Glory Lane

by Alan Dean Foster

  “I am going to sit right here and do my nails. With all that bouncing around you just wouldn’t believe how banged up they got.”

  Kerwin was inspecting the enclosing walls. They were lined with inch-wide metallic strips that resembled mylar but obviously ran much deeper.

  “Fascinating,” he murmured.

  “Bull,” said Seeth. “You don’t even know what you’re looking at. You haven’t got enough point-of-reference to figure out where the toilet is.”

  “It’s highly advanced technology.” Kerwin assumed a superior air. “That much is obvious.”

  “Actually, this wreck’s on the old side.” Rail ran his tentacle tips over a knot of intersecting mylar strips on the console in front of him. “It was the best I could do on short notice. I was in a hurry and had to borrow whatever was available.”

  “You mean you borrowed this ship, too? The way you ‘borrowed’ Izmir?” Kerwin nodded in the direction of the ex-bowling ball. It had adopted a pole shape, plonked itself down on the console next to Rail, and balanced itself on both arms while staring intently at nothing out of that single, unblinking blue eye. A bright purple-and-pink striped pattern flowed across it in endless streams.

  “The pressure of circumstances compelled me to.” The ship lurched sharply, nearly knocking Kerwin off his feet.

  “Hey, watch it!” Miranda had to juggle her nail polish.

  “Apologies sorry.” Rail bent low over his control strips.

  “I thought you said we wouldn’t feel any movement.” Kerwin looked around for something to hang onto, but the chamber walls were smooth as the inside of a billiard ball. He started cautiously toward one of the chairs.

  “Did I? Excuse me. I am doing the best I can. If we get off a little odd, the field should compensate. Anyway, the ceiling is soft.”

  “Soft ceiling?” Kerwin hastily slid onto the lounge chair, hunted frantically for straps or belts. “Anything to hold you down here?”

  Rail didn’t look back. “Touch the strip on your left, halfway down.”

  Kerwin found the metallic surface in question and fol­lowed instructions. Something like an invisible hand grasped him gently around the upper chest and legs. It was light as a feather and, he had no doubt, far more secure than leather. A touch lower down on the strap released the hold instantly.

  “Nice and neat, anyway,” he muttered.

  “Oh, the ship takes care of that, insofar as it’s able,” Rail told him. “I’m a terrible housekeeper. There are places even the automatic cleaning devices refuse to go. Absolutely filthy. Chambers and rooms that haven’t been cleaned out in years. Besides being ugly, the Oomemians are slobs. There are things left behind by previous users of this vessel whose origin and purpose I do not care to contemplate. Some of it moves, I think. I wouldn’t go wandering about the ship once we’re on our way.”

  “Don’t worry.” Kerwin reactivated the restraints. “I may not get out of this chair again until we make landfall.”

  Seeth was the only one still walking about, even though the vessel was now shuddering and jerking in response to Rail’s instructions. “You know what, man? You’ve really blown it.”

  “Blown it?” Kerwin looked over towards him. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were in that stupid bowling alley to take notes for a class paper, right?”

  “That’s right. So what does...?” His voice trailed off as he realized what Seeth was driving at.

  Of course! In ruining one project, fate had presented him with another, far greater opportunity. Positively unique. Why study the social habits of middle-class American bowlers when he could take notes on the lifestyle of not one, but two alien races—Prufillian and Oomemian. Three, if you counted Izmir as alive. The report he could make!

  “Notes,” he began muttering, “got to start taking notes.” He released his restraints and sat up, ignoring the shiver­ing beneath him. “Hey, Arthwit, have you got a pad and pencil around here somewhere? I’ve got to do some writing.”

  “Sorry again.” Rail was concentrating on his strip instrumentation. The ship was fully alive now. You could feel it in your feet, in your whole body. Power. “We Prufillians did away with such recording methods eons ago, when it was discovered that trees can feel pain. Writing on paper became rather like writing on dried skin. Now we only use the stuff for ceremonial purposes, and then only when the tree perishes of natural causes.”

