Monstrocity Read online

  Had it been Mr. Dove, or another of his race? Who were his race, anyway? I was no more familiar with his species than I was the bird man.

  Maybe all the fish-men dressed as neatly as Mr. Dove. But if it had been him...was this his apartment? I had assumed he lived in the same building that housed his shop.

  If it was him, had he recognized me in my dark glasses, my new goatee? He’d only seen me for an instant, and a thin mist from the steam filled the tiny courtyard.

  I wanted to steal up to the window, peek through it. But I feared getting caught. I feared that even now, that gray face might be peeking at me through a chink in the curtains.

  Turning, I retraced my way through the alley network, no longer running. My shoes were filled with foul black water. It felt like the apocalypse had already descended, though I knew this chaos was nothing...just one drop that precedes a downpour.

  ***

  THE RUPTURED VEIN was repaired, the blood stopped gushing. It was drained away, leaving wet trash in clumped ridges pushed up against the gutters. I looked out my window, down at the still-slick street. Tomorrow I’d have to wear my ruined shoes one last time when I went to buy a new pair. This was the only pair I’d brought with me. My apartment stank from them.

  No palmcomp. What if Saleet tried to call me? She couldn’t. That was no doubt for the best...

  But from a phone booth, with water up to mid-shin, I had called Mr. Dove on the way back to my apartment. I located the number of his book store from a listing.

  Graffiti on the vidscreen. Graffiti like there had been on that window. I had removed my dark glasses. Now, the screen filled with his gray face, his silver eyes and pink, subtly pulsating gills.

  “Hello, Mr. Ruby,” he said, recognizing me. Polite despite the tension of our last phone conversation.

  “Hi, Mr. Dove,” I replied, just as civil. “Um...I’ve been thinking about those two books you recommended to me. The ones that you said took ideas from the Necronomicon further...mapping the patterns in the universe, looking at things from a kind of geometrical view...talking about how to reconfigure those patterns to bend time and space...”

  “Yes. Wadoor’s Atlas of Chaos, and The Veins of the Old Ones, by the Tikkihotto Skretuu. But I thought you were profoundly skeptical about these concepts, Mr. Ruby.”

  “Well, Gabrielle is opening my eyes a bit. I’m trying not to be so stubborn about things I don’t understand.”

  “So, you located your missing friend...”

  “Yes!” I said, even sounding cheerful. “We’re back together. So I thought I’d like to purchase those books, if they were available. For Gaby and myself. A gift for Gaby, mostly. If it’s a gift I can afford!” I chuckled.

  “Well, fortunately, these particular volumes are not nearly as sought-after as a Necronomicon. They don’t have the same level of renown. Would you be interested in actual volumes, for their collector’s value, or are you only interested in the text? Because I could supply both books on disk. A single disk, if you like.”

  “How about prices, first?”

  “Wadoor’s is older, and rarer...a copy would be twenty thousand munits.”

  “Jesus Bleeding Christ,” I murmured.

  “Skretuu’s book was reprinted by a publisher of occult books, but is dismissed by many as mere quack science, didn’t catch on with a readership. So there is actually a twenty-five year old paperback version of it, which greatly lowers the value of both the text alone and the original printing. An original would be worth five thousand munits, but the paperback version is only worth about ten munits.”

  “Oh. Wow...what a difference.”

  “Its information is superb, often better than that in Al-Azif, but again, it doesn’t have the reputation. People are blind, as both books are superior, in some ways, to Al-Azif.”

  “How much for both on a disk?”

  “I would cut the value of Wadoor’s book in half, and give you the other for free. Ten thousand munits, Mr. Ruby.”

  “An expensive gift,” I muttered.

  “Indeed. A lot to pay, for someone who is still not entirely convinced of the credibility of the material.”

  “Well...it is very important to me to make Gaby happy. To patch things up with her...”

  “Perhaps a ring would be a better investment.”

  I took this as a joke rather than sarcasm, and smiled. “Yes. But...you know, I’d really like to get her...to get us...both of those books. I think I’m going to have to say to go ahead and make that disk.”

