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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Warm, by Robert Sheckley
+
+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: Warm
+
+Author: Robert Sheckley
+
+Illustrator: Ed Emshwiller
+
+Release Date: July 25, 2009 [EBook #29509]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WARM ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+warm
+
+By ROBERT SHECKLEY
+
+
+ _It was a joyous journey Anders
+ set out on ... to reach his goal
+ ... but look where he wound up!_
+
+
+Illustrated by EMSH
+
+
+Anders lay on his bed, fully dressed except for his shoes and black bow
+tie, contemplating, with a certain uneasiness, the evening before him.
+In twenty minutes he would pick up Judy at her apartment, and that was
+the uneasy part of it.
+
+He had realized, only seconds ago, that he was in love with her.
+
+Well, he'd tell her. The evening would be memorable. He would propose,
+there would be kisses, and the seal of acceptance would, figuratively
+speaking, be stamped across his forehead.
+
+Not too pleasant an outlook, he decided. It really would be much more
+comfortable not to be in love. What had done it? A look, a touch, a
+thought? It didn't take much, he knew, and stretched his arms for a
+thorough yawn.
+
+"Help me!" a voice said.
+
+His muscles spasmed, cutting off the yawn in mid-moment. He sat upright
+on the bed, then grinned and lay back again.
+
+"You must help me!" the voice insisted.
+
+Anders sat up, reached for a polished shoe and fitted it on, giving his
+full attention to the tying of the laces.
+
+"Can you hear me?" the voice asked. "You can, can't you?"
+
+That did it. "Yes, I can hear you," Anders said, still in a high good
+humor. "Don't tell me you're my guilty subconscious, attacking me for a
+childhood trauma I never bothered to resolve. I suppose you want me to
+join a monastery."
+
+"I don't know what you're talking about," the voice said. "I'm no one's
+subconscious. I'm _me_. Will you help me?"
+
+Anders believed in voices as much as anyone; that is, he didn't believe
+in them at all, until he heard them. Swiftly he catalogued the
+possibilities. Schizophrenia was the best answer, of course, and one in
+which his colleagues would concur. But Anders had a lamentable
+confidence in his own sanity. In which case--
+
+"Who are you?" he asked.
+
+"I don't know," the voice answered.
+
+Anders realized that the voice was speaking within his own mind. Very
+suspicious.
+
+"You don't know who you are," Anders stated. "Very well. _Where_ are
+you?"
+
+"I don't know that, either." The voice paused, and went on. "Look, I
+know how ridiculous this must sound. Believe me, I'm in some sort of
+limbo. I don't know how I got here or who I am, but I want desperately
+to get out. Will you help me?"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Still fighting the idea of a voice speaking within his head, Anders knew
+that his next decision was vital. He had to accept--or reject--his own
+sanity.
+
+He accepted it.
+
+"All right," Anders said, lacing the other shoe. "I'll grant that you're
+a person in trouble, and that you're in some sort of telepathic contact
+with me. Is there anything else you can tell me?"
+
+"I'm afraid not," the voice said, with infinite sadness. "You'll have to
+find out for yourself."
+
+"Can you contact anyone else?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then how can you talk with me?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Anders walked to his bureau mirror and adjusted his black bow tie,
+whistling softly under his breath. Having just discovered that he was in
+love, he wasn't going to let a little thing like a voice in his mind
+disturb him.
+
+"I really don't see how I can be of any help," Anders said, brushing a
+bit of lint from his jacket. "You don't know where you are, and there
+don't seem to be any distinguishing landmarks. How am I to find you?" He
+turned and looked around the room to see if he had forgotten anything.
+
+"I'll know when you're close," the voice said. "You were warm just
+then."
+
+"Just then?" All he had done was look around the room. He did so again,
+turning his head slowly. Then it happened.
+
+The room, from one angle, looked different. It was suddenly a mixture of
+muddled colors, instead of the carefully blended pastel shades he had
+selected. The lines of wall, floor and ceiling were strangely off
+proportion, zigzag, unrelated.
+
+Then everything went back to normal.
+
+"You were _very_ warm," the voice said. "It's a question of seeing
+things correctly."
+
+Anders resisted the urge to scratch his head, for fear of disarranging
+his carefully combed hair. What he had seen wasn't so strange. Everyone
+sees one or two things in his life that make him doubt his normality,
+doubt sanity, doubt his very existence. For a moment the orderly
+Universe is disarranged and the fabric of belief is ripped.
