by Rudy Rucker
After a while Phil tired of exploring the alla catalog, and he simply hung there doing nothing, looking back on his life. What had he made of his twenty-four years on Earth? He'd survived childhood, his parents' divorce, his overbearing father. He'd gone to UC Berkeley for two years, but when he was twenty he'd gotten sick of jumping through the hoops. The hoops weren't his, they were societies and his father's. Bogus. He'd dropped out, getting a series of kitchen jobs, eventually becoming the assistant chef for a top restaurant. Big whoop. One other accomplishment was that he had stayed Straight Edge: clean and sober. But what else had he ever done? Was it really enough to be serene and balanced? Da certainly didn't think so. And deep down, Phil wasn't really so serene. Deep down he was frightened.
It would be nice to have a family and children someday; the worst mistake he had made along those lines was to hook up with Kevvie. At least that was over. And he'd almost had a chance at Yoke. But now his life was apparently done. Phil let himself imagine what he might do if he got a second chance. Hang onto Yoke for sure. And what else? Stay sober, yeah. Cook for a day-job, but maybe finally try and move on. Dare to express himself. With blimps? Who could tell? Could be that now he'd never know. Phil sighed, making an effort to free himself of self-pity. He said a simple prayer: "God, please help me." Usually a prayer like this would dissolve out into the glowing aether of the great buzzing world-mind. Phil would feel the better for it, but there wouldn't be any obvious response. It was just something he did, choosing to act as if there were a God who cared. The occasional prayers helped Phil keep his thinking clear enough to stay sober. He murmured the prayer again, felt more centered, and dozed off.
He hadn't slept for long when his prayer seemed to get a very literal answer. The hypersphere began talking to him. "So you're ready to move on?" came a rich, thrilling voice, the voice of Om. "Here we go." A dream: But then Phil woke to the sound of a pop near his feet.
When he looked down he saw a tiny ball with some people in it. Was he coming back to Earth? The little ball grew up toward him very fast, and as it engulfed him, there was another stretching sensation in his viscera, though not quite so violent or prolonged as before. And then the queasy pain was over. But Phil wasn't back to Earth. He was still in a hypersphere, only it was six or seven times bigger than before. Phil's hypersphere and a larger hypersphere had joined together like a pair of soap bubbles merging. Like two fingers of Om's "hand." The new space smelled of dog, moldie, sweat, and alcohol. It held half an oak tree, and perched in the tree were a bony crone in overalls and a plump, nude matron. There was a big bright wowo, an egg-shaped moldie, and an orange and white collie-beagle dog as well, the egg with a colorful belt--or cravat?--around his middle. But all this was just a flash in the background, for right up in Phil's face was none other than --
"Da!"
"Phil! Oh no, you can't end up here too! Your poor mother." Phil's naked father gestured awkwardly. His left hand ended in a scabbed stump. "I'm scared about what comes next."
Phil spoke the biggest thing in his mind. "I'm sorry I was mean to you the last time we talked, Da."
"Oh hell, I started it by picking on you. What you said to me was nothing. I wouldn't have taken it so hard if I hadn't been drinking. Of course I forgive you! But, hey, you can't very well say the fourth dimension's bullshit anymore, can you?" There was alcohol on the old man's breath.
'Tour poor hand," said Phil. "Jane says your wedding ring is already proof of the fourth dimension."
"What do you mean?" asked Kurt.
"You didn't know? When this ball chopped off your hand, your wedding ring got knotted. And then later it flipped into its mirror image."
"Gnarly!" Kurt looked ruefully at his stump. "It's healing up really well. Maybe it's like the way a corpse's fingernails grow fast. Old Tempest helped with it a lot. Let me introduce you. Darla, Tempest! This is my son!"
The two women scrambled closer through the oak tree, which provided a handy method of moving around in the hypersphere. Though Darla was nude and a bit overweight, she seemed unembarrassed about it. She had a wound on her foot; it looked like one of her toes was missing. Tempest was a lively old woman in overalls. She was carrying a half-empty squeeze-bag of wine. The woman greeted Phil with avid interest. Clearly everyone in here was getting cabin fever.
"Your old man's been telling me about you," said Darla. She talked like a hipster. "That's wavy that you've got alky-junky genes. I can really relate. And hats off for being Straight Edge. I'm gonna clean up too one of these days. Kurt and I were thinking it could be stuzzy if you met one of my daughters."
