E. S. P. Worm

by Piers Anthony

  “You remember it; I have a weak alien stomach,” he said cheerfully. “No matter about the rest. You’ll learn as we go along. Places, everyone!”

  I found myself pushed back behind some scenery in the company of a strange starlet. No, not so strange, I realized. Priscilla Prentice! That girl wore a baggie as no one ever had worn a baggie! In short, she wore it over a phony spacesuit.

  “Passion Jenny,” I said, admiring mentally the well-hidden curves I had so often tried to visualize. “Could you—would you— will you please?”

  She looked shocked. “Not here, lover. We need privacy.”

  I wasn’t certain what she had in mind, but I felt the flush push up my neck and blotch my face. I thrust out my sleeve and indicated the Captain Cloud autograph and handed her the celebrity pen I had brought with me from the office.

  “Oh,” she said, disappointed. Then she recovered herself and smiled dazzlingly. “Why of course, Mr. Prodkins.”

  She took the pen, lowered her eyes in a way calculated to make a man’s stomach squeeze against his liver. “I’m honored to be autographing someone so”—sex-smile—important.”

  I watched her write “Priscilla Prentice, the one and only PASSION JENNY,” and felt my heart kick out. I wondered just why she was finding it necessary to move so close while she signed, why her fingers pressed harder than need be and trembled with the slightest hint of indecency, why she could have use for such nearly intoxicating perfume inside that inner spacesuit.

  “There you are,” she whispered huskily in a way that I felt certain was contrived, but that still palpitated my coronary organ. “That was all you wanted—wasn’t it?”

  “Miss Prentice—” I said.

  “Dressing room twelve,” she whispered. “I’ll be alone there after the trebcast. Surely you can spare me just a little time?”

  I swallowed, the all-world boy beset by a temptation he had never anticipated. “I—I—”

  Her fingers squeezed my arm with astonishing intimacy. “I’ll look for you,” she whispered.

  If she could be that sexy in a spacesuit topped by a baggie, I thought, my mouth salivating guiltily, what would she be like in the nude? Did I dare find out?

  Lights flashed. People moved and cameras turned. I found myself waiting in place with nothing more interesting to gaze upon than a trebvee monitor. I watched the play, trying not to make comparisons between the actress and the extraterrestrialogist.

  On the screen: Announcement of Captain Cloud adventure—unsponsored and uninterrupted. Play: The Alien Viewpoint. Play’s author: Qumax of Jamborango. Play’s director: Qumax of Jam. Play’s star: Q of J. Filmed clip of exterior of Captain Cloud’s ship, The Texas Rose. Cut to ship’s interior— an on-stage mockup. Present: a slightly glazed-of-eye Captain Cloud and his beloved space-flower pure-as-the-Texas-snow Passion Jenny. Jenny of course had on gloves. She was pulling at them in what might have been uncontrollable nervousness.

  “Captain Cloud,” Jenny said, “we are now further into the galaxy than any humans have ever penetrated. All thanks to the inner-galactic drive you’ve had installed.”

  “Yes,” Cloud said. “How clever it was of me to take advantage of that unsophisticated alien.”

  “And we’ll be seeing it soon, won’t we, Captain— the real civilization that exists near the heart of our galaxy?”

  “I expect so,” said the Captain. “How’s the Minister of Earth’s Inner-Galactic World Affairs doing?”

  “Still asleep,” she said, “like most Earth officials. He was really surprised when you yanked him away from his pool table and brought him out here.”

  “Yes,” Cloud said contentedly. “It’s supposed to be his job to deal with inner-galactics on behalf of Earth. But we know, you and I, that it’s only the adventurers who have a chance to deal with far strangers. When did a politician ever get out and make the initial contacts?”

  “When indeed,” said Passion. “But then our Minister isn’t really in politics. That was why the constitutional amendment was passed—to keep the responsibility out of politics.”

  “Hogwash!” said Cloud. “Politics and politicians—ugh, I’m just glad I’ve got the old Flower.”

  “I’m glad too,” she said. “Cloud?”

  “Huh, Passion?”

  “It’s so hot in here and we’re so far from Earth— don’t you think I might shuck these gloves?”

  “Shuck away,” Cloud said.

  Passion peeled first the right and then the left glove. She discarded these modesties in a seat. Her hands—naked now as the Texas dawn—were pale drab creatures that had never known sunlight. I was embarrassed for her exposure.

  “Cloud?”

  “Yes, Passion,”

  “We’re so far from Earth and its brutal, disgusting ways— don’t you think that I might shed this hot, uncomfortable bag-dress?”

  “Shed away, my Little Flower.”

  Passion raised her arms and pulled off the baggie. Underneath was the spacesuit that should have been cut a lot like Nancy’s coveralls. Only unseen modifications had been made: instead of sleeves and legs the garment simply had holes from which the arms and legs emerged. Passion’s arms were skinny, her legs more so. I knew that this was a daring thing, but I felt vaguely disappointed by it. Nancy’s limbs, in contrast, had been quite—

  “Captain Cloud?”

  “Yes, Passion.” Cloud eyed his little flower with only slight interest as she folded the dress in the middle and hung it over the seat back. This was, his expression implied, only routine for this kind of flight.

  “We’re so far from Earth and its irrational, prohibiting ways, don’t you think that—”

  “No, Passion,” Cloud said. “As long as there are people who could be shocked by your dear, bare skin, I think it better that you leave on the costume.”

  “People?”

  “The Minister is from Earth, Passion my Texas Flower. Though you may be pure as purest air, there is something about Earth-minds that will make you feel impure. You wouldn’t really want the Minister to admit that he’s not a bold and realistic adventurer?”

  “I”—pouty face—”guess not, Captain.”

  “Things will be better soon for both of us. Soon Earth will discard the silly affectation of the bag-dress. When it does, maybe there will be an end to a lot of pretense.”

  “I hope so, Captain. It’s so difficult pretending you haven’t a body. No one wants to think of bodies all the time, but with so much reminding us . . .” She trailed off as I walked in, ostensibly from the other compartment.

  “My, I’ve had a good sleep!” I said for Qumax. “And you are looking well, Passion—very well.” Privately I thought her pipe-stem extremities would better have remained concealed under the baggie. In her case, the suggestion was considerably more potent than the reality.

  “And you must look,” she said, “because your conditioning is such that you cannot help yourself. You must look and say to yourself not ‘Here is a woman’ but ‘Here is a—’”

  “Look there!” Cloud interrupted her. “There on the screen— other ships!”

  “My goodness, it looks like a battle!” Passion said.

  “A war?” I said, as though the Minister of Earth’s Inner-Galactic World Affairs should naturally be the last to know. “These superior beings?”

  “Everything is superior to something,” Cloud said wisely. “Look, one ship is chasing the others! I do believe—yes, it’s coming back and—now it’s pacing us. We’re going to have boarders— invaders!”

  “Maybe not invaders,” I said. From offstage came suitable sound effects: the presumed noises of a spaceship grappling in a hard vacuum. There were clangs and bangs and thumps, anyway.

  “Oh, it wants in!” Passion said, fluttering her naked hands.

  “I’ll open the airlock,” I said.

  “No!” Cloud commanded. “That is—wait until I get my blasters out.”

  “You leave those blasters where they are!
” I said. “You hero types always shoot first and question later. We responsible cowards can’t afford to risk misunderstanding.” I jerked a lever on the dummy panel. Whines and clangs sounded and slowly a fake airlock opened up. There stood Qumax, complete with ridiculous wrinkle-covering spacesuit. He flicked a tentacle to a control located just beneath his helmet. There was a burst of sound from his artificial speaker-box.

  “Greetings, Earth-things! I have just saved your tight skins from a fleet of Strumbermian pirates. For this you were about to reward me in a fashion typically Earthian. But thanks to the Minister of Earth’s Inner-Galactic World Affairs, Captain Cloud does not get to fire off his blasters.”

  “You mean—?” Cloud said.

  “Yes,” Qumax said. “Peace and prosperity forever—assuming Earthians can keep from killing each other and from joining with Strumbermian pirates in their ceaseless depredations. That, however, is assuming a lot—knowing how addicted humans are to slaughter. Yes, indeed, Earth friends . . .”

