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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/32395-8.txt b/32395-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a983f67 --- /dev/null +++ b/32395-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,940 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of No Strings Attached, by Lester del Rey + +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: No Strings Attached + +Author: Lester del Rey + +Illustrator: Kelly Freas + +Release Date: May 16, 2010 [EBook #32395] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO STRINGS ATTACHED *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction June 1954. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + No Strings Attached + + + By Lester del Rey + + + Illustrated by Kelly Freas + + + _Poor Henry was an unhappy husband whose wife had a habit of + using bad clichès. Alféar was a genii who was, quite like + most humans, a creature of habit. Their murder compact was + absolutely perfect, with--_ + + * * * * * + + + + +Committing a perfect murder is a simple matter. Drive out some night +to a lonely road, find a single person walking along out of sight of +anyone else, offer him a ride, knife him, and go home. In such a +crime, there's no reason to connect killer and victim--no motive, no +clue, no suspect. + +To achieve the perfect murder of a man's own wife, however, is a +different matter. For obvious reasons, husbands are always high on the +suspect list. Who has a better reason for such a crime? + +Henry Aimsworth had been pondering the problem with more than academic +interest for some time. It wasn't that he hated his wife. He simply +couldn't stand the sight or sound of her; even thinking about her made +his flesh crawl. If she had been willing to give him a divorce, he'd +have been content to wish her all the happiness she was capable of +discovering. But Emma, unfortunately, was fond of being his wife; +perhaps she was even fond of him. Worse, she was too rigidly bound to +trite morality to give him grounds to sue. + +There was no hope of her straying. What had been good enough for her +mother was good enough for her, and saved all need of thinking; a +woman needed a husband, her place was in the home, marriage was +forever, and what would the neighbors think? Anyhow, she'd have had +difficulty being unfaithful, even if she tried. She'd been gaining +some ten pounds every year for the eleven years they had been married, +and she'd long since stopped worrying about taking care of her +appearance. + +He looked up at her now, letting the book drop to his lap. She sat +watching the television screen with a vacant look on her face, while +some comic went through a tired routine. If she enjoyed it, there was +no sign, though she spent half her life in front of the screen. Then +the comic went off, and dancers came on. She went back to darning a +pair of his socks, as seriously as if she didn't know that he had +always refused to wear the lumpy results. Her stockings had runs, and +she still wore the faded apron in which she'd cooked supper. + +He contrasted her with Shirley unconsciously, and shuddered. In the +year since Shirley Bates had come to work in his rare book store, he'd +done a lot of such shuddering, and never because of the slim blonde +warmth of his assistant. Since that hot day in August when they'd +closed the shop early and he'd suggested a ride in the country to cool +off, he and Shirley.... + +He was interrupted in his more pleasant thoughts by the crash of +scissors onto the floor, and his eyes focussed on the deepening folds +of fat as Emma bent to retrieve them. "Company coming," she said, +before he could think of anything to prevent the mistaken cliché. Then +she became aware that he was staring at her. "Did you take the garbage +out, Henry?" + +"Yes, dear," he answered woodenly. Then, because he knew it was coming +anyhow, he filled in the inevitable. "Cleanliness is next to +godliness." + +She nodded solemnly, and began putting aside her darning. "That's +finished. Mama always said a stitch in time saves nine. If you'd cut +your toenails, Henry...." + +He could feel his skin begin to tingle with irritation. But there was +no escape. If he went upstairs to his bedroom, she'd be up at once, +puttering about. If he went to the basement, she'd find the canned +food needed checking. A woman's place was with her husband, as she'd +repeatedly told him. Probably she couldn't stand her own company, +either. + +Then he remembered something he'd stored away. "There's a new picture +at the Metro," he said as quietly as he could. "Taylor's starred, I +think. I was going to take you, before this extra work came up." + +He could see her take the bait and nibble at it. She had some vague +crush left for Taylor. She stared at the television set, shifted her +bulk, and then shook her head reluctantly. "It'd be nice, Henry. But +going at night costs so much, and--well, a penny saved is a penny +earned." + +"Exactly. That's what I meant to say." He even relaxed enough to +overlook the platitude, now that there was some hope. "I saved the +price of lunch today. The nut who wanted _King in Yellow_ was so +tickled to get the copy finally, he insisted on treating. You can even +take a cab home afterwards." + +"That's nice. It'll probably rain, the way my bunion's been aching." +She considered it a second more, before cutting off the television. He +watched as she drew off the apron and went for her coat and hat, +making a pretense of dabbing on make-up. She might as well have worn +the apron, he decided, as she came over to kiss him a damp good-bye. + + * * * * * + +He considered calling Shirley, but her mother was visiting her, and +the conversation would have to be too guarded at her end. If he could +find some way of getting rid of Emma.... + +It wouldn't even be murder, really. More like destroying a +vegetable--certainly no worse than ending the life of a dumb cow to +make man's life more worth living. It wasn't as if she had anything to +live for or to contribute. It would almost be a kindness, since she +lived in a perpetual state of vague discontent and unhappiness, as if +somehow aware that she had lost herself. But unfortunately, the law +wouldn't look at it in such a light. + +He'd only been thinking actively of getting her out of the way since +August, however; and somehow, with time, there must be some fool-proof +scheme. There was that alcohol-injection system--but it required +someone who would drink pretty freely first, and Emma was a +teetotaler. Maybe, though, if he could get her to taking some of those +tonics for women.... + +He dropped it for the moment and turned back to the book. It was an +odd old volume he'd received with a shipment for appraisal. There was +no title or date, but the strange leather binding showed it was old. +Apparently it had been hand-set and printed on some tiny press by the +writer, whose name was omitted. It seemed to be a mixture of +instructions on how to work spells, conjure demons, and practice +witchcraft, along with bitter tirades against the group who had driven +the writer out and forced him, as he put it, to enter a compact with +the devil for to be a wizard, which is like to a male witch. Henry had +been reading it idly, slowly deciding the book was authentic enough, +however crazy the writer was. The book had no particular value as a +collector's item, but he could probably get a fine price from some of +the local cultists, particularly since there were constant promises in +it that the writer was going to give a surefire, positive and simple +recipe for conjuring up a demon without need of virgin blood, +graveyard earth or unicorn horn. + +He skimmed through it, looking for the formula. It turned up on the +fifth page from the end, and was everything the writer had claimed. A +five-sided figure drawn on the floor with ordinary candle wax, a pinch +of sugar inside, a bit of something bitter outside, two odd but simple +finger gestures, and a string of words in bad Latin and worse Greek. +There was a warning that it would work without the pentagram, sugar +and bitters, but at parlous risk to the conjurer without such +protection. + +He frowned. Too simple for the cultists, he realized--unless he could +somehow persuade them that the trick lay in some exact phrasing or +gesturing pattern which took experiment. They liked things made +difficult, so they'd have a good alibi for their faith when the +tricks failed. If he could show them in advance that it didn't work, +but hint that a good occultist might figure out the right rhythm, or +whatever.... + +He read it through again, trying to memorize the whole thing. The +gestures were--so--and the words--umm.... + +There was no flash of fire, no smell of sulphur, and no clap of +thunder. There was simply a tall creature with yellowish skin and +flashing yellow eyes standing in front of the television set. His head +was completely hairless, and he was so tall that he had to duck +slightly to keep from crashing into the ceiling. His features were too +sharp for any human face. There were no scales, however; his gold cape +and black tights were spangled, and he wore green shoes with turned up +toes. But generally, he wasn't bad looking. + +"Mind if I sit down?" the creature asked. He took Henry's assent for +granted and dropped into Emma's chair, folding his cape over one arm +and reaching for an apple on the side table. "Glad to see you're not +superstitious enough to keep me locked up in one of those damned +pentagrams. Drat it, I thought the last copy of that book was burned +and I was free. Your signal caught me in the middle of dinner." + + * * * * * + +Henry swallowed thickly, feeling the sweat trickle down his nose. The +book had warned against summoning the demon without the protective +devices! But the thing seemed peaceful enough for the moment. He +cleared his voice. "You mean--you mean magic works?" + +"Magic--shmagic!" the creature snorted. He jerked his thumb toward the +television. "To old Ephriam--the crackpot who wrote the book before he +went completely crazy--that set would have been more magic than I am. +I thought this age knew about dimensions, planes of vibrations, and +simultaneous universes. You humans always were a backward race, but +you seemed to be learning the basic facts. Hell, I suppose that means +you'll lay a geas on me, after I was hoping it was just an +experimental summons!" + +Henry puzzled it over, with some of the fright