Sadera Part 3

31

95:  TransAtlantic DataFlow

 

    Pamela looked at the blinking answering machine light with annoyance.  They'd gotten back to the apartment at nine p.m, after going to Cypher's for fresh data.  The phone company still hadn't fixed the line at the lab, and her Email account hadn't been large enough to hold all the information he'd tried to send.  (They'd had to buy a new system so he'd have a place to send it to:  her home computer was still in the lab)  She'd run in at six, intending to grab the latest files, checked her overflowing mailbox, and run out again without checking her messages.  It had been two a.m. London time when she'd finally heard the recording.  Pamela had decided to wait until morning to return the aggravating call.

    The message had been short and sweet:  "Pamela:  call me immediately."  Aunt Susan liked her money, almost as much as the Princess, but she'd been given a month to make the first payment.  She wasn't even close to the deadline.  Aunt Susan could be mad because Pamela had sent the three bras back...

    Pamela glanced at the boxes that had been shoved between her bed and the window.  If that was the case, she was about to get a lot angrier:  even if Sadira materialized in the room while she was dialing, she'd be too big to wear anything in the original shipment, and the remaining unworn bras were too large for the Princess to plausibly sell.

    Eight in the morning here, one in the afternoon there.  Pamela dialed.  The phone was grabbed in the middle of the first ring.

    "Hi, Aunt Susan.  Returning your call.  What's —?"

    Pamela listened.  Then she listened carefully.  Then she asked her aunt to wait, grabbed paper and pencil, and asked her to begin again.  They went over the details until Pamela was sure she had everything.  "All right.  Hang on a few seconds."  Pamela got up, grabbed one of the Princess' discarded bras and her measuring tape, then recovered the phone.  "You've still got my complete measurements on file, right?  I've got an idea, but I'm going to need it for two people, and it has to fit really well.  I've got the bra here.  Underbust 33, overbust 57, five-five — get the interior dimensions of the cup?"

 

    "Mouse.  Hey, Mouse!"

    Jason rolled over and looked up at Pamela.  "What?  Time to work out again?"  But Pamela had already moved away, and was busy rousing Jasmine.  After being offered the limited remaining floor space, Douglas had chosen to stay in a hotel five blocks away.

    Jasmine sat up and rubbed weary eyes.  "What's going on...?"

    "Aunt Susan found Sadira."

    Jason and Jasmine completely woke up.

    There was a quick triple-knock on the door.  Pamela checked the security port, then let a panting Douglas in:  She'd called him a few minutes before waking the others, having decided things would go faster if they were all together.  He leaned against the television, recovering from the run as the floor occupants got to their feet.

    "Your aunt?" Jason asked.  "How did she find out where —"

    "— the bras," Jasmine broke in.  "They needed bras for her."

    Pamela nodded and sat down on the bed.  "She got a call late last night:  she'd been working on some new designs — and she was using Sadira's underbust size.  I had been due to call soon when Sadira was taken, if the growth hadn't stopped.  When I didn't call, she figured all was well — but kept working on the patterns, solving some of the structural problems, and then made the bras.  Intellectual challenge. Maybe she was going to put them on display..."

    She shook her head.  "The customer placed almost the same order I did:  he asked for forty-four bras, all with a 32 underbust, climbing an inch at a time.  He said they were making an adult movie, and they needed the bras for special effects."

    "Some movie," Douglas said, getting his breath back.

    Pamela nodded.  "He wanted the shipment as soon as possible.  She told him she had some prototypes around, and got him to pay extra.  Figures.  They went out last night, from ninety on up."  She's been braless for a week, with all that weight... Bastards!

    "Where?" Jasmine asked.  "Where is she?"

    "The bras got shipped to Cascade, Montana."  A glance at Jason.  "It's one of the underground ones.  The mailing address isn't the lab, but it's probably close.  I tried calling Cypher, but his roommate said he had an early class.  We'll have to wait to check on those codes, make sure they haven't changed..."

    "Trap," Douglas said.  They all looked at him.  "Pamela, why would they order bras from a Shaw?  It's not the most common name, but given any selection, would they take a chance?"

    Pamela frowned.  "There's more to it.  Even given the limited number of people to order from — and have any chance of delivery without a visit to customize that size — he said some odd things.  Aunt Susan said the man seemed to want to talk, but it was like he kept catching himself, making sure he didn't say too much.  He mentioned the name of the female lead."  She took a deep breath.  "Robin Yeoman."

    "Archer," Jason breathed, "Twice —" then frowned.  "Isn't that a little too obvious, though?  I want to believe that someone could slip up like that — but Douglas is right:  They could be trying to lure us in."

    "After paying me off?  It's possible — but I haven't even gotten to the best part.  He also mentioned the name of her co-star:  a Mr. Argos.  He's late for the filming.  The man who placed the order —" she glanced at her notes "— Thomas Cintia? —"  Jason shook his head:  no recognition "— hopes that everything is all right."

    "So there might be a fifth column," Douglas admitted, finally straightening up.  "Or maybe even a sixth.  Jason, does Sadira have any good friends at your little hellhole?  If this is a lure, then they're sending the bras to Cascade and forwarding them somewhere else — and then we go to Cascade, and snap!, done.  This is a war, and that is a battle tactic.  But if she has an ally..."

    Jason shook his head.  "Acquaintances within the leukemia project.  No one close that I know of.  What's a sixth column?"

    Jasmine, who had read Heinlein, answered for Douglas.  "Any active ally that you don't know you have.  Someone could be feeling sorry for her, but that person would have to be able to call out the order...  It's either the boss calling, or someone that the boss trusts to make the call — and it can't be the first, because Nigilo wouldn't call someone named Shaw, unless he was trying to rub it in.  But that's stupid."

    "I wouldn't put it past him," Jason decided.  "Emotion or intelligence.  And being cute like that — Robin Yeoman —"  He thought it over.  I want to believe it, but...  "It would have to be a lure."  A glance at Pamela.  "He's dismissed you:  you're paid off, and nothing's happened since then.  Why throw it back in your face?."

    "You told me about him," Jasmine reminded him.  "He doesn't trust many people, does he?"  Jason nodded.  "And this is a high security project.  Who would make the call?  He wouldn't, he doesn't trust many other people not to mess it up, so it has to be someone pretty high up."

    "But the name is so obvious..."

    Pamela thought it over.  "But they named the accelerator project Sixth Gear.  These are not subtle people."  She glanced at the notepad.  "And Aunt Susan said that the man kept interrupting her when she tried to mention her brand name — and her last name:  same thing."

    "What was his tone?"  The journalist investigating.

    "Too happy, like he was forcing himself into it."

    A long moment of thought, and then Jasmine said, "She's there."

    Douglas shook his head.  "It's possible, but —"

    "She's there."  Solid, defiant.  "I know she's there.  She's found a friend, and he's trying to help."

    "How do you know?" Douglas gently asked.

    Jasmine focused on his eyes, opened her mouth, tried to find the words, force them into existence, explain the feeling that had taken residence in her gut — and couldn't.

    Pamela did it for her.  "She knows because she's an Archer, and the bra size isn't the only thing that runs in the family."  Surprise washed over Jasmine's face.  "The Princess says Sadira's at the Cascade site.  The guy who called says she's there.  She's there."

    "And if she's live bait?"

    Pamela looked at Douglas, her eyes blue steel.  "Then we get her off the hook."  She nodded.  "It could be a trap, and we're going to prepare as if it was a trap — but we're going to prepare."

 

    Sadira let go of the Goldentone's pull bar and reached back, setting the weight to its maximum, nearly double her estimated mass.  She then used the suddenly-unmovable bar to pull herself into a sitting position before shifting back to the wheelchair, back aching all the way.  It didn't hurt as much as it had, though:  the forced sitting was allowing her to heal.

    Based on her last pre-infection workout, she was about thirty percent stronger in the affected areas — but only her legs had been available for full testing.  Her back exercises had been gentle, trying to build strength without causing further damage.  Her first real attempt at an arm workout had been awkward:  the machine was adaptable, and could be used for almost any exercise — but it wasn't designed for her build.  The pull-down bar couldn't be pulled down too far before reaching her breasts, and doing curls meant working around the side bulges.

    I have to keep trying.  If I'm stronger, it might help me escape — or just help me walk —

    Someone knocked.  Sadira looked at the door.  Well, that's new.  "Come in."  The door opened, and Carmody stepped through.  "Is the lunch break over already?"  She'd told the guards she wanted to eat in her cell, scarfed three Powerbars upon arrival, and headed for the machine.

    "You have some extra time."  Carmody gestured towards the hallway, and the guards carried a long folding table in, set it up, left — then returned with boxes in their arms, and started stacking them on the table.  "Your bras have arrived."

    "Bras."  The word rolled from her tongue, sounding for all the world like a drug addict staring at an open warehouse of white powder.  "I have bras."

    Carmody nodded.  The boxes continued to pile up.  "This should be good for a week or more — less if you finish the second virus, of course."

    "How did you get them to ship so fast?  I thought you'd have to take me out to a customizer."

    "I was able to locate a manufacturer who handled unusual sizes and had a large selection in stock.  They shipped last night."

    She didn't notice the neutrality in his tone:  she'd gotten used to that.  Sadira did notice the side of the nearest box:  there was an uneven patch on the cardboard, as if a label had been peeled off.  Carmody reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a huge measuring tape.  "You'll be taken back to the lab when you're done."  He gave it to her, then left, signalling for the guards to follow.  A few seconds later, it was again down to Sadira and the cameras.

    She looked at the boxes.  None of them had labels:  from, to, or contents.  No inventory list attached to the exterior, no bills.  The boxes were stacked and spaced on the table so that she could handle them from the wheelchair without stressing her back — and the chair lifted, which would make it easier to sort through boxes.

    It's possible.  It's just barely possible that someone screwed up and called England.  But how could they make that kind of mistake?  Pamela and her aunt have the same last name...  And why take off the labels?

    The bras would have a brand label.  She opened a box —

    — the tape was uneven, as if the box had been opened and resealed.  Sadira internalized the reaction, reached in, and pulled out a bra.

    What the hell?

    The huge garment looked like a cross between a swimsuit, a workout leotard, a suspension bridge, and a straightjacket.  Instead of extra-wide shoulder and back straps, it had expanded to cover the entire torso and a portion of the legs, drawing on the strength of the entire body for support.  There were visible brace points, reinforced plastics, hooks, straps, zippers, snaps, and velcro.

    The cups seemed to have a limited adjustment range:  they expanded slightly when she put her arms inside and pushed, as if they were breathing.  The back was like flexible armor:  bands of tough material separated by slightly softer buffer zones.  It allowed a normal range of motion (even though that range was now impossible) while strengthening the area.  There were force lines running to the buttocks, and miniature embedded cables to bring in the power of her thighs.  Most of the measures were inside the material (and what was this thing made of?), and could be felt from the exterior — but not from the cushioned interior.

    Even with all the features installed, the fabric was cool, and breathed well.  But the bra was heavy:  Sadira guessed ten pounds, with most of that weight in the back.

    The label read 32 LII X.  Forget the 32:  the muscle adds another inch or two to the underbust number...  Wryly, I'm getting to be quite a big girl.  Everything below the "X" had been cut away.  Sadira noticed it, but was distracted by the bra itself.

    "By the time I figure out how to put this on," she muttered, "I'm going to outgrow it."  She put the bra down and dug through the box, looking for instructions.  There weren't any.  "April Fool's Day is tomorrow..." She picked up the bra again and looked at it closely, letting it lie on top of her breasts, turning it over in her arms, holding it out to her right and letting it dangle from her hand —

    — her intellect rose, reached out to encompass the garment, surrounded it —

    — and sank down, puzzle solved.

    Okay, Sadira thought.  Now how do I put it on without the assistance of the 7th Fleet?

    Silence.  She shook her head and went back to the boxes.  Which one?  Based on her original four-inches-a-day figure, she had a possible number, but she had to be sure.  Sadira shifted forward in the chair, trying to get some room between her back and the seat without tipping it over —

    — thought better of it, wheeled over to the bed, then got out of the chair.  She sat down on the edge of the bed and stripped.  The straps were reluctantly undone, with constant worries about vial slippage — but they stayed nicely in place.  Forget a pencil.  A typewriter wouldn't slip.

    Sadira looked down at her breasts and couldn't find her lap.  They were overflowing in all possible directions, including forward, going off her knees.  She could no longer reach her nipples in a sitting position:   she had to lie down and pull her breasts up towards her — a complicated operation, to put it mildly.  Her washing was now being done with the help of an extension brush.

    She unrolled the measuring tape (which went to 150"), and wondered how she was supposed to use it.  And I really don't want to ask for help —  The image appeared, and she regarded it with some amusement.  Nothing better materialized.

    Sadira took hold of the ends and swung the length behind her.  Okay.  Think of something arousing.

    Right.  Find a sexual thought and hold it in this environment.  That was more of a challenge than building BE-2.

    Sadira closed her eyes and saw Pamela standing in front of her, completely nude.  She'd just gotten out of one of her own ultra-hot showers, and steam was rising off her body from the contact with the colder air.  Ivory smiled and stepped towards her, reaching to provide what Sadira could no longer give to herself —

    — but she couldn't hold the image, she didn't even know if Pamela was still alive —

    — and in her mind, another set of hands began kneading her shoulders, and she could almost feel the pressure on her real body, easing the pains, taking away the worries, but Pamela was still in front of her, approaching with a smile, and the ghostly hands were too large —

    — she knew, and that completed the need.

    Sadira breathed deeply, and forced herself out of the dream.  She couldn't see her nipples — certainly not with her head tilted back, gazing at the ceiling — but she knew they were erect.  I can't even make a decision in my imagination...  Another, smaller breath.  All right.  This is just like skipping rope.

    She whipped the measuring tape over her head, across her body, and whipped it back as it crossed her breasts, pulling the ends behind her back.  Too early:  the tape came in over her nipples and slid back up to her shoulders.  Missed.  Try again.

    It took five tries, but she finally got the tape hooked under her nipples — which was where the fullest part of her breasts should be, if she remembered anything from Jasmine's "demonstrations."  It wasn't going to be the most accurate reading, not while sitting down — but she wasn't going to stand up just yet.  Careful, careful — allow a little extra for growth and mistakes — at four inches a day, I should be approaching ninety-six, maybe a little more with the muscle development.  This says — close enough.  Try two inches larger for room.

    The really fun part began.  The bra could be assembled in halves, putting on the front and then attaching the back with the zippers and straps, but Sadira was having trouble reaching that far.  It was also possible to close it like a vise, opening one side and bringing it around, or she could try to step into it and work it on from underneath — but again, her arms weren't long enough.  And no matter what tactic were taken, there was the small matter of getting her legs in:  the lower portions weren't all that flexible.

    The bra-maker had apparently decided that anyone who had reached Sadira's size was married or had a lot of friends, because getting it on alone while in a sitting position was impossible.

    Her first try got one cup on, which left everything else out of reach.  After some thought, she lifted the contained right breast using both arms and tried to swing it against the naked one, figuring the momentum would swing the straps within reach — if she could drop her breast and grab for them before they moved back.

    Sadira shifted, braced, swung —

    — her right breast hit her left breast.

    Several inconvenient laws of momentum kicked in.

    Sadira found herself lying on the mattress for just a second before gravity exerted itself, and her breasts, now partially hanging over the edge, began to pull her down —

    — the floor was cold.

    She could hear the guards laughing outside

    Slowly, she pulled herself back up to the bed, and resumed her sitting position.  Next plan.  Better plan.

    After several more false starts, four other moments when she could hear laughter, and a few really frustrating almosts that got stopped by her own mass, Sadira wound up using the vise method.  She tied the measuring tape to the open end in a V-draw, and guided the bra around.  It was awkward, and took a lot of poking, prodding, and outright pushing (accompanied by hefting) to get everything arranged, and there were moments when she was convinced she was going to lose the vials — but it worked, it was just going to be much harder to get to them —

    — and the bra didn't fit.  It was much too small.

    Sadira tried the next few bras,  moving up several inches — and they still didn't fit.  She didn't get comfort until well after she reached triple digits.  The bras seemed to be designed for someone more dangly than she was:  her breasts were still holding firm.  A lot of the "size" in the label was simply distance towards the ground instead of inches out front, and it made a difference.

    For breasts and bras of this size, Sadira decided, inches are bunk.  Someone else at this level might just be down to their knees.  I guess these are the best I can ask for off the shelf...

    No label.

    Could they have?  Would Pamela's aunt figure it out?  Would she tell them?  And who removed the labels?  And why?  To keep me feeling isolated, or because they didn't want Nigilo to know where they were ordered from?

    Who had the authority to order the bras?

    Sadira sat, and wondered at the thought.  No, I can't get my hopes up yet.  He could have made a mistake and tried to keep from getting caught.  But still...  She looked at the boxes.  I'll watch him.  At least I'm set for a while.

    She got in the chair and wheeled over to the full-length mirror that had been installed on the side of her wardrobe.  The bra wasn't designed for her exact shape:  she was pushing it around a bit more than it was adjusting her.  Overall, she was out to the front a little more, to the sides a little less.  Working with her arms in front of her body had just become more difficult — but everything was done sidesaddle now.  Even so, the bra felt good.  Her breasts still rested in her lap, but they had more support.  Instead of seeming to overflow, they simply formed an awning.  The counterweights had seemed to vanish once she'd gotten the bra properly fitted:  they would probably kick in if she stood up.  With her current size and position, her breast weight was taken by her lap.

    Viewing herself straight-on in the mirror, she saw her face, shot through with tired relief, then a slim neck, and then a huge, garish mostly-orange muu-muu that swelled out rapidly from her shoulders to the point where it shrouded her knees — and then dark-blue jeans covering increasingly-muscular legs.

    Sadira had weighed about a hundred pounds before the infection.  She still didn't have a scale, but she guessed she might be up to 170 — and a little of that increase was muscle, but virtually all of it was breasts.  Nothing visible but breasts and the face of the person who made them.  And getting bigger...

    It had taken over an hour of struggling to find the right bra.  Sadira laid out the next three and went to the door, ready to return to the lab.

   

32

98:  Alterations on a theme

 

    Pamela and Jason walked into the apartment carrying several large grocery bags apiece.  Pamela headed for the counter and spotted Douglas on a stool, applying blush to Sadira's face.  She nodded at them —

    — Sadira? —

    — and collided with the counter.

    Behind her, she heard bags crash to the floor.  I'm glad I had the eggs.  Ow...

    Douglas looked at her.  "Are you all right?"  She nodded.  "It works, then."

    It did.  Jasmine's features, so close to Sadira's to begin with, had been subtly altered into an exact match.  Her hair had been dyed a deep black, and darkening makeup applied to her face and hands.  Douglas had Pamela and Sadira's graduation picture on the counter, and was using it as a guide.

    "My makeup skills are well if intermittently developed," Douglas explained.  "I am occasionally alone but for the model on a shoot, and the new ones sometimes require assistance."

    "Damn," Pamela breathed.  "So when you went out with her —"

    "— we were getting makeup supplies," Jasmine answered.  "His idea.  They won't want Sadira hurt, not when she can still do work for them — and if they get confused..."

    "Confusion to our enemies," Douglas added, "as well as despair and failure.  This may help somewhat.  Even a split-second doubt will aid us."

    Pamela wasn't sure how she felt about it.  It reminded her of the Princess trying to pass herself off as Sadira during the raid —

    — but the look in the Princess' eyes said she was aware of that, and this was something different, something that might help.  Pamela nodded at her.  "Do we use padding and really confuse the issue?"

    "We could, but even as filler material, the amount would impede movement.  It would be a further aid to confusion, but a possible deterrent to Jasmine's survival."

    Jason recovered the bags.  "They don't know you at all, Douglas.  You don't need anything done."  The photographer nodded.  "They might not be expecting me alive..."

    They were all looking at Pamela.

    "What?" she asked — then figured it out.

    Silently, she put down her bags, then headed for the door.

    "Pamela —"

    She didn't look back at Douglas.  "The shops close soon."  She left.

 

    Jonas glanced at the clock.  "Archer, it's ten," he pleaded.  "Time to knock off for the day."

    "You go home when I say you go home," Sadira told him.  "Dose of us fortunate enough to have a home can dam well wait for dem."  She was deliberately slipping into Brooklynese when speaking to him.  She'd noticed he didn't like it.  "Get yer skinny ass back to de computer."

    He meekly turned and resumed typing.  Sadira kept the grin internal.  Great.  Jonas is uncomfortable when I speak and Temperi can't stand my being around, period.  Now if I had a handle for Menken, I could put it all together and distract three at once —

    Sadira reached up and fiddled with the brightness controls on the monitor, adjusting it back and forth before settling on the original settings — and brushing her hand against the keyboard as she pulled away.

    "Menken, could you turn on the modem?  I need a link to Bethesda."  The bald man strode over, unhurried — it looked like he was sliming his way across the floor.  She wheeled away from the computer and let him link in, glancing across at Temperi, who now took the position in the lab farthest away from her.  His back was turned — which took some contortions:  working normally within his station would have meant having a side view of her.

    "What did you want to get?"

    "Journal of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery.  Let's see if anyone did tissue analysis on virginal hypertrophy cases."

    "But Paul is already looking at that data —"

    "— from last week.  The new issue should be indexed in the database by now.  Just check, okay?"

    A nod, light reflecting from his scalp, and he waited for Sadira to turn so he could enter the password.  She wheeled away, gazing at the blank metal of the Mutator —

    — the blank, clean, perfectly reflective metal, and tried to look impatient.  The angles are wrong for the cameras:  they can't see this.  Easy, don't look eager...

    Menken tapped the password into the keyboard, working carefully:  any mistake would set off the alarms.  The new angle and her memory of the Dvorak setup were enough to let her figure out what he was typing.  R-7-Q-2-L-R-6-Q.  Get it fixed.  R-7...  She mentally repeated the sequence all the way back to the computer.  All I need is two minutes and I can get a message out.  But what should it say?  I don't even know where I am.

    The door to the lab opened, and Nigilo walked in.  "Team," he said curtly.  "Sadira."

    'Asshole.'  She ignored him and looked at the keyboard.

    He walked over to her and loomed on her left.

    Sadira was typing sidesaddle again, working with her right arm, staring at the screen.  Nigilo's reflection took up most of the glass.  She ignored him for four minutes, until it became clear that he wasn't going away until acknowledged, and then wheeled around, almost catching his legs.  "Mr. Nigilo."

    "Sadira," he said again.

    She nodded.  "I have to get back to work."  She tightened her grip on the chair control —

    — Nigilo's right hand came down and covered hers.

    Their eyes tore into each other, driving through the layers, reaching the souls.

    Sadira saw the truth.  Nigilo saw only what he wanted to see.

    "Let go of me."

    Nigilo's hand shot back, and he stared at it, unwilling to believe that it had been removed from his control — then dismissed it.  "What work?" he said conversationally.  "You've been here a week, and we don't have a second virus."

    "We're running down possibilities," Sadira answered, keeping the tension out of her voice — which let some of the anger leak through.  "None of them are working out.  When we find the one that works, we'll have it.  It might help if you could stick me with smarter people."

    "I have many flunkies," Nigilo said, "but very few available grafters.  These are the best you can get.  And it doesn't matter anyway, does it?"

   Sadira waited.

   "It took you three weeks to complete both viruses," he continued.  "Assume ten days for one, eleven to be generous.  Two-thirds of your time has passed.  Even if you had somehow acquired total amnesia regarding your work, you should be close to finishing it.  So why do I get the feeling that something's wrong?"

    The anger was swelling, moving closer to the surface, she could feel the energy surging, and the power was overwhelming her controls...  "I don't know.  Maybe because there never was a second virus?"

    And she saw him dismiss the words.  "You're stalling," came the low hiss,  "because you're insane.  You had to live with your sister, and your freak roommate, and it was just too much for you.  You don't want to stop growing.  Ever.  You'll give out false leads, distort data, waste time, anything to keep going until you fill this lab."

    She stared up at him.  "I am working on this virus."  Stay under control, damn it, if I hit him, I lose all the privileges, including the bras, and what if they remove this one and find the vials?  "I can't work while I'm talking to you."  Sadira spun the chair back into position and resumed typing.

    She heard him grip the armrest, felt the edge of his hand just above her elbow, and forced herself to keep typing.

    Seconds later, he released his grip, and left.

    Now I want to quit for the night...

    But she worked for two more hours, just to drive the other three nuts.  And there was always the chance that they would come up with something, or that she would.  She had to hope for that, and hope for it soon, because it felt like time was running out...

 

    Carmody looked up from his portable screen and automatically tuned it to another location.  He couldn't switch his internal viewer so easily.

    The first time he'd seen Sadira, after the infection, he hadn't known what to think.  He'd looked over her profile for Nigilo.  Nothing had indicated a person crazy enough to test a virus on herself — although she might build it for the sheer love of problem solving.  And then Stan had alerted Nigilo while he was reviewing the previous day's security tapes, looking for the moment Sadira left her lab.

    He'd found it, seen the numbness, the shock in her face, realized that the infection had been accidental — and it had been too late.  There was only so much I could do, he argued to himself.  Anything overt would be caught.  Nigilo got me once.  Stay in the shadows, feed false information or sometimes 'forget' things, buy them time, throw him off the trail.  I would have been caught, I would have been killed.  I did what I could.  Shaw must have her location, she has to believe the information is real.  No one's questioned me on the call.  I picked up the boxes, I removed all the identification.  All I can do...

 

    "Pamela!"  Jason was hopping mad, almost literally:  he was starting to verge into furious, and he was reaching the limits of his bladder control, which meant he was about to start hopping.  "If you're still alive in there, get out of the bathroom!"  She'd returned to the apartment with an assortment of brown bags and vanished into the bathroom.  Nearly an hour had passed.  Douglas had gone back to his hotel room.  He'd heard running water from behind the door:  nothing else.  He was hearing it now.  His teeth ground together.  "And if you're dead, I'll step over your body.  Just give me a minute —"

    The door opened, and Pamela stepped out.

    The Donatello sketch had been colored in.

    He heard Jasmine's jaw drop.

    "Go in," the blonde said.  "I'm done for now."

    Jason stared.

    Her skin was a light pink, an echo of England and a long-ago meeting with Norway.  There was color in her cheeks, and highlights in the light blond hair.  Her eyelashes shared in the yellow tint, the red lips were drawn into a thin line, and she was absolutely beautiful.

    You were cheated, his mind said — no, it wasn't quite true, because —

    He was staring, and they both knew it.

    "Well?" Pamela said.  "Do you have to go or don't you?"

    He said the words that were hovering in his head.  "I like you better the other way."  She blinked, and looked up at him.  "I could see the colors on my own..."

    Another blink.  "Go in."

    Jason finished in record time and emerged to find Jasmine checking Pamela's makeup.  "The shading is pretty even on your face," she said, "but you have to be more careful with your hands.  They're blotchy."

    "It's still pretty cold in Montana," Pamela argued.  "I can wear gloves."

    "Just in case," Jasmine pointed out.

    Pamela reluctantly nodded.  "I haven't done this in six years.  I was bound to forget something."  A quick glance at Jason.  "'See the colors...'  Never figured you for LSD.  But if you were stunned for a second, maybe they won't know how to react either."

    "Why did you do it the first time?"  Honest curiosity:  both of them could hear it.

    Pamela sighed.  "Only time," she said simply.  "Because I was tired.  Because high school is a nightmare, and I wanted to spend one day where if people were going to stare at me, all their attention would be on my chest.  I was never going to be normal, but just once, I wanted to be a little closer.  So I studied books on makeup, blew my allowance on theatrical supplies, and practiced at home.  When I went to visit Aunt Susan that summer — well, she had a new shop, profits from some big event.  No one in town knew me.  I applied everything in the shop's bathroom on my first day in and tried to go for a walk.

    "Tried being the operative word.  She caught me on the way out and made me wash it off."

    "Why?" Jason asked.  "You were experimenting."

    "She said I was lying to myself," Pamela answered, "and that if I started then, I'd be doing it the rest of my life."  She turned towards him.  "I tried to tell her that it was just an experiment, to see what it felt like to walk outside without — but she didn't listen."

    "I think she was wrong," Jasmine said.  "You weren't going to do it every day —"

    "— wasn't I?" Pamela said quietly.  "Maybe every day that summer.  I never found out."  A shrug.  "Sometimes I like me better this way, too.  But if I found a sequence that would let my body produce melanin — I really don't know."  I am who I am because I grew up like this...  She brought her left hand up to her face and whispered, "Who is this?"

    She looked at Jasmine.  Softly, "There's your ammunition, Princess.  Want to fire the gun?"

    Jasmine shook her head and went back to examining Pamela's hands.

    "You're learning."

    "I've learned that you'll hit me."

    Pamela grinned.  "That too."

 

    Pamela washed off the last of the makeup — she'd picked simple bases that came free with cold cream — and rinsed the last bit of color from her hair.  The mirror reflected her own face back to her again.

    She looked into her eyes, so falsely blue.  Pamela needed the contacts:  without correction, her vision was 20/80, and she wore lenses because she'd learned that glasses always got knocked off in a fight.  But they didn't have to be colored lenses.

    Ordinary contacts were clear.  If she dropped one while trying to put it in, she'd never find it again.  Therefore, colored lenses.  It had always been a good enough excuse before.

    "I'm allowed one exception," she told the mirror, then left the bathroom, stepping over the sleeping bodies on her way to the door.

    The drive over was surprisingly quiet, and there was immediate parking available.  She didn't take it as a sign.

    Pamela walked in and found herself alone.  As far as she was concerned, she was alone on every level.

    "Just this once," she muttered, and strode to the cross.  Pamela looked up at the figure, and met its sculpted eyes.

    "I want her back," she ordered.  "No arguments, no deals.  You owe me:  I'm collecting.  And if you fuck this up, or decide to work for them, I'll get an expansion joint, stick it through those holes in your hands, and open it all the way."  And if he does exist, I just insulted an omnipotent being...  She stared at the painted pupils.  Neither party backed down.

    "One wish, lifetime," she said, more quietly.  "Fair enough?  Alive and whole, physically and mentally.  Hear me?"

    She didn't expect an answer.  She got one anyway.  "He hears you."  Pamela turned to see the old priest walking across the front of the church, coming towards her.  "And I thought I heard someone.  Do you need to talk?"

    "I just did."  She pointed at the sculpture.  "Let's see if he listens."  And she left.

   

33

100-102:  Quiet truths

 

    Sadira woke up with a wonderful sense of anticipation ringing in her bones.  There was a feeling that a milestone had been reached, some sort of special occasion — and then she'd glanced at the date on her clock.  The first of April, the day where pranks were mandatory, expected, and still fallen for.  Her favorite day of the year.

    She'd been a little behind in her practical joking lately — she counted the trick with the American Express card as one of the better moves — but this was the day to catch up.

