Schismatrix Plus by Bruce Sterling

Author:Bruce Sterling [Sterling, Bruce]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, Short Stories, General, Science Fiction, Adventure, Fiction - Science Fiction, Anthologies (non-poetry), Science Fiction & Fantasy, Space Opera, Science Fiction - General, American, Fiction anthologies & collections
ISBN: 9780441003709
Google: O09bAAAAMAAJ
Amazon: 0441003702
Barnesnoble: 0441003702
Goodreads: 161296
Publisher: Ace Trade
Published: 1996-12-01T10:00:00+00:00

Part 3

Moving in Clades

Chapter 8

THE NEOTENIC CULTURAL REPUBLIC: 17-6-'91

The dreams were pleasant, dreams of warmth and light, an animal's life, an eternal present.

Consciousness returned in tingling pain, like blood seeping into a leg long numbed. He struggled to unify himself, to assume the burden of being Lindsay again, and the pain of it made him claw the grass, spattering his naked skin with dirt.

Chaos roared around him: reality in its rawest form, a buzzing, blinding confusion. He sprawled on his back in the grass, gasping. Above him the world swam into focus: green light, white light, a brown framework of branches. Solidity returned to the world. He saw a living spray of branching leaves and twigs: a form of such fantastic beauty that he was overwhelmed with awe. He heaved himself over and slithered toward the tree's rough trunk, hauling his naked flesh through the sleek grass. He threw his arms around the tree and pressed his bearded cheek against the bark.

Ecstasy seized him. He pressed his face against the tree, sobbing in frenzy, torn with deep visionary rapture. As his mind coalesced he burned with insight, a smoldering oneness with this living being. Helpless joy pervaded him as he joined its serene integration.

When he called for help, two young Shapers wearing hospital whites answered his broken cries. Taking his arms, they helped him stagger across the lawn through the arched stone doorway of the clinic.

Lindsay was afflicted by language. His thoughts were clear, but the words wouldn't come. He recognized the building. It was the mansion of the Tyler clan. He was back in the Republic. He wanted to speak to the orderlies, ask them how he had returned, but his brain couldn't shuffle his vocabulary into order. The words waited agonizingly on the tip of his tongue, just past his reach.

They took him down an entry hall crowded with blueprints and glass-topped exhibits. The left wing of the mansion, with its suite of bedrooms, had been stripped down to the polished wood and filled with medicinal equipment. Lindsay stared helplessly into the face of the man on his left. He had the smooth grace of a Shaper and the riveting eyes of a Superbright.

"You are—" Lindsay burst out suddenly.

"Relax, friend. You're safe. The doctor's on her way." Smiling, he draped Lindsay in a broad-sleeved hospital gown, tying it behind him in an easy flurry of knots. They seated him under an overhead cerebral scanner. The second orderly handed him an inhaler.

"Whiff up on this, cousin. It's tagged glucose. Radioactive. For the scanner." The Superbright whacked the curved white dome of the machine affectionately. "We've got to look you over. I mean right down to the core." Lindsay sniffed obediently at the inhaler. It smelled sweet. The scanner whirred down its upright track-stand to settle around the top of his head. A woman entered the room. She carried a wooden instrument case and wore a loose medical tunic, short skirt, and muddied plastic boots. "Has he spoken?" she said.

Lindsay recognized her gene-line.

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