by Rudy Rucker
The dirtbubble began shrinking, as the elephant-sized bolus moved away from our space and up towards Fairyland. The trumpeting faded away. The severed leg lay on the barn floor in a pool of nurb slime. The leg was the size of a bale of hay.
The satiated wormhole hung pulsing in the air. I stood there frozen, fascinated, peeking around the wooden beam that I still hugged. The dirtbubble swelled a bit and its mouth twitched—something coming back our way. A foul belch that carried a whiff of iodine. The bedraggled Skungy popped out.
The qwet rat screeched and rushed at me, blind with panic. He scrabbled up my leg so fast that his claws dug into my skin, and he only stopped when he’d reached a spot of shelter inside my shirt.
The dirtbubble dimpled down to near-invisibility and moved on.
* * *
10: Weezie’s Party
“What’s all the noise out here?” Carlo had appeared at the barn door. “You celebrating because your nurb-gel came?”
“Celebrating?” I echoed hollowly. “The dirtbubble just swallowed an elephruk. You remember old Darby? Look at that leg. Nothing else of her left.”
“Wow.” Mellow with cosmic mode, Carlo wasn’t particularly worried about anything, not even this.
“I think all of the wormholes besides the oddball are going to be man-eaters,” I fretted. “Like the dirtbubble. Hungry mouths, Carlo. Feeding tubes from—from the myoor.”
“Gobble frenzy coming up,” said Carlo. He nudged the oversized leg with his foot and laughed.
I didn’t feel good about this at all. I was deep into the worrywart robotic mode. Following Carlo’s example, I switched back to cosmic. Better. I was like, let it come down, qrude.
I slipped my hand inside my shirt and started petting Skungy. Slowly our heart rates returned to normal. But I still had my concerns about Jane.
“You’re a business guy, right?” I said to Carlo.
“Used to be.”
“I was digging around in the records on Gaven’s wristphone last night. Jane signed a crazy agreement that merged her assets with Gaven’s. And Gaven optioned that agreement to Whit. Does that mean Whit owns Jane’s stuff?”
Carlo shook his head. “Gaven died—at least for a little while. The moment you dip your toe into the River Lethe, all of your partnership agreements are null and void. It’s even better than a bankruptcy. The smart guys do it all the time. Buy a med-ant colony and die.”
“So Whit can’t threaten Jane?”
“Not with that particular piece of paper, no. Why are you flailing yourself? Talk to Jane in person, qrude. What is fucking wrong with you? You know she’s staying in Whit’s house. Two hundred yards from here.”
“I’m—I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t want to see me. She said we were done.”
“Offer her the elephruk bone. A token of your manly prowess.”
“Oh leave me alone, you slushed freak.”
“I’m here for you, brother.” Ignoring the rain, Carlo capered across the lawn and leapt high in the air to snag a newborn jellyfish the size of his own body. He wrestled the jelly to the ground and began using it like a toboggan, sliding across the wet grass as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“The dirtbubble was squeezing us,” said Skungy from inside my shirt. “It was wet and it made me numb.”
“Like venom?”
“I think it mummifies you. I was lucky to escape. I had to fight to stay awake. I bit and clawed and wriggled my way back to the mouth.”
“What about Jericho?”
“Jericho? If you’re gonna make nurbs, make them funky, Zad. Give them some soul. Folks want strong, sick art—not talking dolls. Jericho was a piece of crap and I’m glad he’s gone.” This was the Joey Moon personality talking.
Me, I’d thought Jericho was pretty cool. I pulled Skungy out of my shirt and tossed him through the barn door onto the lawn, throwing him maybe a little harder than necessary. This was the qwettie short temper. I calmed myself with a little more cosmic mode and then I called Jane.
“Zad?” She looked lovely.
“Hi Jane. Have I told you I miss you?”
“You told me.” She smiled, appreciating the attention.
“We’re meant to be together, darling. Don’t hang up, I also have some important advice.”
“Like a telemarketer? Offering an immortal loaf of wendy-meat, a blade from an artisan knife-plant, and a farm-grown skillet? Plus the greatest musical squidskin hits of the twenty-first century—all rolled into one eye-poppin’ dirt-cheap Tunisian cactus bud.”
“I’m serious, Jane. Are you alone?”