leaving him. The +scientific sounding terms somehow took some of the magic off the +appearance of the thing. "You mean those passes and words set up some +sort of vibrational pattern...." + +The hairless fellow snorted again, and began attacking the grapes. +"Bunk, Henry! Oh, my name's Alféar, by the way. I mean I was a fool. I +should have gone to my psychiatrist and taken the fifty year course, +as he advised. But I thought the books were all burned and nobody knew +the summons. So here I am, stuck with the habit. Because that's all it +is--a conditioned reflex. Pure compulsory behavior. I'm sensitized to +receive the summons, and when it comes, I teleport into your plane +just the way you pull your hand off a hot stove. You read the whole +book, I suppose? Yeah, just my luck. Then you know I'm stuck with any +job you give me--practically your slave. I can't even get back without +dismissal or finishing your task! That's what comes of saving money +by not going to my psychiatrist." + +He muttered unhappily, reaching for more grapes, while Henry began to +decide nothing was going to happen to him, at least physically. Souls +were things he wasn't quite sure of, but he couldn't see how just +talking to Alféar could endanger his. + +"Still," the creature said thoughtfully, "it could be worse. No +pentagram. I never did get mixed up with some of the foul odors and +messes some of my friends had to take. And I've developed quite a +taste for sugar; tobacco, too." He reached out and plucked a cigarette +out of Henry's pack, then a book of matches. He lighted it, inhaled, +and rubbed the flame out on his other palm. "Kind of weak tobacco, but +not bad. Any more questions while I smoke this? There's no free oxygen +where I come from, so I can't smoke there." + +"But if you demons answer such--such summons, why don't people know +about it now?" Henry asked. "I'd think more and more people would be +going in for this sort of thing. If the wizards were right all +along...." + +"They weren't, and we're not demons. It didn't get started until your +Middle Ages. And if it hadn't been for old Apalon...." Alféar lighted +another cigarette off the butt, which he proceeded to extinguish on +the tip of his sharp tongue. He scratched his head thoughtfully, and +then went on. + +"Apalon was studying your worship. You see, we've been studying your +race the way you study white rats, using lower races to explain our +own behavior. Anyhow, he got curious and figured out a way to +mentalize himself into your plane. He was sort of a practical joker, +you might say. So he picked a time when some half-crazy witch was +trying to call up the being you worship as Satan to make some kind of +a deal. Just as she finished, he popped up in front of her, spitting +out a bunch of phosphorus to make a nice smoke and fire effect, and +agreed with all her mumbo-jumbo about having to do what she wanted. +She wanted her heart fixed up then, so he showed her how to use +belladonna and went back, figuring it was a fine joke. + +"Only he made a mistake. There's something about moving between planes +that lowers the resistance to conditioning. Some of our people can +take five or six trips, but Apalon was one of those who was so +conditioning-prone that he had the habit fixed after the first trip. +The next time she did the rigamarole, back he popped. He had to dig up +gold for her, hypnotize a local baron into marrying her, and generally +keep on the constant _qui vive_, until she got sloppy and forgot the +pentagram she thought protected her and which he was conditioned to. +But after he disintegrated her, he found she'd passed on the word to a +couple of other witches. And he knew somebody at the Institute was +bound to find what a fool he'd made of himself. + +"So he began taking members aside and telling them about the trick of +getting into your world. Excellent chance for study. Have to humor the +humans by sticking to their superstitions, of course. One by one, +they went over on little trips. It wasn't hard to find some +superstitious dolt trying to summon something, since word had got +around in your world. One of us would pop up, and that spread the word +further. Anyhow, when Apalon was sure each member had made enough +trips to be conditioned, he'd tell him the sad truth, and swear him to +secrecy on penalty of being laughed out of the Institute. The old +blaggard wound up with all of us conditioned. There was quite a flurry +of witchcraft here, until we finally found a psychiatrist who could +break the habit for us. Even then, it was tough going. We'd never have +made it without the inquisitions and witch-burnings one of our +experimental sociologists managed to stir up." + +Alféar put out the third cigarette butt and stood up slowly. "Look, I +don't mind a chat now and then, but my wives are waiting dinner. How +about dismissing me?" + +"Umm." Henry had been thinking while he listened. It had sounded like +a reasonable explanation on the whole, except for the bit about +Apalon's disintegrating the witch. Apparently as long as a man wasn't +too unreasonable, there was a certain usefulness to having such +friends on call. "What about the price for your help? I mean--well, +about souls...." + +Alféar twitched his ears disgustedly. "What the deuce would I do with +your soul, Henry? Eat it? Wear it? Don't be a shnook!" + +"Well, then--well, I've heard about wishes that were granted, but they +all had a trick attached. If I asked for immortality, you'd give it, +say; but then I'd get some horrible disease and beg and plead for +death. Or ask for money, and then find the money was recorded as being +paid to a kidnapper, or something." + +"In the first place, I couldn't give you immortality," Alféar said, as +patiently as he apparently could. "Your metabolism's not like ours. In +the second place, why should I look for tainted money? It's enough +nuisance doing what you ask, without looking for tricks to pull. +Anyhow, I told you I half-enjoy visiting here. As long as you're +reasonable about it, I don't mind keeping my end of the compulsion +going. If you've got something to ask, ask away. There are no strings +attached." + +The creature seemed to be quite sincere. Henry considered it briefly, +staring at a large tinted picture of Emma, and took the plunge. +"Suppose I asked you to kill my wife for me--say by what looked like a +stroke, so nobody would blame me?" + +"That seems reasonable enough," Alféar agreed easily. "I could break a +few blood vessels inside her skull.... Sure, why not? Only the picture +in your mind is so distorted, I wouldn't know her. If she's like that, +why'd you ever marry her?" + +"Because she seemed different from other women, I guess," Henry +admitted. "When I tipped the canoe over, and I figured she'd be mad +because her dress was ruined, all she said was something about not +being sugar, so she wouldn't melt." He shuddered, remembering all the +times she'd said it since. "You won't have any trouble. Look, can you +really read my mind?" + +"Naturally. But it's all disorganized." + +"Umm. Well." It gave him a queasy feeling to think of anyone seeing +his secret thoughts. But this fellow apparently didn't work by human +attitudes, anyhow. He groped about, and then smiled grimly. "All +right, then. You can tell I think of her as my wife. And just to make +sure, she'll be sure to say something about early to bed and early to +rise; she says that every single damned night, Alféar! She never +misses." + +Alféar grunted. "Sounds more reasonable every minute, Henry. All +right, when your wife says that, I pop out and give her a stroke that +will kill her. How about dismissing me now?" + +"No strings?" Henry asked. He watched carefully as Alféar nodded +assent, and he could see no sign of cunning or trickery. He caught his +breath, nodded, and closed his eyes. Seeing something vanish was +nothing he wanted. "Dismissed." + + * * * * * + +The fruit was still gone when he opened his eyes, but there was no +other sign of the thing. He found some fruit still in the refrigerator +and restocked the bowl. Then he closed the strange book and put it +away. He'd have to buy it himself, and burn it to make sure no one +else found the trick, of course. For a moment, uneasiness pricked at +him. Yet he was sure Alféar hadn't been lying, and the story the +creature had told made more sense than the older superstitions. Henry +adjusted his mind to having a well-conditioned demon on tap and then +began the harder job of bracing himself for Emma's incoherent but +detailed account of the movie when she came back. + +Unfortunately, it was a more complicated plot than usual, and she went +on and on, from the moment she entered the door. He tried to close his +ears, but he'd never succeeded in that. He yawned, and she yawned +back, but went on until the last final morsel was covered for the +second or third time. + +"He was wonderful," she finally concluded. "Just wonderful. Only I +wished you'd come with me. You'd have liked it. Henry, did you take +the garbage out?" + +"Yes, dear," he answered. "Hours ago." + +He yawned elaborately again. She mumbled something about having to +keep the kitchen clean because cleanliness was next to godliness, but +her automatic yawn muffled the words. Then she glanced at the clock. +"Heavens, it's almost one! And early to bed and early to rise...." + +Henry jerked his eyes away, just as he caught the first glimpse of +Alféar popping into existence beside her. He heard the beginning of a +shriek change to a horrible gargling and then become a dying moan. +Something soft and heavy hit the floor with a dull thud. Henry turned +around slowly. + +"Dead," Alféar said calmly, rubbing one of his fingers. "This business +of getting just one finger through the planes into her head cuts off +the circulation. There, that's better. Satisfied?" + +Henry dropped beside the corpse. She was dead, according to the mirror +test, and there wasn't a mark on her. He stared at the puffy, relaxed +features; he'd expected an expression of horror, but she seemed simply +asleep. His initial feeling of pity and contrition vanished; after +all, it had been quick and nearly painless. Now he was free! + +"Thanks, Alféar," he said. "It's fine--fine. Do I dismiss you now?" + +"No need this time. I'm free as soon as the job's done. Unless you'd +like to talk awhile...." + +Henry shook his head quickly. He had to telephone a doctor. Then he +could call Shirley--her mother would be gone by now. "Not now. Maybe +I'll summon