The Creature from Cleveland Depths

The Creature from Cleveland
Depths, by

Fritz Reuter Leiber This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no
cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give
it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
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Title: The Creature from Cleveland Depths
Author: Fritz Reuter Leiber
Release Date: October 24, 2007 [EBook #23164]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS ***

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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 an
outer-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 a
neurotic bear and suggest something for my invention team to work on.
I enjoy visiting you and Daisy, but I can't stay aboveground all night."
"If being outside the shelters makes you nervous, don't come around
any more," Gusterson told him, continuing to stalk. "Why doesn't your
invention team think of something to invent? Why don't you? Hah!" In
the "Hah!" lay triumphant condemnation of a whole way of life.
"We do," Fay responded imperturbably, "but a fresh viewpoint
sometimes helps."
"I'll say it does! Fay, you burglar, I'll bet you've got twenty people like
myself you milk for free ideas. First you irritate their bark and then you
make the rounds every so often to draw off the latex or the maple
gloop."
Fay smiled. "It ought to please you that society still has a use for you
outre inner-directed types. It takes something to make a junior
executive stay aboveground after dark, when the missiles are on the
prowl."
"Society can't have much use for us or it'd pay us something,"
Gusterson sourly asserted, staring blankly at the tankless TV and
kicking it lightly as he passed on.
"No, you're wrong about that, Gussy. Money's not the key goad with

you inner-directeds. I got that straight from our Motivations chief."
"Did he tell you what we should use instead to pay the grocer? A deep
inner sense of achievement, maybe? Fay, why should I do any free
thinking for Micro Systems?"
"I'll tell you why, Gussy. Simply because you get a kick out of insulting
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 line of
ultra-subminiaturized computers, where one sinister fine-etched
molecule does the work of three big bumbling brain cells?"
"Not necessarily. Micro Systems is branching out. Wheel as free as a
rogue star. But I'll pass along to Promotion your one molecule-three
brain 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'll sue
the whole underworld." Gusterson frowned as he resumed his stalking.
He stared puzzledly at the antique TV. "How about inventing a
plutonium termite?" he said suddenly. "It would get rid of those
stockpiles 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't
mean one to repair a woman's complexion, but one she'd wear all the
time 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 make
Gusterson suffer. I'll make him crawl around on his hands and knees
begging my immature favors."

[Illustration]
"No, you won't," Gusterson called back. "You having a face like that
would scare the kids. Better cancel that one, Fay. Half the adult race
looking 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 from
one murky glass wall to the other, hesitating at the TV. "How about
something homey now, like a flock of little prickly cylinders that roll
around the floor collecting lint and flub? They'd work by electricity, or
at a pinch cats could bat 'em around. Every so often they'd be
automatically herded together and the lint cleaned off the bristles."
"No good," Fay said. "There's no lint underground and cats are
verboten. And the aboveground market