Chapter: er, hmmm, not sure - 2.1 maybe?

It had to be murder.

Not withering away from some flea carried pox, nor tripping down the stairs and snapping a neck. Suicide was equally useless. To secure transfer of her, whatever you wanted to call it -- soul, or spirit, essence or consciousness--took murder. The longer she had to prepare for it, the further the distance over which she could hone her destination. Being able to choose the destination of the next host opened up opportunities for a woman of business.

But one's own murder is a tricky thing to plan and prepare for. That was where people like Siaf came into it. Men and women of dubious morality prepared to provide an appointment for murder, so long as she could accede to their prices. Often they dressed up their unpalatable profession in the robes of faith or dark magics, but it mattered not to Magdalena. All that mattered was the bloody end result.

Regardless of how the murder was committed, it hurt when the transfer was made. Even when prepared for it, as she had been this night, pain was still abundant. There was no bright tunnel of light to lead the way, no drifting through the clouds. Just one moment she was in the head of one host, then she was fighting for dominance in the next.

This next host was certainly spirited, fighting her incursion with an almost animalistic intensity. But Magdalena had been doing this a long time, she knew how to push and probe, how to expand and conquer in a battle that did not take place in the fields and cities of the kingdom, but across the synapse and neurons of the brain.

She awoke with a gasp, accompanied by the same stabbing headache that accompanied her every murder. She looked about, it was still the dark of late night. In the pale moonlight that crept into the room she looked down, naked bosom indicated the transfer had put her within another woman. The sweat across her chest and warmth between her legs told Magdalena that she'd missed out on some recent fun, but also explained the passion that the previous occupant had fought with.

Bare feet padded across cold stone floor as Magdalena hunted for a source of more sufficient light. After raking her shin across a hardwood chest, the pain making quick acquaintance with the thudding in her head, she delved inside, hands quickly searching out the traditional compartment for candle and flint lighter. Even before the candle took Magdalena was building a picture of her next host. No covering on the floor, not even reads, let alone a rug, coupled with the tight confines of the room spoke immediately of servant staff. Pert, but ample, bosom told her the host was relatively young, but not a child. Probably kitchen staff. If attractive, maybe serving staff. She'd need to find a mirror once the candle was lit, see if she had good looks that could be put to use for the business that had led her here.

The candle flickered into life, casting her shadow across the rough stone wall and narrow window that were behind the open chest. A small table scattered with the scant belongings of the host lay to her left. Magdalena was soon rooting among them, spotting a sliver of mirror. It looked like a shard from a larger piece, discarded by someone higher up the castle food chain. But it served a purpose, Magdalena discovering a pretty, if unremarkable, face. Sunken cheeks, dull lank hair and receding gums implied a poor diet, indeed Magdalena was becoming more aware of a lingering hunger in her stomach. The few scraps of stale bread that had rested on the corner of the table were quickly devoured.

Time for her exercises, to determine the range and strength of movement in the new body. Knowing the physical capabilities of the host was vital in determining the options available to her in completing the task. However, before she could even perform a simple back stretch a murmur from within the tangled sheets of the bed interrupted her routine.

"Get up" she instructed, the shrillness of her new voice unpleasant to her ears, an accent of the rural lowlands cementing the picture of unremarkable serving class.

"Uumpf, wh..what" the shape in the covers replied, slowly moving under the threadbare sheets.

"Get up, out of my room" the presence of a woman's clothes in the chest and long hairs in the old brush on the dressing table had confirmed it was her room rather than his.

"I...er, what" the lump under the covers awkwardly resolved into a naked young man by the side of the bed.

Magdalena admired his broad shoulders and well defined biceps. If only the transfer had placed her a few inches to the left and she'd have had a more suitable flesh-vessel for her business. But now was not the time for self pity. "Leave me, lest I call the overseer" she threatened, a calculated gamble her that her servant host resided in the single sex dormitories of the south tower.

It did the trick, her companion started grabbing stray items of clothing that lay dispersed around the small room "Please, Elma, I don't understand"

"What is there to understand? I tire of your brutish snoring" she made up "and much work is to be done in the morn'"

The man child looked close to tears "Forgive me. I slept deep after our union. But please do not speak rash to me"

"I speak how I please. Now get your britches on and get out"

He looked as if he may protest further, lip quivering, but on seeing her hard look he started to pull on his undergarments. While he busied himself dressing, Magdalena searched out a battered looking lamp, lit it's sorry looking wick and hung it from the rusty iron hook that had been screwed into the centre of the ceiling. This improved the light in the room somewhat, showing up the bold colours of the ornate uniform the man was now fastening up.

"You are a king's man?" Magdalena asked, almost hesitantly.

"Do not jest Elma, you know what I do"

"Of course. I meant more as to what duty you would be serving come the morning"

"I guard the crown-prince, for my sins. A boring day awaits" he strapped on his sword belt as he said this, the metal of the weapon's gilded handle glinting in the gentle lamp light.

Magdalena bit her lip so hard her mouth was filed with the salty taste of her host's blood. Had the transfer placed her in his body, her job would have been as simple as simple could be. She could quickly claim her ample reward and be left in a body of enviable strength rather than the bag of bones she currently found herself inhabiting. More self pity, she chided herself. Since when had the simple jobs been enjoyable? She was getting soft in her advancing years. Not that she kept count of them anymore. Given her unusual abilities, age had begun to lose its relevance.

