Descending Road - A HEAVY-HANDED RHETORICAL STYLE by Dana W. Paxson

A HEAVY-HANDED RHETORICAL STYLE

1563 4D

Defeated, Andrew felt idly in his left coverall pocket. A small soft object lay under his fingers, a strip of cloth; he pulled it out and held it up in the dim, greenish light. Soiled and rough-edged, it was a length of pale-green ribbon, the kind Janny used to tie her hair in little tails. Knotted in one end of it was a silvery metal bolt.

Janny must have slipped it into his pocket when she and VeeVee and Billy T had greeted him. A gift. He looked up at the poorly-lit ceiling of the cubby, where the shadows of the beaten fighters around him moved like disembodied spirits. What would happen to the little girls now? He reached back in his mind, through his road of memories, with its detours and dead ends and obscuring fogs, looking for the places where he had taken wrong turns. Somehow he had done all he could. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

So maybe now he wasn’t done yet. All the things that had hurt him, drained him, buried him, didn’t matter as much as this small, dirty talisman, this token not of his own hope, but of a lost little girl’s.

Within the hardness in him came a slow pulsation, like the anchor beat of the sandrukha. The dance persisted, and there was nothing but the dance. It had nothing to do with his hope. It was life, all he had; he could let it go, or take it on. Janny and Engel and Ezzar and Grendel still waited, somewhere in the City maze, and maybe little Maiji; Jeddin sat beside him, looking patiently at him, expectant.

He thought of facing Arlen again, or another round of torture, or a city tribunal that would exile him to the waste country topside. No.

“Look,” he said, “We can strike somewhere else from here.”

“Who’re you?” The officer glared up at him with haze-reddened eyes.

“Andrew Luce. I used to work down here, a while back. I know some of the conduit connections here, and I know where they go.” His mind raced.

“Forget it. There’s nothing they care about that much.” The officer waved a hand in dismissal. “Let’s just get a bit of rest and form up for one more try here. Might as well go down fighting. They’ve got my head marked already.” Nods among the others.

Turiosten spoke. Andrew. I really need to eat soon. If I don’t, you’re going to collapse, no matter what that helmet pumps into you. I’ve been watching that virus of yours, and it’s already reworked some strands in your brain. I can’t keep it from messing things up any more.

The aliens: would they pay attention if someone struck at their property? The spaceport. Andrew said, “There’s one sure way to stop them in their tracks. And it starts right here in Trans Three. I know the conduits that will take us right to the spaceport. From there we can board the alien ship.” Jeddin‘s eyes widened; he suppressed a smile. Turiosten said nothing, maybe in shock, Andrew guessed.

“Are you fucking crazy? You want all this planet to go up in smoke?” The officer’s rebuke picked up an echo of irritation from the others.

Andrew argued. “Look, it’s going up in smoke anyway. If we lose, what’s going to happen? I found out what the aliens are doing right now. They’re multiplying. What do you think that means?”

You have a most interesting, if heavy-handed, rhetorical style. At least Turiosten wasn’t objecting.

“How do you know all this?” Now the officer climbed to his feet.

“It cost me a lot to find out. Look, I’ll go with just Jeddin here if you aren’t interested.” Andrew‘s frustration overflowed. He forced up his coverall sleeve to where Arlen had ground away his collechi inscription. Eyes widened. “You can sit here and get fried if you want, but I’m heading up and over to the ship. I want to leave a mark before I go. Sorry about you all.” He lowered his sleeve, adjusted his carapiece and checked his gun. “Angie, ready?”

“Gotta watch your energy level. I’m all set.”

“He’s right, Nazrelo. I’d like to put a dent in ‘em before they kiss me goodbye.” A woman stood up and lowered her visor. “Anybody want to join us? Marjonex? Warren?”

“Ah, shit, Marande.” Warren stood. “Trust you to know where to kick my ass.”

A shock ran through Andrew, and a name came to him from long ago. “Marande?”

