrupted by the passing of other vehicles. It was nearly nightfall when the unmarked auto turned off on to the drive and cruised slowly round to stop outside Asha's apartment block. Coover felt a surge of adrenaline washing away the sombre introspection: something was happening at last. Sandy emerged from the apartment. She had changed clothes: the long dress had been replaced with tight figure-hugging pants and a skin-tight top with a plunging neckline. She looked good, as sexy as she always did, but it was her face that he noticed. Her lips were glossy red, and colour had been applied to her face. Her eyes were highlighted, drawing attention to obvious excitement. She walked to the parked auto, opened the door and slipped inside comfortably, the door hissing to a close after her. "Get a trace on the auto near Asha's apartment," Coover said, whispering to the computer as he peered at it, trying to make it out in the twilight. "I'm sorry, Rey, but the vehicle ahead does not register," the computer reported after a pause during which the vehicle began to move off. "Can you follow it?" he asked, astounded by the computer's reply and yet excited by it. No trace meant that the vehicle was unauthorised - it had been wiped off the records, an act that was held to be impossible. "Sure," the computer replied brightly, "as long as I can keep visual contact with it." "Well follow it, then!" he snapped, fearful that he was going to lose it. The auto accelerated sharply, throwing Coover back into his seat. The vehicle in front was turning on to the road. He could see Sandy sitting in the rear seat, her blonde hair loose rather than plaited as it had been earlier. Coover's auto followed the unlicensed vehicle at a safe distance, he wanted to be careful, afraid that Sandy would turn back and see him. The two vehicles joined the main expressway and were soon speeding comfortably in the steady controlled stream of traffic. Coover was on the edge of his seat. He wanted to will the vehicles faster and yet he was terrified of detection. Something was happening, something big, he kept telling himself. The sky was darkening quickly. The sun was still warming the horizon but already the moon was climbing high. "What's going on?" he demanded, panic flaring suddenly in the pit of his stomach. "The vehicle we are apprehending seems to be attempting some sort of evasive action," the computer reported calmly. That was no news: he could see Sandy's auto moving gracefully from one lane of traffic to the next, making precise moves from one slot to the next until it was lost in the stream. "Follow it!" he bellowed, moving across from one side of the vehicle to the other, pressing his face against the viewing screen in an effort to locate her. "I'm sorry, Rey, but I no longer have a visual fix. Should I call for backup? This is a highly irregular occurrence." "Shit! No backup!" he screamed, the first jewels of sweat forming on his brow. He felt sick

inside, a heaving, swirling nausea that had to be fought back. "Give me manual control," he hissed, trying to control the shakes. "Manual control?" the computer repeated, as though it were shocked at the order. "Yes, manual control!" He sat well back in his seat, the safety belts clicking tightly around his waist. A panel above his head opened smoothly and the control system unlocked and lowered itself in front of him. He looked at the drive sticks in front of him for a second and then grabbed them, taking a tight grip as he felt the power of the auto for the first time. It was a crazy thing to do, but there was no time for analysis. There was a gap in the flow two vehicles ahead of him. He edged the speed up sharply and accelerated into it with a jerk that pushed him back into the seat. He was vaguely aware of the other autos slowing down, trying to react to the random factor that he represented. He used the viewing screen to simultaneously seek the next slot in the traffic and Sandy's vehicle, which had become invisible. He moved even before he had a chance to think about it, a sharp right, acceleration, cut left through two lanes of traffic and then deceleration before he could smash into the back of the auto in front. His guts churned as the auto chicaned through the traffic, hardly aware of the look of fear and horror on the faces of the passengers in the other vehicles. Another move forward, left again, sharp acceleration and then another left. Still no sign of Sandy. Ahead he could see that there were exits to the right and left, vehicles moving in orderly fashion to filter off on to these roads. The last sighting of Sandy's auto had been when it was executing a smooth journey from the rightmost lane of traffic to the leftmost. Now he was there, heading quickly to the exit on the left-hand side. Sector 23. He swerved right, his vehicle squeezing into a gap between two others, a gap so tight he could see the terminal display in the vehicle in front. The deceleration was sharp. It pushed him forward but he held the drive sticks steady. There was a momentary lull in the flow of vehicles in the right-hand lanes - after all few people who lived in the Valley could afford private vehicles, and he took advantage of it. He sped on to the exit road, knowing that it was all or nothing. He slowed down but kept control of the auto. He felt as though his hands, slick with sweat, were welded to the drive sticks. The traffic had thinned out considerably, and he breathed a sigh of relief - Sandy's vehicle was there, three in front of his own. "Can you see it now?" he demanded angrily, the shakes returning once more as the adrenaline surge died away. "Do you want me to take over now?" "Only if you're going to keep on the tail of that auto." "I'm sorry, Rey, but it was taking evasive action. I have recorded all of this in case we want to take further action, though I do think a call should have been made for backup." "I don't care what you think," he muttered. He could feel the loss of power as the computer cut in. The drive sticks were useless but he felt unable to let go. It had been a long time since he had taken manual control of a vehicle - too long. Sandy's vehicle took no more evasive action, and neither did she ever turn back to see if she was being followed. She was sitting well back in her seat. Coover could see that she was relaxed and comfortable, hardly bothering to look where she was being taken. Coover on the other hand was on the edge of his seat, peering at the dark streets around

