Descending Road - AT LAST, TOO BAD by Dana W. Paxson

AT LAST, TOO BAD

1541 4D

Still inhaling the scent of Leil‘s hair, Andrew returned to his cubby down in Range Street that night to see a flashnote from Martin on the little dented comm screen:

Father died from a stroke. Bloodstand is at rising tomorrow, at Tyrae Return Office. Bring your best blade. Martin.

Andrew sank into the one soft chair. Now that his father was dead, he wanted to see him and talk with him. Too bad. At least the stroke had been quick, an artery bursting and killing quickly, not like the damn viroids that left the victim drooling and sweating for years. Good thing Martin had been with their father, or else the Return Office would have taken the body and cycled it, and then the family couldn’t do bloodstand for him. Not that Wranmar ever cared for Hejji ceremony.

At last. No more arming himself to face his father’s red-eyed glare, the animal grin, the simple questions that always made Andrew stumble over his words, the dismissive wave. At last, too bad. The two thoughts washed back and forth in Andrew‘s mind. He shucked off his bodysuit, sponged, and crawled into bed, the night’s brews and chems crawling in his guts and his veins, driving him into an uneasy night of dreams.

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


	AT LAST, TOO BAD 1541 4D Still inhaling the scent of Leil‘s hair, Andrew returned to his cubby down in Range Street that night to see a flashnote from Martin on the little dented comm screen: Father died from a stroke. Bloodstand is at rising tomorrow, at Tyrae Return Office. Bring your best blade. Martin. Andrew sank into the one soft chair. Now that his father was dead, he wanted to see him and talk with him. Too bad. At least the stroke had been quick, an artery bursting and killing quickly, not like the damn viroids that left the victim drooling and sweating for years. Good thing Martin had been with their father, or else the Return Office would have taken the body and cycled it, and then the family couldn’t do bloodstand for him. Not that Wranmar ever cared for Hejji ceremony. At last. No more arming himself to face his father’s red-eyed glare, the animal grin, the simple questions that always made Andrew stumble over his words, the dismissive wave. At last, too bad. The two thoughts washed back and forth in Andrew‘s mind. He shucked off his bodysuit, sponged, and crawled into bed, the night’s brews and chems crawling in his guts and his veins, driving him into an uneasy night of dreams.