Descending Road - BUT IT’S LESS FUN by Dana W. Paxson

BUT IT’S LESS FUN

1563 4D

Under the faded dome of the Aswar Tyrae crossing, Andrew turned and turned, bobbing with the press of bodies. Engel was here, Janny was here, but where? How would he start looking? He scanned the area above the heads of the dancers. He remembered Aswar Tyrae from his life in Sobi years before, but now the stores and signs and services and homes all looked different. The beat slammed his body and brain. Maybe he could find someone he knew. He wormed his way among the bodies, his sex thoroughly awakened, until he reached a corner where the sloping way rose to meet one of the City radials.

Two young women noticed his arousal. “Come on, grab a drum,” one of them called, laughing, to him, “You’ve got the mallet!” He raised a clenched hand in acknowledgement, feeling blood come to his face. Male channeling and redirection of sex drive, part of the discipline of Corsang Run, always got ribald encouragement; failure to manage oneself brought shame on a man.

He wished this were one of the mask festivals, so he could hide his scarred face behind a pseudoflesh laugh or a leer or a scowl. At least he sweated now, like everyone else; maybe it would all look like sweat. A swirl of dancers bumped his left side, and his right shoulder hit the stone wall between two small shops. He looked up.

DISMARCH HARREN. Hard to see from the distance, the words arched across the ceiling of an entrance to a very deep almost-corridor lined high and low with bodywear: hulked carapieces blazoning streetcoll symbols, Darko Hejj, Sinantro, Kai Ren Hau; wargreaves carrying racks of thin stickweapons for hurling or stabbing; wryhelms, their huge multispectrum eyepieces and twisted mouths offering extended senses and grotesque looks; biowraps hanging passive, their eye-diverting patterns and skin repair juices withdrawn and asleep in this dark linear catacomb of a store; bulging codpieces for armoring, storing, and advertising varied possible contents; all these and other body coverings embalmed in their stares and gestures, like desiccated, gilded and dismembered dead. DISMARCH HARREN. Here Andrew had wanted to start. He looked in, searching for his old friend Nexi.

Five men crowded in the store’s narrow entranceway, pounding syntrells and tympans. One, a burly, rich-tan muscleman dressed in dark-gray flexhide and a pair of steel forearm greaves, offered him a tympan and a grin. Andrew looked closely at him. “Nexi Harren? Hanaan! Is that you? You’ve gained weight.”

The man lowered the tympan and stared. “Andrew? You’re here? Engel said—“

“You’ve seen Engel?” Andrew advanced and took the man by his thick arms, looking into a pair of blue eyes in a sharp-edged tan face with a narrow-lipped mouth: it was Nexi, but older and heavier, stronger. They embraced.

Nexi sputtered, “He stopped in… last night. But you… how did you… when… You look like shit, even for the skinny guy I remember.”

Andrew grinned. “Some day I’ll have to tell you, if we make it. I’ve got to find him.” He bit back words about the insurgents.

“I don’t know where he sticks, but when I see him I’ll tell him you’re here. I know he’ll come. Look, my cousins came over from Rumchi to help out here.” Nexi introduced the other four men. “This is Andrew Luce, my streetbrodo. He left for the country a few years back. Engel said he was dead, and all the rest of his family too, but here’s Andrew back again, damn.” He grinned and grabbed Andrew again by the arms.

“The Lady told me he’d stop back with her and I could meet him there,” Andrew said. To his surprise the men all stared at him.

A new voice asked, “How’d you get to see her, Andrew? There’s a guard around her all the time now. She only sees a few people here.”

Andrew gaped; peering from behind the others was Nexi‘s brother Alliji, Andrew‘s companion on his long-ago training excursion to the South Fall.

“Alliji!” They hugged. “This is so good! You’re back here too.”

Alliji‘s smile faded. “Yeah, but it’s less fun. So you’ve seen the Lady?”

They all looked at Andrew. “I— Some friends brought me back here. They knew her, I guess. My little girl was with me, but the Lady sent her off to play. So now I’m trying to find her again too. Have you seen—?” He stopped again as the absurdity of his question hit him.

“I’m sure we’ve seen her, just like the thousands of other kids out there tonight.” Nexi shook his head.

