Schismatrix plus - Bruce Sterling [76]
"I must thank my hostess." Pongpianskul left.
"He's cracked," Vetterling said. "That new treatment's unhinged him. Poor Pongpianskul never was very stable."
"What treatment is he using?" Fetzko wheezed. "He seems so energetic." Ross smiled. "An unproven one. He can't afford a registered treatment. I hear he's made an arrangement with a wealthier man to serve as test subject; they split the cost."
Lindsay Looked at Ross. Ross hid his expression by biting into a canape.
"A risk," said Fetzko. "That's why the young ones bear us. So that we can take their risks. And weed out. Bad treatments. With our casualties."
"Could've been worse," Ross said. "He could have fallen for one of those skin-virus scams. He'd be peeling like a snake right now, hah!" Young Paolo Mavrides stepped through the soundproof field in the doorway. "Nora says come see Kleo and Mr. Vetterling off."
"Thank you, Paolo." Juliano and the Regent Vetterling headed for the doorway, small-talking about construction costs. Fetzko tottered after them, his legs buzzing audibly. Ross took Lindsay by the arm.
"A moment, Abelard."
"Yes, Arts-Lieutenant?"
"It's not Security business, Abelard. You won't tell Juliano that I put Pongpianskul up to it?"
"The unproven treatment, you mean? No. It was cruel, though." Ross smirked. "Look, I almost married Margaret a few decades back, and from what Neville tells me my marrying days may be back any day now.... Listen, Mavrides. It hasn't escaped me the way you've been looking these past few years. Frankly, you're in decay."
Lindsay touched his graying hair. "You're not the first to say so."
"It's not a money problem?"
"No." He sighed. "I don't want my genetics inspected. There are too many Security groups watching, and frankly I'm not all I seem...."
"Who the hell is, at this age? Listen, Mavrides: I figured it was something like that, you being eunique. That's my point: I've gotten wind of something, very quiet, very confidential. It costs but there's no questions asked, no records: operations take place in a discreet. Out in one of the dogtowns."
"I see," Lindsay said. "Risky."
Ross shrugged. "You know I don't get along with the rest of my gene-line. They won't give me their records; I have to handle my own research. Can't we work out something?"
"Possibly. I have no secrets from my wife. May she know?"
"Surely, surely.... You'll do it?"
"I'll be in touch." Lindsay put his prosthetic arm on Ross's shoulder; Ross shuddered, just a little.
The wedding couple had made it as far as the alcove, where they had bogged down in a crowd of well-wishers and hat-fetching junior genetics. Lindsay embraced Kleo, and took Fernand Vetterling's arm left-handed. "You'll take good care of my sib, Fernand? You know she's very young." Fernand met his eyes. "She's life and breath to me, friend."
"That's the spirit. We'll put the new play off awhile. Love is more important."
Nora kissed Fernand, smearing his makeup. Back within the domicile the younger set were hitting full stride. The dancing across the ceiling footloops had degenerated into a near brawl, where young Shapers, screaming with laughter, struggled to shove one another off the crowded dance rig. Several had fallen already and were clinging to others, dangling loosely in the half gravity.
High spirits, Lindsay thought. Soon many of these would be married as well; few would find the convenient meshing of love and politics that Fernand had. They were pawns in the dynastic games of their seniors, where money and genetics set the rules.
He looked over the crowd with the close judgment that thirty years of Shaper audiences had taught him. Some were hidden by the trees of the garden, a central rectangle of lush greenery surrounded by tessellated patio floors. Four Mavrides children were tormenting one of the serving robots, which wouldn't spill its drinks though they tugged it and tripped it up. Lindsay leaped upward in the mild gravity to look past the garden. An argument was brewing on the other side: