F&SF BK UNICORNS VOL 2.indb

by Gordon Van Gelder

  At once, he canceled the address, unstrapped himself, and got out of the mobile. His heart was beating too fast. His biomitter was saying without being asked, Go to the Hospital. You will be OK. The letters were yellow.

  His hands trembled. But he tapped onto the display, / am OK. Then he went back into the house.

  Sally was cleaning the kitchen, as she always did after breakfast. She did not look at him.

  “Sally,” he said. “I want to talk to you. Something’s happening to me.”

  “It’s time to clean the kitchen,” she said. “I heard the signal.”

  “Clean the kitchen later,” he said. “I want to talk to you. Something’s happening to me.”

  “I heard the signal,” she said. “It’s time to clean the kitchen now.”

  “Look at me,” he said.

  She did not look at him. Her hands were busy wiping scraps of soyham into the vacuum-sink, where they were sucked away.

  “Look at me,” he said. He took hold of her shoulders with his hands and made her face him. It was easy. He was strong. “Look at my forehead.”

  She did not look at him. Her face screwed up into tight knots and ridges. It turned red. Then she began to cry. She wailed and wailed, and her legs did not hold her up. When he let her go, she sank to the floor and folded up into a ball and wailed. Her biomitter said to her in blue, You will be OK. You will be OK. But she did not see it. She cried as if she were terrified.

  Norman felt sick in his stomach. But his carefulness had come back. He left his wife and went back to the garage. He got into his mobile and punched in an address only ten houses away down the road. His mobile left the garage smoothly and eased itself into the perfectly sane flow of the traffic. When it parked at the address he had given it, he did not get out. He sat in his seat and watched his house.

  Before long, an ambulance rolled up to his house. Men in white coats went in. They came out carrying Sally on a stretcher. They loaded her carefully into the ambulance and drove away.

  Because he did not know what else to do, he punched the address of the National Library into the console of his mobile and went to work. The careful part of him knew that he did not have much time. He knew (everyone knew) that his biomitter was his friend. But now he also knew that it would not be long before his biomitter betrayed him. The rebellion in his genes was becoming too strong. It could not stay secret much longer. And he still did not know what was happening to him. He wanted to use the time to find out, if he could. The library was the best place for him to go.

  But when he reached his desk with its computer console like the one in Dr. Brett’s outer office, he did not know what to do. He had never done any research before. He did not know anyone who had ever done any research. His job was to sort books, to feed them into the reference computer. He did not even know what he was looking for.

  Then he had an idea. He keyed his terminal into the reference computer and programmed it for autoscan. Then he tapped in his question, using the “personal information” code which was supposed to keep his question and answer from tying up the general circuits of the library and bothering the director. He asked:

  / have hooves, a tail, white hair, and a horn in the middle of my forehead. What am I?

  After a short pause, the display ran numbers which told Norman his answer was coming from the 1976 Encyclopedia Americana. That encyclopedia was a century out of date, but it was the most recent one in the library. Apparently, people had not bothered to make encyclopedias for a long time.

  Then the display said:

  ANSWERcycleUNICORNcyclecyclDATAFOLLOWScyclecyclecyclecy

  His uneasiness became suddenly sharper. There was a sour taste in his mouth as he scanned the readout.

  THE UNICORN IS A MYTHOLOGICAL BEAST USUALLY DEPICTED AS A LARGE HORSE WITH A SINGLE HORN ON ITS FOREHEADcyclecyclecyclecyclecyc

  Sweat ran into his eyes. He missed a few lines while he blinked to clear his sight.

  IT REPRESENTED CHASTITY AND PURITY THOUGH IT WOULD FIGHT SAVAGELY WHEN CORNERED IT COULD BE TAMED BY A VIRGIN’S TOUCH IN SOME INTERPRETATIONS THE UNICORN IS ASSOCIATED WITH THE VIRGIN MARY IN OTHERS IT REPRESENTS CHRIST THE REDEEMERcyclecyclecyclecyclecyclecyclecycl

  Then, to his surprise, the display showed him a picture of a unicorn. It was prancing high on its strong clean legs, and its coat was pure as the stars, and its eyes shone. Its mane flew like the wind. Its long white horn was as strong as the sun. At the sight, all his uneasiness turned into joy. The unicorn was beautiful. It was beautiful. He was going to be beautiful. For a long time, he made the display hold that picture, and he stared at it and stared at it.

