Idoru (Bridge, #2)

by William Gibson

A week later he was in Tokyo, his face reflected in an elevator’s gold-veined mirror for this three-floor ascent of the aggressively nondescript O My Golly Building. To be admitted to Death Cube K, apparently a Franz Kafka theme bar.

“A week later he was in Tokyo, his face reflected in an elevator’s gold-veined mirror for this three-floor ascent of the aggressively nondescript O My Golly Building. To be admitted to Death Cube K, apparently a Franz Kafka theme bar.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 1 Death Cube K, p. 2 of 263, 1%.

“Nobody’s really famous anymore, Laney. Have you noticed that?” “No.” “I mean really famous. There’s not much fame left, not in the old sense. Not enough to go around.”

““Nobody’s really famous anymore, Laney. Have you noticed that?” “No.” “I mean really famous. There’s not much fame left, not in the old sense. Not enough to go around.”” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 1 Death Cube K, p. 4 of 293, 1%.

Laney turned to the Japanese in the round glasses. “Colin Laney.” “Shinya Yamazaki,” the man said, extending his hand. They shook. “We spoke on the telephone.” “You’re conducting the interview?” A flurry of blinks. “I’m sorry, no,” the man said. And then, “I am a student of existential sociology.”

“Rez, then. What do you think of him?” “You mean the rock star?” Laney asked, after struggling with a basic problem of context. A nod. The man regarded Laney with utmost gravity. “From Lo/Rez? The band?” Half Irish, half Chinese. A broken nose, never repaired. Long green eyes. “What do I think of him?”

Kathy thought of celebrity as a subtle fluid, a universal element, like the phlogiston of the ancients, something spread evenly at creation through all the universe, but prone now to accrete, under specific conditions, around certain individuals and their careers.

“Kathy thought of celebrity as a subtle fluid, a universal element, like the phlogiston of the ancients, something spread evenly at creation through all the universe, but prone now to accrete, under specific conditions, around certain individuals and their careers.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 1 Death Cube K, p. 6 of 293, 3%.

“Well,” Laney said, after some thought, and feeling a peculiar compulsion to attempt a truthful answer, “I remember buying their first album. When it came out.” “Title?” The one-eared man grew graver still. “ ‘Lo Rez Skyline,” ’ Laney said, grateful for whatever minute synaptic event had allowed the recall. “But I couldn’t tell you how many they’ve put out since.” “Twenty-six, not counting compilations,” said Mr. Yamazaki, straightening his glasses.

“First you tell me whether or not you’re from Paragon-Asia,” Laney suggested. “Firm in question’s a couple of lines of code in a machine in a backroom in Lygon Street,” Blackwell said. “A dummy, but you could say it’s our dummy, if that makes you feel better.” “I’m not sure it does,” Laney said. “You fly me over to interview for a job, now you’re telling me the company I’m supposed to be interviewing for doesn’t exist.” “It exists,” said Keith Alan Blackwell. “It’s on the machine in Lygon Street.”

He had a peculiar knack with data-collection architectures, and a medically documented concentration-deficit that he could toggle, under certain conditions, into a state of pathological hyperfocus.

“He had a peculiar knack with data-collection architectures, and a medically documented concentration-deficit that he could toggle, under certain conditions, into a state of pathological hyperfocus.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 3 Almost a Civilian, p. 25 of 263, 9%.

he was an intuitive fisher of patterns of information: of the sort of signature a particular individual inadvertently created in the net as he or she went about the mundane yet endlessly multiplex business of life in a digital society.

“he was an intuitive fisher of patterns of information: of the sort of signature a particular individual inadvertently created in the net as he or she went about the mundane yet endlessly multiplex business of life in a digital society.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 3 Almost a Civilian, p. 25 of 263, 9%.

“Anything that might be of interest to Slitscan. Which is to say, Laney, anything that might be of interest to Slitscan’s audience. Which is best visualized as a vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organism craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed. Personally I like to imagine something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It’s covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth, Laney, no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.”

