Dreambox Junkies 10 страница

The smartpape picture had blurred; she felt tears on her face. Wiping them away, she ended the playback. The current securicam image reappeared, then automatically cut to a second live camera, then a third, all swooping through their graceful, vigilant arcs. It was an intrusive device, and Frances resolved, there and then, to have it deactivated, removed.

But really, what did it matter?

Soon, nothing would matter.

The camera swept past the guest rooms, one at a time. Alongside each door was a dainty little curtained window. All of the curtains were imperfectly drawn. Through one of the gaps Frances happened to catch a flicker of movement and, before it had gone, some impulse made her ring the spot. Immediately, the camera halted, backtracked and zoomed in until the sliver of guest room visible between the curtains filled the smartpape.

Two people, half-undressed, tightly entwined, were making love on the bed. Kneeling, pressed hard together, holding, hugging, kissing with the enormous, fierce passion of the end of the world. And then the two of them, Paulie and Ruth, fell out of sight, away from prying eyes.

Or had she dreamt it? Frances did not play back the recording to check. Instead, she crumpled the smartpape.

* * * *

Babies. Sesha peered into the pram pushed by the woman beside her as they crossed the road. How lovely, she thought. How wonderful, how beautiful they are. And what will my own baby be like? How shall I edit the genestory? Should I push toward pulchritude, athletic prowess, intellect? Or should I go for the standard, general push? Biggest question of all: girl or boy, which will I choose?

It had descended upon her so suddenly, this simple realization of what she was about, what life was all about.

She stopped to look in a shop window. Dear little pink and yellow baby dresses, the sweetest all-in-one sleepsuits, newborn-size cardigans, so incredibly tiny.

She thought, A man would come in handy.

The idea of purchasing McSperm and going it alone, although it was certainly not something to be completely ruled out, was no more than a last resort. The funny thing was, the sexual act itself felt so utterly necessary, indispensable; she was aching for it all of a sudden, even after what had happened in the verticar over East Anglia, when she and Paul Rayle had been compelled, by some strange force outside of themselves, to—

Sesha found herself drooling at one gorgeous guy after another. There were so many of them, so many who could father her child.

And then she remembered what Frances had said, “Xabier would be happy to give you a massage. "

Sesha hurried back to the house, her mobe guiding her through the maze of twisting little streets. It was two in the afternoon; would Xabier be having his siesta? Would she have to wait? It was so hard to wait.

She ran across the garden court and up the steps. Just as she reached her landing, Paul Rayle and Ruth emerged from their room. Paul Rayle was holding their baby.

Sesha smiled at the baby. The baby stared back at her, as if not quite knowing what to make of the smile.

“Hi, ” she said to Paul Rayle and Ruth. “Are you going out for a walk? It's gorg out there. ” To Ruth, he said, “Do you think I could just... hold her for a moment? I'm sorry, I've forgotten her name? "

“Kali. ” Ruth regarded her with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

Paul Rayle held out the lovely little baby. Sesha took her. It was heavenly, like nothing she had experienced, holding this tiny lovely warm thing in her arms.

“She's beautiful, ” Sesha told the parents. The proud parents. All parents were proud. How could they not be proud?

In her room, Sesha took a shower. She put her hands to her stomach. How would it feel, the ripe, distended belly? She would put on a really atrocious amount of weight, but that could hardly be avoided. She tried to imagine the kick, the first kick from inside.

Wrapped in a towel, Sesha sat down on the bed and wondered how long to give Xabier. She had been liberal with the body spray, but still felt sweaty. Would he be put off? Should she take another shower?

Folic acid, she thought. I must start taking folic acid.

And then she remembered the Bubu Flumpkin, hidden in her travel bag. She took out the lovely little purple cutie sweet thing and cuddled him.

She could wait no longer. She asked her mobe to summon Xabier.

“He's on his way. ” Her mobe's voice, the sexy voice of Janko Brauch. Had the mobe been humanoid she would have jumped its alloy bones.

Kicking her heel against the bed in impatience, Sesha waited for the knock at the door. If Xabier, for some reason, proved a flop, Paul Rayle would just have to stand in for him, just as long as she could get him free of Ruth for long enough...

& n

bsp; Xabier knocked.