"And what is your duty this day that makes you so desperate for ample sleep?" his question stirred Magdalene from her musings.

"While you baby sit the prince, I will be doing the real work as usual" she answered non-committaly, yet to discover what role she will be playing in this host.

The man smiled, a look that suited his thick-set face better than the moody scowl that had been clamped to it "Desdemona certainly claims her pound of flesh from you girls"

"I doubt I have a pound to give" Magdalena pulled at what little skin she could grab at her midriff.

"You are perfect to me" he said gently, taking a step round the bed towards her. Magdalena took a step back instinctively. He frowned at her move "You deny me a touch goodbye? What is wrong with you Elma?"

"I...er...do not wish for you to become overly familiar" she replied. Ideally she would have told him harsher to be gone, but given his position he may yet be useful to her.

"You play coy to keep my interest? But you know I am devoted to you Elma"

"You are a man, you benefit from being forbidden what you desire once in a while"

He smiled again "Something you have never tried before" a hand came forward towards her chest, which she slapped away

"Well I do now. Be gone...er...good sir" she hadn't actually discovered his name yet.

For a second he looked as if he may try to force his touch upon her. Magdalena braced to practice her defensive arts in an unfamiliar body, far from ideal, but union at this time, so soon after the transfer, risked unseating her control of the host. However, in the event, after a moment's reflection, he turned on his heal and strode to the battered wooden door.

"May I see you again the 'morrow's night?" he asked with a hand on the bulky wrought iron catch of the door.

"My shift is a long one. Visit me again three nights hence" she instructed. Such a time would give her ample opportunity to assess the situation and decide her use of him.

"Be it so" he bowed, then quietly opened the door and slipped out into the dark hallway beyond.

Magdalena slumped down onto the bed, breathing heavily. Having to interact so soon after a transfer was always taxing. Now at least she had a few precious hours before dawn to collect herself and prepare for the day's, and maybe weeks, ahead. There was currently little to go on, but a little was better than nothing. He called me Elma. She at least knew her vessel's name; something so rudimentary was often frustratingly hard to discover without appearing conspicuous. She also had a fair idea of her lowly situation in the castle hierarchy, and her prior companion had given the name of her supervisor, Desdemona. That should all be enough to blend in during the opening period of her business, so long as she tread carefully. While people of her abilities were rare, they were not unknown. Others would be wary of someone acting completely out of character, especially in somewhere of high security such as a castle.

Heated emotions falling into check, Magdalene stood once more. Rooting through the chest she found a simple cotton undergarments, a black shift dress, scratchy woolen stockings the same colour, well worn hide boots and a long white apron. She put on everything except the apron and boots and began her stretches and exercises to better understand Elma's physical abilities.

It was soon apparent that the limitations she feared the slender frame of her host would bring were more than valid. She was relatively supple, but pitifully weak, barely able to lift even a corner of the wooden chest. Her balance was so-so, painfully illustrated by a fall from one of the bed's narrow legs. It was little surprise, therefore, that Magdalena's ample knowledge of the fighting arts translated into little more than limp swats of Elma's limbs. She sat back down, contemplating. This was obviously to be a piece of business that was not to be completed by force alone. Or at all, for that matter.

The dawn rays that started to claw their way into the small sleeping quarters found Magdalena still sat down mulling over her approach. Her host body felt tired, lethargic, but her own thoughts were racing with ideas. These ideas thudded to a halt in line with the thudding knock at the door. Startled, Magdalena jumped to her feet. Could it be Elma's lover back to try and have his way? Although surely he would be on duty by now. Perhaps then, it was the guards come to arrest her, self conscious of the incursion as she was. But the rational part of her mind insisted that it was too soon for that. The guards would be after her in good time, but not yet.

"Elma, wake up" the female voice at the door sounded plaintive, but also with a tinge of excitement. But however the voice sounded, it certainly wasn't threatening. Magdalena walked over to the door and unlatched it. Upon opening it a crack she looked down upon a squat woman of middling years. Sharp blue eyes peered up at her expectantly, "Let me in" the woman urged. Magdalena complied, pulling open the door. Her visitor almost tumbled in with eagerness. Before Magdalena had even managed to close the door after her, the woman had demanded "Well, how did it go? Was he all you expected? Or more of a tiddler?" she held a little finger up in the air to emphasize this latter question, cackling a shrill laugh.

"I, er..." Magdalena began, but didn't get far.

"And how comes you are dressed already? Normally I have to drag you from your slumber" the woman frowned, then broke into a smile laced with dark mirth "Don't tell me..." she lent in to Magdalena, whispering conspiratorially "...you never went to sleep in the first place?" and with this question she exploded into a raucous guffaw.

"It was certainly an interesting night" Magdalena admitted, truthfully.

"I bet. Although I refuse to believe a man as pretty as Giles can also be as blessed with his manhood" the little finger was again waggling in the air.

