"Hell if I know, Mr. Ames," Rod said. "They don't pay me to ask why they have me do things. They just pay me to do them. Takk," he said, or something like it, and from the corner of his eye Ames saw something huge move toward his general direction. This was the thing that had knocked him out. Ames slumped; in the shape he was in he couldn't take two guys at the same time, and he absolutely couldn't take on that, whatever the hell it was.

"Yes, boss," the thing said, in a high, nasal voice.

"Can you handle Mr. Ames here?" Rod asked.

Takk nodded. "Probably."

"Do it," Rod said, and walked off. Ames opened his mouth to yell to Rod, but before he could take in a breath, Takk leaned over and grabbed him hard enough that the air bursting out of his lungs made an audible popping sound. Takk turned slightly into the moonlight, and Ames got one good look before he went somewhere warm, wet, and suffocating.

Brian came aware instantaneously with the knowledge of two things. The first: He was Brian Javna, aged 18, senior at Reston High, son of Paul and Arlene Javna, brother of Ben and Stephanie Tavna, best friend to Harry Creek, whom he had known since first grade, when they bonded over a paste-eating contest The second: He was also an intelligent agent program, designed to efficiently locate and retrieve information across the various data and information nets human beings had strung up over the years. Brian found these two generally contradictory states of being interesting, and used the talents derived from both types of intelligent experience to come up with a question.

"Am I dead?" Brian said.

"Urn," Creek said.

"Don't be coy," Brian said. "Let me make it easy for you. When you wake up with the knowledge that you're a computer program, you figure that somethings gone wrong. So: Am I dead?"

"Yes," Creek said. "Sorry."

"How did I die?" Brian asked.

"In a war," Creek said. "At the Battle of Pajmhi."

"Where the hell is Pajmhi?" Brian asked. "I've never heard of it."

"No one ever heard of it until the battle," Creek said.

"Were you there?" Brian asked.

"I was," Creek said.

"You're still alive," Brian said.

"I was lucky," Creek said.

"How long ago was this battle?" Brian asked.

"Twelve years ago," Creek said.

"Well, that explains how you got so old," Brian said.

"How do you feel?" Creek asked.

"What, about being dead?" Brian asked. Creek nodded. Brian shrugged. "I don't feel dead. The last thing I remember is standing in that quantum imager, and that feels like it happened about five minutes ago. I've got part of myself trying wrap my brain around it, and another part of myself trying to wrap my brain around the feet that my brain isn't real anymore. And yet another part noting the fact I can fully concentrate on several mental crises at once, thanks to my multitasking ability as an intelligent agent. And that part is going: Cool."

Creek grinned. "So being a computer program isn't all bad," he said.

"I'm thinking it'll make playing video games easier," Brian said, smiled, and then shrugged again. "We'll have to see. It hasn't sunk in yet. Are there any other programs like me? Former people?"

Creek shook his head. "Not that I know about," he said. "As far as I know, no one else has thought of creating an intelligent agent this way."

"Maybe because if you think about it, it's not exactly ethical," Brian said.

"I was thinking more because most people don't have access to a quantum imager," Creek said.

"Cynic," Brian said.

"Brian," Creek said. "I don't know if bringing you back is moral or ethical. But I do know I need your help. I can't tell anyone else what I'm doing, but I need someone I can trust working on this, someone who can do things while I'm doing other things. You're the only intelligent agent who is actually, honestly intelligent. We can talk about the ethical issues later, but right now we need to get to work."

"And what are we doing?" Brian asked.

"We're looking for sheep DNA," Creek said.

"Oh," Brian said. "Well, then. Nice to see we're focused on the really important things."

"You did a good job with the search," Dave Phipps said to Archie McClellan, in one of the many Pentagon commissaries.

"Thanks," Archie said, and rubbed his palms on his jeans. His military analogue to an Egg McMuffin sat forlornly on a plastic tray; Phipps motioned to it.

"You're not hungry?" he said.

"I'm kind of on a caffeine rush at the moment," Archie said. "I drank about a gallon of Dr Pepper last night. I think if I eat something, I'll just throw it up."

Phipps reached over and took the sandwich. "Listen," he said between bites. "We have a little more work to do with this project. Real 'think outside of the box' crap that needs someone who knows his way around the computer. I've checked your security clearance, and it's high enough for what we need."

"What would I be doing?" Archie asked.

"A little of this, a little of that," Phipps said. "It's a fluid situation. We need someone who can think fast on his feet."

"Sounds action packed," Archie said, jokingly.

"Maybe it is," Phipps said, not.

Archie wiped his palms again. "I don't understand," he said. "I'm just some guy who works on your legacy systems. You've got an entire military full of computer geniuses who are good with guns. You should be using one of them for whatever it is you're doing.''

"And when I want to use one of those boys, I'll go get him," Phipps said. "In the meantime, I'm looking for someone who is competent and won't make a fuss. Don't worry about using a gun, incidentally. You won't need one. But you might need a passport. Also, how do you feel about aliens?"

"The ones from outer space or the ones from other countries?" Archie asked.

"Outer space," Phipps said. He took another bite of the egg sandwich.

Archie shrugged. "The ones I've met seemed nice enough."

Phipps smirked between chews. "I don't know if the one you'd be working with could be considered 'nice,' but fair enough. So are you in?"

"What was I working on last night?" Archie asked.

"Why do you want to know?" Phipps asked.

"If you're going to hire me for something, it helps to know what I'm doing."

Phipps shrugged. At this point he couldn't see any harm in telling him. "You were looking for DNA matches for a particular breed of sheep called Android's Dream. Now we're looking to close up a few loose ends. It's a fast project, a few days at most"

"This work I'm doing," Archie said. "I'm guessing it wouldn't be covered in my contract with you guys."

"That's a pretty safe guess," Phipps said.

"Then I want double time," Archie said.

"Time and a half," Phipps said, setting down the sandwich.

"Time and a half from nine to six and double time every other time," Archie said.

"Fine," Phipps said, grabbing a paper napkin to wipe his fingers. "But if I catch you padding your hours, I'll shoot you myself." He reached into his coat to grab a notepad and a pen, jotted down an address, and pushed it over to Archie. "Go home and take a shower and then go here. You're going to meet with a man named Rod Acuna. He's going to be your supervisor from here on out. Don't be put off if he's a little blunt. He's not paid to be a nice guy, and neither are the people he works with. But if you do your job, everything will be fine, and there might even be a bonus in it for you. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Archie said, and took the paper. Phipps pushed up from the table, nodded to Archie, and walked off. Archie sat there for a few more minutes, staring at the remains of the egg sandwich, before a yawing jag got him up and moving to home.

Sam Berlant was waiting for him as he got off the Metro. "Well?" Sam said, after a hello kiss.