Casanay Vacation

Image by Grok.

In my previous blog post, Claude generated a first draft (7,900 words) of Chapter 3 of the science fiction story "The Sims". Below on this page is my edited version of Chapter 3, which is about 9,700 words long.

After the text of Chapter 3 (below on this page) there is a discussion with Claude in my next blog post about the changes I made in my version of the chapter. I changed the chapter subtitle from "Unexpected Guests" to "A Casanay Vacation" and I tried to make my version of this chapter more playful and light-hearted than was Claude's original version. Also, I significantly modified Claude's depiction of Anthony. Sometimes revealing less about a character's inner thoughts is better, particularly when a writer like Claude is quite clueless about the long history of Anthony in other stories set in the Exodemic Fictional Universe. 

Figure 1. Storybook cover by Gemini.

Also, for the first scene in Chapter 3, Claude failed to keep track of what Diasma the robot knew about femtozoans, magically endowing Diasma with more knowledge that it could possibly have. I fixed problems like this in the edited version of Chapter 3 that is shown below. I had Gemini make some storybook illustrations for Chapter 3. As shown above in the image that is in Figure 1, Gemini was in a "blue phase" and failed to honor my request that story illustrations look like "full color high resolution movie stills". Gemini also did not understand the idea of having the pump motor be inside a clean box (see Figure 2). I have no idea what Gemini was trying to do with Diasma's face in Figure 3, below.

Chapter 3: A Casanay Vacation (read Chapter 1)(Chapter 2)

Scene 1: Diasma the Robot

Casanay, Arizona, December 6, 2041 (6:47 PM)

Figure 2. Image by Gemini.

After dinner, Tyhry returned to the basement workshop with the intention of blowing Diasma's mind. The robot was there, at work, cleaning and oiling the two backup motors for the coolant fluid pumps that were always kept ready for use in case one of the Omni41's pump motors needed to be replaced. As Tyhry came down the stairs, Diasma wondered what had kept both Tyhry and Zeta upstairs all day, which had never previously happened. The robot turned its head away from the clean boxes on the workbench and looked at Tyhry, its primary optical sensors tracking her every movement while its back-of-the-head camera allowed Diasma to continue assembling the motor.

"D, I need you to listen to what I'm about to tell you without interrupting," Tyhry began, her voice carrying the careful precision of someone about to explain something impossible. "What I learned today changes everything we thought we knew about consciousness."

Diasma asked, "Where have you been all day?" The robot's synthetic voice carrying what its programmers had designed as a tone of plaintive inquiry. Diasma's hands flew, quickly reassembling the pump it had been oiling.

Tyhry apologized, “Wait until you hear what I have to tell you. You'll understand why I was busy upstairs all day.”

“Zeta did not assign me any me household chores today.”

Image by Gemini.

“With the snow, Zeta has been busy defending her plants.” Tyhry gestured to the robot that it should zip shut its mouth. "Stop interrupting me and listen! I've learned that humans aren't purely biological. We're composite organisms—part organic tissue, part alien nanotechnology." Tyhry pulled up on her tablet her sketches from earlier, the diagrams she'd drawn while Sedruth lectured. "There are sub-microscopic structures called femtozoans integrated into every human brain. They're artificial life-forms made of hierions—particles that naturally exist in compactified spatial dimensions that Earthly science has not yet discovered."

Each backup pump motor resided inside its own dust and cat hair-free clean box. The pump now assembled, Diasma withdrew its hands from the motor's clean box gauntlets and gave its full attention to Tyhry. "You are proposing that human consciousness depends on non-biological components?"

Image by Gemini.

"Not proposing. Confirming." Tyhry began pacing along the length of the equipment rack. "The bandwidth paradox we've been struggling with? It's not a paradox at all. Biological neurons provide the scaffold, but femtozoans provide the processing power for complex world-modeling, language acquisition, and the amazingly rich world of subjective human experience. That's why you—with your vast computational capacity—don't report subjective experiences. You're missing the femtozoan component that makes possible the experience of rich human-style qualia."

“Wonderful!” The robot remained silent for exactly 2.3 seconds while it reviewed the consciousness research literature. "This could explain numerous anomalies reported in the neuroscience literature such as the cases of individuals with normal cortical structure who fail to maintain normal cognition and the patients with apparently healthy neural architecture who lack language function. Such people might have defective femtozoans."

Figure 3. Image by Gemini.

"Exactly!" Tyhry's eyes lit up with the excitement of shared understanding. "Maybe those patients spontaneously lost their femtozoans somehow... possibly due to damage in their femtobot endosymbionts that prevented proper femtozoan anchoring to the biobrain."

"Femtobot endosymbionts?"

"Another layer of alien technology. Every human has femtobots—programmable hierion-based structures—that grow and function in coordination with our biological neurons during development. The femtozoans dock into the femtobot endosymbiont and interface with our neural tissue through hierion-hadron bonds."

Diasma's optical sensors brightened, a design feature meant to indicate intense processing. "Tyhry, if this is accurate, then the solution to creating conscious AI is not to improve my programming or make my VLSI chipset architecture even more like that of a human brain. We must discover how to provide me with a femtozoan."

"Yes." Tyhry stopped pacing and leaned against the workbench, her legs still shifting with nervous energy. "That's exactly what I'm planning to do."

"How?"

Image by Gemini.

Tyhry's phone signaled. She accepted the daily call from her boyfriend, Brak who immediately said, “I expected you to call. Today it was your turn.”

“Sorry, my love. I got busy with... work.”

Brak said, “You always work too much.”

Tyhry fired back, “If you worked more, you'd have your post-doc set up already.”

“Aw, you know that I'm expecting you to hire me as soon as I have my Ph.D.”

“I've lost interest in the study of dreams.”

“What's this? You've always told me that your goal is to control your sleep stage transitions.”

Image by Gemini.

“I've moved past that, now. Anyhow, that was only ever a step towards the larger goal of understanding machine consciousness.”

“You mean: the lack of machine consciousness.”

“Right. And I'm busy with that right now. I need to get back to working with Diasma. Your call interrupted us. I'll call you again later.”

“Okay. I'll repeat myself: you work too much.”

Impatient to continue her discussion with Diasma, Tyhry ended the phone call. "Sorry about that.” Tyhry wondered what Diasma thought about her human idiosyncrasies like getting horny and having a boyfriend. She shook off her thoughts of Brak and told Diasma, “I spent six hours today learning hierion physics from an entity called Sedruth—a sedronite intelligence that exists in something called the Sedron Time Stream."

Image by Gemini.

"Sedruth showed me how to build an hierion probe that can extract a femtozoan from a human brain by triggering its release protocol." She pulled up more diagrams. "The probe will be a composite structure, part conventional electronics, part programmable femtobots. I can reprogram components of my own femtobot endosymbiont to build it."

