Read Online Farewell Horizontal by K. W. Jeter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: K. W. Jeter
Tags: Science-Fiction
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carrier-image shrug for him. “They put on a surcharge for having Ask & Receive figure out your location. That’s all.”
The smile saddened. “I don’t usually do anything except real flesh, Ny. Just one of my little preferences. If that’s what you came here for.” She laid the book down on a pillow at the sling’s narrow end. “You know there’s places you could go for that; I could give you some recommendations.”
He shook his head. “No; it’s not important. But . . . if you wanted to give it a try . . . I paid for the complete sensory package. With on-line enhancements. I could respond very well.”
Her eyes widened a bit. “Really? You must be feeling pretty flush.”
Tilting the image’s head back, he looked up the dark height of the building, all the way to the distant top, the same black as the surrounding night. “No –” He looked back at her. “No, I just don’t give a shit.”
“Well . . . in that case . . .” Guyer reached out and brushed aside his shirt, a film of smoke over his skin. “It’ll cost you a little bit more still. Just on principle, you know.”
“Sure.” He closed his eyes. Her hand felt like fire as it moved down his ribs. “I understand everything.”
† † †
He laid his head on her breast. Lying together in the sling; she held him in her arms, a circle carefully held around the image. “I saw myself.” He tilted his face to look up at her. “Before. Before I came here.”
She made a motion to stroke his hair, the dark strands unreachable beneath her fingertips. “Really?”
“It was like a mirror. Only it moved when I didn’t.”
He could almost feel her stiffen against him. “Ny –” Her gaze was level and no longer playful. “If you see something like that again – and if it says anything to you – don’t listen. Okay? Just don’t. I know about these things.”
The carrier-image lifted up onto its elbows. “What would it say to me? It’s just a ghost on the line.”
With one hand, she reached and pulled a blanket over herself. “Some ghosts are different from others.” She smoothed the blanket across her legs. “They all want to play .” A sour word when she spoke it. “Just in different ways sometimes.”
He said nothing, watching her brush her tangled hair back from the side of her face.
“You’d better go, Ny. This is costing you money.”
He nodded. “What do I owe you?”
“Forget it. I’ll put it on your account; settle up the next time.” She lay back against the pillow and shut her eyes.
Back in his own flesh, he called up his bank account. The night’s little excursions had wiped out his small profits from selling the tapes to Ask & Receive, the angels and the spooky ruins. Under the silver glow of the Small Moon, he looked across Cylinder’s wall to the jagged silhouettes of the ruin zone’s torn metal. Solid black against black now, all the heat had died away.
FOUR
A dead angel. Another, different dead angel; for a moment Axxter thought that the old Opt Cooder tape, the one he’d watched so often as a kid on the horizontal, had somehow slid from some interior archive and across his vision. He brought the Norton to a halt and gazed down over the handlebars at the sight below. The confused overlay between taped past and bleeding present faded as the delicate corpse lay tangled against the transit cable on which his motorcycle’s wheel had locked.
She – female; he saw one small breast distorted against the steel wall – lay unmoving, cradled by the deflated membrane behind her shoulders. The thin tissue no longer spheroid with the lifting gases, but now a gray shroud, with a tattered fringe sifted by the wind. Blackened: as Axxter watched, one ashy streamer tore free from the membrane’s charred edges and fluttered twisting into the
The smile saddened. “I don’t usually do anything except real flesh, Ny. Just one of my little preferences. If that’s what you came here for.” She laid the book down on a pillow at the sling’s narrow end. “You know there’s places you could go for that; I could give you some recommendations.”
He shook his head. “No; it’s not important. But . . . if you wanted to give it a try . . . I paid for the complete sensory package. With on-line enhancements. I could respond very well.”
Her eyes widened a bit. “Really? You must be feeling pretty flush.”
Tilting the image’s head back, he looked up the dark height of the building, all the way to the distant top, the same black as the surrounding night. “No –” He looked back at her. “No, I just don’t give a shit.”
“Well . . . in that case . . .” Guyer reached out and brushed aside his shirt, a film of smoke over his skin. “It’ll cost you a little bit more still. Just on principle, you know.”
“Sure.” He closed his eyes. Her hand felt like fire as it moved down his ribs. “I understand everything.”
† † †
He laid his head on her breast. Lying together in the sling; she held him in her arms, a circle carefully held around the image. “I saw myself.” He tilted his face to look up at her. “Before. Before I came here.”
She made a motion to stroke his hair, the dark strands unreachable beneath her fingertips. “Really?”
“It was like a mirror. Only it moved when I didn’t.”
He could almost feel her stiffen against him. “Ny –” Her gaze was level and no longer playful. “If you see something like that again – and if it says anything to you – don’t listen. Okay? Just don’t. I know about these things.”
The carrier-image lifted up onto its elbows. “What would it say to me? It’s just a ghost on the line.”
With one hand, she reached and pulled a blanket over herself. “Some ghosts are different from others.” She smoothed the blanket across her legs. “They all want to play .” A sour word when she spoke it. “Just in different ways sometimes.”
He said nothing, watching her brush her tangled hair back from the side of her face.
“You’d better go, Ny. This is costing you money.”
He nodded. “What do I owe you?”
“Forget it. I’ll put it on your account; settle up the next time.” She lay back against the pillow and shut her eyes.
Back in his own flesh, he called up his bank account. The night’s little excursions had wiped out his small profits from selling the tapes to Ask & Receive, the angels and the spooky ruins. Under the silver glow of the Small Moon, he looked across Cylinder’s wall to the jagged silhouettes of the ruin zone’s torn metal. Solid black against black now, all the heat had died away.
FOUR
A dead angel. Another, different dead angel; for a moment Axxter thought that the old Opt Cooder tape, the one he’d watched so often as a kid on the horizontal, had somehow slid from some interior archive and across his vision. He brought the Norton to a halt and gazed down over the handlebars at the sight below. The confused overlay between taped past and bleeding present faded as the delicate corpse lay tangled against the transit cable on which his motorcycle’s wheel had locked.
She – female; he saw one small breast distorted against the steel wall – lay unmoving, cradled by the deflated membrane behind her shoulders. The thin tissue no longer spheroid with the lifting gases, but now a gray shroud, with a tattered fringe sifted by the wind. Blackened: as Axxter watched, one ashy streamer tore free from the membrane’s charred edges and fluttered twisting into the
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