His elbow planted a sharp jab, en passant, and pale eyes glittered, daring me to complain.īowing, I forced an ingratiatingly apologetic smile, stepping aside for the archie while I tried to focus on a pleasant memory. But the next fellow wasn’t satisfied when I gave him right of way. I’ll do the same for your ditto someday, chum. One surprised chap even made way for me, as if I were real. Most of the men were more puzzled than hostile. Women chiefly looked past me, like I didn’t exist. So I tried to perform all the standard courtesies, bowing and stepping aside for couples who wouldn’t veer or slow down for a mere ditto. But I faced other dangers now-from the archetype human beings surrounding me. Would they keep shooting and risk hitting a real person? Ancient instinct-seared into my clay body by the one who made me-clamored to run.
Furtive shapes peered from the shadows, debating how to reach me. Glancing back, I saw a yellow-hued figure lower his slingshot to load another round. Anyway, it’s kind of hard to move delicately while brandishing a battered trash lid between your vitals and the alley behind you.
Though my expression was earnest-as if I had a legit reason to be there-I must have stood out like a duck among swans, and not just because of skin color. It’s crowded, I thought, while picking a path across the plaza, hoping to avoid brushing against any of the sauntering archies. But if I stayed on back streets I’d get hacked into fish food by my own kind.
I wasn’t going to be welcome in this zone, where owners throng to enjoy their long, sensuous lives. Only a few coloreds like me could be seen-mostly waiters serving their bland-skinned betters at canopied tables.
Couples strolled arm-in-arm along the quay, enjoying a riverside breeze. The place swarmed with archies, dining at cafés or milling about near classy theaters. So while the shooter reloaded, I raised my makeshift shield and dashed for the bright lights of Odeon District. Beta and his gang don’t carry guns into this part of town-they wouldn’t dare-but their slingshots come equipped with infrared sights. But now its chill darkness betrayed me instead. Moments ago, the alley had seemed a good place to hide and catch my breath. Another slug walloped the lid, denting plastic instead of my chest. There wasn’t any shelter to cower behind, except an overstuffed trash can.
Some kind of missile-a stone I guess-smacked the brick wall inches away, splattering my face with stinging grit. John Keats, “On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again”ġ A Good Head for Wine … or how Monday’s green ditto brings home fond memories of the river… It’s hard to stay cordial while fighting for your life, even when your life doesn’t amount to much. PART I Adieu! for once again the fierce dispute how who why who Betwixt damnation and impassion’d clay Must I burn through … But when I am consumed in the Fire, Give me new Phoenix wings to fly at my desire. ISBN 7-X First Edition: January 2002įor Poul Anderson, who explored for all of us, making the future fun … … and Greg Bear, who takes on every shadow, with edge … … and Gregory Benford, who delves stark beauty in the dark ocean of night … … all of them shamans by the campfire. Edited by Beth Meacham A Tor Book Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC 175 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10010 Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC. KILN PEOPLE Copyright © 2002 by David Brin All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.