Rudy Rucker - The Ware Tetralogy

“Indubitably,” said Onar, holding out his and Yoke’s glasses. “Let’s drink to the noble Shimmer! Oofa can take Yoke down into the trench to meet her tomorrow.”

“We’re supposed to be sitting here planning to help aliens invade the Earth?” said Yoke. “You two are xoxxed! Where’s your sense of self-preservation?”

“It’s what’s happening, baby,” said Onar. “There’s no stopping Shimmer. If you want to blame someone, blame Gurdle-7 or Willy Taze. They’re the ones who decrypted Shimmer’s signal in the first place. But now she’s here, and we’re going to have to live with her, at least for a while. It’s a new stage in history. Hop aboard or get plowed under.”

“Shimmer’s got good things for us,” said the King. “She’s promised to give us realware.”

“What’s that?” asked Yoke.

“It’s some kind of magic or super science that Shimmer has,” said Onar. “Direct matter control. We don’t know much more than that. I think maybe when you dive down to see Shimmer tomorrow she’s going to give it to you. She trusts you or something. You’re up for this, right?”

Yoke sat quiet for a minute, thinking. She’d loved talking with the aliens that time on the Moon; she’d been sad and angry when her parents attacked them. Onar was probably right about there being no way to stop Shimmer now. And Yoke knew that even if she wanted to try and stop Shimmer, the only thing to do was to go farther in. “Okay,” said Yoke slowly. “But I’m only diving if I’m safe inside of Cobb. And before we dive, I’m going to tell him every detail about what we’re doing.”

She held up her hand to stave off Onar and the King’s protests. “I think I know why you don’t want Cobb to know. He’s a grandstander, a loudmouth. You’re afraid he’ll whip up a movement against the aliens. You’re afraid everyone will react like Darla—like Darla would if she were still around.” Her voice faltered as she thought of her dead mother. She caught her breath and pressed on. “But remember that Cobb Anderson is an explorer. A radical. The total opposite of those right-wing, moldie­-hating Heritagists. If Cobb had a closed mind he wouldn’t have built the boppers in the first place. Cobb loves change. And who knows, maybe his death experiences taught him something about the kind of world where Shimmer comes from.”

“I could have you both silenced,” mused the King. “Thanks to the ID viruses, it’s like you’re not even here.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Yoke, deepening her voice and sounding more confident than she felt. “Shimmer would never forgive you. Don’t you think she’s already thought through the consequences of your talking to me? It’s like we’re dustboarding down an extreme slope, Bou-Bou. If you waver now, you’ll fall. The only way to do this is straight and fast.”

“Well said, Yoke!” Onar held up his glass. “A toast to Lady Yoke Starr-Mydol!” And the King toasted along.

“I expected as much from you, Yoke,” said the King presently. “You have spirit. Yes, you’re the one to bring back the realware. And that’s the real reason I had Eleani put out the ID virus on you. Because if and when the news of the realware gets out, everyone’s going to want to find the person who has it.”

Yoke and Onar rode back across the lagoon in a wooden boat propelled by the yellow slug moldie, whose name turned out to be Topo. Topo fastened himself to the underside of the boat and beat the water like a long-tailed eel.

It was a clear, balmy night, with a caressing breeze of sweet fresh air flowing in from the sea. The full moon shone high overhead. Onar pointed out the pinprick of light that was Cappy Jane. Topo’s underwater undulations left a glowing trail, and when Yoke let her hand dip into the smooth black water, it made a phosphorescent wake of tiny green sparkles.

“It’s wonderful to share this with you, Yoke,” said Onar, pulling his arm tight around her. “I love to see you smile.”

“Liar,” said Yoke, leaning against him. “I’m just a pawn in your scheme.”

“Compared to Shimmer, we’re plankton,” said Onar, looking out over the lagoon. “The best we can do is glimmer in her wave. I won’t lie to you again, Yoke. I care much more for you than I expected. You’re so fresh and kind and good.”

Onar kissed her then, and the boat ride turned fully as romantic as Yoke had hoped: the tropical lagoon, the champagne in her veins, and her arms around this handsome, raffish, not-quite-trustworthy man. When they got back to the guest house, Yoke made a snap decision that it would be a good idea to sleep with Onar after all.

But Onar turned out to be a poor lover, certainly the worst of Yoke’s few partners thus far. Onar stinted on the foreplay, made a long messy fuss of his prophylactic preparations, and was up for at most sixty seconds of actual coitus. As a final turn-off, Onar said something British when he came, something like “Cor blimey,” or “Top drawer,” or “Bit of all right”— Yoke’s outraged brain disdained to retain the phrase.

In the night, Yoke had a nightmare about her dead mother Darla, a dream of Darla desperately firing her needier gun at an endless attack wave of softly smiling jellyfish. She woke up in a sweat, feeling cramped in Onar’s bed. She washed her face in the grungy guest house bathroom, then went into her own room to fall back asleep.

In the morning, Saturday, Yoke woke to the sound of a rooster crowing right outside her window. The first thing she thought about was Darla. And Phil’s father. They’d been eaten by something from a higher dimension. And all of a sudden Yoke could remember what the cyberspace jellyfish thing had said when it came at her yesterday. “You love Onar,” it had been saying. “Do what Onar says.” The jellyfish had been quite thoroughly under Onar’s control. Mr. Olou’s death had been no accident. Onar was a killer. And now she was supposed to let Onar take her to meet Shimmer? What about Shimmer and the four-dimensional things that had eaten Darla and Phil’s father? Was there a connection?

Oh, this was creepy. Yoke pushed on to other thoughts. The fat, polite King in his soap-bubble castle. The romantic ride across lagoon. The unpleasant, selfish groping in Onar’s bed. Too bad she hadn’t come here with Phil Gottner instead. That Kevvie didn’t deserve to keep a boy like Phil. He was the cutest thing she had met on Earth so far. Phil would be perfect, if only he could learn to take hold of life and do something.

Before even getting out of bed, Yoke put on her uvvy, wincing a bit. Her neck was still tender from the jellyfish blast at the Foreign Ministry. She called for Cobb. His signal was faint and weird, so Yoke sent him an extra hard mind jolt. There was a thud right outside her window and then Cobb’s face appeared out there.

“What? I was lying on the roof.”

“Shhh! Come in here.”

Cobb slithered through Yoke’s window to perch on the foot of her sagging bed. He was nothing like so pink and shiny as usual. And he reeked of decay.

“I’m really spun,” said Cobb, sounding satisfied. “Two of the moldies at the Happy Club turned me on to this stuff called ‘betty.’ I rubbed it onto myself and whoah, Nellie. It’s the first time I’ve found a way to use this body to catch a lift. ‘Fine, fine betty,’ my new friends call it. Tashtego and Daggoo. They work for Sea Cuke Divers. Tashtego’s a moldie fakaleiti. I think maybe I had sex with him? Or no, wait, that was another moldie I did it with. A green one. Her name was V-something. She rubbed even more betty on me. Are we diving today?”

“Are you going to be okay, Cobb? You look way kilpy.” Cobb’s normally clean outlines were wavering and irregular, with small ripples darting about upon the surface of his skin. His rosy flesh was shot through with lines of gray.