Realware

by Rudy Rucker

  "It's over," Phil said softly to himself, and then he said it again, a little louder. "It's over, Kevvie. I'm not carrying you anymore." She snored on. Could he get her to move out? That would be hard. There was no formal lease, and Kevvie had been splitting the rent with him for the last ten months. Though Phil had built the birdhouse a full year before Kevvie moved in with him, she was likely to argue that by now it was hers as much as his. Which left only one alternative.

  "I'm leaving, Kevvie," said Phil, trying out the sound of it. "I'm moving out." No reaction. "I'm moving out right now."

  He dressed, put the ring in his pocket, picked up a duffel bag and started walking around the room putting things into it. Another ending. He was trembling with emotion. What did he have here that really mattered? Toiletries, some clothes, some S-cubes, his quilt, a couple of books, and fuck the thrift-shop furniture. What else? His blimps! If he left them in here, Kevvie would trash them for sure. She'd never liked his flying machines. Phil used his uvvy to call his blimps down from the ceiling. Led Zep, Graf Z, the Macon, the Penile Implant, and the Uffin' Wowo. The blimps nuzzled against him like lonely puppies, their silky skins rustling.

  "Come on, guys," Phil told them. "We're outta here." Phil opened his arched door, maybe for the last time, and herded the blimps out into the open space of the warehouse. It was another gray day out the windows along the tops of the walls, gray clouds spitting rain. Derek was on the floor adjusting his green doughnut sculpture, Umberto squeezed up tight against his feet.

  "Yaaar, Phil. Walking the blimps?" "I'm moving out, Derek. It's Kevvie. I can't deal." "You'd saddle Calla and me with that? Let's not forget that Kevvie got fired. How would she make the rent? Not to mention that last night she almost killed my dog. She's the one's gotta move outta here, Phil, not you."

  "You can use my deposit to pay her rent till the end of March. Maybe she'll leave by then. I don't care anymore."

  "Burn us is what she'll do," snapped Derek, his face hard. "I want her outta here by a week from today. Before March. Help me do it, Phil!"

  "I can't be the one to put her out, Derek. And I can't live with her anymore either. I'm sorry, I -- " Phil's eyes filled with tears. "It's too much, man. I just want to be quiet and not try, and it's not working. Burying my dad and dealing with Willow, and losing that Yoke girl so fast, and Kevvie's lifted all the time and I'm scared I could start using, and the wowo thing could come after me any minute and -- " The tears were streaming down his face. Derek softened. "Aw, Phil. If you gotta, you gotta. It'll be dense, but I can deal. On February twenty-eight Kevvie's outta here if I have to fuckin' change the locks. And I'm gonna keep Umberto safe over at a friend's till she's gone. Hear that, Umberto? You're gonna stay with Kundry." Umberto thumped his tail. Phil wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Thanks, Derek. You want to keep my blimps?"

  "Feed them their helium and shit? No, man. The least you can do is take your blimps. Get outta here before Kevvie wakes up."

  The wind was gusty outside, and Phil had to tether the blimps to his left arm lest they be blown away. The helium-filled imipolex DIM bags beat against him like balloons. It would be impossible to walk far this way, especially while carrying the duffel. Maybe he should let the blimps fly off into the wind? They were only toys. But still. He'd made them.

  Just then one of the Snooks moldies accosted him. "Want a blow job, Phil?" It was Isis Snooks, a moldie curved into a fairly impressive female form. She had pouty lips and long, dark, slanted eyes.

  "Would you like these blimps?" asked Phil in return.

  "You want to trade blimps for a blow job? How much imipolex is in them?"

  "I don't want a blow job, Isis. You know I'm not a cheese-ball. I just need to get rid of the blimps. I'm moving out. Now, I don't want you to eat the blimps, I want you to take care of them. They'd be a nice decoration inside the Anubis. You have to feed them some quantum dots and helium every few weeks." Isis cocked her head, studying the wind-whipped gas-bags.

  "Are the skins programmable?"

  "I'll uvvy you the access codes right now if you promise to give them a good home."

  "Fun," said Isis after another moment's thought. "I'll do it." So Phil uvvied her the control codes and handed her the blimp tethers. Something else occurred to him.

  "Wait a second," he said. "This big one uses ballast." He took the knotted ring out of his pocket and pushed it in through the intake valve of his biggest blimp, the polka-dotted one named Uffin Wowo. Perfect. "Enjoy them, Isis."

