Fleshplay, a tough though popular family and labor
resort on the outskirts of Dahl, near the entertainment Sector of Little Kalgan. Here,
acts and rides from Little Kalgan itself were tried on very tough customers before they
were exported around Trantor.
Fleshplay was full of brilliantly illuminated signs climbing up the walls of buildings
almost to the ceil of the dome, announcing new shows and performance teams, old favorites
revived in the Stardust Theater, popular beverages, stimulk, even outlaw stims from
offworld. Klia glanced at the pouring cascades of projected beverages with a dry and
thirsty appreciation.
She had been standing in a store alcove for twenty minutes waiting for her contact, not
daring to abandon her position
even for the time it might take to get a drink at a nearby street-vendor stall.
Klia watched the crowds with more than just her eyes, and saw them in more than just
surface detail. On the surface, all seemed well enough. Men, women, and children at this
evening hour strolled by in what passed for leisure-time dress in Dahl, white blouses and
black culottes with red stripes around the waist for the women, pink jumpsuits for
prepubescent children, a more rakish cut of black worksuit for the men. A more than
cursory examination showed the strain, however.
These were the higher citizen classes in Dahl, the more fortunate day-shift and managerial
workers, functionally the equivalent of the omnipresent gray-clad bureaucrats in other
Sectors, yet there was a grimness in their faces when they weren't actively responding to
banter or forcing smiles. Their eyes seemed tired, a little glazed, from months of
disappointment and extensive layoffs. Klia could read the colors of their internal moods
as well, caught in brief flashes, since she was otherwise occupied: angry purples and
bilious green murmurings hidden within the deep holes of their minds, not auras, but pits
into which she could glimpse only from certain mental perspectives.
Nothing extraordinary in all this; Klia knew what the mood of Dahl was, and tried to
ignore it as often as possible. Full immersion would not just distract her, but could even
infect. She had to remain isolated from the general herd to keep her edge.
She recognized the boy as soon as he walked into view across the street. He was perhaps a
year older than she, shorter and squat, with a pinched face marked by several small scars
on his cheek and chin, gang marks from Billibotton's tougher streets. She had delivered
goods and information to him several times in the last year, when better courier jobs were
not to be had. Now, she realized she might be seeing even more of him, and she did not
like it one bit. He was tough to convince...
Good jobs had become almost impossible to find in the
past few days. Klia was known to be marked; few trusted her. Her income had plummeted
almost to nothing, and worse still, she had narrowly escaped being captured by a gang of
thugs whose leader she had never seen before. There were new folks in town, with new
allegiances, providing new dangers.
Klia still had confidence in her ability to worm her way out of any tight situation, but
the effort was exhausting her. She longed for a quiet place with friends, but she had few
friends- none willing to take her in the way things were.
It was enough to make her rethink her whole philosophy of life.
The pinch-faced boy caught sight of Klia when she wanted to be seen, then went through a
deliberate masquerade of casually ignoring her. She did the same, but edged closer,
looking around as if waiting for somebody else.
When they were within earshot, the boy said, “We're not interested in what you're carrying
today. Why don't you just slink out of Dahl and plague someone else?”
Brusqueness and even rudeness meant little, she was so used to them. “We have a contract,
” Klia said
resort on the outskirts of Dahl, near the entertainment Sector of Little Kalgan. Here,
acts and rides from Little Kalgan itself were tried on very tough customers before they
were exported around Trantor.
Fleshplay was full of brilliantly illuminated signs climbing up the walls of buildings
almost to the ceil of the dome, announcing new shows and performance teams, old favorites
revived in the Stardust Theater, popular beverages, stimulk, even outlaw stims from
offworld. Klia glanced at the pouring cascades of projected beverages with a dry and
thirsty appreciation.
She had been standing in a store alcove for twenty minutes waiting for her contact, not
daring to abandon her position
even for the time it might take to get a drink at a nearby street-vendor stall.
Klia watched the crowds with more than just her eyes, and saw them in more than just
surface detail. On the surface, all seemed well enough. Men, women, and children at this
evening hour strolled by in what passed for leisure-time dress in Dahl, white blouses and
black culottes with red stripes around the waist for the women, pink jumpsuits for
prepubescent children, a more rakish cut of black worksuit for the men. A more than
cursory examination showed the strain, however.
These were the higher citizen classes in Dahl, the more fortunate day-shift and managerial
workers, functionally the equivalent of the omnipresent gray-clad bureaucrats in other
Sectors, yet there was a grimness in their faces when they weren't actively responding to
banter or forcing smiles. Their eyes seemed tired, a little glazed, from months of
disappointment and extensive layoffs. Klia could read the colors of their internal moods
as well, caught in brief flashes, since she was otherwise occupied: angry purples and
bilious green murmurings hidden within the deep holes of their minds, not auras, but pits
into which she could glimpse only from certain mental perspectives.
Nothing extraordinary in all this; Klia knew what the mood of Dahl was, and tried to
ignore it as often as possible. Full immersion would not just distract her, but could even
infect. She had to remain isolated from the general herd to keep her edge.
She recognized the boy as soon as he walked into view across the street. He was perhaps a
year older than she, shorter and squat, with a pinched face marked by several small scars
on his cheek and chin, gang marks from Billibotton's tougher streets. She had delivered
goods and information to him several times in the last year, when better courier jobs were
not to be had. Now, she realized she might be seeing even more of him, and she did not
like it one bit. He was tough to convince...
Good jobs had become almost impossible to find in the
past few days. Klia was known to be marked; few trusted her. Her income had plummeted
almost to nothing, and worse still, she had narrowly escaped being captured by a gang of
thugs whose leader she had never seen before. There were new folks in town, with new
allegiances, providing new dangers.
Klia still had confidence in her ability to worm her way out of any tight situation, but
the effort was exhausting her. She longed for a quiet place with friends, but she had few
friends- none willing to take her in the way things were.
It was enough to make her rethink her whole philosophy of life.
The pinch-faced boy caught sight of Klia when she wanted to be seen, then went through a
deliberate masquerade of casually ignoring her. She did the same, but edged closer,
looking around as if waiting for somebody else.
When they were within earshot, the boy said, “We're not interested in what you're carrying
today. Why don't you just slink out of Dahl and plague someone else?”
Brusqueness and even rudeness meant little, she was so used to them. “We have a contract,
” Klia said
Similar Books
