The Golden Age Of Science Fiction Vol Vii Part 43
"Those look like mean burns you got there, lady," I heard Pop tell the girl. He was right. There were blisters easy to see on three of the fingertips. "Ive got some salve thats pretty good," he went on, "and some clean cloth. I could put on a bandage for you if you wanted. If your hand started to feel poisoned you could always tell Ray here to slip a knife in me."
Pop was a cute ga.s.ser, you had to admit. I reminded myself that it was Pops business to play up to the both of us, charm being the secret weapon of all scroungers.
The girl gave a harsh little laugh. "Very well," she said, "but we will use my salve, I know it works for me." And she started to lead Pop to where wed hidden our things.
"Ill go with you," I told them, standing up.
It didnt look like we were going to have any more murders today--Pop had got through the preliminary ingratiations pretty well and the girl and me had had our catharsis--but that would be no excuse for any such stupidity as letting the two of them get near my .38.
Strolling to the cave and back I eased the situation a bit more by saying, "That scream you let off, Pop, really helped. I dont know what gave you the idea, but thanks."
"Oh that," he said. "Forget about it."
"I wont," I told him. "You may say youve quit killing, but helped on a do-in today."
"Ray," he said a little solemnly, "if itll make you feel any happier, Ill take a bit of the responsibility for every murder thats been done since the beginning of time."
I looked at him for a while. Then, "Pop, youre not by any chance the religious type?" I asked suddenly.
"Lord, no," he told us.
That struck me as a satisfactory answer. G.o.d preserve me from the religious type! We have quite a few of those in the Deathlands. It generally means that they try to convert you to something before they kill you. Or sometimes afterwards.
We completed our errands. I felt a lot more secure with Old Financiers Friend strapped to my middle. Mother is wonderful but she is not enough.
I dawdled over inspecting the Pilots pockets, partly to give my right hand time to come back all the way. And to tell the truth I didnt much enjoy the job--a corpse, especially such a handsome cadaver as this, just didnt go with Pops brand of light patter.
Pop did up the girls hand in high style, bandaging each finger separately and then persuading her to put on a big left-hand work glove he took out of his small pack.
"Lost the right," he explained, "which was the only one I ever used anyway. Never knew until now why I kept this. How does it feel, Alice?"
I might have known hed worm her name out of her. It occurred to me that Pops ideas of scrounging might extend to Alices favors. The urge doesnt die out when you get old, they tell me. Not completely.
Hed also helped her replace the knife on her stump with the hook.
By that time Id poked into all the Pilots pockets I could get at without stripping him and found nothing but three irregularly shaped blobs of metal, still hot to the touch. Under the charred spots, of course.
I didnt want the job of stripping him. Somebody else could do a little work, I told myself. Ive been bothered by bodies before (as who hasnt, I suppose?) but this one was really beginning to make me sick. Maybe I was cracking up, it occurred to me. Murder is a very wearing business, as all Deathlanders know, and although some crack earlier than others, all crack in the end.
I must have been showing how I was feeling because, "Cheer up, Ray," Pop said. "You and Alice have done a big murder--Id say the subject was six foot ten--so you ought to be happy. Youve drawn a blank on his pockets but theres still the plane."
"Yeah, thats right," I said, brightening a little. "Theres still the stuff in the plane." I knew there were some items I couldnt hope for, like .38 sh.e.l.ls, but thered be food and other things.
"Nuh-uh," Pop corrected me. "I said the plane. You may have thought its wrecked, but I dont. Have you taken a real gander at it? Its worth doing, believe me."
I jumped up. My heart was suddenly pounding. I was glad of an excuse to get away from the body, but there was a lot more in my feelings than that. I was filled with an excitement to which I didnt want to give a name because it would make the let-down too great.
One of the wide stubby wings of the plane, raking downward so that its tip almost touched the concrete, had hidden the undercarriage of the fuselage from our view. Now, coming around the wing, I saw that there was no undercarriage.
I had to drop to my hands and knees and scan around with my cheek next to the concrete before Id believe it. The "wrecked" plane was at all points at least six inches off the ground.
I got to my feet again. I was shaking. I wanted to talk but I couldnt. I grabbed the leading edge of the wing to stop from falling. The whole body of the plane gave a fraction of an inch and then resisted my leaning weight with lazy power, just like a gyroscope.
"Antigravity," I croaked, though you couldnt have heard me two feet. Then my voice came back. "Pop, Alice! They got antigravity! Antigravity--and its working!"
Alice had just come around the wing and was facing me. She was shaking too and her face was white like I knew mine was. Pop was politely standing off a little to one side, watching us curiously. "Told you youd won a real prize," he said in his matter-of-fact way.
