Sci Fiction Classics Volume 4 (64 page)

He remembered,
googly-googly
was a word from his baby days.
Obviously he was dreaming. Or dead. Nothing like this on all the million
dreary worlds.
Don't wake up,
he warned himself.
Dream of being
carried home by cuddlesome empaths in a psi-powered paper bag.

"Psi-powered paper bag, that's beautiful," said the bushbaby.

At that moment he saw that the tail uncoiling darkly toward him was
looking at him with two ice-gray eyes. Not a tail. An enormous boa flowing
to him along the ridges, wedge-head low, eyes locked on his. The dream was
going bad.

Abruptly the voice he had felt before tolled in his brain.

"
Have no fear, little one.
"

The black sinews wreathed closer, taut as steel. Muscle. Then he got the
message: the snake was terrified of
him.

He sat quiet, watching the head stretch to his foot. Fangs gaped. Very
gingerly the boa chomped down on his toe. Testing, he thought. He felt
nothing; the usual halos flickered and faded in his eyes.

"It's true!" Bushbaby breathed.

"Oh, you beautiful No-Pain!"

All fear gone, the butterfly Ragglebomb sailed down beside him caroling
"Touch, taste, feel! Drink!" Its wings trembled entrancingly; its feathery
head came close. He longed to touch it but was suddenly afraid. If he
reached out would he wake up and be dead? The boa Muscle had slumped into
a gleaming black river by his feet. He wanted to stroke it too, didn't
dare. Let the dream go on.

Bushbaby was rummaging in a convolution of the pod.

"You'll love this. Our latest find," it told him over its shoulder in an
absurdly normal voice. Its manner changed a lot, and yet it all seemed
familiar, fragments of lost, exciting memory. "We're into a heavy thing
with flavors now." It held up a calabash. "Taste thrills of a thousand
unknown planets. Exotic gourmet delights. That's where you can help out,
No-Pain. On your way home, of course."

He hardly heard it. The seductive alien body was coming closer, closer
still. "Welcome to the
Lovepile,
" the creature smiled into his
eyes. His sex was rigid, aching for the alien flesh. He had never …

In one more moment he would have to let go and the dream would blow up.

What happened next was not clear. Something invisible whammed him, and he
went sprawling onto Bushbaby, his head booming with funky laughter. A body
squirmed under him, silky-hot and solid; the calabash was spilling down
his face.

"I'm not dreaming!" he cried, hugging Bushbaby, spluttering kahlua as
strong as sin, while the butterfly bounced on them, squealing.
"Owow-wow-wow!" he heard Bushbaby murmur. "Great palatal-olfactory
interplay," as it helped him lick.

Touch, taste, feel! The joy dream lived! He grabbed firm hold of
Bushbaby's velvet haunches, and they were all laughing like mad, rolling
in the great black serpent's coils.

Sometime later while he was feeding Muscle with proffit ears, he got it
partly straightened out.

"It's the pain bit." Bushbaby shivered against him. "The amount of agony
in this universe, it's horrible. Trillions of lives streaming by out
there, radiating pain. We daren't get close. That's why we followed you.
Every time we try to pick up some new groceries, it's a disaster."

"Oh, hurt," wailed Ragglebomb, crawling under his arm. "Everywhere hurt.
Sensitive, sensitive," it sobbed. "How can Raggle
ramplig
when it
hurts so hard?"

"Pain." He fingered Muscle's cool dark head. "Means nothing to me. I can't
even find out what they tied my pain nerves to."

"
You are blessed beyond all beings, No-Pain,
" thought Muscle
majestically in their heads. "
These proffit ears are too salt. I want
some fruit.
"

"Me too," piped Ragglebomb.

Bushbaby cocked its golden head, listening. "You see? We just passed a
place with gorgeous fruit, but it'd kill any of us to go down there. If we
could just
ramplig
you down for ten minutes?"

He started to say, "Glad to," forgetting they were telepaths. As his mouth
opened, he found himself tumbling through strobe flashes onto a barren
dune. He sat up spitting sand. He was in an oasis of stunted cactus trees
loaded with bright globes. He tried one. Delicious. He picked. Just as his
arms were full, the scene strobed again, and he was sprawled on the
Lovepile
's
floor, his new friends swarming over him.

"Sweet! Sweet!" Ragglebomb bored into the juice.

