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 Jonathan stared at the active girls, eyes wide open, drinking in the
details, utterly rapt.  Alex smiled benevolently at his reaction; the
sensation of power took a lot of getting used to, he supposed.  Of course,
the Whytes grew up with it. Still, it was interesting that Jonathan still
hadn't acclimatised to it.  The mental control device that, by his own
story, he had first built five years ago in his spare time during his
fourth year of an electronics engineering course at university - well, if
you could call it that; Alex didn't pay much attention to the current
scholastic scene outside of the family's preferred Cambridge college,
Trinity Hall, where his son was currently in residence, but he suspected
the University of Manchester Institute of Science and Technology had once
been a polytechnic, and that wasn't really the sort of place a Whyte would
call a university - worked well and, guided as so many young lads were
these days solely by his testicles, he'd enjoyed five years of control and
sex since.  Yet he still hadn't lost his fascination for it.  Alex hadn't
felt like that since he first lost his virginity with...  Claudia, it had
been...  back at the tender age of thirteen.  He'd been obsessed for weeks
after that, but gradually regained his control over himself and cut back on
exerting his control over the girls, primary purpose accomplished. He
turned to the computer and sat in front of it, firing it up and shutting
out the noise of the coupling girls almost absently.  This wasn't something
he enjoyed, but a Whyte knew what duty was.  The club had to be informed of
this new item of business, this possible new member.  And a Whyte did not
delay duty for pleasure.  He merely redoubled the pleasure once the duty
was done. He dialled in connected at once to the club's website.  A clatter
of keys entered the password and gained him access to their records.  He
ignored that, going straight for the conversation room - for a Whyte, and
his peers, would not deign to 'chat' - where, as he had expected, Philip
was waiting, like the dutiful club secretary he was. *** Smythe: A
decision, so soon?

   Whyte: The evidence is either there or not.  As well you know.  I intend
to sponsor this young man for entry.
Smythe: He is genuine, then?

   Whyte: He is either genuine or possessed of both a very good,
uncomplaining actress and a forger of the highest calibre.  I took the
liberty of inspecting the contents of his slave's purse.  One warrant card
(she holds the rank of Detective Sergeant in the local constabulary), one
Barclaycard, one American Express, one driving license, one library card
and one National Insurance card.  No money; I assume he has taken it.  The
NI number is KK 09 07 47 H.  Have Geoffrey check that this does indeed come
back to a Jane Herbert, occupation policewoman, will you?

   Smythe: Of course.  We'll also ascertain that the warrant card, and so
forth, have not been stolen recently.  He took her money?  Clearly no
gentleman.

   Whyte: Quite true.  But I believe we have time to change that.  I see
from the internal message net that he attempted to introduce one of his
snakes into the building.  Fortunately, it seems my hold on Clara is
stronger than the influence it exerts.  I should have a schematic diagram
to present to the Committee by the 21st.  While I see no reason the
Wellspring Club should adopt anyone who is not a gentleman, I recognise
some potential in the man.  We will convert him given time.  And the
presence of a mole in the police - something I regret not having created
for my area before now, but plead the limits of my power - will make the
conflict with Bureau 15 much simpler.  It may even allow me to free
Adrienne once more.

   Smythe: That would be a logical conclusion, should we be able to alter
this young man in time.  But this would simply draw 15's attention.

   Whyte: This would be a satisfactory outcome.  Recent experiments suggest
that I would be able to establish a hold over them, should it be needed.
Smythe: Jolly good.  I'll leave you to it, then.
Whyte: Thank you.  Au revoir.
Smythe: Until Wednesday, then.

