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  And so instead of fucking her, and instead of letting her friend and whatever more she might be make her come again, Anna held her, smoothed her hands in gentle lines and circles along her arms and back. She kissed her gently, and even though she no longer tasted tears in some of those kisses, the easy motion between them continued, soft, smooth, and somehow profoundly satiating, until at last they both fell back to sleep.

  She woke alone again.

  That had been a few months ago, and situations had drastically altered since then. There was a sense of expectation, a dramatic alteration in timeline. The excitement filled the air and the Internet, was a buzz that sang under every interaction, made—

  She had a job to do, she reminded herself firmly as she lifted her chin and scanned the crowd with a studied casualness.

  Despite the still near-winter cold outside, there was a dress code the ravers observed: a mix of shiny metal and bare muscle, the savage and the sage united in one body that pounded itself in precise formations sequenced to a techno beat.

  Even had it not been required of her to fit in, she would have anyway, because she understood—in a way that ran through her blood, lifted her to a state both primitive and purely intellectual, heightened and sharpened both, simultaneously—the dichotomy these people embraced. And she was one of them, part of the techno tribe.

  The synthetic fabric, a liquid red that shimmered as it poured over her, skimmed against her thighs as she walked with a lithe purpose through the converted warehouse, the stabbing colored strobes of light and heavy bass pulse that shook the floor making thought almost impossible, which, given the environment, was of course the point.

  She’d been given this assignment because of her work, her discoveries so far. Because she had been able to balance fact and fiction, never a misstep in where her loyalties, her primary allegiance lay. She knew who she was and who she was supposed to be, and she had to remember that, she told herself. She had to do whatever was necessary, because if she was right, and she was gut-level certain she was, then she—

  Anna spotted her through the crowd, and the genuine smile that flashed her way when their eyes met made her mind go blank even as her mouth went dry.

  As usual, her teammate was surrounded but subtly in charge as she always was at these events; there were those who wanted to learn from her, the ones that respectfully admired her work, and those who simply…wanted. That was an expression she recognized on a few of those faces that glanced over then made way for her, even as they exchanged greetings—she was better known here than she’d thought, she realized, and filed that away for future reference.

  “Chilled Stoli—straight up,” she asked the bartender. Her peripheral awareness told her it was a young man, perhaps mid-twenties, who pulled and poured behind the black glass bar, but her smile and gaze were focused on her target. She smiled again when she was handed the cool glass cylinder that held exactly what she’d asked for, but not by him—by her.

  “Cheers,” she saluted and lifted her glass. The smart clink of a drink against her own brought them closer together, and she saw it flash quickly through her eyes, the borderline reached between welcome and flight.

  “I knew you’d…come…tonight,” murmured against her ear during a welcoming embrace, those silky lips so very close they brushed against her skin.

  “Did you?” she asked as matter-of-factly as she could manage, knowing how well her counterpart could make her come. She downed her shot before facing the dark gold gleam of her eyes and the sensual half-smile that accompanied it.

  Anna knew the game well by now—let her lead, but take some initiative as well. Pure followers were despised, treated with a coldly polite contempt, but a certain type of dynamism—that got respect, and that Anna knew she had. And she already had her attention and interest. “What about you?” she countered, returning the almost-touch while the Stoli burned the rest of the way through, warming her limbs even as it loosened her tongue. Fine hair brushed against her lips. “Think you’ll…come…tonight?”

  “Are you offering?” The words were spoken in her ear again in the face of the heavy beat that suffused everything, and she was certain she didn’t mistake the slightest touch of hesitancy she heard in them.

  She gazed into smoky amber eyes, the expression almost, almost, unreadable. Except… “Yes,” she mouthed and nodded once.

  She watched as her eyes changed, the quirk of her lips shifted, opened, just about to speak, when someone jostled into them.

