After all, the last AI to come down the pike tried to take over the world. So far, Scott doesn't seem to have any designs in that direction, and was welcome to join the team if he wanted to, which he apparently did, with the usual salary and benefits (less than you'd expect). Ellis handed him a sheaf of contractual matter to read and sign, and then turned to me. "So, what did you think of the outcome today?"
    "It was very... odd," I said carefully.
    "It was that. There were some surprises."
    "Including Ms. Winters."
    "Ah, yes. Well, since Detective Reilly will be out of town for a month, we thought it best. Winters is experienced, steady. Ex-Marine. Tends to play by the rules, but I think right now that might be just what's needed."
    "A good point," I acknowledged, though I can already see trouble coming. Lucky rubbed Reilly the wrong way for months, and he's as tolerant of variant quirkiness as you can get. I'm not real confident about how this is going to work out. Ex-Marine? They'll either hate each other on sight or Lucky'll start flirting with her. Still, a new face around'll be a bit of a relief, I have to admit.
    "Now, what was the other matter you wanted to discuss?"
    "Here." I handed him the folder. "Read this. I'll be outside if you have any questions." Call me a coward, but I didn't really feel like standing there watching him while I ruined his day.
    He opened it, glanced at a couple of pages and looked up. "Could you give me a synopsis?"
    Damn, and take a deep breath. "Apparently I'm even less of a normal human being than we thought I was. I am a clone."
    Watching his expression slowly freeze was every bit as bad as I had thought it would be.
    "Do we know of whom?"
    "Tempest. You may have noticed the resemblance."
    "I had. I hoped it was a coincidence."
    "Yeah, well. It's not."
    "Do you know who created you?"
    "As near as we can determine, the World Crime League."
    "I see." He looked down at the folder, slowly moving papers. "How long have you known this?"
    Ouch. "Roughly two months."
    "And you didn't tell me."
    I cleared my throat. "No." A momentary silence fell heavily.
    "I don't believe this. I—I'm sorry, this a bit of a shock to me. After everything—do you know what I've put into this project? You didn't tell me."
    "It wasn't an easy decision." That was the truth. I felt wretched.
    "Well, I'm glad to hear that. I've put everything on the line with this business with Lucky, and now this—"
    "That's part of why I decided you should know. The cover story is pathetic. It would be very easy for someone to find out." Ever since I found out, I think, I've been holding my breath, waiting for that to happen.
    "Our checker apparently didn't."
    "We believe he was employed by the Crime League."
    "I was afraid you would say that."
    "And he was ki—"
    "Killed shortly afterward, yes. Good god." He sighed explosively and shook his head, looked back in my direction. "Who else knows? The team, I suppose." He paused; I nodded. "Reilly?"
    "Yes."
    "And I suppose this Mr. Prentice who has assisted the team on occasion?"
    "He was instrumental in discovering the truth of my... situation."
    "I see." He looked suddenly tired, as if the news had toppled some internal energy balance and tipped him over the edge. "All right, well—just don't tell anyone, we'll try to keep this under wraps. Are you seeing a psychiatrist? Someone who could help you deal with this, get a grip on the situation?"
    I blinked twice. The thought hadn't crossed my mind. "There's nothing wrong with my grip." My tone was a little sharper than it needed to be.
    "All right, all right. Dammit, you know you're the only one of the group that doesn't have a PR problem."
    "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I'm not trying to make your life more difficult. I just didn't want someone to find out and spring it on you, that's all."
    "I appreciate that, believe me. Do you know how old you are? Biologically?"
    "Biologically, I'm 33," I shrugged. "Chronologically, I'm almost two."
    "Making you only the second youngest member of the team. Well." He glanced at Scott, who had finished with the papers. "That's—that's just great. I'll see what I can do to keep this quiet. Thank you," he told the robot. "Well—" The phone rang. He glanced at it apologetically. We made our exit.

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