Programmed for Peril

weight crushed Trish to the floor.
    “Do as you’re told! Move!"
    “You love her!” Champ’s words were a plea.
    “I did once. Her betrayal spawned this brat she passed off as mine!”
    “Let’s leave them both, then,” Champ said. “Let’s go back to the coast and restart our lives.”
    Carson shook his head furiously. “She’s going to die, and you’re going to kill her.” He took his foot off Trish’s back and turned to his brother. “You’ve never disobeyed me. This is no time to start. Kill her with your wire.”
    Champ didn’t speak. He shook his head.
    With a howl Carson sent a karate kick against Champ’s wounded side. His cry of pain was nearly as loud as his brother’s shout: “Kill her!”
    “No!” Champ was defiant! Trish couldn’t believe her senses.
    Carson lashed out with a spin kick. Champ’s speed afoot startled Trish. He leapt back and caught Carson’s ankle, tumbling him down. He didn’t pursue his advantage. “Brother, let’s leave them. Now.”
    Carson sprang up, his face mottling as rage flooded unevenly into its disturbed tissues. “Not until they’re both dead.”
    “You loved them both!”
    “Not anymore!” Carson thrust a hand toward his brother’s chest. “Only you love them now, Champ.”
    Champ’s head spun toward Trish and Melody. He nodded. Very softly he said, “Love . .
    “You are not permitted to love Queen of My Heart!” Carson shouted. “She’s mine alone to love or hate.”
    “I know, Master. Just the same, I can’t let you hurt her!”
    “Hurt her? You’re going to kill her!”
    “No!” Champ’s protest was a howl.
    Trish was astonished. This wounded brute had made himself her champion! Defying both blood and a dominated will on her behalf.
    “You betray me for her?” Carson’s face twisted with anger.
    “Don’t make me betray you!”
    “Step aside, Champ!” Carson barked. “I’ll do the job.” Both his fists were clenched.
    Champ, who stood between his brother and Trish, didn’t move. He shook his lowered head.
    With a grunting howl Carson charged. Brothers came together like two heavy jungle animals in a forest clearing. They rained practiced kicks and open-handed blows at one another, parrying most and cursing violently.
    Panicked, Melody ran for the door. She tore at the knob. Cunning Carson had locked it from the inside. No key protruded from the hole.
    Champ and Carson locked themselves in struggle. They punished each other with blows from a half-dozen schools of martial arts. When Oriental indirectness failed, shoves and punches served. They howled at each other. Wrapped together, they crashed into a table stacked with electronic equipment. Components tumbled like blocks from the hands of an angry child.
    Trish staggered to her feet and rushed for the door through which Carson had entered. It had no inside knob! She slammed her palms against it in frustration.
    She snatched up her purse and pressed herself up against the wall. The situation was clear. If Champ battered his brother down, he would set Trish and Melody free. If Carson prevailed...
    With dismay she saw how badly Champ suffered from the gunshot wound. To his wounded side Carson delivered his most ferocious blows. Blood ran from both their faces, but it was Champ’s that showed the pallor of agony and certain defeat.
    The struggle went on, destroying the meager lot of furniture. Heavy feet trampled fallen tools, components, and the cloth and paper debris of one who lived alone, oblivious to cleanliness. She smelled the men’s musky sweat and in time the saline scent of blood. They raged at each other, their shouted words hard and cutting as their blows. Their naked madness ran like an open sore.
    How much time elapsed before the advantage passed wholly to Carson she couldn’t guess. Nearly an hour, possibly. Champ was on his knees, pawing the air with his big hands. Carson spun and delivered a horrid kick to the center of his forehead.
    Trish had both hands in her purse, gripping the pistol butt. The trigger was slippery under the sweat of her emotions. Melody still clung to her. “Move away a little, sweetie.” She gave the child a gentle nudge. In her mind she reviewed her sessions on the practice range, Jerry’s tactful corrections. One of the many differences between this moment and those nearly languid days of simple point-and-fire was that she trembled from head to toe. Her emotions boiled from panic to rage to horror.
    Carson’s killing