Schrodinger's Cat Trilogy Part 15

"I knew knew this case would be a p.i.s.scutter," Ubu said, contemplating his data. this case would be a p.i.s.scutter," Ubu said, contemplating his data.

The one fact not recorded about Dr. Bridge, and the whole key to his subsequent behavior, was the fact that he had, on November 23, 1971, looked into the infamous Necronomicon Necronomicon of Abdul Alhazred, in the German translation of Von Junzt of Abdul Alhazred, in the German translation of Von Junzt (Das Verichteraraberbuch (Das Verichteraraberbuch, Ingolstadt, 1848).

Bridge, not Dr. Bridge then, but just Washy, had been turned on to his odd volume by the Miskatonic librarian, Doris Horus, who knew he took his Black Studies seriously.

There was one sentence in Das Verichteraraberbuch Das Verichteraraberbuch that turned everything around in Dr. Bridge's head. that turned everything around in Dr. Bridge's head.

The sentence was: Ges...o...b..n ist nicht, was fur ewig ruht, und mit unbekannten Aonen mag sogar der Tod noch sterben.

HOMES ON LEGRANGE.

GALACTIC ARCHIVES:.

The original idea for the L5 s.p.a.ce-cities had emerged from Professor Gerard O'Neill and a group of his students at Princeton in 1968. The motion was so radical that it took over five years to get it into print, in Physics Today Physics Today, in 1973.

Professor O'Neill had simply asked his students a rather basic question-one which occurs inevitably on every planet which evolves beyond the boom-and-bust cycle of planetside life. O'Neill asked: Is the surface of a planet the right place for an expanding technological civilization?

Once the question had been asked, the correct answer was, of course, inescapable.

Among the symptoms indicating that Closed System planetary industry would have to be transformed into Open System planetary-and-extraplanetary industry were the following: Rapid exhaustion of the fossil fuels on Terra, leading to a desperate search for new energy sources;The virtually limitless solar energy in s.p.a.ce;Rising population and increasing longevity, leading to an inevitable new period of swarming;Growing pollution and ecological imbalance, caused by the attempt to provide energy from terrestrial sources for this increasing primate population;The Revolution of Rising Expectations-a sociological phenomenon brought on by the scientific-technological advances of the previous two centuries-which caused the majority of primates to claim they had the right to a decent standard of living;The failure of the Revolution of Lowered Expectations, after the smarter primates realized that lowered expectations meant starvation for the majority of the planet;The Hunger Project started by a circuit-five primate named Erhard, who encouraged people to believe starvation could be eliminated;The continuous influence of a circuit-six primate named R. Buckminster ("Bucky") Fuller, who insisted the primate brain was designed "for total success in Universe";And, finally, the debacle of terrestrial-based nuclear energy plants, which continually caused havoc in their environments, and which eventually prompted some of the primates to remember that a science-fiction writer, Robert Anson Heinlein, had foreseen all this in a 1940s story, "Blow-ups Happen," and provided the solution-moving the nuclear plants into s.p.a.ce.

By 1984 over a third of Terras industrial plants had been moved, as O'Neill foresaw, into the L5 area-Legrange point 5, where the gravity fields of earth and moon are balanced. The colonists even had a theme song, invented by another science-fiction writer, Robert Anson Wilson, in a book called The Universe Next Door. The Universe Next Door. The song was "HOMEs on Legrange." The song was "HOMEs on Legrange."

A VISITOR FROM FAIRY LAND.

"Partic.i.p.ation" is the incontrovertible new concept given by quantum mechanics; it strikes down the term "observer" of cla.s.sical theory, the man who stands safely behind a thick gla.s.s wall and watches what goes on without taking part. That can't be done, quantum mechanics says.-WHEELER, MISNER, & THORNE, Gravitation Gravitation MAY 1, 1, 1934: 1934:.

"They call it liberalism and socialism, the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, but really it's their own brand of highway robbery. They been after me and Henry Ford and every independent in the country for a h.e.l.l of a long time. You remember all this, son; you remember what your father told you. It's a big fortune the Crane holdings and they're going to be trying to take it away from you, just like they're trying to take it away from me. I earned every penny of it, when I invented o.r.g.a.s.mOR, and I don't aim to let them take it away from me or from you. You just remember why all the bankers are Rosenfelt liberals, son; you remember who your real enemies are and don't think it's those idiot socialists and other cranks like Townsend, with his thirty dollars every Thursday. It's those kike bankers who want the whole pie and are just using Rosenfelt as a p.a.w.n."

