Galactic Dreams

by Harry Harrison

  There was no possible way to purchase a costume, but there was no problem in obtaining some ancient curtains from one of the storerooms. A book on sewing taught him the technique and a plate from a book gave him the design for his costume. It was predestined that he go as a cavalier.

  With a finely ground pen point he printed an exact duplicate of the invitation on heavy card stock. His mask was part face and part mask, it offered no barrier to his talent or technology. Long before the appointed date he was ready. The last days were filled with browsing through stories about other masquerade balls and learning the latest dance steps.

  So enthused was he by the idea, that he never stopped to ponder the strangeness of what he was doing. He was just a scientist studying a species of animal. Man. Or rather woman.

  The night finally arrived and he left the library late with what looked like a package of books, and of course wasn’t. No one noticed him enter the patch of trees on the library grounds. If they had, they would certainly never have connected him with the elegant gentleman who swept out of the far side a few moments later. Only the empty wrapping paper bore mute evidence of the disguise.

  Filer’s manner in his new personality was all that might be expected of a superior robot who has studied a role to perfection. He swept up the stairs to the hall three at a time, and tendered his invitation with a flourish. Once inside he headed straight for the bar and threw down three glasses of champagne, right through a plastic tube to a tank in his thorax. Only then did he let his eye roam over the assembled beauties. It was a night for love.

  And of all the women in the room, there was only one he had eyes for. Filer could see instantly that she was the belle of the ball and the one he must approach. Could he do anything else in memory of the 50,000 heroes of those longforgotten books? Carol Ann van Damm was bored as usual. Her face was disguised, but no mask could hide the generous contours of her bosom and flanks. All her usual suitors were there, dancing attendance behind their dominoes, lusting after her youth and her father’s money. It was all too familiar and she had trouble holding back her yawns.

  Until the pack was courteously but irrevocably pushed aside by the wide shoulders of the stranger. He was a lion among wolves as he swept through them and headed towards her.

  “This is our dance,” he said, in a deep voice rich with meaning. Almost automatically she took the proferred hand, unable to resist this man with the strange gleam in his eyes. In a moment they were waltzing and it was heaven. His muscles were like steel yet he was light and graceful as a god.

  “Who are you,” she whispered.

  “Your prince, come to take you away from all this,” he murmured in her ear.

  “You talk like a fairy tale,” she laughed.

  “This is a fairy tale, and you are the heroine.

  His words struck fire in her brain and she felt the thrill of an electric current sweep through her. It had, but it was just a temporary short circuit. While his lips murmured the words she had wanted to hear all her life into her ear, his magic feet led her through the great doors and onto the balcony. Once there words blended with action and hot lips burned against hers. 102 degrees to be exact, that was what the thermostat was set at.

  “Please,” she breathed, weak with this new passion, “I must sit down.

  He sat next to her, her hands in his soft yet vise-like grip. They talked the words that only lovers know until a burst of music drew her attention.

  “Midnight,” she breathed. “Time to unmask, my love.

  Her mask dropped off, but he of course did nothing. “Come, come,” she said. “You must take your mask off too.

  It was a command and of course as a robot he had to obey. With a flourish he pulled off his face.

  Carol Ann screamed first, then instantly burned with anger.

  “What sort of scheme is this, you animated tin can? Answer.

  “It was love, dear one. Love that brought me here tonight and sent me to your arms.

  The answer was true enough, though Filer couched it in the terms of his disguise.

  When the soft words of her darling came out of the harsh mouth of the electronic speaker Carol Ann screamed again. She knew she had been made a fool of.

  “Who sent you here like this, answer. What is the meaning of this disguise, answer, ANSWER! ANSWER! you articulated pile of cams and rods!

  Filer tried to sort out the questions and answer them one at a time, but she gave him no time to speak.

  “It’s the filthiest trick of all time, sending you here disguised as a man. You’re a robot. A nothing. A two-legged IBM machine with a victrola attached. Making believe you’re man when you’re nothing but a robot.

  Suddenly Filer was on his feet, the words crackling mechanically from his speaker.

  “I am a robot.

  The gentle voice of love was gone and replaced by one of mechanical despair. Thought chased thought through the whirling electronic circuits of his brain and they were all the same thought.

  I’m a robot - a robot - I must have forgotten I was a robot. What can a robot be doing here with a woman - a robot cannot kiss a woman - a woman cannot love a robot yet she said she loved me - yet I’m a robot-a robot ….

  With a mechanical shudder he turned his back on the girl and clanked away. With each step his steel fingers plucked at clothes and plastic flesh until they tore free in shards and pieces. Fragments of cloth marked his trail away from the woman, and within a hundred paces he was as steel naked as the day he was built. Through the garden down to the street he went, the thoughts in his head going in ever tighter circles.

  It was uncontrolled feedback and soon his body followed his brain. His legs went faster, his motors whirled more rapidly, and the central lubrication pump in his thorax churned like a mad thing.

  Then, with a single metallic screech, he raised both arms and plunged forward. His head hit a corner of a stair and the granite point thrust into the thin casing. Metal ground to metal and all the complex circuits that made up his were instantly discharged. Robot Filer 13B-445-K was quite dead.

  That was how the report read that the mechanic sent in the following day. Not dead, but permanently impaired, unrepairable, to be disposed of. Yet, strangely enough, that wasn’t what this same man had said when he examined the metallic corpse.

  A second mechanic had helped in the examination. It was he who had spun off the bolts and pulled out the damaged lubrication pump.

  “Here’s the trouble,” he had announced. “Malfunction in the pump. Piston broke, jammed the pump, the knees locked from lack of oil - then the robot fell and shorted out its brains.

  The first mechanic wiped grease off his hands and examined the faulty pump. Then looked from it to the gaping hole in the chest.

  “You could almost say he died of a broken heart.

  They both laughed and he threw the pump into the corner with all the other cracked, dirty, broken and discarded machinery.

  12:

  BILL THE GALACTIC HERO’S HAPPY HOLIDAY

  It was a big bribe, a full bottle of DrainO-the Drunkard’s Delight, 180 proof and strong enough to etch glass. But knowing this man’s Army - or any Man’s Army - Bill did not slip it to the Duty Sergeant until he had actually seen his name posted on the leave roster.

  This was it! His first R&R ever. His lips lifted in an unaccustomed smile, a drop of saliva on each fang, as he read his orders.

  Now hear this. At 0324 hours you will be taken in the company of other R&Rs to the luxurious Holiday Island of Anthrax where you will Enjoy sun, sand, etc. Not enjoying is punishable by death ….

  His eyes were so misted with simple pleasure that he could read no further. He would enjoy the sun and sand-and even learn to like the etc.

  Promptly at 0324 the following morning nothing happened, for this was the military way. Bill, and the other lucky Troopers sat buckled into their knobbed-steel seats in the hover-jumper for over two hours until, prompted by some secret signal, the pilot started the en
gines and the hovercraft, lifted by its mighty fans, floated across the beach to the ocean beyond.

  And hurtled a hundred feet into the air - and crashed back to the sea.

  “Accident! We’re doomed! Bill shouted as his teeth clashed together and his head was slammed down onto his spine.

  “Shut your gob, bowbhead,” grated the Sergeant in the seat next to him-just as there was another horrendous collision. “Civilian hovercraft hover. This is the military version that jumps as well. To dodge enemy fire.

  “And crush everyone inside at the same time?

  “That’s right, bowb-boy. You’re learning.

  After a lifetime of soaring and crashing there was a sudden stillness. Broken only by the moans of the castrated, crunched and crumbled Troopers.

  “Disembark! the loudspeakers grated. “Last one off gets latrine duty for the week.

  Sobbing and moaning the happy holiday makers crawled and stumbled to the exit, fought their way free of this hideous form of transport. Staggered and fell onto the sandy shore.

  “This sand is black,” Bill mumbled.

