The Pirates were overwhelmed with confusion. Sally, emptying the last crate of soldier dolls onto the wharf, started to attract handgun fire. Paul took a bullet in the shoulder, and was whirled to the ground with a cry. My toy army marched, they paraded, they wheeled in massive circles. They poked miniature bayonets into the bewildered thieves ankles, and adroitly avoided being stepped on or brushed off the wharf or cargo ship's deck. I was but one among a legion of dolls schooling like fish, and easily slipped, well, fell, into the cargo hold, loosing sight of my cohorts.

Maybe I should start at the beginning.

There was enough ribbon on his chest to wrap Christmas in. Sally, my business manager for M.I.C.A.I.N Investigations, looked a little worried. Well, more than usual, anyway. She pulled at her hair and nodded as the general put forward the job he had in mind. I was in my petrie dish, next to her desk, and for once, was keeping my trap shut. Not that I am afraid of the military, but it's not the kind of client we usually handle.

I'm a totally independent A.I. Not like the 'Bots trained by the military. I was grown up sentient, not downloaded with a bunch of tactical scenarios, and given enough gray matter to carry 'em out on command. While smaller than a human eye can see unaided, I didn't need anything special to listen in on this conference, just being in my holding dish at Sally's elbow was sufficient.

The General in the doorman's-coat cleared his throat and continued.

"As you know, Ma'am, we are required to source to suppliers by open bid. We have parts of our systems manufactured all over the world."

Sally was trying to curl her hair with one finger. "We don't have any manufacturing capability, General. We just inspect and troubleshoot other companies products, special machines and such."

"We understand that, Miss. What we would like to outsource to you, involves only your specialty.

Sally switched to tapping a pencil on the desk. "You have something you'd like us to bid on? I'm not personally involved with military procurement, General um, Admus. We rarely bid work competitively. Our charges are fairly standard, based on time and material."

"Since we are in need of a service, not a good, I have some latitude in that area, Miss. Why I'm here personally."

"What did you have in mind?"

The general flipped open a brief, extracted a two page document, which he slid across the desk. "I'd need you to sign this, to disclose the work."

"What is it?"

The general smiled briefly. Kind of a "this-is-where-I'm-supposed-to-smile" sort of effort. Sally set back in her chair, like he had dropped a cockroach in front of her.

"Just the standard NDA, Miss. Government business, all that. If you don't like what you hear, just don't talk about it."

She looked at it briefly, both pages, before she shrugged then signed it. "I'm game, general. Tell me what it's about."

The guy looked closely at her signature, initialed it and put it back in his brief before answering.

"There's a supplier we retain offshore, who supplies the military with ordnance guidance chips. Its a sensitive object. Normally such a system would be produced piecemeal by several suppliers, none of which would have a complete schematic of how they were put together, but cost efficiency and space require the entire system to be housed on a single chip. A PI chip at that."

That was interesting. A Practical Intelligence chip. Not quite sentient A.I, exactly, the things were still semi- autonomous within the scope of their functional programming.

Made a sort of sense. If a target was already disposed of, or unapproachable, the chip would be able to tell, and abort itself or decide on a target of opportunity. This left it independent of external control, which given the state of modern ECM, solved a lot of issues, like leaving unexploded ordinance littering the battlefield. I guess the military felt one DMZ was enough.

The good General Admission, whoever, continued.

A lot of the programming is just training code and execution examples, hard to check in the real world.

Sounded funny to me. I texted Sally's monitor, So why don't these guys just send in the marine chips, or whatever, and sort it out? Sally referred my question to the Top Grunt, in so many words.

"We don't use self-aware AI in sensitive areas. Close as we get are P.I. modules and only for non-critical accounting work and such."

Sally looked a little abashed. The general's face fell a little, and he held up a palm towards her. "It's not us. Congress has been slow to authorize true A.I. for use in the military. A bit of a political football still, with some constituencies."

That left me a bit incensed, but then, as my request for a drivers license hadn't been approved yet either, I couldn't blame the reluctance on the general.

