Washen leaped up, and with a graceful swift strength she drove most of her right foot into an exposed piece of neck.
Her human body must contain a good deal of strength, the harum-scarum witnesses decided after the fact.
Hoop’s head snapped back, and down he came.
Minutes later, when the security forces arrived, they discovered that the apartment in question now belonged to a captain, and that every legal form in their possession was no more valid than a bad dream.
“Brilliant,” Ishwish said, walking just ahead of his new protege. “A brave, bold, marvelous job. A little too noisy, I think. But still, you managed to find a solution to this difficult problem.”
“There are no difficult problems,” Washen replied. “Not with a simple solution in hand.”
The man laughed amiably.
Washen felt sick and happy, and she wasn’t sure what she believed, and then she decided that she was certain.
The procession had almost reached the front door of her new home. The Master Captain and Miocene were directly behind her, speaking about matters that seemed tiny to them and huge to a little captain like her. Every Submaster belonged to the procession, and many captains too. There were young ones like Washen, and others. And she glanced at their faces and then hurried to the diamond door, her presence causing it to open in an instant.
“The old furnishings, I see,” said Ishwish.
The wooden harum-scarums stood in their original positions, with one new shape hovering on the brink of sight, watching events.
“Oh, well. You’ve been too busy to see to everything,” he said with uncommon charity. Then he turned, his golden eyes shining with a boyish joy. “Welcome,” he said to everyone. “Welcome all. I’m so glad you could be here. And it is such a pleasure, coming back to this wonderful little home that I remember so well.”
“My home,” Washen whispered.
“You are all welcome here,” Ishwish declared. Then he turned, looking like the happiest creature in existence. “This is your first party in your lovely new home,” he said to the young captain.
Washen nodded.
On quick legs, she stepped up to the door.
Then to the most important gathering possible on the Great Ship, she said, “Come inside, everyone.” And in the next moment, she turned back to Ishwish, whispering a few words that took the blood from his face and nearly knocked him to the ground.
“Except you,” she said. “In my home, sir, never you.”
THE NEW HUMANS
B. Vallance
This is the point where we shift back to earlier but not necessarily simpler days. I wanted to include a small selection of stories that showed that extreme concepts have appeared in science fiction for much of its existence. The following story was written as far back as 1909 and to my knowledge has never been reprinted. I have no idea who B. Vallance was, though if the story’s opening salutation is correct, he may well be Bertram Vallance, and a search through the archives tells me that a Bertram Vallance was born in British Guinea (now Guyana) in South America in 1877. He may not be our man but it may explain the colonial setting of the story. I suspect it was inspired by, and indeed almost a parody of, H. G. Wells’s “The Country of the Blind”. It first appeared in the December 1909 issue of Pearson’s Magazine and was accompanied by several astonishing illustrations by Noel Pocock depicting the strangely adapted beings. Pearson’s editor tells us that he knows nothing about B. Vallance either, other than that this story was his first (and perhaps only) fiction sale. It is a fascinating satire of intolerance and prejudice.
(A letter explaining how the strange manuscript came to be discovered.)
DEAR BERTRAM,
You remember I promised in my last letter to send you that extraordinary diary, which was found by one of the natives in the Sevilla Pass, just before we came on to the 100 miles of desert, which gave me such a doing. I have managed to decipher pretty nearly the whole of it, although the writing is very faint and almost illegible in places.
I wish now I had read it on the spot, as I suspect the poor devil who wrote it must have died very shortly afterwards, and his bones are probably whitening in the desert near by. I might have discovered something from his clothes, if I had found him.
I inclose my copy of the manuscript. You know the old tag about “there being more things in heaven and on earth.” You can believe what you like.
Yours,
C.
(The strange manuscript found in the Sevilla Pass.)
I no longer wonder at the fear expressed by the Indians of this country. Anyone, less strong-minded than myself, would have become insane after seeing and experiencing what I have. If it were not that I am stranded here in this forsaken spot I should almost think I had dreamed a kind of mad dream.
If help does not reach me by to-morrow I shall start across the desert, but first I will write an account of what has happened and leave it here on the track, where surely some traveller will spy it out. I cannot give definite particulars of the locality of No-man’sland. The Adapters obliterated my memory on that point. All I can say is that I have been climbing and descending for what seems years. I have lost all sense of time and space.
I had been travelling in Uganda for several months, when the accident occurred. My native guides had resolutely refused to accompany me any further, saying that I was too near the Devils’ Country. Consequently I had gone on alone, leaving them to guard the camp. I had ten days’ provisions with me, meaning to push on for five days and then return. On the fourth day I had reached a great altitude. It was bitterly cold and I was greatly fatigued. I determined, however, to reach the top of the range before turning back. There was a short, steep ascent before me, which meant hard climbing. About halfway up I stuck my alpenstock into a cleft on the rock, intending to use it as a lever to mount to the top of a huge boulder, resting on the side of a narrow path with a sheer descent to the valley. Just as I put my weight on the staff, my foot slipped; the alpenstock broke off short in my hand and I rolled sideways off the track. I clutched wildly at a huge cactus which tore the skin from my fingers. Then came a series of fearful bumps, followed by a violent blow in the back, whereat I lost consciousness.
