Her mind returned to her work. All afternoon she’d been buzzing over her cyberdeck, a Fuchi 6, installing the smartframe that would operate as a semi-independent intelligence to execute programs that would protect her while she traveled about in the cyberspace of the Matrix. With the new Korean sleaze program, she’d be able to slip past intrusion countermeasures that until now she’d been too wary to confront. She forgot all about her annoying date and stretched out in the back seat. Men were far less sensuous than a hot program.

She was almost asleep when the limo delivered her to her doorstep; six minutes more and her head hit the pillow in her bedroom. In vain did the tortoiseshell cat grumble for his food. Daddy’s little rich girl slept, but that didn’t mean the cat would have long to wait. Not much time passed before Francesca was awake again, screaming in terror. It was the same nightmare and it always woke her at the same place, just as the last scalpel had been cleaned and was being put back in the case.

The Empress. Sitting demurely in her bower, holding flowers, and dressed in blue-green, the serene figure gazes out contentedly over the bounty of the earth. Her curves are sensuous and strong, and she is crowned by the sky above her throne.

Geraint almost slumped with relief. Francesca. Well, we certainly know each other, we three. The hint of a feeling slipped past his control, a momentary sadness, the recollection of a precious opportunity now lost, but the impression faded quickly.

His eyes were drawn against his will to a detail in the bottom left-hand corner of the card: seated below the throne of the woman, beyond her sight, was a pelican feeding her young.