The Godwhale (S.F. Masterworks) Read Online Free Page B

higher than mine.’
    Ira’s gold insignia hinted of rank. Larry was beginning to enjoy this new age into which he had awakened. He had self-respect and the promise of a new body.
    Larry trotted his mannequin to the alternate spaceport, looking for running room to burn out his carbon whiskers. Ferrite cores warmed up as he ran up and down the roof ramp of one of the hangers. The dish antenna was cold. He ran three hundred feet up to the rim – a convex track tilted at fifteen degrees. He circled a quarter mile and descended the ramp. Warming ferrite increased efficiency. Larry felt exhilaration. He clocked a 7:45 mile around the periphery of the landing pad. Legs ran smoothly. Arms tired.
    ‘This is great! It feels like I am really running. It’s that lactate you’re putting in my Blood Scrubber. Now if you can just give me back my sex life . . .’
    Mannequin shared and updated with distant Library: ‘That too can be arranged; midbrain electrodes for you. Meck sex can be pleasant with a wired reticular system.’
    Larry grinned, assuming that he was the object of a very funny robot joke. ‘Not for me! I have no erotic interest in a rusty scabbard. My imprinting was plain and primitive. I can wait for my pelvic transplant.’ He circled the pad again, noticing the wall around him – high, dull, featureless. The sky was a slate grey. No clouds. No skyline of buildings. He glanced around the port for signs of a city. No lights or smoke. The port itself had glass and plastic buildings. An occasional orange-suited worker wandered by. No other signs of life. ‘Is there a park? Trees? Grass?’
    ‘Not for running. Cities are underground. Gardens are everywhere. They are off limits.’
    ‘Off limits? But why?’
    ‘Crops. The Gardens need all available sunlight – growing calories for Earth Society is no simple task now – fifty billion mouths to feed. A pedestrian park would be an extravagant waste.’
    ‘Perhaps the time is right for me to Implant Out,’ mused Larry. He paused at a bubbler and sipped noisily while the mannequin’s umbilical probe sparked in an energy socket. ‘A drink for me and a cup of electrons for you.’ His power cell bulged. ‘I can hardly believe that I’m about to be whole again – a complete body! What exactly was this Todd-Sage thing?’
    ‘Breakthrough,’ explained the mannequin, sharing with the City’s memory banks. ‘Todd Island was the scene of a bloody uprising. Afterwards, the rebel leader, called The Sage by his followers, was sentenced to the guillotine. Continued unrest delayed the execution. The rebels wanted to salvage their leader’s brain by perfusion. The Todd officials agreed, reasoning that the publicity surrounding the project would remind the population that justice was swift and sure. However, about three years later The Sage was back – intact – and using political tools this time.’
    ‘Perfusion?’
    ‘The pump was hidden in his turban headdress. It carried enough liquid oxygen to protect the brain during the ceremonial execution. The Vascular Team had worked all night in his death cell. An airway tube was placed low on his chest, and diaphragmatic electrodes kept the detached body breathing on its own. I’ve reviewed the optic playbacks. A very smooth ceremony – only no blood.’
    Larry tried to imagine how it felt to be surgically beheaded the night before your execution – and by your friends! Only the spinal cord remained intact until the blade fell.
    ‘But his cord was cut, just like mine . . .’
    ‘Yes, but his followers purchased a new blade for the occasion, one free from HAA so there would be no danger of picking up a liver-damaging virus from one of the previously executed. The cut was very clean.’
    ‘Executed by a blade purchased by his own men?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘But how did they avoid the CNS scarring in his spinal cord? My lower torso was viable and the surgical site did not get infected. But the regenerating nerve fibres could