Kelly's bedroom

6 a.m. the next day (though they did get some sleep!)

The moment the morning sunlight touched her face, Jennifer awoke. She stretched sinuously, taking pleasure in the movement and feeling wonderful - better, in fact, than she'd felt in a while, though she'd never been what anyone might've called a morning person. A warm figure next to her stirred slightly.

She basked in the warmth of her memories of the night, and the several glorious gut-wrenching orgasms she'd had. She'd had no cause to regret her impulsive decision. God, this one was good!

He got me to come just by kissing my toes! What the hell was that?! Where'd he learn it?

And who really cares, you silly bitch, she laughed to herself.

Jennifer smiled, happy as a child, and kissed the point of Kelly's bearded chin (his beard wasn't scratchy as most beards were; the bristles were curiously soft. She liked it). To her mild surprise, he was instantly awake; she wasn't to know, of course, that this was a talent he'd acquired years earlier, feeling it'd be handy for his SHADO work...and more than once he'd been proven right. "Morning, sleepyhead," he greeted her.

"Excuse me? I woke you up."

"Let's not quibble over details," Kelly riposted. His sense of humour was usually the first part of him to wake up, as a defence against the pressures of his job.

"That's not a detail! It's a fact!" she protested indignantly. She was too quick to take offence sometimes, and knew it. There were some aspects of the redhead stereotype she couldn't help living up to...such as her quick temper. She'd tried all her life to rein it in, but to no avail.

"Redheads," Kelly sighed, "testy, but worth it - that's what my Grandad always used to say."

She nearly rose to this - until she recalled her very first lover, whom she'd adored, saying much the same thing. She'd been sixteen, he a young thirty-eight, a sort of reverse of Bobby Goldsboro's song Summer (The First Time); she'd reasoned that her first time would likely be better and more satisfying with a more mature man (if such a being even existed at all; some of her girlfriends sourly insisted that that was a contradiction in terms).

She'd heard several 'first time' horror stories from those girlfriends, and soon realised the common factor: all the boys in question were around the same age as the girls, and thus they seldom had much if any practical experience - and that was why most of the girls hadn't enjoyed it much (one, in fact, had actually cried out, "You mean that's it?! What the fuck?! What am I supposed to get out of it?!").

Ergo, it made sense to Jennifer to seek out someone more experienced...which inevitably meant someone older. As it happened, in David Winton's case she was right; he'd known from experience what she'd needed - he utterly blew her mind and taught her how to really enjoy sex, and how to get what she wanted in bed...by asking for it. She'd absorbed his lessons with all the joyous enthusiasm of youth. He'd loved redheads; all three of his (amicably divorced) wives had been redheaded.

"I'm sorry, I'm so curious - if you loved them, why did you divorce them?"

David smiled. "Well, the first one decided she wanted kids, but I was too young - and scared, I admit. The second got a job promotion, her dream job - but it meant moving to Tokyo. I didn't want to move, and she didn't want a long-distance thing. As for the third, well, I was older and thought kids wouldn't be a bad idea...but she was too young for kids, decided she didn't want to know." He sighed. "So I got a decree nisi in all three cases. Shame, really, they're as lovely as you are."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, partly because it was the sort of thing you said but mainly because she meant it.

She wished she hadn't asked. It was a shame, the poor man.

But David, who was over it, only smiled again, kissed her - and merrily bumped her cervix again...

The memory calmed her, and so she decided to show a degree of maturity by ignoring Kelly's quip. Instead, she kissed him full on the lips; he returned it softly, caressing her hair and body.

He had a gentle touch, feather-light; she shivered in delight as his fingers found and stroked her breasts. Clearly he was up for a morning quickie.

So, she decided lustily as he gently but firmly pulled on her nipples, am I. God, he's good at this!

Kelly's bedroom

An hour or so later

"Kelly, can I ask you something?" she asked; her arms and legs were still wrapped around him. The room smelled of sex...her favourite scent. In truth, the decision to become an escort hadn't really been that hard...not for her, at any rate. She was a horny bitch and knew it, and liked it that way. She might've gone the escort route in the end even if she hadn't needed the money so desperately; being paid for doing something she enjoyed was surely the icing on the cake...or at least it would've been, without the aforementioned desperation.

