Anger Management

by Lawrence M Schoen

  «Just stand there and look pretty.»

  Jessica’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. They almost met in the middle.

  Whoa! Danger, Will Robinson. Danger!

  «Um, just stand still... please.»

  “Better.”

  Even I knew not to say that.

  Jessica complied and Dyrk concentrated. He leaned close, his mouth and nose all but in contact with her face.

  «Just breathe normally. Try to relax.»

  Dyrk could… taste the difference. Okay, maybe 'taste' wasn't the right word, but it was close. It felt different from Tycho's virus from when he had earlier held a vial of her blood. It was uniquely Jessica's and also very different from the version that had created him and now ran through Ben's body. And he'd affected Ben's virus effortlessly. Over the past few days since his waking up in Ben's head and realizing they shared a body, he'd been able to heal his liver, reverse the aging process, repair broken limbs, even alter the genetics of his eyes to pass a retina scan.

  What Jessica was asking was so much easier, in theory, just convince her own virus to prioritize the mission of Tycho's virus instead. He tried to do it, imagined touching the virus in her with his will and making the changes so that it could instead use the blueprint of Tycho's DNA. But it was like trying to mold dry clay. It didn't want to take on a new shape, reasserting itself every time he let go of it. He kept trying, but then her virus began attacking his efforts. As if he were an invader in her body. Dyrk stood his ground, but the early headway he'd made crumbled bit by bit.

  It went on like that for several minutes. Jessica’s legs shook and sweat gathered on her brow.

  Dyrk tried harder, but her virus kept resisting. He grunted in frustration and stepped back. «I’m sorry, Jessica. But I’m afraid I might be making it worse.»

  Chapter 4

  When Dyrk’s connection to her virus snapped, Jessica swayed on her feet. Her face contorted in pain and exhaustion caused by the viral echo trying to manipulate her genetic foundations. It felt like he’d kicked her soul right in the stomach, after scratching her eyes out.

  She reached out and placed a hand on the sofa.

  “Whoa! That is not fun. I’m going to go sit down for a minute. After that, I need to check some data.” Jessica walked unsteadily to the bedroom where Tycho rested, and closed the door behind herself.

  Tired from his exertions, Dyrk retreated to the cognitive peanut-gallery and Coop slid back into control. He turned around and found Potato standing on the ottoman, shifting from side to side on its dozen, tiny legs.

  Coop picked up the furball and let it climb to his shoulder where it perched with its furry face snuggled against his neck. It felt good. Not that he’d ever admit it.

  The actor resumed his own pacing.

  “There’s a larger problem here, Dyrk.”

  «Do you mean the fact that Jess might die because I can’t get her DNA to shift? Because, yeah, that seems like a problem. One I am very aware of.»

  “No. Not that problem. I mean the broader, more philosophical problem that comes from any set of bad choices.”

  «Philosophical? Who are you and what did you do with Ben Cooper? What do you mean?»

  “I mean, saving Jessica may not be worth the cost that has to be paid.”

  «Ben, I’m programmed like a one-dimensional action hero. And unless our ears deceived me, you just said you want to let a young, attractive, and absolutely brilliant woman die. That makes absolutely no sense to me.»

  “That’s because you’ve never really felt pain. Emotional pain. The kind that makes you feel like someone slowly torched pieces of your soul with one of those fancy little things pastry chefs use.”

  «That does sound painful.»

  “What I mean is, you might be able to change her DNA. But at what cost? What if the pain and torture of going through it breaks her mentally? Is she still the Jessica we know and admire if her mind is crippled?”

  «Whoa. That is deep, Ben. But I think I get it. This is like the conflict in a movie? It’s the source of tension that has to be overcome. Am I right?»

  “Well, you’re not wrong. But this isn’t a movie.”

  «This is that whole human experience thing you keep telling me about.»

  “Dyrk, you’re starting to get it.”

  «Thanks Ben. I mean, for teaching me. About pain. It seems to be a big deal with human beings.»

  “Yeah. It is a big deal. So big that I’ve made a lifetime of bad decisions trying to ignore it. Maybe it’s time I pay attention to it in other people.”

