Big Book of Science Fiction Page 5

  “Woopen yew weep.”

  “I know how you feel.” He knew that the silver man wanted to tell him something, but couldn’t help him out. He grinned and picked up the saw. Mewhu took it out of his hand and tossed it off the roof, being careful to miss Molly, w ho was dancing back to get a point of vantage.

  “What’s the big idea?”

  “Dellihew hidden,” said Mewhu. “Pento deh numinew heh.” And he pointed at the flyin’ belt and at the hole in the roof.

  “You mean I’d rather fly off in that thing than work? Brother, you got it. But I’m afraid I have to—”

  Mewhu circled his arm, pointing all around the hole in the roof, and pointed again to the pogo-chute, indicating one of the jet motors.

  “I don’t get it,” said Jack.

  Mewhu apparently understood, and an expression of amazement crossed his mobile face. Kneeling, he placed his good hand around one of the little jet motors, pressed two tiny studs, and the casing popped open. Inside was a compact, sealed, and simple-looking device, the core of the motor itself, apparently. There seemed to be no other fastening. Mewhu lifted it out and handed it to Jack. It was about the size and shape of an electric razor. There was a button on the side. Mewhu pointed at it, pressed the back; and then moved Jack’s hand so that the device was pointed away from them both. Jack, expecting anything, from nothing at all to the “blinding bolt of searing, raw energy” so dear to the science-fiction world, pressed the button.

  The gadget hissed, and snuggled back into his palm in an easy recoil.

  “That’s fine,” said Jack, “but what do I do with it?”

  Mewhu pointed at Jack’s saw cut, then at the device.

  “Oh,” said Jack. He bent close, aimed the thing at the end of the saw cut, and pressed the button. Again the hiss, and the slight, steady recoil; and a fine line appeared in the wood. It was a cut about half as thick as the saw cut, clean and even and, as long as he kept his hand steady, very straight. A fine cloud of pulverized wood rose out of the hole in the roof, carried on a swirl of air.

  Jack experimented, holding the jet close to the wood and away from it. He found that it cut finer the closer he go to it. As he drew it away from the wood, the slot got wider and the device cut slower until at about eighteen inches it would not cut at all. Delighted, Jack quickly cut and trimmed the hole. Mewhu watched, grinning. Jack grinned back, knowing how he would feel if he introduced a saw to some primitive who was trying to work wood with a machete.

  When he was finished, he handed the jet back to the silver man, and slapped his shoulder. “Thanks a million, Mewhu.”

  “Jeek,” said Mewhu, and reached for Jack’s neck. One of his thumbs lay on Jack’s collarbone, the other on his back, over the scapula. Mewhu squeezed twice, firmly.

  “That the way you shake hands back home?” smiled Jack. He thought it likely. Any civilized race was likely to have a manual greeting. The handshake evolved from a raised palm, indicating that the saluter was unarmed. It was quite possible that this was an extension, in a slightly different direction, of the same sign. It would indeed be an indication of friendliness to have two individuals present their throats, each to the other.

  Mewhu, with three deft motions, slipped the tiny jet back into its casing, and holding the rod with one hand, stepped off the roof, letting himself be lowered in that amazing thistledown fashion to the ground. Once there, he tossed the rod back. Jack was started to see it hurtle upward like any earthly object. He grabbed it and missed. It reached the top of its arc, and as soon as it started down again the jets cut in, and it sank easily to him. He put it on and floated down to join Mewhu.

  The silver man followed him to the garage, where he kept a few pieces of milled lumber. He selected some one-inch pine boards and dragged them out, to measure them and mark them off to the size he wanted to knock together a simple trapdoor covering for the useless stair well; a process which Mewhu watched with great interest.

  Jack took up the flying belt and tried to open the streamlined shell to remove the cutter. It absolutely defied him. He pressed, twisted, wrenched, and pulled. All it did was to hiss gently when he moved it toward the floor.