"You just did," he quipped, knowing how she'd likely react. She did, huffing indignantly and pinching him. "Ow!" he protested, but left it at that. He'd invited it, after all. "Okay, ask away."

"I haven't been an escort - or a whore -" she added pointedly, "very long." He winced at that, and she regretted the barb; she apologised sincerely, and went on: "But I've learned a lot about reading men, and I think, to be frank, that you haven't had sex in ages."

"And what, O fount of female wisdom," he teased, just knowing she'd pinch him again (harder), "brings you to that conclusion?"

"The way you let go," she answered seriously...after pinching him. "I got the distinct impression that you really needed the release. You shot your load up me like a bloody rifle or something." She didn't mention, though she suspected he knew, that the sensation had thrilled her. In fact, he hadn't done anything she didn't enjoy, and lots of things she did. Hell, he'd bumped repeatedly against her cervix, and that alone nearly brought her off,

David, bless him, had done that first, arranging the position of her body and the pillows so that he would; when it first happened and Jennifer gasped, "What was that?!" in shock and pleasure when her womb contracted in reflex, he'd explained what she'd felt and that in his experience many women liked it, and she'd enthusiastically agreed.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to cast aspersions or anything, or imply you can't get a date or whatever; I just wanted to know."

"Well, you're right," he admitted candidly, seeing no harm in it. "To be honest, I can't remember the last time. It's got to be a few months at least." Actually it was nearer two years, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit that. "My job keeps me busy, and the girls I meet at work aren't, um, available."

"Why's that?" she asked, sympathetically. She'd always believed a good sex life was essential for health, and felt sorry for anyone who was missing out for whatever reason. She felt he was a good man and deserved a break, and she'd be happy to oblige...especially given how skilled he was in bed! "Is it company regulations or something?"

"More like government regulations," he evaded slightly. "I work in a - well, you might call it a security firm. We handle particularly vicious terrorists, peacekeeping missions, that kind of thing." It was sort of true...

"Mmm, I'd wondered about the scars," Jennifer murmured softly, tracing the lines of one or two on his torso as lightly as she could; she'd entertained a Gulf War veteran a few weeks back, and had learned how sensitive some men were about such things and the memories that went with them. Kelly didn't object to her careful touch, and she gently kissed one particularly odd-looking scar, as if to take the pain away. The one she'd kissed still throbbed now and again, reminding him (as if he needed it) of how he'd acquired it; her lips felt wonderfully cool on it. He wanted to ask her not to stop. "I suppose you can't tell me much? Or you could, but you'd have to kill me?" she joked.

"That isn't as much of a cliché or a joke as the general public believes, Jennifer," he told her soberly. "I can't tell you more than I have without breaching the Official Secrets Act." And maybe putting you in danger, he didn't dare add.

"Sorry," she apologised, "I'm a woman. I'm nosy," she admitted.

He let that pass (as he didn't fancy being pinched again), saying only: "No, that's okay. We were talking about the girls - well, I'm fairly high up, you see, so I have to set an example; plus there might be accusations of favouritism."

It was all true, as far as it went. He'd discovered he really didn't want to lie to her. He couldn't tell her, though, that the majority of women in his 'workplace' were literally out of reach...on average, 238,000 miles away.

"The loneliness of command," she teased gently, but she could see in his eyes that she'd hit the mark there and found herself wishing she hadn't said it. "Shutting up now," she whispered contritely, and kissed his scar again.

God, that feels so good, he thought, relishing it. Don't stop, Jennifer.

The scar was in fact from an Alien bullet, picked up in a vicious crossfire during a live fire training exercise that had turned all too real. Fifteen SHADO operatives died that day, including Kelly's lover Katniss Dobson, and six including Kelly were badly injured. The material of the organo-metallic bullet bonded somehow with human tissue, almost like acidic Superglue, and it'd taken the medics nearly a week to figure out how to remove it without cutting out a fair chunk of him with it.