you sometime for a smoke or something. But not now!" + +"Okay," Alféar said, and vanished. Surprisingly, seeing him disappear +wasn't unpleasant, after all. He just wasn't there. + +Waiting for the doctor was the worst part of it. All the legends Henry +knew ran through his mind. Alféar could have given her a stroke and +then added some violent poison that would show up in an autopsy. He +could be sitting wherever he was, chuckling because Henry hadn't +restricted his wish enough to be safe. Or any of a hundred things +could happen. There was the first witch, who had thought she had +Apalon under control, only to be turned to dust. + +But the doctor took it calmly enough. "Stroke, all right," he decided. +"I warned her last year that she was putting on too much weight and +getting high blood pressure. Too bad, Mr. Aimsworth, but there was +nothing you could do. I'll turn in a certificate. Want me to contact a +mortician for you?" + +Henry nodded, trying to appear properly grief-stricken. "I--I'd +appreciate it." + +"Too late now," the doctor said. "But I'll be glad to send Mr. Glazier +around in the morning." He pulled the sheet up over Emma's body, +leaving it on the backroom couch to which they had carried it. "You'd +better go to a hotel for the night. And I'll give you something that +will make you sleep." + +"I'd rather not," Henry said quickly. "I mean, I'd feel better here. +You know...." + +"Certainly, certainly." The doctor nodded sympathetically, but as if +it were an old story to him. He left the pills with instructions, said +the proper things again, and finally went out. + + * * * * * + +Shirley's voice was sleepy and cross when she answered, but it grew +alert as soon as he told her about Emma's stroke. He was almost +beginning to believe the simple version of the story himself. + +"Poor Henry," she murmured. Her voice sharpened again. "It _was_ a +stroke? The doctor was sure?" + +"Positive," he assured her, cursing himself for having let her guess +some of the thoughts that had been on his mind. "The doctor said she'd +had hypertension and such before." + +She considered it a second, and then a faint laugh sounded. "Then I +guess there's no use in crying over spilled milk, is there, Henry? If +it had to happen, it just had to. And I mean, it's like fate, +almost!" + +"It _is_ fate!" he agreed happily. Then he dropped his voice. "And now +I'm all alone here, baby lamb, and I had to call you up...." + +She caught on at once, as she always did. "You can't stay there now! +It's so morbid. Henry, you come right over here!" + +Demons, Henry thought as he drove the car through the quiet +residential streets toward her apartment, had their uses. They were a +much maligned breed. Probably the people who had summoned them before +had been ignorant, stupid people; they'd messed up their chances and +brought trouble on themselves by not finding out the facts and putting +it all down to superstitious magic. The fellows were almost +people--maybe even a little superior to humans. If a man would just +try to understand them, they could help him, and with no danger at +all. + +"No strings attached," he said to himself, and then chuckled softly. +It fitted perfectly; now there were no strings attached to him. Emma +was at peace, and he was free. He'd have to wait a few months to marry +Shirley legally, of course. But already, she was as good as his wife. +And if he played up the shock angle just enough, this could be a +wonderful evening again.... + +Shirley was unusually lovely when she met him at the door. Her soft +golden hair made a halo for her face--a face that said she'd already +anticipated his ideas, and had decided he was a man who needed +sympathy and understanding for what had happened. + +There was even time for the idea that he was free to be brought up, +tentatively at first, and then eventually as a matter of course. And +the plans expanded as he considered them. There was no need to worry +about things now. The quiet marriage became a trip around the world as +he confessed to having money that no one knew about. They could close +the shop. He could leave town almost at once, and she could follow +later. Nobody would know, and they wouldn't have to wait to avoid any +scandal. They could be married in two weeks! + +Henry was just realizing the values of a friendly demon. With proper +handling, a lot of purely friendly summoning, and a reasonable +attitude, there was no reason why Alféar couldn't provide him with +every worldly comfort to share with Shirley. + +He caught her to him again. "My own little wife! That's what you are, +lambkins! What's a mere piece of paper? I already think of you as my +wife. I feel you're my wife. That's what counts, isn't it?" + +"That's all that counts," she agreed with a warmth that set fire to +his blood. Then she gasped. "Henry, darling, it's getting light +already! You'll have to get back. What will the neighbors say if they +see you coming from here now?" + +He tore away reluctantly, swearing at the neighbors. But she was +right, of course. He had to go back and take the sleeping medicine to +be ready for the arrival of the mortician in the morning. + +"It's still early," he protested, automatically trying to squeeze out +a few more minutes. "Nobody's up yet." + +"I'll heat up the coffee, and then you'll have to go," Shirley said +firmly, heading for the kitchen. "Plenty of people get up early around +here. And besides, you need some sleep. Early to bed and early to +rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and--" + +From the kitchen came the beginning of a shriek. It changed to a +horrible gasp, and died away in a failing moan. There was the sound of +a body hitting the floor. + +Alféar stood over Shirley's body, rubbing one finger tenderly. His +ears twitched uncertainly as he studied Henry's horror-frozen face. "I +told you," he said. "I warned you some of us get conditioned to a +habit the first time. And you thought of her as your wife and she +said...." + +Abruptly, he vanished. Henry's screams were the only sound in the +apartment. + +THE END + + * * * * * + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of No Strings Attached, by Lester del Rey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO STRINGS ATTACHED *** + +***** This file should be named 32395-8.txt or 32395-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/9/32395/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, 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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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/32395-8.zip b/32395-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..332cf23 --- /dev/null +++ b/32395-8.zip diff --git a/32395-h.zip b/32395-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..13c7afc --- /dev/null +++ b/32395-h.zip diff --git a/32395-h/32395-h.htm b/32395-h/32395-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa5f2d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/32395-h/32395-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1036 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of No Strings Attached, by Lester Del Rey + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.img1 {border:solid 1px; } + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of No Strings Attached, by Lester del Rey + +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: No Strings Attached + +Author: Lester del Rey + +Illustrator: Kelly Freas + +Release Date: May 16, 2010 [EBook #32395] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO STRINGS ATTACHED *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction June 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="572" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="400" height="740" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p> </p> + +<h1>No Strings Attached</h1> + +<p> </p> + +<h2>By Lester del Rey</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3>Illustrated by Kelly Freas</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<i>Poor Henry was an unhappy husband whose wife had a habit of +using bad clichès. Alféar was a genii who was, quite like +most humans, a creature of habit. Their murder compact was +absolutely perfect, with—</i></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_c.jpg" alt="C" width="22" height="40" /></div> +<p>ommitting a perfect murder is a simple matter. Drive out some night +to a lonely road, find a single person walking along out of sight of +anyone else, offer him a ride, knife him, and go home. In such a +crime, there's no reason to connect killer and victim—no motive, no +clue, no suspect.</p> + +<p>To achieve the perfect murder of a man's own wife, however, is a +different matter. For obvious reasons, husbands are always high on the +suspect list. Who has a better reason for such a crime?</p> + +<p>Henry Aimsworth had been pondering the problem with more than academic +interest for some time. It wasn't that he hated his wife. He simply +couldn't stand the sight or sound of her; even thinking about her made +his flesh crawl. If she had been willing to give him a divorce, he'd +have been content to wish her all the happiness she was capable of +discovering. But Emma, unfortunately, was fond of being his wife; +perhaps she was even fond of him. Worse, she was too rigidly bound to +trite morality to give him grounds to sue.</p> + +<p>There was no hope of her straying. What had been good enough for her +mother was good enough for her, and saved all need of thinking; a +woman needed a husband, her place was in the home, marriage was +forever, and what would the neighbors think? Anyhow, she'd have had +difficulty being unfaithful, even if she tried. She'd been gaining +some ten pounds every year for the eleven years they had been married, +and she'd long since stopped worrying about taking care of her +appearance.</p> + +<p>He looked up at her now, letting the book drop to his lap. She sat +watching the television screen with a vacant look on her face, while +some comic went through a tired routine. If she enjoyed it, there was +no sign, though she spent half her life in front of the screen. Then +the comic went off, and dancers came on. She went back to darning a +pair of his socks, as seriously as if she didn't know that he had +always refused to wear the lumpy results. Her stockings had runs, and +she still wore the faded apron in which she'd cooked supper.