A Cure for Cancer

by Michael Moorcock

  “Space is all you ever fucking think about.”

  “Somebody has to. Listen, Jerry, I’ve got a moral responsibility. I never had that. I have changed. I could lose it all. Split. I’m going to keep it. The power’s building up.”

  “You’d have thought Einstein had never happened!”

  “Maybe he shouldn’t have happened. It’s running too wild. We need something concrete—definite—solid. Something hard. Authoritative…”

  “I want something easy.”

  “Exactly. Connect, Jerry—just for a moment.”

  “Shit…”

  “Technology is potential freedom from brutality. I should know. The old can’t riot and have no power. We must forfeit the right to breed in order to retain the right to breathe. Immortality is just around the corner!”

  “Mortality is space.”

  “You’ve too much imagination. That’s what I mean.”

  “What’s the matter with you, Frank? You…”

  “I’m older. You can never be that.”

  “Piss…”

  “Man is the only animal with the imaginative characteristic developed to any degree. No competition, see? The trait has become overdeveloped. A survival characteristic turned into an anti-survival characteristic. We must limit imagination. Destroy it, if necessary, in the majority, limit it in the rest. Jerry, it’s our only chance to get back to something worthwhile. To normality.”

  Jerry stared vaguely at his brother. “Get back? Get back? But we’re moving on. The abstract…”

  “… can only destroy civilisation…”

  “… as we know it.”

  “You see.”

  “See? Death.”

  “Death—and life.”

  “Sure.”

  “Then…?”

  “Kill you, Frank.”

  “No!”

  Jerry felt faint. “You’re fouling things up, Frank. You were nicer when you knew it. Mum always said in time…”

  “Forget Time.” Frank slapped the sideboard. “That’s what’s important right now. A cleaning up. A getting back to fundamentals.”

  “Forget Space.”

  “Jerry—when I returned there had to be some constructive action. We mustn’t fight.”

  “Catherine. You killed our sister.”

  “You killed her.”

  “You made me.”

  “Who’s the guilty one?”

  “Guilt? There you go again.” Jerry relaxed. “Well, I suppose you just saved your life. Boredom is a great preserver.” He stretched. “So you’ve decided to think ahead? I can’t see it myself.”

  “You won’t give yourself a chance. You won’t give me a chance.”

  Jerry began to pick up the pieces of broken glass and put them on the sideboard. He gathered the flowers into a bunch and crossed the room to a mock Tudor table which had an empty vase on it. He put the flowers in the vase. “It’s a question of identity, Frank. What the hell. A wild environment, an integrated identity.”

  “We’re clearing things up. Tidying the world.”

  “You might just as well be in the political age. You can’t bring it back, Frank.”

  “We will.”

  “Not for long.”

  “You’ll see.”

  “But you know what I’m out to do, don’t you?”

  “Randomise. The equilibrium of anarchy.”

  “More or less.”

  “You won’t succeed. History’s against you, Jerry.”

  “That’s the difference between you and me, Frank. I’m against History.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Jerry made for the door. “I’ve got to look up an old flame. You don’t mind me hanging around for a while, do you?”

  “I’d rather you did. Have you got the machine with you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’d rather you did.”

  “I’ll be seeing you soon, Frank.”

  “Bet on it.”

  3. THE PRISON OF THE STARS

  Jerry found Flora Hargreaves by the fountain, behind the M-60 tanks.

  “You’re just as I remember you,” he said.

  She smiled, smoothing her olive uniform. “You never told…”

  “No.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You met a friend of mine in London, didn’t you? He gave you something to look after.”

  “That’s right, Jerry.”

  “I need it now.”

  “You do? You’d better come back to my place. I’ve got nice quarters. There’s plenty of space for everybody.”

  * * *

  They walked between the tanks and crossed the square to the violet building opposite the town hall. All around the square the marines were relaxing, chatting to the WACs, smoking, sipping soft drinks, cleaning their Navy Colts.

