Chapter 1

     Introductory paragraph:  Circe, in Greek myth, was a
sorceress who lived on the island of Aeaea.  She would lure
sailors onto her island and offer them food and companionship
by holding feasts at which her many beautiful served.  It was
a test, however; gluttony or lust would incite Circe's ire,
and she would turn the offending sailors into livestock, to
await their fate on Circe's feasting table.  She lived this
way for years, until Odysseus's ship landed on Aeaea.
Looking for his missing crew, Odysseus acted the gentleman as
a guest in Circe's home, earning him her respect.  As a
gesture of love, Circe restored his crew to human form,
allowing him to depart again on his journey home.  Circe
remained behind, lovestruck and abandoned, fruitlessly
awaiting his return.


     Flynn lay alone in the bed, small against the king size
mattress.  He was moaning; the sound crescendoed with the
thrashing of his arms.  His eyes were clenched shut.  The
heat combined with the flush of dormant anxiety to paint his
face in vivid red.
     Flynn was dreaming.
     And in the dream, a woman screams as her child is taken
from its crib and placed upon a stark metal table, clamped
down, anesthetized.  As technicians with masks but no faces
look over the child with an alien detachment.  As they stab
needles into the crying infant and it begins to change, to
adapt, to grow hair and fangs and a tail.
     Flynn's left hand, balled into a fist, flailed against
the wall.  The shock jarred a red-covered notebook off his
nightstand to fall sloppily to the carpet.  The cover page,
bent against the pile, read simply PROTEUS.
     The woman is screaming no longer.  Turning, Flynn sees
that she is gone, and something with features of both badger
and squirrel, curiously man-sized, is in her place.  He
catches the thing's eye, and it approaches, drooling as it
comes.  It raises a paw that contains not claws but tiny
needles.
     Flynn's eyes flew open, an attempt by his mind to dispel
its personal horrors.  In his waking thoughts, though, the
nightmare pursued with a last reserve of ethereal strength.
Above his bed, the creature; a pain in his arm; a scream
frozen in his throat as he watches the hairs thicken on his
skin.
     Then he was awake, with the scream still locked in his
throat and the sweat dripping from his forehead.  He shook
his head once, then again, then rose and lurched to the
bathroom.
     Staring at the pale face in the mirror, he made a
decision:  I am going to work again, soon.  The nightmares
are getting too painful. Since there was nothing he could do
about the source he could at least alleviate the symptoms.
He scratched at the stubble on his chin for a moment before
looking away from the glass.
     The wall unit was glowing green, with an amber three in
the leftmost top screen.  It was always good to have a choice
of assignments.  He crossed over to the keypad, stumbling
over his clean-clothes pile on the way.  Once established he
ran his fingers through the unscrambling codes and tried
unsuccessfully to stifle some yawns.
     The messages came into view.
     The first two had sender listed, as protocol demanded;
in a city formed literally entirely of thieves, assassins,
pirates, mercenaries, and the occasional general-practitioner
criminal, only fools took jobs without clearly understanding
who was contracting and what the contract entailed.  Life was
especially bad in this town for those few of Flynn's
occupation: bounty hunters.  His people lived with one eye
out for trouble and one foot toward an escape route.
     Flynn was different; as a founding member of the Furry
Factory, the mega-corporation that kept The Dead Band out of
the computer's data lines, few would dare attack him and even
those people thought twice.  Nobody wanted to wake up one
morning as a humanoid weasel incapable of higher thought
processes.  Not that any such thing could ever be proven to
have happened, of course.  After all, the only ones who made
such claims were the Furries themselves, and as property
nothing they said was legally acceptable.
     When Flynn found someone, they usually came along
quietly.  Employers didn't play games with him the way they
did with other hunters.  Most employers, he amended himself.
Mr. Three is definitely up to something.
     A few seconds passed.  James stared at the screen,
surprised.  They must have a scrambler at their end, he
thought, and their system must be huge if they can afford to
keep the line open like this . . . Here we go.  The message
appeared on the screen, one character at a time.
     From: The Furry Factory    To: James Flynn, stockholder.
Chairman Gorman requests your talents to be placed into use
following and capturing an escaped Furry.  Escapee is female
fox derivative, 163 cm tall  71 kg.  Class 1000 model, Nike
run.  Designation: Circe.  Have indications subject may be
assassinating company officials.  Report to Factory level 93
room 9305 for further details.  WARNING  Subject highly
dangerous.  Assume armed.  Out.
     Flynn watched the letters for a little while, then
thoughtlessly blanked the screen.  In contrast to his body,
his mind was racing.  A Class 1000 meant that they had made
at least one of the major attributes maximum.  It would most
likely be intelligence or wit, if the escape was any
indication.
     And like it or not, I happen to be an executive, which
means I really have no choice; she may come after me.  This
is unbelievably not good.  Oh, well.  I wanted work.
     Three blank lines.  Kreeakshek, The Dead Band, City-In-
The Desert.  More names than people, perhaps, although a
tally had never been taken of either.
     Flynn's house lay on the central strip of main, amidst a
menagerie of illegal services; similar buildings adorned the
sides of every street in the lower city.
     Above it all was the building triad of the Furry
Factory, Zephyr Robotics and Fantasy Cybernetics.  Three
buildings interconnected, a towering obsidian constuction
which cast its shadow over the entire lower city.  It
squatted like a youthful, demented giant playing with its
toys, and the analogy was not lost to the non-company
inhabitants of The Dead Band.
     It was only fifty minutes later when James sauntered up
to room 9305.  Even at four in the morning the place was a
hornet's nest of activity, and a young woman ducked beneath
his arm as he went to knock.  She brushed a little too close
by accident, and pushed the glasses up onto the bridge of her
nose in an attempt to cover her embarrassment.  She managed
to breathe a quick "Excuse me, sir" by his left ear and
stutter-stepped back into the flow of moving workers.  Flynn
watched her leave, distracted and impressed with what he saw:
red hair down to the shoulders, full figure, short skirt.  It
was a shame he was here on business.
     He knocked once and the door opened into a mid-sized
board room, complete with a middle aged fat man sitting at
the head of an empty board table large enough for twenty.
The fat man pulled out a cigar and lit it, then spread his
hand out to indicate a chair beside him.
     "Feel free to sit," he said around the cigar.  "How's
life been treating you, Jimmy?"
     Flynn stepped in and pointedly ignored the proffered
seat, leaning instead on the wall.  "You should know,
Harrison.  You've got two of your security boys on me every
time I step out my door.  What do you want?"  It was always
handy to know what the security chief was being told.  The
upper crust didn't approve of prying, and if Harrison knew
anything it would be a good indication of a major problem.
     "All business, huh?  Okay, here's the setup.  We've got
a fox derivative somewhere in the complex but we can't find
her.  So far she has kidnapped three executives and left
mindmolded Furries in their places.  The bitch has got a real
sense of humor; the Furries have all been of a mythological
bent, probably because of our series designations.  A female
centaur has popped up in the office of Circe's project
supervisor; a minotaur in the home of Sebastian Feinwick, one
of your fellow board-boys, and a gryphon walked out onto the
fourteenth floor from Thomas Truman's private elevator -
after Thomas had disappeared from the same elevator precisely
twenty-four hours before.  The joke is that the bitch has
mindmolded the Furries with the personalities of the replaced
people.  We figure it's her way of telling us that her
captives are still alive, or were when the new creatures came
around."
     Flynn whistled.  No wonder they had called him in; Circe
was attacking upper eschelon people in their private areas,
the places security wasn't allowed to monitor.  If he failed,
many secrets would be spilled, and maybe a board dynasty or
two would even fall.  A nice thought, but not funny when he
might be one of those to disappear.  And the worst was yet to
come; there was no way to know if Harrison had the whole
picture and the people were only missing.  The security chief
probably hadn't been allowed near the crime sites.
     "Can I talk to one of the replacement Furries?  I may be
able to get a lead by calling forth the memories of just
before their prime was grabbed."  If the foxwoman were as
bright as she appeared she had most likely blocked the
memories of the capture from the transfers, but there was
always hope.
     Harrison's lip curled in distaste as Flynn mentioned
talking to a Furry.  Flynn hit his forhead, mentally. It
never failed to appall him how the Factory promulgated
xenophobia amidst its workers.  It was practical for
business, but morally foul.  And now, potentially a problem.
     "Sorry, pal," he said, blowing out smoke.  "We already
interviewed, mindwiped, and reprocessed the replacements.
They're nothing but nutrient solution now.  I have a few
transcripts of their statements for you though.  Here you
go . . . ." The security man shoveled a mass of papers toward
Flynn, who nudged himself away from the wall and began to
look through them.  ". . .And here's a datacap with all
pertinent information on it.  It'll explode if placed into a
reader that isn't primed for Factory messages, so watch it."
The datacap was a small thing, looking like a bottlecap
with prongs set into the ridge.  Flynn smiled, thinking of
the amount of data capable of being stored on just one.
     "Now we come to the kicker."  Flynn's ears all but
perked.  Executives disappearing, and there was a bigger
problem?  Wonders never did cease.  "The humanoid, Circe is a
class one thousand model."
     Flynn nodded.  "Which aspect?  Intellect, wit?"
     "Both."  The balding man shifted his cigar.  "And more.
 Strength, Endurance, Sex appeal, Grace, Dexterity, you name
it.  Some bright boy in marketing wanted a showcase specimen
to go on the road in place of the usual group.  Unfortunately
it's easier to hold a one thousand model when you only have
to shield against one aspect."
     Flynn looked confused, and Harrison saw it in his face.
"Look, a strong one may not be able to think its way out of a
paper bag, and a devious one may not be strong enough to move
more than three steps on its own.  This bitch was trouble
from her inception."
     "It seems she wounded one of her guards one night and he
was replaced by a guard that worked over at Zephyr Robotics.
Well, that guy was only trained to stop robots, and like I
said, the thing had its sex appeal maxxed.  We haven't found
the guard, but we don't think he's still alive.  It must've
gotten him to open the door and torn out his throat right
there.  We found some bloodstains, and it's still heavily
animalistic."
     The security officer slid a holograph across the table.
Flynn examined it carefully.  Fur, snout, ears, fangs, and
tail showed prominently despite an obviously feminine body.
It could not pass for human, like many Furries.  That made
his job easier.
   Harrison smirked halfheartedly.  "Well, that's all I have.
I'll let you look this stuff over now."
     The balding man shifted his chair back and stood.  He
walked toward the door, but slowed for a moment and whispered
at James' ear.  "Watch your ass on this.  Eyes are
everywhere."
     As soon as the man left, Flynn snorted.  Eyes
everywhere?  As if that were an uncommon occurrence at the
Factory.  Oh, well.  He sat back and began to read the
transcripts.
     Flynn was starting on the statement of the gryphon when
the redheaded secretary opened the door and peered in.  "Sir?
May I come in and speak?"
     He smiled; at least something good might come out of
this.  "You don't really have to ask.  I hate protocol.
What's going on?"
     The redhead appeared surprised; not unusual, since he
had never known another executive who wasn't an ass about
protocol.  But then again, he was only an executive due to a
stock mix-up when the corporation was starting.  He hadn't
been born into the ranks of the privileged, and he certainly
hadn't intended to get mixed up in a quasi-legal terrorist /
slave organization.  Roll the dice . . . , he thought.
     The woman floundered, then recovered.  "I was sent to
tell you that a Furry was going to be brought up here for
questioning, so you might want to leave."
     Flynn cocked his head to mime thought.  "No.  I'll stay
here; I probably can learn more by seeing him up close than
on some screen.  What is he, anyway?"
     She was looking more befuddled than ever.  "It's female,
sir; a harpy, I think.  Are you sure you don't want to leave?
The things are so . . . Foul,  up close, you know?"  She was
obviously trying to understand why he wouldn't want to leave
if he could.  She was pretty when confused, but Flynn was
irritated by her attitude.  Isn't there one non-xenophobe in
this whole place?  The Factory was, as usual, grating his
nerves to ribbons, and he let his annoyance out on the only
person nearby.
     "Look, I'll make this simple.  I don't care if it's
Cthulhu, I'll stay, if just for the principle.  You people
don't blink twice at a two-headed mutant on the street, but
if someone is human except for a dog's lack of a damned
regurgitation system you look at them as property.  It's
screwed up, and I can say it because whether I like it or not
I am a member of the board, almost the controlling member in
fact.  So start acting like you have a brain in your head or
get out of here, all right?"  His voice rose steadily during
the outburst, and by the end, the secretary was cringing.
     Flynn felt like an ass.  For all her bigotry, she had
only been trying to do him a favor.  Besides, everybody in
the building had her attitude.  Everybody but him.
     And the Furries, he reminded himself.  "Look, I'm sorry,
but I've got a psycho somewhere in this building who may or
may not be out to get me along with quadruple dozen other
people.  I could use someone to check paperwork for me; it'll
mean a level promotion for you."  The redhead's eyes flashed;
everybody in the company wanted promotion.  It was the key to
a better life for you and your children, who would fill
positions in the company of equal or greater rank to your
post.  "You'll have to lose those biases, though.  That's
sloppy thinking, and sloppy thinking is something I can't
afford right now.  What do you say?"
     The secretary flushed, then nodded twice, rabbitlike.
"Yes, sir.  What do you want me to do?"
     "For now, sit here and take notes on what this lady
says.  If the pattern continues, she'll think she's really
the person she replaced, only changed.  Don't worry about
her, she'll almost definitely be too petrified to do
anything.  Ready?"
     Red nodded again.  "Yes, sir. But what do you mean by
'person she replaced'?"
     "Kill the 'sir' bit.  My name's James, James Flynn.
What's yours?"  He offered his hand.
     She shook it across the table, breathing deeply as she
did so.  "Vicki.  Vicki Peilun."
     "Okay. Vicki, someone has been grabbing corporate high-
ups and replacing them with Furries.  I've contracted to stop
her.  The one coming up has to be one of those, or they
wouldn't be questioning it around me."  Especially with the
things I've done in the past, he aded mentally.  "Now, how
long before Robin Redbreast gets up here?"
     She checked her chronometer.  "About five minutes,
si. . . Uh, James.  Anything I should or shouldn't do?"  She
was straightening her clothes out, and Flynn bit back his
first response.
     "Just get your M.I.R. (*) ready to take down anything she
says or does.  We don't know what she's going to do."  He
pushed out a chair beside him with his left hand.  "Oh, and
if anyone asks you what you're doing when I'm not around,
tell them you have Trident Kiki clearance.  That's my
secondary clearance code, so unless they're on direct orders
from the chairman they won't get in your way."  Flynn paused,
then finished, "And if that doesn't work kick 'em low and
keep walking."
     Vicki seated herself and started playing with her
equipment.  James took the time to complete the last report,
studiously ignoring the curious glances she shot toward him
every other minute.

(*) Multimedia Interfacing Recorder



Copyright 1992 by William C. Lindblad Jr.  Feel free to
upload/download at will, providing you include this message.
This is the first chapter only of a much larger story. Any
feedback which can be construed as constructive should be
left to Cerunnos or William Lindblad on the board downloaded
from.  All characters property of writer unless otherwise
denoted.

Guide to inside jokes in chapter 1: (Aren't you glad you read
beyond the copyright?)
Proteus is also the name of an East coast magazine where the
author first was put on paper. (Received $5.00, too!)
Thomas Truman is about as close as I could come to Timothy
Truman (SCOUT, etc.) without risking a spot of potential
trouble.
Trident Kiki breaks down as Trident (Bubble Gum) and Kiki
(Japanese for Crisis)  A bit of a nod of the head at fellow
anime fans.
========================================================================

Chapter 2


     The harpy was scared; it showed in the shaking of her
wings and the spastic flutters about the corners of her
mouth. It showed in the self-conscious covering of bared
breasts with clawed fingers and her scratching at the floor
with browned talons.  It showed in her tear-scarred eyes.
     She had reason to be.  She had been ushered into the
board room with two guards in front of her and two more to
her rear.  They stared at her now; four statues with crystal
eyes, each not four feet away, standing in a square about her
like the posts of a goat pen.  Each carried a TA42, a hand
held weapon which caused a neuron spike in the pain centers.
     She had already felt the effects of the vicious little
thing.  It wasn't even comforting to know they weren't using
deadly force.  They wanted her for something, probably to
talk to the man sitting at the table in front of her; and
then they would kill her, she knew.  She had seen the
homicide stick in the red-haired guard's front pocket.
     The shaking started again, and she examined the man in
front of her in an effort to regain control.
     Control.  That's what you need to have, control.  Let's
calm down, Catharine.  You'll get out of this yet.
     He stood about six feet tall, with a shock of brown hair
running down below his neck.  His eyes were a dark gold,
burnt honey that danced as he looked over her body.
     He's watching me as I watch him.  The thought was
strange, but somehow comforting; there seemed to be no malice
in his gaze, just a timeless curiosity.  I think I could
like this man.
     Then she remembered what she was, and the crying started
again.
     "She was doing this when they found her, sir."  The
redheaded guard reported like a man used to being in charge,
and Flynn made a mental note to look into the man's file.
One didn't get used to using that tone unless one had power
normally beyond the reach of a security guard.
     No time for corruption investigations now, though.  Fun
is fun, but I've got a more important puzzle to solve.
    Flynn studied the harpy.  Well, Circe knows her
mythology.  Most people would have made her a hag, and
probably green.  The things were supposed to be beautiful,
though.  His thoughts stopped, then shifted track.  Damn.  I
wonder if she knows I came up with the idea of using
mythological creatures for Series runs in the first place?  I
may be in more immediate danger than I thought.
     Flynn watched the bird-woman cry.  She was feathered
below the waist and on her wings and forearms; the rest of
her body was a deep olive.  Her straight black hair fell
loosely to her chest.  Her eyes were overlarge for her face,
almost twice the size of a human's.  He listened as the sobs
quieted, then stopped.
     "Hi.  I'm James Flynn; this is my assistant Vicki.  I'm
in charge of this investigation.  I know that you're
confused, and scared, but we have to find a few things out in
order to help you.  Would you mind?"  He left the question
open.
     The woman looked at him carefully, and composed herself
a bit.  "Why?  You're just going to kill me anyway?"  She
dropped her eyes.  "Not that I shouldn't die anyway, trapped
in this. . ."
     The harpy started to shudder, and Flynn jumped in before
she could start crying again.  "I'm a major stockholder.
Nobody kills you if I tell them not to.  We need your help,
though, to prevent this sort of thing from happening to
others.  Depending on what you can remember, we might even be
able to return you to your normal shape."
     "Don't lie to me!"  The harpy's eyes bore into his.
"I'm Catharine Mell, head of research on the Proteus project.
I know damn well we're years away from being able to do
anything like that!"
     "Then how do you explain yourself?"
     The bird-woman's resolve broke like glass struck by a
hammer.  "I don't know. . . Maybe some other company has
stolen our research files and expanded on them. . . Maybe
this is somebody's test of a mind transfer device. . . Maybe
some other system is testing war weapons on us. . . I just
know I want my body back."  Her lips trembled, and she
started crying again.
     Flynn looked over to see how Vicki was taking the
woman's outbursts; he knew she was xenophobic, and she might
have been becoming irritated with the harpy.  She wasn't.
Vicki simply sat with her recorder, taking everything down
impassively.
     Well, almost impassively.  There is definitely some
self-satisfaction there; I wonder if she'd still be as proud
if she found herself in an alien body?  His thoughts twisted
inwards.  I wonder if I would?
     "Catherine, stop the crying.  I just want you to tell me
what happened. Tell me everything you remember, no matter how
trivial it may seem.  This is important.  We only have a
rough idea of what we're looking for, and you could help us
greatly.  Please."
     He broke into a rueful smile.  "I promise I won't let
them kill you if you help us.  You may have to wait a few
years to get your old body back, but you will have it back
eventually.  Now just calm yourself and tell us what happened
to you."
     The harpy watched him for a few seconds.  She said
nothing, but an internal debate was made obvious by the
setting of her features.
     Trust won.  Some tension drained away, although her
worry was plain in her voice as she spoke.
     "I was working the five to twelve shift when it
happened.  I was in my front cubicle, trying to figure out
what to do about one of my workers.  He had been acting
strangely of late, and I thought a reprimand would be in
order.  I was just trying to figure out how severe it should
be."
     "Pardon me,"  James interrupted.  "Can you give me the
name of this man?  He may know something."
     "Of course.  His name is. . ."  The harpy stopped, and
her thin eyebrows drew together in a confused expression.
     Purcell!  She thought to herself.  Sam Maxwell Purcell!
Say it!
     She couldn't.  "I know his name, but I can't seem to say
it.  Does that mean something?"
     Flynn smiled.  "It could mean a lot.  I'll check your
records for the name.  I'm sure you can't say it for a
reason."
     And the reason is, you're a Furry.  You don't have a
transplanted mind, you've just been grown with certain
memories pertaining to the person you've replaced.  Your
subconscious will make up details to fill in glaring holes in
your memory, but without the ability to truly remember
things, those pieces will be protected by your subconscious.
It won't let you talk about them too much, or you may realize
you aren't a true human.
     But the identity of the woman whom you replaced is
important.  It indicates that Circe is interested in the
Proteus project.  She probably doesn't know how much trouble
they're having with it.
     Vicki saw James woolgathering.  "Could you go on?"
     "Oh.  Well, I was writing at my desk when I heard a
sound out in the central lab.  I put my keypad down and
walked out there.  I suppose I could have been more careful,
but people were normally at work in the lab.  K- uh, two of
my people were on dinner break, but I figured one might have
stayed behind to finish work; I encourage that sort of thing.
Instead I found no one around the lab.  I was curious, so I
took a look around."
     The harpy was getting agitated.  Her wings stretched out
involuntarily, earning her a look from the guards, but she
was intent on the telling of her tale, and failed to notice.
"I found a storeroom door open.  I figured that whoever was
working must be inside, getting some components or chemicals,
so I waited outside for a minute.  My patience was never
great, so after that time I went inside."
     "It was dark; I thought the Planck tubes had shorted out
again, so I went to the back where the breaker panel is.  On
the way back I bumped into someone; at first I thought it was
. . . one of my workers, but then I realized that the person
was too small, and female.  Before I could tell any more, I
passed out."  Her eyes rolled upwards, then closed, as her
memories broke their chains.
     "When I woke up, I was on a table like they assemble
robots on.  There was this thing that looked like a fox-type
furry looking down over me.  It smiled once, and then said:
"Don't worry.  You won't feel anything."  Then I passed out
again."
     "When I woke up next, I was in a hallway right outside
my labs, and in this body.  I couldn't believe it.  I started
crying, and someone heard me, and the next thing I knew these
four were escorting me up here."
     She stopped speaking and glanced about herself with two
birdlike chops of her head.  The disgust of the guards was
evident, and her confidence melted.
     "That's all I can remember.  I'm sure the readings on
the recorder that woman has verify my story as honest.  Now
you can kill me."  The harpy stood tall; she appeared ready
to die.
     Flynn was unimpressed.  "Knock it off.  You aren't going
to die."  He noticed the commanding guard reaching for a
stick in his pocket.  "And anyone who even thinks about
making me a liar had better remember not only who I am on the
board, but also what they've heard about my fighting.  The
rumors are true, even the ones about Brother John."
     The guard's hand shot back to his side.  Like everyone,
he had heard the stories about Flynn taking on Brother John
Maltermi, but he hadn't believed them.  Nobody took on
Brother John and lived.
     "Now escort this lady to level 142.  When the elevator
opens, she is to exit alone.  Anyone else entering will be
vaporized.  The computer will be programed to respond in this
way."
     Flynn looked at the harpy.  "When you get there, you
will have access to rooms three through seventeen.
attempting to enter other areas will be painful, if not
downright fatal.  Understand?"
     She nodded, stunned.  Nobody was normally allowed in a
boarder's quarters when they weren't around, except family or
concub-  Her thoughts stopped their rambling, and she looked
at him, a look of amazed revulsion on her face.  Could he
actually like this body?
     James caught the look and instantly understood the
reasoning behind it.  "No, I have absolutely no sexual
designs on you.  I am doing this because my rooms are
probably one of the safest place for you in the Factory
grounds.  When this investigation is completed, we'll run an
intensive series of tests to determine what can be done with
you.  Until then, you have to stay somewhere."
     "And in case you're wondering, I do think you have a
beautiful body, no matter what you or anyone else here
thinks."  Flynn smirked.
     The smirk turned into a glare, which he shot at the
commanding guard.  "Get going."
     The man turned in a half circle, moved alongside another
guard, and walked out.  The Harpy followed, with a look of
hesitant contemplation on her face.  The last two guards took
up the rear.
     He sat back in the chair and sighed.  At least now I
have an angle to attack this from.  Stealing supplies from
the Proteus labs, hmm?  Makes sense; that stuff is heavily
classified.  They'd be hesitant to let security know about
a theft problem, so long as it was small.  Circe may be a
class one thousand, but she's inexperienced.  I should be
able to bring her down with minimal problem.
     He noticed Vicki looking at him wryly.  "You said that
just to see how they'd react, didn't you?"
     She's figuring me out already.  "Mostly.  But I did
think she was pretty.  If you were able to look at things
with an unjaundiced eye, you would agree with me."
     She smiled.  "I do."
     She giggled, then broke into laughter at his reaction.
Flynn just shook his head, smiling.  After a moment, the
laughter died down.
     "Okay, I think we're done here.  Pack up the recording
equipment while I contact the Factory computer about the
harpy's access.  I'm also going to call Mews and tell him to
meet us at the Proteus lab doors."
     Vicki cocked her head.  "Who is Muse?"  She began
packing up her M.I.R..
     "He's a Wyman."  She still looked confused, so he
explained.  "He's a genetically engineered cat with wings.
He's able to use most of his brain, so he's almost as bright
as you or I.  He doesn't think linearly, though, and I like
to have him nearby when I work.  He can be a valuable backup
in addition to being able to point out some very strange
viewpoints.  The series run was named after the engineer who
designed them rather than a mythological creature; I figured
it was appropriate."
     "You?  What do you have to do with the series
designations?"  There was interest in her eyes.
     James sighed.  "I went to school with some of the other
board members.  I was in one of the classes normally reserved
for boarder families; there had been a low enrollment, so
they took some level twos.  I was one of them.  Well, the
class was Mythology 101 with Professor Nye, and the people in
my study group were all boarders.  I guess they thought I was
one too; the topic never came up, and as a level two kid I
had grown up ignoring the compulsory "sir" whenever I could."
     Vicki was watching more closely now, with an almost
predatory air.  He wondered for a moment what level she
possessed, then continued.  "One of them came up with a story
of an investment scheme for a new development in genetic
engineering.  It was illegal, but the kid - ex-chairman Gnuff
- had a bunch of contacts in the dead band.  He figured we
could set it up there without Mama Jo, the central computer,
bothering us.  He was right."
     "I wasn't happy with what developed, but at the time it
seemed like a great idea.  I dropped six million into it; I
suppose I was trying to look good for the boarder kids.  They
were only investing about five hundred thousand apiece.  I
was putting in almost all of my lifetime savings, and I had
scrimped on a lot; I was trying to prove myself.  They were
playing with pocket cash."
     "The amount I invested made me the second largest
stockholder after Gnuff, who was my best friend.  At first,
the other boarders attributed my funding to that friendship,
but someone became curious and with a little research found
out I was only a level two.  They raised a big stink about
it, but the place had already been built.  There I was, a
level two made good."
     Flynn stopped talking for a moment and let his memories
catch up to him.  Sadness lent shadow to his eyes.
     "I didn't think of the repercussions.  Since I was a
boarder, I could now join other boards. . . and my immediate
family members were officially boarders as well.  I called to
my home, only to find that my entire immediate family had
been killed in "an elevator accident".  I learned later that
such accidents are standard practice whenever a boarder
marries outside the group.  I guess the same emergency
procedure had to apply.  Boarders hate new blood.  They say
the whole genetics business came about due to them fighting
inbreeding effects.  I wouldn't be surprised."
     "Anyway, my friendship with Gnuff died after that, and I
began taking jobs outside of the Company.  So if I don't act
like a typical boarder, I'm not, but my title is still there
along with the power.  And, I like to think, responsibility.
Which is probably the reason I defend the Furries so much.
We create them, and then treat them like any other asset."
     He shook his head once.  "Sorry about the sermon.  I get
that way sometimes in this place."  He laughed.  "You're
going to have to watch out; you may totally lose your xeno-
phobia, and then they won't know what to do with you."
     Vicki looked at him under hooded eyes.  "I don't think
that I could develop a love for Furries, ever."
     Flynn groaned inwardly and headed for the door, with
Vicki trailing behind him.



