Rudy Rucker - The Ware Tetralogy

“Take some,” he offered. “As many as you like.”

“Oh no,” said Phil at first, but soon it was clear that it would be rude to refuse the hospitality. Yoke picked out a big whelk, two brown cowries, and two tooth cowries.

“Right now is the good time to be walking back down,” said Josef, using the uvvy this time. So they started saying good-bye.

“That was so touching, him offering us his treasure,” said Phil back out in the shady street. Lata was still on his porch, kindly watching them. “Maybe you should make him something with the alla, Yoke.”

“HRH said none of the Tongans is supposed to know,” said Yoke.

“Look, you can do what you like, Yoke. See that rusty old bicycle leaning against Lata’s house? Why not make him a nice new one? Make it out of titanium. Give it a basket and a bell.”

“What do you think, Josef?” asked Yoke.

“I am content to observe,” said the beetle.

“I’ll do it,” said Yoke, and took hold of her alla. She turned her back to Lata as if to hide the miracle—though it was kind of hard for someone not to notice a brand new bicycle being formed out of a shimmering web of magical air. In making the bike, Yoke tweaked the stored realware so that the frame had anodized gold cowry-shell patterns on top of the titanium. She wheeled the beautiful bicycle across the little yard and presented it to the old man. He accepted the gift with joy and dignity. In the grand scheme of things, a bicycle was, after all, a fitting exchange for his shells.

When they were halfway back to Neiafu, Lata rode past them, jingling his bell. And then things started to go crazy. Somehow everyone in every house they passed had heard of their miraculous gift . Men, women, and children streamed out, mostly in good Sunday clothes, offering presents.

Shells, flowers, woven mats, even cans of beans and meat. It became hard to move forward. Just to get the people to back off, Yoke recklessly popped a dozen bouncy kickballs out of her alla, each with a different pattern, followed by gallons and gallons of ice cream. But the people were clamoring for something really good. Yoke made some gold bracelets and then—the biggest crowd-pleaser of all—a score of brand-new uvvies. Many of the Tongans didn’t have uvvies yet.

By the time they got back to the harbor, a full-blown mob was squeezing in on them. Someone tried to grab Phil’s lofa bean, but he hung onto it. He thought to uvvy for Cobb, and the old pheezer moldie came surging out of the ocean like Neptune come to rescue his children. Yoke created three dogs, who came into existence wildly barking—clearing out some space for Cobb. Cobb wrapped his arms around them and shot up into the air. But now Tashtego and Daggoo were homing in on them.

“Josef’s gone!” Yoke exclaimed, touching her ear. “I don’t know how to escape them, Cobb!”

Cobb dove down into the harbor water. He covered them over and fed them air. But now here were the coppery Tashtego and big black Daggoo, clamping tight bands around Cobb, Yoke, and Phil. The five of them swam back to the island together, staying beneath the surface so it wouldn’t be easy for the agitated locals to pursue them. Phil still had his lofa bean and Yoke still had her shells.

“I hear you’ve started a riot in Neiafu,” Kennit said frowning when they arrived. “On the Lord’s day. You have done exactly what you were forbidden.”

“So?” said Yoke. “What are you going to do about it?” And to that Kennit had nothing to say. Nobody quite knew how to deal with Yoke’s defiance.

“The ship is going to be a day late,” said Kennit finally. “We’ll be asking you to create the imipolex tomorrow morning.” And that was that.

Phil and Yoke had supper with the Tongans at a long table on the veranda, real Tongan food prepared by Ms. Teta. Fish, taro, and squash. Kennit didn’t seem to carry any kind of grudge, and the other Tongans were friendly as well. They enjoyed teaching Phil and Yoke things about Tonga—the history, customs, geography, and language.

While they talked and ate, Cobb was hanging out with Tashtego and Daggoo off at the edge of the clearing. Despite old Cobb’s misgivings about the Tongan moldies, the three of them seemed to be getting along very well. Indeed, from their hoarse cackles, it seemed likely that one of them had brought along some betty.

Soon it was full night, with an incredible clear sky. Phil was intoxicated by the stars, the full moon, and Yoke’s low voice. And then it was time to go to bed.

“Now I am not going to do it with you tonight,” said Yoke as they closed the door to her room. “I want that clear. I don’t want to make a mistake and rush things. So no pushing, okay?”

“That’s fine,” said Phil. “I’m just happy to be with you, Yoke. We have plenty of time—I hope.”

Phil took a shower and put on boxer shorts and a T-shirt for pajamas. Yoke was in a nightgown, sitting at a table playing with her alla. She’d just made a big rough prism of green glass with little whorled bubbles in it. The glass sat on one fat edge, rising up maybe ten inches. It had some funny little peek-through windows cut into it. The glass was smooth on one side, nubby on the other; it was something that Phil’s hands instinctively longed to touch. He reached out to caress it.

“It’s beautiful, Yoke.”

“Thanks. This alla—it’s the ultimate art tool. I can make anything that I can think.” She closed her eyes, looking inward. A control mesh of bright lines formed above the tabletop, a foot-wide knot of twisting curves. There was a whoosh of air, and a ribbon of smooth metal formed inside the cube, a Mobius strip with comical hieroglyphics of ants embossed all along it. Yoke cocked her head, critically examining her creation.

“Did you know we have ants on the Moon, Phil? They snuck up there. I should have made these guys thicker.”

“Can’t you revise it?” Phil asked. “My housemate Derek, he says that his sculptures do half the work themselves. Like he’s talking with them. He keeps looking at what he’s made and changing it. I do that with cooking too. Taste it, spice it, taste it, spice it.”

“Good idea,” said Yoke. She popped the same shimmering bright-edged control mesh out and positioned it around the ant Mobius strip which she then— whomp— turned back into air. Now she made the ant-shapes in the glowing mesh bulge out a bit more and said, “Actualize.” The Mobius strip was back, but with its ants much more swollen, bulging out of the metal ribbon into high relief. “Yes,” said Yoke, setting down the alla. “Thanks, Phil.”

“Can I try using the alla now?”

“Shimmer said nobody can use this alla but me,” said Yoke possessively.

“She’s not here watching us, is she? Come on, Yoke, let me try.”

“Don’t break it.” Yoke handed Phil the little gold-colored tube. It sat in Phil’s hand, subtly flickering. Phil held it up and looked through it—and saw a dizzying view of the room eternally spinning.

“It’s like staring down through a tornado,” he said. “How do I make it do something?”

“You have to uvvy into it,” said Yoke.

Phil tried, but the alla gave no response.

“I guess it’s registered only to respond to my uvvy signals,” said Yoke. “You’ll have to uvvy to me and I’ll pass your signals to the alla.”

Phil tried for a minute to organize this connection but he couldn’t do it.

“I hate this software bullshit,” he muttered.

“Let me,” said Yoke, and in an instant she had herself hooked in as an intermediary between Phil and the alla.

“Hello,” the alla seemed to say in a squeaky cartoon voice inside Phil’s head. It displayed an image of something that wasn’t anything in particular: an amorphous gray glob, roughly spherical, floating against a white background.