Author's Note: This is the fourth Angel story and he needed lots of help for this mission. Even when I threw in characters from my previous work into the mix, we still needed more. I then reached out to other authors who had created heroic figures with a similar purpose. You will see a series of works attached to this story, all launching off the same assignment detailed in chapter 20. I can tell you we had fun doing it- Tyrone Slothrop

 

I Can See For Miles

By Tyrone Slothrop

 

Chapter 7: Bored Room Meeting – Promisense Headquarters, Lake Tahoe, Nevada- June

If you have never worked in a major corporation there is no effective way to describe the feeling of the major executive review. Imagine huge bundles of ego and insecurity, driven by power and winning all gathered in a place where the rules are boredom, sameness, predictability and ritual. All gains or losses can only come by clever and subtle reaction, never overt action.

No decisions will be made, they are either already made and merely being revealed or are to be formally declared deferred. Briefings contain no new information, they merely serve to condemn everyone to mutual knowledge, so that when things go wrong, all are equally culpable, hence no one is culpable.

The greatest faux pas, the biggest indiscretion is to surprise. It has been done, but is a risky gambit. To deviate from the Agenda is to move the group to uncharted territory, where career moves and gaming the outcomes have not been carefully plotted.

Springing a surprise immediately makes the springer the active enemy of the entire room. Adrenaline flows, glances fly to search for allies, papers get shuffled.

Adrian Beimbeau had just performed a coup. The surprise which was not a surprise. Ord Stonewell, the CEO of Promisense had agreed privately to his breach of etiquette by bringing his report to the meeting. Adrian assumed Stonewell wanted to send a signal to the others that change was imminent. Change in personal power, the only currency which mattered.

Adrian had just told them their entire foundation was in peril.

It was not in peril from the competition. It was not in peril from the police or the courts or even the government.

Promisense was in the entertainment business. Headquartered in Lake Tahoe, Nevada, Ord Stonewell had built an empire based upon quality adult entertainment. Magazines, movies, internet sites and legal prostitution. Stonewell and his company had withstood several federal and state attempts to prove linkages with illegal activity, which he had survived by taking extreme care to keep Promisense firmly in the gray zone of the law, right up to the edge but never over it.

He also made sure no one climbed the corporate ladder without leaving a trail of incriminating evidence he alone possessed. Ord's favorite movie was the Godfather. "It's not personal, just business" was the operative mantra.

All of the executives at the table were unmistakably normal people. They coached sports teams for their children, they ran scout troops, were active in the PTA and the Red Cross. Normal suburban dads and moms. Most were experienced at business operations and were heavily credentialed with MBAs, MS in Finance, consulting pedigrees and solid resumes. Promisense was a business like any other business, with multiple markets, channels of distribution, product development and financing issues. They did not view themselves as evil, just delivering a product to meet demand. A legal product. Of course, the laws in some countries were somewhat fluid, which was convenient. They all knew about crossing into the gray area.

All the executives were normal, except Adrian. Ord Stonewell had seen something in him, something he found close to himself. Adrian loved the business, he loved the process, the excitement and he hated the gray line between legal and illegal. Adrian had been assigned to 'special projects' last year and the others had assumed he had fallen from favor.

His sudden appearance electrified the room. His presentation was staggering.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. The early results of Project FutureCon are quite promising. They show that revenues for most of your divisions will be substantially reduced, or rather subsumed into the new marketspace created by PleasureJac and it's offspring."

Adrian drew energy from the palpable fear and loathing emanating from the seven other Senior Vice Presidents. The Chief Financial Officer looked as if she had swallowed a lemon flavored sponge. Ord Stonewell had an enigmatic and humorless expression on his face.

"The technology is quite simple and yet only very recent advances in bioelectronics and emerging nanotechnology embedded in modern polymers has truly enabled us to create a viable alternative to the vaginal environment. The PleasureJac works under the control of local software on a moderately powered home computer, and we are close to a model which requires little tech support and sustains an acceptable operational life between failures. It does require a broadband internet connection for the master unit at the entertainment node to drive the action at the customer's home.

