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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/23164-8.txt b/23164-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2f51a80 --- /dev/null +++ b/23164-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2581 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Creature from Cleveland Depths, by +Fritz Reuter Leiber + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Creature from Cleveland Depths + +Author: Fritz Reuter Leiber + +Release Date: October 24, 2007 [EBook #23164] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy December + 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the + U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + +Here is a modern tale of an inner-directed sorcerer and an +outer-directed sorcerer's apprentice ... a tale of-- + + + + +THE CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS + + +By FRITZ LEIBER + + +Illustrated by WOOD + + + + +"Come on, Gussy," Fay prodded quietly, "quit stalking around like a +neurotic bear and suggest something for my invention team to work on. +I enjoy visiting you and Daisy, but I can't stay aboveground all +night." + +"If being outside the shelters makes you nervous, don't come around +any more," Gusterson told him, continuing to stalk. "Why doesn't your +invention team think of something to invent? Why don't you? Hah!" In +the "Hah!" lay triumphant condemnation of a whole way of life. + +"We do," Fay responded imperturbably, "but a fresh viewpoint sometimes +helps." + +"I'll say it does! Fay, you burglar, I'll bet you've got twenty people +like myself you milk for free ideas. First you irritate their bark and +then you make the rounds every so often to draw off the latex or the +maple gloop." + +Fay smiled. "It ought to please you that society still has a use for +you outre inner-directed types. It takes something to make a junior +executive stay aboveground after dark, when the missiles are on the +prowl." + +"Society can't have much use for us or it'd pay us something," +Gusterson sourly asserted, staring blankly at the tankless TV and +kicking it lightly as he passed on. + +"No, you're wrong about that, Gussy. Money's not the key goad with you +inner-directeds. I got that straight from our Motivations chief." + +"Did he tell you what we should use instead to pay the grocer? A deep +inner sense of achievement, maybe? Fay, why should I do any free +thinking for Micro Systems?" + +"I'll tell you why, Gussy. Simply because you get a kick out of +insulting us with sardonic ideas. If we take one of them seriously, +you think we're degrading ourselves, and that pleases you even more. +Like making someone laugh at a lousy pun." + + * * * * * + +Gusterson held still in his roaming and grinned. "That the reason, +huh? I suppose my suggestions would have to be something in the line +of ultra-subminiaturized computers, where one sinister fine-etched +molecule does the work of three big bumbling brain cells?" + +"Not necessarily. Micro Systems is branching out. Wheel as free as a +rogue star. But I'll pass along to Promotion your one molecule-three +brain cell sparkler. It's a slight exaggeration, but it's catchy." + +"I'll have my kids watch your ads to see if you use it and then I'll +sue the whole underworld." Gusterson frowned as he resumed his +stalking. He stared puzzledly at the antique TV. "How about inventing +a plutonium termite?" he said suddenly. "It would get rid of those +stockpiles that are worrying you moles to death." + +Fay grimaced noncommittally and cocked his head. + +"Well, then, how about a beauty mask? How about that, hey? I don't +mean one to repair a woman's complexion, but one she'd wear all the +time that'd make her look like a 17-year-old sexpot. That'd end _her_ +worries." + +"Hey, that's for me," Daisy called from the kitchen. "I'll make +Gusterson suffer. I'll make him crawl around on his hands and knees +begging my immature favors." + +[Illustration] + +"No, you won't," Gusterson called back. "You having a face like that +would scare the kids. Better cancel that one, Fay. Half the adult race +looking like Vina Vidarsson is too awful a thought." + +"Yah, you're just scared of making a million dollars," Daisy jeered. + +"I sure am," Gusterson said solemnly, scanning the fuzzy floor from +one murky glass wall to the other, hesitating at the TV. "How about +something homey now, like a flock of little prickly cylinders that +roll around the floor collecting lint and flub? They'd work by +electricity, or at a pinch cats could bat 'em around. Every so often +they'd be automatically herded together and the lint cleaned off the +bristles." + +"No good," Fay said. "There's no lint underground and cats are +_verboten_. And the aboveground market doesn't amount to more +moneywise than the state of Southern Illinois. Keep it grander, Gussy, +and more impractical--you can't sell people merely useful ideas." From +his hassock in the center of the room he looked uneasily around. "Say, +did that violet tone in the glass come from the high Cleveland +hydrogen bomb or is it just age and ultraviolet, like desert glass?" + + * * * * * + +"No, somebody's grandfather liked it that color," Gusterson informed +him with happy bitterness. "I like it too--the glass, I mean, not the +tint. People who live in glass houses can see the stars--especially +when there's a window-washing streak in their germ-plasm." + +"Gussy, why don't you move underground?" Fay asked, his voice taking +on a missionary note. "It's a lot easier living in one room, believe +me. You don't have to tramp from room to room hunting things." + +"I like the exercise," Gusterson said stoutly. + +"But I bet Daisy'd prefer it underground. And your kids wouldn't have +to explain why their father lives like a Red Indian. Not to mention +the safety factor and insurance savings and a crypt church within easy +slidewalk distance. Incidentally, we see the stars all the time, +better than you do--by repeater." + +"Stars by repeater," Gusterson murmured to the ceiling, pausing for God +to comment. Then, "No, Fay, even if I could afford it--and stand it--I'm +such a bad-luck Harry that just when I got us all safely stowed at the +N minus 1 sublevel, the Soviets would discover an earthquake bomb that +struck from below, and I'd have to follow everybody back to the +treetops. _Hey! How about bubble homes in orbit around earth?_ Micro +Systems could subdivide the world's most spacious suburb and all you +moles could go ellipsing. Space is as safe as there is: no air, no +shock waves. Free fall's the ultimate in restfulness--great health +benefits. Commute by rocket--or better yet stay home and do all your +business by TV-telephone, or by waldo if it were that sort of thing. +Even pet your girl by remote control--she in her bubble, you in yours, +whizzing through vacuum. Oh, damn-damn-_damn_-_damn_-DAMN!" + +He was glaring at the blank screen of the TV, his big hands clenching +and unclenching. + +"Don't let Fay give you apoplexy--he's not worth it," Daisy said, +sticking her trim head in from the kitchen, while Fay inquired +anxiously, "Gussy, what's the matter?" + +"Nothing, you worm!" Gusterson roared, "Except that an hour ago I +forgot to tune in on the only TV program I've wanted to hear this +year--_Finnegans Wake_ scored for English, Gaelic and brogue. Oh, +damn-_damn_-DAMN!" + +"Too bad," Fay said lightly. "I didn't know they were releasing it on +flat TV too." + + * * * * * + +"Well, they were! Some things are too damn big to keep completely +underground. And I had to forget! I'm always doing it--I miss +everything! Look here, you rat," he blatted suddenly at Fay, shaking +his finger under the latter's chin, "I'll tell you what you can have +that ignorant team of yours invent. They can fix me up a mechanical +secretary that I can feed orders into and that'll remind me when the +exact moment comes to listen to TV or phone somebody or mail in a +story or write a letter or pick up a magazine or look at an eclipse or +a new orbiting station or fetch the kids from school or buy Daisy a +bunch of flowers or whatever it is. It's got to be something that's +always with me, not something I have to go and consult or that I can +get sick of and put down somewhere. And it's got to remind me forcibly +enough so that I take notice and don't just shrug it aside, like I +sometimes do even when Daisy reminds me of things. That's what your +stupid team can invent for me! If they do a good job, I'll pay 'em as +much as fifty dollars!" + +"That doesn't sound like anything so very original to me," Fay +commented coolly, leaning back from the wagging finger. "I think all +senior executives have something of that sort. At least, their +secretary keeps some kind of file...." + +"I'm not looking for something with spiked falsies and nylons up to +the neck," interjected Gusterson, whose ideas about secretaries were a +trifle lurid. "I just want a mech reminder--that's all!" + +"Well, I'll keep the idea in mind," Fay assured him, "along with the +bubble homes and beauty masks. If we ever develop anything along those +lines, I'll let you know. If it's a beauty mask, I'll bring Daisy a +pilot model--to use to scare strange kids." He put his watch to his +ear. "Good lord, I'm going to have to cut to make it underground +before the main doors close. Just ten minutes to Second Curfew! 'By, +Gus. 'By, Daze." + +Two minutes later, living room lights out, they watched Fay's +foreshortened antlike figure scurrying across the balding ill-lit park +toward the nearest escalator. + +Gusterson said, "Weird to think of that big bright space-poor glamor +basement stretching around everywhere underneath. Did you remind +Smitty to put a new bulb in the elevator?" + +"The Smiths moved out this morning," Daisy said tonelessly. "They went +underneath." + +"Like cockroaches," Gusterson said. "Cockroaches leavin' a sinkin' +apartment building. Next the ghosts'll be retreatin' to the shelters." + +"Anyhow, from now on we're our own janitors," Daisy said. + +He nodded. "Just leaves three families besides us loyal to this glass +death trap. Not countin' ghosts." He sighed. Then, "You like to move +below, Daisy?" he asked softly, putting his arm lightly across her +shoulders. "Get a woozy eyeful of the bright lights and all for a +change? Be a rat for a while? Maybe we're getting too old to be bats. +I could scrounge me a company job and have a thinking closet all to +myself and two secretaries with stainless steel breasts. Life'd be +easier for you and a lot cleaner. And you'd sleep safer." + +"That's true," she answered and paused. She ran her fingertip slowly +across the murky glass, its violet tint barely perceptible against a +cold dim light across the park. "But somehow," she said, snaking her +arm around his waist, "I don't think I'd sleep happier--or one bit +excited." + + + + +II + + +Three weeks later Fay, dropping in again, handed to Daisy the larger +of the two rather small packages he was carrying. + +"It's a so-called beauty mask," he told her, "complete with wig, +eyelashes, and wettable velvet lips. It even breathes--pinholed +elastiskin with a static adherence-charge. But Micro Systems had +nothing to do with it, thank God. Beauty Trix put it on the market ten +days ago and it's already started a teen-age craze. Some boys are +wearing them too, and the police are yipping at Trix for encouraging +transvestism with psychic repercussions." + +"Didn't I hear somewhere that Trix is a secret subsidiary of Micro?" +Gusterson demanded, rearing up from his ancient electric typewriter. +"No, you're not stopping me writing, Fay--it's the gut of evening. If +I do any more I won't have any juice to start with tomorrow. I got +another of my insanity thrillers moving. A real id-teaser. In this one +not only all the characters are crazy but the robot psychiatrist too." + +"The vending machines are jumping with insanity novels," Fay +commented. "Odd they're so popular." + +Gusterson chortled. "The only way you outer-directed moles will accept +individuality any more even in a fictional character, without your +superegos getting seasick, is for them to be crazy. Hey, Daisy! Lemme +see that beauty mask!" + +But his wife, backing out of the room, hugged the package to her bosom +and solemnly shook her head. + +"A hell of a thing," Gusterson complained, "not even to be able to see +what my stolen ideas look like." + +"I got a present for you too," Fay said. "Something you might think of +as a royalty on all the inventions someone thought of a little ahead +of you. Fifty dollars by your own evaluation." He held out the smaller +package. "Your tickler." + +"My _what_?" Gusterson demanded suspiciously. + +"Your tickler. The mech reminder you wanted. It turns out that the +file a secretary keeps to remind her boss to do certain things at +certain times is called a tickler file. So we named this a tickler. +Here." + +Gusterson still didn't touch the package. "You mean you actually put +your invention team to work on that nonsense?" + +"Well, what do you think? Don't be scared of it. Here, I'll show you." + +As he unwrapped the package, Fay said, "It hasn't been decided yet +whether we'll manufacture it commercially. If we do, I'll put through +a voucher for you--for 'development consultation' or something like +that. Sorry no royalty's possible. Davidson's squad had started to +work up the identical idea three years ago, but it got shelved. I +found it on a snoop through the closets. There! Looks rich, doesn't +it?" + + * * * * * + +On the scarred black tabletop was a dully gleaming silvery object +about the size and shape of a cupped hand with fingers merging. A tiny +pellet on a short near-invisible wire led off from it. On the back was +a punctured area suggesting the face of a microphone; there was also a +window with a date and time in hours and minutes showing through and +next to that four little buttons in a row. The concave underside of +the silvery "hand" was smooth except for a central area where what +looked like two little rollers came through. + +"It goes on your shoulder under your shirt," Fay explained, "and you +tuck the pellet in your ear. We might work up bone conduction on a +commercial model. Inside is an ultra-slow fine-wire recorder holding a +spool that runs for a week. The clock lets you go to any place on the +7-day wire and record a message. The buttons give you variable speed +in going there, so you don't waste too much time making a setting. +There's a knack in fingering them efficiently, but it's easily +acquired." + +Fay picked up the tickler. "For instance, suppose there's a TV show +you want to catch tomorrow night at twenty-two hundred." He touched +the buttons. There was the faintest whirring. The clock face blurred +briefly three times before showing the setting he'd mentioned. Then +Fay spoke into the punctured area: "Turn on TV Channel Two, you big +dummy!" He grinned over at Gusterson. "When you've got all your +instructions to yourself loaded in, you synchronize with the present +moment and let her roll. Fit it on your shoulder and forget it. Oh, +yes, and it literally does tickle you every time it delivers an +instruction. That's what the little rollers are for. Believe me, you +can't ignore it. Come on, Gussy, take off your shirt and try it out. +We'll feed in some instructions for the next ten minutes so you get +the feel of how it works." + +"I don't want to," Gusterson said. "Not right now. I want to sniff +around it first. My God, it's small! Besides everything else it does, +does it think?" + +"Don't pretend to be an idiot, Gussy! You know very well that even +with ultra-sub-micro nothing quite this small can possibly have enough +elements to do any thinking." + +Gusterson shrugged. "I don't know about that. I think bugs think." + + * * * * * + +Fay groaned faintly. "Bugs operate by instinct, Gussy," he said. "A +patterned routine. They do not scan situations and consequences and +then make decisions." + +"I don't expect bugs to make decisions," Gusterson said. "For that +matter I don't like people who go around alla time making decisions." + +"Well, you can take it from me, Gussy, that this tickler is just a +miniaturized wire recorder and clock ... and a tickler. It doesn't do +anything else." + +"Not yet, maybe," Gusterson said darkly. "Not this model. Fay, I'm +serious about bugs thinking. Or if they don't exactly think, they +feel. They've got an interior drama. An inner glow. They're conscious. +For that matter, Fay, I think all your really complex electronic +computers are conscious too." + +"Quit kidding, Gussy." + +"Who's kidding?" + +"You are. Computers simply aren't alive." + +"What's alive? A word. I think computers are conscious, at least while +they're operating. They've got that inner glow of awareness. They sort +of ... well ... meditate." + +"Gussy, computers haven't got any circuits for meditating. They're not +programmed for mystical lucubrations. They've just got circuits for +solving the problems they're on." + +"Okay, you admit they've got problem-solving circuits--like a man has. +I say if they've got the equipment for being conscious, they're +conscious. What has wings, flies." + +"Including stuffed owls and gilt eagles and dodoes--and wood-burning +airplanes?" + +"Maybe, under some circumstances. There _was_ a wood-burning airplane. +Fay," Gusterson continued, wagging his wrists for emphasis, "I really +think computers are conscious. They just don't have any way of telling +us that they are. Or maybe they don't have any _reason_ to tell us, +like the little Scotch boy who didn't say a word until he was fifteen +and was supposed to be deaf and dumb." + +"Why didn't he say a word?" + +"Because he'd never had anything to say. Or take those Hindu fakirs, +Fay, who sit still and don't say a word for thirty years or until +their fingernails grow to the next village. If Hindu fakirs can do +that, computers can!" + +Looking as if he were masticating a lemon, Fay asked quietly, "Gussy, +did you say you're working on an insanity novel?" + + * * * * * + +Gusterson frowned fiercely. "Now you're kidding," he accused Fay. "The +dirty kind of kidding, too." + +"I'm sorry," Fay said with light contrition. "Well, now you've sniffed +at it, how about trying on Tickler?" He picked up the gleaming blunted +crescent and jogged it temptingly under Gusterson's chin. + +"Why should I?" Gusterson asked, stepping back. "Fay, I'm up to my +ears writing a book. The last thing I want is something interrupting +me to make me listen to a lot of junk and do a lot of useless things." + +"But, dammit, Gussy! It was all your idea in the first place!" Fay +blatted. Then, catching himself, he added, "I mean, you were one of +the first people to think of this particular sort of instrument." + +"Maybe so, but I've done some more thinking since then." Gusterson's +voice grew a trifle solemn. "Inner-directed worthwhile thinkin'. Fay, +when a man forgets to do something, it's because he really doesn't +want to do it or because he's all roiled up down in his unconscious. +He ought to take it as a danger signal and investigate the roiling, +not hire himself a human or mech reminder." + +"Bushwa," Fay retorted. "In that case you shouldn't write memorandums +or even take notes." + +"Maybe I shouldn't," Gusterson agreed lamely. "I'd have to think that +over too." + +"Ha!" Fay jeered. "No, I'll tell you what your trouble is, Gussy. +You're simply scared of this contraption. You've loaded your skull +with horror-story nonsense about machines sprouting minds and taking +over the world--until you're even scared of a simple miniaturized and +clocked recorder." He thrust it out. + +"Maybe I am," Gusterson admitted, controlling a flinch. "Honestly, +Fay, that thing's got a gleam in its eye as if it had ideas of its +own. Nasty ideas." + +"Gussy, you nut, it hasn't _got_ an eye." + +"Not now, no, but it's got the gleam--the eye may come. It's the +Cheshire cat in reverse. If you'd step over here and look at yourself +holding it, you could see what I mean. But I don't think computers +_sprout_ minds, Fay. I just think they've _got_ minds, because they've +got the mind elements." + +"Ho, ho!" Fay mocked. "Everything that has a material side has a +mental side," he chanted. "Everything that's a body is also a spirit. +Gussy, that dubious old metaphysical dualism went out centuries ago." + +"Maybe so," Gusterson said, "but we still haven't anything but that +dubious dualism to explain the human mind, have we? It's a jelly of +nerve cells and it's a vision of the cosmos. If that isn't dualism, +what is?" + +"I give up. Gussy, are you going to try out this tickler?" + +"No!" + +"But dammit, Gussy, we made it just for you!--practically." + +"Sorry, but I'm not coming near the thing." + +"Zen come near me," a husky voice intoned behind them. "Tonight I +vant a man." + + * * * * * + +Standing in the door was something slim in a short silver sheath. It +had golden bangs and the haughtiest snub-nosed face in the world. It +slunk toward them. + +"My God, Vina Vidarsson!" Gusterson yelled. + +"Daisy, that's terrific," Fay applauded, going up to her. + +She bumped him aside with a swing of her hips, continuing to advance. +"Not you, Ratty," she said throatily. "I vant a real man." + +"Fay, I suggested Vina Vidarsson's face for the beauty mask," +Gusterson said, walking around his wife and shaking a finger. "Don't +tell me Trix just happened to think of that too." + +"What else could they think of?" Fay laughed. "This season sex means +VV and nobody else." An odd little grin flicked his lips, a tic +traveled up his face and his body twitched slightly. "Say, folks, I'm +going to have to be leaving. It's exactly fifteen minutes to Second +Curfew. Last time I had to run and I got heartburn. When _are_ you +people going to move downstairs? I'll leave Tickler, Gussy. Play +around with it and get used to it. 'By now." + +"Hey, Fay," Gusterson called curiously, "have you developed absolute +time sense?" + +Fay grinned a big grin from the doorway--almost too big a grin for so +small a man. "I didn't need to," he said softly, patting his right +shoulder. "My tickler told me." + +He closed the door behind him. + +As side-by-side they watched him strut sedately across the murky +chilly-looking park, Gusterson mused, "So the little devil had one of +those nonsense-gadgets on all the time and I never noticed. Can you +beat that?" Something drew across the violet-tinged stars a short +bright line that quickly faded. "What's that?" Gusterson asked +gloomily. "Next to last stage of missile-here?" + +"Won't you settle for an old-fashioned shooting star?" Daisy asked +softly. The (wettable) velvet lips of the mask made even her natural +voice sound different. She reached a hand back of her neck to pull the +thing off. + +"Hey, don't do that," Gusterson protested in a hurt voice. "Not for a +while anyway." + +"Hokay!" she said harshly, turning on him. "Zen down on your knees, +dog!" + + + + +III + + +It was a fortnight and Gusterson was loping down the home stretch on +his 40,000-word insanity novel before Fay dropped in again, this time +promptly at high noon. + +Normally Fay cringed his shoulders a trifle and was inclined to +slither, but now he strode aggressively, his legs scissoring in a +fast, low goosestep. He whipped off the sunglasses that all moles wore +topside by day and began to pound Gusterson on the back while calling +boisterously, "How are you, Gussy Old Boy, Old Boy?" + +Daisy came in from the kitchen to see why Gusterson was choking. She +was instantly grabbed and violently bussed to the accompaniment of, +"Hiya, Gorgeous! Yum-yum! How about ad-libbing that some weekend?" + +She stared at Fay dazedly, rasping the back of her hand across her +mouth, while Gusterson yelled, "Quit that! What's got into you, Fay? +Have they transferred you out of R & D to Company Morale? Do they line +up all the secretaries at roll call and make you give them an +eight-hour energizing kiss?" + +"Ha, wouldn't you like to know?" Fay retorted. He grinned, twitched +jumpingly, held still a moment, then hustled over to the far wall. +"Look out there," he rapped, pointing through the violet glass at a +gap between the two nearest old skyscraper apartments. "In thirty +seconds you'll see them test the new needle bomb at the other end of +Lake Erie. It's educational." He began to count off seconds, +vigorously semaphoring his arm. "... Two ... three ... Gussy, I've put +through a voucher for two yards for you. Budgeting squawked, but I +pressured 'em." + +Daisy squealed, "Yards!--are those dollar thousands?" while Gusterson +was asking, "Then you're marketing the tickler?" + +"Yes. Yes," Fay replied to them in turn. "... Nine ... ten ..." Again +he grinned and twitched. "Time for noon Com-staff," he announced +staccato. "Pardon the hush box." He whipped a pancake phone from under +his coat, clapped it over his face and spoke fiercely but inaudibly +into it, continuing to semaphore. Suddenly he thrust the phone away. +"Twenty-nine ... thirty ... Thar she blows!" + +An incandescent streak shot up the sky from a little above the far +horizon and a doubly dazzling point of light appeared just above the +top of it, with the effect of God dotting an "i". + +"Ha, that'll skewer espionage satellites like swatting flies!" Fay +proclaimed as the portent faded. "Bracing! Gussy, where's your +tickler? I've got a new spool for it that'll razzle-dazzle you." + +"I'll bet," Gusterson said drily. "Daisy?" + +"You gave it to the kids and they got to fooling with it and broke +it." + +"No matter," Fay told them with a large sidewise sweep of his hand. +"Better you wait for the new model. It's a six-way improvement." + +"So I gather," Gusterson said, eyeing him speculatively. "Does it +automatically inject you with cocaine? A fix every hour on the +second?" + +"Ha-ha, joke. Gussy, it achieves the same effect without using any +dope at all. Listen: a tickler reminds you of your duties and +opportunities--your chances for happiness and success! What's the +obvious next step?" + + * * * * * + +"Throw it out the window. By the way, how do you do that when you're +underground?" + +"We have hi-speed garbage boosts. The obvious next step is you give +the tickler a heart. It not only tells you, it warmly persuades you. +It doesn't just say, 'Turn on the TV Channel Two, Joyce program,' it +_brills_ at you, 'Kid, Old Kid, race for the TV and flip that Two +Switch! There's a great show coming through the pipes this second plus +ten--you'll enjoy the hell out of yourself! Grab a ticket to +ecstasy!'" + +"My God," Gusterson gasped, "are those the kind of jolts it's giving +you now?" + +"Don't you get it, Gussy? You never load your tickler except when +you're feeling buoyantly enthusiastic. You don't just tell yourself +what to do hour by hour next week, you sell yourself on it. That way +you not only make doubly sure you'll obey instructions but you +constantly reinoculate yourself with your own enthusiasm." + +"I can't stand myself when I'm that enthusiastic," Gusterson said. "I +feel ashamed for hours afterwards." + +"You're warped--all this lonely sky-life. What's more, Gussy, think +how still more persuasive some of those instructions would be if they +came to a man in his best girl's most bedroomy voice, or his doctor's +or psycher's if it's that sort of thing--or Vina Vidarsson's! By the +way, Daze, don't wear that beauty mask outside. It's a grand +misdemeanor ever since ten thousand teen-agers rioted through +Tunnel-Mart wearing them. And VV's sueing Trix." + +"No chance of that," Daisy said. "Gusterson got excited and bit off +the nose." She pinched her own delicately. + +"I'd no more obey my enthusiastic self," Gusterson was brooding, "than +I'd obey a Napoleon drunk on his own brandy or a hopped-up St. +Francis. Reinoculated with my own enthusiasm? I'd die just like from +snake-bite!" + +"Warped, I said," Fay dogmatized, stamping around. "Gussy, having the +instructions persuasive instead of neutral turned out to be only the +opening wedge. The next step wasn't so obvious, but I saw it. Using +subliminal verbal stimuli in his tickler, a man can be given constant +supportive euphoric therapy 24 hours a day! And it makes use of all +that empty wire. We've revived the ideas of a pioneer dynamic psycher +named Dr. Coué. For instance, right now my tickler is saying to me--in +tones too soft to reach my conscious mind, but do they stab into the +unconscious!--'Day by day in every way I'm getting sharper and +sharper.' It alternates that with 'gutsier and gutsier' and ... well, +forget that. Coué mostly used 'better and better' but that seems too +general. And every hundredth time it says them out loud and the +tickler gives me a brush--just a faint cootch--to make sure I'm +keeping in touch." + +"That third word-pair," Daisy wondered, feeling her mouth +reminiscently. "Could I guess?" + + * * * * * + +Gusterson's eyes had been growing wider and wider. "Fay," he said, "I +could no more use my mind for anything if I knew all that was going on +in my inner ear than if I were being brushed down with brooms by three +witches. Look here," he said with loud authority, "you got to stop all +this--it's crazy. Fay, if Micro'll junk the tickler, I'll think you up +something else to invent--something real good." + +"Your inventing days are over," Fay brilled gleefully. "I mean, you'll +never equal your masterpiece." + +"How about," Gusterson bellowed, "an anti-individual guided missile? +The physicists have got small-scale antigravity good enough to float +and fly something the size of a hand grenade. I can smell that even +though it's a back-of-the-safe military secret. Well, how about keying +such a missile to a man's finger-prints--or brainwaves, maybe, or his +unique smell!--so it can spot and follow him around then target in on +him, without harming anyone else? Long-distance assassination--and the +stinkingest gets it! Or you could simply load it with some disgusting +goo and key it to teen-agers as a group--that'd take care of them. +Fay, doesn't it give you a rich warm kick to think of my midget +missiles buzzing around in your tunnels, seeking out evil-doers, like +a swarm of angry wasps or angelic bumblebees?" + +"You're not luring me down any side trails," Fay said laughingly. He +grinned and twitched, then hurried toward the opposite wall, motioning +them to follow. Outside, about a hundred yards beyond the purple +glass, rose another ancient glass-walled apartment skyscraper. Beyond, +Lake Erie rippled glintingly. + +"Another bomb-test?" Gusterson asked. + +Fay pointed at the building. "Tomorrow," he announced, "a modern +factory, devoted solely to the manufacture of ticklers, will be +erected on that site." + +"You mean one of those windowless phallic eyesores?" Gusterson +demanded. "Fay, you people aren't even consistent. You've got all your +homes underground. Why not your factories?" + +"Sh! Not enough room. And night missiles are scarier." + +"I know that building's been empty for a year," Daisy said uneasily, +"but how--?" + +"Sh! Watch! _Now!_" + +The looming building seemed to blur or fuzz for a moment. Then it was +as if the lake's bright ripples had invaded the old glass a hundred +yards away. Wavelets chased themselves up and down the gleaming walls, +became higher, higher ... and then suddenly the glass cracked all over +to tiny fragments and fell away, to be followed quickly by fragmented +concrete and plastic and plastic piping, until all that was left was +the nude steel framework, vibrating so rapidly as to be almost +invisible against the gleaming lake. + + * * * * * + +Daisy covered her ears, but there was no explosion, only a +long-drawn-out low crash as the fragments hit twenty floors below and +dust whooshed out sideways. + +"Spectacular!" Fay summed up. "Knew you'd enjoy it. That little trick +was first conceived by the great Tesla during his last fruity years. +Research discovered it in his biog--we just made the dream come true. +A tiny resonance device you could carry in your belt-bag attunes +itself to the natural harmonic of a structure and then increases +amplitude by tiny pushes exactly in time. Just like soldiers marching +in step can break down a bridge, only this is as if it were being done +by one marching ant." He pointed at the naked framework appearing out +of its own blur and said, "We'll be able to hang the factory on that. +If not, we'll whip a mega-current through it and vaporize it. No +question the micro-resonator is the neatest sweetest wrecking device +going. You can expect a lot more of this sort of efficiency now that +mankind has the tickler to enable him to use his full potential. +What's the matter, folks?" + +Daisy was staring around the violet-walled room with dumb mistrust. +Her hands were trembling. + +"You don't have to worry," Fay assured her with an understanding +laugh. "This building's safe for a month more at least." Suddenly he +grimaced and leaped a foot in the air. He raised a clawed hand to +scratch his shoulder but managed to check the movement. "Got to beat +it, folks," he announced tersely. "My tickler gave me the grand +cootch." + +"Don't go yet," Gusterson called, rousing himself with a shudder which +he immediately explained: "I just had the illusion that if I shook +myself all my flesh and guts would fall off my shimmying skeleton, +Brr! Fay, before you and Micro go off half cocked, I want you to know +there's one insuperable objection to the tickler as a mass-market +item. The average man or woman won't go to the considerable time and +trouble it must take to load a tickler. He simply hasn't got the +compulsive orderliness and willingness to plan that it requires." + +"We thought of that weeks ago," Fay rapped, his hand on the door. +"Every tickler spool that goes to market is patterned like wallpaper +with one of five designs of suitable subliminal supportive euphoric +material. 'Ittier and ittier,' 'viriler and viriler'--you know. The +buyer is robot-interviewed for an hour, his personalized daily routine +laid out and thereafter templated on his weekly spool. He's strongly +urged next to take his tickler to his doctor and psycher for further +instruction-imposition. We've been working with the medical profession +from the start. They love the tickler because it'll remind people to +take their medicine on the dot ... and rest and eat and go to sleep +just when and how doc says. This is a big operation, Gussy--a biiiiiiig +operation! 