  "Come by and visit anytime." Isis was smiling at the blimps, already uvvying new patterns onto them. Hieroglyphs. "Wavy, huh? Where you moving to, Phil?"

  "I'm following a woman I met."

  "Yoke Starr-Mydol," said the moldie.

  "How would you know that?"

  "Thutmosis saw you with her Thursday night. True looove."

  "I'm goin' for it, Isis," said Phil. The moldie looked so smart and friendly that Phil regretted giving her the dangerous ring-but he couldn't bring himself to take it back and throw it into the ocean. "Make that one big blimp stay up near the ceiling," he obliquely warned. "It could hurt someone if it pops." Phil headed for the closest haven he could think of: Babs Mooney's warehouse. The door was locked and he knocked hard and long. Finally it cracked open, revealing a man's pale face. Randy Karl Tucker.

  "Haaah gaaah. Don't go runnin' out there, Willa Jean!" Randy Karl Tucker's plastic chicken appeared at the bottom of the door, staring up at Phil with its fixed little eye.

  "Hi, Randy. Is Babs home?"

  "She done took off for the art gallery. I spent all yesterday helpin' her make miniature worm-farms. Tryin' to earn my keep. I got my Master Plumber's certificate back in Louisville, you know. Yesterday I rented me a plumber's pipe-gun, a thing that pushes out whatever kind o' pipe or tube you want. I grew ole Babs some xoxxin' gnarly little mazes for her worms. What you call smart art."

  "Babs is actually letting you stay here?" Normally Babs lived there all by herself. Her father, ex-Senator Stahn Mooney, had bought the place for her outright. Babs didn't need money and she didn't like roommates.

  "Don't need to sound so surprised, Phil! I'm not as dumb as I sound. And being a cheeseball don't make me a pervo right across the board. I think Babs is takin' a shine to me. Come on in if you like. Scoot, Willa Jean!"

  "Thanks," said Phil. "I'm homeless."

  "Hell, there's enough room in here for ten of us," said Randy, gesturing at Babs's immense warehouse with its bright, fabric-hung walls. "Pick yourself a corner and settle on in."

  "Well that's kind of you to offer, Randy, but I do know that Babs likes her privacy. How long did she say you could stay for?"

  "I'm expecting to be here till Cobb gets back from Tonga," said Randy. He threw himself down on a couch and Willa Jean hopped onto his lap. "Maybe a week? I'm pretty well burnt on Santa Cruz. San Francisco looks like a king-hell place."

  "I don't mean to sound harsh, Randy, but Babs is bound to give you the boot. Maybe you don't know what she's usually like."

  "I helped Babs a lot with them worm-farms, Phil. I'm more than just a plumber, I've worked as a process engineer. I'm a demon with the nanomanipulator. I helped Babs put sparkles in her worms. And to top it off, I'm gonna get her some leech-DIMs." Randy tapped the ragged purple patch that was merged into Willa Jean's back. "Illegal imipolex. Just for Babs to use in her art, you wave. We're thinkin' about a gallery show that's a whole henhouse of leech-DIM chickens. The viewers put on the control uvvies and it's squawk-awk buk-puk. Might could get some leech-DIMs from my ole bud Aarbie Kidd."

  "Don't you get Babs in trouble, Randy," snapped Phil. "Take some time and figure out our scene before you start acting like a complete criminal. If you do anything to hurt Babs, Senator Stahn will take you down for true. Depend on it."

  " Tat tvam asi,' " said Randy equably. "Means 'And that too' in Sanskrit. Did you know I lived in India for two years? I respect your concern for your friend, big gaaah. You think you'll be mo
vin' in?"

  "Well, no, my plan is to go to Tonga."

  "You too? What all's in Tonga?"

  "It's Yoke," said Phil. "I have to see her. For once I know exactly what I want to do."

  February 22

  So Phil ditched most of his stuff at Babs Mooney's warehouse and set off for Tonga with a few travel supplies in a knapsack. He took a conventional rocket-plane, with a change in Hawaii.

  He arrived at Nuku'alofa early Sunday morning, Tonga time. The airport was old-fashioned and casual. He hadn't uvvied Yoke yet because he'd been scared she might tell him not to come. But now it was time.

