Fast Forward
Page 43
“Oh, Russ, that's okay. I never wanted—”
The assault came in fast and low. Four armored and be-weaponed guys riding ILVs. Each Individual Lifting Vehicle resembled a skirt-wearing grasshopper. Before either Cherry or I could react, the chuffing ILVs were hovering autonomously at the edge of our deck, and the assailants had jumped off and were approaching us with weapons drawn.
With cool menace one guy said, “Okay, don't put up a fight and you won't get hurt.”
I did the only thing I could think of. I yelled for help.
“FooDog! Save us!”
And he did.
SCURF mediates between your senses and the ubik. Normally the SCURF-wearer is in control, of course. But when someone breaks down your security and overrides your inputs, there's no predicting what he can feed you.
FooDog sent satellite close-ups of recent solar flares to the vision of our would-be-kidnappers, and the latest sludge-metal hit, amped up to eleven, to their ears.
All four went down screaming.
Cherry erased any remnants of resistance with a flurry of kicks and punches, no doubt learned from her bar-brawling brother Dolphin.
When we had finished tying up our commando friends, and FooDog had shut off the assault on their senses, I said, “Okay, nothing's worth risking any of us getting hurt. I'm going to surrender now.”
Just as I was getting ready to call somebody in Venezuela, Che Guevara returned. He looked morose.
“All right, you bastard, you win! Let's talk.”
I smiled as big as I could. “Tell me first, what was the final straw? It was the sex toys, wasn't it?”
He wouldn't answer, but I knew I was right.
9. Free to Be You and Me
So that's the story of how I ran the country for three days. One day of political honeymoon, one day of trade war, and one day to clean up as best we could before stepping down.
As FooDog had predicted, there were minimal personal repercussions from our teasling of the political system. Loopholes were closed, consensus values reaffirmed, and a steady hand held the tiller of the ship of state once again.
We never did learn who sent the commandos against us. I think they were jointly hired by nativist factions in league with the Venezuelans. Both the UWA and the South Americans wanted the war over with fast. But since our assailants never went on trial after their surgery to give them new eyes and eardrums, the secret never came out.
Cherry and I got enough simoleons out of the settlement with the Venezuelans to insure that we'd never have to work for the rest of our lives. But she still goes out with the Oyster Pirates from time to time, and I still can't resist the call of mongo.
We still live on Sandybump, but the house is bigger now, thanks to a new wing for the kids.
As for FooDog—well, I guess he did have ulterior motives in helping us. We don't see him much anymore in the flesh, since he relocated to his ideal safe haven.
Running that ganja plantation on the moon as his personal fiefdom takes pretty much all his time.
LOU ANDERS is an editor, author, and journalist. He is the editorial director of Prometheus Books's science fiction imprint, Pyr, as well as editor of the anthologies Outside the Box (Wildside Press, January 2001), Live without a Net (Roc, July 2003), Projections: Science Fiction in Literature & Film (MonkeyBrain, December 2004), and FutureShocks (Roc, Janurary 2005). He is the author of The Making of Star Trek: First Contact (Titan Books, 1996) and has published over five hundred articles in such magazines as Publishers Weekly, The Believer, Dreamwatch, Star Trek Monthly, Star Wars Monthly, Babylon 5 Magazine, Sci Fi Universe, Doctor Who Magazine, and Manga Max, as well as in several volumes of BenBella Books's SmartPop series. His articles and stories have been translated into German, French, Dutch, Italian, and Greek, and have appeared online at Believermag.com, SFSite.com, RevolutionSF.com, and InfinityPlus.co.uk. Visit him on the Web at www.louanders.com.