Orbit 12 - [Anthology]

by Edited by Damon Knight

  “We won’t talk about how clever that was—”

  “Clever, I say! And I’m beginning to feel an idea tickling the back of my mind. Give me a while to work it out.”

  Nert dumped his wastes and went downstairs to the restaurant to get something to eat. He smothered the memory of boiled greeb with familiar food from the home world, frigul with grammuce and proshmingles. He overpaid for everything.

  When Nert got back to the apartment, Herbie said, “I have an idea,” and explained it to him. Nert agreed that it was an interesting plan, but wondered if it was necessary.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Nert said, “we already know Dr. Billingsley uses mittlebran. Why go to all that trouble trying to prove it?”

  “Well, we don’t really know it was Billingsley. One of his patients could be using it. You know how fast clothing soaks up the smell, how difficult it is to get rid of. Besides, I think we’ll have more of a psychological advantage if we catch him with his pod in the punch.”

  Herbie sent Nert out to the spaceport to get them each a berth on a ship leaving on one of the next few nights. Herbie had specified nights because they would have to leave as soon as possible after their meeting with Dr. Billingsley, and the plan had to be used in the early evening.

  Nert rode the slideways to the edge of town, skirting the forbidding area he’d traveled through the night before. The daylight washed away the dark demon magic from the streets and buildings, and left old wooden walls weather-blasted and peeling; tired beings lounging on front steps and in gutters as if they’d been there as long as the buildings. It was no longer terrifying, it was depressing.

  Nert ignored the invitations, inducements, and promises of sky-boards and beings who all had good times awaiting him at a modest fee. But the dancing melee of color and sound was pale compared to the way Nert remembered it was at night, when the advertising no longer had to compete with the sun. He got to the spaceport and followed the signs to where spacemen could sign up on outward-bound ships.

  Signing up for a post on an outward-bound ship always disturbed Nert. On the home world when he was just a klarn, Nert had once readMoby Dick, a Terran classic. Though it had been translated from late middle English into Droshi, he’d found the reading so difficult that he’d never finished it. Somewhere during the first few chapters the hero and his alien companion signed up on a ship whose captain, they were warned, had an obsession about a large local aquatic creature. Nert had been told that later the ship was lost with all hands except for the hero. Signing up for a post on an outward-bound ship always reminded him of Moby Dick and what had happened to its crew. He knew it was not rational, but his subconscious was unconvinced until it was aboard his ship and could see there was no resemblance between it and the ship in the book.

  He signed Herbie and himself onto a freighter carrying towels and blankets, each stamped in red with the words HAVE A SPREE ON SPANGLE! The mate who signed them up claimed he had room in the crew for only one more. Nert convinced him otherwise with a few credits from his dwindling capital reserve.

  * * * *

  It was early evening. The sun was low on the horizon, silhouetting the peaks and spires of the city against the sky. They’d left the slideways and were deep in Oldtown. They were following the route Herbie had pulled telepathically out of Nert’s mind. Nert looked like an ambulatory baby blue cone. It was a disguise.

  They both knew that if Dr. Billingsley saw Nert he would be suspicious. Herbie had hung a camera around Nert’s neck, wrapped him in one of the blankets from the hotel and pinned it closed with a fastener he found in the complimentary toilet kit in the bathroom. Herbie told him he looked like a being from Fomalhaut VII. Nert said he felt as if he were walking inside a tent.

  Herbie walked down the steps to the alley where they found the long row of closed doors and the rusting metal stairway. Nert saw with one eye through a slit Herbie had cut in the blanket. The blanket gave Nert’s view of the world a fuzzy frame. Yellow light from the setting sun threw the rough unevenness of the walls into high relief, made them seem too sharp and well defined to be real. The metal stair looked as if it had been forged from gold. Even from the foot of the stairway they could see the overdeveloped Terran female on the doctor’s door looking proudly out over the city. The blue-and-white lights above her head were pale and ghostly in the onslaught of sunlight.

  * * * *

  “This is the place,” Nert said. “Right up there.”

  “Right up there, hmm?” Herbie moved forward and inspected an old wooden door in the brick wall.

  Nert was nervous. It was difficult for him to stand still. But when he moved, the bony knobs on the ends of his legs clicked against the sidewalk and were answered by an echo with a million feet

  Herbie said, “This is it.”

  Nert clattered forward, stepping as lightly as he could. The blue blanket billowed around him, and he could smell his own body over the odor of the synthetic fiber. The camera swung against him on its cord—bump, bump.

  The door had been boarded up many years before and was now a rooming house for small insects. It was festooned with their filmy nests and webs. A sign painted on the door said KEEP OUT. NO TRESPASSING. The lettering was more faded than the painted woman upstairs.

  Nert said, “Can we get in?”

  “I think we can push a hole through it.” Herbie took a dull metallic cone from his bag and aimed its point at the door. It was smooth except at the point, where there were shallow concentric grooves. Herbie reached inside the machine and made a cradle out of his body to support it

  “What about the sign?”

