Descending Road - ANDREW'S DISCOVERY by Dana W. Paxson

ANDREW’S DISCOVERY

1529 4D

Wranmar inspected Andrew. “You act like some andro, just waiting to get played with. Damn good thing your skin’s got some color to it, or they’d cut your throat. Like they did those two white reps who wandered down here three shifts back. Andro worms! want to take our jobs, we got nothing else, they gotta let fake people steal the jobs too. Never could figure out why your poor mama called you Andrew, that’s just some old Earth-name the andros like. The kids call you Andro Luce, don’t they? Heh. Ah, go on, get out of here. Go to bed.”

In fury and fear and shame, Andrew retreated to the little cubby where Martin lay in their bed, his eyes round and huge.

Andrew whispered, “Martin, I’m going outside.”

Martin grabbed his wrist. “Don’t do that. It’s late and the gangs are out. Father will whip you if he finds out.”

“Why won’t he just shut up?” Andrew hissed into the darkness. “I hate him.”

“But he loves us, Andrew.”

“That’s what he says. But he hurts me.”

“Don’t go.”

“You stay here and make like you don’t know, okay? Like you were asleep?”

“What if the babies wake up?”

“Go help them. You know what to do.”

“Andrew, I’ll tell.” Martin‘s grip tightened.

“I don’t care. He’ll find out anyway.” Andrew wrested his arm free. “He doesn’t whip you, what are you worried about? You’re his good boy.”

“No, I’m not. Raul is.”

“I’ll be back later.” Andrew turned from Martin‘s big eyes and sidled along the corridor to the back entrance. His father would be slouched in the black formbag floorchair, his steel bar beside him, shaking up a KPX cocktail and sucking in the Hejjati Shushan sensi newsfeed in the front room. On his usual dose of KPX, he would only haul his big frame out of that chair after a long, full sleep.

The streetboys had been gathering here in Rumchi more and more, doing body business with the seekers from upcity, and Andrew didn’t want to run into them. He eased out of the alleyway, crossed a darkened, quiet understreet, and found his favorite utility closet with the warped door. He squeezed his thin frame inside. It was pitch dark, and he liked that; his skin became his eyes, and the grainy stone surfaces, flagged here and there by rivulets of moisture, were now his playground.

He could go instead to the City airshaft stairs, and climb thousands of steps to see the stars and the night sky. He had done that once, loving it. But tonight was different.

From this closet he had followed conduits to levels above and below his own. Tonight he climbed the rungs in the closet, found the conduit access panel, and climbed in and headed downward, feeling his way through branches and sharp angles, following slick, plastic-harnessed lightpipes past slimy trickles of water mixed with droppings and beetle shells.

He came out of a low, rusted utility-closet floor-hatch into an empty Poly Town street called Grize Walk, lined with the sleep-cubbies the upcity people used when they came down here for extended entertainment. This sector was deserted; most cubbies were in disrepair, the streetfloor was littered with dusty trash: blown jector cartridges, ‘thellin tubes, torn sex harnesses, dead templimbs and tempsenses. Andrew kicked idly at a withered silvery ear, furred in white mold-crystal at its edges. Sometimes he could find coin, if the streetchildren hadn’t swept through.

A soft noise ahead made him look up. Along one side of the street, here came an andro man, drifting silent as white sleep. Andrew faded back into a niche and froze, staring outward. As the man passed him, humming in four voices at once, he smiled at nothing and wiped a streak of blood from his chin.

A shiver went down Andrew‘s back, from the hair bristling at his neck all the way to his toes. Andros weren’t like this man-thing. What was it? He waited; the humming suddenly ceased, and then he waited longer, in terror that maybe it was stealing back to find him. He tried to make his breath stop, but he couldn’t prevent it from making a tiny whisper of sound that whooshed in the niche like a storm.

Nothing happened. He eased his head out just far enough to peer along the dim street the way the figure had gone, searching for signs of movement. A low, undulating moan came from the opposite direction, and he craned his neck that way in fear. Again, nothing was there.

He waited a little longer. Another moan. Something bad had just happened here. Maybe I can get help. We’re supposed to help, but Father said to stay clear of trouble. Then his father’s ugly words came back to him, and he straightened. He called me andro, and he laughed at me. I’ll show him. Trembling, looking back and forth like a hunted animal, Andrew crept along the understreet listening for another sound.

Several sleep-cubbies lay ahead, on his left. The first was empty, dark-shadowed. Something rattled inside as he passed, and he jumped away as a streetrat leaped out in pursuit of a dodging black spine-beetle. He looked inside. All he saw was a sleep nook carved out of the City bedrock and surfaced in plast, a few feet of plast flooring, a dark arched ceiling no taller than his father’s head, and a tiny basin and steel floor drain. It smelled like old, dried sewage.

Another moan, fainter now, drew him out to the street again, and onward. The fifth cubby was closed, its door still intact. He went to it and listened at the door’s bottom edge. A soft short rasp of breath, then silence. Something shifted, cloth against stone. He stood and looked in through the door’s glass viewport.

