A Billion Days of Earth

by Piserchia, Doris

  “You’d like me to cut his throat, wouldn’t you? Can’t say I blame you.”

  The zomba gnashed his teeth. “Why let it live? It deserves death!”

  “Beat it,” said Rik, and touched the rifle to the bloody head.

  Slowly the animal crawled away.

  Rik loosed a rope at his belt, lay on the rocks, leaned into the crevice and slipped the line beneath Bebe’s neck. He ran it under the furry abdomen and rose to his knees. Carefully he hauled the squalling zizzy out of the hole. He knew whom he was dealing with. Bebe was bigger than all of his people.

  The zizzy hopped onto a rock and examined himself for damage. Slyly, he looked up.

  “Don’t go getting any ideas,” said Rik. “I’ll bash your skull if you try any funny business.”

  Bebe straightened his wings. His sucker came out of his mouth, flattened to a wide pink wedge, and he began washing his chest. Soon he hopped to Rik and rubbed his head on one boot. He folded his wings, flopped onto his back and offered his soft belly to his savior.

  “What a mangy cuss you are. You’re as grateful as a snake. Don’t try and con me.”

  Bebe buzzed and wriggled against the boot.

  “Watch that stinger. If it comes any closer to my knee I’ll shoot you.”

  Bebe yawned and stretched. Very casually, he climbed to his feet and flapped his wings free of dirt.

  Rik stuck the rifle barrel against his head. “You’re not going anywhere for a while. Well give that zomba time to get away.”

  This made Bebe wildly angry, but he was careful that none of his rage showed. He retreated a short distance and sat down. With his eyes warm on the man, he dreamed dreams of victory and revenge.

  “Hi,” said Sheen.

  “I’ve been looking for you so I could give you a boot in the rear,” said Rik. “I thought we made a deal.”

  Sheen was a large silver insect scooping flies from the air. “We did, but you skipped out.”

  “I fell asleep.”

  “Same thing.”

  “I apologize.”

  Sheen gave an offended snort and crawled down a tree after a fly. As soon as he caught it, he released it. “You’re too unreliable to make deals with. Five minutes after we reach an agreement you’re snoring to high heaven.”

  Rik shrugged. The wind that swept up from Echo Canyon tickled his back. He stretched and yawned, vigorously scratched his head. “Oh, hell, why am I wasting time with you? I could go fishing.”

  “Then go,” Sheen said, his tone icy, whereupon Rik walked away. “Wait! I relent!”

  “It isn’t worth it,” Rik said over his shoulder. He hurried toward the sun, toward the wind and an imaginary mound of wriggling fish.

  Sheen was a spitting, snarling zizzy on a tree limb over his head. “I said I’ve forgiven you!”

  The mouthwatering vision of fish started to fade. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”

  Sheen sprawled on the limb, his belly skyward. “Tomorrow I’ve a meeting with the Luvonites. I’m giving a sermon about the highest glory man can attain.” He gave Rik a grin. “And tomorrow Tontondely begins his pilgrimage.”

  Rik stared up at the silver zizzy. “What does that mean?”

  “No more information, rat, until you deliver the goods.”

  “I’ll probably go to sleep again.”

  “I’ll make my remarks more stimulating.”

  “What kind of pilgrimage?”

  The beast on the tree limb purred. “Lie down at once.”

  Rik lay on the grass under the tree. He gave a startled leap as the zizzy became a long serpent that slid down the trunk and dangled by a fat coil. Again he lay back, placed his head on his arms and watched the snake.

  “Are you sleepy?”

  “Damn, I wasn’t a minute ago!” Rik opened his mouth to yawn. It was a mighty effort that squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, long enough for Sheen to produce a small flask hidden in his coils, tip it up and drop a drop of fluid under the tongue.

  “Um, um, um, I’m drooling. Okay, no more delaying. Let’s get down to business. Question away.”

  “The sun,” said Sheen. “It glows oddly.”

  “That’s because it’s so old. It acts up all the time.”

  “Really?”

  “Ummm. One day that old ball is going to flare up and splutter out like a snowball in a bonfire.”

