A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  Following the direction of his gaze, I perceived a face at the window. It bore a distinct resemblance to my beautiful Clarice, but was as large as the average face of these creatures. She was looking rather pleased at the horrible noise he was making, but her features kept changing and twitching with the music. First her nose would dilate and trembie, then her eyes suddenly increased in diameter to twice and three times their original size. It was an uncanny, and to me a most distressing sight.

  At last the monstrosity lowered his instrument, ceased his wailing, and gave vent to a deep sigh.

  “Clarice, I worship thee,” he said.

  “Good God,” I thought, “it is she.” Suddenly she stretched her arm out of the window. It elongated itself until it must have measured 12 ft., and her fingers stretched in proportion.

  “Take thy reward, thou singer of songs,” she said softly.

  The singer of songs made an appalling grimace, which was evidently intended to represent an expression of loving gratitude. Then he protruded his lips with some difficulty until they actually reached her hand, to which they fastened themselves. The effort was evidently a supreme one, for the hand and lips separated suddenly with a smacking sound, and the lover’s face was stung by the force of the recoil.

  Then the lady disappeared and her window was violently closed.

  Just then the monstrosity caught sight of me. I was smiling, and a look of fury passed over his enormous face.

  “You miserable vertebrate idiot!” he yelled. “You shall pay for this.”

  He gathered up his guitar—shut up his legs and arms, gave me a threatening glare, and rolled away down the road at a speed of something like thirty miles an hour.

  I was summoned to breakfast with the Chief Adapter and his daughter, who had assumed the same appearance as when I first saw her.

  “I wish,” he said, “that you would eradicate those follies of adornment. It is amazing that any member of my family should be guilty of such weakness.”

  “Allow me to remind you,” she replied, “that amusement was specially advocated by the Adapters at the last meeting, in spite of your disapproval.”

  “I hate all this pretence,” grumbled her father. “But I have neither time nor inclination to argue the point with you. Be good enough to remain with Mr Merrick until I return.”

  “My father and I do not agree on some points,” Clarice said presently. “Is it true you are not plastic?”

  “I am afraid I do not understand,” I replied.

  “I am told that you and all the other inhabitants of the earth are confined to one figure and face and are full of bones as well, and”—she added doubtfully—“you cannot roll.”

  “That is true,” I replied.

  “I cannot understand it at all. Have you no shells?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “I have read of such things,” she said musingly, “but I never quite believed it—I am not yet of age to read the third stage.”

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “We are not allowed to read the third stage, which gives all particulars relating to our creation by the founder, until we have reached the age of twenty-five.”

  She rose and led the way to one of the large circular windows looking out on the city.

  “What is that large building with the globe on the top?” I asked.

  “That—oh, that is the Incubator House where the children are bred. Are all the men in America like you?” she asked suddenly.

  “Not quite,” I answered.

  “And the women—are they like I am now?”

  “Not so beautiful,” I replied fervently.

  She looked pleased.

  “My pulp aches all down the back –1 shall have to get back into my shell, and I don’t want you to see me like that. Do you mind if I leave you?”

  When she had gone, a thought suddenly struck me. She liked music, and I used to be no mean performer on the violin. I wondered if they had such an instrument, and decided to ask the question. I pressed the bell.

  It was answered by a battered-looking barrel with a wrinkled face at one end.

  “You rang?” said the apparition.

  “I did,” I replied, staring at him. “Are you a servant?”

  “I wait on the Chief,” he replied with dignity. “What can I do for you?”

  “Have you such a thing as a violin?”

  The battered relic considered for a minute.

  “Have you any barter?” he asked.

  “Any what?”

  “Any barter.”

  “I don’t know what ‘barter’ is.”

  “I think your watch would do,” he said, looking at my gold chain.

  I began to comprehend.

  “You could get me a violin for this watch?” I said, taking it out and holding it up.

  “I will see,” replied the relic. He snatched it out of my hand and was gone. I noticed that as he rolled out his shell squeaked as if it wanted oiling. I waited a long time, and in the end fell asleep. When I awoke, the Chief Adapter had returned, and was talking to another grave and white-haired old tripod. They were sitting on their butt-ends close together, and evidently fancied that I was still asleep, for it was not long before I discovered that I was the subject of their discussion.

  “I am afraid he is not a good specimen,” said the stranger, looking in my direction.

  “No; but, my dear Fairbairn, all the more glory for us if we succeed. You know it has taken three hundred years to bring us to our present state, and I feel absolutely certain that by my process the alteration can be achieved in one operation. Of course, there is a risk, but that is a constant accompaniment to all great discoveries.”

  “Do you intend that this American shall be informed of what is in store for him?”

  “No—his mind is hardly strong enough to appreciate it. I am rather sorry I did not try the experiment at first, instead of restoring him to life, but you know what the Council are. I am certain we are deteriorating, Fairbairn, and that is what makes me determined on introducing new blood.”

  “What do you consider would be the best method in Merrick’s case?”

  “I shall divide him longitudinally first, and then subject him to the N Ray for two hours, in order to disintegrate the bones.”