“She’s got knots in her hair,” Andrew persisted, “and she’s just about four years old. And she—“

Alliji took Andrew‘s arm. “Forget it,” he said. “If the Lady sent her off, she must have had something in mind. Don’t worry. The Lady doesn’t make mistakes with kids. She had a reason.”

Andrew turned back toward the light and noise of Aswar Tyrae. Was Janny safer in the streets alone, especially with the insurrection looming? His protective feelings denied that. He faced Harren again. “Where’s Lathromill? And Sulltar Mench? I thought they had stores up here.”

Nexi said, “Lathromill moved her place up to 637, over on the west edge. Sulltar, well, he— left.”

“You mean, the Hejj threw him out, after he toured with Uill‘s corpos looking for contraband.” Alliji spoke up. “Of course, after that, his goods went for bargain prices.” He jerked his head backward, toward the rear of the store, and smiled.

Nexi pointed to a sliver of darkness across Aswar Tyrae. “If you want to try to find Engel, stop down to 641 via that little stair over there. There’s a bioshop by the stair door with two rebuilts running it. Ask Ing, the one with the gray steel eyes, no, tell him your name and mine, and ask for Engel. He might tell you something useful. But watch him – he’s not clean. And take this and use it.” He handed Andrew a long elliptical tympan, its thin blue membrane stretched tight over a frame with a set of resonant tines jutting inward to converge. “It’ll help keep your… mind where it belongs. Better than getting trampled.” He glanced down at Andrew‘s coverall and nudged his arm.

“Thanks.” Andrew surveyed the wild scene in the intersection. Rhythms issuing from different understreets converged into a single coherent set of cross-beats that took hold of him and squeezed the blood through his heart. Notes carried through the pulse like wings gliding through smoke, then broke and dipped and soared, birds in a sky of sound. “We’ll crook a finger over some brews later, ho?”

“Ho, yes,” they answered. Andrew hugged the two brothers once more, then, catching a pulse he liked, he thrust himself whole into the crush, joining a pair of men playing tympans in sun yellow and pale orange; they all moved on and out among the women and children. Andrew‘s goal, the narrow doorway to the stairwell, filled and emptied itself of people a few times. As he approached it, a series of buffets against his left leg made him look down.

