We came up equally empty on the top-section and under-section directories.
The hours had slipped by. It was dark out. We found a roving soyvlaki cart and I treated B.B. to a couple. He wolfed them down as we sat and watched a lot of the workers head home for the night.
"Howc y'don work l'them?"
"You mean a steady day job?"
He nodded.
Thought about that. Maggs had asked me the same question maybe a million times during our marriage. Couldn't come up with a new answer on the spot so I gave him the stock reply: "Too much like being a robot."
He gave me a strange look so I explained.
"You know — everything on a schedule. Be here now, get there then, do this before lunch, do that before you go home. A regimented existence. Not for me. Like to make my own hours, be my own boss, go where I want, when I want. Work for myself, not some big corporation. Be a corportion of one."
He gave me a halfhearted nod, like he wasn't really convinced. Couldn't believe it. An urch who'd lived by his wits all his life — how could he have the slightest doubt?
"Don't tell me you'd want to be like them!"
He watched the scurrying workers with big round wistful eyes. His mouth was pulled down at the corners and I could barely hear his voice:
"Love it."
Couldn't fathom that at all. Struck me speechless for a moment. Then I understood.
Here I was talking about bucking the system to a kid who'd have to spend his entire life scratching out an existence in the shadow economy, who would never get a hand on the bottom rung of the system's ladder no matter how hard he wished, hoped, or tried. From where he was, that bottom rung looked like heaven.
Somebody should have come by then and daubed my face white, painted my nose red, and turned on a calliope. What a clown, I was. An idiot clown.
Suddenly my appetite was gone. Offered the kid my second soyvlaki. He took it but ate it slowly.
When he was finished he said, "Where fr'mere?"
Wasn't sure. Tired. Knew we weren't finished here at Boedekker North, but didn't want to go back to Brooklyn tonight and have to tube up here again in the morning. Wanted to milk this trip.
"Back to the directories," I told him. "We're going to go through the midsection firm by firm and look at every logo of every lessee in Boedekker North until we find something that looks like a comet."
"Cou b'wrong," he said.
"About the comet? Don't think that hasn't occurred to me. That's why you aren't going home till I do."
We seated ourselves at the directory console, queued up the ads of each lessee in alpabetical order, and let them run in the holochamber. Started getting bleary along about "J" and was nodding around "M". Suddenly B.B. was yanking on my sleeve.
"It, san!" He was bouncing in his seat and pointing at the chamber. "It! It!"
Opened my eyes and stared at the holo. Felt my blood run cold at sight of the name:
NeuroNex.
But the logo was all wrong.
"That's no comet!"
The kid's finger was wiggling in the chamber, intersecting with the NeuroNex logo. His voice had risen to just shy of a screech. "It, san! It!"
And then I saw what he meant. Underlining the NeuroNex name was a stylized neuron trailing a long axon — all silvery gray in color. It did look like a comet.
Found it!
Noticed the kid looking at me with something like adoration in his eyes.
"You plenty smartee, Dreyer-san."
"If I were really smart," I said, trying to hide my dismay as I stared at the NeuroNex logo, "I wouldn't be involved in this at all."
"Where place?"
"Doesn't matter," I told him. "Place is closed now anyway. Be open tomorrow. I'll come back then."
"We — "
"No! I. Me. Alone. You can't get into a NeuroNex shop — no minors allowed — and you might give it away if you did." Stood up. "Come on. Time to get back to the island."
He was pouting as I guided him to the tube platform. The pod came and I spent most of the trip home staring through the wall at the progession of lighted stops and semidark in-betweens, thinking of NeuroNex.
NeuroNex. I hadn't included it in the sort, probably because I hadn't wanted to see that name.
Of all the places that could have been involved, why did it have to be NeuroNex?
Something bumped my arm. Looked around and saw that the urch had fallen asleep and was leaning against me. The other people on the tube probably thought he was my kid. He shivered in his sleep. Put my arm over his shoulder. Just to keep up appearances.
— 9-
"My stop's next," I said, jostling him awake. Got to my feet as he yawned and stretched.
"Tired," he said. "Sleep y'place, san?"
Shook my head. "No chance."
He looked surprised. "Please? Tired. Nev spen night in real compartment."
"Haven't missed much. Once you're asleep it's all the same. Besides, I've got work to do. Can't have an urch hanging around."
"I can help," he said in his best Realpeople talk.
Could see he was getting too attached, imprinted on me like some baby duck. Had to introduce a little distance here.
"No, you can't. Check with my office in a couple of days. May have something for you then."
The tube stopped and I got out. Walking away, I felt his hurt gaze on my back like a weight until the tube shot him further downtown. Could have used some company but I had to be alone tonight. No witnesses.
Learning that the "comet" we had been seeking was part of the NeuroNex logo was pushing me toward a decision. A big one. One I wasn't sure I was ready for yet.
Years ago, NeuroNex had wired me for my button. Now NeuroNex — or at least this particular branch office — was linked to the snatches and deaths of a couple of urchins. And I'd managed to get myself tractored into finding out the who, the why, and the wherefore.
