Programmed for Peril

imagined her irritation this hot day. Did the dew of sweat fall on the soft skin below her hairline, on the pert curve of her upper lip, as it had under the heat of lust’s sun? He had made himself master of her earlier face and figure, plundered from the Scheherazade tapes like booty from a pirated vessel. The cameras in her home had allowed him to etch the sensitive plate of his incredible memory with the vision of today’s Queen of My Heart. Carson would be glad to hear her shape was intact, seemingly as immune to passing months as a prehistoric insect trapped in the slow drip of amber.
    In moments alone in her bedroom she had been careless with post-shower towels, tossing them aside on the way to underwear or pajamas. At those so-rare instants—ah, the trials of a voyeur!—her white skin blossomed for him with the power and brilliance of a Fourth of July star shell.
    And last night! Last night had compensated him for the hours staring at her sleeping form or at her fully dressed bustling to and from the bathroom. Carson’s rival, the Loathed One, had possessed her beneath the unfailing Nipponese eye. Banzai! Champ looked on in a frenzy of arousal. He could no more keep his hands from his body than not draw breath. Queen... Queen... Queen of Carson’s Heart! He spasmed repeatedly, moaning at his master’s once and future good fortune.
    His loathing for Carson’s rival exploded into Earthquake Anger so quickly that he scarcely had time to strap himself into Siege Restraint. All manner of violence his imagination allowed him to work on the tall man. He thrashed and fought his bonds. His howls reached such levels that dwellers in distant apartments, unheard till now, raised angry shouts for silence. He heaved and howled on, chair legs flogging the floor....
    Now, today, memories of last night’s torrents of sights and emotions flooded in afresh. Sweat sprang out on his face, and he wrung his hands like a madhouse tenant. He moaned amid the horn blares of the impatient. No matter the condition of his mind, he had his orders—and his equipment.
    The override device hooked into the FM frequency. Yes! He turned a dial to kill the station on Queen of My Heart’s car radio, so lovingly removed and tampered with last night while her sweet breath perfumed the pillow. He picked the hand mike out of its cradle. He altered his voice’s inflection and tone and said, “Trish, Carson, and Melody—together forever! Trish, Carson, and Melody—together forever!" He couldn’t suppress his chuckle when he pressed the console button that disabled her radio’s on-off switch. Now he had a mini PA system with which to broadcast Carson’s theme. “Trish, Carson, and Melody—together forever!” he bellowed.
    Ahead horns blared afresh. Queen of My Heart had stalled her car. It sat in the middle of the intersection, keystone to gridlock. She was having trouble restarting it. Well, she had silenced her radio—the hard way. Champ chuckled. Carson had such style in his designs! How complete his knowledge of the mental makeup of AWOL Queen of My Heart! Champ’s glee was total because she experienced no physical harm. Surely she would soon come to meet Carson’s demand to scuttle her wedding plans before it became necessary to...
    He beat the wheel with both fists and felt the metal bend under its plastic casing. Wheezing, wordless grunts spoke eloquently of the sanctity of Queen of My Heart’s white flesh. Other blood he could spill at Carson’s command. But hers? His master could never wish it either!
    Nor did he, hence the psychological campaign against her peace of mind. Champ had dutifully created the “survey” of Trish’s marital plans—a real zinger that! Creating the file erase program and installing it on Queen of My Heart’s PC had been a trivial exercise for a man of his talent. Stealing her backup tapes had given that challenge for her a sharp, threatening bite. I serve you well, Master!
    Her car got underway. With the current flowing again through its electrical system, the radio could speak anew of Master Carson’s ruling wish. Champ trailed behind a quarter mile, well within range of the Acura. Every ten seconds he raised the mike to his lips. “Trish, Carson, and Melody— together forever!”
    He knew she was headed for PC-Pros. He pulled up in a burger joint’s parking lot down the block. The console told him she had turned off her engine. His fingers moved like a pianist’s over the console.