The Show Must Go Offâ€“part thirteen
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I locked everyone out of my room and blasted my adrenalin glands into high gear with my StayNeur Crisis program. I took off the comasuit, bundled it inside-out. I lay down in Yew’s blood and rolled around a little. Then I mopped up, mostly with my comasuit, a clean path to the wallscreen from the door, to the bathroom, and then I mopped the whole area across from the wallscreen.
Simultaneously I had to form a history for the fictitious figure, Y.W.N. I had this neat idea. Five serial killers and one master criminal were among those missing for almost long enough . . . and Your Worst Nightmare filled out real nice. I used that screen name with my StayNeur to send a couple of messages. One to Upclose, and an ‘anonymous tip’ to the Enforcers. Then I opened the door for Gibb.
“There is no need for sir, Gibb. I plan to have you earn your freedom from me. Then we could be proper friends, if you like.”
He seemed to have trouble processing that one. “Ok? Q?”
“Q is good for now. I do need you to start earning immediately. Register me as your new beneficiary.” And I waved him in to join me. “My underwear doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”
“No, Q. The blood does. And the body.”
“How silly of me. I’m sorry. Was he a friend?”
Gibb blinked, “No–he wasn’t. Just . . . I guess I was used to him.”
“And all life is sacred, right?”
“Um. Well, yes, Q.” He was trying not to look at the dried blood on my face, in my hair, all over the place. I decided to give him a break.
“I know most people mourn differently than myself, Gibb. He lost his life so that I may live on. Honoring him in this way may be more than he deserved–“
“It was.” Gibb surprised me with that. He would be capable of murder. He wasn’t fighting not to puke either. I nodded and wordlessly undid the pad cover on the bedframe, being careful not to get blood on the homemade pad. I tied it into a basic sling and tightened it around Yew’s body. My StayNeur noted Upclose trying to cash out some laundry account in Gibb’s name. I shut down her access, interrupting her second blackmail message from Y.W.N., and kept acting like nothing was going on. Gibb finished willing everything to me and turned around, sagging a little.
“Are you sad, Gibb?”
“A little. Are you really going to let me live?”
“We’ll be lucky if they don’t kill you and try to frame me for your murder. Do you own any weapons?”
“I’ve got a speargun.”
“My room.” Yikes.
“Do they have access to it?”
“Well, sure.” I reached out. Door openings and closings were on the system, but the record would take forever. “What’s your address?”
“Branch 8, Inner Side Room 21.”
“You should undo their access.” I ran my own speed-apps on finding the right footage. Win was already there. He walked out with it. He probably thought Upclose was erasing the footage insteading of pounding keys and giving herself a migraine with her netjack.
This one was easy. I knew what Win planned. It was him or us. The fact that Gibb might die made my conscience clear. I pretended to concentrate on teaching Gibb how to navigate his door options while inside I derailed Enforcer KF2’s request for a cleaning bot. I turned off it’s proximity beeper. I initialized a cutting boom normally only used for cave-ins. I sent it out a bot door between Win and us and synced up with it in real time. At just the right moment, as Win passed the motionless cleaning bot, I caused a fire alarm. While I intensified the pitch and used several extra speakers, including the PA system, two hall kiosks, and an empty arena sound system to blast Win’s ears. Between that and the flashing lights, he was stunned enough not to see the cleaning bot slash at him. I faked a record of a power surge and sent several cleaning bots to unload their bins into a conduit, then had them filmed as cleaning it out. And cleaning him up. Most people walked a little further from cleaning bots for a cycle. ‘Y.W.N.’ posted a public message, claiming Win was Yew’s lover. All I had to do then was ready my surprised expression for the Enforcers headed my way.
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