Universe 4 - [Anthology]

by Edited By Terry Carr

  Alice turned from the window and looked at Bo as if she had forgotten his presence. “My name? Miss Tynnott. My father is Commander Tynnott.”

  “What is your first name?” Bo asked patiently.

  Alice ignored the question. Signaling the waiter, she ordered a sandwich and a mug of Tanglefoot. She looked around at the other patrons. “Who are these people? Workmen like yourself?”

  “Some are workmen,” said Bo in a measured voice. “Those two”— he nodded his head—”are off a sea-ship from the river docks. That tall thin man is from the backlands. But I’m more interested in you. What’s your life like out on Rampold?”

  “It’s always different. My father’s work takes him everywhere. We go out into the wilderness to plan canals and aquifers; sometimes we camp out for weeks. It’s a very exciting life. We’re about finished on Rampold; it’s becoming quite settled, and we may move on to a new wild planet; in fact that’s why we’re here on Earth.”

  “Hmmf,” said Bo. “Seems as if you’d want to stay in Hant and enjoy yourself awhile; take in the percepts, meet people, buy new clothes, get your hair fixed in the latest style, things like that.”

  Alice grinned. “I don’t need clothes. I like my hair as it is. As for percepts, I don’t have either time or inclination for vicarious living. Most urbanites, of course, don’t have much choice; it’s either vicarious experience or none.”

  Bo looked at her blankly. “I don’t altogether understand you. Are you sure you know what you’re talking about?”

  “Of course. Passive, fearful, comfort-loving people tend to live in cities. They have no taste for real existence; they make do with secondhand second-best experience. When they realize this, as most do consciously or subconsciously, sometimes they become hectic and frantic.”

  “Bah,” growled Bo. “I live in Hant; I’d live nowhere else. Second-best isn’t good enough for me. I go after the best; I always get the best.”

  “The best what?”

  Bo looked sharply at the girl. Was she mocking him? But no, above the sandwich her eyes were guileless.

  “The best of whatever I want,” said Bo.

  “What you think you want is a shadow of what you really do want. Urbanites are dissatisfied people; they’re all lonesome for the lost paradise, but they don’t know where to find it. They search all the phases of subjectivity: they try drugs, music, percepts—”

  “And gunk. Don’t forget gunk!”

  “Urban life is the ultimate human tragedy,” said Alice. “People can’t escape except through catastrophe. Wealth can’t buy objectivity; the folk in Cloudhaven are the most subjective of any in Hant. You’re lucky to work in the spaceyards; you have contact with something real.”

  Bo shook his head in wonder. “How old are you?”

  “It’s really not relevant.”

  “You certainly didn’t figure all that stuff out by yourself. You’re too young.”

  “I’ve learned from my father and mother. Still, the truth is obvious, if you dare to look at it.”

  Bo felt baffled and savage. “I’d say that maybe you’re not all that experienced yourself. Have you ever had a lover?”

  “Last night,” said Alice, “someone put the question rather more delicately. He asked me if I’d ever been in love, and of course I didn’t care to discuss the matter.”

  Bo drank deep from a tankard of lime beer. “And what do you think of me?”

  Alice gave him a casual appraisal. “I’d say that you are an individual of considerable energy. If you directed and disciplined yourself, you might someday become an important person: a foreman or even a superintendent.”

  Bo looked away. He picked up his tankard, drank and set it down with a carefully measured effort. He looked back at Alice. “What are you writing about?”

  “Oh—I’m just jotting down ideas as they occur to me.”

  “In regard to what?”

  “Oh—the folk of the city and their customs.”

  Bo sat glowering at her. “I suppose you’ve been studying me all morning. Am I one of the picturesque natives?”

  Alice laughed. “I must be starting home.”

  “One moment,” said Bo. “I see a man I want to talk to.” He crossed to a booth from which Raulf Dido quietly observed comings and goings.

  Bo spoke in a harsh clipped voice. “You notice who I’m sitting with?”

  Raulf nodded impassively. “Very tasty, in an odd sort of way. What is she?”

  “She’s a starlander, and to talk to her you’d think she owns all Hant. I’ve never seen such conceit.”

  “She looks like she’s dressed for a masquerade.”

  “That’s the style out back of beyond. She’s absolutely innocent, pure as the morning dew. I’ll deliver. How much?”

  “Nothing whatever. The heat’s on. It’s just too much of a hassle.”

  “Not if it’s handled right.”

  “I’d have to ship her off to Nicobar or Mauritan. It wouldn’t be worth the risk.”

  “Come, now. Why not work up a quick sequence over in the studio like we did with that set of twins?”

  Raulf gave his head a dubious shake. “There’s no scenery; we don’t have a script; we’d need a buck—”

  “I’ll be the buck. All we need is the studio. No story, no sets: just the situation. She’s so arrogant, so haughty! She’ll throw a first-class display! Outrage. Apprehension. Fury. The works! I’m itching to lay hands on her beautiful body.”