"Giles..." Magdalena rolled the name around in her mouth, another piece of information to file away "...was perhaps disappointing in some ways. But I am sure he will have his subsequent uses"

"Subsequent?" the squat woman also rolled the word around "Ere, how comes you're talking all posh now? You gettin' airs n' graces just cos you're boffing a kings guard?!" another guffaw, this time accompanied by a playful slap at Elma's shoulder. Inside Elma's head, Magdalena chided herself. Normally she would blend in smoother than the ice in her gin, but here she was floundering. Using her own language in the body of a girl who would likely never have seen the inside of a book, let alone a classroom. She needed to up her game, despite the stakes on this particular game being higher than she'd ever faced before.

"We gonna get to work or what then?" Magdalena attempted a slur on her words that would fit better with the accent of Elma.

"Just look at Lady Over-Keen" the woman replied, eyeing Magdalena suspiciously, who in turn cowered a little. She was certainly forming more and more of an idea of what sort of person Elma was, but she couldn't afford many more mistakes in completing that picture.

"I meant so that we could have a brew" Magdalena ventured.

"More like it. The woman grabbed hold of Elma's arm "Lead the way" she commanded

Bugger thought Magdalena as the maze of the unknown castle corridors stretched out in front of her.

And now for something completely different

Prologue: A bad night for murder

Rain swept down the folds of her wax jacket like a hundred gushing streams snaking across the face of a dull brown hill. She pulled the hood further over her head, but this did little to stop the from splashing her face, driven near horizontal as it was by the blustery gale.

"A bad night to be out" she murmured to herself, words quickly blown away by the howl of another gust of rain soaked wind, "not that I would willingly choose any night for murder".

She left the slippery cobbles of the winding road, exchanging the risk of a broken ankle in a slip for the surety of a mud caked ankle on the unpaved path that led through the trees at the edge of the hamlet.

Away from the gas lamps the only light came from a meagre moon through the canopy of withered old oaks. This did not constrain her pace, the well worn route familiar to her by now. Ducking under a gnarled and weather-beaten branch she left the mud path for a rocky descent into a small quarry and long abandoned mine head. Here she paused, rain still lashing down, a drip down her back causing a moment's shiver. The quarry was lit around its perimeter by a series of brass lamps, each hung from a slender wooden stave.

Then

Then she was no longer alone.

It was not that the old man suddenly appeared in a puff of smoke. Or that he had emerged from some hidden spot. Rather it was as if she had simply forgotten he was stood in front of her, but now she had remembered.

"How do, Siaf" the woman nodded as she spoke, causing a trickle of rainwater from her hood to fall down her face.

"Greetings Ms Magdalena" the man smiled, what few teeth remained in his mouth we stained a pale blue. Magdalena could not decide if the smile was warranted by her bedraggled appearance, or some unspoken joke the man had remembered. Siaf was a man of dark humour and dark arts.

"You are here with murder on your mind" Siaf stated, although the accusation did not seem to outwardly alter his disposition.

"That I am" Magdalena calmly replied.

"I had been forewarned of your intentions"

"Then you will have also been told of my conviction" rain continued to pitter-patter on her face as she said this. By contrast Siaf appeared dry, despite the downpour. Maybe that trick was the source of his humour Magdelana mused.

"Did you not predict that I would oppose your desire?" Siaf asked, smile starting to fade.

"I make no predictions Siaf, that is your realm. I am a person of business, business that this evening calls for murder" she shifted her weight from one leg to another as she said this, trying to stamp some life back into her extremities as the cold fabric of her breaches let in a spreading chill.

"And we must conduct our business now?"

Magdalena nodded, rain water again flicked across her face "Unless you have any last words?"

Siaf paused, thought for a moment then said "No, I do not believe I do"

"I had always thought men of your pursuit enjoyed an incantation or some other ritual?"

"Ah, I take your meaning. No Magdalena, I am unconventional in my methods. If we have business to be done, then let it be so" with this he bowed his head and place a hand on the chest of his deep red tunic.

"It is so" Magdalena said simply, also bowing her head, but keeping her arms at her sides, water dripping from clenched fists.

Siaf moved the hand on his chest to a pocket inside the tunic. It came back out clutching a long thin blade, glinting in the pale lamplight. In a flash of movement he had plunged it into Magdalena's chest, the woman slumping to her knees in response.

"T'is a grim night for murder" Siaf spoke quietly

"There never is a good time" gurgled Magdalena with her last breath.

Her last breath, that is to say, in that particular body.

Spoiler chapter

Department operation goes wrong, surprised by the drone in the living room, and confused by the device Harmony is wielding, shots are fired and in the commotion Pederson is hit.

Recriminations between Samson and the Sheriff get overtaken by the seriousness of Pederson's injury. Doctors in Doddington don't give him much hope.

Better medical facilities are available in Millieville, but no way of getting there. Then Samson (who has been arrested) suggests the drone. Melissa at first unwilling to countenance the move eventually gives way, but only under her supervision.

Drone is modified to carry Pederson on gurney, Samson and Melissa. They make the journey to Millieville

Switch back to Jack, Mr Pinko and injured Thomas in Millieville. They've been stuck there since leaving the Megatropolis. Thomas is in hospital and the other two working menial jobs to pay for it.

Mr Pinko is wearing Jack's hat so as to be invisible to the war-drones.