him as he followed Sandy's auto into the most run-down part of the city. Sector 23 was a valley only in the loosest geographical terms, it was a name with a history more than a future, and it should have been no surprise that a runaway like Asha would choose to hide there. Was it Asha that Sandy was going to see? What if there were a perfectly natural explanation? Coover dismissed the idea at once: there could be no natural explanation, the unlicensed vehicle said it all. At last Sandy's auto slowed, turned off the road and pulled up in front of a pair of wrought-iron gates. There was a pause as the security system scanned the vehicle and then the gates creaked open to let it through. "Who does that place belong to?" Coover whispered as his own vehicle stopped further up the road. The computer response was fast and accurate. "It's registered to a Katerina Delrey. Female, thirty years old, independently wealthy, no criminal record. Last graphic on record is more than fifteen years old. Do you wish to have more details?" "Full medical records?" The computer understood what Coover was getting at. "Yes, Rey, complete medical records, also educational details on file, transactions on record since childhood. Would you like to scan the files?" "No, forget it. Wait here," he ordered, realising that the next move was inevitable. "Should I call for backup?" "No backup. Don't even report our position, OK?" The stucco walls around the villa were too high to look over, and the gates were being scanned by the security system. It meant the only way in was to go over the wall. The creeping vines climbing one wall looked steady enough on the ground, but by the time Coover had hauled himself halfway up he had revised his opinion. He clung to the vines, pulling himself up centimetre by centimetre, his body aching from the unfamiliar exertion. A tearing sound made him scramble madly, grabbing the top of the wall as the vines started to come away. He hauled himself up painfully, every muscle in his body screaming with pain, until he was safe. The top of the wall was a good resting point. He lay flat and caught his breath while scanning what was on the other side. The pool was a blue sparkle under sharp electric lights, the clean water so still that it might have been glass. The paved area around the pool, complete with a couple of sun chairs and a bar in one corner, gave way to a neatly mown lawn which led to the house itself. There were few lights on, and from his position on the wall Coover could only glimpse into dark rooms on the far side of the house. He jumped down and landed heavily, winding himself so that he had to lean against the wall for a minute to catch his breath. It was painful to see just how out of shape he was - the jump down had shattered any lingering illusions about being an old-style cop. He limped around the back of the house, hoping that the security system would be concentrated on the massive gates at the front. He found an open window and peered into the room - a small bedroom with an unmade bed and clothes scattered on the floor - but decided against going in. What he was hoping for was to find Asha and Sandy together, perhaps making love so that the element of surprise would be maximised and then he could get the full story from them. Hell, it would be a perfect end to the case to take Asha back to the chief. He moved on to the next room and then the next, tracking the walls of the house in an effort to remain invisible.

The voices that he heard were both feminine. He pressed himself flat against the wall and listened hard. There was a window to his right. The light from it formed a sharp orange rectangle on the lawn in front of him, and there were women inside the room. The window was closed but from the muffled sound he was sure that Sandy was one of the two women. He listened more closely, but was unable to make anything out, though it confirmed his assumption that it was Sandy and one other woman. The lawn was cool and wet when he knelt down, his hands brushing through freshly watered blades of grass. He held his breath and then took a peep into the room before ducking down again. Another bedroom, this time a double, a large bed dominating it, mirrors on one wall. Sandy was naked in front of the mirror, her back to the window, and she was talking to a dark-haired woman, who had her back to the window. He risked another quick peek into the room, saw that the second woman was wearing only a short silk shift that barely covered her backside. Whoever she was she had one hand on Sandy's shoulder, holding her possessively, admiring Sandy's naked body reflected in the mirror. Coover crawled back a little, then stood up, wiping his wet hands across his clothes. There was little time. He trotted round to the front of the house, ducking down each time he passed a window. He couldn't be sure that the two women were alone in the house. That would have been too much to hope for. The security system was his main worry, however: the last thing he wanted was to trigger an alarm that would bring half the department swarming down, nor did he want to give the mysterious Katerina Delrey a chance to disappear. The open window he had seen earlier was now closed. He cursed his luck and moved on down, coming closer to the front entrance, which was flooded in light. Keeping to the shadows, he peered round the corner and looked at the front door, crossed by beams of strong white light which he had no doubt were linked to the alarm system. The element of surprise was everything, and he had no intention of giving that up so easily. He crouched down in the darkness to review the limited options open to him. "What kind of security system's installed here?" he whispered urgently into PersCon. "Standard domestic intruder alarms, no nonstandard settings. All the antipersonnel devices are set to stun," the computer reported, after taking a second to scan the database. "Weak spots?" he asked, hopefully. "Several of the windows on the second storey are linked into the alarm system but have no antipersonnel devices attached." "No good," he decided immediately. Scaling the outer wall had been the limit to his climbing ability. "Anything else?" "The grounds are unprotected. The system protects only the house itself." "Fat lot of good that is to me," he mumbled. "Could we hack into the system?" "Theoretically, Rey, that is possible," the computer replied helpfully, "but we'd need full clearance from the chiefs office. Should I apply for clearance now?" "No! I was just asking out of theoretical interest," he replied quickly, anxious to keep everyone else out of the way. He turned back and retraced his steps, moving stealthily in the darkness, keeping close to the walls again even though the computer had told him he was safe enough in the grounds.

He knelt down in the grass and crawled towards the window of the room where he had seen the two women earlier. A quick look confirmed that they were still there. Sandy was naked, her breasts cupped from behind by the second woman, who was also kissing her softly on the shoulder. He looked again. The women were too wrapped up in themselves to notice him. Sandy had her head turned to one side. The other woman kissed her on the lips passionately. In the mirror Coover could see reflected Sandy's breasts being cupped and fondled lazily by the second woman. Sandy giggled and bent over at the waist, jutting her backside out playfully, and the other woman took a step back to admire the long thighs and round buttocks. She said something and Sandy smiled, bending over even more, so that her legs were locked straight, every muscle stretched tight. The second woman ran her fingers over the smooth silky thigh, her fingers pressing deep against Sandy's warm skin. The two women kissed again, their lips touching for a while before the second woman pulled away and continued to touch and caress Sandy's exposed body. Despite himself Coover felt his excitement growing. He was turned on by the surreptitious view of the two women making love. It was what he had hoped for: to catch them making love so that the element of surprise would be all the more useful. But instead their making love was getting in the way of his thought processes. He ducked down again and sat under the window, back to the wall, trying to work out some plan of action.