  When that jostle turned into an invitation to dance, she caught the slight shrug of apology and the quickest glimpse of—was it regret?—before the mask slammed down, became the smile turned upon the young man who didn’t know what he’d interrupted.

  She watched them, watched them dance, watched him fall completely under her spell, and she knew she couldn’t force it, couldn’t bring herself to do it. To push and break those walls so carefully placed—it wouldn’t take much, all she had to do was walk over, claim what she wanted. And that was the problem: it was what she wanted, job be damned.

  Anna already knew all about the former live-in girlfriend, even without the help of the dossier that sat on her hard drive. Knew exact age, height, blood type, every vaccination, allergy, school attended, had complete files on family and friends, even had a theory as to why there where no records for two years of her adolescent life, the relentless drive that marked every accomplishment after that, the drive to prove something.

  She’d also learned for herself how well their bodies fit together, the way her mouth tasted. But what she really wanted to touch, wanted to know…Anna knew this wasn’t the way to find out.

  And besides, there were rules. They were, perhaps, subtle, unwritten and unspoken, but they were still rules, a code for engagement to be followed. If she did that, broke the strictures of engagement, used the personal knowledge she did have to her own advantage, Anna knew she would have to offer something in exchange, maintain a special sort of balance, make promises she didn’t think she could keep because of the same job that demanded she not do that. And because of what she did know, the thing she instinctively understood, she also understood the damage she could, she would, cause. Much more than the temporary sting Anna felt, watching the flirtation with a man she knew wasn’t really wanted, not in any true way.

  Dammit. She couldn’t do her job, she couldn’t do what she wanted, and she didn’t want to hurt her.

  In the end, Anna did the only thing she could, which was to finally turn away even as she silently asked her, “God, baby. What in the world are you trying to prove? And who the hell are you trying to prove it to?”

  Starting program: /hacking/$ ./exploit

  The Art of Exploitation

  * * *

  BB84 Secure Session - - Loss 0 Month/Day 03:25:03

  * * *

  03:25:04 ChknMan: you’ve got the receiver set up?

  03:25:05 DsrtFx: hitting the system

  03:25:06 DsrtFx: it’s in

  03:25:07

  03:25:08

  03:25:09 ChknMan: connected. Sending now

  03:25:10 DsrtFx: transferring

  03:25:11

  03:25:12 ChknMan: nervous, man – someone’s gonna

  03:25:13 ChknMan: find something sooner or later

  03:25:14 ChknMan: she’s no dummy - wants to

  03:25:15 ChknMan: restructure

  03:25:16 ChknMan: She’ll look at everything,

  03:25:17 ChknMan: she’ll find this, she’ll know

  03:25:18 DsrtFx: we’ll be long gone.

  03:25:19 DsrtFx: Dude, you’re helping people,

  03:25:20 DsrtFx: healing the fucked up gov’t!

  03:25:21 ChknMan: fuck the man!

  03:25:22 DsrtFx: lol – exactly.

  03:25:23 DsrtFx: Only 2 more and it’s done -

  03:25:24 DsrtFx: first one was fine – this’ll be

  03:25:25 DsrtFx: too. You lay the trail?

  03:25:26

  03:25:27
ChknMan: Right to the door.

  03:25:28 DsrtFx: Fine.

  03:25:29 DsrtFx: I’ve got the other one handled.

  03:25:30 ChknMan: You better

  BB84 Secure Session Unsecure

  WARNING – DATA LOSS DETECTED

  Session terminated

  * * *

  BB84 Secure Session - - Loss 0 Month/Day 03:25:30

  * * *

  *

  Kevin tested his bonds. She’d tied him firmly, as firmly as she’d promised she would the second time he’d tried to touch her.

  He breathed it in, the fizz that seemed to pour over him as he forced the tension from his arms. The tang of it was an alternating sharp and soft just under his skin as he lay back on his own bed. It made the familiar and known heady and strange, and the low light of the room heightened the electric expectant mystery as she hovered over him.

