Postsingular - Rudy Rucker (classic novels TXT) 📗

“I’m sorry,” said Nektar. “I’m so sorry.”

“Make the ad,” said the beetle shaped like Jil. “Then I forgive. Vote for Dick Too Dibbs. You say just once.”

“Hey, Nektar!” A fresh voice, a real voice in her bedroom.

She fluttered her eyes open. Two men and two women were here, colorful, street-hardened kids in their early twenties, ten years younger than Nektar. One of them leaned close. His eyes were soft and intelligent beneath his green cap; he wore a T-shirt and a suit jacket with a wild hand-drawn skull on the jacket’s back. An iridescent shoon was perched on his shoulder. The rain had stopped; the sun was breaking through.

“I’m Jayjay,” the boy told Nektar. “Aka Jorge Jimenez. We’re the Big Pig Posse. Let me into your head, Nektar. Give me full access. I can kill those beetles by fixing your filter dogs.” He flexed his fingers in intricate gamer moves.

“Yes,” said Nektar with a weak smile, and opened a mental door for him. In the orphidnet, Jayjay got busy. The other Posse members were in the orphidnet watching, as well: a stocky girl with a blue tattoo, a boy with spiky hair, a Vietnamese girl with high pigtails.

“Yeek yeek,” murmured the first boy—Jayjay—swinging from bough to vine in the jungle of Nektar’s mind, landing beside her filter dog kennel, and scattering luminous blue fleas. Instants later, Nektar’s flea-bitten dogs had trashed the beetles.

“All good now, Nektar,” said Jayjay, pulling back into his real body.

Nektar sat up, holding her sheet to her breasts, free at last.

The boy with his hair in shiny spikes—Sonic—stretched out in a patch of sun on the big Oriental rug on Nektar’s floor, the shoons yipping and cavorting with him. He wore black wool tights, a red T-shirt, and a lightweight leather jacket with tailored shirring.

As usual, the shoons’ appearances changed according to the whims of the beezies currently controlling them; right now a couple resembled monkeys, another pair was playing beetle and beetle-flea, another was a classic Happy Shoon like a bucktoothed Korean baby with a thick rubber bottom, and two had tweaked themselves to resemble Jayjay and the pigtailed girl in striped leggings.

Jayjay forced open the bedroom’s sticky window. Sitting in the easy chair right by Nektar’s bed was the plain-faced woman with the blue tattoo.

“I’m Kittie,” she said pleasantly. “It’s great to meet you. I watch Founders all the time. And I’ve seen you around the Mission, of course.” Fresh air drifted into the room.

“I’ll treat your little group to a big dinner,” said Nektar. “Have you ever been to Puff?”

“Mostly we eat garbage,” said Kittie. “We’re rough and tough.”

“Hmm,” said Nektar, thinking that over, her beetle-free mind feeling giddy and agile. Kittie reminded Nektar of the girlfriend she’d had in college before she’d met Ond; Kittie had that same quality of inner refinement beneath a streetwise demeanor. “You just gave me an idea for a new restaurant presentation,” Nektar told her. “We lead the customers into a dim room with food hidden in miniature garbage cans along the wall. They root out their entrees; it’s a walk on the wild side.” Just to see if she still had it, Nektar gave Kittie a come-hither look.

“I want white tablecloths for our meal at Puff,” said Kittie, radiating back. “Clean and calm.”

“Did this start out as a sudocoke run?” interrupted the girl in the striped leggings, wandering over. “I’m Thuy.”

“That’s baby powder on the mirror,” said Nektar, glad to be getting this information out to her audience. “A hoax. I was under the control of those beetles. They wanted to set the scene so it looked as if I had a reason to stay in bed. For the last two days, they’ve been tormenting me, wanting me to make an ad for that silly Dick Too Dibbs. I’ve heard him come out strong against the nants, but who owns him, really? Since when did any Homesteady politician care about anyone who’s not filthy stinking rich?”

“Tell the world, Nektar,” said Jayjay. “Listen up, Founders fans! My homie Sonic designed these six-dimensional Calabi-Yau beetle-fleas. They’ll gnaw beetle malware out of your orphids.” He gestured with both arms, tossing a complete image of a beetle-flea into the orphidnet for Nektar’s viewers to grab. Then he flopped down on the floor to join Sonic in playing with the shoons.

“I need a shower,” said Nektar, getting out of her bed. She was naked, but being naked didn’t matter anymore, what with your body visible on the orphidnet all the time.

“Need some help?” said Kittie.

“Don’t be dogging her,” said Thuy. Evidently Thuy was Kittie’s girlfriend.

Nektar could visualize making love to Kittie. Having an affair with needy, unstable Craigor Connor was enough to put a woman off hetero sex for months. Maybe it was because he was anxious about cheating on Jil, but Craigor had stinted on foreplay—like he was in a rush to notch up his score for the main event. Kittie, on the other hand, looked tender and competent, like a butch, sexy nurse. Nektar smiled at her and said, “I am a little wobbly, matter of fact. If you could walk me in there and maybe help me when I dry off?”

“You got it, babe,” said Kittie.

“I’m coming, too,” said Thuy.

“Fine,” said Nektar, relishing the attention.

The girls helped Nektar into the shower, Kittie making sure to accidentally touch Nektar’s breasts and bottom, with Thuy watching: annoyed, aroused, amused. After the shower, the two converged on Nektar, each of them holding a big thick towel. Much better to be pursued by women than by beetles. This was catnip for the Founders viewers. Nektar’s orphids glowed with hitcounts.