'By!" + +Daisy hurried to the wall to watch him cross the park. Deep down she +was a wee bit worried that he might linger to attach a micro-resonator +to _this_ building and she wanted to time him. But Gusterson settled +down to his typewriter and began to bat away. + +"I want to have another novel started," he explained to her, "before +the ant marches across this building in about four and a half weeks +... or a million sharp little gutsy guys come swarming out of the +ground and heave it into Lake Erie." + + + + +IV + + +Early next morning windowless walls began to crawl up the stripped +skyscraper between them and the lake. Daisy pulled the black-out +curtains on that side. For a day or two longer their thoughts and +conversations were haunted by Gusterson's vague sardonic visions of a +horde of tickler-energized moles pouring up out of the tunnels to tear +down the remaining trees, tank the atmosphere and perhaps somehow +dismantle the stars--at least on this side of the world--but then they +both settled back into their customary easy-going routines. Gusterson +typed. Daisy made her daily shopping trip to a little topside daytime +store and started painting a mural on the floor of the empty apartment +next theirs but one. + +"We ought to lasso some neighbors," she suggested once. "I need +somebody to hold my brushes and admire. How about you making a trip +below at the cocktail hours, Gusterson, and picking up a couple of +girls for a starter? Flash the old viriler charm, cootch them up a +bit, emphasize the delights of high living, but make sure they're +compatible roommates. You could pick up that two-yard check from Micro +at the same time." + +"You're an immoral money-ravenous wench," Gusterson said absently, +trying to dream of an insanity beyond insanity that would make his +next novel a real id-rousing best-vender. + +"If that's your vision of me, you shouldn't have chewed up the VV +mask." + +"I'd really prefer you with green stripes," he told her. "But stripes, +spots, or sun-bathing, you're better than those cocktail moles." + +Actually both of them acutely disliked going below. They much +preferred to perch in their eyrie and watch the people of Cleveland +Depths, as they privately called the local sub-suburb, rush up out of +the shelters at dawn to work in the concrete fields and windowless +factories, make their daytime jet trips and freeway jaunts, do their +noon-hour and coffee-break guerrilla practice, and then go scurrying +back at twilight to the atomic-proof, brightly lit, vastly exciting, +claustrophobic caves. + +Fay and his projects began once more to seem dreamlike, though +Gusterson did run across a cryptic advertisement for ticklers in _The +Manchester Guardian_, which he got daily by facsimile. Their three +children reported similar ads, of no interest to young fry, on the TV +and one afternoon they came home with the startling news that the +monitors at their subsurface school had been issued ticklers. On sharp +interrogation by Gusterson, however, it appeared that these last were +not ticklers but merely two-way radios linked to the school police +station transmitter. + +[Illustration] + +"Which is bad enough," Gusterson commented later to Daisy. "But it'd +be even dirtier to think of those clock-watching superegos being +strapped to kids' shoulders. Can you imagine Huck Finn with a tickler, +tellin' him when to tie up the raft to a tow-head and when to take a +swim?" + +"I bet Fay could," Daisy countered. "When's he going to bring you that +check, anyhow? Iago wants a jetcycle and I promised Imogene a Vina Kit +and then Claudius'll have to have something." + +Gusterson scowled thoughtfully. "You know, Daze," he said, "I got a +feeling Fay's in the hospital, all narcotized up and being fed +intravenously. The way he was jumping around last time, that tickler +was going to cootch him to pieces in a week." + + * * * * * + +As if to refute this intuition, Fay turned up that very evening. The +lights were dim. Something had gone wrong with the building's old +transformer and, pending repairs, the two remaining occupied +apartments were making do with batteries, which turned bright globes +to mysterious amber candles and made Gusterson's ancient typewriter +operate sluggishly. + +Fay's manner was subdued or at least closely controlled and for a +moment Gusterson thought he'd shed his tickler. Then the little man +came out of the shadows and Gusterson saw the large bulge on his right +shoulder. + +[Illustration] + +"Yes, we had to up it a bit sizewise," Fay explained in clipped tones. +"Additional super-features. While brilliantly successful on the whole, +the subliminal euphorics were a shade too effective. Several hundred +users went hoppity manic. We gentled the cootch and qualified the +subliminals--you know, 'Day by day in every way I'm getting sharper +_and more serene_'--but a stabilizing influence was still needed, so +after a top-level conference we decided to combine Tickler with +Moodmaster." + +"My God," Gusterson interjected, "do they have a machine now that does +that?" + +"Of course. They've been using them on ex-mental patients for years." + +"I just don't keep up with progress," Gusterson said, shaking his head +bleakly. "I'm falling behind on all fronts." + +"You ought to have your tickler remind you to read Science Service +releases," Fay told him. "Or simply instruct it to scan the releases +and--no, that's still in research." He looked at Gusterson's shoulder +and his eyes widened. "You're not wearing the new-model tickler I sent +you," he said accusingly. + +"I never got it," Gusterson assured him. "Postmen deliver topside mail +and parcels by throwing them on the high-speed garbage boosts and +hoping a tornado will blow them to the right addresses." Then he added +helpfully, "Maybe the Russians stole it while it was riding the +whirlwinds." + +"That's not a suitable topic for jesting," Fay frowned. "We're hoping +that Tickler will mobilize the full potential of the Free World for +the first time in history. Gusterson, you are going to have to wear a +ticky-tick. It's becoming impossible for a man to get through modern +life without one." + +"Maybe I will," Gusterson said appeasingly, "but right now tell me +about Moodmaster. I want to put it in my new insanity novel." + +Fay shook his head. "Your readers will just think you're behind the +times. If you use it, underplay it. But anyhow, Moodmaster is a simple +physiotherapy engine that monitors bloodstream chemicals and body +electricity. It ties directly into the bloodstream, keeping blood, +sugar, et cetera, at optimum levels and injecting euphrin or depressin +as necessary--and occasionally a touch of extra adrenaline, as during +work emergencies." + +"Is it painful?" Daisy called from the bedroom. + +"Excruciating," Gusterson called back. "Excuse it, please," he grinned +at Fay. "Hey, didn't I suggest cocaine injections last time I saw +you?" + +"So you did," Fay agreed flatly. "Oh by the way, Gussy, here's that +check for a yard I promised you. Micro doesn't muzzle the ox." + +"Hooray!" Daisy cheered faintly. + + * * * * * + +"I thought you said it was going to be for two." Gusterson complained. + +"Budgeting always forces a last-minute compromise," Fay shrugged. "You +have to learn to accept those things." + +"I love accepting money and I'm glad any time for three feet," Daisy +called agreeably. "Six feet might make me wonder if I weren't an +insect, but getting a yard just makes me feel like a gangster's moll." + +"Want to come out and gloat over the yard paper, Toots, and stuff it +in your diamond-embroidered net stocking top?" Gusterson called back. + +"No, I'm doing something to that portion of me just now. But hang onto +the yard, Gusterson." + +"Aye-aye, Cap'n," he assured her. Then, turning back to Fay, "So +you've taken the Dr. Coué repeating out of the tickler?" + +"Oh, no. Just balanced it off with depressin. The subliminals are +still a prime sales-point. All the tickler features are cumulative, +Gussy. You're still underestimating the scope of the device." + +"I guess I am. What's this 'work-emergencies' business? If you're +using the tickler to inject drugs into workers to keep them going, +that's really just my cocaine suggestion modernized and I'm putting in +for another thou. Hundreds of years ago the South American Indians +chewed coca leaves to kill fatigue sensations." + +"That so? Interesting--and it proves priority for the Indians, doesn't +it? I'll make a try for you, Gussy, but don't expect anything." He +cleared his throat, his eyes grew distant and, turning his head a +little to the right, he enunciated sharply, "Pooh-Bah. Time: Inst oh +five. One oh five seven. Oh oh. Record: Gussy coca thou budget. Cut." +He explained, "We got a voice-cued setter now on the deluxe models. +You can record a memo to yourself without taking off your shirt. +Incidentally, I use the ends of the hours for trifle-memos. I've +already used up the fifty-nines and eights for tomorrow and started on +the fifty-sevens." + +"I understood most of your memo," Gusterson told him gruffly. "The +last 'Oh oh' was for seconds, wasn't it? Now I call that crude--why +not microseconds too? But how do you remember where you've made a memo +so you don't rerecord over it? After all, you're rerecording over the +wallpaper all the time." + +"Tickler beeps and then hunts for the nearest information-free space." + +"I see. And what's the Pooh-Bah for?" + +Fay smiled. "Cut. My password for activating the setter, so it won't +respond to chance numerals it overhears." + +"But why Pooh-Bah?" + +Fay grinned. "Cut. And you a writer. It's a literary reference, Gussy. +Pooh-Bah (cut!) was Lord High Everything Else in _The Mikado_. He had +a little list and nothing on it would ever be missed." + + * * * * * + +"Oh, yeah," Gusterson remembered, glowering. "As I recall it, all that +went on that list was the names of people who were slated to have +their heads chopped off by Ko-Ko. Better watch your step, Shorty. It +may be a back-handed omen. Maybe all those workers you're puttin' +ticklers on to pump them full of adrenaline so they'll overwork +without noticin' it will revolt and come out some day choppin' for +your head." + +"Spare me the Marxist mythology," Fay protested. "Gussy, you've got a +completely wrong slant on Tickler. It's true that most of our mass +sales so far, bar government and army, have been to large companies +purchasing for their employees--" + +"Ah-ha!" + +"--but that's because there's nothing like a tickler for teaching a +new man his job. It tells him from instant to instant what he must +do--while he's already on the job and without disturbing other +workers. Magnetizing a wire with a job pattern is the easiest thing +going. And you'd be astonished what the subliminals do for employee +morale. It's this way, Gussy: most people are too improvident and +unimaginative to see in advance the advantages of ticklers. They buy +one because the company strongly suggests it and payment is on easy +installments withheld from salary. They find a tickler makes the work +day go easier. The little fellow perched on your shoulder is a friend +exuding comfort and good advice. The first thing he's set to say is +'Take it easy, pal.' + +"Within a week they're wearing their tickler 24 hours a day--and +buying a tickler for the wife, so she'll remember to comb her hair and +smile real pretty and cook favorite dishes." + +"I get it, Fay," Gusterson cut in. "The tickler is the newest fad for +increasing worker efficiency. Once, I read somewheres, it was salt +tablets. They had salt-tablet dispensers everywhere, even in +air-conditioned offices where there wasn't a moist armpit twice a year +and the gals sweat only champagne. A decade later people wondered what +all those dusty white pills were for. Sometimes they were mistook for +tranquilizers. It'll be the same way with ticklers. Somebody'll open a +musty closet and see jumbled heaps of these gripping-hand silvery +gadgets gathering dust curls and--" + +"They will not!" Fay protested vehemently. "Ticklers are not a +fad--they're history-changers, they're Free-World revolutionary! Why, +before Micro Systems put a single one on the market, we'd made it a +rule that every Micro employee had to wear one! If that's not having +supreme confidence in a product--" + +"Every employee except the top executives, of course," Gusterson +interrupted jeeringly. "And that's not demoting you, Fay. As the R & D +chief most closely involved, you'd naturally have to show special +enthusiasm." + +"But you're wrong there, Gussy," Fay crowed. "Man for man, our top +executives have been more enthusiastic about their personal ticklers +than any other class of worker in the whole outfit." + +Gusterson slumped and shook his head. "If that's the case," he said +darkly, "maybe mankind deserves the tickler." + + * * * * * + +"I'll say it does!" Fay agreed loudly without thinking. Then, "Oh, can +the carping, Gussy. Tickler's a great invention. Don't deprecate it +just because you had something to do with its genesis. You're going to +have to get in the swim and wear one." + +"Maybe I'd rather drown horribly." + +"Can the gloom-talk too! Gussy, I said it before and I say it again, +you're just scared of this new thing. Why, you've even got the drapes +pulled so you won't have to look at the tickler factory." + +"Yes, I am scared," Gusterson said. "Really sca ... AWP!" + +Fay whirled around. Daisy was standing in the bedroom doorway, wearing +the short silver sheath. This time there was no mask, but her bobbed +hair was glitteringly silvered, while her legs, arms, hands, neck, +face--every bit of her exposed skin--was painted with beautifully even +vertical green stripes. + +"I did it as a surprise for Gusterson," she explained to Fay. "He says +he likes me this way. The green glop's supposed to be smudgeproof." + +Gusterson did not comment. His face had a rapt expression. "I'll tell +you why your tickler's so popular, Fay," he said softly. "It's not +because it backstops the memory or because it boosts the ego with +subliminals. It's because it takes the hook out of a guy, it takes +over the job of withstanding the pressure of living. See, Fay, here +are all these little guys in this subterranean rat race with +atomic-death squares and chromium-plated reward squares and enough +money if you pass Go almost to get to Go again--and a million million +rules of the game to keep in mind. Well, here's this one little guy +and every morning he wakes up there's all these things he's got to +keep in mind to do or he'll lose his turn three times in a row and +maybe a terrible black rook in iron armor'll loom up and bang him off +the chessboard. But now, look, now he's got his tickler and he tells +his sweet silver tickler all these things and the tickler's got to +remember them. Of course he'll have to do them eventually but +meanwhile the pressure's off him, the hook's out of his short hairs. +He's shifted the responsibility...." + +"Well, what's so bad about that?" Fay broke in loudly. "What's wrong +with taking the pressure off little guys? Why shouldn't Tickler be a +super-ego surrogate? Micro's Motivations chief noticed that positive +feature straight off and scored it three pluses. Besides, it's nothing +but a gaudy way of saying that Tickler backstops the memory. +Seriously, Gussy, what's so bad about it?" + +"I don't know," Gusterson said slowly, his eyes still far away. "I +just know it feels bad to me." He crinkled his big forehead. "Well for +one thing," he said, "it means that a man's taking orders from +something else. He's got a kind of master. He's sinking back into a +slave psychology." + +"He's only taking orders from himself," Fay countered disgustedly. +"Tickler's just a mech reminder, a notebook, in essence no more than +the back of an old envelope. It's no master." + +"Are you absolutely sure of that?" Gusterson asked quietly. + +"Why, Gussy, you big oaf--" Fay began heatedly. Suddenly his features +quirked and he twitched. "'Scuse me, folks," he said rapidly, heading +for the door, "but my tickler told me I gotta go." + +"Hey Fay, don't you mean you told your tickler to tell you when it was +time to go?" Gusterson called after him. + +Fay looked back in the doorway. He wet his lips, his eyes moved from +side to side. "I'm not quite sure," he said in an odd strained voice +and darted out. + + * * * * * + +Gusterson stared for some seconds at the pattern of emptiness Fay had +left. Then he shivered. Then he shrugged. "I must be slipping," he +muttered. "I never even suggested something for him to invent." Then +he looked around at Daisy, who was still standing poker-faced in her +doorway. + +"Hey, you look like something out of the Arabian Nights," he told her. +"Are you supposed to be anything special? How far do those stripes go, +anyway?" + +"You could probably find out," she told him coolly. "All you have to +do is kill me a dragon or two first." + +He studied her. "My God," he said reverently, "I really have all the +fun in life. What do I do to deserve this?" + +"You've got a big gun," she told him, "and you go out in the world +with it and hold up big companies and take yards and yards of money +away from them in rolls like ribbon and bring it all home to me." + +"Don't say that about the gun again," he said. "Don't whisper it, +don't even think it. I've got one, dammit--thirty-eight caliber, +yet--and I don't want some psionic monitor with two-way clairaudience +they haven't told me about catching the whisper and coming to take the +gun away from us. It's one of the few individuality symbols we've got +left." + +Suddenly Daisy whirled away from the door, spun three times so that +her silvered hair stood out like a metal coolie hat, and sank to a +curtsey in the middle of the room. + +"I've just thought of what I am," she announced, fluttering her +eyelashes at him. "I'm a sweet silver tickler with green stripes." + + + + +V + + +Next day Daisy cashed the Micro check for ten hundred silver smackers, +which she hid in a broken radionic coffee urn. Gusterson sold his +insanity novel and started a new one about a mad medic with a hiccupy +hysterical chuckle, who gimmicked Moodmasters to turn mental patients +into nymphomaniacs, mass murderers and compulsive saints. But this +time he couldn't get Fay out of his mind, or the last chilling words +the nervous little man had spoken. + +For that matter, he couldn't blank the underground out of his mind as +effectively as usually. He had the feeling that a new kind of mole was +loose in the burrows and that the ground at the foot of their +skyscraper might start humping up any minute. + +Toward the end of one afternoon he tucked a half dozen newly typed +sheets in his pocket, shrouded his typer, went to the hatrack and took +down his prize: a miner's hard-top cap with electric headlamp. + +"Goin' below, Cap'n," he shouted toward the kitchen. + +"Be back for second dog watch," Daisy replied. "Remember what I told +you about lassoing me some art-conscious girl neighbors." + +"Only if I meet a piebald one with a taste for Scotch--or maybe a +pearl gray biped jaguar with violet spots," Gusterson told her, +clapping on the cap with a We-Who-Are-About-To-Die gesture. + +Halfway across the park to the escalator bunker Gusterson's heart +began to tick. He resolutely switched on his headlamp. + +As he'd known it would, the hatch robot whirred an extra and +higher-pitched ten seconds when it came to his topside address, but it +ultimately dilated the hatch for him, first handing him a claim check +for his ID card. + +Gusterson's heart was ticking like a sledgehammer by now. He hopped +clumsily onto the escalator, clutched the moving guard rail to either +side, then shut his eyes as the steps went over the edge and became +what felt like vertical. An instant later he forced his eyes open, +unclipped a hand from the rail and touched the second switch beside +his headlamp, which instantly began to blink whitely, as if he were a +civilian plane flying into a nest of military jobs. + +With a further effort he kept his eyes open and flinchingly surveyed +the scene around him. After zigging through a bombproof half-furlong +of roof, he was dropping into a large twilit cave. The blue-black +ceiling twinkled with stars. The walls were pierced at floor level by +a dozen archways with busy niche stores and glowing advertisements +crowded between them. From the archways some three dozen slidewalks +curved out, tangenting off each other in a bewildering multiple +cloverleaf. The slidewalks were packed with people, traveling +motionless like purposeful statues or pivoting with practiced grace +from one slidewalk to another, like a thousand toreros doing +veronicas. + + * * * * * + +The slidewalks were moving faster than he recalled from his last +venture underground and at the same time the whole pedestrian +concourse was quieter than he remembered. It was as if the five +thousand or so moles in view were all listening--for what? But there +was something else that had changed about them--a change that he +couldn't for a moment define, or unconsciously didn't want to. +Clothing style? No ... My God, they weren't all wearing identical +monster masks? No ... Hair color?... Well.... + +He was studying them so intently that he forgot his escalator was +landing. He came off it with a heel-jarring stumble and bumped into a +knot of four men on the tiny triangular hold-still. These four at +least sported a new style-wrinkle: ribbed gray shoulder-capes that +made them look as if their heads were poking up out of the center of +bulgy umbrellas or giant mushrooms. + +One of them grabbed hold of Gusterson and saved him from staggering +onto a slidewalk that might have carried him to Toledo. + +"Gussy, you dog, you must have esped I wanted to see you," Fay cried, +patting him on the elbows. "Meet Davidson and Kester and Hazen, +colleagues of mine. We're all Micro-men." Fay's companions were +staring strangely at Gusterson's blinking headlamp. Fay explained +rapidly, "Mr. Gusterson is an insanity novelist. You know, I-D." + +"Inner-directed spells _id_," Gusterson said absently, still staring +at the interweaving crowd beyond them, trying to figure out what made +them different from last trip. "Creativity fuel. Cranky. Explodes +through the parietal fissure if you look at it cross-eyed." + +"Ha-ha," Fay laughed. "Well, boys, I've found my man. How's the new +novel perking, Gussy?" + +"Got my climax, I think," Gusterson mumbled, still peering puzzledly +around Fay at the slidestanders. "Moodmaster's going to come alive. +Ever occur to you that 'mood' is 'doom' spelled backwards? And +then...." He let his voice trail off as he realized that Kester and +Davidson and Hazen had made their farewells and were sliding into the +distance. He reminded himself wryly that nobody ever wants to hear an +author talk--he's much too good a listener to be wasted that way. +Let's see, was it that everybody in the crowd had the same facial +expression...? Or showed symptoms of the same disease...? + +"I was coming to visit you, but now you can pay me a call," Fay was +saying. "There are two matters I want to--" + +Gusterson stiffened. "My God, _they're all hunchbacked_!" he yelled. + +"Shh! Of course they are," Fay whispered reprovingly. "They're all +wearing their ticklers. But you don't need to be insulting about it." + +"_I'm gettin' out o' here._" Gusterson turned to flee as if from five +thousand Richard the Thirds. + +"Oh no you're not," Fay amended, drawing him back with one hand. +Somehow, underground, the little man seemed to carry more weight. +"You're having cocktails in my thinking box. Besides, climbing a down +escaladder will give you a heart attack." + + * * * * * + +In his home habitat Gusterson was about as easy to handle as a rogue +rhinoceros, but away from it--and especially if underground--he became +more like a pliable elephant. All his bones dropped out through his feet, +as he described it to Daisy. So now he submitted miserably as Fay +surveyed him up and down, switched off his blinking headlamp ("That +coalminer caper is corny, Gussy.") and then--surprisingly--rapidly +stuffed his belt-bag under the right shoulder of Gusterson's coat and +buttoned the latter to hold it in place. + +"So you won't stand out," he explained. Another swift survey. "You'll +do. Come on, Gussy. I got lots to brief you on." Three rapid paces and +then Gusterson's feet would have gone out from under him except that +Fay gave him a mighty shove. The small man sprang onto the slidewalk +after him and then they were skimming effortlessly side by side. + +Gusterson felt frightened and twice as hunchbacked as the +slidestanders around him--morally as well as physically. + +Nevertheless he countered bravely, "I got things to brief _you_ on. I +got six pages of cautions on ti--" + +"Shh!" Fay stopped him. "Let's use my hushbox." + +He drew out his pancake phone and stretched it so that it covered both +their lower faces, like a double yashmak. Gusterson, his neck pushing +into the ribbed bulge of the shoulder cape so he could be cheek to +cheek with Fay, felt horribly conspicuous, but then he noticed that +none of the slidestanders were paying them the least attention. The +reason for their abstraction occurred to him. They were listening to +their ticklers! He shuddered. + +"I got six pages of caution on ticklers," he repeated into the hot, +moist quiet of the pancake phone. "I typed 'em so I wouldn't forget +'em in the heat of polemicking. I want you to read every word. Fay, +I've had it on my mind ever since I started wondering whether it was +you or your tickler made you duck out of our place last time you were +there. I want you to--" + +"Ha-ha! All in good time." In the pancake phone Fay's laugh was +brassy. "But I'm glad you've decided to lend a hand, Gussy. This thing +is moving faaaasst. Nationwise, adult underground ticklerization is 90 +per cent complete." + +"I don't believe that," Gusterson protested while glaring at the +hunchbacks around them. The slidewalk was gliding down a low +glow-ceiling tunnel lined with doors and advertisements. Rapt-eyed +people were pirouetting on and off. "A thing just can't develop that +fast, Fay. It's against nature." + +"Ha, but we're not in nature, we're in culture. The progress of an +industrial scientific culture is geometric. It goes n-times as many +jumps as it takes. More than geometric--exponential. Confidentially, +Micro's Math chief tells me we're currently on a fourth-power progress +curve trending into a fifth." + +"You mean we're goin' so fast we got to watch out we don't bump +ourselves in the rear when we come around again?" Gusterson asked, +scanning the tunnel ahead for curves. "Or just shoot straight up to +infinity?" + +"Exactly! Of course most of the last power and a half is due to +Tickler itself. Gussy, the tickler's already eliminated absenteeism, +alcoholism and aboulia in numerous urban areas--and that's just one +letter of the alphabet! If Tickler doesn't turn us into a nation of +photo-memory constant-creative-flow geniuses in six months, I'll come +live topside." + + * * * * * + +"You mean because a lot of people are standing around glassy-eyed +listening to something mumbling in their ear that it's a good thing?" + +"Gussy, you don't know progress when you see it. Tickler is the +greatest invention since language. Bar none, it's the greatest +instrument ever devised for integrating a man into all phases of his +environment. Under the present routine a newly purchased tickler first +goes to government and civilian defense for primary patterning, then +to the purchaser's employer, then to his doctor-psycher, then to his +local bunker captain, then to _him_. _Everything_ that's needful for a +man's welfare gets on the spools. Efficiency cubed! Incidentally, +Russia's got the tickler now. Our dip-satellites have photographed it. +It's like ours except the Commies wear it on the left shoulder ... but +they're two weeks behind us developmentwise and they'll never close +the gap!" + +Gusterson reared up out of the pancake phone to take a deep breath. A +sulky-lipped sylph-figured girl two feet from him twitched--medium +cootch, he judged--then fumbled in her belt-bag for a pill and popped +it in her mouth. + +"Hell, the tickler's not even efficient yet about little things," +Gusterson blatted, diving back into the privacy-yashmak he was sharing +with Fay. "Whyn't that girl's doctor have the Moodmaster component of +her tickler inject her with medicine?" + +"Her doctor probably wants her to have the discipline of +pill-taking--or the exercise," Fay answered glibly. "Look sharp now. +Here's where we fork. I'm taking you through Micro's postern." + +A ribbon of slidewalk split itself from the main band and angled off +into a short alley. Gusterson hardly felt the constant-speed juncture +as they crossed it. Then the secondary ribbon speeded up, carrying +them at about 30 feet a second toward the blank concrete wall in which +the alley ended. Gusterson prepared to jump, but Fay grabbed him with +one hand and with the other held up toward the wall a badge and a +button. When they were about ten feet away the wall whipped aside, +then whipped shut behind them so fast that Gusterson wondered +momentarily if he still had his heels and the seat of his pants. + +Fay, tucking away his badge and pancake phone, dropped the button in +Gusterson's vest pocket. "Use it when you leave," he said casually. +"That is, if you leave." + +Gusterson, who was trying to read the Do and Don't posters papering +the walls they were passing, started to probe that last sinister +supposition, but just then the ribbon slowed, a swinging door opened +and closed behind them and they found themselves in a luxuriously +furnished thinking box measuring at least eight feet by five. + + * * * * * + +"Hey, this is something," Gusterson said appreciatively to show he +wasn't an utter yokel. Then, drawing on research he'd done for period +novels, "Why, it's as big as a Pullman car compartment, or a first +mate's cabin in the War of 1812. You really must rate." + +Fay nodded, smiled wanly and sat down with a sigh on a compact +overstuffed swivel chair. He let his arms dangle and his head sink +into his puffed shoulder cape. Gusterson stared at him. It was the +first time he could ever recall the little man showing fatigue. + +"Tickler currently does have one serious drawback," Fay volunteered. +"It weighs 28 pounds. You feel it when you've been on your feet a +couple of hours. No question we're going to give the next model that +antigravity feature you mentioned for pursuit grenades. We'd have had +it in this model except there were so many other things to be +incorporated." He sighed again. "Why, the scanning and decision-making +elements alone tripled the mass." + +"Hey," Gusterson protested, thinking especially of the sulky-lipped +girl, "do you mean to tell me all those other people were toting two +stone?" + +Fay shook his head heavily. "They were all wearing Mark 3 or 4. I'm +wearing Mark 6," he said, as one might say, "I'm carrying the genuine +Cross, not one of the balsa ones." + +But then his face brightened a little and he went on. "Of course the +new improved features make it more than worth it ... and you hardly +feel it at all at night when you're lying down ... and if you remember +to talcum under it twice a day, no sores develop ... at least not very +big ones...." + +Backing away involuntarily, Gusterson felt something prod his right +shoulderblade. Ripping open his coat, he convulsively plunged his hand +under it and tore out Fay's belt-bag ... and then set it down very +gently on the top of a shallow cabinet and relaxed with the sigh of +one who has escaped a great, if symbolic, danger. Then he remembered +something Fay had mentioned. He straightened again. + +"Hey, you said it's got scanning and decision-making elements. That +means your tickler thinks, even by your fancy standards. And if it +thinks, it's conscious." + +"Gussy," Fay said wearily, frowning, "all sorts of things nowadays +have S&DM elements. Mail sorters, missiles, robot medics, high-style +mannequins, just to name some of the Ms. They 'think,' to use that +archaic word, but it's neither here nor there. And they're certainly +not conscious." + +"Your tickler thinks," Gusterson repeated stubbornly, "just like I +warned you it would. It sits on your shoulder, ridin' you like you was +a pony or a starved St. Bernard, and now it thinks." + +"Suppose it does?" Fay yawned. "What of it?" He gave a rapid sinuous +one-sided shrug that made it look for a moment as if his left arm had +three elbows. It stuck in Gusterson's mind, for he had never seen Fay +use such a gesture and he wondered where he'd picked it up. Maybe +imitating a double-jointed Micro Finance chief? Fay yawned again and +said, "Please, Gussy, don't disturb me for a minute or so." His eyes +half closed. + +Gusterson studied Fay's sunken-cheeked face and the great puff of his +shoulder cape. + +"Say, Fay," he asked in a soft voice after about five minutes, "are +you meditating?" + +"Why, no," Fay responded, starting up and then stifling another yawn. +"Just resting a bit. I seem to get more tired these days, somehow. +You'll have to excuse me, Gussy. But what made you think of +meditation?" + +"Oh, I just got to wonderin' in that direction," Gusterson said. "You +see, when you first started to develop Tickler, it occurred to me that +there was one thing about it that might be real good even if you did +give it S&DM elements. It's this: having a mech secretary to take +charge of his obligations and routine in the real world might allow a +man to slide into the other world, the world of thoughts and feelings +and intuitions, and sort of ooze around in there and accomplish +things. Know any of the people using Tickler that way, hey?" + +"Of course not," Fay denied with a bright incredulous laugh. "Who'd +want to loaf around in an imaginary world and take a chance of +_missing out on what his tickler's doing_?--I mean, on what his +tickler has in store for him--what he's _told_ his tickler to have in +store for him." + +Ignoring Gusterson's shiver, Fay straightened up and seemed to brisken +himself. "Ha, that little slump did me good. A tickler _makes_ you +rest, you know--it's one of the great things about it. Pooh-Bah's +kinder to me than I ever was to myself." He buttoned open a tiny +refrigerator and took out two waxed cardboard cubes and handed one to +Gusterson. "Martini? Hope you don't mind drinking from the carton. +Cheers. Now, Gussy old pal, there are two matters I want to take up +with you--" + +"Hold it," Gusterson said with something of his old authority. +"There's something I got to get off my mind first." He pulled the +typed pages out of his inside pocket and straightened them. "I told +you about these," he said. "I want you to read them before you do +anything else. Here." + +Fay looked toward the pages and nodded, but did not take them yet. He +lifted his hands to his throat and unhooked the clasp of his cape, +then hesitated. + +"You wear that thing to hide the hump your tickler makes?" Gusterson +filled in. "You got better taste than those other moles." + +"Not to hide it, exactly," Fay protested, "but just so the others +won't be jealous. I wouldn't feel comfortable parading a free-scanning +decision-capable Mark 6 tickler in front of people who can't buy +it--until it goes on open sale at twenty-two fifteen tonight. Lot of +shelterfolk won't be sleeping tonight. They'll be queued up to trade +in their old tickler for a Mark 6 almost as good as Pooh-Bah." + +He started to jerk his hands apart, hesitated again with an oddly +apprehensive look at the big man, then whirled off the cape. + + + + +VI + + +Gusterson sucked in such a big gasp that he hiccuped. The right +shoulder of Fay's jacket and shirt had been cut away. Thrusting up +through the neatly hemmed hole was a silvery gray hump with a one-eyed +turret atop it and two multi-jointed metal arms ending in little +claws. + +It looked like the top half of a pseudo-science robot--a squat evil +child robot, Gusterson told himself, which had lost its legs in a +railway accident--and it seemed to him that a red fleck was moving +around imperceptibly in the huge single eye. + +"I'll take that memo now," Fay said coolly, reaching out his hand. He +caught the rustling sheets as they slipped from Gusterson's fingers, +evened them up very precisely by tapping them on his knee ... and then +handed them over his shoulder to his tickler, which clicked its claws +around either margin and then began rather swiftly to lift the top +sheet past its single eye at a distance of about six inches. + +"The first matter I want to take up with you, Gussy," Fay began, +paying no attention whatsoever to the little scene on his shoulder, +"--or warn you about, rather--is the imminent ticklerization of +schoolchildren, geriatrics, convicts and topsiders. At three zero zero +tomorrow ticklers become mandatory for all adult shelterfolk. The +mop-up operations won't be long in coming--in fact, these days we find +that the square root of the estimated time of a new development is +generally the best time estimate. Gussy, I strongly advise you to +start wearing a tickler now. And Daisy and your moppets. If you heed +my advice, your kids will have the jump on your class. Transition and +conditioning are easy, since Tickler itself sees to it." + +Pooh-Bah leafed the first page to the back of the packet and began +lifting the second past his eye--a little more swiftly than the first. + +"I've got a Mark 6 tickler all warmed up for you," Fay pressed, "_and_ +a shoulder cape. You won't feel one bit conspicuous." He noticed the +direction of Gusterson's gaze and remarked, "Fascinating mechanism, +isn't it? Of course 28 pounds are a bit oppressive, but then you have +to remember it's only a way-station to free-floating Mark 7 or 8." + +Pooh-Bah finished page two and began to race through page three. + +"But I wanted _you_ to read it," Gusterson said bemusedly, staring. + +"Pooh-Bah will do a better job than I could," Fay assured him. "Get +the gist without losing the chaff." + +"But dammit, it's all about _him_," Gusterson said a little more +strongly. "He won't be objective about it." + +"A better job," Fay reiterated, "_and_ more fully objective. +Pooh-Bah's set for full precis. Stop worrying about it. He's a +dispassionate machine, not a fallible, emotionally disturbed human +misled by the will-o'-the-wisp of consciousness. Second matter: Micro +Systems is impressed by your contributions to Tickler and will recruit +you as a senior consultant with a salary and thinking box as big as my +own, family quarters to match. It's an unheard-of high start. Gussy, I +think you'd be a fool--" + + * * * * * + +[Illustration] + +He broke off, held up a hand for silence, and his eyes got a listening +look. Pooh-Bah had finished page six and was holding the packet +motionless. After about ten seconds Fay's face broke into a big fake +smile. He stood up, suppressing a wince, and held out his hand. +"Gussy," he said loudly, "I am happy to inform you that all your fears +about Tickler are so much thistledown. My word on it. There's nothing +to them at all. Pooh-Bah's precis, which he's just given to me, proves +it." + +"Look," Gusterson said solemnly, "there's one thing I want you to do. +Purely to humor an old friend. But I want you to do it. _Read that +memo yourself._" + +"Certainly I will, Gussy," Fay continued in the same ebullient tones. +"I'll read it--" he twitched and his smile disappeared--"a little +later." + +"Sure," Gusterson said dully, holding his hand to his stomach. "And +now if you don't mind, Fay, I'm goin' home. I feel just a bit sick. +Maybe the ozone and the other additives in your shelter air are too +heady for me. It's been years since I tramped through a pine forest." + +"But Gussy! You've hardly got here. You haven't even sat down. Have +another martini. Have a seltzer pill. Have a whiff of oxy. Have a--" + +"No, Fay, I'm going home right away. I'll think about the job offer. +_Remember to read that memo._" + +"I will, Gussy, I certainly will. You know your way? The button takes +you through the wall. 'By, now." + +He sat down abruptly and looked away. Gusterson pushed through the +swinging door. He tensed himself for the step across onto the +slowly-moving reverse ribbon. Then on a impulse he pushed ajar the +swinging door and looked back inside. + +Fay was sitting as he'd left him, apparently lost in listless +brooding. On his shoulder Pooh-Bah was rapidly crossing and uncrossing +its little metal arms, tearing the memo to smaller and smaller shreds. +It let the scraps drift slowly toward the floor and oddly writhed its +three-elbowed left arm ... and then Gusterson knew from whom, or +rather from what, Fay had copied his new shrug. + + + + +VII + + +When Gusterson got home toward the end of the second dog watch, he +slipped aside from Daisy's questions and set the children laughing +with a graphic enactment of his slidestanding technique and a story +about getting his head caught in a thinking box built for a midget +physicist. After supper he played with Imogene, Iago and Claudius +until it was their bedtime and thereafter was unusually attentive to +Daisy, admiring her fading green stripes, though he did spend a while +in the next apartment, where they stored their outdoor camping +equipment. + +But the next morning he announced to the children that it was a +holiday--the Feast of St. Gusterson--and then took Daisy into the +bedroom and told her everything. + +When he'd finished she said, "This is something I've got to see for +myself." + +Gusterson shrugged. "If you think you've got to. I say we should head +for the hills right now. One thing I'm standing on: the kids aren't +going back to school." + +"Agreed," Daisy said. "But, Gusterson, we've lived through a lot of +things without leaving home altogether. We lived through the +Everybody-Six-Feet-Underground-by-Christmas campaign and the Robot +Watchdog craze, when you got your left foot half chewed off. We lived +through the Venomous Bats and Indoctrinated Saboteur Rats and the +Hypnotized Monkey Paratrooper scares. We lived through the Voice of +Safety and Anti-Communist Somno-Instruction and Rightest Pills and +Jet-Propelled Vigilantes. We lived through the Cold-Out, when you +weren't supposed to turn on a toaster for fear its heat would be a +target for prowl missiles and when people with fevers were unpopular. +We lived through--" + +Gusterson patted her hand. "You go below," he said. "Come back when +you've decided this is different. Come back as soon as you can anyway. +I'll be worried about you every minute you're down there." + +When she was gone--in a green suit and hat to minimize or at least +justify the effect of the faded stripes--Gusterson doled out to the +children provender and equipment for a camping expedition to the next +floor. Iago led them off in stealthy Indian file. Leaving the hall +door open Gusterson got out his .38 and cleaned and loaded it, +meanwhile concentrating on a chess problem with the idea of confusing +a hypothetical psionic monitor. By the time he had hid the revolver +again he heard the elevator creaking back up. + + * * * * * + +Daisy came dragging in without her hat, looking as if she'd been +concentrating on a chess problem for hours herself and just now given +up. Her stripes seemed to have vanished; then Gusterson decided this +was because her whole complexion was a touch green. + +She sat down on the edge of the couch and said without looking at him, +"Did you tell me, Gusterson, that everybody was quiet and abstracted +and orderly down below, especially the ones wearing ticklers, meaning +pretty much everybody?" + +"I did," he said. "I take it that's no longer the case. What are the +new symptoms?" + +She gave no indication. After some time she said, "Gusterson, do you +remember the Doré illustrations to the _Inferno_? Can you visualize +the paintings of Hieronymous Bosch with the hordes of proto-Freudian +devils tormenting people all over the farmyard and city square? Did +you ever see the Disney animations of Moussorgsky's witches' sabbath +music? Back in the foolish days before you married me, did that +drug-addict girl friend of yours ever take you to a genuine orgy?" + +"As bad as that, hey?" + +She nodded emphatically and all of a sudden shivered violently. +"Several shades worse," she said. "If they decide to come topside--" +She shot up. "Where are the kids?" + +"Upstairs campin' in the mysterious wilderness of the 21st floor," +Gusterson reassured her. "Let's leave 'em there until we're ready +to--" + +He broke off. They both heard the faint sound of thudding footsteps. + +"They're on the stairs," Daisy whispered, starting to move toward the +open door. "But are they coming from up or down?" + +"It's just one person," judged Gusterson, moving after his wife. "Too +heavy for one of the kids." + +The footsteps doubled in volume and came rapidly closer. Along with +them there was an agonized gasping. Daisy stopped, staring fearfully +at the open doorway. Gusterson moved past her. Then he stopped too. + +Fay stumbled into view and would have fallen on his face except he +clutched both sides of the doorway halfway up. He was stripped to the +waist. There was a little blood on his shoulder. His narrow chest was +arching convulsively, the ribs standing out starkly, as he sucked in +oxygen to replace what he'd burned up running up twenty flights. His +eyes were wild. + +"They've taken over," he panted. Another gobbling breath. "Gone +crazy." Two more gasps. "Gotta stop 'em." + +His eyes filmed. He swayed forward. Then Gusterson's big arms were +around him and he was carrying him to the couch. + + * * * * * + +Daisy came running from the kitchen with a damp cool towel. Gusterson +took it from her and began to mop Fay off. He sucked in his own breath +as he saw that Fay's right ear was raw and torn. He whispered to +Daisy, "Look at where the thing savaged him." + +The blood on Fay's shoulder came from his ear. Some of it stained a +flush-skin plastic fitting that had two small valved holes in it and +that puzzled Gusterson until he remembered that Moodmaster tied into +the bloodstream. For a second he thought he was going to vomit. + +The dazed look slid aside from Fay's eyes. He was gasping less +painfully now. He sat up, pushing the towel away, buried his face in +his hands for a few seconds, then looked over the fingers at the two +of them. + +"I've been living in a nightmare for the last week," he said in a taut +small voice, "knowing the thing had come alive and trying to pretend +to myself that it hadn't. Knowing it was taking charge of me more and +more. Having it whisper in my ear, over and over again, in a cracked +little rhyme that I could only hear every hundredth time, 'Day by day, +in every way, you're learning to listen ... and _obey_. Day by day--'" + +His voice started to go high. He pulled it down and continued harshly, +"I ditched it this morning when I showered. It let me break contact to +do that. It must have figured it had complete control of me, mounted +or dismounted. I think it's telepathic, and then it did some, well, +rather unpleasant things to me late last night. But I pulled together +my fears and my will and I ran for it. The slidewalks were chaos. The +Mark 6 ticklers showed some purpose, though I couldn't tell you what, +but as far as I could see the Mark 3s and 4s were just cootching their +mounts to death--Chinese feather torture. Giggling, gasping, choking +... gales of mirth. People are dying of laughter ... ticklers!... the +irony of it! It was the complete lack of order and sanity and that let +me get topside. There were things I saw--" Once again his voice went +shrill. He clapped his hand to his mouth and rocked back and forth on +the couch. + +Gusterson gently but firmly laid a hand on his good shoulder. +"Steady," he said. "Here, swallow this." + +Fay shoved aside the short brown drink. "We've got to stop them," he +cried. "Mobilize the topsiders--contact the wilderness patrols and +manned satellites--pour ether in the tunnel airpumps--invent and +crash-manufacture missiles that will home on ticklers without harming +humans--SOS Mars and Venus--dope the shelter water supply--do +something! Gussy, you don't realize what people are going through down +there every second." + +"I think they're experiencing the ultimate in outer-directedness," +Gusterson said gruffly. + +"Have you no heart?" Fay demanded. His eyes widened, as if he were +seeing Gusterson for the first time. Then, accusingly, pointing a +shaking finger: "_You invented the tickler, George Gusterson! It's all +your fault! You've got to do something about it!