Master of Space and Time

by Rudy Rucker

  “Give me some.”

  “All right.”

  Bitter agreed to keep our car for a thousand dollars. He took the keys and promised to put it in the big garage under the church building.

  We walked down to a GM dealer’s lot and bought a Corvette right off the floor. We bought it under Nancy’s maiden name: Nancy Lydon. The salesman was kind of surprised to see us pay cash out of a shopping bag. But not too surprised to take the money.

  Nancy wanted to drive—she said if it was in her name, then it was her car. I didn’t care; I tilted back my seat and went to sleep. There was a space behind the seats big enough for Serena to roll around in.

  When I woke up, the car was stopped and Nancy was talking. “Just plant these,” she was saying, “and you’ll have plenty to eat.”

  “Thank you kindly,” said the thin black woman Nancy was talking to. “What kind of seeds these be?”

  I sat up and looked around. We were on some crummy back road, stopped in front of a broken-down farmhouse. It was too cloudy to tell exactly what time it was, but I figured it was about noon. Nancy was talking to a frail gray-skinned woman with a large brood of children. The ground around their little house was packed bare dirt.

  “Let’s plant them here,” proposed Nancy, scratching two holes in the clay soil. She put a seed in each, and called for water.

  “Get the bucket, Cardo,” said the old woman. One of her skinny sons hastened off.

  “Hello,” I said getting out of the car. Serena was already up, standing at Nancy’s side. “We have a new kind of plant we’re giving away,” I explained. “They grow fritters and porkchops.”

  “Now that’s a fib, I know,” said the black woman. “Is you folks preachers?”

  Cardo came back and poured water on our two seeds. The green shoots started up, and some of the children gathered around to watch. I went over and gave Serena a hug. This was more fun than working for Susan Lacey at Softech.

  “It’ll take about an hour, Mrs. Johnson,” said Nancy. “Do you mind if we watch?”

  “I don’t mind. With Luther gone, I’m happy to have some grown-ups to chat with.”

  “Luther was your husband?”

  “He say.” No more information was forthcoming. Well, so what. The seeds were for everyone—nobody was going to need to fill out a form to get them. Free food. The more I thought about the idea, the more I liked it.

  Mrs. Johnson’s children took a liking to Serena. They showed her how to swing in their tire swing, and one of the little girls brought out a greasy rag doll for Serena to play with. The clouds broke up and let the warm autumn sun beat down. There was a horse chestnut nearby, and Serena set to work collecting shiny buckeyes.

  In an hour’s time the porkchop bush was the size of a big spirea, and the fritter tree was eight feet tall. The bush had shiny reddish leaves and fat little white flowers. Bees buzzed from blossom to blossom. Now the petals dropped, and the fruits began to grow.

  In another half-hour it was harvest time. I reached up and plucked the fritters, big and bright as oranges. The children gathered around for the treat, and Nancy showed them how to snap the porkchops off the bush.

  “Be sure to save the seeds,” I cautioned. “You can give them to your cousins.”

  As soon as the plants had been picked clean, they started to bloom again. There seemed to be no end to their productivity.

  “Cardo,” Mrs. Johnson called, “go get Emmylou and the Curtises, too. Tell them we’re having a picnic.”

  Cardo ran off down the road, yelling with high spirits. By the time the next crop of fruit had appeared, there were twice as many people milling around the dirt yard. Someone had thought to bring Kool-Aid; I took a long drink.

  A number of the kids had dropped seeds on the ground, and these were shooting up too. The more we ate, the more plants we started. And the more food there was, the more mouths there were to eat it. Pickups and big battered sedans lined both sides of the road. Nancy and Serena and I were the only white people there, but no one seemed to mind. Mrs. Johnson kept telling everyone that we’d invented the magic seeds.

  “I think we can move on now, Joey,” said Nancy. “It’s off to a good start here.”

  “Okay. Can I try driving?”

  “Sure.”

  Over the course of the next week we handed out seeds all over central Jersey. Sometimes we ventured into the towns, but mostly we stuck to the back roads. You’d be surprised how rural New Jersey can be. What with the new depression, there were plenty of folks out there who didn’t have enough to eat.