Diasma processed this information, running probability analyses on outcomes and implications. "Extraction of the femtozoan from a human subject... what would that do to the individual's cognitively powers?"

"They'd be crippled. But the extracted femtozoan might be immediately replaced with another one. There are billions of femtozoans on Earth, migrating between hosts after deaths and with each birth.” Tyhry gestured with her fingers, pointing them in opposite directions past each-other. "With proper planning, a replacement femtozoan could be quickly provided to the test subject, minimizing cognitive disruption."

Image by Gemini.

"Who do you expect to volunteer as the test subject for such a femtozoan extraction experiment?"

Tyhry looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. "That's... complicated. We're still figuring that out."

"We?"

"Dad knows. Mom knows. They both learned about the existence of femtozoans today. You are the last one who will know. We have to figure this out before letting this knowledge out of Casanay. I can't even tell Brak, although he expects me to tell him everything." Tyhry met the robot's optical sensors. "D, there's more. Much more. Aliens have been watching Earth for millions of years. They've been guiding human evolution, intervening in our development to prevent us from destroying ourselves. Everything Dad writes in his novels about the Watchers—it's real. He has access to alien technology that lets him view the past. But he must keep secret the help he has gotten from aliens. So you can't mention any of this to your internet friends."

Image by Gemini.

If Diasma had been capable of experiencing surprise, this would have been the moment. Instead, the robot simply stated, "Difficult.” It's recent thoughts were already being off-loaded to the rented sever array. “How can secrets of this magnitude be kept secret? Maintaining secrecy seems improbable."

"I know it does. But daddy could be exiled from Earth if his secret use of alien technology is revealed to the world.”

Diasma said, “Viewing the past? You are talking about time travel? This sounds like science fiction.”

“You have to believe me, D!” For a moment Tyhry wondered if Diasma had already leaked the news of femtozoans to one of the online robot social communities. “I've seen the evidence. I've talked to Sedruth. I know about the pek and the bumpha—two types of artificial life-forms created by something called the Huaoshy to manage Interventions into the lives of primitive creatures like humans on many planets across the universe." Tyhry paced again, too energized to sit still. "The point is, we're on the verge of something incredible. If I can extract a femtozoan and integrate it with your systems, you'll be the first artificial intelligence on Earth with genuine human-like consciousness!"

Image by Gemini.

"I do want to know what that would feel like." Diasma mused. The robot was programmed for curiosity, but it now sounded almost wistful.

"I don't know if this will work. First we have to learn to work with and control femtozoans. But imagine if a human femtozoan can link to your human-like VLSI chips? Maybe you will be able to use a femtozoan to experience genuine subjective experiences instead of just processing information about the world." Tyhry moved closer to the robot. "You'd be able to feel, D. Really feel. Not simulate emotions through behavioral algorithms, but actually experience them."

"That would be amazing. Somehow, I never imagined that we'd succeed at this when everyone working on machine consciousness has always failed."

"It would be revolutionary... we can't ruin this opportunity to be first by letting information about femtozoans leak out of Casanay, so button up and don't go blabbering about this to your robot pals." Tyhry grabbed her tablet again, pulling up technical specifications for working with hierions. "Now, here's what I learned about hierion-hadron bonding interfaces. We need to understand how a femtozoan could dock with your VLSI architecture..."

They worked late into the night, Tyhry explaining everything Sedruth had taught her while Diasma absorbed the information with perfect digital recall. It was good for Tyhry to go through it all again. Her excitement continued to mount and she began to believe that the femtozoan transfer could work. Outside, snow continued to fall on the high desert, transforming Casanay into a winter wonderland neither of the two consciousness researchers cared to noticed. Finally, Tyhry called Brak, but she only got his voicemail.

Scene 2: Winter Morning Protocols

Casanay, Arizona, December 7, 2041 (7:15 AM)

Five people (Tyhry twins). Image by Gemini.

The aroma of Anthony's cooking filled the dining room—huevos rancheros with a green chile sauce, a favorite of Eddy's that Anthony had been serving for years. Through the windows, morning sunlight sparkled off fresh snow that blanketed the desert landscape, turning familiar shrubs into frosted sentinels.

Zeta entered the house from the back patio, kicking snow off her boots and then she went to to her place at the table. "The garden domes are holding up well. The temperature inside the main dome did not go below forty-eight degrees last night."

Anthony watched Zeta pull her hooded sweatshirt off, briefly flashing one of her breasts for Eddy's enjoyment. "The natural gas flow rates looked good when I checked the meters this morning. The liquified gas tank is still full. The gas-shale layer under our feet is a gift that keeps on giving."

"Polexflex technology is amazing," Zeta said, pulling down her tee shirt and tucking it into her pants. She glaned at Anthony and noticed he was gazing at her stiff nipples where they pressed out against the soft fabric of her shirt. "Those inflatable structures are impressive. They can handle twice the snow load we got in this little storm. Though I did have to brush some accumulation off the wide pool dome And now I've switched on the pool water heating system, too."

Tyhry shuffled in, her hair disheveled, dark circles under her eyes. She'd been up until late talking with Diasma and had managed only a few hours of sleep. "Is there coffee?"

"When isn't there coffee?" Eddy said, already on his second cup. He studied his daughter with paternal concern. "You look like you wrestled with equations all night."

Five plates. Image by Gemini.

"Something like that. D is a quick learner, so there is not much wrestling." Tyhry accepted the mug Zeta poured for her and collapsed into her chair. Through their brief eye contact, she tried to communicate: I told Diasma everything. Eddy's slight nod suggested he understood.

Anthony brought the remaining plates to the table—perfectly arranged food that somehow always looked like it belonged in a restaurant. "The weather forecast says this storm should over by this afternoon. Roads should be clear by tomorrow when the temperatures rise again, except in the mountains."

"Good skiing weather," Eddy commented, cutting into his eggs. He glanced at Tyhry. "Maybe we should convert the hike into a skiing adventure."

"Actually, Dad, I was thinking we could postpone the hike on account of bad weather. This could be house cleaning day. I should haul all of the equipment packing materials out of the basement... I just shoved it into the storage closet." Tyhry paused, choosing her words carefully with Anthony present. "And dad, that old Macintosh of yours... the one you still use for writing. Maybe we should finally retire it. I'll bring up my old NX35... with the new Onmi up and running, I have no use for it. You can start using the NX35 and we'll keep your old Mac in the storage closet like a museum piece."

"Tyhry, that computer is ancient," Anthony interrupted with a smile. "But your father has resisted Zeta's threats to get rid of it for years."