“Sort of. Whit Heyburn’s in the other room with Gaven. Channeling web news. They’re all excited about their deal.”
“Numberskulls,” I said. “You know you want me back. The advice: I was looking through Gaven’s records, and I have a feeling that you might think Gaven or Whit have some kind of legal power over you. Because of that agreement you and Gaven signed? Merging the Slygro and the Jane Says assets?”
“You’re nosing into every tiny corner of my life?” said Jane, very annoyed.
“Please don’t get huffy. Listen. Any agreement you signed with Gaven is void because he died.”
“Really. Wow.” Jane paused, thinking this over. “Even though he’s come back to life? Even though he’s here with Whit?”
“Doesn’t matter. Carlo said so, and he’s biz. What are Gaven and Whit up to anyway?”
“Jabbering about qwet going viral. That dirtbubble thing was here talking to them a little while ago. It says the myoor is glad about the qwet. Whatever that means.”
“I saw the dirtbubble just now in your barn here, and it didn’t talk.”
“Maybe you don’t rate.” Jane laughed. “Not that it’s fun to listen to. I think I told you it’s like a talking butthole. The voice all burbling and thick. Just awful. It keeps telling Whit and Gaven that they’ll rule our world.”
“Sure they will. Come be with me instead of with those losers. I’m right here in your family mansion, you know.”
“Of course I know. We’re coming to the big sex party tonight.”
“Sex party?”
“Mom’s invited a hundred people. She’s calling it a cotillion, but I can tell she’s hoping it’ll degenerate into an orgy. She’s out of her tree. Thanks to being qwet and living with your father. I’m not sure qwet is a good thing.”
“You’re qwet too?”
“I am. I caught it via an anonymous call from a rat. Or maybe it was someone from Indiana. A telemarketer. Like you.”
“I want to give you one more jolt of info. A warning and a fix.”
“You’re husbanding me? Loulou’s definitely out of the picture?”
“Completely out,” I said. “The warning: Gaven still has that platypus with his personality on it. He might try to overwrite your mind. That’s a real risk when you’re around complete sleazebags.”
“Ugh,” said Jane, looking over her shoulder towards the other room. “I can almost see that happening. These guys are the worst. What’s the fix?”
“Junko showed me how to make a backup copy of myself. It’s pretty simple…”
So now I explained Junko’s moves to Jane, sending the words and images over wristphone, going over and over it until Jane finally had it straight. She did a backup while I waited, and I helped her check that she’d gotten it right.
“Dear Zad,” said Jane. “You care.” Mentally reaching out, I could teep some of her vibes. Cozy.
“Why don’t you come over here right now?” I said. “If the boys try to stop you I can help.”
“Oh, let’s just wait till the party. I can handle these two creeps. I’m still hoping to snoop out the details of their big plan. There might be an angle for me.”
“Be careful, Jane. Things are changing so fast. I guess the qwet explosion’s all over the news?”
“They say it’s reached Nashville, Indianapolis, and Columbus. Maybe DC and Manhattan this after
noon. And there’s no way to stop it. I’m kind of surprised the local cops and the DoG haven’t come down on you.”
“Junko zapped them,” I said. “They’re qwet now. All mellow. Or maybe freaking out. Lost in their personal psychodramas.” It wasn’t likely that Grommet or Lief Larson or anyone else would be coming after me today.
“I can’t believe you’re not channeling the online news,” added Jane. “On a day like this. You’re lost in your artist dreams. As usual.”
“Pretty real here right now,” I said. “I told you I saw the dirtbubble, right? It swallowed that nice elephruk. Darby. Look.”
I angled my wristphone towards Darby’s severed leg. To make the sight worse, Skungy had skulked back into the barn, and he was gnawing at the nurb flesh along the leg’s monstrous shin.
“Oh god. Is this the end of the world, Zad? Is everything falling apart?”
“Let’s face it together, Jane. Whatever it is. Come now.”
She looked at me, her gray-green eyes glowing, her tawny gold hair mussed. My beloved wife. Focusing on her, I could teep her warm vibe even more clearly than before. And she was feeling me too.
“Yes,” said Jane at last. “I’ll be right there.”
