My eyes tried to penetrate the blackness of the drainage tunnel, seeking out the source of the ghostly voice.  I was almost ready to dismiss it as a hallucination brought on by my fear and exhaustion, when it spoke again.

   “You better get moving.  They’re closing in.”

   It was then I realized it was coming from the Pewter in my hand.

   “Groucho, is that you?  Are you alive?” I asked, feeling inane.

   “Well, I’m guessing if you’re accessing this, my owner has been captured or killed.  I’m a Prague.”

   “I didn’t know a Prague could talk.”  The only ones I knew of were utilities and tools, simple helpful programs.

   “Kid, if we start going into everything you don’t know, we’ll be here all night.  Listen, we don’t have a lot of time.  I’m an AI recording.  My owner programmed me two days ago as a safety mechanism in case this Pewter fell into the wrong hands.”

   “Look, I’m sorry, he said to take it…” I started to explain.

   “Not you.  I was talking about an Exec.  If one of them tried to access this Pewter, I was to wipe it clean.  If some citizen got it, then I was supposed to show them these.”

   The Pewter lit up and I could see a row of glowing cases each bearing a symbol that I had never seen before.

   “These are Executive Pragues,” the Groucho voice said.  “They are off limits to civilians.  In here you will find everything you need to evade the authorities.  This one will override any vehicle lock in the city.  This one will hack into security cameras.  But this is the one we need now.”

   As the voice spoke, different cases flashed to indicate the one it was referring to.  The last one flashed and opened revealing a complex diagram.

   “This is a map of the sewer system we’re in.  This is where we have to go.  Now move, Owen.”

   A route lit up on the map and a light projected out of the black box.  In the stream of dark water that flowed along the bottom of the pipe, the light formed a shimmering blue arrow.  I got to my feet and started following it.

   “How do you know who I am and where we are?” I asked it.

   “What part of Artificial Intelligence don’t you understand?  I have full access to Network and the Executive databases.  I have read your personal file.  I see where we are on the GPS.  And I’m monitoring the police search for you, which has almost located this conduit.”

   As if on cue, a search beam penetrated the gloom behind me.  My pace quickened, and I tried to catch up to the arrow that loomed a constant five feet in front of me.

   “Time’s running out, so pay attention,” the Prague told me.  “I only have three more minutes until my programming ends.  Once you get out of these tunnels, turn on the Prague that will jam the biometric readers.  That will allow you to get through the streets without sounding any alarms.  Then use this.”

   A new case opened up revealing a detailed map of New Hollywood.  Red dots were scattered across it.

   “These are safe houses that you can use to hide from the Executives.  You will need to lie low until they stop searching for you.  Then my owner had an escape plan to get out to the territories.  You will find the details in the file marked: Exigency Plan.”

   After the next turn the pipe narrowed to only three feet in diameter, and I had to put the Pewter in my pocket, as I crawled on my hands and knees through the muddy water.  The pipe let out to a wider tunnel, and I took the box out again to find out which way I had to go.  The arrow pointed downstream, and Groucho came on one last time.

   “Last thing, all the evidence against the Directors is stored in the chamber with the silver padlock icon on its door.”

   As it spoke, the view on the Pewter zoomed down several passageways, until it stopped at the door.

   “But what do I do with it?” I asked.  “Groucho said to take it to the King.  Where do I find him?”

   “There are four nations ruled by a monarch called a king, and there is the emperor in Nome.  But I wasn’t programmed with any knowledge of the intended recipient of these files.  The exit is just ahead.  Stay safe.”  

   With that the AI Prague flashed out of existence, and I was on my own again.  I put the Pewter away and climbed a metal ladder to the surface.

   The plaza was completely deserted when I emerged from the manhole.  Dozy pigeons roosted on the large statue of Judy Garland and on the tables of the closed cafés.  In the distance the sun was rising.  It sparkled on the ocean in a dazzling display.  Somehow, I had made it through the night.

   I switched the bio-reader jammer on, as I had been instructed, but I ignored the map.  I could hide later.  First, I needed to see Liz.

   She lived at the Mansfield Arms just off of the Houston Canal.  It was designed to look like a stately old building from the grand era of Old Hollywood.  It was only about six blocks from Garland Plaza, and I had no problem getting there at that quiet hour of the morning.

   Anxiously, I dashed up the three flights of stairs.  After all I’d been through, I felt desperate to reach her.

   As I climbed, the sun blazed through the narrow eastward facing windows.  Each time I rounded one of the big, wide arcs of the staircase, I passed from glaring light to dark shadow and back again.  Over and over, like the flickering of a proverbial movie projector.

   I have often thought of that moment when I walked through her door.  I’ve replayed the scene in my head a thousand times, wondering what I might have done differently.  It breaks my heart each and every time.

   When I walked in, Liz was standing by the living room window, staring out of it absently.  Startled by the noise, she turned and saw me.  Her eyes went wide with terror.

   “No!” she said, panic in her voice.  “Get away from me.”

   As she backed away, I said, “Liz, it’s me, Owen.”

   I took a step towards her, and she shrieked and bolting down the hall – running away from me.

   I didn’t know it then, but later I discovered I was the top story on the news, and Network had been streaming emergency bulletins on every citizen’sPewter all night long.

   As you might recall, they claimed that I was a sleeper agent for the Pan Global Alliance, that I attempted to assassinate Brant Lodi, and that I killed an Executive in the process.  The Times of New Hollywood article had a picture of the dead Executive– I suspected it was of Groucho before he had gotten faced, but I doubt I will ever know for sure.

   They also had my picture.  It was an old publicity shot, but the background had been changed to red and the Pan Global Alliance logo was superimposed over my face.

