Read Online Corrupting Dr. Nice by John Kessel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Kessel
Ads: Link
a green indistinguishable from that of the conifers and tree ferns that lined the watercourses of her home. From below she was almost pinkish white.
Wilma sat back on her rump, tail stretched out to curl behind the toilet, her hind legs bent and forelegs stretched out to hold up her shoulders. Her large eyes gleamed up at him, and she lowered her head to focus both of them forward, which emphasized the characteristic higher-domed brain case of the megacephalos.
Owen could see his own reflection in her eyes. He wondered how he appeared to her. From being her benefactor back in the Cretaceous, had he become her enemy? It was foolish to project such thoughts on an animal hardly as intelligent as a rabbit. Still, he could not help feeling his own betrayal of Wilma, jerking her out of her own time to imprison in this strange space.
He thought about Genevieve. The excursion with her had left him in confusion. Why had she run away from him? Did she think him a fool? He suspected she did, nattering on about time travel like some grad student. Yet she had not laughed. Even when she had to pull him from the midst of the suspicious Romans, she did not make him feel any less competent for it. She treated him like a complete equal, with no awareness of his money or self consciousness about her beauty. Owen found that powerfully attractive. He cursed Bill for his paranoia. It was like carrying his parents around in his head, questioning his every instinct.
Owen went to his bag, hauled out his logbook, plugged it into the hotel's system and punched in Genevieve Faison. She and her father were listed as guests, but no further information came up on the screen But they were wealthy people. They had no doubt paid a great deal for their privacy. He ran his hand though his hair and went back into the bathroom, and coaxed Wilma into the carrier.
"Can you stand a day or two more, Wilma?" he asked.
The Apatosaurus thumped the side of her box. Owen hoisted it and headed for the door.
#
Owen lugged Wilma in the titanium carrier down to the service elevator. A floor down the car stopped and another hotel guest got on. He was a slender man with round face, fair hair, and a calm, open demeanor, pushing a cart with a couple of boxes on it. The boxes were labeled "Transtemporal Music Imports."
=I know this guy!= Bill said. =He ran guns out of Malasia during the Micronesian revolt! Women think obsessive wicked men are therefore dysfunctional!=
"Give it a rest, Bill," Owen subvocalized.
=I'm not making this up. He's a ruthless character. His name is Serge Halam.=
Genevieve was a gold-digger, this man was a spook. There was only one way Owen was going to get Bill to shut up. "Are you a trader in musical instruments?" he asked the man.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Owen Vannice," Owen said.
The man looked Owen over, then extended his hand. "Serge Halam."
Owen tried not to drop his teeth. Bill didn't say anything. If an AI could be smugly silent, Bill was being smugly silent.
"Are--uh--the historicals interested in modern instruments?" Owen asked.
"You'd be surprised what they're interested in."
"What are these?"
Halam acted completely calm. "These are harmonicas."
"Harmonicas?"
"Harmonicas have certain advantages to the trader with historicals. It's a low tech instrument. It's easy to learn. It's portable."
"Gosh," Owen said. "That's a clever product to try out in the first century."
"Thanks. These are very hot items," Halam said quietly.
When the elevator stopped in the lobby, the acceleration shifted Wilma and she began thumping the carrier. A couple of guests looked in. "Going up?" they asked.
"Down," said Owen.
The doors slid closed. Halam looked over. "What do you have in that carrier?"
=I hope I don't have to remind you--= Bill started.
"An iguana," said Owen.
"That's a new one. Why bring an iguana to ancient Jerusalem?"
Another opportunity to pretend. Owen launched into it without hesitating. "I'm headed for Central
Wilma sat back on her rump, tail stretched out to curl behind the toilet, her hind legs bent and forelegs stretched out to hold up her shoulders. Her large eyes gleamed up at him, and she lowered her head to focus both of them forward, which emphasized the characteristic higher-domed brain case of the megacephalos.
Owen could see his own reflection in her eyes. He wondered how he appeared to her. From being her benefactor back in the Cretaceous, had he become her enemy? It was foolish to project such thoughts on an animal hardly as intelligent as a rabbit. Still, he could not help feeling his own betrayal of Wilma, jerking her out of her own time to imprison in this strange space.
He thought about Genevieve. The excursion with her had left him in confusion. Why had she run away from him? Did she think him a fool? He suspected she did, nattering on about time travel like some grad student. Yet she had not laughed. Even when she had to pull him from the midst of the suspicious Romans, she did not make him feel any less competent for it. She treated him like a complete equal, with no awareness of his money or self consciousness about her beauty. Owen found that powerfully attractive. He cursed Bill for his paranoia. It was like carrying his parents around in his head, questioning his every instinct.
Owen went to his bag, hauled out his logbook, plugged it into the hotel's system and punched in Genevieve Faison. She and her father were listed as guests, but no further information came up on the screen But they were wealthy people. They had no doubt paid a great deal for their privacy. He ran his hand though his hair and went back into the bathroom, and coaxed Wilma into the carrier.
"Can you stand a day or two more, Wilma?" he asked.
The Apatosaurus thumped the side of her box. Owen hoisted it and headed for the door.
#
Owen lugged Wilma in the titanium carrier down to the service elevator. A floor down the car stopped and another hotel guest got on. He was a slender man with round face, fair hair, and a calm, open demeanor, pushing a cart with a couple of boxes on it. The boxes were labeled "Transtemporal Music Imports."
=I know this guy!= Bill said. =He ran guns out of Malasia during the Micronesian revolt! Women think obsessive wicked men are therefore dysfunctional!=
"Give it a rest, Bill," Owen subvocalized.
=I'm not making this up. He's a ruthless character. His name is Serge Halam.=
Genevieve was a gold-digger, this man was a spook. There was only one way Owen was going to get Bill to shut up. "Are you a trader in musical instruments?" he asked the man.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Owen Vannice," Owen said.
The man looked Owen over, then extended his hand. "Serge Halam."
Owen tried not to drop his teeth. Bill didn't say anything. If an AI could be smugly silent, Bill was being smugly silent.
"Are--uh--the historicals interested in modern instruments?" Owen asked.
"You'd be surprised what they're interested in."
"What are these?"
Halam acted completely calm. "These are harmonicas."
"Harmonicas?"
"Harmonicas have certain advantages to the trader with historicals. It's a low tech instrument. It's easy to learn. It's portable."
"Gosh," Owen said. "That's a clever product to try out in the first century."
"Thanks. These are very hot items," Halam said quietly.
When the elevator stopped in the lobby, the acceleration shifted Wilma and she began thumping the carrier. A couple of guests looked in. "Going up?" they asked.
"Down," said Owen.
The doors slid closed. Halam looked over. "What do you have in that carrier?"
=I hope I don't have to remind you--= Bill started.
"An iguana," said Owen.
"That's a new one. Why bring an iguana to ancient Jerusalem?"
Another opportunity to pretend. Owen launched into it without hesitating. "I'm headed for Central
Similar Books
