The Ware Tetralogy

by Rudy Rucker

  The smart bomb broke into four or five throbbing chunks that thudded to the floor and lay there twitching. The slow, full second ended.

  Before anything else could happen, Stahn peeled the stunpatch off his neck and wadded it up, ruining its circuits.

  “I’ve still got the drop on you, Mooney,” said Ricardo from his corner. “Nice move, though. Good thing there was three of us. You AO, Fern?”

  “He’s broken my wrist,” said Mrs. Beller.

  Stahn tossed the wadded stunpatch out his room’s open window. “Well, that SM was getting a little old, Fern. Why don’t you all promise me some money and I’ll go quietly? I really will. I’ll go to Happy Acres and I’ll infect the boppers with chipmold, but I want a square ISDN contract in writing and on the record. I want three things.” Stahn held up three fingers of his left hand, preparing to tick off his points.

  Behind him on the floor, Whitey Mydol began to groan and wake up. Stahn talked faster. “First, in return for cooperating from here on out, I want to be given the status of an ISDN employee. I want a job. Second, in return for giving up my right brain, I want ISDN to clone me a new one should I so desire. If I kick being a meatie, I want my brain back. And number three, I get half a gigabuck payable to my account.”

  “Listen to this load of crutches,” grumbled Whitey, who’d managed to lurch back to his feet. He was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, trying to keep his balance.

  “Here, Whitey,” said Stahn, taking the S-cube out of the drawer and handing it over to the ridgeback. “This is Cobb’s map. You get the credit for bringing it in. If we’re going to be working on ISDN contracts together, you and I might as well be friends. I mean, wave it, Happy Acres could be a trip. You all weren’t kidding about that, were you? Nobody has to be sorry, do they, so we might as well—”

  Whitey took the red plastic map cube and looked at it. “How does it work?”

  “It’s a godseye map of Einstein and the Nest, shot December 26, which is when Cobb gave it to me. Any holocaster’ll play it, Cobb says. You can tune the image along four axes: size and the three space dimensions. Cobb wanted me to have it in case the boppers started getting out of hand. It shows all their tunnels and—” Stahn stopped and glanced around. “I debugged this room two days ago, but you never know. Wouldn’t we be better off making our plans at ISDN, where it’s fully shielded?”

  “Let’s get moving!” said Ricardo. The four of them ran up to the roof, jumped into the maggie, and headed for the ISDN building. Now that it was all decided, Stahn felt excited and ready for the change. They wouldn’t take all that much of his brain out. Wendy, baby, I’m on my way!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHEN BUBBA WOKE UP

  February 8, 2031

  When Bubba woke up, Mamma and Uncle Cobb were downstairs talking with the groom. His name was Luther; he was nice. He worked downstairs in the stables all day. His wife Geegee picked him up when it got dark, after most everyone had gone home. Geegee laughed a lot, and she always brought Bubba a big bag of food. At night Bubba could eat and run around a little, but all day he had to be still. Mamma and Cobb said the bad men would kill Bubba if they found him.

  Mamma was beautiful and soft. Cobb was strong and shiny. Their friends Luther and Geegee were beautiful and soft and shiny. And the horses were beautiful and soft and strong and shiny, but they couldn’t talk.

  The place they lived was Churchill Downs in Louisville on Earth. They lived in a long thin building called the paddock. Lots of horses lived in the paddock; their stables were side by side. Above the stables, up under the long peaked roof, was the hayloft. Mamma and Cobb and Bubba had made themselves a cozy nest in the hay and straw. Straw was stiff and hollow and shiny; hay was dusty and light green. Horses ate hay and pooped on straw.

  In the daytime, Bubba could peek through the cracks of the barn’s long hayloft and see the stands. They were big and empty, and in front of them there was a racetrack shaped like a rectangle with semicircular ends. The track was a place for the horses to run, although now it was too cold and there was frozen water snow all over everything. Cobb told Bubba that when Bubba was an old, old man, the snow would melt and flowers would come out.

  Bubba knew what roses look like. He had a lot of Know because he was a meatbop. The boppers had built his father, and his father’s sperm had had two tails, one for the body, and one for the Know. Bubba’s sperm would have two tails, too, as soon as it started coming, which would be soon, since he was thirteen. Tomorrow he would be fourteen.

