Read Online River of Gods by Ian McDonald - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ian McDonald
Tags: Science-Fiction
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hates
them for that. Come back to me. She hesitates, bends low for a word.
For a moment he thinks she might buy something from the Bangalore
Bombastic. He doesn't want her to do that. She shakes her head and
moves on. She vanishes into the bodies again. Thomas Lull finds he is
following her. She does blend well; he keeps losing track of her
amongst the bodies. She isn't wearing a 'hoek. How is she getting it
then? Thomas Lull moves to the edge of the dance space. She only
looks like she is dancing, he realises. She is doing something else,
taking the collective mood and moving to it. Who the hell is she?
Then she stops in her dance. She frowns, opens her mouth, swallows
for breath. She presses a hand to her labouring chest. She can't
breathe. The gazelle eyes are scared. She bends over, trying to
release the grip in her lungs. Thomas Lull knows these signs well. He
is an old familiar of this attacker. She stands in the middle of the
silent crowd, fighting for breath. No one sees. No one knows.
Everyone is blind and deaf in their own private dancescapes. Thomas
Lull forces a path through the bodies. Not to her, but to the Scandie
girls.
He has their stash read-out on his scanner. There's always someone
doing a quick, dirty lift on the salbutamol/ATP-reductase reaction.
"I need your wheezers, quick." Goldie girl peers at him as
if he's some incredible alien elf from Antares. To her, he could be.
She fumbles open her pink Adidas purse. "Here, those."
Thomas Lull scrapes out the blue and white caplets. The grey girl is
panting shallowly now, hands on thighs, very frightened, looking
round for help. Thomas Lull bulls through the party people, cracking
the little gelatin capsules and shaking them into his fist.
"Open your mouth," he orders, cupping his hands. "Inhale
on three and hold for twenty. One. Two. Three."
Thomas Lull claps his cupped hands over her mouth and blows hard
between his thumbs, spraying powder deep into her lungs. She closes
her eyes, counting. Thomas Lull finds he's looking at her tilak. He's
never seen one like it before. It looks like plastic fused to the
skin, or raw bone. Suddenly he has to touch it. His fingers are
millimetres away when she opens her eyes. Thomas Lull snatches his
hand back.
"You all right?"
She nods. "Yes. Thank you."
"You should've brought some medication with you. You could have
been in a lot of trouble; these people, they're like ghosts. You
could have died and they'd've danced right over you. Come on."
He leads her through the maze of blind dancers to the shadowed sand.
She sits, bare feet splayed out. Thomas Lull kneels beside her. She
smells of sandalwood and fabric conditioner. Twenty years of
undergraduate expertise pins her at nineteen, maybe twenty. Come on,
Lull. You've saved a strange little driftwood girl from an asthma
attack and you're running your prepull checks. Show some
self-respect.
"I was so scared," she says. "I am so stupid, I had
inhalers but left them back at the hotel. I never thought."
Her soft accent would sound English to less experienced ears but
Thomas Lull's recognises a Karnatakan twang.
"Luck for you Asthma Man picked up your wheezing on his
super-hearing. Come on. Party's over for you tonight, sister. Where
are you staying?"
"The Palm Imperial Guest House." It's a good place, not
cheap, more popular with older travellers. Thomas Lull knows the
lobby and bar of every hotel for thirty kays up and down the coconut
coast. Some of the bedrooms too. Backpackers and gap-yearers tend
toward the beachshacks. He's seen a few of those too. Killed a few
snakes.
"I'll get you back. Achuthanandan will look after you. You've
had a bit of a shock, you need to take it easy."
That tilak: he's certain it's moving . Mystery girl gets to her
feet. She offers a hand shyly, formally.
"Thank you very much. I think I would have been in very bad
trouble without you." Thomas Lull takes the hand. It is long and
aesthetic, soft and dry. She cannot quite look at
them for that. Come back to me. She hesitates, bends low for a word.
For a moment he thinks she might buy something from the Bangalore
Bombastic. He doesn't want her to do that. She shakes her head and
moves on. She vanishes into the bodies again. Thomas Lull finds he is
following her. She does blend well; he keeps losing track of her
amongst the bodies. She isn't wearing a 'hoek. How is she getting it
then? Thomas Lull moves to the edge of the dance space. She only
looks like she is dancing, he realises. She is doing something else,
taking the collective mood and moving to it. Who the hell is she?
Then she stops in her dance. She frowns, opens her mouth, swallows
for breath. She presses a hand to her labouring chest. She can't
breathe. The gazelle eyes are scared. She bends over, trying to
release the grip in her lungs. Thomas Lull knows these signs well. He
is an old familiar of this attacker. She stands in the middle of the
silent crowd, fighting for breath. No one sees. No one knows.
Everyone is blind and deaf in their own private dancescapes. Thomas
Lull forces a path through the bodies. Not to her, but to the Scandie
girls.
He has their stash read-out on his scanner. There's always someone
doing a quick, dirty lift on the salbutamol/ATP-reductase reaction.
"I need your wheezers, quick." Goldie girl peers at him as
if he's some incredible alien elf from Antares. To her, he could be.
She fumbles open her pink Adidas purse. "Here, those."
Thomas Lull scrapes out the blue and white caplets. The grey girl is
panting shallowly now, hands on thighs, very frightened, looking
round for help. Thomas Lull bulls through the party people, cracking
the little gelatin capsules and shaking them into his fist.
"Open your mouth," he orders, cupping his hands. "Inhale
on three and hold for twenty. One. Two. Three."
Thomas Lull claps his cupped hands over her mouth and blows hard
between his thumbs, spraying powder deep into her lungs. She closes
her eyes, counting. Thomas Lull finds he's looking at her tilak. He's
never seen one like it before. It looks like plastic fused to the
skin, or raw bone. Suddenly he has to touch it. His fingers are
millimetres away when she opens her eyes. Thomas Lull snatches his
hand back.
"You all right?"
She nods. "Yes. Thank you."
"You should've brought some medication with you. You could have
been in a lot of trouble; these people, they're like ghosts. You
could have died and they'd've danced right over you. Come on."
He leads her through the maze of blind dancers to the shadowed sand.
She sits, bare feet splayed out. Thomas Lull kneels beside her. She
smells of sandalwood and fabric conditioner. Twenty years of
undergraduate expertise pins her at nineteen, maybe twenty. Come on,
Lull. You've saved a strange little driftwood girl from an asthma
attack and you're running your prepull checks. Show some
self-respect.
"I was so scared," she says. "I am so stupid, I had
inhalers but left them back at the hotel. I never thought."
Her soft accent would sound English to less experienced ears but
Thomas Lull's recognises a Karnatakan twang.
"Luck for you Asthma Man picked up your wheezing on his
super-hearing. Come on. Party's over for you tonight, sister. Where
are you staying?"
"The Palm Imperial Guest House." It's a good place, not
cheap, more popular with older travellers. Thomas Lull knows the
lobby and bar of every hotel for thirty kays up and down the coconut
coast. Some of the bedrooms too. Backpackers and gap-yearers tend
toward the beachshacks. He's seen a few of those too. Killed a few
snakes.
"I'll get you back. Achuthanandan will look after you. You've
had a bit of a shock, you need to take it easy."
That tilak: he's certain it's moving . Mystery girl gets to her
feet. She offers a hand shyly, formally.
"Thank you very much. I think I would have been in very bad
trouble without you." Thomas Lull takes the hand. It is long and
aesthetic, soft and dry. She cannot quite look at
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