Bacchus

Chapter 1

Someone apparently named the planet Bacchus after some ancient God of Harvest and Wine. This God was supposed to represent having a good time. As Bron shoved another corpse into the reclamation vat, he considered the hellish reality behind the face of the party planet.

Bacchus was dedicated to the pleasures of the flesh. If it felt good, tasted good, smelled good, sounded good, or looked good, you could find it here... for a price. And people were willing to pay for their pleasures. From every civilized and not so civilized planet in the Confederacy, a steady stream of interstellar cruise liners and private corporate and personal yachts arrived regularly, disgorging travelers to spend their money on thrills. They'd been making their way to the planet in sufficient numbers for years to make it a very lucrative business.

The planet's administrators were well connected, financed by the crime syndicates, and had a security force equipped with state-of-the-art weaponry. This kept the morally uptight worlds from interfering with Bacchus' very popular enterprise.

Being run by morally bankrupt business administrators meant the planet also offered pleasures illegal on most other worlds. After all, these had the largest return on investment. The biggest ticket entertainment was its highly advanced genetics program, which allowed it to produce any creature you could envision. You want to slay a dragon? They could create one. Want to ride a unicorn? No problem. You want to fuck your boss' wife (or at least a replica of her), it could be done. If you dreamed of murdering your boss (again, a replica), that could also be done. Supply recordings of their voices and mannerisms and the realism of your personal fantasy was all the better. If you could pay the price, they could fulfill it.

None of the creations were allowed off-planet. Genetically Engineered Entities, or Genies as they were called, were illegal on most planets in the Confederacy.

While there were definitely other planets with labs producing Genies for industrial purposes such as terraforming, mining, or hazmat workers, and for pleasure such as sex workers, when it came to making the most lifelike and realistic Genies, the geneticists and scientists on Bacchus were kings.

As the demand was so high, Bacchus also had a policy of buying Genies from bounty hunters. They were paid handsomely, especially for Genies with higher functioning minds. None of the Genies that arrived came willingly, as they were treated little better than slaves. They would be put to work, and most wouldn't survive their first year on the planet.

Bron had beaten those odds. His official designation was TSBR0N33-EM12.01, but he'd been dubbed 'Bron' for short. His original function, what he'd been engineered to do, was to work with a team of miners on a primordial planet with higher than Earth standard gravity. The lab which had produced his team had been facing bankruptcy, so they'd taken a shortcut and used maps of living minds to form the highly complex personality matrixes required for the Genies. This technique had been banned because the process more often than not led to unstable personalities, which fractured into madness and violence. Again, Bron beat the odds. While he hadn't displayed the most outgoing personality, Bron was functional, dependable, stoic, and most important to his ongoing survival, a good worker. The rest of his team hadn't been so lucky. After the lab had delivered them to the customer, they'd been inserted onto the planet to begin extracting a rare and explosively volatile ore found there. Within a week, his teammates started to behave erratically. Bron maintained contact with the company from the surface, and as the others became violent, he was ordered to terminate them. Within two months, the base was deserted except for him. The company put the project on hold, stopped their food deliveries, and left him to starve, alone on the hostile planet.

One of the company's lawyers learned of the sole surviving Genie and decided to sell that information to a bounty hunter who sent a drone down to the surface to collect the weakened survivor.

A month later, he was working corpse disposal on Bacchus.

After patrons had their fun with their custom Genie creations or when one of the Genie sex workers was considered too worn out, they were euthanized, and their bodies were put in the reclamation vats. As Bron had previous experience with this, they assigned him the task.

He had the physical strength required. Humanoid in shape, Bron stood a little over two meters tall and a little under a meter wide at his broad shoulders. His dense skeletal system was augmented with carbon-fiber-like ligaments. His muscle tissue was twice as tough and dense as a human's to withstand the pull of 1.8 G, so he had to be extra cautious with his movements on Bacchus, which only had a pull of .92 G. His skin was armored with tiny scales designed to withstand sandstorms with hurricane-force winds. The small armor plates were blue-black to absorb a weaker sun's energy, but they proved to be slightly iridescent in the stronger sunlight of Bacchus. He might have even been considered beautiful if it hadn't been for large goggles which hid his eyes, his minimal suggestion of a nose, his black-lipped mouth, and the grim expression he wore on his face at all times. His eyes were designed for nocturnal duties and were capable of seeing clearly in minimal light. All of his team had been outfitted with tough goggles to protect their sensitive vision during the daytime hours of the planet they were built for. The goggles worked equally well on the brightly lit vacation planet.

