Read Online 21st Century Science Fiction by D B Hartwell - Free Book Online Page B

waited expectantly.
    “You’re wondering where all that fertilizer’s from,” Wendy said elliptically.
    “Fertilizer.” His mind blanked for a moment.
    “Nitrates.”
    He glanced down, saw her grinning at him. Her perfect fifth set of teeth glowed alarmingly in the greenish overspill from the light on her jammer box.
    “Tha’ knows it make sense,” she added, then cut the jammer.
    • • • •
    When Joe finally staggered home in the small hours, a thin plume of smoke was rising from Bob’s kennel. Joe paused in front of the kitchen door and sniffed anxiously, then relaxed. Letting go of the door handle, he walked over to the kennel and sat down outside. Bob was most particular about his den—even his own humans didn’t go in there without an invitation. So Joe waited.
    A moment later there was an interrogative cough from inside. A dark, pointed snout came out, dribbling smoke from its nostrils like a particularly vulpine dragon. “Rrrrrrr?”
    “ ’S’me.”
    “Uuurgh.” A metallic click. “Smoke good smoke joke cough tickle funny arf arf?”
    “Yeah, don’t mind if I do.”
    The snout pulled back into the kennel; a moment later it reappeared, teeth clutching a length of hose with a mouthpiece on one end. Joe accepted it graciously, wiped off the mouthpiece, leaned against the side of the kennel, and inhaled. The weed was potent and smooth: within a few seconds the uneasy dialogue in his head was still.
    “Wow, tha’s a good turnup.”
    “Arf-arf-ayup.”
    Joe felt himself relaxing. Maddie would be upstairs, snoring quietly in their decrepit bed: waiting for him, maybe. But sometimes a man just had to be alone with his dog and a good joint, doing man-and-dog stuff. Maddie understood this and left him his space. Still . . .
    “ ’At farm been buggering around the pond?”
    “Growl exclaim fuck-fuck yup! Sheep-shagger.”
    “If it’s been at our lambs—”
    “Nawwwwrr. Buggrit.”
    “So whassup?”
    “Grrrr, Maddie yap-yap farmtalk! Sheep-shagger.”
    “Maddie’s been
talking
to it?”
    “Grrr yes-yes!”
    “Oh, shit. Do you remember when she did her last backup?”
    The dog coughed fragrant blue smoke. “Tank thump-thump full cow moo beef clone.”
    “Yeah, I think so, too. Better muck it out tomorrow. Just in case.”
    “Yurrrrrp.” But while Joe was wondering whether this was agreement or just a canine eructation a lean paw stole out of the kennel mouth and yanked the hookah back inside. The resulting slobbering noises and clouds of aromatic blue smoke left Joe feeling a little queasy: so he went inside.
    • • • •
    The next morning, over breakfast, Maddie was even quieter than usual. Almost meditative.
    “Bob said you’d been talking to that farm,” Joe commented over his eggs.
    “Bob—” Maddie’s expression was unreadable. “Bloody dog.” She lifted the Rayburn’s hot plate lid and peered at the toast browning underneath. “Talks too much.”
    “Did you?”
    “Ayup.” She turned the toast and put the lid back down on it.
    “Said much?”
    “It’s a farm.” She looked out the window. “Not a fuckin’ worry in the world ’cept making its launch window for Jupiter.”
    “It—”
    “Him. Her. They.” Maddie sat down heavily in the other kitchen chair. “It’s a collective. Usedta be six people. Old, young, whatever, they’s decided ter go to Jupiter. One of ’em was telling me how it happened. How she’d been living like an accountant in Bradford, had a nervous breakdown. Wanted
out
. Self-sufficiency.” For a moment her expression turned bleak. “Felt herself growing older but not bigger, if you follow.”
    “So how’s turning into a bioborg an improvement?” Joe grunted, forking up the last of his scrambled eggs.
    “They’re still separate people: bodies are overrated, anyway. Think of the advantages: not growing older, being able to go places and survive anything, never being on your own, not bein’ trapped—” Maddie sniffed.