As With Most Days, Tamara Esteves' arrived at the CWN 8 News Studios just before 6 AM with no idea where she'd be going or what she'd be covering. She strode in on long legs in her simple green tunic wearing no makeup and her hair disheveled. Hair and Makeup would fix that, as they always did, and it was easier to pass in public unnoticed without looking as crisp as she was required to look for her job. There was a slight chill in the morning air that gave her legs goose flesh. The tunic that came down to mid-thigh was flimsy summer-wear, but as it was in the desert, nights could get cold, especially in the fall.

Tamara entered the facility by way of the back door which was unlocked by her card key. Inside a camera slung from the ceiling confirmed her identity with security. There had been problems in the past with overzealous fans trying to get in. The odd male who decided Carly Acker, CWN 8's lead anchor, was in love with him would show up once a month at least. She had a few. Tamara had yet to attract a male stalker. Carly had twelve known stalkers thus far, and more would probably make themselves known soon. It was so bad that Carly Acker had moved into the studio's appartments upstairs, effectively becoming CWN Property in the process.

Like all reporterettes with the Columbia West Network, Tamara was tall, leggy and busty with a slender waist and nicely flared hips. At age sixteen she'd stripped naked in front of the executives who photographed her for evaluation along with at least one hundred other girls. The auditions had been extensive. Her voice had been a factor, as well as her ability to read a teleprompter and improvise as news unfolded and answer impromptu questions posed by in-studio anchorettes.

Her final audition had been with Carly Acker herself. She'd sat naked in the waiting room with the four other girls who'd survived a month long process waiting to be called in. She had no idea it would be the final audition. She was already contemplating how it would go when she did not get the job. Her single mother and the last of her sisters had been culled a week into her auditions. The appartment she'd grown up in was now occupied by a young concubine who had already pumped out her first litter. Tamara was now living in a boarding house owned by CWN and, if she did not score the job, she'd have less than a month to vacate. Life on the street for a single girl did not last long. She'd have to get pregnant or be rounded by the authorities, and sent to Safeway, or Lucky's or Raley's or some restaurant. She had no job, since these auditions took up all her time, and what little money she had would be gone by the end of the week if she had to feed herself.

Tamara Esteves had no illusions about anything. She expected to face these things. She woke up from these thoughts as the first girl, a heavy breasted blonde named Micah, came out and excitedly informed Tamara and the other girl still waiting that Carly Acker herself was inside bare ass naked for the audition.

Tamara waited for over an hour by herself before she was finally called in, the final of five. Carly Acker greeted her with her enormous smile, her beautiful body glistening as she stood with her legs together, hands clasped in front of her. She wore her blonde hair curled and loose, cascading over her shoulders and crowning her like a halo.

“Hello, you're Tamara, right?” Carly's voice was friendly and her tone said 'I'm happy to meet you!'

Tamara had offered Carly her hand while seven women and three men watched them. Carly asked questions about Tamara's growing up years. Then she asked Tamara to name her high school teachers and what subjects they taught. Then, the acid test, was Carly told Tamara she needed to know all about Miss Becker, Tamara's sociology teacher.

Miss Becker, who had been so hated by all the students in school. She was responsible for more student cullings than any three other teachers. Rumour had it that Miss Becker would fail girls that refused her advances, but those rumours were unsubstantiated. Even so, there was certainly a great deal of circumstantial evidence to support the allegations. Thankfully, Tamara recognized the line of questioning for what it was. She was to be a field reporterette, and she must treat every piece of information she delivered as if it were news. Tamara delivered a monolog on Miss Becker she had since gone back and watched repeatedly. She thought of it as one of her finest performances, and modelled her reporting on it. It was what sold the committee on Tamara's talent, she was sure.

She sat down that very afternoon and was offered the job. She was to spend a year in training, during which time she'd be impregnated with a litter and give birth. Three baby girls immediately after birth. Tamara never even saw them. She had been unconscious while they were born.

In the last three years, she had little more than professional contact with her colleagues, which was by design. CWN wanted their reporterettes to be “in the world” as it were, rather than live insulated from it. The exception, of course, were the anchorettes, who were celebrities. It was every reporterette's dream to become an anchorette. They were always the first called on to travel for important assignments. Carly, herself, had covered the Princess Tomeo's wedding in Kyoto just two months ago in August. She'd even interviewed Princess Caroline, Princess Catherine and Prince Andrew of England during the affair.

Day to day, Tamara never knew where she'd be sent next. Often, it was to cover traffic deaths, weather incidents or police actions. Occasionally she'd get to hurl questions at elected officials.

“Hi, Tam,” said Tish, her hair hair dresser.

“Morning, Tish,” said Tamara. “They have my envelope here yet?”

Tish handed Tamara an envelope as the reporterette took her chair, then began working on Tamara's hair. Tamara opened the envelope lazilly, and drew out the 3x5 card which held tiny six point print, barely large enough to read without a magnifying glass.

News Van 7, Camera Woman Shelly Cole, Assignment: arrive at the address below by 9 am in Poppyfield, AZ, to cover a bar-b-que event.

“WHAT?” Tamara almost screached.

“What's wrong?” Tish had jumped back.

“They want me to go to a neighbourhood barbeque? What possible news worthiness is there in that... unless...”

“Oh, shit! Sorry, Tam...”

“Shit. Who did I piss off? And who do I have to blow to get out of this?”