When I opened my eyes I was lying on what I afterwards knew to be an operating table in a laboratory, but quite different to those in use in the United States. I was, in fact, suspended from underneath a platform, held there by a force which I can only describe as the complement of the action of gravity. A large and kindly face was looking gravely at me, out of what I first took to be the end of a barrel.
“So you have regained your normality,” it said smilingly.
“Where am I?” I asked. “And what in Heaven’s name are you?”
“I am the Chief Adapter,” said the face. “You have just been revivified by our System No. 37.”
“I fell down a precipice,” I began.
“You did – and fractured your cervical vertebra; and both legs. I had almost given you up, owing to having inadvertently misplaced your femoral artery; but you are quite recovered now, and your nervous system has been carefully restored by the Patticoe treatment.”
While the face was speaking, I had been staring at it with ever increasing bewilderment. Its words and appearance, together with my own situation – hanging up against a platform like a fly on a ceiling – caused a buzzing in my head. This he no doubt perceived, for an arm, which I had not seen before, shot out from the barrel and touched a button at my side. Whereupon the table turned noiselessly over with me upon it.
“You can rise, if you wish,” said the face.
I slowly did as it suggested.
“Drink this,” said the Chief Adapter.
He handed me a glass full of red liquid. It was like drinking fire, and made me spring to my feet as though I had received a galvanic shock.
“Ah – that makes you feel alive – eh? Now, listen to me. From an examination of your papers I gather that you are an Am
erican. Moreover, you are known to me by repute as a traveller. I have had to call together a special meeting of the Circle to decide whether you should be allowed to die or be revived and allowed to reside here amongst us. Only by a very small majority, it has been decided to give you a chance. My own reasons for keeping you alive are purely scientific. Meanwhile, I may as well inform you that the laws of this country prohibit aliens of any description. I will call my daughter to bear you company for an hour until my return.”
He was standing close to me while speaking, his three legs set at the apexes of a triangle on his barrel-like body. We were in a circular room, with several oval windows, and the doorway was about 16 ft. from where we stood. Suddenly, without turning round, an arm emerged from one side of his body, stretched out with incredible swiftness to the door, and pulled it open. Then, withdrawing his legs and arms into his shell, his body gently subsided on to the floor, and he rolled slowly across the room and out through the doorway.
I sat down, because my legs refused to support me, and I was staring at the doorway when it was filled with a vision of such entrancing loveliness that I was almost bereft of what few senses I had left.
“So you are my father’s guest?” said the vision, at last, after looking at me for some time with an indescribable expression in her eyes. “What is your name?”
“Montmorency Merrick,” I replied.
“Why do you sit on the floor?”
“I don’t know,” I answered idiotically, attempting to rise. “But,” I added, looking around me, “there are no chairs to sit on.”
She smiled.
“We do not need chairs here. We use our own shells instead; but, of course, this is all strange to you. You are very handsome.”
I blushed.
“You – you are lovely!” I blurted out.
“I came to see you like this because I did not want to startle you,” she replied, laughing. “It is not my natural form. But tell me, do I seem at all strange-looking?”
“Only very beautiful,” I said enthusiastically.
She did not seem to be in the least embarrassed at the boldness of my compliments, but rather pleased.
“I think I do it very well,” she said. “You see, I sometimes forget your system of bones and joints and things, and then I bend my arms the wrong way – like this.”
As she spoke, she bent her right arm at the elbow backwards.
“Or I let my eyes stare too much – like this.”
Her eyes suddenly stood a couple of inches from their sockets and then returned again. I sprang up from the ground in alarm.
“Ah!” she exclaimed. “I forgot you did not understand, but my father will give you a little account of our habits and customs after dinner, and then I will get you to tell me all that goes on in New York. I have never been allowed to go there as yet. My pulp is not developed enough.”
With this astonishing remark she smiled again, and it seemed to me that she had too many teeth.
“I will give instructions about your room.” And with an indescribably graceful bow she left me.
I must have sat there for half-an-hour, thinking hard, when the Chief Adapter came rolling in through the doorway. He stopped in front of me, shot out some legs and arms, then said:
“Well, has Clarice been in?”
“A lady has been to see me,” I said doubtfully. “She said you were her father.” I looked hard at his three legs. “But she does not greatly resemble you, that is – I beg your pardon.”
“Pooh!” said the Adapter. “I suppose she has been up to her tricks again. It is a very curious example of the enormous difficulty we have experienced in endeavouring to eradicate the old inherited instincts. Even my daughter, who has had the benefit of living in communion with some of the greatest intellects the world has ever seen, cannot refrain from personating what you would no doubt call a beautiful woman. I think I had better give you an outline of the history of this country to prepare you for what you will see. I noticed, when I was cleaning your brain, that your powers of deduction were somewhat undeveloped and the reasoning faculty was almost entirely absent.
