Life went on, as it was wont to do. In life it took almost no time at all for the unusual or downright strange to become commonplace.

Waking up each day in a chair one was literally plugged into, for example. Riding a massive elevator out of a tomb of a hidden government complex. Walking across the street in order to shower, dress, and otherwise keep up appearances before heading back to that subterranean tomb where the chair resided in order to be tested by analyzing political situations and trends, much as I used to do before I retired. All of that under hidden and constant armed guard.

It took less than a week for that to become normal.

And while it would take some time for my predictions to be proven correct, the events I was analyzing were obvious enough. Well at least to me; the middle east was always a certain way, and the French and Chinese were always pretty shifty. I knew, I just knew, that they were working on cold fusion together, and damn the consequences. Of course, trying to do that based on gifted schematics and expertise was an exercise in futility, but I wasn't about to tell either of them that.

I was fairly sure this had been worked on before as well, by others. That I was in fact being tested; not that it bothered me. If I kept at it, I could possibly be cleared for field work again. With some luck the doc would be allowed to make that body for me, and I could do field work in something a little more... rugged.

I stepped off the elevator and threw the carton of cigarettes at Herb.

“My good deed for the day. You should quit smoking those; they will definitely shorten your life.”

He grinned from his position on the floor, his arms up to the elbows in console wiring. He was hunting some random short or another; thankfully not in any of the systems I needed to maintain my life.

“I know, but they're sooooo good.”

I snorted. He wasn't even down to his last ones; he had one tucked behind each ear. Just where they had been when he asked me to go on this cancer stick run in the first place. I think he forgot they were there.

I half wanted to wait in order to see if he'd touch some current bare-handed, and light them up. Lisa had told me that had already happened once. His fault for not cutting the power first, but somehow he managed not to die from such mishaps.

Instinct told me that somehow it was a gifted thing, though not one I'd heard of before. I wondered what sort of oddity Lisa might be harboring.

I was almost finished with my latest boring fluff piece when the elevator opened again and captain Washington stepped out. He had just bitten into a bushel of lemons, judging from his expression.

“Hello Captain. What happened to you?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just bad news. Carry on.”

“Bad news like what?”

“Nothing I can share.”

Ahh, classified then. Lisa chose that moment to come out of the back room; a back room she had made out of the lab using medical curtains. She was working on something back there, but she wouldn't show it to either myself or Herb. Herb had already been smacked for not respecting that, and I didn't really care that much. Not wise to piss off one of the people making sure you stay alive.

With my analysis done, my work was done, on time and under budget. I scanned it, sent it, then filed it, both the electronic and hard copy. The government did so love its dead trees; it had acres of them. No doubt in a dusty warehouse somewhere.

As for the emails, I had no idea who I was actually sending them to, or if they were read. I suspected they were but only because of who I was at the moment. Checking for inconsistencies and the like. The work assignments came from the same address/ internet protocol/ user name. And while I could use my own independent systems to figure out who and where my immediate boss was, I considered it bad form. One should only spy on enemies, after all.

I used the truly massive computer in the manner to which it was best suited; I loaded up a military style shooting simulator and began a round. The captain watched silently, still standing, as I tried to improve my aim. It was a wasted effort, really. The assistance my new software gave me when aiming was more than bore thinking about.

Really; if I thought about it, odd calculations would appear in my head, and the targeting reticule that somehow imposed itself on my eyes became inundated with scrolling computerese. As long as I didn't think directly on it, the chip in my head did not think it was a query, and the distracting elements remained hidden.

The noise and light show brought Herb out of hiding; he seemed able to sniff out anything video game like as if part bloodhound. I was, of course, using a simulated gun; a hunk of plastic designed to feel just like a certain nine millimeter of my acquaintance, if not look like it. Herb somehow had a matching one, and somehow logged himself into the simulation. This was not that much of a surprise really, but I knew from the previous time he'd tried this, that I couldn't really depend on him. He couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a howitzer.

He claimed he was better, that it was just the 'game'. All I heard were excuses. When I switched to covert operations instead of the hit and run missions, he tagged out with a groan.

Those missions seemed to require more thought than he was willing to devote; last time he tried, he had missed some pretty telling evidence in the form of footprints, which led to him getting killed from behind. It was apparently pretty embarrassing for him, judging from all the cursing and chain smoking afterwards.

Marc came in just as I was finishing up a cold weather stealth op... I had completed it successfully, but gotten shot during the escape. Acceptable, a passing grade in the eyes of the government, but I needed to do better. Lieutenant Bael, a large bluff mid-western farm boy with raw features and a large frame (perfect for intelligence work, as he didn't look the part at all) came in with Dirk, both wheeling a large box between them. It looked heavy.

