As the guru looked at them, the people once more began to submit their pleas. Lutt had trouble distinguishing separate requests.
“If you could only . . . I am afraid that my . . . When will. . . You said my husband . . . Where is . . . “
“Silencio!” Raj Dood shouted.
In the abrupt silence, he lamented: “I am too kind. It’s time to change my magic words.”
“I don’t see how they could’ve prevented a rapist from attacking Nishi,” Lutt said. “By the time she spoke those words it’d all have been over.” He touched the guru’s arm as he spoke.
“You touched me!” Raj Dood gasped. His face twisted in dismay. “Never touch a holy man!”
“Why not?” Lutt asked.
“It’s a rule, that’s all,” the guru said. He touched his sweatband.
Lutt noted now that the band appeared to be metal. It was scratched and dented.
“You are right about the length of the incantation,” the guru said. “I will make the new one shorter.” He clasped his hands in front of his robed stomach and stared pensively at Lutt.
“Uncle Dudley, I’d like to know how that cylinder works,” Lutt said.
“You will address me as Raj Dood,” the guru said. ‘The cylinder, as you call it, does not work. It just is.”
“Is that what you and Father fought about?”
“The past is only the past,” the guru said. “Observe.”
Without knowing how it happened, Lutt saw visions from his past, a parade of scenes, images from a quarter century ago when Uncle Dudley visited. Most of the visions involved dinners at the long refectory table in the Hansons’ main house above a lake, sessions where Uncle Dudley tried to explain his ideas to L.H. Sometimes there were arguments, and once L.H. left the table without finishing his meal. The visions ended with Uncle Dudley departing and Lutt realized he was seeing the last visit. Uncle Dudley never returned.
“I asked why you never returned,” Lutt said. “One of the help said you and Father had a fight.”
“Reliable help is difficult to find,” Uncle Dudley said. “Now, be still while I decide what is best. We cannot permit a fratricide. Morey must be frustrated. As for Woon, it is time we tested his will to live.”
Lutt found himself impressed. Uncle Dudley displayed a profound sense of dignity.
But what does he know of the Spirals? Ryll demanded.
“Ryll must not disturb my meditations,” the guru said.
He eavesdropped on my conversation with Nishi!
“I did not eavesdrop. It is not necessary. I always know what I need to know. Be still, Ryll. Your predicament is not my immediate concern.”
A hush fell over the room as the guru closed his eyes and bowed his head. Presently, he looked at Nishi.
“Yes, marriage would be best.” He looked at Lutt. “One of you must always dominate your body but with cooperation from the partner. To thwart Morey, you go to Earth immediately.”
“I have unfinished business here,” Lutt protested.
“You cannot have a dancing foot and a praying knee on the same leg,” the guru said. “Benign monarchy is best.”
What’s he talking about? Lutt wondered.
He’s telling us to be tolerant of each other. He reminds me of Habiba.
“Physical and ethereal are not truly separate,” the guru said. He waved an arm and the throng vanished from the waiting room, leaving only Lutt and Nishi with him.
“I wish you’d explain how you do that,” Lutt said.
“You would try to understand and that would prevent your understanding,” the guru said. “Think of it as magic.” Once more he looked at Nishi. “You love the part of him that did not knuckle under to his father. That is fortunate.”
“Uncle Dudley,” Lutt said, “I have to know about these whispers that come out of nowhere and the people with bizarre names who appear so mysteriously to—”
“Do you love Nishi?” the guru interrupted.
“Yes, but—”
“In your own way, I see, you do.”
Nishi felt a rush of warmth. Lutt admitted he loved her! This made her feel responsible to him. “How can we leave when our negotiations with the Legion are incomplete?” she asked.
“Others can conclude your business with the Legion,” the guru said. “Will you marry her, Lutt?”
“My legal department will draw up a marriage contract,” Lutt said. “You’ll get a negotiator’s percentage.”
“Never try to snow a guru,” the Raj Dood said. “Nishi, guard Ryll’s interests. I fear he may never return to Dreenor. Now, off you go. Osceola awaits.”
