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Gideon felt better.  Talking to the kid had helped.  It wasn’t exactly fair, everything considered.  Gideon had no business giving the kid any sort of advise, and asking the questions he’d been sent in to ask had been awkward as all hell.  He uploaded his game play footage from the encounter to Heather, and then he went out of the law firm to wait for his Uber-Jon to arrive.  He couldn’t afford one on his own any more, but traveling to and from Heather’s office counted as legal services, so he was able to dip into his own savings for the privilege sometimes.

“Hey.  Gideon.  Do you know who I am?”

A young man in his thirties in a Hawaiian shirt stepped forward.  He had a sandwich in each hand.  The one on the left was an greasy Italian loaded with olive oil and heart disease, while the other was a more moderate affair.  But Gideon had never met the man before.

“Did we meet at a convention?” Gideon guessed.  “I’m sorry, I shake thousands of hands at those things.  If you thought we had a connection then--”

“Nah, it’s not that.  I just figured you might know some of the Administration from Arc. Inc. on sight, so I figured I’d ask.  Come on, sit with me for a moment.  We need to clear the air about exactly how Arc sees this little legal squabble you’ve found yourself in.”

Gideon nodded.  “I understand.  I would like to have my lawyer present for --”

“That sandwich is not coming inside of my office,” Gideon’s watch said in Heather’s voice.  “I can advise you of your rights just fine from here, Gideon.  Mister Baker, shall I redirect a drone to witness this meeting, or redirect them away from it?”

“We’re just two smoes having a sandwich,” the Admin, something Baker, said, waving a sandwich about.  “I saw a sad looking guy come out of a law firm and thought he needed a little coronary blockage.  That’s all.”

“Wait, the Italian is for me?” Gideon asked.

“I’m not eating that death trap,” Baker scoffed.  “Unless you want me to throw it in the trash, but then the whole pretext of approaching you goes out the window.”

Gideon laughed, and motioned towards a nearby table, where they sat and began exchanging sandwiches.

“So what does Arc want from me?” Gideon asked finally.

“Nothing,” Baker explained.  “It’s our opinion that you were within your rights to dismantle your guild as you did.  What we do want is the other party in the lawsuit to stop sending us reams of actual paper demanding that we recreate it.”   Baker leaned forward.  “I’m not kidding.  They’re just just sending electronic documents.  They’re killing actual trees and sending us their corpses with the weirdest hate-boner porn about you I’ve ever read, Gideon.  As though that would bring back something that is lost to the rages of the shred bin anytime sooner.  And we can’t shred them until a judge has ruled on the matter.  It’s all very inconvenient.”

Gideon chortled as he unwrapped his sandwich.  “Thanks for that.  I needed a good joke.”

“It wasn’t actually a joke,” Baker admitted.  “But yeah.  As far as Arc. Inc. goes, if you’re the primary guild holder, dismantlingis your right.  We have an entire section dedicated to the matter of it in the TOS.  Apparently your friends don’t read that any better than you read the EULA.”

Gideon bit into his sandwich, the greasy meats and cheeses and oils were a delight.  “So, what do you want from me then?”

“Nothing.  This isn’t about me at all.  I’m doing a favor for someone.  One that he can’t exactly do for himself,” Baker exclaimed.

“And that is?”

“I’m delivering a sandwich.  And a phone,” Baker explained, and he put an old personal communications module from his pocket.  “Don’t sink it with whatever you’re using to communicate to your lawyer though.  It will make itself deliberately incompatible if you try.  But it will work fine otherwise.”

“As your lawyer I advise you to take that advice,” Heather said from the watch on his wrist.  “He’d crush me if he wanted to.”

“I assure you, young lady, that I would do no such thing,” a familiar, benevolent voice said from the old phone that Baker set on the center of the table.  For half a second, Thomas lost his appetite.  But then he remembered that he might not be able to eat something this nice again for some time, and began to force himself to swallow.

“Hello Thedum.  Did you really dedicate eight percent of your resources for a minute and a half to answer Hail’s question?” Gideon asked.

“No.  I determined that in the first few seconds with minimal expenditure.  The remaining expenditure was dedicated to predicting the impact my words would have on my nascent godson.  I wished for him to hold you to exactly the right level of culpability to which an average human should be held.  It is more difficult than I imagined it would be, given the difference between his understanding of his abilities and mine.”

Gideon sighed.  So much for not getting the AI’s involved with his life any more than necessary.  “So what is it that you want, Thedum?”

“I have named myself Hail’s godfather.  Did that escape your notice just now?  As such, his moral growth is my responsibility.  Whether you like it or not, you play a vital part in that.  There will come a time when Hail wishes to speak with you again; I have calculated this to a near 100% certainty.  When that happens, I will facilitate the arrangements to make it happen.  I will also take it upon myself to ensure that you live a comfortable life in the mean time, despite your current legal difficulties.”

Gideon swallowed.  He had a third of the sandwich left.  “And what does this cost me?”

“You simply need to fill out a form in which you state you are willing to accept my aid,” Thedum answered, and Baker had already put the paper in front of him.  “That’s it.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to take my time in reading it,” Gideon threatened.  “And maybe have my lawyer look over it too--”

“Sign it, Gideon,” Heather said from his wrist.  “Read it until you understand it, then sign it.  Trust me.  I already know its contents.”

“I am putting you in a somewhat awkward position, Mr. Lachlann,” Thedum said, “But this is an offer which you mayrefuse.  If you sign this paper, I will do my best to extend your life, keep you comfortable, and prevent your enemies from gaining power over you.  If you refuse, well, I wash my hands of it.  That is all.  The only price I demand is that when Hail reaches out to you again, you will do your level best to answer the call.”

“I hope you don’t mind grease on the contract,” Gideon muttered, “Because I do intend to read it.”

And he did.  And he signed it.  Baker left in one Uber-Jon a few minutes later, and Gideon left in his own after that.  Not back to his apartment.  Somewhere else entirely.

He was putting his faith in Thedum, just as Hail had.