    Except that if they catch me, they'll strip away everything I've acquired, and then they'll strip me.  Her spirits collapsed.

    "Great," she said, using the overhead bar Carmody had installed to pull herself up.  "First time in years I can't do honor."  Which probably confused the hell out of the guards.  Sadira started getting dressed, using her tape-pull to good effect.  The practice was helping.  There's got to be something I can do.  I can't just let this go — okay, if it means my life, I can.  But —

    She smiled, tight and vicious.

 

    "Hi, Fred.  Whatcha doin'?"

    Temperi jumped:  the wheelchair was fairly silent, and he'd gotten very involved in his work.  It was the best way to avoid dealing with the — thing — in the room.  And now it was right next to him...  "I'm working with those new hormone samples," he said, forcing control into the words until it leaked out of the letters.  "Just like you ordered me to.  I'll give you the results when I'm done."  Which was several more words than his ideal speech to her:  Go Away.

    "Oh," Archer said, voice soft and —

    — No.

    "You know," she continued, running a finger across her lower lip, "that intense look you have when you're working — it's really something.  Almost —" oh God, she was licking her lips, wetting the finger, out of her mind "— sexy."  He was going pale, he knew it, why didn't she see it, why wouldn't she stop...

    "I've been putting in a lot of hours lately," the demon said, low tones and a small smile.  "I bet Mr. Nigilo would be willing to let me have a visitor..."  And she reached out and drew the wet tip across the back of his hand.

    His senses shattered, and he threw himself backwards, away from the touch, almost falling, air emerging as a series of tiny squeaks.  His balance came back, enough to scramble for the door, to find a place where he could throw up and scream...

 

    It had been years since Carmody had laughed.  The image on the screen almost did it.  He watched Temperi's frantic run past the guards, down the hall towards the big bathroom, so distressed he nearly ran into the ladies' area, and the guards were confused, all they had seen was a come-on by someone they knew to be changeable, crazy...

    He felt the left corner of his mouth start to quirk up, and stifled it.  It wouldn't do to have someone see him smile.  He practically never smiled.  They would wonder what he was taking.

    Carmody retuned his portable screen to the interior of the lab and went for a walk.  It was about time for him to eat, and then he'd check on Sadira.  He wasn't quite in the mood for the cafeteria, though:  maybe a quick run into Cascade for a steak.  Perhaps he should check with Sadira before he left —

    "Carmody."

    "Sir," he said automatically, looking up at Nigilo.

    "I just got in," Nigilo told him.  "I stayed up very late last night, thinking about our current situation, and I overslept."

    Which meant he hadn't seen Sadira's prank.  "Did you come up with any ideas, sir?"

    "I did."  Nigilo gestured for Carmody to walk with him.  They fell into step.  "Today is the first of April."

    Carmody waited, then said, "Yes, sir."

    "When we started this project, you told me that Archer's parents were on vacation in Europe."

    Carmody's temperature dropped twelve degrees.  He'd shown Nigilo the travel arrangements to keep him from using Sadira's parents as hostages.  "They still should be, sir."

    "But they'll be back soon."  Nigilo picked up his pace.  Carmody accelerated.  "I was thinking about the long-term problems associated with keeping Archer here.  She hasn't exactly been cooperative.  The more I see of her, the more I'm convinced that her dementia has overwhelmed her intellect."  Nigilo looked at him, and Carmody could see the faintest hint of confusion in the angry face.  "She doesn't want to stop growing, Carmody.  I don't think there's a point at which she'll ever be happy with her size.  I've been watching the cameras:  she enjoys her breasts too much, and more every day — in several senses."

    What cameras have you been watching?  The ones hooked into your head?  "I think there's a point at which she would be content, sir."

    "You do?"  Nigilo stopped.  Carmody halted.  "I don't." He snatched the screen from Carmody's hands.  "Look at her," he hissed.  "Is she at triple digits yet?  Does she want to go for the next power of ten?  Where is she content?  Is this building big enough to hold her when she is?"

    "She would die before that," Carmody pointed out.  "There's a limit to the mass the body can support..."

    The screen was thrust at his face.  "Do you think she cares?"

    Carmody said nothing.

    Nigilo looked at him, looked at the screen, then handed it back to him.  "She's not cooperating.  She's stalling, trying to buy time to get larger.  Her parents will be back in the States soon.  Even a insane genius probably calls her family every so often.  Do you think we can trust her to phone them under supervision, keep them from getting worried?  Or are we lucky, and her dementia has estranged her from her family?

    "The alternative is to kill her parents —"

    Carmody fought back the reaction.  He won.

    "— or kidnap them.  But if we bring them here, it's two more people to keep hidden forever, and the perfect murder is more difficult than I like to think about.  Perhaps we can scare Archer into placing a proper call, assuming she's still sane enough to care — she didn't react enough when I told her that all her friends were dead, instead of just Pterros —"

    Because she doesn't want to believe you.  You bastard...  He thinks Pterros is dead, without proof of it.  Is he?

    "— but eventually, she might be asked to visit home.  We can, with the proper effort, keep up the pretense for a long time — but it will be something short of forever."

    Carmody had figured it out long before they'd brought Sadira to the Cascade site.  He knew the logistics of keeping someone under control for a lifetime were formidable — and he also knew Nigilo was capable of being more short-sighted than Sadira, who at least had the intellect to recognize the problem and try to correct it.  He'd been hoping Nigilo wouldn't think of this.  He'd almost been praying.

    If Sadira had enough time in the lab, with the better equipment, she could find her cure, and then Carmody would — do something to start the dominos falling which would knock down her walls.  That had been the plan.  When he'd asked for the bras, heard Nigilo's tone, he'd risked his most direct action, because just for a second, he'd been afraid for Sadira's life.  He'd been forced —

    — and now those hopes were being dashed, as Nigilo followed the chain to the last link.  The terminal point.

    "I don't think she'll ever really cooperate, Carmody.  She's too crazy to see the benefits.  But I want the money from the viruses.  So I'll give her a little more time to work.  I'm not sure how much yet," he said seriously.  "A few days, at least.  But it might be more practical to just hire other geneticists, people corrupt enough to have common sense, and ask them to finish this, and complete Sixth Gear.  It's a pity to lose a mind like that — but the cost of keeping her is growing —" he smiled at the word "— much more expensive than the benefits."  Nigilo shrugged.  "Who knows?  She could have cured leukemia some day, but..."  Another shrug, and he started walking again with another gesture to Carmody, who followed.

    "So a few more days," Nigilo casually remarked, "and if I don't see any results, she's dead.  It should look like a sexual killing with mutilation:  we'll have to cut off the breasts.  No small job.  Of course, since people know she was flat-chested to begin with, some damage should be done to other parts of her body.  Do some research and find out what kind of injuries are normally inflicted.  We'll try to duplicate someone else's style, make it look like a copycat killing.

    "And I think I'd like my money back from Shaw, if there's any left.  General principles, really, since you found a way to pay it back.  Perhaps she could die in a robbery — successful, not botched.  Take a few days, plan it out, and have some proposals on my desk Thursday morning."

    And then he stopped in front of his office door and looked at Carmody's eyes, and the look said For years, I've held the deed to your soul, and I've twisted it, little by little, until you're a mirror of me.  I just told you to kill someone for me, and you will.  I own you.

    And Carmody's look said the same thing his voice had for all those years.  "Yes, sir."

    Nigilo nodded and went into his office.

    But this time, there was a difference.

    This time, Carmody had been lying.

 

    He went back to his office and began the research on sex killings, writing notes, comparing and contrasting methods, in full view of the cameras.  He did this for eight hours.

    Carmody then went to Sadira's lab and checked on her progress and needs.  There was nothing to report on either end.  There was no way to tell her anything without getting them both killed.

    And then, since he'd missed lunch, he left the building and went to dinner.

    Carmody rarely took very long to eat:  his place was at work.  On the rare occasions when he went out to eat, it was somewhere close, and he ate at a speed just barely below that which would give him indigestion.  Everyone at GenTree knew that.

    But he was also a slow, cautious driver who took forever to get anywhere:  they knew that as well.  He'd gotten the time to remove the labels by driving quickly for a short stretch, arriving at the employees' house just ahead of the delivery.  Carmody had disposed of the evidence in a roadside trash can, and sped back until he was within five miles — then crept up, the same as always.

    This time, Carmody thought every car was following him, and he didn't know if he could risk accelerating, if he would be reported, killed, and what good would that do Sadira?  There were very few cars on the Montana roads to worry about.  It was still enough to descend into paranoia.

    He drove until he found a roadside dinner where he'd never eaten before — none of the Cascade employes went there:  it was out of the way, and the food was bad.  They openly disparaged it.  Carmody still checked the parking lot, and found no cars he recognized.  There was a pay phone at the edge of the lot, at the proper height for use from the car.  It would help.  Unless his car was bugged...

    Why would it be?

    Can I take that chance?

    He parked the car far away from the lights, got out, found a dark patch of the cold Montana night, and patted himself down, trying to find listening devices.  Nothing.  The ones he bought for GenTree use were large enough to detect when proceeding very carefully, and he knew what to feel for.  He didn't think anyone had purchased new supplies without his authorization.  And if they had, then he and Sadira were dead anyway.

    And at the very least, he'd die trying to do something good.  He didn't know if it mattered anymore, in the larger scheme — but the attempt would have been made.  He would die with one clear spot on his soul.

    Carmody had plenty of change.  He dialed the number from memory, and prayed someone was home.

 

    They were looking at a printout of the Cascade site.  The apartment had reached maximum crowding:  Cypher had come by to drop off the information and pick up his phone.  They were arrayed around the bed (box-free for the moment:  they were next to the counter), examining Jason's copy.  He was still recovering from his last twenty times around the block.

    "One story up, four down," Cypher said.  "There's one major entrance here, and fire exits here and here, controlled by heat sensors.  They go off seconds before they're burned out — in theory, anyway.  Government regs.  There's also a computer control:  I can override that and let you in there — but you'll still have to get to it."

    "It's just a standard fence," Douglas noted.  "No electricity, no barbed wire.  They don't want anyone to think that anything odd might be going on.  Security guards here at the gate, possibly others wandering the parking lot.  All of us but this old body can get over the fence without trouble, and then we move quickly."

    Pamela and Jasmine looked at each other and winced.  Their respective sizes made climbing a fun experience.  "I'm better with poles," Jasmine said.

    Douglas smiled.  "We'll boost you over.  It might be best to enter here, for a straight-line dash."

    Jasmine nodded and looked at the interior diagrams.  "What are those double lines with the center breaks in the corridors?"

    Jason knew the answer to that one.  "Hazard breaks.  If something gets loose, the air vents are sealed, and the barriers drop.  The contaminated area is contained —"  He sighed.  "And anyone who's in the red zone gets to stay there with it.  Cypher, if you can raise and lower them at the right times, it'll be a great way to cut off pursuit."

    The hacker nodded.  "They're individually controllable, to cut off an area of any size.  Just let me know where you are."

    Pamela looked at the third floor blueprints.  "That looks like a kitchen.  If anyone's living on site, that's the place."

    Douglas sorrowfully shook his head.  "And that's also a kitchen," he said, pointing at another area, "and so are those," indicating one on the second level, and two on the fourth.  "They're apartments, but they might be for anyone.  Sadira is probably in one of them, but there's no way to tell which one.  Do we stay together, or split up and check them, then try to regroup?  According to the printout, the normal security assignment is nine — but they have someone to guard.  There may be more."

    "If we stay together, we can be taken out together," Pamela said.  "If we separate, we get picked off..."  She looked at Douglas.  "You're right.  It's different when it's real."

    Douglas nodded.  "At least you've learned that beforehand," he told her.  "Some have to die for that lesson."

    "I'm still getting deja vu every ten seconds.  All we need are some dice."

    Douglas stroked his cheek.  "Fixed, please.  I don't like the honest odds.  The money you have is enough to hire a mercenary or two for assistance — but I know of none I could trust with this knowledge."

    The phone rang.  They all looked at it.  Jason was closest.  Pamela's normal diving route was blocked.  She reluctantly nodded to him.  He picked up the phone and passed it across.  "Shaw," she said, too tired to come up with anything better.

    The voice was neutral, focused, with the faintest hint of desperation lurking at the back.  "Ms Shaw, listen carefully.  I don't know how much time I have, and Sadira's life depends on this."

    Pamela's fist slammed against the top-level map, creasing it.  The others jumped back.  "Who is this?"

    "My name is Carmody.  I called out the bra order."

    "Carmody?"  Jason went rigid.  "Why didn't you call us directly, if you can do it now?"

    "The need wasn't great enough."

    "Like hell it wasn't! —" and she realized she was speaking to a potential ally.  And, quite possibly, an even deadlier enemy.  "Why should I trust you?"

    She could hear him take a measured breath, then, "I can't give you a reason.  But if you don't believe me, then Sadira will die.  She has until Thursday morning, but possibly no longer."

    "Is it medical?"

    "No."  Stark, matter-of-fact.  "Nigilo has decided that keeping her alive and hidden is too great a risk.  He will have her murdered, mutilate the body to look like a sexual killing, and leave her in a ditch to rot.  And then he is going to send someone to kill you.  Ms Shaw, I have had this number all along.  I took Sadira's phone bills and made sure Nigilo didn't see them.  I have been trying to keep you all safe, as best I could."

    "You've done a lousy job."

    Another breath.  "I know."  And a pause.  "I'm a coward, Ms Shaw.  But I'm a coward who is acting, and I don't have much time.  Will you listen?"

    Pamela gestured for Jason to come around the bed.  He scrambled to her side and put his head close to the earpiece.  "Talk."

    "I have access to Sadira, but there are guards, and Nigilo has the ultimate authority.  I am the only ally she has inside the building.  I cannot get her out on my own."

    "Where is she?"

    "On the lowest level.  The elevators are handprinted.  The fire doors only open for emergencies.  It will be difficult to reach her.  If you can cause a distraction, then I can try to bring her up, or you can work down to meet us.  I'll keep her safe."

    "How do you propose we do that?"

    "I don't know.  I do not have access to all systems.  I can't fully control the security measures.  I can override nearly any door with my handprint, but I can't open them via remote.  That function is controlled from the third underground level.  If I'm guarding Sadira, I cannot reach that — and even if there is a distraction, they will eventually think to come for her.  We can't hide in her rooms or hold them off for very long."

    Jason was frantically writing on the back of a map with one hand, waving for her attention with the other.  She glanced over as he held up the sign —

    — which read Don't tell him about the computer!

    Carmody didn't have full access.  They did.  If he was lying and they kept quiet, it was their ace in the hole.  Lying, they told him, the access would be lost:  he'd scramble everything as they went in.  But if he was telling the truth, it was a pleasant surprise.

    Jason and Pamela looked at each other.

    I wish this was a speaker phone.  I can't read this voice, it's like looking for music in a dial tone.  Maybe Douglas could pull the truth from him...

    Could she trust him?  How could she trust him?  If he'd had her phone number, then he'd had access to her all along —

    — and with the number, a region of the city from the exchange numbers.  From the region, a narrowing search.  And it hadn't happened.

    A coward for an ally.

    "The authorities will need warrants.  By the time they get them, Sadira will be dead.  The media can't get in.  The only thing that stands a chance of succeeding is a raid."

    "Like you did to us."

    "Exactly," and now she could pick out a tone:  irony.  "But I did not direct the attack.  I have tried to control as much as I could.  I mentioned your existence and profession to Nigilo because he allows me to direct what I discover.  He would have found out about you on his own and pursued.  I believed that by revealing, I could later mislead.

    "But he directed his own forces without my knowledge, and the final discovery —"  She could almost hear him looking around, checking his safety.  "Ms Shaw, she has two full days remaining to her.  If she can produce the second virus, she will gain more time — but eventually, Nigilo will kill her.  You must try —"

    In the silence, she heard a car pulling up — and the connection was broken.  Pamela put the phone down on the bed.

    "Shit," she said evenly, and looked around the bed.  Slowly, she repeated the conversation while Jason hung up the phone.  Douglas started scribbling notes, getting down the few facts that had emerged.  And they all listened, and thought.

    Cypher finally gave the question voice.  "Is it a trap?"

    Jasmine answered for all of them.  "Does it matter?"

    "No," Jason said starkly.  "Because he's right.  Eventually, they're going to kill her."

    Douglas put X marks in the two kitchens on the fourth level.  "We still don't know how many guards there are," he observed, "or what weapons they're carrying.  We have no idea if any of us will survive."  A faint smile, no more than a ghost imposed on the flesh.  "And we're going in anyway, aren't we?"

    "I can't be there with you," Cypher suddenly said.  "I have to be with the system.  If I could just —"

    "You're there in electric spirit," Jason assured him.  "You're the key.  Without you, we can't get into the building, or get that far in."

    "Two days," Pamela said.  "One to get ready, and one to go."  She looked at the maps, then at the phone, then went back to the maps.

    She kept glancing at the phone through the long night as they drew up plans, trying to find a path into the fort.  It never rang.

 

    Carmody moved into the shadows near the phone, flattening himself against a thin tree trunk.  The car drove past him, the headlights sweeping within inches of his position.  He could see the driver.  Lisa Trevor, out for the evening.  All of her previous work had been at Helena, she didn't know about the bad food, and she wouldn't listen to someone else's opinion...

    He stayed in his position for eight minutes, counting evenly to six hundred, trying not to become disrupted by the faster beat of his heart.  He watched her move through the diner, sitting down by the window.  And if she was visible from the phone, then —

    Finally, he moved slowly through the shadows, stepping carefully despite himself — she would never hear any twigs snap inside the diner, but his feet wouldn't acknowledge that.  He got back to his car and drove to GenTree.

    Carmody didn't think Trevor had spotted him by the phone, but she could have seen his car pull away from the diner.  There was an easy way to discover if she had reported any suspicions.  Carmody was sleeping at the Cascade site, in the lower second apartment.

    If she had seen him, reported it, and led Nigilo down the proper path, he would never wake up.

   

34

104-106:  Two to get ready...

 

      "But does it fit?"

    "It fits."  Jasmine scratched the base of her neck, fingers sliding under her shirt.  "And it is the least comfortable thing I've ever worn."

    "Consider the material," Pamela suggested.  "It's a pretty good job when you think of what she had to work with.  And we need it.  At least she had it on hand — she uses it for reinforcement.  And we got it fast."  A small grin.  "FedEx.  When it absolutely, positively has to be there..."

    "I know."  Jasmine scratched again.  "It's still uncomfortable."

    Pamela looked down at her left hand.  The fingers twitched.  She fought the itch, almost won — then scratched.  "I noticed.  But the sooner we get used to them, the better."

    Douglas and Jason walked out of the Army-Navy shop carrying two huge bags each.  "Got nearly everything," Douglas declared.  "Walkie-talkies for all of us.  Batteries, flashlights, the works.  What's our next stop?"

    "Ammunition," Pamela answered.  "I wish we had more than three guns..."

    "I can use the taser," Douglas assured her.  "I will save my aim for the camera.  My current attachments should be up to recording the scene, however, and my body strongly desires to survive it.  I will dodge with great proficiency."

    Jason hefted the bags, using the handles to create improvised weights:  more exercise.  "Can't we buy more weapons?  A taser's no good at long range."

    "Sure," Pamela said casually.  "Anywhere on the street.  Presuming we don't get caught in a police sting operation, or walk into the middle of a gang war.  I bought my guns the legal way, waiting period for pickup and all.  We're a few days short."  She glanced over at the photographer.  "You?"

    "If we were in Beirut, I could get you missiles," he replied.  "A side trip would not be advisable."

    "The flight time would be a bitch — oh, shit!"

    She felt their eyes focus on her as she expanded on the curse.  "We can't bring the guns on the plane, and we'll have some fun explaining the other things!  We don't have time to drive —"

    Jason touched her shoulder.  "Douglas worked that out in the store.  We can't take the guns on a public plane.  And I think I know where to get some extras."

 

    She'd had no chance at the modem.  The avenues of research were all dead ends.  Her conservative drawing time estimate for the vials was five minutes.  Her measuring tape/handle had finally frayed while pulling her latest bra around, leaving her stuck half-in, half-out, and completely pissed until a guard had responded, brought her a short length of rope, handed it to her as she huddled under the blanket — and then stood there, watching her.  (She finally finished by improvising a grappling hook with bound forks from the kitchen, being smirked at all the way)

    Her morning bath had led to a horrible conclusion:  she was getting wider than the tub — and even when confined in the bra, her breasts touched the edges of the wheelchair:  it would open no further.  Most of the doorways were extra-wide, to allow equipment to move freely, but in another week...

    And the Powerbars were, unbelievably, starting to taste worse.

    On the bright side, her back felt better, her exercise program seemed to be working, and Temperi made little whimpering sounds whenever she got within ten feet.  But overall, the scales were balanced into the negative.  If she even had a scale...

    Sadira sighed, and tried to put on her shoes.

    If her back had been whole, it would have been relatively simple:  extend foot out to side, contort so that arms are reaching down said side, slide shoe onto foot.  And avoid laces, since the position wouldn't be comfortable to hold for long.  Or just place them on the floor well in front of her, try to remember their exact position because her breasts were going to hide them, and slip in.  But she couldn't stand to slip her feet into the loafers, and she couldn't bend sideways to reach her feet while in the wheelchair.  Forward was out of the question:  her breasts would only compress so much.  Which also might make sideways an issue...

    Sadira had picked the shoes up with her toes, and was trying to use the wheelchair's foot rests as braces.  Every time she tried to push her foot in, she knocked the shoe off.

    She wasn't sure why she was bothering.  She wasn't walking.  She couldn't see her feet.  Nobody was going to look at her feet.  She'd given up on socks.  And as long as she had the muu-muus, fashion wasn't a concern.

    She still put them on.  It took six minutes.

    The guards opened the door, and Sadira wheeled into the hallway.  Nigilo was standing against the opposite wall.  He wasn't leaning:  it didn't look like his body was capable of bending.  "Good morning, Sadira," he said pleasantly.  "Ready for another day of work?"

    She nodded and steered the wheelchair down the now-familiar path to the lab.  The guards moved into position, one in front, one in back.  Nigilo took her right.

    "You seem to be outgrowing that wheelchair," he noted.

    Sadira shrugged and shifted the joystick to the left.

    "Well, you're very close to being finished.  I can always donate this wheelchair to charity.  It won't be a concern for much longer."

    The only way I'm going to get rid of him is to acknowledge him directly.  She turned to look at him —

    — and he was walking away, back down the hall.  She returned to steering.  'Almost finished,' she mockingly paraphrased.  It must be nice to be delusionally optimistic.  At least he was in a good mood.

    Sadira had started worrying about motivating factors.  Nigilo hadn't threatened to remove privileges in an attempt to get her to work harder, but there was every chance that he'd think of it eventually.  Near-homicidal fury one moment, masked under a friendly demeanor the next.  If he decided that she needed additional motivation, then she could lose the wheelchair, her bras (and the vials — and wouldn't he be happy when he saw them?), the bed — or worse.

    She hadn't wanted to think about worse.  Not thinking about it had kept her awake until two a.m.

    The guards opened the door for her, and Sadira wheeled into the lab.  She was the only person there.

    Sadira looked around.  Every time she'd been brought in, the other three had already been present and working.  She had the lab to herself —

    — and the lab was subtly different.  There was a new electron microscope occupying the space where her workstation had been.  Sadira's computer had been shifted to the left —

    — the cameras couldn't see it anymore.

    She risked a longer glance, double-checking the angles.  The scan range stopped about a foot short of the keyboard, and had no chance of seeing the monitor.  No one could see what was on the screen.

    One of the guards stepped into the room.  "They're late," he gruffly observed.  "Can you start without them?"

    All three?  "No problem.  I'll just work with what I've already got."  The guard found a comfortable corner and settled in.  Sadira went up the computer and elevated the chair a little more than usual.  She was now reaching to the side and down to type — and she was blocking the guard's view of the monitor.

    The computer took forever to boot up.

    Sadira worked on the project for a minute, praying that the others didn't walk in, waiting for the guard's attention to wander a bit — and then she moved the mouse arrow to the modem icon and double-clicked.

    Enter password.

    The computer could be monitored.  There might be a relay to another system that would mimic everything she did.  And any program tracked where mail was being sent...  I can tell them I'm in Montana.  I can knock the drive over and break the system.  If I send something out, it might have a really detailed Email address:  maybe they can track me.  Sadira's_prison@insanity.com.  I've got to chance it.  Sadira typed the password.

    The drive light flashed twice as the computer thought about it.

    Password expired.  Enter password.

    Sadira quietly closed the window and lowered the chair back to base level.  Of course.  Only an idiot would maintain the same password on a communications line.  She wheeled the chair over to the new microscope.  Nice.  I've never seen this model before.  The best of everything...

    The door opened, and the Three Stooges walked in.  "— don't know why the system went crazy," Jonas said.  "They could have at least let you two go in while they checked for me."

    "And why are you three late?" Sadira inquired, putting all of her anger into the words.

    Temperi scurried to his workstation.  Menken glanced at her.  "The scanner didn't recognize Paul's handprint," he explained, nodding to Jonas.  "They held us all up while they looked at the system.  It cleared itself about three minutes ago."

    It probably didn't want him touching it.  Sadira shook her head and turned back to the microscope.  "Did anyone remember to get the placenta sample?"

 

    "As close as possible to Cascade, Montana, without using the Helena airport."  The pilot spread out the map.  "How about near Great Falls?  I can land you at one of the smaller airstrips, and you can drive from there.  There's a good little 'port at Fort Shaw."

    Pamela looked at the map.  "Fort Shaw?"  There it was, about ten miles from Great Falls.  "I wonder if I'm entitled to royalties?"

    "It's close enough," Jason said.  "We can rent a car and drive to Eden from there."

    "A van," Jasmine corrected.

    "Sound good to you folk?"  They all nodded.  "All right.  I'll go gas up the plane, file the flight plan, and we'll be on our way in under an hour.  Just make yourselves comfortable."  He left the office.

    Pamela glanced at Douglas.  "Nice work."

    The photographer smiled.  "Many Air Force pilots choose to continue flying after leaving the service.  And after following orders for so many years, they don't think to question requests.  We can trust Henry to fly us without complaint or metal detectors, but no more.  He has a fear of germ warfare."

    Jasmine looked at him with new respect.  "I didn't realize you knew so many people."

    "Some, here and there, and I keep track of them.  Politics makes strange bedfellows, but war creates stronger friendships.  But then, you were never interested in asking me anything — except when I would be leaving your presence."

    Jasmine's eyes slowly rose to meet his as the blush spread across her face.  "I'm going to be spending a lot of time apologizing to people, aren't I?"

    "Your reputation among your fellow performers is less than sterling," Douglas confirmed.  "It will take work to mend."

    She turned and gazed out the window into the hanger, eyes drifting across the little plane that would fly them from New Haven, Connecticut to Fort Shaw, Montana.  Silence fell over the room.

    "Any reason we need a van, Princess?" Pamela finally asked her.     

    "A cargo van," Jasmine expanded.  "With sliding doors."  She kept looking at the plane.  "Because Sadira won't be able to get into a car.  Give me the phone:  I'm going to call Cypher."

   

35

107-110:  Cascade failure

 

    Pamela leaned back in her seat and tried to get comfortable, shifting the thin blanket into a new position.  She couldn't sleep, and she had to sleep.  Last chance for rest before the end of the world.  It was past midnight New York time:  the clock had moved to Wednesday, the third of April.  If they screwed up, it was Sadira's last full day alive.

    She looked around the aisle.  Douglas was asleep.  His hands lay atop his blanket, clenched tight.  One more war zone, one more battle.  Had she meant to drag him into this, to this level?  She'd wanted someone with knowledge of how the media worked, who could tell her how to distort someone's perceptions and make them thank her for it afterwards.  She hadn't expected another combatant.  And yet here he was, ready to risk his life with them.  To preserve beauty — and when he said the word, Pamela heard "spirit," and "life."  She wondered how much blood he had seen.

    The Princess was sleeping as well as she ever did, shifting and stirring.  It helped remind Pamela that she wasn't looking at Sadira.  Neither of them had their makeup on, but the resemblance had started to move beyond the physical.

    Not all that far apart, her mind whispered.  She's finally trying to change.  I can see it, a little more each day.  The Princess was still the weakest link in the chain, the least effective fighter in the group.  She didn't care.  She was going to get her sister back.  But she'd broken once before, and if she snapped again —

    At least when she was a total bitch, I knew what to expect.  Pamela didn't know what to make of the Princess anymore.  She might save her own skin, or she might save Sadira's life.  There was no way to tell until the opportunity arose.  But Pamela was hoping for the second option.

    There was an overhead light on three seats in front of her.  Mouse had been doing push-ups and sit-ups every two hours, rapid sets that seemed to blur his body — and then, when his energy levels returned to normal, he studied the maps until it was time to work out again.  She wished he would sleep.  She was afraid of what would happen if he did.

    Eventually, he's going to miss a session.  If he's knocked out during this, and we can't wake him up so he can shed the excess energy, he's going to die. They were all risking their lives on this run, but his had been hanging from a frayed thread since his leg finished healing — and it had healed perfectly:  no limp, and only the smallest of scars.  Sadira has to choose between this man and me.  The first good man I've seen in years.  She's known me longer: that's a point.  We've made love: two points —

    She tried to push away the thought, but it clung to her.  If she picks him, we'll still be friends.  There's always that.  She could see so many scenarios where they pulled Sadira out of the pit, cured her, and she went into the Mouse's arms.  It was harder to focus the visions which ended with Sadira and Pamela flying off together, ready to resume what the bond had broken apart.  I want a happy ending.  I just can't make myself believe in one...

    I have to sleep.

    Pamela reached under the blanket, unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled down her pants, then slipped her left hand inside her panties — and then deeper still.

    The action wouldn't send her to sleep, not immediately, it might even key her up — but it would impose an artificial relaxation as the afterglow settled in, and perhaps she could ride that into sleep.  Masturbation as tension release and knockout pill.  Nothing else was working, so it was worth a try.

    It didn't work.  Done properly, it was a concert sung between mind and body, stimulation and images blending into smooth harmony, steadily escalating to a crashing crescendo with a chance for an encore.  Her nerves were doing their part, but the images kept breaking up as waves of pain and blood flooded her dreams —

    Pamela quietly withdrew and put her pants back on, wiping her hand on the blanket.

    A few minutes later, the Mouse came down the aisle.  "Still awake?"

    "No kidding.  Why aren't you asleep?"

    "I've been trying, but it just won't come."

    "Neither can I," Pamela replied — caught herself — then realized that he didn't know what she was talking about.  One slip got past him.  She could die happy.  "Maybe you need another workout."