“Wait!” Lutt objected. “I have to ask you about vorspirals and—”
“The essence never waits!” the Raj Dood shouted, adding in a lower tone, “Of course, all that about essence is bullshit but I teach it anyway. Now, indeed, you go to Earth.”
***
Woon is on the Moon.
—Raj Dood incantation
“I tell you it’s like you set fire to an anthill!”
Prosik’s buddy, Hollis Weatherbee, his helmet thrown back, stood in the living room-bedroom of Subiyama’s Gorontium quarters. The red-headed Zone Patrolman frowned at Prosik, who stood in green shorts near Subiyama’s shoulder. Subiyama towered over him like a Sumo wrestler in an immense pink robe with a golden belt.
“You were right to come immediately with this,” she said. “What time is it?”
“A quarter to seven. We got a couple hours yet before our morning shift but Harper called me at the barracks and asked should we tell you? I went and had a look. It’s a madhouse. So, like I said, I called this friend.”
“Go through it again,” Subiyama said. “Exactly what did you see?”
“People running around, shouting. The big French general himself stood outside the lock of that flying cathouse telling people to go this way and that way. I heard Hanson’s name called but there was no sign of him unless they gave him Legion armor.”
“So then you called this friend of yours in the Legion?”
“Well, he’s kind of a friend. My sister back on Earth is married to the guy who smuggled this guy out of Marseilles and got him the false papers so he could join the Legion. She wrote me about him and . . . well, we’ve had a few drinks together.”
“And what did he say?”
“He says this Hanson sneaked off the ship in his bare feet and pajamas with a dame, someone they call ‘the Virgin Chanteuse,’ if you can imagine a virgin in a cathouse.”
“That sneaky son-of-a-bitch!”
“They’re watching the spaceports but, shit! With all the Hanson loot behind him, that bastard could be anywhere.”
“You think Hanson’s really taken French leave?”
“Yeah, I think so. My friend was real excited. Said the Legion would fry Hanson’s ass for running off with this woman. She’s some kinda pet or something.”
“What chance would he have getting off Venus?”
“Hell, lady! You can buy anything here.”
Weatherbee leaned to one side to address Prosik. “Lew, I got a message for you from the captain. He wants to see you right away.”
“Did he say why?”
“No, but the duty sergeant says it’s about your re-up. He says your papers were late arriving and you’re ten days past your re-enlistment date. It’s just routine.”
“Wait a minute,” Subiyama said. “Does this mean you’re no longer tied to the ZP, Lew honey?”
Weatherbee grinned. “Lady, on Venus they got you because they got your ass. He re-ups or they lose the voucher for his return transport. That’s why they sent him to Venus. This is punishment duty!”
“But if he has a return ticket?” she asked.
“Then they confiscate his armor. That’s ZP property.”
“How much does a good suit of armor cost?” she asked.
“Thirty, forty thousand. It all depends.”
She smiled softly at Prosik. “Lew
honey, why don’t you just send word to this captain he can stick his re-up where the moon don’t shine?”
Prosik was startled. “But what would I . . .”
“Honey, my family made it in oil when we still had it. I can stake you.” She pinched his bottom. “For a price.”
“Where would I go?” Prosik asked.
“We, honey! We would go back to Earth. I got me a hunch that slick bastard of a Hanson is headed home to collect on his little promotion scheme. He came up here for one thing—to sell his news service. The word is he did that and big. Now, it’s time to go put his Stetson under the jackpot.”
“But what would I do?”
“You would keep me happy, honey, and . . . well, I been thinking. You like that funny herb so much, I was wondering why we didn’t set up housekeeping on some land I got near Austin? You could raise all the basil you wanted. Must be a market for it somewhere.”
Prosik stared at her, hardly daring believe his good fortune. “Raise our own bazeel?”
“Basil, bazeel, whatever you wanta call it, honey.”
Prosik closed his eyes and wondered if he dared attempt his own limited idmaging—some little gift, something to show his gratitude. But it would raise unanswerable questions. This sweet Earther must never learn his Dreen origins.
