Read Online Schismatrix plus by Bruce Sterling - Free Book Online
Authors: Bruce Sterling
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Space Opera, Short Stories, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science fiction; American, Anthologies (non-poetry), Fiction anthologies & collections
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silent. As he had been dictating, Ryumin had occupied himself with an unusual handicraft. He was sifting what appeared to be tiny bits of brown cardboard onto a small slip of white paper. He carefully rolled the paper into a tube. Then he pinched the tube's ends shut and sealed it with his tongue.
He put one end of the paper cylinder between his lips, then held up a small metal gadget and pressed a switch on its top. Lindsay stared, then screamed. "Fire! Oh my God! Fire, fire!"
Ryumin blew out smoke. "What the hell's wrong with you? This tiny flame can't hurt anything."
"But it's fire! Good God, I've never seen a naked flame in my life." Lindsay lowered his voice. "You're sure you won't catch fire?" He watched Ryumin anxiously. "Your lungs are smoking."
"No, no. It's just a novelty, a small new vice." The old Mechanist shrugged. "A little dangerous maybe, but aren't they all."
"What is it?"
"Bits of cardboard soaked in nicotine. They've got some kind of flavoring, too. It's not so bad." He drew on the cigarette; Lindsay stared at the glowing tip and shuddered. "Don't worry," Ryumin said. "This place isn't like other colonies. Fire's no danger here. Mud doesn't burn." Lindsay sagged back to the floor and groaned. His brain was swimming in memory enhancements. His head hurt and he had an indescribable tickling sensation, like the first fraction of a second during an onset of deja vu. It was like being unable to sneeze.
"You made me lose my place," he said peevishly. "What's the use? When I think of what this used to mean to me! These plays that hold everything worth preserving in human life. . . . Our heritage, before the Mechs, before the Shapers. Humanity, morality, a life not tampered with." Ryumin tapped ashes into an upended back lens cap. "You're talking like a circumlunar native, Mr. Dze. Like a Concatenate. What's your home world?
Crisium S.S.R.? Copernican Commonwealth?"
Lindsay sucked air through his teeth.
Ryumin said, "Forgive an old man's prying." He blew more smoke and rubbed a red mark on his temple, where the eyephones fit. "Let me tell you what I think your problem is, Mr. Dze. So far, you've recited three of these compositions: Romeo and Juliet, The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, and now The Love Suicide at Amijima. Frankly, I have some problems with these pieces."
"Oh?" said Lindsay on a rising note.
"Yes. First, they're incomprehensible. Second, they're impossibly morbid. And third and worst of all, they're preindustrial.
"Now let me tell you what I think. You've launched this audacious fraud, you're creating a huge stir, and you've set the whole Zaibatsu on its ear. For this much trouble, you should at least repay the people with a little fun."
"Fun?" Lindsay said.
"Yes. I know these sundogs. They want to be entertained, not clubbed by some ancient relic. They want to hear about real people, not savages."
"But that's not human culture."
"So what?" Ryumin puffed his cigarette. "I've been thinking. I've heard three 'plays' now, so I know the medium. There's not much to it. I can whip one up for us in two or three days, I think."
"You think so?"
Ryumin nodded. "We'll have to scrap some things."
"Such as?"
"Well, gravity, first of all. I don't see how you can get any good dancing or fighting done except in free-fall."
Lindsay sat up. "Dancing and fighting, is it?"
"That's right. Your audience are whores, oxygen farmers, two dozen pirate bands, and fifty runaway mathematicians. They would all love to see dancing and fighting. We'll get rid of the stage; it's too flat. The curtains are a nuisance; we can do that with lighting. You may be used to these old circumlunars with their damned centrifugal spin, but modern people love free-fall. These poor sun-dogs have suffered enough. It'll be like a holiday for them."
"You mean, get up to the free-fall zone somehow."
"Yes indeed. We'll build an aerostat: a big geodesic bubble, airtight. We'll launch it off the landing zone and keep it fixed
He put one end of the paper cylinder between his lips, then held up a small metal gadget and pressed a switch on its top. Lindsay stared, then screamed. "Fire! Oh my God! Fire, fire!"
Ryumin blew out smoke. "What the hell's wrong with you? This tiny flame can't hurt anything."
"But it's fire! Good God, I've never seen a naked flame in my life." Lindsay lowered his voice. "You're sure you won't catch fire?" He watched Ryumin anxiously. "Your lungs are smoking."
"No, no. It's just a novelty, a small new vice." The old Mechanist shrugged. "A little dangerous maybe, but aren't they all."
"What is it?"
"Bits of cardboard soaked in nicotine. They've got some kind of flavoring, too. It's not so bad." He drew on the cigarette; Lindsay stared at the glowing tip and shuddered. "Don't worry," Ryumin said. "This place isn't like other colonies. Fire's no danger here. Mud doesn't burn." Lindsay sagged back to the floor and groaned. His brain was swimming in memory enhancements. His head hurt and he had an indescribable tickling sensation, like the first fraction of a second during an onset of deja vu. It was like being unable to sneeze.
"You made me lose my place," he said peevishly. "What's the use? When I think of what this used to mean to me! These plays that hold everything worth preserving in human life. . . . Our heritage, before the Mechs, before the Shapers. Humanity, morality, a life not tampered with." Ryumin tapped ashes into an upended back lens cap. "You're talking like a circumlunar native, Mr. Dze. Like a Concatenate. What's your home world?
Crisium S.S.R.? Copernican Commonwealth?"
Lindsay sucked air through his teeth.
Ryumin said, "Forgive an old man's prying." He blew more smoke and rubbed a red mark on his temple, where the eyephones fit. "Let me tell you what I think your problem is, Mr. Dze. So far, you've recited three of these compositions: Romeo and Juliet, The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, and now The Love Suicide at Amijima. Frankly, I have some problems with these pieces."
"Oh?" said Lindsay on a rising note.
"Yes. First, they're incomprehensible. Second, they're impossibly morbid. And third and worst of all, they're preindustrial.
"Now let me tell you what I think. You've launched this audacious fraud, you're creating a huge stir, and you've set the whole Zaibatsu on its ear. For this much trouble, you should at least repay the people with a little fun."
"Fun?" Lindsay said.
"Yes. I know these sundogs. They want to be entertained, not clubbed by some ancient relic. They want to hear about real people, not savages."
"But that's not human culture."
"So what?" Ryumin puffed his cigarette. "I've been thinking. I've heard three 'plays' now, so I know the medium. There's not much to it. I can whip one up for us in two or three days, I think."
"You think so?"
Ryumin nodded. "We'll have to scrap some things."
"Such as?"
"Well, gravity, first of all. I don't see how you can get any good dancing or fighting done except in free-fall."
Lindsay sat up. "Dancing and fighting, is it?"
"That's right. Your audience are whores, oxygen farmers, two dozen pirate bands, and fifty runaway mathematicians. They would all love to see dancing and fighting. We'll get rid of the stage; it's too flat. The curtains are a nuisance; we can do that with lighting. You may be used to these old circumlunars with their damned centrifugal spin, but modern people love free-fall. These poor sun-dogs have suffered enough. It'll be like a holiday for them."
"You mean, get up to the free-fall zone somehow."
"Yes indeed. We'll build an aerostat: a big geodesic bubble, airtight. We'll launch it off the landing zone and keep it fixed
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