Prison Planet

by William C. Dietz

  Having unloaded all his personal weapons, and laid them out neatly on the surface of the LZ, Cyclops smiled, and flexed his fingers. “Come and get it stranger.”

  And Renn did. Putting his head down he charged straight at the giant, hitting him in the stomach, and bowling him over. The maneuver caught Cyclops completely by surprise. As he fell, he took Blaster and the Scuz down with him.

  Meanwhile Renn rolled sideways, and scrabbled among the weapons Cyclops had placed on the ground. One was a .50 caliber semi-automatic handgun. It was a weapon with which Renn was slightly familiar. If he could just get hold of it, Renn was reasonably sure he could release the safety, and fire it. The rest would be a matter of luck. And there it was, just beyond the end of his fingertips, if he could reach it ... Just as his fingers closed around the cool plastic, there was an explosion of pain, followed by—nothing.

  He opened his eyes to total darkness. Was he blind? Or dead, and confined to some corner of hell so remote, so desolate, that light never reached it? Suddenly two red eyes came at him out of the dark and he tried to move, to escape, but a jagged lance of pain held him pinned where he was. And then, when it seemed the red-eyed monster would lunge for his jugular, it stopped, and he heard an unfamiliar female voice. “What the hell are you doing? Can't leave you for a moment ... now stop that and lie down. You're not ready to go anywhere yet.”

  Suddenly a cold wet nose brushed his cheek, and a furry head nudged him down. He heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn't some sort of monster after all ... it was the dog. The dog! The dog was talking! He tried to sit up but once again the pain drove him back down. Now he could make out a faint outline of the dog's head and shoulders against the cold light of the stars.

  “Oh, I get it,” Marla said apologetically and sitting back on her haunches. “You just discovered I'm not your average mutt. Sorry about that. You've been coming and going for quite a while. I didn't realize you were here for keeps this time.”

  When Renn spoke his voice sounded strange in his own ears. “Then you're for real ... a talking dog?”

  “Sort of,” Marla agreed. “Actually I'm a female cyber-dog, trained for security work.”

  “Cyberdog?” Renn asked dully. “Some sort of cyborg?”

  “That's right,” Marla answered. “But we can play ‘what's a cute little cyborg like you doing in a place like this’ later. Right now we've got some more pressing problems ... like your head for example.”

  Renn reached up to touch his head. His fingers came away sticky. He couldn't see ... but he knew what it was. Blood. “What the hell happened anyway?”

  He heard a soft chuckle. “You tried to knock One-Eye down and kill him with his own gun. One of his friends shot you. Knife I think ... or was it Trap? Anyway the slug only grazed the side of your head, but it made one helluva mess, so they left you for dead. They talked about shooting me, but decided to save the ammo. Said I'd make a nice snack for some swamp monster.” She laughed. “Not unless swamp monsters like steel and plastic.”

  “So they left?”

  “Yup. And took your gear with them. They've been gone for three hours and twenty-six minutes.”

  “Three hours and twenty-six minutes?”

  “Being a cyborg has some advantages ... including a built-in chronometer with time lapse and the works.”

  “Oh,” Renn replied stupidly, his next comment forgotten as something big screamed a long way off, and was answered from someplace nearby.

  “And that's our other problem,” Marla said calmly. “While we're waiting for you to recover, various things would like to have us for dinner. I've killed two smaller carnivores in the last couple of hours. Night feeders most likely, attracted by the smell of your blood.”

  Renn thought about that for a moment. For reasons he couldn't fathom he had a very unusual friend. One who'd already risked her life on his behalf. He should be pulling his share of the load instead of lying around like so much dead meat. Suddenly he had an idea. Patting his pockets, he discovered they still had things in them, and wondered why Cyclops and his friends hadn't stripped him of the suit itself. “They didn't search me?”

  “No,” she replied. “What'd they miss, a collapsible field hospital?”

  “No,” he said smiling in spite of the pain, “something almost as good. A survival kit. And most survival kits come with a lighter. I wonder if that undergrowth is flammable.”

