The Ware Tetralogy

by Rudy Rucker

  “My hydrogen cycle’s DIM tires got screwed up,” said Tre. “I fell off the cycle and broke something.”

  “Oh, that’s dense,” said Duck hoarsely. California born and raised, Duck was an unreflective pleasure hound who happened somehow to be a very gifted craftsman. At any hour of the day, sober or not, he gave the impression of having spent the last twelve hours getting very weightless. “That’s fully stuck. You want Starshine to heal you?”

  “Yeah,” said Terri. “Is she in the house?”

  “No doubt,” said Duck. “Go give her a holler. How’s it going, Dolf? You helping to take care of your dad?”

  “Yes,” said Dolf solemnly. “What are you making?”

  “This is a window for a lady up in the hills. It’s going to be a peacock. See his head there? Whoops, there go your parents. Better follow them.”

  “Bye, Duck! Bye, Planet!” Dolf hurried after his parents, his thin little legs rapid beneath his short pants.

  Duck and Starshine’s house was a small pink-painted wooden box. There were large clumps of bird of paradise plants in front of it, some with a few orange-and-purple blossoms shaped like the heads of sharp-nosed donkeys. At the base of the cottage’s walls were masses of nasturtiums with irregular round leaves and red-and-orange flowers. Crawling up the walls were vines that bore flowers shaped like asymmetrical lavender trumpets. A thick hop vine twisted its way up along the eaves.

  Terri knocked on the door with the little brass head of a gnome that hung there. After a while there were light, rapid footsteps and Starshine flung the door open.

  “Yaar there!” she sang. Starshine was a talkative woman with straight brown hair, high cheekbones, and a hard chin. Her parents had been Florida crackers, but she’d turned herself into a Clearlight Californian. Seeing Terri and Dolf with Tre, she instantly spotted Tre’s problem. “What all’s happened to your shoulder, Tre?”

  “He fell off his bicycle,” said Dolf. “Can you make him well?”

  “It hurts a lot here,” said Tre, pointing to where his shoulder met his neck. “It made a noise when I fell, and now when I move my shoulder, I can feel something grinding. After I fell, my tires tried to strangle me and then they flew away. But Terri here doesn’t want to hear about that part. She thinks I’m fucked up.”

  “Poor Tre. Thank Goddess I’m here. For the last hour I’ve been about to go into town, but I kept feeling like there was some reason to stay. This must be the reason. Come on in, you three.”

  The house had only three rooms: the main room, the kitchen, and the room where Duck and Starshine slept. Starshine had Tre lie down on the floor while Terri watched from the couch with Dolf at her side.

  “I’ll scan you, and if it’s a simple break I can glue it up for you directly,” Starshine told Tre. She opened a trunk that sat by one wall and took out a device about the size and shape of a handheld vacuum cleaner. She detached a special uvvy from it and put the uvvy on her neck, then proceeded to run the device over Tre’s neck and shoulder while staring off into space.

  “I’m seein’ your bones, Tre.”

  “Are you using radiation?” worried Terri.

  “Heck no,” said Starshine. “This is ultrasonic. My dog Planet hates when I use this thing. Did you see Planet outside, Dolf?”

  “Yes,” said Dolf. “Planet’s in the garage with Duck.”

  “And before I moved in, Duck said he hated dogs,” said Starshine. “That man was too solitary. The first time I saw him, I knew he was the one for me. He was tanned and callused like the carpenters and construction workers I’d been dating, but then I found out he was an artist! When I heard that, I set my cap for him. And now that we’re married, I’m working on getting him to want some kids. I’ve thought of some beautiful names. Speaking of people with cute names, how’s little Wren today?”

  “Oh, she’s wavin’,” said Terri. “And Dolf here is learning to play checkers. Is Tre going to be all right?”

  “I think so,” said Starshine, setting down her scanner. “Tre, old brah, you’ve snapped your collarbone is what you’ve done. Let me get out my glue gun and patch you.”

  “Is it going to hurt?” asked Tre weakly. “Shouldn’t you give me some drugs?”

  “You smell like you’ve already been smoking some good reefer this morning,” said Starshine teasingly. “Are you sure that’s not why you fell off your cycle and saw your tires fly away? Reminds me of something happened one time to Aarbie Kidd.”