Which meant I had to find a way of presenting myself to NeuroNex and asking lots of questions without raising too much suspicion. There was a foolproof way of for me to do that: Get myself unbuttoned.
Not a pretty prospect. Been preparing myself to have it done, been planning to have it done…someday. But not so soon. Next year maybe. Next quarter maybe. Sure as hell not tomorrow.
Not tomorrow!
But what better way to get next to NeuroNex? Tried desperately to think of one and came up blank.
Dropped into my new formchair — just like Elmero's — and buttoned it to adjust to my posture. Sat there looking down the hall through my door. Watched for a while but nothing was moving out there so I rode the chair over to the button drawer and opened it. Sat staring at those little gold disks. A lot of money invested in those things over the years. Some where played out but I kept them anyway. Nostalgia, maybe. The Good Old Days — when a good simple single-input orgasm was quite enough for a long while. But then I graduated to doubles, then triples. My latest was a five-couple orgy multi-channeled into a slow build that crescendoed through a series of minor eruptions into a major simultaneous explosion.
Picked it out of the pile and backed the chair into the middle of the compartment, turning so my back was to Lynnie's holo. As the chair reclined supineward, I hesitated.
Shouldn't do this, I told myself. You've been weaning yourself down all year now. Three weeks now without buttoning up once. A record. As good as clean. Why set yourself back now? The day after tomorrow will be a lot easier if you put that damn thing back in the drawer right now and go to sleep.
Good arguments. Made a lot of sense. But they couldn't overcome one little slice of reality: After I was unbuttoned tomorrow, there'd be no choice for me unless I decided to get rewired, and that wouldn't be possible for at least half a year. Tonight was it. After this, I'd be like the rest of the walkarounds except there'd be a part of me so callused by years of buttoning that no one in the real world could get through to it. An importent part of me would be permanently — or almost pe
rmanently — numb. Needed one last jolt, one last hit, for old times' sake. Auld Lang Syne. No rational arguments were going to keep me from buttoning up one last time.
Was just fitting the button into the dimple in my scalp when I noticed movement through the door. Held off and watched the urchin steal down the hall toward my compartment. Felt my jaw muscles tighten. If that little bastard thought he was going to barge in here and whimper and whine his way into spending the night, he had another think coming. Needed my privacy, needed to be by myself for a — He didn't knock or push the buzzer. Just stood there looking at the door for a moment, then slipped to the floor and curled up with his back to me.
The little glitch was going to spend the night camped outside my door and he wasn't even going to tell me!
Watched the slow rise and fall of his skinny little back as he dropped off to sleep. Fingered the button in my hand. Could still button up just like I'd planned The door was soundproof and he'd never know what I was doing.
But I'd know he was there.
Stared at him. He looked so frail lying there, scootching around to get comfortable. Thought of him staying there on the hard floor all night in the cold white light while I slept calm and soft in my dark compartment.
So what? It was his choice, wasn't it? He could have been back with his gang now, sleeping with them. Safe. Secure. Underground. In the old subway tunnels.
Sighed and floated the chair over to the drawer, dropped the button back in, then returned to the door. Maybe it was for the best, I told myself. Make it easier in the morning…and all the empty nights thereafter.
Opaqued the door — saw no use in letting him in on that little secret — and slid it open. Nudged him with my foot.
"Get in here!" I said in an angry hiss. "What'll the neighbors say if they see you out here?"
He gave me a shy smile as he stumbled to his feet. Growling, I pointed him toward the couch and turned out the lights.
— 10-
B.B. had the big thrill of waking up in a real compartment and eating a compartment breakfast. Even let him take my allotted shower for the day — a super-filamentous thrill. After he was finished and dressed, I sent him on his way happy, clean, and smiling, telling him I'd meet him at the office later.
When I was sure he was gone, I emptied my button drawer into the pocket of my jumper and headed for the tubes. Tried to keep my mind blank as I headed for Boedekker North. Didn't want to think about what I was going to have done to myself this morning.
The word castration drifted through my mind.
Not that I was much use to the female of the species now, but without the wire I wouldn't even be useful to myself. They say that after you got unbuttoned, you can relearn to be with a woman again. It was never as good as a button, but you could relearn.
Wasn't sure I'd even want to try.
Wandered around Boedekker North for a while, killing time. Finally decided that I'd put it off long enough. Wasn't going to accomplish anything by delaying any longer. Strolled onto the premises of the NeuroNex franchise and…
…got in line.
Hadn't expected this. A real strange sight. The other customers were in holosuits — saw two Joey Joses, an Alana Alvarez, a Pepito Ito, and others — all waiting for the human tech. She took each into the back office; a few minutes later they were out again and on their way. It looked like they were making purchases, but that didn't make sense. Simple purchases of mones or buttons could be made more quickly — and with greater confidentiality — via the slot consoles along the wall. Needed a human myself. After all, I was here for a procedure.
"You alone here?" I called over the heads of the others.
"Until the sales girl comes in, I am." She smiled. "We let her sleep late one morning a week."
"I was here before you," said a thin, worn out looking guy two seats away. No holosuit on him.
"Nobody said you weren't."
"Just remember that," he said sullenly.
