The Green Futures of Tycho

by William Sleator

  He bowed slightly, obviously asking for applause. When it came, the applause was halfhearted and brief, but he stood there grinning and soaking it up until the last faint clap died away. Tycho wanted to cringe with embarrassment for him. At last, to Tycho’s intense relief, he sat down. He must be having a bad day today, Tycho told himself. I would never act like that unless something was really going wrong.

  The lights went out; color flashed across the screen. There was a fanfare of electronic trumpets creating vast unearthly echoes, and the words Lunar Entertainments, Inc. appeared in dancing green flames. Then the screen went black, and there was only a pair of feet against the darkness, in pink toe shoes, standing in fifth position. There was something very familiar about those feet.

  Then the feet went up on point and began bouréeing around in tiny little steps, and the music began. It was a plain old-fashioned acoustical orchestra, playing the second act of Giselle. Tycho recognized it immediately, with a slight feeling of nausea. Tamara played that music so much that even Bobby had once left the house at the sound of the first note.

  The camera pulled back, revealing the entire dancer, who was, in fact, Tamara. She was thinner and wirier than ever, and there was a certain tightness about her mouth and eyes. Still, she looked much the same. So she finally did get to dance this part after all, Tycho said to himself. I bet she never thought she’d be doing it on the moon.

  As yet, the location had made no apparent difference in the dancing. Tycho remembered this scene. Giselle had died in the previous act, and was now a ghostly, will-o’-the-wisp kind of creature, in a long white tutu, dancing with the man who had betrayed her. Tamara had explained the logic behind the dancing. Each time the man lifted her, the orchestra would stretch out one long note, holding it until her foot touched the ground again. The idea was to emphasize her airy, spiritual nature.

  The man lifted Tamara. He stretched his hands above his head and gave a gentle push. And up Tamara went, and then up and up, as the orchestra held on to the note and the camera pulled back. But the man still disappeared below her as she kept floating up, with a dreamy sad half-smile on her face, slowly waving the lily in her hand, casually flapping her pointed feet. The orchestra kept holding on to the note, interminably (the poor oboe player must be nearly dead by now, thought Tycho), as Tamara gradually drifted to a stop, paused for a moment in mid-air, and then began her descent, her skirts fluttering gently as she accelerated downward, her eyes gazing wistfully up to heaven. The note went on, wavering, as the man caught her, held her effortlessly in a long, graceful pose, and brought her down at last. The camera zoomed in on her foot again as it delicately made contact with the floor; and with an audible gasp, the orchestra went on, finally, to the next note.

  The gasp that went up from the people in the audience was very audible indeed. Like Tycho, they all seemed to have been holding their breath. The gasp became a murmur and then an excited buzz as the lifting and tossing of Tamara was repeated again and then again. As the scene ended, she tossed the flower at the kneeling man, who didn’t even try to catch it because it just went up and up and never came down again at all. Tamara gracefully launched herself, wafted halfway across the stage with her body held perfectly in position, and disappeared into the wings like a fragile puff of down.

  The genuine applause of the audience was interrupted by a brutal cut to backstage. Tamara squatted beside a pile of ropes and dirty machinery, her hands on her bent knees, her rump in the air. Sweat streamed down her face and stained the underarms of her bodice, and her chest heaved as she gasped painfully, noisily, for breath. At first she was not aware of the camera. When she did see it, she straightened up with a puppetlike jerk, and the look of shocked helplessness and embarrassment on her face was truly pitiful to behold. Tycho wanted to close his eyes.

  “She’s not expecting this,” came an unpleasant, delighted voice from the front row. “But I wanted the element of surprise. I thought it was important to get some real backstage color.” Yes, and spoil the whole effect she worked so hard to create, thought Tycho angrily. What a nasty person this man was! It was difficult for Tycho to think of him as himself, though he knew he had to be.