Clutching the towel to her breast with studied carelessness, Sesha invited him in.

“Senorita Processia? "

His eyes had flicked over her, up and down. He was interested; the poor chump couldn't help himself. Allowing the towel to slip a little, giving him even more to feast his eyes upon, Sesha asked, “Would it be at all possible for me to have a massage? "

“Of course. There are some... things that are needed. One moment, please. "

While Xabier fetched his stuff, Sesha lifted the towel and looked again at her belly. Its flatness filled her with shame. How could she, for so long, have neglected her primary purpose? Work? What was work? Career? It all meant nothing.

She asked her mobe, “What else should I be taking, as well as folic acid, for a healthy baby? What are the latest recommendations? Is there anything I should stop doing, or eating or drinking or... Apart from alcohol, I know about alc... "

“Sesha, listen carefully... have you taken your maternosuppressor? "

The mobe's voice was loud and sharp, but still pure sex oozing out of a speaker.

“No, and not taking the frucking thing's the best frucking thing I've ever done. "

The little brown bottle of one-a-day tablets, evilly concocted to kill her natural desire to conceive, stood there on the bedside table. Sesha reached out and grabbed it; the only place for those terrible things, the world's most ugly invention, was down the toilet. And even that was too good for them. What a selfish stupe she was for ever even thinking of taking—

Sesha's mobe fired its emergency microdart into her left upper arm.

By the time Xabier returned, the ultrafast-acting hormone-stabilizer had done its work to the extent that Sesha had put on some clothes and was no longer finding the Bubu Flumpkin quite so killingly cute. She thanked her mobe for saving the day.

Xabier knocked. “Senorita? "

“Would it be okay if I left it for another time, Xabier? ” Sesha spoke through the closed door. Even though disaster had now been averted, she felt too embarrassed to face him. “Sorry about putting you to all this trouble, but I just... "

“No trouble. "

“Thank you, Xabier. I really appreciate your patience. "

She heard him go, the poor guy. Well, maybe later. But right at the moment—Sesha hugged herself—the very thought of being touched by anyone was anathema.

It had happened once before; twice, now, the mobe had rescued her from madness with a microdart. The first time, she had been planning to pay a bedboy not to take any precautions. It was worse than being drunk. Were it to happen again, she might not be so lucky. She had been foolish, instructing the mobe not to keep on reminding her every day as a matter of course; she'd got tired of having it nag at her. Well, from now on, it would be nag city. Either that or she would have to switch to a maternosuppressing dermaplant and put up with the significantly higher risk of nasty side-effects.

Babies. Nice to hold for a while, so long as there was always someone around to take them back once they started crying, or messed themselves, or puked on you.

Sesha couldn't believe it, the way she had acted. It was hilarious, really, but somehow she just couldn't laugh. She thought, What a grotesque way to be living your life.

Then up it came; Sesha staggered to the bathroom to be sick. In expectation of the nausea, the vomiting her mobe had warned her would occur, she had held off from backing up the microdart with her daily maternosuppressor pill, the one she should have taken that morning.

Again, she thanked the mobe for its prompt action.

“That's what I'm here for... And could I just be boring for a moment and point out that this feature option can only be found on the new Hitachi mobe range, Generation Six... Oh, and Sesh, I've just today received news that in around two to three months you can expect Generation Seven, with even more neat new features, such as SalivAnalysis: after the first kiss choose a discreet moment, press the sensor pad to your lips and find out then and there whether the guy or girl has anything you would NOT like to catch... need I elaborate? Works with all human bodily fluids, animal module available on request. So what d'you say, Sesh, shall I place an order? "

Sesha took her tablet. “Oh... go on, then. "

[Back to Table of Contents]

* * *

Chapter 20

Frances wore small round dark glasses which, Paulie thought, made her look famous. Yet the few people around paid no more attention to his ex-wife than they did to him, or to Ruth. If anyone, it was Kali who was noticed and, invariably, smiled at, dangling there in her sling like a little lost paratrooper as they wandered among the trees of the Parque de Maria Luisa. In fact so fetching must Kali have appeared to all comers that even Sesha Roffey, back at the house, had come over broody, begging to hold the baby, stepping weirdly out of character.

