UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

L - PLANET EARTH

A third screen, which registered nothing but snow, was hooked to the company's communication network - a fully encrypted system that enabled Doug Douglas to communicate with offices all around the world. Although some of his staff had been arrested and placed in prison, the vast majority had escaped, and were back in business. Afterall, what is a company beyond the people who run it? Records? Those were duplicated and sent off-prem once every fifteen minutes. Processes? There were backups for those as well. The company had been attacked before.

So, in spite of the fact that the mutineers had cost him some money, and that Zuon Inc. had obtained some valuable intelligence, Doug Douglas was very much alive.

The blacksmith sat at the ancient desk and started to type. Not because he had to, but because he enjoyed the kinesthetic feedback.

Thousands of miles away, in the basement of an old church, words jerked across a screen. Kenny read them and grinned. It seemed that the mysterious L. L. had thrown even more resources into the fray. Cool. The teenager wiped his nose on his hands, wiped his hands on his shirt, and composed his reply.

* * *

The top floor is the building was reserved for Zuon Inc. executives. It was quiet as a bomb. A broad, heavily carpeted hallway led to Conference Room 5.

Quinn knew he should let the underlings wait for a while, knew that a mere ten minutes wasn't long enough for someone of his seniority, but couldn't muster the necessary discipline. he summoned an executive style frown, blew into the conference room as of straight from another meeting, and offered the usual apology. "Sorry about that. The old man is on my a*s again". It wasn't true, but the reference to Zuon and the appearance is familiarity couldn't hurt.

The security officers smiled agreeably, knew the whole thing was bullshit, and waited for the meeting to start.

Baba had a shaved head, serious eyes, and a degree in political science. He had huge hands, and a truly careful observer might have noticed the scars on his knuckles and wondered where they came from. But Quinn's eyes were on someone else.

Peaches was five-five, blonde, and absolutely stunning. Heterosexual men, and that included Quinn, couldn't take their eyes off of her and she knew it. The nicely tailored red suit, tasteful gold jewelry, and matching accessories were icing on an already mouth watering cake.

"So", Quinn said, automatically claiming the chair at the head of the table, "what gives? Has she cracked yet?"

Peaches noted that the executive's eyes were focused on her breasts rather than her face. It was a weakness, and therefore interesting. "No, sir. Miss Doug Douglas shows no sign of cracking. Quite the opposite, I'm afraid".

It was not what Quinn wanted to hear. He allowed his frown to deepen. In spite of the fact that the initial part of his plan had gone like clockwork, there were problems. Problems he had neglected to share with the old man.

Doug Douglas Enterprises had thrown off money at first, lots of money, all of which went into Zuon Inc.'s coffers. But the flow had lessened since then, more than that, dwindled to a trickle. Part of that could be blamed on the disruption of regular commerce.

Where had the profits gone? Had they been diverted some how? Or simply lost in the shuffle? Sophie Doug Douglas knew the answer, the business executive was sure of that, but had been unable to secure her corporation.

Quinn had been Mr. Nice Guy at first, but that hadn't worked, so it was time for something different. He gestured toward the wall tank. "Show me".

Baba touched a remote, and the holo tank swirled to life. The footage, captured over an extended period of time, had been edited into a documentary.

The first thing Quinn saw was an aerial shot from one of the transports that ferried prisoners into the Ideological Quarantine Area, or IQA-14.

What had once been a good, honest gravel pit, with a lake at the bottom, had been transformed into a primitive open-air prison where inmates were free to do anything they pleased so long as they stayed in the pit. Not that they had much choice, since the sides were too steep to climb and weapon emplacements ringed the top.

Thanks to the rebellion, there were thousands of what amounted to political prisoners, or unreliables as the government called them. Some were true die-hard loyalists, but many were little more than street people.

The aircraft circled, giving Quinn a look around the pit as well as three vertical structures, all of which were linked. Each tower had mounted lights and a single elevator, a small elevator, capable of carrying no more than five or six people at a time.

Then came a dissolve followed by a point of view shot from within one of the elevators. Quinn, who felt as though he was on the platform himself, watched the walls rise around him. What was that? A body? Yes, and one that had been there for a while, judging from the protruding bones.

The elevator jerked to a half, someone shoved the camera operator from the rear, and the shot dived into the ground. Quinn looked at Baba. The security officer shrugged.

"We sent a cyborg in. One of the more expensive models that can pass for human. You're looking through her pickups. The rebels tend to be suspicious, so we gave her some street credibilities".

Quinn nodded and turned his attention to the footage. The agent did a pushup, got to her feet, and panned the pit. There were hundreds of women. Some stood in groups, some kept to themselves, and some wondered in circles. A corpse floated facedown in the lake.

One is the towers appeared, exited from the right, and swung back again. Quinn saw why. The camera zoomed, and the businessman's fifty credits lunch tried to jump out of his stomach.

There were no trees in the gravel pit, only the steel towers, which explained why three bodies dangled from a cross piece. Their skin was blue, and their bodies had been stripped.