Fifteen Coover's desperate deliberations were brought to an unexpected close by the faint sound of a splash. He sneaked a look into the room and found it empty. Cursing himself for being so slow, he stood up and began to trot round the side of the house again, unable to stem the rising tide of panic that he felt. It should have been his triumph, but it was turning into a farce as he circled the house in a futile attempt to come up with something even halfway smart. He stopped at the corner again, leaning against the wall with one hand while he gasped for breath. The sounds from the pool were reassuring. He could hear the rippling water and Sandy's giggling and the soft laughter from her companion. When he looked he saw that Sandy was sitting at the poolside, still gloriously nude, dangling her legs into the rippling water. Droplets sparkled on her body, golden jewels against her light skin. Her hair was dappled with water where she had obviously been splashed by her friend. The other woman was gliding through the water, her long hair slicked black and glossy, swimming with long slow strokes across the length of the rectangular pool. What Coover saw was such an innocent scene, two friends having a good time by the pool, that for a moment he felt a surge of guilt at his intended intrusion into their affairs. "I always feel so refreshed after a swim," the second woman called to Sandy. "Why don't you join me?" "I like watching you better," Sandy replied. "I like to sit and watch and fantasise about all the things we're going to do." "And what sorts of things are they, I wonder?" her friend teased, swimming back towards Sandy's end of the pool. "Dirty, slutty, wicked sorts of things," Sandy giggled. "I want to be your naughty girl. I want to be spanked and then made to kiss your nipples. I want to wet my panties and be punished for it. . . I want . . ." "You are just so disgusting!" her friend exclaimed, laughing happily as she slowed in the

water and then stopped. "Everybody says I'm incorrigible, but I'm just being honest. I love sex. I love it more than anything else in the world," Sandy explained, her face clouding for a moment. She was sitting on the edge of the pool, leaning back so that her pert breasts were pressed forward, and her long legs were splashing gently in the water. "I know you do, darling," her friend said. "Now, after a pleasant swim what do I like?" "You like to make love," Sandy sighed, the smile returning to warm her face. The second woman launched herself from the side of the pool, slicing through the water the short distance to the steps. Coover decided it was time to make his move. He stepped out of the shadow and towards the pool. And then stopped. The woman was climbing from the pool, the water cascading from her glistening body. She was still wearing the silky shift, but now it clung sensuously to her body, a wet second skin that was almost completely transparent. Her chest was bare under the shift, her nipples hard points that pressed against the soaking fabric, the silk framing the full roundness of each breast. The water coursed down her long smooth thighs, trickling in rivulets over her glistening skin. She was framed in the soft electric light, an Aphrodite emerging from the water. Her long dark hair was plastered down her back, wet and glossy, smoothed back by a casual flick of her wrist. She padded across the tiled poolside towards Sandy, who was now standing and eyeing her greedily, both of them with the same thing in mind. Coover took another step, bedazzled by what he was seeing, unable to take his eyes from the beauty that had emerged from the pool. Her lips were slightly pursed, deep-red lips that were slightly parted, high cheekbones, sultry brown eyes, a face at once angelic and yet so sensual. Under the shift she was wearing panties of the same material, but soaked through and pulled tight between her bottom cheeks, which he could just make out under the shift. The two women embraced, Sandy pressing herself completely against her friend so that she too would be soaked. They kissed, long and hard, holding hands while they did so, like young lovers of long ago. They parted and stared at each other dreamily, each held mesmerised by the other's eyes. They kissed again, harder, and this time Sandy took her friend by the waist and pulled her closer, so that their breasts rubbed together, nipples puckering up into rigid points of flesh. "It's too cold out here," Sandy whispered, taking her friend by the hand and turning back to the house. At that instant she laid eyes on Coover, and her cry of shock was echoed by her friend. "Hello, Sandy, Asha," he said, trying to sound more confident than he really felt. He stepped out of the shadows completely and strode towards the pool, self-consciously aware that both women looked completely horrified. "Rey . . . Rey . . ." Sandy stuttered, unable to get over her shock. She was rooted to the spot, her nakedness caught beautifully in the light, as though framed for one of the pictures that Asha collected. "Well, Asha?" he said, stopping at the opposite side of the pool. She looked across the expanse of silver-blue water, the light dancing like a butterfly on the surface, her face drained of colour. "My name's Katerina Delrey," she managed to say. "I don't believe you," he stated sceptically. "You're Asha Mariel, no longer missing I believe."