The damn thing had apparently drawn on his blood, absorbing numerous metals, and extruded tiny but tough filaments, providing additional anchorage - as well as connecting with and short-circuiting his nerves. Painkillers were ineffective for some reason, doubtless some action on the bullet's part (it was suspected and later proven to be nanotech, a then-new concept which was apparently old hat to the Aliens).

He'd suffered seven days of utter hell. By the time the surgeons were ready to operate he was on the verge of begging for death.

He'd undergone successful counselling, plus cognitive behavioural and reconsolidation therapy, for his PTSD, but he still woke up screaming now and again.

SHADO analysts had theorised the effect was intended to debilitate the target in order to forestall resistance; it was, he could attest, damned effective in that regard -

Enough, he thought irritably, you're in bed with a beautiful, willing woman, and you're brooding over old combat injuries? What is wrong with you?

He decided to suppress the memories by losing himself, as men had since time immemorial, in the wonderful softness of a woman's trim body, her heavenly scent, and, in this case, that luxurious mahogany hair. She responded instantly, gripping him with her strong thighs and running her nails up and down his back, not quite scratching him.

He'd always loved it when a woman did that, and somehow she knew it. She sighed in sheer animal pleasure as he entered her again, moving her hips in lively fashion, welcoming him inside her. She was sopping wet...again.

I'm never going to get these sheets clean...as if I give a rat's ass. Oh, God, she feels so good...

Later, a thought occurred to him, and he had no idea how to broach the subject tactfully. The last thing he wanted to do was insult her, but on the other hand she was a working woman and deserved to be paid for her time...especially after the terrific night she'd just spent with him. He had, he admitted to himself, badly needed the release; she'd been absolutely right about that. She's very perceptive. I like that.

But she apparently read his thoughts from his face, and sighed. "Go ahead and ask, Kelly. It's a fair question."

"Um...what were you last night, exactly?"

She smiled, surprised and pleased at the way he'd phrased it. That was tactful at least. She was on the verge of teasing him when she realised she didn't want to. He was, she'd seen, a little more sensitive than most men she'd known. So she kissed him and replied softly, "I think we both know we weren't escort and client last night, Kelly. That wasn't business." She smiled coyly. "That was pure pleasure."

"It certainly was," he agreed gently, stroking her cheek. "It, uh, does raise the question of where we go from here...if, that is, you want this - whatever 'this' actually is -" he chuckled, "to go anywhere. I mean, I'm not expecting you to stop doing escort work; I've no right to. It's your life, Jennifer. It's your choice. I'm not the jealous type."

It was at that point Jennifer suddenly realised she could be turned on by a man's emotional generosity and consideration, too. She didn't bother saying so, though...

Kelly's home, back garden

8:20 a.m.

"No, they're still in there," Penelope reported over the com, with a combination of cheeriness and incredulity, in response to a query from the duty station at HQ. "Jeez, I'm gonna be coming off duty soon!" Secretly she was thrilled; she'd always admired the Commander, and was pleased as punch that he'd found a good woman. Okay, she was an escort, but so what? I'm no lezzie, not even bi, but hell, I'd do her. She's gorgeous.

Kelly's bedroom

Same time

"Are we ever going to get out of bed and/or stop fucking?" Jennifer kidded as she lay atop him. "Even if it's Saturday?"

"It's an option, I suppose," Kelly teased in return, smiling fondly at her. "First, though, I'd like to talk about what happened last night. For a start...what the hell did happen?"

Jennifer laughed merrily. "You weren't that drunk!"

"This is not memory failure," he informed her with what little dignity he could muster, given that she was caressing him intimately and, dammit, getting him hard again, "rather a failure of comprehension; i.e. how did whatever happened happen?"

"Well," Jennifer began impishly, "when a man and a woman -"

"I know about that bit, flametop," he chided her, swatting her pert behind lightly (provoking a rather interesting reaction: she tensed slightly, her lips parting in a soft sigh - hey, she likes that, he thought lustily, well, well), "I mean...weren't you supposed to be explaining your rationale for virtually throwing yourself at me on only our third meeting/assignation/date/whatever?"

"Oh," Jennifer sighed, "that." She looked away from him, as if she was trying to hide tears.

