Thomas A. Easton - Organic Future 02 - Greenhouse.pdf

(455 KB) Pobierz
668085206 UNPDF
Greenhouse - Organic Future
02
Thomas A. Easton
PRELUDE
To the Eldest and her sisters, the glass that protected their narrow gallery from sky and weather was as
plain to “see” as the dark walls that shielded them from public view. Their senses were not quite of the
human kind, and it was not difficult for them to register the infrared that glowed from both sorts of solid
surface. Yet they could also respond to visible wavelengths, and thus they could watch both the swayings
of the overhanging palm fronds and citrus branches that tempered the bright sunlight and the movements
of tree limbs and clouds and sun beyond the glass.
They could also feel. They could feel temperature and dry and wet, and if they could, they would have
smiled when the pipes that arched between their shade plants and the glass spewed misting showers to
Page 1
 
keep the dryness from their leaves and blossoms and the rich soil that embraced their bulbs.
The Eldest and her sisters could hear as well, but they could not speak. They could not, in fact,
communicate in any ways that humans would easily have understood. They talked to each other by the
slight bendings of their stems, the curlings of their leaves, and mainly by the drifts of fragrance that rode
the steady current of air that flowed from the Eldest down the gallery past all the rest. In due time, when
the air had swept through all the other passages of their dwelling, those odors would return. But they
would be diluted then, spread out and weakened, and of course delayed. The Eldest thus spoke always
with the first and loudest voice, and no sister could threaten her dominance. So long as no one
rearranged the gallery or tampered with the ventilation system, so the situation would remain. And so long
as the Eldest gave no orders for change, their ordered rank and the air currents that swept their messages
along the gallery would be undisturbed. She would, of course, order no disturbance of the status quo, for
much of her heredity dictated a properly hierarchical sense of her own importance in the larger scheme of
things.
Now the Eldest let a long leaf curl and straighten while she twisted on her stem to peer down the gallery
and be sure she had the attention of her sisters. She might have sighed if she had had lungs. Those
sisters...She was the Eldest by only a little. All had had time to reach their full growth. But only she had
reached a size consistent with maturity. The others were small and stunted. Some were deformed in
minor, inconsequential ways. And the next generation would have to be worse. Certainly it could be no
better. Unless...
Finally, she released a small puff of intricately intermingled odors. Her message was simple, and each
member of her retinue added to it comments, so that what the listener furthest downdrift sensed was
something rather like:
“WE ARE HANDICAPPED
Cannot leave our beds
Destiny and progeny demand
No handicap
Motility
THINK
Consider
OUR MASTER/PET
Has/had pistil/mate
And scion/seedling/sprout
THAT ONE TOO HAS
Yes, pistil/mate
Let’s bring!
Page 2
 
Them here!
YES
To us
To study them
And cherish them
To change
If possible
To make them make
Pollen
We crave it!
Yes, fruition
And predestined
Success
IF POSSIBLE
Will these three be enough?
TELL, THEN, MASTER/PET
To get more as well
As rootstocks
And pistils
For our dreams”
The conversation was not hasty, for the speakers were languid beings, unrushed and patient. But by the
time the sun had dipped near the hills and the light had begun to dim, the issue was settled. The Eldest
and her sisters spread their leaves and turned their faces toward the last of the light. There was nothing
more to say, and only a little to do, a little that could easily await another sunny day, when energy waxed
and opportunity arose. Tomorrow the Eldest would issue the necessary orders.
Until then, she and her sisters would spend their time in dreams, dreams of some distant day when their
scions/seedlings/sprouts might stalk the world beyond the walls that enclosed their gallery, when more
active beings would cease their scurryings and bow before them, when...
Page 3
 
