Alfred Bester - The Computer Connection

“Who?”

“Forget it. I’ve got a more crucial warning about our vulnerability. We don’t dare take chances.”

“What sort of chances?”

“Our immortality is based on the constant, accelerated cell renewal. Can you mention a classic case of accelerated cell growth?”

“Cancer. You mean the Group — We—”

“Yes. We’re only a hair’s-breadth below the insane, uncontrolled growth of cancer.”

“But we’ve cured cancer with Folic Acid Phage. It has an antibiotic effect on the wildcat nucleic acids.”

“Alas, we’re cancer-prone, but we don’t get it. Carcinogens merely open the door for something worse, a leprosy mutation we call Lepcer.”

“Dio!”

“As you say. Lepcer is a bitch’s bastard gene distortion in Bacillus leprae . It produces variations and combinations of nodular leprosy and anesthetic leprosy. It’s unique to the Group. There’s no known cure, and it takes half a century to kill in agony.”

“What has this to do with taking chances?”

“We know that carcinogens are the result of the irritations and shocks of the outer environment. They must be avoided. You never know what injury will kick you up above the cancer threshold and open the door for Lepcer. You’ll have to learn caution, and if you’re forced to take a chance at least know the price you may have to pay. That’s why we don’t go looking for kinky things to eat, drink, and breathe. And we run from violence.”

“Is Lepcer the inevitable result of injury?”

“No, but don’t get rash.”

“How would I know if I got hit?”

“Primary symptoms: red areas on the skin that pigment, hyperesthetic exaltation, bad throat and larynx.”

“Suddenly I’ve got them all.” He smiled. I was glad he could joke about the ominous warning.

“You’ve had a rough time, Chief,” I said, “but don’t you think you’d better go back to work? There’s so much to be done. I’d just as soon loaf around Erie for a year, enjoying the reservation, but we really ought to retro to the madhouse. How do you feel about it?”

He got to his feet. “Oh, I agree. R. After all this what else could possibly happen?”

As we sauntered back to the wickiup I was agreeing with Sequoya. After the past two days there couldn’t be any more surprises, which just shows how smart I can be. When we got back to the marble job I called Captain Nemo and told him to pull the Group off the search. Our Wandering Boy was returning to the fold. I had to remind Uncas to get dressed, not that half the pop. didn’t walk around naked, but after all he was a distinguished scientist and had certain appearances to keep up. Conspicuous consumption. The Chief called it chicken consumption.

The family assembled and jabbered in Cherokee which, frankly, is not an attractive language; it sounds halfway between the two worst in the world, Gaelic and Hebrew, all gutturals and szik-ik-scha noises. After the Chief finished his explanations I made my manners again. No szik-ik-scha . Profound bow to papa. Kiss mama’s hand. And then, at this moment, God (who has one of His command posts in Jacy) trapped me into the most magnificent mistake of my life.

When it came sister’s turn for the amenities I put two fingers under her chin and tilted her face up for a look. It was an oval face on an oval head set on a neck long enough for a guillotine. She was no beauty; she wasn’t even pretty; she was handsome, handsome. Exquisite bones, deep eyes, limpid skin, all character. I looked into that face and saw an entire world I never dreamed existed. And then came the mistake. I kissed her good-bye.

Everyone froze. Dead silence. Sister examined me for about as long as it would take to recite a sonnet. Then she knelt down before me and swept her palms back and forth over my feet. All hell broke loose. Mama burst into tears and swept sister into her billows. The urchins began yelling and cheering. Majestic papa came to me, put a palm on my heart, and then took my palm and put it on his heart. I looked at the Chief, completely bewildered.

“You’ve just married my sister,” he said casually.

I went into shock.

He smiled. “Tradition. A kiss is a proposal of marriage. She accepted and about a hundred Erie braves are going to hate you for it. Don’t panic, Guig. I’ll get you out of it.”

I disengaged sister from the billows and kissed her hello this time. She started to kneel again but I held her upright so I could plunge into that brand new world. “N,” I said.

“You don’t want out?”

“N.”

“You mean this? Count to a hundred in binary.”

“Y.”

He came to me and cracked my ribs with a titanic embrace. “I’ve always wanted a brother like you, Guig. Now sit gung while we get the ceremonies into orbit.”

“What ceremonies? I thought you said—”

“Dude, you’re marrying the daughter of the most powerful chief on the reservation. I hate to say this, but you’re marrying above yourself. There have to be rituals. Leave it to me and don’t let anything skew you.”

In one hour the following, while I sat in a daze: Around fifty people ready for travel outside the wickiup, plus enough hovercraft to transport them to wherever it was. “Not the entire tribe,” Sequoya said. “Just the blood relations.” He had covered his face with terrifying warpaint and was unrecognizable. Behind the house a chorus of Erie braves, rejects, singing sad, angry songs. From the attic four Samsons carrying down an enormous cordovan trunk while sister seemed to be pleading for tender handling.

“Her dowry,” the Chief said.

“Dowry? I’ve got eleven million. I don’t—”

“Tradition. She can’t come to you empty-handed. Would you rather take it out in horses and cattle?”

I resigned myself to living with a trunkful of Cherokee homespun.

There must have been an inexhaustible larder somewhere. Mama was piling the relations with enough food to feed I.G. Farben Gesellschaft, despite the fact that they’d schlepped their own. Sister disappeared for a long time and reappeared wearing the traditional squaw’s dress, but not deerskin, the finest Mandarin silk. She also wore what I thought were turquoise headband, necklace, and bracelets. It wasn’t until much later that I discovered they were raw emeralds.

“Gung,” Sequoya said. “Let’s move it out.”

“May I ask where?”

“To your new house. Tradition.”

“I haven’t got a new house.”

“Yes, you do. My tepee. Wedding gift. Any more questions?”

“Just one, brother. I really hate to plague you when you’re so busy, but would you mind telling me my wife’s name?”

That really broke him up. Finally he managed to gasp, “Natoma — Natoma Guess.”

“Very nice.”

“What’s yours, incidentally? The one you started with.”

“Edward Curzon.”

“Natoma Curzon. Very nice. R. Let’s go and suffer through the ceremonies.”

More tradition on the way out of Erie. Natoma and I sat side by side with mama and papa behind us like guardians of virtue. The paths and roads were lined with people, all shouting and the small boys yelling things that sounded unmistakably vulgar in any language. When I started to put my arm around Natoma, mama made a noise that was an unmistakable no. Papa chuckled. My bride kept her head lowered but I could see she was blushing.

When we finally arrived at the tepee, Sequoya took a lightning survey and made emphatic Indian Sign. The blood relatives stopped where they were. “Where the hell are my wolves?” he asked in XX.

“They are in here with me, Dr. Guess,” M’bantu called. “We have been waiting for you most anxiously.”

The Chief and I darted in. There was M’bantu squatted cross-legged on the floor with the three wolves lounging all over him contentedly.