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Sleep without a dream (Skin Game fragment)
Then, the world came back together. It was a soft, secret feeling, like snow falling on the inside, a silence quietly beckoning. Ash followed like a child stumbling, bewildered, into the arms of a beloved mother. That was always why she went back. That was what made everything all right. Gave everything meaning, gave it worth. Slowly, she relinquished, allowing all the angles of the horrible world to withdraw and languish in the periphery of her consciousness.
That sweet release never lasted long enough. Not anymore. One was limited in the amount of T13 solution one could inject at any given time by the fact that, to wake up the drug in the viscous green liquid, it had to be boiled. Heavenstep was delicate – there was an extremely finite amount of time it could be heated before the drug began to decay and lose its potency. The more one heated, the longer it took to reach the proper temperature and consistency, and eventually the level and potency of one’s shot would plateau.
And so, Ash was trapped in this ever-waning security. The walls of her fortification were advancing inward upon her.
That sensation of peaceful altitude was beginning to thin, the illusion slowly losing solidity. A sharp stinging sensation began to creep in from her fingertips, advacing malevolently toward her heart. The colors that her eyes had perceived – moments ago brilliant and lofty, gilt with sheer loveliness – had turned brassy and artificial, and began to drain away from her vision all together.
The minutes condensed themselves into seconds, and pressed narrower still, the world around her accelerating exponentially. Perception was swiftly reduced to stark light and shadow, sharp echoes of sound. All tactile sensation – even that of the air moving lazily in the little room with its one window ajar – was honed to pins and needles. Moving, anywhere, was like walking through a curtain of steel wool. This was the beast. This was the bloodhungry creature that lived on the outside, most of the time, when the rest of the memories and fragments of persona slept fitfully on the inside. This was the Ash most people got to know.
Sound exploded into the black-and white world where she sat, shoulders hunched, waiting. A sharp rap on the door solidified in the air around her, making her head ring. Banen was swift to enter, not waiting for her affirmative.
“Anya, up! We have to move!” He swept by her at what her eyes perceived to be a blinding speed. In contrast, her own motions were slow, deliberate, and smoother than oil. Rolling to a stand, her eyes sought out his argent-and-charcoal visage as he whirled through the chamber. One of those long hands alighted briefly on the big rifle Ash preferred to carry, and tossed it back in her direction haphazardly. At least they knew one another that well. She caught it by instinct more than anything else, its weight nothing in her arms. “Enan landed and Calthan knew where… he was waiting for it.”
The ship. Ash tried to feign surprise at the point that Banen finally turned to look at her. On his face was a look of more sincere, and more consummate horror, than Ash had ever seen… it was such a real expression that it startled her and, somewhere through the greenish haze in her mind, she thought that she, too, ought to have been surprised. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe not. Either way, her play at echoing his feelings did not go over well.
“Oh fuck you, just fuck you, Anya. Do you have any idea how important this is? How many people are going to die down there? These people have spent their lives-“ Banen was yelling, now, and she wouldn’t have it. Each phrase was punctuated by a roar in her head. Stepping up to him quickly, the rifle dropped to her side, she raised a hand as if to strike him and he paused to counter with his own. Long enough for her to get a word in.
“Then why don’t you shut the fuck up and move us out, khadran?” The cruel monotone of her voice alarmed him, and he turned away without further bravado.
That sweet release never lasted long enough. Not anymore. One was limited in the amount of T13 solution one could inject at any given time by the fact that, to wake up the drug in the viscous green liquid, it had to be boiled. Heavenstep was delicate – there was an extremely finite amount of time it could be heated before the drug began to decay and lose its potency. The more one heated, the longer it took to reach the proper temperature and consistency, and eventually the level and potency of one’s shot would plateau.
And so, Ash was trapped in this ever-waning security. The walls of her fortification were advancing inward upon her.
That sensation of peaceful altitude was beginning to thin, the illusion slowly losing solidity. A sharp stinging sensation began to creep in from her fingertips, advacing malevolently toward her heart. The colors that her eyes had perceived – moments ago brilliant and lofty, gilt with sheer loveliness – had turned brassy and artificial, and began to drain away from her vision all together.
The minutes condensed themselves into seconds, and pressed narrower still, the world around her accelerating exponentially. Perception was swiftly reduced to stark light and shadow, sharp echoes of sound. All tactile sensation – even that of the air moving lazily in the little room with its one window ajar – was honed to pins and needles. Moving, anywhere, was like walking through a curtain of steel wool. This was the beast. This was the bloodhungry creature that lived on the outside, most of the time, when the rest of the memories and fragments of persona slept fitfully on the inside. This was the Ash most people got to know.
Sound exploded into the black-and white world where she sat, shoulders hunched, waiting. A sharp rap on the door solidified in the air around her, making her head ring. Banen was swift to enter, not waiting for her affirmative.
“Anya, up! We have to move!” He swept by her at what her eyes perceived to be a blinding speed. In contrast, her own motions were slow, deliberate, and smoother than oil. Rolling to a stand, her eyes sought out his argent-and-charcoal visage as he whirled through the chamber. One of those long hands alighted briefly on the big rifle Ash preferred to carry, and tossed it back in her direction haphazardly. At least they knew one another that well. She caught it by instinct more than anything else, its weight nothing in her arms. “Enan landed and Calthan knew where… he was waiting for it.”
The ship. Ash tried to feign surprise at the point that Banen finally turned to look at her. On his face was a look of more sincere, and more consummate horror, than Ash had ever seen… it was such a real expression that it startled her and, somewhere through the greenish haze in her mind, she thought that she, too, ought to have been surprised. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe not. Either way, her play at echoing his feelings did not go over well.
“Oh fuck you, just fuck you, Anya. Do you have any idea how important this is? How many people are going to die down there? These people have spent their lives-“ Banen was yelling, now, and she wouldn’t have it. Each phrase was punctuated by a roar in her head. Stepping up to him quickly, the rifle dropped to her side, she raised a hand as if to strike him and he paused to counter with his own. Long enough for her to get a word in.
“Then why don’t you shut the fuck up and move us out, khadran?” The cruel monotone of her voice alarmed him, and he turned away without further bravado.