Falling Sideways

by Tom Holt

  A rhetorical question. The room he’d found himself in was, of course, empty and whitewashed, though almost the first thing he’d noticed was the absence of bags of sugar. But of course there wouldn’t be any, would there? Not when there was a perfectly good raniform numera­tor instead.

  (A living, breathing computer; a computer made up of several dozen frogs, instead of chips and little bits of wire. The idea appealed to him strongly in his profes­sional capacity; all his working life, he’d wanted to find a computer that actually felt pain when you belted it.)

  ‘Oh no you don’t, wise guy,’ snapped the frog. ‘You stay there. I go fetch.’

  There was, of course, a single door in the opposite wall; the question was how the frog was going to reach the door handle. In the event, however, there was no need; the frog croaked twice, the door opened. Should’ve seen that one coming, David rebuked himself.

  The Chief, when he hopped in, turned out to be slightly larger and a slightly deeper shade of green, but otherwise identical. ‘OK, sergeant,’ it said briskly, ‘I’ll take it from here. While I’m talking to the prisoner, you and your men go implement first-contact protocol seven. You got that?’

  ‘Right on it, boss.’

  Pause. ‘You know what first-contact protocol seven is, do you?’

  ‘No, boss.’

  ‘Look it up. Copy?’

  ‘Copy, boss.’

  ‘They’re all right, really,’ said the Chief in a hopeful tone, once the other frogs had hopped away, almost but not quite in step, like Mr Jones the butcher. ‘Enthusiastic. Try hard. Persistent. Frogged. Once they’ve shrugged off this annoying habit of getting every­thing they do wrong, they’ll be good soldiers.’ The Chief hopped a pace closer and studied David’s shoes for a while, as if trying to figure out if they were in charge of the enormous thing resting on them. ‘So,’ it said. ‘You can understand every word I ark ark rivet?’

  David nodded. ‘I’ve been wondering about that,’ he replied. ‘Look, you may find this a bit hard to believe, but a while back, somebody actually managed to turn me into a fr— into, um, one of you gentlemen. At least, he made me think I was—’

  The frog shook its head vigorously. ‘No,’ it said, ‘not possible. Least, you’ve got it the wrong way round.’ Brief silence, as the frog thought hard. ‘I’ll try to explain,’ it said. ‘You see, whoever this person was, he didn’t turn you into a frog. He turned you—’

  ‘Back.’ David nodded. ‘You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that. I’d pretty much convinced myself I was going crazy.’ He looked away, gathering his thoughts. ‘I knew there was something fishy going on at the time,’ he continued. ‘Like, I’d seen some other people — human people — turned into frogs and I’ll swear they didn’t realise what was going on; one minute human, bang, next minute frog, the whole frog, nothing but the frog. But when it happened to me—’

  ‘You remembered.’ The frog nodded. ‘You remem­bered being human. You remembered who you were. You knew what had happened to you. Am I right?’

  ‘Exactly. And I couldn’t have done that—’

  ‘—If you were really one of them.’ The frog hopped round in a small, tight circle. ‘Actually, it’s pretty simple. This turning-into-things, it’s all based on belief; on what you truly believe you are. You take one of those Ugly Tall Bastards—’

  ‘Humans,’ David amended reproachfully.

  ‘Whatever,’ said the frog equably. ‘What’s in a name, after all? You take one of those humans, all you gotta do is sorta reach into his mind and turn the dial ninety degrees; suddenly he believes he’s a frog. You know why? Because he’s never had to think, what am I, which species am I being today, he’s always just got on with being what he is. But you, of course—’

  ‘Different.’ David rubbed his chin, and noticed that his throat was bobbing froggishly. ‘Because although I was turned into a human at a really early age and never consciously knew any different—’

  ‘Subconsciously—’ The frog took up the train of thought like a relay racer’s torch: quick, efficient, no fumble. ‘Subconsciously, you still know you were once something else; so all the time your mind’s running spot checks — what am I right now, have I turned back, have I reverted to my proper shape? And, when the moment comes and suddenly there’s this huge big clue bearing down on you—’

  ‘I remember,’ David said. ‘I panicked. Suddenly I didn’t know what or who I was, and instinctively I grabbed out for the default setting.’ He shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘And ever since then,’ he went on, ‘I’ve been wondering... And there was something else,’ he added. ‘I was in front of this workshop sort of place, and there was a whole load of fr— of us, standing out in the road. And I could talk to them.’