  “Of course it is,” the Sergeant said sadistically. “Because this is a volcanic island and lava is black. Fall in for roll call!

  As punctuation to his words there was an orgasmic rumble in the ground, which shook beneath their feet like a dog scratching fleas, and they looked in horror as the top of a nearby mountain spewed out smoke and a few clods of flying stone.

  “Are we getting our R&R on an active volcano? Bill asked.

  “Where else in the military,” the Sergeant said not unreasonably. “Shout out when you hear your name. Aardvark… “

  They stood in the burning tropical sun-that is those who didn’t collapse with heatstroke - until the Sergeant reached Zzowski. Only then did they march in staggering formation into the jungle.

  It was a long climb up to the R&R barracks. Made even longer by the truckloads of officers that roared by them, laughing gaily, waving emptying bottles and giving them the finger. They could only plod on in insulting silence.

  It was dusk before they reached the summit. Here the road split; a sign reading OFFICERS ONLY pointed to the right. Ahead of them fumaroles steamed out clouds of sulfur dioxide and other poisonous chemicals. There was still enough light to reveal that the trade winds blew the clouds off to the left. Shuffling, wheezing, coughing, crying they found the way to their holiday bungalows, downwind from the volcano of course, and dropped onto the rock-hard bunks.

  “Gee this is fun! Bill said, smiling through his tears, then lifted his arm to ward off the flying boots that came his way.

  Even these hardened Troopers found it difficult to fall asleep with the seismic rumblings and acrid VOG, Volcanic Smog. But if they hadn’t learned to sleep under these, or worse, conditions they would all have been long-since dead of fatigue. Within minutes the zizzing of snores, and death-rattles of acid-eaten throats, made live the night. Until the lights gashed on and the sergeant burst through the door bellowing loudly.

  “An attack! A Chinger attack!

  They groaned awake, groped for their boots, until the sergeant added, “They’re attacking the officer’s quarters!

  Groans were replaced by cheers as they hurled their boots away and climbed back into the sack. Only to be stirred out again as the sergeant shot holes in the ceiling.

  “I share the feeling,” he growled empathetically. “But they may hit us next. To arms.

  This reasoned argument, appealing to their sense of survival-not the officers-sent them to the gun lockers.

  Bill, dressed only in natty orange underpants and boots, grabbed up an ion rifle, checked that it was fully charged, then joined the others on the porch to enjoy the fun. Explosions and screams of pain penetrated the clouds of drifting VOG.

  “Hear that? Must of got a dozen of the bowbers that time!

  “And I almost volunteered for OCS!

  It was good, clean fun and Bill, smiling with heartfelt pleasure, wandered out onto the grass to see if he could get a better view of the entertainment.

  “Psst, Bill-over here,” someone whispered from behind the bushes.

  “Who’s that? he said suspiciously. “I don’t know anyone here.

  “But I know you, Bill. We were shipmates on the battleship Forniqueteur, the grand old lady of the fleet.

  “So what?

  “So I got a bottle of Plutonian Panther Pee I don’t want to share with the others.

  “Good buddy! Yes, I do remember you now!

  Bill walked around the bush and there was just enough moonlight filtering through the clouds of gunge for him to make out the tiny form of a Chinger standing there.

  “To arms!

  Bill cried, lifting his rifle.

  A small but powerful hand pulled it from his grasp. The Chinger bounded high and a hard fist cracked Bill’s jaw, dropping him, half-stunned, to the ground.

  “Come on, Bill - you remember me. I’ve saved your life more than once.

  “Bgr? Bgr the Chinger?

  “You got that in one - after all, how many Chingers do you know? We staged this raid as a diversion-“

  “You mean you’re not killing the officers? he asked, unhappily.

  “Of course we are. Now shut up and let me finish. A diversion so I could get through to you. We need your help … .

  “Do you think that I am a traitor to the human race!

  “Yes. You are a trained Trooper who will do anything to save his own hide. Right?

  “Right. But traitoring doesn’t come cheap. What’s the pay?

