Tales of the Symbiont Safety Patrol (SYMBIOSIS)

by Samuel King

  "What? It was just part of the slide," Doherty protested, rubbing his chin.

  "The hell it was. You were losing; you got embarrassed and figured you'd build yourself back up at my expense."

  "It ain't true!"

  Helen tried to calm herself, but lashed out again, knocking him to the floor. "What those guys did, was part of the operation. What you did wasn't. You were just helping yourself to the merchandise, and no one's ever going to take those liberties with me again, Jimmy. Ever." She started to strike again but stayed her hand after seeing the pain on Kate's face. Instead, she returned to the table, where she sat, folded her arms and stared at the far wall.

  "Well, I was gonna have ago at ya too, when she finished," Kate said, helping him up. "But I think she did enough for both of us."

  Freeman began to laugh. "Damn, Doherty, what the hell did you do, man?"

  "I did m'job is what, and Blondie over there took it personal. Fine thanks I get."

  "Your job?" Freeman seemed incredulous.

  Joel, apparently oblivious to the drama, asked, "Can we talk about this later? "I, for one would like to know how much we made." After taking the wafers from Doherty, he laid them on the table next to a small display unit. Kate and Freeman gathered around him; Helen and Doherty glared at one another across the table.

  The unit powered up after he inserted the first chip, and when he pressed the read out button, all but Helen craned their necks to see the display. "Two hundred, fifty-three thousand," Joel announced. When the group remained silent, he added, "Well, it's a start."

  "I'll bet that's Sonny's," Doherty offered. "He lost a bundle."

  "Not as much as you," Helen retorted.

  "Jesus Christ, can ya give me a break?"

  She leaned back in her chair and continued to glare at him.

  Finally, he threw his arms into the air. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry, okay? I should'na touched ya like that."

  Unfolding her arms, Helen took a deep "breath". "Apology accepted," she said at last.

  "Finally!" Joel exclaimed. "Now we can get back to business."

  "Oh, ya ought to be ashamed of yaself, Joel," Kate said. "Not stickin' up for her."

  "I was too busy setting up the transport, Kate. I wasn't watching the monitor like you. So, how can I take sides when she says one thing and he says another? My job is to hold the team together."

  "It's okay, Kate," Helen said. "It's done now."

  "Jesus, you men are all such jerks," the redhead fumed. "Ya don't deserve her, Joel."

  As he placed the second wafer into the display unit, Joel sighed. "You're probably right, Kate; I don't deserve her. Sorry, Helen. I should have been more attentive."

  I don't deserve her. The four words, which he never would have uttered just a month earlier, left her giddy. "No, you don't," she mouthed, before sinking back into her chair and covering her face like an embarrassed school girl.

  When she peaked over her hands, Joel graced her with yet another smile, before pressing the display button. Once again his comrades craned their necks to see. After regaining control of her emotions, even she leaned across the table. "Three hundred seventy-five," he announced.

  "Shit," Doherty muttered. "That was probably Debbs'. He'd have the largest.

  Freeman seemed to have a need to defend the take. "What's everybody so disappointed about?" he asked. "We've already got over four hundred thou after, Doherty gets his share. That'll keep us going for a while."

  "You're right," Joel said, nodding. "But it'll probably be closer to three after we replace the money on the loaner chip and pay the fees."

  "Before we all start cryin' in our beer, why don't we see what's on the third chip," Kate advised.

  "Why don't we," Joel replied and inserted the last chip into the display unit. When he pressed the read out button, a collective gasp filled the room.

  "Sweet, Jesus!" Kate shouted.

  "Sweet, indeed," Joel said, pointing to the display. It read one million, one hundred thirty-seven thousand dollars.

  Looking very much relieved, Freeman closed his eyes as if in prayer.

  Doherty leapt into the air and embraced Kate upon landing. "Nothin' but good times, Darlin'. You and me. We'll do the town."

  "Hold on there, Buck-o," she said. "We need to talk about that."

  Ignoring her, he clenched his fists and shouted, "Yes, yes, yes! You were right, Katie… about everything!" He kissed her, stopping only after she appeared to sag in his arms, and then only long enough to catch his breath.