  “Not bad for a head case,” Marla conceded. “Let's find out.” While he went through his pockets trying to figure out which packet was the survival kit, Marla disappeared into the night. She returned a number of times, dragging various kinds of vegetation in her teeth. Meanwhile he managed to find the survival kit and the lighter it contained.

  “OK,” Renn said, “let's give it a try. There's no point in you working your tail off if this stuff won't burn.”

  “Tail off? Is that your idea of a joke, chubs?” Renn was taken aback by the hostility in her voice.

  “No ... it's just a figure of speech. I meant no offense.”

  “Well all right,” Marla growled self-consciously. “It was probably my fault anyway. I'm a bit oversensitive sometimes.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Renn replied lightly. “Let's see if this stuff burns.” After about ten minutes of experimentation, they found three varieties of vegetation that refused to burn at all. A fourth gave off such a horrible stench that Marla had to haul it away, and the fifth burned with a bright crackling flame.

  Thus encouraged, Marla gathered more of the fire plant, and they soon had a respectable bonfire. Although Marla kept watch, the fire seemed to have the desired effect: no more carnivores ventured near.

  Renn had also discovered a small first-aid kit tucked away in one of his pockets, and used it to clean his lacerated scalp, and cover it with a dressing. He also took some broad spectrum antibiotics plus a couple of painkillers. They both stared into the fire for awhile, each curious about the other, but afraid to ask. Then the painkillers took effect, and Renn found himself becoming drowsy. Although the night was not especially cold, the warmth of the fire felt good, and before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.

  It was still night when he awoke. In front of him the fire burned bright, surrounding him in a dancing orange glow, and revealing that his companion still kept watch. She was curled up beside him, her eyes on the fire.

  He watched her for awhile, wishing he could reach out and pet her, but unsure of how she might react. What was it like in a dog's body, he wondered? Not very pleasant he supposed. She certainly didn't like it. Renn wondered what she'd looked like before her transformation into whatever she was. He pictured her as a brunette, with shoulder-length hair, a pretty face, and a slim figure, probably because that was the kind of woman he liked best. Renn found himself wishing he'd known her then. He felt sure he'd have liked her. God knows he owed her a lot. Not many people would've stayed to help him. He decided to break the silence. “Thank you.”

  She turned to look at him with her big brown eyes. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a parody of a human smile. “You're welcome, but it's I who should thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “You tried to defend me aboard the shuttle, and frankly, it's been a long time since anyone tried to protect me from anything.”

  Renn shrugged. “It just seemed like the right thing to do, although I didn't do it very well, and it hardly compares with fighting alien carnivores and the like. By the way, I'm Jonathan Renn.” He held out his hand and then jerked it back. “Sorry.”

  She laughed. “Well don't be. It shows you think of me as a person and not a dog. I apologize for what I said earlier. I get stupid sometimes. My name's Marla. Marla Marie Mendez. Here, shake.” Sitting up she held out a paw.

  Leaning on one elbow, Renn accepted her paw and shook it. “Pleased to meet you Marla Marie Mendez. Like you said earlier, what's a nice cyborg like you doing in a place like this?”

  She looked into the fire. “What you real
ly mean is, why did I become a cyborg? And what did I do to wind up here?”

  Renn started to speak but she interrupted. “No, that's OK, it's a perfectly reasonable question. I'll tackle it in two parts.” She paused for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, and then began.

  “When I was twenty years old—let's see, that's about four standard years ago now—I was injured in a very bad air car accident. My boyfriend and I were coming home from a skiing trip. He fell asleep at the controls. You know how they work, you release your grip on the stick, the autopilot comes on, and an alarm goes off. Anyway that's what's supposed to happen, only it didn't. There was some kind of malfunction. As a result we hit an eighty-story condo complex at about eighty miles an hour. Fortunately, it was under construction so we didn't kill anyone besides ourselves.

  My boyfriend was pronounced brain-dead at the scene, but they decided I had a chance, and rushed me to a hospital. He was in the front, I was asleep in the back, and apparently that small difference saved my life. Two days later I came to. I couldn't see, but I could hear in a distorted sort of way, and talk, at least if I felt like talking. I heard a voice, a kind voice, that sounded as if it were far, far away. It asked me questions and I answered. Then it went away and I drifted off to sleep.

