F. Wilson - Dydeetown World

Picked it out of the pile and backed the chair into the middle of the compartment, turning so my back was to Lynnie's holo. As the chair reclined supineward, I hesitated.

Shouldn't do this, I told myself. You've been weaning yourself down all year now. Three weeks now without buttoning up once. A record. As good as clean. Why set yourself back now? The day after tomorrow will be a lot easier if you put that damn thing back in the drawer right now and go to sleep.

Good arguments. Made a lot of sense. But they couldn't overcome one little slice of reality: After I was unbuttoned tomorrow, there'd be no choice for me unless I decided to get rewired, and that wouldn't be possible for at least half a year. Tonight was it. After this, I'd be like the rest of the walkarounds except there'd be a part of me so callused by years of buttoning that no one in the real world could get through to it. An importent part of me would be permanently — or almost permanently — numb. Needed one last jolt, one last hit, for old times' sake. Auld Lang Syne. No rational arguments were going to keep me from buttoning up one last time.

Was just fitting the button into the dimple in my scalp when I noticed movement through the door. Held off and watched the urchin steal down the hall toward my compartment. Felt my jaw muscles tighten. If that little bastard thought he was going to barge in here and whimper and whine his way into spending the night, he had another think coming. Needed my privacy, needed to be by myself for a — He didn't knock or push the buzzer. Just stood there looking at the door for a moment, then slipped to the floor and curled up with his back to me.

The little glitch was going to spend the night camped outside my door and he wasn't even going to tell me!

Watched the slow rise and fall of his skinny little back as he dropped off to sleep. Fingered the button in my hand. Could still button up just like I'd planned The door was soundproof and he'd never know what I was doing.

But I'd know he was there.

Stared at him. He looked so frail lying there, scootching around to get comfortable. Thought of him staying there on the hard floor all night in the cold white light while I slept calm and soft in my dark compartment.

So what? It was his choice, wasn't it? He could have been back with his gang now, sleeping with them. Safe. Secure. Underground. In the old subway tunnels.

Sighed and floated the chair over to the drawer, dropped the button back in, then returned to the door. Maybe it was for the best, I told myself. Make it easier in the morning…and all the empty nights thereafter.

Opaqued the door — saw no use in letting him in on that little secret — and slid it open. Nudged him with my foot.

"Get in here!" I said in an angry hiss. "What'll the neighbors say if they see you out here?"

He gave me a shy smile as he stumbled to his feet. Growling, I pointed him toward the couch and turned out the lights.

B.B. had the big thrill of waking up in a real compartment and eating a compartment breakfast. Even let him take my allotted shower for the day — a super-filamentous thrill. After he was finished and dressed, I sent him on his way happy, clean, and smiling, telling him I'd meet him at the office later.

When I was sure he was gone, I emptied my button drawer into the pocket of my jumper and headed for the tubes. Tried to keep my mind blank as I headed for Boedekker North. Didn't want to think about what I was going to have done to myself this morning.

The word castration drifted through my mind.

Not that I was much use to the female of the species now, but without the wire I wouldn't even be useful to myself. They say that after you got unbuttoned, you can relearn to be with a woman again. It was never as good as a button, but you could relearn.

Wasn't sure I'd even want to try.

Wandered around Boedekker North for a while, killing time. Finally decided that I'd put it off long enough. Wasn't going to accomplish anything by delaying any longer. Strolled onto the premises of the NeuroNex franchise and…

…got in line.

Hadn't expected this. A real strange sight. The other customers were in holosuits — saw two Joey Joses, an Alana Alvarez, a Pepito Ito, and others — all waiting for the human tech. She took each into the back office; a few minutes later they were out again and on their way. It looked like they were making purchases, but that didn't make sense. Simple purchases of mones or buttons could be made more quickly — and with greater confidentiality — via the slot consoles along the wall. Needed a human myself. After all, I was here for a procedure.

"You alone here?" I called over the heads of the others.

"Until the sales girl comes in, I am." She smiled. "We let her sleep late one morning a week."

"I was here before you," said a thin, worn out looking guy two seats away. No holosuit on him.

"Nobody said you weren't."

"Just remember that," he said sullenly.

Finally the holosuits were gone. Only me and my polite fellow dallier — the one ahead of me — remained. He shuffled up to the counter.

"I wanna donate a few nanos."

The tech gave him the up-and-down. She was red-haired, round-bodied and round-faced, with ruddy cheeks. A plump little angel, except that she was scowling.

"Weren't you hear last week, Stosh?"

"Yeah, but — "

"No 'buts'. Two weeks between donations, not a tenth less. You know that. See you in a week."

He stalked out, averting his eyes as he passed me.

"What can NeuroNex do for you?" she said to me.

"A procedure."

Her interest level rose visibly. "Oh? Which one?

Looked around to make sure the office area was empty. This wasn't something I wanted to advertise.

"Want to get dewired."

Her eyes widened, revealing more blue. "Really?"

"Something wrong?"

"No. Of course not. It's just that you don't look like our typical…" Her voice trailed off.

"Buttonhead?"

"Not a nice term. We prefer 'direct limbic neurostimulator.'"

"And you think I should probably look like the guy you just chased off, right?"

"We try to discourage that stereotype. By the way, you'll have to sign a release."

"I know."

Expected that. The NeuroNex people had installed the wire a year or so after Maggs had run off. Had to sign a release then saying that I'd read and understood all the listed potential physical and psychosocial side effects of becoming a buttonhead and absolved NeuroNex of any liability connected with same. Now they'd want me to absolve them of any and all liability associated with not being a buttonhead.

Sure. Why not?

We got down to business. The releases were signed, then we discussed price. That was not negotiable, I knew — the fee was set at NeuroNex's central office — but I haggled anyway. Got nowhere, as expected, but did manage to get a trade-in allowance on the unused plays left in my buttons.

After the sales girl arrived, the tech led me back to the sterile room and laid me down. Watched the monitor as she prepped the top of my scalp. Had an odd, disembodied sensation as I looked down at the back of my own head in the holo chamber. She depilated the area around the dimple, disinfected it, then readied her scalpel.

"No blade?" I said.

She was seated at the top of my head as I reclined on the table. Couldn't see her face, only her hands in the monitor, but her voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

"It's there. You just can't see it. It's a loop of Gussman molly wire. See?" She passed the visible part of the instrument within a couple of centimeters of my scalp and the flesh parted magically. "Beautiful stuff — a single strand of Gussman alloy molecules strung end to end, submicroscopic but still 100-kilo test. Wonderful to work with."