  The presence of the camera was forcing Tamara to submit, grudgingly, to an interview. “Easier?” she gasped, dabbing at her face with tissue. “Yes, well, I have done Giselle on the earth many times, and of course fighting gravity is one of your basic problems, and, uh …” She paused to pant uncomfortably. “Well, of course, if you were just trying for the same elevation, it would be easier on the moon, with only one-sixth gravity. But the whole point of coming up here to dance is to get these spectacular effects. It’s just as hard to jump thirty feet on the moon as it is to jump five feet on the earth.” She smiled slightly, struggling to make the most of the situation. “In a way, it’s harder, because you’re in the air so much longer, so you have to hold your position much—”

  “Thank you, I think we’re ready for our next number now,” interrupted the interviewer. “Backstage on the moon, we have just been speaking with Tam—”

  “Now this next one isn’t so old-fashioned. I think it’s really going to be spectacular,” announced Mr. Tithonus, effectively blotting out the dancer’s name.

  There was a dissonant electronic shriek, and a woman dressed in a piece of red string burst onto the stage. She jumped into the air, spinning like a top, and turned an uncountable number of times before she landed. Three men in blue string appeared, formed a triangle, and began playing catch with the woman. As they tossed her back and forth between them, she assumed different positions in the air: first straight like an arrow, then waving her arms, then grabbing her feet with her hands, then arching her back and putting her feet on her shoulders, and finally wrapping her ankles around her neck. She remained in that position as the men gathered together and heaved her up and out into the wings. Then they began jumping frantically, hardly seeming to touch the ground as they spun over and around each other through the air, like three dolls in the hands of an invisible juggler. At the same moment, they all landed together on their hands and danced around in that position for a while, forming patterns with their legs and feet. Then they did perfect handsprings that sent them soaring up to disappear in the space above the top of the stage.

  As soon as they were gone, three green shapes came bouncing chaotically across the screen. They were limbless, not like people at all. Apparently they were dancers encased in bags that could be stretched and twisted into amoebalike forms. In a moment they careened out of sight.

  The lights went on and Mr. Tithonus was up on the platform again, basking in the applause, which died very quickly. They were applauding the dancers, not him, but he waited until the last stray clap had faded before opening his mouth. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. “I told you it would be spectacular, didn’t I? But don’t go, the dancing isn’t over yet,” he pleaded, as several people got up and started to leave. “There’s more to come.” Reluctantly, the people went back to their seats. “Just a brief commercial message here while the dancers get ready for their next number. Now, all you wonderful people have some questions, and I bet I can guess what they are. First question: How does a company become a sponsor for this great entertainment experience? That one’s easy. All you have to do is—”

  Tycho had had enough. He got up and headed for the door. There wasn’t one, but there was a red exit sign glowing at eye level on the back wall. “Hey, wait a minute,” he heard his older self say. “Don’t go away, young—” But as Tycho approached the letters, the wall opened, and he ran out into the reception room.

  The silver woman looked up in surprise as he sped past. “What’s the matter, didn’t you like it?” she demanded.

  “It made me sick!” Tycho shot back at her, stopping in front of the green tube.

  “Well, there’s just no explaining people’s taste,” she said. “Of course, being weightless always does make me a trifle queasy, but I can’t see how just watching othe
r people—”

  The capsule enclosed him and cut her off in mid-sentence.

  10

  BACK BEHIND THE OAK TREE, HE JUMPED FOR home and arrived one minute after he had left. He got upstairs without incident and crawled exhausted into bed. He dreamed vividly of people flying through the air, controlled by a horrible bleating voice that would not shut up.

  He brooded at school the next day, unable to concentrate on anything but the future he had seen. Several teachers chided him for not paying attention. When he got home, he went up to his room and closed the door, hoping to avoid everyone in his family.

  How naive he had been, to think that a glimpse at the future would be an innocuous little game. Perhaps it would have been, if his future were different. As it was, the trip ahead in time had left him more depressed than anything that had ever happened to him before.