  “Oh, shut up,” snapped Tre, lying there on his back with the two women and his son looking down at him. “In the first place, the accident was caused by that guy putting some kind of weird DIMs on my tires. In the second place, pot’s not a drug. It’s an herb. It energizes me.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Terri. “And when’s the last time you finished something?”

  “What about my new four-dimensional Perplexing Poultry philtre, for God’s sake! That’s major!”

  “Yeah, well how come it took you four years to do it!”

  “Now, Terri,” said Starshine. “Let me finish healin’ him up before you start beatin’ him down. I will give you a little mist, Tre, so that you won’t feel it when I glue your break. And, Dolf, I think maybe you ought to go outside while I do this. I wouldn’t want you to get spooked and bump into me.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “You do what the healer says, Dolf,” said Terri. “Go out in the garage with Planet and Duck.”

  “Go ahead, Dolf,” added Tre. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Okay. And, Mommy, you come get me when Daddy is well.” Dolf ran out to the garage.

  “He’s a sweet boy to care for his daddy that way,” said Starshine. She got a little squeezie of aerosol spray out of her healer trunk. She wafted a pulse of the spray into Tre’s nostrils. His muscles relaxed and his eyelids fluttered shut. “I know some folks that have lost everything to this mist,” continued Starshine. “It gives you mighty sweet dreams. Mist is giga worse than any silly old pot habit. And mist is nothing compared to gabba. That’s what Aarbie Kidd got into after we rode his motorcycle out here from Florida. The minute old Aarbie got to California, he got hooked on gabba and started abusing me ten times worse than he ever did back in Florida. Him and his flamehead tattoos. Thank Goddess I found Clearlight.”

  Starshine’s eyes narrowed and she pulsed a bit more mist into Tre’s nostrils. “I had my chance to get free of Aarbie after he wrecked his motorcycle and asked me to heal him. Tre hasn’t been beating on you, has he, Terri? If you need some time to think things over, I can put him to sleep for a week.”

  “Oh no no no, don’t do that,” said Terri. “It’s just that Tre ignores me sometimes. And I get so tired of being a wife and mother. I need a vacation is what it is. I wish I could go off by myself and surf or snowboard someplace really major and let Tre do all the housework for a change. But, oh, I shouldn’t be harshing on him while he’s hurt. Of course don’t put him to sleep for a week, are you whacked? Tre doesn’t compare to Aarbie Kidd. You get to work healing him, Starshine. And explain what you’re doing as you go along.”

  “Right now I’m going to have a cup of coffee,” said Starshine. “Before I go and finish this. I’ll let Tre chill just a little deeper. One more pulse of mist.” At the final pulse, Tre’s body lost all of its muscle tone. He looked as soft as an imipolex polar bear rug.

  “You want anything, Terri?” asked Starshine, ambling out to the kitchen.

  “Just a glass of water, please. You’re sure Tre’s okay?”

  “He’ll be fine like this for an hour or until I give him the antidote. Did I tell you I saw Aarbie again just the other day? Down near the Boardwalk. He was real friendly. Yellow stubble on his head growing out of the hearts of his flame tattoos. Lifted on gabba as usual.” Starshine clattered about in the kitchen, still talking. “What Aarbie’s up to these days is what I’d like to understand. First he said he was working for the Heritagists, and then he said he was working for the loonie mold
ies. He was with some skanky guy from Kentucky who kept telling him to shut up. Okeydoke, here we go.” Starshine reemerged with a cup of coffee and a glass of water.

  She got something that looked like a stubby plastic pistol out of her healer trunk and set it down next to the scanner and the mister that lay next to Tre. “This is the glue gun,” said Starshine. “But first I use my hands to set the bones. Did you know that in Arabic bone-setting is al-jabar? The word algebra comes from that. Arranging things. I learned that in my classes. Time for some healer algebra, Tre.” She laid the scanner on Tre’s chest and adjusted his collarbone with both hands. Tre moaned softly.

