Schismatrix plus - Bruce Sterling [106]
Constantine looked into the tank. Behind the glass window, below the surface of the water, was the waterlogged head of Paolo Mavrides. The dark, curled hair, a major trait of the Mavrides gene-line, floated soggily around the young man's neck and shoulders. The eyes were open, greenish and bloodshot. Injections had paralyzed his optic nerve. A spinal clamp left him able to feel but not to move. Blind and deaf, numbed by the blood-warmed water, Paolo Mavrides had been in sensory isolation for two weeks. A tracheal plug fed him oxygen. Intravenous taps kept him from starving. Constantine touched a black rocker switch on the welded tank, and the jury-rigged speakers came alive. The young assassin was talking to himself, some mumbled litany in different voices. Constantine spoke into the microphone. "Paolo."
"I'm busy," Paolo said. "Come back later." Constantine chuckled. "Very well." He tapped against the microphone to make the sound of a switch closing.
"No, wait!" Paolo said at once. Constantine smiled at the trace of panic. "Never mind, the performance is ruined anyway. Vetterling's Shepherd Moons."
"Hasn't had a performance in years," Constantine said. "You must have been a mere child then."
"I memorized it when I was nine."
"I'm impressed by your resourcefulness. Still, the Cataclysts believe in that, don't they? Testing the inner world of the will. . . You've been in there quite a while. Quite a while."
There was silence. Constantine waited. "How long?" Mavrides burst out.
"Almost forty-eight hours."
Mavrides laughed shortly.
Constantine joined in. "Of course we know that isn't so. No, it's been almost a year. You'd be surprised how thin you look."
"You should try it sometime. Might help your skin problems."
"Those are the least of my difficulties, young man. I made a tactical error when I chose the best security possible. It made me a challenge. You'd be surprised how many fools have had this tank before you. You made a mistake, young Paolo."
"Tell me something," Paolo said. "Why do you sound like God?"
"That's a technical artifact. My voice has a direct feed to your inner ear. That's why you can't hear your own voice. I'm reading it off the nerves to your larynx."
"I see," Paolo said. "Wirehead work."
"Nothing irreversible. Tell me about yourself, Paolo. What was your brigade?"
"I'm no Cataclyst."
"I have your weapon here." Constantine pulled a small timer-vial from his tailored linen jacket and rolled it between his fingers. "Standard Cataclyst issue. What is it? PDKL-Ninety-five?"
Paolo said nothing.
"Perhaps you know the drug as 'Shatter,' " Constantine said. Paolo laughed. "I know better than to try to re-form your mind. If I could have entered the same room with you I would have set it for five seconds and we would have both died."
"An aerosol toxin, is it? How rash."
"There are more important things than living, plebe."
"What a quaint insult. I see you've researched my past. Haven't heard the like in years. Next you'll be saying I'm unplanned."
"No need. Your wife tells us that much."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Natalie Constantine, your wife. Ever hear of her? She doesn't take neglect easily. She's become the prime whore of Skimmers Union."
"How distressing."
"How do you think I planned to enter your house? Your wife's a slut. She begs me for it."
Constantine laughed. "You'd like me to strike you, wouldn't you? The pain would give you something to hold on to. No, you should have stayed in Goldreich-Tremaine, young man. In those empty halls and broken-down offices. I'm afraid you've begun to bore me."
"Let me tell you what I regret, before you go. I regret that I set my sights so low. I've had time to think, recently." Hollow laughter. "I fell for your image, your propaganda line. The Nysa asteroid, for instance. It seemed so grand at first. The Ring Council didn't know that Nysa Cartel was a dumping ground for burnt-out wireheads from the moondocks. You were still sucking up to aristocrats from the Republic. With all your rank you're still a cheap informer, Constantine.