By Pamela Love

Zai Witz gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the worst as the gray-haired, grim-faced Dr. Fox completed the exam.

“Mr. Witz, you have a third-degree… stubbed toe.” The doctor rolled her eyes. “March yourself out of my emergency department. This is the fourth time I’ve seen you this week over nothing.”

Witz winced. “Don’t I need an X-ray?”

“What you need is a—” The doctor flung her gloves in the trash, then sighed. “Ever considered buying a medbot? It can diagnose and treat most minor to moderate illnesses and injuries. If necessary, it can summon help. It’s expensive, but less so than visiting the hospital every other day.”

Limping through the exit, Witz considered the idea. My own medbot—now, that does have possibilities. Warrant chasing can be hazardous. And, since medbots are high end—Ryn says Prince Oren has one—it’ll be the perfect accessory when I’m disguised as one of the elite.

Witz gulped when he saw the price on his commlink but ordered one anyway. Gotta spend money to make money.

The drone arrived the same day, just after he’d finished lunch in his hotel room. Witz smiled as it hovered beside him expectantly. My own medbot. Like a faithful dog, ready to protect me. He patted its warm, silvery surface. Even Ryn didn’t have one—not that he needed it, stuck in an office most of the time.

Time to go to work to replenish his now-depleted credit account. Dressed in a gray suit and polished boots, medbot in tow, Witz headed to the Midpoint spaceport, a popular transfer hub for dozens of other worlds. He strolled around the lounge, admiring the station’s vibrant murals and glorious views of starliners. Maybe he could spot one of several fugitives his reliable sources claimed passed through here.

Now there was someone familiar. Zai’s pulse accelerated. Seated in a corner, the middle-aged woman in a pastel pink dress and matching bouffant hairstyle hardly looked like a criminal. Yet, he’d met Elara Ido at a party years ago, just before she’d been exposed as an art thief, and he never forgot a face. Her dramatic escape from police custody had resulted in multiple bounties for her capture and made her one of the most sought-after targets for warrant chasers. I could buy a dozen medbots—if that’s her. Zai stared at her to kindle his bloodvoice and confirm the identification through her thoughts.

Suddenly, his medbot blocked his view. “Caution!” Its voice rang out like a gong. “Staring at a person can incite violence, leading to injury.”

Every head in the lounge swung toward him—except the woman in pink. She darted toward a personal vehicle stand.

With a groan, he dashed after her. Two steps later, the medbot clamped hold of his left arm. Witz jerked to a halt. “Caution! Running through a crowd could cause injury by falling or collision with others.”

He couldn’t undo the clamp. Minutes later, two security guards appeared as he groaned over the loss of his quarry. “Sir, show us your ID and ticket.”

Witz dared not explain. Home wasn’t the only place that disapproved of bloodvoice magic. In any case, he hadn’t yet established the mind link, so he couldn’t swear to Ido’s presence.

His ID used his true name but said nothing about his being a warrant chaser. Midpoint didn’t approve of anyone who might cause a disturbance, which made it a popular location for fugitives wishing to avoid arrest. “Recordings show you being disruptive. Your departure is three days from now. Leave this station immediately. Don’t return until your spaceship docks.”

With a meek bow, Witz obeyed. When he proceeded at a snail’s pace, the drone permitted him to move. No longer an aid, his medbot was an active hindrance. As soon as he was back in his hotel, he contacted the company that sold it to him.

Their service department’s hold music sang, “We’re sorry you are sad and stunned, / But we will not give out refunds!” It was a measure of his fury that he didn’t end the call at once.

“Your medbot wouldn’t clamp you if you didn’t require restraint. Demonstrate good behavior for a few days and it should release you. Furthermore, according to its transmitted data, your medbot likely prevented you from being jailed.”

Zai squirmed. My Own Medbot—even the initials spell MOM. But my mother was never so controlling.

***

Zai prided himself on never using weaponry on a hunt. Could I pry it loose with some tool from the hotel? No, it will just reclamp me. With no means to free himself, he stayed in his hotel. Three of the most frustrating days of his life passed. Periodically, the drone chirped, “Caution! Your blood pressure is rising. If it doesn’t return to acceptable levels within five minutes, sedation will be provided.” Zai forced himself to meditate to calm down.

At last, Zai’s departure time arrived. The medbot finally released him, hovering at his side in the spaceport. Now I know how it feels to have a warrant chaser after me. Once I’m home, I’ll find some way to disable it.

Then he spotted the supposed Elara. Instantly, he focused his gaze on his medbot. She dared to stay, but I can’t capture her without a bloodvoice link. He slowly breathed in and out, steadying his pulse—he’d had plenty of practice. Don’t stare at her—

Witz froze. Could I use her reflection in the medbot’s surface?

Eyes fixed on the drone, his mind reached out. Images of stolen art—and Elara’s next destination—whirled through his mind.

Witz tapped his commlink. “I’d like to change my ticket.”

***

The curator shook Zai’s hand. “Our museum can’t thank you enough for capturing Ido. May I ask why you’ve requested this medieval battle axe instead of a cash reward? And what’s in this box?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pamela Love was born in New Jersey and worked as a teacher and in marketing before becoming a writer. Her work has appeared in Havok, Page & Spine, and Luna Station Quarterly. She is the 2020 winner of the Magazine Merit Fiction Award for her story “The Fog Test,” which appeared in Cricket. She and her family live in Maryland.

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