After twenty more minutes of general haranguing over details, refinement, and purification of the speech, it was finally done, sitting there on the onboard computer in full black and white. Yay. It's done. Now I have a semi-cramped plane, a new servant, and four hours to kill.

I looked to my right to find Billy zenned out. He could have been out terraforming Mars from the look on his face, facing straight ahead, body not moving, not even any leg twitches. He wasn't here. He blinked, he breathed, his heart beat, but that was about it. If I had told him to do an Enforcer impersonation, this would be it.

"Billy, wake up.", I said.

"I am awake.", he replied in a perfect monotone of a robot kid's voice. He continued to look straight ahead. Something primordial and sulfuric was boiling deep inside of him. I could almost smell it. It did not take me long to realize he would have gleefully ripped my throat out in a single, savage stroke, had he not been implanted. His previous moral system was probably in tatters, but he had formed a new one while I was making the-

'Stop right the fuck there.', my inner, been-there-done-that, mobster voice said, ringing in my head with its grating 1920's downtown voice. 'He's not a normal, you asshole. He's your clone. You have to stop asking yourself what a normal would do and start asking yourself what you would do.'

I really, really, really did not want to think about that. But I know this much- I wouldn't like it. And I definitely would respond worse than strangely. If I wasn't who I am, some researcher would have a field day doing nature-vs-nurture on us as separated twins. Gah! What the hell were they thinking? He isn't a servant, he's a time bomb with implants! Note to self: Do not give him any loopholes at all, or I'll regret it. Other note to self: Giving him no loopholes may reduce his efficiency a bit. Even the U.S. Navy readily admits that total control leads to more problems.

"Billy, are you still sane?", I asked. Which was extremely important. An insane person may not respond to implants effectively. This doesn't go so far as 'they don't affect anyone crazy' but it does go as far as 'they don't affect anyone who doesn't know what they're doing'. This is important. As long as the conscious mind remains in the driver's seat, no worries. If he loses it in the worst way, it could be serious trouble. But I don't think that'll happen. I have so many genetic brain protections it isn't even funny. Of course, that goes for everything. It's why I eat so much- and why I'm immortal.

"Yes, Howard.", he replied in the monotone again. If it wasn't for the overboiling rage oozing out of his body like slime from a slug, I would have taken him to have gone totally mechanical. Which is what he probably considered himself by now. A machine. Not the result of any moral system, probably not the actions of anyone in some warped sci-fi movie, just his own conclusions. And those conclusions held some logic. Implant a human and he does whatever he understands you say- just like a computer. Only a computer doesn't hate you like you were the Archenemy (™) and usually doesn't want to kill you. I felt like Dr. Frankenstein. Fuck. Even on the best of days, things can go wrong. Then again, things can always go wrong.

My thoughts flipped back to when I was 7, and I was being taught the finer points of how to think reasonably. I realized a while ago how much conditioning they chucked at me on that- and Daddy always chucked the words 'get what you want' at me. Always. You don't think for its own sake. You always think for the end purpose, to get what you want. How to think without mistakes, logic errors, or fuckups. How to think creatively. And the words 'get what you want' are extremely effective, even though I knew their manipulative purpose. But even though it was manipulating me, I didn't mind- because I really would get what I want, and with wealth and power, the value of what I can get is massive and great- such as servants, advanced technology, and greater control over the world.

Generally, everything one usually learns on their own, I was taught. And one of the most surprising things was 'If the most sensible choices don't work, use the least sensible for a change.' It operates on the same basic principles as whacking your TV when the picture goes fuzzy. Sure, it isn't supposed to be good, but it works, dammit. And I don't have the patience to fool around with what doesn't work, unless it's fun or interesting to fool around with it. Which is why I love Billy so much. He's random as hell. Owning other human beings enables you to go through at least most of their brains, directly editable or not, and see what you can find. It's fun. I already did it with Sarah's, but Sarah led a fairly boring lifestyle- unless you count the assassinations, the maiming, and all the various facets of using force that Illuminati do to stay in power. It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it, and she's the best there is. And she never went quite as worried, crazy, or emotional as Billy is. But Billy operates, just like all other seemingly chaotic systems, on a very complex order. There's a method to his madness.

