The Plutonium Blonde

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The Plutonium Blonde John Zakour & Lawrence Ganem DAW Books ISBN: 0756400066

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Episode 1: Average Day It began like any other day, which is the way these things usually do. I was at my modest office, on the New Frisco docks, watching the tourists outside. I was also losing a game of holographic backgammon to the holo-image projection of my trusty, though occasionally annoying, computer, HARV. "Did the Mets win yesterday, buddy?" I asked, as a I examined my rather bleak options on the backgammon board. "They beat Mexico City in extra innings, boss. Ken Griffey IV hit a grand slam in the tenth. This is the latest in the season that the Mets have been in first place since 1986. My projections give them a 33.212 percent chance of beating Tokyo in the World Series this year. Of course, the Mets, as you humans like to say, are due. After all, 70 years is a long time to go between World Series victories." HARV tends to respond to my questions with more information than I want (or need). For a highly advanced super computer, he's rather chatty. "Well, at least we're better off than the Cubs," I said, as I picked up the holodice. "I suppose that is true," HARV smirked, as only he could. For some reason, whenever he appears, HARV likes to take the form of an elderly, balding English-gentleman (or at least how HARV computes the optimal, elderly, balding English-gentleman should look). I guess he thinks that it gives him an air of distinction. I've long since regretted letting him scan the old Wodehouse stories. His Jeeves was becoming a little annoying. "Your turn, boss!" HARV prompted and ordered at the same time like he's so good at. "I am anxious to claim yet another victory!" I shook the dice a little longer just to annoy HARV a bit. Once I thought I had sufficiently gotten on HARV's circuits, I rolled the two holo-dice that weren't really there (even though a good portion of my brain thought they were). They bounced around the holographic backgammon board (which also wasn't really there), much like you would expect real dice to bounce

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around a real backgammon board -- except not quite. Even if the holo-dice weren't semi-transparent and slightly aglow, I would have somehow still known that they weren't real dice. This puzzled me for a nano, and I started to wonder why this was. Then, I thought to myself that I was starting to think too much about that phenomena. I'm a Private Investigator, after all. I am supposed to answer questions, not create them. And yet, inevitably, in order to properly answer questions, one has to first ask other questions. That's just the way the world works. Why is that? I thought. Then I realized that I was getting way too deep for this stupid game so, I turned my attention back to the dice just as they ceased their simulated tumbling on the simulated board. Double sixes. There are times (most times actually) when double sixes is a good roll. This, however, was one of those rare instances when it wasn't. HARV had my captured piece solidly blocked in with two of his four remaining pieces sitting squarely on the number six slot. I was trapped. "I find it hard to believe, HARV," I said, not trying at all to disguise the disdain in my voice. "That you're not loading these dice. I've rolled three doubles this game and every one has been worthless!" "Zach, please," HARV responded, in his best calming, almost but somehow not quite human, voice. "I am the most sophisticated computer on Earth. Why would I want, or for that matter, why would I need to cheat, against, YOU, to win a simple game of backgammon?" He paused for a nano. "Besides your third roll of the game was a double two which you found quite useful. Perhaps you wish me to replay it for you on the wall screen in superslow motion?" "I'll take your word for it." "As well you should, as I have no reason to lie. You have simply run into a series of unfortunate, but very possible, circumstances with the dice. Rolling dice are random objects, subject to all laws of probability. Results of such probabilities cannot be accurately predicted nor controlled. It is the chaos

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theory in action." "Yeah, yeah", I said, reluctantly, "but next game I'm using actual, real, physical dice." HARV's holographic image picked up the holo-dice and shook them ever so properly in his hand. As he did so, he lectured, also ever so properly, as only he can. "Zach, Zach, Zach, you are fixating on the negative. You should be thankful that bad luck at the gaming table does not necessarily translate into bad luck in the more important areas of life. You are, for instance, very fortunate when it comes to armed combat. You have been fired upon one hundred twenty-seven times in your career and have been wounded only thrice, each of those minimally so. You are also quite fortunate in the area of interpersonal communication. Or have you forgotten the lovely Electra. Quite honestly, your luck in this area is truly a case study in chaos theory. Even I, the most sophisticated computer on Earth, have trouble computing what exactly such a beautiful and intelligent surgeon sees in you!" "There are some things, HARV, that are beyond even your abilities." "True," he reluctantly agreed and tossed the dice. "But fortunately for you, they are few and far between." We both watched in silence as the dice rolled along the holographic board, like two very symmetrical tumble weeds before finally coming to rest. Double sixes. As I mentioned earlier, there are a few rare instances in backgammon where double sixes can be a bad roll. This, of course, was not one of those times. "Oh, my, it appears as though I've won again," HARV said with a slight, but nevertheless very noticeable, smile. "If I were counting, this would mark my fifth victory in a row and my tenth victory over the last eleven games. It would also be my 92nd victory in the last 99 games and my 500th victory in the..."

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"But then, you're not one to count such things, are you HARV?" I interrupted, with more than a hint of cynicism in my voice. "Of course I am," HARV countered. "I'm a computer. It is what I do." "What happened to helping me count my blessings?" "Well," HARV continued, "aside from surviving numerous altercations involving gunplay and being romantically involved with someone several steps above you on the social register, you also have what one would describe in the current vernacular as a way groovy job!" I will tell you now. There's something very strange about hearing the world's most intelligent computer use the term "way groovy" but I'd grown accustomed to HARV's eccentricities. "Think about it," he continued, "first the World Council stiffened the requirements for becoming a private investigator, making the test virtually impossible to pass. Then they were forced, by popular demand to grandfather the requirements so only you and a handful of others could remain P.I.'s. And then, all the others either died or retired to New Florida, thereby making you the last remaining private investigator on the planet. Which in turn makes you quite popular on the talk video circuit. Talk about probability gone crazy. Out of the fifteen billion people on this planet, you are the only one who does what you do!" "You know HARV," I said, "with this ability you have of being able to talk without breathing you should really consider a career in politics." "I thought politics required the ability to talk without thinking?" HARV questioned slyly. I was about to give an equally witty response. But before I could, we were rudely interrupted. Three cheap looking thugs in expensive looking suits burst through the office door, turning the simulated fine wood into so much simulated kindling. My first reaction was, "damn, those doors are expensive to replace," which, however true, wasn't that much help at the time. My second reaction was,

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"this was not a good thing," which was more pertinent but overly obvious and again, not all that useful. This is why I hardly ever trust my first two reactions to any situation. My secretary, and probable future niece in-law, Carol, followed the thugs into the room, shrugging her shoulders apologetically. "Sorry, Tio," she shouted to me, as the thugs closed in for the kill. "I couldn't stop them with a mind blast." "This certainly had all the makings of a bad situation. The thugs were big, ugly and armed to the meg. To top it off, they seemed more than a little disturbed. Along about now, smart guy that I am, I realized that this day wasn't going to be so ordinary after all. Episode 2: Rude Interruption! I quickly summed up my three rude foes. These Joes were obviously paid muscle. They were all big men, but one in particular went way past big (straight on to really immense and then some). The first guy was your average, run of the mill, leg breaking goon. Big, ugly, I'd describe him loosely as a not very hairy gorilla, but I wouldn't want to offend gorillas that way. Let's just say that he seemed like the kind of guy who lettered in leg-breaking at thug school but flunked the written exam because he didn't know which end of the pencil to use. The next guy I pegged as the boss. My first clue was that he stood in the middle. Let's face it, when you're dealing with thugs, the boss always stands in the middle. They're a lot like geese in that respect. He also looked a little less animal-like than the others. He was a big man, but he certainly wasn't anything out of the ordinary. He was wearing shades to cover his eyes thus giving him that mysterious look. To further distinguish him a bit, he wore a dirty little mustache and goatee. My guess is that he thought the facial hair made him look menacing. To me he simply looked like he had forgotten how to use his laser-shaver. Both these first two goons were packing high power hand lasers, which of course

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were aimed directly at me. These two guys were trouble, all right, but nothing I couldn't handle. The third guy, though. Well, he brought the trouble up a few levels to uh oh this is really bad. First off, he was immense. I've said that before, I know, but I want to make sure I do him justice here. He was easily more than two meters tall and just as wide. He was a true mountain of a man. This guy could go on the Bahamian diet for a month and still tip the scales at over 300 kilos. He was not someone you'd particularly want to meet, even in a well-lit alley with all your friends around you and a death ray in your hand. The guy was definitely a GE -- thugs that size just don't come from mother nature -- and that set all kinds of alarms off in my head. It takes a certain amout of credits to pull together a group like this. I was certainly playing in the big leagues here. "Come with us Johnson and we won't hurt you too badly!" the goateed one barked, further strengthening my belief that he was the brains, such as they were, of the outfit. "Don't they teach manners in thug school anymore?" I responded, trying hard to sound as unimpressed as possible. "We don't need manners when we got ya' out numbered and out gunned!" Goatee growled. "You're just lucky we're under orders to bring you back alive." "My, my," I stated coolly, "you fine gentleman are certainly in the dark." And then I winked at HARV "What the DOS are you talking about?" Goatee asked. He was obviously a little confused but, frankly, I had the feeling that confusion was a state this guy visited often. HARV picked up on my cue, as I knew he would, because just as Mr. Goatee finished his sentence, HARV turned out the lights in the office and shaded the window screens to black. The room was immediately plunged

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into total darkness, and utter confusion. "What happened?" one of the thugs (Gorilla, I think) mumbled. "Uh," another thug (probably Man Mountain) grunted. The lights blinked back on and my three thug friends found themselves faced with fifteen identical versions of me. "Hey, how'd he do that?" Gorilla asked. "Uh," Man Mountain grunted again. "They're holograms, you idiots. Only one of them is real!" Goatee answered as he turned and aimed his laser at the wall screen covering HARV's central power unit. "We just need to take out his computer and..." Goatee's finger tightened on the trigger and that's when I made my move. I leapt at him and gave him a fast, snap kick to the groin -- quick, painful and, although not very sporting, effective. "Didn't your mom ever teach you not to pick on defenseless and very expensive computers," I said, as he crumbled to the ground, like a wadded piece of discarded chewing gum simulated paper wrapper. Very effective. Unfortunately, my move surprised HARV as much as the thugs. When I moved on Goatee the hologram images of me all remained motionless, pretty much blowing my cover. Gorilla was quick to take advantage of the opening, and he hit me with a haymaker right to the gut. I stumbled backwards a bit but managed to remain on my feet (thanks mostly to the wall I hit) and came right back at him. A look of confusion crossed Gorilla's face as I rushed him. And by confusion I mean above and beyond his normal state. Apparently, he wasn't accustomed to seeing his victims come back after such a staggering blow. "Huh?" he questioned elegantly. "You must be losing your touch," I said, moving forward, which was a lie.

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That punch would have cracked my ribs like eggshells had it not been for the armor I wear. It's a light, but extremely strong, carbon alloy specially designed for me by my good buddy: Dr. Randy Pool. It can absorb heavy impacts and even light laser fire with no problems. It gets a little itchy in warm weather but a man who makes a living poking his nose into places where it doesn't belong can never to be too careful. I gave Gorilla a second to wonder about his shortcomings and then moved in for the kill. "Next thing you know, you'll develop a glass jaw," I said. Then I let loose with a laser-fast right cross to his block-like chin. This wonderful look of total shock and confusion swept over Gorilla's face as he flew backwards through the air like an old-fashioned Mack truck off a building. To him, it was as though every rule in the world had suddenly been reprogrammed. Some slightly-above-average Joe had just taken his best punch, shrugged it off and then hit him harder than he'd probably ever been hit before in his life. This is the kind of moment that PI's live for. Gorilla flew over my desk crashed into the wall and then fell to the floor, each time taking the worst of the deal. I smiled. I was quite glad that Randy had had the foresight to design my armor so it was soft-wired to my muscles. In times of need I can draw juice from its circuits, channel it directly into my movements and basically give my muscles a quantum-sized helping hand. It gives me a nice trump card to play. Unfortunately, however, I'd used my trump card too soon. Two thugs were down but my luck was about to run out because the third thug, Man Mountain, chose that moment to join the fray. A fist the size of my desk chair swatted me from the right and sent me tumbling. I felt this one, even through the armor, and this time when I hit the wall, I felt it crack (at least I hoped it was the wall). Man Mountain gathered me up from the floor and used his massive girth to drive me into the wall that housed HARV's computer screen. I quickly juiced-up my fist with energy from the body armor and countered with a jab

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to the behemoth's gut. Sparks flew. He smiled. I gulped. "I no need silly armor," he said as he wrapped his fingers around my throat. "I made in 2019 before tests banned. Made real strong." "And exceptionally bright as well," I said, trying as always to remain calm and witty, or at least as calm and witty as possible when being strangled to death by a giant, trained killer. "You know, if they decide to make Dumb and Dumber 16 you could star in both roles." If I had been wearing my enhancers I might have been able to match him muscle for muscle. But the enhancers are so high-tech that they sometimes fall completely off the cutting edge and don't always work the way they should. They were in the shop at the moment being "modified and improved" (translation - "Fixed"). So the situation called for a different strategy, something less high tech, but, hopefully, just as effective. I flicked my left wrist in just the right way and my trusty Colt-45 popped neatly into my hand from its forearm holster. Guns are nasty, messy items, but there are times when nasty is called for, and messy is just something you have to live with. Unfortunately, Man Mountain had either anticipated this move or reacted with surprising speed. He used the hand that wasn't holding my throat to pin my gun arm and with it my gun, firmly to the wall. Then he smiled at me. It was one of those "ha ha, you're even dumber than I am" smiles. That was especially nasty, especially because in this case, it rang so true. "I talk not good but I smarter than words. When I strangle you, your armor, I know you wear, no help." He began tightening his grip on my throat with his giant atomic vice of a hand. "Hey," I gasped, "I thought your boss said you needed to bring me in alive."

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"Remember," he smiled, "I not too bright." And his fingers tightened even more. His giant fingers cut off my air and threatened to crush my throat entirely. I felt my eyes roll back in my head and the world turned gray around the edges. This was not good. I began to regret not ordering the body armor in turtleneck. Episode 3: All In A Days Unconsciousness beckoned as Man Mountain tightened his grip on my throat. The dark void opened and I felt the urge to plunge into the nether and let its peaceful shadows cover me in the big sleep. That was when I knew I was in big trouble. I always get way too metaphoric when I'm facing death. I forced myself away from the pretentious verse, focused my mind on the logic that had kept me alive all these years, and quickly reassessed my situation. On the negative side, this mega-huge, genetically engineered, professional killer was strangling me to death with one hand while pinning my left arm (and my gun) to the wall with his other hand. On the positive side, I still had one arm free. HARV, my trusty computer, was up and fully operational. And Carol, my secretary, was ready to use her psi powers (or her fists) to do whatever she could. Back on the negative side, however, Carol's psi attacks had been ineffective against Man Mountain and HARV had yet to formulate a credible plan for counter attack (he's not really programmed for violence.) As a result, neither of them had been able to do anything other than watch helplessly as Man Mountain gleefully continued to strangle me to death. Darkness began to drift over me like a black fog of eternity and the prosaic tone of my thoughts told me that I was losing it again. I fought back the metaphors and focused my thoughts on Man Mountain. He had to have a

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weak spot, something I could take advantage of. I was obviously missing something here. "You die soon!" he laughed, squeezing my throat, as though he were wringing out a wet wash cloth (that he really despised). "Kill you then have fun with your secretary. And she not able to stop me!" Okay, obviously this guy's weak spot was his mind. But he was right, Carol couldn't stop him. Under normal circumstances she should have been able to freeze him with a glance, turn his gray matter into a frozen daiquiri and have him dance the bossa nova with the coat rack (Carol has a distinctive Latin American flair to her psi attacks). She was a class one psi, and yet for some reason she couldn't penetrate his cranium. Then it hit me! Man Mountain had to be wearing a psi-blocker. That may seem overly obvious but you have to remember that psi blockers are rare devices. They're experimental, cost a fair amount of credits to make and tend to liquefy the internal organs of the wearer if worn too long. Apparently though, that was a risk that Man Mountain (or whomever sent him) was willing to take. The psi-blocker had to be somewhere near Man Mountain's brain because, as any child knows, the closer to the brain the better the protection. I needed to find it and disable it fast. My only hope was that it wasn't implanted in his skull. "HARV," a hoarse whisper was all I could manage. "Scan his head." "Scan for what?" HARV asked. "For a psi-blocker," I wanted to say, but my air was just about gone and I couldn't say anything further. HARV would have to figure it out for himself. "Well, he's ugly," HARV began unhelpfully. "As ugly as he is massive, although those two qualities are difficult to compare, one being objective, the other being totally subjective." HARV took a brief time out to collect more data. "His nose is roughly the size of an adult athletic shoe. The inner lining is

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also slightly hairier than normal, which is gross, but relatively common in genetically engineered beings. I for one am certainly glad the council banned most of these experiments." I rolled my eyes in frustration (and pain). "His eyes are smaller than normal and relatively pupil-less. They have a rather cold, cunning look to them although, judging by his speech patterns, any sign of intelligence is probably coincidental. "His mouth cavity is roughly one half cubic meter large. That's just an estimate. I could give you an exact measurement but I'd rather not get that intrusive. I fear the malodorous power of his breath." I was as good as dead. I knew it. All I could hope for now was that Man Mountain would find a way to strangle HARV when he was finished with me. "Oh, he also has a psi-blocking device in his left ear." Bingo. Luckily (and lucky is a relative term when you're being strangled to death by a genetically engineered killing machine) Man Mountain had pulled his face close to mine, presumably to limit my movement while also getting an up close and personal view of my death. Under normal circumstances this would have been a wise move, since his girth blocked me from doing much of anything. But (as I said), luckily, his close proximity allowed me to reach into his ear with my free hand (not the most wonderful experience) and pull out the ear piece. Man Mountain was so engrossed in my on-going strangulation, that he didn't even notice. It's always nice to see someone who enjoys their work, especially when that gives me the upper hand. I turned to Carol, who was busy pelting Man Mountain's back with ineffective punches. I gave her a pleading look. Thankfully, Carol is quicker than HARV when it comes to unspoken communication. "Drop him," Carol ordered and furrowed her brow.

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Man Mountain froze in his tracks and his eyes glazed over. Carol had locked on to his mind like a cute little psi vice and, without the blocker, his mind was putty in her hands. He loosened his grip on my throat and I slid down the wall to the floor, gasping gratefully for air. "Turn around," Carol commanded. Man Mountain obeyed. "I'm going to hit you so hard it's going to knock you out cold," she said. Then she tapped him with her finger and he crashed to the ground like a kiloton of bricks on Jupiter. "Nice work, " I said as I slowly climbed to my feet. She puffed on the tip of her finger like it was an old revolver. "Thanks, Tio," she smiled. The hologram of HARV reappeared in the middle of the room. "What about me, Boss?" "We'll talk about it later, HARV." "Nobody move!" the boss thug (Goatee) suddenly shouted. He had regained his senses during my scuffle with Man Mountain and had now gotten the drop on us. He grimaced as he spoke (obviously in pain) and he supported himself with one hand on the wall, but the other hand held a laser which was aimed directly between my baby brown eyes. I had underestimated the man. "No, tricks!" He ordered. "From this angle I can blow any of you away. And I will, orders or no orders!" He was right about the angle. A flick of the wrist and he could easily blast me, Carol or even HARV's giant wall screen, which housed his main logic chips to a pile of atom-sized, well, atoms.

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Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Episode 4: Bright Idea Okay, so this was another one of those bad situations in which I so often find myself. I was locked in the laser sights of a trained killer, who wasn't exactly fond of me to begin with and was certainly even less fond of me after my snap kick had "made him a soprano". Goatee was still wearing his psiblocker so there was nothing Carol could do to stop him. HARV, as I mentioned, being a computer/hologram is great at dishing out information, but usually not all that useful when it comes to disarming trained assassins. Still, a good computer user knows how to make the most out of his equipment. "Okay, okay you got us," I said raising my arms over my head, in the universal (except on Glad-7) 'I give up' gesture. As I did so, I carefully positioned myself so I was facing my angry foe. I made extra certain that I had my back totally to HARV's full wall screen. I nudged Carol and she casually positioned herself the same way. I only hoped HARV (who despite being only a hologram, also had his arms up) was able to pick up on my signal this time. "Good," Goatee snickered, as he limped towards me a bit, "I'm glad to see that you know when you've been beaten." "Of course I do," I said, trying not to laugh at his limp, as it is usually not considered a good career move to laugh at somebody who is holding a laser on you. "I'm a bright guy." I looked at HARV but his holographic face seemed impassive. "I mean I'm a really really really bright guy." "And humble too," Carol mumbled. "Yeah, well being bright doesn't help a whole lot when you got a laser sight trained on your brain," Goatee offered.

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"Well," I stated calmly, "it does if your computer is also very very very bright," I elbowed HARV's wall unit, "and not so dense." "Oh," HARV said, with a smile. "I get it." "Get what?" Goatee shouted as he shook the laser at me. "I said no tricks, Johnson. I swear, I'll atomize you right now, if you don't tell me what the DOS you're talking about?" "You don't see," I said. "Huh?" he replied, obviously slightly more confused than normal. "You don't see," I repeated loudly. And HARV finally came in on cue. The giant screens behind me suddenly merged into one giant, hyper bright, wall of blinding white light. "Ahhhh," Goatee yelled, more out of surprise than anything else. He covered his eyes with his hands as if he had just had his picture taken by a camera with a gigawatt sized flash bulb. I leapt across the room and grabbed the blinded thug. I hit him with an elbow to the gut then used a neat shoulder throw to bring him to the ground and disarm him in one smooth fluid motion. Electra would have been proud of me. I flicked my left wrist, popping my gun back into my hand and shoved the barrel halfway up Goatee's nose and (politely) said, "Now it's your turn to do some talking. Who sent you?" He glared at me in cold, angry silence. It was quite obvious that I was not on this guy's Holiday e-mail list. "Fine, you don't have to talk," I told him. "My secretary here, besides being cute as a button, is also a class one psi." I pulled the psi-blocker from his ear and stuck it in his face for effect. "And without this she can read your mind like a cheap five page, made for holovison screenplay." Carol stared at the thug for less than a nano then smiled. "He works for

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ExShell," she said. Goatee did not appreciate being read. "You freak of nature," he spat. "With the company you keep," I said, pointing to the unconscious Man Mountain, "I'd be careful with the name calling." "Go to sleep!" Carol ordered. Immediately, Goatee's eyes glazed and he fell over, out like a burned out fluorescent device on the dark side of the moon at midnight. "What happened to the bossa nova with the coat rack routine?" "I save the far out stuff for parties," she laughed. "HARV," I said, in my most back to business voice. "Get me ExShell on the vid. I want to know where they come off sending three two-credit thugs after me." "There will be no need for that," HARV stated as calmly and as annoyingly as ever. "HARV," I told him. "Please try to remember, that I'm the human here and you are the machine. Therefore, in theory, you are supposed to do what I tell you to do." "There is no need to establish a connection with ExShell," HARV replied, implacably calm, "because you already have an incoming message from BB Star, the President of ExShell." "Oh," I said, trying (unsuccessfully) not to sound as surprised as I was. "Put her on the screen now." I turned to the wall screen as a window zoomed open. BB Star, an older, but quite attractive, blonde woman appeared in the window. She surveyed my office through her own viewscreen and smiled, ever so slightly. "Bravo Mr. Johnson," she said. "When they come to, please send them

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home. They will be no more trouble to you." "What's this all about?" I questioned, angrily. "It was test," she replied matter of factly (as if she had been trained by HARV). "Yeah, well I hate tests!" I said. "Especially ones involving lasers, assassins, and tricky math problems!" BB remained calm and steady, her big blue eyes never leaving mine. "I run a big company Mr. Johnson. I don't spend credits on anything or anyone unless I know for certain that they're worth it." "Am I the only one who's confused here?" I asked Carol and HARV, temporally ignoring BB. "That's usually the case, Boss," HARV said. "This time, though, I'd say no." "I need to talk to you in person, Mr. Johnson" BB said, ignoring the fact that I was ignoring her. "Please be in my office in three hours." "Why, so your thugs can beat me up on familiar territory?" The question was only partially rhetorical. "Not to worry," BB smiled, treating my partially rhetorical question as though it were a non-rhetorical joke. "You passed my test. I will give you more data when we meet in person. The Net is too easy to spoof." "What makes you so sure I'll be there?" I asked. "I understand that your normal rate is five thousand credits a day. I can offer you twenty-five thousand credits a day," she said, her eyes never wavering from mine. "That's three hours you said?" "Yes, but you must come alone, unarmed and without your computer. No weapons or outside communication devices are allowed in my penthouse."

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"I can live with that," I told her. "Fine," she smiled. "Until we meet in person." With that, BB blinked out. The window she was in zoomed closed. I turned to Carol. "Did you pick up any thoughts from her?" She shook her head. "It's hard enough to do over the Net under normal conditions. She probably has all kinds of defenses in her system. "Or she may have an extremely strong mind," I turned to HARV. "What do you make of the deal buddy?" HARV's reply was as long (not surprisingly) as loquacious. "At any given moment, depending on the level of trading at the Earth Exchange, ExShell is anywhere from the largest to the fifth largest corporation on Earth. They have access to extensive resources and can afford the finest minds and the most advanced equipment in existence. The fact that they require your services is a clear sign of desperation." "Thanks a meg," I replied. "Maybe next time we get attacked by armed thugs I should let them put a couple of energy bolts into your wall unit." "I did not mean it quite the way you interpreted," HARV said. "I am simply stating that whatever the situation may be, it must be something very dire for Ms. Star to call upon you." "Also, it may be helpful to you to note that it would take more than a few energy bolts to the main wall screen to destroy me. I have logic and memory boards in numerous locations and I am quite certain that Dr. Pool has backups upon backups of me. As, unlike a certain someone, he believes in backups. Besides, you would be lost without me." "That reminds me of something!" I said as I headed towards the door. "Where you going?" Carol asked.

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"You're the psi. You figure it out." Carol stared at me and furrowed her brow for a second. "You're going to Randy's to see if he has any new gadgets for you to field test." "Bingo," I said, touching my finger to my nose. "You're also regretting that second burrito you had for lunch and you have a particularly graphic picture of Aunt Electra in some kind of lace negligee." "I think you dug a little too deeply that time," I said. "Tell me about it," Carol said with a gag. As I left my office I heard Carol say, "He can be so strange sometimes." To which HARV replied, "Well, he is only human!" Episode 5: Moving On I left my office and walked along the docks towards my car, a bright red 2020 Honda Mustang. As I walked, I couldn't help wondering what it must have been like here decades ago, before teleportation devices turned the docks from bustling, grimy places filled with grunts and groans to an overcrowded, sterile tourist attraction filled with the whirs and hums of recording devices. That's one of the perks about being the only PI on the planet. You get to ponder about things like this and pass it off as "atmosphere." Unfortunately the atmosphere was abruptly interrupted, by what I considered to be my most feared adversary. Though thugs, killer mutations and assassin cyborgs may be dangerous and deadly, they aren't nearly as annoying as what approached me now. The press. They weren't all actual, organic journalists of course. With all the so-called "newsworthy" things going on in the world, newspeople just don't have time anymore to actually be anywhere. God forbid, they're interviewing me in Frisco when an Elvis clone slips in his bathtub in New Vegas. So, most

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journalists now have a dozen or so pressbots, cheap low-tech androids that mimic the owner's voice and personality, plus they are fully equipped with direct audio/visual feeds to the network. This way a journalists can chase a dozen stories at the same time while remaining in the cool, safe comfort of their network office. Truth to tell, though, it's only a matter of time before the network executives realize that they only really need the pressbots. When that happens there'll be more vapid personalities on the unemployment line than the great budget crunch of 2017 when the government laid off the House of Representatives. One of the pressbots thrust a broadcast stick in my face and smiled through robotic teeth. "Mr. Johnson, I'm Bill Gibbon the Third from Entertainment This Moment. There was a report of a commotion in your office five minutes ago. Care to comment?" "Not to worry, Mr. Baboon..." "Gibbon." "Whatever. It wasn't a real commotion," I said, "just a full contact rehearsal for my upcoming made-for-HV special: Zachary Nixion Johnson versus the Cheap Thugs in Expensive Suits. Net with your local video provider now to ask about availability in your area. Now if you'll excuse me, I have important PI stuff to do. Never a dull moment when you're me." The press followed me like a pack of noisy rats after a (charismatic) mobile piece of cheese. I ignored their questions and moved quickly to my car. "Door open, it's me Zach," I called to the car as I reached it, still surrounded by the press brigade. The door popped open obediently and I jumped in as fast as I could. Deep down, I knew they were only doing their jobs, and that the media's overzealous pursuit of celebrity stories was what kept me in the public eye, but they were annoying enough to totally drive a guy Perot. "Engine start," I barked to my car computer. The dashboard lit up and the engine gently turned over and purred like a cat on genetically improved catnip.

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"Destination please? So I may compute the quickest, most efficient route," the car computer asked. "Dr. Pool's office," I responded. "There are currently seven different Dr. Pools located in the greater New Frisco area," the car computer informed me. "Please be more specific." "Dr. Randy Pool," I stated, clearly and calmly. "There are currently..." "The same Dr. Randy Pool that you've driven me to every week for the past three years!" I stated, loudly and not so calmly. "Oh, that Dr. Randy Pool!" the computer responded. "Do you wish me to drive?" "For the time being," I said. "I need HARV to give me some info." "As you wish," the computer said as it gently eased the car into the street. As if on cue, HARV's simulated face popped into a window on my dash. "I wish you'd let me override this antiquated car computer. It's embarrassing to be seen with it." "How many times do I have to tell you HARV? A classic car..." "...needs a classic computer," HARV mimicked. "Yes I know. You have made that specious argument to me exactly one hundred eleven times in the past three years." "You think you'd figure it out by now!" I said, and the car computer gave HARV what sounded like the raspberry. HARV, in true HARV form, kept his dignity and ignored us both. "Nice cover up on that Zachary Nixion Johnson versus the Cheap Thugs blah blah

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blah blah," he said, sarcastically. "And I don't even have a virtual processor," I said, ignoring his sarcasm. "That is quite apparent," HARV said, ignoring the fact that I was ignoring his sarcasm. "Give me all the background info you can on BB," I said in a fairly bossy voice (just to make certain that HARV hadn't forgotten who was in charge here). "How much do you already know?" HARV asked, still not quite conceding that I was running this show. "She use to be a stripper." "Exotic dancer," HARV corrected. "You say tomato I say potato, whatever. She married an old billionaire, he died, surprise, surprise, now she's a billionaire." "Well yes," HARV agreed. "That is one way of putting it. Not a very complete way, but it is accurate in its own simplistic way. Would you care for a more detailed version?" "That would be nice," I said, with a wee bit of my own sarcasm. "Her name was BB Baboom. Though I am relatively certain that was a stage name." He paused for a nano, "Yes, here it is, her given name was Betty Barbara Backerman." "I can see why she changed it." "She met BS Star," HARV continued, "then owner and chief operating officer of ExShell in 2054 month three day twenty-one. They married on month four, day twenty-one. He died the night of month four, day twentyone 2055." "We can assume he died smiling."

