The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch (10 page)

“Terran?” the one named Alec said. “We’re Terrans. What the hell are you? A freak that died out centuries ago, that’s what. Well, maybe not centuries but anyhow a long time ago.”

“An enclave of them must still exist on this moon,” the first said. To Leo he said, “How many dawn men are there besides you? Come on, fella; we won’t treat you bad. Any women? Can you reproduce?” To his companion he said, “It just seems like centuries. I mean, you’ve got to remember we been evolving in terms of a hundred thousand years at a crack. If it wasn’t for Denkmal these dawn men would still be—”

“Denkmal,” Leo said. Then this was the end-result of Denkmal’s E Therapy; this was only a little ahead in time, perhaps merely decades. Like them he felt a gulf of a million years, and yet it was in fact an illusion; he himself, when he finished with his therapy, might resemble these. Except that the chitinous hide was gone, and that had been one of the prime aspects of the evolving types. “I go to his clinic,” he said to the two of them. “Once a week. At Munich. I’m evolving; it’s working on me.” He came up close to them, and studied them intently. “Where’s the hide?” he asked. “To shield you from the sun?”

“Aw, that phony hot period’s over,” the one named Alec said, with a gesture of derision. “That was those Proxers, working with the Renegade. You know. Or maybe you don’t.”

“Palmer Eldritch,” Leo said.

“Yeah,” Alec said, nodding. “But we got him. Right here on this moon, in fact. Now it’s a shrine—not to us but to the Proxers; they sneak in here to worship. Seen any? We’re supposed to arrest any we find; this is Sol system territory, belongs to the UN.”

“What planet’s this a moon of?” Leo asked.

The two evolved Terrans both grinned. “Terra,” Alec said. “It’s artificial. Called Sigma 14-B, built years ago. Didn’t it exist in your time? It must have; it’s a real old one.”

“I think so,” Leo said. “Then you can get me to Earth.”

“Sure.” Both of the evolved Terrans nodded in agreement. “As a matter of fact we’re taking off in half an hour; we’ll take you along—you and the rest of your tribe. Just tell us the location.”

“I’m the only one,” Leo said testily, “and we would hardly be a tribe anyhow; we’re not out of prehistoric times.” He wondered how he had gotten here to this future epoch. Or was this an illusion, too, constructed by the master hallucinator, Palmer Eldritch? Why should he assume this was any more real than the child Monica or the glucks or the synthetic P. P. Layouts which he had visited—visited and seen collapse? This was Palmer Eldritch imagining the future; these were meanderings of his brilliant, creative mind as he waited at his demesne on Luna for the effects of the intravenous injection of Chew-Z to wear off. Nothing more.

In fact, even as he stood here, he could see, faintly, the horizon-line through the parked ship; the ship was slightly transparent, not quite substantial enough. And the two evolved Terrans; they wavered in a mild but pervasive distortion which reminded him of the days when he had had astigmatic vision, before he had received, by surgical transplant, totally healthy eyes. The two of them had not exactly locked in place.

He reached his hand out to the first Terran. “I’d like to shake hands with you,” he said. Alec, the Terran, extended his hand, too, with a smile.

Leo’s hand passed through Alec’s and emerged on the far side.

“Hey,” Alec said, frowning; he at once, pistonlike, withdrew his hand. “What’s going on?” To his companion he said, “This guy isn’t real; we should have suspected it. He’s a—what did they used to call them? From chewing that diabolical drug that Eldritch picked up in the Prox system. A
chooser;
that’s what. He’s a phantasm.” He glared at Leo.

“I am?” Leo said feebly, and then realized that Alec was right. His actual body was on Luna; he was not really here.

But what did that make the two-evolved Terrans? Perhaps they were not constructs of Eldritch’s busy mind; perhaps they, alone, were genuinely here. Meanwhile, the one named Alec was now staring at him.

“You know,” Alec said to his companion, “this
chooser
looks familiar to me. I’ve seen a pic in the ’papes of him; I’m sure of it.” To Leo he said, “What’s your name,
chooser?
” His stare became harsher, more intense.