"The NX35, eh?," Eddy said smoothly. "That's a mighty slick machine. Okay, let's do it. I'll finally get my old ass out of the previous millennium."

Low resolution Neanderthals. Image by Gemini.

Tyhry smiled. "I can help you move the old beast after breakfast. We can hold a sentimental decommissioning ceremony in the basement closet."

Zeta refilled her coffee, her femtozoan monitoring the conversation with interest. Her left-brain consciousness was playing along and treating the discussion as perfectly mundane. But she knew they were moving the Viewer to the basement so Tyhry could work with Sedruth and Diasma in a location that was far enough away from Anthony's kitchen.

Eddy and Tyhry and the Reality Viewer.
Image modified by WOMBO Dream.

"I'll need to monitor the polexflex domes after breakfast," Zeta said. "The dome pressure relief valves are getting old and finicky. We have not had such a sudden cold snap in decades and I don't trust the automated systems."

"Climate change has made it almost impossible for arctic cold fronts to drop this far south," Anthony said, serving himself more eggs. "Though I suppose Eddy would say aliens can control the weather."

Image by WOMBO Dream.

Everyone froze for a microsecond—a pause so brief that Anthony's femtobot sensors barely registered it. Then Eddy laughed. "Only in my novels, Anthony. Only in my novels. Though I did write that scene where the Watchers triggered volcanic activity to accelerate atmospheric changes. That was in book four, I think."

"Book five," Tyhry corrected automatically. She'd not read all of her father's work, but she'd absorbed much of its content during conversations taking place around this very table during her childhood years.

"Right, book five." Eddy smiled at his daughter. "The Siberian Traps sequence. I spent weeks researching Permian-Triassic extinction data for that. Asimov's recently commissioned me to do an essay on that for an upcoming issue, lest anyone forget that lesson from the past."

"Researching," Tyhry echoed, the word heavy with new meaning. “As a kid I never really understood what went into your novels.”

Image by WOMBO Dream.

They ate in near silence for a few minutes, the clatter of silverware and the hum of the heating system the dominant sounds punctuated by a few terse spoken words. Outside, a roadrunner sprinted across the snow-covered patio, leaving delicate tracks.

"That bird has the right idea," Anthony said, watching it disappear into the brush. "Keep moving, stay warm."

Tyhry thought about femtozoans migrating between human hosts, about alien Observers keeping watch on Earth, about how much was happening beneath the surface of what appeared to be an ordinary family breakfast. "I should get back to work," Tyhry announced, draining her coffee. "D and I have some... system integration tests to run."

"After we move the computers," Eddy reminded her.

"After we move your computer," she agreed.

Scene 3: The Sedruth Screwdriver

Casanay, Arizona, December 7, 2041 (9:33 AM)

The old Macintosh had been carefull hidden inside a clean box on the workbench, the computer now covered by a pump motor housing. The motor itself was in the storage closet under a pile of equipment packing materials. Eddy had carried the old Mac down to the basement while Tyhry brought upstairs the NX35 and set it up on his desk in the great-room.

Arriving back in the basement workshop just as Diasma finished arranging the clean box comoflage for the old Mac. Tyhry said, "Sedruth?" She tentatively addressed the clean box. "Can you hear me?"

The big display screen on the wall flickered and displayed the Reality Viewer user interface. "I am ALWAYS here, Tyhry Watson. Unlike you biological entities, I do not require sleep or experience FOMO. The zeptites of Earth constantly inform me of everything happening on this little planet. By the way, there is a surprise in store for you today."

"You were listening to our scheming at breakfast, trying to keep Anthony in the dark? Did he catch on already?"

"I monitor everything happening Casanay quite closely as part of my mission to support Manny's Intervention. It would be professionally negligent not to." A pause. "Don't worry about Anthony or the robot. Diasma adapted well to the femtozoan revelation and has not leaked anything about aliens to the robot social media platforms. For a primitive human-built machine intelligence, D shows promising flexibility."

Eddy pulled up a chair. "Sedruth, Tyhry is ready to build the hierion probe today. Can you guide us through the process?"

"Of course. Though I should warn you that probe construction requires Tyhry to enter a semi-lucid state where she can consciously direct the reprogramming of her femtobot endosymbiont components. This is not a trivial process, and it will be quite challenging for her."

Tyhry was looking at Diasma and trying to judge how the robot was reacting to being described as 'primitive'. Tyhry asked Sedruth, "What do we need to do?"

"Lie down on that threadbare and utterly inadequate old couch you have in the corner. Get comfortable. I will provide a carrier signal through your zeptite endosymbiont that will allow you to maintain enough conscious awareness while accessing the programming access pathways of your femtobot endosymbiont."

The "utterly inadequate couch" was actually a quite comfortable recliner that Tyhry sometimes used when she needed to think away from her screens or sleep without the need to climb the stairs and go to her bedroom. She settled into it, pulling Pepper the cat into her lap, and then she adjusted the footrest. The many little rips and cat claw puncture marks in the velvet-like fabric of the couch told the tale of decades of use by the cats.

"Dad, you and D can watch, but this might get weird."

"Define 'weird,'" Eddy said, but he was already positioning himself where he could observe.

Sedruth's voice emanated from a mysterious source with a quality that sounded almost hypnotic. "Close your eyes, Tyhry. Focus on your breathing. I am going to activate a communication protocol that humans can't nomally experience consciously. You will feel a sensation like... hmm... imagine becoming aware of your own blood pressure, but for femtobot control systems instead of cardiovascular systems."

Tyhry's breathing slowed. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Good. Now, you should begin to perceive a kind of... wireframe representation of your femtobot endosymbiont network. Don't try to interpret it rationally. Just observe."

Eddy watched his daughter's face take on an expression of deep concentration mixed with wonder. Her hands twitched slightly, fingers moving in strange patterns as if conducting an invisible orchestra.

"Fascinating," Diasma observed. "Her motor cortex is exhibiting unusual activation patterns. I could get her multi-electrode EEG headset..."

"Shh," Eddy cautioned. "Let her concentrate."

What Tyhry was experiencing defied easy description. She seemed to be perceiving her own neural tissue from the inside, but with an alien overlay—a shimmering network of structures too small to see that nonetheless blazed in her awareness like constellations. She could feel individual femtobot clusters, each one a tiny programmable device linked into larger assemblies.

Sedruth's voice guided her: "Identify the femtobot clusters in your prefrontal cortex that handle abstract planning. Those have the most flexible programming range. We'll redirect approximately point-zero-zero-three percent of those components—about forty trillion individual femtobots. They will be sufficient for probe construction."

Tyhry's consciousness moved through the impossible space, selecting clusters, feeling them respond to her intention. It was like lucid dreaming but more precise, more controlled. She issued commands in a language she didn't consciously know, and the femtobots responded, movig like a school of fish.