"I did meet Yoke," said Phil. "At Da's funeral. She came with Tre and Terri Dietz. In fact I was just now visiting her in Tonga."
"My funeral!" interrupted Da, totally into himself as usual. "Was it big?"
"I think I dreamed about you asking me this," said Phil. "And maybe I dreamed about me asking you," said Kurt. "I've been having crazy, lucid dreams in here. It seems the whale talks to Jonah." He looked around, a bit wild-eyed. "I think this hypersphere is alive, and it comes into my brain when I'm sleeping. But now we're awake. Tell me about my funeral!"
So Phil told his father all about it. The part Da liked the best was how Phil had buried the ashes by the oak tree.
"You're a good son to have done that. I bet some of the ashes were Friedl's. That dog." He gestured at the great twisted trunk with its branches and dead leaves. "So this is our special tree? Small world."
"Too dang small," said Tempest in her Florida cracker accent. "Can I finally get past howdy and ask some questions? I happen to know Darla's Yoke too, Phil. Just before this here ball done gobble me up, I was a-visitin' my niece Starshine in Santa Cruz while Yoke was a-stayin' with Starshine's neighbor. You sweet on that little Yoke, Phil? She's a honey. Smart as a whip too."
"I like her a lot," said Phil. "We were about to have a really great time in Tonga."
"What's Tonga?" asked Darla.
Darla was so nude and female and voluptuous that Phil was embarrassed to look directly at her--but Da was staring at her all the time. And now Da put his arm around her waist as if to steady her. Gross.
"Tonga's a cannibal island," said Tempest. "Don't you know nothing, Darla? Go on, Phil. Tell about you and Yoke in Tonga. Were you two shacked up?"
"Back off!" said Phil, desperate to change the subject. This was turning into real torture. And there was no way to escape. Desperately he fixed his eyes on the hypersphere's other two occupants. "You got a dog and a Silly Putter in here?"
"That's Planet and Humpty-Dumpty," said Tempest. "Planet's my good boy. Come here, Planet, come to Auntie Tempest." Clumsily the dog clawed his way through the branches of the oak tree, finally losing his footing and flying through the air to bump into Phil, tongue and tail wagging. Phil and the dog drifted around the whole hypersphere, coming to rest back at the splintered base of the oak tree with the others.
"What were you and Yoke doing in Tonga?" asked Darla as soon as Phil caught his breath.
"We've only just met," said Phil. "We were getting to know each other, and snorkeling, but then I ran into Shimmer and some other Metamartians."
"Metamartians?" spat Darla. "Is that what they call themselves?"
"Shouldn't there be one of them in here with us?" asked Phil, continually avoiding looking at Darla. "A Metamartian named Ptah?"
"Darla and me done chased his ass outta here!" cackled Tempest. "I got the magic wisher to make us some grain alcohol to set him on fire." She patted the uvvy on the back of her neck. Phil noticed that Da and Darla didn't have uvvies. They'd both been abducted at night. "Couldn't catch him nohow," continued Tempest, "but he got so sick of it that he done took off out the hole. Ptah said pfuck it!"
"There's a hole up there where you can stick your head out," explained Da, pointing toward the other end of the tree. "Into raw hyperspace. Very creepy."
"You said you dreamed this hypersphere talks to you," said Phil. "Does she call herself--"
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"Om," said Kurt, just as Phil said it too. "Yes, she calls herself Om."
"The Metamartians call her that," said Phil. "She's their god. Wherever they go, Om comes too. She scooped you up because she was curious about the wowo."
"So it's true?" said Kurt. "I hadn't been sure. Om only talks to me when I'm dreaming. But it's slow going because I'm always drunk. Hard to think logically. The shock. I keep thinking we're all dead."
"Pass around the wine, Tempest," said Darla. "It's time for a drink."
"I'm half in a bag already, Phil," said Kurt apologetically. "I should explain that we've been partying hard. Tempest figured out how to make wine. Well, it's similar to wine, anyway. We've been drinking enough of it."
"Could you make me some food?" asked Phil. His stomach was rumbling. "I haven't figured out how to find it."
"These things are tolerable good," said old Tempest. She made a gesture and a bright alla mesh pattern formed to whoosh out a big crisp golden shape, fat in the middle and pointed at both ends. Phil nibbled at it. It seemed to be something like a deep fried sweet potato. Fibrous, oily, not too bad. He took a big bite, and then another and--crunch -- hit something like a vein of wiggly cartilage.
