by Rucker, Rudy
Alan made his way downstairs empty-handed. Laura was in conversation with her husband, while Billy stood to one side, evidently pondering what he’d seen. Mote glanced at Alan with an expression of concern.
“Mother’s on the war-path,” he said. “Not that I care to sort out what’s happened. I suppose it’s better if you’re in a hotel. Here.” He pulled some bills from his pocket and pressed them into Alan’s hand.
“That’s the last cent you ever give him, Mote!” cried Laura. “We’re not sending money to him in Tangier or anywhere else anymore.”
Alan felt a pulse of anger from the invisible, spying eye that seemed to be watching him again. Mastering himself, he managed to say something polite to the Burroughs parents. “Thanks for your kindness. I’m sorry for the uproar.”
“Go!” cried Laura.
“He was changing his shape like Plastic Man!” put in Billy. “I saw. He and the other man were hanging from the ceiling.”
“Who’s Plastic Man?” asked Alan, intrigued.
“My favorite comic book,” said Billy. “Plastic Man can make himself into a dinosaur, or a hammock, or a lightning-bolt. Thanks to the mad scientists.”
“That’s enough chit-chat,” said Laura. “Bill leaves or I’ll scream.”
“Goodbye for now,” said Alan, patting the boy’s shoulder. He felt sympathetic towards the lad, and wanted to say something that might help. “Live well. And—I’m very sorry about your mother. It was a horrible accident that I’ll regret for the rest of my life. If I can ever find a way to undo it, I will.” Alan forced a smile. “I know a few mad scientists.”
“Fix it soon,” said Billy softly. “It makes me sad.”
Alan walked away from the Burroughs manse, heading towards the sun, towards the ocean beach. He felt another spasm of emotion from the ethereal mind that was watching him. The thing was furious with him. But now, blessedly, it withdrew.
Alan went ahead and flipped his shape back to that of Abby. He was done with Burroughs, and he certainly didn’t want to risk looking like Turing.
His sleeves dangled and his trousers dragged. He paused, rolling up his cuffs. In order to take on Abby’s form, his flesh had compressed itself. He was four or five inches shorter than he’d been a minute ago. Perhaps he should have kept Katje’s dress. Not that it bothered him to look like a woman dressed in an oversized man’s suit. In Manchester he’d been known to use a loop of twine for a belt.
Ned Strunk was at the first corner, leaning against the spiky trunk of a towering royal palm. He was dressed in the same outfit as on the ship, much the worse for wear. But his face looked tauter and cleaner than on the Phos. He was really quite handsome. Ned’s conjugation with Alan had done him some good.
“Hi, cutie,” said Ned, studying Alan’s girlish form.
“Abby’s the name,” said Alan, reverting to his British accent. “You’re looking well.”
“Thanks to you. That voice in my head was right. I’m my old self again. But I still don’t know what the hell anything’s about.”
“Look down in your mind,” said Alan. “You’ll find that you’ve acquired many of my memories. A side-effect of our recent merge.” Alan paused, smiling. “For my part, I gleaned quite a bit of data on you. Not that I’ve gone over it yet.”
“Are we still human?” asked Ned.
“We’re skuggers,” said Alan. “That’s what I call it. It’s a communicable condition. A contagious mutation.”
“That hand crawled onto me in an alley in Gibraltar. Like I told you. It melted me and put the voice in my head. I had no idea. But now I know the hand was a—skug? And it tells me that you guys already converted two cops called Pratt and Hopper? And—and William Burroughs. And a bunch of street Arabs in Tangier?”
“Pratt was the first to be assimilated. The original skug began as a tissue culture that a young friend and I developed. We threw our skug into Pratt’s face as a matter of self-defense. The skug was crude, and Pratt’s personality was erased. Just as well. The man was a rotter. A cat’s paw for the Queen. Britain has it in for me, you know.”
“I’m on the run too,” said Ned. “Nobody’s even supposed to know about the big-ass cruise I was on. It was a secret test for a brand-new nuclear-powered sub.” The young man paused. “I had a plan to sell that fact to some spies. If I could of found them.”
“My concern is that the spies don’t find me,” said Alan.