Jack is increasingly unhappy outside the Megatropolis. Despite all his moaning about society, starts to recognise some advantages. Starts talking about finding a middle ground.

Melissa, Samson and Pederson arrive. Reunion at the hospital, Jack and Melissa near overwhelmed after all the years apart. Start to catch up. Melissa sees her estranged son in hospital, blames Civic Centrale.

Thomas starts to recover, meets mother for first time. Mr Pinko delivers final message from Robert - he was killed in the initial Cit-Pro operation (torture maybe to get at what he knows about them?).

(Also possible revelation that Jack is the real father to Thomas? Maybe a twist too far though)

Meilissa wants to destroy Civic-Centrale, Jack wants revenge but also moderation. They start to plan.

The mysterious Cit-Pro agent in the hat turns up. Immediately attacking Mr Pinko by surprise to take out his only real threat (plus revenge for agents Mr Pinko previously snuck up on and destroyed). States aims of capturing terrorist cell planning to commit an atrocity (which is sort of true).

Samson and Jack attempt to charge the agent on the captured-drone, but agent issues some kind of wireless device/command that immediately turns off the drone. However, in the distraction, the badly injured Mr Pinko knocks the agent's hat off and grabs hold of him tight. Wishes Jack/Thomas/Melissa well then removes his own hat. Aerial drone annihilates both Mr Pinko and the agent now that they don't have their Hats and the agent is unable to issue further shutdown commands.

Jack/Thomas/Melinda/Samson try to work out what happened. It seems that the war drones can be remotely shut off after all. Tallies with what Melissa discovered at Civic Centrale all those years ago - it wasn't AI or aliens perpetuating the war, it was companies like Civic Centrale. Driving people/customers towards them, keeping people scared and compliant. Modern technology quickly surpassed that of the abandoned war-drones (hence why Samson's computer got control of the drone so easily) but Civic Centrale kept a lid on it to suit its own agenda.

Melissa still in favour of destroying Civic Centrale, but Jack wary of hurting innocents and losing all the technological gains that people would choose even if not manipulated by Civic Centrale - the middle ground. Samson explains about the drone factory, Jack starts to form a plan.

No point in attacking Civic Centrale as Cit Pro would easily defeat them as made clear by the agent's actions. But they can show Civic Centrale up for holding back the ability to end the war-drone menace and reclaim the Wastes.

Main characters (now also including Harmony and Department members) march the drones from the factory to the Megatropolis. Jack somehow smuggles them all in. He also makes contact with Josie, the younger woman from earlier he met on the way to the Towers. She is able to organise a public gathering and news coverage given her experience of organising protests against Civil Centrale.

They swarm the Civic Centrale head quarters, the Cit-Pro drones protecting the building, as per protocol, first use non-lethal means and easily shut down the approaching (unarmed) war-drones ridden by the Wastelanders.

Looks like their attempt was foiled, but then news of the events starts to spread, aided by Josie's actions and Thomas setting up local broadcasting signals that's can't be easily shut down by Civic Centrale.

Groundswell of revolution sweeps away Civic Centrale, but not quite as completely as Melissa wanted.

Final scene - back in the diner, Jack and Melissa moaning about the kids of today still stuck on the Transnet. However, it's not quite the same with more direct choice over city leadership. Trade with Wastes also opened up, sweeping away the gangs that profited from it being a sealed city as well as bringing better living conditions to those that chose to live outside the Megatropolis. Jack doesn't feel as aggrieved as Melissa, argues that not all progress is bad, just because they don't fully understand it. Some progress can even be good for old codgers like them. Ends with him turning on his iris augment to chat with Josie in the Mayors office / Harmony in head office of Cit-Pro.

15: And it all goes horribly wrong

"This is going to be a hell of an entrance, Sheriff" Jenkins whispered to Melissa, the two concealed behind a large fallen tree at the rear of Samson's property.

"I just want it done professionally" Melissa instructed as she surveyed the old barn "Is everyone in position then?"

"Yes, all angles covered. Ready on your mark. Never seen the whole Department so pumped for action"

"The Department has never faced such a grave danger. We need to secure that computer before Samson gets chance to set it off" she glanced to the sky as she said this, wary that drones may already be on their way, and certainly would be if Samson got chance to unleash his anger on Doddington.

"I'll do whatever it takes, Sheriff" the gruff sergeant looked down at the handgun he had gripped in both hands.

Melissa didn't reply, her distaste for the weapon locked in a silent struggle with a desire to end this whole sorry mess within her mind. Instead she focused back on the barn. From their vantage point she could make out the form of Harmony bustling about what looked like some kind of lean-to workshop. Melissa wrinkled her nose in distaste; Samson's assistant had proved to be a willing accomplice, maybe even providing some of the know-how to speed up his evil plans against the town. Certainly Harmony was up to something at the moment. Perhaps trying to construct a vessel to house the drone-attracting computer that Samson had stolen.

Melissa silently rebuked herself again for the failing that had led up to Samson being able to seize the computer. Certainty there would be repercussions with the council once this situation was resolved, if there is a council left she grimly noted. However, in many ways the council were partly to blame for the town coming into danger like this. Had they heeded her urging to destroy the recovered technology, or had they refrained from the cutbacks that left her unable to place a 24 hour guard on the confiscated technology store. Save the recriminations for later she told herself it's almost time for action.

