Philip Farmer - Venus on the Half-Shell

The dog had been whimpering and whining for some time, but suddenly it began barking loudly and racing around. Simon tried to ignore him. Then he became annoyed. Here he was, on the verge of the greatest orgasm he had ever known, and this mutt had to spoil it all. He shouted at Anubis, who paid him no attention at all. Finally, Simon remembered something he had read in school and seen in various TV series. He became scared, though he was not sure that he had good reason to be so.

As everybody knew, dogs were psychic. They saw things which men used to call ghosts. Now it was known that these were actually fifth-dimensional objects which had passed through normal space unperceived by the gross senses of man. These went through certain channels formed by the shape of the fifth dimension. The main channel on Earth went through the British islands, which was why England had more “ghosts” than any other place on the planet.

Every Earth ship that put out to space beyond the solar system carried a dog. Radar, being limited to the speed of light, was no good for a vessel going at superlight speeds. But a dog could detect other living beings even at a million lightyears’ distance if they were also in soixante-neuf drive. To the dogs, other beings in this extra-dimensional world were ghosts, and ghosts scared the hell out of them.

He pressed a button. A screen sprang to life, showing him the view from the right side of the ship. He didn’t expect to see the approaching ship, since it was going faster than light. But he could see a black funnel coming at an angle which would intercept his course. This, he knew, was the trail left by a vessel with soixante-neuf drive. It was one of the peculiarities of the drive that a ship radiated behind it a “shadow,” a conical blackness of unknown nature. Simon, if he had looked out his own rearview screen, would have seen only a circle of nothingness directly behind the ship.

He was convinced that the ship approaching him was a Hoonhor and that it was out to get him. That was the only reason he could think of why the ship hadn’t changed its course, which would result in collision if it maintained it. Probably, the Hoonhors intended to keep him from notifying other worlds of what they had done to Earth.

He stepped on the accelerator pedal and kept it to the floor while the speedometer needle crept toward the right-hand edge of the dial. He also twisted the wheel to the left to swerve the ship away. The stranger immediately changed its course to follow him.

The murmur from the two engine rooms became a loud and piercing shriek. Anubis howled with agony, and the owl flew around screaming. Simon put plugs in his ears, but they couldn’t keep out the painful noise. Nor could he plug up his conscience. Somewhere, on one of the fifth-dimensional universes, a living being was undergoing terrible torture so he could save his own neck.

After ten minutes, the screams suddenly ceased. Simon didn’t feel any relief. This only meant that the star had died, stripped of its fire, stripped, in fact, of every atom of its body. Tensed, he waited, and shortly the screaming started again. The drive had searched for and found another victim, a star that may have been happily browsing in the meadows of space only a minute before.

Presently, the two ships were on the same plane, the Hoonhor an incalculable distance behind the Hwang Ho. Simon couldn’t see it in his rearview screen because of the blackness he trailed. Somewhere in that cone was the Hoonhor. Or was it? According to theory, nothing could exist in the immediate wake of a 69X vessel. Yet one vessel could follow another in the wake. But the pursuer did not exist during this time. So where was it? In the sixth dimension, according to the theorists. And the stuff in the wake of the chaser must then exist in the seventh dimension, and any ship in its wake would be in the eighth dimension, and any ship in its wake would be in the ninth dimension.

Most of the theorists were happy with this explanation. They could not run out of dimensions any more than they could run out of numbers. However, a brilliant Hindu mathematician, Dr. Utapal, had said that there was a limit. By an equation which was so abstruse that it was unprovable, Utapal demonstrated that the ninth dimension was the upper limit. (What the lower limit was, nobody knew.) When a fourth ship joined the procession, there was a transposition factor, which resulted in the third ship suddenly being in front of the first. This was called the Unavoidable Trans-dimensional Shift in scholarly journals but was privately referred to as the You-Grab-My-Nuts-I’ll-Grab-Yours Hypothesis.

It was then that a control panel siren began whooping and its lights flashed red. Simon became even more alarmed. A space boojum was directly ahead of the ship.

A boojum was a collapsed star which formed a gravitational whirlpool that sucked in any matter coming close to it. In fact, its gravity was so strong that even light couldn’t escape from its surface. [1] The boojum of Trout has a remarkable resemblance to the “black hole” of space conjectured by contemporary astronomy. Trout intuitively anticipated this concept five years before it was first proposed in scientific journals. Editor. But the ship’s instruments could detect the alterations it made in the local space-time structure.

Boojums were a sort of manhole in a trans-dimensional sewage system. Or a slot in a multidimensional roulette wheel. All the boojums in this universe were entrances to otherdimensional worlds, and if a ship got sucked into one, it could be lost forever in the maze of connections. Or, if its crew was lucky, it would be shot back into this universe.

The Hoonhor ship was coming up on him swiftly. The slow freighter could not outrun the other vessel. Simon’s only escape, like it or not, was to dive into the boojum. He doubted that the Hoonhor captain would have the guts to follow him into it.

The next thing he knew, everything had turned black. Nor was there any sound. After what seemed like hours but must have been only a few minutes—if time existed in this place—he felt as if he were melting. His fingers and toes were extending, at the same time they were becoming shapeless. His head seemed to loll on one side because his neck was stretching far out. It fell to one side and kept on falling. It went past his body and then the floor and then was falling through a bottomless space. He tried to raise his arm to grab it, but his arm groped through nothingness for miles and miles without end.

His intestines were floating up through his body and after a while they were coiled around his head, which was still falling. They didn’t taste good at all. His anus was bobbing on the end of his nose; his liver was wedged between his head and his ear. He didn’t know which ear because he had no idea of which way was right or left, up or down, in or out.

He thought perhaps his head might be falling to the left, or the right, and he had used the wrong arm to try to grab it. One of his arms wasn’t extending, so he transferred his efforts to that. It grabbed what felt like Anubis’ tongue, a long, slimy organ. He felt along it and pulled his hand away. Either the dog’s tongue had grown or Anubis had turned into one giant tongue. He was immediately sorry that he had moved his hand. He seemed to be groping around in the dog’s guts. Something moved against the back of his hand, something that beat quickly and sent a throbbing through him. Anubis’ heart, he thought. He kept his hand against it and when it started to slide away he closed his fingers around it. It was the only identifiable object in this terrifying universe outside himself, an object which he had to cling to, to keep his sanity. It also kept him from feeling utterly alone, and it was the only thing which gave him any security at all. It alone was not changing shape.