You do some experiments with the device.

You shiver a bit as you make your way to your room. Being nude in a partially-insulated attic in March isn't particularly comfortable, you think. Those two don't have to deal with it, being downstairs, but it's fricking freezing up here. But you soon arrive in the relative comfort of your room, and shut your door behind you to keep the heat in.

You stare at yourself in the large mirror on the back of your door. You can hardly believe you're the same person that you were this morning, given all that has transpired... but, nope, the same old Sam looks back at you. You glance at the Manipulator, which still glows with that reddish-orange color.

It obviously contains some sort of computer, you surmise, to do what it does. It must be beyond anything you've ever seen, but computers are computers, and if this thing is a prototype like the letter said... it must have some sort of debug interface. But how is it accessed? The thing has no visible seams, no ports of any kind.

A thought occurs to you. This thing reads my mind to accomplish what I want. It's likely that I can use that interface for other stuff too. You stare into your own eyes, reflected in the mirror, and deliberately "think" the words: Enable debug interface.

Debug interface enabled.

A slight gasp escapes your lips at the extremely unfamiliar sensation. It isn't as though you heard a voice in your head "speak" back to you; it's more like you suddenly "remember" the words. They are memories, in your head but not actually your own, known facts in your brain and yet brand-new. It is a bit jarring, a bit disconcerting, but it certainly gets the job done. Being a debug interface, it was probably coded pretty quickly, without regard to the user's comfort. Although how you code a brain-computer interface "quickly" is beyond me, you muse. For the first time in your life, you're encountering computer technology and coding prowess that is light-years beyond anything you know, and you don't feel jealousy or envy, just utter fascination. That's new.

Glancing at the light on the device, you see its color hasn't changed. Good, using this interface doesn't seem to drain its power. Now, let's see what I can do with it. You intone the word "status", and a flood of new "memories" gushes into your head:

Project Purple Man
Software Revision 1.4
Last Commit 20 February 1998 by kessel
Trigger threshold: 0.8
Enabled features: Remote view, remote update, remote debug, local debug, bioelectric charging
Disabled features: Beta thermoelectric charging, beta photoelectric charging, beta power regulation algorithm, trigger confirmation

You're like a kid who just discovered the hidden cheat menu for your favorite game. "Kessel," you say out loud, your excitement palpable enough that you start talking to yourself. "I wonder if that's who the 'P.K.' was in the note." You start "remembering" the enabled features, and immediately realize a potential problem. "Remote update and debug," you say with a frown. "No, no, we can't have that." The last thing you want is someone disabling this thing out from under you, not when you're having so much fun with it.

Testing the debug interface's ability to parse your thoughts, you intone, Disable remote update and remote debug, and immediately, you "remember" Done. Your face twists into a wicked smile at this. You ponder turning off "remote view" as well, but decide it might be more fun if whoever has remote access -- this Kessel fellow, probably -- can see everything you do but be unable to stop it. It makes you feel powerful, being able to taunt him that way.

You turn your attention to some of the disabled features. Describe disabled features, you think, not really expecting it to work, since the programmers wouldn't need to include descriptions in their own program. Sure enough, you "remember" Invalid command. Well, it was worth a shot, you think. You ponder the problem a little more, and are hit with another idea. Raising your internal "voice" once again, you intone, Dump source code.

The sudden **** on your brain is overwhelming, as thousands of lines of code are crammed into your brain. You can't possibly make sense of it all at once, and at first you panic, thinking that this was a very, very bad idea. But gradually, the flood of information becomes a bit easier to manage, organizing itself logically into functions, modules, classes. The exact language it was written in is unfamiliar to you, but intuitive enough that you can grasp the gist of most of it. And although you don't have a line-for-line photographic memory of the code base, you've gained some sort of innate understanding of its operation and features.

The "beta" features are, as far as you can tell, complete and functional, with no apparent detrimental side-effects (other than thermoelectric charging making the device get quite cold if it needs to charge for extended periods of time). It seems that they only needed to go through testing to be enabled, and for whatever reason that hadn't happened yet. The new power regulation algorithm is what excites you the most; it seems like the device was initially calibrated to be able to operate over long distances -- maybe close to a mile. At first you can't fathom why anyone would want to do that, and then the answer comes to you: the military. This thing, in the hands of "mind snipers", could be absolutely deadly.

You don't need that sort of functionality, though, and it seems the new algorithm drastically reduces the energy required for the device to operate, with the trade-off being that its range is reduced to 1/10th of its former amount. 500 feet is still a huge range, as far as you're concerned, so you're fine with that. You intone, enable all disabled features, and this time the "done" response is accompanied by the brief sensation of a tap on your arm.

You yawn once again. Now that you've done some investigation -- and, more importantly, made sure that nobody can screw with the device but yourself -- you climb into your bed and settle down into a deep, dreamless sleep.