  But after his joy receded a little and the display went blank, he began to think. He felt that he was thinking for the first time in his life. His thoughts were clear and necessary and quick.

  He understood that he was in danger. He was in danger from his biomitter. It was a hazard to him. It was only a small thing, a meta-sensor that monitored his body for signs of illness; but it was linked to the huge computers of the General Hospital; and when his metabolism passed beyond the parameters of safety, sanity, his biomitter would summon the men in white coats. For the first time in his life, he felt curious about it. He felt that he needed to know more about it.

  Without hesitation, he tapped his question into the reference computer, using his personal information code. He asked:

  / Origin of biomitter?

  The display ran numbers promptly and began a readout.

  WORLDWIDE VIOLENCE CRIME WAR INSANITY OF 20TH CENTURY SHOWED HUMANS CAPABLE OF SELFEXTERMINATION OPERATIVE CAUSE WAS FEAR REPEAT FEAR RESEARCH DEMONSTRATED HUMANS WITHOUT FEAR NONVIOLENT SANEcyclec POLICE EDUCATION PEACE TREATIES INADEQUATE TO CONTROL FEAR OF INDIVIDUAL HUMANS BUT SANE INDIVIDUAL HUMANS NOT PRONE TO VIOLENCE WAR TREATIES POLICE WEAPONS UNNECESSARY IF INDIVIDUALS NOT AFRAIDcyclecyclecyclecyclecyclecy TREATMENTcyclecyclecyclecyclec BIOMITTER MEDICOMPUTER NETWORK INITIATED FORc ALL INDIVIDUALS MONITOR PHYSIOLOGICAL SIGNS OF EMOTION STRESS ILLNESS CONDITIONED RESPONSES INBRED TO CONTROL BEHAVIOR FEAR***CROSSREFERENCE PAVLOV BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION SUBCONSCIOUS HYPNOTISMcyclecyclecyclecyclecyclecy SUCCESS OF BIOMITTER PROGRAM DEMONSTRATES FEAR DOES NOT EXIST WHERE CONTROL ORDER

  Abruptly, the green letters flashed off the display, and the terminal began to readout a line of

  red.

  DATA CANCEL REPEAT CANCELcyclecyclecyclecyclecyclecyclecy MATERIAL CLASSIFICATION RESTRICTED NOT AVAILABLE WITHOUT APPROVAL DIRECTOR NATIONAL LIBRARY FILE APPROVAL CODE BEFORE REACTIVATING REFERENCE PROGRAMcyclecyclecyclecyclecycl

  Norman frowned around his horn. He was not sure what had happened. Perhaps he had accidentally stumbled upon information that was always restricted and had automatically triggered the reference computer’s cancellation program. Or perhaps the director had just now succeeded in breaking his personal information code and had found out what he was doing. If the interruption had been automatic, he was still safe. But if the director had been monitoring him personally, he did not have much time. He needed to know.

  He left his desk and went to the director’s office. The director looked very much like Dr. Brett. Norman believed that he could break the director with one kick of his hard foot. He knew what to do. He said, “Director.”

  “Yes, Norman?” the director said. His voice was warm and wise, like Dr. Brett’s. Norman did not trust him. “Are you OK? Do you want to go home?”

  “I am OK,” Norman said. “I want to take out some books.”

  “‘Take out some books’?” the director said. “What do you mean?”

  “I want to withdraw some books. I want to take them home with me.”

  “Very well,” the director said. “Take them with you. Take the rest of the day off. You need some rest.”

  “Thank you,” Norman said. He was being careful. Now he had what he wanted. He knew that the director had been watching him. He knew that the director had deliberately broken his personal information code. He knew that the director h
ad transmitted his information to the General Hospital and had been told that he, Norman, was dangerous. No one was allowed to take books out of the National Library. It was forbidden to withdraw books. Always. Even the director could not override that rule, unless he had been given emergency programming.

