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Later, on a ship home...
Feb. 25th, 2002 03:52 am{This next piece will be closer to the end of the novel. Again, I look forward to all comments. Be warned that elements are appearing out of sequence. The first piece you read will not be the opening, et cetera. Thanks!}
When I was a kid, traveling in space was still awe-inspiring. Earthlings were still humans. I still wanted to be an astronaut because the job hadn't become dull yet.
I'm remembering this right now, as a supple but strong man takes a blue card from me and walks me to my Snore-Slow.
"Hmmm..." he says. He makes the loudest, most theatrical hmmm I've heard in years. "I bet you're gonna be a... yes, it's right on the stub. Det case. Great! I'll put you in the ghetto in case you make any noises." He never looks at me after saying hmmm; he walks very properly and sprightly. He's wearing shiny plastic pants but somehow never makes those mini-corduroy sounds I expect. He must be a dancer.
He stops behind another person in plastic pants. "Marnya, don't you have somewhere to be?" he says.
"Jeeze, your asshole pills kicked in early today, Lasulko," she responds. She has this twinkling, childlike voice that suggests she's just learning how to speak. Her vocabulary seems like it should be coming out of someone with shredded vocal chords. I know their mock-confrontation will be over soon, but I'm enjoying it.
"Mar, put this one in the ghetto, too. He's detsy."
"Convenient. So I suppose you're too important to spork him in yourself." Lasulko has already left. Now Marnya has my blue pass, but I'm still staring at it. It's taking a lot of concentration to be standing. I have to answer a couple of questions, so I must be attentive for the last few minutes. I'm glad I'll stop feeling tense soon.
"Detsy, is ya?" she inquires and cocks her head.
"Huh?"
"Det. Detox. You're having medical rejuvenation while you're asleep, is that right?"
"Oh, yuh, yes. I am. I have been working on..."
"Yes yes, words words. You're strung out. You tired yet?" her childlike voice betrays her frustration. She knows.
She knows I'm hopping into that tube to lie down. She knows I'll be asleep very soon. She knows she'll need to stick some needles into me and take them out after a day. She knows I might wake up screaming and she'll have to reassure me that I'm not dying. She knows I'm getting the royal treatment. She knows she's been just as tired but she can't do what I did to get here. She knows skeer isn't allowed on these cruises -- not for the staff, anyway.
She thinks I'm scum. I see it in her eyes. I hadn't looked anyone in the eyes for a while, so that look is reminding me why. She likes some aspect of her job but she's in training. Maybe she didn't know most of the people she'd put into these brand-name sleeping tubes would be strung out. Maybe she's a medical technician not used to being polite to anyone. Maybe she's been dying to do what I did and what all the others in the sleeping ghetto will but she's worried about a Biblical concept of Hell.
I can think about all of this, but I don't care. I gave a lot of money to this cruise line so that I could have my blood detoxified, my heart response examined, my brain tested, and my sleep refresh me. I am paying to cleanse my bodily sins. I will wake up a new man. I may not even remember this woman in three weeks, when I sit up again.
When I was a kid, the inventor of the Snore-Slow was excommunicated from her church. She ad been told sleep, blood cleansing and all of that were abominations against punishment for sin. Strange that the religious leader in question died of renal failure related to alcoholism. A doctor offered the cleric a "round in the tube" and the cleric screamed obscenities back. Pride's a sin, too.
"Put your thumb on the square," Marnya says to me as she holds out my card. I obey.
"You accept that we're putting you under, cleaning you out, and probably write medical monographs about you?"
I put my other hand in the air and say, "I do. May I kiss the bride?"
"Go to bed, asshole." She pulls out a couple of needles and swabs my inner elbows. "I'm supposed to be subtle about this. I've got too much work to do and I can't get fucked up like you."
"You're not giving me excellent ser-!" Two needles at once. She's a med tech, not a cabin boy.
-something for the end, ps/d
When I was a kid, traveling in space was still awe-inspiring. Earthlings were still humans. I still wanted to be an astronaut because the job hadn't become dull yet.
I'm remembering this right now, as a supple but strong man takes a blue card from me and walks me to my Snore-Slow.
"Hmmm..." he says. He makes the loudest, most theatrical hmmm I've heard in years. "I bet you're gonna be a... yes, it's right on the stub. Det case. Great! I'll put you in the ghetto in case you make any noises." He never looks at me after saying hmmm; he walks very properly and sprightly. He's wearing shiny plastic pants but somehow never makes those mini-corduroy sounds I expect. He must be a dancer.
He stops behind another person in plastic pants. "Marnya, don't you have somewhere to be?" he says.
"Jeeze, your asshole pills kicked in early today, Lasulko," she responds. She has this twinkling, childlike voice that suggests she's just learning how to speak. Her vocabulary seems like it should be coming out of someone with shredded vocal chords. I know their mock-confrontation will be over soon, but I'm enjoying it.
"Mar, put this one in the ghetto, too. He's detsy."
"Convenient. So I suppose you're too important to spork him in yourself." Lasulko has already left. Now Marnya has my blue pass, but I'm still staring at it. It's taking a lot of concentration to be standing. I have to answer a couple of questions, so I must be attentive for the last few minutes. I'm glad I'll stop feeling tense soon.
"Detsy, is ya?" she inquires and cocks her head.
"Huh?"
"Det. Detox. You're having medical rejuvenation while you're asleep, is that right?"
"Oh, yuh, yes. I am. I have been working on..."
"Yes yes, words words. You're strung out. You tired yet?" her childlike voice betrays her frustration. She knows.
She knows I'm hopping into that tube to lie down. She knows I'll be asleep very soon. She knows she'll need to stick some needles into me and take them out after a day. She knows I might wake up screaming and she'll have to reassure me that I'm not dying. She knows I'm getting the royal treatment. She knows she's been just as tired but she can't do what I did to get here. She knows skeer isn't allowed on these cruises -- not for the staff, anyway.
She thinks I'm scum. I see it in her eyes. I hadn't looked anyone in the eyes for a while, so that look is reminding me why. She likes some aspect of her job but she's in training. Maybe she didn't know most of the people she'd put into these brand-name sleeping tubes would be strung out. Maybe she's a medical technician not used to being polite to anyone. Maybe she's been dying to do what I did and what all the others in the sleeping ghetto will but she's worried about a Biblical concept of Hell.
I can think about all of this, but I don't care. I gave a lot of money to this cruise line so that I could have my blood detoxified, my heart response examined, my brain tested, and my sleep refresh me. I am paying to cleanse my bodily sins. I will wake up a new man. I may not even remember this woman in three weeks, when I sit up again.
When I was a kid, the inventor of the Snore-Slow was excommunicated from her church. She ad been told sleep, blood cleansing and all of that were abominations against punishment for sin. Strange that the religious leader in question died of renal failure related to alcoholism. A doctor offered the cleric a "round in the tube" and the cleric screamed obscenities back. Pride's a sin, too.
"Put your thumb on the square," Marnya says to me as she holds out my card. I obey.
"You accept that we're putting you under, cleaning you out, and probably write medical monographs about you?"
I put my other hand in the air and say, "I do. May I kiss the bride?"
"Go to bed, asshole." She pulls out a couple of needles and swabs my inner elbows. "I'm supposed to be subtle about this. I've got too much work to do and I can't get fucked up like you."
"You're not giving me excellent ser-!" Two needles at once. She's a med tech, not a cabin boy.
-something for the end, ps/d
