“Hmmm… The primal pinnacle… You may be right, Lucy. Certainly you’re right about my being nowhere near it. But Gretchen? I don’t know. I do know that, near or far, she’s unique.”
“All of that. The only question is whether it’s a genuine mutation and inheritable. Are you doing anything to investigate that?”
“The pill is her option,” Shima smiled. “R. No more rapping; we mustn’t keep the lady waiting. I’ll check taste and smell now.”
“Man! What a peak! Ind’dni was right. The little lady sure can smell and taste.”
“What’d you hit her with, Shim?”
“H2S. Hydrogen sulphide.”
“What? Rotten eggs?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That, sir, is cruel and unusual punishment, expressly forbidden by the Constitution of the United States.”
“She was programmed to expect the worst.”
“So now what fiendery?” Leuz chuckled.
“Now the poor kid gets bombed with a dirty, rotten universal hang-up.”
“Money?”
Shima laughed. “You know, Lucy, you Forschungsreisendes can be real profound at times. No, not money, acarophobia.”
“What?”
“Formication.”
“What?”
“The Cocaine Bug.” Shima looked at Leuz’ blank face. “You still don’t understand?”
“No, and I don’t think I want to.”
“Maybe it’s just as well. You’d shoot me, and no jury would convict. Here we go, Gretch. Sorry, but I’ve got to test your sense of touch.”
“Look at her bod shrieking! I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry. It’s all over now. At least I know you can really feel.” Shima turned a pale face to Leuz. “And I’m feeling it too, by empathy.”
“What was she feeling? What’s this Cocaine Bug bit?”
“Insects crawling all over the skin. Psychiatric cant for C and skag symptoms.”
“Ugh! Likewise eeyuch! You were right. No jury would convict.”
“I told you it was universal, Lucy. Look at your arms; you’re all gooseflesh.”
Leuz rubbed his arms vigorously. “Sometimes I have my doubts about entomologists… Or do I mean etymologists?”
“Try it auf Deutsch.”
“Wortableitung? No. I must mean Insektenkundefachmanns.”
“Try entomologie professeur.”
“Thanks a huge bunch. So now what?”
“Now sight.”
“But you already know it’s secondhand.”
“Sure, but only for the normal visual spectrum. Quaery: can she see beyond? In the ultraviolet or infrared? Here we go.”
Shima let out a low whistle, then muttered, “Closer and closer to your primal pinnacle, doctor. This girl is a giant quantum jump ahead.”
“What? How?” Leuz was confused.
“Gretchen’s blind, isn’t she?”
“You said in the visual spectrum.”
“Well she’s halfway between seeing and sensing in the ultraviolet.”
“Seeing? In the UV? Impossible!”
“Lucy, she’s reacting, she’s sensing UV radiation. There’s no single word for her response. Gretchen probably thinks she’s just got flashes and lights in her eyes… phosphenes… but she’s actually— Oh, hell! Let’s invent a word. She’s… She’s… She’s seesensing high-energy particles that—”
“No. Reverse it, Shim. Senseeing works better.”
“R. She’s senseeing the particle barrage shooting up from the earth’s radioactive mantle below her… Through a sort of somatic cloud chamber.”
“My God! Fantastic! A seventh sense?”
“Exactly.”
“But how can you be sure it’s cloud-chamber sensight?”
“We had a piece of freak luck.”
“Such as?”
“She peaked off the scale like an eruption at one point. Just once, and it was one in a million.”
“Consisting of?”
“She was senseeing a neutrino encounter.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“But the neutrino’s a neutral particle with zero rest mass. It reacts with hardly anything,” Leuz objected.
“Gretchen ‘saw’ it and it had to be a neutrino. Nothing else from space could penetrate twelve hundred feet of water. It streaked down, through the Van Allen belts, through the atmosphere, through two hundred fathoms of water, through her, and her somatic cloud chamber ‘saw’ it. By now it’s through the earth to the other side and on its way to wherever.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“And you’re absolutely right, Lucy. Gretchen’s a fantastic mutation, a quantum jump toward the primal pinnacle. And if I believed in God, I’d pray that this genetic change is favorable and inheritable.”
“Amen.”
“And so say we all. Now let’s bring the New Primal Man up.”
Seated gracefully cross-legged in the padded cell, Subadar Ind’dni switched off Shima’s taped recording of the Drogh III tests and regarded Gretchen Nunn with an expression that was close to worship.
“You are truly remarkable phenomenon, madame. Even inspirational. Lusus naturae does not do you justice. Dr. Leuz was quite correct. You are a fantastic quantum jump beyond us.”
“The quote New Primal Man unquote?” Gretchen actually blushed.
The corners of Ind’dni’s mouth quirked under his jet beard; a blushing Negro is an adorable sight. “Even that is inadequate descriptive. Legend alleges that the gods, in human guise, sometimes visit their poor relations down here on earth. Which are you? Sarasvati, divine protectress of poetry? Uma, goddess of light? I prefer to believe you are most probably Gauri, the brilliant.”