   I can’t blame Liz for being afraid of me.  If I were in her place, I would have been horrified by a PGA agent too.  It wouldn’t have matter how well I thought I knew him.  Just think of how you might react to finding out a loved one was actually an agent.  We’ve all seen the movies where the spy leads a perfectly normal life as a citizen, then he’s activated by his handlers for a mission, and he becomes a ruthless killer, eliminating anyone that gets in his way – even his family and friends.  The person is so transformed, and his old life is such an apparent lie that no one grieves when the hero kills him in the end.

   But I wasn’t really a PGA spy, and I certainly didn’t mean Liz any harm.  I suppose I didn’t help my case by charging into her apartment wild-eyed, in my filthy suit, with Groucho’s gun sticking out of the waistband.  I must have looked every bit of the madman that the news was saying I was.

   But I didn’t know any of that at the time. 

   I banged on the bedroom door yelling: “Liz.  Liz.  I need to talk to you.”  I pleaded with her and told her I was in trouble.

   “Get out,” she screamed.  “Now!”

   “Just open the door, Liz.  This might be the last time I ever see you,” I pleaded.  My cheek was pressed flat against the door, like I was trying to be as close to her as possible.  My hand held the knob in a death grip, but it turned vainly and the lock stayed firm.

   “Please Liz, listen to me.  I’m sorry I never asked you to marry me.  There just always seemed to be so much time, but now…  Liz, I love you.  I’ve always loved you – ever since the first time I saw your face.  Open the door.  Please, Liz.  Please,” I begged.

   In that moment, I needed her like I never needed anything in all my life.  She wasn’t just the woman I loved; she was the one last remnant of Owen Stewart’s life.  I needed her to hold me and tell me that things were going to be okay, even if they weren’t.

   After some time she finally spoke.  Often I wish she’d stayed silent.

   “How dare you,” she hissed through the door.  “To think I loved you.  You… You monster.”

   The strength left my legs and I sank to me knees.

   “You stand there and try and fool me, like you fooled me for all these years.  What does someone like you know about love?”

   My voice failed me.  I tried to deny it – to tell her that she was wrong, but all that I could get out was a weak muttering of “Liz” and “No” over and over again.

   “When I think of what you meant to me my skin crawls,” she continued.  “I can’t believe how stupid I was.  I hope they catch you and execute you in Burton Plaza, you traitor.”

   I must have had a breakdown, because by the time I heard the sirens, I was on the floor sobbing uncontrollably.

   Fear helped me pull myself together, and I hesitated only long enough to say: “Here’s looking at you kid.”  My voice was weak and raw.  I steadied myself with one hand against the wall as I traced my way back through the apartment.

   But by the time I got to the stairwell, I was running again.

   Boots were charging up from below, so I headed to the roof.  Adrenaline propelled me up the four flights of stairs and across the rooftop.  There was an easy hop down to the roof of the next building and I took it without a second thought.  I started to dash across that one too, but I lost my footing and slipped down the slope and only just caught myself, before going over the edge.  Frantically clambering back up, a bullet turned a clay roofing tile into dust inches from my left hand.

   Running and dodging along the uneven incline was no easy feat, but I somehow managed it, as more shots echoed through the air around me.  The tiles dug into the soft soles of my shoes, but I ignored the pain and used them for traction, gaining momentum with each stride.  The roof ended abruptly in front of me, but I was moving too fast to stop, so I jumped the gap.  The narrow canal passed beneath my flailing feet.  The next building was a full floor shorter, and its gravel roof rushed up to meet me.  I landed hard and rolled several yards tumbling across the surface.  My body took a beating with each summersault.  My right knee got the worst of it.  But my hands got scraped and bloodied, and I opened a gash on my forehead. 

   At some point, Groucho’s gun flew free from my belt and skidded away from me.  It was only a fluke that I saw it, as I was slowly easing myself to my feet.  As I bent down to recover it, a bullet narrowly missed me, whistling over my head.  I scooped the pistol up and spun around to see an Executive standing on the building behind me.  He stood on the edge and took careful aim. 

   I shot him.  It was pure reflex.  I had never used a gun before in my life.  But no thought was involved: I just pointed at him and pulled the trigger.  The bullet caught him in the thigh and his leg crumpled, sending him into the canal.

   Not waiting to hear a splash or to see if more Executives would show up, I made my way across the rooftop, dragging my bad leg behind me, and came to a dead end.  There was a service canal between me and the next building.  It was at least forty feet across.  Out of desperation, I started climbing down a drain pipe.  If I stopped moving, I was a dead man.

   I shimmied down as fast as I could, but it wasn’t easy with my injuries.  About halfway to canal level, the pipe pulled loose from the wall – just like it always does in the movies.  At first it tilted away from the building as if in slow motion.  I held on, dangling over the water’s surface.  For a moment, it seemed like it might lower me gently, but then it began gaining momentum.  And seconds later, it sent me plummeting into the water with such force that I lost my grip on the pipe and went rocketing to the bottom.

   In my whole life, I had never so much as put a toe into any canal, then for the third time in less than twelve hours, I was swimming through the briny muck.  Coughing up water, I climbed out at a nearby pier.  The sirens were getting closer, honing in on my location.  I lay on the damp boards feeling pain throughout my body.  My chest spasmed, as I expelled more of the canal water from my lungs.

   I didn’t want to move.  My mind contemplated staying there and waiting for them.  But then I thought about Gary Cooper: he would never give up like that.  My hand gripped my icon, and somehow I found the strength to get up.  There was a Vaporette docked nearby.  I used aPrague to start the engine, bypassing the fingerprint key on its handlebars.

   Once the engine started, I hopped on and zipped off heading away from downtown and danger.