Dominoe is the property of Trent Wolf. All other characters and events in this story are copyright 2001 by the author. This story contains scenes of violence, torture, and sexual situations. It is not appropriate for younger readers.
 
 

The cocktail of deadly gases caused Dominoe's world to dance and sparkle before her eyes as she began picking up speed on her perilous journey down the impeller shaft.  The toxic wind wasn't particularly strong, but the points where her body made contact with the frictionless surface provided absolutely no leverage to slow her down.  It was classical physics --  a body in motion tends to stay in motion unless acted upon by an external force such as friction.  In this case the subtle force of the hot wind was enough to slowly speed her toward her lethal destination.  The bondage was actually unnecessary since even with her hands and legs free there was nothing to grab hold of.  Still, it did enhance her feelings of helplessness and probably added a bit of spice for those watching her death on IR.

But Dominoe wasn't out of tricks yet.  She still had her watch.

It told time, of course, and it had a built-in laser as well as a small dragline.  It also normally included a small transmitter for contacting the CATT shock team for emergency extractions or to signal diversionary attacks.  In this case, however, there was no shock team, so Dominoe had decided to modify the watch to support a few diversions of her own.  Wriggling her watch free from beneath one of the manacles, Dominoe entered a particular code into the LCD display.  She then pressed two buttons simultaneously and the command was sent.  She heard a faint SNAP, far off and seemingly harmless.  But that was enough.

Outside, the citizens of Paris were treated to a spectacular show, as a gout of burning hydrogen shot out of the Matrix Airship at the point where Dominoe's small thermite satchel charge had punctured one of the tough hydrogen air bags.  The super-tough rubber comprising the dirigible confined the damage to the single bag, but, deprived of the extra lift, the front of the huge craft began dipping as pressurized hydrogen gushed through the hole.  Finally the self-healing material of the bag managed to close in around the breach but not before the entire craft had pitched several critical degrees forward.

Within the impeller shaft, the Dominoe gratefully felt the tug of gravity begin to counter the effects of the rushing air drawing her ever faster toward the spinning titanium blades.  But her heart sank as she realized that the slight change in pitch would not be enough to stop her forward progress before she reached the turbine.  She had only earned herself a few extra moments to admire the whirling blades before they mangled her perfect body beyond recognition.

"Pitch-out-of-limit's Alarm Detected.  Emergency Engine Shutdown Initiated."

Dominoe could hardly believe her luck!  The gas leak had trigged the dirigible's own internal protective systems!  An aluminum iris closed over the turbine even as she slid luge-style down the tube.  A moment after the iris was fully closed, Dominoe's feet made punishing contact with the smooth metal. The impact was rough, but at least she was still alive.

"Going up," Dominoe grinned as she flexed her legs and kicked off the iris back in the direction from which she had come. The daring spy had every reason to believe that Donna Matrix had indeed booby-trapped every escape point along the route toward the turbine.  But her plan would certainly assume that Dominoe would only be moving toward the rear of the craft and never away against the force of the engines.  Its was almost a sure thing that the access hatches above the point where she had entered would be unguarded, and with any luck the frictionless coating on the shaft would terminate was well.

Sure enough, after a brief journey Dominoe reached the hatchway through which she had entered.  Her motion carried her on and almost immediately the frictionless coating gave way to the relatively firm footing of polished aluminum.  With her newfound leverage it took only a few moments to wrench the magnetic manacles apart and regain her mobility, at least temporarily.

"This should make things a bit of a.... AHHHH .... challenge," Dominoe grunted as she opened another access hatch and found that it took all her strength to pry her magnetized wrists from the steel components of the locking mechanism.  Careful to keep her feet as far apart as possible, the leather-clad spy wriggled through the small opening, hoping beyond hope that the explosions had distracted Donna Matrix's goons long enough for her to make good her escape.

Emerging through a hatch set in the floor, Dominoe found herself in a long display hall lined floor-to-ceiling with glass display cases containing antique torture implements.  Many cases contained a single device - an iron maiden, a stretching rack, a pillory, a Judas chair, a garrote.  Others contained extensive collections of smaller items, such as whips, thumbscrews, slave chains, and branding irons.  As Dominoe moved cautiously down the hall she saw cases dedicated to more modern torments, such as the electric shock chair, the hot box, and the collection of "truth" serums.  The eerie hall had the definite feel of a morgue, and the young spy was relieved when she finally reached the end of chamber of horrors.

But suddenly the door before her slid open.  There stood Donna Matrix, still dressed in her tight-fitting body stocking, still spattered with Maj Sokov's drying blood.  Dominoe stepped back warily as Donna Matrix entered the hall, the door sealing shut behind her.

"I see you've found my collection.  Do you like it?"

"Very cozy.  All you need is Austrian castle and you're all ready to be burned at the stake by peasants."

"Most of my collection is actually in Bavaria, not Austria.  I keep these items with me because of their personal or historical significance.  This is one of my favorites."

The sinister madwoman reverently opened one of the cases and produced a box of rusted iron hoops neatly lined in a velvet tray as if they were engagement rings.  Many still bore a whitish tinge as if they had been under extreme heat.

"These were used for the torture of Princess Soraya Mulhamide at the hands of Alexander the Great.  She was a priestess of Ahura Mazda and refused to renounce her god.  She was pierced in 50 locations with steel rings then suspended over a blacksmith's forge by gut strings attached to the rings.  The locals insist that her spirit haunts the forge vault of the castle ruins as Kafnu to this very day."

"Touching.   I trust she remained true to her God until the end."

"As all good martyrs, yes.  And speaking of martyrs, I suppose you're wondering just what kind of fate I have in store for you."

"No actually I was wondering if I still have enough arm strength to drive the bones of your nose into your brain or if I should use my foot instead."

"I'd try the foot.  Never hurts to be thorough."

"Quite so,"  Dominoe's roundhouse kick came so quickly that it almost seemed like an optical illusion.  One moment the leather-clad spy was standing serenely in front of Donna Matrix and the next moment she was a steel coil lashing out at the tip of her enemy's nose.  But the blow would never strike home.  Even as her foot approached Donna Matrix's smirking face, Dominoe could feel an unnatural resistance to her forward progress.  An instant later she was thrown backward with all the force she had intended to deliver to her smiling enemy.  The effect sent her sprawling, though the lithe agent still had the presence of mind to roll gracefully and come immediately back to her feet.

"Its a repulsor field, tuned to the frequency emitted by your lovely slave bracelets.  They also allow us to track you anywhere in the airship.