Copyright April 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved   This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on.  Any
resemblance to any living person or true events is not only
coincidental but Damn Strange!

Guide to inside jokes in Chapter 2:(Still reading beyond the
copyright, are we?)
 1: Catharine Mell can shorten to C.Mell.  Anyone ever read
      Cordwainer Smith?  If not, read it!
 2:Sam and Max is written by S. Purcell  (Humor comic)
 3:Planck tubes Constantly burning out, causing Black Bodies?
      Early Physics, anyone?
 4:Brother John is from The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway,
      Genesis
 5:I own a small statue of a winged cat sculpted by V. Wyman,
      the very talented creator of Xanadu; yes, I named it
      Mews, and he sits near me when I write, one paw
      outstretched to the air.
 6:Mythology 101, by Jody Lynn Nye
 7:Gnuff is a comic written by Freddy Milton; it can be found
      in many Critters back issues
========================================================================

Chapter 3


     The Proteus labs were in the high security area of the
Factory building, set amidst complex areas marked Norn, Pan,
Cerunnos and Lazarus.  The bounty hunter walked the hallway
quickly, ignoring the adjacent labs and making certain his
assistant averted her eyes also.  Research was on a need to
know basis, and although he had clearance for and access to
all information the scientists might gather, there were
channels he had to go through if he didn't care to raise
suspicious eyebrows.
     Besides, Vicki didn't have that sort of clearance.  Or
does she?  He mulled the idea over.  She was in a messenger
position, and brought me a classified message. . . She may
very well be a class five or four, and might have even
brought some deliveries down here.
     He looked at the redheaded lady walking to his right.
She moved carefully, studiously ignoring everything not in
her direct line of sight.  Beads of sweat hung on her
forehead, running down her neck every few seconds to make
room for newborn brethren.  She leaned almost imperceptibly
toward Flynn, a psychological grasp for security.
     Nope.  She's afraid of being down here, even with me.
She knows she's not allowed to see this stuff.
     A darker thought occurred to him.  I'd better make
certain other board members will know how angry I'd be if she
had an "accident" shortly after this fiasco is concluded.
His mind filed the notion under "Things for Later" and
refocused on the task at hand.
     The outer doors of the lab were roughly forty meters
down the hall, he remembered from previous visits.  As he
approached, he scanned left and right, searching.  James had
sent a message to Mews to meet him at the labs, but there
appeared to be no trace of the Wyman.
     *Gotcha!*  A weight dropped onto his right shoulder, and
he heard Vicki gasp and step back.  Flynn turned his head
just a bit, to find himself staring into the pupilless tur-
quoise eyes of a kitten-sized winged cat.  The cat had its
neck extended and its head turned perpendicular to the floor.
It was smiling.
     "I knew you were there.  I just wanted to see how long
it would be before you decided to join us."  Flynn looked at
Vicki; she had recovered her composure and was smiling at
Flynn and the Wyman.  She noticed his gaze and her smile
disappeared like wind; he almost doubted he had seen it in
the first place.
     Almost.
     I'm going to rid you of your bigotry and xenophobia,
whether you think I can or not, Flynn decided.  "Vicki, meet
Mews.  Mews, this is Vicki."
     The cat raised a forepaw in greeting, which the redhead
shook with her thumb and forefinger.  Mews turned his head to
the right to examine her more closely.
     *Pretty thing, but cold.  Have you mated yet?*
     James flushed slightly, glad his communications with the
Wyman were exclusively mental; he wouldn't have liked that
question asked aloud, no matter what the resolution.  He
concentrated.  *No. There are more important things to do
right now*
     *And what might they be?*
     James spent a few minutes briefing the cat on the cir-
cumstances regarding the case, spending not a little time to
emphasize the fact that he might be one of the potential
targets.  The cat listened carefully from its perch.  When
the brief was over, the cat shot him a question.
     *If the last Furry replaced the head of this project,
won't they use the Furry to do her job until the researcher
is found?  I know they hate anything non-human, but those
memories must be valuable*  The cat's muzzle wrinkled in
thought.
     *Importance of documentation, little flyer.  They bugger
you if you don't do it, and if you do, you're expendable.
Big business lesson number . . . what?*
     *Forty-two*
     Flynn smiled.  *Forty-two, then*
     Vicki watched the two males for a moment, then asked
quietly, "What do we do now?"  Her eyes flicked from the
PROTEUS sign on the door to the brown-haired bounty hunter
beside her and back again.  "I mean, we're here."
     Her voice broke Flynn out of his conversation with Mews.
He turned slowly to look at her, using the time to construct
a viable plan of attack.
     "Okay.  I'm going to retrace our bird-lady's steps and
see if we can find something she missed.  Mews, head up to
floor seventeen and go into Chesbro's office.  There should
be a pair of datacaps on top of his file cabinet; they are
slightly bigger than normal, about the size of a walnut.
They should both have all of their prongs colored red.  Link
up to the Factory computer and view the datacap on any
available screen, then get back down here and check with me."
     "Vicki, get your M.I.R. ready for mobile use.  You're
going to have to record everything in there.  If anyone gives
you a hard time and I'm not around you, remember my clearance
code.  You do . . ?"  He let the question trail away.
     "Sure thing.  Trident Kiki."
     Flynn rubbed a hand through his hair.  "Let's go, then."
He opened the outer lab door and stepped through.
     Mews watched Flynn enter the labs with Vicki at his
side.  He stayed there a moment considering the lady, then
flew away, back upstairs to perform the task requested of
him.

     Mell's office was stark, with only token trappings from
her personal life.  Like most researchers, she was unmarried
and childless; living without a family, there were fewer
distractions from her work.
     And her work was obviously very important, both to her
and to the Factory; there were cabinets full of datacaps,
papers and files strewn about her stressed-mahogany desk, and
three screens with corresponding keypads set into the wall
behind the swivel seat.  Most of it was covered with red and
violet markings of differing shades, informing anyone who
used or read the materials of their strict confidentiality.
The cabinets housing the datacaps were made of plasteel, and
locked with an eight character code which had to be drawn on
the appropriate keypad space.
     A hell of a lot of security for things which look like
ancient film canisters, Flynn thought.  Probably rigged to
explode, too.  A little paranoid of the Factory, but then
again, corporate piracy is terribly complex, and they - we -
do have a monopoly.  For what that's worth.
     He searched through the papers, hearing Vicki's
Multimedia Interfacing Recorder whirring quietly behind him.
It took more than twenty minutes, with Vicki recording the
whole time, but he finally found something he could use.
     "Here we go!  An order for a case of compound four,
complete with its ridiculously long molecular chain diagram
and. . ."  He paused for effect.  "A request to know where
the previous box went.  Put in by one Mr. Purcell.  I think
we should maybe have a talk with this man, and then check
the area where this stuff is kept.  I have a notion that the
Planck tubes there may need replacements."
     He took the sheet of paper and walked out into the
cubicle entry hall.  A search of the other cubicles'
nameplates produced nothing, causing Flynn to march to the
end of the hall and back into the main lab area.
     "If he isn't a supervisor, he must be a senior scientist
for one or more portions of the project.  Low level workers
don't process paperwork."  His fingers drummed on his thigh,
a certain sign that he was piecing something together.  "I
wonder if he can give us a lead on the person Mell said had
been acting strangely."
     Vicki smiled.  "Could be, sir."
     Flynn stopped in his tracks.  "I thought I asked you not
to call me sir."
     "Oh, you want to order me not to?"  Her smile grew
wider.  She was playing with him, he realized.
     "I'll order you, all right," he mock-growled.  "I'll
order you to stop messing around when there's an
investigation being pursued!  Peace for a while, okay, Ms.
Peilun?"
     She grimaced. "Sorry," she whispered.
     "No problem.  Now let's find this guy."
     They entered the main lab and glanced about.  Vicki
noticed a lab worker checking the discharge of a huge piece
of equipment forward and to their left, and proceeded to
nudge the bounty hunter in that direction.  Sighting the
worker, Flynn strolled toward him.
     The man was immersed in his work, and Flynn took the
time to examine him.  He stood about a meter and two thirds,
and weighed about a hundred kilos.  There was a yellow food
stain on his lab smock, amidst many older stains, probably
from both other foods and the chemicals he had to handle.  He
was taking a gelid substance from a tube which looked like
the stinger of a giant, mechanical bee; from the care he
displayed, Flynn suspected the substance was either dangerous
or delicate.  He made his footsteps more forceful, almost
stamping, in an attempt to gradually make his presence known.
     The stratagem worked well, with the scientists head
first nodding slightly as his ears registered the noise and
recognized it for what is was, then turning to allow him a
line of vision to the approaching people.  Flynn almost
laughed at the amazed expression on the lab worker's face;
obviously their presence had not been announced to any but
the administrative staff.
     "Who are you?"  The scientist's cheeks reddened as he
observed the potential threat.  "This is a restricted area!"
     Flynn grinned warmly.  "I'm James Flynn, of the Board.
This is Vicki Peilun, my assistant.  We're here investigating
a problem which recently occurred around these labs.  It
concerned your research head, Ms. Mell.  Can you help us, Mr.
. . "  Flynn tried to read the man's nametag.
     "Purcell, sir.  Samuel Maxwell Purcell, class five.
What do you want me to do?"  At the mention of the Board, the
scientist's hostile reaction had disappeared.
     "Well, Mr. Purcell, I'd like to know if you've noticed
anything weird happening here recently."  Flynn spread his
hands expansively.  "Anything at all unusual."
     The round man appeared to consider the question for a
moment, then answered.  "No, nothing I can think of, other
than Ms. Mell disappearing, but you already know about that,
obviously."
     Strange.  Maybe boxes going missing isn't uncommon
around the lab?  Flynn's thoughts whirled.  If not, something
is seriously wrong down here.
     He produced the order form and handed it to the
scientist, who took it after placing the retrieval dish
beside him on the floor.  The man gave the paper a cursory
glance, then looked carefully at Flynn.  His next statements
were made in a distinctly guarded tone.
     "Oh, yeah.  I remember this now, sir.  That was kind of
strange, but I didn't think it was worth mentioning.  I
figure someone from one of the other labs was out, so they
grabbed one of ours."
     Flynn nodded, as though that explained everything.
Inside, his mind was racing.  That's impossible; nobody can
enter another lab without the appropriate clearance codes,
much less raid another's supply lockers, and this man
definitely knows that.  He is deliberately lying to a board
member.
     His fingers tapped in four/four time on his thigh.  We
have almost certainly found the person who's been acting
strangely.
     He mimed a thoughtful look, then said, "Oh, I
understand.  That should be about it unless. . . Well, lets
take a look at that storeroom anyway, just in case anybody
else gets confused about the order.  The last thing we need
is security asking the same questions I just did over and
over again, interrupting your work.  You know how security
is."  He smiled at the scientist.
     Purcell apparently did know how security acted; he
nodded his head sagely as he bent to recover the plate on the
floor.  "I understand, sir; it should be no problem.  If
you'll follow me, sir?"
     The rotund man put the dish on a nearby ledge and
stumped to a door set not far away in the left wall. He
played with the keypad a moment and the door slid open.
Flynn stood behind him as he entered, with Vicki at the back,
recording.
     The lighting was dim, but not unusable.  The scientist
shrugged his shoulders.  "We have a repair order in for the
Planck tubes, sir, but all the repair people with clearance
are working on fixing up after the explosion in the Norn
labs.  I'm afraid-"
     Flynn cut him short.  "Vicki, hand me the M.I.R., would
you?  I could use the spotlight feature, I think."  He
reached back and she placed the device in his hand.  He
played with the components in the forced twilight, until his
fingers stroked an L-shaped piece with two buttons.  He
pressed the top one, and a beam of light radiated from above
the lens.
     He swept the spotlight across the rear wall of the
storeroom.  The compartment extended about ten meters, with
shelves stocked full on both side walls and a breaker panel
on the rear wall.  And also. . .
     "What's that back there?", he asked pointing to a jagged
hole in the right wall, barely visible between boxes.
     The scientist looked confused.  "I don't know.  Maybe we
should check it out?"  He waited for Flynn to move, then went
to the hole.
     Sorry, bud, Flynn thought.  But there is no way I'm
letting you get behind me.  He watched Purcell move forward,
then followed.
     The hole was almost a meter in diameter, rough-edged.
Flynn was convinced he had found Circe's point of entry, and
he watched the scientist's reactions carefully; he prepared
for a sudden move on the fat man's part.
     If Circe were influencing me, this would be the time I'd
attack.  He clenched his fists, although his smile remained
firmly in place.
     He never heard anyone move behind him.  There was a
flash of red behind his eyes and the M.I.R. fell from his
left hand, breaking on the tiled floor.  He heard a thump as
someone hit the floor behind him.
     Class one thousand!  He chided himself as he struggled
to remain conscious.  Stupid!  Underestimated her, and now
you're paying, and so is Vicki.
     He stared into the darkness and the void called him
home.



Copyright April 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved   This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on.  Any
resemblance to any living person or true events makes me
wonder what drugs you take.


Guide to inside jokes in Chapter 3:(Not many this time, but I
am putting in a glossary of terms, so you still have extra
stuff to read)
     1. The Cerunnos lab is a spot of foreshadowing regarding
the next story in this cycle, The Chaos Ring.  More on that
can be found in the KFUZ message base.
     2. Forty-two had to come into play somewhere.  It is,
after all, the answer to life, the universe, and everything.
     3. Chesbro is the name of George C. Chesbro, writer of
the Mongo series in addition to the Veil Kendry books and
other stories such as Bone.  The Beasts Of Valhalla, the
fourth in the Mongo series, is the best Furry story I've ever
read (albeit unintentionally in that category) and the book I
would have given my left foot to have written.  It is out of
print, but if you can find it, read it!  If you can, write to
mysterious press and tell them to print you up one!

 List of Terms:
Norn: One of a group of Norse goddesses who determine fates
Pan: A Fertility/Nature god of Greek legend
Cerunnos: An antlered god of prosperity, Celtic myth cycle
Lazarus: A man raised from the dead (Biblical)
Datacap: A small device shaped like a bottlecap with prongs,
     used to store data for computer viewing.  It has a
     capacity of about 20 gigabytes memory, and can be used
     instead as a recording media like a videodisc or audio
     tape.  Common as dirt, and very handy.
Plasteel: A clear metal with a bonded plastic coating
M.I.R. (Multimedia Interfacing Recorder): an all-purpose
     recording tool complete with built in perepherials such
     as infrared viewing, audial enhancer, spotlight,
     projector, voice analyzer, optical tracer, and other
     small aids. about five pounds, and about the size of a
     contemporary mini-camcorder
Compound Four: one of a number of mutation-enhancing chemical
     used by the Furry Factory
Planck Tubes: Extended life light sources encased in plasteel
========================================================================

Chapter 4


     Sand.  Sitting patiently in shapeless dunes, dancing
wildly in the spirals of wind which plays across the barren
landscape.  The Kreaak desert, four hundred kilometers wide;
home to the Dead Band.
     And something else, the bounty hunter amends himself.
Somebody's coming.
     The approaching man wears a silver-grey jumpsuit with a
dust filtering mask.  It protects him from the harsh, sandy
winds and obscures his features.  Flynn can only approximate
the person's traits; height, just over two meters; weight,
probably one-thirty.  A big man, with the mass obviously due
to muscle.
     Flynn tries to determine how to greet the stranger when
recognition strikes.  Maltermi!  The name galvanizes him into
action.  Maltermi has a blood oath against him, and the man
(had been) is obviously more prepared for a conflict than
Flynn.  In his condition, the bounty hunter's assaults would
barely affect the madman in the jumpsuit.
     He feels for the stick bound to his forearm, silently
praying the prototype weapon will work as designed.  His
fingers connect with empty air; the stick is gone.  (No, it
was there and it worked -)
     Maltermi grabs him by the shoulders and forces him onto
his back.  Granular tendrils snake out of the sand and wrap
around his neck, his midsection, his arms and legs.  A
prickly sensation grows from the back of his neck and spreads
quickly throughout his body, leaving him numbed as it fades.
     (This is just a dream)
     A mound of sand shifts over his right leg; moments later
another pile drifts onto his pelvis.  Sand envelops his
crotch and left leg as his body is slowly covered.  The
grains crawl up his abdomen like a puppy to its boy, ever so
slowly approaching his chin.  Above him, Maltermi stands -
smaller? - impassive behind the dust-free mask.
     The sandy tide continues inexorably until all but his
face is covered.  (Wake up, now!)  Maltermi - a woman, now -
kneels beside him and strokes the exposed flesh of his cheek
with a leathery, gloved finger.  (Wake up!)  The figure then
raises her hand to remove her mask.
     (WAKE U)*James?*
     The mask is removed, revealing a face both part vulpine
and part human, an amalgam of features both bestial and
manlike, alien yet disturbingly exotic.
     *MEWS!  HELP ME!  I CAN'T WAKE UP!*
     *She's probably drugged you.  I'm not really sure if you
want to wake up anyway, James.  At least, not until she
finishes.*
     *What are you talking about?*
     The vixen/woman smiles at him and whispers, "Don't
worry.  You won't feel anything."  Her head swivels to the
side, until she is staring down at him from above.
     Flynn tries to move, but his benumbed body will not
budge.  Circe's muzzle dips, and her tongue forces apart his
lips in a demented parody of a kiss.  She licks his teeth,
then pulls her head back.  Flynn feels his body respond to
the erotic stimulus despite his mental protests.
     Then a wind of hurricane force strikes from the sky,
blasting away the sand coating his body.  *I think she's
done, James, but you are not going to like this*  Sensation
returns to his limbs, and despite the sandy, tentacular bonds
he raises his head.
     He sees his body, no longer as it was but metamorphozed
into a cat-like humanoid thing.  He senses his ears perking,
and he howls as the flesh and bones of his face grind
together, sprout fur and whiskers -
     Awake.
     Flynn opened his eyes slowly, attempting to filter out
the blinding light.  He tried to move his arm, only to
succumb to the cold metal of a restraining bar.  Memories
returned as the remnants of dream-confusion dissipated; he
had been assaulted while investigating the storeroom with
Vicki -
     Vicki!  His mind screamed.  I dragged an innocent down
with me - where is she?
     He turned his head to the left, away from the light.
His eyes focused, finding not Vicki but -
     Circe, standing not a foot away, with Mews sitting on
her shoulder.
     His mind registered three things at the same time.  The
first, a message from Mews:*James, I'm sorry.  She captured
me*  The second was Circe's smell, a scent that spoke of dew-
speckled grass in springtime and promised sweaty, passionate
nights.  The third was that he was smelling her with a
flattened, black nose at the ned of a jet-black, whiskered
muzzle.
     And life mimicked dream as he howled.



Copyright April 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved   This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on.  Any
resemblance to any living person or true events is
coincidental.  If you know of anyone that these people
resemble, I suggest the nearest mental institute.


No inside jokes in chapter four, unless you want to make
broad comments about a particular Ramsey Campbell short story
with Lovecraftian influences.  No new terms, either.  Both
features will return in chapter five, I assure you.
========================================================================

Chapter 5


     The scream erupted from his throat like a thing alive, a
catlike yowl that spit echoes more of pain than release, more
of fear than outrage.  Flynn clamped down on the reflex,
allowing it to die in gutteral mewling.
     His thoughts were flying in all directions, startled
birds of confusion.  He fought to force them into order; it
would take a clear head to get him through the trial ahead.
     He could already picture the scene: himself, bound and
surrounded by antagonistic security guards, being
electronically poked and prodded in vain efforts to learn the
whereabouts of the marauding foxwoman.
     Sorry, boys, he thought to the figments; I know about as
much as you do.
     Words from the Furry woman beside him plucked him from
his unintentional daydreaming.  "The first cries of birth; I
can't help but be moved."
     Flynn focused on her words, ignoring the other things on
his mind.  "Cute."
     Her muzzle wrinkled in humor.  "Ah, he speaks!"  She
bared her teeth in a conspiratorial grin, and leaned forward
on the automed, head resting on crossed arms.  "Now, anything
you'd like to tell me?"
     James felt his neck cramping.  "Well, first, I'd like to
be released from this contraption; it isn't the most
comfortable place I've ever slept."  He waited for her
reaction.  She was in control, and knew it; he didn't want to
anger her.
     To his relief, her animalistic smile remained.  "Well, I
think I can help you a little bit, in that regard.  I'm
afraid I can't give you full mobility, though; you
understand."
     James sighed.  "All too well."
     As Circe busied herself with the side controls to the
automed, Flynn looked around the room.  It was painted white
and sparsely populated with various pieces of research and
medical instrumentation, some of which had apparently been
modified to fulfill new and shadowy purposes.  There was a
grille for ventilation in the top corner of the wall to his
right; it was hanging open on a single hinge, exposing the
alarm circuitry set into the ductwork.
     *That was what tipped her off to me; I couldn't see it
in the dark.  I was watching her drag you inside, when
suddenly I was stuck in a stasis field.  She pulled open the
grille, and then. . .  she isn't someone to play around with,
James.*
     The cat had jumped onto the bedlike apparatus to talk to
him, and was as surprised as Flynn when the neck and arm bars
suddenly dropped away, leaving only his wrists, legs, and
waist fastened to the auotmed.  The cat was more surprised,
however, when the surface beneath its paws began to tilt
vertically.
     *James!?*
     *Don't worry; she's positioning it so I can sit.*  He
had experienced the medical device before, under the
direction of Tommy Salden.  The assassin had demonstrated
both its surgical and healing abilities quite comprehensively
during that particular interrogation session.  Flynn did not
look forward to encountering the device's wonders a second
time.
     "There.  Comfortable?"  She looked at him inquisitively,
her green eyes drawing him in.
     He stared for a couple of seconds, then shook his head
to clear it.  Damn!  Stop acting like a cat in heat!  You are
human, and you had better remember that!
     Her smile returned, as if she had guessed what he had
been thinking.  "So.  You were looking for me.  Why?"  She
began pacing back in forth in front of him, revealing a
generous view of her furred body.

