Holy Fire - Bruce Sterling [15]
They looked rather dirty. They were talking too loud. Their faces were strange: unlined, lithe. Their gestures were sharp and abrupt. They seemed very upset about something.
They were young people.
“They could spin that polymer in six days in Stuttgart,” said the girl. “Six hours, maybe.”
“Stuttgart’s not a real answer. At least here we’ve got some connections.”
“That old man only keeps us here ’cause he likes to watch us play! We need some vivid people. People like us. In a place where it’s happening. Not like this museum.”
“We’ll never get anywhere in Stuttgart. You know what the rents are like in Stuttgart? Anyway, are you saying we’re not vivid? You and me? We gotta be vivid in our own way, on our own ground! It doesn’t mean anything, otherwise.”
Mia walked past them, pretending not to eavesdrop. They paid her no attention. She sought out Mr. Stuart behind his counter. Stuart was digging with a multitool in the silvery innards of a broken helmet.
“I’m done, for now,” Mia said.
“Great,” Stuart said indifferently, tucking a spex monocle into one eye.
“Tell me about those two young people over there, the ones doing CAD work.”
Stuart stared at her, his monocle gleaming. “Are you kidding? What business is that of yours?”
“I’m not asking you what networks they’re accessing,” Mia explained. “I just want to know a little about their personal lives.”
“Oh, okay, no problem,” Stuart said, relieved. “Those kids are in their twenties. Always got some little project going, you know how it is at that age. No sense of time scale, lots of energy to waste, head in the clouds. They make clothes. Try to.”
“Really.”
“Clothes for other kids. She designs them, and he instantiates them. They’re a team. It’s a kid romance. It’s cute.”
“What are their names?”
“I never asked.”
“How do they pay you for the access time?”
Stuart said nothing. Pointedly.
“Thanks,” Mia said. She went back to eavesdrop at greater length. The young people were gone. Mia quickly snagged her cashcard from the entranceway. There wasn’t much left on the card, for Stuart’s rates were very cruel to strangers. She hurried out of the building.
The boy and girl had backpacks slung over their shoulders and were walking uphill toward a bus stop.
When the bus arrived, Mia climbed aboard behind them. They sat in the back. Mia sat near them, across the aisle. They took no notice of her. Young people didn’t like to notice old people.
“This town,” the girl announced bitterly, “is boring me to death.”
“Sure,” the boy said, yawning.
“I’m bored right now,” the girl said.
“You’re in a bus,” the boy pointed out, with infinite tolerance. He began to root around in his pack.
Mia pulled her sunglasses from her purse, put them on, and pretended to gaze up the aisle of the bus. There were three dogs and a couple of cats aboard. Up near the front two well-dressed Asian men were eating from boxes with chopsticks.
The girl opened her backpack, fished out a rattlesnake, and hung it around her neck. The snake was beautiful. Its scaly skin looked like tesselated pavement as seen from a great height. The snake stirred a little at the contact with warm flesh.
“Don’t get tight,” the boy said.
“I won’t get tight. Snakey’s not loaded.”
“Well, don’t load him, then. You’re always getting tight when we argue. As if that ever settles anything.” The boy pulled an enameled comb from his bag, and ran it restlessly through his tousled hair. “Anyway, that snake would look stupid in Stuttgart. They just don’t do rattlesnakes in Stuttgart.”
“We could