Veniss Underground by Jeff VanderMeer Read Free Book Online Page B

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    When they speak, their voices lodge like little pins in your ears, and when you speak little pins pierce your tongue. “Come in.”
    You let them in because you do not believe in them. They are not real. This is a dream. You
are
the glass of the door, and you wonder for a moment if this is what it means to be a holograph, if this is what it means to be a story that has reached its end. One single shudder, one single tear, and you will shatter into a thousand memories.
    And then they are barreling in like thoughtless, rude clowns. Speaking to you while you listen with disbelief.
    â€œNicola? Nicola Germane?” the Ganesha says. “Programmer Nicola Germane?”
    â€œYes,” you say, somewhat overwhelmed.
    â€œMay I present to you,” says the Ganesha, with a flourish of all four arms, choreographed perfectly, toward the meerkat. He begins again in a high, lilting speech akin to the music of List or Bardman. “May I present to you . . . a
present
, a gift, a friendly gesture, from Quin, the greatest of all Living Artists, for a friend of Shadrach's is a friend of Quin's.”
    You look at the meerkat. Eyes downcast, body language subservient, still it suffers your examination. You want to laugh. It is a droll, impossible creature, rather like an upright weasel. A stuffed toy. A trifle.
    â€œIt has no name as yet,” says the Ganesha, “for it is your task, Ms. Germane, to name this pleasant creature. I need only confirm that you will accept this gift which, I might add, is an honor bestowed only upon a few.” The Ganesha's twinkly eyes seem to tell you there is no possibility open to you but acceptance. And, just for a second, its eyes chill you with their contrast—unlike the meerkat, you can find no subservience in those eyes, no acceptance of your superiority. Isn't there, in fact, a trace of scorn, of disdain?
    â€œYes,” you hear yourself say, “yes,” and wish you had a better reason than “because.”
    One thing is certain—you don't intend to let it leave the apartment. Nick decided to buy a meerkat and vanished. Shadrach worked for Quin, who makes meerkats, and Shadrach had a secret. Nick had had a personal invite to see Quin. Had Shadrach given him the invitation? Now you have a meerkat. Will you disappear?
    The morning sun is frozen outside your window. The silence snuffing out the world seems of your own making. He's funny, this creature. He's cute and cuddly. You think, in those first moments of contact, that he's the stuffed animal you never had growing up. He's huggable, and you feel an unprecedented sympathy toward him. He's so helpless, so out of his element (whatever his element might be). You briefly recall the image of a tormented kitten with compound eyes, but this meerkat is a healthy, sinuous creature, full of curiosity. Nicholas would have called the meerkat a work of art. Living Art. And, yes, the creature is quite mobile, but you don't call it Art. It's too silly for art as you circle it and it circles you in turn, each appraising the other. Adversary or ally?
    This silence as you observe the meerkat would be rude if it were human, but it isn't human. It isn't animal either, and you must remember that—neither human nor animal. What is it? What are you? Why do you feel a kinship with this creature?
    Perhaps you are not alone in this kinship; after all, despite the prohibition against the bioneers, meerkats are more common than ever before. Some people—you've seen on holovision—even let them roam by themselves. Each district has its own leash laws.
    â€œI think I will call you Salvador,” you say, “after that grandmaster of the Dead Arts and godfather of the Living Arts.”
    â€œAnd what may I call you?” it asks.
    But you are not ready. You put a finger to your lips, a signal copied by Salvador. You are not ready. You are still examining him.
    Salvador has a compact muscularity that, combined