Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  When Blaine returns to his room, he meets his ghost, a poltergeist who tries to kill him with a levitated chair. He is rescued by the zombie Smith, who feels that his destiny is involved with Blaine’s. Smith leads him underground, where the outcast zombies live. After performing an exorcism on the spirit, they find it was Reilly, blaming Blaine for the failure of his reincarnation, who was haunting him.

  Blaine finds a job, and hears the sensory recording which was made when he first came into 2112. It is now being sold illicitly around the city. He meets

  ALICE KRANCH, whose husband formerly occupied Blaine’s body, before he sold it to Rex in exchange for Hereafter insurance.

  But Blaine’s biggest moment is when he is offered the greatest prize of the age—free Hereafter insurance, given as a grant from a textile organization. Blaine accepts and is given the treatment which guarantees him a life after death.

  Marie tells him he accepted too hastily. The textile company is owned by the Rex Corporation. Now they can kill Blaine legally. They are planning to do so because of the recording, now being sold illegally all over. This recording shows that Blaine remembers nothing of the Threshold, in which he lived between 1958 and 2112. The organized religions can use this evidence against Hereafter, Inc.’s claims. The corporation is calling the record a fraud and must get rid of Blaine before he can be questioned.

  Blaine leaves his apartment, but the veteran hunter Sammy Jones has already found him. For old times’ sake, Jones gives him a half hour start.

  Blaine is unable to buy a weapon. By nightfall, he is hemmed in by hired killers. A subway grate gives way under turn and he falls heavily. He knows he must drag himself away from the opening, to safety—but he can’t He passes out.

  25.

  WHEN he revived, Blaine decided that he didn’t like the hereafter. It was dark, lumpy, and smelled of oil and slime. Also, his head ached, and his back felt as though it had been broken in three places.

  Could a spirit ache? Blaine moved, and discovered that he still had a body. As a matter of fact, he felt all body. Apparently he wasn’t in the hereafter.

  “Just rest a minute,” a voice said.

  “Who is it?” Blaine asked into the impenetrable darkness. “Smith.”

  “Oh. You.” Blaine sat up and held his throbbing head. “How did you do it, Smith?”

  “I nearly didn’t,” the zombie told him. “As soon as you were declared Quarry, I came for you. Some of my friends down here volunteered to help, but you were moving too fast. I shouted to you when you came out of the pawnshop.”

  “I thought I heard a voice,” Blaine said.

  “If you’d turned around, we could have taken you in there and then. But you didn’t, so we followed. A few times we opened subway grates and manhole covers for you, but it was hard to gauge it right. We were a little late each time.”

  “But not the last time,” Blaine said.

  “Only because I opened a grate right under you. I’m sorry you hit your head.”

  “Where am I?”

  “I pulled you out of the main line,” Smith said. “You’re in a side passage. The hunters can’t find you here.”

  Blaine once again could find no adequate words for thanking Smith. And Smith once again wanted no thanks.

  “I’m not doing it for you, Blaine. It’s for me. I need you.”

  “Have you found out why yet?”

  “Not yet,” Smith said.

  Blaine’s eyes, adjusting to the gloom, could make out the outline of the zombie’s head and shoulders.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “Now you’re safe. We can bring you underground as far as New Jersey. From there you’re on your own. But I don’t think you should have much trouble then.”

  “What are we waiting for now?”

  “Mr. Kean. I need his permission to take you through the passageways.”

  They waited. In a few minutes,. Blaine was able to make out Mr. Kean’s thin shape, leaning on the big Negro’s arm, coming toward him.

  “I’m sorry about your troubles,” Kean said, sitting down beside Blaine with overwhelming weariness. “It’s a great pity.”

  “Mr. Kean,” Smith said, “if I could just be allowed to take him through the old Holland Tunnel, into New Jersey—”

  “I’m truly sorry,” said Kean, “but I can’t allow it.” Blaine looked around and saw that he was surrounded by a dozen ragged zombies.