  Terri couldn’t watch, so she looked away, letting her eyes range over the pictures on the walls—Starshine’s life-affirming Clearlight posters of plants and landscapes, along with Duck’s highly detailed oil-and-canvas fiber-for-fiber copies of high-art paintings. Duck loved dreamy late-nineteenth-century artists such as Arnold Böcklin and Franz von Stuck and had taken the trouble to get museum-grade nanoprecise copies of some of their pictures, complete with exact wood-gilt-and-plaster copies of the frames. The largest picture was Böcklin’s Triton and Nereid, which showed a hairy guy—Triton—sitting on a rock in the sea and blowing in a conch shell. Lying flat on her back on the rock with Triton was a smiling sexy plump Nereid, toying with a huge bewhiskered sea serpent. The serpent’s back was decorated with a lovely proto-Jugendstil pattern of green-and-yellow tessellation. Duck liked to explain the pictures to his friends.

  “All righty now,” said Starshine, setting down the scanner and picking up the glue gun. “See the tip, Terri?” The glue gun had what looked like a long, dull needle at the end. “It’s folded up now, so I can push it through his skin. But then on the inside it opens up into a swarm of bendy little arms, and those arms split up into arms that split. The little fibers reach into the break and fit any loose chips into place, and then they secrete . . . something. I forget the name. Phonybone? Phonybone is basically organic, except that it has some rare-earth elements in it. Ytterbium and lutetium. It’s completely safe.”

  “Are you sure?” fretted Terri.

  “It’s automatic, honey,” said Starshine as she brandished the glue gun. “Every piece of my equipment has a big DIM inside it. If these machines were much smarter, they’d be full-fledged moldies—and, of course, then you wouldn’t be able to trust ’em , would you? That’s why we’ve got healers to run ’em . Here goes!” Starshine bent over Tre and pushed the tip of the glue gun through his skin just above his collarbone. As the invisible fractal tip unfolded and did its work, Terri could see slight motions beneath Tre’s skin.

  Again Terri looked away, resting her eyes on von Stuck’s Sin, a high Jugendstil work with a massive, pillared gold-leaf wooden frame around a darkly painted half-nude woman, young and bold-eyed, her raven tresses cascading down with a stray pubic-like curl across her belly—and there in the shadows, draped across her shoulders, was a great thick black serpent, its inhuman slit-eyed face peering out at the viewer from beneath the woman’s steady, shadowed gaze. Next to it was a tacked-up paper Clearlight poster showing a huge sunflower with a smiling face. Out the window was the palm tree and the garage and the October afternoon and the soft piping of Dolf and the loud, laughing voice of Duck—tears filled Terri’s eyes.

  “Terri,” came Starshine’s voice presently. “It’s all over, sweet thing. You can stop crying. And, brah Tre, it’s time to wake up.” Starshine changed a setting on her squeezie and pulsed a different aerosol into Tre’s nostrils. He twitched and opened his eyes. “You’re all better, Tre!” said Starshine. “And for recuperation, I’d advise right living and being good to your wife.”

  “Wavy,” said Tre, sitting up uncertainly. “The dreams—I was seeing flashes of light from the Nth dimension. Yaar! I’m healed?” He rubbed his shoulder. “How much do we owe you?”

  “Oh, how about a free room in your motel for maybe a week, ten days? My Aunt Tempest is coming out to visit from Florida, but I can’t stand to have her in my house. Tempest raised me, you know. My parents died in the Second Human-Bopper War on the Moon back in 2031.”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Terri. “Were they heroes?”

  “Not hardly,” said Starshine. “They were working for the boppers. They were called Rainbow and Berdoo, just a cracker skank and her bad-ass man—like me and Aarbie Kidd used to be. Rainbow and Berdoo ran a toy shop on the Moon that was a front for a tunnel into the boppers’ Nest.”

  “Wow,” said Tre. “They were helping the boppers turn people into meaties? Putting those robot rats inside their skulls?”

  “I think Rainbow and Berdoo were probably meaties themselves by the end,” said Starshine. “After they died, a guy called Whitey Mydol took care of me for a while. Him and his old lady Darla; they’re friends of Stahn Mooney’s. Stahn got in touch with my Aunt Tempest, and she had me flown right down to Florida.”

  “Senator Stahn’s gotten kind of strung out lately,” remarked Tre. “But he’s still a good man. So when’s your aunt coming? What are the dates?”

  “Too soon till too long,” sighed Starshine. “You don’t have to give her a really good room.”

  “We can fit her in up by the parking lot,” said Terri. “Those rooms are usually empty this time of year.”