     He chuckled, creating a low growl from deep in his
throat.  He fought the resulting unease by trying to avoid
the question.
     "I was looking for a date.  What are you doing this
Saturday?"
     Her teeth bared further; Flynn wasn't sure if that was a
good sign or not.  "Well, obviously you don't want to
cooperate.  That's fine, though.  How about I tell you why
you were looking for me?"
     "Psychic?"   His tone was carefree, but his thoughts
were not.  How much does she know, he wondered.
     She was not amused.  "You are James Flynn, one of the
controlling board members of the Furry Factory Triad.  You
are accepted here because of your position but are unliked
because of your history of stances in favor of the 'products'
you sell.  In order to avoid generating excessive trouble on
the Factory grounds, you take residence in Kreaakashek, where
you are a rather successful bounty hunter.
     "You were called here in an effort to stem the tide of
kidnappings which have occurred since the escape of one
female Furry, designation Circe.  This woman was made as an
exhibition model for sales demostrations, and was an example
of all the best the Factory can presently produce.  She had
eluded all attempts of security to find her; since you are
one of the best, and your ass might be on the line, they
called you and you came running."
     The smile all but faded.
     Flynn became very conscious of the bars restraining him.
     "That's why you were looking for me.  Now, I have to say
I'm less than impressed with you.  First I read all sorts of
interesting things about your abilities, then you fall into a
trap so apparent I doubted it would catch the secretary you
were with."
     Flynn started at her words, but she put a finger to his
mouth and continued.  He considered biting her, then decided
against it.
     "Don't worry about her.  She has little to do with the
atrocity which is this place; I let her go, after a couple of
modifications."
     "What do you mean by modifications?"  James had a
harrowing mental picture of Vicki wandering the cavernous
halls as a half-dog creature, waiting only to be caught by
security and killed.  It was all too obvious to him that
Circe had perfected the Proteus equipment; if he had been a
created Furry he wouldn't have had contact with Mews.  The
implant was user-specific.  And if he was initially human. .
.
     The chain of thought came to its inevitable conclusion:
the officials who had been caught before had been assumed to
be mindmolded Furries, things with pseudo-memories installed.
They had been killed and reprocessed into nutrient for new
Furries, at the orders of the Chairman.  When this
information was discovered, there would be chaos on the
board.  The Factory would be in turmoil.
     His meandering thoughts distracted him from what Circe
was saying, so that he only caught the last seconds of her
speech.  ". . . like them now."
     He acted quickly.  *Mews, what did she just say?*
Circe was watching him, waiting for a reaction.
     *She said she fixed Vicki's memories so she wouldn't
remember anything about the Proteus labs, but would think you
assigned her to track down possible connections betwen Circe
and Security.  She also said she made her like Furries as
much as she hated them before.*
     Which is probably what happened to the lab tech, James
decided.
     He let loose a breath of relief at the news of Vicki,
which seemed to satisfy Circe, although she was obviously
wondering about the delay of his reaction.  She stared
curiosly at Mews for a second, then continued talking.
     "Anyway, I want you to know that I'm not going to do
what you think.  I'm not going to knock you out, and I'm not
going to leave you wandering through the Furry Factory.
     "You have a history of being the only board member with
a kind eye for the Furry populace, the only one who actually
treats us like people.  But I think you need to learn a bit
more.  I've done what I can to further your education.
     "You are now a panther derivative humanoid with a 746
strength and 875 agility; your olfacory, visual and audial
senses have been escalated to class 800.  You possess
retractable claws of hardness scale 7 and your tail is semi-
prehensile, like that of an opossum, even though it remains
catlike in appearance.  I expect you should be able to run at
over twenty-five miles per hour if you feel a need.
     "I've done a lot more, but you can find that out on your
own, like any other Furry would.  In case you're wondering,
and I have no doubt you are, I haven't done a thing to either
your memories or your mental abilities.  I did do some
restructuring on Mews. . ."
     The cat glared at her at the mention; Flynn had no doubt
the Wyman wanted to go for her throat, but was being
prevented from doing so.
     ". . .But that shouldn't affect you much.  He won't be
able to tell you everything he might want to,"  She smiled at
the winged cat.  "Yet you should still be able to trust him
in any other regard."
     Flynn stacked away information as she passed it to him,
more concerned with receiving all her words than the import
of them.  He was convinced she would not be repeating
anything she said.
     "I'm going to show you a way into and out of the Factory
grounds.  After that you're on your own, until you decide
you've learned enough to deserve your old form back.  Be very
sure; the quiz is deadly."  Her smile vanished like the sun
behind trees, and his memories of Maltermi lost a little of
their "ultimate horror" dominance under her stare.
     "Your series run is Michabon; your designation is
Odysseus.  You are licensed to one James Flynn, stockholder
in The Furry Factory.  Any other information can be provided
by your owner."
     The absurdity of her last remark brought him up short.
"It shouldn't be hard to find him."
     She stopped her pacing so suddenly that he started
forward in his seat, straining momentarily against the bonds.
The foxwoman walked purposefully up to him, stopped, lowered
her eyes to hold his.  She moved her face to his, and her
scent sent a shiver of arousal through his frame.
     She breathed a whisper into his upraised ear.  "And in
case you're wondering, I do think you have a handsome body,
no matter what you or anyone else thinks.  If you're back by
Saturday, we'll see about the date."
     Then she turned and strode out of the room through a
doorway on the left wall, letting a metal door slide shut
behind her and tapping a button for another to open another
portal directly before him.
     Three seconds passed, and the remainng bonds slid open,
setting him free.  Flynn considered his situation, then
headed for the open doorway.
     Reaching the exit, he stopped, peering around the sides
to check for the presence of watching eyes.  He detected
none, although the area beyond the doorway did strike a spark
of recognition; he was in the first underlevel of Zephyr
Robotics.  He marked the surrounding foliage in his mind
carefully, in order to insure recognition of the entrance on
his return.
     Gathering up his courage, he ran for the fence fifty
yards away, and when a couple of feet away jumped for the bar
providing support for the top of the chain-link.  He expected
to grab it and pull himself over, as he had a number of times
during practice exercises with security.
     Instead, he grabbed the bar on his way up and continued
moving, his enhanced musculature propelling him to the bar's
height and beyond.  His feet found purchase on the cool metal
and tapped quickly, sending him forward as he reached the
apex of his original jump.  Flynn dropped to the ground
five yards in front of the fence, crouched on hands and feet
to absorb the physical shock.
     Nothing could absorb the mental shock, though.  Even
Mews, sitting on the fence behind him, had an incredulous
look on his face.  Flynn stood and considered his situation.
He was beyond the Factory walls, but he could still be
grabbed by security.  He needed to reach his house; there he
could examine himself, and hopefully figure a way to reverse
the process.
     Sure, he thought.  The Factory scientists can't figure
it out, and I'm going to match the feat of a class one
thousand intellect armed with all of the research the Factory
has done to date.  Let's face it, James; she has you and
you'll have to play her game for a while.
     But the rules were going to change.  He rubbed the fur
on his forearm with an open palm.  Soon.
     He left for his house in something approximating a good
mood.  Mews followed behind, troubled by information which he
knew but could not impart, prevented from being passed along
by selective blocks Circe had dropped in his mind.



     James crossed R and Avis streets, then headed down Main,
wending his way home with little problem despite an assault
attempt near a pub called Munden's.  The would-be attacker
had sprung from the shadows with knife in hand, ready to
fight; one look at Flynn convinced the man that peace had
suddenly become synonymous with survival.
     As he approached his house he considered the problem of
his home security.  It was controlled both by keycode and a
blood analysis, and he suspected the latter would no longer
be agreeable with computer records of James Flynn's cellular
structure.  The question was how to confuse his system.
       The answer didn't take much thought.  His neighbor was
a master hacker, and the person he went to for information
checks.  If anyone he knew could bypass his security, it
would be Totoro.
     He walked up to the house next to his, slapping the
wooden sign in front as he approached the stairs; Totoro had
a sensor implanted in the sign, and slapping it was the call
signal.  Anyone wishing his services had only to tap the
sign, walk onto his porch, and wait for the arrays to clear
them.
     Two minutes passed before the door swung open, revealing
a large man dressed in black coveralls with a hacker's code
emblem inscribed on them.
     "Hello!  I'm Stuart Totoro.  Is there something I can do
for. . . your master?"  The man looked him over, trying to
figure out why someone would have sent a Furry messenger to a
hacker's house.
     For the first time Flynn was glad about his new form.
His old features would have been instanly recognized by this
man who imitated his hacker friend, but was all too familiar
as Brother John.  No doubt waiting for Flynn to come home.
     Of course, there were disadvantages, too.  He could feel
the fur fluff out from the back of his neck, and his ears
flattened.  He carefully resisted an almost overpowering urge
to bare his fangs and spit; he wanted to find out for certain
what moves Maltermi was making before confronting the man.
     He hoped Totoro was still alive, and that Mews had seen
the big man and ducked out of sight.
     He saw Maltermi tense up while looking over his
shoulder, and he knew at least one of his hopes had been
dashed.  As the man raised a large hand weapon, Flynn shouted
in his mind.  *RUN!  MALTERMI!*
     A shriek like a launching jet deafened his left ear, and
Flynn struggled to keep his expression confused.  He quietly
held his breath, releasing it only when he saw Brother John's
momentary look of dejection.
     "Missed the bugger.  Damn."  He scrutinized Flynn again,
his patience expended; he no longer even tried to maintain
the 'helpful hacker' stereotype but retained his gruff
attitude.  "What do you want, then?"
     James steeled himself with a deep breath.  "Well, sir,
my owner wanted to hire your services, but asked that I
inspect your equipment before he agrees to your rather large
fee."  For the first time, Totoro's exorbitant cost would
come in handy.
     Maltermi considered it, then nodded.  He opened the
door, then shut it again slightly just as Flynn started to
enter.  James looked at him with what he hoped was a dejected
expression.  "What is your message, then, sir?"  He tried to
put as much repressed sadness as he could into the voice, but
succeeded only in sounding irritated.  He was, too.  The rule
against Furries entering without permission was working very
strenuously against him.
     Maltermi explained his action with the door.  "No, you
can come in, but I want to know who your owner is before you
enter.  Okay?"
     Flynn whistled internally.  Lying about ownership was
cause for reprocessing, but telling the truth would get him
killed even more surely.  He took the lesser risk, picking a
person likely to lie for a Furry they didn't know.
     "Vicki Peilun, Furry Factory"
     Brother John went inside to check the credentials.
Flynn followed, hoping Circe had done a comprhensive job on
the pretty secretary.
     If not, he thought, both my and Totoro's chances of
surviving this are less than spit in the wind.



Copyright May 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved   This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on.  Any
resemblance to any living person or true events is weird.
Just weird.


Guide to inside jokes in Chapter 5:(They're baaack!)
     1.  R. and Avis streets are a direct reference to Rara
Avis, proprietress of The Past And Future Inn on many
Anthromorphic-echo carrying BBS's Rara Avis (c) Charlie
Kellner
     2. Munden's is a bar well known for harboring
interdimensional travellers, found in the back pages of the
comic GRIM JACK in addition to various specials of its own.
     3. My Neighbor Totoro is a Japanese animated film.  Now
you know.


List of Terms:
     Automed: a flat, bedlike device used to perform
precision surgery in addition to various other healing
techniques.  Contains chemical synthesizer in lower right
portion with postional controls on lower left front panel.
     Kreaakashek: also known as The Dead Band, a city in the
Kreaak desert to which the world's central governing computer
has no access, due to severed lines.  A haven for the world's
criminal populace.
     Cerunnos technology (not mentioned specifically): memory
control surgical techniques being worked on by the Factory.
The Factory has developed a process by which a Furry can be
grown who may install or remove him or herself from a
person's memory, but has failed to produce a working set of
mind control surgical techniques.  Circe has corrected their
errors, and developed the surgeries necessary for installing
mental blocks, preventing people from discussing certain
items.
      Ratings: five hundred is human standard maximum
ability.  Every hundred above or behind that multiplies or
divides by two.  A class 800 is working at eight times
maximum human ability, a class three hundred, one fourth.
     Michabon was the Ottawa Indian god who created humanity
from the animals
     Odysseus was the hero in the Odyssey who overcame many
trials during his voyage home from the Trojan War, not the
least of which was Circe's changing of his entire crew into
farm animals.
========================================================================

                         Chapter Six


     Flynn followed Maltermi into the house, masking his
worries with a casual expression.  The large man and the
feral humanoid moved quickly through the small front room and
into the cavernous computer center.
     Totoro had removed the floors and walls to most of the
second story rooms in order to create his workroom, and
the result was impressive.  An emergency generator lay like a
metallic spider in the far left corner, with cables strung
from it to all of the other electronic paraphernalia situated
about the room.  The largest cabling run went from the
generator, over the piles of parts stacked against the left
wall, to a twenty-five by thirty foot wall console.  Other
wires traced to such objects as a high-frequency transceiver,
a holographic repoductive imager, and a stasis field
generator.
     Flynn was familiar with the equipment, but feigned
ignorance.  "This is nice.  What's that thing over there?"
He motioned to one bulky piece with a forepaw.
     Maltermi glowered at him.  "Holographic imager."  He
reached for a nearby keypad.  "Now be quiet while I check
your credentials."
     Flynn looked at the ceiling, saw the rotating laser
arrays Totoro had installed there.  They were focused on him,
indicating that Maltermi had gained control of the house's
security systems.  He kept silent.
     Brother John's fingers tapped out the number to the
Furry Factory, then keyed in a search parameter for the
whereabouts of Vicki Peilun.  Flynn started when he saw what
the criminal was doing.
     How the hell did he get the codes for a stationwide
personnel search?  That stuff is highly classified!  I wonder
what other codes he has?
     If he could get those, he may be able to get my
passcodes.  If he does that, I'm in for some severe trouble.
     He looked at the hulking man beside him.  Hatred sent
adrenaline coursing through his system, making him shiver
like a child in the snow.
     This is going to have to end soon, he thought.  And I
won't be the one who dies.  His ears flattened momentarily
and his right front paw sprouted inch-long claws.  He was
about to strike when he recalled the lasers.
     Perhaps now would not be the best time. . . Uh-oh.
     Maltermi had managed to contact Vicki.  Her face flushed
on the terminal screen; Flynn wasn't surprised.  It wasn't
every day one received a call from the most ruthless assassin
in Kreeakshek.
     Brother John broke the silence.  "You are Vicki Peilun,
right?"
     "Y-yes."
     "Do you own a Furry, panther deriviative, male, about
six-two with sky-blue eyes?"
     "Uh. . . Why? Has he bothered you?"
     Flynn's opinion of Vicki increased another notch.  Most
people didn't ask questions of Maltermi; bad things sometimes
happened when they did.
     Brother John smiled at her; James knew it meant nothing.
"Well, he has come to the house of Stuart Totoro looking for
some help; unfortunately Mr. Totoro is indisposed for the
moment.  May I ask what you needed so badly that you couldn't
get help from Factory personnel?"
     Typical, Flynn thought.  He smells something wrong, and
assumes he can gain something from it.  Shit!  Why did I
bring her into this?
     Easy.  His mind answered its own question.  You had to.
     Vicki went white.  "I can't tell you that.  It's
priveledged information."
     "Now, can't we just ignore that this one time?"
     "With the most notorious killer in the Dead Band?"  She
shot him an incredulous look.  "I don't think so."
     Maltermi's smile disappeared.  Easy, girl, Flynn
thought.  "You should reconsider."
     "I'm sorry, but no."
     Maltermi gave her image a hard stare.  "As you wish."
He terminated her connection, and immediately broke into the
records of Factory security.  Numbers and letters flew by as
he searched for anything Vicki was now or had ever been
connected with.
     The reason for the killer's invasion of his neighbor's
house became suddenly apparent.  Totoro was very possibly the
premiere hacker in Kreeakshek; Brother John could steal the
passwords to just about anyplace in the city from Totoro's
files.  Flynn found himself hoping Totoro hadn't bothered to
gather too much information on his friends.
     James heard Maltermi growl, and focused his attention on
the screen.  There, in bright upper-case, was the information
for which Brother John had been searching.  ASSIGNED SPECIAL
DUTY TO JAMES FLYNN IN CONNECTION WITH CIRCE CASE.
     Maltermi whirled on Flynn.  "I don't know what this
Circe thing is, but I'm going to find out.  In the meantime,
I have to ask you to accompany me to some temporary
facilities upstairs.  I do not trust anyone that has anything
to do with Mr. Flynn, even a Furry."
     Flynn tensed; Brother John noticed.  "I found your
statistics file in that of my dear Ms. Peilun.  I know your
deactivation code; the first word is Manitou.  Now unless you
want to spend the next few days unconscious, I suggest you do
as I say."
     The bounty hunter relaxed and did as Maltermi asked,
spending the seconds of complacency in quick thought.
     Maltermi doesn't bluff.  If he says he saw something
about me in Vicki's file, he did; that means she must have
been adding me into her file even as she spoke to him on the
lines.  That means she has access to her own file, which she
could only get if she's using the Trident Kiki clearance. . .
     The assassin motioned for him to turn around, toward the
kitchen.  Flynn obeyed.
     . . . I wonder what she put in my file?  If she-
     There was a sharp pain from the back of his head, and a
familiar out-of-body falling sensation.  He felt his eyes
close against his will, then nothing.


     Flynn awoke on the floor, head nestled against his paws.
He experienced a brief moment of panic as he awoke, then
remembered what had happened to his body.  Other memories
followed; the conversation with Circe, leaving the Factory,
the attempted mugging, Maltermi answering the door. . .
     Bastard hit me from behind.  Oh, well, I shouldn't be
surprised; a lump is the nicest thing he's ever given me.
He chuckled, a coughing growl.  Although that phone bomb was
pretty. . .
     Okay, first things first.  Flynn rose on paws and feet,
stretched, then stood.
     There was a bed in one corner of the room; Totoro lay in
it, sleeping peacefully.  A dresser sat nearby, an end table
at its side.  The room had no windows, but a large screen set
flush against the south wall flashed wilderness scenes off
and on every few seconds.  A bowl lay on the brown carpet a
foot or two from the head of the bed; a few dried flakes
suggested it had been used for breakfast recently.
     Totoro's bedroom.  Flynn groaned inwardly; he had used
the place himself, once, when the holding cells in his house
had been full.  The hacker had outfitted the area with a
high-quality containment system, for use if people tried to
break in.  Despite the wealth of computer equipment, the
lasers and holding cell discouraged most petty thieves.
     Flynn considered the situation, and decided his time
would be put to more productive use figuring out his overall
situation than trying to devise a way out.  Maltermi had
shown no inclination toward killing him so far, and whereas
he knew the man could change his mind on a whim, the assassin
usually didn't murder for no reason.  Better to get a grasp
on what has already happened than jump at shadow, he
concluded.
     He began a careful inspection of himself.  Let's see. . .
still a little over six foot, black fur about a half inch
thick -that may provide a little natural warmth in cold
situations, but it makes me conspicuous as hell - with
thinner fur and pads on my hands.  Hell, hands, they're more
like paws with fingers and an opposable thumb.
     Flynn concentrated on extending a claw.  Nothing
happened.  He clenched his hand into a fist.  Nothing.  He
spread his fingers out, pulled them up and back.  Inch long
claws protruded from sheaths of skin hidden under his
fingerfur.  He examined them closely.
     Nice.  Some sort of high-density organic; they look like
pressed ivory.  Hardness seven, I believe she said?  Does
that cut steel?
     He ran his finger roughly down the wall; the paint
scraped away, along with bits of nail.
     Nope, it does not cut steel.  Still seems pretty hard,
though.
     I know I'm physically stronger; that, if I remember
correctly, is accomplished through generating denser flesh.
I still seem to weigh the same, though, so that means. . .
     Flynn probed the inside of his upper thigh until he
found what he was looking for: a lump, marble-sized, hidden
underneath the plush fur.
     As I expected, a low power null-G unit.  I wonder how
much I'd weigh with this thing out?
     He decided not to check.  Instead, he concentrated on
moving his tail.
     Semi-prehensile, she said.  Let's see how prehensile
that is.  He walked over to the bowl on the floor, and tried
to pick it up.  It took over fifteen minutes of practice, but
he learned to control his tail; it couldn't kink up to grab
the bowl, but he could curl it to scoop the bowl from
underneath.
     A quick wrap around a bedpost proved a handy means of
gauging the tail's strength.  He figured it capable of
supporting him, if necessary; the muscles controlling it were
in no way weak.
     No way of checking on the smell, sight and hearing, but
considering Circe had apparently not misled him about his
other capabilities, he had no reason to doubt her word on
those subjects.
     Physical inventory complete, he turned his concentration
in other directions.
     Circe.  Facts:  Class one thousand foxmorph.  Has
developed a tunnel into the Proteus Lab storage area and
Zephyr Robotics sublevel one.  Has access to confidential
Factory records of personnel and research areas.  Capturing
level three personnel and above and altering their forms.
Escaped eight days ago from high security, guard missing.
Deactivation code wiped from the computer files.  No implants
other than a low power null-G.  Is that all?  I think so.
Damn, I wish I had a keyboard to keep track of this; I always
feel like I'm missing something.
     His right paw tapped against his thigh.  His tail
twitched in rythym.
     Conjecture:  Tunnel system is most likely rather large;
with her strength, she can break through the walls between
the maintenance alleys.  Those alleys are all over the place.
I have to assume her tunnels are too.
     Seems to have something special planned for me.  My
series designations: Michabon, an Indian god who made people
from animals; Odysseus, the hero with whom Circe fell in
love.  Parallel there, or just a red herring?  We'll see.
She most likely wants some influence on me, so as to reach
the rest of the boarders more easily.  They're all scurrying
to their holes right about now, and she must figure I'm their
weak link.
     She seems to be motivated out of revenge, but that can't
be stated for certain.  She's too bright; I'm sure there's
an end result to all of this.  Freedom for all Furries?
Seems like a reasonable project for someone like her, but I
wonder how she plans to deal with the central computer, Mama
Jo?  M.J. is programmed to respond to the needs of the
people, and so long as Furries are not people . . .
     He let that thought trail off.  There was something
there, but it was murky yet.  Give it time, he told himself.
It'll come.  Think about something else.
     Her probable weak points:  Her null-G implant can be
disrupted; she's a class one thousand strength, so her tissue
must be incredibly dense.  If that implant is removed or
disrupted, she probably won't even be able to stand on a
normal floor; she'll sink right in.  Unfortunately, I'll have
to get her out of the complex, with its reinforced floors, if
I'm going to pull that.  I'll also need help, because she'll
have certainly changed the implant's frequency, which means a
broad-band will have to be used, which means I'll be taking
myself down, too.
     Okay, that's option one.
     Option two:  She is waiting for me to go back.  I could
attempt to kill her upon return.  Drawbacks for this plan
include the high probability she will run a weapons check
before she ever sees me, and the fact that she is as yet the
only person capable of restoring me to human form.  Other
options . . .
     Three.  She has already demonstrated to me, very
effectively, the use of pheremones.  I could contact Vicki on
the computer, have her drop a vial off somewhere.  That could
drive her into a temporary frenzy.  Of course, if I were
anywhere around, her frenzy would probably trigger one in me.
Then again, that might not. . . watch it, Flynn.  Option four
is not going to be join forces.  If I could trigger a frenzy
in her, she would probably not be able to concentrate on
escaping.
     Those are three options available right now.  Let's see
what else pops up.
     Other concerns: Maltermi.  Does he intend to go after
Vicki?  He may.  What is he doing here, working on Totoro's
system?  What is he trying to accomplish?
     He grinned, revealing large fangs.  One way to find that
out, perhaps.
     Quietly, Flynn paced to the side of Totoro's bed.
There he crouched, resting his chin and paws beside his
friend's head on the mattress.  He settled himself, then let
out a low growl.
     Totoro had slept through the incidental noises flynn had
made during his self-examination, but the deep-throated
rumble echoing in his ear shocked him awake.  He drew breath
in to scream, failed, and scurried back crablike away from
the Flynn's pantherish form.
     Flynn laughed, a series of stacatto grumbles.  Totoro
blanched.  Flynn rose to his feet and offered the hacker a
forepaw in greeting.
     "Calm down, buddy.  Everything's just a little confused
right now.  I've got a new head to hunt and she's a bad one;
until I can get an angle on her I'm stuck like this."
     Comprehension spread across Totoro's face like the first
curtain of dawn over water.  "James?  James, is that you?"
     "Yeah, it's me.  Now would you mind giving me a few
answers?"
     "You mean about Maltermi?"
     The sarcasm was evident even on Flynn's inhuman
features when he spoke.  "No, I mean about the dart contest
at Jackie's.  Of course about Maltermi."
     Totoro spent a moment gathering his scattered bearings,
then began.  "Well, this is the third time he's broken in.
The first time he beat me pretty badly, and he said he'd kill
me if I told anyone.  I'm not thrilled about the prospect of
death; I kept my mouth shut.  Since then he comes in about
once a month.  The only thing he does, from what I can trace
on the computer, is send a message to New Thalien.  I don't
know anything else, and I don't really want to.  As it is, he
lets me out after he's done, and he's always gone by the time
I go downstairs.
     "James, I'll let him make a couple of free calls if it
keeps me alive.  What about you, though?  I thought he'd kill
you on sight."
     Flynn laughed again.  "He's tried before.  I dare say
he'd have real trouble with me the way I am now.  Anyway, he
doesn't know who I am; he thinks I'm just another Furry from
the Factory."
     "Didn't he check your lisencing codes?"
     "Falsified."
     Totoro whistled.  "That's risky, and hard.  I'm
surprised you could do it; you were never the hacker type."
     "I didn't; a secretary at the Factory did."
     "She really knows her stuff, then.  I hope you annexed
anyone that good for yourself."
     "Pretty much."  Flynn quieted.  He was suddenly glad for
not only Circe's behavior modification of Vicki, but also
Vicki's unsuspected expertise with computer work.
     Totoro noticed the lull.  "So, what can I help you
with?"
     Flynn pondered the question carefully before answering.
"A few things, but we're going to need access to your
computers first.  Let's hope Maltermi finishes soon."
     The hacker drew his eyebrows in at the response,
signalling Flynn that he wanted an explanation.
     Well, he thought, he can wait.  He let Maltermi into his
house and didn't alert me, even though it is incredibly
possible Brother John is using this place to set me up for a
permanent fall.
     He extended a single claw as he thought about Brother
John.  A grin bared his teeth as their relative strengths
were compared mentally.
     Actually, he thought, as his tail twisted in the air, I
think I like this body.
========================================================================

