On My Way to Paradise Read Free Page A

Bacchus 4 in the Ceti star system.
She left at age eight, and spent seventeen years in-flight back to
Earth. Two years ago, she joined the Allied Earth Marines and went
with a peace-keeping force to the Epsilon Eridani system." Flaco’s
eyes remained unfocused as he listened to the voice in his head,
and he laughed at something the hacker said. "According to her
military records, she’s been in-flight two years. Expected to reach
Epsilon Eridani in 2313."
    "Oh," I said. I flipped off the fluothane on her gas
mask. According to Flaco, this woman was nearly a light-year from
Earth. Apparently, she had either jumped ship or never left—but
then if that were true she would be listed as AWOL. Obviously, the
military had falsified her files. I started thinking of reasons the
military would falsify her files, and came up with many, but I
realized it would be just like them to falsify her records for the
hell of it.
    Flaco stood in the corner for a moment. "Also," he
said. "My friend didn’t bother to mention earlier that two months
ago the man who owned the crystal, Amir Jafari, was made a Class D
General in the Federated Earth Marines—he’s in charge of Cyborg
Intelligence." Flaco smiled; he was still on line.
    At first I thought that explained Jafari’s interest
in brain storage. The cyborg command was once notorious for
shanghaiing draftees, placing their brains in brain bags, and
jacking them into reality programs—convincing them they were just
living through their daily affairs until they could be transferred
to mechanical bodies. But why would the computer crystal be
registered to Jafari, not the Alliance? He wouldn’t be holding it
as a commodities investment—the price of crystals drops daily as
better crystals come onto the market.
    Flaco tapped the subdural comlink switch behind his
left ear; his eyes suddenly focused as he went offline. "My hacker
says he doesn’t want to know me anymore. He just got tagged. He’s
going on vacation."
    "Did they trace to us?"
    Flaco tried to sound confident. "No, I don’t think
so. I’d called him. They won’t trace back to us." He sat on the
floor and sighed. I knew he was wrong. I knew that if they took the
initiative, they could check the hacker for incoming calls and get
back to us. But it would take time, perhaps days. "So, what do you
think?" Flaco asked.
    I knew he wanted me to venture a guess about who had
tapped in. I phrased my words carefully, trying to turn the subject
of the conversation. "I think this woman is not Jafari, so perhaps
she stole the crystal."
    "Do you know what I think?" Flaco said. "I watched
you treat that girl. I think you wasted your money going to school
to study morphogenic pharmacology. All you did was read the
directions on those boxes. Anybody could have done that. A monkey
could have done that!"
    "Yes," I said. "Flaco could have done that."
    "I did fine with the fluothane, no? I’m a fine
anesthesiologist."
    "Yes, you’re a fine anesthesiologist," I told
him.
    "I am also tired," Flaco said, yawning.
    "Me too."
    "Can I sleep here?" he asked.
    "We should put this woman on the couch, and I have no
other bed."
    "I will sleep on the floor—" he said, "a fine floor,
very soft, very practical."
    "Good," I said, "you can make sure this thief doesn’t
run off with my valuables."
    "I will guard your valuables with my life," Flaco
promised. We moved Tamara to the couch; then Flaco lay down on the
floor and closed his eyes.
    Although it was late and I had many things on my
mind, I went to my room, turned on my computer, phoned Informer
261—the artificial intelligence who services me—and requested a
readout of all scholarly articles on morphogenic pharmacology
published within the past three days. The AI bartered with me,
trying to restructure my payment schedule for the information. He
started out asking far too much money; at times it seemed his
bartering equations went totally off kilter. He didn’t understand
the emotional attachment I