Descending Road - I WAS A DEAD BUG by Dana W. Paxson

I WAS A DEAD BUG

1560 4D

Conduit tunnels in the deep stone are filthy. This one, narrow and twisting in its fall down to East 540, was dirtier than most. Thringe‘s cloak would need replacing. The infoconduits and sweating plumbing carried a coat of slimy grit and fetid beetle droppings. Standing inside the closet off the street, I dusted the cloak off as much as I could, and listened for voices and footsteps. Nothing.

I eased the closet door open a crack. This was Sobi Zone, where the understreets were always noisy, especially during Tanmar Fest and the other holidays.

Hedgebreak Shell was about fifty steps from here, and Grize walk about another twenty. Not far at all. I decided to wait a little longer and listen. The rendezvous had to be soon, but there was no street noise when there should have been. Tanmar Fest drums sounded far away.

A corpo patrol came along Hedgebreak Shell, boots sounding echoes in the little side passage where I waited. Some husky laughs, and a giggle, then a few coins hitting the stone street surface. They were playing pitch.

This was strange. Corpos were always all business, down here, because they were hated in Sobi. They never stopped, never talked, just watched everyone and everything. Too many of them had died around here. For the most part, they didn’t even come down this way, leaving the job of law enforcement to the blues, the City police, who didn’t get treated much better.

I missed Thringe. I was alone again, and I didn’t like the situation. There was no going back now. My knees shook.

The coins stopped clinking, and boots and voices faded. I slipped out of the closet, closed the door, and tiptoed out to Hedgebreak Shell. No one on the street. I wrapped the soiled cloak around me again, and sidled along until I got to Grize Walk, where I gratefully disappeared into the Walk’s jig-jog between understreet homes. The closet was in the right place, and I opened it cautiously. It was completely dark.

I had forgotten to bring a chemtorch, and there were no installed lights. Tunnel 17 had to be one of the conduit exits from the closet. I opened the closet door to let in enough light to see the tunnel markings, closed the door again, found Tunnel 17, and crawled in.

A short dirty crawl, then the tunnel dropped me out into empty space, and I sprawled onto a stone floor an arm’s length below the tunnel entrance. As I landed, a chemtorch flared, and several corpos stood looking down at me, beam guns drawn.

“Name?” A woman’s voice. She waved her gun.

I hesitated. These weren’t the people I expected at all. I stood up as they backed away. Two tall women and a broad man, all muscular, and all wearing LinDoCorp uniforms. Probably bounty hunters. I was a dead bug.

“Raise your hands and turn around.” The same woman.

I obeyed. “I was just exploring, to write a song–“

“Stuff it. There’s only one thing we want to hear from you.”

I gulped, willing to try anything to save my skin. “My name is Gold.”

The man nodded. “And?”

“Gold is all over the sunrise this morning.” It was all I could try. “And what do you have to say to me?”

“Water tempers hot coins,” the second woman said.

“Nine Seven Hundred Blue Carbon,” I stammered in relief.

“Twelve Four Hundred Anxiety Bedrock,” the second woman said. The three of them turned and left by another passage, taking their chemtorch with them.

I must have made a fine figure, standing there lightless in my grimy cape and fancy makeup. I wanted to take it all off and put on some regular clothes and get back to my father, as if this hadn’t happened. Too late. Now I was a singer, or at least an imitation of one.

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


	I WAS A DEAD BUG 1560 4D Conduit tunnels in the deep stone are filthy. This one, narrow and twisting in its fall down to East 540, was dirtier than most. Thringe‘s cloak would need replacing. The infoconduits and sweating plumbing carried a coat of slimy grit and fetid beetle droppings. Standing inside the closet off the street, I dusted the cloak off as much as I could, and listened for voices and footsteps. Nothing. I eased the closet door open a crack. This was Sobi Zone, where the understreets were always noisy, especially during Tanmar Fest and the other holidays. Hedgebreak Shell was about fifty steps from here, and Grize walk about another twenty. Not far at all. I decided to wait a little longer and listen. The rendezvous had to be soon, but there was no street noise when there should have been. Tanmar Fest drums sounded far away. A corpo patrol came along Hedgebreak Shell, boots sounding echoes in the little side passage where I waited. Some husky laughs, and a giggle, then a few coins hitting the stone street surface. They were playing pitch. This was strange. Corpos were always all business, down here, because they were hated in Sobi. They never stopped, never talked, just watched everyone and everything. Too many of them had died around here. For the most part, they didn’t even come down this way, leaving the job of law enforcement to the blues, the City police, who didn’t get treated much better. I missed Thringe. I was alone again, and I didn’t like the situation. There was no going back now. My knees shook. The coins stopped clinking, and boots and voices faded. I slipped out of the closet, closed the door, and tiptoed out to Hedgebreak Shell. No one on the street. I wrapped the soiled cloak around me again, and sidled along until I got to Grize Walk, where I gratefully disappeared into the Walk’s jig-jog between understreet homes. The closet was in the right place, and I opened it cautiously. It was completely dark. I had forgotten to bring a chemtorch, and there were no installed lights. Tunnel 17 had to be one of the conduit exits from the closet. I opened the closet door to let in enough light to see the tunnel markings, closed the door again, found Tunnel 17, and crawled in. A short dirty crawl, then the tunnel dropped me out into empty space, and I sprawled onto a stone floor an arm’s length below the tunnel entrance. As I landed, a chemtorch flared, and several corpos stood looking down at me, beam guns drawn. “Name?” A woman’s voice. She waved her gun. I hesitated. These weren’t the people I expected at all. I stood up as they backed away. Two tall women and a broad man, all muscular, and all wearing LinDoCorp uniforms. Probably bounty hunters. I was a dead bug. “Raise your hands and turn around.” The same woman. I obeyed. “I was just exploring, to write a song–“ “Stuff it. There’s only one thing we want to hear from you.” I gulped, willing to try anything to save my skin. “My name is Gold.” The man nodded. “And?” “Gold is all over the sunrise this morning.” It was all I could try. “And what do you have to say to me?” “Water tempers hot coins,” the second woman said. “Nine Seven Hundred Blue Carbon,” I stammered in relief. “Twelve Four Hundred Anxiety Bedrock,” the second woman said. The three of them turned and left by another passage, taking their chemtorch with them. I must have made a fine figure, standing there lightless in my grimy cape and fancy makeup. I wanted to take it all off and put on some regular clothes and get back to my father, as if this hadn’t happened. Too late. Now I was a singer, or at least an imitation of one.