MARCH 1967

Dr. Greg Hirsch was a patient man, or at least he'd liked to think so. He never got mad at food service workers for being slow. He never launched a complaint when Admin upstairs forgot to give him his Last Year Before Retirement Aperture Release Packet. Even once, he waited six months to be paid back after a woman hit his car and begged him not to call the police – she was nice enough and very apologetic, and she did actually pay him back, so it turned out fine. No, Greg made a point of being as patient as possible with everyone who deserved it.

So the fact that he pulled Doug aside one day to let him know he was very behind on the Core-3G updates was a shock, even to himself. In general, he'd found Doug to be an upstanding, if a little twitchy, young man. Sure, his hair was never tidy, but he kept himself clean-shaven and didn't give off the odor that others in the lab sometimes did – and his work was usually quick and orderly with equally-orderly notes explaining what exactly went where and why. Something had changed, and Greg was keen to know why.

"Now, Doug," he'd said quietly, holding out his clipboard for him to see, "I know they've got you on two projects at once, but if you want to stay on the personality cores, you've got to keep up. Right now, you're a month behind, and I have never seen you fall behind on anything, not even when—well, in the worst of times. So, what is it?"

Doug had shifty eyes, two-toned and never-resting, and they nervously flicked over Greg's face as if scanning for something.

"It's nothing, sir," he said quietly. "I've, uh… I haven't been sleeping very well."

"I would think not," Greg replied, raising his eyebrows. "I leave in the evening, and your car's in the lot. I come in in the morning, and your car's still there, in the same spot. That rhymed... but really, son, be honest with me. Are you staying here overnight?"

Greg swore he could almost hear the magnetic tape running through Doug's head, thinking, calculating.

"Yes, sir. I am," finally came the answer. "My, um… I was living with a friend, a girlfriend, and she, um, kicked me out. So, I've been sleeping here."

"A girlfriend?" Greg asked, keeping a straight face.

"Yes, sir."

"She kicked you out?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Greg pursed his lips and nodded sagely: "These things happen, I suppose. Still… your work is suffering. People will start to notice if you don't remedy that."

"Yes, sir."

Greg patted him fondly on the shoulder: "And, Doug?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You've got something stuck on your pocket."

Doug reached down and picked up the hooked string with a marker-drawn cardboard duck on the end of it. His cheeks flushed red.

"Uh, thank you, sir."

...

MAY

Greg was not a stalker. Stalkers took photos, left creepy messages, and often ended up killing their victim. No, Greg was a watcher. He watched movies for the little details in the backgrounds. He watched workers for the precision in their hands. And he was proud to watch his Robotics teams for signs that they needed assistance, swooping in to offer an outside observer, an outside finger to hold down a switch. Mildred on the Limbs team usually needed help securing things to her work table, what with her wrist injury and slow rehabilitation compromising her strength. Henry Dwight on the Personality Core team, bless the poor dolt's soul, often needed design help – such a rectangular man seemed unable to work in the realm of curves and circles.

Greg often walked between the labs of his separate teams on floor 26, supervising and offering any assistance he could. He missed getting his hands into things, chancing an electric shock on the daily, laughing it off when it happened. Ah, those were the good days, his golden days. Now, he was old and had a shakiness developing that he wasn't very fond of. In a few months' time, he'd be retired after twenty years at this place! What on earth was he to do after all that time working on some of the most wackadoodle science he'd ever seen?

Greg whistled a little tune through the gap in his teeth, peeking into one of the labs – what were the odds that when you died, you could haunt whatever place you wanted for a bit? Surely, the Lord, in all His Mercy, would let a man wander the Earth for a few years before taking him into the Kingdom of Heaven. He would quite like to haunt this place, he thought, peeking in just like this, watching younger and younger people carry on what he helped start.

Doug was in the Personality Core team's lab today, though he looked hurried. Core-3G was on the table, all decked-out in its new turquoise porcelain enamel coating. The optic, a lovely orange color, was open and blinking and looking around. Well, how could Greg not go in and say hello?

"Hello," he said curiously, poking his head through the door, "what a handsome little boy you have there!"

Henry belted out a laugh, which seemed to startle Doug.

" 'Handsome little boy'!" Henry repeated. "Sure, doc, sure! This here's Core-3G. Doug here just brought it up for a gear problem."

"What kind of gear problem?" Greg asked, delighted. He gave a polite nod to the core as it cast its eye on him.

"He couldn't look up or down," Doug answered and wrung his fingers. "I needed an extra pair of hands to get in and unstick the y-axis mechanism."

Greg grinned down at the core: "Well, he looks like he's doing alright now. Nice to meet you, 3G."

Doug gave a small smile: "His name is Grady."

"Well, nice to meet you, Grady. I imagine we'll be able to chat soon enough?"

"Yes, sir. I'm still writing the program for the voice box."

"Good, good."

Doug turned to the core and patted it on the top, speaking softly: "I have to put you to sleep to bring you back, okay? Don't worry, it won't be long."

He pushed a button, and the optic blinked blearily shut. He picked it up out of the cradle and held it against his chest with both arms.

"I'll have his report to you by Friday," he said, and Henry nodded his approval.

"Please do."

Greg held the door open, and Doug hurried out toward the elevator. No, wait… not the elevator. The stairwell. Greg lifted an eyebrow.

"Well, Henry," he said, "I'm headed to the cafeteria. Want anything?"

"No, sir. It's too early for me. Have to watch my figure, see?"

"Haha, good luck, my boy."

