The Very Best of Tad Williams (34 page)
Read The Very Best of Tad Williams Online
Authors: Tad Williams
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Collections & Anthologies
“Yes, sir. The fairer sex can be difficult at the best of times.”
“What do you mean, ‘difficult’? She was going to scoop out my insides and fill them with some kind of caviar—and not the nice yummy kind, I daresay. I was going to be baby food for a very unwanted group of offspring!”
“I know, sir, which was why I took the liberty of luring Miss Du Palp away from you.”
I gasped. “That was you in the doorway, then? That red-eyed thing?”
“Not exactly, sir.” Omnitron had a look of great complacency on its face. At least that’s what I assume it was—it’s hard to tell with robots. “You see, I knew that a young woman like that would not give up a prospect like you for a lifeless array of metal components like myself. So I took the liberty of knocking the ship’s purser on the head. He was sneaking around in the hallway outside trying to catch you with Miss Du Palp in your room. Then I manipulated his limbs and spoke as though I were him, to draw her away.”
“You coshed the purser? Thumped him on the dome and knocked him out cold? Good lord, Omnitron, you are a hardened villain.”
“I am an omnitronic butler, sir. I am programmed to respond usefully in most situations.”
“Well, that explains the red eyes—those horrid, superior glowing peepers of his will haunt my dreams. Although not quite to the degree that Miss Du Palp will.” I shuddered. “But the shape I saw in the doorway was quite stout, Omnitron. I recall that purser as being rather slender.”
“After I had rendered him senseless, sir, I stuffed his clothing with leftover ham from your breakfast. You really took quite a bit, sir, I must say. There was enough remaining to nearly double his weight, which made him appear to be exactly the sort of mate Miss Du Palp was seeking.”
“Omnitron, you are a pearl among machines. But what about when the arachnid lady finds out her liaison was begun on false if still quite meaty pretenses? What then?”
“I took an additional liberty, sir, of flushing them both out the airlock while they were engaged in their...romantic conversation. The erstwhile couple are frozen now, floating in airless space.”
“Good God! Well, I can’t say
she
didn’t have it coming, but what about the purser? He was a nasty bit of work, true, but he was just doing his job—in an unpleasant sort of way.”
“I dare say, sir, that he would prefer being frozen to the kind of fatherhood that was planned for him. I understand the young of Cunabulum are slow eaters, and it takes their victims many months to die.”
“You know about those creatures?”
“I have run across references to them in my light reading, sir.” Omnitron helped me to my feet and began straightening the stateroom. “I believe there was a pictorial in the Sunday
Times
. The Du Palps are an old and well-known Cunabulumian family. As soon as you told me her name, I knew you were in danger.”
“Huh.” I thought about it for a moment. “Well, I have definitely had a near brush today with jolly old extinction, Omnitron, and I learned two very important lessons as well.”
“Yes? What are those, sir?”
“First, that matrimony is for suckers. Second, that one should always have a faithful robotic servant handy on an interplanetary trip, because in space, nobody can hear you scream.”
“Oh, I rather think everybody on the ship could hear you scream, sir.” Omnitron tugged loose the tiny coverlet I was still clutching in fear-cramped fingers and laid it out on the bed. “In fact, you were shrieking like a little girl. Quite piercing.”
“Then, dash it, why didn’t anybody help me?”
“Well, sir, after all—this is Third Class.”
“I must say, Werner,” said Aunt Jabbatha, “I am surprised—no, ‘shocked’ would be more accurate—to discover you didn’t utterly botch this affair. In fact, you have almost done well. Your cousin Budgerigar is saved from a most unpleasant marriage, and you have scarcely broken anything I will have to pay for. There is the matter of several thousand credits worth of expensive Betelgeusian ham you filched, of course, which will come out of your allowance.”
“Of course,” I said glumly. The thing with aunts is, one does not argue if one wants to keep receiving one’s allowance, even the tiny remaining fragment thereof. “Whatever you say, Auntie.”
“And I think I shall leave Omnitron with you to keep you out of trouble.”
Now that was a bit better. I could get used to being waited on by a stout machine like Omnitron, especially if it was going to prove useful in scraps like the one on the
Chinless
. “As you say, Auntie.”
“He will in fact keep you company on your trip tomorrow to the spa on Indignation Nine.”
