The Minotaur had met his appointee yesterday. He had been passing through town in his usual furtive way when he heard a woman’s voice call out, “Minotaur! Could I have a word with you?”
The Minotaur overreacted as usual, whirling around so fast he lost his balance and fell flat on his rump, the sort of pratfall that the Minotaur feared above anything, feared even more than death at the hands of the Greek butcher, Theseus.
“Let me help you up,” the woman said. Through tears of chagrin, the Minotaur couldn’t help but notice that she was a young woman, dressed in severe clothing that accentuated her angularity, with her hair pulled back in a scholarly bun and hornrimmed glasses perched on her sharp nose. She was definitely a virgin. Minotaurs have a sense for these matters. The Minotaur felt the first anticipatory tremors of love, and allowed himself to be helped to his feet and brushed off.
The young woman explained that she had noticed him while he was passing through town, and had observed that he was a Minotaur, by which she was just stating a fact, not passing a moral judgment. She hoped her observation would not be taken amiss. She had decided to speak to him because he was a victim and she and some of her friends were dedicated to reforming the various sexist, racist, and other discriminatory laws that presently prevailed throughout so much of the maze.
The Minotaur nodded politely, though he had very little idea what she was talking about.
“Minotaurs,” she told him, “are members of an untouchable class called Monsters. They are designated as victims from birth, giving no thought to their individual aspirations. Denied an education in anything but the rudiments of Escaping and Avoiding, they are thus prevented from competing in the job market. Their inalienable rights as sentient beings possessing a reflexive consciousness are thus violated as they are feudally bound to a single occupation without respect to their own wishes.”
“At least we have job security,” the Minotaur quipped, for he was a little miffed. He had always considered his predicament unique and it annoyed him to learn that he was merely representative of the general situation for all monsters. But of course, monsters have little aptitude for politics, and it occurred to the Minotaur that she was right, of course, nobody had ever given him a break; it’s monster this and monster that and monster ’ow’s you soul, but it’s thin red line of monsters when the drums begin to roll. The Minotaur wasn’t sure how that fit in, he had failed Metaphor in school and so was careful not to make comparisons in public lest he be thought a fool.
“Well, it’s nice of you to care,” the Monster said cautiously. “What happens next? Do we talk about it some more?”
She shook her head decisively. “I’m part of the action arm of the Resistance. Minerva’s the name, action’s the game. A hero is in pursuit of you, I suppose?”
“That’s for sure,” said the Minotaur.
“Then what you need is a Safe House,” Minerva said. “A place where you can rest and regain your orientation, or acquire a new one, while we consider what to do with you, sorry, for you, next.”
“Minerva,” the Minotaur said. “Nice name. You wouldn’t happen to be also known as Athene, by any chance?” Because he was sure he had seen her picture on the political page of the Labyrinth Times.
She nodded. “Athene was my slave name back when I was a goddess to the Hellenes. Then I learned about Scientific Futurism. My mind was opened to the possibilities of human development, by Shekovsky and other 20th century thinkers. I took the Latin name Minerva as a sign of faith in the civilization destined to supplant the rule of the Hellenes. Does that answer your question?”
“More than amply,” the Minotaur said.
And so she had told the Minotaur to meet her at this street corner, tomorrow, at noon. And here he was, regrettably early. But where was she?
“Here I am,” Minerva said. “Let’s go.”
25. The Alien Observer.
The Minotaur followed Minerva to a street corner where a large black car had pulled up. The car had tinted windows so the Minotaur couldn’t see in. He did notice that the car had diplomatic license plates, Alien Observer, for Alien Observer, something you saw more and more these days, since Dædalus’ maze had excited considerable comment throughout the civilized portions of the galaxy.
As he got in, the Minotaur thought what a perfect setup this would be for Theseus to try to get at him. He wouldn’t put it past Theseus to hire a couple of stooges and a woman, lure the Minotaur into the car, and then, wham, bam, it’s another monster dead and general rejoicing throughout greater Hellas.
It’s just the sort of sneaky stunt that Theseus would pull, but the Minotaur was a fatalist, what the hell, he got into the car. It sped away.
Sitting beside him was the Alien Observer, immediately noticeable as such because he had no hair and wore blue lipstick.
“Don’t worry, old man,” the Alien Observer said, “we will get you out of this.” He talked in a funny way, like most aliens, with a pronounced weakness in the fricatives.
“It’s very good of you,” the Minotaur said, relieved to find that he was not in a trap after all. “I hate to put you to the trouble.”
“Oh, do not lambaste yourself over it, old man,” the Alien Observer said. “It is incumbent upon us to assist fellow sentient creatures in distress.”
“I’m a monster, however,” the Minotaur pointed out, thinking that an alien, with his inscrutable modalities of perception, might not have noticed.
“I am well aware of this,” the Alien Observer said. “On my planet, we do not recognize such distinctions. That is why we have been given the Good Sentient Being Award of the Galactic Planets three years running. Do you say running?”
“Oh, yes,” the Minotaur said, “that’s quite correct.”
“On my planet,” the Alien Observer said, “we would say, ‘three years of passing in the usual way.’ We do not go in for action metaphors. Nor do we recognize the category of ‘monster.’ On my planet, ou-’Fang, or just ’Fang for short; we recognize only the category of intelligent being.”
“That’s good,” the Minotaur said.
“Oh, yes. It is what we would call a preemptory fact.”
“Local usage,” the Minotaur said.
“Yes, precisely. And all of us belong to a single occupational group.”
“I see,” said the Minotaur.
They rode along in silence for a while. Then the Minotaur asked, “What category?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What is the single category of occupational group that all you people on ’Fang belong to?”
“We are all railroad engineers,” the Alien Observer said.
“How does that work?” the Minotaur said.
“We all get the same wage and the same fringe benefits: three weeks’ vacation a year, and maternity leave for those of us who elect to become child-bearing females. We are all employed by the Planetwide Railroad Corporation of ’Fang, and we are all stockholders in it. We take turns being chairman of the board and other high offices.”
“You can’t get much more democratic than that,” the Minotaur said.
“I can’t imagine why other planets haven’t tried it,” the Alien Observer said. “They wouldn’t have to be railroad engineers, of course. It just happens that we are all interested in trains. But they could be vegetable farmers or automobile manufacturers or whatever they pleased. The important point is that everyone should do the same thing. That way there’s no dissension.”
The Minotaur thought carefully about how to phrase his next question. Then he asked, “I can’t help wondering what happens when you have produced all the railroads you could possibly need. I don’t mean to pry, but I am curious.”
The Alien Observer laughed good-naturedly. “We’re asked that all the time. It’s really a matter of definition, isn’t it, deciding when you have all the railroads you could possibly need. What might satisfy some races who do not possess the Transportational Æsthetic might not suit us. In our vi
ew there’s no such thing as too much railroad.”
“You must have a lot of track,” the Minotaur suggested.
“Most parts of the planet are triple-tiered,” the Alien Observer said, in the careless tone of someone who doesn’t want to let on how terribly pleased he is with local arrangements. “And I can assure you of one thing.”
“What’s that?” the Minotaur asked.
“Nobody’s ever late for work.”
“I should think not.”
“That’s a joke, actually,” the Alien Observer said.
“Oh, I see,” the Minotaur said, chuckling hollowly.
“I must admit, though,” the Alien Observer said, “that we are reaching a point of virtual capacity, beyond which the tracks are liable to collapse into one solid mass. The railroad phase of our civilization is about at an end.”
“Ah,” said the Minotaur. “What will you do?”
“A civilization,” the Alien Observer observed, “must either evolve or perish.”
“Yes, I believe that’s true,” said the Minotaur.
“My mission here,” the Alien Observer said, “is to see if Dædalus can use some first-rate track in his maze, which we can let him have at unbeatable prices. Meanwhile, we of ’Fang are already moving into the next phase of our evolution.”
“What’s that?” the Minotaur asked.
“Fashion design,” the Alien Observer said.
“Really?” said the Minotaur.
“Yes. We have voted to throw away our old wardrobes at the end of each year and buy new ones, thus ensuring a permanent market for our industries. There may be a limit to how much railroad track you can lay, but there’s no end to the home market for fashions. The social necessity of doing it keeps us alive, and its frivolity keeps us happy. It’s really a good system. But of course I don’t suppose that what makes blue-lipped aliens happy would be of interest to Earth people.”
“There might be a market for your fashions here in the maze,” the Minotaur said. “Among my people.”
“Your people?”
“The monsters. Most of us wear no clothes at all. But it may be time for a change. I could speak to some of my friends about it.”
“That would be very good of you,” the Alien Observer said. “I have samples of our new line back in the hotel.”
“I’d be happy to do it,” the Minotaur said. “Ah, but I forgot for a moment, I’m a hunted monster.”
“Ah, yes,” the Alien Observer said. “I had forgotten.”
“I can assure you,” the Minotaur said, “that Theseus hasn’t forgotten.”
“Hmm,” said the Alien Observer.
“Beg pardon?” said the Minotaur.
“‘Hmm’ is a term in ’Fang that means that an interesting thought has occurred to me. I have a plan, good monster, that might enhance our mutual positions in this convoluted world that Dædalus has wrought.”
The car came to a stop.
26. The Telephone Booth.
Theseus entered the telephone booth.
Inside, on one of the walls, he found a telephone number scrawled in black crayon, and under it the initials M.R. Theseus realized with quickening excitement, that these were the Minotaur’s initials, Minotaurus Rex.
But how had this lucky circumstance come about? Theseus, on a hunch, stuck his head outside the telephone booth and looked skywards. Yes, sure enough, there was a fading purple glow near the horizon, sure sign that a synchronicity-rich sun had just gone nova.
Theseus fumbled in his pockets and found a universal telephone token, put it into the telephone, dialed.
In another part of the maze the Minotaur sat on a giant toadstool, holding a blue flower in his hand and feeling hung over and stuffed from last night’s dinner of maidens, not live ones, concentrated maidens in the form of large blonde candy bars with nuts, standard emergency rations for Minotaurs on the run. The Minotaur was trying to abstain from eating live maidens; he was no barbarian, but canned, frozen, freeze-dried or concentrated maidens were something else again; they didn’t even look like maidens. He still didn’t feel completely right about eating them, but he consoled himself with the thought that the Cannibal Island Canneries would go on producing them whether he ate them or not.