  “From the looks of it,” Herbie said, “I’d guess the beings who made that sign are long past caring what happens to this building.”

  A low whistle soared up and out of hearing range, and the door rattled for a moment Suddenly an even round hole appeared in it.

  Herbie put the drill away and they looked inside. The late afternoon sunshine made the large rectangular shapes within cast long shadows, striping the room. Noodles of pipe stretched across the ceiling and down the walls. Dust covered everything.

  “Laundry room,” said Herbie.

  Nert agreed, and they moved back from the opening. “Don’t forget,” Herbie said, “when you’re all alone with him, stamp on the floor three times. That’ll be our signal.”

  “Right. You sure you can control that pain field of yours?”

  “Positive. Don’t worry. Good luck.” Herbie let his body relax and flowed through the small hole into the room beyond.

  Nert said, “Good luck,” and started up the stairs, clicking his claws nervously.

  At the top, he looked down at the long alley, just as empty now as when he’d first seen it, and at the city beyond, sparkling like a lake in the setting sun. He wondered why he’d never seen any of the beings who lived behind the many doors along the corridor. Maybe they were shy. Or maybe there weren’t any. Nert thought it was all very beautiful, and he would have stood there longer if there hadn’t been work to do. His mission made him not brave but determined, and his claws were quiet. When Nert felt he could put it off no longer, he pushed the latch release on the door and went inside.

  Nert’s eyes grew big in the darkness. There were no windows and the only light came from three dust-laden imitation hurricane lamps with cracked and chipped glass.

  The waiting room was large and square. Dusty red velvet drapes with faded yellow fringes hung on the walls, and the room was filled with archaic wooden furniture that looked as if it had been built only with humans in mind.

  Three creatures were in the waiting room, and the human furniture did not accommodate them well. One of them was a purple dracoid like the one he’d ridden with in the elevator two nights before. It lay on the floor like a small mountain, sleeping. The armored tail curled around its body, and the scaly tip languorously fanned its snout. A slimy creature with too many legs squirmed as it tried to get comfortable in
a chair that cramped it no matter which way it turned. Occasionally a stalk carrying an eye at the top rose out of the writhing mass. The eye blinked and then dropped back among the appendages.

  The third creature was a blue cone that Nert hoped was not a native of Fomalhaut VII. Nert walked to a shadow in the corner, getting as far away from the being as he could.

  For a long time the only sound was that of the uncomfortable creature rearranging its legs. Every time it moved, it made a squealing noise, like rubber rubbing against rubber. The squealing was punctuated by its soft grunts. Antiseptic doctor’s office smell covered everything.

  Nert saw the room through a slit cut in the blanket. The darkness, the overclean smell, and the constant unsettled sound made Nert feel trapped. He wanted to go down the stairs and tell Herbie that he didn’t want the thousand credits back. It was not a strong urge, but it was a pleasant one. Thinking about it occupied Nert’s mind while he was waiting.

  The uncomfortable creature tried to start a conversation with him but Nert didn’t know how Fomalhautians sounded. When he didn’t answer, the creature, who had introduced itself as Cavendish, was discouraged and left Nert alone.

  A few moments later the door at the back of the room opened and a being shaped like a large barrel rolled out, followed by Dr. Billingsley. The doctor stood in the doorway and said as it crossed the room, “Watch your ethylene intake for a while and you’ll be all right in no time.” An arm extended from either end of the barrel and pulled the door open. A moment later Nert heard the being bouncing down the stairs.

  “Next!”

  “That’s me, Doc,” Cavendish said as it dropped rung by rung off the chair. It slithered across the floor, complaining of fading color and puffy growths at the roots of its tentacles. The doctor nodded, and Cavendish was still explaining when the door to the examination room closed behind him.

  A white sheet that had been sitting on the back of a couch flapped into the air, landed, and draped itself over the back of the chair Cavendish had just left. It twittered for a moment and then was silent. Nert had thought it was part of the decor. He studied it closely now and saw that things he had taken for small holes in the fabric were really eyes.

  While he waited his turn, Nert watched the Fomalhautian. It was a light-blue cone with a small eyehole near the top, the pointed end. It hadn’t moved since Nert came in. Nert remembered what he’d looked like in the mirror with his disguise on, and decided he could pass for one of them for as long as he had to. Hoping to hear its voice, Nert said, “How are things on the home world?”

  There was a long silence. Nert thought the being was ignoring him or hadn’t heard, but it finally said, “The gorbash is blooming. All the locals have translated. Summer is a-comin’ in, birdie sing coo-coo.” Its voice was little more than a modulated grunt Nert would be able to imitate it without much trouble. He said, “Glad to hear it,” and was relieved when the creature didn’t try to continue the conversation.

  After a while the multilegged creature came out of the doctor’s office. It walked stiffly, wrapped in white tape. At the front door it said a muffled, “Thanks, Doc,” and left

  “Next!”

