Schismatrix plus - Bruce Sterling [42]
"I want that arm moving," the President said. "Do it, soldier."
"Yes sir," said the Judge, startled. She hadn't realized they were under mili-, tary rule. She scratched her head. "I'm outa my depth. I'm just a mechanic, not some Shaper psychotech." She looked sidelong at the President; he was adamant. "Lemme think.... This should do it." She produced another vial, labeled in an impenetrable scrawl. "Convulsant. Five times as powerful as the nerves' own firing signals." She drew up three cc's. "We'd better tourniquet that arm. If this hits his bloodstream it'll really rack him up." She looked guiltily at Lindsay. "This'U hurt some. A lot." Lindsay saw his chance. His arm was full of anesthetic, but he could fake the pain. If he seemed to suffer badly enough, they might forget about the test. They would feel he'd been punished enough, for something that wasn't his fault. The Judge was sympathetic; he could play her against the President. Their guilt would do the rest.
He spoke sternly. "The President knows best. You should follow his orders. Never mind my arm, it's numb anyway."
"You'll feel this, State. If you ain't dead." The needle went in. She twisted the hose tight around his bicep. The tattoos rippled as his veins began to bulge.
When agony hit he knew the anesthetic was useless. The convulsant scorched him like acid. "It's burning!" he screamed. "It's burning!" His arm rippled, its muscles writhing eerily. It began to flop in spasms, yanking one end of the hose loose from the Judge's grip.
Congested blood seeped past the tourniquet into Lindsay's chest. He choked on a scream and bent double, his face gray. The drug crept like hot wires around his heart. He swallowed his tongue and went into convulsions. He was near death for two days. By the time he'd recovered, the others had reached a decision. No one ever spoke of the test again. It had never happened.
ABOARD THE RED CONSENSUS: 19-12-'16
"It's just a rock," said Rep 2. She brushed a roach from the videoscreen.
"It's the target," said the Speaker of the House. The control room was powered down, and the familiar chorus of pops, squeaks, and rumbles had dwindled to a faint, tense scratching. The Speaker's face was greenish with screen light. "It's camouflage. They're in there. I can feel it."
"It's a rock," said Senator 3. Her tool belt rattled as she drifted overhead, watching the screen. "They've scrammed, they've scarpered. There's no in-frareds."
Lindsay drifted quietly in a corner of the control room, not watching the screen. He was rubbing the tattooed skin of his right arm, slowly, absently, staring at nothing. The skin had healed, but the combination of drugs had burned the crushed nerves. His skin felt rubbery below the cold ink of his tattoes. His right-hand fingertips were numb.
He had no faith in the Shapers' restraint. The billowing sunsail of the Red Consensus was supposed to hide the ship itself from radar, preventing a preemptive strike from the asteroid. But he expected at any moment to feel the last half second of impact as Shaper weapons tore the ship apart. From within the gun room, he heard the whine of the gunner's seat as Justice 3 shifted nervously.
"They're waiting for us to drift past," the President said. "They're waiting for a shot past the sail."
"They can't just blow us away," Senator 2 said plaintively. "We might be sundogs. Mech defectors."
"Stay on that drone, Rep Three!" the President ordered. Smiling sunnily, Rep 3 removed his earphones and turned his goggled face toward the others. "What's that, Mr. President?"
"I said stay on those frequencies, God damn it!" the President shouted.
"Oh, that," said Rep 3. He scratched within his spacesuit collar, holding the doubled phones to one ear. "I was doing that already. And—oh, yeah." He paused, while the crew held their breath. The goggles blocked his eyesight, but he reached out unerringly and touched switches on the board before him. The control room was filled with a high-pitched staccato whine.
"Cut it in on visuals," Rep 3 explained, tapping the keyboard. The asteroid