by Various
With his last shot, the fierceness drained out of Jacques. He blinked like a man awakening from a horrible dream. He stared at Ann's shuddering body, not believing he could have done this. He cried out to her, and ran to her side with great, lunging steps. His body shook with dry sobs.
He turned her over tenderly, smoothed back the tangled hair from her forehead, tried to wipe some of the dirt and bubbles of red from her lips.
An FBIT man rushed toward them with a microphone. With one terrible look, Jacques sent him scurrying back.
"Ann ... Ann ..." he cried. "What have I done?"
Her glazing, pain-filled eyes cleared for a moment, and drew him closer. In them, for all the pain, there was peace at last. No reproach, no disappointment. Only peace. And he knew then, what he should always have known: That when a man lived as one with Death, he could not give less to any person, nor expect more.
Ann's fingers crawled through the dust and touched the toe of his boot. Her quivering lips twisted in a final grimace of ecstacy. And out of the lonely void of the dying came the words he had always hoped to hear, and would never hear again:
"Good night," she whispered. "You--were wonderful--my lover--my husband."
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Contents
RIPENESS IS ALL
By Jesse Roarke
Shakespeare wrote it, in the tragedy of King Lear—a phrase to live by:
Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither;
He was disturbed, but he did not know it. Murky, agitated waters crept up in his vast subconscious world, and sought the threshold, the mouth of the pit, the slope of the clean shore; little rainbows of light now and then flashed over the waters. They heaved, and against the sluice-gates they beat, sullenly. There was a yielding, but the great force was contained.
He left his Pad, curiously mopping his brow a little, and furrowing it between the eyes. It came to him that he was hungry. He stepped to the curb, pushed the button, and leaned against the post, as if waiting, or in thought. Almost immediately a Car appeared, in a cheery orange and green. He almost shuddered, and he almost knew that he did so. Then he brightened, stepped into the car, and voiced his desire.
He was carried at a moderate pace through clean, broad streets and past bright, shiny buildings and smiling parks and gardens. He came to the top of a high hill, saw the sparkling blue bay in the distance, and thought vaguely of sailing upon it. On his face he felt a brisk spray, and the air was tanged with salt. Then a warmed, faintly perfumed glow dried and composed him, and the Car shut off all its machinery and glided to a stop. He got out, ever so comfortable, and entered a luxurious Kitchen, in which he had not dined for several days.
The doors opened automatically, and a smiling android, gaily featured and clothed, conducted him to a table. She was a soothing sight: yes, that's what it was. He ordered a sumptuous meal, rubbing his ample waistline in anticipation.
"Dig dig!" crooned the waitress.
He patted good-naturedly her well-moulded behind as she turned; she glowed sweetly back over her soft and delicate shoulder. He wondered if Meg was enough, and decided that, well, for the time being, he guessed she was. No use hurrying things. The waitress returned and served the meal. As always, it was excellent. He finished with a leisurely bottle of wine and a cigar, pinched the waitress's firm yet ever so yielding thigh, and departed.
Then a deep stirring almost took hold upon him. Yes, that was what he needed. It had been several months now. He pushed another button, and a rosy pink Car appeared to his service. "Take me to a House, you know what I mean?" he said, as he arranged himself upon the pearl grey cushions. The Car glided away.
On and on along the shore of the ocean they pleasantly careened. At length they turned into a rich garden bower, and stopped in front of a great mansion overlooking the waves. He alighted; the Car departed. Profusely bloomed scarlet and golden and azure flowers, everywhere; succulent and bright was the lavish green. The doors opened, and a Woman received him. She was past child-bearing, motherly, and smiling.
He smiled back, and said, "You got one, huh?"
"Of course," she answered.
He sat down to wait.
And while he waited, he almost thought. Meg was good, all right, but why wasn't she enough, sometimes? He tapped his thumb-nail against his teeth in a few moments of near perplexity, and then desisted. Soon a bevy of charming Girls entered the room and paraded for him, laughing and smiling. He settled upon a petite brunette with cherry lips. She stripped him of his clothes, and they went walking in a private garden.
In an inner bower they sat down to a rustic table, and were served by robot with a heady aphrodisiac wine. On the grasses and the petals of flowers, overlooking the sea, they entwined their limbs and their bodies, and he nearly enjoyed her. He thought that once he had enjoyed this activity indeed, and wondered whether it were so.
He sat looking over the waters, trying to muse. The androids were physically perfect, flesh meeting flesh, clinging to it, thrilling with it. They were warm, they whispered, they strained and cried. They were freely available, for every man and woman. None need be unsatisfied.
But he did not know all of this, history and psychology were lost to him and he could never keep a connected train of thought; his being unsatisfied could not penetrate to his consciousness. He did not quite know that flesh cried out for something more than flesh, and had always done so. He did know, more or less, that there was the matter of population, and that real men and real women had, at mysterious intervals, to copulate. That was the way it was. He had once spent some time in a House himself, meeting the requirements of an endless variety of Girls. He supposed that some of them had borne the issue of his seed, though he did not suppose it in these terms. But it was better not to know these things for certain, and not to have anything to do with the rearing of children, after the early mother-feeling was over. The Schools could take care of that better than people could.