He abruptly realised with concern that she was.

Instantly he knew something was badly wrong. Her entire demeanour had changed in that moment; the playful sex kitten had gone, and in her place was a sadder, more mature woman...one who'd been trying to hide. "Jennifer, what'd I say? I didn't offend you, did I?" he asked, concerned. "If I did, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's not you," she murmured, fighting to hold the tears back. She was unsuccessful; he gently intercepted one with a fingertip as it welled from her eye.

"Hey, what's this, huh? Please tell me," he requested softly, "maybe I can help."

Jennifer reluctantly turned her face towards his, but on seeing nothing but concerned and above all genuine sympathy in his eyes, she decided to trust him and relented.

Hell, I've nothing to lose, and who knows? Maybe he can help. God knows we need help from someone, anyone...

"I...well...it's Sophie," she confessed, "my daughter."

"You have a daughter? No way," he doubted gallantly. He was being sincere, though; there was little if anything about her body that suggested motherhood. She'd had to have worked out really hard very soon after birth, he thought; there wasn't a trace of stretch marks, not that he'd have cared if there had been. He'd once taken a divorced mother of eight to bed, and thoroughly enjoyed it; her stretch marks made her, if anything, more beautiful in his eyes. Now that he thought about it, though, Jennifer's nipples did look baby-chewed...and beautiful with it. They were a really pretty shade of pink.

"No, I really do. I...oh, here," she made a long arm, retrieved her handbag from the top of the bedside drawers and showed him a picture on her phone. He was startled by what he saw, the obvious family resemblance notwithstanding.

The girl's hair was as long and luxurious as Jennifer's own, the same rich shade of mahogany, falling in loose waves. Her eyes were a luminous green with a hint of blue (no, wait - her right eye was blue, she had heterochromia!), her skin pale but with a healthy tone, with a winsome scattering of freckles across the bridge of her cute, slightly retroussé nose.

Her face was heart-shaped, her features holding an expressive openness with no angles anywhere, only gentle curves. She'd inherited her mother's fine bone structure; he could well imagine what she'd look like in a few years once her scant puppy fat was gone. Her lips were full, sensuous, and her ears had the faintest suggestion of elfin points, their tips a charming shade of pale pink. She was absolutely breathtaking in her sweet, innocent beauty.

"Wow, she's beautiful," he murmured.

"She's fourteen," Jennifer told him softly. She was clearly very proud of her little girl, and no wonder, Kelly thought. "This was taken a few months ago, before..." she trailed off, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Stop," he said in another attempt at gallantry, "she is not. You'd have had to be younger than that when you had her. No, that girl's your sister, surely, not your daughter," he gently kidded her.

Jennifer smiled sadly. "Thank you for that, sir; you're kind. But honestly, I'm thirty-four...and unless I can earn two million pounds or so in the next year, she won't get the treatment she needs in time...and," she sobbed now, "she'll never see sixteen...she'll die..."

Without a word Kelly took her in his arms, trying to comfort her as best he could, as her lithe frame shook. She put her head on his shoulder and cried, the bitter sobs torn from her.

He got the story in dribs and drabs: how Sophie had started vomiting in the morning; the odd bluish patches of skin on her body; the loss of appetite; other things. She'd looked the symptoms up on the Internet; what she'd found had chilled her to the bone and sent her to Reynolds Associates.

He couldn't help but wonder why the name rang a faint bell, but dismissed it. He wanted to hear the rest.

"Two million pounds?" he gaped; it seemed excessive to say the least. "Are they sure about that?"

"Yes," she told him dully. "I did try another consultancy; their figure was worse, and only gave her a 10% chance of survival. So that's why -"

"- you're doing escort work," he finished gently, seeing it all too clearly now, "and why you're offering...extras."

"I've done all sorts of things," she admitted, trying not to shudder at the memories. She barely smiled, though there was no humour in it. "Once I was settled in," once I'd screwed George Blake, "Sylvia discreetly let one or two clients know I was up for providing extras...and before long they all started coming out of the woodwork."