I went into the Roller mansion and hurried to the tower to stare at the Heyburn house. Rain pouring down. A dippy little dome atop the red-brick home. Four white columns in front. Neo-classical, Palladian, Jeffersonian—I wanted to crush the place into rubble.
But now, yes, Jane stepped out the front door, her hair a bright flag, and her red umbrella poised. She was heading down the granite plinths of the steps but—oh hell—that goddamn Whit was at the door, calling to her, getting her attention, gesturing with his hands.
And now, don’t do it, Jane furled her umbrella and went back inside. Maybe just for a minute? For five and then ten and then thirty minutes I stood at my tower post, watching and waiting. Nothing. The Heyburn house in the steady rain.
I tapped my wristphone and called Jane. She looked the same. I could see Whit in the corner of my visual field, also Gaven. Sitting in chairs.
“Hi again, Zad.” Jane sounded normal.
“I thought you were coming right over!”
“I changed my mind. The boys are finally explaining their big plan to me. It’s fairly loofy. They’ll let Jane Says do the PR, and they’ll cut me in. Please don’t worry about me, I’m fine. See you at the party tonight. We’ll talk then.”
Jane shut down the connection, and when I tried to call back, she didn’t answer. It made me mad. What to do? Cosmic mode, qrude. Let things ride. Jane’ll be here before long. Don’t act like a jealous fool.
“Vanting voman,” observed Kristo, peering up the tower stairs from his and Kenny’s room on the third floor. Exaggerating his German accent was his idea of a joke. Not that he was a bad guy. I could teep that he empathized with my emotional turmoil. He felt it was nothing that some hugs and kisses couldn’t fix. He took a step up the stairs towards me.
“Kenny is under our bed,” Kristo told me. “He has some nurb-gel that he makes into veird ants. His fun just now. Will you play?”
“I’m going back to the barn,” I said, squeezing down the steps past Kristo. “Biomodding nurbs of my own. Big sex party here tonight, did you hear?”
“Orgy, ja.” Kristo pumped his arms back and forth to mime wild party behavior. Invitations to Weezie Roller’s posh, louche gala would be all over Louisville by now. A free-for-all. My thoughts stalled when I tried to visualize the scene.
On the second floor, Carlo and Reba were curled up inside a ten-foot house jelly that Carlo had managed to fly into their bedroom. They waved to me as I walked by, giggly lovers in a magic bower.
Downstairs, Weezie was pacing the hall jabbering through her wristphone, lining up still more action for her party tonight. She’d tweaked her hair into the same perfect gold/red shade that Jane naturally had.
Dad had set up his easel by the open front door. He was humming to himself and working on a painting of the rain, the brush rapidly pecking, putting in every single drop of water.
In the living room, Junko, Joey and Loulou were entangled on the couch by the fireplace, channeling weird shit from the web. They were naked. Qwet gave you stamina. And, at least for this afternoon, Junko had taken my place in the ménage a trois.
“Qwet’s spreading like wildfire,” reported Joey, noticing me. He sat up and pulled on his jeans.
“Lots of fighting,” said Loulou. She and Junko were donning their shirts. Even in cosmic mode, having me there made the three of them self-conscious. “With qwet, people pick up on mockery and disdain,” continued Loulou. “And they blow their tops. Not always fun to see yourself as others see you.” She wagged a finger at me. “Mr. Judgmental. Mr. Cold As Ice. Mr. Better Than You.”
“Am I the only one who’s noticed how ill-humored we’re getting?” I asked. “That’s a typical thing with stoners, you know.”
“I’m not ill-humored,” muttered Junko, combing out her hair with her fingers. “I’m worried. About things going so wrong.”
“It’s not all bad,” said Joey. “Did you see about those people starting a house-jellyfish commune downtown? The jellies are stuck together like frog eggs. They call it Wobble Manor. And there’s a city-wide music jam going on. Everyone teeping into this hive-mind beat they can feel in the air.” Joey beat a ragged tattoo on the couch.
“Fine, but what about the murders in Shively,” said Junko. “Vaughan Henry, the same guy who infested Carlo’s mind? He’s copied himself onto twelve so-called apostles, and they’re running amok. That kind of stuff is happening all over town. Meanwhile the police aren’t answering calls.”
“People will figure out how to protect themselves,” said Loulou. “They’ll learn your backup routine. And if we really need to, we’ll kill the killers ourselves.”