“Mail call for Kaname; and no, it isn't a bomb; we checked.”

I'd had my mouth open, that very question on my tongue. Bad joke, perhaps, but without it I had nothing.

“Alright then, what is it?”

Bael and Drik both stopped pushing with a flourish, and it rolled up to me. They had to have planned that in advance. It was a wooden crate, with a tarp stretched over it, and a plastic sleeve with some form of paperwork inside.

The paperwork was really a note:

“Dear Kaname, please take good care of her; she is yours now. She will follow your orders explicitly, and to the best of her ability. Also included are the keys to the kingdom. It is unlikely I will ever be released, so it it all yours now. I have not forgotten what I owe you. Forever yours, Doctor Thadeus Hastur Langford.”

Ugh, I knew who this was. As soon as I removed the tarp, she sat up and confirmed it. Sara Merit's glassy blue eyes were staring into mine.

“Greetings and hello, operator Kaname.”

“Hello Sara.”

I turned to Marc.

“How did you spring her?”

I had no doubt that he was the real reason she wasn't languishing in a storage facility somewhere, or dismantled.

“Well, she's a robot. After we had the lab boys check her for secret orders that could be used to try and bust the good doctor out, or hidden bombs or assassination orders, you know, the usual... and she came up clean, it was suggested we get some use out of her somehow. She is a fairly advanced smart system after all, and she responds to you. Who created her isn't any fault of hers. So we asked the doc, and he sent his blessing.”

I could almost bet the doc suggested it first. But if Marc wanted plausible deniability, he could have it.

“Well that's cool I suppose, but I've no idea what use to put her to.”

“Ooooh! Memememememememe!”

Of course Lara had ideas. She started circling, staring at Sara so intently that if she were an actual person, she'd likely be blushing.

“No Lara, you're not dismantling her.”

“But she's a Langford original! A series nine! You know how rare and advanced those are? The only ones better are....”

“Adlevo, series tens, twelves, and fourteens, supposedly.”

Huh. Where had the hostility in my voice come from? The doc had treated me well, but from an objective standpoint, much of what he made was inferior to Adlevo's... or so I'd been told. I had been doing some research of my own as well as my clearance allowed, and I was beginning to have my doubts.

Of course, all that aside, Lara was right. The doc's designs were among the most advanced in the world. Even Sara was a catch for just about any government or major corporation. And his lesser stuff? Well, much of it was in use already, in China and Russia. Some countries in the middle east Had some of his earlier combat designs too.

“Operator Kaname. Do you require any assistance?”

The operator tag was new. Looking at her, she seemed to have the same set of clothes as when we were all picked up, with the same rips and stains. I would have to remedy that, at some point.

“Yes, could you clean the lab, please?”

She slowly looked around, taking it all in.

“Understood.”

She went right to the small closet filled with cleaning supplies and removed a broom and dustpan. Lara tsked at me.

“One of the most advanced androids of the age, reduced to a Roomba. You should be ashamed.”

I snorted at her again.

“Better than your plans for her. She stays intact this way.”

“Young ladies shouldn't make vulgar noises.”

I rolled my eyes at her. She should know better. I had noticed that the body tended to fool people though, even the ones that should know better. Silly me, I had made the mistake of telling her that, and her response was to tease over it.

I worried about the state of our world and it's future, governed by such people.

Marc looked at the screen that had my attention before his arrival.

“So this is what you do with your time? What about the work you're sent?”

“Finished. Not like I have much else to do, really. So I thought I'd try to get re-certified. My covert field ops score and aim are better than they used to be. Only one last thing to test.”

He grunted non-commitally. There was no simulation for the last thing; spy operations in enemy territory. I knew he didn't want me doing any of that again, but he was smart enough not to say so.

For my part, I wasn't sure I did either, but if I was going to be forced into it, then I wanted to be ready. Dirk had other concerns.

“Figures.”

Bael took the bait.

“What figures?”

“We just got done busting our backs, doing grunt work, hauling around something that could walk itself around.”

Bael blinked and grinned.

“Welcome to the Army, soldier.”

I shrugged.

“Could have just called ahead and ruined the surprise. I'd have told her to come find me.”

They two both swiveled their heads at exactly the same moment to stare pointedly at Marc. He grinned at them.

“....Whoops?”

I wanted to fan the flames, so I did.

“He did that on purpose. He's Navy.”