“What about it?” she prompted.
“Anything you say, my sweet Habiba,” he said.
“That’s the way to talk, honey!”
Weatherbee smirked at Prosik. “Of all the damn fool luck! I don’t know what you got, Lew, but it must be something. You know, I may get my keister in a sling but I’m gonna enjoy carrying this message to the captain. That little pissant is gonna shit green.”
Prosik slipped an arm around Subiyama and caressed her bottom lightly. She grinned at him.
This could be a good life, Prosik thought. Some way would have to be found, of course, to sabotage the erasure ship and alert the Zone Patrol if any new ships arrived. Anonymous letters? Perhaps.
To Weatherbee, Subiyama said, “You’re all still on the payroll. See if you can confirm whether Hanson’s skipped. I’ll get on to my Earth contacts. He shows up down there, we’ll know.”
***
Oh, see Ola! Oh, see Ola! Oh, see Ola!
—Morning aerobics chant, Spirit Glass factory
I wonder if your Uncle Dudley has found a way to idmage? Ryll asked. That might explain this phenomenon.
Lutt did not bother answering. He felt too euphoric but without a physical rush. From the waiting room to the cylinder it had been but one step through that odd Spirit Glass. Nishi’s sweaty hand in his, he looked back to see the Spirit Glass, but something at the end of the cylinder above the window demanded his attention.
Venus! No doubt of what he saw up there—the hot red of the volcanoes seen without any cloud cover, the spouting fire of Chinese rockets. He and Nishi hovered in the cylinder, no floor under them, no wind, nothing substantial except for that silvery cylinder enclosing them. He began to doubt the enclosing wall itself was substantial.
“Look!” Nishi tugged his hand and pointed downward.
Lutt looked down. At the other end of the cylinder the gnarled blue marble of Earth grew larger with alarming rapidity. Now, he could see browns and greens in the landscape. Other bits of color came into view with details of the surface—chasms, mountains, buildings. An airplane drew its contrail above the land. He saw an ocean, then a familiar outline of harbors and inlets . . . a city.
“He’s sending us to Seattle,” Lutt said.
“Is that your destination of choice?” It was a husky voice from behind them. Lutt and Nishi twisted themselves into a tangle as they tried to turn. When they had it sorted out, they still clasped hands but at arms’ length and faced a darkly withered crone of a woman in a long dress printed with flowers and plants in brilliant greens, yellows, reds and oranges.
All of them were suspended in the cylinder with the tall buildings of Seattle just under them.
“Well, what you staring at?” the woman demanded.
Lutt tried to swallow in a dry throat. This was a very familiar face. His feeling of euphoria vanished.
“Who are you?” Nishi whispered.
“Osceola! In the flesh! Who else?” She grinned at Lutt. “If it weren’t for that damn Dood, I’d drop you into the nearest nasty jungle. I like having a Hanson in my clutches.”
She raised one gnarled hand and clenched it into a fist, twisting it in front of him.
“I’ve . . . I’ve never hurt you,” Lutt protested.
“Innocence is no defense!” she snarled, but she lowered her fist. “Well, where do you wanta go?”
“My private office at the Enquirer?”
She looked at Nishi. “You, too, dearie?”
“Yes,” Nishi whispered. “I will go with Lutt.”
“Women in love seldom show good sense,” Osceola said,
“How do you do this?” Lutt asked. “We were on Venus and . . . ”
“You Hansons never ask the right questions,” Osceola said. “And y’ never know when to just shut up and watch! That’s one thing I gotta hand your Uncle Dudley. Knows how to use his senses. Sometimes I wonder if he ain’t really Seminole.”
She waved her right hand and a tennis ball appeared in it. She squeezed the ball and it sprouted a lily that dissolved into a rattlesnake that became a cane. “Magic,” she said. “That’s how we do it.”
It’s some kind of idmaging! I know it! Ryll intruded.
Lutt felt his eyelids close and the eyes swiveled inward. When they swiveled back and opened, Osceola held a dripping length of sea kelp and there was a startled expression on her face.
