Golem 100

17

There were elegances in Subadar Ind’dni’s apartment appealing only to the elite. Illumination was by clear, filament light bulbs. “Ah yes. For enormous bribe I will make known identity of modern Thomas Alva Edison who crafts them for me.” A two-foot world globe was so ancient that there were blank regions labeled terra incognita. A green fly had died on latitude 47°N. Only close examination revealed that the corpse was composed of jade, jet, and lacy gold. “Brutal blackmail required to force me to disclose modern Fabergé who fashioned same for me. And now, if you are both quite restored and comfortable, let us begin.”

“First, how long was I gone?” Gretchen asked.

“Twenty minutes,” Shima answered. “I reduced your Pm shot to a quarter of what we’d taken the first time around. That skag’s wild. It’s got to be handled with care.”

“And you didn’t reduce it a quarter too much, Blaise. The Phasma scene was a shivery Rorschach world for my crazy primal senses… all murky ink blots, or maybe I should call them id blots. I still can’t understand half of them. First I went to black…

“That would be madame without the advantage of reading your senses, doctor.”

“R.”

“Miz Nunn, as you recall experience, could you possibly sketch perceptions for us? Here is pad and pencil.”

“I’m no artist but I’ll try, Subadar.”

“Many thanks. Will be most helpful for interpretation.”

“Then the dead black became sparkled with stars and lines and whorls and silly symbols. Should I try to draw that? It was complicated…”

“No need, Gretch. That’s simply the way you think you’re seeing your cloud chamber perception of high-energy particles.”

“Then I went to white and some kind of Black Hole that was either a bird in flight, or a helmet, or a Folies Bergere wig by Toulouse-Lautrec. It looked something like this… And it was looking at me…

It got bigger and sort of turned into an urn

or maybe a soup tureen…

… But would you believe a tureen with eyes?

But now, thinking about it, I’m reminded of the Tarot card Le Pendu, “The Hanging Man,” and I’m frightened…

And began to condense and break up into—into I don’t know what, but it was damned ugly.

Look at it…

Then it became a crown or butterfly over a heart, or spade, or plumb bob, like this…

But always there seemed to be two eyes watching me constantly…

Then suddenly I was seeing a snow goose in flight or a stinging bee attacking…

Only the Phasmaworld is a nightmare of transformations and I was seeing id blots without identity. The wings of the goose or the bee turned into an African devil mask, a witch-doctor mask, a voodoo mask, but at the same time it looked like the head of a key to something…

And suddenly it was almost as though the id blots of the Phasmaworld were trying to communicate with me, trying to explain the raison d’être of their culture, but in Chinese or Japanese or Spacetalk. And still the eyes were watching me.

Who so surprised as me when a pretty female-type id began flirting with me and making eyes at me. Eyes. Always eyes. Ink blots or id blots, they’re still eyes. Like so…

And some empty stick-figure man began making advances. You’re right, Subadar; pleasure and satisfaction are prime motives…

But a dark woman-id was watching him, or me, or both of us. Again eyes…

And her face turned into another devil mask.

Then a Negro stick-figure made its move at me…

And transformed into Death in a cloak clutching at me…

I think, perhaps, that I tried to escape, and a form appeared that—I don’t know—that seemed to be an open trap set for me. Like this. Could inanimate objects also have ids… ?

And it melted into or was replaced by this. I don’t know what it was. Maybe kissing Siamese twins?

The pretty one came back, flirting again. There is a strange sort of continuity and persistance in the Phasma civilization…

And that vague thing I thought might be an open trap turned itself into a coronet. It’s a sliding, misty, fluid world, the gelatin reality of people…

And then it enlarged into an imperial crown…

And then the imperial crown on a devil, witch-doctor mask. Very much like this…

The Siamese twins returned, this time back-to-back and apparently not on speaking terms; or maybe I was seeing a pair of dancing cobras. Look at them…

Then, out of nowhere, appeared a fat letter double-U…

Which turned into a pair of upraised arms with enormous biceps; something like this…

And then transformed itself into a ludicrous, droopy fat ass…

Suddenly Death returned!

And there was a sunflower explosion into infinity, and—

“—and then I came back to the cell.”

Gretchen tried to catch her breath; she’d been pouring out her report and sketching for half an hour. Both men were so deeply absorbed that they ignored her. Despite the painful shocks she had suffered, Gretchen was forced to chuckle. Shima was focused on the jade fly dead on 47°N. Ind’dni was studying her sketch notes with the concentration of a connoisseur of id blots.

At last Gretchen said, “So?”

“That explosion,” Shima asked the Fabergé fly. “The explosion into infinity… ?”

