by Rudy Rucker
Randy leaned over to stare deep into one of the little bottles and saw a background pattern of green-and-yellow citylike structures that were forever assembling themselves and breaking apart. Filling the spaces between the hives were lively vortex rings, each like a mushroom cap or like a jellyfish. These little jellyfish patterns were in shades of royal blue, tipped with vermilion accents. They pulsed their way through the interstices of the background pattern, splitting in two at some intersections, merging at others. “It’s pretty,” said Randy.
“Yes yes,” said Ramanujan. “Pretty complicated. Are you ready for me to go through the whole process for you step-by-step? I suppose we’ll have to do this several times. Are you prepared to concentrate? Each full run-through takes about four hours.”
“I’m ready,” said Randy.
Over the following days, Ramanujan led Randy through the leech-DIM fabrication process over and over until Randy could reliably do it himself. Randy was like a cook working for a master chef. As he grew more familiar with the recipe, he began finding ways to streamline it, although Ramanujan resisted any attempts to fully automate it. His great fear was that an automated process would amount to a program which could be stolen by Emperor Staghorn’s industrial rivals, by the moldies, or by some other interested parties.
Such as the Heritagists. The evening after his first day of work with Ramanujan, Randy went to bed early. Parvati was feeling too weak to visit, and Randy was tired out from running through the leech-DIM recipe—not once but twice. Ramanujan was a slave driver. Just as Randy got into bed, his uvvy began beeping for him. Hoping it might be Parvati—he was eager to tell her that he’d nailed down the job—he slapped the uvvy on his neck.
“Hi there, Randy. You sure aren’t very thoughtful about your old friends.” It was a pale silly goose of a girl with a very bad complexion. For a moment Randy didn’t recognize her.
“Helloooo! Salt Lake City calling Bangalore!” She waved both hands and grinned ingratiatingly. “Jenny from the Human Heritage Council? Jenny who found your neato keeno new job?”
The whole dreary, smarmy, small-time-loser vibe of Heritagism came crashing back in on Randy. He’d completely blocked out Heritagism and the wretched Shively days since coming here—what with the interesting work at Emperor Staghorn, the fabulous love affair with Parvati, and the profoundly psychedelic camote visions to think about. Now and then he’d written his mother, sure, but he’d totally spaced out on his promise to make regular reports to the Jenny thing. Ugh!
“A little birdie told me you’re moving up the ladder at Emperor Staghorn Beetle Larvae, Ltd.,” said Jenny. “Working with Sri Ramanujan, no less. We’re very proud of you!”
“Uh, yeah, Jenny, I’m sorry I never called. I reckon I oughtta tell you I’m not much of a Heritagist no more.”
“So?” Jenny had stopped smiling.
“So that’s why I’m not too interested in talking to you.”
Jenny’s white little goody-goody face grew pinched and mean. “We got you this job, Randy, and we can take it away. Now that you are finally in a position to give us some useful information, you are going to deliver. Or else. I want a step-by-step rundown on Ramanujan’s leech-DIM process, and I want it now.”
“I only started learnin’ it! Anyway, Ramanujan would kill me if he knowed I was leakin’ on him. What the hell do you dooks have against moldies anyway? They’re beautiful!”
“Start uvvying me the information, Randy, or you’ll find your Emperor Staghorn employee pass is void when you show up to work tomorrow. You’ll be out of work and your little moldie girlfriend will rot to death. Believe it. Once a month I’m going to call you, and once a month you’re going to run through the leech-DIM process for me. Each time you finish, I’ll tell you which parts need more detail, and you’ll get me the details by the next month. I’m not here to argue with you. I’m here to get the information.”
So Randy told Jenny the leech-DIM recipe as best he could and tried not to worry too much about what Jenny was going to use it for.
That week the Emperor Staghorn Beetle Larvae company store let Randy get forty kilos of imipolex on credit, and Parvati was suddenly like new again. Shiva died right around then, and Parvati started living with Randy full-time, cooking and cleaning for him and flying him to and from work every day.
The other roomers in the Tipu Bharat made no objection; they all liked Randy because in his spare time he’d fixed the building’s leaky pipes and drains. It had turned out that most of the building’s sewer lines were actually made of waxed cardboard tubes; once Randy got them all replaced, the Tipu Bharat was a much more pleasant place to live. The grateful owner let Randy and Parvati move into a three-room apartment at only a slightly higher price.
