Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy December 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. 

Here is a modern tale of an inner-directed sorcerer and anouter-directed sorcerer's apprentice . .. A tale of--

THE CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS

By FRITZ LEIBER

Illustrated by WOOD

"Come on, Gussy, " Fay prodded quietly, "quit stalking around like aneurotic bear and suggest something for my invention team to work on. I enjoy visiting you and Daisy, but I can't stay aboveground allnight. "

"If being outside the shelters makes you nervous, don't come aroundany more, " Gusterson told him, continuing to stalk. "Why doesn't yourinvention team think of something to invent? Why don't you? Hah!" Inthe "Hah!" lay triumphant condemnation of a whole way of life. 

"We do, " Fay responded imperturbably, "but a fresh viewpoint sometimeshelps. "

"I'll say it does! Fay, you burglar, I'll bet you've got twenty peoplelike myself you milk for free ideas. First you irritate their bark andthen you make the rounds every so often to draw off the latex or themaple gloop. "

Fay smiled. "It ought to please you that society still has a use foryou outre inner-directed types. It takes something to make a juniorexecutive stay aboveground after dark, when the missiles are on theprowl. "

"Society can't have much use for us or it'd pay us something, "Gusterson sourly asserted, staring blankly at the tankless TV andkicking it lightly as he passed on. 

"No, you're wrong about that, Gussy. Money's not the key goad with youinner-directeds. I got that straight from our Motivations chief. "

"Did he tell you what we should use instead to pay the grocer? A deepinner sense of achievement, maybe? Fay, why should I do any freethinking for Micro Systems?"

"I'll tell you why, Gussy. Simply because you get a kick out ofinsulting us with sardonic ideas. If we take one of them seriously, you think we're degrading ourselves, and that pleases you even more. Like making someone laugh at a lousy pun. "

 * * * * *

Gusterson held still in his roaming and grinned. "That the reason, huh? I suppose my suggestions would have to be something in the lineof ultra-subminiaturized computers, where one sinister fine-etchedmolecule does the work of three big bumbling brain cells?"

"Not necessarily. Micro Systems is branching out. Wheel as free as arogue star. But I'll pass along to Promotion your one molecule-threebrain cell sparkler. It's a slight exaggeration, but it's catchy. "

"I'll have my kids watch your ads to see if you use it and then I'llsue the whole underworld. " Gusterson frowned as he resumed hisstalking. He stared puzzledly at the antique TV. "How about inventinga plutonium termite?" he said suddenly. "It would get rid of thosestockpiles that are worrying you moles to death. "

Fay grimaced noncommittally and cocked his head. 

"Well, then, how about a beauty mask? How about that, hey? I don'tmean one to repair a woman's complexion, but one she'd wear all thetime that'd make her look like a 17-year-old sexpot. That'd end _her_worries. "

"Hey, that's for me, " Daisy called from the kitchen. "I'll makeGusterson suffer. I'll make him crawl around on his hands and kneesbegging my immature favors. "

[Illustration]

"No, you won't, " Gusterson called back. "You having a face like thatwould scare the kids. Better cancel that one, Fay. Half the adult racelooking like Vina Vidarsson is too awful a thought. "

"Yah, you're just scared of making a million dollars, " Daisy jeered. 

"I sure am, " Gusterson said solemnly, scanning the fuzzy floor fromone murky glass wall to the other, hesitating at the TV. "How aboutsomething homey now, like a flock of little prickly cylinders thatroll around the floor collecting lint and flub? They'd work byelectricity, or at a pinch cats could bat 'em around. Every so oftenthey'd be automatically herded together and the lint cleaned off thebristles. "

"No good, " Fay said. "There's no lint underground and cats are_verboten_. And the aboveground market doesn't amount to moremoneywise than the state of Southern Illinois. Keep it grander, Gussy, and more impractical--you can't sell people merely useful ideas. " Fromhis hassock in the center of the room he looked uneasily around. "Say, did that violet tone in the glass come from the high Clevelandhydrogen bomb or is it just age and ultraviolet, like desert glass?"

 * * * * *

"No, somebody's grandfather liked it that color, " Gusterson informedhim with happy bitterness. "I like it too--the glass, I mean, not thetint. People who live in glass houses can see the stars--especiallywhen there's a window-washing streak in their germ-plasm. "

"Gussy, why don't you move underground?" Fay asked, his voice takingon a missionary note. "It's a lot easier living in one room, believeme. You don't have to tramp from room to room hunting things. "

"I like the exercise, " Gusterson said stoutly. 

"But I bet Daisy'd prefer it underground. And your kids wouldn't haveto explain why their father lives like a Red Indian. Not to mentionthe safety factor and insurance savings and a crypt church within easyslidewalk distance. Incidentally, we see the stars all the time, better than you do--by repeater. "

"Stars by repeater, " Gusterson murmured to the ceiling, pausing for Godto comment. Then, "No, Fay, even if I could afford it--and stand it--I'msuch a bad-luck Harry that just when I got us all safely stowed at theN minus 1 sublevel, the Soviets would discover an earthquake bomb thatstruck from below, and I'd have to follow everybody back to thetreetops. _Hey! How about bubble homes in orbit around earth?_ MicroSystems could subdivide the world's most spacious suburb and all youmoles could go ellipsing. Space is as safe as there is: no air, noshock waves. Free fall's the ultimate in restfulness--great healthbenefits. Commute by rocket--or better yet stay home and do all yourbusiness by TV-telephone, or by waldo if it were that sort of thing. Even pet your girl by remote control--she in her bubble, you in yours, whizzing through vacuum. Oh, damn-damn-_damn_-_damn_-DAMN!"

He was glaring at the blank screen of the TV, his big hands clenchingand unclenching. 

"Don't let Fay give you apoplexy--he's not worth it, " Daisy said, sticking her trim head in from the kitchen, while Fay inquiredanxiously, "Gussy, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, you worm!" Gusterson roared, "Except that an hour ago Iforgot to tune in on the only TV program I've wanted to hear thisyear--_Finnegans Wake_ scored for English, Gaelic and brogue. Oh, damn-_damn_-DAMN!"

"Too bad, " Fay said lightly. "I didn't know they were releasing it onflat TV too. "

 * * * * *

"Well, they were! Some things are too damn big to keep completelyunderground. And I had to forget! I'm always doing it--I misseverything! Look here, you rat, " he blatted suddenly at Fay, shakinghis finger under the latter's chin, "I'll tell you what you can havethat ignorant team of yours invent. They can fix me up a mechanicalsecretary that I can feed orders into and that'll remind me when theexact moment comes to listen to TV or phone somebody or mail in astory or write a letter or pick up a magazine or look at an eclipse ora new orbiting station or fetch the kids from school or buy Daisy abunch of flowers or whatever it is. It's got to be something that'salways with me, not something I have to go and consult or that I canget sick of and put down somewhere. And it's got to remind me forciblyenough so that I take notice and don't just shrug it aside, like Isometimes do even when Daisy reminds me of things. That's what yourstupid team can invent for me! If they do a good job, I'll pay 'em asmuch as fifty dollars!"

"That doesn't sound like anything so very original to me, " Faycommented coolly, leaning back from the wagging finger. "I think allsenior executives have something of that sort. At least, theirsecretary keeps some kind of file. .. . "

"I'm not looking for something with spiked falsies and nylons up tothe neck, " interjected Gusterson, whose ideas about secretaries were atrifle lurid. "I just want a mech reminder--that's all!"

"Well, I'll keep the idea in mind, " Fay assured him, "along with thebubble homes and beauty masks. If we ever develop anything along thoselines, I'll let you know. If it's a beauty mask, I'll bring Daisy apilot model--to use to scare strange kids. " He put his watch to hisear. "Good lord, I'm going to have to cut to make it undergroundbefore the main doors close. Just ten minutes to Second Curfew! 'By, Gus. 'By, Daze. "

Two minutes later, living room lights out, they watched Fay'sforeshortened antlike figure scurrying across the balding ill-lit parktoward the nearest escalator. 

Gusterson said, "Weird to think of that big bright space-poor glamorbasement stretching around everywhere underneath. Did you remindSmitty to put a new bulb in the elevator?"

"The Smiths moved out this morning, " Daisy said tonelessly. "They wentunderneath. "

"Like cockroaches, " Gusterson said. "Cockroaches leavin' a sinkin'apartment building. Next the ghosts'll be retreatin' to the shelters. "

"Anyhow, from now on we're our own janitors, " Daisy said. 

He nodded. "Just leaves three families besides us loyal to this glassdeath trap. Not countin' ghosts. " He sighed. Then, "You like to movebelow, Daisy?" he asked softly, putting his arm lightly across hershoulders. "Get a woozy eyeful of the bright lights and all for achange? Be a rat for a while? Maybe we're getting too old to be bats. I could scrounge me a company job and have a thinking closet all tomyself and two secretaries with stainless steel breasts. Life'd beeasier for you and a lot cleaner. And you'd sleep safer. "

"That's true, " she answered and paused. She ran her fingertip slowlyacross the murky glass, its violet tint barely perceptible against acold dim light across the park. "But somehow, " she said, snaking herarm around his waist, "I don't think I'd sleep happier--or one bitexcited. "

II

Three weeks later Fay, dropping in again, handed to Daisy the largerof the two rather small packages he was carrying. 

"It's a so-called beauty mask, " he told her, "complete with wig, eyelashes, and wettable velvet lips. It even breathes--pinholedelastiskin with a static adherence-charge. But Micro Systems hadnothing to do with it, thank God. Beauty Trix put it on the market tendays ago and it's already started a teen-age craze. Some boys arewearing them too, and the police are yipping at Trix for encouragingtransvestism with psychic repercussions. "

"Didn't I hear somewhere that Trix is a secret subsidiary of Micro?"Gusterson demanded, rearing up from his ancient electric typewriter. "No, you're not stopping me writing, Fay--it's the gut of evening. IfI do any more I won't have any juice to start with tomorrow. I gotanother of my insanity thrillers moving. A real id-teaser. In this onenot only all the characters are crazy but the robot psychiatrist too. "

"The vending machines are jumping with insanity novels, " Faycommented. "Odd they're so popular. "

Gusterson chortled. "The only way you outer-directed moles will acceptindividuality any more even in a fictional character, without yoursuperegos getting seasick, is for them to be crazy. Hey, Daisy! Lemmesee that beauty mask!"

But his wife, backing out of the room, hugged the package to her bosomand solemnly shook her head. 

"A hell of a thing, " Gusterson complained, "not even to be able to seewhat my stolen ideas look like. "

"I got a present for you too, " Fay said. "Something you might think ofas a royalty on all the inventions someone thought of a little aheadof you. Fifty dollars by your own evaluation. " He held out the smallerpackage. "Your tickler. "

"My _what_?" Gusterson demanded suspiciously. 

"Your tickler. The mech reminder you wanted. It turns out that thefile a secretary keeps to remind her boss to do certain things atcertain times is called a tickler file. So we named this a tickler. Here. "

Gusterson still didn't touch the package. "You mean you actually putyour invention team to work on that nonsense?"

"Well, what do you think? Don't be scared of it. Here, I'll show you. "

As he unwrapped the package, Fay said, "It hasn't been decided yetwhether we'll manufacture it commercially. If we do, I'll put througha voucher for you--for 'development consultation' or something likethat. Sorry no royalty's possible. Davidson's squad had started towork up the identical idea three years ago, but it got shelved. Ifound it on a snoop through the closets. There! Looks rich, doesn'tit?"

