It would be all right. It usually was. He pulled his shirt back into place--it had slipped almost over his head when Bea picked him up--and dusted his trousers. Bea bit her thumbnail and leaned against the opposite wall of the corridor.
Daily Science Fiction :: Marrakech Express by Milena Benini
Harry spread his hands. She switched to another finger. But a non-member Not just into the papers; into the cargo itself. Bea looked at him as if she'd forgotten he was there. She even took her fingers out of her mouth. Bea chuckled. A real philanthropist, is our Harry. But this time he's gone too far. Why would you want to carry a dead body to a foreign planet? Karima smiled and patted his hand. But I could tell he didn't believe in it any more than Karima did.
My uncle was not happy with Karima's decision, but it didn't occur to him to oppose it. He understood. He didn't just accept Ghan beliefs the way David did, like he would have accepted Buddhism or Mohammedanism or any other -ism his wife happened to support. Uncle Narain knew. He was a dancer.
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He carried the tribe's story-burden, danced the history of the tribe. He had to know stuff. For example, he knew that no one in his story-burden had ever survived running the sun. He also knew that the dream-substance of planets was too strong for the dead. Nobody could withstand it for more than fifty, fifty-five days.
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Not even the Ghan knew what happened when you moved on. They just knew what happened when you didn't. You became one with the planet, and inevitably went mad in the process. And then you went on forever, or at least for as long as the planet did, in that diluted, mad state. That was why my mother wanted to run the sun for me. If she could reach me, she could help me move on. I should have had the courage to do it myself, but, hey, if I weren't a coward, I wouldn't be dead in the first place.
If I had had the courage to face my parents instead of staging a drama. No use crying over broken eggs, as my grandma would have said. They say that Earth mythologies have dead relatives wait for you when you die, to ease the transition. That's a neat arrangement, if it's true. If my grandma were there to meet me, I wouldn't have the courage to not move on. Perhaps she will indeed be there, but I won't know that until I make the fatal step. And the possibility that there's simply nothing there is too scary to contemplate. Harry the Slut put another drink in Bea's hand. They were sitting in the Marrakech, the ship's concession bar.
Christian Chankari didn't drink and didn't approve of drinking, so he left them at the entrance.
Without him and with the help of a few Jack Daniels, Harry was hoping he could persuade Bea not to report. He was also hoping he could get her to bed, but he was always hoping for that. It was almost a hobby. Bea smelled of engine oil and cheap soap. He could get drunk on that smell. Better to get drunk on Jack Daniels. Maybe because no one else was that desperate to bring someone back to life.
After all, we only found them a few years ago. She smiled at him over the rim of her glass. He'll have to jerk off later. She always did that to him.
Deliberately, he suspected. David didn't come after Karima, but he called her, directly. Karima could dreamsell quite well when she had to. They dreamtalked for about an hour and a half. Karima was perfectly composed when they'd finished. Then she cried for another half hour.
I could, of course, but there was nothing I could do. It was an effort even to care. Dunes call me from the depth of the desert. Their sandy fingers insinuate their way under the edges of my consciousness. I can feel them trying to lift it, to get under my defenses. The Marrakech Express shuttle thundered over the desert runway, then shuddered to a stop. Bea turned to Harry and Christian and took a deep breath. You"--she looked at Harry--"had better make sure they don't open it.
And if I ever see your face on my ship again, I'll space you. I mean it, Harry. The customs officer only glanced at the papers, and touched a few cases randomly with the tip of his boot.
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Harry shrugged, as if to say I don't know, I'm just the shipper. Just in case, he took out his Unionshop vouchers and slipped a goodly portion into the officer's pocket. And that was it. Karima looked up. She was very quiet since her dreamtalk with David.
I could guess what it must have been about. If I still felt any guilt, I'd feel guilty about breaking up my parents' marriage. I tried to work up some sort of guilt, but failed.
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It was already hard just to keep up interest in the humans. The dunes kept calling me, as did the sun. Harry the Slut was sitting in the jeep, watching Christian Chankari wave his hands. The negotiations didn't seem to be going well. He swallowed a sigh. This trip had already cost him too much. If it turned out now that raising the dead was some sort of luxury reserved only for purebred tribe-members or something, it would all have been for nothing.
Besides, he'd taken enough money off Chankari already to feel a sort of a responsibility.www.dangkythuoc.com/includes/map2.php
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He got out of the jeep and walked to the group of people gathered around Chankari and his dead wife. Christian Chankari just shook his head. The speaker of the group, an old woman who spoke perfect Anglam and chain-smoked the local cigarillos, responded with an almost identical gesture. You've come all this way in vain.
There's no way we can bring her back. Harry looked at the enhanced coffin. He'd done his best to preserve Mrs. They'd transferred the body directly from the hospital mortuary.
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That had been Chankari's own doing. He was a doctor, he'd pulled all the necessary strings.