Frances would have looked more stellar still accompanied by a retinue. But, typically, she had eschewed the close and constant presence of a medical attendant or even a bodyguard; although her man, Felipe, not quite so fine-featured as Xabier, and a little older, was waiting back at the car, and could doubtless be at her side in a matter of seconds. Paulie wondered whether Felipe packed a gun. Armed guards, whole private squads, were said to be all the rage among those with serious money. It still seemed to Paulie completely bizarre, Frances having been elevated to that stratum. At least, he thought, she'd had the wisdom to join the ranks of the Great Invisibles, low-profilers with the clout to keep themselves out of the news.

To Frances, Ruth said, “I bet you don't miss February in England? "

Paulie's heart went out to her, doing her part in staving off an awkward silence. They were having a hard time of it, both women, maintaining this conversation of fits and starts.

“English weather's so... schizoid. ” Frances forked back her hair. “I was born in England but I'm not sure I ever really felt at home there. ” She stroked Kali's nose. “Would you like me to take the baby for a while? I expect she's pretty heavy, and you must be getting hot as well as tired? "

“No, no, I'm all right, thanks. Really. "

“You look a little overheated, that's all. "

Ruth shook her head. “I'm okay. "

Frances grimaced. “Oh dear, I wasn't thinking, was I? I suppose it wouldn't be safe, what with my penchant for collapsing. "

“I'll take her, ” Paulie offered.

Ruth shook her head again, and didn't look at him, fixed her eyes on the ground, and Paulie could tell that she was getting pissed off.

“Shall we sit down? ” Frances suggested.

They went across to a bench.

“I think you're both very courageous, ” Frances told them. “Having children has become such a... One finds oneself confronted by a horrifying number of complex decisions, when in the old days... "

Paulie said, “It's still the old days for most people in the world. Not everyone has the chance to mess about with genes. "

“No, ” Frances agreed. “But I could have helped you. I could still help you. "

Paulie saw Ruth stiffen.

He said, “We're fine as we are. "

“And Kali? You've thought of Kali? What of her future? "

Ruth stood up sharply, holding onto Kali to steady her. “I didn't want this. I never came here for this. ” She said it without looking at either of them, and having spoken, she walked quickly away from them, down the path, into the trees.

“I'm sorry, ” Frances murmured. More loudly, she said, “I'm sorry, Ruth. I didn't mean to offend you. "

Paulie said, “Well she's right, we didn't come here for this. "

He got up and hurried after Ruth. Why, he wondered, did I myself not feel offended? Should I have been? Do I lack sensitivity, self-respect if I am in any way prepared to entertain the notion of Frances's helping us out?

He caught up with her.

“Ruth, are you okay? "

She kept walking.

“Ruth hold on a minute. "

“She should keep her fucking nose out. I might've known this was what it was really all about. Go back to her, if that's what you want. She's after not just you but Kali as well, isn't she? My God. "

“No, it's not that, it's not that at all. "

“Then why's she saying all that shit about Kali? "

“Frances isn't perfect, any more than any of us. "

Ruth turned away from him, headed off between the trees, across the sand and scrubby grass.

“Look Ruth, come back, come on. "

“Fuck off. "

“Ruth! ” Frances, panting a little, reached his side. “Ruth I'm sorry. "

Ruth ignored her.

“Thanks a lot, ” said Paulie bitterly.

With confidence, Frances said, “She'll have to come back. "

“You don't know Ruth. ” He began to walk after her, Frances grimly keeping pace.

“She's very proud. ” Frances sidestepped some dog crap. “She's already made up her mind about me, hasn't she? "

“I was hoping the two of you would be able to get on. "

“When all that we have in common is you? "

It was farcical. The world was almost certainly subreal, a copy run off from the Actual, and here they were, not real, true people at all but humiliants, wrestling away, nervertheless, with these age-old everyday problems.