"AHHHHH!" Dominoe sprang at Donna Matrix in a desperate attempt to penetrate the madwoman's electromagnetic defenses.  Her fingers came tantalizingly close to the woman's throat, but again she was thrown back.  She was slower to get to her feet this time, and now she felt the familiar tingling warmth radiating from her crotch, her body's genetically engineered reaction to extreme danger.

"Very good!" Donna matrix laughed. "I've never seen anyone get so close to me before. Such determination."

"You ain't seen nothing yet.  Careful to allow her arms to trail behind her, Domino launched herself like a missile at Donna Matrixes midsection.  It seemed that this time her attack was sure to succeed, but at the last moment Dominoes arms and legs were jerked to the floor as if they were suddenly bound in place.  Stars danced before Dominoes' eyes as she dropped unceremoniously to the ground at Matrix's feet.

"Oh I forgot to mention, " Matrix smiled with intense malice. "The floor to this room is magnetized, just like the manacles."

The initial tug seemed to subside somewhat and Dominoe tried to get back to her feet.  But the drag on her wrists and ankles made escape impossible and Donna Matrix took advantage of the situation to drive a booted foot into the doomed spy's muscular abdomen.

"Ooof!" Dominoe's attempted retreat became a sprawl as she fell over on her side grasping her midsection.  She rolled up on all fours, only to receive another hard kick from Matrix.

WHAAM!

"You've caused me a lot of trouble, little spy.  Like Nightcat before you."

SWACK!

"Ahhh!"  The next kick caught Dominoe on the side of the head, snapping it on one side in a spray of blood.

"And now like Nightcat you are going to pay. It cost me a great deal to acquire you from your government keepers.  You must be very popular."

FOOM!

Dominoe had just managed to rise to her knees, arms weighing heavily down at her side, when Donna Matrix knocked her back with another kick to the abdomen, fueled by her irrational hatred of the beautiful operative.  Dominoe fell to her back, magnetized wrists dropping heavily to the floor and sticking firmly in place.  Matrix's boot was immediately on Dominoe's windpipe, closing off her airway.

"There isn't any mission.  There never was.  This airship is nothing but my private playground, where I entertain my guests and my enemies.  Now its one big floating trap, waiting just for you."

Dominoe raised her hands weakly, muscles straining from the effort.  Matrix brushed the arm away as if it were a pesky fly, smiling while Dominoe's mouth opened and closed like an asphyxiating fish.

  "Of course I usually reserve my most devious diversions for my dear "Pixie."  But I've saved my latest toys just for you."

A half dozen security guards filed into the room, while Dominoe continued to writhe one the floor beneath the boot of Donna Matrix.  One was foolish enough to enter holding a gun, but it was immediately wrenched free and stuck fast to the floor just like the bracelets around the trapped spy's wrists and ankles.  The gun was inches from Dominoe's fingertips, but strain as she might, she couldn't reach it.

"So close, yet so far," Donna Matrix smiled.  "Tonight it is you who are crushed beneath my boot, Dominoe.  Tomorrow it is the entire world."

With that the madwoman gave Dominoe's windpipe a final press than then removed her foot, turning away as the sexy daredevil took her first deep breath in nearly two minutes.

"Bind her, then have her thoroughly searched, bathed, and purged.  I want all of her delightful assets 100% at my disposal for our little games."

A chill ran through Dominoe's body at the thought of just what kind of "games" her host had in mind.

* * *

Donna Matrix allowed herself to sleep in late for the first time in months.  As a woman obsessed with power and wealth, she rarely allowed herself the luxury of a lazy morning, and with her master plan so close to fruition it was amazing she wasn't a raving insomniac.  After all, that very night she would most certainly become the most powerful woman in the world.  But all people have their relaxation techniques, and Donna Matrix was no exception.   Hers was mental and physical domination of her enemies, and over the past several days Dominoe had served as the perfect tranquilizer.

"Mhhh! Mhhhhhh!" A delightfully feminine voice pleaded wordlessly.  Matrix grinned a sinister grin that would have frozen water and turned over in her silken sheets to check up on her favorite victim.  An entire wall of her bedroom was devoted to video monitors, which at the moment were all trained on Dominoe.

Donna Matrix had removed the sexy super-spy's leather catsuit and replaced it with a costume much more fitting to her new role: a halter-top body suit of silky black nylon, with thigh-high stockings, and fingerless opera gloves of the same material.  Dominoe was tied spread eagle to a steel vertical bondage frame, with wrists and ankles manacled and chained to the frame.  She wore a wide shock collar around her throat and a heavy bondage belt pulled tightly around her tiny waist, with a leather crotch strap strung between her legs and secured in place with titanium pad locks.  Heavy chains ran from the bondage belt to the steel frame, and additional black belts around the young agent's nylon-clad thighs ensured that she could not close her legs or in any way protect her sex.  She was impaled, of course, just as she had been almost continuously since becoming Donna Matrix's prisoner.  The twin dildos Matrix had chosen for Dominoe's evening of erotic torment were lined with rubber ball bearings set into spherical sockets.  The effect was double trouble: even as the dildos vibrated powerfully the ball bearings also spun and danced crazily in their sockets, lapping and tickling at every inch of her most intimate regions.  Based on the research Matrix had performed on her servants, the effect was absolutely maddening and drove them to unendurable heights of sexual delirium.  The frequent shuddering of the young spy's pelvis despite almost 6 hours on the frame indicated the Dominoe was faring little better.  Her chest heaved beneath the glistening fabric of her costume and her hair was matted with her own sweat.  Her protests were reduced to sexy groans by the rubber ballgag secured in her mouth and a heavy blindfold ensured that the alluring operative could not get her bearings.

The eight video cameras stationed all about the room captured Dominoe's ordeal in breathtaking detail.  One captured the entire bondage frame from the front, giving the viewer a general appreciation for the gorgeous spy's horrendous ordeal.  Another was at the same angle but from the rear, where the viewer was naturally drawn to Dominoe's, long legs, muscular buttocks and long red hair.  One camera was tight on her gagged and blindfolded face, while yet another was focused on her tightly strapped pelvis.  They were overhead and underneath and Donna Matrix had taken care to point out each one to Dominoe before securing her blindfold.  Despite three days of mental, physical and sexual torture, Dominoe had climaxed again and again throughout the night with every intimate detail captured on video.  And Donna Matrix had slept like a baby.