  “I’ve spoken to the hunters,” Kean went on, “and I have given them my guarantee that you will be back on the surface streets within half an hour. You must leave now, Blaine.”

  “But why?”

  “We simply can’t afford to help you. I was taking an unusual risk the first time, allowing you to defile Reilly’s tomb. But I did it for Smith, because his destiny seems linked with yours in some way, and Smith is one of my people. But this is too much. You know we are allowed to live underground upon sufferance only.”

  “I know,” Blaine said.

  “SMITH should have considered the consequences,” Kean continued. “When he opened that grating for you, the hunters poured in. They didn’t find you, but they knew you were down here somewhere. So they searched, Blaine, they searched! Dozens of them, exploring our passageways, pushing our people around, threatening, shouting, talking on their little radios. Reporters came, too, and even idle spectators. Some of the younger hunters got nervous and started shooting at the zombies.”

  “I’m very sorry about that,” Blaine said.

  “It wasn’t your fault. But Smith should have known better. The world of the underground is not a sovereign kingdom. We exist only on a toleration which might be wiped out at any time. So I spoke to the hunters and the reporters.”

  “What did you tell them?” Blaine asked.

  “I told them that a faulty grate had given way beneath you. I said you had fallen in by accident and had crawled into hiding. I assured them that no zombie had been involved in this, that we found you and would place you back on the surface streets within half an hour. They accepted my word and left. I wish I could have done otherwise.”

  “I don’t blame you,” said Blaine, getting slowly to his feet.

  “I didn’t specify where you would emerge,” Kean said. “At the very least, you’ll have a better chance than before. I wish I could do more, but I cannot allow the underground to become a stage for hunts. We must stay neutral, annoy no one, frighten no one. Only in that way will we survive until an age of understanding is reached.”

  “Where am I going to come out?”

  “I have chosen an unused subway exit at West 79th Street,” Mr. Kean said. “You should have a good chance from there. And I have done one more thing which I probably shouldn’t have done.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I have contacted a friend of yours, who will be waiting at the exit. But please don’t tell anyone about it. Let’s hurry now!”

  Mr. Kean led the procession through the winding underground maze, and Blaine brought up the rear, his headache slowly subsiding. Soon they stopped beside a concrete staircase.

  “Here is the exit,” Kean said. “Good luck, Blaine.”

  “Thanks,” said Blaine. “And, Smith—thanks.”

  “I’ve tried my best for you,” Smith said. “If you die, I’ll probably die. If you live, I’ll keep on trying to remember.”

  “And if you do remember?”

  “Then I’ll come and visit you,” Smith said.

  Blaine nodded and walked up the staircase.

  It was full night outside and 79th Street seemed deserted. Blaine stood beside the exit, looking around, wondering what to do.

  “Blaine!”

  Someone was calling him. But it was not Marie, as he had expected. It was a man’s voice, someone he knew—Sammy Jones, perhaps, or Theseus.

  He turned quickly back to the subway exit. It was closed and fastened securely.

  26.

  “TOM! Tom, it’s me!” breathed a thin v
oice, with great effort.

  “Ray?” called Blaine, astonished.

  “Of course! Keep your voice down. There are hunters not far away. Wait now.”

  Blaine waited, crouched beside the barred subway exit, peering around. He could see no sign of Melhill. There was no ectoplasmic vapor, nothing except a whispering voice.

  “Okay,” Melhill said. “Walk west now. Move along quickly.” Blaine walked, sensing Melhill’s invisible presence hovering near him. He said, “Ray, how come?”

  “It’s about time I was some help,” said Melhill. “That old Kean contacted your girl friend and she got in touch with me through the Spiritual Switchboard. Hold it! Stop right here.”

  Blaine ducked back against the comer of a building. A heli cruised slowly by at housetop level.

  “Hunters,” Melhill said. “There’s a field day on you, kid. Reward posted. Even a reward for information leading to. Tom, I told Marie I’d try to help. Don’t know how long I can. Drains me. It’s hereafter for me after this.”

