The Aluminum Man

by G. C. Edmondson

“The high tolerance yeast looks better every day,” Flaherty said over the squawk of radios.

  “Damn the yeast! I want a true breeding aluminophage so we can give something back to somebody.” Despite antibugging precautions Rudolf could not bring himself to mention the incubator.

  “Same problem,” Flaherty said. “When I solve one I’ll have the other.”

  “When will that be?”

  “About yesterday, I’d say.”

  “Well good! Let’s get with it.”

  The Irishman shook his head. “I know how. That’s enough.”

  “But…”

  “But if I do it, some of our nocturnal visitors might pick up a sample.” Flaherty shrugged. “Doesn’t really make a damn t’me but you won’t have your monopoly anymore.”

  “Is it something I could understand — learn how to do it if you told me?”

  “Oh aye, I think so.” Flaherty frowned at the effort of speaking over the tinny squawks of transistor radios. “Later,” he said. “Whin we can do without all this.”

  They drove home. Though Rudolf had made nightly appeals Tuchi had not reappeared in the John, but an occasional probe with a pole showed her trap was still there. Rudolf had studied the Drano crystals sprinkled across the threshold and wasn’t sure whether the alien had attempted crossing. Things were going well. Too well. Weeks had passed and they had not heard from the golden horde. There had been no inquiries about a missing hippie. There had been no word from Lillith. And as she had promised, Pamela had gotten out of Rudolf’s life.

  Nearing the small white house in the village, Rudolf saw a black Cadillac. “Here comes trouble,” he said. While they were parking the dump truck a man got out of the Cadillac. It was Mr. St. Audrey. He looked worried.

  “We still have nothing to talk about,” Flaherty said.

  “Mr. Redwolf, please,” St. Audrey said. “Someday you may be a father too.”

  “The possibility has occurred to me,” Rudolf said, “but could you connect it up a little better?”

  “I want to talk to Pamela — at least know if she’s all right.”

  “Why ask me?”

  “She isn’t here? When she left I thought she was moving in with you.”

  Rudolf felt a sudden visceral wrench. He looked at Flaherty. The Irishman looked blankly at St. Audrey. “Haven’t seen her for weeks,” he said.

  St. Audrey’s matinee idol facade collapsed. He was shorter, grayer, and older. He staggered. Rudolf caught his arm. They led him inside and got him on the sofa. Flaherty poured a drink. Moments later St. Audrey seemed better. “Sorry,” he said.

  Rudolf remembered his last glimpse of cool, ever with-it Pamela as tears started and she walked blindly off into the night. “Why did you wait so long to look for her?” he asked.

  St. Audrey sat up and pulled himself together. “We’ve had our differences,” he said. “But remember, I invited you into the firm and into the family. I thought she was in safe hands.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “Something in the front seat of my car. Would you please bring it?”

  Rudolf crossed the street to the Cadillac and found a new Life. Walking back he thumbed through it and saw:

  A Sioux makes it big the white man’s way.

  There was a two page spread of Rudolf prancing up and down the gravel pit in paint and feather duster. Between other pictures of Flaherty and himself operating machiner in the plant Rudolf learned how he had singlehandedly stayed the golden horde. Though no one mentioned St. Audrey, the references to a millionaire syndicate putting up a revolutionary new building left small doubt which bunch of badasses were spying on him, hampering him at every turn.

  By the time Rudolf was back inside the house he learned that Lillith, in order to preserve security around an experiment in progress, had masqueraded as his bride to discourage a beautiful but nameless redheaded snooper. “You have no idea where she is?” he asked.

  St. Audrey shook his head.

  “When did this magazine hit the stands?” Flatherty asked when he had seen the article.

  “Yesterday. I suppose subscribers got it earlier.”

  “Just about any minute now, I’d guess,” Flaherty said.

  St. Audrey looked up. “You may be right,” he said. “I hope so.”

  After several minutes of inconclusive talk their arch-enemy departed, taking with him their promise to call if Pamela showed up.

  “You really think Pamela will come back here?” Rudolf asked.

