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expecting. Apart from his unbuttoned white coat he didn't look like a scientist, certainly not the ones she knew, and she was unprepared for his sheer physicality. He was tall, at least six foot, and he moved in that unconsciously graceful way that only the truly co-ordinated can. His dark hair was as unruly as his crumpled clothing and his skin had a ruddy outdoor glow. When he extended his hand towards her and smiled, small crows' feet gathered around his grey eyes. His large hand was warm and gripped hers firmly.
    'Sorry to keep you waiting, but we're having to juggle a few things.'
    'No problem. Thanks for seeing me at such short notice.'
    'Your migraine? How's the pain now?'
    'Under control.'
    'Good. Why don't I outline what we do here and then we'll discuss your problem?'
    'Sure.'
    'Basically the work here at Barley Hall is divided into two areas. The west wing deals in pure scientific research, focusing on stem-cell regenerative work - rebuilding spinal cords, that kind of thing. Here in the east wing, where my team is based, our research is more practical. We specialize in harnessing the signals in the brain to help amputees and paraplegics regain control of their paralysed limbs and operate their prosthetics.' Fleming smiled at her. 'We also help to manage pain.'
    Amber liked his smile but she wasn't ready to trust him yet. 'Oh, yeah? What about pain in a part of the body that doesn't exist?'
    'As it happens, that's one of our specialities.'
    Having read her medical files, Miles Fleming knew of at least two other cases similar to Amber Grant's, one in the United States and one in France, but neither patient had undergone surgery. In all his studies he had never encountered anyone who had endured the operation and survived. And, given her achievements with Bradley Soames at Optrix, Amber Grant had not only survived but come out of the ordeal with her brilliant mind intact.
    He turned to the Lucifer optical computer on the desk. It was a translucent cube, housing a pulsing sphere of light on a coil of optical fibre. Behind it was a KREE8 delayed photon plasma screen designed to display what appeared to be three-dimensional images. Angling the screen towards him, Fleming reached for the wireless control pad and retrieved Amber Grant's medical files from Barley Hall's Data Security Provider. The information appeared immediately it was summoned -arriving at the speed of light.
    He looked at the X-rays on the screen, then back at her. There were no obvious signs of the operation, but Amber's hair and eyes drew his attention. Her hair, parted so that it concealed the left side of her face, was as thick as an animal's pelt, blue-black with a lustrous sheen. Her large eyes were shaped like a cat's and the colour was exquisite: irises of the deepest green flecked with gold. She had a fine nose and olive skin. A striking single jade and gold earring dangled from her right ear on the side unmasked by hair. Her full lips were the colour of pale coral. She was one of the most exotic women Fleming had ever met.
    'May I see where you had the surgery?'
    'Sure.' Amber brushed back the left side of her hair.
    Fleming got up and moved towards her. As he bent down to her he noticed her perfume: subtle yet heady, like a rare tropical flower. He studied the neat silver scar that ran from her upper hairline and bisected her temple before running into the hair above the nape of her neck. She had no ear but the scarring was so slight that it looked more like an omission than a disfigurement.
    He returned to his seat and looked again at the image on his computer screen. 'Let's talk about your migraines,' he said. 'According to your records they started eight or nine months ago and you'd never had headaches like them before that. Not even as a child.'
    'That's correct.'
    'You have them about ten times a month.'
    'On average.'
    'How long does an attack last?'
    'Depends. If I don't take an analgesic immediately it kicks in, the pain can last as