The Heist Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Are you having trouble?” He reached out and almost stroked her hair. “You have to press down with your back teeth to control the air flow. Didn’t they show you?”
     There was an air flow—a gentle breeze, whooshing up her throat and out her mouth and nose. It tickled the tiny hairs in her nostrils. She bit down, and the breeze became a hiss—an exhale strong enough that her chest should drop, but it didn’t, or maybe it did and she just couldn’t tell, because she couldn’t lift her head to look.
     “Where—” Mira said, and then she howled in terror, because her voice sounded horrible—deep and hoarse and hollow, the voice of something that had pulled itself from a swamp.
     “It takes some getting used to. Am I your first? No one has revived you before? Not even for an orientation?” The notion seemed to please him, that he was her first, whatever that meant. Mira studied him, wondering if she should recognize him. He preened at her attention, as if expecting Mira to be glad to see him. He was not an attractive man—his nose was thick and bumpy, and not in an aristocratic way. His nostrils were like a bull’s, his brow Neanderthal, but his mouth dainty. She didn’t recognize him.
     “I can’t move. Why can’t I move?” Mira finally managed. She looked around as best she could.
     “It’s okay. Try to relax. Only your face is working.”
     “What happened?” Mira finally managed.
     “You were in an accident,” he said, his brow now flexed with concern. “You were working on an engineering project for the military. Evidently a wall gave out.” He consulted a readout on his palm. “Fairly major damage. Ruptured aorta. Right leg gone.”
     Right leg gone ? Her right leg? She couldn’t see anything except the man hanging over her and a gold-colored ceiling, high, high above. “This is a hospital?” she asked.
     “No, no. A dating center.”
     “What?” For the first time she noticed that there were other voices in the room, speaking in low, earnest, confidential tones. She caught snippets close by:
     “… neutral colors. How could anyone choose violet?”
     “… last time I was at a Day-Glows concert I was seventeen…”
     “I shouldn’t be the one doing this.” The man turned, looked over his shoulder, then up at a black screen she could just see, set into the wall behind her. “There’s usually an orientation.” He turned back around to face her, shrugged, looking bemused. “I guess we’re on our own.” He clasped his hands, leaned in toward Mira. “The truth is, you see, you died in the accident…”
     Mira didn’t hear the next few things he said. She felt as if she were floating. It was an absurd idea, that she might be dead yet hear someone tell her she was dead. But somehow it rang true. She didn’t remember dying, but she sensed some hard, fast line—some demarcation between now and before. The idea made her want to flee, escape her body, which was a dead body. Her teeth were corpse’s teeth.
     “… you’re at minus eighty degrees, thanks to your insurance, but full revival, especially when it involves extensive injury, is terribly costly. That’s where the dating service comes in—”
     “I have a sister,” she interrupted. “Lynn.” Her jaw moved so stiffly.
     “Yes, a twin sister. Now, that would be interesting.” The man grinned, his eyebrows raised.
     “Is she still alive?”
     “No,” he said in a tone that suggested she was a silly girl. “You’ve been gone for over eighty years, Sleeping Beauty.” He made a sweeping gesture, as if all of that was trivial. “But let’s focus on the present. The way this works is, we get acquainted. We have dates. If we find we’re compatible”—he raised his shoulders toward his ears, smiled his dainty smile—“then I might be enticed to pay for you to be revived, so that we can be together.”
     Dates.
     “So. My name is Alexander—call me Alex—and I know from your readout