</p> + +<p>He contrasted her with Shirley unconsciously, and shuddered. In the +year since Shirley Bates had come to work in his rare book store, he'd +done a lot of such shuddering, and never because of the slim blonde +warmth of his assistant. Since that hot day in August when they'd +closed the shop early and he'd suggested a ride in the country to cool +off, he and Shirley....</p> + +<p>He was interrupted in his more pleasant thoughts by the crash of +scissors onto the floor, and his eyes focussed on the deepening folds +of fat as Emma bent to retrieve them. "Company coming," she said, +before he could think of anything to prevent the mistaken cliché. Then +she became aware that he was staring at her. "Did you take the garbage +out, Henry?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear," he answered woodenly. Then, because he knew it was coming +anyhow, he filled in the inevitable. "Cleanliness is next to +godliness."</p> + +<p>She nodded solemnly, and began putting aside her darning. "That's +finished. Mama always said a stitch in time saves nine. If you'd cut +your toenails, Henry...."</p> + +<p>He could feel his skin begin to tingle with irritation. But there was +no escape. If he went upstairs to his bedroom, she'd be up at once, +puttering about. If he went to the basement, she'd find the canned +food needed checking. A woman's place was with her husband, as she'd +repeatedly told him. Probably she couldn't stand her own company, +either.</p> + +<p>Then he remembered something he'd stored away. "There's a new picture +at the Metro," he said as quietly as he could. "Taylor's starred, I +think. I was going to take you, before this extra work came up."</p> + +<p>He could see her take the bait and nibble at it. She had some vague +crush left for Taylor. She stared at the television set, shifted her +bulk, and then shook her head reluctantly. "It'd be nice, Henry. But +going at night costs so much, and—well, a penny saved is a penny +earned."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. That's what I meant to say." He even relaxed enough to +overlook the platitude, now that there was some hope. "I saved the +price of lunch today. The nut who wanted <i>King in Yellow</i> was so +tickled to get the copy finally, he insisted on treating. You can even +take a cab home afterwards."</p> + +<p>"That's nice. It'll probably rain, the way my bunion's been aching." +She considered it a second more, before cutting off the television. He +watched as she drew off the apron and went for her coat and hat, +making a pretense of dabbing on make-up. She might as well have worn +the apron, he decided, as she came over to kiss him a damp good-bye.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="32" height="40" /></div> +<p>e considered calling Shirley, but her mother was visiting her, and +the conversation would have to be too guarded at her end. If he could +find some way of getting rid of Emma....</p> + +<p>It wouldn't even be murder, really. More like destroying a +vegetable—certainly no worse than ending the life of a dumb cow to +make man's life more worth living. It wasn't as if she had anything to +live for or to contribute. It would almost be a kindness, since she +lived in a perpetual state of vague discontent and unhappiness, as if +somehow aware that she had lost herself. But unfortunately, the law +wouldn't look at it in such a light.</p> + +<p>He'd only been thinking actively of getting her out of the way since +August, however; and somehow, with time, there must be some fool-proof +scheme. There was that alcohol-injection system—but it required +someone who would drink pretty freely first, and Emma was a +teetotaler. Maybe, though, if he could get her to taking some of those +tonics for women....</p> + +<p>He dropped it for the moment and turned back to the book. It was an +odd old volume he'd received with a shipment for appraisal. There was +no title or date, but the strange leather binding showed it was old. +Apparently it had been hand-set and printed on some tiny press by the +writer, whose name was omitted. It seemed to be a mixture of +instructions on how to work spells, conjure demons, and practice +witchcraft, along with bitter tirades against the group who had driven +the writer out and forced him, as he put it, to enter a compact with +the devil for to be a wizard, which is like to a male witch. Henry had +been reading it idly, slowly deciding the book was authentic enough, +however crazy the writer was. The book had no particular value as a +collector's item, but he could probably get a fine price from some of +the local cultists, particularly since there were constant promises in +it that the writer was going to give a surefire, positive and simple +recipe for conjuring up a demon without need of virgin blood, +graveyard earth or unicorn horn.</p> + +<p>He skimmed through it, looking for the formula. It turned up on the +fifth page from the end, and was everything the writer had claimed. A +five-sided figure drawn on the floor with ordinary candle wax, a pinch +of sugar inside, a bit of something bitter outside, two odd but simple +finger gestures, and a string of words in bad Latin and worse Greek. +There was a warning that it would work without the pentagram, sugar +and bitters, but at parlous risk to the conjurer without such +protection.</p> + +<p>He frowned. Too simple for the cultists, he realized—unless he could +somehow persuade them that the trick lay in some exact phrasing or +gesturing pattern which took experiment. They liked things made +difficult, so they'd have a good alibi for their faith when the +tricks failed. If he could show them in advance that it didn't work, +but hint that a good occultist might figure out the right rhythm, or +whatever....</p> + +<p>He read it through again, trying to memorize the whole thing. The +gestures were—so—and the words—umm....</p> + +<p>There was no flash of fire, no smell of sulphur, and no clap of +thunder. There was simply a tall creature with yellowish skin and +flashing yellow eyes standing in front of the television set. His head +was completely hairless, and he was so tall that he had to duck +slightly to keep from crashing into the ceiling. His features were too +sharp for any human face. There were no scales, however; his gold cape +and black tights were spangled, and he wore green shoes with turned up +toes. But generally, he wasn't bad looking.</p> + +<p>"Mind if I sit down?" the creature asked. He took Henry's assent for +granted and dropped into Emma's chair, folding his cape over one arm +and reaching for an apple on the side table. "Glad to see you're not +superstitious enough to keep me locked up in one of those damned +pentagrams. Drat it, I thought the last copy of that book was burned +and I was free. Your signal caught me in the middle of dinner."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="32" height="40" /></div> +<p>enry swallowed thickly, feeling the sweat trickle down his nose. The +book had warned against summoning the demon without the protective +devices! But the thing seemed peaceful enough for the moment. He +cleared his voice. "You mean—you mean magic works?"</p> + +<p>"Magic—shmagic!" the creature snorted. He jerked his thumb toward the +television. "To old Ephriam—the crackpot who wrote the book before he +went completely crazy—that set would have been more magic than I am. +I thought this age knew about dimensions, planes of vibrations, and +simultaneous universes. You humans always were a backward race, but +you seemed to be learning the basic facts. Hell, I suppose that means +you'll lay a geas on me, after I was hoping it was just an +experimental summons!"</p> + +<p>Henry puzzled it over, with some of the fright leaving him. The +scientific sounding terms somehow took some of the magic off the +appearance of the thing. "You mean those passes and words set up some +sort of vibrational pattern...."</p> + +<p>The hairless fellow snorted again, and began attacking the grapes. +"Bunk, Henry! Oh, my name's Alféar, by the way. I mean I was a fool. I +should have gone to my psychiatrist and taken the fifty year course, +as he advised. But I thought the books were all burned and nobody knew +the summons. So here I am, stuck with the habit. Because that's all it +is—a conditioned reflex. Pure compulsory behavior. I'm sensitized to +receive the summons, and when it comes, I teleport into your plane +just the way you pull your hand off a hot stove. You read the whole +book, I suppose? Yeah, just my luck. Then you know I'm stuck with any +job you give me—practically your slave. I can't even get back without +dismissal or finishing your task! That's what comes of saving money +by not going to my psychiatrist."</p> + +<p>He muttered unhappily, reaching for more grapes, while Henry began to +decide nothing was going to happen to him, at least physically. Souls +were things he wasn't quite sure of, but he couldn't see how just +talking to Alféar could endanger his.</p> + +<p>"Still," the creature said thoughtfully, "it could be worse. No +pentagram. I never did get mixed up with some of the foul odors and +messes some of my friends had to take. And I've developed quite a +taste for sugar; tobacco, too." He reached out and plucked a cigarette +out of Henry's pack, then a book of matches. He lighted it, inhaled, +and rubbed the flame out on his other palm. "Kind of weak tobacco, but +not bad. Any more questions while I smoke this? There's no free oxygen +where I come from, so I can't smoke there."</p> + +<p>"But if you demons answer such—such summons, why don't people know +about it now?" Henry asked. "I'd think more and more people would be +going in for this sort of thing. If the wizards were right all +along...."</p> + +<p>"They weren't, and we're not demons. It didn't get started until your +Middle Ages. And if it hadn't been for old Apalon...." Alféar lighted +another cigarette off the butt, which he proceeded to extinguish on +the tip of his sharp tongue. He scratched his head thoughtfully, and +then went on.</p> + +<p>"Apalon was studying your worship. You see, we've been studying your +race the way you study white rats, using lower races to explain our +own behavior. Anyhow, he got curious and figured out a way to +mentalize himself into your plane. He was sort of a practical joker, +you might say. So he picked a time when some half-crazy witch was +trying to call up the being you worship as Satan to make some kind of +a deal. Just as she finished, he popped up in front of her, spitting +out a bunch of phosphorus to make a nice smoke and fire effect, and +agreed with all her mumbo-jumbo about having to do what she wanted. +She wanted her heart fixed up then, so he showed her how to use +belladonna and went back, figuring it was a fine joke.