"Will this do?" Sol looked up anxiously.

"It's not ironed very well." Isabelle said, eyeing him critically. Then she smiled. "You look fine. We're only going to a bar. Now come on, we'll be late."

What with everything else, Sol had completely forgotten about the meeting with Mr. Sherwood. When Isabelle, on her way out of the door, said that she'd pick him up at about eight, he sat, baffled, staring into space, until he remembered their plans. He'd closed down the things he was working on, and hurried out of the door. When he got home, he'd made himself a sandwich, bolted it down in front of Star Trek, and rushed upstairs to pick out clothes that wouldn't get him mercilessly mocked. He'd just got to buttoning his shirt when Isabelle had knocked on the door.

Mr. Sherwood had invited them to an upmarket bar in the center of town. Sol had aimed not to be underdressed again, and when he got there, he feared he'd gone too far the other way. However, he soon saw that people were wearing anything and everything, the entire spectrum. Three piece suits stood shoulder to shoulder with jeans and spaghetti strap tops along the bar. It was still quite early in the evening, and the floor was relatively empty. Latter, it would be heaving with people, and they would have to fight their way through. Now, though, they could just wander through and order drinks, which they did.

"I can't see him yet," said Isabelle, craning her neck and looking around, "Maybe we're a little early."

"What are we here about, again?" Sol asked, sipping on his overpriced, bottled beer.

"Not sure." Isabelle replied. "He was fairly vague when I talked to him on the phone."

"Shit!" exclaimed Sol, loudly enough for a couple of people to turn around and look at him. "You don't think he's found out about the manipulation, do you?" A panicked look washed over his face, and he lowered his voice. "Maybe it's him. Maybe he's the one doing this!"

"Shut up shut up shut up Hi!" said Isabelle. Sol looked at her quizzically, then saw Mr Sherwood approaching them across the floor. He turned around and attempted to smile politely.

"Isabelle, Sol, it's good to see you. I have a table, it's this way..." He gestured towards a far corner, and they followed him to it. A thin, sharp featured woman was sitting there, drinking mineral water from a bottle. As they approached, she stood up.

"This is my driver, Miss Grayson. I trust you don't mind her sitting in on the meeting? She has my complete confidence, and I would hate for her to have to wait in the car."

"Of course not," replied Isabelle (Sol was still busy trying to find his social bearings). They sat down around the table, Sol and Isabelle on overstuffed stools, and Sherwood and his chauffeur on the bench seat.

"So," Isabelle began, when it had become obvious that no-one else was going to start, "What did you ask us here for?"

Mr Sherwood looked slightly taken aback by her directness. He sipped at his drink - something amber coloured with ice, that left a transparent coat on the glass as he tipped it - and licked his lips.

"Well, as you ask, I was wondering what has been up with WorldPulse as of late."

He studied their reactions, and noted that they were both studiously unmoved by the question. He continued.

"A few days ago, there were 'technical difficulties'..."

Isabelle interrupted him. "There was a problem at the office." She glanced at Sol, then carried on. "I know you're a man that follows the news, but this particular story didn't make it to the headlines in any big way. I think someone took steps to ensure that it wasn't covered much. Anyway, there was a freak accident that destroyed a big bit of the building, and several important computers, and killed a friend of ours." She looked at the table, awash with a cocktail of spilled drinks.

"I'm sorry." said Mr Sherwood, "I didn't realise."

"There was no way that you could." put in Sol, "As Isabelle said, efforts seem to have been made to keep it out of the news. It certainly hasn't been mentioned to the clients. Anyway," It was dark, but Sol fancied that he could see Isabelle's eyes beginning to tear up, and he thought he'd better take over. "I don't imagine you asked us here to pump us for information about down time."

"That was a big part of it, as it happens," said Sherwood, "When a service is as important as WorldPulse to your day to day business, you tend to get very interested in what happens to it. That's really the meat of the other matter, as well."

"Oh?"

"In addition to WorldPulse, I have other sources gathering information - field agents dotted around the globe. They're not nearly as organised as Jupiter, or as regimented, but I find it reassuring to have a check, so as not to rely on the reports entirely. Recently, I've noticed a worrying trend. There seems to be an increasing amount of discrepancy between what the field agents tell me, and what the reports suggest. Now, this could simply be a difference in interpretation. The two sources certainly have very different perspectives on events. However, I am reticent to believe that it is just a coincidence that it has been happening so much more recently. Tell me, have there been any changes to WorldPulse that might have caused this? Should I be worried about them?"

He sat back and fixed Sol in a penetrating stare. Sol stared back.

"There is something, but I don't know how much I can tell you." he said, finally. "I wouldn't worry about it too much - the reports are still as accurate as anyone could expect them to be."

"I see. Well, of course, the non-disclosure agreements and all. It's not important. Will you stay for another drink?"

Noticing that Isabelle was still visibly shaken, Sol demurred. "I think we should probably be heading off."

"I understand." said Sherwood, looking from Sol to Isabelle and back again. "Well, it was a pleasure seeing you again, albeit briefly.

"And you. It's been most..." Sol tried to think of an appropriate word, "Interesting."

The left and walked the short distance to the car in silence. When they were there, in the dark multi-storey with it's pools of light and strangely shaped shadows, Isabelle went for the driver's door, but Sol stopped her.