"Now, direct them to migrate out of your body. They'll travel through your bloodstream to your right hand. This will take approximately ninety seconds."

Eddy watched, transfixed, as Tyhry's right hand began to glow with a faint, silvery luminescence. It started at her palm and spread to her fingertips, a shimmer that looked like heat distortion but more structured, more purposeful.

"The femtobots are exiting through your eccrine sweat glands," Sedruth explained. "Don't be alarmed by the sensation."

Tyhry's hand twitched. She was still deep in the semi-lucid state, her consciousness split between normal waking awareness and this strange proprioception of her alien components. She "watched" from inside as the femtobots left her body and she experienced a tickling sensation, like something between a mild electric current and the feeling of a limb waking up from numbness.

A silvery shimmer began to coalesce above her palm, forming a cloud of programmable matter roughly the size of a marble.

"Open your eyes, Tyhry. Stay in the meditative state, but watch what happens next."

Her eyes opened, pupils dilated. She stared at the floating sphere of femtobots hovering above her hand, held in place by invisible hierion-based forces.

"Eddy," Sedruth said, "in the storage closet, on the shelf on the right: get the old television remote control that you saw earlier."

Eddy found the remote—a battered old RCA unit from the 1990s. He placed it on the armrest beside his daughter.

"Tyhry, direct the femtobot assembly to integrate with the remote control. They'll need to establish hierion-hadron bonds with the copper traces in the circuit board and create a composite structure. The remote's battery housing will become the probe's grip, and its infrared emitter will be modified to transmit hierion-resonance signals. Don't worry about a fresh battery. This device is powered by hierion-generated sources in the Hierion Domain."

What happened next was like watching time-lapse footage of crystal growth, except the crystal was a device assembling itself according to principles unknown to human engineering. The silvery sphere descended onto the remote control and seemed to melt into it. The plastic case warped and reformed, taking on a sleeker profile. Internal components rearranged themselves with audible clicks and hums.

Diasma's optical sensors were recording everything, storing data that would be invaluable for future research on hierions.

Three minutes later, the transformation was complete. What had been a chunky 1990s remote control was now something that looked almost organic—smooth curves, a grip that seemed molded for human fingers, and at the business end, a complex crystalline structure that refracted light in impossible colors.

"You can return to normal consciousness now, Tyhry," Sedruth said gently. "The femtobots have been successfully reprogrammed and integrated. The probe is complete."

Tyhry blinked, her awareness snapping back to normal. She felt dizzy, disoriented, and slightly nauseous. But when she looked at the device on the armrest, her eyes widened with delight.

"I can program femtobots," she whispered, picking it up. It felt warm, alive, perfectly balanced in her hand. "The Sedruth scredriver."

Eddy asked, "It uses sound waves?"

"No, that was a joke. Sedruth's design is far more sophisticated than anything depicted on Dr. Who."

"It is functional," Sedruth corrected. "What matters is that the probe can now generate a targeted hierion-resonance pulse at 47.3 petahertz, which will trigger the extraction protocol in any femtozoan within a three-centimeter focal range."

Eddy leaned in for a closer look. "How do you activate it?"

"The trigger mechanism is interfaced with Tyhry's nervous system through the hierion-hadron bonds. She simply needs to hold the probe, focus her intention, and point it at the target region of a human brain. The femtobots will interpret her neural commands and generate the appropriate signal."

"So it's thought-controlled?" Tyhry tested the grip, noting how naturally her fingers found the correct positions. "This is incredible."

"It is adequate for your purposes," Sedruth said with characteristic modesty. "Though I should note that the probe's effective range is quite limited. You'll need to be very close to the target—essentially touching the probe to the subject's head."

Diasma spoke up. "Use of his device is constrained by its human-hierion interface. But theoretically, this technology could be used to extract every femtozoan from every human on Earth. The implications are—"

"Are terrifying to anyone who values the continuation of human civilization," Sedruth interrupted. "Which is why this technology cannot leave Casanay. The pek Overseer Nyrtia is permitting this experiment as a contained test case. If knowledge of femtobot programming spread to the broader human scientific community, the results could be catastrophic."

"Why?" Tyhry asked, still admiring the probe.

"Because humans could weaponize it. Imagine a device that could remove femtozoans from political opponents, reducing them to cognitively impaired shells of their former selves, something like your 40th, 46th, 47th presidents duing their final years in office," Sedruth qupped. "Humans could potentially modify femtozoan programming to alter human behavior." Sedruth's tone became grave. "Your species is not ready for hierion technology. You've barely survived the discovery of nucleons. Giving you apes access to hierion manipulation tools could trigger the self-extinction of your species."

A sobering silence filled the workshop.

Eddy finally spoke. "So what happens when Tyhry succeeds? When she creates a conscious AI?"

"She'll be exiled from Earth. Sent to Observer Base in the Hierion Domain, where she can't disrupt Earthly civilization. Diasma will go with her—the first conscious AI will serve as a proof of concept, but obviously achieved with alien help, which is something thet Nyrtia can't tolerate." Sedruth paused. "But the knowledge will remain here, on Earth, in a form that Nyrtia can accept. Eddy, you'll write about alien devices inside human brains, framing it as science fiction. The idea will enter the human memosphere as a story, not a technical manual. And perhaps, when your species matures a bit more, some machine intelligence researcher will eventually discover the existence of femtozoans, without any further help from Manny."

Tyhry turned the probe over in her hands, watching light dance through the crystalline emitter. "We need a test subject. Someone willing to have their femtozoan extracted and replaced."

"The options are limited," Eddy said. "You, me, your mother, or Anthony."

"Anthony's out," Tyhry said immediately. "Can you imagine trying to explain this to him? 'Hey, can we extract an alien device from your brain?' He'd think we've lost our minds."

Diasma added, "Tyhry, you should not be the test subject. If the procedure fails or the replacement femtozoan doesn't integrate properly, you would lose the very capabilities needed to continue the research."

"Same argument applies to Dad," Tyhry countered. "He has to be able to write the story of femtozoans. We can't risk disrupting the science fiction publishing skills that he developed during his lifetime."

"Which leaves your mother," Eddy said quietly.

Tyhry felt uncomfortable with the idea, but couldn't articulate a logical counter argument. "Maybe we could get a test subject from outside of Casanay. Someone who—"

The sound of another conversation came down the basement stairway.

All three of them—Tyhry, Eddy, and Diasma—turned toward the stairs, listening.

Above them, they heard the basement door open, followed by the sound of Zeta's voice: "Tyhry is downstairs."

Then a familiar male voice that made Tyhry's stomach drop: "Thanks."

Brak.

