I awoke on what should have been Tuesday. My navel itched and I reached down to scratch it. My fingers came away with flakes of dried blood on the tips. Throwing the sheets aside I looked down at my belly. My navel looked red and raw. Dried blood caked the middle of it. I brushed at it with my good hand and it flaked away. Perhaps I had scratched myself hard enough in my sleep to draw blood. I used to do that when I was young if I had a mosquito bite or a rash; never in the navel though.

I dragged my ass out of bed and into the bathroom. "Lights!" I called out. In the mirror before me the pupil of my right eye contracted quickly under the harsh glare. The red lens of my cybernetic right eye shone back at me, angry and unblinking.

Some people like their enhancements to look as natural as possible, but I find that letting the hardware show impresses the clients and intimidates the competition.

"Shower, medium hot," I called out. I could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on so I jumped right in and stuck my head under the water. After coming up for air, I decided to listen to the morning news.

"News, condensed," I said.

"Good morning," said the computer voice of the Central News Agency. "Here is the news for the morning of Monday, July 19 2038..." That was all I heard. The news continued to drone on, but I had gone numb all over. Today should be Tuesday the 13th. Could I really have lost a whole week? I just stood there for several minutes letting the water pour over my head. Finally I spoke. "End news. Shower off." I stepped out of the shower not caring that I dripped all over the floor.

"Computer, what day is this?" I dreaded the answer.

"Today is Monday, July 19, 2038, Miss Drake." I felt as if I were beginning to go into shock so I sat down on the toilet for a moment. Then, gathering myself together, I dried off and dressed quickly in jeans, T-shirt, leather jacket, and boots.

Making sure the connections on the stump at the end of my left arm were completely dry, I picked my H.A.N.D.* up off the night-stand and snapped it into place. The hand is my most important tool, but I don't really like to sleep in it.

"Computer?"

"Yes, Priscilla?"

"Read back all my appointments since last Tuesday."

"Tuesday, June 12 Noon- Lunch with Mr. Smith at The Purple Cow." The computer paused.

"Continue." I said.

"That is all, Priscilla."

"Great, gives me a hell of a lot to go on."

I think at this point a few words of explanation might be in order. My name is Priscilla Drake. I live alone in a studio apartment with my computer. What I do for a living is a little unusual. I like to call myself a private security consultant. Sometimes that means playing bodyguard and sometimes it means designing security systems for people's homes or business.

But the fun part is when I'm hired to test an existing system . That means I get to try to break into the client's place. If I'm successful, which I usually am, then I tell them where the flaws are and often pickup a second fee telling them how to correct the problem. (A few times, when things were tight, I've "tested" systems without having been asked to; if you catch my drift,) Mr. Smith was undoubtedly a prospective client, but I couldn't for the life of me remember who he might be.

My head was really beginning to hurt, especially at the back around my input/output ports. I was out of headache powder. That would have to be dealt with first before I could even begin to think about delving into the mystery my life had suddenly become.

The sun stabbed into my eyes as I stepped out of the front door. I think it may have rained the night before because the streets seemed semi-clean. Children played in the small park across the street while squirrels ran about looking for loot. Birds chirped in the trees. God was in his heaven with his little green apples and all that jazz. Everything seemed to say that it was a zippidy-god-damn-doo-da day, but I was having none of it.

I stopped in at the corner store for a soda. I love soda. Norman was behind the counter. Norman was always behind the counter.

"Hey, Drake!" he said. "Where the hell you been, underground or something?"

"Something." I replied. So I guess Norman hadn't seen me for about a week. I grabbed a Coke and headed for the counter.

"You OK, Drake? You look a little strung out." Norman asked.

"I'm not quite feeling myself today, Norm. Got anything for a headache?" Everything in the store looked a little too bright, the edges too sharp. Norman handed me a packet of powder. I paid for my stuff and left.

Sitting in the park, I dumped the powder in my Coke and downed it. Children ran through the playground, screaming and laughing. When had I been so young. Surely never. Then the memory of a sand box and a bully's metal pail upside my head nudged at the corners of my brain. Oh yeah, I thought. That's when I was young. No wonder I don't like to remember.

I watched the birds until I had almost figured out the patterns of their group flight. Then it escaped me. I tried not to think about my problem but failed terribly.

There was a phone built into my H.A.N.D. (which actually included about half the forearm). I called home. The message started to play.

"Hello, this is Priscilla Drake. I'm not..."

"Computer, Override."

"Yes, Priscilla."

"Computer, look up my financial records for the past week and have them ready for me when I come in."

"Yes, Priscilla."

"Good-bye."

I thought my financial record might give me a good idea of where I had been and what I had been doing. I was feeling increasingly disoriented so I decided to retreat back to the safety of my home. When I got there the financial information was waiting for me.

Apparently on Tuesday at one o'clock the extraordinary sum of two million World Currency Units had been placed in my account. Not more than an hour later, half of that was paid out to something called Golden Slumbers Funereal Consultants Inc. I suppose Mr. Smith must have paid me the two million WoCUs after lunch for whatever I had been hired to do, but why would I have turned right around and handed half of it over to a funeral parlor?

The dread that had been building inside me became overwhelming. This was quickly followed by an absolute exhaustion. I lay down and fell asleep in my clothes.

Please understand that I do not usually let events get the better of me. Missing a week of my life was the sort of thing that would normally have me kicking down doors until I found an answer. But I just couldn't get going. It was as if I had been drugged, and perhaps I had been, but when I awoke I resolved to start getting something done. It was about three in the afternoon when I got up from my nap. Step one was to pay a visit to Golden Slumbers. This turned out to be harder than one would have thought.

I was on the sidewalk trying to remember where I had parked my motorcycle. With my memory problems I had no idea where it might be. Thinking I was going to have to resort to mass transit, I headed for the bus-stop. Suddenly a battered sky-blue sedan came tearing down the street in my direction. I didn't think much of it until the car swerved up on to the sidewalk and came right at me.

I leapt about ten feet up and to the side, grabbed a nearby lamppost, and swung around it narrowly avoiding the car. You see, my legs are equipped with servo motors and reinforcements at the knees and ankles, so getting out of the way in time was not a problem. Still, I don't appreciate people trying to run me down, just the same.

The car continued to the end of the block and spun around, presumably to take another swipe at me. Taking the initiative I dropped to the ground and ran out in to the street to meet the speeding car.

I stood in the middle of the road like a demented bullfighter and waited. The car barreled down on me. The readout on my right eye told me the vehicle's speed and distance. When it was almost on top of me, I leapt into the air and came down on top of it. The two men inside seemed surprised and annoyed to find their target had become a passenger.

I punched the plasti-steel fingers of my H.A.N.D. into the top of the car creating a grip for myself. The car swerved about, attempting to throw me off, but my grip held. The passenger, a weasel of a man, leaned out the window and tried to level a gun at me. I was too far across the roof from him for Mr. Weasel to get a bead on me so he climbed halfway out of the car to get at me. I would have shot him with the gun built into my H.A.N.D. if it weren't busy keeping me from being flung to the pavement.