The brass hat rested his hotel-doorman sleeves on the desk.

"Let me explain the issue first. We came across an oddity during a live fire exercise, where a P.I. chipped smart bomb was targeted on a test building. Instead, it decided to blow up a nearby motor-pool building. Still part of the test model by the way, but odd. Our people couldn't explain why it didn't take out the primary target. Only one incident, but an anomaly."

"So you want us to do some form of testing on the P.I's?"

The man nodded. "We need an AI to quiz random units at the quantum level for the plant, see if there is some defect in the training, or something overlooked in the programming. Just as a precaution."

"Well, if we can't employ our own AI, and you don't have any, I don't see...'

"The contract is for you, or one of your human technicians. In this case, we'll specify that your designate uses his own tools. One of which could be an AI."

"A cheat?"

"A matter of words. Our contracts do get reviewed. Thus, the personal interview and offer."

More politics. I'd sneer, but can only do that in my Waldo. Which I realized, would not becoming along on this job. I'd be stuck with Paul toting me around in a lunch box, eh, deployment kit.

Sally contemplated this. I could see her internal adding machine racking up charges. "For how long do you want this service?"

The general tilted his head a little. "We are assuming two weeks, for an adequate survey, with the guaranteed option to extend the contract – that's common practice, of course."

Sally scribbled some figures on an estimate pad, and slid it over the desk. The general picked it up, then frowned. "A little steep, isn't it?"

Sally returned his frown, "Partly, because of the extension clause. We have no way of controlling how long your project would tie us up. I've a business to run here. Other clients. I can't schedule anything else, until we are released. All our tools will have to be calibrated to Mil Spec 45662, the work verified to Mil Spec 109-D. All our reports generated to Mil Spec ..."

The general cut her off. "I can see you are not as unfamiliar with military contracts as you stated."

"Didn't say I was completely unfamiliar, said I don't bid on them."

General Admission laughed. " Alright Miss, I can authorize this figure."

"I'll need, um, two security clearances, at least confidential level, maybe secret level, that's up to you, but we'll be poking around in the plant. And I want immunity from performance penalties. You are buying best effort services only. And you will have to limit your contract extension clause to a maximum, renewable by option to rebid only. We'll need all original and any updated specifications the plant was given, any test and control data or specifications for the project."

"I'll have it drafted and on your desk by tomorrow."

Sally stood, offered her hand, saying "Always glad to do our patriotic duty, general."

I texted my compadre in crime. So I'm in the army now?

She flashed me the estimate sheet.

"Holy moley! He authorized that? Hup-Hup...One two, one two..."

#

Paul looked at me a little nervously. "Aren't we supposed to be packing for the military job?"

I was temporarily back in my Waldo, and we were closing on Geppetto's Toyshop & Security Service, in which I own an interest. Something about having to leave the Waldo behind for our next caper bothered me. I'd talked to Alphonse Geppetto, a former coworker and friend back in the day, about it, hoping he could help me get more comfortable with the idea. Anyway, I owed him a visit, and technically, my fifth share in his store demanded one.

"Only take a couple minutes, Paul. And I might need you to bring back a few things."

"We could'a drove down in the van," he grumbled.

"The van is being packed for the trip. Besides, it's a only a few blocks, the sun is shining, and the promenade refreshing."

"Easy for you to say, motoring around in that robot of yours. My legs hurt."

I forwent mentioning that losing twenty five pounds would alleviate that. Instead, "The exercise will do you good. We're here."

A brass chime rang as I opened the door. Rows of dolls, small cars, trains, and other toys sat ranked on shelves. To one side of the store, a display of miniature tanks with pictures of the thing deploying slip-oil pellets, incapacitating a storybook looking thief, completed the display area.

Alphonse burst through a red beaded curtain at the shop rear. "Ah! Ahm, is Mic! You just ah, in time. The new shipment she's just in. Come look.You, ah, will like this."