“How did the skug get from Pratt to you and to me, anyhow?”
“After the skug absorbed Pratt, I adjusted the creature’s biocomputations so as to make its actions less dissipative. I kept a bud of the improved tissue, and the rest of Pratt went stumping down the alleys of Tangier. I gather he made some converts. And one of them sent his hand after you.”
“So the bud skugged you, and the hand skugged me?”
“Skugged, yes,” said Alan. “Or might one say skugified? As you like. We were fortunate not to lose our personalities.”
“I’m a stubborn guy,” said Ned. “The skug hit me like a mule’s kick. But I hung in there. I think of my personality as—as a story I’m always telling to myself. I’m not the feeb you thought I was. I worked my way through the University of Louisville as a mechanical engineering major, see? I’m not a math prof, but I love numbers and what they do. And I went in the Navy to learn about nukes. I figure it’s the coming thing.”
Ned’s last remark set off a strong pulse of excitement on the part of Alan’s skug. This is why we need his knowledge, said the voice in Alan’s head. He’ll help our cause.
Meanwhile they’d crossed a street, and were drawing near the ocean beach. Little Billy came pedaling after them on his bike. “Is that you, Plastic Dad? You turned into a woman! Wow. But I know it’s the crafty William Burroughs, hee hee. Are you really gonna bring back my Mom?”
“I’ll try, Billy,” said Alan. “But, please, leave us alone now. My friend is worried about running into the police.”
“If you don’t have a room tonight, you can sleep in our back yard! I can leave some potato chips and pillows out there.”
“I don’t want to enrage your grandparents.”
“I hope grandpa gave you enough money for a hotel. Or you could sleep under the pier. That’s where the bums hang out. Will I see you tomorrow, Dad? What’s your friend’s name?”
“Ned,” put in Strunk. “You’re a force to be reckoned with, kid. Thanks for the tip about the pier. I’m surprised there’s any bums here, a fancy place like this.”
“Can you guys show me how to change my shape, too?”
“I don’t want to do that to you,” said Alan. “Please do go home.”
“Don’t forget me!” cried Billy, and was gone.
“How did you get linked up with this screwball Burroughs family anyway?” asked Ned.
“Well, right after I absorbed my skug, I went ahead and skugged William Burroughs in Tangier,” said Alan.
“And you were playing at being him on the ship.”
“Yes, he’d given me his passport, dear fellow. I was planning to pass a few days with his family here. Until your seedy antics got me evicted.” Alan smiled at Ned, who looked more and more attractive to him. There was nothing like sex to spruce up a friend’s appearance.
“It felt good,” said Ned, sensing what was in Alan’s mind.
“How did you hit upon the idea of dangling from the ceiling?” queried Alan, a blush warming his cheek. “It was—overwhelming.”
“Well, that’s how leopard slugs do it. We’ve got em living in our garden back in Louisville, Kentucky. They’re what a carnival barker would call morphodites. Male and female at the same time. It was seeing you change into a woman that put me into a dangling-slug frame of mind.”
“You aroused me by imitating Vassar,” said Alan.
“I knew you had a thing for him. And I remembered how he looked. It’s wild how we can change our bodies, isn’t it? What a kick.” Ned ran his fingers across his short crewc
ut.
Alan felt a sudden rush of empathy towards the youth. The fellow was much more interesting than he’d realized before. “I’m sorry I strangled you,” said Alan. “And that I threw you overboard.”
“Damn hard to kill a skug!” exclaimed Ned, brightening. “After I hit the water, I glued myself to the keel of our ship, with a sly tube running up along the side for air. I came ashore when you did, and morphed myself to look like a wino. Got in the way of your cab, and when it ran me over, I plastered myself to its underside. Hung there till you hit Palm Beach.” Ned looked down at his dirty, wrinkled clothes. “I stored this suit wadded up inside my body. Not all that fresh-looking, is it?”
“I saw you lying in the driveway last night,” said Alan. “I thought you were an alligator. You didn’t say a word.”
“I was too beat to start no hue and cry. I spent the night in the garden. And slimed into your window with the morning sun. That skug voice kept on saying I needed Alan’s touch.”