“Beg your pardon?” Aunts have the habit of saying things that quite sneak past one’s ears sometimes and don’t reveal themselves in their true horror until they reach the old brainbox. “Spa? Is that meant to be a reward?” It didn’t seem like my idea of the thing at all, which would have been an increase in allowance, or at least Aunt Jabbatha breaking out my late uncle’s quite good brandy and offering me a snifter. “Is it at least one of those sun-and-tennis places?”
“No, you young idiot, it’s a place to dry out. You’re going to Indignation Nine for the cure. You drink too much, and you are endangering your liver and kidneys. I intend to use them one day.”
“Beg pardon? Did you say...use them?”
“Goodness, yes. You don’t think I keep a blithering fool like you around because I like your conversation, do you? Someday I will harvest your organs and use them for myself.” She frowned at the vat that contained her. “A person can grow tired of living in a jar, you know. I haven’t been able to beat a servant properly in centuries. And I want to go dancing again!”
I left Aunt Jabbatha’s house, accompanied by Omnitron. I was pensive with the awful twin visions of bits of the Inner Booster being removed and of my aunt cutting a rug at the Duke of Buckingham’s spring do.
“Well, I can’t say I’m very happy about any of this,” I said. “Indignation Nine is supposed to be a famously dreadful place. They give you mineral water and rye toast and nothing more, then laugh at one’s distress. I’ve even heard ugly rumors of...”—I lowered my voice—“...jumping jacks, Omnitron. Sit-ups! Calisthenics!”
“Buck up, sir.” Omnitron leaned over and plucked a piece of lint from my lapel with one of his metal claspers. “At least you now have learned the falseness of your aunt’s longtime allegations against you. That should be some comfort.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, sir, she has just made it very clear that, at least in the case of your kidneys and liver, she doesn’t think you’re a waste of human tissue after all.”
I considered that for a moment. “By Jove, Omnitron,” I said, “you’re right.”
“Of course, sir.”
FADE IN:
EXT.—PIERSON HOUSE, 1976—NIGHT
From blackness to shadowy trees—a tangled orchard in moonlight. We move through them toward a three-story turn-of-the-century house with lights in the windows. As we track in, we hear Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man” playing distantly on a stereo.
CUT TO:
ERIC’S DREAM POV—
Micro close-up on a carpet—it’s ALIVE, squirming with intricate patterns. “Iron Man” is ear-splitting now.
YOUNG JANICE
Eric! Eric, talk to me!
YOUNG ERIC’S POV swivels up from the carpet—things are dreamlike, compressed, distorted—it’s an acid trip. YOUNG JANICE is so close that her face is distorted. We dimly see she is fifteen, maybe sixteen, wearing ’70s clothes.
YOUNG JANICE
Eric, I want to get out of here...!
YOUNG BRENT lurches into view, looming above JANICE. He’s chunky, teenage, clutching his hands against his stomach, panicky but trying to stay calm.
YOUNG BRENT
Shit, it’s bad—Topher’s freaking out for real up there.
YOUNG JANICE
What’s going on, Brent? Where’s Kimmy?
YOUNG BRENT
I don’t know! I can’t find her. I think...I think something bad happened! I tried to help Topher, and I...
Just now realizing, BRENT lifts his hands away from his body and stares at them. They are smeared with blood. His eyes bug out.
YOUNG JANICE
Oh my God!
Something is THUMPING on the ceiling above—something heavy thrashing around upstairs. As the POV looks upward, the ceiling suddenly becomes TRANSPARENT, a spreading puddle of translucency as though the ceiling were turning to smeared glass. A dark human shape (YOUNG TOPHER) is lying on the floor of the room above, face pressed against the transparent ceiling as though it were a picture window, looking down on them. All we can make out of him is a huddled shape, distorted face, and a single staring eye.R
YOUNG TOPHER
Hey, Pierson—I seeeeee you...!
YOUNG JANICE
(screaming)
Eric!
FADE
with JANICE’s cry still echoing, as we
CUT TO:
INT.—ERIC’S MOTEL—NIGHT
ADULT ERIC as he sits bolt upright in a motel bed, sweating.
YOUNG JANICE
(very faint now)
Eric!
