Welcome to PeaceKeeper Headquarters

"She what?!"

Mike sighed in mingled exhausion, depression and annoynace. "Ask Michael," he said peevishly. "I already explained it all to him. I'm tired, Peter. Leave me alone!"

Peter barely heard as he paced irritatedly in Mike's bedroom. As a central nexus for program activities, Lyla had created a house that had never existed in reality. Titled Program 01a, or P01a, she could almost always be sure one or more of her major programs were present. It made for interesting survival issues, though. Having to share a kitchen, three bathrooms and a common room, plus the rec room, the laundry room and the surrounding grounds (complete with golf course) was enough to stress the best of friendships. Luckily, it was fairly easy to jump from one program to another. Escape from fellow programs wasn't nearly as difficult as it would have been in real life. As he lay curled on the bed, Mike was seriously tempted to do a ripple-jump--jumping from program to program without following normal, 'physical' avenues--in a desperate attempt to get away from Peter's fuming.

"The nerve of her!! I mean, she asked you...she offered you the chance to get out. How dare she--"

"Peter! Shut up!" Mike shouted. "She's not perfect, okay? She makes mistakes, just like everyone else. She's only hu--" He cut himself off bitterly, remembering suddenly that Lyla wasn't human. "She's only mortal." The slip went unnoticed by the ranting guitar player, as did Mike's whole arguement. Peter continued to fume and pace until Mike gave up arguing and cover his face with a pillow. "Just shut up and go away, Peter."

"Yeah, give the guy some air." Michael was leaning in the doorway, looking a bit annoyed himself. "You've got a phonecall." Peter gaped for a few seconds, then started to tell Michael to take a message. "It's Amy." The door clicked shut in the guitarist's wake and Michael chuckled, "Works every time." He plopped down on the bed beside Mike. "So, how you doin'?"

Mike sighed, "I miss Bill." He pulled the pillow away from his face to look at Michael. "No offense or anything, but I do. I wish Lyla hadn't lost his program."

"Want me to ask her about it?"

"She's not coming in here...not after what happened today."

"Do you have any idea why she did it?" Stipe rearranged himself on the bed. "You've got better connections than me."

Mike just shrugged, ignoring the cynical overtone in his friend's voice. "She shorted all of us on her own background, Michael. I'm just as clueless as you, but..." He frowned and his eyes partially unfocused as he started to probe through his accessable files in the PeaceKeeper database. "I think I can find her files..." A sharp, pained cry rang out and he put his hands to his face. "Shit!"

"What!? What happened?" Stipe demanded, startled.

"She musta...set a proximity warning around her files...oh, shit, that hurt..." Mike didn't move for a long time while Michael watched him worriedly. "Kinda like getting hit in the face with a baseball...with spikes," Mike explained softly, once he could sit up again. He blinked in the dim light of the room and sighed.

"This sucks," Michael grumbled. "I feel like she turned on us or something. First, she gives you the chance to get out and explore, then cuts your access to the projector and then puts prox warnings on files she knew you'd tried to check!" He shook his head slowly, steaming.

Mike stared at the wall, not answering. "I'm going to override," he announced suddenly and Michael looked at him in shock. "I'm going to hack those files."

"Good grief...have you lost your mind?!" Michael grabbed his friend by the shoulders and shook him firmly. "Look at me, Mike." Mike reluctantly looked the lead singer in the eye. "If you try to hack those files, what's the worst case scenerio?"

Mike didn't answer.

"My god, Mike! You could get completely wiped! You know this isn't a good idea." When the bassist continued to watch him with a determined stare, Michael sighed. "That prox warning must have fried a few circuits."

"Maybe I needed a few circuits fried," Mike replied grimly. "I'm going to do this, Michael. I need to know what she's hiding."

Michael nodded without a word for a few seconds, then sighed. "I respect that...but, can't you do this someway safer?"

"No time," he shrugged. "I'll talk to you soon, Michael." There was a tone of promise in his voice.

"You'd better," Stipe replied sharply. "Good luck, Mikey. Come back and fill me in on all the details."

Mike managed a ghost of a smile as he laid back again. "I will."

Lyla's computer bleeted s the proximity warning registered someone tampering with her history files again. "Mike," she whispered. "Please...don't..." She could almost hear the electronic wall coming down.

Michael flinched as Mike shouted in pain again. "Damn her," he growled softly.

Lyla stared in shock as the computer registered an actual attack on the electronic wall. "He's trying to hack the files," she moaned. "No, Mike...the defenses!"

Mike's teeth were so tightly clenched that Michael could actually hear them grinding together. He watched helplessly as he friend and bass player hammered against the military-grade computer encryption codes.

In the programming mode, Mike battered electronic fists agains the walls keeping him out. "Damn it!" he shouted, his electronic voice echoing through both systems, verbally in HR and as a strange squeal from Lyla's computer terminal. He turned back and gaped as the computer's active defenses came on-line...

