JК
Ribofunk :: Филиппо Пол Ди
Страница: 127 из 156What do you say we bind some satori and just sit a minute?"
"Now you're firing! I hear the Chromatin Cafe has that new line of Archer Daniels-Midland tropes on tap… "
"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"
So with Jinx swinging himself along as I ambled, we made our way to the Chromatin Cafe.
We were supposed to be reporting to our separate afterschool apprenticeships. Jinx to his nafta boss at the Mercosur Mart (he was training to run an entrepot for Asgard) and me to the local branch of the Sheldrake Institute, where I was trying to grok morphic field modulation.
But if we were indeed going to be spiked, then missing our work stints would be the least of our transgressions.
The CC was only half a klick from the school, so we didn't bother with the slidewalks. It felt good to use my muscles after so much virtual nonexercise, and I knew Jinx felt the same.
Soon we were inside the sodaparlor with its old-fashioned decorations, primitive PET-scan printouts, and NMR images of brain-glucose uptake, flickering on ancient crackly low-res monitors.
"Two Joshu Juices," I said to the poptate kibernetica behind the counter, presenting Honeysuckle's flashcard. If she didn't pay for anything else, at least she'd pay for our drinks.
"Make mine a Potala Punch," countermanded Jinx.
''The order is two Joshu Juices and one Potala Punch," said the kibe.
"No. One of each."
"The order is one Joshu Juice and one Potala Punch."
"Flame on!"
"This is an assent?"
"Does the Goddess use tampons?"
The poptate churned its heuristics for ten seconds, then began to brew us our sidechains.
"Want to sit by the pond?" asked Jinx, after the drinks were mixed.
"Sure."
I carried the juices, and we found an empty bench on the grassy marge of the small ornamental pond. Two or three baseline ducks were paddling in the reeds, and I was reminded of my dumb id2 and Honeysuckle's sexy one.
I plopped down on the syalon seat, and Jinx used his strong arms to lever himself up beside me. Sitting together like this, his head nearly on a level with mine, it was easy to forget his lack of legs.
We clinked our glasses, and I quoted the ADM jingle.
"'Peace of mind-'"
"'– for a nudollar ninety-nine!'" finished Jinx.
We downed our brews and waited for the effects.
The tropes had been expertly reverse-engineered from a sampling of meditating monks: in the case of Jinx's drink, from the mind of the Dalai Lama himself.
"Now you're firing! I hear the Chromatin Cafe has that new line of Archer Daniels-Midland tropes on tap… "
"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"
So with Jinx swinging himself along as I ambled, we made our way to the Chromatin Cafe.
We were supposed to be reporting to our separate afterschool apprenticeships. Jinx to his nafta boss at the Mercosur Mart (he was training to run an entrepot for Asgard) and me to the local branch of the Sheldrake Institute, where I was trying to grok morphic field modulation.
But if we were indeed going to be spiked, then missing our work stints would be the least of our transgressions.
The CC was only half a klick from the school, so we didn't bother with the slidewalks. It felt good to use my muscles after so much virtual nonexercise, and I knew Jinx felt the same.
Soon we were inside the sodaparlor with its old-fashioned decorations, primitive PET-scan printouts, and NMR images of brain-glucose uptake, flickering on ancient crackly low-res monitors.
"Two Joshu Juices," I said to the poptate kibernetica behind the counter, presenting Honeysuckle's flashcard. If she didn't pay for anything else, at least she'd pay for our drinks.
"Make mine a Potala Punch," countermanded Jinx.
''The order is two Joshu Juices and one Potala Punch," said the kibe.
"No. One of each."
"The order is one Joshu Juice and one Potala Punch."
"Flame on!"
"This is an assent?"
"Does the Goddess use tampons?"
The poptate churned its heuristics for ten seconds, then began to brew us our sidechains.
"Want to sit by the pond?" asked Jinx, after the drinks were mixed.
"Sure."
I carried the juices, and we found an empty bench on the grassy marge of the small ornamental pond. Two or three baseline ducks were paddling in the reeds, and I was reminded of my dumb id2 and Honeysuckle's sexy one.
I plopped down on the syalon seat, and Jinx used his strong arms to lever himself up beside me. Sitting together like this, his head nearly on a level with mine, it was easy to forget his lack of legs.
We clinked our glasses, and I quoted the ADM jingle.
"'Peace of mind-'"
"'– for a nudollar ninety-nine!'" finished Jinx.
We downed our brews and waited for the effects.
The tropes had been expertly reverse-engineered from a sampling of meditating monks: in the case of Jinx's drink, from the mind of the Dalai Lama himself.