"Save some for the pod, maybe it'll learn to copy them. It metabolizes
stuff it digests," Bushbaby explained with its mouth full. "Basic rations.
Very boring."

"Why couldn't you go down there?"

"Don't. All over that desert, things dying of thirst. Torture." He felt
the boa flinch. "You are beautiful, No-Pain." Bushbaby nuzzled his ear.

Ragglebomb was picking guitar bridges on his thorax. They all began to
sing a sort of seguidilla without words. No instruments here, nothing but
their live bodies. Making music with empaths was like making love with
them. Touch what he touched, feel what he felt. Totally into his mind. I—we.
One. He could never have dreamed this up, he decided, drumming softly on
Muscle. The boa amped, mysterioso.

And so began his voyage home in the
Lovepile,
his new life of joy.
Fruits and fondues he brought them, hams and honey, parsley, sage,
rosemary, and thyme. World after scruffy world. All different now, on his
way home.

"Are there many out here?" he asked lazily. "I never found anyone else,
between the stars."

"Be glad," said Bushbaby. "Move your leg." And they told him of the tiny,
busy life that plied a far corner of the galaxy, whose pain had made them
flee. And of a vast presence Ragglebomb had once encountered before he
picked the others up.

"
That's where I got the idea for the Rulers bit,
" Muscle confided.
"
We need some cheese.
"

Bushbaby cocked his head to catch the minds streaming by them in the
abyss.

"How about yoghurt?" It nudged Ragglebomb. "Over that way. Feel it
squishing on their teeth? Bland, curdy … with just a
rien
of
ammonia, probably their milk pails are dirty."

"
Pass the dirty yoghurt.
" Muscle closed his eyes.

"We have some great cheese on Earth," he told them. "You'll love it. When
do we get there?"

Bushbaby squirmed.

"Ah, we're moving right along. But what I get from you, it's weird.
Foul
blue sky.
Dying
green. Who needs that?"

"No!" He jerked up, scattering them. "That's not true! Earth is
beautiful!"

The walls jolted, knocking him sidewise.

"
Watch it!
" boomed Muscle. Bushbaby had grabbed the butterfly,
petting and crooning to it.

"You frightened his
ramplig
reflex. Raggle throws things out when
he's upset. Tsut, tsut, don't you, baby. We lost a lot of interesting
beings that way at first."

"I'm sorry. But you've got it twisted. My memory's a little messed up, but
I'm
sure.
Beautiful. Like amber waves of grain. And purple mountain
majesties," he laughed, spreading his arms. "From sea to shining sea!"

"Hey, that swings!" Raggle squeaked, and started strumming.

And so they sailed on, carrying him home.

He loved to watch Bushbaby listening for the thought beacons by which they
steered.

"Catching Earth yet?"

"Not yet awhile. Hey, how about some fantastic seafood?"

He sighed and felt himself tumble. He had learned not to bother saying
yes. This one was a laugh, because he forgot that dishes didn't
ramplig.
He came back in a mess of creamed trilobites and they had a creamed
trilobite orgy.

But he kept watching Bushbaby.

"Getting closer?"

"It's a big galaxy, baby." Bushbaby stroked his bald spots. With so much
rampligging
he couldn't keep any hair. "What'll you do on Earth as
stimulating as this?"

"I'll show you," he grinned. And later on he told them.

"They'll fix me up when I get home. Reconnect me right."

A shudder shook the
Lovepile.

"You want
to feel pain?
"

"
Pain is the obscenity of the universe,
" Muscle tolled. "
You are
sick.
"

"I don't know," he said apologetically. "I can't seem to feel, well, real
this way."

They looked at him.

"We thought that was the way your species always felt," said Bushbaby.

"I hope not." Then he brightened. "Whatever it is, they'll fix it. Earth
must be pretty soon now, right?"

"Over the sea to Skye!" Bushbaby hummed.

But the sea was long and long, and his moods were hard on the sensitive
empaths. Once when he responded listlessly, he felt a warning lurch.

Ragglebomb was glowering at him.

"You want to put me out?" he challenged. "Like those others? What happened
to them, by the way?"

Bushbaby winced. "It was dreadful. We had no idea they'd survive so long,
outside."

"But I don't feel pain. That's why you rescued me, isn't it? Go ahead," he
said perversely. "I don't care. Throw me out. New thrill."