"And before you can ask, Cynthia, yes, the women's model is under development. It seems the female focus groups are much 'pickier' about how it performs. We have gone to eliminating the male at the master control entirely and are using pure computer control for the best effect. The male is out of the control loop and serves as eye candy only. It allows us to select performers on looks alone, not performance. We are about six months away from getting the perfect sequence, my test team tells me. Of course, I should examine their incentive scheme; they may be having too much fun in development." Adrian paused, allowing the audience to laugh at the joke.

"We are building a world where a man can go to a prostitute on line, get a blowjob and eventually with the next generation, have intercourse, all in the privacy of his home or office, and all he has to do is dispose of the plastic insert to his PleasureJac unit. No AIDS, no SARS, no clap, no catching a cold. No cops. No pimps. No missing wallet. He can even record the file and replay it. And she or he will do what he wants, as long as he stays within the script. If he wants a Brazilian girl with a mustache, I'm sure somebody will have a site which will deliver her."

"My God, Beimbeau, how do we control this?" one of the VP's asked, sweat beads on his upper lip.

Adrian smiled. Ord Stonewell's face let out a small grin.

"We don't, Steadwell. We may have gotten there first, but it is inevitable. We intend to ride the wave.

"First, we will manufacture. We have a site which is remote and unknown. The PleasureJac units will arrive into local markets from a dozen overseas locations, all of them dummy distributors. Some governments will try to ban them, or worse, tax them. By having the product lead, we can define the release cycle. And stay ahead of the inevitable imitators.

"Second, the traditional male-female prostitution business will become a commodity, Blowjobs online will be subject to everybody setting up a site and cutting the price. Some will even offer it for free to hype other services. Our version will take on a McDonald's model, consistency in a commodity market. But margins will be under a lot of pressure.

"Third, there will be substantial revenue in selling fantasies. Using the technology in role play and more complex entertainments. We've know for years a woman in fishnet hose sells more than a naked woman. That will be our home. The provider of locally legal, pay-for-play internet fantasies. And obviously, we will leave the legal exposure, if any, to our franchises, who we merely help set up but have no operational control over. We will have no ownership or get any revenues. They will merely pay off loans which we arrange to start them up and buy our equipment. So if they get into trouble, we are merely a supplier, like the company that sells them paper clips.

"Fourth, we need to re-position our current brothels to emphasize the 'live' nature of the product, for the inevitable 'natural' backlash that some of the public will have. Of course, we will be happy to sell them a recording of their experience for their home machines.

"The progress summary key points:

"We have the manufacturing pilot plant established in the Australian Northern Territories, with supply chains to Europe, South America, Pacific Rim and of course, North America.

"The franchisee training facility is an island in the Coral Sea with power and comm cables laid into Queensland.

"Twenty 'early investors' have PleasureJac beta units installed. They are pioneering our premium services.

"We have ten franchises operating for 'special fantasies'. Several consultants, writers of bondage and sadism, transgender fantasy and various role play fiction are on retainer to provide menu driven scripts.

 

"We have a recruiting process underway using chat rooms to find both talent as well as solicit for customers. We feed the prospects to our franchisees through anonymous sources.

"The pipeline for disposing of 'spoiled talent' to the traditional brothel trade cross borders is being established.

"The PleasureJac division will be moving to full operation within three months. I suggest you all begin revising your business plans for the inevitable negative impacts."

The murmuring was muted but seemed to linger on for a long time.

 

 

 

Chapter 8: The Strange Case of Impolecs- Junecellular Inc, Pleasanton, California- June

Blonde hair is a California curse for a professional woman. Marissa Dupre was holder of two doctorates, microbiology and chemistry, and held several patents with her business partner, John Carter, in the field of bioelectronics and nanotechnology. As the co-founder of Junecellular, Inc. she could review any transaction or contract she wished. Despite all her credentials, her power and position, her appearance often set the tone every time she met a new person, male or female.