That was old Crane, Tom Crane, the man who invented o.r.g.a.s.mOR, talking to his son, Hugh, in Central Park, where sweet birds sang. Tom Crane was more dinosaur than primate: a tough, unsentimental reptile whose wealth was based on a swindle, pure and simple. He never explicitly claimed in any advertis.e.m.e.nt that o.r.g.a.s.mOR created more o.r.g.a.s.ms-just that it was "deliciously enticing" and "stimulating to all body cells and tissues" and the FDA never succeeded in proving that his agents had planted the popular mythology attributing lubricity to a product not very different in chemical content from Coca-Cola. A strict constructionist would certainly say that Crane's customers were being defrauded.

"It doesn't poison poison anybody," old Crane always answered such nitpickers. anybody," old Crane always answered such nitpickers.

In fact, Hugh Crane-who was only ten in 1934 and would reach twelve before he discovered that the actual p.r.o.nunciation of the President's name was Roosevelt-was only partially listening to his father's rambling diatribe. He had heard all of it before, many times, and besides, the Mysterious Tramp was much more interesting.

The Mysterious Tramp, perhaps a visitor from fairy land, was stopping each person who pa.s.sed and asking them something. They all shook their heads and walked by rapidly. This was puzzling to little Hugh: If the answer was negative, why did the Tramp keep asking the question? Didn't he believe the people who had already answered? Was he offering a chance to cross the boundary into magic s.p.a.ce and were they all too timid to try?

"You see, son, Rosenfelt and the Rhodes scholars have it all sliced up and they have to get rid of people like me...." Tom Crane was still rambling along his own paranoid yellow-brick road when they finally came abreast of the Tramp. Hugh listened eagerly to catch the Mystery Question.

"Hey mister could you spare a dime I haven't eaten in three days mister hey listen mister ..."

"Get a job," said old Crane, walking faster. "You see, son, that's the kind of good-for-nothing loafer who's destroying this country."

But the boy who was to become Cagliostro the Escape Artist looked back and saw the Mysterious Tramp falling to the ground very slowly like a tree he had seen fall slowly after being chopped by the caretaker at the Crane country home out on Long Island, and just like the tree, when he finally reached the sidewalk, the Tramp didn't move at all, not one bit, and even seemed to get stiff like the tree did, only faster.

SPOCK? SPOCK? SPOCK?.

DECEMBER 23, 1983.

While Dr. Dashwood was worrying about the sinister Ezra Pound in San Francisco and Mary Margaret Wildeblood was preparing for her party in New York, a black giant named "Rosey" Stuart was struggling with a vacation memo in the p.u.s.s.ycat p.u.s.s.ycat office in Chicago. office in Chicago.

"This is the worst piece of idiocy I've ever seen," he complained to his secretary. "It looks like it was written by a computer having a nervous breakdown. Listen to this gibberish: 'Half a man-day shall not be equal to half a day unless the man is actually in the office for the full day, or half of a full day, as the case may be. (This also applies to female employees.)' What the ring-tailed rambling h.e.l.l does that mean?"

"Do you want me to call Personnel and ask somebody to explain it?" asked the secretary, Marlene Murphy, a pert little redhead who could neither type nor take dictation well, but held her job because she fit the p.u.s.s.ycat p.u.s.s.ycat image. image.

"Besides," Stuart went on grumbling, "it contradicts the vacation memo we got last week."

"That one was a hoax," Marlene explained patiently. "Some crank got in at night and ran it off on a Xerox machine as some kind of practical joke."

"Well, Jesus on a wubber cwutch," Stuart complained, imitating Elmer Fudd, "it made more sense than this one."

Marlene shrugged sympathetically. "This is the one we've got to live with."

Stuart shook his head wearily. "What kind of world is it where the reality is weirder than the satire?"

There was no obvious answer to that. "Do you want me to call Personnel?" Marlene repeated.

"h.e.l.l, no!" Stuart exclaimed. "Don't agitate that pit of ding-dongs. Just put me down for the first three weeks in July, and if they tell me I can't have it, I'll go over their heads and talk to Sput." Stan Sputnik was the founder of the p.u.s.s.ycat p.u.s.s.ycat empire and still acted as both Managing Editor and Publisher, as well as embodying the empire and still acted as both Managing Editor and Publisher, as well as embodying the p.u.s.s.ycat p.u.s.s.ycat image in all his highly publicized acts and deeds. image in all his highly publicized acts and deeds.