+
+But the moment passes.
+
+Anders remembered once, as a boy, awakening in his room in the middle of
+the night. How strange everything had looked. Chairs, table, all out of
+proportion, swollen in the dark. The ceiling pressing down, as in a
+dream.
+
+But that had also passed.
+
+"Well, old man," he said, "if I get warm again, let me know."
+
+"I will," the voice in his head whispered. "I'm sure you'll find me."
+
+"I'm glad you're so sure," Anders said gaily, switched off the lights
+and left.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Lovely and smiling, Judy greeted him at the door. Looking at her, Anders
+sensed her knowledge of the moment. Had she felt the change in him, or
+predicted it? Or was love making him grin like an idiot?
+
+"Would you like a before-party drink?" she asked.
+
+He nodded, and she led him across the room, to the improbable
+green-and-yellow couch. Sitting down, Anders decided he would tell her
+when she came back with the drink. No use in putting off the fatal
+moment. A lemming in love, he told himself.
+
+"You're getting warm again," the voice said.
+
+He had almost forgotten his invisible friend. Or fiend, as the case
+could well be. What would Judy say if she knew he was hearing voices?
+Little things like that, he reminded himself, often break up the best of
+romances.
+
+"Here," she said, handing him a drink.
+
+Still smiling, he noticed. The number two smile--to a prospective
+suitor, provocative and understanding. It had been preceded, in
+their relationship, by the number one nice-girl smile, the
+don't-misunderstand-me smile, to be worn on all occasions, until
+the correct words have been mumbled.
+
+"That's right," the voice said. "It's in how you look at things."
+
+Look at what? Anders glanced at Judy, annoyed at his thoughts. If he was
+going to play the lover, let him play it. Even through the astigmatic
+haze of love, he was able to appreciate her blue-gray eyes, her fine
+skin (if one overlooked a tiny blemish on the left temple), her lips,
+slightly reshaped by lipstick.
+
+"How did your classes go today?" she asked.
+
+Well, of course she'd ask that, Anders thought. Love is marking time.
+
+"All right," he said. "Teaching psychology to young apes--"
+
+"Oh, come now!"
+
+"Warmer," the voice said.
+
+What's the matter with me, Anders wondered. She really is a lovely girl.
+The _gestalt_ that is Judy, a pattern of thoughts, expressions,
+movements, making up the girl I--
+
+I what?
+
+Love?
+
+Anders shifted his long body uncertainly on the couch. He didn't quite
+understand how this train of thought had begun. It annoyed him. The
+analytical young instructor was better off in the classroom. Couldn't
+science wait until 9:10 in the morning?
+
+"I was thinking about you today," Judy said, and Anders knew that she
+had sensed the change in his mood.
+
+"Do you see?" the voice asked him. "You're getting much better at it."
+
+"I don't see anything," Anders thought, but the voice was right. It was
+as though he had a clear line of inspection into Judy's mind. Her
+feelings were nakedly apparent to him, as meaningless as his room had
+been in that flash of undistorted thought.
+
+"I really was thinking about you," she repeated.
+
+"Now look," the voice said.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Anders, watching the expressions on Judy's face, felt the strangeness
+descend on him. He was back in the nightmare perception of that moment
+in his room. This time it was as though he were watching a machine in a
+laboratory. The object of this operation was the evocation and
+preservation of a particular mood. The machine goes through a searching
+process, invoking trains of ideas to achieve the desired end.
+
+"Oh, were you?" he asked, amazed at his new perspective.
+
+"Yes ... I wondered what you were doing at noon," the reactive machine
+opposite him on the couch said, expanding its shapely chest slightly.
+
+"Good," the voice said, commending him for his perception.
+
+"Dreaming of you, of course," he said to the flesh-clad skeleton behind
+the total _gestalt_ Judy. The flesh machine rearranged its limbs,
+widened its mouth to denote pleasure. The mechanism searched through a
+complex of fears, hopes, worries, through half-remembrances of analogous
+situations, analogous solutions.
+
+And this was what he loved. Anders saw too clearly and hated himself for
+seeing. Through his new nightmare perception, the absurdity of the
+entire room struck him.
+
+"Were you really?" the articulating skeleton asked him.
