copyright@2004

Chapter One

It was a plain manila envelope. There was no return address.

Shannon licked her suddenly dry lips. Every piece of mail that came to her house was automatically scanned by her security system for explosives, drugs, poisons, DNA, and infectious bacteria. There was no reason for her to be suspicious or feel afraid.

Her name and address had been hand-printed on the envelope in large block letters.

Shannon opened the envelope and upended it. Twenty holo-photographs spilled out onto her coffee table, shimmering 3D reproductions faithful to the last detail. Twenty perfect images of Meredith.

The first image showed Meredith lying on her back upon a white fur rug with her arms stretched over her head. A bright fire blazed merrily in the fireplace behind her. Mistletoe hung on the mantelpiece. Long blond hair fanned out behind her head. Her cerulean blue eyes glowed with love and laughter. A faint blush highlighted her pale skin. Gentle shadows caressed Meredith’s sweet, uplifted breasts, pert nipples, the lush curve of her hips, and the silky soft curls nestled at the base of her erect cock.

The rest of the images were horror personified, a grotesque, blood-splattered rape of Merry’s slashed, twisted, disemboweled body. She lay perfectly centered in a pool of congealed blood. Fear had distorted her face into a mask of agony.

She’d looked so happy yesterday evening when she called on the vidphone and said she was going out on a date.

Shannon’s heart pounded against her chest. Tears spilled down her face. Poor, beautiful Merry. She never had a chance.

A single sheet of plain white paper lay beside the images. Two words in solid block printing filled the center of that paper. YOU’RE NEXT.

Whoever sent this envelope knew exactly how her security system scanned all incoming mail deliveries.

Shannon swiped at the tears that kept blurring her sight. She focused on the security monitor images playing across the opposite wall. No windows in her house. Too much of a security risk. Snow blanketed the ground, transforming the city streets into a winter night’s fairytale with glittering icicles dangling from trees and shrubbery.

A picket line of angry men and women walked past the sealed gate entrance to her home. Snowflakes whirled around their tightly wrapped coats and scarves. They’d trampled the snow into an ugly gray slush under their booted feet. They remained the mandatory ten-meter distance from the gate. Their holographic signs flashed biblical verses from Genesis about God creating man in his image.

Shannon raked her hands through her hair. "God created man in his own image. In God's image, he created him; male and female, he created them."

Of course, the protestors took those verses out of context.

In her mind, when she read those words, it meant God was a hermaphrodite. How else could both man and woman be created in God’s image, unless he had the attributes of both sexes?

To the men and women on that picket line, Shannon, Meredith, and all the hermaphrodites who chose to live within this enclave were abominations. Gaining equal protection under the law for herms had been only the first step in a long, gradual campaign for acceptance in normal, everyday society. Should she retreat from New York City and establish a new enclave in one of the orbital habitats?

Shannon shook her head. Retreating would only encourage this murderer.

She’d been one of the lucky ones, born into wealth with loving parents who’d refused to have her altered at birth. About one in every five thousand children was born with ambiguous genitals. In 2062, for a city the size of New York, that came out to ten thousand intersexed people.

Unfortunately, too many of those children were surgically altered at birth to reflect either a female or male sexual identity. Those herms not surgically altered often faced sexual abuse from their families, and many became prostitutes because of this abuse. Getting the equal rights amendment for intersexed people passed in the World Congress meeting was only the first step in her legal battle for herself and others like her.

It didn’t matter if she had full-scan vidcams cleverly disguised in simple trims and moldings around all her buildings, and privacy screens activated at all windows. It didn’t matter if there were motion pads at every access, palm and DNA ID locks, and top-of-the-line alarm droids.

Meredith had used the exact same security setup for her apartment, and now she was dead.

During the last decade, technology wizards had transformed image creation into an esoteric art form on the web. What if someone had faked those images and sent them in an attempt to panic her?

She couldn’t stick her head in the sand and hope the images from this envelope were fakes. "Computer."

"Yes, Ms. MacNal?"

"Connect me to the police department in full audio and visual mode. I have a murder to report."

* * * * *

Detective Tannamae Jones arched her eyebrows at her partner, Fergus DeSoto, while their aircar circled the building. The parking protocol was programmed into the computer controls. All she’d had to do was state the name of the street and building and let it find the best parking space available. "Pretty high-class digs here. The only herms I knew when I grew up in Vietnam were prosts."

