Unstable Prototypes (67 page)

"I've just been walking the halls. It's been
more than three years since I've been able to walk more than a few
meters without having to worry about leg restraints, police
officers, corrections officials, or armed guards giving me
trouble," Silo added, sitting beside Garotte. "It is a shame it is
so cold outside, or I'd go for a jog."

"Where are you guys going from here?" Lex
asked. "Now that the mission is over?"

"Honestly, Lex, I don't know what I'm going
to do after the mission," she said with weary frustration. "For
better or for worse, though, this mission isn't quite over."

"Oh no?" Lex remarked.

"Ma didn't tell you?" Garotte asked.

"The information you are referring to is not
relevant to Mr. Alexander's interests," Ma stated quickly.

"I dare say that should be his decision, not
yours," Garotte countered.

"Look, we were supposed to go get Karter and
bring him back, and we did.
And
we stopped the CMEA from
being used."

"We delayed it. Evidently the designs were
sent to a third party shortly before our arrival. There's not
enough info to tell us who, exactly, but someone out there could
try again."

"So even after all of that, there's no way of
knowing that this won't happen after all..."

"The chances are pretty slim. That alloy is
tricky stuff to make. The supply on the space station, represents
by a
large
margin the greatest single source in the galaxy.
Your girlfriend's coverage and the Weston University disaster have
made it a controlled substance overnight. They keep track of it by
the gram now," Silo explained.

"That said, it was blind spots and security
gaps in the military that allowed the Neo-Luddites to grow and
thrive to begin with," Garotte chimed in. "Silo and I both would
feel a bit better with ourselves on the job."

"Why didn't you tell
me
Ma?" Lex
asked, looking around for something to glare at. Even with ten days
of doing so, Lex was having a hard time getting used to Ma no
longer having a face, albeit a furry one.

"I prefer not to elaborate at this time," she
replied.

"What are you people still doing here?"
demanded a gruff voice from the door.

Karter, dressed in a fresh jumpsuit and
bearing his realistic and fully functional prostheses for the first
time since Purcell had seen fit to slice his hand off, came
pounding into the room and headed for the food counter.

"Karter, please remember to treat your guests
with hospitality," Ma reminded. "An ounce of gratitude would not be
out of place."

"Since when do you call me Karter?" asked the
scientist.

"Since I spearheaded a rescue mission that
succeeded despite extremely unfavorable statistical predictions,"
she stated simply. "That's when."

He seemed to pause to consider this, then
shrugged it off and pulled the lid off of one of the trays. With a
deep breath, a look of pure bliss came to his face.

"It has been
too long
," he proclaimed,
pulling the entire steam tray from the counter and dropping it down
on one of the tables. The tray was full of red beans and rice, and
Karter began shoveling it into his mouth with the serving spoon.
"You wouldn't believe the crap they were feeding me."

"Actually, I meant to say this earlier, but
it looks like you dropped a ton of weight in the last few weeks,"
Lex said.

"That's what happens when you eat nothing but
military rations. Plus, I used my implants a whole lot. Those
things burn some serious calories."

"Well maybe you should consider sticking to
that diet," Silo suggested.

"... No," he said, continuing to maul the
contents of the tray.

"Karter, listen, I was talking to Michella.
She really wants to interview you."

"No."

"But we couldn't have rescued you without the
help of her research,"

"No."

"She only wants to ask you a few-"

"No."

"She is extremely attractive," Ma added.

"... Maybe," Karter said. "Anyway, down to
business. First off, Ma, no more deals with terrorists. They lead
to some intriguing projects, but weapons of mass destruction kick
up a big ruckus and make it difficult to make sure I get left
alone. Plus, they're unreliable. They never coughed up the money
for the job."

"Karter, you really ought to be
congratulated. You have elevated doing the right thing for the
wrong reason to an art form," Garotte said with a slow clap.

