The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Responses

Friday started well. Paul woke with a feeling the day would be a good one. He looked forward to his session with Gina in the afternoon. It would be good to have Becky back, and Carol in the fold. Checking his schedule, he was to meet the Sony people at the ball park for a seven fifteen baseball game. That would be good as well.

But things started to unravel as soon as he got down to his office. The damn cops would be over around nine thirty—why had he done that, let them pick a time? He wanted to observe Carol as she started Phase 2.

Carol arrived around nine fifteen.

Paul met her in the hallway. This morning she was all smiles. She was wearing casual clothes, with a clothing bag slung over her shoulder.

“Good morning!” she said enthusiastically.

“I see you found your way in. How was your physical?”

She raised en eyebrow. “Most thorough! But very efficient.”

“What are your plans for the day?” Paul asked.

Carol paused, a little jarred at his brusqueness. “I thought I’d ... relax in the chair for a while, then shower and change. After that, put in a couple of hours here working on patent applications, before meeting with the patent attorney this afternoon at his place.”

Paul nodded, forcing a smile. “That sounds good. Why don’t we get you settled in the chair?”

Carol sighed as she smiled, feeling a tingle run through her. “Why not?”

He led her into the rec room. She put her clothes on the massage table and slipped off her shoes. She stood next to the chair with a look of anticipation on her face.

Paul stood back a bit, smiling. “Go ahead, use your card key—it’s all set.”

Carol blinked, then retrieved her purse from the massage table. She waved it over the reader on the control console. Hearing the beep and seeing the green light blink, she turned to Paul, smiled and waved, and got into the chair.

“Enjoy the ride,” Paul said as he left the room.

Carol found her hands trembling as she reached for the head strap. Oh, how she was looking forward to this... She attached the strap, and once she slipped her fingers into the sensors, the chair leaned back, surf sounded from the speakers, and the gentle rocking motion started.

She tried to relax, to let go, but she felt the tenseness, the anticipation, waiting for that chime, that magic chime to melt her away...

Paul hurried back to his office. He brought up chair status in one portion of his large display, and the camera trained on Carol’s face in the smaller display.

His upper lip curled in an animal smile as he interpreted the display data—she wanted it—she wanted it bad. Her breathing and heartbeat had quickened in anticipation. He glanced at the countdown timer for the first pulse.

Carol tried to relax, tried to regain control of her breath—she was almost panting. She giggled momentarily, trying to consciously relax her muscles, imagining the sound of the chime... It was almost as bad as that slow ascent up the first hill in a roller coaster—that anticipation, waiting for the thrill of that first release. Or, the feeling she had when she really needed to use her vibrator—that trembling anticipation before the first ecstatic touch. She giggled again, taking a deliberate, slow breath, letting go into the chair.

Paul watched the display. Here it comes.

Carol felt and heard the chime, the sound almost feeling like something tapping on her head, telling her to let go. A soft moan escaped her lips as she let go to the chime, letting it take her to that soft, relaxed place.

Paul nodded—her response to the first pulse had been superb. Another one was coming up in thirty seconds. Then the voices would kick in, deepening and conditioning, before the next set of pulses.

As he looked up smiling, the phone gave the distinctive ring of the intercom box on the door at the street.

He frowned and picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Detectives Ross and Hastings to see you, Mister Walters,” said the scratchy voice filled with background noise from the street.

Paul glanced at the displays. As much as he wanted to monitor her progress, there wasn’t much he could or should do for a while. Still, it was a damned nuisance.

He pressed the series of keys on the phone to unlock the door downstairs and activate the elevator. “Come up to the office then,” he said flatly, and hung up the phone.

He switched the small LCD display briefly to the camera in the elevator. When he saw the two men get in, he switched the display back to Carol, then blanked it with a quick click of the mouse. He walked to the reception area and the front office door.

He opened the door and said, “Come in,” adding, “please,” after a moment.

Hastings stepped in, followed by Ross. “Thank you for meeting with us,” Hastings said, extending a hand.

Paul frowned at the extended hand. He shook it in a perfunctory manner and said, “Let’s go back to my office. This needs to be brief—I have a lot to do today.”

“We won’t take any more of your time than necessary, Doctor Walters,” said Ross.

Paul nodded as he walked back. So, they’d done some checking, and were letting him know. They wanted to play games, did they? He might even enjoy this.

Showing them into his office, he said, “I’m just a Ph.D.—I find that title pretentious.”

