Second Variety and Other Stories (39 page)

Matson's face was ablaze with rage. "No little pipsqueak god is going to treat me like this!" He
pushed Eric aside, heading back for the house. "I'll take it down to the Lab and pop it in a bottle of
formaldehyde. I'll dissect it and skin it and hang it up on the wall. I'll have the first specimen of a god
known to --"

A ball of light glowed around Matson. The ball enveloped him, settling in place around his lean
body so that he looked like a filament in an incandescent light.

"What the hell!" Matson muttered. Suddenly he jerked. His body faded. He began to shrink.
With a faint whoosh he diminished rapidly. Smaller and smaller he dwindled. His body shuddered,
altering strangely.

altering strangely.

"See?" Eric said wildly. "I told you to keep quiet! Now look what it's done!"

The toad hopped feebly toward the house. At the porch it sagged into immobility, defeated by
the steps. It uttered a pathetic, hopeless chug.

Pat's voice rose in a wail of anguish. "Oh, Eric! Look what it's done! Poor Tom!"

"His own fault," Eric said. "He deserves it." But he was beginning to get nervous. "Look here," he
said to the god. "That's not a very nice thing to do to a grown man. What'll his wife and kids think?"

"What'll Mr Bradshaw think?" Pat cried. "He can't go to work like that!"

"True," Eric admitted. He appealed to the god. "I think he's learned his lesson. How about turning
him back? Okay?"

"You just better undo him!" Pat shrieked, clenching her small fists. "If you don't undo him you'll
have Terran Metals after you. Even a god can't stand up to Horace Bradshaw."

"Better change him back," Eric said.

"It'll do him good," the god said. "I'll leave him that way for a couple of centuries --"

"Centuries!" Pat exploded. "Why, you little blob of slime!" She advanced ominously toward the
box, shaking with wrath. "See here! You turn him back or I'll take you out of your box and drop you into
the garbage disposal unit!"

"Make her be still," the god said to Eric.

"Calm down, Pat," Eric implored.

"I will not calm down! Who does it think it is? A present! How dare you bring this moldy bit of
refuse into our house? Is this your idea of a --"

Her voice ceased abruptly.

Eric turned apprehensively. Pat stood rigid, her mouth open, a word still on her lips. She did not
move. She was white all over. A solid gray-white that made cold chills leap up Eric's spine. "Good
Lord," he said.

"I turned her to stone," the god explained. "She made too much noise." It yawned. "Now, I think
I'll retire. I'm a little tired, after my trip."

"I can't believe it," Eric Blake said. He shook his head numbly. "My best friend a toad. My wife
turned to stone."

"It's true," the god said. "We deal out justice according to how people act. They both got what
they deserved."

"Can -- can she hear me?"

"I suppose."

Eric went over to the statue. "Pat," he begged imploringly. "Please don't be mad. It isn't my fault."
He gripped her ice-cold shoulders. "Don't blame me! I didn't do it." The granite was hard and smooth
under his fingers. Pat stared blankly ahead.

"Terran Metals indeed," the god grumbled sourly. Its single eye studied Eric intently. "Who is this
Horace Bradshaw? Some local deity, perhaps?"

"Horace Bradshaw owns Terran Metals," Eric said gloomily. He sat down and shakily lit a
cigarette. "He's about the biggest man on Terra. Terran Metals owns half the planets in the system."

"Kingdoms of this world do not interest me," the god said noncommittally, subsiding and shutting
its eye. "I will retire now. I wish to contemplate certain matters. You may wake me later, if you wish. We
can converse on theological subjects, as we did on the ship coming here."

"Theological subjects," Eric said bitterly. "My wife a stone block and it wants to talk about
religion."

But the god was already withdrawn, retired into itself.

"A lot you care," Eric muttered. Anger flickered in him. "This is the thanks I get for taking you off
Ganymede. Ruin my household and my social life. Fine god you are!"

No response.

Eric concentrated desperately. Maybe when the god awoke it would be in a better mood.

Maybe he could persuade it to turn Matson and Pat back to their usual forms. Faint hope stirred. He

Maybe he could persuade it to turn Matson and Pat back to their usual forms. Faint hope stirred. He

If nobody came looking for Matson.

