Holy Fire - Bruce Sterling [139]
“Have a grape,” Benedetta said, offering a stemmed and lacquered bowl.
“Natural fruits are full of toxins,” said Maya.
“These are genetic knockouts.”
“Okay, give me a bunch.” She ate one. It was delicious. She stuffed in a handful.
“These are fabulous,” she said. “Give me more. Make me fat, ruin my stupid career.”
Benedetta laughed. Benedetta nude and laughing was a creature of intense and striking loveliness. She was like a greased naiad. They were all so effortlessly lovely, these modern young people. Immortals wrapped in togas of the finest technological rhetoric. Supernaturally healthy creatures.
“I’m hungry all the time now,” Maya said, munching her grapes. “It’s good. Now I belong to my body again. Or my body belongs to me.… ”
“It’s more fun to share the body,” said Bouboule, squeezing lotion into her palm. “I can’t reach the what-you-call, the backs of my feet. Get some boy here to rub my legs. They’re too lazy in all this sun, the boys need to work more.”
“You look better,” said Benedetta to Maya very seriously. “You mustn’t run away ever again. Take things easy now, keep control, stay close to us. We will look out for you. You know that, Maya. See?” She gestured around the pool. “Isn’t this lovely? Aren’t we looking out for you?”
“I’m too much trouble,” Maya said.
“I’m trouble,” Bouboule insisted. “I am the trouble. Don’t be greedy.”
“Trouble has been very good for us,” said Benedetta. “Trouble has made our name.”
“You don’t know enough about trouble yet,” said Maya.
“But trouble made us famous. Trouble made us truly vivid. We define vivid now. Look at us! We lose the Tête, but now we relax by this beautiful pool while some rich idiot trash tycoon picks up all our bills. He thinks we’re cute, because the cops say we are dangerous. He’s a rich radical. Isn’t it lovely that there are rich radicals? We are young European chic. This is radical chic. It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“Epater les bourgeois,” said Bouboule. “Succès de scandale. The old games are the good games.”
“Don’t you read the net, Maya? They are giving our group such nice names.”
“ ‘The Ghost Children,’ “ Niko spoke up sourly. “I hate that name.”
“It sounds good in Français,” said Bouboule.
“What’s wrong with ‘the Tête crowd’?” demanded Niko, restlessly. “We always just called ourselves ‘the Tête crowd.’ ”
“It doesn’t matter what we called ourselves,” said Benedetta. “We should make up our own new name. We’re creative people. We should take control of our own publicity. I like ‘the Illuminati.’ ”
“It’s been done,” said Niko.
“The Young Immortals,” said Bouboule.
“The People Who Take Paul Seriously,” said Maya.
“The Cosmos-Shattering Anarchist Goddesses,” said Niko. “Plus their boyfriends.”
“The Subjects under Investigation,” said Maya. “The Potential Defendants.”
“Those names stink,” said Niko, hurt.
“Not like my name does,” Maya said. “I’m a crazed outlaw gerontocrat who led you all into delinquency.”
Benedetta sat up, shocked. “That was stupid to say. Who says that?”
“Everyone will. Because I’m famous now, too. Once nobody knew who I was, so nobody cared. I could do anything I wanted, as long as I never made any kind of difference. Now you’re actually making a difference, and I’m in the thick of it. I’m your collaborator, but I don’t have any of your noble excuses. You may be visionaries, but I’m an illegal alien who embezzled a very valuable medical property.” Maya tapped her sternum. “I know that I can’t get away with what I’ve done. So I’m going to make them arrest me. I’ll give myself up.”
Benedetta thought this over. “I suppose you think you’re being noble,” she said slowly. “Well, you don’t understand our strategy. They seized your network server and took your palace away from us. So what? Some pet animals died. So what? Those are only little setbacks, now that we know what is possible. We’re already into other palaces. We’re under the skin of the gerontocrats. The old people can’t claw us out or push us aside anymore. Let them try! We’ll turn them inside out.”
“No, darling, it’s you who