by Rudy Rucker
“That’s right. Porkchop bushes and fritter trees. Nancy and I have been handing out the seeds all over the place. That’s one wish that really seems to have worked out well. But speaking of wishes, what about Sondra? I saw her flying around naked outside. We should try to get the slug off her back.”
“My angel,” said Harry in maudlin tones. The booze was hitting him hard. “My poor fallen angel.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“She—roosts here with me at night. In my bedroom.”
“So Antie and I will get her slug off when she comes back. Or maybe I should get blunzed and make all the Gary-brains disappear at once?”
“I used the rest of the gluons up,” muttered Harry. He seemed to be having trouble staying awake. “And it didn’t work, did it, Antie?” He pushed off from the counter he’d been leaning against and lurched across the room. “Need to lie down. Look out for Sondra.”
Antie and I stretched Harry out on his bed and prepared to ambush Sondra. Holding a big tumbler of straight booze, I stood pressed against the wall next to the window like a forties gangster listening to the cops outside. Antie stood against the wall on the window’s other side. We passed the time by chatting a little about the past week’s events.
Apparently Harry and Sondra had tried to crank the blunzer up again. Gary wanted the door to his universe reopened so that some of him could go back there. And he’d wanted a few changes made in our world as well: slugs everywhere, a centralized dictatorship, no booze, et cetera. Antie and Sondra had run through the sequence just like before, but when the hotshot table jabbed Harry, nothing had happened.
“I was glad,” said Antie. “I think Gary would have gotten rid of all the robots too.”
“Did you sabotage the blunzer, Antie? Is that why it didn’t work?”
“No, no, I was scared to. Last time it almost killed me, you remember? There were still enough red gluons, but they just didn’t work.”
Suddenly I remembered something. The strangely familiar voice I’d heard on my car radio when I’d been in the infinite regress in the Softech parking lot that last Friday after work. “The red gluons only work once” the voice had said. “Use blue gluons the second time” Blue gluons? I wondered if Stars ‘n’ Bars would have them. Could the voice on the radio have been my own? Perhaps I was destined to take my turn as master of space and time.
The sound of wild cheering snapped me out of my reverie. The crowd outside was really getting excited. Peeking out the window’s corner, I could see that most of the people had taken off all their clothes. They were writhing around with all the Gary-brains splitting and sliding from back to back. I guess you would call it an orgy. And hovering above the worshipers was their queen: Sondra Tupperware, lovely as Marilyn Monroe, weightless as a cloud, naked as a wet dream.
“She’ll come any minute now,” said Antie. I took a little taste from the glass I was holding. Harry’s steady snoring filled the room.
Finally the yelling outside came to a peak—it sounded like everyone climaxing at once—and our blond angel came floating in through Harry’s open window.
I scored a bull’s-eye with the glassful of booze. Before Sondra could even peep, we had the Gary-brain off her back and under Antie’s metal feet.
“Joe!” she exclaimed, covering her breasts. “What are you doing here?” Then she noticed that her breasts weren’t all there was to cover. She dove for the closet and found herself a robe.
“You better let Antie put a bandage on your back,” I suggested. “If modesty doesn’t forbid.”
“Oh, Joe, I’ve . . .” She stepped over to the bed and felt Harry’s empty back. “How long have we been—”
“It’s been a week. They got you the first night back. They came for me and Nancy, but we got away.”
“Was that whiskey you threw on my back?”
“That’s right. Gary’s allergic to it, remember?”
“I—I’d better have a drink. And some food. The spine-riders don’t bother to feed their hosts very often.”
There wasn’t much of anything in the fridge—Antie said the stores were almost out of fresh food—but there were a few things in the freezer. Antie microwaved Sondra some fried chicken with mashed potatoes, and I poured her a big glass of white wine.
“I want to use the blunzer,” I told her.
“It doesn’t work,” said Sondra. “Thank God.”
“I think you just had the wrong kind of gluons,” I explained. “Harry told me once that gluons come in three colors: red, yellow, and blue. I have a hunch that each color just works once.”
