“You put the deleted memories in animal brains?”
“Precisely. Digital media does not work—I have tried it. But the higher mammalian brain is sufficient to hold several months worth of fresh engrams. These four creatures all have excess space in their craniums—more than enough space for your trivial memories.”
I was rendered momentarily speechless. For a few seconds the only sound was that of Gertrude clawing at the door.
“What about Gertrude?” I said, hoping to buy more time. “She seems to want to come in.”
“It’s getting close to feeding time,” Rausch said. “But never mind that. Now choose. Goat, or Yorkie?”
That gave me an idea. “Dog food!” I yelled. “Cat food! Goat food! Treats! Din-din!”
The goat unleashed an ear shattering bleat. “Feed me!” it said.
“Food,” said the cat. “Food! Food!”
The spaniel whined. The goat bleated. Gertrude took her scratching up a notch. The Yorkie began barking frantically.
“Now see what you’ve done!” Rausch said.
“Sorry,” I said. “I just love watching animals eat.” The goat was butting its head against the front of its cage, and the spaniel had begun to howl.
“All right! Settle down! I’ll feed you!”
That only intensified the cacophony. Rausch glared at me. “I should download the entire Internet into your meddling brain and funnel your memories into a rat!” He got up and began to feed the animals. I couldn’t turn my head, but I heard the rattle of food pellets falling into a metal tray. The goat stopped bleating; the dogs and the cat increased their demands. I used the distraction to work on the straps. The Velcro was loosening one little hook at a time. Unfortunately, there were thousands of them. I could almost pull my left hand free.
Rausch fed the two dogs next. That really irritated the cat because, as all cats know, you always feed the cat first. “FOOD! FOOD! FOOD!” The little speaker on the cat’s collar sounded as if it was about to blow.
My hand popped free. I reached over and tore open the strap holding my other arm. My plan—I always have a plan—was to grab Rausch’s Projac off the bench and zap him. It was a good plan, but I’d forgotten about the headset clamped to my skull. I tried to lift it off, but it was firmly attached with dozens of small, sharp points digging into my scalp. I was feeling around for some sort of release button or lever when Rausch grabbed my hands and pulled them away.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted in my face.
“FOOD!” the cat demanded.
I kicked him. It was a good hard kick, but it glanced off his hip. He forced my arms down, reattached the straps, stepped back out of range of my feet, and grabbed the Projac.
“Silly girl. What did you hope to accomplish?”
I stared back at him, angry, defeated, and out of ideas.
Someone knocked on the door. It wasn’t a normal knock, but more like thump . . . thump . . . thump.
“Help!” I screamed. “HELP!” I screamed louder.
Rausch went to look out the window. “What the—”
The metal door exploded inward, followed by a flying black disk, then a white bulldog. The drone hit the far wall and fell to the floor. Gertrude took one look at me, bellowed, and leaped.
She wasn’t aimed at me. The bulldog sailed past me and hit Rausch in the chest. The Projac went flying. I was straining desperately against the straps—they weren’t as tight as before, but I couldn’t quite get a hand free, and I couldn’t see what was going on behind me. Rausch was yelling, Gertrude was snarling and barking, the cat was still demanding food, and the goat was bleating in a panicky sort of way. The drone seemed to be dead—crashing through the door must have been too much for it.
Where was Billy? I pulled against the straps with all my strength and felt the right one loosen. A second later I got both hands free and went to work on the headset. I heard a renewed bout of snarling from Gertrude. My hand found a small lever on one side of the headset; I pushed it and the helmet loosened. I slid out of the chair and looked to see what was going on with Gertrude and Rausch.
Gertrude was winning. She had Rausch on the floor and was standing on his chest. Her bared teeth were inches from his throat. I grabbed the Projac from where it had fallen.
“Gertrude!” I shouted.
Gertrude looked back at me and wagged her tail.
“Here, girl,” I said.
She gave Rausch one more close-range snarl and hopped off his chest.
“Good girl,” I said. She trotted over to me, wagging her tail so hard I was afraid she’d dislocate a hip. Rausch, looking both relieved and terrified, sat up.
I aimed at his chest and fired. The Projac made a ghaaak sound, like a cat barfing. The invisible electrical charge sent Rausch into a limb-flailing spasm, then he lay still.
I shot him again, just to make sure he stayed zapped. I would have given him a third blast if Gertrude hadn’t been trying to drown me in wet kisses.
“Enough! Down, girl!” Gertrude really liked me. “You want some dog food?” I asked her. Gertrude did not have a speech collar, but the answer was clearly yes.
“FOOD!” said the cat.
I fed them both—the cat first—then went to find Billy.