The Snow Queen by Joan D. Vinge Read Free Book Online Page B

even imagine. And everywhere there were what
seemed to be sexless semi human beings doing with mindless precision tasks that
no two humans could have done. He had approached one of them timidly; asked,
inanely, “How do you do that?” The thing had gone on loading crates, not
dignifying the question with an answer.
    He began to
feel as though he had been walking forever along the Street, that he had only
been going in circles. Every alley was like every other, the noise and the
crowds and the stink of fumes clogged his senses to overload. Makeshift
buildings cluttered the cracks of the city’s hive form, sand and plaster,
sagging and peeling; aging scabrously, ungracefully, against the support of far
more ancient buildings as eternal as the sea itself. Nothing happened singly
here, but in twos and threes and dozens, until every impression became a
beating. The crushing weight of the city bore down on the fragile ceiling above
his head, on his own shoulders. The catacomb of walls converged on him, closed in
around him, until ... Help me! He stumbled back against the unnatural warmth of
a building side, cowered in a nest of cast-off wrappers, covering his eyes.
    “Hey,
friend, you all right?” A hand nudged his side tentatively.
    He raised
his head, opened his eyes, blinked them clear. A sturdy woman in laborer’s
coveralls stood beside him, shaking her head. “No, you don’t look all right to
me. You look a little green, in fact. Are you land sick sailor?”
    Sparks
grinned feebly, feeling the green
go red over his face. “I guess so,” grateful that his voice didn’t shake. “I
guess that’s what it was.”
    The woman
bent her head with a faint frown. “You a Summer?”
    Sparks
shrank back against the wall.
“How’d you know that?”
    But the
woman only shrugged. “Your accent. And nobody but a Summer would dress up in
greasy hides. Fresh from the fish farms, huh?”
    He looked
down at his slicker, suddenly embarrassed by it. “Yeah.”
    “Well,
that’s all right. Don’t let the big city beat you down, kid; you’ll learn.
Won’t he, Polly?”
    “Whatever
you say, Tor.”
    Sparks
leaned forward, peering past her as
he realized that they weren’t alone. Behind her stood one of the metal
half-humans, its dull skin dimly reflecting light. He had no idea whether the
thing was male or female. He realized that it had lowered a third leg, almost
like a tail, on which it was now sitting, rigidly at ease. Where its face
should have been, a clear window showed him the sensor panels set into its
head.
    Tor
produced a small flat bottle from a sealed pocket in her coveralls and un
stoppered it. “Here. This’ll stiffen your spine.”
    He took the
bottle, took a swig from it ... gasped as a cloying sweetness burst into flame
in his mouth. He swallowed convulsively, eyes watering.
    Tor
laughed. “You’re a trusting one!”
    Sparks
took another mouthful deliberately,
swallowed it without gagging before he said, “Not bad.” He handed the bottle
back. She laughed again.
    “Is ... um
... is—” Sparks pushed himself away from the wall, looking at the metal being,
trying to find a way to ask the question without offending.
    “Is that a
man in a tin suit?” Tor grinned, pushing a finger of drab-colored hair behind
her ear. He guessed that she was maybe half again as old as he was. “No, he
just thinks he is. Don’t you, Pollux?”
    “Whatever
you say, Tor.”
    “Is he ...
uh—”
    “Alive? Not
in the way we think of it. He’s a servo—an automaton, a robot, whatever you
want to call it. A servo mechanical device. He doesn’t act, he only reacts.”
    Sparks
realized that he was staring,
glanced up, down, uncertain. “Doesn’t he—?”
    “Mind us
talking about him? No, he doesn’t mind anything, he’s above all that. A regular
saint. Aren’t you, Polly?”
    “Whatever
you say, Tor.”
    She slung
an arm over his shoulder, bumping against him familiarly. “I do his maintenance
myself, and I can