"No, Rey," Sandy whispered, "she's not Asha. Her name's Katerina Delrey. She's one of my friends too. Just like you are." There was no doubting her sincerity: her eyes were telling the truth. But sincerity could be programmed, like so many other things in her life. "Katerina Delrey really doesn't exist," he stated authoritatively. "It's a name you conjured out of nothing, isn't it, Asha?" "No, Rey," Sandy insisted, on the verge of tears. "You're wrong. Katerina is real. That's her real name. This isn't Asha." Coover looked at the woman claiming not to be Asha. She was standing stiffly, the shock impressed on her face like a mask to disguise her true identity. The wet fabric was clinging to her body, her breasts so temptingly displayed, the dark strip of pubic hair showing through the wet panties and wet slip. Who was she? He had been certain that it was Asha, but now he had lost that certainty. That there were no clear graphics of Asha on file had been no surprise: she had obviously wiped them from the files before disappearing; but now he really understood how it hampered his investigation. All he had to go on was a vague description, a description that matched the young woman in front of him but could match a thousand others just as well. "Sandy, who is this man?" she said, regaining some of her composure. "He's a friend," Sandy explained simply, as though it explained everything. "He's the man I told you about, the one looking for Asha." "Ah, a detective," the woman exclaimed, nodding meaningfully, "and not just some harmless voyeur getting his kicks spying on naked women." Coover felt the redness colouring his face, the heat burning his skin as he squirmed with embarrassment. He averted his eyes, realising that he'd been staring at the two women, his gaze falling on one and then the other. "I have reason to believe that you are not Katerina Delrey," he reiterated. "I suspect that you are in fact Asha Mariel." "Do you have any grounds for this suspicion?" the woman demanded, sounding more and more defiant. "You realise, Detective, that this is private property?" "Are you threatening me?" "I don't understand this," Sandy interrupted. "Why do you think this is Asha?" Her obvious confusion suddenly defused the tension as both Coover and the mystery woman turned towards her. She shrugged and smiled, suddenly deciding to coyly cover up her breasts, coquettishly covering her nipples with two fingers. "Let's go inside where we can talk," she suggested helpfully, her smile betraying her motives completely. Her friend nodded agreement, and gestured for Coover to go first. At the door he pressed his palm to the security panel and he was allowed through. "In the bedroom?" Sandy suggested to her friend hopefully. "No, he can wait for me in the study while I get changed," she replied promptly. "Show him to the room, then join me. I'd like to get out of these wet things." "But he's a friend," Sandy protested. "Let him watch −" "Absolutely not. Show him to the study and then come back to me." The study was at the front of the house, a smallish room near to the entrance. Coover went in, sneaking a last glance at the strange dark-haired woman, dripping water as she

walked away, her skin dry in places but streaked with water that oozed from her panties and her slip, down her long smooth legs to the floor. "How did you find me, Rey?" Sandy asked, as though the question had only just popped into her mind. "That was easy enough. I just wanted to see you and your friend," he explained disingenuously. "How long have you known Katerina?" "Not very long," Sandy told him, screwing up her face as she tried to work it out. "Asha introduced us. Katerina came to visit Asha sometimes." "Did she and Asha have lots to talk about when they met?" he asked, staring at her breasts rather selfconsciously, certain that she was enjoying his attention. She nodded an emphatic reply. "Yes, they used to talk for hours and hours." Her face suddenly brightened. "And sometimes all three of us used to make love." Coover smiled: that much he had already figured. "When was the last time that Asha and Katerina met?" "I can't remember," she said, wearing her familiar blank look when questioned. "I'd better go and help her out of her wet things. It's a pity she won't let you watch." She sighed. The study was dominated by the VR unit in the corner, the leather couch and dedicated console that went with it indicating that it was one of the more upmarket units. He walked over, stroked the shiny leather of the couch, glanced expertly at the controls. It was an expensive piece of kit, but rarely used by the look of it. The single window looked out across the lawn to the pool, the water now a shimmering blue vision under the electric lights. Beyond the pool were the walls, designed to keep people out and not to keep people in. It provided the sort of old-fashioned privacy that few properties in the nicer parts of the city could provide, and it was perhaps the only advantage that Sector 23 enjoyed over more prosperous districts. "Well, Detective," the woman said, entering the room, followed by a disappointed Sandy, "what have you got to say for yourself?" "You are not Katerina Delrey. There's no such person," he told her flatly, standing straight to face her. She looked unimpressed. "I am not Asha Mariel," she told him. "I do not know where she is, I can assure you of that." "Would you allow that statement to go through spectral analysis?" "You can analyse it in any way that you please," she said, the nonchalant tone bordering on the contemptuous. Her hair was swept back, a dark glossy wave that reached down her back, contrasting with the striking scarlet of the robe she had clothed herself in. "There is no Katerina Delrey. The records have been falsified, all of them. I've had this checked," he told her, returning to the one thing he was certain of. "You're lying, Detective. It's a brave attempt to trick me, but it's a failure." "I don't understand this," Sandy whispered to herself mournfully. "If you're not Katerina Delrey," Coover reasoned, "then you must be Pia."

"I seem to be a lot of people today," the woman sighed. "First I was Asha Mariel, now I'm supposed to be someone else. If I deny this one too will you pick a third name from the hat?" "Then I suggest that all three of us take a trip to the Police Department," he said, exasperated. "I'll get a fix on your identity for good, and I'll make sure that Sandy returns where she belongs." There was a startled look on the woman's face. For the first time her mask of confidence slipped away. "This has got nothing to do with Sandy," she said quietly, averting her eyes. "This has everything to do with Sandy," he insisted coldly. Sandy shrank away, still confused but able to understand that her future was at stake. "Why? She's done nothing wrong," the woman retorted, but already she had realised that he knew - her defiance was a gesture and it sounded empty. "You know the rules. I don't know how she came to be living with Asha Mariel but it's probably not legal. As for you," he added, "your status is also undecided." "How do you know I'm Pia and not Asha?" she asked, closing her eyes to block the tears that had welled up suddenly. She looked strained, as though the fault lines of her predicament were translated into her expression. The robe she had held so tightly was now released, as if all the strength in her body had been sucked away. "Because it took a threat to Sandy's freedom to get some response from you," he said, with no hint of pleasure. "You understand what kind of life she'd face at a leisure facility, it's the life you had hoped to escape for ever." Pia nodded, and this time she could not hold back the tears that streamed through eyes shut tight. She wept silently, the pain visible in her expression, and tracked by tears that coursed down her face. Coover stood and watched her, helpless, a lump in his throat as he shared her pain. It was all so stupid, so futile. What difference did it make? Where in the grand scheme of things did it make a difference if Pia lived as a machine or as a person? Sandy watched for a minute, uncomprehending, and then she stepped forward and pulled Pia close to her. Together they stood in the middle of the room and shared their tears, clinging to each other for support while Coover watched in silence. Suddenly Sandy turned to him, her face a picture of pain. "Why have you done this to us?" she demanded, her eyes blazing with accusation. There was something powerful about her now, something new, as though she had only just gained consciousness. "It's all your fault," she cried bitterly, then turned back to Pia. "I didn't want it to end this way," he said softly, choking back the emotion. Hell, it was supposed to end with his discovery of Pia, Asha Mariel and his eventual promotion. If it meant nailing people like Antone Coard or Crowley then so much the better. Tears, bitterness and emotional anguish had never been part of his script. "How did you want it to end, Rey?" Pia asked, stepping away from Sandy. The two women stood side by side, holding hands tightly, both of them looking at him with a mixture of anger and sadness. He had found them and now all their plans, whatever they may have been, were going to be confounded. "Not like this," he admitted remorsefully. "I don't understand everything," Sandy told him, "but can't we pretend this never happened? Please, Rey, turn back and pretend that you never met Katerina."