Gretchen, even more embarrassed, laughed and waved a hand. “Thank you, Subadar. If I’m to be a god in human disguise, it would most probably be the Mundingoe bugbear, Mumbo Jumbo, who terrified the African women.”
“I hate to throw a cold douche on the holy sacrament,” Shima said sourly, “but I had an unholy experience with the Golem100 last night. Remember? I’d like to get on with our business.”
“I have not forgotten, doctor,” Ind’dni answered. “Perhaps, even, I remember more poignantly than yourself. Do you not recall that after you departed from Precinct Complex, I was left with the pathetic victim? That was no Ops party.”
“The party!” Gretchen exclaimed. “Regina’s Ops party for the men. The whole bee colony was there. That’s what brought the Golem back again.”
Ind’dni nodded. “Cause and effect. It has been demonstrated. But now I am concerned about the effect on yourself of a second venture into the Phasmaworld… this time alone, without comfort of Dr. Shima as fellow traveler.”
“Why the heavy concern?” Shima demanded. “She came through the first unscathed, at least in her head. So far as the physical pranks of her bod go… Well, here we are, locked in a padded cell.”
“Agreed, doctor. Bedlam-Rx was most cooperative, and this cell is reasonably safe. At worst, Miz Nunn can only attack quilted walls. At best, she will accost you, as she did that ‘before and after’ poster.” Ind’dni smiled. “I promise to close my eyes.”
This time Gretchen actually giggled. “We’re all in this together, Subadar. We should have no secrets.”
“Many thanks for confidence in my discretion, madame, but is it not possible that I may have secrets of my own wishful to conceal? However. Here is point of my concern; prime thrusts of the Id are pleasure and survival. What if your visit prompts this savage Subworld to use you for its brute satisfaction?”
“But of course I expect that, Subadar,” Gretchen said, “and I’m prepared to protect myself.”
“Prepared to protect yourself against the unknown? How, madame?”
“My lord! Haven’t I lived and worked in the real world of the Guff for close to thirty years? And what d’you think the Guff has done except try to use me for its pleasure and survival? The only difference is that I make the Gu
ff pay. I’m armored by experience to withstand any and all psychic pressures.”
Ind’dni looked from Gretchen to Shima. “And you, doctor? Are you, too, armored, no matter what Miz Nunn experiences in the infernal Subworld and no matter how her somatic self behaves in this cell?”
Gretchen answered before Shima could open his mouth. “No he’s not. So if le pauvre petit withdraws into sulks, you’ll have to understand. I’ll soothe the baby when I come out.”
“I do not sulk,” Shima growled. “I am not a baby.”
Ind’dni sighed. “But perhaps I am, doctor. Sad to confess I also am not armored against possible outcome of this extraordinary venture of Miz Nunn, but… so be it. Let us launch her on her lonely trip into the unknown. The Promethium injection…?”
“STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!” Gretchen screamed. “For God’s sake, what are you doing?” She lurched out of the quilted corner where she had recovered consciousness, stumbled across the padded cell-floor, and tried to separate the two men. Shima had his hands around Ind’dni’s throat and was trying to throttle him and batter his head against the wall. The Subadar was gripping Shima’s wrists. Gretchen flung her arms around Shima’s neck and let her dead weight tear him away from Ind’dni.
“You bitch!” Shima was panting like a tiger on the attack. “You black bitch’s bastard! And this skog’s your yancyman!”
“For God’s sake, Blaise!”
“God damn you. Damn the day I ever met you.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ind’dni massaged his throat. “Evidently Dr. Shima is less than unarmored, madame; he is vulnerable. All of his educated responses betrayed him, and he attacked when he should have withdrawn.”
“From what? What happened?”
“Describing event delicately, Miz Nunn, it became apparent that it would be Dr. Shima who would be required to close his eyes.”
“What?”
“Your unconscious body accosted the wrong man.”
“You mean I—? You—?”
“Yes, you, him,” Shima shouted. “And for how long?”
“Blaise! Never!”
“Yeah. Sure. In physical fact, never… Maybe… But how long have you been wanting, eh?”
“No, Blaise. Never.”
“Have you patience for friendly counseling, doctor?” Ind’dni said gently.
“You God-damned yancy skog, smiling and sneaking—”
“Shima!” the Subadar’s voice was not raised, but it had the piercing thrust of cold iron. “Do not ever use that word ‘skog’ to me again.”
Shima was frightened into silence.
“Your rage bases itself on your assumed knowledge of Miz Nunn’s manner of acting, yes?” Ind’dni’s tone was gentle again. “She feels first and then proves it. I have sometimes heard you tease madame for thinking with her gut. Yes?”
“Yes,” Shima muttered.
“Then how could you take this naughty prank of her unconscious body seriously, when internally she has known all along that I am homosexual?”
“Wh-what?”
“But of course,” Ind’dni smiled. “I neither conceal nor parade it, yet Madame has felt the truth since first we met. At best, she merely accosted another wrong poster. At worst, her body was guilty of another childish practical joke, since it knew that her challenge could not and would not be accepted.”