    "The last one was thirty minutes ago.  I don't want to chance dropping too low.  It's just a question of relaxing."

    Pamela patted the empty seat.  "Sit down."  He did.  "Just close your eyes and try to drift."

    "No leg room," he said.  "I'm firmly anchored.  I'd sleep on the floor if I could keep from sliding around every time we changed altitude.  Maybe you should sing me a lullaby."

    Pamela grinned.  "The last thing anyone needs is to hear me sing.  You'll have nightmares."

    "Fair enough."  He shrugged.  "We're up for the same reason, anyway.  Want to go over the plan again?"

    "Not now.  I'm too tired to think — and too tired to fall asleep.  Great combination.  Every time I try to picture the plan, it ends in disaster."

    "Me too," came the soft reply.

    There was a long pause as they both closed their eyes and tried to dismiss the inner visions.

    "Try to make it a partial disaster," the Mouse suggested.  "Everyone gets out alive but me.  That way, two problems get solved."

    Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up straight.  "I don't want to win by default —" she saw his face.  "Not funny, Mouse."

    "Sorry.  Gallows humor."

    Pamela lay back against the seat.  "You've been thinking about it too, huh?"

    "Yes."  A small sigh.  "But the priorities are rescue, then cure, and then you can call off the truce."

    "Out of one war and into another," Pamela said.  "Maybe we could just ask her to decide."

    "Maybe."  It didn't feel like a serious option to either of them.

    "Can you sing?"

    The Mouse looked at her, startled.  "Pretty well."

    "Fine.  Sing me a lullaby.  Maybe it'll help."

    "You're kidding."

    She sat up slightly and met his eyes.  "Do I look like I'm kidding?  Sing."

    He sang.

    There were no words to the song, just a pattern of notes and tones, gently drifting through the small airplane.  Time slowed, became tangibly warm, then vanished entirely.  Jasmine's movements stopped, while Douglas' hands slowly relaxed and opened.  Pamela let the music wash across her.  There was a tune there, something almost familiar, she would have it if she just listened more closely, so she paid attention, tried to look at the music...

    Her eyes closed as she murmured, "Thanks, Jason..." and fell asleep.

    He quietly stood up and looked down at her.  Pamela was free from her fears, if only for a few hours.  He still had to deal with his.

    The plane was small and slow:  they weren't going to reach Montana for several hours.  He went back to his seat, recovered his maps, and returned to Pamela's side, reading in reflected light, guarding.

    "Jason?" he softly asked her sleeping form.  "Who's Jason?  No one here but us mice."

    Fort Shaw wasn't a one-horse town.  Someone had shot the horse.  It was small, still, and didn't have a car rental agency anywhere in sight.  Pamela disavowed her relationship within three seconds of arrival.  They called out a taxi from Great Falls, and rented the van there.  Pamela and Jasmine put on their makeup during the half-hour wait for the ride.

    They still weren't sure what to do about Jason.  There were two schools of thought:  one said that the longer GenTree thought they had a more or less random assault (unlikely), the more time Sadira would have.  The second school thought that Jason might be presumed dead, and seeing him alive would generate a ton of extra chaos — which might also generate time.  They couldn't find a decent fake moustache, so they let him be.

    The weather gave them a small break.  For an April morning in New York, it would have been an incredibly cold day.  In Montana, a high temperature in the teens was just slightly unseasonable.  Ski masks became sensible apparel instead of suspicious.  Pamela passed out the ones she'd brought from New York.  They hadn't been a serious consideration for the raid itself:  Pamela knew just how well they blocked sight and hearing — but if any GenTree employes were passing by, it gave them an extra margin of safety.  They still spent most of their time looking behind them.  Pamela found it ironic:  two macromastics who were too large to bind down trying to disguise themselves with skin tones and masks — but every bit helped.

    Douglas called Cypher during the ride to Eden, double-checking their connection strength.  The relay occasionally faded and crackled as they moved through different zones, but they were in contact.  Cypher had skipped his classes, and was spending the day bracing his equipment for the assault.  His roommates had been given movie money and told not to come home until the theaters closed — which in Manhattan, translated to six in the morning if they avoided the X rating — and never if they sought it out.

    The phone had a special feature:  a speaker and microphone pickup on the side.  "Good news and bad news.  Good first.  Jasmine, you were right.  Payroll files, with number of employees per section and work times.  I know how many guards you've got at any time, and when the shifts change."

    "Bad news?" Jasmine asked.

    "Fifteen of them at any damn second, and I can't tell you where they are in those seconds.  The computer doesn't track their movements.  Once they start shifting, The End.  Current assignments give you a few on each floor, and six down on the fourth.  Here's the shifts."  Jasmine took notes.

    Douglas sighed.  "The moral state of this world gives the enemy the numerical edge."

    "But our strength is like the strength of ten, because our hearts are pure," Jason semi-quoted.

    "Speak for yourself," Pamela said.  "Your strength is like the strength of ten because your metabolism is nuts."

    They could hear Cypher typing.  "I'll keep looking for edges up to and through the last second.  Call back."

    "We will," Douglas assured him.  "Luck to us all."

    "Luck to you four first.  I'm safe unless I get a killer surge.  Watch your asses, all of you."  The hacker hung up.

    "Fifteen guards," Jason repeated.  "Let's get more firepower."

 

    "Nobody home?" Jasmine asked.

    Jason looked at the empty driveway, then at the fields.  "Looks like it.  Heracles is still at college, Mom is teaching, and the twins are at school.  Dad probably went into town."

    Pamela was still looking around.  She'd been expecting red barns, rows of wheat (despite the cold), and a tractor parked on the lawn.  What she saw was large, modern buildings with heating vents, and several huge pastures.  "What kind of farm is this, anyway?"

    "Cows and sheep, mostly.  Some pigs.  We grow a few vegetables on the side.  We had horses when I was a kid — until the day my dad wound up with a fractured kneecap.  Never since."  He looked at Pamela.  "And that's why I can't ride.  Mean critters.  I can take a fall pretty well, though."

    Pamela smiled.  "Actually, I don't go riding too much anymore.  Vibrations."  She looked at the old house.  "This is still a Rockwell painting."

    "Rockwell paintings don't show six year olds up to their ankles in muck trying to help their dad deal with a breech birth," Jason pointed out.  "The horse could have kicked me, too.  Dad slept on the couch for a week."  He smiled.  "A professor and a farmer.  Don't ask."  He got out of the van.  All of the heat left with him.

    Jason climbed the steps onto the porch, reached under the swing, and removed a key.  He unlocked the door and went in.

    He emerged twelve minutes later with a large duffel bag slung over his right shoulder, and got back in the van, undoing all of the heater's repair work.  "Got them," he said.  "Still in the attic.  I guess the twins finally learned not to go into my things."  He opened the bag.  "One extra .22, and my best rifle."  Jason looked at the Daisy's shoulder strap.  It needed oil.

    "We are armed, if not ready,"  Douglas observed.  Jason passed him the gun.  "It will help to think of it as an especially vicious flash.  Pamela, you said that the men who attacked the lab were armed with both normal guns and tranquilizer pistols?"  Pamela nodded.  "If Sadira had rebelled before the kill order was given, they would have wanted to eliminate the immediate threat while keeping her alive.  There may be such weapons in the complex as well.  We should use them if we find them."

    "Leave them alive?"  The words emerged through clenched teeth.  "I already made that mistake.  Dead people can't come after us again — and if we don't do this exactly right, they will chase us."  Pamela pulled out her gun.  "The darts are a temporary solution.  This is a permanent one."

    Douglas leaned forward, locking his eyes into her reflection in the rear-view mirror.  "All too," he agreed.  "They won't wake up again, ever.  None in that building are blameless — but do they all deserve to die?"

    Jasmine looked at Pamela.  "We can't go through the building on a death hunt," she said plainly.

    "Let me guess.  Because then we'd be no better than them."  Softly, "Bullshit."  Pamela looked at the Magnum, then at her reflection.  They all saw her brow furrow in thought.  "I don't want to kill them all, Princess.  I'm not too clear on the idea of an afterlife.  It's nice to think that they're all going to burn in hell — but if they're going to suffer for this, they have to be alive.  So we'll kill only if we have to, but the option is open.  Agreed?"

    Jason nodded.  "Agreed."

    Douglas and Jasmine nodded.  Pamela started the engine, and they pulled out of the driveway.  "So now we've got the second-hardest part to deal with.  We wait."

    Pamela checked the mirrors as she turned the van into the street, and quietly checked her face at the same time.  It showed nothing of the decision she had reached.

    Jason had concentrated mightily to dredge up any details of Carmody's face — but his description of Nigilo had been solid.  Pamela had a very clear picture of the man.  It made a nice target.  She shot him ten times every mile.

 

    Carmody walked over to Sadira.  The scientist was lost in her data.  "Any progress?"

    "None," she answered, still looking at the screen.  Her attention was focused on the clock:  eight p.m.  "If you want to know what isn't working, I can give you a long list.  Anything else is going to take less time." She turned off the monitor.  "Got a few dozen aspirin?"

    Carmody reached into his breast pocket.  "Your back is getting worse?"  She'd been in the chair for days.  It should have given her a chance to heal...

    "My head."

    Work, Carmody thought.  Come up with the answer, buy us both some time.  If your friends don't arrive soon —

    What if they hadn't trusted him?  It was too easy to believe.  But they had to care about her, they had to come.  Despite what Nigilo believed, the entire world didn't walk along his paths.  Other people loved, and would try to save the one they loved.

    He couldn't do it alone.  He wasn't sure it could be done at all.  If Pterros was still alive, and Jasmine came with him and Shaw, then he'd have staked his last hopes for Sadira's life on two geneticists and an exotic dancer.

    It was almost funny.

    Sadira dry-swallowed the pills.  "Maybe I should just try to sleep on it.  My waking mind is out of ideas."  She turned in the chair as much as she was able, her breasts jamming against the armrests, and looked at him.

    Carmody had never believed in telepathy.  He had just received lack of proof.

    "Perhaps that would be best," he heard himself say.  "The others will continue to work."  A side glance.  "I'll arrange for a new wheelchair in the morning."

    "Check with your boss.  He may have already ordered one."  Sadira headed for the door.  "You're more efficient, though."

 

    He met Nigilo on the way back to his office.

    "Ah, Carmody."  Nigilo matched his pace.  "How goes the research?  Have you found someone we can sincerely flatter by imitating?"

    "I'll have my recommendations on your desk tomorrow morning, sir," Carmody replied.  "I still have to sort through some data.  There are a surprisingly large number of sexual killings, with many varieties of mutilation."

    "I'm sure you'll pick a good one."  Nigilo smiled, the face of a cobra seeing a place to strike.  "I've got to catch up on some work.  I've been putting in too many late mornings in my bed lately.  I'm not as tireless as you are."  Another smile.  "One day, you'll have to tell me how you do it so naturally."

    Willpower.  "What sort of work, sir?"

    "Hiring.  I have to find some geneticists to replace Archer.  I've got a pile of resumes, work records, and legal charges to sort through.  It's a matter of finding the right mindset and blackmail material.  And I've also got to locate a temporary — someone who would be willing to dispose of our little problem.  Murder for hire doesn't come cheap, and for this, I want to use an intermediary to draw up the contract.  Perhaps several.  This will not get back to us."  Nigilo stopped.  Carmody stopped.

"Ideally, I'd like to have her dead by Thursday night, but arranging this properly might take more time."

    "It's not something you want to rush, sir," Carmody said.  "We can't be too careful in covering our tracks."

    Nigilo nodded.  "Better to do it correctly than to do it fast.  We won't get a second chance at it.  Once she's dead, that's the end of it.  But I'd still like to get it done before the end of the day tomorrow.  It's a question of putting in the hours.  You're putting in yours, I'll put in mine."  He looked at Carmody, and there was a quiet satisfaction in his face.  "This is something I want to get involved with personally.  You go back to your data, and I'll start on my own files.  We will have this finished before the weekend."

    Carmody nodded, and headed for his office.  Nigilo went towards his.

 

    Eight-fifteen p.m.  They had driven past the site, then parked the van in the woods and walked back towards it, using the roadside lights to navigate.  Jason had eaten his last tank-up snacks on the way.  The group stopped fifty feet from the fence.

    "Last chance for review," Pamela said.  "Let's make sure we've got this straight."  They backed up a few dozen feet.  Douglas pulled out a small flashlight.  Pamela's gaming experience had made her try to put a fictional premise into operation:  the backpack filled with every piece of conceivably useful junk known to humanity.  Douglas had looked over her list and cut it down to a few pounds of equipment each, in pockets and small backpacks.

    Jason pulled out his maps, and Jasmine dialed the phone.  "Cypher?"

    The transmission was relatively clear.  "On line and scrolling."

    Jason brought the ground floor map to the top of the thin stack.  "We run across the parking lot here, to this fire door.  Cypher unlocks it, and we work our way down."

    "We head straight for the fourth floor," Pamela continued.  Jason pulled out the map.  "We've got two apartments where Sadira could be:  this one's closer to our entrance.  Check that one first, then head for the second if she isn't there."

    "I keep people off your backs," Cypher said.  "Drop the breaks on them, screw up the systems.  If I get any indication that they're moving Sadira, I let you know.  Updates anytime I hear something new."

    "We get out as quickly as possible and head for the woods," Jason continued.  "It'll take a minute or two to reach the car.  We carry Sadira if we have to."

    Jasmine looked at the dead branches on the ground, then at the trees which surrounded them.  They'd picked up a wheelchair in Great Falls.  It wasn't going to work:  they couldn't steer it through the woods.  "We stay together," she said.  "They might try to split us up:  if we move as a unit —" she looked at Pamela, who nodded "— we can cover more angles and watch each other's backs."

    "And once back at the vehicle," Douglas finished, "we drive for our lives.  That assumes the most basic success:  recovering Sadira and departing.  We don't try for the contingency plans unless things are breaking our way.  But whenever I'm not firing the gun, I trigger the camera.  Both at once if possible."  The camera was hung around his neck.  He'd assured them the case was bulletproof.

    "Don't count Carmody out one way or another," Jason said.  "We might stay unnoticed all the way through the stairwell, but once we're in the corridors, someone's going to notice us."

    "I can turn the cameras on and off," Cypher added, "and I've been looking at nice empty corridors for a while now.  The camera images are fed into monitors, but they're also directly broadcast to mobile receivers from a central point before they go through the computer system.  I've got blank-space images saved for everywhere.  The monitoring stations will see what I want them to see if I move fast enough.  But anyone with a hand-held tuned to the right place can pick you up.  And once you run into someone, that's it:  on your own."

    "Once they know, then Carmody knows," Pamela pointed out.  "He either springs his trap or tries to meet us halfway."  She looked around the group.  "We've also got fifteen guards to deal with.  Shift change is at ten:  this is late enough so that they'll be tired, early enough so that no fresh troops show up.  And don't forget the rest of the staff:  there won't be many around at this hour, but someone could always try something stupid.  We might have to fight our way out.  On the other hand, the secrecy works both ways:  we can't bring in the Armed Forces, they can't call the cops."

    "We avoid the elevators unless absolutely necessary," Jason said.  "We can move in the stairwell, even if it's only in two directions.  We can't let them box us in.  The door opens, they shoot inside —"

    Douglas nodded at the map.  "We don't have to worry about anything exotic," he noted.  "No gases, no pits, and no lasers.  Even no viruses, since they're hardly immune to their own agents.  It'll be toe-to-toe all the way, guns and fists."

    "Best case," Jason concluded.  "We get Sadira, get all the information we need, head for Helena for the final confrontation, and win it.  We work on the viruses there, use whatever data Sadira's found while we were on the plane, and she's cured by morning."  Jason patted his right coat pocket.  He was carrying BE-1 in a shatterproof syringe — surrounded by a steel case — ready for modification.  He'd wanted to leave the viruses in the van, but Pamela had insisted on bringing them, and distributed the syringes.  (There was a small chance that Sadira's bluff would work twice.)  The syringe in his left pocket held a mixture of sugars, in case he or Sadira needed a fast boost.  They were all carrying one.

    "Worst case," Pamela countered, "we're all dead."  She looked around the group.  "And no matter what happens, whoever's still standing heads for the goal line.  We don't get any second chances.  This is it."  The faintest of smiles drifted across her face.  "If anyone has to go to the bathroom, do it now."

    They all looked at each other — and then a small blush tinted Douglas' face, and he walked into the shadows.

    Jasmine took out her gun and looked it over.

    Pamela moved closer to the fence.  Jason followed her.  "We are so unqualified," she told him.  "Photographer, stripper, and two lovesick scientists.  And maybe one flunky turned renegade."

    "And it doesn't matter, because we're all she's got," Jason replied.  "How many cliches do you want me to toss out?"

    "I'll throw the last one," Jasmine said, coming up behind them.  "One way or another, it ends tonight."  She stopped, then looked at them in turn.  "I'm scared," came the frank admission.  "But I'm going to use it for something good this time."

    Pamela looked at the dancer.  "Want to know something, Princess?"  Jasmine nodded.  "If we live through this, you just might wind up human."

    Douglas approached, zipping his pants.  Jasmine looked at the phone.  "Ready, Cypher?"

    "Fingers on the home keys."

    Pamela looked at the fence, and at the small white building in the middle of the parking lot.  The sign by the road had said GT Industries.  The vast bulk of the building was underground.  The portion that was visible could be anything.  It was an iceberg of corruption:  you saw the top and never suspected how much more might lie underneath.

    One shot, she thought.  Sadira, if we live through this, we're going to have one hell of a story for our kids.  The smile was purely internal.  Sure.  Like we could have children.  Jasmine moved close to the fifteen-foot fence.  Pamela joined her.  Douglas and Jason got behind them.

    "We're clear to run," Jasmine whispered.

    "Computer's got the outside camera showing empty footage," Cypher replied.

    "Boost on three," Pamela said, bracing herself for the contact.  "One, two, three —"

 

    Sadira eased her way out of the wheelchair, her breasts rubbing against the armrests.  I'm not finished, but this chair is.  I hope Carmody talks Nigilo into getting a new one soon.  Maybe two chairs linked together.  I sit in one and my breasts sit in the other.  She piled the pillows behind her and sat up against the headboard, legs extended.  Her breasts rested on her legs, stretching out well past her knees.  Her best guess put her lower slopes at mid-thigh when out of the bra — there weren't many moments when she was anywhere near a standing position, and very few of those were braless.  She still wasn't sagging.

    If I get this stopped, I will work out until I'm lying in a puddle of my own sweat, and I'll wear a steel bra whenever my position heads for the vertical, but I will not let myself sag.  I just got my arms and legs back for the first time in over ten years.  If I can walk at all, I refuse to trip over my breasts.

    And a little voice said A few more weeks and they'll be touching the floor without sagging —

    — and she pushed it back.

    Sadira reached for the remote and turned on the TV.  "Powerbars, power bras," she said to the cameras.  "You know why I really want to be cured?  So I'll be on my feet when I burn down the Powerbar factory.  Better view."  She looked at the TV screen.  "Something dumb," she said.  "A bad Voyager episode.  Throw my mind into neutral, and maybe it'll unlock the final sequences."

 

    "Unlocked," Cypher said.  "Go."

    Jason opened the door, and they headed in, Jasmine taking up the rear, everyone rubbing their hands, trying to get warm.  They headed down, moving as fast as they could without making noise —

    — and the phone crackled, hissed, and went quiet.

    Jasmine looked at it, then took two tentative steps back towards the surface.  More hissing, and, "— happening?  Are you guys okay?"

    "We're fine," Jasmine whispered.  "But the local transmission isn't strong enough to carry underground."

    Douglas, who was in front of her, sighed.  "Apparently this is going to be one of those operations where everything goes wrong from the beginning.  Saves us from having to wait for it..."

    "I saw that movie," Pamela said.  "Can we leave the phone here, and put one of the walkie-talkies next to it?  Relay the transmission?"

    "We can," Douglas answered, "I bought dual-band VOX transceivers so we could send and receive without having to manually switch modes.  But if we leave one here, it's vulnerable.  So is anyone we might leave behind to guard it."

    They all looked at Pamela.

    Since when am I the leader? part of her mind asked.  Since always, the rest replied.  "We can't split up.  We'll have to secure it."

    Douglas reached into his jacket and handed Jason a roll of duct tape.  The tall man took phone, tape, and his own walkie-talkie, then secured them high on the wall.

    They moved ten steps down.  Jasmine took out her transceiver and pressed the talk button.  "Can you hear me?"

    "I'm getting you."  The voice was distorted by the double-link, an inch of space doing what two thousand miles hadn't been able to.  The distance between them was suddenly real.  "Hope the boy scout stuff holds out."

    They kept moving, approaching the second landing.  There were only four levels to the underground portion, but they were descending eight:  the between spaces held the hazard walls.  Jason looked at the door.  Two levels deeper into the pit, and then they'd exit into Hell.  Pulling Sadira out of the underworld.  His mother would approve.  It was so Greek...

    Another step, the .38 drawn and ready, rifle over his right shoulder, waiting.  And another, and another, and —

    — the door opened.

    "— told you I could rig the computers," a female voice said.  "We'll get some privacy in here, sweetheart —" and she looked up and saw Jason. 

    His first thought was that he didn't recognize her.  The second said he didn't know the man behind her, either.  The third told him to stop the screaming.

    "Oh, that's torn it," Douglas said through the screech.  "Jason!"

    He was already moving, jumping over the last few steps.  The woman had run back into the corridor:  Jason reached the man and without hesitating, cracked the gun against his skull.  Pamela moved past him as the man dropped, moving into the corridor.  She wasn't fast.  She didn't have to be.  Most of the woman's energy was going into her vocalization.  Pamela hit her, twice, fast, and hard.  She went down.  No one missed that noise — began the thought —

    — and she realized she was standing in the hallway, and there was a camera pointed at her, and no one had told Cypher what was going on, or where she'd run into.  The camera was working, turning, scanning, and looking at her.

    If they hadn't heard the scream, they were enjoying an eyeful.

    Two guards came around the corner as Jasmine reached the landing, and Jason ran into the hallway behind Pamela — and then he was in front of her, moving with incredible speed.  The taller guard had just enough time to yell "Intruder alert!" at something in his left hand before the first bullet shattered the device — and then proceeded through his hand.  The second one grazed his skull, and he fell over.

    Pamela took a split-second to stare, amazed at his speed and marksmanship.  She heard Jasmine yell "Close the break door on the second level, the hallway in front of our fire escape!  Cut them off!"

    The second guard had his gun out, and was taking aim —

 

    Carmody heard the guard's yell relayed outside his door.  "Intruder alert!"  He dived for the computer, patched into the cameras, and saw —    

    — he dismissed the insert screen, typed as fast as he could, snatched the zip disk from the drive, then headed for the door.  His office was only a few doors from Sadira's cell.

 

    Nigilo was descending the right inner staircase with an armful of files.  He heard the alert and dropped the lot, then ran for his office.  He had to tap into the security center, find out what was happening —

    — and if the source turned out to be the cause of all his recent problems, he was going to take care of it personally.

 

    On the third level, in the security center, a flood of adrenaline was being channeled.  Orders were screamed to guards, cameras were focused, weapon closets unlocked, and buttons hit —

    — including the one that scrambled the manual security override input codes according to a pre-determined pattern that wasn't in the computer.  Anyone who needed to know it had memorized the shifts.  Anyone who had stolen the codes was out of luck.  The scanners would respond to handprints and hidden keypads:  nothing else.

 

    Cypher saw the motion in the corner window, spared an instant to look closer and found the codes changing, saw the remote operation lock-out commencing, and his hands blurred, trying to send a counter-command while bringing the hazard door down, saving Pamela and Jason, and somehow the commands got confused, merged, dived into the heart of GenTree's system, met the warping codes, the new creation veered off into the security system —

    — and the whole thing went to Hell.

 

    Pamela pulled the trigger, taking the second in the knee.  He fell, pitching forward, his gun flying from his hand towards Jason —

    — who reached out and caught it.  "Tranks," he said, and shot both guards with the new pistol.  "Get the other one."

    Pamela moved forward as Jasmine said "Cancel the break door."

    A steel wall slammed down across the entrance to the stairwell.

    Pamela and Jason turned, startled.  "What the hell —?" Pamela began —

    They heard it at the same time, and looked up to see the ceiling open, and the wall start to descend, directly above Pamela —

    — Jason reacted first.  He thrust, pushing body and arms forward, ramming her shoulders, knocking Pamela back a split-second before the wall came down.  Her transceiver came off her belt as she hit the floor.

    The sound of the wall's impact reverberated through the hallway.

 

    Sadira heard the commotion outside and looked up towards the door, her visual field intercepting a camera just as it stopped moving.

    "What's going on?" she breathed — and then, with the sharpening of senses that accompanied the adrenal flow, she heard the handprint scanner start up outside her door —

    — and it beeped.  The door stayed closed.

    In the middle of the surprise, she figured out exactly what Nigilo had meant by "close to being finished."

    Another scan.  Another beep.  Still closed.

    Sadira reached into her blouse, pushing past the bra to reach the right-side vial.  The acuity of her hearing seemed to be increasing:  cursing outside, a desperate jingle as long-neglected keys were examined.  The vial was coming free —

    — and another sound, a softer one, compressed air escaping —

    — silence —

    — and then the sound of a body hitting the door.

    More keys, and the door began to open as she got the vial out.  She pulled it back, ready to throw.

    The guard's body slumped into the room.  Carmody stepped over it.

    "Ready to go?" he asked neutrally, no expression on his face.

    Sadira looked at him, looked at the tranquilizer gun in his right hand and the second one strung on his belt, then madly shifted for the wheelchair.  Carmody scrambled to help.

   

36

111:  Dungeon crawl

 

    Pamela sat stupefied for a moment, staring at the grey steel and the crushed remains of her walkie-talkie — then scrambled to her feet.  "Mouse?  Can you hear me?" She heard another wall slam into the floor.  It was the only response she received.

 

    Jasmine yelled past the frenzied swearing coming through the transceiver.  "Cypher, what the hell is going on?"

    "Computer crash!" he yelled back.  "They tried to scramble the codes, I tried to put them back, and the whole thing just blew!  All the security systems are going nuts!"

    "Can you open the hazard doors?" Douglas said, somehow still calm.  Of course, he's seen worse...

    "I'm trying!  Nothing's responding!"

    "Keep trying."  Douglas looked at Jasmine.  "We keep going."

    She stared, then nodded.

 

    Jason beat his fists against the steel.  The wall didn't notice.  Calm down! his brain screamed.  You're burning energy, and you'll use too much, and you'll die —

    Somehow, he pulled himself away from the wall, then withdrew a Powerbar and practically swallowed it whole.  He ate another, and noticed the cameras had stopped moving.  "System failure?" he queried empty air.  His walkie-talkie was taped up in the stairwell, and they hadn't thought to bring a spare.  Somewhere in the complex, another wall slammed down.

    If they were all coming down, then eventually, every possible route was going to be cut off.  He had to get to Sadira.  That was the plan.  There was no way to get back to the others.  If they all headed down, they'd eventually meet —

    — the maps, memorized from long hours of study, flashed into vision.  He followed them.

 

    The blocked fire escape entrance formed the top of the T-intersection.  Pamela risked a glance at her map:  the last place they'd been seen was the second floor, so that was where most of the guards were going to go.  With ridiculous luck, they might even draw a few away from Sadira.  They were officially due for a break. 

    The left.  There's an inner staircase about four turns away.  She moved down the hall, checking over her shoulder, trying to scan all sides at once —

    — and found a third guard, coming down the hallway with weapon drawn, a real gun this time, running straight at her.  Pamela fired and missed badly, the bullet impacting by his feet.  The dark man jumped, his finger squeezing the trigger.

    Pamela ducked.  The bullet flew over her head.  Way over her head:  it hit the ceiling.  She fired again, missed narrow left —

    — the bullet slammed into her right breast, knocking her back, driving her to the floor —

 

    The exit on the fourth level was blocked, and Cypher couldn't get it open.  They climbed back up.  The third level's door opened on the first try, and there was no barrier.

    Douglas and Jasmine exchanged glances.  "The long way, then," the photographer said, and they moved into the hall.  Douglas kept his taser in one hand and his camera in the other, and took pictures as they moved.

    Twenty-two feet below them, the hazard door blocking their gate retreated into the ceiling.

 

    Carmody took a moment to drag the guard inside and close the door.  "We'll shoot them as they open it," he said.  "They'll need to use their keys — and only six of them have keys for this level.  Five now.  I can open it from this side with mine.  But we can't stall here forever."  He gave Sadira the second gun.  She had grabbed her notebook from the nightstand and tucked it into the wheelchair's side storage.  "Is there anything we need to save?"

    "We should wipe the data from the computers if we have the time."

    "We don't.  I'd set the place on fire, but the suppression system is too good — as I'm sure you know.  What's in the vial?"

    She held it up and let him look at the contents.

    Carmody nodded.  "Somewhat faster than an empty syringe.  Congratulations:  I never guessed."  He ran into the kitchen and came out with a handful of Powerbars and two knives.  "They're nicely balanced:  you might be able to throw them.  Start eating.  We can't risk a burnout."

    Sadira took the knives and Powerbars, eating two and tucking the rest between breasts and lap, next to the vial, then removed the second vial and secured it, Carmody turning away while she worked.  "Why can't they use the scanners?"

    "I fired them."  She looked up at him.  "I control the general personnel programs below the executive level.  When someone is fired, their handprints, codes and all emergency variants are wiped from the computer.  I tested it on Jonas yesterday.  The entire security staff was just let go for general incompetence."

    Sadira fought the urge to laugh.  "So they can't move?"

    Carmody jumped as they heard another slam.  "Only within their current sections — and from the sounds outside, those are changing by the moment.  Do your friends have computer control?"

    The realization burst nova-bright across her mind, and a thousand emotions sang in her heart.  "They're here?  You're not doing all this?"

    "I saw Pter — Jason and Pamela on the cameras before they went down.  I would guess that they're using the hazard doors as a distraction."  Another slam, this one close by:  the sound echoed through the room.  "If so, it's working to perfection.  I hope they have their route timed, because I don't know what their plan is."  He reached into a suit pocket and withdrew a thin syringe with a narrow needle —

    — and before Sadira could react, he pushed up his left sleeve and injected the contents.  "Insulin," he explained.  "I'm a diabetic, Sadira.  I used to be other things.  I have a great deal of experience with needles, and I can't risk collapsing on the way out, either.  Ready to go?"

    Sadira wheeled to the side of the door, and got the gun ready.  "Ready.  If you're sure there's no way we can wipe the data —"

    "If your friends have computer access, they can take care of that problem later," Carmody pointed out.  There was an odd sound, a sort of reverse slam, accompanied by the whine of stressed gears.  "Although I'm starting to doubt that anyone has control right now.  We can return with a large quantity of dynamite." He opened the door.