</p> + +<p>"Only he made a mistake. There's something about moving between planes +that lowers the resistance to conditioning. Some of our people can +take five or six trips, but Apalon was one of those who was so +conditioning-prone that he had the habit fixed after the first trip. +The next time she did the rigamarole, back he popped. He had to dig up +gold for her, hypnotize a local baron into marrying her, and generally +keep on the constant <i>qui vive</i>, until she got sloppy and forgot the +pentagram she thought protected her and which he was conditioned to. +But after he disintegrated her, he found she'd passed on the word to a +couple of other witches. And he knew somebody at the Institute was +bound to find what a fool he'd made of himself.</p> + +<p>"So he began taking members aside and telling them about the trick of +getting into your world. Excellent chance for study. Have to humor the +humans by sticking to their superstitions, of course. One by one, +they went over on little trips. It wasn't hard to find some +superstitious dolt trying to summon something, since word had got +around in your world. One of us would pop up, and that spread the word +further. Anyhow, when Apalon was sure each member had made enough +trips to be conditioned, he'd tell him the sad truth, and swear him to +secrecy on penalty of being laughed out of the Institute. The old +blaggard wound up with all of us conditioned. There was quite a flurry +of witchcraft here, until we finally found a psychiatrist who could +break the habit for us. Even then, it was tough going. We'd never have +made it without the inquisitions and witch-burnings one of our +experimental sociologists managed to stir up."</p> + +<p>Alféar put out the third cigarette butt and stood up slowly. "Look, I +don't mind a chat now and then, but my wives are waiting dinner. How +about dismissing me?"</p> + +<p>"Umm." Henry had been thinking while he listened. It had sounded like +a reasonable explanation on the whole, except for the bit about +Apalon's disintegrating the witch. Apparently as long as a man wasn't +too unreasonable, there was a certain usefulness to having such +friends on call. "What about the price for your help? I mean—well, +about souls...."</p> + +<p>Alféar twitched his ears disgustedly. "What the deuce would I do with +your soul, Henry? Eat it? Wear it? Don't be a shnook!"</p> + +<p>"Well, then—well, I've heard about wishes that were granted, but they +all had a trick attached. If I asked for immortality, you'd give it, +say; but then I'd get some horrible disease and beg and plead for +death. Or ask for money, and then find the money was recorded as being +paid to a kidnapper, or something."</p> + +<p>"In the first place, I couldn't give you immortality," Alféar said, as +patiently as he apparently could. "Your metabolism's not like ours. In +the second place, why should I look for tainted money? It's enough +nuisance doing what you ask, without looking for tricks to pull. +Anyhow, I told you I half-enjoy visiting here. As long as you're +reasonable about it, I don't mind keeping my end of the compulsion +going. If you've got something to ask, ask away. There are no strings +attached."</p> + +<p>The creature seemed to be quite sincere. Henry considered it briefly, +staring at a large tinted picture of Emma, and took the plunge. +"Suppose I asked you to kill my wife for me—say by what looked like a +stroke, so nobody would blame me?"</p> + +<p>"That seems reasonable enough," Alféar agreed easily. "I could break a +few blood vessels inside her skull.... Sure, why not? Only the picture +in your mind is so distorted, I wouldn't know her. If she's like that, +why'd you ever marry her?"</p> + +<p>"Because she seemed different from other women, I guess," Henry +admitted. "When I tipped the canoe over, and I figured she'd be mad +because her dress was ruined, all she said was something about not +being sugar, so she wouldn't melt." He shuddered, remembering all the +times she'd said it since. "You won't have any trouble. Look, can you +really read my mind?"</p> + +<p>"Naturally. But it's all disorganized."</p> + +<p>"Umm. Well." It gave him a queasy feeling to think of anyone seeing +his secret thoughts. But this fellow apparently didn't work by human +attitudes, anyhow. He groped about, and then smiled grimly. "All +right, then. You can tell I think of her as my wife. And just to make +sure, she'll be sure to say something about early to bed and early to +rise; she says that every single damned night, Alféar! She never +misses."</p> + +<p>Alféar grunted. "Sounds more reasonable every minute, Henry. All +right, when your wife says that, I pop out and give her a stroke that +will kill her. How about dismissing me now?"</p> + +<p>"No strings?" Henry asked. He watched carefully as Alféar nodded +assent, and he could see no sign of cunning or trickery. He caught his +breath, nodded, and closed his eyes. Seeing something vanish was +nothing he wanted. "Dismissed."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="29" height="40" /></div> +<p>he fruit was still gone when he opened his eyes, but there was no +other sign of the thing. He found some fruit still in the refrigerator +and restocked the bowl. Then he closed the strange book and put it +away. He'd have to buy it himself, and burn it to make sure no one +else found the trick, of course. For a moment, uneasiness pricked at +him. Yet he was sure Alféar hadn't been lying, and the story the +creature had told made more sense than the older superstitions. Henry +adjusted his mind to having a well-conditioned demon on tap and then +began the harder job of bracing himself for Emma's incoherent but +detailed account of the movie when she came back.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, it was a more complicated plot than usual, and she went +on and on, from the moment she entered the door. He tried to close his +ears, but he'd never succeeded in that. He yawned, and she yawned +back, but went on until the last final morsel was covered for the +second or third time.</p> + +<p>"He was wonderful," she finally concluded. "Just wonderful. Only I +wished you'd come with me. You'd have liked it. Henry, did you take +the garbage out?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear," he answered. "Hours ago."</p> + +<p>He yawned elaborately again. She mumbled something about having to +keep the kitchen clean because cleanliness was next to godliness, but +her automatic yawn muffled the words. Then she glanced at the clock. +"Heavens, it's almost one! And early to bed and early to rise...."</p> + +<p>Henry jerked his eyes away, just as he caught the first glimpse of +Alféar popping into existence beside her. He heard the beginning of a +shriek change to a horrible gargling and then become a dying moan. +Something soft and heavy hit the floor with a dull thud. Henry turned +around slowly.</p> + +<p>"Dead," Alféar said calmly, rubbing one of his fingers. "This business +of getting just one finger through the planes into her head cuts off +the circulation. There, that's better. Satisfied?"</p> + +<p>Henry dropped beside the corpse. She was dead, according to the mirror +test, and there wasn't a mark on her. He stared at the puffy, relaxed +features; he'd expected an expression of horror, but she seemed simply +asleep. His initial feeling of pity and contrition vanished; after +all, it had been quick and nearly painless. Now he was free!</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Alféar," he said. "It's fine—fine. Do I dismiss you now?"</p> + +<p>"No need this time. I'm free as soon as the job's done. Unless you'd +like to talk awhile...."</p> + +<p>Henry shook his head quickly. He had to telephone a doctor. Then he +could call Shirley—her mother would be gone by now. "Not now. Maybe +I'll summon you sometime for a smoke or something. But not now!"</p> + +<p>"Okay," Alféar said, and vanished. Surprisingly, seeing him disappear +wasn't unpleasant, after all. He just wasn't there.</p> + +<p>Waiting for the doctor was the worst part of it. All the legends Henry +knew ran through his mind. Alféar could have given her a stroke and +then added some violent poison that would show up in an autopsy. He +could be sitting wherever he was, chuckling because Henry hadn't +restricted his wish enough to be safe. Or any of a hundred things +could happen. There was the first witch, who had thought she had +Apalon under control, only to be turned to dust.</p> + +<p>But the doctor took it calmly enough. "Stroke, all right," he decided. +"I warned her last year that she was putting on too much weight and +getting high blood pressure. Too bad, Mr. Aimsworth, but there was +nothing you could do. I'll turn in a certificate. Want me to contact a +mortician for you?"</p> + +<p>Henry nodded, trying to appear properly grief-stricken. "I—I'd +appreciate it."</p> + +<p>"Too late now," the doctor said. "But I'll be glad to send Mr. Glazier +around in the morning." He pulled the sheet up over Emma's body, +leaving it on the backroom couch to which they had carried it. "You'd +better go to a hotel for the night. And I'll give you something that +will make you sleep."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather not," Henry said quickly. "I mean, I'd feel better here. +You know...."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, certainly." The doctor nodded sympathetically, but as if +it were an old story to him. He left the pills with instructions, said +the proper things again, and finally went out.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="23" height="40" /></div> +<p>hirley's voice was sleepy and cross when she answered, but it grew +alert as soon as he told her about Emma's stroke. He was almost +beginning to believe the simple version of the story himself.</p> + +<p>"Poor Henry," she murmured. Her voice sharpened again. "It <i>was</i> a +stroke? The doctor was sure?"</p> + +<p>"Positive," he assured her, cursing himself for having let her guess +some of the thoughts that had been on his mind. "The doctor said she'd +had hypertension and such before."</p> + +<p>She considered it a second, and then a faint laugh sounded. "Then I +guess there's no use in crying over spilled milk, is there, Henry? If +it had to happen, it just had to. And I mean, it's like fate, +almost!"