The Collected Stories of Carol Emshwiller, Vol. 1

by Carol Emshwiller

  “What should I do? I’ve got to decide something in a hurry.”

  “If I were you,” John said, “I think I would go to Lois and try to show her in every way I could that I loved her and perhaps she will feel more generous when she realizes how it is you feel towards her. I’d try it, anyway.” John drained his glass and set it on the table with a thump. “If that didn’t work, I guess, if I was in love with Lois, I’d give in to her.”

  “John, I like you, and I like your ideas, too; I’ll try it. Pride doesn’t matter in a thing like this. It’s love that counts. You stay here and have another drink. Have all you want. I’ll go see what I can do.”

  Things didn’t happen as I’d hoped they would. Perhaps as a human being, I just didn’t have enough loving to give. I certainly hadn’t had much practice in that end of it. Anyway, it didn’t work at all, and in my desire to make everything right between us, I promised Lois I’d turn off Claire. I didn’t mean to promise it, but somehow I did, and, as I walked out of Lois’ room, I was on my way to do it. She’d said, “Do it right now so I can be sure it’s me you love.” And I said, “All right I will; I’ll prove I love you best of all.”

  Only here I was on my way to do it and I didn’t want to at all. In fact, once I thought about it, it was Lois I would rather be on the way to turning off. It was Claire, gentle Claire, who loved me. John said so. And she really loved me. Robots could have different feelings just like people, and Claire loved me in a special way of her own. Manufactured or not, it was real. How could I turn her off? How could I hurt her?

  I stopped before her door and raised a hand to knock, but I didn’t knock then, because it came to me suddenly that it was Claire that I loved too. What I had thought was real love wasn’t real at all. It was this feeling for Claire that was real. No, not just real. Unique. The only love. The first love. Adam and Eve… Dan and Claire. The only man and the only woman in the world.

  “Claire,” I called, knocking. Claire, Claire, darling.”

  But she didn’t come to the door; she didn’t answer. The door was unlocked. I pushed it open, but there was no one there. I ran to the TV-phone and called local all over the house, but there was no answer. And then I called for John, but he didn’t answer either. I ran to the kitchen, but it was empty, too; and, then I sat down to catch my breath.

  They were gone. I knew that.

  Claire had found a new love. A better, kinder love than I knew how to give.

  I called Lois and told her.

  “My down payment,” she shouted. “They can’t run off like that. I need John for a turn-in. I’m certainly not going to spend the rest of my life with you. How will I ever get a new husband without John? Call the police. Have them traced. We must find them.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Lois,” I told her. “We can’t call the police. Remember we’re married and living together here. You wouldn’t want that to get out would you? You can’t call them. Besides, I won’t let you. Claire deserves some happiness and she’s going to get it from the one person who can give it to her best. John deserves a break, too. Neither of us are going to say a word about them the rest of our lives. Remember, our marriage is on file at the filing center. One word from you and the whole world knows what we’ve done. I’ll see to that if I have to call every newscaster in the business.”

  Lois had backed out of view, but I heard a sob at the other end of the phone.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to be so harsh. I know you want a new husband and I’ll help you get one. With both of us working on it, it won’t take so long. It won’t be any hardship for me. I won’t need a new wife. Not for a long, long time.”

  Science Fiction Quarterly, Vol. 4, No. 2, February 1956

  The Piece Thing

  “MOTHER, Mother. Please. What is the word? Where is the thread? Send, send, loud and strong to me. I must come home.”

  I soared high and veered to the right/ then I turned around quickly and went back, faster and farther. Then I slowed and turned left.

  “Mother, Mother. I cannot hear you. I’ve lost the thread. Send out to me. Please, Mother.”

  I spiraled to the ground, then; a spark went out when I touched it. I stopped and rested on a red stone. I was very quiet. I listened and listened, but there was no sending sound.

  “Mother!”