  “Really?”

  Rik’s eyelids drooped. “Yeth, really.”

  “Repeat after me, please.”

  “Yeth.”

  “I love Sheen, Sheen is God, I want Sheen.”

  “I love Sheen, Sheen is God, I want Sheen.”

  “Sheen gives peace, Sheen must take me.”

  “Sheen gives … peace, Sheen must … take …”

  “Come, Sheen; now, Sheen.”

  “Come …” Snore.

  “Take my heart that we shall be one.”

  Snore.

  “Repeat what I said.”

  Snore.

  “Subconscious of Rik, repeat my last statement.”

  Snore.

  “Not again!” The shiny being examined the quiet face. “Sound asleep. This man has some kind of disease.”

  The serpent coiled on the man’s chest. “I have given him the narcotic that lulls the conscious part of the brain; ergo, this man is in a deep hypnotic trance.”

  Sheen bit himself. “I go mad.” He rose into the air and stared at the sky. “He is not normal. He has no subconscious. If I put his conscious mind to sleep and the whole man sleeps, then that is all he is. But it is impossible. Everyone is an iceberg with four-fifths of him a hibernating, slobbering, witless mass of gropings.”

  Sheen regarded the sleeping face. “Subconscious of Rik, you must exist and you must come forth. Mortality and dignity cannot coexist. I mean, not in the carcass of a rat, nor in the carcass of anything. Think what would happen if man were to become master of his own soul. It would mean the death of that mass of slobbering, witless gropings that has made life such a picnic.”

  A coil thumped Rik’s chest. “You will be mine though it takes a thousand years!” Suddenly a look of pain flickered in the silver eyes. “But he won’t live a thousand years. What if he dies before he succumbs? What if I never possess him?”

  Sheen laughed uncertainly. “But I am of the source. I come from the loins of the master painter whose brushstrokes delineated the mortal beneath me. I come late, but I come purposefully. Brain, that’s the weapon. Reason, that’s the dagger. Realism—with it I slay. I am omnipotent Sheen. I hear the stones singing, the water conversing, the cells muttering.”

  The serpent slithered from the chest of the sleeping man. “Pity Rik, for he must die. Pity Sheen, for Rik is the only thing I ever loved. If only my appetite were not me, me, me, I wouldn’t destroy him, but the confounded thing is me; as is everything in all the globe. A thing and his appetite are not parted.”

  A lad of silver with a pail in his hand went tumbling down the hill.

  “Aieee! Sorrow teaches more lastingly than joy. Now why is that?”

  Jak was pensive. Man was an appetite. A creature with an I-want was a potential enemy because he might develop a craving for oneself. A man couldn’t trust anyone. Watch out! You might get eaten. It was an animal-eat-animal world. There ought to be something better.

  Man feared the unknown. For all his fine characteristics, he knew only the moments of his life, the nows. What did he know of the pain of a moment in the future? He hadn’t experienced it, so it remained alien, a thing to be feared. Anticipated joy was something to be afraid of because there was always the chance that it might curdle. Past disaster could cause nightmares because of what might have been. Too soon the past faded, became obscure and suspect. Nerve endings forgot, organs forgot, there was nothing left but a memory which depended upon imagination for its life.

  Man was an organism who sought absolute assurance. Were he convinced that he must descend into a burning pit, and were he convinced that
there was no escape, his descent would be swift and willing. He would hesitate only if he didn’t know what lay in store for him, only if he weren’t certain he couldn’t refuse. Give a man two alternatives, certainty or uncertainty, convince him that he must make a choice and he would make the certain one. Certain annihilation was preferable to uncertainty.

  Breaking from his reverie, Jak said, “I like the way you always speak respectfully to me.”

  “Respect is earned by some without their trying.” Sheen was a living hill on the other side of a creek. “I’m not greedy,” he said. “I realize there are others besides myself who are worthy.”

  “Yes, I think there are, though they’re hard to find at times.” Jak made marks in the dirt with his shoe. “What’s the meaning of it all? I mean the world. The universe.”

  The living hill popped a pebble from one shiny pore and tossed it aside. “There are as many meanings to life as there are minds to perceive.”