  “Really? And you can pay me the full ten thousand?”

  “Yes. I have it. It will break me, but I have it.”

  The amphibian-like head nodded slowly, in consideration. “You do seem seriously interested in the subject. Well...since Gabrielle allowed me a copy of Al-Azif – the Necronomicon – I’ll take pity on you, Mr. Ruby, and reduce the price to five thousand munits.”

  “You will? Really? Oh my God, that’s so generous! I know Gaby was indiscreet about you being a follower of these beliefs, and I know I was rude to you when I couldn’t find Gaby...I’m so sorry, Mr. Dove. I’m so grateful for your help.”

  “There are a lot of very important things to be learned from these books, Mr. Ruby. It’s good that you are opening your eyes to the larger view of the universe. Listen to what Gabrielle has to teach you. Together, the enlightened form a pattern themselves. You and I...links in a chain, Mr. Ruby. We can make each other stronger...”

  “Yes...yes...that’s what Gaby says!” I enthused.

  “I’ll make that disk, then. When would you like it by?”

  “Um...three days from now?” I picked a number out of the air. Not tomorrow. Too frighteningly soon. I needed time to think how I might actually go about this. “Say, noon?”

  “I’ll be expecting you then.”

  “Ah, well, could we arrange to meet somewhere other than your shop? I’ll be visiting my father in Oval Square, upground, for the next few days. You know where that is...”

  “Yes, near Paxton University.”

  “Yes; my father’s an art professor there,” I revealed, to give myself credibility by association. “In fact, he’ll be lending me the money I’ll be using. He’s hinted to me he’d like to have a look at the books himself. He may or may not be accompanying me, if that’s all right with you. Anyway, could you meet me at noon at the corner of, um, Fassl Street? It’s near Salem Street, a few blocks from Oval Square.” I’d been there today. Between two buildings on Fassl Street there was a small courtyard with a fountain in its center. A nice secluded spot for our expensive transaction. “It’s easy to find; there’s a candy store right there...”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “Maybe we could have lunch together, after we meet.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Ruby, but that won’t be necessary. So...three days from now...noon...meet you at the corner of Fassl Street, outside a candy store.”

  “You’ve got it. I appreciate the trouble.”

  “And you will have the full five thousand munits at that time, Mr. Ruby?”

  He was suspicious. The location, however innocent (a candy store, even!), was nevertheless distant from where both of us lived. It struck him as unusual. I hoped involving my father in the scenario helped to temper his mistrust...

  “Yes, of course,” I reassured him. “And again, I can’t tell you how grateful I am about the lower price. Um...and you know...I had my palmcomp stolen by a mugger today, and my copy of the Necronomicon was in it. Would it be possible to put that on the disk, too?”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t do that for free, Mr. Ruby. Despite my gratitude for your help in securing my own copy, Al-Azif is of too much value to simply give away. We would have to return to the ten thousand munits...the best I could offer you, as a friend. In any case...I would assume it was Gabrielle who made you your own copy of Al-Azif, as I can’t imagine she’d lend you hers. Can’t she make you a new copy herself?”

  The greedy f
ucker! Gaby had given him a copy of that book for free, and he couldn’t do the same? But how could I argue with his logic? The other two books would have to suffice.

  “Of course,” I managed amicably. “Didn’t mean to be lazy about it. All right. See you then?”

  “Yes, Mr. Ruby. And have a pleasant stay with your father.”

  I’d have to keep a low profile on the street until then. If he spotted me subtown, when I’d claimed to be elsewhere...

  “Thanks,” I told him. And signed off.

  ***

  WITH MY PISTOL stolen, I couldn’t burn away Mr. Dove’s body with plasma, as I had Gabrielle’s. Should I seek out Rabal again? Get a new gun? I still had my plasma ammo, at least, in the apartment.

  The shotgun was still in my possession. To hell with it. I’d use that.