“To begin with, we are human beings – with a difference. It is some three centuries since our revered ancestors first reached this country. They were men and women constituted as you are. It is needless to go into the whys and wherefores of their coming, but pre-eminent among them was a brilliant scientist, whose statue you will see in the National Museum. He had conceived the idea of modifying the human structure to an extent deemed impossible by his old colleagues, who had endeavoured to prevent him by force from carrying out his experiments in England. Hence he decided with a few followers, who believed in him, to search out some unknown country where he could work unhindered by the interference of the feeble-minded.
“The result of his work you see before you. Look at me! I represent the triumph of mind over matter. I have no bones – they are needless, and, in fact, superfluous. I can progress on foot as well as you, or I can move as swiftly as a motorcar, and in a like manner. My brain is not hampered by being inclosed in a skull like yours. I can do practically what I like with my features.” (Here he made some perfectly horrible contortions). “The number of legs and arms I possess is only limited by my will” (he waved at least half-a-dozen flabby arms in my face), “and the term of years which I shall live is also, to a great extent, under my control. But I have told you enough for the present. If you remain here you will see for yourself what an inestimable boon has been conferred upon his descendants by our founder. Now – come along with me.”
I followed him along a passage, sloping downwards, and winding in a spiral, until we reached another circular chamber, where a table was laid with various utensils.
There were no chairs – but for my convenience a box had been placed at one end.
The Chief Adapter motioned me to sit down. He up-ended himself, first withdrawing all his legs, and in that position, which, though distinctly ungraceful, was certainly secure, the meal commenced.
It did not last long. My host’s enormous mouth did a proportionate amount of work, and the food, consisting entirely of fruit, quickly disappeared. Then he stretched his arm right across the room in a manner with which I was becoming familiar, to a tap. He filled a large vessel with wine (at least a quart), which he placed before me. He drank an equal portion himself without an effort, and the dinner was finished. From first to last it occupied three minutes. I had managed to eat one pear and a bunch of grapes. I succeeded, however, in secreting several apples about my person, and I drank most of the wine.
“You see,” said the Adapter, “we do not waste time eating and drinking; at least, the more cultured among us do not. I am sorry to say, however, that there is still a certain clique who prefer material pleasures to intellectual ones. My own appetite is small” (he had eaten at least half a hundredweight of fruit), “but there are some who regard eating and drinking as an art, and, if I mistake not, one of them is now approaching.”
As he spoke an unwieldy object waddled into the room. His barrel must have measured at least three feet in diameter, and his face entirely filled one end. He was balanced on the three legs which I afterwards found to be the usual number in use for everyday purposes. The face was quite repulsive, being closely marked with pimples, and very fat and blubbery.
I took an intense and instinctive dislike to him on the spot.
“I have come to have a look at your latest freak, my dear Adapter,” he observed, looking at me with some surprise. “Is this the creature?”
“This is Mr Montmorency Merrick, a citizen of the USA, who has accidentally found his way here,” replied my host, who spoke slowly and impressively. “I am sure you will remember to treat him with courtesy, Tennyson.”
“Oh, certainly, certainly,” replied the monstrosity, in a greasy voice. “Your friends are mine. How is the beautiful Clarice?”
“My daughter has gone to pay a visit to the wife of the Governor of the Incubator H
ouse, and will be away for a few days. As you are here I shall be obliged to you if you will do me the favour to take Mr Merrick out and show him some of the features of interest.”
“Shall be delighted, my dear Adapter. Come along, Merrick, old buck!”
He stretched out a tentacle with a handful of gross and misshapen fingers, and clapped me on the back.
“I’ll tell you what – I’ll take him over the Museum. There is an excellent dining-room there, and I need replenishing.”
“Bring him back about ten o’clock,” said the Adapter. “Remember he is in your charge, and you will be responsible for him.”
With which remark the Chief suddenly withdrew all his feelers and rolled rapidly out of the room.
The monstrosity turned to me and grinned.
“Bit peremptory, eh?” he observed. “So you’re a man, are you? What do you think of us – eh?”
He grinned again, and I had a feeling of nausea.
“Can you roll?” he asked.
“Certainly not,” I replied.
“Oh, well, I’ll walk with you, though it’s a confounded nuisance. This way.”
He led me out of the house along a smooth pathway inclined at a slight angle downwards, through a garden of amazing flowers and trees, and then suddenly a view of the city lay before me, and I stopped to gaze.
The general effect was certainly beautiful – the architecture was bizarre and bewildering; there did not seem to be one building like another. I soon perceived that the predominating feature of all of them was an almost entire absence of straight lines and angles. Curves, curves everywhere, and fine pointed spires with globes on their summits, winding streets, and a general glare of sunlight, which after the darkened room dazzled my eyes.
Presently I became aware of innumerable cylinders rolling at varying speeds along these silent streets, for the usual hum of a great city was lacking. Only here and there I saw some of the inhabitants walking on legs. Some of the cylinders must have been 12ft. in diameter, and these were moving with the speed of a motor-car, steering with an astonishing skill in and out of the traffic. Once I saw one of them roll right over a cylinder moving in the opposite direction, but no notice was taken of this – it appeared to be a customary procedure.
The Mammoth Book of Extreme Science Fiction Page 33
