The Sledgehammer Concerto by Francis W. Porretto

Author:Francis W. Porretto
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: spiritual, supernatural, supermen, nearfuture
Publisher: Francis W. Porretto

Intermezzo

“So she had no one,” Andrea whispered.

Devin rose and went to the western window. The sun was halfway down the sky, and the temperature was beginning to fall. He pulled the sash down and turned to stand with the light at his back.

“Not quite, An. She had Andrew and me. She had Elise as a friend. She had her brilliance and her sense of purpose. She had the gratitude of innumerable people she’d never lay eyes on, for what her nanos had done for them. What she didn’t have was a lover.”

“But why not?” Andrea dashed a hand across her eyes, scattering droplets in all directions. “That had to be why she started on the nanos in the first place. Why didn’t she use them on herself?”

Devin bowed his head. The afternoon sun sparkled on his red-brown hair, crowning him with a circlet of gold.

“I think I know, but I doubt the explanation will satisfy you. When her research finally paid off with a practical technique, Rachel was already forty-five years old. She’d lived with what was done to her for so long that it seemed integral to her, a part of her identity that was necessary to the rest. Rachel MacLachlan’s concept of Rachel MacLachlan included a history of violent sexual abuse, and all the consequences that flowed from it. To think about excising it would have felt like contemplating suicide.”

The awful words quivered in the air around her. She was desperate to disagree, to argue that no one would live with such a legacy when an alternative existed.

“Habits, Andrea.” Devin stared at the cabin floor. “How much of what you are is just habits? Imagine that you’ve just met someone new. He asks, ‘Who is Andrea Ducati?’ How much of what you would describe about yourself would come down to your habits? How many of those habits are completely arbitrary, even irrational or dangerous?” He pointed at her. “You wear that same costume just about all the time.”

“No I don’t!” She pulled her legs under her chair, embarrassed by his perception and unsure why she was embarrassed.

He smirked. “Every time I’ve seen you for the past year. A cotton tank top I could count your goosebumps through, skin tight blue jeans and platform shoes with five inch heels. Great wilderness gear. You damn near busted an ankle getting out of the truck.”

“I—“ Her face burned.

“Just a habit, right? Not the smartest thing you could have worn today, but I’ll bet you didn’t think twice about it.”

“I like being tall,” she grated.

“Hah! You’re five-nine in your socks! And what about being packed into those jeans like sausage stuffing? Who did you plan to impress with the shape of your ass today? The woodchucks?”

She clamped her lips together. She would not attempt to persuade him of the advantages her style of dress, especially her augmented height, brought to a young woman in her profession.

“I didn’t mean to poke fun at you, dear.” His tone was warm and uncritical. “I was just trying to bring the point home to you.

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