by Mike Resnick
“Like an orgasm?” she suggested.
“No. That would drive anyone crazy. But it's like twenty-four hours a day of mild foreplay, if you see the difference."
“I suppose so,” she replied dubiously. “And you're really hooked on this body?"
“Well, that's one way of putting it,” said Carp. “I have no desire to ever leave it, that's for sure. I mean, what the hell is there to go back to, anyway? Just a bunch of misfits—begging your pardon, Gloria."
“But you were good at running the games,” she said. “Almost as good as the Rigger."
“So what? They were just games.” He paused. “Not everyone is as much in love with their profession as you are, Gloria. Some of us would rather just be happy."
“You make it seem very simple."
“It is. Why not spend a few months as a Hod and give it a try? I guarantee you'll like it. Who knows? I might even get you under the covers—or the Hod equivalent of them."
“But I don't want to be a Hod,” she said firmly.
“Then be whatever makes you happy."
“My work makes me happy."
“Well, I guess that's that,” said Carp. “You can't be a stripper and a Hod at the same time. We don't wear any clothes.” He paused. “I suppose I should be embarrassed about my nudity, but I know how Hods looked to me before I was one of them."
“They look different now?” asked Gloria slowly.
“Oh, yes. Nothing like becoming a member of a species to lose your distaste for their less elegant aspects. To be perfectly honest, I'm propositioning you mostly from memory. I've only been a Hod for a couple of months and already you appear ... well, alien, if you know what I mean."
“You get assimilated that quickly?"
“I did,” replied Carp. “But then, I like what I am. I seem to remember that Mr. Romany couldn't wait to stop looking like a Man."
“But it doesn't bother you at all?” she persisted.
“Not a bit. Look at how fast I learned the language. Oh, I took an intensive sleep-course in it on the way here, but that's not the same as actually making all these hooting sounds. I practically scared myself to death the first time I heard myself. Now I think it sounds kind of pretty."
“And there's no residual pain from the surgery?"
“Not a bit. I feel like ... well, if I was still a Man, like I could screw all night long, play three quick sets of tennis in the morning, and then go out and run a marathon. Those surgeons know what they're doing, all right. They even fixed my asthma while they were at it."
“What did it cost?"
“I don't know. Thaddeus paid for it."
“Tell me more about the pain."
“What's there to tell? It hurt.” He moved closer to her. “Don't tell me you're thinking of becoming a Hod!"
“No,” she said slowly. “Not a Hod."
“But something?"
“I'm considering it."
“Well, hot damn! Now Thaddeus can't have you either!"
“He never could, Johnny,” said Gloria. “Can they turn you into anything you want?"
“No. They can't make you a chlorine or methane breather, and I seem to remember them turning down some guy who wanted to move to a high-gravity world. They said they could make him look the part, but that his bones and muscles wouldn't be able to support him. But I could be wrong; I wasn't paying much attention.” He raised his eyeless head and studied her. “Just out of curiosity, what do you want to become?"
“The same as you, Johnny,” she answered him. “I want to become something I like."
“I always liked you just fine."
“You never knew me. You liked Butterfly Delight."
“Same difference,” he replied.
“There's more difference than you can imagine. How far is it to Zeta Piscium?"
“I have no idea,” he said. “My ship made it in about three days—but I still don't know why ships sometimes go at light speed and sometimes at fifty times light speed. In fact, there's a hell of a lot I don't know about this damned galaxy. Maybe that's why I like being a Hod: I get to sink into the ooze and not worry about stuff like that."
“Three days?” she repeated.
“I thought so—but hell, maybe it was nine. They changed my metabolism around to fit the world. It seems to me like a day and night are twelve hours apiece, but for all I know they're ten minutes or three weeks. That's what you've got to understand about the surgery. I'm not like a Hod; I am a Hod."
He paused. “You might think about that before you make up your mind. If you go through with it, you won't just be Gloria Stunkel in a masquerade costume."
“That's fine by me,” she said. “I never liked being Gloria Stunkel anyway."
“I think that's what I like best about you,” said Carp.
“What?"
“You're even crazier than me."
“If I decide to go to Zeta Piscium, how do I get there from here?"
“Well, you can flap your arms real hard or you can take a spaceship—it's up to you."
“I see that becoming a Hod hasn't improved your sense of humor,” she said dryly. “I don't know how to pilot a ship."
“How did you get here?"
“Mr. Ahasuerus programmed one of the robots to fly me here. Do you know how to reprogram it?"
“No—and even if I did, I'm no longer able to do any real delicate tinkering,” answered Carp. He paused. “Wait a minute! I've got an idea. Your ship may not have the route to Zeta Piscium in its memory banks, but mine sure as hell does. You can have the robot fly your ship back to wherever the show is at and take mine."
“I still don't know how to fly it."
“I can't show you,” said Carp, “but I can tell you. It's not that difficult. The navigational computer does just about everything except land it."
“I can't land a ship!” protested Gloria. “I don't even know how to drive a car!"
“It's up to you,” said Carp. “Just how badly do you want to stop being Gloria and become whatever it is that seems to appeal to you so much?"