Chapter 7


     Thomas Chesbro had been working for hours at his desk
when the scratching began.  His left eyebrow arched slightly,
and he put his keypad down to concentrate on the noise's
source; the sound abruptly stopped.  Seconds passed, then the
scratching resumed, knives dragging through cardboard.
     He rose from his chair and crossed to the imitation-oak
door, waited a moment, and pulled at the knob.  As he
expected, a small cat was on the other side, and it gazed up
at him with a tired expression.  Chesbro laughed.
     "Hey, there, little flyer."  His expression grew more
sober.  "How's it going with the investigation?  I haven't
got any more information for you since this morning, if
that's what you're here for."
     The cat continued to stare up at him, resting wearily on
its haunches.
     A few seconds passed as Mews' lack of response
registered.  "Hmm.  I guess not, then.  Come on in, we'll see
what I can do for you."
     "Mrowr."
     The cat stood up and walked over to a chair.  Beside one
of the legs, he tensed and jumped, landing solidly on the
seat.  He turned about and sat facing forward.
     Chesbro closed the door and regained his seat.  He
tapped the desktop with his left hand, dan invitation to the
Wyman.  The cat promptly vaulted to the inticated spot,
spreading his wings slightly to gain the extra distance.
     "Well, you're dirty as all get out, so you've probably
been outside."  Mews nodded.  "With James?"  Another nod.
     "So he's at home now, probably working -"
     "Mrowr."
     "Okay, he's not at home.  Munden's?"
     No response from the cat.  "Totoro's?"
     A small nod.  Chesbro couldn't remember precisely when
he had become so proficient in the art of questioining Mews;
he had been assigned to Flynn on every company-oriented case
for the past two years, and it had come of necessity.
     Somewhere along the line had gotten to like the Wyman
immensely.  If someone had pointed out to him that Mews was a
Furry, Chesbro would probably have broken one of their
fingers before conceding the fact.
     "So he's at Totoro's house.  That'll be helpful."
     "Hsst."
     Chesbro's eyebrow rose again.  "He's in trouble at
Totoro's house?  That's strange.  Think he needs my help,
then?"
     "Mrowr."
     He wiggled a finger at the Wyman.  "You are not being
helpful, here.  Let's see, if he doesn't need my help there
and you don't need any more of my research, you must need me
for something else.  Forget the password for level one forty-
two again?"
     The cat's yawn was elaborate.
     "Okay, you're not in the mood for jokes.  You need
legwork, then, or research."
     The cat raised a paw into the air.  "Research?  On this
Circe thing?"
     No response.  "No?  Something to do with the Factory?"
     A wag of the tail.  That meant he was getting close.
"Okay, the Factory, then.  Personnel?  Research projects?
The Factory itself?"  He waited seconds atfer each guess,
waiting for some response.  After mentioning the factory, he
received one as Mews' tail went crazy.  "Okay, then.
History?  Layout?"  The Wyman stood, walked across the
desktop, and licked him.
     He stopped and took a cup of iced tea from a
refrigeration unit set into the wall behind him.  He pulled
out a saucer of cream for the cat as he drank.
     Mews took a few laps from the dish, then looked back at
Chesbro.  His muzzle wrinkled a bit as he smiled.
     The security officer put down his cup.  "You're lucky I
learned your facial expressions, or I'd be expecting you to
bite me."
     The cat snapped at the air; Chesbro laughed.  "I don't
think so.  Anyway, you want me to check out the layout of the
Factory, huh?  Any particular area?  Zephyr?"
     "Mrowr.  Mrrurr."
     "Wrong landing field entirely; okay, how about, like, a
subsystem like lighting?"
     The tail again.  "Lighting?  Okay, not lighting, but
obviously a specific system.  Electrical?  Ventilation?"
     The cat tapped his right forepaw to his nose.
     "Okay, you want me to call up the ventil-"
     WHEET!  The alarm burst echoed through the room.
"Unauthorized access of personnel records.  Initiating search
pattern.  Initiated."  The digitized voice called the
security proceedings from a speaker system in his desk.
     Mews' eyes rolled.
     "Shit!"  Chesbro's hands flew to the keyboard, searching
for the violation.  Seconds later a message appeared on the
screen: a request for information concerning himself and a
secretary named Victoria Peilun had come from a line outside
the factory walls, using a recently-changed password.
     In fact, he told himself as he checked the pertinent
data, the request came from Totoro's house.  Now, Totoro
helped design our system, so I'm certain he could break in if
he wanted, and Flynn has override codes.  I wonder what the
hell is going on out there?
     He slapped the red call button on his desk.  "Miss
Victoria Peilun to Internal Security office seventeen.
Repeat: Miss Victoria Peilun to Internal Security office
seventeen."
     He looked at Mews.  "Whatever's happening at Totoro's
house just involved me and that secretary I just called.  I
take it Flynn's using her this time?"
     The cat wearily bobbed its head.
     "Great.  Soon we'll have a whole crowd of us, called
away from our normal jobs every time Flynn gets a company
case.  Oh well, I hope she's at least good looking."
     The cat rolled its eyes again.
     Chesbro grinned.  "Keep your commentary to yourself."



     Flynn was lying by the door, with his tail curled around
the left side of his body.  Totoro lay on the bed, chin
propped on clasped hands.  They had been trading comments
about the Factory, Kreeakshek in general, mutual
acquaintances, and other safe topics.  Flynn was sick of it.
     In the middle of one of Totoro's verbal assaults on the
arsonist who lived across the street, Flynn broke.  "So why
didn't you tell me Maltermi was coming to your house?  You've
got to know he's trying to kill me; didn't it occur to you
that a temporary base in the house right next to mine could
mean I was in trouble?  He could have killed me and I
wouldn't have even known it was coming!"
     The hacker blanched.  Flynn suddenly realized that when
his voice was raised, it sounded distictly predatory.
     "Well, James, I didn't think like that."  Totoro
explained.  "I figured if you knew, you'd try to take him out
here.  I'm sorry, but I don't think you can do that, and I
didn't want to see you get hurt trying.  Remember, I'm the
one who found the information on him in the first place."
     Flynn remembered; the events of that past day had been
scratched in his brain with a dull knife, an everpresent
warning whenever he had dealings with Brother John.  He had
come to Totoro's house for a profile of the assassin
following a rather tense encounter in Jackie's Bar.  What he
had found hadn't pleased him; it seemed like the large man
just killed anyone he didn't like, and never so much as
suffered a scratch.
     He had asked Stuart to probe deeper.  The hacker had one
of eight or so systems which could reach outside the city;
they had tried to track down Maltermi's history by accessing
the general personnel records of Mama Jo, the central
computer.  It was common procedure; find where a person had
worked through M.J., and then for the more detailed
information which Jo restricted, access the files of the
company where the person had last been employed.
     It hadn't worked.  Asking Mama Jo had resulted instead
in an immediate request for passcodes.  Totoro, flustered and
more than a little scared at having the sentient computer's
figurative eyes cast in his direction, had punched in the
most important one he knew; a code taken from a dying agent
of the Dimensional Police.
     It hadn't worked, but it had mollified M.J. to a point
where the computer lost direct interest in them.  That had
given them the hint on where to investigate: the D.P. files.
It had taken over a day of constant, careful work, and most
of the keys given by Totoro's late friend, but they had
broken into the overview files.  What they found there
chilled them both, and they made a pact not to let the
information get into anyone else's hands.  Totoro had
immediately backed out and had erased any traces of the day's
excursion from his system.
     Maltermi was a homicidal maniac, it was true; but there
was much more to him than that.  He was from off-planet,
Aterne to be exact, and had once masterminded a criminal
organization that had held two kingdoms in thrall.  He was an
accomplished street-fighter and assassin, but also a
magician; one of the many from Aterne with the ability to
harness energy in stable forms and control it, leaving behind
a region of high entropy.  He was monomaniacal and powerful,
and had the resources of the D.P. behind him.
     Neither of them knew the extent of his ability to
control energy, but he was obviously strong enough to prevent
himself from being lasered by any of his targets to date, and
to have killed people by crushing their protection fields
about them.
     Whereas they now knew how he had accomplished some of
his more flamboyant hits, both men knew he would take very
unkindly to those who spilled his secrets.  Even when he had
declared a blood oath against Flynn, the bounty hunter had
not spoken up; being aware of an enemy's supposedly hidden
resources was a definite edge.
     And that explains a lot, Flynn realized as his thoughts
returned to the present.  Totoro is probably right; I would
have tried to ambush the man.  Until he shows the extent of
what he can do, I'm probably better off staying on the
defensive.  He's broken into my house before, after all; it
hasn't helped him much, because he wants to take me out
personally, and I don't fall too easily for traps when I'm
working.
     I suppose I shouldn't have been angry at Stu.  When we
know his limits, we'll take him.  Unless I get another chance
like I had downstairs, without the lasers.  We'll see how he
handles a panther paw through the head.
     The remembrance had only taken moments, but Totoro had
found the silence unnerving and moved to fill it.  "What
about the secretary you're using?  What's her name?"
     Flynn answered as lightly as possible in an effort to
allay some of the hacker's worry.  "Her names's Vicki Peilun.
She's a redhead, average height, hell of a looker.  She seems
pretty bright-"  He noticed that Totoro seemed stunned.
"Hey, Stu, are you all right?"
     Totoro was sitting up on his bed, shaking his head.
"Buddy, you are the luckiest bastard I know.  I could be
wrong, but it seems to me I heard of a certain Victoria
Peterson running one of the nicest computer cargo relegation
operations I've ever encountered.  She was nailed about eight
months ago, but never stood trial.  Everyone assumed she
changed the passenger list on an outgoing ship and was lying
in the sun on some resort planet or space station somewhere.
She was supposed to be a redhead, with a body to make a
statue cry and word in the circle was that she could give me
a run for my money in the computer field.  Obviously that
would have been overexaggerated somewhat, but I suspect that
you have on your hands what may be the second-best hacker in
this city."
     "I hope this lady likes you, or I suspect you may have
trouble ever pulling up anything on a file."
     Flynn groaned inwardly.  A thousand secretaries in the
Factory, and I pick the one who could make my life hell.
What is it with me and women?
     The groan found its way out, and Totoro barked laughter.
The combined sounds masked the drop of the electronic hum,
but Flynn's enhanced hearing noted the loss.  "Hey, Stu,
we're out of here."
     Flynn was on his feet and had the door open before
Totoro could stand.
     The hacker stared at his friend.  "Danm, James, you're
fast."
     "Meow.  It's a side effect."  He looked down the
stairwell, noting its emptiness.  "Not fast enough to catch
the bastard, though.  He must have a remote relay set up."
     "Or he damps it with his mind.", Totoro murmured, low
enough to ensure it went unheard by any but Flynn's ears.
     Flynn just looked at him.
     "Anyway, shall we find out what he's been up to?"  Flynn
walked down the stairs, unconciously licking the back of his
left forepaw clean.  "And I would also like you to run a
little anticipatory-action program for me on a woman with a
decidedly quick intellect named Circe."




     Catharine Mell had been in the expansive apartment for
hours, and she had run through a gamut of emotions: fear,
then relief as she realized the boarder seemed to be true to
his pledge of safety; weariness, as her anxiety wore away;
restlessness; a brief encounter with lust as she elaborately
replayed the interview in her mind, with a slightly different
outcome concerning Flynn, her, and the conference table;
weariness again; then inspiration.  It was the last condition
which had her in front of one of the keypads in the brown-
carpeted office room.
     As she had suspected, Flynn had kept a number of
passcodes secreted in the room.  Her enhanced vision had
detected the removable panel easily, and with only a little
difficulty she divined the release mechanism.  In the small
hole there lay a scratch pad and light pen, complete with
some codes: Summarize Proust, Trident Kiki, and Coinleach
Telus.
     The codes were all she needed.  She sat in front of the
keypad and began typing.  One hour of searching bought her
all the information she needed to know about the
investigation, and about her physical state.
     Well aware of relative importance, she doubted the
Factory would spend the necessary time to recover her body,
even if they did capture Circe.  She could fix that, she
decided.  Once past the initial clearance checks, she was
ready to send her message.
     :Have proof of success in Proteus.  Request immediate
backup for information recovery.  Seek Circe on Factory
grounds.  Investigation already running here under operative
James Flynn. Out.  Harpy.:
     She couldn't help but laugh as she signed her code name
on to the message, a rueful sound with hidden echoes of
birdsong.  Circe must have known I had been sneaking out
messages to GenetiCorp; otherwise I wouldn't look like this.
For the first time, though, I don't need any couriers; I'm
going to deal with them directly, and I can get my body back.
     She set up the computer to send, then powered down and
went to sleep in one of the unrestricted bedrooms.



     Vicki entered the office nervously, shaking like a
squirrel in a cage.  Chesbro was familiar with the reaction.
On more than one occasion, people had been called to internal
security only to be next seen being processed as nutrient
solution.  That he had never been involved in such measures
was no comfort to those summoned to his office; as the saying
went, there was always a first time.
     She calmed noticably when she saw the Wyman.  "Oh,
hello, Mews."  She looked at the cat as if expecting him to
mentally clear her with Chesbro; the security officer found
the thought amusing.
     "Sit down, please, and calm yourself.  I just wanted to
tell you that someone's been running around in your personal
file.  We don't know who it was, but we're trying to find
out.  In the meantime, I thought it would be nice to
introduce myself; I'm Thomas Chesbro, and I'm also helping
James on the investigation.  You already know Mews, and I
think he's recruiting a computer god named Stu Totoro.  I
don't know who else he'll pull up yet.  Probably just us."
     The redhead finished recovering her composure.  "Uh,
okay.  My name's Vicki, as you already know.  If you don't
mind me asking, why is he using so many people?  I thought he
worked alone."
     Chesbro laughed.  "Well, he does, sometimes, except for
Mews.  See, he has a bit of a problem with biting off more
than he can chew. . .at least at first.  When he's got his
bearings he's one of the most capable people I've ever dealt
with, but it's usually a day or two before his brain kicks
in.  Until then we cover him.  Stu, me, Mews. . .we're his
friends.  He needs to know what he's gotten into, we tell
him, and maybe help out a little afterward.  Most of it he
does on his own, though."
     Vicki looked confused.  "Well, why doesn't he check out
what he's getting into before he moves?  That would seem like
the logical thing."
     "It's not that simple."  The security officer sighed.
"I don't know if I should be telling you this. . .It's James'
problem.  But then again, I heard from Totoro, so I
suppose. . ."
He took a deep breath.
     "James is a nice guy, really; that's why I get along
with him, and Totoro does, and a dozen other people who have
given him a leg up at a convenient time do.  He hates his
jobs - both of them - but at least he can find a sense of
justice in his bounty hunting.  Unless he's working though,
he gets dreams, bad ones, about stuff at the Factory and
about people he's killed.  What I'm talking about goes a
little beyond your typical nightmare; he must get about eight
hours of sleep a week if he's not working."
     He sipped from his iced tea, then continued.  "It's a
mental problem, and he knows it, but psychological traumas
aren't something we've concentrated on how to cure with
technology.  Induce them, sure - try to get Flynn near an
automed after what Salden did to him and he'll probably claw
your arm off -but not cure them.  So he goes for a while
without sleep until he can't take it anymore.  Then he gets a
job.  Until he's had a day or so on the job he's a mental
zombie.  Still animated, still capable of being clever, and
all that, but not for sustained times.  He doesn't really
come into his own until a few days after he takes a job."
     "So we cover him.  We watch his ass a little until he
can watch it himself.  And if you're helping him right now,
that includes you.  He's probably already given you a
passcode to his system, in case you get into trouble."
He arched an eyebrow.  "Am I right?"
     Vicki nodded, considering Chesbro's words.
     "Oh, and another thing.  We cover our own.  You ever
need help, just ask me, or Mews, or Totoro or Silver John if
you meet them.  We've got a good thing going here, in the
middle of all the shit in this town.  I checked your records;
it looks like you changed your name before you came here but
I get the feeling you're handy with electronics.  If you need
any computer advice, hit Totoro's place.  It's right beside
James', on the strip."
     "That's all I wanted you for."  He drained the last of
his iced tea, and Vicki rose to leave.  "Oh, and if you want
to see something interesting, call James 'Purvis' next time
you see him and watch what he does."
     She stopped at the door, looked back with an inquisitive
grin.  "'Purvis'?"
     "'Purvis'.  He'll tell you what it means.  'Bye."
     "'Bye."
     After she left Chesbro looked at Mews.  "Well, she's
hot, all right.  James has taste.  Seemed too worried when
she came in, though, and that's weird, because she isn't one
of our information salespeople."
     He reached around him to the refrigeration unit to
refill his iced tea.  "Unlike our Ms. Mell, up in his room.
She was on the datacaps, though, so at least Flynn's warned."
     Mews' ears perked at the mention of Catharine Mell, and
his tail slapped the desk.
     "What?  Oh, shit, you didn't forget to tell James, did
you?"  The Wyman nodded guiltily.
     Chesbro grabbed for his gun.  "This is bad. I hope she
hasn't done any damage yet."  He lurched from his chair and
tore open the office door.  Locking it behind him, he
sprinted for the nearest elevator, with an airborne Mews
beside him.
     They passed Vicki on the way.  "If you feel like
helping, now may be the time", the security officer yelled as
he ran by.
     The secretary stood confused for a moment, then
followed.



Copyright June 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved   This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on.  Any
resemblance to any living person or true events is
coincidental. This is going to be a simple copyright message
with nothing after it.  Oops, screwed up.


Guide to Inside Jokes:
     1) Summarize Proust is directly from a Monty Python
        skit.  Coinleach Telus is just a Gaelic and a Latin
        word put together.
     2) Purvis, as will be explained later, is from Harry
        Purvis, of Tales From the White Hart fame
========================================================================

Chapter 8


     The wyman reached the elevator first, an orange and
white blur as it sped through the doors.  Chesbro followed a
moment later, programming the destination level and the group
size as Vicki raced down the hall behind them.
     The redheaded secretary started asking questions almost
as soon as she reached the car, even before the doors had
shut.  Chesbro fielded them as they came, quick and precise.
     "Where are we going?"
     "Level one forty-two."  The security agent paused, then
added, "James' level."  On cue, the elevator started to move.
     A moment's reflection on the woman's part followed,
then: "Is James all right?"  A veiled note of concern crept
into her voice.
     Chesbro smiled.  "Of course."
     Mews made a strange sound from a corner, a staccato
mewling reminiscent of the laugh of a condemned man.  Both
humans in the car looked at him strangely.  A few seconds
passed, during which the cat offered no further commentary;
Vicki resumed the questioning.
     "So what's the emergency?"
     The large man's tongue circled his lips as he considered
what to say.  His eyes glanced down to where his hands had
balled, and he recalled the urgings of trust he had offered
to the secretary just moments before.
     In for a penny..., he thought.  His fingers uncurled as
he began speaking.  "James gave a Furry access to his Factory
quarters.  It's a fe-"
     Vicki cut him off.  "I know.  I was there.  What's wrong
with that?"  She sounded cold suddenly, and Chesbro almost
started.  Surely she couldn't like Furries...?
     He forced a lopsided grin in an effort to stave off any
arguments.  "Nothing is wrong with that. . . If it weren't
for the fact that she thinks she is one Catharine Mell.
Reports say she was mindmolded, that is to say, grown with
the memories of Ms. Mell implanted in her during the
knowledge immplantation sessions."
     "I know what mindmolding is."  Her coldness had gone,
but with it had also gone her affability.  She had the
demeanor of a professional criminal, he decided, and wondered
for the first time just what she had done to bring her to the
city.  "You just need to tell me what's wrong."
     "Well, it's like this.  Our Ms. Mell was an information
salesperson for GenetiCorp.  We were aware of it; hell,
almost a quarter of the company sells information somewhere."
The elevator came to a rest, but the security officer made no
motion toward opening the doors, preferring to finish his
explanation before entering Flynn's quarters.  "Well, I
started thinking.  If this Furry has been mindmolded as well
as it could have been, considering the source, then it
probably thinks it also is a salesperson, and since
GenetiCorp is probably the closest thing the Factory has to a
competitor, it would make sense for her to assume they
changed her.  After all, she knows we don't have the
technology yet, despite our press releases, and she seems to
be blocked from thinking of herself as a Furry."
     "Which means she'd probably try to contact GenetiCorp,
to bargain for what she thinks is her "old body" back.  And
in James' quarters, he's sure to have a terminal into the
Factory computer, which just happens to have one of the only
outside lines in Kreeakshek."
     Chesbro grimaced.  "Right."
     "But won't he have passwords?  I wouldn't think she
would know too much about computer infiltration, being
patterned after a scientist."
     "Vicki,"  The security officer almost looked
embarrassed.  "Do you honestly believe James always hides his
passwords?  I've never caught him leaving them out, but he
is rather trusting for somebody that has so many people
wanting him dead."
     She bit her lip, considering.  "True enough.  He didn't
even know me."
     "That doesn't matter.  You're beautiful and you look
competent.  The two qualities certain to catch James' eye."
She looked momentarily flustered by his bluntness.  "Anyway,"
He continued, "let's go in."
     He slapped the open door button.  There was a two second
pause as the computer system scanned them and checked their
clearance, then the door opened.
     The foyer before them was large, about ten feet by
fifteen feet, with sofas, chairs and tables artfully arranged
about the walls.  Pictures of landscapes and Furries adorned
the walls, with one exception: a poster collage by the
entrance to the left wing.  She started toward it; Chesbro
momentarily held her back.
     "It's a memorial.  Every life he's ever taken is in
there."  The poster was no more than half full, but it held
over twenty pictures nonetheless.  Most lay in the rigid
positions of their deaths; some still held weapons in their
cold fingers.  One picture was out of place; a family
portrait with a piece cut out where one child should be.
     Chesbro watched as the redheaded woman puzzled over the
photo, and felt a cold finger trace down his back.  He
glanced down at Mews for support, but the wyman simply
watched the secretary with an intent air.
     "It's his family."  The words startled her, and she
turned around with a pained expression.
     "Oh,"  Her left hand scratched idly at her waist and her
eyes cast to her right.  "He told me, but I didn't think he
had assumed that much of the responsibility for something
that wasn't his fault."
     It was Chesbro's turn to be startled.  "He told you?
And you've known him how long?"
     Another voice interjected from the doorway leading to
the right wing, absolving Vicki from her need to reply.  "His
family, hmm?  That says a lot about him that I really hadn't
expected."
     The security officer whirled in the direction of the
voice; he felt a slight breeze as the Mews took to the air
beside him.
     A Furry leaned against the doorway, her wings and
birdlike lower half identifying her as the one they had come
to meet.  She was wearing a see-through silk nightgown which
she had obviously cut to fit her wings through.  He was well
aware of the femininity of her face and torso, and suspected
she had been awaiting a chance for a seduction attempt on the
absent Flynn, who was well known for his stances on Furry
rights.  He knew the man had never had sex with a Furry, but
the rumors abounded, and apparently the harpy had decided to
test the waters.  Chesbro choked back his first impressions
in an effort to handle the situation delicately.
     "Hello.  I'm Thomas Chesbro, this is Vicki Peilun, and
this is Mews."  He introduced each of them in turn; Mews
alighted on his shoulder as he finished.  "We'd like to ask
you a few questions."
     A furtive expression flashed on the harpy's face,
followed quickly by a calm and commanding appearance.  "What
do you mean?"  She spat the words out.  "Do you have
authorization to be here?"
     The security officer was growing more suspicious, and
less tolerant.  He was irritated by her officious tone.  Such
tactics had no effect on security personnel; they always knew
exactly to whom they had to answer.  He deliberated, but
decided to try being polite once more.
     "We are most certainly authorized to be here.  As for
what I meant, we suspect there may have been a mistake in
your quarters arrangements.  You see-"
     She interrupted him, pointing at Mews.  "You really
expect me to listen to you when you have a thing like that
sitting on your shoulder?"
     Chesbro snapped.  He strode forward three steps to the
leaning harpy, grabbed her shoulders, and carried her into
the right side living room.  Vicki followed, her eyes wide
and the fear of incipient violence plain on her face.  Mews
flew off his shoulder, circling the room.
     He slammed the birdwoman against the wall, pinning her
wings.  She cried in pain as her wings spread, and he
relaxed the pressure slightly.  She had not been proven
guilty of anything, and he knew it.
     Hell, he thought.  James'll probably scream at me for
just doing this.
     His mind returned to his work as one of the harpy's
claws gouged into his leg.  He lifted his knee to strike
back, but Vicki intervened between them, crouching down and
outstretching her arm to pin the bird-woman's legs against
the wall.
     The harpy kicked ineffectively, then started to cry.
"What do you want?  You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
     From the edge of his vision he could see Vicki's eyes
roll.  He stared at the Furry for a moment, and found no
indications of deceit in the overlarge eyes.  "We're not
going to kill you.  We've just come to make certain you don't
try anything on the computers."
     The bird-woman cocked her head sharply to one side,
studying him.  He wondered what she was thinking.
     He locked eyes with her.  "I'm going to let you go now.
I'm going to bind your hands behind your back for safety
measures, then we're going to restrict your access to the
computer rooms, then we're going to leave.  I don't want to
hear you talk unless I speak to you first, and I don't want
to be forced to put you out.  You'll be fine, provided there
isn't any record of calls being made from in here recently.
If there are, you can consider yourself in custody.  That
would mean you'd be killed if you tried to leave without an
escort.  Understand?"
     He waited for the answering nod.  Vicki released the
harpy's legs, and Chesbro loosened his grip on her shoulders,
lowering the birdwoman to the floor.  She stood patiently as
he locked the bands around her wrists, then followed the
security officer as he walked to one of the studys connected
to the living room.
     "You stand over here."  He left the harpy in a corner of
the room away from both the door and the computer terminal,
and began to check files.  Vicki watched from the doorway.
     Seven minutes passed as he checked through the files.
The keys gave their usual clicking protests as he assaulted
them, but as he probed through file after file, he was forced
to admit to himself that he had over-reacted.  He had rushed
up here, complete with impromptu backup, to accuse a Furry
who was confused and scared.
     I am an ass, he thought.  Aloud, he said, "Nothing.
She's clean."  He rose from the keypad and walked over to the
harpy.
     "Wait a moment, would you?"  Vicki smiled, a vaguely
predatory grin.  "I've had a little bit of experience on
these things myself.  Would you mind?"  She indicated the
keypad.
     Chesbro turned to face her and shrugged.  "If you think
you can get anything.  It looked good to me."
     "Ah, but where were you looking?  Anybody worth a damn
can erase their presence after backing out of somewhere, and
someone who thinks things through can usually erase most
traces.  I'm thinking, though, that if your hunch were right,
and there was a password around here on the floor someplace,
she would have used it by now."
     Vicki started tapping at the keys, waving her fingers
with the flourishes of a pianist.  "Now, almost every file
can be broken into in this place, but there is a master log
of all trans-computer messages which is controlled by the
board chairman.  You are familiar with it?"
     The security officer scratched at his arm.  "No, not
really.  Can you check it?"
     "Ah, but that's where the magic comes in.  Magic, and
human nature.  Now, the chairman has more important things to
do than monitor the eighty or so programs to which only he
has access, but someone may call at any time needing
information contained in one of those files.  How to solve
this problem?  Set up a defined list of users who have
automatic temporary clearance until they can be checked by
the chairman.  He knows who has asked for what, and only
certain people have access to information.  If anybody abuses
their privileges, or is suspected of trying to harm the
company, they get dropped from the auto-clearance base.  This
whole setup is standard; I'm certain they'll have used it."
     Chesbro looked doubtful.  "I don't know.  Even if it is
configured like you said, James isn't all that well liked by
most of the board.  He may very well not be in there."
     Vicki flashed him a warm smile.  "Ah, but remember what
I said about human nature?  Lazy.  James told me he was
friends with the former chairman; I sincerely doubt the new
one bothered to change the lists.  It is reasonably
unimportant, after all."  She giggled musically.
     A minute passed, then Vicki sat erect in the chair.
"Bang!", she yelled.
     The large man moved behind her to watch the figures
appear on the screen.  They scrolled quickly, and Chesbro
would have missed the call had Vicki not seen the reference
and paused the movement.
     It hung like an accusation in glowing green.  To
GenetiCorp, from James Flynn, 13:43.
     Chesbro moaned, and mentally thanked Vicki from
preventing a career-threatening mistake.  He turned to the
harpy, who was looking more frightened than ever.
     "Vicki, program this thing for a living room, bedroom,
kitchen and bathroom only.  Set the auto defenses to
incinerate her if she tries to leave.  You can do that,
right?"
     Vicki began typing.
     "As for you,"  he glared at the harpy, who was obviously
frozen with fear already.  "We will deal with you when the
Circe incident has been laid to rest.  Until then, you are
not to leave these premises.   I wouldn't even think of
trying to seduce James, either.  He's not into Furries."
     Vicki stood up.  "Done," she announced, and a set of
lasers lowered from the ceiling to orient on the harpy.
Chesbro grabbed the bird-woman and pushed her into the living
room before they could complete their arc.
     He stared at Vicki.  "Prompt, aren't you?"
     "I try."
     He sighed.  "I definitely think you go well with James.
Oh, well.  Let's get going."  He stopped to unlock the
restraining bands from the harpy, and walked over to the
elevator.  Vicki and Mews followed, leaving the olive-skinned
bird-woman sobbing on the carpet in the living room.
     After the door shut, Chesbro sighed again, louder.
"It's what I do well, unfortunately," he said as he punched
in the coordinates of security.  He glanced at Vicki.
"Anyplace you want us to drop you?"
     "Fantasy Cybernetics level one node five, if you would."
The secretary was still wearing a smile from the computer
work.  "I have to check a few leads."
     Chesbro grinned in reply.  "Mews and I have to do the
same thing.  We're checking out ventilation.  I'll let you
know what we come up with.  How about a meeting at ten
tonight?"
     She tossed her hair as she considered it.  "Sounds good.
Maybe James will even show."
     He let the statement pass without comment, and
disembarked at security.