  “It’s been pretty tough for them,” said Flora. “But I guess they know how to take it.”

  “They can take anything by the look of them.”

  “Almost anything.” Flora straightened her shoulders. She winked at him. “It’s gotten to be a rotten war, Jerry. I sometimes wonder what you people make of it. It can be hard, sometimes, to take the overall view when your own country’s… well…”

  Jerry sucked in his breath. “It has to be this way. Maybe if the CIA were still around things would be better.”

  “I guess.”

  “They’ve nothing against—you know—consorting?”

  “If you’re here, Jerry, you’ve had security clearance. That’s all they want to know. It’s my leave. I can do what I like.”

  They entered the building and climbed the concrete stairs to the first floor, walking along a cool, shady corridor until they came to her room. She turned the handle and threw the door open with a sweeping gesture. “Après vous!”

  Jerry padded in and eyed the room. It was very feminine. There were a lot of soft toys on the bed, posters of British beauty spots on the walls, a helmet and battle overalls hanging over a chair, a .22 in a holster on a stack of Penguin paperbacks, a neat kitchenette through an archway. The room was sunny. Flora drew the blinds.

  “The machine,” said Jerry.

  She went to her wardrobe. There were three print dresses in it. She bent and Jerry looked at her thighs. She straightened, holding something black, square and heavy, and Jerry looked at her eyes. She widened them. “Is this it?”

  “This is it.” Jerry laughed with relief. “Put it down. Aha!”

  As she put it on the floor he seized her, running his hand up her leg and down her regulation drawers; he kissed her wide, soft, hot, damp, lively mouth; he ran his other hand through her sweet auburn hair; he guided her to the bed and fucked her with enormous joy and energy.

  “Well, that was nice,” she said. “I always knew…”

  “Come off it.” He gave her one of her Kents and lit another for himself.

  “Is the box valuable?”

  “It means the world to me.”

  “It just looks like some sort of geiger counter—something like that.”

  “It’s a bit more versatile.”

  “Tell me what it is, Jerry.” She curled a leg over his leg and licked his left nipple.

  “There’s no real word for it. Nothing—authentic. One of its functions is as a sort of randomiser. It can produce all the alternatives at once. There’s a lot of power in that little box.”

  “A computer? Multivalue logic?”

  “Not a computer. Far from it. Almost the opposite, in one sense. It breaks down the barriers. It lets the multiverse—well—‘in’.”

  “That isn’t a proper word.”

  “It’s everything.”

  “What’s everything?”

  “You’re everything, Flora. But now you can be mirrored by your environment. It creates a human environment for a human being. It can also speed up various basic processes.”

  “That’s an explanation?”

  “Explanations shouldn’t be necessary between us,
Flora.”

  There was a cool breeze and a neigh.

  Frank stood in the open door, his upper lip curled like a mule’s, his needle gun in his hand. He came in and closed the door, crossing to the black box. “I thought so.”

  “You’re so fucking high-minded.” Jerry climbed over Flora and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his underpants and socks. “You can’t destroy that machine without risking the whole bloody universe going wild.”

  “Isn’t that what you want?”

  “Moderation in all things, Frank. That’s anarchy.”

  “You’re a traitor, Captain Hargreaves. Consider yourself under arrest.”

  Flora shrugged and pushed the bedclothes back with her feet.

  Jerry crossed to the chair and picked up his shirt, pulling it over his head. “Well, Frank, I think a certain equilibrium’s been achieved, don’t you?”

  “You can talk of equilibrium with this—” Frank kicked at the black box—“in existence. This chaos machine.”

  “Oh, come now, Frank. We’re not even sure if it has an entropic effect or not. It’s an experimental model. That’s how I came to lose it in the first place—I created the field and then couldn’t find the machine in it.” Jerry laughed. “Ironic, eh? I’ve got to test it. Find out exactly what it does do.”

  “At the expense of society.”

  “Well, that’s how you see it.”