    There was a guard running up.  Carmody calmly shot him twice.  Sadira saw the man's eyes open in surprise — and then he staggered, swayed, and fell.  Carmody reloaded, pulling extra darts out from under his suit jacket.  He'd stopped at the armory on the way.

    "Most of them will use darts to avoid hurting employees, and they have no orders to kill you yet.  There will be exceptions."  He looked at Sadira, emotionlessly gauging her size — and weight.  "I can't push the wheelchair up the stairs, and I can't carry you."  Carmody said.  "I can support you and aid in balance for a time, but we'll be slowed.  Can you walk?"

    "I don't know.  I think my back is healed, but I'm carrying so much weight..."

    "We'll have to risk the elevator.  Let's hope your friends take out most of the guards before we get there."

 

    Nigilo found his progress blocked by a steel wall.  He quietly turned and went into one of the nearby labs.  It had doors on both sides of the barricade.

    It didn't matter that the computer was down, or that the entire site was in chaos, or that he still didn't know who was attacking, with the link to the security center down.  He didn't know where she was, but none of it mattered.  The bitch couldn't run, couldn't use the elevators, couldn't even crawl up the stairs.  No matter how much time it took him to move, she was moving more slowly.  He would reach her.

 

    Eric Boyle slowly moved towards the body.  The woman had fallen backwards and to the side:  he couldn't see where the bullet had hit.  She wasn't moving.  The mass of her chest was still.  Her eyes were half-lidded, staring at nothing.

    He approached slowly, ready to kick over the body over and check the wound.  She'd taken a direct hit, she wasn't wearing any armor, she was dead, or close to it.  He stepped closer, looking at the puddle of blood beneath the wound —

    — the place where the puddle should be:  her clothing couldn't be soaking up all the blood —

    — her eyes snapped completely open, and her leg flew up, hitting him in the crotch.  His cup protected him from the worst of it, but it still staggered him back.  She was getting to her feet, and her left hand snatched at his belt —

    — and came back with the tranquilizer gun.

    "So long, sucker," she said, and shot him three times in the face.

 

    Pamela watched him slump, and affectionately scratched the base of the Kevlar bra.  You were worth all the discomfort.  All it had taken for the Mouse and Douglas was a quick trip to the Army/Navy shop to buy second-hand bulletproof vests, but Pamela and the Princess couldn't use them.  The vests wouldn't close.

    Aunt Susan used Kevlar to reinforce some of the bigger bras:  the next step had been a completely-Kevlar, full torso-and-crotch garment, with some extra shielding on her thighs.  If the bulletproof material breathed, or was the least bit comfortable, it would be perfect.

    That, and the fact that Kevlar distributed impact.  Too many bullets too quickly, and even the spread-out force could do major damage:  hydrostatic shock.  She hadn't been able to breathe for a few seconds, and her breast hurt.  One more thing to be paid for.

    Pamela quickly searched the guard, found his screen, decided to take it with her in case the cameras started working again, and kept moving.

 

    The man came through the door just behind Jason.  He never saw him.  He heard him, turned, grabbed, and threw him against the wall before his mind caught on to what he was doing.  He barely felt the effort, and marveled at the speed.  If it wasn't for the possible death, I could get used to this...  He looked at the man.  "Temperi?"

    "Don't kill me!  Don't kill —"

    The irony washed over him.  Then maybe he'll break.  "Don't tempt me," Jason growled, feeling the anger pulsing outwards, a thousand times more convincing than at the airport, a lifetime ago.  "Where's Sadira?"

    "I don't know!  Nobody can get anywhere!  I was just using the bathroom before I left, sneaking out early, trying to get to the exit now, nothing is working, she's insane —" Mad eyes locked into his.  "You don't know what it's like, Jason, she's a demon, she spits and scratches and tries to lure me in, but no, I won't, I won't go under, I won't —"

    Jason aimed the tranquilizer gun and shot him on general principles.

 

    Jasmine's first bullet hit the guard dead-center in the stomach.  She'd been aiming for his gun arm, but she'd pulled the trigger too soon.  He was carrying two guns, and the one in his hand shot bullets.  Kill or be killed.

    He staggered, teetered — then caught himself on the wall and straightened up —

    — just in time to be tackled by Douglas, barreling in with taser in hand, his greater weight carrying the guard to the floor.  He pressed the taser against the man's neck until he stopped twitching, then grabbed the tranquilizer gun and shot the guard in the left leg.  "Handy thing to have around," he said, looking at the taser.  "Aim for the extremities, Jasmine.  The torso is armored."

    She nodded.  "Why aren't we seeing more guards?"

    "There are fifteen of them scattered over five floors.  A maximum of twelve, now, counting the two Jason and Pamela took down.  They'll have as much trouble reaching us as we're having reaching them.  And the ordinary citizens seem too scared to get involved."

    This was a hiss overhead, and they both stepped quickly to the right, now alert to danger from above — but this wasn't a descending wall.

    They watched the spray of foam fall to the ground.

    "Cypher?" Jasmine asked.

    "The systems are still going crazy," the relay crackled.  "I think the fire extinguishers just went nuts.  It's harmless stuff, but watch your eyes:  don't want to get clouded at a bad moment.  I'm still trying to get control of the doors.  So are the folks at the main computer.  We're having a race to see who can build a new program first.  Some of the staircases are open, but that'll help and hinder you guys, depending on who uses them."

    "We're still on the third floor," Jasmine said.  "That's where the control center is.  Maybe we can do something."

 

    The hallway was blocked — and then it wasn't.  Machinery whined, and the wall receded back into the ceiling.  Carmody sprinted across, and Sadira pushed the chair to its limits.  They got across with time to spare, and the steel slammed down behind them.

    "Were these things in Helena?" Sadira gasped.  "Where were they?"

    "In the side walls at strategic points," Carmody answered.  "There weren't as many crucial areas —"  Foam rained down from the ceiling in front of them.  "It would seem someone found the fire controls.  Let's hope no one plays with the elevator."

 

    The spray caught Pamela in the face.  She fell back, coughing, wiping the foam off with her arms.  It cleared easily, and she recognized the slight odor.  Harmless.  Eyes are safe, lungs are fine — She stared at her sleeves.  They were heavily streaked in pink, with yellow patches.  — but it removes makeup and basic dyes.  Trivial, that's more important —

    — because that was the staircase leading down, and it wasn't blocked.  She went in, and shot a very large guard on the way down.  She wasn't in the mood to wait for the drug to kick in:  it took four darts to make him drop fast enough to suit her.

 

    Jason reached the fourth floor, and found the hallway blocked by barricades on both sides, with no labs to cut through.  He waited twenty seconds in case the walls decided to retreat, then ran back up the stairs, listening carefully for grinding gears.

 

    Jasmine shot the scanner, shot the lock, and threw open the door.  The guard spun, and Douglas aimed.  They fired at the same time.

    The guard slowly sank to the floor, feebly pulling at the two darts in his right arm.  Douglas moaned and rubbed his stomach.  "Kevlar and fat," he said, "and still not enough to protect."  He looked at the two stunned technicians and pointed the gun at them — then took a picture.  "Still, we're not doing badly for rank amateurs.  There doesn't seem to be that much difference between aiming a gun and a camera."  Another moan.  "Except that the camera is deadlier.  Cover them, will you, Sadira?  I'll watch the door."

    One of the technicians — a woman — looked at Jasmine as she started to grin.  "Sadira?"

    Intuition flashed across her thoughts, illuminating the con.  "Right."  Jasmine said, advancing.  "I've got the breast-shrinking virus right here."  She withdrew the syringe case with her free hand:  she was carrying the accelerator.  "I decided this is the size I want to stick with."  She expertly appraised the woman's figure (C verging on D), then quickly opened the case and displayed the needle.  "You — well, it would put you where I started.  Sound like fun?" The woman shook her head violently.  Her male companion kept staring.  "And did I mention the possibilities for the penis?  There seems to be an analog effect.  If I could just get a chance to test it..."

    She watched his reaction and decided that Pamela had the right idea.  It was more fun being a bitch for a good cause.  "So you listen to my friend —" she held out the walkie-talkie "— and do everything we tell you to, or you're both going to go through puberty again — in the wrong direction.  Deal?"

 

    Carmody punched in his code again.  "It's not working.  The controls are gone, and it's not responding to the key.  There's a chance that the other elevator bank is operational, but it won't take us directly out.  We'd have to climb to the top level."

    "How do we get there?"  Sadira was spinning the wheelchair, trying to cover all sides while Carmody worked on the elevators:  they were in the middle of a large intersection, with corridors leading away from the elevator doors.  It was making her slightly dizzy.  All around them, there were the sounds of slamming and grinding.  They'd taken out two more guards on the way, and Sadira had been hit by a dart in the chest — then discovered that her bra was strong enough to block penetration.  Carmody had shot the second guard before he got to test the bullets.

    "Follow me."  Carmody turned away from the elevator controls and ran towards the nearest hallway, turning left —

    It was the first time she'd seen any real expression on his face.  It was surprise, and it lasted only a fraction of a second before the pain took over.

    The bullet ripped through his body, and Carmody fell.

 

    Jason was on the third floor, running through the corridors, cramming food into his mouth with his free hand, scanning for new targets — and saw Douglas standing in a doorway.  "Jason!  In here!"

    He entered to see Jasmine holding the walkie-talkie between two rapidly typing people.  Her left hand had the transceiver.  The right held a syringe, and it was continually switching aim.

    "Sadira," Douglas began, stressing the word, "is helping our friends hook the walls back up, with a lot of help from our other friend."

    "Among other things," Jasmine said.  She glanced at the portable screen Douglas had taken from the fallen guard:  it had been left on the console.  "Hook them up.  And if I see that screen go on, your sex life goes to zero."

    "What are we doing?" Jason asked.

    "Finding Pamela, among other things." Douglas answered.  "Sadira's idea.  We'll get the cameras running in here, but the remaining guards won't see the results:  the transmitter has been disabled.  Once we know where everyone is, and get control of the walls, our task should be eased."

    If they're still alive.  But Douglas was right.  They needed to be able to move:  it was random chance otherwise, and he'd already been blocked.  "Get them up, and I'll get there."

    "They're coming back on line," the male typist said.  "I don't have all of them yet."

    "Then show me the ones you do have, moron," Jasmine suggested.

    Several monitors lit up.

    Jason looked, analyzed, and ran for Sadira's life.

    "Get the walls up!" he screamed as he accelerated down the hallway, his soul praying for chance to favor him, to save her —

 

    Jasmine stared at the screen as Jason raced out.  She was too far away, no way to reach her or protect her, Sadira was going to die and there was nothing she could do —

    — and a phrase flashed across her memory, something she'd heard Sadira say years ago.

    "Divert the orcs out of the dungeon," Jasmine said, then, "Get the voice transmitters on line.  And say what I tell you to say."

    The woman was confused.  "You're not Archer —"

    Jasmine touched the needle to the back of her neck.  "I'm her meaner sister.  Turn the fucking thing on."

   

    Nigilo stepped around the corner as Sadira got the gun up.

    He shot it out of her hand.

    "Sorry," he said calmly.  "I'm rather good with these things.  I've used them before."

    His posture was calm and relaxed beneath the rumpled suit.  Sadira noticed that his necktie was perfectly straight, and there was only a little foam on him, at the corners of his mouth.

    He kept the gun trained on her as he glanced at Carmody, who was still breathing slowly.  "I heard you from down the hallway," he told the dying man.  "Hard to make out over the noise, but I heard you."  Quiet madness.  "I guess you really can't find good help anymore," he softly added.  "Twelve years of loyalty, and now this."  He gazed curiously at Sadira.  "Tell me, how did you seduce a gay man?"  Nigilo seemed to be expecting surprise from her at the revelation, because when he didn't get it, he kept speaking as if he had.  "Yes, he's gay, and he used to be an addict, and all sorts of fascinating things.  A very interesting man, Carmody.  I thought I knew everything about him:  that's why he was so valuable to me.  His service kept me from telling other people."

    He stepped towards her.  Sadira's right hand inched into her lap, pushing under her breasts.  Nigilo noticed.  She stopped.  "A final caress?" he said.  "Your madness amazes me, Sadira.  On the verge of death, and all you can think about is your breasts.  A freak mentally, and now physically as well."

    Her hand started moving again:  he ignored it.  It had been incorporated into his view.  He didn't even bother with her left hand, heading for the chair controls.

    "I was planning on making your death look like a sexual killing," he told her, taking another step, "and I was going to have your breasts cut off."  He smiled.  "But I suppose there must be some fiend out there who practices gunplay, then mutilation.  If not, I'll just have to make one up."

    Taking his time, enjoying the moment, he began to level the gun, aiming at Sadira's head.

    Wasting no time, Sadira grabbed the vial and whipped it at him, trying for his eyes — and her arm brushed against the curve of her right breast as it came forward, throwing off her aim.

    But the force was there, Nigilo was a wide target, and the vial broke against his chest as Sadira pushed the chair backwards at top speed, trying to get out of the path of the bullet.

    He didn't fire.  He just looked down, quietly, insanely curious, confident that it was nothing, she was nothing — and the chlorine fumes hit his eyes.

    "YOU BITCH!" a howl as he clutched at his face — and it emptied his lungs, he needed to breathe — and took a lungful of the green gas.  "YOU —" and a spasm of violent coughing.

    Sadira kept wheeling back, steering with one hand, reaching for the knife with the other.  She couldn't recover the gun while in the chair, her arms couldn't touch the floor.  She didn't have the time to try getting out.  She had no way of telling how strong the chlorine concentration was:  he could be blinded for hours or seconds.  Her second vial contained mercury, handy for ruining any circuitboards she ran into, but mercury poisoning took too long to work unless she somehow got it inside his mouth —

    She turned right, cursing the limits of the chair.  She had to get to one of the fallen guards:  their prone bodies might be within her reach, and she could recover one of their weapons.  Faster, she urged the motor.  Go faster, damn it, I could move this slowly on foot...  All around her, she could hear the grinding of gears and the echoes of impact as the walls moved, a maze changing configuration every second, and the cameras were starting up again around her, she had an audience for the finale, life or death, everyone will be on the edge of their seats, and somewhere around her a repeated drumbeat of approaching footsteps, she couldn't tell where they were coming from left, turn left, and she pushed the joystick, pushed the chair, tried to lean into the turn —

    — and she hit a patch of foam.  The chair skidded, tires losing contact with the floor, then a dry area, partial friction —

    — and it went down.  Sadira was thrown partially out of the seat, and was left sprawled on the floor, her left arm pinned under her breasts.

    "Get up," she whispered, trying to roll, push, anything.  But there was so much weight...  "Come on, move —"

    Footsteps, coming closer, faster now, her senses were going wild, she couldn't isolate the direction with all the noise around her, and she couldn't move —

    — and one word cut through the chaos.  "Sadira!"

    Her gaze whipped up.

    Sadira's first thought was that Pamela had found a virus that generated melanin in its host, and it was having an extremely uneven effect.  Her face was a patchwork of color, the normal white showing in streaks between runs of pink that covered every shade within the hue.  Her hair was mostly white at the front, mostly blond at the back.  Sadira had never seen her look so beautiful —

    — she could still hear footsteps, heavy and fast.

    "Pamela!  He's right behind me!"

    She didn't ask who:  she simply leveled her gun.

 

    Pamela saw Nigilo come around the corner, rubbing at his watering eyes, and fired.

    She'd forgotten that she was holding the tranquilizer gun.  She'd never checked to see how many shots it held.

    It held one less than she needed.

    Nigilo fired four times.  Pamela fell.

    A raw voice from burned lungs.  "And one left for you."

 

    And Sadira screamed — but there was no fear in the cry.  It was sorrow and rage exploding in a primal outburst, an anger beyond reckoning, and Nigilo stepped back, staggered by the force, just for an instant —

    — and in that instant, Sadira got her right hand under her breasts again, found the items that were still held in place, and grabbed one.

    She had never thrown a knife before, and despite what Carmody had said, they weren't all that well balanced.

    Inexperience and inferior equipment combined, and created a success.

    The knife went into Nigilo's right arm, blade first.  He screamed, long and loud, the sweetest sound Sadira had ever heard, and the gun fell from his spasming fingers.  It went off as it hit the ground, the last bullet fired at the ceiling.

    He staggered, not seeming to know whether to claw at his face or his arm, hands jerking about in pain, and Sadira pushed with her right arm, got the second knife with the left, positioned her legs and thrust —

    — and somehow, she found the strength to stand.

    "I can get up, asshole," she breathed heavily, muscles channeling the power, rage providing motive.  And using the wall as her brace, she took a step forward.  "I can walk."  Another step.  "And I can make you pay."  He turned to face her, and she threw the second knife.  His hand started to move up —

    — the handle bounced off his cheek.

    His head snapped back, then came forward again.  Nigilo pulled the first knife out of his arm, somehow focusing on her through the tears streaming down his face.

    "And I can kill you," he rasped.

    Sadira pushed off from the wall and let herself fall on him, her weight carrying them to the floor.  She got his left arm up, her breasts compressing between them, pushed against her body, and she kept her grip on him, rolling off to his left side as they went down, balance destroyed.  They both hit hard, Sadira impacting against floor and wall, and pain shot through her, but she kept her grip on his wrist, the hand with the knife, and she squeezed with all her strength.

    The calories flowed.  The bones shattered.

    Another scream, even louder, and his right arm flailed, cracked across Sadira's jaw, stunning her.  Her grip was broken, and he wrenched his arm free.

    "You fucking bitch," and the voice belonged to another world, where nothing lived that was remotely human.  "Everything lost because of you.  Everything."  And he was standing, and his foot was rising over her face, and she had no strength left, and the lights were shifting, shadows moving across her vision —

    — as Pamela threw herself into Nigilo, momentum and fury substituting for mass, knocking him down again, her right fist taking him in the stomach, blasting his lungs clear, and Sadira saw a glint of metal in her left hand.  "You haven't lost everything," Pamela gasped, her breaths short and hard.  "You're still alive.  Let's remedy that."  She rammed her left hand into his chest as her thumb closed on the plunger.  He howled again, a lesser thing compared to the previous two, and Pamela pushed herself away, taking the syringe with her, still gasping for air.  Pamela reached into her right jacket pocket and extracted a rectangular case, then removed a full syringe with a sterile needle wrapping.  She scrambled to Sadira's side.  "Calorie shot," she forced out.  "Pure sugars."  Her voice grew very slightly stronger.  "Thought you might need this."  She injected Sadira.

    Nigilo was starting to move again, air returning to his damaged lungs.  "Freaks," he rasped.  "I'll kill both of you —"

    "How?" Pamela asked, her voice faint, somehow more quiet than its volume, eerily peaceful.  "Get up.  I'll wait."

    Nigilo started to push himself up with his one good arm —

    — and fell to the floor.  His fingers spasmed, as if they were mocking him in sign language.  He slowly raised his head, breathing heavily — but working too hard for the tiny amount of air he was pulling in.

    "You like completed projects?"  Serene, relaxed.  "We all worked on this one.  This is the second half of the metabolic accelerator.  Or maybe its evil twin."  Pamela put her arms around Sadira and tried to pull her into a sitting position.

    Nigilo tried to rise, arm pushing, legs kicking — but slower, weaker.

    "The first one goes from three to ten.  You're going from three to zero."  Pamela's voice dropped lower.  "It took three minutes to cross the extremes of the dial.  You should take a bit less.  I'm sure you'd like to tell me how it feels.  The same way you asked those women at the enhancement project."  Soft, almost teasing.  "It's all in the name of science."

    And all of the energy Nigilo had left went into one final effort as he grabbed the knife, heaved himself off the floor, looming over the women, bloody blade raised, he would fall, Sadira couldn't move, Pamela couldn't move her fast enough, stabbing into them with his death —

    — the large hand thrust out, took his wrist, and shattered it.

    The knife clattered to the floor.

    "No," Jason said.  "Never again."

    Nigilo used his final bit of strength to look at him, and a bit of amazement crossed his eyes in that last moment, disbelief that his last attempt to kill had been stopped by a man he had believed dead.

    And like everything else in Nigilo's life, belief had not created fact.

    Jason released him, and he fell.

   

37

111-113:  Angels see thee to thy rest

 

     "We've got to get out of here," Pamela said.  Sadira could hear the pain in her voice.  The bullets had punctured her jacket and blouse:  Sadira could see gray material underneath.  It looked so out of place...  "There's probably still a few guards around."  She took a deep breath and winced.  "Oh, that hurts...  Mouse, help me get her in the chair."

     Jason stepped over Nigilo's body.  Sadira looked at the corpse, then at Pamela.  The injection was starting to work:  the lights were stabilizing.  "You killed him," she said plainly.

     Pamela nodded.

     "Good."  Jason picked up the chair.  "We've got to go back to the elevators.  Carmody was still breathing —"

     "Carmody?"  Pamela got her arms around Sadira, sliding her grip under the breasts, trying to work up.  She took out the remaining stuck Powerbars, then tried again.  "Then he was trying to help?"

     "Nigilo shot him," Jason said.  "If he's still alive, we've got to get him out —"

     — and the air went silent as the sounds of crashing walls vanished.  There was one massive final grinding — and then a crackle of static before the intercom went on.  "No more guards," Jasmine announced.  "All clear."  They all looked up at the speaker.  "They're all sleeping or isolated, along with their friends.  And everything's working."

     "Jasmine?" Sadira asked.  Surprise, shock, and a touch of something else.

     "Upstairs," Pamela verified.  "Hang on..."

     Jason took Sadira's legs, Pamela braced her upper body, and they lifted her back into the chair.  Her breasts came down on top of the armrests, refusing to completely slide down into her lap.  The chair began to spin —

    — Sadira quickly shoved her left breast off the joystick, wedging it into the available space, and the chair stopped, facing Jason and Pamela.

     They looked at Sadira as the heat of combat faded, seeing her size for the first time...

     "No time," Sadira said, and wheeled down the hall.

     A second later, Jason and Pamela caught up.  They each took one side of the chair and pushed.  The movement rate drastically accelerated.

 

     They found him with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling, not blinking, barely breathing.  A pool of blood had spread out from his body, and was quietly seeping across the floor.  He blinked as they came into view.

     "We need a stretcher," Jason said.  "Jasmine, if you can hear us, send someone down —"

     Carmody's lips moved, and his voice drifted past them, a ghost of breath.  "Don't bother.  I'm not in much pain, at least.  He hit my spine."

     Jason knelt down next to Carmody, his pants soaking up the blood.  "Pamela, the accelerator —"

     "Jasmine has it."  Surprise briefly flickered across her face as the dancer's name registered, then vanished.  She joined Jason on the floor and examined the wound —

     — then looked away.  "It won't work fast enough, Jason.  It's completely through."

     "I told you," Carmody whispered.  "Sadira?"

     Sadira looked at the others, and they quietly came around and took her out of the chair, lowering her to the ground, positioning her in a legs-out sitting position so that she could look down to her right and see his face — and he could see her.  "I'm here."

     "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have been so scared."  A shallow breath as Pamela and Jason knelt down.  "He caught me, so many years ago, and then when I saw you, when I realized what had happened — I should have run.  The drug was gone.  But I was a coward..."

     She took his left hand and gently squeezed it.

     A long blink, and his eyes opened again, and tried to find her.  "I should have run.  I wanted you to run."  His hand trembled in her grip.  "I wasn't very good at lying on my own.  I tried to give him the beginning of information so he'd let me follow it, instead of finding it on his own and finding you —"  Another breath, softer "— but he kept moving on his own, and I couldn't stop him.  So scared —"

    "It's okay," Sadira told him as she brought their linked hands to his cheek.  "He's dead now.  No one ever has to be afraid of him again."

    "Good..."  His eyes moved across her face without seeing.  "I did some horrible things, Sadira.  I made one mistake, and it took over my life.  I didn't want you to be trapped by an accident..."

    "I'm free."

    He didn't seem to hear her.  "Disk in my jacket.  Took some files for later...  Go in my office.  Go...  in his, search every room.  There's... more evidence.  He hid things, but there's little mementos around.  It'll be enough... to bring the whole thing down."

    And then his eyes became bright, and focused on her, and Sadira knew the look, because she'd felt it from the inside before she'd collapsed on the cold Minnesota ground.  It was the last spark.

    "I keep thinking of a short story I read when I was a kid," he said.  "There was a street kid, sinned to stay alive.  But he died saving another kid off the subway tracks."  One more breath.  "He went to Heaven.  He led a sinner's life, but he died a hero."  A final blink.  "Do you think it's possible?"

    "God forgives," Sadira whispered, "and so do I.  You were trying to save my life, Carmody.  You're a hero."

    And the last breath, the last words emerged.  Sadira listened, the only one to hear.

    He smiled, a beautiful expression, and closed his eyes.

    She gently lowered his hand, then reached out and crossed his wrists on his chest.  "Good night, sweet prince," she said softly, then looked up at Jason and Pamela.

    Jason's eyes were closed, and his hands were clasped in prayer.  Pamela —

    — she fiercely blinked the moisture away, tried to wrench her face back into neutrality, and failed.  "Ebony —" she began, then stopped and was at Sadira's side without seeming to move —

    — and then she was hugging Sadira, somehow finding room and a position that fit, crying, and Jason was there too, they were all bound together by joy and sorrow —

    "What did he say?" Jason whispered.

    "He said his name was Angel."

 

    They pushed her into the control center, and she saw a temporal mirror spin, her own face and the body of two weeks ago — and Jasmine ran to her.  "Sadira!" and she was at the center of another hug, Jasmine almost lying on top of her breasts, arms pushing down her back, squeezing — "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't —"

    The thought dove through.  Who are you and what have you done with my sister — and then she saw Jasmine's tear-filled eyes, and managed to return the embrace.

    "Hi, sis," Jasmine whispered as she finally pulled back.

    "My heart rejoices to see you —" there couldn't be more than one of those voices in the world —

    — Sadira spun the chair.  "Douglas?!  How...?"

    "I was recruited."  He nodded at Pamela.  "I would have volunteered.  Welcome back."

    "There's someone you have to meet," Jasmine said.  She stepped back and gestured towards the computers.  "Sadira, this is Cypher."

    Sadira looked at the area and found two people tied to their chairs with their own clothing, still awake, with angry eyes —

    — and a walkie-talkie sitting on the console.

    She wheeled closer.  The bound prisoners watched her.

    "Hi, Sadira," the transceiver said.  "Pleasure to finally meet you."

    "The same," Sadira replied, slightly stunned, and spun the chair.  "A computer expert?  The walls —?"

    "Hacker," Cypher corrected.  Sadira could hear the grin.  "Hey, don't talk about me like I'm not here."  A pause.  "Sorry about the walls, though.  Things got out of control for a while there."

    Pamela came up next to Sadira, rubbing a finger against her color-streaked cheek.  "No kidding.  Was that trick with the fire extinguisher accidental or —" She took a breath, and a soft groan escaped.  Her arms went forward and she leaned against the console, eyes gazing blankly at the screens.

    Douglas hurried over.  "You may have cracked ribs.  When we saw you shot — we thought you were dead.  Kevlar or no, that was too much impact."

    "I noticed," Pamela said dryly.  "I wasn't lying there out of some misplaced sense of dramatics.  I couldn't move.  I couldn't even breathe for a minute."  She looked down at her breasts.  "Give them a target this big and they'll aim at it every time.  I'm going to have some colors:  black and blue..."

    "We may have to bind your ribs.  We should have enough bandages in the first aid kits."

    "Later."  Pamela straightened up.  "Just give me a few aspirin.  We've got to grab what we can and get out of here.  The new shift will be here in —"  She looked at her watch.  She kept looking.  "— about an hour..."  She glanced at Douglas.  "Ten minutes?" she asked rhetorically.  "That all happened in ten minutes?"

    "Less," Douglas said.  "Combat time is on its own clock, separate from the rhythms of the world.  Since few people come to work any sooner than they absolutely must, we should have most of an hour."  He looked back at Jason.  "How are your energy levels?"

    "I'm fine," Jason said.  "I was eating on the run.  Thank God I finally heard you —"  Sadira was looking at him, eyes narrowed.

    "Energy levels?" she slowly repeated.  The wheelchair rolled a little closer.  "Why do you need to watch your energy levels?"  Her face said she already knew the answer.  "You took the accelerator.  What da hell made ya try a crazy stunt like dat!  Ya could haf died, ya —"

    Pamela stepped in front of her, cutting her off.  "Then yell at me, because I gave it to him."  Sadira's face froze.  "We'll talk about it later."

     Spontaneous defrost.  "Ya gave it ta him?  Are ya outta yer —"

     "Later."

     Sadira took a deep breath — then slowly nodded.

     Pamela nodded back.  "Jasmine, where are the guards?"

    "Trapped," Jasmine said.  "I got our friends —" she pointed at the bound technicians "— to bring the audio link back up and give them directions to the intruders — which meant everywhere but where you guys were:  we used the cameras to keep track.  They really wanted some orders to follow:  nobody questioned where they were going.  The outside ones even came in.  We had them chasing each other's tails until Cypher got the walls back under control — and then we locked them in."  A shrug at the computer operators.  "They'd be asleep, but we still might need them." She looked at Sadira.  "You always said orcs were stupid."  A glance at Pamela.  "We didn't get all the cameras up until the end, and I didn't spot your link — I was trying to misdirect traffic."

    Sadira stared at Jasmine with undisguised amazement.

    Pamela duplicated the expression.  "You had them running around after each other."  Jasmine nodded.  "Pretty good for a first try."  She patted the screen.  "I felt it vibrate a few times, but I thought it was just my trying to run...  How about the other people?"

     "The rest of the staff is locked in their rooms," Cypher told them.  "The building's closed off:  no one's getting in until I let them in.  But you guys still have to get out."

    Jasmine thoughtfully regarded the phone.  "I should start calling the next shift and see if I can get them to stay home."

    "It might get their backs up," Cypher argued.  "Are they gonna believe a night off?  I can give you back the phones, but they might try to alert Helena.  No one got any alerts out when you guys went in, but they lost phone communications and computer links when the system went."

    "Follow the original plan," Jason suggested.  "We could hole up here, but it doesn't feel like a good idea."

    Pamela looked at the others.  "Then let's get out of here fast.  Jason, you and Douglas are the fastest:  go down to the fourth floor, find Car — Angel's office, and Nigilo's.  Grab what you can.  Take the hard drives from their personal computers.  Get the cell phone on your way back.  Cypher, copy out everything new, then wipe all their data:  you can send it back to us as we need it.  Open up an outside line.  Reconnect to Helena's computer and tell anyone who's asking that the problem is fixed.  We'll use our friends to call if they need confirmation.  Sadira, is there anything written down we need to go after?"

    "If you give me a map, I can probably direct you to my lab.  If you break into all the filing cabinets, you should get everything."

