by M M Buckner
True, Vlad had lost a lot of weight in his brief captivity. His eyelids looked like husks.
Kat backed away. “Don’t touch him. Remember what Trencher said about the quarantine.”
“His malady isn’t catching.” I slit the plastic balloon with my surfer knife, and Kat let out a squeal. “Hush,” I said, lifting the young medic in my arms. With my NEM-boosted strength and the gunship’s half gravity, he weighed almost nothing. “Let’s get him suited up. Careful, mind his head.”
Kat took a few deep breams and checked her heart-rate monitor. “You’d damn well better know what you’re doing, Deepra.”
Verinne had brought a spare EVA suit—the pearly pink one. As we dressed Vlad, his head and limbs rolled loose, and his eyes didn’t focus. I was the only one who understood his broken prote drawl. He wanted to go to the garden.
We snuck out of the brig completely unnoticed—a totally Valium Class One surf. Any Fred could have done it. Trencher had to be the most inept executive in Com annals. It galled me to think I’d been the one to hire him. What had I ever seen in that nudnik?
It was near the airlock that the Provendia guards ambushed us with a hail of paralysis darts. “What the freak?” “Look out!” “They’ve got us pinned!”
The nasty darts stung like wasps. I took three in the shoulder, went down on one knee, and dropped Vlad. Verinne groaned when the darts hit her back, and Kat screamed curses. As the troops closed in, Grunze put up a heroic fight, ripping handfuls of darts from his chest and kick-punching his assailants. He delayed them just long enough for Verinne and Kat to slip into the airlock.
I crawled over and sealed the hatch behind them—it was the last move I made before my legs stopped working. But the girls didn’t complete their exit. The paralysis darts had already attacked their central nervous systems, and their vocal cords froze so quickly, they couldn’t speak the final commands. Just as well. If they’d gone EVA in that immobilized condition, they might have drifted into eternity.
The guards opened the airlock, dragged their rigid bodies out and piled them on top of the prostrate Grunze. Then they added Vlad and me to the heap. We couldn’t resist. My lock-jawed crewmates gazed at me with absolute terror.
I knew what they were thinking—job termination. Loss of executive privilege, demotion to the protean abyss. They visibly quailed, and I can only imagine what black nightmares swarmed behind their unblinking eyes. My friends. I was the one who’d brought them to this. While the guards bumped our petrified bodies along the corridor, I rapidly made up lies.
Trencher was waiting on the bridge. He looked just as I remembered, hairless and bony, with skin like a bruised lily. The man had no eyelashes, and his reptilian eyes swiveled odiously. He had narrow shoulders and wide, womanish hips. Even the padded Provendia uniform failed to lend him an air of command. The guards dumped us at his feet.
“Honorable Chairman Deepra. My mentor and guide. What an unexpected pleasure.” His voice rolled smoother than synthetic honey. He snickered and wet his lips.
Thanks to my NEMs, the paralysis drug wore off quickly, and I was able to squirm and look around. Bad news. An active Net link glowed in a nearby workstation, which meant my NEMs had lost the shelter of the blockade. Soon, the doctors would launch new restraint orders. But for the moment, I still felt strong. While Trencher paraded around, gloating and nudging us with his boot, I twisted carefully to browse my thumbscreen. It was blank. No icons. No message menu. Just a pale, manicured thumbnail.
Was I dead? I didn’t feel dead. I could still see and—I took an experimental breath—yes, my lungs still worked. Then I realized what had happened. The glass man had found a way to disconnect my IBiS from the Net.
“Aren’t you going to fight?” Trencher goaded, swishing his hips. “You’re pathetic. I expected more from the world-class surfer ace. Oh sure, I browse the Agonist Web page. I know all about you and your secret club.”
Spite twisted his leathery face. He stood tapping his foot, hands on his brass-studded belt, waiting for my answer. I pretended to experiment with my vocal cords, humming and clearing my throat as if they were still frozen. Then I spoke in a fake husky whisper.
“Everything you say is being recorded.”
