The Creature from Cleveland Depths | Page 2

doesn't amount to more
moneywise than the state of Southern Illinois. Keep it grander, Gussy,
and more impractical--you can't sell people merely useful ideas." From
his hassock in the center of the room he looked uneasily around. "Say,
did that violet tone in the glass come from the high Cleveland hydrogen
bomb or is it just age and ultraviolet, like desert glass?"
* * * * *
"No, somebody's grandfather liked it that color," Gusterson informed
him with happy bitterness. "I like it too--the glass, I mean, not the tint.
People who live in glass houses can see the stars--especially when
there's a window-washing streak in their germ-plasm."
"Gussy, why don't you move underground?" Fay asked, his voice
taking on a missionary note. "It's a lot easier living in one room, believe
me. 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 have
to explain why their father lives like a Red Indian. Not to mention the

safety factor and insurance savings and a crypt church within easy
slidewalk 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
God to comment. Then, "No, Fay, even if I could afford it--and stand
it--I'm such a bad-luck Harry that just when I got us all safely stowed at
the N minus 1 sublevel, the Soviets would discover an earthquake
bomb that struck from below, and I'd have to follow everybody back to
the treetops. Hey! How about bubble homes in orbit around earth?
Micro Systems could subdivide the world's most spacious suburb and
all you moles could go ellipsing. Space is as safe as there is: no air, no
shock waves. Free fall's the ultimate in restfulness--great health
benefits. Commute by rocket--or better yet stay home and do all your
business 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 clenching
and 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 inquired
anxiously, "Gussy, what's the matter?"
"Nothing, you worm!" Gusterson roared, "Except that an hour ago I
forgot to tune in on the only TV program I've wanted to hear this
year--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 on flat
TV too."
* * * * *
"Well, they were! Some things are too damn big to keep completely
underground. And I had to forget! I'm always doing it--I miss
everything! Look here, you rat," he blatted suddenly at Fay, shaking his

finger under the latter's chin, "I'll tell you what you can have that
ignorant team of yours invent. They can fix me up a mechanical
secretary that I can feed orders into and that'll remind me when the
exact moment comes to listen to TV or phone somebody or mail in a
story or write a letter or pick up a magazine or look at an eclipse or a
new orbiting station or fetch the kids from school or buy Daisy a bunch
of flowers or whatever it is. It's got to be something that's always with
me, not something I have to go and consult or that I can get sick of and
put down somewhere. And it's got to remind me forcibly enough so that
I take notice and don't just shrug it aside, like I sometimes do even
when Daisy reminds me of things. That's what your stupid team can
invent for me! If they do a good job, I'll pay 'em as much as fifty
dollars!"
"That doesn't sound like anything so very original to me," Fay
commented coolly, leaning back from the wagging finger. "I think all
senior executives have something of that sort. At least, their secretary
keeps some kind of file...."
"I'm not looking for something with spiked falsies and nylons up to the
neck," interjected Gusterson, whose ideas about secretaries were a trifle
lurid. "I just want a mech reminder--that's all!"
"Well, I'll keep the idea in mind," Fay assured him, "along with the
bubble homes and beauty masks. If we ever develop anything along
those lines, I'll let you know. If it's a beauty mask, I'll bring Daisy a
pilot model--to use to scare strange kids." He put his watch to his ear.
"Good lord, I'm going to have to cut to make it underground before the
main doors close. Just ten minutes to Second