Holy Fire - Bruce Sterling [112]
“That isn’t news to me, I’m from San Francisco. So, what kind of crowbar are you using on the doors of perception, exactly?”
“Well, I’m kind of fond of lacrimogen.”
“Oh, no. Couldn’t you stick with something harmless like heroin?”
“Heroin shows up in your blood and your hair and they mark it down against you. But hey, everybody’s brain has some lacrimogen. Lacrimogen’s a natural neurochemical. It’s a very vivid drug because it’s surveillance-proof. Sure, if you use too much lacrimogen, it’s a big problem, you get clinically depressed. But if you use just the right amount, lacrimogen really makes you a lot more aware.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Look, I’m a kid, all right?” Brett announced. “I mean, we both are, but I can admit that to myself, I really know just how bad that really is. You know why young people have it so hard today? It’s not just that we’re a tiny minority. Our real problem is that kids are so stoked on hormones that we live in a fantasy world. But that’s not good enough for me; I can’t live on empty hopes. I need a clear assessment of my situation.”
“Brett, I mean Natalie, it takes a lot of maturity to live with genuine disillusionment.”
“Well, I’ll settle for artificial disillusionment. I know it’s doing me a lot of good.”
“I hardly see how that can be true.”
“Then I’ll show you why it’s true. I’ll make you a bet,” Natalie declared. “We’ll both do one hundred mikes of lacrimogen, okay? If that doesn’t make you recognize at least one terrible lie about your life, I promise I’ll give up lacrimogen forever.”
“Really? I can hardly believe you’d keep that promise.”
“Lacrimogen’s not addictive, you know. You don’t get the sweats or withdrawals or any of that nonsense. So of course I’d give it up, if I didn’t know it was helping me.”
“Listen, there’s a monster suicide rate with lacrimogen. Old people take lacrimogen to work up the nerve to kill themselves.”
“No, they don’t, they take it so that they can put their lives into retrospective order. You can’t blame the drug for that. If you need to work up the nerve to kill yourself, then it’s pretty likely that you ought to go ahead and do it. People need to kill themselves nowadays, it’s a social necessity. If lacrimogen lets you see that truth, and gets you past the scared feeling and the confusion, then more power to lacrimogen.”
“Lacrimogen is dangerous.”
“I hate safety. I hate everything about safety. They kill the spirit with safety. I’d rather be dead than safe.”
“But you’d really give it up? If I took it with you, and then I told you to give it up?”
Natalie nodded confidently. “That’s what I said. If you’re too scared to do it with me, that’s fine, I can understand that. But you’ve got no right to lecture me about it. Because you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Maya looked around the cellar. She knew she was in genuine danger now, and the threat had made the room become intensely real. The peeling walls, the cracked ceilings, and the huge and antiquated tincture set. The scattered books, the tincture bottles, the damp pillows, the broken bicycle, the underwear, the dripping tap, the rich, fruity, occluded tracheal snore from one of the unconscious junkies. Hairnets and locked shutters and the hissing rumble of a passing Roman trolley. A Brett place. She had followed Brett to this place, to this situation. She had followed Brett all the way.
“All right, I’ll do it.”
“Hey,” Brett called out. “Antonio.”
Antonio stopped his measured recitation and looked up politely.
“I’m running out of lacrimogen. I got only two doses left. Do you know where I can get some more?”
“Sure,” Antonio said. “I can make lacrimogen. You want me to make it? For your beautiful friend? I can do it.” He put his book aside and spoke to the women in rapid Italiano. The prospect of work seemed to please them all. Naturally, the first course of action was to do some stimulants.
“Please don’t cry too loud,” one of the women urged, rolling up her sleeves. She was very thin. “Kurt will wake up.