In the back room, Al ripped open a crate, and pulled out a six inch high toy soldier. It was dressed like a Victorian Fusilier, in red vest and crossed white belts, bayonet mounted on its shouldered rifle."Looks like the old ones," I noted, eyeing the stack of crates behind the one he'd opened. "Ah, all those crates..."

Geppetto grinned bouncing his head up and down. "Yes, yes, see? I listened to you about ah, the cost of a these swarm robots, eh, toys. Take this one." He pushed the example at me.

It felt softer to the waldo's touch sensors, slightly squishy, though the weight of the earlier model marching dolls was still there.

"They do all a same stuff as before, march in formations, learn ah, from each other, obstacle avoidance, all 'a that, but use plastic muscles instead of geared motors for moving around. A little faster, too.Less stiff and ah, cheaper to manufacture," he flicked a look at the stack of crates, "when, ah, bulk ordered."

My eyes narrowed. "In what size order, and how much cheaper?"

Geppetto spread his arms expansively. "Only twenty five credits a unit, so we can cut the sales price in ah, half."

"How Many?"

"Oh. The minimum order, she was 5,000 units."

That paused me. I almost rebooted. "You put up 125,000 credits for this order? What did you do, remortgage your house? You didn't approach Semperton again, did you?"

Prior, I'd had to cut a deal with Boss Semperton on Alphonse's behalf – to keep the toy-maker's head connected to his shoulders. Luckily, my variation on his toy tank had convinced the dockside crime lord to accept a profit share instead of Geppeto's head, for an outstanding loan balance. I'd reconfigured the toy as a surveillance drone, and Semperton actually helped grow sales by "recommending" to his "clients" the purchase and installation of them, in their various small enterprises which kept his real business income well laundered. Actually, it had turned out to be a profitable sideline, and pulled Alphonse out of the red ink pot his start up had fallen into. Not that his little quasi-intelligent marching toys weren't amazing, but cost had kept sales marginal, especially since you really needed to own a dozen of them to get the best out of them.

"Okay, so technically, a fifth of them are mine. I own a thousand marching solder dolls."

Geppetto waved dismissively. "We make a good profit, eventually, Mic. You think ahead. Christmas, she's coming, you know."

"So's the end of the world. Maybe sooner than you think. What's this to do with our earlier discussion?"

Geppetto nodded. "Sure, Mic. I put the same controller chip in these that run your Waldo. I tink, hey, Mic he could do the same with the doll as he did with the security tanks before, or what you driving now, eh?"

I looked questioningly at Paul, who was walking around the storeroom playing with the merchandise. He perked up. "Huh? Oh yeah, I guess so. As long as there's some spot to slide the injector needle into; I can get you inside."

Well, six inches tall is still the Eiffel tower compared to my uncased self, and the controller did have vision and sound connections, though I'd have to install them externally, maybe in the little soldier's backpack, and of course, the dolls could exchange data one to another. Swarm logic was based on a kind of group intelligence, like ant colonies exhibit.

"Okay Al, here's what I'm going to do. As one fifth owner, I'm taking a thousand of these off our inventory, at cost, for myself. Also, another-" I paused to check my bank account, "half case, also at cost. Don't order any more, unless they sell out, and use the capital to pay your loan back, as far as it will go."

"But.."

"No buts. That still leaves twice as many in stock as we'll probably sell in a year." I wondered briefly if I could convince Semperton to send his goons door to door selling military dolls, shuddered at the image, and moved on.

Paul looked disconcerted. "Hey, I can't carry two crates of these things eight blocks on foot!"

"We'll have to get the van after all, Paul. You can pocket a dozen of these without having a coronary for now though, right?"

"Suppose."

"Good, then I can practice up with em a little."

We made it back to MICAIN Investigations, purloined the van and picked up the rest of my crated solders. Then I had Paul remount me into one of the toys. There wasn't as much room in the little backpack as I had hoped, barely enough, besides the coms, for a miniature de-soldering torch and it's cartridge, a tool I'd noticed sitting on Paul's workbench. I left it in, to gauge how well the tin soldier handled unbalanced loads. It corrected its center of gravity nicely. Geppetto really knew his business.

Once installed, I found it easy to direct the things. The interface itself ran the new plastic muscles, and the control language was simple. I was amazed at how fluid their motions were, and the swarm logic gave me line of sight control and data sharing with all the other units. Of course that's what swarm logic is all about, but the sense of community, of being part of everything was awesome...Ohmmmm.

Sally burst in to the office seething. "Okay, wheres Mic?"

Paul jumped, then pointed to the gaggle of toys pinwheeling on the floor. "Uh, he's in one of the little soldiers, Miss Holt."

Which one?

I stepped the soldier-bot I was in forward, and saluted. Sally swept me off the floor, held me inches from her face and glared. "It's time to leave, Mic. Paul! You have ten minutes to get him out of this thing and into the travel kit. We're to be at the departure dock in half an hour."

Paul scrambled to get me re-syringed into the transporter, then hustled out to the van and a foot taping Sally.

There was no time to unload the crates from Geppetto. Paul drove. The dock was pretty quiet. Only the military escort ship and a couple worse for wear trawlers were at the wharf. We parked the van, and Sally lead us to the ship boarding ramp, where an up-scaled version of my toy soldier checked Paul and Sally's documents. He opened my case, and looked inside, checking his list.

"We're ready to leave, Ma'am. There's a cabin at the top to your left. Just seating for the trip, but it won't take long. You can stay on deck, if you like, your choice."

He turned to follow us aboard. Sally smiled at our escort. "I was surprised the general sent a ship for us."

"Necessary, ma'am. Only authorized vessels are allowed to dock at the island. We also ferry the employees, start and end of shift. Contract requirement."

"Just this ship?"

"Oh, no ma'am. There are a couple of service runs from sub-suppliers, food vendors from time to time, but they are all out island contractors. We're the only vessel direct from the factory to the docks. Just workers and product shipments."

I bet that the factory's semi-isolation was part of the reason they won the contract in the first place. Twenty minutes of chill sea wind and gray skies later, we made port, and were conveyed to an operations room that handled the guidance chip loading.

Paul syringed me into the factory's data transfer controller, and I wheeled over the green plastic surface to the blocky data-loading chip. Checking the circuit diagram, I set one of my factory modules to building a wafer interface, then plugged in. The controller module immediately required a pass code, like it should. It passed my quick circuit test, so I tapped into the data flow it was passing to the ordnance guidance chips. Line for line, it checked with the military program. As the whole board functioned to provide this output, I didn't check the system any further.

"Okay Paul, get me out of here."

Syringe goo flooded the area, and Paul drew me back out.

Sally barked at my case. "Well? Anything?"

"Checks out. The system is password protected, too. Might as well just start testing the individual Ordinance chips."

The ready racks held tiers of anti-static trays, 25 chips per tray, so I stayed in my kit, while Paul hooked module after module up to a breadboard he'd rigged, and I tested 'em from my transport kit.

It was boringly repetitive. "Open and report," I'd say.

"PI Ordinance Module 27mp42 reporting, Sir!"

"Gimme your job."

"To direct Ordinance to specified target location and explode, sir!"

"And if Target is unavailable?"

"To alter course to a secondary target, or target of opportunity per downloaded acquisition parameters, sir."

"And if no target is in range?"

"To disable the Ordinance, and await retrieval, sir!"

"Ever think about finding other work?"

"Ignition Control is my life, Sir!"

"Gotta girlfriend?"

Pause. "Prefer assignment to the Mark 47 bunker buster, sir, better windage characteristics, higher degree of control, sir."

"Download your logic matrix for inspection, please."

Ugh. So it went. Eventually the end of shift rolled around, and Paul unmounted the last chip.

Sally thumped on my transport case. "Find out anything?"

"Yeah, they prefer attachment to really big bombs. Don't know why."

Sally frowned. "No aberrations?"