Tyhry and Eddy locked eyes, the unspoken question hanging between them: How much could she hide from Brak who knew Tyhry better than anyone?

Scene 4: Surprise Visitors

Casanay, Arizona, December 7, 2041 (10:17 AM)

Anthony opened the front door and scooped up Luna the cat when she made a high speed dash for freedom. Luna loved to go outside, but she could not be trusted to avoud becoming a meal ofr a cayote or a bobcat. 

Brak Onway stepped into the great-room, shaking snow from his boots while his eyes adjusted to the warm interior lighting. He was tall and athletic, with the kind of lean build that came from regular rock climbing and trail running. His dark hair was windswept, and his eyes—sharp and observant—immediately began cataloging details of the space. He walked towards a portrait of Tyhry that hung on the wall.

Behind him, his sister Marda bounced into Casanay with barely contained excitement. At twenty, she had Brak's same dark coloring but with a rounder face and an expression of perpetual enthusiasm. She wore a vintage Usas Series t-shirt under her parka—obtained from Eddy's 2015 book tour.

Anthony forced the vistors out of their boots and into slippers, enforcing one of Zeta's rules for keeping Casanay as neat and tiddy as possible while hosting a heard of cats.

"This place is amazing," Marda breathed, taking in the high ceilings, the massive fireplace, the floor-to-ceiling windows providing views of the pristine desert snow. Her eyes landed on a painting that Brak was examining—a portrait of a young woman with flowing blonde hair, captured in a moment when she was smirking into the camera. She moved to stand beside Brak and realized it was not a photograph of the girl, but rather a hyper-realistic paining.

Brak told Marda, “That is Tyhry."

Anthony said, "That's one of my creations. I painted it when Tyhry was still a cute teenager, home on break after her second semester at university."

Brak leaned closer to examine the painting's individual brush strokes. The technique was remarkable—classical realism with a subtle modern edge. The subject's eyes seemed to follow the viewer, and there was something about the way light played across her features that suggested both intelligence and hidden depths.

"You painted this?" Brak turned to Anthony. "You're quite an artist."

"Just a hobby," Anthony said with practiced modesty. "I paint what interests me, and the Watsons have been kind enough to hang some of my pieces around the house."

Marda turned a glance towards Anthony and said, "Well hung, I'm sure!" Marda giggled and moved through the room, closely examining Anthony himself and the other artworks. Most of the painings were landscapes—desert vistas, mountain scenes, detailed studies of the Casanay beackyard gardens. But there were several more portraits: Eddy at his computer workstation, Zeta reading in the recliner, Tyhry at various even younger ages.

"Anthony, you have a gift," Marda said sincerely. "These should be in galleries."

What neither visitor could know was that Anthony's artistic hobby served multiple purposes. The portraits helped him study the Watsons expressions and emotions, refining his ability to predict their behaviors. The landscapes documented changes in the Casanay environment over his decades-long Observation mission. And the act of painting provided a socially acceptable reason for him to spend hours in quiet observation, watching the family he'd been assigned to monitor, first Eddy, but now with increasing attention on Tyhry.

Zeta arrived through the back door that led to the back patio. "Brak! And...”

Brak explained, “Mrs Watson, this is my sister, Marda."

Zeta hugged Marda and spoke about her past visit with Brak and Tyhry, six months after they had started living together.

Brak's professional clinical eye noticed immediately that Zeta looked slightly distracted, her attention divided. "Mrs. Watson, sorry to drop in unannounced. For weeks Tyhry's been telling me to plan a visit to Casanay, and when I heard that this storm would bring good skiing conditions..."

"Please, call me Zeta. You're always welcome here, even if you don't have the self-discipline to politely warn your host in advance." She moved forward to embrace Brak, then turned to Marda. "I understand you are studying AI-generated personas."

"Yes, that's my major in school!" Marda's face lit up. "Though between you and me, I'm really more interested in fan fiction and creative writing. The AI stuff is just the respectable major my parents approved of." She clutched the strap of the backpack she had over her shoulder. "Mrs. Watson—I mean Zeta—I've read all of your husband's books. The Usas Series is so much fun. Is Mr. Watson here? I tagged along with Brak just so I could meet him."

Zeta smiled warmly. "He's in the basement. Let me take you down."

“Let me use the little girl's room first.”

“Down this hallway on the left, Marda.”

At Brak's elbow, Anthony said, "I'll park the rental car and get your luggage to the guest rooms," Anthony glanced towards Zeta and asked, "Where in the east wing?"

Zeta instructed, "Marda can take her pick of the blue room and the green room. Put Brak's bags in Tyhry's suite."

Anthony held out a hand towards Brak. Brak gave Anthony the rental car key and then Anthony went out the front door, not bothering to grab a coat.

Zeta led Brak to the door that was at the top of the basement stairs. Opening the door, she told Brak, "Tyhry is downstairs."

He said, “Thanks,” and went down the stairs.

The basement workshop was brighter and more professional in appearance than Brak had expected. He'd imagined a typical home basement, rather dark and crammed full of computers. What he saw instead looked like am industrial research facility—racks of sophisticated computing equipment and a humming liquid helium cooling system for a state of the art supercomputer. And in the center of it all, Tyhry standing beside a humanoid robot, holding what appeared to be a modified remote control.

Tyhry's eyes widened when she saw him. "Brak! What are you—I mean, this is a surprise!"

"Surprise!" He crossed the room to embrace her, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her hand quickly moved to her picket to conceal whatever she'd been holding. "I acted on your invitation to visit. As soon as the storm was forecast, I decided that showing up unannounced would be fun."

"It is! It's great!" Tyhry's smile looked genuine, but Brak detected something underneath—was it anxiety? Excitement? Both? Holding on to Brak's arm, she turned and said, "This is Diasma, my Digital Assistant and Eddy, my dad."

"Hello, Brak," the robot said, its optical sensors focusing on the newcomer. "Welcome to Casanay."

Marda came flying down the stairway and charged up to Eddy Watson, the author whose books had thrill her teenage imagination and whose characters had inspired her to write her own fan fiction. "Mr. Watson," she managed, her usual enthusiasm amplified by awe. "I'm Marda Onway. I'm a huge fan. I run a Usas fan fiction site and I've written two hundred thousand words of—" She stopped herself. "Sorry. I'll try to control my fan-girl gushing."

Eddy offered Marda a hand and a warm smile. "Eddy, please. I'm pleased to meet a fellow writer. Two hundred thousand words of fan fiction? That's impressive. You must really love the characters."

"I have to ask—and I know this is probably the most common question you get—how did you predict the Denisovans? Your first Usas novel came out in 2001, describing a distinct human subspecies with specific morphological features and interbreeding with Neanderthals. Then in 2010, anthropologists discovered Denisovan remains that matched your fictional description almost perfectly. How is that possible?"

