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 Debbie stood at the mirror, rubbing her neck thoughtfully.  Clotted blood
covered almost half of it, jagged edges showing where Peter's teeth had
bitten. Only three days later, and she'd almost completely recovered.
"Explain to me again quite how I'm supposed to see getting as close to
having my neck bitten off as you can get as a bonus," she said. "Because of
what it brings," Peter said. "Yeah, I got that far.  It's what it actually
brings that I'm having the teeniest bit of trouble with here." "Sceptic. 
And I thought you'd have gathered by now." "Look, are you seriously trying
to tell me I'm a-" There was a knock at the door.  Peter smiled with just
the right mix of apology and secrecy, and went to answer it. It was Jeremy
again, this time with a small audio cassette box which he handed wordlessly
to Peter.  Peter nodded in similar silence and turned back into the room,
closing the door.  They both understood that gratitude was not required. 
This was to do with duty. As was leaving Peter alone.  This part was his to
complete. "Among other things that bite should have increased your
intelligence, which was already considerable.  Think back, think about that
fight against the thugs...  and just use logic.  Shut emotion out of the
loop, it's no good for this kind of thing." "I can't just ignore my
emotions!" Debbie shot back, staring at him angrily.  At least he'd been
right about one thing, she didn't feel like a conditioned slave any more.
But she did still have to obey him...  at least some of the time.  When
she'd regained consciousness she'd just tried to storm out, but he caught
her eyes with those big black orbs and said "Stay on the bed," and she was
back on the bed in nothing flat, or a little less. "Yes, you can," he said.
"It's just harder for you than it is for me.  Concentrate." Debbie stopped
abruptly, seething with the most intense fury she'd felt since her mother
had forbidden her from drinking bleach when she was five - which she was
still embarrassed about - and silently tried blocking out emotion, as a
prelude to saying 'There.  See?', but suddenly...  the anger wasn't there.
That wasn't quite true, it was there, but in the background.  And so deep
in the background that she could see it as being someone else's problem.
"Shit." "I think, er..." Peter let the sentence trail off.  Debbie looked
up, startled.  His sentences always seemed to be perfectly formed before he
said them, unless he was using it to some purpose.  His eyes were black. 
Shit again. "Fuck," he said.  She cannoned off the bed and crashed into
him, seizing him in a lustful bearhug that picked him off the ground and
crushing his mouth beneath a kiss.  As soon as he came out for air, Peter
continued his sentence, knowing it wouldn't make any difference to the
reaction Debbie was undergoing.  "...is the preferred expletive for these
situations." He grinned, and opened himself back up to his emotions. ***
Jeremy, in the next room, heard the sounds and leaned back.  He returned to
his copy of Dracula, and wondered how such an atrocious book ever got into
an English Literature degree syllabus. And he listened, and rolled his
eyes. Whytey'd got distracted again... He was so unlike his dad.  Old man
Whyte never, never, never got distracted from his duty.  Peter...  Peter
had the charisma, the power, and the incredible capacity for gauging
people's emotional states and acting in just the right way for them to do
what he wanted them to, and he was vigilant enough in his duty never to
appear to fall out of line, but he was so bad...  not at containing his
emotions, but at choosing to do so.  When he had to, he did; the rest of
the time, like when he needed to concentrate on an essay, or something of
merely academic importance... The breed had very fine distinguishing lines
for levels of decorum. *** Debbie rolled off him, exhausted.  Peter stood
up and smiled.  "Happy now?" he asked. "Happier.  What's this tape?" she
said, emotion vanishing between sentences. "It isn't.  It's just a handy
container of the right size.  See, we'd appreciate it if you joined the
club, as is your entitlement.  These days...  well, someone read in our
statutes we were male-only and sued.  We simply broadened our statute. 
Females can join, but as before, they have to be elected in by the current
membership.  We currently have three female members.  Most of the breed's
female contingent elect not to join.  But we'd - I'd - prefer it if you
did. And that carries with it - well, being of the breed carries with it;
we'd insist on this even if you didn't join - certain privileges.  Such as
not having to worry about further mind control.  In the box, among other
things, are devices that will prevent such things." "They must be small."
"The process enhances intelligence, Debbie, it doesn't cause you to state
the obvious." For want of a smart reply, Debbie stuck her tongue out at
him. He grinned reflexively, and she felt a smug satisfaction ripple
through her at an unplanned reaction. "Fair enough.  I do get a bit pompous
at times.  In any case, we have a variety of devices, but the primary two,"
he opened the case and took out two slim grey metal tubes of less than half
an inch in length, "are guards against, in this case mechanical and in this
case magical, methods of mental compulsion.  It won't help you against me,
sadly, as that compulsion is already in there; but a bit of practice and I
imagine you'll be able to resist me fairly soon.  If it's all the same to
you, I'd like to implant them before the physiological reinforcement really
begins to take hold.  Give me your hand, please." Without being compelled,
Debbie held out her hand.  This stuff could be useful.  "Physiological
reinforcement?" "It's very simple, really.  Apply yourself and you'll soon
figure it out.  May I suggest you start with myths and try out the words
'lesser creatures' as applying to humans?" *** "I think we're almost
ready," Alex said.  "Are we in agreement?" Around the table, the other
members of the Waterford League of Gentlemen gentlemen's club nodded, one
by one. "Good," Alex said.  "Jonathan, I think we're ready for your part in
this." Jonathan nodded.  He picked up the phone and dialled. *** Jane's
mobile rang while she was dealing with her paperwork in CID.  She sighed
and answered it. "Yes?" "It's me, Jonathan." Jane's eyes blanked out.  Her
face lost it's appearance of boredom as she entered a reality in which
boredom wasn't an option, even if compelled to wait motionless for the rest
of her life.  Which would be a long time if she spent it motionless, not
using much energy. "Yes, master," she said softly.

   Jonathan rolled his eyes and covered the phone mouthpiece.  "Remind me
to make the changes to her psyche, would you?  I feel awful about this..."
"You're doing your job, Jonathan, that's all.  In this case using her as a
robot is excusable.  Otherwise we could end up with a policewoman on a
guilt trip.  That would be a hindrance; we might have to spend half an hour
or more dealing with them." Alex winked. Jonathan shrugged uneasily and
returned to the conversation.  "There is a woman called Adrienne Little in
the cells of your station, correct?" "Yes, master." "Good.  Now, I want you
to go out and have lunch.  Spend exactly half an hour on lunch, then go
back to the station.  Get your Mace, write out a retirement note on your
PC, send it to your DI, go downstairs, Mace the custody officers, open her
cell, and leead her out.  Give her a lift back to her home in your car. 
Then go to my house, let yourself in, and wait with the lights out. 
Understood?" "Yes, master." "Good." Jonathan put the phone down and wiped
the thin layer of sweat from his forehead.  "I hated that," he said, with
feeling. "Well, change it when you get back." "I intend to." "Good," Alex
said.  He stood.  "I'm going home.  I won't be back in time to see Adrienne
arrive, much as I might have liked, but I believe Jane's off shift soon in
any case.  I'll let Erin know to let Kirk know.  The operation begins
tomorrow, gentlemen.  Have a pleasant night." MORE TO COME...