Stories by R. A. Lafferty Vol 1 Part 22

What's wrong? You're going up with him, Shartel!"

Shartel did go up with him at first, for Umholtz was much theheavier man. But Shartel broke away and fell a dozen feet down to the gra.s.s.

Umholtz grabbed a precarious lodging in the tree top, but he was shearing off fronds and branches and going fast.

"For G.o.d's sake, get me up from here!" Umholtz screamed, hanging upward from the topmost branch. He was like a tethered balloon tugging at its mooring.

"Throw a rope down to me! Do something!" he sobbed upsidedownly from the tree top. "I'll fall all the way, and I can't even see bottom."

The topmost branch broke, and Umholtz fell off the world.

He fell upward into the evening sky, his scream drop-ping in pitch as he accelerated. He fell end over end, diminishing till he was only a dot in the sky. Then he was gone.

"What will we tell people - what -- what can we say -- however explain -- how explain what we seen seem --" Shartel rattled, the bones in his body shaking like poker dice in a toss box.

"You tell your he and I'll tell mine," Planter grumbled. "I'm crazy, but I'm not crazy enough to have seen that."

Of the clique, only Easter was left. He was the most even-minded of the bunch and the least inclined to worry. It had been a peculiar series of events that had devoured his compet.i.tors, but he hadn't been able to base any theory on the disappearances. If he continued, he would he next.

"I may try a little worrying myself," he mused. "A man of my sort shouldn't neglect any field of cogitation. I'll give it a try. It should come easy for me today."

So Easter worried, but he didn't do it well. It isn't easy if you haven't the lifetime habit of it.

Then a man came in to him unannounced.

This was a man with hay-colored hair, with blue eyes with happy dangerous gold specks in them, a man with a friendly and humorous sneer. He had something of the hayseed in him. But also something of the panther.

"I have here what may turn out to be a most useful device," Hayc.o.c.k began.

PIG IN A POKEY.

This was on Hippodamia. The name isn't important. There were ten thousand asteroid-stations as undistinguished.

Netter settled back into the soft live-moss chair and prepared to talk the Creature out of the impa.s.se. Then he saw the big moustached thing on the wall and he began to tremble.

After all, that was one of the things he had come to find-it was pait of it. It was the great beefy, bearded, moustached head of Captain Kalbfleish mounted on the wall like a trophy, and amid the other trophies of the room.

"Great G.o.d, Man!" -- and it wasn't a man to whom he spoke -- "That's a human head you have mounted on the wall," Netter crackled.

"Which Great G.o.d, yours or mine?" Porcellus grunted. "They aren't the same, or they have been described badly. Yes, a human head. I had always wanted one. You notice that I have given it the favored position in the center of the great wall. I now have at least one of the heads of every species that interests me. Some of the heads are much larger than that of your friend Kalbfleish and have ornamentals that his lacks. It's a pity that humans don't have sweeping horns; that would make them perfect. But even without them, the head of Kalbfleish is the finest in my collection. It's a truly magnificent head!"

It was. "Kalbfleish has a fine head on him" they wed to say, and laugh. The big Captain, for all his remarkable courage and spirit, had notbeen long on brains. It was a huge, wild, hairy head with a stark and staring expression -- as though Kalbfleish had died in terror and agony.

"You killed him, of course," said Netter dryly as he braided a romal in his nervous hands. "So, one way or the other, I will have to kill you, or you me.

"Not I," said Porcellus -- a moist and hog-fat creature -- "I would not even kill an insect. Your friend had a violent heart and it finally ruptured on him. He was uncommonly energetic, especially so on the day of his death."

"Where is his body, you fat pig?"

"My translator has only a rough idea of pig, and I suppose you intend it for an insult; but I have a tough hide. I couldn't do a thing with his body, Netter, it was putrid in no time. It seems that when you humans know you are going to die you would begin to give yourself the injections three or four basic days before the time; then your bodies would not turn foul after death. I had no idea he had neglected it, so I wasn't prepared. I was lucky to save the head."

"We humans don't know when we are going to die," said Netter. "What is this you give me to eat? It's good."

"Yes, I remember now Kalbfleish saying he didn't know when he would die, but I supposed he spoke in humor. Since you also sayv it, it must be true of your species. The name of the food would mean nothing to you, but you have a close parallel to its method of preparation. I have read about geese in an Earth book of the captains, though I overlooked pigs. You sometimes put live geese -- to dance on hot griddles before they are killed. This excites and alarms them, and enlarges their livers. The livers then become delicacies. The creatures whose meat you are eating also died of excitement and alarm, and they are delicious through and through."

Well, the meat was certainly delicious. That fat hog of a creature knew how to live well. Netter finished the meal and set it aside. Once more he braided the romal in his hands while he grasped for words.

"I suppose all the creatures whose heads you have here died by accident, Porcellus?" he asked.

"Well, all but one of them died," said Porcellus, "and I did not kill them. One of them died at a great distance from here; he willed me his head and had it sent to me because I had admired it. And one of them, so far as I know, is still alive. He was a being of multiplex heads. He hacked one of them off quite willingly when I praised it, and he cured and mounted it himself. A queer chap. He is staring down at you now and it will amuse you to guess which lie is."

Porcellus didn't actually speak like that. He spoke in a series of grunts, some verbal and some ventral. But the Console Translator of Netter had a selector dial. Netter could dial translation in pidgin, in cut and dry, in bombast, in diplomatic pleasantry, in old southern U.S. soft4alk or Yiddish dialect if he wished, or in the manner. Whenever he encountered a creature who was curtly repulsive to him -- as Porcellus was -- he dialed the courtly manner of speech. This was somehow easier on his ears and his nerves.

"We waste time," Netter told the creature. "I have come to pursue claim to this asteroid. We now need it for a way-station, and it has never worked well for two such different species to share a station. We had first claimn here long ago; and we abandoned it. Then you set up your station here; and you also abandoned it."

"Never," said Porcellus. "Would I abandon my cozy home and my trophies? Would my masters wish the removal of so fine a station-master as myself? I was called Home on urgent business. I was go lie but for a basic year, and the odds were very high against any other claimer coming while I was gone."

"The rules state that a live and competent agent must be in residence at all times or the asteroid can be declared abandoned," Nettersaid. "The asteroid was plainly abandoned when Kalbfleish arrived; you were gone. He so reported it, and he claimed it for us. The claim was approved and accepted."

"True," said the creature Porcellus. "What is that thing you play with in your hands? But Captain Kalbfleish -- following the awkward interval after I had returned -- also abandoned the station by dying. I so reported his death, and claimed the station for ourselves once more. The claim was approved and accepted. Now you are here as my guest only and, I tell you in all kindness, not a very welcome one.

"But a proved murder will void your claim," said Netter.

"So prove it, fine man," said the creature Porcellus. "Yours is a smaller head than Kalbfleish's but it has a certain distinction. I could make room for it among my trophies. We have each of us sent various reports, and the matter is under litigation. In the meanwhile, the accidental death of either of us would void his claim and settle the matter. We cannot kill directly. Investigators are already on the way and we are both prime suspects; we are the only ones here. What is the leather thing with which you play?"

"A romal, Porcellus. A short qulrt braided onto a rein. They made them in Old Mexico and in California and Texas, but they were mostly ornamental."

"Earth places all three, my translator says. Were they used with a creature?"

"With a pony, a horse."

"Haven't I stumbled onto the information that the horse is extinct?"

"Yes. The braiding of the little thing is only a hobby of mine."

"A hobby, according to my comprehensive translator, is a sort of vicarious horse -- a mental surrogate which one rides. Is that correct?"

"Correct, Porcellus. Haven't you a hobby?"

"My hobby is heads," said the thing.

Netter started to leave the creature then to go to his own camp. "To the early and accidental death of one of us," he toasted with the last of the drink that Porcellus had given him.

"Shoals!" toasted Porcellus. "I believe that is your word. And a warning: stay away from the low dome which you will see on the plain. It's dangerous."

Netter went to his own camp.

Now Porcellus wanted him to go to the curious dome -- or he would not have warned him away from it. Was it dangerous? Or did the thing merely want to divert him? Porcellus must have known that he would explore every feature of landscape on the small asteroid. Perhaps it was only to worry him, as Porcellus himself had seemed to be worried. And what in hog heaven can worry a hog? Netter had it after a while. "He knows when he's going to die. He's surprised that humans haven't that knowledge. But can I depend on it? It's only a twice removed guess.

Netter left the dome till last. He circ.u.mnavigated the asteroid in a brisk six-mile walk and found nothing of interest. He came thoughtfully to the dome on the plain.

The dome rose to no more than the height of his head in the center, was about sixty feet in diameter, was symmetrical in general outline but with a slightly roughened surface, and was probably artificial. "I believe it is an old direction beacon of the Forcines." he said. "Yes, this is certainly the top of an obsolete hemisphere, and the most of it is under ground. They were no good. I believe that we had them once."

Netter stepped gingerly onto the sphere. It was certainly firm enough. He knew a firm thing when he met one. There was no danger of him crashing through. He climbed the steep, then the less steep elevation of it and came to the center. "Nice," he said, "but nothing." Then he felt it activated. "So Porcellus still uses it," he said, "I didn't realize thatthey were so backward."

He walked around on it, and it rotated gently under him, compensating for him. He strode down the side a little way, and it quickly brought him back to the top. "This could he fun," he said.

He could take three, four quick steps away from the top, and he would still be on top. He could tense to jump sideways, and the sphere would compensate before he left the surface; he'd still land exactly on the center whichever way he jumped. The thing rolled easily and noiselessly and antic.i.p.ated or reacted immediately to every movement. He walked, he ran, he laughed, he trotted half a mile and stood where he had stood before.

"You know tricks and I know tricks, old sphere," he shouted, "let's see who's the smarter." He feinted, he broke, he dodged, he ran crazy-legged as though he were broken-field dribbling at Galactic-rules football. He shucked off tacklers, he scored countless goals in his mind, but he always ended on the very center top of the dome.

He lay down and rolled, trying to go down the steep far slopes as though they were gra.s.s banks. He stopped rolling and lay on his back, and he was still on the top of the rotating compensating sphere or dome.

"I haven't had so much fun since I was a boy in an amus.e.m.e.nt park,"

he said.

He hadn't? Then why did he suddenly begin to tremble? Why did he begin to whistle so off-key if he wasn't scared? "Stone walls do not a pokey make nor locks a --" it was the Cross-Bar Hotel Blues he was whistling and he had to stop it.

He was locked tight in jail on a little hillock in the middle of a plain, and there was no barrier in sight. There was no possible way he could get off the compensating dome.

He was imprisoned in the highest most open spot on the asteroid. In an hour of cavorting and hopping about he had not got one full step from where he started, and there was no possible way that he could.

He thought about it for a full Hippodamia day and night-forty-five minutes basic time. He couldn't come up with a thing.

"If I had a rope and you had a stump," he said talking to no one, "I'd rope the stump -- I'm good at that -- and pull myself off this thing."

But he didn't have a rope and the plain sure didn't have a stump. It had hardly a pebble as big as his thumb.

"This is where Kalbfleish died," said Netter. "You said it right, pig man, my friend had a violent heart and it finally ruptured on him. You didn't have to murder him directly. You let him run himself to death. He was uncommonly energetic, as you said' and especially so on the day of his death. I can see it all now. He could never stand to be confined. He would have gone wild when he found himself confined in what seemed the most open s.p.a.ce on the asteroid. He'd have run till he ruptured every thing in him. It is no wonder that he died with that look of horror."

This was a jail that n.o.body could break. Why try more tricks on the sphere? It could compensate for every trick that was.