Karter waved off the comment. "Fortunately I
ended up with a transporter and a space station out of the deal, so
we'll call it even. Also, field data on like a dozen different
gadgets. Good stuff. Now, you three. Lex, the SOB is finished with
repairs, and I went ahead and stuck in a new fuel converter which
should give you a shorter start time from a cold engine. Test it
out. I'll send you the appropriate feedback forms later. Ma, show
him the door."

"I must once again suggest that you treat
your guests with a degree of gratitude appropriate for their role
in your liberation," Ma gently reprimanded.

"I gave him a new fuel converter. I think
that was pretty gracious."

"Don't worry about it, Ma. I really ought to
get going before my dispatcher fires me a third time," Lex said,
standing to leave.

"Good, now. James Bond and Big Gun Lady, what
do you two want in exchange for your role in this?" Karter
asked.

"Please delay your departure momentarily," Ma
stated.

Five mechanical grippers emerged from the
kitchen, each holding a tray. The first four contained one beverage
each, the last had an empty glass.

"Miss Silo, a green apple martini. Mr.
Garotte, a gin and tonic on the rocks with a wedge of lime. Mr.
Alexander, rum and coke. Mr. Dee, unfiltered pale hefeweizen," Ma
stated, presenting each with their beverage and withdrawing the
appropriate arm. The arm with the empty glass placed the tray on
the table and lifted the glass from it. "In situations such as
this, a toast is appropriate. Would anyone like to do the
honors?"

"To getting the job done," Garotte said,
raising his glass.

"To answering the call of duty," Silo
added.

"Uh... To making it out of this with our
skin," Lex stumbled.

Eyes turned to Karter, who was the only one
who had yet to raise a glass. He rolled his eyes, and lifted it.
"To getting this over with before my beer gets warm."

"To new allies and old," Ma said, "May they
always collaborate with efficiency and expediency in order to
facilitate the timely completion of tasks essential to social
stability."

"Here here!" Garotte said with a smirk.

Glasses were clinked, drinks were
consumed.

"Well, you two. It was nice meeting you,
although I hope you'll understand if I say I hope we never have to
meet again, at least under these circumstances," Lex said.

"I wouldn't count on it," Garotte said with a
shake. "You've got the exact mix of piloting skill and disregard
for personal safety that we look for in our line of work."

"You're a real good guy, Lex," Silo said,
shaking Lex's hand with an uncomfortable amount of force, "Take my
advice. Run for the hills."

"Don't forget to give that fuel converter a
workout. I want to know how it holds up," Karter said.

"Please follow the blue lights to your ship,"
Ma stated.

Lex stood and headed out the door, following
the pulsing blue lights along the wall of the institutional,
florescent lit hallway. After a few twists and turns, he came to
the end of the line of lights.

"Uh, Ma?"

"Stand by. I have two final points to
address. First, please accept this," Ma's voice stated.

A door opened and another mechanical arm
rolled out, holding a brushed metal attache case.

"Oh, man.
That
brings back some
unpleasant memories," he said, accepting the case that had, in a
roundabout way, led him to Karter eight months ago. "It looks like
you fixed it."

"Correct. Open it," she requested.

He clicked it open. What was inside warranted
a few moments of awe. There were neat, bundled rolls of casino
chips. Many of them. In very high denominations.

"There must be..."

"Eight hundred and five thousand, six-hundred
forty-three credits," she dictated.

"That's an unusually specific number."

"I thought it would have been difficult to
assign a cash value to your role in this mission, but I was
incorrect. I began with the three quarters of one million credits
that you were to have been given upon the completion of the
delivery that brought you to us, and added to it the average number
of deliveries and chauffeur jobs per day, multiplied by the number
of days you were kept away from them."

"I don't think your math works out."

"I'm a generous tipper."

"Ma, I've still got a mess of cash left from
what you gave me to buy the stuff when we were just starting. You
didn't have to do this."

"No, I didn't. I wanted to. And there is one
more thing."

There was the sound of yet another trundling
mechanical gripper moving down an adjoining hallway, but
accompanying it was the tap of tiny claws. From around the corner
came the arm, and in its grip was a leash leading to the harness of
a small, well-behaved, and extremely familiar creature.