</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> fate!" he agreed happily. Then he dropped his voice. "And now +I'm all alone here, baby lamb, and I had to call you up...."</p> + +<p>She caught on at once, as she always did. "You can't stay there now! +It's so morbid. Henry, you come right over here!"</p> + +<p>Demons, Henry thought as he drove the car through the quiet +residential streets toward her apartment, had their uses. They were a +much maligned breed. Probably the people who had summoned them before +had been ignorant, stupid people; they'd messed up their chances and +brought trouble on themselves by not finding out the facts and putting +it all down to superstitious magic. The fellows were almost +people—maybe even a little superior to humans. If a man would just +try to understand them, they could help him, and with no danger at +all.</p> + +<p>"No strings attached," he said to himself, and then chuckled softly. +It fitted perfectly; now there were no strings attached to him. Emma +was at peace, and he was free. He'd have to wait a few months to marry +Shirley legally, of course. But already, she was as good as his wife. +And if he played up the shock angle just enough, this could be a +wonderful evening again....</p> + +<p>Shirley was unusually lovely when she met him at the door. Her soft +golden hair made a halo for her face—a face that said she'd already +anticipated his ideas, and had decided he was a man who needed +sympathy and understanding for what had happened.</p> + +<p>There was even time for the idea that he was free to be brought up, +tentatively at first, and then eventually as a matter of course. And +the plans expanded as he considered them. There was no need to worry +about things now. The quiet marriage became a trip around the world as +he confessed to having money that no one knew about. They could close +the shop. He could leave town almost at once, and she could follow +later. Nobody would know, and they wouldn't have to wait to avoid any +scandal. They could be married in two weeks!</p> + +<p>Henry was just realizing the values of a friendly demon. With proper +handling, a lot of purely friendly summoning, and a reasonable +attitude, there was no reason why Alféar couldn't provide him with +every worldly comfort to share with Shirley.</p> + +<p>He caught her to him again. "My own little wife! That's what you are, +lambkins! What's a mere piece of paper? I already think of you as my +wife. I feel you're my wife. That's what counts, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"That's all that counts," she agreed with a warmth that set fire to +his blood. Then she gasped. "Henry, darling, it's getting light +already! You'll have to get back. What will the neighbors say if they +see you coming from here now?"</p> + +<p>He tore away reluctantly, swearing at the neighbors. But she was +right, of course. He had to go back and take the sleeping medicine to +be ready for the arrival of the mortician in the morning.</p> + +<p>"It's still early," he protested, automatically trying to squeeze out +a few more minutes. "Nobody's up yet."</p> + +<p>"I'll heat up the coffee, and then you'll have to go," Shirley said +firmly, heading for the kitchen. "Plenty of people get up early around +here. And besides, you need some sleep. Early to bed and early to +rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and—"</p> + +<p>From the kitchen came the beginning of a shriek. It changed to a +horrible gasp, and died away in a failing moan. There was the sound of +a body hitting the floor.</p> + +<p>Alféar stood over Shirley's body, rubbing one finger tenderly. His +ears twitched uncertainly as he studied Henry's horror-frozen face. "I +told you," he said. "I warned you some of us get conditioned to a +habit the first time. And you thought of her as your wife and she +said...."</p> + +<p>Abruptly, he vanished. Henry's screams were the only sound in the +apartment.</p> + +<h3>THE END +</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of No Strings Attached, by Lester del Rey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO STRINGS ATTACHED *** + +***** This file should be named 32395-h.htm or 32395-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/9/32395/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, 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: No Strings Attached + +Author: Lester del Rey + +Illustrator: Kelly Freas + +Release Date: May 16, 2010 [EBook #32395] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO STRINGS ATTACHED *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science Fiction June 1954. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + No Strings Attached + + + By Lester del Rey + + + Illustrated by Kelly Freas + + + _Poor Henry was an unhappy husband whose wife had a habit of + using bad cliches. Alfear was a genii who was, quite like + most humans, a creature of habit. Their murder compact was + absolutely perfect, with--_ + + * * * * * + + + + +Committing a perfect murder is a simple matter. Drive out some night +to a lonely road, find a single person walking along out of sight of +anyone else, offer him a ride, knife him, and go home. In such a +crime, there's no reason to connect killer and victim--no motive, no +clue, no suspect. + +To achieve the perfect murder of a man's own wife, however, is a +different matter. For obvious reasons, husbands are always high on the +suspect list. Who has a better reason for such a crime? + +Henry Aimsworth had been pondering the problem with more than academic +interest for some time. It wasn't that he hated his wife. He simply +couldn't stand the sight or sound of her; even thinking about her made +his flesh crawl. If she had been willing to give him a divorce, he'd +have been content to wish her all the happiness she was capable of +discovering. But Emma, unfortunately, was fond of being his wife; +perhaps she was even fond of him. Worse, she was too rigidly bound to +trite morality to give him grounds to sue. + +There was no hope of her straying. What had been good enough for her +mother was good enough for her, and saved all need of thinking; a +woman needed a husband, her place was in the home, marriage was +forever, and what would the neighbors think? Anyhow, she'd have had +difficulty being unfaithful, even if she tried. She'd been gaining +some ten pounds every year for the eleven years they had been married, +and she'd long since stopped worrying about taking care of her +appearance. + +He looked up at her now, letting the book drop to his lap. She sat +watching the television screen with a vacant look on her face, while +some comic went through a tired routine. If she enjoyed it, there was +no sign, though she spent half her life in front of the screen. Then +the comic went off, and dancers came on. She went back to darning a +pair of his socks, as seriously as if she didn't know that he had +always refused to wear the lumpy results. Her stockings had runs, and +she still wore the faded apron in which she'd cooked supper. + +He contrasted her with Shirley unconsciously, and shuddered. In the +year since Shirley Bates had come to work in his rare book store, he'd +done a lot of such shuddering, and never because of the slim blonde +warmth of his assistant. Since that hot day in August when they'd +closed the shop early and he'd suggested a ride in the country to cool +off, he and Shirley.... + +He was interrupted in his more pleasant thoughts by the crash of +scissors onto the floor, and his eyes focussed on the deepening folds +of fat as Emma bent to retrieve them. "Company coming," she said, +before he could think of anything to prevent the mistaken cliche. Then +she became aware that he was staring at her. "Did you take the garbage +out, Henry?" + +"Yes, dear," he answered woodenly. Then, because he knew it was coming +anyhow, he filled in the inevitable. "Cleanliness is next to +godliness." + +She nodded solemnly, and began putting aside her darning. "That's +finished. Mama always said a stitch in time saves nine. If you'd cut +your toenails, Henry...." + +He could feel his skin begin to tingle with irritation. But there was +no escape. If he went upstairs to his bedroom, she'd be up at once, +puttering about. If he went to the basement, she'd find the canned +food needed checking. A woman's place was with her husband, as she'd +repeatedly told him. Probably she couldn't stand her own company, +either. + +Then he remembered something he'd stored away. "There's a new picture +at the Metro," he said as quietly as he could. "Taylor's starred, I +think. I was going to take you, before this extra work came up." + +He could see her take the bait and nibble at it. She had some vague +crush left for Taylor. She stared at the television set, shifted her +bulk, and then shook her head reluctantly. "It'd be nice, Henry. But +going at night costs so much, and--well, a penny saved is a penny +earned." + +"Exactly. That's what I meant to say." He even relaxed enough to +overlook the platitude, now that there was some hope. "I saved the +price of lunch today. The nut who wanted _King in Yellow_ was so +tickled to get the copy finally, he insisted on treating. You can even +take a cab home afterwards." + +"That's nice. It'll probably rain, the way my bunion's been aching." +She considered it a second more, before cutting off the television. He +watched as she drew off the apron and went for her coat and hat, +making a pretense of dabbing on make-up. She might as well have worn +the apron, he decided, as she came over to kiss him a damp good-bye. + + * * * * * + +He considered calling Shirley, but her mother was visiting her, and +the conversation would have to be too guarded at her end. If he could +find some way of getting rid of Emma.... + +It wouldn't even be murder, really. More like destroying a +vegetable--certainly no worse than ending the life of a dumb cow to +make man's life more worth living. It wasn't as if she had anything to +live for or to contribute. It would almost be a kindness, since she +lived in a perpetual state of vague discontent and unhappiness, as if +somehow aware that she had lost herself. But unfortunately, the law +wouldn't look at it in such a light. + +He'd only been thinking actively of getting her out of the way since +August, however; and somehow, with time, there must be some fool-proof +scheme. There was that alcohol-injection system--but it required +someone who would drink pretty freely first, and