Read Online Starfish by Peter Watts - Free Book Online
Authors: Peter Watts
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Space Opera, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction And Fantasy, Marine animals, Underwater exploration, English Canadian Novel And Short Story
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half-whistled, as though the kid was speaking through his sinuses. Maybe he had one of those, those — Fischer groped for the words — cleft palates, or something.
"Vanceattle? Which one?"
Shrug.
"Don't you have a watch?"
"Lost it."
You've got to help him, Shadow said.
"Well, um, look." Fischer rubbed at his temples. "I live close by. We can call from there."
There weren't that many Vanceattles in the lower mainland. The police wouldn't have to find out. And even if they did, they wouldn't charge him. Not for this. What was he supposed to do, leave the kid for body parts?
"I'm Gerry," Fischer said.
"Kevin."
Kevin looked about nine or ten. Old enough that he should know how to use a public terminal, anyway. But there was something wrong with him. He was too tall and skinny, and his limbs tangled up in themselves when he walked. Maybe he was brain damaged. Maybe one of those nanotech babies that went bad. Or maybe his mother just spent too much time outdoors when she was pregnant.
Fischer led Kevin up to his two-room timeshare. Kevin dropped onto the couch without asking. Fischer checked the fridge: root beer. The boy took it with a nervous smile. Fischer sat down beside him and put a reassuring hand on Kevin's lap.
The expression drained from Kevin's face as though someone had pulled a plug.
Go on , Shadow said. He's not complaining, is he?
Kevin's clothes were filthy. Caked mud clung to his pants. Fischer reached over and began picking it off. "We should get you out of these clothes. Get you cleaned up. We can only take showers on even days here, but you could always take a sponge bath..."
Kevin just sat there. One hand gripped his drink, bony fingers denting the plastic; the other rested motionless on the couch.
Fischer smiled. "It's okay. This is what you do when you really—"
Kevin stared at the floor, trembling.
Fischer found a zipper, pulled. Pressed, gently. "It's okay. It's okay. Don't worry."
Kevin stopped shaking. Kevin looked up.
Kevin smiled.
"I'm not the one who should be worried here, asshole," he said in his whistling child's voice.
The jolt threw Fischer to the floor. Suddenly he was staring at the ceiling, fingers twitching at the ends of arms that had turned, magically, into dead weights. His whole nervous system sang like a tracery of high-tension wires embedded in flesh.
His bladder let go. Wet warmth spread out from his crotch.
Kevin stepped over him and looked down, all trace of awkwardness gone from his movements. One hand still held the plastic cup. The other held a shockprod.
Very deliberately, Kevin upended his drink. Fischer watched the liquid snake down, almost casually, and splash across his face. His eyes stung; Kevin was a spindly blur in a wash of weak acid. Fischer tried to blink, tried again, finally succeeded.
One of Kevin's legs was swinging back at the knee.
"Gerald Fischer, you are under arrest—"
It swung forward. Pain erupted in Fischer's side.
"—for indecent assault of a minor—"
Back. Forward. Pain.
"—under sections 151 and 152 of the N'Am Pacific Criminal Code."
The child knelt down and glared into his face. Up close the telltales were obvious; the depth of the eyes, the size of the pores in the skin, the plastic resilience of adult flesh soaked in androgen suppressants.
"Not to mention violation of yet another restraining order," Kevin added.
How long, Fischer wondered absently. Neural aftershock draped the whole world in gauze. How many months did it take to stunt back down from man to child?
"You have the right to— ah, fuck."
And how long to reverse the reversal? Could Kevin ever grow up again?
"You know your fucking rights better than I do."
This wasn't happening. The police wouldn't go this far, they didn't have the money, and anyway, why? How could anyone be willing to change themselves like that? Just to get Gerry Fischer? Why?
"I suppose I should call you in, shouldn't I? Then again, maybe I'll just let you lie here in your own
"Vanceattle? Which one?"
Shrug.
"Don't you have a watch?"
"Lost it."
You've got to help him, Shadow said.
"Well, um, look." Fischer rubbed at his temples. "I live close by. We can call from there."
There weren't that many Vanceattles in the lower mainland. The police wouldn't have to find out. And even if they did, they wouldn't charge him. Not for this. What was he supposed to do, leave the kid for body parts?
"I'm Gerry," Fischer said.
"Kevin."
Kevin looked about nine or ten. Old enough that he should know how to use a public terminal, anyway. But there was something wrong with him. He was too tall and skinny, and his limbs tangled up in themselves when he walked. Maybe he was brain damaged. Maybe one of those nanotech babies that went bad. Or maybe his mother just spent too much time outdoors when she was pregnant.
Fischer led Kevin up to his two-room timeshare. Kevin dropped onto the couch without asking. Fischer checked the fridge: root beer. The boy took it with a nervous smile. Fischer sat down beside him and put a reassuring hand on Kevin's lap.
The expression drained from Kevin's face as though someone had pulled a plug.
Go on , Shadow said. He's not complaining, is he?
Kevin's clothes were filthy. Caked mud clung to his pants. Fischer reached over and began picking it off. "We should get you out of these clothes. Get you cleaned up. We can only take showers on even days here, but you could always take a sponge bath..."
Kevin just sat there. One hand gripped his drink, bony fingers denting the plastic; the other rested motionless on the couch.
Fischer smiled. "It's okay. This is what you do when you really—"
Kevin stared at the floor, trembling.
Fischer found a zipper, pulled. Pressed, gently. "It's okay. It's okay. Don't worry."
Kevin stopped shaking. Kevin looked up.
Kevin smiled.
"I'm not the one who should be worried here, asshole," he said in his whistling child's voice.
The jolt threw Fischer to the floor. Suddenly he was staring at the ceiling, fingers twitching at the ends of arms that had turned, magically, into dead weights. His whole nervous system sang like a tracery of high-tension wires embedded in flesh.
His bladder let go. Wet warmth spread out from his crotch.
Kevin stepped over him and looked down, all trace of awkwardness gone from his movements. One hand still held the plastic cup. The other held a shockprod.
Very deliberately, Kevin upended his drink. Fischer watched the liquid snake down, almost casually, and splash across his face. His eyes stung; Kevin was a spindly blur in a wash of weak acid. Fischer tried to blink, tried again, finally succeeded.
One of Kevin's legs was swinging back at the knee.
"Gerald Fischer, you are under arrest—"
It swung forward. Pain erupted in Fischer's side.
"—for indecent assault of a minor—"
Back. Forward. Pain.
"—under sections 151 and 152 of the N'Am Pacific Criminal Code."
The child knelt down and glared into his face. Up close the telltales were obvious; the depth of the eyes, the size of the pores in the skin, the plastic resilience of adult flesh soaked in androgen suppressants.
"Not to mention violation of yet another restraining order," Kevin added.
How long, Fischer wondered absently. Neural aftershock draped the whole world in gauze. How many months did it take to stunt back down from man to child?
"You have the right to— ah, fuck."
And how long to reverse the reversal? Could Kevin ever grow up again?
"You know your fucking rights better than I do."
This wasn't happening. The police wouldn't go this far, they didn't have the money, and anyway, why? How could anyone be willing to change themselves like that? Just to get Gerry Fischer? Why?
"I suppose I should call you in, shouldn't I? Then again, maybe I'll just let you lie here in your own
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