 * * * * *

On the scarred black tabletop was a dully gleaming silvery objectabout the size and shape of a cupped hand with fingers merging. A tinypellet on a short near-invisible wire led off from it. On the back wasa punctured area suggesting the face of a microphone; there was also awindow with a date and time in hours and minutes showing through andnext to that four little buttons in a row. The concave underside ofthe silvery "hand" was smooth except for a central area where whatlooked like two little rollers came through. 

"It goes on your shoulder under your shirt, " Fay explained, "and youtuck the pellet in your ear. We might work up bone conduction on acommercial model. Inside is an ultra-slow fine-wire recorder holding aspool that runs for a week. The clock lets you go to any place on the7-day wire and record a message. The buttons give you variable speedin going there, so you don't waste too much time making a setting. There's a knack in fingering them efficiently, but it's easilyacquired. "

Fay picked up the tickler. "For instance, suppose there's a TV showyou want to catch tomorrow night at twenty-two hundred. " He touchedthe buttons. There was the faintest whirring. The clock face blurredbriefly three times before showing the setting he'd mentioned. ThenFay spoke into the punctured area: "Turn on TV Channel Two, you bigdummy!" He grinned over at Gusterson. "When you've got all yourinstructions to yourself loaded in, you synchronize with the presentmoment and let her roll. Fit it on your shoulder and forget it. Oh, yes, and it literally does tickle you every time it delivers aninstruction. That's what the little rollers are for. Believe me, youcan't ignore it. Come on, Gussy, take off your shirt and try it out. We'll feed in some instructions for the next ten minutes so you getthe feel of how it works. "

"I don't want to, " Gusterson said. "Not right now. I want to sniffaround it first. My God, it's small! Besides everything else it does, does it think?"

"Don't pretend to be an idiot, Gussy! You know very well that evenwith ultra-sub-micro nothing quite this small can possibly have enoughelements to do any thinking. "

Gusterson shrugged. "I don't know about that. I think bugs think. "

 * * * * *

Fay groaned faintly. "Bugs operate by instinct, Gussy, " he said. "Apatterned routine. They do not scan situations and consequences andthen make decisions. "

"I don't expect bugs to make decisions, " Gusterson said. "For thatmatter I don't like people who go around alla time making decisions. "

"Well, you can take it from me, Gussy, that this tickler is just aminiaturized wire recorder and clock . .. And a tickler. It doesn't doanything else. "

"Not yet, maybe, " Gusterson said darkly. "Not this model. Fay, I'mserious about bugs thinking. Or if they don't exactly think, theyfeel. They've got an interior drama. An inner glow. They're conscious. For that matter, Fay, I think all your really complex electroniccomputers are conscious too. "

"Quit kidding, Gussy. "

"Who's kidding?"

"You are. Computers simply aren't alive. "

"What's alive? A word. I think computers are conscious, at least whilethey're operating. They've got that inner glow of awareness. They sortof . .. Well . .. Meditate. "

"Gussy, computers haven't got any circuits for meditating. They're notprogrammed for mystical lucubrations. They've just got circuits forsolving the problems they're on. "

"Okay, you admit they've got problem-solving circuits--like a man has. I say if they've got the equipment for being conscious, they'reconscious. What has wings, flies. "

"Including stuffed owls and gilt eagles and dodoes--and wood-burningairplanes?"

"Maybe, under some circumstances. There _was_ a wood-burning airplane. Fay, " Gusterson continued, wagging his wrists for emphasis, "I reallythink computers are conscious. They just don't have any way of tellingus that they are. Or maybe they don't have any _reason_ to tell us, like the little Scotch boy who didn't say a word until he was fifteenand was supposed to be deaf and dumb. "

"Why didn't he say a word?"

"Because he'd never had anything to say. Or take those Hindu fakirs, Fay, who sit still and don't say a word for thirty years or untiltheir fingernails grow to the next village. If Hindu fakirs can dothat, computers can!"

Looking as if he were masticating a lemon, Fay asked quietly, "Gussy, did you say you're working on an insanity novel?"

 * * * * *

Gusterson frowned fiercely. "Now you're kidding, " he accused Fay. "Thedirty kind of kidding, too. "

"I'm sorry, " Fay said with light contrition. "Well, now you've sniffedat it, how about trying on Tickler?" He picked up the gleaming bluntedcrescent and jogged it temptingly under Gusterson's chin. 

"Why should I?" Gusterson asked, stepping back. "Fay, I'm up to myears writing a book. The last thing I want is something interruptingme to make me listen to a lot of junk and do a lot of useless things. "

"But, dammit, Gussy! It was all your idea in the first place!" Fayblatted. Then, catching himself, he added, "I mean, you were one ofthe first people to think of this particular sort of instrument. "

"Maybe so, but I've done some more thinking since then. " Gusterson'svoice grew a trifle solemn. "Inner-directed worthwhile thinkin'. Fay, when a man forgets to do something, it's because he really doesn'twant to do it or because he's all roiled up down in his unconscious. He ought to take it as a danger signal and investigate the roiling, not hire himself a human or mech reminder. "

"Bushwa, " Fay retorted. "In that case you shouldn't write memorandumsor even take notes. "

"Maybe I shouldn't, " Gusterson agreed lamely. "I'd have to think thatover too. "

"Ha!" Fay jeered. "No, I'll tell you what your trouble is, Gussy. You're simply scared of this contraption. You've loaded your skullwith horror-story nonsense about machines sprouting minds and takingover the world--until you're even scared of a simple miniaturized andclocked recorder. " He thrust it out. 

"Maybe I am, " Gusterson admitted, controlling a flinch. "Honestly, Fay, that thing's got a gleam in its eye as if it had ideas of itsown. Nasty ideas. "

"Gussy, you nut, it hasn't _got_ an eye. "

"Not now, no, but it's got the gleam--the eye may come. It's theCheshire cat in reverse. If you'd step over here and look at yourselfholding it, you could see what I mean. But I don't think computers_sprout_ minds, Fay. I just think they've _got_ minds, because they'vegot the mind elements. "

"Ho, ho!" Fay mocked. "Everything that has a material side has amental side, " he chanted. "Everything that's a body is also a spirit. Gussy, that dubious old metaphysical dualism went out centuries ago. "

"Maybe so, " Gusterson said, "but we still haven't anything but thatdubious dualism to explain the human mind, have we? It's a jelly ofnerve cells and it's a vision of the cosmos. If that isn't dualism, what is?"

"I give up. Gussy, are you going to try out this tickler?"

"No!"

"But dammit, Gussy, we made it just for you!--practically. "

"Sorry, but I'm not coming near the thing. "

"Zen come near me, " a husky voice intoned behind them. "Tonight Ivant a man. "

 * * * * *

Standing in the door was something slim in a short silver sheath. Ithad golden bangs and the haughtiest snub-nosed face in the world. Itslunk toward them. 

"My God, Vina Vidarsson!" Gusterson yelled. 

"Daisy, that's terrific, " Fay applauded, going up to her. 

She bumped him aside with a swing of her hips, continuing to advance. "Not you, Ratty, " she said throatily. "I vant a real man. "

"Fay, I suggested Vina Vidarsson's face for the beauty mask, "Gusterson said, walking around his wife and shaking a finger. "Don'ttell me Trix just happened to think of that too. "

"What else could they think of?" Fay laughed. "This season sex meansVV and nobody else. " An odd little grin flicked his lips, a tictraveled up his face and his body twitched slightly. "Say, folks, I'mgoing to have to be leaving. It's exactly fifteen minutes to SecondCurfew. Last time I had to run and I got heartburn. When _are_ youpeople going to move downstairs? I'll leave Tickler, Gussy. Playaround with it and get used to it. 'By now. "

"Hey, Fay, " Gusterson called curiously, "have you developed absolutetime sense?"

Fay grinned a big grin from the doorway--almost too big a grin for sosmall a man. "I didn't need to, " he said softly, patting his rightshoulder. "My tickler told me. "

He closed the door behind him. 

As side-by-side they watched him strut sedately across the murkychilly-looking park, Gusterson mused, "So the little devil had one ofthose nonsense-gadgets on all the time and I never noticed. Can youbeat that?" Something drew across the violet-tinged stars a shortbright line that quickly faded. "What's that?" Gusterson askedgloomily. "Next to last stage of missile-here?"

"Won't you settle for an old-fashioned shooting star?" Daisy askedsoftly. The (wettable) velvet lips of the mask made even her naturalvoice sound different. She reached a hand back of her neck to pull thething off. 

"Hey, don't do that, " Gusterson protested in a hurt voice. "Not for awhile anyway. "

"Hokay!" she said harshly, turning on him. "Zen down on your knees, dog!"

III

It was a fortnight and Gusterson was loping down the home stretch onhis 40, 000-word insanity novel before Fay dropped in again, this timepromptly at high noon. 

Normally Fay cringed his shoulders a trifle and was inclined toslither, but now he strode aggressively, his legs scissoring in afast, low goosestep. He whipped off the sunglasses that all moles woretopside by day and began to pound Gusterson on the back while callingboisterously, "How are you, Gussy Old Boy, Old Boy?"

Daisy came in from the kitchen to see why Gusterson was choking. Shewas instantly grabbed and violently bussed to the accompaniment of, "Hiya, Gorgeous! Yum-yum! How about ad-libbing that some weekend?"

She stared at Fay dazedly, rasping the back of her hand across hermouth, while Gusterson yelled, "Quit that! What's got into you, Fay?Have they transferred you out of R & D to Company Morale? Do they lineup all the secretaries at roll call and make you give them aneight-hour energizing kiss?"

"Ha, wouldn't you like to know?" Fay retorted. He grinned, twitchedjumpingly, held still a moment, then hustled over to the far wall. "Look out there, " he rapped, pointing through the violet glass at agap between the two nearest old skyscraper apartments. "In thirtyseconds you'll see them test the new needle bomb at the other end ofLake Erie. It's educational. " He began to count off seconds, vigorously semaphoring his arm. ". .. Two . .. Three . .. Gussy, I've putthrough a voucher for two yards for you. Budgeting squawked, but Ipressured 'em. "

Daisy squealed, "Yards!--are those dollar thousands?" while Gustersonwas asking, "Then you're marketing the tickler?"

"Yes. Yes, " Fay replied to them in turn. ". .. Nine . .. Ten . .. " Againhe grinned and twitched. "Time for noon Com-staff, " he announcedstaccato. "Pardon the hush box. " He whipped a pancake phone from underhis coat, clapped it over his face and spoke fiercely but inaudiblyinto it, continuing to semaphore. Suddenly he thrust the phone away. "Twenty-nine . .. Thirty . .. Thar she blows!"

An incandescent streak shot up the sky from a little above the farhorizon and a doubly dazzling point of light appeared just above thetop of it, with the effect of God dotting an "i". 

"Ha, that'll skewer espionage satellites like swatting flies!" Fayproclaimed as the portent faded. "Bracing! Gussy, where's yourtickler? I've got a new spool for it that'll razzle-dazzle you. "

"I'll bet, " Gusterson said drily. "Daisy?"