““Anything that might be of interest to Slitscan. Which is to say, Laney, anything that might be of interest to Slitscan’s audience. Which is best visualized as a vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organism craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed. Personally I like to imagine something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It’s covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth, Laney, no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.”” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 3 Almost a Civilian, p. 28 of 263, 11%.

Laney had recently noticed that the only people who had titles that clearly described their jobs had jobs he wouldn’t have wanted.

“Laney had recently noticed that the only people who had titles that clearly described their jobs had jobs he wouldn’t have wanted.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 7 The Wet, Warm Life in Alison Shires, p. 49 of 263, 18%.

He remembered the 5-SB in the orphanage. The taste of it coming while it was still being injected. Rotting metal. The placebo brought no taste at all.

“He remembered the 5-SB in the orphanage. The taste of it coming while it was still being injected. Rotting metal. The placebo brought no taste at all.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 7 The Wet, Warm Life in Alison Shires, p. 53 of 263, 19%.

“Hey there,” the fridge said. “You’ve left me open.” Laney said nothing. “Well, do you want the door open, partner? You know it interferes with the automatic de-frost . . .” “Be quiet.” His hands felt better. Cooler. He stood there until his hands were quite cold, then withdrew them and pressed the tips of his fingers against his temples, the fridge taking this opportunity to close itself without further comment.

““Hey there,” the fridge said. “You’ve left me open.” Laney said nothing. “Well, do you want the door open, partner? You know it interferes with the automatic de-frost . . .” “Be quiet.” His hands felt better. Cooler. He stood there until his hands were quite cold, then withdrew them and pressed the tips of his fingers against his temples, the fridge taking this opportunity to close itself without further comment. Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 7 The Wet, Warm Life in Alison Shires, p. 53 of 263, 19%.

“It felt like something snapped. A rubber band. It felt like gravity.” “That’s what it feels like,” Blackwell said, “when you decide.”

““It felt like something snapped. A rubber band. It felt like gravity.” “That’s what it feels like,” Blackwell said, “when you decide.”” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 7 The Wet, Warm Life in Alison Shires, p. 54 of 263, 20%.

The nondisclosure agreement Laney had signed was intended to cover any incidences of Slitscan using its connections with DatAmerica in ways that might be construed as violations of the law. Such incidences, in Laney’s experience, were frequent to the point of being constant, at least at certain advanced levels of research. Since DatAmerica had been Laney’s previous employer, he hadn’t found any of this particularly startling. DatAmerica was less a power than a territory; in many ways it was a law unto itself.

“The nondisclosure agreement Laney had signed was intended to cover any incidences of Slitscan using its connections with DatAmerica in ways that might be construed as violations of the law. Such incidences, in Laney’s experience, were frequent to the point of being constant, at least at certain advanced levels of research. Since DatAmerica had been Laney’s previous employer, he hadn’t found any of this particularly startling. DatAmerica was less a power than a territory; in many ways it was a law unto itself.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 7 The Wet, Warm Life in Alison Shires, p. 55 of 263, 20%.

And Slitscan would walk away, he knew; they’d drop the sequence on Alison’s actor, if they felt they had to, and the whole thing would settle to the sea floor, silting over almost instantly with the world’s steady accretion of data. And Alison Shires’ life, as he’d known it in all that terrible, banal intimacy, would lie there forever, forgotten and finally unknowable. But if he went with Out of Control, her life might retrospectively become something else, and he wasn’t sure, exactly, sitting there on the hard little chair in Visitors, what that might be. He thought of coral, of the reefs that grew around sunken aircraft carriers; perhaps she’d become something like that, the buried mystery beneath some exfoliating superstructure of supposition, or even of myth. It seemed to him, in Visitors, that that might be a slightly less dead way of being dead. And he wished her that.