Finally the holosuits were gone. Only me and my polite fellow dallier — the one ahead of me — remained. He shuffled up to the counter.
"I wanna donate a few nanos."
The tech gave him the up-and-down. She was red-haired, round-bodied and round-faced, with ruddy cheeks. A plump little angel, except that she was scowling.
"Weren't you hear last week, Stosh?"
"Yeah, but — "
"No 'buts'. Two weeks between donations, not a tenth less. You know that. See you in a week."
He stalked out, averting his eyes as he passed me.
"What can NeuroNex do for you?" she said to me.
"A procedure."
Her interest level rose visibly. "Oh? Which one?
Looked around to make sure the office area was empty. This wasn't something I wanted to advertise.
"Want to get dewired."
Her eyes widened, revealing more blue. "Really?"
"Something wrong?"
"No. Of course not. It's just that you don't look like our typical…" Her voice trailed off.
"Buttonhead?"
"Not a nice term. We prefer 'direct limbic neurostimulator.'"
"And you think I should probably look like the guy you just chased off, right?"
"We try to discourage that stereotype. By the way, you'll have to sign a release."
"I know."
Expected that. The NeuroNex people had installed the wire a year or so after Maggs had run off. Had to sign a release then saying that I'd read and understood all the listed potential physical and psychosocial side effects of becoming a buttonhead and absolved NeuroNex of any liability connected with same. Now they'd want me to absolve them of any and all liability associated with not being a buttonhead.
Sure. Why not?
We got down to business. The releases were signed, then we discussed price. That was not negotiable, I knew — the fee was set at NeuroNex's central office — but I haggled anyway. Got nowhere, as expected, but did manage to get a trade-in allowance on the unused plays left in my buttons.
After the sales girl arrived, the tech led me back to the sterile room and laid me down. Watched the monitor as she prepped the top of my scalp. Had an odd, disembodied sensation as I looked down at the back of my own head in the holo chamber. She depilated the area around the dimple, disinfected it, then readied her scalpel.
"No blade?" I said.
She was seated at the top of my head as I reclined on the table. Couldn't see her face, only her hands in the monitor, but her voice was calm, matter-of-fact.
"It's there. You just can't see it. It's a loop of Gussman molly wire. See?" She passed the visible part of the instrument within a couple of centimeters of my scalp and the flesh parted magically. "Beautiful stuff — a single strand of Gussman alloy molecules strung end to end, submicroscopic but still 100-kilo test. Wonderful to work with."
Her unbridled enthusiasm did not keep my stomach from lurching as I saw my own blood start to well in the lengthening incision.
"Could you turn off the monitor, please?"
"Sure."
A hand disappeared from the field and then the holochamber went blank. Couldn't understand why some people like to watch. Looking at the blank ceiling now, I heard my voice yammering on. Usually I let other people talk, but I was nervous, shaking inside, feeling cold and sick, and it seemed to help to talk.
"You do this often?"
"No. Hardly at all. I used to put in a lot of wires when I was back on the island. We refer all our button jobs there. You really need a team of two to do an implant right. These little branch offices don't have the volume to warrant two techs."
"Didn't look that way this morning."
"Those were special orders." I heard her shift position. "Okay. We're ready to dewire. Last chance: You sure you want to go through with this?"
"Absolutely…I think. But what if I feel I'm starting to go crazy after the wire is gone?"
There was a pause. "I think we can help you."
"Ye
ah? How?"
"You've heard of NDT, right?"
"Of course."
Had forgotten what the letters stood for but knew it was a neurohormone — NeuroNex marketed their own brand under the name that had become generic for the stuff: BrainBoost.
"Right. Well, new research indicates that NDT might prove to be of some benefit in the button withdrawal stage."
That was good news. Anything to ease the withdrawal would be a blessing. Tried some NDT in my younger days to help me pass the investigator's exam and hadn't been too impressed. NDT was the last thing I would have expected to help.
"Isn't that for memory and the like?"
"Right," she said. "There's some perceptual enhancement, but basically it's a cognitive booster. Better recall, heightened deductive and analytical capabilities."
"That's what I thought." Students used a lot of it, so did business people for meetings and negotiations, and so on. "So how's it going to help me?"
"It appears to concentrate attention on the congnitive functions and distract it from the vegetative-reproductive areas. In other words, you're still withdrawing but you don't notice it as much."
Just then a disturbing thought struck me.
"By the way, what did that guy just ahead of me want to 'donate'?"
"NDT."
"Afraid you'd say that. Not exactly anxious to have any of him floating around in my brain."
She laughed, a deep chuckle. "Don't worry! By the time we finish concentrating and distilling our NDT, it is pure. Not a trace of contaminant."
"Sounds like it's worth a try."
"Oh, it's definitely worth a try. In fact…" She hesitated here and I wished I could have seen her face. "There's a special high-potency NDT that would be perfect for you It's a new synthetic."
"Thought the synthetics weren't worth the trouble."
"They weren't. But this is something completely new. Unfortunately, it's not officially on the market yet."
"Too bad."
"I could get you some, but I can't sell it to you through the usual channels, if you get my meaning."
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