Marissa at forty four was a widow, a wonderful mother of a fifteen year old boy, a lousy cook and an absolute knockout, with dimensions approaching a life size Barbie Doll. Despite her conservative fitted suits, her image was hard for anyone to get past.

The man from the customer procurement department was clearly flustered. Normally, a customer visit meant he asked the questions, and he was taken to dinner treated like royalty. Today, he felt he was on the wrong end of the questions. He also was having trouble looking Marissa in the face since his eyes naturally wandered to points south of that.

"Mr. Clymer, we agreed to produce a handful of complex nano-driven polymers which simulated artificial tissue for you. When the project was undertaken, we were led to believe these would be part of tissue replacement research, yet your organization seems to have not answered any of our requests for information of where or when this research is taking place. " Marissa said calmly. She watched the sweat beads form on the upper lip of Morgan Clymer, and wondered to herself why all procurement people preferred polyester pants.

"We are under no obligation to release that information, Ms. Dupre. We are now requesting you move to the next phase and deliver the increased quantities." Clymer said weakly, his eyes still drawn to Marissa's bosom.

"Given the nature of the materials and the technology involved, we are sensitive to where and when this material goes, Mr. Clymer. If you examine the contract, you will find we can walk away if we feel you are in breach of restricted usage."

"You can't do that! If you don't know what we are doing with it, how can you determine we are in breach of restriction? No other supplier ever pulls this shit!" Clymer turned purple. He began to realize this was not a simple debate, but an issue his employers would view as potentially terminal to his own health.

"We are not just any supplier, Mr. Clymer. We view refusal to disclose as issue enough. And we checked. There are legal precedents. The courts are concerned with illegal export of high technology ever since 911, Mr. Clymer. And so are we. Until I get some confirmation of use, phase two is on hold. We have put your progress payment in escrow, as per the payment clause. Good day, sir." Marissa dismissed the sputtering man with a gentle wave.

Morgan Clymer got up and turned, showering Marissa with a cold glance and emanating abject fear. Marissa was disturbed by that. Contract disputes were not usually life and death contests, and Clymer was acting as if she had just signed his execution order.

Marissa picked up her phone and hit speed dial 1.

John Carter was watching his wife swim laps while he reviewed his email. The sun was putting a golden glow on the atrium of his Santa Barbara home. He saw the incoming call from Marissa and answered it immediately.

"Issa! You should be here, the weather is glorious! What's the crisis?" he said, knowing it was always a crisis during business hours.

"John, you told me to alert you to anything out of kilter after we had that hacking problem with the FDA trial two years ago. " Marissa said. She then outlined the strange reaction and behavior of the customer.

"What do you think, Mar? We had hoped to make some money on that product line." John said, probing the depth of Marissa's concern.

"It just stinks, John. Why would anybody be so damn mysterious about a polymer which mimics a mucous membrane? I have all these weird scenarios in my head, like a trigger for a bioweapon or some such wild stuff. But none of them make sense. " Marissa sounded exasperated.

"I keep thinking of the name chosen for the material, Issa. Impolecs was a joke taken from a Pynchon novel. An 'erectile' plastic. I think our joke may be on us." John said, the gravity of the situation sinking in on him.

Marissa's mind began modeling the possibilities implicit in John's comment.

"I think you should call Larry and Sean. There are on retainer and this sounds like something they should handle." John said.

Marissa agreed.

 

Larry Elger housed a lot of formers. Former Israeli military, former undercover Israeli Consular Protection agent, former terrorist hunter-killer. Today he was a co-owner in a special security service firm. His partner, Sean Taylor, was retired Army, a helicopter pilot whom Larry had rescued from a shooting caused crash in Somalia. Latching onto her as the first positive thing in his life for a long time, driving him stay with her through years of rehab and recovery.