  “Eek, Jeek,” said Mewhu. He took the jet from Jack, pressed it. Jack watched closely. Then he grinned and took the cutter.

  He swiftly cut the lumber up with it, sneering gayly at the ripsaw which hung on the wall. Then he put the whole trap together with a Z-brace, trimmed off the few rough corners, and stood back to admire it. He realized instantly that it was too heavy to carry by himself, let alone lift to the roof. If Mewhu had two good hands, now, or if— He scratched his head.

  “Carry it on the flyin’ belt, Daddy.”

  “Molly! What made you think of that?”

  “Mewhu tol’ ... I mean, I sort of—”

  “Let’s get this straight once and for all. How does Mewhu talk to you?”

  “I dunno, Daddy. It’s sort of like I remembered something he said, but not the . . . the words he said. I jus’ . . . jus’—” she faltered, and then said vehemently, “I don’t know, Daddy. Truly I don’t!”

  “What’d he say this time?”

  She looked at Mewhu. Again Jack noticed the peculiar swelling of Mewhu’s silver mustache. She said, “Put the door you jus’ made on the flyin’ belt and lift it. The flyin’ belt’ll make it fall slow, and you can push it along while…it’s…fallin’.”

  Jack looked at the door, at the jet device, and got the idea. When he had slipped the jet-rod under the door, Mewhu gave him a lift. Up it came; and then Mewhu, steadying it, towed it well outside the garage before it finally sank to the ground. Another lift, another easy tow, and they covered thirty more feet. In this manner they covered the distance to the house, with Molly skipping and laughing behind, pleading for a ride and handing the grinning Mewhu a terrific brag.

  At the house, Jack said, “Well, Einstein Junior, how do we get it up on the roof?”

  Mewhu picked up Molly’s yo-yo and began to operate it deftly. Doing so he walked around the corner of the house.

  “Hey!”

  “He don’t know, Daddy. You’ll have to figger it out.”

  “You mean he could dream up that slick trick for carrying it out here and now his brains give out?”

  “I guess so, Daddy.”

  Jack Garry looked after the retreating form of the silver man, and shook his head. He was already prepared to expect better than human reasoning from Mewhu, even if it was a little different. He couldn’t quite phase this with Mewhu’s shrugging off a problem in basic logic. Certainly a man with his capabilities would not have reasoned out such an ingenious method of bringing the door out here without realizing that that was only half the problem.

  Shrugging, he went back to the garage and got a small block and tackle. He had to put up a big screw hook on the eave, and another on the new trapdoor; and once he had laboriously hauled the door up until the tackle was two-blocked, it was a little more than arduous to work it over the edge and drag it into position. Mewhu had apparently quite lost interest. It was two hours later, just as he put the last screw in the tower bolt on the trapdoor and was calling the job finished, that he heard Mewhu begin to shriek again. He dropped his tools, shrugged into the jet stick, and sailed off the roof.

  “Iris! Iris! What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know, Jack. He’s . . . he’s—”

  Jack pounded around the house to the front. Mewhu was lying on the ground in the midst of some violent kind of convulsion. He lay on his back, arching it high, digging his heels into the turf; and his head was bent back at an impossible angle, so that his weight was on his heels and his forehead. His good arm pounded the ground, though the splinted one lay limp. His lips writhed and he uttered an edgy, gasping series of ululations quite horrible to listen to. He seemed to be able to scream as loudly when inhaling as when exhaling.

  Molly stood beside him, watching him hypnotically. She was smiling. Jack knelt beside the writhing form
and tried to steady it. “Molly, stop grinning at the poor fellow!”

  “But—he’s happy, Daddy.”

  “He’s what?”

  “Can’t you see, silly? He feels—good, that’s all. He’s laughing!” ’

  “Iris, what’s the matter with him? Do you know?”

  “He’s been into the aspirin again, that’s all I can tell you.”

  “He ate four,” said Molly. “He loves ‘em.”

  “What can we do, Jack?”