  Flaherty shrugged. “Do you care? Considering that you look like a freshly boated flounder, I can only surmise that you do. Dear boy, you have my sincere sympathy.”

  “Where do you suppose she is?”

  Two evenings later Rudolf was still wondering when the phone rang and St. Audrey said, “You know, young man, my original offer is still open.”

  “Your what? Where’s Pamela? You’ve found her?”

  “Pamela? Oh yes. She was in Bermuda. Came back yesterday.”

  Suddenly Rudolf realized nothing had really changed. He had kicked Pamela out of his life. He had no cause for complaint if she stayed kicked. “You, uh — what were you saying?”

  “I’m sending a messenger with some papers,” St. Audrey said. “Look them over carefully before you give me a yes or no.”

  “Now what was that all about?” Flaherty asked.

  Rudolf explained.

  “By the way,” Flaherty said, “what happened to that pole you were using to spring the trap?”

  “It got so short I threw it out.”

  “Where?”

  “Backyard somewhere.”

  Flaherty got a flashlight and went outside. “Not there,” he said when he came in.

  “You were going to give it to St. Audrey anyway.”

  “Aye, that I was. Maybe it’s better this way.” Flaherty hummed and mumbled to himself. “Be prepared for something when the messenger gets here,” he finally warned.

  “What?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “You said that stuff was important.”

  “It is. It’s also useless.”

  “How come?”

  “State of the art, dear boy. We’re making aluminum because the general level of technology makes the time ripe.”

  “Isn’t this superductile, superstrong junk just a matter of time too?”

  “Aye lad. But it’ll be some time before somebody has a pocket H-bomb to produce thirty thousand degrees of instantaneous heat and cooling. Besides, it’d only make cities denser and pollution worse. Be happy making aluminum, air, and money.”

  Rudolf felt the incubator in his pocket and guessed Flaherty was right. “I wish we could make peace with Tuchi,” he said.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Here it comes,” Flaherty growled, but when Rudolf opened the door he recognized the lean, elderly man from somewhere. Finally he realized it was the village postmaster. “Don’t normally make deliveries but since I was on my way home…”

  While Rudolf and Flaherty stared the old man dragged a bulging mail sack through the door. “Two more out in the car,” he said. “You fellers are gettin’ popular. You ought to rent a bigger box.”

  By the time they had unwrapped dozens of boxes of home made cookies, read an endless number of marriage proposals and less formal propositions, Rudolf was convinced of Life’s pulling power.

  “Here’s a begging letter from some Indian school,” Flaherty said.

  “Throw it away.”

  “All of them?”

  “If I sound bitter it’s because I am. My family is long dead of preventable disease. Don’t open anything that looks Indian. Just skim the New York City stuff for a royalty check.”

  “For what?”

  “My book,” Rudolf said. “I’m still an author.”

  “You could buy a publishing house now.”

  Thinking of what he could do to that goddamn Mohawk who’d kicked him when he was down
, Rudolf considered it.

  There was another knock. This time it was St. Audrey’s messenger.

  Rudolf knew as much about women’s fashion as he did about art. But in each case he knew what he liked. Looking as exquisitely virginal as ever, Pamela was wearing it. “Hello, Rudy,” she said.

  Flaherty took the large manila envelope she held. There was an awkward silence which Flaherty filled with blarney while pouring drinks. “How’ve you been?” Rudolf asked.

  “Fine.” Pamela looked at piles of mail overflowing into corners. “What’s all that?”

  “Half of it’s from women who want to marry him.” Flaherty pointed at Rudolf.

  “So do I, Rudy.”

  Rudolf could feel that sullen, reservation mentality slipping over him. Why, he wondered, did he have to be so suspicious? Pamela St. Audrey wasn’t a gold digger. Even now Rudolf suspected she could buy and sell him twice a week. If he were ever to join the human race he would never have a nicer invitation.

  “When?” he asked.

  Pamela’s face lit up so wonderfully he knew he would never regret his choice. “Do you really mean it, Rudy? Tomorrow then. Tonight, whenever you want!”