At that moment it was difficult for me to recall why I thought this had been a good idea, nevertheless I was committed to it now.

I swung my foot at Weasel's ugly head and connected with a jaw breaking head spinning crack. He was unfazed. Weasel merely turned his head back to face me and smiled a bloody smile. The kick had thrown me off balance and I wouldn't be able to recover before he got a shot off. The best I could manage was to present my back to him and hope my jacket's Poly-Kev lining would still be able to protect me at such close range.

Fortunately the driver chose that moment to renew his efforts at shaking me off. He spun to the right spoiling the weasel's aim. The bullet zipped past my head and shattered a window across the street. As the car swerved back to the left I let go and slid across the roof, slamming into my attacker. The weight of my body and the speed of the car combined to snap his spine in two. I tumbled over him and crashed to the ground.

The Polly-Kev and overall reinforcing in my leather jacket saved me from the worst of it, but I did tear my jeans and scrape the skin underneath. Hadn't done that since I fell off my first bike.

Tires squealed and I looked up to see the car making its way back towards me. The weasel's body hung out the window flopping about like an unattended puppet. I raised my H.A.N.D. in a fist and aimed at the driver. A signal went from my brain, through my nerves to the synthetic nerves in my H.A.N.D. A panel in the forearm opened and the barrel of the built-in .38 popped up. The gun was linked to a targeting computer in my right eye. I took aim at the driver's head and, with another mental command, fired. The window shattered. His head flew back. The car kept coming. I rolled toward the curb just as the car zoomed past me and into a parked vehicle, setting off every car alarm on the street.

I should have just shot them in the first place.

"Well, that was unpleasant," I said aloud.

A quick search of my assailants revealed them to be employees of BrendelTec Inc. I pocketed thier corporate IDs for future reference. I would have to look into that after I was done at Golden Slumbers.

I gotta tell you, if it ain't one thing it's another. I had left the carnage behind me for Civic Maintenance to deal with, and was trying to decide which bus would get me to Golden Slumbers when a long black limousine style hover-car landed beside me. A hover-car for Bob's sake. How swank can you get? A goon in black with the requisite sunglasses and white tie, stepped out of the back and approached me. I was on my guard. Just to be paranoid I gave the mental command which set my eye camera on Record. Whatever I saw and heard would be stored on a chip and could be downloaded later for viewing on any standard terminal.

"Miss Drake?" he said.

I gave the traditional response. "Who wants to know?"

"Mister Brindle would like a word with you," he said indicating the hover-car. I decided to play this one a little more subtlety. I stepped into the car. The goon followed and shut the door behind him. This was the top of the line swankmobile, complete with bar, TV, stereo and Bob knows what else. Mr. Goon sat next to me. He leaned forward and turned on the TV. The screen showed a BrindleTec logo.

"Mister Brindle, I have Miss Drake with me." The logo was immediately replaced with the image of Gordon Brindle, founder, president, chairman and big kahuna of BrindleTec International. Brindle was a toad. Fat and sleek he looked to be about fifty but was in fact closer to eighty. Biotechnology had been kind to Gordon Brindle, but be that as it may, good biotec cant overcome bad eating habits.

When he spoke it was with an affected English accent, but I happened to know he was from Piscataway.

"Miss Drake," he said, "I can take a joke as well as the next man, but my patience is beginning to wear thin. You were intending to return my property to me, were you not?"

"Certainly." I said. I didn't think it an opportune moment to mention that I didn't have the foggiest what he was talking about. As far as I could recall I had never in my life met Mr. Brindle, and I wasn't too happy about meeting him now.

"This wouldn't be an attempt to extort a larger fee from me, would it?" he said.

"Heavens forbid," I replied. "I just haven't had the chance to retrieve your property from its hiding place." Quick thinking if I do say so myself.

"Hiding Place?" he exploded. "It had better be a damn good hiding place. That thing is worth more than all our lives." He took a moment to compose himself and then continued. "You will retrieve my property, Miss Drake, and return it to me by tomorrow noon or there will be hell to pay."

"You might have tried asking in the first place rather than sending your goons to whack me." I said.

"Firstly," he said, "I employ operatives, not goons. Secondly, I don't know what you're talking about." I pulled the goons' IDs out of my jacket and held them up to the screen.

"You mean to tell me these two slabs don't work for you?" I said. Brindle studied the I.D. photos for a moment.

"I am not personally familiar with these two gentlemen, but I shall have Mr. Smith look into it." The "operative" sitting next to me held out his hand for the I.D.s. Was he the same Mr. Smith I had an appointment with on Tuesday? I had no choice but to hand him the two I.D.s.

"OK, I'll get your stuff by tomorrow." I said. He just sat there at the other end of the transmission staring at me like a toad, a toad in a suit. There was an awkward silence. "May I go now?" I asked. He snapped out of his trance.

"Yes, of course." Mr. Smith stepped out of the car and held the door for me.

"Be seeing you," he said.

Well, that's just peachy, I thought. What the hell am I supposed to be looking for and where the hell did I put it? Things were only getting foggier and I still didn't know which bus I needed to get to the damn funeral parlor.

Eventually I got myself straightened out, on the right bus, and headed in the direction of Golden Slumbers. Nothing could have prepared my for my reception upon arriving.

Golden Slumbers Funereal Consultants was uptown and upscale. Deep carpet, wood paneling, and dim light created an atmosphere of solemn comfort. It was about three in the afternoon when I arrived. The moment I entered I was approached by a funeral director type who looked like he'd been sent down from central casting. The first words out of his mouth were a bit of a shock.

"Miss Drake, thank God you showed up!" he said in a voice entirely too loud for a funeral parlor.

"Pardon me, but do I know you?" I asked.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Drake. You must be feeling very disoriented right now. Please come with me. I'll explain everything. I can't tell you how sorry I am for all of this. We've been worried sick about you."

"Whoa, slow down. Who are you and why do you know me?" I managed to get in edgewise.

"Oh, dear," he said. "I was so afraid this might happen. You don't remember anything, do you?"

"No."

"Please come with me into my office and I'll try to put everything in perspective for you."

I sat in the plush leather arm chair across a desk from the funeral director and waited for him to explain why my life was a bigger mess than usual today. He regarded me for a long moment and then spoke hesitantly.

"Miss Drake, my name is Mr. Task. I don't know quite where to begin. I understand you must be anxious, but our business is of a delicate nature that one does not wish to hit one over the head with." He took a deep breath. "First let me ask you what you know about our services?"

"You're a funeral parlor."

"Just so, just so, but we are much more, my dear Miss Drake, so very much more. We've branched out you might say. Do you know what Golden Coverage is?" he asked.

"Some kind of disgusting sex game?" I joked.

"Certainly not!" Apparently Golden Coverage was not a joking matter to Mr. Task.

"Some kind of insurance then? You've branched out into life insurance?" I guessed.