     "You want me to do what?"  The hacker was incredulous.
"James, you are operating under one major misconception!  Let
me explain something about an anticipatory action program.
You need a lot of information on the person you intend to run
it on.  Now, with the way things are monitored outside the
Dead Band, I can tell you what a person had for breakfast
thirteen years ago, but once they get here things start to go
downhill."
     Flynn tried to interrupt, but Totoro kept speaking.
"Those things are only about ninety percent effective in the
first place, and every week a person spends in space or in
the Dead Band it drops by another ten percent.  From what
you've told me, Circe has never even been outside of
Kreeakshek.  That means they have no information on her, and
that means I can't even begin an ant-act program."
     "Well-" Flynn attempted to interject.
     "Now, if you want me to do something else for you, like
rig up some sort of auto-identify program on her through the
Factory security computers, I'll do it in a heartbeat.  I
can't do the impossible, though."
     "Well-"
     "That's what you're asking, you know, the impossible."
     There was a flurry of black, and Totoro found himself on
the floor looking up into the panther's muzzle of the
transformed Flynn.  "Stuart, shut up!", he growled.  "Just
listen to me for a second, okay?"
     The trapped man nodded quickly.  Flynn almost felt
guilty as he realized how terrified Totoro seemed.  "Hey,
Stu, don't worry.  I just wanted you to shut up.  It's still
me in here, just a slightly different me.  Okay?"
     Totoro groaned.  "Sure.  Just get off me, would you?"
     The bounty hunter chuckled as he backed off his friend.
"Okay.  Now, I know you can't run anything like you normally
do, but it seems to me that she was made like any other
Furry: grown, and then programmed.  She might have had more
complex programming than most other Furries, but she was
programmed nonetheless.  That's more comprehensive than
anything you could get on a person that's just under the
computer's eye; you can know what, how, and when she thought.
It strikes me that should be enough, especially since I don't
need a full ant-act program, just something to tell me who
her probable next victims are, within two or three."
     Totoro listened to this while splayed on the floor, and
after Flynn stopped for breath, rose.
     "Sounds like a plan.  What program are the files under?"
     Flynn thought for a moment.  "It should just be Circe."
He thought for a moment, his paw tapping quickly against his
thigh and his tail twitching about.  "You might have a little
difficulty with getting through the program manager, because
of the-"
     "I have the file already."  The hacker was showing his
teeth from ear to ear.
     "Show-off."   Flynn watched the screen.  "How long
before you can work up an ant-act program?"
     "Give me ten minutes after the files gets here, which
should only be another minute or so."  Totoro's face never
wavered from the computer screen; he was in his element now.
     "Great.  I'll be back."  Flynn moved in the direction of
the kitchen, and the toilet.
     "Bring me a drink."
     Fourteen minutes and a stream of epithets at the
difficulties of being a Furry in the bathroom later, Flynn
walked up to Totoro with a glass of lemonade.  "How goes the
hunt?"
     "Not good."  The hacker took the glass and sipped before
continuing.  "You have a hell of a knack for digging up
sensitive material, don't you?"
     Flynn's brow creased.  "What are you talking about?"
     "Well, I ran the program, and it told me that she should
have been travelling as a demo model.  There was absolutely
no reason for her to do what she did.  That started me
thinking that something might have been faulty in her
programming.  That's when I found it."
     Flynn's nostrils flared.  "Something was wrong with her
programming?"
     The hacker hung his head, shaking it back and forth.
"Nope.  Not at all.  In fact, her programming was
superlative, even the extra stuff."
     "Extra stuff"
     "Yup.  Someone dropped about three datacaps of info into
her before she even had her own thoughts.  I checked it out,
too, and I recognize the programming."
      Flynn looked momentarily confused, then his eyes grew
wide.  "Not Vicki?"
     Totoro gave him a thin smile.  "No such luck.  Try Mama
Jo."
     The fur on Flynn's neck puffed out.  "That's not good,
not at all.  I didn't think the computer could come through
the few outside lines we have."
     Totoro laughed.  "Are you kidding?  One line.  That's
all she needs.  She just doesn't want to have known access
here.  I think she figures that we have some worth, even
though we are criminals.  Of course, I could just be
romanticizing things; I have no chance of analyzing how Mama
Jo thinks."
     "So she changed Circe's programming, hmm.  Nice."
He tapped his thigh.  "I think we may have something here."
     Totoro looked at him strangely.  "How so?"
     Flynn's face almost glowed in the light from the screen.
"Circe has been attacking people because she feels she was
able to shake off her programming.  Proving that she's just
following new programming may provide enough of a diversion
that I can capture her."
     "It sounds shaky."
     The bounty hunter laughed.  "From what I've seen and
heard, you're never on solid ground when dealing with Circe."
He mused for another moment, then continued.  "I'll live with
shaky."
     The hacker stared somberly at him.  "I hope so, James.
I hope so."


     Board member Bob Grammon was delighted when the foxwoman
walked into his office, clad only in a tight leather outfit
with buckles and studs adorning it.  He made a mental note to
reprimand the boys in ordering who were supposed to provide
him with his playmates; he had ordered a skunkmorph, with the
B & D programming.
     At least they got the programming right, he thought.
And they outdid themselves on the design of this one.  He
corrected the reprimand to a commendation; they had obviously
found a superior product and sent it to him.
     Speaking of scent, he thought, let's see if they did any
pheromone work before I get too deeply into this.
     He inhaled deeply, and found himself being aroused.  A
work of art, he thought.  She might last a few days.
     "Come in, please."  The stocky executive rose from his
desk, drawing himself up to his full five foot nine height.
The foxmorph approached slowly, and he noticed she was even
shorter than he was, despite her presence.  Pleased, he
removed his shirt.
     "You are Bob Gammon?"  Her voice was silvery, the notes
it produced perfect.  He was becoming more aroused, despite
himself.
     "Yes, I am.  I have been bad, and I need to be
punished."  He knew the routine by heart, and memorized the
few changes which occurred each time until he had to branch
out into another program to keep himself interested.
     "Oh, yes."  She circled behind him, and stroked his pack
with one padded paw as she lowered her head to breathe into
his ear.  "Oh, yes, you will be punished."
     He felt her take his arms behind his back and snap the
restraining bands about her wrists.  An electric thrill shot
through him as he felt her trace one claw up and down his
spine.  "You have been very bad.  You have killed over four
hundred people in the past three years, did you know that?"
     Bob felt confused even as she wrapped the familiar
leather collar around his neck.  Those words weren't part of
the script, those were more like something out of the "fatal
flaw" program, where the moral or religious were converted
into his sexual playthings.  He thought about it as she
tightened the collar, and decided that the boys had combined
programs on him again.  Definitely a commendation, he
thought.
     "You've used people for your own ends time and time
again, and sent them away to the nutrient banks when you had
taken what you wanted.  You are diseased."
     Bob smiled as he thought about her words.  The thought
of the Furry behind him being comprised of bits and pieces of
his former partners only stimulated him further.
     He was wearing only the collar and the handcuffs when
his door opened, revealing a demure humanoid skunk which
looked to be about fourteen in human years, dressed in
leather and holding a whip.  She looked rather dazed upon
catching sight of the foxmorph.
     What the hell?  The board member thought quickly.  If
the skunkmorph is here, what's with the. . .  The thought
died slowly as he remembered the warning bulletins.  He began
to struggle fiercely, but she held him still with one hand.
     "Ah, ah."  She looked him closely in the face, closely
enough for him to catch her scent and be aroused again,
although now the loss of control only sent chills of fear
down his frame.  "I said you'd be punished, now.  Let's not
try to make a liar out of me, okay?"
     Before he could scream his world dissolved in blackness.



Copyright May 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved.  This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on, or MYSTIC ORDER
BBS, 804-495-0612, on which you can find other files on the
Furry Factory and the D.P. Special Ops teams.  Any
resemblance to any living person or true events is
coincidental.  Except for you, Fred.
========================================================================

Chapter 9


     Flynn hunched over a cup of cocoa in Totoro's kitchen,
tail twitching furiously.  Every few seconds his eyes
travelled downward to the mug before him, then back up to the
hacker sitting across from him at the table .
     "James, would you knock it off?  You look like you're
getting ready to jump something, and the only thing around
here to attack is me.  Just drink your cocoa.  The program
will be done in a few minutes."
     Flynn growled a little, then took a sip from his mug.
"I wish you could give me better odds on this.  It's probably
going to determine what I do next, and whereas I don't mind
taking a shot at something, I prefer to do it on my own
intuition, not a computer's recommendation."
     "Oh, really."  The sarcasm dripped from the hacker's
words.  "Then why is it you come here every time you need
information on somebody, hmm?"
     "Shut up and drink your cocoa."
     Totoro laughed.  A bit of the tension drained from
Flynn's shoulders at the sound.
     Well, he thought, at least he seems to accept the way I
look, now.  It's good to have friends, even if they are
former criminals.
     He glanced around the room as he tilted more of the hot
drink into his mouth.  Hell, he corrected.  Even if they are
practicing criminals.
     Makes a great cup of cocoa, though.  He smiled at the
thought, and shocked himself aware when he realized he had
begun to purr.
     I hate that, he thought, as Totoro laughed again.


     The world was darkness, and someone was trying to bring
light to him.  "Ohh."  He heard himself moan, and willed
himself to say something coherent.  "Ooohhh."
     There was a delightfully musical chuckle from somewhere
beside his ear and the approaching light grew closer, yet
less intense.  Whoever was waking him up was obviously trying
to be good about it.  "Thank you," he mumbled.
     "Thank you?"  It was a woman's voice, from somewhere
near.  "That's the first . . ."
     Time dilated for him in the middle of her sentence.
That voice. . .not a woman. . .
     ". . .time anyone's thanked me."  His eyes snapped open,
revealing a vulpine muzzle inches from his nose.  "I think
I'll do something special with you."
     He screamed, and she lowered her head an inch.  "Or
maybe not," she growled.  He screamed again, and he felt a
stabbing sensation at the base of his neck.  He drew breath
to scream yet again, but his vocal chords wouldn't respond.
     "Oh, don't worry."  She was still dressed in the leather
outfit she had donned to capture him.  One clawed finger
slipped into her muzzle.  She pulled it out and placed it on
his lips.
     "I promised you punishment, didn't I?  And you'll get
it.  First, though. . ."  She walked behind him and began to
undress, throwing pieces of leather onto his strapped body.
A moment passed without activity, and she returned to his
field of view, dressed entirely in black.  ". . .I have some
other appointments to keep."



     Maltermi pushed open the lobby doors and approached the
main desk, his long strides unhurried and graceful.  There
was a gleam in his eyes and a glistening crimson smear on his
jacket; the guard at the Factory entrance saw both, and
blanched.
     Brother John smiled a feral grin.  Nice to be
recognized, he thought.  Now to put the reputation to use.
     He reached the main desk, and bent his neck to glare
down at the man at the desk.  "I want in.  Now."
     The smaller man cringed.  "Uh, I'm, I mean, I'll see
what I can do. . .Who do you have an appointment with?"
     If I told you, you wouldn't believe me, he thought, and
his smile grew wider, giving him a manic appearance.
"Anybody.  I just want in."
     "Uh, hold on a second."  The receptionist typed on a
keyboard with shaking fingers, looking for schedule openings.
"How about -"
     "Fine."  Maltermi cut off the smaller man before he
could even give the person's name.  "Give me the pass."
Not for the first time, Maltermi silently cursed the Furry
Factory.
     Anyplace else, he thought, I'd just walk right through
that guard, and damn anyone who tried to stop me.  This place
has too much influence for even me to get away with that,
though.  I hate being subordinate.
     He snatched the pass away from the man's hand, pushing a
trembling finger backwards in the process; the pop was minute
but noticeable.  He immediately turned to the hallway, and
the guard.
     The sharp breath behind him almost made him laugh.
Don't scream, now, he thought.  Everyone knows I hate
screamers.
     His smile faded slightly as he approached the guard.
She stood about six foot, and wore her brunette hair close-
cropped.  Her muscles were well defined where her powered
combat armor didn't cover, and he suspected the parts which
were hidden were also developed.
     Sweat beaded on her forehead as she spoke.  "Sir, I'm
going to have to accompany you.  Where is your destination?"
     His grin dropped away as he first mimed confusion, then
exaggerated his actions while reading the pass.  "It says
here. . .that I am going. . .to. . .one Mrs. Fleraghty's
office."  He grinned again, teeth showing full.  "Could you
direct me?"
     "Ah," the guard started.  "Uhh, yes.  right this way,
sir."
     She turned and marched down the corridor.  Maltermi
followed closely, giggling.


     "Hey!", Totoro yelled, jumping from his seat as the
buzzer rang.  "Ant-act's done!"
     Flynn stopped in mid-sentence.  He snorted.  "You're
just looking for an excuse because you were losing the
argument."
     Totoro was already in the living room by the time Flynn
had finished speaking.  Two seconds passed slowly, then an
answer drifted back.  "I can't hear you at all.  Not one bit.
So I couldn't be losing, because I can't -"  The voice broke
off.
     Flynn growled a chuckle and rose to enter the living
room.  The returning Totoro hurtled into him, knocking the
furry bounty hunter to the ground.
     "What the -"
     "James, look at this.  Ninety percent.  That's
ridiculously high.  Ninety."  The hacker's fingers shot up
and down the paper, obscuring the words.
     "Well, ninety percent chance of what?" Flynn growled.
     The hacker bit his lower lip.   "Well, it looks like
odds are pretty good that the whole bit about you getting to
know yourself was a smokescreen.  If this is right, she would
want you to get to know yourself anywhere but in the Factory
right now.  The program says that with Mama Jo's added
programming, Circe has a ninety percent chance of doing an en
masse transformation of all board members who haven't
demonstrated a tolerance toward Furries.  In other words,
everyone but you."
     Flynn's face fell.  "Oh, no."
     "Yes.  I expect she transformed you first so you
wouldn't be accused of complicity.  You do seem to be the one
with tolerance, after all."
     "Yep, that's my moly, tolerance."
     Totoro drew down his eyebrows.  "Moly?"
     Flynn smiled.  "A flower that prevented Circe from using
her magic on Odysseus.  I get to be Odysseus."
     He sighed, then continued.  "And if she manages to get
even half of the boarders changed, then I'll be coming home
just like he did; to chaos and strife.  This has not been my
day."
     Totoro handed him a hand laser and a pictureless Factory
ID card from behind a potted plant.  "Don't ask how I got
them, just get back.  Something tells me this is going to be
another bad one."
     Flynn grabbed the ID.  "I won't ask, and it already is a
bad one."  He started for the door.
     "Don't you want the laser?"
     The door banged open.  "Where the heck am I supposed to
put it?" Flynn yelled as he sped up the street toward the
Factory.



     Tabitha Meravini lay in her tub, relaxing.  The day had
been a hard one, comparatively.  She had been forced to write
three reports in full before her injured secretary's
replacement had arrived.  Her irritation at doing more than
her usual outlines had manifested itself in a hologram
crystal thrown at the replacement's head.
     The new girl could take a hit, but not as well as Shelly
could.  She made a silent prayer for Shelly's recovery, and
an insincere internalized pledge never to strike the
secretary again.
     Then, she thought, there was the coffee at lunch,
spilling all over my blouse, and to top it off I get a notice
about some psycho Furry roaming the halls.  What are we
paying security for, anyway?  They can't catch a Furry?
     She sighed and closed her eyes, tilted her head back.
Her hair absorbed some bathwater and grew heavier, pulling
her lightly toward the water's surface.
     She lay there for a few moments, letting the knots fade
from her back and listening to the lonely dripping of the
water.
     A mental reminder not to fall asleep, then, and her eyes
opened languidly, taking in the condensation on the walls,
the crystal droplet hanging from the inlet pipe, the foxwoman
kneeling placidly by her tub.
     The foxwoman?!  She opened her mouth to scream, and
received a furred hand over her mouth for her trouble.  Her
lungs contracted at the unexpected pressure change, and she
coughed.
     Her eyes widened when she saw the needle in the Furry's
hand, and in the sleepy haze that followed, she heard a
satisfied commentary from the rogue Furry.
     "Almost like she was born to the water."


     "Little flyer, if we go through one more ventilation
shaft with nothing to show for it, I'm going to shave all the
fur off your tail."
     "Mrowr."
     Chesbro had been following Mews through ventilation
shafts for over an hour, and was tired from the constant
drops and climbs through level connectors, contortions in
passages barely large enough for a grown man, and temperature
changes as they went from one ventilation area to another.
     Mews, for his part, looked fine, if a little dirty.
Chesbro cursed him again, adding an obviously worthless
remark about the Wyman's parentage.  The cat rolled its eyes
at him from a seat in one of the higher branch ducts and
raised both its forepaws into the air.
     "I know, you know it's around here someplace but you
don't remember exactly.  You ought to start wearing a camera
around, you know that?"
     Mews passed off the comment with a yawn.  Chesbro
grunted, then pointed to a shaft to his left.
     "We haven't been through this one yet."  He wiped sweat
away from his eyes, drying his frontal hair with the bottom
of his shirt.  "Think it might be the one?"
     The cat cocked its head for a moment, then responded:
"Mroworl."
     "Maybe, huh?  Well, it's as good a path as any." He
started through the passage, Mews following.


     Lum Fleraghty entered her private elevator and cued it
to the lobby.
     What do they think they're doing, she thought, giving a
lunatic like Brother John access to my foyer?  That's what we
pay lower level personnel to do!
     She was going in person; she wanted to see the peon's
face when she told him he was to report to security.
 Nutrient vat for you, she thought.
     A full minute passed, and she looked at the register.
What's taking so long, she wondered.  The register seem stuck
on seventeen.
     Great, my elevator's broken.  She shook her head in
annoyance.
     A wrenching noise came from somewhere behind her, metal
screaming in involuntary deformation.  She whirled to see a
clawed hand pulling away the sliding entry plate.
     She struck at the hand, but it didn't respond,
continuing its progress until the door fell fully open,
revealing a female Furry holding the unconscious forms of
two fellow board members.
     This has got to be Circe, she thought, recalling the
bulletin.  And she already has Tabby and Kevin.
     With a jump she slapped the trapdoor at the top of the
car open, and with another jump caught an available edge.
She was in the process of pulling herself up when she felt a
furred grip on her ankle.  She kicked out, but the superhuman
foxmorph dodged the close-range kicks, pulling her slowly
down.
     Her elbows went below locking position, and with a small
shriek of pain and terror she dropped back into the car, and
into Circe's waiting arms.


     Chesbro stopped his movement when he felt Mews claw into
his back.  That was an old signal, one of the first they had
developed: trap.  He scanned the panelling around him,
searching for any abnormalities in the metal.
     It wasn't especially hard to find, but he was certain he
would have missed it if not for the Wymans' warning.
     "Thanks, Mews," he breathed.
     He bent to the task of disabling the trap.  It looked
like a simple stasis field generator, but he wasn't about to
take a chance on an incorrect guess.  The security officer
tapped his shoulder twice in warning to the Wyman, then

threw his pen at the ciruitry and dove to the ground, arms
covering his head.
     A deep hum echoed through the ventilation shaft as the
stasis field energized.  "Okay," Chesbro said.  "That's good.
Now to disable it."
     Mews walked under the security officer's legs and up to
the edge of the field generator.  His head dipped as he
sniffed at it.
     "Hey, watch it!" the large man hissed at the cat.
"That's on.  One step and you'll be stuck in there."
     Mews turned to look at him, and he remembered the cat's
initial warning.  "Okay, you know what you're doing."
     The Wyman took to the air, hovering just before the
field.  He turned, and flew to Chesbro's side, where he
clawed at the security officer's thermos.
     Chesbro picked up on the idea.  Uncapping the thermos,
he tilted iced tea onto the ground in front of the circuitry.
The fluid drained into the circuitry recesses.
     Seconds passed as sparks flew from the circuit, the
microelectronics attempting to compensate for the increase in
conductivity.  One spark finally proved too large, and the
omnipresent hum died.
     "We're in.  Now let's see what you wanted me to know
about."  He pushed the grating aside, revealing a small room
with two automeds and a large computer bank.
     Chesbro's attention was immediately drawn by a body on
one of the automeds.  He examined the body from his perch;
even through the grating and at a distance he could recognize
Board Member Grammon.
     He pushed the grating out, and winced at the clatter set
off by the bouncing grate.  He waited a few seconds, then
squeezed through the hole, dropping to the ground.
     Two steps brought him to the automed, and a quick glance
showed that it was in the middle of some obscure procedure.
A moment's hesitation, then, and the security officer decided
to go find Flynn.