“Are you trying to ruin things for us, or what? ” Paulie wondered if he ought to have been angry; what he felt was more like melancholia. “I came here because I was told it might be good for you psychologically, in terms of your health. I couldn't see it, myself, but... but Ruth insisted I should. So you have Ruth, not me, to thank for my being here in the first place. "

“You love her very much, don't you? "

“What do you think? "

“I think I can see what you see in her. "

“Well, can't you put yourself in Ruth's position, then? "

“You imagine I haven't done that? "

“Are you capable of doing that? "

“There's no need to be snide, Paul. You know as well as I do how important it is to Ruth's morale that you and I don't get along too comfortably. Perhaps if I were to give you a good hard slap in the face at some appropriate point, when Ruth's looking... You see the trouble is, Paul, Ruth can tell that you still feel for me, and I you, and she doesn't like that. She forgets that I'll soon be... dead. ” Frances clutched at his sleeve. “Please, just a little more slowly. We're keeping Ruth in sight. She'll come to no harm. "

Paulie slackened his pace. He did feel anger, now. Contempt toward himself, for he had caught a tiny, secret part of Paulie Rayle that was enjoying this. And it would not have escaped Frances's notice. “Put yourself in Ruth's position, ” he repeated, miserably. “Wondering what we're saying. I daren't even think what she's imagining. You really enjoy doing this to her, making her feel threatened, don't you? "

“Do you? "

Full of tight, acrid fury, he said, “What is this? Did your doctors suggest it would be good for you to get involved in emotional competition? "

“You flatter yourself. "

“Well, that's what boxworlds are all about, isn't it? "

“Boxworlds? ” She looked genuinely perplexed. “What are they? I'm sorry, Paul, I don't understand what you're saying. Is this connected with what you were telling me earlier, about the unreality of things, that strange feeling you said you'd experienced? "

“Either I'm going mad, or this world's not real. "

“So which of the two do you believe is actually the case? "

This was a million miles away from the hard-headed Frances of old, and it took him aback. In fact, he realized, she seemed more like one of the GroundRuths in her willingness to listen.

He confessed, “I don't know what to believe. When Sesha came and collected me, when we were in that verticar, all three of us, me and Sesha and the pilot, found ourselves forced into... Call it inappropriate sexual behaviour. And then, just as suddenly, it had gone. If Sesha seems a bit upset, troubled by something, that's probably it. That's how I got the bruises... the pilot couldn't handle his embarrassment, started hitting me. Yeah, I know, I'd be laughed out of court. You'd be well within your rights giving up on me. "

But as if to make amends by humouring him for having let slip hostile feelings toward Ruth, Frances showed no trace of scepticism. “It was as though you were under hypnosis? "

“Or drugged. But I don't think so. I think it was something else. "

Frances regarded him quizzically.

He said, “We behaved exactly like screen images do when manipulated by an erotoroutine, a pirate joke program that sends screen characters sex-mad, going at each other like rabbits. "

“A program similar to this Sick Nick you mentioned? "

Paulie nodded. “Only sex, not violence. "

Frances frowned. “So this led you to suspect that we're none of us real people? ” She made the assumption sound almost reasonable.

“Each Dreambox makes an electronic copy of the real world... the people, everything there's inf on. What happened to us in the verticar would make sense if we were not real people but copies of people, not originals but recordings. And someone's dreaming this world with a Dreambox. It could be me, someone else, I don't know. Alternatively, I could be rubber room material. "

“And you've told Ruth? "

“Not about what happened in the verticar. The rest, though, yeah. I don't blame her if she thinks I'm just a stupid boxhead. "

“So, tell me how, ” Frances asked him, “you came to start using a Dreambox? As I remember, you were always so scathing, so dismissive of escapist fantasies. "

“How did you ever put up with me? I must have been about as much fun as chronic dysentery. "

Paulie felt her squeeze his hand. He glanced at her. She said, earnestly, “Believe me, Paulie, I treasure those times. ” And then she asked, again, “So why the Dreambox, I don't understand? "

“I've been trying to turn the world into Heaven. "

“You've been doing what? I'm not sure I follow you. "

He thought, Follow me? You ought to be recoiling from me. He said, “I've been trying to dream up a better world, bring it into actual existence, make it more real than this one. See? I'm mad, fucking mad, I'm round the bend. "

“How on earth did you imagine you might set about achieving such a thing? ” Frances gave a good impression of taking him seriously. She was, after all, a trained actress.