  “She’ll turn you in. If she’s around to do so.”

  “She’ll be around. I want her to remember a long time. I’ll have to wear a clown-mask; I can’t risk having Clachey or Delmar look at the gunk and say ‘Hey! there’s Bo!’ Here’s how we can arrange it so we’re both clear—”

  Raulf inclined his head toward Alice. “You’re too late. She’s leaving.”

  “The wicked little wench, I told her to wait!”

  “I guess she just remembered,” said Raulf mildly. “Because suddenly now she’s waiting.”

  Alice had seen enough of the Blue Lamp Tavern, more than enough of Hant; she wanted to be back up on the aerie, high in the clear blue air. But a man had entered the room, to take an unobtrusive seat to the side, and Alice peered in wonder. Surely it wasn’t Waldo? But it was! though he wore a loose golden-brown slouch hat, bronze cheek-plates, a voluminous parasol cape of beetle-back green, all of which had the effect of disguising his appearance. Now, why had Waldo come to the Blue Lamp Tavern? Alice curbed a mischievous impulse to cross the room and put the question directly. Bo and his friend had their heads together; they were obviously plotting an escapade of some sort, probably to the discredit of both. Alice glanced back to Waldo to find him staring at her with furtive astonishment. Alice found his emotion highly amusing, and she decided to wait another few minutes to learn what eventuated.

  Two other men approached Waldo and joined him at his table. One of the two directed Waldo’s attention to Bo with an almost imperceptible inclination of the head. Waldo darted a puzzled look across the room, then returned to his informant. He seemed to be saying, “But he’s not blond! The photograph showed blond hair!” And his friend perhaps remarked, “Hair dye is cheap.” To which Waldo gave a dubious nod.

  Alice began to quiver with merriment. Waldo had been surprised to find her at the Blue Lamp Tavern, but in a moment Bo would come swaggering back across the room, and indeed Bo now rose to his feet. For a moment he stood looking off into nothing, with what Alice thought a rather unpleasant smirk on his face. His bulk, his meaty jaw, the round stare of his eyes, the flaring nostrils, suggested the portrayal of a Minoan man-bull she had noticed earlier in the day; the resemblance was fascinating.

  Bo crossed the room to the table where Alice sat. Waldo leaned forward, jaw sagging in shock.

  Bo seated himself. Alice was more than ever conscious of his new mood. The rather obsequious manner he had cultivated at the Academy was gone; now he seemed to exude a reek of bravado and
power. Alice said, “I’m just about ready to go. Thank you for showing me the tavern here; it’s really a quaint old place, and I’m glad to have seen it.”

  Bo sat looking at her, with rather more intimacy than she liked. He said in a husky voice, “My friend yonder is a police agent. He wants to show me a gunk studio they’ve just raided; perhaps you’d like to come along.”

  “What’s a gunk studio?”

  “A place where fanciful percepts are made. Sometimes they’re erotic; sometimes they’re wonderful experiences, and the person who wires into them becomes the person who takes part in the adventures. It’s illegal, naturally; a gunk addict can’t do much else but stay wired into gunk once he’s had a taste of it.”

  Alice considered. “It sounds interesting, if one is in the mood for depravity. But I think I’ve had enough for today.”

  “Enough what?” asked Bo jocularly. “Depravity? You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “Still, I’ll be leaving for home.” Alice rose to her feet. “It was pleasant meeting you, and I hope you do well at the spaceyards.”

  Bo joined her. “I’ll show you the cab pad. This way, out the back. It’s just around the corner.”

  Alice somewhat dubiously went with Bo along a dim corridor, down concrete steps to an iron door, which opened into an alley. Alice paused, glanced sidewise at Bo, who was standing rather closer than she liked. He lifted his hand and stroked her hair. Alice moved back with raised eyebrows. “And where is the cab pad?”

  Bo grinned. “Just around the corner.”

  Keeping a wary eye on Bo, Alice marched off down the alley, with Bo a pace or two behind. She noticed a small van parked to the side. As she passed, footsteps pounded behind her; she swung around to see two men bearing Bo to the ground. Another man threw a blanket over her head, looped a strap around her knees; she was picked up and tossed into the van. The door closed and a moment later the van moved off.

  Alice rolled over and made herself as comfortable as possible. She found no difficulty breathing and her first emotion was outrage. How dared anyone treat her with such disrespect! She began to speculate as to the purpose of the deed, and her probable prospects; she was not at all cheered.

  Kicking and elbowing, she worked the blanket loose, and freed herself, but her situation was hardly improved. The interior of the van was dark and the doors were locked.

  The van halted; the back door opened to reveal the interior of a concrete-walled room. Two men looked in at her; Alice was somewhat reassured by the hoods which concealed their faces, which would seem to indicate that they planned to spare her life, if nothing else.