"In a manner of speaking. Golden Coverage is the ultimate insurance against sudden death." Mr. Task was losing the grave pallor of the funeral director and taking on the fanatical glow of the insurance salesman.

"What has this to do with me?" I asked, trying to speed things up. "Please Mr. Task, you can see that I'm not a ‘delicate' person. Just cut to the chase."

Not used to chase cutting, Task took a deep breath and gave it a go.

"Miss Drake, last Tuesday at approximately 2:00 p.m. you purchased a one million WoCU Golden Coverage Insurance Policy from me. At exactly 1:13 a.m. Wednesday morning your policy was activated." He stared at me significantly.

"What do you mean?"

"You registered a claim." He said. A feeling of unnamed dread crept over me. Task stared at me a bit more and then rose abruptly.

"Come, Miss Drake. I can see you're the sort that needs to be shown." He pushed a button on the desk intercom and spoke. "Mr. Farquar, Miss Drake and I will be going into the basement. See that we're not disturbed." He then pressed a button under his desk and a panel in the wall slid back revealing steps. "Follow me please."

We walked down the steps to a hallway. It was dimly lit but clean. At the end of the hall was a heavy door with an electronic card lock. Task inserted his card key, put his thumb to a scanner, and entered a code number on a keypad. The door opened with a magnetic buzz. The room beyond was much more brightly lit. The sanitized whiteness contrasted sharply with the somber tones of the upper offices.

It had the look of a morgue. I surmised that this must be where the bodies were prepared. Strange chemical smells assaulted my nose and I was struck with a sudden feeling of dejá vous. In the center of the room were several slab-like tables. They were not currently occupied. Along one wall were a number of unpleasant looking instruments. Another wall was filled with the sort of drawers one keeps dead bodies in. The third wall had similar looking drawers but more ovoid in shape, with some sort of electronic gauges or monitors built in.

"This way, Miss Drake," Task said heading toward the regular body drawers. Standing next to them, the drawers were very cold. Task consulted the labels and touched handle of the one he wanted, but hesitated before opening it. "I must warn you, Miss Drake that what I am about to show you will be most shocking, even for someone as ‘not delicate' as yourself." I nodded. He opened the drawer.

There on the slab lie the bloody, mutilated, bloated, and now half frozen corpse of...me.

"What the hell kind of sick joke is this?" I yelled.

"Ah, good," said Task. "I was afraid you might pass out. So people do."

"Is that supposed to be me?" I continued yelling.

"For all intents and proposes, that was you, yes." He replied calmly. "I regret to inform you, Miss Drake, that you are in fact a clone." He paused to gauge my reaction. When the only one I gave was stunned silence, he continued. "The original Priscilla Drake died last week, rather violently I'm afraid. Normally you would have been activated as soon as the original body was recovered, but since the policy had only just been purchased, the um...replacement wasn't quite ready yet." He explained.

"If that's true, why don't I remember buying the policy?" I wasn't ready to go into shock yet because I was still not convinced this wasn't all some sort of trick.

"The memory scanning and downloading process doesn't work very well with short term memory. That is why it's important to update the clone's memory frequently. Please remember, this is still an extremely new process."

Dozens of questions battled in my brain, trying to be the first one out of my mouth. And the winner was, "Why weren't the police informed of my death? No one seems to know or care that I've been murdered." Task started to close the drawer on my former self.

"Ah, well, you see there are some rather tricky legal matters concerned. The cloning process is not exactly legal yet, and as basically illegal persons, clones have no right of inheritance. Even if a clone were specifically designated as heir, the taxes involved are rather preemptive. All in all most clients prefer for us to keep the news of their deaths quiet. Once the fingerprint, dental, and retinal records have been altered by our expert hackers no one is the wiser." Task grinned at me, very satisfied with himself and his operation.

"Who did this to me?" I said pointing at the drawer.

"I'm afraid we don't know. Your body was recovered from the river by our automatic drones."

The river? BrindleTec was near the river. In fact the twin buildings of BrindleTec International's corporate HQ were on opposite sides of the river connected by a bridge halfway up the structures and another at the top story. Rumors persisted of another connection under the river but nobody knew for sure.

I looked down at my torn and shattered body, the once beautiful red hair now matted and tangled. My cybernetic enhancements had been removed and apparently installed into my new body.

I have never had much use for a soul, but now as I stood looking down at this lifeless husk, I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to it. Had my soul been transferred to this new shell along with my memories? Maybe I had a new soul to go with the new body, fresh and considerably cleaner then the last one. I didn't feel any different, but then again how could I be sure. At only a day old. Did I really know how I usually felt, or rather how I used to usually feel. What kind of life was I living anyway that I should end up like this.

Let me tell you something. If you ever find yourself standing in a morgue looking down at your own brutalized dead body, you might want to consider making some new life-style choices. I was certainly considering some, but for the moment I was going to find the bastards who had done this to me and slit them up a treat.

Mister Task spoke up again. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am that no one was here with you when you woke up, Miss Drake. It was absolutely unforgivable. It's just that we are understaffed, and you weren't supposed to become fully active until morning." Task paused looking terribly embarrassed. Then gathering his strength, he continued.

"It seems the night man went off for a bit of a lie-down around midnight and missed the computer's signal that you were waking up prematurely."

"Don't wet your shorts about it," I said. The sycophant routine was beginning to grate on my brand new nerves.

"Certainly, Miss Drake, however I do feel some manner of reparation would be in order, therefore I am offering to waive the processing fee on your next clone." Task beamed at me as if he were Willy Wonka offering the most wonderful and exclusive of all treats in the chocolate factory. I didn't quite know what he meant.

"Say again?"

"One million WoCUs initiates your policy and entitles you to one new body. There is an additional 20,000 WoCU processing fee for each clone after that. But as I say, I am prepared to waive that fee for your next ‘life' as our way of saying sorry for the unfortunate circumstances of your revival." He said, closing the drawer.

"Yea, I think that would be appropriate." I continued staring at the closed drawer. "So what happened?"

"Multiple bullet wounds, blow to the head, severe bruising all over, and water in the lungs indicating that you may have still been alive when placed in the river," he said becoming very clinical.

"Dumped in the river, you mean."

"Quite right. You seem to have been a very resilient young lady, if I may say so, Miss Drake. What would you like us to do with it?"

I had often thought about my own funeral. As a little girl I imagined it as a huge affair, attended by celebrities and dignitaries, presided over by the Pope himself. But now I realized that it would be a much more humble occasion. I had no real friends, only clients. My family was gone. A cold chill covered my heart and I knew that no one would have come. If I ever cried this would have been a good time to. I didn't. Just as well that this death would have to remain secret. A little voice whispered to what to do.

"Torch it," I said.

"Cremation is usually best in these cases," he assured me. "Now if you will come this way, you really ought to download to your new clone."

"What? I thought you said it took a week to be ready?"