“God, I don't know, just by thinking the right thoughts, before someone else hit on them and thought them. Like some teenage geek whose idea of Heaven would be closer to Hell. ” It came pouring out of him; he couldn't stop it. “I'd like to say I was doing it for all the millions of people in the world still suffering and starving, but... I just want a better world for Kali. And for Ruth. The kind of world she deserves. She can't live in this world as it is. She hates it so much. She belongs in a better world than this. I just want Ruth and Kali to be happy. But... ” He shook his head, “I couldn't do it. I don't have the imagination. I don't have the talent. Ruth believed in me, but I couldn't come through for her. "

In silence they continued to pursue Ruth across the park. Paul was dimly aware of Felipe, creeping along in the car, trailing them, staying as close as the road would permit.

Frances said, “So, if the whole world were to change, would we all be conscious of the change, or would... "

“Don't humour me. Why do you humour me as well? ” Misery drained him, brought him finally to a standstill. Anguish strangling his voice, he sobbed, “Why does Ruth humour me? Why don't you tell me to grow up? Why isn't there anyone to make me live in the real world? "

“So Ruth knows what you're trying to do? "

“Can't you see? The problem is what I'm doing to her. "

Ruth had given him such love, and he had taken it so casually and squandered it. He had left her alone, emotionally, in this world she so detested. Her complaints were justified, her appraisal of the situation spot-on; she had been having to look after two babies. He had exhausted her near-limitless capacity for giving. And all for what? The most patently ludicrous of dreams. A hopelessly naive delusion.

Crushed down by despair, Paulie fell to his knees.

“RUTH! ” he shouted.

She was a long way ahead of him, now. She didn't stop, she didn't slow down. She didn't even turn and look. Paulie was desolate. The woman beside him, his ex-wife, had revealed herself to be nothing more than a woman. Not the saviour his mind had built her up to be. Not what he needed. Not the world's wise mother, after all. And the Angel Syndrome? Maybe just a cunning ruse to get him back. Not that he could see how he was worth so much trouble.

“RUTH! ” Paulie shouted again.

The trees had swallowed her up.

“Paul? "

He turned to find Frances on her stomach on the sand, trying to lift herself, having fallen on her face. Sand was sticking to her nose, to her lips, to the lenses of her costly designer shades. Blood trickled from her nostril. She looked old. He felt no pity for her, pulling this stunt at this time to stop him chasing after Ruth. All he felt was disgust.

Unless, of course, he chose to be honest with himself.

He bent and took her up into his arms, helped her to her feet.

Frances clung to him, and he to her.

[Back to Table of Contents]

* * *

Chapter 21

It was just the two of them now. Herself and Kali against the world. Ruth looked back. Paulie and Frances were no longer coming after her. They'd given up. What more proof did you need that neither of them cared, that Paulie was back where he wanted to be? Well, she hoped he and Frances would be happy together. She wouldn't trouble them again. She would find her own way home and get on with life, hers and Kali's. That was it. The end. Why prolong it?

Funny, Ruth thought, how suddenly the fog lifts, and you see things straight. Had he ever loved her? Had he—fuck. What a sucker he'd played her for. What a d

ope she'd been, putting up with his shit for so long. Living with a Dreambox junkie. What else was he cut out for? Selfish, a dreamer. And she, big dumb doormat, had actually gone and bought him the fucking box! And now, he'd had enough of even that game, having failed in it too, like he failed in everything, and had grabbed at this chance of getting back together with Frances. What a twisted, evil fucker he was. He had got her right out here to Seville so that he could parade around in front of her and show how much his ex-wife still wanted him. And Frances, the two-faced old hag, she probably wasn't ill at all—it was probably just a scheme to get him back. Well, Frances could have him. She was welcome to him. They belonged together. What a twisted, evil pair.

Ruth kicked a fallen, rotten orange.

Where would she go? What would she do? She had hardly any money. She had her transac ring, but it had already been used up to its limit. She knew a little bit of Spanish, just about enough to get by. She had no ticket home. That was why they had left her to wander off; they knew she would end up slinking back to them with her tail between her legs. They probably thought that, since she didn't have one of those mobe things, she would have to go to a phone box and either ask Tourinf for directions to Frances's house, although that would surely be private, secret information, never given out to tourists, or else contact Paulie through his borrowed mobe. They knew she wouldn't keep Kali out too long. They knew she knew she was stuck, and they were laughing at her.

