Polymorph - Scott Westerfeld

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IDENTITY CAN BE A TRICK
OF
THE EYE
Lee can change her gender and ethnicity at will, allowing her
to slip freely through New York society. She thought she was
the only "polymorph"...until a chance encounter with another
of her kind. Now it's up to Lee to stop the renegade
shapeshifter who is plotting to control the information
technology in a postindustrial world, where illusion wears
the face of reality, and the prize is power absolute....
THE EYE
IDENTITY CAN BE A TRICK
OF
OF THE EYE
************************************
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PART
CHAPTER
CONTENTS
1 THE
PRINCIPLE
OF SAFETY
1
PAYDAY
2
SNIPS AND
SNAILS
3
CANDY
4
SEAN
2 THE
PRINCIPLE
OF
MOBILITY
5
SELF
6
SAM
7
THE KING OF
AMERICA
8
BAM
9
SURRENDER
3 THE
PRINCIPLE
OF FORCE
10
DUMBO
11
NYNEX
12
VICTIM
13
JERSEY
14
TEETH
15
AMBULANCE
16
DOWN
PART 1
THE PRINCIPLE
OF SAFETY
CHAPTER 1
PAYDAY
Sometimes, someone would come home with her (or
him) and would be amazed at the closet. It was the
larger of the apartment's two small rooms. Clothing on
hangers was suspended from a wire stretched
di-agonally across the room, between eye hooks buried
in the white plaster walls. The eye hooks were un-even,
and the force of gravity packed the clothes to-gether at
one end. The hangers held a collection of dresses, skirts,
trousers, jackets, coats, suits. Some guests would assume
that there was a roommate, as the clothes were for both
sexes. But the clothes were too numerous and varied in
size and style for only two wardrobes. Eclectic and
somewhat shabby, they looked more like the start of a
secondhand clothing store.
Milk cartons (the illegal kind) were wired together
with garbage bag ties to make shelves in the two free
corners. They were stuffed with T-shirts, scarves,
underwear, gloves, trousers, shorts, and socks. The floor
was littered with shoes paired off in tight em-braces,
their mingled laces wrapped around them.
This collection (no, definitely not a wardrobe) ranged
across current and defunct street styles: a black
jumpsuit, a silver Mylar jacket, combat boots; a white
dress shirt hung under a tweed jacket, a snakeskin tie; a
red evening dress and black feather boa. Some guests
would notice that in the smaller
room (which was
bedroom, kitchen, and living room) a full-length mirror
hung. They would smile to them-selves. It was a
collection of costumes.
Tonight it was hot in the apartment. The cool breeze
 from the two windows stalled against the heavy air
inside the closet. She was digging through the milk
cartons one by one, ignoring the heat. Sooner or later
she would break a sweat. As each item was selected,
she threw it into the bedroom. She picked among the
shoes in the darkness under the hanging clothes,
knowing them by feel. They were always the hardest
decision.
At last, a pair of red hightop sneakers flew toward
the stack in the other room. They were a prized
pos-session, stolen from a lover. She let her bathrobe
slip to the ground and kicked it into a carton. She ran
her fingers through her hair. It was still wet, but the
relief of the shower had already faded into the hot,
sticky night.
Dressing in the other room, she was careful to avoid
her reflection. The tank top was heavier than she would
have liked, but the dark khaki was neces-sary to
balance the red pants. They were military issue:
many-pocketed and the iridescent coral that jump
troopers wore. She Velcroed them tightly at the waist
and ankles. This might be her last chance to wear them.
This week, she had seen the bright-red color in a store
window on West Broadway. Once SoHo legitimated a
trend, it lost its currency in the clubs. She pulled a
white headband down around her neck so she
wouldn't forget it. Better to get the hair right first.
She didn't lace the sneakers yet, they were too large
anyway. Her fingers felt weak as she put them on. With
a shortness of breath, a faint tickling in her loins, and a
fresh bead of sweat running down her side, excitement
was growing quickly.
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