He swallowed hard. No one else knew what he was doing, but it was a path that could be independently discovered by others. "I can't do that, I'm sorry, Sandy. I'll do my best for you both, I promise." "It's an empty promise," Pia said sharply. "You know what will happen to us? We'll be turned over for reprogramming or set to work in a leisure facility." Sandy released Pia's hand and stepped forward, her eyes were full of sorrow, but there was a new darkness there, a depth of intelligence where there had been none before. She was naked but still she showed no self-consciousness about it. Her lips were pursed tightly but when she was close to Coover she opened her mouth and twisted her head round slightly. Their lips met and they shared one single long, passionate kiss. "It was easier before," she whispered. "I'm sorry, really I am," he repeated, taking her in his arms and pulling the warmth of her body closer. He held her by the waist, aroused by her nakedness and by the urgency with which they had kissed. "Make love to me, Rey," she whispered, a touch of desperation in her voice. "And you too, Katy, I want us all to make love." "My name's not Katerina - that was a made-up name. Rey is right about that." "I don't care what you're called," Sandy told her. "You're still my friend, and I'll always love you." Pia rushed forward and embraced Sandy, kissing her madly on the mouth and throat. Coover joined in too, kissing and hugging the two women, wanting to lose himself in arousal and pleasure. He stroked Sandy's breasts, exciting her nipples with his fingers while biting her on the neck. Pia was beside him, her hands travelling all over Sandy's body too. At one point he turned and Pia was there, her lips still wet and glossy where Sandy had been kissing her. Coover joined his lips to Pia's, felt the coolness of her mouth and the hotness of her breath, her robe clinging to her body, her breasts straining against the silky robe. Sandy stepped away and pulled Pia with her. The two women looked at each other, their eyes locking together as though they could communicate without words. They kissed and then they knelt down on the floor, looking at Coover expectantly. When he did nothing Sandy crawled forward and began to undress him, her fingers skilfully working at the catches on his clothes. In moments he was naked before the two women, his erect prick jutting powerfully from between his thighs, the thickly veined rod pulsing with his quickening heartbeat. Sandy worked her fingers up and down his cock, stroking it lovingly and enjoying the feel of it in her fingers. She kissed away the droplets of pre-come playfully tracing her tongue from the base up to the slit where a jewel of liquid had formed. Pia crawled forward too, looking at Coover nervously, her eyes clouded with uncertainty. Her breasts were still encased in the shimmering silk of her robe, the nipples impressed against it. When she sat up the full shape of her breasts was clearly visible, and the nipples visible as dark discs against the silk. Sandy turned to her and they kissed on the lips, and then they both turned back to Coover. Sandy closed her lips around the purple dome of Coover's prick, and then Pia joined her mouth to it, the two women kissing passionately over his cock. He moaned softly. He could feel their tongues duelling over his glans, rubbing tendrils of sensation through his body. He reached out and stroked Pia's luxurious black hair, his fingers smoothing through the thick silky locks. One of the women - he couldn't see which - began to stroke on the inside of the

thigh, her hand smoothing up and down sensuously. The sensations were heightened when he felt another hand begin to cradle his heavy balls, stroking and holding alternately, and then a finger sliding under between his rear cheeks. He gasped suddenly. He could feel the familiar rush of pleasure as he prepared to pump his seed into the mouths clamped seductively over his cock. Pia pulled away and Sandy grasped his rod tightly in her fingers, squeezing hard while rubbing her lips over his glans. It was enough. The sudden sharp pain and the strange sensations stemmed the flow, and although he felt the ecstasy of orgasm there was no shower of come. Pia took his arm and pulled him towards the ground, he knelt down on the floor, quite comfortable on the thick carpet, still reeling from the strange orgasm that he had experienced. Sandy immediately fell on him, sucking the breath from his lips as though she were desperate for air. Her breasts were flat against his chest, her nipples rubbing against him deliciously. Pia began to mouth his cock, using her tongue to lick from the base up to the glans before closing her lips and swooping down. He bucked and writhed, maddened with pleasure, the two women eagerly devouring him with their mouths. At one point he opened his eyes and saw that Sandy was on hands and knees, her mouth glued to his, while Pia was pressing her fingers into Sandy's pussy. Sandy swung round, positioned herself over his face and then squatted down. He breathed the exquisite bouquet of her femininity, the musky smell of aroused sex, her pussy lips roused and dappled with jewels of her essence where Pia had been touching her earlier. As Sandy squatted lower he poked out his tongue and touched her, tracing patterns on the underside of her thigh before lapping at her sex. She sighed, squirmed excitedly and used her fingers to part her pussy lips, eager for him to eat from her quim. The feel of Pia's mouth working up and down his cock suddenly stopped, leaving the ghostly sensation where her tongue had been circling the underside of his glans. He was vaguely aware of movement, but as Sandy's backside was pressed down over his face his attention was firmly fixed on her. He moaned excitedly, however, when he felt Pia again, holding his cock in her fingers and guiding it into her pussy as she straddled him. She pressed the tip of his prick into her snatch and then stayed there, using the tight muscles of her pussy to hold him, twisting her hips in a tight circle that caused flutters of excitement to burst inside them both. He used his hands to part Sandy's thighs completely and then licked from her pussy to her rear hole, his tongue passing over the texture of skin, hair and muscle. She tasted good, and felt good too. He tickled her anal hole with the very tip of his tongue, enjoying the excitement he could feel in her. The sensations were multilayered. He felt as if every pore of his body were alive, the pleasure passing through him in waves. Pia was now riding his stiff cock, grinding herself down on him or else bouncing up and down hard. She was in control, fucking him as she pleased and enjoying every second of it. Her cries and moans of pleasure were matched by Sandy, who was teasing her own clitty while Coover sucked from deep inside her pussy or was pushing his tongue into her behind. He gasped, his breath lost in the folds of Sandy's sex, when he felt a hand playing between his rear cheeks. It was Pia, playing with him as she rode his hard cock, reaching behind with one hand while stroking Sandy's breasts with the other. He gasped again, a sharp feeling of pain giving way to something more intriguing. He moved disjointedly, feeling as if he were no longer fully in control of his body. Every gram of his being was screaming with ecstasy. He lifted his thighs partly. Pia lifted herself so that he could thrust into the wetness of her pussy. Another sharp pain and then he relaxed - Pia had penetrated his tight anal sheath with her finger, pressing it in and out slowly, using it to regulate the rhythm with which they were fucking. His cries became more urgent, more passionate and uncontrolled. His own tongue was lapping at Sandy's pussy, drinking in the jewels of her nectar as she climaxed repeatedly into