“Bad enough,” she responded at last. “How long will it take for you to teach me?"
“An hour, a day, a week—who the hell knows? You've been Gloria Stunkel all your life; can you keep being her for as long as it takes to learn?"
“All right. Where is your ship? It must be close by, or the robot wouldn't have landed here."
“About two miles away,” said Carp. “But we don't have to go there yet. I can explain how it works while we're where you'll be comfortable. My ship was remodeled, so to speak, for my new image."
“Yes, but your ship has a radio I can use without spending hours convincing the robot that I've got a message worth sending."
“And who do you want to talk to?"
“Thaddeus."
“All right,” said Carp. “Follow me. We'll be going through what passes for lush vegetation on this world, but don't worry. Even if you lose sight of me, I'm not the fastest moving thing you've ever seen."
They set off for Carp's ship together, and within half a mile Gloria was sinking up to her knees in the mire with every step. Carp offered to let her ride on his back, but somehow the thought of making physical contact with him was more repulsive than foot-slogging through her surroundings, and she declined the offer.
It took them almost three hours to cover the distance, but at last they reached the ship, and Carp entered it first.
“I know you aren't thrilled by my proximity,” he explained, “but the radio is also rigged for a Hod. I'll get it homed in and then you can take over."
He spent a few minutes adjusting various dials and buttons and then slithered back down to the ground.
“It's all yours,” he said. “Press the blue button when you want to speak.
This is going on subspace tightbeam, which mean it's pretty damned fast, but it's still going to take five or six minutes for you to get an answer to anything you say."
“Thank you, John
ny,” she said, stepping around his pulsating bulk and climbing the stairs to the pilot's cabin. They took a bit of negotiating, since they were made for a Hod, but finally she reached the radio and pushed the blue button.
“Thaddeus. This is Gloria. Can you hear me?"
“It's going to take him a while to answer, even if he's sitting right next to the radio,” remarked Carp. “Want to play Three Thirds of a Ghost while we're waiting?"
She shook her head and stared intently at the radio. Just when she was sure it wasn't working. Flint's voice came over the speaker, crackling with static.
“This is Thaddeus. Mr. Ahasuerus says that it takes forever to hold a conversation on these things, so let me ask you a batch of questions at once. Did you find Fast Johnny? Is he okay? Are you okay? When will you be coming back? And is he coming with you?” Then, as an afterthought: “Oh, yeah—Tojo says hello."
“Yes, I found fast Johnny, and no, he's not coming back with me,” replied Gloria. “And, while we're on the subject, I'm not coming back either. But don't worry Thaddeus, I'm not going native. In fact, I've got a little business proposition for you..."
* * *
Chapter 17
Look at it, Thaddeus!” exclaimed Tojo, standing at the base of their two-man ship. “It's fabulous!"
“Somehow I'm not surprised,” replied Flint, climbing down the stairs and joining him. He paused to activate his sending and receiving translators.
“Oh? Had Houdini described it to you?"
“No,” said Flint, looking at the sprawling megalopolis that crept up to the edge of the spaceport. “But Mr. Ahasuerus has never expressed any interest in playing the Hesporite system, so it stood to reason that they've got lots of people and a thriving economy.” He lit an artificial cigarette and tried not to cough.
Three months had passed since he had agreed to Gloria's deal, during which time the carnival had crawled out of the red and into the black, and he had managed to get Kargennian to spring for two more rides and another dozen games workers. The Dancer was still playing to packed houses, Stogie was pulling in an extra two to three thousand customers per night, and Julius Squeezer's record now stood at 308 wins against only 17 defeats. Except for the death of Monk's leopards, things couldn't have gone much more smoothly, and Flint had finally decided to take a few days off to check out his most recent investment.
“I'm surprised someone's not here to meet us,” remarked Tojo, looking around.
“If this were a science fiction story,” said Flint, scanning the huge number of boulevards that converged about half a mile from them, “I'd say the aliens were giving us a survival test. Oh, well,” he added with a shrug, “we might as well announce ourselves."
He pulled a pistol out of his pocket and fired it into the air.
“That ought to get a response,” he said with a smile.
“I didn't know you owned a gun, Thaddeus,” said the hunchback.
“I borrowed it from the Dancer."
“But why?"
“You never know when you're going to need one."
“But Hesporite III is a member of the Community of Worlds! Surely you don't expect any trouble here!"
“Tojo, there are carny people, and there's everyone else. You can't trust half the carnies you know, and you can't trust none of the rest of ‘em.” He fired the pistol again. “If someone doesn't come by pretty damned soon, I'm going to aim the next shot at something breakable."
Suddenly a small open vehicle approached them, driven by a member of Houdini's race.
“I must inform you that weaponry of any type is illegal on Hesporite III,” said the driver as the vehicle came to a stop.
“This?” asked Flint into his translator, holding his pistol up. “It's just a noisemaker."
“I am afraid I must examine it, sir,” replied the driver.
“Tell you what,” said Flint. “You point out the way to the Seven-Star Carnival, and you can keep the goddamned thing."