  For the next couple of days, I didn’t leave my flat. I tinted my windows full black so no one could see me inside. I wondered if Saleet had tried to call me. I wanted to see her badly. I kept telling myself it was for the best that she couldn’t.

  Tomorrow morning I had an appointment upground, where I would commit premeditated murder several blocks from where my father gave lectures on pursuits more creative than destructive, where he taught symmetry instead of obliteration, the order of line and perspective instead of anarchy and chaos. See? Even without the magical powers of spells I was reconfiguring destiny. My own, and that of others.

  But, in a silent mantra, I repeated to myself, “I am a good man.” It was because I was a good man that I must kill tomorrow. Wouldn’t I rather not? But I had a burden of responsibility, and I must do something because it addressed my innate goodness, a goodness deeper than I had known I possessed. I was willing to risk death and insanity for the good of others. Who would have thought? I had a sense of what men must feel when patriotism impels them to join an army, to fight in a war. Knowing they might not make it back home. Maybe it was just an animal instinct, natural programming, protect the herd even at risk to yourself. More chemical than heroic. Whatever the tune of the trumpet, I must follow it. And all that sort of dung.

  Gaby would tease me about being a customer service rep, and it would anger me, because it would shame me. My parents had done so much better. Over the past few years, they had subtly let their disappointment be known. But I had no talents, no special aptitudes. My ego was too big for me to be satisfied with my situation, but my effort too lacking to change my prospects. I envied people who could make peace with their insignificance in the universe, stuff pimentos in olives as placid as oxen pulling plows. But maybe I was, ironically, just the right kind of person to come upon this knowledge and responsibility. Without being filled up with something else, I could be filled with this. Without being focused elsewhere, I could see things that others did not. I thought of it in terms of this city. Most people only saw the stores, the offices, the places they had to go, and if they looked closely enough they might just glimpse the cracks in the sidewalk...but they did not see the lines of stress that made those cracks in the sidewalk, or the immense pressure of a heavy building resting on the earth, they did not see the winds that were directed and sculpted by the spaces between the buildings...all these forces that, in a sense, shaped an invisible city that existed conterminously with the visible one.

  The day before my date with Mr. Dove, I sat watching the wall-length vidtank. It didn’t have a vidphone feature, but I could still access limited, nonsubscriber netlink bands. I was doing random searches on various topics. Presently, I was trying to find out how many species of nonhumans had settled in Paxton. A lot. An example was given of each one. The people of Kali were represented by a photo of a man. I hadn’t exhausted the list yet, and I had seen photos of a few races I’d never run into before, but so far I hadn’t seen anything like Mr. Dove. Or, for that matter, that silvery-sheened bird-man who had stolen my backpack.

  There was a knock on my door.

  I sat up from the sleeper-sofa, startled. The landlord? A glance at the kitchen table, where my sawed-off shotgun rested openly like a book or a coffee mug. I jumped up, picked up the heavy black weapon, slid it under the sleeper-sofa. I shot more looks around me. Anything else that shouldn’t be seen? Was I missing something? The ammo boxes were out of sight. The door knocked again.

  I went to it. I opened it. Framed by the threshold stood a police officer in a severe black uniform, with glossy black boots, glossy black gun holster. Pouches for cuffs, other equipment, weighing on the belt. But the forcer was a pretty woman with her thick hair pulled back in a bushy ponytail. Saleet smiled bashfully.

  “Wow...look at you,” I said.

  “You haven’t seen me like this yet.”

  “Very impressive.”

  “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but I’ve been calling. You didn’t pick up. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.” She pouted her dark gray lips, but I could tell it wasn’t entirely a joke.

  “I was afraid of that. The punk who stole my palmcomp doesn’t want to answer your calls, that’s what it is.”

  “It was stolen? Did you have a break-in?” A forcer’s angry determination narrowed her obsidian eyes. Her single brow bowed in the center. It made her face fierce.

  “No, I was mugged. Not hurt. I chased him but he got away.”

  “Did you file a report? No? Want me to take a recorded statement right here? I can do that. I’m on my way to work, but it’s early...I have time...”