  When Cobb was finished talking with Luther he climbed up the straight ladder to the hayloft. Bubba could hear him coming, and then he could see Cobb’s head sticking up through the square hole in the hayloft floor. Cobb was a bopper, though he’d been a flesher a long long time ago. He had white hair and shiny pink skin. His neck shook when he talked.

  “Hi, squirt, how’s it going?” Cobb limped across the hay-strewn planks and sat down next to Bubba.

  “Fine, Uncle Cobb. I’m thinking. What did Luther tell you?”

  “Luther says you’re the only one of Manchile’s boys to have escaped. They killed the last of the others last night.”

  Bubba never tired of hearing about his father. “What was Manchile like, Cobb? Tell me again.”

  “He was cool. A saintly badass. I saw him give two speeches, you know. The first was for the vizzy, at Suesue Piggot’s apartment, and the second was at the State Fairgrounds. That’s when Mark Piggot shot him. Piggot’s men killed Berenice, too, and they wrecked my ion drive.” Cobb waggled his charred feet. “I don’t know how I’m going to get back to the Moon.”

  “What did my father’s speeches say?”

  “He said that people and boppers are the same. It’s really true, but some people don’t like hearing it. Some people even think that sex and skin color matter. The bottom line is that we’re all information processors, and God loves all of us just the same. It’s so obvious, I don’t see how anyone can disagree.” One of the horses downstairs nickered. Cobb smiled. “Yes, Red Chan, horses too. Even flies, even atoms. All is One, and the One is Everywhere.”

  “Have you ever seen God, Uncle Cobb?”

  Cobb gave one of his sad, faraway smiles. “Sure thing, squirt. I spent ten years with God. When I was dead. It was very restful. But Berenice brought me back to take care of you.” He reached out and rumpled Bubba’s brown hair. “And I’m hoping to get my grandson Willy out of jail while I’m at it. I bet you and Willy would really hit it off. He’s the one who drove me and Cisco here the night Manchile got shot, you know. Someone saw him taking us from the Fairgrounds, but he wouldn’t tell the Gimmie where. You owe Willy your life, Bubba.”

  “Hi, boys.” Mamma’s pretty face appeared at the top of the ladder. Her breath steamed in the cold air.

  “Hi, Cisco,” said Cobb. “Look how grownup Bubba is today.”

  Mamma walked over and gave Bubba a big kiss. It gave him a tingly feeling in his balls.

  “Mamma . . . can I make a baby with you?”

  Cisco laughed and gave him a light shove. “You’re going to have to work harder than that, Bubba. First of all it wouldn’t be right, and second of all, I’m tired out from growing you. One pregnancy a month’s enough! You’ll find lots of nice women when you go off on your own, just wait and see.”

  “Do you think . . . ” said Cobb, raising his eyebrows.

  “Tonight,” said Cisco. “One of the trainers just told Luther that the Gimmie’s planning to search the stables tomorrow.” She patted Bubba on the hand. “Tonight you go downtown and find a woman to take you in, Bubba. You can make a baby with her. Don’t worry, you’ll know what to do. The main thing is to smile a lot and not be scared to come right out and ask for sex. Find a nice young woman by herself in, oh, La Mirage Health Club. Introduce yourself, talk to her for a while and then say, ‘You’re beautiful and I’d like to go to bed with you.’ If she says no, thank her and say good-bye, and then try another girl. It
’s much simpler than most men realize.”

  Bubba’s heart pounded with fear and excitement.

  “It’s really that simple?” chuckled Cobb. “I wish I’d known. But what if they ask him for ID?”

  “No one ever carded Manchile, and my Bubba’s even nicer-looking. Clothes are what count.” She smiled and drew a tape measure out of her purse. “Geegee’s going to go shopping for you at Brooks Soul Brothers, Bubba.”

  Sure enough, when Geegee came to pick up Luther, she had a pink oxford-cloth shirt and an expensive wool suit for Bubba, along with black leather sneakers, striped socks, new bikini sports underwear, and an understated imipolex tie. They were the first new clothes he’d ever had. He threw off his old rags, bathed in the horse trough, and put on the beautiful suit. It was dark gray with small black checks and some faint purple squiggles.

  “He looks eighteen,” said Cobb admiringly. “He does.” He stepped behind Bubba and tied his tie. Cisco took out her brush and arranged Bubba’s hair, and then put just the right amount of makeup on his eyes.