Donna Matrix watched with renewed interest as Dominoe's picture-perfect spherical breasts bobbed hypnotically beneath the sweat-soaked body suit -- the pelvis cam showed that her inner thighs were now slick with her own juices as her hips thrust and shuddered beneath the onslaught of erotic stimulation.  The scene was so lovely that Matrix considered rolling over and going back to sleep.  But thoughts of the delicious triumphs the day had in store finally motivated her to call for her maids to dress her for her first errand of the day.

"Yes, Mistress," the two maids appeared immediately, identically clad in satin body suits with short skirts.  Each had felt the wrath of their employer for tardiness and did not wish a second infraction.

"Prepare my blue silk business suit for today, and my red velvet evening dress for the demonstration this evening.  But first, fetch me my rubber sheath dress.  I want to pay a visit to our little guest, for a good long morning work out."

"Yes mistress," the two girls replied promptly and sprang to comply.  They dared only a quick glance at the young woman on the frame, but it was enough to make them shudder.  All of Donna Matrix's female employees had been subjected to her "disciplines" from time to time, but it was still frightening to occasionally glimpse the true depths of her madness.

In 20 minutes Donna Matrix, was clicking down the hall in stiletto heels, flanked by half a dozen guards and an army of assistants.  Only a few of these were actually even aware of Dominoe's ordeal deep within the bowels of Donna's playroom.  The rest were focused on the execution of the power-mad tycoon's bid to become the most influential power broker in the world.

The plan was simple.  Thanks to Dominoe her supply of the miraculous Black Ice compound was limited, but she had put the sample she obtained in France to good use in preparing a demonstration of fiendish brilliance.  Any who saw it would immediately grasp the strategic importance of Black Ice.  And just to ensure the demonstration WOULD be seen by all the right people, she had called a secret meeting of the world's elite on her own airship, indicating that Matrix Chemicals would be unveiling its most dramatic scientific achievement to date.  Once her guests realized that this meeting was far more than just a friendly leak of insider information, the negotiations would begin as once.  By dawn she would be wealthy beyond imagining, with the spectacular death of the world's most infamous spy serving as a harbinger of the New World order.

"All the invitations are distributed, Ms Matrix," one secretary blurted. "60 rsvps and no regrets."

"Very good.  I love to perform before a packed house."

"The Sultan of Hafaz has asked if he can have Pixie again for the evening."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible.  Pixie will be putting on a show for the crowd tonight.  I doubt if she will survive."

"Ms Matrix, please sign this invoice for the acquisition of the ... device ... for the demonstration."

"What was the total?"

"$25,000 not including the modifications. $37,000 total."

"Not a bad investment for world domination, eh people?  Just put it on my credit card."

"Ms Bowman called from the US National Security Agency, indicating that she will be attending this evenings event."

At this, Donna Matrix stopped.  "Very good.  The United States could still pose a threat to my plans.  The more implicated Margaret Bowman is, the more likely she is to cooperate when I ask her for billions in remuneration."

The bantering continued with all the assistants trying to obtain their last-minute approvals until Donna Matrix reached the guarded door leading into her complex of playrooms.  At this point all the clerks faded away, leaving only Donna Matrix, and her personal guards.  After moving through two more guarded checkpoints, the entourage finally arrived at the dark, armored torture room where Dominoe waited.

"Good morning, my dear, did you sleep well?"

At first the trapped spy didn't reply, so lost was she in her own world of erotic suffering.  But when Donna Matrix finally removed the blindfold and gag, Dominoe slowly opened here eyes, squinting even in the subdued light.

"That better?"

"Much." Dominoe's huge expressive eyes were glassed over and haunted.   For some reason, the camera's eye failed to convey the sheer power of the lithe agent's struggles, or the unnatural shudders of her pelvis as she was driven to climax again and again by the high-tech dildoes.

"I must say your constitution is amazing, my dear.  Your handlers are to be congratulated on your training."

"I'll be sure to thank ... them .... Ahhhh .... after you're dead."

Donna Matrix smiled, "Still got some fire, I see.  That's very good, since this is a very big day for both of us."  She held out her hand.  "My whip."

Dominoe's attendants moved quickly to comply, handing Donna Matrix a lash made of a single strip of wrapped leather some eight feet long.

"Remove her crotch strap, and stretch her tight.  I want unrestricted access to the pretty little cunt of hers," Matrix barked as she tested the whip with a loud, precise crack.

Dominoe gasped despite herself as the locks were removed and the dildoes were slowly withdrawn, still vibrating so powerfully their shafts were blurred and distorted.  An assistant carefully repositioned the crotch of the sexy spy's body suit back over her aching pussy while the winches controlling her wrist manacles began stretching her painfully tight.  Dominoe gratified her hosts by gasping prettily and struggling in her restraints.

"Excellent," Donna Matrix slipped on a pair of leather gloves while she admired the shapely super spy now stretched tightly on the X-shaped cross. "Now replace her blindfold, and set the frame to spinning.  Nothing like starting the day with a good hard whipping, eh Dominoe?"

"Bastard," Dominoe hissed as the technician replaced her blindfold, plunging Dominoe back into darkness.  Despite her tough words and sexual prowess, she was still a mortal woman.  And her pussy, after hours of non-stop stimulation, throbbed with hypersensitivity -- the kiss of the whip would be unbearable agony.  And the cameras were everywhere, recording the most terrible details of her torture in intimate detail.

The attendants backed away, and the frame started to rotate, slowly at first, but then picking up the pace until it completed a full round trip every two seconds.  To the tightly bound and blindfolded prisoner, the rotating rack itself represented an exquisite psychological torture.  In less than a minute the redheaded spy was completely disoriented and her head swam as centrifugal force drove the blood toward her head and feet.  The unseen lash could come from anywhere and any time, and the tight thigh restraints ensured that her tingling crotch presented a particularly vulnerable target.

Donna Matrix allowed Dominoe several minutes to stew in her own juices, aroused herself at the beautiful spy's refusal to beg for mercy.  And when the first blow finally landed, ripping a neat incision in the nylon fabric covering Dominoe's left breast, she still managed to deny her captors the satisfaction of a pitiful, desperate cry.  Instead, she merely let out only subdued yelp almost is if she were still gagged.  At this point Donna Matrix knew that she was up against one tough cookie.

But she loved a challenge.

The billionaire madwoman laid into Dominoe with unrelenting fury, slowly shredding the silky body suit off her prisoner's body.  Dominoe lost consciousness occasionally, and when she did, she was quickly revived by the attending doctor, only to have the dimensions of her torture increased.  First nipple clamps were added, then progressively heavier weights that shifted constantly on the rotating frame causing extreme pain.  Then came a tiny, high-tech clitoral vibrator that bombarded the young spy with desperately unwanted erotic stimulation.  But by this time Dominoe was also choking on an eight-inch penis gag so any attempt to protest her treatment was impossible.