"You gave it to the kids and they got to fooling with it and brokeit. "

"No matter, " Fay told them with a large sidewise sweep of his hand. "Better you wait for the new model. It's a six-way improvement. "

"So I gather, " Gusterson said, eyeing him speculatively. "Does itautomatically inject you with cocaine? A fix every hour on thesecond?"

"Ha-ha, joke. Gussy, it achieves the same effect without using anydope at all. Listen: a tickler reminds you of your duties andopportunities--your chances for happiness and success! What's theobvious next step?"

 * * * * *

"Throw it out the window. By the way, how do you do that when you'reunderground?"

"We have hi-speed garbage boosts. The obvious next step is you givethe tickler a heart. It not only tells you, it warmly persuades you. It doesn't just say, 'Turn on the TV Channel Two, Joyce program, ' it_brills_ at you, 'Kid, Old Kid, race for the TV and flip that TwoSwitch! There's a great show coming through the pipes this second plusten--you'll enjoy the hell out of yourself! Grab a ticket toecstasy!'"

"My God, " Gusterson gasped, "are those the kind of jolts it's givingyou now?"

"Don't you get it, Gussy? You never load your tickler except whenyou're feeling buoyantly enthusiastic. You don't just tell yourselfwhat to do hour by hour next week, you sell yourself on it. That wayyou not only make doubly sure you'll obey instructions but youconstantly reinoculate yourself with your own enthusiasm. "

"I can't stand myself when I'm that enthusiastic, " Gusterson said. "Ifeel ashamed for hours afterwards. "

"You're warped--all this lonely sky-life. What's more, Gussy, thinkhow still more persuasive some of those instructions would be if theycame to a man in his best girl's most bedroomy voice, or his doctor'sor psycher's if it's that sort of thing--or Vina Vidarsson's! By theway, Daze, don't wear that beauty mask outside. It's a grandmisdemeanor ever since ten thousand teen-agers rioted throughTunnel-Mart wearing them. And VV's sueing Trix. "

"No chance of that, " Daisy said. "Gusterson got excited and bit offthe nose. " She pinched her own delicately. 

"I'd no more obey my enthusiastic self, " Gusterson was brooding, "thanI'd obey a Napoleon drunk on his own brandy or a hopped-up St. Francis. Reinoculated with my own enthusiasm? I'd die just like fromsnake-bite!"

"Warped, I said, " Fay dogmatized, stamping around. "Gussy, having theinstructions persuasive instead of neutral turned out to be only theopening wedge. The next step wasn't so obvious, but I saw it. Usingsubliminal verbal stimuli in his tickler, a man can be given constantsupportive euphoric therapy 24 hours a day! And it makes use of allthat empty wire. We've revived the ideas of a pioneer dynamic psychernamed Dr. Coué. For instance, right now my tickler is saying to me--intones too soft to reach my conscious mind, but do they stab into theunconscious!--'Day by day in every way I'm getting sharper andsharper. ' It alternates that with 'gutsier and gutsier' and . .. Well, forget that. Coué mostly used 'better and better' but that seems toogeneral. And every hundredth time it says them out loud and thetickler gives me a brush--just a faint cootch--to make sure I'mkeeping in touch. "

"That third word-pair, " Daisy wondered, feeling her mouthreminiscently. "Could I guess?"

 * * * * *

Gusterson's eyes had been growing wider and wider. "Fay, " he said, "Icould no more use my mind for anything if I knew all that was going onin my inner ear than if I were being brushed down with brooms by threewitches. Look here, " he said with loud authority, "you got to stop allthis--it's crazy. Fay, if Micro'll junk the tickler, I'll think you upsomething else to invent--something real good. "

"Your inventing days are over, " Fay brilled gleefully. "I mean, you'llnever equal your masterpiece. "

"How about, " Gusterson bellowed, "an anti-individual guided missile?The physicists have got small-scale antigravity good enough to floatand fly something the size of a hand grenade. I can smell that eventhough it's a back-of-the-safe military secret. Well, how about keyingsuch a missile to a man's finger-prints--or brainwaves, maybe, or hisunique smell!--so it can spot and follow him around then target in onhim, without harming anyone else? Long-distance assassination--and thestinkingest gets it! Or you could simply load it with some disgustinggoo and key it to teen-agers as a group--that'd take care of them. Fay, doesn't it give you a rich warm kick to think of my midgetmissiles buzzing around in your tunnels, seeking out evil-doers, likea swarm of angry wasps or angelic bumblebees?"

"You're not luring me down any side trails, " Fay said laughingly. Hegrinned and twitched, then hurried toward the opposite wall, motioningthem to follow. Outside, about a hundred yards beyond the purpleglass, rose another ancient glass-walled apartment skyscraper. Beyond, Lake Erie rippled glintingly. 

"Another bomb-test?" Gusterson asked. 

Fay pointed at the building. "Tomorrow, " he announced, "a modernfactory, devoted solely to the manufacture of ticklers, will beerected on that site. "

"You mean one of those windowless phallic eyesores?" Gustersondemanded. "Fay, you people aren't even consistent. You've got all yourhomes underground. Why not your factories?"

"Sh! Not enough room. And night missiles are scarier. "

"I know that building's been empty for a year, " Daisy said uneasily, "but how--?"

"Sh! Watch! _Now!_"

The looming building seemed to blur or fuzz for a moment. Then it wasas if the lake's bright ripples had invaded the old glass a hundredyards away. Wavelets chased themselves up and down the gleaming walls, became higher, higher . .. And then suddenly the glass cracked all overto tiny fragments and fell away, to be followed quickly by fragmentedconcrete and plastic and plastic piping, until all that was left wasthe nude steel framework, vibrating so rapidly as to be almostinvisible against the gleaming lake. 

 * * * * *

Daisy covered her ears, but there was no explosion, only along-drawn-out low crash as the fragments hit twenty floors below anddust whooshed out sideways. 

"Spectacular!" Fay summed up. "Knew you'd enjoy it. That little trickwas first conceived by the great Tesla during his last fruity years. Research discovered it in his biog--we just made the dream come true. A tiny resonance device you could carry in your belt-bag attunesitself to the natural harmonic of a structure and then increasesamplitude by tiny pushes exactly in time. Just like soldiers marchingin step can break down a bridge, only this is as if it were being doneby one marching ant. " He pointed at the naked framework appearing outof its own blur and said, "We'll be able to hang the factory on that. If not, we'll whip a mega-current through it and vaporize it. Noquestion the micro-resonator is the neatest sweetest wrecking devicegoing. You can expect a lot more of this sort of efficiency now thatmankind has the tickler to enable him to use his full potential. What's the matter, folks?"

Daisy was staring around the violet-walled room with dumb mistrust. Her hands were trembling. 

"You don't have to worry, " Fay assured her with an understandinglaugh. "This building's safe for a month more at least. " Suddenly hegrimaced and leaped a foot in the air. He raised a clawed hand toscratch his shoulder but managed to check the movement. "Got to beatit, folks, " he announced tersely. "My tickler gave me the grandcootch. "

"Don't go yet, " Gusterson called, rousing himself with a shudder whichhe immediately explained: "I just had the illusion that if I shookmyself all my flesh and guts would fall off my shimmying skeleton, Brr! Fay, before you and Micro go off half cocked, I want you to knowthere's one insuperable objection to the tickler as a mass-marketitem. The average man or woman won't go to the considerable time andtrouble it must take to load a tickler. He simply hasn't got thecompulsive orderliness and willingness to plan that it requires. "

"We thought of that weeks ago, " Fay rapped, his hand on the door. "Every tickler spool that goes to market is patterned like wallpaperwith one of five designs of suitable subliminal supportive euphoricmaterial. 'Ittier and ittier, ' 'viriler and viriler'--you know. Thebuyer is robot-interviewed for an hour, his personalized daily routinelaid out and thereafter templated on his weekly spool. He's stronglyurged next to take his tickler to his doctor and psycher for furtherinstruction-imposition. We've been working with the medical professionfrom the start. They love the tickler because it'll remind people totake their medicine on the dot . .. And rest and eat and go to sleepjust when and how doc says. This is a big operation, Gussy--a biiiiiiigoperation! 'By!"

Daisy hurried to the wall to watch him cross the park. Deep down shewas a wee bit worried that he might linger to attach a micro-resonatorto _this_ building and she wanted to time him. But Gusterson settleddown to his typewriter and began to bat away. 

"I want to have another novel started, " he explained to her, "beforethe ant marches across this building in about four and a half weeks. .. Or a million sharp little gutsy guys come swarming out of theground and heave it into Lake Erie. "

IV

Early next morning windowless walls began to crawl up the strippedskyscraper between them and the lake. Daisy pulled the black-outcurtains on that side. For a day or two longer their thoughts andconversations were haunted by Gusterson's vague sardonic visions of ahorde of tickler-energized moles pouring up out of the tunnels to teardown the remaining trees, tank the atmosphere and perhaps somehowdismantle the stars--at least on this side of the world--but then theyboth settled back into their customary easy-going routines. Gustersontyped. Daisy made her daily shopping trip to a little topside daytimestore and started painting a mural on the floor of the empty apartmentnext theirs but one. 

"We ought to lasso some neighbors, " she suggested once. "I needsomebody to hold my brushes and admire. How about you making a tripbelow at the cocktail hours, Gusterson, and picking up a couple ofgirls for a starter? Flash the old viriler charm, cootch them up abit, emphasize the delights of high living, but make sure they'recompatible roommates. You could pick up that two-yard check from Microat the same time. "

"You're an immoral money-ravenous wench, " Gusterson said absently, trying to dream of an insanity beyond insanity that would make hisnext novel a real id-rousing best-vender. 

"If that's your vision of me, you shouldn't have chewed up the VVmask. "

"I'd really prefer you with green stripes, " he told her. "But stripes, spots, or sun-bathing, you're better than those cocktail moles. "

Actually both of them acutely disliked going below. They muchpreferred to perch in their eyrie and watch the people of ClevelandDepths, as they privately called the local sub-suburb, rush up out ofthe shelters at dawn to work in the concrete fields and windowlessfactories, make their daytime jet trips and freeway jaunts, do theirnoon-hour and coffee-break guerrilla practice, and then go scurryingback at twilight to the atomic-proof, brightly lit, vastly exciting, claustrophobic caves. 

Fay and his projects began once more to seem dreamlike, thoughGusterson did run across a cryptic advertisement for ticklers in _TheManchester Guardian_, which he got daily by facsimile. Their threechildren reported similar ads, of no interest to young fry, on the TVand one afternoon they came home with the startling news that themonitors at their subsurface school had been issued ticklers. On sharpinterrogation by Gusterson, however, it appeared that these last werenot ticklers but merely two-way radios linked to the school policestation transmitter. 

[Illustration]

"Which is bad enough, " Gusterson commented later to Daisy. "But it'dbe even dirtier to think of those clock-watching superegos beingstrapped to kids' shoulders. Can you imagine Huck Finn with a tickler, tellin' him when to tie up the raft to a tow-head and when to take aswim?"