Back in the bedroom, Sonic and Jayjay were still fooling around with the shoons. Happy Shoon was pacing around to mime deep thought, but the other shoons were rolling around like puppies.

“One of my beezies traced back the beetles’ history for us,” announced Jayjay. For a homeless kiqqie, he had a very crisp and precise way of speaking. “They originated from some malware that you caught from Craigor Connor, Nektar. And Craigor caught the beetle infection when he delivered a walking-chair to Andrew Topping, director of the Natural Mind center in the Mission Street Armory. We don’t know how the infection reached Topping’s office. They’ve got the whole Armory shielded by quantum-mirror varnish to protect their recovering orphidnet addicts. The same kind of shielding that’s used in the ExaExa labs; ExaExa gave them the varnish. ExaExa is one of Natural Mind’s main financial backers, matter of fact. They say it’s charity. For the public good.”

“You know—” said Nektar, regally nude, pausing to enjoy the eyes upon her. “I kept trying to think what those beetles reminded me of, and now I realize they’re like nants. That blind, pushy quality. The Jeff Luty connection fits. That man isn’t comfortable in a human body. He truly thinks we’d be happier if we were software. Ond always said Jeff wasn’t really evil—it’s just that Jeff had this big tragedy when he was younger.” Nektar shook out her hair, proud of herself for sounding so calm on the subject of Luty. “What it is, Jeff is making those beetles as a way to help get Dick Too Dibbs into office. And that’ll give Jeff an in. And down the road, I bet Jeff will manipulate Too Dibbs into launching some improved, unstoppable nants and they’ll kill Gaia for good. Someone has to get to Luty.”

“Right on, Nektar,” said Kittie.

“Go to the Armory,” urged Nektar. “Go to the Armory and check yourselves into the Natural Mind center. Talk sense to Andrew Topping.”

“Natural Mind,” mused Jayjay. “A janitor told us to go there this morning. Coincidence or trap?”

“Aw, people always mention Natural Mind if you’re sleeping in the street,” said Sonic. “I’m down with going there. Put some heat on Topping’s ass. He’s a megaspammer, man. Of course, duh, thanks to the orphidnet, he’ll know we’re coming, assuming his beezies data-mine this conversation. Maybe the Natural Minders won’t let us in.”

Jayjay made a dismissive gesture. His attention had wandered to Thuy. “You done watching Nektar take her shower?” he demanded. “Leave that for Kittie. Come sit with me. I’m the one who loves you.”

Thuy strode over, gave Jayjay such a hard shove with her gold-clad foot that he fell over on his side, then perched herself on him as if she were sitting on a log. He lay there, looking happy to be in physical contact. Poor men, thought Nektar, they’re dogs. Jayjay was cute, too. If Thuy didn’t want him, maybe Jil Zonder would. Jil deserved a fling. It might shake her out of her doldrums.

“Why didn’t you and the beezies fix Nektar yourselves instead of calling in a strung-out pighead derelict like Jayjay?” Thuy asked the shoons, wagging her finger at them. “You there—the shoon that looks like me—squeak up! You can talk, can’t you?”

The tiny Thuy-shaped shoon bobbled her little pigtails and spoke in a surprisingly rich alto voice: “We can talk. We can sing.” Capering expressively, the shoon now performed a bit of Papageno’s aria from The Magic Flute, vibrating her whole body like a loudspeaker.

The Big Pig Posse kids laughed.

And then the shoon laid her little finger against her lips to mime secretiveness. “Let’s switch to quantum-encrypted instant messages,” she said. With everything visible and audible via the quantum-entangled surface-mesh-monitoring orphidnet, the one way to have a private conversation was via dynamically encoded messaging.

“I’m not a derelict, I’m important,” said Jayjay, rolling out from under Thuy and catching his arms around her waist. “See—the shoon-beezies want to make plans with us! I’ll set up a secure channel for us, okay?”

Nektar ignored the planning session. She’d spoken her piece; let the little kiqqies work out the details. It was time to put her look together. Her blond hair had dark roots, but that was okay. She dried her hair, combed it out, and pinned it into an upside-down bed-head ponytail. For Kittie’s benefit, she donned sexy black underwear with red stitching, making sure the girl watched. Then came black tights and a black slip, mascara and lipstick, a cream-colored silk blouse, high black boots, and her casual red twill skirt and jacket.

The sheets on the bed were disgraceful. Nektar stripped them off and threw them into the hamper, with Kittie right there at her side pitching in. Nektar needed breakfast: a quart of Lapsang Souchong tea and a bowl of granola with apricots and yogurt. She called over Happy Shoon and sent him downstairs to make the tea. He was the most trustworthy of the lot, Jil’s original model.

“Would you four like to come downstairs with me?” Nektar asked the Big Pig Posse. Kittie nodded, but the others didn’t. They were so into their private conference that they didn’t hear her.

“Time to eat!” Nektar messaged into the Posse’s quantum-encrypted channel.

“We had some food already,” said Jayjay out loud. “Maybe we should—”

“It’s been a couple of hours,” said Kittie quickly. “You should be glad to eat with Chef Nektar. Are you kidding? What an honor. You guys can talk later.”

As they headed down the stairs someone knocked on the front door. Looking through the orphidnet, Nektar saw Jil Zonder and Craigor Connor out there, the pair in a state of uneasy truce.

“Wow,” said Kittie. “We’re smack in the middle of the Founders show.”

“Maybe I’ll make a special episode with just you,” Nektar purred to Kittie. “Can you be a dear and let them in? I feel like I’ll go crazy if I don’t get my tea this minute.”

Nektar hurried into the kitchen and poured herself a mug of smoky black tea with