Two hours later, a sweat-soaked but well-satisfied Donna Matrix delivered a final stinging blow to her delirious victim then handed her whip - a broad-bladed single lash lined with steel studs - to an assistant.

"That's enough for this morning," Matrix announced as she toweled off. "I must go prepare for the demonstration. Our little guest needs to rest up for her big adventure."

The frame finally rotated to a halt for last time to reveal Dominoe hanging lifelessly in her restraints, stripped naked under the lash with skin blazing bright red and oozing blood around her breasts and crotch.  Her nipples sagged under the weight of the clips and not a woman in the room to glance at the clit vibrator without feeling a pang of sympathy.  Yet despite the continued presence of the clips, the gag, and the vibrator, Dominoe's eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply in a mix of deep sleep and unconscious oblivion.

"Clean her, and attend to her wounds. " Matrix removed her gloves like a doctor finishing up with a patient. "Then take her to the special bedroom I've prepared for her."

"Of course, madam, " one of the technicians' smiled.  He had seen Dominoes "bedroom" and her knew for certain the young spy would not be getting much rest.

* * * *

"Time to wake up, slut. Did you have a nice nap?"

Given the circumstances, Dominoe did not even deign to justify her jailers question with an answer.  Dominoe's "bedroom" was a plastisteel vault somewhere in Donna Matrix's airship, adjoining her extensive bondage playground.  Dominoe herself was stripped completely naked and strapped down to an examining table, with heavy leather cuffs at her wrists and ankles, and thick black belts holding her firmly against the padded leather surface.  Her only item of clothing other than the heavy black slave collar that she had worn since her capture was a black facial harness with an integrated ball gag and fittings than held her head completely immobile facing straight up.  Directly over Dominoe's bed were three razor sharp pendulum blades that swung back and forth over her prostrate body.  As long as she remained completely motionless the blades maintained the same height above the table, but any motion caused them to descend another notch toward her.  Even gentle tugs or twitches were enough to trigger the delicate sensors attached to her bondage, and any sort of REM sleep would almost certainly mean her death.  One of Donna Matrix's assistant torturers had taken great pains to explain that her chamber was to be locked up tight for the next six hours until the evening's festivities and that Matrix had forbidden them from coming to her aid for any reason.  The heiress knew well of the sexy spy's fetish for bondage and danger -- her six hour "rest" in the deadly trap amounted to intense nonstop foreplay.

"Well, now that you're so well rested, its time we got you ready for the demonstration."

Dominoe was released from her sweat-soaked bed and was immediately secured in a rubber singleglove, heavy leather shock belt, and ankle chains.  Only then was her facial harness removed and she was led by two assistants to the showers.  After a quick cold shower she was secured to a beautician's chair where she was treated to a complete makeover - expert makeup, an immaculate hairstyle, and a liberal application of flesh tone makeup base to conceal the mass of bruises forming all over her sore body.  Finally, she was given a shot of a high-energy sucrose solution laced with vitamins of the type that had served as her sole sustenance during her stay with Donna Matrix.

Just then another assistant arrived carrying a hanging bag and accessory case.

"Ahh, your wardrobe for the evening."

The ever-smiling but completely insane chief assistant unzipped the hanging bag to reveal a high tech  catsuit made of a glossy kid leather, custom-cut with a narrow waist and flaring bust clearly designed for a certain woman.  It took Dominoe several moments to recognize it as her own combat uniform, freshly cleaned and lightly oiled.  And the knew right then that Donna Matrix had been telling the truth - she intended to kill Dominoe that night.  Why else would she want to remind Dominoe of her former identity?

"Though you came here without CATT sponsorship, we've taken the liberty of replacing your insignia, just so everyone will know who you are."

Dominoe could see that the woman was correct.  The shoulder patch showing the red rook on a pale yellow background - the emblem of CATT - had been replaced.  Another assistant removed her belt from the accessory bag to show that it too now bore the symbol of the rook in brushed steel.

"Time to get dressed Dominoe," the white-coated woman smiled as she drew the hidden zipper down the back of the catsuit.  "We wouldn't want to miss the party, now would we?"

* * *

No one ever knew what to expect at Donna Matrix's private affairs, but one thing was certain, it would be wild and raunchy.  The guests had all arrived by 6:00, shuttled from Paris to the dirigible on small chase planes that could easily dock to the mammoth craft.  The guests included kings, prime ministers, foreign ambassadors, warlords and business tycoons, all of whom owed much of their wealth to their alliance with Matrix Chemicals. Even those who would not normally have attended such an event had cancelled other engagements amid rumors that the beautiful western superspy known as Dominoe would die for their entertainment that very night.  That was one invitation that was simply too enticing to turn down.

Donna Matrix was normally an extravagant entertainer, but when the guests entered the grand ballroom, they found to their delight that the large space had been decorated in a Wild West theme.  The Chippendale tables had been removed and replaced with rough-hewn benches set with stoneware instead of the usual fine china.  Even the walls now wore a façade of bleached white wooden planks and a kettle of stew hung oven an open campfire in one corner of the room.  The floor had been covered with sand and the center of the room now resembled a western dessert, complete with rock outcroppings, tumbleweeds, cactus, and an upended prairie schooner.  Waiters dressed in jeans and western shirts led the immaculately dressed guests to their seats and Donna Matrix finally stood up to address the crowd.

"My friends, welcome back to the Wild West.  The old ways are dead, and the wealth of a New World order is lying on the ground for the taking.  In this world the power goes to those with the ambition and vision to travel strange new lands.  In the West, the strong take what they want!  Today is the new Wild West!"

The crowd clapped amiably in agreement, if not full understanding.

"But of course, there were always a few brave souls that represent law and order, even in this new Wild West.  Allow me to demonstrate that fate that awaits them all.  Gentlemen?"

At that, Donna Matrix clapped her hands and two servants swung the main doors open to admit a breathtaking sight, a woman mounted on a white horse!  If was Pixie, the former CATT operative known as Nightcat, now dressed in the costume of a sexy wild west vigilante, with skin-tight leather pants, a white satin blouse, cowboy boots, a white hat, white leather gloves, and a gun belt with a silver pistol strapped to her thigh.  She wore a white silk scarf around her throat and a marshal's badge on her chest.  Her spurs jangled on her boots and there was no sign at all that she was bound to the horse.  In fact, judging from the look in her eyes, she was totally engrossed in her role as a wild-west law woman -- no doubt thanks to extensive mental conditioning on the part of Donna Matrix.

