suicide. In Kiev an apparently incurable attack of boils continues to afflict all
members of the Purpostful Translation Bureau that last month attempted to
discredit Wiglafs translations from various USSR minority languages. Young
writers said to be shamans of the Blacksoil Marijuana Party have been arrested
in large numbers, apparently in reprisal for the boils outrage, in and around the
city.
‘No more change for him. W hat you’ve got is a severe case of mens
sana in corpore sano.’
‘I wouldn’t have understood that before, either. W hat’s worrying
you?’
‘Listen, kid. Can you imagine Plush and Stella transferring, changing bodies? Just through contact with us?’
‘Often. Four-five times in the last few nights I’ve experienced that,
or dream t it, or pretended it. And not just that: Plush really has, in
herself, started to develop a few attributes, random stuff only we’d notice . . . ’
‘O f Stella. Yes. Stella’s done it, both the little things —you know,
shoe-size, curries —and the total change in the early hours, all this
month. She volunteered as much.’
‘W ithout your hinting or prompting at all? I’d believe her.’
‘T hat’s why I called you. I think we’re infectious, like I said.’
‘The others aren’t — or weren’t. Think of poor old Bert.’
No Bert. Gondibert? PANMARINE NEWSFLASH 41, for 11.30.36 at
22.00 hours. Gondibert Knight, ex-star-captain playboy, internationally
known as ‘Lucky’ Knight, was today banned from the whole Wrest Point
Casino Chain after incredible wins at both the Golden Mile Gamblery and the
Casino Casino. Following his expulsion from all international-level racing-
tracks, and a vicious assault upon him by unidentified hoodlums at the Sin-
Kiang Bloodstock Trials in April, ‘Lucky’Knight has applied to the World
Health Organisation for a total physical reconstruct on compassionate grounds.
International monetary interests are said to have already blocked this move and
are pressing for Knight to be transferred to the Ganymede Institute of
Mathematics and Astrophysical Computation where no gambling is permitted.
‘Lucky’ Knight is now confined to his yacht on Lake Kalgoorlie; his only comment on the Ganymede proposal so far is, ‘Does anybody guarantee that going satellite will keep the goddam crowds off?’
‘Maybe it’s different for us because ours was a transaction to begin
After the B eo w u lf expedition
99
with.’
‘You know how everybody said ours was adolescent— ’
‘Childish, wasn’t it?’
‘Infantile, let’s say. What I mean is, all them poor punch-an-judies
got the works, a complete deal. W hat we got is maybe growing up,
changing, making friends and finding new interests.’
‘H uh?’
‘Never mind. I think love comes under a different heading
somehow.’
‘W hat would that mean if we pushed where we’ve been pulling? If
we helped it all along?’
I have a complaint. I don’t know what they’re talking about. Have
they swapped wives, and so what? Have they changed bodies? O r
minds? O r certain popular parts of bodies? Here’s a sudden explosion
noise, like a snort or a sneeze with a giggle stuck on the back.
‘You sound just like a little boy, sometimes, Kid.’
‘And why not? I’ve got an idea: why don’t we . . . ? You read me,
huh?’
‘Now hold on, hey! Those geishas are half of them police or W H O
officers.’
‘Doesn’t invalidate the experiment.’
‘I’ll ring. W hat’ll it be?’
‘Leave it to you.’
Only three men left from the Beowulf crew-list. This one has got to be
Blanchis. Ah, their bell.
Two bells. C’mon Vera. They want us both. Leave it recording.
I ll
‘Hey, you’re good!’ There’s a dolphin somewhere in the roaring ocean
of my right ear, but this voice is deeper, deep as the base of my neck-
bones. Kind of laugh in a gasp. I think we’re all gasping.
‘He’s supposed to be good, Slatecoat!’ T h at’s the bony nose across
the glowing pattern of the near wall, the plane of a cheekbone lit by
flowing lights out of the intricate ceiling. Never realised how underwater the Filigree Room is . . . The ceiling is an upsidedown coral reef. O f his bones are coral made . . . Coral and kif.
Blanc.his’ nose is still breathing hard, though it drowned dancing
with the dolphin just now. A pearl rolls out of his eye-socket, up his
cheek and away.
100
Norman Talbot
‘W hat sort of contact was it, and where?’ You’re supposed to react
a lot in this game, and I’m reacting, but my game is a job. Both my
games are jobs.
‘Classified,’ groans the voice around my neck. ‘Tau Ceti. Satellite to
planet three. Can’t describe it.’ His breath carries kif.
‘Try.’ They should be loosened up enough. I’m so loose I’m shaking.
‘It gave all of you what you wanted. Right?’ Vera’s voice no longer
sounds like a dolphin. She —and the silence —have decided my
interrogation wasn’t sufficiently subtle.
‘If I explained, you wouldn’t understand.’ They both said that, in ludicrously perfect unison like in Oscar Wilde, except one of them had a ‘couldn’t’.
Secrets are very erotic. U nder the right kind of interrogation, the
Force always teaches us, the toughest punch or judy will let them go.
I stroke Slatecoat’s kelpdark skin. ‘Did the contact give you —’
U nder Vera, Blanchis says loudly, suddenly,