  “Gee.” Miranda looked up from her intricate nail work. “How do you pass notes in class?”

  “Telepathically is the best way, unless you’re stuck with a sensitive instructor. Then it can be embarrassing sure.” He touched a blue strip.

  The ship rose a foot. Beyond the sweeping window, the gophers looked agitated. One was trying to bite through the transparency.

  “Only a very few are capable of true telepathy, though. We try instead to convey much feeling through expression. As you do, only without the gross and unpleasant facial distortions.”

  “Good thing you never got to his club.” Kerwin nod­ded toward Seeth. “You would’ve seen some really gross distortions.”

  “Your dancing is better, I suppose? Foxtrot and two-step?”

  “At least it was designed for human bodies. Break dancing works for chimps and gibbons, not people.”

  “I thought Rome was for gibbons. You’re just jealous because you can’t coordinate arm and leg movements with­out tripping over your own feet.”

  Kerwin felt the ship twitch and restored his restraints, closing his eyes tightly. I don’t believe it, he thought. We’re getting ready to flee the planet to escape alien cops in the company of an interstellar kidnapper and I’m sitting here arguing with a jerk like Seeth about break dancing.

  “I am familiar with the recreational activity to which you refer,” said Rail unexpectedly. “What I was able to observe of it via one of your video transmissions was intriguing, though I think it would work better with a couple of additional pairs of limbs.”

  “There you go,” said Seeth, vindicated. “Soon as we get back from this I’m gonna run down to the nearest leg store and pick up a few extra pairs. Maybe I’ll catch ‘em on sale.”

  “I do not recall seeing such available on your world,” said Rail thoughtfully. “However, your internal structure is simple enough so that a properly designed set of neuronic prostheses could be attached. Ah, there we are.”

  A throaty rumble sounded somewhere far below. The ship rose three yards. The gophers gave up and fled down a tunnel that led toward unseen regions. Kerwin thought they looked disgusted.

  “This isn’t the first world you fled to after borrowing Izmir, is it?”

  “No. It’s most peculiar, but as you’ve noticed he doesn’t act like he’s at all upset by his change of locale. I’m not sure he is conscious in the sense we think of it. He may not know what is happening to him, though he is aware of what is happening around him. He appears quite com­fortable in the company of whomever he happens to be with.

  “He and I have been hopscotching from one world to another in this little-visited part of the galaxy. Out here toward the edge, civilization is more spread out and it’s easier to throw the Oomemians off your trail. It’s taking a lot longer than if I’d simply set a straight course for Prufillia, but I’d never have made it that way. There’ll be all sorts of monitoring stations and relays between Oomemia and home. Sometimes the surest way is not the most direct way.”

  Izmir pushed away from the console and drifted across the room, bouncing once off the ceiling and executing several aerial somersaults with the same ease as he altered shape and color, before finally settling down in an empty chair. With his hands he began to pick at his now triangu­lar body.

  “What I don’t understand,” Kerwin murmured, “is why the Oomemians or anyone else would think a levitat­ing imbecile is valuable.”

  “No one understands,” said Rail. “I’ve measured and tested and probed until I’ve gone pink in the face, and I know
less than when I began. He’s not putting out any radiation I can detect, though my instruments are not the most sensitive. I thought to try and analyze his substance, but every time I attempted a tiny biopsy I met with failure. Metal blades, lasers, nothing worked. Any solid instru­ment simply broke or snapped against his body, while radiant energy like that produced by a laser is absorbed. Nothing damages him. Not only is he a shape-changer, he appears to be quite invulnerable.

  “As to what he mumbles from time to time, according to the ship’s translator it’s nothing but drivel, quite meaningless. There is no recognizable pattern to it, nothing like language, not even code.”

  “How come we’re not moving any faster, and how long has this war you mentioned before been going on?”

  “We’re still underground because this is an old ship and it takes a long time to warm up, besides which I’m scan­ning for Oomemian weapons.

