Age Of The Pussyfoot Part 13

Once, many years before (it was actually several centuries, counting the deep-freeze time), little Chuck Forrester had caused a three-car auto smash that put two people in the hospital.

He had done it with his little slingshot, lying out in the tall gra.s.s next to his house in Evanston, taking shots at the cars on the highway. His aim was too good. He hit one. He got a state policeman in the eye. The cop had lost control, jumped into the opposite lane, sideswiped a convertible, and skidded into a station wagon.

n.o.body died; the policeman didn't even lose his eye, although it was close for a while; and, as it happened, they didn't think to look around the neighborhood for kids with slingshots. The accident went down on the books as having been caused by a pebble thrown up by a pa.s.sing car. But Chuck didn't know that, and for a solid year afterward he woke up in a sweat of fear every night, and all his days were horrors of antic.i.p.ating being caught.

It was just so now.

It was perfectly clear to Forrester that he was the one who had helped the Sirian circ.u.mvent the electronic defenses that kept the alien bound to Earth. He could work it out step by step in his mind. The Sirian had shopped around until it found a human being ignorant enough, and pliable enough, to be unsuspicious. It had contrived to inject him with some hypnotic drug; it had made him believe it was Adne Bensen, then induced him to fly it to the site of an obsolete, but still workable, s.p.a.ceship-unconscious, or in whatever state in a Sirian pa.s.sed for unconsciousness, so that the electronic alarms would register nothing. It had commanded him to load it aboard the ship and launch it into s.p.a.ce, and he had done as he was commanded, in the fuzzy-minded suggestibility it had doped him into.

Perfectly clear! He could see every step. And, if he could, certainly others could. All they had to do was take the trouble to think it through. And certainly all the world was thinking hard about the Sirians. The view-wall was full of news: special investigating teams ransacking the site of the take-off for clues, a hundred new probes launched to guard the perimeter of the solar system, Condition Yellow alert declared, and everyone cautioned to remain within easy distance of a raid shelter at all times.

Forrester kept waiting for the hand to fall on his shoulder and the voice to cry, "You, Forrester! You are the man!"

But it did not come. . . .

Meanwhile, the flap over the escape of Sirian Four had had one good effect, and that was that Adne was so interested in the excitement that she became much more friendly to Forrester again. She even fed him, let him clean himself up in her bath, and, as the children were off on some emergency drill with their age-peers, gave him their room to sleep in when it became obvious he was near collapse.

Voices woke him-Adne's and a man's.

". . . Mostly for the kids, of course. I'm not so worried for myself."

"Natch, honey. G.o.d! At a time like this! Just when the society's ready to swing."

"It wouldn't be so bad, but it makes you wonder about a lot of other things. I mean, really, how could they let that thing escape?"

A masculine growl: "Hah! How? Haven't I been telling you how? It's letting machines do men's work! We've put our destiny in the hands of solid-state components, so what do you expect? Don't you remember my White Paper last year? I said, 'Guarding men's liberties is a post of honor, and only the honored should hold it.' "

Forrester sat up, recognizing the voice: Taiko Hironibi. The Luddite.

"I thought you were talking about the coppers," said Adne's voice.

"Same thing! Machines should do machine work, men should do men's-Hey, what's that?"

Forrester realized he had made a noise. He stood up, feeling ancient and worn, but somewhat better than before he had slept, and was coming out toward them even before Adne answered Taiko. "It's only Charles. Come in here, Charles, why don't you?"

Taiko was standing before the view-wall, joymaker in his hand; his thumb was on one of the studs, and apparently he had just been giving himself a shot of one brand or another of euphoria. Even so, he glowered at Forrester.

"Oh, don't be like that," said Adne.

"Huh," said Taiko.

"If I can forgive him, you can forgive him. You have to make allowances for the kamikaze ages."

"Hah," said Taiko. But the euphoria prevailed-either the spray from the joymaker, or the spice of danger that was sweeping them all. Taiko clipped the joymaker to his belt, rubbed his chin, then grinned. "Well, why not? All us human beings have to stand together now, right? Put 'er there."

Gravely they shook hands. Forrester felt altogether ridiculous doing it; he was not sure just what he had done to offend Taiko in the first place, and was not particularly anxious to be forgiven by him now. Still, he reminded himself, Taiko had once offered him a job. A job was something he needed. Although, with the Sirian threat so urgent and imminent now, it was at least an open question whether the Ned Lud Society would need any more workers. . . .