"Define aberrant. These guys all live to blow up. They are all aberrant, says I."

Sally thumped the case again. "I mean, anything hidden in their programming, or glitchy, smart ass."

"No. Jar-heads to a chip, all equally suicidal, and generally messed-up, per spec. Gives me the willies."

Paul checked his list. "That's 30 percent of this batch, all okay, so according to the Mil Spec chart, good to ship. We can go on to the next bunch."

"Not today we won't," I groused. "I've had it. Let's look around the plant, before we go back to the docks."

Sally shook a finger in front of my transport's optics. "Don't get into any trouble. Paul, Mic's not to be uncased. This is a big money job; don't screw up the contract for us."

"Okay, Miss Holt." Paul picked up the case and we strolled around, while Sally went to the office and printed out the days procedure results and stats.

We visited the clean rooms and chip manufactory. Most of the people were tee-shirt sporting kids, with a few white-coats mixed in. They all seemed in the process of leaving for the day.

"Gittin' hungry Mic, They got a lunchroom or snack bar or something?"

I checked the plant layout print uploaded earlier. "Next right, halfway down the long hallway. Can't miss it."

The break-room was a study in Linoleum and Formica, the floors and tables a uniform pattern of speckled gray. Vending machines completely covered one wall, bathrooms available on the opposite. Paul became magnetically attracted to a machine that featured sandwiches and chips, mostly empty, this late in the day. He pulled a few levers anyway, and took a seat, putting my kit on the table. A gray coated vendor came in, pushing a cart loaded with various food packages and a black lock box. He opened one of the machines and systematically restocked it. I noted the guy didn't empty the cash out though, which was odd, since I assumed that was what the lock box was for. It occurred to me this might be one of the independent contractors the boarding guard talked about, an out islander.

I opened a channel to Paul's earpiece, shuddering internally at the sounds of mastication coming through the bone conducting earpiece.

"Paul, swallow please."

"Hmuh, Mic?"

"Ask the gray-coat if he needs to make the ferry to the city."

The man turned so I could see his face. A black mustache featured largely, under a balding head. "Naw, I boat in from Dove Isle. National vending has a shop there. Got my own boat."

"Paul, bathroom." He reluctantly left his lunch and carted me into the men's room. "You have that soldier doll in your coat pocket yet?"

"Sally says..."

"She said I'm not to be uncased. Didn't say what I was to be cased up in, so put me in the doll."

"Dunno, Mic. She --"

"Now, Paul. Its part of the job. Do it."

The doll was, I guess in human terms you'd say "comfortable." I liked the extra flexibility of the plastic muscles that ran it. Wished it was bigger though. I wondered if I could order one to replace my full sized Waldo.

As soon as Paul finished up, I jumped down from the sink top and made for the door. Paul opened up for me, and noting that the vendor was still restocking, I ran the toy across the floor and slid inside one of its open ended struts. Paul looked on stunned, so I radioed him. "Just go finish your sandwich. I'll tell you where to pick me up later." Paul sat slowly wearing that 'I don't want to think about it' expression I've become familiar with. The vendor finished up, and wheeled the cart out of the break room.

We were just coming up on a room marked "Quality Control." The vendor parked it, hoisted his cash box, and entered in. I Slipped out of the strut end, and laid flat by the door to look under it. A white-coat dumped a tray of chips into a cloth sack, passed it to the vendor, who removed one just like it from the cash box. The white-coated guy went to work, quickly positioning chips from the vendor onto the production tray. The vendor put the swapped chips into his cash box, and closed it up.

I hurried to clamber back into the cart. Reemerging, the vendor pushed his cart down to the hall's end, and toward the service entrance. He stopped again near a men's room to tend to a call of nature. The plant was all but vacant by now, and he left the locked cash box on the cart. Lucky me. I climbed up and tickled the lock with the pointy end of the toy soldier's bayonet, opened the box and got into the bag.