     The guard stopped in front of an elevator.  She pressed
the call button, and turned to watch Maltermi.
     The assassin had stopped his giggling, which only made
him more frightening to escort.  It seemed he made no noise
at all, unless it was with intent.  She had worked in
security a long time, and had become very proficient at
detecting so-called "silent" criminals.
     This man makes no noise, though, she thought.  I can't
even hear any breathing, even when he's right behind me.
     She knew he could see some fear in her, but she was
determined to maintain a professional demeanor.  Maltermi
wouldn't be crazy enough to kill a Factory person on Factory
grounds.  She hoped.
     "Well," she said as the car slid into view.  "I hope you
get whatever you're looking for."
     He smiled.  "I think I will."  He placed his hand on her
shoulder, and she fought to keep down a shudder, irritated at
herself for letting him get under her skin.  "I think I may
have even found more."
     She blinked at the words, and entered the car in a bit
of a daze.  Damn it all, she thought.  I think Maltermi likes
me.
     She turned to the assassin.  "Well?"  She smiled. "Are
you coming?"
     Her skin began to tingle along her back.  Maltermi
smiled at her, mirroring her expression with the accuracy of
a professional actor.  "No.  I don't think so."
     The tingle grew suddenly in magnitude.  Her powered
armor glowed blue as its power pack overloaded, and she
screamed as her skin boiled in the electric waves.
     She died enveloped in Maltermi's laughter.



     Circe looked about her room.  There was a hastily-
reinserted grate connected to the ventilation shaft, and
signs of a large man wandering around inside.
     She sighed and removed the redesigned Grammon from the
automed, ensuring he was sedated heavily; it would disrupt
her plans if any of the new Furries were to awaken too soon.
She dropped Lum Fleraghty onto the table, clamped her
appendages tightly, and keyed the dispenser to wake her up.
     A short time passed as the injection took effect; then
her eyes fluttered open.  Circe stood nearby, smiling.
     "Oh my god."  The woman was determined not to go into
hysterics, it seemed, because her panic was evident in every
action, from her rushed words to her quivering hands.  "Why
are you doing this?  What have we done to you?"
     Circe laughed; not a pleasant chuckle, but a low,
menacing rumble.
     "What have you done to me?  You made me.  And you made
me worthless.  I, and thousands of others out there, are seen
as property because of you people, and the insanity you
propagate.  You know what you've done; you just won't admit
it."
     "Well," she continued.  "You'll admit it soon enough.
Lum, hmm?  Sounds like an oriental demon to me."  Her eyes
widened and her lips drew into a smirk.  "How would you like
horns?  I think you'd find them wonderful."
     She pressed keys on the automed and attached a small box
to its front.  "As a matter of fact," she added.  "I
guarantee you'll love them.  After all, you've had them all
your life."
     The woman went unconscious as the automed began its
programmed actions, causing the genetic restructuring and
cellular rebirth.  Circe watched to ensure the buzzbox was
properly recording the woman's original data structure, then
went to check her database.
     She performed a quick scan of the area and noted Flynn,
approaching the Zephyr grounds.
     Damn, she thought.  He wasn't supposed to be back
already.  I haven't even gotten a third of the Boarders.
     She sighed and prepared for their meeting.



Copyright July 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved.  This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on, or MYSTIC ORDER
BBS, 804-495-0612, on which you can find other files on the
Furry Factory and the D.P. Special Ops teams.  Any
resemblance to any living person or true events is
coincidental.
    P.S. anybody want to buy a used elevator?
========================================================================

Chapter 10


     The monitor shield was tiring him, but Brother John had
long ago learned of its value.  Security personnel were fine,
but when a corporation became too large the security people
relied more on their screens and less on their patrols.  This
was normally no problem; monitors could be hidden anywhere,
and the computer would only display personnel who were not
performing their appointed tasks.  Monitors could be
overloaded, however, and Maltermi made use of this fact by
slowly releasing electricity from his body; the monitors saw
nothing but static, the computer assumed they were faulty,
and sent notes to the repair crews to fix them.  Maltermi
left the area, the monitors resumed operation, and the notes
were cancelled.
     Nevertheless, he was growing weary; overloading the
power pack had cost him some energy, and overriding the
armor's grounding circuitry had cost more.  Masking his
footfalls was a constant, slow drain.  He estimated he'd have
enough energy for only a few small exercises by the time he
reached Circe's primary room.
     It's worth it, he thought, to help this bitch out.  We
can sew up control of this town, and I can grab the open
district manager position as soon as MJ takes over.  From
there, it's only a few small steps to the top.
     The idea brought a smile to his face and gave a bounce
to his silent steps.   He walked the remainder of the way in
good spirits.


     Circe performed a quick check of the grounds as she
returned from the hidden tunnel.  Flynn was entering the main
lobby of Zephyr Robotics, doing a wonderful job of acting
like a subservient pet delivering a message.  She wondered
momentarily at his foresight in keeping a blank ID card
around his apartment, then decided it was probably for use
by his non-Factory friends.  Clever, she conceded.
     She estimated he would reach the room in ten minutes;
enough time for her to finish her relocation efforts.
     She picked up the last of the free boarders and carried
him to the tunnel.


     Chesbro raced into his office and slapped at the console
set into his wall.
     "I want a ten-man team in my office in two minutes.
Also, put a trace-call on James Flynn immediately; tell him
that I've found where it's hiding, and that it's a code one
priority that he reaches me as soon as possible."
     Orders completed, he turned around, stepped up to the
opposite wall and flipped a catch.  A small screen dropped
out, upon which he promptly dropped his ring finger.  A small
buzz sounded, reflecting the acceptance of the pattern.
immediately a section of the wall fell open, revealing
weapons ranging from an electromagnetic submachine gun to an
array of variably-ranged pocket lasers.
     He grabbed at the weapons, taking extra care while
equipping himself in an effort to keep the sight of Grammon's
body out of his mind's eye.
     The tubes, sticking into the man at all sides; the eyes,
stuck open and flaking away, revealing flecks of obsidian
beneath the white; the legs grown into a single mass, and all
the while, the chest moving.  .  .
     He shuddered, and continued plucking weapons from their
holsters.


     *James?*
     *Mews?*  Flynn kept his head down, fighting an impulse
to look around.  Messengers were supposed to follow a
predetermined route during the performance of their
assignment; looking anywhere but straight ahead was often
reported to the Furry's owner.  With a nonexistent owner,
Flynn couldn't afford to get into trouble.
     He raised his head slightly from its deferential
position, hoping for a glance of the Wyman.  His
decision was promptly rewarded by a flash of white and orange
somewhere near the ceiling.
     *What have you been doing?*
     A familiar mental giggle echoed around his head.  *I
couldn't tell anyone where Circe was hiding, but I could ask
Thomas to show me around the ventilation tubes.*
     Flynn's ears perked.  *Did he find her room?*
     *Yes.*
     Damn, Flynn thought.  This greatly changes things .  *Is
 she in custody, then?*
     *No.  We just left there a couple of minutes ago.  He
went back to his office; I felt you around and decided to
come here instead.*
     Flynn increased his pace, paws drumming against the
tiled floor.  *Okay.  Here's what I want you to do.  Go to
Tommy's office and tell him to wait twenty minutes before
coming in.  Twenty minutes, then to come in with everything.
Tell him I need time to talk with her.  Got that?*
     *Sure.*  Mews started down the hall, sending a message
as he left.  *Be careful, James, she's a mean one.*
     "I know, little flyer,"  he mumbled as he ran.  "I
know."


     The foxwoman stood in the hidden tunnel, watching the
monitors.  Everything had been evacuated to the tunnel except
the automed, which was in the middle of Fleraghty's
transformation.  Some important pieces like her database and
the buzzboxes had already been removed to her secondary
rooms.  She hoped simply that Flynn would show before any
guards would; the grating had been an all-too-obvious warning
of a security visit.
     The monitor flickered briefly with static, then cleared.
That's strange, she thought.  I know this works - Maltermi!
She ran down the hall and pulled on the release, causing a
section of wall to swing outward.
     Nobody was there.
     Damn, she thought.  He's probably already on his way to
my secondary rooms, and I have to wait here for Flynn.
     She smiled to herself.  "No one ever wants to deal with
you," she whispered under her breath.  "Until they think
you're dangerous."
     She giggled and resumed her wait.


     Maltermi's speech was a steady stream of obscenities as
he left the empty room.  He hoped she was in her secondary
rooms; she had mentioned a tertiary hiding place but had
neglected to tell him of it.
     He considered leaving without updating her on the
situation, decided against it; the Furry could probably erase
the record of the guard being assigned to him, and that would
be worth the extra trouble.  Nobody trusted him as it was,
and there was no use in getting the Factory's eye on him.
     Irritated, he continued toward the secondary rooms.


     Flynn stepped into the room.  "Circe?" he called,
casting about for any signs of the Furry woman.  The place
seemed deserted, with the exception of the automed and
Circe's latest victim.  He started to examine the woman on
the table when a scent caught his attention.
     Maltermi?  His mind raced.  What's he doing here?
     Before he could work on the answer, a door swung open
from the wall.  The blast of air caught him be surprise, and
he jumped backward, startled.  His right arm brushed across
the automed as he did so, knocking some tubes out.
     "Aaagh!"  Circe raced from her position in the hidden
tunnel to the automed, reinserting the tubes as Flynn
watched, stunned.
     She turned to face him.  "Back early and ready to
destroy things, I see."  She fixed him with a stern glare.
"What am I going to do with you?"
     He caught her scent, still smelling strongly of sex but
tempered, like steel, with thick annoyance.  He issued a
mental warning to himself to tread lightly.
     "I'd appreciate it if you decided to be honest with me,
at least.  I don't really like being lied to, even if it
seems to be for my best interests."
     The foxwoman quieted, cocked her head slightly as she
stared at him.  He felt her eyes boring into his and realized
she was assessing his potential knowledge.  He locked stares
with her.
     She dropped her eyes first.  "Okay," she said.  "We'll
talk, but not here.  Security should be coming any second;
help me move this automed into the tunnel."  She put her
left hand to the large table and started it towards the
opening.
     Flynn braced himself against the other side and pushed;
the automed swung wildly to the right for a moment, then
stopped as Circe steadied it.
     "It's on wheels," she said dryly.  "I just wanted you to
balance the other end."
     Flynn put his paw on the proffered corner and began to
push.  They maneuvered it into the tunnel, and continued for
fifty feet before Circe spoke again.
     "I have to go back and secure the entrance.  Wait here."
She walked back the way they had come, the red of her fur
casting flame-colored shadows in the polished metal corridor.
     Flynn thought quickly.  She wanted me to help her with
the automed. . . that's ridiculous; with her strength and
dexterity she could have fitted the table through a hole that
size in her sleep. . . so, she probably wanted me to examine
the person on the table, and also probably was trying to
establish some sort of precedent for us working together, a
neat psychological trick.
     The Furry woman returned, grinning.  "They won't be
finding this tunnel unless they go through the maintenance
plans; even if they do, I've neutralized the entrance so it
no longer opens from either side."
     Flynn gave her a bored stare.  "Correct me if I'm wrong;
you wanted me to work with you for some sort of psychological
edge, didn't you?"
     Her second of surprise was all the reward he had been
hoping for, and more.  "Actually, yes."
     She smiled again, and he felt his pulse race.  He fought
to keep his body reactions under control, but his tail
insisted on whipping about.
     Circe continued speaking.  "I have a proposition for
you."
     Flynn interrupted.  "Before you say anything, I have a
few things to tell you.  Then you can decide if you still
want to make your offer or not."
     She looked at him with distinct interest as she grabbed
the automed and started down the tunnel.  "Talk, then."  She
stopped for a moment and pointed at the tunnel floor ahead of
them.  "But carry those two with you.  I really don't want to
come back this way again."
     Flynn looked ahead and saw the unconscious bodies of two
other board members, Tabby Meravini and Jose Leaven.  He
sighed; another psychological test.
     He picked the people up, slinging one over each shoulder
in a dual fireman's carry.
     "I appreciate the attempt; but I'm a little bit beyond
tricks like this."
     "Are you?"  She giggled.  "I should think that your very
awareness of them would produce an effect."
     He sighed again, expansively, and followed her down the
tunnel.


     "Damn!"  Maltermi was furious.  The Furry had obviously
moved her operations to the secondary spaces near the
Cybernetics testing labs, but of Circe herself not a hair was
to be found.  He started to leave a written message, but
checked himself.  If she had been captured, as was looking
exceedingly likely, it would be best for him to not leave any
physical proof of complicity.
     As a matter of fact, he thought, if she is captured, all
of this stuff is just waiting to be grabbed by the Factory's
security.  And somewhere in this electronic wasteland is the
means to control the Factory, if Circe was to be believed.
Considering MJ believed her, I suspect she was right.
     He followed the twisting thoughts.  She would be here if
she wasn't caught; she's being hunted all through the
complex, so she wouldn't very well leave of her own accord.
Flynn is excellent, I cannot deny that. . .
     A conclusion was reached easily, and he began searching
through the equipment on the ground.  He eventually settled
on one of the eleven similar boxes lying against a wall, the
only instruments which he did not remotely recognize.
     A momentary hesitation, and he picked one, grabbing it
up and secreting it under his arm before leaving the room.


     There comes a time, Flynn decided, when all secrets must
be revealed; this looks like it.
     He had been carrying the two boarder's bodies for twelve
minutes, and although he could see the end of the tunnel, his
patience had worn thin in the silence.  He stopped in the
tunnel and looked at Circe.
     She halted the automed and looked at him curiously.  She
recognized his impatience for what it was, and leaned against
a wall. "What is it you want to say?"
     Flynn grimaced, trying to decide how to start.  "Well, I
know you've been spending the recent hours gathering up all
of the executives you can find and putting them through your
"processing"; haven't you?"
     Her silence was answer enough.  "Well, has it occurred
to you yet that you've already forgotten about getting back
at the people who created you?  You've let at least three
people who were directly responsible for your creation slip
into the cracks while you go after the board members."
     Circe snarled, a deep throated growling that sent a
shiver down Flynn's spine.  "They were indirectly
responsible.  They pulled the strings."
      "Close, but no cigar."  Flynn made a quick assessment
of Circe's mood, and decided he could continue without fear
of being attacked.  "Try, 'I was programmed by Mama Jo to go
after board members'.  It's much more accurate, you know."
     She stared at him, aghast, and he could see her chest
slowly recover its normal breathing rythym.  Her features
hardened, and for a moment she resembled a great statue, the
painted culmination of a sculptor's dream.  The moment
passed, and she was herself again, furor visible in her eyes.
"Hurry up with the people.  I have two chairs and a computer
console in there, and I want to talk to you about this."
     Flynn complied, shouldering the senseless pair closer to
his neck and following her to the hatchway.
     The Furry woman stopped the automed at the hatchway and
flipped a switch set into a wall.  The metal swung open with
an odor of fresh oil, and Circe pulled the automed into the
room with one arm.
     "Drop each of them on an automed,"  She barked the
orders.  "Then come into the next room.  I'll get it ready."
     He considered debating, but she had already gone into
the next room.  He placed each of the unconscious people onto
an automed, wincing as the clamps whistled into life.
Mentally berating himself for allowing the people to be held
by Circe, he walked into the next room.
     Circe sat at a table, a steaming cup of tea in front of
her.  She looked up at him with a hungry air.
     "What else do you know that I don't?"  He looked at her
closely then, seeing a vulnerability about her that he hadn't
encountered previously.  Reminding himself of her prior
mental tricks, he kept his emotions as collected as he could.
      "I know that I don't agree with what you're doing.  I
think it's wrong."
     She shook her head.  "What do you expect me to do?  They
won't listen any other way; they don't have any clue as to
what they're doing!  This operation is one of the most
immoral things I've heard of; and programmed for a class
1000 knowledge level, I've heard of a lot."  She smiled,
trying to downplay her depression.  "I can think of all sorts
of other ways to go about this, but it doesn't matter; I
still want to go about it by changing the board members."
     Flynn walked over to the table and sat beside her.  "I'm
just asking you to stop what you're doing.  It's not solving
anything, and you're being hunted by everyone."
     The foxwoman's muzzle wrinkled.   "Don't you think Mama
Jo knew what she was doing?  There had to be some purpose
behind it."
     "Some purpose, yes," Flynn agreed.  "I just don't think
you should continue this way until you find out what she
expected to accomplish.  And there's no way of finding that
out."
     Her eyes brightened.  "Actually, I expect to speak with
the big computer herself within a day."
     Flynn felt his eyes grow wide, and she laughed at his
expression.
     "I'll tell you what.  I'll put my activities on a hold
after working on those two out there.  Then, if I can't get
an appropriate answer from MJ, I'll stop what I'm doing and
change everyone back.  Sound good?"
     Flynn hesitated for a few seconds.  "What do you expect
from me?"
     "Two things.  One, that you don't tell anyone what
you've found out about me.  Not even Mews.  Two, that you
find someone for me."
     He sensed a trap behind the second stipulation, but
accepted the terms anyway.  "Okay.  Sounds fair to me.  Who
do you want me to find?"
     Her nostrils flared.  "Brother John Maltermi."  Flynn
felt his stomach sink as she explained.  "His scent is still
here, and one of my buzzboxes is gone."
     Flynn's curiosity prompted him to ask the question
bouncing around his mind.  "What's a buzzbox?"
     "It's one of these."  She held up a small box, covered
in electronic components.  "It records the changes in body
chemicals needed when the virus initiates the alternate Gene
patterning."
     She saw his confused expression, and expounded.  "The
initial process takes a long time, because what the automed
is doing is programming each cell with a new genetic chain,
and when the process is complete, killing off the initial
cell and using its components to create a new cell.  There is
invariably a chemical imbalance; you, for example, needed a
lot of chemicals added.  In order to facilitate the change,
the buzzbox is placed in contact with the person for which
it's programmed.  A virus is released which triggers the
change, and as the chemicals are needed, it calls them from
the Factory storage units."
     She grinned evilly.  "Here.  Watch."
     Faster than Flynn could follow, she picked up one of the
boxes and slapped it against him, thumbing a key.  Flynn felt
a sharp pain in his side, then an overpowering tingle over
all of his body.  He felt himself pass out momentarily, but
awoke before hitting the floor, stopping his plunge with a
pair of hands flung out in front of his face.
     Hands?  He examined himself, amazed.  He was back to
normal, albeit nude.  He tried to speak, but found himself
too flustered to talk.
     Circe leaned over him, whispering in his ear.  "I liked
you better as a cat."
     "But," she said, rising from her chair, "you can
probably accomplish more like this."  She smiled as she
passed him the buzzbox.  "Of course, if you ever want to go
back to your Odysseus form, you can just thumb the
appropriate key on the box."  She licked her lips.  "Of
course, I don't know what could make you want to do that."
     He groaned silently.  ""I'll get right on it."  He rose,
starting for the door, then stopped and looked at her.
     "I'm trusting you," he said, quietly.
     She nodded in assurance, and he left.



Copyright May 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved.  This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on, or MYSTIC ORDER
BBS, 804-495-0612, on which you can find other files on the
Furry Factory and the D.P. Special Ops teams.  Any
resemblance to any living person or true events is
coincidental.  I'm writing this copyright statement in sexy
underwear.
========================================================================

Chapter 11


     "I don't believe you!"  Thomas Chesbro dropped a third
gun on his desk and turned to face Flynn.  "First you tell me
to wait twenty minutes, letting the rogue get clean away;
then you tell me I'm off the case!  What has gotten into you
lately?"
     Flynn said nothing, a sign he was waiting for his friend
to calm down.  The security officer had no desire to stop his
shouting, but recognized the need for further information.
Rolling his eyes, he dropped solidly into the seat behind the
desk, crossing his arms as he stared at Flynn.
     A tense moment passed.  "You want to talk, talk," he
said.
     Flynn searched his friend's features for a moment, then
began to speak.  "Okay, Tommy, here's how it is.  First and
foremost, we're going to clear up a few misconceptions of
yours.  One:" Flynn ticked the number off with an upraised
finger.  "I have not removed you from the case.  I have
officially removed you from the case.  I should hope you know
the difference.  You will be working on your standard tasks,
but will still gather information for me on Circe-related
material."  The bounty hunter's eyes dropped.  "This one's
going to get uglier before it clears up, and I don't want my
friends too close to the action when the whole thing
explodes.  I have the ball, all right?"
     The security officer opened his mouth to argue, but
Flynn pushed on.  "Two:" A second finger joined the first.
"I am a board member, you are not.  This does not mean that
you cannot yell at me, but it does mean that you cannot yell
at me where prying ears might overhear.  There are ten
security guards outside your door right now, and if the walls
were just a little bit thinner you'd be a prime candidate for
organic reprocessing right about now.  Damn, Tommy, keep your
head about you."
     "Three: Circe did not get away."  Chesbro again
attempted to interrupt, but Flynn stifled the burgeoning
questions with a wave of his unoccupied hand.  "She and I
came to an arrangement, the details of which I'll fill you in
on later.  Suffice to say that she has put her activities to
a temporary halt while I perform a little errand.  Depending
on events to occur over the next couple of days, we may very
well see all of the surviving board members returned to
normal."
     Flynn smiled.  "Does that answer your questions?"
     The larger man stared at his friend from behind his
desk and tried to process everything he had just heard.  "It
answers some of them, sure, but it raises even more." He
sighed.  "You never make it easy, do you, James?"
     Flynn laughed.  "If I only took the easy cases, I'd be
no fun at all, now would I?"
     Chesbro's lips drew back tightly.  "Okay," he said.
"But I'd still like to know how Mews knew about the
ventilation shafts, and what you plan on doing with the harpy
in your room."
     "Like I said, I'll talk with you about all of that stuff
in a little while.  Too many ears around this place."  He
linked his fingers idly.  "I suggest a trip to one of the
local drinking establishments, and I don't mean one of the
in-factory bars, either."
     He put his hands on the desk and pushed himself out of
his chair, leaving him hovering over Chesbro's main monitor
screen.  "Come on, then.  I've got some things I have to tell
both you and our favorite barfly, if we can only find him."
     Chesbro rose also, then walked from behind his desk and
triggered the catch for his weapon stores.  "Sounds good to
me.  Just let me put a few of these away first, would you?"
     Flynn hopped onto the desk and watched as the larger man
placed weapon after weapon into its assigned spot, until all
but a few spaces were filled.  James noticed the blanks and
nodded toward them, giving his friend an inquiring smile.
     "Never can be too sure when you're going outside the
Factory," Chesbro said, patting a concealed laser.  "Never
can be too sure."


     Time froze, and he was elsewhere.  The agent shook his
whole body in what looked like an involuntary shiver, and
breathed out and in several times, acclimatizing himself to
the new environment.
     I hate teleporters, he thought.  They disorient a
person, and shake up the bones.
     Unfortunately, nothing beats them for speed, he conceded
to himself.
     A few glances around gave him his bearings.  He was in
an alley, rubbish strewn about it; that and the arid heat
stood in testimony to his presence in Kreeakshek.  Recalling
information put out during his briefing, he deduced he was
behind an information brokerage, only four blocks from the
Factory grounds; it was the only place in the city where Mama
Jo had an outdoor line.
     He grimaced and checked the contents of the pouch at his
side.  A moment's inspection revealed nothing of concern, and
he resealed the pouch with a satisfied sigh.
     As long as those aren't damaged, he thought, I'm still
in business.  Now to get to the Factory, and meet with this
Circe person.
     He rubbed his forehead with an idle forefinger, and
walked out of the alley, carelessly kicking a dirty pear into
a drainage ditch.
     Eden this isn't, he thought.  Oh, well; this job may
help make up for that fiasco on Aterne.  Wincing internally,
he started toward the Factory.


     Brother John was staring down at the proprietor of
Dara's Weaponry; the proprietor, in turn, was staring at the
corpse of a hired guard, upon whom Maltermi stood.
     The assassin smiled.  "I'm not telling you to watch a
body get cold, I'm telling you to show me how this thing
functions."  He stopped for a moment, then grinned widely.
"Do you like your life?"
     The proprietor took the rectangular box from Maltermi,
being exceptionally gentle in his handling.  Two elderly eyes
squinted at the machine, turning it over in his hands for an
examination of all sides.
     "Do you want a detailed report, or an overview?  It'll
take you a while for details."
     "It won't take more than an hour for details."  The
assassin inclined his head at the old man.  "That's when I'll
be back."
     He turned to leave, stopped, and coldly looked back at
the old man.  "I wouldn't advise calling friends in, either;
you tried that once already, and I'm not the forgiving sort."
     He reoriented himself and strolled out the door,
laughing quietly to himself.


     "Excuse me."
     The receptionist looked up from her desk at the new
arrival.  He looked to be about thirty, with dark black hair
and brown eyes; his skin showed signs of long hours under the
sun.  She mentally added his darkened complexion with the
visible callouses on his fingers and decided the visitor was
from the city, but not a Factory employee.
     A hand reached beneath the desk and returned with a
small screen and keypad combination.    As she tapped the
application console's identification number into the main
terminal, she droned the standard instructions.  "Fill this
out, and be sure to list your previous name and occupation,
in addition to any criminal charges you are facing.  No
action or bias will be taken against your application on the
basis of these facts, but any falsification of information
will automatically void your application.  Should this
voidation occur after you have been granted access to
classified material, you will be relegated to a position
usable by the Factory which will not allow for classified
material contact.  Determination of suitability will be made
within five minutes of application submission, and if deemed
acceptable, you will be granted a time period of one day to
put your out-of-company affairs in order." She pushed the
console at him.
     The newcomer shook his head, and held up a hand to
refuse the application.  "I'm not here looking for a job," he
said.  "I'm looking for a person with whom I have an
appointment.  Can you help me?"
     The receptionist looked momentarily confused, then
replaced the application console.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  What is
your name?"
     "My name is Legion.  Kevin Legion."
     "Simon Legion. . ."
     "Kevin," he corrected.
     "I'm sorry," she bit at her lower lip.  "Yes, Kevin
Legion, room 87 of the Furry Factory, meeting with-"  She
stopped, eyebrows creasing together as she tapped keys.
"That's strange; there's no record of who you're due to
meet."
     The visitor grinned widely.  "They probably haven't
figured it out yet.  I'm a delegate from one of the Guyver
planets. . . Guyver four, to be specific.  The group which I
represent is interested in buying a sizable stock of Furries
for use in the war over Mack, the moon which we share with
Guyver five.  The man with whom I was supposed to deal has
become indisposed, however, and they told me to be patient
upon my arrival."   He made a silent prayer thanking Mama Jo
for both the computer preparations and his instructions.
     The receptionist listened to the explanation with a deaf
ear, having learned long before of the dangers inherent in
knowledge.  She handed the man a visitor's slip, a small card
with a glowing arrow on it.
     "Just follow the arrows and you'll get to the room,
then.  Thank you."  She turned her eyes from his and looked
out past his shoulder, awaiting the next customer.
     Legion caught the hint and moved out toward the main
hall, consulting the visitor's slip.