  A sudden onslaught of noise offstage cut off what Qumax was saying.

  “Jupegas—Jupegas—invasion!” someone screamed. The cry was Nancy’s. She came pounding on stage as though out to set a track record, completely oblivious of the set and the cameras and the fact that Qumax had not written a part for her.

  “Harold—Harold!” she shouted, spying me. “You’ve got to do something! Qumax—those troops!”

  Passion’s unscripted scream all but burst my ear drums. She was looking past the bright trebvee lights, eyes and mouth wide.

  “The camera crew—the camera crew!” Passion screeched. “The camera crew’s asleep!” She leaped to her feet and ran offstage, screaming. Apparently that was the one horror with which she could not begin to cope: a nonfunctioning camera crew.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Nancy said. “Qumax, you must—” and then she lapsed into colorlessness and tumbled senseless.

  I left the dumbfounded Stanley Stanslovitch and ran to her side. Just as I reached her, Qumax took hold of me and made me turn to see the broad wink he was making. Beside him I saw the sprawled-out actor who had played Cloud, and I saw that Qumax’s green face was now covered by a transparent helmet. And something else I saw—something that scared the shock out of me. Several tall and mean-looking men were advancing on Qumax with drawn gas-guns.

  Then the significance of the gas-masks on the men’s faces hit me just as I realized that there was a smoking gas-grenade lying at Nancy’s elbow. That couldn’t be Jupegas!

  I reached for the grenade. My fingers touched it.

  All went black.

  *

  “Harold,” Nancy whispered urgently. “I—I think we’re being followed.”

  Huh? Hadn’t I been through this before?

  “Not quite,” Qumax said. “I have just rescued you and given you failing humans the antidote. But it was a bit sticky getting away clean; those government men are tough. So now I need you to keep watch for the pursuit while I apply evasive maneuvers.”

  I looked dazedly about me. Nitti was at the controls again, and Nancy and Qumax and I were riding in the copter. It was as though the Hooeywood experience had never happened—except that Nancy wore coveralls decorated with tick-tack-toe crosshatches.

  “Harold,” she said, “I—I think they’re shooting!” Naturally! I thought. Straining my head around, I could see the bright flashes emerging from the approaching copter. They were shooting!

  “Freddy!” I cried. “The double-crossing bastard! He said he’d let us do it our own way.” But of course I had been a fool to think I could trust my cousin in political matters. He had merely allayed our fears while preparing a decisive counterstrike. But the worm had been alert, and had done his usual stunts to get us all back to the copter. Probably he had taken over the mind of the leader of the commando party. . . .

  The copter zig-zagged, throwing us about. I hoped one of those bright flashes did not take our rotors off. Qumax had miscalculated again, and could hardly stop a shot that had already been fired.

  But they didn’t have the range yet. “Douse the lights!” I cried. “We might lose them in the dark—”

  And what would we crash into, blind? I didn’t know our elevation, but it couldn’t be much.

  “Oh, more ships!” said Nancy.

  I saw their light now—behind us, to either side, and in front. We were englobed!

  “Phone Freddy!” I said. “Tell him that if they shoot us down, it’ll kill the worm too!” But I had little hope. Obviously some hotheads were in charge locally, and they would have us in ashes before reasonable controls were instituted.

  Then the lights began to waver and fade. Clouds! But not the usual kind. These glowed, lighting the entire area around us. The thicker they became, the more light there was. I had never seen an effect like this, and I didn’t much appreciate it now.

  “Almost there,” Qumax said. The copter began to climb.

  The surrounding mist took on an ugly greenish hue rather like the worm’s tail, and I didn’t like it. This was too much like swimming, and I feared reefs.

  “Almost where?” Nancy inquired.

  “Good Lord!” That was me, I think.

  For a great green bulb-shape had appeared directly in front of us. It looked to be as high as a fifty story building and as big around as a forty-apartment-per-floor condominium. I suppose it was reflection from its surface that gave the adjacent cloud its color. Indeed, the entire opacity might stem from the vapors I now observed spouting from vents in this object’s lower surface.

  We were headed right for it at full speed.