  I had listened up to this point with ever increasing interest, but without realising what they were discussing, but at this last fiendish suggestion I nearly shouted aloud, then prudence decided me on keeping quiet until I had heard the whole of the diabolical plot. Fairbairn, whose countenance was benevolent-looking in the extreme, did not express any horror at the Chief Adapter’s observation—indeed, he only appeared mildly interested.

  “Keeping the current on both sections, of course?” he said.

  “Yes, I am particularly anxious as to the effect on his brain, which is of average quality only, and I believe that after doing away with his skull I can develop it by separation and the insertion of free pulp from that case we had last month. You recollect?”

  “You mean the double egg which hatched without nerves?”

  “Yes—I have been keeping it in a vacuum ever since, and it is in a remarkably good state of preservation.”

  “Well, I’m sure I wish you luck,” said Fairbairn. “It will be a great triumph if you succeed, and if you don’t—”

  “Oh, then, we shall have to wait—but I have full confidence. You will be present, of course?”

  “Yes—with young Slemcoe. He is extraordinarily skilful with the knife, you know. Well, good-bye till to-morrow.”

  They both rose, and rolled out of the room.

  So, thought I, I am to be cut in half, am I—and my bones are to be disintegrated. All very pleasant, no doubt, for the operators, but what about me? and what are they going to do it for? To say that I was alarmed would be putting it too mildly. I lay and shivered, my teeth chattering with fright, until I heard somebody rolling along the passage, when I got up and stood waiting. It was Tennyso
n who came in.

  “Hullo—how are you?” he said, without the slightest sign of the fury with which he had last left me. “Where’s the Chief?”

  “He was here just now,” I said.

  “Look here, Merrick,” he said, in a deprecating manner, “don’t bear malice about what I said last night. The fact of the matter is I don’t want you to repeat what you saw to anyone. You won’t now, will you?”

  “Do you belong to the Council?” I asked.

  “Yes—why?”

  “Are you opposed to the Chief Adapter and an animal called Fairbairn?”

  “You bet,” he answered cheerfully.

  “Well,” I said, “I should like to know if you approve of dissecting people alive?”

  “All depends on who’s going to be the subject,” he said with a grin. “Why, who’s been talking?”

  “Oh, no one—no one,” I answered. “I only wondered.”

  “What you say reminds me that once, not so very long ago either, old Fairbairn and the Chief tried an experiment of that kind on a man—not one of us, but a man from South America, an Indian, I believe—but it was a failure.”

  “What were they trying?” I asked, trying to speak indifferently.

  “I don’t know for certain. They say that the Chief was trying to make a New Human of him, but it’s only talk.”

  I shuddered.

  “What happened to the Indian?” I asked.

  “The Indian? Oh, he died, of course. There was a bit of a row about it, but it was hushed up. Not that I think it matters a straw, but the party to which I belong passed a Bill shortly afterwards, making it illegal to operate on anyone without his consent, and the Chief was very wild about it. He said we were retrograding, and we were nicknamed the ‘Anti-vaccinators’ for passing the Bill.”

  I drew a breath of relief. They would certainly not get my consent to being turned into one of those hideous abortions.

  “By-the-by, would you like to witness the opening of the Grand Council to-morrow?” asked Tennyson carelessly.

  “I should—certainly,” I answered, thinking I might hear something relative to myself.

  “Well, ask the Chief, and if he agrees, I’ll be round in the morning. So long,” and he rolled his unwieldy bulk out of the room.

  A few minutes after his departure Clarice entered, clad in a gown of clinging blue material, and I declare most positively that the absence of bones in her body would never have been suspected, the only effect being that she was infinitely more graceful than any real woman I have ever seen.

  “How do I look?” she asked.

  “Perfect,” I murmured ecstatically.

  “What are babies like in your country, Mr Merrick?” she asked suddenly.

  I tried to give her a description.

  Presently she said—“Have you got any babies of your own?”

  I hastened to assure her that I never thought of such a thing.

  “We are not allowed to buy one before we are twenty-five years old,” she said musingly. “I am not sure that I shall get one; they are rather a nuisance.”

  I was too dumfounded to do more than open my mouth and shut it again.

  “We buy them from the age of three to five years—those five years of age are very dear, though,” she added.

  I gasped.

  “My father bought Abraham very young, he is only two—but, of course, being Chief Adapter he is privileged.”

  At that moment her father entered and the conversation dropped. I felt that there was a mystery somewhere, and resolved to question Tennyson when I met him in the morning.

  The Chief raised no objection to my accompanying him to the council meeting, rather to my surprise, and neither by his speech nor expression gave any sign of his atrocious intentions with regard to myself.

  The next morning, after a hurried breakfast (all my meals were hurried, since I could not keep pace with the chief) I was taken in a “roller” by Tennyson to the great hall where the affairs of the country were decided. We went into a kind of lobby overlooking a vast circular chamber. The lobby only accommodated two persons at a time and there were a series of them. When we were inside, the door, which reminded me of a safe, was locked, but first we were rigorously searched and all my belongings were removed and placed under lock and key. A seal was put over the keyhole and an impression of my thumb taken. I asked Tennyson why all these precautions were taken, but he only replied laconically that the council were not always popular.