  The Fomalhautian extended a jointed tentacle from beneath its base and pointed at the dracoid. “I believe he was next”

  Dr. Billingsley walked to the sleeping creature and kicked it in the side, making its scales jingle. In a moment the dracoid yawned, stretched, and looked around with its eyes half-closed. When it stretched, it knocked over an overstuffed chair and nearly demolished a lamp; Nert jumped out of the way before its tail could poke out one of his eyes.

  The dracoid squeezed through the door into the inner office, and its scales cut deeply into the wooden doorframe.

  When it came out, the sheet creature and the Fomalhautian argued about who should go in next. The Fomalhautian said it would be with the doctor a long time, so the other creature should go first. Nert didn’t care who went first, as long as they hurried. The freighter left in a few hours and he wanted to be on it. Besides, it couldn’t be very pleasant for Herbie down in that dark, dusty cellar.

  At last the sheet creature was convinced and flapped after the doctor into the office.

  “It’s a personal matter, really,” the Fomalhautian said when it was gone.

  “Yes?” Nert tried to copy the other’s gruff voice.

  The Fomalhautian went into a long explanation of how its arbis had been bothering it ever since it had come to Spangle, how it was afraid the thing might become inflamed and have to be cut out, leaving him without any means of corvaling. Nert had no idea what any of those things were, but he agreed that the Fomalhautian was wise to see a doctor.

  The sheet creature flapped weakly out of the office. It hada grey splotch on its underside that it treated gingerlyas it pulled the door open and left

  “Next!”

  Nert knew the Fomalhautian would invite him to go first. If Nert argued with it politely, they would be there all night. Before the being could say anything, Nert said. “Your turn at last. And a good thing too. All that about your arbis sounds pretty serious.”

  “But it’ll take so long.”

  “That doesn’t make any difference. Your health is the important thing.”

  Dr. Billingsley said, “Come on. You’ve put this off long enough,” and extended his hand to the Fomalhautian.

  “Well—” The being landed on the floor in one jump and took little hopping steps into the examination room. Nert felt victorious when the door closed at last. The Fomalhautian would leave, and Nert would have Dr. Billingsley all to himself.

  In the quiet, he could hear the Fomalhautian explaining what was wrong with itself, and Dr. Billingsley now and again asking a question or giving an answer. Nert opened the outside door and looked over the city. The sun was gone but the sky was ablaze with advertising. Projectors at the tops of tall buildings threw pictures on low clouds of beings eating exotic foods, doing entertaining things, performing stimulating acts. A light, cool breeze played with his olfactory nerves and washed away the smell of disinfectant while carrying soft and hard smells, and the tinkling sound of beings enjoying themselves a long way off. He thought about Herbie, down in the dusty murk of the abandoned laundry room, and wondered if he really could control his mazoola the way he said he could.

  The door of the inner room opened and Nert turned back into the oppressive darkness and smell. “Well, how are you feeling now?”

  The Fomalhautian leaped onto the couch and said, “I don’t know yet. The doctor is doing some tests.”

  Dr. Billingsley looked at Nert. “You can come in now.”

  Nert said, “Aren’t you going to finish with your other patient first? You know how the arbis is—”

  “I can’t do anything until I know the results of those tests. While we’re waiting I have time to take care of you.”

  As Nert hopped weakly into the examination room, he hoped things were not as disastrous as they suddenly appeared. He closed the door and faced Dr. Billingsley, who sat behind the desk. The faint smell of mittlebran pricked Nert like a million little needles and he involuntarily clicked his claws. They clattered like a ratchet wheel.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing— Or, rather, that’s what I’ve come to see you about.” He stamped on the floor three times. “You see,” he said, watching the doctor closely, “every so often, for no reason at all my second stomach on the left starts chattering like that. It’s—”

  He stopped. The doctor’s eyes got big and round and he desperately clutched his middle. He made small gagging sounds and tears began to drip from his eyes. He ran, half crouched, to the medicine cabinet and fumbled with the key in the lock. Dr. Billingsley was in no condition to notice anything but his own pain, or to concentrate on anything but relieving it.

  Nert took the camera from under the blanket and recorded the doctor as he reached behind vials, bottles, and pill boxes and retrieved a small grey carton from which h
e took large pinches of fine white powder and rubbed it all over his face. The doctor coughed, caught his breath, and rubbed more powder into his face. Slowly he straightened up. He noticed Nert’s camera for the first time. “What are you doing?”

  Under the blanket, Nert was turning a delicate blue. He clicked his claws and whirled around the room like a dervish, trying to work off the burst of nervous energy given him by the mittlebran. When he spoke, his voice shook.

  “Pictures, doctor. I’m taking pictures. Clear shots of a certain Dr. Billingsley sprinkling mittlebran.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Nert, the Droshi. Remember? Two nights ago at the Galactica Hotel?”

  Dr. Billingsley sat heavily on the side of the desk and stuck his legs out for support “I told you,” he said between heavy breaths, “that doesn’t worry me. I’ve got a lot of friends. You went to a great deal of trouble for nothing.”