“Are you kidding me?” The man emitted the most unnatural laugh I’d ever heard. He sounded like a screeching animal. “You’re trespassing illegally, Mr. Chairman Emeritus. Playing your surfer games, shelling out your stingy bribes. You think you’re king of the gods. But this time, you’re a bygone.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” I croaked. “Everything you say will be used against you.”
“What the hell?” His eyes rolled suspiciously. “What scam are you playing?”
I could move freely—the glass man had eliminated every trace of Trencher’s drug from my system. But I remained on the floor, pretending to struggle against the paralysis, waiting for the right moment. “This is an unscheduled inspection, Trencher. We’ve been testing your security measures. I’ve already sent my report to the board.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I? Call your CEO.”
Of course I was bluffing, but I had to brave it out. Trencher was a bimbus. Maybe I could sucker him. I snuck a peek at the workstation screen, hoping for godsends. Deep within Provendia’s rust-clogged chain of command, Chad had been working through channels, getting that euthanasia order stopped and retiring this gunship back to base. The recall message should have hit Trencher’s in-box by now. If only he would read it, then my bluff might work.
“The board has known about your negligence for months,” I lied. “This is just a fact-gathering visit. Your termination’s already stamped and dated.”
‘Termination? After all the crap I’ve fetched and toted for you? Fifty years I’ve walked in your buggery footsteps, eaten your leftovers, shined your bloody shoes!”
“Stow it, Trencher. Check your mail, I believe you’ll find new orders.” I sat up with much show of groaning and stiffness. My arms hung limp, my hands curled inward. I nodded awkwardly toward the Net screen.
He saw the direction of my gaze. “Check the incoming,” he ordered the crewman. His lily skin was going damp.
“We were friends once,” I said, shamming a tone of regret. “It’s not my style to leave friends in the lurch.”
“Hell yes, we were friends.” He hung over the screen browsing the scroll of new emails. “Deepra, you can’t let them fire me.”
“Maybe I can get you off.”
When he turned to face me, I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together, discreetly signaling a request for a bribe. At that, his hairless white scalp drew up in ripples, and the bare humps of his eyebrows turned pink. “Clear the bridge,” he ordered. What a dunce. He totally fell for it.
Kat and Grunze still sprawled together on top of Vlad, exactly as they had fallen. Their movements were sluggish and weak. Beneath them, Vlad lay unconscious. Verinne pushed herself up to a sitting position, but she couldn’t speak. I waited till the last guard closed the door and left us alone with Trencher.
He fidgeted at the screen, scanning every new email and rubbing his knobby head. He muttered steadily to himself. “Yeah, security’s a little lax, but who cares about this dirt-wad factory? Nobody comes here. This is a shit job. That’s all I get anymore, and it’s because of you, Deepra. You blackballed me. Hell, you were my role model. I used to worship you, man.”
His behavior sickened me. Was this the kind of disciple I inspired? “Cut the flattery. Do you want my help or not?”
“Like I have a choice?” He sat down at the workstation and lifted the headset to transmit a query. He was calling my bluff. I sprang to my feet and batted the headset away.
“Huh?” He propelled himself backward in the rolling chair and bashed against the navigation con.
“You have two seconds to get some health care for my inspection team,” I commanded.
Trencher bit his fingers and eyed me with unabashed
fright. “I don’t believe you.” If he’d called the guards, I would have gone for his throat, but instead, he hunched over the screen and went back to browsing email. I stood above him like an executioner, ready to strike a blow to his neck if he made a wrong move. Silently, he clicked through his enormous backlog of messages. And there it was in the queue, the recall order. It had come in an hour ago.
“See.” I jabbed my finger at the screen. “Now hustle.”
Trencher went maximally unzipped when he saw the email. The man honestly thought we were going to fire him. It made me sad to watch him scurry around like a nervous lizard, doing my bidding. He ordered paralysis antidotes for Vlad and the Agonists, gave us his private quarters to recuperate in, and had his personal chef prepare us a nice snack. While my friends convalesced, he kept peeking in to ask what else we might need. I finally sent him off to put his resume in order.
“Poor Trencher.” I tucked his plush blanket around Vlad’s shoulders.
“That schlemiel? You’d feel sorry for the WTO.” Kat stuffed her cheeks with ersatz lobster roll.