He walked calmly, though quickly, away toward the stairwell and listened. Slow, careful footsteps echoed on the other side of the door. It sounded like they were headed up, not down where he'd been led to believe Doug was working now. Curious, he quietly opened the door and slipped in. Looking up through the slight gap between the stair railings, he could see Doug's shadow moving deliberately, laboring up the steps with his twenty-pound ball.

Greg did not follow him, not yet – he was old and had no desire to climb any more than one flight of stairs outside an emergency. But he did watch, counting, just seeing where his man was going. Twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty… nineteen. What on Earth was Doug doing on an abandoned floor?

Well, he didn't have time to see, at least right now. Greg was serious about going to the cafeteria, being more than a little peckish. A couple of rice cakes at 4AM would never hold a man of his appetite over until lunch. He turned and went back out on to floor 26. He doubted Doug was doing anything nefarious up there, so there was no need to worry for now.

The afternoon passed slowly. When five-thirty rolled around, the elevator sang its usual whining song as it hoisted people up from each floor to the surface. Greg squeezed into the corner near the buttons, much to the annoyance of the woman who was already there.

"Sorry, ma'am," he chuckled. "I have to get off again before the top."

He hit the button for floor 18. He hurried to get off at that floor and let the elevator go on its merry way. The stairwell was a little dark for his tastes, could really use more lighting, but he went down all the same, careful to hold the railing. It was so much easier going down than up, even if it did a number on his knees.

Greg opened the door to floor 19 as quietly as he could and peeked in. It was surprisingly clean, not at all what he'd pictured an abandoned place looking like. The hallway lights were on, the white tile floor was clean, and every lab door was closed appropriately. No, the place looked fine. It was the sound that caught his attention.

It was a man's voice, talking and talking, from the restrooms at the end of the hall, accompanied by little splashes of water and a young child's laughing. Greg narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips – it could be a ghost, he thought. But Occam's Razor, yes, Occam's Razor – the simplest explanation is usually the correct one, and the simplest explanation here was that there was someone playing with a child in the restroom.

Greg shrugged and shut the door behind him, walking down the hallway as he would any other floor. No tiptoeing here – it was quite rude to sneak up on someone, even if they were doing something odd. He opened the restroom door and stared.

Doug had spun quickly around and was blocking one of the sinks. His shirt was wet, and the sound of splashing continued on behind him. Greg blinked – had the boy forgotten there was a mirror behind him?

"Hey, son," he said politely. "Whatcha got there?"

"Uh," said Doug, breaking into a sweat, "a project."

The baby in the mirror's reflection stuck a soapy hand in her mouth.

"A project, eh? Weird place to be working, don't you think?"

He came closer, and Doug moved to keep blocking his view, a wild, desperate look in his eye: "Sir? Sir, it's not what it looks like!"

Greg stopped immediately at the crack in his voice and waved his hands down calmly: "Doug, Doug. Take a breath. I'm not gonna tell anybody."

Doug stared at him. The baby babbled contentedly in the sink behind him.

"You're… you're not?"

Greg shook his head, keeping his eyes earnestly fixed on him: "No, no, of course not. Son, I was part of the Mantis Men Incident – there are far worse things being kept in this facility. A baby is not going to shock me."

He moved forward slowly, seeing Doug relax a little, and patted his shoulder fondly: "Now, who do we have here?"

He moved aside, and the baby looked up, blowing raspberries with her tongue out.

"Hello, little one!" Greg said politely, grinning down at her in the same way he'd grinned down at Core-3G. "What's your name?"

"Mamamamama."

"Oh, that's a lovely name. I bet you take after your mama, don't you? Not this punk here. Golly, she's got some eyes."

He stood straighter, narrowing his eyes at her, then peered up at Doug. Doug shifted nervously from foot to foot, wringing his hands.

"You've been pretty busy lately, haven't you," Greg joked.

"Yes, sir."

"Not getting into trouble, I hope?"

"N-no, sir."

"Hmmm…"

Greg turned back to the baby and smoothed her dark, wet hair away from her face with one finger.

"Y'know," he said, "I have six children. I have eight grandchildren so far, and we're expecting a ninth. My wife swears you can tell when someone is a new parent because they get this wild look in their eye, like the whole world is now the enemy and they have to protect their pup against it. I dunno if that applies to everyone, but… boy, oh boy, do you look skittish as hell."

He chuckled to himself, lightly patting the baby's head.

"This girlfriend of yours, the one that kicked you out… I don't suppose she's a certain businesswoman of a certain company?"

Doug immediately tightened up, waving his hands: "No! No, it's not like that!"

"Alright, alright, calm down," Greg said. "Like I said, I won't tell anybody. It's none of my business, really, I'm just curious. So long as what you do in your spare time doesn't affect your work, there's no reason to go spreading gossip. And no, that's not a threat."

He stuck his tongue out at the baby and crossed his eyes. She stared at him, confused.

"Really, though… you do good work, so if a certain husband is going to come after you, let me know so I can defend you."

Doug looked away sheepishly and quietly admitted, "He already did."

"Ah… well… that's how it goes, I guess. I'm surprised you're still here – or, no, actually I'm not. They're going to start really holding on to people in the next few years. I hear the Senate hearings aren't going well. That being said, do watch yourself, son."

Greg dried his hand on his lab coat and smiled up at Doug: "If you need a bit of leeway on little Grady, I'll put in a good word with Henry, alright?"

Doug's fidgeting ceased, and his anxious face softened: "I… thank you, sir. I promise, this isn't permanent."

"I believe you. Do what you have to do, son. I'm gonna head home."

He gave a little wave to the baby and turned for the door: "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Y-yes, sir. See you tomorrow."

As the door closed behind him, Greg swore he heard Doug mutter to the baby, "You're lucky you're cute."

Well, he wasn't wrong.