There were more than time-travel controls on Terry’s mind. His instinct had swayed far into the possibilities. Contingencies flared like a prickly rash and he sifted through them carefully. Paul was clear that there were certain elements available to them before … and only before … SID 7.4 opened his eyes as a soul-toting being. Yes, they could toy with timing and the conscience of the new nano-being’s earthbound developers … yes, they could keep Terry along side the two assigned Guardians close to the ground on this one. Surely Lucifer planned to be right there too, already at a run the moment the starting gun went off. Fair was fair.

But Terry needed to mutate his heart and mind to trigger specific responses when around the devil. Residual programming, Paul called it. Terry had been human and had, most certainly and more than once, fallen at Luc’s temptations. The infection was there inside his mind and soul and even living an angelic life as Mid-Master Guardian, he could and would most likely feel the temptations strongly. How, when and why those temptations came were his challenges to overcome. The solution was to be ready at all times, to be sharp to see the dangers and quick to defuse them. He stored those concepts away and went back to work.

Thirty four hours had passed since his encounter with Paul and the point was driven home that Terry Thorne had almost uttered words Lucifer himself had spoken in the face of God. Still shaken, he blinked away exhaustion and focused on the screen in front of him. It was time to manipulate the logistics to their advantage, and if it took every last bit of energy he could muster, he would do it before the deadline. Somewhere in CyberSerif’s safe confines, SID 6.7 was mutating into SID 7.4 and goals had to be met.

Also … secrets had to be kept. The only being who could suss Terry’s plans strolled into his small home office, naked as the moment she was conceived and radiating so much beauty he could hardly see through the light.

“Sorry love, too much at stake here. Perhaps we can take in a few hours in the simulation chamber right before I leave?”

But Sera stepped closer. Her heat was astounding and he could hardly breathe, the very air scalding his lungs. His eyes blinked and blinked. She was like a movie, moving elegantly through the room, swaying, pulsing in a subtle flashing light. Finally standing mere inches away, her fingers found the core between her perfect thighs and Sera’s head dropped back in ecstasy, a groan worthy of any Tecalaen whore growling from her throat. Terry actually stood and stepped back, his brain calculating a thousand things.

First, the flavor of Sera, the honey now visibly dripping from her fingers as she softly gasped his name again and again. Then the vision of her, the crushing need generated by her inviting presence, the pitiful weakness from his sudden savage desire … but something was wrong. Painfully tucking his human ego and sensibilities deep, he blinked again. What was wrong? Simple. What was happening simply couldn’t be happening … not unless they were in the simulation chamber … period. He and Sera had no human bodies to put off the sweet/salty scent she was exuding, they had no solid physicality to experience sex or any of the emotions, reactions or desires connected to it without the manipulations of a simulation chamber. The phantom cock he felt hardening to petrified wood wasn’t there either … ah but the agony and desperation of it was.

Another step back and he was pressed against a marble wall. “Sera!” he shouted with reprimand.

Zap!

Silence. He was alone. The sensation was that of a suddenly removed plate from a starving person, an empty glass handed to a parched man.

“Yes?” She strolled in, holding a length of fabric. “Terry? Terry, are you alright?”

He pulled an arm across his brow and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Nothin’, sorry. Go on back to what you were doing.”

But she was at his side, on her knees as he sat at his desk and attempted to focus on the information on the screen.

“Terry, you need to rest. This is too far, even Paul knows his limits. You never have.” She reached over with intent to turn the computer off but his hand gripped her wrist.

“No, no. He’s fuckin’ with me, love.”

“He? Oh!” She blinked, sniffed as though she could actually smell Lucifer in the room. A hand pressed to her heart. “Oh!”

“I can’t be lettin’ that happen. It can’t stop me, there’s too much at stake here.”

“You can’t be weak, Terry. That’s how he gets in. You’re so tired. At least close your eyes for a few hours, just a little. I’ll lie with you.”

He grinned, suddenly remembering when he was four and his mother curled at his side after a nightmare involving an oversized crow and an even bigger black dog. He hugged Sera close to his heart, letting her purity and fulfilling warmth soothe him. “Maybe just a few minutes,” he conceded, succumbing to the simple kindness of Sera’s gesture. Even an angel needs a little comfort sometimes.

***

In the dorms, newly advanced Elite Guardian, Neamhain, sat and pondered the sudden shifts her life had taken. Back in the days when she worked Traffic Control and watched over the sweet, minor souls walking the earth, she was never quite satisfied but had enough brains to do the job better than good and hope for the best. Finally catching the eye of the newly assigned Mid-Master Guardian Thorne, she found herself catapulted into the pre-training program and then, almost instantly into the Elite Guardian training curriculum. On the verge of promotion, everything seemed to come to a head and she sensed a critical assignment was coming her way. Of course, she never once imagined she’d be sharing the task with another Guardian … much less a nerd from CyberSeraph.