ERIC PIERSON is sweaty, trembling. He’s in his early forties, nice-looking, slender, but at this moment he could be twenty years older. He fumbles for a cigarette and sits smoking in the dark, as we
ROLL CREDITS
EXT.—THE PIERSON HOUSE, NOW—MORNING
ADULT ERIC drives down a long, dirt driveway. From atop a rise we see the house—the same house, but now sitting in a wide, empty DIRT FIELD several acres across: the orchard has been cut down. The house looks grim—peeling paint, screen door hanging halfway off. Hesitantly, he moves up the front steps and through the front door.
INT.—HOUSE
There’s nothing Gothic or creepy about the place, it’s just stripped and empty—carpets removed, no furniture, wallpaper peeling. ERIC hesitates again, then moves toward the dark stairwell. He flicks the switch—no light. He looks up the stairs, but a noise outside distracts him. A car with “Red Letter Realty” has pulled up beside his and someone is getting out.
EXT.—HOUSE
ERIC has returned to the dry front lawn, and stands with his back to the drive, looking up at the house. As an attractive, dark-haired woman in her late thirties approaches, he talks over his shoulder to her.
ERIC
Things seem smaller when you see them after a long time. I remembered this place as being so huge...
JANICE
That’s funny, because I remembered you as being much shorter.
ERIC turns, startled.
ERIC
Janice? Janice? Oh, my God, what are you doing...
(looks at car)
Jesus. Are you the...
JANICE
The real-estate agent? Well, someone else in the office is actually handling it, but when I heard you were coming back to town to sign the sale papers, I said...
(shrugs)
Well, it seemed to make sense.
ERIC is still staring at her.
ERIC
You look...you look great.
JANICE
I look old. But thanks. You look okay yourself. I was sorry to hear about your grandmother.
ERIC
Well, ninety-two. We should all last so long. I thought she’d sold this years ago.
JANICE
She wasn’t stupid, Eric. She was making the developers bid up the price—you can see this was the last property here. She did you a good turn.
ERIC
(turns back to the house)
It’s hard to believe, huh? Those days seem like... like a dream.
JANICE
Not to me. I live around here, remember?
ERIC turns at the harshness in her voice.
ERIC
Is that bad?
JANICE
You didn’t want to stay much. No, I guess it’s all right. Not as exciting as Los Angeles, I’m sure.
(she frowns, then tries to smile)
But it’s nice to send the kids off to school without firearms training.
ERIC
You...have kids?
JANICE
Callie and Jack—eight and six. But no, not at the moment. They’re with their dad for the summer. We’re divorced.
ERIC is staring at the house again.
ERIC
I was just going to visit Topher, then drive back, but...hey, would you like to have dinner? It’d be nice to catch up.
JANICE
You’re...going to visit Topher?
ERIC
Thought I should. You want to come along?
JANICE
(shakes her head; then:)
You haven’t seen him lately. It’s bad.
ERIC
(shrugs)
Yeah, that’s what they told me. So, dinner. What do you say?
JANICE
I don’t think it’s a good idea, Eric.
ERIC
Just talk. Catch up. I...really feel like I need to.
JANICE
You don’t want to catch up, Eric. It’s better to leave things alone.
ERIC
C’mon...Jan-Jan
JANICE looks at him for a long moment, both touched and irritated by the use of the name. She rolls her eyes like a schoolgirl.
JANICE
Asshole.
FADE TO:
EXT.—LAS LOMAS CONVALESCENT HOSPITAL—DAY
It’s a quiet, decent place. ERIC pulls into the parking lot.
INT.—HOSPITAL
ERIC walks down the hallway, past various geriatrics in wheelchairs and one young man twisted with palsy. As ERIC’s gaze sweeps across the young man’s face, a voice speaks behind him.
OLD WOMAN
Stop! Stop!
He turns. A scowling OLD WOMAN in a wheelchair is following him.
OLD WOMAN
It’s all a mistake! Call my mother!
ERIC walks on a little faster than before.
CUT TO:
INT.—HOSPITAL LOUNGE
The room is filled with old people on benches, in chairs, mostly staring into space. ERIC is talking with a NURSE in the lounge doorway. She points toward the corner. As ERIC approaches, looking around, he doesn’t see TOPHER until the last moment—then a look of SHOCK runs across his face.