Alice wet her lips. "Ray," she said, "we can get away."
Just those four words, but they did it. Something in me unlocked--no, exploded describes it better.
"We can go places!" I almost shouted.
"Beyond the dust," she said. "Mexico City. South America!" She was forgetting the Deathlanders cynical article of belief that the dust never ends, but then so was I. It makes a difference whether or not youve got a means of doing something.
"Rio!" I topped her with. "The Indies. Hong Kong. Bombay. Egypt. Bermuda. The French Riviera!"
"Bullfights and clean beds," she burst out with. "Restaurants. Swimming pools. Bathrooms!"
"Skindiving," I took it up with, as hysterical as she was. "Road races and roulette tables."
"Bentleys and Porsches!"
"Aircoups and DC4s and Comets!"
"Martinis and hashish and ice cream sodas!"
"Hot food! Fresh coffee! Gambling, smoking, dancing, music, drinks!" I was going to add women, but then I thought of how hard-bitten little Alice would look beside the dream creatures I had in mind. I tactfully suppressed the word but I filed the idea away.
I dont think either of us knew exactly what we were saying. Alice in particular I dont believe was old enough to have experienced almost any of the things the words referred to. They were mysterious symbols of long-interdicted delights spewing out of us.
"Ray," Alice said, hurrying to me, "lets get aboard."
"Yes," I said eagerly and then I saw a little problem. The door to the plane was a couple of feet above our heads. Whoever hoisted himself up first--or got hoisted up, as would have to be the case with Alice on account of her hand--would be momentarily at the others mercy. I guess it occurred to Alice too because she stopped and looked at me. It was a little like the old teaser about the fox, the goose, and the corn.
Maybe, too, we were both a little scared the plane was b.o.o.by-trapped.
Pop solved the problem in the direct way I might have expected of him by stepping quietly between us, giving a light leap, catching hold of the curving sill, chinning himself on it, and scrambling up into the plane so quickly that wed hardly have had time to do anything about it if wed wanted to. Pop couldnt be much more than a bantamweight, even with all his knives. The plane sagged an inch and then swung up again.
As Pop disappeared from view I backed off, reaching for my .38, but a moment later he stuck out his head and grinned down at us, resting his elbows on the sill.
"Come on up," he said. "Its quite a place. I promise not to push any b.u.t.tons til you get here, though theres whole regiments of them."
I grinned back at Pop and gave Alice a boost up. She didnt like it, but she could see it had to be her next. She hooked onto the sill and Pop caught hold of her left wrist below the big glove and heaved.
Then it was my turn. I didnt like it. I didnt like the idea of those two b.u.g.g.e.rs poised above me while my hands were helpless on the sill. But I thought Pops a nut. You can trust a nut, at least a little ways, though you cant trust n.o.body else. I heaved myself up. It was strange to feel the plane giving and then bracing itself like something alive. It seemed to have no trouble accepting our combined weight, which after all was hardly more than half again the Pilots.
Inside the cabin was pretty small but as Pop had implied, oh my! Everything looked soft and smoothly curved, like you imagine your insides being, and almost everything was a restfully dull silver. The general shape of it was something like the inside of an egg. Forward, which was the larger end, were a couple of screens and a wide viewport and some small dials and the b.u.t.ton brigades Pop had mentioned, lined up like blank typewriter keys but enough for writing Chinese.
Just aft of the instrument panel were two very comfortable-looking strange low seats. They seemed to be facing backwards until I realized they were meant to be knelt into. The occupant, I could see, would sort of sprawl forward, his hands free for b.u.t.ton-pushing and such. There were spongy chinrests.
Aft was a tiny instrument panel and a kind of sideways seat, not nearly so fancy. The door by which wed entered was to the side, a little aft.
I didnt see any indications of cabinets or fixed storage s.p.a.ces of any kinds, but somehow stuck to the walls here and there were quite a few smooth blobby packages, mostly dull silver too, some large, some small--valises and handbags, you might say.
All in all, it was a lovely cabin and, more than that, it seemed lived in. It looked as if it had been shaped for, and maybe by one man. It had a personality you could feel, a strong but warm personality of its own.
Then I realized whose personality it was. I almost got sick--so close to it I started telling myself it must be something antigravity did to your stomach.
But it was all too interesting to let you get sick right away. Pop was poking into two of the large mound-shaped cases that were sitting loose and open on the right-hand seat, as if ready for emergency use. One had a folded something with straps on it that was probably a parachute. The second had I judged a thousand or more of the inch cubes such as Id pried out of the Pilots hand, all neatly stacked in a cubical box inside the soft outer bag. You could see the one-cube gap where hed taken the one.