"What the hell is even this crap?" Harmony complained from the kitchen, her voice accompanied by clanking and crashing.

"Kitchen equipment. I think. I find a lot of stuff scavenging" Samson shouted back, still sitting, the shakes still not having totally subsided.

"Even this?!" she appeared at the door between the two spaces, oddly shaped metal device gripped uncertainly in front of her.

"Yeah, some kind of, er, spice thing. Maybe. Or something"

"What do you even do with it?" she continued to look perplexed

"Chef stuff, you wouldn't understand" Samson attempted to fob her off, his attention firmly on the the drone that he had maneuvered into the main space of the barn-come-home-junk shop. He'd left the computer attached so he could do some rooting around in the drone's internal systems once his nerves had calmed, but the drone itself was powered down, legs folded so that the cylindrical body almost touched the floor. It still took up much of the space in the barn and remained taller than Samson (although Harmony was about the same height).

"Hey, what's that?!" Harmony exclaimed suddenly

"Like I said, probably cooking equipment" Samson rolled his eyes, assuming his assistant come partner had confused herself with some other device in his kitchen.

"No, outside. Thought I saw something. Over by that fallen down tree"

"I've had a few rats round here" Samson called back, still unconcerned, despite the worried tone of Harmony's voice.

"Nah, bigger than that. Still maybe a stinkin' rat though" she came striding back into the main space, the device she'd been querying before now held the other way round so it looked like some kind of cubic metal club "Think we've got visitors"

Samson turned at this "Visitors?"

"Department" she'd gone over to a small window the other side of Samson "Drakk. That side too. Looks like they want their computer back"

"Well they can't have it" Samson had come to stand next to Harmony, following her gaze out the window.

"Pederson, can you make out the woman in the workshop?"

"Workshop, boss?" the voice of the constable crackled through the old analogue radio that Melissa gripped to her ear.

"In the lean-to, right opposite where I told you to position yourself" she rolled her eyes at Jenkins as if to underline her perceived frustration with the inept constable.

"Sorry Sheriff, see what you mean now. I'd assumed it was a kitchen" the radio then gave a burst of static. "But yeah, I can see her. Making something"

"Can you see what? I had eyes on a device of some sort"

"She's got some kind of, er, grinder I think"

"Repeat please, grinder?"

"Yeah, my Ma had one. It crushes pepper or spices when you press a button"

"A button? So it's electrical?"

"Yeah"

Melissa pulled the radio away from her ear and spoke at Jenkins "Must be how they're rigging the computer to go off, button activation, maybe remotely, try and get away before the drone strike" Jenkins looked unsure, slowly nodding.

But before Melissa could think through the possibilities any more, her radio squawked back into life. "I think I've been spotted" her brain took a second to realize that it wasn't the incompetent Pederson messing up again, but was instead the voice of Maithwaite "They're looking out the side window. Over" he continued.

"Ok, time to make our move everyone. Now!" Melissa would have liked to survey the situation a little longer, but it had been hard to find cover closer to the house. Maithwaite had probably over stretched on his approach. She'd yell at him about it later, but now was the time for calm leadership. She broke cover and began to hobble down the hill towards the barn, Jenkins having already leaped over the fallen tree and made it most of the way to the rear of the building.

Melissa wasn't a lead-from-the-front sort of Sheriff--her age and need for a walking stick precluded that approach--but she was always an active participant in the operations she organised. Here, as she made her way down the hill, she surveyed the approach of the other Department agents, 12 in total, instructed to quickly overwhelm the suspects inside, prevent them from operating anything technological.

Maithwaite and a couple of others were shouting for the people in the barn to remain still, trying to sound domineering as they crashed into what Melissa had taken to be the front door. There was also the tinkle of breaking glass, which she assumed to be Pederson breaking into the workshop or kitchen or whatever it was.

I ran out of steam/desire here, so maybe to be continued, maybe not.

14: Lost and found

"You did what?" Sheriff Melissa stamped her walking stick so hard into the ground, she was sure that it was going to snap. But it held firm, unlike her calm.

"I, er, let them into the training ground" Pederson was sat sprawled against the chain-link fence that wound its way around the Department's grounds.

"Why?" exasperation.

"The woman, Harmony, she said she could do a lap of the field with, er..."

"Go on"

"...me over her shoulder" he couldn't look her in the eye as he admitted this.

"Dammit Pederson" it was almost too dumb to be true. Melissa knew the young constable wasn't the brightest spark in the Wastes, but he had at least shown signs of competency in the past. But then Samson had started causing trouble. Manipulating, like he does the idiots on the council.

"Sorry Sheriff" head still bowed

"So what was Samson doing while you were getting your lift?"

"Not sure Sheriff. Harmony dropped me on the far side of the grounds. Said that I was heavier than she thought"

"Could he have, perchance, been in the confiscated property section?" the locks were still in place, they were what she had checked first when made aware of Pederson's indiscretion. But the hair, the hair was broken. It was an old trick that an even older friend of hers had taught her many years ago. Stick a hair across the gap in a door to see if anyone had entered it in your absence.