  After a few days they started talking about us on the radio. Some people thought the new plants had something to do with the invasion of the Gary-brains. Others thought we must be communists. The authorities in general didn’t like the idea of free food. Extensive tests were conducted on our plants, but the fritters and porkchops were just what they seemed: good, wholesome food. What with people passing the seeds around, the plants had pretty well covered the state before long. The Department of Agriculture obtained a court order for our arrest. But nobody wanted to tell them where we were.

  15

  Welcome, Joseph Fletcher

  “NANCY. I’ve got to go back and see about Harry.” We were slowly cruising downtown Trenton, looking for people to give our seeds to. It was dusk and there was an autumn crackle in the air.

  “Wait, there’s an old bum.” Nancy pulled over next to a man lying on a park bench. I bounced Serena on my lap while Nancy showed the man two seeds and put them in the ground next to his bench. He seemed more interested in her breasts than in the prospect of free food.

  “He’s heard of us,” said Nancy, getting back behind the wheel. “He said some of his friends already had the seeds.”

  “Face it, honey, everyone in the state’s going to have our seeds before long. And it’s spreading to New York and Pennsylvania.”

  “Then we should drive down south before winter sets in. Mexico’s where they really need food.”

  “Can’t you just mail some of the seeds to your do-gooder friends? I want to get back up to New Brunswick and see how Harry’s doing. Those Gary-brains may not be spreading, but who knows? Maybe they’re getting ready for a big assault.” The setting sun gleamed coldly on the state capitol’s gold dome. Winter was just around the corner.

  “Oh, all right, Joe. I’ll take you up there and drop you off. Do you think it’s safe to go home yet?”

  “No. They’re after me for helping Harry, and they’re after you for the seeds. You shouldn’t have told so many people your name.”

  “Well, I like to get a little credit, too. And they aren’t really after us. They just want to ask us questions. I wouldn’t mind answering some questions—in the proper setting.”

  “You mean you’d like to get on TV.”

  “Well, I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I could be on the cover of Time magazine, Joe. I’ve found the solution to world hunger.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  We powered out of Trenton and onto the Jersey Turnpike. “I’ll drop you off in New Brunswick,” said Nancy, “and then I’ll mail seeds to hunger contacts all over the world. And tomorrow I’ll show up at the ABC studios in Manhattan.”

  “Fine. Meanwhile, do you think we could stop for some supper?”

  “At one of those crummy turnpike restaurants?”

  “Ah, why not. I’m kind of sick of porkchops and fritters.”

  We stopped at a Savarin. Not surprisingly, the day’s special was—porkchops and fritters. Even the merchants were getting hold of our plants now. I had soup and a salad instead. According to the radio, our fritters contained every vitamin known to man, but I still felt the lack of green veggies. Serena ordered ice cream.

  As we got closer to New Brunswick, the turnpike became more and more congested. There were numerous army trucks, but what was more surprising, there were lots and lots of school buses, most of them with crosses on them. “Killeville Christian Childre
n’s Crusade,” read one. “Shiloh Baptist Old Folks Home,” read another. “Shekinah Glory Gospel Fellowship,” “Sunshine Open Bible Network,” “Women’s Hope-a-Glow Ministries.”

  “What are all these nuts doing here?” I wondered. We reached the New Brunswick exit and crawled off amidst troop trucks and buses. The actual road into town was barricaded. An unsteady sergeant with two flares waved us toward a parking area.

  “It must be that stuff about God’s Laws,” remarked Nancy. “People are so into religion these days.”

  “I can hardly believe it. They didn’t say anything about this on the radio.” A big light-blue bus lumbered into the space next to us. Elderly seekers began swarming out.

  “I’m going to leave before someone baptizes me or something,” said Nancy. “Look out for the brains, Joe. Get yourself some whiskey.”

  “All right, baby. And be sure to hire a good lawyer before you go on television. Just in case. There’s still a lot of money in the trunk. This week has been fun, hasn’t it?”

  “It has. It’s been like a honeymoon.”

