“Humbug?” the Scarecrow cried. “How dare you? He gave me the only thing I lacked! Brains!”
“I won’t argue with you,” Hank said. “Wizard or not, he was clever and shrewd.”
“And good! A good man! Great and good!”
“O.K. But I think that Glinda...”
“Glinda was behind this,” Niklaz said, “events went the way you say they did.”
“Yeah. I think that Glinda wanted to get rid of Oz. Maybe everybody else, including the East and West witches, thought that Oz was a true and powerful wizard. But she knew he wasn’t. She knew that his strength was just a front, and it could easily crumble. Which it did. Look at how you two and my mother and the Cowardly Lion exposed him. There was a danger that he’d be overthrown or run—he did run, escaped in a balloon, anyway—and some evil person would take over. So she connived to make him leave, and now there’s a good ruler in his place. You, Your Wiseness,” he said to the Scarecrow.
“Oh, no. Well...”
“You’re Glinda’s good ally,” Hank said. “The Wizard never had anything directly to do with her, though he wasn’t dumb enough to oppose her. He knew that if he and Glinda met, she would know quickly he wasn’t a real wizard. He kept his distance from her. Just as he stayed aloof from the common people, even the servants and guards of his palace. He ruled, but he hid from everybody. What a lonely life he must’ve had!”
“If I could weep, I would,” the Scarecrow said.
“I, too,” the Tin Woodman said.
“You two aren’t really freaks,” Hank said. “You’re more human than most of the people I know.”
“Freaks? Me? Us?” the Scarecrow said.
“Your pardon,” Hank said. “I mean different.”
“You’ve constructed an impressive theory,” Niklaz said.
“Is that all it is?”
“Ask Glinda.”
“She won’t answer most of my questions.”
“Then she must have good reasons for not doing so.”
The Scarecrow said, “You should get some sleep, Hank. The weather-scouts say that the skies may be clear by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, cut the chatter,” a cow in a nearby stall said. “Go to sleep. You keep waking me up. Do you want to sour my milk?”
***
As the Jenny flew over Suthwarzha, Hank saw that Glinda’s workers had really hustled while he was gone. They had built a larger hangar at the edge of a meadow on the east side of the castle. The meadow was, however, nearer the edge of the plateau than Hank liked.
The wind was coming from the southwest across the desert, bringing hot, dry, and gusty air. Just as he came in for the landing approach, he saw the windsocket turn to point into the northwest. He started to crab the Jenny, intending to turn her nose just enough so that, though the plane would be pointed one way, she would still move on a straight line. But the joystick moved without him, and the Jenny was at exactly the right attitude for the landing.
Hank felt cold run over his skin.
Though he was violating all his training and his pilot’s reflexes, he took his hand from the stick and his feet from the rudder bar.
The Jenny straightened out just before her wheels touched, and she made a perfect three-point landing.
Hank swore softly.
He did not touch the throttle, but it moved, and the motor slowed. When the plane had slowed enough, she began turning slowly, and then she taxied into the hangar opening. Inside, with the rudder turned, the ailerons on the left wing lifted, the engine roared, and the Jenny turned to face outward. When that maneuver was completed, the ignition was turned off, and the engine stopped. Hank sat numbed until the propeller had quit whirling.
He got out of the cockpit and assisted his passengers to the floor. Lamblo greeted them and said she was to conduct them to Glinda.
Hank said, “I’ll be along in a minute.”
“Little Mother wants you now,” Lamblo said.
Hank shrugged and said, “O.K.”
But he went to the front of the Jenny and stared at the painted eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. The plane stared back.
“Please,” Lamblo said. “She stressed that she wanted to see you as soon as possible. No delays.”
“I’ll catch up with you before you get to the big gate,” he said.
Lamblo’s eyebrows went up. She looked as if she would like to ask him why he wanted to stay behind, but she said, “You’d better.” She and the honor guard marched the two kings out of the hangar. As soon as they were out of sight, Hank turned to the plane.
“Jenny? Are you there, Jenny?”
He felt ridiculous, but he had to say that.
“Jenny?” a Victrolalike voice roared. Though the red cupid’s-bow mouth did not move, it was the source of the voice.
Hank was startled, though he had expected some such response.
“Jenny? Is that my... name?”
She pronounced it as “Chenny.” There was no “j” sound in any of the many dialects.
“Yes, your name is Jenny,” he said. He whispered, “Jesus Christ!”
“Chiizuz Kraist?” the painted mouth said.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Hank said. “I have to go. Listen, stay here. Don’t leave the hangar. Don’t turn on the engine. Or can you do that?”
“Oh, yes, I can,” Jenny said.
“How...?”