“I’m Leo Bulero,” Leo said.

Both the evolved Terrans jumped with shock. “Hey,” Alec exclaimed, “no wonder I thought I recognized him. He’s the guy who killed Palmer Eldritch!” To Leo he said, “You’re a hero, fella. I bet you don’t know that, because you’re just a mere
chooser;
right? And you’ve come back here to haunt this place because this is historically the—”

“He didn’t come back,” his companion broke in. “He’s from the past.”

“He can still come back,” Alec said. “This is a second coming for him, after his own time; he’s returned—okay, can I say that?” To Leo he said, “You’ve returned to this spot because of its association with Palmer Eldritch’s death.” He turned, and started on a run toward the parked ship. “I’m going to tell the ’papes,” he called. “Maybe they can get a pic of you—the ghost of Sigma 14-B.” He gestured excitedly. “Now the tourists really will want to visit here. But look out: maybe Eldritch’s ghost, his
chooser,
will show up here, too. To pay you back.” At that thought he did not look too pleased.

Leo said, “Eldritch already has.”

Alec halted, then came slowly back. “He has?” He looked around nervously. “Where is he? Near here?”

“He’s dead,” Leo said. “I killed him. Strangled him.” He felt no emotion about it, just weariness. How could one become elated over the killing of any living person, especially a child?

“They’ve got to re-enact it through eternity,” Alec said, impressed and wide-eyed. He shook his great egglike head.

Leo said, “I wasn’t re-enacting anything. This was the first time.” Then he thought, And not the real one. That’s still to come.

“You mean,” Alec said slowly, “it—”

“I’ve still got to do it,” Leo grated. “But one of my Pre-Fash consultants tells me it won’t be long. Probably.” It was not inevitable and he could never forget that fact. And Eldritch knew it, too; this would go a long way in explaining Eldritch’s efforts here and now; he was staving off—or so he hoped—his own death.

“Come on,” Alec said to Leo, “and take a look at the marker commemorating the event.” He and his companion led the way; Leo, reluctantly, followed. “The Proxers,” Alec said over his shoulder, “always seek to—you know. Desiccate this.”

“Desecrate,” his companion corrected.

“Yeah,” Alec said, nodding. “Anyhow, here it is.” He stopped.

Ahead of them jutted an imitation—but impressive—granite pillar; on it a brass plaque had been bolted securely at eye-level. Leo, against his better judgment, read the plaque.

IN MEMORIAM. 2016 A.D. NEAR THIS SPOT THE ENEMY OF THE SOL SYSTEM PALMER ELDRITCH WAS SLAIN IN FAIR COMBAT WITH THE CHAMPION OF OUR NINE PLANETS, LEO BULERO OF TERRA.

“Hoopla,” Leo ejaculated, impressed despite himself. He read it again. And again. “I wonder,” he said, half to himself, “if Palmer’s seen this.”

“If he’s a
chooser,
” Alec said, “he probably has. The original form of Chew-Z produced what the manufacturer—Eldritch himself—called ‘time-overtones.’ That’s you right now; you occupy a locus years after you’re dead. I guess you’re dead by now, anyhow.” To his companion he said, “Leo Bulero’s dead by now, isn’t he?”

“Oh hell, sure,” his companion said. “By several decades.”

“In fact I think I read—” Alec began, then ceased, looking past Leo; he nudged his companion. Leo turned to see what it was.

A scraggly, narrow, ungainly white dog was approaching.

“Yours?” Alec asked.

“No,” Leo said.

“It looks like a
chooser
dog,” Alec said. “See, you can look through it a little.” The three of them watched the dog as it marched up to them, then past them to the monument itself.

Picking up a pebble, Alec chucked it at the dog; the pebble passed through the dog and landed in the grass beyond. It was a
chooser
dog.

As the three of them watched, the dog halted at the monument, seemed to gaze up at the plaque for a brief interval, and then it—

“Defecation!” Alec shouted, his face turning bright red with rage. He ran toward the dog, waving his arms and trying to kick it, then reaching for the laser pistol at his belt but missing its handle in his excitement.

