T h e   P r o t e c t o r

                           (C)Phil Weeks 1993-4


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            NOTICE:  The Protector Series (C)1993-4 Phil Weeks
     The author grants permission to Megadisk only to distribute this
   series in their disk magazine provided they include this notice, and
       reserves the right to publish the same in all other forms of
                     publication, including hardcopy.
    I regret having to include a copyright statement like this, I hate
  reading them myself, BUT....  Hope you enjoy this story.  If you want
  more, please write to your favourite sci-fi publisher and get them to
   buy my other titles for publication.  Publishers' enquiries welcome.
                                  Thanx.

       (C)1993/PhilWeeks/38McFieSt/Devonport7210/Tasmania/Australia
                        Phone:  (004)24 9173 B.H.

And now, back to our story:

The Protector(C) Ch. 4  The Grass Is Always Greener....

  	Golden laser beams streaked past his head.  Just missed, the
  Protector told himself.  Left, then left again.  He dodged away and the
  zapping death bolts flashed even further from his persona.
  	Diving into a tumbling roll, the Protector launched himself at the
  Space Cadet and came up swinging.  His katana flashed in the crimson
  light of the SAN on full alert.  The enemy hacker ducked, parrying the
  blade with the barrel of his laser rifle.  He face twisted into a sneer
  as he lashed out with a jackbooted foot, which connected with the
  Protector's side.
  	"You're in the big leagues now," the Space Cadet boasted.  He
  stepped back to regain his balance and extricate his laser gun from the
  katana's onslaught.  He fired his attack program once again, unleashing
  another torrent of golden energy.
  	With a graceful sidestep that would have made any matador proud,
  the Protector evaded the fresh assault and moved in for the kill.
  "Thanks for telling me," he hissed back, feigning with his Samurai blade
  for the neck, then lunging in close with his chrome-gloved fist.
  	The Space Cadet never saw it coming.  The Protector lifted his
  full weight into the uppercut, his new Boxing attack program living up
  to its rep for once, and felt the blow to the jaw with complete
  satisfaction.  The punch echoed in the SAN on a hollow note, like a
  well-hit ball on a wooden bat.  The Space Cadet's eyes glazed over and
  he dropped to the virtual floor like the proverbial stone.
  	"You're out," the Protector informed the prone figure.  He made
  the umpire's crisp hand signal before raising his gleaming sword one
  more time.  He pointed it at the hacker and fired.  A shimmering purple
  beam shot out of the tip and engulfed the hacker's icon.  Then beam and
  persona sucked back out the SAN door like a cartoon character inhaled by
  a vacuum cleaner.
  	"Chalk up another inmate for Citicop," he smiled, the grim
  expression it augmented turning it into one of ironic humour.  He knew
  the hacker would stay frozen at his desk till the authorities arrived.
  Good riddance!
  	Bending down to inspect the dataparcel the Space Cadet had left
  behind, the Protector noticed the label.  Even upside down, he couldn't
  miss the infamous AusTechnic logo.  'Figures, he snorted.  Another virus
  to infect the Browntronix mainframe where he worked.
  	Slipping out an isolation program, the Protector spread it over
  and around the dataparcel.  He worked cautiously and by the book.  It
  was the only way when dealing with an explosive device like this one.
  And one of the reasons the Protector was still functional.
  	He cast a final look over his shoulder at the SAN door.  He didn't
  want to get blasted by another hacker sneaking in now that the alerts
  had been triggered.  He detected no further intrusions.
  	With ginger movements, the Protector finished sealing off the
  virus program and threw the lock switch.  He sighed, and as he did so,
  realised the tension that had been building.  It failed to slip away
  with his virtual breath.
  	The Protector checked the time on his retinal screen.  Nearly time
  to knock off for the night.  He couldn't help but marvel at the change
  in himself over the past few weeks.  Where once he'd hated leaving the
  Matrix, he was beginning to look foreward to night's end.  Brenda would
  be waiting.
  	He picked up the caged virus and left the SAN.  Reaching the
  control console, he downgraded the alert to a passive orange and hit the
  auto-run button.  Then he reported in to Control and slipped the virus
  into the designated chute.  The boys in the lab'll have a field day with
  this one, he thought.  The next lunch'll be on them.