"Jennifer, I'd like to think I'm a good listener. My work in - the firm," he corrected himself, marvelling at how close he'd come to saying it, "requires it sometimes. I'm good at keeping secrets, too." There's the understatement of the millennium...

"Sophie must never know what I'm doing, Kelly," Jennifer declared quietly, begging him with her eyes, "never."

"She wont hear it from me," he vowed, and meant it, despite the fact that he hadn't even met the girl yet. "Tell me," he gently coaxed her.

She began: "I've been used by a husband and wife - he wanted to see her with another woman, and she wanted the same thing from him. Plus she wanted him to hurt me...and she enjoyed it even more than he did."

"Sounds like Fred and Rose West," Kelly noted with distaste, "with you as Caroline Roberts née Owens." He wasn't a hypocrite - he enjoyed giving a woman the occasional mild spanking - but that was far different from what she was describing. A spanking was one thing, but deliberately hurting someone in a sexual context and getting off on it when she wasn't enjoying it - in fact, getting off on it because she wasn't...no.

"Yes, that was pretty much it," she agreed dully.

"You don't have to go on, Jennifer," he told her as gently and reassuringly as he could, pitching his voice low, "I understand." But he knew too well she would carry on, she had to. Confessions, once started, are like burst dams: it's hard to stem the flow.

"I've been flogged, belted, spanked hard enough to make me bleed," she went on, making herself tell it. "I've even been cut by a pervert who likes human blood - she actually wanted to drink mine. One woman wanted to choke me until I passed out. I might have let her, given the kind of money she was offering," Jennifer admitted candidly, "but - there was something in her eyes, something scary...I'm not entirely sure she didn't actually want to kill me. She's off the client list, I told Sylvia about her. I thought it'd be better not to take the chance."

"Does she know about all this - what her girls are doing, I mean?" Kelly had to ask. Was this the way all Sylvia's escorts were conducting themselves? If so, he was going to have words with her.

"Of course she knows," Jennifer nodded dully, "but it's none of her business. It can't be; offering sexual favours for money is prostitution, Kelly. That's UK law for you; escort work's legal, 'gifts' and 'tips' are legal, but prostitution isn't, or at least no-one seems to be sure if it is or not. So she can't get involved; it doesn't happen...officially. Some of the girls really are just escorts, they don't do extras at all, but some of them...well, I'm not the only single mother," she shrugged, and then wondered, "Why do you ask? What do the other girls have to do with this?"

"Nothing," he shook his head, "it's just that, well, Sylvia used to work for the same firm I do. I could talk to her."

Jennifer raised her eyebrows in surprise. Oh, that explains that odd look that passed between them. "She did? Doing what?"

Exposing Alien collaborators, dupes and blackmail victims, he didn't dare tell her, until she had to kill a fifteen-year-old boy, which gave her PTSD and forced her to quit. He shrugged. "Oh, all sorts - some admin, and quite a bit of fieldwork. She's good at hand-to-hand." That was true; Sylvia's speciality was something she called the Istanbul Twist, which could inflict varying degrees of neck damage up to and including lethal transection. It was not a standard SHADO combat move, and he had no idea where she'd learned it...probably not Istanbul.

(On hearing Sylvia's name for it and spotting the reference to a similar technique mentioned by Professor de la Paz in The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, then-Lieutenant McAllister had quipped, "Is everyone in SHADO a Heinlein fan?" A passing cadet had overheard and misinterpreted this as a serious question and/or an order to find out; three days and a straw poll later, the cadet presented a bemused (and amused) Kelly with a definitive answer:

"No, sir, not everyone...just ninety-odd percent," he'd grinned. "There's a definite correlation between literary preferences and SHADO membership, Lieutenant." He'd also discovered via Alec that Ed was also a fan. Somehow Kelly wasn't surprised by that.)

"Yes, she offered to teach me," Jennifer nodded.

"Take her offer," Kelly advised her seriously, "she's good, believe me." He paused. "Um, I think I've pretty much got the picture now; you don't have to go on..." he offered again.

But she continued:

"I've peed on a man, and done it in public, too - I actually wet myself, with him watching...and then he had me in a back street, while still wearing my soaking wet knickers."