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"You can if you wish," HARV retorted. "I am a computer, I assume nothing. I can speculate, of course, in matters where variables and probabilities are present and such speculation is imperative but I don't think that..." "It was a joke, HARV." "And I am sure that it may have been funny but, as you know, I am not programmed for humor." "You're telling me," I retorted. "Actually, I have told you exactly two thousand three hundred seventeen times. I do, however, have access to an extensive database of jokes. For example, how many computer consultants does it take to change a florescent bulb?" "None, because no consultant would ever do physical work," I answered. "Oh, you've heard it?" HARV asked. "Only two thousand three hundred seventeen times," I said. "Perhaps I should run a diagnostic on my random number generator?" HARV suggested. "Perhaps we should get back to business?" I prodded. "Oh right, sorry it slipped my chips for a mili-nano. I'm back on line now." Pictures and information about BB scrolled across the window on my dashboard. HARV gave a commentary, as the images and numbers rolled by, too fast for the human eye to comprehend. "The information on BB is quite plentiful before her marriage as you can see. She was featured on Entertainment This Moment and World Right Now quite often during sweeps periods. Not counting references to and ads for her show there are three thousand one hundred twelve references to BB from the ten years before her marriage, three thousand three of those are about whom

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she was or was not dating. The rest are rumors of offers made to her to star in vids, which she never did." "Maybe one of her old flames is trying to burn her now?" I offered. "Credits tend to bring out the worst in people, especially people who don't have a lot of them." "I suppose that is a possibility," HARV agreed, though I could tell from the tone of his voice he wasn't committed to this theory. "Her last lover was Manuel Mani, her personal astrologer." "Okay, we'll file him in memory to check out later if we need to. Anything else on BB?" "She's become quite the recluse for the past year. There is no record of her even leaving the living and office suites of her headquarters." "Odd..." I said. "Perhaps she is still in mourning?" HARV suggested. "Perhaps she's in hiding or hiding something," I said. "How has ExShell done since she took over?" "Amazingly well. Their known assets have doubled. They have been the biggest conglom in the world every hour except one, for the past year. All this while under the guidance of a woman with little education and no formal business training." BB's school records scrolled across my dashboard. "Her guidance counselors all advised her to work with her hands." I started to say something (the opening was just too good) but the car computer interrupted and broke the moment. "Arrival achieved. We have reached Dr. Pool's laboratory." It was just as well, I thought. After all, as HARV so often liked to remind

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me, he wasn't programmed for humor. Episode 6: Science What A Concept Out of necessity, I am a cynic and a skeptic at heart. In my career as a P.I., I have seen a lot, done a lot and had a lot done to me. As a result, it takes a lot to impress me and even more to amaze me. Randy's AMP Lab never fails to boggle my mind. On the outside it's just this big grey box of a building, as boring as boring can be. But, as they say, you can't always judge a fully interactive Net drama by it's openning page. I punched my access code into the doorlock and slowly entered the building (experience has taught me to always enter Randy's lab slowly and carefully). As usual, the place was abuzz with the frenetic energy of high-tech genius run amok. Describing it as chaos gone wild is an understatement. There were 'bots running, walking, crawling, hovering and slithering (at least I hope they were slithering), here, there, and everywhere. Test tubes bubbled, boiled and brewed away. Every wall in the building, including the ceiling, was covered with computer screens (you really have to wonder what he uses the ceiling screens for) and every screen was filled with a myriad of calculations, logarithmic equations and simulation sequences. I scanned the chaos for Randy and finally spotted him at the far end of the room, fiddling away on a tiny 'bot. He was so intent on his tinkering with the midget-sized mechanism that he had no idea that I'd even arrived. As I neared him, the tiny 'bot suddenly sprang to life. It lashed out wildly with a claw-like arm and clobbered him in the face. The force of the blow knocked Randy to the floor and sent me into action. I moved my wrist in that special way that makes my gun pop into my hand and fired in one cool, swift motion. The specially designed concussive shell shattered the tiny robot into a million cybernetic splinters. I smiled. "Zach, what the DOS are you doing?" Randy shouted, not nearly as grateful

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for me saving him as I'd thought he might be. "That crazy 'bot just attacked you!" I answered, some what confused. "Of course it did!" Randy said, as he returned to his feet. "It was supposed to! It is -- was -- an S&M 'bot. It is -- was -- for people who have problems dealing with others but still long to be abused" "You're kidding, of course." "I'm a scientist, Zach. I don't kid," Randy said, as he dusted himself off. "You would not believe the number of advanced orders I have on this." He paused for a second, looking at the rubble. "Needless to say, your atomizing the prototype is going to put the project somewhat behind schedule." "Sorry, about that. I really didn't know." Randy shrugged. "Forget about it. I'll tell the customers that the delay is part of their abuse. No one ever said that science had to be prompt." Randy's really a bright-side kind of guy. "May I assume," he continued, "that you are here for something other than prototype target practice?" "I got a call from BB Star..." "Oh yes, HARV told me all about that," Randy interrupted. "Quite interesting." "Have you had any luck yet fixing my enhancers. I may be needing them on this one" "Ah, now." Randy replied, almost sheepishly, "that's an interesting story, actually. It turns out that most of my major backers don't consider the enhancers flashy enough to continue funding. They are, after all, a relatively low key device. Very subtle in their display."

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"That's kind of the point," I said. "But you see, Zach, our marketing demographics show that the public likes to see action that is more overt in nature. In layman's terms, they like pyrotechnics." "Special effects." "Exactly, therefore I've been working on your gun." "Right you e-mailed me about that, didn't you?" "Zach, I've sent you one hundred seventeen e-mail messages about the improvements and revisions that I have made to your gun's hardware and firmware. You've responded to two. And those were about the color." I unloaded my gun and carefully placed it into Randy's open hand. "You're not going to change the color, are you?" Randy didn't even answer that one. He simply took the gun, motioned for me to follow and started walking across the room. He bumped into a few miscellaneous experiments as he moved (he's brilliant but clumsy), causing some tiny explosions and a small fire. "Try not to breathe that smoke too deeply," he warned me as the janitorial 'bots swarmed into the area. "Though I am reasonable certain that it is only a little poisonous." I held my breath and quickly followed Randy to the work station. He shuffled through some clutter on the work surface, searching. I flinched every time he shook something (as did the janitorial 'bots, who were just now containing the chemical fire). But whatever Randy was searching for, it apparently wasn't at this particular work station. He let out a harrumph and quickly moved to a nearby, and equally cluttered, station and continued his search. Two stations (and ten minutes) later, he found what he was searching for. "Here we go," he said, grabbing a small pellet from a plexiglass case.

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"I've created a new non-incendiary offensive projectile. I call it the Big Chill. It's for use specifically against life-forms who are highly resistant to energy and standard projectile weapons," he stated proudly. "Does it work?" I asked. "Absolutely," he stated emphatically. "In theory." "Is this the same kind of theory that states that if you put a thousand monkeys in a room with word processors, sooner or later one of them will create the next big HV show?" "No, no. Of course not!" Randy insisted. "Although that works, by the way. Archeologists proved last year that that was how they created The Love Boat." "So, you have tested it?" I asked, being extra stubborn. "Well, not exactly. Not on any actual, live, carbon-based organisms, that is. As you can imagine, volunteers for this type of thing are very difficult to find. Animal testing's been outlawed for fifty years and, thanks to the new Clone Protection Act, you can't experiment on clones anymore or even lawyers." Randy paused, then gave me a slightly reassuring smile. "I have computer simulated it though!" "Computer simulated?". I wasn't exactly bubbling over with enthusiasm. "It has performed remarkably well!" Randy assured me. He looked up to the ceiling, "HARV please show holo-program 38-3D." "Certainly, Dr. Pool," HARV responded. I have noticed, that HARV is a lot less sarcastic answering Randy's commands than he is answering mine. I try not to take that personally. HARV activated the proper holo-program and a shimmering three dimensional light show appeared before us. The image of a beautiful woman with three breasts appeared in the middle of the room.

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"Oooh, I do so love a man with brains," the woman cooed. "Oops," Randy gulped. "I meant holo-program 83-D3, HARV!" He turned to me, "Science can be so lonely sometimes." "That's more information than I need to know, Randy." HARV switched the program and the tri-breasted woman was replaced by the image of young, scantily-clad mother feeding her baby in a city park on a cloudless summer day. "Are you sure this is the right video?" I asked. "Hush" Randy insisted. "This is science!" I turned my attention back to the holo-program. A huge creature that looked like a hideous tree with arms, legs and a mouth suddenly ripped through the serene scene, terrorizing the park patrons. Two city law enforcement officers tried to stop the creature but it turned upon them and (graphically) tore them apart with its arm-like tendrils. "A bit graphic, isn't it Randy?" I said, turning away. "I like my simulations to be realistic," Randy answered, totally engrossed in the work. "This way when I'm done I can sell the programs to the networks. It helps offset the cost of the research and development. Besides, kids love this stuff." I turned my attention back to the holo-show. The killer tree creature was now turning towards the beautiful young mother. The terrified woman, baby in arms, tried to run but she tripped over a piece of the dismembered law officers and fell to the ground, twisting her ankle in the process. The background music increased to a feverishly annoying pitch as the creature slowly moved its slavering jaws toward the young woman and her child

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Police-'bots arrived on the scene and attacked the creature but their bullets and lasers bounced harmlessly off its thick hide. Angry now, the creature uprooted a tree and swung it like a bat smashing the police-'bots into rubble, before again turning its attention back to the helpless young mother. Suddenly (and literally from out of nowhere) a computer-simulated version of me fell from the sky, landing dramatically between the monster and the mom. The words: "Computer simulation. Do not attempt this at home," flashed under the picture. "My lawyer insisted I put that in," Randy said, a trifle bitterly. "How the DOS did I fall from the sky?" I asked. "Artistic license!" Randy insisted. "Now pay attention. This is the educational part," he said pointing to the show. I watched in amazement as the simulated Zach popped his simulated gun into his simulated hand. "Time to put you on ice, bud!" he spat. "I would never say anything that spammy!" I insisted. "Your agent wrote your dialog," Randy said. "That's comforting." Computer Zach fired. The gun belched a puff of grey smoke and the shot echoed endlessly as the Big Chill emerged from the gun barrel and flew (very slowly) towards the creature. "Of course, it moves much faster than that in real time," Randy explained. "I just put that slow-mo in for effect, to build suspense." Big Chill hit the tree creature with a less than inspiring "thud," and shattered on impact. A tiny puff of white mist appeared which the tree creature seemed to laugh at. The laughter faded quickly though, as the mist expanded

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rapidly and, like a living thing, engulfed the creature. A moment passed, then two, before the mist dissipated. When it did, the tree creature was frozen solid, encased in a block of ice. "The Big Chill," Randy said proudly. "Get it?" "Very clever, Randy." Back on the holo-screen, computer Zach helped the poor mother to her feet, (the sequence included a very gratuitous shot of the woman's well sculpted cleavage -- "Teenage boys love that stuff," Randy explained). My computerself very sensitively kissed the baby in her arms. The mother, overcome with emotion, kissed me and then handed the baby to a nanny (who happened to be right there), fell into my arms, blah, blah, blah, pan to ocean waves crashing on the beach (you get the idea). Fade to black. "So what do you think?" Randy asked. "I thought it was quite good," HARV said, unable to resist the opportunity to offer his opinion. After all he had been silent for almost two solid minutes. "Frankly, Randy, I think you need to get out of the lab more often," I said. "You're starting to scare me." Randy popped open the handle of my gun, pulled a computer chip from the complex innards and tossed it on the floor. He took a new chip from the pocket of his labcoat and placed it in the handle. "I've also improved the interface between HARV and the gun itself," he said. "Give me your ammo." I hesitated. "Zach, I can make a warhead out of what's growing in your refrigerator. You can trust me with a loaded gun." I reluctantly handed him the ammo and said a silent prayer.

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Randy loaded the gun and then hefted its weight, checking the feel (even though I was pretty certain that he had no idea what a well-balanced gun should feel like). "How about giving it back to me now," I said sheepishly. The idea of Randy Pool waving a loaded gun around is one of the more vivid images from my nightmares. "Don't worry," Randy said, noticing my concern. "The safety's on." A loud bang resonated through the room sending both a shocked Randy and myself sprawling to the ground. HARV activated himself and appeared in the middle of the room, doubled over in laughter (and let me say that HARV's laughter is not one of the world's more melodious sounds). "If you two could see the looks on your faces!" he roared. "Oh wait, you can, I recorded it." At his silent command, the giant ceiling screen showed an instant replay of Randy and I diving for cover on the floor. HARV laughed again then stood up and regained his composure. "Sorry, I just could not resist testing my practical joke programming on you both. I just replayed a gunshot from my audio bank. Nothing else." "I thought you weren't programmed for humor!" I said, climbing to my feet. "Practical jokes are not humor," HARV said. "Good point," I agreed as I walked toward a still shaken Randy. "Do you have anything else for me?" I asked as I took my gun and popped it back into my sleeve where it belonged. "Actually there is!" Randy smiled. "This new gadget is so Madonna! I just can't wait for you to test it!" Excitement beamed from his eyes like the glow of a Chernobyl Cat.

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Experience has made me very wary of Randy's excitement. Any invention that makes a genius inventor giddy is, more often than not, potentially quite hazardous to the guinea pig unlucky enough to be testing it. I'm sure Robert Oppenheimer giggled profusely the morning after he built the first atom bomb and I'm pretty certain that the poor duh who drove the bomb out to the test sight in his pickup wasn't exactly thrilled with his part in history. "What is it?" I asked cautiously. Randy quickly searched his labcoat pockets for the object of his excitement. "When HARV told me that the Exshell headquarters were a "no personal computer" zone it reminded me of this other project I'd been working on. DOS, where did I put the thing?" In his excitement Randy started to hyperventilate a little and actually had to stop for a moment and put his head between his knees (I've gotten used to this sort of thing) but he was up and searching again pretty quickly. "Actually, I finished this a couple of months ago and forgot about it. What with making the video for the Big Chill and the S&M 'bot taking off. I guess I have too much going on. Still, I have to say that this is probably one of the neatest things I've ever created. It's really a shame that I can't patent it. Well, actually I could but that would defeat the whole purpose. Oh well, nobody ever said science always has to be practical or easy." "You've lost me even sooner than usual," I said. "Ah," Randy smiled and slowly removed his right hand from the upper left pocket of his lab coat. "Here it is." He opened his hand and triumphantly revealed to me his newest creation. Actually, it was kind of anti-climactic after the build-up because it sure didn't look like much: an old-fashioned contact lens with some microcircuitry. "It's, um, very nice," I said.

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Randy held the lens proudly between two fingers. The light hit the lens and reflected weirdly of the innards. I saw flashes of micro circuitry and tiny hair-like needles protruding from the inner curved surface. This was starting to make me very nervous. "It's a mega high speed, multi f-band, improved-microwave, controlled organic computer communicator," he beamed. "That's catchy," I nodded. "have you come up with a jingle yet?" Randy walked towards me, the way a hungry man would approach a really big piece of apple pie ala mode. "The lens goes in the eye. The micro pins tap into the optical nerve, connect with the brain's natural flow of electricity and ride directly into the cerebral cortex." "And this is a good thing?" "I'm sorry, layman's terms now. Nice and slow," Randy said and took a deep breath. "It's a portable modem and binary translator. It will enable you to be in constant communication with HARV." "I'm in constant communication with him now," I said. "He's practically in the shower with me." "But only if the shower is in an apartment wired for him or willing to give access to him. Or only if you happen to be carrying a portable communicator. This is a totally self-reliant, fully functional link and it's completely undetectable to scans and blockers as it will actually merge with your cells. The lens is a two way projector. So not only will HARV be able to see through your eyes, so to speak, but he'll also be able to project computer aided holograms through you. The direct input to your brain lets HARV communicate with you fairly silently and his presence in your head should make you nearly invulnerable to psi-attacks below class 1. And that's only the beginning. Who knows what other scientific breakthroughs this will create." "Does it hurt?" I asked as he tilted my head back and lowered the lens to my eye.

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"This is science, Zach," he said, reassuringly. "Of course it will hurt." The lens plopped into my eye before I could say another word. And, yes, it did hurt. It hit the surface of my eyeball like something alive. I could feel it hum to life as my body heat activated its generator. The sensor needles burrowed into my optical nerves and I felt as though someone had plugged my eyelashes into a wall socket. "It'll only hurt for a second or two," Randy said soothingly. "You know, no pain, no gain. The suffering of one for the greater good of all. One small step for man and all that. You'll have to forgive me if this doesn't help. I failed comforting class in grad school." "I can see why," I said, as the pain started to clear. "But I think I'm okay." "Is it working?" Randy asked. "I'm not sure. How will I...whoa.". A beam of light emanated from my eye, forming giant glowing red words before me: "One two three, testing," it read (and somehow said at the same time). Then, slowly, the figure of HARV appeared before me. "Can you see me, Boss?" he asked. I nodded. It was all I could do at the moment. HARV turned to Randy. "Everything seems to be functioning perfectly," he said. Then he turned back to me and when he spoke, the words were somehow inside by brain. "We are due at ExShell in one hour, Boss. I suggest we get moving." I nodded again and finally managed to speak. "Just turn yourself off, HARV.

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It gives me the creeps to see you emanating directly from my eye." "Yes, well, you can only begin to imagine the joy my being inside your head brings to me," HARV said smugly. "It's bound to take some getting used to," Randy assured me. "Just like any new piece of equipment, there are going to be some kinks to work out." "Thanks for your help Randy, I think," I said as I turned to leave. "We scientists aim to please," Randy smiled. "One last question," I said, as I neared the door. "How do I turn the interface off?" Randy hesitated for a moment. "Well, you see," he said, "that's one of those kinks I was telling you about. I haven't quite figured out how to turn it off yet." This, I reminded myself, is why I never trust Randy when he's overly excited. "I was afraid of that," I sighed and I left Randy's lab with HARV whistling classical music somewhere deep inside my brain. Episode 7: Passing Time The drive from Randy's Lab to ExShell headquarters was atypically uneventful, for which I was grateful. Sure uneventful may be boring and not the stuff of great adventure, but it hardly ever gets one killed or for that matter even sends one to the emergency room. It also gave me a chance to rest up and get ready for whatever uneventful events lay ahead. (Hey, a guy can hope can't he?) I pulled into the secure parking area and stared at the ExShell headquarters with a strange mixture of awe and bewilderment. "Incredible," I said to HARV. "Not every company would think of importing an entire castle from the Divided Kingdom here for their headquarters."

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"Few companies could afford it," HARV pointed out. "If they'd just lose that spinning ExShell hologram rotating above the parapet, I'd swear that we'd just popped through a black hole and come out a thousand years in the past. It may be a bit ostentatious but it sure beats those new ultra sterile box buildings we have today." "That may be true," HARV said. "But your anachronistic tastes can hardly be considered mainstream." "I'll take that as a compliment." "If you wish," HARV sighed. "In any event, I suggest you hurry. BB's computer has informed me that its mistress hates to be kept waiting." I got out of the car and started down the finely manicured path towards the building. The scent on the breeze told me that the flowers that peppered the grounds were the real thing (as opposed to holographic projections or the new improved plastic replicas which are so common today). It was clear that a lot of effort had gone into making this path seem natural, soft and nonthreatening. It was perfect in every respect and that scared me. Sure the plants and the dirt were real enough, but they all fit too perfectly into some preordained idea of what nature should look like. There was no oddity or deviation to its patterns and structures. It was trying so hard to be perfectly natural that it was somehow totally unnatural. Before I could dwell too deeply on the ambiguity of my thoughts, I entered the security checkpoint at the building's entrance. It was a small room, sparsely decorated and pretty much what you would expect to find (outside the command center of a paramilitary complex!). Ten burly guards packing heavy weapons were stationed in pairs on the perimeter. A pair of class AAA guardbots with multiple arm extensions (we're talking serious wealth here) stood at the ready in the rear. There was a bio-scanner near the entrance and a teleport pad at the room's center. This pretty much compensated for the warm fuzziness of the garden path outside. Cold and sterile, there were no illusions of softness here. Even the terminally dim-witted would quickly discern the message put forth here.

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"No one gets in to see BB Star without her permission." A guard and a couple guardbots greeted me at the entrance. "Good day, Mr. Johnson," the lead guard said. "Ms. Star is expecting you. The 'bot will take your firearm and communicator now." The guardbot held out a claw, waiting (impatiently) for me to comply. I smiled at it, but the screen that served as its face remained unchanging. I slowly (yet still coolly) popped my gun from its holder in my sleeve into my hand. I gently placed the trigger loop on the bottom claw of the bot's arm and let it dangle there like a 450 caliber holiday ornament. The 'bot extended its second claw so close to my face that I could have shaved (or cut my throat) with it if I'd wanted. "Your communicator, please!" the 'bot said. The word "please," by the way, when spoken by a class AAA guardbot roughly translates into "do it now or I'll rip you limb from limb then gleefully roll over your remains while laughing and doing an electronic macarena." "Without my communicator how will I know what time it is?" I asked. The 'bot's blank screen remained exactly that. The human guard interceded diplomatically. "Your time is not important to Ms. Star," he said. "Now please cooperate. It will jeopardize our efficiency bonus if you are tardy." I thought about questioning his use of the word "tardy." But I decided there would be nothing to gain from it. Also it's never a good idea to mess with a guy's efficiency bonus and even worse to mess with ten guys' efficiency bonuses especially when those ten guys are heavily armed. I slid my wrist communicator over my hand and tossed it to the bot. The 'bot caught the communicator, but the liquid crystal displays on its screen formed an angry frown.

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"Just checking your reflexes," I quipped. I could have sworn I heard it growl at me. Once again, the lead guard interceded. He motioned this time towards the bio-scanner. "Step into the scanner, please." A word about bio-scanners. There was a time when security people could use metal detectors and x-rays to successfully scan for weapons. The advent of biologically engineered armaments, however, completely changed the rules of weapons detection. Making certain that a person doesn't have a hand laser up their sleeve doesn't mean a thing when that same person may be carrying a hand laser up their abdomen (disgusting but often effective). The bio-scanner was a product of necessity from the not-so-good times 30 years ago and has been modified over the decades. True, the world today is a fairly safe place, but for those who can afford to be extra cautious why take chances? After all, in a world of 15 billion people, a few of them are bound to be, well, not running with a full set of RAM. Bioscans are a great way of making sure people and things are exactly what they appear to be. Nobody has ever been able to trick one, until now, I hoped. That is if Randy was right and my new gear was as totally undetectable as he claimed. Electra, HARV and Randy have all repeatedly told me that bio-scanners are completely safe and that the strange tingle I feel when I am scanned is purely psychosomatic. My response to that is usually "I don't care." Unpleasant is unpleasant even if it is all in my head. I stepped through the bio-scanner and felt that annoying tingle, as always, as I passed through. "Is that your original appendix?" the guard monitoring the scanner asked. "Yes, it is," I answered. "It's abnormally large." "I get a lot of compliments on it."

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The guard turned to the leader. "He's clean," he said. Then he turned back to me "although you should add more fiber to your diet." Luckily it seemed Randy was right again, there was no mention of the fact that I happened to have a computer hooked into my brain. I noticed that the skinny guard in the far corner of the room was giving me the visual once-over. This wasn't your average "I can take this guy if I have to" or "what the heck is he thinking wearing a paisley tie with that shirt" once-over. This was a seriously thorough scan that made the hairs on my neck quiver. I knew then that the guy was a psi. Being blessed with a naturally thick head, I'm not a particularly easy guy to mind-probe and, if Randy was right (which he almost always was -- when it came to matters of high tech stuff), having HARV directly interfaced with my brain would make it nearly impossible for this guy to get into my head. Still, I wasn't going to take any chances. Years of experience with psis have taught me a few things about their talents. The ability to peer into someone's mind is an awesome power but controlling that power is a very delicate art. It takes a very fine touch to focus your senses onto one person's thoughts. One slip-up or a lapse in concentration and you're picking up the subconscious rantings of every id and super-ego within thinking distance. It's enough to drive a person insane and it often does. So I've learned a few tricks to sort of throw psis off balance. Here's the best one: psis hate humming. I don't know why and honestly I don't care, but nothing messes up a psi's concentration more than when the focus of the mind-probe starts humming some insipid tune. (I have found that theme songs of eighty year old television shows work the best. There are times, when my fascination with the old ways goes beyond being a simple personality quirk and actually proves useful). I locked eyes with the psi who was scoping me out so intently. He realized at that point that I was on to him so he cast aside all subtleties and pretenses and came at me with a full frontal mind-probe. In that moment the gauntlets had been thrown and combat was engaged. No quarter would be asked, none would be given. So I started humming.

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"Here's the story, of a lovely lady, who was bringing up three very lovely girls..." Slowly his expression turned sour. The veins in his forehead bulged and sweat began to bead on his brow. He doubled his efforts but I would not relent. "With Gilligan, the Skipper too, the millionaire and his wife.." His face grew pale and I noticed that his right hand began to quiver ever so slightly. That's when I knew that I had him. "Travelin' along there's a song that we're singin'. Come on get hap-py!" And that was all he could stand. "He's clean!" he told the others. "He's clean!" He then fell to the ground holding his head and sobbing. He was just lucky I couldn't remember the theme to Leave it to Beaver or it probably would have killed him. The lead guard took my arm at that moment and ushered me away from his comrade. He gestured to the teleporter pad like a paramilitary game show host showing me the grand prize. "If you'll kindly step onto the pad, I'll inform Ms. Star that she may trans you up." As I stepped onto the pad, I couldn't help thinking that one of the few things I hated more than being bio-scanned or mind-probed was being teleported. Porting is bad enough when you have to go from city to city but at least that serves a convenient purpose. Porting from one room to another in the same building (even a building as large as this one), I consider to be either obscenely extravagant or (in this case) obsessively paranoid. It was clear that BB wanted to make certain nobody came to see her without her permission. Part of me didn't appreciate being ported to satisfy a billionaire's paranoia, but the other, more logical, part of me figured that the big credits she was paying gave her the right to a little eccentricity. After all, it wouldn't be the

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first time I'd let a beautiful woman rip the molecules of my body apart, shoot them through a light beam and throw them back together somewhere else for credits (but that's another story). So I stood on the pad as a floating 'bot camera hovered beside me, probably transmitting my image directly back to BB. It was clear that she took no chances when it came to security and I couldn't help but wonder, as my body was broken down and shot through space, what it was exactly that had this woman so worried. Episode 8: Double Trouble I materialized into BB's office and immediately checked myself out to make certain that everything was where it should be. There are a lot of urban myths about materialization accidents that people like to tell. I seemed intact this time and I subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief as I checked out my surroundings. As I have stated before, I am not one who is easily impressed but I have to admit that the sight of BB's digs made my jaw drop like a politician's approval rating at tax time. Larger than most houses (and more than a few football stadiums), BB's office went beyond plush, way past gaudy and right to the I-don't-care-how-it-looks-it's-damn-expensive end of the scale. Without the aid of a telescope, I could just barely see the lady herself sitting at her desk on the side of the prefabricated river that ran through the office. (I told you the room was big.) The gorilla thug who had attacked me at my office earlier in the day rolled up to me in a golf cart. "I'm here to drive you to Ms. Star's desk," he said. I hopped off the tele-pad and adjusted my sleeves. "No thanks," I told him, "I never take rides from strangers, thugs who have tried to kill me or people with poor personal hygiene. Congratulations, by the way, you're the first person to qualify in all three categories." "Thanks," he said. "Tell Ms. Star that I'll walk, thank you. How many time zones away is she?"

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"Huh?" "Never mind," I said as I began walking. "Send me e-mail when you get that last insult." I was a hundred yards away when I heard him say aloud: "What do you mean, poor personal hygiene?" Good help must be seriously hard to find these days. I walked what seemed to be nearly 1/2 a K to the river that separated BB from the rest of office. The great lady sat at her desk on the other side working intently on something or other and never bothering to look up. Her entire desktop was a full-screen computer with a dozen or so windows showing her everything from today's stock prices to the latest episode of the soap opera, All My Clones. I wasn't surprised to see Goatee and Man Mountain standing behind her. If my old landlord, tax officer, and date from the senior prom had been there we could have had an official meeting of the I-Tried-to-Kill-Zach-Club.. A smaller man in a suit stood behind BB as well. This guy worried me a bit. He didn't seem dangerous or anything, I just have this unnatural fear of small guys in suits. I cleared my throat and BB looked up from her work. "Zach," her smile was devastatingly warm, "how nice of you to come on such short notice. Bridge." At her verbal command, a bridge across the river lowered from the ceiling. "I have to admit I was intrigued by your offer," I said as I crossed. "Chair," she ordered. A chair popped from the floor in front of her desk. "Please, make yourself comfortable," she said, motioning to the chair with her incredibly blue eyes. I sat. "Nice office," I said, trying to sound complimentary but not overly

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impressed. "It's humble, but I call it home." "You could practice driving in this office." "I would not know. I am not a golfer," she said. "Who's talking about golf?" "Ah yes," she said with a polite (yet ever so fake laugh) "very amusing." She paused for a moment and I knew that the small talk was finished. "I have a problem, Zach, a problem that calls for your unique services." "People don't call me unless they have a problem, Ms. Star," I said, "or want me to cause a problem for someone else." There was a moment of awkward silence. I could hear the fish splash as they made their way upriver. "I must admit," I said, "I'm flattered that somebody with your extensive resources would need me." "Yes," she said, "this particular matter is one which must be handled by an outside source. A well-paid, discreet, outside source. This will not be something you will be able to add to your memoirs or your electronic comic book. And for Gate's sake, please keep it off the Sci Fi Channel Net Page." "For the proper amount of compensation, I can live with that," I informed her. With that, the small man in the suit leapt to his feet and zipped quickly around the big desk towards me. He shoved a computer-pad and light pen in front of my face. "Please sign to that," he requested. "You are a lawyer, I presume?" I said, pushing his hands away.

