Stanislaw Lem: The Futurological Congress

If so, then it was time to be off; I pulled up roots and cocked an ear. Ah yes, there were the trumpets sounding. A rat with a saddle-a truly remarkable specimen, for a rodent-turned its head and, blinking its heavy, slanting lids, looked at me with the mournful eyes of Professor Trottelreiner. I hesitated, struck by a sudden doubt; if this was the Professor with the features of a rat, it would hardly be proper to mount him; on the other hand if this was merely a rat that bore some resemblance to the Professor, there was nothing to worry about. But the trumpets were sounding again, so I leaped into the saddle-and fell in the sewer. The foul water restored me to my senses at last. Shuddering with disgust and indignation, I crawled back onto the platform. The rats reluctantly made room for me. They were still walking about on two legs. But of course-it dawned on me-hallucinogens! If I could think I was a tree, why couldn't they think they were people? Hurriedly I groped around for my oxygen mask, found it, put it on, breathing in however with some misgiving, for how could I be sure that it was a real mask, and not an illusion?

Suddenly there was light all around me; I raised my head and saw that the manhole was open; an American sergeant was holding out his hand.

"Come on!" he yelled. "Come on!"

"What, have the helicopters arrived?!" I jumped to my feet.

"Quickly!" he yelled. "There's not a second to lose!"

The others were up now too. I climbed the ladder.

"It's about time!" Stantor wheezed beneath me.

Outside the sky was bright with fire. I looked-no helicopters, only a few soldiers in helmets and dressed like paratroopers. They handed us some kind of harness.

"What is it?" I asked, confused.

"Quickly, quickly!" yelled the sergeant.

The soldiers began to saddle me with the thing. "I'm hallucinating!" I thought.

"Not at all," said the sergeant. "These are jump holsters, our individual rocket carriers, the fuel tank's in the backpack. Here, grab this." And he shoved some kind of lever into my hand, while a soldier standing behind me tightened the shoulder straps and belt. "There!"

The sergeant clapped me on the back and pushed a button. There was a long, piercing whistle and white smoke poured from the pack's nozzle, enveloping my legs. In an instant I was borne into the air like a feather.

"But I don't know how to steer it!" I shouted as I soared up into the flickering, blazing night.

"You'll learn!" called the sergeant from below. "Take your azimuth-from-the-Nooorth-Staaar!!"

I looked down. I was flying over the gigantic pile of rubble which not too long ago had been the Hilton. Near it was a tiny cluster of people, and farther on a bursting blood-red ring of fire that silhouetted some object, small and round-it was Professor Trottelreiner blasting off, his umbrella open. I checked to see if my straps and buckles were holding properly. The power pack gurgled, clanged, hissed, the propelling column of steam began to burn my calves, so I drew up my knees as far as possible, but this made me lose stability and for a full minute I was spinning in the air like a lopsided top. But then without thinking I clutched at the lever, which must have changed the direction of the jets, because the next thing I knew I was horizontal and cruising comfortably, even pleasantly-though it would have been a lot more enjoyable had I had the least idea of where I was going. I maneuvered the lever, trying at the same time to, take in the whole scene that lay below. Ruins of buildings, like dark fangs, stood outlined against rising walls of flame. Thin filaments of fire-blue, red, green-came rushing up from the ground to meet me, went screaming by, and I realized that I was being shot at. Quickly as I could, I pushed the lever. The power pack coughed and whined like a broken boiler, it scalded my legs and hurled me head over heels into pitch-black space. The wind whistled in my ears, I felt the wallet, penknife and other odds and ends slip out of my pockets, and tried to dive after them, but they had vanished from sight. Alone beneath the silent stars, still hissing, sputtering, clanging, I flew on. I looked for the North Star, to get my bearings, but by the time I'd found it the power pack gave a last gasp and down I went like a stone, picking up speed. By the greatest stroke of luck, just above the ground-I could see a pale, winding highway, shadows of trees, some rooftops-an unexpected spurt from the nozzle broke my fall enough to let me land, and quite softly too, on the grass. Someone lay in a ditch nearby and groaned. It would be strange indeed, I thought, if that was the Professor! And yet it really was he. I helped him up. He felt himself all over, complaining that he'd lost his glasses. Though otherwise he seemed all right. He asked me to assist him in removing his pack. He crouched over it and pulled out something from a side pocket-steel tubes and a wheel.

"And now yours… "

From my pack too he took a wheel, fiddled awhile and finally cried:

"Hop on! Let's go!"

"What is it? Where are we going?" I asked, amazed.

"A tandem bicycle. To Washington," the Professor laconically replied, his foot already on the pedal.

"I'm hallucinating!" flashed through my mind.

"Nonsense!" huffed Trottelreiner. "It's standard paratroop equipment."

"All right, but how are you such an expert on this?" I asked, climbing onto the back seat. The Professor kicked off and we drove along the grass to where the asphalt began.

"I work for the USAF!" he said, pedaling like mad.

Now as far as I could recall, Peru and Mexico lay between us and Washington, not to mention Panama.

"We'll never make it by bicycle!" I shouted against the wind.

"Only to the rendezvous point!" the Professor shouted back.

Was he then not the simple futurologist he seemed? Oh, what had I gotten myself into this time? Something big, no doubt… And anyway, what business did I have in Washington? I started to brake.

"What are you doing?" growled the Professor, hunched over the handlebars. "Keep going!"

"No, I'm getting off!" I said, my mind made up.

The bicycle slowed and came to a stop. The Professor, putting a foot on the ground to support himself, showed me the surrounding darkness with a sarcastic sweep of the hand. "As you wish. Good hunting!" And he was on his way again. "Thanks for everything!" I called out after him as the red glow of his taillight vanished in the night. Thoroughly disoriented, I sat on a milepost to gather my thoughts.

Something was jabbing me in the calf. Absent-mindedly I reached down and, feeling some branches, began to break them off. It hurt. "If those are my branches," I told myself, "then this is definitely still a hallucination!" I was bending over to see, when a bright beam hit me in the face. Silver headlights came swerving around the corner, the enormous shadow of a car pulled up, and a door swung open. Inside-blue, green, golden rows of lights flashing on a dashboard, a pair of shapely legs in nylons, alligator slippers resting on the accelerator, a dark face with crimson lips turned in my direction, and sparkling diamonds on the fingers that held the steering wheel.

"Need a lift?"

I got in. I was so stunned that I had forgotten about the branches. Secretly I ran a hand along my legs. They were only twigs.

"What, already?" she asked in a low, sensuous voice.

"What do you mean?" I said, completely at a loss.

She shrugged. The powerful car surged forward, the lighted strip of road rushed towards us out of the darkness; she pushed a button and a lively tune flowed from under the dashboard. And yet, I thought, it didn't fit somehow. It didn't make sense. True, they weren't branches, only twigs. But even so!

I looked her over. She was beautiful all right, beautiful in a way that was at once seductive, demonic, and raspberry. But instead of a skirt she had feathers. Ostrich? Was I hallucinating?… Women's fashions being what they were, I didn't know what to think. The road was deserted; we tore along until the needle on the speedometer leaned all the way to the right. Suddenly a hand from behind clutched my hair. I jumped. But the long nails were clawing the back of my neck affectionately rather than with murderous intent.