"I took the liberty of starting it last week when your first claim was made. Let's hope you won't have need of it any time soon." Task walked me over to the other side of the room and I discovered that the drawers with the monitors were where the new clones were kept. Task opened a drawer and revealed my next body. The drawer was actually a ovoid tube. In it, brand new version of me was suspended in clear artificial embryonic fluid. A tube ran from the end of the chamber to the clone's navel. So that was why my bellybutton had been bleeding last night. It was brand new and still raw.

Task continued to chatter, explaining and apologizing as he fiddled with the controls at the end of the tube.

Apparently, when a clone is activated it must be brought to consciousness slowly. First the fluid is drained from the chamber and the body is gently rinsed in warm water. Next finger and retinal prints are taken and substituted for the originals in central records.

Then any nececary surgery is performed. In my, cyberware was installed, but it might be something as simple as recreating any identifying scars, moles, birthmarks, etc. After surgery, mild stimulants are introduced by way of the umbilical to bring the subject out of its coma like state. The umbilical is then removed, and a period of natural sleep follows.

Finally, after a full eight hours sleep the clone is awakened by friendly attendants.

Task believed I must have had a bad reaction to the stimulants during the final stages and awakened suddenly and violently. Then I evidently tore myself free from the chamber, ripping loose the umbilical as a went, and in a dazed semi-conscious state found my way out; stumbled home; and collapsed in bed. Considering that I must have been naked the whole while, I was lucky to have made it home alive. Quite an accomplishment for a newborn

Task finished his adjustments and looked up.

"Well, now, are you ready to download?"

"In a moment," I said. "First I'd like to take a look at a city map if you've got one."

"Certainly, right over here on the computer." He led me over to a desk in the corner. "This is how we keep track of our clients so we know when they require our services." The computer showed a street map of the city with a number of blinking points on it indicating client's locations.

"Where was my body found?" I asked. Task indicated a point along the river. It was down river from BrindleTec. "Ok you can download me now." Task led me to a chair near the wall with the creep looking machines.

"This will just take us a moment to set up," he said. While waiting I looked back over what I thought I knew about my situation. Brindle had hired me, through Mr. Smith, to test the security around a particularly valuable item. What it was I still didn't know. I was better than the security and had gotten through. In such a case I usually take the item in question as proof of my success and return it to the client the next day along with my suggestions for security improvements.

But this time before I could get the item back to Brindle someone had gotten to me first. I must have suspected ahead of time that it might be a rather dangerous job and bought my policy. BrindleTec was known for its prejudicial security measures.

Now Brindle thought I still had the item. Maybe I had hidden it, but it was just as likely that whoever killed me had it. Gordon Brindle was never going to believe that I didn't know where his thingy was. There was no choice for it. I was going to have to return to the scene of the crime. god I hate it when my life ends up in cliches.

"All right, we're ready now," said Task breaking me out of my reverie. "If you'll just lean back, I'll plug you in." Task hooked a cable into the data input/output port at the base of my skull then adjusted the chair so that I was laying almost flat. "You've already been equipped with the proper software to download into your clone

"This won't hurt a bit." With that Task plugged me in and downloaded a day of pain and confusion and a lifetime of baggage into the virgin mind of my next self."

I awoke on one of the slabs in the basement Golden Slumbers Funereal Consultants. Mr. Task was staring down at me with that now familiar worried look on his face.

"Miss Drake, how do you feel?"

"Fine. What's wrong? Did I pass out." Task shook his head slowly.

"I'm afraid it's happened again, Miss Drake."

"What has?" I asked, but by the look on his face I already knew.

"You left here yesterday afternoon around five o'clock after downloading into you new clone. At approximately two o'clock this morning the imminent death sensor connected to your brain was activated and our automatic drones were deployed to recover your body.

"Once again you were found in the river, and at 2:50 a.m. your former body arrived here. Bullet wound to the back of the head this time. Also, and this is a bit unpleasant, after death your abdomen was was cut open and the stomach mutilated." Task looked at me trying to evaluate my mental state. "It is now just a little after twelve noon," he finished lamely.

This was getting old fast. "I swear, if I wake up dead one more time I'm gonna scream." Task seemed impressed with how well I was taking it all, but truth to tell none of it seemed real, not the first time and not this time either. Suddenly a thought occurred to me.

"Hey, I thought you said short term memory didn't download very well. How come I remember laying down to update my clone's memory. I mean my memory. I'm that clone now. Right?" I became aware that I was wearing a hospital gown now and not the street clothes I had last remembered wearing.

"The process is more efficient when downloading directly from one brain to another," Task explained. "The first time your memories had to be stored in the computer until your new body was ready."

I noticed everything looked funny and started to panic a bit. Actually, it wasn't that everything looked funny but that it all looked absolutely normal.

"What's wrong with my eye?" I reached up to touch my cybernetic eye only to find it wasn't there. A plain ordinary eye sat in my right socket looking out at the world with clear newborn vision. No readout, no targeting computer, no infrared. Then I realized my left hand was made of meat, not metal.

I felt naked.

I mean more naked than wearing nothing but a paper hospital gown would warrant.

Task could see my distress and hastily began to explain.

"While preparing your cyberware for installation into your new body, our technicians noticed that record mode on your eye had been activated. The unit had sustained some damage, however and the information could not be retrieved without a little repair. The unit is hooked up to our best computers right now."

"What about my H.A.N.D.?" I asked.

"We thought it best to do all the surgery at one time." Just then a man in a white lab coat entered.

"Mr. Task," he said. "We've finished reconstructing the recording, and it's ready for viewing if Miss Drake is up to it." The young technician smiled down at me. What with the lab coat and a clipboard in his hand he looked more like a doctor than a programmer. In his business I suppose he might have to be both. For a second I had a flash of a childhood memory. Laying in a hospital bed after my tonsillectomy. Like now, I wore a paper gown. A kind doctor smiled down at me an complimented my bravery. I remember thinking it didn't take any great courage to be anesthetized and sleep through the whole thing.

"Miss Drake?" He smiled even more. "Are you with us?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "My mind was wandering."

"You're probably still processing some memories. You may find yourself felling very nostalgic the next few days. It will wear off before too long." Again he smiled.

"Shall we go see what you recorded yesterday?" Task asked.

"If I could have my clothes first, please."

My cybernetic eye lay on a table next to a computer. Several wires ran from the eye to a gray box which was in turn connected to the computer by a thin cable. The technician, who insisted I call him Jacob, clacked away at the keyboard. Task stood beside me.

It turned out I didn't have much in the way of clothes. I had been brought in wearing nothing but a black body stocking and that had been badly cut up. I did manage to upgrade from paper gown to terry cloth robe. Someone was trying to scrounge up some proper clothes for me.

"I had my tonsils removed as a child," I said.

"Oh, yes?" Task replied, not really listening.

"Appendix too."

"Yes, quite common." Task was wrapped up in what Jacob was doing.

"I suppose I have new one's now."

"What?" Task turned and looked at me. "Oh, yes. Yes, you do."