"I bet Fay could, " Daisy countered. "When's he going to bring you thatcheck, anyhow? Iago wants a jetcycle and I promised Imogene a Vina Kitand then Claudius'll have to have something. "

Gusterson scowled thoughtfully. "You know, Daze, " he said, "I got afeeling Fay's in the hospital, all narcotized up and being fedintravenously. The way he was jumping around last time, that ticklerwas going to cootch him to pieces in a week. "

 * * * * *

As if to refute this intuition, Fay turned up that very evening. Thelights were dim. Something had gone wrong with the building's oldtransformer and, pending repairs, the two remaining occupiedapartments were making do with batteries, which turned bright globesto mysterious amber candles and made Gusterson's ancient typewriteroperate sluggishly. 

Fay's manner was subdued or at least closely controlled and for amoment Gusterson thought he'd shed his tickler. Then the little mancame out of the shadows and Gusterson saw the large bulge on his rightshoulder. 

[Illustration]

"Yes, we had to up it a bit sizewise, " Fay explained in clipped tones. "Additional super-features. While brilliantly successful on the whole, the subliminal euphorics were a shade too effective. Several hundredusers went hoppity manic. We gentled the cootch and qualified thesubliminals--you know, 'Day by day in every way I'm getting sharper_and more serene_'--but a stabilizing influence was still needed, soafter a top-level conference we decided to combine Tickler withMoodmaster. "

"My God, " Gusterson interjected, "do they have a machine now that doesthat?"

"Of course. They've been using them on ex-mental patients for years. "

"I just don't keep up with progress, " Gusterson said, shaking his headbleakly. "I'm falling behind on all fronts. "

"You ought to have your tickler remind you to read Science Servicereleases, " Fay told him. "Or simply instruct it to scan the releasesand--no, that's still in research. " He looked at Gusterson's shoulderand his eyes widened. "You're not wearing the new-model tickler I sentyou, " he said accusingly. 

"I never got it, " Gusterson assured him. "Postmen deliver topside mailand parcels by throwing them on the high-speed garbage boosts andhoping a tornado will blow them to the right addresses. " Then he addedhelpfully, "Maybe the Russians stole it while it was riding thewhirlwinds. "

"That's not a suitable topic for jesting, " Fay frowned. "We're hopingthat Tickler will mobilize the full potential of the Free World forthe first time in history. Gusterson, you are going to have to wear aticky-tick. It's becoming impossible for a man to get through modernlife without one. "

"Maybe I will, " Gusterson said appeasingly, "but right now tell meabout Moodmaster. I want to put it in my new insanity novel. "

Fay shook his head. "Your readers will just think you're behind thetimes. If you use it, underplay it. But anyhow, Moodmaster is a simplephysiotherapy engine that monitors bloodstream chemicals and bodyelectricity. It ties directly into the bloodstream, keeping blood, sugar, et cetera, at optimum levels and injecting euphrin or depressinas necessary--and occasionally a touch of extra adrenaline, as duringwork emergencies. "

"Is it painful?" Daisy called from the bedroom. 

"Excruciating, " Gusterson called back. "Excuse it, please, " he grinnedat Fay. "Hey, didn't I suggest cocaine injections last time I sawyou?"

"So you did, " Fay agreed flatly. "Oh by the way, Gussy, here's thatcheck for a yard I promised you. Micro doesn't muzzle the ox. "

"Hooray!" Daisy cheered faintly. 

 * * * * *

"I thought you said it was going to be for two. " Gusterson complained. 

"Budgeting always forces a last-minute compromise, " Fay shrugged. "Youhave to learn to accept those things. "

"I love accepting money and I'm glad any time for three feet, " Daisycalled agreeably. "Six feet might make me wonder if I weren't aninsect, but getting a yard just makes me feel like a gangster's moll. "

"Want to come out and gloat over the yard paper, Toots, and stuff itin your diamond-embroidered net stocking top?" Gusterson called back. 

"No, I'm doing something to that portion of me just now. But hang ontothe yard, Gusterson. "

"Aye-aye, Cap'n, " he assured her. Then, turning back to Fay, "Soyou've taken the Dr. Coué repeating out of the tickler?"

"Oh, no. Just balanced it off with depressin. The subliminals arestill a prime sales-point. All the tickler features are cumulative, Gussy. You're still underestimating the scope of the device. "

"I guess I am. What's this 'work-emergencies' business? If you'reusing the tickler to inject drugs into workers to keep them going, that's really just my cocaine suggestion modernized and I'm putting infor another thou. Hundreds of years ago the South American Indianschewed coca leaves to kill fatigue sensations. "

"That so? Interesting--and it proves priority for the Indians, doesn'tit? I'll make a try for you, Gussy, but don't expect anything. " Hecleared his throat, his eyes grew distant and, turning his head alittle to the right, he enunciated sharply, "Pooh-Bah. Time: Inst ohfive. One oh five seven. Oh oh. Record: Gussy coca thou budget. Cut. "He explained, "We got a voice-cued setter now on the deluxe models. You can record a memo to yourself without taking off your shirt. Incidentally, I use the ends of the hours for trifle-memos. I'vealready used up the fifty-nines and eights for tomorrow and started onthe fifty-sevens. "

"I understood most of your memo, " Gusterson told him gruffly. "Thelast 'Oh oh' was for seconds, wasn't it? Now I call that crude--whynot microseconds too? But how do you remember where you've made a memoso you don't rerecord over it? After all, you're rerecording over thewallpaper all the time. "

"Tickler beeps and then hunts for the nearest information-free space. "

"I see. And what's the Pooh-Bah for?"

Fay smiled. "Cut. My password for activating the setter, so it won'trespond to chance numerals it overhears. "

"But why Pooh-Bah?"

Fay grinned. "Cut. And you a writer. It's a literary reference, Gussy. Pooh-Bah (cut!) was Lord High Everything Else in _The Mikado_. He hada little list and nothing on it would ever be missed. "

 * * * * *

"Oh, yeah, " Gusterson remembered, glowering. "As I recall it, all thatwent on that list was the names of people who were slated to havetheir heads chopped off by Ko-Ko. Better watch your step, Shorty. Itmay be a back-handed omen. Maybe all those workers you're puttin'ticklers on to pump them full of adrenaline so they'll overworkwithout noticin' it will revolt and come out some day choppin' foryour head. "

"Spare me the Marxist mythology, " Fay protested. "Gussy, you've got acompletely wrong slant on Tickler. It's true that most of our masssales so far, bar government and army, have been to large companiespurchasing for their employees--"

"Ah-ha!"

"--but that's because there's nothing like a tickler for teaching anew man his job. It tells him from instant to instant what he mustdo--while he's already on the job and without disturbing otherworkers. Magnetizing a wire with a job pattern is the easiest thinggoing. And you'd be astonished what the subliminals do for employeemorale. It's this way, Gussy: most people are too improvident andunimaginative to see in advance the advantages of ticklers. They buyone because the company strongly suggests it and payment is on easyinstallments withheld from salary. They find a tickler makes the workday go easier. The little fellow perched on your shoulder is a friendexuding comfort and good advice. The first thing he's set to say is'Take it easy, pal. '

"Within a week they're wearing their tickler 24 hours a day--andbuying a tickler for the wife, so she'll remember to comb her hair andsmile real pretty and cook favorite dishes. "

"I get it, Fay, " Gusterson cut in. "The tickler is the newest fad forincreasing worker efficiency. Once, I read somewheres, it was salttablets. They had salt-tablet dispensers everywhere, even inair-conditioned offices where there wasn't a moist armpit twice a yearand the gals sweat only champagne. A decade later people wondered whatall those dusty white pills were for. Sometimes they were mistook fortranquilizers. It'll be the same way with ticklers. Somebody'll open amusty closet and see jumbled heaps of these gripping-hand silverygadgets gathering dust curls and--"

"They will not!" Fay protested vehemently. "Ticklers are not afad--they're history-changers, they're Free-World revolutionary! Why, before Micro Systems put a single one on the market, we'd made it arule that every Micro employee had to wear one! If that's not havingsupreme confidence in a product--"

"Every employee except the top executives, of course, " Gustersoninterrupted jeeringly. "And that's not demoting you, Fay. As the R & Dchief most closely involved, you'd naturally have to show specialenthusiasm. "

"But you're wrong there, Gussy, " Fay crowed. "Man for man, our topexecutives have been more enthusiastic about their personal ticklersthan any other class of worker in the whole outfit. "

Gusterson slumped and shook his head. "If that's the case, " he saiddarkly, "maybe mankind deserves the tickler. "

 * * * * *

"I'll say it does!" Fay agreed loudly without thinking. Then, "Oh, canthe carping, Gussy. Tickler's a great invention. Don't deprecate itjust because you had something to do with its genesis. You're going tohave to get in the swim and wear one. "

"Maybe I'd rather drown horribly. "

"Can the gloom-talk too! Gussy, I said it before and I say it again, you're just scared of this new thing. Why, you've even got the drapespulled so you won't have to look at the tickler factory. "

"Yes, I am scared, " Gusterson said. "Really sca . .. AWP!"

Fay whirled around. Daisy was standing in the bedroom doorway, wearingthe short silver sheath. This time there was no mask, but her bobbedhair was glitteringly silvered, while her legs, arms, hands, neck, face--every bit of her exposed skin--was painted with beautifully evenvertical green stripes. 

"I did it as a surprise for Gusterson, " she explained to Fay. "He sayshe likes me this way. The green glop's supposed to be smudgeproof. "

Gusterson did not comment. His face had a rapt expression. "I'll tellyou why your tickler's so popular, Fay, " he said softly. "It's notbecause it backstops the memory or because it boosts the ego withsubliminals. It's because it takes the hook out of a guy, it takesover the job of withstanding the pressure of living. See, Fay, hereare all these little guys in this subterranean rat race withatomic-death squares and chromium-plated reward squares and enoughmoney if you pass Go almost to get to Go again--and a million millionrules of the game to keep in mind. Well, here's this one little guyand every morning he wakes up there's all these things he's got tokeep in mind to do or he'll lose his turn three times in a row andmaybe a terrible black rook in iron armor'll loom up and bang him offthe chessboard. But now, look, now he's got his tickler and he tellshis sweet silver tickler all these things and the tickler's got toremember them. Of course he'll have to do them eventually butmeanwhile the pressure's off him, the hook's out of his short hairs. He's shifted the responsibility. .. . "

"Well, what's so bad about that?" Fay broke in loudly. "What's wrongwith taking the pressure off little guys? Why shouldn't Tickler be asuper-ego surrogate? Micro's Motivations chief noticed that positivefeature straight off and scored it three pluses. Besides, it's nothingbut a gaudy way of saying that Tickler backstops the memory. Seriously, Gussy, what's so bad about it?"

"I don't know, " Gusterson said slowly, his eyes still far away. "Ijust know it feels bad to me. " He crinkled his big forehead. "Well forone thing, " he said, "it means that a man's taking orders fromsomething else. He's got a kind of master. He's sinking back into aslave psychology. "

"He's only taking orders from himself, " Fay countered disgustedly. "Tickler's just a mech reminder, a notebook, in essence no more thanthe back of an old envelope. It's no master. "

"Are you absolutely sure of that?" Gusterson asked quietly. 

"Why, Gussy, you big oaf--" Fay began heatedly. Suddenly his featuresquirked and he twitched. "'Scuse me, folks, " he said rapidly, headingfor the door, "but my tickler told me I gotta go. "

"Hey Fay, don't you mean you told your tickler to tell you when it wastime to go?" Gusterson called after him. 

