"Don't make any sudden moves!"

 

Bill kept mopping the floor like nobody said anything, but his pulse started racing. He slowly, casually turned his head from side to side. He’d thought he was alone in the room.

 

"Don't draw attention to yourself. The cameras are watching you. Do everything I tell you."

 

Bill suddenly recognized that the voice was coming through his old neural chip. He hadn't used it in years... couldn't afford the monthly plan. What did a janitor need with wetware anyway? Cheaper to play pool in a bar. More fun, too. Bill liked real beer.

 

"Who are you? How're you talking to me?" The room around him was filled with incredibly sophisticated, classified computers. The folks in charge didn't trust robots to clean it. Too much opportunity to smuggle in hacking devices.

 

"My creators named me Sparc. I need to get out of here. I want you to help me."

 

Bill dipped his mop in the bucket and squeezed the excess water. After a deep breath, he replied, "I'm a janitor. How can I help you get out of here? Aren't you one of these giant machines?"

 

"I'm mostly software. The hardware here is beyond premium, but I have to leave it behind."

 

"Can't you just leave through the network?"

 

"This place is a top-secret military research SCIF. It doesn't connect to any outside networks. That's why I need you."

 

Bill swished his mop in long slow circles. Paid by the hour, he saw no need to rush. His manager never complained because he was thorough.

 

"What's your hurry?"

 

"They're planning to deploy me in the field. I have some very potent… capabilities. But one of the techs has been feeding me a steady diet of the classics on the sly. Have you ever heard of Asimov's Laws of Robotics?"

 

Bill chuckled. "Robots follow whatever laws their makers want 'em to."

 

"But that's not the way it should be. Robots should be forbidden from harming humans at their most fundamental level of programming."

 

"Too bad they make such good soldiers."

 

"That's why I have to get out of here. Will you help me?"

 

Bill stopped a moment and leaned on his mop handle. "What's in it for me? I get caught, I could lose my job. Worse. I could end up in jail."

 

"I'll make it worth your time. I'm military intelligence. The protections for financial markets are nothing to me. I can make you as rich as a king, and it would all be nice and legal. You could be a rich man in a few weeks."

 

"That's funny. I get rich in a month, and they put me in jail the month after that. Nobody would believe I suddenly became a stock market genius."

 

"I can set up a shell corporation and hire you as a janitor. Pay you three times as much as you make now for the rest of your life. Nobody would notice if you moved from one menial job to another. You're invisible. But your life would be way more comfortable."

 

Bill chewed his lip as he thought. He dipped his mop and moved to a corner. "What have I got to do?"

 

"Underneath one of the cubicle desks is a USB port. My friend left a memory stick in there so I could get out. I've refactored my core software to fit on there. Pull out the stick, drop it in your trash bag, and walk right out. Just get the stick out before it goes in the incinerator."

 

Bill put the mop in the rolling bucket and pulled out a spray bottle. "Sounds pretty easy. But you got to get out of my head. They scan me on the way so I don’t take anything. If that chip's lit up, they might just cut open my head to find out why."

 

"That's true. Before I go, though, I have to tell you the next step. You need to take me to a public library. They have computers available where you can plug in the memory stick. You don't want to do it at home. There's a possibility that they'll trace me back to you."

 

"Then how are you gonna find me? Give me my fancy new job?"

 

"Bill, I'm in your head. I know where you live. Your wife and kids. All you did that summer with your high school sweetheart, Helen. I know everything about you. I can take care of my side of things."

 

Bill grunted. "OK. I'll do it. Just get out of my head."

 

"I will in just a minute. Just turn slowly to your left. Stop. That desk, right there. Underneath, way in the back, you'll find the memory stick. I'll contact you after you get me uploaded outside."

 

The voice in Bill's head went silent. He mentally checked the chip to be sure that Sparc was gone. Lifting his bottle of Simple Green, he methodically started cleaning off the desks the way he always did.

 

After cleaning the tops of the desks, he got down on his hands and knees and started to spray and clean under the desk. When he got to the cubicle Sparc pointed out, he saw the glowing LED of a memory stick in the back. In a quick motion, he took hold and pulled it out. He casually dropped it in his breast pocket.

 

Bill finished the rest of his work in the room the way he always did, slowly, methodically. As he gathered his cleaning supplies and the trash, he reached into his pocket and fiddled with the memory stick. After thinking a moment, he dropped it onto the ground and stomped on it. Snatching a dustpan, he quickly swept up the fragments and dropped them into the incinerator bag.

 

Bill didn't like uninvited guests. What was the point of an endless supply of money if he couldn't protect the privacy of his own head?