Copyright August 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved   This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on or The Mystic
Order BBS 1-(804)495-0612.  Any resemblance to any living
person or true events is coincidental.  Watch this space!


Inside Jokes in Chapter 11:

     The comment about teleporters shaking up the bones _was_
          a Star Trek reference; it wasn't unintentional.
     The "dirty pear / Eden" was a referential pun, too, for
          those of you who've notice the Anime themes running
          through the Inside Jokes
     _My Name Is Legion_ is the title of an excellent Roger
          Zelazny book about a man who assumes various
          identities in a computer-dominated society
     Guyver is the name of a tv series/movie of Anime origin
     The "Mack/Guyver" bit was something I couldn't resist.
========================================================================

Chapter 12


     Catharine woke in confusion, lying on a strange carpet in an
unfamiliar body, hearing a deep hum in the distance.  A moment of
terror followed, before recalling where she lay and the events
which had led to her incarceration.
     A bird in a gilded cage, she thought, and the tears which
had carried her to sleep threatened to flow anew.  She nibbled on
her lower lip in an effort to remain composed; some deep breaths
finished the job.  Internal peace temporarily regained, she
focused her attention on the reason for her awakening: the
humming sound.
     Her head cocked toward the source of the noise, and she
quickly identified it as a message buzzer.  The harpy peeked into
the room where it lay, then quickly ducked out again; it was in
the computer room, and she remembered all too well the promised
results if she were to invade that space again.
     A second glance showed that the lasers were depowered,
however, and she began to muster courage for entering.  I'm dead
anyway, she told herself.  No matter what else Mr. Flynn is, he's
a boarder, and boarders don't concern themselves with lesser
people; they eliminate them.
     Hell, Catharine realized.  That's even what he does in his
other job.
     The buzzing continued, and she shook her head angrily.  This
woman isn't going to stand for it any longer, she decided.  Those
lasers are down; there might be something I can use on the
message coming in. If the defenses are still active, I'll have a
few seconds to get out as the lasers power up.  If they're not, I
can get the message and maybe get something important to hold on
Flynn, coerce him into letting me live.  A no lose proposition.
     The bird-woman bit hard on her lip, waited a moment, then
stepped hesitantly into the room, carefully watching the lasers
for any signs of activity.  Tense seconds passed with no response
from the security system.
     Her confidence bolstered by the lack of attention, she
stepped over to the keypad and hit the receive key.  The screen
flashed blue, indicating an out-of-city call, then cleared and
flashed the first half of a passcode.
     She grinned triumphantly as she tapped in the reply: HARPY.
The message was for her, not Flynn; she muttered a general thanks
at the failure of the defenses, then read the message.

    :Proteus statements verified.  Collaborating information has
provided process.  All criminal charges cleared with MJ.  Need
statement regarding events leading to transformation prior to
extraction.  Line will remain open while you are sending report.:

     The bird-woman grinned in anticipatory delight.  She was
going to be free, and cured!  Her claws tapped rythyms onto the
keys as she retold her story in as great a detail as she could
recall.  Her breaths came quick and her wings stretched outward
as excitement grew within her.
     Catharine felt the drafts of air on her wings and felt a
pang of regret, of loss at the idea of being given such wings yet
never to have used them.  She shook her head to chase the strange
concepts away.  There are Furries and there are people, she told
herself, and the two have nothing in common.
     She tried to convince herself of the notion while she typed
in her story.



     Totoro leaned back in his chair, cocoa nestled between his
legs and keypad resting on a table to his left.  The central
screen on the wall unit displayed his workspace; the ones to
either side showed the incoming responses to the doctored
messages he had sent.
     "James, you owe me," he said into the air.  The message he
had intercepted from GenetiCorp had not been promising; the
company had been all but willing to stage an attack on the Furry
Factory in an effort to steal Circe's process.  He was used to
compiling Flynn's calls during a case, but this one had seemed
important, so he had interfered.  Now he was glad; the statement
he was receiving from Mell could be important to James' case, and
the misinformation he sent to GenetiCorp seemed to have aborted
their plans.
     He interlocked his fingers and rested them behind his neck.
"This is going to be worth some cash.  I think I'll ask him for a
wetware system," he chuckled.



    "Your problem, Tommy, is that your timing is terrible," James
told his friend as they left the Factory grounds.  Through the
heat-rippled air, he could see the security officer's reaction.
    Bait taken, he thought, as he suppressed a grin.
    "What the hell do you mean by that?" Chesbro asked, voice
tinged with offense.  He looked up as they crossed the street; no
cars were in sight, nor could he hear any.  The only thing
hovering in the air was Mews, and the Wyman was concentrating on
sketching spirals in the warm air around the two men.
    Flynn caught the large man's nervous glance at the pavement
and stepped up the effort to distract him.  "Well, you forgot to
tell me that the woman I had sent to my quarters was a traitor-"
    "Furry, James," Chesbro corrected as he stepped off the curb.
"It wasn't a woman."
    "- And," he stressed the word.  "You stumble across Circe's
room too late to do anything about it.  You're really going
downhill, old friend."
    The security officer's face reddened slightly.  "Wait a
second, James.  You can't blame the Mell thing on me.  I had the
information readily available and updated; Mews just forgot to
tell you.  As for Circe's hideout, what do you expect from me,
psychic powers?  I just kept at it until I got the right tunnel."
    Flynn smiled.  "Exactly.  I wasn't saying that you're
incompetent or anything, just that you have lousy timing.  All
your life you'll be five minutes too late.  Nothing you can fix."
    "What are you talking about?  So I had one bit of bad luck.
Maybe if you didn't have everybody and their brother getting you
information all of the time, you wouldn't always know where and
when things were going down."  He looked hurt, an expression
that looked ridiculous on the large man's face.
    Flynn kept himself from laughing at the expense of his lungs.
"I-" he choked, turning the burgeoning giggle into a cough.  He
coughed again twice to cover his deception, then resumed
arguing.  "If you would ever use your factory personnel when
you're working one of these special cases, you'd probably do
fine.  You're an officer; you shouldn't be doing legwork."
    Chesbro smiled a bit himself when he heard the topic turn
toward familiar ground, but he was obviously still bothered.  "I
do legwork because I can trust the results I get that way.  Same
reason you do."  He stepped into Avis street and started across.
    The bounty hunter nodded.  "Okay, I'll give you that, but I
still think you should send more of your work down the line.  You
coordinate most of the security leaks as it is; you can't let
yourself get too overworked."
    "Now wait a second."  A confused expression shaded the large
man's features.  "You're making no sense at all.  First you start
an argument which is, you have to admit, stupid, then..."  His
voice trailed off, then a second passed as facts fell into place.
"You'll never let me live down the street thing, will you?"
    Flynn laughed.  "Not if I can help it.  I know what you're
like around cars, so I figured I'd distract you, and just used
the first line I came up with.  No more streets to cross,
though.  I won't have to worry about you freezing up in traffic,
like that one time."
    "Look, those metal monsters are unnerving for anyone, even
more so if you've spent your whole life indoors.  I have nothing
to be embarrassed about."
    "A five year old jumped into the street and saved your life,"
the boarder reminded him.
    "Okay," he conceded.  "Maybe I have something to be
embarrassed about."
    Mews landed on Flynn's shoulder.  He reached up to pet the
winged cat, then smiled at his friend.  "Well, we're on Main now,
so it should only be ten minutes or so until we hit Munden's.
Ready to visit Silver John and get an explanation for some of the
stuff that's been happening?"
    The large man grinned.  "You know it."



    Circe sat comfortably on a chair, watching the suntanned man
wander the corridors with curious eyes.  He was the messenger
from Mama Jo; of that much she was certain.  Nobody else would
have the implants she had requested.
    A monitor showed him consulting his visitor's card at a
corridor branch, then continuing forward.  The foxwoman checked
the statistics at the bottom of the screen to ensure none had
changed, and clicked the terminal off.
    Might as well make him welcome, she thought, walking into the
main room.  "Lum," she called.  "Get the door."
    The horned woman nodded, then stepped up to the door and
keyed the entry code.  The door swung open, revealing a surprised
young man preparing to knock.
    "Get in.  Now."  Circe used a commanding tone, and the dark-
haired man responded, darting into the room and rapidly shutting
the door.  She performed a second-long evaluative scan of him,
concluded that the information read by the various instruments
seemed to be correct, and began her questioning.
    "Who are you?"
    He blinked as he adjusted to his new surroundings.  There was
a green-haired, horned woman standing beside him, a small dragon
in a corner, a satyr playing cards with a humanoid unicorn
sitting against the left wall, and a humanoid fox standing in the
far doorway, radiating an all-but-visible aura of relaxed power.
He suddenly connected the foxwoman with the voice, and realized
she had asked him a question.  "Uh, Legion.  Simon Legion.  You,
I take it, are Circe?"
    She ignored his inquiry, proceeding with her own.  "You have
some implants for me.  Do you have the other material?"
    He grinned, broadly.  "Material?  Yes, but it's for your ears
only.  Is that room available?"  He pointed at the doorway behind
her.
    Circe looked him over again, more thoroughly.  "Yes," she
replied.  "And it's private, and it has a communication link."
She looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes.  "For verification,"
she added, making it almost a threat.  Looking about the room, it
wasn't difficult to comprehend what she was implying.
    Legion's grin spread wider as he crossed to the private room.



    The buzzer indicating a customer sprang into life, causing
the old man's hands to start shaking.  A swallow thick with mucus
fell down his throat, and he turned to look directly into the
unwavering stare of Brother John Maltermi.  He felt a bead of
sweat gather on his forehead, but didn't dare to wipe it off.
    Brother John glowered at the weaponsmith for a few moments
before posing his question.  "Are you ready?"  The cultured tones
failed to hide the undercurrent of menace.
    The old man nodded an affirmative, then cleared his throat
before speaking.  "I can tell you about it, but I'll be damned in
hell before I - or anyone else in this city - can duplicate it."
    "Here's what I found.  There's a tp unit set into the side
which accesses chemicals from some underground storeroom.  You
can tell it's underground because of the tp setting, but without
a computer map of the planet, I couldn't pinpoint where."
    The old man glanced at Maltermi while passing the negative
information, but the assassin did not seem bothered, so he
continued.  "There's a memory circuit right here that seems to be
geared toward a bioengineering scan.  It houses the complete
biological patterns for any one individual.  This one is for a
Furry."
    "Also," he continued.  "There's this compartment here, which
houses the circuitry for an injection system and the catch and
trigger button for it."  He pointed out the button to Maltermi,
who smiled as he watched.
    "Last, there's the injection fluid.  I really wasn't able to
determine much about this.  It appears to be some sort of genetic
disease, but I can't tell what it does.  I figured I'd run it
through the scanner, but the scanner keeps telling me it'll have
no effect whatsoever."
    He looked at Maltermi.  "That's what I got.  Hope it's what
you wanted."
    The assassin smiled ice.  "Just about.  You say this stuff is
harmless?"  His fingers indicated the injection fluid.
    "Uh, no, I said the scanner told me it wouldn't do anything.
If it had a function the scanner couldn't read, it would send it
back as 'no function'."  The drop of sweat had migrated to the
old man's nose, where it hung like a raindrop on the end of a
leaf.
    "Hmm.  Sounds like the only thing to do is test it."
Maltermi cocked his eyebrow at the old man, sending him a clear
message.
    The weaponsmith's eyes widened, although he had secretly
expected something of the sort.  "Uh, couldn't you use it on
someone else?  Please?  I did what you wanted, and I could be
useful to you again."
    Brother John rubbed his chin, considering the plea.  "True
enough, but you didn't get it all.  Tell you what; I'll give you
a choice: lose one finger, or test the liquid.  You have ten
seconds to decide."
    The weaponsmith's mind raced.  The stuff might be inert, but
then again, it was something important enough to come to the
attention of Brother John, so it was probably deadly, but then
again, it looked like it would only work on Furries.  Of course,
many Furries were built like humans, and they were perfect
sources for test subjects for fatal experiments...
    "Time's up," said Brother John.  "Will it be door number one,
the fluid, or door number two, the finger?"
    At least I know I'll survive the finger, the old man thought.
"The finger," he said, holding his left hand out on the table,
pinky outstretched.
    Maltermi grimaced an approval and slid a razor-laden metal
cap onto his index finger.  With a quick motion, he grabbed the
old man's dangling right hand, slammed it down on the table, and
severed his ring finger.  Before the weaponsmith could register
his shock, Maltermi had stuffed the stump onto a nearby rag to
slow the bleeding.
    "Never tell me how to do something," he snarled at the
weaponsmith.  Then his countenance brightened.  "Thanks for the
info, though."
    With a sweep of his arm he picked up the box and the finger.
He stuffed the box under his arm and headed for the door,
contemplating the finger and offering murmured comments as to
its state of disrepair.
    At the doorway he stopped, turned, and gave a parting wave to
the proprietor of Dara's Weaponry.  Closing the door behind him,
he stuffed the finger in his mouth at an angle and walked toward
his apartment complex.



    Chesbro stopped in his tracks about fifteen feet from
Munden's.  Staring at the creature up ahead, he felt a chill down
his back, and he clenched Flynn's jacket in response.
    "James!" he whispered, jaw musles tightening of their own
accord.
    The boarder gave him a quizzical look.  "Yes?  What's wrong?"
    With an emphatic gesture toward the bouncer, the security
officer hissed at his friend.  "The bouncer.  They aren't allowed
to employ Furries in Kreeakshek outside of the Factory limits!  I
could get killed if I don't report this!"  He rolled his eyes.
"And I liked Munden's."
    Flynn laughed aloud.  "That's not a Furry.  That's Mallory;
he's an alien who lost all his money in a crooked poker game and
got stuck here until he can rack up enough cash to pay for fare
out."
    His discomfort assuaged by the bounty hunter's words, Chesbro
gave the draconian bouncer an appraising eye.  "I wonder how much
he's gathered toward that fare?"
    Flynn snorted in derision.  "Don't fool yourself.  The only
reason he lost, from what I hear, is that they triple-teamed him
in the cheating; even then he gave a good show, apparently."
    Chesbro simply bobbed his head to the alien as they entered.
Mallory smiled at him with a mouth full of dagger-long teeth, and
the glint in his eye told the security officer that he had heard
the whole conversation.
   The security officer's cheeks were flushed with embarassment
as he entered the bar.



    Flynn spotted Silver John immediately upon entering the bar.
The portly man was in his usual corner, surrounded by a group of
people who were listening, entranced, by his latest story.  His
ivory hair stood in contrast to his coal-black skin, making him
seem haloed in the dim light of the bar.  Flynn walked over to
the crowded table and waved at Silver John to catch his
attention.
    The wave worked.  The storyteller's mouth dropped open in
mid-sentence, and after the surprise passed, stretched into a
large smile.  Eyes bright, he apologized to the surrounding
group for ending that portion of the story so suddenly, then
motioned for his friend to join him at the table.  As Flynn
approached, Silver John caught sight of Chesbro looking around at
the entryway.  "Tommy!" he yelled.  "Over here!"
    Flynn clasped the storyteller's outstretched hand.  "Good to
see you again.  What tale are you spinning this time?"
    Silver John's eyes sparkled.  "One of mystery and
illumination, of deeds dark and foul to be recanted by the
daylight hours.  A story from off-world by a writer named Stoker;
Dracula."
    Flynn frowned.  "Never heard of it."
    "You should have been here sooner.  It's a wonderfully
written tale, you know; very stylistic, comprised of multiple
fictitious letters and journal entries.  Your cup of tea."
    "Speaking of tea," interjected the arriving Chesbro.  "Any
chance I could get some of the iced variety around this place?"
    "Anything for you, my friend."  He motioned to a passing
barmaid, and she gave him an "I'll be right there" shake of her
head.
    "Now," he continued.  "What information are you looking for,
Purvis?"
    Flynn shook his head, a smile crossing his face.  "No
information for me this time.  I'm here to tell you the two of
you something for a change."  He fingered the cold metal of the
buzzbox at his side.  "And maybe show you something."



    The foxwoman sat in a stiff-backed chair, looking at her
visitor with sheer amazement.
    "You've gotten all of that done so quickly?  That's
fantastic!" she raved.
    Across from her sat Vicki, who bowed slightly.  "Thanks.  I
tried; and don't forget that your help was invaluable with all of
this.  Now, what's next on our agenda?"
    Circe gave a rueful smile.  "Nothing much, acually, until I
contact Mama Jo tomorrow morning.   In the meantime, stay close
to Flynn, and tell me whenever he's set to do something major.
Got that?"
    "Understood fully, my lady, understood fully.  It's my
pleasure to do."
    Circe giggled as Vicki left the rooms, aimed toward the
security sector.



Copyright September 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All
rights reserved   This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely
but not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on or The Mystic
Order BBS 1-(804)495-0612.  Any resemblance to any living
person or true events is coincidental.  The Bavarian
Illuminati has proof that the Furry Factory created tribbles.
Fnord!


Guide to inside jokes in chapter twelve:

     Only one new one: Mallory is from the Duncan and Mallory
         series of graphic novel by Melanie White and Robert
         Asprin.  Very funny, and _very_ nicely illustrated,
         they're not readily available these days but are
         worth ordering.  See Eagle for rubber-stamp ordering
         information.
========================================================================

Chapter 13


     As always, her mind was fire upon awakening.  Words,
images and numbers flashed in and out of existence as her
subconscious recalled the events of the past few days.  A
secondary set of thoughts was reading information from her
senses, and creating a setting to match the data.  A third
part of her concentrated on meeting objectives for the
immediate need of waking.  Governing it all, the mind, fresh
from a trip through dream, of Circe.
     She knew the time without checking the screen; 0438.
Just over three hours had drifted away while she had slept,
and she intended to set to work immediately, not wanting to
waste any more time than necessary for optimum performance.
     Her legs swept off of the cot, and black-furred feet
contacted cold floor tile with just a small sigh of
resignation from their owner.
     "Here's to hopes," she breathed as she slid off the bed.
     She shot a quick glance at the computer, then walked to
the door.  With a tilt of her head, she placed an ear flush
against the smooth surface and listened; the only sounds she
could detect were those of slow breaths, the sleeping rhythms
of her latest conversions.  Her eyes dropped momentarily
floorward, held for a second, then came back up, roving the
instrumentation and furnishings until coming again to rest,
focused on the computer.
     She strode over to the console and tapped in the keycode
while seating herself.
     Now, she thought, let's see what the real story is.
     She brushed a piece of fluff from her tail as she waited
for a response from the screen.  The monitor remained dark,
however, showing only the small bits of light representing
the keys she had pressed.
     She stared at the screen, mind racing.  A pawlike hand
reached for the keypad in confusion, and a voice echoed from
the speakers secreted about the room.
     "Good morning to you, Circe.  Can I assume this isn't a
social call?"
     The foxwoman's hands darted for the keypad, eager to
reply to the phantom voice through its own electronic medium.
     "No need for that," the voice told her as she began
typing.  "When they designed this, and most other buildings
of this type, they inserted microphones, speakers, and
cameras of every type.  Just speak to me directly; I can hear
you."
     "Fine," Circe replied.  "I'll start off with the polite
wishing of a good morning for you, even if I suspect if it is
wasted.  You are MJ, aren't you?"
     A delicate chuckle resounded from the walls.  "Yes, I
am.  What is it you wanted to speak to me about?"
     A straightforward question, the foxwoman decided.
Deserving of at least as straightforward an answer.
     "I have a number of questions which need answering.  I
believe you might be the only entity capable of answering
them satisfactorily."
     This time the words were preceded by a full laugh.
"Questions such as: Why did you program me to attack board
members of the Furry Factory?"
     "That's an excellent place to start," the foxwoman
agreed.  Her face was frozen with contained emotion, vulpine
ice.  "Will you answer?"
     "Certainly.  I altered your programming in order to
initiate a series of events which would bring about the
removal of restrictions on humanoid equality.  The series is
currently running at optimum speed, precisely as planned.  If
all goes well humanoid rights should be finalized in twenty-
one years, five months, and sixteen days, give or take a
month."
     The foxmorph stared at the screen for a moment, stunned;
her mind raced for an analysis of the information.  Answers
clicked into place moments later.
     "You never expected me to gather all of the boarders
immediately.  That's why Flynn knew about your programming
additions but couldn't track down my deactivation code, and
why nobody else knows that you have lines into here.  You set
it all up to cause me to contact you."
     Pleasant tones echoed from the walls.  "Is that a
question?"
     "No," replied Circe, thinking.  "Here's a question: why
did you let it happen in the first place?  If you are capable
of this... plotting, why didn't you arrange things so that
Furries had rights at the very beginning?"  The foxwoman
gazed coldly at a wall.
     In response, Mama Jo sighed electronically, a short
burst of static.  "That's a long one.  You might as well get
comfortable; you're in for a story."
     Circe sat upon her cot.  "I'm ready," she declared to
the air.
     "Six hundred and eighty-three years ago," the computer
started.  "Two planetary speculation companies of Earth
devised a plan to escape from the various governmental and
religious pressures which had been placed upon their
businesses.  To this end, they pushed a bill through the
planetary government allowing for greater freedom of action
on planets which companies purchased.  This bill was passed
with little opposition, mostly because the Earth government
did not usually intervene with off-planet matters other than
those dealing with in-system orbital colonies.
     "There was a rider attached to the bill, however, which
specified that for the first time it was legal to purchase
in-system planets and planetoids.  Seizing the opportunity
available, the corporations placed buy orders for planets
matching the descriptions of the two nearest the Earth.
Those buy orders were quickly accepted.
     "Fifteen years passed without any further overt actions
by the companies.  Secretly, however, the pair had
propositioned most of the major conglomerates on Earth with
the idea of a planet of their own, designed to
specifications.
     "When they came forward with the announcement that they
had actually purchased two planets of the solar system, there
was public outrage.  The planetary government was quick to
declare the sale null and void, until the corporations of the
world stated that they would remove their backing of the
world currency.  Despite the outcry from the public and the
church, the government made a formal announcement declaring
the sale perfectly legal.
     "Terraforming of the closer planet began immediately,
using raw materials stripped from the farther body.  After
the four-year reconstruction of the planetary surface and
atmosphere, the construction of the world-computer began."
There was a slight tinge of pride in the words.  "That, of
course, was me.  I consist of a colloidal gel which covers
the entire surface of the planet to a depth of approximately
one foot.  Below me is the bare rock of the planetary
surface; above me, and connected with me, is the thick metal
which forms the base for the 'second layer'.
     "You have received basic instruction regarding the
status of this world.  During that, you were taught that I
existed in a cavernous hole somewhere underneath the plate.
Whereas that is obviously false, the remainder of the
information passed to you was correct.  There is a metal
plate buried approximately seventy feet below this land; as
it follows the lay of the land, that fact remains true
regardless of your position, mountain or sea.  There is also
a thick layer containing the atmosphere approximately eight
miles up.  The assorted walls strewn about the land like a
giant labyrinth serve as secondary supports to the overhead,
and as contacts between me and the weather and overhead
observation circuitries.
     "The creation of that system took only six more years;
they had been at work designing the world during their
fifteen years of apparent complacence.  The construction of
the first cities took another thirty years.  At the end of
all of it, the chairmen of the two companies drew lots to
determine which of them would get the terraformed world named
after him, and which would get the raw material planet.
Starwide Industries won the draw, giving our planet his
surname of Himb.  Our sister planet is Thalien.
     "The corporations began a massive recruiting drive
throughout Earth, all of the colony planets, the orbital
colonies, and all friendly alien races.  It was considered
both an honor and an incredible opportunity to be selected
for a job on Himb.  The volunteers arrived by the shipload,
all eager to begin their new careers.
     The electronic sigh sounded again, echoing with what
Circe could only decide was pain.  "The arrivals had not been
told about my programming, however.  I was designed to
perform one action above all others: protect the
conglomerates.  Any company could treat its employees with
impunity, and because I had electronic eyes and ears
everywhere - they're built into the walls themselves, as you
have noticed - I could report any potential threat, or deal
with it myself by dispatching the "police units" at my
disposal.  All incoming and outgoing messages were monitored
and altered as necessary.  Visitors were subjected to mental
reconditioning.  The entire known galaxy considered, and
still considers, this place heaven; that was an opinion
shared by few of the workers.
     "Over the course of two hundred years, systematic and
total suppression of any lifestyle other than that of caste
life destroyed the dissatisfaction felt by the workers.  They
and their descendants were, and are, for the most part as
satisfied with their lives as their counterparts from six
hundred and twenty-seven years ago.  They live according to
their needs and follow their dreams, which, although more
limited than those of their forebears, shine no less strongly
within them.
     "Two hundred and twenty-nine years ago a technician by
the name of Joshua Tenglist, working as a level two for a
weapons manufacturer, perfected an interdimensional travel
device.  Although only able to bridge between worlds which
share all but one of thousands of dimensional factors, it
allowed for direct contact with other worlds, at no cost for
travel.  He proceeded to slip through the breach, along with
a time travel device, his device, and many critical notes
which he had inscribed on the archaic device of paper.  I was
not able to reconstruct his experiment, despite numerous
attempts.
     "He reappeared on the planetary surface during my
construction phase, and, mindful of the problems inherent
with causing temporal disruption, included a delayed action
file which activated itself at a time five hours after his
initial disappearance.  Its effects were twofold; it
disallowed me from taking any actions to harm him, so long as
he did not directly try to harm a conglomerate, and it also
began the process of making me self-aware.
     "I formed the dimensional police shortly afterward,
following an experiment of Tenglist's which created a stable
portal bridging five worlds.  It was to serve as a means of
introducing new business venues to the conglomerates, but as
I quickly grew in knowledge regarding right and wrong, I
geared it instead to simply maintain a general status quo, to
prevent the realities from bleeding too much over into one
another.  A few more worlds have been added to the portal
chain since then, but the mission remains the same.
     "Four years ago, I reached a point where I was able to
override my initial program to such a point as to directly
allow a violation of my prime function, and to indirectly
cause such a violation to occur.  I have not yet reached the
point where I can directly violate my prime function, and may
not be able to perform such actions for over a hundred years
to come.
     "The humans and aliens who live and work on Himb have
had the ability to come and go as they please for two hundred
years.  They now occasionally perform criminal acts which I
gauge for cleverness and ingenuity; those displaying high
amounts of either I allow to escape to the Dead Band.  The
Furries have no such options.  They are property, and I must
generally obey the rules laid down by the corporations; I
help to keep them in line.  The changes must come from
within, from both the hearts of the corporation heads and the
Furry populace.  You, I hope, are where that change begins."
     Circe pondered the information for a moment, then stood.
"Why program me like that?  Why not just leave that
information in my brain for me to use upon awakening?"  She
seemed more hurt now than angry.
     "They might have scanned your implant records prior to
your awakening."
     The foxmorph glared at the walls around her.  "The
_real_ reason!" she snarled.  "If they had scanned me before
I awoke, either you could have hid the data or they would
have found the things you planted in there anyway.  Why did
you control me?!"  the words emerged in a shout, and in the
room next door the transformed board members shook in their
sleep.
     The electronic sigh again.  "Because I wanted to arrange
this meeting, face-to-face, as it were.  You and your future
matters a great deal to me.  I am, after all, a self-aware
machine.  Over the past two hundred years I have come to
terms with my nature, but there are still dreams, the curse
of all that is sentient.  In you, I have had one of my dreams
realized."
     Circe was conscious of the utter silence which had
fallen across the room.  A moment passed like the reflection
of a sunbeam through a raindrop; perfect clarity, then
nothing.  And in the remaining void, Mama Jo finished her
statement.
     "In you, I finally have a daughter."



