Programmed for Peril

Champ pondered the unworthiness of the Loathed One to become Queen of My Heart’s husband. As he did he felt wellings of that state of mind so close to being beyond his control: Earthquake Anger. How often had it risen up, its target now this man lying under a blanket in the backseat? He found himself drawing in great drafts of air. His heart thudded like Mongo’s bongo. Why was he being gentle with him?
    Because Carson had commanded it.
    Never before, though, had the Loathed One been within Champ’s power. One violent instant and... the September fifteenth wedding would be forever impossible. He dared to think that maybe he knew better than Carson. Why couldn’t he think for Carson? How much difference was there between them, really? Was there any at all, with his devotion so complete? His breath emerged in shallow grunts. He thought of his hands around the Loathed One’s throat, pressing life out of him like toothpaste from a tube. Yes, yes... He turned the car from his appointed route toward a hilly suburb. There river and creeks cut through the terrain. The Blandmobile found its own way to an arching bridge over a deep gorge. He pulled up on the shoulder a dozen yards from the span.
    In no time blindfolded chump, weepy no more, was on his feet and moving with him to bridge center. Breeze stirred.
    “Where are we? What are you doing with me?”
    Champ looked over the tubular guards. Rocks and rills, white water aplenty. He shoved chump against the thick tubes, bent him over. Directly below his eyes was nothin? but three hundred feet of air.
    He snatched off the blindfold.
    The Loathed One cried out, “You’re going to push me over. You’re going to push me over!”
    Champ’s heart thudded, thudded. His brain beat with the pulse. This man. Queen of My Heart. Jumble. Mumble. Tangle. Carson-Champ. Champ-Carson. Carson-Carson. Earthquake Anger... The breeze worked up under his pant cuffs, teased his ankles. He needed relief from the soft clasp of the mask. But that could not be. He clutched the seat of the other’s pants. He hiked him up a bit, tampering with his balance. The chump screamed. Nerves not what they were? It had been that kind of day.
    He goosed the Loathed One up a mite more. With hands bound and feet having no real purchase he was helpless. The idea of going over must have seemed very real because he began to beg for his life.
    Music to Champ’s burning brain.
    “You a praying man?” Champ asked. “If you are, you better start in. You’re going over!”
    “I’ll give you whatever you want!”
    “Prayer is more becoming than pleading. Pray!”
    Champ’s inner self twisted, convulsed like a snake in fire. Earthquake Anger, Carson’s commands, Queen of My Heart! He felt at once powerful and weak. He closed his eyes and shuddered. Still gripping the other’s pants, he tensed himself to up-and-over the man. A one and a two and-
    A car was coming!
    He lowered the suspended feet. His left hand rose to hide taped wrists. He leaned forward, too. Look, driver, a matched set of the curious. Aren’t we a pair!
    The Loathed One howled for help!
    He had waited too long. Engine noise was loud. The car never slowed. Champ never turned. So that motorist had been spared. Champ ought to have spared that morning’s Samaritan as well. He stared down at the rocks and tumbling water. Maybe they should both go over....
    “You shouldn’t have shouted,” Champ said. “You’ll have to be punished!” He seized the other’s pants bottom again. Champ the joker.
    The Loathed One’s voice was a terrified choke. Though he thought he knew the answer, he asked, “How are you going to punish me?”
    Champ dropped his feet back to the cement. “Let you live,” he said.
    Back on went the blindfold. Champ drove uneventfully to Resurrection Headquarters. By now the Loathed One’s babbling was somehow soothing, a reminder of how well Champ was succeeding in doing Carson’s bidding. And possibly his own as well.
    Yet success did not generate the joy it once had.
    This late afternoon would see the fruition of all the careful espionage, deceptions, and electronic legerdemain that he and Carson had carried out in preparation. Days and nights they had spent at their computers. He stripped off the blindfold and tape and ordered the Loathed One into a chair by a PC. His face was pale. He rubbed his freed wrists and ankles. His lips trembled. Champ was now tired of his verbal drivel. He told him to shut up. He gave