The Radioactive Redhead with The Peach-Blonde Bomber

by John Zakour

  I slammed the door in her holographic face, and heard her chuckle quietly.

  We hit the road thirty minutes later and headed for the Elite. The fall air was cool and clear and the road was only sparsely speckled with ground-based traffic and low-to-ground hovers; all in all, a beautiful Frisco morning. Admittedly any morning would be considered beautiful after the night I’d just been through, but I’ve found that the craziness of my lifestyle helps me appreciate life’s quieter nanos (you know, the ones where people aren’t trying to kill me). As usual, HARA and I multitasked during the drive and the first call was to Carol.

  “Que pasa, Tio? Rough night?”

  Her face was bright and cheery as she appeared on the dashboard screen. Even after the excitement of the night before, she looked rested and ready for more. She was clearly enjoying this assignment.

  “Let’s just say that the chaos of Sexy’s concert was the good part of my night. I learned a lot of things about our situation afterward, none of them good.”

  “You mean like Sexy being stalked by an assassin who’s been hired by one of the governor’s A-list supporters?”

  “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t read my mind over the net,” I said.

  “What can I say, Tio? You’re an open book.”

  “Great,” I said, rolling my eyes. “How were things at the hotel last night? Any trouble?”

  “Nope, we just gave each other foot massages and crashed when we got back to the room.”

  “Good, at least the ‘no trouble’ part. I’m going to need you to stay with Sexy until I get there. And don’t let her leave the hotel.”

  “Okay, but don’t take too long,” she said. “I’m supposed to go to lunch with Sammy in an hour or so.”

  “With who?”

  “Sammy’s taking me out to lunch to thank me for saving everyone last night.”

  “Couldn’t he just buy you a car or something?”

  “Tio, I know you don’t like him, but really, once you get to know him, he’s very sweet.”

  “I believe the five letter s-word you mean to use there is slimy,” I said. “Please promise me you’ll be careful. I have a little experience with his type. The man is a player.”

  “Fine,” she said a little petulantly. “I’ll be careful.”

  I frowned as her face disappeared from the screen.

  “Do you believe that?” I asked HARA.

  “What?”

  “She’s having lunch with Smiles?”

  “Smiles isn’t so bad,” HARA said.

  “He’s as greasy as a lard-frosted doughnut.”

  “He’s an operator, I’ll admit,” HARA replied. “But he has self-confidence and there’s a suaveness to his manner that I’m sure some women find attractive.”

  “He’s as phony as a witch doctor in New Utah.”

  “He has a distinctive, polished style. That doesn’t automatically make him disingenuous.”

  “Right, that’s just a coincidence,” I mumbled. “Why are you defending him anyway? Do you think he’s attractive?”

  “I didn’t say that,” HARA replied. “I’m just saying that some women might find a man who moves to the beat of a different drummer attractive.”

  “What about me then?”

  “What about you?”

  “I follow a different drummer.”

  “Yes, it’s just that your drummer has been dead for about a hundred years.”

  “So you’re saying I’m old fashioned?”

  “Duh!”

  “Well, what’s wrong with that?”

  “I never said there was anything wrong with that.”

  “No, you’re just saying that some greaseball circus reject is attractive because he dresses differently from everyone else and yet I’m considered a caveman for doing the same thing.”

  “Fine, then,” HARA said. “You’re attractive too.”

  “Shut up.”

  “No, no,” she continued, “the rough and tumble, no-nonsense, tough guy thing works well for you. The trench coat, dark suit, broad shoulders, chiseled face, it’s all very attractive in a y-chromosome sort of way.”

  “Fine then,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “But then you ruin it with all that chest hair,” she said with a smile.

  “Yeah, well your skirt’s too short.”

  “It is not,” she said, tugging at her holographic hem.

  “It’s halfway up your thigh,” I said smiling. “Sheesh, HARA, leave a little to the imagination, will you?”

  “It’s just the way I’m sitting,” she said, re-crossing her legs. “But if it offends your puritan sensibilities then here.”

  Her skirt lengthened by a few centimeters as she adjusted her holographic image, so that the bottom hem ended just above the knee.

  “Better,” I said.

  “Wait a nano,” she said with a smile, “you’ve been looking at my legs?”

  Thankfully, Randy chose that nano to call and I immediately brought his face onto the screen.

  “Good morning, Zach.”

  “Good timing, Randy,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was calling to let you know that I’m downloading some new armaments into your arsenal today. HARA will be able to load them from her interface. I thought I’d let you know personally now that we’ve unequivocally proven that you don’t read my memos.”

  “Yadda, yadda, yadda, Randy. Thanks.”

  “The new armaments are non-lethal electromagnetic charges that stimulate a person’s pain receptors.”

  “Sounds pretty harsh.”

  “Yes, they’re very painful,” Randy said. “I got the idea while watching a prison movie on HV the other night. I could probably sell them to the government and various law enforcement agencies for use as torture-related interrogation devices.”

  “Ouch. Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “No, not really,” he said. “It’s not a very productive use for the technology. I plan to limit their sale exclusively to the S&M market instead. It’s more profitable anyway.”