  “You beautiful doll, you.” She gave his cheek a long, fierce kiss. “Put on your new scarf and gloves and overcoat, Bubba.” Her voice sounded funny.

  Bubba put on his gold foilfoam overcoat. All of a sudden tears were running down Mamma’s cheeks.

  “You get going, Bubba, before I break down completely. Walk out to Fifth Street and turn left to get downtown: La Mirage is at Second Street and Muhammad Ali Boulevard. I’ll—” Cisco covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

  Bubba felt tears leaking from his eyes, too. This had never happened before. He looked at Cobb. “You two are staying here?”

  Cobb shook his head. “It’s time to scatter. The Pig wants you more than anything, but he wants me and Cisco, too. With the rumor out, it could start coming down real soon. To give you a better chance, Cisc and I’ll lay down a trail leading north to Indianapolis. From there I’ll cut for Florida, and she’ll head for New York. Here, take this.” Cobb plucked at his imipolex skin and peeled off a rectangular patch. “I figured out how to grow ID. It’s got a hundred thousand dollars in credit.”

  Bubba looked at the card. They were standing on the icy gravel outside the stables now. Dusk was falling fast. The sky was black and orange. Bubba’s new ID read: Buford Cisco Anderson, Birthdate 1/26/10. That meant Bubba was twenty-one. In a week, he really would be twenty-one, for a day. “How old are you, Cobb?”

  “First time I was born was March 22, 1950. You could say I’m eighty. God knows I feel it. At a year a day, you’ll see what I mean come . . . uh . . . April 16. If you make it that far. Are you planning to preach about the Thang?”

  Bubba wiped his face with his overcoat’s bright, leathery sleeve. His head was full of fresh Know. “No. I want to have dozens of children, hundreds of grandchildren, and thousands of great-grandchildren. God willing, there’ll be a million of us by June. Then we’ll restart the Thang for real!”

  Cobb nodded as if he already knew this, but Cisco looked a little surprised. “That many of you, Bubba? Is that such a good idea, to cover the whole planet with hungry teenage boys?”

  “Keep it bouncing,” said Cobb. “When the boppers come down they’ll find ways to turn off the gibberlin, and to father some girls.”

  “I’ll miss you, Mamma,” said Bubba, trying to give Cisco a hug.

  She pushed him away a bit more sharply than seemed necessary. “Just GO. Let’s not stand here talking all night till the Gimmie comes.” She gave Bubba a final pat on the cheek. “You’re a fine boy. Whatever happens, I’m proud to be your mother.”

  Bubba took a few steps, stopped, and looked back at Cobb and Cisco.

  “Will you two be all right?”

  Cobb made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Don’t worry about us, squirt. We race-traitors are a rough bunch. As soon as Cis and I get the hayloft cleaned out, we’ll steal a car and split. No prob. Beat it. Free Cousin Willy if you get a chance.”

  It was full dark now, with not much traffic on the streets. Bubba found Fifth Street and started walking downtown. The shoes took some getting used to, especially with the ice. Bubba could see into lots of houses, all lit up and with families having dinner. His stomach rumbled for food. He passed some half-empty bar-and-grills, but they didn’t look right. Up ahead, just to the left of the sunset’s faint gray ghost, the sky was bright with big-city lights. Bubba put his head down and walked faster.

  Finally he came to a big cross-street with lots of cars. He was very cold, especially his eyes and nose. A harsh wind blew grit up and down the dirty sidewalks. Nobody except Bubba was walking. But right here, at the corner of Fifth and Broadway, there was a big lit-up store with men standing inside. Bubba found the door and went in to get warm.

  One of the men came over to Bubba. His waist was wide, and he had a red face. He looked a little like Cobb, but not much.

  “Hi there,” said the man, sticking out his hand. “I’m Cuss Buckenham. Can I hep you in any way?”

  Bubba knew how to shake hands. “I’m Buford Anderson,” he said, doing it. “It’s cold and windy and dark out there.” Cisco had taught him to talk about the weather whenever he was unsure.

  “You need your daddy to get you a car,” said Cuss Buckenham. There were several shiny new cars inside the store with them. Bubba deduced that this man sold cars.

  “My daddy drove a Doozy,” said Bubba. Mamma had told him about Manchile’s Doozy several times. “But he’s dead. Do you sell Doozies, Mr. Buckenham?”

