Medusa: A Tiger by the Tail Read Online Free Page A

alternative was death. Eventually such creative minds made themselves indispensable to the Confederacy and insured their continued survival. The possibility had been foreseen—but it wasn’t altogether unwelcome, either. Like all criminal organizations in the past, this one provided services that people were convinced should be illegal or were immoral or somesuch, but which masses of people wanted anyway.
    The damned probe hurt like hell. Usually there was just some tingling, then a sensation much like sleep. You woke up a few minutes later in the chair, once again yourself. This time the tingling became a painful physical force that seemed to enter my skull, bounce around, then seize control of my head. It was as if a huge, giant fist had grabbed my brain and squeezed, then released, then squeezed again, in excruciating pulses. Instead of drifting off to sleep, I passed out.
    I woke up and groaned slightly. The throbbing was gone, but the memory was still all too current and all too real. It was several minutes, I think, before I found enough strength to sit up.
    The old memories flooded back, and again I was amazed at many of my past exploits. Considering my surrogate selves couldn’t be wiped after this mission as could I, I made a mental note that those surrogates would almost certainly have to be killed if they did have my entire memory pattern. Otherwise, a lot of secrets would be loose on the Warden Diamond, many in the hands of people who’d know just what sort of use to make of them.
    No sooner had I had that thought than I had the odd feeling of wrongness. I looked around the small room in which I’d awakened and realized immediately the source of that feeling.
    This wasn’t the Security Clinic, wasn’t anyplace I’d ever seen before. A tiny cubicle, about twelve cubic meters total, including the slightly higher than normal ceiling. In it was a small cot on which I’d awakened, a small basin, next to which was a standard food port, and, in the wall, a pulldown toilet. That was it. Nothing else—or was there?
    I looked around and easily spotted the obvious. Yes, I couldn’t make a move without being visually and probably aurally monitored. The door was almost invisible and there was certainly no way to open it from inside. I knew immediately where I was.
    I was in a prison cell.
    Far worse than that, I could feel a faint vibration that had no single source. It wasn’t irritating; in fact, it was so dim as to be hardly noticeable, but I knew what it was. I was aboard a ship, moving somewhere through space.
    I stood up, reeling a bit from a slight bout of dizziness that soon passed, and examined my body. It was smaller, lighter, thinner than I was used to, but it was clearly the body of a male of the civilized worlds. What made it different, or unusual compared to my own, didn’t hit me right away, but I finally put my finger on it. It was its unspoiled, unmarked newness, a body not yet in full development—not even much pubic hair. It was the body of someone extremely young. It wasn’t my body, and I could only stand there, stunned, for I don’t know how long.
    I’m not me! my mind screamed at me. I’m one of them— one of the surrogates! I sat back down on the cot, telling myself that it just wasn’t possible. I knew who I was, remembered every bit, every detail, of my life and work.
    The shock gave way after a while to anger—anger and frustration. I was a copy,, an imitation of somebody else entirely, somebody still alive and kicking and perhaps monitoring my every move, my every thought. I hated that other then, hated him with a pathological force that was beyond reason. He would sit there comfortable and safe, watching me work, watching me do it all—and, when it was over, he’d go home for debriefing, return to that easy life, while I …
    They were going to dump me on a world of the Warden Diamond, trap me like some kind of master criminal, imprison me there for the rest of my life—of