There’s a telephone beside the Minotaur on a small toadstool of its own. The telephone rings. The Minotaur answers it.
“Minotaur speaking.”
“Hello, Minotaur, this is an old friend, three guesses.”
“It’s Theseus, isn’t it?”
“You win the prize, my friend: immolation, followed by hard words. I’m coming after you, Minotaur, I’m going to get you.”
The Minotaur shuddered — that horrible redneck voice! He pulled himself together. “Listen,” the Minotaur said, “Can’t we make a deal, come to an arrangement, find an accommodation? This is crazy, why should you go running around after people threatening to kill them, what did I ever do to you?”
“I’m just following the legend,” Theseus said, “no hard feelings.”
“Give me a little more time,” the Minotaur said, “I’m getting out of this Minotaur gig; they have plastic surgery these days. I’m going to move to another country and take up soil banking.”
“You can’t get out of it,” Theseus said. “I’m coming for you.”
The Minotaur wondered if Theseus could be having his telephone traced. Theseus was an ingratiating fellow. The Minotaur wouldn’t put it past him to come on to a telephone girl, seduce her, dazzle her with promises, ingratiate himself with promises, get her to trace the call late at night when the supervisors have gone home to their tents and their swimming pools and leave the world to darkness and to me. He knew he should hang up, get moving, but he goes on listening.
“What’s it like where you are?” Theseus asked the Minotaur. “Is it sunny? Raining? Night or day? Is there enough air? Are you in a place which is entirely water? What’s the first thing you see when you wake up? Who do you hang out with? Are there any decent restaurants out your way?”
The Minotaur knew that as long as he had Theseus on the telephone he wouldn’t have him sneaking up on him.
“Oh, it’s pretty nice around here,” the Minotaur said. He looked around. He was sitting on a giant toadstool at the edge of a bog, with dark oak trees growing nearby. The sky was overcast, and some fellow was walking on the ridge above him, smoking a clay pipe and rubbing his hands together and whistling to himself.
“Yes, I’m in quite a nice village,” the Minotaur said. “It’s perched on top of the only mountain for miles around; you can’t miss it.”
“Give me another clue,” said Theseus.
“The only other thing I can tell you,” the Minotaur said, “is that the sky hereabouts is an unusual shade of green.”
There’s a pause. Then Theseus said, “You’re putting me on, aren’t you?”
“I’m not clever enough for that,” the Minotaur said. “Now tell me something about where you are.”
“I’m in the lounge of a cruise ship,” Theseus said. “The waitress is just coming with my drink.”
“What does she look like?” the Minotaur asked.
“She’s blonde and sexy,” Theseus said. “I think she puts out. Eat your heart out, monster.”
The Minotaur felt a sudden despair. Not only was his life in danger, his dialogue was dragging, too! It occurred to him that death might be a considerable improvement over the current situation.
“I have it on good authority,” said Theseus, reading the Minotaur’s mind, “that death is not nearly as bad as people say. Why don’t you just let me kill you so we can get on to something else?”
“Well, I’ll think about it,” the Minotaur said.
“I really think you ought to,” Theseus said. “I’m speaking as your friend now. When will you know for sure?”
“I’ll call you in a couple of days,” the Minotaur said, “and let you know for sure one way or the other.”
“You won’t
forget?”
“Minotaurs never forget,” the Minotaur said, and hung up.
Theseus planned to go home immediately and await the Minotaur’s telephone call. But then he remembered he didn’t have a home just now, that would come later and earlier. He needed a home quick, one with a telephone.
27. Girl Named Phædra.
Theseus is sharing an apartment with a girl named Phædra.
Several months have passed. He is still waiting for the Minotaur’s phone call.
He knows it’s not too likely that the Minotaur will simply give up. But it has been known to happen; Minotaurs get into these moods sometimes, it’s not entirely unprecedented, other monsters in the past and in the future have been known to throw it in, say, “kill me, baby,” or whatever words they please, and bare their necks to the blade, their shoulders to the axe, their ankles to the noose, their lungs to the fire. And then it’s all over except for the royalties and the movie options.
Theseus would really like to get this over. Then he can marry this girl he lives with, Phædra.
Theseus knows that marrying Phædra may not be such a good idea. According to all the old legends, he will have a very bad time with her.
The Phædra legend as it is generally known: After marrying Theseus, Phædra, a daughter of King Alcæous of Crete, falls in love with Theseus’ son by a previous marriage, Hippolytos. She tries to seduce him, but Hippolytos is a jock, only interested in athletics, and a very self-righteous guy. He gives her lectures instead of love, and this gets her so angry that she accuses him of raping her, then commits suicide by hanging herself from a doorpost.
Heavy, hysterical stuff, the sort of thing that happens in Grand Operas, but not in Dædalus’ maze.
Theseus thinks the Phædra matter has been much exaggerated by the mythographers.
Minotaur Maze Page 7