He stared in horror. A man lay inside, an andro. He was thin and pale, and his body was twisted in the sleep-nook. A great, blood-edged hole gaped in his coverall, jagged white ribs protruding above it, red and pink gobbets of organs dangling out onto his lap. Something had simply ripped out his middle, and taken it away.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	ANDREW’S DISCOVERY 1529 4D Wranmar inspected Andrew. “You act like some andro, just waiting to get played with. Damn good thing your skin’s got some color to it, or they’d cut your throat. Like they did those two white reps who wandered down here three shifts back. Andro worms! want to take our jobs, we got nothing else, they gotta let fake people steal the jobs too. Never could figure out why your poor mama called you Andrew, that’s just some old Earth-name the andros like. The kids call you Andro Luce, don’t they? Heh. Ah, go on, get out of here. Go to bed.” In fury and fear and shame, Andrew retreated to the little cubby where Martin lay in their bed, his eyes round and huge. Andrew whispered, “Martin, I’m going outside.” Martin grabbed his wrist. “Don’t do that. It’s late and the gangs are out. Father will whip you if he finds out.” “Why won’t he just shut up?” Andrew hissed into the darkness. “I hate him.” “But he loves us, Andrew.” “That’s what he says. But he hurts me.” “Don’t go.” “You stay here and make like you don’t know, okay? Like you were asleep?” “What if the babies wake up?” “Go help them. You know what to do.” “Andrew, I’ll tell.” Martin‘s grip tightened. “I don’t care. He’ll find out anyway.” Andrew wrested his arm free. “He doesn’t whip you, what are you worried about? You’re his good boy.” “No, I’m not. Raul is.” “I’ll be back later.” Andrew turned from Martin‘s big eyes and sidled along the corridor to the back entrance. His father would be slouched in the black formbag floorchair, his steel bar beside him, shaking up a KPX cocktail and sucking in the Hejjati Shushan sensi newsfeed in the front room. On his usual dose of KPX, he would only haul his big frame out of that chair after a long, full sleep. The streetboys had been gathering here in Rumchi more and more, doing body business with the seekers from upcity, and Andrew didn’t want to run into them. He eased out of the alleyway, crossed a darkened, quiet understreet, and found his favorite utility closet with the warped door. He squeezed his thin frame inside. It was pitch dark, and he liked that; his skin became his eyes, and the grainy stone surfaces, flagged here and there by rivulets of moisture, were now his playground. He could go instead to the City airshaft stairs, and climb thousands of steps to see the stars and the night sky. He had done that once, loving it. But tonight was different. From this closet he had followed conduits to levels above and below his own. Tonight he climbed the rungs in the closet, found the conduit access panel, and climbed in and headed downward, feeling his way through branches and sharp angles, following slick, plastic-harnessed lightpipes past slimy trickles of water mixed with droppings and beetle shells. He came out of a low, rusted utility-closet floor-hatch into an empty Poly Town street called Grize Walk, lined with the sleep-cubbies the upcity people used when they came down here for extended entertainment. This sector was deserted; most cubbies were in disrepair, the streetfloor was littered with dusty trash: blown jector cartridges, ‘thellin tubes, torn sex harnesses, dead templimbs and tempsenses. Andrew kicked idly at a withered silvery ear, furred in white mold-crystal at its edges. Sometimes he could find coin, if the streetchildren hadn’t swept through. A soft noise ahead made him look up. Along one side of the street, here came an andro man, drifting silent as white sleep. Andrew faded back into a niche and froze, staring outward. As the man passed him, humming in four voices at once, he smiled at nothing and wiped a streak of blood from his chin. A shiver went down Andrew‘s back, from the hair bristling at his neck all the way to his toes. Andros weren’t like this man-thing. What was it? He waited; the humming suddenly ceased, and then he waited longer, in terror that maybe it was stealing back to find him. He tried to make his breath stop, but he couldn’t prevent it from making a tiny whisper of sound that whooshed in the niche like a storm. Nothing happened. He eased his head out just far enough to peer along the dim street the way the figure had gone, searching for signs of movement. A low, undulating moan came from the opposite direction, and he craned his neck that way in fear. Again, nothing was there. He waited a little longer. Another moan. Something bad had just happened here. Maybe I can get help. We’re supposed to help, but Father said to stay clear of trouble. Then his father’s ugly words came back to him, and he straightened. He called me andro, and he laughed at me. I’ll show him. Trembling, looking back and forth like a hunted animal, Andrew crept along the understreet listening for another sound. Several sleep-cubbies lay ahead, on his left. The first was empty, dark-shadowed. Something rattled inside as he passed, and he jumped away as a streetrat leaped out in pursuit of a dodging black spine-beetle. He looked inside. All he saw was a sleep nook carved out of the City bedrock and surfaced in plast, a few feet of plast flooring, a dark arched ceiling no taller than his father’s head, and a tiny basin and steel floor drain. It smelled like old, dried sewage. Another moan, fainter now, drew him out to the street again, and onward. The fifth cubby was closed, its door still intact. He went to it and listened at the door’s bottom edge. A soft short rasp of breath, then silence. Something shifted, cloth against stone. He stood and looked in through the door’s glass viewport. He stared in horror. A man lay inside, an andro. He was thin and pale, and his body was twisted in the sleep-nook. A great, blood-edged hole gaped in his coverall, jagged white ribs protruding above it, red and pink gobbets of organs dangling out onto his lap. Something had simply ripped out his middle, and taken it away.