Ratner's Star (43 page)

Jerks.

Inside the drained body little eruptions of rot are already taking place. What once was composed of water, fat, protein, minerals, skeletal ash and assorted fluids is at this moment undergoing structural alteration of the most extreme sort. Mulch, glunk, wort and urg. Nameless wastes. He felt a slight weakness in his upper arms, which probably explained why this part of the death reverie failed to entertain to its usual degree.

“So what's it like,” Lester Bolin said, “being a radical accelerate?”

“If that's what I am, it's the only thing I've ever been, at least as far back as the time I first knew what numbers were, so I can't compare it with anything else, which is probably in general the thing you're looking for, I mean more than, less than or equal to what it's like not being a radical accelerate, if I heard the question right.”

“In its own way, a remarkably exact answer,” Lown said. “Note the use of ‘if,' ‘only,' ‘at least,' ‘as far back as,' ‘anything else,' ‘probably,'
‘in general,' ‘more than,' ‘less than,' ‘equal to,' ‘like,' and finally ‘if' again. Good to excellent answer.”

“I'm lowering my voice, so watch my lips. Softly. What Softly's got is a nonhereditary child-size condition. Rare sort of thing. Diagnosed right from the beginning. He was an abnormally small baby, I mean really small, lopsided as well, badly proportioned. He said considering what he looked like in infancy and early childhood he's lucky to have emerged as a ‘viewable' adult. Apparently the thing was caused by a chemical imbalance in the mother's womb. As I understand it, he's not a dwarf per se. He told me this himself. I never expected to hear this kind of intimate revelation from someone like Rob. The problem with his hips was there from the start. Part and parcel. One night he just sat himself down and told me the whole thing. I admire the man more than I can say. To have accomplished what he has under such negative conditions. Here, this was delivered to me by mistake.”

He tossed the envelope on the bed and followed Edna Lown out of the cubicle. They stopped off in the kitchen, where Softly was pouring tea.

“So?”

“He has to get used to us,” Edna said.

“He will in time. Any trouble develops, let me know and I'll work on it.”

“How long have you known him?” Lester said.

“He's been at the Center for a couple of years. I first met him several years before that.”

“What about your other friend?” Edna said.

“Who's that?”

“How long have you known her?”

“What other friend?”

“There's a young woman in your cubicle.”

“She's sitting on your bed,” Lester said. “Surrounded by sheets of paper. Sorting them.”

“No problem.”

“Who is she, Rob?”

“Journalist, she's a journalist. Extremely adept and very cooperative. Doesn't do anything without checking with me first. Comes to me for verification of every note, quote and so on. Will not interfere with the work. Will not make a nuisance of herself. She is no problem, believe me. I'm orchestrating the whole thing. Nobody gets anything out of this project that we don't want to give.”

“She's writing an article, is she?” Edna said. “A sort of general background article on Logicon. Is that the idea?”

“Book, she's writing a book.”

“Rob, I don't like this.”

“It's a little book, Edna.”

“What else has she written?”

“Little books,” Softly said. “All her books have been little.”

Billy decided to take a walk around the area. He got up slowly, envelope in hand, and went along the crude lane that separated the rows of cubicles. There wasn't much here that he hadn't already seen when Softly led him in from the elevator. He didn't go more than a few yards beyond the protective barrier of crates and oil drums. From this short distance the units for living and maintenance resembled a secure campsite, the only source of light in the giant earthen bowl. He was aware of the presence of water. Somewhere up on the slopes water was running along bedding planes and joints. Maybe it was right under him too, dripping into hollows, seeping, cracking rock apart, collecting and finding outlets, only yards below, wells and falls, deep pools, wide living rivers. He sat on a rock and looked for the first time at the front of the envelope Lester Bolin had given him.

The thought of mail depressed him. He would have to open the envelope and read what was written inside. It seemed so burdensome. Worse, it was bound to remind him of the task ahead. Linguistic fission. Less than the measured heft of ordinary language. Less than sentences and phrases. Less than words. Less than word fragments. Less than number words. Less than the customary signs and symbols. Less than the usual graphics.