He stopped. There just was not time for any interrogation. He slapped her lightly on the propeller hub, and he said, “I’ll be back.” He ran off, though not without a backward glance. The airplane did not look alive. Or did she? Was there some faint light in those big blue long-lashed eyes?
And how would she know what he meant when he said “hangar” and “engine”?
As he trotted towards the castle, he muttered, “The big brass just won’t believe this! I don’t believe it!”
Glinda was seated behind the big desk in the conference room. She rose when the group entered, went around the table, and embraced the two kings. They sounded happy to see her.
Specially built chairs were brought up for the visitors. The Scarecrow’s was of green velvet, the tall headrest bore a huge golden O (for Oz), and a gold crown set with emeralds was fixed to the top of the headrest. The Woodman’s chair was of yellow-painted tin with the Gothic W (for Winkie) painted on its headrest, which also bore a tin crown set with yellow topazes. Hank’s was a giant overstuffed chair on rollers. Blue velvet covered it, and it had no monogram or crown.
Food and drink were brought for Hank and set on a small table by his chair. Glinda was given a tall cut-quartz goblet filled with wine.
Glinda inquired about the ruler’s health. Hank refrained from snickering. She then told him that she would not need his report of the trip. She knew all about it. Hank wondered if she also was aware of Jenny’s animation, but he did not ask her. He would wait until she was alone with him. It seemed to him, however, that she would not know about the airplane. Who could have told her?
“As you all know,” she said, “the Uneatable has finally launched her invasion. She did not inforrn us officially that she’s at war with us and probably won’t bother to do it. The latest reports I have—I got them thirty minutes ago—are that one army is halfway through the border forest between Gillikinland and Ozland, and another one, Niklaz, is a hundred miles from your capital. There’s a third, poised on the Munchkin border, and it may have struck by now.
“The army in Ozland is on the road which Dorothy and you two traveled when you were coming to see me. It’s not making much headway. The Cowardly Lion is in command of the animal forces there; he’s chewed up the advance forces of men and beasts.
“The Winkies have lost two major battles already, and they’re retreating to make a stand near their capital. You should get back there quickly. They need your moral support.
“Wulthag, the Munchkin ruler, tells me that Erakna tried a personal attack two nights ago, but Wulthag repelled her with no injury to ei
ther woman. I expect one against me at any time, though I’m not sure that Erakna is brave enough, as yet, to try me.”
“What about the Natawey?” the Scarecrow said. “I heard that Erakna was attempting to enlist them. She’s promised them loot and women.”
“Wasokat, the king of the Pekotashas, is Erakna’s ally. But King Tekumlek of the Shanahookas is ready to attack Wakosat if a large Pekotasha army leaves the country to assist Erakna. I’ve long had an understanding with Tekumlek about that.”
Glinda raised her right hand, the first finger and forefinger extended. A white-bearded counsellor who’d been standing with a small iron box in his arms put it on the table. Glinda produced a key from out of the air as if she were a magician—which she was, though Hank suspected palming—and she unlocked the box. She raised the lid; its rusty hinges squeaked. From it she brought out two objects, each of which was attached to a steel neckchain.
They were identical: thin iron ankhs or Egyptian looped crosses with an iron G in the loop. The G looked more like an English lower case “r” than anything else.
“I want you to wear these,” she said to the kings. “At all times. They’re protective sigils, and they’ll help ward off Erakna’s powers. Notice that I say ‘help.’ They won’t be effective, or, at least, will be only half-effective, against the Uneatable’s greater powers. The G is not an initial for my name. It stands for Ganswabzham, the witch who made these and from whom I indirectly inherited them. Put them on. Now.”
“I would have sent them with Hank,” she said. “But their force had waned with time, and I had to recharge them. That demanded more energy than I was willing to spare at that time.”
She spoke to Hank. “I could give you one, too, but you don’t need it. You have your mother’s gift, the housekey. I have charged that also.”
She told him that he could leave the conference if he had things to do. The plans for military strategy did not require his presence. He should get his machine ready to fly the two back to their capitals by the day after tomorrow. Hank went to the hangar and checked out the physical condition of the plane. Since there were others around, he did not speak to Jenny. He wanted to be alone with her when he did that.
He also talked with the smiths and other technical experts assigned to him. The machine guns were ready for testing, and two hundred .30-caliber cartridges had been made for them. These were filled with black gunpowder, though other experts were working on cordite. There were also two hundred .45 bullets for his automatic pistol and six-shooter revolver, and the cases for bombs and small rockets were finished. The latter would not be ready, however, by the time he left for the north again.
