"Paul Di Filippo - Ribofunk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Di Filippo Paul)

the floating miclocean relocation camps, and we were hoping to diddle them for
some eft. But they talked so funny that we didn't even know how to seam them.
"We go jeepney now up favela way?"
"No, mon, first me wan' some ramen."
"How fix?"
"We loop."
"And be zeks? Don' vex me, dumgulla. You talkin' like a manga now, mon."
After that we tailed a fattie for a while. We couldn't make up our minds
if it was a male or female or what. It was dressed in enough billowing silk to
outfit a parachute club and walked with an asexual waddle. It went into the
fancy helmsley at 65th, to meet its client no doubt.
"I hate those fatties," said Casio. "Why would anyone want to weigh more
than what's healthy, if they don't have to?"
"Why would anyone keep his stupid zits if he didn't have to?"
Casio looked hurt. "That's different, Dez. You know I just forget my
cream. It's not like I wanna."
I felt bad for hurtin' Casio then. Here he was, my only proxy, keeping me
company while I tried to straighten out in my head how I was gonna get trump
with Turbo and his set, and I had to go and insult him.
I put an arm around his shoulders. "Sorry, molar. Listen, just wipe it
like I never said it, and let's have us a good time. You got any eft?"
"A little..."
"Well, let's spend it! The fluid eft gathers no taxes, es verdad? Should
we hit Club GaAs?"
Casio brightened. "Yeah! The Nerveless are playing tonight. Maybe
Ginko'll let me sit in."
"Sounds trump. Let's go."
Overhead the wetworkers -- both private and government dirty-harrys --
cruised by on their lifters, the jetfans blowing hot on our necks, even from
their high altitude. Standing in the center of their flying cages, gloved
mitts gripping their joystix, with their owleyes on, they roved TeeVeeCee,
alert for signs of rumble, bumble, or stumble, whereupon they would swoop down
and chill the heat with tingly shockers or even flashlights, should the
sitspecs dictate.
Club GaAs occupied a fraction of the million square feet of empty
building that had once housed one of the old television networks that had
given TeeVeeCee its name. Ever since the free networks had been absorbed into
the metamedium, the building had gone begging for tenants. Technically
speaking, it was still tenantless, since Club GaAs was squatting there
illegally.
At the door we paid the cover to a surly anabolic hulkster and went
inside.
Club GaAs had imipolex walls that writhed just like Casio's vest, dancing
in random biomorphic ripples and tendrils. On the stage the Nerveless were
just setting up, it being still early, only around eight. I had only met Ginko
once, but I recognized him from his green skin and leafy hair. Casio went
onstage to talk to him, and I sat down at a table near one wall and ordered a
cheer-beer.
Casio rejoined me. "Ginko says I can handle the megabops."
The cheer-beer had me relaxing so I had almost forgotten my problems.