Stuart crumbled the vacation memo and threw it in the wastebasket.

"What's next?" he asked.

"Dr. Dashwood. About the interview."

"Oh, yes," Stuart said, turning his chair to look out the window. "Call his secretary and see if he's in."

While Marlene went outside to her desk to place the call, Stuart looked out over Chicago thinking of his rapid rise in the p.u.s.s.ycat p.u.s.s.ycat empire. Born in Chicago's South Side ghetto-his full name was Franklin Delano Roosevelt Stuart-he had originally followed the usual predatory life-script of impoverished alpha males. But his second prison term had thrown him into contact with a most peculiar cell mate-a self-proclaimed Sufi and master of all forms of Persian magick. "Rosey" Stuart came out of prison convinced he could do anything, acquired a degree in literature from Harvard in record time, and started the Great Novel about the Black Experience in America. empire. Born in Chicago's South Side ghetto-his full name was Franklin Delano Roosevelt Stuart-he had originally followed the usual predatory life-script of impoverished alpha males. But his second prison term had thrown him into contact with a most peculiar cell mate-a self-proclaimed Sufi and master of all forms of Persian magick. "Rosey" Stuart came out of prison convinced he could do anything, acquired a degree in literature from Harvard in record time, and started the Great Novel about the Black Experience in America.

About then both racism and poverty were becoming obsolete, and selling a first novel was as hard as ever. Stuart had been toiling at p.u.s.s.ycat p.u.s.s.ycat for five years, d.i.c.kering with a novel about a parallel universe where racism still existed and a malignant black magician takes over the country by demonically possessing the body of the white President. for five years, d.i.c.kering with a novel about a parallel universe where racism still existed and a malignant black magician takes over the country by demonically possessing the body of the white President.

Last year the staff of p.u.s.s.ycat p.u.s.s.ycat had quadrupled. Sput Sputnik had grown annoyed by the ever-increasing number of imitations of his Ill.u.s.trated Fantasy Book for Onanists. Every editor at every compet.i.tion publication had been hired away at a juicy salary increase. had quadrupled. Sput Sputnik had grown annoyed by the ever-increasing number of imitations of his Ill.u.s.trated Fantasy Book for Onanists. Every editor at every compet.i.tion publication had been hired away at a juicy salary increase.

p.u.s.s.ycat suddenly had six Senior Editors, twelve a.s.sociate Editors, twenty-four a.s.sistant Editors, and thirty Junior Editors. The other publishers found themselves confronting deadlines with n.o.body left on their staffs. Two went bankrupt; one committed suicide; the others took a year to get back in gear again. suddenly had six Senior Editors, twelve a.s.sociate Editors, twenty-four a.s.sistant Editors, and thirty Junior Editors. The other publishers found themselves confronting deadlines with n.o.body left on their staffs. Two went bankrupt; one committed suicide; the others took a year to get back in gear again.

"Business is business," said Sput. He liked to think of himself as a tough, hard-driving businessman, as well as the twentieth century's leading philosopher, the superstud of every girl's tender dreams, the hero of the free press, the foe of bigotry and intolerance everywhere, and the world's unacknowledged Master Psychologist. If he had known there was such a thing as pie-eating champion, he would have aimed for that t.i.tle also. He considered himself a Renaissance Man.

Although Stuart had advanced from Junior Editor to Senior Editor in spite of this compet.i.tion, he hardly knew Sput at all. Sput never came to the offices, preferring to work in his mansion in Manhattan, and Stuart saw him only on the rare occasions when he was called upon to fly to New York for a conference.

Those conferences tended to be a bit much. Like certain movie actors who are always "on," even when nowhere near a soundstage, Sput was as determined to impress his editors as he was to overwhelm the whole world. For years, he had insisted on playing chess during conferences, keeping an impoverished grandmaster on hand for a stiff compet.i.tion; since the grandmaster knew which side his bread was b.u.t.tered on, Sput always won. He had gotten this idea from a very inaccurate historical novel about Napoleon, in which the little Corsican sociopath was portrayed as playing masterful chess while discussing military strategy with his generals and the Napoleonic legal code with his judges.

More recently Sput had read a novel about Nero. The effect was even more disconcerting than trying to talk with him while he laboriously evaded an obvious Noah's Ark trap. He was seated behind his desk receiving a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b when Stuart had been ushered into his presence the last time. It was unnerving.

"You wanted to discuss the interview subjects for the next six months?" Stuart asked, taking his seat and noting that the erotic technician kneeling before the Great Man was a recent p.u.s.s.yette from the mag's foldout. In fact, she was the first to appear, not in an ordinary crotch shot (they were now becoming commonplace, not only in p.u.s.s.ycat p.u.s.s.ycat, but in its imitators), but in a randy low-angle crotch shot in which her v.u.l.v.a lips could clearly be seen pouting pouting beneath the pubic hair. Stuart had been curious as to how that effect was obtained and asked the chief photographer, "Were you rubbing her off just before you snapped that?" beneath the pubic hair. Stuart had been curious as to how that effect was obtained and asked the chief photographer, "Were you rubbing her off just before you snapped that?"

"Nali," was the laconic answer. "We tried that, but the lips still weren't visible enough. We ended up stuffing her s.n.a.t.c.h full of my hashish stash."

"Lawd!" Stuart was astonished, and dropped back to his mother tongue.

"That's why she had that far-gone look in her eyes. Stoned out of her head by the time we got it all out of her again. Bet you didn't know it was possible to get high that way."

"Wonder what it would be like to navigate her geography right after the hash came out," Stuart said thoughtfully.

"Wouldn't know," the photographer sighed. "Sput put an exclusive on her soon as he saw the test shots."

Now she kneeled, nude and covered with some kind of oil that Sput had read about in the Nero book, and carefully licked his wingw.a.n.g up and down while he, imitating supercool, went over the interview list.

"Don't want President Hubbard," he said. "She's too controversial."

"But dammit, Sput, our interviews are supposed supposed to be controversial!" Stuart seemed to recall saying that at each of these conferences. to be controversial!" Stuart seemed to recall saying that at each of these conferences.

"Not that that controversial," Sput said. "The intellectuals all hate her because she's a scientist. controversial," Sput said. "The intellectuals all hate her because she's a scientist.* Now, here, Jane Fonda and Timothy Leary, they're good. But, Jesus H. Christ, Robert Anson Wilson, for Chrissake-he's a f.u.c.king Now, here, Jane Fonda and Timothy Leary, they're good. But, Jesus H. Christ, Robert Anson Wilson, for Chrissake-he's a f.u.c.king science-fiction writer!" science-fiction writer!"

"We interviewed Vonnegut," Stuart said, watching the lady's head bobbing up and down at Sput's crotch.

"Yeah, but his books are serious. That's different," Sput said, breathing a bit heavily by now. "Besides, everybody says The Universe Next Door The Universe Next Door drives people wiggy and makes them become nudists or Buddhists or something. That kind of trouble we don't need. And one science-fiction writer in five years is enough, already. (Gently, doll, gently!) I see you don't have the Attorney General on the list yet." drives people wiggy and makes them become nudists or Buddhists or something. That kind of trouble we don't need. And one science-fiction writer in five years is enough, already. (Gently, doll, gently!) I see you don't have the Attorney General on the list yet."

"It's the same as ever," Stuart explained, noting that the girl's hand was sneaking down her belly into her crotch. "She just won't give us an interview. She still says we're a dirty magazine."

"Dammit, we never go beyond contemporary community standards," Sput protested, hurt. "That old b.i.t.c.h is a bigot." bigot."

"Well, bigot or not, she won't give us an interview."

"Fascist reactionary old bat," Sput fumed. "Someday I'll-" Then he brightened. "Listen, doll," he said to the girl at his feet. "You're the Attorney General-now really go to it, like a f.u.c.king vacuum cleaner!" like a f.u.c.king vacuum cleaner!" The girl's head began bobbing faster, and Sput slouched back a bit, smiling contentedly. The girl's head began bobbing faster, and Sput slouched back a bit, smiling contentedly.

"Reactionary WASP b.i.t.c.h," he muttered. "That's right, take it, take it all, you foe of the First Amendment!"

"Er-Dr. Francis Dashwood," Stuart prompted.

"Very good, very very good." Sput was whispering, as if toking a marijuana cigarette. "You Gestapo pig," he added to the girl at his feet. good." Sput was whispering, as if toking a marijuana cigarette. "You Gestapo pig," he added to the girl at his feet.

"How about Jackie Kennedy Ona.s.sis?"

"Yeah, yeah, cla.s.s," Sput said vaguely. He was beginning to tremble a bit. "Who else you got?" he whispered, trembling more. "Dr. Spock."