“You mean the blunzer will work exactly three times?”
“Just like in all the fairy tales. I think it’s about time for our second round of wishes.”
“You’ll get rid of the Gary-brains?”
“Don’t you think I should?”
Sondra pulled the oversize bathrobe tighter around herself. “Yes, of course. Though the people they’re attracting are so stupid that—”
“They’re better off this way? That’s a thought. Maybe that’s why the army is letting them keep coming in. Anyone who’d volunteer for alien domination doesn’t really deserve to have his or her freedom. It’s a thought, Sondra.”
“But this is still just stage one. As soon as people stop coming to New Brunswick, the Gary-brains want to break out.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“Didn’t Harry tell you?”
“He didn’t say much of anything before he passed out. You better get some sleep too, Sondra. I’m going to need your help tomorrow.”
“I’m scared.” She poured herself another glass of wine. “I’m scared the brains will come back while I’m sleeping. Will you get in bed with me, Joe?”
“What a question! Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
“Oh, don’t be like that. Underneath, I’m still plain Sondra, you know. I wish I could get my real face back.”
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll get some blue gluons and I’ll fix everything up. Why don’t you finish that wine and then we’ll go to bed.”
“Okay, Joe.”
17
Sit on My Butt
T HE phone woke me up. It was just getting light outside. I had a Type III hangover: wavy jello and cold pain. The phone was next to our bed.
“Hello?”
“Joey! You’re all right?” It was Nancy.
“Yeah. Yeah, baby, I’m fine. Are you in New York?”
“That’s right. I called the network and I’m going to be on the Brad Kurtow show this morning. I’m staying at the Plaza Hotel.”
“Class. I’m sleeping in a double bed with Harry and Sondra. I got the brains off their backs, and today I’m going to try and get blunzed.”
“What do you mean you’re in bed with Sondra?”
“Just to protect her, Nancy.”
“Well, let her protect herself, that blond cow.”
“It’s not her fault she looks boss. As a matter of fact, she wants me to change her back to the way she was.”
“You’re really going to get blunzed?”
“I think so. I’ll get rid of the Gary-brains and—I don’t know. Is there anything else I should wish for?”
“Get us a penthouse on top of the Plaza, Joey. I like it here.”
“Anything else?”
“I want to be able to fly, too. Like Sondra. Why should she get everything? I’ll flit in and out of our penthouse like a dove.”
“That sounds nice. And I’ll wish for ten million more bucks while I’m at it.”
“And immortality?”
“No, no. I don’t want to live forever. Death’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
“Well, don’t forget the other things. Good luck, darling. I have to catch a cab now.”
I set the phone back down on its cradle and felt around on the floor for the Scotch. Normally I don’t drink in the morning, but today I had a good excuse. Several of them.
The t
aste of the stuff made me cough and retch so loud that it woke the others.
“Wood,” groaned Harry. “Everything’s cheap splintery beige and white—”
I handed him the bottle.
“I don’t have to drink that, do I?” asked Sondra.
“Not really,” I said, taking another hit. “You and me will be flying out of here before any brains can bother you. You’ll be able to carry me, won’t you?”
“Sure she can carry you,” said Harry. “She’s been flying me to the TV studio every day. It’s her atoms—they’re all made of null matter in EPR synchronicity with her state of mind.”
“What does that mean?”
“My body moves whichever way I will it too,” said Sondra. “If you sit on my butt I can fly you anyplace.”
“We need to get to Stars ‘n’ Bars,” I said, trying not to think too hard about Sondra’s butt. How would it feel to have a body like that? “I want to get some blue gluons.”
“McCormack won’t have them,” said Harry. “They’re much harder to isolate then the red ones are. What do you need blue gluons for anyway? You planning to play scientist?”
“Antie told me you tried using the red ones again and it didn’t work. I was thinking maybe there’s some sort of exclusion principle: each color of gluon will work once in this universe, and that’s it.”
