Beggars and Choosers

Beggars and Choosers Read Free Page B

Book: Beggars and Choosers Read Free
Author: Nancy Kress
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction
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nothing lost. And yet
David, who was after Russell who was after Anthony who was after Paul
who was after Rex who was after Eugene who was after Claude, never
called
me
“mercurial.” Which is certainly indicative of
something.
    I hadn’t reacted to Stephanie’s jibe, so she repeated it, smiling
solicitously. “
You’re
a donkey, Diana. You do useful work.”
    “I’m about to,” I said.
    She poured herself another drink. “Will David be at this Colin
Kowalski’s party?”
    “No. I’m sure not. But he’ll be at Sarah’s campaign fund-raiser on
Saturday. We both accepted weeks ago.”
    “And are you going?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “I understand. But if David and you are really finished with each
other—”
    “Go after him, Stephanie.” I didn’t look at her face. Since David
moved out, I’d lost seven pounds and three friends.
    So—say I joined the GSEA because I was jilted. Say I was jealous.
Say I was disgusted with Stephanie and everything she represented. Say
I was bored with my life at that extremely boring moment. Say I was
just looking for a new thrill. Say I was impulsive.
    “I’m going to be out of town for a while,” I said.
    “Oh? Where are you going?”
    “I’m not sure yet. It depends.” I gave a last look over the railing
at the smashed, semi-sentient, pathetic and expensive dog. The ultimate
in American technology and values.
    Say I was a patriot.
    ==========
    The next morning I flew down to Colin Kowalski’s office in a
government complex west of the city. From the air, buildings and
generous landing lots formed a geometric design, surrounded by
free-form swaths of bright trees bearing yellow flowers. I guessed the
trees were genemod to bloom all year. Trees and lawn stopped abruptly
at the perimeter of the Y-field security bubble. Outside that charmed
circle the land reverted to scrub, dotted by some Livers holding a
scooter race.
    From my aircar I could see the entire track, a glowing yellow line
of Y-energy about a meter wide and five twisting miles long. A platform
scooter shot out of the starting pod, straddled by a figure in red
jacks that, at its speed and my height, was no more than a blur. I had
been to scooter races. The scooter’s gravs were programmed to stay
exactly six inches above the track. Y-cones on the bottom of the
platform determined the speed; the sharper the tilt away from the
energy track, the faster the thing could go, and the harder it became
to control. The driver was allowed only a single handhold, plus a
pommel around which he could wrap one knee. It must be like riding
sidesaddle at sixty miles per hour— not that any Liver would ever have
heard of a sidesaddle. Livers don’t read history. Or anything else.
    Spectators perched on flimsy benches along the scooter track. They
cheered and screamed. The driver was halfway through the course when a
second scooter shot out of the pod. My car had been cleared by the
governmet security field, which locked onto my controls and guided me
in. I twisted in my seat to keep the scooter track in view. At this
lower altitude I could see the first driver more clearly. He increased
the tilt of his scooter, even though this part of the track was rough,
snaking over rocks and repressions and piles of cut brush. I wondered
how he knew the second scooter was gaining on him.
    I saw the first driver race toward a half-buried boulder. The yellow
line of track snaked over it. The driver threw his weight toward
center, trying to slow himself down. He’d waited too long. The scooter
bucked, lost its orientation toward the track, and flipped. The driver
was flung to the ground. His head hit the edge :: the boulder at over a
mile a minute.
    A moment later the second scooter raced over the body, its energy
cones a perfect six inches above the crushed skull.
    My car descended below the treetops and landed between two beds of
bright genemod flowers.
    Colin Kowalski met me in the lobby, a severe neo-Wrightian atrium in
a

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