It could not hurt to find out. Before he could change his mind, Forrester said rapidly, "I want you to know, Taiko, that I've been thinking a lot about what you said. You were right, of course."

Taiko's eyes opened. "About what?"

"About the danger of the machines, I mean. What I think is, men should do men's work and machines should do machine work."

"There's only one computer you can trust." Forrester tapped his skull with a forefinger. "The one up here."

"Sure, but-"

"It just burns me up," said Forrester angrily, "to think that they left the safeguarding of our planet to solid-state components! If only they'd listened to you!"

With part of his attention, Forrester could hear a smothered giggle from Adne, but he ignored it. "I want you to know," he cried, "that I've come to some conclusions over the last few days and I'm for the Ned Lud Society a hundred percent. Let me help, Taiko! Call on me for anything!"

Taiko gave the girl a look of absent-minded puzzlement, then returned to Forrester. "Well," he said, "I'm glad to hear that. I'll keep that in mind, if anything comes up."

It took all of Forrester's self-control to keep his expression friendly and eager; why was Taiko being so slow? But Adne rescued him. Suppressing her giggles, she said excitedly, "Say, Taiko! Why don't you let Charles in the Society? I mean, if he'd be willing."

Taiko frowned and hesitated, but Forrester didn't give him a chance. "I'm willing," he said n.o.bly. "I meant what I said. Glad to help."

Taiko shrugged after a second and said, "Well, fine, then, Forrester. Of course, the money's not much."

"Doesn't matter a bit!" cried Forrester. "It's what I want to do! Uh, how much?"

"Well, basic scale is twenty-six thousand."

"A day?"

"Sure, Forrester."

"It doesn't matter," said Forrester largely. "I only want to serve any way I can." And, exultant, he allowed himself to be given a drink to celebrate, which he enlarged to be a meal. Adne was tolerantly amused.

And all the while the view-wall was displaying scenes of alarm and panic, unheeded.

Forrester had not forgotten that he had betrayed Earth to the Sirians; he had only submerged that large and unpleasant thought in the smaller, but more immediate, pleasure of having escaped from the Forgotten Men. He drank a warm, minty froth and ate nutlike little spheres that tasted like crisp pork; he accepted a spray of a pinkly evanescent cloud from Adne's joymaker that made him feel about seventeen again-briefly. Tomorrow would be time enough to worry about what he had done to the world, he thought. For today it was enough to be eating well and to have a place in the scheme of mankind.

But all his worries came back to him when he heard his name spoken. It was Taiko's joymaker that spoke it, and it said, "Man Hironibi! Permit an interruption, please. Are you in the company of Man Forrester, Charles Dalgleish?"

"Yes, sure," said Taiko, a beat before Forrester opened his mouth to plead with him to deny it.

"Will you ask Man Forrester to speak his name, Man Hironibi?"

"Go ahead, Forrester. It's to identify you, see?"

Forrester put down the cup of frothed mint and took a deep breath. The pink cloud of joy might as well never have been. He felt every year of his age, even the centuries in the freezer. He said, because he could think of no excuse for not saying it, "Oh, all right. Charles Dalgleish Forrester. Is that what you want?"

Promptly the joymaker said, "Thank you, Man Forrester. Your acoustic pattern is confirmed. Will you accept a message of fiscal change?"

That was quick, thought Forrester, clutching at a feeling of relief; the thing only wanted to acknowledge his new job! "Sure."

"Man Forrester," said Taiko's joymaker, "your late employer, now permanently removed from this ecology, left instructions to disburse his entire residual estate as follows: to the League for Inters.p.a.cial Amity, one million dollars; to the Shoggo Central Gilbert and Sullivan Guild, one million dollars; to the United Fraternity of Peace Clubs, five million dollars; the balance, amounting to ninety-one million, seven hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred forty-two dollars, estimated as of this moment-mark!-to be transferred to the account of his last recorded employee as of date of removal, to wit, yourself. I am now so transferring this sum, Man Forrester. You may draw on it as you wish."

Forrester sank weakly back against the cushions of Adne's bright, billowy couch. He could not think of anything to say.

"G.o.d bless," cried Adne, "you're rich again, Charles! Why, you lucky creature!"

"Sure are," echoed Taiko, grasping his hand warmly. Forrester could only nod.