FLASH CUT TO:
TOPHER as a teenager in 1976, handsome, blond, surfer-ish, a shit-eating grin on his face as he lounges on a couch.
TOPHER
Eric, my man! Have I got something for you...
CUT TO:
TOPHER NOW, in his wheelchair. He is startlingly grotesque, hairless and hunched, but his SKIN is the worst part—a crusty brown SHELL over his whole body, as though he’s covered with dried mud. He sits as stiff as if paralyzed. Two pale blue eyes peer out of the masklike face.
ERIC
(trying to cover his shock)
Topher, man. Long time. Long time... I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you in a while. Life, man, it’s just...you know.
A horrible silence. TOPHER peers outward, not even looking at ERIC.
ERIC
(cont.)
I never...I never stop being sorry, man. It was just so screwed up. You...we never thought...
NURSE
(appearing over his shoulder)
Is everything all right?
ERIC suddenly gets up and lurches toward the door.
CLOSE-UP:
TOPHER’S FACE, staring at nothing.
In the doorway, the NURSE nods understandingly.
NURSE
It’s very disturbing if you haven’t seen it before.
ERIC
(still in shock)
It’s been years...
NURSE
It’s come on very badly lately. Nobody knows what it is. It’s flexible at the joints, though, when he moves. When we move him, that is—he doesn’t do anything himself, doesn’t talk... The skin tissue is unusual—hard and brittle, like... what is it insects make? A chrysalis?
(she looks at ERIC)
I’m sorry, am I upsetting you? Is he a relative?
ERIC
(shaking his head)
High school friend...
FADE TO:
EXT.—RURAL ROAD—DAY, MINUTES LATER
ERIC is driving, face troubled. He fumbles for a tape and pushes it into the player. Something contemporary begins to fill the car, as we
CUT TO:
INT.—HOSPITAL—SAME TIME
CLOSE-UP
on TOPHER’s strange face. The eyes blink for the first time, slow-motion, as we
CUT TO:
INT.—REAL-ESTATE OFFICE—SAME TIME
JANICE, phone against her ear, is looking for something on top of her desk, holding a styrofoam cup of coffee in her hand.
JANICE
...I think they’re looking for something a bit less pricey...
She looks at the coffee, which is suddenly black as ink. There is black on her hand, too, and smeared up her arm. She drops the black liquid to the floor, but her desk is covered in black smears too, and it’s all over her legs and skirt and chair. She screams and leaps up, rubbing frantically at herself, as we
CUT TO:
TOPHER’S EYES:
Another SLOW BLINK
INT.—ERIC’S CAR
The contemporary music abruptly twists sideways into the drum-and-screams intro of the Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil.” Eric stares at the tape player, starts to pop the tape, then hears:
TOPHER
Hook a right, man—time we got back to your place.
The high-school TOPHER is sitting in the passenger seat, grinning, thumb pointing down a side road. ERIC gasps and hits the brakes. The car fishtails to a stop on the side of the road. ERIC stares. The passenger seat is EMPTY. The music is back to normal.
CUT TO:
INT.—REAL ESTATE OFFICE
JANICE is standing up, perfectly clean, her desk clean too, everything fine but for the coffee she spilled on the floor. All her co-workers are STARING at her, as we
CUT TO:
EXT.—GAS STATION—MINUTES LATER
ERIC has pulled his car into a small service station. The CASHIER, a fifty-something skinny guy with a beard and ponytail, wanders out. ERIC gets out and leans against the car, stunned.
CASHIER
It’s self-serve. Hey, you feel all right?
ERIC
Yeah, I guess so.
CASHIER
We got a bathroom if you need to puke or something.
ERIC
No, I...I think I just...had a flashback.
CASHIER
(chortles)
I know about that shit, man. Between acid and that Post Traumatic Stress shit, I’ve had so many of them things I prolly spend more time in the old days than I do in the right-now...
ERIC is looking back over the fields and through the trees, as we
DISSOLVE TO:
INT.—RESTAURANT—NIGHT
ERIC and JANICE eating dinner in an upscale Mexican restaurant. She has dolled up a bit, but has a sweater over her shoulders as though unwilling to relax too much. Neither is eating very heartily.
ERIC
...Had no idea. Oh my God, he looks like...like...
JANICE
Like a monster. I know.