“If you knew how to do this all along, why you wasting my time?” She demanded, glaring at Lutt. “Or was it you?” She shifted her glare to Nishi. “Or is it that damn Dood with his little jokes? You around somewhere, Dood? You having your little laugh? I catch you, by gawd, you’re not getting in my bed again!”
Nishi squeezed Lutt’s hand. “It was Ryll, wasn’t it?” she asked.
“What in the name of ten thousand white devils does a rill have to do with this?” Osceola asked.
“I did it,” Lutt said. “But I cannot do the things you and Uncle Dudley do.”
Liar! Ryll accused. How dare you take credit for my prank?
You wanta explain to her who you are?
When Ryll did not respond, Lutt said, “I apologize, Osceola. I’m just a beginner.”
“Pretty good for a beginner,” she said, shaking kelp and seawater off her hand. “You still wanta go to your office?”
“If you please?”
You’re being very polite, Ryll intruded.
This dame could dump us into a volcano if she wants!
She does appear to be a superior adept. It’s very odd. I have been told other beings may find a way to idmage, but this is a combination of artistic talents I did not suspect. She does not even require a Storyship and, if that was a Spiral we came through, it was a most peculiar Spiral.
Lutt did not reply.
“Mother of God, help us!” Nishi pleaded.
Ryll found himself in possession of his merged flesh, his attention focused outward, concentrating with a power he had never suspected he possessed. The city lay close beneath, but still no wind touched him. He felt Nishi’s hand gripping his painfully. There were people on the streets, a zoo . . . insects. He realized he could see the smallest living particles, things no Dreen or Earther ever saw with naked eyes.
Abruptly, it was over. He and Nishi stood in Lutt’s private office at the Enquirer. Ryll had the odd sensation that his flesh had been disassembled and reassembled. The ability to see minutiae had vanished. The office odors were as he remembered—ink, coffee, stale dust, rancid food—the synthetic aromas Lutt had caused to be sprayed here for his own peculiar reasons.
It suddenly occurred to Ryll that smells were an area of idmaging he had never truly explored.
Wha
t a delightful idea! If I ever idmage a world, it will be a place of marvelous aromas, a place difficult to describe even in an assimilated story.
“You okay, Lutt?”
Ade Stuart in his electric cart sat in the doorway.
Ryll felt cold. He clutched Nishi’s hand. There was no internal sign of Lutt. What was he doing? Are you there, Lutt?
No response.
“I’m . . . I’m okay,” Ryll said, trying to emulate Lutt’s voice.
Nishi looked at him with a questioning expression. His voice sounded different.
“You’re the one did that story on the Venus bordello,” Stuart said, looking at Nishi. “A great job! You people sure made a fast transit. Did the military bring you back?”
“We . ., ah, had a special service,” Ryll said.
“You sure as hell must have. But I’m glad you’re back. Big story breaking. Zone Patrol found an alien in a high-security area the day after you left for Venus. They couldn’t keep a lid on it. Rumors all over the place. They caught him. He got away. Who knows? We’re on it with a fall team.”
“We left the vorcameras on the ship!” Nishi suddenly wailed. “The Legion will find out how they work and never pay!”
“The cameras are here,” Stuart said. “Just arrived by special messenger with a note; ‘Courtesy of the Raj Dood.’ Isn’t that the crazy guru on Venus? You get a story on him, too?”
“No . . . story on him,” Ryll said.
“How come you’re in pajamas?” Stuart asked.
“We had to leave rather abruptly,” Ryll said.
“Copyboy!” Stuart bellowed.
A slender young man in a black singlesuit came up behind Stuart. “Sir?”
“Get Mr. Hanson’s clothes out of the closet over there.” Stuart pointed to a door in the corner of the office.
The copyboy squeezed past Stuart and went to the closet. “Any particular things you want, sir?” he asked, looking at Ryll.
“Anything, anything,” Ryll said. He looked at Nishi.
“You sound very strange, Lutt,” she said. “Did you get a chill during the . . . I mean, when we came?”