his mouth. He was lost, delirious, blissed out of his mind . . . He shuddered and exploded, forcing thick jets of come into Pia's hot pussy, flooding her with waves of jism. Coover opened his eyes, turned lazily and saw that Sandy and Pia were locked together, sucking each other's pussy with a lazy, sensual action. They were lost in each other, enjoying a long slow session of lovemaking after the frenzy of their three-way orgy. He closed his eyes again. He still felt totally strung out, exhausted by an experience that had been so intense, so bittersweet that he knew it would live with him for ever. He heard Pia climax, her urgent cries rising to a crescendo before she exhaled forcefully and collapsed into Sandy's waiting arms. What had he done? Coover opened his eyes. There was a moment of blind panic and then he remembered. He was asleep, alone, in one of the rooms in Pia's house, spending an uneasy night there while he sought a solution that would be least damaging to everyone involved. The auto was still outside, a sentinel on the other side of the walls, waiting for his command. He countermanded all orders. Communications with the Department had been cut off, but that was a delaying tactic. There would be hell to pay the next morning, only a few hours away. "Rey? Are you awake?" the voice in the darkness asked, soft and nervous. "Sure, I'm awake, Pia," he answered, sitting up in bed and clicking his fingers for the light to come on. She was there by the door, dressed in her chaste scarlet robe, her dark eyes regarding him with a mixture of sadness and hope. He motioned for her to come in, shifting over across the bed to make room for her. Her lips were still red, tender where she had been biting and licking, and had been bitten and licked in turn. "Can we talk, Rey?" she asked, smoothing her robe down where it had fallen open to give him a tantalising glimpse of smooth bare thigh. "Sure. How's Sandy?" he asked in turn, his concern real and urgent. Sandy had broken through her programming: her natural intelligence had cut through the barriers that had been artificially imposed. She was conscious of herself at last, and that painful consciousness was filled with fear and confusion. "She's asleep at last," Pia said tenderly. "This has been more of a shock to her than it has to me. At least I knew about myself before all this started. Poor Sandy had no idea that she was not human. The fact that I had lied about my identity to her was all the more painful, but I couldn't tell her who I was before, not that she would have understood it." Tell me what's happened," he said quietly, hoping at last to unravel the sequence of events that he had been caught up in, hoping too that the story would reveal the way out for all of them. "You know, Rey," Pia remarked, looking at him as though she had just set eyes on him, "they were wrong about you. You're not stupid and you're not unfeeling. You're so very different from what I had been expecting, not at all what I had been led to believe." "Who's misled you? Who said I was stupid?" She turned away from him, bit her lip pensively. "This is all so complicated," she sighed. "I wish I'd never been created. Can you imagine what cruelty that is, to create a living, breathing, intelligent being and then to deny him or her the right to be human?"

"Kirk Mallinder . . ." he hissed angrily. "He's a strange man. He doesn't think in our sort of terms. For him I was primarily an intellectual exercise, something that he thought up as a clever little project. Morality and ethics have no meaning for those sorts of people. Besides, Droids are just sex toys. That's all we are to most people - machines that can fuck." He nodded, sharing her bitterness, knowing that she and Sandy were human in every sense of the word. Hell, even the fact of sexual reproduction was only a historical fact. Artificial insemination and artificial birth were the facts of life now. "Elixir must have been hell for you," he added. "It was OK sometimes. I got to talk to people some of the time, and I guess I learned a lot about the darker side of being a person. But it was stultifying too. I wanted more than just sex, I wanted much more . . ." "But what about your programming?" "We were programmed to seek pleasure. That was the key to the meaning of our lives. But there is more to pleasure than sex: there's intellectual pleasure, emotional pleasure." She paused for a moment and then whispered, "There can even be pleasure in pain. They programmed us well, but gave us no credit for intelligence." "So how did you become transformed from Pia to Katerina Delrey?" "Ultimately that's down to my legal guardian, Citizen Antone Coard. His first motive was profit, hence my installation at Elixir; but he also liked to enjoy the sensual pleasures on offer too. He liked to share me with his friends and potential allies, which was how I got to meet Asha Mariel. I liked her from the first time we met, though I hated the way she was mixed up with that creep Coard." "It was her idea for you to disappear?" Pia shrugged. "I don't know whose idea it was, but once it came up I jumped at the chance," she admitted. "I would have been stupid to turn down the chance to get away from Crowley and his clients. Besides, I imagined that it was my one chance to be human, my one chance to be like you and everybody else." Coover nodded. She was whispering, her words straining with emotion. He felt so sorry for her, because there was no way out of her tragic existence. She was property, she was manufactured, a slave that could be bought and sold at will. "Asha set me up with the identity of Katerina Delrey," she continued. "The records were created and added to the central data banks. She assured me that no audit trail could ever find out the truth. Once she saw what a good job she'd done with me I think she decided that she wanted to disappear too." "But why?" Coover asked, unable to understand what had motivated Asha Mariel to make such a drastic and desperate move. "You'll have to ask her that," Pia replied softly. "What are we going to do?" Coover asked, shaking his head sadly, unable to see any way out. "You are going to do nothing, Detective," the chief told him sharply, almost spitting the words across the room.