"Is that...?"

"Squee. More specifically, the precise Squee
that served as my temporary platform. After keeping her alive
intravenously for the return trip, and following the neural trauma
I regretfully caused, I was uncertain if she would be able to
recover, but physically she has been given a clean bill of health.
The interface node on her neck has been terminated in a sealable
jack, rather than the improvised wire you crafted, and I have
utilized it to attempt to restore her mind to its previous state.
I'm afraid my brief stay has made that impossible. She is largely
restored, but she will never be precisely normal, from the
standpoint of a baseline funk."

"A baseline funk is pretty nonstandard to
begin with."

"Indeed."

"So what did you think of being organic?"

"It provided me with considerable insight
into the nature of biochemical beings. The experiences it provided
me with are exceedingly valuable, and I am pleased that I was able
to retain them. It will aid me immeasurably in adapting my
behaviors. I may even pursue further experimentation with organic
platforms. But not any time soon."

"Heh."

"When I was calculating your payment for your
involvement, I realized that, though the reward would no doubt be
appreciated, it did not properly articulate the degree to which I
valued your help and compassion during this endeavor. To that
end..."

The gripper thrust the leash toward him.

"... You want me to have her?"

"It seemed inappropriate to return her to
stasis. She should be with someone who can provide her with the
affection and intellectual stimulation she deserves."

Squee leaped from the floor to his shoulder,
claiming the perch as though she belonged there.

"Ma, I don't know if I can-"

"You are familiar with the care and feeding
already. She will also require one pill every four to six months
from the supply I have included in your ship's equipment to
supplement her diet and prevent her natural odor from
returning."

"But I'm not sure-"

"Please do not overlook the emotional
significance of this gesture."

Lex sighed. "Thanks, Ma. I'll take good care
of her."

"I am sure that you will. Thank you, Mr.
Alexander. Now, please follow the blue lights to your ship."

"Oh, so why exactly did you not tell me that
those two were going to stay on the job?" Lex asked as he continued
on his way.

"For the purposes of stress-reduction, that
information was withheld. I did not want you to feel obligated to
join them. You have a life outside of dangerous endeavors such as
this."

"Trust me. Now that Karter is back under
wraps, I'm confident those two can handle it. This soldier of
fortune stuff isn't for me."

"Despite your apparent propensity for
it."

"Yeah, despite that."

A few minutes later, Lex had said goodbye to
Ma and followed her flight plan through the moat and into orbit.
Rather than being the vibrating ball of energy Lex had come to
expect funks to be, and thus turning the unsteady trip through the
debris field into a tornado of panicked leaps, Squee sat calmly
across his shoulders the whole time. It was as though she'd been
through space flight before. Which, he realized, she had. When he
was outside the confounding effect of the clouds of orbiting metal,
he pulled out his slidepad and pulled up the contact for his
landlord. Best to get this sort of thing out of the way
quickly.

After a few moments of negotiating a
connection, a face popped up.

"You have reached the office of Nicholas
Patel, Preethy Misra speaking," said the attractive young Indian
woman who answered, in her usual crisp and professional tone.

"Hi, Miss Misra. I just had a quick question
about my lease. Am I allowed to have pets?"

"Mr. Alexander, so lovely to hear from you,"
she said brightly. "Mr. Patel is in a meeting right now, but I will
be sure to have him call you when he is available. He has been
attempting contact you. We have an opportunity which might interest
you."

"I appreciate that, Miss Misra, but really, I
just needed to know about the apartment policy."

"It is regarding a possibly re-entry into
hoversled racing."

Lex paused. His mind quickly laid out a
lengthy and well supported list of very good reasons why he should
hang up immediately. They centered around his girlfriend's extreme
intolerance for organized crime, which just happened to be Nick
Patel's line of work, and continued to the various social and
economic responsibilities he had spent far too much time
neglecting, and concluded on the near-certainty that, whatever the
offer was, it would lead him into a pile of trouble. Commonsense
stated he should politely decline and quit while he was ahead.