“You tiny bastard,” she began, and not, it must be pointed out, in the careful whisper Overpastry surely

hoped for. “You tiny, tiny bastard, how dare you - with your mono-mind and pathetic inability to accurately recollect the events of a single day let alone years’ worth of living - how dare you talk to me like a child at a summertime birthday party reaching for one burger too many against its concerned parents’ wishes!”

In spite of their fear (for the bear still menaced nearby, the barrel of his anti-proton gun crackling like a thunderstorm in a bottle) people leaned forward to hear more of TriThought’s unrelenting beratings. What did she mean, they all wondered, by “tiny bastard”? Was she referring to his cock, or perhaps his bank account. The source of their wonder was Overpastry’s quite obvious height advantage over the enraged woman: he towered at least a 0.4 meters above her - and a bit more when she wasn’t wearing her mood enhancing platform shoes. This difference created a disconnect between the specific form of her insult and the visually available facts. What no one except a trained and alert cognitive augmentation specialist (or alternatively, someone who, momentarily forgetting the weapon held by an angry, genetically enhanced bear pointed in his or her general direction, carefully listened to what the woman said and put two and two together) could not have known was the fact that what was “tiny” about Overpastry - at least from Tri-Thought’s point of view, wasn’t his penis or his net worth or his life experience or his collection of Kombucha themed love stories (such as the beloved “De-toxed and In Love”) but his aggregate thought capability relative to that of the retired exotic performer. Tri-Thought, during her years as a wildly sought after dancer - had made a tidy sum of money much of which she devoted to cognitive augmentation surgery. In short, she had three brains: the quite fine one she was born with, and two from South Korean elecronics giant LG; part of their “Indestructable You” coopertative, implantable processor series.

She remembered everything…perfectly. Every event, every feeling was stored, indexed, catalogued and completely accessible in 3 dimensional color images, displayed in the mind’s eye of the implantee. Needless to say, this made Tri-Thought a formidable opponent in any argument (and most any situation). She pointed a finger, with its perfect nail, painted a flawless mauve, at Overpastry’s chest and started in again. “I will handle this situation you weeping, soiled pants half wit! No freakish, escaped mercenary bear - no doubt a Blackwater gene puppet who recently shook free of the juice - is going to ruin my morning ritual of refreshing citrus fruit, oat muffin and heart rate lowering tea!”