A Question of Grammar

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When he said, “Pay attention, you silly little girl,” the shift in the tone of John Shea Velikovsky’s voice, which had been droning on interminably, sliced right through Azia’s daze. Her condition had been explained to her. She knew it involved a newly dedicated neuroreceptor as well as a couple of different kinds of specially tailored protein receptors in her epidermal tissue. But she thought of it, simply, as a chemical bond—her chemical bond. It worked in only one direction and impacted no one but herself. At the moment, its effects were making awareness of anything else almost impossible. She knew, she felt, she perceived, only wanting. She wanted her bonder not to ignore her in the particular way it was doing. She wanted it to be not indifferent, as it so obviously was. She wanted… something—from it, she did not know what.

John Shea Velikovsky said, “Azia!” His voice kept growing sharper and sharper, as though his impatience were a whetstone he was honing it on. “Get with the scene. Pluummuluum has hired me solely to teach you your job. Understand right now, it expects better discipline of you than to sit there indulging in some rank little daydream.”

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