ankles.
The dash was awash in warning lights, and every muscle in my body tensed as if to keep my skeleton from flying apart. I couldn't take in air. My lungs were flattened. I couldn't open my mouth.
The Earth spread out below like a celestial dish.
I'm not sure at what point I blacked out. Somewhere near the top, when the Chang was upside down, I imagined I was in a glass gazebo. Blaring light filled the place. Someone else was there, but in the glare I couldn't see. I reached out as if to shake hands, but the figure attacked. I saw my body hit, fall, and lay on the ground.
Next, I was sitting in a plush seat. A distant mechanical tone sounded. Before me was a blurry checkerboard of orange lights. Slowly the dash came into focus. The reset button for the emergency system was flashing desperately. Reaching a hand- with exactly the sense of detachment one might have operating a robotic arm-I weakly pressed it. The car went silent.
I had come to a stop at the end of an emergency ramp. The car was still on the road, but at a thirty-degree angle. I wasn't sure who I was. My sleeves were dark charcoal. I brought the right one closer to my face, and I could see that the weave was a low-twist, dual-satin that formed a satisfying pebbly texture on the surface. Something about it seemed familiar, but the idea was slippery.
Then it came to me: I was Tane Cedar. I was a tailor and fabric designer. I was driving my Chang-P to Nug Yar, to talk to a jobber about getting Xi yarn for Vada. I was on a dangerous expedition and needed to be extremely careful. I knew I had just been warned.
SEATTLEHAMA: WITH EXTREME LOVEEFFORT
I couldn't go back to Withor. I hadn't ripped the drap-de-Berry yarn, and no matter what I told him, I knew he wouldn't believe me. Worse, I worried that he had known the woman was going to be killed. Maybe some designer had wanted a yarn from a murdered woman in drap-de-Berry. Whatever Withor was up to, I wasn't going to play his slubber. But he still had my papers. Once I completed the rip, he'd said he would give them to me so that I could be free.
What was I supposed to do now? I couldn't report what happened to the satins. As a former slubber who didn't have his papers, I knew I wasn't supposed to be stealing yarns. I didn't think I was even supposed to be this high up in the city.
I didn't know where I was heading, only that I needed to get away. At the entervator port, my MasterCut was rejected.
"You'll have to see one of our credit and debit dungeon masters at the window," intoned the woman at the gate. I headed straight out of the port and threw the purple card into the first entertrash can I saw.
When I found showstairs, I started down. Ten flights later, in a large glassy atrium, I stopped dead. Straight ahead was Casper Union. Kira Shibui, the t'up with the beautiful eyes and impassioned speech, had mentioned it. Grateful for something even remotely familiar, I headed inside.
The space was large. Masked customers stood around tall plinths decorated with female mannequins in nothing but yellow skivvé. At the back, a band playing water-pipes and odd machines filled the air with an endless train of percussive thuds and raspy squelches. Saleswarriors in short white plasticott dresses were everywhere. Long, yellow, empty root-tubes hung from their crotches.
One sashayed toward me, all blue eyes and corn silk hair. Her mouth was tiny and as red as a wound. Her skin was as smooth as organza. Her tube swayed with each step.
"The properties of unison and union," she said, her expression firm and serious. "Your skin became her skin."
"Listen," I whispered, "I met Kira Shibui a couple of weeks ago…"
The woman's eyes-large before-grew huge as her mouth tightened to a knot. "How dare you come to our motherfloor and speak the identity of our enemy!" Turning, she spoke to two other warriors. "A traitor customer just uttered the wrinkled sound of Python Duck Weapon and that sad and starchless traitor, Kira
The dash was awash in warning lights, and every muscle in my body tensed as if to keep my skeleton from flying apart. I couldn't take in air. My lungs were flattened. I couldn't open my mouth.
The Earth spread out below like a celestial dish.
I'm not sure at what point I blacked out. Somewhere near the top, when the Chang was upside down, I imagined I was in a glass gazebo. Blaring light filled the place. Someone else was there, but in the glare I couldn't see. I reached out as if to shake hands, but the figure attacked. I saw my body hit, fall, and lay on the ground.
Next, I was sitting in a plush seat. A distant mechanical tone sounded. Before me was a blurry checkerboard of orange lights. Slowly the dash came into focus. The reset button for the emergency system was flashing desperately. Reaching a hand- with exactly the sense of detachment one might have operating a robotic arm-I weakly pressed it. The car went silent.
I had come to a stop at the end of an emergency ramp. The car was still on the road, but at a thirty-degree angle. I wasn't sure who I was. My sleeves were dark charcoal. I brought the right one closer to my face, and I could see that the weave was a low-twist, dual-satin that formed a satisfying pebbly texture on the surface. Something about it seemed familiar, but the idea was slippery.
Then it came to me: I was Tane Cedar. I was a tailor and fabric designer. I was driving my Chang-P to Nug Yar, to talk to a jobber about getting Xi yarn for Vada. I was on a dangerous expedition and needed to be extremely careful. I knew I had just been warned.
SEATTLEHAMA: WITH EXTREME LOVEEFFORT
I couldn't go back to Withor. I hadn't ripped the drap-de-Berry yarn, and no matter what I told him, I knew he wouldn't believe me. Worse, I worried that he had known the woman was going to be killed. Maybe some designer had wanted a yarn from a murdered woman in drap-de-Berry. Whatever Withor was up to, I wasn't going to play his slubber. But he still had my papers. Once I completed the rip, he'd said he would give them to me so that I could be free.
What was I supposed to do now? I couldn't report what happened to the satins. As a former slubber who didn't have his papers, I knew I wasn't supposed to be stealing yarns. I didn't think I was even supposed to be this high up in the city.
I didn't know where I was heading, only that I needed to get away. At the entervator port, my MasterCut was rejected.
"You'll have to see one of our credit and debit dungeon masters at the window," intoned the woman at the gate. I headed straight out of the port and threw the purple card into the first entertrash can I saw.
When I found showstairs, I started down. Ten flights later, in a large glassy atrium, I stopped dead. Straight ahead was Casper Union. Kira Shibui, the t'up with the beautiful eyes and impassioned speech, had mentioned it. Grateful for something even remotely familiar, I headed inside.
The space was large. Masked customers stood around tall plinths decorated with female mannequins in nothing but yellow skivvé. At the back, a band playing water-pipes and odd machines filled the air with an endless train of percussive thuds and raspy squelches. Saleswarriors in short white plasticott dresses were everywhere. Long, yellow, empty root-tubes hung from their crotches.
One sashayed toward me, all blue eyes and corn silk hair. Her mouth was tiny and as red as a wound. Her skin was as smooth as organza. Her tube swayed with each step.
"The properties of unison and union," she said, her expression firm and serious. "Your skin became her skin."
"Listen," I whispered, "I met Kira Shibui a couple of weeks ago…"
The woman's eyes-large before-grew huge as her mouth tightened to a knot. "How dare you come to our motherfloor and speak the identity of our enemy!" Turning, she spoke to two other warriors. "A traitor customer just uttered the wrinkled sound of Python Duck Weapon and that sad and starchless traitor, Kira
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