                                    *

  	"How was your day?" Brenda called out from the kitchen.  "Or
  should I say, night?"
  	"It's all the same in the Matrix," Russel replied.  As for work,
  you know," Russel continued, hobbling over to his easy chair.  "Caught a
  couple of baddies and locked up a virus.  Just the usual."
  	Brenda breezed into the living room, that special smile
  brightening his spirits.  She slipped into his arms and gave him warm
  welcome.  "Mmmm, that's better," Russel murmured into her soft hair,
  noting it still smelled like apples.
  	"How's the meat today?" she asked as she shifted her body to take
  more of his weight.  She helped him to his chair, where he lowered
  himself down with a grunt.
  	"Sore," he admitted, but he was still smiling.  He didn't want to
  complain.
  	"I thought so," Brenda nodded knowingly.  "I thought you've been
  overdoing it."
  	"No I haven't," he laughed, pulling his new bride down onto his
  cybered lap.  She yelped as she slid over the chair's arm, then broke
  into her sparkling mirth that he loved so well.  Again they kissed.
  	"Let's go out for dinner," he suggested.
  	Some of the smile left her face.  "Now Russel," she moaned, "you
  promised you'd be patient.  You know you can't leave the compound."
  	Russel knew, all right.  Dr.  Chun had already made that plain
  enough.  Browntronix had managed to give him back a functional body, to
  remove the mindblocks and programming AusTechnic had inflicted on him.
  But they had, as yet, been unable to remove the cortex bomb wired in to
  his Medulla Oblongata.  One signal from an Austechnic transmitter and
  bang!  No more Russel.  No more Protector.
  	"Don't worry," Dr.  Chun had told him.  "You'll be perfectly safe
  here in our compound.  We have several back-up jammers to mask your, er,
  affliction.  Meanwhile, we'll keep testing for ways of either removing
  it or permanently disarming it.  And as you must be aware, the Sunrise
  Foundation isn't keen to part with its cortex bomb specs.  After all, if
  any cyber quack could neutralize these items, Sunrise would lose a lot
  of business.  Rest assured, Browntronix is working on it."
  	"I thought Sunrise were humanitarians," Brenda had objected.  "Why
  would they make such a horrible device?"
  	"Even the most philanthropic Megacorps have to protect
  themselves," Dr.  Chun had shrugged.  "Even our own Browntronix, though
  we never use coercion on our employees." He turned back to the
  Protector.  "I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner.  Your father thought
  it best to leave it.  You see, your wounds were so old, we weren't sure
  we'd be able to fit you with any cyberware replacement parts at all."
  	Russel had understood, all right.  At first, he hadn't minded.
  After all, the Matrix had been his life.  But as the weeks wore on, and
  he had begun to master the use of his meat body once again, the confines
  of Hobart's Browntronix complex were becoming oppressive.  Especially
  now that he had Brenda back by his side.  It was almost enough to make
  him want to jack back in to the Mainframe and resume his post as the
  Protector.  Life was much simpler there.
  	Brenda had seen these moods before, and understood them all too
  well.  For several weeks, she herself had been held hostage by
  AusTechnic.  She knew what is was like to lose your freedom.  And she
  had never been addicted to the ultimate freedom of the Matrix universe
  like Russel had.
  	"Never mind, my love," she cooed softly into his ear.  "I'll take
  your mind off everything."
  	As she began to do just that, Russel felt the anger melt away.
  Still unwilling to let go completely, he gave it one last shot.  "I'll
  phone Chun in a minute and blast him.  He should've had that portable
  jammer ready last week."
  	But the sting had gone out of his words.  Brenda knew she was
  winning.  "Of course you will, darling.  Just as soon as I'm through
  with you...."