"Let me guess," Kelly said neutrally, "he bought 'em, too, didn't he?" He wasn't surprised by her nod. He was familiar with the type.

One worked for SHADO as a deep-cover operative, having his cake and eating it - he was being paid to indulge his fetish. He did a good job, it was true, but Kelly detested him on the grounds of taste. For all he knew, it might be the same man...it certainly sounded like him.

"He got off on my humiliation," she recounted, "that's why he paid me to do it in public. He wanted other people to know I had, and he wanted me to know that they knew. That increased the thrill for him." She shrugged, but the gesture was nowhere near as casual as it looked; he offered her a look which combined sympathy with an apology for the way some men were, and she smiled in gratitude for that. "But he was pretty generous, so I can't really complain."

(Yep, Kelly thought ruefully, that's him. Small world...)

"I mean, one weird creep paid me two grand just to make myself puke," she recalled in disgust. "I've even...I've done some illegal stuff..."

"Such as?" he asked tactfully, and added earnestly, "I promise I won't tell. I'm not judging."

"One man brought his Alsatian." She said it calmly, but he could see the disgust and loathing in her eyes. "He had me. They both did. I let myself be mounted and used by a dog, Kelly. The damn thing was...he was...trained to do that, I think."

"Not necessarily," Kelly gently pointed out, "dogs aren't fussy, and go off visual and scent cues - if a woman's in the right position and her pussy's showing, well..."

"Oh. Well. It took me ages to wash myself clean; you get buckets of cum with dogs, not just a teaspoon or so, and it's hot. It hurt me; a dog's cock has a bone in it." Her tears started again. "And as horrible and degrading as it was, I'd do it all again. I will do it again. I have to...for Sophie..."

There was nothing he could say, and so he didn't patronise her by trying; he knew better. He settled for holding her close and letting her cry; she clearly needed it. Kelly had thought he'd heard everything as a senior SHADO operative, but this was going beyond the pale. He was near tears himself.

There were times he wondered bitterly, given the way human society seemed to be going these days (i.e. steadily downhill), if it actually wouldn't be better if the Aliens conquered Earth. Could they do any worse?

What kind of world is this where a mother has to degrade herself like that to save her daughter's life? A kid's life should come first. This is wrong. It's just wrong. I've heard enough; I have to help them...somehow. No-one should have to suffer like this. That poor girl...Teresa's Syndrome, Jesus...she'll die in agony if something isn't done...

But then a treacherous thought wormed its way into his mind:

It could be a trap! They love to take advantage of human compassion, damn them to hell!

He had to take the Fraser Directive into account; Commander or not, he could be dismissed from SHADO, or worse, if he didn't. The day he'd read about it in the Manual was still fresh in his mind, even though he was still only a junior analyst at the time. The opening warning, melodramatic as Kelly had always considered it to be (while conceding its utter necessity, of course) appeared on the first and every other page:

SHADO

OPERATIVE'S MANUAL

THIS DOCUMENT IS CLASSIFIED

TOP SECRET

FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY

NOT TO BE REMOVED FROM THIS FACILITY

UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES WHATSOEVER

PENALTIES FOR VIOLATION INCLUDE, BUT ARE NOT LIMITED TO:

SUMMARY DISMISSAL;

AMNESIA TREATMENT;

IMPRISONMENT IN MAXIMUM SECURITY FACILITY;

TERMINATION

Excerpt from the SHADO Operative's Manual

Subject: The Fraser Directive

To be circulated immediately to all SHADO personnel

In direct response to the recent incident (potential security breach) involving the most senior SHADO operative (see attached file SHADO/Personnel/Straker, Ed; crossref file SHADO/Personnel/Contacts/Fraser, Josephine), the following, hereafter known as the Fraser Directive, is hereby inaugurated, effective immediately, and shall apply to every operative holding a commissioned rank within SHADO. This Directive supersedes all prior security regulations concerning contacts with civilians, and reads as follows:

The operative shall take all necessary precautions regarding civilian associates, whether blood relatives or not, to ensure the security of SHADO and the safety of its operatives. These precautions may include, but are not limited to:

1) Covert pre-emptive surveillance of said associates;

2) Background checks of said associates to verify their bona fides, said checks to be performed either by the operative in question or his/her superior officer, at said officer's discretion;

3) Apprehension of said associates and secure covert transportation to SHADO HQ for interrogation, amnesia treatment, imprisonment, recruitment, termination, or any combination thereof, according to the discretion of the operative's superior officer and/or the Commander-In-Chief.