  “I don’t know, honey,” said Jack worriedly. “Better just let him work it out. Any emetic or sedative we give him might be harmful.”

  The attack slackened and ceased suddenly, and Mewhu went quite limp. Again, with his hand over the man’s chest, Jack felt the strange double pulsing.

  “Out cold,” he said.

  Molly said in a strange, quiet voice, “No, Daddy. He’s lookin’ at dreams.”

  “Dreams?”

  “A place with a or’nge sky,” said Molly. He looked up sharply. Her eyes were closed. “Lots of Mewhus. Hunderds an’ hunderds—big ones. As big as Mr. Thorndyke.” (Thorn-dyke was an editor whom they knew in the city. He was six feet seven.) “Round houses, an’ big airplanes with . . . sticks fer wings.”

  “Molly, you’re talking nonsense!” said her mother worriedly. Jack shushed her. “Go on, baby.”

  “A place, a room. It’s a . . . Mewhu is there and a bunch more. They’re in ... in lines. Rows. There’s a big one with a yella hat. He—keeps them in rows. Here’s Mewhu. He’s outa the line. He’s jumpin’ out th’ windy with a flyin’ belt.” There was a long silence. Mewhu moaned.

  “Well?”

  “Nothin’, Daddy—wait! It’s . , . all . . . fuzzy. Now there’s a thing, a kinda summerine. Only on the ground, not in the water. The door’s open. Mewhu is ... is inside. Knobs, and clocks. Pull on the knobs. Push a— Oh. Oh! It hurts!” She put her fists to her temples.

  “Molly!”

  Molly opened her eyes and said, quite calmly, “Oh, I’m all right, Mommy. It was a thing in the dream that hurt, but it didn’t hurt me. It was all a bunch of fire an’ ... an’ a sleepy feeling, only bigger. An’ it hurt.”

  “Jack, he’ll harm the child!”

  “I doubt it,” said Jack.

  “So do I,” said Iris, wonderingly, and then, almost in-audibly, “Now, why did I say that?”

  “Mewhu’s asleep,” said Molly suddenly.

  “No more dreams?”

  “No more dreams. Gee. That was—funny.”

  “Come and have some lunch,” said Iris. Her voice shook a little. They went into the house. Jack looked down at Mewhu, who was smiling peacefully in his sleep. He thought of putting the strange creature to bed, but the day was warm and the grass was thick and soft where he lay. He shook his head and went into the house.

  “Sit down and feed,” Iris said.

  He looked around. “You’ve done wonders in here,” he said. The litter of lath and plaster was gone, and Iris’ triumphant antimacassars blossomed from the upholstery. She curtsied. “Thank you, m’lord.”

  ~ * ~

  They sat around the card table and began to do damage to tongue sandwiches. “Jack.”

  “Mm-m?”

  “What was that—telepathy?”

  “Think so. Something like that. Oh, wait’ll I tell Zinsser! He’ll never believe it.”

  “Are you going down to the airfield this afternoon?”

  “‘You bet. Maybe I’ll take Mewhu with me.”

  “That would be a little rough on the populace, wouldn’t it? Mewhu isn’t the kind of fellow you can pass off as your cousin Julius.”

  “Heck, he’d be all right. He could sit in the back seat with Molly while I talked Zinsser into coming out to have a look at him.”

  “Why not get Zinsser out here?”

  “You know that’s silly. When we see him in town, he’s got time off. Out here he’s tied to that airport almost every minute.”

  “Jack—do you think Molly’s quite safe with that creature?”

  “Of course! Are you worried?”

  “I ... I am, Jack. But not about Mewhu. About me. I’m worried because I think I should worry more, if you see what I mean.”

  Jack leaned over and kissed her. “The good old maternal instinct at work,” he chuckled. “Mewhu’s new and strange and might be dangerous. At the same time Mewhu’s helpless and inoffensive, and something in you wants to mother him, too.”

  “There you really have something,” said Iris, thoughtfully. “He’s as big and ugly as you are, and unquestionably more intelligent. Yet I don’t mother you.”