A creature that could fly in zero atmosphere could get off of this, he mused. "Even a worm couldn't crawl off unless he were too small to affect the compensators. If I had two cant hooks I might be able to fool the thing, but it could no doubt compensate for the resolution of forces. If I had a weight on a line I might puzzle it a little, but not much. Porkey has it made. I'll die either of starvation or exertion or insanity, but the investigation will not show that I was murdered. 'Why have two humans died of heart attack here?' is the most they can ask him, and Porkey will rub his hands and say 'Bad climate.'"

But what Porky Porcellus really said was: "Fine man, why do you play like a boy on top of that thing? Is that any way for a hopeful asteroid agent to conduct himself?"

"Porcellus, you think you've trapped me, do you?" flared Netter."I trap you? My hands are clean. Is it my fault that two humans develop the strange mania of running themselves to death in a weird game?"

How far away was Porcellus from the edge of the dome? Too far. Too far by several yards.

"Porcellus, what is this thing?" Netter cried out.

"Once it was a beam sphere, as you have probably guessed, and it is obsolete. I have altered it to something else. Now it is an intelligence test. To fail it is to die."

"Did anyone ever get off it?" Netter called. He had to get Porcellus interested. He had to get him to come several feet closer before he turned away.

"Only one pa.s.sed the intelligence test," said the creature, "and he had unusual natural advantages. He was a peculiar fellow of the species Larrik who visited me some basic years ago. He simply broke himself into two pieces and walked off in opposite directions. The globe couldn't compensate for both of them. One got clear, obtained a line, pulled his other half off; both halves laughed at me, and then they rejoined themselves. But you haven't his advantage, Netter. You have failed the test."

"I'll find a way," swore Netter. "I'll find a trick." Just a little bit closer now would do it.

"You lose, Netter," said Porcellus. "There is no fixed thing on the plain you could tie to even if you had a way of reaching it. The longest thing you have with you is what you call the romal, and it's no longer than your arm.

Porcellus was close enough. Right at the end of the dome. When he turned it would be perfect -- somewhere between thirty-two and thirty-five feet. There was no fixed thing on the plain, but there was a thing heavy enough to serve for a fixed thing. The romal of Netter was no longer than his arm, but it was a romal rey, a king romal.

Porcellus turned away in his triumph. The light-thin lariat flew and dropped over his bulk. And Netter pulled himself off the dome in less time than you can say Porky Porcellus.

The fat hulk was no match for Netter when he was on solid non-compensating ground. He hog-tied the Hog-man with the thin leather line and rolled him onto the dome. And Porcellus was immediately on the center top of the dome to stay there till he died of hunger or uncommon exertion or porcine apoplexy.

Netter was moving things about in the fine Trophy Room which he had recently inherited. He set a fine hard wood peg into the wall and hung on it the king romal for which he now had especial affection. The king romal is so intricately braided that one moment it will be a thick quirt no longer than your arm; but unlace one keeper and it immediately becomes a thin strand lariat forty foot long counting the loop. Hardly anyone knows how to braid a romal rey nowadays.

He moved many things in the trophy room. He wanted the set thing to be just right. He knew just what s.p.a.ce it should occupy on that great wall.

The investigation was over with and Netter's claim had been accepted. He was now asteroid station-master -- a good job.

The head was ready. It had been cured out and tanned and treated, and the eye-tushers were polished till they gleamed.

Porcellus had a truly magnificent head!

SLOW TUESDAY NIGHT.

A panhandler intercepted the young couple as they strolled down the night street.

"Preserve us this night," he said as he touched his hat to them, "and could you good people advance me a thousand dollars to be about therecouping of my fortunes?"

"I gave you a thousand last Friday," said the young man.

"Indeed you did," the panhandler replied, "and I paid you back tenfold by messenger before midnight"

"That's right, George, he did," said the young woman. "Give it to him, dear. I believe he's a good sort."

So the young man gave the panhandler a thousand dollars, and the panhandler touched his hat to them in thanks and went on to the recouping of his fortunes.

As he went into Money Market, the panhandler pa.s.sed Ildefonsa Impala, the most beautiful woman in the city.

"Will you marry me this night, Ildy?" he asked cheerfully.