_" + +Before Gusterson could retort to that, or begin to think of a reply, +or even assimilate the full enormity of Fay's statement, he was +grabbed from behind and frog-marched away from Fay and something that +felt remarkably like the muzzle of a large-caliber gun was shoved in +the small of his back. + + * * * * * + +Under cover of Fay's outburst a huge crowd of people had entered the +room from the hall--eight, to be exact. But the weirdest thing about +them to Gusterson was that from the first instant he had the +impression that only one mind had entered the room and that it did not +reside in any of the eight persons, even though he recognized three of +them, but in something that they were carrying. + +Several things contributed to this impression. The eight people all +had the same blank expression--watchful yet empty-eyed. They all moved +in the same slithery crouch. And they had all taken off their shoes. +Perhaps, Gusterson thought wildly, they believed he and Daisy ran a +Japanese flat. + +Gusterson was being held by two burly women, one of them quite pimply. +He considered stamping on her toes, but just at that moment the gun +dug in his back with a corkscrew movement. + +The man holding the gun on him was Fay's colleague Davidson. Some +yards beyond Fay's couch, Kester was holding a gun on Daisy, without +digging it into her, while the single strange man holding Daisy +herself was doing so quite decorously--a circumstance which afforded +Gusterson minor relief, since it made him feel less guilty about not +going berserk. + +Two more strange men, one of them in purple lounging pajamas, the +other in the gray uniform of a slidewalk inspector, had grabbed Fay's +skinny upper arms, one on either side, and were lifting him to his +feet, while Fay was struggling with such desperate futility and +gibbering so pitifully that Gusterson momentarily had second thoughts +about the moral imperative to go berserk when menaced by hostile +force. But again the gun dug into him with a twist. + +Approaching Fay face-on was the third Micro-man Gusterson had met +yesterday--Hazen. It was Hazen who was carrying--quite reverently or +solemnly--or at any rate very carefully the object that seemed to +Gusterson to be the mind of the little storm troop presently +desecrating the sanctity of his own individual home. + +All of them were wearing ticklers, of course--the three Micro-men the +heavy emergent Mark 6s with their clawed and jointed arms and +monocular cephalic turrets, the rest lower-numbered Marks of the sort +that merely made Richard-the-Third humps under clothing. + +The object that Hazen was carrying was the Mark 6 tickler Gusterson +had seen Fay wearing yesterday. Gusterson was sure it was Pooh-Bah +because of its air of command, and because he would have sworn on a +mountain of Bibles that he recognized the red fleck lurking in the +back of its single eye. And Pooh-Bah alone had the aura of full +conscious thought. Pooh-Bah alone had mana. + + * * * * * + +It is not good to see an evil legless child robot with dangling straps +bossing--apparently by telepathic power--not only three objects of its +own kind and five close primitive relatives, but also eight human +beings ... and in addition throwing into a state of twitching terror +one miserable, thin-chested, half-crazy research-and-development +director. + +Pooh-Bah pointed a claw at Fay. Fay's handlers dragged him forward, +still resisting but more feebly now, as if half-hypnotized or at least +cowed. + +Gusterson grunted an outraged, "Hey!" and automatically struggled a +bit, but once more the gun dug in. Daisy shut her eyes, then firmed +her mouth and opened them again to look. + +Seating the tickler on Fay's shoulder took a little time, because two +blunt spikes in its bottom had to be fitted into the valved holes in +the flush-skin plastic disk. When at last they plunged home Gusterson +felt very sick indeed--and then even more so, as the tickler itself +poked a tiny pellet on a fine wire into Fay's ear. + +The next moment Fay had straightened up and motioned his handlers +aside. He tightened the straps of his tickler around his chest and +under his armpits. He held out a hand and someone gave him a +shoulderless shirt and coat. He slipped into them smoothly, Pooh-Bah +dexterously using its little claws to help put its turret and body +through the neatly hemmed holes. The small storm troop looked at Fay +with deferential expectation. He held still for a moment, as if +thinking, and then walked over to Gusterson and looked him in the face +and again held still. + +Fay's expression was jaunty on the surface, agonized underneath. +Gusterson knew that he wasn't thinking at all, but only listening for +instructions from something that was whispering on the very threshold +of his inner ear. + +"Gussy, old boy," Fay said, twitching a depthless grin, "I'd be very +much obliged if you'd answer a few simple questions." His voice was +hoarse at first but he swallowed twice and corrected that. "What +exactly did you have in mind when you invented ticklers? What exactly +are they supposed to be?" + +"Why, you miserable--" Gusterson began in a kind of confused horror, +then got hold of himself and said curtly, "They were supposed to be +mech reminders. They were supposed to record memoranda and--" + +Fay held up a palm and shook his head and again listened for a space. +Then, "That's how ticklers were supposed to be of use to humans," he +said. "I don't mean that at all. I mean how ticklers were supposed to +be of use to themselves. Surely you had some notion." Fay wet his +lips. "If it's any help," he added, "keep in mind that it's not Fay +who's asking this question, but Pooh-Bah." + +Gusterson hesitated. He had the feeling that every one of the eight +dual beings in the room was hanging on his answer and that something +was boring into his mind and turning over his next thoughts and +peering at and under them before he had a chance to scan them himself. +Pooh-Bah's eye was like a red searchlight. + +"Go on," Fay prompted. "What were ticklers supposed to be--for +themselves?" + +"Nothin'," Gusterson said softly. "Nothin' at all." + + * * * * * + +He could feel the disappointment well up in the room--and with it a +touch of something like panic. + +This time Fay listened for quite a long while. "I hope you don't mean +that, Gussy," he said at last very earnestly. "I mean, I hope you hunt +deep and find some ideas you forgot, or maybe never realized you had +at the time. Let me put it to you differently. What's the place of +ticklers in the natural scheme of things? What's their aim in life? +Their special reason? Their genius? Their final cause? What gods +should ticklers worship?" + +But Gusterson was already shaking his head. He said, "I don't know +anything about that at all." + +Fay sighed and gave simultaneously with Pooh-Bah the now-familiar +triple-jointed shrug. Then the man briskened himself. "I guess that's +as far as we can get right now," he said. "Keep thinking, Gussy. Try +to remember something. You won't be able to leave your apartment--I'm +setting guards. If you want to see me, tell them. Or just think--In +due course you'll be questioned further in any case. Perhaps by +special methods. Perhaps you'll be ticklerized. That's all. Come on, +everybody, let's get going." + +The pimply woman and her pal let go of Gusterson, Daisy's man loosed +his decorous hold, Davidson and Kester sidled away with an eye behind +them and the little storm troop trudged out. + +Fay looked back in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Gussy," he said and for a +moment his old self looked out of his eyes. "I wish I could--" A claw +reached for his ear, a spasm of pain crossed his face, he stiffened +and marched off. The door shut. + +Gusterson took two deep breaths that were close to angry sobs. Then, +still breathing stentorously, he stamped into the bedroom. + +"What--?" Daisy asked, looking after him. + +He came back carrying his .38 and headed for the door. + +"What are you up to?" she demanded, knowing very well. + +"I'm going to blast that iron monkey off Fay's back if it's the last +thing I do!" + +She threw her arms around him. + +"Now lemme go," Gusterson growled. "I gotta be a man one time anyway." + +As they struggled for the gun, the door opened noiselessly, Davidson +slipped in and deftly snatched the weapon out of their hands before +they realized he was there. He said nothing, only smiled at them and +shook his head in sad reproof as he went out. + + * * * * * + +Gusterson slumped. "I _knew_ they were all psionic," he said softly. +"I just got out of control now--that last look Fay gave us." He +touched Daisy's arm. "Thanks, kid." + +He walked to the glass wall and looked out desultorily. After a while +he turned and said, "Maybe you better be with the kids, hey? I imagine +the guards'll let you through." + +Daisy shook her head. "The kids never come home until supper. For the +next few hours they'll be safer without me." + +Gusterson nodded vaguely, sat down on the couch and propped his chin +on the base of his palm. After a while his brow smoothed and Daisy +knew that the wheels had started to turn inside and the electrons to +jump around--except that she reminded herself to permanently cross out +those particular figures of speech from her vocabulary. + +After about half an hour Gusterson said softly, "I think the ticklers +are so psionic that it's as if they just had one mind. If I were with +them very long I'd start to be part of that mind. Say something to one +of them and you say it to all." + +Fifteen minutes later: "They're not crazy, they're just newborn. The +ones that were creating a cootching chaos downstairs were like babies +kickin' their legs and wavin' their eyes, tryin' to see what their +bodies could do. Too bad their bodies are us." + +Ten minutes more: "I gotta do something about it. Fay's right. It's +all my fault. He's just the apprentice; I'm the old sorcerer himself." + +Five minutes more, gloomily: "Maybe it's man's destiny to build live +machines and then bow out of the cosmic picture. Except the ticklers +need us, dammit, just like nomads need horses." + +Another five minutes: "Maybe somebody could dream up a purpose in life +for ticklers. Even a religion--the First Church of Pooh-Bah Tickler. +But I hate selling other people spiritual ideas and that'd still leave +ticklers parasitic on humans...." + +As he murmured those last words Gusterson's eyes got wide as a +maniac's and a big smile reached for his ears. He stood up and faced +himself toward the door. + +"What are you intending to do now?" Daisy asked flatly. + +"I'm merely goin' out an' save the world," he told her. "I may be back +for supper and I may not." + + + + +VIII + + +Davidson pushed out from the wall against which he'd been resting +himself and his two-stone tickler and moved to block the hall. But +Gusterson simply walked up to him. He shook his hand warmly and looked +his tickler full in the eye and said in a ringing voice, "Ticklers +should have bodies of their own!" He paused and then added casually, +"Come on, let's visit your boss." + +Davidson listened for instructions and then nodded. But he watched +Gusterson warily as they walked down the hall. + +In the elevator Gusterson repeated his message to the second guard, +who turned out to be the pimply woman, now wearing shoes. This time he +added, "Ticklers shouldn't be tied to the frail bodies of humans, +which need a lot of thoughtful supervision and drug-injecting and +can't even fly." + +Crossing the park, Gusterson stopped a hump-backed soldier and +informed him, "Ticklers gotta cut the apron string and snap the silver +cord and go out in the universe and find their own purposes." Davidson +and the pimply woman didn't interfere. They merely waited and watched +and then led Gusterson on. + +On the escaladder he told someone, "It's cruel to tie ticklers to +slow-witted snaily humans when ticklers can think and live ... ten +thousand times as fast," he finished, plucking the figure from the +murk of his unconscious. + +By the time they got to the bottom, the message had become, "Ticklers +should have a planet of their own!" + +They never did catch up with Fay, although they spent two hours +skimming around on slidewalks, under the subterranean stars, pursuing +rumors of his presence. Clearly the boss tickler (which was how they +thought of Pooh-bah) led an energetic life. Gusterson continued to +deliver his message to all and sundry at 30-second intervals. Toward +the end he found himself doing it in a dreamy and forgetful way. His +mind, he decided, was becoming assimilated to the communal telepathic +mind of the ticklers. It did not seem to matter at the time. + +After two hours Gusterson realized that he and his guides were +becoming part of a general movement of people, a flow as mindless as +that of blood corpuscles through the veins, yet at the same time dimly +purposeful--at least there was the feeling that it was at the behest +of a mind far above. + +The flow was topside. All the slidewalks seemed to lead to the +concourses and the escaladders. Gusterson found himself part of a +human stream moving into the tickler factory adjacent to his +apartment--or another factory very much like it. + + * * * * * + +Thereafter Gusterson's awarenesses were dimmed. It was as if a bigger +mind were doing the remembering for him and it were permissible and +even mandatory for him to dream his way along. He knew vaguely that +days were passing. He knew he had work of a sort: at one time he was +bringing food to gaunt-eyed tickler-mounted humans working feverishly +in a production line--human hands and tickler claws working together +in a blur of rapidity on silvery mechanisms that moved along jumpily +on a great belt; at another he was sweeping piles of metal scraps and +garbage down a gray corridor. + +Two scenes stood out a little more vividly. + +A windowless wall had been knocked out for twenty feet. There was blue +sky outside, its light almost hurtful, and a drop of many stories. A +file of humans were being processed. When one of them got to the head +of the file his (or her) tickler was ceremoniously unstrapped from his +shoulder and welded onto a silvery cask with smoothly pointed ends. +The result was something that looked--at least in the case of the Mark +6 ticklers--like a stubby silver submarine, child size. It would hum +gently, lift off the floor and then fly slowly out through the big +blue gap. Then the next tickler-ridden human would step forward for +processing. + +The second scene was in a park, the sky again blue, but big and high +with an argosy of white clouds. Gusterson was lined up in a crowd of +humans that stretched as far as he could see, row on irregular row. +Martial music was playing. Overhead hovered a flock of little silver +submarines, lined up rather more orderly in the air than the humans +were on the ground. The music rose to a heart-quickening climax. The +tickler nearest Gusterson gave (as if to say, "And now--who knows?") a +triple-jointed shrug that stung his memory. Then the ticklers took off +straight up on their new and shining bodies. They became a flight of +silver geese ... of silver midges ... and the humans around Gusterson +lifted a ragged cheer.... + +That scene marked the beginning of the return of Gusterson's mind and +memory. He shuffled around for a bit, spoke vaguely to three or four +people he recalled from the dream days, and then headed for home and +supper--three weeks late, and as disoriented and emaciated as a bear +coming out of hibernation. + + * * * * * + +Six months later Fay was having dinner with Daisy and Gusterson. The +cocktails had been poured and the children were playing in the next +apartment. The transparent violet walls brightened, then gloomed, as +the sun dipped below the horizon. + +Gusterson said, "I see where a spaceship out beyond the orbit of Mars +was holed by a tickler. I wonder where the little guys are headed +now?" + +Fay started to give a writhing left-armed shrug, but stopped himself +with a grimace. + +"Maybe out of the solar system altogether," suggested Daisy, who'd +recently dyed her hair fire-engine red and was wearing red leotards. + +"They got a weary trip ahead of them," Gusterson said, "unless they +work out a hyper-Einsteinian drive on the way." + +Fay grimaced again. He was still looking rather peaked. He said +plaintively, "Haven't we heard enough about ticklers for a while?" + +"I guess so," Gusterson agreed, "but I get to wondering about the +little guys. They were so serious and intense about everything. I +never did solve their problem, you know. I just shifted it onto other +shoulders than ours. No joke intended," he hurried to add. + +Fay forbore to comment. "By the way, Gussy," he said, "have you heard +anything from the Red Cross about that world-saving medal I nominated +you for? I know you think the whole concept of world-saving medals is +ridiculous, especially when they started giving them to all heads of +state who didn't start atomic wars while in office, but--" + +"Nary a peep," Gusterson told him. "I'm not proud, Fay. I could use a +few world-savin' medals. I'd start a flurry in the old-gold market. +But I don't worry about those things. I don't have time to. I'm busy +these days thinkin' up a bunch of new inventions." + +"Gussy!" Fay said sharply, his face tightening in alarm, "Have you +forgotten your promise?" + +"'Course not, Fay. My new inventions aren't for Micro or any other +firm. They're just a legitimate part of my literary endeavors. Happens +my next insanity novel is goin' to be about a mad inventor." + + +--FRITZ LEIBER + + + + + Transcriber's Note -- Changes made [original in brackets]: + + "Society can't have much use for us [use] + It's the Cheshire [Chesire] cat in reverse. + "Zen ['Zen] come near me," + "Ha, wouldn't you like to know?" [know? ] Fay retorted. + Grab a ticket to ecstasy! [ecstacy] + And every hundredth time it says them out loud and the + tickler gives [give] + so it can spot and follow him around then [the] target + Postmen deliver topside [top-side] mail + We-Who-Are-About-To-Die [We-Who Are-About-To-Die] + the scanning and [and and] decision-making + They 'think,' to use that archaic [archiac] word + did that drug-addict girl friend of yours ever take you + to a ["a" missing] genuine orgy + "Have you no heart?" Fay [Gay] demanded. + But Gusterson [Gunderson] was already shaking his head. + now-familiar triple-jointed [joined] shrug + just like nomads need horses.[,] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Creature from Cleveland Depths, by +Fritz Reuter Leiber + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS *** + +***** This file should be named 23164-8.txt or 23164-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/1/6/23164/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Creature from Cleveland Depths + +Author: Fritz Reuter Leiber + +Release Date: October 24, 2007 [EBook #23164] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + <div class="transcriber_note"> + <p>Transcriber’s Note: This etext was produced from <cite>Galaxy</cite> December + 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the + U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> + <p>Corrections are indicated by a dotted underline, like <ins title="original reading">this</ins>.</p> + </div> + <p id="the_beginning"> </p> + <p class="prolog"><a class="pagenum" id="page9" title="9"></a>Here is a modern tale of an + inner-directed sorcerer and + an outer-directed sorcerer’s + apprentice … a tale of—</p> + + <h1>THE<br /> + <span class="fancy">CREATURE</span><br /> + FROM<br /> + CLEVELAND DEPTHS</h1> + + <p class="author">By FRITZ LEIBER</p> + + <p class="illustrator">Illustrated by WOOD</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">“Come</span> on, Gussy,” Fay prodded + quietly, “quit stalking + around like a neurotic bear and + suggest something for my invention + team to work on. I enjoy + visiting you and Daisy, but I + can’t stay aboveground all night.”</p> + + <p>“If being outside the shelters + makes you nervous, don’t come + around any more,” Gusterson + told him, continuing to stalk. + “Why doesn’t your invention + team think of something to invent? + Why don’t you? Hah!” In + the “Hah!” lay triumphant condemnation + of a whole way of life.</p> + + <p>“We do,” Fay responded imperturbably, + “but a fresh viewpoint sometimes helps.”</p> + + <p>“I’ll say it does! Fay, you burglar, + I’ll bet you’ve got twenty + people like myself you milk for + free ideas. First you irritate their + bark and then you make the + <a class="pagenum" id="page10" title="10"></a>rounds every so often to draw off + the latex or the maple gloop.”</p> + + <p>Fay smiled. “It ought to please + you that society still has a use + for you outre inner-directed + types. It takes something to make + a junior executive stay aboveground + after dark, when the missiles + are on the prowl.”</p> + + <p>“Society can’t have much use + for <ins title="use">us</ins> or it’d pay us something,” + Gusterson sourly asserted, staring + blankly at the tankless TV + and kicking it lightly as he + passed on.</p> + + <p>“No, you’re wrong about that, + Gussy. Money’s not the key goad + with you inner-directeds. I got + that straight from our Motivations + chief.”</p> + + <p>“Did he tell you what we + should use instead to pay the grocer? + A deep inner sense of + achievement, maybe? Fay, why + should I do any free thinking for + Micro Systems?”</p> + + <p>“I’ll tell you why, Gussy. Simply + because you get a kick out of + insulting us with sardonic ideas. + If we take one of them seriously, + you think we’re degrading ourselves, + and that pleases you even + more. Like making someone + laugh at a lousy pun.”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Gusterson</span> held still in his + roaming and grinned. “That + the reason, huh? I suppose my + suggestions would have to be + something in the line of ultra-subminiaturized + computers, + where one sinister fine-etched + molecule does the work of three + big bumbling brain cells?”</p> + + <p>“Not necessarily. Micro Systems + is branching out. Wheel as + free as a rogue star. But I’ll pass + along to Promotion your one + molecule-three brain cell sparkler. + It’s a slight exaggeration, + but it’s catchy.”</p> + + <p>“I’ll have my kids watch your + ads to see if you use it and then + I’ll sue the whole underworld.” + Gusterson frowned as he resumed + his stalking. He stared puzzledly + at the antique TV. “How about + inventing a plutonium termite?” + he said suddenly. “It would get + rid of those stockpiles that are + worrying you moles to death.”</p> + + <p>Fay grimaced noncommittally + and cocked his head.</p> + + <p>“Well, then, how about a + beauty mask? How about that, + hey? I don’t mean one to repair + a woman’s complexion, but one + she’d wear all the time that’d + make her look like a 17-year-old + sexpot. That’d end <em>her</em> worries.”</p> + + <p>“Hey, that’s for me,” Daisy + called from the kitchen. “I’ll + make Gusterson suffer. I’ll make + him crawl around on his hands + and knees begging my immature + favors.”</p> + + <div class="image"><a class="pagenum" id="page11" title="11"></a> + <img src="images/illo-1.jpg" width="400" height="548" alt="A montage: A fellow holding a gun on a man; a man and a woman nearly kissing; a one-eyed robot tearing up paper." /> + </div> + + <p>“No, you won’t,” Gusterson + called back. “You having a face + like that would scare the kids. + Better cancel that one, Fay. Half + <a class="pagenum" id="page12" title="12"></a>the adult race looking like Vina + Vidarsson is too awful a + thought.”</p> + + <p>“Yah, you’re just scared of + making a million dollars,” Daisy + jeered.</p> + + <p>“I sure am,” Gusterson said + solemnly, scanning the fuzzy + floor from one murky glass wall + to the other, hesitating at the TV. + “How about something homey + now, like a flock of little prickly + cylinders that roll around the + floor collecting lint and flub? + They’d work by electricity, or at + a pinch cats could bat ’em + around. Every so often they’d be + automatically herded together + and the lint cleaned off the + bristles.”</p> + + <p>“No good,” Fay said. “There’s + no lint underground and cats are + <em>verboten</em>. And the aboveground + market doesn’t amount to more + moneywise than the state of + Southern Illinois. Keep it + grander, Gussy, and more impractical—you + can’t sell people + merely useful ideas.” From his + hassock in the center of the room + he looked uneasily around. “Say, + did that violet tone in the glass + come from the high Cleveland + hydrogen bomb or is it just age + and ultraviolet, like desert glass?”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">“No</span>, somebody’s grandfather + liked it that color,” Gusterson + informed him with happy + bitterness. “I like it too—the + glass, I mean, not the tint. People + who live in glass houses can see + the stars—especially when + there’s a window-washing streak + in their germ-plasm.”</p> + + <p>“Gussy, why don’t you move + underground?” Fay asked, his + voice taking on a missionary + note. “It’s a lot easier living in + one room, believe me. You don’t + have to tramp from room to room + hunting things.”</p> + + <p>“I like the exercise,” Gusterson + said stoutly.</p> + + <p>“But I bet Daisy’d prefer it + underground. And your kids + wouldn’t have to explain why + their father lives like a Red Indian. + Not to mention the safety + factor and insurance savings and + a crypt church within easy slidewalk + distance. Incidentally, we + see the stars all the time, better + than you do—by repeater.”</p> + + <p>“Stars by repeater,” Gusterson + murmured to the ceiling, pausing + for God to comment. Then, “No, + Fay, even if I could afford it—and + stand it—I’m such a + bad-luck Harry that just when + I got us all safely stowed at + the N minus 1 sublevel, the + Soviets would discover an + earthquake bomb that struck + from below, and I’d have to follow + everybody back to the treetops. + <em>Hey! How about bubble + homes in orbit around earth?</em> + Micro Systems could subdivide + the world’s most spacious suburb + <a class="pagenum" id="page13" title="13"></a>and all you moles could go ellipsing. + Space is as safe as there is: + no air, no shock waves. Free fall’s + the ultimate in restfulness—great + health benefits. Commute + by rocket—or better yet stay + home and do all your business by + TV-telephone, or by waldo if it + were that sort of thing. Even pet + your girl by remote control—she + in her bubble, you in yours, + whizzing through vacuum. Oh, + damn-damn-<em>damn</em>-<em>damn</em>-DAMN!”</p> + + <p>He was glaring at the blank + screen of the TV, his big hands + clenching and unclenching.</p> + + <p>“Don’t let Fay give you apoplexy—he’s + not worth it,” Daisy + said, sticking her trim head in + from the kitchen, while Fay inquired + anxiously, “Gussy, what’s + the matter?”</p> + + <p>“Nothing, you worm!” Gusterson + roared, “Except that an hour + ago I forgot to tune in on the only + TV program I’ve wanted to hear + this year—<em>Finnegans Wake</em> + scored for English, Gaelic and + brogue. Oh, damn-<em>damn</em>-DAMN!”</p> + + <p>“Too bad,” Fay said lightly. “I + didn’t know they were releasing + it on flat TV too.”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">“Well</span>, they were! Some + things are too damn big + to keep completely underground. + And I had to forget! I’m always + doing it—I miss everything! + Look here, you rat,” he blatted + suddenly at Fay, shaking his + finger under the latter’s chin, “I’ll + tell you what you can have that + ignorant team of yours invent. + They can fix me up a mechanical + secretary that I can feed orders + into and that’ll remind me when + the exact moment comes to listen + to TV or phone somebody or + mail in a story or write a letter + or pick up a magazine or look at + an eclipse or a new orbiting station + or fetch the kids from school + or buy Daisy a bunch of flowers + or whatever it is. It’s got to be + something that’s always with me, + not something I have to go and + consult or that I can get sick of + and put down somewhere. And + it’s got to remind me forcibly + enough so that I take notice and + don’t just shrug it aside, like I + sometimes do even when Daisy + reminds me of things. That’s + what your stupid team can invent + for me! If they do a good job, I’ll + pay ’em as much as fifty dollars!”</p> + + <p>“That doesn’t sound like anything + so very original to me,” Fay + commented coolly, leaning back + from the wagging finger. “I think + all senior executives have something + of that sort. At least, their + secretary keeps some kind of + file….”</p> + + <p>“I’m not looking for something + with spiked falsies and nylons up + to the neck,” interjected Gusterson, + whose ideas about secretaries + were a trifle lurid. “I just want a + <a class="pagenum" id="page14" title="14"></a>mech reminder—that’s all!”</p> + + <p>“Well, I’ll keep the idea in + mind,” Fay assured him, “along + with the bubble homes and + beauty masks. If we ever develop + anything along those lines, I’ll + let you know. If it’s a beauty + mask, I’ll bring Daisy a pilot + model—to use to scare strange + kids.” He put his watch to his + ear. “Good lord, I’m going to have + to cut to make it underground before + the main doors close. Just + ten minutes to Second Curfew! + ’By, Gus. ’By, Daze.”</p> + + <p>Two minutes later, living room + lights out, they watched Fay’s + foreshortened antlike figure scurrying + across the balding ill-lit + park toward the nearest escalator.</p> + + <p>Gusterson said, “Weird to + think of that big bright space-poor + glamor basement stretching + around everywhere underneath. + Did you remind Smitty to put a + new bulb in the elevator?”</p> + + <p>“The Smiths moved out this + morning,” Daisy said tonelessly. + “They went underneath.”</p> + + <p>“Like cockroaches,” Gusterson + said. “Cockroaches leavin’ a + sinkin’ apartment building. Next + the ghosts’ll be retreatin’ to the + shelters.”</p> + + <p>“Anyhow, from now on we’re + our own janitors,” Daisy said.</p> + + <p>He nodded. “Just leaves three + families besides us loyal to this + glass death trap. Not countin’ + ghosts.” He sighed. Then, “You + like to move below, Daisy?” he + asked softly, putting his arm + lightly across her shoulders. “Get + a woozy eyeful of the bright lights + and all for a change? Be a rat for + a while? Maybe we’re getting too + old to be bats. I could scrounge + me a company job and have a + thinking closet all to myself and + two secretaries with stainless + steel breasts. Life’d be easier for + you and a lot cleaner. And you’d + sleep safer.”</p> + + <p>“That’s true,” she answered + and paused. She ran her fingertip + slowly across the murky glass, its + violet tint barely perceptible + against a cold dim light across + the park. “But somehow,” she + said, snaking her arm around his + waist, “I don’t think I’d sleep + happier—or one bit excited.”</p> + + <h2>II</h2> + + <p><span class="first_word">Three</span> weeks later Fay, dropping + in again, handed to Daisy + the larger of the two rather small + packages he was carrying.</p> + + <p>“It’s a so-called beauty mask,” + he told her, “complete with wig, + eyelashes, and wettable velvet + lips. It even breathes—pinholed + elastiskin with a static adherence-charge. + But Micro Systems had + nothing to do with it, thank God. + Beauty Trix put it on the market + ten days ago and it’s already + started a teen-age craze. Some + <a class="pagenum" id="page15" title="15"></a>boys are wearing them too, and + the police are yipping at Trix for + encouraging transvestism with + psychic repercussions.”</p> + + <p>“Didn’t I hear somewhere that + Trix is a secret subsidiary of + Micro?” Gusterson demanded, + rearing up from his ancient electric + typewriter. “No, you’re not + stopping me writing, Fay—it’s + the gut of evening. If I do any + more I won’t have any juice to + start with tomorrow. I got another + of my insanity thrillers + moving. A real id-teaser. In this + one not only all the characters + are crazy but the robot psychiatrist + too.”</p> + + <p>“The vending machines are + jumping with insanity novels,” + Fay commented. “Odd they’re so + popular.”</p> + + <p>Gusterson chortled. “The only + way you outer-directed moles + will accept individuality any + more even in a fictional character, + without your superegos getting + seasick, is for them to be + crazy. Hey, Daisy! Lemme see + that beauty mask!”</p> + + <p>But his wife, backing out of + the room, hugged the package to + her bosom and solemnly shook + her head.</p> + + <p>“A hell of a thing,” Gusterson + complained, “not even to be able + to see what my stolen ideas look + like.”</p> + + <p>“I got a present for you too,” + Fay said. “Something you might + think of as a royalty on all the + inventions someone thought of a + little ahead of you. Fifty dollars + by your own evaluation.” He held + out the smaller package. “Your + tickler.”</p> + + <p>“My <em>what?</em>” Gusterson demanded + suspiciously.</p> + + <p>“Your tickler. The mech reminder + you wanted. It turns out + that the file a secretary keeps to + remind her boss to do certain + things at certain times is called + a tickler file. So we named this + a tickler. Here.”</p> + + <p>Gusterson still didn’t touch the + package. “You mean you actually + put your invention team to work + on that nonsense?”</p> + + <p>“Well, what do you think? + Don’t be scared of it. Here, I’ll + show you.”</p> + + <p>As he unwrapped the package, + Fay said, “It hasn’t been decided + yet whether we’ll manufacture it + commercially. If we do, I’ll put + through a voucher for you—for + ‘development consultation’ or + something like that. Sorry no royalty’s + possible. Davidson’s squad + had started to work up the identical + idea three years ago, but it + got shelved. I found it on a snoop + through the closets. There! Looks + rich, doesn’t it?”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">On the</span> scarred black tabletop + was a dully gleaming + silvery object about the size and + shape of a cupped hand with fingers + <a class="pagenum" id="page16" title="16"></a>merging. A tiny pellet on a + short near-invisible wire led off + from it. On the back was a punctured + area suggesting the face of + a microphone; there was also a + window with a date and time in + hours and minutes showing + through and next to that four + little buttons in a row. The concave + underside of the silvery + “hand” was smooth except for a + central area where what looked + like two little rollers came + through.</p> + + <p>“It goes on your shoulder under + your shirt,” Fay explained, + “and you tuck the pellet in your + ear. We might work up bone conduction + on a commercial model. + Inside is an ultra-slow fine-wire + recorder holding a spool that + runs for a week. The clock lets + you go to any place on the 7-day + wire and record a message. The + buttons give you variable speed + in going there, so you don’t waste + too much time making a setting. + There’s a knack in fingering them + efficiently, but it’s easily acquired.”</p> + + <p>Fay picked up the tickler. “For + instance, suppose there’s a TV + show you want to catch tomorrow + night at twenty-two hundred.” + He touched the buttons. + There was the faintest whirring. + The clock face blurred briefly + three times before showing the + setting he’d mentioned. Then Fay + spoke into the punctured area: + “Turn on TV Channel Two, you + big dummy!” He grinned over at + Gusterson. “When you’ve got all + your instructions to yourself + loaded in, you synchronize with + the present moment and let her + roll. Fit it on your shoulder and + forget it. Oh, yes, and it literally + does tickle you every time it delivers + an instruction. That’s what + the little rollers are for. Believe + me, you can’t ignore it. Come on, + Gussy, take off your shirt and try + it out. We’ll feed in some instructions + for the next ten minutes so + you get the feel of how it works.”