  Just then Jessica returned. She had a tablet in her hands and a worried expression on her face.

  Coop didn’t like it. “Jess, what is it?”

  “I got a message here. It says it's from Al.”

  Al was a xenon, and the Titan-based crime boss that they had recently partnered with. He was also the guy responsible for their arrangements to get off the planet on the next ship bound for earth.

  “Well, what does it say?”

  “Run.”

  «Cryptic.»

  “Why would he tell us to run?”

  As if in answer, the double doors to the hotel suite flew open. Something had shattered the locking mechanism from the outside.

  Coop spun around to face the threat. On his shoulders Potato pranced nervously.

  In the doorway stood a Box avatar unlike any they had seen previously.

  Coop gulped audibly.

  Behind him, Jessica did the same. “Um, I think that’s why he wanted us to run.”

  The Box wasn’t exceptionally tall. Nor was it overly broad. But every inch of its metallic carapace spoke of violence and aggression. It was malice incarnate. There was very little human, or even humanoid about it beyond a rough silhouette. A half-dozen weaponized limbs sprang from its body, maneuvering about like octopus tentacles. Instead of legs, its lower torso flowed into a base that then split into a rugged set of treads, one to either side, like a tank. It was without debate an avatar built for the use of force.

  “I am Doos of the Box. I have come to recover our property.” The Box’s voice thundered into the suite.

  “What property would that be?” Coop challenged.

  “I am here for Potato and for Dr. Jessica Acorns.”

  “Well, you can’t have them. They’re living beings, not property. And they don’t like you.”

  “But, I have a contract,” Doos said, its voice softer and less resonant.

  «I really hate these guys and their damn contracts.»

  “Well, too bad. And good luck trying to take us to court. Now leave before I call the police.”

  Doos rolled further into the hotel suite’s foyer and a deep hum emanated from it, like a low and slow doppler effect. The frequency of the hum dropped, lower and lower until it either ended or fell below the threshold of Coop's ears.

  A moment after the sound stopped Coop gasped. His pulse raced as if someone had reached into his chest and clutched his heart in an iron grip. His legs felt like they'd turned to water and he stumbled. Potato held on tightly as Coop flailed, reaching for a nearby coffee table to keep on his feet, clinging to it for dear life as he fought to catch a breath. He'd never felt so frightened.

  «Ben? Are you okay? What's happening?»

  Terrified, he thought back, but couldn't elaborate. It was like both his brain and body were shutting down, incapacitated by waves of fear. The only thing that kept him from peeing himself was having gone just a few minutes before.

  The Box edged closer and paused. It held up one of its less lethal-looking limbs, some kind of sensory device. A series of red lasers flickered, touching on everything as it scanned the room. Coop couldn't move his head, but his eyes tracked the beams. The lasers stopped when they ran across Jessica who stood frozen to the spot.

  Her shaking body did nothing to hide her own terror. Coop thought she must be paralyzed with fear, same as him. It was probably the only thing keeping her from jumping out
a window. That, and the fact that the hotel was on Titan and the suite didn’t have any windows

  Doos rolled past Coop, halving the distance between it and Jess.

  “Ah, Dr. Acorns. Excellent. I confess to having a dilemma. You see, even a token display of resistance would be sufficient for me to justify exterminating your consciousness permanently. Frankly, you will be much easier and more economical to transport if you are deceased. But I would prefer to extract some of your knowledge beforehand.”

  «Okay, Ben, I got this. There's no way we're going to let this tinker toy threaten, let alone abduct, Dr. Acorns. I'm coming through.»

  Dyrk shoved Coop’s consciousness aside and took charge. He gently tossed Potato onto the lush sofa with one hand while the other snatched up Ben's saucer and coffee cup.

  He hurled the dishes in the general direction of the invading robot.

  Doos must have possessed a full, 360° sensorium. It saw Dyrk's missiles coming at it from behind, whipped one of its weapon-tentacles around and promptly shot them out of the air in a pair of dainty little explosions. The china simply puffed out of existence as it collided with bolts of lethal energy.

