Damon Knight - Orbit 20

“It has to be done,” persisted Mary. She glanced at the sculpture.

“You’re right, of course. I’ll get some antifreeze tomorrow and see about having the tires changed.” He forced a smile. The knot in his stomach had changed to a pain, and the diarrhea had been worse. He would have to see a doctor about it. Now the pain came back, worse than before.

It was Wednesday night.

Mary was tired; it had been a long day, and she had spent most of it convincing her supervisor that indeed, it was poor manufacturing of the hardware and not her design that was causing the malfunction of the interface. She had finally won, but in all, the fiasco had cost her nearly two weeks’ work.

John arrived and immediately began to clean up around the house. Knowing part of this was her responsibility, but not feeling then that she wanted to take it, Mary was irritated, but she held her tongue. She ate listlessly of the tuna casserole he prepared; she didn’t like tuna casserole, and he knew it. After dinner she sat down to watch TV. She didn’t want to have to think hard enough to read.

John sat down close to her and watched with her for a few minutes. Then he turned to her and blew in her ear.

“Let’s make love,” he whispered. He kissed her neck.

“I’m tired,” she said, turning away.

“Come on, think what it’ll do to the sculpture.”

She agreed.

Afterward, she lay with her head on his chest.

“We have to plan things for tomorrow night,” said John.

“Please, John, must we, right now?”

“I think we should,” he said, glancing to where the sculpture glowed in the darkness.

“Okay,” she agreed, then. “But first I’ve got to go to the bathroom.” In the bathroom she took four aspirin—that’s all there were left. Her head felt like it would explode. Absently, she scratched her arm, then looked at it. It was a fiery red. She would have to see a doctor about the rash and the headaches.

It was Thursday evening. Jim and Elsie Anderson arrived on time. John ushered them into the living room. Mary and he had dimmed the lights and pulled the synergy sculpture out from before the window so that it took up a central space in the room. John and Mary were quite proud of the sculpture. It was now nearly three feet high, very complex, and quite brilliant. As near as they could determine from using the rating scale in the manual, their sculpture indicated that their relationship was ninety-five percent ideal.

“Wow,” said Jim Anderson as he caught his first glimpse of it. From behind him, John grinned widely at Mary.

“Ohhh,” cooed Elsie. “It’s so bright.” Mary grinned back at John.

John mixed drinks for them all, and then they sat, surrounding the synergy sculpture as though it were a fireplace.

“Look here,” said Elsie, pointing. “I’ve never seen a shape like that before.”

“It looks almost like a Klein bottle,” said Jim, gazing closely to where Elsie pointed.

“What’s a Klein bottle?”

“A three dimensional Moebius strip,” he explained. He pointed to another shape. “And this one is a torus.”

“The colors,” exclaimed Elsie, “they’re just. . .just breathtaking.”

Mary and John beamed with pride. It seemed that the sculpture pulsed as a result. But perhaps that was just their imaginations.

“We’re quite proud of how it turned out,” said Mary.

“But, of course, it’s still growing,” added John quickly. He gestured, “See? It’s got probably six inches left to take up.” He smiled widely.

“Well, yours is certainly more spectacular than ours was,” said Elsie.

“Was?” asked Mary.

“Oh,” she said coyly, “didn’t Jim tell you? Ours was mistuned and something was wrong with the sensing unit. We had it taken in for repairs the day after you saw it.”

Covertly, John nudged Mary, and they both giggled inwardly.

After the Andersons had left, Mary said, mockingly, “Oh, didn’t you know, ours was mistuned. Why I’m sure it would have been as good as yours if only we hadn’t got a lemon.” They both laughed loud and long over that.

The next day, John only worked in the morning. He was caught up with his work and had no labs, so he came home unexpectedly. He made a stop along the way and picked up two tickets for the theater that evening.

Mary also found that her work load was light, and she too took off early. One of the other engineers in her office was trying to get rid of two tickets to the football game that evening. Mary took them off his hands, expecting to surprise John with them.

They arrived home together. Inside, they both spoke simultaneously.

“I’ve got two tickets to the theater,” said John.

“I’ve got two tickets to the football game,” said Mary.

“What?” they both said, again at the same time.

They were both immediately angry. John spoke.

“You mean you bought tickets without checking with me first?”

“Me? What about you?” she shouted back.

John felt his stomach tighten and his bowels loosen.

Mary felt her head begin to throb and her arm begin to itch.

Then, at the same time, they both looked at the sculpture. It seemed to them that it began to dim. Again, they spoke simultaneously, although in lowered tones.

“Okay, let’s go to the theater,” said Mary.

“Okay, let’s go to the football game,” said John.

The sculpture began to glow again.

“What do you mean, the headaches and the rash are psychosomatic, Doctor?” said Mary. “That can’t be. My husband and I have the most beautiful, most complex synergy sculpture on the block.”

“Ulcerative colitis, and a stomach ulcer?” asked John unbelievingly. “Are you sure, Doctor?”

The Great Modesty Sweepstakes

This anthology is the fourth in a distinguished series by the editors, in which . . . the combination of little known masterpieces by outstanding writers in the field of horror have [sic] earned both the acclaim of the critics and the support of the readers. . . .

Sam Moskowitz is known as a researcher and scholar in the field of the fantastic and has authored many basic books on the history of science fiction. . . .

Alden H. Norton is a veteran editor of such nostalgic fantasy magazines as Astonishing Stories, Super Science Stories, Famous Fantastic Mysteries and Fantastic Novels, who has a weakness for this type of material.

—“Editors’ Note” in Horrors in Hiding, edited by Sam Moskowitz and Alden H. Norton

Harrison is one of the few writers of today who maintain the old grim jesting vigour of yesterday; ever since “Deathworld,” the last of the great ASF serials, which began appearing in the

January 1960 issue, he has been a favourite on an imposing scale.

—The Astounding-Analog Reader, Volume Two, edited by Harry Harrison and Brian W. Aldiss

DAW Books is a new publishing company designed for one specific purpose—to publish science fiction. That is our only directive. DAW Books derives its name from the initials of its publisher and editor, Donald A. Wollheim, who has been in the forefront of science fiction all his life. As a fan, as a writer, as an anthologist, and for the last three decades as the editor whose work has most consistently found favor in the eyes of those who spend their money for science fiction in paperback books.

Donald A. Wollheim is those readers’ best guarantee that behind every book bearing his initials is the experience and the work of someone who likes what science fiction readers like, and who will do his best to give it to them. . . .

—D. A. W.

“A Statement to Science Fiction Readers,” in an early DAW book