Sean was a six foot tall daughter of the marriage of a black Alabama preacher and a white civil rights lawyer. She had sought escape from their untimely deaths in the Army. Stunningly beautiful, Sean hid her massive body burn scarring and the loss of her left breast from the world.

John Carter had retained them as 'security consultants' for Junecellular since they had assisted in protecting his children several years ago. He found their long list of contacts and highly intelligent open minds were useful in dealing with the threats his company faced, which were unusual and subtle. Dealing with competitors, foreign governments and bribed regulators the emerging field of bioelectronics and nanotech was crossing many boundaries. John also knew Larry and Sean were amazingly deadly when necessary, and he wanted them between the threats he faced and his family.

The next day, after flying into Oakland on the Junecellular jet, Larry and Sean were enjoying dinner at Marissa's home in Pleasanton.

"Marissa, what you've told us is a little thin. What are the uses for this Impolecs material outside medical research? Weapons? Industrial processes?" Sean asked as she settled her six foot frame into the overstuffed chair.

Larry was pacing about, a habit that drove Sean daffy at times. At five eight, he was slim and had the ability to look like any one of a number of Mediterranean ethnics, from Arab to Italian, with olive tinted skin and fine, delicate Semitic features.

"Sean, everything I come up with has cheaper and more reliable methods already in existence. Impolecs was designed to become the crude early model of what we might do someday to build artificial organs. It was an attempt to be a functioning mucous membrane which reacts to stimuli of pressure, pheromones, friction and irritants." Marissa explained.

In Sean's mind, Larry began to morph into his alter ego, Linda, the character he had played when he had done extensive duty as a decoy and body double for a senior Israeli trade official. That woman official was Larry's first lover and her ego was such that she initiated Larry sexually while he was her own duplicate. After Larry broke through Sean's shell of despair at her damaged physical condition during her long rehabilitation and recovery phase, Sean had found Larry as Linda was the way Larry expressed tenderness and vulnerability. The thought of it made her physically aroused.

A thought crossed Sean's mind and turned into words. "What are the sexual implications of the material, Marissa? It sounds like the stuff could get aroused almost like people do." Sean knew her preacher father would swat her a good one for that remark if he were here. And Momma would be right behind him.

"Funny you should ask, Sean. The research team that developed it called it Impolecs because an old novel from the 1970s had a mysterious material called Impolex G as a plot macguffin. It was supposed to be an erectile plastic with strange powers. The joke at the time was how close the new material came to simulating the inside of a vagina. We had more hope it could serve as an intelligent bandage for extensive burns." Marissa said and regretted it immediately. Sean lived with a constant level of pain from the burns sustained by her helo crash. They had been made worse by the diluted chemical weapon discharge she had been trying to avoid. She usually wore gloves and long sleeved blouses to hide the scars which ranged from the back of her hand to much of her left side above the pelvis.

Sean showed no anguish from Marissa's comment. Burns were just part of her life, something she conquered every day.

"Ok, Marissa. We'll get on Mr. Morgan Clymer and his company. Are there any additional records of any kind about the contract, shipments, payments, money transfers, letters of credit, phone logs, emails and so forth? The dossier you gave us is pretty full." Larry stopped pacing and turned his warm face and cold eyes on the statuesque blonde.

"All we could find, Larry. If there is anything else, well get it to you."

"Okay. One of us will need to interview everybody who has ever interacted with anybody from Clymer, his office and this AB Enterprises he represents. We'll just be fishing for any leads buried in their memories, little stuff, like weather complaints, or anything personal the other side let out which could let us know more about them. Your initial check for credit and contract work pointed to Melbourne, so we will start a parallel track down there. Thanks for dinner, and we're sorry to have to leave, but we need to get started." Larry glanced at Sean, who was nodding in concurrence.

