Mindguard (2 page)

PART 1: THE MIND

Sanity is nature’s
sole gift to man. For the mindguard, it is a tool of the trade.

Sheldon Ayers,
Guarding
the Trade: A study of the Mindguard’s Methods

“Been a while,”
Maclaine Ross said cheerfully, as he stepped through the hand carved oak door
into the spacious home office of his longtime friend. He was genuinely excited
to see Sheldon, after almost eight months since their last mission together.

He missed
spending time with his old friend. In the last few years, the eccentric
mindguard had grown increasingly withdrawn, cutting down on field missions in
favor of his research and writing. Ross was sure that his business partner was
equally happy to see him, though you could never tell with Sheldon; the man’s
face rarely changed expression. If the eyes were truly windows to the soul,
then Sheldon Ayers’ windows had always been shut, with the blinds pulled down.
For a few seconds the mindguard seemed confused, as if he were not expecting
Ross, even though their meeting had been scheduled two days in advance.

“Hello, Mac,” he
said after a moment’s hesitation. 

“You didn’t
forget, did you?” Ross joked, knowing from personal experience that mindguards
had flawless memory. Without being invited, he sat down on one of the
deceptively comfortable vintage armchairs. It squeaked in protest of the
giant’s weight.

“Pinot?” Sheldon
asked.

“Sure, why not?”

As Sheldon
poured, Ross took a few moments to look around the office.
Huge paper map of
Terra Antiqua, check. Dusty leather-bound books, check. Oil paintings, check.
Violin, check
.
Everything looks exactly the same
, he thought. He
wasn’t in the least bit surprised. Every item in the room looked out of place
in this century. For those who didn’t know Sheldon, his office might suggest
the lair of a homesick time-traveler from the past. Those who
did
know
him were surprised he didn’t use ink-dipped reeds to write on papyrus rolls.

Without a word,
Sheldon handed his friend the glass of wine and took a seat behind his desk, an
expensive piece of furniture made from Carpathian elm and imported directly
from Terra Antiqua. Sheldon had always shown a deep love for everything related
to Old Earth, from its history and culture, to its scenery, its furniture and
especially its wines. He was also one of the very few people who could afford a
vacation home on the Planet of Origin.

Seeing that his
friend was characteristically quiet, Ross decided to break the ice. “You need
to get out more,” he said.  

“I just got back
from Ancient Rome,” Sheldon answered, taking a sip of Pinot. Ross looked at the
hologoggles resting on the desk beside a book titled
The Ghosts That Haunt
Old Earth
. “I meant the kind of ‘out’ that implies social interaction.”

“I’m a
mindguard, Mac, I get more ‘social interaction’ than I desire.”

Lately, Sheldon
rarely left his home, other than to travel to the Ancient Destinations. Tourism
was steadily increasing on Terra Antiqua. The ruins left behind by
civilizations from the dawn of mankind had become veritable hotspots for
heritage expeditions. Holosense technology could reproduce the surroundings as
they had looked millennia ago. Neural insertions would transmit very convincing
stimuli to all senses, replicating sights, sounds, smells and tactile
sensations. The experience felt very real. Travelers could walk along the ruins
and admire the buildings as they had once been. They could watch the people and
hear the sounds of their long-dead languages. They could taste their food,
drink their wine and smell their sweat. It was as close to time-travel as
humanity had ever come.

The hologoggles,
though, were extremely outdated; technological relics from decades ago, before
neuroinsertions and genome upgrades became available to the mass market. The
only people who still used them were those with genetic incompatibility to
neuroinsertions, those with phobias of such technology and the small number of
prototechs, people whose personal philosophy rejected any genetic modifications
to the human body. Sheldon belonged to the third category.

“So how
was
Ancient Rome?” Ross asked.

“Same as
always.” 

“Did you send my
regards to Emperor Nero?”

Sheldon almost
never laughed or smiled. Ross could tell that his friend was amused only
because his gaze remained fixed on him for a few seconds, rather than wandering
around the room and resting on some random object, as was usually the case.
Those who didn’t know that Sheldon was a prototech assumed he was interacting
with the visual transmitters on his retina. The empty gaze associated with visual
neuroinsertions was typical of people receiving optic feedback. That wasn’t
Sheldon’s case. He was, in fact, just avoiding eye-contact. It was a personal
quirk, even when talking with his best friend. 