"Are you sure you're O.K.?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Then, after a pause, "It was just, when he asked about the accident. It took me right back." She trailed off.

Sol took her hand. "I'll drive." he offered.

"You're not insured" Isabelle protested, weakly.

"And you're not in a fit state to drive. I'm covered by my insurance. Give me the keys."

Seeing that it was hopeless to argue, she handed them over. They got in, and Sol set off towards home.

"What did you make of that?" asked Sol, once they were on the road.

"Hm?" Isabelle had been thinking about Ted, and hadn't been paying attention.

"Sherwood. He's noticed something's up. Of course, if it's him that's behind all this, then maybe he was just trying to find out how much we know."

"I don't think so. He seemed trustworthy enough to me." Isabelle said. "In any case, why would he bother if he has Crystal?"

"Good point." They drove for a short while without saying anything. "Do you think we can trust him, then?"

"What?" Isabelle was genuinely surprised; it seemed to take a lot for Sol to trust anyone.

"Well, he might be a useful friend to have. He's got considerable clout, both in terms of money, and in terms of the people he knows, and he's got a vested interest in WorldPulse."

"I'm not sure." said Isabelle uneasily.

"What's more," continued Sol, "He doesn't strike me as the type of man who would be happy that he'd been manipulated."

"Good point," Isabelle replied, although her voice still held traces of doubt. "I'm too tired to decide this now." She rubbed her eyes. "Shall we talk about it in the morning?"

They drove on, and arrived at Isabelle's. Only then did the problem occur to her.

"How're you going to get home? It's too far for you to walk."

This hadn't occurred to Sol, either. "Erm, I guess I'll call a taxi."

"Don't be daft. Stay the night. I don't have a spare room, but you could sleep on the sofa."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I could do with the company, at the moment. I can drop you off at your place on the way tomorrow so you can get changed."

"O.K."

They walked up to the building, and Isabelle unlocked the door.

Sol had wiped his hand across his face. He was getting tired. At least he had got all of his WorldPulse work out of the way in the morning, so he could get away with working give or take non stop on Crystal, trying to track down just who was fiddling with the sources. He'd been bashing his head against it all day, but it seemed that he was still only advancing at a snail's pace. He got up, snatched his empty mug from the desk, and stalked off to the kitchen to make a bad-tempered coffee.

"How's it going?" asked Beth, sneaking up behind him and whispering in his ear.

"Not bad, I guess" said Sol, as his bad mood abated and his body language relaxed. He turned, mug in hand, to face her.

"I've incorporated the stuff that Isabelle found out about Meera, and it seems that it's speeding things up a bit. Still slow going, though."

"I thought so. You look like shit."

"Thanks."

"I mean, you look tired. Strung out. You need to relax. Go home! Take the night off!"

Sol smiled. "Is that an order?"

"Yes! Now snap to it!"

Sol laughed gently and started to walk slowly in the direction of his desk. When Beth slapped his bottom on the way past, he sped up, but only a little.

Sol got home, and decided to take Beth's advice and relax. He changed out of his work clothes, and cooked himself a slow, laborious, and indulgent meal. His resolve held while he was eating it, but started to falter as he slumped, watching decoration on the T.V. After quarter of an hour, it dissolved completely, and he switched off the T.V. and wandered over to the computer.

He'd started to make a little progress when the doorbell rang. He answered it to see Beth, and noticed that she was carrying a bottle of wine.

"I thought so," she said, leaning past him to look into the computer corner, "you're back at it, aren't you?" She walked into the house, and Sol closed the door behind her, shaking his head. "I can see I'm going to have to force you to take a break. Got a corkscrew?"

"Why all the sudden interest in my well-being?" asked Sol as he rummaged through his kitchen drawer. He found a corkscrew, and went back to the lounge to hand it to Beth, who had taken off her coat and sat herself down.

"Aren't I allowed to worry about my friends?" Beth asked as she opened the wine, "You've been working away, and worrying about everything, every hour you're awake for, well, I don't know how long. You need a break. I don't want to see you turn into a burnt out, nervous wreck."

"In case you haven't noticed," Sol passed her two glasses, and she started to pour, "Some pretty worrying stuff has been going on."

"And it'll still be going on in the morning. You need to have a rest. Unwind. We both do."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

"Hmmm..." She looked around the room, then Sol watched as she suddenly jumped to the floor and stretched out, so that she could examine the spines lined up below the T.V. "What video's have you got?"

She ran he finger along them, and picked one out. "Is this any good?"

"Thomas Crown Affair? You've not seen it?"

"I've seen the new one."

"Oh, the original is far better."

They ended up watching it, and drinking wine, and sitting on the sofa. As the evening progressed, Sol did indeed relax, and found himself sitting closer and closer to Beth. She didn't seem to object to this egregious invasion of personal space. On the contrary, halfway through the film she swept her legs up onto the sofa and snuggled up to Sol's shoulder. Usually, this would've thrown him completely, but now it just seemed like a perfectly natural and normal thing for her to do.

At the end of the film, and the end of the bottle, the pair of them just sat their, comfortable and content for a moment, before Sol sighed and flicked off the T.V.

"Well, that seem to have worked," Sol smiled down at Beth, who still had her head on her shoulder. "Any other suggestions on ways to unwind?"

Beth sat up, cross-legged, on the sofa, and thought for a moment, they a wicked glint came into her eye.

"D'you play chess?"