Ross and Hastings smiled, seeming to relax a little.

Paul sat down behind his desk, turning the displays so only he could see them. He brought up the chair camera again. Carol had a relaxed smile on her face. The other display showed she was still going through the deepening sequence, and doing well.

“Should we refer to you as Mister Walters, then?” asked Hastings.

“That would be fine,” Paul said with a smile.

Carol drifted through a serene grotto, rocking in a small boat, relaxing more and more with each breath she took, with each beat of her heart, drifting to a place of serenity and safety, a place where she would be so relaxed, so open.

Ross took out a small notepad. “There are a few things we’d like to clear up.”

Paul nodded, glancing at the display. Four minutes until something more interesting started.

Ross took out a pen. “You told us Miss MacDonald was an attorney working on matters for you. That was confirmed by her employer. But we also understand the two of you ate lunch and dinner at restaurants in the area. Could you shed some light on that for us?”

Paul had anticipated that question. “Yes, we went to lunch on occasion, and some times to dinner. We’ve even gone to baseball games together. She was an attractive and intelligent young lady, and I enjoyed her company. If you’d checked a little further, you would have learned that I do exactly the same with my patent attorney, my tax attorney, the geek who maintains my networks, and others who work for me. It’s a simple matter of showing my appreciation for their work and skill. Next question.”

“So, there wasn’t anything more to your relationship?”

“With whom?” Paul asked.

“Miss MacDonald?”

“No.”

“Did you know a Karen Blakeley?” Ross asked.

Paul furrowed his brow, glancing up momentarily. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t recognize the name.”

“How about Wei-Ming Chan?”

Paul glanced up again. “Do you mean Wendy Chan, daughter of the laundry people downstairs?”

Ross nodded. “Yes, that’s her.”

Paul furrowed his brow, shaking his head slowly from side to side, glancing at the control screen. Carol was about to begin a conditioning sequence. “Very sad, very sad,” Paul said softly.

“What do you remember?” Hastings asked.

Paul sighed. He looked at the two. What were they fishing for? “I assume you’ve just reviewed the reports, so you are probably more familiar with that sad day than I am. Let’s see—five, or was it six years ago? Wendy used to open the family’s cleaning business a number of mornings a week, letting her parents rest, and picking up early-bird business. I still do all my cleaning business with the family, you know, helping them however I can. One morning, she dropped off some cleaning with me, and later that day, from what I heard, with her parents standing by, she had a seizure or something and died. Very sad.”

Carol drifted peacefully, voices filling her, helping her relax. Every time she heard the voices tell her to relax, every time she heard the chime sound, she melted. The voices brought her up, oh so far up, oh so hard to come up, opening her eyes slightly, and the magic words and the chime sent her back down again, back to softness, openness, to peace.

“Do you remember the outcome of that event?” Ross asked.

Paul shook his head. “I’m not sure what you mean. I talked to her brother, who was in medical school at the time, and convinced him to continue his schooling. I arranged assistance for the family, counseling.”

Paul glanced at the control screen. Carol’s response to the fractionation exercise was quite good. The system showed a decision point—it would move on to the next sequence unless he intervened. He clicked the mouse to continue the fractionation exercise for a while.

“Do you see the coroner’s report?”

Paul shook his head. “I’m afraid I didn’t, gentlemen.”

As he looked at them, he remembered that morning—she’d come up with his laundry, and for a session in his experimental chair. He hadn’t completely damped out feedback in the control system, and she’d had a problem. She’d regained consciousness with no memory of the session, as usual, and left under her own power, cheery and seemingly quite well. The severity of her problem didn’t become clear until some hours later when she’d gone into seizures and died.

Ross nodded. “Okay, how about Jennifer Dumont?”

Paul shook his head. Not one of his.

“James Hanson?”

Was that one of his? He couldn’t remember. Was that the one who went into coronary arrest from overstimulation? Or was that the dementia-limbic stimulation problem? He shook his head again. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Katryn Wells?”

Paul nodded on that one. Seizures and ventricular fibrillation, he remembered. “Yes—there was a period of about ten months...” He looked to the control display.

Carol was more used to it now; it was easier to do what the voices told her. When they told her to wake up, she did, opening her eyes, and then the chime, or the voices, or a combination, sent her back down again—it was so nice to go back down again, back to being so relaxed, so open, so obedient, so safe.

Hastings picked things up. “Wells, Connors, Chiang, Luong...”

