American Science Fiction Five Classic Novels 1956-58 (111 page)

Yes, I knew I had to do something, and here on the floor that meant thinking hard and in high gear about something else. The screwball sculpture Erich had tried to smash was a foot from my nose and I saw a faint trail of white stuff where it had skidded. I reached out and touched the trail; it was finely gritty, like powdered glass. I tipped up the sculpture and the part on which it had skidded wasn’t marred at all, not even dulled; the gray spheres were as glisteningly bright as ever. So I knew the trail was diamond dust rubbed off the diamonds in the floor by something even harder.

That told me the sculpture was something special and maybe Doc had had a real idea in his pickled brain when he’d been pushing the thing at all of us and trying to tell us something. He hadn’t managed to say anything then, but he had earlier when he’d been going to tell us what to do about the bomb, and maybe there was a connection.

I twisted my memory hard and let it spring back and I got “Inversh . . . bosh . . .” Bosh, indeed! Bosh and inverse bosh to all boozers, Russki or otherwise.

So I quick tried the memory trick again and this time I got “glovsh” and then I grasped and almost sneezed on diamond dust as I watched the pieces fit themselves together in my mind like a speeded-up movie reel.

It all hung on that black right-hand hussar’s glove Lili had produced for Bruce. Only she couldn’t have found it in Stores, because we’d searched every fractional pigeonhole later on and there hadn’t been any gloves there, not even the left-hand mate there would have been. Also, Bruce had had two left-hand gloves to start with, and we had been through the whole Place with a fine-tooth comb, and there had been only the two black gloves on the floor where Bruce had kicked them off the bar— those two and those two only, the left-hand glove he’d brought from outside and the right-hand glove Lili had produced for him.

So a left-hand glove had disappeared—the last I’d seen of it, Lili had been putting it on her tray—and a right-hand glove had appeared. Which could only add up to one thing: Lili had turned the left-hand glove into an identical right. She couldn’t have done it by turning it inside out the ordinary way, because the lining was different.

But as I knew only too sickeningly well, there was an extraordinary way to turn things inside out, things like human beings. You merely had to put them on the Invertor in Surgery and flick the switch for full Inversion.

Or you could flick it for partial Inversion and turn something into a perfect three-dimensional mirror image of itself, just what a right-hand glove is of a left. Rotation through the fourth dimension, the science boys call it; I’ve heard of it being used in surgery on the highly asymmetric Martians, and even to give a socially impeccable right hand to a man who’d lost one, by turning an amputated right arm into an amputated left.

Ordinarily, nothing but live things are ever Inverted in Surgery and you wouldn’t think of doing it to an inanimate object, especially in a Place where the Doc’s a drunk and the Surgery hasn’t been used for hundreds of sleeps.

But when you’ve just fallen in love, you think of wonderful crazy things to do for people. Drunk with love, Lili had taken Bruce’s extra left-hand glove into Surgery, partially Inverted it, and got a right-hand glove to give him.

What Doc had been trying to say with his “Inversh . . . bosh . . .” was “Invert the box,” meaning we should put the bronze chest through full Inversion to get at the bomb inside to disarm it. Doc too had got the idea from Lili’s trick with the glove. What an inside-out tactical atomic bomb would look like, I could not imagine and did not particularly care to see. I might have to, though, I realized.

But the fast-motion film was still running in my head. Later on, Lili had decided like I had that her lover was going to lose out in his plea for mutiny unless she could give him a really captive audience—and maybe, even then, she had been figuring on creating the nest for Bruce’s chicks and . . . all those other things we’d believed in for a while. So she’d taken the Major Maintainer and remembered the glove, and not many seconds later, she had set down on a shelf of the Art Gallery an object that no one would think of questioning—except someone who knew the Gallery by heart.

I looked at the abstract sculpture a foot from my nose, at the clustered gray spheres the size of golfballs. I had known that the inside of the Maintainer was made up of vastly tough, vastly hard giant molecules, but I hadn’t realized they were quite
that
big.

I said to myself, “Greta, this is going to give you a major psychosis, but you’re the one who has to do it, because no one is going to listen to your deductions when they’re all practically living on negative time already.”

