"Feeling a little defensive, are we?" The snide infection in Quip’s voice stopped Alec in his tracks as he realized he was checking his impact suit over yet again. The defensive nature of that suit was a well-kept secret, (not that difficult as it was only with himself and Quip) but because of the suit, mysterious accounts of his immutable body had slowly morphed into legend. Now the Baron’s and the Company had unilaterally concluded that Alec was immortal. Bullets, blades, bombs, whatever they had thrown at him had bounced off him like a child's toy. They would never know that, like himself, the suit was also leftover tech from a few centuries back.

  Its effectiveness lay in its ability to react to physical threats with near invisible mini hexagons that cradled and then neutralized any damage. It worked for falls, too, for which Alec was grateful. One job, he took a 50-foot fall and was assumed dead. He had been lost in his own thoughts for retribution wen he caught the shock on his target's face as he stood up as if nothing had happened.

  Quip’s voice came again. "Feeling a little defensive, are we?" The question this time was more determined, like a child looking for an emotional reaction from an older brother.

  Alec redirected his authority towards Quip. "What makes you say that?" He moved towards one of his utility machines. "New planet, new disguise," he stated as he began to remove the rustic farm clothes he had worn on his last contract.

  Like everything in his life, the ‘Change Maker’ was ancient technology he only knew how to use. In its time it had been called the Matter-Relocator or something like that. Alec called it the Change Maker, almost as if it might have been coin operated at one time. Farm clothes in hand, he dropped them one by one into the large opening in the top. Everything except the the boots and hat, those he never changed for they were something that anchored him, tied him to a past that no amount of changing could erase.

  The boots were pointed, with prairie flowers burnt into the leather and a bull's skull in the centre. They had silvered tips, and Alec wore spiked spurs with them. He liked the way the sound announced his arrival; he used stealth very rarely, didn’t really need to and he felt it was only fair to give any minion mindlessly defending his chosen target a chance to get out of his way. He didn't enjoy that sort of killing; he did, however, appreciate carfully calculated revenge against proven perpetrators.

  Alec snapped out of his revenge reverie and turned his attention to the Quip again. "Can you make these up like you did last time, in this planet's fashion? And no funny business this time.” That directive was in reference to the occasions that Quip had gotten creative with its own interpretation of planetary stylings. On those occasions, Alec's attempts at blending in had insteads stood out like a peacock in a henhouse. “As I have told you a few times now, you are the unknown trusty steed of the adventurer—in this story, the horse does not get a byline.”

  Quip mimicked the accent of the mechanical farmhands from the previous contract. “Yessir, I think there-fore I am, yet four-by-four thinking is all I have and . . .”

  "You got six.”

  "I was mimicking my less accomplished cousins and distantly related rigs, " Quip continued in its sarcastic voicing. "While we wait in line, they try talking to me with those primitive chips that manage fuel pumps and drive-chains. They think they are clever, but those pompous degenerates can barely link . . .”

  "I meant you have six minutes to get this done, so move on it.” Alec walked off wearing only his boots, hat and the strap harness to enjoy a cup of Caft. It was the closest thing to the real drink he enjoyed in the past. Caft was a darker ersatz version that did its best to emulate the flavour, but it still tasted like well used engine oil. He was pretty sure that if he wasn't bioengineered to be in perfect health, it would be killing him. He pulled out his Caft pod tray. He was out. That was mildy disappointing and would solved as soon as he got his payment and his Aamaranth.

  "Where was getting more pods on the Centuric Calendar?" Alec grumped as he pulled a few used ones from the trash, dumped the spent grit into a cup and added boiling water.

  "I told you SIX days ago," Quip noted with extra volume on the number and the tone a perfect match to Alecs.

  Alec rolled his eyes and took a sip from his cup. “That was a lame one. I think some wires may have shorted out on your central processor?" Alec smiled , then grimaced, as the mud-flavoured grit caught in his teeth.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The speaker in the inner cab crackled for a moment before Quip came back on. "Coming back to the earlier comment. I know reason I cannot be designated as your trusty steed?"

  Alec sighed as he checked the countdown on the Change Maker; he had a minute.

  “Go on.”

  "Because if I were a steed I would be like your horse and horses can say, ‘neigh’.”

  Alec spit his Caft over his the counter, then looked up through age-old eyebrows to where he imagined Quip's sentience resided within its vehicular shell. "Goddamn right you can't say neigh, not to me. How long have you been sitting on that one?”

