Rudy Rucker - The Ware Tetralogy

“Those are great, Yoke,” said Babs, handling them. But Yoke could tell Babs wasn’t all that impressed. Babs only liked art that did things.

“There’s so many possibilities,” said Yoke, running her hand over the embossed ants.

“Realware,” said Babs. “I’d love to make some.”

“I’d like to meet Shimmer,” said Randy thoughtfully. “I bet she escaped the Cappy Janes. Shimmer can give an alla to most anyone she wants to, right? I wonder what I’d make with an alla?” Randy looked at the healed up Willa Jean in his lap and gave a country chuckle. “Maybe a sexier chicken.”

“Randy!” said Babs.

“After Tonga, I think the best thing to make would be allas for everyone,” said Cobb. “So people don’t beg you and hassle you for things.”

“ Can you make an alla with an alla?” asked Babs.

“Josef said it was possible, but that the Metamartians don’t want to tell us how,” said Yoke. “And speaking of chickens, they put living things into their preprogrammed alla catalog too. Everything but moldies and people. I want to make a real reef and then try to limpware engineer an imipolex reef to copy it.”

“I’m starting to think being a moldie is better than being flesh and blood,” said Cobb. “By the way, Randy, you would have gone bananas over Vaana. Did I mention that we fucked?”

“It must be naahce when two moldies do it, huh, Cobb?” said Randy, his voice turning low and husky. “When it’s just the two of you, one on one.”

“I’m outta here,” said Yoke, getting to her feet. “Can I sleep in the same place as before, Babs?”

“Sure. And I’m so sorry about Phil.”

“Me too. Thanks.” Yoke found her way to a foam mattress on the floor in a corner of the. warehouse, next to a giant red and purple wall-hanging. She took off her clothes and put on Phil’s shirt to sleep in. She set Phil’s funny big bean pod next to her bed. The bean had seven odd shiny spots on it, a little patch near the summit of each bulging seed.

“Yoke?” “You’re going to wake her?” “Shh!” “What’s she going to say?” “This feels fine, doesn’t it?” “I don’t like being small.” “Will she help us?”

Yoke woke to the sound of mutterings, of squeals and hisses and a few very clear notes of tiny bird-song. Her eyes flickered open. For an instant she flashed back to a Christmas morning when Whitey and Darla had left her and her twin sister’s new toys on the floor right by their beds. Today seven tiny live action figures were set out: a woman, a man, a unicorn, a beetle, a snake, a pig, and a mynah bird. Cute.

Yoke sleepily closed her eyes, drifting back toward her dreams.

“Did she see us?” “She’s asleep again.” “I thought she’d be scared.” “I want to get big.” “Wake her up!” “Where are we?” “Yoke!”

Yoke opened her eyes again. The seven little figures were still there. The Metamartians?!

“Good morning, Yoke,” murmured little Shimmer, half the size of Yoke’s thumb. The miniature woman, man, and five animals were crawling around on Phil’s bean, which looked somewhat the worse for wear. There was a hole in each of its seven bulging seeds. Evidently the seven little figures had tunneled into the seeds like weevils, sealing their entry holes over with plugs of green imipolex.

“You stowed away,” murmured Yoke.

“I knew you’d keep the bean,” said Josef the beetle. Of all the Metamartians, he alone was the same size as before. “I showed the others how to make copies of themselves as small as me. And I copied myself too. We’re the copies. We flew to your room and got inside your bean.”

“Go away,” said Yoke. “I don’t want the powerball to eat me too.”

Wubwub answered. “Aw, we not gonna decrypt any more Metamartians. Seven’s all we need for a complete family, you know what I’m sayin’? We got the family now, we gonna look around a little, make a baby, maybe help Om spread the allas, and then we move on.”

Yoke sat up, fully waking. “I thought the Cappy Janes killed you. Cobb and I saw them burning you on the beach.”

“We’re copies,” said Ptah. “Like Josef said. We left before the Cappy Janes got there. Our original selves died; they let themselves get killed so the Cappy Janes would think they’d won. We’re seconds; well, actually, I’m a third. Like I told you when Om ate my first self, Yoke, losing a life isn’t a big deal for us. Every day, every minute of my life on Metamars, I saw one of my time-lines end. Letting the Cappy Janes kill versions of us was a small price to pay so that we can observe your people in peace. Do you mind if we settle in here?”

“I don’t want to help unless you can bring Phil and Darla back.”

“Are you not grateful for the boon of your alla?” asked the little unicorn Peg. She was the Metamartian Yoke liked the least. Such a tacky-looking thing, with her swilly, corny style of speech.

“I could live without it,” said Yoke airily. “It caused me nothing but trouble in Tonga. I went there to do some diving and I ended up being a golden goose. In fact, here, you can take it!” She pulled the alla tube out from under her pillow and tossed it at the little figures, who hopped about in kind of a cute way. “I’m not grateful one bit,” continued Yoke. “As far as I’m concerned, you can turn yourselves back into personality waves and find a different world to xoxx with.”

“She a tiger,” said Siss admiringly.

“It’s too late to stop it now,” said Ptah. “How this all comes out is up to Om.”

“Are you talking to yourself, Yoke?” said Babs, suddenly appearing in Yoke’s field of view. “Oh my God, what are those wavy little figurines? And they’re moving! Did you make them with your alla?”

“Hi, Babs. These are the aliens I was telling you about. Okay, Metamartians, this is Babs. And Babs, this is Shimmer, Ptah, Wubwub, Siss, Peg, Josef, and—the seventh one’s new. The little bird that looks like he’s wearing a yellow mask.”

“I’m Haresh,” said the bird, his voice loud and melodious even though he was but one centimeter long. “An Indian mynah. I am very pleased to be meeting you, Miss Yoke and Miss Babs.”

“Did you tell the powerball to eat Phil?” said Yoke accusingly.

“Yes, but it was Wubwub’s idea that I so do. I am very sorry about this. Can you help us find shelter?”

“They’re so little,” said Babs, leaning over the Metamartians. “They’re really from another world? Oh, I’d do anything for them. Do you guys want to live in one of my cupboards? Or I could find a dollhouse.”

“It’s too risky, Babs,” said Yoke. “As soon as people—or the moldies— find out about them, they’re going to want to kill them. The place could be bombed. We’d all die and the Metamartians would escape as usual.”

“I ain’t livin’ in no dollhouse,” said Wubwub “I’m gonna alla me a right-size body.” There was a sound like a loud handclap and a bigger copy of Wubwub appeared, knee high and pig-sized. “I’m gonna get more respect if I’m this size,” said the fresh Wubwub. “You know what I’m sayin’?”

“I want to be large as well,” said Shimmer. Ptah, Peg, Siss, and Haresh chimed in too. “I’m no insect.” “The floor is vile with dust.” “Someone might step on me.” “I’ll be tall, not small.”

There were five more explosive sounds as the necessary volumes of air were converted into patterned imipolex. And now Yoke’s sleeping corner was crowded with a marble woman, a bronze man, a blonde unicorn, a green python, a black pig, and a giant bird with a yellow mask around its eyes. This made thirteen Metamartians in all: a single Josef, still the size of a beetle, plus big and small versions of each of the six others.