Read Online There's Only One Quantum by William Bryan Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Bryan Smith
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interplanetary call-and-response. He said, “It must be amazing to see—from your window inside your dome, of course.”
He sat there looking at her. After the evening he’d had of spy-versus-spy with mysterious calls and exploding cell-bots, he wanted nothing more than to interact with her in real time—to hold her against him—to fall asleep inside of her. Instead, she in some way felt less real to him. He presented an edited version of the day to her, revealing nothing of the excitement, the intrigue, or even the short excursion to Ms. Hunter’s apt. It left him with very little to talk about.
As she described the red dust clinging to the eco-dome of her city, and pinkish hue it cast on the streets, the buildings, his thoughts turned to Ms. Hunter, weeping—of her enthusiasm, loyalty, and vulnerability. He was ashamed of himself. His shame was experienced on many levels. Shame, because he was freely betraying his long-time employer for a woman he had never met; shame, because he was waging something valuable in the current state of earthly life (a job); and shame, because he was feeling excitement for another woman, while the woman he loved was on the screen before him—their calls, their time, so precious.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked.
“I feel fine.” But he couldn’t hide a sudden dissatisfaction, perhaps impatience, with the distance between them and the tedium of their communication. He reminded himself it was not her fault, that she was taking a tremendous risk on him, leaving her home planet for an overcrowded, overburdened place that often seemed ready to come undone by the birth of even one more child.
“I love you, Scotty,” she said.
He imagined her voice relaying from satellite to satellite, across the immense, cold void. A harrowing, hellish eight-month voyage awaited her in the near future—if he was ultimately successful in obtaining the obtuse, esoteric information that Steele wanted.
“I love you,” he said, meaning it all the more.
Six.
The global jobs market finished the year on a sour note and is unlikely to improve any time soon as slowing economic growth and the high global dollar (The G credit) put employers under pressure. Almost 14M full-time jobs were lost to the economy in December as the international unemployment rate rose to 13.4 per cent. Total employment fell by 5M as demand for part-time workers offset some of the lost full-time jobs. Minority Leader Tony Digby (D) pinned the blame for the rise in unemployment on—ironically—the lack of global conflicts, increased longevity of life, and a general malaise among the planet’s citizens which has led to a renewed interest in sexual activity and has therefore, placed an undue stress on natural resources because of a swelling global population...
The first thing he heard was the hum of the hovercar just outside his bedroom window. Laying half-asleep, half-awake, in his bed, the sound was first indistinguishable from the other hover traffic outside—that constant drone of traffic, of movement, as if it were to stop, all life would come to a grinding halt. But it was the hum of a particular hovercar, one near his building, flying near his window in what was clearly marked a no-hover zone. The power of the hover engine, so close now it had begun to shake the windows, caused the entire room to vibrate. Immense light, white and searing, poured through the window and pored over him.
Dressed in his pajamas, he first sat up, then instinctively rolled from bed onto the floor, crawling away from the bed as a blast of glass and bullets ripped through the air, shredding the bed. The room snowed cotton and man-made fibers as if he had suddenly found himself inside the center of an enormous snow globe. The concentrated artillery fire remained fixed on the bed for several seconds before moving through the remainder of the apt, shooting out the windows, chewing up furniture, bedding, and carpeting.
Coe had wedged
He sat there looking at her. After the evening he’d had of spy-versus-spy with mysterious calls and exploding cell-bots, he wanted nothing more than to interact with her in real time—to hold her against him—to fall asleep inside of her. Instead, she in some way felt less real to him. He presented an edited version of the day to her, revealing nothing of the excitement, the intrigue, or even the short excursion to Ms. Hunter’s apt. It left him with very little to talk about.
As she described the red dust clinging to the eco-dome of her city, and pinkish hue it cast on the streets, the buildings, his thoughts turned to Ms. Hunter, weeping—of her enthusiasm, loyalty, and vulnerability. He was ashamed of himself. His shame was experienced on many levels. Shame, because he was freely betraying his long-time employer for a woman he had never met; shame, because he was waging something valuable in the current state of earthly life (a job); and shame, because he was feeling excitement for another woman, while the woman he loved was on the screen before him—their calls, their time, so precious.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked.
“I feel fine.” But he couldn’t hide a sudden dissatisfaction, perhaps impatience, with the distance between them and the tedium of their communication. He reminded himself it was not her fault, that she was taking a tremendous risk on him, leaving her home planet for an overcrowded, overburdened place that often seemed ready to come undone by the birth of even one more child.
“I love you, Scotty,” she said.
He imagined her voice relaying from satellite to satellite, across the immense, cold void. A harrowing, hellish eight-month voyage awaited her in the near future—if he was ultimately successful in obtaining the obtuse, esoteric information that Steele wanted.
“I love you,” he said, meaning it all the more.
Six.
The global jobs market finished the year on a sour note and is unlikely to improve any time soon as slowing economic growth and the high global dollar (The G credit) put employers under pressure. Almost 14M full-time jobs were lost to the economy in December as the international unemployment rate rose to 13.4 per cent. Total employment fell by 5M as demand for part-time workers offset some of the lost full-time jobs. Minority Leader Tony Digby (D) pinned the blame for the rise in unemployment on—ironically—the lack of global conflicts, increased longevity of life, and a general malaise among the planet’s citizens which has led to a renewed interest in sexual activity and has therefore, placed an undue stress on natural resources because of a swelling global population...
The first thing he heard was the hum of the hovercar just outside his bedroom window. Laying half-asleep, half-awake, in his bed, the sound was first indistinguishable from the other hover traffic outside—that constant drone of traffic, of movement, as if it were to stop, all life would come to a grinding halt. But it was the hum of a particular hovercar, one near his building, flying near his window in what was clearly marked a no-hover zone. The power of the hover engine, so close now it had begun to shake the windows, caused the entire room to vibrate. Immense light, white and searing, poured through the window and pored over him.
Dressed in his pajamas, he first sat up, then instinctively rolled from bed onto the floor, crawling away from the bed as a blast of glass and bullets ripped through the air, shredding the bed. The room snowed cotton and man-made fibers as if he had suddenly found himself inside the center of an enormous snow globe. The concentrated artillery fire remained fixed on the bed for several seconds before moving through the remainder of the apt, shooting out the windows, chewing up furniture, bedding, and carpeting.
Coe had wedged
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