“And Slitscan would walk away, he knew; they’d drop the sequence on Alison’s actor, if they felt they had to, and the whole thing would settle to the sea floor, silting over almost instantly with the world’s steady accretion of data. And Alison Shires’ life, as he’d known it in all that terrible, banal intimacy, would lie there forever, forgotten and finally unknowable. But if he went with Out of Control, her life might retrospectively become something else, and he wasn’t sure, exactly, sitting there on the hard little chair in Visitors, what that might be. He thought of coral, of the reefs that grew around sunken aircraft carriers; perhaps she’d become something like that, the buried mystery beneath some exfoliating superstructure of supposition, or even of myth. It seemed to him, in Visitors, that that might be a slightly less dead way of being dead. And he wished her that.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 9 Out of Control, p. 68 of 263, 25%.

“But you went up against Slitscan, didn’t you, because of what they did to the girl? You had a job, you had food, you had a place to sleep. You got all that from Slitscan, but they did the girl, so you opted to do ’em back. Is that right?” “Nothing’s ever that simple,” Laney said.

““But you went up against Slitscan, didn’t you, because of what they did to the girl? You had a job, you had food, you had a place to sleep. You got all that from Slitscan, but they did the girl, so you opted to do ’em back. Is that right?” “Nothing’s ever that simple,” Laney said.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 9 Out of Control, p. 70 of 263, 26%.

“I just didn’t want them to let it drop. To let her . . . settle to the bottom. Be forgotten. I didn’t really care how badly Slitscan got hurt, or even if they were damaged or not. I wasn’t thinking of revenge, as much as of a way of . . . keeping her alive?”

““I just didn’t want them to let it drop. To let her . . . settle to the bottom. Be forgotten. I didn’t really care how badly Slitscan got hurt, or even if they were damaged or not. I wasn’t thinking of revenge, as much as of a way of . . . keeping her alive?”” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 9 Out of Control, p. 71 of 263, 27%.

Laney looked from Blackwell to the empty bourbon glass, back to Blackwell; the bartender moved, as if to refill it, but Laney covered it with his hand. “If you nail my hand to the bar, Blackwell,” and here he spread his other hand, flat, palm down, on the dark wood, the drink-ringed varnish, “I’ll scream, okay? I don’t know what any of this is about. You might be crazy. But what I most definitely am not is anybody’s idea of a hero. I’m not now, and I wasn’t back there in L.A.” Blackwell and Yamazaki exchanged glances. Blackwell pursed his lips, gave a tiny nod. “Good on you then,” he said. “I think you just might be right for the job.” “No job,” Laney said, but let the bartender pour him a second bourbon. “I don’t want to hear about any job at all, not until I know who’s hiring me.” “I’m chief of security for Lo/Rez,” Blackwell said, “and I owe that silly bastard my life. The last five of which I’d’ve passed in the punitive bowels of the State of fucking Victoria. If it hadn’t been for him. Though I’d’ve topped myself first, no fear.” “The band? You’re security for them?”

“Someone’s got to our boy, hear? Got to him. Don’t know how, don’t know who. Though personally myself I’d bet on the fucking Kombinat. Those Russ bastards. But you, my friend, you’re going to do your nodal thing for us, on our Rez, and you are going to find fucking out. Who.”

““Someone’s got to our boy, hear? Got to him. Don’t know how, don’t know who. Though personally myself I’d bet on the fucking Kombinat. Those Russ bastards. But you, my friend, you’re going to do your nodal thing for us, on our Rez, and you are going to find fucking out. Who.”” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 9 Out of Control, p. 72 of 263, 27%.

Now they were both wearing wireless ear-clip headsets. The translation was generally glitch-free, except when Mitsuko used Japanese slang that was too new, or when she inserted English words that she knew but couldn’t pronounce.

“Now they were both wearing wireless ear-clip headsets. The translation was generally glitch-free, except when Mitsuko used Japanese slang that was too new, or when she inserted English words that she knew but couldn’t pronounce.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 12 Mitsuko, p. 86 of 263, 31%.

“So is it true? Does Rez really want to marry a software agent?” Mitsuko looked uncomfortable. “I am the social secretary,” she said. “You must first discuss this with Hiromi Ogawa.”

Chia decided to change the subject. “What’s your brother like? How old is he?”