"Box canyon," the brainwashed spy said as she dismounted from her horse in the center of the desert landscape and drew her gun. "It's a trap.  I'll have to take fight them right here."  She took up a defensive position behind one of the rocks and began taking bullets out of the vertical leather slots in her belt and placing it on the rock beside her.

Even as she worked, Pixie kept her eyes trained on the door, which to her was apparently the entrance to the "box canyon" where she now found herself trapped.  Her hair and makeup had been exquisitely applied making her look every bit the part of a Hollywood cowgirl - a blonde pulp adventure heroine in white satin and tight leather, tough but extremely sexy.

And Pixie didn't need to wait long for her pursuers, for after a moment a gang of men sprang into the room from every entrance -- in front, behind, and above her -- whooping and shooting into the air.   The trapped marshal immediately opened fire, blasting men with expert precision.  She efficiently dropped six men in her counter-ambush before the remaining gang dismounted and took cover.

The crowd looked on in shock as the gunfight began in earnest, the room degenerating into a riot of thundering guns, billowing smoke, and shouting men.  Many of the guests attempted to upend the tables and seek cover, thinking they had fallen victim to a bizarre hit.  Only when the Marshal picked off one of the overhead snipers, sending him dropping to the table below, did they see what was really going on.  The man had been struck, not with a bullet, but with a small steel dart propelled by a low-grain cartridge.  To increase the realism, the darts were apparently laden with some sort of powerful drug that induced pain and progressive muscle spasms, finally leading to unconsciousness.  The effect was not unlike an actual gunshot wound but the lack of blood and the deep steady breathing of the "dead" suggested that the effect was only temporary.  Still, the danger of being hit by stray gunfire was very real and several members of the wait staff were dropped within the first few minutes of the battle.  But once the crowd's fear of sudden death was assuaged, they were irresistibly drawn into the desperate struggle unfolding on the stage all around them.

Surrounded on all sides, the daring cowgirl engaged in a fierce firefight with the some 15 men, all pouring a withering rain of gunfire down on her precarious position.  Yet the speed and marksmanship of the former spy was absolutely superb, and she picked off her attackers one by one with quick peeks from behind her rocky cover.  At the rate things were going, it looked as if the bandits just might find themselves defeated at the hands of the lone cowgirl.

The bandit leader realized this too.

"Attack boys!  Take this bitch down!"

With a rebel yell the men surged forward, determined to overrun the Marshal's position en mass before she could defeat them individually.  The blonde gunslinger recognized their attack only just in time and retreated toward the upturned deck of the moldering prairie schooner, still firing even as she backpedaled. The once-stunned crowd quickly got into the mood of the melodramatic sport and cheered wildly for the bandits as the blonde lawwoman fought for her life.

BLAM!

Even as the Marshal prepared to slip behind the wagon, a dart struck her in the abdomen and she fell to the ground doubled over in obvious pain.  The crowd let out a whoop of delight as the two closest men sprang forward for the kill. But they whooped even louder when the apparently helpless girl rolled to her back and raised her gun, dropping both men with two firecracker blasts from her nickel-plated .32.  Before the other men could react, she rolled behind the cover of the wagon.  The show wasn't over yet.

Unlike Pixie's tranquilizer ammunition, the bandits' guns seemed to fire another type of dart that left its target conscious but in extreme pain.  From their seats on the perimeter of the stage, the crowd could see the Marshal behind the wagon writhing in the sand and clutching at her belly.  It was only with steely resolve and unsteady hands that she managed to take up her pistol again, dispense its spent shell casings, and reload to continue the fight.

The cat and mouse gun battle continued as before, with the bandits spraying the wagon with a steady stream of gunfire and the Marshal taking quick pot shots as often as she dared, given her limited cover and dwindling ammunition.  But the belly wound was taking its toll on her.  Her motions were not quite as fluid as before and her aim not as true.  She had only picked off two other desperados when another dart struck her in the shoulder, then another grazed her temple.  Each hit was clearly extremely painful and the crowd let off a cheer each time the now sweat-soaked law woman fell to the ground in renewed agony.  Pixie was slower to recover from each hit and based on the look in her eyes she was finding it difficult to remain conscious.  Yet still the fire rained down on her with unrelenting fury, each round capable of redoubling her suffering.  Everyone in the room knew that it was only a matter of time.

BLAM!

Pixie whipped around the lip of the wagon and caught a man full in the face with a tranquilizer dart.  Now only eight men opposed her.  Then disaster struck.

BLAM! BLAM!

"Ahhh!" The sexy gunslinger yelped as a dart struck her in the shooting hand.  Her gun slipped from her fingers and dropped to the sand on the exposed side of the wagon even as she dropped back behind the wagon clutching at her left wrist.

The leader of the men put his finger to his lips and let off an ear-splitting whistle, signaling a cease-fire.  For the first time since the drama began the ballroom fell silent, broken only by the steady thrum of unseen ventilation fans as they labored to rid the room of the choking cloud of expended gunpowder smoke.   The leader dispatched two men to flank the Marshal again while he attempted to engage her in a parlay.

"I see you've dropped your gun, Marshal!"

"I appreciate your ...ahhh ... concern, Pancho," the young law woman retorted.  "Perhaps you will loan me one of yours."  The setting of the room made it easy for the crowd to see Pixie behind the wagon.  Despite her brave words it was clear that her entire body was racked with pain.  Her breathing came in ragged gasps as she rested her head against the deck of the wagon.

"Ha- ha-ha, I think not! But if you surrender now, perhaps we will make your death quick, no?"

"Funny, I was about to say the same ... to you."  Slowly, the Marshal reached down to her boot and drew out a pearl-handled Derringer, and slowly pulled back the hammer.

"You still have spirit I see," the man laughed. "Perhaps I should spare you, and break your spirit as my personal slave.  After, of course, I break each of your fingers and each of your toes and cut out your tongue."

"Tempting offer, Pancho, but I think I'd rather pleasure a buffalo."

"You have an interesting proposition there, Marshal.  I think that perhaps ..."
 
At that moment a man appeared on either side of the wagon, bearing down on the Marshal with their doctored .44's.  But their prey caught them by surprise, blasting each with the derringer even as they stared in amazement.  Before the man had even fallen, the Marshall had scooped up one of her attacker's guns.

"Fights over, Miss Matrix," the bandit leader suddenly broke from character and turned to his employer.

"What do you mean the fights over?  She isn't captured yet!"