DeSoto stretched his arms over his head and flashed her one of his sexy grins. Six-five and all muscle, half Scottish and half Puerto Rican, with dark red hair and gorgeous caramel brown skin, he could turn her body into pure raging hormones with just one look. The midnight-blue casual shirt and slacks he wore accented his build without binding. It was the perfect combination of style and comfort. "The times, they are a-changing, mi cariña. Herms have equal rights now."

She shrugged. Yes, the times had changed. A hundred years ago, her great-grandparents had fought on opposite sides. Now, she existed. Half African-American and half-Vietnamese.

The aircar settled down on the rooftop beside six more police cars. Tannamae and Fergus exited and strode across the tarmac. Puddles of half-melted slush and snow splashed against their boots. A uniformed officer -- a tall, broad-shouldered woman with dirty-blond hair -- stood guard at the emergency exit access door. The holopic ID on her uniform pocket read "Officer Browning."

Officer Browning lifted a portable scanner and aimed it at Fergus and Tannamae. Two quick blips from the device confirmed their IDs. She tapped the golden metal button of the comlink clipped to her left earlobe and spoke. "Detectives DeSoto and Jones have arrived."

Tannamae pulled a pair of surgical gloves over her hands, slipped shoe gloves over her boots, and waited for Fergus to don his regulation crime scene duds. "Where is the victim?"

Browning jerked her thumb at the door. "Penthouse apartment. This gives you direct access through the kitchen."

The short staircase took them past a basic security cam setup to a solid titanium-alloy door wedged open with a chair. Two droids whirred back and forth on cushioned track feet, scanning for fingerprints, DNA, hair, fibers, and other evidence.

White ceramic-tiled floor and gleaming silver countertops greeted them. Two plates of uneaten food and two full wine glasses rested on the teakwood table between matching chairs. Two candles had burned out long ago.

Fergus went first and eased open the living room door. They stepped inside. The smell of blood and feces hit her first. Blood splatters on the wall, sofa, and floor detailed a violent struggle. The techs had already sprayed fluorescent markers on the blood. Every drop glowed bright red.

Two more uniforms and four techs waited outside the open door of an adjoining bedroom.

Tannamae and Fergus circled the living room without stepping in the blood, then entered the bedroom.

The victim had been positioned in the middle of the blood-drenched bed with her intestines draped over her legs and her amputated cock jammed into her open mouth. The murderer had posed her with sliced-off breasts in her cupped hands.

One of the techs stepped forward, a short, blond man wearing full surgical suit and half facemask. "The scene’s already been recorded. We got all the angles and did the trajectory layouts and splatter analysis. The coroner has already declared her dead and is waiting for you to release the body for autopsy."

Tannamae sighed and exchanged a weary stare with Fergus. It didn’t matter how many times the techs had recorded the scene or how well they’d gathered evidence, nothing beat actual physical observation by the detectives on duty. "Everyone vacate the area," she said. "We need to be alone now. After we finish making our own recordings and observations, we’ll call you on the comlink to remove the body."

Shannon landed her aircar on the rooftop of the Herm Foundation office building. She scowled at the security vidcam images on her dashboard showing yet another group of picketers at the ground floor public entrance. Droid guard units patrolled the pedwalks and kept them away from any physical contact with her employees. With only two more days until Christmas, they should have more pleasant plans for their holidays than wasting their time waving signs and shouting ugly slogans.

A blizzard was predicted for this afternoon. The extra misery factor of trudging through the storm should dampen their enthusiasm. She grinned at the thought of them stumbling half-frozen through the snowdrifts.

Shannon exited the aircar. The anti-theft alarm system automatically went live when she locked the door. She strode across the rooftop. A fat snowflake landed on her cheek and melted in a warm trickle. She lifted her face to the sky and spun around in a circle. Yes! Let the snow come and drive away the protestors.

Finally she stopped, went to the private elevator entrance, and placed her hand on the ID panel. It glowed under her hand and the door slid open. Merry had looked so happy in the first image. How long had she experienced the joy of feeling loved and cherished by another, even if it was a lie?

The elevator slowed to a stop. The door opened and Shannon entered her office. She tossed her coat on the couch, went to the desk, reduced the exterior vidcam images of the picketers to a small logo in the corner of the wall screen, and pulled up Meredith’s job schedule for the week. Two red flags glowed on emails from the Social Service departments at Memorial Hospital and City Hospital. Merry’s basic administrative duties and files could be divided among her co-workers, for now.

Shannon opened the emails. Parent consultation interviews were scheduled at nine and ten tomorrow morning. Both mothers had gone into labor this morning and the ultrasounds had already confirmed the ambiguous sex of their babies. Too late to schedule another worker to take those interviews.

