Bodyguard

  Though not directly involved, I could feel some sort of struggle as powerful forces tried to take control of my electronic universe and Joy fought to stop them. I wanted to help, but my new existence hadn’t made me any smarter than I was before. Sasha knew that and did her best to focus my thoughts.

  “There isn’t a lot of time, Max. Security is on the way. Make your decision.”

  I watched Trask move towards Sasha and saw Linda shake her head. He frowned but stayed where he was. I felt calm and strangely detached. Sasha was right. The decision was mine. And it was easier than I thought it would be. The human race wasn’t ready for the stars. Not by a long shot. No, the knowledge should be destroyed, even though someone would reassemble it. Time, even a little time, might make a big difference. Maybe man-and womankind would grow up, get a little smarter, and behave a whole lot better. Maybe they would deserve the stars. Hey, a guy can hope, can’t he?

  And that meant a brain-wipe. Not a partial brain-wipe, as in erase the data and leave everything else alone, because no one had figured out how to do that. No, this would be a complete brain-wipe, as in the whole enchilada.

  Which is why I asked Joy to store this narrative in her hard drive and download it into whatever remained of my brain moments after she deleted the file named “Project Freedom.” I hoped it would give the future me some idea of what the past me had been through.

  The hard part was accepting what amounted to death, having just acquired something worth living for. Suddenly I had a daughter, and more than that, a connection with the past and the future. But there was no helping it, no way to avoid what I had to do, so I ordered Joy to wipe my brain. Darkness fell, and I ceased to exist.

  Epilog

  More than five years have passed, but I never tire of hearing how Sasha and Joy joined forces with the greenies, how Linda ordered Trask and Bey to carry my mind-wiped body to a specially chartered freighter, and Joy forced the Protech computer to supply us with the necessary clearances.

  The new me is something of a legend among the greenies, which is just as well, since Dr. Casad is very much alive, and willing to pay a cool one hundred thousand credits for my chrome-plated head. Not for what’s in it, mind you, since the data is gone, but for the satisfaction of seeing me dead.

  So, I give the greenies what assistance I can, including interviews like this one, and work at learning all the things a five-year-old should know. I’m way ahead of my experiential age, thanks to special therapy and fast-learn techniques, but still something akin to an over-the-hill teenager.

  But, thanks to a nicely crafted blond wig, and some well-executed biosculpting, I can pass for a regular Joe. It wouldn’t be healthy to tell you where Sasha, Joy, and I live, but suffice it to say that we run a little café, and look on the regulars as part of our family.

  As for the future, well, who knows? We may have slowed ’em down a little, but one thing’s for sure, they’re working on it.