+
+"You're coming closer," the voice whispered.
+
+To what? The personality? There was no such thing. There was no true
+cohesion, no depth, nothing except a web of surface reactions, stretched
+across automatic visceral movements.
+
+He was coming closer to the truth.
+
+"Sure," he said sourly.
+
+The machine stirred, searching for a response.
+
+Anders felt a quick tremor of fear at the sheer alien quality of his
+viewpoint. His sense of formalism had been sloughed off, his agreed-upon
+reactions bypassed. What would be revealed next?
+
+He was seeing clearly, he realized, as perhaps no man had ever seen
+before. It was an oddly exhilarating thought.
+
+But could he still return to normality?
+
+"Can I get you a drink?" the reaction machine asked.
+
+At that moment Anders was as thoroughly out of love as a man could be.
+Viewing one's intended as a depersonalized, sexless piece of machinery
+is not especially conducive to love. But it is quite stimulating,
+intellectually.
+
+Anders didn't want normality. A curtain was being raised and he wanted
+to see behind it. What was it some Russian scientist--Ouspensky, wasn't
+it--had said?
+
+"_Think in other categories._"
+
+That was what he was doing, and would continue to do.
+
+"Good-by," he said suddenly.
+
+The machine watched him, open-mouthed, as he walked out the door.
+Delayed circuit reactions kept it silent until it heard the elevator
+door close.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"You were very warm in there," the voice within his head whispered, once
+he was on the street. "But you still don't understand everything."
+
+"Tell me, then," Anders said, marveling a little at his equanimity. In
+an hour he had bridged the gap to a completely different viewpoint, yet
+it seemed perfectly natural.
+
+"I can't," the voice said. "You must find it yourself."
+
+"Well, let's see now," Anders began. He looked around at the masses of
+masonry, the convention of streets cutting through the architectural
+piles. "Human life," he said, "is a series of conventions. When you look
+at a girl, you're supposed to see--a pattern, not the underlying
+formlessness."
+
+"That's true," the voice agreed, but with a shade of doubt.
+
+"Basically, there is no form. Man produces _gestalts_, and cuts form out
+of the plethora of nothingness. It's like looking at a set of lines and
+saying that they represent a figure. We look at a mass of material,
+extract it from the background and say it's a man. But in truth there is
+no such thing. There are only the humanizing features that
+we--myopically--attach to it. Matter is conjoined, a matter of
+viewpoint."
+
+"You're not seeing it now," said the voice.
+
+"Damn it," Anders said. He was certain that he was on the track of
+something big, perhaps something ultimate. "Everyone's had the
+experience. At some time in his life, everyone looks at a familiar
+object and can't make any sense out of it. Momentarily, the _gestalt_
+fails, but the true moment of sight passes. The mind reverts to the
+superimposed pattern. Normalcy continues."
+
+The voice was silent. Anders walked on, through the _gestalt_ city.
+
+"There's something else, isn't there?" Anders asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+What could that be, he asked himself. Through clearing eyes, Anders
+looked at the formality he had called his world.
+
+He wondered momentarily if he would have come to this if the voice
+hadn't guided him. Yes, he decided after a few moments, it was
+inevitable.
+
+But who was the voice? And what had he left out?
+
+"Let's see what a party looks like now," he said to the voice.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The party was a masquerade; the guests were all wearing their faces. To
+Anders, their motives, individually and collectively, were painfully
+apparent. Then his vision began to clear further.
+
+He saw that the people weren't truly individual. They were discontinuous
+lumps of flesh sharing a common vocabulary, yet not even truly
+discontinuous.
+
+The lumps of flesh were a part of the decoration of the room and almost
+indistinguishable from it. They were one with the lights, which lent
+their tiny vision. They were joined to the sounds they made, a few
+feeble tones out of the great possibility of sound. They blended into
+the walls.
+
+The kaleidoscopic view came so fast that Anders had trouble sorting his
+new impressions. He knew now that these people existed only as patterns,
+on the same basis as the sounds they made and the things they thought
+they saw.
+
+_Gestalts_, sifted out of the vast, unbearable real world.
+
+"Where's Judy?" a discontinuous lump of flesh asked him. This particular
+lump possessed enough nervous mannerisms to convince the other lumps of
+his reality. He wore a loud tie as further evidence.