  How had he turned out that way? Foolishly dressed, physically unattractive, blatantly and pitifully craving the attention and approval which the audience, seeing through him, did not want to give. Worst of all, he had been so childishly nasty to his own sister, delighting in her embarrassment, even preventing the audience from hearing her name. Certainly Lunar Entertainments would be a fascinating career. But the fact that he was so obnoxious ruined all his pleasure in it. That he should turn out like that was unthinkable, impossible, and yet at the same time hideously unavoidable. It was locked into the future. No matter what he did, that was how it was going to be. He felt like giving up right now. Just drifting off and forgetting everything.

  There was a knock on the door. Usually, no one knocked. Even when they did, they would come barging in right away anyway, without waiting for a response. This time there was only a knock. Unprepared for such politeness, Tycho said nothing, his eyes closed, until the knock came again, hesitantly, and he said, “Come in.”

  It was Leonardo.

  “Oh, hi, Leo,” Tycho said, looking up at him desultorily from the bed. What was his brother up to now?

  Leonardo twisted his pudgy hands together nervously. He didn’t seem to know where to look. “Well, Tycho, I just thought I should tell you … I don’t know why I’m doing this. But Ludwig … well, he keeps saying these funny things about you, making hints. He swears he’s going to catch you, sooner or later.”

  “Catch me?” Tycho sat up quickly, the threat knocking all the grogginess out of him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He rubbed his eyes. “Come on in, Leo. And close the door.”

  Leonardo pushed the door shut and approached the bed. “I’m not sure what he means. He’s vague about it, like it’s a secret that he doesn’t want to share until he knows more. But he still wants to make everybody else suspicious—including Bobby and Judy.”

  Tycho began to think hard. What had he given away? What precautions had he forgotten to take? At all costs the egg must be guarded and protected. If anyone else knew about it, he was lost. “I don’t know what you mean, Leo,” he said calmly. “Give me an example, something specific. Then maybe I’ll know what he’s driving at.”

  Leonardo pulled out the desk chair and sank down heavily. Plump was really an understatement for him; he was on the verge of being obese. When had he put on all that extra weight? It was odd that Tycho hadn’t noticed it until now.

  “Well, he said …” Leonardo began. Then he looked back uncomfortably at the door.

  What was wrong with him? Tycho had never known him to be so timid. Leonardo’s obsequious manner, combined with Tycho’s own nervous curiosity, made Tycho irritable. “Are you deaf or something, Leo? I bet they can hear him banging out that stupid étude on the next block. Listen, he’s going to make that same mistake again.” They waited. “See? I knew he would. Come on, Leo, he can’t break in on us. And if anybody else does, I’ll protect you,” he added sarcastically.

  “Well, after school, we were having a snack in the kitchen. Apples and candy bars. He told me and Tamara and Judy that he heard you sneak up and down the stairs late last night. First you disappeared all day Saturday, and then you locked yourself in the bathroom Saturday night, and now you’re sneaking around the house early in the morning and late at night, when everyone else is in bed. You never did that before.”

  “I was hungry. I went down to get a snack. You of all people should understand that.”

  “Well, you don’t have to get mad and start insulting me,” said Leonardo petulantly, putting his hand to his chest. “I’m just trying to help you.”

  “I’m not mad, Leo. But is that all Ludwig said? Come on, get it out. We don’t have much time.”

  “No. He said you had something, something special, like a secret tool or an experiment that you would only do when nobody else was around; and it wasn’t safe, you might set the house on fire or something. And Judy said, ‘Why don’t you just ask him about it?’ And he said he did, but you lied about it. And he said he was going to catch you and get it away from you before you did something dangerous and somebody got hurt.”

  “What did Judy say then?”

  “She told him to stop worrying about you and go and practice. And he said he would prove he was right.”

  For a moment they just watched each other, while muffled waves of the Revolutionary Etude rolled and trembled from downstairs. Then Tycho said, “Why are you telling me this? Why not just go along with him?”

  “Well …” Leonardo looked away, flipping papers on the desk. “I don’t know if he’s right or not, but I thought maybe, if he was right, and you did have a secret game or something, and I helped you out and warned you, then maybe … you would share it with me.”

