The A.I. War, Book One: The Big Boost (Tales of the Continuing Time) by Daniel Keys Moran Page B

Colbert the truth. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d have done.”
    Colbert nodded. His thumb dropped down, like a hammer falling –
    Trent winced. A second later he was still alive –
    Colbert whispered, “Bang,” and closed his eyes.
    Trent released a slow breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Red dots swam in front of his eyes. “Honor. It’s one of the things I least despise about the PKF.”
    Colbert said nothing. He floated with his eyes closed.
    “How ya feelin’?”
    Trent turned his head to look at Bugs. “I’ve had lots better days.”
    “Sorry about that out there, pal.” Bugs took a bite of the carrot, chewed it thoughtfully. “Can’t be too careful these days. People will do practically anyting to get a free pafoimance.”
    “I expect.”
    Bugs grinned at Trent. “Gus Allen, right? You come here a lot.”
    “Right.”
    “Want to see a good one while we wait for the ambulance?”
    “Can you do that? I thought you were closed.”
    Bugs looked indignant. “Sure. I can do anyting, Doc. I run this place. Why, I practically own it, practically.”
    “Sure,” said Trent. “Love to.”
    Bugs considered Trent. “Can you make it into the next room?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Bugs nodded. “That’s all right. We got holos, we can do this one anywhere.” The lights in the entryway dimmed to darkness, and in the black space before Trent’s face, a stage appeared, a smoky stage in a dimly lit night club –
    “This is my favorite,” said Bugs. “I love this bit.”
    It was the scene from Who Framed Roger Rabbit , Daffy Duck and Donald Duck playing dueling pianos. “Yes,” said Trent, “I can understand that.”
    “Two ducks at once,” said Bugs happily. “Can’t do much better’n that.”
    What is it about ducks, Trent wondered idly, that invites abuse? That was something to think about.
    He watched Daffy and Donald abuse each other, the holo of Bugs Bunny laughing beside him, until the Vatsayama arrived.

4
    TRENT’S OLDEST AND best friend, Jimmy Ramirez, met Trent at the Anarchist Free CityState at Vesta when the Vatsayama docked. The Vatsayama had four PKF Elite, and four regular Peaceforcers, in its brigs. Except for Colbert, the Elite had been kept unconscious since surrendering; the brig was designed to hold drunk SpaceFarers, not Elite cyborgs.
    Trent had known Jimmy Ramirez since he had been eleven years old, and Jimmy thirteen; but there was a certain awkwardness in their greeting that had not been there a few years ago.
    “Maybe they should call you Trent the Unkillable instead,” said Jimmy after Trent had cycled through into city pressure.
    At thirty-one years of age Jimmy Ramirez was a roughly handsome man who had never had biosculpture; the bounty on him was a mere quarter million Credits, the same size as the bounty on Reverend Andy. The lack of biosculpture was part the bravado of an ex-semi-pro boxer, part practicality; nobody on Vesta was likely to try and kill Jimmy, and Jimmy had not left the Anarchist Free CityState in over two years.
    Trent grinned at him and pushed his way out of the airlock gingerly. The corridor was empty except for Jimmy; it was what Trent had requested, a basic safety precaution. His left ankle was wrapped, and his left knee; his right knee was in a cast to keep it immobile. His ribs had been reset and pinned in place and wrapped. He was closer to being healed than a human of previous centuries would have guessed; his immune system, under direct control of his inskin, had him regenerating bone and tissue at a furious rate that had left him starved during the trip to Vesta. Still, on Earth he’d have been in a floatchair. “Nah. If they did that, people would start trying to kill me instead of catch me. Given a choice –”
    “I see your point.” Jimmy held out his hand, and Trent took it for the handshake. He was not a man comfortable with touching other men, Jimmy Ramirez, not even if it was the best friend he had ever