Jeb sat at the bar, a glowing drink before him. The bartender, a pretty woman with a constant smile, rarely spoke. The sensation of the drink was a product of his own mind, aided by his built-in A.I., an A.I. built into Jeb’s electric field as a composite of standing waves, Jeebz. Jeebz ran his Doll, assisted with advanced calculations, and provided a photographic memory without the need for one.

  Like everyone else here, Jeb had no need for food or drink. Their bodies, called Dolls, were made from factory materials. Despite their artificial nature, these bodies retained many human functions, and people enjoyed caring for them, dressing them up, and more.

  Death had become merely a transition from one Doll to the next. Spirits transferred from one body to another, a process known as Transference. Since Transference became common, death lost its terror. As long as you were within fifteen minutes of a Transference machine, which were nearly on every corner, you were safe. The only exception was total obliteration of the Doll, which was rare. Only a few experienced that freedom—Rocket Racers, members of the corps, or those who fought in wars and lost their ships in flames.

  Jeb was too annoyed to really think about this kind of stuff. It was business as usual. It was once said that, a long time ago, one didn't need a Doll. But those were all legends now, mere myths.

  Jeb drained his mug, and leaned forward, troubled. He had just finished his two hundred thirty-first swordsman competition, and once again, he won. He had also just won the Arts competition, a hand-to-hand combat that seemed to include supernatural abilities and mind-over-matter techniques.

  Everything seemed so easy, so boring. He had specifically altered Jeebz not to report these thoughts to the authorities. Thinking like this could get him canned in tin and sent to reconditioning and programming. People were never the same after that. Sometimes Jeebz had more of these thoughts than Jeb did.

  Jeb ordered another drink and looked around the bar, hiding his disgust at the perfectness of it all. Everything was always in the right spot, never changing. They probably hadn't changed a bolt in several thousand years, at best.

  Life in the Systems was boring. The only exciting things were the rocket races or the Art and Swordsman Competitions. The war with the Invaders didn’t really count. A weird race that used a lot of electronics to control other beings. Though the war had died down quite a bit, and the news had been quiet about it. The war had been going on for thousands of years, around the first time he recalled having a memory.

  Jeb grabbed his next drink and began to chug it when Gaedon entered the bar, up on his high horse, as usual.

  Gaedon, a tall Doll with flowing blonde hair, shining armor, a sword at his hip, a blaster on the other side, and a badge on his armored chest. He was the epitome of good looks and charm, a good guy, saving kittens in trees and telling children not to watch too much feed.

  Yep, Gaedon was an asshole, and Jeb hated him. Sure, that smile could swoon any female Doll. The mayors loved him, and the police worshiped him. Problem was, he was Jeb’s superior officer in the corps, which Jeb volunteered for. Jeb knew Gaedon better than most.

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  “Jeb, I thought I might find you here,” said the asshole.

  “Yeah, I’m here. What do you need? I’m off duty.” Just then, Jeb got a tele from Jeebz straight to his mind. Jeb, we have an assignment, just assigned by the corps.

  Gaedon stood there, looking at Jeb, shaking his head. With a tone and voice that had a poisoned edge, and slightly louder than needed, Gaedon spoke, not directly at Jeb, though it seemed that he was. “As soon as you’re sober, Jeb, there’s an assignment. Don’t mess it up this time.”

  Asshole. Jeb hadn’t had a failed mission in nearly four hundred years. And that was because Gaedon decided to jettison the reactor rather than listen to Jeb’s advice to just replace the coil. Though Gaedon denied that Jeb ever said it. Gaedon dropped the million-ton reactor into the black of space anyway.

  Jeb didn’t reply. There was no right answer. Gaedon had a knife in his boot, up his sleeve, and one already at your throat. Best to leave it be. Instead, he shifted his weight and stepped off the stool.

  Gaedon didn’t incite fear in Jeb. In fact, he wished Gaedon would put him in fear. At least it would be a different emotion than boredom.

  Gaedon thought himself a good swordsman. He’d been studying for the past two hundred years, which is more than the average. But over the last nine thousand years, the blade and hand to hand combat has been his primary focus. And illegal focus, to train in something for long. Engineering, some science, and he even took philosophy a couple millenia ago. He dabbled in everything he could. But blade and hand were his.

  Jeb had studied the sword since his first memories, seven thousand years ago, and the Art. Gaedon didn’t scare Jeb. Though he could be a royal pain in the ass. “Gaedon, I’ve been updated already. I’ll be on post when—” BANG! A flash bomb went off in the bar. The light was blinding. The room was full of commotion. Several Dolls came rushing in with guns blazing. Several Dolls dropped from blaster fire, hot bolts of plasma melting holes through metal and synthskin.

  They came rushing into the wrong bar.

  Jeb stepped forward to the nearest criminal running near him, raising his arm with a fully coordinated body motion. The criminal’s neck collided with an immovable object, which stopped, but the rest of the criminal did not. Cheap Doll.

  With another swift motion, Jeb spun around as a blaster fired off in his direction. The spin got him several paces closer to the next enemy. With a swift palm to the chest, the man dropped, chest caved in, internals fried.

  Blaster fire seemed to slow down. Gaedon himself was in the fray. His sword swinging about, limbs flying. There were only a few others left.

  Jeb squared his shoulders. That’s when he realized his drink was still in his left hand. Holding eye contact with the criminals, he chugged the last of his drink and set the mug down gently on the nearest table.

  Sirens were getting closer. Only another minute or two, and the police would be here. The criminals began to run away. Jeb sat down and ordered another drink.

  Gaedon turned to Jeb, noticing Jeb’s sword still in its sheath. After a second, Gaedon spoke. “You let them go.” Blame dripping like poison.

  “I’m not on duty. And they’ll be caught.” He looked up at the tall asshole. “You can go save the day if you want.”

  The glare was blaster fire, and Gaedon walked out. “Be at the docking bay. If you’re late, you’re out of the corps.” Gaedon was gone, and it smelled better in the bar.

  The pretty bartender came over and filled up Jeb’s drink. “Thanks, Jeb.” She smiled and then walked back to the other side of the bar.

  The police came in with blank Dolls, Dolls empty and ready to be occupied, already in manacles. The transference machine was right behind them. A tall pole with a ring of coils. A couple of lights went from green to red, and then they were off.

  You know, Jeebz, maybe they have it right.

  Who? The criminals? He could feel the confusion from the computer.

  At least they weren’t bored. Never mind. Jeb dropped it. That was dangerous territory.

  Jeb drowned the boredom in his drink again. The rest of them were on the house. The only reason Jeb interfered in the earlier robbery.