Driving down the 580 to their hotel in the rented Lincoln, Sean mused at the wheel about her plan for tomorrow. Larry was in a deep discussion with his contact in the AFP (Australian Federal Police) who had just finished tomorrows breakfast. Sean listened in on half the conversation.

"Trevor, if I'd known you were just in the States, I would have at least made you buy me that dinner you owe me." Larry said an amused tone.

"Yes, fine, Sean's fine. And, no she's not tired of me yet. I told you she doesn't have a 'thing' for short guys. Yes, I showed her your photos, but I explained how much make up you use."

Larry got down to actually asking for help. Sean nodded her head, never quite understanding how men always felt a need to insult each other. She slowed down and pulled into the Hyatt.

 

 

 

Chapter 9: Everyone Needs A Sideline- June

Scene: Promisense HQ, Parking Lot, Lake Tahoe

 

"Adrian, is this a problem or not?" Ord Stonewell was standing at the side of his Lexus. He needed to be at a dinner engagement and was not happy with Adrian's latest explanations.

"Ord, I mean Mr. Stonewell, we are just having a small problem with some self important little person at the supplier. It is being handled. She will see the light within forty eight hours. A single mother is very attached to her children." Beimbeau responded.

Stonewell glared at him. "I don't want to hear anything about this. Just make it go away. And don't turn this into some national news story. Have you straightened out those scriptwriters too?"

"Yes, they are happy as clams. We found out they are all beyond naïve since they are turning out more and we offered them less. The threat of having an editor look over their shoulder spurred them on." Adrian smiled.

"And that rumor we had, that "Group" thing? Is there anything to that? Should we worry about vigilantes?"

"We are tracking it, Mr. Stonewell. So far, it appears to be an urban legend, a street myth. The source was that woman we retained. She's good at what she does, but I would say they released her from treatment a bit early. She seems almost delusional about the point."

Stonewell grunted and sped away, spraying gravel at Beimbeau. Adrian opened his phone.

"You know who this is. Fix that Dupre bitch fast. I want her full cooperation within forty eight hours." He hung up, not waiting for an answer.

Scene: Cyberspace: Promisense Author Chat

NICKIE SEABIRD> WELL, WE SEEM TO HAVE SETTLED THAT EDITOR THING

DIABLA MALLEY> I WONT HAVE SOME ONE NOT TG LOOK OVER MY SHOULDER. I DON'T CARE IF WE HAD TO SETTLE FOR LESS MONEY

POOH-THING> FORGET IT NOW. WE HAVE A PAYING GIG FOR OUR WORK. SO WHO GOES FIRST? WE NEED A NEW MENU SCRIPT FOR JOHNNIE TO JILL

NICKIE SEABIRD> I WAS GOING TO HAVE THE GIRLFRIEND MAKE JOHNNIE INTO HER LOVE SLAVE

DIABLA MALLEY> HOW FRIGGIN ORIGINAL NICKIE

POOH-THING> THEY SAID THEY WANTED YOUNGER. YOUNG TEEN STUFF. MAKE IT A MOTHER SON THING. AND MAKE HIM DO BAD BOY THINGS

DIABLA MALLEY> WOW-EVEN MORE ORIGINAL

POOH-THING> LIKE YOUR STUFF IS SO NEW

DIABLA MALLEY> WE NEED JOHNNIE TO REGRESS IN AGE

NICKIE SEABIRD> HE ALREADY HAS D CUP TITS. HOW DOES HE REGRESS IN AGE? WE NEED TO TAKE HIM TO THE NEXT LEVEL IN HUMILIATION

POOH-THING> AGREE. WE NEED A DOMESTIC THEME. THE STEPFORD WIFE THING.

DIABLA MALLEY> YES! DRESS HIM LIKE DONNA REED! MAKE HIM VACUUM!

NICKIE SEABIRD> OR JUNE CLEAVER. AND I'LL MAKE HIM VACUUM ALL RIGHT. LOTS OF SUCTION.