"Like a rubber bone in there, huh?" said Tempest. "Reminds me of a hog snout." Phil peered at the greasy object he'd been eating. "What is it?"
"Hell if I know," said Tempest. "I call it a yam-snoot. You should of seen some of the other vittles we tried. Alien food, I guess." She took a pull from her sack of liquid and tried passing it to Phil. "Hope you ain't a tight-ass, Phil," she said as he refused the sack.
"No, no," said Phil, though his heart sank at the thought of being in here with three drunk pheezers. "Da, tell me more about that hole?"
"It's a kind a flaw, a place where the space of this sphere has an edge. According to my reasoning, when you stick your head out there, your head is in four-dimensional hyperspace. I've only tried it for a few seconds. It's cold and you have to keep coming back for breath. And there's this freaky light. I wouldn't try it, Phil. But if, God forbid, you do stick your head through the hole, be very sure to hang onto the tree so the rest of you doesn't slide out." Da squirted a stream of wine into his mouth, and then some into Darla's. A rivulet dribbled down her chin and onto her big breasts. "Don't stare at us like that, Phil.
I know I shouldn't be getting fucked up, but I'm far enough into this run that I've got to finish. After I sleep it off, I'll get myself together and we'll talk about our chances of getting you back to Earth."
"Hey, Da!" said Phil. "This is xoxxed. Can I at least make you and Darla some clothes?"
"Oh bless his heart," cackled Tempest. "Hear that Darla?" Darla responded by striking a coy pose with one hand over her crotch and one over her boobs. Phil realized she was quite drunk.
He quickly found the clothing area of Om's Metamartian catalog and actualized two of the colorful loose caftans. He made Darla one with a pattern of unearthly biological shapes that might have been purple flowers; Da got one with flickering red shapes like flames. The fabric was some unknown material that was slippery but not sticky. A bit like silk, but with no sign of threads.
"Give me one too," said Tempest. "A blue one."
"All right," said Phil, and made Tempest a Metamartian robe that resembled a waterfall. "I'm outta here for now, losers."
He pulled himself toward the other end of the oak tree, pausing to study the glowing holographic knot of the oversize wowo. It was a roughly doughnut-shaped pattern of steadily changing mathematical curves and surfaces. Tre Dietz may have turned off all the wowos he'd sold, but he hadn't been able to reach this one. It was going strong. Phil liked to think a wowo looked a little like a glass pelican continually crawling farther and farther up its own butt, while at the same time emerging from its own beak, somehow changing into its own mirror image in the process. Mind-boggling and gnarly.
Phil proceeded onward to the other end of the tree. The toy Humpty-Dumpty was sitting there, clamped onto a branch like an owl. Phil gave him a gentle poke, and the egg smiled ingratiatingly. A low husky laugh floated up from Darla at the other end of the tree. Fortunately there were enough dead leaves between them that Phil didn't have to see what the old folks were doing. Just as Kurt had said, right beyond the end of the tree was a flawed spot like Phil had seen in his own little hypersphere. He took a deep breath and stuck his head through it.
CHAPTER FOUR
YOKE
February 23
After dropping Phil at the dock in Neiafu, the navy motorboat ferried Yoke, Cobb, Onar, and Kennit to a big aluminum ship anchored in the harbor. The flagship of the Tongan Navy. Its rounded lines made Yoke think of a beer keg. Amidships was a tower of cabins surmounted by the bridge; aft was a flexible whip-cannon poised like a cobra head.
The King was waiting for them on board. He was wearing a white coat and peaked cap for this nautical occasion. His green moldie girlfriend Vaana was at his side.
"Good morning, Yoke," said the King. "And it's an honor indeed to meet the famous Cobb Anderson. Welcome aboard." He glanced around the deck. "We can speak quite freely. The sailors barely know English, while Kennit and the bodyguards are completely to be trusted. Greetings, Onar! Anyone need a coffee? Champagne? No?" He led them aft to stand by a big open hatch in the deck. Above the hatch was a crane mounted on a high triangular brace. "You've brought the alla, Yoke? Ah, it's that little tube thing. Excellent. I look forward to seeing it in action. Slugs of gold and imipolex all morning long. Yum yum!" He smiled and rubbed his hands. A dozen Tongan sailors
were sitting around, ready to start work. Kennit joined two of the King's bodyguards, who were ensconced up on the bridge,
playing a game of cards with a Tongan man in a captain's hat.
