William Dietz - Bodyguard

I waited for Curt to continue, but he shook his head and smiled. He wanted me to think of it, to solve the puzzle with what was left of my brain, to…My god! That was it! The bastards had stored their data in my brain! Had used me as a zombie, or a near zombie, leaving just enough mental capacity to survive.

Curt saw the understanding fill my eyes and laughed. “That’s right, stupid. Sasha Casad was guarding you rather than the other way around. She may not look very imposing, but Sasha Casad has been in training for this mission since she was born.”

It all came back. The countless times when Sasha had been more competent than she should’ve been, when people came after me instead of her, when I should’ve smelled a rat. But not me, oh no, I was too stupid for that.

I fought the bonds, tried to pull free, but hands gripped my shoulders. Curt waggled a finger in my direction. “Naughty, naughty! We wouldn’t want to damage that shiny little head, now would we? Not after all we’ve been through. There were others, you know. Backups. A man and a woman. The man committed suicide shortly after discharge. I found the woman in a mental institution. Our shrinks siphoned a lot of crap out of her head, but very little of it made sense. That’s the trouble with schizos. They make piss-poor storage modules. The R &D types are working on that. We have high hopes for you, though.”

I remembered the greenie called Philip Bey, how he’d told me about the others, and how Sasha had refused to comment. The rotten little bitch. I struggled but the ropes held me in place.

“So,” Curt said, getting to his feet, and cracking his knuckles. “Enough of this bullshit. First, I’m going to break your nose. Then we’re going to drain your brain, dump the data to my pet zombie, and beat Protech to the punch. Adios, asshole.”

Curt planted his feet, pulled his fist back, and swung. I tipped my head forward, felt the impact on the top of my skull, and heard him scream. He was still dancing around holding his broken hand when a tox dart took him in the neck. He looked surprised, tried to say something, and collapsed.

I heard a commotion, tried to turn, and felt the hands leave my shoulders. Someone yelled, “Shoot her!” and swore as he took a dart. Feet scuffled, dart guns hissed, and bodies thumped as they hit the floor. That was when Joy appeared next to my knee, scrambled onto my lap, and went to work on my bonds. She was her usual exuberant self.

“Damn boss…you get yourself into the most amazing situations! I followed you here, called Sasha, and hung around until she arrived. Sorry it took so long. Are you okay?”

The last of the ropes fell away. I stood. My wrists hurt. I rubbed them to restore the circulation. “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks to you.”

Joy giggled happily, made her way up to my shoulder, and grabbed my ear. I turned to find three bodies sprawled on the floor, the zombie huddled in a corner, and Sasha going through someone’s wallet. “What the hell are you doing?”

She didn’t even glance in my direction. “Borrowing some money so we can get the hell out of here.”

I shook my head. “The farce is over, Sasha. Curt told me all about it. How your mother used me, how you lied, the whole thing.”

Sasha looked up. I couldn’t place her expression. Was it concern I saw? Relief? Or another part of the performance she’d been trained to give? There was no way to know. “I’m sorry, Max, I really am. I wanted to tell but promised I wouldn’t.”

I searched for the words that would tell her how much it hurt, how much I hated her guts, but couldn’t find them. So I walked to the door, stepped through, and heard it close behind me.

I walked for a long time. Through the residential areas good and bad, past the heavily guarded scientific section, and out into the cathedral-sized atrium. It was one of those things that the corpies hated to pay for, but did because the shrinks said the workers would go bonkers if they didn’t.

The park consisted of carefully maintained flower gardens, patches of green grass, and gravel-covered paths. The gravel had been coated with white paint, but most of it had worn off. Genetically engineered trees grew around the edges and softened the hard gray rock behind them.

It occurred to me that the vegetation served to supply supplemental oxygen as well, and I wondered where the thought had come from. How did I know that? Was I as stupid as Curt said? What part was me and what part wasn’t? My thoughts whirled, and my head started to hurt.

People strolled around me, clustering around the trees as if seeking strength from them, or shelter from the duraplast sky.

A pair of Zeebs, both women, looked my way, invented a “chrome-headed weirdo with a robot on his shoulder” category, and dropped me inside it. They subvocalized to each other and watched me from the corners of their eyes as they passed.

I sat on a park bench, tried to look normal, and let my chin rest on a fist. The knowledge of what had been done to my head, what had been hidden in my brain, weighed heavily and increased the pain. I forced myself to think, to wonder what it was that Sasha’s mother had sacrificed my life to, and if I would approve of it. What had she hidden there, at the center of my being? A medical miracle? A doomsday weapon? And what should I do about it? Blow my brains out? Make my way back to Earth? What?

A bright red ball rolled towards me and came to rest against my foot. A little boy ran up, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and said, “Ball. My ball.”

I forced a smile and toed the ball in his direction. He picked it up, said, “My ball” again, and ran away.

“My ball.” The words seemed to echo through my mind, transformed themselves into “my head,” and refused to go away.

Suddenly I had it, one of those wonderful moments of clarity that had rescued me in the past, and knew what I wanted to do. Must do. My head belonged to me, damn it, regardless of what Marsha Casad had stashed there, and I would decide whether it would be released or not. So, given the fact that the greenies didn’t seem to know much more than I did, and Curt wasn’t about to tell, I had little choice but to obtain the information from Sasha’s mother. And do so without getting caught, brain-drained, or killed. All of which reminded me of Sasha, my little bodyguard, liar, and corpie-in-training. I would use her just as she had used me.

The decision felt good. I grinned, scared the hell out of a little girl, and headed for our apartment. Dr. Casad had sent for me, and I was on the way.

“The captain and crew request your attendance at the Jupiter Ball. Please RSVP.”

From the invitation sent to passengers aboard the Solar Queen

A lot of people would like to take the grand tour, but few can afford it. Those who can choose between two great ships, the Solar Queen and the Solar Princess, both owned and operated by the Regis Line, one of the few companies to go head-to-head with Trans-Solar and emerge at least even, if not slightly ahead. And that’s why Sasha and I felt reasonably safe boarding the Queen. Trans-Solar might have agents aboard, but we could count on Regis security to keep them in check. Or so we hoped.

Once we were aboard, the ship would become part of a journey that had started on Earth, paused off Mars, and stopped in the belt on the way to Jupiter and Europa Station. The very place we wanted to go.

Like the Princess, the Queen had been designed to meet the rigorous demands of the extremely wealthy, none of whom were anywhere near the C Deck lock, through which lowlies like ourselves passed. The line was fairly long and consisted of robots, zombies, and freelancers.

One of them, a woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, and bright red lips, caught my attention. She was one person ahead of me in line and stood out from the rest. Maybe it was the way she held herself, the carefully coordinated clothes, or the expensive perfume that floated back to tease my nostrils.