This time,
Sheldon looked at Mac for a full three seconds; a sign of great affection. The
giant tasted the wine.
Exquisite
, he thought.

“Exquisite,
right?” Sheldon said.

Ross’ heart
skipped a beat. For a fraction of a second he believed that his friend had just
read his mind. Then he remembered that he was in the habit of saying
‘exquisite’ whenever he thought something was really good, a verbal tick of
which Sheldon was aware. His old friend was teasing him; that meant he was in a
good mood. Ross handed Sheldon the holobook and rolled his eyes when the
mindguard printed out the file on paper.

“Should I have
written it by hand?” he joked, but Sheldon didn’t react. He was already
studying the mission file, his legendary brain absorbing the data with
lightning speed.

 “Horatio
Miller?” he asked.  

“The very same.”

“The
businessman?”

“…and Educator.”

Sheldon raised
his right eyebrow, which was about as close as he ever got to rolling his eyes
and sighing emphatically. Ross knew that the reclusive mindguard had little
regard for the title of Educator. He considered it a pompous designation
created by elitist politicians only so they could grant it to themselves. Ross
partially agreed, but he did have great respect for Miller, who was one of the
few credibly accomplished men of the recent era.

“Not interested,”
Sheldon said.

“Bullshit!”

“
Not
interested!”

“Sheldon… it’s
Horatio
Miller
.”

The mindguard
cleared his throat as if to say ‘You know me better than that’. He handed Ross
the holobook.

“You turn down
more and more jobs nowadays,” Ross said.

“I’m otherwise
engaged.”

“Right… with
your research…”

“Among other
things.”

“You know I’ve
always respected your academic endeavors. But that’s a hobby, this is work. You
are the most brilliant mindguard in the world, why waste your God-given
talent?”

Sheldon sighed
almost imperceptibly. “Why me, Mac?”

“You’re the
best.”

“At the level we
conduct our work, the difference between best and next best becomes
insignificant.”

“Not to me.”

“Isabel is an
outstanding mindguard.”

“She’s
exquisite.”

“And I hear the
new kid is more than capable.”

“
More
than capable,” Ross echoed.

“So you’ve got
your team.”

“So I still want
you.”

Ross smiled and
took the glass of wine off its coaster. He emptied it in one big swig, put it
back on the desk and leaned back in his armchair. “Isabel has experience,” he
said. “Alex has raw talent.” He paused for dramatic effect, then grinned. “You
have
both
. After all, the company
is
called Ayers-Ross.”

“What bothers
me,” Sheldon said, “is that if it were anyone other than Horatio Miller, you
wouldn’t even have gone through the trouble of contacting me.”

“Well -”  

“Miller gets
special treatment and I don’t like that,” Sheldon cut him off.

Ross rolled his
eyes. “I figured you wouldn’t. Look, what’s the big deal Sheldon? You get out
of the house for a little while. The pay is one of the best we’ve ever gotten
-” He raised his hand just as Sheldon was about to object. “I know it’s not
about the money, it’s not about money for me either and you know that. It’s
about
respect
. One of the most respected men in the free world asks for
your services, you damn well deliver and prove you are every bit as good as he
assumes.”

“Isn’t arrogance
considered a sin in your religion?”

“Don’t be an
asshole, Sheldon!”

“Why does he
even want vintages in the first place?”

“Because he’s
smart. You think he hasn’t done his homework?”

For the last few
generations, artificial mindguards like androids and bots of all types had
increasingly replaced their human counterparts, the so-called ‘vintages’.
Still, even though the AI mindguards were regarded as more consistently
dependable, excellence in the field of neurological data protection - or
‘thought protection’ - belonged solely to human beings. Some knowledgeable
people were still aware of that.

“I’m not asking
as a business partner, I’m asking as a friend,” Ross said. “And you owe me.”

Nothing else
needed to be said. Years ago, Ross had pulled some strings to get Sheldon’s
grandfather, Kinsey Ayers, declared a hero of the IFCO after his death. Due to
his status as a hero, Kinsey’s mind had been digitally encoded and uploaded to
the Human Knowledge Archives, a sort of Noah’s Ark of the most important
intellects born in the era of space colonization. Kinsey was one of only four
mindguards to have ever had their memories preserved. Ross knew that his friend
would feel bound to return the favor.