“Desecration,” his companion corrected.

Leo said, “It’s Palmer Eldritch.” Eldritch was showing his contempt for the monument, his lack of fear toward the future. There would never be such a monument. The dog leisurely strolled off, the two evolved Terrans cursing futilely at it as it departed.

“You’re sure that’s not your dog?” Alec demanded suspiciously. “As far as I can make out you’re the only
chooser
around.” He eyed Leo.

Leo started to answer, to explain to them what had happened; it was important that they understand. And then without harbinger of any kind the two evolved Terrans disappeared; the grassy plain, the monument, the departing dog—the entire panorama evaporated, as if the method by which it had been projected, stabilized, and maintained had clicked to the off position. He saw only an empty white expanse, a focused glare, as if there were now no 3-D slide in the projector at all. The light, he thought, that underlies the play of phenomena which we call “reality.”

And then he was sitting in the barren room in Palmer Eldritch’s demesne on Luna, facing the table with its electronic gadget.

The gadget or contraption or whatever it was said, “Yes, I’ve seen the monument. About 45 percent of the futures have it. Slightly less than equal chances obtain so I’m not terribly concerned. Have a cigar.” Once again the machine extended a lighted cigar to Leo.

“No,” Leo said.

“I’m going to let you go,” the gadget said, “for a short time, for about twenty-four hours. You can return to your little office at your minuscule company on Terra; while you’re there I want you to ponder the situation. Now you’ve seen Chew-Z in force; you comprehend the fact that your antediluvian product Can-D can’t even remotely compare to it. And furthermore—”

“Bull,” Leo said. “Can-D is far superior.”

“Well, you think it over,” the electronic contraption said, with confidence.

“All right,” Leo said. He stood stiffly. Had he actually been on the artificial Earth-satellite Sigma 14-B? It was a job for Felix Blau; experts could trace it down. No use worrying about that now. The immediate problem was serious enough; he still had not gotten out from under Palmer Eldritch’s control.

He could escape only when—and if—Eldritch decided to release him. That was an undisguised piece of factual reality, hard as it was to face.

“I’d like to point out,” the gadget said, “that I’ve shown mercy to you, Leo. I could have put an—well, let’s say a period to the sentence that constitutes your rather short life. And at any time. Because of this I expect—I insist—that you consider very seriously doing the same.”

“As I said, I’ll think it over,” Leo answered. He felt irritable, as if he had drunk too many cups of coffee, and he wanted to leave as soon as possible; he opened the door of the room, and made his way out into the corridor.

As he started to shut the door after him the electronic gadget said, “If you don’t decide to join me, Leo,
I’m not going to wait.
I’m going to kill you. I must, to save my own self. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Leo said, and shut the door after him. And I have to, too, he thought. Must kill you…or couldn’t we both put it in a less direct way, something like they say about animals: put you to sleep.

And I have to do it not just to save myself but everyone in the system, and that’s my staff on which I’m leaning. For example, those two evolved Terran soldiers I ran into at the monument. For them so they’ll have something to guard.

Slowly he walked up the corridor. At the far end stood the group of ’pape reporters; they had not left yet, had not even obtained their interview—almost no time had passed. So on that point Palmer was right.

Joining the reporters Leo relaxed, and felt considerably better. Maybe he would get away, now; maybe Palmer Eldritch was actually going to let him go. He would live to smell, see, drink in the world once more.

But underneath he knew better. Eldritch would never let him go; one of them would have to be destroyed, first.

He hoped it would not be himself. But he had a terrible intuition, despite the monument, that it could well be.

SEVEN

The door to Barney Mayerson’s inner office, flung open, revealed Leo Bulero, hunched with weariness, travel-strained. “You didn’t try to help me.”

After an interval Barney answered, “That’s correct.” There was no use trying to explain why, not because Leo would fail to understand or believe but because of the reason itself. It was simply not adequate.

Leo said, “You are fired, Mayerson.”

“Okay.” And he thought, Anyhow I’m alive. And if I’d gone after Leo I wouldn’t be, now. He began with numbed fingers gathering up his personal articles from his desk, dropping them into an empty sample case.