    Pamela nodded.  "We could turn off the fire extinguishers and burn the place down, but it would take an hour to get all the people out first.  And it won't be necessary if this works.  Still, don't miss anything.  Once Cypher's got the data, we should put virtual holes in the database.  Maybe real ones.  Grab all the disks, too.  I don't want anyone to bring this data back.  But we've got to leave the security systems up."  Another glance at the screen.  "Cypher, bring up the outside view.  Jasmine, keep an eye on the monitors:  let us know if anyone's coming.  We'll use the intercom and transceiver to keep in touch.  And go into Sadira's rooms and grab some bras.  And some other clothing.  And extra food.  Go!"

    They went.

    Pamela looked at Sadira.  "And now that they're on the way," she said, voice suddenly wracked with pain, "I can think about something else."  She moaned softly.  "I think my adrenaline just wore off.  Jasmine, pass the aspirin."

 

    It went smoothly.  Jason and Douglas found both offices and Sadira's lab with only minor delays.  The filing cabinets were locked.  The bullets opened them.  They filled a heavy-duty garbage bag with the files they needed, then took a few more for evidence.  There wasn't time to search every office:  they simply removed whatever they encountered.

    Jasmine kept an eye on the monitors.  Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty.  No one arrived.

    Pamela went into the bathroom.  Careful, painful touch seemed to indicate intact bones, but the bruising was already starting to settle in.  She lined the bra with a thin layer of tissue paper — which didn't help — and went back to watching to the monitors.

    As they waited, they updated each other.

    "The doctor?"  Pamela had started to feel better as the aspirin began working, but the news sent her reeling again.  "From Minneapolis?  That's how they found us?"

    Jasmine slumped as memory materialized.  "I saw a couple, but I never thought —"

    "Who would?" Sadira said.  Pamela nodded.  "Married hunters?  I probably have thought they were lost tourists.  Considering what was happening when I first saw them, I don't think I would have recognized them."

    Jasmine looked away, back at the screens.

    Pamela stepped over to her.  "It's not your fault, Princess," she told her.  Slowly, "It wasn't mine, either.  Blind luck."

    The transferred guilt was blocked by the truth — and dissipated.

    Sadira glanced at the monitors.  Douglas was expertly rifling through a file cabinet.  "I don't believe how calm he is."

    Jasmine grinned.  "We lost him for a few seconds once things settled down.  He finally got a good look at the cameras, and when he really saw you, his eyes..."  She stopped, and her own eyes tilted to the left and sought the floor.  "Sorry."

    "I'm — actually getting used to it — a little," Sadira said.  "I can understand why he stared.  But by the time I got up here, he stopped, and didn't start again.  That's what I'll ask from people.  Take a look, but then adjust."

    Pamela automatically looked.  It was hard to adjust.  Sadira had been considerably smaller when she'd been taken from the lab, and "considerably smaller" had still been very big...  "I saw you stand up."  She smiled.  "I couldn't move, but I had a pretty good view where I was."  Pamela didn't tell her the first part:  her initial glance at the wheelchair had terrified her, she'd thought Sadira had been crippled...  "I don't think he was expecting that."

    "I wasn't sure I could do it, but I wasn't thinking about that.  I just got up.  It didn't last, though."  Dryly, "At least I didn't throw my back again."

    Jasmine gave Sadira an appraising look.  "Mom can design an exercise program for you.  You'll be back on your feet full-time in a few months."

    Sadira briefly smiled.  It felt so strange to talk to her sister.  She kept waiting for the punchline...  "Which means I have to tell her."  The smile collapsed.  "And it means that we have to stop this while I've still got something that I can theoretically carry..."  A small sigh, and she looked at Pamela.  "When you pulled out that needle, I was hoping..."

    Pamela slowly shook her head.  "All we've got is the decelerator, and it goes too far.  And I'm not going to spare the time to take you back to New York.  We're going to get some local help."

    "Helena?" Sadira guessed.

    Pamela's face snapped into snow leopard mode.  "Whether they like it or not."  She reached into her left pocket.  "I did bring one other thing.  I figured you might have been deprived."  A golden rectangle was withdrawn, and presented with necessary flourish.  "Chocolate?"

 

    Jason and Douglas passed out the bags, and Jasmine grabbed her transceiver.  Pamela casually tranquilized the computer operators before loosening their bonds, and they headed for the elevator.

    They quickly reached the empty lobby.  Douglas looked around and took a picture.  It was well if simply designed, with a pleasant carpet, several nice chairs, and a fine reception desk that doubled as a security station.  "You'd never know it, would you?" he softly asked.

    Sadira looked up at him.  "No," she answered.  "I never did."  Jason nodded.  "Let's go."

    Jasmine looked at her watch:  9:43 p.m — then at the doors and windows, blocked by steel.  They went up to the doors, put down the bags, and got in position.  "On five, Cypher.  Lift the wall and open the front door."

    "Five," the hacker counted.  "Four..."

    Jason took his rifle from his shoulder, aiming it forward and high.  Everyone else drew their tranquilizer guns.

    "...one, go."

    The wall dropped into the floor at something just under the speed of sound.  A scrap of ripped carpet fell from the ceiling as the computer-controlled door swung open.  Jason fired, the blast flying well over the newcomers' heads.

    The five men outside, already on the edge of panic after seeing the locked-down complex, reacted.  Two automatically reached for their weapons —

    — which were kept in the armory within the building.

    The one standing in front of the door dropped to the ground.  The others froze.

    The darts flew through the open door.  Four of the men fell.  The one who had hit the deck slowly looked up.

    Jason was pointing the rifle at his head.  The others were aiming for their favorite targets.  Jason nodded at the rifle, then at Sadira's tranquilizer gun.

    "Pick one," he ordered.

    The man nodded at the trank pistol.

    "Good idea," Sadira said, and shot him.

    They hauled the unconscious guards inside the lobby as quickly as possible, then settled back to wait for the new shift to finish arriving.  Fortunately, no one had tried to call in sick and hit the blocked lines:  all of the remaining ten showed up, with six walking in at 9:54, and the last arriving twenty minutes late.  It was quiet, simple, and effective:  they came in, saw Douglas smiling behind the reception desk, and got picked off.  No fuss, no muss, and only a little bother, as they had to haul the newly-sleeping guards into the lobby bathroom after each round.

    At ten-thirty, they walked out of the Cascade site.  Cypher locked down all the exits, and made sure the air vents were open.

    Jason and Pamela pushed Sadira's wheelchair down the road to the van, with Douglas scouting ahead and Jasmine trailing behind.  One car passed them.  Sadira got a flash-vision of a gaping face staring out of the window, jaw dropped and eyes opened as far as they could go — and then it sped out of sight.

    They loaded their files into the van, and lifted Sadira in.  Pamela made a few quick queries about the likelihood of radar guns, checked her directions, then headed for Highway 15, taking the direct route to Helena.

    It took less than an hour to reach GenTree's headquarters.  They used the time to read some of the files, and finalize their plans.

 

    Cascade had been a high-security site.  Helena, as Sadira had personally experienced, had somewhat lower standards.  Cypher pulled up the computer codes and used a few of them.  Less than eight minutes later, they had control of the Helena building.

    They set up sleeping shifts, removed makeup, and ate.  Pamela waited until four a.m. to begin making her phone calls.  She had always thought of it as the single most annoying hour to wake up.

   

38

115:  Severe negotiations

 

    Pamela smiled.  No one else at the table looked happy.

    With Cypher's help, she had gotten the phone numbers for GenTree's owners, and called them all in for a little talk.  She'd phrased it as an order, then explained why they should regard it as one.  Cypher had cracked Nigilo's protection codes, and Pamela had done some reading.  They had driven, flown, and run in as needed, but all eight had arrived.

    Sadira and Jason were back in her old lab, working on the virus.  Douglas had gone on to the next part of the plan:  Pamela had waited for his call before beginning, merrily stalling the ownership until seven p.m.  Jasmine was sitting in a large chair at the far left of the screen, flipping through GenTree's financial reports.  The dancer had a natural talent for breaking apart monetary statements that almost approached an accounting degree.

    There was no one else in the building.  After a few subtle hints, the ownership had convinced the staff to take the day off.  Cascade was still locked down.  More than enough time had passed for everyone to wake up:  Pamela thought the most closed-off occupants were probably getting desperate to reach the bathroom, and the body odor had to be approaching fatal concentrations.

    She glanced at the last images she'd placed on the screen:  Sadira's company newsletter photo on the left, a picture taken eight hours ago on the right.  It was the last image of the first part of their hastily constructed, extremely effective multimedia presentation.  Pamela had their attention.

    "This is a very interesting company," Pamela said, beginning a slow walk around the table, "with interesting people working in it.  The unedited files make for a fun read."

    Sadira had told her that Nigilo held blackmail information on most of the executives.  In this if nothing else, Nigilo had been fairly methodical.  He had some of his blackmail information on the computer, and it was done in hypertext.  He hadn't trusted the location of the physical backup materials to his company hard drive, so Pamela didn't have any of them.  The knowledge of their location had died with the bastard — but it didn't matter yet.  They didn't know that, and she had so much else.  "Criminals.  Ethics violations."  She picked out the majority stockholder, with his odd turkey neck, and focused on his eyes.  "Mass murder."  He shrank into his chair.

    "Now I'm sure you can say that none of this is your fault," she said conversationally, continuing to walk as she spoke.  It's that evil Mr. Nigilo, he blackmailed all of you into silence, made you dance to his tune.  One or two of you might not know anything at all.  Just invested in this company on a lark." The next words hissed out between her teeth.  "Good luck proving it."

    Several of the men looked down at the files in front of them.  They had been personalized.  Those who had information on the computer had been provided with a brief summary as a reminder.

    "The enhancement project," Pamela jogged their memories, "was a very noble concept.  Re-engineer the immune system to produce super-strong white cells, capable of fighting off nearly any disease that infected the body, from the common cold to ebola.  I like that idea.  Use the body's own defenses, just equip them with bigger guns.  Wouldn't help much with bacteriophages, only with those diseases that the body could identify as such — but for those, it would have been a miracle.

    "So you had what looked like the right sequences, but you didn't think initial cell sample testing was good enough — after all, so many diseases hit the body as a unit, and you really needed to see the white cells fighting them in an active bloodstream.  You didn't plan on talking the government into giving you a testing permit, because you thought there might be serious side effects, and if they turn up, even with a permit, there goes the reputation.  Fifty-fifty chance of their cropping up, remember?  Sometimes the computer just can't tell you enough.

    "But you didn't bother trying to refine it, and you didn't bring in more people to help.  You just went ahead and tested it in Mexico.  Ten street kids.  Forty adults.  Ten of them were pregnant.  That was okay.  You had to see how it would affect the fetus."

    She walked halfway around the table, coming back to the majority owner, then continued.  "You found out, didn't you?"

    And she grabbed the man's throat and began to squeeze.

    His arms flailed, trying to reach back, get at her, but Pamela was too strong, she was holding him down, the pain was too much, he couldn't stand, couldn't breathe —

    Three of the men started to move — and stopped as they heard the click of a safety being turned off.  Jasmine pointed the gun at the one closest to Pamela.  They all took the hint and quickly settled down.

    Pamela kept slowly squeezing as she calmly talked.  "The new white cells were very strong.  You gave them a ton of muscle power.  But they lost something along the way.  Kind of like cell steroids.  The price for the strength was their intelligence.  They couldn't tell a bacterium from a brain cell.  Everything was an invader."

    She tightened her grip and leaned in to whisper, "They killed every single cell, until the body died."

    And she let go of his turkey neck, then calmly stepped away.  Jasmine kept the gun out.  The man gasped for air, trying to find some purchase in the intangible atmosphere.

    "And that's all they were to you.  Bodies.  You didn't even record their names.  They barely existed for you.  No families, no jobs, no homes, no one who would miss them.  So you just cremated the lot."

    More walking.  She stopped at the embedded keyboard.

    "Well, no."  She looked up at them.  "You didn't actually burn them.  That would have taken brains.  I was trying to figure out why no one thought of that, but then I saw who the project director was.  I think Nigilo just liked throwing dirt in people's faces."

    She tapped a few keys.

    The picture came up.

    "Two years," she said placidly.  "Lots of decomposition."

    Two men threw up.  Pamela waited for the retching to end.  No one else moved.

    "I had a friend recruit a few people he knows, and he went to the gravesite, and they all did a little digging.  Remember that file I told you about?  If all of us don't check in with my other friend every day, with our prearranged codes, then he doesn't trigger his own codes, and that file gets sent to every newspaper, radio station, and TV news program with an Email address.  This went into it.  And that's in addition to all your personal little scandals, and everything else this company ever got away with.

    "Of course, I don't feel like being within three seconds of a phone every day for the rest of my life, so he's also retained several lawyers and sent them hard copies.  We all have to write them every so often, or they release what they've got." She looked directly at the screen without flinching.  "You can tell someone else that you were afraid to act.  The penalty for having your secrets released was too terrifying.  You were scared."  A long pause.

    "I knew a man who was scared, and a woman."  A quick nod to Jasmine.  "They stopped.  They acted.  They were both ready to give their lives, and one did.  You weighed your lives against those of everyone this company killed, and somehow, you wound up on the living end of the scale."  Slowly, softly, "And the rest of you just didn't care.

    "We can show all this information to the legal system.  We'll give them the bodies, and then you'll be thrown in the ground with them."

    Pamela waited.

    "You can't," one of the men said.  "Archer constructed the virus of her own accord.  That's a violation of company policy.  If you take us to court, we turn her in.  She'll go to jail.  You broke into our facility, took hostages —"

    Pamela looked at him.  Small, thin, and scared.  "Sorry," she said.  "You were clutching at a straw, and it just snapped under your weight.  I don't know what Nigilo told you, but I know what I've got."  She tilted her head slightly to the right, took a deep, painful breath, put her hands on the table, and leaned forward slightly.  "According to the files I've pulled, Nigilo ordered the virus built, then infected Sadira with it as a test run.  Want to see?"

    "Those files are forged..."

    Pamela straightened up, turned, tapped a few keys, then resumed her position.  "No, those files were written by Angel Carmody.  An employee of long standing and high security clearance.  Killed by your project director, I believe.  He also provided a nice selection of other memos, from other projects.  You'll have a lot of fun explaining every one of them.  Sadira broke a minor rule of her contract by building the virus without the proper paperwork.  Fine.  Fire her.  Break the bond.  It doesn't matter anyway, because you're going to tear it up, and Jason's.  You're never coming near us, not if you want to live free.  If you got the most sympathetic judge and jury in the world, Sadira might do some community service.  But this isn't California."

    She stared at the small man.  "Our 'crimes' in rescuing her versus all the ones this company committed?  Are you really stupid enough to think you can win if we all go public?  Want me to read off the acts of the really stupid people on this blackmail list?  Just grunt when I get to your name."  She reached for one of the folders on the table.  "Assarto.  Collins.  DeSparin."  He flinched.  "Oh, right, you're the one who was cheating on his wife.  With his stepdaughter.  I bet she'd love to know about that.  Seeing as how her father is a judge..."

    "Stop..." came the weak voice.

    Pamela ignored it.  "I bet he could get you for statutory rape.  What's the maximum sentence on that?  Fifteen years?  More?  How long do you think you'd last in prison?"  Another brief group survey.  "Bring your money.  Maybe you can buy a good boyfriend."

    A long look around the table.  "Maybe you think I don't want the public to know about the possibility of a breast-enlargement virus.  You're right there:  I'd prefer that they don't.  Eventually, someone else might think of it and do the research — when the political climate in this country permits it.  Years from now, minimum, and then if the viruses are refined and safe, we'll publish.

    "But if we all go to court, then Sadira goes on the witness stand, and she tells the truth about everything.  Think about how people are going to react to her on the stand.

    "It's the same old blackmail, but a brand new whitemailer."

    Silence.  She brought up the burial site again.  "You're going to pay.  For what Nigilo did, for your own inactions, and for everything this company has done.  Jasmine, tell them how."

    The dancer stood up.  Pamela sat down and listened as Jasmine laid out the details, staring at the picture all the while.

 

    They walked into Sadira's re-commandeered lab four hours later.  "We got everything we wanted," Jasmine told them, patting the folder she was carrying under her right arm.

    "Okay," Jason said, looking up from the computer.  "But what exactly did 'we' want?  You and Pamela worked it out without us."

    Pamela grabbed a chair and sat down.  "As far as the legal stuff goes, we leave them alone, they leave us alone —"

    Sadira rolled forward.  "But we've got evidence!  Computer files, print, pictures..."

    "Not the deal.  Sorry, Ebony, but I promised I wouldn't call the cops on them."  Sadira started to protest.  Pamela cut her off.  "Our agreement is a little different.  Basically, GenTree no longer exists."

    Sadira and Jason blinked in concert.

    A nod of white hair, and Jasmine picked up the thread.  "Well, it does exist, but it's ours.  I think we'll want to rename it.  Rubble sounds good."

    Jason fully straightened and looked down at Pamela.  "Details."

    Pamela calmly looked up at him.  "As of this moment, the four of us —  plus Douglas and Cypher — control the company.  We own all the stock.  We can hire, fire, whatever we want to do.  We can take the assets and run.  It's all ours.  That, and the former owners threw in a little cash bonus to take it off their hands."

    "How little?" Sadira suspiciously asked.

    Jasmine grinned.  "Well, we've got to break it up between us, and give Douglas and Cypher their shares.  We could do extra money for extra work, but it might be easier to give half of it to you, and then go equal shares all around —"

    "How much money?"

    The grin got wider.  "About two million each for us.  Ten million for you.  They all liquidated some assets.  The bearer bonds are in transit — and they know that we'd better get them fast."

    Jason slumped backwards against the computer.  Sadira's eyes glazed over.

    "That's just a little incentive bonus," Pamela added.  "We can divide up the company profits any way we like.  There's more than enough money to pay all the outstanding bills and take a few more million apiece afterwards, especially if we sell the assets."  She looked around the room.  "I wanted to build up my own business.  I never wanted to inherit one — and I don't want this company.  There's too much corruption here, even with Nigilo gone and the owners out.  The atmosphere sucks.  I wanted to acquire it so we can destroy it.

    "As one-sixth of the ownership, I vote we start selling it off immediately, piece by piece.  Equipment, buildings, whatever we can get for them."  Softly, "And Angel asked us to bring them down."

    Sadira looked like she was trying to get past the numbers.  "But if we own the company, aren't we liable for —"

    "Their crimes?  No.  Legally, everything is the fault of the previous administration.  And twenty minutes before we took over, all operations were suspended indefinitely, so there's nothing going on now.  You were the most illegal operation in progress.  They had a slow month.  All employees were sent home with pay.  We signalled Cypher from the presentation room, and he notified the sites.  Everyone's left the buildings — even at Cascade, and they know that if they say a word about what happened, they go to jail."

    Jasmine pulled out the folder.  "I've got the bill of sale.  The only copy, for the moment.  It'll take a while to get it notarized and copied.  They weren't happy about that, but I didn't think they were qualified as neutral witnesses."  She winked.

    "All right," Jason slowly said.  "At least for the moment, we own the place.  Let's use that.  There are one or two good people here:  we may be able to get some extra help with the viruses..."

    Pamela reluctantly nodded.  "If there's anyone we can trust...  You and Sadira draw up a list, I'll cross-reference with the blackmail files, and we'll call them in — if we even get anyone."

    "Forget the team they gave me," Sadira told them.  "They're worthless.  We can use some of the people from the leukemia project.  Alan, maybe."

    Pamela thought it over.  "Find some people in accounting, too.  We'll get a good price for all the stuff while we're at it."

    Sadira sighed.  The others looked at her.  "Just make sure the rest of the data finds a good home.  There were some good projects here, things that other companies could keep working with." Jason nodded.  "And not everyone deserves to lose their jobs."

    "We'll try to build a few golden parachutes for the ones who deserve them."  Pamela tried a deep breath, and her face twitched with pain.  "But if I can manage it, some of these people are never working in genetics again."  She looked around the room.  "Well, let's see.  We've blackmailed all needed parties.  We're millionaires.  We're all tired, and none of us have showered in more than a day.  Any ideas on what to do next?"

   

39

116:  Sisters

 

    "The honeymoon suite?"

    Pamela looked around.  "You wanted an extra-large bathtub.  This was the only way."

    "Sure.  Set in the floor."

    The room was almost overwhelmingly red.  There were hearts everywhere, in the pattern of the wallpaper, the shape of the numerous pillows, and the little table next to the honor bar.  It was too tacky for Niagara Falls, and just short of Las Vegas.  Jasmine looked around the room.  "Who honeymoons in Helena?"  No one had a good answer.

    Sadira looked at the door.  It seemed to be wide enough for the chair and the portion of her breasts that swelled out beyond it.  She wheeled in, and the others followed, carrying boxes.  "Okay," Jason said.  "This should be everything.  I'll go back and get our things, and then we'll go to our own rooms."

    "And then you hit the hotel gym," Pamela corrected.  "We took the elevator, you took the stairs, and you still almost beat us.  Bribe them to open it up for you."

    He nodded and put his stack of boxes down.  "Sadira, do you need anything else?"  Jasmine walked past him and started experimentally feeling the mattress.

    "Help."  They all looked at her.  "I've been wearing this bra for over a day.  The cups stretch a bit, but I've got to get it off — and I can't get the new one on alone without a lot of problems.  Off isn't easy, either."  She sighed.  "I haven't even cut my toenails in over a week.  I can't find a good position.  And I'm jammed into this chair..."

    Pamela and Jason looked at her, then at each other.  The silence stretched out —

    "— enough!" Jasmine declared.  "Both of you, out.  I'll take care of her."  She glared at the two geneticists and began advancing on them.  Startled, they both backed up.  "That's it.  Both of you go get some sleep.  Away from here.  Leave.  Goodbye.  Don't forget to write —"

    She slammed the door and turned back to her stunned sister.  "At least that's over with," she said.  "They would have stood there for a week trying to figure out what to do."  Jasmine walked past Sadira and knelt down for the Jacuzzi controls.  "You've never used one of these, have you?"

    "Whirlpools after baseball games," Sadira answered, still in some shock.  Alone, long after everyone else had left.

    "This is more fun.  It'll get going while we get you undressed."  She looked at the tub.  "This thing is huge.  You could have a party in here."  She straightened up.  "All right.  Let's get that damn muu-muu off."

    Sadira stared at her.  "You're going to undress me."

    "You said you needed help.  Would it help if I undressed first?"  Jasmine sat down on the bed and started taking off her pants.

    "You're impossible —"

    "I'm practical.  In order to do this by myself, I'm going to have to get into the tub with you.  This way, my clothes don't get wet."  She pulled the pants off.  "Maybe you couldn't touch me, but I'm a little more open about this stuff.  And with those two locking themselves down..."

    There was a knock at the door.  Jasmine checked the security port, then opened it.  Jason was standing there, looking a little stunned himself.  "You forgot your room key," he said.  "And your bags —"

    Jasmine reached out and took the items from him.  "Thanks.  Go sweat."  She closed the door on him.  "Solves that problem."  She took off her blouse and bra, then removed shoes and socks with nimble toes as she walked towards Sadira — who was impressed in spite of herself.  She didn't know how good Jasmine was at dancing, but as far as stripping went, she was an expert.  "Now let me get that ugly orange thing off you so I can see what we're up against."

    Sadira, who on some level was still expecting Jasmine to turn the whole thing into an insult, checked her sister's eyes.  "We're going to get in that tub together."

    "There's no one else available," Jasmine pointed out.

    Sadira thought it over, then reluctantly nodded.

    Jasmine started with her feet — "You weren't kidding about those toenails" — then worked up, carefully working the muu-muu loose —

     — Jasmine stared at the bra.

    Sadira closed her eyes.

    "You know," Jasmine said softly, "there are a lot of men who would consider you to be the sexiest thing they'd ever seen."

    Sadira's eyes snapped open.  "I knew it wouldn't last."

    "What?"

    "You're reverting.  That's one of the nastiest —"

    — and Jasmine looked hurt.  "I'm telling the truth!  There are guys who love your kind of body!  They've never seen one, but they dream a lot!  Some women, too!"

     "Bullshit!"  Sadira pushed the chair forward:  Jasmine stepped back.  "Look at me!  What you can even see of me!  Fine, some people like large breasts — your size, Pamela's — but this?"

    "That."  Jasmine took a deep breath.  "You have to see some of the letters I get.  'Dear Princess, while I love your body, have you ever considered what it would be like to —'"  She grinned.  "Some of them go pretty far."

    "You're kidding."

    "I keep my old letters with my agent:  I could have him mail us some. There's a fetish for everything.  I got this really disgusting letter from a woman who wanted me to piss on —"  Sadira's jaw dropped.  "She enclosed enough money for a ten-page reply.  What was I supposed to do?"

    "So you wrote her back?"

    "Sure.  It's her fantasy.  She paid for it."  Jasmine shrugged.  "On paper, it's harmless."

    Sadira looked at her breasts.  "This is reality, Jasmine."

    "I know.  They'd faint."  Jasmine met her eyes.  "But even without that fetish, you don't have to worry about being alone."  A long pause.  "Jason and Pamela are both — stop that."

    "Stop what?"

    "That look.  That 'I'm a nerd, I'm ugly, no one is ever going to love me' face.  I hate that look."  Softly, "I put it there."

    The twins looked at each other, until Jasmine's eyes closed.  "You're sexy and I'm smart," she whispered.  "I wish I'd figured that out twenty-two years ago.  We've lost so damn much..."  She turned and looked at the churning water.  "Look, I've still got some vacation time.  I can get more.  We should spend some time together."

    Sadira's voice was dry, disbelief visible at the edges.  "What would we talk about?"

    "I don't know.  Read any good books lately?"  Jasmine turned to face her sister.  "Sadira, this isn't easy for me, either.  Being a nice person isn't easy, not when I've got a two-decade bitch habit to break.  I'm going to slip here and there.  Just — give me a chance to try, okay?"

    Sadira gave her one long, slow nod.

    Jasmine nodded back, then grinned.  "Now let's get in that Jacuzzi."

    "We haven't been in the same tub since we were three."

    "Then we're overdue.  Now try to move forward a little so I can get a look at the back."

    "I've been closing it at the sides."

    "The sides?"  Jasmine looked.  "New one on me..."  She kept examining the bra.  Confusion washed over her face.  "What is that supposed to — you'd better give me directions."

    It was awkward.  Sadira was firmly wedged in the wheelchair:  in order to keep her breasts from hitting the controls, she'd pushed herself down and in as much as possible, and still had to use her left arm to prevent overflow when the motor was turned on.  It had resulted in an upward push and a great deal of discomfort.  It took a few minutes for the sisters to get the bra off, and then there was more fun getting out of the chair.  Jasmine was fairly strong for her size, and Sadira's strength was still on the rise as new muscle cells came in, but there was a lot of weight to deal with...

    Somehow, Sadira wound up in the Jacuzzi.

    She sighed deeply as they went into the water, feeling the warmth — and the partial buoyance of her weight.  "That's nice.  I forgot how good these felt."

    "If you want it to feel really good, shift into one of the water jets."  Sadira blushed.  "You can afford one now," Jasmine pointed out.  "Customize something."  She picked up the discarded bra and looked it over.  "I wish I could sell this..."

    "No, you don't."

    Jasmine ran her fingers across the back.  "Brace..."

    "What?"

    "A back brace."  She turned and looked down at her sister.  "That's what you need.  We have to get you a new wheelchair, but if you had some sort of back brace, it might help you get on your feet sooner.  We'll go to a medical supply house tomorrow and check into it."

    Sadira's eyes widened.  "That might help.  Why didn't I think of that?"

    "Picking up on overlooked details seems to be my specialty," Jasmine said dryly, and walked over to the hotel's toiletry supplies.  She took expert inventory.  "These are crap.  I'll grab some soap, washcloths, shampoo, and brushes from my bags: we've got to do your hair."

    "You brought your beauty supplies with you?"

    Jasmine shrugged.  "We had to bring all that makeup, so —"

    "I can reach my hair, thanks."

    Jasmine went to her bags and began digging through them.  "But you can't reach your nipples.  Or bend to get to your feet."

    Sadira closed her eyes.  "Not for a while now.  I was pushing a long brush between my breasts to wash my feet, but I couldn't cut my toenails that way.  I thought that if I tried to pull my legs up close, I'd hurt my back or overbalance..."

    Jasmine continued searching.  "And we don't have any long brushes, so I'll wash you and do your nails."

    "I feel like an invalid."

    "You're not.  You just need special measures."

    "You sound like Pamela."

    Jasmine gathered her items, arrayed them around the edge of the Jacuzzi, and got in.  "Look, I'll make you a deal.  I'll cancel the enlargement surgery — if, when you get the viruses perfected, I get the first dose."

    Sadira sat up as straight as she could.  "Are ya nuts?!  Ya wanna be dis big?  Dere's no way I'm gonna let ya get ta dis size —"

    "No!  Just for thirteen inches!  If I can't be the largest Archer, then I want to be the largest dancer.  I'm bigger than all the other girls right now — but who knows how long that'll last?  Seventy even, and then I'll stop."

    "So you're going to keep dancing?"  Jasmine nodded.  "But you can afford to retire —"

    Jasmine shrugged, then met her eyes.  "Sadira, I'm an exhibitionist.  I like my body.  I like showing it off.  I like most of the reactions I get when I show it off, and I can live with the others.  Maybe that came out of this rivalry we had going — but it's not going to change.  I'll dance as long as people want to watch."  A wry grin.  "I might even start actually dancing.  And maybe I'll go back to my own hair color..."

    Sadira calmed slightly.  "Then you'll have to fix your pubic hair."  Jasmine took a brief, slightly embarrassed glance down:  it was still blonde.  "And if another girl comes along who's bigger than you?"

    Jasmine considered, then shrugged.  "I can carry seventy inches," she said.  "I've been working out, getting ready for the implants.  But I'd rather have them real."

    "Jasmine, I might never get the permits —"

    "So work everything out on the computer and give it to me when it's safe.  I won't tell — and I'll wait.  Just promise."

    Sadira sighed.  "It's the only way to keep you out of the operating room, isn't it?"  Jasmine said nothing — and she realized that her sister, in a strange way, was trying to offer another apology.  "If it's completely, one-hundred percent no-doubt-about-it safe, fine.  First dose.  I'll test a million samples and run the data through the most powerful computer I can get.  Promise.  But what are you going to do if it isn't safe?"

    "You'll perfect them."  Jasmine's tone suggested failure wasn't an issue she had considered.

    Sadira gave her a wry head tilt.  "You've got a lot of faith."

    Jasmine nodded, picked up the scissors, and reached underwater to cut Sadira's toenails.  "Never got control of your accent, huh?"

