ref: fd9be2e172be4ae02a18d721a10f6f96ca1c924f
dir: /troff/0105.ms/
.LP .ce .ps 16 .CW DEFINE COLOR .R .ps 10 .br .ce .ps 10 .B 1 .P .PP .ps 10 .DC S lake Bottom looked at the photo. Then he looked at the old woman. .PP .ps 10 He looked at the photo again. .PP .ps 10 The photo contained more detail. In real life, the woman's features seemed indistinct, lacking in definition. The photo revealed a gracefully contoured boundary that was absent from the awkwardly perambulating visage which paced before him here in the kitchen. .PP .ps 10 Her apparent beauty was a matter of focus. .PP .ps 10 Slake took a drink from his cup. .PP .ps 10 Considered his options. Before he could speak he found that the old woman had resumed her monologue. Bending his ear, as usual. .PP .ps 10 "These friends of yours are no good. Wasting Basement resources. Blowing off their work as if none of this mattered. You're going to see how they turn out." .PP .ps 10 "Aye, Nana." .PP .ps 10 Slake adjusted his gauntlet. The old woman wanted to knock out the kitchen wall. One of the younger kids had said it was typical of her restlessness. No real purpose to the renovation. He took down some measurements and then set himself to wait. .PP .ps 10 "I forget sometimes that you contractors can't simply power yourselves down. Go on, then, get out of here. I'll ring tomorrow after I've decided on a color scheme." .PP .ps 10 You got it, Nana. .ce .ps 10 .B 2 .P .PP .ps 10 Odd sensation, just now. Perturbation in visual field. But, nothing has changed. Room inert. Items within it, static. .PP .ps 10 Old woman is in the kitchen, henpecking yet another contractor. Renovations to the Basement are almost complete, but still she keeps on hiring new workers. Mostly, non\-residents. Should say, non\-graduates. No doubt an intentional strategy. Once their work here is completed they won't be coming back. Lack of a common language keeps them from comparing their experiences\(emwith each other, or, for that matter, with anyone above ground. .PP .ps 10 How the hell is she paying for all this? .PP .ps 10 We don't yet know. .ce .ps 10 .B 3 .P .PP .ps 10 Slake Bottom was descended from perhaps the greatest recognized fan of Shakespeare's A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM\f(CW™\fR. Some number of great\-grandfathers ago, his ancestor had witnessed one of the production's earliest performances, had been .I transformed, .R had adopted the surname of his favorite character, quite in spite of the gentle advice offered by friends and family. People laughed knowingly at his new name. He found that the laughter was often good for a free meal, or, less clumsily, for a few free tankards of ale. And so, the laughter rang out, was handed down, on, through the centuries. The fact had pursued Slake throughout his education, but he had avoided delving too deeply into the original material on account of having little interest in family traditions. Also, he wasn't broke. .PP .ps 10 Later, in prison, when he had been forced to scan through the works of William Shakespeare in order to organize a brief overview of all human literature, he had learned to hate the material on its own merits. .PP .ps 10 Slake flicked away his cigarette and donned his donkey helmet. .PP .ps 10 "Out of the way, asshead," said one of the children as she elbowed her way into the kitchen. .ce .ps 10 .B 4 .P .PP .ps 10 The old woman finished the dishes, wiping her hands on her apron. .PP .ps 10 "Be polite," she admonished. .PP .ps 10 "Aye, Nana," chirped the young girl. .PP .ps 10 "Really, I don't mind," said Slake Bottom. .PP .ps 10 Without warning, the old woman pulled up her apron, pinning it in front of her face, exposing the tops of her legs, as well as the fact that she was not wearing any clothes beneath the tails of her shirt. .PP .ps 10 "Slake, how many eyes do I have?" .PP .ps 10 .I "Eyes? .R I don't understand. What are you talking about?" .PP .ps 10 "Count... my... eyes. Stop jabbering and answer. By the way, they're up here." Motioning from behind the upturned apron. .PP .ps 10 "I\-I can't see them." .PP .ps 10 "Really, that's interesting," said the old woman, apparently losing interest in the conversation. .PP .ps 10 Slake blushed. .bp .ce .ps 10 .B 5 .P .PP .ps 10 "I'm no longer human," complained Slake Bottom. "Haven't been, for some years." .PP .ps 10 "Don't you dream in color?" .PP .ps 10 "Define color." .PP .ps 10 Slake exhaled smoke the color of unpolished steel. It contrasted sharply with the rich green of the old woman's bedspread. He didn't feel anything, one way or the other. .PP .ps 10 "Your uniform is monochrome. Even your flesh is a pallid gray." Actually, it was purple. "There is little to distinguish you in the presence of other men. And what about your main weaponry?" .PP .ps 10 "I know, I know," said Slake, resigned to the dull finish of his sidearm. "I've been saving up for something new." .PP .ps 10 He sat, sagging, his helmet removed, his face in his hands. .PP .ps 10 "Do you want to talk about it?" asked Nana Mold. .PP .ps 10 "I guess that would be okay. When they brought me back to Earth they placed no constraints on my conversations. And there's nothing in my contract about the Basement." .PP .ps 10 "Only reason we brought you down here," Nana said, reassuringly. .ce .ps 10 .B 6 .P .PP .ps 10 Peek out of my bedroom into the hall. Some kind of commotion. .PP .ps 10 Voices. Maybe nothing. .PP .ps 10 Decide on dinner. Something from the fridge. But: kitchen door locked. .PP .ps 10 Old woman? No. One of the girls. .PP .ps 10 Curious, though. .PP .ps 10 Down the hall. Old woman's bedroom. .PP .ps 10 Also locked. .PP .ps 10 Back to the bedroom. Tools. Then, decide it doesn't really matter. Don't really care. .PP .ps 10 Sit down on my bed. Pick up my book. .PP .ps 8 .CW Message waiting .R .PP .ps 10 Delete. Leave me to my book. .PP .ps 10 Lose a couple of hours flipping pages. Don't hear her when she finally comes in. .PP .ps 10 This time, she's not alone.