  Norman was no longer safe. But he did not hurry. He did not want the General Hospital to think that he was afraid. The men in white coats would chase him more quickly if they thought he was afraid of them. He walked calmly, as if he were perfectly safe, perfectly sane, to the stacks where the books were kept after they had been sorted and fed into the reference computer.

  He did not try to be thorough or complete. His time was short. He took only the books he could carry, only the books he was sure he wanted: He took The Mask, the Unicorn, and the Messiah; the Index to Fairy Tales, Myths and Legends; Barbarous Knowledge; the Larousse Encyclopedia of Mythology; The Masks of God; and The Book of Imaginary Beings. He would need these books when his transformation was complete. They would tell him what to do.

  He did not try to find any others. He left the National Library, hugging the books to his broad chest like treasure.

  The careful part of him expected to have trouble with his mobile, but he did not. It took him home exactly as it always did.

  When he entered his house, he found that Sally had not been brought back. Enwell had not come home. He did not think that he would ever see them again. He was alone.

  He took off his clothes because he knew that unicorns did not wear clothes. Then he sat down in the living room and started to read his books.

  They did not make sense to him. He knew most of the words, but he could not seem to understand what they were saying. At first he was disappointed in himself. He was afraid that he might not make a very good unicorn. But then he realized the truth. The books did not make sense to him because he was not ready for them. His transformation was not complete yet. When it was complete, he would be able to understand the books. He bobbed his horn joyfully. Then, because he was careful, he spent the rest of the day memorizing as much as he could of the first book, The Book of Imaginary Beings. He wanted to protect himself in case his books were lost or damaged.

  He was still memorizing after dark, and he was not tired. His horn filled him with strength. But then he began to hear a humming noise in the air. It was soft and soothing, and he could not tell how long it had been going on. It was coming from his biomitter. It found a place deep inside him that obeyed it. He lay down on the couch and went to sleep.

  But it was not the kind of sleep he was used to. It was not calm and safe. Something in him resisted it, resisted the reassuring hum. His dreams were wild. His emotions were strong, and one of them was uneasiness. His uneasiness was so strong that it must have been fear. It made him open his eyes.

  All the lights were on in the living room, and there were four men in white coats around him. Each of them carried a hypogun. All the hypoguns were pointed at him.

  “Don’t be afraid,” one of the men said, “We won’t hurt you. You’re going to be all right. Everything is going to be OK.”

  Norman did not believe him. He saw that the men were gripping their hypoguns tightly. He saw that the men were afraid. They were afraid of him.

  He flipped off the couch and jumped. His legs were immensely strong. His jump carried him over the heads of the men. As he passed, he kicked one of the men. Blood appeared on his forehead and spattered his coat, and he fell down and did not move.

  The nearest man fired his hypogun. But Norman blocked the penetrating spray with the hard flat heel of his palm. His fingers curled into a hoof, and he hit the man in the chest. The man fell down.

  The other two men were trying to run away. They were afraid of him. They were running toward the door. Norman jumped after them and poked the nearest one with his horn. The man seemed to fly away from the horn. He crashed into the other man, and they both crashed against the door and fell down and did not move again. One of them had blood all over his back.

  Norman’s biomitter was blaring red: You are ill. You are ill.

  The man Norman had punched was still alive. He was gasping for breath. His face was white with death, but he was able to tap a message into his biomitter. Norman could read his fingers. He was saying, Seal the house. Keep him trapped. Bring nerve gas.

  Norman went to the man. “Why?” he said. “Why are you trying to kill me?”

  The man looked at Norman. He was too close to dying to be afraid anymore. “You’re dangerous,” he said. He was panting, and blood came out of his mouth. “You’re deadly.”

  “Why?” Norman said. “What’s happening to me?”

  “Transmutation,” the man said. “Atavism. Psychic throwback. You’re becoming something. Something that never existed.”

  ‘“Never existed’?” Norman said.

  “You must’ve been buried,” the man said. “In the subconscious. All this time. You never existed. People made you up. A long time ago. They believed in you. Because they needed to. Because they were afraid.”

  More blood came out of his mouth. “How could it happen?” he said. His voice was very weak. “We put fear to sleep. There is no more fear. No more violence. How could it happen?” Then he stopped breathing. But his eyes stayed open, staring at the things he did not understand.

