War Surf by M. M. Buckner Read Free Book Online Page B

sky while others tilted inside the dome toward neighboring condos. On a wide-screen Net node, Verinne showed us her latest research—she was always scouting out new wars. I sat on a moss green ottoman, half-crocked, swaying gently back and forth and gazing sloe-eyed at my comrades.
    Winston sprawled across my sofa with one bare leg thrown over the armrest. He balanced a liter of frozen daiquiri on his chest, and its dripping moisture ringed the front of his orange robe. Now and then, he snored. Grunze sat on the floor, playing with Kat’s toes, trying to annoy her. Kat had commandeered my floral chaise lounge, where she sat lotus style with a notebook spread in her lap, sawing a strand of scarlet hair between her large front teeth. Verinne perched on the edge of my desk, working a handheld remote to scroll her research data. I glanced casually at my wrist-watch to check on Sheeba—and had to grip my wrist to hold the screen steady. One of my male guests was entering her bedroom.
    “We’re going to Heaven?’ Winston sat up with a jerk and barely caught his tilting drink.
    “Forget that,” I mumbled, glowering at my wrist. Who was that guy in Sheeba’s room?
    “Heaven’s only the nickname because it smells so sweet. It’s a sugar factory.” Kat flicked her stylus steadily against her knee, hyper as usual.
    “I hardly think it has a smell, Katherine.” Verinne cleared her throat. “The satellite orbits in hard vacuum. Its official name is Provendia A13, and it produces protein-glucose base. Not sugar.”
    Kat flushed and glared. When Grunze tugged one of her toes too hard, she kicked him in the teeth.
    “We’re not going to Heaven.” My words came out garbled.
    “It’s in outer space? Fan-fuckin-tastic.” Winston slurped frozen daiquiri through a straw and accidentally snorted a little out his nose.
    “Heaven’s rated a solid Class Ten. Some of you guys may want to sit this one out,” Kat said provocatively.
    Everyone protested. “Fuck that.” “No way.” “I’m up for it.”
    Everyone except me. I sat grinding my teeth, staring at my wrist-watch, split between this aggravating conversation and the unknown male whose shadow fell across Sheeba’s bed.
    Grunze pointed at me. “Nasir knows all about Heaven. Tell us, sweet-pee.”
    Tell you what? I could barely pronounce my own name. The man on my wrist screen was touching Sheeba’s knee.
    “Artificial gravity,” I mumbled.
    “What the fuck is that?” Grunze crossed his legs and made his thigh muscle jerk at me.
    “The factory spins,” Verinne answered, “and centrifugal force creates an effect like gravity.”
    On my tiny screen, the intruder leaned over Sheeba’s pink body and nudged her awake. “Beast,” I snarled. Then I fell off the ottoman.
    “Sweet-pee, you’re the one who’s spinning.” Grunze kneed me in the ribs.
    “Nassssty Nas, you slipped off your stool.” Winston giggled like a half-wit.
    Verinne logged a note in her laptop, while Kat inhaled another line of Peps and fastidiously cleaned her nose.
    On my wrist-watch, the stranger was crawling into bed with Sheeba. I staggered to my feet. “Excuse me. Something I have to…Downstairs…I’ll be…”
    Kat snarled. “The cultured Mr. Deepra can’t admit when he needs to piss.”
    “Don’t let the toilet lid fall on your wanker,” Winston added. “I did that once.”
    Winston was describing this emotional incident as I stepped into my elevator. “Seventy-eight,” I said. The small bedroom lay two floors below my observatory, and as the elevator dropped, I fought to keep from retching. After three days of partying, quite a few mood swingers bopped through my bloodstream. Quickly, I whipped out my mirror and adjusted my hair.
    When the elevator opened, I rushed down the hall, burst into Sheeba’s bedroom and found Robert Trencher massaging my love’s rosy thighs. His jaded eyes swiveled. Picture me tottering in the doorway, red-faced, clutching the jamb, breathing