She snuggled against him.
"What say, Man?" she said: "What's eatin yuh?"
He did not know how to answer. He tried to talk, tried to break through, to clarify.
"What's it, huh?" he nearly pleaded. "All this, I mean. Like what's it for?"
She stretched out on the grass and looked at him a moment.
"Search me," she ventured. "I guess maybe what you need's a Bed."
He guessed she was right.
They went back to the mansion through the twilight, and established themselves in one of the rooms. The soft curtains were drawn, the Bed was large, the sheets were silky and creamy. She reclined on her back, and the mattress moulded itself perfectly to her form.
He lay down beside her, and caressed her. She clasped him tight to her breast. And he was clasped also by an invisible but very palpable field of energy, that directed his movements and charged him with an inexhaustible and ceaseless power. He held her tight, and the force entwined them. They were one throbbing ecstasy, and only at the very last endurable moment were they given release.
Then the Bed slowly soothed them, massaged them, and invigorated them once again. Throughout the night it continued, activity and repose, until toward the dawn he fell into a dead sleep, which lasted until the following morning.
He did not know that he dreamed. He did not consciously remember any of it. He only knew, as he ate his ample breakfast, that he was not so thoroughly at peace as he should have been. And he knew that it was useless to ask the Woman, or one of the Girls.
But the Woman's androids did well by her, it seemed. Maybe he had better go home to Meg.
"What the square, anyhow?" he said to himself. A little more rest in his familiar surroundings, and he would be all right. A Bed always took a lot out of a man. He arose to go.
"Goodbye, dear," the Woman said, as he came to the head of the main path. She was serene and smiling.
He adjusted his tunic, and smiled in reply. Yes sir, the old world was in good shape, just like always. He signaled
for a Car. The bright ocean again passed by him, and the broad sands, and he dozed.
The dreams were more importunate, this time. When he awoke, with a blank start, the Car was cruising aimlessly. He looked around, and broke into a sweat. There was a button he had to push, somewhere, there was a handle he had to take hold of. He stammered out "Stop—now!" and stepped onto the curb. The car sped away, to another summons. He was before an Emporium, but he did not enter. Instead, he did an unprecedented thing: he went for a walk, through the streets of the City. This was not done, and none of the occupants of the passing cars observed him.
He was really wondering, now. Could something be wrong? This possibility, with all its full horror, had never entered his mind before; indeed, he did not even have the conceptions of rightness and wrongness, and yet there was the inescapable word, "wrong". His agitation increased. He found himself with the hardly formulated idea that a school was a place where one learned something, and he did not know what this could mean.
He thought of the School that he had attended. All the young people of the District of Fransco attended it: they had been told that there were other Schools, in other districts, and that they were all the same. He had believed it, and forgotten about it. What did it matter? One district was as good as another. He had never travelled. He knew a Man who had gone to the District of Shasta, but he had not been interested in hearing about it. He remembered that the Man had said it was all the same thing, not worth the bother. One had everything he needed, in his own place. But now it seemed that he needed something more, something nobody had ever heard of. He walked on, thinking about the School.
Everybody was born in a House, and kept there till he was weaned, and could walk. Then he was taken to the School. There he grew up in an atmosphere of Group Living, and was gradually showed everything that he needed—everything that there was. The hes and shes played together; they were instructed in the Ways of Life.
As they grew older, they were taken around the City. They were showed the places that the Cars could take them; they were showed how to push the buttons. Of course the robots did a perfect job of instruction. There were Kitchens, in which one could eat. There were parks and gardens, in which one could stroll and lounge. There were Emporiums, in which one could get clothes and things. It was all—as it was.
When one reached puberty, he was taken from the School, and given a Pad. There he lived, listening to the soft music that came from the walls, eating and sleeping. And doing. He selected his android from an Emporium, and did her as he pleased. She was his company, the Warmth of his Pad. She shopped in the Emporium for him, she fixed him cozy little meals, and brought him his pipe or his cigar. She spread the depilatory cream upon his face in the morning, and wiped, with so soft a touch, his beard away; and she bathed him, in the scented waters.
He remembered that after a year or two, he had felt almost restless. From his touch, Meg had understood. She had whispered "House" to him, and he had gone out and instructed a Car. That had been his first experience of a Girl. He supposed that it had been the same with the others. He had never inquired. In the garden bower the idea of children had come to him, and his mind had been at rest. He had not tried a Bed until the fifth or sixth time. He had, he supposed, taken for granted that the Girls lived in the same way that he did. They had their own androids, their own Pads. They never associated with the Men, except in a House. Men got together sometimes, and ate and drank, and had android orgies; no doubt the Girls did likewise.
With a great effort, aided by hints from what he could remember of Life, he pieced an idea together, not knowing what he had done. Of course human copulation was too dangerous: it might make one unhappy. He had learned, in the bowers, that Man and Girl were not of the same temper, and that their union was not always perfect. Somehow it was better, even so, but it was too difficult. It tended to be—painful.