On weekends, Randy and Parvati would go diving or to the jungle, as before, but now that they were practically a married couple, Parvati began letting Randy in on some secrets.
One Saturday morning three months after Parvati moved in with him, Randy woke to the smell of spiced, sugared tea with warm milk.
“Good morning, darling,” smiled Parvati. She was plump and beautiful, with fine Indian features and her fingers fluttering through poised gestures of formal dance. She handed him a mug of the chai and a plate of hoppers: Tamil griddle cakes with fresh mango. “I have a nice idea for a trip today. I’ll show you where some of the really successful moldies live. We call them the nabobs.” While Randy ate his food, Parvati stoked herself up with a few nanograms of quantum dots; Randy kept a supply of this compact moldie energy source on hand to supplement Parvati’s solar energy.
With breakfast over, they walked up the stairs to the roof of the Tipu Bharat. Parvati’s extruded ghungroo ankle bells tinkled with each step. On the roof, Parvati pressed herself against Randy from behind, growing clamps around his chest and waist. She let her remaining mass flow into a large pair of wings that stretched out as if from Randy’s back. Now Randy stepped up onto the building’s low parapet. A light morning breeze blew against his face. There was a thronged market square directly below them, part of the Gandhi Bazaar. The cracked, wavering sound of a snake charmer’s fat-bulbed little been horn rose up toward them—the Indians seemed not to mind how weird and gnarly a tone might be, just so long as it was persistent and loud.
Parvati’s uvvy pad rested on the back of Randy’s neck, talking to him. Now she signaled that she was ready, and he flexed his legs and leapt off the building with his arms outstretched. A woman in the market square pointed up at them and screamed; hundreds of people stared as Parvati’s great gossamer wings caught hold. They glided high across the market, slowly gaining altitude.
Rather than crudely flapping her wings, Parvati sent dynamically calculated ripples through them, getting the greatest possible lift from her energy. At the far side of the square, she heeled over into a turn, and then she held the turn so that they rose up and up in an ascending helix. Below them Bangalore dwindled to the semblance of a city map, set into a patchwork landscape of fields and factories. Now Parvati leveled out and began flying southwest.
“It’ll take us perhaps an hour to get there,” she told Randy. “We moldies call this place Coorg Castle. It’s in the jungles near Nagarhole.” Randy relaxed and enjoyed the sensation of the air rushing past him and the vision of the landscape scrolling by below. When the beating of the air got to be too much, Parvati grew a little windshield to protect his face. Buying Parvati a new body was the best thing he’d ever done. And with the good pay he was getting now, he would have fully paid for it in just one more month.
Coorg Castle was a jagged cliff deep in an inaccessible part of an official jungle preserve, a cliff pocked with ancient caves. Parvati told Randy that the richer, more successful moldies lived here despite the law that the preserve was solely for wildlife. They helped keep human poachers out of the preserve. “And, of course, they are also giving a lot of baksheesh to the authorities.”
Randy and Parvati landed in a grassy clearing at the b
ase of the cliff, with flowers blooming all around. Parvati let go of Randy and took on humanoid form. Rather than taking on her customary appearance of a bejeweled sex goddess, Parvati made herself look like a wealthy high-caste widow, modestly wrapped in a white silk sari and adorned with only a few choice bangles and a fashionably large bindi dot on her forehead.
Parvati had uvvied the Coorg Castle moldies about their arrival, and a number of the moldies flew out of their caves and circled above, staring down at them. Randy was thrilled by the sight of the great iridescent creatures moving against the blue cloud-puffed sky with the sunlight streaming through their wings. They were like giant butterflies, like a music of enchantment, like a dream of beauty and peace.
Two of the moldies landed near them and took on humanoid form; both seemed to be moldie males. They spoke briefly in English to Randy and then uvvied silently to Parvati for so long a time that Randy wandered off to pick some fruits from the jungle. This was fun until he got a glimpse of a tiger watching him from a thicket. He crashed back to the clearing, but now Parvati was gone. Randy stationed himself with his back against the cliff, anxiously listening to the jungle’s many noises. He seemed to hear a steady current of heavy stealthy motions in the leaves. Now and then there was the sharp crack of a breaking stick. Time passed very slowly. It was nearly dusk when Parvati reappeared, flying down from one of the high caves.