Although we don't have quite the regenerative powers of Wile E. Coyote or Bugs Bunny, a set dose of lunacy always helps. (I never understood that. How can you have a limited amount of a thing that intrinsically has no limits and, when finding them, does everything it can to break them? There is still no such thing as lunacy in a can, although there are loony pills.) The sane thing to do would probably be just to treat him as if he wasn't doing it at all (implants + pre-existing minds = emotional reaction, this is known fact), but hey, I have 4 hours to kill. An amazingly nonsensical (and downright stupid) thing to do would be to tell him to chill out and stop the damn machine bit before he really starts to piss me off- but then I'd have him questioning his every move, especially since there are plenty of situations where you want your servants to act like machines.

A totally insane and off-the-wall thing to do would be to ask Billy how he was doing. That's too mean, even for me. Even though his mind has finally accepted it, he still feels the initial hate of getting controlled, especially under what to him are unusual circumstances. It would send his mind back down to Hell and profit me nothing. And I didn't want to watch the servile, short-haired version of myself cry again. It's eerie as hell- you're doing it, but you're not doing it, you're watching you doing it. Hmm.. oh, duh, there's lots of ways to get a point across without having to give commands. "Billy, have you really lost something up there or are you only pretending to act like a machine?", I asked.

"Pretending.", he said.

"Why?" Curiosity compelled me, and curiosity is one of the few things I'm susceptible to.

"Because if I allow my soul to resurface, I'll go insane." Again, that rage boiled just below the surface. He had a very deep desire to rip my throat out.

I giggled, grinned, and put my right arm around him. "Billy, I severely doubt you can make yourself stay this way for a couple of days, much less a couple of millennia. And believe me on this one, you're not going to go any more insane than you already have."

He sighed. "I guess I'll end up joining the Mad Hatter for tea after all... but I never heard of Alice getting thrown down the rabbit hole by five bodybuilders in the middle of the night.", he said in a substantially more normal voice. I chuckled at the thought of a screaming girl being chucked down a very deep hole by Enforcers.

"Oh.. the Enforcers? Oh yeah, those guys do just about everything. Muscles, training, implants. No personalities at all. They're like normal special forces agents, only they're a lot smarter, stronger, faster, and kick more ass."

"They're basically lobotomized, Billy. Born without souls.", Sarah said to make it blunt and obvious.

"Sounds like my old gym teacher...", Billy muttered absently. The idea of an Enforcer teaching gym class caused me to crack up. Even though I've never been inside a school, I know what it is and how it works, and picturing a seven foot tall Enforcer with muscles up and down his body teaching some elementary-schoolers the right way to use their muscles... well, it technically can be done. But I wouldn't recommend it.

I clicked the recliner button and a footrest swung up. I slumped.. but I needed to lay down. I swung around, putting my head in Sarah's lap and my feet in Billy's, taking the Micro out of my cape and chucking it on the floor. Bored, I reached up, called up the screen, and punched up elementary information on it.


*LEVEL THREE INFORMATION ONLY*

Type: Weapon Name: Micro-2025

Last updated: 4/1/98

Development source: I In use by: limited I Public Release Time (est.): 2025

Development cost: approx. 44 MU Production cost: approx. 170 KU ea. (Units cannot be expressed in monetary terms, for they transcend money and refer to a combination of time, manpower, and physical resources. We would use them as currency if we didn't decide to avoid doing that.)

(some history stuff which I skipped)

Fusion-based weapon may release up to 500 Mcal/sec, for an indefinite period of time, in a variable-size beam of high wavelength energy.

Restrictions: The Micro-2025 may overheat. Its internal components must not be allowed to reach temperatures over 300\'ba C, which it may achieve after one minute of regular use at room temperature (27\'ba C). A heatsink is in production; approx. release date 12/1/98

Ammunition/Energy Source: Hydrogen hydroxide (HOH); other non-acidic, non-alkaline (acceptable pH range is 5.5 - 9) hydrogen sources usable

Operating life: 5 years, regardless of use, at which point the fission "pilot light" becomes inactive.