Time wasn't on my side. I'd spent some of mine pirating materials off the toy soldier's circuit board, and put together a solid state transceiver with my factory modules. Just a couple nano-carbon hairs of specific length stuck vertically on a substrate, but one hair would vibrate to a transmitted frequency, and start a harmonic vibration in the other, that could be detected. An old trick pioneered back in 2013 or so.

It wasn't much, and couldn't be traced at any distance, but the best I could do with what I had in a few seconds. I slapped it on the underside of one of the chips and got the hell out of there.

The vendor barged out of the lavatory zipping up. Almost caught me slipping back into the strut. The wheels started squeaking again, and we moved on to the service entrance where we were stopped briefly by plant security. The vendor guy flashed his I.D, exchanged a few pleasantries, then pushed the obviously empty cart out of the building and down to a small auxiliary dock. I decanted before he boarded a moderate skiff for the out islands. Then I called Paul.

"Yeah Mic? Sally's back, and boiling mad. Says we're gonna miss the boat and get stranded here, if you don't show up pretty quick. Not happy."

"Tell her I'm on my way, and to meet me at the vendor's service entrance. I'll be by the door. After she stomps off, I want you to go loiter near the production trays where we were before. Some QC guy will be bringing a tray of inspection samples back. Note where he racks 'em."

"But--"

"Don't worry. I'll tell Sally where to pick you up, or probably just have you meet us at the dock. I'll call back, keep your earplug in place. It's important, Paul."

The chips would be serially numbered. No help to me, since I didn't inventory what was in the bag, so I needed Paul to spot them for me. Quality Control of course would be aware of the chip numbering sequence and able to figure well in advance what unit numbers would end up on a tray, or in close proximity, certainly well enough to communicate in advance a set of numbers that would show on the dock for any one shipment, for substitution. My guess, the trays were substituted based on which ones were next to be shipped post inspection, and that only a tray or so were substituted per time.

So I knew something fishy was going on, and that it had to do with substitutions. Most of the racked-up product was origninal and unaffected, which is why I hadnt tested any failures yet. But these guys were small potatoes. The chips delivered seldom failed outright, and then in small ways only. I still needed to know the who and why of the caper, and what they had done to the chips, or their replacements.

Then of course, there was Sally.

"You what! This has to be reported at once, Mic. The military will handle these guys. I'll break you of this private-eye crap if it kills me."

"The contract is to find out what was going on with the chips. You know military procurement. Think they'll pay the full contract value for only part of the work? Work not to contract spec?"

"They...but under these circumstances...surely..." then in exasperation, "We know what's going on with the chips."

"No, we don't. Not really. Don't even know for sure what the substitution means in terms of chip function. Have to test the replacements first, which are already being moved to the ferry. Paul knows which ones they are, but we're going to have to catch up to them. Right now, its my word against the lab guys, anyway."

Sally's paranoia about military procurement politics was working in my favor, but it was vying with her common sense, so this was going to be a fight.

"We have to make ship, Mic."

"No, we have to ask that nice marine officer about getting a skiff. He said the ferry was the only boat docking at the city from here. Not to the other islands."

Sally looked cross. "And then what, Mic? Another get your ass shot off episode, like before?"

"All these islands have traffic. And except for this one, shore commerce. This dirt-pile just happens to be wholly owned by the manufacturer. Likely just for the government work it attracts. We would just be more mainland tourists out for a sunny day on Dove Island."

Sally remained unconvinced. "According to you, the original chips are going to be at the service company's shop."

"Maybe, but those chips aren't ending up at some candy-bar vendor. I just want to follow up a little. Nothing serious. Just trace the pinger I setup to see where else they go, and video a few faces for the military. Later, we can check the chips they subbed."

"Mic.."

"I vetted Dove island on the net. They've got a nice resort hotel there. You could catch some sun, and call the military intake office from there, to hold the chip tray for further inspection."

"I don't..."

"Four stars, Sally. Also, who owns 56 percent of M.I.C.A.I.N. Investigations? Besides it's a two week contract. What's the Per Diem for one-days work, and partial completion?"