  The uvvy signal quickly found her, and Yoke picked up. She looked even better than Phil had remembered. Her calm eyes, her fine jaw, her wise mouth, her ivory-olive skin. She was wearing a purple bikini. She seemed to be sitting on a tropical patio eating breakfast. Alone?

  "Hi, Yoke, it's Phil. I missed you so much that I flew to Tonga! I broke up with Kevvie."

  Yoke took the news with aplomb. "Josef told me you were about to call," she said, tapping an imipolex beetle that was perched on her shoulder-strap like a tiny parrot. "He can see about five minutes into the future."

  "Oh right," said Phil. "Did Babs blab? Where's Onar?"

  "He and I are through. I think he's staying with the King. I'll tell you everything when you get here. I already asked Cobb to pick you up. You should wait somewhere obvious, like out in front of the airport? Cobb says he can get there in like fifteen minutes. It'll be wavy to see you, Phil. I'm glad you came."

  A short while later Cobb plummeted down out of the sky and opened himself up like a mummy case. He looked considerably bulkier than before. Phil took the palladium nose-filters Cobb offered him and got inside the moldie-man, along with his pack. Huge acceleration and then they were arcing north across the Tongan archipelago.

  "How's Yoke?" Phil asked Cobb.

  "She's doing well."

  "And what's with the beetle?" asked Phil.

  "You mean Josef," said Cobb. "He's an alien from Meta-mars. A place where they have two-dimensional time. Apparently the Metamartians live a whole lot of parallel lives at once. They think our part of the cosmos is very odd!"

  "Aliens! Are these the same aliens who were on the Moon back in November? There was one that got away?"

  "Exactly. Shimmer's still here, and she's been decrypting other alien personality waves into imipolex bodies. Not just any aliens though, she only unpacks Metamartians. There's six of them now. This is like a bus-tour for them --or maybe an anthropological expedition. Shimmer, Ptah, Peg, Wubwub, Siss, Josef. Josef's taken a shine to our Yoke. He's a very useful individual to have around. Even though we only have one-dimensional time here, there's always a cloud of ghost futures around the next moment. And Josef's able to see the virtual futures and to actualize the best one. That's been making it easy to avoid hassles with Onar and the King."

  "Tell me about Onar."

  "Onar sucks," chuckled Cobb. "Just ask Yoke. She can't stand him anymore." Cobb did an imitation of Yoke's voice. " 'Onar's dishonest and a bad lover and he acts British and all British things suck. Except for Lewis Carroll.' "

  "Who's Lewis Carroll?"

  "Tsk, Phil. Alice in Wonderland? And your father a math teacher. Never mind. Onar and the King are so bummed about Yoke getting the alla. They want one of their own, but for now they have to be satisfied with Yoke making stuff for them. Mostly imipolex. She gave me some too." They'd reached their apogee, and now they were hurtling down toward the great blue sea with its tiny white-edged dots of green islands. "The alla makes real-ware; it uses direct matter control."

  "Oh man, this is too much," complained Phil. "You've only been down here two days and I don't know what the fuck you're talking about anymore."

  "I haven't even mentioned the powerball yet," said Cobb. "The hand of Om. Om is the god of the Metamartians. She ate your father."

  "You mean the wowo thing?"

  "The wowo was what attracted Om. Like a flower for a hummingbird. Or a candle for a moth. Or a book for a scientist. And Om is--well, the Metamartians say she's God. Whenever the Metamartians go somewhere, Om shows up too. The powerballs are like fingers of Om."

  "Cobb!" shouted Phil. The islands were rushing up insanely fast. "Stop the bullshit and pay attention! Slow down!"

  "Aw, I'm getting really good at this," said Cobb, unfurling a bunch of wildly flapping imipolex ribbons. The ribbons flexed themselves, tearing at the air. Cobb continued to drop like a stone, but at least he'd stopped accelerating. They were fluttering toward a large, hook-shaped island with subsidiary islands scattered around it like appendages. It reminded Phil of a flea seen through a microscope, a big flea riddled with watery lagoons and intricate inlets, the island's harbor like a stomach. There were yachts floating in the harbor, and a small cluster of buildings beside it.