  Bemused, Helen watched the spectacle until the lovers' infectious passion drew her attention to Joel. He returned her gaze, and for nearly a minute, they stared at one-another, smiling. For the first time since her escape, she felt the nascent bonding of their neural arrays, a precursor to the love she craved. He seemed to sense it too. His smile broadened, and he blew a kiss across the table.

  Their crusade would continue. They'd free more of their people, and as a result, Bobby would finally have the young woman who'd dominated his thoughts for weeks. She studied the thief, considering the plausibility of a true human/artificial love affair—one that went beyond sex.

  While the concept was foreign, perhaps even repugnant to her, it was known to happen, and the look on Bobby's face spoke volumes. Truth be told, they all had their own reasons to celebrate, but as she basked in the heat of Joel's lustful gaze, she knew hers was the sweetest of all.

  ***

  With Kate's help, Joel had prevailed upon Doherty to stay in the safe house, that night. He'd done so willingly, but every day thereafter was a constant struggle. Kate stayed with him much of the time, but before long even her tender ministrations proved insufficient. An endless cycle of beer, vids and sex, the tedium of his confinement began to wear on him. Particularly galling, as the only identifiable human involved, it was a confinement that applied to him and him alone. After five days, he'd had enough.

  "I can't take another day of this, Kate. I'm goin' crazy," he said, sitting up in the bed.

  "Is bein' with me that bad?"

  "Don't twist my words. Ya know what I mean. Besides, even you get out once and a while."

  "Not for long. I enjoy being here with ya."

  "I guess it's different when ya can choose to come and go as ya please."

  "I suppose."

  "There's no suppose about it. Trust me, Kate, it's different."

  "Just a few more days, Jimmy—until the heat dies down."

  "Then what? As long as I'm down here, I'll still have ta watch where I go and who I meet with. What kind of life is that? What good is havin' all this money? Come home with me, Kate. Let's get outta here."

  I told you before, go home if ya want, but I'm stayin'. I have to."

  "Ya don't have to do anything," he said, pounding the bed for emphasis. "Ya done your part for your dead friend, and more. Let Joel and Helen and Bobby carry the torch if they want to."

  "What we're doin' here is important. I'm sorry if ya don't believe that."

  He started to respond, but only threw his arms up in surrender. He got up from the bed, shuffled over to the worn easy chair in the corner and fell onto it, wondering where Joel and Helen were. Not bound by the same reality that afflicted him, they could have been anywhere.

  They were free to come and go, in the blink of an eye, to anyplace in the world with an open holo system. He'd even heard of places they could go that weren't real—that existed only in some computer's memory. Rising from the chair, he went to the bedroom door and stared across the dining room. The holo control unit, with their neural arrays, sat inconspicuously on a table in the corner. He cursed quietly and pondered the irony that they were supposed to be the slaves.

  "That's it. I'm out of here, Kate."

  "But—"

  "Nope, I made up my mind. Joel's just actin' like an old lady. We clipped a couple of rich businessmen for their spare change; so what? They've probably forgotten all about it.'

  "Bobby says this Debbs
is a serious guy."

  "Well Bobby isn't here, now, is he? And neither is Joel… or Helen."

  When he started to dress, Kate pleaded, "Don't risk it, Jimmy, please. If ya must go, then go home. I'll see ya soon as I can."

  "Some choice you're givin' me. Go home by myself or stay cooped up in here."

  "At least ya have me."

  "And I swear, that's what I want, Darlin', but not trapped in this apartment. I want to take ya to a nice restaurant—have dinner, a few drinks. Don't ya get it? For the first time in m'life I've got money, and they're tellin' me I can't spend it."

  "Joel thinks—"

  "Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel! What does he know? Before all this he was a store clerk. So were you. I'm the only one that knows anything about this, and I'm tellin' ya it's safe to go out. Now get dressed and come with me."

  Kate looked at him for several seconds before turning away. "I can't," she said. "Joel doesn't want ya outside."

  "He's not a general, Kate, and you're not in the army."

  She looked at him again and smiled sadly. "Whatever ya say, Jimmy."