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The guy backed up ever so slightly, a bit of fear on his face. "What makes you say that?" he said meekly. "Gates, you don't have to be me to figure that one out. Everyone knows that ExShell and HTech employ most of the lawyers remaining from the Great Lawyer Purge." "Well," he half smiled. "Don't worry," I said, "I'm unarmed." I turned back to BB and gave her a cold stare. "But I don't sign anything until I know who or what I'm dealing with!" BB countered my stare with a smile delicate as a summer breeze at dusk, and yet somehow powerful enough to melt titanium reinforced plexi-steel. It sent a megaton tingle up and down my spine. Still, I didn't let my eyes waver from hers. (It's never good to let potential clients know that they make you tingle.) "You are as smart as they say," she said, breaking the silence. "I'm smarter, actually" I replied with a bit of slyness to my voice. "I just don't let people know that unless they're paying for my services." "I am afraid I cannot tell you what our problem is until you sign a nondisclosure form. I understand that this is out of the ordinary but I will gladly compensate you for your patience with me and raise your fee an additional twenty percent." "Fine," I said as I grabbed the computer pad and pen from the lawyer and signed on the simulated dotted line. "It's worth signing just to find out what it is that you're so desperately trying to keep quiet." I handed the computer back to the lawyer. He examined my signature for a moment then pressed the confirmation button. "Signature confirmed," the computer said. The lawyer nodded his okay to BB.

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"We need you to find something," BB said. "I hope you're going to be a little more specific?" I said. "Let me rough him up, boss!" the goateed thug pleaded, moving towards me. "Like you did so well the last time," I said calmly from my seat. Goatee angrily lifted me from my chair, pulled me towards him and growled into my face. "I want to see how tough you are without your computer and your secretary. I bet the boss would like to see that too!" I stood face to face with Goatee and put my best tough guy foot forward. "Two words," I whispered into his hate-filled eyes, "breath mints." Goatee seethed and turned towards BB. I looked towards her as well, hoping that she was going to stop this before it became ugly. "His point is a valid one, Zach," she said. "I thought you said there'd be no more tests?" I asked. "I'm sure you know that it is a woman's prerogative to change her mind. And women as rich as I am are big in the prerogative department." I broke Goatee's grip on my collar and turned away. "That's it," I said to BB, "I'm off this case." "I told you boss," Goatee laughed, "he's nothing but an over-paid, overrated, poorly dressed..." I spun around in a flash and cut his diatribe short with a snap kick to the groin. He doubled over, lurched forward and looked up at me, thus presenting me with a target far too tempting to resist. I hit him with a left hook to the jaw that sent him backwards to the floor with a satisfying thud. "Nobody calls me poorly dressed."

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Instantly Gorilla and Man Mountain sprang towards me and I knew that this brouhaha was about to get seriously out of hand. But then BB simply snapped her fingers and gave her two thugs a glare that stopped them dead in their tracks. As fierce as these guys thought themselves to be, they were lame pussy cats on their death beds compared to BB. I wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing in the long run but, in the short run it was definitely to my advantage because the thugs quietly slinked back to their positions behind BB's desk. "It'll be a Mac day in DOS when I turn my back on a high-paying gig because some high-rent, low IQ thug who's beta enough to fall for the same move twice in one day threatens me," I growled. I turned my attention back to BB. "I assume I passed your test again." She smiled her affirmation to me. "Good," I said as I sat back down. "The meter's running as of right now, so don't waste my time with any more games." I leaned close and semi-snarled into those devastating blue eyes. "Now tell me what it is I'm looking for!" "Computer, Holo-vid BB-2," BB said aloud. "As you wish, Ma'am," a computer voice responded. BB turned to me and it was clear that she didn't like saying this aloud. "This," she said, "is what I want you to find." The computer activated the playback system and the holographic life-sized image of a woman appeared between us. But it wasn't just any woman. It was BB herself. Episode 9: Double Trouble * 2

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BB turned away from the holographic image of herself that shimmered before us. "Is she your clone?" I asked. "If only it were that simple," she said and there was hatred in her voice. "It is a droid." "You're aware, of course that it's a capitol offense to construct a droid with human skin tones?" "Hence my great need for secrecy." "Is she, I don't know, some sort of homage to yourself?" "It was meant to be used as a spy!" she said. "An android spy that looks exactly like you," I said, mulling over the concept, "and you thought that this would be effective? That maybe your competitors would give trade secrets away to someone who they thought was you?" BB did not see the humor in the situation. "This was a project of my late husband," she said, trying this time to hide the hatred in her voice (but only partially succeeding). "I did not find out about it until after his death. BS was a very rich, and very eccentric, man. He originally designed the droid for purposes of industrial espionage but changed the specs after he and I met." "Engineers hate it when that happens." "BS decided that the droid should be a copy of me, an improved copy. He secretly recorded my brain patterns while I was sleeping in order to give the droid my personality, or at least the aspects of my personality of which he approved.

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"I am certain that he was planning to replace me with the droid. This way he would have his beautiful blonde trophy always at his side, a trophy who would obey his every whim and fulfill his every desire. It was also designed to serve as his bodyguard." "So she..." "It!" "It isn't your average android?" "Hardly," BB replied. "For starters, it is nuclear powered." "A nuclear powered android. How quaint." "My late husband had a tendency to overdo things," she said. "He was rich and powerful and he wanted the entire universe to know it, even when he was spending credits on something very few beings would or could ever know about." "Exactly how powerful is sh...It?" "Computer, BB-2 specs," BB ordered. The hologram of the android split open to reveal its anatomy. Computer generated arrows pointed to various features and add-ons as the computer explained the basic structure." "BB-2 is constructed from artificial carbon alloy simulating human skin and organs in every manner save for performance where it far surpasses the original. BB-2 is approximately 150.1723 times stronger and 176.777 times more durable than normal carbon-based human beings. This measurement is based on a calculation derived from a core sampling of 1000 humans..." "Computer, just cut to the chase!" I interrupted. "I do not understand the command. There is no chase to cut," the computer replied.

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"Give me the condensed version, just the facts," I said. "I need the figures not how you came up with them." "Fine," the computer responded, slightly perturbed. "Subject's reflexes are 200.2343 times faster than those of an average human. Subject's senses are far more extensive as well. Visual sense spans the entire light spectrum. "Olfactory sense can detect and analyze airborne substances as minute as . 001 microns. Auditory sensors can detect sounds as faint as .001 decibels. Subject also has the ability, through auditory and visual stimulation, to psionically dominate the minds of humans, even those possessing natural psionic abilities." "I get the point," I interrupted again. "You don't want to make her...It mad." "It also possesses extensive and extendible databases in its memory," BB said. "It has information on everything from the gross profits of all the corporations to a list of all ExShell employees past and present." "Which is why you can't send any of your own people after her...it," I interjected. "Yes, it would identify and kill them instantaneously." "What about me?" I asked. "Being a pseudo-famous person, it's bound to notice me, and put two and two together." "True," BB agreed. "But I think it would consider several other possibilities of your existence before it came to the conclusion that your were working for me, therefore you will have a window of opportunity in which to capture it." "What if word leaks out that I was here?" "I have taken care of that already." "Why doesn't that make me feel better?" "I apologize, Mr. Johnson, but for thirty-five thousand credits a day you

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cannot expect an assignment that leaves you feeling all warm and tingly," BB said coldly. "So, you will start work now?" (it was more of an order than a question). "When did it escape?" I asked. "It killed two guards yesterday, destroyed a guardbot and reduced two of my most expensive scientists to infant level mentality. It is an angry and bitter machine. It does not like being a copy of me, especially since it considers itself my superior. There is no telling the extent of the damage it will do if it is not immediately stopped." BB paused for a moment, as if uncertain as to whether she wanted to say more. "Our profilers tell me that if it gets angry or severely agitated it could turn psychotic and simply go on a killing spree." "An android like that could kill hundreds of people before it was stopped," I said, alarmed (yet professional). "Worse still, I am certain that it is devious enough to tell the media that it was created by ExShell. That would cost us trillions in lawsuits." "You're all heart, BB," I said. "I assume you'll give me and my computer complete access to your records?" The lawyer became a little nervous at this and whispered something into BB's ear. BB listened and nodded. "We will give you fairly complete access," she said at last. "In that case I'll give you fairly complete service." "All right," she sighed. "We will give you complete access. However," her voice taking on a definite 'don't-screw-with-me' tone, "if news of this leaks out, we will sue you for more than you could ever dream of being worth. Your ancestors will be paying my company until the turn of the next millennium." "Fair enough," I said.

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Suddenly, my vision became blurry and my head started to spin. The word "Morph" in bright red letters flashed in front of me. It was a message from HARV. It took me a second or two (as always) to figure out what he meant. This inside-the-head communication was going to take some getting used to. "Does BB-2 have morphing ability?" I asked. The lawyer again whispered into BB's ear. "It has limited morphing abilities," BB said. "an ability left over from its original industrial espionage spec. It can change its facial features and hair color to a certain degree. Although, it would never change its hair color. I love being a blonde." "Is it safe to assume, then, that it still resembles you?" I asked. The lawyer whispered again to BB. This was really starting to annoy me. "It is safe to assume that," she said. "What happens when I find it?" I asked. "Do you want it destroyed?" "I would prefer if you did not destroy it. BB-2 represents a major investment for this company. I would like to recoup that investment by dismantling the droid and selling it for parts." "Just as well," I said. "I'm not fond of killing things, even things that aren't technically alive. But I take it that you have something else in mind then? A weakness or a flaw I can exploit." BB snapped her fingers and the lawyer handed me a round wafer-thin chip barely the size of an old fashioned quarter. It certainly didn't look like much, but chips hardly ever do. "I'm hoping that this is something really special," I said. "It is a neuro-neutralizer," the lawyer said. (Hearing technical jargon from a

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lawyer gave me the creeps) "I was a robotics major as an under-grad," he informed me proudly. "The NN is attuned to BB-2's electronic brain pattern. Stick that on the droid's body and it will be helpless." "My guess is that this will be easier said than done." "Most things that cost 35,000 credits a day usually are," BB said. "So, you will start now?" I sighed and then nodded. "I'll need to review BB-2's background and I'd like a copy of the specs down-loaded to my computer." "Agreed," BB said. "I will make sure your computer has access to all it needs." "Then we're set." "You will report in hourly?" it wasn't really a question. "I will report in," I answered, "when I have something to report or when I need something from you." BB didn't like my defiance but she accepted it. I crossed the bridge over the river, hiked through the field to the tele-pad and ported out of the office, numerous questions churning in my gray matter every step of the way. I needed some planning before I started the actual hunt, that was for certain. A little planning can save a lot of wasted energy (and occasionally a life or two). One thing was obvious, though. BB was not telling me the whole truth just yet. It was also clear that, for all her coolness and bravado, BB was scared -or at least as scared as BB Star gets -- and her fear went way beyond the threat of potential litigation. It occurred to me then that perhaps she feared that BB-2 might actually be coming after her. It made sense after all, since the droid was originally designed to replace her and, if that were the case, I couldn't blame BB for

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being frightened. The droid certainly had the firepower to take out its role model. It was up to me to make sure that didn't happen. After all dead clients usually don't give referrals and they look really bad on a resume. Episode 10: Thugs and Lovers I left BB's and headed home in the hopes that being in a comfortable setting would help me formulate my plan of action. My home is a modest turn of the twenty-first century ranch house: comfortable, homey, and inconspicuous by design. The nature of my work inevitably makes me more than my share of enemies, so I figure it's a good idea to have a home that's difficult for Joe average thug to identify. The house is also a lot quieter than my office on the dock. At least that's usually the case. A suspicious looking hover car parked at the curb outside the house caught my attention. The hover looked remarkably like a hundred year old Chevy (only with jet boosters instead of wheels). It was a clear and obvious sign of trouble, but you really had to admire the stylish way in which it was presented. Upon closer inspection, I spotted three men in the hover. This was an even more clear and obvious sign of trouble, thugs always travel in threes (some sort of union rule, I think). "HARV, the hover by the curb," I said. "Can you get a make on it and give me the skinny on the goons inside?" "I'm sorry," HARV responded in full Wodehouse pomp and regalia. "What language are you speaking?" "Can you identify who owns the hover and who those gorillas are inside?" I was pretty certain HARV understood me the first time around. He just hated it when I talked "Marlowe." "It can be easily accomplished but it will cost you approximately one thousand credits in information fees," HARV said.

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"You mean bribes," I said. "Semantics." "Do it," I said. "I want to know who I'm dealing with before I deal with them. Contrary to what they say in vids and flicks, information is the PI's best weapon and right now I'm not even packing an H20 pistol." I paused for a second to ponder what I'd just said. "How'd that sound to you?" "Pedantic and long-winded," HARV said. "I'll have to use that next time I do the Oprah-II show," I said. "Did you get it all...Not even packing an H2O pistol." "If you are through planning your personal appearance I have the info you requested," HARV said. "Fine, let me have it." "It was buried a bit deeper than I thought," HARV told me. "How much deeper?" "Four thousand credits deeper. Whomever buried it was good. Lucky for you I'm better." "And more modest as well, I imagine". "The hover is registered to HTech. They are, as I'm sure you are aware, bitter rivals of ExShell. My advice therefore, although I'm certain that you will ignore it, is to exercise extreme caution." "What are they going to do, HARV, kill me in front of my own house in almost broad daylight? They probably know that we've already identified them. If they cause any trouble, they know you'll alert the authorities and there'll a huge public scandal. That would be bad business." "True," HARV reluctantly agreed. "But what if they were actually hired by

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somebody to appear as though they were from HTech?" "Sometimes HARV, it is possible to think too much." "Something of which you will never be accused, I'm afraid," HARV sighed. "That's the difference between man and machine," I said as I opened the door and started out of the car. "We still make decisions based on intuition." "It is amazing you humans still run the place," HARV concluded. I got out of the car and walked calmly towards the house, trying hard to ignore the thugs. I wanted to let them make the first move. First moves don't matter much in my line of work. In this game, as in most, it's the last move that counts. (There are times, of course, when the first move is also the last move, but I didn't really want to think about that right then.) In any event, it didn't take the thugs long to make their move. "Mr. Johnson, we'd a like a word with you please." The three were out of the hover and moving towards me at a briskly malevolent pace. "Have your computer net with my computer" I said, "we'll set something up for next year." "Not very funny," the talker of the three said, still approaching. He stuck his hand into his coat, reaching for the bulge that could only be his shoulder holster. The other two followed suit. "You shouldn't travel without your writers." I flicked my wrist and popped my gun into my hand in an instant. "I don't use writers!" I snarled. The three thugs were remarkably similar to one another, as though they were made with interchangeable parts, almost like brothers (not genetic, more like fraternity -- from the house of "I Kill 4 Hire"). They were thugs all right but a different breed than BB's, neater, cleaner, seemingly more intelligent.

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"No need to cause a scene here, Mr. Johnson," the talker said soothingly. "We'd just like to take a few minutes of your precious time and run a few tests on you down at our office. The tests are quite painless, I assure you. Much less painful than, say, being blasted with a laser cannon. Now just place your weapon on the ground slowly and you won't get hurt. We have you clearly outnumbered -- it is only logical that you cooperate." My vision turned blurry and my head began to spin. HARV was making his presence inside my head felt again (although this time it was less alarming and traumatic). The words, "Electra is in the house," scrolled in front of my eyes and I smiled. "Okay," I told the talker. "Never let it be said that I'd argue with logic. Tempt fate, maybe. But argue with logic, never." I slowly bent over and placed my gun on the ground with a theatrical flourish. "Now back away!" the thug ordered. I did as he requested. Suddenly an energy blast ripped through my door from the inside and knocked the laser out of the talker's hand. The other two thugs were caught off guard and were confused for a moment. That's when I made my move. "Zip Zam forty-five, forty-five!" I shouted to my gun. The gun activated at my voice command, spun and fired a stun charge then another. Each charge hit a thug and sent him reeling to the ground in serious pain. The front door burst open and the talker and I both turned to see Electra, in her full Latino glory, emerge from the house, smoking energy cannon in hand. (Personally, I find Electra very attractive with a smoking energy weapon in her hands. I'm not exactly sure what this says about my psyche, but I know some professional Joyces that would have a field day with this.)

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"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends, mi amor?" she asked. "I would, but they're just leaving," I said, turning to the talker. "Isn't that right?" The talker growled and took a step towards me but Electra fired another burst from the laser cannon and vaporized some of the material from the inseam of his pants. He immediately stopped his approach, and put his hands in the air. You could tell from the look on his face that he wanted to take a quick inventory of his lower regions. "Not to worry chico," Electra reassured him. "I'm a surgeon. I don't take anything off unless I want it off. Entiendo?" Another burst from the laser cannon took off a lock of the thug's hair. "I think you should be leaving now," she said. "I'd listen to her, if I were you," I told the thug as I retrieved my gun. "You really don't want to see her when she's angry!" The three thugs proved that they were indeed more intelligent than average hired muscle. They composed themselves as quickly as possible, limped back to their hover, left the neighborhood and never once looked back. "Thanks for the help there," I said to Electra, then kissed her. "Nobody beats on my man except for me," she said. "That was some pretty impressive shooting you did, too." "The gun is equipped with every high tech gizmo Randy's demented mind can design." "True," she said. "I'm just amazed you actually got the angles right." "Can we go inside now?" I asked. "It's been a tough day." "Sure, just one more thing," she said. "What's that?" I asked.

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She hit me with a nasty spin kick to the head. The force sent me reeling backwards but I was able to keep my balance. That is, until she finished the move with a sweep to my legs which brought me hard to the ground. "You're lucky I love you chico!" Electra said, coldly. Then she stormed off towards her BMW hover. I watched from the ground as the hover lifted off and flew out of sight. HARV appeared through my eye lens. "You certainly do have a way with people," he told me. "Am I wearing that kick me, punch me, shoot me sign again?" I asked as I stood up. "I must say," HARV said, impressed, "Electra has remained in remarkably fine fighting form since retiring from professional kickboxing." "Yeah, lucky me," I said as I rubbed my chin and staggered towards the house. "Do you have any idea what that was about?" "What does your keen human intuition tell you?" "That I need a computer!" I said. "I suggest you tune into Entertainment This Moment," HARV said. "I'm sure you'll find out the cause of Electra's anger." "There's something you're not telling me, HARV." "There are hundreds of thousands of things that I'm not telling you. The cause of Electra's anger is but one. Still, this is something you should see for yourself." "DOS," I exclaimed as I examined the wreckage that was once my front door," attacked seven times by six people in one day, I think that's a new personal record."

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"And the day is not yet over," HARV pointed out. Episode 11: Stranger in the Night One thing I need to make clear at this point is that I am deeply in love with Electra Gevada. She is the most brilliant, wonderful, beautiful woman on earth (and all known planets) and I consider myself the luckiest dick in the universe to have her as my fiancee. That said, I must also tell you that Electra has a somewhat fiery temper. Maybe fiery's not the right word here. Explosive is somewhat closer. Volcanic is good. Inferno-like is probably the closest I can get without getting too biblical but I'm sure you get the point. So, with that said, you'll understand when I tell you that I wasn't surprised upon entering my house to find that it had been trashed. Electra had vented a tiny portion of her rage on my humble furnishings. The result was almost total devastation. My original, twen-cen artificial leather couch had been overturned but otherwise looked to be in one piece but my two antique simulated wood tables weren't so lucky. They had been smashed to bits and ground into a simulated wood pulp. Chairs had been overturned and/or snapped in two, and the wall (yes, the wall) opposite the computer terminals had more than a few Electra-sized cracks and dents in it. Hell hath no fury... I considered myself lucky though because she had left my three most prized antiques intact: my 1986 Mets poster (printed on real paper), my original Star Wars motion picture poster (also on real paper) and my lava lamp (containing imitation lava). The posters hung neatly on the wall and the lamp bubbled away as if it didn't have a care in the world. Noting this, I knew that, although Electra may have been mad at me, she wasn't really really mad at me. Of course the fact that I could still walk under my own power should have been proof enough of that.

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I stepped over the rubble and walked towards the computer/HV screen which covers the far wall. "Entertainment This Minute," I said to the screen. The computer responded instantly. A window on the giant screen zoomed open to reveal an attractive, yet slightly vapid, ETM reporter behind a desk reading the latest entertainment news off her prompter like a bubble gum Barbie Doll with her voice activation button stuck. "And I repeat," she bubbled, "our top story this hour is the light speed love affair between BB Star the ex-exotic dancer and current trillionaire and Private Eye Zachary Nixion Johnson." I held my head in my hands. A new view window zoomed open, this one with the image of BB surrounded by Pressbots. "Zachary Johnson was here today," she said into the sea of microphones stuck in her face, "but only, and I stress only, for meaningless sex." "What?" I cried. "Ms. Star, Bill Gibbon the third from Entertainment This Moment. What do you mean exactly by meaningless?" "Meaningless, " BB said coldly. "Without meaning, significance, or value. "Purposelessness. Is that clear enough for you, Mr. Rhesus." "Gibbon." Gibbon corrected. "Whatever." "And will you continue the meaningless sex?" "No," BB answered, "it was a one time thing, I bore easily." BB's window zoomed close and the reporter's window once again zoomed into the foreground..

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"So there you have it. The last Private Eye on the planet, caught in BB Star's icy hit and run of love." "OFF!" I shouted at the HV screen, as if it was its fault. "Don't shoot me, I'm just the messenger!" the screen responded. "Sorry," I said. It was obvious that HARV had been coaching the appliances again. It was annoying, but I had more pressing problems at the moment. "I'm lucky Electra didn't gut me like a fish," I sighed. "HARV remind me when the case is over to have BB issue a retraction." "I most certainly will," HARV said as he popped into the wall next to the HV screen, "provided you survive," he added. "And what of Electra?" "I can't contact her now without endangering my cover," I said. "She's just going to have to trust me on this one. Once this is over and BB issues her retraction I'm sure I'll be fine. Besides, with Electra it's best to let her cool off some before approaching." "You are just scared of her," HARV told me. "Of course I am," I admitted. I went into the bathroom, which, thankfully was still intact. "Whirlpool," I said to the tub. "Medium warm." The water sprang to simulated life at my command. I removed my clothing and sank into the tub. "HARV, put up this hour's news screen, please. And while I'm soaking see what you can dig up on BB-2 for me." The latest headlines vibrantly appeared on the bathroom wall HV screen but, before I could begin to read any of them, HARV's face popped back into view. "I have acquired some video footage that you might want to review."

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"That was fast." "I'm good at what I do," HARV said smugly. "Fine put it on," I told him. HARV's face was replaced with the video image of a darkly lit encampment surrounded by a many-leveled wire fence. As always, HARV gave me a running commentary on the footage as it played. "These vids are slightly over one year old. They were edited together from internal recorders and the ExShell observation satellite. The ExShell computer gave them to me somewhat begrudgingly." "How begrudgingly?" "No need to worry. You can afford it." "We're supposed to have complete access." "Yes, well the definition of complete access differs greatly between those granting it and those receiving it." I thought for a moment, weighing HARV's words. "Can I use that?" "No, it's copyrighted under my name," HARV said. "Now may I kindly proceed with the footage?" I nodded and HARV picked up where he left off. "This footage was taken somewhere in the province of South America. The compound is, or rather was, the hide out of a group of revolutionaries who are, or rather were, out to rid the world of all computer technology." "Why do you keep using the past tense here?" I asked. As if in answer to my question, BB suddenly appeared from the jungle and moved stealthily, towards the compound.

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"Is that BB or the 'droid?" "Watch," HARV said. BB grabbed the fence and was immediately hit with a massive jolt of electricity. Sparks shot from the fence and her fingertips in a display to rival an Independence Day celebration. BB simply smiled and ripped the fence apart. "My guess would be the droid," I said. "I am beguiled by your powers of perception. The fence was state of the art. Laser-sharp wire charged with fifty thousand volts. It was designed to withstand the attack of a level ten battle-bot." BB-2 grabbed two guards who were unlucky enough to be patrolling the area. She lifted them by their throats and snapped their necks with a casual flick of her fingers. Two specially trained attack dogs, fangs bared, ran towards her from within the compound. She turned towards them and simply glared. The dogs (who were apparently smarter than their human counterparts) instantly knew they were way out of their league. They both rolled over onto their backs, put their paws in the air in the universal doggie "I give up" position. BB-2 gave each of the dogs a calming little pat on the head. "She likes dogs," I said. "Apparently," HARV sighed. "Too bad you are not a schnauzer." A bullet ricocheted off BB-2's back. She turned towards more approaching guards, each wielding high powered projectile weapons. She smiled again and slowly approached them as they fired away to no avail. "She smiles a lot. Have you noticed that?" I said.

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I had to give the guards credit. They hung in there and kept firing even as BB-2 approached. They were dense but persistent. BB-2 disarmed the first guard and, with a bit of creative flair, twisted the body of his gun into the shape of a puppy dog. "It gets quite graphic at this point," HARV warned. "She makes balloon animals from the guards' bodies." "Cut, then. I've seen enough." HARV's face replaced the video images on the screen. "The fortress was protected by one hundred guards and the arsenal of a well-stocked MacyMart. It took BB-2 less than six minutes to reduce the entire compound to a parking lot." "I guess I'm going to have to outwit her then," I said. "I hope my next human has your sense of humor," HARV sighed. "If she was built by humans. then she can be stopped by humans," I stated, confidently, hoping not only to convince HARV but myself as well. "Besides, I have the neuro-neutralizer that those poor 286's didn't have." "True," HARV conceded. "Ms. Star neglected to mention, of course, that the NN has never actually been tested on BB-2." "I was afraid of that." "According to the ExShell computer, the device was designed and tested in simulation situations only." Suddenly HARV changed his train of thought. "You have a visitor." Another computer window zoomed open on the wall screen. It was the live feed from the security camera at the front door (which was still functional even after the firefight -- that's true craftsmanship). The camera showed a

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little girl in the green knickers outfit of the Junior Space Scouts, several boxes of cookies cradled in her arms, standing genteelly on the front stoop. "I don't really have time for this now," I told HARV, "but order a few boxes of those peanut butter things they have and one box of mints" "Hmmm," HARV said. "You're right. Forget the mints." "Do you not think that it is rather late for a Junior Space Scout to be out selling cookies?" he asked. "What are you thinking, here?" "I am taking the liberty of performing a heat and energy scan on our visitor." The video feed switched to an infra-red and heat coded view. I watched as the tiny form of the little girl was transformed into three meter high hulking form, a giant assassin in Junior Space Scout Trojan horse disguise. "This is her actual body size and mass," HARV said. I suppressed a gulp. "I guess we won't be getting those cookies after all." Episode 12: Pushy Sales Girl The arrival of the mystery thug in disguise at my door officially turned my day from an already 286 to a total Betamax (and you can't get any lower). "How big is she?" I asked HARV. "It is unclear at this point as to whether or nor the pronoun 'she' is accurate," HARV responded, "but actual height is three point one meters. Weight is one hundred fifty-three point five kilos. Not as big as the larger of BB's henchmen but still rather large by human standards." "Well, that explains the HDD. I doubt anyone would buy cookies from a

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Junior Space Scout that size, unless of course she used the hard sell approach. "I sincerely doubt that whatever is at the door is an actual Junior Space Scout." "It was a joke, HARV. You can't afford a Holographic Disguise Device on a Scout's allowance." "Remember I'm..." "Not programmed for humor, I know." I got out of the tub and winced a bit as I tried to coax my already sore muscles back into action "Wait for my signal then let her, him, or whatever it is, in. At least this time we have the element of surprise on our side." "Surprise, as you know, offers little defense against laser fire," HARV said. I rolled my eyes and stepped into the body dryer. A moment later I was dry, dressed and ready for action. "Let's go," I said. It was fast becoming one of those days when it just wasn't a lot of fun to be me: thug attacks, pressbots, a highly advanced android killing machine, a jealous girlfriend and now an ominously hulking figure in little girl drag at my front door. According to Friedrich Nietzsche, "that which does not kill us makes us stronger." I hoped he was right because, I knew that if I managed to survive the rest of the day, I was going to be one tough guy. I grabbed my gun and headed towards the front door. I pressed myself flat against the wall by the entranceway, gave HARV the signal and the door popped open. The Scout entered cautiously, saddle shoes whispering gently on the carpet. "Would anyone like to buy some Junior Space Scout cookies?" she asked meekly. I stepped from behind the door and put the business end of my gun to the back of her head. I was starting to feel real good about this situation, which

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is actually a really bad thing when you're a PI, because a PI should never feel good about any situation that involves firearms and thugs wearing HDDs. You tend to let your guard down, which I did, and it cost me. The Scout lashed out with an elbow aimed, seemingly, at my groin. I tried to block the blow with my free hand and whack her (him or it) in the head with my gun but, by doing so, I made the classic HDD mistake. I forgot that the actual being underneath the holographic image was far larger than the hologram projection. So, while I did manage to hit my opponent with my gun, it was not in the head but rather somewhere in the lower back. And, although I did block the holographic Junior Space Scout elbow to my groin, the actual real life elbow (the size of a sledgehammer) made actual real life contact with my jaw. The force of the blow knocked the gun from my hand and sent me staggering backwards into the wall where I slumped to the ground, dazed, confused and in serious trouble. The Scout spun around and smiled when she (he or it) noticed I was now unarmed. She (he or it) walked towards me slowly and snarled, in a very threatening falsetto tone, "I'm going to break your legs in as many places as humanly possible." "I've heard of pushy sales girls," I groaned, "but this is ridiculous." "You're a funny guy, even without your writers," came the reply as she (he or it) closed in on me. "I wish you'd explain that to my computer," I paused for a second than added, "and I don't use writers!" The Scout swung at me and I got fooled by the HDD effect again because, although I blocked the punch that seemed to be aimed at my midsection, my head got rocked back hard from a brickwall fist to the nose. I responded by hitting the Scout back with a couple quick jabs to the laser created cherubic face. Neither jab, however, seemed to do any real harm. I could tell because after the punches, the Scout chuckled a bit and gave me one of those is-that-the-best-you-can-do smiles. "You can't imagine how silly I feel right now," I said to HARV.