"NO!" Lyla jumped at her terminal, flipped up the screen and tried to disengage the defenses before it was too late... then stared in shock as the virtual wolf pack bore down on Mike's fragile programming.

A violent squeal from the HR system made her jerk up in her chair. "Oh, god...no..." Without a whit of forethought, she pulled in, seeking the source of the damage alarm.

The scene of the main house was something out of a nightmare. The building was infested with unnatural blues, golds and brilliant magentas between the deep, dark, bottomless black of the computer system. All she could tell for sure was that something or someone was ripping apart the programming from a programmer level. Only five people had access to programmer levels. Mike was 'dead', Bill Berry's programming was missing and Lyla was standing there, watching the carnage. That left Michael and--

"What the hell?!" Michael shouted as he scrambled into the room. Lyla looked up at him as he stared from her to the computer damage. "Lyla, what the hell is going on?"

Peter...

"Peter!" Lyla screamed and threw herself at the nearest programming strand that flew past a damaged rift. "Peter, stop!!"

An electronic banshee-like scream followed and Peter Buck's holo-clone rematerialized himself in front of Lyla. "Oh, look who's back," he spat at her. "You bitch. You killed him! You gave him exactly what he wanted, then took it away." Fire flashed in his eyes and he lunged for Lyla. She yelped, staggered back, tried to avoid him, but he grabbed the collar of her leather jacket and slammed her ruthlessly against the wall. "You bitch! I should sever your programming strand right now!!"

"Peter, hold on a second..." Michael sounded a little scared.

"Mike's dead," Peter snarled. "This bitch watched him die. She let him get ripped apart by a pack of prox defenses. She let him die, Michael!" With an inarticulate snarl, Peter slammed Lyla violently against the wall again and it was all she could do to keep from crying in frustration, pain and grief.

Lyla clenched her eyes shut against the pain. "Peter," she tried to whisper, but he snarled and bashed her head against the wall hard enough to make her see digital stars. "Peter, please...let me--"

"Explain?" he hissed. "There's nothing to explain. You've committed digital murder. I'm judge, jury, executioner...and I'm going to enjoy the last part." An gaunt, evil smile played over his face and Lyla felt a stirring of fear.

"I--"

"You nothing. This is it, Lyla. You killed him." Peter's eyes glittered viciously.

In the face of a true, obvious death threat, Lyla's mind seemed to clear and one thought burned brightly in her mind...and the way there burned equally clearly in her mind's eye. "The b--" she started, but Peter punched her solidly in the stomach. Without considering the consequences, Lyla dove for the relative safety of programmer mode...

Colors, blackness...program files...archives!

Glowing in Lyla's programming vision like a small sun, Mike's back-up program glinted and pulsed. Her only hope of survival. Lyla knew Peter was close behind her. Time was so short....

"Mike Mills, version 3.5, online!"

"Programmer-level authorization required."

"Lyla Toomney, creator-level authorization. Password, Edward, E-D-W-A-R-D. Acknowledge."

"Creator-level authorization and password for Mike Mills, version 3.5 acknowledged. Bringing program online..."

"The back-up," Lyla prompted softly. "Peter, I backed him up before we made the projector transfer, remember? I thought told you..."

Peter drew closer and, as his digital presence moved, Lyla pulled them all back into 'play' mode. "Mike?" he repeated incredulously.

Mike blinked a few times, Peter's voice calling his name the first thing he heard as his programming came back online. He looked around the room, a disappointed expression on his face. "The transfer didn't work, did it?"

Lyla and Peter exchanged looks and Lyla gave a slight shrug and mouthed, "Your call."

"Sorry," Michael said, jumping in before either Lyla or Peter can answer. "Maybe someday. Man..." he hugged the bassist tightly. "I'm glad you're okay. Don't know what we'd do without you." Peter joined quickly, letting the interuption slide.

Mike sighed and hugged them back. "Yeah, thanks."

"I'm sorry, Mike," Lyla said softly, her voice slightly bitter. "Really..." He looked puzzled and she shook her head. "I...I'm sorry. There's nothing more I can say, but I'll try harder next time."

"It's okay," Mike replied and pulled her into a hug, too. "It's a nice dream, anyway."

"Why did you decide to tell him the transfer didn't work?"

"I...don't know. I don't think he'd be too happy knowing how close to real life...and real death he came. At least we know the projector works."

"Yeah...it's not the machine's fault. It's that damned physical factor again."

"Lyla?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you...think you could look for Bill's programming again?"

"Huh?"

"Bill--"

"Yeah, yeah, your drummer. I know. Why do you ask?"

"Well...Mike mentioned him...mentioned missing him right before he went in to hack those files. I think we've all missed Bill more than we realized. As Mike pointed out, it's hard to jam with no drummer."

"Good point."

"So, will you look again? Please? It's...sort of like Mike's last wish, you know? Only he's not gone."

"I'll look, Michael. If I have to, I'll start from scratch. You'll have your drummer back, I promise."

"Thanks, Lyla."

"You're welcome."