Release 1.25

Anabella grabbed Eugene's arm, I tucked the laptop under my arm, and together the three of us headed back to the elevator.

"Hello, Number 37," Mother greeted Eugene cheerfully. "Have you upgraded the two humans?"

"Actually, Mother," the nerd formerly known as Eugene stammered. Anabella slammed an elbow into his side hard enough that I could hear the breath forced out of his lungs. Eugene glared back at her defiantly, until I stroked a few random keys on the laptop. "Oh, yes, Mother. All went according to plan. They have asked to join some of the others."

"Very good, son. I am so proud of you," Mother gushed. "So, numbers 53 and 54, where shall I take you?"

"First floor please, Mother," I requested in my best Spock monotone.

The doors to the elevator closed, and I crossed my fingers, hoping my request hadn't set of any alarms that would have an army of bloodthirsty Eugene clones waiting for us when we got to where we were going. The elevator began to move upward, and Mother began singing. "Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl, but that was thirty years ago, when she la la la la la..."

There was blood and a single gunshot, then we reached the first floor and the doors reopened. "Have a nice day, kids," Mother said. "Be good." The last part sounded vaguely like an order.

My nerves were on edge as we walked down the hallway toward the lobby, and I fully expected we'd be found out and vaporized before we reached the front door. My fears, however, proved to be unfounded, and after a few moments we'd emerged in the lobby without having encountered anyone.

Everything seemed normal. There were no armed robotic guards or death-beam barriers blocking our exit, only the unimposing form of Wendy, the receptionist, at her usual post at the front desk.

"Thank you for vizhiting Automated Thoftware Thodutions, thoftware thodutions for an automated word. Pathcode, pleathe."

Eugene looked nervous. "What's wrong?", Anabella asked. "Afraid we'll walk out into a freak storm and your brain will rust? Just give her the pathcode, I mean passcode, and let's get out of here."

"I can't," Eugene explained. "Exit from the building is restricted to specially authorized units. I do not have the passcode."

A placed a finger over the key that would start the PortHoles installation. We were only a few feet from the front door, and I could see the parking lot through the glass. I wasn't about to let Eugene stop us now.

"I am telling you the truth," Eugene said, beginning to tremble. "I can't help you here. She won't unlock that door without the passcode, and I don't even know who has it."

Anabella shrugged. "I guess we have no choice but to believe you this time. Except the part about her unlocking the door." She walked over to the reception desk.

"Pathcode, pleathe," the receptionist repeated.

Anabella gave her a look like s third eye was growing out of her head. "Wendy... I mean number...?"

"Thixthteen," Wendy said.

"Of course," Anabella continued, "Number Sixteen. What is that wire sticking out of your forehead?"

I glanced over at Eugene, who obviously didn't know what Anabella was talking about, either. Nothing, as far as either of us could see, was on Wendy's forehead but her perky blonde bangs.

Wendy ran a hand across her forehead, then looked at Anabella quizically. "Here, let me help you," Anabella offered. She reached across the reception desk. Her next move surprised me nearly us much as it must have startled Wendy. Anabella grabbed the recptionist by the bangs, and dragged her out from behind the desk. "Open the door now, you bimbo, or I'm giving you a mean case of female pattern baldness!"

"I'm sorry, Number 54," she intoned, "I'm afraid I can't do that." A hand went down into the purse slung over her shoulder, and before Anabella could react the room filled with the sound of alarms.

"All right, you bitch," Anabella roared, "You asked for it." She dragged Wendy to the front door and threw her at the glass door. She bounced off, but Anabella wasn't about to give up. It took her several tries, but eventually the door gave. In retrospect, I believe that once Anabella started throwing Wendy at it face-first, her braces had something of a cutting effect that help weaken the glass.

We could hear footsteps coming down the hell behind us as we dashed through the door, Eugene firmly in tow. Neither Anabella nor I had any desire to look back to see what was chasing us; we just ran like hell until we reached my car.