    "No.  You?"

    "Ruins da image wen I tawk Brooklyn," Jasmine replied.  "I dumped it."

    They worked in silence for a while.

    "I've got to do your breasts," Jasmine finally said.  "Help me lift — damn!  You're heavy."  The apology flashed across her face.

    Sadira shook her head, forgiving.  "I noticed.  I still wish I had a scale."

    "In a honeymoon suite?  Why ruin the wedding night?"  Jasmine began scrubbing.  "So who is it?"

    "Sorry?"

    "Jason or Pamela?"  She glanced up at Sadira's face.  "And no looks."  Sadira was quiet.  Jasmine sighed.  "Jason told me he's been trying to find the right moment to ask you out for months.  He's just not very good at that.  Confidence problem.  A lot like you —"  She stopped as the guilt rose again.  "You want honest?  You know I was trying to grab him.  He turned me away because of you.

    "And Pamela — you two fucked that day, right?"  Sadira stared at her.  "Okay, made love.  Did you or not?"  Sadira slowly nodded.  "Thought so.  First time?"  A head shake.  "Are you gay?"  Another negation accompanied by a shrug — and then Sadira, surprising herself, told Jasmine about the college days.

    "So you're only half a virgin now," Jasmine finally observed.  "Not bad."  She lowered Sadira's right breast, arms aching.  "Wow.  That's one hell of a nipple."  Jasmine had a lot of practice at estimating the length of erect objects:  she guessed three inches long, two wide, and still swelling.

    Sadira blushed.  "It's the thoughts, okay?  You got me started."

    Jasmine grinned.  "If this was one of my movies..."

    "What?"

    "Nothing.  Really stupid thought.  Anyway, you're my sister.  There isn't enough money to get past that."  A quick, small, and somehow odd smile.  "Look, you've got two people in love with you.  Right?"

    "I figured it out —"  She didn't want to tell Jasmine about the dream, not about the part with the blood.  "Yeah.  It's — hard to believe, but they are."  Her eyes closed as the revelation finally, completely, undeniably sunk in.  They're in love.  With me.  With me.  And the weight was gone as her spirit rose —

    Jasmine nodded.  "From what I can see, they've got some sort of deal —"

    "Figured that out, too."

    Jasmine blinked.

    "It's hard to keep believing that part."

    A slow nod.  "They don't want to upset you, so they keep it all inside.  But I figured you had to know.  I thought it might help you to know."  Sadira didn't say anything:  she was lost in feeling that help.  "So what are you going to do?"

    Sadira crashed back into her body.  "What do you mean?"  But she knew.

    "Some genius," Jasmine backslid.  "Look, they're both in love with you.  You're not gay or straight, so that means you've got a choice to make.  Who is it?"

    Sadira breathed deeply.  "This isn't something I've got a lot of experience with."

    "Hold on.  Left breast."  They lifted.  "Not many people do."  The next words were tinged with envy.  "You're lucky.  You know, you were right.  I don't have relationships:  I have sex.  I'm on the road all the time:  I never really get to know anyone.  I grab guys off the street, out of the clubs, fast fuck, next town."  She began scrubbing the underside.

    "How about your fans?  Don't you get any good letters?"  Sadira grinned.  "Besides the ones that want to see you super-size."

    Jasmine blew a puff of air from her lower lip.  "You mean, people I'd want to meet from reading their letters?  There's been one or two really nice ones.  But they don't write regularly."  Jasmine's arms were still aching:  she decided to wash the front for a while.  Sadira felt her grip slacken and assisted in lowering.

    "They probably can't afford it.  So stop charging them."

    Jasmine sighed.  "But they pay it."

    "Jasmine —"

    "I'll think about it."  She smiled.  "I'll have some extra cash.  But I wish I had two people who cared enough to risk their lives for me.  Shit, Jason took that other virus so he'd be in shape to save you.  And Pamela took bullets for you."  Jasmine sighed and started working around Sadira's left nipple.

    Sadira gasped.  Jasmine stopped.  "Tell me when you're going to do that!"

    "Can't you see where my hands are?"

    "No!"

    "Sorry."  She pulled her hands back.  "You're that sensitive?"

    "Nipple orgasm."  And her face flushed again.

    "Just now?!"

    "No.  With Pamela."

    Arched eyebrows.  "Wow."  Jasmine moved back against her seat.  "So what are you going to do?"

    "Pamela or Jason," Sadira said, fighting back the disbelief.  She turned it around.  "Jason or Pamela."  It didn't help.  "I don't know.  I've never had to make this kind of decision."

    "I'm still jealous."

    "You wouldn't be if you had to think about it."  The memories flowed.

    Pamela:  that horribly wrong first impression, applying to the resident board for a room change and waiting, then being laughed at in the lab, planning revenge, offered an accomplice against her will — and finding the connection.  She'd canceled the change five minutes ahead of the paperwork.  Four years of study, pranks, laughter, and mutual sanity support.  Getting through it all together.  And those last days, making love for the first time, and then long months apart, connected by the phone lines, feeling the distance.

    And Jason had taken away some of that loneliness.  A shy hello, personal delivery of new data instead of sending it via the modems, then finally cajoling her out of the lab one day when she'd forgotten to eat.  Meals in the cafeteria, talking, sharing the concerns of the day.  Always support when she needed it, putting extra time into researching her arguments without asking anything in return.  She'd played pranks on him, perhaps testing, and he'd laughed, made attempts at counter-attack that she'd foiled, never stopped trying.  An ally, a friend who helped her deal with her new home and job, who had tossed his life away without hesitation to try and save hers.

    "I don't know," she repeated softly.

    She saw something new in Jasmine's eyes:  sympathy.  "Take your time.  But don't let them know I told you, okay?"

    "All right."

 

    Jasmine helped Sadira onto the bed and stepped back.  Sadira lay back and stared at the ceiling.  Jasmine looked down.

    "It's okay," Sadira told her.  "I'm looking, too."

    Jasmine wondered, followed her sister's gaze up — and spotted the mirror over the bed.  "Oh."  Given permission, she looked.  In the Jacuzzi, there had been washing, conversation, and while she'd seen, she hadn't looked...

    She had last seen Sadira naked just before she left for college:  her sister usually hid while getting dressed, avoiding direct comparisons.  While she'd seen Sadira's new endowments beneath her clothing, and watched them increase day to day, Jasmine's mental picture had remained that of a slim, athletic body:  a thin waist, nice legs and hips with what Jasmine had admitted to herself was a very nice ass — and then derided Sadira by calling it skinny at every opportunity.  Two little nubs for nipples, and that was all for the torso.  The image had persisted.  It was called denial.

    It finally shattered back into memory.

    Sadira's breasts began just below her collarbone, and then swelled out and up and to the sides — it seemed as if they were simply trying to take whatever space was available, and they'd overrun most of that.  They had swelled down past her waist, hips, and were well on their way down her thighs, proceeding with quiet determination towards her knees.  The visible portion of the legs had become very muscular.

    There was another smooth flow out to the sides.  Each breast was wider than her torso, and they crowded each other off to the sides.  Out of the bra, they sloped down to the mattress and well outwards — but there was still cleavage, as Sadira's arms were just outside the edges, pushing in slightly.  They had compressed slightly under their own mass, but still swelled ever upwards as they proceeded down Sadira's body.  Jasmine guessed something over two feet of rise — and near the highest point, the nipple, dark against the deeply tanned skin.  The lengthening had increased since they'd left the tub, closer to four inches now, and a little thicker.  No stretch marks, no sagging, just size, the teardrops continuing to swell.  She pulled her eyes up, and met Sadira's smile.  "There's men who would find this sexy?"

    "And women."

    A quiet, sincere, "Wow."  And then, "Would Jason?  Or Pamela?"

    "Jason loves you, period."  Jasmine smiled.  "For your mind, for your spirit.  If he didn't, then he'd adjust for you — but I don't think he minds.  And Pamela — well, she loved you flat, and when you were just short of me..." Jasmine had seen Pamela's reaction to Kay's pictures.  She carefully considered her next words.  "And she's pretty damn big herself.  I think if she didn't like that size, she would have had a reduction."

    Sadira nodded.  "So that's no help either."

    "No."  Sadira reached for the covers:  Jasmine started pulling them up for her.  Pillows were carefully arranged.

    "There's something else that's gone," Sadira said quietly.  "I can't roll up in the sheets."

    Jasmine shook her head.  "You'll have company to snuggle up against, as soon as you decide."  She shrugged.  "Are you sure you don't want the bra?"

    "I'm too tired to try and get it on.  One night won't hurt.  Gravity can't hit me when I'm lying down.  I'll be more comfortable in the morning, too."

    "I'm tired, too.  It's been a long couple of weeks."  Jasmine looked at her own discarded clothing.  "I don't even have the energy to get dressed."

    "So run down the hall, exhibitionist."

    "I'm three floors down.  I don't mind showing off.  I do mind getting thrown out."

    Sadira patted the mattress.  Jasmine looked down.  "You're kidding."

    "It's a pretty big bed.  Let me just move over a bit..."  Sadira shifted, pushed, lifted, hauled, and gradually wriggled her way to the right side.  Jasmine was frozen.  "Come on in."

    "About those movies — I was kidding when I said —"

    "I guessed.  It's the last thing I've got in mind.  So go to your own room."

    Jasmine yawned, deep and long.  "Right, sure..."  Slowly, "Something else we haven't done since we were three."

    Sadira grinned.  "Then we're overdue."

    There were plenty of pillows, the mattress looked soft but supporting, and the sheets seemed so warm...

    Jasmine yawned again, gave up, and crawled under the covers.

    A few minutes later, Jasmine sleepily got out, "You're really warm..."

    "Low fever," Sadira whispered.  "My metabolism."

    "Oh.  Still nice..."

    They fell asleep.

   

40

127:  Against the rocks

    We went to a medical supply shop the next morning, but we couldn't get the back brace.  It turns out that they have to be custom-made for each person:  I have to be laser-scanned so they can get my measurements down to the millimeter, and then the brace is built from that.  It can take weeks.  And one of my measurements is constantly going up, and my muscles are still developing...

    We settled for a sort of weight belt with extra back support:  those come in standard sizes.  The wheelchair wasn't a problem: we just got a model designed for very overweight people.  We got the width and then some, but lost the chair-lift feature.  At least it's motorized, and a lot faster than the other one.  We also got a big board for my lap, so my breasts could have a little more support — they're out way past my knees when I'm sitting — but it makes hard to turn in a small space.  We've had to rearrange most of the labs.  Thank God GenTree has wide doors.

    The really fun part was going into the shop.  Pamela checked the Yellow Pages, and we went to the one that opened first, getting there just as they opened the doors.  (Double-doors.  Whew.)  Jason and Pamela pushed me in, and the jaws of everyone in the store just dropped.  I hope we don't have to go back there, because I think I made an impression.  The first clerk who came to us just kept looking at me, and — well, they weren't the nicest looks.  I felt like a steak being appraised by a barbecue.

    He was staring so hard that he didn't notice Jason coming closer until it was too late.  Sometimes I forgot how tall he is.  This man got a reminder.

    "You can leave now," he said, very calmly.  "Someone else can help us."

    And he did.  And someone else did.

    We picked up some clothing — or tried to, anyway.  Since we're staying in Helena for the duration, the others needed fresh outfits too.  After a thorough survey of the area clothing stores, we came to a horrible conclusion:  I'm stuck with the muu-muus.  We even found the store where they were bought.  I'm currently wearing a sort of pink and purple one with plums and persimmons in the alternate areas.  I don't know why designers believe they can stop thinking when it's time to design for large women.

    We also got — because I insisted — a scale.  I've doubled my body weight.  Jasmine's been reading books on muscle development, and she keeps telling me I've got nothing to worry about:  fat people carry a lot more than I do.  I keep trying to tell her that their mass is a little more evenly distributed.  She insists that I'll be able to handle it with a lot of work.

    Maybe she's right.  I hope so.  When no one's around, I've been taking out the board and trying to stand.  I have to wait for isolation:  Pamela caught me the first time, and chewed me out.  She was afraid that without supervision, I'd seriously hurt myself.  All the time in the wheelchair let my back finally heal, and I somehow avoided injury during that whole stand-and-deliver bit in Cascade — but I could strain it again all too easily, even with the bra and belt keeping it straight.  I'm taking a risk every time I try to get out of the chair — but I keep trying it.  With a lot of work, I can get up, and stay standing if I lock my knees and hold onto something.  If I've got something to balance against, I can walk stiff-legged — but not for long.  I'm going to need that back brace — but I will be mobile.  Somehow.

    I keep wondering how.  All these bras I've been getting are designed to keep my mass above my hips, which makes sense:  it's harder to walk when you're constantly moving your legs against your breasts.  But these new bras aren't really trying to push me in from the sides:  I'm still getting wider — and even if they did, it would all go with the rest of it:  towards the front.  My bust measurement is over ten feet total:  in these bras, I can't even come remotely close to touching the ends of my breasts.  If I was standing, I'd always be pulled forward and down, whether I was wearing a bra or not — but worse in.

    Right now, after I wrestle, struggle, and jam myself into that narrow bathroom in the hotel, I wind up sitting on the toilet and my breasts are in the shower.  And I have a board in my lap.  If I took off the bra, I might feel more comfortable in that position — but I'd be on the floor.  Which is tile, and cold.

    So I need a more customized bra, maybe with counterweights — and no matter what we do, I have to be strong enough to carry all the weight.  Jason ordered the Goldentone machine recovered from Cascade, and we installed it in one of the labs.  We're both using it.

    I'm scared for him.  I understand why he took the virus, but he could die from this.  We're all monitoring him, making sure he works out the energy regularly.  Pamela practically threw him onto the machine Saturday.  He insisted he had to work.  She insisted harder.

 

    "That's not a formula, is it?"

    Sadira looked up at Jasmine.  "Writing Kay.  I told you about that letter — the one I almost set on fire..."  Jasmine nodded.  "I got out, so I'm updating it.  It helps me focus."  Sadira had finally gotten the hang of writing sidesaddle:  the notebook was weighed down with little vials of mercury.

    "Okay, I won't read over your shoulder."  Jasmine went back to her station:  several files were scattered around the desk.  "Do you think I should start writing her?"

    "I don't know.  Do you think she can afford it?"

    "I said I'd think about going to free replies,"  Jasmine protested.

    "You didn't say what the decision was."

    Jasmine looked at the thick envelopes stacked on top of the monitor.  The last group of bearer bonds from the former owners had arrived by express courier two hours earlier.  When they had claimed delayed transit, Pamela had sweetly inquired if they thought there would be as much trouble getting the police out on a Sunday as there was in getting mail.  "I will.  It's worth a try."

    Sadira went back to writing.

    ...We're both having trouble adjusting to the end of the feud.  I'd never really thought of Jasmine as a sister, and she has some difficulty staying on her new path.  We both slip now and then.  But Jasmine decided that she was the one who had to take care of me, with Jason and Pamela afraid to "hurt" me.  It means we've been spending a lot of time together.  She dresses me — I'm finally wearing socks again — washes me — we picked up long-handled brushes, but it's not easy to get the hang of — and does whatever she can to make things a little easier.  Getting into the bathroom usually winds up with both of us laughing.  I've moved far beyond her personal experience with size, so she extrapolates a lot when she tries to advise me — but she's good at that.

    We're trying to learn how to love each other, and it's working.  Slowly.  We talk in the Jacuzzi — about everything — and we fall asleep in the same bed afterwards.  Jasmine is a little like a cat.  She curls up to warmth.  When I wake up, she's practically on top of me — which means she's been snuggling up in her sleep, and of course I never notice...  And she's hard to wake up.  Jasmine's always been a really restless sleeper — unless she's in bed with someone.  I seem to qualify.

    We've arranged for Angel's funeral.  He left a file on his disk saying what he wanted done.  I don't believe he thought he was going to die:  he just always planned for everything he could.  He wanted to be cremated, and have his ashes scattered in the ocean — Atlantic or Pacific was okay.  We couldn't go to a crematorium without a death certificate, so we had to use the biggest disposal ovens at Cascade.  His request said he has no surviving family.  I'll personally go out to the beach on Long Island and fulfill his wishes.  We're taking the company apart for him, and for me, and for everyone who was ever hurt by it.

    We had some trouble figuring out what to do with Nigilo's body until Jasmine remembered something from a mystery novel she'd read, and asked just what sort of chemicals we had in the labs.  Several acids were used, and he was dissolved.  Much like his company.  Angel's files said he has one surviving family member:  an older brother, a billionaire who lives in Australia.  They hate each other.  They haven't spoken in years, and James Nigilo doesn't care if his brother is alive or dead.  Without a body, no one can prove a murder.  Eventually, his landlord might report him missing, and in seven years, he'll be presumed dead.  Pamela thinks it's equally possible that his landlord might steal all his things, clean out his bank accounts, and no one would ever know.  Jason snuck into Nigilo's apartment at two in the morning on Saturday with his keys, copied out the hard drive, and searched the place.  He found some things that back up the blackmail files, and some possible clues to other locations of source material.

    Angel had a little house on the outskirts of Helena.  It barely seemed lived-in.  He asked that all his things go to charity.  Jason and Pamela dropped everything off at the Salvation Army last night, with the printed form from his disk that made it legal.  It only took two trips in the van to deliver it all.

    The dissolution of GenTree proceeds apace.  We paid all the bills first, made sure there were no problems with government funds, and then put the Accounting department to work selling things off.  Helena will go only after we get the cure, but everything else is being sold now.  The project data went to auction:  other companies with similar pursuits are bidding for it.  Our data — BE-1 and the metabolic viruses — stay with us.

    The equipment has been easy to sell so far — Jason insisted on destroying most of the weapons:  I don't blame him.  We all kept a tranquilizer gun.  Souvenirs.  The buildings are good for real estate value:  the U.S. Army is interested in the Cascade site.

    The hard part is the employees.  Alan Mitchell and Denise Rasa — the two best people from the leukemia project — are helping us with the viruses.  Jason and I believe we can trust them, and the "squeaky clean" entry for them in the blackmail files backs us up.  They're mostly going over old data to make sure we didn't overlook anything.  They've got their own lab.  Jasmine thinks they're falling for each other.

    Everyone else is being let go.  Some of them are being "sold" with the data:  Alan and Denise will go to CorTech when this is over, as part of the deal for the leukemia files.  Pamela has been going through all of Nigilo's material, and sending out Email to a lot of companies:  she's trying to get some people blacklisted.  She wants all the original source material for Nigilo's blackmail notes, so she can back it up.  I don't know how well it's going to work.  Someone will always have a use for a corrupt scientist.

    Some people were easy to fire.  I had the pleasure of signing the termination order for Temperi, Jonas, and Menken.  Douglas was thrilled to be the one who fired the Mexican staff.  It was a special treat for his visit Saturday.  He only stayed long enough to drop off some photos — he'll be back on Monday:  more legwork to do.  He's helping Pamela run down that source material.  He also tried to take a few photos.  He now wants Pamela, Jasmine, and me to be in a layout together.  Look in the dictionary under "incorrigible," and you'll find his picture.  Jasmine already posed for a few pictures in the Grafting room, starting out wearing a stereotyped "scientist" outfit with glasses, a lab coat, pocket protector, holding test tubes...  She said the floor was cold.

    But we're using a lot of the money from the sales to give out financial packages equal to eighteen months of salary, keeping the good people on their feet until they find work, and buying out everyone's bonds once and for all.  As Jason said, there are good people here.  Just not very many.

    I'm looking forward to one termination in particular.  But I'm keeping her around as long as possible first...

 

    Lisa Trevor carefully put the paper down in front of Pamela.  "The opening bids for the addiction breaker."  Her voice was measured, barely controlled.  Most of the GenTree employees had no idea why the company was being dissolved.  Lisa knew.  She was doing a lot of the selling.  "Jenscript had the highest offer."

    Sadira wheeled into the room.  "Pamela, ready for lunch?"

    "In a second."  She looked over the figures.  "Jenscript says fourteen million for the breaker, and they'll take twelve of the good guys on as well.  Laroseni is offering eleven million, but they'll take eighteen people, and pay for relocation costs to France."  The addiction breaker project had been one of the few strongholds of morality in the company.  Pamela was trying to blackball six employees out of thirty-five.  Nigilo's notes suggested that the crack sample he'd shown Sadira at Cascade was there for Calvin Menken's personal use.  "What do you think?"

    "Is anyone offering to take all twenty-nine people?"

    "Eighteen's the best we're getting.  They'll offer more money if they have to hire less people.  All of them say they'll give us a lot more if we take it on installment, but I want this done now — and I think they're still trying to rook us on the cash."

    "Find out.  Say no to all of them and try to push the money and employment up a little.  See how they react."

    Pamela nodded and passed the paper back.  "You heard the boss, Trevor.  I want a new list of bids here in an hour.  And remember, I sign, send, and keep all the final paperwork myself.  Use the figures before it goes out, and I'll get you a copy later."

    Lisa carefully picked up the paper and started to leave, her efforts at control visible in each step.

    Sadira pushed the wheelchair forward just in time to run over her left foot.

    The heavy-duty motorized wheelchair weighed a hundred pounds.  Sadira added another two hundred.

    Sadira listened to the howl with quiet enjoyment, then backed up the chair and waved the accountant out, smiling as she watched her limp down the hallway.

    "You did that on purpose," Pamela said behind her.

    Sadira didn't turn around.  "No kidding."

    "Can I do it next time?"

    "If you get your own chair."

    More pettiness, I suppose.  But it made my Saturday.  It's going to be impossible to keep Trevor from ever finding another job:  there's a lot more accounting positions available than there are genetics.  So as long as she's here, I'm going to make her very unhappy.  Pamela's been having fun with her as well:  she remembered her from my phone calls.  Lisa isn't getting a penny at dismissal, and Jasmine is double-checking her figures to make sure she isn't squirreling away money for herself.  Jasmine's got a real talent for accounting:  she picked up double-entry bookkeeping in about an hour.  I suggested that she take some courses by mail and work towards a degree.  She just looked at me.

    I haven't really thought about the money.  It's too much to really believe in.  Ten million dollars to start, and more every time something gets sold.  I tried to change Pamela's "fifty percent for you, ten percent each for us" rule.  I was outvoted.  Pamela's very good at negotiating prices:  I saw that at the Brick S. House — and she's getting a better grasp on what the GenTree files are really worth on the open market.  God help the open market.

    Cypher seems to have a grasp on his numbers.  He couldn't believe it at first when Pamela called him on that speaker-cellular and told him how much he was getting.  He was just quiet for a while, and then he said "Mighty white of you, Shaw."

    Everyone got really quiet — and then Pamela started laughing.

    He's going to upgrade his system, get an apartment of his own, then finish college and use the rest of the money to start his own company.  We all wished him luck.  He calls about three times a day to check on us.  He wants to fly out to join us.  Cypher's got the same class schedule I had in college:  Saturday courses, Sunday courses — but he says he can miss a few classes.

    I honestly don't know what to do with the money.  Given a windfall while still working for GenTree, I would have bought out my bond, paid off my car, moved to New York, new apartment, new stereo, a little shopping spree — and then what do I do with the other nine million plus?  And the amount keeps growing.

    But then again, I keep growing.

    I'm going to face the rest of my life at a ninety-degree angle.  I can probably do some things above my breasts when I'm standing — when I'm sitting, they can't drop any farther than the board, and that means they're sort of slowly humping up towards my shoulders.  But no matter what position I'm in, I lose nearly all my ability to work with my arms in front of me.  I might be able to do some things standing, with the bra off — but that doesn't seem very likely.  Even out of the bra, they stick out so far that I can't get close to things.

    I've made some attempts at getting Pamela's expertise again...

    "Aren't the Band-Aids doing any good?"

    "No."  Sadira looked up at Pamela.  "It's like trying to plug a black hole with a cornflake.  They don't cover anything.  And it's uncomfortable.  I have to wear a larger bra just to give them room."

    Sadira had brought up the complaint to Pamela — which meant she had to answer it.  At least Jason wasn't around.  It couldn't hurt to talk about it...  "I don't think Aunt Susan was planning on this sort of thing.  I'm thinking of flying her out here eventually to take her own series of base measurements on you that we can scale up —" quickly "— if we have to.  Maybe some kind of secondary cup at the end."

    "Or just a softer end...  Would she come?"

    "For money?  Are you kidding?  Besides, she said she wanted to see you when I called out the order yesterday.  I gave her your 'inches are bunk' line.  She wasn't offended — she just said that everyone's development is unique, and you'd have to be custom-fitted.  She's improvising right now with those numbers Jasmine got — but it would help more if she did it directly.  As is, we're going to get them a day at a time, unless she puts some more people onto it.  She's actually got some shops in the States, and spends some time working in them.  Keeps everyone on their toes.  But England is her home."  Pamela sighed.  "She said she was finally going to get to test some of the Level III designs and hung up."

    Slowly, "A bust measurement over twice my height..."

    "That's what Level III means?"  The surprise was mixed with frustration:  why hadn't she guessed that?  The inch measurement had been right on the label, and she knew how tall Sadira was...

    Slightly bemused, "And Level II is 66 to 130.  I'm not at III yet, but — you mean you never figured that out?"

    A sigh verging into groan territory.  "I know now.  I just wish I'd thought of that secondary cup earlier.  Who would take a nipple measurement?"  She took a deep breath, and hoped Sadira didn't notice the effort at control.  But she'd taken the questions this far — "How big are they now?"

    "Jasmine says over four inches long."

    "Oh."  Pamela managed to force out, "And they're still sensitive?"

    "Now more than ever.  Maybe if I used gauze pads?"

    "Sounds good.  I'll go look for some."  Pamela hurried out.  There was probably a first aid kit in the lab, but there might also be one in the bathroom.  Any excuse to get to the bathroom.  Gauze for Sadira and some paper towels for her.  And water in the face, to wash away the guilt.

    ...nipple cups.  Now there's a weird thought.  But I need them.  Or the softer tips.

    Jasmine has a very dirty mind at times.  Last night, she started to suggest a new use for my nipples — and caught herself.  I wasn't offended.  I almost wished she'd finished, but I couldn't figure out how to ask her.  She has these ideas out of nowhere.  She gets my flashes — but with less intensity and greater frequency.

    I spent part of the morning trying to figure it out.  I'm her sister, all right:  I got it.  It was a very weird picture.  But it got them erect again...  And I couldn't mention that to Pamela.

    I'd like to think it's the truce that makes her so uncomfortable.  I don't want to believe she's repulsed by my body.  Jasmine got some of those letters FedExed in, and I've been reading them.  So as weird as it sounded — and still does — some people fantasize about this sort of thing.  (Of course, it isn't happening to them.)  But I already have two people who love me, and I can believe that they'll love me, no matter what I look like...

    But I'm no closer to a decision.  I'm loved, Kay, more strongly than I had ever dreamed possible.  Jason and Pamela don't know that I know.  They're not very good at hiding their feelings, now that I know how to look — and how to believe what I'm seeing.

    It's funny to think about.  If this stopped six seconds from now, I'd still be somewhere beyond huge.  I have to tell my parents — they got back Friday, but I haven't been able to make myself call them.  I'll need physical therapy for months, maybe years.  I'll always be stared at:  I can never disguise myself, and I refuse to hide.  I know the full spectrum of reactions I'll be facing.

    It scares me.

    But I have a sister now, and friends, and —

    Now that we're together again, I can believe that we'll find a cure.  Not just have to believe it:  really know that it will happen.  There's nothing the six of us can't beat.  Let the world say and believe what it wants to about me, because together, we can deal with it.

    Do you remember that little rhyme I taught you when you were six?  I remember it very clearly.

    "Which one, which one, will I choose?

    "Which will win and which will lose?"

    "Do's and don'ts and don'ts and do's?

    "This one, this one, I now choose."

    I can't get it out of my head.

    Back to work.  I have to find that happy ending.

 

    Jason glanced at the clock.  Almost seven p.m. on Sunday, April 7th.  He hoped seven was Sadira's lucky number.

    The ladies had gone to dinner:  he had begged out, pleading a need to exercise, spent an intense half-hour on the machine, then scarfed three Powerbars and gone back to work.  He knew his metabolism was stable at the higher level:  it was only his nerves that made him think the danger was increasing.  All of his muscle groups had firmed, and he was acquiring new tissue bulk.  He had never been in better shape.

    Jason wondered if that path led to death.  If he became so overmuscled that he couldn't bend his joints...   Man dies from getting in shape:  (mostly censored) film at eleven —

    — no.  That was weeks away, even at the accelerated rate.  At the moment, he just looked like he'd put about a year of very serious gym time in.  They would find a cure, for him and Sadira.

    But if they didn't, he would die first.

    And he didn't regret it.  Pamela wasn't infected.  If he died, he trusted Pamela and Sadira to solve the rest of the riddle in time to save her.  Sadira was out of Nigilo's grasp forever.  It had been worth it.  Jason knew how Angel felt.  He'd done something good with his life...

    But he still didn't want to die.

    Jason picked up an infected tissue sample.  He'd been working with the pregnancy data — and now with the samples of breast tissue from pregnant women that Nigilo had brought into Cascade.  (There was also a large sampling of adolescent and post-pubescent cells:  Nigilo had gone all out)  It gave him a wider database to examine, since he could study the actual cells from all stages of development, noting hormone levels throughout the cycle, and looking for key differences in structures and active gene areas.  It was better than just looking at numbers and charts.  Despite her best efforts, Pamela's connections hadn't been able to provide them with those samples.  Nigilo's had.  He prayed that no one had suffered for them.

    But he had them, and there might have been some luck in the timing that had taken the one he'd just spent four hours studying, while the others were working on the metabolic program.  He'd had another course to pursue.

    The new virus was complete.  It was time for the latest theory to fail.

    He pushed the thought away and put the sample in the study area.  It had already been infected with BE-1.  He added the new virus and watched.

    Oh.  My.  God.

    He didn't jump, he didn't scream for joy.  He wanted to, but he had to double-check, run the test again.  Even if he had it, really and truly had it, it was only half the puzzle.  They still needed the metabolic brakes.  But they would be halfway there.  If they halted the growth, and Sadira channeled all her energy into muscle development, she'd be back on her feet faster.

    Jason checked the data.

    It was real.  The growth had stopped.

    He snatched up the sample tin, spun around, dancing with it, reaching to extract another group of cells to test, and then he'd use Sadira's samples, and when those stopped —

    — the label was wrong.

    He looked at it again.  It wasn't the fresh, leukemia-modified sample taken from Jasmine.  It was one of the pregnancy tins.  He'd mistakenly infected it with BE-1, too busy to notice...

    That just means it works on a generic subject.  He went and got Jasmine's samples, and ran the test.

    Then he ran it with Sadira's cells.  And then he methodically tested every tin in the lab, then brought in leukemia factors, then started comparing and contrasting the results...

