Astounding! (21 page)

Carter relented slightly. “Yeah. You too.”

Relief flashed briefly across Freddy’s face when Carter returned to the room—and then faded when Freddy realized Carter was carrying two bottles. “Did you have a good run?” he asked, carefully neutral.

“Yeah. I guess. Look, can you do me a favor and leave me alone for a while? I need… I need some space.”

After a pause, Freddy nodded. “Of course. Want us to do your laundry for you? They have washers and dryers here.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

While Freddy waited, Carter stripped to his boxers. He considered throwing them into the laundry bag too—it wasn’t as if Freddy hadn’t seen him naked before—but he decided he didn’t care for the idea of lounging around completely nude. He shoved the dirty running clothes into the bag and handed it to Freddy. “Thanks, man. And thanks for… being here. I’m sorry if I’m being an asshole. I just….”

Freddy gave a small smile and a quick squeeze of Carter’s shoulder. “No problem. You’re frequently a much bigger asshole than this.”

As soon as Freddy was gone and the connecting door closed, Carter sat on the edge of the bed and uncapped the first bottle. He didn’t bother with the plastic cups the hotel provided—he just swigged. The bourbon didn’t even burn on the way down. It tasted thick and too sweet, like the cold medicine his mother used to give him when he was very young. But he drank it anyway.

He drank a lot of it.

And then, although he didn’t remember being drunk, which was usually the intermediate point, he found himself on his knees in the Holiday Inn Express bathroom, puking miserably into the toilet. The cold tile made him shiver, and his mouth tasted like paint thinner.

He felt slightly better by the time he exited the bathroom. And then he discovered his clothing, neatly folded and piled on the rumpled duvet. On the nightstand was a large bottle of water and another of orange juice, a plastic bottle of Tylenol with the cap already off, and some crackers and an apple. There was also an egg he presumed was hard-boiled. No sign of the Jim Beam bottles.

He surprised himself by being hungry. He ate all the food, chased with the juice and water. Fortified—and steady on his feet—he walked to the duffel bag, which lay against the wall, as if its owner might reappear any moment. It felt like an invasion of John’s privacy to unzip the top. But of course John would never reclaim that bag, and anyway, Freddy and Keith had already been through his things when they switched motels.

The paper was, as Freddy promised, at the top of the bag, on a small pile of plain white undershirts. The paper was also plain white, carefully folded into thirds. “Carter” was written in blue ink on the outside.

Carter took the paper back to the bed and sat down. He kept it in his hands for a while, weighing it. It seemed much heavier than a single sheet of paper ought to be, and yet also far too insubstantial.

Taking a deep breath, he unfolded it.

There was a man from Earth
, the story began.
He wasn’t originally from Earth and he wasn’t originally a man. His name was John Harper. He was precisely two meters tall, with blue eyes and yellow hair and pinkish skin. He rather resembled the actor Tab Hunter, circa 1957. And although he was not vain, this man was pleased with his looks because he knew another man—Carter Evans—found him attractive.

John Harper lived in a city called Portland, where the sky was soft and gray like crushed velvet, and where the locals drank microbrews, rode bicycles, and prided themselves on being weird. But none of them were as weird as John, who’d come from so very far away.

John was lonely. He wanted to go home.

But then John met Carter, and although Carter didn’t at first believe that John was not originally from Earth, Carter treated John very kindly. They became immediate friends. Soon after, they became more.

John learned for the first time what love truly is. He learned that there is nothing so beautiful in the entire universe as love, nothing so precious.

He wasn’t lonely any longer.

Although John now wished to remain on Earth—to remain with Carter, who made him feel so very human—he knew this was impossible. So he treasured every minute they had together. And he knew that wherever he went, however long he lived, whatever he experienced—with Carter he’d finally and forever found his home.

“I
T
’
S
STILL
not exactly Hugo Award material,” Carter said, poking a fork at his vegetables. He’d showered, put on fresh clothes, and joined Keith and Freddy at a chain steak place a couple of blocks from the motel. His friends looked pleased to see him sober and communicative.

