He laughed then.
"Ironic," he said, "the way we make these stories we're always telling ourselves work. In a way, I drive myself crazy regularly to keep from going crazy. That's one of my places of irrationality. Everybody's got them."
"I'd think that once a therapist discovered that his first order of business would be to try to get rid of it."
Croyd nodded.
"Rudo told me that that's what most of them would try to do. But he wasn't at all certain but that it might be serving just that function — keeping me sane in the long run."
She shook her head.
"You've lost me," she said.
"Understandable. This part doesn't apply to nats. It has only to do with manifestations of the wild card virus. Rudo, as I said, had read all of the literature on the virus. He'd been impressed by certain conjectures based on anecdotal evidence, since there was no way of running controlled studies on them, due to the effect that there is a psychosomatic component to the virus's manifestation. Like, there was once a kid — we called him Kid Dinosaur — who'd loved dinosaur books. He came up with the ability to turn himself into kid-sized replicas of different dinosaurs. And there's Hits Mack, a panhandler I know who can go up to any vending machine, hit it once and have it deliver him anything he wants from its display. That's all. It's the simplest wild card ability I know. Takes care of his meals and allows him to devote a hundred percent of his panhandling income to booze. He once told me that something like that had been a daydream of his for years. Lives on Twinkies and Fritos and stale chocolate bars. Happy man.
"Anyway," he went on, "Rudo felt that the anecdotal evidence was persuasive, and that there was a way to test it now. Me. He proposed inducing dauerschlaf in me by means of drugs and hypnosis that worked with the fears behind my life lie and caused me to change in an agreed-upon fashion. If it worked it would show that there was a psychosomatic component. It wouldn't be of help to any joker or ace in the world but me, though, and it could only be used to help me because of the periodic nature of my condition.
"So we set out to prove it, if we could. If the results were positive, he'd explained, then I could decide on the sort of body I wanted to live in for the rest of my life and whatever power I wanted to accompany it, and he'd induce it. He'd do it again for several times after that, to reinforce it, along with suggestions that it would always turn out that way, and I'd be set as a well-adjusted ace."
Croyd finished his beer, went back for another, stamping out a line of passing ants along the way.
"Is that where he crossed you up?" she asked.
"Nope, we tried it and it worked," he said. "He was right. So were the other people who'd made guesses along these lines. I told him I wanted to come out looking like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca — I'd always liked that movie — and when I woke up I was a dead ringer for Bogie."
"Really? And what about a wild card ability? Was he able to do something with that, also?"
Croyd smiled.
"Yes," he said. "It was just a small ability, but for some reason it stuck. Maybe because it was so small it didn't take up much space wherever these things are managed. It followed me through any number of changes. Haven't used it in years, though. Wait a minute."
He raised his beer can, took a slow drink, stared off into the distance.
"Play it, Sam," he said in a strangely altered voice. Then, "Play it!"
The tape recorder clicked to a halt. Then the Play button was depressed. The sounds of a piano playing "As Time Goes By" emerged from the small speaker.
She stared for several moments at the machine, then reached over and turned it off. Immediately, she set it on Record again.
"How — How do you manage it if there's no tape recorder around?"
"Almost anything that can be induced to vibrate in the audible range will do," he said. "I don't know how. Maybe it's even a smaller ability than Hits Mack's."
"So you woke up looking like Rick, and you could provide your own soundtrack whenever you wanted."
"Yes."
"What happened next?"
"He gave me a couple of weeks to enjoy it. Wanted to observe me and be sure there were no undesirable side-effects. I went out and got stopped on the streets and approached in restaurants for autographs. Rudo wrote up his notes. He did send me to some friends for a full physical at that time, too. I still had an abnormally high metabolism and my usual insomnia."
"I wonder whether those notes still exist, somewhere?" she said.
Croyd shrugged.
"Don't know," he said. "Wouldn't matter anyway. I wouldn't want anyone to mess with the process that way again."