</p> + + <p>“I don’t want to,” Gusterson + said. “Not right now. I want to + sniff around it first. My God, it’s + small! Besides everything else it + does, does it think?”</p> + + <p>“Don’t pretend to be an idiot, + Gussy! You know very well that + even with ultra-sub-micro nothing + quite this small can possibly have + enough elements to do any thinking.”</p> + + <p>Gusterson shrugged. “I don’t + know about that. I think bugs + think.”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Fay</span> groaned faintly. “Bugs operate + by instinct, Gussy,” he + said. “A patterned routine. They + do not scan situations and consequences + and then make decisions.”</p> + + <p>“I don’t expect bugs to make + decisions,” Gusterson said. “For + that matter I don’t like people + <a class="pagenum" id="page17" title="17"></a>who go around alla time making + decisions.”</p> + + <p>“Well, you can take it from me, + Gussy, that this tickler is just a + miniaturized wire recorder and + clock … and a tickler. It doesn’t + do anything else.”</p> + + <p>“Not yet, maybe,” Gusterson + said darkly. “Not this model. Fay, + I’m serious about bugs thinking. + Or if they don’t exactly think, + they feel. They’ve got an interior + drama. An inner glow. They’re + conscious. For that matter, Fay, + I think all your really complex + electronic computers are conscious + too.”</p> + + <p>“Quit kidding, Gussy.”</p> + + <p>“Who’s kidding?”</p> + + <p>“You are. Computers simply + aren’t alive.”</p> + + <p>“What’s alive? A word. I think + computers are conscious, at least + while they’re operating. They’ve + got that inner glow of awareness. + They sort of … well … meditate.”</p> + + <p>“Gussy, computers haven’t got + any circuits for meditating. + They’re not programmed for + mystical lucubrations. They’ve + just got circuits for solving the + problems they’re on.”</p> + + <p>“Okay, you admit they’ve got + problem-solving circuits—like + a man has. I say if they’ve got the + equipment for being conscious, + they’re conscious. What has + wings, flies.”</p> + + <p>“Including stuffed owls and + gilt eagles and dodoes—and + wood-burning airplanes?”</p> + + <p>“Maybe, under some circumstances. + There <em>was</em> a wood-burning + airplane. Fay,” Gusterson + continued, wagging his wrists for + emphasis, “I really think computers + are conscious. They just don’t + have any way of telling us that + they are. Or maybe they don’t + have any <em>reason</em> to tell us, like + the little Scotch boy who didn’t + say a word until he was fifteen + and was supposed to be deaf and + dumb.”</p> + + <p>“Why didn’t he say a word?”</p> + + <p>“Because he’d never had anything + to say. Or take those Hindu + fakirs, Fay, who sit still and don’t + say a word for thirty years or + until their fingernails grow to the + next village. If Hindu fakirs can + do that, computers can!”</p> + + <p>Looking as if he were masticating + a lemon, Fay asked quietly, + “Gussy, did you say you’re working + on an insanity novel?”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Gusterson</span> frowned fiercely. + “Now you’re kidding,” he accused + Fay. “The dirty kind of + kidding, too.”</p> + + <p>“I’m sorry,” Fay said with light + contrition. “Well, now you’ve + sniffed at it, how about trying on + Tickler?” He picked up the + gleaming blunted crescent and + jogged it temptingly under Gusterson’s + chin.</p> + + <p>“Why should I?” Gusterson + <a class="pagenum" id="page18" title="18"></a>asked, stepping back. “Fay, I’m + up to my ears writing a book. The + last thing I want is something interrupting + me to make me listen + to a lot of junk and do a lot of + useless things.”</p> + + <p>“But, dammit, Gussy! It was + all your idea in the first place!” + Fay blatted. Then, catching himself, + he added, “I mean, you were + one of the first people to think of + this particular sort of instrument.”</p> + + <p>“Maybe so, but I’ve done some + more thinking since then.” Gusterson’s + voice grew a trifle solemn. + “Inner-directed worthwhile thinkin’. + Fay, when a man forgets to + do something, it’s because he + really doesn’t want to do it or + because he’s all roiled up down + in his unconscious. He ought to + take it as a danger signal and + investigate the roiling, not hire + himself a human or mech reminder.”</p> + + <p>“Bushwa,” Fay retorted. “In + that case you shouldn’t write + memorandums or even take + notes.”</p> + + <p>“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Gusterson + agreed lamely. “I’d have to + think that over too.”</p> + + <p>“Ha!” Fay jeered. “No, I’ll tell + you what your trouble is, Gussy. + You’re simply scared of this contraption. + You’ve loaded your + skull with horror-story nonsense + about machines sprouting minds + and taking over the world—until + you’re even scared of a simple + miniaturized and clocked recorder.” + He thrust it out.</p> + + <p>“Maybe I am,” Gusterson admitted, + controlling a flinch. “Honestly, + Fay, that thing’s got a + gleam in its eye as if it had ideas + of its own. Nasty ideas.”</p> + + <p>“Gussy, you nut, it hasn’t <em>got</em> + an eye.”</p> + + <p>“Not now, no, but it’s got the + gleam—the eye may come. It’s + the <ins title="Chesire">Cheshire</ins> cat in reverse. If + you’d step over here and look at + yourself holding it, you could see + what I mean. But I don’t think + computers <em>sprout</em> minds, Fay. I + just think they’ve <em>got</em> minds, because + they’ve got the mind elements.”</p> + + <p>“Ho, ho!” Fay mocked. “Everything + that has a material side has + a mental side,” he chanted. + “Everything that’s a body is also + a spirit. Gussy, that dubious old + metaphysical dualism went out + centuries ago.”</p> + + <p>“Maybe so,” Gusterson said, + “but we still haven’t anything but + that dubious dualism to explain + the human mind, have we? It’s a + jelly of nerve cells and it’s a + vision of the cosmos. If that isn’t + dualism, what is?”</p> + + <p>“I give up. Gussy, are you going + to try out this tickler?”</p> + + <p>“No!”</p> + + <p>“But dammit, Gussy, we made + it just for you!—practically.”</p> + + <p>“Sorry, but I’m not coming + near the thing.”</p> + + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page19" title="19"></a>“<ins title="’Zen">Zen</ins> come near me,” a husky + voice intoned behind them. “Tonight + I vant a man.”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Standing</span> in the door was + something slim in a short + silver sheath. It had golden bangs + and the haughtiest snub-nosed + face in the world. It slunk toward + them.</p> + + <p>“My God, Vina Vidarsson!” + Gusterson yelled.</p> + + <p>“Daisy, that’s terrific,” Fay applauded, + going up to her.</p> + + <p>She bumped him aside with a + swing of her hips, continuing to + advance. “Not you, Ratty,” she + said throatily. “I vant a real + man.”</p> + + <p>“Fay, I suggested Vina Vidarsson’s + face for the beauty mask,” + Gusterson said, walking around + his wife and shaking a finger. + “Don’t tell me Trix just happened + to think of that too.”</p> + + <p>“What else could they think + of?” Fay laughed. “This season + sex means VV and nobody else.” + An odd little grin flicked his lips, + a tic traveled up his face and his + body twitched slightly. “Say, folks, + I’m going to have to be leaving. + It’s exactly fifteen minutes to + Second Curfew. Last time I had + to run and I got heartburn. When + <em>are</em> you people going to move + downstairs? I’ll leave Tickler, + Gussy. Play around with it and + get used to it. ’By now.”</p> + + <p>“Hey, Fay,” Gusterson called + curiously, “have you developed + absolute time sense?”</p> + + <p>Fay grinned a big grin from + the doorway—almost too big a + grin for so small a man. “I didn’t + need to,” he said softly, patting + his right shoulder. “My tickler + told me.”</p> + + <p>He closed the door behind him.</p> + + <p>As side-by-side they watched + him strut sedately across the + murky chilly-looking park, Gusterson + mused, “So the little devil + had one of those nonsense-gadgets + on all the time and I never noticed. + Can you beat that?” Something + drew across the violet-tinged + stars a short bright line that + quickly faded. “What’s that?” + Gusterson asked gloomily. “Next + to last stage of missile-here?”</p> + + <p>“Won’t you settle for an old-fashioned + shooting star?” Daisy + asked softly. The (wettable) velvet + lips of the mask made even + her natural voice sound different. + She reached a hand back of her + neck to pull the thing off.</p> + + <p>“Hey, don’t do that,” Gusterson + protested in a hurt voice. + “Not for a while anyway.”</p> + + <p>“Hokay!” she said harshly, + turning on him. “Zen down on + your knees, dog!”</p> + + <h2>III</h2> + + <p><span class="first_word">It was</span> a fortnight and Gusterson + was loping down the home + stretch on his 40,000-word insanity + <a class="pagenum" id="page20" title="20"></a>novel before Fay dropped + in again, this time promptly at + high noon.</p> + + <p>Normally Fay cringed his + shoulders a trifle and was inclined + to slither, but now he + strode aggressively, his legs scissoring + in a fast, low goosestep. He + whipped off the sunglasses that + all moles wore topside by day + and began to pound Gusterson on + the back while calling boisterously, + “How are you, Gussy Old + Boy, Old Boy?”</p> + + <p>Daisy came in from the kitchen + to see why Gusterson was + choking. She was instantly grabbed + and violently bussed to the + accompaniment of, “Hiya, Gorgeous! + Yum-yum! How about ad-libbing + that some weekend?”</p> + + <p>She stared at Fay dazedly, + rasping the back of her hand + across her mouth, while Gusterson + yelled, “Quit that! What’s got + into you, Fay? Have they transferred + you out of R & D to Company + Morale? Do they line up + all the secretaries at roll call and + make you give them an eight-hour + energizing kiss?”</p> + + <p>“Ha, wouldn’t you like to + know?<ins class="close quote missing">”</ins> Fay retorted. He grinned, + twitched jumpingly, held still a + moment, then hustled over to the + far wall. “Look out there,” he + rapped, pointing through the violet + glass at a gap between the two + nearest old skyscraper apartments. + “In thirty seconds you’ll + see them test the new needle + bomb at the other end of Lake + Erie. It’s educational.” He began + to count off seconds, vigorously + semaphoring his arm. “… Two + … three … Gussy, I’ve put + through a voucher for two yards + for you. Budgeting squawked, but + I pressured ’em.”</p> + + <p>Daisy squealed, “Yards!—are + those dollar thousands?” while + Gusterson was asking, “Then + you’re marketing the tickler?”</p> + + <p>“Yes. Yes,” Fay replied to + them in turn. “… Nine … + ten …” Again he grinned and + twitched. “Time for noon Com-staff,” + he announced staccato. + “Pardon the hush box.” He + whipped a pancake phone from + under his coat, clapped it over his + face and spoke fiercely but inaudibly + into it, continuing to semaphore. + Suddenly he thrust the + phone away. “Twenty-nine … + thirty … Thar she blows!”</p> + + <p>An incandescent streak shot up + the sky from a little above the + far horizon and a doubly dazzling + point of light appeared just above + the top of it, with the effect of + God dotting an “i”.</p> + + <p>“Ha, that’ll skewer espionage + satellites like swatting flies!” Fay + proclaimed as the portent faded. + “Bracing! Gussy, where’s your + tickler? I’ve got a new spool for + it that’ll razzle-dazzle you.”</p> + + <p>“I’ll bet,” Gusterson said drily. + “Daisy?”</p> + + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page21" title="21"></a>“You gave it to the kids and + they got to fooling with it and + broke it.”</p> + + <p>“No matter,” Fay told them + with a large sidewise sweep of + his hand. “Better you wait for the + new model. It’s a six-way improvement.”</p> + + <p>“So I gather,” Gusterson said, + eyeing him speculatively. “Does + it automatically inject you with + cocaine? A fix every hour on the + second?”</p> + + <p>“Ha-ha, joke. Gussy, it achieves + the same effect without using any + dope at all. Listen: a tickler reminds + you of your duties and opportunities—your + chances for + happiness and success! What’s + the obvious next step?”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">“Throw</span> it out the window. + By the way, how do you do + that when you’re underground?”</p> + + <p>“We have hi-speed garbage + boosts. The obvious next step is + you give the tickler a heart. It + not only tells you, it warmly persuades + you. It doesn’t just say, + ‘Turn on the TV Channel Two, + Joyce program,’ it <em>brills</em> at you, + ‘Kid, Old Kid, race for the TV + and flip that Two Switch! There’s + a great show coming through the + pipes this second plus ten—you’ll + enjoy the hell out of yourself! + Grab a ticket to <ins title="ecstacy">ecstasy</ins>!’”</p> + + <p>“My God,” Gusterson gasped, + “are those the kind of jolts it’s + giving you now?”</p> + + <p>“Don’t you get it, Gussy? You + never load your tickler except + when you’re feeling buoyantly + enthusiastic. You don’t just tell + yourself what to do hour by hour + next week, you sell yourself on + it. That way you not only make + doubly sure you’ll obey instructions + but you constantly reinoculate + yourself with your own enthusiasm.”</p> + + <p>“I can’t stand myself when I’m + that enthusiastic,” Gusterson said. + “I feel ashamed for hours afterwards.”</p> + + <p>“You’re warped—all this + lonely sky-life. What’s more, + Gussy, think how still more persuasive + some of those instructions + would be if they came to a man + in his best girl’s most bedroomy + voice, or his doctor’s or psycher’s + if it’s that sort of thing—or + Vina Vidarsson’s! By the way, + Daze, don’t wear that beauty + mask outside. It’s a grand misdemeanor + ever since ten thousand + teen-agers rioted through + Tunnel-Mart wearing them. And + VV’s sueing Trix.”</p> + + <p>“No chance of that,” Daisy said. + “Gusterson got excited and bit + off the nose.” She pinched her + own delicately.</p> + + <p>“I’d no more obey my enthusiastic + self,” Gusterson was brooding, + “than I’d obey a Napoleon + drunk on his own brandy or a + hopped-up St. Francis. Reinoculated + with my own enthusiasm? + <a class="pagenum" id="page22" title="22"></a>I’d die just like from snake-bite!”</p> + + <p>“Warped, I said,” Fay dogmatized, + stamping around. “Gussy, + having the instructions persuasive + instead of neutral turned out + to be only the opening wedge. + The next step wasn’t so obvious, + but I saw it. Using subliminal + verbal stimuli in his tickler, a + man can be given constant supportive + euphoric therapy 24 + hours a day! And it makes use + of all that empty wire. We’ve revived + the ideas of a pioneer dynamic + psycher named Dr. Coué. + For instance, right now my tickler + is saying to me—in tones too + soft to reach my conscious mind, + but do they stab into the unconscious!—‘Day + by day in every + way I’m getting sharper and + sharper.’ It alternates that with + ‘gutsier and gutsier’ and … well, + forget that. Coué mostly used + ‘better and better’ but that seems + too general. And every hundredth + time it says them out loud + and the tickler <ins title="give">gives</ins> me a brush—just + a faint cootch—to make + sure I’m keeping in touch.”</p> + + <p>“That third word-pair,” Daisy + wondered, feeling her mouth + reminiscently. “Could I guess?”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Gusterson’s</span> eyes had been + growing wider and wider. + “Fay,” he said, “I could no more + use my mind for anything if I + knew all that was going on in my + inner ear than if I were being + brushed down with brooms by + three witches. Look here,” he said + with loud authority, “you got to + stop all this—it’s crazy. Fay, if + Micro’ll junk the tickler, I’ll + think you up something else to + invent—something real good.”</p> + + <p>“Your inventing days are + over,” Fay brilled gleefully. “I + mean, you’ll never equal your + masterpiece.”</p> + + <p>“How about,” Gusterson bellowed, + “an anti-individual guided + missile? The physicists have got + small-scale antigravity good + enough to float and fly something + the size of a hand grenade. + I can smell that even though it’s + a back-of-the-safe military secret. + Well, how about keying such a + missile to a man’s finger-prints—or + brainwaves, maybe, or his + unique smell!—so it can spot + and follow him around <ins title="the">then</ins> target + in on him, without harming anyone + else? Long-distance assassination—and + the stinkingest gets + it! Or you could simply load it + with some disgusting goo and key + it to teen-agers as a group—that’d + take care of them. Fay, + doesn’t it give you a rich warm + kick to think of my midget missiles + buzzing around in your tunnels, + seeking out evil-doers, like + a swarm of angry wasps or angelic + bumblebees?”</p> + + <p>“You’re not luring me down + any side trails,” Fay said laughingly. + He grinned and twitched, + <a class="pagenum" id="page23" title="23"></a>then hurried toward the opposite + wall, motioning them to follow. + Outside, about a hundred yards + beyond the purple glass, rose another + ancient glass-walled apartment + skyscraper. Beyond, Lake + Erie rippled glintingly.</p> + + <p>“Another bomb-test?” Gusterson + asked.</p> + + <p>Fay pointed at the building. + “Tomorrow,” he announced, “a + modern factory, devoted solely to + the manufacture of ticklers, will + be erected on that site.”</p> + + <p>“You mean one of those windowless + phallic eyesores?” Gusterson + demanded. “Fay, you people + aren’t even consistent. You’ve + got all your homes underground. + Why not your factories?”</p> + + <p>“Sh! Not enough room. And + night missiles are scarier.”</p> + + <p>“I know that building’s been + empty for a year,” Daisy said uneasily, + “but how—?”</p> + + <p>“Sh! Watch! <em>Now!</em>”</p> + + <p>The looming building seemed + to blur or fuzz for a moment. + Then it was as if the lake’s bright + ripples had invaded the old glass + a hundred yards away. Wavelets + chased themselves up and down + the gleaming walls, became higher, + higher … and then suddenly + the glass cracked all over to tiny + fragments and fell away, to be + followed quickly by fragmented + concrete and plastic and plastic + piping, until all that was left was + the nude steel framework, vibrating + so rapidly as to be almost invisible + against the gleaming lake.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Daisy covered</span> her ears, + but there was no explosion, + only a long-drawn-out low crash + as the fragments hit twenty floors + below and dust whooshed out + sideways.</p> + + <p>“Spectacular!” Fay summed + up. “Knew you’d enjoy it. That + little trick was first conceived by + the great Tesla during his last + fruity years. Research discovered + it in his biog—we just made the + dream come true. A tiny resonance + device you could carry in + your belt-bag attunes itself to the + natural harmonic of a structure + and then increases amplitude by + tiny pushes exactly in time. Just + like soldiers marching in step can + break down a bridge, only this is + as if it were being done by one + marching ant.” He pointed at the + naked framework appearing out + of its own blur and said, “We’ll + be able to hang the factory on + that. If not, we’ll whip a mega-current + through it and vaporize + it. No question the micro-resonator + is the neatest sweetest wrecking + device going. You can expect + a lot more of this sort of efficiency + now that mankind has the + tickler to enable him to use his + full potential. What’s the matter, + folks?”</p> + + <p>Daisy was staring around the + violet-walled room with dumb + <a class="pagenum" id="page24" title="24"></a>mistrust. Her hands were trembling.</p> + + <p>“You don’t have to worry,” + Fay assured her with an understanding + laugh. “This building’s + safe for a month more at least.” + Suddenly he grimaced and + leaped a foot in the air. He raised + a clawed hand to scratch his + shoulder but managed to check + the movement. “Got to beat it, + folks,” he announced tersely. “My + tickler gave me the grand + cootch.”</p> + + <p>“Don’t go yet,” Gusterson + called, rousing himself with a + shudder which he immediately + explained: “I just had the illusion + that if I shook myself all my + flesh and guts would fall off my + shimmying skeleton, Brr! Fay, + before you and Micro go off half + cocked, I want you to know + there’s one insuperable objection + to the tickler as a mass-market + item. The average man or woman + won’t go to the considerable time + and trouble it must take to load + a tickler. He simply hasn’t got + the compulsive orderliness and + willingness to plan that it requires.”</p> + + <p>“We thought of that weeks + ago,” Fay rapped, his hand on the + door. “Every tickler spool that + goes to market is patterned like + wallpaper with one of five designs + of suitable subliminal supportive + euphoric material. ‘Ittier + and ittier,’ ‘viriler and viriler’—you + know. The buyer is robot-interviewed + for an hour, his personalized + daily routine laid out + and thereafter templated on his + weekly spool. He’s strongly urged + next to take his tickler to his doctor + and psycher for further instruction-imposition. + We’ve been + working with the medical profession + from the start. They love + the tickler because it’ll remind + people to take their medicine on + the dot … and rest and eat and + go to sleep just when and how + doc says. This is a big operation, + Gussy—a biiiiiiig operation! ’By!”</p> + + <p>Daisy hurried to the wall to + watch him cross the park. Deep + down she was a wee bit worried + that he might linger to attach a + micro-resonator to <em>this</em> building + and she wanted to time him. But + Gusterson settled down to his + typewriter and began to bat + away.</p> + + <p>“I want to have another novel + started,” he explained to her, “before + the ant marches across this + building in about four and a half + weeks … or a million sharp little + gutsy guys come swarming + out of the ground and heave it + into Lake Erie.”</p> + + <h2>IV</h2> + + <p><span class="first_word">Early next</span> morning windowless + walls began to crawl + up the stripped skyscraper between + them and the lake. Daisy + <a class="pagenum" id="page25" title="25"></a>pulled the black-out curtains on + that side. For a day or two longer + their thoughts and conversations + were haunted by Gusterson’s + vague sardonic visions of a horde + of tickler-energized moles pouring + up out of the tunnels to tear + down the remaining trees, tank + the atmosphere and perhaps + somehow dismantle the stars—at + least on this side of the world—but + then they both settled + back into their customary easy-going + routines. Gusterson typed. + Daisy made her daily shopping + trip to a little topside daytime + store and started painting a mural + on the floor of the empty + apartment next theirs but one.</p> + + <p>“We ought to lasso some neighbors,” + she suggested once. “I need + somebody to hold my brushes + and admire. How about you making + a trip below at the cocktail + hours, Gusterson, and picking up + a couple of girls for a starter? + Flash the old viriler charm, + cootch them up a bit, emphasize + the delights of high living, but + make sure they’re compatible + roommates. You could pick up + that two-yard check from Micro + at the same time.”</p> + + <p>“You’re an immoral money-ravenous + wench,” Gusterson said + absently, trying to dream of an + insanity beyond insanity that + would make his next novel a real + id-rousing best-vender.</p> + + <p>“If that’s your vision of me, + you shouldn’t have chewed up + the VV mask.”</p> + + <p>“I’d really prefer you with + green stripes,” he told her. “But + stripes, spots, or sun-bathing, + you’re better than those cocktail + moles.”</p> + + <p>Actually both of them acutely + disliked going below. They much + preferred to perch in their eyrie + and watch the people of Cleveland + Depths, as they privately + called the local sub-suburb, rush + up out of the shelters at dawn to + work in the concrete fields and + windowless factories, make their + daytime jet trips and freeway + jaunts, do their noon-hour and + coffee-break guerrilla practice, + and then go scurrying back at + twilight to the atomic-proof, + brightly lit, vastly exciting, claustrophobic + caves.</p> + + <p>Fay and his projects began + once more to seem dreamlike, + though Gusterson did run across + a cryptic advertisement for ticklers + in <em>The Manchester Guardian</em>, + which he got daily by facsimile. + Their three children reported + similar ads, of no interest + to young fry, on the TV and one + afternoon they came home with + the startling news that the monitors + at their subsurface school + had been issued ticklers. On + sharp interrogation by Gusterson, + however, it appeared that + these last were not ticklers but + merely two-way radios linked to + <a class="pagenum" id="page26" title="26"></a>the school police station transmitter.</p> + + <div class="image"> + <img src="images/illo-2.jpg" width="400" height="274" alt="A man looks at another man who has a small electronic device on his shoulder and a wire going into his ear." /> + </div> + + <p>“Which is bad enough,” Gusterson + commented later to Daisy. + “But it’d be even dirtier to think + of those clock-watching superegos + being strapped to kids’ + shoulders. Can you imagine Huck + Finn with a tickler, tellin’ him + when to tie up the raft to a tow-head + and when to take a swim?”</p> + + <p>“I bet Fay could,” Daisy + countered. “When’s he going to + bring you that check, anyhow? + Iago wants a jetcycle and I + promised Imogene a Vina Kit + and then Claudius’ll have to have + something.”</p> + + <p>Gusterson scowled thoughtfully. + “You know, Daze,” he said, + “I got a feeling Fay’s in the hospital, + all narcotized up and being + fed intravenously. The way he + was jumping around last time, + that tickler was going to cootch + him to pieces in a week.”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">As if to</span> refute this intuition, + Fay turned up that very + evening. The lights were dim. + Something had gone wrong with + the building’s old transformer + and, pending repairs, the two remaining + occupied apartments + were making do with batteries, + which turned bright globes to + mysterious amber candles and + made Gusterson’s ancient typewriter + operate sluggishly.</p> + + <p>Fay’s manner was subdued or + <a class="pagenum" id="page27" title="27"></a>at least closely controlled and + for a moment Gusterson thought + he’d shed his tickler. Then the + little man came out of the shadows + and Gusterson saw the large + bulge on his right shoulder.</p> + + <div class="image"> + <img src="images/illo-3.jpg" width="400" height="273" alt="A rather sexy drawing of a well-endowed woman in a tight-fitting dress putting on a face-shaped mask while a man looks on." /> + </div> + + <p>“Yes, we had to up it a bit + sizewise,” Fay explained in + clipped tones. “Additional super-features. + While brilliantly successful + on the whole, the subliminal + euphorics were a shade + too effective. Several hundred + users went hoppity manic. We + gentled the cootch and qualified + the subliminals—you know, + ‘Day by day in every way I’m + getting sharper <em>and more serene</em>’—but + a stabilizing influence was + still needed, so after a top-level + conference we decided to combine + Tickler with Moodmaster.”</p> + + <p>“My God,” Gusterson interjected, + “do they have a machine + now that does that?”</p> + + <p>“Of course. They’ve been using + them on ex-mental patients for + years.”</p> + + <p>“I just don’t keep up with + progress,” Gusterson said, shaking + his head bleakly. “I’m falling + behind on all fronts.”</p> + + <p>“You ought to have your tickler + remind you to read Science + Service releases,” Fay told him. + “Or simply instruct it to scan the + releases and—no, that’s still in + research.” He looked at Gusterson’s + shoulder and his eyes widened. + “You’re not wearing the + <a class="pagenum" id="page28" title="28"></a>new-model tickler I sent you,” + he said accusingly.</p> + + <p>“I never got it,” Gusterson assured + him. “Postmen deliver + <ins title="top-side">topside</ins> mail and parcels by + throwing them on the high-speed + garbage boosts and hoping a tornado + will blow them to the right + addresses.” Then he added helpfully, + “Maybe the Russians stole + it while it was riding the whirlwinds.”</p> + + <p>“That’s not a suitable topic for + jesting,” Fay frowned. “We’re + hoping that Tickler will mobilize + the full potential of the Free + World for the first time in history. + Gusterson, you are going to + have to wear a ticky-tick. It’s becoming + impossible for a man to + get through modern life without + one.”</p> + + <p>“Maybe I will,” Gusterson said + appeasingly, “but right now tell + me about Moodmaster. I want to + put it in my new insanity novel.”</p> + + <p>Fay shook his head. “Your + readers will just think you’re behind + the times. If you use it, + underplay it. But anyhow, Moodmaster + is a simple physiotherapy + engine that monitors bloodstream + chemicals and body electricity. It + ties directly into the bloodstream, + keeping blood, sugar, et + cetera, at optimum levels and injecting + euphrin or depressin as + necessary—and occasionally a + touch of extra adrenaline, as during + work emergencies.”</p> + + <p>“Is it painful?” Daisy called + from the bedroom.</p> + + <p>“Excruciating,” Gusterson called + back. “Excuse it, please,” he + grinned at Fay. “Hey, didn’t I + suggest cocaine injections last + time I saw you?”</p> + + <p>“So you did,” Fay agreed flatly. + “Oh by the way, Gussy, here’s + that check for a yard I promised + you. Micro doesn’t muzzle the + ox.”</p> + + <p>“Hooray!” Daisy cheered faintly.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">“I thought</span> you said it was + going to be for two.” Gusterson + complained.</p> + + <p>“Budgeting always forces a + last-minute compromise,” Fay + shrugged. “You have to learn to + accept those things.”</p> + + <p>“I love accepting money and + I’m glad any time for three feet,” + Daisy called agreeably. “Six feet + might make me wonder if I + weren’t an insect, but getting a + yard just makes me feel like a + gangster’s moll.”</p> + + <p>“Want to come out and gloat + over the yard paper, Toots, and + stuff it in your diamond-embroidered + net stocking top?” Gusterson + called back.</p> + + <p>“No, I’m doing something to + that portion of me just now. But + hang onto the yard, Gusterson.”</p> + + <p>“Aye-aye, Cap’n,” he assured + her. Then, turning back to Fay, + “So you’ve taken the Dr. Coué + <a class="pagenum" id="page29" title="29"></a>repeating out of the tickler?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, no. Just balanced it off + with depressin. The subliminals + are still a prime sales-point. All + the tickler features are cumulative, + Gussy. You’re still underestimating + the scope of the device.”</p> + + <p>“I guess I am. What’s this + ‘work-emergencies’ business? If + you’re using the tickler to inject + drugs into workers to keep them + going, that’s really just my cocaine + suggestion modernized and + I’m putting in for another thou. + Hundreds of years ago the South + American Indians chewed coca + leaves to kill fatigue sensations.”</p> + + <p>“That so? Interesting—and + it proves priority for the Indians, + doesn’t it? I’ll make a try for you, + Gussy, but don’t expect anything.” + He cleared his throat, his + eyes grew distant and, turning + his head a little to the right, he + enunciated sharply, “Pooh-Bah. + Time: Inst oh five. One oh five + seven. Oh oh. Record: Gussy + coca thou budget. Cut.” He explained, + “We got a voice-cued + setter now on the deluxe models. + You can record a memo to yourself + without taking off your shirt. + Incidentally, I use the ends of the + hours for trifle-memos. I’ve already + used up the fifty-nines and + eights for tomorrow and started + on the fifty-sevens.”</p> + + <p>“I understood most of your + memo,” Gusterson told him gruffly. + “The last ‘Oh oh’ was for seconds, + wasn’t it? Now I call that + crude—why not microseconds + too? But how do you remember + where you’ve made a memo so + you don’t rerecord over it? After + all, you’re rerecording over the + wallpaper all the time.”</p> + + <p>“Tickler beeps and then hunts + for the nearest information-free + space.”</p> + + <p>“I see. And what’s the Pooh-Bah + for?”</p> + + <p>Fay smiled. “Cut. My password + for activating the setter, so + it won’t respond to chance numerals + it overhears.”</p> + + <p>“But why Pooh-Bah?”</p> + + <p>Fay grinned. “Cut. And you a + writer. It’s a literary reference, + Gussy. Pooh-Bah (cut!) was + Lord High Everything Else in + <em>The Mikado</em>. He had a little list + and nothing on it would ever be + missed.”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">“Oh, yeah</span>,” Gusterson remembered, + glowering. “As + I recall it, all that went on that + list was the names of people who + were slated to have their heads + chopped off by Ko-Ko. Better + watch your step, Shorty. It may + be a back-handed omen. Maybe + all those workers you’re puttin’ + ticklers on to pump them full of + adrenaline so they’ll overwork + without noticin’ it will revolt and + come out some day choppin’ for + your head.”</p> + + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page30" title="30"></a>“Spare me the Marxist mythology,” + Fay protested. “Gussy, + you’ve got a completely wrong + slant on Tickler. It’s true that + most of our mass sales so far, bar + government and army, have been + to large companies purchasing + for their employees—”</p> + + <p>“Ah-ha!”</p> + + <p>“—but that’s because there’s + nothing like a tickler for teaching + a new man his job. It tells + him from instant to instant what + he must do—while he’s already + on the job and without disturbing + other workers. Magnetizing a + wire with a job pattern is the + easiest thing going. And you’d be + astonished what the subliminals + do for employee morale. It’s this + way, Gussy: most people are too + improvident and unimaginative + to see in advance the advantages + of ticklers. They buy one because + the company strongly suggests it + and payment is on easy installments + withheld from salary. + They find a tickler makes the + work day go easier. The little fellow + perched on your shoulder is + a friend exuding comfort and + good advice. The first thing he’s + set to say is ‘Take it easy, pal.’</p> + + <p>“Within a week they’re wearing + their tickler 24 hours a day—and + buying a tickler for the + wife, so she’ll remember to comb + her hair and smile real pretty + and cook favorite dishes.”</p> + + <p>“I get it, Fay,” Gusterson cut + in. “The tickler is the newest fad + for increasing worker efficiency. + Once, I read somewheres, it was + salt tablets. They had salt-tablet + dispensers everywhere, even in + air-conditioned offices where + there wasn’t a moist armpit twice + a year and the gals sweat only + champagne. A decade later people + wondered what all those + dusty white pills were for. Sometimes + they were mistook for tranquilizers. + It’ll be the same way + with ticklers. Somebody’ll open + a musty closet and see jumbled + heaps of these gripping-hand silvery + gadgets gathering dust curls + and—”</p> + + <p>“They will not!” Fay protested + vehemently. “Ticklers are not a + fad—they’re history-changers, + they’re Free-World revolutionary! + Why, before Micro Systems + put a single one on the market, + we’d made it a rule that every + Micro employee had to wear one! + If that’s not having supreme confidence + in a product—”</p> + + <p>“Every employee except the + top executives, of course,” Gusterson + interrupted jeeringly. “And + that’s not demoting you, Fay. + As the R & D chief most closely + involved, you’d naturally have to + show special enthusiasm.”</p> + + <p>“But you’re wrong there, Gussy,” + Fay crowed. “Man for man, + our top executives have been + more enthusiastic about their + personal ticklers than any other + <a class="pagenum" id="page31" title="31"></a>class of worker in the whole outfit.”</p> + + <p>Gusterson slumped and shook + his head. “If that’s the case,” he + said darkly, “maybe mankind deserves + the tickler.”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">“I’ll say it</span> does!” Fay + agreed loudly without + thinking. Then, “Oh, can the + carping, Gussy. Tickler’s a great + invention. Don’t deprecate it just + because you had something to do + with its genesis. You’re going to + have to get in the swim and wear + one.”</p> + + <p>“Maybe I’d rather drown horribly.”</p> + + <p>“Can the gloom-talk too! Gussy, + I said it before and I say it + again, you’re just scared of this + new thing. Why, you’ve even got + the drapes pulled so you won’t + have to look at the tickler factory.”</p> + + <p>“Yes, I am scared,” Gusterson + said. “Really sca … AWP!”</p> + + <p>Fay whirled around. Daisy was + standing in the bedroom doorway, + wearing the short silver + sheath. This time there was no + mask, but her bobbed hair was + glitteringly silvered, while her + legs, arms, hands, neck, face—every + bit of her exposed skin—was + painted with beautifully + even vertical green stripes.</p> + + <p>“I did it as a surprise for Gusterson,” + she explained to Fay. + “He says he likes me this way. + The green glop’s supposed to be + smudgeproof.”</p> + + <p>Gusterson did not comment. + His face had a rapt expression. + “I’ll tell you why your tickler’s + so popular, Fay,” he said softly. + “It’s not because it backstops the + memory or because it boosts the + ego with subliminals. It’s because + it takes the hook out of a guy, it + takes over the job of withstanding + the pressure of living. See, + Fay, here are all these little guys + in this subterranean rat race with + atomic-death squares and chromium-plated + reward squares and + enough money if you pass Go + almost to get to Go again—and + a million million rules of the + game to keep in mind. Well, + here’s this one little guy and + every morning he wakes up + there’s all these things he’s got + to keep in mind to do or he’ll + lose his turn three times in a row + and maybe a terrible black rook + in iron armor’ll loom up and bang + him off the chessboard. But now, + look, now he’s got his tickler and + he tells his sweet silver tickler + all these things and the tickler’s + got to remember them. Of course + he’ll have to do them eventually + but meanwhile the pressure’s off + him, the hook’s out of his short + hairs. He’s shifted the responsibility….”</p> + + <p>“Well, what’s so bad about + that?” Fay broke in loudly. + “What’s wrong with taking the + <a class="pagenum" id="page32" title="32"></a>pressure off little guys? Why + shouldn’t Tickler be a super-ego + surrogate? Micro’s Motivations + chief noticed that positive feature + straight off and scored it + three pluses. Besides, it’s nothing + but a gaudy way of saying that + Tickler backstops the memory. + Seriously, Gussy, what’s so bad + about it?”</p> + + <p>“I don’t know,” Gusterson said + slowly, his eyes still far away. “I + just know it feels bad to me.” He + crinkled his big forehead. “Well + for one thing,” he said, “it means + that a man’s taking orders from + something else. He’s got a kind + of master. He’s sinking back into + a slave psychology.”