don’t understand.” She drew back apprehensively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mr. Travelt didn’t have anything like that.”
“That’s because …” McNihil set his cup down on the table. “He was a smarter man than I am. Though it doesn’t seem to have done him much good.”
She didn’t seem to hear the last comment. “Why would you do something like that?” An appalled fascination narrowed her gaze. “Let them do that to you?”
“‘Let them?’” McNihil laughed. “Shit, I
paid
for it. Didn’t come cheap, either. It was a while back, when I was doing rather better than I am now.” He gestured toward the shabby apartment encasing them. “I could afford to be in at the beginning of a product-introduction cycle.”
“What happened?”
“I came down in the world.”
In this one and the other
, he thought but didn’t say aloud.
“No,” said the cube bunny, “I mean with the operation. And your eyes. It must’ve gone wrong, huh? I heard they do that. And then you’re … you know … not right.”
“If I am—” One finger tapped the side of the cup in front of McNihil. “It’s not because of my eyes.” He picked the ersatz coffee up and drank. “Besides,” he said, leaning back, “what do you know about it? I wouldn’t have thought there were things like that back in Kansas.”
“There ain’t shit in Kansas.” A little cloud of unsunned memory passed across the cube bunny’s face.
“That’s where you’re from? I was just guessing.” McNihil felt sorry for her. On the other side of the reality line, in that world he’d glimpsed in the wet reflection of the chrome percolator, she had all that other world’s pretty genetics, a child’s face grafted by survival-oriented evolution onto an adult’s body, one that hadn’t needed to be surgically pumped up to achieve its Blakean lineaments of desire.
Born that way
, thought McNihil. They came out of the rusting wastelands at the center of the continent, boys and girls together, walking the dead roads of Kansas and Ohio all the way to the Pacific Rim cities, True Los Angeles and all around the Gloss to Vladivostok and the Chinese and Southeast Asian zones. Where they had something to sell: themselves and their sheer prettiness, the exact combinations of size of eye, distance between, angle of nose and space to the perfect upper lip. The infantile kink, the baby-sex lure, was seemingly programmed right into the human nervous system. It lodged right down at the base of the spine, where some kundalinic serpent with icy pederast gaze uncoiled and went either wetor stiff at the sight of its prey. Even in his own, he had to admit. Before the vision had faded on the side of the coffeepot, a needle-eyed weasel had smiled at the center of his brain.
Maybe that’s why
, thought McNihil.
I’d rather see her this way
. Safer emotionally, no matter whatever else might happen. He was still a married man, even though his wife was technically dead.
“Mr. Travelt told me about them.” The cube bunny slid past the question about where she’d come from, the dry zone before she’d hit the Gloss. “He knew all about them. In the company he worked for … Dyna-something …”
“Zauber,” said McNihil. “DynaZauber. Like the song.”
That produced a frown. “What song?”
“You know. Beethoven. The Ninth. About how it’s all going to
bind uns wieder
.”
The cube bunny shook her head. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Just as well. The only reason those people want to do any
bind
-ing is so they can get into our pockets easier. Just another word for connecting.”
A little flinch; the girl he saw in his eyes was probably more sensitive to dirty words than the cube bunny underneath. After a moment, she nodded. “Anyway, he used to work in the division that made that stuff. That’s in your eyes. But that was before he got promoted.”
“Too bad he’s dead, then. Maybe he could’ve told me why my debits
“That’s because …” McNihil set his cup down on the table. “He was a smarter man than I am. Though it doesn’t seem to have done him much good.”
She didn’t seem to hear the last comment. “Why would you do something like that?” An appalled fascination narrowed her gaze. “Let them do that to you?”
“‘Let them?’” McNihil laughed. “Shit, I
paid
for it. Didn’t come cheap, either. It was a while back, when I was doing rather better than I am now.” He gestured toward the shabby apartment encasing them. “I could afford to be in at the beginning of a product-introduction cycle.”
“What happened?”
“I came down in the world.”
In this one and the other
, he thought but didn’t say aloud.
“No,” said the cube bunny, “I mean with the operation. And your eyes. It must’ve gone wrong, huh? I heard they do that. And then you’re … you know … not right.”
“If I am—” One finger tapped the side of the cup in front of McNihil. “It’s not because of my eyes.” He picked the ersatz coffee up and drank. “Besides,” he said, leaning back, “what do you know about it? I wouldn’t have thought there were things like that back in Kansas.”
“There ain’t shit in Kansas.” A little cloud of unsunned memory passed across the cube bunny’s face.
“That’s where you’re from? I was just guessing.” McNihil felt sorry for her. On the other side of the reality line, in that world he’d glimpsed in the wet reflection of the chrome percolator, she had all that other world’s pretty genetics, a child’s face grafted by survival-oriented evolution onto an adult’s body, one that hadn’t needed to be surgically pumped up to achieve its Blakean lineaments of desire.
Born that way
, thought McNihil. They came out of the rusting wastelands at the center of the continent, boys and girls together, walking the dead roads of Kansas and Ohio all the way to the Pacific Rim cities, True Los Angeles and all around the Gloss to Vladivostok and the Chinese and Southeast Asian zones. Where they had something to sell: themselves and their sheer prettiness, the exact combinations of size of eye, distance between, angle of nose and space to the perfect upper lip. The infantile kink, the baby-sex lure, was seemingly programmed right into the human nervous system. It lodged right down at the base of the spine, where some kundalinic serpent with icy pederast gaze uncoiled and went either wetor stiff at the sight of its prey. Even in his own, he had to admit. Before the vision had faded on the side of the coffeepot, a needle-eyed weasel had smiled at the center of his brain.
Maybe that’s why
, thought McNihil.
I’d rather see her this way
. Safer emotionally, no matter whatever else might happen. He was still a married man, even though his wife was technically dead.
“Mr. Travelt told me about them.” The cube bunny slid past the question about where she’d come from, the dry zone before she’d hit the Gloss. “He knew all about them. In the company he worked for … Dyna-something …”
“Zauber,” said McNihil. “DynaZauber. Like the song.”
That produced a frown. “What song?”
“You know. Beethoven. The Ninth. About how it’s all going to
bind uns wieder
.”
The cube bunny shook her head. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Just as well. The only reason those people want to do any
bind
-ing is so they can get into our pockets easier. Just another word for connecting.”
A little flinch; the girl he saw in his eyes was probably more sensitive to dirty words than the cube bunny underneath. After a moment, she nodded. “Anyway, he used to work in the division that made that stuff. That’s in your eyes. But that was before he got promoted.”
“Too bad he’s dead, then. Maybe he could’ve told me why my debits
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