"What happened?"
"We saw each other regularly during the next couple of weeks. I went over ideas of what I wanted to look like and what I wanted to be able to do. I didn't want to stay the way I was. It was fun the first few days, but after a while it wears kind of thin, looking like someone famous. I wanted to be sort of average in height and build, sandy-haired, not bad-looking but not real handsome. And I decided on a kind of telepathic persuasive ability I once had. You get in less trouble if you can talk your way out of things. And it could come in handy if I ever wanted to be a salesman. Rudo in the meantime said that he was studying medical literature, looking for anything else that might be useful in my case, to help nail down the change good and tight, to make it permanent. Once, when we were having lunch together, I remember him saying, 'Croyd, for all of that you know you'll still be a caricature of humanity. I just wish it were within my power to wipe out everything that demon bug did to you — wipe out all of the others, too, for that matter — and leave the human race as clean as it was before.'
"'I appreciate everything you're doing, Doc,' I said. 'Seems like you've been devoting almost every waking minute to my case these past few weeks.'
"'I think it's the most important case I've ever had,' he replied.
"'Any new developments on the technical end of things?'
"'Yes, I think there might be a way to reinforce the change by using certain levels of radiation on your nervous system,' he said.
"'Radiation? I thought we were going the purely psychological route through dauerschlaf.'
"'This is some very new stuff,' he said. 'I'm still looking into it.'
"'You're the doctor,' I said. 'Keep me posted.'
"He picked up the tab again. Like always. And he wasn't even charging me for his therapy. Said he looked at it as a service to humanity. Gee, I liked the man."
Mr. Crenson," she said. "The tail."
"Call me Croyd," he said.
"Croyd, I mean it. I don't care if it is a unique experience. This is business."
"Sorry," he said, tail flicking out behind him. "What are you doing tonight? This is a kind of dull place and — "
"I want to hear the rest of the story, Croyd. All this psychological talk's got me thinking maybe this is your way of avoiding it."
"Maybe you're right," he said. "I hadn't thought of that, but you may have a point. Sure. Okay. On with it.
"The days passed and I was really feeling good. I knew I wouldn't be dropping any speed this time around because I wasn't afraid to sleep. I'd seen my life lie — with sleep, madness, and death all twisted together — and I saw that I could face it, that the problem would be gone once the condition was stabilized. And Rudo was going to fix that good, once he'd worked out how this radiation therapy would apply, on top of the dauershlaf.
"One day he asked me to lunch and we took a walk in Central Park afterwards. As we were strolling, with him looking at the landscape as if he wished he were settled somewhere painting it, he said to me, 'Croyd, how much longer have you got?'
"'What do you mean?' I asked.
"'It's time for you to sleep again,' he said.
"'It's hard to tell for sure till I start getting the feeling,' I said. 'But based on past experience I've got at least a week.'
"'I wonder about inducing it beforehand,' he mused, 'to swing it.'
"'
Swing what?' I asked.
"'First, let me ask you another question,' he said. 'You told me that you'd studied with an old second-story man named Bentley, and that you were engaged in that sort of business yourself.'
"'That's right.'
"'Just how good are you at that sort of thing?'
"'Not bad,' I said.
"'You still know how to go about it?'
"'I'm not out of practice, if that's what you mean.'
"'What if it were a place particularly security-conscious, well-guarded?'
"I shrugged.
"'Couldn't really tell you till I cased it,' I said. 'Sometimes, you know, I'd come up with a wild card talent that really helped in these things.'
"'Now, that's a thought….'
"'What's the angle, Doc? What're you leading up to?'
"'I've worked out what you need, Croyd, for the radiation part of the therapy. Unfortunately, the necessary materials are not available to civilians.'
"'Who's got them?'
"'Los Alamos Laboratories.'
"'If they're medically useful you'd think they'd let some of the stuff loose, for humanitarian — '
"'They wouldn't be useful for anyone but yourself. I had to adjust all of the equations to take your wild metabolism into account.'