“What have you been doing?” he demanded.
“Oh, just visiting,” sang Parvati. “Now that I have achieved a fully new body, these nabobs are welcoming me! I find that some of them are even my distant cousins. Yes, I’ve had a very pleasant day. Are you ready to fly home?”
“Of course I am,” snapped Randy. “Unless you’re planning to feed me to the tigers?”
“Silly boy,” laughed Parvati. “After all you’ve done for me? I’m still amazed at how readily you paid for my new body.” Caressingly, she wrapped her straps around Randy’s chest and waist, letting an extra tendril of her body slide down to give Randy’s buttocks a gentle caress. “You said my body will be completely paid off in a few more weeks?”
“That’s right,” said Randy, snuggling against her. “I make enough salary now for ten kilograms of imipolex a month.”
“What a smart man you are,” said Parvati. “Let’s fly home and I’ll cook you a good curry dinner.”
By now Randy had gotten very good at using Ramanujan’s nanomanipulator; with Randy’s help, Ramanujan could turn out a month’s targeted allotment of leech-DIMs in less than a week. Ramanujan was spending all the rest of his time doing involved calculations and trying to invent some new kind of imipolex.
Early in July, Tre Dietz of Santa Cruz, California, came up with the long-awaited four-dimensional Perplexing Poultry philtre. Tre’s employer Apex Images had a one-way disclosure agreement with Emperor Staghorn Beetle Larvae, Ltd., so Ramanujan was immediately able to obtain the philtre—complete with source code. Ramanujan became deeply obsessed. He set an uvvy to continually displaying a floating holographic sphere of four-dimensional Perplexing Poultry. The sphere hovered over his desk, and Ramanujan sat there at every hour of the day, staring and calculating.
The 4D Poultry came in seven different shapes and were colored in pleasing translucent pastel colors, one color for each kind of Poultry. They fit seamlessly together like pieces in an interlocking puzzle. The familiar chickens and dodoes were still present, though their old forms had undergone a sea change—they were much more tilted and twisted than before. Ramanujan obscurely insisted on calling the new shapes Vib Gyor, both in the singular and in the plural.
The ethereal sphere of Vib Gyor looked, at least to Randy’s untutored eye, like a wad of ugly misshapen newborn chickens, dodoes, turtles, pigs, weasels, kittens, and lizards huddling together for warmth. The shapes had a disturbing tendency to visually reverse themselves, like a drawing of a staircase that could be going either up or down. And sometimes Ramanujan would set the shapes to mutating, each of them slowly cycling through weird changes without ever losing full contact with its simultaneously cycling neighbors. Randy gathered that the Vib Gyor had something to do with Ramanujan’s dreams of a better leech-DIM.
Meanwhile Parvati was becoming more and more neglectful of Randy. She still insisted that he give her ten kilograms of imipolex per month, but what she did with it was anyone’s guess. Often she failed to appear at the fab to fly Randy home, and sometimes she was gone for several days at a time.
Another sore point was that Parvati had overheard Randy talking to Jenny. Parvati traced Jenny’s call to the Human Heritage Council and angrily confronted Randy about it. The fact that Randy was only doing it to protect his job did little to mollify the outraged moldie.
Things were so bad that Randy often had to beg Parvati for days before she’d have sex with him, and even then the act was short and perfunctory—except, of course, on paydays. Whenever Randy would actually hand over a big slug of imipolex, Parvati would get down with him just like old times, him on camote and her on the leech-DIM, the two of them in paradise together.
“Eureka!” Ramanujan shouted into Randy’s ear on July 2, 2053. Payday had been the night before, and Randy was feeling a little loose in the head. He was sitting at the nanomanipulator, wearing the uvvy and shakily etching tunnels into a piece of imipolex. It was a good thing the accuracy of the tunnels didn’t matter. What was this math geek yelling about? “I’ve got it, Mr. Tucker, I’ve got it! Imipolex-4!”
“Do what?” Randy didn’t bother taking off his uvvy.