Paul interrupted. The control display showed the interesting part was starting.

“Yes, citywide at that time, quite a few unfortunate people died from various narcotics related misadventures—a few of them choosing to do so in my then open lobby downstairs.”

Paul let his displeasure show. “And if I were to go back to my records, or call my attorneys, I could tell you how many times I complained to the police and the city about the use of my lobby downstairs by junkies, gangs, and whores. Were either of you in this district at the time?”

Both detectives shook their heads in the negative.

Paul nodded. It figured. “Then you may want to review a few more of your files, and contact the city attorney’s office. I finally filed suit against the city for permission to enclose my own lobby to prevent these people from using the area as a public lavatory, congregating and threatening myself, my staff, and passers by. I think it was a shooting, a stabbing, and a violent rape all in a two week period that finally convinced the city to let me enclose and lock that area.”

Paul glanced over to the control screen as an indicator flashed, showing another actuator moving into position.

Carol floated again, enjoying being so deep. In response to the voices, she spread her legs open a bit. Something pressed against her as the voices started in again. Now she was floating in the arms of her lover, being embraced, kissed, stroked, stimulated. Her breathing and her heartbeat accelerated, and she moaned in pleasure.

Paul glanced to the smaller screen, and saw Carol’s face contorted in pleasure. The probe between her legs was moving slowly still, the vibrator in its tip not due to kick on for another thirty seconds.

“Can you tell me, gentlemen, how many people died in that epidemic—I believe it was black tar heroin? That and the accompanying gang battles? Quite a few died in other parts of the city as well.” Paul glared at the two.

Hastings, the older of the two, nodded. “Yes, I was working the Castro at the time. It was ugly. Drugs usually are.”

Paul continued to glare. It had been a difficult time for him as well, learning the hard way about feedback paths, the necessity for limits. The limbic stimulation one had been a shocker—what was the man’s name? Everything had looked nominal, but he’d come back late at night, dragged a woman into the lobby area and raped her, almost killing her. He’d been diagnosed as incurably insane, going into convulsions and dropping dead a few weeks later. Still, the cops had taken the heat for that one, as he’d died while in custody.

Paul glanced to the control screen. Just a few seconds now; Carol was quite aroused, heartbeat and respiration both elevated. “I seem to remember reports of quite a variety of contaminants in street drugs, contaminants with disastrous properties.”

Hastings nodded.

Ross picked things up. “Don’t you think it’s unusual, though, Mister Walters, that you have been associated so closely with so many dead people?”

Carol was filled with fire—she’d never been so aroused before. Still her phantom lover teased her more, the voices teased her more and more ... until a word was spoken, a sound filled her, and she came with an intensity she’d never experienced before in her life.

Paul looked at the control screen. Good—her first one had been satisfactory. Now, deep conditioning and the buildup to her second. He looked at the two detectives. “I’d have to say, gentlemen, that you two are undoubtedly associated with far, far more.”

Carol collapsed into bliss, letting the chair hold her, rock her, as the voices filled her, speaking directly to her soul.

Paul continued. “Have either of you two bothered to look at the history of this area over the last thirty to forty years?”

Again, both policemen shook their heads no.

Paul frowned. “I didn’t think so. Taking a historical perspective, the area now is about as safe and quiet as the inner garden of a convent. In one year alone, there were seventeen homicides on this block—in 1967, I believe. Oh, I hadn’t been born yet, Mister Ross. Two years before I moved into this building, there were seven or eight bodies dumped in the area over a short period—a minor disagreement between rival business groups, I seem to recall. But thanks to you gentlemen, and to those of us trying to revive the area, things seem to have turned around recently.”

Carol started breathing faster again, moaning—it was happening again. She was filling with fire, with desire, with lust. Something in her tried to resist—she tried to move, to get away.

Paul flicked a glance at the control display in response to a flickering orange display. She was resisting. He suppressed a smile, watching the coils charge again.

Carol struggled, trying to ignore the voices. She had to move—she tried to move, to pull her fingers loose. The chime sounded and melted her. The voices returned, caressing, comforting, relaxing, and yet stimulating.

Paul deliberately turned from them, looking at the displays. She tried to pull out her fingers, triggering the pulse, which hit her hard, taking her down, switching her to a reconditioning track in the program. He thought he saw her eyes roll up as her mouth formed a small “O.”

Another orgasm crashed through her, the voices and the chair holding her, comforting her. It was all right. This was where she belonged. This was what she needed. She let go.

