indication of any activity at all. The place was completely deeserted. "Are you sure this is right?" she asked.
"It's just down here." The fish flipped in midair to face her.
Despite the muggy greenhouse heat, a sharp chill pricked Nadice's arms. "I don't think so." Throat tight, she backed away from the reed-constricted path.
A board creaked behind her. She swiveled, caught a toe on the upraised corner of one board, and stumbled.
Fingers wrapped tightly around her upper arm.
She gasped just as a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling a scream.
"Easy, gurl." The voice like honey in her ear. "Don't flip on me."
Mateus.
She steadied in his grip, calmed by the familiar voice, and felt her chest relax. "You scared me."
"No reason to get throwed."
He was in full crunk mode, wired to the philm he was 'skinning. Back in Lagos she had noticed that whenever he was tight the slang got heavier, thicker, as he slipped deeper into the pseudoself he was screening.
"I wasn't sure where to go," she explained. "1 thought I'd gotten lost."
"I feel ya."
"You could have told me about the fish," she said.
"Fish?" He shook. his head. "No fish here. Maybe farther into the delta, where it ain't so pollluted."
She looked around, but the fish was gone. "Come on." He cut a quick glance around. "Let's get inside fo things get crucial."
_______
A hand-scrawled sign on one boarded-up window advised visitors that Delta BIu's was closed. A thin man with nervous eyes and a bony Adam's apple let them into a windowless room filled with a maze of dark, soundproofed cubicles. The place reeked of mildew, sweat, and listless sex.
Something shifted in the cube closest to Nadice. She flinched as a pair of blood-red circles swiveled to look at her.
The thin man snickered. As her eyes adjusted, the rings resolved into faint coronas of light leaking from around the edges of a pair of corneal inserts.
"Snippers," Mateus explained. "Cut images from digitized celluloid and vidIO for splicing and rephilming. "
There was one snipper to a cubicle. Some lounged in chairs, others sprawled on gelfoam matttresses. Their expressions were slack, their faces spectral, as if they existed between worlds ... neiither substantial nor insubstantial, but ensnared in some hyperstantial netherworld.
Like the fish, she thought. Detached. Somehow it had gone from a flat picture to solid 3-D ..
"You're pirates," she said. "Bootleggers."
The snicker degenerated into a snort. "What we are is none of your business," the man hissed. He stared at her chest and masturbated the stubble on his chin.
"In here," Mateus said. He guided her into a room filled with d-splays. A few of the screens deepicted artistically rendered nudes and genitalia. Others were more hardcore. Across the dimly lighted hallway, through a partly open door, a naked woman lay on a futon. Japanese kanji crawled along the insides of her thighs, trickled down her abdomen like rainwater on neon-tinted glass. Instead of nipples, pink roses flowered from ceramic-smooth breasts.
Mateus appeared not to notice. She expected some lewd comment, but suddenly he was all busiiness. He closed the door, locking it.
"Sit down." He indicated a chair in the center of the room. "We need to check the status of the ware. See if it's ready." He went to a chrome equipment rack against one wall.
The chair looked clean, no obvious stains. There was even a little depression in which to rest her head. The padded armrests adjusted to her height. The chair tilted back, and she found herself staring up at a ruby-red mouth on a ceiling-mounted d-splay. She wet her lips and saw the tip of a tongue, her tongue.
"Relax," Mateus said, walking up to her. "You're tense."
He sounded different. He'd dropped the slang for some reason, the attitude. She lowered her gaze from the ceiling d-splay and saw he'd rephilmed himself. Gone were the crunk gang tattoos. The color of his 'skin had changed, too, lightened from burned coffee to pale
"It's just down here." The fish flipped in midair to face her.
Despite the muggy greenhouse heat, a sharp chill pricked Nadice's arms. "I don't think so." Throat tight, she backed away from the reed-constricted path.
A board creaked behind her. She swiveled, caught a toe on the upraised corner of one board, and stumbled.
Fingers wrapped tightly around her upper arm.
She gasped just as a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling a scream.
"Easy, gurl." The voice like honey in her ear. "Don't flip on me."
Mateus.
She steadied in his grip, calmed by the familiar voice, and felt her chest relax. "You scared me."
"No reason to get throwed."
He was in full crunk mode, wired to the philm he was 'skinning. Back in Lagos she had noticed that whenever he was tight the slang got heavier, thicker, as he slipped deeper into the pseudoself he was screening.
"I wasn't sure where to go," she explained. "1 thought I'd gotten lost."
"I feel ya."
"You could have told me about the fish," she said.
"Fish?" He shook. his head. "No fish here. Maybe farther into the delta, where it ain't so pollluted."
She looked around, but the fish was gone. "Come on." He cut a quick glance around. "Let's get inside fo things get crucial."
_______
A hand-scrawled sign on one boarded-up window advised visitors that Delta BIu's was closed. A thin man with nervous eyes and a bony Adam's apple let them into a windowless room filled with a maze of dark, soundproofed cubicles. The place reeked of mildew, sweat, and listless sex.
Something shifted in the cube closest to Nadice. She flinched as a pair of blood-red circles swiveled to look at her.
The thin man snickered. As her eyes adjusted, the rings resolved into faint coronas of light leaking from around the edges of a pair of corneal inserts.
"Snippers," Mateus explained. "Cut images from digitized celluloid and vidIO for splicing and rephilming. "
There was one snipper to a cubicle. Some lounged in chairs, others sprawled on gelfoam matttresses. Their expressions were slack, their faces spectral, as if they existed between worlds ... neiither substantial nor insubstantial, but ensnared in some hyperstantial netherworld.
Like the fish, she thought. Detached. Somehow it had gone from a flat picture to solid 3-D ..
"You're pirates," she said. "Bootleggers."
The snicker degenerated into a snort. "What we are is none of your business," the man hissed. He stared at her chest and masturbated the stubble on his chin.
"In here," Mateus said. He guided her into a room filled with d-splays. A few of the screens deepicted artistically rendered nudes and genitalia. Others were more hardcore. Across the dimly lighted hallway, through a partly open door, a naked woman lay on a futon. Japanese kanji crawled along the insides of her thighs, trickled down her abdomen like rainwater on neon-tinted glass. Instead of nipples, pink roses flowered from ceramic-smooth breasts.
Mateus appeared not to notice. She expected some lewd comment, but suddenly he was all busiiness. He closed the door, locking it.
"Sit down." He indicated a chair in the center of the room. "We need to check the status of the ware. See if it's ready." He went to a chrome equipment rack against one wall.
The chair looked clean, no obvious stains. There was even a little depression in which to rest her head. The padded armrests adjusted to her height. The chair tilted back, and she found herself staring up at a ruby-red mouth on a ceiling-mounted d-splay. She wet her lips and saw the tip of a tongue, her tongue.
"Relax," Mateus said, walking up to her. "You're tense."
He sounded different. He'd dropped the slang for some reason, the attitude. She lowered her gaze from the ceiling d-splay and saw he'd rephilmed himself. Gone were the crunk gang tattoos. The color of his 'skin had changed, too, lightened from burned coffee to pale
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