The Creature from Cleveland Depths | Page 5

something, it's because he really doesn't want
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
memorandums or even take notes."
"Maybe I shouldn't," Gusterson agreed lamely. "I'd have to think that
over 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 skull with
horror-story nonsense about machines sprouting minds and taking over
the world--until you're even scared of a simple miniaturized and
clocked 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 its own. 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 the
Cheshire cat in reverse. If you'd step over here and look at yourself
holding 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've got
the mind elements."
"Ho, ho!" Fay mocked. "Everything that has a material side has a
mental 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 that
dubious dualism to explain the human mind, have we? It's a jelly of
nerve 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 I
vant a man."
* * * * *
Standing in the door was something slim in a short silver sheath. It had
golden bangs and the haughtiest snub-nosed face in the world. It slunk
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't
tell me Trix just happened to think of that too."
"What else could they think of?" Fay laughed. "This season sex means
VV and nobody else." An odd little grin flicked his lips, a tic traveled
up his face and his body twitched slightly. "Say, folks, I'm going to
have to be leaving. It's exactly fifteen minutes to Second Curfew. Last
time I had to run and I got heartburn. When are you people going to
move downstairs? I'll leave Tickler, Gussy. Play around with it and get

used to it. 'By now."
"Hey, Fay," Gusterson called curiously, "have you developed absolute
time sense?"
Fay grinned a big grin from the doorway--almost too big a grin for so
small a man. "I didn't need to," he said softly, patting his right shoulder.
"My tickler told me."
He closed the door behind him.
As side-by-side they watched him strut sedately across the murky
chilly-looking park, Gusterson mused, "So the little devil had one of
those nonsense-gadgets on all the time and I never noticed. Can you
beat that?" Something drew across the violet-tinged stars a short bright
line that quickly faded. "What's that?" Gusterson asked gloomily. "Next
to last stage of missile-here?"
"Won't you settle for an old-fashioned shooting star?" Daisy asked
softly. The (wettable) velvet lips of the mask made even her natural
voice sound different. She reached a hand back of her neck to pull the
thing off.
"Hey, don't do that," Gusterson protested in a hurt voice. "Not for a
while 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 on
his 40,000-word insanity novel before Fay dropped in again, this time
promptly at high noon.
Normally Fay cringed his shoulders a trifle and was inclined to slither,
but now he strode aggressively, his legs scissoring in a fast, low

goosestep. He whipped off the sunglasses that all moles wore topside
by day and began to pound Gusterson on the back while calling
boisterously, "How are you, Gussy Old Boy, Old Boy?"
Daisy came in from the kitchen to see why Gusterson was choking. She
was instantly grabbed and violently bussed to the accompaniment of,
"Hiya, Gorgeous! Yum-yum! How about ad-libbing that some
weekend?"
She