"Sort of makes it seem pointless to have had them removed in the first place," I said

"I'm sure it was necessary at the time. We could take them out again if you like." Task turned back to the computer. "Are we ready to go, Jacob?"

"I'm running it right now. I'm afraid we weren't able to save the audio but the video came out quite well."

Task and I sat down, and the three of us stared intently at the monitor.

I was standing out side the corporate headquarters of BrindleTec International. No surprise there. It was dark. The readout on my eye indicated it was 11:45 p.m.

I stepped over to the edge of the river and climbed in. I realized I was wearing flippers. Something covered the monitor for a moment. I must have been putting on a diving mask. then I went underwater.

I turned on a flashlight and began searching the bottom of the river. The current appeared to be relatively slow in this spot.

"Can we fast forward through any of this?" I asked.

"Certainly," replied Jacob. He did something at the keyboard and a control panel appeared at the corner of the screen. We zipped through the search of the riverbed to the point where I had obviously found what I was looking for.

On the screen my former self began shifting silt from the bottom of the river until it uncovered what looked like a large plate of plasti-steel. Then it/I lay something I had been carrying on my back onto the plasti-steel. It looked like an inflatable life raft with a small compressed air tank attached. I secured this package to the plasti-steel and pushed a button on the tank. As it inflated it became not a raft but something more like a tent. I swam into what turned out to be a sort of air lock. Closing the seal I pushed another button and the remaining compressed air pumped the water out. Opening the inner seal, I stepped into this odd little underwater tent. Where the hell had I gotten this thing.

The plasti-steel was exposed at the bottom of my tent. I knelt down and began cutting through it with a laser torch. The tent must have been designed for boarding submarines or something like that. Well I certainly knew enough paramilitary types who could have sold me such a thing.

We fast forwarded a bit through the cutting process. Finally a Priscilla Drake sized hole had been cut in the plasti-steel and I dropped down into the legendary secret tunnel connecting the towers of BrindleTec HQ.

I must say that I was very impressed with my own ingenuity. Had I found out proof of the tunnel's existence or had I been going on a hunch. I guess I'll never know.

A flashlight came out and after shedding my scuba gear, I made my way toward one end of the tunnel. It was now 12:32 a.m. At the end of the tunnel was a door with an electronic lock that required a thumb print and number code for access. No problem.

I find that with many security systems people are more concerned with the software than the hardware. A fatal mistake. it took but a moment to remove the computer mechanism from the wall and hotwire it from the inside. The door slid open nicely.

Again we fast forwarded through my hijacking of a private express elevator, using the same method I had just used on the door. The elevator led straight to Gordon Brindle's office. I must have been counting on this.

Brindle's office would undoubtadly be the most secure place in the building. The first thing I usually do is deal with the cameras. In the old days, security cameras would be hooked up to video tape recorders, but these days like everything else, they are connected directly to a computer. This actually makes it easier to fool them.

If you have the right equipment and can sneak up an a camera from behind, it's easy enough to get inside of it's system. A special clip placed on the right wire can create a splice connecting the camera system to an outside input source, a portable miniature computer built into a H.A.N.D. for example. From there its a simple task to freeze the camera on the last image recorded. Once in the system you can link usually link up to all the other cameras and do the same thing from one location. If your really good you can backtrack and erase any images of yourself that may have been recorded earlier.

This is precisely what I did in Brindle's office.

Laser beams and motion sensors are a bit more difficult. As long as a video camera is sending something no one will notice. But if you shut down lasers and such, it will register somewhere, probably at the security guard station.

A sonic dampener will nullify sound based motion sensors. Pressure plates in the floor require more subtlety. Slightly worn or discolored spots in the carpet, however, usually give them away. Lasers must be detected and avoided.

On the monitor we could see that I had set my eye on infrared mode. A grid of laser beams criss-crossed the floor at ankle level. This was just the sort of security mistake I had been hired to point out. There really should have been a second grid at waist level and a third at eye level. Equipped as I was with infrared vision, it was nothing to step between the beams.

Fast forwarding through my journey across the laser grid, I looked like a child playing a high-tech hopscotch. We continued zipping through me turning off the infrared, sitting at Brindle's desk and hacking into his computer.

We watched me dig into Brindle's most secure files. It helped that I was doing this from Brindle's terminal. Getting in from the outside would have been almost impossible.

I assume my reasoning was that if Brindle's missing whatsits was so important then I might find some information about it in his secured files. It looked like I had found something interesting. We stopped the recording and reversed a little.

On the monitor within a monitor, there was a file about something called the Universal Access Program; nicknamed the Skeleton Key. My other self was scanning through the file rather quickly and it was hard to keep up but I did catch a few important phrases. Near as I could figure the Skeleton Key would allow one to get into and override the security measures on any computer, computer system, program, whatever. The program itself was so massive that if it were to be portable it could only be stored on a crystal chip. And it would have to be portable. You wouldn't want something like that sitting around on a hard drive where the wrong person might get at it.

"What's a crystal chip?" Task queried.

"It's an old Doors song." Jacob offered. I had to laugh. I was beginning to think that Jacob might be trying to charm me.

"No," I said "a crystal chip is..." Just then we all jumped as blood splattered all over Brindle's monitor and the screen cracked. The time on the recording read 1:59 a.m.

We sat there silently for a moment starring at the snowy screen. Then Jacob leapt forward.

"Wait," he cried out. "It's still playing." He started pounding furiously at the keyboard. "I think I might be able to enhance the image." Jacob reversed the recording and then began playing it back slowly.

Again we saw blood cover the computer and the screen crack. A bullet must have gone through my head and into the monitor. This time we could see some images through the static. There must have been enough power left in my eye to keep recording after my brain stopped working.

"Look," said Jacob. "The body was slumped forward and is now being pulled back. Now the chair is turning around." Jacob froze the recording and started clacking away, trying to clear up the picture even more. A figure began taking shape on the screen. it was holding a gun and scowling down at me. Finally the picture came into focus enough for me to recognize my assassin.

It was Mr. Smith.

"What are you going to do now, Miss Drake?"

We were sitting in Task's office. Someone had managed to find me a pair of jeans that were too large and a Betty Boop tee shirt that was too small. Jacob had made tea and insisted I have some. I could see he was developing an attachment to me that, while sweet and certainly understandable under the circumstances, was not something I was up to at the moment. I've never been much for relationships in the first place, and had enough to deal with at the moment without having to worry about someone else's feelings in the second place. I tried to ignore Jacob by concentrating on Task's question.

"I told Brindle I'd have his property for him today and I still don't know where it is." I noticed Jacob was standing in the corner apparently staring at my breasts. I was in no mood for that sort of nonsense. I snapped at him.

"What the hell are you looking at?" He snapped out of it and looked me in the eyes.

"I'm Sorry. I was just looking at your stomach." Ok so I was wrong he was looking at my stomach not my breasts. So what. I still didn't like it. My brand new navel was exposed by my ill fitting clothes, and what with having just watched myself get killed for the second time in a week, I was feeling uncommonly vulnerable.