  ‘A whole load,’ the frog repeated. ‘Interesting.’

  David shrugged. ‘So that’s it, then. All these years I’ve been kidding myself I’m a human, when really I’m—’

  ‘Quite. Now, what I want to know is, who turned you into an Ugly Tall— a human; and why? Fact is,’ it went on, ‘around here, turning someone into a human, no offence, it’s a really horrible, terrible thing to do, even to your worst enemy.’

  ‘You’ve got humans here too?’

  ‘Of course.’ The frog laughed — and David knew it was a laugh, not just a slightly different kind of croak. ‘For pity’s sake. I mean, where did you think they —sorry, this is getting awkward, and if I’m not careful I might offend you without meaning to; where did you think humans came from?’

  ‘Actually, we rather thought we evolved. Out of apes.’

  ‘Quite right.’ The frog’s throat bobbed, and David could almost understand the body language; almost, but not quite. ‘They did. They evolved from desert-dwelling chimps living in the equatorial regions of our third biggest land mass. Smart critters, we were able to tame them, train them to do useful work, fetch and carry stuff for us. Got quite attached to them. Frog’s best friend is his human, and all that. So, when we colonised that planet of yours—’

  ‘Earth.’

  ‘Naturally, we took a bunch of humans along with us, for transport in mountain regions where scudders couldn’t go; or as pets, even. And sure, some of them escaped into the wild — these things happen — and sure, it didn’t do the ecological balance a whole lot of good—’

  ‘Like rabbits in Australia.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ David said. ‘Go on with what you were saying.’

  The frog hopped a couple of short hops, signifying a folk memory of mild guilt. ‘It was some time before we realised how much damage we’d actually done, letting them get established like that; but of course, the condi­tions on the planet were absolutely tailor-made for them — climate, vegetation, abundant food sources, no major predators they couldn’t handle — while we quickly found we couldn’t hack it at all. All that salt water. Fact is, our initial surveys screwed up, and nobody owned up because they were afraid of the consequences. Very immature behaviour; but we were still capable of that sort of thing two million years ago. We’re better now. We hope.’ The frog thought about that for a while before continuing. ‘Anyway, eventually the message sort of burrowed its way through our thick skulls that we’d made a mistake and the planet wasn’t for us, so we cut our losses and came home. And left the humans to it, of course. David identified the faint gleam in the frog’s eye as sardonic humour. ‘My, haven’t you grown,’ it said.

  ‘Thank you,’ David replied awkwardly. ‘All right,’ he went on, ‘let me try this one on you. Shortly after you people abandoned Earth, a couple of you figured that if they went back there, in human shape but with, um, frog powers and—’

  ‘Frog intelligence.’

  David hesitated, then nodded. ‘Frog intelligence, yes; and all the advanced technology and stuff they could carry with them. They figured that on Earth, among humans, they could pretend to be gods—’

  ‘Not so much of the pretend, either,
’ the frog pointed out. ‘Like we say here, if it walks like a human and talks like a human, it probably is a human. So, if they could do all the things gods can do, like work miracles and live so long they’re practically immortal, who’s to say they aren’t gods? In human terms, I mean. Of course,’ the frog added, ‘we have laws about that sort of thing. Big, heavy laws you really don’t want to find yourself under. Yes, I’m well aware of the case you’re talking about. Caused an almighty scandal at the time; but he was from a noble family, connections in high places, right up to the Golden Lily Pad itself, so nothing could be done. Still can’t, for that matter, unless he’s stupid enough to come back of his own accord. Which he won’t be.’

  A picture of Honest John, patiently tinkering with a recalcitrant machine, drifted into David’s mind. Honest John as a wanted criminal. Honest John as an amoral aristocratic empire-builder. Come to that, Honest John as a frog...