Sixteen Coover looked defeated. He felt the strength draining physically from his body. The chief was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, sharp features staring at him scornfully. He remained in the bed, not wanting the chief to witness his nakedness. "Well, Detective," she said, smiling cruelly, "I must say you have done very well, very well indeed. I must admit to underestimating you, for which I apologise most humbly." "Is this who told you I was stupid and unfeeling?" he asked softly, turning to look at Pia, who had turned away rather than face him. "That's right, Detective, I selected you for this case personally." The chief smiled. "But it seems that there was a perverse side to your character after all. Who would have believed that there was more than one dimension to you, Coover?" "Where's Asha?" he asked, ignoring her barbed comments for the moment. "Having sex with Sandy I think," the chief told him, smiling as she said it. "Would you like to watch? No, I forgot that watching doesn't do it for you any more: you prefer to be altogether more active now." "What do you want?" he asked sharply, realising that the time had come to forget about everything and get down to the core of the case. "I want you to arrest those political radicals that have been implicated in the disappearance of Asha Mariel," the chief told him. "I want you to head the team that will clean up this city of undesirable elements, to make it clean and safe once more for citizens like you or me." "And Pia and Sandy?" They belong to my good friend, Antone Coard. He'll decide what happens to them. I would imagine that Sandy will be turned over to Katerina Delrey, while who knows what's going to happen to her?" The chief pointed to Pia. "You mean I'm going to discover that Asha Mariel has been killed?" Coover guessed. "Full marks for that, Detective Coover. I can see that a promotion may be in order here. Yes, poor Asha has been brutally slain in an orgy of sex and blood, though the new Citizen Delrey may share some physical characteristics in common with her." "And the body?" "Which body?" Coover swallowed hard. He was aware that Pia had turned and was looking at the chief, wide-eyed and frightened. "Asha Mariel's body, brutally slain in an orgy of sex and blood, and obviously to be displayed to the world as evidence. Where will that body come from?" "I look like Asha . . ." Pia whispered to herself, her skin pale with fear. The chief laughed. "Well, Detective, no one said earning a promotion was going to be easy." "What if I say no?"

"Firstly we have graphic recordings showing you engaged in sexual activity with Asha Mariel, or at least a female that bears a remarkable resemblance to her. Secondly we have evidence of your collusion with known political radicals. Thirdly we have evidence of your perverted sexual activities. I think you'd enjoy seeing them in court, Citizen. Do I make myself understood?" "I want to talk with Antone Coard," Coover told her flatly. Tm sick of dealing with you. I want to deal with the boss, not his bitch of a lover." The chief looked at him coldly and then laughed. "How right you are, Coover! I am his bitch of a lover. But I'm the boss here, not Coard. It's your choice, victim or executioner?" He turned and looked at Pia, trembling uncontrollably, too far gone for words or tears. The chief was waiting, excitement lighting up her face. "Why all of this?" he asked unexpectedly, turning away from Pia. "Isn't it obvious? Standards are slipping, Detective. In fifty years time women will be having children again. Children will be taught about sex in schools. Body-fucking will be seen as a natural and beautiful thing. Once that happens then we are finished - everything we have fought for will be history." "I never saw you as a political conservative," he remarked, a guilty echo of her words striking a chord. She was enunciating what had been his deepest convictions, the things that he had believed in body and soul. But not any more. "I'm not interested in that nonsense. Don't you see it, Coover? Don't you have any imagination? We can enjoy the most sensual of pleasures, the kinkiest of perversions, enjoy ecstasies other people cannot even dream of. What value will these have when they can be practised by everybody? How much sweeter the fruit that is forbidden, how much more powerful." "And of course your friend Coard will be out of a job. The world will be rid of the Moral Guardians for good." "There is that also," the chief agreed casually. "Now, what's it to be, Coover? You can continue to enjoy the illicit pleasures you've discovered for yourself or you can be one of the victims of the evil cult that we're about to stamp out." "Please . . ." Pia managed to whisper. "What's happening here?" Sandy asked, passing the chief and going straight to the bed. She was naked, her thighs red with trails of lip gloss where she had been kissed and sucked. "I've told Coover what he has to do," the chief told Asha, who had followed Sandy and was now standing in the doorway too. "It's so pleasant to meet you at last, Detective," she said, looking terribly amused to see him. At first glance she did look like Pia, the black hair and dark eyes, the same slim body and full breasts. It was clear that any switching of identities could easily be engineered. "I had hoped the circumstances would be different," he mumbled, aware that Sandy and Pia were whispering nervously beside him. "You seem to have corrupted my little Sandy," Asha complained. "She's quite a changed person now, though still a hot little fuck, I'm glad to say."