“Where’s Miss Fugate?” Leo demanded. “She’ll be taking your place.” He came close to Barney, and scrutinized him. “
Why
didn’t you come and get me? Name me the goddam reason, Barney.”

“I looked ahead. It would have cost me too much. My life.”

“But you didn’t have to come personally. This is a big company—you could have arranged for a party from here, and stayed behind. Right?”

It was true. And he hadn’t even considered it.

“So,” Leo said, “you must have wanted something fatal to happen to me. No other interpretation is possible. Maybe it was unconscious. Yes?”

“I guess so,” Barney admitted. Because certainly he hadn’t been aware of it. Anyhow Leo was right; why else would he not have taken the responsibility, seen to it that an armed party, as Felix Blau had suggested, emerged from P. P. Layouts and headed for Luna? It was so obvious, now. So simple to see.

“I’ve had a terrible experience,” Leo said, “in Palmer Eldritch’s domain. He’s a damned magician, Barney. He did all kinds of things with me, things you and I never dreamed of. Turned himself for instance into a little girl, showed me the future, only maybe that was unintentional, made a complete universe up anyhow including a horrible animal called a gluck along with an illusional New York City with you and Roni. What a mess.” He shook his head blearily. “Where you going to go?”

“There’s only one place I can go.”

“Where’s that?” Leo eyed him apprehensively.

“Only one other person would have use for my Pre-Fash talent.”

“Then you’re my enemy!”

“I am already. As far as you’re concerned.” And he was willing to accept Leo’s judgment as fair, Leo’s interpretation of his failure to act.

“I’ll get you, too, then,” Leo said. “Along with that nutty magician, that so-called Palmer Eldritch.”

“Why so-called?” Barney glanced up quickly, and ceased his packing.

“Because I’m even more convinced he’s not human. I never did lay eyes on him except during the period under the effect of Chew-Z; otherwise he addressed me through an electronic extension.”

“Interesting,” Barney said.

“Yes, isn’t it? And you’re so corrupt you’d go ahead and apply to his outfit for a job. Even though he may be a wig-headed Proxer or something worse, some damn thing that got into his ship while it was coming or going, out in deep space, ate him, and took his place. If you had seen the glucks—”

“Then for chrissakes,” Barney said, “
don’t make me do this
. Keep me on here.”

“I can’t. Not after what you failed to do loyalty-wise.” Leo glanced away, swallowing rapidly. “I wish I wasn’t so sore in this cold, reasonable way at you, but—” He clenched his fists, futilely. “It was hideous; he virtually did it, broke me. And then I ran into those two evolved Terrans and that helped. Up until Eldritch appeared in the form of a dog that peed on the monument.” He grimaced starkly. “I have to admit he demonstrated his attitude graphically; there was no mistaking his contempt.” He added, half to himself, “His belief that he’s going to win, that he has nothing to fear even after seeing the plaque.”

“Wish me luck,” Barney said. He held out his hand; they briefly, ritualistically shook and then Barney walked from his office, past his secretary’s desk, out into the central corridor. He felt hollow, stuffed with some unoccupied, tasteless waste-material, like straw. Nothing more.

As he stood waiting for the elevator Roni Fugate hurried up, breathless, her clear face animated with concern. “Barney—he fired you?”

He nodded.

“Oh dear,” she said. “Now what?”

“Now,” he said, “over to the other side. For better or worse.”

“But how can you and I go on living together, with me working here for Leo and you—”

“I don’t have the foggiest notion,” Barney said. The elevator had arrived, self-regulated; he stepped into it. “I’ll see you,” he said, and touched the button; the doors shut, cutting off his view of Roni. I’ll see you in what the Neo-Christians call hell, he thought to himself. Probably not before. Not unless this already is, and it may be, hell right now.

At street level he emerged from P. P. Layouts, and stood under the antithermal protective shield searching for signs of a cab.

As a cab halted and he started toward it a voice called to him urgently from the entrance of the building, “Barney, wait.”

“You’re out of your mind,” he said to her. “Go back on in. Don’t abandon your budding, bright career along with what was left of mine.”

