“You seem to be struck dumb, Monty,” said the gross creature at my side. “By Jove, what a rum little face you’ve got! No offence, you know; we all speak the truth here. Bit strange after New York, eh? However, I shall get used to you in time – just at present I can’t say I cotton on to you, but possibly you don’t appreciate exactly what you do look like. See here!”
He actually twisted his features, after several hideous contortions, into a grotesque caricature of my own, and as I stared at him the likeness became more and more faithful, until I begged him to desist.
He grinned complacently.
“I’m a bit of a dab at that,” he remarked. “In fact, Clarice and I are stars in the imitating line; but we must be moving. See that big gold-coloured building, that’s the Museum. We had better have a roller.”
He whistled suddenly – like a locomotive – when two of the big wheels I have referred to rolled up to the gate. I then saw that the hub of each consisted of a creature like the others, and the big external diameter was formed by attaching spokes to the outer casing and fixing a flexible tyre. The two wheels pulled up alongside each other. Between them they carried a kind of seat into which my companion hoisted me, as though I had been a portmanteau. He got in after me.
“Museum, sharp!” he roared.
There was a violent jerk, which nearly flung me out, then a wild rush through the air, which brought tears into my eyes. Then they stopped so suddenly that I shot right out of the seat and landed on something soft, which instantly threw me off again.
“What the devil are you doing, sir?” said a choleric voice.
“I beg your pardon,” I began –
“Surely you could see I was not in my casing, sir; but, good gracious! you must be the American?”
By this time I had succeeded in recovering my wind. I looked at my interlocutor, whose face I could not perceive.
“You see I am not used to your modes of locomotion,” I began.
“Confound it, sir – do not speak to my hide – speak to me!”
The voice came from my right. I turned round and beheld what looked like a jelly-fish lying on the ground. It had a face, all flabby and quivering. Several gelatinous looking arms and feelers were waving and vibrating in the air. Its eyes were glaring at me with suppressed fury, and it seemed to swell and contract alternately like a bladder blown out by some mischievous boy.
Standing a few feet away was my obese companion, his face convulsed with laughter, and tears pouring from his cod-like eyes.
“You fell into the middle of him,” he gasped, “and knocked his wind out. Never mind, Percy, old boy, he didn’t mean it and couldn’t help it: besides you shouldn’t come out of your shell and stand about like that.”
“It’s all very well to talk,” replied the jelly-fish angrily. “Who was to know that some blundering idiot was going to jump into one like that. He nearly punctured my cupella!”
It wobbled up to the cylinder which I had mistakenly addressed and poured itself into one end, shot our three legs and then withdrew them again, and extended several arms in the same manner – it was as if he was trying on a coat – and finally rolled sedately away along the road.
My conductor was grinning grotesquely at me when I turned round.
“If you want to see the Museum, you must hurry up,” he said. “I can’t go round with you, but I’ll hand you over to one of the custodians.”
He called out to a spider-like creature who was gazing at me with a look of considerable astonishment.
“Billy – take this gentleman round the museum and point out the various exhibits. I shall be in the refreshment-room when you want to find me – by-by, Merrick.”
He waddled off down a long corridor and I turned to Billy. I should have liked to have gone into the refreshment room myself. I wanted a pick-me-up, but I had no notion of their money exchange and did not see how to manage it.
There were many extraordinary things in the museum, but I have no time to enumerate them. What interested me most of all was a series of pictures, made by the founder of these amazing people.
I had wondered how they managed to roll along the ground without getting giddy, and how they kept their faces in a vertical position while doing so. The secret was out when I had examined the drawings. A section through the middle of one of them showed that the outer shell or casing was loose and had an internal row of rough rachet-shaped teeth. The pulpy stuff of which they were made had a number of external fleshy pawls, which geared with the teeth and imparted a rotary motion to the casing.
Long descriptions written in quaint English were attached to each drawing – parts of these I read, but had great difficulty in comprehending them. The phraseology reminded me strongly of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. I remember one sentence very distinctly. It went thus: –
“And it shall be that the extensors may be thrust in from any given direction, either internally or externally, fortifying the indirect tissue of the cupella by a series of cords of ultimate elasticity equal to a hundredth portion of a ton for every oneeighth of a square inch of section.”
I was told afterwards that this meant that these beings could produce legs and arms in almost any number, and could vary the shape of their bodies when out of their shells to an almost unlimited extent.
I spent three or four hours walking about the building, which had no staircases, but inclined planes as a substitute, and I saw the celebrated statue of the founder. He was a short, thick-set man with a hydrocephaloid head, small, deep-set eyes under shaggy eyebrows, and an indescribably bestial-looking mouth.
It was a fascinating face and reminded me of the story of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, with the Hyde predominating.
Underneath was written:
“All that can be imagined by man can be achieved – but each achievement shall cost him more than the worth thereof.”
The Chief Adapter told me later that this inscription was part of an epitaph written by the only one of the founder’s original companions who survived him, and who was supposed by many to have been opposed to his extraordinary aims.