  Jerry put on his other clothes and buckled his Sam Browne belt. “That’s better. You’re always catching me with my pants down.”

  “It used to be nice. But you know what happened the last time. What has this machine to do with Catherine?”

  “Work it out. It’s the creation of all possible worlds. It can channel energy—re-divert it—re-form it… it is hope.”

  “Bloody romantic,” said Frank.

  “Who’s Catherine?” said Flora.

  “My aunt…”

  “Our sister,” said Frank.

  “Have it your way.” Jerry licked his lips. “Still, this has nothing much to do with the current situation.”

  “What is your relationship?” Flora frowned.

  “It’s become a little ambiguous of late,” Jerry told her. Frank had swung the needle gun into line with his heart. “I suppose it boils down to a matter of identification, in the long run.”

  “Identity!”

  Frank snarled and squeezed the trigger as Jerry dropped behind the chair and drew his vibragun.

  “If either of us hits that machine,” said Jerry, “we might find out a lot about identity.”

  Frank hesitated then lowered his gun. “All right, Jerry. Let’s talk like rational men.”

  “I’m not sure how it’s done.”

  Flora Hargreaves rose suddenly and threw the bedclothes over Frank’s head. Jerry jumped out and thumped his relative on the back of his neck with the barrel of the vibragun. He fell down heavily. Jerry took the needle gun out of the tangle of sheets and handed it to Flora. “He couldn’t bear it if you shot him.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, well. It’s all a matter of ritual, you see.” Jerry uncovered Frank whose face had aged. He began to shiver, rubbing nervously at his arms, passing his hands over his head. “He lives by precedent.”

  “I’m losing heat, Jerry. I’m losing heat, Jerry. I’m losing heat, Jerry.”

  “And dynamic, I suppose.” Jerry pushed Frank’s chest with his vibragun. “Move along there, Frank. Can you manage the box, Flora?”

  “I’ll have to get some clothes on first. And pack.”

  “Wear your uniform. Pack your dresses. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Flora quickly got ready and lifted the heavy box. Jerry pushed the cringing Frank forward. “We’ll make for my convertible. We’ll take you along with us, Frank. This environment isn’t doing you any good at all.”

  They descended the stairs, then descended the steps that led them into the square. Marines still stood about in the sun, taking a well-deserved rest from the dirty business of war. Jerry hid his vibragun with his cloak and the three of them walked slowly to the car. Flora got in the back with the box. Frank sat beside Jerry as he started the Phantom VI up.

  “Where are we going?” Flora asked.

  “Our first duty is to get Frank into a rest home. It’s not far from here. A couple of hours’ drive. I think he’ll last until then.”

  Flora sniffed. “You think so?”

  “He is beginning to niff a bit, I must admit.”

  SATURATION

  Female Auto-Erotic Practices

  Out of print for years. By Havelock Ellis, M.D., world’s most famous sexologist. New illustrated edition.

  Subjects include: initiation; auto-erotic practices with males; masturbation as the cause and cure of frustrations in marriage, various technic employed (both clitoral and vaginal); objects used for vaginal and urethral masturbation.

  The use of artificial penes; mutual masturbation (both homosexual and heterosexual); psychological factors; fantasies, erotic dreams; incestuous masturbation (between brother/sister, uncle/niece, father/daughter as well as a case of initiation involving mother and son).

  Auto-eroticism among dis-satisfied wives, girlhood experiments (with both sexes); initiations of boys by older women, nurses, etc.; club contests; public masturbation; breast stimulation; modern concepts of masturbation; primitive concepts; etc.

  Illustrations include: artificial penes (both single-ended and double-ended for lesbian activities); other masturbatory devices; auto-erotic humour; auto-erotic symbols; childhood postures as well as women depicted in various auto-erotic attitudes. $3.00

  Futura Books ad, TV and Movie Play

  1. BIZARRE FATHERHOOD TRAP EXPOSED!

  When Jerry, Flora and Frank arrived at Sunnydales Reclamation Centre, Matron greeted them with some eagerness.