"Spock?" Sput asked. Then he repeated, shrilly, "Spock? Spock! SPOCK!???!" He was coming, Stuart realized with an embarra.s.sed twinge. "Swallow it," Sput was roaring. "Swallow it, you wire tapper!" wire tapper!"

It was a distracting conference all around, Stuart thought, remembering.

His secretary was at his door. "I finally located Dr. Dashwood," she said, "at this home. He's on the phone."

Stuart picked up his phone, saying, "Ah, good afternoon, Dr. Dashwood. It's a great pleasure to speak to you."

"Is this on the level?" came a tense voice. "You're not involved with that p.o.o.p or Foof place, are you?"

Stuart was dumbfounded. Could the head of the best-known s.e.x research organization in America be a paranoid nut? "I am am speaking to Dr. Francis Dashwood?" he asked carefully. speaking to Dr. Francis Dashwood?" he asked carefully.

"Yes, yes-but how can I be sure who I'm speaking to?"

"Well," Stuart said, "if you have your doubts, call me back. Go through information, to check the number, and then have the p.u.s.s.ycat p.u.s.s.ycat switchboard put you on my line. That should convince you." switchboard put you on my line. That should convince you."

"I'll do just that," the doctor said. "A lot of d.a.m.ned peculiar things are happening today. I want to be sure you're not some cohort of that Ezra Pound character." He hung up abruptly.

Ezra Pound, Stuart thought, bemused. The doctor thinks a dead poet and folk singer is plotting against him.

An absolute nut of the first water. A real signifyin' mad scientist.

Obviously, this would require great care. Dashwood couldn't just be discarded as an interview subject for being batty; he was too big a name. The interview would go ahead, but Dashwood would be handled with kid gloves.

The phone buzzed, and he picked it up.

"Dr. Dashwood is back on the line," his secretary said.

"Put him through." He waited, then said, "Dr. Dashwood?"

"Well, I guess it really is you," the voice said. "Please excuse me. A man in my sensitive field-cranks and schizophrenics wondering around loose ..."

"Yes, yes, I quite understand," Stuart said, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Poets always have harbored nasty grudges." He had no doubt that the doctor was as goofy as a waltzing mouse.

*Terran Archives 2803: At the time of this comedy those primates who specialized in verbal manipulations of the third neurological circuit formed a gene-pool separate from those who specialized in mathematical manipulations. The former, controlling the verbal environment, had dubbed themselves At the time of this comedy those primates who specialized in verbal manipulations of the third neurological circuit formed a gene-pool separate from those who specialized in mathematical manipulations. The former, controlling the verbal environment, had dubbed themselves "the "the intellectuals." intellectuals."

HOW THE TERRAN PRIMATES WERE DOMESTICATED.

GALACTIC ARCHIVES:.

President Hubbard had abolished poverty through a plan which she called the RICH economy.

RICH meaning Rising Income through Cybernetic Homeostasis.

This was a diabolically clever scheme to abolish all forms of human labor except the most creative-i.e., those frontal-lobe metaprogramming circuits which have evolved last in evolution and surpa.s.s the mechanical old four-circuit primate brain functions.

Of course it had been theoretically possible to abolish most mechanical labor since about 1948, when a very cunning primate mathematician, Norbert Weiner, noted that self-correcting (cybernetic) machines would soon be able to monitor whole factories.

Even earlier a metaprogramming-circuit Greek primate, Aristotle, had observed that it would be possible to abolish slavery "when the loom and other machines become self-managing."

Terran primates had continued slavery over the generations, despite the increasing distress this caused their hominid third and fourth (semantic and moral) circuits, simply because machines could not yet manage themselves. As many a primate Utopian had rediscovered in chagrin, under primitive planetary conditions, "somebody has to do the s.h.i.t-work." The most appealing solution to electing that somebody was to invade a weaker neighboring tribe and bring back a group of biots who could be domesticated.

This had been done so often that there was no hominid pack on Terra that did not show the effects of domestication domestication and and slave mentality slave mentality, a fact first noted by a dour German primate named Nietzsche.

In Unistat, due to the strong encouragement of individualistic third-and fourth-circuit (semantic-moral) functions, slavery had grown so repugnant that it was formally "abolished" within a century after the formation of the pack const.i.tution; it lingered on through inertia in the form of "wage slavery," which required that all primates not born into the sixty families that "owned" "owned" almost everything would have to almost everything would have to "work" "work" for those families or their corporations in order to get the tickets (called for those families or their corporations in order to get the tickets (called "money") "money") which were necessary for survival. which were necessary for survival.