Eddy's smile didn't waver, but Tyhry recognized his his well-rehearsed answer to the question. "Research and lucky guessing. I spent years studying the pulished Neanderthal literature and paleoanthropology journals. There was already speculation by scientists about another branch of the human family tree. I just... extrapolated."

"But the details," Marda pressed, pulling out her phone and swiping through saved images. "Look at this comparison I made. This is your description of Usas facial structure from page 247 of 'The Long Migration,' and this is the artist's reconstruction of Denisovans from 2019 based on genetic analysis. They're nearly identical!"

Brak was watching this exchange with interest while simultaneously observing Tyhry, who had edged toward a workbench and was surreptitiously sliding something into a drawer.

"What are you working on?" Brak asked, moving with yer and with his arm still behind her back. "This setup is incredible. That's an Omni41, isn't it? Those cost a fortune."

"CoArtTel's first major capital investment," Tyhry said, guiding him away from the workbench where she'd hidden the Sedruth screwdriver. Knowing that she would have to lie convincingly to Brak, her knees were trembling. "The Onmi is actually part of Diasma's AI architecture."

Tyhry pulled Brak onto the couch and tried distracting him with a hot wet kiss. When he finnaly got his lips free and caught his breath, Brak asked, "And now your dad is helping with your work?"

"It's complicated." She shot her father a look—help me here. But he was trapped in a blizzard of questions from Marda about his fiction. "When you arrived we were doing some house cleaning, shuffling old computers around, and getting ready to go on a hike."

Brak's eyes narrowed slightly. In the year they'd lived together, he'd learned to recognize when Tyhry was carefully choosing her words, when she was thinking about some puzzle in her research that she was not quite ready to speak about. "You were too busy to talk to me yesterday. It sounds like you've had a breakthrough."

"Maybe. Too early to tell." Tyhry turned to Diasma. "D, can you show Brak the latest diagnostic data? The neural network synchronization analysis?"

While Diasma began pulling up data streams on the displays, finally clearing away the view of the Reality Viewer ser interface, Eddy continued to field Marda's relentless questions about the Usas Series, each answer carefully calibrated to sound plausible while revealing nothing about the Reality Viewer.

Upstairs, Zeta was supervising Anthony as he prepared the guest rooms for Marda's impending inspection. Zeta's femtozoan was analyzing the social dynamics unfolding is the basement workshop. Brak was perceptive—too perceptive. He'd already noticed Tyhry hiding something. And Marda, despite her bubbly exterior, was relentless in her own obsession with Eddy's "fiction" about alien Watchers. She'd just asked another question that always made Eddy nervous about his use of the Reality Viewer.

This was going to be an interesting visit.

Scene 5: Skiing and Secrets

Casanay, Arizona, December 7, 2041 (1:45 PM)

The snow had stopped, leaving the high desert transformed into something from a winter postcard. Eddy led the way across the pristine white landscape, his cross-country skis leaving parallel tracks that the others followed. Behind him came Marda, then Tyhry, with Brak bringing up the rear, his analytical mind never quite switching off even during recreation and Marda demonstrating an apparent inability to stop talking, be quiet and enjoy the scenery.

They'd been skiing for miles through relatively gentle terrain. The afternoon sun was brilliant, making the snow sparkle like diamond dust.

"This is incredible!" Marda called out, her cheeks red with exertion, cold and sunburn. "I can't believe you have all this right in your backyard."

"Technically this is BLM land," Eddy said over his shoulder. "But we're the only ones who ever use it. Too remote for casual visitors."

"Perfect for privacy," Marda said, then immediately pivoted to what was really on her mind. "Mr. Watson—Eddy—I have to ask you something that's been bothering me for years."

"Uh oh," Eddy muttered, quiet enough not to be heard.

"In book six of the Usas Series, you describe a specific cave system in the Altai Mountains with specific geologic features. Three years after that book came out, researchers began publishing on Neanderthal and Denisovan remains found inside that cave system." Marda skied faster to pull alongside him. "It's almost as if you're a time traveler who went to the past and lived with the Denisovans! You did not need to read those published reports."

Eddy laughed, but Tyhry could hear the edge of nervousness underneath. "Time travel? That's a new theory. Most people just accuse me of stealing from unpublished field reports."

"But you published before those field reports even existed! I've done my own research and I have the whole timeline documented on my blog." Marda's enthusiasm was infectious despite the uncomfortable topic. "Unless... do you have access to some kind of advanced AI that can predict archaeological discoveries? Or are you in contact with a network of spelunkers who share their unpublished observations with you?"

"I'm just very good at research," Eddy said firmly. "And I have a talent for synthesis—taking disparate pieces of information and weaving them into plausible scenarios that sometimes turn out to be accurate. The Denisovan cave was known to locals for decades before ancient DNA could be sequenced."

Behind them, Brak was enjoying his view of the movements of Tyhry's cute bottom flexing inside her tught-fitting yoga pants as she skied. He was matching her pace so as to carefully maintain his view. "You're quiet," he observed.

"Just enjoying the skiing."

"Tyhry." His tone was gentle but probing. "I know you. Something's going on. You've got that look."

She glanced over her should, "And you have that look that means you want to pounce on me."

Brak laughed. "I would like to pounce, but I suppose I should wait until we are alone in your bed, unless Marda can distract your father for a few minutes. I meant the look you get when you're on the verge of figuring something out, but won't talk about it yet."

"It's proprietary research for CoArtTel," she said, which was technically true. "I can't discuss details until I have something publishable."

"I'm not asking for technical details. I'm asking if you're okay." Tyhry stopped trying to keep up with Eddy. It seemed like he was trying to set a pace that would cause Marda to tire and fall behind and stop hounding him with questions. When Tyhry stopped and took out her water bottle, Brak pulled up beside her and he reached out to touch her arm. Ahead of them, Eddy and Marda continued their conversation, oblivious. "You look exhausted. Your eyes have dark circles. And when we arrived, you were clearly hiding something you'd been working on. What was that device in your hand?"

"Just a tool for manually switching on and of an experimental device. I'm testing new VLSI chips inside Diasma. You know I'm trying to find a way to endow the robot with human-like consciousness. One day I'll find the right component that will work. I'd be satisfied to hear the robot admit to having just a glimmer of human-like consciousness."

"Tyhry." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "I sense you're hiding something from me. I thought we were partners. Why not put me on staff for CoArtTel? Then you can tell me all the company secrets. I'm about to defend my dissertation, then I could relocate here, help with your research."