"But you can't pay me enough to get shot full of that shit we've been slinging at her all night.  You said yourself that if she gets one of our guns then the fights over. What about your guests?"

"Hmmm, I suppose you're right.  I can't have any of the world's most influential people getting injected with nerve toxins."

"I suppose then that this is farewell, Nightcat!" Donna Matrix turned to address costumed cowgirl still concealed behind the prairie schooner. "I had hoped to string you up and leave you to the mercy of my male guests to lend their members to you as a perch to temporarily ease the tension on the noose.  So it seems that you've won at least this small victory in our year together."

With that she pulled a lever on the wall and told her men to resume firing.  The blonde gunslinger looked to the ground in amazement as a fault line opened near the center of the room, pulling sand and props through it like quicksand.  She looked for an escape to either side, but any move to the right or left would expose her a barrage of poisoned darts and that was simply unthinkable.  Nightcat struggled hopelessly as she was sucked down into the fault line, the sand from either side of the room sliding toward the fault to squeeze her in a vise of moving stone.  The fault continued to widen until it reveled itself to be the widening crack between two sliding doors beneath the sandy floor.  The crowd cheered again at the site of the Marshal struggling against the river of sand as it drew her down and out in to open air.  The she was gone, and along with her the illusory river of sand, replaced by a gulf of dark, empty space.

"As you can see," Donna Matrix turned again to address her cheering crowd.  "the law does not pass away easily, so we had best move quickly."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we stand on the brink of a historic era and every era has its trademark weapon.  The Napoleonic War had the cavalry saber.  The Old West had the Colt .45.  May I present to you the weapon of the New West."

With that, Donna Matrix produced a small remote control and pressed a button.  The wind whipped through the room as the two large sections of the floor slid away altogether, revealing the open sky and distant water beneath the huge airship.  Some sort of aluminum cradle had been suspended directly beneath the ballroom and at the push of a second button, powerful hydraulics raised a large black object up into the ballroom.

It was an aircraft -- an ancient X-14 rocket plane -- a variant of the same plane piloted by Chuck Yeager when he first exceeded the speed of sound.  The vehicle had been cleaned and its engine had apparently been freshly packed with solid propellant, but it must have been at least 50 years old and looked every year of it.  It was hardly the awesome weapon that the crowd had anticipated and many muttered angrily.

"Patience, my friends, patience,"  Matrix assuaged their fears and she stepped around the table and approached the aging plane.

"My invention is not the rocket plane.  Its what's ON the rocket plane.  This."  Like a magician she produced a small vial containing a black substance. "Black ice, gentlemen.  The perfect lubricant.  It reduces the effects of friction and drag to almost nothing.  The X-14 rocket plane you see before you is fresh from the Air Force bone yard, a worthless relic. Yet with a fresh engine and a thin coating of black ice this antique becomes a fully capable spacecraft. Or a ballistic missile."

The murmurs of the crowd could be heard even over the whip of the wind.  Could it be true?

"And who better to pilot this historic craft on its second voyage into history, than the most infamous agent of the Old World order, the lovely, the incomparable, Dominoe."

At that the door was opened and Dominoe was ushered into the room, clad once again in her skin-tight catsuit of black kid leather, neatly styled hair spilling down over her shoulders to the level of her shoulder blades.  She looked fresh and defiant despite her recent ordeals, thanks largely to the full coverage of her uniform and the heavy makeup base that concealed the bruises on her exposed skin and the bags under her eyes.  At first the crowd muttered uneasily - almost everyone in the room had had at least some contact with the beautiful spy, generally to their great economic and political expense.  But the heavy manacles holding Dominoe's arms behind her back and the slave collar around her throat were reassuring and as the spy was lead toward the X-14 by a team of guards it was clear the Dominoe was exactly what Donna Matrix claimed - a prisoner.

As soon as Dominoe was led into the room she could guess exactly what Donna Matrix had in mind.  The ancient X-14 in its launch cradle, once coated with the Black Ice, would be capable of slicing through the atmosphere almost completely unimpeded.  Even with its small engine the speeds it could attain would be enormous.  With an appropriate warhead and an inexpensive guidance system, it could be used to destroy any target on the planet.  And the cockpit canopy stood open, with an array of heavy straps waiting to hold the craft's "pilot' tightly in place on its doomsday flight.  And she could make a good guess who the pilot was.

"Good evening, Dominoe, you're looking lovely this evening.  Enjoy your little rest?"

"Very much so, yes." Dominoe smiled with remarkable calm. "Did I miss dinner?"

"I'm afraid we can't offer you a last meal.  I fear the G forces would just force all the food right back up."

"How considerate of you," the young agent said, as she glanced down into the cockpit.  Though the craft itself was old, the restraints were state of the art, with a five-point harness of heavy nylon webbing, steel manacles on both the rudder peddles and arm rests and a locking nylon strap for her throat.

"Gentlemen, please help our pilot get strapped in."  As the men moved to comply Donna Matrix turned again to the crowd.

"I said the craft before you is unmodified, but that isn't quite true.  I've taken the liberty of adding 1000 pounds of high explosives in place of most of its outdated instrumentation.  And to demonstrate the power of Black Ice, I will use this ancient relic to destroy one of mans most advanced achievements, the International Space Station!"

Dominoe's breath caught in her throat, but she could do nothing as powerful arms forced her into the seat and secured her in place beneath the five-point harness, pulling the shoulder, waist, and crotch straps snug before locking them into place.  Then her booted feet were slipped into the locking steel traps on the rudder pedals until they too locked snugly into place.  Her wrists were secured in similar mechanisms, allowing her hands to comfortably reach the stick and throttle controls but restricting all other movement.  Her head was secured to the headrest by the nylon throat strap, then a man slipped a high-pressure oxygen mask over her face and followed that with a high-tech black pilot's helmet.  The young spy struggled with all her fading strength against the restraints, but found them fiendishly inescapable.  Her entire body tingled with deadly arousal as her guards made their final checks to ensure that every strap was tight and secure.  The sound of her own rapid breathing was greatly amplified within the confines of the breathing mask as her mind raced for a means to outwit Donna Matrix.

Finally, the men lowered Dominoe's visor and stepped back to lower the canopy, sealing the cockpit from the outside.  The shapely spy at last was alone, sealed inside the deadly craft.  The seat was well padded and under other circumstances she would have been quite comfortable.  In fact, the configuration of the controls around seemed quite familiar, and much more modern than the instruments she would have expected on a vintage X-14...