“Yeah?” She raised her visor again and squinted at him with a meager smile. “Andrew Luce? I knew an Andrew Luce back at Purusil and the Fall, years ago, but you’re…"

“I don’t look any more like the guy who saved Mentrius, do I?” Andrew stared at her grimy face, worn thin to her bones by the horrors of battle. How she’d changed.

Warmth and affection welled up through his exhaustion. He pulled off his helm.

So did she. She came and looked in his eyes, studying his face. “It is you! I never thought you’d be in this. Aw, shit, look at you.”

They embraced.

Nazrelo said, “I guess you know this guy. So?”

Marande let go of Andrew. “He’s the best. I’d trust him with my life.”

Nazrelo looked around at the people getting to their feet and grabbing equipment. “All right, this is gonna be totally off record.” He rubbed his face, hard, with both hands, and called in. “I’ve told Centro that Warble Three is out of the fight. They’re sealing these levels off. We’re on the outside now. Luce, show us the way. The rest of you, get all the explosives and reactives you can carry.”

They all geared up and armed. The climb up the sheathed ladders made Andrew‘s knees buckle just as he reached the top of the dome. He tracked his memory along a maze of catwalks, reading off conduit labels. From far below came a blaze of light that spattered the dome with shadows, and a long rebounding roar.

“They’ve busted in,” Nazrelo said. “Hurry — they’ve probably got scanners and they’ll find us soon.”

Andrew led them across one agonizingly exposed catwalk toward a group of conduit tunnel access hatches in the ceiling. Here. In plain sight from below through the strata of haze and smoke, a hatch door above them read 1-EJ.

A scanner probed; Andrew‘s display showed rays of red stabbing up at them. He motioned everyone back into the shadowed side of the catwalk.

“This is it. There’s a hatch status detector here, but nobody will be reading it right now. They won’t know until they check the safety scan log. Follow me, watch for the scanners going in. Last one in, Jeddin? close the door and key the hatch, two six four two.” With aching legs Andrew climbed the short ladder from the catwalk and keyed the hatch door open. It lowered slowly, and he edged up and in.

