“Bad memories, eh?” said the new Acting Director of the ERD. The man gave him the creeps. Those dark, expressionless eyes. The rumors of the things he’d done as Special Policy Advisor… “Relax,” Barnes went on. “They’re all scanned for Nexus now. With your scanner, come to think of it.”

Holtzmann nodded.

My scanner, he told himself. Mine.

Barnes passed through the single rectangular arch of terahertz scanner, metal detector, and Nexus scanner. Then he was in the White House proper, and it was Holtzmann’s turn. He looked at the device his lab had built and part of him wished he’d dumped all the Nexus from his brain months ago, but the rest of him knew that he’d take this risk, again and again and again, to get the sweet reward that Nexus could give him.

He limped through the arch on his cane, and something rippled against the surface of his mind.

A tone sounded. The mirror-shaded Secret Service man stepped towards him. Holtzmann flinched back.

The man had a wand in his hand. Holtzmann froze.

The agent waved the multipurpose wand over him and Holtzmann felt his heart pound in his chest. He felt that ripple across his mind again but the wand didn’t beep until it had passed down his arm and to his trembling hand.

“Your cane, sir.”

The cane?

“Oh, yes.” He handed it over to the agent, who inspected it. Holtzmann steadied himself on the bag scanner next to him, forced himself to breathe again.

“Here you go, sir.” The agent handed it back.

“See?” Barnes said. “You’re safe here. Hell, you’re a hero.”

They waited in the library on the ground floor. Holtzmann and Barnes and some other VIPs and the wives and children of the two Secret Service agents who’d been blown up when they’d tackled their colleague Steve Travers, throwing off his aim and saving the President.

Travers’ wife and their autistic son were nowhere to be seen, of course.

Holtzmann looked into one of the wives’ eyes and saw the pain that the months hadn’t healed and it was all just too much. He excused himself to the bathroom, stepped into the stall, and closed the door behind him.

Deep breaths. Deep deep breaths.

His hand was still shaking. His skin felt clammy. His tie was constricting. His heart beat fast, and his hip ached where it had been shattered. He knew what he needed.

Here, of all places? Holtzmann thought. Now, of all times?

Yes. Yes.

Holtzmann called up the interface in his mind, found the control.

Just for pain, he’d told himself when the prescriptions had run out and he’d installed this app. Just until the growth factors finish the healing. Just for the pain. Just so I can sleep. Just another month or two.

A special occasion, then. Just this once. For the stress. A little one. Yes, a little one.