Schismatrix plus - Bruce Sterling [80]
She took his hands, curling the iron one over her own. "What's brought this on? Is it Constantine?"
"Vetterling wants to bring one of Constantine's men into the Clique."
"Burn him, I knew that despot came into this somehow. He's what frightens you, isn't he? Stirring up old tragedies.... I feel better now that I know who I'm facing!"
"It's not just him, darling. Listen: Goldreich-Tremaine can't stay on top forever. The Investor Peace is crumbling; it'll be open struggle again between Shaper and Mechanist. The military wing is bound to reassert itself. We'll lose the capitalship—"
"This is pure alarm, Abelard. We haven't lost anything yet. The Detentistes in G-T have never been stronger. My diplomats—"
"I know you're strong. You'll win, I think. But if you don't, if we have to sundog it—"
"Sundog? We're not refugees, darling, we're Mavrides genetics, with offices, property, tenure! This is our fortress! We can't just abandon this, when it's given us so much. .. . You'll feel different after the treatment. When your youth is back you'll see things differently."
"I know," Lindsay said. "And it scares me."
"I love you, Abelard. Tell me you'll call Ross tomorrow."
"Oh, no," Lindsay said. "It would be a bad mistake to seem too eager."
"When, then?"
"Oh, a few more years; that's nothing by Ross's standards...."
"But Abelard ... it hurts me, watching age cut into you. It's gone far enough. It's just not reasonable... ." Her eyes filled with tears. Lindsay was startled and alarmed. "Don't cry, Nora. You'll hurt yourself." He put his arms around her.
She embraced him. "Can't we keep what we have? You've made me doubt myself."
"I'm a fool," Lindsay said. "I'm in good shape, there's no need to be rash. I'm sorry I've said all this."
Her eyes were dry again. "I'll win. We'll win. We'll be young and strong together. You'll see."
GOLDREICH-TREMAINE COUNCIL STATE: 16-4-'53
Lindsay had put off this meeting as long as possible. Now antioxidants and his special diet were no longer enough. He was sixty-eight. The demortalization clinic was in the outskirts of Goldreich-Tremaine, part of the growing cluster of inflatable subbles. The tube-linked bubbles could mushroom or vanish overnight, a perfect habitat for Black Medicals and other dubious enclaves.
Mechanists lurked here, hunting Shaper life-extension while evading Shaper law. Supply and demand had conjured up corruption, while Goldreich-Tremaine grew lax with success. The capital had overreached itself, and cracks in the economy were papered over with black money. Fear had driven Lindsay to this point: fear that things might fall apart and find him weak.
Ross had promised him anonymity. He would be in and out in a hurry, two days at the most.
"I don't want anything major," Lindsay told the old woman. "Just a deca-tabolism."
"Did you bring your gene-line records?"
"No."
"That complicates matters." The black-market demortalist looked at him with an oddly girlish tilt of the head. "Genetics determine the nature of the side-effects. Is that natural aging or cumulative damage?"
"It's natural."
"Then we can try something less fine-tuned. Hormonals with a deoxidation flush for free radicals. Quick and dirty. But it'll bring your sparkle back." Lindsay thought of Pongpianskul and his leathery skin. "What treatment do you use yourself?"
"That's confidential."
"How old are you?"
The woman smiled. "You shouldn't pry, friend. The less we know about each other, the better."
Lindsay gave her a Look. She failed to catch it. He Looked again. She didn't know the language.
He crawled with unease. "I can't go through with this," he said. "I find you too hard to trust." Lindsay floated toward the bubble's exit, away from its free-fall core of hospital scanners and samplers.
"Is our price too high, Dr. Abelard Mavrides?" the woman called out. His mind raced as his worst fears were realized. He turned, determined to face her down. "Someone has misled you."
"We have our own intelligence."