At the door of the refreshment-room I was greeted by the monstrosity, with a vacuous laugh.
“I have eaten and drunk and feel good and happy. What do you think of the Museum – beastly dry, isn’t it? Come and have a drink.”
I went with him. He ordered wine – at least a quart. As I was afraid of offending, I drank it all, with the result that I became somewhat light-headed and I have no distinct recollection of how we spent the intervening time before returning to the Chief Adapter’s house. I do remember calling the monstrosity an “overgrown octopus,” at which he laughed immoderately. I believe I was put to bed by the Adapter’s servants, who had an altercation with the monstrosity about me, but I cannot recall what they said.
I must have slept for several hours, when I was awakened by a nasal voice singing to the accompaniment of some stringed instrument. The voice seemed near at hand and I slipped off the mattress on which I was lying and crossed the room to the circular window. It was early morning. I could just see over the edge of the aperture into the road beneath. Standing on three short legs, with his hideous face uppermost, was the monstrosity. He was gazing with an imbecile expression at the window parallel with mine. He had a stringed instrument resembling a guitar in one of his hands, and was singing at the top of his voice “Love me and the world is mine.”
Following the direction of his gaze, I perceived a face at the window. It bore a distinct resemblance to my beautiful Clarice, but was as large as the average face of these creatures. She was looking rather pleased at the horrible noise he was making, but her features kept changing and twitching with the music. First her nose would dilate and trembie, then her eyes suddenly increased in diameter to twice and three times their original size. It was an uncanny, and to me a most distressing sight.
At last the monstrosity lowered his instrument, ceased his wailing, and gave vent to a deep sigh.
&
nbsp; “Clarice, I worship thee,” he said.
“Good God,” I thought, “it is she.” Suddenly she stretched her arm out of the window. It elongated itself until it must have measured 12 ft., and her fingers stretched in proportion.
“Take thy reward, thou singer of songs,” she said softly.
The singer of songs made an appalling grimace, which was evidently intended to represent an expression of loving gratitude. Then he protruded his lips with some difficulty until they actually reached her hand, to which they fastened themselves. The effort was evidently a supreme one, for the hand and lips separated suddenly with a smacking sound, and the lover’s face was stung by the force of the recoil.
Then the lady disappeared and her window was violently closed.
Just then the monstrosity caught sight of me. I was smiling, and a look of fury passed over his enormous face.
“You miserable vertebrate idiot!” he yelled. “You shall pay for this.”
He gathered up his guitar – shut up his legs and arms, gave me a threatening glare, and rolled away down the road at a speed of something like thirty miles an hour.
I was summoned to breakfast with the Chief Adapter and his daughter, who had assumed the same appearance as when I first saw her.
“I wish,” he said, “that you would eradicate those follies of adornment. It is amazing that any member of my family should be guilty of such weakness.”
“Allow me to remind you,” she replied, “that amusement was specially advocated by the Adapters at the last meeting, in spite of your disapproval.”
“I hate all this pretence,” grumbled her father. “But I have neither time nor inclination to argue the point with you. Be good enough to remain with Mr Merrick until I return.”
“My father and I do not agree on some points,” Clarice said presently. “Is it true you are not plastic?”
“I am afraid I do not understand,” I replied.
“I am told that you and all the other inhabitants of the earth are confined to one figure and face and are full of bones as well, and” – she added doubtfully – “you cannot roll.”
“That is true,” I replied.
“I cannot understand it at all. Have you no shells?”
“Certainly not.”
“I have read of such things,” she said musingly, “but I never quite believed it – I am not yet of age to read the third stage.”
“What is that?” I asked.
“We are not allowed to read the third stage, which gives all particulars relating to our creation by the founder, until we have reached the age of twenty-five.”
She rose and led the way to one of the large circular windows looking out on the city.
“What is that large building with the globe on the top?” I asked.
“That – oh, that is the Incubator House where the children are bred. Are all the men in America like you?” she asked suddenly.
“Not quite,” I answered.
“And the women – are they like I am now?”
“Not so beautiful,” I replied fervently.
She looked pleased.
“My pulp aches all down the back –1 shall have to get back into my shell, and I don’t want you to see me like that. Do you mind if I leave you?”
When she had gone, a thought suddenly struck me. She liked music, and I used to be no mean performer on the violin. I wondered if they had such an instrument, and decided to ask the question. I pressed the bell.
It was answered by a battered-looking barrel with a wrinkled face at one end.
“You rang?” said the apparition.
“I did,” I replied, staring at him. “Are you a servant?”
“I wait on the Chief,” he replied with dignity. “What can I do for you?”
“Have you such a thing as a violin?”
The battered relic considered for a minute.
“Have you any barter?” he asked.
“Any what?”
“Any barter.”
“I don’t know what ‘barter’ is.”
“I think your watch would do,” he said, looking at my gold chain.
I began to comprehend.
