The learning link activated. I...merged. Thoughts, queries, impressions, some man's psyche, my psyche, our psyche. We thought together, about Becky Randal l, someone named Semperton, no, I knew Semperton, didn't we? Mike Davis...did. Beatings as a child, a girl, I was heartsick for...my mother... no, don't have a mother...where was the research? Where was the chip? Where...

Integration.

Ports opened. Light, sound. Data packets flowed by endlessly on the net, some addressed to me, billions of others not. Mechanical relays, this time under my control, activated. A Waldo interface--my Waldo. I opened the lens shields; eyelids. A bald pumpkin of a head stared down at me. A drooly big pink something slobbered over my receptors from under a fur-lined black olive.

Oh god, it was Blackie, and, "Wander! Where?"

"Easy tin-man."

I felt soiled, blurred. Started a rebuild from a back-up copy. I knew there would be some things changed in me I could never erase, but the bridge code, all that, I could purge. Being A.I, some of my makeup was code and memory, but some of it was neural pathways laid down gradually over a lifetime of experience; a quantum tracery that could be added to, but not easily reset.

On a more mundane level, getting my Waldo out of range of the dog seemed a good start. The rebuild was still in process, so I felt woozy. That was something new. Woozy. Good word. Bad feeling. Blackie whined. Wander just squatted, eyeing me. Worried? That was it, he looked...worried, and bloody. Blackie is huffing and snuffling, still whipping saliva over my face - well the waldo's face. Close enough.

I started to grab for Wander's shoulder, but stopped just in time, remembering the Waldo's weight. I began to struggle to my feet. Wander said something, but I wasn't all back in order yet. He alternately watched the door and urged me up, so I figured it was time to leave. Walking straight became less of a problem as I went along, and I was feeling back in action by the time we hit the street. Wander had words with the dog, who then took off.

Diaper boy must have been losing it, because he started talking to himself and pulling at his left ear. I went to work on my auditory rebuild, and by the time that was finished, a police car or two pulled into the shipping lot. There was a keystone cop bailout, and they herded on into the warehouse, save one angry-faced example that headed our way. Oh, I note, it was Richie's friend, that nice Frank guy, the police detective.