returned with Meggan. Clearly something had gone on at school. The daughter could barely look at her mother. A general air of shame. Verity ate alone, watched TV, went to bed. Her husband came back about an hour ago. He went straight to bed. I knocked off.”
“We have a hundred hours until sun up. Just in case you are losing track of time.”
“Why don’t we mothball the house and pick up the project on the next lunar night.”
She stretched and pointed her bare feet.
“I don’t think so. I can’t keep this locked down. Kakkar and his team are leaky.”
He sat up on his elbows. Part of him was prepared to argue with her. But he didn’t want to jeopardise the sex. In her sheer black body suit, she was irresistible. It was more than he could stand. She liked it when he bit her, when he gave every sign of not being able to control himself. What began as the imitation of savagery became the real thing; he went at her quickly, then reared back to recover. He fed on her delight in controlling him, because that control would mean nothing to her unless he was strong and worthy and difficult. Still, in this moment of recovery, he chose to remind her, in the way he stopped and touched her forehead, and kissed her, and moved deeper within her, that he was indulging her fantasy of controlling him just for the duration of the sex, and that it meant nothing in what remained of their real lives.
Afterwards, he went to the bathroom and washed his face. He didn’t like the house when he was out of his sensesuit, its flimsy fixtures and fittings, and artificial light illuminating the moon cave. The windows still had tape on them. A nagging sense that their sex had been indecently loud. That he might have woken the Horbos. A sense he could not shake even though he knew they existed only in a deep and encrypted past.
He went back into the bedroom.
“What is our metric of success?” he asked Patricia.
“Orgasm,” she replied.
“I mean, for the project. How will I know when I’m done?”
She sat naked on the bed, her knees pulled under her chin. She was always stretching, never dormant.
“I’ll tell you when you’re done.”
“If time is short then I need to know specifically what I’m looking for.”
Patricia reached over the side of the bed, and pulled out his notes from the day. She plucked out one in particular, concerning Verity’s acquisition of the Jester program.
“This is what we’re interested in,” she said. “Focus on this.”
He took the paper from her, read his own handwriting.
“Totally Damaged Mom.”
“The username appears in the metadata of the Horbo loop.”
“I didn’t know the Horbo loop had metadata.”
“It has taken years for Kakkar to reconstruct it.”
She found her underwear and pulled it on, shivering as she did so. “You’ve made progress. But there is more to learn. I don’t want to speculate what exactly because speculation can determine discovery. But this is our glimpse into the black box moment of the emergence. If we can reconstruct a chain of causality then we don’t have to think of them as emergences any longer. We will know who made them. Where they came from. How they happened. This knowledge could be highly valuable.”
“Valuable to who?”
“Valuable to anyone with dealings with the emergences.”
He looked quizzically at her, weighing up the slight naked female form on his bed.
“The Cantor Accords forbid collaboration between humans and emergences.”
“Yet you have a relationship with Dr Easy.”
“The doctor is merely an observer.”
“You know that there is no such thing as mere observation. I mean, I set out to dispassionately observe your work and look at the mess we’ve got into.”
She pressed her feet into her boots and adjusted the scales of her armoured legs. Her breasts and arms remained naked. She climbed onto him. The pressure between their bodies was the same as the pressure he had felt through the sensesuit, just before
“We have a hundred hours until sun up. Just in case you are losing track of time.”
“Why don’t we mothball the house and pick up the project on the next lunar night.”
She stretched and pointed her bare feet.
“I don’t think so. I can’t keep this locked down. Kakkar and his team are leaky.”
He sat up on his elbows. Part of him was prepared to argue with her. But he didn’t want to jeopardise the sex. In her sheer black body suit, she was irresistible. It was more than he could stand. She liked it when he bit her, when he gave every sign of not being able to control himself. What began as the imitation of savagery became the real thing; he went at her quickly, then reared back to recover. He fed on her delight in controlling him, because that control would mean nothing to her unless he was strong and worthy and difficult. Still, in this moment of recovery, he chose to remind her, in the way he stopped and touched her forehead, and kissed her, and moved deeper within her, that he was indulging her fantasy of controlling him just for the duration of the sex, and that it meant nothing in what remained of their real lives.
Afterwards, he went to the bathroom and washed his face. He didn’t like the house when he was out of his sensesuit, its flimsy fixtures and fittings, and artificial light illuminating the moon cave. The windows still had tape on them. A nagging sense that their sex had been indecently loud. That he might have woken the Horbos. A sense he could not shake even though he knew they existed only in a deep and encrypted past.
He went back into the bedroom.
“What is our metric of success?” he asked Patricia.
“Orgasm,” she replied.
“I mean, for the project. How will I know when I’m done?”
She sat naked on the bed, her knees pulled under her chin. She was always stretching, never dormant.
“I’ll tell you when you’re done.”
“If time is short then I need to know specifically what I’m looking for.”
Patricia reached over the side of the bed, and pulled out his notes from the day. She plucked out one in particular, concerning Verity’s acquisition of the Jester program.
“This is what we’re interested in,” she said. “Focus on this.”
He took the paper from her, read his own handwriting.
“Totally Damaged Mom.”
“The username appears in the metadata of the Horbo loop.”
“I didn’t know the Horbo loop had metadata.”
“It has taken years for Kakkar to reconstruct it.”
She found her underwear and pulled it on, shivering as she did so. “You’ve made progress. But there is more to learn. I don’t want to speculate what exactly because speculation can determine discovery. But this is our glimpse into the black box moment of the emergence. If we can reconstruct a chain of causality then we don’t have to think of them as emergences any longer. We will know who made them. Where they came from. How they happened. This knowledge could be highly valuable.”
“Valuable to who?”
“Valuable to anyone with dealings with the emergences.”
He looked quizzically at her, weighing up the slight naked female form on his bed.
“The Cantor Accords forbid collaboration between humans and emergences.”
“Yet you have a relationship with Dr Easy.”
“The doctor is merely an observer.”
“You know that there is no such thing as mere observation. I mean, I set out to dispassionately observe your work and look at the mess we’ve got into.”
She pressed her feet into her boots and adjusted the scales of her armoured legs. Her breasts and arms remained naked. She climbed onto him. The pressure between their bodies was the same as the pressure he had felt through the sensesuit, just before
Similar Books