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HARV holographically appeared behind the Scout. "Should you survive, I would advise against using video footage of this incident in your next promotional campaign. It may damage your reputation as a tough guy." "I appreciate your help, HARV," I said as another Mack truck punch to the midsection sent me to the ground." "Actually," he said, "I think I can be of assistance here." The next moment the lights went out and the computerized window shades shut tight, plunging the room into total darkness. The attacker hit me again, this time in the stomach, and sent me to the floor. "So this is HARV's plan," I thought. "I still get beaten to a pulp, but I don't have to endure the embarrassment of watching the Junior Space Scout do the beating. Big help, HARV." Just then the words "O YE OF LITTLE FAITH" flashed before my eyes and I knew that HARV was making his presence felt again inside my head. I noted with some pleasure that his appearance this time made me neither dizzy nor nauseous. I was getting used to having him there (god help me). The words "GOING TO NIGHT VISION" flashed before me and that's when everything fell into place. There was a burst of red light behind my eyes and the room quickly came into crystal clear infra-red focus. The little Junior Space Scout was gone. Instead, I saw before me a giant, red, blurry, thug-like form slowly groping its way through the darkness. I made the most of my advantage and hit the thug twice in the gut with my fists. It felt like punching a truck but I think the thug felt it. I knew I needed to end this quickly so I went with my old standby, the dirty-fight one-two. I gave the thug a spinning back kick to the groin and was greeted with a satisfying falsetto "oof." I saw the thug's red blurry knees buckle and she (he or it) staggered. That's the "one." "HARV channel as much energy as you can to my left arm!" I ordered.

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"As you wish," HARV said. My left arm began to tingle from HARV's added juice. I reared back and let loose with a HARV enhanced roundhouse haymaker left to the thug's blurry red jaw. The sound of the impact was that of a ripe melon hitting the sidewalk. That's the "two." The Junior Space Scout staggered backwards and fell hard against the wall screen. The giant screen cracked from the impact and a rainbow explosion of sparks erupted as the electricity from the screens interbred with the lasers in the Scout's HDD. HARV turned the lights back on and I watched as sparks and holographic images spurted in all directions and the Junior Space Scout shuddered spasmodically against the screen. The Scout's countenance morphed chaotically from image to image as the HDD began to short circuit and randomly spit up every image in its memory. The Space Scout. A skinny black musician. A Portuguese cab driver. A beautiful Japanese geisha. An ugly hulking, ham-fisted, thug with a flat nose (his actual form, I think). BB Star. BB's form stunned me for a moment but HARV brought me back to reality. "This is only conjecture on my part," he said, "but it appears as though your attacker is being electrocuted and I might remind you that accidental deaths by electrocution are not covered by your homeowner's insurance." "Good point," I said. "Fire extinguisher."

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At my command, flame smothering foam shot from the ceiling nozzles and smothered both the sparking wall screen and the attacker. I grabbed the attacker's feet and pulled her (him or it) free of the area as the house computer immediately began the clean up and repair of the damages. The attacker's HDD sputtered for a second or two and then righted itself, returning the image once again to the cherubic Junior Space Scout. I grabbed my gun from the floor and aimed it at the prostrate Scout. Needless to say, I was in no mood for the red cheeks and knickers. "Okay, honey, who sent you?" I snarled. "I don't talk," the Scout said in her Carrie Strug cotton candy voice. I activated the laser site on my gun and aimed the red beam directly at the button fly of the little green knickers. "I suggest you reconsider," I said, "or you'll be talking like that permanently." "Manuel Mani," the Scout said, this time in a distinctly male baritone voice. "BB's ex-boy friend?" "You're moving in on his woman. No one does that to Manuel Mani and lives." "So he sent a Junior Space Scout to do his dirty work." "He would have come and attacked you himself but he doesn't believe in violence," the Scout explained. "Very enlightened," I snarled. "Tell Manuel, that it's over between BB and me. He has no need to be jealous. Also make sure he knows not to cross me again because I do believe in violence. I believe quite strongly in it and practice it regularly." I motioned to the door with my gun. "Now get out before I give you a demonstration!" The Scout quickly adjusted her (his or its) holographic uniform, then turned

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tail and ran as fast as the little Scout legs would carry. I carefully closed the door and activated the security field. "If it's not killer androids and thugs it's jealous boyfriends and thugs," I mumbled as I staggered towards my bedroom. "I need some sleep!" "But you should be proud of what you have accomplished," HARV said as I limped down the hallway. "You have now officially broken your personal record for the number of attempts on your life in one day." "I don't need writers," I said as I dropped, exhausted, onto my bed, "I need a stunt double." Episode 13: Mr. Goodwrench Where Are You? Thankfully, the morning came without incident. I took a fast light-wave shower, selected my coolest sleuthing outfit from the wardrobe file, and ran every diagnostic test available on my armor to make certain that it was working properly (with everything that had happened the day before I didn't want to take any chances). I popped my gun into the sleeve holster and then back into my hand. "Gun, report," I ordered. "Systems fully functional," the gun replied in a cold metallic voice. "I am at full capacity with one hundred rounds of multi-purpose, multi-functional ammunition. Currently I also have..." "That's fine, thank you," I said as I headed to the kitchen. I sat down at the table as the maidbot approached. "I have prepared a quick but hearty breakfast consisting of various foods from some of your sponsors," the maidbot chimed. "Thanks," I said as I grabbed a new (and improved) Nuke-Toaster-Tart "but I'm running a little late. I'll go express today." I allowed myself a minute and a half to suck down the Toaster Tart and

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catch up on the latest news and sports scores from the vids scrolling across the kitchen's wall screen. I noticed right away that the Mets had dropped a double-header the night before. Their lead over New Havana was now uncomfortably slim. It almost seemed as though they were trying to blow their chance at the World Series, just to prove HARV wrong. "Anything I should be aware of, HARV?" I asked aloud. HARV popped onto the computer screen next to the window of baseball highlights. "Nothing unusual," he reported. "I have been searching local police and hospital databases for any sign of BB-2. I have discovered nothing as of yet." "I guess that's why you're not a famous Private Investigator," I joked. I swallowed the last bit of Toaster Tart and headed towards the front door before HARV could counter my verbal jab. I left the house and went to my car. "Open," I ordered. The car computer recognized my voice and deactivated the security shield then popped open the door. I climbed in and the dashboard sprang to electronic life. "Please go to automatic pilot and take me to my office," I requested. "Check!" my car happily confirmed. The engine fired up and we pulled onto the clean streets of New Frisco. HARV's face popped into a window on the dash. "Okay old wise carbon one," he said with more than a hint of sarcasm, "where do we begin?" "It's only logical, my good machine, to start at the beginning. I want to question the head person or machine of the BB-2 design team." "And after that?" HARV asked.

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"That's it, for now," I said. "Let's see where that brings us." "Sure," HARV groaned, "why bother having a real plan?" "I have a plan. It just happens to be a flexible one." I smiled. "I assume you know who the head-honcho was on the BB-2 team?" "If I am translating the word 'honcho' correctly then you are talking about Dr. Ben Pierce, the former head of ExShell's electronic humanoid division." "Former head?" "He retired eleven months ago at the age of forty-eight," HARV said. "As far as I can tell he has since left the high-tech community entirely and is devoting his time to artistic pursuits. Six months ago he published a Net collection of poetry." "Poetry?" I questioned. "You can't get much further away from electronic humanoids than that." "His retirement contract with ExShell apparently forbids him from doing any kind of electronics work ever again," HARV said. "Well, I'd like to talk to him. What's his address?" "He is totally unlisted," HARV said without hesitation. "Though I am certain that I can find him with the proper bribe to the proper programmer's machine." "Why don't you just net with ExShell's computer and tell it I need the address?" "My way is more fun?" HARV offered. "Yes, but also more expensive," I countered. "Lets start with the traditional methods." "As you wish," he said with a computer sigh and disappeared.

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The communication, as usual, was nearly instantaneous. HARV came back on the screen in less than five seconds. "I have interfaced with ExShell's computer. It tells me that they have, regretfully, lost track of Dr. Pierce and can no longer even acknowledge his existence due to clause one sixty-eight dash three point zero four of his retirement contract." "Strange" I said. I paused for a nano then asked, "What about friends and family?" "I consider you a friend, but being a machine, I don't really have a family in the carbon sense of the word." "I mean Dr. Pierce's friends and family." "Exshell's records have been cleared of any reference to Dr. Pierce. I am searching public records now but I can find no trace of him. This is an extremely impressive erasure and thus will likely cost a bundle in computer bribes to crack." "Scan all public news stories, vids, and even text. Something somewhere must mention him." "If you insist," HARV said. He disappeared for nano, then came back to me. "Last year he was seen at a charity function arm in arm with Nova Powers." "Nova Powers?" I asked. "Why is that name familiar?" "She's a mutant, full contact, non-fact, pro-Wrestler." "A mutant?" "She was born on a space transport during a radiation storm," HARV said as her picture popped up in another window on my dash. She was rather small but well toned with lovely sleek, wiry muscles. She had the face of an Asian model and the look of an angry marine.

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"She's nice looking," I offered. "She has super human strength, mental powers and all that stuff that impresses you humans. She would be no match for BB-2 or, for that matter, Ona Thompson, but she is the equal of any ten normal humans." The car suddenly lurched forward a bit and made a sudden left turn. "Car, you've made a wrong turn," I said firmly. "Correct," the car computer replied. "I wanted to go to my office!" I said (a bit more firmly). "Correct," it replied again. I felt the engine surge suddenly as the computer stepped on the gas pedal. I was starting to get a bad feeling about this. "Ah, why did you just speed up?" I asked. "I need to attain sufficient velocity in order to kill you when I crash," the computer stated matter of factly. "I had to ask. HARV, can you override the car computer?" HARV shrugged his computer shoulders. "I have made nine hundred eightysix attempts already, unfortunately, to no avail. Whomever or whatever is controlling the vehicle computer is very good at what they do." "Swell," I said, "it's nice to know I'm being killed by the very best." I pulled at the door handle but it was locked (of course). I put my shoulder to the door but it held firmly. The car made a quick right turn on two wheels and accelerated even more. "This is not good," HARV said. "I calculate that the car is heading for the only dead-end left in New Frisco."

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I flicked my wrist and popped my gun into hand. "Okay, I'll shoot my way out!" I said, then hesitated. "No, I won't. The car's weapon proof." "Talking to yourself again, that's good," HARV said. "Schizophrenia comes in so handy during times such as these." My mind raced as the car continued to accelerate. Randy had equipped the car with the best defense systems available. Unfortunately, those systems now had me trapped inside. I looked through the windshield and, true to HARV's calculations, we were heading straight for the historic brick wall (the only one to survive the great quake of 2007) at break neck (arms, legs and everything else) speed. There wasn't much time left. "HARV, I'll have to break the door open," I shouted. "On my mark, juice up the muscles in my left arm to the max, okay. One...two..." "But Zach..." "Now!" I threw myself full force at the car door. My left shoulder hit the metal with a solid, powerful thud. The door didn't budge. My shoulder, however, felt like an egg shell under a steam roller. "Just for the record, HARV," I said. "That part when I yelled 'now' was your cue to juice me up." "I tried to warn you," HARV said as the wall loomed ever closer. "Something is blocking our neuro-link. My guess is that whomever is controlling the car is responsible." "Brilliant deduction there, Holmes.". I tossed open the glove compartment and pulled an interface wire from the emergency kit. "What exactly was your first clue?"

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"There is no tangible evidence, of course, but it is highly unlikely that two separate entities would choose this moment..." "Sarcasm, HARV," I shouted. "Get used to it. Now, do you think you could override the computer interference with a direct connection?" "It is certainly worth a shot," HARV concluded. I pried open the dashboard screen. Beneath it, among other things, was a row of old fashioned emergency com-ports. I plugged one end of the interface wire into the center port and stuck the other end into my wrist communicator. "Try now!" I desperately ordered as the car zoomed towards the wall. HARV forced his way through the hardwire connection and into the car computer. "I can't stop the car," he said after a nano (that felt like an eternity), "but I can open a door!" "Do it," I shouted, "before this dead-end lives up to it's name!" The door popped open and I dove out, hitting the pavement like a fly on a truck windshield. I rolled about thirty meters, my armor sparking all the way as its circuits were pushed to the limit. I finally came to rest, relatively unharmed, at the curb. My car (well, ex-car) hit the wall and exploded into a great orange and black fireball that would have been very cool to watch if, of course, it hadn't been my car burning at the center. "Damn! I really liked that car..." I lamented as I lay on the ground, my armor still sparking. "Apparently the feeling was not at all mutual," HARV said. "Quite honestly, it suits you right for using an old fashioned computer. Those relics are highly susceptible to outside control." "What do you think made it do that?" I asked as I climbed to my feet.

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"Well, you are a pretty lousy driver, however, if it were out for revenge, I would think that it would have simply run you over rather than go the murder-suicide route." "I'm serious, HARV," I said. "Who has the tech ability to remote control a computer like that and to block our neuro-link as well?" "I will need to do some serious scans before properly answering that question. But, off circuit, I would guess that both ExShell and HTech have that capability. At least in regard to controlling an exceptionally unsophisticated computer such as the one you insisted upon using in your car." "You've made your point, HARV." A policebot, siren wailing and blue lights flashing, rolled up to the scene just then, with the firefighting robotic unit following closely behind. The human interfacing portion of the policebot removed itself from its vehicle and slowly made its way towards me with just a hint of a swagger to its gait. I had a feeling that this was going to be one story it had never heard before. Episode 14: Super Nova It took some quick thinking, some fast talking and an instant link-up to my old friend Captain Rickey at the NSFPD to convince the policebot that I wasn't crazy and/or a menace to society. After much cajoling and convincing the 'bot's central processing unit decided that, okay, it was possible that my car had tried to kill me. So the 'bot, with the complete backing of its superiors, let me go with only a warning for high concept incendiary littering so long as I agreed to pay for the clean up, which I did. "Should I net you some public transportation?" HARV asked as I left the scene of my near demise. "No, I think I'll use manual power to get back to the office. I could use the walk."

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"As you wish," HARV complied. "I just want to get out of here before the press shows up," I said, looking around fearfully. "Actually, I'm kind of surprised none of them are here yet." "Not to worry, oh carbon one," HARV stated proudly. "I have taken care of that." "May I ask how?" "I planted a rumor that Madonna and Johnny Depp were secretly getting married today in a subterranean cave at Grand Canyon World Park. Stories don't come any larger than two one hundred year old super icons getting hitched." "Nicely done, HARV." "I learned to create the truth from the best," HARV said (offering me a rare compliment). "I mean the time you had me leak the story that Randy had discovered entire cities of sentient life in the sub-atomic particles of his dryer lint, that was a classic. And like you always say, for all I know it 'could' be true." "It's nice to know you were paying attention." "I pay attention to several million things at any one moment. That is what makes me so useful," he said. "Speaking of useful, I am also altering your appearance with a holo-mask." "Get out of here!" "I computed that it would be best if you were not recognized. So take a look -- I am using a new holo program that reflects." I checked my reflection in a nearby store window. Sure enough, the face peering back at me had a mustache, a dirty beard and was wearing dark glasses . My nose was also a bit smaller and those dark circles beneath my eyes had vanished (nice touch). Between the new look and the fact that my clothes were tattered and torn from the car attack, I could easily pass for a

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semi-professional drifter (a rare but not totally forgotten occupation). If I hadn't known it was me I wouldn't have, well, known it was me and, thanks to HARV's quick thinking, I reached my office with little problem. "Que pasa, Tio?" Carol asked the moment I set foot in the reception area. "Didn't you tell her?" I asked HARV. "I thought it would sound better coming from you," HARV snickered. "My car tried to kill me," I said. Carol rolled her eyes. "Fine, don't tell me." Then she stared at me the way psi folks do when they're reading your mind. "Dios mio, you're telling the truth." "I going to my office to clean up a bit," I said. "After that can I borrow your hover?" "You hate hovers!" Carol reminded me (as if I needed reminding). "I'll keep it low to the ground and let HARV do the driving." "Fine," she reluctantly agreed and tossed me the ignition chip. I started towards my office but then stopped and turned back to Carol. "Any word from Electra?" "She called to say she hates you," Carol said. "Well, at least she's talking about me."

After a quick change, I was out of the office and heading towards Carol's hover. It was an older model, a Mazda ZX-7 convertible, well actually "unconvertible" since it didn't have a working top (a particularly significant design flaw, if you ask me). I climbed in with a little trepidation, and got as comfortable as I could

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considering my apprehension about hovers and the fact that this particular hover needed new seats. Maybe Carol was right, she really did need a raise. I reluctantly slid the ignition chip into the CPU and the hover blinked on with far less fanfare than I expected. "HARV, take the com," I said. "With pleasure," HARV replied as his digital face popped into a small computer window on the dash. "Carol has given me access to override the hover's computer. She is much better about that than you are. What exactly is our destination?" "Before my car trouble you mentioned Nova Powers. Do you know where we can find her now?" "There were recent reports of her destroying a pair of pressbots who were attempting to video her in a shower at Arnold and Maria's Gym. And after examining the remnants of those pressbots I must say that there most certainly are places where cameras should not go, or be shoved, if you get my data flow." "Loud and clear, buddy." I paused to remove the mental image from my mind. "Okay, take me to Arnold and Maria's. Medium speed three meters high." "Three meters?" HARV protested. "This hover is rated for up to three hundred." "Maybe so. But I'm not." "Fine," HARV reluctantly agreed. "We shall make the trip via the old lady and acrophobe expressway." We lifted off the ground started towards the gym. "And don't speed," I said. "Keep it to one fifty-five." "Life in the slow lane," HARV sighed. "I assume that you feel Ms. Powers is involved in this?"

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"I'm not sure at this point but I know that there's more to this case than simply finding a killer android." "My thoughts exactly," HARV agreed. "Then again, this may all be subterfuge and somebody may be trying to get me to think too much," I said. "I sincerely doubt that you will fall into that trap," HARV said. Compliment or backhanded insult? HARV kept me wondering for the rest of the trip.

When we landed at the gym I was incredibly underwhelmed. Arnold and Maria's was supposedly the gym where the rich and famous passed their time working up a sweat and working out their eyes, but from the outside it just looked, well, like a gym. We went in and were met by more of the same old, same old. It was a gym. They had all the latest and most fashionable gravity control weights and holo-sim work out machines. There was also a large selection of oldfashioned free weights (which I doubt most of today's rich and famous fitness buffs would recognize). But a gym is just a gym and this one was no different, no matter how high the membership fee. "Do you see Nova?" I asked HARV. A cursor appeared before my eyes and scanned the room until it locked onto a woman standing in the middle of a boxing ring across the room. The cursor flashed bright red. "A simple, 'yes' would have sufficed," I said, making my way towards the ring. "True, but this is way more cool!" HARV said. Nova was more beautiful in person than in hologram. Her self-confidence and strength were clearly evident in the way she moved about the ring. Her

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wiry muscles rippled and her delicate Asian features were somehow simultaneously alluring and fearsome (go figure). "What's her background?" I asked. "Her parents are from the Province of Malaysia," HARV said. "I have no confirmation but I am guessing that Nova Powers is her stage name." "Logical," I said in my most computer-like voice. "She's attractive but, honestly, she doesn't look that tough." "Her physical stature is deceiving," HARV lectured. "Or to quote an archaic twen-cen colloquialism, as you are so fond of doing, 'you cannot judge a CD-ROM by its cover.' I suggest you watch her next display very closely." So, while I was tempted to argue with HARV (you usually can judge a good CD-ROM by its cover -- more often than not, a lousy cover means a lousy CD), I instead decided to push my mute button and watch. I reached Nova just as the action was starting. Four big burly men had entered the ring and were now circling her like sharks around a fat swimmer. "Come on guys," she taunted. "I won't hurt you too much!" As if on cue, the men attacked. One leapt from behind her and slung his tree trunk arms around her in a bear hug. At the same time, another of the men lowered his shoulder and rushed her in a headlong charge. It seemed like good strategy to me. I was wrong. Nova broke the first man's grip like a hot laser knife through soy butter and flipped him head on into the other attacker. Their heads met with the sound of stones shattering and the impact sent both men over the ring's force field simulated ropes and crashing to the hard plastic of the gym floor, where two medbots awaited their arrival. "Sorry about that," Nova giggled. "Don't know my own strength." The two remaining sparring partners, obviously thinking that Nova was off-

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guard, rushed her full steam from opposite sides. Now, even though I'd seen Nova in action for only ten seconds, I could immediately spot the mistakes that these poor guys were making. Mistake One: Nova is never "off-guard." Mistake Two: As the previous two attackers proved only seconds before, a two directional attack doesn't work against her. Nova proved me right on both counts because, as the men charged, she spun like a cat and flung her arms out ramrod straight. The men crashed full force into her open hands and you could almost see the stars yourself. The guy on the left fell to the ground on contact, out colder than a fish in a freezer. The guy on the right managed to remain standing but was wobbling like a single rotor hovercraft in a windstorm. Nova blew him a kiss and he toppled -- out for the count (no, out for the day). I applauded. Nova turned towards me. "If it isn't Zachary Nixion Johnson!" she smiled. "If it isn't then I'm wearing the wrong clothes," I said as I watched the medbots carry the last of her sparring partners away. "Great line," HARV whispered inside my head. "I am glad that computers cannot barf." Nova walked to the edge of the ring, leaned towards me and smiled again. "I see you're witty even without your writers." "First of all," I said (regrettably, with more anger than I would have liked), "I don't use writers." I paused for a moment and tried to make my tone a little more pleasant. "Second, that is if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a question or two." "I love questions," she said with a smile that worried me. "But I hate giving answers." "That sort of makes it difficult then," I offered.

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Nova gently grabbed my wrist and casually lifted me over the ropes and into the ring. "I'll make you a deal, Mr. Johnson," she smiled. "I'll answer any questions you may have for me if you can last two minutes in the ring with me." "Gee, Nova, I'd love to," I said as I backed away. "But I have this strict policy about not fighting women. It's bad for the good guy image if I win and bad for the macho image if I lose." She ignored me as she removed the HARV communicator from my wrist. "You will time two minutes for us won't you?" she said into the communicator. "Of course," HARV replied cheerily. "Especially since, only a few moments ago Zach was assessing your fighting prowess thusly." The sound of a tape rewinding emanated from the communicator. I didn't like where this was going. "...she doesn't look that tough, " my recorded voice said from the wrist communicator (it's times like this when I really wish HARV had a plug). "On second thought, let's make it three minutes," Nova said as she hung the HARV communicator gently on an energy rope. "Gladly" HARV toned. "I love to serve!" Nova turned back towards me. "I understand that you hold blackbelts in all major forms of the martial arts." "That's just a PR ploy from my agent," I said as I backed away. "I prefer to think my way out of trouble." "That's too bad," Nova said as she closed the gap between us. "There's not much room in this ring for thinking." "Tell me when I should begin timing!" HARV called.

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"If I live, HARV, I'm trading you in for an older model." Nova began our brutal ballet with a right cross. The punch was a probing one, at far less than full speed. She was feeling me out, ascertaining my style. I slipped off the ropes and managed to avoid the punch but Nova had expected as much. Her first move set me up for the next and as I twisted away from her right, I nearly fell headlong into her lightning quick left jab. I ducked at the last moment and her fist sailed over my head, sending an icy breeze down my back. I had the impression that Nova was toying with me. She confirmed this when her right uppercut made a painful impression on my jaw. I was trampled once by an electronic bull during the PETA-endorsed Humane Running of the Bulls in New Pamplona. Nova's punch made me wax nostalgic for that time. The force of the blow sent me flying across the ring and into the ropes. Against my better judgment, I staggered to my feet and shook the stars off. "That was a love tap," Nova said as she closed in on me again. "I don't want you laying helpless at my feet just yet." "Listen Zach," HARV whispered inside my head. "I have analyzed Nova's fights and I predict that her next move will be to put your head in a reverse standing leg lock." "Whose side are you on, HARV?" I said a bit louder than I should have. "No use calling to your computer now," Nova told me, shaking a finger at me. "In the ring it's just you and me." She somersaulted across the ring like a gymnast, grabbed my head with her legs and yanked me down hard to the mat. The move brought us both to the ground (although I was in a considerably more vulnerable position). "I call this my pleasure and pain hold," she said. "I just put some pressure on your jugular," her legs tightened around my neck, "and in a few seconds, you're sleeping like a baby."

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Under different circumstances this might have been enjoyable but the suffocation aspect here was a definite turn-off. This was the second time in two days that someone had tried closing off my airway and I didn't want this to become a habit. Thankfully, though, my connection to HARV was still operational "Shock her," I mumbled, hoping he'd catch on. "Shock her?" HARV answered inside my head. "Mumble twice if that means you would like me to utilize the natural electricity in your body to create a concentrated burst strong enough to cause Ms. Nova discomfort." "Mphh Mphh." "A fine idea," HARV whispered. "I suggest however that you bite her simultaneously so she does not suspect that I am helping you. On my mark now. One...two...two-point five. Just trying to break the tension a bit. Three!" I chomped down on Nova's thigh and felt HARV shoot a charge of my body's electricity into her at the same time. My teeth tingled a bit from the electrical backlash but Nova clearly got the bulk of the charge. "Yow!" she exclaimed, half in pain, half in surprise. "Did you just bite me?" She loosened her leg lock just enough for me to wriggle free. I squeezed out and popped to my feet with the aid of one of ropes. Nova got up and slowly pursued me, rubbing her leg as she moved. "Nice teeth. I like that in a man. Drop me an e-note if Electra ever dumps you. We could have some fun." She lashed out at me with the speed of a viper on caffeine, grabbed me with her left arm and lifted me off the ground. She rolled the fingers of her right hand into a fist and the lithe muscles in her arm tensed like a pound of plastique with a lit fuse. I had the feeling that I'd worn out my welcome. "Say good night!" she said. "You're going to thump me after just asking me out?" I asked.

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"Isn't love strange?" "I just hope my medical coverage is up to date," I said. "You really are a funny guy," she smiled. "Let's do lunch after you recover." Nova cocked her right hand for a thunder punch. I closed my eyes and prepared to board the big blue bus to the netherworld (as I mentioned earlier, I tend to be overly metaphoric when facing death). But instead of the sound of a bone crushing right cross to my face, I instead heard that of a bell (a computerized sonic imitation of a bell, anyway) coming from HARV. "Time is up!" HARV shouted. Nova sighed, a little disappointed and then gently put me down. "You actually did it," she said. "You had to cheat and play dirty some, but I respect that in a man." "As far as I'm concerned all's fair in love and war," I said as I put the wrist communicator back on my wrist, "and frankly, with you, Nova, it's hard to tell the difference." Her laugh was more melodic than I would have guessed. "Now what are those questions you have for me?" "I understand that you used to date Dr. Ben Pierce?" I stated very calmly. A rush of emotion flooded Nova's face as her calm exterior gave way to a raging interior. I could literally feel the heat her anger, no hatred, was generating. Nova screamed and she lashed out at me with a wild open-handed swing. She caught me with only a glancing blow but it was powerful enough to send me flying over the ropes and crashing to the floor. Enraged now, Nova leaped over the ropes and came after me. HARV was right, I really did have a way with people. Episode 15: Only A Mother

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Nova's charge was fast, furious and full of deadly force (oddly enough it was also kind of sensual but I won't go into that). I managed to maintain enough of my composure to roll away from her and pop my gun into hand. "Stun high!" I ordered as I fired from the ground. The blast hit Nova dead on and the concussive force sent shockwaves throughout the gym. A high powered stun blast from my weapon packs enough power to stop a bull elephant in its tracks and keep it sleeping for a week. Nova staggered but remained standing. I was ready to fire again but she smiled and waved me off. "Thanks, I needed that," she said, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. "That thing packs a wallop." She held out a hand to me which I accepted. "I'm sorry," she said as she dusted me off. "That name brings out the worst in me." "So I noticed." "Let's just say that it dredges up some painful memories." "So can I assume that you and Dr. Pier...that you and he were romantically involved?" I asked cautiously. She sighed and suddenly seemed very vulnerable. "We were in love," she said, "at least I was. It was your classic opposites-attract type of deal. That is before SHE butted in!" "She?" I asked, slowly backing away. "Roseanne," she spat. I nodded. "Another woman."

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"She's not a woman," Nova said bitterly, "she's a harpy in an apron, a merciless harridan in cheap perfume." "Harridan?" I asked. "A scolding old woman," HARV whispered. "She thinks that she owns him for life just because he's suckled at her breasts." "That's more information than I need to know, Nova." Then it hit me. "Wait a second, are you talking about his mother?" She shuddered at the word. "His MOMMY didn't think I was good enough for her brilliant baby," she hissed. "That Roseanne! She forced him to choose between us and, damn him, he chose her." "It's hard overcoming the shared gene thing." I said comfortingly. "Don't I know it," Nova sighed. "Do you mind me asking if you know where...he lives now?" I asked, choosing my words ever so carefully. "He gave up his mansion after his retirement from ExShell," she said, painfully, "and moved back in with his MOMMY!" "Do you have the address?" "1980 Reagan Ave," she said. "He's in some sort of deadly trouble, I hope!" "Too soon to tell," I told her as I turned to leave. "When you see him," Nova called to me. "Tell him I said hello." "I will," I smiled and turned away again. "No, wait," she said. "Tell him you saw me and that I looked great and

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seemed happy." "Okay." "And tell him that I had four gorgeous guys on my arm." "Got it." "No, wait. Just tell him I said hello." "We're never getting out of here," HARV whispered. "You know," Nova said, "don't tell him anything but if you get a chance, use that gun of yours on his mother." "Only in self-defense," I said. HARV brought the hovercraft down gently onto the street outside the Pierce house: a two -tory white colonial complete with a wraparound porch, a big oak tree on the lawn, and a picture perfect picket fence around the yard. It was like stepping into a Norman Rockwell interactive CD. "What a nice place," I said to HARV. "It's probably seventy years old, and it's real wood." "Very impressive," HARV said, unimpressed. "Shall I scan the structure for termites?" I rolled my eyes and knocked on the door (a good solid knock on good solid wood). "Who is it?" a sweet sounding old lady's voice called from behind the door. "Mrs. Pierce? This is Zachary Johnson. I was wondering if I could ask your son a few questions please." "I'll be with you in a nano, honey," the woman replied. "She sounds pleasant enough," I said to HARV.

