Holy Fire - Bruce Sterling [136]
She called Benedetta. It was trouble to call her, because Benedetta was always tight and guarded now. But she had to talk.
“Benedetta, I made a mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?”
“This isn’t going to work for me.”
“You have to be very patient,” Benedetta said very patiently. “This is a very long-term project.”
“It’s not going to work for me, because I’m not young. I’ve already been young. I was young in a different world. That world in there is your world. You’re building something I can’t even imagine. I can sympathize, and I can even help you build it, but I can’t live there, because I’m not one of you.”
“Of course you’re one of us. Don’t worry if it isn’t having much effect. This is nothing compared to what we’ll do in a hundred years.”
“I won’t live a hundred more years. I’ll never live to see the world beyond the singularity. It’s not that I don’t want to. But I just wasn’t born in time.”
“Maya, don’t give up. Don’t talk like a defeatist. You’re important to our morale.”
“I love you, and I’ll do anything to help you, but you’ll have to manage your own morale. I’m never going back in there again. I’m starting to feel and understand what it really means now. I’ll never be able to stretch that far. I don’t want that, and in my condition I don’t even need that. It might help you with your problems, but it can’t help me with mine. It will only make me worse than dead.”
“Are there things worse than dead, Maya?”
“Oh, my heavens, yes.” She hung up. Then she lay on her back on the bed to examine the featureless ceiling.
Some endless time later, the doorbell rang and roused her.
Maya rose like a sleepwalker, crossed the white fluffy carpet, opened the door.
A large brown dog released the bell. He dropped to all fours.
Then he lunged through the open door. She backed away, stumbling backward, and he stalked into the room.
“You hurt me,” he said.
“Come in, Plato. Where are your nice clothes?”
“You hurt me.”
“You don’t look well. Haven’t you been eating right? You should always watch what you eat. It’s so important to eat properly.”
“You hurt me a lot.”
Maya backed away toward the kitchen. “Would you like a treat? I have so many treats now.”
“I hurt a lot. I hurt inside my head.” The dog stalked into the room, his matted head hung low. He sniffed at the floor and shook his filthy head. “You did it,” he said.
One of the white cats woke up, stared in amazement, and went into bottle-brush feline terror.
“Kitty, be good!” Maya shouted quickly. “Plato, I’m going to feed you now! Everything will be fine! I’ll make some calls! I’ll take care of you now! We’ll have a nice bath! We’ll get dressed, we’ll go out—”
“There are cats!” the dog howled. He attacked.
Maya screamed. White fur flew. The room exploded with animal hate. He smashed the first cat between his white-fanged jaws and it fell to the floor in convulsions. An alarm began to shriek as the cat began to die.
Maya leapt at the dog as he attacked the second cat. She tried to grab at the matted fur of his neck. He turned with enormous feral speed and ease, and bit her on the shin. It was as if she’d slammed her leg in a fanged iron door. She screamed and fell.
The cat tried hard to climb the wallpaper. The dog seized the cat’s tail with his dreadful grasping paw and threw the cat down and killed him with his teeth.
Maya yanked at the door and ran away.
She had nothing. She had no shoes. She knew the dog would come for her now. Her leg was bleeding and she stank of fear, enough fear to crush the world. She ran. She ran down the hall and into an elevator. She stood there and shook and moaned until the doors closed.
There was nothing else to do now. So she caught a train.
On the first day she stole clothes. This was very difficult now because she was so afraid. It was easy to steal things when you were perfectly happy and confident, because everyone loved pretty girls who were perfectly