  It was fortunate for Dyrk that the entire hotel suite was covered in knick-knacks and assorted decorative detritus. His hands flew as he advanced across the room, throwing one tacky decoration after another toward his opponent in a barrage of carved owls, porcelain clowns, and ceramic hoboes. His slipper-clad feet performed a lethal tango across the marble floor as he closed the distance between himself and the Box invader.

  But Doos wasn’t an amateur. Nor was it some kind of pompous alien academic like Scatola had been. Nope, it was a war machine and its weapons obliterated each of Dyrk’s projectiles one after another like an expert skeet-shooter.

  The avatar also continued its slow march into the suite. It drew closer to Jessica by the second.

  Fortunately, Dyrk had a plan.

  «Jessica, get down and get out of the way,» he called to her.

  Whether she heard him or not, she didn't move. She just stood there, trembling, eyes wide with blind panic. Which only meant he'd have to work a little harder to save her. No problem.

  Dyrk reached the suite's wet bar. His hands moved like a master in an old Kung-Fu movie and the result was a hail of stemware and highballs directed at the Box avatar.

  As his supply of booze-related ammunition dwindled, Dyrk tossed a final handful of shot glasses into the air.

  Doos tracked them expertly with its mounted laser-targeting system. The glasses disappeared in puffs of dust as still more of its weaponized limbs fired ion blasts and mini-lightning bolts at them with incredible efficiency.

  Do not let those hit us! Coop insisted inside their shared mind. That would be very bad.

  «Ben! Hey, buddy, you're sounding better.»

  Yeah. The panic began to subside as soon as you took over. I don't know what happened.

  «I'm guessing some kind of infrasonics.»

  Come again?

  «Sound waves below the range of human hearing. They're stimulating your body's sympathetic nervous system. Or they were until I took control of the body and overrode the response.»

  English, please.

  «Doos has some kind of Fear gun.»

  Dyrk had filled his arms with the last of the glassware and been hurling it throughout the conversation, inching closer to the Box with each throw. Predictably Doos had disintegrated every piece until Dyrk was out of ammo.

  The room quieted.

  Doos lowered its weapon limbs and returned its focus to Jess.

  “I hope you now understand, you cannot prevail against me. I will have what I came for.”

  In response, Dyrk reached behind him with one hand, grasped one of the wrought-iron barstools, and in an overhand arc that pushed the boundaries of leverage brought it down on top of the robotic foe. The Box wobbled in place and failed to respond with a weapon-tentacle, so Dyrk struck it again. And again.

  Dyrk was pretty sure he'd taken out the targeting array and at least one of the limbs. Apparently, this Box was designed to intimidate and eliminate.

  «Ben, this thing is all noise.»

  It did a pretty good job of atomizing everything you threw at it.

  «Pshaw, that's just some really good targeting software. Which makes sense, because I'm guessing the range on its Fear gun isn't very great. It needs to be able to get close enough to use it, but once it does, it's got no game. Tactically, I think it's a complete boob. It hasn't a clue when it comes to hand-to-hand combat.»

  Dyrk raised the stool to bring it down one more time but was forced to abort his strike. Even a boob can be dangerous, especially when it's desperate. A metal spike stabbed outward from the Box’s carapace, level with his belly button. Fast as a viper, the spike managed to draw blood as Dyrk thrust his pelvis backward.

  Dyrk winced. «Sorry, Ben.»

  If you keep getting my body damaged, I’m not going to let you drive any more.

  With its targeting package smashed, Doos began to swing its limbs around wildly. Even as just blunt instruments they were made of metal and thus dangerous. They weren’t agile, but they would hurt if they connected. Dyrk opted to avoid them by backing up, but the Box trundled after him. He had no intention of blindly retreating, that would only lead to him being backed into a corner. Instead he leapt up onto the bar.

  Perched up high, Dyrk considered his options.

  There weren’t many. But really he only needed one. One would be enough.

  Still hanging on to the barstool, he jumped and executed a twisting somersault that had him land just beyond the blinded avatar, positioning himself between it and Dr. Acorns.