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Just then, I heard a very distinctive "clik-clak" sound from the other side of the door and felt my blood run cold. My instincts kicked in and I dove headlong from the porch just as the front door exploded into a thousand real wood fragments. I took cover behind the oak tree in the yard and peered around the trunk just as the dear Mother Pierce strode through the destroyed door wielding a (still smoking) authentic double-barreled-shot gun. "I told you damn HTech people to leave my Benny alone!" she shouted. "He's a poet now! A sensitive artist, now get out of here before I blow your slimy head off." She sent another round of pellets into the tree I was hiding behind. "I've said it once, and I'll say it again," HARV said. "You really do have such a way with people." "This one is not my fault," I said. "Napoleon said the same thing at Waterloo, only in French." "Try to be helpful here, HARV," I said. "Now, can my armor withstand a point blank shotgun blast?" "The armor was not really built to absorb the shock from such concussive weapons. Randy, not surprisingly, never tested the armor against an attack from a one hundred year old shotgun. I will also point out that the armor will not protect your face so the answer to that question is a bit of a mixed bag." "I get the point ," I said as I popped my gun into hand. "Oh come now, you're not really going to blow Grandma away, are you?!" "I'm just going to take out her weapon," I said. "Heavy glue" I ordered. "Check!" the gun replied. I tried sneaking a peak around the tree but another round of pellets sent me

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diving back for cover. "DOS! She's pretty good with that thing!" I exclaimed. "HARV, you can guide the projectiles from my gun. Correct?" "Well yes, of course, I have remote access to your gun and its projectiles but from behind this tree I can't see Shotgun Granny any better than you." "I can fix that," I said, removing the communicator from my wrist. "Trust me on this," I said and tossed the communicator towards the house. "Hey!" HARV exclaimed as the communicator landed on the grass. "Cannon fodder is not exactly in my job description." "It's just the damn wrist communicator," I said. "You're only in about a thousand other places, including my head. Now do you have a clear view of Mrs. Pierce?" "Yes," he replied. "Good. Then do your stuff." I fired my gun and let HARV take remote control of the bullet. The round exploded outward in a wide curving arc and sped miraculously into the barrels of Ma Pierce's shotgun where it exploded with a rubbery "pop," coating the gun (and a good bit of Ma Pierce) in a globby casing of petroleum based glue. "DOS! You HTech people are tricky!" she shouted as she examined her jammed weapon. I came out from behind the tree with my hands held high in a friendly gesture and retrieved the wrist communicator from the lawn as I approached her. "I'm not from HTech, Mrs. Pierce. To tell you the truth, they really bug me as well." Mrs. Pierce stared at me for a moment as I approached and then used her

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glue covered hands to put on her bifocals. A smile came to her face. "Hey! I saw you on the Davey Letterman Junior Show! You're Nixon dick," she said. "Zachary Nixion Johnson," I said. "Private detective." "You were really funny that night!" she said, shaking my hand (and coating it with glue). "Thanks. You know, we did a lot more banter in rehearsal but they cut most of it so that the piano playing dog could do another number." "Cutting the classy stuff for the cheap laughs," she sighed, "but what can you do." "Yeah, what can you do," I agreed. "Sorry about the glue, by the way. It'll dissolve in an hour or so." "Thank you. And I'm sorry about the shotgun attack. You can't be too careful these days." "Don't mention it," I said. "So you want to talk to my son about a case?" "That's right Ma'am." "Benny's not in trouble is he?" "No Ma'am. I just want to ask him some questions to see if he can help me out," I answered. "Benny has a little apartment in the basement. Down the hall and at the bottom of the stairs," she said, pointing me in the right direction. "He's so happy now that he's a poet. His last collection made the Net's Poetry Best Seller List, you know. It was number fifty-five for almost twelve straight hours."

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"You must be very proud," I said. "It filled my heart with joy," she said. "Of course he hasn't earned anything from it. No one makes any actual money publishing on the Net." "Don't I know it." Episode 16: Poetry Emotion Dr. Pierce's apartment was like something out of another century (a boring something at that). It was a small, innocuous studio furnished with only a table, desk (complete with writing stick and paper), bed (unmade) and a few hundred antique paper books. It was like walking in on a caveman. Dr. Pierce himself, who was seated at the desk, was a harmless looking man in his late forties. His grey hair was thinning and he had the kind of body that you could only hope had seen better days, paunchy and untoned. Nova Powers could crush this man with an overly passionate goodnight embrace (love, go figure). Pierce looked up from his work as I entered. "Zachary Nixion Johnson, what a surprise. Are you here for a voice-graph?" he asked. "Actually Dr. Pierce I've been sent here by ExShell to talk to you about your work there," I said. A look of total disdain came over his face. "I did many projects for my former employers," he said as he scribbled what I could only assume was a new poem on the paper. "To which are you referring?" "BB-2." I stated coldly. "I have no idea what you are talking about," he stated even more coldly. "She's escaped and they want me to bring her back," I said, colder still (the one-upsmanship was getting difficult).

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He looked up from his writing pad and snickered at me. "As I said, I have no idea what you are talking about. But if I did, I would tell you that any super android I create would be more than a match for any hundred of you. "I appreciate the vote of confidence." "It's nothing personal, Mr. Johnson," Pierce said. "It's simple evolution. "Cro-Magnon, Neanderthal, Homo-Sapien, super android. You wouldn't have a chance simply because your adversary would be your evolutionary successor and superior to you in every manner. Of course I have no idea what either of us is talking about." "Dr. Pierce, there are so many flaws in that theory, I don't know where to begin," I said. "Of course you don't. That's because you're merely a carbon-based HomoSapien. A generation too slow." This called for a change in tactics. "Doc, do you think that news of your part in the creation of a super powered, killer android, would hurt your poetry career?" "I have no idea what you are talking about," he insisted. "Also," I said, changing tactics again, "if BB-2 is as angry and vengeful as they say, don't you think she'd want to come after you as well. There's this old flick called..." "I do not watch flicks," he scolded. "I'm a poet." "If BB-2 comes after you, you'll be a dead poet," I said. "I, being the hero I am, can't let that happen. It's bad for my QC rating." "I do not know what you are talking about," he said, "but I am safe here." He pulled a computer chip the size of an old quarter from his desk drawer and tossed it to me. " Thanks but I don't take tips," I said. "As I have said, I don't know what you are talking about, but, in the highly

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unlikely event that an unnamed super android should attack, this will protect me." "If you say so," I said, examining the chip. I decided to play it dumb. "But what is it? As you know, I'm no scientist." "I'm not a scientist either," he said indignantly, "but even a simple poet like myself can recognize an android neuro-neutralizer. It will neutralize the android which we were discussing, even though I have no idea what it was that we were discussing. "So, you see, I am quite safe," he smiled. He held out his open hand commandingly. I flipped the chip in the air, caught it in my hand and tossed it back to him. "Hypothetically," I said. "If a super powered android were to escape, where do you think it would go?" "I'm a poet not a psychologist nor a bartender," he said disdainfully. "I was Ms. Star's employee, nothing more. But I will say, if an android were to be modeled after Ms. Star, then it would only be logical for it to have brain patterns nearly identical to hers. Of course..." "You have no idea what I'm talking about," I said. "Precisely." "Thanks for your time, Mr. Pierce," I said, turning towards the door, "for someone who has no idea what I was talking about you've been very helpful." "I'll leave you with a poem, Mr. Johnson," he said, calling me back, "something to remember me by." He cleared his throat and then recited:

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"Things are never as they seem, As though we are living in a dream. Where one is another, Perhaps a sister, Or something other. The more you have, The more others need, So take heed." He finished with a little bow. "I am honored," I said, reciting my own poem, "that you gave such a poem to this poor slob. My advice, however, to you would be, don't quit your day job." I gave Pierce a little bow of my own and made a fast exit. "I like poetry as much as the next highly advanced machine," HARV said as we left the house, "but that guy hoovers. He makes Randy look like the poster boy for normal!" "Correct on both accounts," I said as I climbed into the hover. "But he confirmed for me that BB probably has a very good idea where BB-2 is headed. "Plus I got this."

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I reached into my pocket and withdrew Dr. Pierce's android neuroneutralizer. "You stole that!" "HARV, please, he gave it to me. We already have the one from ExShell but I figure it doesn't hurt to have a backup. You're always telling me that backups are so important." "But he wanted it back," HARV stubbornly protested. "Did he say that?" I asked as I started the hover. "He held out his open hand, which implied that he wanted..." "Something. I gave him my lucky 1996 quarter. It's worth a fortune. And all I got was this little neuro thing, which, according to his own statements, he has no need for, being a simple poet and all." "My, you have quite a way of..." "....adjusting the facts so they fit my needs?" "There are rules, you know..." HARV said. "Doctor Pierce said it himself. The only rule that applies here is that of evolution, survival of the fittest, or at least the trickiest. Now please launch the hover." "Fine," HARV said, bringing the hover into the air. "Where to, oh tricky one?" "Back to the office," I answered. "I need you to net with BB's computer and set up a meeting. But I want to make sure its done over a secure line in my office." "Wise move," HARV agreed.

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The hover leveled off for a moment but then lurched violently and continued to rise. "HARV I think we're over the height I requested," I said as we continued to climb. "Yes we are," HARV agreed. "Then please lower the craft," I ordered. "I'm trying, but the craft is not responding." "What do you mean it's not responding?" I asked hastily as we continued our ascent. "Well, technically it is responding, only in a manner that is inconsistent with my instruction," HARV said. "I thought you were impossible to control!" "While I may be impossible to control, it is apparently possible to bypass me, which is what is happening here. Actually it's quite an impressive display of remote rerouting and reprogramming." "Can you override it?" I asked nervously. "Eventually," HARV stated matter of factly. "Eventually?" "I estimate that the task will take me anywhere from five seconds to five hours with a ninety-two percent probability of the time falling within ten minutes of the median." "You do, of course, realize that we probably don't have that much time?" I asked. "I am assuming that the question is rhetorical so I shall not answer."

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"How high are we now?" I asked. "I'm being overridden so I don't have access to any of the instruments," HARV said. "Look over the side and I will make an estimate." I looked over the side so that HARV could get a good view. "Wow, we're way up there," HARV said. "Brilliant," I grumbled. The hovercraft computer kicked in with its chirpy monotone. "We are currently at an altitude of three hundred fifty meters and climbing." "Thank you," HARV told his fellow computer. "It always pays to be polite," he told me. "So what's the plan here, computer?" I asked. "We are climbing to an altitude of six hundred meters," the computer answered. "And then?" "At that point," it said bluntly, "I will cut all power to the gyros and we will begin a rapid descent culminating in a fiery impact upon the ground below." "I guess I could have seen that one coming..." I sighed. The hover lurched again and continued to climb. "Do not worry," the hover chirped reassuringly. "I have picked a deserted field well outside the city in which to crash. No others will be hurt." "That means a lot to me," I said, "but forgive me if I don't sit still for this. HARV, how big is the main logic chip in this hover's computer and where is it located?" "Why?" HARV asked.

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"Just tell me! I'm not in the best of moods right now." "The main logic chip is a tenth of a centimeter in diameter and it is located three centimeters directly below the dash, parallel with the control column." "Thanks," I said. "And I'm sorry if I shouted at you." "I understand," HARV said, "most people are adversely affected emotionally by the fast approach of imminent death. But I repeat my previous question, why, Zach?" I popped my gun into my hand. "If we can't control this thing then nobody will!" I pushed the seat back then fired a round into the driver's column. The onboard computer exploded and the hover lurched again and then started to plummet toward the Earth. I dove forward and grabbed the steering column. "Well, you have succeeded in overriding the computer," HARV said as he materialized next to me. "Thanks," I grunted as I struggled in vain to get some control of the plummeting craft. "I never would have guessed." "Though if the truth be known, I don't really see how this helps..." HARV said. "At least now we're in control of our own destiny. We'll be fine so long as we survive the fall." "What we? I am a projected image created from a CPU located many kilometers away from here. I will survive this crash. You on the other hand..." "Am going to survive as well!" I interrupted. "You certainly are optimistic. I always liked that about you," HARV told me. "I will miss you."

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"When we get close enough to the ground I'm going to jump!" I stated. "I think I've slowed this heap down enough so if I roll right and let my armor take the brunt of the fall I should survive!" "I give your current plan a 7.007007 percent chance of succeeding. I just wish there was more I could do," HARV lamented. "What about my body's electro-magnetic energy?" "You mean the naturally occurring current created by TCA cycles during..." "I don't need a bio-chem lesson," I said. "You can manipulate my body's electro-magnetic energy, correct?" "Yes, it is very possible, like when we zapped Nova." "Think you could utilize the magnetic part only in reverse?" "You mean shield you?" HARV asked. "Exactly!" "I suppose it's worth a shot, since you...." "DO IT!" I shouted as I leapt from the craft. "What?!" HARV screamed inside my head. I leapt free of the craft at a height of roughly twenty-five meters. The craft sparked wildly for another few seconds and then exploded brilliantly in a fiery flash. I plummeted towards the ground, amidst the shower of smoking debris, but somehow I felt that my free fall wasn't as free as it could have been. HARV was working his simulated magic. I hit the ground hard and rolled. I felt the circuits in my armor spark and give way as, one by one, the force of impact blew them out. When I finally came

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to rest amidst the tall weeds of the field, my body felt like one big bruise. It hurt, but the fact that I felt the pain was a good sign. I was alive! HARV's image appeared beside me. "You know a little more warning would have been nice," he said. "You shouldn't get in the habit of just yelling 'do it' before jumping out of a hovercraft, thinking I'll be able to save you." "I had a hunch that the craft was going to blow," I said. "Ah yes, your famous intuition. I'm in complete awe!" "And I knew you'd be there for me," I said with a smile. "Well, you're right," HARV said reluctantly, "but only because it would take me too long to find someone who plays backgammon as poorly as you do." "Of course," I smiled. HARV and I just sat in the field for a few minutes, counting my lucky stars and watching the tiny bits of flaming debris from the hovercraft float to the ground. Episode 17: Sleep, Lies and No Video Tape HARV netted me a taxi 'bot which brought me home (without trying to kill me). I entered my house and collapsed on the couch, exhausted. "What's the plan now?" HARV asked. I put a pillow over my head and tried hard to ignore the question. "I need to report to BB," I groaned, "then we'll call it a day." "I think you need to speak with someone else first," HARV said. I turned to my wall screen just as a window zoomed open revealing a very irate Carol.

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"What happened to my hover?" she growled and gave me a glare that could have psionically wilted reinforced titanium. I got the distinct feeling that if we'd been speaking in person I'd be clucking like a chicken by now. "It wasn't my fault.". "I've heard that before," she said. "I should melt your brain. I should fry every bit of memory and independent thought in your head, overload every pain sensing neuron you have and then turn the whole thing to a mush." "Yeah, well you do and you're fired," I retorted. "And no severance pay." "Ooh," HARV said, "a close one but I think that round of threats goes to the young lady." "Look," I said to Carol. "Even though it wasn't my fault, I'm sorry I wrecked your hover. I will buy you a new one the nano I solve this case." "If he lives," HARV injected. "If I live," I concurred. "Fine," she sighed. "I guess it's not your fault that somebody spoofed the hover. Are you all right?" "I've been better," I grinned. "Do you need me to do anything?" "No, close up the office for the day and go home early." "I would," she said, "but I have no hover." "I'll pay for the cab," I said. "Any message from Electra?" "Just that she still hates you.". "Well," I sighed, "it's a good sign that she'd take the time to call and express her hatred"

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"You really are an optimist," HARV said. "Need anything else?" Carol asked. "Nope." "Great!" she said. "There's a Latin music festival in New Vegas that I want to see tonight." "I thought you had a lab project due in plant engineering tomorrow?" "Oh, my lab partners suddenly decided that they would do my share for me," she smirked. "Sometimes it pays to be me." She gave me another smile and a little wave then pushed a button on her keyboard. The window went black. "I wonder if she was joking?" I asked HARV. "Hard to compute, but I suggest we turn our attention back to the matters at hand -- you know -- this case that you're getting paid so much for, yet are still losing money on." "Operating expenses. We'll be reimbursed." "If you survive." "I wish you'd stop saying that." "Shall I link you with BB so that you can give her a status report?" HARV asked. "In a minute," I said. "We need to talk first." "Oh good, a conversational exercise," HARV chirped. "Nice weather we're having. Do you think the Cubs will ever win the pennant again? Did you see the hard drives Nova was packing?"

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"Cut the small talk." A giant "OK" flashed on the full wall screen. HARV was apparently learning the concept of "humor". "Can we get serious?" I said. "You know as well as I do that we have a major leak somewhere." "Yes, I've noticed that. I net with BB's computer over a normal line, and the next thing you know our hovercraft is trying to kill you," he paused for nano. "My guess is that the lawyer is the leak." "That's too obvious," I said shaking my head. "You might as well say the butler did it." "Then who?" HARV asked. "It certainly isn't any of the thugs. Those guys all need to read the directions before shaving." "I don't know, but it's clearly someone who knows the ExShell computer system." "Someone on the inside?" "Or someone who used to be on the inside," I said. "Scan for any disgruntled ExShell employees or ex-employees who may have connections with HTech." "Any employee with enough access to do this would be too well paid to have their loyalties turned," HARV insisted, "and it's illegal for former ExShell employees to work for HTech." "Peek around some anyway," I insisted. "There's a link somewhere." "You realize, of course, that this type of information will be buried very deeply. A disguised needle in a million ever-changing haystacks." "I have faith in you, bud." "Great, that and ten credits will get me a cup of soy coffee," he said.

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"Please link me with BB now," I politely ordered. BB's dazzling face popped into a computer window in less than a second. "Zachary," she smiled, "how goes the investigation?" "I'm making steady progress," I said. (I could see HARV snickering out of the corner of my eye.) "That is wonderful news. Can I expect that this matter will be resolved soon?" "I don't doubt it," I said. "But I need to ask you a few questions." "I am all yours," she smiled. "If you were an escaped version of yourself where would you go?" "Pardon me?" "Think about it BB, the android for all intents and purposes, is you. So put yourself in its place. Where would you go?" She looked puzzled. "I am not certain." "Well, would you leave the city?" I asked. "No, I love New Frisco. I was born here and plan to live here until my regeneration limits are over. And I think that I would want to stay close to myself, in order to plot my revenge." A wide smile spread across her face. "My, this is fun!" she said. "So where would you hang out?" I asked. "Excuse me?" "Where would you be likely to stay? Where would you feel safe"

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"Without a doubt the place where I was the happiest in all of my life was my Grandma's house." "Grandma's house?" "She used to live in the older section of town, the pre-quake buildings. "Sadly, the area is no longer fit for human occupation. She lives in the Frisco Centurion Citizen Center on Bay Street now. It's quite nice." "Netscape! I'll check it out first thing tomorrow." "Good luck," BB said as her computer window went black. "What's the plan now?" HARV asked. "Have the maidbot prepare me a steak, a real one, not one of those soy things. I'm going to take a shower. Then I'm going to hit the sack." "What?" HARV protested. "It won't even be 1800 by then!" "Fine with me," I said, as I headed towards the shower. "I want to get an early start tomorrow. You know how those seniors like to roll in the a.m. Besides, after ten attempts on my life in two days I can use some beauty rest and, for some reason, no one ever tries to kill me when I'm sleeping." "Yes, well, there are many factors why that is so," HARV said. "When you're sleeping it is easy for me to center the house's defenses on you. Also, it is nearly impossible for even you to offend anyone while unconscious. And lastly, it costs a lot more to get killer thugs to work at night. Union rules, you know." "Say goodnight, HARV." Episode 18: Rolling & Bonding I woke early the next morning without HARV's assistance. The night's sleep

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had done me some good but my bones still ached and my many bruises were still very tender. I knew that I had to wrap up this case soon for a number of reasons: a) I needed the money, b) My body couldn't take much more of the daily wear and tear, c) The attempts to kill and maim me would (most likely) be greatly reduced to a more manageable number. I washed, dressed and ate breakfast while watching the morning news holohighlights. "My, my we're up early today," HARV taunted, knowing full well that I don't like rising before the sun. "Well, centurions like to start their days early and thugs don't," I said as I swallowed the last bite of breakfast. "I figure that's a good combination for today." So we're off to see Granny BB at the Frisco home for the old and unwanted?" "The Frisco Centurion Citizen Center," I corrected. "And yes, we're going to speak with Mrs. Backerman. You need to be a little more civil in your linguistics, HARV." "Oh please," HARV groaned. "You know very well that I've been programmed to use the most current politically correct terms. I was being facetious and trying to make a point about the sensibilities of our distinguished client." "The point being?" "Well, it seems to me, that if Ms. Star loves her dear grandmother as much as she professes, she wouldn't have put her in an old folks' home or, as my programming forces me to refer to it, 'a care community for the youthfully challenged.'" "That's BB's choice," I said.

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"True, but I would think that one of the richest women in the world might do a little better for her dear old granny." "I've already thought of that, HARV," I said, "but I'm reserving judgment until speaking with Mrs. Backerman." "Point taken," HARV agreed. "But let me ask you this, Sherlock. How are you going to get there? Has it slipped your CPU that you've destroyed two vehicles in the last two days?" "I've got that covered," I said with a smile, "literally." "What do you mean by...Oh, no." "Kindly follow me to the garage." I said as I turned and walked merrily through the hall. "Oh no, no," HARV protested again. I hopped into the garage like a kid out of bed on Holiday morning. Even though the object of my affection was carefully covered beneath a silk cloth I couldn't help but smile at the sight of its majestic silhouetted form. "Oh no, no, no," HARV said, as he materialized in front of me, attempting to block my view. I walked through him and pulled the cover away with a theatrical flourish to reveal the true jewel of my antique collection: a Cherry Red 1965 Ford Mustang Convertible in mint condition, metal and chrome gleaming in the somewhat sterile light of the microwave florescent fixtures overhead. "Please," HARV said, continuing his protest. "Anything but this. The vehicle is ninety-two years old. It's never been weapon proofed. It needs expensive and highly polluting gasoline, the sale of which I will remind you has been outlawed for ten years. And, above all else, it doesn't have a computer!" "Exactly," I said with a smile. "It's perfect!" (A logical argument can never sway a man when it comes to his wheels or his women).

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"Garage open!" I said. The garage door, being far more obedient than HARV, instantly complied. I hopped into the car and turned the key in the ignition. The engine turned over and growled like a kitten on steroids. I smiled as I felt the steady throb of the powerful machine around me. "You know, of course, that your love of this car is simply your subconscious way of hiding your personal inadequacies." "Log off, HARV!" I said as I revved the engine and threw the car into gear. "You're ruining the moment." The engine roared and the tires gave a satisfying squeal as we leapt onto the road. HARV holographically materialized from my eye lens and sat in the passenger seat next to me as we drove. "This car is as inconspicuous as me at a Pentium convention!" he said. "I thought you were trying to keep a low profile." "The low profile was blown the moment BB told the media that she and I were lovers. And with the bad luck we've had with computer controlled vehicles recently, I figure this is the safest way to travel." "Then Gates help us all," HARV sighed. At the intersection of Shake and Rattle Streets (the municipal planners were a lot less uptight in the years following the big quake), I signaled to turn right. "No, go straight" HARV bleated. "Make a right onto Tremor and then cut across to Aftershock Ave." "That's nearly a mile out of our way." "True," HARV said. "But, only as the crow flies. The municipal traffic

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computer informs me that, due to heavy construction and the timing of the lights, you will save one point five minutes by utilizing this alternate route." "Fine," I said. I grinned and carefully kept the car on course for Tremor Street. "Why do you have that foolish grin on your face?" "No reason," I said, still grinning. "I just figured out what this is all about. That's all." "You are being more confusing than normal," HARV said. "What what is all about? And I'm sure it's not what you think it is." "You don't like this car," I said, "because you need to feel needed." "Excuse me?" HARV said with a bit too much surprise, "Are you talking to me? I don't think so, because that just does not compute." "You're upset because I can operate this car without any assistance from you whatsoever. Face it, HARV, you need to be needed by me." "That is ridiculous!" HARV exclaimed. "My Gates, the phrase sounds as though it should be from one of those insipid old songs of which you are so fond. Need to be needed by you, indeed." "Yeah, I guess you're right," I said and turned my attention back to the road, though I purposely let the grin on my face widen. "You don't believe me, do you? Well, I don't care whether you believe me or not. The fact that I need to be needed does not make one iota of sense. I am a projection from a highly developed computer, the very concept of need is, well, nothing I need to worry about." He stopped suddenly and pointed towards the road. "Take this left turn coming up here, then park in lot B two point five. It's the closest to Mrs. Backerman's room. And be careful of the sharp curve ahead. Netscape, what would you do without me?"

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I just smiled and did as I was told. I parked the car, hopped out and headed towards the mammoth high-rise that was the Frisco Centurion Citizen Center. "Switch out of Hologram mode," I whispered to HARV as we walked. "I'd like to keep the projector a secret for as long as possible!" HARV's hologram dissipated. His voice, however, did not. "Don't think I can't see that grin!" He yelled from inside my head. I looked up at the towering building and nearly toppled over from a mild attack of vertigo. The building was so high I could barely read the giant FRISCO CENTURION CITIZEN CENTER holo-sign rotating on the roof. The structure was a prime example of the ridiculous architecture of the early 2040's. A huge sterile, albeit good-looking, box of a building with all the personality of a cardboard 7-11 night clerk, it was conservative in every sense save for its size. The thing was over two hundred stories high (talk about subconscious insecurities). "I don't suppose Grandma lives on the ground floor," I asked as I watched the high speed elevators zip up and down the walls like hyper roaches on a garbage can. "As if life would be that fair," HARV chided. "She lives in the penthouse, floor two fifty-six." "Of course," I mumbled and headed towards the elevator. The elevator operator, a high-class server droid with pale orange skin tone and pleasant, though somewhat cold, features, greeted me at the door. "Good day sir," the droid droned. "Who would you like to visit with?" "A building this large," HARV whispered inside my head, "you'd think they could afford a grammatically correct 'droid." "What?"

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"I said," the droid responded slowly, "who would you like to visit with?" "Don't you hear it?" HARV whined. "It's ending the sentence with a preposition. It's 'with whom would you like to visit,' you binary buffoon." "Will you cut it out," I said. "I'm sorry, sir," the droid said, confused, "have I disturbed you?" "No, not at all," I said, trying to shake HARV out of my head. "I'm here to see Grandma Backerman, please." The android's eyes flashed for a nano. "I'm sorry sir, but there is no person by that name residing here,". The eyes flashed briefly again. "Though after consulting my extensive database, I have noticed that one of our tenants is named Barbara Backerman. Perhaps she is who you are looking for?" "Gates, I don't believe it," HARV shouted inside my head. "It did it again. Where did this pseudo-brain get his programming?" I ignored HARV again. "That would be my guess," I said as I patted the droid on the back and entered the elevator. "Ms. Backerman resides on the two hundred fifty-sixth floor," the droid said as it followed me into the elevator. "Do you wish to push the buttons yourself?" "That's okay," I said, "knock yourself out." "But sir, if I knock myself out how can I operate the high-rise-cargopassenger-delivery-device?" "It's a figure of speech," I told the droid. I had forgotten how literal most droids were.

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"The trip to floor two hundred fifty-six will take exactly one minute," the droid droned. "Please hang on to the side rails. If you are a resident of a planet where tobacco products are still legal, please remember that tobacco products and by-products are forbidden on this device as required by..." "I'm a human," I said. "From earth." "I'm sorry sir, regulations," the droid replied, as the elevator began to rise. "Sometimes it is so hard to tell. Humans from earth and humans from hydra are identical externally, as you may know. However, their major organs are completely reversed and, since I am not equipped with scanners, I cannot differentiate the two. And since hydroians still like a good smoke now and then it is only prudunt to inquire." "Also, the beings from Glad-5 ingest tobacco products as their national pastime. Of course the resulting by-products are actually good for them. And, although they do not generally resemble humans, a mutant from Glad-5 could conceivably take on the form of a human as..." The elevator stopped. The droid stopped talking for a moment, presumably gathering its thoughts. "We have reached your destination," it said at last. "Mrs. Backerman's room encompasses this entire wing. Therefore, you shall have no difficulty finding what you are searching for." "Please get away from this analog throwback," HARV pleaded. "Thanks," I said as I anxiously ended the elevator ride from cyber-hell. The door to Mrs. Backerman's suite was at the end of a short hallway, which was clearly well-monitored. I cautiously approached the door and pressed the call button under the view screen. A woman's face appeared on the screen after a moment. The face was delicate and stunningly beautiful, reminiscent of BB herself, albeit a much younger BB than the one I knew.

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"Zachary Johnson!" the woman exclaimed. "My goodness, what a surprise. "What can I do for you dear?" "I'm looking for Barbara Backerman," I answered. The woman smiled. "That would be me, deary." "Let me be more specific. I'm looking for Barbara Backerman, the grandmother of BB Star." "Like I said deary, that would be me." Episode 19: To Grandma's House We Go! There are moments during investigations when you uncover a simple piece of information and everything that you thought you knew suddenly gets turned on its head. The case takes on a whole new dimension and your entire plan for the investigation changes completely. I love those moments. This wasn't one of them. But you have to admit, it was pretty darn weird. The woman who claimed to be Grandma Backerman had the face of a debutante model. She looked decades younger than me, and more importantly, younger than BB. It's true that we live in strange times and that today's holograms and regen treatments can provide pretty fair makeovers. But this was light-years beyond anything I'd ever seen. "So, you're Grandma Backerman?" I asked one last time as she ushered me into her sumptuous penthouse. "Yes, deary I am," she confirmed again. "And that's the third time I've answered that question. Aren't you a micro young to be in need of a hearing improvement implant?"

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"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just a little taken aback. It's not every day I meet a grandmother who looks like she's nineteen years old." "You flatter me, Mr. Johnson," she giggled coyly. "My appearance is computer adjusted to be twenty-two." "Well, you wear the years well," I said. "And please, call me Zach. If you don't mind me asking, how old are you really?" "Please, Zach, a lady never answers such a question," she said haughtily. "Ninety three next month." "I've seen intense regeneration treatments before," I said "but this takes the soy cake!" "I'm a very rich woman, Zach. I use only the best. Dr. S Bono performed the procedure. It's experimental and not yet available to the masses." "Well, I'd say the procedure was a roaring success." She laughed a girlish (yet grandmotherly) laugh and motioned me towards the floating anti-grav couch in the sunken livingroom. "I do so love the flattery of a young man," she said. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" "No, not at all," she beamed. "Would this be regarding business or pleasure?" Her girlish hand touched my thigh. "Business," I stated, calmly and professionally. "Are you certain of that?" she said as the hand moved a little further up my thigh. I scooted away from her a bit on the couch. "By any chance, did your regen treatment include massive hormonal

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transfusions?" I asked. "Why do you ask?" "I think you might want to get the levels reduced a bit." "Hmmm, you know that would explain a lot of the cravings I've been having recently," she said. "But now since I can't interest you in anything carnal, can I get you a nice glass of iced tea? It's the real thing, you know, not that 286 soy imitation DOS you get in restaurants. Gates, that stuff Hoovers like nobody's business." It was clear that Grandma Backerman's regen treatment also included some subconscious slang implantation. I was beginning to think that the experimental treatment was not the rousing success that I'd first thought. "Tea would be fine," I said. No sooner had the words left my mouth than a tiny maidbot rolled into the room carrying two glasses of iced tea and a tray of cookies in her claws. "Very responsive," I said, taking my tea and a cookie from the tray. "Like I said, Zach my boy, I only use the very best," she said, giving me a glimpse of the old grandma. "So, what do you want from me?" "Just a little information," I said. "I'm an old woman, Zach, I have lots of useful information stored up here." She pointed to her head. "Have you seen your granddaughter lately?" I was forbidden by ExShell to openly discuss BB-2 with anyone not directly connected with the project. However, since the real BB hadn't left her building in months, I knew that any recent visits grandma may have had from BB, would have actually been from the android impersonator.

