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Authors: Gregory Benford
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character-scent of the person behind the seated knowledge, like someone in the same
room with him.
“Anything we can salvage?”
Let’s see… try that stimclat there.
Killeen had no idea what a “stimclat” might be. Arthur sensed this as he formed the word, and so provided a dancing green
dot beside a flanged metal part. Killeen attachedleads and did as Arthur’s green simulation said. In a moment he felt a quick darting pleasure-pain sensation behind his ears.
“What’s that?”
Some of the Crafter’s recent memory, I daresay. We might mine it for information.
“Heysay, I’m kinda tired.”
Actually, he was bored. Arthur would know that too, but something made him keep up a polite manner with the Aspect. After
all, Arthur was an ancestor.
Rest, then. I’ll translate from mechspeak and show you results later.
Killeen did not rest, though he seemed to. He reclined on a mossy cushion of brown organo-refuse and fished forth a small
slab of memorychip. It was ancient and showed cracks and gouges of use, though the pale polylithium was said to be surehardened.
He had been thinking of this for days. And especially he lusted for it in the chilled nights when the Family had to sleep
on rough ground beneath the star-spattered sky. He would then look up into the orange and green and bluehot points of light,
hundreds of thousands of them scattered like jewels in oil, wreathed by radiance that came from halos of dust and gas. Ample
light streamed down, enough to walk and even read—if any of the Family could have read more than simple numbers and a few
directions coded on mechs.
This was the only night he had ever known, a welcome halfdark after the blistering doubleday cast by the Eaterand their own planet’s star, Denix. Yet he fled from it, too, when he could. Into the realms of the old dead times.
He found an output current plug in an autorepair slot. The cage walls were scarred and smeared from centuries of casual use
by passing mechs. He spliced in the extra Amps and lay back and was at once in a gossamer finespun holotime of delight and
transfigured brassy radiance.
It came to him as a shuddering series of exaltations and shimmering potentials. Ruby. Tingling. Pepperhot. Slowbuilding. Raspbreathed.
Spinning forever in a humming gyre… slicksliding grace beyond time or process… halfsleep and halfwake… this inner world filled
his lungs with cottony pleasure. Brought him again and again to the long-thrusting ecstasy yet did not let him pass over into
warm oblivion. Sweet resurrections…
Stark light. Rough swearing.
Killeen blinked. A hand grabbed his collar and lifted him. “Didnja hear? There’s a transmech outside.”
It was Cermo-the-Slow, his porepocked face orbiting against the overhead glare of the Trough. Cermo had disconnected Killeen
from the power feed.
“I… was just…”
“I know whatcha doin’. Jes’ don’ let Ledroff catch you, is all.”
Cermo-the-Slow let go. Killeen dropped back into the acrid moss. He had an impulse to jack himself back into the wall, snatch
a few minutes before somebody else came by to muster him And forced his hand away from the cable. That somebody might be Toby.
Too many times the boy had already caught his Dad slacksack on the tether, volted out.
Slowly, slowly, Killeen put away the jack-tab, He hadto remember that Fanny was gone. Everybody needed some refuge from the world’s rub, she’d said. She’d let him get away with
some time on the jack. Some drinking, too.
Not anymore. Ledroff was decent, solid, but inexperienced. Until now, Killeen had devoted himself to looking after Toby, begrudging
the time spent on Family business. That would have to change. But it would be hard.
Getting up, away from temptation, took all his blurred concentration. As he got creakily to his feet he heard Ledroff barking
somewhere at Family who still lounged or slept. Killeen hurried to pull on his hydraulic boots.
He
room with him.
“Anything we can salvage?”
Let’s see… try that stimclat there.
Killeen had no idea what a “stimclat” might be. Arthur sensed this as he formed the word, and so provided a dancing green
dot beside a flanged metal part. Killeen attachedleads and did as Arthur’s green simulation said. In a moment he felt a quick darting pleasure-pain sensation behind his ears.
“What’s that?”
Some of the Crafter’s recent memory, I daresay. We might mine it for information.
“Heysay, I’m kinda tired.”
Actually, he was bored. Arthur would know that too, but something made him keep up a polite manner with the Aspect. After
all, Arthur was an ancestor.
Rest, then. I’ll translate from mechspeak and show you results later.
Killeen did not rest, though he seemed to. He reclined on a mossy cushion of brown organo-refuse and fished forth a small
slab of memorychip. It was ancient and showed cracks and gouges of use, though the pale polylithium was said to be surehardened.
He had been thinking of this for days. And especially he lusted for it in the chilled nights when the Family had to sleep
on rough ground beneath the star-spattered sky. He would then look up into the orange and green and bluehot points of light,
hundreds of thousands of them scattered like jewels in oil, wreathed by radiance that came from halos of dust and gas. Ample
light streamed down, enough to walk and even read—if any of the Family could have read more than simple numbers and a few
directions coded on mechs.
This was the only night he had ever known, a welcome halfdark after the blistering doubleday cast by the Eaterand their own planet’s star, Denix. Yet he fled from it, too, when he could. Into the realms of the old dead times.
He found an output current plug in an autorepair slot. The cage walls were scarred and smeared from centuries of casual use
by passing mechs. He spliced in the extra Amps and lay back and was at once in a gossamer finespun holotime of delight and
transfigured brassy radiance.
It came to him as a shuddering series of exaltations and shimmering potentials. Ruby. Tingling. Pepperhot. Slowbuilding. Raspbreathed.
Spinning forever in a humming gyre… slicksliding grace beyond time or process… halfsleep and halfwake… this inner world filled
his lungs with cottony pleasure. Brought him again and again to the long-thrusting ecstasy yet did not let him pass over into
warm oblivion. Sweet resurrections…
Stark light. Rough swearing.
Killeen blinked. A hand grabbed his collar and lifted him. “Didnja hear? There’s a transmech outside.”
It was Cermo-the-Slow, his porepocked face orbiting against the overhead glare of the Trough. Cermo had disconnected Killeen
from the power feed.
“I… was just…”
“I know whatcha doin’. Jes’ don’ let Ledroff catch you, is all.”
Cermo-the-Slow let go. Killeen dropped back into the acrid moss. He had an impulse to jack himself back into the wall, snatch
a few minutes before somebody else came by to muster him And forced his hand away from the cable. That somebody might be Toby.
Too many times the boy had already caught his Dad slacksack on the tether, volted out.
Slowly, slowly, Killeen put away the jack-tab, He hadto remember that Fanny was gone. Everybody needed some refuge from the world’s rub, she’d said. She’d let him get away with
some time on the jack. Some drinking, too.
Not anymore. Ledroff was decent, solid, but inexperienced. Until now, Killeen had devoted himself to looking after Toby, begrudging
the time spent on Family business. That would have to change. But it would be hard.
Getting up, away from temptation, took all his blurred concentration. As he got creakily to his feet he heard Ledroff barking
somewhere at Family who still lounged or slept. Killeen hurried to pull on his hydraulic boots.
He
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