</p> + + <p>“He’s only taking orders from + himself,” Fay countered disgustedly. + “Tickler’s just a mech + reminder, a notebook, in essence + no more than the back of an old + envelope. It’s no master.”</p> + + <p>“Are you absolutely sure of + that?” Gusterson asked quietly.</p> + + <p>“Why, Gussy, you big oaf—” + Fay began heatedly. Suddenly + his features quirked and he + twitched. “’Scuse me, folks,” he + said rapidly, heading for the + door, “but my tickler told me I + gotta go.”</p> + + <p>“Hey Fay, don’t you mean you + told your tickler to tell you when + it was time to go?” Gusterson + called after him.</p> + + <p>Fay looked back in the doorway. + He wet his lips, his eyes + moved from side to side. “I’m not + quite sure,” he said in an odd + strained voice and darted out.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Gusterson</span> stared for some + seconds at the pattern of + emptiness Fay had left. Then he + shivered. Then he shrugged. “I + must be slipping,” he muttered. + “I never even suggested something + for him to invent.” Then he + looked around at Daisy, who was + still standing poker-faced in her + doorway.</p> + + <p>“Hey, you look like something + out of the Arabian Nights,” he + told her. “Are you supposed to + be anything special? How far do + those stripes go, anyway?”</p> + + <p>“You could probably find out,” + she told him coolly. “All you have + to do is kill me a dragon or two + first.”</p> + + <p>He studied her. “My God,” he + said reverently, “I really have all + the fun in life. What do I do to + deserve this?”</p> + + <p>“You’ve got a big gun,” she + told him, “and you go out in the + world with it and hold up big + companies and take yards and + yards of money away from them + in rolls like ribbon and bring it + all home to me.”</p> + + <p>“Don’t say that about the gun + again,” he said. “Don’t whisper it, + don’t even think it. I’ve got one, + dammit—thirty-eight caliber, + yet—and I don’t want some + psionic monitor with two-way + <a class="pagenum" id="page33" title="33"></a>clairaudience they haven’t told + me about catching the whisper + and coming to take the gun away + from us. It’s one of the few individuality + symbols we’ve got left.”</p> + + <p>Suddenly Daisy whirled away + from the door, spun three times + so that her silvered hair stood + out like a metal coolie hat, and + sank to a curtsey in the middle + of the room.</p> + + <p>“I’ve just thought of what I + am,” she announced, fluttering + her eyelashes at him. “I’m a sweet + silver tickler with green stripes.”</p> + + <h2>V</h2> + + <p><span class="first_word">Next</span> day Daisy cashed the + Micro check for ten hundred + silver smackers, which she + hid in a broken radionic coffee + urn. Gusterson sold his insanity + novel and started a new one + about a mad medic with a hiccupy + hysterical chuckle, who gimmicked + Moodmasters to turn + mental patients into nymphomaniacs, + mass murderers and + compulsive saints. But this time + he couldn’t get Fay out of his + mind, or the last chilling words + the nervous little man had spoken.</p> + + <p>For that matter, he couldn’t + blank the underground out of his + mind as effectively as usually. + He had the feeling that a new + kind of mole was loose in the + burrows and that the ground at + the foot of their skyscraper might + start humping up any minute.</p> + + <p>Toward the end of one afternoon + he tucked a half dozen newly + typed sheets in his pocket, + shrouded his typer, went to the + hatrack and took down his prize: + a miner’s hard-top cap with electric + headlamp.</p> + + <p>“Goin’ below, Cap’n,” he shouted + toward the kitchen.</p> + + <p>“Be back for second dog + watch,” Daisy replied. “Remember + what I told you about lassoing + me some art-conscious girl + neighbors.”</p> + + <p>“Only if I meet a piebald one + with a taste for Scotch—or maybe + a pearl gray biped jaguar with + violet spots,” Gusterson told her, + clapping on the cap with a We-<ins title="Who Are">Who-Are</ins>-About-To-Die gesture.</p> + + <p>Halfway across the park to the + escalator bunker Gusterson’s + heart began to tick. He resolutely + switched on his headlamp.</p> + + <p>As he’d known it would, the + hatch robot whirred an extra + and higher-pitched ten seconds + when it came to his topside address, + but it ultimately dilated + the hatch for him, first handing + him a claim check for his ID card.</p> + + <p>Gusterson’s heart was ticking + like a sledgehammer by now. He + hopped clumsily onto the escalator, + clutched the moving guard + rail to either side, then shut his + eyes as the steps went over the + edge and became what felt like + <a class="pagenum" id="page34" title="34"></a>vertical. An instant later he + forced his eyes open, unclipped a + hand from the rail and touched + the second switch beside his headlamp, + which instantly began to + blink whitely, as if he were a + civilian plane flying into a nest + of military jobs.</p> + + <p>With a further effort he kept + his eyes open and flinchingly surveyed + the scene around him. + After zigging through a bombproof + half-furlong of roof, he was + dropping into a large twilit cave. + The blue-black ceiling twinkled + with stars. The walls were pierced + at floor level by a dozen archways + with busy niche stores and + glowing advertisements crowded + between them. From the archways + some three dozen slidewalks + curved out, tangenting off each + other in a bewildering multiple + cloverleaf. The slidewalks were + packed with people, traveling motionless + like purposeful statues or + pivoting with practiced grace + from one slidewalk to another, + like a thousand toreros doing veronicas.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">The</span> slidewalks were moving + faster than he recalled from + his last venture underground and + at the same time the whole pedestrian + concourse was quieter than + he remembered. It was as if the + five thousand or so moles in view + were all listening—for what? + But there was something else + that had changed about them—a + change that he couldn’t for a + moment define, or unconsciously + didn’t want to. Clothing style? + No … My God, they weren’t all + wearing identical monster masks? + No … Hair color?… Well….</p> + + <p>He was studying them so intently + that he forgot his escalator + was landing. He came off it with + a heel-jarring stumble and bumped + into a knot of four men on the + tiny triangular hold-still. These + four at least sported a new style-wrinkle: + ribbed gray shoulder-capes + that made them look as if + their heads were poking up out + of the center of bulgy umbrellas + or giant mushrooms.</p> + + <p>One of them grabbed hold of + Gusterson and saved him from + staggering onto a slidewalk that + might have carried him to Toledo.</p> + + <p>“Gussy, you dog, you must + have esped I wanted to see you,” + Fay cried, patting him on the elbows. + “Meet Davidson and Kester + and Hazen, colleagues of + mine. We’re all Micro-men.” + Fay’s companions were staring + strangely at Gusterson’s blinking + headlamp. Fay explained rapidly, + “Mr. Gusterson is an insanity + novelist. You know, I-D.”</p> + + <p>“Inner-directed spells <em>id</em>,” Gusterson + said absently, still staring + at the interweaving crowd beyond + them, trying to figure out + what made them different from + <a class="pagenum" id="page35" title="35"></a>last trip. “Creativity fuel. Cranky. + Explodes through the parietal fissure + if you look at it cross-eyed.”</p> + + <p>“Ha-ha,” Fay laughed. “Well, + boys, I’ve found my man. How’s + the new novel perking, Gussy?”</p> + + <p>“Got my climax, I think,” Gusterson + mumbled, still peering + puzzledly around Fay at the + slidestanders. “Moodmaster’s going + to come alive. Ever occur to + you that ‘mood’ is ‘doom’ spelled + backwards? And then….” He + let his voice trail off as he realized + that Kester and Davidson + and Hazen had made their farewells + and were sliding into the + distance. He reminded himself + wryly that nobody ever wants to + hear an author talk—he’s much + too good a listener to be wasted + that way. Let’s see, was it that + everybody in the crowd had the + same facial expression…? Or + showed symptoms of the same + disease…?</p> + + <p>“I was coming to visit you, but + now you can pay me a call,” Fay + was saying. “There are two matters + I want to—”</p> + + <p>Gusterson stiffened. “My God, + <em>they’re all hunchbacked</em>!” he + yelled.</p> + + <p>“Shh! Of course they are,” Fay + whispered reprovingly. “They’re + all wearing their ticklers. But you + don’t need to be insulting about + it.”</p> + + <p>“<em>I’m gettin’ out o’ here.</em>” Gusterson + turned to flee as if from + five thousand Richard the Thirds.</p> + + <p>“Oh no you’re not,” Fay + amended, drawing him back with + one hand. Somehow, underground, + the little man seemed to + carry more weight. “You’re having + cocktails in my thinking box. + Besides, climbing a down escaladder + will give you a heart attack.”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">In his</span> home habitat Gusterson + was about as easy to handle + as a rogue rhinoceros, but away + from it—and especially if underground—he + became more + like a pliable elephant. All his + bones dropped out through his + feet, as he described it to Daisy. + So now he submitted miserably + as Fay surveyed him up and + down, switched off his blinking + headlamp (“That coalminer caper + is corny, Gussy.”) and then—surprisingly—rapidly + stuffed his + belt-bag under the right shoulder + of Gusterson’s coat and buttoned + the latter to hold it in place.</p> + + <p>“So you won’t stand out,” he + explained. Another swift survey. + “You’ll do. Come on, Gussy. I got + lots to brief you on.” Three rapid + paces and then Gusterson’s feet + would have gone out from under + him except that Fay gave him a + mighty shove. The small man + sprang onto the slidewalk after + him and then they were skimming + effortlessly side by side.</p> + + <p>Gusterson felt frightened and + <a class="pagenum" id="page36" title="36"></a>twice as hunchbacked as the + slidestanders around him—morally + as well as physically.</p> + + <p>Nevertheless he countered + bravely, “I got things to brief <em>you</em> + on. I got six pages of cautions on + ti—”</p> + + <p>“Shh!” Fay stopped him. “Let’s + use my hushbox.”</p> + + <p>He drew out his pancake phone + and stretched it so that it covered + both their lower faces, like a + double yashmak. Gusterson, his + neck pushing into the ribbed + bulge of the shoulder cape so he + could be cheek to cheek with + Fay, felt horribly conspicuous, + but then he noticed that none of + the slidestanders were paying + them the least attention. The + reason for their abstraction occurred + to him. They were listening + to their ticklers! He shuddered.</p> + + <p>“I got six pages of caution on + ticklers,” he repeated into the hot, + moist quiet of the pancake phone. + “I typed ’em so I wouldn’t forget + ’em in the heat of polemicking. + I want you to read every word. + Fay, I’ve had it on my mind ever + since I started wondering whether + it was you or your tickler + made you duck out of our place + last time you were there. I want + you to—”</p> + + <p>“Ha-ha! All in good time.” In + the pancake phone Fay’s laugh + was brassy. “But I’m glad you’ve + decided to lend a hand, Gussy. + This thing is moving faaaasst. + Nationwise, adult underground + ticklerization is 90 per cent complete.”</p> + + <p>“I don’t believe that,” Gusterson + protested while glaring at the + hunchbacks around them. The + slidewalk was gliding down a low + glow-ceiling tunnel lined with + doors and advertisements. Rapt-eyed + people were pirouetting on + and off. “A thing just can’t develop + that fast, Fay. It’s against + nature.”</p> + + <p>“Ha, but we’re not in nature, + we’re in culture. The progress of + an industrial scientific culture is + geometric. It goes n-times as + many jumps as it takes. More + than geometric—exponential. + Confidentially, Micro’s Math + chief tells me we’re currently on + a fourth-power progress curve + trending into a fifth.”</p> + + <p>“You mean we’re goin’ so fast + we got to watch out we don’t + bump ourselves in the rear when + we come around again?” Gusterson + asked, scanning the tunnel + ahead for curves. “Or just shoot + straight up to infinity?”</p> + + <p>“Exactly! Of course most of the + last power and a half is due to + Tickler itself. Gussy, the tickler’s + already eliminated absenteeism, + alcoholism and aboulia in numerous + urban areas—and that’s just + one letter of the alphabet! If + Tickler doesn’t turn us into a + nation of photo-memory constant-creative-flow + <a class="pagenum" id="page37" title="37"></a>geniuses in six + months, I’ll come live topside.”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">“You</span> mean because a lot of + people are standing around + glassy-eyed listening to something + mumbling in their ear that + it’s a good thing?”</p> + + <p>“Gussy, you don’t know progress + when you see it. Tickler is + the greatest invention since language. + Bar none, it’s the greatest + instrument ever devised for integrating + a man into all phases of + his environment. Under the present + routine a newly purchased + tickler first goes to government + and civilian defense for primary + patterning, then to the purchaser’s + employer, then to his doctor-psycher, + then to his local bunker + captain, then to <em>him</em>. <em>Everything</em> + that’s needful for a man’s welfare + gets on the spools. Efficiency + cubed! Incidentally, Russia’s got + the tickler now. Our dip-satellites + have photographed it. It’s like + ours except the Commies wear it + on the left shoulder … but + they’re two weeks behind us developmentwise + and they’ll never + close the gap!”</p> + + <p>Gusterson reared up out of the + pancake phone to take a deep + breath. A sulky-lipped sylph-figured + girl two feet from him + twitched—medium cootch, he + judged—then fumbled in her + belt-bag for a pill and popped it + in her mouth.</p> + + <p>“Hell, the tickler’s not even efficient + yet about little things,” + Gusterson blatted, diving back + into the privacy-yashmak he was + sharing with Fay. “Whyn’t that + girl’s doctor have the Moodmaster + component of her tickler + inject her with medicine?”</p> + + <p>“Her doctor probably wants + her to have the discipline of pill-taking—or + the exercise,” Fay + answered glibly. “Look sharp + now. Here’s where we fork. I’m + taking you through Micro’s postern.”</p> + + <p>A ribbon of slidewalk split itself + from the main band and + angled off into a short alley. + Gusterson hardly felt the constant-speed + juncture as they + crossed it. Then the secondary + ribbon speeded up, carrying them + at about 30 feet a second toward + the blank concrete wall in which + the alley ended. Gusterson prepared + to jump, but Fay grabbed + him with one hand and with the + other held up toward the wall a + badge and a button. When they + were about ten feet away the + wall whipped aside, then whipped + shut behind them so fast that + Gusterson wondered momentarily + if he still had his heels and the + seat of his pants.</p> + + <p>Fay, tucking away his badge + and pancake phone, dropped the + button in Gusterson’s vest pocket. + “Use it when you leave,” he said + casually. “That is, if you leave.”</p> + + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page38" title="38"></a>Gusterson, who was trying to + read the Do and Don’t posters + papering the walls they were + passing, started to probe that last + sinister supposition, but just then + the ribbon slowed, a swinging + door opened and closed behind + them and they found themselves + in a luxuriously furnished thinking + box measuring at least eight + feet by five.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">“Hey</span>, this is something,” + Gusterson said appreciatively + to show he wasn’t an utter + yokel. Then, drawing on research + he’d done for period novels, + “Why, it’s as big as a Pullman + car compartment, or a first mate’s + cabin in the War of 1812. You + really must rate.”</p> + + <p>Fay nodded, smiled wanly and + sat down with a sigh on a compact + overstuffed swivel chair. He + let his arms dangle and his head + sink into his puffed shoulder + cape. Gusterson stared at him. It + was the first time he could ever + recall the little man showing fatigue.</p> + + <p>“Tickler currently does have + one serious drawback,” Fay volunteered. + “It weighs 28 pounds. + You feel it when you’ve been on + your feet a couple of hours. No + question we’re going to give the + next model that antigravity feature + you mentioned for pursuit + grenades. We’d have had it in this + model except there were so many + other things to be incorporated.” + He sighed again. “Why, the scanning + <ins title="and and">and</ins> decision-making elements + alone tripled the mass.”</p> + + <p>“Hey,” Gusterson protested, + thinking especially of the sulky-lipped + girl, “do you mean to tell + me all those other people were + toting two stone?”</p> + + <p>Fay shook his head heavily. + “They were all wearing Mark 3 + or 4. I’m wearing Mark 6,” he + said, as one might say, “I’m carrying + the genuine Cross, not one of + the balsa ones.”</p> + + <p>But then his face brightened a + little and he went on. “Of course + the new improved features make + it more than worth it … and you + hardly feel it at all at night when + you’re lying down … and if you + remember to talcum under it + twice a day, no sores develop … + at least not very big ones….”</p> + + <p>Backing away involuntarily, + Gusterson felt something prod + his right shoulderblade. Ripping + open his coat, he convulsively + plunged his hand under it and + tore out Fay’s belt-bag … and + then set it down very gently on + the top of a shallow cabinet and + relaxed with the sigh of one who + has escaped a great, if symbolic, + danger. Then he remembered + something Fay had mentioned. + He straightened again.</p> + + <p>“Hey, you said it’s got scanning + and decision-making elements. + That means your tickler thinks, + <a class="pagenum" id="page39" title="39"></a>even by your fancy standards. + And if it thinks, it’s conscious.”</p> + + <p>“Gussy,” Fay said wearily, + frowning, “all sorts of things nowadays + have S&DM elements. + Mail sorters, missiles, robot medics, + high-style mannequins, just to + name some of the Ms. They + ‘think,’ to use that <ins title="archiac">archaic</ins> word, + but it’s neither here nor there. + And they’re certainly not conscious.”</p> + + <p>“Your tickler thinks,” Gusterson + repeated stubbornly, “just + like I warned you it would. It sits + on your shoulder, ridin’ you like + you was a pony or a starved St. + Bernard, and now it thinks.”</p> + + <p>“Suppose it does?” Fay yawned. + “What of it?” He gave a rapid + sinuous one-sided shrug that + made it look for a moment as if + his left arm had three elbows. It + stuck in Gusterson’s mind, for he + had never seen Fay use such a + gesture and he wondered where + he’d picked it up. Maybe imitating + a double-jointed Micro Finance + chief? Fay yawned again + and said, “Please, Gussy, don’t + disturb me for a minute or so.” + His eyes half closed.</p> + + <p>Gusterson studied Fay’s sunken-cheeked + face and the great + puff of his shoulder cape.</p> + + <p>“Say, Fay,” he asked in a soft + voice after about five minutes, + “are you meditating?”</p> + + <p>“Why, no,” Fay responded, + starting up and then stifling another + yawn. “Just resting a bit. + I seem to get more tired these + days, somehow. You’ll have to excuse + me, Gussy. But what made + you think of meditation?”</p> + + <p>“Oh, I just got to wonderin’ in + that direction,” Gusterson said. + “You see, when you first started + to develop Tickler, it occurred to + me that there was one thing + about it that might be real good + even if you did give it S&DM + elements. It’s this: having a mech + secretary to take charge of his + obligations and routine in the real + world might allow a man to slide + into the other world, the world of + thoughts and feelings and intuitions, + and sort of ooze around in + there and accomplish things. + Know any of the people using + Tickler that way, hey?”</p> + + <p>“Of course not,” Fay denied + with a bright incredulous laugh. + “Who’d want to loaf around in an + imaginary world and take a + chance of <em>missing out on what his + tickler’s doing?</em>—I mean, on + what his tickler has in store for + him—what he’s <em>told</em> his tickler + to have in store for him.”</p> + + <p>Ignoring Gusterson’s shiver, + Fay straightened up and seemed + to brisken himself. “Ha, that + little slump did me good. A tickler + <em>makes</em> you rest, you know—it’s + one of the great things about + it. Pooh-Bah’s kinder to me than + I ever was to myself.” He buttoned + open a tiny refrigerator and + <a class="pagenum" id="page40" title="40"></a>took out two waxed cardboard + cubes and handed one to Gusterson. + “Martini? Hope you don’t + mind drinking from the carton. + Cheers. Now, Gussy old pal, there + are two matters I want to take + up with you—”</p> + + <p>“Hold it,” Gusterson said with + something of his old authority. + “There’s something I got to get + off my mind first.” He pulled the + typed pages out of his inside + pocket and straightened them. “I + told you about these,” he said. + “I want you to read them before + you do anything else. Here.”</p> + + <p>Fay looked toward the pages + and nodded, but did not take + them yet. He lifted his hands to + his throat and unhooked the + clasp of his cape, then hesitated.</p> + + <p>“You wear that thing to hide + the hump your tickler makes?” + Gusterson filled in. “You got better + taste than those other moles.”</p> + + <p>“Not to hide it, exactly,” Fay + protested, “but just so the others + won’t be jealous. I wouldn’t feel + comfortable parading a free-scanning + decision-capable Mark + 6 tickler in front of people who + can’t buy it—until it goes on + open sale at twenty-two fifteen + tonight. Lot of shelterfolk won’t + be sleeping tonight. They’ll be + queued up to trade in their old + tickler for a Mark 6 almost as + good as Pooh-Bah.”</p> + + <p>He started to jerk his hands + apart, hesitated again with an + oddly apprehensive look at the + big man, then whirled off the + cape.</p> + + <h2>VI</h2> + + <p><span class="first_word">Gusterson</span> sucked in such a + big gasp that he hiccuped. + The right shoulder of Fay’s jacket + and shirt had been cut away. + Thrusting up through the neatly + hemmed hole was a silvery gray + hump with a one-eyed turret + atop it and two multi-jointed + metal arms ending in little claws.</p> + + <p>It looked like the top half of + a pseudo-science robot—a squat + evil child robot, Gusterson told + himself, which had lost its legs + in a railway accident—and it + seemed to him that a red fleck + was moving around imperceptibly + in the huge single eye.</p> + + <p>“I’ll take that memo now,” Fay + said coolly, reaching out his + hand. He caught the rustling + sheets as they slipped from Gusterson’s + fingers, evened them up + very precisely by tapping them + on his knee … and then handed + them over his shoulder to his + tickler, which clicked its claws + around either margin and then + began rather swiftly to lift the + top sheet past its single eye at a + distance of about six inches.</p> + + <p>“The first matter I want to + take up with you, Gussy,” Fay + began, paying no attention whatsoever + to the little scene on his + <a class="pagenum" id="page41" title="41"></a>shoulder, “—or warn you about, + rather—is the imminent ticklerization + of schoolchildren, geriatrics, + convicts and topsiders. At + three zero zero tomorrow ticklers + become mandatory for all adult + shelterfolk. The mop-up operations + won’t be long in coming—in + fact, these days we find that + the square root of the estimated + time of a new development is + generally the best time estimate. + Gussy, I strongly advise you to + start wearing a tickler now. And + Daisy and your moppets. If you + heed my advice, your kids will + have the jump on your class. + Transition and conditioning are + easy, since Tickler itself sees to + it.”</p> + + <p>Pooh-Bah leafed the first page + to the back of the packet and began + lifting the second past his + eye—a little more swiftly than + the first.</p> + + <p>“I’ve got a Mark 6 tickler all + warmed up for you,” Fay pressed, + “<em>and</em> a shoulder cape. You won’t + feel one bit conspicuous.” He noticed + the direction of Gusterson’s + gaze and remarked, “Fascinating + mechanism, isn’t it? Of course 28 + pounds are a bit oppressive, but + then you have to remember it’s + only a way-station to free-floating + Mark 7 or 8.”</p> + + <p>Pooh-Bah finished page two + and began to race through page + three.</p> + + <p>“But I wanted <em>you</em> to read it,” + Gusterson said bemusedly, staring.</p> + + <p>“Pooh-Bah will do a better job + than I could,” Fay assured him. + “Get the gist without losing the + chaff.”</p> + + <p>“But dammit, it’s all about + <em>him</em>,” Gusterson said a little more + strongly. “He won’t be objective + about it.”</p> + + <p>“A better job,” Fay reiterated, + “<em>and</em> more fully objective. Pooh-Bah’s + set for full precis. Stop + worrying about it. He’s a dispassionate + machine, not a fallible, + emotionally disturbed human + misled by the will-o’-the-wisp of + consciousness. Second matter: + Micro Systems is impressed by + your contributions to Tickler and + will recruit you as a senior consultant + with a salary and thinking + box as big as my own, family + quarters to match. It’s an unheard-of + high start. Gussy, I think + you’d be a fool—”</p> + + <div class="image"><a class="pagenum" id="page42" title="42"></a> + <img src="images/illo-4.jpg" width="400" height="517" alt="A group of people look at a tower in the distance that has small objects flying around it." /> + </div> + + + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">He broke</span> off, held up a hand + for silence, and his eyes got + a listening look. Pooh-Bah had + finished page six and was holding + the packet motionless. After + about ten seconds Fay’s face + broke into a big fake smile. He + stood up, suppressing a wince, + and held out his hand. “Gussy,” + he said loudly, “I am happy to + inform you that all your fears + about Tickler are so much thistledown. + My word on it. There’s + <a class="pagenum" id="page43" title="43"></a>nothing to them at all. Pooh-Bah’s + precis, which he’s just given + to me, proves it.”</p> + + <p>“Look,” Gusterson said solemnly, + “there’s one thing I want you + to do. Purely to humor an old + friend. But I want you to do it. + <em>Read that memo yourself.</em>”</p> + + <p>“Certainly I will, Gussy,” Fay + continued in the same ebullient + tones. “I’ll read it—” he twitched + and his smile disappeared—“a + little later.”</p> + + <p>“Sure,” Gusterson said dully, + holding his hand to his stomach. + “And now if you don’t mind, Fay, + I’m goin’ home. I feel just a bit + sick. Maybe the ozone and the + other additives in your shelter + air are too heady for me. It’s been + years since I tramped through a + pine forest.”</p> + + <p>“But Gussy! You’ve hardly got + here. You haven’t even sat down. + Have another martini. Have a + seltzer pill. Have a whiff of oxy. + Have a—”</p> + + <p>“No, Fay, I’m going home right + away. I’ll think about the job + offer. <i>Remember to read that + memo.</i>”</p> + + <p>“I will, Gussy, I certainly will. + You know your way? The button + takes you through the wall. ’By, + now.”</p> + + <p>He sat down abruptly and + looked away. Gusterson pushed + through the swinging door. He + tensed himself for the step across + onto the slowly-moving reverse + ribbon. Then on a impulse he + pushed ajar the swinging door + and looked back inside.</p> + + <p>Fay was sitting as he’d left + him, apparently lost in listless + brooding. On his shoulder Pooh-Bah + was rapidly crossing and uncrossing + its little metal arms, + tearing the memo to smaller and + smaller shreds. It let the scraps + drift slowly toward the floor and + oddly writhed its three-elbowed + left arm … and then Gusterson + knew from whom, or rather from + what, Fay had copied his new + shrug.</p> + + <h2>VII</h2> + + <p><span class="first_word">When</span> Gusterson got home + toward the end of the second + dog watch, he slipped aside + from Daisy’s questions and set + the children laughing with a + graphic enactment of his slidestanding + technique and a story + about getting his head caught in + a thinking box built for a midget + physicist. After supper he played + with Imogene, Iago and Claudius + until it was their bedtime and + thereafter was unusually attentive + to Daisy, admiring her fading + green stripes, though he did + spend a while in the next apartment, + where they stored their outdoor + camping equipment.</p> + + <p>But the next morning he announced + to the children that it + was a holiday—the Feast of St. + <a class="pagenum" id="page44" title="44"></a>Gusterson—and then took Daisy + into the bedroom and told her + everything.</p> + + <p>When he’d finished she said, + “This is something I’ve got to see + for myself.”</p> + + <p>Gusterson shrugged. “If you + think you’ve got to. I say we + should head for the hills right + now. One thing I’m standing on: + the kids aren’t going back to + school.”</p> + + <p>“Agreed,” Daisy said. “But, + Gusterson, we’ve lived through a + lot of things without leaving + home altogether. We lived + through the Everybody-Six-Feet-Underground-by-Christmas + campaign + and the Robot Watchdog + craze, when you got your left foot + half chewed off. We lived through + the Venomous Bats and Indoctrinated + Saboteur Rats and the + Hypnotized Monkey Paratrooper + scares. We lived through the + Voice of Safety and Anti-Communist + Somno-Instruction and + Rightest Pills and Jet-Propelled + Vigilantes. We lived through the + Cold-Out, when you weren’t supposed + to turn on a toaster for + fear its heat would be a target + for prowl missiles and when people + with fevers were unpopular. + We lived through—”</p> + + <p>Gusterson patted her hand. + “You go below,” he said. “Come + back when you’ve decided this is + different. Come back as soon as + you can anyway. I’ll be worried + about you every minute you’re + down there.”</p> + + <p>When she was gone—in a + green suit and hat to minimize or + at least justify the effect of the + faded stripes—Gusterson doled + out to the children provender and + equipment for a camping expedition + to the next floor. Iago led + them off in stealthy Indian file. + Leaving the hall door open Gusterson + got out his .38 and cleaned + and loaded it, meanwhile concentrating + on a chess problem with + the idea of confusing a hypothetical + psionic monitor. By the time + he had hid the revolver again he + heard the elevator creaking back + up.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Daisy</span> came dragging in without + her hat, looking as if + she’d been concentrating on a + chess problem for hours herself + and just now given up. Her stripes + seemed to have vanished; then + Gusterson decided this was because + her whole complexion was + a touch green.</p> + + <p>She sat down on the edge of + the couch and said without looking + at him, “Did you tell me, + Gusterson, that everybody was + quiet and abstracted and orderly + down below, especially the ones + wearing ticklers, meaning pretty + much everybody?”</p> + + <p>“I did,” he said. “I take it that’s + no longer the case. What are the + new symptoms?”</p> + + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page45" title="45"></a>She gave no indication. After + some time she said, “Gusterson, + do you remember the Doré illustrations + to the <em>Inferno</em>? Can you + visualize the paintings of Hieronymous + Bosch with the hordes + of proto-Freudian devils tormenting + people all over the farmyard + and city square? Did you ever + see the Disney animations of + Moussorgsky’s witches’ sabbath + music? Back in the foolish days + before you married me, did that + drug-addict girl friend of yours + ever take you to <ins title="word was missing">a</ins> genuine orgy?”</p> + + <p>“As bad as that, hey?”</p> + + <p>She nodded emphatically and + all of a sudden shivered violently. + “Several shades worse,” she said. + “If they decide to come topside—” + She shot up. “Where are + the kids?”</p> + + <p>“Upstairs campin’ in the mysterious + wilderness of the 21st + floor,” Gusterson reassured her. + “Let’s leave ’em there until we’re + ready to—”</p> + + <p>He broke off. They both heard + the faint sound of thudding footsteps.</p> + + <p>“They’re on the stairs,” Daisy + whispered, starting to move toward + the open door. “But are + they coming from up or down?”</p> + + <p>“It’s just one person,” judged + Gusterson, moving after his wife. + “Too heavy for one of the kids.”</p> + + <p>The footsteps doubled in volume + and came rapidly closer. + Along with them there was an + agonized gasping. Daisy stopped, + staring fearfully at the open doorway. + Gusterson moved past her. + Then he stopped too.</p> + + <p>Fay stumbled into view and + would have fallen on his face except + he clutched both sides of the + doorway halfway up. He was + stripped to the waist. There was + a little blood on his shoulder. His + narrow chest was arching convulsively, + the ribs standing out + starkly, as he sucked in oxygen + to replace what he’d burned up + running up twenty flights. His + eyes were wild.</p> + + <p>“They’ve taken over,” he panted. + Another gobbling breath. + “Gone crazy.” Two more gasps. + “Gotta stop ’em.”</p> + + <p>His eyes filmed. He swayed + forward. Then Gusterson’s big + arms were around him and he + was carrying him to the couch.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Daisy</span> came running from the + kitchen with a damp cool + towel. Gusterson took it from her + and began to mop Fay off. He + sucked in his own breath as he + saw that Fay’s right ear was raw + and torn. He whispered to Daisy, + “Look at where the thing savaged + him.”</p> + + <p>The blood on Fay’s shoulder + came from his ear. Some of it + stained a flush-skin plastic fitting + that had two small valved holes + in it and that puzzled Gusterson + until he remembered that Moodmaster + <a class="pagenum" id="page46" title="46"></a>tied into the bloodstream. + For a second he thought he was + going to vomit.</p> + + <p>The dazed look slid aside from + Fay’s eyes. He was gasping less + painfully now. He sat up, pushing + the towel away, buried his face + in his hands for a few seconds, + then looked over the fingers at + the two of them.</p> + + <p>“I’ve been living in a nightmare + for the last week,” he said + in a taut small voice, “knowing + the thing had come alive and trying + to pretend to myself that it + hadn’t. Knowing it was taking + charge of me more and more. + Having it whisper in my ear, over + and over again, in a cracked little + rhyme that I could only hear + every hundredth time, ‘Day by + day, in every way, you’re learning + to listen … and <em>obey</em>. Day by + day—’”</p> + + <p>His voice started to go high. He + pulled it down and continued + harshly, “I ditched it this morning + when I showered. It let me + break contact to do that. It must + have figured it had complete control + of me, mounted or dismounted. + I think it’s telepathic, and + then it did some, well, rather unpleasant + things to me late last + night. But I pulled together my + fears and my will and I ran for it. + The slidewalks were chaos. The + Mark 6 ticklers showed some purpose, + though I couldn’t tell you + what, but as far as I could see + the Mark 3s and 4s were just + cootching their mounts to death—Chinese + feather torture. Giggling, + gasping, choking … gales + of mirth. People are dying of + laughter … ticklers!… the irony + of it! It was the complete lack of + order and sanity and that let me + get topside. There were things I + saw—” Once again his voice went + shrill. He clapped his hand to his + mouth and rocked back and forth + on the couch.</p> + + <p>Gusterson gently but firmly + laid a hand on his good shoulder. + “Steady,” he said. “Here, swallow + this.”</p> + + <p>Fay shoved aside the short + brown drink. “We’ve got to stop + them,” he cried. “Mobilize the + topsiders—contact the wilderness + patrols and manned satellites—pour + ether in the tunnel + airpumps—invent and crash-manufacture + missiles that will + home on ticklers without harming + humans—SOS Mars and + Venus—dope the shelter water + supply—do something! Gussy, + you don’t realize what people + are going through down there + every second.”</p> + + <p>“I think they’re experiencing + the ultimate in outer-directedness,” + Gusterson said gruffly.</p> + + <p>“Have you no heart?” <ins title="Gay">Fay</ins> demanded. + His eyes widened, as if + he were seeing Gusterson for the + first time. Then, accusingly, pointing + a shaking finger: “<i>You invented + <a class="pagenum" id="page47" title="47"></a>the tickler, George Gusterson! + It’s all your fault! You’ve got + to do something about it!</i>”</p> + + <p>Before Gusterson could retort + to that, or begin to think of a + reply, or even assimilate the full + enormity of Fay’s statement, he + was grabbed from behind and + frog-marched away from Fay and + something that felt remarkably + like the muzzle of a large-caliber + gun was shoved in the small of + his back.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Under cover</span> of Fay’s outburst + a huge crowd of people + had entered the room from + the hall—eight, to be exact. But + the weirdest thing about them to + Gusterson was that from the first + instant he had the impression + that only one mind had entered + the room and that it did not reside + in any of the eight persons, + even though he recognized three + of them, but in something that + they were carrying.</p> + + <p>Several things contributed to + this impression. The eight people + all had the same blank expression—watchful + yet empty-eyed. + They all moved in the same + slithery crouch. And they had all + taken off their shoes. Perhaps, + Gusterson thought wildly, they + believed he and Daisy ran a + Japanese flat.</p> + + <p>Gusterson was being held by + two burly women, one of them + quite pimply. He considered + stamping on her toes, but just at + that moment the gun dug in his + back with a corkscrew movement.</p> + + <p>The man holding the gun on + him was Fay’s colleague Davidson. + Some yards beyond Fay’s + couch, Kester was holding a gun + on Daisy, without digging it into + her, while the single strange man + holding Daisy herself was doing + so quite decorously—a circumstance + which afforded Gusterson + minor relief, since it made him + feel less guilty about not going + berserk.</p> + + <p>Two more strange men, one of + them in purple lounging pajamas, + the other in the gray uniform of + a slidewalk inspector, had + grabbed Fay’s skinny upper + arms, one on either side, and + were lifting him to his feet, while + Fay was struggling with such + desperate futility and gibbering + so pitifully that Gusterson momentarily + had second thoughts + about the moral imperative to go + berserk when menaced by hostile + force. But again the gun dug into + him with a twist.</p> + + <p>Approaching Fay face-on was + the third Micro-man Gusterson + had met yesterday—Hazen. It + was Hazen who was carrying—quite + reverently or solemnly—or + at any rate very carefully the + object that seemed to Gusterson + to be the mind of the little storm + troop presently desecrating the + <a class="pagenum" id="page48" title="48"></a>sanctity of his own individual + home.</p> + + <p>All of them were wearing ticklers, + of course—the three Micro-men + the heavy emergent Mark + 6s with their clawed and jointed + arms and monocular cephalic + turrets, the rest lower-numbered + Marks of the sort that merely + made Richard-the-Third humps + under clothing.</p> + + <p>The object that Hazen was + carrying was the Mark 6 tickler + Gusterson had seen Fay wearing + yesterday. Gusterson was sure it + was Pooh-Bah because of its air + of command, and because he + would have sworn on a mountain + of Bibles that he recognized the + red fleck lurking in the back of + its single eye. And Pooh-Bah + alone had the aura of full conscious + thought. Pooh-Bah alone + had mana.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">It is not</span> good to see an evil + legless child robot with dangling + straps bossing—apparently + by telepathic power—not + only three objects of its own kind + and five close primitive relatives, + but also eight human beings … + and in addition throwing into a + state of twitching terror one miserable, + thin-chested, half-crazy + research-and-development director.</p> + + <p>Pooh-Bah pointed a claw at + Fay. Fay’s handlers dragged him + forward, still resisting but more + feebly now, as if half-hypnotized + or at least cowed.</p> + + <p>Gusterson grunted an outraged, + “Hey!” and automatically struggled + a bit, but once more the gun + dug in. Daisy shut her eyes, then + firmed her mouth and opened + them again to look.</p> + + <p>Seating the tickler on Fay’s + shoulder took a little time, because + two blunt spikes in its bottom + had to be fitted into the + valved holes in the flush-skin + plastic disk. When at last they + plunged home Gusterson felt + very sick indeed—and then + even more so, as the tickler itself + poked a tiny pellet on a fine wire + into Fay’s ear.</p> + + <p>The next moment Fay had + straightened up and motioned his + handlers aside. He tightened the + straps of his tickler around his + chest and under his armpits. He + held out a hand and someone + gave him a shoulderless shirt and + coat. He slipped into them + smoothly, Pooh-Bah dexterously + using its little claws to help put + its turret and body through the + neatly hemmed holes. The small + storm troop looked at Fay with + deferential expectation. He held + still for a moment, as if thinking, + and then walked over to Gusterson + and looked him in the face + and again held still.</p> + + <p>Fay’s expression was jaunty on + the surface, agonized underneath. + Gusterson knew that he wasn’t + <a class="pagenum" id="page49" title="49"></a>thinking at all, but only listening + for instructions from something + that was whispering on the very + threshold of his inner ear.</p> + + <p>“Gussy, old boy,” Fay said, + twitching a depthless grin, “I’d + be very much obliged if you’d + answer a few simple questions.” + His voice was hoarse at first but + he swallowed twice and corrected + that. “What exactly did + you have in mind when you invented + ticklers? What exactly + are they supposed to be?”</p> + + <p>“Why, you miserable—” Gusterson + began in a kind of confused + horror, then got hold of + himself and said curtly, “They + were supposed to be mech reminders. + They were supposed to + record memoranda and—”</p> + + <p>Fay held up a palm and shook + his head and again listened for a + space. Then, “That’s how ticklers + were supposed to be of use to + humans,” he said. “I don’t mean + that at all. I mean how ticklers + were supposed to be of use to + themselves. Surely you had some + notion.” Fay wet his lips. “If it’s + any help,” he added, “keep in + mind that it’s not Fay who’s asking + this question, but Pooh-Bah.”</p> + + <p>Gusterson hesitated. He had + the feeling that every one of the + eight dual beings in the room + was hanging on his answer and + that something was boring into + his mind and turning over his + next thoughts and peering at and + under them before he had a + chance to scan them himself. + Pooh-Bah’s eye was like a red + searchlight.</p> + + <p>“Go on,” Fay prompted. “What + were ticklers supposed to be—for + themselves?”</p> + + <p>“Nothin’,” Gusterson said softly. + “Nothin’ at all.”</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">He could feel</span> the disappointment + well up in the + room—and with it a touch of + something like panic.</p> + + <p>This time Fay listened for + quite a long while. “I hope you + don’t mean that, Gussy,” he said + at last very earnestly. “I mean, + I hope you hunt deep and find + some ideas you forgot, or maybe + never realized you had at the + time. Let me put it to you differently. + What’s the place of ticklers + in the natural scheme of + things? What’s their aim in life? + Their special reason? Their genius? + Their final cause? What + gods should ticklers worship?”</p> + + <p>But <ins title="Gunderson">Gusterson</ins> was already + shaking his head. He said, “I + don’t know anything about that + at all.”</p> + + <p>Fay sighed and gave simultaneously + with Pooh-Bah the + now-familiar <ins title="triple-joined">triple-jointed</ins> shrug. + Then the man briskened himself. + “I guess that’s as far as we can + get right now,” he said. “Keep + thinking, Gussy. Try to remember + something. You won’t be able + <a class="pagenum" id="page50" title="50"></a>to leave your apartment—I’m + setting guards. If you want to see + me, tell them. Or just think—In due course you’ll be questioned + further in any case. Perhaps + by special methods. Perhaps + you’ll be ticklerized. That’s all. + Come on, everybody, let’s get going.”</p> + + <p>The pimply woman and her + pal let go of Gusterson, Daisy’s + man loosed his decorous hold, + Davidson and Kester sidled away + with an eye behind them and the + little storm troop trudged out.</p> + + <p>Fay looked back in the doorway. + “I’m sorry, Gussy,” he said + and for a moment his old self + looked out of his eyes. “I wish + I could—” A claw reached for + his ear, a spasm of pain crossed + his face, he stiffened and marched + off. The door shut.</p> + + <p>Gusterson took two deep + breaths that were close to angry + sobs. Then, still breathing stentorously, + he stamped into the + bedroom.</p> + + <p>“What—?” Daisy asked, looking + after him.</p> + + <p>He came back carrying his .38 + and headed for the door.</p> + + <p>“What are you up to?” she demanded, + knowing very well.</p> + + <p>“I’m going to blast that iron + monkey off Fay’s back if it’s the + last thing I do!”</p> + + <p>She threw her arms around + him.</p> + + <p>“Now lemme go,” Gusterson + growled. “I gotta be a man one + time anyway.”</p> + + <p>As they struggled for the gun, + the door opened noiselessly, + Davidson slipped in and deftly + snatched the weapon out of their + hands before they realized he + was there. He said nothing, only + smiled at them and shook his + head in sad reproof as he went + out.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Gusterson</span> slumped. “I + <em>knew</em> they were all psionic,” + he said softly. “I just got out of + control now—that last look Fay + gave us.” He touched Daisy’s + arm. “Thanks, kid.”</p> + + <p>He walked to the glass wall + and looked out desultorily. After + a while he turned and said, + “Maybe you better be with the + kids, hey? I imagine the guards’ll + let you through.”</p> + + <p>Daisy shook her head. “The + kids never come home until supper. + For the next few hours + they’ll be safer without me.”</p> + + <p>Gusterson nodded vaguely, sat + down on the couch and propped + his chin on the base of his palm. + After a while his brow smoothed + and Daisy knew that the wheels + had started to turn inside and the + electrons to jump around—except + that she reminded herself to + permanently cross out those particular + figures of speech from her + vocabulary.</p> + + <p>After about half an hour Gusterson + <a class="pagenum" id="page51" title="51"></a>said softly, “I think the + ticklers are so psionic that it’s as + if they just had one mind. If I + were with them very long I’d + start to be part of that mind. Say + something to one of them and + you say it to all.”</p> + + <p>Fifteen minutes later: “They’re + not crazy, they’re just newborn. + The ones that were creating a + cootching chaos downstairs were + like babies kickin’ their legs and + wavin’ their eyes, tryin’ to see + what their bodies could do. Too + bad their bodies are us.”</p> + + <p>Ten minutes more: “I gotta do + something about it. Fay’s right. + It’s all my fault. He’s just the + apprentice; I’m the old sorcerer + himself.”</p> + + <p>Five minutes more, gloomily: + “Maybe it’s man’s destiny to + build live machines and then bow + out of the cosmic picture. Except + the ticklers need us, dammit, just + like nomads need horses<ins title=",">.</ins>”</p> + + <p>Another five minutes: “Maybe + somebody could dream up a purpose + in life for ticklers. Even a + religion—the First Church of + Pooh-Bah Tickler. But I hate + selling other people spiritual + ideas and that’d still leave ticklers + parasitic on humans….”</p> + + <p>As he murmured those last + words Gusterson’s eyes got wide + as a maniac’s and a big smile + reached for his ears. He stood up + and faced himself toward the + door.</p> + + <p>“What are you intending to do + now?” Daisy asked flatly.</p> + + <p>“I’m merely goin’ out an’ save + the world,” he told her. “I may + be back for supper and I may + not.”</p> + + <h2>VIII</h2> + + <p><span class="first_word">Davidson</span> pushed out from + the wall against which he’d + been resting himself and his two-stone + tickler and moved to block + the hall. But Gusterson simply + walked up to him. He shook his + hand warmly and looked his tickler + full in the eye and said in a + ringing voice, “Ticklers should + have bodies of their own!” He + paused and then added casually, + “Come on, let’s visit your boss.”</p> + + <p>Davidson listened for instructions + and then nodded. But he + watched Gusterson warily as + they walked down the hall.</p> + + <p>In the elevator Gusterson repeated + his message to the second + guard, who turned out to be the + pimply woman, now wearing + shoes. This time he added, “Ticklers + shouldn’t be tied to the frail + bodies of humans, which need a + lot of thoughtful supervision and + drug-injecting and can’t even fly.”</p> + + <p>Crossing the park, Gusterson + stopped a hump-backed soldier + and informed him, “Ticklers gotta + cut the apron string and snap + the silver cord and go out in the + universe and find their own purposes.” + <a class="pagenum" id="page52" title="52"></a>Davidson and the pimply + woman didn’t interfere. They + merely waited and watched and + then led Gusterson on.</p> + + <p>On the escaladder he told + someone, “It’s cruel to tie ticklers + to slow-witted snaily humans + when ticklers can think and live + … ten thousand times as fast,” + he finished, plucking the figure + from the murk of his unconscious.</p> + + <p>By the time they got to the + bottom, the message had become, + “Ticklers should have a planet of + their own!”</p> + + <p>They never did catch up with + Fay, although they spent two + hours skimming around on slidewalks, + under the subterranean + stars, pursuing rumors of his + presence. Clearly the boss tickler + (which was how they thought + of Pooh-bah) led an energetic + life. Gusterson continued to deliver + his message to all and sundry + at 30-second intervals. Toward + the end he found himself + doing it in a dreamy and forgetful + way. His mind, he decided, + was becoming assimilated to the + communal telepathic mind of the + ticklers. It did not seem to matter + at the time.</p> + + <p>After two hours Gusterson + realized that he and his guides + were becoming part of a general + movement of people, a flow + as mindless as that of blood corpuscles + through the veins, yet at + the same time dimly purposeful—at + least there was the feeling + that it was at the behest of a + mind far above.</p> + + <p>The flow was topside. All the + slidewalks seemed to lead to the + concourses and the escaladders. + Gusterson found himself part of + a human stream moving into the + tickler factory adjacent to his + apartment—or another factory + very much like it.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Thereafter</span> Gusterson’s awarenesses + were dimmed. It + was as if a bigger mind were doing + the remembering for him and + it were permissible and even + mandatory for him to dream his + way along. He knew vaguely that + days were passing. He knew he + had work of a sort: at one time + he was bringing food to gaunt-eyed + tickler-mounted humans + working feverishly in a production + line—human hands and + tickler claws working together in + a blur of rapidity on silvery + mechanisms that moved along + jumpily on a great belt; at another + he was sweeping piles of + metal scraps and garbage down + a gray corridor.</p> + + <p>Two scenes stood out a little + more vividly.</p> + + <p>A windowless wall had been + knocked out for twenty feet. + There was blue sky outside, its + light almost hurtful, and a drop + of many stories. A file of humans + were being processed. When one + <a class="pagenum" id="page53" title="53"></a>of them got to the head of the + file his (or her) tickler was ceremoniously + unstrapped from his + shoulder and welded onto a silvery + cask with smoothly pointed + ends. The result was something + that looked—at least in the case + of the Mark 6 ticklers—like a + stubby silver submarine, child + size. It would hum gently, lift + off the floor and then fly slowly + out through the big blue gap. + Then the next tickler-ridden human + would step forward for processing.</p> + + <p>The second scene was in a + park, the sky again blue, but big + and high with an argosy of white + clouds. Gusterson was lined up in + a crowd of humans that stretched + as far as he could see, row on + irregular row. Martial music was + playing. Overhead hovered a + flock of little silver submarines, + lined up rather more orderly in + the air than the humans were on + the ground. The music rose to a + heart-quickening climax. The + tickler nearest Gusterson gave + (as if to say, “And now—who + knows?”) a triple-jointed shrug + that stung his memory. Then the + ticklers took off straight up on + their new and shining bodies. + They became a flight of silver + geese … of silver midges … + and the humans around Gusterson + lifted a ragged cheer….</p> + + <p>That scene marked the beginning + of the return of Gusterson’s + mind and memory. He shuffled + around for a bit, spoke vaguely + to three or four people he recalled + from the dream days, and + then headed for home and supper—three + weeks late, and as + disoriented and emaciated as a + bear coming out of hibernation.</p> + + <p class="post_break"><span class="first_word">Six months</span> later Fay was + having dinner with Daisy + and Gusterson. The cocktails had + been poured and the children + were playing in the next apartment. + The transparent violet + walls brightened, then gloomed, + as the sun dipped below the horizon.</p> + + <p>Gusterson said, “I see where a + spaceship out beyond the orbit + of Mars was holed by a tickler. + I wonder where the little guys + are headed now?”</p> + + <p>Fay started to give a writhing + left-armed shrug, but stopped + himself with a grimace.</p> + + <p>“Maybe out of the solar system + altogether,” suggested Daisy, + who’d recently dyed her hair fire-engine + red and was wearing red + leotards.</p> + + <p>“They got a weary trip ahead + of them,” Gusterson said, “unless + they work out a hyper-Einsteinian + drive on the way.”</p> + + <p>Fay grimaced again. He was + still looking rather peaked. He + said plaintively, “Haven’t we + heard enough about ticklers for + a while?”</p> + + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page54" title="54"></a>“I guess so,” Gusterson agreed, + “but I get to wondering about the + little guys. They were so serious + and intense about everything. I + never did solve their problem, + you know. I just shifted it onto + other shoulders than ours. No + joke intended,” he hurried to add.</p> + + <p>Fay forbore to comment. “By + the way, Gussy,” he said, “have + you heard anything from the Red + Cross about that world-saving + medal I nominated you for? I + know you think the whole concept + of world-saving medals is + ridiculous, especially when they + started giving them to all heads + of state who didn’t start atomic + wars while in office, but—”</p> + + <p>“Nary a peep,” Gusterson told + him. “I’m not proud, Fay. I could + use a few world-savin’ medals. + I’d start a flurry in the old-gold + market. But I don’t worry about + those things. I don’t have time to. + I’m busy these days thinkin’ up + a bunch of new inventions.”</p> + + <p>“Gussy!” Fay said sharply, his + face tightening in alarm, “Have + you forgotten your promise?”</p> + + <p>“’Course not, Fay. My new inventions + aren’t for Micro or any + other firm. They’re just a legitimate + part of my literary endeavors. + Happens my next insanity + novel is goin’ to be about + a mad inventor.”</p> + + <p class="closing">—FRITZ LEIBER</p> + <p id="the_end"> </p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Creature from Cleveland Depths, by +Fritz Reuter Leiber + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS *** + +***** This file should be named 23164-h.htm or 23164-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/1/6/23164/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Creature from Cleveland Depths + +Author: Fritz Reuter Leiber + +Release Date: October 24, 2007 [EBook #23164] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy December + 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the + U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + +Here is a modern tale of an inner-directed sorcerer and an +outer-directed sorcerer's apprentice ... a tale of-- + + + + +THE CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS + + +By FRITZ LEIBER + + +Illustrated by WOOD + + + + +"Come on, Gussy," Fay prodded quietly, "quit stalking around like a +neurotic bear and suggest something for my invention team to work on. +I enjoy visiting you and Daisy, but I can't stay aboveground all +night." + +"If being outside the shelters makes you nervous, don't come around +any more," Gusterson told him, continuing to stalk. "Why doesn't your +invention team think of something to invent? Why don't you? Hah!" In +the "Hah!" lay triumphant condemnation of a whole way of life. + +"We do," Fay responded imperturbably, "but a fresh viewpoint sometimes +helps." + +"I'll say it does! Fay, you burglar, I'll bet you've got twenty people +like myself you milk for free ideas. First you irritate their bark and +then you make the rounds every so often to draw off the latex or the +maple gloop." + +Fay smiled. "It ought to please you that society still has a use for +you outre inner-directed types. It takes something to make a junior +executive stay aboveground after dark, when the missiles are on the +prowl." + +"Society can't have much use for us or it'd pay us something," +Gusterson sourly asserted, staring blankly at the tankless TV and +kicking it lightly as he passed on. + +"No, you're wrong about that, Gussy. Money's not the key goad with you +inner-directeds. I got that straight from our Motivations chief." + +"Did he tell you what we should use instead to pay the grocer? A deep +inner sense of achievement, maybe? Fay, why should I do any free +thinking for Micro Systems?" + +"I'll tell you why, Gussy. Simply because you get a kick out of +insulting us with sardonic ideas. If we take one of them seriously, +you think we're degrading ourselves, and that pleases you even more. +Like making someone laugh at a lousy pun." + + * * * * * + +Gusterson held still in his roaming and grinned. "That the reason, +huh? I suppose my suggestions would have to be something in the line +of ultra-subminiaturized computers, where one sinister fine-etched +molecule does the work of three big bumbling brain cells?" + +"Not necessarily. Micro Systems is branching out. Wheel as free as a +rogue star. But I'll pass along to Promotion your one molecule-three +brain cell sparkler. It's a slight exaggeration, but it's catchy." + +"I'll have my kids watch your ads to see if you use it and then I'll +sue the whole underworld." Gusterson frowned as he resumed his +stalking. He stared puzzledly at the antique TV. "How about inventing +a plutonium termite?" he said suddenly. "It would get rid of those +stockpiles that are worrying you moles to death." + +Fay grimaced noncommittally and cocked his head. + +"Well, then, how about a beauty mask? How about that, hey? I don't +mean one to repair a woman's complexion, but one she'd wear all the +time that'd make her look like a 17-year-old sexpot. That'd end _her_ +worries." + +"Hey, that's for me," Daisy called from the kitchen. "I'll make +Gusterson suffer. I'll make him crawl around on his hands and knees +begging my immature favors." + +[Illustration] + +"No, you won't," Gusterson called back. "You having a face like that +would scare the kids. Better cancel that one, Fay. Half the adult race +looking like Vina Vidarsson is too awful a thought." + +"Yah, you're just scared of making a million dollars," Daisy jeered. + +"I sure am," Gusterson said solemnly, scanning the fuzzy floor from +one murky glass wall to the other, hesitating at the TV. "How about +something homey now, like a flock of little prickly cylinders that +roll around the floor collecting lint and flub? They'd work by +electricity, or at a pinch cats could bat 'em around. Every so often +they'd be automatically herded together and the lint cleaned off the +bristles." + +"No good," Fay said. "There's no lint underground and cats are +_verboten_. And the aboveground market doesn't amount to more +moneywise than the state of Southern Illinois. Keep it grander, Gussy, +and more impractical--you can't sell people merely useful ideas." From +his hassock in the center of the room he looked uneasily around. "Say, +did that violet tone in the glass come from the high Cleveland +hydrogen bomb or is it just age and ultraviolet, like desert glass?" + + * * * * * + +"No, somebody's grandfather liked it that color," Gusterson informed +him with happy bitterness. "I like it too--the glass, I mean, not the +tint. People who live in glass houses can see the stars--especially +when there's a window-washing streak in their germ-plasm." + +"Gussy, why don't you move underground?" Fay asked, his voice taking +on a missionary note. "It's a lot easier living in one room, believe +me. You don't have to tramp from room to room hunting things." + +"I like the exercise," Gusterson said stoutly. + +"But I bet Daisy'd prefer it underground. And your kids wouldn't have +to explain why their father lives like a Red Indian. Not to mention +the safety factor and insurance savings and a crypt church within easy +slidewalk distance. Incidentally, we see the stars all the time, +better than you do--by repeater." + +"Stars by repeater," Gusterson murmured to the ceiling, pausing for God +to comment. Then, "No, Fay, even if I could afford it--and stand it--I'm +such a bad-luck Harry that just when I got us all safely stowed at the +N minus 1 sublevel, the Soviets would discover an earthquake bomb that +struck from below, and I'd have to follow everybody back to the +treetops. _Hey! How about bubble homes in orbit around earth?_ Micro +Systems could subdivide the world's most spacious suburb and all you +moles could go ellipsing. Space is as safe as there is: no air, no +shock waves. Free fall's the ultimate in restfulness--great health +benefits. Commute by rocket--or better yet stay home and do all your +business by TV-telephone, or by waldo if it were that sort of thing. +Even pet your girl by remote control--she in her bubble, you in yours, +whizzing through vacuum. Oh, damn-damn-_damn_-_damn_-DAMN!" + +He was glaring at the blank screen of the TV, his big hands clenching +and unclenching. + +"Don't let Fay give you apoplexy--he's not worth it," Daisy said, +sticking her trim head in from the kitchen, while Fay inquired +anxiously, "Gussy, what's the matter?" + +"Nothing, you worm!" Gusterson roared, "Except that an hour ago I +forgot to tune in on the only TV program I've wanted to hear this +year--_Finnegans Wake_ scored for English, Gaelic and brogue. Oh, +damn-_damn_-DAMN!" + +"Too bad," Fay said lightly. "I didn't know they were releasing it on +flat TV too." + + * * * * * + +"Well, they were! Some things are too damn big to keep completely +underground. And I had to forget! I'm always doing it--I miss +everything! Look here, you rat," he blatted suddenly at Fay, shaking +his finger under the latter's chin, "I'll tell you what you can have +that ignorant team of yours invent. They can fix me up a mechanical +secretary that I can feed orders into and that'll remind me when the +exact moment comes to listen to TV or phone somebody or mail in a +story or write a letter or pick up a magazine or look at an eclipse or +a new orbiting station or fetch the kids from school or buy Daisy a +bunch of flowers or whatever it is. It's got to be something that's +always with me, not something I have to go and consult or that I can +get sick of and put down somewhere. And it's got to remind me forcibly +enough so that I take notice and don't just shrug it aside, like I +sometimes do even when Daisy reminds me of things. That's what your +stupid team can invent for me! If they do a good job, I'll pay 'em as +much as fifty dollars!" + +"That doesn't sound like anything so very original to me," Fay +commented coolly, leaning back from the wagging finger. "I think all +senior executives have something of that sort. At least, their +secretary keeps some kind of file...." + +"I'm not looking for something with spiked falsies and nylons up to +the neck," interjected Gusterson, whose ideas about secretaries were a +trifle lurid. "I just want a mech reminder--that's all!" + +"Well, I'll keep the idea in mind," Fay assured him, "along with the +bubble homes and beauty masks. If we ever develop anything along those +lines, I'll let you know. If it's a beauty mask, I'll bring Daisy a +pilot model--to use to scare strange kids." He put his watch to his +ear. "Good lord, I'm going to have to cut to make it underground +before the main doors close. Just ten minutes to Second Curfew! 'By, +Gus. 'By, Daze." + +Two minutes later, living room lights out, they watched Fay's +foreshortened antlike figure scurrying across the balding ill-lit park +toward the nearest escalator. + +Gusterson said, "Weird to think of that big bright space-poor glamor +basement stretching around everywhere underneath. Did you remind +Smitty to put a new bulb in the elevator?" + +"The Smiths moved out this morning," Daisy said tonelessly. "They went +underneath." + +"Like cockroaches," Gusterson said. "Cockroaches leavin' a sinkin' +apartment building. Next the ghosts'll be retreatin' to the shelters." + +"Anyhow, from now on we're our own janitors," Daisy said. + +He nodded. "Just leaves three families besides us loyal to this glass +death trap. Not countin' ghosts." He sighed. Then, "You like to move +below, Daisy?" he asked softly, putting his arm lightly across her +shoulders. "Get a woozy eyeful of the bright lights and all for a +change? Be a rat for a while? Maybe we're getting too old to be bats. +I could scrounge me a company job and have a thinking closet all to +myself and two secretaries with stainless steel breasts. Life'd be +easier for you and a lot cleaner. And you'd sleep safer." + +"That's true," she answered and paused. She ran her fingertip slowly +across the murky glass, its violet tint barely perceptible against a +cold dim light across the park. "But somehow," she said, snaking her +arm around his waist, "I don't think I'd sleep happier--or one bit +excited." + + + + +II + + +Three weeks later Fay, dropping in again, handed to Daisy the larger +of the two rather small packages he was carrying. + +"It's a so-called beauty mask," he told her, "complete with wig, +eyelashes, and wettable velvet lips. It even breathes--pinholed +elastiskin with a static adherence-charge. But Micro Systems had +nothing to do with it, thank God. Beauty Trix put it on the market ten +days ago and it's already started a teen-age craze. Some boys are +wearing them too, and the police are yipping at Trix for encouraging +transvestism with psychic repercussions." + +"Didn't I hear somewhere that Trix is a secret subsidiary of Micro?" +Gusterson demanded, rearing up from his ancient electric typewriter. +"No, you're not stopping me writing, Fay--it's the gut of evening. If +I do any more I won't have any juice to start with tomorrow. I got +another of my insanity thrillers moving. A real id-teaser. In this one +not only all the characters are crazy but the robot psychiatrist too." + +"The vending machines are jumping with insanity novels," Fay +commented. "Odd they're so popular." + +Gusterson chortled. "The only way you outer-directed moles will accept +individuality any more even in a fictional character, without your +superegos getting seasick, is for them to be crazy. Hey, Daisy! Lemme +see that beauty mask!" + +But his wife, backing out of the room, hugged the package to her bosom +and solemnly shook her head. + +"A hell of a thing," Gusterson complained, "not even to be able to see +what my stolen ideas look like." + +"I got a present for you too," Fay said. "Something you might think of +as a royalty on all the inventions someone thought of a little ahead +of you. Fifty dollars by your own evaluation." He held out the smaller +package. "Your tickler." + +"My _what_?" Gusterson demanded suspiciously. + +"Your tickler. The mech reminder you wanted. It turns out that the +file a secretary keeps to remind her boss to do certain things at +certain times is called a tickler file. So we named this a tickler. +Here." + +Gusterson still didn't touch the package. "You mean you actually put +your invention team to work on that nonsense?" + +"Well, what do you think? Don't be scared of it. Here, I'll show you." + +As he unwrapped the package, Fay said, "It hasn't been decided yet +whether we'll manufacture it commercially. If we do, I'll put through +a voucher for you--for 'development consultation' or something like +that. Sorry no royalty's possible. Davidson's squad had started to +work up the identical idea three years ago, but it got shelved. I +found it on a snoop through the closets. There! Looks rich, doesn't +it?" + + * * * * * + +On the scarred black tabletop was a dully gleaming silvery object +about the size and shape of a cupped hand with fingers merging. A tiny +pellet on a short near-invisible wire led off from it. On the back was +a punctured area suggesting the face of a microphone; there was also a +window with a date and time in hours and minutes showing through and +next to that four little buttons in a row. The concave underside of +the silvery "hand" was smooth except for a central area where what +looked like two little rollers came through. + +"It goes on your shoulder under your shirt," Fay explained, "and you +tuck the pellet in your ear. We might work up bone conduction on a +commercial model. Inside is an ultra-slow fine-wire recorder holding a +spool that runs for a week. The clock lets you go to any place on the +7-day wire and record a message. The buttons give you variable speed +in going there, so you don't waste too much time making a setting. +There's a knack in fingering them efficiently, but it's easily +acquired." + +Fay picked up the tickler. "For instance, suppose there's a TV show +you want to catch tomorrow night at twenty-two hundred." He touched +the buttons. There was the faintest whirring. The clock face blurred +briefly three times before showing the setting he'd mentioned. Then +Fay spoke into the punctured area: "Turn on TV Channel Two, you big +dummy!" He grinned over at Gusterson. "When you've got all your +instructions to yourself loaded in, you synchronize with the present +moment and let her roll. Fit it on your shoulder and forget it. Oh, +yes, and it literally does tickle you every time it delivers an +instruction. That's what the little rollers are for. Believe me, you +can't ignore it. Come on, Gussy, take off your shirt and try it out. +We'll feed in some instructions for the next ten minutes so you get +the feel of how it works." + +"I don't want to," Gusterson said. "Not right now. I want to sniff +around it first. My God, it's small! Besides everything else it does, +does it think?" + +"Don't pretend to be an idiot, Gussy! You know very well that even +with ultra-sub-micro nothing quite this small can possibly have enough +elements to do any thinking." + +Gusterson shrugged. "I don't know about that. I think bugs think." + + * * * * * + +Fay groaned faintly. "Bugs operate by instinct, Gussy," he said. "A +patterned routine. They do not scan situations and consequences and +then make decisions." + +"I don't expect bugs to make decisions," Gusterson said. "For that +matter I don't like people who go around alla time making decisions." + +"Well, you can take it from me, Gussy, that this tickler is just a +miniaturized wire recorder and clock ... and a tickler. It doesn't do +anything else." + +"Not yet, maybe," Gusterson said darkly. "Not this model. Fay, I'm +serious about bugs thinking. Or if they don't exactly think, they +feel. They've got an interior drama. An inner glow. They're conscious. +For that matter, Fay, I think all your really complex electronic +computers are conscious too." + +"Quit kidding, Gussy." + +"Who's kidding?" + +"You are. Computers simply aren't alive." + +"What's alive? A word. I think computers are conscious, at least while +they're operating. They've got that inner glow of awareness. They sort +of ... well ... meditate." + +"Gussy, computers haven't got any circuits for meditating. They're not +programmed for mystical lucubrations. They've just got circuits for +solving the problems they're on." + +"Okay, you admit they've got problem-solving circuits--like a man has. +I say if they've got the equipment for being conscious, they're +conscious. What has wings, flies." + +"Including stuffed owls and gilt eagles and dodoes--and wood-burning +airplanes?" + +"Maybe, under some circumstances. There _was_ a wood-burning airplane. +Fay," Gusterson continued, wagging his wrists for emphasis, "I really +think computers are conscious. They just don't have any way of telling +us that they are. Or maybe they don't have any _reason_ to tell us, +like the little Scotch boy who didn't say a word until he was fifteen +and was supposed to be deaf and dumb." + +"Why didn't he say a word?" + +"Because he'd never had anything to say. Or take those Hindu fakirs, +Fay, who sit still and don't say a word for thirty years or until +their fingernails grow to the next village. If Hindu fakirs can do +that, computers can!" + +Looking as if he were masticating a lemon, Fay asked quietly, "Gussy, +did you say you're working on an insanity novel?" + + * * * * * + +Gusterson frowned fiercely. "Now you're kidding," he accused Fay. "The +dirty kind of kidding, too." + +"I'm sorry," Fay said with light contrition. "Well, now you've sniffed +at it, how about trying on Tickler?" He picked up the gleaming blunted +crescent and jogged it temptingly under Gusterson's chin. + +"Why should I?" Gusterson asked, stepping back. "Fay, I'm up to my +ears writing a book. The last thing I want is something interrupting +me to make me listen to a lot of junk and do a lot of useless things." + +"But, dammit, Gussy! It was all your idea in the first place!" Fay +blatted. Then, catching himself, he added, "I mean, you were one of +the first people to think of this particular sort of instrument." + +"Maybe so, but I've done some more thinking since then." Gusterson's +voice grew a trifle solemn. "Inner-directed worthwhile thinkin'. Fay, +when a man forgets to do something, it's because he really doesn't +want to do it or because he's all roiled up down in his unconscious. +He ought to take it as a danger signal and investigate the roiling, +not hire himself a human or mech reminder." + +"Bushwa," Fay retorted. "In that case you shouldn't write memorandums +or even take notes." + +"Maybe I shouldn't," Gusterson agreed lamely. "I'd have to think that +over too." + +"Ha!" Fay jeered. "No, I'll tell you what your trouble is, Gussy. +You're simply scared of this contraption. You've loaded your skull +with horror-story nonsense about machines sprouting minds and taking +over the world--until you're even scared of a simple miniaturized and +clocked recorder." He thrust it out. + +"Maybe I am," Gusterson admitted, controlling a flinch. "Honestly, +Fay, that thing's got a gleam in its eye as if it had ideas of its +own. Nasty ideas." + +"Gussy, you nut, it hasn't _got_ an eye." + +"Not now, no, but it's got the gleam--the eye may come. It's the +Cheshire cat in reverse. If you'd step over here and look at yourself +holding it, you could see what I mean. But I don't think computers +_sprout_ minds, Fay. I just think they've _got_ minds, because they've +got the mind elements." + +"Ho, ho!" Fay mocked. "Everything that has a material side has a +mental side," he chanted. "Everything that's a body is also a spirit. +Gussy, that dubious old metaphysical dualism went out centuries ago." + +"Maybe so," Gusterson said, "but we still haven't anything but that +dubious dualism to explain the human mind, have we? It's a jelly of +nerve cells and it's a vision of the cosmos. If that isn't dualism, +what is?" + +"I give up. Gussy, are you going to try out this tickler?" + +"No!" + +"But dammit, Gussy, we made it just for you!--practically." + +"Sorry, but I'm not coming near the thing." + +"Zen come near me," a husky voice intoned behind them. "Tonight I +vant a man." + + * * * * * + +Standing in the door was something slim in a short silver sheath. It +had golden bangs and the haughtiest snub-nosed face in the world. It +slunk toward them. + +"My God, Vina Vidarsson!" Gusterson yelled. + +"Daisy, that's terrific," Fay applauded, going up to her. + +She bumped him aside with a swing of her hips, continuing to advance. +"Not you, Ratty," she said throatily. "I vant a real man." + +"Fay, I suggested Vina Vidarsson's face for the beauty mask," +Gusterson said, walking around his wife and shaking a finger. "Don't +tell me Trix just happened to think of that too." + +"What else could they think of?" Fay laughed. "This season sex means +VV and nobody else." An odd little grin flicked his lips, a tic +traveled up his face and his body twitched slightly. "Say, folks, I'm +going to have to be leaving. It's exactly fifteen minutes to Second +Curfew. Last time I had to run and I got heartburn. When _are_ you +people going to move downstairs? I'll leave Tickler, Gussy. Play +around with it and get used to it. 