“Masahiko is seventeen,” Mitsuko said. “He is a ‘pathological - techno - fetishist - with - social - deficit,”

““Masahiko is seventeen,” Mitsuko said. “He is a ‘pathological -techno -fetishist -with -social -deficit,”” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 12 Mitsuko, p. 88 of 263, 32%.

this last all strung together like one word, indicating a concept that taxed the lexicon of the ear-clips. Chia wondered briefly if it would be worth running it through her Sandbenders, whose translation functions updated automatically whenever she ported. “A what?” “Otaku,” Mitsuko said carefully in Japanese. The translation burped its clumsy word string again. “Oh,” Chia said, “we have those. We even use the same word.” “I think that in America they are not the same,” Mitsuko said. “Well,” Chia said, “it’s a boy thing, right? The otaku guys at my last school were into, like, plastic anime babes, military simulations, and trivia. Bigtime into trivia.” She watched Mitsuko listen to the translation. “Yes,” Mitsuko said, “but you say they go to school. Ours do not go to school. They complete their studies on-line, and that is bad, because they cheat easily. Then they are tested, later, and are caught, and fail, but they do not care. It is a social problem.” “Your brother’s one?” “Yes,” Mitsuko said. “He lives in Walled City.” “In where?”

“A multi-user domain. It is his obsession. Like a drug. He has a room here. He seldom leaves it. All his waking hours he is in Walled City. His dreams, too, I think.”

The Walled City is ““A multi-user domain. It is his obsession. Like a drug. He has a room here. He seldom leaves it. All his waking hours he is in Walled City. His dreams, too, I think.””

“What did Blackwell mean, last night, about Rez wanting to marry a Japanese girl who isn’t real?” “Idoru,” Yamazaki said. “What?” “ ‘Idol-singer.’ She is Rei Toei. She is a person-ality-construct, a congeries of software agents, the creation of information-designers. She is akin to what I believe they call a ‘synthespian,’ in Hollywood.”

““What did Blackwell mean, last night, about Rez wanting to marry a Japanese girl who isn’t real?” “Idoru,” Yamazaki said. “What?” “ ‘Idol-singer.’ She is Rei Toei. She is a person-ality-construct, a congeries of software agents, the creation of information-designers. She is akin to what I believe they call a ‘synthespian,’ in Hollywood.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 13 Character Recognition, p. 91 of 263, 33%.

Nearing the house, she saw that everything had been worked up out of club archives, so that the whole environment was actually made of Lo/Rez material. You noticed it first in the wood-and-paper panels of the walls, where faint image-fragments, larger than life, came and went with the organic randomness of leaf-dappled sun and shadow: Rez’s cheekbone and half a pair of black glasses, Lo’s hand chording the neck of his guitar. But these changed, were replaced with a mothlike flicker, and there would be more, all the way down into the site’s finest resolution, its digital fabric. She wasn’t sure if you could do that with enough of the right kind of fractal packets, or if you needed some kind of special computer. Her Sandbenders managed a few effects like that, but mainly in its presentation of Sandbenders software.

“Nearing the house, she saw that everything had been worked up out of club archives, so that the whole environment was actually made of Lo/ Rez material. You noticed it first in the wood-and-paper panels of the walls, where faint image-fragments, larger than life, came and went with the organic randomness of leaf-dappled sun and shadow: Rez’s cheekbone and half a pair of black glasses, Lo’s hand chording the neck of his guitar. But these changed, were replaced with a mothlike flicker, and there would be more, all the way down into the site’s finest resolution, its digital fabric. She wasn’t sure if you could do that with enough of the right kind of fractal packets, or if you needed some kind of special computer. Her Sandbenders managed a few effects like that, but mainly in its presentation of Sandbenders software.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 14 Tokyo Chapter, p. 96 of 263, 35%.

“What are you doing?” “Harder encryption,” Zona said, and put the lizard on the lapel of her jacket, where it clung like a brooch, its eyes tiny spheres of onyx. “Someone is looking for you. Probably they’ve already found you. We must try to insure that our conversation is secure.” “Can you do that, with him?” The lizard’s head moved. “Maybe. He’s new.

