Shadowrun - Novel - 18 - Worlds Without End.pdf

Shadowrun Caroline Spector - Worlds Without End
"So are you. You've got piles of the stuff hidden
everywhere. What's a plane ticket to you?"
"That's not it," he said, primly. "It's the principle
of the thing." '
"The principle of the ..." And then I couldn't
continue because I was laughing too hard.
I contented myself with watching the passing scenery
and playing with the vid, trying to get some de-
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Caroline Specter
cent signal to come in. But all I found were walls of
noise and static. Finally I managed to tune in a prehistoric
station that was doing a retrospective of
tum-of-the-century music. Snapping off the trideo
portion, I let the sounds wash over me. I confess I
liked the older flat-screen stuff: Nine Inch Nails,
Cold Bodies, Sister Girl's Straight Jacket. Nothing
like a little atonality with my angst.
Every so often I would glance over at Caimbeul.
Excuse me. Harlequin. I don't think that name will
ever come trippingly to my lips. And I hate what it
represents even more.
Yes, I know you think you understand him. You
might even think you know him well, but you don't.
I've known him for longer than either of us cares to
remember. And he wasn't as you see him now. That
stupid painted face. Though he wasn't what many
would call handsome, I have always found him attractive.
Maybe even beautiful. Oh, I know that
sounds peculiar, but there is an aspect of ugliness
that is so shocking and strange it becomes beauty.
And his wild hair, all gold and brown woven together.
He'd let it grow long again, which I like. But
he insisted on pulling it back in that ridiculous pony
tail. It made me want to sneak up behind him with
a scissors and cut it off. Either you wear it long or
you don't was my way of thinking.
His hands lay easily on the wheel. I knew they
were smooth and feminine with calluses on the fingertips.
There was a hint of yellow between the first
and second fingers where he held those Gaullets he
smoked. And he smelled of tobacco and clean linen.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END
And I wondered whether he remembered those
sorts of things about me. The little details that only
come from intimacy.
"Will you turn that off?" he asked.
"I like it," I replied as I leaned forward and
nudged the volume button up a little.
"I know," he said. "You always did have terrible
taste in music."
"No, I've always had broad taste in music. Unlike
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