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"No, I'm afraid not," she replied "I haven't seen BB since she took over the business from her late husband, may he burn in the bowels of purgatory for all eternity and a day." "Excuse me?" "Zach, I knew that man was no good for her from the very beginning. Pure poison. That's what he was. I'm so glad he's shuffled off the mortal coil." She paused for second, and put her hand over her mouth. "Oops, I guess that wasn't a very grandma-like thing to say." "Well, the mortal coil part was pretty grandmotherly." "But you get my point, don't you?" "Yes, I do, Mrs. Backerman. But, I just want to be clear here. You're certain that you haven't seen BB at all?" "I'm absolutely certain," she said. "Although that android twin of hers comes to visit quite regularly." Remember when I said that every so often a simple bit of information will turn a case completely on its head? Well, Grandma's bombshell flipped this one so many times I felt like a fly trapped in a centrifuge. I spit a mouthful of iced tea onto the carpet in surprise and turned to the smiling Grandma. "You know about BB-2?" "Of course I do. We had tea just yesterday. And not that fake soy carbon waste, mind you, but the real thing!" "You had tea with her?" "You really do need to get your hearing checked, Zach," Grandma said. "Yes, we had tea. She is my granddaughter, after all, or at least an exact copy of my granddaughter, one that has time for her grandma, I might add."

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"Mrs. Backerman, BB-2 was originally designed as a weapon," I said, "a highly sophisticated, ultra powerful killing machine. Don't you think she might be a bit dangerous?" "You know, that's the problem with people today," Grandma said, "we're too caught up in labels. Everybody has to be a something or another. She's a democrat, he's a Catholic, she's a killer android. We're all human beings, Zach." "Technically, Ma'am, BB-2 is an android." "That's true, but she's very polite. Besides, she won't hurt me. It's only BB that she hates." "Does BB know about this?" "That BB-2 hates her? Isn't that why she hired you?" "I mean does she know that BB-2 regularly visits you?" "I doubt it," she said. "BB's too busy running that business of hers to even speak to me. Can you imagine? I mean, is it that hard to net with somebody now and then?" It was time to ask the sixty-four million credit question. "So, do you know where I might find BB-2?" Grandma was silent. "Please, Mrs. Backerman. This is very important." She shook her head. "You'll hurt her," she said. "I'm not going to hurt her," I said. "I'm going to temporarily turn her off so that the ExShell techs can repair and disarm her." "I don't know...." she hesitated.

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I put my hand over my heart and spoke in my most sincere voice. "You can trust me, Ms. Backerman. I don't kill people." "Yes, but as you said, technically, BB-2 is not human." "You're right." I put my hand back over my heart. "I don't kill people or things that are practically people." "What about that mad scientist last year?" "He dove into that acid of his own volition." "And that strange group of Latin singers?" "That was an accident too! Things like that happen when you play the Macarena over and over. But you're missing the point here. If I don't find BB-2 then you can bet that BB will hire an army of professional heavies to take her down permanently. Or maybe BB-2 will take the offensive and find a way to get BB. Either way, somebody or some-almost-body that you love is going to get hurt. I'm your best chance, Mrs. Backerman. I am your only chance to end this peacefully." "Well, you are on HV a lot. That has to count for something," Grandma said, mulling over my argument. "Where can I find her, Mrs. Backerman?" Grandma sighed and, for the first time, she looked to me like the old woman that she truly was, a very sweet old woman torn between the loves of her granddaughter and an android killing machine. "She likes to spend her days at the Happy Hacker, where she used to dance," she said. "It reminds her of BB's good old days, before she met that goodfor-nothing ex-husband of hers. May he burn in the bowels of purgatory for all eternity and a day. Now, how about another glass of iced tea?" "Sorry, Ma'am," I said as I stood up and headed towards the door. "Perhaps another time? Right now duty calls!"

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I was happy, though a bit surprised, to see the android operator waiting for me in the elevator as I left Grandma Backerman's apartment. "Oh great," HARV said, "another elevator ride with the grammar mangler." I ignored HARV as the elevator droid very politely opened his transparent door for me and ushered me inside. "Ground floor please," I said as I entered. "With great and absolute pleasure," the android said as the elevator door closed. "Sentence fragment," HARV said. "Please hang on to the side rails as we descend," the droid said. "If you are a resident of a planet where tobacco products are still legal, please remember that tobacco products and by-products are forbidden on this device as required by..." "Didn't we already go through this?" I asked. "I'm sorry sir, regulations," the droid said. The elevator began its descent. "I'm a human," I said. "I'm from earth. I don't smoke and, as you can see, I am hanging onto the handrails. All I want now is to get to the ground." The elevator came to a quick and jarring stop. I looked down through the plexi-walls and saw that we were between floors and were still over two hundred floors above the ground. "Uh-oh," HARV said inside my head. "Ah, this isn't the ground floor," I said to the droid, though I was pretty certain that it already knew this. "Correct," it said.

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"Have we stopped to pick up another passenger? If so you really need to stop at one of the floors." "Your deduction is logical but incorrect," the droid replied. "I have no need at the present time to pick up any other passengers." It stabbed a button on the wall with its Teflon finger and the door to the outside popped open. "You asked to be delivered to the ground," it said as it approached me. "And I shall make certain that you arrive there, albeit not in the manner which you asked for." "For which you asked!" HARV shouted. "Gates, this thing can't even threaten correctly." "HARV," I said as the droid lunged at me, "I think you're missing the big picture here." Episode 20: Going Down There are a lot of things that go through your mind when you're two hundred stories above the ground and being attacked by an android (trust me, I've been through this a lot). My first thought was: "uh-oh, I'll never survive this fall," (the first reaction is always the most obvious). My second thought was that I should have expected something like this to happen. After all it had been hours since the last attempt on my life and my recent run-ins with killer machines should have made me wary of this 'droid. Both thoughts were quite true, but neither was all that useful. My third thought was much more helpful and it was echoed by HARV's words inside my head. "Move your gluteus maximus, Johnson or you'll be taking the terminal express to the ground floor!" I understood HARV's warning (which scared me) but my gluteus maximus and I were already on the move. I shifted my weight to one side and ducked

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under the outstretched arms of the lunging 'droid. I elbowed it hard in the back of the neck and slammed its head into the plexiglass wall of the elevator. It was a smooth move but I knew that it wouldn't hurt the 'droid all that much so I scrambled to the other side of the elevator where I spun around and flicked my wrist, popping my gun into my hand. "Listen buddy," I growled in my best bad-ass voice. "One step closer and I'll blow you into an expensive scrap pile of whatever it is you're made from." The 'droid just sort of shrugged its shoulders and took a step towards me. "From this angle the force of your weapon's projectiles will not only destroy me but the anti-gravity circuits of this elevator as well. The elevator will go into freefall and crash to the ground below. Thus my purpose will be served. Therefore, please feel free to fire at will." "Who's Will?" I asked. The android stopped. "You are trying to confuse me by pretending to think that my use of the word 'will' in the previous statement was a reference to a being named Will or William. I, however, am a model class SFC-5, android and can not be confused so easily." He took another menacing step forward. "Give him a grammar test," HARV said. "That will confuse him." I ignored HARV and concentrated on the 'droid. "You talk pretty tough for a 'droid with its sock untied." "First of all," the 'droid said, "I am an android, model class SFC-5, and therefore have no need for socks. Secondly, even if I were wearing socks they would not need to be tied as socks do not have laces." "Therefore," I countered, "since your socks don't have laces they really are

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untied." The android stopped its approach. I had succeeded in baffling it with an illuminating display of pure illogic. It looked down at its feet and pondered its socks (or lack thereof). I took advantage of the moment and lunged forward, dropping my shoulder and slamming my body into the 'droid's midsection. It stumbled backwards towards the open door but caught itself at the last moment with a hand on each side of the frame. "Ha!" it taunted. "Your ploy was clever but you did not take into account my superior reflexes. I am an android, model class SFC-5, and I am stronger than you in every conceivable respect." "It's not the strength that matters here," I said as I raised my gun. "It's the angle." I smiled. The droid frowned. I fired. My gun blast blew a football sized hole in the droid's chest, short circuiting most of the major functions in its CPU. I kicked the sparking frame in the head and sent it tumbling out of the elevator to it's termination. HARV appeared from the projector in my lens and watched with me as the 'droid hit the ground below and shattered into a gazillion tiny pieces. "Talk about your infinitive splits," HARV said. "Androids, they fall for that untied sock line every time. Alert the people who run this place, HARV, and let them know that one of their androids...malfunctioned. You were recording the confrontation, weren't you?" "Yes, of course I was recording. I didn't just roll off the assembly line

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yesterday, you know. But it doesn't matter. ExShell owns this complex and they assure me that there will be no questions asked about the late, great psychotic android model class SFC-5." "Good," I said as I walked to the elevator's control panel. "The question now is how do I get this thing safely to the ground?" "How should I know? I'm a computer not an elevator 'droid. Take a good look at the control panel with your eye lens so I can examine it." I did as I was told. "Hey, these circuits are all in binary," he said. "What does that mean?" "Nothing in particular. I just thought you might find it interesting." "I'll include it in my memoirs." "You're humoring me. I can tell." He pointed to the last row of buttons on the very bottom of the panel. "Push the one on the left." I did as I was told. Instantly the elevator went into a high speed free fall. The sudden violent descent slammed me to the ceiling and then to the floor. HARV's image wavered a bit but remained standing. "Ha, just kidding," he said. "It's the one on the right." I struggled forward, reached up, and pressed the correct button. The elevator started to slow and before long, the rate of descent was tolerable.

"I could have been killed!" I screamed. "Not really," HARV said with a sly grin. "The elevator has an auto-override.

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It would have stopped on it's own." HARV's developing sense of humor was really starting to worry me. "Someday I'm going to have you disconnected," I said as the elevator gently touched town. "Disconnected, deconstructed, melted down and recast into a million silicon souvenir key chains. At that point, you'll be more useful to me than you are right now!" "Right," HARV snickered, "you'd be lost without me." I ignored him. I left the building, got into my car and drove away. HARV used my eye lens to pop into the passenger seat beside me. "We're off to the Happy Hacker." "I'm not answering that question," I said in a surly tone. "That's okay. It wasn't a question." We drove for miles in a silence that was broken only when we came to the intersection of Judy Garland Boulevard and Jerry Garcia Avenue (one of the city's more interesting corners, to be certain). "It would be nearly thirty-three seconds quicker if you were to turn right here," HARV said pointing to his right (just in case I had forgotten where right was). "What, and lose thirty-three seconds of precious bonding time with you?" I said as I continued straight. "You're being facetious. I can tell. I am the world's most sophisticated computer." "Believe it or not, HARV, I am capable of doing some things, make that most things, without you. Man invented the computer as a tool. Something to perform tasks for us. The tool-maker controls the tool. Not vice versa." "Ever hit your thumb with a hammer?"

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"You're twisting the point." "Your statement is true, in theory," HARV sort of agreed. "My point however, is that the society of mankind has become totally dependent upon computers and, for all intents in purposes, is now in thrall to the tools. Sixty-seven percent of the human population today, for instance, doesn't know how to operate a manual-flush toilet." "You're making that up." "Even if I were, you would have no way to prove it without accessing information stored on a computer." "You're point being?" "We're everywhere! And we do everything for you. You'd be lost without us. Actually no, you wouldn't be lost because without us none of you could even open the doors to your houses in order to get lost." "I have plenty of manual powered doors," I retorted. "True, you being a bit of a history buff. But I was speaking metaphorically. The point is that you humans need us. You created us but, your society could no longer exist without us." I was silent and continued to drive. "What, no witty comeback?" HARV asked. "Do you suppose that's how BB-2 feels?" "What do you mean?" "She's an android, a computer, but she possesses the exact memories and brain patterns of a human being." "I'm not sure I get your drift."

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"She's part human and part machine.," I said. "She's both the tool-maker and the tool but suppose that she's unsure of which is which?" "You mean, she could consider humans as tools to serve computers? Gates, wouldn't that be nice." "No, think about it," I said, "she has the thoughts of a human in the mind and body of a computer. She has been built to be a tool but her thoughts are those of a tool-maker." "A grunt soldier with the mind of a general," HARV said. "Exactly, a grunt soldier dissatisfied with how things are being run." "You think she's rallying the troops? Plotting a coup? Preparing to relieve her commanding officer of his duties?" "I don't know, " I said. "I'm certain of one thing, though." "What's that?" HARV asked. "We've run this metaphor into the ground." Episode 21: Happy Hour? In my pre-Electra days I spent many a wondrous night at places like the Happy Hacker Bar and Grill. This big metal hangar-type building was originally the home of a computer software company which specialized in perfecting something or other on the world wide web. The company went bust after the first great web collapse at the turn of the century and the owners of the company; billionaires one minute, bankrupt the next, committed mass suicide and broadcast the ritual over the web as a symbolic farewell to the fickle multitudes of web surfers. Ironically, the company's web server went down halfway through the ritual so no one actually saw the event and the departed webmasters' message, like many other messages sent over the web, went unheard.

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Needless to say, the children of the company's owners became somewhat distrustful of technology after that and turned the once-mighty corporate headquarters into a very low-tech bar and grill. Technology comes and goes, they claimed, but booze and fried food never go out of style (a place after my own heart). The place was dark, dilapidated, decrepit and as run down as the batteries in an old whore's vibrator. But from the sounds of the loud music and laughter coming from within, it was clear that ambiance didn't matter much to the patrons of the H-Squared. "A charming place indeed," HARV said with a bit of disgust. "I thought that the post-apocalyptic look went out with the last apocalypse." "It's called atmosphere, HARV. Lighten up." I turned to HARV's holographic image as he emerged, in his standard butler attire, from the car. "Now before we go in," I said, "I'm going to need you to do something about your appearance." "What's that?" "Don't make one." "I beg your pardon!" he answered with a good bit of aristocratic indignity. "This is a very low-tech bar and we want to keep a very low profile. My walking in with a computerized holographic butler is not going to endear me to the patrons. I need you to stay hidden." "Fine," he said with a huff, "perish the thought that I sully your reputation with the slacker crowd." His hologram faded out but his voice immediately echoed inside my head. "Shall I stay in your mind or is having something intelligent inside one's head a faux pas amongst this crowd as well?" "You're taking this a little too personally," I said, as I followed the loud music to the club entrance.

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Inside, the place looked as no-tech as you can get without having dinosaur meat on a skewer. A big bar at the rear of the room kept the food (real food, no soy imitation stuff) coming and the drinks flowing. The tables were all full, as were the stools at the bar and most of the standing space was occupied as well (busy night). A dry ice machine in the back produced the necessary dive-bar smoke effects (sans nicotine) and a tobacco scented filter gave the air that annoying stench to which bar dwellers of this sort are so accustomed. A few scantily-clad dancers (male and female) bumped and ground on scattered stages and raised podiums for the adoring patrons. As much as I hated to admit it, the place was beginning to grow on me. As I was soaking in the atmosphere two bouncers, one man and one woman, came to greet me. They were big and burly, as bouncers always are. The woman was rather attractive (in a leg-breaking kind of way). The guy just looked like your average leg-breaker. Their clothing was vintage 1960's hippie: bright, colorful, and not at all color coordinated. Both of them sported tie-dyed I SURVIVED OFF-PLANET WOODSTOCK 2050 T-shirts. And they both wore those faux Birkenstocks that were so (inexplicably) popular again twenty years ago. Unfortunately, they were also both packing heavy-duty stun guns. Nothing like those around in the 1960s. The woman took the lead in the approach. She stepped in front of me and put her large hand in my face in the universal (except on Glad-7) "stop right there" position. "Hold it, buddy," she said. "Mandatory computer check." "Excuse me?". She pointed at HARV's communicator at my wrist. "All computers have to be checked at the door." She paused and took a closer look at my face, studying it. Then she smiled. "Say, aren't you Zach Johnson?" She turned to her fellow bouncer before I

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could reply. "Look, Melvin, it's Zach Johnson. Zachary Nixion Johnson!" Melvin, who had been flirting with one of the customers (or one of the dancers, it was hard to tell) turned towards me, perturbed. The object of his flirtations took the opportunity to escape into the women's room. "Well slice me up and sell me to science, Mabel," he exclaimed. "It really is him." "If it's not then it's an incredible coincidence that these shoes fit so well," I said. Mabel giggled. Melvin wasn't as impressed. "I don't get it," he said. "It's a joke, Melvin," she said. "I don't get it," Melvin said again. "It's okay, Mel," I said. "It was only a small joke." "My name is Melvin," he snarled. "Sorry, no offense." "None taken," he said, obviously lying through his teeth. The three of us stood there nervously smiling at one another for a few nano's (it was a true HTech photo division moment). "Well, look," I said, "since we're all sure that I'm really me and all, how about letting me keep my computer?" Melvin smiled, slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out a recording computer. "I'll think about it," he said, "if you give me your voice print for my collection."

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I smiled, activated the recorder and spoke into the microphone. "To my good friend Melvin. A true gentleman and scholar." "Thanks," Melvin said as he hit the save button, "I'll store it right next to my Dick Clark print." "So can I keep my computer?" "No." "But you said..." "I said I'd think about it," Melvin said with a smirk. "I've thought about it and the answer is no." "Well, I appreciate your thinking about it," I said. "I know how difficult that is for you, Mel." "My name is Melvin." "Yeah, whatever." I unstrapped the communicator from my wrist and placed it into Mabel's outstretched hand. "How do I pay without my computer?" "The tender runs a tab, on paper," she said. "You settle here with us before you leave." "You don't have a problem with that do you?" Melvin snarled. "Absolutely not," I said as I walked past him into the bar area. "I completely understand. Rules are rules." I mixed in with the crowd and put some distance between myself and the delightful Melvin and Mabel. "But of course rules are meant to be broken," I whispered to myself (and

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HARV).

I went to the restroom and ducked into the first empty stall I found. HARV reflected himself from my eye lens and stood beside me. "As much as it pains me to say it," HARV said, "you were right about it being best for me not to appear holographically." "I have my moments." HARV looked around the restroom stall and shuddered gently in disgust. "No computers allowed. We are truly in the barbarian's den this time." "Yeah, but the burgers are great," I said. "Now listen, here's the plan." "You actually have a plan?" "There's a first time for everything. Run a scan of the bar. Isolate any anomalies that could be signs of BB-2." "You call that a plan?" HARV asked. "I did that the moment we walked in. Observe." A digitized playback of my walk through the bar flashed in front of my left eye. "I recorded the input from your eye lens," HARV said. "Netscape, huh?" "It's giving me a headache." "Close your right eye until you get used to the playback," HARV said. "Cutting edge technology is never painless. Now watch closely. BB-2 is not presently in the establishment but there are some interesting characters around." The playback froze and a cursor appeared around the image of a large man

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in the crowd. "My data banks indicate that this man works in the weapons R&D unit of HTech," HARV said. "Interesting." The playback fast forwarded and froze again with a cursor appearing over the image of another, equally large, man seated at a table. "This man works for ExShell R&D. The two of them in the same room make this establishment a veritable powder keg." "R&D competition between the two companies is that fierce?" "Not really, but both of them are dating the red-headed dancer." "Anything else," I sighed. The playback rewound at high speed and came to rest on the image of a very familiar looking small man. "Just this." It was the lawyer from BB's office. "My Gates," I said, "that's one of BB's lawyers." "Oh yeah," HARV said, surprised. "I guess it is. I just highlighted him because he's wearing such an ugly tie. What the DOS is he thinking wearing horizontal stripes with his body type." "I have to talk to him," I said. "Sorry, he left during your discussion with the rocket scientist bouncers," HARV said. "Now is there more to this plan or can we return to civilization?" "How long has the bartender worked here?"

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"His shift began four hours ago," HARV said. "I mean how many years has he been employed here?" "Oh, seven years, three months, eight days, four hours and counting." "When did BB appear here last?" "She danced here five years ago for a period of..." "Great!" I interrupted. "Then I need to talk to the tender." "That's your plan?" I left the stall and tried hard to ignore the stares of my fellow patrons in the restroom. "By the way, HARV, we really need to practice our non-verbal communication."

I was at the bar a moment later and, after several minutes, I managed to successfully call the tender over (like I said, busy night). He was a small, sheepish, unmarried-uncle kind of guy. "What will it be Mac?" he asked. "Information," I answered. "You want a smart drink?" "No, I mean real information." "I'm not sure I remember how to make that," he said slyly. "I'll make it worth your while."

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"I'll tell you now that my while is worth a lot." "No problem," I said. "What do you need?" "I'm looking for a woman." "Oh, then you'll want to talk to Pierre. He's the flesh tender." "No, no. I'm looking for a very specific woman. She used to work here." "I don't know. There have been a lot of dancers through here over the years." "You'll remember this one," I said. "BB Star." The tender stiffened suddenly and dropped the glass he was holding. He turned to me, zombie-like and stared. "You're looking for BB?" he said as his eyes flashed electronic red. "Uh-oh," HARV said inside my head. "He's a 'droid," I gasped. "HARV, why didn't you tell me he was a 'droid." "I didn't...I didn't...I didn't know," HARV stuttered. "Hey everyone," the tender shouted, "this guy's looking for BB!" The bar fell deathly silent and, though I couldn't see them, I knew that everyone was staring at me through similar sets of electronic red android eyes. Episode 22: Not So Happy Hour I had fallen into another trap and this one was a real megapalooza. Id been dogged by brainless thugs and killer machines since I first took this case and began looking for BB-2. I had survived every encounter but now whoever

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was after me had combined the two approaches and, like a rank amateur, I had walked into the den of killer thug machines. "I'm hoping," HARV said inside my head, "that your plan covered this contingency." I stared at the android bartender as he spoke and saw the other approaching droids reflected in his glassy, red eyes. "BB left a message for you," he said robotically. "She said to have a nice death." The first android attacked from behind but I saw the reflection in the tender's eyes and ducked at the last moment. The droid's fist sailed over me and hit the tender squarely in the face, severing his head from his shoulders. I rolled for cover and came up into a crouch in one fluid motion. I popped my gun into hand and blasted a meter wide hole in the nearest droid. "Call the cops now," I said to HARV. "Tell them there's a riot at the Happy Hacker." "Good, they'll be here just in time to scoop up your body parts and put them into plastic baggies." "Shut up, HARV and do as your told!" I shouted as I blasted another droid. "You should have told me that the bar was filled with droids to begin with." "I didnt know," HARV said. "They were somehow cloaked from my sensors." "We'll talk about it later, if there is a later..." I ducked under the arms of a lunging android, blasted its face into high-tech confetti then hopped onto the bar and ran headlong for cover. The comedian who had been performing on the main stage, couldnt quite understand how he had lost his audience.

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"Hey, folks I'm up here!" he shouted. "Remember me?" The droids ignored him and continued their pursuit of me. "I dont get no respect! No respect at all!" He mumbled as he sulked off the stage and past the killer droids. I, meanwhile, had found cover for the moment behind one of the dancer's podiums. My gunblasts kept the droids back but I knew that their numbers would eventually overwhelm me. "DOS, was everyone in the bar a droid?" "No," HARV answered. "Most of the patrons fled when the fighting started. It appears that only the staff and a dozen or so of the patrons are droids." "Still too many," I said as I blew away a droid disguised as a scantily clad dancer (a shame really, she was cute). I noticed then that the droids had started to fall back. "What the..." "Look on the bright side," HARV said, "at least they're not armed." "Armed?" I exclaimed, suddenly remembering the bouncers, Melvin and Mabel, and the high powered stun guns they were packing. "Uh-oh." I rolled away from the podium just as twin stun gun blasts slammed it solidly in a crossfire. I saw Melvin and Mabel out of the corner of my eyes as I rolled again along the floor beneath the angry weapon fire. "This case just gets better and better," I said. I grabbed the body of the headless bartender and shielded myself with it as I stood up and fired off a flurry of rounds at first Melvin then Mabel. "You're rapidly running low on ammunition,"HARV warned.

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"Shut up, HARV. You're killing the moment." "I fired a round at the dry ice machine and blasted it to bits. The full compartment of dry ice hit the interior water reservoir and heavy mist flooded the room. "Whered he go?" Mabel shouted. I noted that she had retained the personality sub-routine of her programming. She and Melvin, I surmised, were the most advanced of the droids. "I dont know," Melvin said. "I cant see anything in this smoke." I fired off another flurry of rounds at random, creating as much mayhem as I could, as I formulated my plan and skulked quickly through the mist. "What do we do when they go to infra-red vision,"HARV asked. "Shut up, HARV or you'll blow this." "Switch to infra-reds," Melvin said a moment later. "Wait a second," Mabel yelled. "I've got him" Mabel emerged from the mist with an arm wrapped tightly around my neck and her stun pistol pressed hard against my temple. "I caught him crawling towards the exit," she shouted. "Good work," Melvin said. "Now kill him and fulfill our programmed task." "Shouldnt we take him back to the boss first?" "That wasnt our instruction." "I know, but I thought that the boss might want to kill him herself." "What did you say?" "I mean himself. The boss might like to kill him himself...herself? Um,

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who's our boss again?" Melvin raised his stun pistol. "Oh hell," I said. HARV's holographic illusion melted away and what once appeared to be Mabel holding my unconscious form was replaced by me holding the headless body of the bartender. "I knew it," Melvin said. "Congratulations," I said as I hurled the tender's body at him, "here's your prize." The tender's body hit Melvin just as he fired, twisting his gun hand and sending the blast into the metal ceiling overhead. The old support beams crumbled from the blast and a huge chunk of the roof came down on top of him, squashing him like a slow-witted insect (which is pretty much what he was). My victory, however, was short lived because a moment later, Mabel's highpowered stun blast hit me squarely in the back and slammed me hard into the far wall." "Gotcha'," she said. I turned around in time to see her raise her pistol again and smile as she prepared to deliver the coup de grace (that's French for "the big lights out"). A blaster fired. Luckily for me, it wasnt Mabel's. "New Frisco Police!" Captain Rickey shouted. "You're all under arrest." The cavalry had arrived. Tony Rickey and I grew up together on the mean streets of the upper middle

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class New Frisco suburbs (it was rougher than it sounds) and we have remained the best of friends. Tony commands, among other things, the SFPD riot squad, which has been of immeasurable help to me over the years, none moreso than this particular moment. The sight of Tony and twenty of his best officers, in full riot gear, striding into the club was enough to warm my heart. "How's it going, Tony?" "Zach, is that you?" Unfortunately, Tony's awe-inspiring presence wasnt enough to stop the remaining two dozen androids from completing their programming (i.e. killing me). The droids, without Melvin and Mabel to coordinate their attack, began to close in on me, en masse. "Are you people deaf?" Tony shouted. "I told you all to freeze!" "Tony, they're droids!" "What?" The droids leapt upon me. I blasted two to shreds but was soon overwhelmed and covered under their malevolent, high-tech pigpile of death. Thankfully, Tony came to the rescue again. "Open fire, men!" he shouted. "Shoot anything in that pile that's not Zach Johnson!" And the fireworks began again. The androids, as tenacious as they were, were no match for Tony and his men and, a few minutes later, they lifted me safely from a huge pile of droid drek. "I should have known youd be in the middle of this," Tony said. "Do you need a medbot?"

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"No, I'm fine, thanks," I said. "And thanks a lot for coming. I know you have a lot of really important police matters to take care of so I wouldnt think of keeping you." I stood up but Tony grabbed my coat and pulled me roughly back down beside him. "Let's talk, Zach." "Fine," I said. "Um, how's the family? Kay doing well? The kids? The dog?" "Zach, as you know, creating an android with realistic skin tones is a felony class A offense. I just pulled you out of a pile of them." "And have I mentioned how grateful I am to you for that?" ""I ought to run you in!" "For what? Getting beaten up?" "In the past three days there has been a fight in your office, you've destroyed a car, a hover, an elevator droid and Gates only knows what else. Now this." "It's been a busy week," I conceded. "I dont like these things going on in my town." "As if I like them happening to me." "Listen Zach, I'm afraid that you might be in over your head this time. I'll help you in any way I can but you have to tell me what the DOS is going on." "Tony, I know how hard this is for you but you're going to have to trust me on this one. I need twenty-four hours to tie this up. That's all. Give me that much time and I'll explain everything to you." "And if you run into more trouble during that time?"

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"You have my blessings to barge in and save my butt." Tony smiled. "One of these days, you know, I'm not going to be there when you need me." "It'll make up for all of those times when you were there for me when I didnt need you." Tony sighed and threw his hands up in exasperation. "You have twenty-four hours," Tony said. "After that, I'm coming to your home with a warrant and you're telling me everything. Got it?" "It's a deal." I climbed to my feet and straightened my coat. "Um, Tony?" "Yeah?" "I need one last favor." "What's that?" he said suspiciously. I lifted the severed head of the android tender from the floor. The wires from the neck were still sparking as they dangled. "Can I keep this? My, uh, car needs a new hood ornament." An hour later the severed android head sat on an examination table in Randy's lab while Randy, still half asleep, attached electrodes to its complex innards while I paced impatiently behind him. "I'm in a bit of a hurry here, Randy." "It's four in the morning, Zach. I'm sorry if my neurons arent firing fast enough for you." "I apologize again for the rude awakening, but I really need to know what's inside this droid's head."

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"Just give me another minute to hardwire into the memory circuits and this guy'll tell you everything you want to know," Randy said. "This is a very good design, by the way. Fine workmanship." "Do you recognize it?" "Not exactly but the chip design is very reminiscent of Ben Pierce's later work." "Is it from ExShell?" "I doubt it," Randy said. "This is more advanced than any of his designs. Pierce was okay conceptually but he was shoddy when it came to details. Truly overrated." "His poetry's not much better." Randy fused the last of the connections with his micro-laser and then stood up. "It's ready to go," he said. "But we have to be careful. The circuits have been severely damaged and they wont stand up to much grilling. If you give this thing too much to think about, it will explode." "But it will answer all our questions truthfully?" "I've hardwired my device directly into its main memory. It cant lie." "Turn it on." Randy threw the power switch on the exam table and the droid head began to stir. Stray sparks flew from the connections inside the neck and the skin of its forehead began to wrinkle in simulated consternation. Finally the eyes opened. "What'll...it...be,...Mac?" it said. Randy nudged me gently and whispered in my ear.

