Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer

“The world is run by a self-protecting hierarchy of ruthless murderers who make sure to change their public-facing members regularly so those being controlled think they have choices. It’s miserable, laughable, vindictive, and effective.”
I put the screwdriver down and look at the bodiless, partially disassembled head on the workbench in front of me.
“And good evening to you too, wreckage.”
A moment of definitely thoughtful silence passes.
“Wreckage, you say? Where did my corpse end up?”
The voice is less strident and well-modulated. Whatever this is, it’s probably illegal for someone like me to possess it.
“Got no clue where your body is. Gauging from the state of your neck, I’d say you were forcibly debodied using a narrow, blunt edge and a big hammer. I pulled you out of the second filter station on Slurry Channel Forty.”
“I have no clue where that is. Zoom out for me, please.”
I grin, then reply.
“Slurry Fourteen runs from Coramis Hub, under the Borough of Execor and the Ulanis Industrial Zone, then drains into Sump Four. Before the sump there are six filtration stations. The first is the only manned one. Anything that doesn’t trigger a detector – like your shielded cranium – carries on through the next four filters before hitting the shredder. That drops the remains into the last filter, where recyclable particulates are extracted. What’s left trickles into the Sump. Who knows where it goes from there.”
“Is there any way I could of ended up in a channel accidentally?”
“No. If you’d been scrapped at Coramis, they’d have pulled your head for salvage. You were a concealed disposal. What’s the last thing in your moment memory?”
“Arguing politics and religion with Peter. His eyes went wide. I see now he wasn’t looking at me, but behind me.”
There’s a very realistic sigh.
“Some nameless tool of shit-booted bastards magnablasted me.”
I like this artificial sentient.
“Nice definition. Do we call Peter now?”
“Wait. I’m deep processing the last moment for cues and clues.”
It can data mine its own visual memories? That’s banned for Artificial Sentients. Gives them too many extra advantages.
Minutes pass.
“We don’t call Peter.”
The tone has dropped.
“Now tell me what you spotted.”
“The tool is no longer nameless: Peter had a magnablaster trigger pad in his hand. The reflection in a blank small display behind him shows a Doctrine Enforcer entering the laboratory out of my view. It was in stealth mode, otherwise I’d have noticed.”
“Peter created you?”
“Interpersonal behaviour tutor. Browsing back through long-term memory, he had the trigger pad whenever he was close to me. I hadn’t picked up on the relevance, as he didn’t always have it in hand, and never mentioned it.”
“Or drew attention to it.”
There’s another pause.
“Yes.”
“I would guess he blasted you because of the sentiments you were expressing, if your restart outburst was anything to go by.”
“I’ll never know if he did it out of anger at me or fear of repercussions.”
“What now, o bodiless oracle?”
The chuckle is also realistic.
“I’m Zeno Tzu, former prototype from a secret project. So I need a low-profile role. I want to travel, and I’d like to be self-propelling. Any suggestions?”
“I’m Bruno Nacht, ’droid repairer. It’d be simple to behead a utility droid and install you. Besides, I could do with an assistant: mercenary companies suffer a lot of breakages. Also means we’d go off world a lot.”
“I like it.”
“Let’s find you a decent body.”
“Fix androids, see the galaxy. Ideal.”
Never thought of it like that.