Like all Genies on Bacchus, Bron wore a discipline collar. For most Genies, this was a stylish gold ring bonded to the neck. It delivered electrical shocks when activated, and in the case of a Genie going rogue, it would detonate and decapitate them. Bron's was three times wider than normal due to his denser anatomy. The bands also contained a medical monitor for ensuring the Genies remained healthy to maintain the investment, a tracking beacon, and a two-way communicator. The administration could contact any of its Genie population anywhere on the planet at any time.

As a new day was just dawning, Bron's shift was ending, so he was free to go back to his apartment deep in the underbelly of the entertainment complex. Even Genies required time to recharge, so housing was necessary. It didn't have to be good, though. All worker housing was underground, so the good people of the Confederacy wouldn't have to see them. Human workers got the first floors, and the less human you were, the deeper you went. Bron's unit was ten floors down, only two away from the lowest housing levels. Below that were three more subfloors of loud, smelly, and hot machinery. It wasn't so bad where Bron lived, but Security had called upon him to subdue a tenant of the lowest level who'd been driven mad by the constant noise. Two Security members had been killed before they sent him in. Though he'd managed to take the poor creature alive, Bron recalled processing the Genie's corpse later that night. Or what was left of it. Security didn't take well to losing personnel to rogue Genies.

His help in that event had granted him the luxury of expanding his apartment into the next unit so he could actually have a bed that fit his larger frame. It also earned him the fear and distrust of the other Genies who now looked upon him as just an extension of Security. He never spoke to the others, so he did his best to just ignore their glares and whispers.

Many Genies would have mentally shut down or cracked under the psychological stresses Bron had to cope with. Something about how his mind was constructed gave him the ability to endure it and numb himself to the accompanying loneliness.

Bron stopped at the ground floor cafeteria for his end-of-day meal. He stood before the machine which read his collar's medical monitor. Moments later, the tray in the machine's dispenser contained two water bottles and food blocks which would give him the calories, minerals, and vitamin supplements he needed to remain healthy. He sat alone at a table with his back to the wall. Other diners near him got up to move away. He ignored them as well.

The food was largely flavorless, but his tongue had no taste buds. He just ate because he was hungry, so he ate until it was gone. He drank one of the bottles empty and kept the second for his room. He put his tray away and headed down the stairs to his floor. When he reached the fourth-floor landing, he heard loud grunts and a female voice screaming, then crying. Knowing this would result in Security sending some goons in to bust heads, he decided to take a look himself so he could settle the disturbance before it turned deadly.

His collar gave him a mild shock as he touched the handle on the door to enter the fourth floor. He cleared his throat and said, "Investigating a disturbance." Seconds later, he felt the collar vibrate, signaling he had permission to enter the floor.

When he stepped into the wide hall, he saw roughly a dozen maintenance workers gathered around someone on the ground. Maintenance Worker Genies made him uneasy. They all looked identical except for their unique ID tattoo on their forehead. They had blank, expressionless faces, and who knows what went on behind those cold grey eyes. The personality matrix for these workers was as simple as they could make them and still have them function at their jobs. They tended to move in groups and mirror each other's movements and behavior. Like ants. Humanoid insects. Creepy!

He thought there might be two people on the ground, but he couldn't see from his position. The workers hadn't heard his approach as they were so intent on whatever was happening at their feet. One of the workers remembered to keep a lookout for danger and glanced back towards the stairwell doorway, but by this time, Bron was only two steps away. The worker screeched and tried to run away from Bron, but this took him over the figures on the ground. The rest of the workers wasted precious seconds squawking at the clumsy oaf tumbling over the prone worker and the female he was trying to rape.

