William Dietz - Bodyguard

Whatever it was caught and held my attention. She seemed to sense my interest, turned, and smiled. I felt a sudden sense of warmth and smiled back. But months of running had made me wary. Yes, she could be attracted to my obvious charm and rugged good looks, but there were other possibilities as well. What if she was a killer in nice-lady drag? An assassin android? Or a carefully disguised bomb? Still, she looked innocent enough, and my libido said she was the greatest thing since sliced bread. I was getting ready to say or do something stupid when the line jerked forward and took her with it.

I turned and saw Sasha frown. She had monitored the interchange and didn’t approve. Well, too bad. Gone were the days when she gave orders and I obeyed. I had my own reasons for going to Europa Station now, reasons that went beyond the fifty K they had used for bait, and it didn’t matter if Sasha came along or not. I appreciated the fact that she had stolen enough money to pay her fare, and would cover my back if it came to a firefight, but could get along without her too. And she knew it. So the silence was complete as we stepped through the hatch, waited for the lock to cycle open, and entered the Queen’s opulent interior.

Everything was spotless, even on C Deck, which was a far cry from the glory found on A and B. In space there is nothing so rare and frivolous as genuine wood, and that’s what the ship’s architects had used to cover the standard durasteel bulkheads. Everywhere I looked I saw highly polished wood, brass fittings, and deep pile carpets. It made quite a contrast to life on the barge.

Sasha had suggested that we share a stateroom in order to reduce expenses and enhance security, but I said no. The less I saw of the traitorous little minx the better, and besides, some privacy would be nice for a change.

Though smaller than the cabin I had occupied aboard the Red Trader, my stateroom managed to be a good deal more luxurious. The plumbing worked, for one thing, never a surety aboard the Trader, and there were lots of extras too, like a high-quality virtual reality entertainment console, a fully stocked minibar, a toaster-sized automaid that nearly went crazy trying to pick up after me, plus rotating storage lockers that could accommodate a large, but in my case nonexistent, wardrobe.

So, doing my best to get into the spirit of the thing and enjoy the many amenities, I took a long, wasteful shower, left the thick terrycloth towel for the automaid to tow away, donned my most presentable set of clothes, and set out to explore the rest of my temporary home. Joy wasn’t too happy about being left behind, but I figured I was noticeable enough without a miniature android perched on my shoulder. The hatch closed on her protests.

I set out for the far reaches of C Deck, knowing that while A and B Decks might have been more interesting, the denizens of C Deck weren’t allowed to visit their betters without a specific invitation to do so.

The corridor curved gently to the right. Almost everyone I encountered, children excepted, managed to ignore my chrome-plated scalp and smile at me. It was as if my head had been magically transformed from the grotesque to the merely eccentric.

The change puzzled me at first. What the heck was going on? Were these people especially nice? Or was there a more believable explanation? After giving the matter some thought, I decided that I was the accidental beneficiary of “situational niceness.”

The logic went like this: Special people rode the ship, Max rode the ship, ergo, Max was a special person and would be treated as such. If, on the other hand, the same people encountered me in a dimly lit alley, they would perceive me as a seven-foot-two-inch-tall chrome-headed homicidal maniac, and run like hell. Ah, well, it was pleasant to be accepted by other human beings even if the pleasure was only transitory.

An airtight door slid out of the way and I entered a large multi-purpose lounge. There was a bar against the far bulkhead, an open area where people stood about in conversational clumps, and semicircular tiers of acceleration couches that dropped away to a vast expanse of transparent duraplast. Sunlight glazed Deep Port’s rocky surface, and stars twinkled as light generated millions and even billions of years before hit my retinas and was recorded by what was left of my brain.

I had no more than entered the area when an artificially sweet voice said, “Welcome to the Solar Queen. The ship will depart in fifteen, I repeat, fifteen minutes. The captain requests that those passengers still in their cabins lie down and strap themselves in.

“Those passengers presently located in the public areas may proceed to their cabins or make use of the acceleration couches available in each of our lounges. Please check to ensure that your restraint system has been activated. Children must be accompanied by an adult or a Class IV android. Autostewards are available to answer your questions. Welcome to the Solar Queen…”

The voice droned on in the background as I wandered down the center aisle, descended five or six tiers, and turned towards the center seats. Some were occupied but many were still available. I selected one, lay back, and activated the restraint system. Servos whined as heavily padded arms wrapped themselves around me. The couch came equipped with a variety of accessories. I was still in the process of investigating them when a voice came from my left. “Hi, it seems we’re neighbors.”

I turned and was pleased to find that the voice belonged to the same woman I had salivated over in line. She wore a bright red pants outfit that most women would have avoided like the plague. It looked great on her. I gave her what I hoped was my most charming smile.

“So it seems. My name’s Max. Max Smith. What’s yours?”

She smiled. Her teeth were wonderfully white. “Linda Gibson. Please to meet you, Max.”

Her outstretched hand bridged half the distance between us. It felt small and warm. I was in the process of shaking it when Sasha appeared in the distance. Her eyepatch seemed out of place, or was it me? Our fellow passengers seemed as oblivious to the patch as they had been to my chrome-plated head. Same deal, probably. She treated me to one of her characteristic frowns and sat where she could watch. Alerted by the loss of eye contact, Linda turned and looked over her shoulder. “Am I missing something?”

I shook my head. “No, an old acquaintance, that’s all.” I plastered a phony smile on my face and waved. Sasha glowered in response.

I turned my attention to the lovely Linda. She had pale blue eyes, and they fastened on me as though I was the only man in the world. Her voice was soft and confidential. “Can I tell you a secret?”

I nodded earnestly. “Please do.”

“I sat here on purpose.”

Blood roared in my ears. She liked me! The only woman who had liked me prior to this time had been paid to do so. Had I been equipped with a tail, I would’ve wagged it. Now to say something clever. “Really? Well, I’m glad you did.”

“Me too,” she said sweetly. “Have you chosen a costume yet?”

“Costume?” I asked stupidly. “For what?”

“Why, the ball, silly,” Linda said lightly. “It will be held on A Deck, and everyone’s invited. I hoped you’d be my escort.”

A storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions whirled through my head. Pleasure at being asked, fear of having to dance, and a sense of confusion. “Why no, I mean yes, I’d love to go. When is it?”

“2000 hours day after tomorrow,” Linda answered smoothly. “I’m coming as an eighteenth-century noblewoman. You’d make a marvelous pirate.”

“And so I would,” I replied in my best pirate cackle. “Hoist the mainsail and belay the hatches!”