William Gibson - Neuromancer

T HE SKY ABOVE the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.

Its not like Im using, Case heard someone say, as he shouldered his way through the crowd around the door of the Chat. Its like my bodys developed this massive drug deficiency. It was a Sprawl voice and a Sprawl joke. The Chatsubo was a bar for professional expatriates; you could drink there for a week and never hear two words in Japanese.

Ratz was tending bar, his prosthetic arm jerking monotonously as he filled a tray of glasses with draft Kirin. He saw Case and smiled, his teeth a webwork of East European steel and brown decay. Case found a place at the bar, between the unlikely tan on one of Lonny Zones whores and the crisp naval uniform of a tall African whose cheekbones were ridged with precise rows of tribal scars. Wage was in here early, with two joeboys, Ratz said, shoving a draft across the bar with his good hand. Maybe some business with you, Case?

Case shrugged. The girl to his right giggled and nudged him.

The bartenders smile widened. His ugliness was the stuff of legend. In an age of affordable beauty, there was something heraldic about his lack of it. The antique arm whined as he reached for another mug. It was a Russian military prosthesis, a seven-function force-feedback manipulator, cased in grubby pink plastic. You are too much the artiste, Herr Case. Ratz grunted; the sound served him as laughter. He scratched his overhang of white-shirted belly with the pink claw. You are the artiste of the slightly funny deal.

Sure, Case said, and sipped his beer. Somebodys gotta be funny around here. Sure the fuck isnt you.

The whores giggle went up an octave.

Isnt you either, sister. So you vanish, okay? Zone, hes a close personal friend of mine.

She looked Case in the eye and made the softest possible spitting sound, her lips barely moving. But she left.

Jesus, Case said, what kinda creepjoint you running here? Man cant have a drink.

Ha, Ratz said, swabbing the scarred wood with a rag. Zone shows a percentage. You I let work here for entertainment value.

As Case was picking up his beer, one of those strange instants of silence descended, as though a hundred unrelated conversations had simultaneously arrived at the same pause. Then the whores giggle rang out, tinged with a certain hysteria.

Ratz grunted. An angel passed.

The Chinese, bellowed a drunken Australian, Chinese bloody invented nerve-splicing. Give me the mainland for a nerve job any day. Fix you right, mate....

Now that, Case said to his glass, all his bitterness suddenly rising in him like bile, that is so much bullshit.

T HE J APANESE HAD already forgotten more neurosurgery than the Chinese had ever known. The black clinics of Chiba were the cutting edge, whole bodies of technique supplanted monthly, and still they couldnt repair the damage hed suffered in that Memphis hotel.

A year here and he still dreamed of cyberspace, hope fading nightly. All the speed he took, all the turns hed taken and the corners hed cut in Night City, and still hed see the matrix in his sleep, bright lattices of logic unfolding across that colorless void.... The Sprawl was a long strange way home over the Pacific now, and he was no console man, no cyberspace cowboy. Just another hustler, trying to make it through. But the dreams came on in the Japanese night like livewire voodoo, and hed cry for it, cry in his sleep, and wake alone in the dark, curled in his capsule in some coffin hotel, his hands clawed into the bedslab, temperfoam bunched between his fingers, trying to reach the console that wasnt there.

I SAW YOUR girl last night, Ratz said, passing Case his second Kirin.

I dont have one, he said, and drank.

Miss Linda Lee.

Case shook his head.

No girl? Nothing? Only biz, friend artiste? Dedication to commerce? The bartenders small brown eyes were nested deep in wrinkled flesh. I think I liked you better, with her. You laughed more. Now, some night, you get maybe too artistic; you wind up in the clinic tanks, spare parts.

Youre breaking my heart, Ratz. He finished his beer, paid and left, high narrow shoulders hunched beneath the rain-stained khaki nylon of his windbreaker. Threading his way through the Ninsei crowds, he could smell his own stale sweat.

C ASE WAS TWENTY - FOUR . At twenty-two, hed been a cowboy, a rustler, one of the best in the Sprawl. Hed been trained by the best, by McCoy Pauley and Bobby Quine, legends in the biz. Hed operated on an almost permanent adrenaline high, a byproduct of youth and proficiency, jacked into a custom cyberspace deck that projected his disembodied consciousness into the consensual hallucination that was the matrix. A thief, hed worked for other, wealthier thieves, employers who provided the exotic software required to penetrate the bright walls of corporate systems, opening windows into rich fields of data.

Hed made the classic mistake, the one hed sworn hed never make. He stole from his employers. He kept something for himself and tried to move it through a fence in Amsterdam. He still wasnt sure how hed been discovered, not that it mattered now. Hed expected to die, then, but they only smiled. Of course he was welcome, they told him, welcome to the money. And he was going to need it. Becausestill smilingthey were going to make sure he never worked again.

They damaged his nervous system with a wartime Russian mycotoxin.

Strapped to a bed in a Memphis hotel, his talent burning out micron by micron, he hallucinated for thirty hours.

The damage was minute, subtle, and utterly effective.

For Case, whod lived for the bodiless exultation of cyberspace, it was the Fall. In the bars hed frequented as a cowboy hotshot, the elite stance involved a certain relaxed contempt for the flesh. The body was meat. Case fell into the prison of his own flesh.

H IS TOTAL ASSETS were quickly converted to new Yen, a fat sheaf of the old paper currency that circulated endlessly through the closed circuit of the worlds black markets like the seashells of the Trobriand islanders. It was difficult to transact legitimate business with cash in the Sprawl; in Japan, it was already illegal.