Collected Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by J F Bone

  “It gives you them, too,” Lyf said.

  “But your world is alien.”

  “Not entirely. There are quite a few humans on Hel. You’d have plenty of company.”

  “I can imagine,” she said drily. Lyf flinched. “I’ve told you I do not like those anthopomorphic references to my race.”

  “So you say. But I don’t trust you even though you’ve told me the truth about my body. I won’t sell my soul.”

  “I’ll put a disclaimer in writing if that will satisfy you,” Lyf said wearily. “I’m tired of haggling.”

  “But will you obey it.”

  “With us Devi, a contract is sacred. Even your mythology tells you that much.”

  She nodded. “Of course, I’d want a few more things than health,” she said. “I’d want to enjoy these ten years on earth.”

  “That is understandable. I’ll consider any reasonable request.”

  “Beauty?”

  “As you humans understand it. Sarcoplasty isn’t too difficult.”

  “Wealth?”

  “That’s more difficult. And more expensive. But I could perhaps give you a one month chronograph survey. In that time you could probably arrange to become rich enough to be independent. But I can’t guarantee unlimited funds. And besides you’re not worth it.”

  Miss Twilley bridled briefly and then nodded. “That’s fair enough I suppose. And there’s one more thing. I want to be happy.”

  “I can do nothing about that. You make or lose your own happiness. I can provide you such tangible things as a healthy body, beauty and money, but what you do with them is entirely your own affair. No man or Devi can guarantee happiness”. He paused and looked thoughtfully at a point above Miss Twilley’s head. “I could, perhaps, provide you with a talent such as singing or manual dexterity—and even make sufficient adjustments in your inhibitions so you could employ your skill. But that is all. Not even I can play Eblis.”

  MISS TWILLEY’S eyes glittered. If he could only do what he said it would be worth any payment he demanded. She had never been pretty. As a child she had been bony, ungainly, awkward and ugly. As an adult she had only lost the awkwardness. Boys had never liked her. Men avoided her. And she wanted desperately to be admired. And, of course, she was about to die. That alone would be reason enough. She was appalled at the thought of dying. At thirty eight she was too young. Perhaps thirty of forty years from now the prospect wouldn’t be so terrifying, but not now—not when she hadn’t lived at all. Life had suddenly become very precious, and its immediate extinction appalled her. She wasn’t, she reflected wryly, the stuff from which heroes or martyrs were made, and ten years were a lot more than six months. As far as repayment was concerned it was a long way off, and Hel was probably not much worse than Ellenburg.

  “In my opinion Hel’s infinitely better,” Lyf interjected.”

  “You’re prejudiced,” Miss Twilley said absently,—now if she had a figure like—hmm—say one of those movie actresses, and a face like—hmmm—and money to go with them—hmm—it just might be worth the price. Of course, it might not. It could be something like a salt mine—or—”

  “It’s nothing at all like a salt mine,” Lyf said. “The hours are reasonable and there’s plenty of free time outdoors if you want it. The food isn’t the Cafe Ritz, but its nourishing, and the life is healthful. After all we Devi aren’t savages.”

  “I wonder,” she said thoughtfully—now if I could—hmm—say a gold lame sheath dress—ah!—and perhaps in a bikini—“Women!” Lyf sighed and gave up. Why should he bother about listing the disadvantage. She hadn’t been listening to the advantages.

  “What are you stopping for?” Miss Twilley demanded. “I’m listening.”

  “There are a few other things such as free medical care, splendid recreation facilities, and conducted tours of Hel.”

  “And the disadvantages?”

  “Very few. There’s no pay, of course, and you will be required to devote a certain amount of time to my service. On the whole, employment on Hel isn’t much different than here except that it’s a bit more enlightened.”

  “Like slavery?” Miss Twilley smiled unpleasantly. “You’re not dealing with a fool.”

  “The concept of freedom is a relative thing,” Lyf said. “And who among us, either Devi or human, is truly free. And what is the essential difference between being a slave to society and a slave to an individual? We Devi don’t have such a high regard for physical liberty—”

  “Obviously.”

  “But as long as you do your work, there’s no interference with your outside activities. You can think and read as you please. We supply our help with a very complete library—and keep it up to date.”

  “Is that so?”

  Lyf paled to a dull pink. “I wish you’d stop mentally dredging those old lies about fire and brimstone. They’re embarassing. It’s been quite a few thousand years since a Devi has derived any satisfaction from sadism. We’ve removed that particular trait from our race. You won’t be overworked or cruelly treated. And you won’t be beaten or subjected to physical torture. Since I have no knowledge of what you might consider mental torture, I couldn’t say whether there would be any or not. I think not, since no other human has complained of being mentally misused, but I can’t tell.”

  “WHY can’t you? You can read my mind.”

  “Only your thoughts, not your emotions or attitudes.”

  Miss Twilley shrugged. “It sounds fair enough, but twenty or thirty years for ten is a high price.”

  “You fail to consider the costs involved. Your physical rehabilitation will be expensive and your financial even more so. I’ll have to employ the Time Study Enclave to predict a financial plan for you, and chronography isn’t cheap.”

  “Why can’t you just give me the money?”

  Lyf shrugged. “I don’t have it—and I couldn’t supply you with gold. It would be suspicious and we try to avoid attracting attention to our clients or ourselves. Humans have some rather messy ways of abrogating a fellow human’s contract. So you acquire your wealth within the framework of your society—through the stock market in your case.”

  “Oh—I see.”

  “Your money is enough to start you off. I’ll show you how to make it multiply.”

  “And if I cheat you?” Miss Twilley asked.

  “You won’t, I’m not utterly naive. There is a security clause in the contract which must be fulfilled.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I put my mark on you. That makes you a permanent sixth order focus I can contact at any time.”

  “That gives you quite an advantage.”

  “Have you ever read any contracts on your own world? I’m not asking for a thing more than your grantors do. In fact, not as much. Read a mortgage sometime if you don’t believe me.” Lyf eyed her with mild reproof. “Think, he said. “When—even in your perverted mythology—has one of my race failed to live up to his end of an agreement? Who has done the cheating? Who attempts to break contracts? Your whole history is filled with specious promises, broken words, and outright falsehood. Just why do you think we had to make contracts in the first place? Because you humans cheated at every opportunity. And you still do. That’s why we must have guarantees. We go to all the expense, take all the risk and then run the added risk of being double crossed. That’s too much.”

  “But our souls are beyond price.”

  “I’ve already told you that I care nothing for your soul. It’s useless to me.” He frowned. “We have had to fight that canard for centuries. We Devi are practical folk, not starry-eyed idealists. We deal in real property, not in intangibles. Now stop quibbling and make up your mind. You’ve heard the concessions. After all, there is a limit to altruism. Now if you don’t want to deal, say so and I’ll leave. It will be no skin off my tail if you don’t accept.” Lyf half turned toward the T.V. set.

  “I haven’t said I wouldn’t,” Miss Twilley said.

  “Nor
have you said you would. Now speak up. My time’s valuable.”

  “Oh—very well,” Miss Twilley said sulkily. “I accept.”

  Lyf smiled, reached under his cloak and produced a long sheet of paper covered with writing. “You’re a hard bargainer, Miss Twilley,” he said. “You extracted every condition you could possibly get on a deal of this kind. My congratulations. This is a personal contract I had drawn up. It’s in English so you can understand it. All you do is sign both copies. In transactions like this no witnesses are necessary.”

  “You don’t mind if I read it first?” Miss Twilley said. “Not that I don’t trust you—but this is business.”

  “Not at all,” Lyf said “and please note the escape clause which allows you a peremptory withdraw if you are not satisfied with the basic services.”

  MISS TWILLEY eyed the paper, skipping over the legal jargon, but carefully reading the specific provisions. It was deceptively simple and completely binding. But it didn’t vary from Lyf’s proposals. She would have ten years of health wealth and beauty, in return for which she would surrender her body to Lyf, mardak of Gnoth, to employ as he saw fit—within certain limits provided by the exceptions. She sighed. It was fair enough, she supposed. There were a few exceptions like the suicide clause that allowed Lyf to take immediate possession if she tried to kill herself, and the war clause which permitted him to remove her to a safe place for the duration of the conflict. She shrugged. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it except the tone. Somehow it managed to convey the impression of a property rather than a personal transaction.

  “It’s always best to keep these things impersonal,” The Devi said, “You sign on the bottom line underneath my cartouche.”

  Miss Twilley signed.

  “And now,” Lyf said briskly “there are a few formalities. Not that I don’t trust you, of course, but business is business. Will you please disrobe?”

  “Must I?”

  Lyf nodded. “You must. I realize that this is embarassing for you, but it would be infinitely more embarassing if I placed my mark upon you while you were clothed.”

  Miss Twilley shivered a little as she reached for the zipper of her skirt. But she had expected something like this.

  Lyf looked at her critically. “You’re worse than I thought,” he said. “However, your skeleton seems structurally sound and well proportioned. Now please turn around.”

  Miss Twilley had hardly turned her back when a lance of numbing cold struck her in the base of the spine. She jumped involuntarily as Lyf’s voice came to her ears.

  “There—that does it.” He walked past her and turned off the T.V. The black hole winked out, leaving a shattered picture tube where it had been. “Now that you’re a sixth order focal point we can dispense with this monstrosity,” he said. “The automatics on Hel will generate a new gateway shortly.”

  “Now what?” Miss Twilley asked. She wasn’t sure that she liked the idea of being a sixth order focus.

  “The mark leaves a small red lesion,” Lyf said, “but it won’t bother you. However, I should warn you not to attempt to have it removed. That could be quite painful and perhaps fatal.” He moved in front of her. “I expect that we’d better start therapy right away. That tumor isn’t going to be easy to remove.” His eyes were level with her own, twin pools of clear bottomless green with the darker spots of his pupils sharply demarcated from the surrounding iris. With mild surprise she realized that they were oval rather than round, and that their ellipses were growing—and encompassing her in their inner darkness.

  LYF eyed her solicitously from a chair next to her bed. There was a faint proprietory glint in his eyes but his voice was as soft as ever. “It’s all done Enid,” he said. “How do you like it?”

  Miss Twilley didn’t like the use of her first name. It sounded entirely too familiar, but she supposed that there was little she could do about it. After all he did have certain rights, even though their full exercise was some years hence. She stirred sleepily. She was in her own bedroom and the bed that she had slept in these past eighteen years was familiar and comforting. Except for the Devi sitting beside her everything was normal down to the last fold of the flannel nightgown that covered her.

  She felt oddly alive, and somehow different. There was a fullness to her body and a heaviness to her chest. She looked down and gasped with surprise and pleasure at the jutting rise of the nightgown. She had changed!

  “That was the biggest part of the specifications,” Lyf said with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. “Your mental patterns were extraordinarily precise about some things. About others I had to use my own judgment. I hope the overall effect meets with your approval.”

  Miss Twilley felt as excited as an adolescent on her first date. She slipped out of bed and padded on bare feet over to the vanity in the corner. Eagerly she eyed herself in the big mirror. Even in the nightgown she looked good. Her face was still her own but it had been subtly changed, the features smoothed and rearranged. Her pale blue eyes were now a smoky gray, and her plain mouse-brown hair had reddish glints in it and was much thicker than before. It was a very satisfactory face, smooth and beautiful, and years younger. Why—she looked barely twenty five!

  With a quick movement she bent grasped the hem of her gown and pulled it over her head.

  And gasped!

  She had never dreamed of looking like this, even in her wildest flights of fancy!

  “Like it?” Lyf asked from his seat in the corner.

  “Like it!” she chortled. “I adore it!” How on Earth did you do it? You’ve not only made me beautiful, you’ve made me young!”

  “I didn’t do it on Earth,” Lyf admitted. “I took you to Hel where there’s some decent equipment. It wasn’t much,” he added vaguely, “merely the application of some rather simple cellular biology—mostly a rearrangement of DNA molecules and a bit of sarcoplasty. Actually it wasn’t too difficult. The removal of your tumor was much harder. You’ll find that two weeks have gone from your life, but they’ve been well spent.”

  “I should say they have!” Miss Twilley said as she pirouetted slowly before the glass. Her brows knit in a tiny frown as she saw her only blemish, a bright red spot at the base of her spine.

  “The mark can’t be helped,” Lyf said, “but it doesn’t detract at all. And it won’t show even in a bikini.”

  “Forty, twenty four, thirty six.” Miss Twilley breathed. “Lyf—I could kiss you!”

  “I’d rather you wouldn’t,” Lyf said. “There is, after all, a certain species incompatibility between yours and mine. Incidentally,. you have perfect health. You’ll never know a sick day for the rest of your life which should be quite long. And I gave you a fine singing voice, and a mental attitude that will let you use it.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Twilley murmured as she stared at her reflection.

  “I’ve left instructions for your financial operations on your dresser. Follow them and you’ll be financially independent. I think that does it. Everything is satisfactory, I trust.”

  “Completely,” Miss Twilley breathed, never removing her eyes from the mirror.

  “Then I shall be leaving.”

  MISS TWILLEY drew in a deep breath and observed the results with utter fascination. “Don’t you think I’m beautiful?” she asked.

  Lyf smiled. “Different worlds, different standards,” he said. “Beautiful isn’t quite the word I would use.”

  “What word would you use?”

  “Useful,” Lyf said.

  “Useful? Hmm. What do you mean?”

  “It should be obvious,” Lyf said. “But I suppose it isn’t. You humans are a strange lot. You assume. You don’t reason. And it always shocks you to find that your assumptions are wrong.” Miss Twilley looked at him with wide eyes. A cold chill ran down her spine and poked tingling rootlets of ice into her viscera. “What have I assumed?”

  “Do I have to answer that?” Miss Tilley blushed. The effect was far more st
artling this time.

  Lyf smiled with an air that would have been infuriating in a human but was somehow appropriate for a Devi. Miss Twilley sighed. At least that worry was removed.

  “Perhaps I should give you a short synopsis of Devian society.” Lyf said. “It’s not like yours. Millennia ago our culture and technology evolved to the point where individual needs could be satisfied effortlessly. As a result we were compelled to consider group desires. Modern society on Hel is composed of enclaves with a community of interest plus certain ancillary groups that support them. The task of satisfying the desires of an enclave is infinitely more complex than satisfying an individual, which gives our civilization the necessary stimulus to progress.

  “One of the reasons we deal with your world is to provide us with things impractical to produce upon our own. Another reason is amusement. If only you humans were not so savage we could perhaps arrange tours of Earth to observe you in your native haunts.”

  “Is that why—” Miss Twilley began.

  He shook his head. “No—the importation of humans for ethnological studies has long since become a matter of interest only to highly specialized enclaves. That subject has been exhausted for popular satisfaction. We have tried to import other species, but they do not thrive on Hel, and it takes a great deal of trouble merely to keep them alive. However, your race adapts so readily that even your cultural variations disappear in a few decades.

  “It was this early importation and your ability to survive that has placed your race in such demand. It is unfortunate, perhaps, that your species cannot reproduce on our world, but the inhibitors we use to regulate our numbers also affect yours. Naturally, we can’t risk a population explosion merely to reproduce your race. So we obtain more of you when necessary.”

  “Why?”

  “Consider for a moment what might be valuable in a civilization that has no basic needs.”

  “Luxuries?”

  “Precisely. As an ancillary system operator, I supply a luxury item to my fellow citizens. One that cannot be readily produced by our techniques. I said I was a mardak, but you never asked what it meant. You assumed it was a title. It is, but it’s professional, not social. There are no classes on Hel, merely occupations.”