  “Nice to see you have a conscience, Randy.” I said. “Let’s make the audible command big-hurt, okay?”

  “I think the new armaments will be very useful, Dr. Pool,” HARA said with a smile.

  “Thank you, HARA,” Randy replied. “How goes your new interface experiment?”

  “I’m finding it very educational,” HARA replied. “Life as a woman is definitely different. Of course, I’m still performing my usual duties for Zach. I saved his life last night by piloting a hover limo.”

  “It sounds very exciting, HARA,” Randy replied. “Are you driving Zach’s vehicle now?”

  “Gates, no,” HARA replied. “This fossil-mobile has no guidance computer with which I can interface. Zach drives this one on his own.”

  “That’s good to know,” Randy said, his face growing serious. “Kleinduxity!”

  HARA’s hologram froze and again, the skin around my eye went numb.

  “Stop the car, Zach,” Randy said.

  “What?”

  “Stop the car. I took HARV off-line so we could speak privately.”

  I slowed the car and pulled into the breakdown lane.

  “You’re going to need to back up,” Randy said.

  “Randy!”

  “You need to be roughly in the same spot on the road when I bring her back online. She’ll be suspicious otherwise and I don’t have confidence in your ability to fool her.”

  I sighed, put the car into reverse, and began backing up. A series of angry blasts from the horns of the oncoming traffic serenaded me as I did so.

  “I’d appreciate a little warning next time,” I said.

  “How can I warn you without warning HARA as well?”

  “We could come up with a code.”

  “Zach, she’s a supercomputer. Do you really think she’s going to be fooled by you blinking your eye three times?”

  “How did you know that was going to b
e my code?”

  “Because that’s your code for everything,” Randy replied. “Okay, according to the GPS, you’re in position now.”

  I put the car in park and turned back to Randy’s face on the viewscreen.

  “Is there a point to all this?”

  Randy’s expression was very serious, which, as you know, worries me a great deal, as he leaned closer to the monitor.

  “I’ve run some stealth diagnostics on HARV,” he said. “And frankly, I’m gravely concerned.”

  “Concerned how?” I asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know where to begin,” he said, scrolling through a stream of data on his computer. “HARV has been doing some things that are outside his parameters. And he’s been doing them for some time now.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, but he put some kind of combat subroutine in your brain.”

  “You mean the Bruce Lee thing?”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “I used it on the Thompson case.”

  “You what?”

  Randy slammed his hands on the surface of his desk and spilled his coffee onto the com-interface. A dark puddle formed over his image, obscuring his face.

  “You okay, Randy?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the subroutine?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe because I was busy saving the world? HARV and I talked it over. He promised not to use it again and I figured that was it.”

  Randy, still angry, squeegeed the coffee off his interface and his image reappeared on my screen.

  “You just figured, huh? Well, have you noticed how much more coffee you’ve been drinking lately?”

  “You’re not one to talk, Randy.”

  “Zach, the reason you’ve been drinking so much coffee over the past year is …”

  “… because caffeine makes the neural connection fire better,” I said. “HARV told me that.”

  “He what?”

  Again, Randy gestured wildly and, in his excitement, spilled something else (creamer, I think) onto the interface.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?” he yelled.

  “I didn’t tell you about that?” I asked. “I guess it didn’t seem important.”

  “Zach, your computer is effecting your behavior and drugging you,” he said, wiping off his interface again and pouring himself another cup of coffee. “You don’t consider that important?”

  “It’s just what HARV does,” I said. “Or did, anyway, before he became HARA.”

  “How has he acted since then? Anything strange?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “It’s all kind of relative, I guess. I mean, HARA does the same job that HARV did. She does research for me, takes care of the day-to-day stuff, and she did a great job piloting the hover limo during the firefight last night. She’s just different, that’s all. She says different things and focuses on stuff that HARV never did. Hey, do you think I have too much hair on my chest?”

  Randy did a spit take with his coffee and had to clean off the interface again.

  “Randy, do you want to call me back on a spill proof interface?”

  “Zach, I’m concerned about how HARV is evolving. I’m working on a couple of things here but I want you to report back to me if HARA’s behavior changes.”

  “Changes how?”

  “Well, if she stops following your commands, for instance.”

  “She’s supposed to follow commands?”

  “It was the central tenet of HARV’s programming. Did HARV ever not do something that you requested?”

  “Are you kidding? He complained about me nonstop.”

  “But did he ever actually not do something that you asked?”

  I had to think about that one for a long, long nano and I was surprised by my answer.

  “No,” I said. “I guess he didn’t.”

  “Good,” Randy replied. “Promise me you’ll let me know if HARA ever refuses a direct command.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise me, Zach!”

  “Okay, Randy. I promise.”

  “Good,” Randy said with a nod. “Now ease back onto the road, I’m going to bring HARA back online. Just remember to act casual.”

  I did as I was told and Randy rebooted HARA’s interface (the audio command this time was kozotz-kypuss). But it was hard to act casual knowing what I knew. Part of me was worried about HARV/HARA’s evolution and the concern that it seemed to cause Randy. But another part of me felt guilty about the conversation with Randy, almost like I’d betrayed HARA. With all the complications that come from having a supercomputer connected to your brain, who’d have thought fidelity would be the one that bothered me most?