The toad sat disconsolately on the walk, drooping with misery. Eric leaned toward it. "Hey,
Matson!"

The toad looked slowly up.

"Don't worry, old man. I'll get it to turn you back. It's a cinch." The toad didn't stir. "A lead-pipe
cinch," Eric repeated nervously.

The toad drooped a little more. Eric looked at his watch. It was late afternoon, almost four.
Tom's shift at Terran began in half an hour. Sweat came out on his forehead. If the god went on sleeping
and didn't wake up in half an hour -

A buzz. The vidphone.

Eric's heart sank. He hurried over and clicked the screen on, steeling himself. Horace Bradshaw's
sharp, dignified features faded into focus. His keen glance bored into Eric, penetrating his depths.

"Blake," he grunted. "Back from Ganymede, I see."

"Yes, sir." Eric's mind raced frantically. He moved in front of the screen, cutting off Bradshaw's
view of the room. "I'm just starting to unpack."

"Forget that and get over here! We're waiting to hear your report."

"Right now? Gosh, Mr Bradshaw. Give me a chance to get my things away." He fought
desperately for time. "I'll be over tomorrow morning bright and early."

"Is Matson there with you?"

Eric swallowed. "Yes, sir. But --"

"Put him on. I want to talk to him."

"He -- he can't talk to you right now, sir."

"What? Why not?"

"He's in no shape to -- that is, he --"

Bradshaw snarled impatiently. "Then bring him along with you. And he better be sober when he
gets here. I'll see you at my office in ten minutes." He broke the circuit. The screen faded abruptly.

Eric sank wearily down in a chair. His mind reeled. Ten minutes! He shook his head, stunned.

The toad hopped a little, stirring on the walk. It emitted a faint, despondent sound.

Eric got heavily to his feet. "I guess we have to face the music," he murmured. He bent down and
picked up the toad, putting it gingerly in his coat pocket. "I guess you heard. That was Bradshaw. We're
going down to the lab."

The toad stirred uneasily.

"I wonder what Bradshaw is going to say when he sees you." Eric kissed his wife's cold granite
cheek. "Good-bye, honey."

He moved numbly down the walk to the street. A moment later he hailed a robot cab and
entered it. "I have a feeling this is going to be hard to explain." The cab zipped off down the street. "Hard
as hell to explain."

Horace Bradshaw stared in dumbfounded amazement. He removed his steel-rimmed glasses and
wiped them slowly. He fitted them back on his hard, hawklike face and peered down. The toad rested
silently in the center of the immense mahogany desk.

Bradshaw pointed shakily at the toad. "This -- this is Thomas Matson?"

"Yes, sir," Eric said.

Bradshaw blinked in wonder. "Matson! What in the world has happened to you?"

"He's a toad," Eric explained.

"So I see. Incredible." Bradshaw pressed a stud on his desk. "Send in Jennings from the Biology
Lab," he ordered. "A toad." He poked the toad with his pencil. "Is that really you, Matson?"

The toad chugged.

"Good Lord." Bradshaw sat back, wiping his forehead. His grim expression faded into
sympathetic concern. He shook his head sadly. "I can't believe it. Some kind of bacterial blight, I
suppose. Matson was always experimenting on himself. He took his work seriously. A brave man. A
good worker. He did much for Terran Metals. Too bad he had to end this way. We'll extend full pension
to him, of course."

sympathetic concern. He shook his head sadly. "I can't believe it. Some kind of bacterial blight, I
suppose. Matson was always experimenting on himself. He took his work seriously. A brave man. A
good worker. He did much for Terran Metals. Too bad he had to end this way. We'll extend full pension
to him, of course."

"Come in." Bradshaw beckoned him impatiently in. "We have a problem for your department.
You know Eric Blake here."

"Hi, Blake."

"And Thomas Matson." Bradshaw indicated the toad. "From the Nonferrous Lab."

"I know Matson," Jennings said slowly. "That is, I know a Matson from Nonferrous. But I don't
recall -- that is, he was taller than this. Almost six feet."

"This is him," Eric said gloomily. "He's a toad now."

"What happened?" Jennings's scientific curiosity was aroused. "What's the lowdown?"

"It's a long story," Eric said evasively.

