Read Online All the Lives He Led-A Novel by Frederik Pohl - Free Book Online
Authors: Frederik Pohl
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the Security goons would go looking for everybody who knew them. Can you blame people for being careful?”
I opened my mouth to say that, yes, I could, but she didn’t let me do it. She squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, Brad: a. things’ll get better, and b. listen, I think there’s going to be an opening in the tourist ristorante , so maybe we can get you off the flour mill.” She lifted her hand to look at her thumb watch, then grimaced. “Shoot. I have to run.”
I stood up, looking her over. She looked pretty good, at that, maybe a little better than I had first thought—reddish hair, very goodish figure—except for being a little taller than I was and a lot more muscular. “One thing,” I said. “How did you know I’m not a terrorist?”
She shook my hand, grinning. “You passed Security, didn’t you? I mean, all but that early bit about swiping the kid’s lunch money, so what’s to worry about? And, hey, who can be responsible for what their uncles might be up to? Anyway, ciao.”
She didn’t say how she knew what happened in my Security interview, especially how she knew about my Uncle Devious. She just went out the door, and I didn’t see her again for three weeks.
I didn’t fail to think about her, though. Partly about the things she knew that she shouldn’t have … but mostly, I have to admit, about the fact that she was redheaded, and tall, and, I ultimately decided, with a really good figure. And friendly. And, oh yes, female.
6
MY LIFE AS AN ANCIENT POMPEIIAN
I can’t say I got used to the bakery job. Pushing that heavy damned wheel around wasn’t the kind of thing that grows on you. But there were other things going on in my world, and, surprisingly, some of them almost made up for the crappy job and the paucity of friends.
I was, after all, sitting right there in the middle of the world’s number-one tourist attraction. A lot of it didn’t interest me—the “thrill rides” like the chariot races in which you could ride one of the chariots, racing against the other daredevil charioteers who looked at every second as though they were moments away from crashing into and maiming you, but who wouldn’t have done much damage if they had, because they were all virts. Or the giant Ferris wheel that towered over the old city. Or the virt lake with its virt biremes and virt rowers. They all looked like the kind of thing you might want to take a girl on if you had one. But I didn’t.
True, for us employees, it was almost all free. (Not counting, of course, those extra-ticket special attractions like the whorehouses and the fish ponds where “slaves” fed living, screaming other “slaves” to the “slave owners’” favorite mullets. All virts, of course, but as they were being eaten alive by the fish they didn’t sound that way.
One thing I have to say for the Jubilee is that they did have about the best virts I ever saw. I got to talking to one of the virt experts before opening one morning while he was finishing replacing some circuits in the projector of the bakery’s upper floors. He was proud of his work. The basic science behind the things, he told me, had been invented back in the Twentieth Century when a man named Dennis Gabor had developed the hologram. Once that was done it was obvious that scientists could make bunches of photons do just as they were told, which included standing alone and moving. The sound—what they called “Pompei sound,” spelled with one “i”—came later. I had heard of it when I was hitting the books in the library of La Bella Donna di Palermo but assumed it was named after the city. Wrong. It was somebody named One-i Pompei who’d invented it, more than a hundred years ago.
Dealing with that sort of system was one of the kinds of things I wished I had learned back in good old—or I should say bad old—NYA&M but I hadn’t. As the technician was packing up his probes and meters I mentioned politely that I sure would appreciate
I opened my mouth to say that, yes, I could, but she didn’t let me do it. She squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, Brad: a. things’ll get better, and b. listen, I think there’s going to be an opening in the tourist ristorante , so maybe we can get you off the flour mill.” She lifted her hand to look at her thumb watch, then grimaced. “Shoot. I have to run.”
I stood up, looking her over. She looked pretty good, at that, maybe a little better than I had first thought—reddish hair, very goodish figure—except for being a little taller than I was and a lot more muscular. “One thing,” I said. “How did you know I’m not a terrorist?”
She shook my hand, grinning. “You passed Security, didn’t you? I mean, all but that early bit about swiping the kid’s lunch money, so what’s to worry about? And, hey, who can be responsible for what their uncles might be up to? Anyway, ciao.”
She didn’t say how she knew what happened in my Security interview, especially how she knew about my Uncle Devious. She just went out the door, and I didn’t see her again for three weeks.
I didn’t fail to think about her, though. Partly about the things she knew that she shouldn’t have … but mostly, I have to admit, about the fact that she was redheaded, and tall, and, I ultimately decided, with a really good figure. And friendly. And, oh yes, female.
6
MY LIFE AS AN ANCIENT POMPEIIAN
I can’t say I got used to the bakery job. Pushing that heavy damned wheel around wasn’t the kind of thing that grows on you. But there were other things going on in my world, and, surprisingly, some of them almost made up for the crappy job and the paucity of friends.
I was, after all, sitting right there in the middle of the world’s number-one tourist attraction. A lot of it didn’t interest me—the “thrill rides” like the chariot races in which you could ride one of the chariots, racing against the other daredevil charioteers who looked at every second as though they were moments away from crashing into and maiming you, but who wouldn’t have done much damage if they had, because they were all virts. Or the giant Ferris wheel that towered over the old city. Or the virt lake with its virt biremes and virt rowers. They all looked like the kind of thing you might want to take a girl on if you had one. But I didn’t.
True, for us employees, it was almost all free. (Not counting, of course, those extra-ticket special attractions like the whorehouses and the fish ponds where “slaves” fed living, screaming other “slaves” to the “slave owners’” favorite mullets. All virts, of course, but as they were being eaten alive by the fish they didn’t sound that way.
One thing I have to say for the Jubilee is that they did have about the best virts I ever saw. I got to talking to one of the virt experts before opening one morning while he was finishing replacing some circuits in the projector of the bakery’s upper floors. He was proud of his work. The basic science behind the things, he told me, had been invented back in the Twentieth Century when a man named Dennis Gabor had developed the hologram. Once that was done it was obvious that scientists could make bunches of photons do just as they were told, which included standing alone and moving. The sound—what they called “Pompei sound,” spelled with one “i”—came later. I had heard of it when I was hitting the books in the library of La Bella Donna di Palermo but assumed it was named after the city. Wrong. It was somebody named One-i Pompei who’d invented it, more than a hundred years ago.
Dealing with that sort of system was one of the kinds of things I wished I had learned back in good old—or I should say bad old—NYA&M but I hadn’t. As the technician was packing up his probes and meters I mentioned politely that I sure would appreciate
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