Grunze licked mayo from his fingers. “Just like Sheeba. You two are a pair of bleeding hearts.”
“But you spin lies like a true artist, caro.” Verinne patted my hand and sipped a squeeze-bulb of champagne.
Recovering in the captain’s suite, we shared the afterglow that follows a difficult surf. We told jokes, relived critical moments, devoured large quantities of food. I slipped a satin pillow under Vlad’s head and tried to feed him some water.
“Why don’t you buy Trencher’s contract and ship him out to Uranus?” Grunze seized another sandwich. “Show him who’s alpha male.”
“You can afford it.” Kat picked meat fiber from her teeth.
“Yeah, while you’re at it, buy this whole fuckin’ gun-ship.” Grunzie gestured at the cabin’s elegant fixtures. “It’d make a primo trophy.”
“Right, I can afford it.” My crewmates were always egging me to spend money. It was part of our game. Yes, I could afford the gunship. I could afford lots of things. While I dribbled water between Vlad’s lips, Grunze and Kat smirked, waiting to hear how I would meet their challenge. I blew kisses and almost spouted a wisecrack, but then, somewhere, the karmic scales of justice pivoted on their axes. Or possibly, the NEMs inspired me. For whatever reason, I got a new idea.
“I know what Sheeba wants.”
The Agonists stopped chewing and stared at me strangely. Perhaps it was the tremble in my voice.
“It’s a stroke of genius,” I went on. “Why didn’t I think of this before?”
“Don’t keep us guessing. What is it?” said Kat.
I smiled mysteriously and lowered Vlad’s head to the pillow. Saving the medic’s life might earn Shee’s forgiveness, but this brilliant new gift could actually convince her to like me again!
The medic was too sleepy to drink water, so I let him rest, and while my friends razzed me for details, I used Trencher’s phone to call Chad. My cyberassistant had megatons to tell me. He’d succeeded in killing the euthanasia scheme, but the board wanted an emergency meeting to find out what was going on. He offered to go as my proxy. Chad was very talented at blowing smoke rings and spinning cover stories—but I cut him off midsentence.
“Chad, I want you to buy Heaven.”
Kat dropped her crème brulee. “That’s what you’re giving Sheeba? That shabby old tank?”
“Buy all the worker contracts, too,” I shouted jubilantly over the phone.
Verinne arched both eyebrows, and Grunze choked on his chocolate chip cookie. They acted as if I’d wobbled right over the edge. “That’s too much.” “It’ll bankrupt you.” “Nasir, think.”
I grinned like a loon.
Chad went into diligence mode. Had I weighed this decision carefully? Did I realize the magnitude of the transaction? I spoke a preprogrammed code word to short-circuit his questions, and we worked out the details in minutes. When my friends objected, I cavalierly waved them away. Everything had to fall together at light-speed, with absolute secrecy, and Chad loved that kind of intrigue. He suggested that we set up a blind trust.
I covered the phone and said, “Hey, guys, will you serve as my trustees?”
“You’re loco, Nass. Absolutely unzipped,” said Grunze. “What’s the annual salary for a trustee?”
When I named a figure, my companions displayed a unanimous change of heart. “Yeah, put my name down.” “Me too.” “I’m in.”
“We’ll serve in perpetuity, caro”—Verinne gave me a devious wink and whispered behind her hand—“once you share your immortal bioNEMs.” Running the risk of a little capital punishment didn’t frighten Verinne one bit.
Naturally, Chad and I were of one mind about hiring cy-berstaff instead of human managers. In seconds, Chad recruited a team of AIs to control Heaven’s orbit, maintain the Net blockade and file the tax returns. Oh, Sheeba was going to love this.
After further consideration, I asked Chad to make some rush purchases on the hot market. For starters, I wanted…
a. end-to-end hull renovations
b. new orbit synchronizers
c. a state-of-the-art medical lab
d. a gross of EVA suits
e. a complete new lighting system
f. interactive learning modules for grades K through 30
g. some windows
Despite my code word, Chad introduced another note of caution. “Boss, how are we going to pay for all this? I already cashed most of your bonds to bribe that Captain Trencher.”