  Up, I told myself; try higher. Perhaps she is there, sending you in to her along with the others. I left the rock and flew up very high until it got cold and it was hard to keep going.

  Then, up high, I relaxed and floated on a ridge of cold gases.

  “Mother, one is gone. It is I. I am lost and I cannot hear you any more. Please. Send me in to you; I want to come home with the others as I always do.”

  The drifting gas took be sideways. I watched and rested as we passed over a mountain far below.

  I must try hard, I thought. I’m nothing without Mother, and I must try hard to find her. I left the lazy gases then and went higher, because that was the hardest way to go, and I knew it would be hard. Up I went until there was nothing but cold emptiness.

  It was hard. It was the hardest thing I had ever done, but I kept on. “Mother, one is gone and it is I. Oh, it’s so hard to find you.”

  I went on and one for a long time. Sometimes I got tired and drifted with forces of nothingness that pulled me. And while I drifted I sometimes thought, “What am I?” for I was nothing without Mother. Then, when I had rested and drifted a little I went on as fast as I could. And every interval and every pulse, I sent out a call for Mother.

  I went on. A long time passed; I grew thin and small until I began to be afraid I would be gone altogether. So I turned on my back to rest and save myself; I drifted then, with the unseen forces for a long time, not even calling out anymore.

  At first there were three forces, but gradually two got weaker until there was just one great force. I lay still and let it pull me, for I was small and nearly gone. It pulled me until at last there was no longer just nothingness, and I drifted with another gas and found a new warmth. This revived me some, and I was able to send again a few calls; but still I only drifted. Draughts pulled me down, and I saw that there was land far below, and many things things that were familiar and things, too, that I’d never seen before.

  I waited and watched and moved with the currents. I was weak but sometimes I sent out to Mother. “I have seen many things,” I called. “I want to tell you. You will like hearing of them. Please call me in. I miss you and I miss the others,” but I never got an answer.

  Still I drifted, worn out, confused and discouraged so discouraged sometimes that I went long times without sending out. And often I thought, “Who am I?” and “What am I?”

  Then I passed over a large forest and many lakes and rocky ground. I drifted lower on the breeze and there was a rock, warmed by the sun; it reminded me of long ago before these hard, hard times, so I swooped down with what little strength I had. A spark went up when I touched it, and then I lay out flat on it, warm and feeling better than I had for a long time.

  I didn’t send. I was discouraged still, but I listened and after a time, I heard a sending far away. Was it Mother? It had to be.

  “Mother, here I am. Come for me. At last I’ve found you, but I am weak from searching. Come take me to you. Renew me. I need you so much.”

  I called loudly with all my last energy, but there was no answer. Just more sending and sending. It came closer, and after a while I heard the thoughts. They were confused and spoke of things I didn’t know. It didn’t sound like Mother.

  “The old thing’s tickin’ fast, all right,” I heard. “There’s something in these rocks, I’ll bet. This is my big chance; I can feel it. This is it. Listen to the thing tick. It’s got a beautiful case of the jitters. Whew, it’s hot! I’ll stop and have a drink to celebrate the find.”

  The thoughts stopped moving closer, but still they were very close now. There was the thought of thirst and the thought of burning liq
uid—hot, yet cool at the same time. Then, “That’s better, much better. Come on, ticket, let’s find where this load is.”

  And then I saw it.

  “Oh, Mother, it sends but it cannot be you. Can it?”

  It came closer and it smelled, hot and bitter. I didn’t have the strength to rise. I had called out so hard.

  “Then the thing said, “Hell,” and then “Hell,” again, and then, “What the hell is this?” It came down close to me very close and bitter, damp air came from a hole in it and blew upon me. If I was stronger I would leave.

  “Maybe I’ve had a drop too much,” it said.

  Then it walked all the way around me, and closer and farther away. “Damn,” it thought. “I never did see anything like it before. Radioactive. Say, it might be worth something even if it ain’t a uranium lode. Somebody’s pay good money for something’ like this scientists or somebody.” It leaned close and pushed at me a little bit with stick.