But he was not really sure that he was so lucky as he seemed. Ninety-one million dollars! It was a lot of money, even in this age of large numbers. It would keep him in comfort for a long time, surely; it would finance all sorts of pleasures and pursuits; it would remove him from the whim of Taiko's pleasure and insure him against a relapse to the Forgotten Men. But what would happen, Forrester thought painfully, when somebody asked, first, who that late employer happened to be-and why that employer, before returning to his native planet circling around the star Sirius, had so lavishly rewarded Charles Forrester?

The news from the view-wall kept coming in, in a mounting torrent of apprehension and excitement. Forrester, watching Adne and Taiko as they responded to the news reports, could hardly tell when they were reacting with fear and when with a sense of stimulation. Did they really expect Earth to be destroyed by the retaliation of the Sirians? And what were they going to do about it?

When he tried to ask them, Taiko laughed. "Get rid of the machines," he said largely. "Then we'll take 'em on-any snake or octopus from anywhere in the galaxy! But first we've got to clean house at home."

Adne only said, "Why don't you come with us-and relax?"

"Come along and see," she said.

Considering his own guilt in that area, Forrester did not want to attract attention by seeming especially concerned about the Sirians. But he insisted, "Shouldn't somebody be doing something?"

"Somebody will be," said Taiko. "Don't worry so, boy! There'll be a run on the freezers-people chickening out, you see. You know. 'Leave it to George.' Then, by and by, the Sirians'll come nosing around, and the appropriate people will deal with them. Or they won't."

"Meanwhile, Taiko and I have a date to crawl," said Adne, "and you might as well come along. It'll rest you."

"Crawl?"

"It's everybody's duty to keep fit-now more than ever," Taiko urged.

"You're being very good to me," Forrester said gratefully. But what he really wanted was to sit in that room and watch the view-wall. One by one the remote monitoring stations of Earth's defense screen were reporting in, and although the report from each one of them so far was the same-"No sign of the escaped Sirian"-Forrester wanted to stay with it, stay right in that room watching that view-wall, until there was some other report. To make sure that Earth was safe, of course. But also to find out, at the earliest possible moment, if the (hopefully) recaptured Sirian would give out any information about his accomplice. . . .

"Well, we're going crawling," said Adne. "And we really ought to take off right now."

Forrester said irritably, "Wait a minute. What did they just say about Groombridge 1830?"

"They said what they've been saying for a week, dear Charles. That thing they spotted is only a comet. Are we going to crawl or aren't we?"

Taiko said humorously, "Charles is still a little dazed about his new loot. But look, old buddy, some of us have got things to do."

Forrester took his eyes from the view-wall's star map and looked at Taiko, who winked and added, "Now that you're on the team, you ought to learn the ropes."

"Team?" said Forrester. "Ropes?"

"I have to do a communication for the society," Taiko explained. "You know. What you used to call a widecast. And as you're on the payroll now you ought to come along and see how it's done, because frankly-" he nudged Charles- "it won't be too long before you're doing them yourself."

"But first we crawl," said Adne. "So shall we the sweat get going?"

They hustled Forrester along, muttering and abstracted as he was, until he realized that he was attracting attention to himself, and he didn't want to do that.

It might be, thought Forrester, that the right and proper thing for him to do was to go to someone in authority-if he ever found anyone in authority in this world, except maybe the joymaker-and say, frankly and openly, "Look, sir. I seem to have done something wrong and I wish to make a statement about it. Under what I guess was hypnosis I made it possible for that Sirian to escape, thus blowing the whole security of the human race forever." Confess the whole thing and take his medicine.

Yes, he thought, some time I probably had better do just that; but not right now.

Meanwhile, he tried to look as much like everybody else as he possibly could, and if this required him to be thrilled but casual about the danger of an invasion fleet of Sirians appearing in the sky at any moment to crush the Earth, then he would do his best to seem thrilled but casual "Well," he cried gaily, "we sure had a good run for our money! Best little old masters of the planet I ever saw! But may the best race win, right?"

Adne looked at him, then at Taiko, who shrugged and said, "I guess he's still a little shook."

Dampened, Forrester concentrated on observing what was going on around him. Taiko and the girl were bringing him to a part of Shoggo he had not previously visited, south along the sh.o.r.e to what looked like a leftover World's Fair. Their cab landed and let them out in a midway, bustling with groups and couples in holiday mood, surrounded by buildings with a queer playtime flavor. Nor was the flavor confined to the buildings. The place was a carnival of joy and of what Forrester at once recognized as concupiscence. The aphrodisiac spray that individual joymakers dispensed in microgram jolts was here a mist hanging in the air. The booths and displays were shocking to Forrester, at first, until he had taken a few deep breaths of the tonic, the invigorating air. Then he began at last to enjoy himself.