"To help monitor the progress of our little space shot," Donna Matrix went on as several large screen televisions were wheeled into the room.  "I've arranged for a live feed from the NASA tracking station in Malaysia.  We'll also display the live video feed from spacestationcam.com to take in the view from ground zero. "

The dual video monitors came to life, the bottom screen showing the course of the Space Station Freedom as it slowly traversed the Earth's surface and the top screen showing the tranquil view of earth from the web camera that continuously broadcasted from the crew module of the spacecraft.   The lower monitor also showed the position of the airship as a red blip just off the coast of Ireland, with a second dimmer blip in tow, representing the X-14 with its single doomed passenger.  Waiters streamed into the room with bottles of Champaign as the countdown commenced for Dominoe.

"This is a New Year of sorts," Donna Matrix said as she accepted a Champaign flute offered to her by her personal servant, "so I thought we should celebrate appropriately.  And what better way to welcome the New Year than with fireworks!  Gentlemen?"

Inside the X-14, Dominoe could hear on her helmet speaker the intercom discussions taking place between the various members of launch crew even as a soft feminine voice counted down the seconds towards launch.

"We're cleared for launch.  Repeat cleared for launch.  Power up and prepare to release."

"Roger that.  Powering up."

Dim red cockpit lights suddenly flooded the cockpit with an eerie glow while a small multi-function CRT came to life at the center of mostly-empty control panel before her.  This was the user interface for a commercial guidance system that was secured somewhere in the front of the craft.  Now aided by the glow of the cabin lights, Dominoe took the opportunity to experiment with just what kind of control she really did have over the craft.

She moved her feet on the rudder pedals and noted grimly that the rudders were pinned into place.  Similarly, the small ailerons on the short stubby wings of the X-14 refused to respond the stick.  Her other hand rested on a throttle handle which also had several buttons and knobs.  It was odd that the X-14 would be equipped with a throttle at all given that it was basically a rocket-boosted glider.  Still, she noted with some satisfaction that she could use the trim control on the throttle to control the cursor on the multi-function display.  Not that she would have much time to play with her new toys.  If she passed out for even the first 30 seconds of her flight then the air would be sufficiently thin by the time she regained consciousness that her control over the craft would be negligible.

And pass out she would.  The tiny rocket motor of the X-14 would only burn for some 15 seconds, but with almost no wind resistance that was plenty of time to accelerate to fantastic speeds.  With a pressure suit she could sustain about 8.5 G's  -- ranking her as a world-class fighter pilot.  But the effect of the rocket engine would be double that, and without the benefit of a pressure suit to help keep her blood vessels from expanding to accommodate the down-rush of blood.  She would pass out immediately as the blood was drained from her brain and forced back down into her body.  In all likelihood her heart or a major artery would burst from the sudden pressure, but if she could fight the effects for a few seconds, then she just might possibly regain consciousness soon enough to watch as the X-14 careened into the space station and exploded.  The situation looked bleak.

"25 ... 24 ... 23 ... 22..."

All around the X-14, the crowd was in quite a jovial mood, well stocked with expensive Champaign and cowboy hats as they eagerly awaited the launch of the new world order, a world where they would hold places of special prominence.  Through the tented visor of her helmet Dominoe could clearly see Margaret Bowman, the same State Department official that had sold her out to Donna Matrix, chatting with Mirat Suham, the prominent arms smuggler, even as they nibbled chocolate cordials.  In reality, the entire room was full of snakes, criminals and cowards, all carefully selected so that Donna Matrix could easily dominate them in the future.  Clearly Donna Matrix's "world order" included her at the very top, but the arrogance of the crowd blinded them to this fact.

"15 ... 14 ... 13 ..."

And Dominoe had to admit that Donna Matrix's chosen show of force was brilliant - an entire space station destroyed with a cheap derelict aircraft.  When the full details of the attack were revealed, every government in the world would be thrown into turmoil, all desperate to curry Donna Matrix's favor, or to destroy their principal enemies before they gained an insurmountable technological advantage.  Dominoe knew that Donna Matrix had only a small supply of Black Ice, but the rest of the world's leaders would have no such comfort.  The madwoman's plans just might succeed in making her the most powerful human alive.  Or it might trigger a wave of open warfare that would cripple the world for decades.

"10 ... 9 ... 8 ...:"

The final countdown brought the trapped agent's wandering mind back to the warm intimacy of the cockpit.  She looked back down at her body, black leather gleaming in the dim red light, and pulled again at the myriad of straps that held her in the pilot's seat.  The rig was as inescapable as any bondage trap she had ever encountered - it might take her hours or days to escape, if indeed she could manage it at all.  And in a matter of seconds she would be launched into space with unimaginable force, surrounded on all sides by high explosives. She normally loved the challenged of flying high performance aircraft but this cockpit didn't feel light a fighter at all.  In fact, it more closely resembled a ... resembled a ...

"SR-71?"

"2 ... 1... release."

Suddenly, there was a loud metallic clank and the X-14 was in free fall, released to drop clear of the dirigible before igniting the engine.  The crowd of revelers slipped away to be replaced by the night sky all around.

"Ignitio...."

Dominoe only heard the first part of the word before she was slammed with the force of a fall from a 3-story building - an impact that would continue for 12 or more seconds.  The trapped agent tightened every muscle in her body in a desperate attempt to save her heart from bursting under the strain.  But she could feel her consciousness slipping away like water down drain, her concentration evaporating as the blood was forced from her brain.  Then came black, impenetrable darkness.

* * *

"The ship's away!" Donna Matrix announced and the crowd cheered drunkenly.  Everyone's attention was focused on the big screens, as the little blip that represented the X-14 shot away from the airship and streaked toward the slowly migrating blip that represented the orbiting space station.

"25,000 meters per second," a technician announced, as he gauged the speed of the X-14's path.

"Magnificent! " Donna Matrix beamed. "That's escape velocity.  I could have sent the X-14 to the moon!"

"And Dominoe?" Margaret Bowman asked with a smile.

"At the moment I'm sure she's little more than a bloody corpse still strapped into her cockpit."

"Marvelous!" Bowman cheered. "And I'm sure you'll remember just who turned her over to you."

"That I will, Mrs Bowman.  I always take special care to recognize those who are all too willing to sacrifice their own countries futures in exchange for financial gain."

 "Impact in 15 seconds."

The crowd squealed with excitement and clustered around the monitor as they watched the X-14 close rapidly on the space station.  Donna Matrix's moment of triumph was at hand.

"Impact in 10 seconds .. 9 ... 8 ... 7 ...  "

"Oh this is going to be great!"