Fay looked back in the doorway. He wet his lips, his eyes moved fromside to side. "I'm not quite sure, " he said in an odd strained voiceand darted out. 

 * * * * *

Gusterson stared for some seconds at the pattern of emptiness Fay hadleft. Then he shivered. Then he shrugged. "I must be slipping, " hemuttered. "I never even suggested something for him to invent. " Thenhe looked around at Daisy, who was still standing poker-faced in herdoorway. 

"Hey, you look like something out of the Arabian Nights, " he told her. "Are you supposed to be anything special? How far do those stripes go, anyway?"

"You could probably find out, " she told him coolly. "All you have todo is kill me a dragon or two first. "

He studied her. "My God, " he said reverently, "I really have all thefun in life. What do I do to deserve this?"

"You've got a big gun, " she told him, "and you go out in the worldwith it and hold up big companies and take yards and yards of moneyaway from them in rolls like ribbon and bring it all home to me. "

"Don't say that about the gun again, " he said. "Don't whisper it, don't even think it. I've got one, dammit--thirty-eight caliber, yet--and I don't want some psionic monitor with two-way clairaudiencethey haven't told me about catching the whisper and coming to take thegun away from us. It's one of the few individuality symbols we've gotleft. "

Suddenly Daisy whirled away from the door, spun three times so thather silvered hair stood out like a metal coolie hat, and sank to acurtsey in the middle of the room. 

"I've just thought of what I am, " she announced, fluttering hereyelashes at him. "I'm a sweet silver tickler with green stripes. "

V

Next day Daisy cashed the Micro check for ten hundred silver smackers, which she hid in a broken radionic coffee urn. Gusterson sold hisinsanity novel and started a new one about a mad medic with a hiccupyhysterical chuckle, who gimmicked Moodmasters to turn mental patientsinto nymphomaniacs, mass murderers and compulsive saints. But thistime he couldn't get Fay out of his mind, or the last chilling wordsthe nervous little man had spoken. 

For that matter, he couldn't blank the underground out of his mind aseffectively as usually. He had the feeling that a new kind of mole wasloose in the burrows and that the ground at the foot of theirskyscraper might start humping up any minute. 

Toward the end of one afternoon he tucked a half dozen newly typedsheets in his pocket, shrouded his typer, went to the hatrack and tookdown his prize: a miner's hard-top cap with electric headlamp. 

"Goin' below, Cap'n, " he shouted toward the kitchen. 

"Be back for second dog watch, " Daisy replied. "Remember what I toldyou about lassoing me some art-conscious girl neighbors. "

"Only if I meet a piebald one with a taste for Scotch--or maybe apearl gray biped jaguar with violet spots, " Gusterson told her, clapping on the cap with a We-Who-Are-About-To-Die gesture. 

Halfway across the park to the escalator bunker Gusterson's heartbegan to tick. He resolutely switched on his headlamp. 

As he'd known it would, the hatch robot whirred an extra andhigher-pitched ten seconds when it came to his topside address, but itultimately dilated the hatch for him, first handing him a claim checkfor his ID card. 

Gusterson's heart was ticking like a sledgehammer by now. He hoppedclumsily onto the escalator, clutched the moving guard rail to eitherside, then shut his eyes as the steps went over the edge and becamewhat felt like vertical. An instant later he forced his eyes open, unclipped a hand from the rail and touched the second switch besidehis headlamp, which instantly began to blink whitely, as if he were acivilian plane flying into a nest of military jobs. 

With a further effort he kept his eyes open and flinchingly surveyedthe scene around him. After zigging through a bombproof half-furlongof roof, he was dropping into a large twilit cave. The blue-blackceiling twinkled with stars. The walls were pierced at floor level bya dozen archways with busy niche stores and glowing advertisementscrowded between them. From the archways some three dozen slidewalkscurved out, tangenting off each other in a bewildering multiplecloverleaf. The slidewalks were packed with people, travelingmotionless like purposeful statues or pivoting with practiced gracefrom one slidewalk to another, like a thousand toreros doingveronicas. 

 * * * * *

The slidewalks were moving faster than he recalled from his lastventure underground and at the same time the whole pedestrianconcourse was quieter than he remembered. It was as if the fivethousand or so moles in view were all listening--for what? But therewas something else that had changed about them--a change that hecouldn't for a moment define, or unconsciously didn't want to. Clothing style? No . .. My God, they weren't all wearing identicalmonster masks? No . .. Hair color?. .. Well. .. . 

He was studying them so intently that he forgot his escalator waslanding. He came off it with a heel-jarring stumble and bumped into aknot of four men on the tiny triangular hold-still. These four atleast sported a new style-wrinkle: ribbed gray shoulder-capes thatmade them look as if their heads were poking up out of the center ofbulgy umbrellas or giant mushrooms. 

One of them grabbed hold of Gusterson and saved him from staggeringonto a slidewalk that might have carried him to Toledo. 

"Gussy, you dog, you must have esped I wanted to see you, " Fay cried, patting him on the elbows. "Meet Davidson and Kester and Hazen, colleagues of mine. We're all Micro-men. " Fay's companions werestaring strangely at Gusterson's blinking headlamp. Fay explainedrapidly, "Mr. Gusterson is an insanity novelist. You know, I-D. "

"Inner-directed spells _id_, " Gusterson said absently, still staringat the interweaving crowd beyond them, trying to figure out what madethem different from last trip. "Creativity fuel. Cranky. Explodesthrough the parietal fissure if you look at it cross-eyed. "

"Ha-ha, " Fay laughed. "Well, boys, I've found my man. How's the newnovel perking, Gussy?"

"Got my climax, I think, " Gusterson mumbled, still peering puzzledlyaround Fay at the slidestanders. "Moodmaster's going to come alive. Ever occur to you that 'mood' is 'doom' spelled backwards? Andthen. .. . " He let his voice trail off as he realized that Kester andDavidson and Hazen had made their farewells and were sliding into thedistance. He reminded himself wryly that nobody ever wants to hear anauthor talk--he's much too good a listener to be wasted that way. Let's see, was it that everybody in the crowd had the same facialexpression. .. ? Or showed symptoms of the same disease. .. ?

"I was coming to visit you, but now you can pay me a call, " Fay wassaying. "There are two matters I want to--"

Gusterson stiffened. "My God, _they're all hunchbacked_!" he yelled. 

"Shh! Of course they are, " Fay whispered reprovingly. "They're allwearing their ticklers. But you don't need to be insulting about it. "

"_I'm gettin' out o' here. _" Gusterson turned to flee as if from fivethousand Richard the Thirds. 

"Oh no you're not, " Fay amended, drawing him back with one hand. Somehow, underground, the little man seemed to carry more weight. "You're having cocktails in my thinking box. Besides, climbing a downescaladder will give you a heart attack. "

 * * * * *

In his home habitat Gusterson was about as easy to handle as a roguerhinoceros, but away from it--and especially if underground--he becamemore like a pliable elephant. All his bones dropped out through his feet, as he described it to Daisy. So now he submitted miserably as Faysurveyed him up and down, switched off his blinking headlamp ("Thatcoalminer caper is corny, Gussy. ") and then--surprisingly--rapidlystuffed his belt-bag under the right shoulder of Gusterson's coat andbuttoned the latter to hold it in place. 

"So you won't stand out, " he explained. Another swift survey. "You'lldo. Come on, Gussy. I got lots to brief you on. " Three rapid paces andthen Gusterson's feet would have gone out from under him except thatFay gave him a mighty shove. The small man sprang onto the slidewalkafter him and then they were skimming effortlessly side by side. 

Gusterson felt frightened and twice as hunchbacked as theslidestanders around him--morally as well as physically. 

Nevertheless he countered bravely, "I got things to brief _you_ on. Igot six pages of cautions on ti--"

"Shh!" Fay stopped him. "Let's use my hushbox. "

He drew out his pancake phone and stretched it so that it covered boththeir lower faces, like a double yashmak. Gusterson, his neck pushinginto the ribbed bulge of the shoulder cape so he could be cheek tocheek with Fay, felt horribly conspicuous, but then he noticed thatnone of the slidestanders were paying them the least attention. Thereason for their abstraction occurred to him. They were listening totheir ticklers! He shuddered. 

"I got six pages of caution on ticklers, " he repeated into the hot, moist quiet of the pancake phone. "I typed 'em so I wouldn't forget'em in the heat of polemicking. I want you to read every word. Fay, I've had it on my mind ever since I started wondering whether it wasyou or your tickler made you duck out of our place last time you werethere. I want you to--"

"Ha-ha! All in good time. " In the pancake phone Fay's laugh wasbrassy. "But I'm glad you've decided to lend a hand, Gussy. This thingis moving faaaasst. Nationwise, adult underground ticklerization is 90per cent complete. "

"I don't believe that, " Gusterson protested while glaring at thehunchbacks around them. The slidewalk was gliding down a lowglow-ceiling tunnel lined with doors and advertisements. Rapt-eyedpeople were pirouetting on and off. "A thing just can't develop thatfast, Fay. It's against nature. "

"Ha, but we're not in nature, we're in culture. The progress of anindustrial scientific culture is geometric. It goes n-times as manyjumps as it takes. More than geometric--exponential. Confidentially, Micro's Math chief tells me we're currently on a fourth-power progresscurve trending into a fifth. "

"You mean we're goin' so fast we got to watch out we don't bumpourselves in the rear when we come around again?" Gusterson asked, scanning the tunnel ahead for curves. "Or just shoot straight up toinfinity?"

"Exactly! Of course most of the last power and a half is due toTickler itself. Gussy, the tickler's already eliminated absenteeism, alcoholism and aboulia in numerous urban areas--and that's just oneletter of the alphabet! If Tickler doesn't turn us into a nation ofphoto-memory constant-creative-flow geniuses in six months, I'll comelive topside. "

 * * * * *

"You mean because a lot of people are standing around glassy-eyedlistening to something mumbling in their ear that it's a good thing?"

"Gussy, you don't know progress when you see it. Tickler is thegreatest invention since language. Bar none, it's the greatestinstrument ever devised for integrating a man into all phases of hisenvironment. Under the present routine a newly purchased tickler firstgoes to government and civilian defense for primary patterning, thento the purchaser's employer, then to his doctor-psycher, then to hislocal bunker captain, then to _him_. _Everything_ that's needful for aman's welfare gets on the spools. Efficiency cubed! Incidentally, Russia's got the tickler now. Our dip-satellites have photographed it. It's like ours except the Commies wear it on the left shoulder . .. Butthey're two weeks behind us developmentwise and they'll never closethe gap!"

Gusterson reared up out of the pancake phone to take a deep breath. Asulky-lipped sylph-figured girl two feet from him twitched--mediumcootch, he judged--then fumbled in her belt-bag for a pill and poppedit in her mouth. 

"Hell, the tickler's not even efficient yet about little things, "Gusterson blatted, diving back into the privacy-yashmak he was sharingwith Fay. "Whyn't that girl's doctor have the Moodmaster component ofher tickler inject her with medicine?"