Hastings cleared his throat and took a somewhat apologetic tone. “Mister Walters, we’re not implying...”

“Oh?” Paul interrupted loudly. He looked again at the displays. The reconditioning sequence had worked quite well. He glared back at the detectives. “Then perhaps you’d best stop wasting my time and return to the point of this visit, which I was led to believe was Miss MacDonald.”

The two policemen exchanged glances.

The caressing and stimulating started again. This time Carol gave herself over, opening up and receiving, responding with enthusiasm and desire as the voices spoke to her and she was filled again with bliss.

“Mister Walters,” Ross said in somewhat of a conciliatory tone, “we’re just following up. When our investigation showed that you had been seen at various restaurants with the deceased...”

Paul shook his head and interrupted again. “Yes, yes, yes. And if you’d investigated just a little further, you would have found that I do that with all the people who work for me, as I’ve already told you.”

Carol was floating in almost continual state of bliss as the voices continued to speak to her soul. She moaned and twitched occasionally.

“Thank you for that clarification, Mister Walters,” Hastings said. “That does help. I think you can appreciate our curiosity and concern in this matter.”

Paul shook his head, glancing at the displays again. “I can understand your curiosity,” Paul replied, suppressing a sneer, “but not your haphazard actions. I understand from the press, as well as people at the law firm, that the driver of the bus has a number of driving citations, and was indeed speeding on a wet street?”

Ross said, “We can’t comment on that.”

Carol wasn’t sure what the voices were saying, what they were asking, but she was shouting out, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” as bliss engulfed her once more.

Glancing at the displays, Paul saw that Carol had passed her first test extremely well. He glared at the detectives again, spreading his hands on his desk. “You can’t comment on information in the press, but you can drag up random events from the past? Oh, I sincerely hope you haven’t been bothering the Chan family about their daughter—it took them years to recover from that shock, and if you’ve opened up that mess again, I can assure you, there will be hell to pay.”

Paul saw Ross glance down.

Hastings took the offensive. “Mister Walters, our duty is to investigate...”

“Then by all means, investigate why on Earth that bus driver was speeding on a wet street! There are accidents on that street every few days—did you bother to check with your traffic people at all?” Another glance told him the chair was working her up to a final orgasm as preparation for taking her deeper into trance for more conditioning.

“Mister Walters, we’re just trying to tie up loose ends,” Ross said, raising his head.

“That’s fine, gentlemen—if that’s your interest, I can give you the name of a senior partner at the law firm—he’s a member of E Clampus Vitus, and has been investigating deaths in this locale from the Barbary Coast era. I’m sure he’d appreciate your assistance; I think I’ll be talking to him quite soon. But I strongly urge you to be considerate in your investigations. If you have bothered the Chans, I will hear about it, and I will not be happy. From what I can tell, we’re dealing with the disastrous consequences of someone in a hurry and crossing in the middle of a busy street, and a bus driver trying to keep to a schedule on crowded and wet streets.”

The detectives glanced at each other again, Ross tapping his notebook with his pen.

Carol moved as much as she could, rocking her hips with enthusiasm, letting herself be carried to bliss once more. “Oh, yes!” she cried again and again as the sensations built.

Hastings looked at Paul, sighing with seeming resignation. “Mister Walters, that’s exactly the way I see it.” He turned and gave his companion a cross look.

Ross shook his head. “We’re concerned, that’s all...”

Paul nodded. Carol was close—another few seconds, from the rate at which her heart was racing. How many times had he had that problem, before he set an upper limit on heart rate during this phase? Three or four? “Then you’ll show your concern by being at the memorial service for Miss MacDonald on Monday morning?”

Carol screamed as she came, filled once again with sound and sensation, dropping down, down, down.

Ross and Hastings looked at each other, then back to Paul, without uttering a word.

Paul glanced at the displays just in time to see Carol with her mouth open, the microphone display indicating she was making quite a bit of noise. He nodded—good soundproofing. He read off details for Monday’s memorial service. Hastings elbowed Ross, and he wrote on his notepad.

Paul waited a moment, watching Carol’s respiration and heart rate slow. Her muscles relaxed once more as she sank deep into trance for the final conditioning sequence of this run. That would take another half hour.

He looked back to the police detectives. “If there’s nothing further then, gentlemen...”

The detectives exchanged another glance. Hastings stood up. Ross followed, capping his pen and putting his notepad back in his pocket.