I decided to take the rest of the bags off the walls and open them, if I could figure out how. The others had the same idea, but Alice had to take off her hook and put on her pliers, before she could make progress. Pop helped her. There was room enough for us to do these things without crowding each other too closely.
By the time Alice was set to go Id discovered the trick of getting the bags off. You couldnt pull them away from the wall no matter what force you used, at least I couldnt, and you couldnt even slide them straight along the walls, but if you just gave them a gentle counterclockwise twist they came off like nothing. Twisting them clockwise glued them back on. It was very strange, but I told myself that if these boys could generate antigravity fields they could create screwy fields of other sorts.
It also occurred to me to wonder if "these boys" came from Earth. The Pilot had looked human enough, but these accomplishments didnt--not by my standards for human achievement in the Age of the Deaders. At any rate I had to admit to myself that my pet term "cultural queer" did not describe to my own satisfaction members of a culture which could create things like this cabin. Not that I liked making the admission. Its hard to admit an exception to a pet gripe against things.
The excitement of getting down and opening the Christmas packages saved me from speculating too much along these or any other lines.
I hit a minor jackpot right away. In the same bag were a compa.s.s, a catalytic pocket lighter, a knife with a saw-tooth back edge that made my affection for Mother waver, a dust mask, what looked like a compact water-filtration unit, and several other items adding up to a deluxe Deathlands Survival Kit.
There were some goggles in the kit I didnt savvy until I put them on and surveyed the landscape out the viewport. A nearby dust drift I knew to be hot glowed green as death in the slightly smoky lenses. Wow! Those specs had Geiger counters beat a mile and I privately bet myself they worked at night. I stuck them in my pocket quick.
We found bunches of tiny electronics parts--I think they were; spools of magnetic tape, but nothing to play it on; reels of very narrow film with frames much too small to see anything at all unmagnified; about three thousand cigarettes in unlabeled transparent packs of twenty--we lit up quick, using my new lighter; a picture book that didnt make much sense because the views might have been of tissue sections or starfields, we couldnt quite decide, and there were no captions to help; a thin book with ricepaper pages covered with Chinese characters--that was a puzzler; a thick book with nothing but columns of figures, all zeros and ones and nothing else; some tiny chisels; and a mouth organ. Pop, whod make a point of just helping in the hunt, appropriated that last item--I might have known he would, I told myself. Now we could expect "Turkey in the Straw" at odd moments.
Alice found a whole bag of what were womens things judging from the frilliness of the garments included. She set aside some squeeze-packs and little gadgets and elastic items right away, but she didnt take any of the clothes. I caught her measuring some kind of transparent chemise against herself when she thought we werent looking; it was for a girl maybe six sizes bigger.
And we found food. Cans of food that was heated up inside by the time you got the top rolled off, though the outside could still be cool to the touch. Cans of boneless steak, boneless chops, cream soup, peas, carrots, and fried potatoes--they werent labeled at all but you could generally guess the contents from the shape of the can. Eggs that heated when you touched them and were soft-boiled evenly and barely firm by the time you had the sh.e.l.l broke. And small plastic bottles of strong coffee that heated up hospitably too--in this case the tops did a five-second hesitation in the middle of your uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g them.
At that point as you can imagine we let the rest of the packages go and had ourselves a feast. The food ate even better than it smelled. It was real hard for me not to gorge.
Then as I was slurping down my second bottle of coffee I happened to look out the viewport and see the Pilots body and the darkening puddle around it and the coffee began to taste, well, not bad, but sickening. I dont think it was guilty conscience. Deathlanders outgrow those if they ever have them to start with; loners dont keep consciences--it takes cultures to give you those and make them work. Artistic inappropriateness is the closest I can come to describing what bothered me. Whatever it was, it made me feel lousy for a minute.
About the same time Alice did an odd thing with the last of her coffee. She slopped it on a rag and used it to wash her face. I guess shed caught a reflection of herself with the blood smears. She didnt eat any more after that either. Pop kept on chomping away, a slow feeder and appreciative.
To be doing something I started to inspect the instrument panel and right away I was all excited again. The two screens were what got me. They showed shadowy maps, one of North America, the other of the World. The first one was a whole lot like the map Id been imagining earlier--faint colors marked the small "civilized" areas including one in Eastern Canada and another in Upper Michigan that must be "countries" I didnt know about, and the Deathlands were real dark just as Id always maintained they should be!
South of Lake Michigan was a brightly luminous green point that must be where we were, I decided. And for some reason the colored areas representing Los Alamos and Atlantic Highlands were glowing brighter than the others--they had an active luminosity. Los Alamos was blue, Atla-Hi violet. Los Alamos was shown having more territory than I expected. Savannah Fortress for that matter was a whole lot bigger than Id have made it, pushing out pseudopods west and northeast along the coast, though its red didnt have the extra glow. But its growth-pattern reeked of imperialism.