"3 ... 2 ... 1 impact."

The two dots converged on the screen and every one simultaneously shifted their gaze to the webcam mounted atop the space station itself.  Yet the monitor showed no sign of a collision.  The earth just drifted peacefully below, same as before.

"What's the matter?" Donna Matrix raged. "Why didn't the X-14 explode and destroy the space station?"

The answer was evident when the gazes returned to the tracking screen.  The small red dot departed rapidly from its encounter with the space station and continued on its way around the earth."

"What is the meaning of this?" one of the ambassadors approached Donna Matrix. "Is this some kind of trick?"

"Missed?" the mad billionaire ignored the question and mused to herself. " But that's impossible.  It only had to get CLOSE and the warhead would have blown them all to hell.  Unless ..."

Donna Matrixes eyes suddenly opened wide and she let out a howl of rage. "Control center!  Are you still tracking the X-14?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And what is its current altitude?"

"14,000 ... 14,000 feet."

"That slut!" Donna Matrix raged. "I'll take care of this once and for all.  You people just relax and have a drink.  This will all be over before you know it."

Donna Matrix strode slowly toward the door, leaving her stunned guests to only ponder at the nature of her latest outburst.  Donna's faithful assistant trailed behind her as she walked angrily out of the room.   But as soon as the doors closed, she turned immediately back her assistant in a furious panic.

"Activate my escape plane immediately."

"But I don't understand," the woman hesitated. "What is the problem?"

" Because that ... slut ... managed to put the X-14 in orbit ... at 14,000 feet!"

"How can that be..."

"The effect of the wind is negligible on the X-14!  It can enter a stable orbit at any altitude.  Somehow Dominoe managed to control the attitude of the aircraft during the burn. "

"But she's still trapped in the rocket ship .. what could possibly go wrong?"

"Fool, what is the cruising altitude of this airship?"

"Why its at 14 thou ... " The color suddenly drained from the assistant's face as she realized where the X-14 was heading.  In only minutes it would pass dangerously close to the airship itself.  "I'll ready the escape pod at once."

* * *

The X-14 shot along at incredible speed, faster than had ever been attained by a jet aircraft, and the sonic boom rolled like thunder for hundreds of miles to either side of her trajectory.  The cockpit on the X-14 chassis actually belonged to an early variant of the XR-71 Blackbird reconnaissance aircraft, which Dominoe had trained on in preparation for near-orbital parachute drops into enemy territories.  This particular X-14 had apparently been an early training variant for ultra-high altitude flight tests.   Most of the controls of the X-14 had been slaved to the servos of the guidance system, but Matrix's men had neglected the unique cross-connect system that operated the SR-71's attitude control system.  It was a simple matter for Dominoe to control the elevator, the challenge was doing it while enduring crushing G forces.  She had grayed out a number of times but had managed to hold the elevator steady, forcing the plane to maintain the same altitude even as it accelerated.  The flight really should have killed her.  The engine must not have burned cleanly, resulting in less than maximum thrust.  Lucky break.

Now all she had to do was orbit the world once at low altitude until she returned to her launch point and eject from the SR-71 cockpit just before the warhead was set off by the airship.  And it wouldn't take long.

By the time she had fully regained consciousness she was already over China, though it was not until crossing the Yellow Sea that she could positively confirm this fact.  The azure Pacific scrolled by beneath her like a video on  fast-forward, then 5 minutes later the coast of United States appeared on the horizon.  Apparently, she would make landfall somewhere just north of Tijuana.

When the Gulf of Mexico slipping beneath the ship, Dominoe knew that this was her cue to bail out.  Since the SR-71 was intended for high-altitude flight, the entire cockpit section was designed to separate with the pilot and protect him (or her) from the harsh sub orbital environment until reaching a safe parachute altitude.  In this case, altitude was not the issue, but rather avoiding being torn apart by the fierce winds that would accompany her egress.  And if she wanted a chance to take out Donna Matrix's airship she would have to wait until the last possible moment to eject, since she would almost certainly destabilize the ancient craft in the process of bailing out.

Dominoe stared straight ahead through the canopy like a wild west gunfighter, gloved fingers poised on the secret triggers that would activate the eject mechanism.  She estimated that when she actually made visual contact with the dirigible it would be too late to eject, so she would have to go purely on timing and instincts.

"Use the force, girl," she muttered into her mask and then, after hesitating for tense moments, pulled the triggers.

The force of ejecting from an orbital object still in the earth's atmosphere was even greater than the forces associated with piloting the X-14 during its initial burn, and Dominoe didn't regain consciousness again until she hit the water.  The pilot's seat had fragmented during the bailout, so it was a simple matter to wriggle out from beneath the once inescapable straps, extract the emergency life raft, and allow its CO2 inflation system to pull her to the surface.

The exhausted spy flopped into the life raft just in time to see the largest section of Donna Matrix's airship plunge into the sea, a ball of bright orange fire with protruding sticks of jagged infrastructure.  Even through her exhaustion, the young spy was flushed with victory at the thought that she had just rid the world of half its major crime lords in one fell swoop.  The only real loss was the legendary British spy known as Nightcat, whom Dominoe had failed to rescue from Donna Matrix's clutches.  Still it was a pretty good trade.

"Good bye Nightcat," Dominoe said to the sky, still alive with bright points of burning debris from the obliterated airship. "At least you're finally free."

"Got that bloody right."

Dominoe sat up in astonishment as Nightcat herself -- still dressed in her now-filthy cowgirl costume -- dog paddled toward the raft and pulled herself aboard.  "But .. but how did you break free from  Donna Matrix's conditioning."

"400 CCs of nerve toxin jump started the process," Nightcat spoke matter-of-factly as she pulled a greenish bottle out of the water behind her.  It was one of the Champaign bottles being served at Matrix's aborted celebration. "The fourteen thousand foot plummet into the sea did the rest."

"So was it you that doctored the rocket engine of the X-14?"

"It seemed the thing to do.  I knew Matrix had coated the ship with Black Ice and could guess she planned to use it as a missile.  When she gave my warm-up act the flush it gave me the opportunity to catch hold of the launch cradle and do a bit of damage.   The solid propellant in the engine was about the only thing I could sink my claws into."

"Lucky for me.  I was in that thing when Matrix launched it at the international spaced station."

"So I suppose that means I saved your ass."  POP  "Champaign?"

Dominoe laughed as she took the bottle from her British colleague and took a long swig of the exquisite Champaign.  One thing she had to admit about Donna Matrix, everything she did, she did it in style.

FINIS