"'I see,' I said. 'And you're wondering whether I might be able to pry some of the stuff loose? Helping myself to help myself, so to speak?'
"'In a word, yes.'
"'That might be managed,' I said. 'How soon could I get a look at the premises?'
"'There's the rub,' he said. 'I don't know how it can be done.'
"'What do you mean?'
"'The whole city is closed. There are checkpoints. If you're not authorized personnel you can't get by. It's a government installation. Top secret atomic research.'
"'Oh. You mean it's not just the Lab, but the whole damn city's off-limits?'
"'That's right.'
"'This sounds a little trickier than breaking into an apartment or a store and cracking a safe, Doc. Are you sure we can't get this stuff someplace else?'
"'Positive.'
"'Shit!' I said. 'I don't know….'
"'There are two possibilities, Croyd,' he said. 'You just reminded me of one of them. Now, neither one might be sufficient in itself to get the job done, but together — Together they might be sufficient.'
"'Better let me in on it.'
"'I've an — associate,' he said, 'who might be able to help. He has connections at the Lab, I'm pretty certain.
"'But he would have to be very circumspect.'
"'What does that mean?'
"'He could get you into the city without arousing suspicion. He could probably get you a look at the outside of the place — perhaps even a map of the inside.'
"'Sounds like a good start,' I said.
"'I'm going to be speaking with him as soon as I can reach him, and I'll find out more about the setup there. In the meantime, I'd like for you to be thinking of something. If we were to induce another change before we get there, what wild card talent might serve you best for the initial scouting? Bear in mind that we should be able to run another change after that, to provide you with whatever would then feel most suitable for the job itself.'
"'All right,' I said. 'You'll call me then?'
"'Yes.'
"I had some unrelated business to take care of at the time, so I went off and spent a couple of days settling it. Then one evening I got a call from Rudo asking me whether I could come over to his place. I told him yes, and caught a cab.
"'Croyd,' he said, 'I have learned things about this atomic city in New Mexico. You must have a pass with a photo on it to gain entrance. Such visitors' passes can be obtained in Santa Fe if you know someone in Los Alamos who notifies them that you are coming to see him, and then meets you at the Los Alamos gate.'
"'We know such a person?' I asked.
"'Yes, we have a man on their security staff who'll take care of it,' he said. 'That is, my friend has a friend who will manage things in this regard. It used to be under military security, but now the Atomic Energy Commission is providing the guards — and, as fortune would have it, there is a man in such a position who will be glad to do me this favor. This will get us into the town, and we will be staying at Fuller Lodge, which is where visitors are put up.'
"'That does make it sound a little easier,' I said. Will your friend be able to get us to the place where I'll have to do the job?'
"'I got the impression that he could point it out to you, but that actually getting you inside would be too risky for him.'
"I nodded.
"'I guess that's where the right wild card power will come in handy.'
"'I wonder,' he said. 'Getting in may not be the biggest problem. Getting out of town with it might be.'
"'You said we could do the dauerschlaf business twice on this job?' I asked him.
"'Why not?' he said. 'What have you in mind?'
"'I come out looking bland,' I said, 'and equipped with a power that can get me a closer look at the premises. We visit the city and I case the place. Then I decide what's needed for the job and you induce it. I do the business, we take the goods to some nice, safe spot, and you give me the final treatment — radiation and all — and I can spend the rest of my life in a relatively normal fashion. And if there's ever anything you need, I'll take care of it for you.'
"'He smiled.
"'Your stabilization will be reward enough,' he said, moving to the bar and fetching us Cognacs in balloon snifters. 'I think this is going to prove an educational experience for both of us.'
"'I'll drink to that,' I said, taking a big sniff.
"We touched glasses lightly.
"'Confusion to our enemies,' he said.
