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pielcanelait annoys me how much time it takes for me to finish writing something this short. and it isn't even finished.
actually don't know if i'll ever finish it now, because you know how long(/-ish) fiction is sentenced to death: you post it in parts. this is just a short story but it's still pretty long by my standards.
all the same, need to have this out so i can take a better look at it. that, and i need an online archive as i change computers a lot over the coming days. pretending to do this for myself. sorry for the spam.
Ben was far from pleased with the prospect of work, even after three months of stretching the last paycheck thin.
"I told you I wouldn't take an assignment like that again," he spat. "You could've saved us time by telling me over the phone what this was about."
"I didn't want to take your shit over the phone." Andy was deadpan, lounging calmly behind his office desk. To Ben, the heavy-set Andy had always had a sort of thuggish look about him, even if he did wear ties and suits to work every day. "Besides, I wanted to see how you were doing. If you were in any kind of shape for a job like this."
"I'd be the first to tell you if I wasn't in shape," Ben irritably reminded him. "That's not the point. I don't want this."
"Don't you need it? How long has it been since the last one, Ben, huh? You can't just let Laura shoulder everything, what with Cate still in school."
Ben bristled. "You've really got to stop playing that card. I have a hard enough time talking to my daughter about what I do for a living, I don't need to worry about telling her I've had to set aside my morals just to pay for her tuition."
Andy was losing patience.
"Here's what I think of your fucking morals." He leaned forward, rested his elbows on top of the desk. "You're good at your job and that means I'll always call you in. I need your skills, Ben, I don't need your attitude."
"So hire a bio to take my place," Ben acidly interrupted.
"I would," Andy retorted, "but they haven't made a bio that could be as good at your job as you are. Once they have, trust me, you're gone."
Wrong thing to say. Andy and Ben had never been above friendly banter, in spite of the age and rank difference, but sometimes one or the other went too far. Andy knew how the very thought of bioengineered humans made his freelancer friend's skin crawl.
Ben got up to leave.
"Ben," Andy barked. "I wouldn't have asked you to come down here if you weren't specifically requested by the assignment."
That made him Ben stop cold. He turned back to the big guy behind the desk.
"You mean the kid's handlers," he corrected.
"I mean the kid. He remembered your name. His handlers were shocked. Bios don't usually retain information that isn't useful in their line of work. Or so they told me."
"He requested me?" It still hadn't sunk in. Ben avoided most information about bios, sticking exclusively to the popular notion that they were expensively made creatures put on God's earth to steal resources from common hardworking folk, like himself.
To him, bios were aberrations, unnatural. They lacked things essential to human existence, such as sentiment, so being remembered for ten whole years did not compute.
"He just asked if you were going to be part of the security detail." Andy shrugged. "That was enough for the handlers."
It shouldn't matter, Ben was aware. Still... he couldn't help but be curious. There was no reason for the bio to remember Ben's name from the last job. Ben didn't even save his life or anything - notwithstanding the angry but harmless protesters, his last (and he had thought, only) job with the kid had turned out to be absolutely safe.
"He hasn't been out 'in the field' since he was six... but lots of people still want him dead, Ben."
"No, really?" Ben said. The dryness bounced off the four walls of Andy's office. "Big star like him?"
Andy kept a growl in check. He stood, slid out from behind his desk, and made his way to the door ahead of his guest.
"You know what." He opened the door, held it partly open for Ben. "Get the hell out. God knows I've wasted enough spit trying to change your mind over the years. My last word on this is that, like last time, the pay is going to be worth it."
Ben didn't doubt that the pay was going to be worth it. Apart from the mass-produced halfwit soldiers, there weren't many bios in existence. The government spent way too much in the creation and maintenance of a higher-end bio - they would pay through the nose for good security detail on the rare occasion that one left the confines of its secret underground cage.
But it wasn't about the money. He'd been trying to tell Andy this, but Ben supposed that to anyone who owned a business - especially one that provided under-the-table services for the right price - everything was about the money.