  “A frittermoon. I love you, Nancy.”

  “I love you, Joe. Say bye to Daddy, Serena.”

  “Bye.”

  I kissed my two girls and then they drove off. I walked back to the parking-lot entrance and asked the sergeant where I could get some booze. He was a swarthy kid in his early twenties.

  “There’s a liquor-store someplace out that way,” he said, waving one of his flares vaguely. He seemed quite drunk.

  “Can I just buy some from you? I don’t have a car, but I’ve got lots of money.”

  The sergeant glanced around, looking for officers. “You ain’t a looter, are you?”

  “No, man, I’m a tourist. Here’s fifty bucks.”

  The sergeant pocketed my bill and handed me the flares. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  I directed another bus into the parking area, and then the sergeant was back with a canteen full of grain alcohol.

  “Government issue,” he said, smiling broadly. I took a swig, retched a little, then took another.

  “Thanks, sarge. This stuff keeps the brains off?”

  “For sure. Gary don’t like it.”

  “What are all these groovers doing here?” I jerked my head at a group of flower-print ladies doddering past.

  “They started coming in a few days ago. The evangelicals got some idea that Gary is the new Messiah. We can’t stop ’em from going in, and so far none of them has tried to get back out.”

  “Weird.”

  “You know it, brother.”

  I handed him back his flares and joined the throng marching toward New Brunswick. I fell into step with a pale-faced little man in a red windbreaker. It said “Virginia Beach Rescue Squad” on the back.

  “Would you like a drink?” I offered.

  “Praise Jesus, no,” he said. His voice was sweet and reedy. “It’d be a shame to meet the Lord all messed up, now, wouldn’t it?”

  “The Lord’s not here,” I countered. “It’s a bunch of brains from another dimension. They’re parasites.”

  “Gary Herber’s here,” said the man stubbornly. “I seen him on TV. Gary’s come to roll out the scrolls.”

  “What—what does Gary Herber look like?” I asked. I had a pretty good idea of what the answer would be. “Does he look sort of like a toad? A short fellow with ropy lips?”

  “That’s right, friend. And he has an angel with him. A blond angel what really flies. Our minister brang us up here to join salvation.”

  At the edge of town there was a welcoming committee, round-shouldered young men with wholesome smiles. They herded the new arrivals into a big building and—presumably—slapped Gary-slugs on everyone inside. I sidestepped this action by stuffing my sweater under my shirt and saying I was already saved. The whole scene seemed amazingly disorganized on both sides. The Herberites didn’t give much more of a damn than the soldiers did. If you wanted a slug on your back, you could have one, and if you didn’t want a slug, that was fine, too.

  I walked up Suydam Street, wondering where I’d find Harry. His apartment seemed like the logical place to look first. He’d either be there or at the local TV station.

  There were a lot of people in the street, all of them wearing brains. Despite the chill, most of them had their shirts off so that the Gary-slugs could touch each other and converse. I hung onto my canteen of booze and enjoyed staring at the women’s tits. Weird to see so many of them at once.

  When I was still a couple of blocks from Harry’s, a cry went up from the people around me. “The angel of the Lord! Gary’s angel!”

  It was Sondra, stark naked and with a Gary-brain on her back. She flew about fifteen feet overhead, staring down at us with a glassy smile. I covered my face lest she recognize me.

  “These are the last times!” bellowed a woman next to me. “Praise Jesus!” I took another drink and pushed my way forward. I hoped the blunzer would still work. I had to undo this madness.

  The closer I got to Harry’s, the denser the crowd got. It was like Mardi Gras—except everyone was high on slug-stim instead of booze. Some zealot ripped my shirt off, exposing my naked back. Herberites rubbed up against me so their spine-riders could split onto me, but by now I had enough booze in my system to be unpalatable.

  “Follow Gary!” chanted the crowd. “Be Clean! Teach God’s Laws! Follow Gary! Be . . .”

  So far they’d been totally nonviolent, but I was getting more and more nervous. I kept pushing forward, smiling a lot, and occasionally splashing a little alcohol on my back. It was hard to see why the army didn’t move in and clean up this mess. I guess they were too drunk.