  “If you can’t restrain yourself, I’ll do it for you,” she’d murmured into his ear, then pulled the scarf from around her neck. He’d felt the sheer material wisp across his chest, then his neck, when she took first one hand from her waist, then the other. Her touch had been gentle but sure as she bound his wrists to the headboard over his head.

  He’d seen her for the first time, what was it, four, maybe six months ago, at one of the better raves, an underground party/electronica gathering that the Consortium—the online hacker forum he belonged to—had put together. She’d very obviously been with one of the most beautiful redheads he’d ever seen.

  “Digerati,” his friend, Lex, had leaned over and said into his ear when he’d caught the direction of his stare. “True digerati—that entire crowd.”

  Kevin eyed Lex doubtfully. “No,” Lex said finally to Kevin’s questioning glance, “Not that ‘I’m a magazine article writer’ crap. I mean, they don’t just know the shit, they are the shit—they invent it. Just sip your drink and try not to drool too much, little code monkey. Even her PDA’s got more testosterone than you’ll ever have.” Then Lex had knocked his shoulder, right in the spot where he’d gotten the barcode for “Bawls,” his favorite caffeinated drink, tattooed just two days before, and made him spill his…what was it he’d been drinking, anyway?

  In the end, it had been good advice, because the next time he’d seen her, maybe a month, maybe two, later, there’d been another girl, and another, and by then… Well, it didn’t matter. For whatever reason, this night he’d finally screwed up enough bravado after downing enough whatever those blue shots were that Lex had shoved at him, and asked her to dance. So, okay, maybe he could have been a little smoother, and he probably should have skipped that last shot instead of tripping over whoever it was she’d been speaking with, but it hadn’t mattered because now, right now, she was here, with him, on top of him. He was afraid to pinch himself in case he did wake up.

  “I…I thought you liked girls,” he managed to splutter anyway through the sensual haze that clouded and filled him within and without as she slid down him to rest on his thighs. The light flickered over her, turned the silver she wore to shifting hues of flame, darkened the shadow of the valley that dove between her breasts before it disappeared beneath the flowing fabric.

  Kevin had so wanted to touch that place, to explore and discover it, feel her mold under his hands and so he’d reached once, twice—but she simply wouldn’t allow it. The restraint and the frustration only expanded the desire; it made him want her more.

  “I don’t ‘like’ them,” she corrected him, then drew her tongue along the edge of his ear. “I love them…love to touch them…to fuck them…to let them fuck me.”

  She licked and nipped at the skin of his neck “How do you want me to fuck you?” she purred. “Do you want it like a boy?” She ran her hands, hard, strong, across his chest, her thumbs digging into his pecs as her lower body pressed harder against his. Her tongue flicked delicately across his nipple and he felt his breath catch, amazed at how sensitive that was. He was hard, so hard beneath her his skin hurt.

  “Do you want me to fuck you like a man? Or…” she said as she gripped him, then pressed just…oh…beneath that…intense…so… “do you want me to fuck you like a girl? Do you want to know what that’s like?” she whispered throaty and low, pressing again into that spot, that place he hadn’t even known existed. “Imagine my tongue inside you,” and she slid her tongue between his lips, delicate strokes, hard strokes, a slide against the roof of his mouth and those fingers a rhythm against him, a pace that matched her mouth.

  “You’d be so wet, so fucking wet,” she said, “but maybe you’d like my hands better. Can you feel that?” she asked as her hand wrapped around him, her thumb playing along the shaft to the head and the pressure, the pressure built, kept building, a burn, an inferno that licked at his thighs and singed under his navel and he saw fire play along her skin, shifting and gold and molten and… He felt like he was going to burst, and he shifted his hips beneath her, urging her on.

  “Don’t move,” she whispered, releasing his throat from her teeth and stilling her hands. He instantly understood what she meant but couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through him anyway, as he once more tensed his muscles in an attempt to stop the motion instinct drove. The curve of her lips as he quietly fought for breath did something to him even as he wanted to beg her to continue.