  “Ray, I don’t know how—”

  “Cut it out Look, Tom, I can’t talk much. Marie has fixed a deal with some friends of hers. They’ve got a plan, if I can get you to them. Stop!”

  Blaine stopped and found shelter behind a mailbox. Long seconds passed. Then three hunters hurried by, sidearms ready. After they turned a comer, Blaine was able to start walking again.

  “Some eyes you have,” he said to Melhill.

  “The vision’s pretty good up here,” said Melhill. “Cross this street fast.”

  Blaine sprinted across. For the next fifteen minutes, at Melhill’s instructions, he wound in and out of streets, advancing and retreating across the battleground of the city.

  “This is it,” Melhill said at last “That door over there, number 341. You made it! I’ll see you, Tom. Watch—”

  At that moment two men rounded a comer, stopped, and stared hard at Blaine. One said, “Hey, that’s the guy!”

  “What guy?”

  “The guy they got the reward out for. Hey, you!”

  They ran forward. Blaine, his fists swinging, quickly chopped the first man into unconsciousness. He whirled, looking for the second, but Melhill had the situation well in control.

  The second man had his hands over his head, trying to guard himself. A garbage can cover, levitating mysteriously, was clanging angrily around his ears. Blaine stepped forward and finished the job.

  “Damn good,” Melhill said, his voice very weak. “Always wanted to try ghosting. But it drains . . . Luck, Tom!”

  “Ray!” Blaine strained his ears, but there was no answer, and the sense of Melhill’s presence was gone.

  Blaine waited no longer. He went to number 341, opened the door and stepped in.

  He was in a narrow hallway. At the end of it was a door. Blaine knocked.

  “Come in,” he was told.

  He opened the door and walked into a small, dingy, heavily curtained room.

  Blaine had thought himself proof against any further surprises. But it gave him a start all the same to see, grinning at him, Carl Orc, the body snatcher. And sitting beside him, also grinning, was Joe, the little Transplant peddler.

  27.

  BLAINE made an automatic move back toward the door, but Orc beckoned him in. The body snatcher was unchanged, still very tall and thin, his tanned face long and mournful, his eyes narrow, direct and honest. His clothes still hung awkwardly on him, as though he were more used to levis than to tailored slacks.

  “We were expecting you,” Orc said. “You remember Joe.”

  Blaine nodded, remembering very well the furtive-eyed little man who had distracted his attention so that Orc could drug his drink.

  “Happy to see you again,” Joe said.

  “I’ll bet,” said Blaine, not moving from the door.

  “Come in and sit down,” Orc said. “We ain’t planning to harm you, Tom. Fact. Let’s let bygones be bygones.”

  “You tried to kill me.”

  “That was business,” Orc said in his straightforward fashion. “We’re on the same side now.”

  “How can I be sure of that?”

  “No man,” Orc stated, “has ever questioned my honesty. When I’m bought, I stay bought Miss Thorne hired us to get you safe out of the country, and we intend to do same. Sit down and let’s discuss it Are you hungry?”

  Reluctantly, Blaine sat down. There were sandwiches on a table, and a bottle of red wine. He realized that he hadn’t eaten all day. He started wolfing down sandwiches while Orc lighted a thin brown cigar.

  “You know,” Orc said, exhaling blue smoke, “I very nearly didn’t take this job. Not that the money wasn’t right; I think Miss Thorne was more than generous. But, Tom, this is one of the biggest manhunts our fair city’s seen for quite a while. Ever see anything like it, Joe?”

  “Never,” said Joe, shaking his head rapidly. “Town’s covered like flypaper.”

  “Rex really wants you,” Orc went on. “They’ve set their little hearts on nailing your corpus where they can see it. Makes a man nervous, bucking an organization that size. But it’s a challenge, a really man-sized challenge.”

  “Carl likes a big challenge,” Joe said.

  “I admit that,” said Orc, “Where there’s a big challenge, there’s a big profit to be made from it.”

  “BUT where can I go?” Blaine asked. “Where won’t Rex find me?”

  “Just about nowhere,” Orc said sadly.

  “Off the Earth? Mars? Venus?”