Unlike his entrepreneur friend and old army comrade, Ben was about principle. Bios were manufactured to perform jobs that required specialized skills and little emotion, such as computer programming, or fighting in wars... jobs that mass-produced robots were simply not sophisticated enough to do - or did not possess the necessary amount of human blood and flesh to accomplish. Just one vat-grown bio was tailor-made to function as efficiently as ten naturally born people - and to a working class joe like Ben, that made them something to be hated on principle.
Then again, his ex-wife had a point: in the past, Ben had had to shadow for all sorts of unsavory types as a freelancer. He had protected mob bosses, embezzlers, sleazebag politicians, high class prostitutes... what was the practical reason for refusing a job to protect a bio?
It was good money. Moreover, it was legitimate money. Since they were separated Laura didn't need to know where the money for Cate's tuition came from - but every time she could, she still expressed the fear that someday, Ben was going to take a freelance job that got him in trouble, and the money would suddenly dry up. A contract job at least gave her and their daughter a decent insurance policy.
The best part was, it was easy money. Bios were universally hated, but given that they very rarely left their "pods" (slang for the institutions where bios were cultured and trained, which Ben adopted happily) there had been very few real opportunities in the past for protesters to launch a planned assault. Even if classified information leaked and they somehow learned that bios were going out "in the field," bios were usually teeming with bodyguards.
At the same time, Ben reminded himself of one thing: this bio was especially valuable. And thus especially hateful.
Which was why an expert in private security, with over a decade of detail management under his belt, was required. And why that expert was most certainly not looking forward to the task at hand.
Ben remembered a little boy with smooth white skin and smooth black hair, and eyes as clear and bright and blank as if they were made of blue-gray glass. But there was no expression in those eyes.
The little bio was a doll. A living, breathing doll.
At his first sight of the child, Ben felt his resentment for all bios flee him... and he hated it. He hated himself for it.
The child had been genetically engineered to be adorable, he had to remind himself; he was an amalgam of many different traits that were scientifically determined to evoke feelings of protectiveness and affection. Thus any gut reactions on his part were not Ben's fault - although he had to keep them in check if he was to do his job well.
He remembered a child who barely came up to his waist. The bio had been 6 years old, and his first time "in the field" had been to visit a preschool to observe ordinary human children his age.
The child's practiced grace and perfection had made an impression on Ben. But it still surprised him when he saw it now.
The bio walked into the room, and it seemed the room changed worlds. He drew light and attention to himself like every beautiful thing that ever existed. His fair skin glowed with youth and health, and his long well-toned limbs moved with the ease of a dancer or an athlete. His face wasn't expressionless now - there was a thoughtful look in it, a sort of incredible calm.
It wasn't just the sight of him that took Ben's breath away for a second; the bio had a bearing that seemed natural and at the same time unearthly. Ben's eyes, trained to know the many ways the human body carried itself, recognized that the bio had a higher center of gravity than humans ordinarily did, lending him unparalleled ease and speed of movement. The word "catlike" occurred to Ben.
From being the cutest child in the room, he had grown up to be the most beautiful adult in the entire building.
Plus, the little bastard was now even taller than Ben was.
Ben remembered himself just in time to put his hand out as the bio was approaching.
"Tommy," he greeted in a level voice. He was aware he should say something else, something friendlier, but the very presence of the bio compelled him to flash a welcoming grin, and it took too much effort to control his facial muscles and stay frowning.
The bio did not smile as he shook Ben's hand - which was certainly for the best, because Ben had seen that smile countless times on his holo at home, and it had made him stare more times than Ben was comfortable admitting to anyone. He didn't need that laboratory-made expression turned full force on him.
"It's nice to see you again, Mr. Harald." The voice was deep, the accent neutral. It was a pleasant voice, Ben noted, and not as deep as it could go, yet. The bio was still a growing boy. "It's Tom now."
His grip matched Ben's, strength for strength. Ben marveled at how he was able to do this on impulse. The boy's upper body and lumbar musculature hinted at strength, and Ben wouldn't be surprised if the boy actually had a grip that could crush normal people's.
He'd foolishly thought only the soldier bios were bred for superior muscle control. Not the higher-end ones, like Tom.
"Well," Ben said, "let's get to work, Tom." He gestured for the bio to take a seat, and the bio did.