Paul hit a key to blank both screens, then stood and led the men back to the reception area. The rec room door was closed, as always.

Ross asked, “You have a receptionist?”

Paul frowned, as did Hastings.

“Yes,” Paul replied. “She’s out this week—on the East Coast. She left last Sunday and will be back in the office Monday morning.”

Paul shook their hands and showed them out the door.

In the elevator, Hastings said, “Still want to bug the Chan woman?”

Carol sighed, letting the rocking and the voices take her deeper.

Ross sighed and shook his head. “Nope, but...”

Hastings clapped his partner on the shoulder as the elevator door opened. “Hey, look at the bright side—this might cut down on jaywalking for a week or two. Let’s close this turkey and get back to work on the stabbing case.”

Ross grunted. “Yeah.”

Carol floated mindlessly in bliss, surrounded in comfort.

Paul stopped in the restroom and scrubbed his hands, his upper lip in a snarl.

Back in his office, he brought up the displays again. Things had gone well. A few questions for her, possibly another test, and he’d see which program to run next.

He turned and looked out onto San Francisco Bay. How many people over that development period—a dozen, maybe fourteen? He shook his head. There were a few inconclusives; who could tell what actually killed those druggies? Eight or nine were his, to be sure, maybe a dozen.

Carol started drifted back up, enjoying the rocking motion and the sounds of the surf fading away.

Ross—he was determined. He might be a problem. Then Paul had a thought: those failures ... what about deliberately inducing a failure, a delayed reaction such as the one that took Wendy? Or like the other one, the one who died while driving somewhere? Interesting question... He turned and clicked the mouse so the chair would let him know when Carol got up.

Carol rested in silence in the chair, the rocking eventually stopping. She could see spending the night in the chair—it could be quite nice, actually.

She moved a little. She felt confused. What had gone on? Her clothes felt wet, as if she’d been sweating. And her pants... Taking a breath, she undid the head strap and returned it to its place. She grasped the ends of the armrests and pulled herself from the chair.

She stood momentarily, then turned and leaned against the chair. She felt ... relaxed, refreshed, yet as if she’d run a long race. God, her panties and pants were soaked! She glanced around, then slid a hand into her pants, withdrawing it and bringing fingers to her nose.

Paul looked over to the display as the annunciator informed him that Carol was getting out of the chair. He had his audio cues set up and ready to go. He switched to the overhead rec room camera and watched her get out of the chair, a little unsteady, leaning against the chair.

He wasn’t paying attention—he missed her putting her hand into her pants, and by the time his hand was on the mouse, her hand had moved. He shook his head. He’d wait.

Carol took a whiff—she’d been concerned she’d peed her pants. No, just her own juice, and plenty of it! She sighed; she didn’t remember much about the session, just the chimes, being so relaxed, floating. It was so good!

She shook her head and walked over to pick up her clothes and things. A good shower would help.

Paul watched her pick up her things, switching cameras and following her into the shower. He smiled as she undressed—she was in fine shape, and much better endowed than the attorney had been. He’d wait until she was in the shower to test her.

Carol put her soap and shampoo in the shower and turned on the water. She almost laughed—the shower head delivered a full spray. No “low flow” here! She stepped in and luxuriated in the full water flow.

She’d washed and rinsed her hair, and was starting to soap her body, when she thought she heard something. A chime of some kind?

It didn’t matter; her hands running over her body felt so good. She let her hands roam and soon she was moaning, her head back as one hand worked between her legs, and the other teased her breasts.

When she came, she came with a moan, her knees giving way as she slid down the side of the shower enclosure. She sat in the shower for a bit, regaining her senses, her hands continuing to move automatically, bringing her to a second orgasm. She grabbed the hand rail and managed to pull herself up.

She giggled—that had been good! She should do that more often. She giggled again as she rinsed away the lather she’d worked up. She was good and clean at least. She should have brought her razor so she could shave her legs.

Her head went back and she moaned again. Maybe now she could find a boyfriend. How good it would feel to have someone between her legs, someone filling her.

She shook her head and turned the water temperature to cold, squealing a little as the temperature dropped and the cold water hit her chest and belly. She turned off the water and laughed to herself as she got the towel and started drying off. She would take better care of herself on this job, she thought. She owed that to Paul. Her future was with Paul.

