The Ware Tetralogy

by Rudy Rucker

  “Oh, but we can make her do much more than that, Bou-Bou,” said Onar, his voice slurred. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the side of his head, gathering his forces. Moving slowly and carefully, he got to his feet and sneered down at Yoke with something like his old energy. “Yes, Bou-Bou, I have another trick up my sleeve. I can make little Miss Snooty Britches do anything I want her to. Look.” Onar pulled a twitching piece of imipolex out of his pants pocket, a fat dark red slug of a thing.

  “Be careful, that’s a thinking cap!” exclaimed the horrified Yoke, who’d been warned about them many times before. “A moldie can make it crawl up a person’s nose to take over their brain!”

  “Yes, my dear,” said Onar. “Up your nose. I’ll use the superleech to run Cobb, and Cobb will use the thinking cap to run you. A baroque little chain of command, no?” He paused and giggled. “I have an idea, Bou-Bou. Why don’t I smear Yoke with Vaana’s ichor and get her to have sex with you? Little Yoke’s a rather good shag, don’t you know?”

  “How revolting,” said the King coldly. “I’m shocked at you, Onar. Set the girl free, Kennit. She’s perfectly willing to finish filling our ship. And do something about having poor Vaana’s body stored away. I’m going to give her a proper funeral.”

  “But Yoke was holding a knife, Your Majesty,” said Kennit. “I have to protect you.”

  “Do you presume to disobey my direct command?” said the King, rising to his feet. Kennit temporized by continuing to talk, and the two of them went to stand over the remains of Vaana. Meanwhile Yoke was still sitting in the deck chair with her hands cuffed behind her back.

  While Kennit and the King continued debating, Onar handed the nastily twitching thinking cap to Cobb—who had no power to do anything but accept it. At the activating touch of Cobb’s moldie fingers, the thinking cap bloomed like a blob of ink in a glass of water, sending out long, greedy feelers. Now Onar darted around behind Yoke and held her by the shoulders. The enslaved old Cobb shuffled forward, holding the excited thinking cap out toward Yoke’s face.

  “Help!” said Yoke, but her voice came out small and squeaky. Stupid Kennit and the King weren’t even looking at her. It was like a dream where you try to run and your legs are knee-deep in molasses. Onar had her shoulders pinned in a grip of steel. The dark red thinking cap was coming closer. This was happening too fast!

  It occurred to Yoke that perhaps she could control her alla even when she wasn’t holding it. She reached out for mental contact with her alla and—yes! She alla-made a quick hydrogen-oxygen explosion at waist level between Kennit and the King.

  The blast was encouragingly loud. The King bellowed, Kennit roared, and Onar and Cobb were so startled that Cobb dropped the writhing thinking cap onto Yoke’s lap. Yoke quickly exploded a much bigger sphere of hydrogen and oxygen in a spot that she guessed to be behind Onar. He came tumbling onto her from over her right shoulder. The chair collapsed. With a quick twitch of her legs and torso, Yoke maneuvered Onar’s head to be near the thinking cap. The thinking cap crawled onto Onar’s face and shimmied into his left nostril. Onar screamed for Cobb to catch it, but he was too late. With a last filthy wriggle, the thinking cap had disappeared all the way into Onar’s nose. Onar’s limbs twitched as if in an epileptic fit.

  And now Cobb began twitching too. He and Onar were in a feedback control loop. Onar’s superleech was controlling Cobb, but Cobb’s thinking cap was controlling Onar. They sprang together like wrestlers, like magnets. The Cobb-directed Onar tried to claw the superleech out of Cobb’s back and the Onar-directed Cobb probed into Onar’s nose in search of the wily thinking cap. Yet at the same time, Onar was directing Cobb not to direct Onar to tear out the superleech, and Cobb was telling Onar not to tell Cobb to try and get the thinking cap. Not to mention the fact that Cobb both was and wasn’t trying to choke Onar. With all the contradictory impulses in the loop, nothing was accomplished, and the two could only flail about in chaos, their spastic motions cycling through a Wrestle Mania strange attractor.

  Meanwhile Kennit had placed the muzzle of a pocket-size rail-gun against the side of Yoke’s head. “If you make one more speck of trouble,” he growled into her ear, “I’m going to blow off your head.”