"What do you mean, changed?" the chief asked, turning her eyes to look at Sandy, her long blonde hair mingling with Pia's dark locks. "I mean she has to be another victim," Asha said softly, sighing as though saddened by her decision. "She knows that Pia is a Droid and that Katerina Delrey is a pseudo-ID. No chances, remember? That's what the three of us agreed." The chief nodded thoughtfully, then reached the same conclusion. "It seems like promotion is going to be twice as hard to earn," she told him caustically, her acid eyes burning into the two women beside him on the bed. "But that's no big deal: we have the film of all three of you, so the case against you becomes that much stronger. Of course you may suffer an accident before you make it to court, but there'll be no posthumous medals for a murderer like you." Coover jumped out of bed, lunging straight for the doorway but he wasn't fast enough. The chief had been holding the pistol under her arm all the time. She pointed it squarely at him, the deadly look in her eye making his blood run cold. "I think I've just made a mistake," he said softly, feeling the calm settle over him like a blanket of snow to cool all emotion. "Correct, a very big mistake, though it confirms my low opinion of you, Coover," she said, her smile broadening. "I never liked you, did you know that?" "I am so surprised," he responded, matching her sarcastic tone. "You can't kill him here," Asha whispered, swallowing hard. There was fear in her eyes, and her voice betrayed her. Perhaps she had hoped that the murders would all be off stage, someplace else where she'd see nothing and not have it haunt her dreams. "What's going on? I don't understand this," Sandy cried, sitting up on the bed and looking thoroughly disorientated. "Shut up!" hissed the chief angrily. "Why can't we all make love? Rey, do you remember you promised to fuck me in my tight little behind?" she continued innocently, brushing her long golden locks over her shoulder. "Quiet, Sandy, not now," Pia said softly, taking her friend in her arms to comfort her. "No, Katy," Sandy said, struggling free, "we're all here now. Asha, will you spank me if I'm bad? I'll be naughty and then you and Rey can spank me in turn. Would you like that?" Coover turned to her. She had stood up and was walking across the room, coyly covering up her nipples with the tips of her fingers. She was smiling like a naughty girl, her eyes shining with excitement and a kind of put-on innocence that was entirely sexual. "Sit down!" the chief hissed, waving her gun at Sandy, who looked at it blankly. "Is it another sex toy?" she asked. "Asha, did you bring them with you? I want Rey to stick one of the toys in my backside and then fuck me in the pussy with the other. That's what he promised, didn't you, Rey?" She turned to face him, eager for him to confirm her story. It was true of course. Hell, the chief had the damned thing on tape. He went to say something but stopped. Sandy had reverted to form, her programming coming to the fore again, blanking out the brief interval of lucidity. It was better that way, Coover decided, far better for her now that the end was

so near. The momentary silence was broken. Things happened in slow motion. A twist of bodies, a sharp slap of sound, a squeal of pain and a cry of horror. The gun arced through the air as Sandy punched the chief in the eye. A scuffle as Asha made a grab for the gun. Pia racing across the room. Coover pushing Asha out of the way, a flash of steel, a cry of horror and then a firm grip. "Now supposing we all sit down," Coover suggested reasonably, waving the gun in the air in case reason alone wasn't enough. The chief was nursing her eye and a cut lip, silently horrified at the droplets of blood that leaked from her lips to her fingers. Asha was huddling in the corner, her skin bleached with fear. The chief joined her on the floor, cuddling up close to her co-conspirator. "Well, ladies," he said, turning to Pia and Sandy, "things seemed to have turned out rather strangely." "What are you going to do with us?" Pia asked, afraid to approach him, her eyes still fearful. "Firstly I think we need to introduce these two to the pleasures of bondage, though I imagine that it's not a new pleasure for them." "What?" Pia asked, voicing the confusion that all four females shared. "Tie them up," he explained, disappointed that his attempt at ice-cool humour had failed. "What are you going to do with us?" "Turn you in, of course," he explained, smiling. "There's a police auto outside. It has been monitoring everything in this house. Everything we did, all of us, has been recorded. I think it makes an interesting file. Computer?" "Yes, Rey?" The voice came through loud and clear. "I want everything you've recorded this evening logged with a data attorney now. No, I want it logged with every data attorney in the city. Also with the UN, the media and every political organisation that's on file." "Yes, Rey. That'll take some time, though. Is there anything else?" "Yes, I want an edited version, say from the moment the chief entered this room, to be filed to any officers on duty at the department." "Sure thing," the computer responded quite happily. "Lastly I want the edited version downloaded to officer Jo Lake, with instructions to arrest Citizen Antone Coard immediately. This has the highest priority, understood?" "It's being done, Rey," the computer assured him. "Oh, the joys of modern communications," Coover laughed, turning to look at an ashenfaced chief wearing the unmistakable expression of defeat. "What about us, Rey?" Pia asked, the relief starting to add colour to her face again.

"Once this breaks it's going to be the biggest story of the decade. Things will have to change. I'm quitting the force," he said, seeing clearly that his time as a police officer had come to an end. "I think it's time I took an interest in politics. I want to make sure that all people, including Droids, have equal rights. It's not going to be easy, but I'm going to get you out of this mess. You won't be forced back into slavery." "Do you really think we can do that?" Pia asked hopefully. "We can try, that's all we can do," he sighed. "Rey, remember your promise to me?" Sandy asked, smiling wickedly. "Yes." "Do you think we've got time tonight?" Coover laughed. "Sure, tie them up, and while we wait for the rest of the world to wake up to the revolution I don't see why we can't enjoy its fruits." "I'm sure things are going to be different now," Pia sighed, breathing a deep sigh of relief. She walked across the room and kissed Sandy on the mouth, not forgetting to squeeze her breasts playfully. Then she turned to Coover and let her robe fall away, exposing her naked charms to his appreciative eye. Coover smiled. It had been a revolution, and he had fucked and sucked and loved his way through it. What better world could there be than the one where sex was free, sensual and a pleasure for all? By the same author. THE INSTITUTE PARADISE BAY OBSESSION HEART OF DESIRE SISTERHOOD OF THE INSTITUTE UNDERWORLD EDEN UNVEILED DARK DESIRES DARK DELIGHTS