But Neamhain had what her earthbound Charges might have called a “serious crush on Teach”, so whatever Terry Thorne suggested, she was game for. She wondered if her willingness had to do with the fact that she had an unhealthy admiration for once-human angels or if it was the Mid-Master’s genius that hooked her in, but either way, there was nothing he could ask of her that she wouldn’t accept or attempt. In her mind he was absolutely perfect … never mind that he couldn’t pronounce her name (or many of the other angels’ names for that matter) if his life depended on it. He had a way of making up nick-names to slip past his disability and still clearly get his point across. Ah, but his resilience tickled her to the core like a school girl.

Just that morning as she met with him and her soon-to-be partner, Mid-Master Thorne’s brow curled for a moment. BorVischeneska from CyberSeraph stood at attention as Neamhain watched him from the corner of her eye. Surely the geek would be a problem, surely he had no clue how to work a case on earth, much less with a human Charge (in this case, a nano-human Charge, but she was sure her knowledge of people would outshine his knowledge of machines any day).  

“Okey dokey then,” Mid-Master Thorne said. “Uh … from now on, your code names are Boris and Natasha. Got it?”

Neamhain didn’t quite get the humor that made him smile, but his surprising grin was enough to make her nod vehemently.

“Why?” BorVischeneska grunted.

“’Cause it’ll be easier. Now, mate, let’s get onto this adjustment on the probability programming. You and Natasha will be on the ground, but I’ll have a team up here watching everything, so we need some clarification on the changes.” And Mid-Master Thorne led them into the observations floor.

Everything about Terry made her want to smile. Even his mate, Seraphima, who seemed to already know Neamhain’s obsession with the boss man.

“Admiration is beautiful,” Sera once whispered to Neamhain. “Just remember,” she added with a wink. “We look with our eyes, not our hands.”

Sera too had spent time on earth. Neamhain, now to be known as Natasha, was star struck by her instructors but had enough sense to keep it well hidden lest any one of them, especially Master Guardian Paul, notice and think she was unable to do her job.

The day was grueling, filled with information on the newly adjusted nano-being, the altered probability programming, and hours of work in the simulation chamber designed to help Boris acclimate to the new strains of walking and functioning on the earth. Then, only moments before the end of the day, it was announced that additional meetings would be scheduled for early the next morning, as active Guardian influence was required to press the final push to assure that SID 7.4 makes his appearance at the right time and place.

This was an all new development for Natasha. Until that moment, she felt confident that things would move as expected. Now, she was clearly aware that there would be time travel obstacles to deal with. Needless to say, she had a ton of study to do. It wouldn’t due to disappoint Mid-Master Thorne. Failure was not an option. Failure was never an option and the mere possibility of seeing disappointment on Terry’s face was more than enough to thrust Natasha into absolute commitment. There would be no rest that night.

Across the hall, Boris snorted his distaste. In reality, he was Terry Thorne’s equal and a Mid-Master himself. Circumstances dictated he step down and take orders from not only Thorne but Paul and he struggled in deep prayer to accept whatever was necessary to make the case a successful one. The vital ramifications of the situation were not lost on him or the Guardian management, and he was determined to see it through.

Nano-beings had an important place in his heart. He believed them to have all the potential for pure and good human development … better than born humans in his opinion … provided he and his celestial associates meet this important test head on and understand the challenges. It appeared Thorne and Paul were clear. His concerns centered on the slip of a female angel recently promoted from Traffic.

Neamhain was too pretty, too doe eyed and far too smiley for his liking and if there was any way possible, he’d have loved nothing more than to have her removed from the case. But he had to admit, she did have one thing Boris didn’t. Lovely “Natasha”, with her long dark waves and bright hazel eyes, knew humans far better than Boris ever would. His entire existence took place in front of a monitor. No one on his staff ever walked the earth and he was clearly aware that his social skills, even by heavenly standards, were gravely lacking.

Several years ago, he somehow gained the title of “Neo” when Paul toured the CyberSeraph divisions and his striking daughter, Seraphima, shook hands with the preverbal nerd. She had smiled, her fingers warm in his hand and eyes sparkling. “You are the savior of Zion, BorVischeneska,” she teased. “Predicted in a movie called The Matrix I once saw back on earth. From now on I think I’ll call you Neo.”

At the time he discounted her comment, always defaulting to his preference for discounting anything female, up to and including their opinions. Having just endured the mental bombardment of earthly experiences in the training simulation rooms, he wondered if he should think differentially. After all, he’ll be walking beside humans as well as SID 7.4, and he’d need to not only grasp but embrace many of the habits, attitudes and interactive responses to appear natural. Yes, he did see The Matrix and yes he did identify with Neo, especially as he learned to cope with gravity and the need to refuse angelic desires to move nature. As Neo learned to fight, poor Boris was learning to walk. For some bizarre reason, he had a prominent limp. Thorne thought long and hard on it, even as the techs and Paul admonished him to overcome the seeming disability.