Scene: TransTalent Franchise, Central Oregon near Nevada Border-

The high desert, sun drenched and sharp colors washed out in the haze rising off the Oregon ground, depressed her. The stately woman missed her elegant Victorian manor house in New England, the trees with leaves. She had a facial tic which she blamed on the Thorazine they had administered during her 'treatment' and she blamed the dry, parched air for making it worse. She hated the landscape and the landscape was indifferent to her in return.

She closed her eyes and saw his face. She heard his taunting voice. She remembered the rage when she found he was no ordinary fifteen year old boy to be dominated, bullied and treated to a round of her specialty, 'petticoat punishment'. He turned out to be not a victim to have control over and blackmail when he ascended to a position of wealth through inheritance. He was the devil incarnate.

He had stopped her best martial arts skill with the disdain of a man removing an insect from his shoe. He had drugged her, framed her for kidnapping and exposed her lifelong mission. He forced all her 'students' to go public with their shame. He had arranged for her assets to be seized by the Federal Government. He had arranged for one of the wealthiest families in the world, the Delacourts, to make it a point of personal vendetta to destroy her financially and socially, just because she had undertaken to discipline their son.

But the most egregious crime of all, was when he told her he was showing pity. She had been found clinically insane. She had been 'treated'. She had to subject herself to the 'discipline' and behavior modification of other, lesser beings. She was bright enough to appreciate the irony.

He was five foot seven and slender. His face was beautiful, a girls face, a pretty boy's face. Except for his eyes. Those eyes haunted her. When he had promised to kill her without hesitation if she began her hobby again, she knew those eyes would find her. Those eyes were a thousand years old. They illuminated her soul, and found it shriveled and twisted.

Ms. Josephina Talleyrand, formerly known as Madam J, was back in business. During her incarceration, things had changed. High technology was everywhere. The day after she was released to a halfway house, she had been recruited for the TransTalent operation. Whisked across the country, given an identity, funded to do a startup for the 'specialty' entertainment industry, she felt some of her old confidence coming back. It had been five long years, but she was back now.

Running a TransTalent franchise meant recruiting talent, housing them, training them and operating the studio for the 'shows'. It was a startup, and the first operators had to make up the rules as they went along. She knew there were others, about seven to twelve she guessed, some of which just did girls, some just gay boys, and a few were like hers, the "specialty" items. Johnnie To Jill was her trademark production.

The TransTalent management had been clearly unclear. They wanted to sell genuine humiliation, and people wanted young talent, thirteen to fifteen. They had said that of course, to use actual children would be violating the legal boundaries of adult entertainment, but the franchisees were encouraged to 'acquire' talent which could project that image. TransTalent management would provide a 'relocation and retraining' service when the talent became 'spoiled', and would split the 'placement fee' with the franchisee.

Ms. Talleyrand knew she would be years before real wealth came her way, given the heavy debt payments she owed the parent company. She had other plans. Her 'recruits', abducted based on prospect information provided by the parent company, were the ones that fit her profile. She would mold them into a total dependency state and then arrange for them to 'inherit' their families fortune early by some well planned accidents. Indirect control of wealth would be just fine; it was a mode of operation she had pioneered.

Johnnie, the now curvaceous and busty star of Johnnie To Jill , was the sole heir to at least a $500 million dollar estate. He would not be sent to a Mexican brothel as a shemale hooker slave, which the 'placement' service the company provided did for their efforts. He would be the poor, confused, drug addicted almost transsexual who would inherit millions. And he would be hers, from the top of his mind to the bottom of his psyche.

His parents just needed their little accident. They were so distraught over their missing son, and such people were prone to accidents. And there was one other loose end. A step sister. From what Ms. Josephina could find out, she was not in the will, but that could change. And she could contest it. She needed an accident too, just to be fair.

  

  

  

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