Part 9 (1/2)
”Exactly. The next stage was industrial nation-states got organized into coalitions and went to war for global mastery. What happens to the people in the sarongs when something like Admiral Tojo's fleet sails into the lagoon to set up a fortified base? And something like Admiral Nimitz's fleet and the Allied armada arrives to throw him out?”
”...Viet Nam,” murmured Harry.
”I could see Tillie trying to say something cheerful and not succeeding. Pouring George a drink, she asked, ”Did any of you know how old S'serrrop was?”
”Huh?”
”A kid. About like our nineteen. He got involved with the natives and felt sorry for us and begged the heads of the mission to leave us alone because the Great Pupa's spkit had already touched us, in another form. That made him a heretic.”
”Any parallels there, Max?”
We went to bed on that one and I'll leave it with you. Along with the original meaning of the word Bikini.
PAINWISE.
He was wise in the ways of pain. He had to be, for he felt none.
When the Xenons put electrodes to his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es, he was vastly entertained by the pretty lights.
When the Ylls fed firewasps into his nostrils and other body orifices the resultant rainbows pleased him. And when later they regressed to simple disjointments and eviscerations, he noted with interest the deepening orchid hues that stood for irreversible harm.
”This time?” he asked the boditech when his scouter had torn him from the Ylls.
”No,” said the boditech.
”When?”
There was no answer.
”You're a girl in there, aren't you? A human girl?”
”Well, yes and no,” said the boditech. ”Sleep now.”
He had no choice.
Next planet a rockfall smashed him into a splintered gutbag and he hung for three gangrenous dark-purple days before the scouter dug him out.
” 'Is 'ime?” he mouthed to the boditech.”No.”
”Eh!” But he was in no shape to argue.
They had thought of everything. Several planets later the gentle Znaffi stuffed him in a floss coc.o.o.n and interrogated him under hallogas. How, whence, why had he come? But a faithful crystal in his medulla kept him stimulated with a random mix of Atlas Shrugged and Varese's Ionisation and when the Znaffi unstuffed him they were more hallucinated than he.
The boditech treated him for constipation and refused to answer his plea.
”When?”
So he went on, system after system, through s.p.a.ces uncompanioned by time, which had become scrambled and finally absent.
What served him instead was the count of suns in his scouter's sights, of stretches of cold blind nowhen that ended in a new now, pacing some giant fireball while the scouter scanned the lights that were its planets. Of whirl-downs to orbit over clouds-seas-deserts-craters-icecaps-duststorms-cities-ruins-enigmas beyond counting. Of terrible births when the scouter panel winked green and he was catapulted down, down, a living litmus hurled and grabbed, unpodded finally into an alien air, an earth that was not Earth. And alien natives, simple or mechanized or lunatic or unknowable, but never more than vaguely human and never faring beyond their own home suns. And his departures, routine or melodramatic, to culminate in the composing of his ”reports”, in fact only a few words tagged to the matrix of scan data automatically fired off in one compressed blip in the direction the scouter called Base Zero. Home.
Always at that moment he stared hopefully at the screens, imagining yellow suns. Twice he found what might be Crux in the stars, and once the Bears.
”Boditech, I suffer!” He had no idea what the word meant, but he had found it made the thing reply.
”Symptoms?”
”Derangement of temporality. When am I? It is not possible for a man to exist crossways in time.
Alone.”
”You have been altered from simple manhood.”
”I suffer, listen to me! Sol's light back there-what's there now? Have the glaciers melted? Is Machu Picchu built? Will we go home to meet Hannibal? Boditech! Are these reports going to Neanderthal man?”
Too late he felt the hypo. When he woke, Sol was gone and the cabin swam with euphorics.
”Woman,” he mumbled.
”That has been provided for.”
This time it was oriental, with orris and hot rice wine on its lips and a piquancy of little floggings in the steam. He oozed into a squashy sunburst and lay panting while the cabin cleared.
”That's all you, isn't it?”
No reply.
”What, did they program you with the Kama Sutra?”
Silence.
”WHICH ONE IS YOU?”.
The scanner chimed. A new sun was in the points.
Sometime after that he took to chewing on his arms and then to breaking his fingers. The boditech became severe.
”These symptoms are self-generated. They must stop.”
”I want you to talk to me.””The scouter is provided with an entertainment console. I am not.”
”I will tear out my eyeb.a.l.l.s.”
”They will be replaced.”
”If you don't talk to me, I'll tear them out until you have no more replacements.”
It hesitated. He sensed it was becoming involved.
”On what subject do you wish me to talk?”