"I don't think so, boss. He was over by the main building being sick"

Melissa frowned "There wasn't any sick over there" the small footprints in the dirt at the rear of the main building had caught her eye on the way over to grill Pederson. It made sense to her now; Samson casing the joint, trying to find a way inside.

"No Sheriff" Pederson brightened a little "I knew you'd hate to see sick all over the place, so I, er..." his face dropped again as the genius logic of the previous night morphed into the idiotic move of the cold light of day.

"You er did what?"

"Gave him the key to the Department building to use the loo there. Drakk" he put his head in his hands.

Melissa raised her walking stick in the air, ready to strike the idiot Pederson across his stupid head, but she stopped. Instead she brought it back down, and knocked herself on the forehead. What an old fool she chastised herself. Preoccupied with keeping an eye on Samson she'd sent a young constable to monitor him, not considering that the manipulative degenerate wasteland explorer (or murderer as far as she was concerned) would use that against her. Pederson was only partly to blame for the mess at hand. She needed to clear it up.

"We need to work out what has gone missing. Get in there and cross check the stock check records" she indicated the confiscated property store with her walking stick

"Sure thing Sheriff" Pederson got to his feet unsteadily "Anything else?" he was obviously keen to please after his recent lapses in judgement.

"Who else is on duty today?"

"Jenkins, Donaldson and I think Maithwaite" he screwed up his eyes as he tried to remember. Melissa also suspected he was trying to stop the world spinning after getting to his feet.

"Ok, I want them in the briefing room in two hours along with a list of what's missing"

"Yes maam, er boss, er sheriff" he attempted a sort of salute, something the Department didn't routinely perform, but he seemed like he'd try anything to placate her. Melissa give a grim smile, then dismissed him with a nod of her head.

Just got to figure out what Samson is plotting now. Got a bad feeling. Melissa trudged back towards the main building.

Around 5 clicks from the deeply unhappy Sheriff, Samson and Harmony we back at the drop-factory. Knowing that their theft of the computer would not remain a secret for long, they'd left Doddington right after finishing with Pederson, the constable left sleeping in a patch of scrub at the edge of the training ground. This hurried exit from town had presented two main challenges. First, it was dark, really dark. No light pollution in the Wastes and a moon only a quarter full. Second, they were both drunk. Not Pederson level drunk, they'd been careful to pace themselves in order to complete their theft, but certainly a little worse for ware. Given the dangers of the Wastes, it was not somewhere you really wanted to be drunk and in the dark.

It had taken most of the night to travel the relatively short distance to the cliff face, therefore. Frequent stops to pore over Samson's map with their flashlights and to either relieve themselves or argue about some landmark or other. A couple of times they'd come close to wandering into a war-drone patrol zone. These mistakes were frightening, but also sobering, which helped them a little. They'd arrived at the cliff face just as the early dawn sun was thinking about peaking over the distant horizon. A hurried breakfast of whatever Samson had grabbed from the Department's kitchen -- grabbed whilst he was hunting for the key to the confiscated items lock up -- was forced down as they recovered their energies, before clambering up the ropes they'd left their on the previous visit.

The familiar clanking from the damaged guard drone greeted their arrival, less like an old friend and more like that slighting scary fellow that hung around when you were a kid. Back inside the factory, where the completed bi-pedal drones were stored hung from the ceiling, Samson set to unpacking the equipment that he'd stuffed in Harmony's ruck-sack the previous night.

"This gonna take long?" Harmony stretched out on a piece of bare floor near the entrance, yawning as she did so.

"Just got to hack a sophisticated piece of war technology to unleash a three metre tall roving monstrosity. Might be a couple of minutes or so" Samson replied sarcastically, unwrapping wires and interface boards as he did so.

The confiscated property store had proved to be rich pickings for Samson. He'd benefited from the greed of the council; the Sheriff had long campaigned for the contents of the store to be destroyed, but given the potential value of the increasingly scarce technology, the council had vetoed her, preferring to save it in the, so far forlorn, hope that one day there would be a way of unlocking its value should the war-drones ever be vanquished.

Samson had learnt his ways around pre-war technology from his mother. She'd rehabilitated and traded tech in the far north, where a relatively wide drone blind spot and a less risk averse town authority had tolerated the presence of such items. There was always a limit as to what such technology could achieve - there were no global networks to tap into any more and the drone onslaught had not left much technology in tact. Samson had seen a few pre-war documentaries in his time, and remembered laughing at the phrase "being bombed back to the stone age" when he had actually lived through such a time.

It took most of the morning to even work out a way of tapping into the factory systems, Samson fashioning a technological daisy chain of various components, each designed to convert or carry a signal that worked its way from the holo-computer deck to a small port he'd found on the underside of one of the drones.

"We're in" he happily exclaimed

"Wh....what?" Harmony drowsily stirred from the snooze she had been taking, but then remembered what was going on "In? Like you have us a drone"?

"Not exactly. In like I've actually managed to boot into a UI"

"UI?" Harmony scratched her head

"Don't worry abut it" Samson said, tapping away on the keyboard projected by the holo-computer onto his lap for a couple more seconds before stopping and frowning. "Hang on" he said, leaning closer to the screen projection and squinting "Scratch that about the UI, I'm in in"

"In in?"

