Read Online Levels: The Host by Peter Emshwiller - Free Book Online
Authors: Peter Emshwiller
Tags: thriller, Science-Fiction, adventure, SF, Action, Sci-Fi, Technology, New York, cyberpunk, futuristic, post apocalyptic, Novel, Dystopian, Manhattan, near future, Class warfare, Bantam Books, The Host, Levels, Emshwiller, Wrong Man, skiffy, Stoney Emshwiller, Body Swapping, Bantam Spectra, Peter R. Emshwiller
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Mr. Caiper. And neither are you—if you read the pamphlet.” She leaned close and Watly smelled a clean, powdery scent. “Besides, save some for the donor. That’s the idea.”
She turned and began fiddling with the equipment in the corner. After a moment she brushed her hands together and, almost as an afterthought, pulled a small shoulder bag out from behind the equipment. She handed it to Watly and motioned for him to put it on. He sat up and slung it over his shoulder.
“Don’t tell me,” Watly said. “The donor has some goodies he wants to have with him.”
“That’s usually the case,” she said, looking preoccupied with the machinery. She nudged the hanging dragon-shaped thing and it glided easily forward. Removing two of its cables, she brought them to either side of Watly’ s chair.
“All set to go, Mr. Caiper. Now for the euphoric and your cuff.”
Watly suddenly became aware that he was sweating in spite of the carefully regulated air. The back of his neck felt distinctly damp and his nausea was growing worse. Dr. Tollnismer ripped open the euphoric’s package and stuck the pad to his forearm. She pulled it off after only a few seconds.
Watly wondered how long it would be before it took effect. He was still aware of his sweatiness, but it really wasn’t bad at all. Not bad at all. Not at all. His stomach, in fact, felt fine. Just fine. Pretty fuckable. This was all going to work out fine. Fine. Yes, the beautiful, spectacular, gorgeous doctor took a long cuff from its wall mount and began securing it to Watly’s wrist. Right wrist. The right right wrist. She was a real cutie. Potential poovus. And she was putting that cuff on just right. Not too loose, not too. .. uh. ..
It was a spectacular cuff. Colorful and intricately designed. From the top of his wrist it extended out on a complicated hinge involving many tiny ball sockets to clasp the bases of Watly’s two middle fingers. The body of the cuff itself was almost as long as his whole forearm. Watly had, of course, seen them before, but only from a distance. You couldn’t go a day in Manhattan without seeing at least a few. He had never imagined they were so complex, though, and so carefully designed. It was a work of art. There was a fine layer of thin wires just below the surface forming curlicues, geometric designs, and other seemingly intentionally aesthetic shapes. If he stared at them, Watly could almost imagine pictures. A house. A flower? A sleeping cat. A foot? A breast. You could see anything you wanted in them. Lots of breasts. Brown breasts.
And of course the most prominent feature of all was the large cuff number. 9703. Each numeral was about two inches long and bright yellow. 9703. This figure represented whoever his anonymous donor was. It was, most probably, the only thing Watly would ever know about his donor. Of course, that wasn’t counting any personality traits Watly picked up from watching the guy’s behavior from the inside.
Oh, rape on a half shell.
Suddenly Watly felt dizzy. Dr. Tollnismer had finished locking the cuff on and was now adjusting the two cables. They held whatever position she moved them into. Watly thought maybe he didn’t want to do this after all. Maybe he’d just like to go home and forget all about it. It struck him he really didn’t know enough about all this. Too hasty, he’d been. Much. He needed more data before he could make an informed. .. Maybe he could still be a mother if he raised the money by. ..
At the end of each cable was a brass-colored rectangular plate. Dr. Tollnismer touched these plates to either side of his head—just behind his ears. They rested there gently, tickling a little right outside where the new implants were.
“Are you ready, Watly Caiper?” she asked. Her voice had returned to that lilting, childlike tone. It was intoxicating.
“I love you, Dr. Tollnismer,” Watly said quietly.
The doctor let another gut-wrenching smile loose and patted Watly on
She turned and began fiddling with the equipment in the corner. After a moment she brushed her hands together and, almost as an afterthought, pulled a small shoulder bag out from behind the equipment. She handed it to Watly and motioned for him to put it on. He sat up and slung it over his shoulder.
“Don’t tell me,” Watly said. “The donor has some goodies he wants to have with him.”
“That’s usually the case,” she said, looking preoccupied with the machinery. She nudged the hanging dragon-shaped thing and it glided easily forward. Removing two of its cables, she brought them to either side of Watly’ s chair.
“All set to go, Mr. Caiper. Now for the euphoric and your cuff.”
Watly suddenly became aware that he was sweating in spite of the carefully regulated air. The back of his neck felt distinctly damp and his nausea was growing worse. Dr. Tollnismer ripped open the euphoric’s package and stuck the pad to his forearm. She pulled it off after only a few seconds.
Watly wondered how long it would be before it took effect. He was still aware of his sweatiness, but it really wasn’t bad at all. Not bad at all. Not at all. His stomach, in fact, felt fine. Just fine. Pretty fuckable. This was all going to work out fine. Fine. Yes, the beautiful, spectacular, gorgeous doctor took a long cuff from its wall mount and began securing it to Watly’s wrist. Right wrist. The right right wrist. She was a real cutie. Potential poovus. And she was putting that cuff on just right. Not too loose, not too. .. uh. ..
It was a spectacular cuff. Colorful and intricately designed. From the top of his wrist it extended out on a complicated hinge involving many tiny ball sockets to clasp the bases of Watly’s two middle fingers. The body of the cuff itself was almost as long as his whole forearm. Watly had, of course, seen them before, but only from a distance. You couldn’t go a day in Manhattan without seeing at least a few. He had never imagined they were so complex, though, and so carefully designed. It was a work of art. There was a fine layer of thin wires just below the surface forming curlicues, geometric designs, and other seemingly intentionally aesthetic shapes. If he stared at them, Watly could almost imagine pictures. A house. A flower? A sleeping cat. A foot? A breast. You could see anything you wanted in them. Lots of breasts. Brown breasts.
And of course the most prominent feature of all was the large cuff number. 9703. Each numeral was about two inches long and bright yellow. 9703. This figure represented whoever his anonymous donor was. It was, most probably, the only thing Watly would ever know about his donor. Of course, that wasn’t counting any personality traits Watly picked up from watching the guy’s behavior from the inside.
Oh, rape on a half shell.
Suddenly Watly felt dizzy. Dr. Tollnismer had finished locking the cuff on and was now adjusting the two cables. They held whatever position she moved them into. Watly thought maybe he didn’t want to do this after all. Maybe he’d just like to go home and forget all about it. It struck him he really didn’t know enough about all this. Too hasty, he’d been. Much. He needed more data before he could make an informed. .. Maybe he could still be a mother if he raised the money by. ..
At the end of each cable was a brass-colored rectangular plate. Dr. Tollnismer touched these plates to either side of his head—just behind his ears. They rested there gently, tickling a little right outside where the new implants were.
“Are you ready, Watly Caiper?” she asked. Her voice had returned to that lilting, childlike tone. It was intoxicating.
“I love you, Dr. Tollnismer,” Watly said quietly.
The doctor let another gut-wrenching smile loose and patted Watly on
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