Руди Рюкер - Master Of Space And Time

15. Welcome, Joseph Fletcher

"Nancy, I've got to go back and see about Harry." We were slowly cruising downtown Trenton, looking for people to give our seeds to. It was dusk and there was an autumn crackle in the air.

"Wait, there's an old bum." Nancy pulled over next to a man lying on a park bench. I bounced Serena on my lap while Nancy showed the man two seeds and put them in the ground next to his bench. He seemed more interested in her breasts than in the prospect of free food.

"He's heard of us," said Nancy, getting back behind the wheel. "He said some of his friends already had the seeds."

"Face it, honey, everyone in the state's going to have our seeds before long. And it's spreading to New York and Pennsylvania."

"Then we should drive down south before winter sets in. Mexico's where they really need food."

"Can't you just mail some of the seeds to your do-gooder friends? I want to get back up to New Brunswick and see how Harry's doing. Those Garybrains may not be spreading, but who knows? Maybe they're getting ready for a big assault." The setting sun gleamed coldly on the state capitol's gold dome. Winter was just around the corner.

"Oh, all right, Joe. I'll take you up there and drop you off. Do you think it's safe to go home yet?"

"No. They're after me for helping Harry, and they're after you for the seeds. You shouldn't have told so many people your name."

"Well, I like to get a little credit, too. And they aren't really after us. They just want to ask us questions. I wouldn't mind answering some questions — in the proper setting."

"You mean you'd like to get on TV."

"Well, I don't see why I shouldn't. I could be on the cover of Time magazine, Joe. I've found the solution to world hunger."

"Can't argue with that."

We powered out of Trenton and onto the Jersey Turnpike. "I'll drop you off in New Brunswick," said Nancy, "and then I'll mail seeds to hunger contacts all over the world. And tomorrow I'll show up at the ABC studios in Manhattan."

"Fine. Meanwhile, do you think we could stop for some supper?"

"At one of those crummy turnpike restaurants?"

"Ah, why not. I'm kind of sick of porkchops and fritters."

We stopped at a Savarin. Not surprisingly, the day's special was — porkchops and fritters. Even the merchants were getting hold of our plants now. I had soup and a salad instead. According to the radio, our fritters contained every vitamin known to man, but I still felt the lack of green veggies. Serena ordered ice cream.

As we got closer to New Brunswick, the turnpike became more and more congested. There were numerous army trucks, but what was more surprising, there were lots and lots of school buses, most of them with crosses on them. "Killeville Christian Children's Crusade," read one. "Shiloh Baptist Old Folks Home," read another. "Shekinah Glory Gospel Fellowship,"

"Sunshine Open Bible Network,"

"Women's Hope-a-Glow Ministries."

"What are all these nuts doing here?" I wondered. We reached the New Brunswick exit and crawled off amidst troop trucks and buses. The actual road into town was barricaded. An unsteady sergeant with two flares waved us toward a parking area.

"It must be that stuff about God's Laws," remarked Nancy. "People are so into religion these days."

"I can hardly believe it. They didn't say anything about this on the radio." A big light-blue bus lumbered into the space next to us. Elderly seekers began swarming out.

"I'm going to leave before someone baptizes me or something," said Nancy. "Look out for the brains, Joe. Get yourself some whiskey."

"All right, baby. And be sure to hire a good lawyer before you go on television. Just in case. There's still a lot of money in the trunk. This week has been fun, hasn't it?"

"It has. It's been like a honeymoon."

"A frittermoon. I love you, Nancy."

"I love you, Joe. Say bye to Daddy, Serena."

"Bye."

I kissed my two girls and then they drove off. I walked back to the parking-lot entrance and asked the sergeant where I could get some booze. He was a swarthy kid in his early twenties.

"There's a liquor-store someplace out that way," he said, waving one of his flares vaguely. He seemed quite drunk.

"Can I just buy some from you? I don't have a car, but I've got lots of money."

The sergeant glanced around, looking for officers. "You ain't a looter, are you?"

"No, man, I'm a tourist. Here's fifty bucks."

The sergeant pocketed my bill and handed me the flares. "I'll just be a minute."

I directed another bus into the parking area, and then the sergeant was back with a canteen full of grain alcohol.

"Government issue," he said, smiling broadly. I took a swig, retched a little, then took another.

"Thanks, sarge. This stuff keeps the brains off?"

"For sure. Gary don't like it."

"What are all these groovers doing here?" I jerked my head at a group of flower-print ladies doddering past.

"They started coming in a few days ago. The evangelicals got some idea that Gary is the new Messiah. We can't stop 'em from going in, and so far none of them has tried to get back out."

"Weird."

"You know it, brother."

I handed him back his flares and joined the throng marching toward New Brunswick. I fell into step with a pale-faced little man in a red windbreaker. It said "Virginia Beach Rescue Squad" on the back.

"Would you like a drink?" I offered.

"Praise Jesus, no," he said. His voice was sweet and reedy. "It'd be a shame to meet the Lord all messed up, now, wouldn't it?"

"The Lord's not here," I countered. "It's a bunch of brains from another dimension. They're parasites."

"Gary Herber's here," said the man stubbornly. "I seen him on TV. Gary's come to roll out the scrolls."

"What — what does Gary Herber look like?" I asked. I had a pretty good idea of what the answer would be. "Does he look sort of like a toad? A short fellow with ropy lips?"

"That's right, friend. And he has an angel with him. A blond angel what really flies. Our minister brang us up here to join salvation."

At the edge of town there was a welcoming committee, round-shouldered young men with wholesome smiles. They herded the new arrivals into a big building and — presumably — slapped Garyslugs on everyone inside. I sidestepped this action by stuffing my sweater under my shirt and saying I was already saved. The whole scene seemed amazingly disorganized on both sides. The Herberites didn't give much more of a damn than the soldiers did. If you wanted a slug on your back, you could have one, and if you didn't want a slug, that was fine, too.

I walked up Suydam Street, wondering where I'd find Harry. His apartment seemed like the logical place to look first. He'd either be there or at the local TV station.

There were a lot of people in the street, all of them wearing brains. Despite the chill, most of them had their shirts off so that the Gary-slugs could touch each other and converse. I hung onto my canteen of booze and enjoyed staring at the women's tits. Weird to see so many of them at once.

When I was still a couple of blocks from Harry's, a cry went up from the people around me. "The angel of the Lord! Gary's angel!"

It was Sondra, stark naked and with a Garybrain on her back. She flew about fifteen feet overhead, staring down at us with a glassy smile. I covered my face lest she recognize me.

"These are the last times!" bellowed a woman next to me. "Praise Jesus!" I took another drink and pushed my way forward. I hoped the blunzer would still work. I had to undo this madness.

The closer I got to Harry's, the denser the crowd got. It was like Mardi Gras — except everyone was high on slug-stim instead of booze. Some zealot ripped my shirt off, exposing my naked back. Herberites rubbed up against me so their spineriders could split onto me, but by now I had enough booze in my system to be unpalatable.