Darkness fell, but before the dreams grew still and dim, the Eldest sent out the call. Moments later, a
hand fell upon the switch near the gallery entrance and artificial lights came on. They were dim but bright
enough to sustain consciousness, intent, and dreams even when the world was lost in blackness.
CHAPTER 1
“Do you have the new Slugabeds?”
“Of course we do, Ma’am.” Tom Cross smiled at the customer and tugged surreptitiously at the side of
his light green coverall. She was old enough to be his mother, and her paisley coverall was both three
years behind the fashion and a hair too tight. Yet she was stylish enough in other ways; she wore no rings
or earrings, and the chain around her neck was blackened aluminum, its pendant a classic pewter peace
sign, both as current as could be. She must, he thought, hate to admit that she was losing her struggle to
keep the figure of her youth. “Right this way, please.”
She babbled, as customers tend to do: “We have an antique waterbed, you know. And it doesn’t leak.
But I saw the ad, and I thought how interesting it would be. Almost like having a pet. And it wouldn’t
have to be plugged in.”
Tom didn’t know she had a waterbed, antique or new. He didn’t care whether she had seen an ad, or
how interesting she thought a Slugabed might be. It was enough that she had chosen to visit Mr.
Greengenes’ApplianceGarden . And that he had a chance to earn a commission. Someday, perhaps, he
would have a Garden of his own. For now...
He gestured at the potted plants they were passing. “Then you don’t have any bioppliances? Our hanky
bush is quite useful. And the bathroom model is very productive.”
“Oh, we have one of those. But it doesn’t do much, you know?”
“Neither does a Slugabed. It just lies there.”
“But it’s warm! And it wiggles. That’s what the ad said.”
The young man nodded. “If you wish. It’ll massage you, or cuddle you, or...”
He shrugged. “And yes, it keeps itself—and you—at body temperature. It’ll warm you or cool you,
depending on the weather.”
The Slugabed display was around the next corner, just past the goldfish bushes. “These are more
active,” he said. “Just drop the flowers in a bowl of water, and...”
“My sister has two.”
Page 4
 
He sighed as quietly as he could, hoping she would not notice, and led her
onward. “There,” he said. “We have a good selection.” The Slugabeds, looking like unrolled sleeping
bags, were arrayed on a carpeted platform, without frames or headboards or box springs. They came in
all sizes—crib, youth, twin, queen, king—and in as many shades of skin as one could see on a city street.
A few were even piebald.
The customer leaned over to pat a light tan Slugabed. Over her shoulder blades, Tom could now see,
her coverall had been embroidered with small wings. His own coverall bore no decorations other than
the darker green figures woven into the fabric. “They’re not very thick, are they?” she asked.
“They don’t have to be. Try one, and you’ll see.”
She looked skeptical. “And the surface. I expected...”
“Something slimy?” When she stiffened, he thought that of course that was
precisely what she had half expected, in the back of her mind, even as she craved to rest on the leading
edge of fashion. He added, “Well, the basic genome did come from a slug. But then they added the
genes for a real skin. And warm blood.”
“It feels just like human skin, without the hair.” She giggled at a thought.
“Or the stubble.”
“I believe it’s a modified pigskin. Very smooth, very soft.”
She lay down. The Slugabed twisted under her, fitting itself to the contours
of her body. It did not wrap around her, but rather cupped and cradled her as if she lay in the palm of
some giant lover’s hand. It made Tom think of Muffy Bowen. They weren’t married, but they lived
together, and she would be at home now, looking forward to his return. He wished that he were there
now, and that he could afford a Slugabed for their bedroom, and that...He sighed, more loudly this time.
It was not the customer’s body that made him think of Muffy, but the way the Slugabed embraced her,
and the way the ripples ran through the bioppliance’s substance, and the way she responded. Her nipples
had erected quite visibly.
The Slugabed’s skin, he knew, was as soft and smooth as that of a baby’s butt. He had lain down on
one when they first arrived and been depressed for a week. He wanted a child; Muffy didn’t; that was
the greatest flaw in their relationship.
“Ooh!” the customer said. “I see what you mean. What do you feed it?”
“It absorbs your sweat and body oil and skin flakes. If that’s not
enough...” Tom Cross pointed to a patch of skin near her head. It was slightly lighter in color than the
rest of the Slugabed. “This spot turns bright pink, and you pour some milk on the bed, or gravy, or...” He
shrugged. “Instructions come with it.”
He pointed to a small bump on the skin beside the hunger patch. “That’s the control node. Try squeezing
Page 5
 

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika:

Zgłoś jeśli naruszono regulamin