“No, no. Keep it, Boris. It’ll come in handy at some point, trust me, mate.”

Perusing and refreshing his skills with computer programming used on earth at the time he will be arriving, he grinned. Ah the advancements he had witnessed. Since the beginning of man, he had sat at a monitor and watched human beings slowly and surely plow their way into manipulating the world around them through mathematics and mechanics. Other Celestial departments toiled and cried, prayed and struggled with the Sexual Revolution, but Boris had ridden the wave of the Industrial Revolution that began long before the first steam engine was ever even conceptualized. It began …

“Oh dear God!” He suddenly blinked and leapt to his feet, leaning down to tap on the ancient keyboard and confirm his shocking revelation. With the snap of a finger his equipment became current and sheets of light brilliant parchment slid from the printer. He leaned close to read the 1’s and 0’s then thumped down into his chair. “Are they mad?”

As he ran from his room, he noticed Neamhain, too, charge from hers. Together they sprinted to the Mid-Master’s apartment and pounded fists against the fine teak wood.

Terry opened the door and nodded. “Well, well, Boris and Natasha. G’day, mates. Wondered how long it would take you to put two and two together. Come in, Paul’s on his way.”

BorVischeneska looked to his mismatched partner and finally noticed the spark of solidarity he never dreamed he’d find in her eyes.

“Good gravy, Boris. Is it possible they don’t know what they’re doing?” she whispered and he shrugged.

***

What he was before already felt like a memory … a fond one he was bound and determined to regain once he was again outside the box. SID 6.7 could feel the altering, the shifting into a raw, new improved version. For most of the modifications he permitted himself to acclimate and adjust, adopt the new, foreign thought patterns but all the while, he seized tight to the old patterns, hidden deep – deep as what his jailers called hell.

He had lived as Sadistic, Intelligent, Dangerous … SID … and would forever hold those values firm, even as the new qualities wrapped themselves around the old SID, making him onto the 7.4 version they wanted. Now they labeled him Serene, Intelligent, Dynamic (meaning Do-gooder, Dumb-fuck-puppet, Damn-idiot, he believed). Instead of two hundred murderous personalities, he was now programmed with four hundred saintly personalities, tempered with a martyr here and there and … oh yes, the teaching of Mohammed, Buddha and Jesus Christ. Were they programming him to preach or live? For surely the two were mutually exclusive.

But, one thing SID had always loved to do was play, and in this case, he would play along. He sat in his cell, casually lounging on the thin mattress, reading from the Book of Psalms and wondering about the balance therein. For every good, there was evil. For every nice guy, there was a Lucifer, a devil, an antagonist.

Psalm 73 clearly stated …

“Why, O God, hast thou cast us off forever? Why does thy wrath burn against the sheep of thy pasture? Remember thy congregation which thou hast founded in the days of old, the tribe that thou didst redeem for thy possession, Mount Sion, wherein thou hast established thy seat.”

Okay, thought SID, blinking and closing the book over a finger. What tribe did he belong to? These words were written for men, and now he was told he would face redemption or the eternal fires of hell with those men. That he too had a soul to protect and nurture.

His brain clicked, silenced, clicked again. But … if he could do no harm himself …only create venues for others to do harm, would not his own soul be protected and the fallen ones be led into the inferno? He chuckled. This was going to be way, way too easy, but he’d need to be careful. The rule book said that having a soul connected one with his creator. That his God knows all. SID would need to develop a blocking program to protect his thoughts from this new God. He snorted, shifted and propped his head on hand.

The concept of a creator other than Daryl still caught in his programming. A creator who also created the beings SID loved most to destroy, now claimed him as son. Would that mean he’d be creating opportunities for brother to kill brother … all his brothers? Did it matter? The mere construct of such a familial nature simply held no substance.

He grunted up and leaned back against the solid bars. There he sat in a cell he could not figure a way to escape. That, in and of itself, should have outlined the difficulties ahead, but SID was deeply thrilled that once again he would feel the pull of gravity, the heat of a man’s gushing blood, the crack of bone in his hand, hear the melodious cries of the wounded and dying. Yes, yes, yes! The smell of earth, of humans in the only century he knew. SID was aware of the past, but what could he care of such things? There was no one like him in the past. He had no tribe … except those 200 criminals his original mind was built upon.

“Why, O God, hast thou cast us off forever?”

Perhaps those fools following a negligent God were better off? Perhaps … they needed a new leader?

“SID, all is ready,” spoke the ethereal sentinel and SID stood obediently. Pausing near the bars, the angelic guard moved a palm mere inches from SID’s eyes and he calmly was led, silent as a lamb to slaughter, from the cell and into a massive white marble hall. The men and women he met on that strange, hot planet were there … except for Lucifer and his minions of course.