Read Online Levels: The Host by Peter Emshwiller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Emshwiller
Tags: thriller, Science-Fiction, adventure, SF, Action, Sci-Fi, Technology, New York, cyberpunk, futuristic, post apocalyptic, Novel, Dystopian, Manhattan, near future, Class warfare, Bantam Books, The Host, Levels, Emshwiller, Wrong Man, skiffy, Stoney Emshwiller, Body Swapping, Bantam Spectra, Peter R. Emshwiller
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him feel strange and foolish, puppet-like. Out of control of his own body.
Now was worse. Now there was no control over anything. Someone else was telling his arm to move. This was no kid’s game. Someone else bent that arm. Watly had no say in the matter. Watly didn’t even have a say over which way to move his eyes or what to focus on. When to squint—to flinch—to twitch—to blink. Nothing. Watly wanted to scream. He wanted to bail out. Where’s the escape hatch? Dammit! Nobody had warned him properly. Nobody had said it was like this. Five to seven hours of this? I’ll go mad, he thought. Worse than mad. I’ll raping die in here. I want out!
Watly felt his hands grip the armrests. His body leaned forward slowly. After a brief pause, Watly felt his body carefully stand up.
And he had nothing whatsoever to do with it.
CHAPTER 6
W atly knew something of history.
Not a whole lot, but enough. Enough to fake it. Enough to think about, to concentrate on, and to ponder over. He’d learned some of it from the CV, some of it from books and leafs, some of it on keyboard, but most of it from stories. You’d always hear stories.
When he put it all together it was impossible for him to tell how much of the history he knew was true, how much was conjecture, educated guesses, and outright lies. And there were a lot of holes.
Nobody knew much about the time before Cedetime, about the time when it was called the United States instead of the United Countries. All Watly knew was that they fought like crazy, those “united” states. Economics, politics, laws, religion, medicine, the bomb, drugs, sex, everything. Mostly money, though. That, Watly knew, was always the bottom line.
They fought and they fought, and the government just got larger and more lumbering and more unwieldy and more out of control. So they started breaking the thing up; dismantling the bulging hulk. Everyone wanted to be isolated, separated, and in control of themselves. They formed their own little countries. Watly figured it was like Narcolo had said about the family. Everyone just wanted to be left alone. They pulled away from each other, and—most of all—they pulled away from the rest of the world. Away from the bigness of it all.
International trade and relations were just about cut off completely. Isolationism. The last straw was that Euroshima thing. Watly had no idea why they’d called it that—somebody probably thought it was catchy once.
But, whatever the name, it sealed the UCA up tight. People were fighting some war or other in the Outerworld and the United Countries of America was staying neutral. Then somebody dropped a bunch of big ones somewhere over there and messed everything up bad. Watly didn’t know exactly where—somewhere in Europe or Asia or Affrika or someplace like that, or maybe all over the place. Maybe it was a couple little big ones or big big ones or maybe it was a whole pile. But it was a big mess. People dead, people sick, the air all over raped up bad. Euroshima. And the good ol’ “You See of Aye” said, “Okay, that’s it. Have fun. Play all you want. We don’t want nothing to do with your boleholes.” So we hung a bigKEEP OUT sign, closed up shop totally, and let them be.
Some of the midwest UCA countries still had bombs and stuff, so, Watly supposed, that helped keep the Outerworld from messing with us. That, and the fact that those countries got protection money from the other ones, and that there were all kinds of complicated treaties and contracts tying us UCA folk together. But that was about as much as Watly knew of it. You never heard anything much about the Outerworld growing up in Brooklyn. And Watly sure hadn’t heard anything consequential about it so far during his one month of Manhattan. Hard enough to hear news of Brooklyn on the island country.
Manhattan was a special country. Watly knew more about its history than Brooklyn, even. No other UCA country, as far as he knew, was
Now was worse. Now there was no control over anything. Someone else was telling his arm to move. This was no kid’s game. Someone else bent that arm. Watly had no say in the matter. Watly didn’t even have a say over which way to move his eyes or what to focus on. When to squint—to flinch—to twitch—to blink. Nothing. Watly wanted to scream. He wanted to bail out. Where’s the escape hatch? Dammit! Nobody had warned him properly. Nobody had said it was like this. Five to seven hours of this? I’ll go mad, he thought. Worse than mad. I’ll raping die in here. I want out!
Watly felt his hands grip the armrests. His body leaned forward slowly. After a brief pause, Watly felt his body carefully stand up.
And he had nothing whatsoever to do with it.
CHAPTER 6
W atly knew something of history.
Not a whole lot, but enough. Enough to fake it. Enough to think about, to concentrate on, and to ponder over. He’d learned some of it from the CV, some of it from books and leafs, some of it on keyboard, but most of it from stories. You’d always hear stories.
When he put it all together it was impossible for him to tell how much of the history he knew was true, how much was conjecture, educated guesses, and outright lies. And there were a lot of holes.
Nobody knew much about the time before Cedetime, about the time when it was called the United States instead of the United Countries. All Watly knew was that they fought like crazy, those “united” states. Economics, politics, laws, religion, medicine, the bomb, drugs, sex, everything. Mostly money, though. That, Watly knew, was always the bottom line.
They fought and they fought, and the government just got larger and more lumbering and more unwieldy and more out of control. So they started breaking the thing up; dismantling the bulging hulk. Everyone wanted to be isolated, separated, and in control of themselves. They formed their own little countries. Watly figured it was like Narcolo had said about the family. Everyone just wanted to be left alone. They pulled away from each other, and—most of all—they pulled away from the rest of the world. Away from the bigness of it all.
International trade and relations were just about cut off completely. Isolationism. The last straw was that Euroshima thing. Watly had no idea why they’d called it that—somebody probably thought it was catchy once.
But, whatever the name, it sealed the UCA up tight. People were fighting some war or other in the Outerworld and the United Countries of America was staying neutral. Then somebody dropped a bunch of big ones somewhere over there and messed everything up bad. Watly didn’t know exactly where—somewhere in Europe or Asia or Affrika or someplace like that, or maybe all over the place. Maybe it was a couple little big ones or big big ones or maybe it was a whole pile. But it was a big mess. People dead, people sick, the air all over raped up bad. Euroshima. And the good ol’ “You See of Aye” said, “Okay, that’s it. Have fun. Play all you want. We don’t want nothing to do with your boleholes.” So we hung a bigKEEP OUT sign, closed up shop totally, and let them be.
Some of the midwest UCA countries still had bombs and stuff, so, Watly supposed, that helped keep the Outerworld from messing with us. That, and the fact that those countries got protection money from the other ones, and that there were all kinds of complicated treaties and contracts tying us UCA folk together. But that was about as much as Watly knew of it. You never heard anything much about the Outerworld growing up in Brooklyn. And Watly sure hadn’t heard anything consequential about it so far during his one month of Manhattan. Hard enough to hear news of Brooklyn on the island country.
Manhattan was a special country. Watly knew more about its history than Brooklyn, even. No other UCA country, as far as he knew, was
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