Something silvery and cold executed a tight little flip somewhere behind and below Chia’s navel, and with it came the unwelcome recollection of the washroom at Whiskey Clone, and the corner of something she hadn’t recognized. In her bag. Stuffed down between her t-shirts. When she’d used one to dry her hands. “What’s wrong?” “I better go. Mitsuko went to make tea . . .” Talking too quickly, biting off the words. “Go? Are you insane? We must—” “Sorry. ’Bye.” Pulling off the goggles and scrabbling at the wrist-fasteners. Her bag there, where she’d left it.

Laney looked at the screen. Concert footage now, and Rez was dancing, a microphone in his hand. “You’ve seen this video, right? Is he serious about that ‘Sino-Celtic’ thing he was talking about in that interview?” “You haven’t met him yet, have you?” “No.” “It’s not the easiest thing, deciding what Rez is serious about.” “But how can there be ‘Sino-Celtic mysticism’ when the Chinese and the Celts don’t have any shared history?” “Because Rez himself is half Chinese and half Irish. And if there’s one thing he’s serious about . . .” “Yes?” “It’s Rez.”

“Laney looked at the screen. Concert footage now, and Rez was dancing, a microphone in his hand. “You’ve seen this video, right? Is he serious about that ‘Sino-Celtic’ thing he was talking about in that interview?” “You haven’t met him yet, have you?” “No.” “It’s not the easiest thing, deciding what Rez is serious about.” “But how can there be ‘Sino-Celtic mysticism’ when the Chinese and the Celts don’t have any shared history?” “Because Rez himself is half Chinese and half Irish. And if there’s one thing he’s serious about . . .” “Yes?” “It’s Rez.”” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 19 Arleigh, p. 130 of 263, 46%.

“During that time, you participated in a number of drug trials? You were an experimental subject?” “Yes,” Laney said, his eggs looking somehow farther away, or like a picture in a magazine. “This was voluntary on your part?” “There were rewards.” “Voluntary,” Pursley said. “You get on any of that 5-SB?” “They didn’t tell us what they were giving us,” Laney said. “Sometimes we’d get a placebo instead.” “You don’t mistake 5-SB for any placebo, son, but I think you know that.” Which was true, but Laney just sat there. “Well?” Pursley removed his big heavy glasses. His eyes were cold and blue and set into an intricate topography of wrinkles. “I probably had it,” Laney said. Pursley slapped the blue papers on his thigh. “Well, there you are. You almost certainly did. Now, do you know how that substance eventually affected many of the test subjects?”

“Stuff tends to turn males into fixated homicidal stalkers,”

“Comes on years later, sometimes. Go after media faces, politicians. . . . That’s why it’s now one of the most illegal substances, any damn country you care to look. Drug that makes folks want to stalk and kill politicians, well, boy, it’ll get to be.” He grinned dryly. “I’m not one,” Laney said. “I’m not like that.” Daniels opened his eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters is that Slitscan can counter all our material by raising the possibility, the merest shadow, however remote, that you are.” “You see, son,” Pursley said, “they’d just make out you got into your line of work because you were predisposed to that, spying on famous people. You didn’t tell them about any of it, did you?” “No,” Laney said, “I didn’t.” “There you go,” said Pursley. “They’ll say they hired you because you were good at it, but you just got too damn good at it.” “But she wasn’t famous,” Laney said. “But he is,” Rice Daniels said, “and they’ll say you were after him. They’ll say the whole thing was your idea. They’ll wring their hands about responsibility. They’ll talk about their new screening procedures for quantitative analysts. And nobody, Laney, nobody at all will be watching us.”

None of this had gone the way she’d tried to imagine it, back in Seattle, but then you couldn’t be expected to imagine anyone like Maryalice, could you? Or Eddie, or even Hiromi.