Bron saw tears, bruises, blood, and the desperate look on the young female's face. His quiet fatalism vanished in a flash of fiery rage. He swept his arms across the gathering, slamming the workers to either side of the hall. Then he reached down and grabbed the collar of the worker, still struggling to pry the woman's legs apart. Bron yanked him up and slammed him against the wall. He dropped him in a groaning heap on top of his team.

Now that the workers had been neutralized, Bron turned to the young woman on the floor. She had curled up into a fetal position and was shaking. At first glance, he mistook her for one of the new sex worker Genies. He saw her golden-brown skin, long strawberry blond hair, large and possibly fake breasts (exposed through her torn t-shirt and showing scratches and bruises), large blue eyes (one swollen shut), full lips (now split), and long smooth legs (scratched and bruised as well). Her denim cut-off shorts were torn and tangled around one knee with the shredded remains of her g-string--definitely, all the signs she was a sex trade Genie.

Then Bron noticed the glaring omission. No discipline collar. Either the impossible had happened, and she'd escaped the inbound processing center, or she wasn't a Genie at all but a patron! She was a human female in her early twenties, he guessed, but he couldn't understand how she'd gotten herself down into the habitation levels.

He heard an odd noise and saw the workers had recovered and were advancing on him. The woman noticed as well and shrieked in fear. Bron tucked her behind him against the wall and braced for their attack. Maintenance Workers weren't especially strong, but there were thirteen of them, and they came at him en masse. Bron withstood their clumsy blows and struck back with all of his strength behind his fists, causing their broken bodies to go crashing down the hall. The worker who had been trying to rape the woman attempted to sneak between his legs along the floor to get to her. She cried out, and Bron slammed his bloody fist down, breaking the neck of the crawling worker who had gotten a grip on her leg. He took several more blows across the face and shoulders before he could knock the remaining workers away. He bent down and grabbed the body of the worker at his feet and threw it down the hall before he dropped to his knees, exhausted. The woman cried behind him, and he turned to see if she was all right.

Suddenly his collar sent a massive charge through his nervous system, and he flopped to the ground. As his consciousness fled, he saw the approaching feet of security troops, late as usual.

Chapter 2

Bron didn't expect to wake up, so when he did, he was very confused. His last memories were of fighting and likely killing roughly a dozen Worker Genies, getting shocked and seeing the Security goons incoming. Considering how violent he'd been, he was sure they'd euthanize him and dump his corpse in the vat too. He was chained down on a bed in a white room. There was a beep, and the door opened. A man who might have been a doctor approached the foot of his bed.

"Designation," the man said coolly.

"TSBR0N33-EM12.01," Bron responded.

"Are you functional?" he was asked.

Bron thought about that for a second or two, then replied. "Yes."

"Your original team did not survive the dissolution of their matrixes. They became violent and had to be euthanized," the man noted.

"Yes, I know. I was the one who did it," he replied calmly.

The man studied Bron critically. "How have you been able to remain stable when the minds of every single one of your team fragmented and rapidly degraded?" the man asked.

"I don't know," was all he could say to that.

The man changed subjects. "Why did you kill the Maintenance Workers?"

"They had become feral. They attacked a young woman... she was a patron! Is she all right?" The moment he mentioned the girl, his thoughts were derailed, and he had to know her condition. His concern must have shown in his voice.

The man's eyebrows rose. "Yes, she is recovering. How did you know she was a patron when you confronted the workers?"

"I didn't know for sure until I'd removed the workers from her the first time. No discipline collar," Bron said.

"What do you expect will happen to you now?" the man asked in a careful tone.

"I- I don't know. I didn't expect to wake up," he mumbled. "I believe I can continue to be an asset to the company," he continued with a firmer voice.

"That's a good answer," the man said and left the room.

Bron wasn't sure if his good answer was enough to keep him alive.