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


	A HEAVY-HANDED RHETORICAL STYLE 1563 4D Defeated, Andrew felt idly in his left coverall pocket. A small soft object lay under his fingers, a strip of cloth; he pulled it out and held it up in the dim, greenish light. Soiled and rough-edged, it was a length of pale-green ribbon, the kind Janny used to tie her hair in little tails. Knotted in one end of it was a silvery metal bolt. Janny must have slipped it into his pocket when she and VeeVee and Billy T had greeted him. A gift. He looked up at the poorly-lit ceiling of the cubby, where the shadows of the beaten fighters around him moved like disembodied spirits. What would happen to the little girls now? He reached back in his mind, through his road of memories, with its detours and dead ends and obscuring fogs, looking for the places where he had taken wrong turns. Somehow he had done all he could. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. So maybe now he wasn’t done yet. All the things that had hurt him, drained him, buried him, didn’t matter as much as this small, dirty talisman, this token not of his own hope, but of a lost little girl’s. Within the hardness in him came a slow pulsation, like the anchor beat of the sandrukha. The dance persisted, and there was nothing but the dance. It had nothing to do with his hope. It was life, all he had; he could let it go, or take it on. Janny and Engel and Ezzar and Grendel still waited, somewhere in the City maze, and maybe little Maiji; Jeddin sat beside him, looking patiently at him, expectant. He thought of facing Arlen again, or another round of torture, or a city tribunal that would exile him to the waste country topside. No. “Look,” he said, “We can strike somewhere else from here.” “Who’re you?” The officer glared up at him with haze-reddened eyes. “Andrew Luce. I used to work down here, a while back. I know some of the conduit connections here, and I know where they go.” His mind raced. “Forget it. There’s nothing they care about that much.” The officer waved a hand in dismissal. “Let’s just get a bit of rest and form up for one more try here. Might as well go down fighting. They’ve got my head marked already.” Nods among the others. Turiosten spoke. Andrew. I really need to eat soon. If I don’t, you’re going to collapse, no matter what that helmet pumps into you. I’ve been watching that virus of yours, and it’s already reworked some strands in your brain. I can’t keep it from messing things up any more. The aliens: would they pay attention if someone struck at their property? The spaceport. Andrew said, “There’s one sure way to stop them in their tracks. And it starts right here in Trans Three. I know the conduits that will take us right to the spaceport. From there we can board the alien ship.” Jeddin‘s eyes widened; he suppressed a smile. Turiosten said nothing, maybe in shock, Andrew guessed. “Are you fucking crazy? You want all this planet to go up in smoke?” The officer’s rebuke picked up an echo of irritation from the others. Andrew argued. “Look, it’s going up in smoke anyway. If we lose, what’s going to happen? I found out what the aliens are doing right now. They’re multiplying. What do you think that means?” You have a most interesting, if heavy-handed, rhetorical style. At least Turiosten wasn’t objecting. “How do you know all this?” Now the officer climbed to his feet. “It cost me a lot to find out. Look, I’ll go with just Jeddin here if you aren’t interested.” Andrew‘s frustration overflowed. He forced up his coverall sleeve to where Arlen had ground away his collechi inscription. Eyes widened. “You can sit here and get fried if you want, but I’m heading up and over to the ship. I want to leave a mark before I go. Sorry about you all.” He lowered his sleeve, adjusted his carapiece and checked his gun. “Angie, ready?” “Gotta watch your energy level. I’m all set.” “He’s right, Nazrelo. I’d like to put a dent in ‘em before they kiss me goodbye.” A woman stood up and lowered her visor. “Anybody want to join us? Marjonex? Warren?” “Ah, shit, Marande.” Warren stood. “Trust you to know where to kick my ass.” A shock ran through Andrew, and a name came to him from long ago. “Marande?” “Yeah?” She raised her visor again and squinted at him with a meager smile. “Andrew Luce? I knew an Andrew Luce back at Purusil and the Fall, years ago, but you’re…" “I don’t look any more like the guy who saved Mentrius, do I?” Andrew stared at her grimy face, worn thin to her bones by the horrors of battle. How she’d changed. Warmth and affection welled up through his exhaustion. He pulled off his helm. So did she. She came and looked in his eyes, studying his face. “It is you! I never thought you’d be in this. Aw, shit, look at you.” They embraced. Nazrelo said, “I guess you know this guy. So?” Marande let go of Andrew. “He’s the best. I’d trust him with my life.” Nazrelo looked around at the people getting to their feet and grabbing equipment. “All right, this is gonna be totally off record.” He rubbed his face, hard, with both hands, and called in. “I’ve told Centro that Warble Three is out of the fight. They’re sealing these levels off. We’re on the outside now. Luce, show us the way. The rest of you, get all the explosives and reactives you can carry.” They all geared up and armed. The climb up the sheathed ladders made Andrew‘s knees buckle just as he reached the top of the dome. He tracked his memory along a maze of catwalks, reading off conduit labels. From far below came a blaze of light that spattered the dome with shadows, and a long rebounding roar. “They’ve busted in,” Nazrelo said. “Hurry — they’ve probably got scanners and they’ll find us soon.” Andrew led them across one agonizingly exposed catwalk toward a group of conduit tunnel access hatches in the ceiling. Here. In plain sight from below through the strata of haze and smoke, a hatch door above them read 1-EJ. A scanner probed; Andrew‘s display showed rays of red stabbing up at them. He motioned everyone back into the shadowed side of the catwalk. “This is it. There’s a hatch status detector here, but nobody will be reading it right now. They won’t know until they check the safety scan log. Follow me, watch for the scanners going in. Last one in, Jeddin? close the door and key the hatch, two six four two.” With aching legs Andrew climbed the short ladder from the catwalk and keyed the hatch door open. It lowered slowly, and he edged up and in.