  ‘I suppose not,’ he said. ‘But you’re saying there was just one of him? Not two?’

  ‘Him and his son. But the boy was just small, can’t really blame him.’

  ‘Son.’ David turned his head a little. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the girl, still sleeping on the floor. ‘You mean daughter.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ the frog replied. ‘Of course, it’s been a while, and I never actually knew him, it was before I was even born. But I’m pretty sure it was his son he took with him.’ Then something clicked inside the frog’s mind, and it looked up. ‘Just a minute,’ it said.

  ‘Hey,’ David said nervously. ‘What’re you looking at me like that for?’

  The frog was crouching a little more than usual. ‘You,’ it said. ‘You’re one of us, we’ve already established that. So—’

  ‘Yes, but—’ David shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. No way. You ask my mother. I mean, she may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even she’d have noticed something like that...’

  ‘Maybe,’ the frog said. ‘Maybe not. More to the point, what about your father?’

  David frowned. ‘My parents split up,’ he said, ‘when I was just a kid—’

  The frog shook its head. ‘Kids is goats,’ it pointed out. ‘The correct word in this context is “tadpole”.’

  ‘But that’s . . .‘ David started to back away. ‘That’s nonsense,’ he said. ‘My mother would never have—’

  The frog’s throat bobbled reassuringly. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘it’s not nearly as bizarre as you think. Let’s see: on your planet, do you have a fairy tale about a beautiful princess who kisses a human — no, scratch that, on your world it’d be kisses a frog—’

  ‘Yes, but—’ David hesitated. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘That’s disgusting.’

  ‘We think so, too,’ the frog replied. ‘But we’re broad-minded. Besides, she probably didn’t realise. I mean, you’re a frog, but members of the opposite sex don’t run away screaming as soon as you ask them out for dinner. Or at least,’ it added, ‘not for that reason.’

  David thought for a moment, then realised that think­ing in this context was probably a bad idea. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ he said. ‘You going to take me to your leader, or what?’

  The frog opened and shut its mouth in a manner that could be construed as laughter. ‘You want our leader,’ it said, ‘you’re talking to him. Sorry. If I’d known you were coming I’d have hired a band or something. We aren’t very keen on hierarchies here, I’m afraid. They don’t seem to work very well in a telepathic society.’

  ‘Telepathic?’ David looked up sharply. ‘You mean you can read my—?’

  ‘I could,’ the frog admitted, ‘but it’d be terribly bad manners. And besides, it’d probably give me a headache, no offence intended, like — well, in your case, like trying to cram your head into a very small steel helmet. Like I said, I haven’t been eavesdropping, but the noise coming out of your head was audible back in the ward room.’

  ‘Oh,’ David said, turning crimson.

  ‘Sorry, I thought you must’ve figured that out for yourself by now. Otherwise, how would you have accounted for the fact that we can chat to and fro like this?’

  David shrugged. ‘I hadn’t given it any thought,’ he said. ‘Back home, we have stories about magical talking animals, so I assumed—’

  ‘How very strange. The things you can make your­selves believe, I mean, just like that. We can’t do that; it’s half a strength, I suppose, and half a weakness. No, if I were in your shoes, I’d be asking myself, how come we seem to be speaking the same language, when a frog’s tongue and palate couldn’t make human speech noises, and the frog language consists of ark, erk and rivet.’

  ‘I see,’ David said. ‘And, um, if you asked yourself that, what would the answer be?’

  ‘Oh, simple,’ replied the frog. ‘You think you can hear words, but in fact we’re sending direct into each others’ minds, and I suppose your brain’s interpreting it as heard speech because that’s the only concept it can accept without completely freaking out. That’s another advantage you’ve got over us: your brains protect you from stuff you can’t handle. Basically, by lying.’

  David closed his eyes. Perversely, he seemed to imag­ine that shutting his eyes in what surely had to be some kind of bad dream would help him open them in real life and make him wake up. He wanted to wake up very much indeed. ‘So,’ he said. ‘I’m a frog, Honest John’s my dad, and this is the frog homeworld. You know what? I don’t think you need to be a telepath to figure out what I’m thinking right now.’