Training required: none, other than that on very powerful weapons.

Additional Notes: Microwave energy is a form of light and is subject to the same laws of physics, most notably that of reflection. The potential of danger to the operator is enormous and unavoidable.

Holy shit. Five hundred mega calories per second of pure microwave heat? No wonder this thing burns up quick. The fusion explained the weight- the 'pilot light' (I have no idea how they actually do that) housing was certainly lined with thick lead, to stop gamma radiation leakage. The mass is no problem for me, but added weight always sucks. Also, it was filled with water which I'd have to carry around. Oh well. The price one must pay for hand-held total destruction. Billy read the screen, realized what it was, and his eyes bulged out of his head again. He looked down at the Micro as if it were death incarnate- it is. More powerful than several bazookas, probably even more powerful than the rest of the plane put together, and that's right, kiddies- it runs on water. And I don't even recognize my own damn power anymore, I juggle so much of it, and finally I'd get the opportunity to actually throw it around. Yay! Fucking finally. Having cool stuff is one thing. Doing things, especially creative, fun, possibly productive things with cool stuff is quite another.

I yawned. "Billy, what was it like going to school, anyway?", I asked. Always wanted to know that. Sure, I know what it's supposed to be- but what are the (inevitably twisted in some way) results?

"It fucking sucked. We sat around all day slowly pretending to learn crap it would have taken me one minute to figure out on my own. And the rules were such gay shit. What a fucking waste of time. Howard, if you control the world, can you tell me why the hell does it have to be so damn boring?"

"Billy, do you really think any of us want the masses to learn quickly? If they learned quickly, we wouldn't be able to keep them in there as many years as we need, or we'd have to teach them more. And then we wouldn't be able to do the college shuffle with them, keeping them working hard doing the repetitive things to even get into college, doing the things they need to practice to be good employees in the future. Oh yeah, we teach em the intellectual stuff they'll need to actually do their jobs in college, but as for that repetitive mentality to keep em working an eight hour, five day week for years on end with a few vacations? All in the public schools. Not to mention, intelligent and educated people who don't believe in the system are so much fucking harder to control than their stupid counterparts. So it has to be boring." I pretty much quoted word-for-word from Daddy, with a couple of minor semantic differences.

"And you have ways of controlling people who see through some of it, of course."

"Naturally. Seldom with implants, although sometimes for their technical skill if they have it. Usually, we just kill them."

"Which is where she comes in."

Sarah's belly chuckled below me, inadvertently massaging my head along with the steady, very muffled h-m-m-m-m of the jet engines only a few feet away. "Only in emergencies.", I said. "Like I said, we need to let em believe they're free. So far, anyway."

"Yeah..", he muttered, "so far."

And again, I felt that sort of glee. I was happy again. I'd killed a five-hour project in an hour, and it was finally done, all that crap about who controls what and who should get what power and how many kicks in the teeth should be delivered at what strength to whom. "Bureaucracy is kept to a minimum here.", the old guy I used to call Daddy said, a LOT.. but that was utter bullshit. It's kept to a minimum when they fucking feel like it. I suppose the same was true of the school system and their local administration. Fuck, do I hate feeling like a normal- doing annoying bullshit is supposed to be their province, not mine. Then again, every Illuminatus has to do annoying bullshit as part of the game sooner or later. Oh well. Writing it is done. Speaking it will probably be worse, but that's in the future and thinking about it will bring me nothing but that annoying fear-like thing normals call anxiety and I refer to as the mind mosquito. I snuggled on Sarah's soft belly and closed my eyes. Ahh... much better. This is the life, although there are annoying parts to it. Oh well. At least I've got Billy now. I felt the higher-order thinking in my brain retreat until it would be needed again, my head decompressed somewhat, and I could let myself go a while.