  “Mother,” I whispered, sending lightly.

  “Huh?”

  It received me. “Mother?” I asked.

  “Say, what is this?” The hot breath retreated somewhat.

  Are you Mother?” I didn’t think it was, but I wanted to make very sure before I gave up.

  “Is that you?” the thing asked, now speaking in a whisper. “Is that you, callin’ inside my head?”

  “I call, I send to you. I search for Mother.”

  The creature backed off then. “Get out,” it shouted. “Get out of my head; I don’t like it.” It pulled out a small black metal thing and pointed it at me. “What are you, anyway?”

  “I cannot answer unless I can send to you. Do you want an answer?”

  “O.K., but watch out. Don’t you move; I’ve got ya covered.”

  “I’m too tired to move,” I said, “and I could not harm you even if I wished. I’m helpless without Mother.”

  The creature came a little closer again, but not as close as before.

  “I don’t know what I am,” I said. “I don’t know and I would like to know. Tell me what I am.”

  The thing took another step closer. “If you don’t know then nobody does,” it said. “Where did you come from anyway? Dropped from a flying saucer I suppose. Damn, I am drunk; I don’t believe in them things.”

  “I come from Mother.”

  “Ha! Don’t we all?” The creature came quite close again.

  “I’m looking for her. I’ve traveled a long way through the cold void to fine her, but I can’t find her. She never answers me. I call and call.”

  “You did come from out there, then.” The thing’s valuable, the creature thought. It’s worth more than uranium, any day.

  “I’m just a piece,” I went on; “I’m not a whole. I’m nothing without Mother. Mother is the whole and I’m just a piece. What shall I do?”

  “I’ll look after you,” the creature said, then it thought, I’ll look after you damn well in fact till I see the scientist. It’ll cost them something to get hold of you, too. “You’re helpless without Mother, eh? Well then, come to Papa.”

  Then, after a moment’s wait, there were sharp prongs that bit into my sides. I was lifted a moment and then dumped into a metal box and the lid shut tight against the breezes and the blue sky. “There you are,” the creature said, “nice and snug. Don’t you worry none. I’ll look after you from now on.”

  “It’s very hot in here,” I told it.

  “I’m hot, too,” it said. “It’s a hot day; we’re all hot, so cut out complaining.”

  “Mother, Mother, I need you,” I called as loud as I could.

  “Stop yappin; for your mother; she ain’t here. She ain’t on this earth, in fact. You just remember that. She ain’t here, and I’d be mighty surprised if she was. Now shut up and stop botherin’ me; I’m going to look after you from now on, whether you like it or not.”

  I kept quiet then, but it was so hot in the box. And the bouncing. It was a harsh way of moving this creature had a harsh and bumpy way. Not like Mother. I wanted to send again. We had moved a ways now; perhaps she could hear me from here. But the creature didn’t want any more sending. He said Mother wasn’t here. I didn’t believe him, not really. Mother was somewhere and I would find her sometime. I wound send and send. But I didn’t send now.

  It got hotter and hotter; I was getting small again, and I began to be afraid I might go completely, so finally I did call out. “I’m going,” I said. “I’m too hot. I shrivel. Help me.”

  “Don’t think I don’t feel exactly the same way,” the creature said, “but I guess it’s about time for a break. I could use one too. Lord, it is hot!”

  The bumpy movement stopped, and that was some relief. The creature thought, drank, again, and I could almost feel it when it took a long, long drink. It felt good to it. Then it opened the box where I was, and something splashed in and covered me with dampness.

  “Here,” it said, “this’ll do you good. Make you forget your troubles.”

  It burned and it prickled. “It hurts,” I cried.

  “Of course it hurts the first time down. You gotta get used to it. Keep quiet and don’t be a crybaby.”

  “Ouch, ouch.”

