He got up and moved farther into the room, looking around. The ceiling was invisible in shadows above him; he caught a glimpse of a small school of glowing fish moving in jerky choreography, leaving minor, angular trails behind them. The purple octopus was still lazing on the rock, watching him with a gaze so intelligent he squirmed inwardly. One of the long arms lifted and beckoned to him. He went over to the rock slowly; the underwater ambience had seeped into him, taking him over. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling.
"You gave up, didn't you?" the octopus said.
Gabe shrugged, laying the rose across his palm. It was hard to maintain the illusion of holding it without looking at it constantly. "Maybe I just got real. Like they used to say." He gestured at the environment. "Something like this is beyond me. There's not much call for it with commercials, anyway."
"That's shit. There would be, if you did it right. They'll call for anything if you do it right for long enough."
"I never had your drive, Con."
"You did, you just never put it in gear. And you know it. The octopus blinked, furling its tentacles briefly to show the glittering suction cups underneath. "Why'd you think to come here?"
"Happened to be in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop in."
"Bad clog caught you on Olympic?"
He laughed. "How in hell did you get a setup like this?"
"Little by little, Gabe. Took years."
"What's wrong with a simple headmount?"
"Not big enough. The world's not big enough. If it were, we wouldn't need to make worlds like this."
A skate slipped past him, flicking its tail like a whip, followed by a waving mass of jellyfish in assorted sizes and colors. Gabe ducked reflexively, and one of them dragged its streamers across his shoulder. The barbs on the end struck sparks of light. One of Consuela's inventions. "Are you ever going to put this on-line?" he asked.
"It is on-line, for anyone who cares to find it."
"How do you live? I mean, what are you doing for paying work?"
"Sleeping with benefactors."
"Oh."
She laughed heartily, a deep, grand-opera kind of laugh. "Listen, it's not so bad. We're all art lovers, after all." She laughed again. "Do you remember when we used to share space downstairs? You must, you're here. You were almost never here then, though."
"The expense," he said. "I couldn't justify paying even half rent on a place where I would just sit and stare." He looked around, shaking his head. "Catherine was right."
"She left you yet?"
Dumbfounded, he stared at the octopus, nodding. "Quite recently."
"Next time you sleep with someone, make sure it's a benefactor."
He took a breath and then blew it out. "Ouch. I felt that one, Con."
"You were meant to. Listen: the benefactors I sleep with never see me. Not me. They don't even know what I look like, and they don't care. They come in here and step into whatever world it is they want made for them, and I take care of them. A headmount isn't big enough. Though they all use hotsuits. It's a living, it's what I have to do." The octopus winked. "It's not so bad. They're just humans, after all. Just humans. You're holding one of them up."
"Sorry," he said, stepping back from the rock. "I'll go."
"Don't apologize. Come back instead."
He laughed. "I don't think you need a studio-mate to help with expenses anymore, Con."
"But maybe you need to feel good." Her voice came from the rose. He turned it to look into its heart. Her face gazed out at him, clear and wise.
"I'm not a benefactor," he said uneasily. Consuela had never seemed the slightest bit interested in him before. The whole idea made him a little queasy and more than a little curious.
"You could be a benefactee," she said. "Or whatever it's called."
He dropped the rose and backed toward the door. "Not me. I just-" He shrugged. "Not me, Consuela."
"Stop."
Gabe froze with his hand on the knob.
"If you don't come here, go somewhere. Do you get me? Go somewhere."
He ducked his head in a nod and fled, pulling the door shut behind him a little too hard before he half ran back to the rental in the parking lot.
He had to pull around a large private car to get back out onto Olympic; perhaps it belonged to Consuela's benefactor, the one he had apparently delayed with his visit.
"Go somewhere," he muttered as he edged into the slow-moving traffic on Olympic. "Go somewhere. Sure thing, Con. If the clog ever lets up, I can go to the moon."
13
"Yes?" said Manny, standing at attention.
The formally dressed woman sitting on the couch in the crowded sunken living room stood up. She was a representative from one of the western states, but at the moment Manny couldn't remember which one. "I'm sure you're expecting this question, so I'll get it out of the way for all of us." She looked around with a professional smile. "It seems to me that this procedure, as you call it, has enormous potential for abuse. What sort of safeguards have you considered?"
Manny mirrored her smile. "You'll pardon me for saying so, but this seems to be a, ah, legislative matter."
Everyone in the room laughed.
"Precisely." The representative folded her arms. "So perhaps I should reword the question. Why should we push for legalization of a procedure that has such enormous potential for abuse? And with such potential do you really think the American people will even want it?"
"I believe in offering people a choice," Manny said smoothly, getting another round of appreciative laughs. "We're not asking for a law to make it mandatory, only permissible. When implants first became generally available for therapeutic reasons-epilepsy, manic-depression, autism, and other neurological disorders-there was, as I recall, quite a lot of public concern over the potential for abuse there. And we all know there is abuse. There isn't a fair-sized city anywhere in America-or in the world, for that matter-that doesn't have its share of feel-good mills, fitting the irresponsible with ecstasy buttons, giving on-off switches to people who are merely weak in character. Nonetheless, I don't think any of us would deny a manic-depressive the opportunity to function normally and effectively, free of drugs that may wear off prematurely or have irritating side effects. I don't think any of us would refuse a second chance to someone with brain damage sustained in an accident-"
He went on, aware of Mirisch from the Upstairs Team beaming at him and nodding. Mirisch, the Great Grey Executive, with his silver hair and matching silver suits. Mirisch hadn't thought he was really capable of addressing a roomful of senators and representatives and other VIPs. Manny was giving him an eyeful and an earful tonight.
Several hundred words later he wasn't sure he'd completely satisfied the representative, but she sat down without further comment.
On the left side of the room, an older man with more sideburns than face waved a peremptory finger at him and stood up without waiting to be acknowledged. "Say we get it legalized. You're not actually suggesting that this procedure be performed on school-age children?"
Manny inclined his head slightly. "I believe I mentioned that, except for cases of organic damage, autism, seizure disorders, or dyslexia, it's not meant for individuals who have not attained full physical growth." Manny looked away, searching the room, and then nodded at an elegant black woman before the man could say anything else.