Not a single gesture or movement seemed awkward, which made Ben bitterly recall that at that age, he had been gangly and uncoordinated as hell.
actually don't know if i'll ever finish it now, because you know how long(/-ish) fiction is sentenced to death: you post it in parts. this is just a short story but it's still pretty long by my standards.
all the same, need to have this out so i can take a better look at it. that, and i need an online archive as i change computers a lot over the coming days. pretending to do this for myself. sorry for the spam.
Ben was far from pleased with the prospect of work, even after three months of stretching the last paycheck thin.
"I told you I wouldn't take an assignment like that again," he spat. "You could've saved us time by telling me over the phone what this was about."
"I didn't want to take your shit over the phone." Andy was deadpan, lounging calmly behind his office desk. To Ben, the heavy-set Andy had always had a sort of thuggish look about him, even if he did wear ties and suits to work every day. "Besides, I wanted to see how you were doing. If you were in any kind of shape for a job like this."
"I'd be the first to tell you if I wasn't in shape," Ben irritably reminded him. "That's not the point. I don't want this."
"Don't you need it? How long has it been since the last one, Ben, huh? You can't just let Laura shoulder everything, what with Cate still in school."
Ben bristled. "You've really got to stop playing that card. I have a hard enough time talking to my daughter about what I do for a living, I don't need to worry about telling her I've had to set aside my morals just to pay for her tuition."
Andy was losing patience.
"Here's what I think of your fucking morals." He leaned forward, rested his elbows on top of the desk. "You're good at your job and that means I'll always call you in. I need your skills, Ben, I don't need your attitude."
"So hire a bio to take my place," Ben acidly interrupted.
"I would," Andy retorted, "but they haven't made a bio that could be as good at your job as you are. Once they have, trust me, you're gone."
Wrong thing to say. Andy and Ben had never been above friendly banter, in spite of the age and rank difference, but sometimes one or the other went too far. Andy knew how the very thought of bioengineered humans made his freelancer friend's skin crawl.
Ben got up to leave.
"Ben," Andy barked. "I wouldn't have asked you to come down here if you weren't specifically requested by the assignment."
That made him Ben stop cold. He turned back to the big guy behind the desk.
"You mean the kid's handlers," he corrected.
"I mean the kid. He remembered your name. His handlers were shocked. Bios don't usually retain information that isn't useful in their line of work. Or so they told me."
"He requested me?" It still hadn't sunk in. Ben avoided most information about bios, sticking exclusively to the popular notion that they were expensively made creatures put on God's earth to steal resources from common hardworking folk, like himself.
To him, bios were aberrations, unnatural. They lacked things essential to human existence, such as sentiment, so being remembered for ten whole years did not compute.
"He just asked if you were going to be part of the security detail." Andy shrugged. "That was enough for the handlers."
It shouldn't matter, Ben was aware. Still... he couldn't help but be curious. There was no reason for the bio to remember Ben's name from the last job. Ben didn't even save his life or anything - notwithstanding the angry but harmless protesters, his last (and he had thought, only) job with the kid had turned out to be absolutely safe.
"He hasn't been out 'in the field' since he was six... but lots of people still want him dead, Ben."
"No, really?" Ben said. The dryness bounced off the four walls of Andy's office. "Big star like him?"
Andy kept a growl in check. He stood, slid out from behind his desk, and made his way to the door ahead of his guest.
"You know what." He opened the door, held it partly open for Ben. "Get the hell out. God knows I've wasted enough spit trying to change your mind over the years. My last word on this is that, like last time, the pay is going to be worth it."
Ben didn't doubt that the pay was going to be worth it. Apart from the mass-produced halfwit soldiers, there weren't many bios in existence. The government spent way too much in the creation and maintenance of a higher-end bio - they would pay through the nose for good security detail on the rare occasion that one left the confines of its secret underground cage.
But it wasn't about the money. He'd been trying to tell Andy this, but Ben supposed that to anyone who owned a business - especially one that provided under-the-table services for the right price - everything was about the money.
Unlike his entrepreneur friend and old army comrade, Ben was about principle. Bios were manufactured to perform jobs that required specialized skills and little emotion, such as computer programming, or fighting in wars... jobs that mass-produced robots were simply not sophisticated enough to do - or did not possess the necessary amount of human blood and flesh to accomplish. Just one vat-grown bio was tailor-made to function as efficiently as ten naturally born people - and to a working class joe like Ben, that made them something to be hated on principle.
