Rudy Rucker - The Ware Tetralogy

“Okay,” said Babs. “I’ll make one and you three decide who gets it.” She clenched her alla in her hand and focused inward on her uvvy. “Split in two,” she said.

Though Yoke was staring at Babs’s hand, the transformation was hard to follow. There was a moment of fuzziness, a kind of double vision around Babs’s alla, and then there was a second silver tube that passed through Babs’s fingers and clattered to the floor.

Phil shot out of the couch and managed to pick it up before Cobb or Darla could, and now he was into his alla registration process. “A face,” said Phil, naming the first three images the alla showed him. “A path. Yoke’s skin.” And then the images were coming too fast for him to talk.

Once again it sounded to Yoke like the alla’s series of images were the same ones she’d seen: a disk of colors, a crooked line, and a patch of texture. It was sweet that Phil automatically thought of her skin.

“Show me your alla, Phil,” said Babs when Phil’s registration was complete. “My alla’s paler than it was before, don’t you think, guys? And Phil’s is the same pale color as mine. Almost platinum. Let’s see if mine still works. Here we go.” Babs popped a little imipolex DIM dinosaur onto the floor. It capered around in circles like a windup toy, now and then pausing to let out a tiny roar. “Skronk!” said Babs, encouraging it. “Gah-rooont!” She made three more dinos, each one a different shape. They started fighting with each other. “Collect the whole set!” crowed Babs. “You want my catalog, Phil? It’s the one the Metamartians made, but with additions by Randy, Yoke, and me. We’ve been pooling our designs. Randy’s good with DIMs.”

“What about an alla for me?” said Darla. “Split yours, Yoke.”

“I want one for me too,” clamored Cobb. Yoke eyed him critically. He didn’t seem lifted anymore.

So she uvvied into her alla and said, “Split in three.” Simple. There was a momentary vibration in her hand, then a kind of breeze passing through her fingers, and then two pale gold-colored tubes dropped to the floor, ringing like chimes. One rolled over to Cobb. Darla leaned forward and picked up the other one, which was next to her injured foot. Yoke’s alla was the same pale gold color as the two new allas.

“Earth,” said Darla, doing her registration. “A vein. Cereal.”

“The SUN,” said Cobb. “A wrinkle. Television.”

“Zap me that catalog?” Darla asked Yoke. “I want to get some bitchin’ threads like you.”

“Here you go, Ma,” said Yoke. “Now think about clothes, and the catalog will show them to you. You can customize things too. Where did you get that purple muumuu, anyway? You look guh-roovy.”

“Too true,” said Darla. “Phil made it for me, poor thing. When he showed up in the powerball I was—um, so yeah, I think I’ll make some black leather moon-boots and sparkly gold leggings, and a kicky black skirt and—”

“He saw you naked, Ma? Were you drunk?”

“I was cooped up in there for eight fucking weeks, Yoke,” snapped Darla. “A lesser woman would have gone crazy. Now stop grilling me and let me look for my new clothes.” She stood up and marched off , holding her alla. She had only the slightest limp from her missing toe.

“You know what I’m going to do?” said Cobb, fondling his alla. “I’m going to invent a bacteria that eats the stink right off the moldies. It’s high time. Call it the stinkeater germ. Hey, Darla, I’ll come sit with you. You can be the test-sniffer.” Darla made a face, but Cobb followed her across the room.

“Good thing Randy didn’t hear Cobb’s plan,” Yoke said to Phil. “Randy likes the way moldies smell right now.” Babs and Randy, on the other couch, were deeply engrossed in a personal conversation.

“I’m surprised that your alla remembered the necklace and the ring, Yoke,” said Phil, scooting even closer to Yoke and touching the gold band around her finger. “It must update itself all the time. And you got all of your memories back too? You remember right up to the last instant?”

“I remember,” said Yoke, bracing herself.

“I meant what I said,” said Phil. “I’d like to marry you.”

Yoke slipped the ring off her finger. “This is too big for me, you know. And it’s your father’s.”

“But I want you to have it,” said Phil. “That is, if—”

“Oh, I don’t know, Phil. Yes, I like you very much, but what’s the big rush? Don’t pressure me. It’s all too much for one day. And you keep this ring, I don’t want it, it’s kind of creepy.” She peered down at its inscription. “The writing’s still backward.”

Phil took the ring and read the engraving. “ ‘wolliW morf turK oT,’ ” he said. “At least it’s unknotted.” He pocketed it. “The necklace looks really good on you. You notice how the shape of the gem changes as well as its color? Dynamic Metamartian realware. You’ll keep it, won’t you?”

“Okay,” said Yoke, glancing down. “And now let’s stop negotiating. I’m tired. But I’m afraid to go to sleep. Being dead wasn’t all sunny and nice, you know. There were bad things too. Things like demons. I’m sure I’m going to dream about them.”

While Yoke and Phil were talking, Babs and Randy finished their tête-à-tête and now they were standing up.

“Good night, guys!” sang Babs. “We’re going to hit the hay. We’ll start handing out allas in the morning.” She and Randy disappeared behind a floor-to-ceiling curtain of red and yellow moiré silk, presumably to share Babs’s canopy bed.

Darla and Cobb were over in the kitchen part of the room chatting. Darla was sipping at a split of champagne and alla-making outfit after outfit, asking Cobb’s opinions about each one. Cobb was screwing around with some cryptic biotech machinery that he’d alla-made. Each time Darla would ask Cobb about an outfit, he’d ask her what she thought of the smell of some fresh sample of gene-tailored mold.

“Let’s get in bed together?” suggested Phil.

“In here?” said Yoke, rolling her eyes toward her mother.

“We can alla-make ourselves a nest. Like what I used to live in at Calla and Derek’s.”

“Where Kevvie probably is right now. That pig. What happened to her after she killed me?”

“Haresh kept us from getting to her. But then the aliens took off in a flying saucer. Kevvie wanted them to take her with them, but they didn’t. We didn’t try to do anything to her yet because we wanted to hurry back here and make a new realware you. We just left her there on the Anubis.”

Yoke felt a stab of fear. “What if she comes to get me again? Shouldn’t you call the Gimmie?”

“Oh, not the Gimmie,” sighed Phil. “And then everyone finds out about the allas? I’ll do something to Kevvie myself tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll take her alla away. But I don’t think we have to worry right now. If I know Kevvie, she’s back at Calla and Derek’s, trying to snort her way to the bottom of an alla-made mound of gabba. Saint and I’ll go over there tomorrow morning and we’ll take her alla while she’s still passed out. Okay?”

Yoke found Phil’s calmness maddening—but it was contagious. “Okay,” she said, leaning against him.

“Now let me make us that nest.” Phil gazed thoughtfully at the girders supporting the warehouse roof.

“Not up there, Phil. Put it where Ma won’t be staring at us. In fact let’s put it outside. In the alley.”

So they stepped out the warehouse’s side door into a deserted, dead-end alley. It was raining. Phil held out his pale gold alla and formed a control mesh in the air. Raindrops fell through the mesh, twinkling in its light. It took Phil a minute to get the structure fully imagined. Finally he said, “Actualize,” and a cozy-looking box was resting on the alley’s cinders; it was pentagonal like a shingled wren’s house, with a big round door on hinges and a triangular window next to the door.