  Now a new complication arrived. Moldies were flying in from every side, seemingly drawn by Vaana’s dying cry. Up on the bridge the captain began using the whip-cannon to flail out metal pucks in every direction, and the two other bodyguards opened up automatic weapons fire. Kennit let go of Yoke and began firing his gun at the moldies as well. But there were too many moldies and they were too fast. A half dozen of them homed in on the whip-cannon and cut the thing off at its base. Yoke watched all this, sitting handcuffed on the deck. She’d scooted herself away from the thrashing Onar and Cobb. The King still had her alla, and after Kennit’s threat she was scared to use it again.

  As the whip-cannon fell into the sea, Tashtego and Daggoo suddenly arrived. They came running across the deck, teeth bared like joyful pirates.

  “Hold your fire!” the King called to his bodyguards. “These are my best agents! Tashtego, Daggoo, can you revive Vaana?”

  Instantly taking in the scene, the great Daggoo bent over Vaana, his rapid fingers beginning to splice the halves of her body together. Tashtego disappeared into the ship’s hold.

  There was a steady thud of more and more moldies landing on the deck. Each of them went immediately belowdeck and moments later flew back out of the hatch, two or three times as big as before. Most of the ship’s crew had jumped overboard. Cobb and Onar continued to wrestle.

  “Who dealt this mess?” said Kennit, looking around despairingly. He gave a shrill whistle and the two other bodyguards came down the companionway. “We’re taking HRH back to the secure island,” he told them. They started across the deck.

  “Let’s not leave quite yet, Kennit,” implored the King. “I want to see if Daggoo can fix Vaana.” Tashtego reappeared from below, much fattened, and carrying a spare slug of imipolex that he gave Daggoo to use on Vaana. From the water came the sound of the ship’s motor launch starting up. One of the bodyguards yelled down that they should wait for the King.

  “Take off my handcuffs,” called Yoke. “And give me back my alla. I can use it to save Cobb.”

  “Do it, Kennit,” said the King. He handed Yoke’s alla to the big Tongan.

  Kennit crossed the deck, holding his rail-gun out at the ready. He removed Yoke’s plastic handcuffs and pressed her alla into her hand. “Just remember, Yoke, if anyone comes near HRH, my boys and I will waste them.” He went back to the other side of the ship.

  Now that she had her alla, Yoke realized she didn’t need a knife to take the superleech out of Cobb. She could simply alla it into air—if she could place the control mesh steadily over the superleech, that is. She explained the situation to Tashtego and Daggoo, and the three of them knelt on Cobb to hold him still, with Daggoo fending off Onar with one long arm. At the last instant Onar managed to lunge in and push his hand in as if to protect the superleech. When the alla turned the contents of its control mesh into air, it took a chunk out of Onar’s thumb too. He started bleeding profusely from the wound.

  But the main thing was that the leech was gone. Cobb got to his feet and with one glance made Onar crouch down motionless. With no leech-DIM to counter the commands of the thinking cap, Onar was Cobb’s slave.

  “Good show!” called the King. “And how’s Vaana doing, Daggoo?”

  “She almost back,” said the huge, black moldie, who’d turned his attention back to his injured comrade. “Yaaar.” And indeed, the sinuous green shape of Vaana was lazily beginning to shift about.

  “That’s twice you’ve saved my life,” said Cobb, hugging Yoke. “And now I own Onar? I’d sooner own a rabid baboon.”

  “I’ll take him,” said Vaana, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Thank you, Daggoo. I’d like to do something special with you soon.” She flowed up Daggoo’s body like a vine growing up an oak, then twirled
free. Even as Yoke watched, Vaana’s body was continuing to heal. “Hi, Bou-Bou,” called Vaana, waving to the King.

  The King waved back a little uncertainly, but when he saw Vaana’s smile he tried to come over. His bodyguards grabbed his arms to hold him back.

  “How would I give Onar to you?” Cobb asked Vaana.

  “Let me uvvy into you and I can grep your thinking cap control code,” said Vaana.

  So Cobb and Vaana did the info transfer, and right away Vaana set Onar to dancing a jig like an organ grinder’s monkey, the blood freely dripping from his hand. Onar’s jaw was pumping, but Vaana wasn’t letting him say anything. His eyes were coals of fear and anger. His forced capering was a ghastly, melancholy sight.