Want to see someone sputter indignantly? Accuse an Army man of being Navy. Then run, very very fast. I threw caution to the wind as Marc tried to pounce. For the first time in a long time, I was faster. He chased me around for awhile, then stopped, adjusting his tie. The smile never left his face. Bael however, evidently didn't know Marc well enough. Understandable, really.

“Really? We really have Navy in our midst, here?”

I shook my head, wondering for about the thousandth time about the lack of shortness in my breathing. Also for the thousandth time I ignored the roll of text that described how and why I breathed at all to me.

“No, I lied. He's Army, then Langley, same as me. That's how we met in fact, Langley. I was teaching... well, a variety of things, and he was learning them.”

Dirk and Bael shook their heads.

“That's terrible. To even lie about a thing like that... sad.”

“Hey, all is fair in love and humor.”

A pretty lame comeback, even by my standards, but they both laughed anyway.

There was something else in the crate; a small box that had been under Sara. I touched it lock first on accident, and it popped right open. Inside were half a dozen flash drives and 4 small notebooks, all labeled in the doctor's neat scrawl. The note included said it all:

“Kaname. Included are full schematics of your body in particular, your series, and the other models you've seen as well as some other assorted inventions that could be of use. Sara knows how to read and construct them, if needed, and will do as you ask. Please feel free to use them all as you see fit.”

It was all his notes on my body series, and on Sara's. The thumb drives were all terabyte models, and full; at least, that's what the labels said. They were also labeled by model series, and even had a miscellaneous one. Which meant I was short a few, but I wasn't greedy.

As if conjured, Lara was at my side, grasping my arm and drooling on my shoulder.

“Is that...?”

Herb also shuffled forward like a zombie, eyes on the notebooks.

“Looks like it is....”

I prepared to run for my life again.

“No. Bad techs! Anyone have a rolled up newspaper?”

Just as they were beginning to close, I spotted my salvation.

“Sara! Come get this box, and put it away for safekeeping.”

“Understood operator Kaname.”

I got the box closed despite the pouts, and Sara carried it away.

“The doc left them to me for safekeeping, so safe kept they will be. You already know all you need to about me, and I'm not going to see random Langford death machines walking around if I can help it.”

It was a goodwill gesture, I knew. A way to show the courts he was cooperating in the hopes they would let him out sometime before he died. But for all of that, it was still touching nonetheless; he was trying to do right by me.

I had no illusions that I would be able to keep the tech secret, but I could at least mess with the two tasked with learning it for a time. Marc and I shared another look.

“You mean you don't want the competition?”

“Exactly. Bow before your new cyborg overlord.”

“Well, I still like her better than the last guy.”

“Don't worry; you'll get your chance to look through it all. I just want to see if I can do it first. I mean, I want to test any understanding this chip in my head might provide.”

Herb straightened up and stopped joking.

“You think it could offer you some sort of advanced understanding on how gifted tech works?”

I knew it did, after a fashion. If I looked at my own schematics for example, I could understand what piece went where, and why. At least, given a little time. What I didn't know, was whether I could do that for anything else. I was fairly sure building anything from scratch was out, however.

“Not sure, but that's what I want to find out. And in order to do that, I need to look those notes over, and I can't really do that if you're doing it. So you both can wait a day.”

I did not miss the weighted glance he threw Marc's way.

“Then take your time.”

I ignored the byplay, instead doling out a gracious nod.

“Your cyborg overlord thanks you. Now, your assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to actually score positively on the sim you just failed. Pick up your gun, and fumble around for our amusement, please.”

He grumbled, but complied. I sat to watch, wishing for a beer. Wishing for a reason to actually drink beer, other than to waste it; the desire itself was a phantom thing, but needing the beverage to settle my stomach and calm my nerves? That would have been downright human of me. The taste would be nice too, but I couldn't really justify the waste as is. Too many other peoples of the world needed a nice cold one in order to unwind.

I had once proposed that very thing become global policy; it was shot down for religious reasons.

Now I had to ruin the mood completely.

“So, how goes the case Marc?”

“He's hired Gibbons. A move that according to Gibbons himself, Adlevo tried to block by calling in his retainer.”

Gibbons was one of the foremost defense lawyers of our age and country, with a winning record that any lawyer would kill to have. He had in fact represented Adlevo before... on Adlevo v. Carmichael, a very famous case of copyright infringement or theft. He had won it for Adlevo, a good twenty years ago, and been on retainer ever since. None had levied such accusations on him since. If my memory served, Carmichael was Adlevo's first assistant, who quit and brought the lawsuit after a year. Langford was his second. The fact that Gibbons was willing to ignore a good client of long standing in favor of representing the doc was pretty telling, in my opinion. Well either that or Gibbons was going to railroad the doc; but everything I'd read about the man indicated he was a stand up guy. Well, for a lawyer at any rate.