"Uh-huh" he hit another key and the drone's legs dropped down to the ground with the whir of servo motors. Harmony yelped and jumped backwards, nearly tripping on some of the wreckage in the factory.

She quickly regained her balance and stepped toward Samson "You did it?"

"Think so"

"Wow Samson" she smiled "I mean it took long enough, but well done" she playfully punched his shoulder, Samson wincing.

"It, er, didn't take long enough" his voice was confused in intonation, deep frown across his brow.

"How'd you mean? We've been here all bloody morning"

"Yeah. In just a few hours I've interfaced two completely different technologies and overridden some of the best security protocols of their era"

"Are you fishing for complements or what?" Harmony laughed "Your ego not had enough massaging lately?"

"I'm really not. This is odd, to say the least"

"Geez Samson. What is it with you and second guessing yourself. You came here to hack a drone, you've done that. Let's go ride it to the council building. Can't wait to see the look on their faces. Especially that drakking prick who's nephew I gave a hiding"

"I need to do some more investigation on it first. Let's take it back to my place" Samson had sent another command to the drone, the wires connecting it to the factory dropping away.

"Your place" Harmony smiled playfully "This how you get all the ladies back there? Promise them a go on a massive ruddy war-drone?!" another hit of his shoulder, another shard of pain, this time mixed with embarrassment.

Melissa slowly stomped her way across the briefing room, span around and made the return journey, walking stick clacking as she did so. She tended to pace when anxious, a slight worn indentation in the wooden floor testament to all the previous times she'd felt the emotion at the Department. But this time felt like it was on another level of emotion all together.

"Run me through that again" she instructed, neither looking up or breaking step as she did so.

"An Apple ideck holo-computer; twelve cat 12 fibre cables; one usb4 pci converter; one pci sata 9G hub; two sata express usb combined..."

"Enough" Melissa held up one hand, while rubbing her temples with the other. Pederson dropped back into silence other than the slight shuffling of the stock-check papers from the confiscated property store he'd brought with him. "Jenkins, make sense of this for me" Melissa had a fair idea what was going on, but wanted another take on it.

"Er..." the gruff sergeant sounded unsure

"Start with what you know about the missing equipment" Melissa attempted to lead his train of thought out of the station of contemplation.

"The, er, holo deck, was the, er most modern kit we had. Smuggled out the Megatropolis maybe a decade ago, we got it on the raid up at the Brianson farm" he sounded more confident when talking about previous operations rather than technology.

"What might Samson want with it?" the steady clomp of the walking stick as Melissa paced

"Dunno. We never turned it on to see what it could do. Tech like that could bring a lot of heat" although they were indoors Jenkins still nodded upwards, Melissa understanding he meant the sky where the war-drones seek out their prey.

"So if he goes ahead and turns it on in town, what then?"

"Maybe, er, nothing?" Pederson ventured hopefully. His memories of the previous night were still foggy, but he did remember Samson explaining about the dead-zones of where the drones didn't patrol.

Melissa fixed him with a cold glare, she'd heard that limp argument about dead-zones as well. As if it was worth gambling with the town's future for the sake of playing with some useless technological anachronism of a corrupt former age. She wasn't prepared to countenance such traitorous talk, so turned her attention to the uncomfortable looking Jenkins. "So he's got a powerful computer and a load of wires, presumably to amplify its signal. What is he doing?"

"Not, er, sure, Sheriff" Jenkins was struggling, even with Melissa leading him.

"He knows I'm on to him. He's desperate. He's evil" she stated in a calmer tone than she was feeling.

Pederson frowned, the look caught the eye of Melissa "What now, constable" she almost snarled.

"It's just er, evil, Sheriff really? I know you don't get on but, er..." his voice trailed off under the weight of Melissa's scowl

"I wouldn't expect you to be able to give the evidence fair judgement, constable Pederson. You have been compromised by your choice to consort with the suspect" Pederson slowly slid down in his chair as Melissa spoke. "Now, where was I?" the Sheriff asked herself "Oh yes, the small matter of how we head off an imminent terrorist attack"

"You think he's going too...." Jenkins spoke, at long last his train of thought getting up to speed.

"Yes. I think he is going to attempt to trigger a drone attack on Doddington. We need to prevent that." she had stopped pacing, instead looming above the other Department agents to give her instructions "Donaldson, I want you to rouse all off duty members, have them here within half an hour. Maithewaite, head to the council, take Pederson with you and explain to them the threat at hand. Tell them to prepare the town for evacuation" she then looked down in contemplation, difficult decisions racing through her mind.

"And me Sheriff?" Jenkins asked tentatively after a few seconds.

Melissa sighed "You go and get the Department's gun"

Samson was still shaking.

He'd sat down in his rickety old armchair while Harmony attempted to fashion a hot drink from the various detritus scattered around the lean-too kitchen that had been crudely attached on the side of the small old barn that was his current residence on the outskirts of Doddington.