  "I thought of that one years ago, but you weren't ready. Did you like that one, Alec?" The latter part of his sentence was toned as a child asking a question of their hero. Between the slumbering youth in the back and Quips seeming playfulness, Alex let his guard down.

  "What's that Quip?”

  "Back in the swamp, I nearly won.”

  Alec only smiled, walked to the controls he had installed during the battle of the swamp and flipped the channel to "mute." He liked to imagine Quip's voice muffled as if gagged, protesting, as he enjoyed the silence. Sometimes the steed needed the reminder of who sat in the saddle. Although he had to admit that Quip was right, it had almost won.

  The Change Maker beep to indicate it had almost finished his attire for the meeting with the baroness. Reching into a slim drawer set into the counter he pulled out a pack of "happy-flares". Rolling the small sparker built into his left thumb he lit ignited a small stick that was packed with feelings Alec could not produce within himself. Contentment was as elusive to Alec as sleep. He was thankful he had an electric override to imitate a rest cycle. He didn't need sleep so much as a mental break, and with his alert systems always engaged, the mental rest was vital. Inhaling deeply, he allowed a slow exhale to engage the contentment centers of his mind, ignoring how short-lived the sensation would be.

  A drawer in the changer machine popped out to reveal a stack of perfectly folded garments. A trail of steam escaped out the the opening behind them. He always enjoyed putting on the warm clothes even though the temperature of a location had little effect on him. It had something to do with his long forgotten childhood but that was a path he could ever walk back on.

  Donning his outfit he stepped over to the mirror. It was a good look. Grey leather chaps, fringed for a semblance of wealth were complimented by ad silver belt buckle showing off the golden logo of the company. A powder blue collared shirt was matched with a lilac kerchief that would naturally pick up the light of the second sun. He liked this planet's style. It was one of the best things about the place.

  Turning to a hook on the wall, he pulled off the final addition to his outfit, actually to most every outfit he had ever worn. A long barrelled pistol with a bone handle that was inlaid with rose gold filigree. He checked the spin and made sure each of the eight chambers was loaded with its correct whistler, one for each tone of the diatonic scale. This load was in the key of E; one of his favorites for it seemed to carry better and cut through the noise of a battlefield. He twirled it twce before dropping the gun into a low slung holster.

  “Status report,” he intoned as he turned on Quips speaker. It was quiet a moment, as if Quip had to retaliate for the insult of being flipped off. "It appears as though your contract will have its final punctuation in a party in your honor and its not a quiet one.” The sound of lively music and partygoers filled the cabins interior from Quip’s outer sensors. It was way too loud and Alec hadn't even reached the front gate.

  "Dammit! I forgot how she loves to celebrate.” Most Baronhood parties were opulent and decadent but with this baronness, as the night wore on, they turned unpredictable, debauched and often violent. Alec knew the parties from the perspective of a respected show pony, so he was spared what some of the locals faced as the grape-blossom wine opened the true depravity of the baronesses mind.

  From the shelf below his gun holder he drew on the pair of worn grey leather director's gloves. Without these, the Whistlers were only as good as regular slugs the locals used. Still more effective in his hands, but with the party in full swing it was best to be prepared for the what-ifs. The gloves might be overkill but often those damned what-ifs showed up with their own guns.

  At the Baronhood parties the drunks would gawk and debate his biological form; some even went as far as to pinch and squeeze his arms to see if he would flinch. Alec took that in stride, not wanting to jeopardize the start or the end of a contract. With Amaranth was life, and to obtain it, his life had purpose. In the countless years notched in his mind, that iswhat had driven him through it all.

  "The sentries are waiving me through and want me to pull up just ahead. Do we have any concerns?" Quip's voicing was calm, but Alec could feel his hesitation. As his loyal ride, Quip, was very rarely in a dangerous position, and Alec could hear the vehicle's binary mind calculating all possible outcomes.

  "Don't worry, just be a good steed and stay ponied up where they tell you. Give me some outside eyes while I finish up in here.”

  The vidtronic panel on the back wall flickered, projecting a view of the outside. Quip was slowly rolling along with three local militia walking cautiously beside it. Clearly, by the looks on their faces and the whitenuckled grip on their guns, the large vehicle made them nervous. Add in his personal notoriety and the pomp the baroness had contrived around his arrival, Alec felt little concern for their safety, but the nervousness of the guards was off-putting.

  Quips gait stuttered momentarily. Something was off and both of them could feel it.