  Flaherty shuffled through the papers in the big manila envelope and handed one to Rudolf.

  The bearer is unaware of the contents of this message except in a general way — that we wish closer ties for the common good. The bearer is hereby empowered to make personal arrangements regardless of the ultimate disposition of other matters pending.

  “What does it mean, Rudy?”

  “We have Papa’s blessing whatever I decide to do.”

  “And what have you decided to do?”

  “As I have previously stated, I rely implicitly on Dr. Flaherty’s judgment.”

  Pamela turned to the Irishman. “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Sign it,” Flaherty said.

  CHAPTER 11

  Rudolf dropped his drink. Ignoring its spreading stain on the carpet, he looked closely to see if Flaherty was juiced already.

  “It looks like he’s come to his senses and would like to breathe as well as the next man,” Flaherty said. “I’ll have an independent loophole expert look it over, of course, but it’s time we stopped playing around in a corner and got this thing going worldwide.”

  “Is he offering the same terms — a million a month?”

  “Better,” Flaherty said. “He’s agreed to the delay penalty clause.”

  “This calls for a celebration,” Rudolf decided.

  “Wonderful!” Pamela said. “Where shall we go?”

  “The supermarket,” Flaherty said firmly. “There’s no restaurant in twenty miles and bedamned if I’d put on a tie tonight anyway.” He scribbled furiously and handed Rudolf a list. “You children get this and I’ll cook.”

  Pamela finished her drink with a gulp. Rudolf followed her out to the oriental red Lamborghini, wandering in a happy daze with visions of sugarplums. Flaherty’s grocery list included bottles of Tullamore Dew and several varieties of mix. What the hell, Rudolf thought. They’d worked hard enough for this day.

  By the time they got back to the house the wild Irishman had a head start. Yet he still seemed competent in the kitchen. “You children enjoy yourselves,” he said, leering as if he were expecting a public consummation. Rudolf managed a sickly grin and ignored it. “Mailed the contracts off already,” Flaherty parenthesized as he was handing out fresh drinks.

  “To St. Audrey?” A scare shot through Rudolf. Then he remembered he hadn’t signed anything.

  “Our accountants hate your prospective father-in-law’s intestinal plumbing. If there’s any fine print they’ll find it.”

  Rudolf relaxed and sipped his drink.

  “To us,” Pamela said. They linked arms and drank without spilling more than a drop or two. Studying her fragile loveliness Rudolf felt protective instincts rising like the spring sap. Lovely, red-haired, nubile Pamela! All this and money too! “To us,” he repeated, and they drank again. Abruptly he remembered the hash he had made of things the last time Pamela had dined here. Rudolf put the glass down, determined never again to be a drunk Indian.

  Looking like a leprechaun recovering from dyspepsia, the Flaherty bounced in and out of the kitchen refilling drinks. Pamela became so insistent that Rudolf match her glass for glass that a certain native caution made him wonder if that sullen suspicion of reservation days might not be his best friend after all.

  But what the hell… If she were planning a swifty she would need her wits about her. Noting the slightly slurred speech, Rudolf tried to remember how many times he had seen Pamela loaded. Whenever he visualized her redheaded loveliness the thought that came to mind was an icy supercool. Pamela might throw herself wholeheartedly into harebrained causes, but the news had never been full of “heiress arrested” headlines.

  He remembered the lonely weeks since he had last seen her. It must have been as bad for Pamela. Maybe worse. Rudolf had had the consolation of hard work. What the hell… They were together. That was what counted.

  Flaherty’s dinner proved edible. By switching full glasses for emptys Rudolf kept a grip on his sanity while Pamela and the wild Irishman became progressively smashed. The suspicion crossed his mind that this was all some weird game and that his partner and his promised bride were still silently maneuvering, each hunting for a vulnerable spot. But as the laughter became louder Rudolf decided he was imagining things.

  “Rudy, darling, you’re not drinking.”

