Cyberpunk by William Gibson

Author:William Gibson [Blake, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781630230968
Publisher: Underland Press
Published: 2019-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

"Hello, Max."

"Do you have Eyetime on what happened to me?"

"I do, Max."

I took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the weird hitch in my chest. Something felt metallic under my skin when I tapped. "Can I see it?"

"It's not very pleasant."

"You've seen it?"

"More than once."

"Ah—" More than once? "Why?"

She didn't answer immediately, and I looked out the forward blister of the 'tubebus for something to do while I waited her out.

"Would you like to see it?" she finally asked. She had switched to the officious voice, the cold and efficient one.

"Not particularly."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I, ah . . . I wanted to know if there was anything useful. You know, some sort of clue. I must have been close to something useful to get jumped like that."

"Actually, Max, you triggered the standard domicile defensive array."

"Wait, there was nothing standard about that DDA. It nearly took—"

Her voice changed back to the silky one. "Would you like to watch the feed with me?"

• • •

The room was dark beyond her, lit only by the blue-tinged glow of v-mon pips on the wall behind her. She was wearing something that moved like velvet smoke, and she wasn't wearing any shoes but she still had her glasses on.

I took the hint and left my shoes in the foyer, along with my coat, belt, and ICID. Taking my hand, she led me into the single room of her domicile. Other than the tiny points of lights on the wall that were the anchors for a flood of virtual monitors, there was a uVert couch and a PedTrac mounted on a low stool.

She sat next to me on the couch, our thighs lightly touching. She spun the PedTrac expertly with her toes, and the wall disappeared beneath an octal grid of monitors, where we could—among other feeds—watch the footage of me, getting pulped by an automated security system. Just like she said.

About the time it had picked me up by the hands (so that's how the bones had been broken), I noticed how rapid her breathing was. She noticed that I had noticed, and I stopped feeling the sympathetic pains from the ass-kicking I barely remembered.

We slid down on the couch, hands exploring. I lost my shirt. Her smoke robe dissipated. I discovered she had nice nipples. I spent some time with them before exploring further.

I kissed and nuzzled my way down her torso. She sighed, her stomach retreating from my mouth. I paused at her hips. Rising in an arc between the peaks of her pelvic bone was a tattoo. Gothic, late 20c script. Secrets aren't.

"Keep going," she said, pushing my head further down.

Later, we watched octopus sex.

"This is weird," I opined.

"I find it relaxing. It's 20c footage. A pre-Union European filmmaker named Jean Painlevé. I thought you might like it."

I tried to relax, found it easier than I thought it would be.

"Oh," she said, and then it was her turn to go exploring.

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