Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water...err... into Paradigm City...


Beck growled in frustration. He had promised himself that he would transmit the latest alteration to Dorothy's programming by Wednesday at the latest, and it was already Saturday and he was no closer to doing it than he had been a week ago.

Since Dorothy and Roger had abandoned their "don't be seen together in public rule", they had been practically inseparable. Jason had toyed with the idea of creating another scene for them to investigate, but Dorothy's eyes were far sharper than Crow Boy's, and the things that had had that worthy completely interested and absorbed for hours wouldn't stand up to a nanosecond of her scrutiny.

It was important that she be distracted during the crucial instant when he sent the program and it cloaked itself in her upper memory block, doing its work thereafter in random bursts that went right along with the current load on her systems. Jason Beck was one of only a tiny handful of people who could program at that level, and he knew that a programmer's style of writing code was as unique as his fingerprints. The moment she started looking at the program, she would know it was his, and he'd be enjoying the warm hospitality of the Paradigm City Jail, a place he preferred to forget.

He shifted his cramped position irritably. What he needed right now was to get the kinks out of his legs so he could get the hell out of here without calling attention to himself by falling through the rickety wall and landing in the middle of the street. It was obvious they were spending the evening in tonight, there was little point in his hanging around any longer.

Wait! Was that the Griffon coming around the corner? It was. How gallant of Crow-Boy to bring the car around! Beck shifted again, aimed the transmitter and waited. Then he waited some more, and as if that weren't annoying enough, fifteen minutes later, they were still waiting. Smith was looking impatient now and Beck's arm was starting to shake with the effort of holding the device steady.

When the door opened and Dorothy stepped outside, Beck forgot his cramped muscles. He sucked in his breath between his teeth, clamping down hard on the slow, involuntary whistle of appreciation that was threatening to escape and prostrate itself at the feet of a Goddess.

She looked good. She looked more than good. She was wearing a knee-length confection of a little black dress that somehow managed to be simultaneously classy and an incitement to riot. Beck had forgotten just how curvaceous that slender body was, hidden as it usually was under the formal velvet and ruffled jabot of her usual attire.

She was wearing just enough makeup to enhance her appearance, a touch of blush, some eyeliner and some lipstick, nothing like the war paint that Wayneright had apparently found appealing. She'd lost the childish headband, too, and had drawn her hair up into a loose French roll on the back of her head. Some of the shorter pieces of hair had already charmingly escaped the pins that held them, leaving her looking invitingly tousled. A pair of dangly earrings that sparkled in the light completed the glorious picture.

Smith was standing there with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out, and for once, Beck completely agreed with him.

"I'm sorry to make keep you waiting," her voice carried clearly to Jason's hidey-hole. "Norman noticed the heel of my shoe seemed a little wobbly and he took it down to the workshop to repair it. He said it wouldn't do to have it break while we were dancing."

"Of course," Roger managed to pull it together enough to attempt to be charming. "It would be a terrible thing to be unable to dance with so lovely a partner." Dorothy raised one eyebrow at him as he opened the passenger side door, but made no further comment.

Beck had to be quick. He pressed the top button on the device as she took a step towards the car.

The result was so loud, it even startled him, and he'd been expecting it. "What the hell...?" As Roger and Dorothy turned towards the source of the noise, Jason hit the second button and then the third in rapid succession.

"Stupid construction bots," Roger said, disgusted, as they watched the robot come down the side of the building to retrieve the large steel bar that it had dropped. "It's a wonder somebody hasn't gotten killed." They watched for a few minutes more to be sure, but the area where the beam had fallen had been properly cordoned off, and the accident had only attracted a few curious bystanders. The bot had already gone back to wherever it had been working.

Roger turned and smiled at Dorothy. "It looks like there's been no harm done. Shall we?" he gestured towards the car.

Beck stifled his laughter with an effort. People never looked up. That construction bot had been patiently awaiting his signal to drop the steel beam for days, and no one had even noticed! Getting it to drop it on the side closest to the monstrosity Smith called a mansion had been child's play, as had been the routine to send it along that particular route to retrieve it. He congratulated himself on the smoothness of his timing. Dorothy had been oblivious to the signal, she hadn't even blinked.

It was a pity that this was the only spot that offered both a clear view and sufficient concealment. Jason groaned as his muscles gave notice of their disapproval by cramping themselves into knots. It would have been a lot more convenient to camp out in one of the apartments nearby, but the buildings best located for his purposes were still abandoned and his taking up residence would be remarked upon.

The next best thing had been this shed, tucked in the alleyway next to the building across the street. It had probably originally been built to shelter the stairs that led to the basement of the building, and later expanded to allow a limited amount of storage. The storage section was where he'd been crouching--the careful adjustment of several loose boards gave him a clear view of Smith's door and an opening with the perfect angle to aim a radio beam.

That it would have been equally easy to simply obtain a high-powered rifle, shoot Crow Boy and have done with it had occurred to him, but the solution lacked artistry, and Jason Beck was first and foremost an artist.

It had been the devil's own task to remove the doorknob without having the ancient, grimy wood show any signs of tampering, and it had been almost as difficult to get a key for it made and then put it back exactly the way it had been, but he had succeeded. The door was still solid enough that by the time someone managed to kick it down, he'd be long gone through the basement door.

He went through that door now, carefully bolting it behind him in case anyone took a mind to poke around. If someone looked carefully, they might be able to detect spots where he had disturbed the dust, but the building was drafty enough that there hadn't been all that much dust anyway.

It was a short walk through the boiler room to the tunnel that had been built for God only knew what reason--access to a bomb shelter, perhaps? It didn't really matter now. It was convenient and brought him across the street to the basement of another building, also uninhabited From there it was two blocks to the lightly-used parking garage where he kept his car.

He wondered briefly where the pair had been headed, but dismissed it. He had been working on the fourth program for more than a week, and there was still a series of blocks and inhibitors whose function he wasn't quite sure of. Like a doctor, his first and foremost goal was to do no harm--at least, not to the android. When Crow Boy's reputation was at last in tatters, he'd love a sexy little red-headed doll of his own-- in perfect working condition of course!