  “A lifetime subscription to the Booze of the Month Club. Their motto-a barrel first means you’ll never die of thirst. There is no mention, however, of hobnailed livers.

  “Done. Who do I have to kill?

  “Nobody. And you don’t have to be a traitor either. That was just my little trap to expose what bowbheads you humans are. Now let’s get out of here before the diversion ends.

  Bgr led the way to an ornamental fountain crowned by an immense fish spewing out water. The water stopped when he twisted the fish’s tail and a door opened in its side.

  “In,” Bgr ordered.

  “What is it? A miniature spaceship disguised as a fountain?

  “Well it’s not a subway train. Move - before we’re spotted.

  A sudden spattering of bullets at his heels sent Bill diving through the opening. He was bashed flat by acceleration and when he finally struggled to his feet Bgr was at the controls; stars punctured the darkness outside the window. The Chinger stabbed down a button and the stars began to shrink as the spacer’s Bloater Drive fired up.

  “Good,” Bgr said, spinning around in his chair. “Have a cigar and I’ll tell you what’s up.

  Bill took one of the proffered cigars and lit it. Bgr ate the rest of them and belched contentedly.

  “Different metabolisms. What we are on is a rescue mission.

  “Kidnapped maidens?

  “Hardly. A Chinger of course. Trapped in his ship when the engines were shot out. He’s very important to us-“

  Why?

  “If I told you that you would sell him out to the highest bidder. Let’s just say important. Spring him and you are drunk for life.

  “Why can’t you do it yourself?

  “For the simple reason, bowb-brain, that I am not human. Mgr, which happens to be his name, is imprisoned on the highly militarized planet of Parra’Noya. Any disguise would be instantly penetrated. You, however, are disgustingly human and can boldly go where we can’t.

  “I want an advance on my salary,” Bill said, beginning to be worried.

  “Why not. You can travel just as well smashed. Nothing could possibly improve or hinder your conversational abilities. Here.

  “Here” was a suspiciously green flask of liquid labeled in an unknown language. None of which would deter a determined boozehead in search of escape. The first mouthful tasted preposterously foul and Bill could feel steam leaking out of his ears. B
ut the more he drank the better it tasted and he was soon twanging a tusk with contentment as he slipped into oblivion.

  “Disgusting. Chingers don’t drinker have BO.

  The clang of mighty bells awoke Bill, groaning. It was some time before he realized that they were inside his head.

  He needed both hands to pry one eye open; it clanged shut and he groaned even more loudly as the light seared and sizzled through his skull.

  “Appalling,” Bgr sneered as he plunged a hypodermic into Bill’s arm. Whatever it was took effect almost instantly and the symptoms of the galaxy-sized hangover began to fade. As the blear faded from his eyes Bill saw a grizzled Admiral of the Fleet standing before him. He snapped to attention and saluted with his two right arms.

  Surprisingly, the Admiral did the same. Much rapid blinking revealed the fact that he was looking at himself in the mirror.

  “My true rank at last,” he simpered, strutting and rattling his medals.

  “Come off it. You aren’t intelligently qualified to even make Private First Class. Now listen to instructions and try to remember them. They are very complicated. Almost as complicated as learning to be a fuse tender.

  “That wasn’t easy - but I did it!

  “Indeed. Listen. Your instructions have been mnemonically implanted in your subconscious. To access your orders you must say the word `harumph’ aloud.

  “Is that all?

  “That’s it. Do you think that you can master all the complications and pitfalls of these complex instructions?

  “Harumph.

  Bill said, then hooked his thumbs into his gunbelt and began to speak in resounding tones. “I say, my good man, don’t you realize that you are in the presence of a Grand Admiral of the fleet … .

  “Unharumph! Bgr called out and Bill staggered back.

  “Did I say that?

  “You did. The implants work. Now the battle starts.

  “What battle?

  “The staged battle, bowb-brain, from which you will escape in a lifeboat that will take you to Parra’Noya.

  Bgr hit the communication button and the imaged form of another green, four-armed Chinger appeared on the screen.