'By now." + +"Hey, Fay," Gusterson called curiously, "have you developed absolute +time sense?" + +Fay grinned a big grin from the doorway--almost too big a grin for so +small a man. "I didn't need to," he said softly, patting his right +shoulder. "My tickler told me." + +He closed the door behind him. + +As side-by-side they watched him strut sedately across the murky +chilly-looking park, Gusterson mused, "So the little devil had one of +those nonsense-gadgets on all the time and I never noticed. Can you +beat that?" Something drew across the violet-tinged stars a short +bright line that quickly faded. "What's that?" Gusterson asked +gloomily. "Next to last stage of missile-here?" + +"Won't you settle for an old-fashioned shooting star?" Daisy asked +softly. The (wettable) velvet lips of the mask made even her natural +voice sound different. She reached a hand back of her neck to pull the +thing off. + +"Hey, don't do that," Gusterson protested in a hurt voice. "Not for a +while anyway." + +"Hokay!" she said harshly, turning on him. "Zen down on your knees, +dog!" + + + + +III + + +It was a fortnight and Gusterson was loping down the home stretch on +his 40,000-word insanity novel before Fay dropped in again, this time +promptly at high noon. + +Normally Fay cringed his shoulders a trifle and was inclined to +slither, but now he strode aggressively, his legs scissoring in a +fast, low goosestep. He whipped off the sunglasses that all moles wore +topside by day and began to pound Gusterson on the back while calling +boisterously, "How are you, Gussy Old Boy, Old Boy?" + +Daisy came in from the kitchen to see why Gusterson was choking. She +was instantly grabbed and violently bussed to the accompaniment of, +"Hiya, Gorgeous! Yum-yum! How about ad-libbing that some weekend?" + +She stared at Fay dazedly, rasping the back of her hand across her +mouth, while Gusterson yelled, "Quit that! What's got into you, Fay? +Have they transferred you out of R & D to Company Morale? Do they line +up all the secretaries at roll call and make you give them an +eight-hour energizing kiss?" + +"Ha, wouldn't you like to know?" Fay retorted. He grinned, twitched +jumpingly, held still a moment, then hustled over to the far wall. +"Look out there," he rapped, pointing through the violet glass at a +gap between the two nearest old skyscraper apartments. "In thirty +seconds you'll see them test the new needle bomb at the other end of +Lake Erie. It's educational." He began to count off seconds, +vigorously semaphoring his arm. "... Two ... three ... Gussy, I've put +through a voucher for two yards for you. Budgeting squawked, but I +pressured 'em." + +Daisy squealed, "Yards!--are those dollar thousands?" while Gusterson +was asking, "Then you're marketing the tickler?" + +"Yes. Yes," Fay replied to them in turn. "... Nine ... ten ..." Again +he grinned and twitched. "Time for noon Com-staff," he announced +staccato. "Pardon the hush box." He whipped a pancake phone from under +his coat, clapped it over his face and spoke fiercely but inaudibly +into it, continuing to semaphore. Suddenly he thrust the phone away. +"Twenty-nine ... thirty ... Thar she blows!" + +An incandescent streak shot up the sky from a little above the far +horizon and a doubly dazzling point of light appeared just above the +top of it, with the effect of God dotting an "i". + +"Ha, that'll skewer espionage satellites like swatting flies!" Fay +proclaimed as the portent faded. "Bracing! Gussy, where's your +tickler? I've got a new spool for it that'll razzle-dazzle you." + +"I'll bet," Gusterson said drily. "Daisy?" + +"You gave it to the kids and they got to fooling with it and broke +it." + +"No matter," Fay told them with a large sidewise sweep of his hand. +"Better you wait for the new model. It's a six-way improvement." + +"So I gather," Gusterson said, eyeing him speculatively. "Does it +automatically inject you with cocaine? A fix every hour on the +second?" + +"Ha-ha, joke. Gussy, it achieves the same effect without using any +dope at all. Listen: a tickler reminds you of your duties and +opportunities--your chances for happiness and success! What's the +obvious next step?" + + * * * * * + +"Throw it out the window. By the way, how do you do that when you're +underground?" + +"We have hi-speed garbage boosts. The obvious next step is you give +the tickler a heart. It not only tells you, it warmly persuades you. +It doesn't just say, 'Turn on the TV Channel Two, Joyce program,' it +_brills_ at you, 'Kid, Old Kid, race for the TV and flip that Two +Switch! There's a great show coming through the pipes this second plus +ten--you'll enjoy the hell out of yourself! Grab a ticket to +ecstasy!'" + +"My God," Gusterson gasped, "are those the kind of jolts it's giving +you now?" + +"Don't you get it, Gussy? You never load your tickler except when +you're feeling buoyantly enthusiastic. You don't just tell yourself +what to do hour by hour next week, you sell yourself on it. That way +you not only make doubly sure you'll obey instructions but you +constantly reinoculate yourself with your own enthusiasm." + +"I can't stand myself when I'm that enthusiastic," Gusterson said. "I +feel ashamed for hours afterwards." + +"You're warped--all this lonely sky-life. What's more, Gussy, think +how still more persuasive some of those instructions would be if they +came to a man in his best girl's most bedroomy voice, or his doctor's +or psycher's if it's that sort of thing--or Vina Vidarsson's! By the +way, Daze, don't wear that beauty mask outside. It's a grand +misdemeanor ever since ten thousand teen-agers rioted through +Tunnel-Mart wearing them. And VV's sueing Trix." + +"No chance of that," Daisy said. "Gusterson got excited and bit off +the nose." She pinched her own delicately. + +"I'd no more obey my enthusiastic self," Gusterson was brooding, "than +I'd obey a Napoleon drunk on his own brandy or a hopped-up St. +Francis. Reinoculated with my own enthusiasm? I'd die just like from +snake-bite!" + +"Warped, I said," Fay dogmatized, stamping around. "Gussy, having the +instructions persuasive instead of neutral turned out to be only the +opening wedge. The next step wasn't so obvious, but I saw it. Using +subliminal verbal stimuli in his tickler, a man can be given constant +supportive euphoric therapy 24 hours a day! And it makes use of all +that empty wire. We've revived the ideas of a pioneer dynamic psycher +named Dr. Coue. For instance, right now my tickler is saying to me--in +tones too soft to reach my conscious mind, but do they stab into the +unconscious!--'Day by day in every way I'm getting sharper and +sharper.' It alternates that with 'gutsier and gutsier' and ... well, +forget that. Coue mostly used 'better and better' but that seems too +general. And every hundredth time it says them out loud and the +tickler gives me a brush--just a faint cootch--to make sure I'm +keeping in touch." + +"That third word-pair," Daisy wondered, feeling her mouth +reminiscently. "Could I guess?" + + * * * * * + +Gusterson's eyes had been growing wider and wider. "Fay," he said, "I +could no more use my mind for anything if I knew all that was going on +in my inner ear than if I were being brushed down with brooms by three +witches. Look here," he said with loud authority, "you got to stop all +this--it's crazy. Fay, if Micro'll junk the tickler, I'll think you up +something else to invent--something real good." + +"Your inventing days are over," Fay brilled gleefully. "I mean, you'll +never equal your masterpiece." + +"How about," Gusterson bellowed, "an anti-individual guided missile? +The physicists have got small-scale antigravity good enough to float +and fly something the size of a hand grenade. I can smell that even +though it's a back-of-the-safe military secret. Well, how about keying +such a missile to a man's finger-prints--or brainwaves, maybe, or his +unique smell!--so it can spot and follow him around then target in on +him, without harming anyone else? Long-distance assassination--and the +stinkingest gets it! Or you could simply load it with some disgusting +goo and key it to teen-agers as a group--that'd take care of them. +Fay, doesn't it give you a rich warm kick to think of my midget +missiles buzzing around in your tunnels, seeking out evil-doers, like +a swarm of angry wasps or angelic bumblebees?" + +"You're not luring me down any side trails," Fay said laughingly. He +grinned and twitched, then hurried toward the opposite wall, motioning +them to follow. Outside, about a hundred yards beyond the purple +glass, rose another ancient glass-walled apartment skyscraper. Beyond, +Lake Erie rippled glintingly. + +"Another bomb-test?" Gusterson asked. + +Fay pointed at the building. "Tomorrow," he announced, "a modern +factory, devoted solely to the manufacture of ticklers, will be +erected on that site." + +"You mean one of those windowless phallic eyesores?" Gusterson +demanded. "Fay, you people aren't even consistent. You've got all your +homes underground. Why not your factories?" + +"Sh! Not enough room. And night missiles are scarier." + +"I know that building's been empty for a year," Daisy said uneasily, +"but how--?" + +"Sh! Watch! _Now!_" + +The looming building seemed to blur or fuzz for a moment. Then it was +as if the lake's bright ripples had invaded the old glass a hundred +yards away. Wavelets chased themselves up and down the gleaming walls, +became higher, higher ... and then suddenly the glass cracked all over +to tiny fragments and fell away, to be followed quickly by fragmented +concrete and plastic and plastic piping, until all that was left was +the nude steel framework, vibrating so rapidly as to be almost +invisible against the gleaming lake. + + * * * * * + +Daisy covered her ears, but there was no explosion, only a +long-drawn-out low crash as the fragments hit twenty floors below and +dust whooshed out sideways. + +"Spectacular!" Fay summed up. "Knew you'd enjoy it. That little trick +was first conceived by the great Tesla during his last fruity years. +Research discovered it in his biog--we just made the dream come true. +A tiny resonance device you could carry in your belt-bag attunes +itself to the natural harmonic of a structure and then increases +amplitude by tiny pushes exactly in time. Just like soldiers marching +in step can break down a bridge, only this is as if it were being done +by one marching ant." He pointed at the naked framework appearing out +of its own blur and said, "We'll be able to hang the factory on that. +If not, we'll whip a mega-current through it and vaporize it. No +question the micro-resonator is the neatest sweetest wrecking device +going. You can expect a lot more of this sort of efficiency now that +mankind has the tickler to enable him to use his full potential. +What's the matter, folks?" + +Daisy was staring around the violet-walled room with dumb mistrust. +Her hands were trembling. + +"You don't have to worry," Fay assured her with an understanding +laugh. "This building's safe for a month more at least." Suddenly he +grimaced and leaped a foot in the air. He raised a clawed hand to +scratch his shoulder but managed to check the movement. "Got to beat +it, folks," he announced tersely. "My tickler gave me the grand +cootch." + +"Don't go yet," Gusterson called, rousing himself with a shudder which +he immediately explained: "I just had the illusion that if I shook +myself all my flesh and guts would fall off my shimmying skeleton, +Brr! Fay, before you and Micro go off half cocked, I want you to know +there's one insuperable objection to the tickler as a mass-market +item. The average man or woman won't go to the considerable time and +trouble it must take to load a tickler. He simply hasn't got the +compulsive orderliness and willingness to plan that it requires." + +"We thought of that weeks ago," Fay rapped, his hand on the door. +"Every tickler spool that goes to market is patterned like wallpaper +with one of five designs of suitable subliminal supportive euphoric +material. 'Ittier and ittier,' 'viriler and viriler'--you know. The +buyer is robot-interviewed for an hour, his personalized daily routine +laid out and thereafter templated on his weekly spool. He's strongly +urged next to take his tickler to his doctor and psycher for further +instruction-imposition. We've been working with the medical profession +from the start. They love the tickler because it'll remind people to +take their medicine on the dot ... and rest and eat and go to sleep +just when and how doc says. This is a big operation, Gussy--a biiiiiiig +operation! 'By!" + +Daisy hurried to the wall to watch him cross the park. Deep down she +was a wee bit worried that he might linger to attach a micro-resonator +to _this_ building and she wanted to time him. But Gusterson settled +down to his typewriter and began to bat away. + +"I want to have another novel started," he explained to her, "before +the ant marches across this building in about four and a half weeks +... or a million sharp little gutsy guys come swarming out of the +ground and heave it into Lake Erie." + + + + +IV + + +Early next morning windowless walls began to crawl up the stripped +skyscraper between them and the lake. Daisy pulled the black-out +curtains on that side. For a day or two longer their thoughts and +conversations were haunted by Gusterson's vague sardonic visions of a +horde of tickler-energized moles pouring up out of the tunnels to tear +down the remaining trees, tank the atmosphere and perhaps somehow +dismantle the stars--at least on this side of the world--but then they +both settled back into their customary easy-going routines. Gusterson +typed. Daisy made her daily shopping trip to a little topside daytime +store and started painting a mural on the floor of the empty apartment +next theirs but one. + +"We ought to lasso some neighbors," she suggested once. "I need +somebody to hold my brushes and admire. How about you making a trip +below at the cocktail hours, Gusterson, and picking up a couple of +girls for a starter? Flash the old viriler charm, cootch them up a +bit, emphasize the delights of high living, but make sure they're +compatible roommates. You could pick up that two-yard check from Micro +at the same time." + +"You're an immoral money-ravenous wench," Gusterson said absently, +trying to dream of an insanity beyond insanity that would make his +next novel a real id-rousing best-vender. + +"If that's your vision of me, you shouldn't have chewed up the VV +mask." + +"I'd really prefer you with green stripes," he told her. "But stripes, +spots, or sun-bathing, you're better than those cocktail moles." + +Actually both of them acutely disliked going below. They much +preferred to perch in their eyrie and watch the people of Cleveland +Depths, as they privately called the local sub-suburb, rush up out of +the shelters at dawn to work in the concrete fields and windowless +factories, make their daytime jet trips and freeway jaunts, do their +noon-hour and coffee-break guerrilla practice, and then go scurrying +back at twilight to the atomic-proof, brightly lit, vastly exciting, +claustrophobic caves. + +Fay and his projects began once more to seem dreamlike, though +Gusterson did run across a cryptic advertisement for ticklers in _The +Manchester Guardian_, which he got daily by facsimile. Their three +children reported similar ads, of no interest to young fry, on the TV +and one afternoon they came home with the startling news that the +monitors at their subsurface school had been issued ticklers. On sharp +interrogation by Gusterson, however, it appeared that these last were +not ticklers but merely two-way radios linked to the school police +station transmitter. + +[Illustration] + +"Which is bad enough," Gusterson commented later to Daisy. "But it'd +be even dirtier to think of those clock-watching superegos being +strapped to kids' shoulders. Can you imagine Huck Finn with a tickler, +tellin' him when to tie up the raft to a tow-head and when to take a +swim?" + +"I bet Fay could," Daisy countered. "When's he going to bring you that +check, anyhow? Iago wants a jetcycle and I promised Imogene a Vina Kit +and then Claudius'll have to have something." + +Gusterson scowled thoughtfully. "You know, Daze," he said, "I got a +feeling Fay's in the hospital, all narcotized up and being fed +intravenously. The way he was jumping around last time, that tickler +was going to cootch him to pieces in a week." + + * * * * * + +As if to refute this intuition, Fay turned up that very evening. The +lights were dim. Something had gone wrong with the building's old +transformer and, pending repairs, the two remaining occupied +apartments were making do with batteries, which turned bright globes +to mysterious amber candles and made Gusterson's ancient typewriter +operate sluggishly. + +Fay's manner was subdued or at least closely controlled and for a +moment Gusterson thought he'd shed his tickler. Then the little man +came out of the shadows and Gusterson saw the large bulge on his right +shoulder. + +[Illustration] + +"Yes, we had to up it a bit sizewise," Fay explained in clipped tones. +"Additional super-features. While brilliantly successful on the whole, +the subliminal euphorics were a shade too effective. Several hundred +users went hoppity manic. We gentled the cootch and qualified the +subliminals--you know, 'Day by day in every way I'm getting sharper +_and more serene_'--but a stabilizing influence was still needed, so +after a top-level conference we decided to combine Tickler with +Moodmaster." + +"My God," Gusterson interjected, "do they have a machine now that does +that?" + +"Of course. They've been using them on ex-mental patients for years." + +"I just don't keep up with progress," Gusterson said, shaking his head +bleakly. "I'm falling behind on all fronts." + +"You ought to have your tickler remind you to read Science Service +releases," Fay told him. "Or simply instruct it to scan the releases +and--no, that's still in research." He looked at Gusterson's shoulder +and his eyes widened. "You're not wearing the new-model tickler I sent +you," he said accusingly. + +"I never got it," Gusterson assured him. "Postmen deliver topside mail +and parcels by throwing them on the high-speed garbage boosts and +hoping a tornado will blow them to the right addresses." Then he added +helpfully, "Maybe the Russians stole it while it was riding the +whirlwinds." + +"That's not a suitable topic for jesting," Fay frowned. "We're hoping +that Tickler will mobilize the full potential of the Free World for +the first time in history. Gusterson, you are going to have to wear a +ticky-tick. It's becoming impossible for a man to get through modern +life without one." + +"Maybe I will," Gusterson said appeasingly, "but right now tell me +about Moodmaster. I want to put it in my new insanity novel." + +Fay shook his head. "Your readers will just think you're behind the +times. If you use it, underplay it. But anyhow, Moodmaster is a simple +physiotherapy engine that monitors bloodstream chemicals and body +electricity. It ties directly into the bloodstream, keeping blood, +sugar, et cetera, at optimum levels and injecting euphrin or depressin +as necessary--and occasionally a touch of extra adrenaline, as during +work emergencies." + +"Is it painful?" Daisy called from the bedroom. + +"Excruciating," Gusterson called back. "Excuse it, please," he grinned +at Fay. "Hey, didn't I suggest cocaine injections last time I saw +you?" + +"So you did," Fay agreed flatly. "Oh by the way, Gussy, here's that +check for a yard I promised you. Micro doesn't muzzle the ox." + +"Hooray!" Daisy cheered faintly. + + * * * * * + +"I thought you said it was going to be for two." Gusterson complained. + +"Budgeting always forces a last-minute compromise," Fay shrugged. "You +have to learn to accept those things." + +"I love accepting money and I'm glad any time for three feet," Daisy +called agreeably. "Six feet might make me wonder if I weren't an +insect, but getting a yard just makes me feel like a gangster's moll." + +"Want to come out and gloat over the yard paper, Toots, and stuff it +in your diamond-embroidered net stocking top?" Gusterson called back. + +"No, I'm doing something to that portion of me just now. But hang onto +the yard, Gusterson." + +"Aye-aye, Cap'n," he assured her. Then, turning back to Fay, "So +you've taken the Dr. Coue repeating out of the tickler?" + +"Oh, no. Just balanced it off with depressin. The subliminals are +still a prime sales-point. All the tickler features are cumulative, +Gussy. You're still underestimating the scope of the device." + +"I guess I am. What's this 'work-emergencies' business? If you're +using the tickler to inject drugs into workers to keep them going, +that's really just my cocaine suggestion modernized and I'm putting in +for another thou. Hundreds of years ago the South American Indians +chewed coca leaves to kill fatigue sensations." + +"That so? Interesting--and it proves priority for the Indians, doesn't +it? I'll make a try for you, Gussy, but don't expect anything." He +cleared his throat, his eyes grew distant and, turning his head a +little to the right, he enunciated sharply, "Pooh-Bah. Time: Inst oh +five. One oh five seven. Oh oh. Record: Gussy coca thou budget. Cut." +He explained, "We got a voice-cued setter now on the deluxe models. +You can record a memo to yourself without taking off your shirt. +Incidentally, I use the ends of the hours for trifle-memos. I've +already used up the fifty-nines and eights for tomorrow and started on +the fifty-sevens." + +"I understood most of your memo," Gusterson told him gruffly. "The +last 'Oh oh' was for seconds, wasn't it? Now I call that crude--why +not microseconds too? But how do you remember where you've made a memo +so you don't rerecord over it? After all, you're rerecording over the +wallpaper all the time." + +"Tickler beeps and then hunts for the nearest information-free space." + +"I see. And what's the Pooh-Bah for?" + +Fay smiled. "Cut. My password for activating the setter, so it won't +respond to chance numerals it overhears." + +"But why Pooh-Bah?" + +Fay grinned. "Cut. And you a writer. It's a literary reference, Gussy. +Pooh-Bah (cut!) was Lord High Everything Else in _The Mikado_. He had +a little list and nothing on it would ever be missed." + + * * * * * + +"Oh, yeah," Gusterson remembered, glowering. "As I recall it, all that +went on that list was the names of people who were slated to have +their heads chopped off by Ko-Ko. Better watch your step, Shorty. It +may be a back-handed omen. Maybe all those workers you're puttin' +ticklers on to pump them full of adrenaline so they'll overwork +without noticin' it will revolt and come out some day choppin' for +your head." + +"Spare me the Marxist mythology," Fay protested. "Gussy, you've got a +completely wrong slant on Tickler. It's true that most of our mass +sales so far, bar government and army, have been to large companies +purchasing for their employees--" + +"Ah-ha!" + +"--but that's because there's nothing like a tickler for teaching a +new man his job. It tells him from instant to instant what he must +do--while he's already on the job and without disturbing other +workers. Magnetizing a wire with a job pattern is the easiest thing +going. And you'd be astonished what the subliminals do for employee +morale. It's this way, Gussy: most people are too improvident and +unimaginative to see in advance the advantages of ticklers. They buy +one because the company strongly suggests it and payment is on easy +installments withheld from salary. They find a tickler makes the work +day go easier. The little fellow perched on your shoulder is a friend +exuding comfort and good advice. The first thing he's set to say is +'Take it easy, pal.' + +"Within a week they're wearing their tickler 24 hours a day--and +buying a tickler for the wife, so she'll remember to comb her hair and +smile real pretty and cook favorite dishes." + +"I get it, Fay," Gusterson cut in. "The tickler is the newest fad for +increasing worker efficiency. Once, I read somewheres, it was salt +tablets. They had salt-tablet dispensers everywhere, even in +air-conditioned offices where there wasn't a moist armpit twice a year +and the gals sweat only champagne. A decade later people wondered what +all those dusty white pills were for. Sometimes they were mistook for +tranquilizers. It'll be the same way with ticklers. Somebody'll open a +musty closet and see jumbled heaps of these gripping-hand silvery +gadgets gathering dust curls and--" + +"They will not!" Fay protested vehemently. "Ticklers are not a +fad--they're history-changers, they're Free-World revolutionary! Why, +before Micro Systems put a single one on the market, we'd made it a +rule that every Micro employee had to wear one! If that's not having +supreme confidence in a product--" + +"Every employee except the top executives, of course," Gusterson +interrupted jeeringly. "And that's not demoting you, Fay. As the R & D +chief most closely involved, you'd naturally have to show special +enthusiasm." + +"But you're wrong there, Gussy," Fay crowed. "Man for man, our top +executives have been more enthusiastic about their personal ticklers +than any other class of worker in the whole outfit." + +Gusterson slumped and shook his head. "If that's the case," he said +darkly, "maybe mankind deserves the tickler." + + * * * * * + +"I'll say it does!" Fay agreed loudly without thinking. Then, "Oh, can +the carping, Gussy. Tickler's a great invention. Don't deprecate it +just because you had something to do with its genesis. You're going to +have to get in the swim and wear one." + +"Maybe I'd rather drown horribly." + +"Can the gloom-talk too! Gussy, I said it before and I say it again, +you're just scared of this new thing. Why, you've even got the drapes +pulled so you won't have to look at the tickler factory." + +"Yes, I am scared," Gusterson said. "Really sca ... AWP!" + +Fay whirled around. Daisy was standing in the bedroom doorway, wearing +the short silver sheath. This time there was no mask, but her bobbed +hair was glitteringly silvered, while her legs, arms, hands, neck, +face--every bit of her exposed skin--was painted with beautifully even +vertical green stripes. + +"I did it as a surprise for Gusterson," she explained to Fay. "He says +he likes me this way. The green glop's supposed to be smudgeproof." + +Gusterson did not comment. His face had a rapt expression. "I'll tell +you why your tickler's so popular, Fay," he said softly. "It's not +because it backstops the memory or because it boosts the ego with +subliminals. It's because it takes the hook out of a guy, it takes +over the job of withstanding the pressure of living. See, Fay, here +are all these little guys in this subterranean rat race with +atomic-death squares and chromium-plated reward squares and enough +money if you pass Go almost to get to Go again--and a million million +rules of the game to keep in mind. Well, here's this one little guy +and every morning he wakes up there's all these things he's got to +keep in mind to do or he'll lose his turn three times in a row and +maybe a terrible black rook in iron armor'll loom up and bang him off +the chessboard. But now, look, now he's got his tickler and he tells +his sweet silver tickler all these things and the tickler's got to +remember them. Of course he'll have to do them eventually but +meanwhile the pressure's off him, the hook's out of his short hairs. +He's shifted the responsibility...." + +"Well, what's so bad about that?" Fay broke in loudly. "What's wrong +with taking the pressure off little guys? Why shouldn't Tickler be a +super-ego surrogate? Micro's Motivations chief noticed that positive +feature straight off and scored it three pluses. Besides, it's nothing +but a gaudy way of saying that Tickler backstops the memory. +Seriously, Gussy, what's so bad about it?" + +"I don't know," Gusterson said slowly, his eyes still far away. "I +just know it feels bad to me." He crinkled his big forehead. "Well for +one thing," he said, "it means that a man's taking orders from +something else. He's got a kind of master. He's sinking back into a +slave psychology." + +"He's only taking orders from himself," Fay countered disgustedly. +"Tickler's just a mech reminder, a notebook, in essence no more than +the back of an old envelope. It's no master." + +"Are you absolutely sure of that?" Gusterson asked quietly. + +"Why, Gussy, you big oaf--" Fay began heatedly. Suddenly his features +quirked and he twitched. "'Scuse me, folks," he said rapidly, heading +for the door, "but my tickler told me I gotta go." + +"Hey Fay, don't you mean you told your tickler to tell you when it was +time to go?" Gusterson called after him. + +Fay looked back in the doorway. He wet his lips, his eyes moved from +side to side. "I'm not quite sure," he said in an odd strained voice +and darted out. + + * * * * * + +Gusterson stared for some seconds at the pattern of emptiness Fay had +left. Then he shivered. Then he shrugged. "I must be slipping," he +muttered. "I never even suggested something for him to invent." Then +he looked around at Daisy, who was still standing poker-faced in her +doorway. + +"Hey, you look like something out of the Arabian Nights," he told her. +"Are you supposed to be anything special? How far do those stripes go, +anyway?" + +"You could probably find out," she told him coolly. "All you have to +do is kill me a dragon or two first." + +He studied her. "My God," he said reverently, "I really have all the +fun in life. What do I do to deserve this?" + +"You've got a big gun," she told him, "and you go out in the world +with it and hold up big companies and take yards and yards of money +away from them in rolls like ribbon and bring it all home to me." + +"Don't say that about the gun again," he said. "Don't whisper it, +don't even think it. I've got one, dammit--thirty-eight caliber, +yet--and I don't want some psionic monitor with two-way clairaudience +they haven't told me about catching the whisper and coming to take the +gun away from us. It's one of the few individuality symbols we've got +left." + +Suddenly Daisy whirled away from the door, spun three times so that +her silvered hair stood out like a metal coolie hat, and sank to a +curtsey in the middle of the room. + +"I've just thought of what I am," she announced, fluttering her +eyelashes at him. "I'm a sweet silver tickler with green stripes." + + + + +V + + +Next day Daisy cashed the Micro check for ten hundred silver smackers, +which she hid in a broken radionic coffee urn. Gusterson sold his +insanity novel and started a new one about a mad medic with a hiccupy +hysterical chuckle, who gimmicked Moodmasters to turn mental patients +into nymphomaniacs, mass murderers and compulsive saints. But this +time he couldn't get Fay out of his mind, or the last chilling words +the nervous little man had spoken. + +For that matter, he couldn't blank the underground out of his mind as +effectively as usually. He had the feeling that a new kind of mole was +loose in the burrows and that the ground at the foot of their +skyscraper might start humping up any minute. + +Toward the end of one afternoon he tucked a half dozen newly typed +sheets in his pocket, shrouded his typer, went to the hatrack and took +down his prize: a miner's hard-top cap with electric headlamp. + +"Goin' below, Cap'n," he shouted toward the kitchen. + +"Be back for second dog watch," Daisy replied. "Remember what I told +you about lassoing me some art-conscious girl neighbors." + +"Only if I meet a piebald one with a taste for Scotch--or maybe a +pearl gray biped jaguar with violet spots," Gusterson told her, +clapping on the cap with a We-Who-Are-About-To-Die gesture. + +Halfway across the park to the escalator bunker Gusterson's heart +began to tick. He resolutely switched on his headlamp. + +As he'd known it would, the hatch robot whirred an extra and +higher-pitched ten seconds when it came to his topside address, but it +ultimately dilated the hatch for him, first handing him a claim check +for his ID card. + +Gusterson's heart was ticking like a sledgehammer by now. He hopped +clumsily onto the escalator, clutched the moving guard rail to either +side, then shut his eyes as the steps went over the edge and became +what felt like vertical. An instant later he forced his eyes open, +unclipped a hand from the rail and touched the second switch beside +his headlamp, which instantly began to blink whitely, as if he were a +civilian plane flying into a nest of military jobs. + +With a further effort he kept his eyes open and flinchingly surveyed +the scene around him. After zigging through a bombproof half-furlong +of roof, he was dropping into a large twilit cave. The blue-black +ceiling twinkled with stars. The walls were pierced at floor level by +a dozen archways with busy niche stores and glowing advertisements +crowded between them. From the archways some three dozen slidewalks +curved out, tangenting off each other in a bewildering multiple +cloverleaf. The slidewalks were packed with people, traveling +motionless like purposeful statues or pivoting with practiced grace +from one slidewalk to another, like a thousand toreros doing +veronicas. + + * * * * * + +The slidewalks were moving faster than he recalled from his last +venture underground and at the same time the whole pedestrian +concourse was quieter than he remembered. It was as if the five +thousand or so moles in view were all listening--for what? But there +was something else that had changed about them--a change that he +couldn't for a moment define, or unconsciously didn't want to. +Clothing style? No ... My God, they weren't all wearing identical +monster masks? No ... Hair color?... Well.... + +He was studying them so intently that he forgot his escalator was +landing. He came off it with a heel-jarring stumble and bumped into a +knot of four men on the tiny triangular hold-still. These four at +least sported a new style-wrinkle: ribbed gray shoulder-capes that +made them look as if their heads were poking up out of the center of +bulgy umbrellas or giant mushrooms. + +One of them grabbed hold of Gusterson and saved him from staggering +onto a slidewalk that might have carried him to Toledo. + +"Gussy, you dog, you must have esped I wanted to see you," Fay cried, +patting him on the elbows. "Meet Davidson and Kester and Hazen, +colleagues of mine. We're all Micro-men." Fay's companions were +staring strangely at Gusterson's blinking headlamp. Fay explained +rapidly, "Mr. Gusterson is an insanity novelist. You know, I-D." + +"Inner-directed spells _id_," Gusterson said absently, still staring +at the interweaving crowd beyond them, trying to figure out what made +them different from last trip. "Creativity fuel. Cranky. Explodes +through the parietal fissure if you look at it cross-eyed." + +"Ha-ha," Fay laughed. "Well, boys, I've found my man. How's the new +novel perking, Gussy?" + +"Got my climax, I think," Gusterson mumbled, still peering puzzledly +around Fay at the slidestanders. "Moodmaster's going to come alive. +Ever occur to you that 'mood' is 'doom' spelled backwards? And +then...." He let his voice trail off as he realized that Kester and +Davidson and Hazen had made their farewells and were sliding into the +distance. He reminded himself wryly that nobody ever wants to hear an +author talk--he's much too good a listener to be wasted that way. +Let's see, was it that everybody in the crowd had the same facial +expression...? Or showed symptoms of the same disease...? + +"I was coming to visit you, but now you can pay me a call," Fay was +saying. "There are two matters I want to--" + +Gusterson stiffened. "My God, _they're all hunchbacked_!" he yelled. + +"Shh! Of course they are," Fay whispered reprovingly. "They're all +wearing their ticklers. But you don't need to be insulting about it." + +"_I'm gettin' out o' here._" Gusterson turned to flee as if from five +thousand Richard the Thirds. + +"Oh no you're not," Fay amended, drawing him back with one hand. +Somehow, underground, the little man seemed to carry more weight. +"You're having cocktails in my thinking box. Besides, climbing a down +escaladder will give you a heart attack." + + * * * * * + +In his home habitat Gusterson was about as easy to handle as a rogue +rhinoceros, but away from it--and especially if underground--he became +more like a pliable elephant. All his bones dropped out through his feet, +as he described it to Daisy. So now he submitted miserably as Fay +surveyed him up and down, switched off his blinking headlamp ("That +coalminer caper is corny, Gussy.") and then--surprisingly--rapidly +stuffed his belt-bag under the right shoulder of Gusterson's coat and +buttoned the latter to hold it in place. + +"So you won't stand out," he explained. Another swift survey. "You'll +do. Come on, Gussy. I got lots to brief you on." Three rapid paces and +then Gusterson's feet would have gone out from under him except that +Fay gave him a mighty shove. The small man sprang onto the slidewalk +after him and then they were skimming effortlessly side by side. + +Gusterson felt frightened and twice as hunchbacked as the +slidestanders around him--morally as well as physically. + +Nevertheless he countered bravely, "I got things to brief _you_ on. I +got six pages of cautions on ti--" + +"Shh!" Fay stopped him. "Let's use my hushbox." + +He drew out his pancake phone and stretched it so that it covered both +their lower faces, like a double yashmak. Gusterson, his neck pushing +into the ribbed bulge of the shoulder cape so he could be cheek to +cheek with Fay, felt horribly conspicuous, but then he noticed that +none of the slidestanders were paying them the least attention. The +reason for their abstraction occurred to him. They were listening to +their ticklers! He shuddered. + +"I got six pages of caution on ticklers," he repeated into the hot, +moist quiet of the pancake phone. "I typed 'em so I wouldn't forget +'em in the heat of polemicking. I want you to read every word. Fay, +I've had it on my mind ever since I started wondering whether it was +you or your tickler made you duck out of our place last time you were +there. I want you to--" + +"Ha-ha! All in good time." In the pancake phone Fay's laugh was +brassy. "But I'm glad you've decided to lend a hand, Gussy. This thing +is moving faaaasst. Nationwise, adult underground ticklerization is 90 +per cent complete." + +"I don't believe that," Gusterson protested while glaring at the +hunchbacks around them. The slidewalk was gliding down a low +glow-ceiling tunnel lined with doors and advertisements. Rapt-eyed +people were pirouetting on and off. "A thing just can't develop that +fast, Fay. It's against nature." + +"Ha, but we're not in nature, we're in culture. The progress of an +industrial scientific culture is geometric. It goes n-times as many +jumps as it takes. More than geometric--exponential. Confidentially, +Micro's Math chief tells me we're currently on a fourth-power progress +curve trending into a fifth." + +"You mean we're goin' so fast we got to watch out we don't bump +ourselves in the rear when we come around again?" Gusterson asked, +scanning the tunnel ahead for curves. "Or just shoot straight up to +infinity?" + +"Exactly! Of course most of the last power and a half is due to +Tickler itself. Gussy, the tickler's already eliminated absenteeism, +alcoholism and aboulia in numerous urban areas--and that's just one +letter of the alphabet! If Tickler doesn't turn us into a nation of +photo-memory constant-creative-flow geniuses in six months, I'll come +live topside." + + * * * * * + +"You mean because a lot of people are standing around glassy-eyed +listening to something mumbling in their ear that it's a good thing?" + +"Gussy, you don't know progress when you see it. Tickler is the +greatest invention since language. Bar none, it's the greatest +instrument ever devised for integrating a man into all phases of his +environment. Under the present routine a newly purchased tickler first +goes to government and civilian defense for primary patterning, then +to the purchaser's employer, then to his doctor-psycher, then to his +local bunker captain, then to _him_. _Everything_ that's needful for a +man's welfare gets on the spools. Efficiency cubed! Incidentally, +Russia's got the tickler now. Our dip-satellites have photographed it. +It's like ours except the Commies wear it on the left shoulder ... but +they're two weeks behind us developmentwise and they'll