She would have to conduct those interviews and see if she could convince the parents to move into the hermaphrodite-housing enclave. Young herms growing up within a community of well-adjusted adult hermaphrodites limited the potential psychological damage of their sexual identities.

She clicked on the office interior communications system and programmed it to send a full audio and visual transmission to every employee in the building. Green lights flashing across the top of the screen signaled that her programming had taken effect.

She folded her hands in her lap and gazed into the vidcam’s lens. "I’m sure you’ve all seen and heard this morning’s top news story. Meredith Jackson was brutally murdered yesterday."

Her employees, men, women, and herms, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, and mixed-raced, stopped in mid-motion at their desks and turned to their computer screens. Their shocked faces gazed back at her in overlapping images from the full-sized wall screen like the images from an insect’s multiple eyes.

Her mouth felt dry and raw, as if she’d swallowed ashes. She sucked in a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm. "When the police conduct their interviews of Meredith’s friends and co-workers, it is vitally important that everyone cooperates fully with their investigation of her murder. Because I have no idea when her body will be released for cremation, I am holding a special memorial service two days from now, on Christmas Eve."

Her breath hitched, forcing her to take a gulp of air. Shannon unwound her fingers and rested her hands on the desk. She must present a calm and dignified appearance in front of her employees. The treacherous tears streaming down her face weren’t helping matters any. "I’ll send a memo around the office with specific details of this memorial."

She blinked away her tears, and murmured, "End transmission," then slapped her hand on the cut-off switch.

Shannon activated the employee handbook file on the computer and inserted the appropriate codes for paid bereavement leave and counseling services for all employees. She stopped to check the memo over one last time. What had she missed?

Two red arrows flashed again on the organizational chart indicating Merry’s liaison appointments. How could she forget that very important detail? She needed to create another memo opening Merry’s job position for new applicants.

Later.She’d do that after the holidays. The office would be shut down from Christmas Eve through New Year’s Day anyway.

The memory of Merry’s happy face in that first image flashed across Shannon’s mind again. Was she going to die without ever experiencing love? She wasn’t picky. All she wanted was to love and to be loved. You’d think being a herm and having the capabilities to love either sex would make it easier instead of harder to find someone to love.

She’d kept her distance from Merry just like she did with all of her employees because she didn’t want to be sued for sexual harassment. Damn it! It wasn’t fair!

She had enormous wealth from her parents’ computer stocks and even more income generated from the orbital habitats they’d built. She’d spent her entire life striving to help all herms. And in the end, she sat alone in her office, too afraid to risk losing her heart to another.

Shannon hit the send key for the bereavement leave memo and shut down the computer.

The security link chimed. She activated it. "Is there a problem?"

Rolf Danner’s familiar face appeared on the viewscreen. Standing six-and-a-half-feet tall, with strawberry blond hair and piercing blue eyes, he reminded her of a Viking prince instead of a modern-day security operative. He leaned forward and studied her face with an intent stare. "I just wanted to know if there’s any way I can help you. Meredith’s death must have been a total shock."

Shannon shook her head. She dared not trust him or anyone Merry knew. Not now. Not after what had happened. Why was he making friendly overtures to her now, after two years on her staff? He’d always kept his distance before. "I’m fine. I’ve already contacted the police. I expect you to cooperate with them fully."

He nodded. "Just remember. If you need me, call me. Anytime, day or night, and I’ll be there for you."

* * * * *

Fergus paused the monitor screen, sat back in his chair, and quirked an eyebrow at his partner. Tannamae’s hair flowed past her neck in a cascade of soft black spirals. Spirals he loved to twist around his finger whenever he kissed her. "So far, we have fifty-six regular contacts in the victim’s email. The basic security scans eliminated forty-nine as valid suspects. As for the other seven contacts, guess who was the most recent?"

"Shannon MacNal?"

"Of course."

Tannamae shook her head and sent her curls bouncing again. "It doesn’t make sense. Why would she contact the police and report a murder if she was the one who did it? Why would she murder another herm after working so hard all her life to obtain equal rights and legal protections for them?"

She had a point there. He shrugged. "Murder doesn’t have to make sense. Maybe they were lovers at one time and Ms. MacNal got jealous when a new lover came on the scene. Maybe she reported the murder in order to throw us off the scent. What I want to know is who shut down the victim’s security system so that there’s no audio or visual records available of her death."