“That reminds me. Gibbons has asked to talk to you regarding Langford's defense, and your own possible upcoming trial.”

Urk.

“What? Trial?”

Marc nodded.

“Yep. Money laundering, possibly. The bank, remember?”

Well, crap. Try to do something nice for people....

“But I didn't know. I didn't even know who I was. The doc asked a favor, and I said sure.”

“Yes, I know. You told me. But there's going to be a hearing on whether or not to bring charges. Gibbons wants to talk to you about Langford, and that hearing. I think he's willing to represent you for it.”

Well that would be... a godsend. If I left it up to the government I'd probably be bundled in a deeper hole than this one or doing fieldwork in war zones before the month was out. There was no doubt that I would avoid jail time, and even my record would be expunged, but it would be used as blackmail in any event. Having a public name on the case would ensure against that possibility.

“Well, when did he want to meet?”

“Next Monday, 1:00 P.M.”

Hmm, a little later than I wanted. I could have done with tomorrow. Herb was doing alright, but he was going to get killed from behind again. At least this time he realized the mistake of the footprints. Now it was the sniper that was going to get him. Well that or the dogs. Lara hadn't paid attention to anything since the data reveal; she was busy chasing Sara around. I wasn't worried; Sara had divined my intent apparently, and despite being stronger was still being gentle. The only thing she was doing was holding onto the box, when she could just as easily flatten Lara as an attacker.

“By the way, been meaning to ask you Herb; what's the final verdict on my battery status?”

--Battery charge 82%--

Thank you, chip inspired voice in my head, but not quite what I meant. And then unbidden, power usage and cost by system graphs unfolded in my head, as it had before. I knew what it told, but I wanted to hear it from Herb.

“Well now that your CPU isn't taking up all that power to index your drive, you can last about three days if you want to. I'd say for safeties sake that pulling an all nighter is fine, but any more and you run the risk of shutdown, and my buddies and I all agree that shutdown is bad.”

And then the dogs got him, and he threw his gun down with a curse.

“Who the hell designs these things?!? This is bullshit!”

Lieutenant Bael picked up the gun, and slapped the randomizer option. We all sat back and watched, even Lara, who was now bored of messing with our human shaped Roomba. He completed it and in record time, which I guess wasn't that hard considering the only other records on our computer were Herb's and mine. Clearly though, I was more rusty than I thought I was.

Unbidden, several memories played, one after the other, all of my previous tests on these very same sims, or at least their equivalents. In my youth, my best scores, my times were displayed with perfect clarity. And Lieutenant Bael had beaten me handily. Stupid perfect recall; I was pretty sure I wasn't born with that. Of course, no one else needed to know my scores; aside from Marc, no one should know. Or hopefully not; they were classified, but chances were everyone had read my file. Even the redacted bit. As The good Lieutenant crossed the electronic finish line I tested the waters.

“Meh, I've done better.”

Bael, Captain Washington, and Marc all three looked at me askance. They definitely did know. I wondered if they could tell that I knew that they knew?

“Well then, grandpa, show me how it's done.”

I picked up my gun and restarted the simulation, hitting the randomize option as well. I was privately happy to be called grandpa; sure it was a teasing insult, but at least Bael hadn't forgotten whose brain was wrapped up in this weird package.

I did have a real audience now, and pride was on the line, so I decided to get serious.

I used everything; my built in gun sight, infra-red, calculated ballistic arcs and gps maps to determine the best guard locations, everything I could. I went embraced all the technology in my head everything I used to scoff at in another life. In the end, after much sweat and stress (simulated) I completed the mission and tied Bael's score. That is, the score on our machine; I had a feeling he had better ones elsewhere.

“Not bad. You got the skills, at least.”

He clapped me on the back, hard.

“You'll get there some day, old man.”

“Well a tie isn't a loss, but it isn't a win either. So, I nominate Kaname to get today's take out.”

My detail had taken to doing this; coming up with excuses to send me out. I think they were going stir crazy, and this was the easiest way for them to get exercise. I didn't care, of course; I could ignore any desire to go out for months. I had before, I probably would again. But between incidents like these, and the impromptu hand to hand sessions (which I was out of practice for), I was making more trips than I was used to, and mostly for bad food. I didn't really mind and it wasn't anything to argue over.

“Fine, what do you want?”

“Chinese? Team 2, what do you guys want for dinner?”

I shrugged and waited for the individual orders to flow.