  “Even worse than Earth. The planets have just a few towns and small cities. Everybody knows everybody else. The news would be all over in a week. Also, you wouldn’t fit in. Aside from the Chinese on Mars, the planets are still populated mostly with scientific types and their families, and a few youth-training programs. You wouldn’t like it.”

  “Where then?”

  “That’s what I asked Miss Thorne,” Orc said. “We discussed several possibilities. First, there’s a zombie-making operation. I could perform it. Rex would never search for you underground.”

  “I’d rather die,” said Blaine.

  “I would too,” Orc agreed. “So we ruled it out We thought about finding you a little farm in the Atlantic Abyss. Pretty lonely territory out there. But it takes a special mentality to live undersea and like it, and we didn’t figure you had it. You’d probably crack up. So, after due consideration, we decided the best place for you was in the Marquesas.”

  “The what?” asked Blaine, trying to place the name.

  “The Marquesas. They’re a scattered group of small islands, originally Polynesian, out toward the middle of the Pacific Ocean. They’re not too far from Tahiti.”

  “The South Seas,” Blaine said. “Right We figured you should feel more at home there than anywhere else on Earth. If s just like the 20th century, I’m told. And even more important, Rex might leave you alone.”

  “Why would they?”

  “For obvious reasons, Tom. Why do they want to kill you in the first place? Because they snatched you illegally from the past and they’re worried about what the government’s going to do about it. But your going to the Marquesas removes you from the jurisdiction of the U.S. government. Without you, there’s no case. And your going so far is a sign to Rex of your good faith. It certainly isn’t the action of a man who’s going to blab to Uncle Sam.

  “Also,” Orc added, “the Marquesas are an independent little nation since the French gave them up, so Rex would have to get special permission to hunt you there. On the whole, it should be just too much trouble for everyone concerned. The U.S. government will undoubtedly drop the matter, and I think Rex will leave you alone.”

  “Is that for certain?”

  “Of course not It’s conjecture. But it’s reasonable.”

  “Couldn’t we make a deal with Rex beforehand?”

  Ore shook his head. “In order to bargain, Tom, you have to have something to bargain with. As long as you’re in New Y
ork, it’s easier and safer for them to kill you.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Blaine said. “How are you going to get me out?”

  ORC and Joe looked at each other uncomfortably. Orc said, “Well, that was our big problem. There just didn’t seem to be any way of getting you out alive.”

  “Heli or jet?”

  “They have to stop at the air tolls, and hunters are waiting at all of them. Surface vehicle is equally out of the question.”

  “Disguise?”

  “Maybe it would have worked during the first hour of the hunt. Now it’s impossible, even if we could get you a complete plastic surgery job. By now the hunters are equipped with identity scanners. They’d see through you in a moment.”

  “Then there’s no way out?” Orc and Joe exchanged another uneasy glance.

  “There is,” Orc said. “Just one way. But you probably won’t like it.”

  “I like to stay alive. What is it?”

  Ore paused and lighted another cigar. “We plan to quick-freeze you, like for spaceship travel. Then we’ll ship your carcass out in a crate of frozen beef. Your body will be in the center of the load, so most likely it won’t be detected.”

  “Sounds risky,” Blaine said.

  “Not too risky.”

  Blaine frowned, sensing something wrong. “I’ll be unconscious through it, won’t I?”

  After a long pause, Orc said, “No.”

  “I won’t?”

  “It can’t be done that way,” Orc said. “The fact is, you and your body will have to separate. That’s the part I’m afraid you won’t like.”

  “What in hell are you talking about?” Blaine demanded in alarm, getting to his feet.

  “Take it easy,” Orc said. “Sit down, smoke a cigarette, have some more wine. It’s like this, Tom. We can’t ship out a quick-frozen body with a mind in it. The hunters are waiting for something like that. Can you imagine what happens when they run a quick scan over that shipment of beef and detect a dormant mind in it? Up goes the kite! Adieu la musique! I’m not trying to con you, Tom. It just can’t be done like that. Fact.”