“None of this had gone the way she’d tried to imagine it, back in Seattle, but then you couldn’t be expected to imagine anyone like Maryalice, could you? Or Eddie, or even Hiromi.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 22 Gomi Boy p. 152 of 263, 54%.

That thing Maryalice had stuck in her bag. Right here under her arm. She should’ve left it at Mitsuko’s. Or thrown it away, but then what would she say if Eddie or Maryalice showed up? What if it was full of drugs?

“That thing Maryalice had stuck in her bag. Right here under her arm. She should’ve left it at Mitsuko’s. Or thrown it away, but then what would she say if Eddie or Maryalice showed up? What if it was full of drugs?” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 22 Gomi Boy p. 153 of 263, 54%.

“You’ve got a MUD in your computer?”

“Walled City is not anywhere,”

““Walled City is not anywhere,”” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 22 Gomi Boy p. 155 of 263, 55%.

“I am from Walled City,” he said. “You understand?” “A MUD, right? Multi user domain.” “Not in the sense you mean, but approximately, yes.

Gomi Boy nodded. Being an otaku was about caring a lot about information; he understood being a fan. “Do you have dealings with the Combine?” Chia knew he had said Kombinat, and the translator had covered it. He meant that mafia government in Russia.

“Gomi Boy nodded. Being an otaku was about caring a lot about information; he understood being a fan. “Do you have dealings with the Combine?” Chia knew he had said Kombinat, and the translator had covered it. He meant that mafia government in Russia.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 22 Gomi Boy p. 157 of 263, 59%.

The eyes of the idoru, envoy of some imaginary country, met his.

“The eyes of the idoru, envoy of some imaginary country, met his.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 25 The Idoru, p. 175 of 263, 62%.

A concentrated effort with the chopsticks and he managed to capture and swallow something that was like a one-inch cube of cold chutney omelet. “Wonderful. Don’t want any of that fugu though. Blowfish with the neurotoxins? Heard about that?” “You’ve already had seconds,” she said. “Remember the big plate of raw fish arranged like the petals of a chrysanthemum?” “You’re kidding,” Laney said. “Lips and tongue feel faintly numb? That’s it.” Laney ran his tongue across his lips. Was she kidding?

“A concentrated effort with the chopsticks and he managed to capture and swallow something that was like a one-inch cube of cold chutney omelet. “Wonderful. Don’t want any of that fugu though. Blowfish with the neurotoxins? Heard about that?” “You’ve already had seconds,” she said. “Remember the big plate of raw fish arranged like the petals of a chrysanthemum?” “You’re kidding,” Laney said. “Lips and tongue feel faintly numb? That’s it.” Laney ran his tongue across his lips. Was she kidding?” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 25 The Idoru, p. 179 of 263, 64%.

Chia reached up and pulled her own glasses down, over her eyes. “What do I—” Something at the core of things moved simultaneously in mutually impossible directions. It wasn’t even like porting. Software conflict? Faint impression of light through a fluttering of rags. And then the thing before her: building or biomass or cliff face looming there, in countless unplanned strata, nothing about it even or regular. Accreted patchwork of shallow random balconies, thousands of small windows throwing back blank silver rectangles of fog. Stretching either way to the periphery of vision, and on the high, uneven crest of that ragged facade, a black fur of twisted pipe, antennas sagging under vine growth of cable. And past this scribbled border a sky where colors crawled like gasoline on water. “Hak Nam,” he said, beside her. “What is it?” “ ‘City of darkness.’ Between the walls of the world.” She remembered the scarf she’d seen, in his room behind the kitchen, its intricate map of something chaotic and compacted, tiny irregular segments of red and black and yellow. And then they were moving forward, toward a narrow opening. “It’s a MUD, right?” Something like a larger, permanent version of the site the Tokyo chapter had erected for the meeting, or the tropical forest Kelsey and Zona had put up. But people played games in MUDs; they made up characters for themselves and pretended. Little kids did it, and lonely people. “No,” he said, “not a game.” They were inside now, smoothly accele...