 

    "I think I can go a few more hours after that."  Pamela smiled.  "Good soup.  We took too long in the restaurant, anyway."

    Sadira nodded.  "I could stand some more work, too."  She looked at her sister.  "Jasmine?"

    "Me?  I just read."  They both grinned as the elevator stopped.

    Pamela stepped out.  "Let's check on the Mouse.  I trust him to keep his schedule, but I want to be sure."

    "You trust him and you want to be sure?" Jasmine asked.  "Isn't there a contradiction in there somewhere?"

    Pamela looked at her, eyebrows raised.  "'I contradict myself?'" she semi-quoted.  Jasmine saw it coming.  "'Very well, I contradict myself.  I am large —'" Pamela froze, listening.

    The twins stopped, instantly paranoid — and then they heard it.

    Sadira pushed the wheelchair to top speed, racing down the hall, easily outdistancing the others, heading towards Jason's lab —

    — and she found him sitting, head in his hands, shaking with sobs.

    "Jason?"  Oh God, something's wrong, his metabolism went wild —

    He slowly looked up at her, his face streaked with tears, and she felt the pain radiating from him.  "Sadira," he pushed out, and managed to take in a breath.  "I couldn't.  I —"

    Pamela and Jasmine got to the door.  Pamela ran in first, passing Sadira and reaching the desk.  "Mouse?  What's wrong?  Did something —" and she saw the scribbled notes on the table, the handwriting becoming increasingly jagged as it raced towards the inevitable conclusion.

    "No," she whispered — and Sadira rolled up.

     Pamela moved, instinctively wanting to block her from the knowledge — but too little, too late.  Sadira's reflexes were what they always should have been:  she turned the wheelchair to the side, snatched the notes off the table, and read them.

    Jasmine slowly came into the room, knowing only that something had gone wrong —

    "It's the recessive," Sadira said, and there was no emotion in her voice.  "The virus turns off the tissue development and growth sequences unless the macromastia sequence is present.  That shut-down signal has to be more complex:  there's an extra gene to account for.  Without those additional factors, the stop command is canceled."

    "But I stopped growing —" Jasmine started to protest.

    Sadira nodded.  "Naturally."  Her voice continued to drop, and her hands started to shake.  "Because you had that altered command.  We need data from pregnant macromastics.  But the gene is so rare.  Nearly a hundred samples, not one with the gene.  We'd be lucky to find one in a thousand, or more, and what are the odds of their being in a sampling group...?" The words were a whisper.  "Who's studied macromastics?  Nobody.  Why study that sequence?  It could take months to get enough samples and build a database.  The time involved to collect all of that..."

    "Me," Pamela said urgently.  "Get me pregnant.  Study my cells, see what's going on —"

    "I'll do it," Jasmine interrupted.  "My genes are closer.  We'll learn more —"

    "Up to nine months," Jason quietly reminded them.  They all instinctively did the math.  Two hundred and seventy days...

    "The time..." Sadira whispered — and her head started to loll forward as her hands trembled  —

    — Pamela was there, holding Sadira's face between white hands.  "No!"  a primal scream without volume, forcing her words past the tears.  "Screw BE-2.  We can have one virus without the other.  Everything goes to the decelerator.  We slow the growth to a normal rate and buy you that time."

    Sadira managed a small nod.  Pamela released her.  "We get back to work," she said, her voice a little stronger.  "Start trying to gather those samples.  Somewhere, someone's got to have acquired some cells with macromastia sequences, just by accident.  But while we look, it all gets put into the decelerator."

    Jasmine walked across the room and put her hand on Sadira's left shoulder.  "Does that mean you don't want me to get pregnant?"  She sounded so — disappointed...

    Sadira looked up — and the giggling started, a small current that turned into a surge, and then a wave of mirth, gallows humor, yes, but if you couldn't laugh at death, then what was there to laugh at?

    Jason's laughter joined the chorus, surprisingly deep, and then Pamela's, so much higher than her voice, and then Jasmine couldn't hold it back any longer, her giggling joining the chorus...

    "Give — give me a while to think about it..." Sadira panted.  "God only knows — how big you would get..."

    Jasmine's face leapt into hopeful anticipation — and the laughter began again.

   

41

130-133:  This one, this one, I now choose

 

    "Special delivery."

    Sadira turned and saw a young black man carrying a box.  He was wearing denim jeans and jacket — and then a stunned expression as he saw Sadira from the front, eyes open as far as the lids would allow, jaw slightly dropped, box falling to the floor —

    — "Cypher!"  Jason leapt from the exercise bench and crossed the room in a flash.  He took the stunned hacker's limp hand and pumped it until some life came into the return grip.  "What are you doing here?  You're missing class —"

    "I've got enough class for everyone," Cypher replied, voice still a little shaky.  "You've never heard of spring break?  I wanted to surprise you guys."

    Jason frowned as his memory reached back.  "Isn't this a little late for spring break?"

    The right side of Cypher's mouth quirked up.  "So I'm missing a class or two.  I'm way ahead of everyone else, and I've got a friend sending me notes and assignments.  Got a new portable to link in with using part of that first bond so I can get them and send the homework back, and then I grabbed a plane ticket.  What kind of fucked-up state is this, anyway?  Fifteen inches of snow forecast?"  Cypher fingered his damp jacket.  "It's a blizzard out there."

    Jason shook his head, grinning.  "It's my state, and don't you forget it." He finally released Cypher's hand as Sadira wheeled up and extended hers, raising it high to clear the side bulge of her right breast.

    Cypher stepped to her side, took her hand, and they solemnly shook.  "Hey, I'm sorry about that.  I mean, I knew what was going on, and I saw the cameras, but —"

    "I know.  It was your first actual look."  Sadira gently smiled.  "You get one free.  Then I run over your toes twice."

    Cypher winced.  "I'll watch my eyes, then."  He picked up the box.  "This is for Shaw.  Where is she?  I called her from the airport, and she told the guys downstairs to let me in."

    "In the bathroom," Sadira explained.  "She'll be back in a second —"

    — and Jasmine walked in.  "Cypher?"  The hacker found himself in a close hug, arms wrapped around him, Jasmine's breasts pushing against him, her lips seeking his out...

    Jasmine pulled back.  "That was for helping," she told him.

    Cypher didn't seem to be capable of responding.  Sadira looked at her sister, eyes narrowed with exasperated humor.  "Jasmine Pirouze Archer..."

    "What?  He earned it."

    Cypher blinked.  "I wonder what I get for this?"  He bent down and picked up the box.

    Sadira looked at it.  Ordinary white cardboard.  "What's —" and then Pamela walked in.

    "Welcome to the land of the loonies," she told Cypher.  "That's good news, right?"

    "The best."

    Jason sighed.  "Why does everyone put down my state?"

    Pamela shook her head.  "Have you looked around lately?"  She took the box.  "So how much did you get?"

    "Quite a bit.  I wanted to deliver it in person.  I can hook into my main system with the portable and keep going."

    Pamela found a clear spot and put the box down, then sliced the tape with the van keys and pulled out several sheets of paper.  "Looks good.  When Douglas gets in around five, I'll put him on getting these.  If the snow doesn't slow him down..."

    Cypher glanced at his watch.  "I might have just missed him:  he probably got in as I rented the car.  They were still letting planes land.  He should make it in."

    Pamela looked deeper into the box.  "What's that?"

    "The Noodletown duck you mentioned.  And a lot of chocolate."

    Sadira smiled.  "At least I'm getting enough exercise...  So what are the papers?"

   "Information to help back up some of the blackmail stuff.  I took those files and did a lot of surfing to some really tight places.  A lot of this is circumstantial, but you could give people a really hard time with it.  And if your photographer friend can chase down the physical stuff a little more — well, I think you've got enough as is, but you can't be too careful."

    Pamela nodded.  "I want this stalemate locked down..." and an odd grin briefly appeared on her face.  "This will help."

    Cypher grinned back.  Sadira felt a secret pass between them.  "I'll just get the rest of my stuff, hook up and keep working from here."

    "Go ahead.  Lots of space available.  And if you see anything you like, feel free to grab it.  We're having a going-out-of-business sale.  You get a hundred-percent discount."  The hacker nodded appreciatively and left.

    Sadira checked Pamela's face.  It was guardedly neutral.  "What are you up to?"

    "Endgame," Pamela said.  "Don't worry, Sadira.  You just work on the virus.  I'll keep calling the tactics."

    The possibility flashed across her mind, she knew Pamela had seen the insight —

    — Sadira nodded and wheeled back to her station.

 

    Early Tuesday morning.  Not too early:  they had worked late again, and Pamela had declared a recharge time.  Unfortunately, there had really been nothing to do in Helena at two in the morning.  It had come down to sleep.

    Sadira finished her morning check and found something that was rapidly becoming familiar:  her sister lying against her left breast, snuggled in tight, lost in sleep.  Sadira sighed.

    Softly, "Jasmine."  A small head tilt, no more.  "Come on, Jasmine, we have to get up."  A tiny arm shift.  This was ridiculous.  In high school, she'd been able to wake up her sister by breathing too loudly.  She reached across with her right arm and stroked her sister's cheek.  This got better results:  Jasmine stretched towards the touch, her eyes opening...

    There was a knock on the door.  That woke Jasmine up.  "Who is it?"  she said sleepily.  "I'm coming..."  She rolled away from Sadira's breast and got out of bed, stark-naked —

    A hiss of warning.  "Jasmine!"  Her sister had always gotten up before her and snuck back to her own room before the others came around.  They didn't know...

    Jasmine was still walking through the fog of oversleep:  she padded softly towards the door, uncomprehending.  A sleepy check of the security port, then a turn of the knob and a pull —

    "Oh, hi," she said.  "Time to go already?"

    Pamela brought up her left hand up to her temple, as if she'd instantly developed a headache.  Jason took a small step back.  Cypher stared.  "Uh — ah — yeah," he finally stammered out.  "It's almost noon.  We'd better breast — book!"

    Sadira and Pamela groaned in concert.  Jasmine's half-lidded eyes looked down and regarded her breasts.  "Oh, right," she murmured.  "I'll get dressed."  She went to the side of the Jacuzzi and started picking her clothes up.

    Cypher kept staring.  He hadn't been warned about Jasmine, and there was no way anyone could run over his toes.  He also wasn't sure how to stop.

    Pamela and Jason slowly walked into the room.  Pamela looked at Jason, then at Sadira, who had been propping herself up on a huge pile of pillows, keeping the blankets over her with judicious shifts of covers and breasts.  She had achieved a sixty-degree angle.  "Sadira," Pamela slowly began, "is there something you'd like to tell us?"  There was a little teasing in the tone, but more worry:  if the hormones had finally taken over...

    The mischief darted through her mind, and Sadira shrugged.  The blanket shifted a little:  she instinctively grabbed for it and stabilized the covering.  "Well — we've been sleeping together —"

    Jason looked behind him.  There was nothing to fall back against.  He settled for widened eyes and a raised hand, an opposite-side duplication of Pamela's earlier reaction.  Pamela's face went through a series of contortions.  Cypher was still watching Jasmine dress:  the information barely registered — and then it hardly helped.

    Jasmine heard Sadira as she finally finished waking up, and immediately caught on.  "Ever since Thursday night," she confirmed as she pulled on her bra.

    "Every night," Sadira added.  "Completely naked."  An exasperated look at Jasmine.  "And she won't stay off my chest."

    "You're warm!" Jasmine protested.  "I like warm.  You weren't complaining last night!"

    "Well, you're not exactly cold yourself..."

    Cypher seemed to be on the verge of passing out.  Pamela and Jason weren't doing much better —

    "Suckers!" Sadira yelled, and Jasmine nearly fell down laughing.

    Every muscle in Pamela's face went wild as she tried to find an expression and stick with it.  Jason just picked slack and stayed there.  Cypher collapsed against the door frame.

    "You believed that?" Jasmine laughed.  "Shit!  Think about it, people!"

    Pamela was the first to recover her voice.  "But you were —"

    Sadira was still laughing.  "Sleeping together.  We didn't say anything that wasn't the truth.  You did the rest on your own."

    Her voice had been recovered.  The brain cells were still trying to line up.  "But you said — your chest —"

    Sadira giggled.  Oh, I needed that...  The emotional roller coaster had, at least for the moment, come to a high point.  "Pamela, look at me, then look at the bed."

    Pamela looked.  The bed was huge — but so was Sadira.  If Jasmine had been on the left, and Sadira had shifted up and over — Oh.

    Jason finally got control back.  "Sadira, that was —"

    "— funny?"

    "Not my first choice for a word..."

    Jasmine finished getting dressed.  "I thought it was funny."  A few last giggles escaped.

    "You weren't the butt of the joke."

    Jasmine raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Sadira — who turned, nodded and, unseen by the others, moved her lips.  Jasmine read them easily:  she'd picked up the skill in her second year of dancing.  Some of the clubs were just too loud.  "Speaking of butts — come on, Cypher."  Jasmine grabbed her purse.  "I'll buy you lunch in the coffee shop."  She took the hacker's left hand and pulled him away from the door.  He didn't resist.  Or breathe.

    Pamela watched them go.  "Poor Cypher," she said, smiling.  "I wonder if he'll be disappointed if they actually reach the coffee shop..."

    "Close the door."

    Jason looked at Sadira first.  She nodded.  He closed the door.

    Pamela turned.  Sadira had continued to wedge and pile pillows:  she was now sitting up straight.  "Douglas is still sleeping," she mentioned.  "We might have to check out of here.  Bringing you in and out with a blanket over the chair isn't helping much.  People might start talking —"

    "Get over here."

    Pamela found herself taking a step before the words reached the thinking part of her brain:  there was something in the tone...  She checked on Jason:  he had also stopped after getting slightly closer.  "What is it?"  And then she thought about it:  Jasmine was gone, and Jasmine had been helping Sadira.

    Sadira was still in bed.  She needed help.  In her sitting position, the covered mounds of her breasts seemed to reach her feet.  Possibly beyond.  Pamela glanced at Jason again, and found him looking at her.  Well, it's Mouse and me:  that won't violate the agreement...  She knew Jason had never seen Sadira naked.  Pamela could see Sadira's bare shoulders:  it appeared the Mouse was about to get his first chance.  She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

    "I want both of you over here.  Sit on the bed."

    Jason glanced at the spot she was pointing at.  "Is there anything you need me to get first?"

    "I want you and Pamela to get yourselves over here.  Now.  We have to talk."

    Jason and Pamela glanced at each other —

    — and psionics took another step towards being proven.

    She knows.  One thought, two minds.

    Slowly, they made their way to the bed and sat down, Pamela on the left, Jason on the right, legs hanging off the edge, bodies twisted to face Sadira.  Allowing for different heights and builds, their positions were exactly the same.

    "You."  Sadira pointed at Jason, and Pamela's heart jumped.  "You're in love.  With me.  Yes or no?"

    Slowly, he nodded, and Pamela felt the pain begin to rise.  We're still friends.  There's always that.  Always...  It didn't help.

    Sadira turned towards her.  "You.  The same.  Right?"

    The pain fell away — then turned back, confused.  Jason seemed to be having her first reaction.  "Yes."  Then, quietly, "Always."

    Sadira nodded and folded her arms on top of her breasts.  "I knew about you two," she began, a lecturer with a class on the first really warm day of spring, trying to make sure she had her students' attention.  "It took me a while.  I'm pretty good with denial.  I've got the brains to rationalize a whole bunch of bullshit to back it up.  But I did figure it out."

    "Sadira, we were trying to  —" Jason, badly presenting the case for the defense.  "We didn't want to —"

    Sadira tilted her head to the right and looked at him.  "Shaddap."  He shut up.

    "So," Sadira continued, "you didn't want to upset me.  I can understand that.  I was under a lot of stress —" she briefly grinned "— which has not exactly gone away, and neither of you wanted to add to it."

    She looked directly at Pamela.  "Did you think it wouldn't hurt when you stopped touching me?"  But the words were soft and loving.  "When you wouldn't come in to help anymore?  Because you didn't want to compete and hurt me that way?"  Pamela's gaze dropped.

    Jason looked at them, and his mind said Let her go.

    What? he demanded of himself.  I can't —

    Look.  He looked.  They've known each other for nearly five years.  You've known Sadira less than one.  They lived with each other.  They've made love.  Pamela loves Sadira, you know that.  And Sadira loves her.  You heard what she just said.

    Jason, if you love her, then let her be happy with Pamela.  Let her go.

    His eyes closed, and his heart cracked, and he found no argument that would work, nothing he could say to that internal voice.  Jason stood up.

    Sadira and Pamela turned at the movement.  He looked back at them.  "Be happy," he barely choked out, and started towards the door.

    "You idiot!"

     He turned.  Sadira was staring at him, the tears starting to form in her eyes.  "Did you think I was going to just let you go?"

    Pamela jerked back as if she had been shot again — and Sadira quickly faced her.  "And you!  What makes you think I'd abandon you?  I can't let you go out in the world alone!  Someone has to hold your leash!"

    Jason looked at Pamela.  Their faces were mirrors of confusion.  "I don't understand —"

    "I kept looking at the two of you," Sadira told them, her voice soft again, almost a whisper.  "I had to decide.  Two people loved me.  Two people that I loved.  I was so happy — and then I was furious, because I didn't want to make that choice."  She turned and reached up to touch Pamela's face.  Their eyes met.  "Ivory, I never understood.  I thought it was friendship, as deep and true as anyone could ever have.  I didn't even imagine that there might be something more.  I wasn't capable of understanding." Her free hand indicated her breasts.  "If this hadn't happened, I might have never really known."

    Another turn, another touch., her right hand now caressing Jason's cheek, and his eyes briefly closed before meeting with hers.  "My Mouse," came the gentle voice.  "So bold and so shy.  Ready to save me from anything, including myself.  You had the courage to face Death head-on for me, but you couldn't find the strength to tell me why."

    And she was touching them, one hand for each, and she said, "I choose both of you."

    Jason looked at her.  So did Pamela.  They all spent a moment looking at each other.

    This time, Jason recovered first.  "How?  We can't —"

    "Like hell we can't," Sadira told him.  "We're scientists.  Scientists experiment.  I've think we've got pretty good chemistry."

    "The three of us?" Pamela got out.  "Together?  How would we —"

    "We'll have to figure that out," Sadira said.  "But it comes down to this."  Her voice dropped, and took on the commanding tone.  "I love you both.  And I'm not giving either one of you up."  She folded her arms again and looked at them, each in turn, then stayed with Pamela for a moment.

    Pamela reacted.  "We can't get married —"

    Sadira sounded vaguely bemused.  "We could have if I picked you?"

    "Hawaii passed a law.  We could have.  But all three of us —"

    "Oh, I don't know," Sadira breezily said.  "I marry Jason in Canada, a quick trip to Hawaii to marry each other..."

    "Jealousy," Jason said.  They both faced him.  "How do we keep a V-shape balanced?"

    "That's pretty easy," Sadira said.  "Make it a triangle.  Kiss her."

    They both looked at her.

    "Sadira —"  Both of them, in chorus.  Another glance was exchanged.

    Sadira looked at her startled lover.  "Three years, right?"

    "Huh?"

    "That's the last time you met a man you could stand.  About three years ago.  Unless you had another date since then that you didn't tell me about.  You've dated a few men.  You've slept with one that I know of."

    "I like women a lot better," Pamela said.  "Most men are just —"

    "— do you like that one?"  Sadira pointed at Jason, who blinked.

    Pamela looked at Jason, and her eyes seemed to be trying to pierce memory, seeing him for the first time again.  "He's a good man," she said slowly.  "A good person."

    It had been over two weeks since the thought had begun.  She'd never allowed it to finish.  It finally found its conclusion.  "If it wasn't for you," and the words were hers, but so strange to hear, "if I'd just met him somewhere and we'd somehow managed to talk to each other —" a quick smile "— which isn't all that likely — then he would have been the first man that I'd gone out with in three years."

    A slow smile spread across Sadira's face.  "I hoped so," was her honest truth.  "You care about him."  Pamela nodded.

    Sadira turned to Jason and waited.

    Jason looked at Sadira, then to Pamela.  "Spirit," he said.  "Spirit and soul.  You both shine so brightly."  Like Pamela, Jason knew the words were his, taken from his deepest truths.  Somewhere deep within was his religion, and it was screaming that this was wrong, two women and one man, God hadn't meant for things to work that way — but deeper still was his faith, and it said that God was love, no matter how that love was expressed.  "Rainbows," he continued, looking directly into Pamela's eyes.  "If you had been bonded, and we had worked together —" and he started laughing "— I would have been too scared to ask you out!"  Pamela giggled — "But I would have wanted to!"

    Sadira was laughing, they were all laughing...

    "It's not exactly normal," Sadira finally said, wiping away tears of joy.  "But we're not normal people.  And," a big grin, "normal sucks.  I think we're all just crazy enough to make this work.  It won't be easy, and there's going to be problems —"

    Pamela's words emerged without flavor.  "I'm going to need a bigger bed."

    Jason looked at her, face deadpan.  "Bed?  Apartment."

    "The hell with an apartment.  Let's buy a house."

    "Custom-built," Jason decided.  "Lots of special features for Sadira."

    Pamela nodded.  "A really, really big bathtub.  Handgrips in the bathrooms.  Wide doors.  The bed is going to have to be custom-made, too."

    Sadira stared at them.

    The exchange picked up speed.  "I think we've got more than enough money for elevators if we go two stories."

    "Elevators?  Don't baby her!  She's got to develop enough strength to handle stairs!"

    "Well, you can't ask her to do it immediately!  How about one of those sliding chairs that goes up a rail, and we eventually take it out?"

    "Done," Pamela agreed.  "A good gym, too, so she can work out at home."

    "All right, that goes in the basement.  Right next to the swimming pool."

    "I want a hot tub."

    "Well, we can have both.  And the pool can be heated."

    "Point.  How about cars?  A huge van.  Do you think we can get sidesaddle driving controls?"

    "People!"  They both looked at Sadira.  "Before you plan out the rest of my life for me, do you think you could do the first thing I asked?"

    They both looked at her.  "Sorry," Jason asked, grinning widely.  "What was that again?"

    "You," Sadira told him.  "Kiss her."

    Pamela got up.  So did Jason.  They walked to the front of the bed.  Sadira watched them closely as they appraised each other, joking gone.

    "It's been a long time," Pamela slowly said.  "I don't have anything against you, Jason.  I just don't like most men.  I gave up on them as a gender.  But I meant it:  I would have gone out with you."  She briefly glanced at Sadira.  "But sleeping — making love to you —"

    Sadira partially faked exasperation.  "I'm not asking you two to fall into bed with each other this second.  I want you to be in bed with me first.  But I want us all to be happy."

    Jason's eyes found Sadira's, his gaze soft.  "So you want us to love each other as much as we love you."

    Sadira nodded.  "It's the only way this is going to work.  You already like each other.  That's how it all starts.  Friendship, then love.  Maybe this is just me — but I think it's just degree."

    Jason and Pamela looked at each other, their eyes locking — and then Jason bent down, and Pamela stretched, and they met somewhere in the middle.

    Sadira nodded approvingly as they separated.

    Pamela looked up at Jason.  "You're as bad as she was."

    Jason winced.  "Thanks a lot."

    "Don't worry about it."  The snow leopard was there, but it had come out to play.  "You'll see how well I taught her."  A visual pounce to Sadira.  "This is going to take some time to figure out..."

    "I don't even know how we're going to work this out," Sadira admitted.  "There aren't any databases to follow."  A rueful shrug, and her voice turned back eighteen years.  "And this bed isn't big enough for three people, and the floor is cold!"  Jason started laughing.  "What we've got is a place to start."

    Pamela glanced at Jason.  "No, this is a place to start."  She winked, and he understood.

    By mutual agreement, they each returned to their original sides of the bed, then kissed Sadira, one on each cheek — then took turns for the lips — and finally, with a lot of effort, laughter, and more wriggling around than was absolutely necessary, they somehow managed to create a three-way hug.

    Sadira wiped away their tears as they finally pulled back — but not apart.  Never again.  "Since that's settled," she concluded, "could you two help me get dressed?  Since I can't start the orgy, we've got to get to work."

    They both sprang from the bed.  Jason headed for the shopping bags.  "What color socks do you want?"

    "White's fine."

    Pamela glanced at Jason as she dug through the pants.  "You do realize that if we got this right, we might kill you."

    Jason grinned.  "I'd die happy."

    "You'd still die," Sadira pointed out.  Jason ruefully nodded.  "Ivory, aren't you overestimating yourself a little?"

    "Me?  I'm talking about you.  Mouse, trust me:  it took a while to get her eyes open, but then she wanted to see everything."

    "Ohmigod."  Jason straightened up, the socks falling from his hand.  Sadira and Pamela both thought he was jokingly reacting to Pamela's last sentence — until he turned and looked at them both, eyes serious.  "What am I going to tell my parents?"

    There was a long silence.

    Sadira sighed.  "'Think things through...'" she said.  "Can we think that one through later?"  And a smile.  "We'll come up with something. There's nothing the three of us can't work out.  Let's go find those brakes!"

    They scrambled to gather the clothing, and Sadira watched them, eyes misting again, and the only thought was as crazy as the triad, but it made sense too, beautiful and perfect.

    I'm complete.

   

42

142-144:  Roll the bones

 

    Douglas handed Pamela a piece of paper.  Pamela nodded, handed it back, and he left.  Pamela returned her gaze to the electron microscope.  Jason was working out:  Denise and Alan had gone home.  Sadira looked at Pamela.  "And what was that about?"

    "Oh, he's going back to Cypher."

    Sadira pressed on.  "What is Cypher doing?"

    "Working with Douglas."

    One more try.  "Cypher and Douglas are working on...?"

    "A computer."  Pamela smiled.  "Ebs, I'll tell you when I'm ready to tell you."

    "It's Thursday.  How much longer can you hold out?"

    "One minute longer than you can ask.  It's a surprise."

    Sadira had a theory, but wasn't quite ready to test it.  If Pamela wanted to surprise her, so be it.  But it was fun to try for the information.

    They'd changed hotels on Tuesday:  Pamela had decided they'd pushed their luck far enough with that secret.  The new one had a huge Jacuzzi, but the bed was smaller.  Sadira had been disappointed:  she'd been looking forward to their first night sleeping together.  While Pamela — and then Jason — had told her that they thought it might be just sleeping for a while, Sadira had other theories.  Both of them had told her that they still needed some time to get used to the idea.  Sadira thought they were trying to work through the last of their worries about the triad.  She felt that once she had them in bed with her, the rest would follow naturally.

    She thought.  She hoped.  She wasn't sure, and she definitely wasn't all that confident that it would go smoothly even when they were together.  She'd been discussing things with Jasmine earlier as they came back from the bathroom, trying to get some advice on how to proceed.  Sadira had figured that Jasmine had to have been in or seen at least one movie with two women and one man.

    Jasmine, who had been in the middle of exaggerating her disappointment about losing Sadira's warmth, had shrugged and said, "Movies are scripted.  Badly scripted:  there's no imagination.  With the three of you, it's going to be improvisation all the way."

    "That really helps, sis."  Sadira sighed and looked down.  She had a new board.  One hundred and forty-two inches at the morning measurement:  nearly twelve feet of bustline — which, even after allowing for all the spreading at the front, meant that when sitting with the board, the furthest point of her breasts was still several feet in front of her.  They'd added counterweights to the back of the chair.  "I'm still trying to figure out how we're going to work around me."

    "Are you kidding?  That'll be half the fun!  You'll get to use positions no one else has ever thought of!"

    "Despite my vast intelligence," Sadira said dryly, "I'm having trouble thinking of any.  Jasmine, you've got the experience with this.  I'm still half a virgin.  What can we do?  I have to move myself in order to get to —" she paused:  their rapport was getting stronger every day, but it still felt occasionally strange to talk about some things "— the vital areas, and it's going to get pretty crowded with just me in the bed."

    Jasmine's face turned serious.  "Okay.  You want the honest truth?  A lot of positions are closed to you."  A small shrug.  "But you never got to try them anyway, so the hell with them.  You've got two intelligent and imaginative people with you.  One brainstorm between the three of you, it'll be settled."

    "It won't always be three of us," Sadira told her.  "We already realized that there's going to be times when one of us will need some time alone, or two of us just need to be with each other.  I'm okay with it being Jason and Pamela —" and she'd shocked Jasmine again:  her sister had frozen in place while Sadira continued forward.  She backed up the wheelchair.  "That got you?"

    Jasmine defrosted, then nodded.  "A movie is one thing.  Real life is another.  You're really comfortable with that?"

    "I want them to love me and I want them to love each other.  Is that unrealistic?"

    "Now you're asking me?"  Jasmine took a deep breath.  "No.  Maybe for anyone else — but I think you three can make it work."  They started down the hall.  "I'm still jealous."

    "What about Cypher?"

    "We didn't do anything."

    "Why not?"

    "Well, he looked like he really needed coffee —"

     Teasingly, "I think he likes you."

    "Oh, come on, you've already got two."

    "I'll stick with that number."

    "What about kids?"  This time, Sadira stopped.  "I mean — well, you and Jason, or Jason and Pamela — half brothers and sisters —"

    "Brothers and sisters," Sadira corrected.  "Period.  And you forgot me and Pamela."

    Jasmine inhaled sharply.  "How?!"

    Sadira smiled.  "As soon as everything else is wrapped up, that's the next project.  Or maybe we'll just work on it on alternate Tuesdays while we're completing BE-2A.  I know we can't get government funding for it — but I think we've got enough money to work with on our own.  But kids are a long way in the future — and I don't think I should get pregnant."

    "Why not?" Jasmine started — then saw it.

    Sadira confirmed.  "This is glandular tissue.  I get pregnant, and it's 'Be fruitful and multiply.'  God only knows what happens when the milk comes in.  Maybe if we found a way to disable those genes..."

    "I'd be really careful about messing around with your own genes after this."

    Sadira ruefully nodded.  "Pamela already volunteered to carry.  But she's got the macromastia sequence, too...  Well, it's a long way off."  She started the chair rolling forward and looked over to Jasmine, again walking by her side.  "Are you sure you don't have any hints?  It may all come to me once we start, but..."

    "Sadira, I've made some movies, and some of them were with women.  Good money."  Jasmine's voice dropped as the miles weighed it down.  "I've fucked a lot of guys because I was lonely — but most times, I was just going through the motions.  Honest truth?  It's a lot more fun when you're making it up as you go along."  A sigh.  "Two people."  A deeper one.  "You're my sister, all right."

    Sadira smiled and steered around a corner.

    "Actually — one idea." Jasmine looked down at her sister, and then to the front of her breasts.  The new bras had a soft area at the front to allow for nipple swelling.  The conversation had started the process.  Sadira had joked that her erect nipples were only one twenty-eighth of her total bust measurement —which sounded reasonable until the math resulted in five inches.  Jasmine grinned.  "One nipple each."

