Descending Road - BACK TO THE AESTHETIC PLEASURES by Dana W. Paxson

BACK TO THE AESTHETIC PLEASURES

1562 4D

“Arlen, this is not working.” Progarnes looked down at the inert client. What was Arlen trying to do? This crazy talk of music had little to do with the ores, or anything else, but Arlen would not stop.

Arlen straightened. “So it appears. I have one last thing to try. We’ll simply turn him loose and trace him. But I’m going to let the security people have a little time with him first.”

Progarnes felt a wave of annoyance. “They’re butchers. They’ll get nothing from him; they’ll probably kill him.”

“Not if I prevent them. I’m just going to implant him with a tracer, and let them play with him and dump him off in the country. It’ll warn the independents; and if he won’t talk, he should lead me to what I want. That’s better than all this.”

A more pleasant thought occurred to Progarnes. “So I can get back to Tariall, now? It’s been weeks. He’s been on ice.”

“Oh, yes.” Arlen didn’t seem to be interested in Tariall any more; he pulled out a comm and said into it, “I need a corp unit down here with a trace jector, and a wrapper. I’m offering incentives for getting the answers to certain questions.”

Progarnes relaxed. At last. Let the pigs have this ridiculously unresponsive client; it was time to get back to the aesthetic pleasures and away from this damned mine.

Arlen went on, talking into the comm, “Oh, and have the torch team contact me. I’ve got a job for them.” Probably the client’s house. Crude.

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


	BACK TO THE AESTHETIC PLEASURES 1562 4D “Arlen, this is not working.” Progarnes looked down at the inert client. What was Arlen trying to do? This crazy talk of music had little to do with the ores, or anything else, but Arlen would not stop. Arlen straightened. “So it appears. I have one last thing to try. We’ll simply turn him loose and trace him. But I’m going to let the security people have a little time with him first.” Progarnes felt a wave of annoyance. “They’re butchers. They’ll get nothing from him; they’ll probably kill him.” “Not if I prevent them. I’m just going to implant him with a tracer, and let them play with him and dump him off in the country. It’ll warn the independents; and if he won’t talk, he should lead me to what I want. That’s better than all this.” A more pleasant thought occurred to Progarnes. “So I can get back to Tariall, now? It’s been weeks. He’s been on ice.” “Oh, yes.” Arlen didn’t seem to be interested in Tariall any more; he pulled out a comm and said into it, “I need a corp unit down here with a trace jector, and a wrapper. I’m offering incentives for getting the answers to certain questions.” Progarnes relaxed. At last. Let the pigs have this ridiculously unresponsive client; it was time to get back to the aesthetic pleasures and away from this damned mine. Arlen went on, talking into the comm, “Oh, and have the torch team contact me. I’ve got a job for them.” Probably the client’s house. Crude.