"That's better," cried Adne, patting him. "Down this way, past the Joy Machine!"

Forrester followed along, observing his surroundings with increasing relaxation and pleasure. In addition to its other attractions, the place was a horticultural triumph. Flowers and gra.s.ses grew out of the ground he walked on and along the margins at his sides; out of elevated beds that leaned out to the midway, heavy with emerald grapes and bright red luminous berries; out of geometrical plantings that hung on the sides of the buildings. Even on the walk itself, among the happy humans, there were what looked like shrubs bearing cl.u.s.ters of peach- and orange-colored fruits-but they moved, walked, stumped clumsily and slowly about on rootlike legs.

"In here," said Adne, clutching at him arm.

"Hurry up!" cried Taiko, shoving him.

They entered a building like a fort and went down a ramp surrounded by twinkling patterns of light. The concentration of joymaker spray was a dozen times stronger here than in the open air. Forrester, feeling lightheaded, began to look at Adne with more interest than he would have believed himself able to show in anything but Sirians. Adne leaned close to nibble his ear; Taiko laughed in pleasure. They were not alone, for there was a steady stream of people going down the ramp with them, fore and aft, all with flushed faces and excited.

Forrester abandoned himself to the holiday. "After all," he shouted to Adne, "what does it matter if we're going to be wiped out?"

"Dear Charles," she answered, "shut up and take your clothes off."

Surprised, but not very, Forrester saw that the whole procession was beginning to shed its outer garments. s.h.a.ggy vests and film-and-net briefs, they were tossed on the floor, where busy glittering little cleaning creatures tugged them away into disposal units. "Why not?" he laughed, and kicked his slipper at one of the cleaners, which reared back on its wheels like a kitten and caught it in midair. The crowd rolled down the ramp, shedding clothes at every step, until they were in a sort of high-vaulted lounge and the noise of laughter and talk was loud as a lynching.

And then a door behind them closed. The cloying joymaker scent whisked away. Streams of a harsher, colder essence poured in upon them; and at once they were all standing there, nearly nude and cold sober.

Charles Forrester had had something less than four decades of actual life-that is to say, of elapsed time measured by lungs that breathed and a heart that beat. The first part of that life, measured in decades, had taken place in the twentieth century. The second part, measured in days, had taken place after more than half a millennium in the freezing tanks.

Although those centuries had sped by tracelessly for Forrester, they represented real time to the world of men: each century a hundred years, every year 365 days of twenty-four hours each.

Of all that had happened during those centuries, Forrester had managed to learn only the smallest smattering. He had not learned, even yet, what powers this century could pack into a wisp of gas. Playing with the studs of his joymaker or submitting to the whims of his friends, Forrester had tasted a variety of intoxicants and euphorics, wake-up jolts and sleepy jolts. But he had never before tasted the jolt that drugged no senses but sharpened them all. Now he stood in this room, Taiko on one side of him and Adne in the circle of his arm, surrounded by half a hundred other men and women; and he was fully awake and sensing for the first time in his life.

He turned to look at Adne. Her face was scrubbed bare, her eyes were looking at him unwinkingly. "You're nasty inside," she said.

What she said was the exact equivalent of a slap in the face, and Forrester accepted it as such. A cleansing anger filled his mind, He growled, "You're a trollop. I think your children are illegitimate, too." He had not intended to say anything of the sort.

Taiko said, "Shut up and crawl."

Over his shoulder and without pa.s.sion, Forrester said, "You're a two-bit phony without an ounce of principle or a thought in your head. b.u.t.t out, will you?"

To his surprise, Adne was nodding in agreement; but she said, "Pure kamikaze, just like the trash you come from. Vulgar and a fool." He hesitated, and she said impatiently, "Come on, kamikaze. Let it out. You're jealous too, right?"

Theirs was not the only argument going on; there was a bitter rumble of insult and vituperation all around them. Forrester was only marginally aware of it; his whole attention was concentrated on Adne, on the girl he had thought he might be in love with, and his best efforts were devoted to trying to hurt her. He snapped, "I bet you're not even pregnant!"

She looked startled. "What?"

"All that talk about picking a name! You probably just wanted to trick me into marrying you."

She stared at him blankly, then with revulsion. "Sweat! I meant our reciprocal name. Charles, you talk like an idiot."