  “But soon it was back. Sometimes it asked me questions about how I felt, or what I was thinking, and sometimes it just kept me company. It said that while my injuries were quite severe, the doctors were doing everything they could, and that everything would turn out just fine. It went on like that for a long time. Months in fact. Then the voice came for one last time. I knew it was the same voice, but it was different somehow, sadder, and sort of hollow. It said my injuries were so severe the doctors couldn't save my biological body. The voice was sorry, but there was nothing anyone could do, and I must face up to it. The voice said I had three options...”

  Marla paused here, and though she made no sound, Renn felt certain she was close to tears. Without thinking he reached out to pet her, running his hand down the soft fur on her back, feeling the shudder that ran through her body. “Marla, there's no need...”

  She cut him off, her voice tight with emotion. “Yes, there is a need. I want you to know. As I was saying, there were three options. I could opt for self-authorized euthanasia, I could continue my present existence, which I learned was nothing more than a brain and spinal cord in a computer-monitored nutrient bath, or I could become a cyborg. Well, it didn't take me long to decide on number three.”

  “I'm glad you did,” Renn said softly stroking her back. She looked back over her shoulder and he saw something that might have been gratitude in her eyes. Then she returned her gaze to the fire and continued her story.

  “There was only one problem. It costs a lot of money to construct a cyborg body. You can't mass-produce them. Each one is custom engineered for the person who occupies and uses it ... and I was broke. On top of that, the insurance money was all gone, and while the government might stake me to a life-long nutrient bath, they wouldn't pay for a cyborg body. And since my father was killed fighting the pirates in the Battle of Hell, and my mother disappeared out along the frontier shortly thereafter, there was no family to bail me out.”

  “She just disappeared?”

  Marla laughed. “Yeah, Mom wasn't the matronly type. I suspect she's keeping some prospector warm at night. Anyway, the voice told me there was a way. Certain large companies are willing to pay for the creation of a cyborg body, provided that you indenture yourself to them for a certain number of years, and provided that you accept the kind of body they're willing to construct.”

  “Don't tell me, let me guess,” Renn said. “The kind of body they're willing to construct matches the task they have in mind.”

  “Exactly,” Marla agreed. “And that's how I wound up as a cyberdog. A company called ‘Intersystems Incorporated,’ had need of some very special security guards. Guards with human intelligence, because security work takes a certain amount of smarts, a comfortable appearance, because nobody wants an ugly looking autoguard hanging around all the time, a capacity for physical violence, since that provides an effective deterrent, and complete trustworthiness, because any other kind of guard isn't worth much, and these particular guards would have access to the company's most sensitive data banks.”

  “Wait a minute,” Renn interjected. “Intelligence is a given, the dog-image is comfortable, and allows for the possibility of violence, but I don't see why it makes you more trustworthy around the company secrets.”

  “This is why,” Marla replied holding up a paw. “Ever tried to operate a computer keyboard using one of these babies? Take my word for it ... don't bother.”

  Both were silent for a moment, and then Renn said, “You've had some tough breaks, that's for sure. OK, that's how you wound up as a cyberdog, but what about the rest? What brought you here?”

  She grinned, revealing a pink tongue and rows of white teeth. “I'm a thief. My original period of indenture was for ten years. At the end of that time I could leave Intersystems, or continue to provide them with my services under contract. I had it all planned out. I'd serve my ten years, continue under contract, and save up enough money for a humanoid body. They're damned good these days. You can do everything but have babies, and I mean everything.

  “Sounds like fun,” Renn said mischievously.

  “As I remember it was,” Marla countered in the same spirit. “In any case, I had it all planned out. Then I learned Intersystems had stacked the deck. Every once in awhile they'd pull me in for a check-up, or a modification, and that cost them money, so they'd add six months or a year to my indenture.”

  “They planned to use you forever.”