   *** Alex cut the connection and closed the window quickly.  He smiled in
vindictive satisfaction; the reflected light of the monitor glinted off his
canines, slightly longer than they should be. He turned back to the frantic
girls, now both approaching climax for the second time, and his smile grew.
Duty was done, and now pleasure could take centre stage.  And if he had
anything to do with it, it damn well would.  He hadn't had such a good time
over the years without putting pleasure where it was supposed to be, and
then taking as much as possible. He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled
out a hip flask.  He unscrewed the cap and took a quick swallow, closing
his eyes as the warm liquid slid down his throat.  Now this was far better
than whiskey.  He screwed the cap back on and shut it back in the drawer,
then leaned back in his chair to get a better view of this girl - Jane -'s
breasts rubbing over Michelle's belly.  The nipples weren't aroused; Alex
considered that a pretty good indicator.  Jane was programmed to come at
the right times, but the concept of enjoying it wasn't there.  Jonathan
really didn't care whether his 'slaves' had fun or not.  The question ran
through his mind about their ability to have fun even in ways they would
have done before.  He decided that, whether or not they did, they would
certainly appear to have fun when Jonathan joined in.  Someone that age had
to have an ego that would point that out.  Or he was a robot fetishist;
equally possible, Alex decided.  He hoped it was the former; it could be
difficult working out the kinks in someone's sexual habits, which would
have to be done to turn Jonathan into a gentleman.  Still - his eyebrows
shot up as Jane contorted herself and Michelle into a new and unlikely
position - he did put on a good show in the circus; he'd been to see it
once, and avoided the mental influences on the video screen with the same
devices the club employed to prevent a member gaining the upper hand, and
Jonathan had clearly studied the old circus shows.  By the looks of things
he'd had Jane learn to be an acrobat, too.  How did she-? He blinked again,
briefly, and eyes turned to black pupils once more.  Sight was enhanced,
somehow, so that he could see each of Jane's muscles that strained against
her skin as subtle bulges against the skin.  Realization dawned; nothing
particularly special about it, when you realised.  It just wouldn't have
been immediately apparent.  Reminded him of one of those Russian
contortionists he'd seen during a show in London recently, but a damn sight
more erotic.  He blinked again and reverted to normal eyes and sight.  The
picture suddenly became a little further away, but remained in perfect
focus. *** "Something weird is definitely going on up here," David Carver
said into his mobile phone.  He rubbed his bleary eyes; it had been a long
day for the Scotland Yard man.  Or, at least, Dave Carver who was currently
posing as a Scotland Yard operative. "Like?" the voice at the other end of
the line said. "Like we just had her hypnotised." "I thought she admitted
doing it." "She did.  But the DI wants to know why she did it, and why her
best friends all claimed they witnessed it.  Including two girls who
couldn't have seen it because they were busy elsewhere.  So he calls in the
force shrink to find out what those two were doing, because they wouldn't
admit to a motive for reporting her.  He goes through everything, gives up,
and finally gets on to hypnosis, right?" "Right." "And that still doesn't
yield any reason for them doing it.  Not peer pressure, not a dislike for
the killer, not media whitewash, not even a joke.  No reason whatsoever. 
They just did it." "Go on." "Well, the only reason you might ever expect to
see anything like that is if someone hypnotised them first.  I mean, I went
over all this with you three days ago when this all started, right?" "Yeah.
Can we get to the important bit?" "Which is what?" "Whatever new
developments you've got." "Well, the shrink's now hypnotised all of the
witnesses and this Adrienne Little.  None of them had any reason for what
they did.  And he's spent five hours on each trying to uncover any previous
hypnosis.  Not that that was all that likely in the first place, since
getting friends to do something as obviously damaging to friends as what
they've done would be extremely difficult." "And?" "Nothing.  No trace of
any mental manipulation.  Meaning these people have done dangerous things
for no reason whatsoever, not even a sudden compulsion.  The shrink checked
they weren't making it up to cover for someone, either; and they're not. 
Adrienne Little definitely killed the guy.  But the DI's managed to wreck
his own case; the QPS took one look at the shrink's reports and decided