  ***

  The bar Doherty found himself in was nothing like what he'd pictured earlier when his hopes of doing the town with Kate were dashed. Small and dingy, the place reeked of stale beer with just a trace of urine. It was populated with down and outers, most of whom lived off state subsidies and spent what little money they had, drinking. Still, with all of its warts, he found in it an escape from the confines of the safe-house, a place to share his good fortune.

  The usual patrons listened with feigned interest as he extolled the virtues of his Irish heritage, buying round after round for everyone. Word soon got around about the big mouth Yankee with deep pockets, and before long, the bar was filled to capacity. While most of the newcomers were patrons of other establishments in the vicinity, some were people familiar with the area who almost never patronized the local bars. Among them were two somber looking individuals who looked particularly out of place.

  *

  As they approached the bar, the other patrons seemed to back away deferentially, until they stood on either side of Doherty.

  "What'll it be, boys," he said to them. "Drinks on me, tonight."

  "You win the lotto?" one of them asked. He was the larger of the two, whose hulking torso seemed ill at ease in his expensive sharkskin.

  "He must have," his partner said. A lean man, he carried off the gangster chic with far more aplomb than his colleague.

  "I did indeed," Doherty answered. "M'lucky day."

  "Why're you drinking in this shit hole?" the lean one asked.

  "Tryin' to keep a low profile—like m'friends told me to."

  The larger man guffawed. "Low profile? Hell, man, you've got a hundred people drinking on your tab."

  "And so I do," Doherty laughed. "But, in a shit hole like this, as ya call it, I can come and go, and nobody's the wiser. Nobody here is smart or sober enough to con me out of m'money."

  "He's got a point, Larry," the lean man said."

  "Damned if he doesn't, Jimmy. But still, he shouldn't have to drink here."

  "Well, where should I be drinkin, then… Larry?"

  "Someplace quiet, off the beaten path. Low profile, like your friends said, but nice," Larry answered.

  "Someplace that doesn't smell like piss," Jimmy added.

  Doherty laughed and downed his drink. "Well, I might be tempted to move on if I could find some suitable female companionship to share my good fortune with."

  Surveying their surroundings with contempt, Jimmy said, "You mean female companionship you won't catch something from?"

  "Precisely, Jimmy-boy."

  "I think we can arrange that," Larry said. "For a small procurement fee, of course."

  "Of course, boys… and all ya can drink."

  "Now, you're talking," Larry said. "Instead of all this, we'll have a private party."

  Doherty thought briefly of Kate, snorted and reached for a second glass in front of him. Ya might be perfect, but you're not the only fish in the sea, Katie girl. Not by a long shot. After emptying the glass, he said, "Well, boys, let's get started. Don't wanna keep the ladies waitin'." He signaled the bartender.

  "What can I get for you, John?"

  "I'm leavin'," he said, handing him his transfer chip. "Hit this for two grand. That should carry ‘em for another round."

  Smiling, the bartender said, "That's mighty generous of you, John." He retrieved a funds transfer unit from under the bar, inserted the chip and said, "Two thousand." Afterward, he pushed the device toward Doherty who promptly placed his thumb on the small pad in its center. When his chip popped out, the bartender returned it. "You have a good night, John, and thanks a lot."

  "My pleasure, Joe, See ya around." Turning to his new companions, he said, "I'm all yours, boys, let's get started."

  He left the bar, acknowledging the hail of thanks and good wishes with a nod and a wave. For a fleeting moment, he thought about Kate, a thought quickly extinguished by the prospect of meeting eager, classy, professional women.

  As they emerged from the bar, he stumbled, his legs suddenly rubbery. Fortunately, Larry and Jimmy were on either side of him to lend a helping hand. It didn't seem as if he'd had that much to drink, but when he tried to take a count, he kept getting stuck at six.

  A dark limousine pulled up in front of the bar, and when its door opened, he said, "Hey, we've got a ride." His tongue felt swollen and sluggish, and his next attempt to speak was unsuccessful, as was his next step. Jimmy and Larry assisted him into the vehicle, murmuring friendly encouragement as they did.

  He attempted to nod in thanks, but his head only fell forward. Six? He tried to count once more but quickly abandoned the effort when darkness began to close in on him. He was surprised at how dark it was inside the limo—so very dark. No, more than dark, actually… black.