"Well don't," I said.

"No, you misunderstand me. I was just wondering why Mr.Smith felt the need to cut open your stomach after shooting you," Jacob explained.

Well thank you for reminding me that was gutted like a fish before being tossed in the river like garbage.

"Maybe he just wanted to make sure I stayed dead this time." Or maybe he was looking for something. "Mr. Task, where are the remains of my first body?"

"It was cremated as per your instructions." He rose from the desk. "I've been saving them here for you." Task went to a cabinet by the wall, opened it, and removed an urn. "Here you are."

I took the urn and upended it on Task's desk blotter.

"Miss Drake!" He exclaimed. I began pawing through the ashes. Task and Jacob must have thought I'd gone mad; cracked from the pressure. I spread the ashes thinly across the desktop until, at last my fingers pressed against something hard.

"Here it is." I held up what appeared to be a medium sized diamond and blew my own ashes off it.

"What is it?" Task asked. Jacob answer for me.

"It's the crystal chip."

The crystal chip, for those of you who don't know, is a data storage system reported to have been in development almost twenty years ago. According to the rumors, advances in micro and laser technology meant that one could store an almost infinite amount of data on a nearly indestructibly crystal. They had supposedly even found a way around the "read only" problem that had limited CD ROMs in their early years.

Of course the thing never came out on the market. Many people believe the crystal chips were never more than a story; like the water powered engine. Others claim the developers had trouble finding the right kind of crystal.

I, however, am convinced the real reason was because some marketing guy realized that, like the Everlasting Gobbstopper, no one would ever need to buy more than one of these things. Marketing guys hate that.

So there I was, standing in the middle of Task's office with my mortal remains spread all over his desk, holding a semi-legendary McGuffin on which was the key to...what? World domination? Could be.

Everything is connected to or controlled by computers, and most of those computers are connected to other computers. With universal access, what couldn't one do? OK, many really sensitive systems, the Pentagon for example, were kept closed and independent for just that reason. Still a clever person could do quite a lot with a Skeleton Key, and a really clever person might find a way into an closed system anyway. If there is one thing I've learned while hacking is never to underestimate people's ability to overlook their own back door.

We stood there looking at the light glint off the crystal. Finally I spoke.

"I must have swallowed it."

"Come again?" said Jacob.

"It's the oldest thief's trick in the book. Steal a jewel, swallow it, and retrieve it later." it took Task a moment to understand what I was saying, but Jacob caught on right away. "Smith must have known I'd swallowed it, but didn't realize I was in a new body last night. He cut me open looking for the chip."

"I still don't know what a crystal chip is," Task complained.

"You explain it to him, Jake-0. I need to think." If I didn't give the crystal chip to Brindle today he'd have me killed, but what would happen if I did give it to him. I didn't much like the idea of anybody having universal access.

What if I kept the chip for myself. With a Skeleton Key I could effectively hide from Brindle forever, and if he did manage to get close I could wipe him out; erase all his records, assets, everything. Hell I could screw with the air conditioning in his house if I wanted; maybe even in his car. The idea of that kind of power was hard to resist.

Jacob had finished explaining crystal chips to Mr. Task.

"The question still remains, Miss Drake," said Task. "What are you going to do now?"

"Right now I'm going to go home and put on some proper clothes. Then I'm going to call Brindle."

"Before you go, Miss Drake, there is just one last thing." Task got that uncomfortable look on his face again. "I don't mean to be indelicate, but if you would like us to begin on a new clone I'm afraid we will need that processing fee this time." Task looked about ready to die of embarrassment. You'd think a man in his position would be used to asking for money in uncomfortable situations. Maybe he felt bad about my dying so often.

I still had a million WoCUs in the bank so the processing fee was not a problem, but I decided against it anyway.

‘You know what, Task old pal," I said. "I think I'll give it a pass this time. Two resurrections ought to be enough for anybody."

Jacob gave me a ride home since I didn't even have any shoes with me. A promise to call and let him know how things turned out got rid of him.

Sadly it was no surprise to find my apartment had been ransacked. After Smith failed to find the chip in my stomach he must have come looking for it at my home. Frankly I don't know why it hadn't happened before now.

Dresser drawers were upturned on the floor and clothes strewn about. Papers, books and disks also littered the floor. Basically everything was everywhere other than where it should be.

I sat among the ruins of my life and tried to decide what to do. How about if I became Robin Hood. I could use the Skeleton Key to rob from the rich and give to the poor; empty out Brindle's accounts and redirect the funds to the starving children in Canada. Yea, that's it. Then I could make sure the trains ran on time. By Bob there were going to be some changes when I was in charge.

OK, so I was beginning to get carried away. I calmed down a little when I realized there was a snag in my plan. I didn't even know how to use the damn thing. I couldn't even hook it up. Obviously some kind of adapter would be required. I couldn't just plug it into a standard data-port or disk drive.

My time was running out. I decided to call Brindle as I had originally intended.

He seemed very relieved to hear from me, but didn't much care for my suggestion that he meet me alone after sundown by the river. It wasn't like he had a choice though. Of course I didn't trust him so I made ready to leave, planing to spend the remaining hours until sundown being unavailable.

I quickly put on better fitting jeans and a tee shirt (no cartoons on the shirt this time.)

Without any of my cybernetic enhancements I was going to need a little help. Digging through the clothes, I found my leather jacket. Thankfully I hadn't worn it on last nights excursion. Next, I was going to need a weapon.

You can find out a lot about a person from what they keep in their underwear drawer. More often than not you find out something you really didn't want to know. In my underwear drawer I keep a very old firearm. It was a 12mm Nikon/Sony Diplomat. Standard sidearm for U.N. forces at the beginning of the century. My father had worn it during the Rode Island conflict of ‘14. He died in Quebec when I was six; Stepped on a land mine.

Now, at the moment, being as my apartment had been enthusiastically trashed, I was in the unusual position of having to search for my underwear drawer. I found it turned upside down on the floor about five feet from where it ought to be. The gun was indeed under it. Old fashioned, to be sure. No cyber-link; no computer targeting. not even a laser sight; just eight pounds of metal and plastic that could stop a truck.

I sifted through the socks and panties looking for the ammo. I had one clip somewhere. As I searched something golden caught my eye. It was a child's locket. My locket. I had all but forgotten about it.

As I picked it up, another of those flashes of memory washed over me. Washed? Flooded I should say. It was like it was happening to me right then. I was at a photography studio in a shopping mall having my picture taken. I must have been about five. The man was doing everything in his power to make me smile; puppets, funny hats, sound effects. He ended up in a pirate ensemble of head scarf, plastic hook and eye patch, waving a stuffed parrot at me and squawking, "Polly want a smile. Wraack! Polly want a smile."