She could phone from here. Call her mother. Sure. —Hi, I’m in Tokyo. In a “love hotel.” People are after me because somebody put something in my bag. So, uh, what do you think I should do?

“She could phone from here. Call her mother. Sure. —Hi, I’m in Tokyo. In a “love hotel.” People are after me because somebody put something in my bag. So, uh, what do you think I should do?” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 26 Hak Nam, p. 184 of 263, 66%.

Just before twilight at Zona’s, like always. Chia scanned the floor of a dry swimming pool, looking for Zona’s lizards, but she didn’t see them. Usually they were right there, waiting for you, but not this time. “Zona?”

“Just before twilight at Zona’s, like always. Chia scanned the floor of a dry swimming pool, looking for Zona’s lizards, but she didn’t see them. Usually they were right there, waiting for you, but not this time. “Zona?”” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 26 Hak Nam, p. 184 of 263, 66%.

Rydell had told him Kombinat types were all over Tokyo. Rydell had seen a documentary about it, how they were so singularly and surrealistically brutal that nobody wanted to mess with them. Then Rydell had started to tell him about two Russians, San Francisco cops of some kind, who he’d had some sort of run-in with, but Laney had to take a meeting with Rice Daniels and a make-up artist, and never heard the end of it.

“Rydell had told him Kombinat types were all over Tokyo. Rydell had seen a documentary about it, how they were so singularly and surrealistically brutal that nobody wanted to mess with them. Then Rydell had started to tell him about two Russians, San Francisco cops of some kind, who he’d had some sort of run-in with, but Laney had to take a meeting with Rice Daniels and a make-up artist, and never heard the end of it.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 27 That Physical Thing, p. 190 of 263, 68%.

“I hate these places,” she said. “There’s lots of ways to make sex ugly, but it’s kind of hard to make it look this ridiculous.”

““I hate these places,” she said. “There’s lots of ways to make sex ugly, but it’s kind of hard to make it look this ridiculous.”” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 28 A Matter of Credit, p. 194 of 263, 69%.

That’s what scares me, that stuff. Like it’s alive.” “What stuff?” “That. Assemblers, they’re called.” Chia looked at her bag. “That thing in my bag is a nanotech assembler?” “More like what you start with. Kind of an egg, or a little factory. You plug that thing into another machine that programs ’em, and they start building themselves out of whatever’s handy. And when there’s enough of ’em, they start building whatever it was you wanted them to.

Gomi Boy presented like a life-size anime of himself, huge eyes and even taller hair. “Who drank the vodka?” he asked. “Maryalice,” Chia said. “Who’s Maryalice?” “She’s in the room at the hotel,” Chia said. “That was the equivalent of twenty minutes porting,” Gomi Boy said. “How can there be someone in your room at the Hotel Di?” “It’s complicated,” Chia said. They were back in Masahiko’s room in the Walled City. They’d just clicked back, none of that maze-running like the first time. Past an icon reminding her she’d left her Venice open, but too late for that. Maybe once you were in here, you got back fast. But Masahiko’d said they had to, quick, there was trouble. Maryalice had said she didn’t mind, but Chia didn’t like it at all that Maryalice was in the room with them while they were porting. “Your cashcard is good for twenty-six more minutes of room-time,” Gomi Boy said. “Unless your friend hits the mini-bar again.

“Rei’s only reality is the realm of ongoing serial creation,” Rez said. “Entirely process; infinitely more than the combined sum of her various selves. The platforms sink beneath her, one after another, as she grows denser and more complex . . .” The long green eyes seemed to grow dreamy, in the light of passing storefronts, and then the singer turned away.

““Rei’s only reality is the realm of ongoing serial creation,” Rez said. “Entirely process; infinitely more than the combined sum of her various selves. The platforms sink beneath her, one after another, as she grows denser and more complex . . .” The long green eyes seemed to grow dreamy, in the light of passing storefronts, and then the singer turned away.” Reference Gibson, William (1996, Sep. 4). “Idoru.” Kindle Edition. Chapter 29 Her Bad Side, p. 201 of 263, 71%.