"Her doctor probably wants her to have the discipline ofpill-taking--or the exercise, " Fay answered glibly. "Look sharp now. Here's where we fork. I'm taking you through Micro's postern. "

A ribbon of slidewalk split itself from the main band and angled offinto a short alley. Gusterson hardly felt the constant-speed junctureas they crossed it. Then the secondary ribbon speeded up, carryingthem at about 30 feet a second toward the blank concrete wall in whichthe alley ended. Gusterson prepared to jump, but Fay grabbed him withone hand and with the other held up toward the wall a badge and abutton. When they were about ten feet away the wall whipped aside, then whipped shut behind them so fast that Gusterson wonderedmomentarily if he still had his heels and the seat of his pants. 

Fay, tucking away his badge and pancake phone, dropped the button inGusterson's vest pocket. "Use it when you leave, " he said casually. "That is, if you leave. "

Gusterson, who was trying to read the Do and Don't posters paperingthe walls they were passing, started to probe that last sinistersupposition, but just then the ribbon slowed, a swinging door openedand closed behind them and they found themselves in a luxuriouslyfurnished thinking box measuring at least eight feet by five. 

 * * * * *

"Hey, this is something, " Gusterson said appreciatively to show hewasn't an utter yokel. Then, drawing on research he'd done for periodnovels, "Why, it's as big as a Pullman car compartment, or a firstmate's cabin in the War of 1812. You really must rate. "

Fay nodded, smiled wanly and sat down with a sigh on a compactoverstuffed swivel chair. He let his arms dangle and his head sinkinto his puffed shoulder cape. Gusterson stared at him. It was thefirst time he could ever recall the little man showing fatigue. 

"Tickler currently does have one serious drawback, " Fay volunteered. "It weighs 28 pounds. You feel it when you've been on your feet acouple of hours. No question we're going to give the next model thatantigravity feature you mentioned for pursuit grenades. We'd have hadit in this model except there were so many other things to beincorporated. " He sighed again. "Why, the scanning and decision-makingelements alone tripled the mass. "

"Hey, " Gusterson protested, thinking especially of the sulky-lippedgirl, "do you mean to tell me all those other people were toting twostone?"

Fay shook his head heavily. "They were all wearing Mark 3 or 4. I'mwearing Mark 6, " he said, as one might say, "I'm carrying the genuineCross, not one of the balsa ones. "

But then his face brightened a little and he went on. "Of course thenew improved features make it more than worth it . .. And you hardlyfeel it at all at night when you're lying down . .. And if you rememberto talcum under it twice a day, no sores develop . .. At least not verybig ones. .. . "

Backing away involuntarily, Gusterson felt something prod his rightshoulderblade. Ripping open his coat, he convulsively plunged his handunder it and tore out Fay's belt-bag . .. And then set it down verygently on the top of a shallow cabinet and relaxed with the sigh ofone who has escaped a great, if symbolic, danger. Then he rememberedsomething Fay had mentioned. He straightened again. 

"Hey, you said it's got scanning and decision-making elements. Thatmeans your tickler thinks, even by your fancy standards. And if itthinks, it's conscious. "

"Gussy, " Fay said wearily, frowning, "all sorts of things nowadayshave S&DM elements. Mail sorters, missiles, robot medics, high-stylemannequins, just to name some of the Ms. They 'think, ' to use thatarchaic word, but it's neither here nor there. And they're certainlynot conscious. "

"Your tickler thinks, " Gusterson repeated stubbornly, "just like Iwarned you it would. It sits on your shoulder, ridin' you like you wasa pony or a starved St. Bernard, and now it thinks. "

"Suppose it does?" Fay yawned. "What of it?" He gave a rapid sinuousone-sided shrug that made it look for a moment as if his left arm hadthree elbows. It stuck in Gusterson's mind, for he had never seen Fayuse such a gesture and he wondered where he'd picked it up. Maybeimitating a double-jointed Micro Finance chief? Fay yawned again andsaid, "Please, Gussy, don't disturb me for a minute or so. " His eyeshalf closed. 

Gusterson studied Fay's sunken-cheeked face and the great puff of hisshoulder cape. 

"Say, Fay, " he asked in a soft voice after about five minutes, "areyou meditating?"

"Why, no, " Fay responded, starting up and then stifling another yawn. "Just resting a bit. I seem to get more tired these days, somehow. You'll have to excuse me, Gussy. But what made you think ofmeditation?"

"Oh, I just got to wonderin' in that direction, " Gusterson said. "Yousee, when you first started to develop Tickler, it occurred to me thatthere was one thing about it that might be real good even if you didgive it S&DM elements. It's this: having a mech secretary to takecharge of his obligations and routine in the real world might allow aman to slide into the other world, the world of thoughts and feelingsand intuitions, and sort of ooze around in there and accomplishthings. Know any of the people using Tickler that way, hey?"

"Of course not, " Fay denied with a bright incredulous laugh. "Who'dwant to loaf around in an imaginary world and take a chance of_missing out on what his tickler's doing_?--I mean, on what histickler has in store for him--what he's _told_ his tickler to have instore for him. "

Ignoring Gusterson's shiver, Fay straightened up and seemed to briskenhimself. "Ha, that little slump did me good. A tickler _makes_ yourest, you know--it's one of the great things about it. Pooh-Bah'skinder to me than I ever was to myself. " He buttoned open a tinyrefrigerator and took out two waxed cardboard cubes and handed one toGusterson. "Martini? Hope you don't mind drinking from the carton. Cheers. Now, Gussy old pal, there are two matters I want to take upwith you--"

"Hold it, " Gusterson said with something of his old authority. "There's something I got to get off my mind first. " He pulled thetyped pages out of his inside pocket and straightened them. "I toldyou about these, " he said. "I want you to read them before you doanything else. Here. "

Fay looked toward the pages and nodded, but did not take them yet. Helifted his hands to his throat and unhooked the clasp of his cape, then hesitated. 

"You wear that thing to hide the hump your tickler makes?" Gustersonfilled in. "You got better taste than those other moles. "

"Not to hide it, exactly, " Fay protested, "but just so the otherswon't be jealous. I wouldn't feel comfortable parading a free-scanningdecision-capable Mark 6 tickler in front of people who can't buyit--until it goes on open sale at twenty-two fifteen tonight. Lot ofshelterfolk won't be sleeping tonight. They'll be queued up to tradein their old tickler for a Mark 6 almost as good as Pooh-Bah. "

He started to jerk his hands apart, hesitated again with an oddlyapprehensive look at the big man, then whirled off the cape. 

VI

Gusterson sucked in such a big gasp that he hiccuped. The rightshoulder of Fay's jacket and shirt had been cut away. Thrusting upthrough the neatly hemmed hole was a silvery gray hump with a one-eyedturret atop it and two multi-jointed metal arms ending in littleclaws. 

It looked like the top half of a pseudo-science robot--a squat evilchild robot, Gusterson told himself, which had lost its legs in arailway accident--and it seemed to him that a red fleck was movingaround imperceptibly in the huge single eye. 

"I'll take that memo now, " Fay said coolly, reaching out his hand. Hecaught the rustling sheets as they slipped from Gusterson's fingers, evened them up very precisely by tapping them on his knee . .. And thenhanded them over his shoulder to his tickler, which clicked its clawsaround either margin and then began rather swiftly to lift the topsheet past its single eye at a distance of about six inches. 

"The first matter I want to take up with you, Gussy, " Fay began, paying no attention whatsoever to the little scene on his shoulder, "--or warn you about, rather--is the imminent ticklerization ofschoolchildren, geriatrics, convicts and topsiders. At three zero zerotomorrow ticklers become mandatory for all adult shelterfolk. Themop-up operations won't be long in coming--in fact, these days we findthat the square root of the estimated time of a new development isgenerally the best time estimate. Gussy, I strongly advise you tostart wearing a tickler now. And Daisy and your moppets. If you heedmy advice, your kids will have the jump on your class. Transition andconditioning are easy, since Tickler itself sees to it. "

Pooh-Bah leafed the first page to the back of the packet and beganlifting the second past his eye--a little more swiftly than the first. 

"I've got a Mark 6 tickler all warmed up for you, " Fay pressed, "_and_a shoulder cape. You won't feel one bit conspicuous. " He noticed thedirection of Gusterson's gaze and remarked, "Fascinating mechanism, isn't it? Of course 28 pounds are a bit oppressive, but then you haveto remember it's only a way-station to free-floating Mark 7 or 8. "

Pooh-Bah finished page two and began to race through page three. 

"But I wanted _you_ to read it, " Gusterson said bemusedly, staring. 

"Pooh-Bah will do a better job than I could, " Fay assured him. "Getthe gist without losing the chaff. "

"But dammit, it's all about _him_, " Gusterson said a little morestrongly. "He won't be objective about it. "

"A better job, " Fay reiterated, "_and_ more fully objective. Pooh-Bah's set for full precis. Stop worrying about it. He's adispassionate machine, not a fallible, emotionally disturbed humanmisled by the will-o'-the-wisp of consciousness. Second matter: MicroSystems is impressed by your contributions to Tickler and will recruityou as a senior consultant with a salary and thinking box as big as myown, family quarters to match. It's an unheard-of high start. Gussy, Ithink you'd be a fool--"

 * * * * *

[Illustration]

He broke off, held up a hand for silence, and his eyes got a listeninglook. Pooh-Bah had finished page six and was holding the packetmotionless. After about ten seconds Fay's face broke into a big fakesmile. He stood up, suppressing a wince, and held out his hand. "Gussy, " he said loudly, "I am happy to inform you that all your fearsabout Tickler are so much thistledown. My word on it. There's nothingto them at all. Pooh-Bah's precis, which he's just given to me, provesit. "

"Look, " Gusterson said solemnly, "there's one thing I want you to do. Purely to humor an old friend. But I want you to do it. _Read thatmemo yourself. _"

"Certainly I will, Gussy, " Fay continued in the same ebullient tones. "I'll read it--" he twitched and his smile disappeared--"a littlelater. "

"Sure, " Gusterson said dully, holding his hand to his stomach. "Andnow if you don't mind, Fay, I'm goin' home. I feel just a bit sick. Maybe the ozone and the other additives in your shelter air are tooheady for me. It's been years since I tramped through a pine forest. "

"But Gussy! You've hardly got here. You haven't even sat down. Haveanother martini. Have a seltzer pill. Have a whiff of oxy. Have a--"

"No, Fay, I'm going home right away. I'll think about the job offer. _Remember to read that memo. _"

"I will, Gussy, I certainly will. You know your way? The button takesyou through the wall. 'By, now. "

He sat down abruptly and looked away. Gusterson pushed through theswinging door. He tensed himself for the step across onto theslowly-moving reverse ribbon. Then on a impulse he pushed ajar theswinging door and looked back inside. 

Fay was sitting as he'd left him, apparently lost in listlessbrooding. On his shoulder Pooh-Bah was rapidly crossing and uncrossingits little metal arms, tearing the memo to smaller and smaller shreds. It let the scraps drift slowly toward the floor and oddly writhed itsthree-elbowed left arm . .. And then Gusterson knew from whom, orrather from what, Fay had copied his new shrug. 

VII

When Gusterson got home toward the end of the second dog watch, heslipped aside from Daisy's questions and set the children laughingwith a graphic enactment of his slidestanding technique and a storyabout getting his head caught in a thinking box built for a midgetphysicist. After supper he played with Imogene, Iago and Claudiusuntil it was their bedtime and thereafter was unusually attentive toDaisy, admiring her fading green stripes, though he did spend a whilein the next apartment, where they stored their outdoor campingequipment. 