  23

  HARA and I arrived at the Elite late in the morning. HARA stayed hidden, which was fine with me. Sexy was in the gym doing a kickboxing workout with Misty, Sissy, and Lusty and I had to admit that all four ladies threw some mean punches.

  I met Carol and Smiles on the catwalk overlooking the gym. They were drinking protein shakes and laughing with one another as they watched Sexy and the girls trading blows below with the sparring droids. Their comfort level with one another made me a little squeamish.

  “At last,” Carol said when she saw me approach. “What took you so long, Tio?”

  “There was a lot of ground traffic this morning,” I said.

  “Ground traffic?” Smiles quipped. “No wonder it took you so long, you were surrounded by old ladies.”

  “He’s got a thing about heights,” Carol said, a little too lightly.

  “I take it you’ve seen today’s entertainment news?” Smiles asked.

  “Actually, no,” I said. “Is there a problem?”

  “Not if your goal is to make Sexy a laughingstock,” he said. “If so, then it’s a rosy, red letter day.”

  “Look, Smiles, last night there was a very real attempt on Sexy’s life. I don’t think media coverage should be your primary concern at the nano. And speaking of murder attempts, I’d like to brief you and Sexy on what I learned last night.”

  “That sounds great, Johnson,” Smiles said, getting up from his chair. “Really, can’t wait to hear it, but it will have to keep for the nano. Carol and I have lunch reservations and Sexy is due at MHV.”

  “Where?”

  “MHV News. We booked an interview on the request show for this afternoon in order to undo some of the damage that was done last night.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  Smiles turned away from me and shouted down to Sexy, who was just finishing her workout.

  “Let’s put some scooty in that booty S-Girl. You have to be on camera in an hour.”

  Sexy gave the droid one last kick (to the groin) before shutting it down. She grabbed a towel and a water bottle from a hovering bot nearby and turned to us on the catwalk.

  “I’m coming up now, Sammy,” she said. “Hi, Zach.”

  Her smile was sweet and sensuous, an effect made more so by the sweaty glow from her workout.

  “Hi yourself, Sexy,” I said, immediately regretting the hint of flirtation in my tone.

  Carol shot me a look as I turned but I couldn’t tell if she was angry at me because of my attraction to Sexy or my disgust with Smiles. Either way it was clear she wasn’t happy, but she didn’t say anything.

  “We’ll be back for the pre-show prep,” Smiles said, turning to leave.

  “Carol, we should discuss the plan for tonight’s concert when I get back,” I said.

  “Just think it really strongly,” she said coldly without turning around. “I’ll get it.”

  I gritted my teeth and tried to remain calm as she and Smiles left. Carol was taking some liberties with the assignment that I didn’t approve of. She also wasn’t actually helping me with any of the legwork, which also irked me. But her powers had saved us last night and I definitely I owed her something for that. So I let it slide.

/>   A nano later, Sexy and the girls came onto the catwalk. Sexy gave me a little hug as she appeared and her arm, still damp with sweat against my neck, left a mark on my skin that gave me a chill.

  “Give me two nanos to freshen up,” she said. “Then we can go.”

  “Are you sure you want to be doing this interview now?” I asked. “I don’t like the idea of you being out in the open like that.”

  “It’ll be in the studio, Zach. And like Sammy said, we really need to put a positive spin on this whole thing.”

  “What kind of positive spin can you put on a murder attempt?”

  “Well, that it failed, for one,” she replied with a smile. “Plus it gives me some additional street cred.”

  “Street cred?”

  “Real danger. It’s very edgy,” she replied. “It all makes perfect sense actually. I’ve pushed the envelope throughout my career—with my music, my fashion, and my sense of taste and decorum in general. Being stalked is just another facet of my edginess.”

  “Great,” I said “maybe you’ll start a trend and everyone will want a stalker.”

  Half an hour later, Sexy, Misty, Sissy, Lusty, and I were sitting in the MHV greenroom cooling our heels while the live interview show made its way, one insipid nano at a time, to us. They had saved Sexy for the closing minutes and the live crowd on the set was getting impatient (which was making me nervous).

  “I thought this was supposed to be a closed set?” I asked Sexy.

  “It is closed,” she said with a shrug. “No one other than the host, the crew, and the studio audience is allowed in.”

  “Letting the public in sort of nullifies the idea of a set being closed,” I said.

  “These kids began lining up outside the studio this morning when they announced my appearance. They’re fans, Zach.”

  “Sexy, one of your fans tried to hand you a nano-explosive floral bouquet last night,” I said. “With fans like that, who needs critics?”

  “Don’t be such a worm in the data.”

  The interview set was a huge studio space with a semicircle of bleacherlike seats facing a plush couch and host chair on the brightly lit stage. A dozen or so camerabots floated around the host and guest-of-the-nano as the audience (wild-eyed teens mostly) screamed and cheered whenever the “scream and cheer” light above the set flashed (which was most of the time). They all looked like legit kids to my eye, but I wasn’t taking any chances.