  Jack grinned. “You’re not kiddin’.” He gulped his coffee and stood up. “Eat it up, Molly, and go wash your hands and face. I’m going to have a look at Mewhu.”

  “You’re going in to the airport, then?” asked Iris.

  “If Mewhu’s up to it. There’s too much I want to know, too much I haven’t the brains to figure out. I don’t think I’ll get all the answers from Zinsser, by any means; but between us we’ll figure out what to do about this thing. Iris, it’s big!”

  Full of wild, induced speculation, he stepped out on the lawn. Mewhu was sitting up, happily contemplating a caterpillar.

  “Mewhu.”

  “Dew?”

  “How’d you like to take a ride?”

  “Hubilly grees. Jeek?”

  “I guess you don’t get the idea. C’mon,” said Jack, motioning toward the garage. Mewhu very, very carefully set the caterpillar down on a blade of grass and rose to follow; and just then the most unearthly crash issued from the garage. For a frozen moment no one moved, and then Molly’s voice set up a hair-raising reiterated screech. Jack was pounding toward the garage before he knew he had moved.

  “Molly! what is it?”

  At the sound of his voice the child shut up as if she were switch-operated.

  “Molly!”

  “Here I am, Daddy,” she said in an extremely small voice. She was standing by the car, her entire being concentrated in her protruding, faintly quivering lower lip. The car was nose-foremost through the back wall of the garage.

  “Daddy, I didn’t mean to do it; I just wanted to help you get the car out. Are you going to spank me? Please, Daddy, I didn’t—”

  “Quiet!”

  She was quiet, but immediately. “Molly, what on earth possessed you to do a thing like that? You know you’re not supposed to touch the starter!”

  “I was pretending, Daddy, like it was a summerine that could fly, the way Mewhu did.”

  Jack threaded his way through this extraordinary shambles of syntax. “Come here,” he said sternly. She came, her paces half-size, her feet dragging, her hands behind her where her imagination told her they would do the most good. “I ought to whack you, you know.”

  “Yeah,” she answered tremulously. “I guess you oughta. Not more’n a couple of times, huh, Daddy?”

  Jack bit the insides of his cheeks for control, but couldn’t make it. He grinned. You little minx, he thought. “Tell you what,” he said gruffly, looking at the car. The garage was fortunately flimsy, and the few new dents on hood and fenders would blend well with the old ones. “You’ve got three good whacks coming to you. I’m going to add those on to your next spanking.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” said Molly, her eyes big, and chastened. She climbed into the back seat and sat, very straight and small, away back out of sight. Jack cleared away what wreckage he could, and then climbed in, started the old puddle-vaulter and carefully backed out of the damaged shed.

  Mewhu was standing well clear, watching the groaning automobile with startled silver eyes. “Come on in,” said Jack, beckoning. Mewhu backed off.

  “Mewhu!” cried Molly, putting her head out the rear door. Mewhu said. “Yowk,” and came instantly. Molly opened the door and he climbed in, and Molly shouted with laughter when he crouched down on the floor, and made him get up on the seat. Jack pulled around the house, stopped, pi
cked up Mewhu’s jet rod, blew a kiss through the window to Iris, and they were off.

  Forty minutes later they wheeled up to the airport after an ecstatic ride during which Molly had kept up a running fire of descriptive commentary on the wonders of a terrestrial countryside. Mewhu had goggled and ogled in a most satisfactory fashion, listening spellbound to the child—sometimes Jack would have sworn that the silver man understood everything she said—and uttering little shrieks, exclamatory mewings, and interrogative peeps.

  “Now,” said Jack, when he had parked at the field boundary, “you two stay in the car for a while. I’m going to speak to Mr. Zinsser and see if he’ll come out and meet Mewhu. Molly, do you think that you can make Mewhu understand that he’s to stay in the car, and out of sight? You see, if other people see him, they’ll want to ask a lot of silly questions, and we don’t want to embarrass him, do we?”