“Fermi statistics,” said Harry musingly. “It makes a sort of sense. But blue gluons, Fletch? I doubt if there’s more than two or three grams of them in the whole world. And guess who has them?”
“Someone we know?”
“You remember Professor Baumgard?”
“Oh, God. Him?” Dana Baumgard was a big-time establishment physicist who’d hated Harry and me for years. The feud had started when we beat out his lab for a weapons contract—it was for a special beam that would make the enemy’s water supplies radioactive. What made Baumgard so mad was that although Harry and I had put together a working model, we’d been unable to explain how or why it worked. As far as Baumgard was concerned, I was a sleazy carnival barker and Harry a dangerous, tinkering geek. I didn’t look forward to visiting him.
“Where’s the professor these days?”
“He’s the head of the Super Intersecting Proton Loop out in Iowa. SIPL is the only facility in the country that can reach the energies needed to produce blue gluons.”
“Iowa?”
“It’s nice and flat. Makes it easier to build the loop, which is in the shape of a figure eight, ten kilometers long. One loop of the eight holds protons, and the other loop holds antiprotons. The particles circle and circle around their loops till they get up to speed and then someone throws a switch to make the two beams collide.”
“Can you fly me all the way to Iowa, Sondra?”
“Can’t you take a plane, Joe?”
“You can do it, Sondra,” said Harry, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “I’ll build you an electronic windfoil.”
“Joe has to promise to change my body back if he manages to get blunzed.” Sondra was trying to scoot out of the bed without having her robe flap open. “I’m tired of everyone staring at me all the time.”
“Anything you want, Sondra. I’ll get breakfast while you get dressed.” I went into the kitchen and got some stuff out of the freezer. Ham steaks and frozen waffles. Antie set to work heating them up. “I’m going down to my workshop,” called Harry. “I want to build that windfoil for you two.”
“Hold on,” I shouted, hurrying out into the hall. I could hear some of the guards moving around downstairs. I grabbed Harry and put my lips to his ear. “Put something under your clothes so they think you still have a spine-rider. Otherwise—”
“Gotcha,” murmured Harry. He rummaged in the hall closet and found a small knapsack to wear under his sweater. There were a lot of pretty dresses in the closet; apparently the spine-riders had let Sondra do some clothes shopping. I reached into the closet and touched the prettiest dress of all: a red-and-white-candy-striped number.
“I’ll be right back,” said Harry. He clattered downstairs and called a bright hello to the guards.
Sondra stepped out of the bedroom, looking great in tight jeans and a frilly white top. I reminded myself to stop staring at her.
By the time we’d finished breakfast, Harry was done with the windfoil. It was a little box with a parabolic antenna on top. The box was supposed to generate a kind of special ray that would force the wind to streamline around us instead of beating our faces. Harry showed me how to turn it on and adjust its dials.
“Where exactly in Iowa is the SIPL?” I thought to ask.
“Just north of Ames. Follow 1-80 west to Des Moines and turn right—you can’t miss it.”
“And what happens when Baumgard refuses to sell me the gluons?”
“You kill him.” Harry handed me a sawed-off shotgun and a handful of shells. “You blow his stinking head off.”
“But, Harry—”
“That’s illegal,” chimed in Sondra. “We’ll go to jail!”
“Listen,” said Harry, grinning and holding up his hand for silence. “This morning Fletch the thief kills Baumgard—big trouble. But this afternoon Fletch the master of space and time resurrects Baumgard—non habeas corpus! No body, no crime.”
I couldn’t stop myself from chuckling. What a plan!
“Well, I guess so,” said Sondra. She turned and walked into the bedroom. She bellied down across the bed, her face toward the open window. “Come on, Joe. Sit on my butt.”
I sat on her butt. It was big and hard, but not too hard. Once again I caught myself wishing that I could have such a beautiful body myself. I pocketed the shells and put the shotgun and the windfoil in my lap.
I was on Sondra like a rider on a horse. To fit through the window I had to crouch down like a jockey in the stretch, but then we were out over the street. It was raining. The Herberites cheered when they saw us; they must not have noticed that our backs were flat.