they couldn't prosecute.  Even with a confession, the defence could have a
field day.  And the report suggests that Little would claim to be not
guilty to the court; only admitting it to the police, like.  Which means
the case is fucked, but still closed.  We know she did it; we just can't
prove it." "Have you thought of leaking the story to the press?" "Sure. 
But there's definitely been some kind of manipulation here; getting Little
locked up wouldn't stop whoever's behind this, which is my job.  In any
case, her employer owns the local papers and has stakes in the nationals.
Except for News International, but their tabloid sales are low round here
and the Times doesn't often print this sort of thing until the trial is
over." "Who's her bloody employer?" "Sir Alexander Whyte." "Something
familiar about that name, isn't there?" "He was one of the suspects in that
vampire case about five years ago.  But we disproved it, I think.  We
solved it, anyway, and it wasn't him.  People had been turning up sans
blood nearby, I think." "That's it.  He's not a vampire, no?" "You're the
one with the file nearby.  But we checked him pretty thoroughly and didn't
prove anything, or he wouldn't be around.  Saw him out and about the other
day, too.  He was hiring a replacement for Adrienne." "Very loyal of him."
"Word is she's only temporary, guv.  Arrangement to change if Little goes
down." "Which isn't likely." "No." "No...  Well, keep her under lock and
key, OK?  I'll see if we can get the supernatural research team down to
have a look.  As you say, it clearly isn't hypnosis.  If we can work out
what it is, we've got a much better chance of solving it." "Sure." "And
keep an eye on Whyte.  Just in case." "Of course, guv." *** "Nah, you'd
never mistake Dad for...  well, for someone with no ego." Alex's son Peter
grinned at the girl sitting across the table from him. They were both
sitting outside the college halls, in the sunshine, next to the river Cam
and drinking; a typical lunchtime at Trinity Hall, known affectionately to
it's occupants as Tit Hall.  Alex didn't intend to spend the afternoon out
in the sun; he intended to spend it in bed with the girl.  He was just
keeping an eye out until everyone else cleared out.  There'd been talk of
an afternoon boating party, so he knew it was just a matter of time. The
girl was also a student, but not from one of the families the Whytes of a
century ago would have thought of as equals.  All the same, a quite
remarkable body.  Mind?  Well, it had to be good - Debbie was a student at
Cambridge - but it didn't seem to matter too much.  He wasn't looking for a
servant; he was looking for an afternoon's fun, maybe a week at the most.
And at least with the hereditary abilities he possessed he didn't have to
worry about crap chat-up lines. "What about your mum, anyway?  You've been
quiet about her." Peter shrugged philosophically.  "Well, she died.  Before
I really had a chance to get any memories of her." Finally the courtyard
was still.  That didn't mean everybody was gone; he was pretty certain
there were about fifteen people in Robbie's room smoking joints, Robbie
having paid for one of the larger rooms in Halls; but it did give him the
chance to make his move.  He blinked. "What the hell?" Debbie had broken
off what she was saying now and was staring at his eyes, at the totality of
blackness revealed. "What?" Peter asked, raising his eyebrows interestedly.
"Your eyes...  they've gone fucking weird.  Are you OK?" "I'm fine, as far
as I know." Peter said.  His eyes began to pulse blue, locking onto
Debbie's eyes; a task made easy by her apparent fascination with the
change. "But it's not me that matters.  Are you OK?  Because you look a
little weak...  your mind, I mean.  Your mind is weak..." "What are you on
about?" Debbie asked, but without real feeling.  Interest in your
surroundings seemed to be the first thing to go.  She wasn't even
particularly interested in those eyes, but they were the nearest thing to
anything of interest. "Isn't it obvious?  Your mind is weak.  Surrender
control to me.  Wouldn't that be best?" Debbie opened her mouth and nothing
came out.  She tried to nod and got halfway down before her control over
her body shut down.  Memory started clouding over.  Peter smiled to
himself, also revealing those slightly overlarge canines that were the mark
of the Whyte familial line, and continued to talk. Debbie listened.  She
could hardly avoid it.  Eventually her eyes slid shut and her head
continued it's forward descent.  She heard her own voice, a vast contrast
to the self-assured voice of Peter. "I surrender, master." Peter smiled. 
"Just what I wanted to hear," he said. *** Adrienne looked obligingly into
the green transparent cube.  Eventually the technician holding it in fron