“Sell more. Sell my Provendia stocks.”
Dumping those shares would bring an end to my cushy chairman-emeritus gig, but I didn’t reflect on my future. All I wanted was to regain Sheeba’s good graces, and this was bound to do it
Vlad still lay in a daze on Trencher’s bed, but the glass man would help me cure him. I rubbed my hands together, imagining Shee’s delight when she saw her lop-jawed medic again. A sweet euphoria eased through my veins. Everything was going to be all right. Heaven would be safe, and Shee would come home, and our lives would get back to normal.
As soon as my friends felt well enough to travel, I asked them to carry Vlad to the shuttle and give him first aid. I would stay behind and deal with the captain.
Poor Trencher was such a wreck, I decided not to tease him any further. We kept the terms simple. Trencher agreed to return our bribe money and to remain cosmically mute about our surf. In return, I would deep-six the “report” on his lame security. As an afterthought, I told Chad to recommend the numbnuts for promotion. After so thoroughly humiliating him, it was the least I could do. Besides, he and Provendia deserved each other.
As I prepared to depart, he personally checked the self-sealed dart holes in my space suit. “Mr. Chairman, you teach me new lessons every time we meet. You’re my guru, sir.” Then he gave roe a tearful hug. No doubt about it, Trencher was destined to rise.
26
JUST TAP
“People like you and I, though mortal of course like everyone else, do not grow old no matter how long we live.”
-ALBERT EINSTEIN
By now you may have asked yourself—many times—why you keep browsing this memoir. The narrator, you will say, has no redeeming traits. He’s a pint-sized, elderly blowhard with false hair and a small lump of biomachinery for a heart. Yet here you sit scrolling through my words, well past the middle of my story, and you may still be wondering, just as I am—why the freaking hell is Nasir Deepra waiting in that anteroom to die? We’re coming close now. Please keep me company. This place is lonesome.
Back in the shuttle, Vlad’s thin body rested in the bunk. We covered him with Win’s blanket and Velcroed him in so he wouldn’t float free. Kat dribbled a little water into the young man’s mouth through a microgravity tube—but he didn’t swallow. He showed all the symptoms of the malady.
“Do you have a cyberdoc?” I asked.
Kat pointed aft toward the medical bin. “Wha
t kind of drug does he need?”
“He needs blood,” I said. “A couple of liters.”
Picture, if you will, the alarm that glared at me from four executive faces. Imagine how they drifted into walls, speechless with outrage. Unfortunately, the speechless phase didn’t last long.
“Are you totally brain-dead?”
“Share executive blood with a prote?”
“You’re not serious.”
My friends nervously laughed and elbowed each other, assuring themselves I’d made a bad joke, but when they saw me fish through Kat’s medical bin and pull out the portable cyberdoc, they moved closer and watched with suspicion. When I asked the device how to set up a blood transfusion, Kat knocked it out of my hands.
“Deepra, you’re loco.”
Then they all spoke at once, and I had to yell to make myself heard. “Vlad can’t help us if he’s dead.”
My shout temporarily shut them up. I found the cyberdoc drifting under the bunk and latched it to the wall so I could study its control panel. The mechanism was about the size of an espresso machine, and it looked equally complicated. I’d never operated one before, but the screen alleged mat, with its user-friendly help features, even a child could perform open-heart surgery. Again, I asked the device how to set up a blood transfusion.
“Nasir, tell us what you’re doing.” Verinne sounded like a psychiatrist trying to soothe a raging lunatic. The others quietly surrounded me.
“Don’t try anything,” I warned them. “This boy has a condition, and I can cure it with a large concentration of my NEMs. Two liters of blood will do the trick.”
“Smutty talk,” Kat hissed.
“But Nasir,” Verinne said, “what you’re suggesting’s unethical.”
“Plus it’s obscene,” Kat said with a sniff. “Mixing blood. Ick.”
“Who says so, huh?” I slipped a pillow under Vlad’s arm. “Who decides what’s obscene and what’s not?”
Grunze eased next to me. “Sweet-pee, this isn’t you talking. Something’s got into you..”