I got up as quietly as if I were getting out of a bed I shouldn’t have been in—there are some things Entertainers are good at—and Kaby was just saying “you go mad in about fifty heartbeats.” Everybody on their feet was looking at Lili. Sid seemed to have moved, but I had no time for him except to hope he hadn’t done anything that might attract attention to me.

I stepped out of my shoes and walked rapidly to Surgery— there’s one good thing about this hardest floor anywhere, it doesn’t creak. I walked through the Surgery screen that is like a wall of opaque, odorless cigarette smoke and I concentrated on remembering my snafued nurse’s training, and before I had time to panic, I had the sculpture positioned on the gleaming table of the Invertor.

I froze for a moment when I reached for the Inversion switch, thinking of the other time and trying to remember what it had been that bothered me so much about an insideout brain being bigger and not having eyes, but then I either thumbed my nose at my nightmare or kissed my sanity goodby, I don’t know which, and twisted the switch all the way over, and there was the Major Maintainer winking blue about three times a second as nice as you could want it.

It must have been working as sweet and steady as ever, all the time it was Inverted, except that, being inside out, it had hocused the direction finders.

black legged spiders with red hearts of hell

 —Marquis

lord spider

“Jesus!” I turned and Sid’s face was sticking through the screen like a tinted bas-relief hanging on a gray wall and I got the impression he had peered unexpectedly through a slit in an arras into Queen Elizabeth’s bedroom.

He didn’t have any time to linger on the sensation even if he’d wanted to, for an elbow with a copper band thrust through the screen and dug his ribs and Kaby marched Lili in by the neck. Erich, Mark and Illy were right behind. They caught the blue flashes and stopped dead, staring at the long-lost. Erich spared me one look which seemed to say, so you did it, not that it matters. Then he stepped forward and picked it up and held it solidly to his left side in the double right-angle made by fingers, forearm and chest, and reached for the Introversion switch with a look on his face as if he were opening a fifth of whisky.

The blue light died and Change Winds hit me like a stiff drink that had been a long, long time in coming, like a hot trumpet note out of nowhere.

I felt the changing pasts blowing through me, and the uncertainties whistling past, and ice-stiff reality softening with all its duties and necessities, and the little memories shredding away and dancing off like autumn leaves, leaving maybe not even ghosts behind, and all the crazy moods like Mardi Gras dancers pouring down an evening street, and something inside me had the nerve to say it didn’t care whether Greta Forzane’s death was riding in those Winds because they felt so good.

I could tell it was hitting the others the same way. Even battered, tight-lipped Lili seemed to be saying, you’re making me drink the stuff and I hate you for it, but I do love it. I guess we’d all had the worry that even finding and Extroverting the Maintainer wouldn’t put us back in touch with the cosmos and give us those Winds we hate and love.

The thing that cut through to us as we stood there glowing was not the thought of the bomb, though that would have come in a few seconds more, but Sid’s voice. He was still standing in the screen, except that now his face was out the other side and we could just see parts of his gray-doubleted back, but, of course, his “Jesu!” came through the screen as if it weren’t there.

At first I couldn’t figure out who he could be talking to, but I swear I never heard his voice so courtly obsequious before, so strong and yet so filled with awe and an undernote of, yes, sheer terror.

“Lord, I am filled from top to toe with confusion that you should so honor my poor Place,” he said. “Poor say I and mine, when I mean that I have ever busked it faithfully for you, not dreaming that you would ever condescend . . . yet knowing that your eye was certes ever upon me . . . though I am but as a poor pinch of dust adrift between the suns . . . I base myself. Prithee, how may I serve thee, sir? I know not e’en how most suitably to address thee, Lord . . . King . . . Emperor Spider!”

I felt like I was getting very small, but not a bit less visible, worse luck, and even with the Change Winds inside me to give me courage, I thought this was really too much, coming on top of everything else; it was simply unfair.

At the same time, I realized it was to be expected that the big bosses would have been watching us with their unblinking beady black eyes ever since we had Introverted waiting to pounce if we should ever come out of it. I tried to picture what was on the other side of the screen and I didn’t like the assignment.