  “As to your first query, it’s not really a war. Then again, it is. The Prufillians and the Oomemians have never gotten on well, but neither have we tried to annihilate each other. Genocide is impolite. You might characterize our long-term relationship as one of infrequent conflict inter­rupted by periods of uneasy peace. You see, Prufillia and Oomemia are located so far apart that for one to mount a major offensive against the other would be not only ex­ceedingly difficult but inordinately expensive. So the war consists mostly of calling each other dirty names and broadcasting endless threats. Only occasionally out in open space or on other worlds does actual combat sometimes take place. The respective populations seem satisfied with this state of affairs and the rest of the civilized galaxy tolerates it, so long as no innocent bystanders are inciner­ated. Every so often peace breaks out, but it rarely lasts for long. The Oomemians are intemperate.

  “Both sides spend a great deal trying to think up ways to deal the other a finishing blow, but, because of the costs involved, grandiose battle fleets and so forth never get beyond the propaganda stage. Financing an interstellar war over any distance at all is simply impractical. People would quit paying their taxes. Even totalitarian govern­ments can’t sustain them.”

  “Then there aren’t any empires?”

  “Empires? Goodness gracious no, young human Kerwin. What good is an interstellar empire? Prohibitively expen­sive to keep even a single obstreperous world in line. The administration costs alone—no, it’s purely a romantic no­tion. Not practical at all. If you’re interested in settling on another world or opening a business there or doing some minerals exploitation, it’s a lot simpler and cheaper just to secure the necessary permits and pay the requisite fees than to try and take over. There’s pretty much free move­ment between worlds. Everybody seems to think their planet is the best, so why try to take over another that’s not as nice?” He sighed a long, drawn-out whistle.

  “There’s no place like Prufillia. Most of the other races feel likewise as concerns their own home worlds. I mean, someplace like Varnial is okay for a vacation, but you wouldn’t want to live there.

  “Despite distance and difficulties, there remain ways of harrying the enemy. Sending someone like myself to make trouble problems is not quite the same as funding a war­ship. I obtained backers for my vessel and managed to slip behind Oomemian screens. This sort of minor irritation is performed constantly by both sides, but once in a while someone manages to accomplish something substantial. Such was my hope, for my people, for my planet—and for the enormous bonus that would greet me upon my return.

  “Hence my interest in Izmir, once I found out about him. You cannot believe the secrecy with which the Oomemians surrounded him, but I found out about the Izmir project despite all their safeguards, and managed to spirit him away from underneath their very mometils.” He glanced over to where Izmir was turning lazy somersaults.

  “To tell you the honest complete whole truth, I am beginning to wonder why I bothered. I had no idea the Oomemians would so relentlessly seek the return of some­thing so patently useless. Oh, he may respond to you, and he babbles incomprehensibly, but not in response to any questions. You don’t know if he’s understanding you, and in any event there’s no way to understand any possible answers.

  “About all that’s distinctive about him is his ability to shape-change. No other true shape-changers are known, though there are always rumors. He certainly can be color­ful when he wants to be. He also seems to be able to change his density at will. I worry constantly that he will one day wander through the wall of the ship when I am in the same room. He’s quite capable of doing that, you know. Most remarkable of all, when he alters density it does not appear to hinder his ability to levitate.”

  “On the face of it,” Kerwin commented, at the same time praying fervently that Izmir wouldn’t choose to walk through any walls when they were out in space, “I’d have to say that my people would be interested in studying a shape-changing, density-altering, invulnerable creature too. Especially if he’s the only one of his kind.”

  “Oh, he’s the only one, all right,” said Rail. “The only Astarach in existence. If he wasn’t, I don’t think the Oomemians would be so anxious to get him back.”

  “Maybe they think he holds the secret to personal levitation.”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps. What matters is that I have denied him to them. It matters not why he is important, only that he is important to Oomemia.”

