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been a mutated fish, might just as easily have been an alien underdweller out for a late night swim. Either way, within half an hour the creature would be gracing somebody s plate, roasted in its own juices, blackened with alien spices, served with a chilled Elysian wine. People came from the Overcity for Olias s food. She was in off-world tourist guides. Bodyguards recommended. Pangs of pain shot through his mouth as his glands went into overdrive. He hadn t eaten properly since since he couldn t remember when. Inside, Olias s restaurant was a huge, barnlike building of bars, winding stairways and tables tucked away in corners. Simcords of various planetary landscapes were scattered across the walls. Powerless Friendless recognised the ice forests of Zobeide and the towering fern-cities of Baucis, although he couldn t recall visiting the planets themselves. He felt faint at the smell of the food. His five linked stomachs were tying themselves in knots, and his mouth was so full of saliva that he had to keep swallowing to stop it from dribbling off his mouth-cilia and down his body. Retracting his pseudo-limbs to stop himself from inadvertently picking up food from people s plates, he slithered his way between the tables. Dantalion was at the bar. He was smaller and fatter than Powerless Friend- less remembered, and his skin was deeply furrowed, the Birastrop sign of old age. Something about his eye his real eye said that he hadn t got long to live, and he knew it. His other eye the metal orb reflected Powerless Friendless s face back at him. He gazed blearily at Powerless Friendless over a frothing glass held in one of his lower limbs. Yes? he said, thumping the glass down. It continued to froth, and something moved inside it. You you don t remember me? Powerless Friendless asked. People provide me with financial recompense in return for two services, Dantalion said, and wiped the back of his hand across his upper lip. His voice had the careful precision of the very drunk. They pay me to stop them remembering something, and they pay me so that I don t remember who they are afterwards. I think I remember you. Then, my friend, you didn t pay enough. Dantalion burped. Drink? he asked. No. I . . . Powerless Friendless couldn t force the words out. You want your memory back, Dantalion said softly. Powerless Friendless nodded. When did I excise the unwelcome remembrances? Dantalion asked. 119 Powerless Friendless shook his head. I don t know. Perhaps a few years ago. I was good then. The Birastrop smiled mirthlessly. Better than I am now, at any rate. Have you been getting any breakthroughs? Any memories from your previous life? Powerless Friendless nodded. Some, he admitted. Flashes. Faces and names. How did you know? Dantalion looked away, across the restaurant. Powerless Friendless waited, wondering whether the being had heard the question. Eventually Dantalion picked up his glass and sloshed the contents around for a moment. Long and painful experience, he said finally. People come to me, and ask me to remove selected memories as if I were pulling a rotting tooth. Painful love affairs. Secrets. Tortures. Sometimes a few moments, sometimes a few years. They pay me, and I do my best. And then, years later, they find me again. Give them back, they cry. I m incomplete! I can t live without them! And I tell them what I ll tell you. He took a swig from the glass, and Powerless Friendless could hear him gulp as he swallowed whatever had been swimming in the drink. I don t remove memories, he said. I just hide them. I put them in places your mind won t think to look for them. Sometimes it rediscovers them by accident. Sometimes it searches so hard it finds them despite my best efforts. He smiled. Sometimes they come crawling back into the light and announce their presence anyway. He banged the glass down and signalled to the barman. What I am trying, in my long and roundabout way, to impart to you is that some memories I can get back for you, but others will have been recycled for dreams or overwritten by other experiences. It s a hit-and-miss affair. Are you still interested in taking advantage of my meagre skills? Powerless Friendless nodded. Something sloshed against the side of Dantalion s glass, rocking it slightly on the table. Why do you drink that stuff? Powerless Friendless asked, wincing. There are some things that even I don t want to remember, Dantalion an- swered as the barman placed another inhabited drink before him And, as I wouldn t let anybody like me anywhere near my mind, this is the next best solution. Mom! Christopher? The small woman in the doorway stared up at Cwej in astonishment. The smells of breakfast irradiated animeat flesh drifted out behind her. 120 Forrester turned to Bernice. Why did I let myself get talked into this? she muttered, and gazed past Bernice, along the hallway. Nobody was around, but she still felt she was being watched. What s the matter? Bernice asked. This just feels like a bad move. Forrester let her gaze linger at each of the doorways along the hall. Unlike her level, where the entrances to the indi- vidual apartments were grey and anonymous, the ones down here on Level Fifty-three were brightly coloured, ever-changing rectangular kaleidoscopes with the names of the families, and in some cases, their smiling simcord im- ages, appearing out of the coloured patterns. Christopher! It can t be you! the woman exclaimed, clapping her hands to her cheeks. Oh, let me look at you! We were so worried! We thought you might have been caught up in the riots! Riots? Forrester thought as Cwej grinned down at his mother. We ve only been gone a few days. What s been happening? Mom, I brought some friends. Any friends of yours are welcome, she said, peering round him and gaz- ing at Bernice and Forrester with warm curiosity. Come in, come in. You should have told me you were coming The irradiator s playing up. I think the techbrain s gone again, but the cost of replacements these days . . . She ushered them all into a large room filled with furniture and decorated with simcord images of family and friends. A tall, elderly man who had been sitting watching a hand-held centcomp reader sprang to his feet, grinning For- rester, uncomfortable at such effusive hospitality, studied the images intently as an alternative to joining in with the exclamations and introductions behind her. A large number of them seemed to be of Cwej: Cwej as a child, wide- eyed and two-headed; Cwej as a teenager, gangling and awkward, holding a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |