Again, Dangerous Visions Part 71

"Born Brooklyn, 21 Feb. 1935.

"First f.u.c.k, some nameless wh.o.r.e after a basketball game when I was 17; believe it or not she was a pleasant person whom I remember vividly (doesn't everybody?) and with affection, and will probably put in a story someday. ('Used again,' she'd remark if she knew about that, but smiling.) "Patricia and I have been together long enough to have three children (Kenneth, Katherine, Thomas), with whom we share our house with an old spaniel, a nutty afghan and a healing-cat. It's also been long enough to go through a lot of changes, but even so it's just the beginning.

"I attended an all-male, military, Christian boarding school through high school. As a result I am pa.s.sionately devoted to co-educational, civilian, secular day schooling. After barely surviving the horrors of secondary education I went to college, majoring in journalism. This is a total shuck: I enjoyed enjoyed college and benefited from some of my courses, most particularly symbolic logic and other philosophy courses, but as for writing, as many people have said before me, it can't be taught. You learn by doing if your desire is sufficient, and if you have the requisite innate talent; and if you don't then no amount of drill in the five W's will make you a writer. college and benefited from some of my courses, most particularly symbolic logic and other philosophy courses, but as for writing, as many people have said before me, it can't be taught. You learn by doing if your desire is sufficient, and if you have the requisite innate talent; and if you don't then no amount of drill in the five W's will make you a writer.

"Let's see, is there anything else I can tell you? Oh, I served two calm years in the army after college, then twelve (!) in the computer business before opting for full starvation in 1970.

"I love, like or admire: Patricia the Dancer, good writing, honesty, women, intelligence, children, cats, Mendocino, vegetables, dogs, cities, Alice Smith, freedom, men, dumb horror movies, acid, blues, living.

"I hate: slavery.

"Oh, let's see, I started writing science fiction short stories about 1950 and received rejection slips from Boucher & McComas, Horace Gold, Fred Pohl, and Planet Stories Planet Stories (the last not even signed). Some years later I backed into the ranks of sf professionalism by snaring the job of editing half-a-dozen posthumous volumes of Edgar Rice Burroughs, then writing a book about Burroughs. (the last not even signed). Some years later I backed into the ranks of sf professionalism by snaring the job of editing half-a-dozen posthumous volumes of Edgar Rice Burroughs, then writing a book about Burroughs.

"Meanwhile I'd cried a lot about my inability to sell short stories, and James Blish suggested that I try a novel instead. I thought this idea absolute lunacy, but it stuck in my brain. I wrote no fiction during the Burroughs thing: mostly just read and read and read all the conceivably relevant stuff I could find that had been published prior to 1920. Out of that that experience I've promised Tom Disch that I will someday produce an essay 'How I Read 400 Bad Books in One Year.' experience I've promised Tom Disch that I will someday produce an essay 'How I Read 400 Bad Books in One Year.'

"But when I re-emerged into the modern era I followed Blish's advice and wrote a novel along very conservative, traditional lines, quite Burroughsian in structure. It was rejected by the best-known paperback science fiction editor of the time. Because its hero was black. (Or Negro, as we used to say in those quaint, long-ago days.) Fortunately there were other editors around, and Larry Shaw, one of the long-time unsung sf editors, bought it. It was called One Million Centuries One Million Centuries.

"Somewhere along the way I learned a little about writing saleable short stories. Chester Anderson quotes William Tenn as giving this formula for the short story: One thing happens One thing happens. So I've written shorts in which: four people in a bar play the juke box...a man sits in his kitchen waiting for his wife to come downstairs...a man wakes up in the night and goes to the bathroom. The last of those is my favorite. Twelve pages of p.i.s.s. Sam Moskowitz will have a fit!

" 'With the Bentfin Boomer Boys on Little Old New Alabama' was planned as a second novel, but no editor I could find would touch it. Even my agent Henry Morrison, normally a most kind-hearted and accommodating man, declined to try try to sell it. So it lay dormant, three chapters written and the remainder outlined, for a full year until Harlan put out the call for ma.n.u.scripts for to sell it. So it lay dormant, three chapters written and the remainder outlined, for a full year until Harlan put out the call for ma.n.u.scripts for Again, Dangerous Visions Again, Dangerous Visions.

"I think this story was the best thing I'd written up to that point, but there's so d.a.m.ned much to learn, so far to go...I hope that some day I'll be a good writer. Or at least a writer. I'm working on a novel now called Up! Up! It's about a fellow who finds himself in the bas.e.m.e.nt of a tall building and goes upstairs." It's about a fellow who finds himself in the bas.e.m.e.nt of a tall building and goes upstairs."

WITH THE BENTFIN BOOMER BOYS ON LITTLE OLD NEW ALABAMA.

Richard A. Lupoff

1. Last Night in Letohatchie Well he didn't like it the hot dust blowing, crusting and it made him have to blink a lot standing still a gentleman doesn't move under the circs but you can blink yes by the end of the whole thing it's like sleeping too long the dust tears get caked up and make a gritty crusty blob at the corner of your eye where the nict.i.tating eyelid would push it clear if you were a frog (too late-you're not). He knew that afterward he would have a chance rub the two places one at a time it would hurt (pull scratch) but only for a moment and the dustcrust blob would come out, get it between the last joint pad of thumb and forefinger of each hand it would roll into a nifty sphere so what?

Mean, what do you do with a perfect sphere (two in fact) 1/32-inch in diameter composition gritty dry outside (no sweat left) moist inside (tears yes) made out of 70% red cruddy N'Alabamian dust blown into your eye at parade by the hot wind 30% white man's tears (yeah) (saline content) listening to a would you believe it commencement address oh no! it commencement address oh no!

How about that speech! Brilliant! Original! How about we gotta sacrifice to win brave surn manhood to protect pure white p.u.s.s.ies from the nigras (ever see one who didn't s...o...b..r clutch after a white c*nt?) carry the war to the enemy put the nigra back in his place make N'Haiti pay for atrocities and and and and grit in your eye. grit in your eye. Sheeh! Sheeh!

So who ever said commencement was supposed to be fun anyhow tradition is what it is. & N'Alabama is strong for tradition good surn tradition all the way from O'Earthtime days before the furgem Jewrabs conquered the world when O'Alabama was an independent d.a.m.n O'Earth nation nation bajeez with independent d.a.m.n bajeez with independent d.a.m.n al allies: O'Miss O'Jaja O'Boerepublic the nigra knew his place then then you bet basaintgeorge. you bet basaintgeorge.

Well he stood there attention he was a good gyrene raring to get into s.p.a.ce into war and fight the good fight for G.o.d and planet and little baby heads of shiny golden curls (that would grow up to be a piece piece you follow? a you follow? a piece piece) who ever said he needed-who ever said anybody needed-a commencement speech to tell him to blast the d.a.m.ned uppities out of black s.p.a.ce back to their stinking N'Haiti till the papadocs learned their place again...

...some bigbellied senator from furgem Talladega or someplace? Sheeh! What if it was the furgem governor himself what could he say about the war that everybody didn't know already anyhow? That we better win it or there'd be buck nigras walking free on N'Alabama's sacred soil and before you know it some cunning black nigra kid's playing pop-o with some innocent golden-haired little N'Alabama baby and you know what happens then! then! Minority groups at the polls! Two party elections and furgem minority groups trading off d.a.m.n Minority groups at the polls! Two party elections and furgem minority groups trading off d.a.m.n votes votes for concessions the same thing that happened on O'Earth before the furgem Jewrabs pushed everybody else out and left the colony worlds to shift for themselves. Who needs speeches? for concessions the same thing that happened on O'Earth before the furgem Jewrabs pushed everybody else out and left the colony worlds to shift for themselves. Who needs speeches?

So after it became overwith he went with Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie. School out, all the eager boy graduates had their diplomae and a handshake from Senator Belly from Talladega (he knuckled his eyes between mitting them) and off to barracks for fresh undustied uniforms and awayaway it's over but he was gone already by then with Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie to Letohatchie for a time.

Down the red rut road to Letohatchie by whining two-wheel gyrocar and Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie said to him-How about it sarge?-and turned waiting for an answer.

He didn't.

Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie grunted and looked ahead no use bugging him that was obvious. What if he was just tired. Or grumpy. But if Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie had done something wrong that got him mad, ah, that was another matter and better let sleeping sleepers sleep. He knuckled his right eye it hurt (pull scratch, yes) and his left (yes) and rolled two gummy spheres 1/32-inch in diameter between the last joint pad of thumb and forefinger of each hand and threw them away dustodust they rolled whined down the red road.

Parked in a dirty alley in downtown Letohatchie (don't knock it if you've never tasted Letohatchie fried mudhen) and set a clever device on the gyrocar to set off an electric current and hold any burglar there till they got back Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie and he would find the b.a.s.t.a.r.d there maybe with a few hours of writhing first and see what they would see to do with him. Humane? Keep your nose clean and it won't get tweaked, that's what! Whose rights are you worried about, the victim or the thief, answer yes or no.

Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie wanted to go to a bar and no delay but lost out.-Nope-he said-round the block once first.- Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie got very brave:-Why?- Lucky-lucky, no blastback. He said-Look, tomorrow we're gone maybe, yeh? Got the nice boys their bars now who needs tough sarges any more, who? Use skullpower Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie-direct address no less !yes!-what will we get in the morning, tasty breakfast for jesusakamitey? Maybe!

-Orders!-A long speech that for him Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie felt surprised. Impressed, would you say? He said more!-No sentiment in you Gee Ell Wow Three & Freddie? Round the block once first last look at Letohatchie. Tomorrow who knows deep s.p.a.ce off to N'Haiti or someplace else.- Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie shall we say acquiesced. Once around it.

Alquane was down (N'Alabama was Alquane VII dontchaknow) and the sky was a dark park for stark. No moon tonight not ever in fact except when...well, don't let it bug you. No moon tonight. Streets of Letohatchie no emptier than usual one fat man brushed by as Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie swung up cruddymuddy sidewalk with with companion. companion.

Fatman was short (5'2"? 2'5"? 52"? Short!), blondheaded long straggly strips of hair pasted down across his forehead a few tips jiggling delightfully before his left left eye (not so gritty in the city) perspiration (must have been officer material, eeyems sweat) too on that n.o.ble brow helped. Fat fat he jiggled as he waddled as he walked but the sarge (not to mention GLWIII&F) didn't mind, watched his big behind, a find, they jostled for a moment feeling final fast last night in Letohatchie but only eye (not so gritty in the city) perspiration (must have been officer material, eeyems sweat) too on that n.o.ble brow helped. Fat fat he jiggled as he waddled as he walked but the sarge (not to mention GLWIII&F) didn't mind, watched his big behind, a find, they jostled for a moment feeling final fast last night in Letohatchie but only once once around the block fatso goom-bye. around the block fatso goom-bye.

Wanna guided tour? Tag along. He knew Letohatchie inside in did he cadre get to know the towns that way. Here: corner bar (pinkred word startles: B A R) clashing red beersign pick your brand in dirty stapagla.s.s window inside full of smoke, off duty renes sitting at fakewood tables gla.s.ses m bottle m soggy nappies all over. Other fakewoods, townies, grumpysullen pyech don't like each other comprehend?

Look: he knew this town. Knew Knew it inside in, you know that now. Think he and Gilloowoo3 and Freddie went in there? it inside in, you know that now. Think he and Gilloowoo3 and Freddie went in there?

Pyech!

Next door Piggy Peggy's p.u.s.s.y Parlor, big pink sign, local John Darn leaning against wooden doorway whistling sweet and low.

Pa.s.s it by sarge and companionship.

EATS next. He knew EATS from first day in Letohatchie. Bad EATS, door in back, oldest established sinking c.r.a.p game in Letohatchie, run by oldest established ex-s.p.a.cer in Leto, no crookeder than others, give a man a break he saw that bentfin boomer on his shirt, s.p.a.cer gyrene trader all, oldest established looked out for deepmen, others beware.

He wore the fin forgot how many missions by now (sp.r.i.c.kled skin said a lot a lot) Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie had been out too but last night in Leto, last night N'Alaside, who wants to squeeze it out boning for suckerbucks eh? Mean, what goodr bucks on a hotter in deep? *T*h*e*r*e a*r*e n*o w*h*o*r*e*s a*b*o*a*r*d N'A*l*a*b*a*m*a n*a*v*y.* Commercial ships were of course a wh.o.r.es of a different choler. (Same color, though.) Nice little weapons shop, self-surf washery. Ononon.

-Where we going?-asked Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie.

-- Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie didn't know what to do to say. Don't squeeze that was good policy he was a good man an all white guy but temprous so don't squeeze but what are you going to do stand there on cracked sidewalk (fix it postwa.r.s.e of course) with your thumb zup waiting-Whatcha wanna do?- He replied!:-Mmnnph.- Gilloowoo3&F looked at him puzzled. He jerked a finger over one shoulder, moved his head-Mmnn.-Articulation supreme.

Moved down sidewalk past ugly fronts GorLesWalTriF in tow, looking at ugly town, streetlights yellowbrown (fixem postwa.r.s.e) some even worked, peep in windows: military supplies (one-fourthmaster was out of stock bentfin boomers two months, three? local merchant had a-plenty, yes: old story, yes); Letohatchie Noozan Sundries selling plenty girlie piks, f.u.kf.u.k boox, stip strips, You Too Can, noozes.

Noozes: WARGOZWELL ENEMYFALLZBACK BLACASUAL-TIZRIEZ PAPADOCS LOZING GLORIWHITE s.p.a.cEFLEET NEET TREET.

Y Bi Noozes? Headlines allasame allagame allafine allatime. Win win win. So: Why no fixem sidewalcracks, streetlights, build some houses, kill some lowzes, and some schools? Afterwarz uvcorz.

Between Letohatchie Noozan Sundries m Leto Lower Mane St Comp Svcs Inc (kipunx, tab, 9th generation central processor you knit/Y'll U Ate Computing) he stopped crkk! crkk!

Turned quarter circle on crackedwalk pushed open a dirtywood door with a frosted dirtygla.s.s panel set in its upper upper half turned k.n.o.b pushed open door walked into hallway (what need to say it was half turned k.n.o.b pushed open door walked into hallway (what need to say it was dingy? dingy?) and started up crikkingwood stairs.

Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie followed.

-Going up?-Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie asked.

--he replied.

Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie did not exactly qualify for MOS +intellectual+ where else to go, hey? Open a dingydoor there are steps going uuuuup and he starts uuuuup crikking & Gleewo3+F asks-Going up?- Pyech! Wrelse Gloowoo Threeneff slidewaze? Pyech!

Up he went crikking every steppina hotdim hall crik followed crik by crik Gordon crik Lester crik Wallace crik the crikcrikcrik and um, Freddie up to the first landing second floor (first floor, European style, O'Earthtime days) reached a landing & stopped.

GLW3&F2.

Nutherm.u.t.h.e.r dirtydoor loose dingy bra.s.s k.n.o.b stapagla.s.s pane in top top half frostordirty anyway he couldn't see through (so what he knew) old overpainted mailflap slot set in wood a few inches (European style, O'Earthtime days would have said half frostordirty anyway he couldn't see through (so what he knew) old overpainted mailflap slot set in wood a few inches (European style, O'Earthtime days would have said centi centimeters) below stapagla.s.s he tapped it with starsp.r.i.c.kled finger didn't linger door opened just a wee crack he saw a dingy bra.s.s chain smoke m people beyond no furners all good surners by their looks gla.s.ses m bottles 2 & music thumpathump b.u.mp it sounded highly encouraging as: as: :eye in face opened wide peered through crack at him; eye his his face peered back in slowly closed (other stayed open) shut didn't stay shut opened again (think a whink?); othereye inside shut-opened (sink a wink?) mustabin the code of the ills door shut a moment face peered back in slowly closed (other stayed open) shut didn't stay shut opened again (think a whink?); othereye inside shut-opened (sink a wink?) mustabin the code of the ills door shut a moment clattk clattk must be chain coming off door opened again (link a wink?) big fella stepped back let must be chain coming off door opened again (link a wink?) big fella stepped back let him him in Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie following close behind they made their way to a nempty fakewood table pulled up chairs saddown in Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie following close behind they made their way to a nempty fakewood table pulled up chairs saddown and: and: :over came a waiter nice looking surn boy goodpure N'Alabamian stock short though (5'2"? 4'3"? 43"? Short!) pretty yellow hair plastered flat on his skull perspiration held a few straggling locks on his forehead a few tantalizing tips toppled tepidly toward his left left eye and fat too a find a big behind don't mind. eye and fat too a find a big behind don't mind.

Waiter looked at customers.-?-he said trippingly.

-Fine old Jack Daniels charcoal filtered slow-mellowed golden sipping whiskey please with sufficient gla.s.ses m napkins you may leave the bottle thank you here-said he he pointing at the fakewood table top with a finely manicured middle finger (the remainder making a fist). pointing at the fakewood table top with a finely manicured middle finger (the remainder making a fist).

The waiter said-!-and departed.

He took Gordon Lester Wallace's hands in his own two for a moment, looked into GLWIII&F's eyes, then around the room, found the band (they weren't playing merely staying for the moment): One hornist holding hollowed heculan headbone horn, guava marracist, rhythman with blackskin drumset taptatapa-ing quietly to himself. took Gordon Lester Wallace's hands in his own two for a moment, looked into GLWIII&F's eyes, then around the room, found the band (they weren't playing merely staying for the moment): One hornist holding hollowed heculan headbone horn, guava marracist, rhythman with blackskin drumset taptatapa-ing quietly to himself.

Drinks came, sampled same, wartime shame but but good booze good news. Trues? good booze good news. Trues?

Emcee stood up, he he looked, Gloowoo3&F dida same. Emcee a fat pee, short too, big a.s.s, big ma.s.s, yellow hair plastered where on his forehead, couple tips of couple strips hanging over his looked, Gloowoo3&F dida same. Emcee a fat pee, short too, big a.s.s, big ma.s.s, yellow hair plastered where on his forehead, couple tips of couple strips hanging over his left left eye, spotlight spanged on him dressed in plainb.u.t.toned war surplus grays (no bentfin boomer of course) dark gray damp patches at armpits m crotch, perspiring in spangspot waving arms up and down pointed straight to sides fingers extended (don't cough he won't take off) couple times eye, spotlight spanged on him dressed in plainb.u.t.toned war surplus grays (no bentfin boomer of course) dark gray damp patches at armpits m crotch, perspiring in spangspot waving arms up and down pointed straight to sides fingers extended (don't cough he won't take off) couple times till: till: :noise level dropped couple deci d.a.m.n bels emcee worked his mouth couple times perspiration on his forehead glinted in the spangspot he said-and now ladies and gentlemen (no ladies visible present but who ever really knows knows, you know?) Ueer proud to present Miss Merria.s.s Markham (one shrill whistle) to dance our National Anthem!-applause.

Spangspot shot emcee disappears room is all dark a moment sound of rustling here m there surprising shrill giggle from one nearby table rustle too from center floor (emcee departing?) sudden drumroll from blackskin set (rhythman must really love his work pang pang and a and a whang! whang!) fanfare on heculan headbone horn and marracas rattle new spangspot pows pows on and somebody's init: on and somebody's init: :Miss Merria.s.s Markham a zoftic miss must be pure N'Ala blood but spangspot color is...?...bluegreen gruebleen gives her skin sheen (all glistered) unnatural coloration (bad taste that) standing at attention quivering salute.

What she wear? Tight brazeer on big big bosom, too tight, flesh welts above and below, must be shall we say, ah, uncomfortable for the poor leddy Miss Merria.s.s Markham, cinched in back, bright bruegleen brazeer looks like rubber (?!) two highly attractive cutouts large pink (?) aureoles (howcinya tell tell in this light?) protruberent nips pazowie that must tingle it's too t.i.te see the red (this lite?) line below nothing on her belly but a wee bit would you say protruberent (pregnant?) actually kind of voluptuous (think of that belly belly-to-belly with your belly-a navel o.r.g.a.s.m?) and tights, shorts that is, same blue squeezing gluebreen rubberlooking oh! holdin that roundbottom Miss Merria.s.s run your mind past that behind my! what a lotch of crotch mmmmm! in this light?) protruberent nips pazowie that must tingle it's too t.i.te see the red (this lite?) line below nothing on her belly but a wee bit would you say protruberent (pregnant?) actually kind of voluptuous (think of that belly belly-to-belly with your belly-a navel o.r.g.a.s.m?) and tights, shorts that is, same blue squeezing gluebreen rubberlooking oh! holdin that roundbottom Miss Merria.s.s run your mind past that behind my! what a lotch of crotch mmmmm! he he liked that thought liked that thought whooeeee whooeeee Miss Markham he gave Gordon Lester Wallace III & Freddie a hand squeeze apeez watching Miss Merria.s.s Markham stand all a-tremble with patriotic fervor as the three-man band struck up by d.a.m.n, suh! Miss Markham he gave Gordon Lester Wallace III & Freddie a hand squeeze apeez watching Miss Merria.s.s Markham stand all a-tremble with patriotic fervor as the three-man band struck up by d.a.m.n, suh! Dixie Dixie and in a couple beats Miss Markham and in a couple beats Miss Markham began: began: :quivering for real real in time to that glorious tune her proud patriotic a.s.s slamming slidewaze in tune to b.u.mp-b.u.mp-b.u.mp-bubu-b.u.mp-b.u.mp-b.u.mb.u.mp feet planted proudly on that fine N'Alabamian wooden floor knees apart m bent her arms extended forward toward the audience and quivering quivering in time to the stirring strains of that glorious old tune soon she began to work her hips her hair (glorious golden waves sweeping over softwhite shoulders the kind of tyke a soul has to like her daddy must be proud to grab a handfull of in time to that glorious tune her proud patriotic a.s.s slamming slidewaze in tune to b.u.mp-b.u.mp-b.u.mp-bubu-b.u.mp-b.u.mp-b.u.mb.u.mp feet planted proudly on that fine N'Alabamian wooden floor knees apart m bent her arms extended forward toward the audience and quivering quivering in time to the stirring strains of that glorious old tune soon she began to work her hips her hair (glorious golden waves sweeping over softwhite shoulders the kind of tyke a soul has to like her daddy must be proud to grab a handfull of that that stuff) swaying too in time and rock that pelvis hey (are we sufficiently discreet do you think?) all day. stuff) swaying too in time and rock that pelvis hey (are we sufficiently discreet do you think?) all day.

He took a drink of golden smooth Jack Daniels sipping whiskey bless the old land N'Alabama's soul must be in there somewhere the patriotic air slammed to a close with Miss Merria.s.s Markham slamming a backbend (she was lithe) hands on floor behind her feet hot in the spangspot all-over wet salty sweat the audience cheering to a man (no ladies took a drink of golden smooth Jack Daniels sipping whiskey bless the old land N'Alabama's soul must be in there somewhere the patriotic air slammed to a close with Miss Merria.s.s Markham slamming a backbend (she was lithe) hands on floor behind her feet hot in the spangspot all-over wet salty sweat the audience cheering to a man (no ladies visible visible in the audience but do you ever really in the audience but do you ever really know know?) venting pure patriotic fervor m appreciation of artistry. Mmm?

He took a Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie shoulder in each hand, shook companionship.-Here,-he said to GLWIII&F-want know where I take you? Here for a last night in Leto.- Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie expressed appropriate impressedness. Now, wouldn't you?

Emcee was back on the floor now waving arms up and down fingers splayed his warsurp grays (plain b.u.t.tons of course, and definitely no bentfin boomer) looking darkwetter where they'd looked darkwet before the spangspot had changed back no more bleegruen yellowbrown now on him (went nicely with his plastered blond hair one might suggest) grinning broadly his fat face but keeping his teeth clenched and making little folding-unfolding motions at the waist and neck (bowing? nodding?)-Thank you thank you ladies and gentlemen-he said (no ladies visible in audience but did you know know?)-Miss Merria.s.s Markham will be back momentarily I'm sure you want to see more of her much much more (snicker) and I'm sure she wants you to see more of her so in just one moment after everyone has had a chance to refresh himself for a moment-he stopped lights came back on in the room the emcee disappeared but: :he remained at fakewood table with Jack Daniels (reserve quality) and companionship.-That all?-asked Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie.-That all? Thought she was stripper. This our last night, maybe, on N'Ala, thought we'd get some satis d.a.m.n faction not a tease.- remained at fakewood table with Jack Daniels (reserve quality) and companionship.-That all?-asked Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie.-That all? Thought she was stripper. This our last night, maybe, on N'Ala, thought we'd get some satis d.a.m.n faction not a tease.- -Wait-he said.-Looko there-pointing, table across floor had four men, two sitting, two standing, standing two looked alike, short, fatties, blond hair plastered each over left left eye, two at table, one tall, palepalepale, agitatedly moving jiggling up and down in fakewood seat, clutching at arm of companion eye, two at table, one tall, palepalepale, agitatedly moving jiggling up and down in fakewood seat, clutching at arm of companion who who: :medium size man dark hair lay across table arms on table wearing nondescript business (looked like) suit not moving drink spilled across table washing face in booze (o dream, dream, to bathe in JD Sippin Grade) from nondescript medium sized back covered by nondescript nocolor business suit (looked like) jacket protruded handle he was to coin a phrase turned off. Two fat shorties (blond both) lifted nondescript medium sizer carted him from table disappeared into unknown preserves trailed by tall skinny bobbing agitatedly.

-So?-Getc. said.

-Tomorrow,-he replied.-Ueebee gone, orders for...wanta guess, Gordon and so on? Try? Where? More training work? Not likely. Off-planet, hey, bye bye N'Bama hey. Where do you think?- -?- -Deeps.p.a.ce? Vacbattle papadocs ready to board? Killanigra once a day gyrene hasta earn his pay. Ready to invade N'Haiti?- -Mmn.- -Think the warle spread? N'Anguilla? N'Azteca? N'Tonga?- -N'Haiti probably. Deeps.p.a.ce on a hotter don't think sarge?- -Mmm. Drink y'booze.-He gestured again. The empty table where the two men had sat and two stood was empty not now.-!- Bandback brrrm, c'chkkkk brrrm, c'chkkkk, sound of heculan headbone horn, lights down spangspot on emcee again waving arms as ever moving mouth-Thank you ladies (do you know know?), gentlemen Miss Merria.s.s Markham and a.s.sistant will now present a patriotic pageant in honor of N'Alabama her glorsy s.p.a.cerines-sound of applause in room audible through thick smoke also sound in one corner-no no yes oh-(do you know for sure sure?) spangspot off emcee rustle movement in dark and a pow pow: :light back on babypinkspot playing on golden curls Miss Merria.s.s Markham strolling in center lowcut low lowcut frilly gown tightfitting cloth begins just above nipple showing pink circle protruberence through cloth every pore pore by bang tight waist and flaring skirt hooped out and ribbons frills to furgem by bang tight waist and flaring skirt hooped out and ribbons frills to furgem floor- floor-Sheet!-loud voice from dark room shuff mumbles Miss Merria.s.s Markham only smiles in circle as as: :second spotlight pangs on edge of floor shows a nigra brute Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie and even he do double take-Ha?-but no, look, he's white only daubed, daubed, could they pay you you to trick out as a c.o.o.n buck? to trick out as a c.o.o.n buck? You You? How much?

Sheeh, one never knows, does he?

Fake c.o.o.n in a red red spotlight Miss Merria.s.s Markham prances to and fro looking ever whichaway but not at him he inches up on her audience tense and silent inch there's some quiet tense music how can the headbone horner concentrate inch up on that symbol of pure surn lily lady parasol over shoulder gloves over elbows and the nigra: :pounces from behind drags Miss Merria.s.s Markham to him black black dirty she screams he bats parasol clatters Merria.s.s Markham struggles nigra paws, claws from behind drags Miss Merria.s.s Markham to him black black dirty she screams he bats parasol clatters Merria.s.s Markham struggles nigra paws, claws lookit lookit him drool smashes Miss Markham to the floor reaches, she screeches, nigra bends, rends, rips Miss Merria.s.s's frilly gown him drool smashes Miss Markham to the floor reaches, she screeches, nigra bends, rends, rips Miss Merria.s.s's frilly gown rip rip down the back she rolls cloth falls away from big pink rubies round b.o.o.bies nigra growls audience howls down the back she rolls cloth falls away from big pink rubies round b.o.o.bies nigra growls audience howls and and: :whimpering half-naked surn womanhood backs away from s...o...b..ng black animan backs he lunges an arm claws at hanging cloth at pure white womanhood's waist r-i-i-p r-i-i-p nigra swings arm away in triumph pink and white shreds hanging from clawlike beasthand Miss Merria.s.s Markham no longer fearing stands straight in spangspot eyes flashing bosom heaving as they say (mmm, bosom heaving) starka.s.s naked pale white flesh pale in now-pale spangspot only spots of color her golden lox, dark eyes, red lips (open, panting, love those bodiorificesheymac?) and red nips and that curly triangle pub hair like night delight and what's that? nigra swings arm away in triumph pink and white shreds hanging from clawlike beasthand Miss Merria.s.s Markham no longer fearing stands straight in spangspot eyes flashing bosom heaving as they say (mmm, bosom heaving) starka.s.s naked pale white flesh pale in now-pale spangspot only spots of color her golden lox, dark eyes, red lips (open, panting, love those bodiorificesheymac?) and red nips and that curly triangle pub hair like night delight and what's that?

Curled around her jelly hip what's that black what's that? Round it goes around that sweet soft crotch that lovie V and up around her hip and and back O Underline the a.r.s.e and back between and around and what? A handle it has she grasps and uncoils a whip (a bullwhip a buckwhip) and upraises't in the spangspot and lookit lookit lookit that face that joy that maidenhood defended boyoboy that face that joy that maidenhood defended boyoboy o lookit o lookit that c.o.o.n that c.o.o.n now now w.i.l.l.ya see him cringe see him crawl w.i.l.l.ya see him cringe see him crawl he knows knows his place his place but she won't let him off that easy Miss Merria.s.s swings that whip and tchapp! tchapp! lookit that nigra roll hear him whine lookit that nigra roll hear him whine phwapp! phwapp! O good O G.o.d O finefinefine O go Miss Merria.s.s and O good O G.o.d O finefinefine O go Miss Merria.s.s and crack! crack! O look o look his back the red the people lose their mind the cheers and screams and hips, hips working, losing minds, pelvis grinds tears, cheers the nigra falls, Miss Merria.s.s Triumphant calls defiant independent slogan: O look o look his back the red the people lose their mind the cheers and screams and hips, hips working, losing minds, pelvis grinds tears, cheers the nigra falls, Miss Merria.s.s Triumphant calls defiant independent slogan: Never!

Lights out, rustling sighing moaning and houselights uuuup roomful of men (well...) sitting drained, Miss Merria.s.s and troupe not to be seen shortfatblond emcee in centeroom waving arms up and down blinking mouth working no sound at first (but who cares? a great audience, not a dry crotch in the house!)-Thank you thank you Miss Merria.s.s Markham thanks you please note ladies (hmm) and gentlemen that the nigra was accredited member Actor's Professional Guild qualified simulator available weddings and bar mitzvahs this is, after all, a respectable establishment drink up ladies (?) m gentlemen thank you.- Well the Jack Daniels sippin was about done by now so he poured a few drops for Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie and finished up the rest himself and smacked his hand down hard on the table some money in it bills and coins made a good solid sound on the fakewood and stood up, up too Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie, followed him to the door past the (one might so dignify him) maitre d'hote maitre d'hote a short man with the cutest blond strings crossing his pate plastered with perspiration (or sweat as they say) on his forehead and a couple strands dank dangling before his a short man with the cutest blond strings crossing his pate plastered with perspiration (or sweat as they say) on his forehead and a couple strands dank dangling before his left left eye and-Thank you sir O thank you-as they pa.s.sed through the dirty door with the stapagla.s.s panel (the extra O thank you for a sweet tweak in a sensitive spot) and onto the landing. eye and-Thank you sir O thank you-as they pa.s.sed through the dirty door with the stapagla.s.s panel (the extra O thank you for a sweet tweak in a sensitive spot) and onto the landing.

-Base now,-he said.

-Yes,-said Gordon Lester Wallace III and Freddie.

They scapp-scappered down dingy stairs out dingy door at bottom retraced steps past quick glimpse at Leto Comp Svcs peered into Noozan Sundries (last edns now on sale N'ALA TRIUMPH BLACKS FALLING BACK RUMOR N'DESERET TO ENTER WAR TREASON TRIAL IN TRUSSVILLE pa.s.semby), military supplies (needny bentfin boomers?), Piggy Peggy's (eyecorner glimpse of John Darn entering establishment), and EATs and B A R.

Gyrenes back to two-wheel gyrocar and !whatchaknow! clever electronic device done caught caught somebody (short man and fat with platnum locks) see'm somebody (short man and fat with platnum locks) see'm writhe writhe w.i.l.l.ya? w.i.l.l.ya?

GLWIII&F watch as he keys off clever device, writher falls, he chexm-No fun this bucketkicker-he gets in gyro, G+ in back seat, 'noff we go on the red rut road and to (but of course!) beddie.

Darkness in barracks, he listens: -Deeps.p.a.ce, do you think?- -N'Cathay?- -N'Yu-Atlanchi bet.- -Invade, invade N'Haiti show furgem papadocs.- -Think we'll ever get back on O'Earth?- Sn.i.g.g.e.rs. From sarge's private (well) cubicle:-Orders tomorrow. Now quiet!- Rustles and sighs.

2. From the Bizonton Pylon The climb from the Rue Margarite to the hoverail depot was long and difficult, and for the thousandth time Christophe Belledor mourned the long discontinued vertiflot service. Discontinued, perhaps, is not the correct word. When there was not the money or manpower to perform routine maintenance, the vertiflot became increasingly erratic in its performance, carrying pa.s.sengers between the street and the hoverail platform less and less reliably, until it had finally been abandoned as too dangerous to continue.

Already, many N'Haitians, Christophe among them, had had narrow escapes from too-rapid descents or from ascents that had suddenly reversed their direction. A few unlucky Bizontoniers had tried the device once too often, and had not escaped its failure.

Ah, well, such was the war effort. Someday things would be better, the vertiflot would be repaired and restored to service, and patient, hardworking citizens would be rewarded.

Christophe stopped halfway up the pylon to catch his breath. He was no longer the young man he had once been. As well, as well. All citizens could contribute, each in his own way. Too old to serve in the starfleet, still Christophe could fill his desk at the Ministry, freeing a younger man to fight for N'Haiti. And he could bear arms at the regular drills of the Planetary Guard, ready to defend his world against invasion if it ever came. But for now...

Christophe shuffled forward, climbing the steps of slowly crumbling concrete, philosophically observing the tired citizens about himself, their shabby clothing patched and threadbare. Ah, another sacrifice for the great effort. When N'Haiti is free to turn her energies to peace once more, things will be better. There will be new clothing, dwellings will be repaired and new ones will be built, and the vertiflot service will function once again throughout the commuter network of the Compagnie Nationale des Chemins de Fer d'N'Haiti.

But today, ah, Christophe Belledor reached the platform at last, made his way to the rear of the crowd waiting at the edge of the flatbed for the hoverail to take them to N'Porprince. Christophe recognized several of his fellow commuters but did not try to strike up conversations. Soon, if there had been no breakdown, perhaps at Bahon or St. Marc, the train would arrive. Then there would be a rush to get aboard, for trains did not run as frequently as once they had and those who missed one sometimes could not wait for another, and had to walk to work.

When the hoverail finally arrived Christophe was fortunate-he managed to crowd into the front car and stood wedged between a fat man he had seen many times but never spoken to, and the attractive daughter of his neighbor Leclerc, Yvette. She smiled at him as the sway of the car moving from the Bizonton pylon forced their bodies together for a moment. Christophe felt fl.u.s.tered, tried to look away and pretend he had not noticed the young girl or her reaction to their accidental contact, then grinned in embarra.s.sment as she giggled at him.

After the hoverail had halted in N'Porprince and the crowd of workers had forced their way off, he relived the brief and wordless exchange as he walked through the stuffy pa.s.sageways connecting the central hoverail pylon with the Ministry. He stopped at the stall of Maurice in the lobby of the ministry, looked at the morning's Hatian Hatian and almost purchased a copy. First, though, he counted the few plastic sous in his trousers pocket and decided that someone in the office would have a copy. and almost purchased a copy. First, though, he counted the few plastic sous in his trousers pocket and decided that someone in the office would have a copy.

He took his hand back from his pocket, walked past the wooden stall with a shamefaced, "Bonjour, M. Maurice."

M. Maurice's reply was a snarl which Christophe did not quite manage to avoid hearing as he started up the stairs. Eh, even the Ministry of Military Manpower Procurement could not obtain repairs for its vertiflot in wartime. The scurrying about that had taken place, the shouted commands and helpless shrugs that had been exchanged when word arrived that none other than the Premier was planning a visit to the Ministry, and would have to climb wooden stairs to reach the office of the Minister!

The Premier had reacted surprisingly. No vertiflot, he exclaimed, well, in wartime we must all sacrifice. And, taking the trembling arm of the Minister he had walked up flights of stairs to confer. Word had spread and with it relief-the Premier had not complained of the broken vertiflot. The Minister's neck was saved. Department heads were spared expected tongue-lashings. Employees breathed easier throughout the Ministry. Such was war, and such was the operation of the Government.

But this day was another day, and with it there came another problem. As Christophe contemplated the staff study he was to complete editing for the Deputy Minister he clucked in his mouth and shook his head with worry. The pleasant thought of Yvette was eradicated by the stern problems of manpower procurement and the folly of the Deputy Minister's plan.

With the study, the promising career of Marius Goncourt would come to a sudden end as the Minister came to realize fully the nature of M. Goncourt's proposal, and with M. Goncourt would fall his staff, including-most emphatically including-Christophe Belledor.

Winded and perspiring, Christophe reached the landing of his department. He leaned against the door-jamb for a moment and wiped his forehead with a tattered pocket-kerchief, then entered the large room. Most of the others had arrived ahead of him. Madame Bonsard, the secretary and receptionist, greeted him with an unpleasant smile and, "Bonjour, M. Belledor. Madame Belledor, she failed to waken you this morning?"

Christophe tried to smile as he walked past the desk of Madame Bonsard, but did not speak to her. He glanced at the clock as he pa.s.sed beneath it. Eh, 0700 hours already, he was late once again. He turned to speak: "The hoverail, Madame Bonsard, there is nothing that one can do, you know. Perhaps you will not..." He caused his voice to trail off in quiet hope, but already he could see that Madame Bonsard was marking the hour of his arrival on the weekly personnel report.

"Wartime, M. Belledor," she said. "We must all do our bit, eh? Surely you would not wish me to falsify an official report of the Ministry."

Christophe shook his head and made his way to his desk. This day, he could tell already, would not be a good one. Another lateness ticked on his card, and the way he felt, eh, this day would be a hot one. But chiefly, there was the study of the Deputy Minister to be grappled with. Christophe fumbled in his pocket, draw out a group of keys, sorted them until he found the one he wanted and bent to unlock the drawers of his wooden desk.

Again he paused to wipe perspiration. Ah, when the war was over there would again be air conditioning in the offices of the Ministry. Such a pleasure it would be then, to arrive at work on a steaming day and perform his duties in the cool air of the machines now standing idle for lack of service and parts, and for lack of power to make them function even if service and parts were available. On such a day, to go home cool and refreshed to Marie-Auedda, on a hoverail not so crowded as they now were, and down a vertiflot. Well, one must wait for peace.

He reached into a locked drawer, removed a brown pasteboard folder and placed it on his desk. From the next desk a voice asked, "Is that the famous report of M. Goncourt, Christophe?"

"The very one," he replied. "When M. the Minister sees this, we are all finished. Deputy Minister Goncourt, Belledor the staff a.s.sistant, Madame Bonsard, all of us. You also, Phillipe." Christophe nodded sadly.