"So we worked out my physical appearance for the job, and I detailed the power I thought I'd need. Then Rudo set about inducing the dauerschlaf which would provide it. We decided to travel across county by train to Lamy, New Mexico, where the travel agent would arrange for us to be met at the station by a pickup truck for the luggage. This was because I was to be a part of the luggage. It was decided that it would expedite matters for me to continue my dauerschlaf in a well-padded packing case. The agent also made us reservations at a place called La Fonda, in Santa Fe.
"And so I have no memories to speak of concerning the train trip. I went to sleep in Rudo's apartment and woke up in a packing case in a hotel room in Santa Fe. It's no fun being luggage. I woke in a pretzeled condition, with a little light leaking in around the upper edges of my confinement. The lid was still nailed tightly in place — as we'd agreed, to prevent any curious hotel maid from thinking the good doctor'd included a corpse as part of his travel gear. I listened for a while — a thing we'd also agreed upon — but heard no voices. Then I rapped on the nearest side of the case, to get his attention if he were present. There was no response. Since I could detect no motion, chances were I wasn't in transit. And the light seemed an indication I was no longer in a boxcar. So I assumed I was either on a railroad platform, in the hotel lobby awaiting transport to a room, or in the room itself with Rudo having gone out somewhere. It seemed too quiet for a platform or a lobby, though. So …
"Twisting myself into a more congenial position, I extended my arms upward, felt the lid, and began to push. There followed a squealing of nails as it rose, and more light came to me. The lid came free on my right, then above my feet and head, finally falling aside to the left, nails bending, the wood making small splintering sounds.
"One deep breath then, and I rose to my feet, still unsteady. I was nude, since shape changing tends to ruin garments. But my suitcase held a variety of clothing, purchased with my target physique in mind; and even as I rose I saw that piece of luggage, across the room on a rack.
"I stepped out of the case and made my way into the bathroom, where I showered. The mirror showed me a dark-haired, dark-eyed man as I shaved; about five-foot-eight, and of medium build. I finished putting myself
in order and went back into the room, where I opened my suitcase and hunted out suitable garments.
"After I'd dressed I departed the room and found my way downstairs and into a Spanish-style lobby. From there, I saw a bar with tables at which people were eating. Which was what I was looking for — food. I was, as always on awakening, ravenous. But I stepped outside for a few moments first. There was a lot of adobe around me and what looked like a small park off to my left. There was a cathedral off to the right. I could investigate them later. The sun, which I'd come out to check, stood a little past midheaven. Since I didn't know which way was east or west, it could be a little before noon or a little after. Either way, lunchtime, with half a day ahead of me.
"I went back inside and made my way into the bar. I found myself a table and read the menu. A number of items, such as enchiladas, were unfamiliar to me. So I just decided to order everything on the menu and work my way through. I'd also stopped at a newsstand I'd noticed off the lobby and picked up copies of all the papers they had, as is my wont upon awakening, to find out what had happened in the world while I slept.
"I had a succession of interesting things wrapped in tortillas, to the accompaniment of refried beans and rice, and was sitting there reading and waiting for the desserts to start arriving when Rudo came in, clad in a white suit and natty sportshirt, camera over his shoulder. I was puzzled not at all as he strode on by me to order a Ramos Gin Fizz at the bar. You get used to being ignored by friends and acquaintances when you change your appearance every time you sleep.
"I caught his attention when he turned to sweep the room with his gaze. I raised my hand and nodded.
"'Ah! The eminent Dr. Rudo,' I said, faking a slight German accent.
"His eyes widened, then narrowed. He rose from his stool immediately and approached me, brow furrowed, drink still in his hand.
"'I don't believe I recall …' he began.
"I rose and extended my hand.
"'Meyerhoff,' I said, since I sometimes like to put people on. 'Carl Meyerhoff. We met before the war. Was it Vienna or Zurich? You were doing work with that long sleep business. Fascinating stuff. You had your little problems, I recall. I trust everything is going satisfactorily for you these days?'
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