Credit: Emrah Elmasli

A MECHANICAL, DISEMBODIED VOICE jolted me out of unconsciousness.

"Jake O'Dell, you are on trial for deliberately causing the death of your client's daughter, Serena Burns. How do you plead?"

Couldn't see, couldn't touch ... This was bad. My brain scrambled to remember what had happened. I felt three parts dead. I should have been. Serena Burns? Yes. She was one of those I'd killed.

"Not guilty," I responded, automatically as breathing - which, come to think of it, I wasn't doing. My answer was nonvocal, I noticed. Was all this going on in my head? Maybe I was dead.

"The prosecution calls Serena Burns."

So not just dead, but in Hell.

The pretty blond girl had hair down to her great ass, bluer-than-blue eyes. Serena was a spoiled and clueless heiress with no experience in the real world, about as deep as a cookie tray. A lot of growing up to do.

But money was money, and her daddy hired me for bodyguard work. Hamilton Burns had made his fortune out in the Wu Lin asteroid belt. Everyone knew only dead rock was out there. He proved 'em wrong and laughed all the way to his own bank on his own custom-terraformed moon.

Of course, out in this little corner of the system, being rich made him a target, too. So I found myself sitting in his office in a comfortable chair while he poured coffee for us. He was dressed much the way I was, and his moustache looked like he trimmed it himself. He wasn't the sort to stick his nose in the air when us ordinary folks were around. His bald head shone in the light from the windows.

He frowned at me when I lit up a cheroot. "I'd rather you didn't smoke those when you're with my daughter, Mr O'Dell." He sighed. "She's 18 and impressionable. Serena thinks your job is glamorous."

I don't mind small talk, but when I'm sitting across from a prospective employer I like to get right to it. "What is the job?"

"I've followed your career with a lot of interest and admiration over the years, Mr O'Dell," Burns said, instead of answering my question. "What happened on the Cimmaron Centre job was terrible, and I don't blame you for dropping out of sight for a while. It's a tragedy that Katerine was zapped in the head instead of the chest."

Yeah. Medical technology has come far enough that hearts and lungs can be replaced. Brains, not so much. My gaze slid over to a stack of magazines fanned out on the table. Space Soldier, Mercenary News, Sonic Weapons Today ... No doubt the details of the operation that got my partner killed had been splashed in lurid detail all over their pages. I don't read them myself.

"My daughter's got a party she wants to go to tomorrow night." He sipped his coffee. "You drive her there, make sure she doesn't get in too much trouble, and drive her home."

I leaned back and blew a smoke ring. "Sounds too easy for what you're offering to pay. What's the catch, and why are you hiring a mercenary for simple bodyguard work?"

"She's headstrong. She might try to ditch you, just for fun. And I have enemies who wouldn't hesitate to get to me through her." He looked me up and down and was apparently reassured by my 200-cm frame and the muscles I cultivated by working out on heavy planets. "Like I said, I've followed your career, and I think you're trustworthy. I'd like to hire you, if you'd like the job."

Two week's pay for one night's work, baby-sitting a pampered little girl. How hard could it be?