Then again, his ex-wife had a point: in the past, Ben had had to shadow for all sorts of unsavory types as a freelancer. He had protected mob bosses, embezzlers, sleazebag politicians, high class prostitutes... what was the practical reason for refusing a job to protect a bio?
It was good money. Moreover, it was legitimate money. Since they were separated Laura didn't need to know where the money for Cate's tuition came from - but every time she could, she still expressed the fear that someday, Ben was going to take a freelance job that got him in trouble, and the money would suddenly dry up. A contract job at least gave her and their daughter a decent insurance policy.
The best part was, it was easy money. Bios were universally hated, but given that they very rarely left their "pods" (slang for the institutions where bios were cultured and trained, which Ben adopted happily) there had been very few real opportunities in the past for protesters to launch a planned assault. Even if classified information leaked and they somehow learned that bios were going out "in the field," bios were usually teeming with bodyguards.
At the same time, Ben reminded himself of one thing: this bio was especially valuable. And thus especially hateful.
Which was why an expert in private security, with over a decade of detail management under his belt, was required. And why that expert was most certainly not looking forward to the task at hand.
Ben remembered a little boy with smooth white skin and smooth black hair, and eyes as clear and bright and blank as if they were made of blue-gray glass. But there was no expression in those eyes.
The little bio was a doll. A living, breathing doll.
At his first sight of the child, Ben felt his resentment for all bios flee him... and he hated it. He hated himself for it.
The child had been genetically engineered to be adorable, he had to remind himself; he was an amalgam of many different traits that were scientifically determined to evoke feelings of protectiveness and affection. Thus any gut reactions on his part were not Ben's fault - although he had to keep them in check if he was to do his job well.
He remembered a child who barely came up to his waist. The bio had been 6 years old, and his first time "in the field" had been to visit a preschool to observe ordinary human children his age.
The child's practiced grace and perfection had made an impression on Ben. But it still surprised him when he saw it now.
The bio walked into the room, and it seemed the room changed worlds. He drew light and attention to himself like every beautiful thing that ever existed. His fair skin glowed with youth and health, and his long well-toned limbs moved with the ease of a dancer or an athlete. His face wasn't expressionless now - there was a thoughtful look in it, a sort of incredible calm.
It wasn't just the sight of him that took Ben's breath away for a second; the bio had a bearing that seemed natural and at the same time unearthly. Ben's eyes, trained to know the many ways the human body carried itself, recognized that the bio had a higher center of gravity than humans ordinarily did, lending him unparalleled ease and speed of movement. The word "catlike" occurred to Ben.
From being the cutest child in the room, he had grown up to be the most beautiful adult in the entire building.
Plus, the little bastard was now even taller than Ben was.
Ben remembered himself just in time to put his hand out as the bio was approaching.
"Tommy," he greeted in a level voice. He was aware he should say something else, something friendlier, but the very presence of the bio compelled him to flash a welcoming grin, and it took too much effort to control his facial muscles and stay frowning.
The bio did not smile as he shook Ben's hand - which was certainly for the best, because Ben had seen that smile countless times on his holo at home, and it had made him stare more times than Ben was comfortable admitting to anyone. He didn't need that laboratory-made expression turned full force on him.
"It's nice to see you again, Mr. Harald." The voice was deep, the accent neutral. It was a pleasant voice, Ben noted, and not as deep as it could go, yet. The bio was still a growing boy. "It's Tom now."
His grip matched Ben's, strength for strength. Ben marveled at how he was able to do this on impulse. The boy's upper body and lumbar musculature hinted at strength, and Ben wouldn't be surprised if the boy actually had a grip that could crush normal people's.
He'd foolishly thought only the soldier bios were bred for superior muscle control. Not the higher-end ones, like Tom.
"Well," Ben said, "let's get to work, Tom." He gestured for the bio to take a seat, and the bio did.
Not a single gesture or movement seemed awkward, which made Ben bitterly recall that at that age, he had been gangly and uncoordinated as hell.