+
+"She's sick," Anders said. The flesh quivered into an instant sympathy.
+Lines of formal mirth shifted to formal woe.
+
+"Hope it isn't anything serious," the vocal flesh remarked.
+
+"You're warmer," the voice said to Anders.
+
+Anders looked at the object in front of him.
+
+"She hasn't long to live," he stated.
+
+The flesh quivered. Stomach and intestines contracted in sympathetic
+fear. Eyes distended, mouth quivered.
+
+The loud tie remained the same.
+
+"My God! You don't mean it!"
+
+"What are you?" Anders asked quietly.
+
+"What do you mean?" the indignant flesh attached to the tie demanded.
+Serene within its reality, it gaped at Anders. Its mouth twitched,
+undeniable proof that it was real and sufficient. "You're drunk," it
+sneered.
+
+Anders laughed and left the party.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"There is still something you don't know," the voice said. "But you were
+hot! I could feel you near me."
+
+"What are you?" Anders asked again.
+
+"I don't know," the voice admitted. "I am a person. I am I. I am
+trapped."
+
+"So are we all," Anders said. He walked on asphalt, surrounded by heaps
+of concrete, silicates, aluminum and iron alloys. Shapeless, meaningless
+heaps that made up the _gestalt_ city.
+
+And then there were the imaginary lines of demarcation dividing city
+from city, the artificial boundaries of water and land.
+
+All ridiculous.
+
+"Give me a dime for some coffee, mister?" something asked, a thing
+indistinguishable from any other thing.
+
+"Old Bishop Berkeley would give a nonexistent dime to your nonexistent
+presence," Anders said gaily.
+
+"I'm really in a bad way," the voice whined, and Anders perceived that
+it was no more than a series of modulated vibrations.
+
+"Yes! Go on!" the voice commanded.
+
+"If you could spare me a quarter--" the vibrations said, with a deep
+pretense at meaning.
+
+No, what was there behind the senseless patterns? Flesh, mass. What was
+that? All made up of atoms.
+
+"I'm really hungry," the intricately arranged atoms muttered.
+
+All atoms. Conjoined. There were no true separations between atom and
+atom. Flesh was stone, stone was light. Anders looked at the masses of
+atoms that were pretending to solidity, meaning and reason.
+
+"Can't you help me?" a clump of atoms asked. But the clump was identical
+with all the other atoms. Once you ignored the superimposed patterns,
+you could see the atoms were random, scattered.
+
+"I don't believe in you," Anders said.
+
+The pile of atoms was gone.
+
+"Yes!" the voice cried. "Yes!"
+
+"I don't believe in any of it," Anders said. After all, what was an
+atom?
+
+"Go on!" the voice shouted. "You're hot! Go on!"
+
+What was an atom? An empty space surrounded by an empty space.
+
+Absurd!
+
+"Then it's all false!" Anders said. And he was alone under the stars.
+
+"That's right!" the voice within his head screamed. "Nothing!"
+
+But stars, Anders thought. How can one believe--
+
+The stars disappeared. Anders was in a gray nothingness, a void. There
+was nothing around him except shapeless gray.
+
+Where was the voice?
+
+Gone.
+
+Anders perceived the delusion behind the grayness, and then there was
+nothing at all.
+
+Complete nothingness, and himself within it.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Where was he? What did it mean? Anders' mind tried to add it up.
+
+Impossible. _That_ couldn't be true.
+
+Again the score was tabulated, but Anders' mind couldn't accept the
+total. In desperation, the overloaded mind erased the figures,
+eradicated the knowledge, erased itself.
+
+"Where am I?"
+
+In nothingness. Alone.
+
+Trapped.
+
+"Who am I?"
+
+A voice.
+
+The voice of Anders searched the nothingness, shouted, "Is there anyone
+here?"
+
+No answer.
+
+But there was someone. All directions were the same, yet moving along
+one he could make contact ... with someone. The voice of Anders reached
+back to someone who could save him, perhaps.
+
+"Save me," the voice said to Anders, lying fully dressed on his bed,
+except for his shoes and black bow tie.
+
+ --ROBERT SHECKLEY
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+ This etext was produced from _Galaxy Science Fiction_ June 1953.
+ Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
+ copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
+ typographical errors have been corrected without note.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Warm, by Robert Sheckley
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WARM ***
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