Trafik by Rikki Ducornet

Author:Rikki Ducornet [Ducornet, Rikki]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781566896061
Google: BF6qzQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1566896061
Publisher: Coffee House Press
Published: 2021-04-12T23:00:00+00:00

THE BRIGHTER ERG COMPACTION

Feeling somewhat giddy, they penetrate the lesser-known ring of the Brighter Erg Compaction, where once the great Rimsy Grimes had vanished after a series of manic and incomprehensible bleats. The ring sparkled around them, causing a special mood. Mic, buoyant, entertained Quiver with a cascade of vanishing acts—now indistinguishable from Food Face, the overhead lumens, her hamok, the Lesser Thrusting Underbottom Retriever, its blocked girdle, Redding’s Afterthought, the forking Corner Cabinet, the Forward Brunt, Underwood’s Underhammer and Residue, the Babelocity Decipherment Coil. So taken up are they in this game they neglect Oversight Outlook and are surprised to see a swarm of bots the size of sublunar bees collecting what Quiver recognizes at once as Irradiated Radical Trilibitium that has pearled and adhered to the Plonk Sidereal Atlas Space Eye in quantity. The bots fill their scooter barrels so speedily that the Trilibitium is at once overtaken by the tiny bots in their trillions. The spectacle is mesmerizing. When prodded, Mic leaps into service, scrambling to the Zephyr Equipment Grid, scooping up the coupled disorganizer hose system, and vaporizing the bots with Wingbat’s Solvent, which—as the bots tumble into an accelerated backdraft—triggers the Dome Sucker. In under a quik, the hold is packed with neat bricks of precious Irradiated Radical Trilibitium and a scattering of the equally precious but lesser known Permeable Zinc Blasterite!

To celebrate, Quiver waxes Mic’s dexter tinplate—a thing not easy to do, but for which he is grateful. He, in return, and after much thought, and having meticulously explored each and every food vent and reflected upon the egg floss and brines, and in the guise of a beautiful geisha— the notorious Hell—serves Quiver a supper of what he assures her is yellowtail sashimi and a steaming bowl of udon noodles with fish cake. At first she is frightened of the noodles, having never seen them before. But when Mic lifts the chopsticks to her mouth and delicately places a noodle on her tongue, a noodle fragrant and slippery, sopping with a rich reconstructed seaweed broth, she sighs with pleasure. She thinks the redhead is like a delicious udon noodle—a savant coupling of atomic particles and inspired dreaming.

That night she will sleep like a child, will awaken to the sound of a cock crowing (Emu Park neighbors a small private farm), which stirs something very like a memory of a time when the lost world was awakened by its avian tribes—the cocks, the crows, the magpies’ inscrutable complaints, the symphonic songbirds speaking righteousness directly to the human heart.

(It was the cock’s crow that long ago had startled the infant Julio Cortázar in his crib, who—even before he had the words to say it—intuited an emblematic twinning between the cry of the cock and mortality. Upon hearing the crowing of the cock he recognized with a shudder his inevitable isolation and finitude, that he was his very own strange stranger—and growing stranger by the minute!)

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