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Ribofunk :: Филиппо Пол Ди
Страница: 155 из 156But what would you really feel?"
The Urb didnot relax his role. The cryptohuman assumed a look of terror. "Get-get out! I'm sending a nine-eleven instantly!"
Greenlaw dismounted and walked away.
Down noontime-empty streets, past Urb-children playing on Urb-grass, Urb-augie doggies watching over them…
One final turn brought him face to face with his home.
From the inside, the falseskin absorbed his tears.
Greenlaw entered.
Stroma lay on an organiform couch, her pelt lustrous, nothing concealed. Her languid arms reached up for him, her nipples curled convulsively.
"I was just wishing you were here," she said, her voice a knife through Greenlaw's ears.
He knew then he had to put an end to this dangerous game.
Taking one of Stroma's offered hands, Greenlaw snapped off her left index finger.
There was no shout of pain, no scream.
The Urb had chosen to shut down the pseudo-Strom a a nd manifest itself.
"Again, you've failed," said the Urb through Stroma's lips, her wounded hand "bleeding" profusely onto the couch.
Almost against his will, Greenlaw said, "How so, Urb? And what do you mean, 'again'?"
"This is approximately the five-hundredth time we have run this sequence, and still you persist in hating me."
Greenlaw laughed. "So, you do understand bluffing! A fine attempt, Urb. But now I'm leaving."
Greenlaw turned to go.
"No. Stop."
Greenlaw's legs were no longer under his control. He found himself forced to turn, to face Stroma.
Her finger was restored. Greenlaw's hand unclenched by itself, and the fragment he held dropped to the carpet, there to be absorbed.
His voice at least still seemed his own. "I-I don't understand. How did you get past the falseskin?… "
Stroma syrinx-laughed in her familiar manner. "Silly! I am your suit."
With her words, his silver falseskin melted off him and disappeared.
He stood unprotected against the Urb.
"And I'm you too," added Stroma.
At that instant, he knew it was true.
Information had just flooded into him, explaining the ache of his vanished birthright at last.
Three centuries ago, the Urb had conquered all.
The mysteriously unfollowed winning strategy Greenlaw had outlined to Bambang had indeed been implemented. Lurking deep inside the globe, the Panplasmodemonium had built itself up until it had erupted unstoppably everywhere.
And now–
"And now," said Stroma tenderly, "I try to understand everything I am.
The Urb didnot relax his role. The cryptohuman assumed a look of terror. "Get-get out! I'm sending a nine-eleven instantly!"
Greenlaw dismounted and walked away.
Down noontime-empty streets, past Urb-children playing on Urb-grass, Urb-augie doggies watching over them…
One final turn brought him face to face with his home.
From the inside, the falseskin absorbed his tears.
Greenlaw entered.
Stroma lay on an organiform couch, her pelt lustrous, nothing concealed. Her languid arms reached up for him, her nipples curled convulsively.
"I was just wishing you were here," she said, her voice a knife through Greenlaw's ears.
He knew then he had to put an end to this dangerous game.
Taking one of Stroma's offered hands, Greenlaw snapped off her left index finger.
There was no shout of pain, no scream.
The Urb had chosen to shut down the pseudo-Strom a a nd manifest itself.
"Again, you've failed," said the Urb through Stroma's lips, her wounded hand "bleeding" profusely onto the couch.
Almost against his will, Greenlaw said, "How so, Urb? And what do you mean, 'again'?"
"This is approximately the five-hundredth time we have run this sequence, and still you persist in hating me."
Greenlaw laughed. "So, you do understand bluffing! A fine attempt, Urb. But now I'm leaving."
Greenlaw turned to go.
"No. Stop."
Greenlaw's legs were no longer under his control. He found himself forced to turn, to face Stroma.
Her finger was restored. Greenlaw's hand unclenched by itself, and the fragment he held dropped to the carpet, there to be absorbed.
His voice at least still seemed his own. "I-I don't understand. How did you get past the falseskin?… "
Stroma syrinx-laughed in her familiar manner. "Silly! I am your suit."
With her words, his silver falseskin melted off him and disappeared.
He stood unprotected against the Urb.
"And I'm you too," added Stroma.
At that instant, he knew it was true.
Information had just flooded into him, explaining the ache of his vanished birthright at last.
Three centuries ago, the Urb had conquered all.
The mysteriously unfollowed winning strategy Greenlaw had outlined to Bambang had indeed been implemented. Lurking deep inside the globe, the Panplasmodemonium had built itself up until it had erupted unstoppably everywhere.
And now–
"And now," said Stroma tenderly, "I try to understand everything I am.