Read Online Vacuum Flowers by Michael Swanwick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Swanwick
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gate, and Rebel was borne back from the corridor while Maxwell went tumbling forward. A fat man jammed his pink face right up against her, shouting hysterically. Rebel grabbed a rope and pulled herself free of the crush of people, and then the rope broke and she slammed into a tin wall.
Shrieking voices rose in demon chorus. Rebel clawed across the fronts of the hutches to Maxwellâs and climbed inside. It took her only a second to slip out the back. She shoved the wall into place, and was hidden in the vines.
It was dark between courts. Here and there a nightflower glowed, a dull fuzz of light that revealed nothing. The vines were wet and slimy. Floating alone and sightless, like a traveler among the final stars at the end of the universe, Eucrasiaâs claustrophobia rose up within her.
It started as a tingling up the base of her spine, then spread until her entire body itched. She became aware of her own breath. The outside noises were muffled here, a dull wash of voices like the white noise of surf, and her breath sounded rough and raspy. She couldnât get enough air in her lungs. Her head swam dizzily, and she started breathing through her mouth.
Rebelâs nose almost touched the back of the wall. The smell of metal was strong. Her skin crawled from the wallâs closeness, and she drew back her head. That felt better. Slowly, almost by compulsion, she began pulling herself forward, through the vines. A honeybee burned past her ear, and she froze, afraid of bumping into its hive. But stopping brought back the claustrophobia, and she moved forward again, occasionally reaching out a hand to touch the backs of the huts to keep from losing her way. Finally she came to a place where the tin was not. It was a gap between hutches, maybe even the one Maxwell had emerged from earlier. She crept into it.
Light slowly grew. Rebel paused only when she could just barely see into the court, buried an armâs length into the vines. She could bear being enclosed, so long as there was light. She drew her hood about her face, peering through the merest slit. Then she held herself motionless, like an old pike lying craftily in wait among the weeds.
The court was full of people looking for an exit that was not there. For every one who realized that and left, two more came in. They pushed and shoved at each other, and even exchanged blows in their blind flight.
Then the gateway filled with jackboots. They were a motley bunch, in all color of cloak and even work garb. One woman wore a welderâs apron, though she seemed to have lost her mask. All had red stripes down the center of their faces, and fierce, merciless expressions. Three of them grabbed a young boy and fit a programmer across his forehead. He thrashed and then went passive. A fourth held a piece of paper to his face, and he shook his head. He was shoved out the gateway, and another civilian was seized.
One of the processers was called away, and the next civilian questioned was programmed police. Somebody repainted her face, and someone else shoved a fistful of papers at her. One went flying, and Rebel saw that it was a cheap repro hologram. Her faceâher new face, Eucrasiaâs faceâfloated above the paper, twisting and folding into itself when the paper doubled up against a hut.
Rebel shivered and tried to keep from thinking about it. Later.
A heavy, bullish man snapped a length of pipe from a doorframe and tried to smash his way through the gate. One jackboot fell back, clutching his head, but others seized the manâs arms and legs and forced a programmer to his brow. âYouâre a strong one,â the welder laughed as the samurai look came on his face. She drew a red stripe from his chin to his hairline. He joined the line.
Rebelâs leg itched furiously. She did not move a muscle.
As the people were processed out and the courtyard emptied, those who remained grew calmer. Some even formed a sullen line, to get through
Shrieking voices rose in demon chorus. Rebel clawed across the fronts of the hutches to Maxwellâs and climbed inside. It took her only a second to slip out the back. She shoved the wall into place, and was hidden in the vines.
It was dark between courts. Here and there a nightflower glowed, a dull fuzz of light that revealed nothing. The vines were wet and slimy. Floating alone and sightless, like a traveler among the final stars at the end of the universe, Eucrasiaâs claustrophobia rose up within her.
It started as a tingling up the base of her spine, then spread until her entire body itched. She became aware of her own breath. The outside noises were muffled here, a dull wash of voices like the white noise of surf, and her breath sounded rough and raspy. She couldnât get enough air in her lungs. Her head swam dizzily, and she started breathing through her mouth.
Rebelâs nose almost touched the back of the wall. The smell of metal was strong. Her skin crawled from the wallâs closeness, and she drew back her head. That felt better. Slowly, almost by compulsion, she began pulling herself forward, through the vines. A honeybee burned past her ear, and she froze, afraid of bumping into its hive. But stopping brought back the claustrophobia, and she moved forward again, occasionally reaching out a hand to touch the backs of the huts to keep from losing her way. Finally she came to a place where the tin was not. It was a gap between hutches, maybe even the one Maxwell had emerged from earlier. She crept into it.
Light slowly grew. Rebel paused only when she could just barely see into the court, buried an armâs length into the vines. She could bear being enclosed, so long as there was light. She drew her hood about her face, peering through the merest slit. Then she held herself motionless, like an old pike lying craftily in wait among the weeds.
The court was full of people looking for an exit that was not there. For every one who realized that and left, two more came in. They pushed and shoved at each other, and even exchanged blows in their blind flight.
Then the gateway filled with jackboots. They were a motley bunch, in all color of cloak and even work garb. One woman wore a welderâs apron, though she seemed to have lost her mask. All had red stripes down the center of their faces, and fierce, merciless expressions. Three of them grabbed a young boy and fit a programmer across his forehead. He thrashed and then went passive. A fourth held a piece of paper to his face, and he shook his head. He was shoved out the gateway, and another civilian was seized.
One of the processers was called away, and the next civilian questioned was programmed police. Somebody repainted her face, and someone else shoved a fistful of papers at her. One went flying, and Rebel saw that it was a cheap repro hologram. Her faceâher new face, Eucrasiaâs faceâfloated above the paper, twisting and folding into itself when the paper doubled up against a hut.
Rebel shivered and tried to keep from thinking about it. Later.
A heavy, bullish man snapped a length of pipe from a doorframe and tried to smash his way through the gate. One jackboot fell back, clutching his head, but others seized the manâs arms and legs and forced a programmer to his brow. âYouâre a strong one,â the welder laughed as the samurai look came on his face. She drew a red stripe from his chin to his hairline. He joined the line.
Rebelâs leg itched furiously. She did not move a muscle.
As the people were processed out and the courtyard emptied, those who remained grew calmer. Some even formed a sullen line, to get through
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