  “You’ve done the place up nicely.” Jerry gave the rebuilt centre the once-over as they stood in the drive by the car.

  “What with all the emergency cases coming in during recent months, Mr Cornelius, we had to work quickly. Och, we’ve been that understaffed! Working with no proper instructions from administration… There’s no much left of your wee mansion o’ course.”

  “We have to cannibalise where necessary.” Jerry glanced sadly at Flora and past her to where he saw the shell of his little Dutch mansion.

  “It’s a shame,” said Flora.

  “And what’s yon wee chappy so upset aboot?” Matron looked professionally at the crumpled figure of Frank who sat in the front seat covering his face with his thin hands and mewling to himself.

  “Another emergency, I’m afraid, Matron. A special case…”

  “Aye. That’s what they all say.”

  “Could you put him in a blank tank right away?”

  “Is it wise, Mr Cornelius?”

  “It’s urgent.”

  “A rather crude…”

  “Don’t worry. He’s a rather crude patient.”

  “If you say so, sir. I’ll get a couple of the lads tae take him in.” Matron went back through the main door and re-emerged with two assistants who picked Frank up and bore him, tightly foetal now, off.

  Koutrouboussis, in an elegant blue mohair lounge suit with matching shirt and tie, his face and hands bandaged, came out of the door after Matron had gone in. He glanced sourly at Jerry. “Having fun?”

  “Can’t complain. You appear to have left London in a hurry. How are Maureen and Barbara?”

  “They were bubbled up,” Koutrouboussis said thoughtfully.

  “Ah. This is Captain Hargreaves. Captain Hargreaves, this is Mr Koutrouboussis. He’s a member of my organisation.”

  “You run an organisation?” Flora raised her eyebrows.

  “Six of one, half a dozen of the other.”

  “How do you do?” Koutrouboussis gave a tiny, stiff bow, winced with pain and seemed to have difficulty turning his eyes on Jerry again. “Did you get the machine?”

 
“Flora had it. It’s in the back of the car.”

  “So we can begin work. About bloody time. I’m sick to death of my particular rôle. I need a break.”

  “We could all benefit from a change.”

  “Can we get down to the lab now?”

  “You can if you like. I’m a bit anxious about the inner man.” Jerry looked enquiringly at Flora. “Could you do with a bite?”

  She laughed. “You know I could!”

  Jerry escorted her into the cool, sweet-smelling interior of the reclamation centre.

  2. DOCTORS PROVE SEX GUILTS MAKE YOU IMPOTENT!

  Jerry walked between the rows of blank tanks in the long, hushed ward.

  Each tank had its indicators, its curled, black figure, its tube running from the head to the surface to the connections along the edges. He studied the coded plates on the base of each tank and eventually found Frank. He was hanging in the exact centre of his tank. Nothing moved. Every dial registered zero.

  Jerry turned to the engineer who walked slowly down the other side of the aisle checking readings against sheets on a clipboard.

  “Number 30005. Any anticipation yet, Alvarez?”

  The engineer shrugged.

  “Too early.”

  Jerry licked his lower lip.

  “Fair enough.”

  3. THE NYMPHO COSSACK QUEEN OF THE BLOODY STEPPES

  Catherine, in all her sweetness, stared at him through the darkness of the room and he sat up in the bed, his hand clawing into Flora’s right breast so that she screamed and Catherine disappeared and Jerry slapped her mouth and punched her stomach and shrieked and ran from the room, and staggered through the galleries until he came back to the blank tank ward and reached Frank and smashed at the glass with his fists so his hands streamed with blood and the fluid from the tank bathed them.

  Frank sank.

  4. I TRAINED THE NUDE GIRL BOXERS OF BANGKOK

  Naked, Jerry went back to the bedroom and gathered up his gun while Flora wept.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said. “But it’s terror time, I’m afraid.”