  The frog gazed at him for a moment out of the depths of its yellow-and-black eyes. ‘Maybe,’ it said, ‘you’re thinking that all through your life you’ve had a suspicion that every time you walk into a room, everybody imme­diately stops talking for a split second and then carries on deliberately trying to act normal, so you won’t suspect. Maybe you’re thinking that thirty-odd years of taking things on trust and believing the first thing you’re told just because it seems to fit the facts has got you to a point in your life where you’re prepared to believe in magic talking animals simply because it’s less hassle than trying to work out the truth. Maybe you’ve grasped the very important fact that none of the stuff they taught you in school is necessarily the truth just because they said it was, and that none of the rules that you always felt you had to obey even apply to you, because super-advanced frogs from Gamma Orionis Four don’t have to take that kind of crap from anybody. Or maybe you’re just wondering if there’s anything to eat on this planet other than honey-roast fly.’

  David frowned. ‘I swallowed a fly once,’ he remem­bered. ‘By accident. I nearly threw up.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re very fond of live prawns, either.’ The yellow in the frog’s eyes glowed warm. ‘Look,’ it said, ‘you can’t be expected to take all this in at one gulp, you need time to mull it over, come to terms with it all. So here’s what I’d suggest. Go back to your planet and your ape-descended friends, sort out all your problems and your unfinished business there, so you aren’t trailing round a whole bundle of guilt and remorse wherever you go; then, when you’ve got your head straight, come back and we’ll talk about it. How does that sound?’

  ‘Oh, fine,’ David said. ‘That’s assuming I can get all these simple chores done without having my head knocked off by a low-flying pig. You don’t even know what kind of godawful mess I’ve made for myself back there.’

  ‘You didn’t do anything,’ the frog told him. ‘Oh, sure,’ it went on, as David opened his mouth to protest, ‘you did a couple of things that you aren’t very happy about —cloning the girl, yes? And then the other clone, the one of you that you left to take the blame for everything. Now then: how’d you feel if I told you that where I come from — where you come from — that sort of thing’s entirely legitimate, not to mention praiseworthy, as con­stituting quick thinking in a crisis?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ David replied. ‘You can tell me I’ve just been chosen Frog of the Year, it
still wouldn’t make me feel any better. I know what I did. I’m still me.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ the frog said pleasantly. ‘If it matters to you, then you’d better go back and sort it all out, other­wise you’ll only fret and make yourself wretched. Fortunately, I can help you with that.’

  ‘Really?’ David grinned sardonically. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Straight up,’ the frog replied. ‘You’re a frog, remem­ber? You can do anything you want to. It’s all a matter of belief, you see. For pity’s sake, if you can spend thirty-two years believing you’re human, kidding other humans into believing you’re human, a little tidying-up’s going to be a slice of cherry bakewell. All you need to do is unlock your latent potential. Get in touch with your inner frog.’

  David scowled suspiciously. ‘If this all turns out to be some kind of Scientology thing,’ he said, ‘you’re going to get two-dimensional very, very quickly.’

  ‘What’s Scientology?’ the frog asked, sounding puzzled. David relaxed. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t matter, forget I mentioned it. Are you telling me I can have the same sort of, um, super-powers as the rest of them? You know, making people believe things, and all that stuff?’

  ‘Of course.’ The frog was laughing at him, but in a kind way. ‘You can do all sorts of things you never knew you could. You can swim underwater, but you never tried it because you were convinced you’d drown. You can jump forty-six times your own body-length, but you never tried that either, because people can’t. You can read minds and hear thoughts. And you can make any human believe anything you want him to, just by putting the idea in his mind and telling him, Hey, this ‘d be really, really cool it was true. It’s like with the language busi­ness we were talking about just now, how your brain makes the best of things to spare you the shock of the truth. Same principle; all you have to do is put a thought in a human' s mind and he won’t be able to resist, because his brain’ll tell him it’s one of his own thoughts. And a bloody good one, too.’ The frog hopped round in a small, tight circle. ‘Now can you see how easy it was for your dad to pass himself off as a god?’