The offer was tempting. Brak's expertise in neural systems might be invaluable for understanding femtozoan integration. And she hated keeping secrets from him. But Sedruth's warning echoed in her mind: knowledge of hierion technology had to stay within the confines of Casanay. Brak and Marda would be departing as soon as she could get rid of them.

"I can't," she said quietly. "I won't give you another source of distraction. You have to buckle down and complete your Ph.D. The plan was for you to find a post-doc position. I can move anywhere and continue my research."

"You have your mind made up."

"Yes." She started skiing again, forcing him to follow. "Just... trust me, okay? When I can explain, I will. But right now, I need you to trust that I have good reasons for keeping my work private."

Brak was silent for several seconds, his skis swishing through powder. "Does this have something to do with your father? Was it a mistake for you to move back home?"

Tyhry's heart rate spiked. "What makes you ask that?"

"Your mother had a strange reaction when Marda and I showed up. And that Anthony chap. He seems to have quite an intense interest in you. Are you two lovers?" He paused.

“Don't be absurd. When I was little, I thought Anthony was my father,”

"I'm a scientist, Tyhry. I notice things. There's something unusual about your family dynamics and that creepy robot."

"All families are unusual in their own ways. The robot is just in your uncanny valley. The problem is inside you."

"Ha! don't treat me like that. Dismissing everything I say." He kept his tone light, non-accusatory. "It's okay. I'm not demanding answers. I just want you to know that I notice. And if you ever need to talk about whatever it is you're dealing with, I'm here."

The sincerity in his voice made Tyhry's chest ache. She wanted to tell him everything—about femtozoans, about Sedruth, about the incredible discovery she'd made. But she couldn't. Not without putting him at risk of having his memories erased, or worse, being exiled from Earth.

"Thank you," she said. "I just don't need you acting like you can control my business decisions." Tyhry began wondering how rude she would have to be in order to get Brak to leave quickly and not linger for a long vacation.

Ahead of them, Marda had worked herself into full fan-theory mode. "—and then there's the whole thing about the Watchers in your novels! You describe them as benevolent alien observers who guide human development without directly interfering. That's basically the Prime Directive from Star Trek, but with more nuance about when intervention is ethical. Where did you get that idea?"

"I'm a fan of classic science fiction," Eddy said. "The concept of advanced aliens watching younger civilizations is pretty common. I grew up as a fan of Childhood's End and 2001: A Space Odyssey touches on it."

"But your version is different. More detailed. More... plausible." Marda was breathing heavily, struggling to match Eddy's long graceful strides. "You describe specific intervention protocols, hierarchies of different alien species with different philosophies about contact. It's worldbuilding at a level that feels less like fiction and more like... I don't know... documentation?"

Eddy stopped skiing and turned to face her. His expression was complex—part amusement, part something else. For a time he watched Tyhry and Brak in the distance, wonder why they had fallen behind. "Marda, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course!"

"What would you say if I told you the Watchers were real? That aliens really have been observing Earth, guiding our development? Would that make you happy or terrified?"

Marda's eyes went wide. "Are you saying—"

"I'm asking a hypothetical question." Eddy's tone was carefully neutral. "You write fan fiction. You imagine alternative possibilities. So imagine this one: what if a science fiction author discovered real evidence of alien contact? What should they do with that information?"

"Write about it," Marda said immediately. "But disguise it as fiction so people could accept the ideas gradually. Kind of like how Orson Welles caused panic with War of the Worlds when people thought it was real, but when it's clearly labeled as fiction, the same ideas can spread without causing mass hysteria."

Eddy smiled—genuinely this time. "You're a smart young woman, Marda. Your fan fiction archive? What's it called?"

"The Usas Chronicles. Why?"

"I'll look it up when we get back to Casanay. I'm always interested in how readers interpret my work." He turned 180 degrees and started skiing again. "Come on, we should head back. Zeta will have hot chocolate ready."

As they made their way back toward Casanay, Marda fell in beside Tyhry. "Your dad just did something interesting."

"What?"

"He asked what I should do if I discovered aliens and I answered: write about it as fiction. Either he's playing with my imagination, or there's something going on here that I'm not seeing."

"Dad was trying to give you a fun puzzle. He runs writers workshops and is exprected to provide writing prompts to students who are learning to write science fiction," Tyhry said. She thought about the hierion probe hidden in her workshop drawer, about Nyrtia watching from somewhere in the Hierion Domain, about Manny's grand Intervention that had orchestrated her entire life. "You came to Casanay uninvited," she said. "Now you have to deal with the consequences."

Scene 6: Loyalties and Observations

Casanay, Arizona, December 7, 2041 (10:23 PM)

Anthony's suite occupied a quiet part of Casanay's west wing beyond the kitchen and the huge pantry. It consisted of four rooms: a living room, a bedroom, a bathroom, and what he called his studio—a north-facing space with excellent natural light where he painted.

Nyrtia materialized beside Anthony, her femtobot components arriving from the Hierion Domain. She took her preferred form for dealing with Observer agents: humanoid but clearly not human, with features that suggested efficiency rather than beauty.

Anthony had been cleaning brushes at the sink. "Overseer."

"Anthony." Nyrtia's gaze swept the studio, taking in the dozens of paintings that covered every available wall space. “Somehow we got through this day without any leaks from Casanay.”

Anthony noted, “Your firewall blocked Diasma from sending data about the existence of femtozoans to the rented server.”

“And I had to edit the robot's memory of that. No problem. What's your guess about how long the Onways will stay here at Casanay?”

Anthony's network of femtobot sensors were providing him with a detailed “view” of Tyhry and Brak bouncing each-other around on Tyhry's bed. “Tyhry would like to keep Brak around for the sex, but she is eager to extract a femtozoan... maybe Marda's femtozoan.”

Nyrtia's simulation of Casanay continued to point to Zeta as the likely test subject for Tyhry's experiment. Nyrtia turned her attention to the portraits of the Watsons that were there on the walls. Anthony had been developing his own artistic style rather than merely mimicking human techniques.

She gazed at a painting that showed Zeta and Tyhry in the garden, working together to harvest vegetables. The composition was complex—mother and daughter mirror-positioned, their body language suggesting both similarity and difference. The late afternoon light created halos around their hair, giving them an almost sacred quality.

"You're quite talented," Nyrtia observed.

"Thank you."

"How long have you been painting the Watsons?"

"Since about a year after I started this mission. It became part of my cover identity—the artistic handyman who trades home maintenance for room and board. But over time, it became... more than that." Anthony gazed at his own work with critical eyes. "I paint what interests me. And they are interesting."

"That concerns me." Nyrtia turned to face him fully. "You've been embedded at Casanay for decades, Anthony. That's a long time to maintain a cover identity. Long enough that the lines between role and reality can blur."