  “Exactly. So, to make a long story short, I waited for one of the rare times when I was guarding some cash. About a million and a half in gold Imperials. All I needed was a quarter million, so that's all I took. I used robots to substitute an equal amount of weight, loaded my loot on a freight flier, wiped the robot's memory, and headed for a well known cybernetics clinic in Switzerland.”

  Renn gave a low whistle. “Smart. But how does a cyberdog move around without being noticed'?”

  Marla grinned. “Simple. I just hired an actor to accompany me. Man and dog, what could be more innocent?”

  Renn laughed, and then touched the side of his head. The pain had started to return. “And then?”

  Marla returned her gaze to the fire. “And then I got caught. During one of those modifications I mentioned, they'd installed a mini-beacon in my chest, and it was a simple matter to follow the beacon's signal to its source. I was arrested entering the clinic in Switzerland.”

  For a while the sound was that of the crackling fire. Then Marla broke the silence. “So that's my story ... what's yours Jonathan Renn? What's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”

  Renn chuckled. “On hindsight, I'd say my crime was stupidity. When my father passed away ... he left me a successful import business. For years he'd done pretty well by importing specialty items from the frontier planets, you know, exotic spices, herbs, perfumes, things like that. ‘Keep it light and keep it small,’ he always said, ‘otherwise the freight will kill us.’ And he was right. When I took over I decided to ‘keep it light’ and expand the business. At first I added a line of exotic freeze dried foods, then a line of off-world wines, and finally I began bringing in some pharmaceuticals, mostly for research purposes.”

  “By that time I had my own ship, a tidy little ex-navy scout, which I christened Pegasus. Like all successful business people, I had competitors, some nice, and some not so nice. Suffice it to say that having completed a business trip to the Rim, I returned to Terra one day, and suddenly found myself in deep trouble. I had a small shipment of pharmaceuticals aboard, some new anti-coagulants developed on Weller's World, but that was all. So imagine my surprise when a customs agent found a pound of Yirl hidden in my quarters, and placed me under arrest.”

  Everyone knew ab
out Yirl, and Marla was no exception. It was said to produce something akin to a prolonged orgasm, along with permanent nerve damage, and total addiction. Yirl was illegal by order of the emperor himself. Of course that didn't stop some people from selling the stuff, and others from using it, but Renn didn't seem like the type. “So you were framed.”

  Renn nodded. “It would appear so. I can't prove it from here, but I'm pretty sure it was a slimy little bastard named ‘Shinto.’ He was a competitor, and a crooked one at that, so framing me would be just his style. I know this sounds absurd, but somehow I'm going to find a way off this slime ball, and track Shinto down.” He shrugged. “But at the moment it seems revenge will have to wait.”

  “Yes,” Marla agreed, “I guess it will. I'm sorry Jonathan.”

  “Me too,” he answered, running a hand over her soft fur. “Me too.” And with that he rolled over next to her, rested his head on her side, and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Marla awoke to the sound of distant thunder, followed a few seconds later by a sudden deluge of warm rain. It came down in sheets, quickly extinguishing the fire, and matting her fur. In spite of the downpour, Renn remained where he was, curled up in a fetal position, soaked to the skin. She tried to gently nuzzle him awake. No reaction. Worried, she tried licking him with her long pink tongue. Still no reaction. Really worried now, she pawed at him and called his name. “Jonathan, it's Marla, wake up.” He groaned a little, mumbled something she couldn't understand, and returned to his semi-comatose state. It didn't take a medical degree to see he was very, very ill. Probably an infection of some kind.

  Marla sat back on her haunches and considered her options. She could stay, hoping he'd recover enough to travel, or go for help. While gathering fireweed she'd stumbled across a trail, and logic dictated that it led somewhere, quite possibly a settlement. Settlements and spaceports just naturally went together. Then too, Cyclops and his merry men had shown up without packs, which meant they'd come from somewhere close by. She could imagine them sitting in a saloon, hearing the shuttle pass overhead, and then heading for the LZ. Maybe it was part of their regular routine. In any case it seemed certain that some kind of town must be located nearby. The more she thought about it, the more she realized there was very little choice.