Engineman Read Online Free PDF Page B

okay for you to dictate what I do, Miss Privilege in your fucking penthouse suite in the richest country in the world." Ella stopped herself, panting, aware that she'd gone too far.
    Vasquez was silent, regarding her. "Thank you for making your views so abundantly clear, and so eloquently expressed, Ella. As we seem to have irreconcilable differences of opinion as to what can constitute a work of art, I think it would be best if we parted company. Don't bother sending me any more of your work, Ella. I'll return your latest forthwith."
    Ella smiled through her rage. "There's something I'd like to say."
    Vasquez raised an imperious eyebrow. "Oh, and you haven't said enough?"
    "Too right," Ella smiled. She raised her foot, placed it in the image of Vasquez's face, and pushed the screen off the ledge.
    "You bastard!" she yelled after it. She leaned from the window and watched it fall. It sailed through the air, crashed through the undergrowth and hit the street with a dull explosion.
    Ella straightened, massaging the small of her back. She stared up at the stars. The adrenalin rush at what she'd done gave way to the sobering realisation of her circumstances. She didn't know whether to be more appalled at Vasquez's view of art, or the fact that she was back at square one, without an agent. She supposed she could always go back to selling her work on the Champs-Elysées.
    She wandered into the kitchen, not sure whether to laugh or to cry. Vasquez's expression when Ella thrust her bare foot into her face... It was just as well she hadn't confronted Vasquez in the flesh.
    She pulled two beers from the cooler and returned to the roof. Eddie was still sitting on his flier, unmoving, staring intently at the deactivated screen of the interface in the distance. Ella interposed herself between the screen and the Engineman. "Here." She held out a beer. "Brought you this."
    He made no move to take the bottle, but reached out and touched Ella's shoulder, signalling that she should move. She stood her ground, defiant. Eddie leaned to his right to get a better view of the screen. He seemed to be in a trance.
    She unscrewed the top from her beer, took a long drink. "That was my agent," she said at last, aware that she was talking to herself. She shrugged. "I don't have an agent any more, Eddie." She laughed. "I dropped her."
    She looked up at Eddie. No response.
    "What am I going to do?" Something in her tone moved him to look at her, but only briefly. He returned his gaze to the screen.
    "Fuck you," she whispered. "You're as blind and uncaring as that bitch..." Then: "Eddie! Look at me. I need to talk."
    He gestured. "Not now, Princess."
    "Not now? But I need to talk now ."
    He was far gone, lost.
    "You bastard!" Impulsively, she flung the full beer bottle at him. It missed, sailed way over his head. He didn't even flinch.
    "Hey," she said. "You know what? Why don't you fly over there and throw yourself through the screen? Go fry your fucking self and see if I care!"
    She hurried away, her anger suddenly usurped by regret, and the hope that Eddie hadn't heard her. She ran to her room, sickened suddenly by the plethora of her failed work stacked against the wall, mocking her. She curled up on her bed and cried out in frustration.
    She had no idea how long she'd been asleep when she rolled onto her back and blinked herself awake. The noise that had begun in her dreams continued now, and as she stared up at the ceiling she wondered when her tired mind would stop taunting her.
    Then the walls of the room began to shake, and the noise became thunderous. A sudden dread clutched at her. "No," she said to herself, jumping from the bed and running to the balcony.
    The ugly bulk of Eddie's flier edged from the landing pad, filling the sky above the street as it moved off in the direction of the spaceport, the roar of its jets diminishing. "No, Eddie!" she screamed. "No!"
    She pulled on a jacket and trousers and, still barefoot, ran down the stairs, taking