"Can't you tell it?" Jennings scrutinized the toad professionally. "Looks like a regular type of toad.
You're sure this is Tom Matson? Come clean, Blake. You must know more than you're telling!"

Bradshaw studied Eric intently. "Yes, what did happen, Blake? You have a strange, shifty look.
Are you responsible for this?" Bradshaw half rose from his chair, his grim face bleak. "See here. If it's
your fault one of my best men has been incapacitated for further work --"

"Take it easy," Eric protested, his mind racing frantically. He patted the toad nervously. "Matson
is perfectly safe -- as long as nobody steps on him. We can rig up some sort of protective shield and an
automatic communication system that'll enable him to spell out words. He can continue his work. With a
few adjustments here and there everything should speed along perfectly."

"Answer me!" Bradshaw roared. "Are you responsible for this? Is this your doing?"

Eric squirmed helplessly. "In a way, I suppose. Not exactly. Not directly." His voice wavered.
"But I guess you'd say if it hadn't been for me..."

Bradshaw's face set in a rigid mask of rage. "Blake, you're fired." He yanked a heap of forms
from his desk dispenser. "Get out of here and never come back. And get your hand off that toad. It
belongs to Terran Metals." He shoved a paper across the desk. "Here's your paycheck. And don't
bother looking for work elsewhere. I'm listing you on the inter-system blacklist. Good day."

"But, Mr Bradshaw --"

"Don't plead." Bradshaw waved his hand. "Just go. Jennings, get your biology staff busy at once.
This problem must be licked. I want you to rearrange this toad back to its original shape. Matson is a
vital part of Terran Metals. There's work to be done, work only Matson can do. We can't have this sort
of thing holding up our research."

"Mr Bradshaw," Eric begged desperately. "Please listen. I want to see Tom back as he was. But
there's only one way we can get him back his original shape. We --"

Bradshaw's eyes were cold with hostility. "You still here, Blake? Must I call my guards and have
you dismembered? I'm giving you one minute to be off Company land. Understand?"

Eric nodded miserably. "I understand." He turned and shuffled unhappily toward the door. "So
long, Jennings. So long, Tom. I'll be home if you want me, Mr Bradshaw."

"Sorcerer," Bradshaw snapped. "Good riddance."

"What would you do," Eric asked the robot cabdriver, "if your wife had turned to stone, your
best friend were a toad, and you had lost your job?"

"Robots have no wives," the driver said. "They are nonsexual. Robots have no friends, either.
They are incapable of emotional relationships."

"Can robots be fired?"

"Sometimes." The robot drew his cab up before Eric's modest six-room bungalow. "But
consider. Robots are frequently melted down and new robots made from the remains. Recall Ibsen's
Peer Gynt, the section concerning the Button Molder. The lines clearly anticipate in symbolic form the
trauma of robots to come."

trauma of robots to come."

"Robots have worse problems than anybody." The door shut and the cab zipped off, back down
the hill.

Worse? Hardly. Eric entered his home slowly, the front door automatically opening for him.

"Welcome, Mr Blake," the door greeted him.

"I suppose Pat's still here."

"Mrs Blake is here, but she is in a cataleptic state, or some similar condition."

"She's been turned to stone." Eric kissed the cold lips of the statue gloomily. "Hi, honey."

He got some meat from the refrigerator and crumbled it into the belly-cup of the god. Presently
digestive fluid rose and covered the food. In a short time the single eye of the god opened, blinked a few
times, and focused on Eric.

"Have a good sleep?" Eric inquired icily.

"I wasn't asleep. My mind was turned toward matters of cosmic import. I detect a hostile quality
in your voice. Has something unfavorable occurred?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I just lost my job, on top of everything else."

"Lost your job? Interesting. What else do you refer to?"

Eric exploded in rage. "You've messed up my whole life, damn you!" He jabbed at the silent,
unmoving figure of his wife. "Look! My wife! Turned to granite. And my best friend, a toad!"

Tinokuknoi Arevulopapo yawned. "So?"

"Why? What did I ever do to you? Why do you treat me this way? Look at all I've done for
you. I only brought you here to Terra. Fed you. Fixed you up a box with straw and water and
newspapers. That's all."

"True. You did bring me to Terra." Again an odd gleam flickered across the god's dark face. "All
right. I'll restore your wife."