  “That’s nasty, really nasty,” said Seeth.

  “Thank you.”

  “Kerwin here, he can change the density of his brain, from near vacuum to total vacuum.”

  “Give it a rest, guys.” Miranda had finished her nails and was already looking bored. “Wish I had my radio.”

  The ship continued to rumble, gathering strength. “I apologize,” said Rail, “for having forgotten the customs of local late-period adolescence. I’ve had other many things on my mind, as you have seen.” He ran a tentacle tip along a control strip.

  Static filled the room, followed by a ripple of unfocused music before the heavy-metal thunder of KMUT-FM out of Los Angeles assailed their ears.

  “All right!” Miranda put her purse aside, slid off the lounge and began to move to the music.

  “Hey, it works.” Seeth came over to join her.

  “Couldn’t you find something a little mellower?” Kerwin asked their pilot. “Or at least lower the volume?”

  “Oh no—you can’t noway fool me,” said Rail proudly. “I’ve studied this phenomenon closely. The volume is correct proper for this type of music.” He looked back at Seeth. “Is it not?”

  Seeth gave him a thumbs up sign.

  “Fascinating, your rituals. See how effectively they communicate without the use of words or telepathy.”

  Kerwin watched Seeth dancing with Miranda and found to his surprise that he was madly jealous. Maybe it had something to do with Miranda’s exceptional beauty. Or maybe it was the fact that she was about to become the only human female for light years around.

  “Your hair!” Seeth shouted over the wail.

  “What about it?”

  “You’ve got to do something with it. It’s too—too safe.”

  “No thanks. I’m not into punk styles.” Somehow she managed to convey an air of boredom even while putting her body through some extraordinary gyrations. Was it an attitude, Kerwin wondered, or was there simply nothing up there between the ears?

  He turned away, knowing full well that if he tried to join in he’d end up by falling flat on his face, or worse. Instead, he hesitantly unlatched himself and walked over to watch Rail conclude his liftoff preparations. The con­sole was a total loss, a blank white curving surface lined with crisscrossing metallic strips, Scotch Tape gone punk.

  “If nothing else, you could always use Izmir for a bowling ball.”

  “Perhaps. That was his idea, you see. He does what he wants and he can convey intention by simply doing it. We ended up in that recreation center quite by accident chance. I was wandering about the area—I don’t sleep much
, and it is difficult in some of your smaller metropolitan areas to find things to do at night. Apparently he found the motion of the balls the other bowlers were throwing of interest.

  “He indicated he wished to do likewise simply by elimi­nating his eye and arms and providing a number of finger holes for my digits. I confess to finding it of interest myself. The need to calculate the proper sine curves stimu­lates the brain.”

  “That’s not why most people bowl.”

  “Really? Another revelation surprise. I did not actually throw Izmir, of course. I merely went through the motions and he did the rest. After a while I believe he grew bored with the limitations and chose to try some dimensional variations, which is what first attracted your friend’s attention, I believe. That made me uneasy, though I can usually talk my way out of any awkward confrontation with primitives.

  “I don’t know if Izmir considered the activity recre­ation. I don’t know that he would comprehend the term. I don’t know if he comprehends anything much. I’m still not sure if he’s a living creature or a machine or what. You might wish to return to your chair or otherwise stabilize yourself, Kerwin. We are leaving now.”

  Not far away, Miranda’s ex-boyfriend had finally stopped running, his panic having given way to exhaustion. Be­sides which, his bladder was making physical demands that paid no attention to emotional considerations.

  As a result, he was just in the middle of relieving himself when Rail’s starship began to emerge from the ground almost directly beneath his feet. In spite of the fact that he was completely winded, he still managed a respect­able sprint in the opposite direction.

  If for the rest of his life Brock was convinced that the universe was out to get him, well, who could blame him?

  5

  Kerwin was too overwhelmed by the sight that suddenly appeared beyond the sweeping port to worry about keeping his balance. He stood close by Rail’s shoulder and stared.