Freddy scowled at him. “Not the point, and you know it. It’s infinitely better than that story of his you published. This one has heart. It has soul. He even used a simile, and it wasn’t horrible.”

“So?”

“So he’d been slogging along for a long time, writing drivel. Then he falls for you and even though you had only a short time together, he comes up with this.”

Keith pointed at Carter. “You’re his muse. The thing that made him human.” He smiled. “This time, he even gave himself a happy ending of sorts.”

Carter speared a broccoli floret but didn’t eat it. “What’s your point?” he demanded, even though he understood the point perfectly well.

“Our point, oh Irascible One,” Freddy said, “is that you helped him change for the better. Be happier. And although you had to lose him, you need to hold on to this truth. And you need to remember it when you start to believe that you have no value.”

Although Carter wanted to frown at that and say something appropriately rude, instead he nearly smiled. Because Freddy was right. The darkest places inside him were now illuminated—faintly but definitely—by the glow from John’s last story. John was, no doubt about it, the most amazing person to ever walk the Earth. And Carter had brought him joy. That counted for something. God, that counted for a
lot
.

Carter wondered when, exactly, John had written the tale. They’d hardly spent a minute apart since they left Portland. The handwriting was a little messy, as if John had been in a hurry. Maybe he wrote while Carter was sleeping. Carter liked that idea—snoozing away while John sat beside him, quickly scribbling about his love.

“Do you think it’s true?” asked Carter, looking at his plate instead of across the table. “Did I make him more human?” He quickly pushed aside a related thought—one that had been niggling at him for some time and that he’d studiously ignored.

“I think you definitely rubbed off on him,” Keith replied, then giggled like a twelve-year-old. “In more ways than one, I mean. I almost feel ripped off to meet a genuine extraterrestrial who seems like such an ordinary guy.”

Remembering what John had said about humans feeling emotions so much more deeply than his own people, Carter was glad John had transformed a little. He hoped the change would stick, even now that John had no physical self. Hell, maybe he could make himself a new body when he got home.

They ate their dinner while conversing quietly. Keith and Freddy split a chocolate dessert, but Carter was content with decaf. He liked watching them together. The way they squabbled gently with each other and teased, the way they laughed in unison, the way they gave each other constant little pats and pokes. They loved each other, and that made him happy.

Freddy pushed away the empty dessert plate and rubbed his belly. “I shouldn’t have eaten that.”

Keith rubbed Freddy’s belly too. “But I like you with a tummy. You’re snugglier that way.”

Okay, maybe their adoration thing could go a little too far. Carter made a face at them, and they laughed.

“What should we do tomorrow?” Freddy asked. “I’m pretty sure we’ve exhausted the delights of the strip malls, but maybe we could—”

“Let’s go to San Francisco,” Carter interrupted.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m ready to move on.”

C
ARTER
CRIED
a little in his bed that night, because it felt so empty without John. He hugged a pillow instead and tried to get past the ache in his chest. Yes, John was gone. But look at how much Carter had gained over the past days. He’d had experiences he’d never dreamed of. He’d fallen in love. He’d
flown
. That heartache was a small price to pay.

He woke at dawn and ran for miles, and before returning to the motel, he stopped for coffee and pastries to share with his friends.

Getting to San Francisco proved slightly complicated. The RV would be repaired the following day—or maybe the day after—and the rental people wanted them to retrieve it when it was ready. But none of the travelers had any desire to return to the valley, especially so soon. After the three of them consulted, Freddy called the rental people and told them they could come get their monster themselves. Freddy would rent a car, the three of them would spend some time in San Francisco, and then they’d all fly home. The rental people put up a small fuss. But then Freddy sicced his lawyer on them, and that was that. Less than an hour later, they checked out of the motel and merged onto the freeway.

Freddy checked them into a nice hotel on Market Street. Carter protested when Freddy handed over his credit card for both rooms—Carter had some money now, thanks to John—but Freddy and Keith told him to shut the hell up and take their gift like a man. The desk clerk tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face.