  Cuss Buckenham threw back his head and laughed in a stagy, friendly way. “Do ah sell Doozies? Does a frog eat flies?”

  “I don’t know,” said Bubba, fumbling in his pockets. “But I can buy a car right now with my card, can’t I? I’m twenty-one and my uncle gave me lots of money.”

  The car dealer stopped laughing and took Bubba’s card. He looked up at Bubba, looked back at the card, and looked up again. “I got a fine new Doozy right over here, Buford.” Buckenham pointed to a deeply lustrous gold sports car in the corner.

  “Thanks, Mr. Buckenham. And call me Bubba.”

  “Sure thing, Bubba, but you gotta call me Cuss. That there Doozy’s one of the last 2031s in stock, loaded, and I can let you have it at a gooood price. Go on over and take a look, while I just run this card and see what kind of authorization we can git.”

  Bubba opened the car door and got inside. Right away, he Knew how to drive. It was like remembering something he’d forgotten about. The car looked good. The speedometer went up to 200 mph. The seats were real leather and the dash was faced in wood.

  After a few minutes, Cuss Buckenham came over and squatted beside the car to look in at Bubba. “Your credit’s copacetic, Mr. Anderson. How do you like her?”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the papers were all signed and the Doozy had been rolled out into the store’s lot. Buckenham waved good-bye, and Bubba turned right on Broadway.

  Fourth Street, Third Street, Second Street, try a left. Main Street, Chestnut Street, Muhammad Ali Boulevard. Big old building on the corner there, take a right. Big sign: La Mirage Health Club. Three-deck garage just beside it, pull in. Lock it and pocket. Done.

  Bubba walked up the steps of La Mirage. It was Saturday night, and the place was jumping. There were knots of well-groomed men and women inside, black and white, old and young, some dressed for evening and some in sports togs. The doorman took an impression of Bubba’s card, and the young meatbop was in.

  “May I take your coat, sir?”

  A lithe, long-haired girl smiled at Bubba from a large rectangular hole in the wall. There were lots of coats hanging behind her.

  “Yes,” said Bubba. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged his way out of his coat and handed it to her. She turned, hung the coat up, turned back and smiled. “Nice tie, sir.” She had perfect features and full pouty lips. The sinuous arch of her long back and neck made her seem alert, perky, predatory, an
d poised.

  “Thank you. My name’s Bubba. What’s yours?”

  “Kari. Are you new in town?”

  “Yes.” Bubba took a deep breath and leaned forward. “You’re beautiful and I’d like to go to bed with you.”

  “You bet,” said Kari. “And so would my boyfriend.” She laughed easily, letting him off the hook. “The lounge and dining area’s down the hall to the left, sir, and the gym’s upstairs. Good luck!”

  Bubba smiled foolishly, then headed down the high-ceilinged, marble-floored, oak-paneled hall. Maybe he’d skimped too much on the middle part: talk to her for a while. Or maybe a chick like Kari was, quite simply, out of his league. At least for now. Hell, he was still just thirteen.

  He entered the La Mirage lounge. His brain systems scanned his Know for an analog of what he saw. “Exploratorium,” “Science Fair,” and “Disky Museum of Robotics” came to mind. Scattered all about the lounge were people looking at or listening to little machines, little things like viewers and earphones and, in a few cases, whole-head helmets.

  “Welcome, sir,” said a young man in a tuxedo. “Are you new here?”

  “Yes. I’m hungry.”

  “Very good, sir, there’ll be a waiting time of twenty minutes. Party of one?”

  Bubba observed that there were a few unattached women in the lounge. “Party of two,” said Bubba. “Do you need my card?”

  “Just your name, sir.”

  “Buford Cisco Anderson.”

  “Very good. While you’re waiting, feel free to enjoy the healthful stim of our various software devices. Are you familiar with them all?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you might start with a twist-box. Twist-boxes do a simple feedback-directed cutup and CA cleanup on visual inputs. They’re from Einstein and quite amusing, though not everyone’s seen them yet. Next I might suggest that you experience a cephscope tape. This week’s special tape is by our local media star Willy Taze. Even if you’re from out of town, you must have been following the meatbop conspiracy hearings? Willy was working on this tape when they arrested him at his parents’ house. The first part of it’s supposed to be his impression of Manchile’s assassination. La Mirage’s profit on Willy’s tape showings will be contributed to the Taze Legal Defense Fund.”