"Won't the ship sink if it gets too full?" Yoke asked the King,
"Oh, I'm not so inordinately acquisitive," said the King, a
cheerful twinkle in his eye.
"Captain Pulu gonna keep an eye on the tonnage," said Vaana, waving toward the bridge. "And Yoke, child, I want you to make twice as much imipolex as gold."
"You owe me an apology, Vaana," interrupted Cobb. He'd been staring fixedly at the sexy green moldie since they'd come aboard the ship. "You almost killed me with that betty the other night." Yoke recalled that Cobb had also mentioned having sex with Vaana.
"Ain't my look-out," said merry Vaana. "You was partyin' with the best. We do it again sometime, hey? You a lift, old Cobb."
"A man your age should have the maturity to own the consequences of his self-destructive behavior, Cobb," said Onar primly.
"You're a devil, Vaana," said the King. "Let's get started with our day's work, shall we, Yoke? I'd suggest your rhythm be to create a pair of hundred kilogram cylinders of imipolex followed by a single hundred kilogram ingot of gold. One-two-three, one-two-three, and so on. The sailors will load them onto pallets and lower them into the hold."
"I forget," said Yoke. "Why am I doing this for you?" "It's thanks to HRH and me that you have the alla in the first place," said Onar.
"I thought it was Shimmer who gave it to me," said Yoke. "Yes, but we guided you to her," said the King. "Be a sport, Yoke. Just one day's work. And then you're perfectly free to go." "But Cobb and 1 could leave right now, if I wanted to," said Yoke. "Right?"
"You should know that HRH's bodyguards are well-armed,"
said Onar. "And this is, after all, a warship, complete with a whip-cannon that can shoot a sea gull out of the sky."
"No need to take that tone, Onar," said the King. "As you and I discussed earlier, our policy is persuasion, not force."
"Speaking of bodyguards, where are Tashtego and Daggoo today?" wondered Cobb.
"They'll be here in a bit," said the King. "They flew over to Fiji very early this morning. They're looking into the imipolex market for me." So Yoke grasped her alla and started turning air into gold and imipolex at a rate of one pulse every second or two. The sailors stepped lively,
stowing the booty. With each transmutation, a hundred kilograms worth of air would rush into a bright-line alla control mesh, making a big whoosh and thud that caused the ship to bob. Yoke figured out in her head that a hundred kilos of air took up about as much space as an apartment's living room. The cumulative rocking effect of the repeated gusts became a little sickening after three-quarters of an hour. Yoke took a break and alla-made herself a glass of fresh orange juice. The King was sitting in a deck chair smoking a cigar. Vaana lolled on the deck beside him, looking like a thick, sexy serpent. Cobb stood behind the pair, discussing something with Onar. Now Onar patted Cobb on the back and took a chair next to the King. Cobb remained stiffly erect, his face gone oddly blank.
"Are you all right, Cobb?" called Yoke.
"Yes," said Cobb shortly. Perhaps he and Onar had argued?
"Captain Pulu's estimates make it that you're one-third done, Yoke," said the King, squinting up at the man on the ship's bridge.
"What are you going to do with all this stuff?" asked Yoke.
"Refurbish Tonga's credit in world banking circles!" said the King happily. "I'm going to ship this load straight to Suva in . Fiji and sell it. Tonga will be in the black for the first time this century. Not that our debt is all that large, mind you; it's well under a hundred million dollars. We've been prudent, but we can never quite get onto the good side of the ledger. This will make me a hero to my people."
"You're going to give every bit of it away?" asked Vaana. She sounded surprised.
"I thought you said half the imipolex would be for the Tongan moldies."
"Strictly speaking, there are no Tongan moldies,' " said the King. "Only a native-born flesh-and-blood Tongan can be a citizen. This isn't the U.S. with its quixotic Moldie Citizenship Act. I have to take care of my own people first. You moldies are only our guests." He held up his hand to stave off Vaana's anger. "You of course can have all the imipolex you require for your personal needs at any time, dear Vaana. And I promise you that once I've taken care of the Tongan national debt, I will try and do something for our very honored guest moldies."