Should the operative be required to take action under the terms of this Directive, said action or intent to take said action must be reported IMMEDIATELY to his/her superior officer - if possible BEFORE action is taken.

The operative is not obliged in any way to respect the civil rights of these associates; any and all action deemed necessary by said operative and/or his/her superior officer to maintain operational security, up to and including termination of said associates, shall be deemed lawful and in accordance with SHADO regulations, as defined by its UN Charter, pursuant to UN Security Council Resolution UTS/001-SC-1970.

This Directive is hereby deemed nondiscretionary, and shall be deemed to apply from the date of inauguration until the end of time or until the primary mission of SHADO is deemed to be accomplished, whichever transpires first. Penalties for non-compliance include, but are not limited to:

1) Dishonourable dismissal from SHADO prior to mandatory amnesia treatment;

2) Imprisonment in a maximum security facility, term of same at the discretion of the Commander-In-Chief, in addition to amnesia treatment;

3) Termination, at the discretion of the Commander-In-Chief.

NOTE: requirements of this Directive are subject to review, and may be extended to non-commissioned operatives at a future date.

Directive Signed By:

General James L. Henderson, IAC, UN Liaison

Countersigned By:

Ed Straker, Commander-In-Chief, SHADO

Alec E. Freeman, Executive Officer, SHADO

Effective As From: 07/06/81

Amendment As From 28/06/82: Upon further review, the requirements of this Directive are hereby extended to ALL members of SHADO, whether field operatives or support personnel, irrespective of rank. There are to be NO EXCEPTIONS.

The Fraser Directive was born of the incident concerning ex-Commander Straker's brush with Josephine Fraser, a con artist...one who'd actually managed to fool Straker for a while, nearly if unwittingly exposing SHADO to the press in the process. Since then, it had become mandatory for all SHADO personnel to perform pre-emptive background checks on acquaintances, friends - even, in some cases, lovers. Prior to the incident, of course, such checks had generally only been performed if there was reason to doubt someone's loyalty, and then only by senior officers.

Nor was the caution misplaced or paranoid; the Directive's inauguration had resulted in the discovery of more than one Alien spy. It had also ended more than one relationship, owing to trust issues, but that was only to be expected, sadly. No-one liked the idea of checking up on people they knew and loved even before there was any reason to suspect wrongdoing, but given what was at stake, it had to be done, on the basis of 'Trust, But Verify' which had become SHADO's mantra when it came to dealing with outsiders, civilian or not.

It would have startled Ed Straker or Kelly McAllister to know that General Henderson had agonised over the new directive, and hated it as much as they did.

It even applied to the cleaning staff; the amendment of 28th June, 1982 was the direct follow-up to a security breach by an Alien-controlled infiltrator who'd been compelled to attempt to totally destroy SHADO HQ from the inside (the Aliens had taken his son). He'd disguised himself as a cleaner and employed an Alien-supplied binary liquid explosive to carry out his mission; even SHADO's chemical scanners couldn't detect binary explosive components, as each component was in itself utterly harmless and innocuous - in fact to further aid his imposture the components were mixed into bottles of bleach and detergent, and so were completely missed by the security staff. As far as the scanners could tell, they were bleach and detergent.

He came incredibly close to success...only to be foiled by, of all people, the head cleaner - and her trusty mop. She saw a cleaner she didn't recognise apparently mixing detergent and bleach, which she knew was a very stupid idea as the bleach would release deadly chlorine gas...but the fact that she didn't recognise him was the key point, as she would have been informed of any new staff appointments before starting her shift. So she correctly deduced he didn't belong there and was up to no good, sneaked up on him, brained him with her mop and then sounded the alarm.