“Sound advice,” said Alan. He felt safe and calm for the first time in a couple of days. It was good to be away from the ship, from Vassar, and from the Burroughs family. He needed to get back to thinking about science. This whole skug and skugger business was an epochal breakthrough. He longed to ascertain the best control techniques for these new systems, and to chart a path for integrating them into society at large. Ratiocination was a mode he found more congenial than the emotive vicissitudes of sex, friendship and love.
“I’m commencing to feel all right,” said Ned. The beach and ocean were in view. “All I need now is breakfast. And then, please, oh, mighty wizard of skugdom, some new clothes. I saw you getting money off Mr. Burroughs just now. You didn’t count the wad, but I did. A hundred bucks. It’s like I could see through your eyes.”
“Remarkable.”
They went into an aluminum eatery with windows facing the sparkling sea. A studiously poker-faced waitress took their order.
“Did you notice how she was looking at your get-up?” asked Ned after the waitress padded off on her crepe-soled shoes.
“I didn’t,” said Alan distractedly glancing down at his baggy coat with the rolled-up sleeves. He’d just now been thinking about continuous-valued feedback systems. “I do realize this isn’t standard women’s wear.”
“Are you planning to keep being a girl?” asked Ned.
“The role suits me well enough,” said Alan. “I’m a psychic morphodite—as you might put it. Although ideally I’d prefer man-on-man sex.”
“They had some of that action on the sub,” said Ned carelessly. “Part of the reason I deserted when we came up for air near Gibraltar. Slipped out at night and swam ashore. That prick of a chief was calling me a sissy. One guy dropped his soap in the shower and this other guy took him up on it. My supposed crime was to be standing near them, washing my hair, not giving a damn about what they did. Fact is, the chief wanted to bust me because I’d beat him at poker. Everyone gets testy in a gmetal coffin that’s a hundred fathoms down. With a nuclear reactor for the engine.” Ned wriggled his fingers, miming radiation.
“The sub’s called the Nautilus?” said Alan, accessing his borrowed Ned Strunk memories. “It’s not officially launched yet, is it?”
“This was the super-secret first cruise,” said Ned. “Don’t want reporters in case your tin scow goes off like A-bomb when the captain presses start.”
With a clatter the waitress brought their food. “Is that everything you need?” she asked.
“I—I wonder if there’s a clothing shop in this district?” Alan asked. “My usual things got ruined in the storm, which is why I’m wearing these sad rags.” He fluttered his fingers at the lapels of his coat. He figured that, when pretending to be a woman, he could hardly go too far.
“Sure, hon,” said the waitress, warming a bit. “Just down the block. But it won’t open till afternoon, what with it being Sunday.”
“We’re frikkin’ masters of disguise,” gloated Ned as they dug into their ham and eggs. “The waitress is buying our routine. Like in a spy movie.”
“How were you planning to get back to the States from Europe after you deserted?” inquired Alan. “Sailors aren’t issued passports, are they?”
“I was gonna bum around the Old World like the rich college boy I never got to be. I’ve got the inside track on how that Nautilus reactor works. Figured I could turn traitor, sell info, and buy a passport. F-T-N. Fuck the Navy.”
“I’m rather soured on the government myself,” said Alan. “What with them attempting to assassinate me. The bright side is that my escape strategy led me to invent the skug.”
“A partner organism, huh?” said Ned. “A symbiote.”
“Exactly. You help your skug, and it helps you. I’m still working on perfecting the balance.”
“Balance? I was like a goddamn zombie after I got skugged in Gibraltar. In the dark. You saw how I was on the ship. With the voice in my head saying I should merge with Alan to get my, uh, wetware upgrade.”
“Wetware upgrade?” echoed Alan, savoring the phrase. “You coined that expression?”
“You know how it is,” said Ned modestly. “The skug gooses up your mind.” Ned paused. “And now I want a new face. When you copied that Belgian girl from the ship—how’d you imitate her so well?”
“I ate a fleck of skin from her napkin,” said Alan. “A skug knows how to assimilate a tissue’s genetic code. Lacking that, you can fake a look from memory. Like making a face in the mirror and wearing that to dinner. You managed quite a robust emulation of Vassar this morning.”