  “Stop!” Nancy cried, alarmed.

  We slowed, but continued to approach. It was exactly as though we were coming in for a landing— except that we were a mile or so above the ground, and the landing field was vertical. The eerily gleaming wall came closer, closer—what was it?

  In a moment we would crash against it. The rotors would smash, and we would fall—one tiny gnat crushed against the abdomen of this grotesquely swollen firefly. I wanted to shut my eyes, but could not.

  A mouth opened: a ponderous metal orifice revealing inner teeth of glowing gold. And we sailed through the portals and cut our rotors. We bumped gently and then we were at peace.

  Landed.

  Inside the open cargo-lock of an alien and utterly strange space ship!

  Chapter 7

  So this was it! We were aboard an inner-galactic cargo ship without the knowledge or consent of either Earthly or Jamborango-ly authorities. We had kidnapped, not the worm we claimed, but the warden of Earth’s most notorious prison. So now Nancy and I were in real trouble with our world, and Qumax, playing hooky, would have a fancy time wiggling out of and accounting to his terrible Swarm Tyrant.

  It would have been better to have left well enough alone. Had I gone along with Freddy’s original plan . . .

  Yet for all that, I discovered I was not sorry. I had stood on my rights and the rights of Earth, and I still had a mission to complete. Somehow. Now I was the first Earthman to stand aboard an Inner-Galactic Space Ship. Nancy was the first Earthwoman. And Nitti was the first Earthwarden, undeserving as he was. It was worth it.

  What was that black spidery thing crawling towards us?

  The creature paused and seemed to be directing the heads of two green snakes at our copter. A vapor was issuing from the snakes’ mouths and rising up around us. It was, I realized belatedly, some sort of gas.

  “Qumax—what?” I asked, stepping back.

  The worm stirred and made a teakettle hiss. A chuckle. “Just a little disinfecting is all. You Earthians are horribly unclean. Germs, viruses, fungus, pollen, grime—I don’t know how you stand that contaminated bath you live in. This will cure it, though. And that’s a freight-handler—what you’d call a robot.”

  “Are you sure that stuff is harmless to us?” Nancy asked worriedly. “We need some of our viruses to live. Our differing metabolism—”


  “I’m not sure,” Qumax said, and hissed merrily. “Sometimes it turns aliens into mottled jelly. And I suggest you watch your step when you get out—the floors here are coated with gravite.”

  “Gravite?” I asked stupidly.

  “What your scientists—laughable as any such designation may be when applied to the techniques of such primitives—would call a polarity-reversing plastic. It makes for easier crawling.”

  It seemed to me that a brat showing off his civilization was even more bratlike than one trapped on a primitive planet. But I was the first to step down. Suddenly I found myself tumbling slow-motion across the floor. I landed softly on my fundament a dozen feet from the copter, disheveled but unhurt. Except for my pride.

  “I told you to watch the gravite!” Qumax called, and went into another paroxysm of sizzling.

  I was too intrigued by the novelty of antigravity to be angry. Here I seemed to weigh only a few pounds. It took some getting used to. For one thing, my stomach felt biliously light. For another, my lifetime conditioning to Earth gravity caused me to put far more muscle into moving than was necessary or wise here, but it was pleasantly easy after a moment.

  The others stepped down far more cautiously, though the warden bobbled like a helium balloon for a moment before catching his balance. He looked even fatter in fractional gravity than he had on land, since he could now bulge freely in every direction. He didn’t say anything.

  We followed a small floating guide-robot through an anteroom and into an oversized airlock. I realized that in deep space the entire intake chamber would be in hard vacuum. As we left it I looked back to see the huge entry port closing.

  The guide-robot—no more than a lighted ball with retractable arms—floated to a receptacle and became quiescent beside a row of similar units. We passed on through to the inner iris of the lock and emerged into a brightly colored salon stuffed with alien furniture. Who on Earth would use such paraphernalia? I had never before seen such a mismatched collection.

  “You are wondering,” said Qumax, “about the accouterments. Simple—there is more than one race aboard, and most aren’t humanoid, fortunately. Jams aren’t the only inner-galactic life you’ll encounter.”