Emma was a +teetotaler. Maybe, though, if he could get her to taking some of those +tonics for women.... + +He dropped it for the moment and turned back to the book. It was an +odd old volume he'd received with a shipment for appraisal. There was +no title or date, but the strange leather binding showed it was old. +Apparently it had been hand-set and printed on some tiny press by the +writer, whose name was omitted. It seemed to be a mixture of +instructions on how to work spells, conjure demons, and practice +witchcraft, along with bitter tirades against the group who had driven +the writer out and forced him, as he put it, to enter a compact with +the devil for to be a wizard, which is like to a male witch. Henry had +been reading it idly, slowly deciding the book was authentic enough, +however crazy the writer was. The book had no particular value as a +collector's item, but he could probably get a fine price from some of +the local cultists, particularly since there were constant promises in +it that the writer was going to give a surefire, positive and simple +recipe for conjuring up a demon without need of virgin blood, +graveyard earth or unicorn horn. + +He skimmed through it, looking for the formula. It turned up on the +fifth page from the end, and was everything the writer had claimed. A +five-sided figure drawn on the floor with ordinary candle wax, a pinch +of sugar inside, a bit of something bitter outside, two odd but simple +finger gestures, and a string of words in bad Latin and worse Greek. +There was a warning that it would work without the pentagram, sugar +and bitters, but at parlous risk to the conjurer without such +protection. + +He frowned. Too simple for the cultists, he realized--unless he could +somehow persuade them that the trick lay in some exact phrasing or +gesturing pattern which took experiment. They liked things made +difficult, so they'd have a good alibi for their faith when the +tricks failed. If he could show them in advance that it didn't work, +but hint that a good occultist might figure out the right rhythm, or +whatever.... + +He read it through again, trying to memorize the whole thing. The +gestures were--so--and the words--umm.... + +There was no flash of fire, no smell of sulphur, and no clap of +thunder. There was simply a tall creature with yellowish skin and +flashing yellow eyes standing in front of the television set. His head +was completely hairless, and he was so tall that he had to duck +slightly to keep from crashing into the ceiling. His features were too +sharp for any human face. There were no scales, however; his gold cape +and black tights were spangled, and he wore green shoes with turned up +toes. But generally, he wasn't bad looking. + +"Mind if I sit down?" the creature asked. He took Henry's assent for +granted and dropped into Emma's chair, folding his cape over one arm +and reaching for an apple on the side table. "Glad to see you're not +superstitious enough to keep me locked up in one of those damned +pentagrams. Drat it, I thought the last copy of that book was burned +and I was free. Your signal caught me in the middle of dinner." + + * * * * * + +Henry swallowed thickly, feeling the sweat trickle down his nose. The +book had warned against summoning the demon without the protective +devices! But the thing seemed peaceful enough for the moment. He +cleared his voice. "You mean--you mean magic works?" + +"Magic--shmagic!" the creature snorted. He jerked his thumb toward the +television. "To old Ephriam--the crackpot who wrote the book before he +went completely crazy--that set would have been more magic than I am. +I thought this age knew about dimensions, planes of vibrations, and +simultaneous universes. You humans always were a backward race, but +you seemed to be learning the basic facts. Hell, I suppose that means +you'll lay a geas on me, after I was hoping it was just an +experimental summons!" + +Henry puzzled it over, with some of the fright leaving him. The +scientific sounding terms somehow took some of the magic off the +appearance of the thing. "You mean those passes and words set up some +sort of vibrational pattern...." + +The hairless fellow snorted again, and began attacking the grapes. +"Bunk, Henry! Oh, my name's Alfear, by the way. I mean I was a fool. I +should have gone to my psychiatrist and taken the fifty year course, +as he advised. But I thought the books were all burned and nobody knew +the summons. So here I am, stuck with the habit. Because that's all it +is--a conditioned reflex. Pure compulsory behavior. I'm sensitized to +receive the summons, and when it comes, I teleport into your plane +just the way you pull your hand off a hot stove. You read the whole +book, I suppose? Yeah, just my luck. Then you know I'm stuck with any +job you give me--practically your slave. I can't even get back without +dismissal or finishing your task! That's what comes of saving money +by not going to my psychiatrist." + +He muttered unhappily, reaching for more grapes, while Henry began to +decide nothing was going to happen to him, at least physically. Souls +were things he wasn't quite sure of, but he couldn't see how just +talking to Alfear could endanger his. + +"Still," the creature said thoughtfully, "it could be worse. No +pentagram. I never did get mixed up with some of the foul odors and +messes some of my friends had to take. And I've developed quite a +taste for sugar; tobacco, too." He reached out and plucked a cigarette +out of Henry's pack, then a book of matches. He lighted it, inhaled, +and rubbed the flame out on his other palm. "Kind of weak tobacco, but +not bad. Any more questions while I smoke this? There's no free oxygen +where I come from, so I can't smoke there." + +"But if you demons answer such--such summons, why don't people know +about it now?" Henry asked. "I'd think more and more people would be +going in for this sort of thing. If the wizards were right all +along...." + +"They weren't, and we're not demons. It didn't get started until your +Middle Ages. And if it hadn't been for old Apalon...." Alfear lighted +another cigarette off the butt, which he proceeded to extinguish on +the tip of his sharp tongue. He scratched his head thoughtfully, and +then went on. + +"Apalon was studying your worship. You see, we've been studying your +race the way you study white rats, using lower races to explain our +own behavior. Anyhow, he got curious and figured out a way to +mentalize himself into your plane. He was sort of a practical joker, +you might say. So he picked a time when some half-crazy witch was +trying to call up the being you worship as Satan to make some kind of +a deal. Just as she finished, he popped up in front of her, spitting +out a bunch of phosphorus to make a nice smoke and fire effect, and +agreed with all her mumbo-jumbo about having to do what she wanted. +She wanted her heart fixed up then, so he showed her how to use +belladonna and went back, figuring it was a fine joke. + +"Only he made a mistake. There's something about moving between planes +that lowers the resistance to conditioning. Some of our people can +take five or six trips, but Apalon was one of those who was so +conditioning-prone that he had the habit fixed after the first trip. +The next time she did the rigamarole, back he popped. He had to dig up +gold for her, hypnotize a local baron into marrying her, and generally +keep on the constant _qui vive_, until she got sloppy and forgot the +pentagram she thought protected her and which he was conditioned to. +But after he disintegrated her, he found she'd passed on the word to a +couple of other witches. And he knew somebody at the Institute was +bound to find what a fool he'd made of himself. + +"So he began taking members aside and telling them about the trick of +getting into your world. Excellent chance for study. Have to humor the +humans by sticking to their superstitions, of course. One by one, +they went over on little trips. It wasn't hard to find some +superstitious dolt trying to summon something, since word had got +around in your world. One of us would pop up, and that spread the word +further. Anyhow, when Apalon was sure each member had made enough +trips to be conditioned, he'd tell him the sad truth, and swear him to +secrecy on penalty of being laughed out of the Institute. The old +blaggard wound up with all of us conditioned. There was quite a flurry +of witchcraft here, until we finally found a psychiatrist who could +break the habit for us. Even then, it was tough going. We'd never have +made it without the inquisitions and witch-burnings one of our +experimental sociologists managed to stir up." + +Alfear put out the third cigarette butt and stood up slowly. "Look, I +don't mind a chat now and then, but my wives are waiting dinner. How +about dismissing me?" + +"Umm." Henry had been thinking while he listened. It had sounded like +a reasonable explanation on the whole, except for the bit about +Apalon's disintegrating the witch. Apparently as long as a man wasn't +too unreasonable, there was a certain usefulness to having such +friends on call. "What about the price for your help? I mean--well, +about souls...." + +Alfear twitched his ears disgustedly. "What the deuce would I do with +your soul, Henry? Eat it? Wear it? Don't be a shnook!" + +"Well, then--well, I've heard about wishes that were granted, but they +all had a trick attached. If I asked for immortality, you'd give it, +say; but then I'd get some horrible disease and beg and plead for +death. Or ask for money, and then find the money was recorded as being +paid to a kidnapper, or something." + +"In the first place, I couldn't give you immortality," Alfear said, as +patiently as he apparently could. "Your metabolism's not like ours. In +the second place, why should I look for tainted money? It's enough +nuisance doing what you ask, without looking for tricks to pull. +Anyhow, I told you I half-enjoy visiting here. As long as you're +reasonable about it, I don't mind keeping my end of the compulsion +going. If you've got something to ask, ask away. There are no strings +attached." + +The creature seemed to be quite sincere. Henry considered it briefly, +staring at a large tinted picture of Emma, and took the plunge. +"Suppose I asked you to kill my wife for me--say by what looked like a +stroke, so nobody would blame me?" + +"That seems reasonable enough," Alfear agreed easily. "I could break a +few blood vessels inside her skull.... Sure, why not? Only the