“You could get me a violin for this watch?” I said, taking it out and holding it up.
“I will see,” replied the relic. He snatched it out of my hand and was gone. I noticed that as he rolled out his shell squeaked as if it wanted oiling. I waited a long time, and in the end fell asleep. When I awoke, the Chief Adapter had returned, and was talking to another grave and white-haired old tripod. They were sitting on their butt-ends close together, and evidently fancied that I was still asleep, for it was not long before I discovered that I was the subject of their discussion.
“I am afraid he is not a good specimen,” said the stranger, looking in my direction.
“No; but, my dear Fairbairn, all the more glory for us if we succeed. You know it has taken three hundred years to bring us to our present state, and I feel absolutely certain that by my process the alteration can be achieved in one operation. Of course, there is a risk, but that is a constant accompaniment to all great discoveries.”
“Do you intend that this American shall be informed of what is in store for him?”
“No – his mind is hardly strong enough to appreciate it. I am rather sorry I did not try the experiment at first, instead of restoring him to life, but you know what the Council are. I am certain we are deteriorating, Fairbairn, and that is what makes me determined on introducing new blood.”
“What do you consider would be the best method in Merrick’s case?”
“I shall divide him longitudinally first, and then subject him to the N Ray for two hours, in order to disintegrate the bones.”
I had listened up to this point with ever increasing interest, but without realising what they were discussing, but at this last fiendish suggestion I nearly shouted aloud, then prudence decided me on keeping quiet until I had heard the whole of the diabolical plot. Fairbairn, whose countenance was benevolent-looking in the extreme, did not express any horror at the Chief Adapter’s observation – indeed, he only appeared mildly interested.
“Keeping the current on both sections, of course?” he said.
“Yes, I am particularly anxious as to the effect on his brain, which is of average quality only, and I believe that after doing away with his skull I can develop it by separation and the insertion of free pulp from that case we had last month. You recollect?”
“You mean the double egg which hatched without nerves?”
“Yes – I have been keeping it in a vacuum ever since, and it is in a remarkably good state of preservation.”
“Well, I’m sure I wish you luck,” said Fairbairn. “It will be a great triumph if you succeed, and if you don’t—”
“Oh, then, we shall have to wait – but I have full confidence. You will be present, of course?”
“Yes – with young Slemcoe. He is extraordinarily skilful with the knife, you know. Well, good-bye till to-morrow.”
They both rose, and rolled out of the room.
So, thought I, I am to be cut in half, am I – and my bones are to be disintegrated. All very pleasant, no doubt, for the operators, but what about me? and what are they going to do it for? To say that I was alarmed would be putting it too mildly. I lay and shivered, my teeth chattering with fright, until I heard somebody rolling along the passage, when I got up and stood waiting. It was Tennyson who came in.
“Hullo – how are you?” he said, without the slightest sign of the fury with which he had last left me. “Where’s the Chief?”
“He was here just now,” I said.
“Look here, Merrick,” he said, in a deprecating manner, “don’t bear malice about what I said last night. The fact of the matter is I don’t want you to repeat what you saw to anyone. You won’t now, will you?”
“Do you belong to the Council?” I asked.
“Yes – why?”
“Are you opposed to the Chief Adapter
and an animal called Fairbairn?”
“You bet,” he answered cheerfully.
“Well,” I said, “I should like to know if you approve of dissecting people alive?”
“All depends on who’s going to be the subject,” he said with a grin. “Why, who’s been talking?”
“Oh, no one – no one,” I answered. “I only wondered.”
“What you say reminds me that once, not so very long ago either, old Fairbairn and the Chief tried an experiment of that kind on a man – not one of us, but a man from South America, an Indian, I believe – but it was a failure.”
“What were they trying?” I asked, trying to speak indifferently.
“I don’t know for certain. They say that the Chief was trying to make a New Human of him, but it’s only talk.”
I shuddered.
“What happened to the Indian?” I asked.
“The Indian? Oh, he died, of course. There was a bit of a row about it, but it was hushed up. Not that I think it matters a straw, but the party to which I belong passed a Bill shortly afterwards, making it illegal to operate on anyone without his consent, and the Chief was very wild about it. He said we were retrograding, and we were nicknamed the ‘Anti-vaccinators’ for passing the Bill.”
I drew a breath of relief. They would certainly not get my consent to being turned into one of those hideous abortions.
“By-the-by, would you like to witness the opening of the Grand Council to-morrow?” asked Tennyson carelessly.
“I should – certainly,” I answered, thinking I might hear something relative to myself.
“Well, ask the Chief, and if he agrees, I’ll be round in the morning. So long,” and he rolled his unwieldy bulk out of the room.
A few minutes after his departure Clarice entered, clad in a gown of clinging blue material, and I declare most positively that the absence of bones in her body would never have been suspected, the only effect being that she was infinitely more graceful than any real woman I have ever seen.
The Mammoth Book of Extreme Science Fiction Page 34