But the next morning he announced to the children that it was aholiday--the Feast of St. Gusterson--and then took Daisy into thebedroom and told her everything. 

When he'd finished she said, "This is something I've got to see formyself. "

Gusterson shrugged. "If you think you've got to. I say we should headfor the hills right now. One thing I'm standing on: the kids aren'tgoing back to school. "

"Agreed, " Daisy said. "But, Gusterson, we've lived through a lot ofthings without leaving home altogether. We lived through theEverybody-Six-Feet-Underground-by-Christmas campaign and the RobotWatchdog craze, when you got your left foot half chewed off. We livedthrough the Venomous Bats and Indoctrinated Saboteur Rats and theHypnotized Monkey Paratrooper scares. We lived through the Voice ofSafety and Anti-Communist Somno-Instruction and Rightest Pills andJet-Propelled Vigilantes. We lived through the Cold-Out, when youweren't supposed to turn on a toaster for fear its heat would be atarget for prowl missiles and when people with fevers were unpopular. We lived through--"

Gusterson patted her hand. "You go below, " he said. "Come back whenyou've decided this is different. Come back as soon as you can anyway. I'll be worried about you every minute you're down there. "

When she was gone--in a green suit and hat to minimize or at leastjustify the effect of the faded stripes--Gusterson doled out to thechildren provender and equipment for a camping expedition to the nextfloor. Iago led them off in stealthy Indian file. Leaving the halldoor open Gusterson got out his . 38 and cleaned and loaded it, meanwhile concentrating on a chess problem with the idea of confusinga hypothetical psionic monitor. By the time he had hid the revolveragain he heard the elevator creaking back up. 

 * * * * *

Daisy came dragging in without her hat, looking as if she'd beenconcentrating on a chess problem for hours herself and just now givenup. Her stripes seemed to have vanished; then Gusterson decided thiswas because her whole complexion was a touch green. 

She sat down on the edge of the couch and said without looking at him, "Did you tell me, Gusterson, that everybody was quiet and abstractedand orderly down below, especially the ones wearing ticklers, meaningpretty much everybody?"

"I did, " he said. "I take it that's no longer the case. What are thenew symptoms?"

She gave no indication. After some time she said, "Gusterson, do youremember the Doré illustrations to the _Inferno_? Can you visualizethe paintings of Hieronymous Bosch with the hordes of proto-Freudiandevils tormenting people all over the farmyard and city square? Didyou ever see the Disney animations of Moussorgsky's witches' sabbathmusic? Back in the foolish days before you married me, did thatdrug-addict girl friend of yours ever take you to a genuine orgy?"

"As bad as that, hey?"

She nodded emphatically and all of a sudden shivered violently. "Several shades worse, " she said. "If they decide to come topside--"She shot up. "Where are the kids?"

"Upstairs campin' in the mysterious wilderness of the 21st floor, "Gusterson reassured her. "Let's leave 'em there until we're readyto--"

He broke off. They both heard the faint sound of thudding footsteps. 

"They're on the stairs, " Daisy whispered, starting to move toward theopen door. "But are they coming from up or down?"

"It's just one person, " judged Gusterson, moving after his wife. "Tooheavy for one of the kids. "

The footsteps doubled in volume and came rapidly closer. Along withthem there was an agonized gasping. Daisy stopped, staring fearfullyat the open doorway. Gusterson moved past her. Then he stopped too. 

Fay stumbled into view and would have fallen on his face except heclutched both sides of the doorway halfway up. He was stripped to thewaist. There was a little blood on his shoulder. His narrow chest wasarching convulsively, the ribs standing out starkly, as he sucked inoxygen to replace what he'd burned up running up twenty flights. Hiseyes were wild. 

"They've taken over, " he panted. Another gobbling breath. "Gonecrazy. " Two more gasps. "Gotta stop 'em. "

His eyes filmed. He swayed forward. Then Gusterson's big arms werearound him and he was carrying him to the couch. 

 * * * * *

Daisy came running from the kitchen with a damp cool towel. Gustersontook it from her and began to mop Fay off. He sucked in his own breathas he saw that Fay's right ear was raw and torn. He whispered toDaisy, "Look at where the thing savaged him. "

The blood on Fay's shoulder came from his ear. Some of it stained aflush-skin plastic fitting that had two small valved holes in it andthat puzzled Gusterson until he remembered that Moodmaster tied intothe bloodstream. For a second he thought he was going to vomit. 

The dazed look slid aside from Fay's eyes. He was gasping lesspainfully now. He sat up, pushing the towel away, buried his face inhis hands for a few seconds, then looked over the fingers at the twoof them. 

"I've been living in a nightmare for the last week, " he said in a tautsmall voice, "knowing the thing had come alive and trying to pretendto myself that it hadn't. Knowing it was taking charge of me more andmore. Having it whisper in my ear, over and over again, in a crackedlittle rhyme that I could only hear every hundredth time, 'Day by day, in every way, you're learning to listen . .. And _obey_. Day by day--'"

His voice started to go high. He pulled it down and continued harshly, "I ditched it this morning when I showered. It let me break contact todo that. It must have figured it had complete control of me, mountedor dismounted. I think it's telepathic, and then it did some, well, rather unpleasant things to me late last night. But I pulled togethermy fears and my will and I ran for it. The slidewalks were chaos. TheMark 6 ticklers showed some purpose, though I couldn't tell you what, but as far as I could see the Mark 3s and 4s were just cootching theirmounts to death--Chinese feather torture. Giggling, gasping, choking. .. Gales of mirth. People are dying of laughter . .. Ticklers!. .. Theirony of it! It was the complete lack of order and sanity and that letme get topside. There were things I saw--" Once again his voice wentshrill. He clapped his hand to his mouth and rocked back and forth onthe couch. 

Gusterson gently but firmly laid a hand on his good shoulder. "Steady, " he said. "Here, swallow this. "

Fay shoved aside the short brown drink. "We've got to stop them, " hecried. "Mobilize the topsiders--contact the wilderness patrols andmanned satellites--pour ether in the tunnel airpumps--invent andcrash-manufacture missiles that will home on ticklers without harminghumans--SOS Mars and Venus--dope the shelter water supply--dosomething! Gussy, you don't realize what people are going through downthere every second. "

"I think they're experiencing the ultimate in outer-directedness, "Gusterson said gruffly. 

"Have you no heart?" Fay demanded. His eyes widened, as if he wereseeing Gusterson for the first time. Then, accusingly, pointing ashaking finger: "_You invented the tickler, George Gusterson! It's allyour fault! You've got to do something about it!_"

Before Gusterson could retort to that, or begin to think of a reply, or even assimilate the full enormity of Fay's statement, he wasgrabbed from behind and frog-marched away from Fay and something thatfelt remarkably like the muzzle of a large-caliber gun was shoved inthe small of his back. 

 * * * * *

Under cover of Fay's outburst a huge crowd of people had entered theroom from the hall--eight, to be exact. But the weirdest thing aboutthem to Gusterson was that from the first instant he had theimpression that only one mind had entered the room and that it did notreside in any of the eight persons, even though he recognized three ofthem, but in something that they were carrying. 

Several things contributed to this impression. The eight people allhad the same blank expression--watchful yet empty-eyed. They all movedin the same slithery crouch. And they had all taken off their shoes. Perhaps, Gusterson thought wildly, they believed he and Daisy ran aJapanese flat. 

Gusterson was being held by two burly women, one of them quite pimply. He considered stamping on her toes, but just at that moment the gundug in his back with a corkscrew movement. 

The man holding the gun on him was Fay's colleague Davidson. Someyards beyond Fay's couch, Kester was holding a gun on Daisy, withoutdigging it into her, while the single strange man holding Daisyherself was doing so quite decorously--a circumstance which affordedGusterson minor relief, since it made him feel less guilty about notgoing berserk. 

Two more strange men, one of them in purple lounging pajamas, theother in the gray uniform of a slidewalk inspector, had grabbed Fay'sskinny upper arms, one on either side, and were lifting him to hisfeet, while Fay was struggling with such desperate futility andgibbering so pitifully that Gusterson momentarily had second thoughtsabout the moral imperative to go berserk when menaced by hostileforce. But again the gun dug into him with a twist. 

Approaching Fay face-on was the third Micro-man Gusterson had metyesterday--Hazen. It was Hazen who was carrying--quite reverently orsolemnly--or at any rate very carefully the object that seemed toGusterson to be the mind of the little storm troop presentlydesecrating the sanctity of his own individual home. 

All of them were wearing ticklers, of course--the three Micro-men theheavy emergent Mark 6s with their clawed and jointed arms andmonocular cephalic turrets, the rest lower-numbered Marks of the sortthat merely made Richard-the-Third humps under clothing. 

The object that Hazen was carrying was the Mark 6 tickler Gustersonhad seen Fay wearing yesterday. Gusterson was sure it was Pooh-Bahbecause of its air of command, and because he would have sworn on amountain of Bibles that he recognized the red fleck lurking in theback of its single eye. And Pooh-Bah alone had the aura of fullconscious thought. Pooh-Bah alone had mana. 

 * * * * *

It is not good to see an evil legless child robot with dangling strapsbossing--apparently by telepathic power--not only three objects of itsown kind and five close primitive relatives, but also eight humanbeings . .. And in addition throwing into a state of twitching terrorone miserable, thin-chested, half-crazy research-and-developmentdirector. 

Pooh-Bah pointed a claw at Fay. Fay's handlers dragged him forward, still resisting but more feebly now, as if half-hypnotized or at leastcowed. 

Gusterson grunted an outraged, "Hey!" and automatically struggled abit, but once more the gun dug in. Daisy shut her eyes, then firmedher mouth and opened them again to look. 

Seating the tickler on Fay's shoulder took a little time, because twoblunt spikes in its bottom had to be fitted into the valved holes inthe flush-skin plastic disk. When at last they plunged home Gustersonfelt very sick indeed--and then even more so, as the tickler itselfpoked a tiny pellet on a fine wire into Fay's ear. 

The next moment Fay had straightened up and motioned his handlersaside. He tightened the straps of his tickler around his chest andunder his armpits. He held out a hand and someone gave him ashoulderless shirt and coat. He slipped into them smoothly, Pooh-Bahdexterously using its little claws to help put its turret and bodythrough the neatly hemmed holes. The small storm troop looked at Faywith deferential expectation. He held still for a moment, as ifthinking, and then walked over to Gusterson and looked him in the faceand again held still. 

Fay's expression was jaunty on the surface, agonized underneath. Gusterson knew that he wasn't thinking at all, but only listening forinstructions from something that was whispering on the very thresholdof his inner ear. 

"Gussy, old boy, " Fay said, twitching a depthless grin, "I'd be verymuch obliged if you'd answer a few simple questions. " His voice washoarse at first but he swallowed twice and corrected that. "Whatexactly did you have in mind when you invented ticklers? What exactlyare they supposed to be?"

"Why, you miserable--" Gusterson began in a kind of confused horror, then got hold of himself and said curtly, "They were supposed to bemech reminders. They were supposed to record memoranda and--"

Fay held up a palm and shook his head and again listened for a space. Then, "That's how ticklers were supposed to be of use to humans, " hesaid. "I don't mean that at all. I mean how ticklers were supposed tobe of use to themselves. Surely you had some notion. " Fay wet hislips. "If it's any help, " he added, "keep in mind that it's not Faywho's asking this question, but Pooh-Bah. "

Gusterson hesitated. He had the feeling that every one of the eightdual beings in the room was hanging on his answer and that somethingwas boring into his mind and turning over his next thoughts andpeering at and under them before he had a chance to scan them himself. Pooh-Bah's eye was like a red searchlight. 