  «Ha! This is almost too easy.»

  Is it?

  «I guess not. But it is decidedly un-heroic. Or is it ‘non-heroic’? Maybe ‘heroicish’?»

  Why is your grammar so terrible?

  «Ben, I learned to speak from Schwarzenegger, Stallone, Chan, and Girabaldi. Why do you think I sometimes have trouble?»

  Fair enough. But back to the main point. Which is, hitting it now is also a great way to guarantee survival. And that is a very human thing to do. So, hit it!

  Dyrk considered Ben’s point. Then he started swinging his barstool. It took some time, and a few glancing blows that Ben deigned to complain about before Dyrk managed to beat enough of the arms into submission.

  Finished, he sucked down a few deep breaths as Doos maneuvered blindly on its tracks. The Box seemed to be trying to find its way out of the suite. Dyrk wasn't having any of it. He was Thor, just armed with an enchanted barstool instead of a magic hammer. Minus the enchanted part. And the amazing hair.

  He let the barstool fall and used both hands to grip one of the Box’s own arms and rip it free from its torso. It made for a much better hammer, and Dyrk proceeded to use it to club the avatar to pieces. He didn’t feel particularly noble, banging away at a blinded opponent, but he knew Coop was right and that it was necessary. He was glad no one else was there to see him do it.

  At long last, Doos finally stopped moving. Its noises and gyrations ceased. Some internal doodad had overheated and a portion of its carapace was hot to the touch. Wisps of smoke rose from its head.

  The avatar was well and truly defeated. Its consciousness had literally left the building.

  Dyrk calmly turned and closed the doors to the hotel suite in the most nonchalant way he could. One leaned a bit on its hinges. He considered fixing it, but just shrugged and turned away. The suite cost enough anyway. Let the steward figure it out.

  «Ben?»

  Yeah, Dyrk. I’m here.

  «I’m tired.»

  Say no more.

  Coop slid back into control of his body as Dyrk exited, stage-left.

  Coop immediately looked to make sure Jessica was safe.

  She was. But she wasn’t in good shape.

  As her paralysis ebbed she'd begun to move, but hadn't made it very far. Jessica clung t
o the doorway to Tycho's bedroom. She was hunched over on her knees and her head touched the floor. Her body shook and Coop heard her gasp from all the way across the room. As he watched, she wrapped her arms around her abdomen.

  “Jess? Are you alright?”

  «I think she’s been shot. Hurry, Ben!»

  The actor rushed across the room and slid to a stop on the floor next to her. He reached out and gingerly put his hands on her back. “Jess! Talk to me.”

  Her body continued to heave as she drew in ragged breaths. “Can’t… it’s gonna kill me. It’s gonna… kill… me!”

  “No, Jess. It’s not. We stopped him. He’s done. Dead. Or, as dead as those weirdos get. You're safe now.”

  Jessica either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. She continued to be wracked by sobs as she mumbled non-sensical declarations of impending doom.

  «Okay, the good news is, looks like I was wrong about her being shot. But she probably got hit with the Box's infrasonic fear waves right up until we killed it. That's a long time to be completely terrified.»

  “What do I do?”

  «You’re asking me? Um… pick her up. Put her on the sofa. At least get her off this cold floor.»

  “Good idea.”

  Coop did as Dyrk suggested. He scooped Jess up in his arms and stood. Walking to the sofa he set her down as gently as he could amidst the small army of throw pillows that littered its surface.

  As soon as her butt hit the cushions, Potato rushed over and leapt into her lap. It began to nuzzle her and wriggled into her limp arms. Coop covered them with a blanket and stepped back to think.

  Chapter 5

  Jessica slowly returned to the present as the furry little alien worked to get her attention.

  “Potato.”

  “Hmmm? What’d you say?” Coop asked.

  She didn’t look up to find his exact location. She just lifted one hand weakly and stroked Potato’s back.

  With a weird clinical detachment, she murmured to herself. “Potato doesn’t snuggle.”

  Coop hovered nearby; relieved that she was coming out of whatever panicked state she'd fallen into. “What’s that, Jess?”