Sally threw up her hands. Paranoia, avarice and blackmail overcame commonsense.

"Okay, its your funeral, boss-man. Just keep me out of it. Technically we haven't tested any bad chips yet. If you get stepped on, I'm not reconstituting you and I'm going to advise Paul not to join you in this insanity."

"Deal. Now, about that ship."

#

"So, we thought it might be more convenient to stay on one of the out islands than ferry back and forth to shore. You know of any way to do that?" Sally asked.

The ferry guard pulled at his chin for a second. "Well, there is a boat dock on the south beach, Out Island Tours runs the occasional business visitor back and forth, but you have to call their out-island office to schedule trips, which they clear with us. Traffic is ... they don't make normal stops here." He scribbled a number down and passed it to Sally.

Sally batted her eyes at the marine. "Thanks."

I called to immediately put in a service request for daily transport and the required clearances for the week. Pricey, but they were happy for the commission, and promised a pick-up within the hour. I gave them our contractor I.D. which sped things up. I also rented us a speedboat at Dove Island for the same period, just in case.

The hotel mollified Sally, who immediately called the mainland receiving inspection site, to hold the affected trays for further testing. Still miffed, she ignored me otherwise. The ping-back from the rigged guidance chip indeed ended at National Vendor, Inc. I convinced Paul to drop me off, still driving the doll, across from the Vendor supply building and to take his lunch in a nearby cafe (tab on me, of course). Not wanting to be grabbed up by some passing waif, I tipped a paper cup over myself for a blind.

Eventually the ping-back from the doped chip started to move. Once it left the building, I had Paul pick me back up.

"Left here, Paul." He stuck me on the dash, snickering. "Ha, you look like one of those plastic statues t' ward off accidents."

"Very clever. Your driving is basically one big on-going accident. Take a right here."

It didn't take long to figure the chip was headed back to the docks. I immediately called Sally.

"The stuff's moving off island, get to the speedboat, quick!"

"Mic, I'm in my bathing suit by the pool. We agreed..."

"Paul can't pilot a speedboat. You want to complete this contract, or not."

"Dammit, I knew you'd drag me into this somehow. How do you know they are not just going back to the factory?"

"Why would they take the same chips back to the factory? Remorse? Hurry up."

"Dammit, Mic! Okay, I'm on the way. Meet you at the dock."

We boarded my rented speedboat before the trawler that my chip got transferred to departed. Sally, still in her bathing skivvies, grouched and wheeled the boat out into the bay, and gunned in the general direction of shore. "What now?"

"Just stay well ahead of the trawler, I'm betting it'll head for the commercial dock, where we parked the van. That fishing boat looks familiar."

"I hope so for your sake. I'm freezing my boobs off out here."

Paul just hung on for dear life, eyes bulging. "Gettin' sick." The speedboat bounced on the waves like a rubber ball and a white wake trailed the inboard like a rooster's tail. The trawler indeed headed for the mainland shore, so we just left it behind and made for the docks.

We tied up, and made for the van. I had Paul open the rear doors and start un-crating my cases of soldier dolls. Sally watched in confusion from the relative warmth of the cab.

"What are you doing now?"

"I need a distraction. Got to get at that chip tray before it disappears into the city. The locator isn't strong enough to track it with all the microwave interference downtown. Unless I stay within ten feet of it."

I'd half hoped the trail wouldn't lead back here. Then I could have tracked it all the way to any water based or small town destination. Places like that don't generate mega-gauss interference. But at the least, I needed to know the whole lot was aboard, then I could call in the troops, and the military would have all their originals, and the fakes to play with. Sometimes, you can't do all the footwork yourself. My Private-Eye buddy Wander, taught me that much.

The trawler docked before all the little solders could be decanted and activated. Sally decided to pitch in, while I took control of my army and started lining them up along the quay. My pinger indicated the tray, or at least the traceable chip, was secured somewhere in the hold below the trawler's decks.

