Read Online Transmaniacon by John Shirley - Free Book Online

over his dungarees; no shirt on his portly, sunburned torso. Jet black hair, red-rimmed black eyes, wide froglike face, burnt red and seamed. “Come on in and sit down. Just about to have breakfast.”
    Inside, all that was visible of Lenny’s cybernetic cook was a teflon chute standing from the stone-tile floor in the center of the kitchen by the rough wooden table. Three trays rose one after another from the chute. They ate in silence—bacon, eggs, and tortillas, and drank hot coffee.
    Lenny carried the dishes to the airfoil cleaner, returned and sat down, grunting. He took bent cigarettes from a side pocket and passed them around. Ben declined. Lenny watched the girl curiously as she fumbled with his lighter. He showed her how to make the electric arc that lit the cigarette. “Strange crew,” he said.
    Ben nodded. “It’s a long story.”
    â€œWhere’s Lady Ella?” Lenny asked, leaning back in the wooden chair, hands folded over his hairy belly.
    â€œLeft me after the party. Haven’t seen her since… Lenny, I’m sorry about what happened, I—”
    â€œDon’t gimme that nonsense,” Lenny interrupted, teeth rending his cigarette. He sat up suddenly and very straight and put his hands on the table. “You’d do it again. Don’t try to play on my sympathies. You deserved to lose her. And your friends.”
    â€œI’ve retired. I really have. No more, unless it’s an emergency.”
    â€œSure. Sure, you have.” He shook his head and stared up at the wooden rafters. Finally, he said, “What you here for?”
    â€œOn our way to Las Vegas. Running from some unfriendly people. I’ve got something with me, might interest you.” Ben handed over the exciter, explained what he’d been told it was supposed to do. “I’m hoping you can tell me how to use it. In payment I can give you money, since my friendship doesn’t seem to mean anything. Or you can copy the thing, if you think you’ll have use for it.”
    Lenny examined the shiny ellipsoid critically. “I’ll look it over.” He seemed intrigued. “I can tell you right now, this metal is psychic-conductive. Designed to interact with the nervous system. Probably tissue permeable.” Before Ben could ask questions Lenny rose, gingerly carrying the ellipsoid, and started for the door of his lab.
    â€œLenny, can I use the house computer to trace a nulgrav car’s serial number?” Ben called after him.
    â€œProbably,” Lenny said over his shoulder. “Go ahead.”
    Ben copied the serial number from the control panel inset and ran his request through the interface affixed to the kitchen wall. The screen immediately lit up with a name. Ben cursed. He read it again. “That’s what I thought,” he said. On the screen was the name Chaldin, Arthur Pelham / Doctor of Philosophy: Physics, Biology, Chemistry / Master, Electronic Synthesis Theory.
    Ben felt ill.
    â€œHe blew up his own palace?” Gloria asked, looking over his shoulder.
    Ben turned to her with an admiring glance. “That’s the way it looks,” he said. “I suppose he could have taken the exciter out anytime himself. No need for me to steal it. But he wanted the palace destroyed. Could be a lot of reasons. Like insanity, or—”
    â€œNo,” she said, shaking her head. “Everything he does is very deliberate. No wasted energy. I didn’t really have time to know him, but you can tell, when you’re inside his operation. He wanted all this to happen just like it did.”
    â€œProbably most of his enemies had been invited for that particular party-cycle,” Ben mused. “When a man has an opportunity like that, to destroy, say, a hundred of those dangerous to him in one night...to a man like Chaldin, trading hundreds of bystanders for the removal of a hundred enemies is a bargain. Maybe