Paul smiled and nodded. Carol responded well, then showed remarkable self-control. The second time he’d given her the arousal stimulus, she’d doused herself with cold water! Oh, how he looked forward to tasting those perky nipples!

He got up and opened his office door, then sat back down at his desk and went back to writing. She’d stop by, he was sure of it.

Carol dressed and did her hair. She’d been thinking of cutting it, but reconsidered as she looked in the mirror. Should she ask Paul? She thought he might like it long. She felt comfortable dressed as she was, but it might be nice to wear things that showed off her figure a little more.

She gathered her things and went down to “her” office. That thought put a smile on her face. She was so lucky: finding a new job so quickly, in such a good place, and for such a wonderful person. Paul was her future—she’d do anything for Paul.

She put her things down, then walked back to his office. She knew she would never, ever disturb him when his door was closed, but since it was open, she knocked on the door and stuck her head in.

Paul looked up, responding to the knock, and saw Carol standing in the doorway, smiling.

He stood up and waved her in. “Please come in! How are you doing?”

Carol sat down in one of the chairs. It was good to see him, to be near him. “I’m doing great!”

Paul smiled. “A good shower?”

Carol sighed. “Much better than my place—low-flow shower heads are a real pain.”

Paul nodded. “I know—the low-flow shower head lasted about ten minutes after the building inspector signed off on the place.”

Carol chuckled.

“And how was your session in the chair? Relaxing?”

Carol sighed. “God, yes... I think so, at least... I don’t remember much at all, other than floating, rocking, being so safe and relaxed.”

Paul smiled. “That’s okay—it means you were relaxed, which is the goal, after all. Anything else?”

Carol squirmed a bit. She knew she could tell Paul anything, she just wasn’t sure how to do it. “Well, I did get a bit ... hot, it seems.”

Paul glanced down at the desk. Things were indeed working well.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carol said, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you...”

Paul smiled. “That’s okay. You might talk to Becky about that—she might be able to help.”

Carol tingled a little at the name. “I’m looking forward to meeting her. I think we’re going to get along really well.”

Paul nodded, noting the slightly spaced look on Carol’s face. “I certainly hope so—I want you to get along.”

Carol sighed and nodded. “I’m sure we will.”

Paul asked, “What now?”

Carol shook her head a little, clearing it. “Wow... I should get some writing done. I like your patent attorney—he’s a lot better than the fools I’ve been dealing with.”

Paul nodded. “That’s why I use him.” He glanced at the clock. “Would you join me for lunch? Normally Becky arranges it, and we eat in the conference room, going out once a week or so.”

Carol smiled. “Lunch is included? This is great!”

Paul laughed. “Glad you think so. Like Japanese?”

Carol nodded. “You bet. You know, I really feel my future is here.”

Paul nodded. “That’s good to hear. Off to work then, we’ve an hour and a half to lunch.”

Carol stood up. “Yes, sir!” She giggled, then looked at Paul and sighed. She turned and left the room.

Carol sighed as she left the restaurant. She’d agreed to 75% of her old salary—that was fair, with all the fringe benefits. She’d wanted more, but Paul was right. The memory of how he smiled at her sent chills down her spine. How she wanted to please him.. Her future was with him, after all. Another shiver went through her as she thought of being in that chair again. She was going to move things into the office over the weekend, before starting “for real” on Monday morning. But now, it was off to meet with the patent geek.

Paul faxed copies of Carol’s signed employment agreement to the law firm, then filed the originals. The salary thing had gone easily; she’d started out firm in her demands, but all he’d had to do was smile and whisper a simple phrase, and she’d sighed and agreed. He smiled at the memory, then frowned. There would be times when he’d want her independent input, the clash of wills. That was going to be an interesting balancing act. But aside from the detectives, things were moving along quite well once more.

Quite well indeed. Paul was impressed as he looked over the details of the new coil assemblies being sent him by the East Coast fabricator: less than half the diameter, taking a tenth of the cooling power, and the sensors built into them were of exquisite sensitivity. He’d have the first pair by the middle of the next week. Rebuild the chair? Portable operation? The computational power the chair currently used would now fit on a single chip. He looked at the guest chairs in his office. The headrests in those could easily hold the new coils. Were the sensors sensitive enough though? How would he handle positioning? Positioning was so critical—that had been the source of some messy failures. The new sensors should let him do away with the electrode strap, but would he still need it to maintain alignment? So many questions!

Paul took out a pad of green engineering paper and started sketching out new designs. He had a while before Gina would arrive.