“I wasn’t all that close. You just saw what you wanted, old horn dog. It was a stretch for me to keep it up as long as I did. ”
“You’ll find it dead easy once you sample your target’s genes. Your system settles down like a stone rolling into a valley. Look into yourself. You’ll find you the gene codes for Pratt, me, and an Arab boy named Driss. And, come to think of it, now that we’ve conjugated, you’ll have the codes for William Burroughs, Katje Pelikaan and, for that matter, Vassar Lafia. I’ve sampled Vassar’s effluvia rather—”
“Hey! Spare me the slop. No offense, but I don’t wanna copy any of you.” Ned looked around the busy diner. “I want something fresh. Check that guy cleaning the table over there. I’ll go Black! No way Uncle Sam will find me then.”
Ned rose to his feet and headed towards the rest-room, brushing past the busboy. He feigned a stumble and ran his hand across the young man’s hair. Sensing something amiss, the youth stepped back and frowned. Ned made an apologetic gesture and walked on.
On his return to the table, Ned displayed a commandeered fleck of dandruff—and proceeded to morph into the busboy’s shape. Over coffee he tweaked his features a bit, peering at his reflection in the back of a spoon.
When the waitress brought their check, she noticed the mocha color of Ned’s skin.
“Now look at you two,” she said, cocking her head and laughing. “I’m serving a night fighter and a fairy lady. Where’s my brain at? Let’s cash you out before the manager starts in on us.”
“You’ve been most kind,” said Alan. He paid the check and led Ned outside.
Some of the passers-by were frowning at them, and a man in a car yelled something crude.
“That’s the race thing,” said Ned. “Florida’s got rednecks out the wazoo. Make your skin color match mine. So we’re not, uh, miscegenating and all.”
“I suppose I could do,” said Alan. He felt down into himself and found the channel for communicating with the melanin-producing organelles of his skin. A minute later he was browner than Ned.
“We won’t be able to go into this clothes store here,” said Ned. “We’ll have to find the Black part of town. Shouldn’t be far.” He gestured at the mansions facing the sea. “All these rich people have Black servants. The deep South.”
A police car came tearing down the beachfront avenue and made a squealing turn into the side street that Ned and Ala
n had come down. Peering after the car, they saw it pulling up before the Burroughs family home. Alan and Ned regarded each other uneasily.
“I wonder if that Mrs. Burroughs lodged a complaint on us,” said Ned.
“Or it could have someone else,” said Alan. “I’ve been having this occasional sensation of being watched.”
“What happens if the police nab us?” worried Ned. “I don’t have any papers at all.”
“We’ll get new ones,” said Alan. “I’ll be discarding my Burroughs passport myself. Good show that we’re disguised.”
“But even so the police might somehow know that we’re not, not—”
“Normal?” said Alan lightly. “Here’s a secret. If we’re cornered, we can always convert our captors on the spot.”
“Break off a piece of me and let it crawl onto them?” said Ned. “Yeah. When that hand jumped me in Gibraltar, I went skugger right away. Not that I grasped that.”
“I feel I’ve improved our skug processes to the point where the transition can be very nearly seamless,” said Alan. “I’ve upped the virulence so that it requires no more than a pin-prick to your candidate’s body—assuming the touch is empowered by your volition. Now that you’ve merged with me, Ned, you’re in possession of my latest upgrades. We’ll have no problem in skugging any particularly importunate pests.”
“Okay, fine,” said Ned. “But let’s not go on any big rampage just yet.”
The upgraded Ned was a good mixer. And his Kentucky accent went over better than Alan’s Oxonian blither. Frequently asking directions, Ned led them to West Palm Beach, which was separated from Palm Beach proper by a narrow bay. Soon they were in the heart of the local Black community.
The first thing Ned and Alan did there was to buy clothes. Alan selected a maroon wool skirt and jacket with a cream-colored blouse. Ned bought tight slacks, a yellow shirt, and a poisonous-green sweater. The salesman was friendly, although he wondered at Alan’s accent and odd garb.