  She jumped out of the van and looked about her. “What’s the reason for all this?”

  “Come along; this way. You’re going to be famous.”

  “Oh? In what way?”

  “You’re to be the star of an exciting new percept.”

  “I see. Is this what is called ‘gunk’?”

  “I’ve heard it called ‘gunk.’ I like to think of it as ‘art.’”

  “I’m afraid you’ll find me an uncooperative performer. The production will be a failure.”

  “Nothing in life is a sure thing. Still, it’s worth trying. Come along this way.”

  Alice went as she was directed, along a hall and into a large win-dowless room illuminated by panels in the ceiling and around the walls. From four angles and from above recording apparatus surveyed the room. A man in a white beret, a domino and cheek-plates stood waiting. He came to inspect Alice. “You don’t seem concerned.”

  “I’m not, particularly.”

  Raulf Dido, the man in the white beret, was momentarily disconcerted. “Maybe you like the idea?”

  “I wouldn’t quite go that far.”

  “Are you wired?”

  Alice smiled, as if at the naive question of a child. “No.”

  “We’ll want you to wear this induction device. It’s not as accurate as the direct connection but better than nothing.”

  “Just what do you propose to do?” asked Alice.

  “We plan to produce an erotic percept with emotional accompaniment. As you see, we have no exotic props, but we feel that your special personality will make the production interesting. Before you indulge in any tantrums or hysterics, we’ll want to attach this induction device to your neck.”

  Alice looked at the adjuncts of the room: a couch, a chair, a case containing several objects which caused Alice to compress her lips in wry disgust. “You don’t understand my ‘special personality,’ as you put it. The percept will be very uninteresting. I wonder if you have a magazine or a newspaper I might read while you’re trying to make your percept?”

  “You won’t be bored, never fear.” This was the comment of another man who had entered the room: a man tall and strong, bulky about the shoulders, with a head shaved bald. A mask of gold foil clung to his face; he wore loose black pantaloons, a blouse checked red, white and black; he looked almost monumental in his strength. Alice instantly recognized Bo, and burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” he growled.

  “The whole affair is ridiculous. I really don’t care to be a party to such a farce. After all, I have my pride.”

  The man in the gold mask stood looking at her sullenly. “You’ll find whether it’s ridiculous or not.” He spoke to the man in the domino. “Check my signals.” He pushed a clip into the socket under his right arm.

  “Signals fine. You’re in good shape.”

  “Put on her induction; we’ll get on with the business.”

  The man in the domino advanced; Alice gestured, took the induction-cell, waved her hands and the cell was gone. Bo and Raulf Dido stared in annoyance. “What did you do with it?” asked Bo in a hard voice.

  “It’s gone,” said Alice. “Forever. Or maybe it’s somewhere up here.” She jumped up to the recorder platform and pushed over equipment. Cameras, recorders crashed to the floor, evoking cries of rage from Raulf and Bo. They ran to catch her, then stopped short at the sound of contention: calls and curses, the thud of blows. Into the room burst four men. Waldo stood to the side while his companions advanced upon Raulf and Bo and commenced to beat them with leather truncheons. Raulf and Bo bellowed in rage and sought to defend themselves, with only small success, as the blows fell upon them from all sides.

  Alice said, “Hello, Waldo. What are you doing here?”

  “I might ask you the same thing.”

  “Bodred brought me here in a van,” said Alice. “He seemed to want my help in making percepts; I was about to go when you arrived.”

  “You were about to go?” Waldo laughed scornfully. He put his arm around Alice’s waist and drew her toward him.

  She put her hands on his chest and held him away. “Now, Waldo, control yourself. I don’t need reassurance.”

  “Do you know what they were going to do?” asked Waldo in a thick voice.

  “I wasn’t particularly interested. Please, Waldo, don’t be amorous. I’m sure women of your own race are adequate to your needs.”

  Waldo made a guttural sound. He called to his hirelings. “Hold off. Don’t kill them. Bring that man over here.”

  The men pushed Bo across the room. Waldo held a small gun which he waved carelessly. “You were about to produce some gunk, evidently.”

  “What if we were?” Bo panted. “Is it any of your affair? Why did you come busting in on us?”

  “Think back to last night.”

  “Oh. You were the geezer behind the jeek.”

  “Correct. Go on with your gunk.” Waldo jerked his head toward Alice. “Take her. Use her. I don’t want her.”

  Bo glanced uncertainly toward Raulf, still on the floor. He looked back to Waldo, glaring sidelong at Waldo’s gun. “What then?”

  “I’m not done with you, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’ve got a lot coming, and you’re going to get it.”

  Alice spoke in a puzzled voice. “Waldo, are you suggesting that these nasty
creatures continue with what they were doing?”