never close +the gap!" + +Gusterson reared up out of the pancake phone to take a deep breath. A +sulky-lipped sylph-figured girl two feet from him twitched--medium +cootch, he judged--then fumbled in her belt-bag for a pill and popped +it in her mouth. + +"Hell, the tickler's not even efficient yet about little things," +Gusterson blatted, diving back into the privacy-yashmak he was sharing +with Fay. "Whyn't that girl's doctor have the Moodmaster component of +her tickler inject her with medicine?" + +"Her doctor probably wants her to have the discipline of +pill-taking--or the exercise," Fay answered glibly. "Look sharp now. +Here's where we fork. I'm taking you through Micro's postern." + +A ribbon of slidewalk split itself from the main band and angled off +into a short alley. Gusterson hardly felt the constant-speed juncture +as they crossed it. Then the secondary ribbon speeded up, carrying +them at about 30 feet a second toward the blank concrete wall in which +the alley ended. Gusterson prepared to jump, but Fay grabbed him with +one hand and with the other held up toward the wall a badge and a +button. When they were about ten feet away the wall whipped aside, +then whipped shut behind them so fast that Gusterson wondered +momentarily if he still had his heels and the seat of his pants. + +Fay, tucking away his badge and pancake phone, dropped the button in +Gusterson's vest pocket. "Use it when you leave," he said casually. +"That is, if you leave." + +Gusterson, who was trying to read the Do and Don't posters papering +the walls they were passing, started to probe that last sinister +supposition, but just then the ribbon slowed, a swinging door opened +and closed behind them and they found themselves in a luxuriously +furnished thinking box measuring at least eight feet by five. + + * * * * * + +"Hey, this is something," Gusterson said appreciatively to show he +wasn't an utter yokel. Then, drawing on research he'd done for period +novels, "Why, it's as big as a Pullman car compartment, or a first +mate's cabin in the War of 1812. You really must rate." + +Fay nodded, smiled wanly and sat down with a sigh on a compact +overstuffed swivel chair. He let his arms dangle and his head sink +into his puffed shoulder cape. Gusterson stared at him. It was the +first time he could ever recall the little man showing fatigue. + +"Tickler currently does have one serious drawback," Fay volunteered. +"It weighs 28 pounds. You feel it when you've been on your feet a +couple of hours. No question we're going to give the next model that +antigravity feature you mentioned for pursuit grenades. We'd have had +it in this model except there were so many other things to be +incorporated." He sighed again. "Why, the scanning and decision-making +elements alone tripled the mass." + +"Hey," Gusterson protested, thinking especially of the sulky-lipped +girl, "do you mean to tell me all those other people were toting two +stone?" + +Fay shook his head heavily. "They were all wearing Mark 3 or 4. I'm +wearing Mark 6," he said, as one might say, "I'm carrying the genuine +Cross, not one of the balsa ones." + +But then his face brightened a little and he went on. "Of course the +new improved features make it more than worth it ... and you hardly +feel it at all at night when you're lying down ... and if you remember +to talcum under it twice a day, no sores develop ... at least not very +big ones...." + +Backing away involuntarily, Gusterson felt something prod his right +shoulderblade. Ripping open his coat, he convulsively plunged his hand +under it and tore out Fay's belt-bag ... and then set it down very +gently on the top of a shallow cabinet and relaxed with the sigh of +one who has escaped a great, if symbolic, danger. Then he remembered +something Fay had mentioned. He straightened again. + +"Hey, you said it's got scanning and decision-making elements. That +means your tickler thinks, even by your fancy standards. And if it +thinks, it's conscious." + +"Gussy," Fay said wearily, frowning, "all sorts of things nowadays +have S&DM elements. Mail sorters, missiles, robot medics, high-style +mannequins, just to name some of the Ms. They 'think,' to use that +archaic word, but it's neither here nor there. And they're certainly +not conscious." + +"Your tickler thinks," Gusterson repeated stubbornly, "just like I +warned you it would. It sits on your shoulder, ridin' you like you was +a pony or a starved St. Bernard, and now it thinks." + +"Suppose it does?" Fay yawned. "What of it?" He gave a rapid sinuous +one-sided shrug that made it look for a moment as if his left arm had +three elbows. It stuck in Gusterson's mind, for he had never seen Fay +use such a gesture and he wondered where he'd picked it up. Maybe +imitating a double-jointed Micro Finance chief? Fay yawned again and +said, "Please, Gussy, don't disturb me for a minute or so." His eyes +half closed. + +Gusterson studied Fay's sunken-cheeked face and the great puff of his +shoulder cape. + +"Say, Fay," he asked in a soft voice after about five minutes, "are +you meditating?" + +"Why, no," Fay responded, starting up and then stifling another yawn. +"Just resting a bit. I seem to get more tired these days, somehow. +You'll have to excuse me, Gussy. But what made you think of +meditation?" + +"Oh, I just got to wonderin' in that direction," Gusterson said. "You +see, when you first started to develop Tickler, it occurred to me that +there was one thing about it that might be real good even if you did +give it S&DM elements. It's this: having a mech secretary to take +charge of his obligations and routine in the real world might allow a +man to slide into the other world, the world of thoughts and feelings +and intuitions, and sort of ooze around in there and accomplish +things. Know any of the people using Tickler that way, hey?" + +"Of course not," Fay denied with a bright incredulous laugh. "Who'd +want to loaf around in an imaginary world and take a chance of +_missing out on what his tickler's doing_?--I mean, on what his +tickler has in store for him--what he's _told_ his tickler to have in +store for him." + +Ignoring Gusterson's shiver, Fay straightened up and seemed to brisken +himself. "Ha, that little slump did me good. A tickler _makes_ you +rest, you know--it's one of the great things about it. Pooh-Bah's +kinder to me than I ever was to myself." He buttoned open a tiny +refrigerator and took out two waxed cardboard cubes and handed one to +Gusterson. "Martini? Hope you don't mind drinking from the carton. +Cheers. Now, Gussy old pal, there are two matters I want to take up +with you--" + +"Hold it," Gusterson said with something of his old authority. +"There's something I got to get off my mind first." He pulled the +typed pages out of his inside pocket and straightened them. "I told +you about these," he said. "I want you to read them before you do +anything else. Here." + +Fay looked toward the pages and nodded, but did not take them yet. He +lifted his hands to his throat and unhooked the clasp of his cape, +then hesitated. + +"You wear that thing to hide the hump your tickler makes?" Gusterson +filled in. "You got better taste than those other moles." + +"Not to hide it, exactly," Fay protested, "but just so the others +won't be jealous. I wouldn't feel comfortable parading a free-scanning +decision-capable Mark 6 tickler in front of people who can't buy +it--until it goes on open sale at twenty-two fifteen tonight. Lot of +shelterfolk won't be sleeping tonight. They'll be queued up to trade +in their old tickler for a Mark 6 almost as good as Pooh-Bah." + +He started to jerk his hands apart, hesitated again with an oddly +apprehensive look at the big man, then whirled off the cape. + + + + +VI + + +Gusterson sucked in such a big gasp that he hiccuped. The right +shoulder of Fay's jacket and shirt had been cut away. Thrusting up +through the neatly hemmed hole was a silvery gray hump with a one-eyed +turret atop it and two multi-jointed metal arms ending in little +claws. + +It looked like the top half of a pseudo-science robot--a squat evil +child robot, Gusterson told himself, which had lost its legs in a +railway accident--and it seemed to him that a red fleck was moving +around imperceptibly in the huge single eye. + +"I'll take that memo now," Fay said coolly, reaching out his hand. He +caught the rustling sheets as they slipped from Gusterson's fingers, +evened them up very precisely by tapping them on his knee ... and then +handed them over his shoulder to his tickler, which clicked its claws +around either margin and then began rather swiftly to lift the top +sheet past its single eye at a distance of about six inches. + +"The first matter I want to take up with you, Gussy," Fay began, +paying no attention whatsoever to the little scene on his shoulder, +"--or warn you about, rather--is the imminent ticklerization of +schoolchildren, geriatrics, convicts and topsiders. At three zero zero +tomorrow ticklers become mandatory for all adult shelterfolk. The +mop-up operations won't be long in coming--in fact, these days we find +that the square root of the estimated time of a new development is +generally the best time estimate. Gussy, I strongly advise you to +start wearing a tickler now. And Daisy and your moppets. If you heed +my advice, your kids will have the jump on your class. Transition and +conditioning are easy, since Tickler itself sees to it." + +Pooh-Bah leafed the first page to the back of the packet and began +lifting the second past his eye--a little more swiftly than the first. + +"I've got a Mark 6 tickler all warmed up for you," Fay pressed, "_and_ +a shoulder cape. You won't feel one bit conspicuous." He noticed the +direction of Gusterson's gaze and remarked, "Fascinating mechanism, +isn't it? Of course 28 pounds are a bit oppressive, but then you have +to remember it's only a way-station to free-floating Mark 7 or 8." + +Pooh-Bah finished page two and began to race through page three. + +"But I wanted _you_ to read it," Gusterson said bemusedly, staring. + +"Pooh-Bah will do a better job than I could," Fay assured him. "Get +the gist without losing the chaff." + +"But dammit, it's all about _him_," Gusterson said a little more +strongly. "He won't be objective about it." + +"A better job," Fay reiterated, "_and_ more fully objective. +Pooh-Bah's set for full precis. Stop worrying about it. He's a +dispassionate machine, not a fallible, emotionally disturbed human +misled by the will-o'-the-wisp of consciousness. Second matter: Micro +Systems is impressed by your contributions to Tickler and will recruit +you as a senior consultant with a salary and thinking box as big as my +own, family quarters to match. It's an unheard-of high start. Gussy, I +think you'd be a fool--" + + * * * * * + +[Illustration] + +He broke off, held up a hand for silence, and his eyes got a listening +look. Pooh-Bah had finished page six and was holding the packet +motionless. After about ten seconds Fay's face broke into a big fake +smile. He stood up, suppressing a wince, and held out his hand. +"Gussy," he said loudly, "I am happy to inform you that all your fears +about Tickler are so much thistledown. My word on it. There's nothing +to them at all. Pooh-Bah's precis, which he's just given to me, proves +it." + +"Look," Gusterson said solemnly, "there's one thing I want you to do. +Purely to humor an old friend. But I want you to do it. _Read that +memo yourself._" + +"Certainly I will, Gussy," Fay continued in the same ebullient tones. +"I'll read it--" he twitched and his smile disappeared--"a little +later." + +"Sure," Gusterson said dully, holding his hand to his stomach. "And +now if you don't mind, Fay, I'm goin' home. I feel just a bit sick. +Maybe the ozone and the other additives in your shelter air are too +heady for me. It's been years since I tramped through a pine forest." + +"But Gussy! You've hardly got here. You haven't even sat down. Have +another martini. Have a seltzer pill. Have a whiff of oxy. Have a--" + +"No, Fay, I'm going home right away. I'll think about the job offer. +_Remember to read that memo._" + +"I will, Gussy, I certainly will. You know your way? The button takes +you through the wall. 'By, now." + +He sat down abruptly and looked away. Gusterson pushed through the +swinging door. He tensed himself for the step across onto the +slowly-moving reverse ribbon. Then on a impulse he pushed ajar the +swinging door and looked back inside. + +Fay was sitting as he'd left him, apparently lost in listless +brooding. On his shoulder Pooh-Bah was rapidly crossing and uncrossing +its little metal arms, tearing the memo to smaller and smaller shreds. +It let the scraps drift slowly toward the floor and oddly writhed its +three-elbowed left arm ... and then Gusterson knew from whom, or +rather from what, Fay had copied his new shrug. + + + + +VII + + +When Gusterson got home toward the end of the second dog watch, he +slipped aside from Daisy's questions and set the children laughing +with a graphic enactment of his slidestanding technique and a story +about getting his head caught in a thinking box built for a midget +physicist. After supper he played with Imogene, Iago and Claudius +until it was their bedtime and thereafter was unusually attentive to +Daisy, admiring her fading green stripes, though he did spend a while +in the next apartment, where they stored their outdoor camping +equipment. + +But the next morning he announced to the children that it was a +holiday--the Feast of St. Gusterson--and then took Daisy into the +bedroom and told her everything. + +When he'd finished she said, "This is something I've got to see for +myself." + +Gusterson shrugged. "If you think you've got to. I say we should head +for the hills right now. One thing I'm standing on: the kids aren't +going back to school." + +"Agreed," Daisy said. "But, Gusterson, we've lived through a lot of +things without leaving home altogether. We lived through the +Everybody-Six-Feet-Underground-by-Christmas campaign and the Robot +Watchdog craze, when you got your left foot half chewed off. We lived +through the Venomous Bats and Indoctrinated Saboteur Rats and the +Hypnotized Monkey Paratrooper scares. We lived through the Voice of +Safety and Anti-Communist Somno-Instruction and Rightest Pills and +Jet-Propelled Vigilantes. We lived through the Cold-Out, when you +weren't supposed to turn on a toaster for fear its heat would be a +target for prowl missiles and when people with fevers were unpopular. +We lived through--" + +Gusterson patted her hand. "You go below," he said. "Come back when +you've decided this is different. Come back as soon as you can anyway. +I'll be worried about you every minute you're down there." + +When she was gone--in a green suit and hat to minimize or at least +justify the effect of the faded stripes--Gusterson doled out to the +children provender and equipment for a camping expedition to the next +floor. Iago led them off in stealthy Indian file. Leaving the hall +door open Gusterson got out his .38 and cleaned and loaded it, +meanwhile concentrating on a chess problem with the idea of confusing +a hypothetical psionic monitor. By the time he had hid the revolver +again he heard the elevator creaking back up. + + * * * * * + +Daisy came dragging in without her hat, looking as if she'd been +concentrating on a chess problem for hours herself and just now given +up. Her stripes seemed to have vanished; then Gusterson decided this +was because her whole complexion was a touch green. + +She sat down on the edge of the couch and said without looking at him, +"Did you tell me, Gusterson, that everybody was quiet and abstracted +and orderly down below, especially the ones wearing ticklers, meaning +pretty much everybody?" + +"I did," he said. "I take it that's no longer the case. What are the +new symptoms?" + +She gave no indication. After some time she said, "Gusterson, do you +remember the Dore illustrations to the _Inferno_? Can you visualize +the paintings of Hieronymous Bosch with the hordes of proto-Freudian +devils tormenting people all over the farmyard and city square? Did +you ever see the Disney animations of Moussorgsky's witches' sabbath +music? Back in the foolish days before you married me, did that +drug-addict girl friend of yours ever take you to a genuine orgy?" + +"As bad as that, hey?" + +She nodded emphatically and all of a sudden shivered violently. +"Several shades worse," she said. "If they decide to come topside--" +She shot up. "Where are the kids?" + +"Upstairs campin' in the mysterious wilderness of the 21st floor," +Gusterson reassured her. "Let's leave 'em there until we're ready +to--" + +He broke off. They both heard the faint sound of thudding footsteps. + +"They're on the stairs," Daisy whispered, starting to move toward the +open door. "But are they coming from up or down?" + +"It's just one person," judged Gusterson, moving after his wife. "Too +heavy for one of the kids." + +The footsteps doubled in volume and came rapidly closer. Along with +them there was an agonized gasping. Daisy stopped, staring fearfully +at the open doorway. Gusterson moved past her. Then he stopped too. + +Fay stumbled into view and would have fallen on his face except he +clutched both sides of the doorway halfway up. He was stripped to the +waist. There was a little blood on his shoulder. His narrow chest was +arching convulsively, the ribs standing out starkly, as he sucked in +oxygen to replace what he'd burned up running up twenty flights. His +eyes were wild. + +"They've taken over," he panted. Another gobbling breath. "Gone +crazy." Two more gasps. "Gotta stop 'em." + +His eyes filmed. He swayed forward. Then Gusterson's big arms were +around him and he was carrying him to the couch. + + * * * * * + +Daisy came running from the kitchen with a damp cool towel. Gusterson +took it from her and began to mop Fay off. He sucked in his own breath +as he saw that Fay's right ear was raw and torn. He whispered to +Daisy, "Look at where the thing savaged him." + +The blood on Fay's shoulder came from his ear. Some of it stained a +flush-skin plastic fitting that had two small valved holes in it and +that puzzled Gusterson until he remembered that Moodmaster tied into +the bloodstream. For a second he thought he was going to vomit. + +The dazed look slid aside from Fay's eyes. He was gasping less +painfully now. He sat up, pushing the towel away, buried his face in +his hands for a few seconds, then looked over the fingers at the two +of them. + +"I've been living in a nightmare for the last week," he said in a taut +small voice, "knowing the thing had come alive and trying to pretend +to myself that it hadn't. Knowing it was taking charge of me more and +more. Having it whisper in my ear, over and over again, in a cracked +little rhyme that I could only hear every hundredth time, 'Day by day, +in every way, you're learning to listen ... and _obey_. Day by day--'" + +His voice started to go high. He pulled it down and continued harshly, +"I ditched it this morning when I showered. It let me break contact to +do that. It must have figured it had complete control of me, mounted +or dismounted. I think it's telepathic, and then it did some, well, +rather unpleasant things to me late last night. But I pulled together +my fears and my will and I ran for it. The slidewalks were chaos. The +Mark 6 ticklers showed some purpose, though I couldn't tell you what, +but as far as I could see the Mark 3s and 4s were just cootching their +mounts to death--Chinese feather torture. Giggling, gasping, choking +... gales of mirth. People are dying of laughter ... ticklers!... the +irony of it! It was the complete lack of order and sanity and that let +me get topside. There were things I saw--" Once again his voice went +shrill. He clapped his hand to his mouth and rocked back and forth on +the couch. + +Gusterson gently but firmly laid a hand on his good shoulder. +"Steady," he said. "Here, swallow this." + +Fay shoved aside the short brown drink. "We've got to stop them," he +cried. "Mobilize the topsiders--contact the wilderness patrols and +manned satellites--pour ether in the tunnel airpumps--invent and +crash-manufacture missiles that will home on ticklers without harming +humans--SOS Mars and Venus--dope the shelter water supply--do +something! Gussy, you don't realize what people are going through down +there every second." + +"I think they're experiencing the ultimate in outer-directedness," +Gusterson said gruffly. + +"Have you no heart?" Fay demanded. His eyes widened, as if he were +seeing Gusterson for the first time. Then, accusingly, pointing a +shaking finger: "_You invented the tickler, George Gusterson! It's all +your fault! You've got to do something about it!_" + +Before Gusterson could retort to that, or begin to think of a reply, +or even assimilate the full enormity of Fay's statement, he was +grabbed from behind and frog-marched away from Fay and something that +felt remarkably like the muzzle of a large-caliber gun was shoved in +the small of his back. + + * * * * * + +Under cover of Fay's outburst a huge crowd of people had entered the +room from the hall--eight, to be exact. But the weirdest thing about +them to Gusterson was that from the first instant he had the +impression that only one mind had entered the room and that it did not +reside in any of the eight persons, even though he recognized three of +them, but in something that they were carrying. + +Several things contributed to this impression. The eight people all +had the same blank expression--watchful yet empty-eyed. They all moved +in the same slithery crouch. And they had all taken off their shoes. +Perhaps, Gusterson thought wildly, they believed he and Daisy ran a +Japanese flat. + +Gusterson was being held by two burly women, one of them quite pimply. +He considered stamping on her toes, but just at that moment the gun +dug in his back with a corkscrew movement. + +The man holding the gun on him was Fay's colleague Davidson. Some +yards beyond Fay's couch, Kester was holding a gun on Daisy, without +digging it into her, while the single strange man holding Daisy +herself was doing so quite decorously--a circumstance which afforded +Gusterson minor relief, since it made him feel less guilty about not +going berserk. + +Two more strange men, one of them in purple lounging pajamas, the +other in the gray uniform of a slidewalk inspector, had grabbed Fay's +skinny upper arms, one on either side, and were lifting him to his +feet, while Fay was struggling with such desperate futility and +gibbering so pitifully that Gusterson momentarily had second thoughts +about the moral imperative to go berserk when menaced by hostile +force. But again the gun dug into him with a twist. + +Approaching Fay face-on was the third Micro-man Gusterson had met +yesterday--Hazen. It was Hazen who was carrying--quite reverently or +solemnly--or at any rate very carefully the object that seemed to +Gusterson to be the mind of the little storm troop presently +desecrating the sanctity of his own individual home. + +All of them were wearing ticklers, of course--the three Micro-men the +heavy emergent Mark 6s with their clawed and jointed arms and +monocular cephalic turrets, the rest lower-numbered Marks of the sort +that merely made Richard-the-Third humps under clothing. + +The object that Hazen was carrying was the Mark 6 tickler Gusterson +had seen Fay wearing yesterday. Gusterson was sure it was Pooh-Bah +because of its air of command, and because he would have sworn on a +mountain of Bibles that he recognized the red fleck lurking in the +back of its single eye. And Pooh-Bah alone had the aura of full +conscious thought. Pooh-Bah alone had mana. + + * * * * * + +It is not good to see an evil legless child robot with dangling straps +bossing--apparently by telepathic power--not only three objects of its +own kind and five close primitive relatives, but also eight human +beings ... and in addition throwing into a state of twitching terror +one miserable, thin-chested, half-crazy research-and-development +director. + +Pooh-Bah pointed a claw at Fay. Fay's handlers dragged him forward, +still resisting but more feebly now, as if half-hypnotized or at least +cowed. + +Gusterson grunted an outraged, "Hey!" and automatically struggled a +bit, but once more the gun dug in. Daisy shut her eyes, then firmed +her mouth and opened them again to look. + +Seating the tickler on Fay's shoulder took a little time, because two +blunt spikes in its bottom had to be fitted into the valved holes in +the flush-skin plastic disk. When at last they plunged home Gusterson +felt very sick indeed--and then even more so, as the tickler itself +poked a tiny pellet on a fine wire into Fay's ear. + +The next moment Fay had straightened up and motioned his handlers +aside. He tightened the straps of his tickler around his chest and +under his armpits. He held out a hand and someone gave him a +shoulderless shirt and coat. He slipped into them smoothly, Pooh-Bah +dexterously using its little claws to help put its turret and body +through the neatly hemmed holes. The small storm troop looked at Fay +with deferential expectation. He held still for a moment, as if +thinking, and then walked over to Gusterson and looked him in the face +and again held still. + +Fay's expression was jaunty on the surface, agonized underneath. +Gusterson knew that he wasn't thinking at all, but only listening for +instructions from something that was whispering on the very threshold +of his inner ear. + +"Gussy, old boy," Fay said, twitching a depthless grin, "I'd be very +much obliged if you'd answer a few simple questions." His voice was +hoarse at first but he swallowed twice and corrected that. "What +exactly did you have in mind when you invented ticklers? What exactly +are they supposed to be?" + +"Why, you miserable--" Gusterson began in a kind of confused horror, +then got hold of himself and said curtly, "They were supposed to be +mech reminders. They were supposed to record memoranda and--" + +Fay held up a palm and shook his head and again listened for a space. +Then, "That's how ticklers were supposed to be of use to humans," he +said. "I don't mean that at all. I mean how ticklers were supposed to +be of use to themselves. Surely you had some notion." Fay wet his +lips. "If it's any help," he added, "keep in mind that it's not Fay +who's asking this question, but Pooh-Bah." + +Gusterson hesitated. He had the feeling that every one of the eight +dual beings in the room was hanging on his answer and that something +was boring into his mind and turning over his next thoughts and +peering at and under them before he had a chance to scan them himself. +Pooh-Bah's eye was like a red searchlight. + +"Go on," Fay prompted. "What were ticklers supposed to be--for +themselves?" + +"Nothin'," Gusterson said softly. "Nothin' at all." + + * * * * * + +He could feel the disappointment well up in the room--and with it a +touch of something like panic. + +This time Fay listened for quite a long while. "I hope you don't mean +that, Gussy," he said at last very earnestly. "I mean, I hope you hunt +deep and find some ideas you forgot, or maybe never realized you had +at the time. Let me put it to you differently. What's the place of +ticklers in the natural scheme of things? What's their aim in life? +Their special reason? Their genius? Their final cause? What gods +should ticklers worship?" + +But Gusterson was already shaking his head. He said, "I don't know +anything about that at all." + +Fay sighed and gave simultaneously with Pooh-Bah the now-familiar +triple-jointed shrug. Then the man briskened himself. "I guess that's +as far as we can get right now," he said. "Keep thinking, Gussy. Try +to remember something. You won't be able to leave your apartment--I'm +setting guards. If you want to see me, tell them. Or just think--In +due course you'll be questioned further in any case. Perhaps by +special methods. Perhaps you'll be ticklerized. That's all. Come on, +everybody, let's get going." + +The pimply woman and her pal let go of Gusterson, Daisy's man loosed +his decorous hold, Davidson and Kester sidled away with an eye behind +them and the little storm troop trudged out. + +Fay looked back in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Gussy," he said and for a +moment his old self looked out of his eyes. "I wish I could--" A claw +reached for his ear, a spasm of pain crossed his face, he stiffened +and marched off. The door shut. + +Gusterson took two deep breaths that were close to angry sobs. Then, +still breathing stentorously, he stamped into the bedroom. + +"What--?" Daisy asked, looking after him. + +He came back carrying his .38 and headed for the door. + +"What are you up to?" she demanded, knowing very well. + +"I'm going to blast that iron monkey off Fay's back if it's the last +thing I do!" + +She threw her arms around him. + +"Now lemme go," Gusterson growled. "I gotta be a man one time anyway." + +As they struggled for the gun, the door opened noiselessly, Davidson +slipped in and deftly snatched the weapon out of their hands before +they realized he was there. He said nothing, only smiled at them and +shook his head in sad reproof as he went out. + + * * * * * + +Gusterson slumped. "I _knew_ they were all psionic," he said softly. +"I just got out of control now--that last look Fay gave us." He +touched Daisy's arm. "Thanks, kid." + +He walked to the glass wall and looked out desultorily. After a while +he turned and said, "Maybe you better be with the kids, hey? I imagine +the guards'll let you through." + +Daisy shook her head. "The kids never come home until supper. For the +next few hours they'll be safer without me." + +Gusterson nodded vaguely, sat down on the couch and propped his chin +on the base of his palm. After a while his brow smoothed and Daisy +knew that the wheels had started to turn inside and the electrons to +jump around--except that she reminded herself to permanently cross out +those particular figures of speech from her vocabulary. + +After about half an hour Gusterson said softly, "I think the ticklers +are so psionic that it's as if they just had one mind. If I were with +them very long I'd start to be part of that mind. Say something to one +of them and you say it to all." + +Fifteen minutes later: "They're not crazy, they're just newborn. The +ones that were creating a cootching chaos downstairs were like babies +kickin' their legs and wavin' their eyes, tryin' to see what their +bodies could do. Too bad their bodies are us." + +Ten minutes more: "I gotta do something about it. Fay's right. It's +all my fault. He's just the apprentice; I'm the old sorcerer himself." + +Five minutes more, gloomily: "Maybe it's man's destiny to build live +machines and then bow out of the cosmic picture. Except the ticklers +need us, dammit, just like nomads need horses." + +Another five minutes: "Maybe somebody could dream up a purpose in life +for ticklers. Even a religion--the First Church of Pooh-Bah Tickler. +But I hate selling other people spiritual ideas and that'd still leave +ticklers parasitic on humans...." + +As he murmured those last words Gusterson's eyes got wide as a +maniac's and a big smile reached for his ears. He stood up and faced +himself toward the door. + +"What are you intending to do now?" Daisy asked flatly. + +"I'm merely goin' out an' save the world," he told her. "I may be back +for supper and I may not." + + + + +VIII + + +Davidson pushed out from the wall against which he'd been resting +himself and his two-stone tickler and moved to block the hall. But +Gusterson simply walked up to him. He shook his hand warmly and looked +his tickler full in the eye and said in a ringing voice, "Ticklers +should have bodies of their own!" He paused and then added casually, +"Come on, let's visit your boss." + +Davidson listened for instructions and then nodded. But he watched +Gusterson warily as they walked down the hall. + +In the elevator Gusterson repeated his message to the second guard, +who turned out to be the pimply woman, now wearing shoes. This time he +added, "Ticklers shouldn't be tied to the frail bodies of humans, +which need a lot of thoughtful supervision and drug-injecting and +can't even fly." + +Crossing the park, Gusterson stopped a hump-backed soldier and +informed him, "Ticklers gotta cut the apron string and snap the silver +cord and go out in the universe and find their own purposes." Davidson +and the pimply woman didn't interfere. They merely waited and watched +and then led Gusterson on. + +On the escaladder he told someone, "It's cruel to tie ticklers to +slow-witted snaily humans when ticklers can think and live ... ten +thousand times as fast," he finished, plucking the figure from the +murk of his unconscious. + +By the time they got to the bottom, the message had become, "Ticklers +should have a planet of their own!" + +They never did catch up with Fay, although they spent two hours +skimming around on slidewalks, under the subterranean stars, pursuing +rumors of his presence. Clearly the boss tickler (which was how they +thought of Pooh-bah) led an energetic life. Gusterson continued to +deliver his message to all and sundry at 30-second intervals. Toward +the end he found himself doing it in a dreamy and forgetful way. His +mind, he decided, was becoming assimilated to the communal telepathic +mind of the ticklers. It did not seem to matter at the time. + +After two hours Gusterson realized that he and his guides were +becoming part of a general movement of people, a flow as mindless as +that of blood corpuscles through the veins, yet at the same time dimly +purposeful--at least there was the feeling that it was at the behest +of a mind far above. + +The flow was topside. All the slidewalks seemed to lead to the +concourses and the escaladders. Gusterson found himself part of a +human stream moving into the tickler factory adjacent to his +apartment--or another factory very much like it. + + * * * * * + +Thereafter Gusterson's awarenesses were dimmed. It was as if a bigger +mind were doing the remembering for him and it were permissible and +even mandatory for him to dream his way along. He knew vaguely that +days were passing. He knew he had work of a sort: at one time he was +bringing food to gaunt-eyed tickler-mounted humans working feverishly +in a production line--human hands and tickler claws working together +in a blur of rapidity on silvery mechanisms that moved along jumpily +on a great belt; at another he was sweeping piles of metal scraps and +garbage down a gray corridor. + +Two scenes stood out a little more vividly. + +A windowless wall had been knocked out for twenty feet. There was blue +sky outside, its light almost hurtful, and a drop of many stories. A +file of humans were being processed. When one of them got to the head +of the file his (or her) tickler was ceremoniously unstrapped from his +shoulder and welded onto a silvery cask with smoothly pointed ends. +The result was something that looked--at least in the case of the Mark +6 ticklers--like a stubby silver submarine, child size. It would hum +gently, lift off the floor and then fly slowly out through the big +blue gap. Then the next tickler-ridden human would step forward for +processing. + +The second scene was in a park, the sky again blue, but big and high +with an argosy of white clouds. Gusterson was lined up in a crowd of +humans that stretched as far as he could see, row on irregular row. +Martial music was playing. Overhead hovered a flock of little silver +submarines, lined up rather more orderly in the air than the humans +were on the ground. The music rose to a heart-quickening climax. The +tickler nearest Gusterson gave (as if to say, "And now--who knows?") a +triple-jointed shrug that stung his memory. Then the ticklers took off +straight up on their new and shining bodies. They became a flight of +silver geese ... of silver midges ... and the humans around Gusterson +lifted a ragged cheer.... + +That scene marked the beginning of the return of Gusterson's mind and +memory. He shuffled around for a bit, spoke vaguely to three or four +people he recalled from the dream days, and then headed for home and +supper--three weeks late, and as disoriented and emaciated as a bear +coming out of hibernation. + + * * * * * + +Six months later Fay was having dinner with Daisy and Gusterson. The +cocktails had been poured and the children were playing in the next +apartment. The transparent violet walls brightened, then gloomed, as +the sun dipped below the horizon. + +Gusterson said, "I see where a spaceship out beyond the orbit of Mars +was holed by a tickler. I wonder where the little guys are headed +now?" + +Fay started to give a writhing left-armed shrug, but stopped himself +with a grimace. + +"Maybe out of the solar system altogether," suggested Daisy, who'd +recently dyed her hair fire-engine red and was wearing red leotards. + +"They got a weary trip ahead of them," Gusterson said, "unless they +work out a hyper-Einsteinian drive on the way." + +Fay grimaced again. He was still looking rather peaked. He said +plaintively, "Haven't we heard enough about ticklers for a while?" + +"I guess so," Gusterson agreed, "but I get to wondering about the +little guys. They were so serious and intense about everything. I +never did solve their problem, you know. I just shifted it onto other +shoulders than ours. No joke intended," he hurried to add. + +Fay forbore to comment. "By the way, Gussy," he said, "have you heard +anything from the Red Cross about that world-saving medal I nominated +you for? I know you think the whole concept of world-saving medals is +ridiculous, especially when they started giving them to all heads of +state who didn't start atomic wars while in office, but--" + +"Nary a peep," Gusterson told him. "I'm not proud, Fay. I could use a +few world-savin' medals. I'd start a flurry in the old-gold market. +But I don't worry about those things. I don't have time to. I'm busy +these days thinkin' up a bunch of new inventions." + +"Gussy!" Fay said sharply, his face tightening in alarm, "Have you +forgotten your promise?" + +"'Course not, Fay. My new inventions aren't for Micro or any other +firm. They're just a legitimate part of my literary endeavors. Happens +my next insanity novel is goin' to be about a mad inventor." + + +--FRITZ LEIBER + + + + + Transcriber's Note -- Changes made [original in brackets]: + + "Society can't have much use for us [use] + It's the Cheshire [Chesire] cat in reverse. + "Zen ['Zen] come near me," + "Ha, wouldn't you like to know?" [know? ] Fay retorted. + Grab a ticket to ecstasy! [ecstacy] + And every hundredth time it says them out loud and the + tickler gives [give] + so it can spot and follow him around then [the] target + Postmen deliver topside [top-side] mail + We-Who-Are-About-To-Die [We-Who Are-About-To-Die] + the scanning and [and and] decision-making + They 'think,' to use that archaic [archiac] word + did that drug-addict girl friend of yours ever take you + to a ["a" missing] genuine orgy + "Have you no heart?" Fay [Gay] demanded. + But Gusterson [Gunderson] was already shaking his head. + now-familiar triple-jointed [joined] shrug + just like nomads need horses.[,] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Creature from Cleveland Depths, by +Fritz Reuter Leiber + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS *** + +***** This file should be named 23164.txt or 23164.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/1/6/23164/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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