He was scaring me. Then my father said quietly,

"Come on Priscilla, do it for me." I looked over at my parents. They were so beautiful standing there. The strongest man and the prettiest woman in the world. Mother waved her silly little wave and I smiled. The exhausted camera man snapped the picture and the memory was gone.

I was back in my ransacked apartment sitting on the floor and, much to my surprise, I was crying. Tears flowed from my virgin eyes. I opened the locket and looking back at me was the smiling face of a happy little girl. The girl that had been me. Only it hadn't really been me at all, had it? those beautiful people hadn't really been my parents. My father was a test tube and, my mother was dead, like her mother before her. And yet it felt like me. I remembered all of it.

In the other half of the locket was a tiny mirror; my new face reflected in it beside the image of the little girl. I could see we had the same eyes. My fresh green eyes. No angry red lens stared back at me. It was the first time these eyes had seen themselves.

This line of thinking was threatening to drive me mad. I pulled myself together and got back to business. Finding the ammo, I loaded the Diplomat. Then I retrieved the chip from my borrowed pair of jeans. Placing the chip inside my locket and the locket around my neck. I was now almost ready to head for the street. One last thing.

"Computer?"

"Yes, Priscilla?"

"Transfer all my funds to my Swiss account and book me on a flight to Europe for tomorrow morning."

"Where in Europe."

"Where ever has the first flight leaving."

"EuroAir flight 601 leaves for Amsterdam at seven a.m. tomorrow morning."

"Good enough. After you've done all that, I want you to delete all files and shut down."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Password please."

"Tipperary."

"Correct. Executing commands."

"And Computer."

"Yes, Priscilla?"

"Thanks for everything."

"You are welcome. Transfer of funds complete. Flight booked. Deleting."

Yes, I know it's only a computer and it's only programed to say things like, "Thank you" and "How are you today?" But it was the closest thing to a friend I had lately, and in the morbid light of recent events, I felt like I had just ordered that friend to kill herself. I left before she...it finished.

The sun retired behind the buildings of the city, dragging the train of her rose colored gown behind her.

Having told Brindle to meet me on the eastern side of the river, I waited in the shadows of the western side tower. I wanted some distance between us while I felt him out.

As the last remnants of day pealed away from the sky, Brindle came around the corner of the eastern tower as instructed. He wore a homburg and had his hands in the pockets of an unseasonably long black overcoat. He looked like Winston friggin Churchill.

"Miss Drake, are you there?" Brindle called out.

"Over here," I said stepping out from under the building. In the twilight the silhouette of the connecting towers looked to me like two gargantuan children playing London Bridge; their giant arms waiting to fall and lock me up if my timing were wrong. "My dear woman, what are you doing all the way over there?" he asked.

"Forgive me if I'm a tad over cautious. It's just that several attempts have been made on my life since I came into possession of your little bauble."

"I'm sorry about that, but as I told you before I don't know those two men who tried to kill you." He smiled and shrugged.

"No, but Mr. Smith does. Doesn't he?"

"I don't know. Let's ask him. Shall we?" "Do stop skulking about back there, Smith, and come out where we can see you," he called out over his shoulder. Mr. Smith stepped out from the shadows on the other side of the river. He was, of course, holding a gun. If I'd still had my enhancements, I would have seen him long ago. Like Brindle, Smith also wore a long black coat and a homburg. Must have been the current popular corporate uniform, or maybe Smith was hoping someone would mistake him for Brindle. He didn't look like Winston Churchill, though; more like Jack the Ripper.

"I told you to come alone," I said. I hadn't really expected him to comply, but one always hopes.

"Shut up!" snapped Smith.

"Now Jonathan, there's no need to be rude," said Brindle. John Smith? Some parents have no imagination. With a name like that a man could get lost in the crowd. It looked like this particular John Smith was getting tired of the crowd and was about to step into the limelight.

"You shut up too, old man," he snarled. "I'm taking that chip, and anyone who tries to stop me is gonna end up with a belly full of lead."

"Jonathan, stop being archaic and put that gun away," commanded brindle.

"Yea, Johnny," I chimed in. "You heard the man. Don't be such a tool." Ok, so I was trying to provoke him and it worked - a little too well.

"You! I don't know what I have to do to kill you but I'm damn well going to find out." Smith opened fire on me.

I leapt to the side far away from where Smith was aiming. By the time the bullets got there, I was gone. Well that was the plan anyway. In actuality I landed flat on my face. I had forgotten that my legs were no longer cyberneticly enhanced. I mean I knew, but my mind and body weren't quite together on the matter. I was reacting with years of instinct that took my enhanced abilities into account.

A bullet hit me in the shoulder. The jacket stopped it but there was going to be a bruise for sure.

I leveled my father's gun at Smith and fired. Cybernetics had spoiled me. The recoil of the old gun was more than I was prepared for, and without my targeting computer, the broadside of a barn was looking like a challenge.

A second bullet hit the ground next to me. I rolled into a sitting position and took better aim this time. I had just been too hasty the first time. I could take him down if I just concentrated, and ignored the pain in my shoulder, and developed the ability to see in the dark and...

Then Brindle came to my rescue, sort of.

"Jonathan! Stop It!" he yelled. Smith turned his gun on Brindle, but before he could fire...his chest exploded.

I hadn't Shot him. As far as I could tell no one had. One second he had a chest, just like anyone else, and the next he had a gaping hole going clear through him.

"Good Bob," I said. "What the hell?" Brindle took his hands from his pockets he was holding a small black box with a blinking red light on it; some kind of remote control.

"There was a small but powerful explosive in his corporate ID card. All my employees have them."

"Do they know?"

"No of course not." Brindle looked down at Smith's body and sighed. Then, turning his attention back to me he said, "Now about our unfinished business..." Brindle walked to the edge of the river and then took a long look at me. "You look different, Miss Drake. Have you done something with your hair?"

"No."

"Really? Something's different. Well, no matter. Now if I could have my chip back, I'll be on my way and we can forget this nasty business."

"About that chip," I began. "It's an awful lot of power for one man to have. I'm not sure I should give it to you."

"What ever are you talking about, my dear girl?" I don't mind telling you, I was getting very tired of that my dear crap. And between him and Task I'd been called Miss Drake more times in the last two days than in the rest of my life.

"The Skeleton Key," I answered. Brindle laughed loudly.

"My dear Miss Drake," again with the My dear Miss Drake. "There is no Skeleton Key. That was merely a ruse."

"You know, I don't think I've ever actually heard anyone say ‘ruse' before. Now that I have I can say, I don't like it." My patience, which had been costing on fumes for a while now, had officially run out. "If you don't start explaining right now, you pretentious bloated ass, I may have to get ‘archaic.'" He was not as fazed as I would have liked.

"There'll be no need for that. I'd be happy to explain." Brindle put the remote control back in his pocket. I watched closely, but he didn't appear to have anything else in there. "This entire operation was a test."

"For whom?"

