Pulling The Dragon's Tail by Kenton Kauffman

her eyes even more tightly together.
The unmistakable presence loomed behind her. She felt the
rough-hewn hands gently press against her face, smelled his pungent
aftershave.
    Her eyes flew open! “Grandpa!”
    Startled, Nate asked, “Are…are you okay?”
    For a second she looked at Nate as if she didn’t
recognize him. But then she pasted the grim look back on her face.
With a hard set jaw, she said, “Yes! I’m fine!”
    She massaged the bridge of her nose with her
fingers, being careful as always to not disturb the implanted
monitor glasses. “It’s been a long day,” she said softly. Sighing
heavily, she turned around and opened the curtain behind her. The
mid-afternoon sun blazed its brilliance through the rain-soaked
windows into the office. Rays of sunlight danced through a round
stained glass picture of a dove flying over the Earth. And for the
first time Nate noticed the vase of flowers on her desk and their
delightful aroma. More bird-themed sculptures and paintings graced
her walls and desk.
    Resuming her seat, she leaned forward on her
elbows. She faced him squarely in the eye. Then she began with a
lie. “Mr. Kristopher, I need to apologize for running late. The
staff meeting ran much longer than anticipated, and I had other
business to attend to.”
    Following the heated conference, she had been in
no mood to confront this mystery man. Confronting difficult men had
seemed to be her calling, and she had had her fill of them that
morning. With her brain on information overload, she just needed
some space.
    She had instructed her staff that she would
return in a few hours and to hold Mr. Kristopher in his room. A
two-block walk to the subway left her drenched from the heavy rain
but also gave her time to think. Although the sidewalk pavement
felt solid under her feet, the morning’s events were rather like a
personal earthquake. With her world quaking beneath her, she needed
all her strength to just maintain her balance.
    Issues and concerns swirled around her head like
bees swarming a hive. Try as she might she found she couldn’t elude
them. The ghost of her grandfather’s legacy haunted her again. How
much longer could she put up with incompetence at the clinic? Could
CLUES possibly be mistaken? How accurate was the computer’s
assessment of Keagan’s intentions? Then, of course, the man behind
it all was Nate Kristopher. If only she would have known the havoc
this man would create. She regretted ever letting him into her
private office last week. Yet part of her was somehow grateful for
the encounter.
    The nano-wearable in her clothes was already
drying the fabric as she stepped onto the subway. “Monitoring
vitals,” a voice whispered in her ear. Sub-dermal sensors began
performing routine analysis of her physical status. “Personal
stress reaction in progress,” proclaimed COMP-MD. “Heart rate is
145 bpm, blood pressure is 180 over 120, HDL at 239. COMP-MD
recommends for your profile the following coping strategy: aerobic
exercise; length: two-mile walk at three miles per hour; suggested
venue: Central Park or gym at Tenth Avenue and Broadway.” Campbell
usually listened to her doctor’s advice. In fact her vitals were
immediately being sent to her human physician, who was sure to call
her if she failed to comply.
    “Other amenities at Central Park include—”
    “Shut the hell up!” she yelled, and hastily
unclipped the earrings and stuffed them in her pocket. “No computer
program is going to run me,” she grumbled to herself.
    Reaching her office in lower Manhattan, she’d
already chosen how to unwind. A virtual reality relaxation program
was a perfect modality, with or without a computer’s approval.
    “Which one?” she mused, looking over the array
of possible VR programming. “A travelogue of Hawaii? No, too
exotic. A hike through the Alps? No, too strenuous. Ah,” and a
smile spread across her face, “a trip in a space ship across the
galaxy to the tune of