Sheldon glimpsed
at the half empty bottle of Pinot Noir. “Knowing you, I assume you told Miller
to expect us right away. No time, then, for another glass?!”

Ross chuckled
and checked the time on his retinal insertion. “Well, I told him it would take
me less than fifteen minutes to convince you, so he’s expecting us in about
twenty minutes. A man like Horatio Miller is not accustomed to being left
waiting.” Sheldon remained silent for a few seconds, anticipating a punch line.
“… which is exactly why I think he could use a little lesson in modesty. Screw
Miller! Feel free to pour.”

Sheldon Ayers
must have suddenly been reminded exactly why he loved his old friend, because
he rewarded him with a rare smile.

When you are
guarding somebody’s mind, you are at the same time guarding their soul.

Samuel Weixman,
Strengths
and Limitations of the Mindguard

Two minutes had passed
from the moment they threw the empty bottle of wine in the trash bin, to the
moment they set foot on Horatio Miller’s property on the planet Terra Nova.
Those two minutes had mostly been spent walking from the office to the
Departure Chamber. From there, travel was instantaneous. Had they journeyed the
same distance by spacecraft, their great-great-grandchildren might have had
just enough time to land the ship on the planet, before dying of old age.

“Smooth ride,
eh?” Ross said as they stepped out of the portal and onto the reception
platform.  In front of them, a cobblestone walkway lead straight to
Horatio Miller’s mansion.

“A minor
modification to a major invention,” Sheldon said drily.  

“I’d like to see
how you’d have enjoyed spending hours on a ship just to take a two second
trip.”

Like Horatio
Miller, Sheldon and Ross were two of the few people who could afford to own a
personal transporter. Most had to go to a spaceport, then wait for a flight
that would take them outside the planet’s atmosphere. There, the entire
spacecraft had to pass through the wormhole, which brought the vessel close to
the destination planet.

When the
Muench-Henriksen space-time bridges - or ‘gateways’ - had initially been
discovered a few centuries earlier, they could only be stabilized in the vacuum
of outer space. Horatio Miller and Nikolaos Apostolos were the two scientists
who managed to create the first stable Muench-Henriksen Bridge on the surface
of a planet, allowing for individual transportation through personal Departure
Chambers. The technology was still very recent and thus restrictively
expensive. Miller’s gateway generator was integrated into a platform that
resembled a heliport.

Near the
platform, waiting to greet them, stood a portly middle-aged man whose
expression made him look like he had just been woken from a very comfortable
nap. He extended his hand to Ross, then to Sheldon.

“Welcome
gentlemen, I’m Marcus Miller,” he said with a muffled voice that completed his
sleepy mien.

“Nice to meet
you, I’m Maclaine Ross, this is Sheldon Ayers.” Sheldon just shook the man’s
hand saying nothing.

“Mmhmm,” Marcus
murmured. “My brother had prepared to greet you in person but seeing as how you
are late, he had to turn his attention to other matters. I trust you will make
yourselves comfortable until he is ready to see you. I will show you to the
lobby.”

We made him
wait and now he’s making us wait
, Ross thought.
Competitive guy
. He
was not surprised. He expected no less from one of the world’s most influential
businessmen.

Ross had dressed
the way he always did when meeting a man like Miller. He was surprised that
Sheldon hadn’t yet made a sarcastic comment about his outfit. He was wearing a
black, skin-tight t-shirt that showed off his very muscular physique. Ross
found that dressing this way almost always guaranteed that the other person
underestimated his intelligence. They probably figured that a man who dedicated
so much time to training his body must undoubtedly have neglected training his
mind. They couldn’t be more wrong. Whenever he met someone he didn’t entirely
trust, he preferred to be underestimated.

Sheldon’s
clothes had not been chosen with the same attention to psychology. They gave
away more about his partner’s character than Ross would have liked.
Nevertheless, he knew that there was no point in arguing with him. Sheldon
rarely left the house in anything other than his customary black shirt and
light brown leather jacket. The shirt, an outdated design, no longer
fashionable anywhere other than Old Earth, disclosed the man’s affection for
the Planet of Origin. It revealed a melancholy spirit, perpetually stuck in
some idealized version of the past. Since leather had been outlawed for
decades, and wearing leather clothing was penalized with a hefty fine,
Sheldon’s jacket suggested a man with a reckless nature and disregard for
authority. For an intelligent client like Miller, these shortcomings made for a
less than favorable first impression.