The World screen showed dim color patches too, but for the moment I was more interested in the other.
The b.u.t.ton armies marched right up to the lower edge of the screens and right away I got the crazy hunch that they were connected with spots on the map. Push the b.u.t.ton for a certain spot and the plane would go there! Why, one b.u.t.ton even seemed to have a faint violet nimbus around it (or else my eyes were going bad) as if to say, "Push me and we go to Atlantic Highlands."
A crazy notion as I say and no sensible way to handle a planes navigation according to any standards I could imagine, but then as Ive also said this plane didnt seem to be designed according to any standards but rather in line with one mans ideas, including his whims.
At any rate that was my hunch about the b.u.t.tons and the screens. It tantalized rather than helped, for the only b.u.t.ton that seemed to be marked in any way was the one (guessing by color) for Atlantic Highlands, and I certainly didnt want to go there. Like Alamos, Atla-Hi has the reputation for being a mysteriously dangerous place. Not openly mean and death-on-Deathlanders like Walla Walla or Porter, but b.u.g.g.e.rs who swing too close to Atla-Hi have a way of never turning up again. You never expect to see again two out of three b.u.g.g.e.rs who pa.s.s in the night, but for three out of three to keep disappearing is against statistics.
Alice was beside me now, scanning things over too, and from the way she frowned and what not I gathered she had caught my hunch and also shared my puzzlement.
Now was the time, all right, when we needed an instruction manual and not one in Chinese neither!
Pop swallowed a mouthful and said, "Yep, nowd be a good time to have him back for a minute, to explain things a bit. Oh, dont take offense, Ray, I know how it was for you and for you too, Alice. I know the both of you had to murder him, it wasnt a matter of free choice, its the way us Deathlanders are built. Just the same, itd be nice to have a way of killing em and keeping them on hand at the same time. I remember feeling that way after murdering the Alamoser I told you about. You see, I come down with the very fever Id faked and almost died of it, while the man who could have cured me easy wouldnt do nothing but perfume the landscape with the help of a gang of anaerobic bacteria. Stubborn single-minded cuss!"
The first part of that oration started up my sickness again and irked me not a little. Dammit, what right had Pop to talk about how all us Deathlanders had to kill (which was true enough and by itself would have made me cotton to him) if as hed claimed earlier hed been able to quit killing? Pop was, an old hypocrite, I told myself--hed helped murder the Pilot, hed admitted as much--and Alice and med be better off if we bedded the both of them down together. But then the second part of what Pop said so made me want to feel pleasantly sorry for myself and laugh at the same time that I forgave the old geezer. Practically everything Pop said had that rea.s.suring touch of insanity about it.
So it was Alice who said, "Shut up, Pop"--and rather casually at that--and she and me went on to speculate and then to argue about which b.u.t.tons we ought to push, if any and in what order.
"Why not just start anywhere and keep pushing em one after another?--youre going to have to eventually, may as well start now," was Pops light-hearted contribution to the discussion. "Got to take some chances in this life." He was sitting in the back seat and still nibbling away like a white-topped mangy old squirrel.
Of course Alice and me knew more than that. We kept making guesses as to how the b.u.t.tons worked and then backing up our guesses with hot language. It was a little like two savages trying to decide how to play chess by looking at the pieces. And then the old escape-to-paradise theme took hold of us again and we studied the colored blobs on the World screen, trying to decide which would have the fanciest accommodations for blase ex-murderers. On the North America screen too there was an intriguing pink patch in southern Mexico that seemed to take in old Mexico City and Acapulco too.
"Quit talking and start pushing," Pop prodded us. "This way youre getting nowhere fast. I cant stand hesitation, it riles my nerves."
Alice thought you ought to push ten b.u.t.tons at once, using both hands, and she was working out patterns for me to try. But I was off on a kick about how we should darken the plane to see if any of the other b.u.t.tons glowed beside the one with the Atla-Hi violet.
"Look here, you killed a big man to get this plane," Pop broke in, coming up behind me. "Are you going to use it for discussion groups or are you going to fly it?"
"Quiet," I told him. Id got a new hunch and was using the dark gla.s.ses to scan the instrument panel. They didnt show anything.
"Dammit, I cant stand this any more," Pop said and reached a hand and arm between us and brought it down on about fifty b.u.t.tons, Id judge.
The other b.u.t.tons just went down and up, but the Atla-Hi b.u.t.ton went down and stayed down.
The violet blob of Atla-Hi on the screen got even brighter in the next few moments.
The door closed with a tiny thud.
We took off.