However, it wasn't the fear of what Harmony was going to rustle up that was causing him to shake. No, that owed to the recent journey back from the drop-factory. Getting the drone down and moving had continued to amaze him in his simplicity. With the holo-computer attached via the snaking series of wires he was able to command the machine from its storage in the factory out into the light of the midday sun. The length of the wires meant he had to stay relatively close to the machine, wandering alongside it while stabbing at various controls on the holographic user interface that he'd set the computer to project in front of him. Harmony had urged him to clamber on to its back, but he wasn't yet that confident that the machine would remain under his control once released from the factory. Or that was what he had told her, when in fact he was more than a little terrified of the machine.

They'd wandered back to the cliff face then realised the next issue; how to get the drone down. It was way too heavy to hoist down, even for Harmony's might. The only route off the cliff top was the old track. The old track that fell under the gaze of one of the airborne war-drones. Samson's theory was that the drone he had taken control of would be recognised as brethren of those lurking 5,000 metres above them. However, the major problem with testing that theory was that he would have to enter the patrol zone with his machine if he were be able to remain in control of it.

That was where the shaking came into it.

He'd hypothesized to Harmony that other drones would likely view him as a prisoner of some sort when they saw him so close to the captured machine. That had convinced neither of them, Harmony not helping his building nerves by asking if there had ever been a case of a war-drone taking someone prisoner. Samson had to admit he had never heard of such an occasion.

Before moving they'd thrown down some more phones onto the track, to try and work out the limit of the patrol zone. It hadn't taken many throws before a dark spot had been evident in the sky, Samson and Harmony rapidly retreating to the factory as the thud of the missile explosion splashed mud and rocks around them. They remained hidden as two of the active bi-pedal drones showed up to investigate. Samson was sure that one of them had looked towards his own drone with an articulated sensor arm, and his suspicion was proved correct when he ventured back to the hacked drone and attached computer, finding that one of the drone's sensor logs had recorded a burst of communication with the two investigating drones. He'd frowned at this, as it meant that the drones were able to communicate between each other wirelessly. So why couldn't humans? Must be separate systems at play, and while this explanation didn't completely satisfy his curiosity he reasoned that he'd be better able to investigate back at his house.

With enormous trepidation Samson had instructed the drone into the patrol zone. He wasn't sure exactly where it started--the thrown phones only gave a rough indication--so at each step forward of the drone he would stop, run back towards the factory and wait for a few moments. Nothing happened, so after about half an hour of this excruciatingly slow progress he decided to move a bit quicker. Deeper into the patrol zone he went with the drone, Harmony stood back close to the factory, occasionally yelling a piece of encouragement. He was still pausing at every fifth step forward or so to slowly scan the sky with his binoculars. However, he wasn't entirely sure what he'd do if an aerial drone appeared; far into the patrol zone as he was running back to the factory was no longer an option.

Down the old track they went, neither Harmony or the factory now in sight behind them. He'd agreed to meet Harmony back on the path below the cliff face in the relatively safety of the gap between patrol zones. Harmony would make quicker progress than his caution allowed, so he kept an eye out in front and his ears peeled for more of her raucous shouts. This made the silence of the path all the more oppressive.

A burst of communications had then popped onto the screen he had projected from the top of the computer, the device itself crudely taped to his chest. Samson couldn't make sense of it, but the drone was certainly in contact with something. A jolt of fear spiked up his spine, Samson turning away from the screen projection and towards the sky, binoculars at his eyes. To the east he saw it, a tiny black dot, but a tiny black dot rapidly getting bigger as the air-drone approached.

Samson swallowed nervously. More communications popped up on his display. Co-ordinates maybe, or some kind of verification. He attempted to make sense of them, but his hands were shaking too much to accurately type on the holographic keyboard floating in front of him. The dot grew bigger, the long wingspan of the drone now clearly visible. More communication between the two drones, more anxiousness from Samson.

Then there was a sound. Samson had been straining to try and hear the approach of a missile, although he knew that if he could hear it, then it was already too late. However, this wasn't the sound of a missile, just something nearly as destructive when the mood took.

Harmony.

Samson had never been so relieved to hear her dulcet tone. It was echoing around the narrow rocky path that he and the drone had made it to, which made working out what direction it came from hard. However, its rising volume implied she was close. More to the point, the edge of the patrol zone was close too.

Caution forgotten, Samson used a rocky outcrop as a step up and onto the back of his drone. The wires just about reached from the underside of the machine, so he peeled off the holo-computer from his chest and taped onto the lump in front of him housing most of the drone's sensors. With the screen projection back up he could see that the pace of communication was increasing. Either the two drones were trading old war stories, or something wasn't right. Time to make the get away, Samson sent the run command. 

And was almost immediately thrown from the machine,

He just about managed to grab hold of a stumpy manipulator arm that sprang from the machine's midriff. Setting himself back upright, he increased the speed of the drone, some internal processor automatically negotiating the twists and turns of the track down the cliff.

In a small avalanche of stones and dust he skidded the drone to a halt at the foot of the cliff. Samson flapping his crude map to double check that they'd left the patrol zone, although the halt in drone communications a few seconds previously implied that they had.

Through the small dust cloud that was settling around him an approaching shape resolved itself into the bulky figure of Harmony. From his position perched atop the drone Samson was, for once, looking down at her. He smiled.

"Hell of an entrance" she remarked.