  “I said shut up. From now on you speak when you’re spoken to, and stop cluttering up my mind.”

  So I suffered and didn’t say anything as we bounced along again; after a while the burning got a little better, though the itching was just as bad if not worse. Soon I felt myself changing, somehow. I wondered what it was, and I wished Mother was near and could tell me and comfort me. I felt so peculiar; I knew something strange and significant was happening to me, but I didn’t know what.

  After a while the itching stopped a bit and the changes seemed to slow; then I listened to the creature’s sending to itself. “Bet this thing’s important,” it thought. “I’ll go to town right away, tomorrow first thing. I could sure use the dough. I might even get a thousand dollars. That’s what I’ll hold out for, I guess.”

  It walked a while just looking at the rocks and trees, and then it thought, “Whiskey’s runnin’ out. I could go on a real binge in town tomorrow night. That’s what I’ll do; I’ll get in a real good one when I sell this thing. I won’t come to for a couple of days.” Then it walked faster and thought happy thoughts.

  Soon, by its thoughts, I knew we were coming to where it lived, and that the bouncing would stop. I felt glad about that.

  Then we did stop and it got cooler for the creature especially, for we were in some sort of a shelter that kept out some of the heat. Still, inside the box, it was stuffy and the heat was slower in leaving it.

  “May I come out now, please?” I asked the creature. “It is stuffy here in the box and still hot.”

  “I should say not,” it answered. “I don’t want to take any chances that you’ll skip out on me; you’re too valuable. You’re a real museum piece and I’m going to hang on to you till I see some cold cash. That box is where you’ll stay till then, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. And stop jumpin’ into my mind all the time. It bothers me. I don’t like it. Shut up from now on or you’ll really get yourself heated up, on the stove too.”

  So I was quiet and just listened, and the creature thought, food, and went about fixing itself some.

  I was changing fast again. All my top and round ridges had stopped itching and now had lost all feeling. This frightened me and I yearned for Mother. I needed her reassurance and comforting—and most of all her explanation of what this was all about. And I wondered what I was and what I was becoming.

  I lay and waited a long time, frightened about myself; after a while, I felt my whole top cracking into little pieces. I couldn’t resist sending out, then. “I’m falling apart,” I cried. “Mother, Mother.”

  But no one answered—not even the creature. Then I listened to see what the creature was doing and if it was lying down—not sending any more, and not listening any more, either. It was just silent nothingness insi
de.

  I dared to send out a few more loud calls for Mother, then. The creature didn’t hear them and they didn’t seem to disturb it; but I got no answer from Mother, either, so I stopped and lay quiet, feeling the changes coming in myself.

  After a little while longer, my cracking top broke up into hundreds of tiny pieces. Loveable little pieces, I felt, every one of them. They belonged to me; I had made them and they no longer frightened me.

  What darlings, I thought, and I swelled with pride. Cool juices filled me and I swelled and swelled and suddenly I felt a hunger a new kind of hunger I’d never had. Hunger for food…organic food. Ten I seemed to split underneath and I had mouths many of them—that opened and shut.

  The little pieces stirred about me. They were so small yet, so weak and tiny. “Wake up,” I told them softly; “wake up, darlings. We must find food.”

  I changed still, and parts grew out and over and inside. And I swelled more; but thought I was bigger, I was meager. I needed more substance. I was hungry.

  I swelled till I touched the top of the box. I pressed against it and it popped open.

  “Come, little ones, wake and move. I need you, every one. I need you now.”

  They came awake slowly. They cuddled close to me; they climbed on top of me and down my sides, and some of the strongest raised themselves a bit, testing their powers.

  “That’s right, fly. Try it when you are strong enough. Farther and farther, but not too far. Keep the thread; don’t get lost. I need you all.”

  And they practiced and grew stronger. “Now,” I said, “fly out and tell me about the creature, those that are strong and dried out.” And they flew out and they sent back. “Yes!”