    Sadira looked momentarily intrigued.

 

    Jason walked into the lab, toweling away sweat.  "I wish this thing made me think faster instead of just reacting faster," he grumbled.  "I'd like to be able to do more in that room than just count repetitions."

    "I've been looking at your latest extrapolations," Pamela said.  "I think adding this sequence might help, but it still looks incomplete."  She gently hit the side of the machine.  "Damn it," came the soft voice.  "It still goes too far, and I'd settle for not far enough, just to slow things down..."  She'd found love, twice over, and both of the people she loved were still at risk...

    Sadira wheeled away from the computer.  "Can I get a look at that new printout?  Mine isn't going anywhere."

    Pamela nodded and gave it to her.  Sadira lifted it high in front of her, staring straight ahead at it —

    — and then she was seeing something else.

    Pamela and Jason looked at her just in time to see her eyes unfocus.

    They had each seen it before, Jason once, with Sadira looking at a puzzle on a computer, and Pamela a dozen times over the years, always just before —

    "Oh, God," Pamela prayed, and for a moment thought Jason had said it.

    They were still trying to find macromastic samples, but they'd gathered virtually all the metabolic data in the world.  Sadira had read everything, all the pieces of the puzzle were somewhere in her head, Some Assembly Required...

    "Come on, Sadira," Jason breathed.  "Put it all together..."

    They clasped hands as Sadira continued to look beyond the paper, twenty seconds, thirty, forty —

    — and out to the other side.

    Sadira spun the wheelchair, desperately getting back into position at the computer, and her right hand shot out, alternating between mouse and keyboard, clicking, typing, occasionally pausing briefly as she checked for typos, one bad keystroke that worked into the sequence would ruin the lot, then hurrying forward again —

    — she stopped.

    Jason and Pamela rushed over.  The simulated double-helix was rotating on the screen, quietly beautiful.

    Sadira breathed deeply, trying to find oxygen, as if she'd just finished a marathon — or simply tried to walk a few feet.  "Let's try it."

 

    The six of them had gathered.  Jason and Sadira were sitting.  Cypher was leaning against one of the computers.  Douglas and Jasmine were standing, and had been trying to make conversation.  They hadn't been doing well.  Pamela had been the last to walk in, her testing complete.  She held two syringes, one in each hand:  blue plunger head in the left, red in the right.  Sadira glanced up at the clock.  Thursday, April 11th, five minutes before eight p.m.

    "The simulations aren't sure what will happen to the body as a unit." She glanced at Jason.  "Your readings are different from Sadira's.  She's got additional factors to worry about.  This could work on one of you, and not the other."  She looked at her left hand.  "That's the decelerator.  If it works properly, you both go from ten back to three.  Normal rate.  Mouse, you're cured.  Sadira, we'll have time to gather those samples: you won't be growing any faster than you would have during adolescence, and your energy needs will go back to normal."

    "And if it doesn't work?" Douglas asked.

    "It could go too far.  I could give them a shot of the accelerator to counter it —" she nodded at the syringe in her right hand "— but both viruses in that short a time frame is a major shock to their systems."  Slowly, "The computer thinks that could be fatal.  Seventy percent chance.

    "Involve all the systems at once, every cell, and things get chaotic.  One thing goes wrong, cascade effect, and everything goes.  It can't be tested on animals.  The sequences only affect humans.  And we sure as hell can't infect someone else as a test subject."  Pamela smiled, just for a second, feral again.  "You know, I thought nothing could make me wish Nigilo was alive.  Wrong."

    Jasmine looked into Pamela's eyes.  Quietly, she recited, "'My objective all sublime, I shall achieve in time.'"

    Pamela nodded and finished the quote.  "'To let the punishment fit the crime, the punishment fit the crime.'  It did, didn't it?  But I can't do it twice."

    Jason looked up at her from his seat.  "When you insisted that we bring the virus samples into Cascade, it wasn't just for bluffing, or modification if Sadira had found the cure.  You made sure you had the decelerator, didn't you?"

    Pamela put the syringes down on a table and walked over to him.  "Mouse, if I had the chance, I was going to kill him.  The virus was in case I got to do it poetically.  So maybe it was murder.  But I can sleep at night.  And if I ever can't —" she looked at Sadira "— will you two still be there for me?"

    "'Let the punishment fit the crime,'" Sadira simply said.

    "'The punishment fit the crime,'" Jason echoed.

    Pamela kissed them both, then went back to the syringes.  "So we can try this," she said, "or we can look for something else.  But we've learned as much as we're going to by using the samples and simulators."  The next words were slow, like the pronouncement of a judgement coming down from the high court.  "We have to make a decision."

    Sadira looked at the blue syringe.  "You know the sick part?" she asked softly.  "After all that, it wasn't even that complicated."

    Jason smiled at her.  "For you," he pointed out.  "But we all did it together.  My source, Pamela's modification, your completion, Jasmine's idea to look for it in the first place, Douglas and Cypher keeping us alive long enough to find it."  His eyes drifted up, and locked with Pamela's.  "I trust all of us," he said simply.  "I'll go first."

    Sadira started to wheel towards him.  "Jason —"

    He held up his right hand, stopping her.  "Because if something goes wrong, then you're still alive.  No argument."

    Sadira rolled up and took his hand.  "You've been hanging around Pamela too much," she whispered.

    "It was your idea," he reminded her, and gently squeezed.

    Douglas looked at the syringes.  "So what do we do?"

    Cypher answered.  "You and I get ready to go with our final stage," he said.  "They get ready for theirs."

 

    Nine p.m.  Jason was hooked up to a full battery of monitors, checking pulse rate, breathing, EKG, brain wave activity — the works.  They had been hastily labeled with their deductions of the correspondence from metabolism to the various activity levels:  ten to zero.  The equipment had been recovered from Mexico.  Pamela wanted different machines:  all these had done was monitor death — but perhaps they were due to see a cure.

    Douglas and Cypher had stopped their activity to join them:  they had retreated to the doorway after shaking Jason's hand, and were visibly trying to project their strength.  Sadira was sitting on Jason's right, holding his hand and trying to stay away from the wires.  Jasmine was kneeling on the left, holding his other hand.  They all waited patiently.  Pamela pushed up Jason's left sleeve and sterilized the injection area.  "Mouse," she began, unable to meet his eyes, "if this doesn't work —"

    "Try the accelerator," he said calmly.  "Then we'll look for something else."  He glanced at Sadira, then back to Pamela.  "We've been beating the odds so far.  One more success for me, and two for Sadira."

    Sadira looked over at him.  "Lean over," she whispered, and Jason did.  Pamela moved with him, and they both kissed him.  Jasmine came up and got his cheek.

    Pamela looked at the needle, glinting in the light, to Jason's brown eyes, reflecting those sparkles back to her, and then around the room. Sadira's lab.  It ended where it began.

    She injected Jason and moved to the monitors.

    The cells around the injection site took in some of the invading organisms, accepted it, adopted its code as their own, then sent the message to other cells.  The rest of the virus raced around the bloodstream, trying to beat out the speeding transmission — once a cell had been modified, further infection would do nothing.  Pamela watched the screens as Jason's systems were hit, and began to react.

    Ten, and she remembered what had happened the last time she had started the countdown.  Nine.  Eight.

    Jason gasped, and began to tremble — and then the movement accelerated.  She looked away from the monitors.  Sadira was holding onto his hand as his body jerked, eyes wide and desperate.  Shedding reaction! her mind screamed.  The simulations said this might happen, he's trying to dump any excess still in the cells!  But her heart didn't believe it, she could hear Douglas crying out, she was already reaching for the red syringe, glancing back at the monitors —  Six.  Five.  He was convulsing, his body vibrating itself to pieces, it was happening too fast, she had the syringe — Three —

    — and the indicators stopped moving as Jason's body tightened, lifted — and crashed back into the seat.

    Every monitor had stabilized at three.

    Jason took a long, shuddering breath.

    "Now that," he gasped, "we could sell to Disneyland.  Shake, rattle, and roll."

    Pamela looked at the monitors again, then at Jason.  Somehow, all the wires and pads had remained attached.  It was all stable.  Human-normal rate.

    "Let me get a few samples, and make sure things are working properly," Pamela got out.  "But if you look okay —"

    Sadira's eyes, and her own, said that Jason looked more than okay.  He looked like he was going to live.

    "— then we try it on me," Sadira finished.  "Don't uncross your fingers yet."

 

    It took an hour to run the checks.  The virus was out of Jason's system:  it had infected the cells — some of it going after already-modified areas — and died.  All of Jason's cells had returned to normal functioning.  The various systems had been hit hard, and together — but they had ridden through the storm.  He was cured.

    It was Sadira's turn.

    The positions had changed:  Sadira was in the center now, wires coming out of the neck of the muu-muu:  it had been a minor bit of fun to get the heart and lung pads properly attached.  Jasmine had shifted to the right, Jason was on the left.

    Douglas came into the room, Cypher close on his heels.  "I'll see you on the other side," he told Sadira.  "One day, I will see you in front of my camera, giving that smile to the world.  You did promise, after all.  I will not allow you to escape that."

    Sadira gave him that smile.  "I only promised to consider it."  But the words were kind, gently teasing.  "Can't you think about anything else right now?"

    "Only that love is strength, and we will not let you fall."  He bent down and kissed her forehead, then stepped aside.

    Cypher stepped forward.  "We haven't really known each other that long," he hesitantly started, "but — well, you give good trouble.  I'd like to keep you around this world for a while."

    "Cypher?"  She met his dark eyes.  "What's your real name?"

    He shrugged, then looked embarrassed.  "Gates.  William Gates."  A flash of a grin.  "Now you know why I like Cypher better."  Pamela and Douglas started laughing.  He looked back at them.  "Quit it.  A little respect for the humiliated man.  I'm going to have it legally changed."  They forced themselves to stop.  Cypher looked at Sadira.  "Good luck, girl."  He put out his right hand, realized that Jason and Jasmine had eliminated the possibilities —

    "— go ahead," Sadira told him.  He kissed her forehead.

    Jasmine looked up at her.  "We're going to have that time together," she stated firmly, and then a kiss.

    "So will we," Jason added, and kissed her as well.

    Pamela approached.  "We all will," she told her.  "If only because my last memory of you will not be in that outfit."  She pushed up the left sleeve of the garish neon-pink muu-muu as Sadira started giggling.  "No one would be caught dead in that thing.  That's why you're going to live."  A smile as she sterilized the injection site.  "Got me?"

    "I hear you, Ivory."  A kiss, and then the needle.

    Pamela went to the monitors.

    The difference was immediately obvious.

    Jason's body had been generally accelerated, all systems at full power, with special attention diverted to damaged areas — the bullet wound, the muscle tissue — when needed.  Sadira's body had that same acceleration, but she had hormones streaming through her body, carrying a specific set of messages.  There was a focus area for the power:  regardless of the state of the rest of the body, energy was always being channeled into the production of new cells in the breasts.  The system was inherently unbalanced —

    — and it wasn't shutting down evenly.

    The monitors fell to eight almost immediately, jumped back up to nine, plunged to six, then threatened to go off the top of the scale.  Sadira was shaking violently, her hands squeezing until Jason and Jasmine screamed in pain, body jerking, the convulsions powerful enough to raise her out of the seat against the weight of her breasts, and she was screaming as the monitors plunged to four, then back up to six, a leap to nine, body vibrating faster, Douglas and Cypher running to try and hold her down, and Pamela grabbing the red syringe again as the indicator fell to two, the scream reaching higher and louder as the monitor surged back to three, fell to two, reached higher, plummeted to one, they tried to pull her down, Pamela raced towards her, readying the syringe —

    — Sadira fell back into the chair, breasts shuddering at the impact, eyelids fluttering — then closing.

    Pamela risked the tenth of a second it took to check the monitors.

    They had all stabilized at three.

    Sadira's eyes weakly opened.

    "Sadira?"  Pamela held her right wrist, verifying the pulse.  They were all there with her, at her sides, waiting.  "How do you feel?"     

    The words were weak, her voice shattered by the pain.  "It's more like — how I don't feel."

    "How's that?" Jason whispered.

    "Hungry."  And a small smile crossed her face.

    Pamela started to say "I'd better take those samples," and got as far as "I" before throwing the rest of the sentence away, dropping the syringe, and going in for the hug again, and everyone was there with her, somehow they were all hugging Sadira or each other, there was definitely a question as to who had who, somewhere in there Sadira got a Powerbar out and threw it across the room, but they all had each other, all crying and laughing and ready to live...

   

43

144.0383561:  A moment in time

 

    "Hi, Mom.  I know I was supposed to call on the fifth.  Well, I haven't been in the apartment lately.  Things have been a little busy.  I just wanted to tell you that I'll be home tomorrow."  Sadira gave the hotel phone an awkward look.  "No, everything's fine at work now.  It wasn't before, but — Mom, this really isn't something I can discuss over the phone.  Well — ah — I'm going to be bringing some friends — Jasmine's coming with me!"  The words leapt into the break created by the shock.  "Do you want to talk to her?"  Without waiting for an answer, she thrust the phone at Jasmine.

    Jasmine slowly took the phone and shot Sadira a wry glance.  "Thanks a lot, sis."  She raised the receiver.  "Hi, Mom.  Yeah, it's me!  Sadira and I will be home around nine.  We're leaving in about two hours on a red eye."  Another glance at Sadira.  "No, she isn't sick.  I'm not either.  Mom — this is — I can't really talk about this.  We'll just tell you when we get there.  Nothing's wrong.  We've just got some relatively minor things to work out.  Well, they're kind of minor by comparison..."  Jasmine desperately thrust the phone back to Sadira.

    Sadira held it up, blurted out, "Love you, Mom!" and hung up.

    They both stared at the phone.

    Jasmine said, "She's standing in the kitchen right now, staring at the phone, wondering what the fuck would put us in the same room."

    Sadira smiled.  "You know anything we could have come up with is going to be more believable than the truth."

    A slow smile.  "Maybe we should have told her we were getting married."

    They both giggled.  "Compared to what I do have to tell her, that might be easier.  Mom might eventually be happy I've found someone — maybe even two someones — but Dad..."

    "He'll scream, and he'll yell, and then he'll let you do what you want to.  That's what happened when I told him I was going to dance."

    "Yeah, but he knew you would do it anyway.  I'm going to have a harder time."

    "Just tell him you'll pay for the wedding.  Weddings.  How are you three going to work that?"

    "No idea."  Sadira grinned.  "Right now, our main concern is finding a really big bed."

    Jasmine smiled back — then paused.  "I just pictured their faces when they see you.  Maybe we should just try to explain the really tough stuff before the shock wears off."

    "Good idea.  That'll give us an extra hour to think of something to say about that.  I haven't come up with anything in two days..."

    Jasmine sighed and reached for Sadira's bra.  "Well, let's get you dressed for the flight."  She glanced at the instructions.  "This is actually starting to make sense."

    Sadira looked at the booklet.  "At least there are instructions."  They'd been removed from the Cascade shipment:  the Shaw name was everywhere.  "I hope I memorize these faster than Rice-a-Roni."

    "You'll get more practice."  They started putting the bra on.  Sadira glanced down at the visible portion of her breasts.

    She had found privacy — and a full-length mirror — in the bathroom that morning, so had stood up for a look.  Standing hadn't been easy:  she hadn't realized just much extra energy she'd been channeling until her levels had dropped back to normal — but she'd done it, forcing herself temporarily upright against nearly a hundred and twenty pounds of extra mass.  Sadira considered it to be a good sign.

    Her breasts had descended just past her knees, but most of the last surge of growth had gone forward and out to the sides.  Lifted and corralled into the bra, she stuck out several feet to the front, and they were so much wider than her body even near the base, swelling out even further to the sides as they moved towards their distant ends...

    But now she could think of them as her breasts, for more than a few seconds at a time.  They were no longer visibly changing day by day.  She could start getting used to them.  It would be a long, hard process — but she would have all the help she needed.

    And Jasmine, who had been on a creative streak, was coming up with more possibilities for the bedroom...

    "So how does it look?"

    "Better than the muu-muus."  Sadira appreciatively looked at the garment.  Jasmine had put together her sewing skills, Sadira's measurements, a large bolt of grey fabric, and two hours of careful work.  The result was a passable sweater.  "I finally decided what I want to spend some of the money on." She grinned.  "Shirts.  Sweaters.  Suits.  Coats.  A really big Mets jacket.  Nothing with flowers or fruit.  Money is no object.  Customize everything."

    "It's in your budget," Jasmine agreed.  "How about a bathing suit?"

    "Good point.  We're going to have the pool.  Maybe Ms Shaw:  she can build in the supports."

    "Too bad."  Sadira looked up at her.  "Well, that means it has to be a one-piece.  I was picturing you in a really strong bikini..."

    Sadira winced.  "I'm still trying to figure how we're going to work the wedding dresses.  And Pamela will insist on wearing black..."

 

    They finished getting Sadira dressed just as Jason and Pamela walked in.  "Got everything?" Pamela asked.  "Douglas is waiting downstairs with Cypher."

    Jasmine nodded.  "I cleaned out every towel in my room."

    "You're a multi-millionaire," Jason pointed out.  "You can afford towels."

    "It's a collection," Jasmine defended.  "I've got one from every hotel I've ever been to."

    Pamela arched an eyebrow.  "Then why take them all?"

    "Backups," Jasmine explained thoroughly, and went into the bathroom to see if she'd missed any color variants.

    Sadira wheeled over to the hotel desk and grabbed her notebook.  "I can't forgot this.  I'll finish it after we explain everything to my parents."

    "And then to my parents," Jason added.  He didn't sound like he was looking forward to the experience.

    "My mom," Pamela added, "and done.  Sadira won the dice toss:  New York first, even if your parents are closer."

    Jason shook his head.  "I mind?  It gives me more time to think of something.  Your mother sounds like she might accept this.  Sadira and Jasmine can go in together.  I'm a dead man."

    Sadira smiled.  "Does that mean you want to forget it?"

    Jason returned the expression.  "Not a chance.  But it may be a while before we can visit for the holidays..."

    Pamela groaned.  "Don't bring that up.  It's hard enough juggling family commitments for two.  We're going to need a computer to work out the schedules.  We might have to alienate someone to stay sane."  Her eyes twinkled.  "And you're forgetting something, Mouse.  We all face our respective families together.  They can't beat us all.  No one can."

    Jason heaved an exaggerated sigh, then nodded.  "Then you can stand at the front when we face my parents.  I'll be hiding at the back."

    "Behind what?" Sadira asked.

    "I don't know.  I could always try to crouch down behind you..."  Jason blushed.

    "Oh, is it going to be fun when we get him in bed," Pamela decided.  "I bet he turns out to be as good as you.  Look at that color."

    Sadira examined Jason's face.  "Would you say that's more apple or rose?"

    Jason affectionately glared at Pamela.  "Like the human stoplight can talk."  Pamela glared right back at him.  Jasmine walked between them.

    "Everyone's got everything, right?"  They quickly engaged in a last-second search of the room, and concluded that if they'd missed anything, it was probably too late anyway.  "Let's head out."

 

    Pamela glanced at her watch as they waited for the elevator.  "Nine o' clock.  It shouldn't be long now."

    "We've still got nearly two hours to catch that flight," Jasmine reminded her.  "There shouldn't be much traffic on a Saturday night.  And it's a charter:  the pilot won't leave without us."

    Sadira smiled.  "I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to squeeze into one of those seats..."

    Pamela shook her head.  "It's a very wheelchair-friendly plane:  Douglas made sure of that.  There's special clamps for the wheels, and lots of room:  he went on the plane and measured.  But that's not what I was talking about."  She looked down at Sadira.  "Remember that little surprise I had planned?"  Sadira nodded.  "I was just thinking about the timing.  Late on a Saturday — when everyone would be resting — and on the thirteenth of April.  I just wish it was a Friday."

     "Pamela," Jason said carefully, "what did you do?"

    "Me?  Nothing.  Cypher and Douglas did most of the real work.  Jasmine helped." She looked at the floor indicator panel.  Everything was still stuck on 2.  They were on 15.  "To start with, Cypher wiped out some of the electronic records of you two at the company, and Douglas destroyed the paperwork.  As far as employment goes, you two purchased your bonds and left on March fourteenth."

    "And then there was that bill of sale," Jasmine added.  "I think I lost my copy."

    "Ivory..."  Jason and Sadira together.

    "Well —" A glance at the indicator lights.  The central elevator had moved up to 4.  "Basically, the company got sold off completely, the names of some people who don't exist are in the records for the sales, everything was bearer bonds, so no one knows who has the money — we're going to take a major hit from the IRS when we deposit this:  we'd better find a good accountant..."

    Jasmine looked at Pamela.  "I'm going to tell them if you don't."

    Pamela shrugged.  "Well, about an hour ago, after we got the last bunch of bonds, Cypher pressed a button.  At 11:30, the police and news agencies are going to get hit with a ton of Email — including pictures — detailing crimes, evidence locations, and where they go to pick up the people who committed then.  We put together enough for all of it to stick.  A lot of people are going to jail for life.  Mass murder, after all.  The trial should be something.  They'll probably run it on Court TV.  We'd better get cable."

    Jason and Sadira's eyes widened.  Pamela added.  "All of the evidence for the information release leads back to a computer bomb planted by Angel Carmody.  He was killed by the owners to keep him quiet, but they didn't know about the computer program.  He'll be a hero.

    "And in case someone decides to get cute — well, everyone at the meeting, and everyone we were going to blacklist, was infected with one half of an airborne binary virus, by us or by our agents.  We've been immunized.  They weren't.

    "All of the ex-owners have computers, and all of the employees we went after, and they all have Email addresses.  Since Thursday night, they've all been getting little messages reminding them that at any moment, someone could open a bag of chips near them and release a puff of air carrying the second half — and if anything happens to us, or they even mention us, that's what happens to them, guaranteed.  Douglas wrote out the details of how they would go.  It looks just like a stroke, but it's a lot more painful.  And then the message releases its computer virus and erases itself.  Cypher checked:  everyone's picked up their mail — so he released the hounds."

    "That's impossible," Sadira told her.  "No virus works like that —"

    "— they know that?"  Snow leopard.  "I told them you built it.  They think you're capable of anything.  Ebony, I promised them I wouldn't call the cops.  I always keep my promises.  Cypher hit the button."

    Jason started laughing first.  Everyone else had joined in by the time the elevator finally arrived.

 

    Douglas was setting up a odd-looking camera on a tripod in the parking lot.  A current of warm air washed across them as they exited the hotel through the double-doors.  Montana was moving into a spell of good weather:  the temperature was in the low fifties.  Jason had been unable to use it as an argument for settling in Montana.  He hadn't even tried to fight very hard:  they were going to live in New York.

    "What's this?" Sadira asked as she wheeled closer.  The camera was very odd:  unreasonably wide and tall, with six slots in the front and three flashes.

    "It's called a copy camera," Douglas said.  "More of a novelty item than anything else.  I picked it up yesterday.  It takes the light from one picture and imprints it onto several rolls of film at once.  This one does standard and instant pictures.  I wanted to get a photo of us all before we departed.  We will all have a copy instantly — I will develop the standard film for myself.  I assumed you would want an immediate extra to enclose for your cousin."  Sadira nodded gratefully.

    Douglas straightened and looked at the threesome.  "I've lined up an assignment in San Francisco.  I have no interest in taking credit for the images that went out in the mail.  I think I'd rather go back to my old new life, even with my overly-generous windfall — and that will start it again."  He looked at the camera.  "If I can just get this thing to cooperate, we can strike our pose."  He went back to adjusting it.

    Cypher stepped away from the wall and approached them.  "You guys are going back to work soon, right?"

    Sadira nodded.  "But we're going to take a few weeks off first.  We have to explain things to our parents, and then spend some time with each other."  She glanced at Jasmine.  "We've got some more catching up to do."   A long look at her lovers.  "And a lot of things to figure out."

    "But you're not cured," Cypher reminded her.  "Can you guys take that time?"

    The expression was one of loving exasperation:  she understood the concern, but...  "We can't spend our whole lives in a lab.  And we've bought a lot of time.  I'm still growing — but at a normal rate.  It's no faster than it would have been as a teenager."

    "That could still be pretty fast," Jasmine reminded her.  "I put on seven inches when I was fourteen."

    Sadira laughed, long and hearty.  "Oh no, seven inches in a year!  And to think it used to take me forty-two hours to pull that off!  Jasmine, just wearing the same size bra for a month is going to be a luxury.  We've got that time now.  We'll find the answer.  If it takes a year —"  Sadira grinned.  "I don't think most people can spot the difference between 144 and 151 too easily."  Her voice momentarily dropped into wry tones.  "At this point, what's a few more pounds?"  Jasmine caught the note and nodded.  "Mom will put together that program for me, and eventually, whatever it takes, I will be back on my feet."

    "Aunt Susan is flying in on Tuesday," Pamela added.  "We're going to get Sadira custom-fitted, and go for that back brace."

    "Anything you need," Jason said.  "Always and forever, no matter what happens."

    "Lovers, partners, and friends," Sadira concluded — then had a thought.  "We're going to need a new name."

    "I was thinking about that," Jason told her.  "I'll go with Archer."  Pamela nodded.

    "No, our company!  We're all equal partners now.  We can build up the seventh floor into something great, but we're going to need a good name."

    "What's wrong with Terragen?"

    "Ivory, it sounds like a spice."

    They all considered that.

    Cypher responded first.  "How about initials?"

    Pamela considered.  "Shaw, Archer, Pterros.  Sap.  I'll pass."

    Jasmine's eyes went wide.  "Switch the first two.  Asp."  Pamela recognized the grin type.  "Dangerous when handled incorrectly."

    "Aspgen," Pamela mulled.

    "Now we sound like a ski resort," Sadira pointed out.

    Pamela shook her head.  "I like it.  Mouse?"  Confirmation.  "All in favor?"  Two hands went up.  "You're outvoted."  She looked at Jason.  "I like this arrangement.  Three can't tie."

    Sadira groaned.  "I knew I was going to regret this..."

    "Got it ready!" Douglas called out.  "Start getting in position.  Everyone line up in front of the camera, anyway you like.  This is a spontaneous photo, after all."  He smiled at Sadira.  "We'll teach you how to be professional later."

    "Douglas, give up."

    "The most gallant pursuits are the futile ones.  The most noble are those that still come true," Douglas philosophized.  "One day, Sadira, you will be ready.  And you as well, Pamela."

    Pamela groaned.  "You know, the way he says it, it almost makes sense..."

    "All right," Sadira decided.  "Help me up."

    "Sadira, your back —" Jason started —

    — and Sadira cut him off.  "I'm on my feet for this one.  Each of you take one side and help support me.  I've been practicing.  If I use you two for balance and you brace my back, I can stand up long enough for the photo."

    Jason sighed and went to remove the board.

    "You've been practicing?" Pamela accused as she reached down, taking the right side.  "You kept taking that risk after I caught you the first time?"

    "That sounds a little weird coming from a woman who took five bullets.  Not to mention three darts.  Now you can buy the first drink at Fancy That on Friday."

    "All the drinks are free," Jason reminded her, moving to Sadira's left.

    "Then she can buy the van that gets us there."

    "Fair enough."  They carefully lifted Sadira.  Cypher scrambled behind them and pushed the chair clear.

    "Where do I go..." Jasmine mused.  "Got it.  Cypher, come around here.  I'll sit in front of Jason —"  she did so, then scrambled sideways, getting out of the shadow of Sadira's breasts, and turned so that her body was in profile to the camera.  "Sadira, tilt over a bit.  Let the camera see some forward projection.  Kay won't get the best view with that angle."

    "Jasmine —"

    "You've got it.  Lots of it.  Start flaunting it a little."

    Sadira started to protest — and found herself being angled.  "Hey!"

    "She's right," Pamela said.  She and Jason continued to adjust position.  "A little here and there won't hurt.  It'll help your ego. Believe me, if you get out of control, we'll let you know.  Besides, I think it'll look better."

    "Jason?"

    "Two against one again," was his reply.  They finished the shift.

    "Great..."

    Cypher looked at Jasmine's position.  "Okay, I get it.  So I sit in front of Pamela and turn like this —"

    "— that's about it," Jasmine agreed.  "Lean forward a little.  You've got a good profile:  show it off."

    Douglas looked at their poses.  "And there is no place I can go where I won't unbalance the arrangement," he said ruefully.  "I did say spontaneous.  I would lie down in front like a bathing beauty, but that would do the aesthetics no good."

   "Just go on the left," Jasmine said.  "I don't think anyone's going to worry about it."

    "None but me," Douglas good-naturedly grumbled.  He gave his settings a final check.

    "I'm going to have to work out more," Pamela decided.  "You're not easy to carry, Ebs."

    "She feels pretty light to me," Jason said.

    Sadira glanced at them both.  "You're barely letting my feet touch the floor."  She focused on Pamela as Douglas approached.  "I wish you would grow your hair long."

    "Are you kidding?  I'd look like an avalanche in progress."

    "I think it would look sexy."  A significant glance at Jason.  "Mouse?"  Jason nodded.  "You're outvoted."

    Pamela winced.  "And it was so much fun until now..."

    "All right!"  Douglas started moving into position.  "One minute left for me to find a better spot —"

    Sadira looked to the right, at the edge of the camera's view.  Angel should be standing there.  The guilt began to rise.  He died because of me...

    But soon, the entire world will see him as a hero.  He would have liked that.  He deserves that.  And if she looked hard enough, concentrated, she could call him out of memory, and he wasn't average at all.  He was handsome, dynamic, and there was an expression on his face:  quiet satisfaction.

    Better to die a hero than live as a slave, the inner voice said — and she wasn't sure it was hers.  No one else will die because of GenTree:  no more 'testing' on innocent people, and the ones responsible will finally pay.  One of them already has.  It was a good death, better than life.

    — and was that just imagination, now?  Could she see him there?  For a second, it seemed as if she could —

    — and the guilt faded away.

    Douglas gave up and settled in on Jason's left.  "About fifteen seconds, people!  Settle in!"  Cypher fidgeted.

    Sadira turned her head to smile at Douglas, the smile he had said was so beautiful, and the expression was returned in kind and feeling.  Another to Cypher, and he settled in.

    She looked at Jason and Pamela, who were getting ready for the camera, then Jasmine, who was already perfectly prepared.

    After all these years, I finally have a sister.  And I found out that I could be loved, that I am loved, more than I ever would have believed possible.  I have two people who will be with me forever, always loving, and we'll never be alone again.

    "Smiles, everyone!"

    The books are closed, but the scales aren't balanced.  They tilt towards me —

    "In three, two, one —"

     — because it was worth it after all.