Roni said, “We were about to work together, remember? To as I put it betray Leo; why can’t we go on cooperating now?”

“It’s all changed. By my sick and depraved unwillingness or inability or whatever you care to call it to go to Luna and help Leo.” He felt differently about himself, now, and no longer viewed himself in the same ultra-sympathetic light. “God, you don’t want to stay with me,” he said to the girl. “Someday you’d be in difficulty and need my help and I’d do to you exactly what I did to Leo; I’d let you sink without moving my right arm.”

“But your own life was at—”

“It always is,” he pointed out. “When you do anything. That’s the name of the comedy we’re stuck in.” It didn’t excuse him, at least not in his own eyes. He entered the cab, automatically gave his conapt address, and lay back against the seat as the cab rose into the fire-drenched midday sky. Far below, under the antithermal curtain, Roni Fugate stood shielding her eyes, watching him go. No doubt hoping he would change his mind and turn back.

However, he did not.

It takes a certain amount of courage, he thought, to face yourself and say with candor, I’m rotten. I’ve done evil and I will again. It was no accident; it emanated from the true, authentic me.

Presently the cab began to descend; he reached into his pocket for his wallet and then discovered with shock that this was not his conapt building; in panic he tried to figure out where he was. Then it came to him. This was conapt 492. He had given Emily’s address to the cab.

Whisk! Back to the past. Where things made sense. He thought, When I had my career, knew what I was wanted from the future, knew even in my heart what I was willing to abandon, turn again, sacrifice—and what for. But now…

Now he had sacrificed his career, in order as it seemed at the time to save his life. So by logic he had at that former time sacrificed Emily to save his life; it was as simple as that. Nothing could be clearer. It was not an idealistic goal, not the old Puritan, Calvin-style high duty to vocation; it was nothing more than the instinct that inhabited and compelled every flatworm that crept. Christ! he thought. I’ve done this: I’ve put myself ahead first of Emily and now of Leo. What kind of human am I? And, as I was honest enough to tell her, next it would be Roni. Inevitably.

Maybe Emily can help me, he said to himself. Maybe that’s why I’m here. She was always smart about things like this; she saw through the self-justifying delusions that I erected to obscure the reality inside. And of course that just made me more eager to get rid of her. In fact that alone was reason enough, given a person like me. But—maybe I’m better able to endure it now.

A few moments later he was at Emily’s door, ringing the bell.

If she thinks I should join Palmer Eldritch’s staff I will, he said to himself. And if not then not. But she and her husband are working for Eldritch; how can they, with morality, tell me not to? So it was decided in advance. And maybe I knew that, too.

The door opened. Wearing a blue smock stained with both wet and dried clay, Emily stared at him large-eyed, astonished.

“Hi,” he said. “Leo fired me.” He waited but she said nothing. “Can I come in?” he asked.

“Yes.” She led him into the apt; in the center of the living room her familiar potter’s wheel took up, as always, enormous space. “I was potting. It’s nice to see you, Barney. If you want a cup of coffee you’ll have to—”

“I came here to ask your advice,” he said. “But now I’ve decided it’s unnecessary.” He wandered to the window, set his bulging sample case down, and gazed out.

“Do you mind if I go on working? I had a good idea, or at least it seemed good at the time.” She rubbed her forehead, then massaged her eyes. “Now I don’t know…and I feel so tired. I wonder if it has to do with E Therapy.”

“Evolution therapy? You’re taking that?” He spun at once to scrutinize her; had she changed physically?

It seemed to him—but this was perhaps because he had not seen her for so long—that her features had coarsened.

Age, he thought. But—

“How’s it working?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve just had one session. But you know, my mind feels so muddy. I can’t seem to think properly; all my ideas get scrambled up together.”

“I think you had better knock off on that therapy. Even if it is the rage; even if it is what everybody who is anybody does.”

“Maybe so. But they seem so satisfied. Richard and Dr. Denkmal.” She hung her head, an old familiar response. “They’d know, wouldn’t they?”

“Nobody knows; it’s uncharted. Knock it off. And you always let people walk all over you.” He made his tone commanding; he had used that tone with her countless times during their years together, and generally it had worked. Not always.

And this time, he saw, was one of them; she got that stubborn look in her eyes, the refusal to be normally passive. “I think it’s up to me,” she said with dignity. “And I intend to continue.”

Shrugging, he roamed about the conapt. He had no power over her; nor did he care. But was that true? Did he really not care? An image appeared in his mind, of Emily devolving…and at the same time trying to work on her pots, trying to be creative. It was funny—and dreadful.

“Listen,” he said roughly. “If that guy actually loves you—”

“But I told you,” Emily said. “It’s my decision.” She returned to her wheel; a great tall pot was being thrown, and he walked over to get a good look at it. A nice one, he decided. And yet—familiar. Hadn’t she done such a pot already? He said nothing, however; he merely studied it. “What do you suppose you’re going to do?” Emily asked. “Who could you work for?” She seemed sympathetic and it made him remember how, recently, he had blocked the sale of her pots to P. P. Layouts. Easily, she could have held a great animosity toward him, but it was typical of her not to. And of course she knew that it was he who had turned Hnatt down.

He said, “My future may be decided. I got a draft notice.”

“Good grief. You on Mars; I can’t picture it.”

“I can chew Can-D,” he said. “Only—” Instead of having a Perky Pat layout, he thought, maybe I’ll have an Emily layout. And spend time, in fantasy, back with you, back to the life I deliberately, moronically, turned my back on. The only really good period of my life, when I was genuinely happy. But of course I didn’t know it, because I had nothing to compare it to…as I have now. “Is there any chance,” he said, “that you’d like to come?”

She stared at him and he stared back, both of them dumbfounded by what he had proposed.

“I mean it,” he said.

“When did you decide that?”

“It doesn’t matter when I decided it,” he said. “All that matters is that that’s how I feel.”

“It also matters how
I
feel,” Emily said quietly; she then resumed potting. “And I’m perfectly happy married to Richard. We get along just swell.” Her face was placid; beyond doubt she meant every word of it. He was damned, doomed, consigned to the void which he had hollowed out for himself. And he deserved it. They both knew that, without either saying it.

“I guess I’ll go,” he said.

Emily didn’t protest that, either. She merely nodded.

“I hope in the name of God,” he said, “that you’re not devolving. I think you are, personally. I can see it, in your face for instance. Look in the mirror.” With that he departed; the door shut after him. Instantly he regretted what he had said, and yet it might be a good thing…it might help her, he thought. Because I could see it. And I don’t want that; nobody does. Not even that jackass of a husband of hers that she prefers over me…for reasons I’ll never know, except perhaps that marriage to him has the aspect of destiny. She’s fated to live with Richard Hnatt, fated never to be my wife again; you can’t reverse the flow of time.

You can when you chew Can-D, he thought. Or the new product, Chew-Z. All the colonists do. It’s not available on Earth but it is on Mars or Venus or Ganymede, any of the frontier colonies.

If everything else fails, there’s that.

And perhaps it already had failed. Because—

In the last analysis he could not go to Palmer Eldritch. Not after what the man had done—or tried to do—to Leo. He realized this as he stood outdoors waiting for a cab. Beyond him the midday street shimmered and he thought, Maybe I’ll step out there. Would anyone find me before I died? Probably not. It would be as good a way as any…

So there goes my last hope of employment. It would amuse Leo that I’d balk here. He’d be surprised and probably pleased.

Just for the hell of it, he decided, I’ll call Eldritch, ask him, see if he would give me a job.

He found a vidphone booth and put through a call to Eldritch’s demesne on Luna.

“This is Barney Mayerson,” he explained. “Previously top Pre-Fash consultant to Leo Bulero; as a matter of fact I was second in command at P. P. Layouts.”

Eldritch’s personnel manager frowned and said, “Well? What do you want?”

“I’d like to see about a job with you.”

“We’re not hiring any Pre-Fash consultants. Sorry.”

“Would you ask Mr. Eldritch, please?”