Rudy Rucker - The Ware Tetralogy

“Xoxx it,” said Yoke, staring into her tanks. “This is the only thing I’m able to try and control—and it’s too hard. You have to help me tweak them some more, Randy.”

“How’s Phil’s blimp doin’?” Randy asked Yoke.

“Oh, he’s got it spread out on the roof,” said Yoke, wandering over and alla-making herself a cup of coffee. “It’s slowly getting better. The Phlyte Blimp. Can you hear the trademark? What is it about Phil and money all of a sudden, Randy?”

“Phil wants to make a mark on the world,” said Randy. Looking into himself, Randy realized that he didn’t share that ambition. He saw his role as a background guy, not a foreground guy. A consultant. Someone who helped people make connections and do things. He was happy to help Babs with her worms, Phil with his flying machines, Yoke with her reefs, and maybe Saint with his One-Zip realware alla code encryption. But he wasn’t into power-driving. Hell, he was just happy to have a shot at a normal life. If only the world would let him. “For some people money’s a way to keep score,” he said mildly. “Practically all it’s good for anymore.”

“Don’t forget real estate,” said Babs. “Yoke and Phil need money if they ever want a place of their own. Not that I mind having you guys squatting on my wall and my roof. But you know, eventually—”

“We can leave anytime you want us to,” said Yoke, getting prickly. “There’s plenty of free land on the Moon. Or Mars. Or the asteroids. We’d be safer from the fighting anyway.”

“I don’t see you wantin’ to go back into space,” said Randy. “No more than I want to go in the first place. Earth’s where it’s at. And, look, with the allas we don’t need to waste land on farms no more. That frees up a lot of cheap acreage. Or, hell, you can get an acre up on the side of some mountain any old where. With an alla you don’t need power or plumbing or a place to shop. Everyone can be happy, everyone can have a nice place to live.”

“So why do people keep killing each other?” wondered Babs. “Just for the rush? Thank God things are still calm in San Francisco.”

“I hear things are getting really tense in Oakland,” said Saint. “I’m starting to wonder if giving out the allas was such a good idea.”

“If we ever get to talk to the Metamartians again, maybe we should ask them to get rid of the allas?” said Randy. “Hard to decide. Hey, did I tell you that my father’s flying back down inside of Cobb? Comin’ early for the wedding. He should get here today.”

“I wish Darla had stayed,” said Yoke, looking sad. “As soon as she talked to Whitey, she got all homesick and made Cobb fly her right up to the Moon. I think she wanted to make double sure that they didn’t finish growing that new Darla clone to replace her. So, fine, now they’re all together up there, but what good does that do me? I want my parents and my sister! They should be the ones coming back with Cobb, not Willy. Whitey says I should come get married on the Moon. He thinks it’s getting too dangerous down here. But Phil’s totally into having the wedding with his family and you guys. Xoxx it. A wedding’s hard enough, so why in God’s name are we doing two at once?”

“Don’t look at me,” said Randy. “It was you and Babs decided to make it a double. It was like you gals thought gettin’ married to Phil and me was such a crazy stunt, why not push it right out to the edge. Like a viddy soap finale or somethin’.”

“I know,” sighed Yoke. “I can remember the mood, but I can’t get myself back into it. Babs and I were so giggly that night. We’d released the allas to the public and it was going to be paradise. And now there’s war everywhere. Even Phil and I had a big fight just a minute ago. Not that there’s any comparison.”

“Poor Yoke,” said Babs. “Fight about what?”

“It’s Phil’s mother, Eve,” said Yoke, frowning. “Maybe you already know about this, Babs. Eve got this idea that we shouldn’t have the ceremonies out here in front of your warehouse like we’d been saying we’d do.”

“Oh yeah,” said Babs. “I know about this. I kind of agree with her.”

“Well thanks a lot for letting me know,” snapped Yoke, her eyes flashing. “Five minutes ago Phil tells me that Eve and Wendy reserved us a ballroom at the Fairmont Hotel. Like we’re sixth-graders in a school pageant. Or no, it’s worse than that. It’s like we’re nobles celebrating while all over the world people are suffering. Especially women. I—I really unloaded on Phil. I told him I don’t want to get married at all.” Yoke’s chin quivered and she began crying. “This is turning into a nightmare.”

Babs gave Randy a look, and he got to his feet. “Hey, Saint, let’s go upstairs and look at Phil’s blimp. You too, Willa Jean.”

“Yaaar,” said Saint. Willa Jean strutted rapidly across the floor and jumped into Randy’s arms.

Phil had cantilevered a kind of staircase of mini-trampolines out from the side of Babs’s warehouse. You could climb to the roof by hopping from one elastic sheet to the next. And there was a fireman’s pole for coming back down. Phil and Yoke had added three more rooms to their original alley-nest; each room was level with one of the layers of the trampolines.

“Feel like one o’ them fish,” Randy observed to Saint as they bounced upward.

“A salmon,” agreed Saint. “Heading upstream to spawn. Hey, Phil, watcha doing? We’re here to spawn all over everything.”

“Hi, guys,” said Phil, looking up from a big flat air bag lying on the roof. “I’m working on the Phlyte Blimp. Trying to. I can’t think. They’re fighting in Oakland. Look over across the bay, you can see the fires.”

Sure enough, across the water smoke was streaming up from the city of Oakland. Yet high above the smoke it was a pleasant spring day with fluffy white clouds against the pale blue.

“I just checked the news,” said Phil. “It started as a gang thing. And now it’s turned racial. Everyone getting even for getting even for getting even. How long is it we’ve had the allas now?”

“Two months,” said Randy. “You’d think people would have it together by now.” Two months ago had been when he’d realized that he loved Babs. And in another month they’d be married. If only things would calm down. If only people would remember to be kind.

“Oh, shit,” said Saint. “Look at Oakland now.”

Someone had just done something to make one of Oakland’s office buildings collapse. Maybe they’d alla-converted part of its foundation into air. The wind shifted toward them and Randy could smell a whiff of smoke, could hear a faint crackle of gunfire.

“Make them stop,” prayed Randy, and just about then a flashing bright saucer appeared in the sky over Oakland. The Metamartians to the rescue, once again. There was a distant rumble; the saucer was talking to the men fighting. And now a series of rays darted down from it; it was said that when a saucer appeared at a battle scene, it would destroy everyone’s alla-­made weapons.

“The allas have to go,” said Randy, really believing this for the first time. “It’s not going to be worth it. Especially after the aliens leave.”

“Let’s fly to Oakland and help,” said Phil. “We can use my blimp.”

“Good idea,” said Randy. “And while we’re at it, maybe we can get close enough to the saucer to talk to the Metamartians.”

Phil used the alla to instantly fill his Phlyte Blimp up with helium. The great balloon was covered with something like imipolex linguini that Phil called “Smart Hair.” The blimp bobbed above the rooftop and a sudden breeze threatened to sweep it away. But then the plastic linguini began intensely beating, holding the unwieldy shape in place.