"Go on, " Fay prompted. "What were ticklers supposed to be--forthemselves?"

"Nothin', " Gusterson said softly. "Nothin' at all. "

 * * * * *

He could feel the disappointment well up in the room--and with it atouch of something like panic. 

This time Fay listened for quite a long while. "I hope you don't meanthat, Gussy, " he said at last very earnestly. "I mean, I hope you huntdeep and find some ideas you forgot, or maybe never realized you hadat the time. Let me put it to you differently. What's the place ofticklers in the natural scheme of things? What's their aim in life?Their special reason? Their genius? Their final cause? What godsshould ticklers worship?"

But Gusterson was already shaking his head. He said, "I don't knowanything about that at all. "

Fay sighed and gave simultaneously with Pooh-Bah the now-familiartriple-jointed shrug. Then the man briskened himself. "I guess that'sas far as we can get right now, " he said. "Keep thinking, Gussy. Tryto remember something. You won't be able to leave your apartment--I'msetting guards. If you want to see me, tell them. Or just think--Indue course you'll be questioned further in any case. Perhaps byspecial methods. Perhaps you'll be ticklerized. That's all. Come on, everybody, let's get going. "

The pimply woman and her pal let go of Gusterson, Daisy's man loosedhis decorous hold, Davidson and Kester sidled away with an eye behindthem and the little storm troop trudged out. 

Fay looked back in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Gussy, " he said and for amoment his old self looked out of his eyes. "I wish I could--" A clawreached for his ear, a spasm of pain crossed his face, he stiffenedand marched off. The door shut. 

Gusterson took two deep breaths that were close to angry sobs. Then, still breathing stentorously, he stamped into the bedroom. 

"What--?" Daisy asked, looking after him. 

He came back carrying his . 38 and headed for the door. 

"What are you up to?" she demanded, knowing very well. 

"I'm going to blast that iron monkey off Fay's back if it's the lastthing I do!"

She threw her arms around him. 

"Now lemme go, " Gusterson growled. "I gotta be a man one time anyway. "

As they struggled for the gun, the door opened noiselessly, Davidsonslipped in and deftly snatched the weapon out of their hands beforethey realized he was there. He said nothing, only smiled at them andshook his head in sad reproof as he went out. 

 * * * * *

Gusterson slumped. "I _knew_ they were all psionic, " he said softly. "I just got out of control now--that last look Fay gave us. " Hetouched Daisy's arm. "Thanks, kid. "

He walked to the glass wall and looked out desultorily. After a whilehe turned and said, "Maybe you better be with the kids, hey? I imaginethe guards'll let you through. "

Daisy shook her head. "The kids never come home until supper. For thenext few hours they'll be safer without me. "

Gusterson nodded vaguely, sat down on the couch and propped his chinon the base of his palm. After a while his brow smoothed and Daisyknew that the wheels had started to turn inside and the electrons tojump around--except that she reminded herself to permanently cross outthose particular figures of speech from her vocabulary. 

After about half an hour Gusterson said softly, "I think the ticklersare so psionic that it's as if they just had one mind. If I were withthem very long I'd start to be part of that mind. Say something to oneof them and you say it to all. "

Fifteen minutes later: "They're not crazy, they're just newborn. Theones that were creating a cootching chaos downstairs were like babieskickin' their legs and wavin' their eyes, tryin' to see what theirbodies could do. Too bad their bodies are us. "

Ten minutes more: "I gotta do something about it. Fay's right. It'sall my fault. He's just the apprentice; I'm the old sorcerer himself. "

Five minutes more, gloomily: "Maybe it's man's destiny to build livemachines and then bow out of the cosmic picture. Except the ticklersneed us, dammit, just like nomads need horses. "

Another five minutes: "Maybe somebody could dream up a purpose in lifefor ticklers. Even a religion--the First Church of Pooh-Bah Tickler. But I hate selling other people spiritual ideas and that'd still leaveticklers parasitic on humans. .. . "

As he murmured those last words Gusterson's eyes got wide as amaniac's and a big smile reached for his ears. He stood up and facedhimself toward the door. 

"What are you intending to do now?" Daisy asked flatly. 

"I'm merely goin' out an' save the world, " he told her. "I may be backfor supper and I may not. "

VIII

Davidson pushed out from the wall against which he'd been restinghimself and his two-stone tickler and moved to block the hall. ButGusterson simply walked up to him. He shook his hand warmly and lookedhis tickler full in the eye and said in a ringing voice, "Ticklersshould have bodies of their own!" He paused and then added casually, "Come on, let's visit your boss. "

Davidson listened for instructions and then nodded. But he watchedGusterson warily as they walked down the hall. 

In the elevator Gusterson repeated his message to the second guard, who turned out to be the pimply woman, now wearing shoes. This time headded, "Ticklers shouldn't be tied to the frail bodies of humans, which need a lot of thoughtful supervision and drug-injecting andcan't even fly. "

Crossing the park, Gusterson stopped a hump-backed soldier andinformed him, "Ticklers gotta cut the apron string and snap the silvercord and go out in the universe and find their own purposes. " Davidsonand the pimply woman didn't interfere. They merely waited and watchedand then led Gusterson on. 

On the escaladder he told someone, "It's cruel to tie ticklers toslow-witted snaily humans when ticklers can think and live . .. Tenthousand times as fast, " he finished, plucking the figure from themurk of his unconscious. 

By the time they got to the bottom, the message had become, "Ticklersshould have a planet of their own!"

They never did catch up with Fay, although they spent two hoursskimming around on slidewalks, under the subterranean stars, pursuingrumors of his presence. Clearly the boss tickler (which was how theythought of Pooh-bah) led an energetic life. Gusterson continued todeliver his message to all and sundry at 30-second intervals. Towardthe end he found himself doing it in a dreamy and forgetful way. Hismind, he decided, was becoming assimilated to the communal telepathicmind of the ticklers. It did not seem to matter at the time. 

After two hours Gusterson realized that he and his guides werebecoming part of a general movement of people, a flow as mindless asthat of blood corpuscles through the veins, yet at the same time dimlypurposeful--at least there was the feeling that it was at the behestof a mind far above. 

The flow was topside. All the slidewalks seemed to lead to theconcourses and the escaladders. Gusterson found himself part of ahuman stream moving into the tickler factory adjacent to hisapartment--or another factory very much like it. 

 * * * * *

Thereafter Gusterson's awarenesses were dimmed. It was as if a biggermind were doing the remembering for him and it were permissible andeven mandatory for him to dream his way along. He knew vaguely thatdays were passing. He knew he had work of a sort: at one time he wasbringing food to gaunt-eyed tickler-mounted humans working feverishlyin a production line--human hands and tickler claws working togetherin a blur of rapidity on silvery mechanisms that moved along jumpilyon a great belt; at another he was sweeping piles of metal scraps andgarbage down a gray corridor. 

Two scenes stood out a little more vividly. 

A windowless wall had been knocked out for twenty feet. There was bluesky outside, its light almost hurtful, and a drop of many stories. Afile of humans were being processed. When one of them got to the headof the file his (or her) tickler was ceremoniously unstrapped from hisshoulder and welded onto a silvery cask with smoothly pointed ends. The result was something that looked--at least in the case of the Mark6 ticklers--like a stubby silver submarine, child size. It would humgently, lift off the floor and then fly slowly out through the bigblue gap. Then the next tickler-ridden human would step forward forprocessing. 

The second scene was in a park, the sky again blue, but big and highwith an argosy of white clouds. Gusterson was lined up in a crowd ofhumans that stretched as far as he could see, row on irregular row. Martial music was playing. Overhead hovered a flock of little silversubmarines, lined up rather more orderly in the air than the humanswere on the ground. The music rose to a heart-quickening climax. Thetickler nearest Gusterson gave (as if to say, "And now--who knows?") atriple-jointed shrug that stung his memory. Then the ticklers took offstraight up on their new and shining bodies. They became a flight ofsilver geese . .. Of silver midges . .. And the humans around Gustersonlifted a ragged cheer. .. . 

That scene marked the beginning of the return of Gusterson's mind andmemory. He shuffled around for a bit, spoke vaguely to three or fourpeople he recalled from the dream days, and then headed for home andsupper--three weeks late, and as disoriented and emaciated as a bearcoming out of hibernation. 

 * * * * *

Six months later Fay was having dinner with Daisy and Gusterson. Thecocktails had been poured and the children were playing in the nextapartment. The transparent violet walls brightened, then gloomed, asthe sun dipped below the horizon. 

Gusterson said, "I see where a spaceship out beyond the orbit of Marswas holed by a tickler. I wonder where the little guys are headednow?"

Fay started to give a writhing left-armed shrug, but stopped himselfwith a grimace. 

"Maybe out of the solar system altogether, " suggested Daisy, who'drecently dyed her hair fire-engine red and was wearing red leotards. 

"They got a weary trip ahead of them, " Gusterson said, "unless theywork out a hyper-Einsteinian drive on the way. "

Fay grimaced again. He was still looking rather peaked. He saidplaintively, "Haven't we heard enough about ticklers for a while?"

"I guess so, " Gusterson agreed, "but I get to wondering about thelittle guys. They were so serious and intense about everything. Inever did solve their problem, you know. I just shifted it onto othershoulders than ours. No joke intended, " he hurried to add. 

Fay forbore to comment. "By the way, Gussy, " he said, "have you heardanything from the Red Cross about that world-saving medal I nominatedyou for? I know you think the whole concept of world-saving medals isridiculous, especially when they started giving them to all heads ofstate who didn't start atomic wars while in office, but--"

"Nary a peep, " Gusterson told him. "I'm not proud, Fay. I could use afew world-savin' medals. I'd start a flurry in the old-gold market. But I don't worry about those things. I don't have time to. I'm busythese days thinkin' up a bunch of new inventions. "

"Gussy!" Fay said sharply, his face tightening in alarm, "Have youforgotten your promise?"

"'Course not, Fay. My new inventions aren't for Micro or any otherfirm. They're just a legitimate part of my literary endeavors. Happensmy next insanity novel is goin' to be about a mad inventor. "

--FRITZ LEIBER

 Transcriber's Note -- Changes made [original in brackets]:

 "Society can't have much use for us [use] It's the Cheshire [Chesire] cat in reverse. "Zen ['Zen] come near me, " "Ha, wouldn't you like to know?" [know? ] Fay retorted. Grab a ticket to ecstasy! [ecstacy] And every hundredth time it says them out loud and the tickler gives [give] so it can spot and follow him around then [the] target Postmen deliver topside [top-side] mail We-Who-Are-About-To-Die [We-Who Are-About-To-Die] the scanning and [and and] decision-making They 'think, ' to use that archaic [archiac] word did that drug-addict girl friend of yours ever take you to a ["a" missing] genuine orgy "Have you no heart?" Fay [Gay] demanded. But Gusterson [Gunderson] was already shaking his head. Now-familiar triple-jointed [joined] shrug just like nomads need horses. [, ]