“Easy to say,” remarked Joey.
“More of us than them,” said Loulou. “Like healthy cells neutralizing tumors. No need for cops. They’re all about helping the rich.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing some cops around—like when the culties and looters show up at the Funhouse,” said Junko. “I’m worried about Weezie’s party. She’s trying so hard for an edgy crowd. She actually wants an orgy. A woman her age.”
“Sex never hurt nobody,” said Joey. “Me, I’m wondering about what happened in the barn. I was snooping, and I saw some of it through your wristphone, Zad. That little ball swallowed a whole damn elephruk!”
“I’m worried that’s only the beginning,” whispered Junko. “We might see hundreds more wormholes like the dirtbubble. Or thousands. Roaming around and swallowing us.” She paused, staring at us, her eyes a little wild.
“Going inside the oddball didn’t hurt me a bit,” said Loulou. “She was a tunnel to Fairyland. Kind of fun.”
“I think the wormholes like the dirtbubble are different,” I said. “I don’t think they’re tunnels that you waltz through. I think they lead to pouches inside the myoor. Stomachs, or maybe gizzards with teeth.”
“And it’s worse than that,” said Junko, her voice still a whisper. “The wormholes—they can find you better when you’re qwet. Especially if you’re making yourself cosmic. Gaven and I figured this out. And then I went and spread qwet anyway. I’m a horrible person.”
“Bad Junko,” said Joey, too high to take anything seriously. “Bad, bad girl. Loulou and Reba are gonna give you a bare-bottom spanking. At the big party tonight. In front of everyone.”
“Gaven noticed that the dirtbubble was twitching whenever a person went by,” said Junko, shifting uneasily in her seat. “He started making measurements. Pretending to be a scientist. He used a laser-bug.”
“I remember him doing those tests,” said Joey. “I liked the laser-bug.”
“We calibrated the dirtbubble’s reactions,” continued Junko. “Its reaction was about a thousand times stronger around Joey. Because Joey had wedged himself into full-on cosmic mode.”
“Can you undo qwet?” I asked Junko. “This morning you said you’d find a way. Get on it!”
At this point her composed face began to quiver. “I was wrong about that,” she sobbed. “Once your wetware molecules learn how to be qwet, that’s where they want to stay. It’s a minimum energy configuration. Impossible to dislodge.”
My mind felt like a kaleidoscope turning too fast. We’d unleashed qwet upon the world. I’d seen a wormhole eat an elephruk. The wormholes might eat us all. Jane was huddling with Gaven and Whit. Qwet was irreversible. And we were facing Weezie’s party tonight—not as bad as the other news, but something I wasn’t looking forward to at all. I needed a break. I needed my art.
I pushed out into the calming rain once more. And made my way to the barn alone. My new pile of nurb-gel was still there, although Skungy was nibbling at it. He was done with the elephruk leg. He’d gnawed the whole damn thing down to the bone.
“You’re always eating, but you never grow,” I said.
“When I eat, I vibrate faster,” said Skungy. “Makes me profound. I’m spinning visions, qrude.”
“I’m glad that killer dirtbubble isn’t here right now.”
“I can see wormholes snarfing people off a busy street,” said Skungy, looking up from the nurb-gel. “I see them crashing Weezie’s party like anteaters on an anthill. I see long dark tongues snaking up the stairs and down the corridors. Everyone screaming and running away. Phht, phht, phht!” Skungy giggled. A ragged, grating sound. “Did you notice that the dirtbubble’s mouth is like a disembodied asshole?”
I didn’t answer. Maybe somehow I’d be a hero and find a way to save the world. But right now all I could think about was crafting some nurbs. I frowned at the rat on my mound of nurb-gel. “Don’t get in my way, Skungy, or I’ll stomp you. I can move a lot faster than you think.” Yes, I liked him, but I had that qwet irritability thing going on.
Skungy moved around to the other side of the gel. With a sigh of pleasure, I dug my hands into the mound. The gel smelled good to me.
It wasn’t out of the question that my nurbs might help against the alien wormholes—but mainly I was being driven by the crack-brained notion that if I made some loofy nurbs for the party, people would get excited about my art again, and I’d reboot my career. I could still come back.