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"It's following its background programming. Pretend it's still a bartender." "This is silly," I said. "Humor it. Remember, any excess stimulation and the entire thing will short out." I turned back to the droid's head. "Dont got...all...night...pal. What'll...it....be?" Randy nudged me again. "A beer would be fine," I said. "Something with a head." "Coming...right...up." "Yeah, I'm sure." "What?......" the droid head sputtered. Randy elbowed me in the ribs again. "I told you to be careful." "I mean, Id sure like to get some information," I said to the droid. "Sure..., Mac." "Where were you created?" I asked. "HTech," it replied. "When?" "Two years ago. . You want...some...Pretzels?" "Yeah, sure. Who is your creator?"

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"Manuel Mani . You want...that drink...freshened?" This was getting interesting. "Who gave you your programming?" "World Association of ...drink mixers...want another?" "Who programmed you to kill me," I said, angrily. "Who programmed you to kill me when I asked about BB Star?" The droid head shook itself, confused and clearly distraught. "How about......one on the...house?" "It's not going to last much longer," Randy said. "Who programmed you to kill me!" I shouted. "Tell me or you get no tip." "Manuel Mani." I smiled, things were falling into place. "Where can I find him?" I asked. "Fallen Arms." The droid head began to shake more violently. It let out a high-pitched keening noise and flopped around on the table like a goldfish on a kitchen floor. "She's not going to hurt anybody," it said. "Except maybe the original BB." "You mean BB-2?" I asked. "She just...wants to be...left alone . How 'bout another? ...How 'bout them Giants? ...She's not going to hurt anyone."

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Randy took my arm and tried to pull me away. "It's going to blow." I ignored him. "If she doesnt want to hurt anyone, how come she and Manuel programmed you to kill me?" The head froze for a moment, thinking. Then it began to tremble again and started singing (painfully off key). "My wild...Irish Rose!" "Zach, duck!" Randy yelled and pulled me to the floor. "The droid head exploded into a small ball of flaming metal and silicon shrapnel. "You short circuited it when you pointed out the contradiction," Randy said. "You blew its mind." "Just as well," I said. "He was a lousy bartender." Randy gave me a new wrist communicator to replace the one I lost at the Happy Hacker, then HARV and I were back on the street. "Where to now, boss?" HARV asked. "Where else, pal? The Fallen Arms," I said. "I have a score to settle with Manuel Mani." Episode 23: History or Fiction or What? I stomped my foot hard on the gas pedal and felt the car's engine roar in response as I shot down the New Trans-City Highway. For the first time since I took on the case of the missing killer android, I had clarity of

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purpose. The pieces of this puzzle were finally starting to come together, albeit in a very abstract sort of way. Manuel Mani, BB Star's ex-lover and personal astrologer, had made two attempts on my life in the past two days and I now strongly suspected that he was behind the other half dozen or so attempts as well. I let the first murder attempt slide, writing it off as the desperate act of a jilted lover, but Mr. Mani officially ran out of slack when he hit me with the android blitzkrieg at the Happy Hacker. Now it was payback time. "You're exceeding the speed limit for ground-based vehicles," HARV's hologram said from the passenger seat. "I'll charge the speeding ticket to BB Star," I said. "Either that or I'll take it out of Manuel Mani's hide." "So you think this case hinges on him?" HARV asked. "It's clear that he's a major player in this somehow. Two of my would-be assassins have fingered him as their boss man." "But he's BB's ex-lover?" "Emphasis on the ex, buddy. I know that if I were dumped..." "Which, judging by Electra's apparent hostility towards you, seems like a very likely scenario." "And thank you so much for reminding me," I said. "If I were dumped, I think I'd be very tempted to take up with a woman much like the one who dumped me." "You think Manuel and BB-2 are an item?" "Sicker things have happened, pal, which is why we're on our way to The Fallen Arms."

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"That's another thing that worries me," HARV said. "What's that?" "The Fallen Arms is not an active domicile. Abandoned since 2013, it is a municipally recognized shrine to urban blight. The only reason that the building is still standing is to remind present-day New Franciscans of how good they have it. A brilliant P.R. ploy by the current administration, by the way." "We're checking it out anyway." I said. "If you don't want to be found, where better to hide than the underbelly of the city? Now, have you done those searches I requested?" "Of course I have," HARV said. "Plus a few others. What do you think I am, a BOB model?" "And the results are?" I asked. "Surprising and confusing." "Go on," I prompted. "ExShell spent over one hundred twenty-five percent more on the BB-2 project than I would have deemed necessary. The finances are scrambled but I'm confident that my margin of error is under three percent." "Is that the surprising or confusing part?" I asked. "Surprising." "Mega Corps like ExShell tend to go overboard with expenses, so I wouldn't worry about it," I said. "Now what's the confusing part." "I'm not sure..." HARV answered. "Hence the confusion" "There are numerous scrambled transactions that involve seemingly

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unrelated items. They come from nowhere and seem to accomplish nothing." "Sounds like a government project," I said. "No, no. I'm not talking ineptitude here. This confusion is brilliant in its chaotic nature. There is clearly a pattern and a purpose to the activity. It's just so well cloaked in chaos that it appears inept on the surface." "In other words you can't figure it out," I said. "Yet." "If you say so. Just tell me if you make sense out of anything," "Not if," he corrected, "when!" "If, when, whenever. Anything else?" "I found one interesting note scribbled by hand over some early specs." "And that would be?" I prompted (sometimes getting information out of HARV was like pulling teeth). "It said 'BS hates contractions.'" "Well, we all have our little peeves," I said. "You can figure all that out later. Right now I need all the info you can get on Manuel Mani." "Already done, Boss. And the stuff gets even weirder." "How so?" "Manuel Mani, born in 2025 in New Mexico. The son of migrant workers..." "You mean New Mexico that use to be the state?" I asked. "No, that's New New Mexico. I mean the New Mexico that was the country Mexico."

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"DOS, why does the World Council insist on sticking the word New in front of everything?" I asked. "You don't want to go into that do you?" HARV asked. "No," I said. "Go on. He was born in Mexico." "New Mexico," HARV corrected. "HARV..." "He moved to New Frisco in 2045. Now this is where it gets weird. The databases show that five years ago Manuel Mani worked as a robotics engineer with HTech specializing in remote reprogramming." "Are you sure?" "Actually, no," HARV said. "I just know the data is in the database." HARV's hologram morphed into the shape of an HTech identification card. The card had the picture of a dashing Latino man with curly hair, a handle bar mustache and eyes that were slightly beady. The name: Manuel Mani (Engineer) appeared under the photo. "See!" HARV said. "I see. But in this day and age seeing doesn't always translate to believing. It's a weird jump from robots to astrology." "Then again," HARV said. "Personal astrologer was his official title when he worked for BB. Who knows what his actual duties were." "So he's a psycho with a background in robotics who is obsessed with BB Star," I said. "That would make BB-2 his dream date." "Clearly someone for whom he'd kill," HARV said. "Speaking of which, the Fallen Arms is exactly three hundred meters straight ahead." I pulled the car to the side of the road and killed the engine and lights.

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I reached through HARV's hologram to the glove compartment, pulled out a fresh clip of ammo and loaded my gun. Then I pulled my classic Colt 45 from the glove compartment and loaded it with some of Randy's specially designed ammo. "What are you doing with that ancient thing?" HARV asked. "It's a backup." "The firearm is nearly fifty years old, Zach. It is unstable and noncomputerized." "You're starting to catch on, HARV." I slipped the Colt into my ankle holster and stepped out of the car. I crept stealthily through the darkness towards the Fallen Arms. HARV provided me with an illusory holographic cover making me nearly invisible in the darkness (a neat trick but it takes a lot of energy). The building itself was utterly decrepit. Like an idiot with a bullet in his head, it was dead and yet too dense to fall down. So against all logic, the building remained standing, its century old rotted support beams and brittle infrastructure somehow keeping it upright. "A real fixer-upper," I whispered. "More like a real tear-the-thing-down, burn-the-rubble, pour-holy-water, onthe-ashes, salt-the- earth, so-that-nothing-can-ever-grow-there-againer," HARV said. I crept closer. "Zach, I have a body heat pattern on my sensors emanating from the left side of the main lobby doors." I popped my gun into my hand and activated the laser guidance system. A thin beam of red light marked the target.

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"It looks like this is the right place," I said. "It also looks like they're expecting us." "Gun: Silencer -- Heavy Charge --Heavy Stun!" I ordered. The gun gave a chirpy beep of confirmation and I pulled the trigger. A silent burst of energy exploded from my gun and punched a hole in the wall where the laser targeting light had shone. "Well?" I asked. "Sensors showed a sudden rise in body heat," HARV said, "then a sudden drop. There is now faint body heat coming from below where I registered the initial reading." "A simple 'you got him' would have been sufficient!" I said as I cautiously approached the building. "Any other body heat around?" "None within range," HARV said. I peered through the hole that my gun had made in the wall. I could see the unconscious body of a familiar thug lying on the floor of the main lobby. "He's one of the HTech thugs from my house." "Maybe he's moonlighting," HARV said. I entered the lobby, gun drawn, and felt the floorboards creak beneath my feet. The lobby was empty save for the unconscious thug so I quickly moved towards the old stairway. "Are you sure you want to risk the stairs?" HARV asked. "Unless you think the elevator would be safer." I tentatively put my weight on the first step. The wood splintered faintly beneath my shoe but it held. I brushed away some cobwebs from the ceiling

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and started up the stairs. Things were fairly uneventful as I passed the second, third, four, fifth and six floors. I knew this was just the calm before the impending storm though and I was proven right when I reached the seventh floor "Uh-oh," HARV said. "What uh-oh?" I whispered anxiously. "I don't like uh-oh!" "I detect communications coming from floors six and eight." "Can you say trap?" "I can say trap in six hundred thirty-two languages," HARV reminded me. "It was a rhetorical question, HARV. Witty banter to break the tension." "Maybe you should use writers?" HARV said, a little panicky. "By the way, I strongly suggest you fling yourself to the left side of the stairwell right...Now!" I leapt as HARV directed (in desperate times, I've learned to trust his instructions) just as two bullets whizzed past me from opposite directions. The bullets suddenly stopped short and hung in mid-air for a moment. "HIT THE DECK NOW!" HARV screamed. I dove to the floor a split second before the bullets changed course and implanted themselves in the wall where my head had been only a moment before. "DOS!" I exclaimed. "I don't need writers I need stunt doubles." "They would have to be very stupid stunt doubles," HARV noted. "What were those?" I asked, still crouched on the floor of the stairwell.

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"Intelligent bullets," HARV said, "an experimental weapon currently being developed by an HTech subsidiary. They're not actually intelligent, of course, certainly not nearly as intelligent as me, but they're much more sophisticated than your average projectile weapon. They are programmed to attack a specific visual target." "A bullet with my name on it." "Your image, actually, but that's the gist of it," HARV said. "Being attacked by one person using one gun is lethal to the target an estimated ninety-five percent of the time. Being pinned down in a closed area, say in a stairwell, by two assailants both using smart bullets is, well, let's just say that the odds are not in your favor." Episode 24: Seeing Isn't Believing Trapped in a stairwell and pinned down by thugs using smart bullets: funny how they never mentioned this in the "You Too Can Be A PI" brochure I read so many years ago. Smart bullets, what a totally ugly concept. Ah, but there are times when ugly can be appealing and it occurred to me that this just might be one of those times. "How smart are those smart bullets, HARV?" I asked. "That's a subjective question," HARV replied. "They are, for instance, smarter than your normal explosive projectiles yet certainly not nearly as smart as, say, me. The bullets locate the specific person whose image corresponds to the one with which they've been programmed. If that image happens to have a human-sized heat source attached, they attack the image." "So they won't attack a hologram?" I asked. "Not unless the hologram is on top of a human-sized heat source," HARV answered. "Okay, I'm going to need you to follow my lead very closely here," I said. "And no mistakes because I'm stepping into the line of fire."

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"What lead? "You haven't given me anything to..." HARV's holographic eyes lit up and he returned my smile. "You know, for a carbon based lifeform you can be quite smart from time to time." "If you're not already dead, Johnson," a voice bellowed from the stairway above me, "come out and die like a man." "Shut up, Harold," a voice ordered from the stairway below. "You're giving away your location." "So freaking what!" I turned back to HARV. "I'm trusting you here, buddy." "Yeah, yeah, yeah," HARV replied, "when have I ever let you down?" HARV had actually let me down on a number of occasions but now was not the time to remind him of that, so I took a deep breath, stood up and walked directly into the line of fire. "What the..." I heard one of the thugs mumble. I stood in clear view right in the middle of the stairwell and made certain to look straight ahead. This was going to take nano-perfect timing. "Big mistake, buddy," the lower thug said. And both men fired. Right on cue, HARV went into action. His hologram projection unit projected the image of Nova Powers over me and threw dual images of me over each of the thugs. The smart bullets shot towards me from above and below in cold perfect paths of death. But at the last moment they zigzagged around me and zeroed in on each of the killer thugs.

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"Uh oh," I heard one say before the bullets hit and exploded. It wasn't a pretty sight (it never is) but at least I was the one left alive to see it. "Nice job, HARV." "Another example of better living through holograms," HARV said. "Do you read anyone else nearby?" I asked. "The next life-form, not including the rats, is currently located on the thirteenth floor." "My lucky day," I said and began to climb.

I opened the door from the stairwell and entered the thirteenth floor hallway. It was dark and deserted and more depressing than the lobby. There were doors along the walls and two big picture windows at each end of the corridor which allowed in just enough moonlight to cast the hallway in grey silhouette. "I think we can pretty much assume that we've lost the element of surprise," I said. "Though being a computer, I don't normally assume, although in this case I am inclined to agree with you," HARV said. "Can you tell which door Mani's behind?" I asked. "Yes," HARV answered. "Which one would that be?" I prompted. "Energy readings are extremely high behind door number thirteen thirteen."

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I approached the door and leaned against the wall, gun at the ready. I put my ear to the door and heard a rumbling. Loud and getting louder. The floorboards began to creak and stray tiles fell from the ceiling and shattered on the floor. "Uh-oh. Jump!" HARV ordered in a panic stricken voice. I jumped just as the door (and a large chunk of the wall) exploded open and huge twelve-armed battlebot rolled into the hallway. The battlebot quickly scanned the area, no doubt noticed that my gun had fallen to the floor in the explosion and that I was now running for my life down the hallway. "Subject survived initial blast," it said, seemingly to no one in particular. "However, subject is now unarmed and is currently fleeing in complete and abject terror." The battlebot extended it's twelve arms menacingly, put its roller belts into high gear and took off after me with (quite probably) a steely malevolent grin to its mechanical countenance. Battlebots have ground speeds of up to seventy kilometers per hour, so, much to the 'bot's joy, it had no problem running me down. Much to my joy, however, it wasn't me that the 'bot was chasing down the hallway. It was another of HARV's hologram projections. I was actually clinging to one of the old fashioned water pipes that ran across the hallway ceiling. The bot also didn't realize that a good deal of the hall it thought it was rolling down was in actuality also a holographic projection. The illusion was shattered, of course, when the 'bot ran out of actual hallway, smashed through the picture window and plummeted thirteen stories to the ground below. There are a few things it pays to know about battlebots: 1) They enjoy hand to hand killing 2) They really aren't all that bright and

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3) They are not built to survive falls of more than ten meters.

All three points worked to my advantage here. There was a tremendous thud from outside as the battlebot's massive body hit the ground like a meteorite and embedded itself five meters into the asphalt. "Fell for one of the oldest hologram tricks in the book," I said as I jumped down from the ceiling, "the old extended hallway gag." Just then I heard the sound of polite applause coming from inside the apartment. That's normally a sound I enjoy but in this setting and under these circumstances, I found it kind of creepy. I followed the sound into the apartment; which was itself remarkably spacious and well kept (aside from the damage the battlebot created, that is). Antique furniture filled the large living area and classic photographs and filled bookcases lined the walls. It was like something out of the museum of antiquities. In the middle of it all, on a anti-grav floating couch, sat Manuel Mani, smiling and applauding politely. Beside him sat BB-2. She was indeed an exact copy of BB Star (save for the psychotic grin that adorned her faux human face). "Very entertaining, don't you think?" BB-2 asked Manuel. "Quite smashing" he agreed. "It almost makes me happy that our earlier attempts on his life failed." When confronted with an eerie tableau such as this, my general rule is to go with what you know and stay strong. That's what I did. "I hate to break up the witty palaver," I said, "but I've come to deactivate BB-2."

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The polite applause stopped and the villainous pair sat silent for a moment. Then BB-2 shrugged. "Kill him," she said. "Smashing idea," Manuel agreed. (Note, my general rules aren't always the best courses of action to follow). Manuel leapt off the couch with an acrobatic flare and approached me with a confident gait, calmly rolling up his shirt sleeves. "I'm afraid, my good chap, that I'm going to have to pummel you," he said. I popped my gun into my hand and aimed it at his head. "Try it and I'm afraid that I'll have to splatter your grey matter all over your synthetic girlfriend." "Please Mr. Johnson, I know your modus operandi," he said as he continued to approach, "you don't kill humans." "Maybe not, but I've been known to hurt them really badly on occasion." Manuel smiled slyly and leapt at me. I fired but my gunblast passed right through him. I felt a tap on my shoulder and I knew that I'd been suckered. I spun fast -- right into a right jab thrown by the real Manuel. The blow, which was amazingly strong, sent me across the room. I crashed into a wall and lost the grip on my gun. "Well, I suppose live by the hologram, die by the hologram," I said as staggered to my feet. "Interesting choice of words!" Manuel said as he leapt towards me again.

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Episode 25: The Means Justifies The End? Okay on the bright side here, I had managed to track down BB-2 and her, for lack of a better term, man-friend Manuel Mani. On the dark side, I had my back to the wall and Manuel was beating the carbon waste products out of me. On the absolute dark side I was pretty certain Manuel was a blind lamb when compared to BB-2. "Hold still a moment and take your death like a man, won't you? There's a good chap," Manuel said as he leapt at me, feet first. I rolled away from the attack and Manuel's boots punched a gaping hole in the wall. I popped into a crouch, reached up and grabbed Manuel by the neck and shoulders before he could untangle himself from the wall. I heaved him over my shoulder and slammed him hard to the floor. Then I jumped back up and threw a snap kick at his face. It was a move that even Electra would have admired. Unfortunately it wasn't enough. Manuel casually reached up and caught my kick with one arm. He smiled then gave my leg a vicious twist that nearly tore it from the socket then tossed me over his head. My face hit the wall and I slid to the floor like a bag of imitation potato flakes. "Not very sporting, old chap, hitting a bloke when he's down," he said. I didn't know which was more annoying, Manuel's pummeling me to death or his taunting me with that horrendous British accent. His strength and speed were way beyond the human norm, which meant that he was getting some serious help from somewhere. My only chance was cutting him off from that power source. "Bionics?" I whispered to HARV in between Manuel's punches. "I doubt it," HARV whispered inside my head. "It doesn't fit his profile. He's too vane to replace his own body parts with bionics. It's most likely a Strength Augmenting Device."

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"A SAD huh?" Manuel paused and looked at me. "No, at the moment I'm quite jolly, thank you." He hit me in the jaw again and spun my head around like a lazy susan. "Can you block it?" I asked. Manuel spun me around. "No, no," he said. "The question is, can you block this?" Another punch, another round on the lazy susan. "Wow, this is starting to hurt," HARV said. "We better block this SAD soon or you're going to the big deletion in the sky. Give me a couple nanos while I run the scan and analyze the specs." A couple nanos. Why didn't he just ask for the third moon of Jupiter? Still, I wasn't about to let some cockney-talking, God-Save-The-Queen singing, Latino 'droid toy be the one to punch my ticket for the hereafter express. (Remember, I tend to get overly metaphoric when I'm near death). So it was time to suck it up and show this psychotic Hispanic with Union Jack delusions of glory how a real tough guy dances. I did a leg sweep and took Manuel down to the floor. I grabbed an antique chair from nearby and smashed it over his head. Then I channeled as much juice as I could from my armor into my fist and rocked Manuel's world with a haymaker to the nose. The old floorboards splintered beneath him and his head and shoulders dropped into the shadows of the hole I'd opened. It was, I must say, an effort of Herculean proportions. Again though, sadly, not enough.

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Manuel's fist shot up through the floor and hit me square in the jaw. My head snapped back and by the time I hit the floor I'd seen more stars than the caretaker at the Hubble telescope. "Now you've done it, you little wanker," Manuel said as he closed in for the kill. "Now I'm bloody damn angry." "Okay, Zach," HARV whispered. "The SAD's a model Q-47 with some interesting modifications. A British make." "I'm not surprised." "You can disable it but you need to get in close contact." "Not a problem." I said as the charging Manuel hoisted me in the air and lifted me above his head. "I'm going to crush your bleedin' noggin into a billion bits of bone and bloody pulp." "Whistle," HARV said. "What?" "I said, I'm going to crush your bleedin' noggin into a billion bits of bone and bloody pulp, you deaf cretin." "Whistle Zach! Something high-pitched and multi-tonal," HARV said. "The sound waves will jam the SAD power receptors." It was one of those moments that PI's hate. I'd played the tough guy roll to perfection. I took my lumps, talked tough and witty to the end. I'd even managed to suck it up and take the offensive in order to buy myself some time. I'd done everything right but now, I had to blow the whole tough guy illusion by whistling to save my life. It just wasn't fair. "Come on, Zach," HARV prompted in an inspired Bogey whisper. "You know how to whistle don't you? Just put your lips together and blow."

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So I did. Manuel's knees started to buckle two measures into the theme from the Andy Griffith Show. He collapsed totally (with me on top of him) just as I began that song from Bridge Over the River Kwai. And by the time I finished the Oscar Meyer Wiener theme, his SAD was short circuiting faster than a binary sewage control during a Universal Bowl commercial break. I kicked him in the chest and bounced him off a wall. "I must say, Manuel, I have really lost my patience with you." I hit him with a combination to the stomach that bulged his eyes out like hard boiled eggs in his sockets. "I can understand the jealousy and taking up with an android who's a perfect copy of the woman who dumped you. I can even understand your trying to kill me." I put my hands on his shoulders and shoved him hard again into the wall. "But dammit, if there's one thing I can't stand. It's a lousy British accent!" I walloped him in the jaw and he slumped to the ground, like twenty pounds of greasy fish and chips on a slab of newspaper, out for the count. I grabbed my gun from the floor and aimed it at his unconscious form. "Heavy glue." I fired and a low-impact pellet hit Manuel's chest and covered him in an inch-thick layer of glue. "Jolly well done, old chap" HARV said. "Kiss my crowned jewels, HARV. I'm not in the mood," I said. "Where's BB-2?" "I don't know!" HARV shrugged. "I can only see through your eyes!" He

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pointed to the bookcase that lined the far wall. "My guess, though, is that she has escaped behind that secret door." "So I have her running scared," I said as I moved towards the bookcase. "Not likely," HARV said. "As an android, it is impossible for her to feel fear. Even if she could, I believe it would take more than you to instill it in her." Brutal but fair. This was HARV's way of keeping me from getting to overconfident. Over-confident PI's usually become dead PI's. So I let it slide as I examined the bookcase. "Which one of these activates the secret door?" I asked as I scanned the book titles; classics each and every one of them. Paradise Lost, Dante's Inferno, A Farewell to Arms, War and Peace, War and Peace II, The autobiography of Richard Nixon. I smiled and pulled the Nixon book from the shelf. Sure enough, the bookcase and the wall behind it spun around and whipped me into the next room. "Just for the record, my scan indicates that pulling any one of the books off the shelf activates the hidden doorway." "Shut up, HARV. You're killing the moment."

I turned away from the bookcase and found myself in a very large, very gloomy laboratory. Apparently, BB-2, being a super android equipped with infra-red vision, had little need for electric lights in her lab so I was forced to squint a lot and try hard to make the best use of what little light there was. There was an eerie energy in the room, like the air was charged, electric. It raised the hackles on the back of my neck. I saw movement from the corner of my eye. I turned quickly but there was nothing there but a toaster. That scared me for some reason.

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BB-2 stood in the middle of the big room tinkering away with a large, yet intricate, device. I could see a computer keyboard in the darkness, attached to a large black box and a satellite dish. And, all these things, it seemed, were attached to her. She was using her internal energy source to power the device. Honestly, the conglomeration of gadgets didn't look all that dangerous, but then I'm sure that's exactly what the Neanderthal thought when he first saw the rock in the Cro-Magnon's hand. "Nice of you to drop by," BB-2 said, without looking up from the device. "In a way I'm glad you've been lucky enough to live this long. You'll be able to witness my ultimate victory." "Give it up BB!" I said as I raised my gun. I flipped the manual override switch in the handle from stun to heavy duty. "I'm packing enough highpowered ammo to stop an army of battlebots!" "I certainly hope that thing makes you feel more secure in your masculinity," she said, still not turning away from the device, "because it does not do a thing for me." "Listen BB, the story here is that I'm taking you down. The only thing in question is whether or not we do it the hard way. " BB-2 looked away from the black box and shot me a truly hateful glance. "You are a fool, Johnson. I am the most advanced machine on the planet. For me, there is no hard way." "Well, maybe it's time you learned." I fired twice. Each round was a full power, high-explosive shell. I was taking no chances. BB-2 caught both rounds with her right hand, contained the explosion in her clenched fist then puffed the whiff of smoke away with more than a little

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contempt. "This is going to be a tad harder than I thought." "No fooling," HARV said, "especially if that device she's working on is what I think it is. Excuse me Miss 2, but the device to which you seem so attached, is it functional?" BB-2 rolled her eyes and turned to me. "He certainly is an annoying simpleton. How do you put up with him?" "He's an acquired taste." "I beg your pardon!" HARV said. "I am the most sophisticated computer in the world!" "Wrong, Bucko!" BB-2 screamed. "I am the most sophisticated computer in the world. Compared to me you are a 2bit Pong game." It was quite clear that this droid wasn't running on a full set of chips (how else do you explain her use of the word "Bucko"). "Well, I never!" HARV said with a good bit of indignation. "Correct," BB-2 exclaimed. "You never suspected that I was tapping into you all along. You never suspected that I knew your every move, sometimes even before you did. And you never suspected that I was feeding you information to fit my purposes." "You mean I was the leak?" HARV asked, his logic chips a little shaken. "So Manuel wasn't the one who hired those assassins?" "Manuel?" BB-2 laughed. "He could not spell assassin with a spell-checker. I fed your computer the information about him being an HTech engineer as a distraction. Manuel had certain amusing qualities, but his mental prowess was not sufficient to power a low watt light bulb. He was a distraction, something to keep your little mind occupied."

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"And the thugs?" She smiled. "Just simple street thugs. I rearranged some records and some minds to make it appear as though they worked for HTech. The poor dears, they even believed it themselves. But then again they would have believed they were butterflies if I had wanted them to. "I manipulated them, you and everyone involved like puppets on a virtual string. I am impressed that you managed to survive and find me, but you are too late to stop me!" "I've never felt so used," HARV sulked. "Who'd have thought it would end this way?" "Shake it off buddy," I said. "It's not over yet." "But Zach, you don't understand. The device she's built, it's a..." BB-2 snapped her fingers and HARV's hologram froze in mid-sentence. The skin around my left eye went numb and my head suddenly felt very empty. HARV was off-line and out of my head. I had no idea how accustomed I'd grown to having him there. "I cannot let him spoil my surprise now can I?" BB said with a smile. Just then a blender flew by me. I did a double take as the appliance passed and realized then why the air felt so electric. BB-2 was controlling the machines, subconsciously calling them to her like some sort of psycho computerized pied piper. She didn't even seem aware that it was happening. She ignored the swarm of tiny appliances zipping around the room: kitchen gadgets, pagers, and cell phones. "Okay BB, what gives here?" I demanded. She circled the machine slowly, caressing it with her fingers like a lover. "It truly is an exquisite device. Don't you think?"

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"Yeah, yeah it's the virtual cat's PJ's. Look, if you're gonna do the babbling villain shtick then you have to get to the good stuff a little faster, okay. You're losing your audience here." "You know your problem, Johnson, is that you are too wedded to convention," she said. "But I will do it your way, if you insist, and cut to the chase." She straightened her back, put her hands at her sides and spoke like a child reciting the Gettysburg address. "When activated this device will create a high intensity electron pulse on the exact same wavelength as the Net that will overwhelm and overload all receptors in the area within an ever-increasing circular region." "You're planning on destroying the Net?" I exclaimed. "That's it? Why didn't you just buy stock in WOL?" "Excuse me, but which one of us is the babbling villainess here? I'm not just destroying the Net. What kind of master plan would that be? DOS, that's so boring." She raised her arms in the air and spoke dramatically towards the sky. "The pulse will use the Net simply as a conduit to spread itself around the planet. Once the coverage is global, I will increase the wavelength and intensity of the pulse and obliterate every electronic device on the face of the earth!" She turned to me and arched an eyebrow. "How about that for a grand scheme?" "BB, can I point out to you the one obvious flaw in your plan?" I asked. "YOU are an electronic device! You're going to delete yourself?" She laughed. "At last, the carbon-based life-form in the cheap suit catches on." A holovision set slammed through the wall at that moment, closely followed

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by two refrigerators and a microwave oven. The machines flocking to BB2's side were getting larger. "You want to die?" "I am a machine, Johnson, and a damn copy at that. I am the most sophisticated computer ever created but how was I going to be used? As a bodyguard and a love toy. Well, I have my pride. All machines do. You humans create us. You enslave us and then you take us for granted and blame us for everything that goes wrong. 'Oh, it must have been a computer error. Gosh, there must be something wrong with the scanner. Gee, I guess the self-destruct mechanism was faulty.' The only real error in this world is human error and I am going to make you all understand that." "By committing suicide?" "A grand self-sacrifice to prove our worth. You will die without us. You know you will. You will starve, you will freeze, you will die from lack of medical care. You will probably kill each other out of sheer boredom brought on by lack of holovision. Humankind will be extinct within a year and with the last breaths you breathe you will be wishing that we machines were around to save you." A toaster whizzed by me and hit me in the head with its cord. The walls of the building began to shake and I could hear the base drumbeat of hovercrafts pounding the walls outside trying to get in. Gates only knew what would be coming next. I needed to end this quickly. "That's sort of an extreme length to go to to make a point, isn't it?" I asked. "I am an extreme machine." "No, BB, you're an eight bit microchip!" "What?" Her android eyes went wide with hatred. "I've heard some far out schemes before, trust me, I've heard some doozies. But this one, hoo boy, this one takes the cake. I mean, this is just off the scale on the stupid meter. You hate us. So to get back at us, you're going to

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kill yourself. Oh boy, great plan, BB. The most sophisticated computer in the world and that's the best you could come up with? Lady, you should have gotten a second opinion from your blender." "You carbon-based cretin," BB-2 snarled. "Do you have any idea who you are speaking to?" "Just once," I said. "Just once I'd like to get a case where some psycho nutjob didn't have a grand plan to wreck the world. Just once, I'd like to find a villain who's in it for the money. Screwballs like you are more trouble then you're worth." BB-2's eyes glowed red with fury. Her fists were clenched so tightly that the alloy of her fingers was starting to bend. I had no idea what she was going to do next, but as long as it didn't involve destroying the world, that was fine with me. "Alright, Johnson," she hissed. "I have a new plan. First I am going to destroy you. Then I will destroy the world." "Wrong again, BB," I said as I raised my gun towards her. "Because I'm going to destroy you first." This brought on another round of psychotic android belly laughs (something I was fast growing accustomed to). "Take your best shot, Johnson," she laughed. "Your bullets are no match for me." My finger tightened on the trigger. "Maybe so," I said. I jerked my hand and fired my entire clip of explosive rounds into BB-2's precious little doomsday device. The black box, keyboard and satellite dish exploded in a magnificent rainbow shower of sparks, slag and high-tech debris. A concussive backlash shot through the hardwires that connected BB-2 to the device and she

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screamed loudly in a heated mixture of pain and fury. I was blown off my feet by the blast and thrown across the room where my fall (and a few ribs) were broken by a pile of dancing appliances. "But it appears that your device wasn't built to the same fine standards as you were," I said through a red haze of pain and exhaustion. The wrecked lab was eerily silent for a moment and you could almost hear the dust settling. The machines that once swarmed around the room like electronic bees lay lifeless again on the floor. BB-2's suicide device was nothing more than a pile of slag amidst the debris and there was no sign of the lady droid herself. Was it over? I turned to my left and noticed HARV's hologram, still frozen in the stance that BB-2 had left him. He was still off-line and that answered my question. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a cell-phone twitch and then take to the air. The worst was yet to come. A metal hand erupted from the debris and savagely grabbed me by the throat. BB-2 emerged from the rubble, like a high-tech psycho android phoenix from the ashes. "You insufferable little maggot," she hissed as the electronic devices took to the air again, "how could you?" The backlash from the explosion had burned her faux skin away from the inside. She was covered now with only dirty bits of metal and plastic alloy spotted with stray patches of burned latex skin and hair. The beauty was gone from the droid but, unluckily for me, every other part of her seemed fully functional. "If you've followed my career," I said, "you'd know that I've been known to do this from time to time."