“I don’t think I’ve ever shown you the quasicrystalline structure of imipolex,” said Ramanujan, leaning across Randy to adjust one of the nanomanipulator’s many mysterious controls. Suddenly the imipolex became an intricately fitted shape assembled from dovetailed polyhedral blocks. “You haven’t seen this mode before, have you?”
“Can’t say as I have,” said Randy. “It’s crooked blocks, some red and some yellow.”
“Yes, that’s because I’ve set the nanoeyes to polarized inflation,” said Ramanujan. “The different colors are the different domains of the imipolex. Like a crystal, a quasicrystal is made up of many copies of the same elements—the two kinds of blocks you see. I can make them look like chickens and dodoes if you’d prefer.” He turned another knob and the little blocks grew beaks and tails and claws that pecked and nestled into each other like a henhouse gone crazy. “These are our old friends the three-dimensional Perplexing Poultry. What makes a quasicrystal different from a crystal is that the building blocks—the chickens and the dodoes—they’re not arranged in any regular way. A quasicrystal is like a wallpaper pattern that never repeats.”
“Gnarly,” said Randy, moving around in the red-and-yellow space of the imipolex’s Perplexing Poultry. “I think I seen something like this on a camote trip with Parvati, um, not too far back.”
“Yes yes, I shouldn’t wonder a bit,” said Ramanujan. “The present leech-DIMs do percolate the quasicrystalline structure up into the moldies’ consciousness. But, as I’m always saying, we would much prefer to impose our own order from the top down. Now let me show you a sample of my new imipolex-4, Mr. Tucker.”
“Okeydoke.”
With a nauseatingly vast wrenching motion, the nanomanipulator’s view changed to a different sample of imipolex, this one unetched as yet. “This is new, Mr. Tucker. It’s based on the four-dimensional Perplexing Poultry. Can you see the Vib Gyor? See the seven kinds of them? Violet-Indigo-Blue-Green-Yellow-Orange-Red.”
“Peck-peck, Sri. Braaawk-cackle-brawk.”
“Yes yes, the Vib Gyor are in my new imipolex,” exulted Ramanujan. “I found a way to put this pattern into my imipolex by applying a special electromagnetic field while the plastic is setting. A correctly applied field can guide the quasicrystal tessellation; it’s just like the way dust arranges itself in patterns if you sprinkle it onto the skin of a vibrating drumhead. Of course, the drumhead is only a linear second-order differential equation, while
the field equation I am using here is nonlinear and of order nine. Today we’re going to start making leech-DIMs with imipolex-4, Mr. Tucker!”
“That’ll be better?”
“Much better. The goal, after all, is to logically control the moldies. My mathematical investigations have been indicating all along that a controlling leech-DIM must use a higher-dimensional Penrose tessellation.”
“So you’ll be able to slap a leech-DIM on a moldie, and the moldie’ll do what you tell it to,” mused Randy. “Shitfire.” Yesterday Parvati had gotten her monthly allotment of imipolex from him, and this morning she’d already turned nasty again. They’d had a terrible quarrel and she’d left for who knew how many days. Controlling his beloved Parvati with a souped-up leech-DIM was starting to sound like a good idea.
“Of course, your commands have to be rather simple,” said Ramanujan. “The problem is that even imipolex-4 won’t hold enough information. I’m working on a solution to that problem as well. I’m trying to create imipolex-N. Here, take a look at my latest effort.” Randy’s universe shuddered sickeningly and turned into muddy brown scuzz spotted with threads of green and purple.
“This looks like where the madwoman shits, Sri.”
“Fool.”
“Xoxx it.” Randy took the uvvy off. “You’ll make me puke with that kilp. What did you say it was supposed to be?”
“A quasicrystal based on N-dimensional Perplexing Poultry. But I can’t figure out the correct N-dimensional tessellation. To create it, I need a more thoroughgoing fundamental solution. I need a Tessellation Equation. Once I have imipolex-N, I’ll have a substance rich enough to hold as much information as I like—as much information as an entire human mind!”
Randy threw back his head and gave a deranged-scientist cackle. “And to think they dare call us mad!”
“Oh, get back to work, you degenerate bumpkin. Once we get one of the new imipolex-4 leech-DIMs ready, you can try it on your moldie girlfriend. Intercourse with her is all you care about, as I very well know.”