picture +in your mind is so distorted, I wouldn't know her. If she's like that, +why'd you ever marry her?" + +"Because she seemed different from other women, I guess," Henry +admitted. "When I tipped the canoe over, and I figured she'd be mad +because her dress was ruined, all she said was something about not +being sugar, so she wouldn't melt." He shuddered, remembering all the +times she'd said it since. "You won't have any trouble. Look, can you +really read my mind?" + +"Naturally. But it's all disorganized." + +"Umm. Well." It gave him a queasy feeling to think of anyone seeing +his secret thoughts. But this fellow apparently didn't work by human +attitudes, anyhow. He groped about, and then smiled grimly. "All +right, then. You can tell I think of her as my wife. And just to make +sure, she'll be sure to say something about early to bed and early to +rise; she says that every single damned night, Alfear! She never +misses." + +Alfear grunted. "Sounds more reasonable every minute, Henry. All +right, when your wife says that, I pop out and give her a stroke that +will kill her. How about dismissing me now?" + +"No strings?" Henry asked. He watched carefully as Alfear nodded +assent, and he could see no sign of cunning or trickery. He caught his +breath, nodded, and closed his eyes. Seeing something vanish was +nothing he wanted. "Dismissed." + + * * * * * + +The fruit was still gone when he opened his eyes, but there was no +other sign of the thing. He found some fruit still in the refrigerator +and restocked the bowl. Then he closed the strange book and put it +away. He'd have to buy it himself, and burn it to make sure no one +else found the trick, of course. For a moment, uneasiness pricked at +him. Yet he was sure Alfear hadn't been lying, and the story the +creature had told made more sense than the older superstitions. Henry +adjusted his mind to having a well-conditioned demon on tap and then +began the harder job of bracing himself for Emma's incoherent but +detailed account of the movie when she came back. + +Unfortunately, it was a more complicated plot than usual, and she went +on and on, from the moment she entered the door. He tried to close his +ears, but he'd never succeeded in that. He yawned, and she yawned +back, but went on until the last final morsel was covered for the +second or third time. + +"He was wonderful," she finally concluded. "Just wonderful. Only I +wished you'd come with me. You'd have liked it. Henry, did you take +the garbage out?" + +"Yes, dear," he answered. "Hours ago." + +He yawned elaborately again. She mumbled something about having to +keep the kitchen clean because cleanliness was next to godliness, but +her automatic yawn muffled the words. Then she glanced at the clock. +"Heavens, it's almost one! And early to bed and early to rise...." + +Henry jerked his eyes away, just as he caught the first glimpse of +Alfear popping into existence beside her. He heard the beginning of a +shriek change to a horrible gargling and then become a dying moan. +Something soft and heavy hit the floor with a dull thud. Henry turned +around slowly. + +"Dead," Alfear said calmly, rubbing one of his fingers. "This business +of getting just one finger through the planes into her head cuts off +the circulation. There, that's better. Satisfied?" + +Henry dropped beside the corpse. She was dead, according to the mirror +test, and there wasn't a mark on her. He stared at the puffy, relaxed +features; he'd expected an expression of horror, but she seemed simply +asleep. His initial feeling of pity and contrition vanished; after +all, it had been quick and nearly painless. Now he was free! + +"Thanks, Alfear," he said. "It's fine--fine. Do I dismiss you now?" + +"No need this time. I'm free as soon as the job's done. Unless you'd +like to talk awhile...." + +Henry shook his head quickly. He had to telephone a doctor. Then he +could call Shirley--her mother would be gone by now. "Not now. Maybe +I'll summon you sometime for a smoke or something. But not now!" + +"Okay," Alfear said, and vanished. Surprisingly, seeing him disappear +wasn't unpleasant, after all. He just wasn't there. + +Waiting for the doctor was the worst part of it. All the legends Henry +knew ran through his mind. Alfear could have given her a stroke and +then added some violent poison that would show up in an autopsy. He +could be sitting wherever he was, chuckling because Henry hadn't +restricted his wish enough to be safe. Or any of a hundred things +could happen. There was the first witch, who had thought she had +Apalon under control, only to be turned to dust. + +But the doctor took it calmly enough. "Stroke, all right," he decided. +"I warned her last year that she was putting on too much weight and +getting high blood pressure. Too bad, Mr. Aimsworth, but there was +nothing you could do. I'll turn in a certificate. Want me to contact a +mortician for you?" + +Henry nodded, trying to appear properly grief-stricken. "I--I'd +appreciate it." + +"Too late now," the doctor said. "But I'll be glad to send Mr. Glazier +around in the morning." He pulled the sheet up over Emma's body, +leaving it on the backroom couch to which they had carried it. "You'd +better go to a hotel for the night. And I'll give you something that +will make you sleep." + +"I'd rather not," Henry said quickly. "I mean, I'd feel better here. +You know...." + +"Certainly, certainly." The doctor nodded sympathetically, but as if +it were an old story to him. He left the pills with instructions, said +the proper things again, and finally went out. + + * * * * * + +Shirley's voice was sleepy and cross when she answered, but it grew +alert as soon as he told her about Emma's stroke. He was almost +beginning to believe the simple version of the story himself. + +"Poor Henry," she murmured. Her voice sharpened again. "It _was_ a +stroke? The doctor was sure?" + +"Positive," he assured her, cursing himself for having let her guess +some of the thoughts that had been on his mind. "The doctor said she'd +had hypertension and such before." + +She considered it a second, and then a faint laugh sounded. "Then I +guess there's no use in crying over spilled milk, is there, Henry? If +it had to happen, it just had to. And I mean, it's like fate, +almost!" + +"It _is_ fate!" he agreed happily. Then he dropped his voice. "And now +I'm all alone here, baby lamb, and I had to call you up...." + +She caught on at once, as she always did. "You can't stay there now! +It's so morbid. Henry, you come right over here!" + +Demons, Henry thought as he drove the car through the quiet +residential streets toward her apartment, had their uses. They were a +much maligned breed. Probably the people who had summoned them before +had been ignorant, stupid people; they'd messed up their chances and +brought trouble on themselves by not finding out the facts and putting +it all down to superstitious magic. The fellows were almost +people--maybe even a little superior to humans. If a man would just +try to understand them, they could help him, and with no danger at +all. + +"No strings attached," he said to himself, and then chuckled softly. +It fitted perfectly; now there were no strings attached to him. Emma +was at peace, and he was free. He'd have to wait a few months to marry +Shirley legally, of course. But already, she was as good as his wife. +And if he played up the shock angle just enough, this could be a +wonderful evening again.... + +Shirley was unusually lovely when she met him at the door. Her soft +golden hair made a halo for her face--a face that said she'd already +anticipated his ideas, and had decided he was a man who needed +sympathy and understanding for what had happened. + +There was even time for the idea that he was free to be brought up, +tentatively at first, and then eventually as a matter of course. And +the plans expanded as he considered them. There was no need to worry +about things now. The quiet marriage became a trip around the world as +he confessed to having money that no one knew about. They could close +the shop. He could leave town almost at once, and she could follow +later. Nobody would know, and they wouldn't have to wait to avoid any +scandal. They could be married in two weeks! + +Henry was just realizing the values of a friendly demon. With proper +handling, a lot of purely friendly summoning, and a reasonable +attitude, there was no reason why Alfear couldn't provide him with +every worldly comfort to share with Shirley. + +He caught her to him again. "My own little wife! That's what you are, +lambkins! What's a mere piece of paper? I already think of you as my +wife. I feel you're my wife. That's what counts, isn't it?" + +"That's all that counts," she agreed with a warmth that set fire to +his blood. Then she gasped. "Henry, darling, it's getting light +already! You'll have to get back. What will the neighbors say if they +see you coming from here now?" + +He tore away reluctantly, swearing at the neighbors. But she was +right, of course. He had to go back and take the sleeping medicine to +be ready for the arrival of the mortician in the morning. + +"It's still early," he protested, automatically trying to squeeze out +a few more minutes. "Nobody's up yet." + +"I'll heat up the coffee, and then you'll have to go," Shirley said +firmly, heading for the kitchen. "Plenty of people get up early around +here. And besides, you need some sleep. Early to bed and early to +rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and--" + +From the kitchen came the beginning of a shriek. It changed to a +horrible gasp, and died away in a failing moan. There was the sound of +a body hitting the floor. + +Alfear stood over Shirley's body, rubbing one finger tenderly. His +ears twitched uncertainly as he studied Henry's horror-frozen face. "I +told you," he said. "I warned you some of us get conditioned to a +habit the first time. And you thought of her as your wife and she +said...." + +Abruptly, he vanished. Henry's screams were the only sound in the +apartment. + +THE END + + * * * * * + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of No Strings Attached, by Lester del Rey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO STRINGS ATTACHED *** + +***** This file should be named 32395.txt or 32395.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/9/32395/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, 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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