  “Nothing makes any sense!”

  “Be soothed. Of all the creatures I perceive, you attract me the most. Next to one other.”

  “Who?” said Jak. “I demand his name.”

  “It will only bring you pain.”

  “I want to know.”

  “Caution seals my lips.”

  “Damn it, tell me. I thought we were friends.”

  Sheen glowed. “So we are. There should be no secrets between us. But if I told you, it would mean frustration for you. You might feel jealousy, a thing you know not. You might go further and cause him harm. Remember, he can’t help it if I love him.”

  “Tell me who he is!”

  The living hill which was Sheen became a voluptuous woman. The silver mass seemed to flow, became huge and shapely. Pendulous mammaries formed. Great hips began to bump and grind to the tune of thunder. The entire, large body was in motion. In the meantime, Sheen sang a little song: “His name is Rik, his name is Rak, I love him more than I love Jak.” The big body stilled and the sounds of thunder ceased. “But not a whole lot,” said Sheen. “Not enough to make a fuss over.”

  The glow in Jak’s eyes ignited, burned like quickening coals. “Every time I take a step, I find Rik ahead of me. My friend. He saved my life. He’s the only decent man I know. I won’t hate him.” The Leng’s eyes were riveted on the shiny woman who floated on the water. “I won’t hate you, either. You’re beneath an honest emotion.”

  “Jak, Jak, come back to me!”

  “I’ve gone nowhere.”

  “Your spirit flees. Didn’t I warn you? You forced the name from me, used my affection for you to wring out the truth. It isn’t my fault.”

  “You lie. You don’t love Rik. Nobody loves him. He’s too …”

  “Too much brain and not enough heart?”

  “Too cold, too logical,” Jak agreed quickly.

  “Yet he loves life.”

  “As a blind man loves his darkness. Life is all he knows.”

  “Ah, but you, Jak, you know something besides life.”

  “I can dream,” said the Leng, his tone sullen.

  “And Rik can’t?”

  “Never. He says, ‘What kind of day is it; is it raining? Then I’ll sleep. Is it sunny? I’ll go fishing. Is it dull? Who said that? Oh, it’s you, Jak. Come on, old pal, we’ll go and do something together.’ That’s Rik. He never dreams. He accepts what there is, and he likes it.”

  “I’m beginning to feel ill,” said Sheen. “At times I can be a very nauseating character, but I’ll admit this conversation sickens even me.”

  “It’s the way he is. You either love him or you hate him.”

  “And you can’t make up your mind. You want to love him and you want to hate him, too. That makes me think about cake. And a tare, and a jare, and a hare.”

  “Shut up! You’re mixing me up. How can you tell me I want to hate Rik? I just told you he’s the best friend I have.”

  “As was Cain to Abel?” said Sheen.

  “Damn you.”

  “What’s Hell to a devil?”

  The Leng rubbed his temples. “Somehow I always dislike myself after I’ve talked to you. What are you?”

  “A father confessor, maybe. What you say is astute. I have a fiendish talent for bringing out the worst or the best in people.”

  “When I’m with you I’m not sure I have any best in me.”

  “Watch it, friend. A mirror that shades no point can be a shattering revelator.”

  “I want to know. I don’t want anything to remain hidden.” Jak gave the silver face a hard and curious stare. “I think you possess such a mirror, one that will show me myself as I really am, otherwise you wouldn’t have brought up the subject.”

  Sheen submerged in the water. Bubbles rose to the surface and, with them, the words, “No one has that power.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “Don’t ask what you’re going to.”

  “Show me. Make the mirror. I want to look into it.”

  “No,” said Sheen, and came out of the water. “Today you’re Jak the Unwise. I go now. When we meet again I hope to see the sensible Jak, the calm Jak, the observer of life, the scientist.”

  “Come back and show me the mirror!”

  Sheen was gone in a blaze of glory that covered a goodly portion of ground.

  chapter ix

  Mister Spar was the President of the Board of Artificial Limbs, Inc. He was a big, intelligent man who had never had a vacation in his life. He was too busy enjoying himself. He liked to work.