  Rudolf was tempted to say he knew better things to do with Pemal but one never knew how women would react to a direct approach. He wished the wild Irishman would run down and go to bed. Suddenly he remembered the bathroom. He and Flaherty had become so used to a bucket and a pole they did it automatically but if Pamela should wander upstairs… Rudolf shuddered. While they were drinking another toast to aluminum and free air he sneaked upstairs and hammered spikes through the bathroom door into the jamb.

  When he came back downstairs Flaherty was singing. Even without knowing Gaelic, Rudolf was convinced the song was obscene. With her ladylike aplomb Pamela had not fallen flat on her face in the mashed potatoes but Rudolf saw there would be no problem getting her into his bed. The problem would be to keep her from flowing back out again. He picked her up, struggled with limpness, and felt his back straining. He changed his grip. Exposing great grabbable areas of pantyhose, he got her upstairs with a fireman’s carry.

  Flaherty was still singing salacious Celtic songs when he went back down. He considered putting the Irishman to bed too, then realized he wasn’t far enough gone yet and it might turn into a struggle. Disgustedly, Rudolf drew a bucket of warm water from the kitchen faucet. He went up to his room and began taking a bath.

  Pamela, he guessed, must have roused momentarily. She was beneath the covers with only her angelic face showing within a halo of red hair. She moaned faintly but did not open her eyes. Finished bathing, Rudolf went downstairs wearing his towel like a loincloth and emptied the bucket in the sink. The drain was acting up again. He lingered until convinced the water was slowly going down. Flaherty was still singing. Rudolf gritted his teeth and tried to step by. “Dear boy,” the Irishman said, “I warned you t’be prepared for something.”

  “Yes?”

  “I — och, never mind.”

  Rudolf went back upstairs. It seemed to him that he had gone through all this once before. Walking past the nailed-shut bathroom he suddenly stopped. Water was overflowing through the crack under the door. Then he saw the three black dots in a triangle. It wasn’t water coming through the door.

  “Tuchi!” Rudolf chattered, “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you — trying to make a deal. Can’t we talk this over?”

  “The time for talking is past,” the alien snapped.

  “What do you mean?” Rudolf had a sinking feeling that he knew very well what this angry female meant. He thought of running downstairs but it would take hopeless minutes
to rouse Flaherty. And Pamela was right behind his bedroom door. If Tuchi started swinging a heat ray…

  “My time has come.”

  “Time for what?”

  “I’m spawning.”

  “Right now?” Suddenly Rudolf remembered. “Uh — how many did you say it would be?”

  “About twenty-five hundred.”

  “Will they, uh — when you leave will you take them home with you?” Rudolf wondered what earth would be like with little Tuchis slithering about every waterway, poking inquisitive heads up through every sink and john.

  “You could have prevented this,” Tuchi said. The part of her that had passed beneath the door writhed in sudden conclusion. “There went another seven.”

  “They come in groups of seven?”

  “How else would you spawn?” Tuchi snapped.

  “The problem had never occurred to me,” Rudolf said. “But we’ve got plenty of aluminum now — your kind. You can have all you want.”

  “I’ve already taken all I want. Do you think I couldn’t smell it growing half a continent away?”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I need the incubator to clean that disgusting mess you sold me out of the drive.”

  “Oh.” Rudolf thought a moment. “I’ll have to ask Flaherty.” He turned to go downstairs.

  “Move and you’ll be deader than that snapping turtle a mile upstream that just nipped me,” Tuchi promised.

  Hearing a faint boom seconds later, Rudolf thought the alien could keep the promise. He hesitated. Pamela was safely asleep. If he could rouse the wild Irishman enough to get an outside opinion… “Flaherty!” he yelled, “Lady here wants to see you.” Moments later his partner came grumbling and stumbling up the steps. “It’s Tuchi,” Rudolf said.

  Flaherty stared, trying to focus, and finally made out the alien’s triangular face. “I’d like to use the bathroom,” he said. “Couldn’t we work something out?”

  “She wants the incubator. Can we give it to her?”

  Flaherty was suddenly very sober. “There you go with semantics again. Succinctly, can we not give it to her?”

  “I’ve been considering it from that angle too,” Rudolf said.