From: atmpas@vax.oxford.ac.uk
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Subject: The Inverse Square Law : Two
Date: 14 Aug 92 13:21:37 GMT
Organization: Oxford University VAX 6620


	The story so far can't be too easily explained.  Email me if you
want it.


			The Inverse Square Law : Two
			============================


			  From Paradise to Warsaw



	It takes eight hours for ABs to wear off.  They brought him out to the
plane after six, when the fog was clearing enough to let him near other people.
He felt stronger for the rest, but there was still a raw edge left somewhere
inside. 

	It was a small plane, blazing in the green and orange company livery
under the sunshine.  The woman they sent in the buggy to take him over seemed
scarcely human in the heat haze, and her bright, blank eyes didn't make it any
better.  He told her he preferred to walk, and she made off, running the buggy
hard over the asphalt. 

	Five minutes walk in the runway oven helped him prepare himself for the
plane.  He watched the pilot staring fixedly at him through the window, not
even making a polite pretence of checking instruments. 

	Dr. Taylor was in the back sleeping off jet lag, and he was glad to sit
up front near the cockpit, looking down over the beehive grid of bubbles on
their watery bed.  As they left Paradise behind, he found himself relaxing,
then, after a few minutes, tensing up again.  The co-pilot came out and
approached him warily, so he turned round to face the man, folding his arms. 

	'Would you like a drink or something to eat... sir?' 

	Mark felt glad that the man was keeping his distance.  He tried to
smile through the nerves. 

	'Some water, please.  Alcohol doesn't do me any good.' 

	The co-pilot went to get the water and Mark relaxed again, turning back
to the window.  The reflected face was lined and thin, with rapidly greying
hair cut very short.  It wasn't much of a face.  Ten years older than it should
have been, and it had never been able to compete with the white plastic chi
stamped on its forehead.  The sunlight outside was almost blinding. 

			************************  

	He awoke blank and unconnected.  Dr. Taylor was eating breakfast at a
table opposite, and he watched her dispassionately for a while.  The blockers
in the sleeping pills lingered for a time, and it was interesting to watch his
idea of her shift as they wore off. 

	At first, she was just a random collection of moving parts, like an
avalanche or trees in a storm, all moving independently and without purpose.
Gradually, she became an increasingly complex machine, and he found himself,
still half asleep, congratulating the engineer.  A minute or two later, he was
watching an animal, fastidious as a cat, wipe its lips and clear the plate
away. It was almost impossible to accept the book that she picked up, because
even though she was still Dr. Taylor, and he knew it, his mind refused to
accept her humanity while the wall of blockers still stood between them. 

	The stage after animal was the worst.  She became a beast-woman, a
caricature of humanity, soulless and implacable.  Confused emotional static
rolled over him, fear and lust, rage and pity.  One moment she seemed an animal
aping humanity, an agent somehow slipped into society.  The next she was a
degraded woman, her mind destroyed in some vile experiment. 

	At last she was just a person, sitting on the other side of the cabin,
and he could let himself relax.  He studied her for a while, enjoying the
separation, until the last of the blockers wore off.  The familiar unity washed
over him, shattering the barriers, and he felt her well fed contentment beside
his own hunger, and her own nervousness beside his. 

	'Good morning Dr. Taylor.  You could have got a less bigoted crew, but
at least they serve a good breakfast.' 

			************************  

	Warsaw was an odd city.  All reason for its existence had gone, since
neither Poland nor the Vistula - apart from a stream that ran for about six
months of the year - existed any more.  And yet it was still there and still a
city, for all that there were no people to speak of in the countryside around
it.  It survived by providing cheap labour for the megacorps, and where the
megacorps were, Third Eye would be as well, eyeing up the scraps from the
table. 

	Adam Weissman was at the airport to meet them, immaculate in his white
suit and Panama hat.  Weissman - any blocker, really - always unnerved Mark. It
was like watching Dr. Taylor as a piece of precision robotics that morning,
except that Weissman would never change.  No more than the faintest flicker
would ever get out from behind the black brand on his forehead. 

	Weissman greeted Dr. Taylor with a perfect smile. 

	'Good morning doctor.  I hope that you had a pleasant journey.' 

	'It was okay, thanks Adam.' 

	Adam drove them back to the company building through a vague Warsaw
haze of hunger and discomfort.  Mark watched them from the back seat.  Weissman
was practising his charm on Dr. Taylor, and she - for all her psychological
training - was charmed, a kind of warm, happy feeling in the stomach.  Mark
shut it out as best he could. 

			************************  




	The characters are mine and probably won't fit in most of the worlds out
there.  Only Adam would feel happy in a bar like the Chatsubo, and most of the 
occupants wouldn't feel happy if he was there.  (so use if you like, but 
exercise caution)

	Comments appreciated.  Much will probably become clear soon, though
I could provide a few 'translations' if anyone can't wait.

		- Paul Sherliker