  Miss Lune was Spar’s Director of Divisional Operations. She was a dry little spinster who never smiled, never rushed and never took anything for granted, other than that nothing ever got done by wishing. She was efficient. She knew how to manage a thriving enterprise, knew how to pump fresh energy into a failing one.

  At the moment Miss Lune wasn’t certain what kind of enterprise she was managing. Production was high, but something was happening. People weren’t showing up for work. It couldn’t be accounted for by normal sick leave, and she wasn’t compensating for it with her dry suggestions to the personnel in Hiring. As fast as people were taken on, others went away, some of them difficult to replace. She investigated and made a suggestion to Mr. Spar.

  “It’s time for you to consider the ridiculous.”

  “You think so? All right, I’ll consider it. What is it?”

  “Sheen.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I can’t tell you what he is. I can only tell you what he’s doing. He’s stealing our employees.”

  Spar took Miss Lune seriously, not because he paid her a fantastic salary, which he did, but because she earned it. She wouldn’t have bothered him if the plant weren’t being threatened.

  “How much is he offering them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Find out.”

  “I already have. He never offers the same thing twice. It’s a to-each-his-own transaction. What he wants to give me wouldn’t be what he’d want to give you.”

  “If I want to know, I’ll have to find out for myself?” said Spar.

  “Exactly.”

  Spar went off to find Sheen, found him, and came back a subdued man. “That creature is a menace,” he said to Miss Lune.

  She knew what he meant. She had been tempted. Her refusal had been automatic. She really didn’t want to be a curvaceous housewife with a large brood, though she occasionally regretted that she wasn’t. Men didn’t see her. Her social manner was uninspiring. She had more brains than 85 percent of people. To some women this wouldn’t have been enough. Miss Lune made it do. Since her brain seemed to be all she had going for her, she was reluctant to hand it over to anyone.

  “I agree,” she said to Spar.

  “I’ll have to buy him off.”

  “With what?”

  “What are you implying?”

  Miss Lune shrugged and said nothing.

  “We’ll have the police dispose of him,” said Spar.

&nbs
p; “I doubt if he can be blown up or disintegrated with acid. In my opinion, he could, theoretically, be imprisoned in a tight container. Unfortunately, he’s too dispersed now. All of him couldn’t be collected. If someone had grabbed him up when he first appeared, we wouldn’t be in our present predicament.”

  “It’s those goddamn humanitarians,” said Spar.

  A man named Kream had been hired by Redo. Since Redo worked for Filly One, so did Kream. He kept an eye on the Gods. Were they maintaining their hands-off policy? Did they show any indication of an interest in what men were doing?

  Something else Kream did was to track lone Gods and try to kill them. He used guns, grenades, spears, lasers, even small atom bombs. The Gods didn’t try to kill him in return. They ignored him. Filly One offered a reward of a million dollars to the man who killed a God. Kream was the only bounty hunter in the area. He had bought or murdered every other contender.

  Kream was five-one and weighed one-ten. His clothes were elegant, his face was beautiful and impassive. His body was a single taut muscle. He could leap six feet into the air from a standing position and kick a man’s head off.

  “I think,” Kream said to Redo one day.

  “Indeed?”

  “There is a thing called Sheen. It represents a greater danger than the Gods.”

  “You must be drunk.”

  “Never.”

  “That’s true,” said Redo. “Let me get back to you in a few days.”

  In a few days Kream appeared.

  “If it isn’t a God, ignore it,” said Redo.

  “Those are narrow orders.”

  “Sheen isn’t a god.”

  “Not in the strict sense,” said Kream.

  “Then don’t bother with him.”

  Redo was enjoying an evening stroll with his daughter, something he rarely did and something he cherished more than the girl beside him would ever know. No word, gesture or expression betrayed his devotion. He was casual with Uda, coolly affectionate and not too permissive. He loved his sons, but when he looked at them he didn’t feel a fierce explosion of joy inside him. His love for his daughter was a combination of pride in having made something so beautiful, and a sure conviction that the Udas of the world kept the planet in its emotional orbit.