Tannamae pursed her lips. "Five minutes after Ms. MacNal’s email, the victim’s entire security system went offline. Are the two events linked, and if so, how did Ms. MacNal accomplish this?"

She scowled. Her dark eyes went even darker with her thoughts. "This is the fifth hermaphrodite murder in the last two years. As far as we know, Ms. MacNal had no contact with the other four victims."

Fergus tapped his fingers on the side of his keyboard and shook his head. "Depending on how skilled the murderer is with computer security programs, he or she could have inserted a piggyback code into Ms. MacNal’s email system. That would have triggered a direct link between her email and the victim’s security going off grid." He pulled the keyboard up and tapped in another request.

"What are you looking at now?" Tannamae asked.

"I’m wondering how many other incidents occurred in the victim’s security links. I’m wondering if the victim was in the habit of shutting down her system in order to accommodate a secret lover. Then, I’m going to see if we can match up any of her contacts with system shutdowns."

He tapped his fingers on the keyboard again. "I’m running a third-level security background search on Ms. MacNal. We might as well, just to be on the safe side."

Tannamae booted up her computer. "While you’re doing that, I’m going to take another look at the other victims’ reports and autopsies."

Almost four hours later, their suspect list had been pared down to three possibilities.

The interoffice comlink went green.

Fergus exchanged an annoyed look with Tannamae. "This better be good. I hate interrupting an investigation for stupid meetings." He flicked open the link.

Their district captain’s bald-headed visage glared at them from the monitor screen. "Detectives Desoto and Jones, report to my office now for a private meeting on your newest case."

* * * * *

Shannon gritted her teeth, paced back and forth, and counted to ten. Her hands were clenched so tight that her fingernails cut into her palms, but it was either that or pull her hair out in sheer frustration. Besides, turning around and assaulting two police detectives would only make the situation worse, not better, for her. "This is crazy! You can’t do this to me."

The male detective, Fergus Desoto, spoke in slow, reasonable tones. His voice had a lovely Spanish lilt that sent every nerve ending on her body into super tingle. "We don’t like this any more than you do. It’s orders. We don’t have any other choice. It’s either this or put you into protective custody."

Shannon whirled around. "Protective custody? You’d put me in jail? I’m not the murderer. Shouldn’t you be focusing your energies on capturing whoever’s killing herms instead of harassing me?"

The female detective, Tannamae Jones, had soft brown skin, almond-shaped eyes, and loose, black curls that gave her an exotic, almost magical appearance. Five-six was the minimum height for police officers. She must have barely squeaked by that requirement. Standing above her, Shannon felt like a clumsy elephant in her six-foot-tall frame.

Fergus splayed his hand across the small of Tannamae’s back and guided her to the other side of the table. She tilted her head to the side, flashed a seductive smile at him while he pulled out a chair for her. When she sat down, he moved behind her chair and rested his hand upon her shoulder.

Shannon sucked in a deep breath. Her throat ached. Detectives Tannamae Jones and Fergus DeSoto were more than just partners. They were lovers. Why couldn’t she have someone give her little touches and looks like that?

Tannamae held up her hand. She had short, clean nails and delicate wrists. Plus, she worked out regularly; Shannon was sure of that because the muscles in her arms were whipcord-hard. "We’re not harassing you. It’s your choice. You know the law mandates protective custody for potential victims of domestic violence. You qualify because of the threatening note you received with the holopic images of the latest victim. Either accept that we’re moving in with you until this case is solved, or accept protective custody in a more secure establishment."

Shannon bit back a weary sigh. They were right. That particular law was an offshoot from domestic violence cases where the police hadn’t protected potential victims to the fullest extent possible. Even though this murder didn’t appear to be a domestic violence case, they couldn’t be sure and had to abide by the letter of the law. She didn’t have any other choice but to let them move in with her until the murderer was captured or killed. "All right. You can stay. I’ll tell the house droid to put clean sheets in the spare bedroom."

Tannamae shook her head. "One of us must remain within three feet of you at all times. Would you be more comfortable having a man or a woman bunked down in your bedroom with you?"

Shannon stopped, crossed her arms under her breasts, and took her time looking them over from head to toe. Good. A blush darkened both detectives’ faces now. Served them right for doing this to her. If she called their bluff, would they back off and give her a semblance of privacy? What the hell? She might as well stick it to them deep and dirty. "It doesn’t matter who sleeps in my bed. I’m a herm, a shemale with breasts and a penis. Both sexes turn me on."

She placed her hands on her hips and smiled a slow, seductive smile. "I’m going to take a shower now. Do you want to watch?"

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