Programmed for Peril

caused it? He flew to Siege Restraint and its Velcro straps. His shrieks carried tones of bewilderment. His memory thrust forward the Samaritan at the moment the wire entered his brain. Why? Why that then? Why this rage now?
    Queen of My Heart belonged to Carson! It was their destiny to be together for the rest of their lives. Whence Earthquake Anger? What lay at its core—beside his own increasingly strained service? Charge that to her! He knew what bored from within, though he had called forth armies of denial. Oh, yes, he knew....
    Carson had raged to hear that he was not Melody’s father. He who was always so sure, so very capable of working his will in all things, had been outpaddled by another’s sperm. Not even he could escape being twisted on Queen of My Heart’s rack! He, too, had burst into tirades of denial, his voice nearly a howl despite the telephone’s muting. He slammed down the receiver, no matter Champ’s defenseless, loyal ear. Possibly he then rushed off in search of certitude. Who could guess his master’s methods?
    What was this? He had ripped his arms free! Tom straps fluttered like ribbons from his wrists, then fell away. He lashed the air with free arms. Siege Restraint tottered, fell. Flailing and twitching, he sent it clattering. He edged sideways across the floor like an angry crab on the ocean bottom. Dimly he grasped that he could free his legs. He dared not, and thus stand free in full rage. He could not let Earthquake Anger reign!
    In time the seizure ebbed. It left him whimpering and gibbering, his cheek brushing the floor in a smear of drool. Everything that had been so perfect, so orderly, was slipping away toward chaos. He could not put words to any of it. He was certain only of his own fear.
    After a long while he rose and wiped away oozing fluids with a stained towel. He slumped onto the bed, snatched up the phone, punched in a number. He was panting like a miler. Because soon it would be her voice he heard. This time he was Ed Smurd, C.P.A., calling on business. The round-cheeked receptionist put him through. Into Queen of My Heart’s ear he howled his song: “Hi, ho, the geek is dead! The geek is dead! The weirdo geek is dead! Nicholas S-P is no more!”
    “What have you done to him? Tell me!” Her voice was tight and anxious.
    “Listen to me! This won’t be repeated,” he continued. “At noon two days from today be at the Northpark Mall with your luggage and your daughter—”
    “I won’t listen to this!” Her voice was as choked as if he had his hands around the ivory column of her throat. She would listen.
    “The north end of the parking lot is deserted. Park there and wait.” Champ drew a deep breath. “Your life with Carson will be resumed.”
    “No.”
    “No police. No tricks.”
    “I won’t come, Carson! We won’t be there!”
    “Listen! I am serious. And I’ll prove it. Later today.” ‘‘What are you talking about?” Yes, this was the morning for everyone to shriek, Champ thought.
    “There will be a single act that will prove Carson’s utter sincerity,” he said. “One that will convince you to make the rendezvous.”
    “What are you going to do, Carson?”
    “Prove the depth of commitment to you.”
    “What—”
    Phones could be tapped. Calls must be short, no matter the sweet perfume of her panicked voice. Champ laid the receiver to rest. He could not jar her ear as Carson had his. He stared down at the phone. Carson... Was there a Carson? Or had his persona seized Champ utterly? Possibly he worked his master’s will so totally that he had become him. Was it Champ and Carson, or two Carsons? Or one?
    Never had he felt so lost.
    He stirred, rose, shook himself. He must rally his wits. Much remained to be done. Once more unto the breach, dear friends...
     
    The Blandmobile nosed through the rain after the PC-Pros’ van. Champ’s lengthy observations of the business had taught him that in the face of adversity employees had rallied to Queen of My Heart. Their loyalty translated into longer hours and a redistribution of tasks. Oh, wonder woman, to spark such generosity of spirit!
    The slant was chief among the excellent. His kind knew the meaning of hard work. Play? He didn’t. Champ understood their ways. Tran Lo Dinh the Loyal. Knight that Galahad now, purest among the Round Table serving Queen of My Heart. He was making a delivery of three PCs he had spent most of the night repairing, working with the owls and moles.