Usually, Ross
avoided bringing Sheldon to business meetings and his partner generally had
little desire to tag along. But Miller had requested Sheldon’s presence.

Marcus Miller
was guiding them towards the enormous modern mansion which, as he explained,
was designed by the foremost architect in all of Terra Nova. They were led to a
spacious waiting room and invited to have a seat. “To be honest, I have no idea
how long my brother will be,” he said. “I also have other matters to attend to.
I will send refreshments. Feel free to use our holosense chamber in the meantime.”
He made the floor plan available to Ross’ retinal insertions. The giant flirted
with the idea of telling him that Sheldon was a prototech and thus had no use
for the holosense room, just to spook him a little. He ultimately decided
against it.

A few minutes
later, a maid appeared, pushing a portable bar. Ross could tell that she was
human; she lacked the distinctive tattoo on the right side or her face, an
obligatory mark of all androids. He grabbed a Scholan beer but was surprised to
see Sheldon take nothing. “I see they’ve got some imported India Pale Ale from
Old Earth,” he said. “I can see that,” Sheldon answered, but he didn’t help
himself.  

They were left
waiting for two and a half hours. Ross was certain this had been done
specifically to punish them for being a half hour late. He didn’t get angry.
This behavior helped him understand more about Horatio Miller as a person. He
always wanted to learn as much as he could about his clients. If Sheldon was
irritated by the long wait, he didn’t show it. Ross used the time to read a
mission report on his retinal insertions. It had been sent by Isabel, one of
the mindguards he employed. In his absence, the woman was the field captain,
while Kriss White served as Head of Operations at the base. Isabel informed him
of the mission’s success but made a comment about what she called the
‘recklessness’ of her mindguard partner, Alex.

“Copy that Iz,
thanks,” Ross replied. “Kid will come around. Bringing Sheldon.” He was sure
the mention of Sheldon Ayers would put a smile on Isabel’s face. The two seemed
very fond of each other. In the field they had perfect chemistry and in private
they seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. Isabel was also, to Mac’s
knowledge, the only person in the world whom Sheldon greeted with a smile.

He turned to
look at his partner, who had produced a small, leather-bound book and was
reading from it to pass the time. More than two hours had gone by and still
there was no sign of Horatio Miller. Bored and looking to make conversation,
Ross glanced at the book’s title. “Wolfmen: A History of the Dacian
Population,” he read out loud. Sheldon took his eyes off the page. “They lived
in a region of what is now Western Asia on Terra Antiqua,” he said. “The name
of the book is a reference to their worship of the wolf, an extinct member of
the Canidae.”

“Formerly
extinct,” declared a confident voice. Horatio Miller had finally appeared, with
his brother following him. He was approaching with a slow, condescending walk,
which suggested he was not at all worried that he may have offended them by
making them wait so long. Ross wondered if the man had really been busy, or if
he had just watched them from his office through the holosense cams, getting a
chuckle out of wasting their time.

“Wolves are
among the most recent species brought to life through deextinction. A few
thousand creatures have been produced and set free on the planet Wrangel.
Mylonas, my company, funded and controlled the operation. We would have done it
a lot sooner but the wolf is just not a very popular animal.” He laughed and
extended his hand presenting a friendly smile. “Horatio Miller,” he said
shaking the two men’s hands.

Horatio looked
younger than Ross had expected. He did not present a single wrinkle or gray
hair, no bags under his eyes, as you would expect from a man who allegedly
worked round-the-clock. He also seemed to be in excellent shape, in striking
contrast with his overweight brother. The only thing which gave away the fact
that this man was really in his fifties was his very expensive tailor-made
suit, a tasteful but conservative design which was not in tone with the usual
flamboyant fashion of the modern youth.

“I see you have
an interest in ancient history,” Horatio said, pointing to the book in Sheldon’s
hands. Sheldon looked at the object as if he had seen it for the first time.
“Any chance you have an interest in art history as well? It is a topic about
which I am most passionate.” Ross looked around the sleek, modern reception
area, furnished with high-end neuroreceptive accessories. He took note of the
fact that there wasn’t a single piece of art on display anywhere.