Anyway, Carter liked his room. It was on the top floor, with a view across Market to the Apple store. Inside, the décor was elegant without being stuffy, and the bathroom was huge.

They spent the rest of the day wandering the city. Carter had been there only once, years ago. He was a little sad over the number of homeless and mentally ill people on the streets, but he liked the little quirks he and his friends encountered, such as a man in soccer gear kicking a ball down the sidewalk and a middle-aged woman in a very conservative suit sporting long hair dyed magenta and cobalt. Carter and Freddy waited patiently while Keith spent a very long time at the Ferry Building, ogling all the different food purveyors. “There’s a place that sells nothing but mushrooms!” Keith happily exclaimed.

That evening they ate pasta at a restaurant that featured live jazz, and then they found a bar where the walls were lined with bookshelves. Carter drank nothing there but mineral water.

The following day involved more walking, this time a hillier route. Keith insisted they take a cable car to Ghirardelli Square and then browse the tourist crap at Fisherman’s Wharf and in Chinatown. Carter had fun despite himself, and they ate Chinese for dinner.

The next morning Keith announced that they would all be experiencing a day of Culture with a capital C. Apparently Culture meant a few hours at the de Young Museum, tea and sweet rice cakes at the Japanese tea garden, and a good long browse at City Lights Bookstore, where Freddy spent a fortune. All of that was pleasant enough. But after a gut-busting dinner at a fancy French-California restaurant with prices that made Carter gasp, Freddy dragged him into a crammed newsstand on the way back to the hotel.

“Look!” Freddy said, plunking the final issue of
Astounding!
into Carter’s hands. It was the only issue on the rack, which might have meant they were nearly sold out. The cover art was gorgeous. The artist was young and new and worked cheap, but she’d done a few previous pieces for him, and every one of them had blown him away. This one was the best of them all.

“It’s a magazine,” Carter groused. He reached to put it back.

But Freddy stopped him with a growl. “Look at it, goddammit. I mean, really
look
at it.”

Carter was going to argue, but the skinny guy standing next to them and leafing through a bicycling magazine butted in. “You oughtta give it a try, dude. It’s got a new story in it by Fred C. Morgan. You know, the Stonesfire Saga guy.”

Carter rolled his eyes. “Fred C. Morgan is a pushy asshole.”

“Yeah, whatever, but the dude can
write
, man. I don’t even usually read fantasy, but his stuff rocks. And my girlfriend? She’s in love with him. She’d propose to him if she could.”

While Freddy snickered, Carter said, “I’ve heard that Fred C. Morgan is gay.”

“Yeah, like that’d stop her. Anyway, even if you don’t like his shit, check out that issue. There’s a lot of other good stuff.
Astounding!
always prints the best.”

The opinion of some random guy at a newsstand—a random guy wearing neon bicycle shorts and with a badly drawn tattoo on his scrawny calf—shouldn’t have mattered. But apparently it
did
matter, at least a little bit, because Carter felt a tiny swell of pride in his chest. “You’re a fan, huh?”

“Yep. I mean, look at these.” He pointed to one of the story titles on the cover. “That one? It’s got a futuristic space cop with PTSD. And this one? It’s based on some kinda ancient Indian legend—Asian Indian, not American—but it’s all been kinda transported to modern-day American suburbia. Blew my mind. And then—”

“What about the last one?” Carter interrupted.

“Huh?”

Carter opened the magazine to John’s story and held it closer to the bicycle kid. “This one. Did you read it?”

“Oh. Yeah. It was… weird.” He scrunched his face and scratched the back of his head. “I kinda didn’t get that one. I’m gonna ask my girlfriend about it. She’ll prob’ly say it’s postmodernist or something. She’s working on her doctorate.”

Freddy grinned at them. “Well, I think that story was really out of this world.”

Carter groaned.

The bicyclist went back to reading about spokes and chains and banana seats—or whatever biking magazines wrote about—and Carter again started to replace the magazine.