  “Oh stop,” said Yoke. “Don’t torture him, Vaana. We should bandage that cut.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” said Vaana, turning so she faced away from the bodyguards and the King. “A way to finish it. Come here, Onar, I want to ask you to do something.” Onar stood before Vaana, tense but obedient, oblivious of his bloody hand.

  Before Vaana could speak, Yoke interrupted. “Onar, did you kill Mr. Olou on purpose? Make him answer, Vaana.”

  “Yes,” said Onar, his voice strained and cracked. “It was my idea.”

  “Go git HRH,” said Vaana softly. “Don’t slow down for them guards. Go git Bou-Bou.”

  Onar charged across the deck as if hell-bent on attacking the King. At this, the bodyguards reached their flash point. Moving as one, the three of them raised their weapons and blew off Onar’s head.

  “Takes care of the thinking cap too,” said Vaana coldly.

  Onar fell heavily and lay still, his neck spurting. Yoke retched. Three days ago she’d made love to this man; his body had been warm and strong, turgid with the same blood that was puddled on the aluminum deck. What a waste, what a pitiful end.

  And then the sky seemed to fall in, as something big came crashing into the ocean next to the ship. The object came down so fast that there was an ear-splitting sonic boom. A great wave rolled the ship far to one side like a tin toy, tossing Yoke and the others into the sea.

  By a happy accident, Yoke and Cobb ended up next to each other, along with Vaana and the King. The ship, now some distance off, had righted itself. The other moldies and the bodyguards were out of sight. And floating between Yoke and the ship was the great object that had caused the splash. What the hell? It was a flattened disk—a couple of centimeters thick and ten meters across—with two dozen lively beaked heads sticking out of it. Yoke thought of the nursery rhyme about four-and-twenty blackbirds baked into a pie. A pizza pie.

  “It’s Cappy Jane,” said Vaana, noticing Yoke’s wonderment. “The Tongan geosynchronous satellite. Hi, Bou-Bou, looks like we’re together again.” She wrapped her arm around the King, who was struggling to stay afloat.

  “Dear Vaana,” said the King. “I was devastated when that fool of a captain shot you. Thank heavens you recovered.”

  “Don’t let it happen again,” said Vaana. “One more thing, Bou-Bou. You got any more superleeches?”

  “I don’t!” cried the King. “It was all Onar’s idea. He got what he deserved. Disgusting person. I never should have befriended him.” He was dog-paddling hard, weighed down by his heavy clothes. “I’m sinking, Vaana.”

  Vaana sucked in volumes of air and positioned herself between the King’s legs like an inflatable sea horse.

  “I hope Kennit and the boys don’t start shooting again,” fretted the King. “With Cappy Jane here they must be going mad. I never should have given them guns.”

  Vaana grew her neck up twenty feet to have a look. Her head snaked around for a minute up there like that of a slender green sea serpent. “They’re way over by the ship. The launch circlin’ around to pick everyone up. We cool for a while. Man, when I chirped for help, I didn’t expect Cappy Jane to come. Twenty thousand miles in twenty minutes? She must have curled up like javelin for the trip down.”

  “Remember that it’s important that the moldies don’t find out who Yoke and I are,” Cobb whispered urgently to Vaana and the King, using his voice rather than the uvvy. “Or they’re going to be hounding us for Yoke’s alla. That’s why you set up the Squanto and Sue Miller ID viruses for us, right?”

  “That’s right,” said the King.

  “Here, Cobb,” murmured Yoke. “I’ll uvvy you their identity codes.”

  “Beautiful,” whispered Cobb. “I’ll put those out for the Cappy Janes to see. We don’t want them and their pals to follow us home for more free goodies.”

  “Where’s our imipolex?” squawked one of the bird heads sticking out of the big disk of Cappy Jane. “Yeah, Vaana,” said another of the heads, clacking its beak. “You called for help and promised us more imipolex than we’ve ever seen, so where the fuck is it?” A third head craned toward the aluminum ship. “Is it in the hold of that tub?”

  “The local moldies done cleaned us out,” said Vaana. “Nothin’ left in there but gold.”

  “Ah, the superstitious human worship of rare minerals,” said one of the Cappy Jane heads bitterly. “Too bad they don’t know what it’s like to have to buy the flesh to make their children.” A different head eyed Yoke and piped, “Is this the girl who’s supposed to have the magic wand? Who is she?”