  "The island of Vava'u," said Cobb. "The little town is Neiafu." Cobb's ribbons fused into great wings, and he sailed serenely over Neiafu and across the harbor to home in on one of the tiny islands that peppered the harbor straits. Cobb's target island stuck out of the sparkling water like a verdant muffin; it had a high, round crown leading down to vertical, undercut sides. The summit of the island had been cleared down to the bare stone, and perched there was a single house, a sturdy yellow concrete building with a tin roof, much weathered. Beside the house was the aquamarine gem of a small swimming pool, seemingly carved right into the rock. Steps ran down the steep side of the island to a dock floating in the blue sea. Cobb touched down beside the pool, right next to a young woman sitting at a wicker table. Yoke.

  "You're welcome," said Cobb, disgorging a shaken Phil onto the concrete pool apron.

  "Thanks Cobb. Hi, Yoke!"

  "Phil." Yoke was smiling so hard that her cheeks were bunched and her eyes were slitty. Phil sprang forward and hugged her; she hugged back. Now, finally, they kissed. But only briefly.

  "You smell like moldie," said Yoke. "Let's take a dip."

  Phil had a bathing suit in his backpack, and in a minute they were in the pool, swimming back and forth, laughing and splashing. Cobb wandered over to the house, which had a veranda shaded by woven mats of palm-leaves. There were two other moldies lying slack in the sun, and a few Tongans were sitting in the shade, some of them playing cards. Phil counted four big men and two women. All of them were staring, but Phil did his best to ignore them.

  "It's beautiful here," said Phil, taking in the house, the palms, the ocean, the blue sky. "Whose is it?"

  "It's the King's," said Yoke. "He's turned it over to me. I'm really important all of a sudden. Thanks to the aliens. You showed up just in time. I was starting to get lonely."

  The jewel-like beetle that had been sitting on Yoke was buzzing around overhead.

  "That's an alien?" said Phil, pointing at it.

  "Greetings, Phil," said the beetle, settling down to float on the water's surface. "I am Josef." His six legs twitched, sending off tiny ripples. "A Metamartian."

  "Cobb claims you can see the future?" asked Phil. "Okay, what number am I thinking of? Between one and ten."

  "You have not yet made a decision," said Josef. He had an odd, Germanic accent.

  "You are wavering between three, five, and seven. But now that I have given you this information, you are narrowing in on -- "

  "Four!" said Phil and Josef at the same time.

  "Do you require further proof?" said Josef. "Try if you can touch me." Phil reached out with his finger, but no matter how rapidly or abruptly he moved it, the little Josef was always where the finger wasn't. The beetle wasn't darting around or anything, he was just drifting this way and that, his legs mildly kicking. He had a preternatural gift of doing a zig whenever Phil did a zag.

  "So I've got Josef's precognition going for me," said Yoke proudly. "And I've got a magic alla. Each of the aliens has one of these inside their body." Phil had noticed that Yoke had a shimmering gold cylinder in a mesh pouch dangling from her waist. Yoke go
t out the alla and held it in her hand. "I'll turn some water into air," said Yoke. "Actualize!" There was a bluish glow underwater, and right away a big bubble came surging up out of the pool. Fomp.

  "Like a fart in a bathtub," said Phil, not quite sure what was going on. The glow had looked like a spherical mesh of lines. "Do it again?"

  "Yeah!" said Yoke. "But now I'll make a bubble of hydrogen and oxygen. And I'll put in a spark so it explodes!"

  "Not so big!" warned Josef, buzzing back into the air. "Not too near! Remember that the alla's transmutation zone does not need to be immediately adjacent to the alla."

  Yoke said "Actualize" again, and a bright glow appeared beneath the water at the far end of the pool, followed by a sudden, concussive jolt. Phil could feel the shock of the explosion all up and down his legs. A dome of water shot several feet up into the air.

  "Yaaar!" said Phil. "How are you doing that, really?"

  "Ready for another blast?" said Yoke.

  "The housekeeper is going to come and scold you," said Josef, hovering fretfully above them.

  "Do it, Yoke," said Phil.

  Another explosive fomp and, sure enough, a glossy-haired Tongan woman appeared at the poolside.

  "Don't you be cracking my pool, Yoke. And who is this man?"

  "This is my friend Phil," said Yoke. "And Phil, this is Ms. Teta. Can you make up a room for Phil, Ms. Teta?"

  "HRH doesn't want anyone here but you and me and the cook and the guards. The alla is supposed to be top secret."