Filaria - Brent Hayward [48]
“That’s what we call where you’re from. And what’s the name of the city there? Hoffton?”
“Hoffmann.”
“That’s it, Hoffmann City. Boy, that’s a stinky place, eh? Too big for me. I’m just a country boy. But we had some adventures there that time, lemme tell ya. Me and my friends drank beer for the first time and my old man took us past a place where there were red lights in open windows and women too, naked in the windows. Touching each other. Touching each other’s titties!”
Tran so waited. He was really not fond of the way people talked about his hometown and its population. He did not like this man. He hoped that the dark gods would come to silence the stranger, perhaps take him away.
“You ever been there? To that place?”
“Of course I have. I live in Hoffmann City.”
“No, I mean to where them girls are. To that place where you can fuck them or give them a spanking or tie them up.”
“There are many such places where I live. My wife served in one. She did her apprenticeship with Mme Hector.”
“Your wife?” The man blew breath out through pursed lips. His eyes glittered. He clearly did not know what to say.
“As a rule,” Tran so said, “I do not frequent those establishments. I did so as a young man, but they are primarily for travellers and tourists.”
If the bearded man detected this comment to be a slight he showed no sign. “You sure talk funny,” was all he said, after a moment. “You water people. Lots of big words.” He licked his dry lips and leaned his head back against the wall. “Name’s Ensign Conway. What’s yours?”
“Tran so Phengh.”
“Tran . . . Can’t shake yer hand, obviously, but it’s an honour to meet you. You know, me and you are gonna bust outta here. You know that? We’re gonna escape.” He had lowered his voice, and moved his body forward on the bench. “I’m sure they’re looking for me, anyhow. I’m in the army, you see, based up in Descartes, on the plantation level. Thirty First airbourne division. The most elite division of the entire fucking army. You heard of them?”
“No.”
“Ever been up there? To the plantation level?”
Tran so shook his head. This talk was incautious and unending and Tran so was feeling ill again.
“It’s the only real level, man. Ten times the height of any other one. Almost the top of the world! Only a ring of rich people’s houses up in the clouds after that and then the suns themselves, over our heads, shining down. It’s where food is grown, you know.” Ensign Conway paused, as if he had somehow confused himself. Then he asked, “How did they get you?”
“The dark gods?”
“Gods.” Chuckling dryly, Ensign Conway leaned back again, so that the red words formed an arc over his head, framing him. “Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean. The dark gods. I like that. Sounds real ominous. I’d forgotten the weird customs where you come from. Machines are gods, right?”
“We are not so simple as that. We understand the distinction between what you call a machine and a — ”
“Okay, okay. Machines with intelligence. The ones that used to talk to the network.”
“I don’t know that term.”
“The network was like a brain. It used to call all the shots, tell all the machines what to do. Supervisors and stuff. But I remember Hoffmann City crawling with those kinds of devices. With intelligence. You know, Tran, if you let them believe that they’re in charge, well, it might be part of your problem down there. I guess machines are strong, and smart, and they can do a lot of shit we can’t.” He glanced at the doorway. Two of the giants had just walked past. “Listen, the network, or something acting like it,” he continued, voice softer at last, “is actually building more of those monculii, what you call dark gods, again. Those there, for instance.” He motioned with his chin to the now empty hallway. Distant voices could yet be heard. “After hundreds of fucking years they’re being built again. No one knows why. There’s talk of a breach but no one has found the hole yet. Not at least