"Why, Mr. Smith of course. I was thinking of promoting him to second in command, as it were, but I had to be sure I could trust him. So I came up with the Skeleton Key, a temptation of power. I let Smith find out about it. He didn't have the skill to steal something so valuable from my office himself. The security is too high. The plan was for you to steal it as a test of the building's security system. Then you would turn it over to Smith. If he gave it back to me, I'd be able to trust him. If, however, he disappeared, I'd know I couldn't. As it turned out, Smith showed up the next day but without the chip, and you had disappeared.

"I didn't have much choice in the matter."

"Well, I wondered. You have such a reputation for honesty, and you weren't even supposed to know what was on the chip anyway so..." Brindle stopped. Realization struck his face. "Ah yes, it's the eyes. That's what's different. Of course you're a clone."

"What?" I was taken a back by that one.

"I see you took my suggestion about the Golden Coverage policy."

"Your suggestion?"

"Yes, at our meeting."

"I thought that meeting was with Smith."

"He just made the appointment. I didn't want you to know who you were meeting with ahead of time. Don't you remember?"

"No."

"I told you about it when we met. Not many people know the technology exists. I really shouldn't have told you, but I suspected Smith might try to kill you and...well, I was feeling soft-hearted that day. You remind me of my niece, you see."

"Why? Did you send your niece out to get killed."

"Miss Drake, you wound me." He didn't look wounded.

"If you didn't trust Smith, why didn't you just fire him?" I asked.

"If I'd fired him for no reason, he'd have sued me for wrongful dismissal. No, no, I had to know for sure." Of all the shocks I'd had in the last two days, this was the worst.

"You mean to tell me that this was all to avoid a potential lawsuit," I said through clenched teeth.

"That's not how I would have phrased it, but yes."

I took a deep breath and let the anger pass over me, which was not easy, what with all the adrenalin still in my veins. I don't know why I should have been surprised. All my experience with these people, these suits, should have told me not to expect anything human. It's always the bottom line with them. It must have been cheaper to pay me two million WoCU to set Smith up than to pay a wrongful dismissal settlement.

"Now Miss Drake," Brindle said. "If you would be so kind, I would like to have my chip back. Come. The river's not to deep just over there. I'll meet you halfway." Brindle moved a few yards up the river and stepped in ruining his undoubtadly expensive shoes and suit. I followed him and stepped into the river from my side.

The water was cold and rushed quickly by. I knew from the recording of my dive that the bottom dropped out quickly just a few yards down river.

When the water reached my knees I stopped.

"If there's no such thing as a Skeleton Key, then why are you so anxious to have the chip back?" I asked. Brindle was thinking hard. I could see he was going to try to bluff his way out.

"It's not really a chip at all. It's a diamond from one of my wife's earrings. I have to put it back before she notices" He smiled and held out his hand. "Please."

I remembered something I read in an article. "You're not married." I said.

"That would explain why she hasn't missed it," he said.

I shot him.

Just like that. Bang. His head was practically vaporized. For a grotesque moment his headless body stood there before toppling into the river. The current carried him away. When the body reached the point where the river deepened, it disappeared under the water.

Don't go crying for old Brindle. I knew if he was the one who told me about Golden Slumbers, then he probably had a policy himself. By tomorrow he'd be up and around, wondering who'd killed him. It was my hope that He'd think it was Smith.

I put the gun away. Then I opened my locket and took out the crystal. It had scratched the locket's mirror. Oh well, you can't have everything. And the last two days had taught me that I didn't want it.

I stood in the river, looking at the crystal, and thought about what wanting everything had gotten Smith and Brindle, and what it had gotten me.

The life I had been leading had ruined itself. I suppose I could blame Brindle or Smith if I wanted to. But I didn't want to. I lived alone with only a computer for a friend, taking dangerous and questionable jobs. I would spend the money I made upgrading my computer and cyberware so I could go out and take even more dangerous and questionable jobs.

It was no way to live. It was in fact an excellent way to die. Twice.

I threw the crystal chip in the river. With a new life, a fresh face, and one million WoCU in the bank, it was time to quit while I was ahead. I knelt down and washed the metallic gun smell from my hands then sloshed my way to the shore.

So here's what I think really happened. The Skeleton Key did exist. The job really was a test of the security system and not of Smith's loyalty. Smith's betrayal caught Brindle completely by surprise. Smith wasn't supposed to know about the Key any more than I was, but he had done some hacking about of his own and stumbled across it. You see it wasn't Brindle's office I broke into the second time I was killed. It was Smith's. Which was why he was there. Did I break into Smith's office on purpose or was it a mistake? I'd like to think it was an purpose but if it was then I should have been prepared for him. I wouldn't have gone into someone's office unless I was fairly sure they were out of the building. So I probably thought it was Brindle's. But I digress.

Brindle hired me to steal his chip and give it back to him the next day. But Smith was waiting for me when I left the building. When I refused to turn the chip over to him, he shot me up but didn't manage to kill me. He saw me swallow the crystal chip and jump into the river. Not knowing if I was alive or dead He probably had some of his own goons watch my apartment while others searched the river for my body. Of course the Golden Slumbers drones found my body first.

Meanwhile, when I didn't turn over the crystal the next day, Brindle set his own people to watching my apartment, probably the airports as well. At some point Smith may have been watching my place for Brindle while his own goons were watching it for him.

So a week later when I finally walked out of my apartment, having sneaked nakedly into it the night before, Smith's men attacked. And that's where we came in.

When did Brindle first suspect Smith? I think it was when I spoke to Brindle from the back seat of his car and he found out that men with BrindleTec IDs tried to run me down. If he hadn't given the order who else could have.

And why did Brindle tell me about Golden Slumbers if he had no reason to think at the time that Smith might try to kill me. As I mentioned earlier. Some of his security measures were quite deadly, and may be I really did remind him of his niece.

Those are the theories I came up with on the plane to Amsterdam. I think they fit. If they don't, I don't much care. It's not my concern anymore.

Brindle's name didn't turn up in the obituary, but a week later it did turn up in the financial pages. So obviously his clone was activated. The Golden Slumber's tracker is located in the head though. With it's head vaporized, the drones probably never found Gordon Brindle's original body. If it ever turns up it may cause him some trouble. We can only hope.

Brindle may still try to redevelop the Skeleton Key, but a story I ran across in a computer magazine leads me to think he won't succeed. It seems that a week before I was hired, BrindleTec's top two programmers died in a bizarre and tragic car accident. The coroner dismissed their almost identical and massive chest wounds as "one of those things." Still, I won't keep my new computer hooked up to the net just in case.

I don't know exactly what I'm going to do now, but I do know what I'm not going to do. I'm not going to do any sort of job that involves breaking into anything or shooting anybody, or more importantly, anyone shooting me.

I still have that gun, but only because it was my father's. That and the locket are the only things left of my former life.

Maybe I'll just travel, and meet people. I could make friends so there would be someone to come to my funeral.

All I know is time I'm not going to make a mess of things. Not many people get a third shot a life, and you know what they say. Third time's a charm.

The End