  Finally I was in front of Gerber Cybernetics. There were some guys guarding the door. One of them was really big. I lurched forward and made my request. “Can I go in? I’m an old friend of Harry Gerber’s.”

  “Thou art not saved,” stated the big black-haired guard, frowning down at my naked back. He looked vaguely familiar.

  “I’m a mystic,” I said ingratiatingly. “I love you people too.”

  “What is thy name?”

  “Joe Fletcher.”

  “Behold!” exclaimed the guard. My name seemed to mean something to him. “It’s the prophet’s herdsman who hath fed the kine. Welcome, Joseph Fletcher!”

  “WELCOME, JOSEPH FLETCHER!” roared the crowd behind me.

  I couldn’t resist turning to bow and wave. And then the guards let me in.

  “Dr. F.,” said Antie, hurrying forward, “I’m so glad to see you. I don’t know what’s gotten into all these people. My Harry’s not been himself.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Upstairs in the throne room.”

  “Throne room?”

  “He gets sillier every day.”

  I followed Antie upstairs. Sure enough, the dining table had some rugs and a chair on top of it. This was Harry’s cathedra. To my relief he was pacing around the table instead of sitting on it. He had his shirt off, and he wore a huge brain in the center of his back. Aside from Antie, we were all alone.

  “Grab him, Antie, it’s for his own good.”

  “Check, Dr. F.”

  Before Harry could say anything, Antie had him in a double hammerlock. Moving quickly, I poured a half pint of booze over the the big brain on Harry’s spine. Shocked by the poison’s contact, the brain drew itself together. I slid my hand under it and pried it loose like I’d done with the policeman’s Gary-brain. The heavy alien plopped to the floor.

  “Stomp it, Antie.”

  She did.

  16

  Blue Gluons

  “WOOD” groaned Harry. He was leaning on the dining table and shaking his head. “I feel like everything’s made of wood. God, and you stomped my poor brain, Antie? Help me, Fletcher, I’m hurting bad.”

  “You want a drink?” I handed him the canteen. Harry tilted it up and worked his throat for a while.

  “Plastic,” he sighed, finally lo
wering the canteen. “At least now everything’s plastic.”

  “How long have you been under Gary’s control?”

  “Ever since the night we came back. The brains got Sondra and me while we were sleeping. What day is it today?”

  “Monday again. It’s been a week.”

  “Time goes fast when you’re having fun.” Harry twisted his head around, trying to get a look at his back. “Did it leave much of a mark?”

  “I’ll get a bandage,” volunteered Antie. “And some germ cream. Don’t worry, Harry dear.” She bustled off to the kitchen.

  “I—I was on TV,” said Harry. “Sondra and I were sort of starting a religion.”

  “Sort of? You’ve seen the crowds outside, haven’t you?”

  Harry laughed and shuddered at the same time. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? It just goes to show that everything I’ve ever said about religion is true. The sky’s the limit when it comes to religious stupidity. Here we have a race of alien invaders, and the evangelical true believers are flocking here to get taken over. And meanwhile—”

  “Before you get too snotty, Harry, just remember that you’re their leader. Did you like wearing the brain?”

  Harry shrugged, finished my canteen, and padded out to the kitchen for more. We passed a bottle of Scotch back and forth while Antie bandaged the raw spot between Harry’s shoulders.

  “Sure I liked it,” said Harry finally. “You’ve been through it. There’s the constant nerve stimulation, and even more important, there’s the feeling of working for a larger whole. Normally I never have any real reason for the things I do. Believing in Gary felt good.” Harry fell silent for a moment, then went on: “What’s the public reaction to all this? Aside from my—followers, I mean.”

  “I don’t know, it’s kind of weird. The army’s got New Brunswick surrounded, but they don’t seem ready to move in. Last week everyone was very excited about the invasion but now—now they’re all talking about the food plants. Since the Garybrains aren’t doing much of anything, people have sort of lost interest.”

  “Food plants? You mean those seeds I made for Nancy?”