The ship's gangway connected to the dock, and joining the mass of tin soldiers, I set us all scurrying like rats up it and on to the deck, much to the startled consternation of the crew. It turned out that the ship's complement wasn't exactly a mix. To a man, they pulled hog-legs and started shooting and kicking at my host, as well as taking a few pot shots at Paul and Sally, still furiously emptying more and more Napoleonic toy soldiers onto the wharf. Both dived inside the van.

To my anguish, I saw that Paul didn't make it, taking one to the shoulder, and spin to the ground. I set my horde to stabbing at ankles with their little bayonets, giving the crew something more local to worry over. Paul rose and stumbled to cover. I headed toward the source of my beacon which seemed to be an open hold aft of the wheelhouse. That's about when I got kicked down into the hold by a flailing deckhand. My left leg cracked and bent backwards.

It was really dark, and there were crates everywhere. I kept on broadcasting to the ping-back, crawled on my hands to follow the return signals to the right box. I remembered something. Reaching into my Napoleon era backpack, I brought out the miniature burner, screwed on the cartridge and struck it's ignition. It wouldn't burn for long, but again I didn't need a very big entrance. Something mouse sized into the crate was more than enough. Crawling through, and dragging the broken leg, I used the bayonet to part the plastic wrap, and there they were. All the missing government chips, 25 Ordnance guidance systems, just awaiting mounting. My audio circuit opened to a scrumbling sound, and the noise of a gunning engine.

"Mic, its Sally. I'm using Paul's earphone. Paul got hit. I'm taking him to the hospital, and away from the docks as fast as I can drive. Sorry, but you're on your own. I called the military and they're sending help."

Something dark crawled into my circuits and sat there glaring at me. I'd never intended to put either of them in harm's way. There was something wrong with me.

"I am so, so sorry, Sally. Get him to safety, - both of you to safety. Don't worry about me. I doubt anyone will be here by the time the militia arrive, but I'll keep sending my GPS co-ordinates. Have them track me. Maybe that'll lead them to the nest of these vipers. All the chips are here, at least all that left the factory when we did."

I ordered all my topside minions to do a lemming, and swarm overboard. The small hole went unnoticed and my box was soon bobbing about, on the way someplace. I didn't even want to think about what would happen when they opened it up, and even if I wormed my way out of the toy doll, which on my own was impossible, there was nowhere to go.

At best I'd be lost for good. Awash in a microcosm of lint and dust mites, big nasty insects that could crush me with a step, and never even know I was there, - I cycled on like this for a miniature eternity, in self-recriminating gloom. Then, there was banging and shouting. More joggling about, and light.

A uniformed hand reached in and pulled me out of the box. Another hand took me, and lifted me up. Sally's face filled my horizon wearing a fearful expression that slowly softened into relief.

"Mic! The battery died on the earpiece. The military traced you here to this warehouse. All the spies here are in custody. They got them all. Oh, I hope your okay, Mic."

Later, we finished up with the false cloned chips. A software subroutine had been embedded that allowed them to be triggered by a separate frequency. Information about which, the perpetrators had expected to sell to other countries and terror groups. The change also caused a minor guidance failure. Important, if your intent was to blow a storage facility, or take down a few planes. They planned on modifying the real chips taken, for more sabotage later, and back engineering.

All of those were recovered from the warehouse and a serial number match allowed the military to track down the other substitutions that had been made.

Paul had suffered only a flesh wound, and recovered well enough to help finish the contract, and to proof the rest of the chip order. About a tenth of the chips reaching shore from the factory were involved. I believe that's called decimation.

I stayed in my transport case for the whole rest of the project, and said little to anyone, save to answer questions when asked, and finished my job.

General Admus stopped by at the end, and congratulated the team.

"That was good work, well beyond the call of duty. As a token of the appreciation of your government, I want to award your team this medal of valor." He opened a case and removed a circled star then hesitated slightly, considering who it should be handed to.

Sally grabbed up a hot glue gun, took the medal and welded it to my transport box. "You're an idiot, Mic, but you're our idiot."

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