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Sacred cow by Bruce Sterling He Woke in darkness to the steady racket of the rails. Vast unknowable landscapeshuge as the dreams of childhood rumbled behind his shocked reflection in thecarriage pane. Jackie smoothed his rumpled hair stretched stiffly wiped at his moustachetucked the railway blanket around his silk-pajama’d legs. Across the aisle two of hiscrew slept uneasily sprawled across their seats: Kumar the soundman Jimmie Surajhis cinematographer. Suraj had an unlit cigarette tucked behind one ear the thin goldchains at his neck bunched in an awkward tangle. The crew’s leading lady Lakshmi “Bubbles” Malini came pale and swayingdown the aisle wrapped sari-like in a souvenir Scottish blanket. “Awake Jackie” “Yaar girl” he said “I suppose so.” “So that woke you okay” she announced gripping the seat. “That big bumpjust now. That bloody lurch for Pete’s sake. It almost threw us from the track.” “Sit down Bubbles” he apologized. “‘Dozens die’ okay” she said sitting “‘Stars director crew perish in bloodyEnglish tragic rail accident.’ I can see it all in print in bloody Stardust already.” Jackie patted her plump hand found his kit bag extracted a cigarette case litone. Bubbles stole a puff handed it back. Bubbles was not a smoker. Bad for thevoice bad for a dancer’s wind. But after two months in Britain she was kippingsmokes from everybody. “We’re not dying in any bloody train” Jackie told her smiling. “We’refilmwallas darling. We were born to be killed by taxmen.” Jackie watched a battered railway terminal rattle past in a spectral glare of fog.A pair of tall English wrapped to the
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