Part 22 (2/2)
Automatically moving in, his expert hands. Really a d.a.m.n good stack for her age, she's kept herself up. Careful, now. Mustn't upset her. With Elfa it's got to be love. Elfa is special. Elfa is the retirement plan.
”Ches!”
”Sorry baby, I'll be good,”
”No, I mean, I feel so-Ches!”
”Little girl, you're-”
”Ches, so intimate, I never-I mean, I loved Maxwell terribly, you know I did, Ches?”
”Yes, little heart?”
”But he never, I never! Oh, Ches-”
Oh G.o.d it was the pitch, he saw, and that d.a.m.n crowd outside. They'd have to go. Life or death.
”-Drink this down for Ches, Ches wants you to drink it so you won't get chilled, see? My little girl sit down right here just one minute, Ches is coming right back-”
”Ches-”
As he closed the door she was saving plaintively, ”Ches, why am I so big? So terribly, terribly-”
Somehow he got them out. She was sipping and crooning to herself where he'd put her.
”Li'l bitsy!”
”Ches loves you.”
”Ches! Li'l bitsy moon!”
”Li'l bitsy you, m'm m'm.” Taking the gla.s.s, carrying her to the bed, she saying again, ”Ches, I'm so big! Li'l you!”
He didn't hear her. This was serious, this was make or break. She'd remember tomorrow, all right.
It had to be the big tiling. Was she too drunk? Her head lolled. O Jesus. But his technique was good.
Presently he knew he needn't have worried. She was coming into it beautifully, puffing and panting. The nose knows. Mellow relief; I am good. Maybe I should be some kind of guru, give lessons.
She was gabbling incoherently, then suddenly plain. ”Oh Ches I'm getting bigger!” Real panic?
”It's good, honey,” he panted. ”It's what you want, let it happen, let it happen to you-”
He didn't register the white figure wavering on the terrace outside until it stumbled into the gla.s.s and began to mouth. He glanced up, blurry-it was Elfa out there! How Elfa? No! ELFA?
The thras.h.i.+ng in his arms went rigid, arched.
”Ches I'm go-oo-ing explo-OO-OOO-”
Under intolerable stress the nebulous extension which had been compressed into a mimic of the woman by the water reverted to its original state. A monstrous local discontinuity comprising-among other things-the subatomic residuals of an alligator watchband, bloomed into the thermosphere from the Majorca cliffs.
NEW ERROR! ONE-TO-ONE INTERMIX? OOH HOW MORE?.
Standing on the wet rocks, Colin laughed. Laughing Colin laughed more. To feel! To know feeling!To know knowing! A past flooded in-voices-speech-patterns-events -concepts-MEANING!
Laughter roared.
The little subsystem was right! It worked. It lived!
But the little system was not right. The system was under strain, it demanded closure. It demanded to be itself, be whole. Something was outside, disequilibrating it, intruding alien circuits. The little system had integrity, it would not be a subsystem. It fought the disequilibrium, hauled and pulled on the incongruent gap.
He fought back, idly at first, then strenuously-fighting to keep his nucleus outside, to retain the system subsystem hierarchy. It was too late, no good.
Soundless as a soap-film snapping, the great field reorganized. The system inverted, closed and came to equilibrium with everything crammed in.
But it was not the same equilibrium.
...The moonlit surf creamed and hissed quietly around the rocks at his feet. Something he did not examine floated further out. After a moment he lifted his head to watch the little moon slicing cirrus cloud.
The breeze dried his skin. He felt an extraordinary... Pleasure? Pride?
Perhaps that he was still young enough to break a business trip with an impromptu swim?
He began to climb up the rocks. Beneath the pleasure was something else. Pain? Why was he so confused? Why had he come here? Surely not just for an idle swim. Not now. But yet he was happy. He let himself slide into pleasure as he found his clothes, dressed.
Dressing himself was actively enjoyable; he'd never noticed. A moment of panic seized him as he climbed back to Overlook 92 where he had left his car. But it was there, safe. With his briefcase.
Images of the spinning surf, the streaming clouds, wheeled in his mind as he drove, merged with the swirl of the car as the huge coastal cloverleaf carried him up and around over and dip down through the mercury lights flas.h.i.+ng-sweeping- Ooee-ooee-ooee! went his signaler. As his power cut the cop rolled in beside him. He answered automatically, produced his papers. The interchange excited him. It seemed delicious to see the cop's thick lips murmuring into his 'corder. From ID card through the eyes through the brain through the sound-waves through the 'corder tape pulse- ”Who reads the tape?” he asked.
The officer stared at him, tight-lipped.
”Does a human being listen to it? Or does it go to another machine?”
”Where did you say you're going, Doctor, uh, Mitch.e.l.l?”
”I told you. San Berdoo Research. My meeting up north ended early, I decided to drive back. Fine night.”
In fact, he remembered now, he had been unspeakably depressed.
”Doing one fifty in a ninety kay-em zone. Keep it down.” The cop turned away.
Mitch.e.l.l-he was Mitch.e.l.l-drove on frowning. His dashboard needles fanned, dial lights blinked.
Giving him information. The car communicated with him, one way. Whether it wanted to or not.
I was like the car, he thought. He made me communicate with him one-way. There was a roiling inside him. Where is the circuit, he wondered.
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