| Search results - "child" |
2 viewsThat to whom he would barter his child was not yet manifest.Soon the man Case would come to bring that union, however brief, however timeless.But you know this." "Where is Legba now?" "Legba-ati-Bon -- as you have known him -- waits to be." "No," remembering Beauvoir's words long ago, in New Jersey, "the loa came out of Africa in the first times..
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Business women9 viewsBusiness women
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0 viewsThey watched Bonn flash and die, and Beograd.The construction of the spindle continued with only minor interruptions, during those three weeks; later, during the stunned and chaotic decade that followed, it would sometimes be more difficult.The children, Jean and Jane, were with them now, the villa at Biarritz having gone to finance construction of a cryogenic storage facility for their home, the Villa Straylight.The first occupants of the vault were ten pairs of cloned embryos, 2Jean and 2Jane, 3Jean and 3Jane.
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1 viewsSlick, or Slick Henry, is among the SINless, but 3Jane, Continuity, Bobby, all have lavished their attention on him.For 3Jane, he serves as the focus of a minor node of association: she equates his ongoing rite of construction, his cathartic response to chemo-penal trauma, with her own failed attempts to exorcise the barren dream of Tessier-Ashpool.In the corridors of 3Jane's memory, Angie has frequently come upon the chamber where a spider-armed manipulator stirs the refuse of Straylight's brief, clotted history -- an act of extended collage.And Bobby provides other memories, tapped from the artist as he accessed 3Jane's library of Babel: his slow, sad, childlike labor on the plain called Dog Solitude, erecting anew the forms of pain and memory.
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Funny child6 viewsSuccess
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0 viewsSometimes she felt as though she'd had three lives, each walled away from the others by something she couldn't name, and no hope of wholeness, ever.There were the child's memories of the Maas arcology, carved into the summit of an Arizona mesa, where she'd hugged a sandstone balustrade, face into the wind, and felt as though the whole hollowed tableland was her ship, that she could steer out into those sunset colors beyond the mountains.Later, she'd flown away from there, her fear a hard thing in her throat.She could no longer recall her last glimpse of her father's face.
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0 viewsIn the Eighties he'd been a long-haired child of the Soviet elite, his father's Position placing him effectively beyond the reach of the Moscow police.He remembered feedback howling through the speakers in the hot darkness of a cellar club, th'e crowd a shadowy checkerboard of denim and bleached hair.He'd smoked Marlboros laced with powdered Afghani hash.He remembered the mouth of an American diplomat's daughter in the back seat of her father's black Lincoln.
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3 views"If we promise to hint to the fax that the motive was sexual, she might even decide to play along...." "You're horrid." "Danielle is a horror, missy." "Look who's talking." "Ah," said the hairdresser, narrowing his eyes, "but my soul is a child's." Now the helicopter was landing.
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2 viewsHe had British groups taped from West German radio, Warsaw Pact heavy metal, American imports from the black market.Putting on his headphones, he punched for the Czestochowa reggae of Brygada Cryzis.After all the years, he no longer really heard the music, but images came rushing back with an aching poignancy.In the Eighties he'd been a long-haired child of the Soviet elite, his father's Position placing him effectively beyond the reach of the Moscow police.
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0 views.." "Of course.Have a nap, I'll have a walk on the beach, and then we'll talk." She watched him from the bedroom window, watched his brown figure recede in the direction of the Colony, followed by the patient little Dornier.He looked like a child on the empty beach; he looked as lost as she felt.
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0 viewsI heard stories, though.Some great stories.A tug pilot claimed there were feral children living in a mothballed Japanese drug factory.There's a whole new apocrypha out there, really -- ghost ships, lost cities.
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0 viewsThere 's no there ,there.They taught that to children, explaining cyberspace.She remembered a smiling tutor's lecture in the arcology's executive cr?che, images shifting on a screen: pilots in enormous helmets and clumsy- looking gloves, the neuroelectronically primitive "virtual world" technology linking them more effectively with their planes, pairs of miniature video terminals pumping them a computer-generated flood of combat data, the vibrotactile feedback gloves providing a touch-world of studs and triggers..
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