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.
17
“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.
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.”