But in spite of being petrified, I had a hard time not giggling, like the zany at graduation exercises, at the way the other ones in Surgery were taking it.

I mean the Soldiers. They each stiffened up like they had the old ramrod inside them, and their faces got that important look, and they glanced at each other and the floor without lowering their heads, as if they were measuring the distance between their feet and mentally chalking alternate sets of footprints to step into. The way Erich and Kaby held the Major and Minor Main tainers became formal; the way they checked their Callers and nodded reassuringly was positively esoteric. Even Illy somehow managed to look as if he were on parade.

Then from beyond the screen came what was, under the circumstances, the worst noise I’ve ever heard, a seemingly wordless distant-sounding howling and wailing, with a note of menace that made me shake, although it also had a nasty familiarity about it I couldn’t place. Sid’s voice broke into it, loud, fast and frightened.

“Your pardon, Lord, I did not think . . . certes, the gravity . . . I’ll attend to it on the instant.” He whipped a hand and half a head back through the screen, but without looking back and snapped his fingers, and before I could blink, Kaby had put the Minor Maintainer in his hand.

Sid went completely out of sight then and the howling stopped, and I thought that if that was the way a Lord Spider expressed his annoyance at being subjected to incorrect gravity, I hoped the bosses wouldn’t start any conversations with me.

Erich pursed his lips and threw the other Soldiers a nod and the four of them marched through the screen as if they’d drilled a lifetime for this moment. I had the wild idea that Erich might give me his arm, but he strode past me as if I were . . . an Entertainer.

I hesitated a moment then, but I had to see what was happening outside, even if I got eaten up for it. Besides, I had a bit of the thought that if these formalities went on much longer, even a Lord Spider was going to discover just how immune he was to confined atomic blast.

I walked through the screen with Lili beside me. The Soldiers had stopped a few feet in front of it. I looked around ahead for whatever it was going to turn out to be, prepared to drop a curtsy or whatever else, bar nothing, that seemed expected of me.

I had a hard time spotting the beast. Some of the others seemed to be having trouble too. I saw Doc weaving around foolishly by the control divan, and Bruce and Beau and Sevensee and Maud on their feet beyond it, and I wondered whether we were dealing with an invisible monster; ought to be easy enough for the bosses to turn a simple trick like invisibility.

Then I looked sharply left where everyone else, even glassyeyed Doc, was coming to look, into the Door sector, only there wasn’t any monster there or even a Door, but just Siddy holding a Minor Maintainer and grinning like when he is threatening to tickle me, only more fiendishly.

“Not a move, masters,” he cried his eyes dancing, “or I’ll pin the pack of you down, marry and amen I will. It is my firm purpose to see the Place blasted before I let this instrument out of my hands again.”

My first thought was, “ ’Sblood but Siddy is a real actor! I don’t care if he didn’t study under anyone later than Burbage, that just proves how Burbage is.”

Sid had convinced us not only that the real Spiders had arrived, but earlier that the gravity in the edge of Stores had been a lot heavier than it actually was. He completely fooled all those Soldiers, including my swelled-headed victorious little commandant, and I kind of filed away the timing of that business of reaching out the hand and snapping the fingers without looking, it was so good.

“Beauregard!” Sid called. “Get to the Major Maintainer and call headquarters. But don’t come through Door, marry go by Refresher. I’ll not trust a single Demon of you in this sector with me until much more has been shown and settled.”

“Siddy, you’re wonderful,” I said, starting toward him. “As soon as I got the Maintainer unsnarled and looked around and saw your sweet old face—”

“Back, tricksy trull! Not the breadth of one scarlet toenail nearer me, you Queen of Sleights and High Priestess of Deception!” he bellowed. “You least of all do I trust. Why you hid the Maintainer, I know not, ’faith, but later you’ll discover the truth to me or I’ll have your gizzard.”

I could see there was going to have to be a little explaining.

Doc, touched off, I guess, by Sid waving his hand at me, threw back his head and let off one of those shuddery Siberian wolf-howls he does so blamed well. Sid waved toward him sharply and he shut up, beaming toothily, but at least I knew who was responsible for the Spider wail of displeasure that Sid had either called for or more likely got as a gift of the gods and used in his act.