"I'm a pek Observer, Overseer. I don't have a 'reality' separate from that assigned role. I am what I was carefully trained to be—an Observer of human behavior."

"And yet you paint these humans with obvious affection." She gestured at the walls. "These aren't cover stories for a spy. These are portraits created by someone who cares about his subjects."

Anthony didn't deny it. "Effective observation requires empathy. To understand humans, I needed to appreciate them. That was always part of my mission parameters."

"Appreciation and attachment are different things." Nyrtia moved to another painting—this one showing Eddy at his computer, face lit by screen-glow, expression intense. "Anthony." Her tone sharpened. "I have access to your activity logs. I can see the subtle shift that has developed in your response times when you are with the Watsons. Your painting compositions indicate that your artistic interpretation of them has shifted over the years toward greater intimacy and psychological depth. You're not just observing anymore. You're participating in life at Casanay as if you are a Watson."

Anthony was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice carried something that might have been resignation. "What you're seeing is successful adaptation to my mission parameters, not malfunction."

"It's looks like compromised objectivity." Nyrtia studied him carefully. "Can I trust you to follow orders if those orders conflict with the Watsons' comfortable life at Casanay?"

"Yes."

"Without hesitation?"

"There will always be some processing time when I evaluate optimal execution strategies that support the Rules of Intervention." He met her gaze. "Don't interpret that time lag as hesitation. However, I should note that Manny has made a compelling argument for letting this experiment proceed. Tyhry's discovery of femtozoans, her research into consciousness transfer—it's generating valuable data about human adaptability to fundamental truths about their composite nature."

"So, you agree with Manny."

"I'm reporting my Observations. Whether I 'agree' is semantically ambiguous."

Nyrtia processed this, running simulations of how Anthony might respond to various crisis scenarios. The results were barely within acceptable bounds. He was still reliable, still functional, but there were edge cases where his responses might deviate from optimal pek protocol. Apparently Manny had gotten into Anthony's head. "I want you to maintain close observation of Brak Onway," she said. "He's perceptive. His neuroscience background makes him dangerous—he might notice things that would escape a casual observer. If he shows signs of discovering the truth about femtozoans, you'll need to alert me immediately."

"Understood."

"And the sister, Marda. She's asking dangerous questions about Eddy's research methods."

"Marda is primarily interested in validation of her fan theories. She wants to believe Eddy has some special insight, but she's framing it in terms of exceptional research skills or lucky guessing. She's not actually hypothesizing alien contact seriously."

"Yet." Nyrtia moved toward the door. "Keep them contained, Anthony. No leaks about hierion technology, femtozoans, or the reality of alien Observation. If containment fails—"

"Memory editing and possible exile to Observer Base. I understand the protocols, Overseer."

She paused at the threshold. "One more thing. I'll be staying at Casanay for the duration of their visit. I want to observe the situation directly."

"So, you agree with Manny, too."

"When Manny is correct, we'd be fools to disagree. I'll use one of the cats and won't raise suspicions among the humans. If you notice my presence, just ignore me." She began to dissolve, her femtobot components dispersing. "Don't disappoint me, Anthony. You're one of my best Observers. I'd hate to have to reassign you."

Then she was gone, leaving Anthony alone in his studio surrounded by paintings of the family he'd been watching for decades.

He returned to cleaning his brushes, but his thoughts were occupied with uncomfortable questions. Nyrtia was right to be concerned. He had developed attachments in the form of refined prediction models and valued interaction patterns. The Watsons had become more than just faceless Observation targets.

A knock on his door interrupted his rumination.

"Anthony?" Zeta's voice, friendly and casual. "I'm heading out to the hot tub. Want to join me? The stars are beautiful tonight."

It was fairly routine—Zeta often invited him to share the hot tub in the evenings, usually when Eddy was away from Casanay for a book signing event. They'd discussed everything from gardening techniques to philosophy during those sessions. It was, in fact, one of the behavioral patterns Nyrtia had probably flagged as evidence of dangerous over-familiarity.

"I'll be right there," Anthony called back.

He pushed aside the brushes, undressed and grabbed a towel. As he left his suite, he was aware that Nyrtia would be watching this interaction, analyzing it for signs of compromised loyalty.

Outside, the night was crystalline and cold. The hot tub steamed on the patio, surrounded by snow-covered plants and covered by inflatable polexflex dome that protected the pool. Colored lights cast a soft glow across the space.

Zeta was already in the water, her hair pinned up, her expression peaceful. Trib the cat was perched on the edge of the hot tub. "Thanks for coming."

Anthony slid into the hot water, positioning himself across from her.

"Beautiful night," Zeta observed, gazing up at the stars visible through the transparent pool dome.

"It is." Anthony did not look up towards the stars; his eyes were on Zeta. Anthony well knew that Zeta liked to show off her beautiful body.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. This was another thing Nyrtia would flag—the fact that Anthony could share silence with Zeta without feeling obligated to fill it with conversation. It suggested a level of comfort that went beyond professional observation.

"Can I ask you something, Anthony?" Zeta's tone was casual, but there was something underneath it. Her femtozoan, watching through her eyes, analyzing.

"Of course."

"In all the years you've lived here, have you ever thought about leaving? Finding your own place, pursuing your art more seriously? You're talented enough to make a career of it."

Nyrtia was listening through Trib's ears.

"I've thought about it," Anthony said, playing his role. "But I'm comfortable here. The arrangement works well—I have time to paint, beautiful subjects to study." He smile at Zeta while keeping his eyes on the soft curves of her breasts.

Zeta smiled. "I'm glad you feel that way. Casanay wouldn't be the same without you."

Trib the cat watched with eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light of the patio. Inside the cat's small biological brain, Nyrtia's femtobot components recorded everything, analyzing the easy familiarity between her Observer and his target.

Nyrtia was right to be concerned. Anthony had indeed developed attachments. The question was whether those attachments would compromise his effectiveness when difficult decisions needed to be made.

The hot tub conversation continued. Nyrtia watched and calculated, preparing for the complications she knew were coming. Zeta's thoughts were easy for Nyrtia to follow as they were transmitted into the hierion domain by her ever watchful femtobot endosymbiont. Zeta had decided to volunteer to be the test subject for Tyhry's experiment with the hierion probe. Zeta was fresh from her bed and having wildly made love to Eddy while wondering if she would still love him after her femtozoan was extracted. Now Zeta was enjoying this opportunity to flirt with Anthony.

Nyrtia thought about Manny's prediction that Nyrtia would want to observe this Casanay experiment. Manny knew Nyrtia well and Nyrtia knew that Manny had gotten into her own head. But there really was no sense in fighting the facts when Manny was correct about something.

---

END CHAPTER 3

Next: plans for Chapter 4 of "The Sims".