                                    *

  	The next night proved to be a slow one.  No intruders had tried to
  penetrate the Browntronix mainframe, and the Protector paced back and
  forth in front of his window to the Matrix, ignoring its exquisite view.
  He had performed all his normal checks several times--Finance, Security,
  R&D, Personel--all secure.  He paced on, wishing he had something to do.
  Anything to keep his mind off his forced restriction to the Browntronix
  compound.
  	Snapping his virtual fingers, he spun around and headed to the
  control console.  He jacked in and called up the menu for R&D.  He'd
  check for himself how much progress Dr.  Chun had made on defusing his
  cortex bomb.
  	The security systems scanned the Protector's clearance, then
  allowed him access into the R&D directory.  In mere milliseconds he had
  found his file and pulled it.
  	"Impatient as always, I see," Dr.  Chun's voice cut into his
  consciousness, distracting him from the file.  "Just as well we gave you
  free run of the place, or we'd spend all our time reprogramming our
  A.H.P.'s for this division.  By the way, I thought you were supposed to
  protect Security, not by-pass it."
  	Chun's dry humour told the Protector volumes.  He still found it
  hard to trust Browntronix and their personel after the rotten deal he'd
  had from AusTechnic.  He felt bad now that he hadn't trusted Chun more,
  that he'd been mentally accusing him of dragging his feet on this cortex
  bomb thing, secretly trying to keep him a prisoner, like AusTechnic had
  done, only by a more subtle means.
  	"Yeah, well," he said aloud and somewhat defensively, "I was only
  checking."
  	"Go ahead," Chun laughed.  "Not that you'll find much more in
  there than you did the last 17 times you looked.  I wish I had as much
  free time as you seem to have on your hands.  If I had half as much, I
  might have gotten to the bottom of your little problem by now."
  	Your little problem!  The Protector hated some of Dr.  Chun's
  euphamisms, especially when they pertained to himself.  He chomped
  virtual teeth together, suppressing a caustic reply.
  	"Actually, now that you're here," Chun continued, "I do have one
  bit of new data you might find interesting."
  	"Okay, don't keep me in suspense," the Protector replied tersely.
  "What's the deal?"
      	"Your friend the Guardian Angel is coming in this morning, via
  your SAN.  Try not to terminate him.  He's coming to have a crack at
  decoding the chip in your meat skull."
  	The Protector restrained an almost overwhelming impulse to
  strangle the grinning medico.  "You set me up!  You knew he was coming
  all the time!"
  	"Don't fry a circuit, Russel," Chun chided him with more than a
  hint of mischief in his soft Oriental voice.  "I was about to contact
  you when you burst in here and so rudely interrupted my transmission.  I
  only found out about the Guardian's visit a few moments ago myself."
  	"Yeah, right, I'll bet," the Protector snarled back, but he
  couldn't keep the half-smile from his virtual lips.  He knew the truth
  when he heard it, and he could still laugh at himself.  Besides, this
  was the best news he'd had since finding Brenda, and that Browntronix
  had taken the ruins of his meat body and made him mobile once again.
  	"Thanks, Doc," he waved and sped back to the control console,
  where he jacked out of R&D and resumed his patrol.  The quiet shift had
  a purpose again.  The Guardian Angel was coming.  And that meant
  freedom.  Soon he'd be free from AusTechnic.  Forever!
  						*
  	The Guardian materialized in the SAN just as the Protector
  prepared to log off at the end of his shift.  He hadn't changed a bit,
  Russel noted.  He still had the same golden aura, the wings, the halo.
  Everything a Guardian Angel should have, and more under the surface.
  	"What's happenin', Pro?" the Guardian smiled, waving a virtual
  hand in greeting.
  	"Nothin', for a change," the Protector waved back, copying the
  angel's drawl.  "Very slow.  You're the best thing to happen all night.
  In fact, the only thing to happen."
  	Before either icon could move, another shape burst through the SAN
  door.  The Protector recognized the Ninja persona instantly--clad in all
  black, complete with face veil and katana strapped to his back.
  	"Watch out!" the Protector shouted, drawing his own Samurai sword
  and leaping forward.
  	But he was too late.  The assassin icon had spotted the Guardian
  and launched a flying kick program at the angel's unprotected back.  It
  struck home with a peal of thunder and blue flashes of lightning.  "Die,
  American dog!" the Ninja growled, his Nipponese accent clipping his
  words.
  	The Guardian Angel's icon shimmered and threatened to break up.
  	"No!" the Protector shouted, swinging his katana in the classic
  attack fashion, pulling the blade back to himself as he sliced into the
  Ninja's neck.  The blade cut deep, and the assassin fell to the floor,
  smiling up at the Protector.
     "AusTechnic wins.  You lose," he gloated, then faded away.
     Before the black icon had melted totally, the Protector fired his
  freeze program, pinning the hacker in his meat body, still connected to
  his computer somewhere out there in the meat world.  "No, you lose," he
  snapped.
  	Spinning to tend his injured friend, the Protector found the
  Guardian still visible, but fading fast.
  	"Help me!" the Guardian choked, trying to reach a repair program
  from the leather pouch at his waist.
  	"Hold on!" the Protector pleaded, stretching out his own hand as
  if to hold back the disappearing icon, trying to access the repair
  program to feed into the Guardian's persona.  "Don't go.  Just hold on!"
  	The Protector slotted the program into the Guardian's spare
  socket.  "Come on," he muttered.  "Come on and work!"
  	The Guardian blinked up at the Protector once or twice, then
  closed his eyes and sagged unconscious.  But his icon stopped fading.
  He just lay there, still as death.
  	"Don't worry," the Protector murmured, lifting the limp icon and
  carrying it back to his control panel.  "We'll fix you up." His voice
  showed more hope than conviction, and he was glad the Guardian couldn't
  hear him.
  	"Chun!" he yelled into the panel.  "Chun, we got an emergency
  here!"
  	Dr.  Chun's visage appeared on the virtual monitor, his eyes wide
  with surprise.  "Bring him into R&D," Chun replied, taking in the
  picture at a glance.  "And hurry.  We may just be able to save him."
  	We'd better, the Protector threatened under his breath, dashing
  down the datalines with his unconscious friend without answering.  For
  more reasons than one, we'd just better save him.

                                  *    

NEXT TIME: WHAT PRICE FREEDOM?


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