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


	BUT IT’S LESS FUN 1563 4D Under the faded dome of the Aswar Tyrae crossing, Andrew turned and turned, bobbing with the press of bodies. Engel was here, Janny was here, but where? How would he start looking? He scanned the area above the heads of the dancers. He remembered Aswar Tyrae from his life in Sobi years before, but now the stores and signs and services and homes all looked different. The beat slammed his body and brain. Maybe he could find someone he knew. He wormed his way among the bodies, his sex thoroughly awakened, until he reached a corner where the sloping way rose to meet one of the City radials. Two young women noticed his arousal. “Come on, grab a drum,” one of them called, laughing, to him, “You’ve got the mallet!” He raised a clenched hand in acknowledgement, feeling blood come to his face. Male channeling and redirection of sex drive, part of the discipline of Corsang Run, always got ribald encouragement; failure to manage oneself brought shame on a man. He wished this were one of the mask festivals, so he could hide his scarred face behind a pseudoflesh laugh or a leer or a scowl. At least he sweated now, like everyone else; maybe it would all look like sweat. A swirl of dancers bumped his left side, and his right shoulder hit the stone wall between two small shops. He looked up. DISMARCH HARREN. Hard to see from the distance, the words arched across the ceiling of an entrance to a very deep almost-corridor lined high and low with bodywear: hulked carapieces blazoning streetcoll symbols, Darko Hejj, Sinantro, Kai Ren Hau; wargreaves carrying racks of thin stickweapons for hurling or stabbing; wryhelms, their huge multispectrum eyepieces and twisted mouths offering extended senses and grotesque looks; biowraps hanging passive, their eye-diverting patterns and skin repair juices withdrawn and asleep in this dark linear catacomb of a store; bulging codpieces for armoring, storing, and advertising varied possible contents; all these and other body coverings embalmed in their stares and gestures, like desiccated, gilded and dismembered dead. DISMARCH HARREN. Here Andrew had wanted to start. He looked in, searching for his old friend Nexi. Five men crowded in the store’s narrow entranceway, pounding syntrells and tympans. One, a burly, rich-tan muscleman dressed in dark-gray flexhide and a pair of steel forearm greaves, offered him a tympan and a grin. Andrew looked closely at him. “Nexi Harren? Hanaan! Is that you? You’ve gained weight.” The man lowered the tympan and stared. “Andrew? You’re here? Engel said—“ “You’ve seen Engel?” Andrew advanced and took the man by his thick arms, looking into a pair of blue eyes in a sharp-edged tan face with a narrow-lipped mouth: it was Nexi, but older and heavier, stronger. They embraced. Nexi sputtered, “He stopped in… last night. But you… how did you… when… You look like shit, even for the skinny guy I remember.” Andrew grinned. “Some day I’ll have to tell you, if we make it. I’ve got to find him.” He bit back words about the insurgents. “I don’t know where he sticks, but when I see him I’ll tell him you’re here. I know he’ll come. Look, my cousins came over from Rumchi to help out here.” Nexi introduced the other four men. “This is Andrew Luce, my streetbrodo. He left for the country a few years back. Engel said he was dead, and all the rest of his family too, but here’s Andrew back again, damn.” He grinned and grabbed Andrew again by the arms. “The Lady told me he’d stop back with her and I could meet him there,” Andrew said. To his surprise the men all stared at him. A new voice asked, “How’d you get to see her, Andrew? There’s a guard around her all the time now. She only sees a few people here.” Andrew gaped; peering from behind the others was Nexi‘s brother Alliji, Andrew‘s companion on his long-ago training excursion to the South Fall. “Alliji!” They hugged. “This is so good! You’re back here too.” Alliji‘s smile faded. “Yeah, but it’s less fun. So you’ve seen the Lady?” They all looked at Andrew. “I— Some friends brought me back here. They knew her, I guess. My little girl was with me, but the Lady sent her off to play. So now I’m trying to find her again too. Have you seen—?” He stopped again as the absurdity of his question hit him. “I’m sure we’ve seen her, just like the thousands of other kids out there tonight.” Nexi shook his head. “She’s got knots in her hair,” Andrew persisted, “and she’s just about four years old. And she—“ Alliji took Andrew‘s arm. “Forget it,” he said. “If the Lady sent her off, she must have had something in mind. Don’t worry. The Lady doesn’t make mistakes with kids. She had a reason.” Andrew turned back toward the light and noise of Aswar Tyrae. Was Janny safer in the streets alone, especially with the insurrection looming? His protective feelings denied that. He faced Harren again. “Where’s Lathromill? And Sulltar Mench? I thought they had stores up here.” Nexi said, “Lathromill moved her place up to 637, over on the west edge. Sulltar, well, he— left.” “You mean, the Hejj threw him out, after he toured with Uill‘s corpos looking for contraband.” Alliji spoke up. “Of course, after that, his goods went for bargain prices.” He jerked his head backward, toward the rear of the store, and smiled. Nexi pointed to a sliver of darkness across Aswar Tyrae. “If you want to try to find Engel, stop down to 641 via that little stair over there. There’s a bioshop by the stair door with two rebuilts running it. Ask Ing, the one with the gray steel eyes, no, tell him your name and mine, and ask for Engel. He might tell you something useful. But watch him – he’s not clean. And take this and use it.” He handed Andrew a long elliptical tympan, its thin blue membrane stretched tight over a frame with a set of resonant tines jutting inward to converge. “It’ll help keep your… mind where it belongs. Better than getting trampled.” He glanced down at Andrew‘s coverall and nudged his arm. “Thanks.” Andrew surveyed the wild scene in the intersection. Rhythms issuing from different understreets converged into a single coherent set of cross-beats that took hold of him and squeezed the blood through his heart. Notes carried through the pulse like wings gliding through smoke, then broke and dipped and soared, birds in a sky of sound. “We’ll crook a finger over some brews later, ho?” “Ho, yes,” they answered. Andrew hugged the two brothers once more, then, catching a pulse he liked, he thrust himself whole into the crush, joining a pair of men playing tympans in sun yellow and pale orange; they all moved on and out among the women and children. Andrew‘s goal, the narrow doorway to the stairwell, filled and emptied itself of people a few times. As he approached it, a series of buffets against his left leg made him look down.