* * *
In my confidence, I grew careless.
One night, we broke into an abandoned house. In some districts they outnumber occupied houses. And in this house I found a forgotten access point. Unable to resist, I used the ID of my latest indigent accomplice to access the Network.
She was busy rifling the house, and I saw no danger in my manoeuver. And that, of course, was my downfall. Never trust an indigent: they have nothing to lose and love nothing. Their conscience dissolves, pill by pill, and in the end there is nothing human left in them.
I realise now that she had been studying me suspiciously for some time. She rarely took her happiness pills in my presence, because, I assumed, she imagined I had lewd intentions. A sex machine is more hygienic, but many citizens still prefer to use an indigent’s body, and she was certainly a beautiful creature. But the only thing that really aroused me was the past.
I still recall the last text I was reading when she turned me in. It was a summary of something called The Iliad. It described a time when cities fought against each other, travelling over the lesser fish banks, which were called seas.
Boots Page 7