"Oh, no, no, no!" Bushbaby hugged him. Ragglebomb, penitent, crawled under
his legs.

"So you've been popping around the universe bringing live things in to
play with and throwing them out when you're bored. Get away," he scolded.
"Shallow sensation freaks is all you are. Galactic poltergeists!"

He rolled over and hoisted the beautiful Bushbaby over his face, watching
it wiggle and squeal. "
Her lips were red, her locks were free, her
locks were yellow as gold.
" He kissed its golden belly. "
The
Night-Mare Life-in-Death was she, who thicks man's blood with cold.
"

And he used their pliant bodies to build the greatest lovepile yet. They
were delighted and did not mind when later on he wept, facedown on
Muscle's dark coils.

But they were concerned.

"I have it," Bushbaby declared, tapping him with a pickle. "
Own-species
sex.
After all, face it, you're no empath. You need a jolt of your own
kind."

"You mean you know where there's people like me? Humans?"

Bushbaby nodded, eyeing him as it listened. "Ideal. Just like I read you.
Right over there, Raggle. And they have a thing they chew—wait—
salmoglossa
fragrans.
Prolongs you-know-what, according to them. Bring some back
with you, baby."

Next instant he was rolling through strobes onto tender green. Crushed
flowers under him, ferny boughs above, sparkling with sunlight. Rich air
rushed into his lungs. He bounced up buoyantly. Before him a parklike
vista sloped to a glittering lake on which blew colored sails. The sky was
violet with pearly little clouds. Never had he seen a planet remotely like
this. If it wasn't Earth, he had fallen into paradise.

Beyond the lake he could see pastel walls, fountains, spires. An alabaster
city undimmed by human tears. Music drifted on the sweet breeze. There
were figures by the shore.

He stepped out into the sun. Bright silks swirled, white arms went up.
Waving to him? He saw they were like human girls, only slimmer and more
fair. They were calling! He looked down at his body, grabbed a flowering
branch and started toward them.

"
Do not forget the
salmoglossa," said the voice of Muscle.

He nodded. The girls' breasts were bobbing, pink-tipped. He broke into a
trot.

It was several days later when they brought him back, drooping between a
man and a young girl. Another man walked beside them striking plangently
on a harp. Girls and children danced along, and a motherly-looking woman
paced in front, all beautiful as peris.

They leaned him gently against a tree and the harper stood back to play.
He struggled to stand upright. One fist was streaming blood.

"Good-bye," he gasped. "Thanks."

The strobes caught him sagging, and he collapsed on the
Lovepile
's
floor.

"Aha!" Bushbaby pounced on his fist. "Good grief, your hand! The
salmoglossa
's
all blood." It began to shake out the herbs. "Are you all right now?"
Ragglebomb was squeaking softly, thrusting its long tongue into the blood.

He rubbed his head.

"They welcomed me," he whispered. "It was perfect. Music. Dancing. Games.
Love. They haven't any medicine because they eliminated all disease. I had
five women and a cloud-painting team and some little boys, I think."

He held out his bloody blackened hand. Two fingers were missing.

"Paradise," he groaned. "Ice doesn't freeze me, fire doesn't burn. None of
it means anything at all. I WANT TO GO HOME."

There was a jolt.

"I'm sorry," he wept. "I'll try to control myself. Please, please get me
back to Earth. It'll be soon, won't it?"

There was a silence.

"When?"

Bushbaby made a throat-clearing noise.

"Well, just as soon as we can find it. We're bound to run across it. Maybe
any minute, you know."

"
What?
" He sat up death-faced. "You mean you don't know where it
is? You mean we've just been going—no place?"

Bushbaby wrapped its hands over its ears. "Please! We can't recognize it
from your description. So how can we go
back
there when we've never
been there? If we just keep an ear out as we go we'll pick it up, you'll
see."

His eyes rolled at them; he couldn't believe it.

"… ten to the eleventh times two suns in the galaxy … I
don't know your velocity and range. Say, one per second. That's—that's
six thousand years.
Oh, no!" He put his head in his bloody hands.
"I'll never see home again."

"Don't say it, baby." The golden body slid close. "Don't down the trip. We
love you, No-Pain." They were all petting him now. "Happy, sing him!
Touch, taste, feel. Joy!"