Introduction: This story is the third, the penultimate, in a series within a series. The overall series is the “Cynthia Chronicles”. This story is directly connected to “Simoné and the Second Time Around” and “Marti and the Doppelganger”. The latter left many unanswered questions. Some of those will be answered, some probably not. There are many references to previous stories in the series. If you are confused by some of them, just put it off to my senility. The Cynthia Chronicles takes place in a universe very similar to ours. Unfortunately, it might be too similar.

For any who read “Myrna and the Genetic Disaster”, this is the same story, only with the political rantings and scientific explanations removed. There may also have been a few edits and additions.

This is the eighth part of ten or maybe eleven. I had considered reorganizing the last few chapters of the story as there is quite a bit of skipping around and going back and forth in time. I decided the heck with it and left them as they were.

The girls take a short road trip to Chico, California to visit Rhonda and her family. There is a lot of bonding.

“Why isn’t Shawn at the DEM house?” Aleah asked curiously as we pulled into his driveway. The trek down the long stretch of pavement was smooth and involved only a slight turn, leading us easily onto the parking space just in front of the house. Shawn’s house was big, really, really big. So big in fact that if he ever wanted to move out, all he’d have to do is move his stuff to the other side. To be perfectly honest no one was certain what Shawn’s dad did for a living; Mr. Derringer was as mysterious as he was dangerous I supposed.

Back in the Discovery, Amy asked, “Why are you doing this for me? I can tell you’re no paedo, scumbag social worker, nor a bloody do-gooder, so what’s in it for you?”

“I had a poor childhood. I’m regarded as a bit weird. I can earn big money, but most of the time don’t because I don’t want a boss. Money doesn’t mean much to me, and right now I’ve got some and don’t need it, but you’ve got none and need it. I’ve no friends and often go weeks without talking to any one, so maybe I just want some one to talk to.”

CHAPTER 11
I was officially no longer a Rally Virgin, with the badge to prove it, so I was feeling ten feet tall as we rolled into the site entrance, which was in a field next to a motorway. There was the usual collection of hairy people at the gate, all with the badges and patches now so familiar to me, many in the woolly hats that were almost a membership badge in their own right.

“Loz?”

“Yes, love?”

“Is this an MC thing?”