The doctors had cautioned her about her anger management. The glands infiltrating her mesolimbic pathway were not a cure, they said with their wise nodding heads; the neurochemicals would only treat the symptoms. In doing so there might be side effects.

Now she couldn’t even remember how she used to think before her parents had been slaughtered. Which behavior trait was new, artificial, psychological, bioneural, divine…Her trio of driving daemons had been brought under control: psychopathy, hypersexuality, insomnia. She ruled them with an iron fist now, used them as she needed to, gifting herself the perfect personality for her work. An avenging angel, cleansing the world of unchecked evil.

After she’d finished with him, she watched with mild fondness as he quickly fell asleep again before she slipped out to shower. Breakfast was a smoothie of her own concoction, a half dozen different berries and yogurt (natural organic; she didn’t do printed food if she could avoid it) mixed in her blender. She drank it, sitting beside the open balcony door, wearing a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel.

Gustavo wandered in when she’d already drunk half of the smoothie. He was naked, a beauty that competed with the view of the beach for her attention. “Sheesh, don’t you have any real food?” he moaned.

“Such as?”

“Orange juice? Toast?”

“I’m sure they’re out there on the street stalls somewhere.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

“I can mix some honey with yogurt for you.”

“Gee, thanks.” He slumped on a stool at the kitchen’s small bar.

She grinned as she busied herself with the array of expensive cookery gadgets she’d carefully acquired for her galley kitchen. All organic ingredients blended carefully, the deep-fill tray heating up to the perfect temperature.

“That’s yogurt?” he asked, puzzled, as she poured the thick, creamy liquid out of the blender and into a measuring jug.

“I’m making you waffles. My thank-you treat for this morning.”

His smile won out against the sun.

“You got anything on for the rest of today?” he asked as he wolfed down the third waffle.

“Meetings,” she said. Which wasn’t quite true; she’d booked a couple of hours on the shooting range to keep up her proficiency. Then she was due to meet a dark supplier to review some of the new lethal peripherals coming out of northern Russia. She probably wouldn’t have any implanted, but it would be good to know their capabilities.

“Can I come? I won’t get in the way or anything. I could be your assistant.”

“I don’t think so. Not today.”

He gave her a sullen look. “Fine. Sure. I get it. You think I’m stupid.”

“No,” she said, proud she wasn’t sighing in exasperation. After she’d moved him in, she’d told him she was a freelance design refiner for algae reactor initiators, used extensively during the early stage of terraforming. It was a good holding lie. But she hadn’t expected this hiatus to last so long. “You just need some basic qualifications to work in my sector.”