Read Online Hot Sleep by Orson Scott Card - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Orson Scott Card
Tags: Science-Fiction
Ads: Link
lift his stomach out of the way to wipe down the sweating crease. (I have got to exercise. I have got to diet.) But he knew that he wouldn't have time for exercise, that food would taste too good to worry about dieting, that in only five weeks he'd be eligible to return to the Sleeproom and go under for another five years or until his client came back (aye, there's the rub).
Hop got up and walked stiffly to the hooks where his new clothes hung waiting for him. As he took his first steps he felt a sharp pain, a stiff uncomfortableness in a region of his body that should not be causing him any pain. Could he possibly have developed hemorrhoids while under somec?
"Excuse me," he said to the nurse, who immediately turned away. Nurses had to be very deferential to the sleepers — but obsequiousness was a small price to pay for the privilege of somec, even at the nurses' rather trivial rate of two years up for one year under.
Hop Noyock reached behind himself and found the source of his discomfort. It was a small piece of paper, soaked in the sweat of his revival. On it was written, in Hop's own handwriting, a short message:
"Someone trying to kill Jazz. Must warn."
What in hell did that mean? He looked at the paper for some possible hidden clue. There was none. It was just the ordinary paper they kept by the sleepbeds to satisfy the paranoia of those who were convinced they would think of something absolutely vital between the time when their brains were taped and the time when the somec flowed into their veins, emptying all memories from their minds. Memory slips, they called the papers, and Hop had never used one before.
Now he had used one(or is it my handwriting?) and not only that, he had gone to the bother of putting it in a rather effective, if undignified, hiding place.
Apparently, when he had written it, he had thought it was vital.
But if (if) there was a plot to kill Jazz Worthing (alias Meal Ticket) how in hell had he found out about it between the taping and the somec? It was strictly illegal for anyone but the nurses to come into the tape–and–tap; that was in the contract — it was imperial law, for heaven's sake, forget the contract.
And who would try to kill Jazz Worthing, the Empire's most successful starship pilot, not to mention the star of the five best–selling loops in trade history (I made the boy a star, he'd be nothing without his agent); killing him would not only hurt the Empire's war effort and tear down morale, it would also leave the fans disconsolate —
And thinking of the war effort, what about it? Hop went to the history sheets that hung from the wall. He was proud of the fact that he had a five year summary, a reminder of his high somec rating.
The news was basically good. The Empire was still intact, more or less, win a little, lose a little but the war is far from home.
Then, practical as always, Hop checked the gossip sheets and spent an amusing five minutes as he dressed, reading over what happened while he was under. Of course, most of the people he had never met — their somec schedules never coincided and so he knew of their escapades only from the sheets —
The flight schedules showed that Jazz was coming in only three days. Hop glanced up at the calendar on the wall (they never bother with clocks in the Sleeproom) and realized that he had been wakened almost three months early.
Damn.
Oh well, it could have been three years, that had happened before, and it was a small enough price to pay for his twenty percent of all of Jazz Worthing's revenues. Without Jazz, Hop Noyock wouldn't be on somec at all.
Somebody trying to kill Jazz? Asinine.
(If I find them, I'll tear them apart, the bastards.)
Hop met Jazz the minute the smoke had been pumped out of the landing hall. The two kilometer–long ship always took Hop's breath away (either that or the long climb up the ramp), just as the ridiculous narrow tube that held all the payload made him laugh. It looked like it
Hop got up and walked stiffly to the hooks where his new clothes hung waiting for him. As he took his first steps he felt a sharp pain, a stiff uncomfortableness in a region of his body that should not be causing him any pain. Could he possibly have developed hemorrhoids while under somec?
"Excuse me," he said to the nurse, who immediately turned away. Nurses had to be very deferential to the sleepers — but obsequiousness was a small price to pay for the privilege of somec, even at the nurses' rather trivial rate of two years up for one year under.
Hop Noyock reached behind himself and found the source of his discomfort. It was a small piece of paper, soaked in the sweat of his revival. On it was written, in Hop's own handwriting, a short message:
"Someone trying to kill Jazz. Must warn."
What in hell did that mean? He looked at the paper for some possible hidden clue. There was none. It was just the ordinary paper they kept by the sleepbeds to satisfy the paranoia of those who were convinced they would think of something absolutely vital between the time when their brains were taped and the time when the somec flowed into their veins, emptying all memories from their minds. Memory slips, they called the papers, and Hop had never used one before.
Now he had used one(or is it my handwriting?) and not only that, he had gone to the bother of putting it in a rather effective, if undignified, hiding place.
Apparently, when he had written it, he had thought it was vital.
But if (if) there was a plot to kill Jazz Worthing (alias Meal Ticket) how in hell had he found out about it between the taping and the somec? It was strictly illegal for anyone but the nurses to come into the tape–and–tap; that was in the contract — it was imperial law, for heaven's sake, forget the contract.
And who would try to kill Jazz Worthing, the Empire's most successful starship pilot, not to mention the star of the five best–selling loops in trade history (I made the boy a star, he'd be nothing without his agent); killing him would not only hurt the Empire's war effort and tear down morale, it would also leave the fans disconsolate —
And thinking of the war effort, what about it? Hop went to the history sheets that hung from the wall. He was proud of the fact that he had a five year summary, a reminder of his high somec rating.
The news was basically good. The Empire was still intact, more or less, win a little, lose a little but the war is far from home.
Then, practical as always, Hop checked the gossip sheets and spent an amusing five minutes as he dressed, reading over what happened while he was under. Of course, most of the people he had never met — their somec schedules never coincided and so he knew of their escapades only from the sheets —
The flight schedules showed that Jazz was coming in only three days. Hop glanced up at the calendar on the wall (they never bother with clocks in the Sleeproom) and realized that he had been wakened almost three months early.
Damn.
Oh well, it could have been three years, that had happened before, and it was a small enough price to pay for his twenty percent of all of Jazz Worthing's revenues. Without Jazz, Hop Noyock wouldn't be on somec at all.
Somebody trying to kill Jazz? Asinine.
(If I find them, I'll tear them apart, the bastards.)
Hop met Jazz the minute the smoke had been pumped out of the landing hall. The two kilometer–long ship always took Hop's breath away (either that or the long climb up the ramp), just as the ridiculous narrow tube that held all the payload made him laugh. It looked like it
Similar Books