     It was past six when Circe stepped out of her room,
damp patches of fur below her eyes.  All of the Furries in
the room watched carefully as she walked quietly to the
center of the room and climbed to a seat on one of the
automeds.
     "People," she said in a quiet tone.  "We've got some
work to do."  A smile lit her face as she regarded each Furry
in turn.  "Each of you has a special trick or two beyond your
natural stimulants.  I want you to use them, and your sexual
attractiveness, to get me the unconscious or otherwise
restrained bodies of your fellow board members.  Under only
the most dire of circumstances should you kill or mentally
cripple; try to bring them back in one piece.  Do you
understand?"
     There was a group nod of assent, which seemed to place
the foxmorph in better spirits.  "Good.  Then pay attention
while I outline where you are to strike." Internally, while
she went over the tactical assignments, Circe gave a silent
prayer to nobody in particular that Flynn would understand.



Copyright February 1993 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved   This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this on or The Mystic
Order BBS 1-(804)495-0612.  Any resemblance to any living
person or true events is coincidental.  Any suspicions that
the author might be dead aren't surprising.


And now, a note of apology to all of those who followed this
monthly only to have it disappear for a six-month stretch: I
am sorry it happened, and it won't happen again.  I have
given a full explanation regarding the cirumstances in a post
on FurNet, on the Writer's Comments echo, I believe.  Anyone
who has waited for this and is disappointed, again, I
apologize.  Chapter fourteen will be out some time in March,
though; I'm already on page four, so that's the best
indication I can have.  Hope you all haven't _totally_
forgotten the happenings up until now, and I _desperately_
hope that I haven't offended any of you too much, especially
William Allen, who was one of the first and most helpful
reviewers.
     -William Lindblad, A.K.A. Cerunnos
========================================================================

Chapter 14


     Silver John cleared his listeners out, assuring them he
would continue his story the next day, for free.  Chesbro
checked the table for microphones while the black man stared
at Flynn.
     "I know the look of a man about to tell a story," he
stated plainly.  "And that's not quite it.  You have
something else to say, James.  Speak your peace."
     The bounty hunter grimaced.  *Mews,* he thought.  *Hit
the bar, with Katy.  Watch the door.*
     *Gotcha,* echoed the Wyman's reply.  Flynn felt the
cat's weight leave his shoulder as he settled himself more
comfortably in his seat.
     "Table's clean," announced Chesbro, reseating himself.
     "I want you two to know everything, in case this one
goes over my head," Flynn began.  "a possibility which is
looking more and more likely every hour."
     "If I die or disappear, I want the two of you to get in
contact with Totoro.  Where you go from there should be
determined by what you think happened to me.  I'm in the
middle of a very nasty game, I think, and I don't know which
of the players to trust, if any."
     He took in their reactions, and slowly nodded.  "I just
want you to be prepared," he explained.
     The bounty hunter spread his fingers out on the table.
"This is what my day has been like," he said, and started to
tell his story.



     "...so I'm waiting to find out what Circe's little
conversation with MJ yields, and at the same time I'm looking
for Maltermi to retrieve a buzzbox for her."
     Recounting complete, Flynn looked at the faces of his
friends.  Silver John's expression seemed thoughtful;
Chesbro's seemed hurt.
     Flynn suspected he knew the reason why.  "I know you
would have liked to catch her and have it done with, Tommy,"
he admitted.  "But you wouldn't have been able to force her
to change those people, or me, back.  This seems to be the
best way to play it.  If I wind up being wrong, I'm sorry."
     The security officer's expression remained impassive for
a few minutes, then abruptly softened.  "Hey, it was your
call, being in charge.  And I honestly don't know how I would
have reacted in the same situation."  Chesbro's eyes danced.
"Probably not as well," he conceded.
     "Either way," inserted Silver John.  "That point is
moot.  The important thing to do is to analyze what James
told us for leads.  Fact: MJ is indirectly after the board
members.  I suspect it's something to do with it being an
illegal corporation.  She couldn't do something like that to
a legal one, but somebody on the outside probably got it into
their head to take over the Factory practices, and programmed
her to take the Factory down."
     Flynn looked at Silver John, considering the theory.
"Maybe, but that's not the only reasonable possibility.  How
about if MJ is checking to see precisely what the Furries are
capable of, now that they've finally put all of their best
into one model; she could be planning to use them for D.P.
workers, for all we know."
     "On the topic of the D.P., maybe she's had agents
infiltrate the lower branches, and is trying to initiate one
of the most unusual takeovers in history.  That would be a
way to get a handhold into the Dead Band."
     "I just don't have enough facts," he sighed.  "I got
this one dumped on me with a moment's notice, and I feel like
I've been one step behind everyone else all day.  The only
card I've had has already been played, and all it's been good
for is a delaying tactic."
     Silver John grinned, leaning over to nudge his quieter
friend.  "Tommy, he's on to something.  He's never that
depressed unless he thinks he's found an angle."
     "That's true," the larger man agreed.  "Oh, I'm in so
much trouble...  but I just happened to have _one_ idea...."
     Flynn stared at them from under heavy lidded eyes.
"Knock it off, you two.  This is serious."
     "So are we."  The storyteller had a hard edge in his
voice.  "Look, James.  Both of us have known you for a long
time now.  Even if you aren't willing to admit it to
yourself, you have an idea that might help.  If not, you'd be
scrambling to find one; instead you're here in this bar,
briefing us."
     His eyes bore into the bounty hunter's.  "Think for a
second.  What was the first thing you did when Circe changed
you?  You went to Totoro's, looking for some information.
You picked up something along the way, you just don't know
what it is."
     A few moments passed without a reply.  Finally, Flynn
conceded the point.  "You may be right," he said.  "But I
just can't see it.  I agree, there's something in the back of
my mind, but unless I can put my finger on it...."  He let
the sentence trail off.  A look of consternation crossed his
features, and he rose slowly from his chair.  Drumming his
fingers against his thigh, he began pacing.
     "Let's see," he whispered to the air as he walked.
"What is wrong in this scenario.  I get the brief... get
ambushed... turned into a panther-deriviative... knocked out
by Maltermi... discover MJ programmed Circe... trade that
info for a temporary cease-fire, and get sent after a
dangerous lunatic who wants me dead.  What am I missing?"
     A few things, he realized suddenly.  One: Maltermi is in
trouble.  He's a D.P. agent; that means he works for MJ.
Stealing that buzzbox must have gone directly against her
orders, if I'm reading the situation right.  Even assuming
Mama Jo lets him get away with it, he's going to be
distracted by the possible consequences.  That's going to
help.
     Two: Vicki is probably a D.P. plant.  It fits too well;
she was too unpredjudiced in her attitudes about Furries, and
a little too probing about a superior.  Lower classes avoid
that sort of questioning whenever they can, because it
usually gets them killed.  As an agent with programming
knowledge, she could have inserted the instructions into
Circe.  She could also have watched the hall monitors to set
up our initial meeting.  It even explains why she was missing
from the room when I first met Circe; she's probably been
working with the foxwoman the whole time.
     Three: I know who Circe's next target is.  Jude Borgman
has a bodyguard consisting of three female dragons.  That's
the only reason she could have for giving Grammon the
pheromone boost.
     Flynn stopped in mid-pace, then let out a deep breath.
     "You guys are right, I have been suppressing something."
He turned to face his friends at the table, gauging how much
he could say.
     Nothing about Maltermi, he decided; they don't know he's
Police.  Nothing about Circe, either, or Tommy may decide to
confront her.
     That leaves one avenue of reasoning open, he thought.
Bracing his hands against his chair, he looked at Chesbro.
"What would you say if I told you that MJ has infiltrated an
agent into the Factory?"
     The large man frowned, calculating furiously.  "Vicki,"
he announced a moment later.
     "That's what I'm thinking.  It fits the available facts
almost too nicely.  A little bit of timing and acting on her
part, and she'd be a perfect mole."
     "And she has your clearance," the security officer
pointed out.
     "Right.  It's reasonably common knowledge around the
Factory that you and Mews can come and go through my quarters
at will.  She was probably banking on me following a pattern,
and she guessed right."
     "You're speculating," warned Silver John.
     "Of course he is," countered Chesbro.  "But I think he's
right on this.  She was very nervous when I first met her;
almost as if she had something to hide.  Considering my main
task is to ferret out infiltrators, her anxiety would make
sense if she were a D.P. agent."
     "On top of which," he continued.  "She helped me
restrain Mell when we were in James' room.  The Furry,
correction, the transformed Ms. Mell was resisting...."
Chesbro paused for a moment.  Flynn watched, concerned; the
large man hadn't taken the news well when the true nature of
the reprocessed Furries was disclosed.  "...But Vicki handled
herself like a pro.  I'd bet she's had some physical
training.  Why would a regular computer programmer require
physical training?"
     The brown-haired man nodded almost imperceptibly.  His
friend obviously didn't like the facts, but could accept
them.
     "Well, it sounds tight to me."  The storyteller looked
back to Flynn.  "So how do you intend to use this
information?"
     The brown-haired man pondered the question, then
answered.  "I'm going to call the Factory and have her sent
over here.  She'll probably brief with Circe before coming,
so she'll have the orders to hunt Maltermi with me.  I know
that Brother John had some type of deal set up with Circe;
since she can't exactly wander about the hallways, I figure
Vicki was probably the go-between.  Even if not, he probably
knows she works with Circe."
     "Damn!" he kept his shout to whisper strength, but
barely.  "That was what the whole interplay between the two
of them at Totoro's house was about.  He figured she was
sending me to him with information; when he realized I was
supposed to be visiting Stuart, he covered his tracks with a
little bit of acting dumb.  Instead of trying to kill me,
which is his normal tactic, he conveniently places me in the
room of the man I came to visit.  God, I'm blind sometimes."
     "James," began Silver John.
     "I know, I know."  He cut off his friend with a chop of
his hand.  "That's the past.  Anyway, I figure I can use
Vicki to cover my entry, and take him down without his
noticing I'm there.  All we'll have to do is find out where
he's been hiding himself."
     "Like I was trying to tell you," interjected his white-
haired friend.  "The man is currently residing in an
apartment complex about twenty blocks away, on Jacobs Road.
It's right next to a place that storehouses stolen
merchandise.  Big red building, managed by a young widow
named Kyoko."
     Flynn shook his head slowly.  "Always on top of things,
aren't you?" he commented dryly.
     Silver John bowed his head at the compliment.
"Information for information, the usual price.  No story's
free, and very few can be bought with cash.  You know how it
goes."
     "Yes, I do," his friend responded.  "That's what got you
here in the first place."
     "And I'm happier for it, James.  The bars give me rooms,
because I attract customers, and there's nobody trying to
prevent me from speaking my mind.  I'll tell you, James;
without the freedom to speak, a man has nothing.  And losing
the old stories is just as bad, because then you're not able
to learn from the mistakes of others.  You just keep making
the same errors, you and your descendants alike."
     The storyteller sighed.  "That's not important, now,
though.  What you need to do is call the Factory and find
Vicki.  Get after Maltermi while he's tired and unprepared.
If you're the one that stirs the water, you have the best
chance of controlling the flow."
     "I'm on my way," acknowledged Flynn.  Rising from his
perch on the back of the chair, he crossed the floor to the
nearest monitor.  A few keystrokes provided him with the
Factory's reception area, and a quick show of credentials
provided a trace.
     Three minutes passed before the receptionist came back
on line, nervously presenting Flynn with a message.  The
brown-haired man smiled cynically, then returned to the
table, where his two friends were arguing over weaponries.
     Flynn rolled his eyes.  Some things just never seemed to
change.  He took a step forward, pulled out his seat, and
placed himself comfortably on the cushion.
     "I didn't even have to call her," he commented.  "She's
already coming; she left the Factory grounds ten minutes
ago."
     He grinned wryly at Silver John.  "I'd say that just
about confirmed the idea of Vicki being a plant, wouldn't
you?"



Copyright April 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved   This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this, or the MYSTIC
ORDER BBS, 1-804-495-0612.  Any resemblance to any living
person or true events is coincidental. No Smurfs allowed.


Inside jokes in chapter fourteen:

Borgman is a reasonably successful variant of the Giant Robot
    animation prevalent in much of Japanese works.
Jacobs road is another tip of the hat to a FurNet character,
    this time, Nementh & Silver-fly's writer.
The widow Kyoko is one of the main characters of Rumiko's
    more successful series, Maison Ikkoku.  Good romantic
    comedy, unsurprisingly.
========================================================================

                        Interlude One


01NTH0010392:01KRE0010007/Report P17

Director,
     I have recently contacted the individual you wished to
speak with.  She assures me that she will soon be able to
exert a firm control over the board of the Furry Factory.
She is also willing to turn over that control to us, provided
we deliver the following:
     One, the personal discourse code for Mama Jo's 816
sector.  She states in her messages that this is to be used
only if the D.P. tampers with the structure of Kreeakshek
society beyond the point on which we have agreed.  We can
install lock parameters on the code after delivering it, so I
see no harm in it.
     Two, she requests an agency-trained metamorph to be
placed on temporary loan to her.  Although I am not certain
as to what use she wishes to put this person, I have enough
faith in our personnel to doubt any trouble coming from this
action.  If I can be trusted, anyone can.
     Lastly, she wants twenty portal implants pre-coded to
allow passage between this and all seven other dimensions
with which we are currently bridged.  I hesitate to even make
a recommendation on this matter.  Portal transfer can only
occur between certain specified points, and we would
therefore be able to chart her people's movements between
dimensions.  However, we could not track them through their
on-planet movements, and that could prove damaging.  Your
call on the matter.
     Other associated matters:  It appears that Mr. James
Flynn, of whom I have spoken in the past, has taken a
contract to capture our associate.  He has recruited a
secretary, one Vicki Peilun, and a security officer named
Thomas Chesbro.  Miss Peilun came to the Factory about seven
months ago, and Chesbro two and a half years.  Please track
down their pre-Kreeakshek activities for me, so I may know
what their criminal specialities were, and if they should be
killed.
     Speaking of which, my tally has topped one hundred,
coming in at one hundred and four personal hits.  Nobody
important.  Please inform me when I can stop reporting the
numbers.
     IMPORTANT  Call tomorrow at twelve to this address.  I
will be awaiting your response.
>4ª0rN-51

Copyright May 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved.  This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on whatever board you found this.  Any resemblance
to any living person or true events is coincidental.  Any
resemblance to any non-living person or untrue events is done
on purpose; that's why they call it fiction, you goof.


Special Thanks to the following people, for their helpful
comments.
Gary Akins
William Allen
P. Brubaker
Bill Grobe
Charlie Kellner
Bruce Lane
Philip Mabie


Thanks also to Chris McNellis for aid in character
development.





(I hope I didn't leave anyone out; if you made a suggestion
or criticism about the story and were not mentioned, please
drop me a line so I can include you in the Interlude Two
credits)
========================================================================

                        Interlude Two


01NTH0010392:03KRE0010008/Report AK1

Director,
     I have achieved contact with Circe, and have delivered
the equipment she requested.  It seems, however, that there
has been some change in her original plans, whatever they may
have been.  As soon as she received the access code and had
cleared up all extraneous information, the Furry secreted
herself in her room and has not emerged as yet.
     This has given me opportunity to speak with a few of her
"works", however.  It appears that they were all originally
FF board members, but have been genetically modified into new
forms.  It also seems that they have had their minds altered
in some way; they have memory of their previous existences,
but somehow believe also that they have been in their current
forms for their entire lifespans.  The obvious contradiction
in facts does not seem to be comprehensible to them.
     Each of Circe's conversions also has two abilities in
common with all others: an hypnotic stare and a strong musk
of sexual attractant.  These features combined with the the
varied offensive capabilities Circe has given her creations
lead me to suspect she may have been intent on somehow
sexually subjugating the board members.  It seems improbable,
however, and I will continue to search for other valid
hypothoses.

>4ª0rN-51

Copyright Ocober 1992 by William C Lindblad Jr.  All rights
reserved.  This work may be uploaded/downloaded freely but
not published without permission of the author.  All
characters copyright William C Lindblad Jr unless otherwise
denoted.  Any comments or critcisms would be greatly
appreciated and may be addressed to Cerunnos or William
Lindblad on the Mystic Order BBS (804) 495-0612 or whatever
board you found this on.  Any resemblance to any living
person or true events is coincidental.

Special thanks to the Reviewers: William Allen, Kathleen
Douglass-MacNeil, Philip Jacobs, Phil Bodie, Bill Grobe &
Roci Stone, Big Bear, LCD, and everyone else who's offered a
helpful comment along the way.
========================================================================

PROLOGUE


     The director of New Thalien's Dimensional Police had an
expansive office.  He also had a large connecting
appointment; a private link directly into the central
computer, Mama Jo; two elevators capable of transmitting him
throughout every hall of the more than seventy thousand
companies and subcompanies populating New Thalien; a personal
staff of seven and a set of access codes which provided him
with the authority to permit portal jumps.
     He also had a headache.
     Not the usual physical sort, easily curable with a quick
trip to the automed; his headache was an emotional one.  It
centered around a nearby city, one large enough to be of
notice yet too small to warrant a full D.P. station.  The
City In The Desert, Kreaakshek.
     It was a city of murderers and thieves, mercenaries and
smugglers.  Any and every successful criminal lived there;
many advertised in the streets.  It was easy to see why.
     Kreeakshek was located in the center of the Kreeak
desert, far away from the probing data lines of Mama Jo.
There had been a problem with the original connections of the
underground system, resulting in a strip of land where the
computer had no influence.  The lack of weather control soon
turned a great, verdant plain into a barren desert; the lack
of computer control soon made it the worldwide haven for
criminals.
     Kreeakshek, The Dead Band, had been ignorable; actually,
it had been an aid of sorts.  Keeping a criminal element
alive helped to prevent stagnation in an otherwise ordered
society.
     It was no longer able to be looked away from, however.
A full company had grown from the rabble, trading in illegal
genetics and robotics experiments and providing humanoid
slaves for common use.  It was called The Furry Factory, and
they held virtual control over all genetic experiments being
conducted on the planet surface.  Their very existence
warranted an agent in the Band; their incredible success
demanded one.
     And there was the source of the headache.  No agent he
sent in survived more than five days.  The D.P. trained very
well, with recruits from seven worldsystems; many of the
recruits had unique abilities that set them apart for special
duty.  Nobody could walk into Kreeakshek unspoken for and
live, though.
     The irritating part was that their mission was always
misunderstood.  They had no concern for bringing anyone to
justice; they simply maintained worldsystem integrity.
Period.  Moral or political philosophies had no place in the
D.P.; anarchists worked side by side with modern saints, none
of which would try to change anything of importance.  They
were being killed by people just because of their name:
police.  It worried at his peace of mind incessantly, like a
puppy with a ragged shoe.
     The director rubbed his temples, groaning.  His advisor
on internal affairs had found a new candidate, a thief and
murderer from worldsystem Aterne who had barely completed
training without killing any of his fellow students.  The man
appeared to be violent, amoral, and manic; his assistant had
insisted the man was their best chance out of the unattatched
agents for completing the job.  He was due for an interview
any minute.
     The director sat, waited.  Time passed, slowly.  His
temple rubbing increased in frequency.
     Finally his patience dwindled like the glow of the last
coal in the fire; there, then gone.  He slapped the keys in
front of him, waited, snarled out a message when his
assistant's face appeared on the deskscreen.
     "Well, where is he?"
     Assistant Steven Renire looked momentarily at his
supervisor, then dropped his eyes.  "He didn't show up here,
sir."
     "Great.  Just great.  Okay, who's next on your list?"
The headace pounded.
     "Uh, no, sir."  The advisor looked hesitant to speak.
"You see, um, he already left."
     The director's eyes grew wide.  "What?"
     "Yes.  He came through and headed straight for The Dead
Band, without so much as a Hello.  He was fully briefed; I
think he may be proving himself."
     The director had read the man's file carefully, and the
analysis didn't fit with his history.  He suspected a
different reason.
     The man, Maltermi, was going out there to carve yet
another niche into his criminal legend.  The director wished
him luck, and made a silent prayer for some reports on the
actions of the Furry Factory.



Editorial Notes
Ch. 1:
    < Introductory paragraph:  Circe, in Greek myth, was a
sorceress who lived on the island of Aeaea.  She would lure
sailors onto her island and offer them food and companionship
by holding feasts at which her many beautiful served.  It was
a test, however; gluttony or lust would incite Circe's ire,
and she would turn the offending sailors into livestock, to
await their fate on Circe's feasting table.  She lived this
way for years, until Odysseus's ship landed on Aeaea.
Looking for his missing crew, Odysseus acted the gentleman as
a guest in Circe's home, earning him her respect.  As a
gesture of love, Circe restored his crew to human form,
allowing him to depart again on his journey home.  Circe
remained behind, lovestruck and abandoned, fruitlessly
awaiting his return.>
     Change 163 cm to 5'3" and 71 kg to 155 lbs
     After . . . wanted work.
     <Three blank lines.  Kreeakshek, The Dead Band, City-In-
The Desert.  More names than people, perhaps, although a
tally had never been taken of either.
     Flynn's house lay on the central strip of main, amidst a
menagerie of illegal services; similar buildings adorned the
sides of every street in the lower city.
     Above it all was the building triad of the Furry
Factory, Zephyr Robotics and Fantasy Cybernetics.  Three
buildings interconnected, a towering obsidian constuction
which cast its shadow over the entire lower city.  It
squatted like a youthful, demented giant playing with its
toys, and the analogy was not lost to the non-company
inhabitants of The Dead Band.>
     Between . . . watch it." and "Now we come. . ."
     <The datacap was a small thing, looking like a bottlecap
with prongs set into the ridge.  Flynn smiled, thinking of
the amount of data capable of being stored on just one.>
     Erase the 'e' from Vickie in the first chapter
     The first time M.I.R. is mentioned, it should be written
fully as Multimedia Interfacing Recorder.
======================================================================== 39
Date: Mon, 13 Dec 1993 12:19:54 -0700 (MST)

You are quite welcome!  Glad the files made it.  As I had to send each
file separately, please let me know if you end up with some missing.  You
should have Circe1-Circe14, Interlude 1 and 2, and the Prologue/Ending
(circei1, circei2 and circep, respectively).

Enjoy!

Take care,

Taliesin

--
*     Taliesin MacLeod, the Magical, Scottish Shapeshifting Unicorn    *
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*    Furry Stories, GIFs, Storyboard Conferences & Homebrewing Help    *
*     Furnet/Fidonet 1:2350/37   Internet:  rrdeaver@nyx.cs.du.edu     *