Read Online After the Collapse by Paul di Filippo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul di Filippo
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avoided speaking to the construct.
“If I agree to go on this journey with them, it does not mean I will fall right back into your tidy little schemes for me afterwards.”
The sorcerer grinned. “Of course not.”
Storm instantly regretted giving his tacit consent. But the lure of the dangerous mission was too strong to resist.
“Allow me,” said the tropospheric mind, “to download your optimal route into your UPD.”
Utility fog shrouded Storm’s panniers, pumping information into his proseity unit as he gee’d up and rode on.
* * * *
Now, so close to his West Coast destination, Storm felt compelled to surrender his nostalgic ruminations for action. He kicked Bergamot into motion, and the biped surged in its odd loping fashion across the fruited plains that had once been covered by human urban blight.
As he passed beneath the cinnabon trees, Storm snatched a few dozen sweet sticky rolls from the branches overhead, filling a pannier with the welcome treats. He tossed several, one at a time, into the air ahead of him, where Bergamot snapped them up greedily with lightning reflexes. Gorging himself, eventually sated, Storm licked his paw-hands and muzzle clean.
Following the directions in his UPD, paralleling the Sacramento River for most of the journey, past the influx of its many tributaries, through its delta, Storm came in good time to the shores of San Pablo Bay. He continued west and south along that body of water, eventually reaching his ordained rendezvous point: the northern terminus of the roadless Golden Gate Bridge, anomalous in the manicured wilderness.
One of the select human artifacts preserved after the Upflowering for its utility and beauty, the span glistened with the essentially dumb self-repair virgula and sublimula that had maintained it against decay for centuries.
Storm admired the sight for a short time, then homed in on the scent of his fellow wardens. Following a steep path, he reached a broad stony beach. There he found ten wardens finishing the construction of their ship, and ten Kodiak Kangemus picking idly at drifts of seaweed and bivalves.
Six of the wardens worked around a composite UPD device. Their individual reconfigurable units had been slaved together in order to produce larger-than-normal output pieces. Three wardens fed biomass into the conjoined hopper, while three others handled the output, ferrying it to the workers on the ship. Those other four wardens, consulting printed plans, snapped the superwood pieces into place on the nearly completed vessel.
At first no one noticed Storm. But then he was spotted by a female, noteworthy for her unique piebald coloration.
“Ho! It’s the supercargo!”
Storm bristled at the slight, but said nothing. He dropped down off Bergamot, shooing the beast towards its companions.
The ten wardens hastened to group themselves around Storm, in a not-unfriendly manner.
“You’re Storm,” said the pretty pinto female. Her voice was sweet and chirpy, her demeanor mischievous. “I’m Jizogirl. The weather mind told us you’d be here today. Just in time, too! Let me introduce everyone.”
During the hellos, Storm uneasily sized up his new companions—all of whom were at least a few years older than he, and in some instances decades.
Pankey, Arp, Rotifero, Wrinkles and Bunter were males. Tallest of the ten, Pankey’s bold mien bespoke a natural leadership. Arp managed to look bored and inquisitive simultaneously. Elegant Rotifero paid little attention to Storm, instead preferring to present his best profile to the ladies. Wrinkles plainly derived his name from his exaggerated patagium: the folds of flesh beneath a warden’s arms that allowed brief aerial gliding. Bunter, plump as a pumpkin, was sniffing suspiciously in the direction of Storm’s panniers.
Beyond the charming Jizogirl: Catmaul exhibited an athlete’s lithe strength; Faizai echoed Rotifero’s sexual preening; Shamrock was plainly itching to get back to work,
“If I agree to go on this journey with them, it does not mean I will fall right back into your tidy little schemes for me afterwards.”
The sorcerer grinned. “Of course not.”
Storm instantly regretted giving his tacit consent. But the lure of the dangerous mission was too strong to resist.
“Allow me,” said the tropospheric mind, “to download your optimal route into your UPD.”
Utility fog shrouded Storm’s panniers, pumping information into his proseity unit as he gee’d up and rode on.
* * * *
Now, so close to his West Coast destination, Storm felt compelled to surrender his nostalgic ruminations for action. He kicked Bergamot into motion, and the biped surged in its odd loping fashion across the fruited plains that had once been covered by human urban blight.
As he passed beneath the cinnabon trees, Storm snatched a few dozen sweet sticky rolls from the branches overhead, filling a pannier with the welcome treats. He tossed several, one at a time, into the air ahead of him, where Bergamot snapped them up greedily with lightning reflexes. Gorging himself, eventually sated, Storm licked his paw-hands and muzzle clean.
Following the directions in his UPD, paralleling the Sacramento River for most of the journey, past the influx of its many tributaries, through its delta, Storm came in good time to the shores of San Pablo Bay. He continued west and south along that body of water, eventually reaching his ordained rendezvous point: the northern terminus of the roadless Golden Gate Bridge, anomalous in the manicured wilderness.
One of the select human artifacts preserved after the Upflowering for its utility and beauty, the span glistened with the essentially dumb self-repair virgula and sublimula that had maintained it against decay for centuries.
Storm admired the sight for a short time, then homed in on the scent of his fellow wardens. Following a steep path, he reached a broad stony beach. There he found ten wardens finishing the construction of their ship, and ten Kodiak Kangemus picking idly at drifts of seaweed and bivalves.
Six of the wardens worked around a composite UPD device. Their individual reconfigurable units had been slaved together in order to produce larger-than-normal output pieces. Three wardens fed biomass into the conjoined hopper, while three others handled the output, ferrying it to the workers on the ship. Those other four wardens, consulting printed plans, snapped the superwood pieces into place on the nearly completed vessel.
At first no one noticed Storm. But then he was spotted by a female, noteworthy for her unique piebald coloration.
“Ho! It’s the supercargo!”
Storm bristled at the slight, but said nothing. He dropped down off Bergamot, shooing the beast towards its companions.
The ten wardens hastened to group themselves around Storm, in a not-unfriendly manner.
“You’re Storm,” said the pretty pinto female. Her voice was sweet and chirpy, her demeanor mischievous. “I’m Jizogirl. The weather mind told us you’d be here today. Just in time, too! Let me introduce everyone.”
During the hellos, Storm uneasily sized up his new companions—all of whom were at least a few years older than he, and in some instances decades.
Pankey, Arp, Rotifero, Wrinkles and Bunter were males. Tallest of the ten, Pankey’s bold mien bespoke a natural leadership. Arp managed to look bored and inquisitive simultaneously. Elegant Rotifero paid little attention to Storm, instead preferring to present his best profile to the ladies. Wrinkles plainly derived his name from his exaggerated patagium: the folds of flesh beneath a warden’s arms that allowed brief aerial gliding. Bunter, plump as a pumpkin, was sniffing suspiciously in the direction of Storm’s panniers.
Beyond the charming Jizogirl: Catmaul exhibited an athlete’s lithe strength; Faizai echoed Rotifero’s sexual preening; Shamrock was plainly itching to get back to work,
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