t in the field, I need you
to be there for me, performing at a hundred percent."

"Yes, sir," I say reluctantly.

He talks into his glass as he swishes around the remaining dribble of
whiskey, as if he has trouble meeting my eyes for once. "Someone will
meet with you on your way out."

This takes me by surprise. I don't need the red warning label that's
suddenly superimposed over my vision to tell me that something's wrong.
"Who?"

"A doctor. I'd like to run a few checks on you, just to be on the safe
side." If he's not outright lying, then my software's convinced that
he's at least hiding something from me.

"Checks?"

"Yeah. Checks." He takes another sip of his drink.

My paranoia starts to kick in as I realise how easy it would be for him
to kill me, just as long as he took me unaware. For all my jacked up
reflexes and painstakingly learned skills, in light of the new wholly
artificial employees our rivals have been raving about, I'm starting to
look a lot like an old Decca television set in a room full of Sony
projectors. In all likelihood, Mike would have had me killed months
ago already if I wasn't still so damned good.

"And Suzi?"

"Yes?" Our eyes meet again, at last.

"Do yourself a favour. Don't get emotionally involved. It's just
business."

"I know." I walk out the door, not looking back.

"Well, all your tests show you're operating within specs," says the man
that Mike claims to be some sort of medical doctor.

"That's a relief," I say sarcastically.

"Nevertheless, I'm still concerned about these certain imperfections in
your performance. I just can't seem to find a neurological or
physiological source for them."

"Did it ever occur to you that I'm only human?"

A grunt serves him as laughter. "Isn't that your main selling point?
From what I hear, you're Mike's poster girl. Maybe even the whole
industry's." He looks me up and down, and I fight the urge to pull out
the knife I'm carrying and gouge his inferior eyes out. "Shame no one
knows what you look like." Perhaps sensing my obvious discomfort, he
changes the subject. "You know how few of you there are left in your
line of work?" By 'you,' I assume he means humans. "Less than a
dozen, by our estimates. Worldwide. You're a rarity."

I let myself flash a brief smile. Professional pride.

"A dying breed, you might say," he adds with a chuckle. I feel my
whole body tense up.

"There's one more test I'd li