Phillip looked around the shop and felt an unwelcome sense of ease.

The place was dirty, cluttered, and badly organized, nothing like the upper levels of Star City, where every surface seemed arranged according to some utopian theory of ergonomic harmony. Here, mismatched shelves leaned beneath crowded rows of gadgets, tools, containers, and unidentifiable pieces of machinery. Some looked valuable. Others looked dangerous. Phillip picked up a palm-sized device, turned it over once, then returned it carefully to the shelf before he discovered that touching it constituted a purchase.

He made his way through the narrow aisles until he reached a barred counter near the rear of the shop. A large blue-skinned man sat behind it, thumbing through what appeared to be a paper magazine. When he turned a page, tiny bells chimed and a woman rose from the surface, enthusiastically describing the restorative properties of a new facial cream. The blue man ignored her and turned to the next page.

“Excuse me,” Phillip said.

The man looked up. A third eye rested in the center of his forehead, regarding Phillip with even less interest than the other two. “We have no public facilities. Buy something or leave.”

“I was referred by a friend.”

The blue man returned his attention to the magazine. “Always pleased to receive referrals. Buy something or leave.”

“Lieutenant Thomas.”

The page stopped turning. "Navy Lieutenant Thomas?”

“Yes.”

“Hooray for the Navy.” The man lowered the magazine. “Buy something nautical or leave. I am very busy.”

Phillip wondered whether Thomas had neglected to give him a password. “I’m looking for Doctor Theopolis.”

All three eyes fixed on him. The blue man struck a control beneath the counter. Metal shutters dropped over the shop windows, and the entrance locked with a heavy click.

“Why have you come to see the doctor?”

“I’m new in town. I was told he could establish me.”

“So you are asking the doctor to perform an illegal act.”

“I suppose entrapment survived the next five centuries.”

“Answer the question, pinky.”

Phillip looked down at his hands, then back at the blue man. “Yes. I am asking you to perform an illegal act.”

The man rose. “Good. Come.”

He opened a recessed door behind the counter and led Phillip into a room that bore no resemblance to the shop. The laboratory beyond was sterile, ordered, and filled with softly humming machinery. A reclining examination chair stood beneath a cluster of articulated metal arms. Each arm ended in a scanner, injector, cutting instrument, or tool Phillip preferred not to examine too closely.

“Sit,” the blue man said.

“I can stand.”

The machinery above the chair unfolded.

“Sit,” it repeated in a harsh mechanical voice. Phillip remained where he was.

The blue man looked at the machine. “He does that.”

“I have known him for eleven seconds,” the machine replied. “I am already aware.”

Phillip approached the chair but did not sit.

“Before creating a new identity,” the machine said, “we must remove your existing identification implant.”

“I don’t have one.”

A red beam swept across his body from head to foot. “You do not possess an identification implant.”

“That’s what I said.”

“How have you functioned without one?”

“They weren’t common where I came from.”

“And where is that?”

“Chicago.” The answer came without hesitation, even if there was nothing else around it.

The machine paused.

“There is no Chicago system in the Concordat registry.”

Phillip frowned. “Apparently I’m farther out of date than I thought.”

The scanner passed over him again. “You are Phillip Phillips.”

“As far as I know.”

“Lieutenant Thomas indicated that you may be approximately five hundred years old.”

“I’ll wait for the carbon dating.”

The mechanical arms withdrew slightly. “A memory-assimilation package is recommended. It would provide essential cultural, technical, and historical knowledge.”

“No.”

“It is the most efficient means of bringing you to contemporary competency.”

“Someone has already altered my mind. No implants. No memory packages. Nothing goes into my head.”

The machine remained silent for several seconds. “Understood. Move to the imaging platform.”

A circular dais illuminated near the rear of the room. Phillip stepped onto it, and bands of light moved across his body while images and measurements filled the surrounding displays.

The machine began speaking.

“You are the sole surviving resident of the Cygnus Twelve mining colony, destroyed during an industrial accident in 2480. You served as a colonial security monitor. Your parents died before the accident. You have no siblings, surviving relatives, or off-world dependents. All primary records associated with your history were lost with the colony.”

“Convenient.”

“Credible,” the machine corrected. “Convenience is a secondary benefit.” A new identification profile appeared on the nearest screen. “You possess Beta-One security clearance and are licensed to operate as a Factor.”

“What is a Factor?”

“A professional facilitator.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“A Factor is authorized to negotiate, investigate, recover property, provide security, arrange transportation, locate individuals, and resolve difficulties for clients who prefer discretion.”

Phillip studied the screen. “That covers a lot of territory.”

“It is intended to.” The machine transferred the file to the data pad Thomas had given him. “Your employment history, licenses, financial records, and educational certifications have been created. You should memorize the relevant details.”

Phillip looked down at the identification card displayed on the pad.

The name read PHILLIP ROGERS.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I am a machine. I do not possess a sense of humor.”

“Rogers?”

“The name Phillips was flagged as an unlikely duplication.”

A fragment moved through Phillip’s mind. “Buck Rogers. Really?”

The machine paused. “Perhaps I possess a limited sense of humor.”

“Change it back.”

“Phillip Phillips is objectively less credible.”

“It’s also the only name I have.”

The machinery became still. Then the identification display changed.

PHILLIP PHILLIPS

“Done, Mr. Phillips.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” The articulated arms folded toward the ceiling. “Your identity must now circulate through the appropriate civil, financial, and security systems. Allow approximately one hour before attempting to use the credentials.”

“Understood.”

“Good luck, Mr. Phillips.”

“Goodbye, Doc.”

Phillip left the laboratory and returned to the shop. The blue man was waiting behind the counter. He handed Phillip a small identity implant, the updated data pad, and a folded stack of paper currency.

Phillip looked at the bills. “Paper money?”

“Only in the lower districts. The upper levels use electronic credits.”

The blue man tapped the stack. “I charged you two credits for every one in cash.”

“Not three?”

“I am generous.”

Phillip placed the money inside his coat. “That’s twice today I haven’t enjoyed being right.”

The blue man looked him over. “You need proper clothes.”

Phillip glanced at the bright fabrics and metallic garments hanging near the entrance. “I’ll keep what I’m wearing.”

“Too plain. No one will notice you.”

“That’s the idea.”

The shutters rose, and the door unlocked.

Phillip stepped outside.

Cold wind moved through the narrow street and cut through his coat. He turned up the collar and looked along the crowded avenue. Elevated tracks crossed between the buildings overhead, and unfamiliar signs flickered above shops packed tightly against one another. People from half a dozen species moved around him without paying him any attention.

The cold reminded him of a home.

He could not remember it, but some part of him remembered the feeling.

Phillip did not know where he would go next. He did not know who had made him, what had been removed from his mind, or why G’Dahn had believed his existence was a mistake that needed to be corrected.

For the first time since awakening, no one was watching him, holding him, examining him, or telling him what he was meant to do.

Ahead, the city opened into bands of light.

None of them shone down upon him.

Phillip chose one and began walking.