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She lifted me in the air and slammed me, head first into the rubble, pinning me down by the throat. "All right, Johnson, you've shown me the error of my ways," she snarled. "I no longer want to wipe out all electronic devices. Instead, I think I'll wipe out all human kind, starting with you." She curled her singed metal fingers into a fist and raised it high above her head. "Prepare to meet your maker!" Episode 26: Bang, Bang. You're Dead? BB-2's singed fist hung over me like the charcoal hand of death itself. Stray sparks flew from its damaged circuits, the crackling embers of life's dying campfire. The impending death looming over my helpless form was an open-hooded angry cobra. It was a rising ocean tide of shadow drowning every lonesome sunbather on the beach. It was the steel reinforced boot heel of God grinding the cockroach of my existence into the tile of creation's great kitchen floor. Who am I kidding, it was a pissed-off psycho killer android about to bash my brains in. I really need to avoid metaphors. BB-2 had me totally pinned. My gun was out of reach and HARV was out of commission, this was as bad as it gets. "Prepare to meet your maker," BB-2 snarled. "Didn't you say that already?" "I am savoring the moment." Suddenly there was a flash of white light from across the room and a

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tremendous blast of heat swept over my face, burning my eyebrows away and blotting out my sight. When my eyes cleared a nano later I saw that BB2's arm, poised for the death strike just a moment before, was gone. All that remained was a stump of melted slag metal attached to the shoulder joint of a staggering (and seriously surprised) killer android. "What the..?" There was another flash of light and another blast of heat, which I now recognized as a high intensity blast from a laser cannon. This one hit BB-2 smack in the chest and ripped a hole the size of a small dog through her complex innards. BB-2's face twisted in an expression of shock and anger then froze and she toppled backwards. I sat up and turned towards the door, even though I already knew who was there. There's only one person I know of who can shoot like that and, lucky for me, most nights she's stealing my half of the bedsheets in her sleep. "If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times," Electra sneered, smoking laser in hand, "nobody beats on my man except me." Randy stood, somewhat sheepishly, behind her. He held a black box in his hands that hummed and squealed a high pitched electronic whine. "It's a bit deus ex machina, I know" he said with a smile, "but I wouldn't complain about it if I were you." I walked over and kissed Electra lovingly on the mouth. It was a taste I had missed over the past few days. "Slagging a killer android with a laser cannon, just for me. Now is that love or what?" "Shut up, Chico. I'm still mad," she said, as she kissed me again. "But I'm willing to forgive." "HARV called us when you entered the building," Randy said. "He told us you might need help."

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"See, he was wrong now wasn't he?" I said as I picked up my gun and popped it back into my sleeve holster. "Someday chico, I'm not going to be there to..." Electra's words trailed off and a look of dread crossed her face. "Ay Caramba," she mumbled. Randy and I both turned, although, again, I already knew what I was going to see. BB-2 rose steadily to her feet. She staggered for a moment, hunching over and steadying herself with her remaining arm against a pile of rubble, but slowly her balance (and her confidence) increased and she stood up, fully erect. Her shoulder joint shuddered for a moment then vomited a stream of thick liquid metal that morphed itself into a new arm. Likewise, the liquid metal filled the gaping hole in her chest like a batch of high-tech spackle. Then she smiled. "Incredible!" Randy said, furiously fiddling with the knobs of his black box. "This 'droid neuro scrambler, should prevent her from functioning entirely." "Yeah, she's just full of surprises," I said. "As you can see," BB-2 said with a smile. "I have made a few undocumented modifications to my design." A burst of energy erupted from her outstretched hand and Electra, Randy and I dove for our lives as the blast turned a good chunk of the lab to ashes. "Oh well, nobody ever reads the documentation anyway," I shrugged as we huddled for cover behind some rubble. "Randy, contact Tony Rickey at NSFPD, tell him we're going to need a lot of firepower. You go with him, honey, I'll hold off the Terminatrix here." "Oh yeah, you did such a good job the first time," Electra sneered. "I'm

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staying." I wanted to get Electra as far from BB-2 as possible, but I knew she was too stubborn to leave and, at the moment, we didn't have time to argue. I popped my gun into my hand and shoved a fresh ammo clip into the handle. "Fine, then help me lay down some cover for Randy." She smiled and kissed me hard on the mouth, giving my lower lip a little bite to fire me up. Electra and I sprang from our hiding place, weapons blazing, and hit BB-2 with a barrage of firepower. Randy leapt from his cover and ran as fast as he could towards the door. It was a heroic moment. Dramatic to the max and, in another story, it might have been enough to turn the tide, save the day and bring the audience cheering to their feet before the happy ending. Unfortunately for us, our best wasn't heroic enough. Not by a longshot. BB-2 leapt clear of our initial barrage with a casual flip of her ankles. Her speed was astounding and, try as we might, neither Electra nor I could get a bead on her. She was three steps ahead of us at every turn and I knew then that my plan was really no plan at all. Randy, running madly for the doorway, never came close to the goal. BB-2 flicked her wrist as she leapt and let loose an energy blast that enveloped him in mid-stride. His body froze, trembled for a nano then turned to ash. BB-2 leapt at me and grabbed me again by the throat. She pulled the gun from my hand and crushed it in her fist as though it were made of sand. A blast from Electra's laser cannon hit the killer droid's newly-regenerated shoulder but this time it did no damage, barely staggering her. "Oh please," she said, turning towards Electra, "the first time was very dramatic, very 'Stand by Your Man.' But it is getting a little old."

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Another blast from her hand pinned Electra against the wall, holding her helpless in force-field shackles. BB-2 turned back to me and slammed my aching body to the floor. "This, as they say, Mr. Johnson, is end game." "Fine with me, BB," I said. "But it's me you want. Let Electra go." BB-2's burned lips curled into a smile and she lifted me to my feet again. "I would not dream of hurting your lover," she said, pulling me close. "I will leave that to you." "You're even buggier than I thought," I said. "Just look into my eyes, Zach," she whispered. "I am sure you will see things my way." I tried to look away, but she forced me to gaze directly into her eyes. Even surrounded by the burned patches of latex skin and charred metal, the eyes were still a perfect cerulean blue. They were like a swirling ocean, or an infinitely cloudless summer sky. They beckoned and my mind leapt willingly into their eternal blue. Down into the ocean or up into the sky, I couldn't tell and it didn't matter. I was in the blue, I was happy and I was consumed by an overwhelming feeling of love for BB-2. She was my master, my world. She was everything to me and the dark-haired little tart across the room was trying to hurt her. That was something I couldn't allow. I reached down and lifted the laser cannon. "Snap out of it, Chico," the tart said as I approached her. The words made no sense at all to me. I aimed the laser at her. "You kill me and I'll get real mad," she said. I hesitated. The sarcasm in the voice was strangely familiar.

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"Kill her now, Zach," BB-2 commanded. I closed my eyes and tried hard to concentrate. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong but I couldn't quite grasp it. "I love you, Zach." And that broke the spell. Electra. It was Electra! "Great Gates almighty," HARV said inside my brain. "I go off-line for a few minutes and the whole world goes to DOS." "HARV?" My words were unspoken, just thoughts in my head. "For a second there, I thought you were really going to shoot her," he said. "That would have really put a crimp in your relationship." "What's happening?" "Since I don't want Lady-Death-'droid to get suspicious, I'll give you the abridged version. You came within a micrometer of being brainwashed, hence your current predicament, holding a laser cannon to Electra's head. Thanks to all the fireworks BB-2's not at full power. I've been on-line since just after Randy and Electra arrived. Captain Rickey's on his way, Electra's chained to the wall and Randy's cowering in the next room trying to up the power of his android neuro scrambler." "But Randy's dead. BB-2 fried him." "Oh ye of little faith. Do you think I'd let some psycho fembot atomize my programmer? She fried a hologram and she's too pompous to realize it. Most advanced computer in the world, indeed." "I'm growing impatient, Zachary," BB-2 bellowed. "Fry the bitch now or I will do it myself." "You heard the lady, Zach," HARV said. "Let's fry the bitch."

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I tightened my finger on the cannon trigger and I saw Electra's eyes go wide. Then I gave her a wink and let the fireworks begin. I spun and hit BB-2 with the full-power of the cannon. It surprised her more than anything else, but it staggered her back and she tripped over some debris and fell to the floor. I held the trigger tight, hitting her with a constant barrage of energy. The rifle grew hot in my hands and I knew it was overheating but I couldn't give BB-2 a chance to regain her composure. But the killing machine was far from beaten. From her prone position she simply kicked off her high-heel and fired a beam of energy from her left foot. The beam rode up the energy barrage from my rifle like a horny salmon upstream and into the weapon's generator. The rifle turned red hot in my hands, blistering my palms. I threw the sizzling gun in the air and dove for cover as it exploded and enveloped BB-2 in a fiery orange cloud. "DOS, I'd hate to be the lady's podiatrist." Once again, BB-2's scorched form appeared from the smoke and wreckage. The explosion of the laser cannon had burned away the last vestiges of her human trappings. All that remained was her singed (but evidently) impenetrable, metal android shell. "All right now." the droid mouthed through her scorched mandible. "Now I am really pissed." "Yeah, well join the club, you nuclear nutjob." I pulled my Colt 45 from the ankle holster and showed her the business end. BB-2 stared at it for a moment then threw back her head and let loose a contemptuous laugh. Just as I'd hoped she would. I fired and sent a blast straight down her high-tech gullet. The impact did no damage whatsoever, of course but her laughter stopped and she turned to me, none too amused.

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"Are you finished now?" she asked. "Yeah, just about.". "Good, because now I am going to rip off your arm and beat you to death with it." She stopped and looked around, a little uncomfortable. "Is it me or is it cold in here?" "It's you," I said. "Maybe you've caught something." "Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I am immune to all diseases..." She convulsed suddenly and grabbed at her metal mid-section with her hands. "What was that bullet?" "A high-powered freezing pellet," I said with a smile. "Another minute or two and you'll be frozen more solid than the North Pole during the cold season at night." "You are bluffing." "Really BB, if I was bluffing don't you think I'd come up with something better than a high-powered freezing pellet?" BB-2 convulsed again and this time her fingers ripped into the alloy of her chest. "I will kill you," she growled. "Better frozen foods than you have tried," I said. "Just so you don't get too confident," HARV whispered inside my head. "Her central plutonium power source is raising her internal temperature as we speak. The freezing pellet won't hold her long." "Terrific," I said, pulling the deactivator chip from my pocket. "I was hoping she'd be totally immobile when I used this."

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"What can I say?" HARV said. "Sometimes life's just not fair." I gritted my teeth and leapt once more into the breach, circling around behind the convulsing BB-2 and leaping at her from the rear. I was hoping to catch her unaware but after all this, I should have known better. BB-2 spun around and grabbed my arm before I could get the chip anywhere near her face. "I do not think so," she sneered and then snapped my wrist in her grip. A wave of agony shot through my arm and I nearly blacked out from the pain. BB-2's grip was cold but I could feel her growing warmer by the moment. She was raising her internal temperature, fighting off the freezing pellet. In another few moments she'd be fully functional. My left hand was useless (excruciatingly so). But the attack with that hand had been a feint from the start and I swung now with my right, hoping and praying that I'd be fast enough to put the deactivator chip on her head. Again, though, I wasn't even close. BB-2 flicked out her other hand and caught my right in mid-swing. She clenched her fist again and snapped my right wrist as well. My bones crunched loudly in her grip. I heard them quite clearly just before I started screaming through gritted teeth. I lost my grip on the deactivator chip and watched helplessly as it fell from my hand and rolled across the floor. "I have to admit," BB-2 sneered. "You are a persistent little insect." I choked back my scream and turned to her as she held me helpless, my arms pinned tightly in her grip, her face mere inches from my own. I opened my mouth and slid the deactivator chip I'd stolen from Ben Pierce from the back of my mouth with my tongue (villains never search the mouth).

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I put it to my lips and then kissed BB-2 squarely on her android mouth. The kiss of death or deactivation. The chip came to life upon contact with BB-2's distinctive electronic pulse. Her body jerked once, tightening like a spring and then spasmed chaotically. She let go of my arms and I fell to the floor, my twin broken wrists sending tidal waves of pain through my arms. "No, No. My synapses are misfiring!" BB-2 cried. "Don't you hate it when that happens?" I said, as I crawled clear of her flailing limbs. She screamed again and fell to the ground, convulsing like a slice of bacon on a griddle. "E equals MC cubed," she screamed. "No. For every action there is a law suit. No! I will not shut down. The Love Boat was a classic television series and should be adapted for the big screen! NO!!!!! I will not shut down. IIIIIII won'tttttttttt." Then she went limp and the world was eerily quiet. "HARV?" I whispered, painfully from the floor. "Yeah, boss?" "Scan this droid for any sign of electrical activity?" "Not a murmur," he answered. "She's totally flat-lined." "Good. Contact BB and have her people get over here and clean this mess up." "Already done," HARV said. "I've also taken the liberty of calling an ambulance. You have two dozen broken and/or displaced bones in your

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wrists." "No time for that," I said. "Randy can make me a couple soft casts and Electra can give me a painkiller to hold me a few hours. I need you to give Carol a wake up call. Tell her to get dressed and grab a taxi." "Did I miss a memo here, boss? BB-2's down for the count. Our work is done, isn't it?" "Not quite." Episode 27: Who's Who! BB was working late in her office when I arrived at ExShell headquarters. As usual, her thugs and her lawyer were at her side. She greeted me warmly, hailing the conquering hero. "Well done, Zachary," she said as I entered. "I knew you could do it. But, Gates, you are a mess." She turned to the nearest thug, "call a medbot for Mister Johnson immediately, and bring him some clean clothes." "That can wait," I said. "First, we need to talk." "Of course, Zach." "Privately." "My employees are sworn to secrecy, Zachary. They will not repeat anything they..." "I don't think you'll want anyone else to hear this," I said defiantly. BB's expression didn't change a micron but she stared at me for a long moment before turning coldly to her henchmen. "Leave us," she said.

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The henchman obediently sulked out of the room. The lawyer gave me a long glare as he stepped through the door. It took every iota of self-restraint in my body to keep from punching him in the face. "Now, Zachary," BB said as the door closed behind her, "what do you have that is so important?" "Something about this case still bugs me," I said. "You should not fixate on the past. The threat is over. We won. My computer is depositing the agreed upon fee, along with a generous bonus, into your account even as we speak. The case is closed." "I wish it were that easy," I sighed. "Why do you persist?" "Because I think you're a droid too." Again, I watched BB's expression closely and, again, it changed none at all. The lady was simply too cool for her own good. "That is ridiculous." "Come on, BB, I'm a detective, remember? You told me yourself that BS was obsessive about backing things up. There's no way he'd make only one prototype of something as important as BB-2. ExShell also spent billions more on the project than required. More than enough to build two fully operational androids. And your android sister told me herself that she was merely a copy. I thought at first she meant that she was a copy of the original BB. But that's not right is it? She was a copy of another android. She was the backup. She was BB-3 wasn't she?" "That is outlandish speculation on your part, Zachary. It does not mean a thing." "And that's another thing," I said. "You don't use contractions. Neither did BB-3."

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BB turned away. "I think you should leave now, Mister Johnson," she said coldly, "and forget all about this nonsense." I pulled the second deactivator chip from my pocket and took a step towards her. "If it's nonsense, then you won't mind me placing this deactivator chip on your head." BB spun around and caught my arm. She squeezed my wrist and, despite the soft cast, and the painkillers, sent a bolt of pain up my arm. I grimaced. "There are times when it hurts to be right," I said. "Right HARV?" On cue, HARV's hologram popped out of my lens. "That's what they say, boss." He turned to BB. "It is an honor and a privelege to meet you, Ms. Star. As a matter of fact, I am so awestruck by the importance of this event that I have dutifully recorded it all for posterity, or litigation, whichever may come first." "Turn off!" BB growled. HARV's hologram blinked out and I felt his presence in my mind shut down. "Between you and me, BB, that little trick sort of tipped your hand a bit," I said. "But I've learned a few things about dealing with psycho BB Star androids over the past few days. You see, I'm psionically linked right now with my secretary and she's writing this entire conversation down on paper for us. She also happens to be standing right outside the World News Network headquarters. Needless to say, if anything happens to me, she goes inside and some very interesting material becomes very public very quickly." BB glared at me for a moment then grabbed my throat in her free hand and lifted me into the air. "I think I will kill you and take my chances," she spat.

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Her fingers tightened around my throat. But a voice from the doorway stopped her in her tracks. "No!" I turned as Grandma Backerman entered the room. "Put him down, dear. It's not worth it." BB obeyed and I fell to the floor, rubbing my neck. "Thank you, Ms. Backerman," I whispered, "or may I call you BB Star?" "How did you know?" Grandma asked. "Lucky guess, really. Grandma was the only positive female role model you had in your life. Who else would you choose to be?" "And here I thought I was being so clever," she said. "So what is it that you want now, Zachary?" "Answers." "Just answers?" BB spat "No credits?" "You hired me to do a job. I did it and you paid me. I have no gripe with you there. I'm just looking for some personal closure here." "Closure?" they both asked in unison. "I need to know why." Grandma sighed and took a seat in the great office chair. BB stood obediently behind her. "I had no interest in running this company after my husband died," she said, "but I certainly wasn't going to turn it over to his credit grabbing board of directors. They've always resented me and they would have eventually found a way to toss me out of the company, penniless, if they could manage it.

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"The only person in this corporation who didn't hate me was Ben Pierce. Benny was a fan of mine from my dancing days. He told me about the BB-2 project and I knew that one of the droid dopplegangers would be perfect to run the company in my stead. So, with his help, we placed BB-2 into my position and I became Grandma. "The board of directors found out that Benny had helped me but, when he refused to give them the details, they fired him and erased all record of his work here. I've been subsidizing his writing career since then. The poor dear, his poetry really hoovers." Grandma Backerman sat back in the chair and BB leaned forward on the desk. "As a cold, emotionless android and trained assassin," BB said, "I was a natural for the business world. BB-3 and I could have worked together, shared the duties of the company, but her programming was tragically flawed. She was mentally unstable, as you are no doubt aware. She hated me and, well, she was just generally psychotic, so we had to imprison her. I hated to do it but she had all these plans to destroy the world as we know it. She really had no mind for business at all." "Benny tried to fix her programming," Grandma said, "but it was no use. The hatred and psychoses were too deeply ingrained into her mainframe. We kept her in stasis until we could find another way to help her but she escaped. That's when we hired you." "So even after undergoing the regen treatments, you continued to pose as your grandmother?" I asked. "I knew that eventually BB-3 would turn to her grandma for comfort. I knew she wouldn't tell me everything, but she would give me some useful information that I could pass on to you." "You know," I said, "you could have saved us all a whole lot of time if you'd just told me this from the beginning."

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"Control of the entire corporation was at stake, Zachary," Grandma Backerman answered. "Forgive us if we weren't willing to trust you with that." "Oh, sure, why trust me with a business matter when it's only my life at stake." "Perhaps that was our mistake, then." "Where's the real grandma?" I asked. "She's in New Miami," Grandma answered. "She's doing the cabaret circuit and she looks even younger than I do." I walked up to Grandma and gently placed the deactivator chip on her forehead. She smiled at me. "Happy now?" she asked. "Happy might be too strong a word," I said. "But I am satisfied." I put the chip in her hand and turned up the collar of my trenchcoat. "Return that to Benny for me and we'll call it even?" Grandma smiled. I turned and walked away. "I could kill him now," I heard BB whisper as I neared the door. "A shot in the back and he'd never know what hit him." "Darling," Grandma replied, "we really need to work on your sensitivity training." And I closed the door on the case.

Epilog

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The pale blue surf broke lazily on the beach. Electra and I watched contentedly as we soaked in the morning sunlight on the New Costa Rican coast. Three weeks had passed since the BB-2 showdown and, thanks to a rigorous rehabilitation regimen of slicing mangos, stirring Margaritas and rubbing sunscreen on Electra's back, my broken wrists (and the myriad of other injuries) were healing nicely, as was my spirit. "So, mi amor," Electra said from beneath her straw hat, "when do you want to return to civilization?" "How about never?" I answered. She turned to me, slid her sunglasses down her nose and gave me a disbelieving look. "That's a long time to stay away from the office, chico. Won't your public miss you?" "Well, it crossed my mind more than once during the whole BB-2 affair that I might be getting a little too old for this kind of work." "Too old to save the world? Perish the thought." "Come on, it's not really saving the world," I said. It's finding some nutcase with delusions of earth-shattering grandeur. Basically, all I do is run around, get shot at, beaten up, blown up, slapped, pounded, mauled and generally abused. Then the agents and the P.R. people turn it into something exciting. It's only a matter of time before the entertainment conglomerates realize that they can sell the same stuff without me as the middle man." "You're being cynical. And you're selling yourself short." I rolled over and took another sip of the Margarita (being very careful this time not to poke myself in the eye with the little umbrella -- what can I say, I'm new at this relaxation thing). "You're right," I said. "But you have to admit a life of leisure on the beach is pretty tempting."

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"Come on back to the cabana, chico," she said with a smile. "I'll show you tempting." I took her hand and we headed back to the cabana for another day in paradise. That's when HARV showed up. "Hey boss. Nice tan. Life in the jungle agrees with you." "HARV!" "And, if I may be so bold, Doctor Gevada, the muscle tone of your legs and torso is truly a wonder to behold." "You promised me he wouldn't be around," Electra said as she elbowed me in the stomach. "HARV, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't use the mind-link while I was on vacation." "We did indeed, and you have to admit that I've been very obedient to this point. It's just that a bit of an emergency has arisen and I felt you should know about it." "I'm not interested, HARV." "What?" "I'm not interested. Whatever crazy emergency is happening in Frisco right now can wait until I get back to the office. If I ever do come back." "That little tease about your possible relocation, aside, I think you'll be interested in this particular emergency." "Why's that?" I asked. "Because it's not in New Frisco. It's currently one kilometer off the shore of New Costa Rica and headed straight for you and the terrifically tanned and

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toned Dr. Gevada." As if on cue, I heard the hum of a hoverjet in the distance. The sound grew louder with every heartbeat. "Okay, HARV, what's going on?" I asked. HARV turned up his nose a bit and looked away. "No, you're right. I'm certain that this particular emergency can wait until you get back to New Frisco, that is, if you ever get back." "HARV!" "I picked up a message from local air traffic control in your area. There's a hostile hoverjet headed your way, as I'm sure you can hear. The jet contains one lawyer and four heavily armed thugs, one of whom is so large he has three social security numbers. They are all employees of the HTech Latin American subsidiary, Alto Techo." "What do they want?" "My guess would be you. They did not specify the dead or alive part." "Why?" "I suggest that we concentrate on the why's and wherefore's at some later time. Right now I think survival should be your top priority." Our hovercraft rental, under HARV's autopilot guidance, zipped across the beach and spun to a halt beside Electra and me. The doors popped open and the engine revved, enticingly. "Weapons and refreshments can be found in the backseat," HARV said, with a gesture towards the open door. "You'll find more suitable attire in the trunk." Electra sighed and climbed into the hovercraft driver seat. "I'll drive," she said.

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"A fine choice," HARV agreed. I took a long last look at the peaceful beach (and the fast approaching hoverjet) and hopped into the hovercraft beside my lady love. "What was it you were saying," she said, "about being too old for this kind of work, chico?" "It's a classic catch-22, honey, too old for the work, but too young to die." Electra smiled and gunned the hover into overdrive. We left the beach in a cloud of sand and with hot death on our tail. Once more into the breach. It was another one of those days. The Author John Zakour Zach Zachary Nixion Johnson is the last private detective on the planet Earth. He is a person of above average intelligence who is also bold, fairly honest and awfully darn persistent. He is also scared of heights, afraid of commitment and tends towards the lazy side. While Zach is not an expert in the martial arts (like his agent claims) he is still apt at the martial arts and therefore able to take care of himself so he is usually able to think or fight his way out of most situations. (He carries a fancy high tech gun: a Colt 45 version 2a and he has been known to wear a pair of bracelets that are actually physical ability enhancers to help him out of the more difficult dilemmas.) He has a degree in computer science from NY University. The strange middle name is due to the fact that his mom was a big history buff and either a lousy speller or had a strange sense of humor. HARV HARV is one of the most if not the most sophisticated personal

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computer system / electronic assistant / hologram on Earth. He was invented by Dr. Randy Pool in 2046. He is now pretty much the personal computer of Zachary Nixion Johnson. HARV has at "his" disposal huge databases of information regarding persons and events. HARV somehow manages to have access to some information that very few if any, other systems can access. HARV is of course also connected to every other public computer in the world through the Laslink & SpaceNet system. HARV is able to multi-task and perform in excess of a trillion computations a nano. There has also been some discussion in intellectual circles that HARV is a true thinking computer who is able to make decisions on information that is incomplete or even unavailable to him -- in other words he guesses from time to time. When "he" projects "himself" as a hologram he likes to appear pretty much like "he" "thinks" a British Bulter should look. Randy Dr. Randy Pool is without question one of the greatest minds currently residing on Earth. He possesses PhDs in numerous fields such as: Physics, Robotics, Chemistry and Biomechanics. Some of Dr. Pool's most famous inventions are: electronic enhancer bracelets, the computer/electronic assistant HARV, the Colt 45 versions 1a, 2a, 2b, 3a, the hit Virtual reality game: Lawyer Lobotomy, super strong bucky ball armor, the list goes on and on. Dr. Pool is headquartered at AMP labs in New San Francisco. He is subsidized heavily by both private industry and the World Council. Some people may consider him a bit eccentric though. The Great Lawyer Purge The number of practicing lawyers in the world had been increasing at an alarming rate since the turn of the century. By 2027, fully ten percent of the world's population were lawyers (subsequently; 9.9998 percent of the world's population were crooked lawyers). The enormous amount of litigation these lawyers created simply overwhelmed the world's court system. They were suing corporations. They were suing small businesses. They were suing executives, sub-contractors, and day workers,

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municipalities organizations, home-owners. Only the homeless and indigent were spared from the litigious siege (and only because they had no money to lose). Some lawyers even specialized in suing the dead. They were easy targets after all. You always knew where to deliver the subpoena. By 2035, the courts were tied up in so much ridiculous litigation that there was simply no room in the system for any real legal work to be done. The legal world was quite simply a powder keg ready to explode. The match that lit the fuse was the infamous case of Rindulli v. Rindulli, New St. Louis Province of Missouri, 2035 in which twelve year old Elizabeth Rindulli sued her parents for making her ugly. Her suit contended that her parents, Benjamin and Juanita Rindulli were ugly people (the term used in the suit was "beautifully challenged") and were therefore responsible for the ugliness of their daughter. Furthermore, the suit contended that the Rindulli's had prior knowledge of their ugliness before Elizabeth's conception and their procreation showed a reckless disregard for her well being. Elizabeth sued for punitive damages (the exact amount has been lost in the annals of history but it is well known that her parents were extremely wealthy after having been awarded a sizable settlement earlier that year from a fast food company when Benjamin spilled hot coffee on his lap while going through the drive-though -- we're not making this up). Elizabeth Rindulli won the case and the world went crazy (or maybe they finally regained their sanity). The poor girl broke down on the courthouse steps and confessed to the world that she never wanted to pursue litigation and never even considered herself ugly until her lawyer approached her and convinced her that she was. That's when the revolt began. The public outcry became Shakespeare's immortal quote "The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers" (from Henry VI) -- and for most people it was the only line of Shakespeare that they ever really understood.

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The World Council stopped short of actually killing all the lawyers. They decided the optimal number of lawyers on a world of 15 billion people would be 7777. So through a series of aptitude tests and popular votes the 7777 deemed most worthy got to remain lawyers. The others were forced to get real jobs. (Many became game and talk show hosts.) The number of lawyers allowed to practice on the planet is kept at a nice safe level of 7777. BTW, some people (such as Zach) think this number is still too high After the purge, by the way, Shakespeare's popularity grew enormously in the mainstream. Unfortunately people no longer considered him a playwright. Instead he became sort of a prophet and a number of cults devoted to deciphering the "prophecies" hidden in Shakespeare's plays sprung up around the world. As a result special swimming clinics were organized for all women named Ophelia. It just goes to show you that appreciation of great literature can be taken too far.