Chapter 3

Several hours later, the man returned with two Security personnel. The guards took up stations on opposite sides of the room and kept a hand on their control units for his collar. The man ignored them and moved to the bed to unlock the chains. He showed no concern that Bron may be dangerous. Once the chains were off, he stood back and gestured for Bron to follow, so he slid out of bed and walked a few feet behind the man as they left the room. In the hallway beyond were two additional Security officers. They also kept an eye on Bron as the group moved down the hall. They led him across the grounds between the hospital and an office tower, where they rode an elevator up to the top floor to a conference room.

Inside the room, Bron's attention was immediately drawn to the man sitting at the head of the table. He was one of the senior administrators of Bacchus, Jorgus Landry. Bron immediately stopped and bowed deeply towards the man who held his and the lives of all the Genies on Bacchus in his hand. A small satisfied smile crept onto Landry's lips, and he nodded at Bron. Only then did the other occupants of the room register on him.

The man seated at the table next to Landry was a stranger, and his face was red from some powerful emotion. His hair was a tower of white, and his thin body seemed to be shaking.

Seated next to him was the young woman. She had a white bandage over her injured eye and was wearing a large white robe tightly wrapped around her. She seemed to be shrinking in on herself inside the robe. She didn't notice his arrival, but the white-haired man did.

"Is this the blue man you told me about, dear?" he asked her gently.

The woman's blue eye widened, and she looked around wildly until she focused on him. Emotions were warring across her face. She stood slowly and walked in tiny steps from her chair to stand in front of him. She looked up, and he saw her bruised lower lip trembling. A tear slowly made its way down her face. She was struggling to say something.

The hardened shell of Bron's emotional armor felt like it was cracking. Then he felt something. He didn't know what it was, and it frightened him a little as he felt... exposed. Still, when he looked at the woman, the feeling was... good. He felt himself smiling, and the muscles ached from disuse. "Take strength in the fact that you survived," he said gently.

She took three more steps, and then she was leaning against his chest. The top of her head came to his chin. The tears began. Instinctually Bron enclosed her in his arms, and she really opened the flood gates. The Security detail was getting jumpy, but Landry waved them away casually. He turned to the white-haired man. "Well, you've seen it. Is that everything?"

The man glared at Landry and stood. He walked over to Bron, who continued to hold the woman whose tears had begun to taper off. Her shoulders were dropping, so Bron knew she was starting to relax. He looked at the white-haired man who looked distinctly uncomfortable with how Bron was holding her.

"What is your name?" the man asked.

"TSBR0N33-E-" Bron began.

"No, your name," the man interrupted irritably.

"Oh! Bron. I am called Bron."

"My name is Pietr Rykov. Thank you, Bron, for saving my daughter, Angelina," he said stiffly.

Bron just nodded.

"Angelina, we must go now. Say goodbye to Bron," Pietr said gently.

Bron opened his arms, and she wrapped her arms around his wide chest and clung to him, burying her face against him. She shook her head, indicating she wouldn't leave.

She felt wonderful against him, and Bron was feeling a little dizzy from it. His arms encircled her once more. He felt her sigh and relax again. He looked at her father helplessly.

"Angelina! Stop this, please!" Pietr pleaded.

"No, papa! I feel safe here! I thought I'd never feel safe again!" she cried. The tears began again.

Bron saw Pietr's anger building. The man was embarrassed by his daughter's defiance and didn't see the source was her fear and desperation. He whispered to the young woman. "Angelina, you need to go with your father. You are strong. You will be fine, in time. I belong to Mr. Landry, and he wants me to get back to work. I can't afford to have him angry with me." He eased open his arms, and she rubbed her tears on his chest one final time. She looked up at him, her blue eye searching his face. He forced a smile across his features once more for her. He was unfamiliar with the expression, so he wasn't sure if it was convincing. She nodded and looked down. Her father gathered her up under his arm and walked her to the door, where she looked back at him a little desperately. Then they were gone.

Bron looked back at Jorgus and bowed his head.

"It's refreshing to see a Genie that knows its place," the administrator said to him. "You're right. You can't afford to have me angry. And considering the number of workers you killed to protect one fucking little slut, I should have you skinned for a new dinner jacket," he glared at Bron. "As it is, get back to work until I can find a way to make you earn back the cost of those thirteen Workers. Get out!"