  “I’m Sue Miller,” said Yoke. “And this is my moldie Squanto. How much imipolex would you like? How about a thousand tons?” She felt gay and reckless from so many crazy events. If things kept up as weird as this, maybe Phil could come back too.

  Yoke gripped her alla and grew a large bright-line box in the water, keeping it a safe distance from her and the others. She could sense the location of the alla box through her uvvy, as if from a phantom limb. How big could it get, anyway? Though she tried to push it farther, the cube seemed to max out somewhere between twelve and thirteen meters on each side. About forty feet. Well short of touching the sea floor.

  “Get ready for a jolt!” she cautioned the others. “I’m going to turn that big cube of water into imipolex. Actualize!”

  Sproing!

  Something like an enormous cube of gelatin was now bobbing in the sea, just barely afloat. A giggly, shuddery gelatin, alive with pulsing colors. Truly something for nothing. What was that Josef had said about the working of the alla? “Quark flipping is like jujitsu. As if to look at something and then to look at it in a different way.”

  “Wow!” exclaimed one of the Cappy Jane bird heads, eyeing the imipolex.

  Ordinarily, moldies reproduced in pairs, each acquiring half the necessary imipolex for new scion and each contributing about half of the newborn’s nervous system and software. But given an opportunity like this, a moldie could reproduce all alone. If you gave a moldie a seventy kilogram chunk of imipolex, it could replicate itself in seconds—provided it hadn’t done so within the last six months.

  The six-month condition had to do with the fact that, when reproducing, a moldie’s system generated a growth hormone that spurred its mold-and-algae nervous system to speed-grow a fresh nervous system into virgin imipolex. Six months was how long it took a moldie’s body to generate a sufficient amount of its reproductive growth hormone.

  The big Cappy Jane pie undulated over to the cube and began madly pecking away. Minutes later there were two pies. Due to the growth hormone limitation, the Cappy Jane moldies couldn’t reproduce any further than that, but for a while they kept pecking, bulking up their bodies with additional imipolex. Each of them grew to as large a size as his or nervous system could handle, and then they pooped out, leaving most of the gnawed imipolex cube still floating in the water.

  “Urp,” belched the nearest Cappy Jane beak. “What a blowout. A clone-fest. I wish I had enough mold in me to breed over and over and over. Where did you get that terrific tool, Sue?”

  “From some aliens,” said Yoke, not thinking to lie.

  “Yeek!” screeched the pie-bird. “Aliens! Find them! Kill them! Emergency!” The pie lifted
awkwardly out of the water, little take-off jets firing out of its underside. It was slow and heavy from having incorporated as much imipolex as it could possibly hold.

  “Being a grex down here sucks,” cawed one of the birds in the flying pie, and twitched itself free. The disk broke up into pieces then, into twenty-four awkward-looking moldies. For now the other pie kept its integrity, floating there in the water. The freed Cappy Jane birds looked like featherless pelicans. Or maybe pterodactyls.

  Back beyond the pie and the squawky birds, Yoke could glimpse the navy launch trying to circle around toward them. A figure was standing in the bow, tiny at this distance.

  “The Metamartians are our—” Yoke had been about to say “friends,” but then she remembered Phil’s last warning. About how Shimmer had deliberately told the powerball to swallow her mother. But if the Cappy Janes wiped out the aliens, that might scotch any hope of getting Phil and Darla back.

  “What?” croaked the closest Cappy Jane bird. “What did you say about the aliens, Sue? Metamartians you call them?”

  “I’m not sure they’re enemies,” said Yoke lamely.

  “Who knows where the Metamartians are?” screeched one of the birds still in the pie. “I want our grex to be the one to get them! Let’s test some poofballs, guys!” Like a flock of pistons, the birds in the pie rose and fell, successively belching out little balls of imipolex that burst into flame once they were well up into the air.

  “Yee haw!” crowed one of the birds raucously. “Follow me to kill the Metamartians! I just found out their location from Squanto!”

  “Ooops,” said Cobb.

  “Oh, Squanto,” said Yoke.

  “It’s hard, dammit,” said Cobb. “That Cappy Jane kept nosing at me and asking stuff about Vava’u and somehow an image popped out. I showed her the aliens looking out of that cave on the beach. But that’s all. I’m sorry. Anyway, you’re the one who really blew it. ‘Where did you get that wonderful tool, Sue?’ ”