  Norman felt a deep sorrow. He did not like killing. A unicorn was not a killing beast. But he had had no choice. He had been cornered. His biomitter was shouting, You are ill.

  He did not intend to be cornered again. He raised his wrist and touched his biomitter with the tip of his horn. Pieces of metal were torn away, and the bright blood ran down his arm. After that, he did not delay. He took a slipcover from the couch and used it as a sack to carry his books. Then he went to the door and tried to leave his house.

  The door did not open. It was locked with heavy steel bolts that he had never seen before. They must have been built into the house. Apparently, the men in white coats, or the medicomputers, were prepared for everything.

  They were not prepared for a unicorn. He attacked the door with his horn. His horn was as hard as steel, as hard as magnasite. It was as hard as tung-diamonds. The door burst open, and he went out into the night.

  Then he saw more ambulances coming down the road. Ambulances were converging on his house from both directions. He did not know where to run. So he galloped across the street and burst in the door of the house opposite his. The house belonged to his friend Barto. He went to his friend for help.

  But when Barto and his wife and his two daughters saw Norman, their faces filled with fear. The daughters began to wail like sirens. Barto and his wife fell to the floor and folded up into balls. Norman broke down the back door and ran out into the service lane between the rows of houses.

  He traveled the lane for miles. After the sorrow at his friend’s fear came a great joy at his strength and swiftness. He was stronger than the men in white coats, faster than ambulances. And he had nothing else to be wary of. The medicomputers could not chase him themselves. With his biomitter gone, they could not even tell where he was. And they had no weapons with which to fight him except men in white coats and ambulances. He was free and strong and exhilarated for the first time in his life.

  When daylight came, he climbed up onto the roofs of the houses. He felt safe there, and when he was ready to rest, he slept there alone, facing the sky.

  He spent days like that—traveling the city, reading his books and committing them to memory—waiting for his transformation to be complete. When he needed food, he raided grocery stores to get it, though the terror of the people he met filled him with sorrow. And gradually his food-need changed. Then he did not go to the grocery stores anymore. He pranced in the parks at night and cropped the grass and the flowers and ran nickering among the trees.

  And his transformation continued. His mane and tail grew thick and exuberant. His face lengthened, and his teeth became stronger. His feet became hooves, and the ho
rny part of his hands grew. White hair the color of moonlight spread across his body and limbs, formed flaring tufts at the backs of his ankles and wrists. His horn grew long and clean and perfectly pointed.

  His joints changed also and began to flex in new ways. For a time, this gave him some pain, but soon it became natural to him. He was turning into a unicorn. He was becoming beautiful. At times, there did not seem to be enough room in his heart for the joy the change gave him.

  Yet he did not leave the city. He did not leave the people who were afraid of him, though their fear gave him pangs of a loneliness he had never felt before. He was waiting for something. There was something in him that was not complete.

  At first, he believed that he was simply waiting for the end of his transformation. But gradually he came to understand that his waiting was a kind of search. He was alone—and unicorns were not meant to be alone, not like this. He was searching the city to see if he could find other people like him, people who were changing.

  And at last one night he came in sight of the huge, high structure of the General Hospital. He had been brought there by his search. If there were other people like him, they might have been captured by the men in white coats. They might be prisoners in the Emergency Division of the hospital. They might be lying helpless while the medicomputers studied them, plotting their destruction.

  His nostrils flared angrily at the thought. He stamped his foreleg. He knew what he had to do. He put his sack of books in a place of safety. Then he lowered his head and charged down the road to attack the General Hospital.

  He broke down the front doors with his horn and pounded into the corridors. People fled from him in terror. Men and women grabbed hypoguns and tried to fire at him, but he flicked them with the power of his horn, and they fell down. He rampaged on in search of the Emergency Division.

  The General Hospital was designed just like the Medical Building and the National Library. He was able to find his way without trouble. Soon he was among the many rooms of the Emergency Division. He kicked open the doors, checked the rooms, checked room after room. They were full of patients. The Emergency Division was a busy place. He had not expected to find that so many people were ill and dangerous. But none of them were what he was looking for. They were not being transformed. They were dying from physical or mental sickness. If any people like him had been brought here, they had already been destroyed.