The explosive was later detonated in a controlled explosion in space, as the Alien earthquake bomb had been the previous year. SID monitored the explosion, evaluated its (quite incredible) destructive power...and concluded that SHADO HQ would indeed have been totally destroyed. The man was subjected to interrogation, but died two minutes in; unknown to him, the Aliens had administered poison which was triggered by standard SHADO truth drugs. His son was never found. The head cleaner received an award for bravery and initiative, a substantial pay rise and a doubling of her pension fund; she retired, proud and very happy, three years later.

Every instinct was telling him Jennifer and Sophie were genuine, but Kelly couldn't take the chance. But in order for him to run a background check, he'd have to acknowledge his newfound relationship to them...and that meant Henderson had to know. Straker had rescinded the restrictions on fraternisation, for good and worthwhile reasons (subject to the Fraser Directive, of course), but the fact that it was allowed certainly didn't mean it was encouraged. He wasn't looking forward to the conversation in the least. On the other hand, if Jennifer and her daughter checked out he could, perhaps, have Jackson look into Sophie's case. That'd be worth the tirade he'd doubtless get once he confessed all...

IAC, General Henderson's office

1 p.m. the next day

...but in point of fact, it went much better than he'd dared hope.

"What's this about, McAllister?" Henderson demanded. "I'm meeting in an hour with the Prime Minister."

"General, I am required to report an action I am about to take, under the terms of the Fraser Directive."

Henderson settled back in his chair and gazed knowingly back at Kelly. "Oh, I see. Alright, who is she?"

When did he get so shrewd? "Who says it's about a woman?" he objected, trying his utmost not to sound defensive.

"It always is, McAllister," Henderson dismissed his protest irritably. "Women have been the bane of military security ever since it was invented."

Don't let your mother hear you say that, Kelly wanted to quip. She was, incredibly, still alive, and as feisty as ever. "I think," he replied officiously, "many of our esteemed female colleagues would take great exception to that politically incorrect remark -"

"Oh, don't give me that," Henderson grunted, "you were the one pointing out not so long ago that political correctness had no place in a fight for survival - and you were right, I'll admit."

Touché. He gave in. "There's a woman, and her daughter, in a spot of trouble. But it sounds like the kind of sob story the Aliens or their collaborators might throw at us, so I thought I'd better have them checked out. If you recall, the Directive requires SHADO operatives taking such action to report it to their superior officer." He shrugged. "You're it. I'm reporting."

"I wrote that particular clause, McAllister," Henderson told him sternly, "to prevent abuse of privilege and needless security checks which would incur wasted expense. Even we can be too paranoid. All right, fill me in."

Kelly did so. When he was done, Henderson looked rather more sympathetic than he usually did...that is, he seemed to show a touch of sympathy. "Okay. Check them out. It shouldn't take too long." He had a thought: "Especially as she's working for Margolis' agency. Does she still have her security clearance?"

"She has to," Kelly nodded, "as we can't erase her memory." It had caused major headaches, but Sylvia was one of an extremely small number of people (literally one in a million) on whom the amnesia drug didn't work, although no-one had known that until they'd tried it...until she'd begged them for it, in fact, wracked as she was with guilt for shooting that young lad (even though she'd had no other choice). Faced with the choice of shooting her or letting her go while she still retained her knowledge of SHADO, Kelly had decided upon the unprecedented compromise of appointing her a freelance field operative, pointing out that there was always the possibility she'd come back.

Of course, given the circumstances under which she'd left he knew too well that there was absolutely no chance, but he'd refrained from mentioning that.

Now he confirmed, "Yes, she'll help. My own feeling is that this is genuine, but..."

"...you can't take the chance, no. Fair enough," Henderson pronounced. "I take it you're keen on her?"

The question was loaded with implications, but Kelly wasn't in the mood. He was going to hate himself for violating Jennifer's privacy, however necessary it was. "She's good company and doesn't take any crap from anyone, even me. The rest is none of your damn business."

That wasn't true, of course, but to his surprise Henderson didn't argue it. Maybe he's getting soft in his old age.

Yeah, right. And the Aliens are going to announce their existence on BBC World News.