  “What time do you work?”

  “Rotating shifts. This week it’s second shift. I have time. Can I come in?”

  I had been blocking the doorway. “Oh, yeah, sure...it isn’t much.”

  “It sure isn’t,” she said, looking around her as she stepped in. Standing behind her, I breathed deeply the scent of her hair, clustered in a black storm cloud at the back of her head. She turned to face me and I took a step back. “Hey, I see you grew some hair!” She reached out and ruffled it with her hand. “I like it...much nicer!”

  “Thanks.”

  Maybe she saw my discomfort and misread it. “I’m sorry I came here unannounced, Chris.”

  “How did you find my address?”

  “You gave me your phone number,” she grinningly apologized. “I used our computer system at work to find an address to match it.”

  “That’s all right,” I reassured her.

  “What are you watching, here?” Nod at the VT.

  “I’m trying to find out what kind of alien mugged me. I’ve never seen his kind before. Her kind. Whatever it was.” I then described the being to Saleet. Her brow dipped intensely again.

  “Can’t say that it sounds familiar to me. There are always new peoples coming to Punktown...”

  “Want to sit down? Want a drink of something? Coffee?”

  “Coffee is good.”

  I brought her one. When I returned from the little kitchenette section, she was sitting on the sleeper-sofa. My shotgun directly beneath her. It had a smell of oil I hoped she wouldn’t pick up on. I handed her the coffee and sat beside her. She had been continuing my VT search for the bird alien. “No luck yet,” she announced. From her belt she unclipped a recording device. “Let’s take that statement.”

  I held up a hand. “No...no...don’t bother. It was my ex-girlfriend’s machine, anyway. I’ll buy a new one. How would we ever find this punk, anyway?”

  “Well, if he’s of an uncommon race, it might be a lot easier.”

  “I’d rather not. I’m all right.”

  “Chris, I don’t see the point in not...”

  “Saleet, I’d just as soon forget it.” But I was ready to give in, to avoid a full-out argument. One doesn’t argue with a forcer.

  She gave in first, however. “I’m sorry, Chris...first I barge in on you, then I try to bully you into giving a police report. I guess my uniform goes to my head. But please let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I will.” I sipped my own coffee.

  “I should have you move in
to my flat,” she kidded, looking around her again. “This place is dinky...”

  I smiled inside, fluttered inside, felt a bit delirious. She had tried to sound nonchalant, but I realized then just how much she was attracted to me. She was letting me know, her comment calculated. What was it about me? That I had taken an interest in her people where perhaps other Earth men hadn’t? Was I as exotic to her as she was to me? She looked back to me. “Any luck in the job hunt?”

  “No. Well, I haven’t been trying too hard. Not that I’m lazy...just...I guess I’m battle fatigued, from my work experience. I’m catching my breath.”

  “I understand.”

  “Wow,” I repeated, “I still can’t get over the uniform. Slick...”

  “I work plainclothes, sometimes. I’m allowed to wear street clothes if I’m just doing the desk bit. Or if we’re trying to blend in, on the streets. But I like the uniform.” She smiled. “Is it sexy?”

  “Not really,” I confessed.

  She pouted again. “Oh well.”

  “But very impressive. You make me feel safe.”

  “Good. Feel safe. I’ll protect you.” She sniffed, glanced around her. “What’s that smell?”

  “My shoes. I need to go out and get a new pair. They got wrecked in that flood the other day, when a helicar smashed into a water main?”

  “Oh yeah. That was a mess. Do you want me to take you out and get a pair now? I have time...”

  “No thanks.” I couldn’t risk Mr. Dove seeing me in the neighborhood, much as I liked the notion of shopping alongside Saleet as if we were a familiar couple. “Actually, I’m feeling a little sick today. A stomach bug or something.”

  “Aww. Sorry to hear that. Maybe the smell of your shoes?” she joked. “Do you want me to go so you can rest?”

  “Not just yet. Let’s watch VT.” I switched off the netlink. Put on a documentary about animals. “I like animals,” I told her.