of her shook his head and put it away. "Dunno," he said, looking up at
Carver.  "Ain't like anything I've seen before." "So it's not vampiric?"
"No chance.  Nor demonic or angelic, either.  There's some sort of mind
control there, I'll agree, but only because you've told me what she did. 
No evidence what so ever.  I think you could be looking at something no
one's told us about." "I don't believe that." *** Peter got out of bed and
walked over to the desk, where his laptop computer sat.  The Whytes had
enough money to get their young through the education system with the
minimum of worry about money. Debbie stirred in the bed behind him.  "Do
you mind if I ask a question, master?" "Of course not," Peter answered,
firing up the laptop as he did so. "I assume you do this at home, too?"
"What?" "Hypnotise people." "That isn't quite the right word, but yes,"
Peter answered.  Then it hit him.  He sat up straighter and turned around,
scrutinising her.  "You're aware of what's been done?" "Yes, master." "And
you're curious about it?" "Yes, master." Peter looked puzzled for a moment,
but quickly quelled it.  "Clearly I'm not as able as my father...  Still, I
believe you are sufficiently under for me to forbid you from mentioning
this to anyone or writing it down and letting anyone know, or indeed
communicating this fact to anyone.  Now that that's settled, I may as well
answer your questions.  It might help me figure out where it went wrong.  I
assume this was leading somewhere?" "Yes, master.  Is this how you get your
staff?" "Essentially, yes." "And your father is also capable of this... 
control?" "Yes.  In fact, it looks like he's better at it than I am." "And
I imagine you use the maids at your home for sex during the holidays?"
"Yes," Peter said.  "Good looking girls, all of them.  Why not?" "And your
father probably does, too.  What's that like?" Peter shrugged.  "It's a
given.  I applaud his taste in women and try not to think about it while
I'm busy." Debbie looked surprised.  "You don't get freaked by it?" Peter's
appearance as a typical well-off student was momentarily replaced by an
aloof, calm visage, still recognisably Peter but also the epitome of the
unfeeling upper class gentleman; like his father, one of the breed.  "A
Whyte," he said, with the apparent solemnity of God reading the Ten
Commandments aloud, "does not 'get freaked', no matter the provocation." He
smiled, almost apologetically.  "It's in the blood.  Stiff upper lip, and
all that.  Anyway, it's just the way it is.  You must have heard your
mother and father having sex at some point, surely?" "Well...  yeah,
once... I think." Peter shrugged.  "There you go, then.  What's the
problem?" "So...  have you ever thought your mum might just have been one
of the staff?" Peter shook his head emphatically.  "You might have noticed
something a little different about me, compared to the average human. 
Think about it.  Anything?" "Besides the obvious?" "No, the obvious is what
I was aiming for.  Well, as you should have guessed, it's hereditary.  Most
of the older noble families have or had it at some time.  The Whytes are
one of the last few who are totally purebred; that's why we've still got
it. We don't want to water it down, and while there are a few non-nobles
out there with the same powers, we don't want to risk it.  It'd take for
ever to find someone.  I think I'm going to have to, but up until now, no.
We take precautions against watering it down; all the chemicals and so
forth in the staff, the usual contraceptive long-term stuff.  No surgery;
the old ancestors didn't think it was right, so it doesn't get done.  So
no, my mother wasn't one of the servants." "And she had this power too?"
"Yup.  Strong enough to cancel out any influence Dad might ever have
exerted on her, even." "See, this is what I have a problem with.  She had
enough power not to be influenced, and she let your dad run around squiring
the girls?  Or is that recent?" "No, he did that back then too.  And she
had her way with the footmen." "You never mentioned the footmen." "Well,
Dad didn't keep them on." "Oh," Debbie considered briefly, then just
nodded. "Can we get back to it?" "You want to?" "Well, I've got to.  But I
think I might have done anyway.  I kept talking to you, right?" *** "OK,"
Alex said, smiling, "we have a schematic of the snake." He switched on the
slide projector and a circuit diagram appeared on the screen.  The rest of
the club members turned to look at it.  "It should be easy enough to
reprogram," Alex continued.  "I don't have anyone who's much good at
retro-engineering myself.  Anyone?" Mark Sorren nodded.  "My son's dating
some girl on a robotics degree," he said.  "I'm sure he'd lend us his
talents if we asked." "Right," Alex said firmly.  "The conversion of the
ringmaster starts here." STILL TO BE CONTINUED...