Hank had had some calipers made so that he could be sure that each bullet fitted his specifications. Part of the afternoon was spent measuring them. He only had to reject twenty, not a big amount. Then he test-fired the machine guns on a stand outside the hangar. Satisfied that they were in good operating condition, he supervised their mounting on the upper wing of the Jenny. It was dark by the time that was done.
Food and drink were brought to him for supper. He ate, then ordered everyone to leave the hangar. The guards stationed themselves outside the building. Hank approached Jenny. “We can talk now,” he said.
“I wondered when you’d want me to talk,” Jenny said.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I don’t know what to do, what to say,” Jenny said. “I... just... I really don’t know.”
Hank sipped some of the mixed berry juice and vodka. Who’d believe a scene like this? He, Henry L. Stover, talking, actually talking to a JN-4H, an inanimate flying machine? No, no longer a lifeless object. An artifact that had become sentient and lingual.
How?
“When did you first become aware?” he said. “I mean, when did you first see, hear, and feel things?” He could not ask her how she happened to be born.
“I was in the air,” Jenny said. “I was not. And then I was. You’ll have to excuse me if I can’t describe things properly. I don’t know everything I should. I don’t have the, uh, words that I need. Not all of them.”
She hesitated, then said, “But I can learn! I can learn!”
“You have no memory of anything before you, ah, came into existence? I mean, before the moment you found yourself in your body?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
But she did have a memory. She could speak, which meant that she was drawing on a vocabulary somewhere within her. She had to have had a preexistence even if she did not remember it.
Hank described to her what had happened before the glowing ball had disappeared into her engine. He had to stop now and then to explain various references to her.
“First, I was just a nonliving thing of metal and fabric and wood,” Jenny said. “Then, I live and talk and think.”
“Have you ever heard of... I mean, do you know what Quadling means?” Hank said.
“No. That’s a word I don’t know.”
“Do you know the name of Glinda?”
“I heard it, but I don’t know who—she?—is.”
“What’s my name?”
“Hank. I heard the others call you that. I’ve learned a lot just by listening.”
He told her about the Scarecrow, but she was more confused than enlightened.
“You mean... I’m something like the Scarecrow?”
“Not physically. But you two have something in common. You both have a soul.”
“A soul? What’s that?”
Hank did his best to explain.
Silence. Did the huge painted blue eyes look puzzled?
“There’s one thing we’d better get straightened out now,” Hank said. “That is, I’m the pilot, you’re the airplane. The pilot runs the airplane. From now on, unless I tell you differently, you don’t decide whether you go up or down, bank, dive, climb, take off, or land. I’m the master; I handle the controls, unless I tell you to take over. Is that clear?”
“I think so. Only... I just can’t help myself. When you don’t do it right or fast enough, I just must do it. It’s a matter of... what?”
“Survival. Making sure that you don’t die.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’ll have to use self-control. I don’t want you to take over! I don’t want you overriding me! Do you understand?”
“Yes. You don’t have to shout at me! You don’t have to get nasty with me.”
Hank threw his hands up in the air. A Jenny whose feelings were easily hurt. An emotionally sensitive aircraft. What next?
“You may not remember your former life,” he said. “But you came into this world, into being as a machine, anyway, with a half-grown knowledge of speech and a full-grown personality. You’re not a newborn infant.”
He was convinced that Glinda had caused this transformation or possession. But how could she, hundreds of miles away, have been watching him and so affected the possession? “She’s got all the answers,” he muttered, “and she sure as hell better come through with some. Soon.” Or he’d do what? He could do nothing.
“We’ll have some more heart-to-heart talks,” he said. “I have to go now. Meanwhile, uh, is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, thank you, Hank.”
“Well... listen... there is one thing, though. Can you start your engine? If you can, I won’t have to get someone to spin the prop when I want to start... you.”
For answer, the propeller spun a few times but the engine died. Hank poured some ether into the carburetor, then told her to try again. This time the propeller spun slowly, the engine whined, then it burst into explosive coughs, the propeller spun swiftly, and the engine roared.
Hank yelled at her to turn off the ignition. She may not have been able to hear him above the noise, but she understood his gestures. The roaring ceased, and the propeller blades were soon visible, then still.
Hank patted her cowling and, feeling disorient
ated and somewhat ridiculous, walked out of the hangar. He talked to the officer of the guard for a moment, making sure that the hangar doors would be closed and that soldiers would be stationed inside and outside the building. Then he went to the castle.
Late that night, as he and Lamblo sat in the bed and smoked, he said, “I have a new love.”
She sat straight up. Hot ashes spilled from her pipe, and she was busy pushing them off before the cover caught fire. She said, “A new love? You... met someone you like better than me?”
A BARNSTORMER IN OZ by Philip José Farmer Page 14