Shima was aghast. “Oh Jesus! Christ Jesus! What a damned idiot I’ve been. Suspecting. Watching how she looks at you. I’m a clown!” He burst into hysterical laughter, began to cry, then turned and buried his shamed face in a quilted wall.
Gretchen looked hard at Ind’dni. He lifted a brow and smiled at her. She shook her head emphatically. His smile never altered.
Shima turned abruptly. “I want to apologize.”
“Not necessary, doctor.”
“Damn it, I’ve got to apologize.”
“And you have already.”
“So cool it, baby,” Gretchen soothed. “You’ve reached the bottom of your barrel. There’s no lower to go. You can start climbing up, now.”
“Most mixed metaphor, but most apt nevertheless.” Ind’dni laughed. “The worst is over, and there is no cause for guilt or shame. We must not permit the insanity of the internal inferno to bleed into our civilized lives. We will leave this unpleasant scene and visit a more grateful atmosphere… my own apartment. You will find it healing and restorative. And we must hear madame’s account of her expedition into the Phasmaworld while it is still fresh in her memory.”
As they filed out of the padded cell, Gretchen silently mouthed to Ind’dni, “You. Are. A. Great. Good. Man.”
17
There were elegances in Subadar Ind’dni’s apartment appealing only to the elite. Illumination was by clear, filament light bulbs. “Ah yes. For enormous bribe I will make known identity of modern Thomas Alva Edison who crafts them for me.” A two-foot world globe was so ancient that there were blank regions labeled terra incognita. A green fly had died on latitude 47 N. Only close examination revealed that the corpse was composed of jade, jet, and lacy gold. “Brutal blackmail required to force me to disclose modern Fabergé who fashioned same for me. And now, if you are both quite restored and comfortable, let us begin.”
“First, how long was I gone?” Gretchen asked.
“Twenty minutes,” Shima answered. “I reduced your Pm shot to a quarter of what we’d taken the first time around. That skag’s wild. It’s got to be handled with care.”
“And you didn’t reduce it a quarter too much, Blaise. The Phasma scene was a shivery Rorschach world for my crazy primal senses… all murky ink blots, or maybe I should call them id blots. I still can’t understand half of them. First I went to black…
“That would be madame without the advantage of reading your senses, doctor.”
“R.”
“Miz Nunn, as you recall experience, could you possibly sketch perceptions for us? Here is pad and pencil.”
“I’m no artist but I’ll try, Subadar.”
“Many thanks. Will be most helpful for interpretation.”
“Then the dead black became sparkled with stars and lines and whorls and silly symbols. Should I try to draw that? It was complicated…”
“No need, Gretch. That’s simply the way you think you’re seeing your cloud chamber perception of high-energy particles.”
“Then I went to white and some kind of Black Hole that was either a bird in flight, or a helmet, or a Folies Bergere wig by Toulouse-Lautrec. It looked something like this… And it was looking at me…
It got bigger and sort of turned into an urn
or maybe a soup tureen…
… But would you believe a tureen with eyes?
But now, thinking about it, I’m reminded of the Tarot card Le Pendu, “The Hanging Man,” and I’m frightened…
And began to condense and break up into—into I don’t know what, but it was damned ugly.
Look at it…
Then it became a crown or butterfly over a heart, or spade, or plumb bob, like this…
But always there seemed to be two eyes watching me constantly…
Then suddenly I was seeing a snow goose in flight or a stinging bee attacking…
Only the Phasmaworld is a nightmare of transformations and I was seeing id blots without identity. The wings of the goose or the bee turned into an African devil mask, a witch-doctor mask, a voodoo mask, but at the same time it looked like the head of a key to something…
And suddenly it was almost as though the id blots of the Phasmaworld were trying to communicate with me, trying to explain the raison d’être of their culture, but in Chinese or Japanese or Spacetalk. And still the eyes were watching me.
Who so surprised as me when a pretty female-type id began flirting with me and making eyes at me. Eyes. Always eyes. Ink blots or id blots, they’re still eyes. Like so…
And some empty stick-figure man began making advances. You’re right, Subadar; pleasur
e and satisfaction are prime motives…
But a dark woman-id was watching him, or me, or both of us. Again eyes…
And her face turned into another devil mask.
Then a Negro stick-figure made its move at me…
And transformed into Death in a cloak clutching at me…
I think, perhaps, that I tried to escape, and a form appeared that—I don’t know—that seemed to be an open trap set for me. Like this. Could inanimate objects also have ids…?
And it melted into or was replaced by this. I don’t know what it was. Maybe kissing Siamese twins?
The pretty one came back, flirting again. There is a strange sort of continuity and persistance in the Phasma civilization…
And that vague thing I thought might be an open trap turned itself into a coronet. It’s a sliding, misty, fluid world, the gelatin reality of people…
And then it enlarged into an imperial crown…
And then the imperial crown on a devil, witch-doctor mask. Very much like this…
The Siamese twins returned, this time back-to-back and apparently not on speaking terms; or maybe I was seeing a pair of dancing cobras. Look at them…
Then, out of nowhere, appeared a fat letter double-U…
Which turned into a pair of upraised arms with enormous biceps; something like this…
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