  “Aunt Tempest couldn’t be any worse of a guest than the guy I checked in last night,” said Tre, cautiously flexing his newly healed body. “Randy Karl Tucker.”

  “Randy Karl Tucker!” exclaimed Starshine. “That’s the name of the guy I saw down at the Boardwalk with Aarbie Kidd.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Tre. “Well, he’s the one who sabotaged my DIM tires, and it looks like he stole Monique. Maybe you can help me find him?”

  “I wouldn’t advise you to try,” said Starshine, shaking her head. “Not if he’s friends with Aarbie. Terri, I’ll let you know about Aunt Tempest. Now go on home and get Tre to rest.”

  When they stepped out into the yard, Dolf heard them and came running. “Daddy!”

  Tre hugged him. “I’m all fixed. Starshine glued me. What have you been up to?”

  “Duck’s shoes can walk by themselves,” said Dolf. “Show them, Duck!”

  Duck grinned and held his hands up in the air. Slowly and smoothly, he slid out of the garage toward Terri and Tre.

  “They’re DIM shoes,” said Duck. “The soles are imipolex. They adjust to your foot. And if you press your toes a certain way, they ripple along on the ground by themselves. Loose as a moose.” Duck made dancing gestures with his arms and gave his wild laugh.

  “Do you have to feed your shoes?” asked Dolf.

  “No,” said Duck. “They’re like moldies; they eat light.” He struck a new pose and his shoes began dollying him back into the garage. “I gotta finish this piece by tomorrow. How’s the sore wing, Tre?”

  “It’s solid,” said Tre, gingerly patting his collarbone. “Good as new.”

  “Beautiful. Later, guys.”

  Back at the motel, three of Monique’s nestmates were waiting for them: Xlotl, Ouish, and Xanana. While Xlotl was shaped like a chessman, Ouish and Xanana looked like sharks walking around erect on their tail fins—sharks with drifting, eddying fractals moving across their skins in shades of blue and deep gray. They each had a silvery patch that sketched a resemblance to a face.

  “What’s the story with Monique?” Xlotl demanded of Terri and Tre. “What the hell happened?”

  “It looks like Monique ran off with a scuzzy cheeseball guest,” said Terri, smiling at Tre. She’d started believing him again. “He sabotaged Tre’s DIM tires, and poor Tre broke his collarbone trying to catch them.”

  Tre smiled back at Terri, then focused on Monique’s excited nestmates. “How do you know something happened to Monique anyway?” asked Tre. “Did she uvvy you?”

  “She didn’t,” said Xlotl. “And she was supposed to. So I grepped for her vibe and managed to get a feed from her virtual address, but—” Xlotl shook
his head helplessly.

  “What?” demanded Tre. “Can you tell me, Ouish? Xanana?”

  “Yes, I can tell you,” said Ouish. She had a rich, womanly voice that she generated by vibrating her silvery face patch. “Xanana and I have just been channeling her. Monique seems to be dreaming about the ocean. We think maybe she’s undersea. Come here, Tre. Let me uvvy it to you.”

  “Wavy,” said Tre, and Ouish laid one of her fins across the back of Tre’s neck to feed him a realtime uvvification of Monique’s current mental essence.

  Monique seemed to be underwater, but it was not a realistic scene. The bottom had a white orthogonal mesh painted on it, for one thing, and the things swimming about in the water looked more like goblins than like fish. Instead of seaweed, the bottom was overgrown with rusty machinery. Yet the play of the shiny surface overhead was just as the ocean should be. The uvvy transmitted a nonvisual sensation that there was someone with Monique—inside her?—someone that Monique was frightened of, someone kinky, someone like Randy Karl Tucker.

  It was too strange, too intense, and Tre felt faint. He pushed Xanana’s flipper off his neck.

  “That’s my nestmate,” said Ouish. “That’s her right now. And I don’t know how she got that way or where she is. Tell me about the guest who took her.”

  “At first Tre thought he was just a weird redneck limpware salesman,” said Terri.

  “His name is Randy Karl Tucker,” added Tre. “He’s from Kentucky. He was real interested in Monique last night, and this morning he got her to rickshaw him out of here. I almost caught up with them near the wharf, but Tucker put some kind of DIM patches on my tires that made them jump off my wheels and try to choke me and turn into seagulls and fly away. Does . . . does that any make sense to you guys?”