  “Good,” she said, her breath a touch against his sensitized lips as she moved him again. “You’re gonna come soon, real soon,” she whispered into his ear. Her teeth played against the lobe. “And if you were a girl, if you were my girl, you’d be so tight, so fucking tight with me inside you.”

  His body…God…the muscles, tendons, taut, hard, straining, pulling… He could no more stop what was happening in his body than he could stop the words, the words she spoke that drew him on, that fired his mind and his blood. Suddenly, her hand wrapped, hard, so fucking hard—

  “And you’d come like a girl,” she told him as his hips pressed against her and he fought to breathe against the pulse that pounded out of him because he would, he was, and there—“deep and hard, inside.”

  *

  The red icon that flashed in the lower right hand corner of his screen brought Franko out of the torpor that babysitting activity across the network inevitably brought with it.

  Instantly alert, he toggled to another screen. Nothing. Well, that figured. Momentary glitch, that was all. Ah, he knew it would be, he thought as he yawned heartily, stretched his arms over his head then laced his fingers behind his neck. Riven was fucking paranoid, that’s all, he decided. He yawned again and reached down next to his chair where he’d dropped his latest F/X mag.

  Franko kicked his feet up on the desk and shook his head as he flipped through the pages to find his place. One little bump a few months ago, and she wanted actual eyes on server traffic when major transactions went through the system. What a joke—nothing, but absolutely nothing had happened, and even the last time, the recovery had been almost instant.

  But no, he continued, the word sarcastically drawn out in his mental monologue as he spotted his article, she insisted they watch, he watch, until the new systems she wanted were in place. “These systems are patched together, they’re all being integrated too fast,” she’d said. “We have no backup.”

  Backup, he snorted as he carefully thumbed over to the next page, who needed that? He considered his booted feet. They weren’t the same comfortable and beat-up work boots he’d worn at the dot-com, but they were a nice, corporate black. Fuck the rest of it, and fuck backup, too, he mentally added. She had him and she had Chickenman Coop, while she herself was—

  He found the page he’d wanted, an old joke he wanted to tape to his monitor: The Unix Guru’s View of Sex. He forgot about work for a moment as he copied the command lines into a new document he would print, then decorate with.

  #!/bin/sh

  #The Unix Guru’s View of Sex

  unzip;

  strip;

  touch;

  grep;


  finger;

  mount;

  fsck;

  more;

  yes;

  umount;

  sleep;

  Franko chuckled to himself as he sent the page to the printer, the engaging click and hum of it the only sound above the whir of the cooling fans in their tower cases. Another click sounded through the room, the disengage of the paper tray, and as he reached for the new printout, the red light went off again. Instantly all sense of play left him. He whirled in his seat and straightened, banging his knee against the desk when he brought his legs down. “Fuck!” he muttered, annoyed with himself as he automatically rubbed the incipient bruise with one hand and reached for his keyboard with the other.

  This time when he toggled screens, he found it. It blinked in, then blinked out—and there! He quickly popped up another screen, the printout dropped and the pain in his knee forgotten as he viewed the incoming and outbound chatter. An unknown origin source was hitting into the heart of the system and there was no way to stop it, short of pulling the plug, literally. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

  Oh goddammit—the calling tree, where the fuck is the calling tree? he asked himself desperately as he searched through the papers on his desk and his e-mails. He found it buried in a folder labeled “Shit You Really Need—DON’T DELETE” on his hard drive. Which one first? he asked himself, panicked again as he scrolled through names. There were two VP-Ops. Fuck again. Riven—it’s got to be Riven, he decided. She had asked him directly and this was her baby, that meant she had to know now. He picked up the phone and dialed with one hand while he texted one word over and over.

  * * *

  BREACH BREACH BREACH BREACH BREACH BREACH BREACH