“I have an
interest in everything,” Sheldon answered. As he spoke his eyes met those of his
host. He held the man’s gaze for what felt to Ross like an uncomfortably long
period of time. “Mr. Miller,” he added. The charming businessman did not seem
offended, though Ross was sure that the man was aware Sheldon had intentionally
not used the title ‘Educator’. He wondered if it was his partner’s way of
getting back at their client for letting them wait for so long. You just never
knew with Sheldon.

“An interest in
everything, I like that,” Miller said, nodding approvingly. He signaled for the
men to have a seat and then noticed that only one of them had a drink in his
hand. “You didn’t help yourself to anything, Mr. Ayers?” he asked.

“No, thank you!”

“Is there
perhaps something else I could get for you, something that was not available in
the bar?”

Ross was sure
his partner would once again say ‘no, thank you’ and was very surprised to hear
him ask for a Pinot Noir.

“Wine?” Marcus
Miller snapped, looking at Sheldon as if he had just requested a
prostitute. 

“You
do
have
wine?!”

The answer was
directed at Horatio, leaving the other Miller brother completely ignored.
Again, the host did not seem bothered, though it was clear that his brother was
not at all fond of Sheldon. Unfortunately, that was something many of Ross’
clients had in common. Ross wasn’t surprised to see Sheldon acting the way he
did. He was a man who instantly made up his mind as to whether or not he liked
his interlocutor, and he always acted accordingly. He rarely changed his
opinion afterwards. 

“Certainly,”
said Horatio, responding to rudeness with courtesy. “But in this case, I think
our conversation calls for a change of scenery.”

●

A few minutes
later, the four men found themselves in the largest and most impressive wine
cellar Ross had ever seen. Tens of thousands of bottles lay arranged according
to region; a wine-map of the known universe.

“This should
prove a more comfortable location,” Horatio said, looking at Sheldon’s face in
search of a reaction and finding none. Ross was not as adept at hiding his own
feelings as his partner; he just shook his head in amazement. ‘Wow’ was all he
could muster up. Horatio seemed amused by his reaction but puzzled by his
partner’s lack thereof. Meanwhile, Sheldon was absently looking around the
room, as if trying to figure out how he had ended up there.

“So, what shall
it be?” Horatio asked. Sheldon thought about it for a few seconds. “Do you have
-”

“Yes!” the
Educator answered, before Sheldon had a chance to finish his sentence. Marcus
and Ross rewarded the joke with some polite laughter but Sheldon didn’t react.
He just walked past his host to the section that read ‘Terra Antiqua’. He
appeared to randomly pull out a bottle, though Ross suspected there was nothing
random about his partner’s selection. Saying nothing, he handed it to Miller
and waited for the man to pour as if he were nothing more than a simple
sommelier.

The businessman
presented the most fleeting smile before opening the bottle and pouring into
three glasses; his brother politely declined the drink. Ross was just about to
start worrying that Sheldon might have offended their host, when his partner
picked up the glass, looked Horatio straight in the eyes, nodded and said
‘thank you’ with such unexpected and unbridled honesty that even the composed
businessman seemed completely caught off guard. “Uh… have a seat… please,”
Horatio said, pointing to a beautiful wooden table with six chairs.

All the men sat
down. They drank their wine and talked for a while about art history, current
politics and then religion, when Miller noticed the small golden cross hanging
from a chain around Ross’ neck. Miller was not a believer - very few remained
in the mostly atheist post-war society - but he was very knowledgeable of the
topic and carried none of the resentment that Mac usually sensed in most
people. When the conversation slowed down and the second glass of wine had been
served, Horatio changed the topic.

“All right, may
we commence?” he asked. It was evident that the businessman within him made a
very clear distinction between social interaction and work. “Certainly,“ Ross
said, inviting him to speak with a gesture of the hand.

“The package I
need you to guard is of vital importance. I want you to be very aware of that.”

“Of course,“
Ross answered, trying to convey their serious commitment to the success of
every
mission and, at the same time, to hint at their vast experience protecting
high-level information packages.

“That would be
issue number one,” Miller continued, in a very straightforward manner. “Number
two is that I need it carried through the Djago Desert.”