He did not know the word. He did not know any of the words for these strange thoughts of his, but they were now very palpable to him, and very urgent. His android was his, and was never dissatisfied; and so, neither was he. It was a perfect and complete system. And what was happening to him? The word "happiness" came upon him, and he shuddered, almost in terror. What did it mean? Too many things were happening, all at once.
He turned into a street, and stopped. He had never seen it before. But why should this disturb him? The District was a big place. But he thought he had better get out of this street. Maybe pick up another android, maybe even take her home: have a redhead for awhile, maybe. Meg wouldn't mind. How could she? What was the matter with him? Other Men changed readily, or kept a whole Padful. The waitresses were much in demand. One did not even have to take them home: there were convenient rooms in every Kitchen.
Then suddenly all this was shaken from him. He was standing before a large building, and he did not know what it was.
He stood for a long time, looking at it. Now and then a Man seemed to pass, but he could not be sure. It was like a shadow, like the flickering of a breeze. He wondered what the building could be.
At length he seemed to hear a murmur as of the waters, and at last a voice broke upon him.
"This is a library," it said. "There are books here, and teachers, from whom you can learn."
It was too much. He screamed, and ran down the street.
After a few blocks he became calmer; forgetfulness rescued him. He pushed a button, and a Car conveyed him to his Pad.
Meg met him, all warmth and smiles. He sat down, and she brought him his slippers and a cold bottle of beer. He drank deeply. She sat on the arm of his chair, caressed him, and asked if he would like some dinner. She had—
He cut her short.
"Meg, honey," he said, "I'm a little tired, that's how. You go to bed now, huh, put on some of that jasmine perfume? You dig?"
"Sure, honey! Dig dig!" she replied.
The dark waters rose, and beat against him.
He finished his beer, and got himself another.
Meg whispered, "Say, honey!" The bed rustled softly.
He fought down his mind, and rapidly drank his beer. Almost as ever, he embraced the Warmth, and slid into a comfortable oblivion. Meg lay beside him in the darkness.
He awoke early, and she laid her hand upon him.
Abruptly, he squirmed away.
"Don't do that!" His voice was loud. "It's no good, all that stuff! Something's—wrong!"
He jumped out of bed, and began rapidly to put on his clothes.
Meg lay still for a moment. Her circuits were not built for such things. There was nothing wrong, and nothing registered. Then the cheery morning music started out of the wall, soothing and bright, and she began to hum with it. She arose, went lightly to her dressing, freshly and sweetly tripped into the kitchen.
"Scrambled eggs, honey?" she asked, in the most caressive of tones.
He had all but forgotten his outburst.
"Yeh, sure honey", he answered.
He ate copiously, and drank several cups of black coffee.
"Fine day!" he said, belching his appreciation.
He patted his companion good morning, exceptionally affectionately, and went out into the street.
There he met an old friend and drinking companion. He lived next door, it seemed. They were neighbors! He had seldom been so glad to see anyone, as this old friend.
"Hi there, Charlie!" he boomed. "How's it all? Like Man, I'm glad to see you! What's it, huh?"
Then he waited, with an expectant grin. He waited a considerable time after Charlie had sauntered past him and ridden off in a Car.
Then it came to him.
"He didn't see me! Like as if I wasn't here! Yeah!"
He hurried down the street, and did not think of a Car at all.
He slowed his pace, and walked for a long time. Nobody saw him. He tried to think. The effort was too much, and his mind was a strained blank, and almost pained him. This street: it seemed familiar. Yes, he had gone cruising here, several times.
He began very nearly to regret his deficiency of memory. Wasn't there a nice park, up here a little way? He quickened his pace, perspiring freely. It was right here—no, it couldn't be! Not that again! He couldn't be invisible to other people! There couldn't be things all around him that he couldn't see! It wasn't right! What did that word mean? He fainted.
When he came to, the library was still there. He staggered to his feet, and stood still a moment, gazing. There was something cut in the stone over the large front doors. Why would anybody cut something like that in the stone? It didn't make sense. It wasn't comfy at all.
Then, in the back of his brain, a little light burst, and he heard the words, "All men by nature desire to know."
There it was again. Hadn't he dreamed it? What was this "know"? It wasn't eating or drinking or doing or anything.
Then there floated into his pulsating areas this "Aristotle".
No dig at all. But he knew that it was the inscription in the stone, and he walked up the broad front walk and entered the doors, which opened automatically for him.
He walked over the marble floor. Out of the corner of his eye he seemed almost to discern an occasional dim figure hurrying past. He walked up two flights of stairs, seemingly alone, and yet seemingly surrounded. It was strange, and it was perfectly natural. He had never felt so alive before. Not even in a Bed had he felt himself so much of a Man. And he did not think about doing. He had not the slightest interest in it. He wanted to know, whatever this might mean. He paused in front of a door. It opened, and he entered and eased himself into a chair.
"You must begin with the alphabet," the voice began. "This is the letter A."
It flashed upon the screen. He copied it on the plate before him. Over and over again he copied the letter, and heard its name repeated. He was on the way.
He remained for weeks, for months, in the library. His room was comfortable, his meals were tasty and well balanced. He lost weight, he gained continually an alert, aware sense of well-being and purpose. He was developing a mind, and beginning to know.