  So that was it! Naturally Leonardo wasn’t doing this just to help him out. He was doing it for a reward, and to be one up on Ludwig. But perhaps Ludwig’s suspicions were not all bad, after all. Perhaps he could even use them to his own advantage. “Well, Leo,” Tycho said slowly. “Thanks for telling me. It really helps a lot. But I’m afraid Ludwig’s a little bit mixed up.”

  “You mean there isn’t anything?” Leonardo said with real disappointment. Then he went on, earnestly, “Please tell me the truth, Tycho. You can trust me, I promise.”

  “I didn’t say there wasn’t anything, I just said Ludwig is a little mixed up.” Tycho stood up and paced briefly, his hands in his pockets, prolonging the suspense. It also gave him a chance to touch the egg, just to be sure it was safe. Abruptly be turned and faced Leonardo. “Because yes, there is something. But it’s not a game. It’s not an object or a thing.” It was very important to get that untruth across. “It’s more like … a power.”

  “Oh, come on, Tycho,” Leonardo said crossly. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? I’m only going to help you if you tell me the truth.”

  “But it is the truth,” Tycho said fervently. “And I can prove it. It takes a lot of practice, but with this power I can tell the future.”

  “Cut it out, Tycho,” said Leonardo, sounding really disgusted now.

  “But it’s true,” Tycho insisted. “Listen, Leo. If I told you what was going to happen at supper tonight, and what people were going to say, and it was right, would you believe me then?”

  “Sure I would.” Leonardo shrugged skeptically. “If it was right, and if it was detailed enough. Not just some fortuneteller’s trick.”

  “And if it is, will you help me out, and be on my side, and keep tabs on Ludwig for me?”

  “I guess so. If you’ll teach me how to do it too.”

  “It’s a deal,” Tycho said. Then he became aware that the music had stopped. It couldn’t have been better timed. “You better get out of here in case Ludwig comes up. I’ll be up to your room in a little while and tell you what’s going to happen tonight. And then we’ll see what we shall see.”

  Leonardo left quickly, and Tycho sat down at the desk and opened a book. He waited until he heard Ludwig come upstairs, pause by his door, and then go into his own room. Quickly he adjusted the dials and jumped ahead two hours. He went and stood at the top of the st
airs and listened for ten minutes, then went back to his room and returned thirty seconds after he had left. Half an hour later, he went up to Leonardo’s room on the third floor.

  Leonardo was working on the cafeteria section of his junior high school mural. A long line of students in brightly colored outfits snaked along the wall, ending at a counter where fat grinning ladies stood behind vats of spaghetti sauce and fried chicken. His tongue between his teeth, Leonardo was just putting the finishing touches on a gleaming case of luscious chocolate pies.

  “Okay,” Tycho said, his voice bland and matter-of-fact, “Tonight we are going to have leftover stew disguised as meat pie, and chocolate soufflé for dessert.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” said Leonardo. “You could always just ask—”

  “Wait a minute,” Tycho said, holding up his hand, completely in control. “Let me finish. Bobby will complain that the pie is too salty and the crust is soggy. Then the soufflé won’t rise; it will just be a gooey mess, and we’ll have to drown it in whipped cream. But it will taste good anyway. Judy will say we’re lucky she cooked anything at all, because she had so many patients today. Then Bobby will tell about one of his patients who’s a kleptomaniac and can’t stop shoplifting. Yesterday she stole a fifteen-pound turkey from the supermarket. The patient wrote Bobby a check for a hundred dollars which Bobby will return only if the patient doesn’t steal anything for a month. Then Tamara will brag about how she did thirty-two perfect fouettés to the left, on point, and the whole class applauded; and Ludwig will say, ‘Too bad you didn’t get a videotape, since you’ll never do it again’; and Judy will say, ‘What’s the matter with you, Ludwig? You’ve been out of sorts all day.’ And Ludwig will say that nothing is the matter, that I’m the one who’s been acting strange recently.” Tycho paused. “And then, Leo, you will stick up for me.”

  Leonardo stared at Tycho for a moment. Then he pursed his lips and lifted his eyebrows. “All right, Tycho,” he said. “We’ll see.”