The Pedestal Read Online Free PDF Page A

down.
    And that would be that.
    Nevertheless, and despite everything I’ve been told, I unconsciously clung to some vaporous hope for a miracle. It was stupid of me. But honestly, what else could I do?
    “Listen, Mister—?”
    “Abby,” I say with annunciation that can only be described as something resembling a feline spit. “Wilson Abby.” Check your stupid proximity sensor, jerk.
    “Right. Mr. Abby, my name is Dr. Philip Seymore.”
    I nod, but make no move to shake his hand.
    “I wonder, Mr. Abby, if you have any idea how we can reach his next of kin? We really need to make arrangements before the state takes possession of his body.”
    I give him a blank stare. “You mean other than the freaking nexus directory?” I’m doing the best I can to keep a lid on my snippiness—because for all my grief and indignation, I understand that my flesh is crying out for an excuse to lash out—but this guy’s really going out of his way to make himself a target.
    Seriously: next of kin? C’mon, you couldn’t hide that information if you tried. You gotta be limping along with a broken helix to miss it.
    Again—laboratory animals, people.
    “Yes, well, that’s proven to be surprisingly problematic,” the doctor says. His voice is slightly aflutter with what might be nerves, or—more preferably—shame for making such an idiotic statement and keeping a straight face. Whatever the case, I feel a little guilty—and a tinge proud, if I’m being completely honest—to be the source of it. It’s never been in my nature to be hateful, so I’m appropriately appalled at my behavior. Yet somehow, I feel liberated by it.
    Huh. Being a jerk isn’t supposed to feel this good, is it?
    Well, while I’m at it, would it be petty of me to mention that this poor excuse for a physician has one of those stupid little moustaches? I suppose in the right context, the right sort of guy might just pull one off—a millionaire playboy, perhaps; Dr. Seymore is most certainly not the right sort of guy. Not only is he freakishly plump, he’s uncomfortably asymmetrical, out of square in a way that flesh was never intended to be. It’s like he’s been cobbled together from bits of genetic leftovers. Based on these inadequacies, it seems logical that his brain has suffered similarly, in which case I should probably have some sympathy.
    Despite my mental tantrum, I wisely hold my tongue. I realize that regaining even that small bit of decorum is a victory. I choose to take credit for this over the fresh rush of chemical influence coursing through my veins.
    Dr. Seymore has a uniquely vulnerable quality; I get the sense he’s both accustomed to insult and completely unprepared for it. Which seems to beg the question: what’s with the look? I mean, when you think about it, it would take a fair amount of effort to circumvent your night-burner; it’s a native NanoPrint function, which excludes it from the scope of user preferences, so you couldn’t disable it casually. And the moustache?
    As I ponder this, I begin to wonder if the doctor and his deceased patient might have been chummy under better circumstances; perhaps they shared an equally yoked distaste for society’s predications for unnaturally prolonging life.
    >>Silly Wilson ... you’re the best kisser in the whole world, but did you mean to say ‘society’s unnatural predilections ’?
    Oh, um, she’s just kidding. About the kissing, I mean. Pardon me for a moment.
    _open NanoPrint admin
    _config nexus attributes
    _modify globals
    ... Modifying nexus globals is highly discouraged. Erroneous configuration may result in unpleasantness such as poor connectivity or physical death. Are you sure you want to proceed?
    _confirm;
    _open global preferences;
    _disable NanoPrint digital assistant;
    Marilyn slides into retinal view and gives me an angry pout at full, scornful opacity.
    >>Well, somebody’s being a crank fuddy-duddy.
    Sorry, Marilyn.
    _apply settings;
    ... Configuration