“I must confiscate it regardless,” said the driver, “but once you give it to me, I will be happy to ferry you to a public conveyance and give you directions to your location."
Flint shrugged, handed over the pistol, and clambered into the vehicle after first boosting Tojo onto the back seat.
They were driven to a train, which obviously terminated at the spaceport, and told to get off at the tenth stop. The seats were not made for humans, and they elected to stand for the duration of the journey. Aliens were not unknown on Hesporite III, but they were still rare enough so the two humans got more than their share of curious stares during the trip.
Finally they got off and followed the signs—the writing was unintelligible, but the illustrations were quite adequate—and within a mile they had come to the carnival, which had set up shop in the Hesporitan equivalent of a cornfield.
“Lousy games,” said Flint, surveying the Midway with a practiced eye. “I guess these guys never heard what old P.T. had to say about suckers and even breaks."
“It seems clean, though,” remarked Tojo. “And they have some nice rides."
“No freak show,” said Flint. “Jesus! You'd think they'd be easy to put together with a whole galaxy to choose from."
“I think I've found what we're looking for!” exclaimed Tojo suddenly. He pointed to a tent about two hundred feet distant, with a huge illustration of a magician pulling some kind of alien animal out of a hat.
“Looks like it,” agreed Flint.
They walked up to the tent, paid their admissions after waiting a few minutes to find out the current value of a credit on Hesporite, and entered.
Houdini was standing on a makeshift stage, producing bouquets out of empty air with wild abandon, and even incorporating some tricks with one of the Rigger's old decks of cards.
“Full house,” whispered Tojo, after doing a quick head count. “About three hundred."
Flint nodded, and concentrated on the magician. Houdini took about ten minutes to work his way through his repertoire of illusions, then stepped forward to a microphone.
“And now, the moment you've all been waiting for,” he announced, as the crowd suddenly became more attentive. “Presenting the first ecdysiast in the history of Hesporite: the one, the only, the fabulous Butterfly Delight!"
The lights dimmed, the music began, and a single spotlight hit the stage as Butterfly Delight stepped out and strutted to the center amid a wild cheer from the crowd.
“That's not her,” whispered Tojo. “It can't be!"
“Shut up and watch,” answered Flint.
The dancer's features were still humanoid, but there was no trace of Gloria Stunkel in them. Her eyes, like Houdini's, were small and wide-set; her ears were large and set low on her head; her arms seemed to be jointed at slightly different places; and of course she had the same tripodal structure as the other members of the race.
The three-legged hootch dancer started bumping and shimmying to the music—alien music, but with a primal beat that seemed universal—and the audience went crazy, filling the air with hoots and whistles and cheers. She removed a glove and threw it to them, and a fight almost broke out for possession of it.
“They like her, Thaddeus!” whispered Tojo excitedly. “They really like her!"
Flint grunted an affirmative and kept his eyes on the dancer. Some of her moves had changed because of the nature of her new body, but as the act continued he started noticing little touches that had carried over: the double bumps in time with the snare drum, the false modesty until the audience literally begged her to remove her last few pieces of clothing, the way she clung to the curtains. The floor work was gone—her three-legged body couldn't adapt to it—but she had some interesting moves in its place.
Finally the performance was over, and the dancer struck a pose, waited for the ovation to die down, bowed once, and stepped back behind the curtain.
Flint waited until the tent had emptied out, then climbed onto the stage, helped Tojo up onto it, and felt behin
d the curtains until he came to a flap in the canvas structure.
He stepped through, and found the dancer seated on an incredibly complicated chair, a satin robe wrapped around her sweating body, looking into a mirror as she removed her makeup.
“Not bad for a broad with three legs,” said Flint softly.
She turned suddenly to face him.
“Thaddeus!” she cried happily in English. “Did you see the show?"
Flint nodded. “Tojo doesn't believe it's you."
“It's me, all right,” she replied with an alien smile. “Hello, Tojo. How are you?"
“Fine, Gloria,” stammered the hunchback. “And you?"
“Better than I've ever been,” she said. She turned back to Flint. “Did you see the audience, Thaddeus? Did you hear them?"
“Yes."
“They've been like this since we got here! Two religious groups have even tried to shut us down. It's just like the old days!"
“It is,” said Flint. “You aren't."
“You're not backing down on our deal?” she said quickly.
He smiled. “No. I like what I saw."
“Then we can stay in business?"
Flint nodded. “We'll pick up the tab for the surgery and bankroll the show in exchange for half the profits."
“I knew you'd go for it if you saw the show!” she exclaimed, smiling happily.
“Just one thing troubles me,” said Flint.
“What?"
“Well, everything is new and exciting to you now, but you weren't born in this body, and sooner or later I think you're going to get tired of it. What happens then?"
“She can always become one of us again,” put in Tojo.
She shook her head. “Never again. But if I get tired of being a three-legged stripper, I've got the whole galaxy to choose from. There's thousands of races out there, Thaddeus. Maybe I'll become a lizard and shed my skin. Maybe I'll be a bird and molt to music. Who knows? But it's all there for the taking. As long as I can work and make audiences happy, I'm never changing back."