Ruth passed a little open-air cafe. Kids were running about with ice cream cones, dropping lumps and dripping trails of coloured ice cream. Parents were sitting drinking coffees. Everybody looked rich. Ruth knew that only well-heeled tourists were allowed into the real city. Any poorer people you saw were natives legally permitted to live there.

A couple of the rich tourists were looking at her. What were they seeing? An unusual-looking poor peasant woman?

In the window of a parked car Ruth caught her reflection, and she thought, An unusual-looking fat peasant woman, and hardly Spanish. White arms. Fat white thighs. Fat white bumpy wobbly thighs, and big backside.

There was something very wrong with Paulie Rayle, the way he'd look at her body and seem to like what he saw, but wouldn't compliment her, not most of the time. Any compliment would have been a lie, but that wasn't the point. Most of his looks would be stolen ones, taken as though a man had a God-given right to look without having to give anything in return. And what a perve he was, going at her with his tongue while she rested her legs on his shoulders, or squatted over him. Getting her to clamp her thighs tight round his head while he'd be going at her, hugging her round the thighs, lapping happily away. Sometimes, it was like he was doing even that for himself, not for her, like it was just another private Paulie Rayle thing. Who else but a perve got turned on by big fat wobbly thighs and big tits like udders? And sometimes, when the sight of her thighs was making her uncomfortable, and he was going at her with too much roughness and madness, like a licking dog gone mental, she wouldn't be getting as much out of it as he'd obviously want her to be getting, so she'd make moans to please him. Sometimes. Other times, she really was off on a cloud. So, did he do that kind of stuff with Frances, even though she was old enough to be his mother? He probably even liked the mother thing. What a fucking perve he was. When you thought about it, all men were perverted.

Ruth came to a road junction, crossed along with a bunch of other people. Wasn't that big building the old cigarette factory out of Carmen? She could have done with a smoke. She'd given up on becoming pregnant with Kali. It hadn't been so difficult. The taste of cigarettes had suddenly gone horrible, like her body had known what was best for her and had taken action. She could have done with one now, though, and if she hadn't had Kali on her in the sling she would have bought some.

She followed a long, high wall. All along it were posters, the same poster over and over again. That dead singer, Janko Brauch. Greatest Hits.

She came to shops. A touristy knick-knack shop full of tiles and garish majolica and frilly flamenco dresses. An Irish pub. An electrical shop, its window crammed with Dreamboxes. A sign urged in Spanish, ‘BUY BEFORE THE BAN! ’ She felt like chucking a brick.

A pony and trap clip-clopped past, carrying Oriental sightseers. Kali woke up, yawned her face half inside-out. Hoisting her up in the sling, Ruth kissed her baby's dandelion-clock head. “Just you and me, babes, ” she murmured softly.

A clean, clear, sweet and simple life was all she'd ever wanted. Paulie had given the impression that he was seeking the same thing, back when he'd come to the village looking for a quiet room. Only what she hadn't realized then was that his kind of simplicity was the simplicity of being looked after, of not having to work, earn money, bother about bills or care for children; of having somebody stupid enough to do all of that for you, and take your crank fantasies seriously. Better still, why not get your rich ex-wife to buy you simplicity? Why he'd left Frances in the first place was the biggest fucking mystery of all.

Ruth looked round for some public toilets. Kali had just done another nappysworth. She stank to high heaven, poor little mite.

* * * *

Settling into a comfortable chair, Sesha donned her smartspecs and embarked upon a leisurely surf of the city's securicams; something she would often do when travelling. She found it an enjoyable way of getting her bearings, this literal overview of her environment. Even though less immersive an experience, it was nonetheless preferable to PseudoSeville; this was the real world she was looking out on, not the substitute stored on computer for the plebs.

She had remained in her room, too embarrassed to risk bumping into Xabier. And she had needed a break from agonizing over Frances's job offer. Sitting back and observing the streetlife was a tried-and-trusted chillout tactic. She had no control over the cameras; it was like being an upstairs passenger on a double-decker bus, a flaneuse watching the world go by.

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