“She said you’d say that. She also said, and I quote, ‘While Robert Eisenbraun is a brilliant scientist, his brain enhancement chip is designed only to serve its owner’s personal needs, as opposed to GOLEM, which is true artificial intelligence, created to protect and serve all of humanity. In the wake of the Great Die-Off, Professor Eisenbraun’s decision to seek personal glory over the needs of mankind is more than a bit disconcerting.’ Care to rebut the comment before my news outlet runs with it?”

“Ty mne Vanku ne valjay.”

“Yes, you already said that. What does it mean?”

“It means, ‘Don’t make yourself more stupid than you already are.’ Good day, Ms. Helms.”

I terminated the interview, and the hologram poised above the worktable pixelized into a thousand micro fragments.

Brilliant work, Eisenbraun. So much for not tossing red meat into the arena.

The small audio device attached to my left earlobe clicked twice. “ABE, identify new caller.”

ANDRIA SAXON. LOCATION: CAPE CANAVERAL.

“Accept call. On visual.”

The three-dimensional video cone reappeared, revealing my beautiful fiancée, her recently trimmed short-cropped raven-black hair streaked with ocean-blue highlights that matched her eyes. Her sex was barely concealed beneath a two-piece neoprene running outfit; and her astronaut trainee’s athletic physique glistened beneath a layer of sweat as she jogged at a brisk pace on an all-terrain treadmill.

She looked up at the h-phone poised above and in front of her and her smile lit me up. “Hi, babe. Still adore me?”

I held back my joy. Our last argument was still fresh on my mind. “That depends,” I said, sounding a bit bitchy. “Are you calling to apologize or to break off our engagement?”

“Don’t whine. You know I want to be with you forever, I’m just not comfortable planning a spring wedding right now.”

“So we’ll elope.”

“Why don’t you just club me over the head like a Neanderthal and drag me off to your cave?”

“As I recall, you were the one living in a cave when we met. And this astronaut training regimen is getting old. Seeing you three days a month isn’t working for me. At least if we were married—”

“In six weeks I’ll have earned my astronaut wings. Once I complete my internship at Alpha Colony—”

“Whoa, you never said anything about Alpha Colony. How long are you going to be on the moon?”

“Three weeks. It’s a new requirement of all shuttle personnel, in case something goes wrong and we get stranded.” She increased her speed, the simulated gravel grinding louder beneath her feet—her attempt to avoid the conversation. “After that, I’ll be assigned to a fusion depot and we can plan out the rest of our lives.”

“What did you say? I can barely hear you.”