We followed the Raritan River out of New Brunswick. There were troops on most of the bridges; some idiot even took a shot at us. We gained altitude and headed west.
The wind was starting to tug at my face now, and the rain was hurting my eyes. Gripping Sondra’s waist with my knees, I sat up and adjusted the windfoil. I diddled the knobs until an invisible energy net reached out in front of us to wedge a break in the wind and rain.
“Isn’t this great, Sondra?”
“Yeah, I really love to fly. It’s been a lifelong dream of mine. Could you stop squeezing me so hard? If you do fall off, I can always catch you.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I let up on the knee pressure, and Sondra angled upwards. Now that the wind had stopped, there really wasn’t much danger of slipping off. “When I change your body back to looking the old way, you still want to be able to fly, right?”
“That’s right. That’s what I wanted in the first place.”
We were up above the clouds now, and the air was clear and cool. The hot morning sun beat on my back. Now and then through a rent in the clouds I could see Pennsylvania. The trees had all turned red and yellow. From the air, the wrinkled hills looked like rucked-up carpet. Then came flat Ohio, scuzz Great Lakes, and checkerboard Indiana.
“I-o-way!” I shouted as we crossed the Mississippi. “I’ve never been here before.”
“I have,” said Sondra wearily. “And I hadn’t planned to come back.”
18
Why Things Exist
THE Super Intersecting Proton Loop looked like some primitive earthwork: a giant figure eight in the midst of empty cornfields. There was a glass and metal building where the rings intersected. We touched down in a field nearby.
“When were you in Iowa before?” I asked Sondra.
“In the fifth grade. My father took some horticulture courses at Iowa State so he could grow better marijuana. But then they expelled him for not paying any bills. We lived in the married-student housing in Ames. Quonset huts. It was a long time ago.” She
stumbled on a cornstalk and caught my arm. “Don’t you think you ought to hide that shotgun?”
“Right.” After checking that the safety was on, I slid the barrel of the gun down under my waistband and pulled my shirt over the stock. I set the electronic windfoil down at the edge of the cornfield.
Though it was only about nine in the morning, Iowa time, Baumgard was in his office. For a moment he didn’t recognize me.
“I’m Joe Fletcher, Professor Baumgard. Harry Gerber’s friend?”
“Oh, Lord. Fletcher and Gerber again. I hear that you two are responsible for those mind-parasites invading New Jersey. I don’t suppose you can tell me how you did it?”
The guy was a real square. He had long, greasy gray hair and a beard. A microcomputer in the pouch of his sweatshirt. And—ugh—Beatles music playing softly on his radio.
“I can try.” I started to tell him about the blunzing chamber and the way the vortex coil could churn the gluons into Planck juice and . . .
“That’s enough, Mr. Fletcher. That’s quite enough gibberish for today.”
“Our machine worked, didn’t it?” My voice was rising. Baumgard really knew how to get under my skin.
“How should I know if your machine works or not. I don’t even know what it’s supposed to do.”
“It grants wishes. Look at her. Harry gave her the power of flight.” I pointed to Sondra, who’d been standing quietly to one side. “This is Sondra Tupperware, by the way. She’s a minister in the Church of Scientific Mysticism. Could you float in the air, Sondra?”
Sondra hovered halfway between floor and ceiling. Baumgard looked away in disgust. “Have you come here simply to show me your parlor
Sondra hovered halfway between floor and ceiling. Baumgard looked away in disgust. “Have you come here simply to show me your parlor tricks, Mr. Fletcher? Have you brought a deck of cards as well?”
“No,” I said, trying to control my voice. “I’ve come to ask for your help in stopping the alien invasion.”
“Oh, my. How exciting. Why doesn’t Gerber reinvent his inertia-winder and fly the bad monsters away?” Baumgard was referring to a sort of rocket drive that Harry had come up with a few years back. Somehow we’d forgotten how to build it—the conclusion of the affair was a little hazy in my mind—and we’d ended up losing a lot of money.