  The chamber was empty when we arrived, except for one barrel, which was apparently asleep on a raised platform. A long polished metal tube stood by his side. Tennyson said it was to keep order with. “You will see it in use, I expect,” he remarked.

  It is difficult to give a clear description of the hall. There were no steps anywhere, nor seats, but the floor sloped in a spiral curve continuously rising, so that the outer circles were at a higher level than the inner. The raised platform was at one end and commanded the whole of the chamber.

  Presently the sleeper awoke and beat on a gong. Instantly the big doors at one end slid back and a crowd of barrels of all shapes and sizes rolled in. They mounted the spiral one after the other and up-ended on reaching their respective destinations. This incursion lasted for several minutes and a hubbub of voices arose. I recognised Fairbairn and the Chief Adapter. They sat close together and conversed in an undertone.

  Suddenly the creature on the platform banged his gong again, when the doors closed, and he roared out that the meeting was open.

  Instantly at least a dozen barrels began speaking together. I could not understand a word. As soon as they had finished other members started. Tennyson seemed to understand quite clearly what they were saying, for he kept silently approving and disapproving.

  “Does this always go on before the debate?” I asked.

  “This is the debate, idiot,” he replied rudely.

  “But they all talk at once.” I said.

  “Of course they do. Do you suppose there would be time for them all to talk, if they did it separately?”

  “But—” I said, “How do they understand each other?”

  “There is no need that they should,” was his reply.

  “Well—but how does the business get done?”

  “Evidently you are very much behind us in this, as in all things,” replied Tennyson complacently. “Don’t you see that each member votes for his party—it does not matter in the least what they say, so long as they vote properly.”

  “Then I don’t see what they want to talk at all for,” I objected.

  “Why, you nincompoop, what’s the use of getting elected if you can’t talk? That’s what the House is for.”

  “Then don’t they care whether they hear each other or not?”

  “No; so long as they hear themselves—that’s quite enough.”

  At that moment the platform barrel, who had apparently been asleep again, suddenly struck his gong. Whereupon they all began rolling furiously towards the lobbies or voting chambers amidst a perfect Babel of yells. This lasted ten minutes, when they returned and the performance recommenced. It had not continued for more than a minute, however, when a terrific uproar arose from a group of barrels who had been talking louder than the rest, and directly afterwards a free fight seemed to be taking place. This was the signal for the platform barrel to spring into activity. He touched the tube, which swung round until it pointed directly at the group of excited politicians; then he pressed a button, when a shell from the tube exploded with a hissing sound in their midst. I saw three of them fall to the floor, double up, and shrivel into powder.

  “By George!” said Tennyson, “he’s pulverised old Smith.”

  The noise lessened considerably, but no other notice was taken. I was horror-stricken.

  “Do you mean to say they are dead?” I asked.

  “You bet,” he replied. “It’s the only way to keep order. Besides, Smith’s been asking for it for a long time. I’m rather g
lad—but what’s the matter? You look sick.”

  “I feel low-spirited,” I said. “Can we go now?”

  He grinned. “Oh, if you like.”

  He pressed a bell, whereupon our door was unlocked. My belongings were returned to me, and we left the Council House. They were still jabbering when I went out.

  The monstrosity led me to some public gardens, which at any other time I might have taken a keen interest in exploring, for these people had bred flowers on just as startlingly original lines as themselves. But I had my approaching dissection on my mind, and I was also still pondering on my recent conversation with Clarice.

  “I should like to know,” I said, “what Clarice meant by telling me that her father bought her two brothers.”

  “What she said, I suppose,” he replied. “What are you getting at? Oh! I see where you’re stuck.

  “Yes. You see when the Founder started his campaign he had several things to consider. One was that in the ordinary way all races of people depend to a great extent on chance for their development. You’ve read your Darwin, who was a keen sort in his way, but right out of it when you come to practical science. The Founder decided that leaving nature to improve the race was too slow to begin with, and also too haphazard, so he arranged that we should lay eggs—see? These eggs are examined scientifically and hatched by incubators. All the inferior ones are destroyed. Only the best are hatched, after a careful selection by the Adapters. I believe he took ants as a model, and our society is built on something like the same basis as theirs in that respect. So you see, when anyone arrives at years of discretion and is able to educate and care for a kid, he or she buys one from the Incubator House.”

  “But can’t they hatch their own eggs?” I asked, feeling as though I were dreaming some awful nightmare.

  “Against the law—all eggs have to be handed over to the Adapters at once—anyone failing to notify the authorities that he or she has laid an egg is pulverised.”

  “He or she?” I said feebly.

  “Oh, we all lay; there’s strict equality over here, you bet,” said the monstrosity, with a grin.

  “Do you know your own eggs again?” I asked.

  “They’re all registered and a receipt given, but the Adapters reject many of them, as I said before, and those rejected ones are destroyed.”