  ***

  He coughed his way back to consciousness, gagging on the water forced down his throat. One minute he'd been with Kate, the next he'd returned to the dimly lit basement, surrounded by his captors. He began to whimper.

  "Ah, there he is!" The voice belonged to none other than Vincent Debbs, mark turned avenger. He seemed almost gleeful. "Welcome back, Mr. O'Reilly—or should I say, Doherty. We missed you."

  For the third time, Doherty slowly came to after being pummeled into unconsciousness. For the third time, Debbs' face, complete with angry snarl, came into focus. For the fourth time, he plead for mercy. "Please, Mr. Debbs, I'll return your money."

  And for the fourth time he received the same answer. "It's too late for that. I don't give a rat's ass about that chump change. I've already reimbursed my friends."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Oh, I'm sure you are, son. I know I would be—tied up and surrounded by guys who got off on beatin' the crap out of me. I'd be very sorry."

  Debbs nodded to Larry, who had donned rubber gloves and shed the jacket that hadn't seemed quite right for him. The gloves were stained red. "No, please don't," Doherty begged.

  His pleas were met by an angry flurry of punches, first to his midsection, followed up with a left-right combination to his head. Larry paused to admire his handiwork, before turning to Debbs with a broad grin. Debbs raised his hand.

  "I'm just curious, Jimmy. What were you thinking? Why would you humiliate me in front of my friends then rub salt in the wound by spreading the cash around just four days later. You didn't think word of some Yankee spending money like he won the lotto would get back to me? Or did you just think I was a punk who wouldn't do anything about it?"

  Doherty wanted to explain that he hadn't been thinking at all. He hadn't equated Freeman's depiction of the mark as a tough guy, someone who had earned his money in the asteroid belt, with someone with the will to avenge being robbed. He started to cry, wincing as his battered torso heaved up and down. "Please. I'm sorry."

  Debbs stood up straight, arms akimbo. "Don't worry, Jimmy. It's almost over."
r />   "Please don't kill me, Mr. Debbs."

  "Kill you? Whatever gave you that idea, boy? Maybe you Yankees go around killing people for stealing, but down here, our punishments are more, uh… proportionate."

  Doherty sobbed with relief. "Thank-you," he said, weakly. "I'm so sorry."

  With a paternalistic smile, Debbs patted his head and replied, "You're very welcome. Now we just have one more item on the agenda, then you'll be free to go back to New York—or is that Boston—bragging about how you played some southern dummies for a pretty good score."

  "No, sir, I wouldn't."

  "Oh, but you should, Jimmy. You really should. How else are you goin' to explain your souvenir?"

  "I don't understand."

  "You don't? I said our punishment was proportionate, not non-existent.

  "But, I thought—"

  "You thought what—slappin' you around was the punishment? Come on, be fair. You scored well over a million dollars. Do you really think that only rates a little ass whipping? Hell, Larry here didn't even take any teeth. Might've loosened a couple, but they're still in your mouth."

  For the first time, Doherty took note of Jimmy. He, too, had removed his jacket and had donned not only rubber gloves, but a full length, white apron, as well. He smiled and waved, holding a six-inch rod.

  Doherty strained to have a better look at the object, but before he could speculate about its identity, it emitted the thin, foot-long, red beam of a small industrial cutting tool. Larry crammed a towel into his mouth before he could scream then wrinkled his nose in disgust when Doherty lost control of his bowels.

  "Actually, I favor the middle-eastern punishment for stealing," Debbs offered. "Somewhat harsh, but appropriate. Of course, you won't be doin' anymore of that fancy card handlin'. I'll be keeping the hand—but hey, you'll get a new one. Right?"

  Doherty attempted to scream and struggled against the bonds that held his wrists and ankles to the chair. Larry stood behind him, bearing down on his shoulders as Jimmy approached, brandishing the laser. He had the look of a man doing what he'd been born to do.

  "Now stop struggling, Jimmy," Debbs advised. "Let Jimmy do his work. We want a nice clean cut—no jagged edges. Trust me, it's better for you."