Bruce Sterling - Islands in the Net

Thudding silence. "Did you see Arthur's trial?"

Laura shook her head. "But I'm glad now you, never introduced me to the son-of-a-bitch."

"He made me feel like a whore," Emily said. Simple, abject. "He was F.A.C.T.! I still can't believe that some- times. That I was sleeping with the enemy, that I spilled the whole fucking thing, that it was all my fault." She burst into tears. "And then this! I don't know why I even showed my face here. I wish we were back in Mexico. I wish we were in hell!"

"For God's sake, Emily, don't talk like that."

"I disgraced my office. I disgraced the company. And God knows what I've done with my personal life." She was sobbing. "Now look what I've done-I've betrayed my best friend. You were in prison and I was sleeping with your goddamned husband! You must wish I was dead."

"No, I don't!" Laura blurted. "I know-I've been there.

It's no good at all."

Emily stared at her. The remark had stunned her. "I used to know you really well," she said. "I used to depend on you. You were the best pal I ever had.... Y'know, when I first came down here, to see David, I thought I was doing you a favor. I mean, I liked him, but he wasn't exactly doing

Rizome morale much good. Complaining, abusing people, drinking too much. I said, my dead pal would want me to look after David. I tried to do something really good, and it was the worst thing I've ever done."

"I'd have done it too," Laura said.

Emily sat in one of the folding lounge chairs and pulled in her legs. "That's not what I want," she said. "I want you to tell me how much you hate me. I can't stand it if you're so much nobler than I am."

"Okay, Emily." The truth burst out of her like an abcess.

"When I think of you and David sleeping together, I want to tear your fucking throat out."

Emily sat there and took it. She shuddered and flung it off.

"I can't make up for it. But I can run away."

"Don't run, Emily. He doesn't need that. He's a good man. He doesn't love me anymore, but he can't help that.

We're just too far apart now."

Emily looked up. Hope dawned. "So it's true? You're not gonna take him away from me?"

"No." She forced the words to come lightly. "We'll get the divorce. It won't be that much -trouble.... Except for the journalists."

Emily looked at her feet. She accepted it. The gift. "I do love him, you know. I mean, he's simple, and kind of dizzy sometimes, but he does have his good points." She had nothing left to hide. "I don't even need the pills. I just love him. I'm used to him. We're even talking about having a baby."

"Oh, really?" Laura sat down. It was such a strange thought that it somehow failed to touch her. It seemed pleasant somehow, homey. "Are you trying?"

"Not yet but ..." She paused. "Laura? We're gonna survive this, aren't we? I mean it won't be like it was, but we won't have to kill ourselves. We'll be okay."

"Yeah." Long silence.

She leaned toward Emily. Now that it was out between them some ghost of the old vibe was coming back. A kind of subterranean tingle as their buried friendship stirred.

Emily brightened. She could feel it too.

It lasted long enough for them to go back in with their arms around each other.

Everyone smiled.

She spent Christmas at her mother's place in. Dallas. And there was Loretta. A little girl who ran when she saw the lady in the hat and-sunglasses, and hid her face in her grandmoth- er's dress.

She was such a cute little thing. Spiky blond pigtails, greenish eyes. Quite a talker, too, once she got going. She said, "Gramma spill the milk," and laughed. She sang a little song about Christmas in which most of the verses were "na na na na" at top volume. After she got used to her, she sat in

Laura's lap and called her "Rarra."

"She's wonderful," Laura told her mother. "You've done really well with her."

"She's such a joy to me," said Margaret Alice Day Garfield

Nakamura Simpson. "I lost you-then I had her-now I have both of you. It's like a miracle. Not a day passes that I don't marvel at it. I've never been this happy in my life."

"Really, Mother?"

"I've had good times, and I've had bad times-this is the best time, for me. Since I've retired-shrugged the yoke off-it's me and Loretta. We're a family-it's like we're a little team."

"You must have been happy when you and Dad were together. I remember it. I always thought we were happy."

"Well, we were, yes. It wasn't quite this good, but it was good. Till the Abolition. Till I started doing eighteen-hour days. I could have chucked it your father wanted me to- but I thought, no, this is it, the greatest turning point I'll ever see in my lifetime. If I want to live in the world, I have to do this first. So I did it, and I lost him. Both of you."

"It must have hurt you terribly. I was young and didn't know-I only knew that it hurt me."

"I'm sorry, Laura. I know it's late, but I apologize to you."

"Thank you for saying that, Mother. I'm sorry too." She laughed. "It's funny that it should come to this. After all these years. Just a few words."

Her mother took her glasses off, dabbed at her eyes. "Your grandmother understood.... We never have much luck, Laura.

But you know, I think we're working it out! It's not the old way, but it's something. What are nuclear families, anyway?

Preindustrial.

"Maybe we can work it better this time around," Laura said. "I blew it so much worse than you did that maybe it won't hurt her so much."

"I should have seen more of you when you were growing up," her mother said. "But there was work and-oh, dear, I hate to say this-the world's full of men." She hesitated. "I know you don't want to think about that right now, but believe me, it does come back."

"That's nice to know, I guess." She watched the Christ- mas tree, flickering between two Japanese wall hangings.

"Right now the only men I see are journalists. Not much fun there. Ever since Vienna took the leash off, they're running hog wild."

"Nakamura was a journalist," her mother said thought- fully. "You know, I was never very happy with him, but it was certainly intense."

They had supper together, in her mother's elegant little dining nook. There was wine, and Christmas ham, and a little spread of newly invented scop from Britain that tasted like pate.' They could have eaten pounds of it.

"It's good, but it doesn't taste much like pate," her mother complained. "It's a bit more like, oh, salmon mousse."

"It's too expensive," Laura said. "Probably costs about ten cents to make."

"Well," her mother said tolerantly, "they have to recoup the research fees. "

"It'll be cheaper when Loretta grows up."

"By then they'll be making scop that tastes like every- thing, or anything, or nothing ever seen."

The thought was a little horrifying. I'm getting older,

Laura thought. Change itself is beginning to scare me.

She put the thought away. They played with Loretta until it was her bedtime. Then they talked for another couple of hours, sipping wine and eating cheese and being civilized.

Laura wasn't happy, but the edges were off, and she was something close to content. No one knew where she was, and that was a blessing. She slept well.

In the morning they exchanged presents.

The Central Committee had gathered in Rizome's' Stone

Mountain Retreat. There was the new CEO, Cynthia Wu.

And the committee itself, enough for a quorum: Garcia-Meza,

McIntyre, Kaufmann, and de Valera. Gauss and Salazar were away at a summit, while the elderly Saito was off somewhere taking the waters. And, of course, Suvendra was there, happy to see Laura, unhappily chewing nicotine gum.

Rusticating. They were doing a lot of that lately. Atlanta was a major city. There was always the whispered suggestion that it might become Ground Zero.