“Was your attack-escape against me,” Ind’dni murmured. “In all likelihood it was cause of Miz Nunn’s abrupt return.” He looked up from the sketches. “I think you may agree, doctor, that it reveals most curious and unexpected relationship.”

“Between Gretchen and me? There’s nothing unex—”

“No, no. Between soma and psyche.” Ind’dni turned to Gretchen. “You are always a source of inspiration, madame.”

“Thank you, Subadar.”

“I devoutly wish I had you on my staff.” Back to Shima. “Now, doctor, have you drawn any astute conclusions from Miz Nunn’s exploratory?”

“I have; that I was right. It isn’t the Golem¹⁰⁰ alone. There is an id population.”

“Yes. And?”

“That there’s an entire Phasmaculture.”

“And?”

“And that there is a link between Realworld individuals and Phasmaworld iddividuals.”

“Id-dividuals? Well put, doctor. I like ‘iddividuals’ very much. Anything else?”

Shima grimaced. “A rotten conclusion. Given my analysis of the scene: we’d have to know Ourworld individuals intimately before we could establish their links with Phasmaworld iddividuals, and vice versa. Summa: it’ll take ages to discover the source of the Golem.”

“Bravo, doctor!” Ind’dni beamed. “I agree in entire, with exception of your estimate of time required.”

“You don’t think it’ll take time? Why?”

“I come last, doctor. Now it is madame’s turn. If you have recovered stamina, Miz Nunn, please to give us your conclusions.”

“Well…” Gretchen began slowly, “as I said when I was reporting, Subadar, you were right to be concerned. The Infraworld is motivated by pleasure and satisfaction on the basic brute sublevel. But… But that’s what confuses me because I sensed so much danger and death.”

“Why the confusion, madame?” Ind’dni was faintly surprised. “Selfish pleasure may often endanger others. For the cruel carnivores is there not pleasure in slow killing? Have you never seen a cat delay final demise of a mouse?”

“That’s true.”

“Then with confusion resolved, what did you construct of dissolving images, the id blots that drifted and replaced and transformed? Are you able to interpret?”

“But I gave you my interpretations as I reported them, Subadar.”

Ind’dni shook his head ruefully. “Alas, there we have dilemma of laboratory experiment. The subject is too engrossed in the test to give objective estimate of experience.”

Shima broke in. “If you’ve come to different conclusions, Ind’dni, let’s have ‘em, for God’s sake. Don’t play cat-and-mouse with us!”

“Such was never my intent, doctor; I am no cruel carnivore. I have been able to interpret a few of madame’s primal perceptions… her senseeing, Dr. Leuz called it… and should like to submit same for your judgment.”

“Time estimate first,” Shima insisted. “Why’d you disagree with mine?”

“Because Miz Nunn has, I believe, achieved the goal of her Promethium trip. She has unconsciously disclosed true source of the Hundred-Hander-Golem beast.”

“What?” Gretchen exclaimed. “I did? When? How?”

“Who?” Shima shot.

“Your suspicions were correct; Winifred Ashley, Queen Bee of the hive.”

“How did you come to that interpretation of the id blots, Subadar?” Gretchen was bewildered.

“First I must point out that many of your perceptions were through your cloud-chamber-seventh-sense which Dr. Shima so brilliantly discovered. (Patience, I beg. The chain of induction is delicate and must be taken link by link.) In fine, madame, you were often sensing living energy auras which can be as powerful as subatomic particles.”

“Yes, and… ?”

“The eyes watching you constantly: for the physical eye of sight substitute the psychological ‘I’ of ego. You were seeing yourself reflected in the Phasma-entities and, no doubt, they were seeing themselves reflected in you. The Phasmaculture is a world of mutual masturbation.”

“My God!” Shima exclaimed. “What a concept!”

“Now I come to most delicate link of all,” Ind’dni continued. “The dark woman-id watching you, Miz Nunn, who transformed into a devil mask… Examine your memory objectively… Look at your sketch again… Could the mask not have been the letter ‘R’ attached to its mirror image?”

“What? I never—”

“And supported by your Siamese-twin impressions?”

“It never occurred to—”

“The open trap which transformed into a coronet, then an imperial crown, then a crowned devil mask? Look at your sketch. Is not the mask the letter ‘R’ attached to its mirror image? What does a crowned ‘R’ suggest to you?”

“It can’t be mistaken… now! The Queen Bee. Regina.” Gretchen turned to Shima. “He was right, Blaise. I was too engrossed in the Pm trip to form any constructs.”

“Another delicate link,” Ind’dni went on. “The flying snow goose or the stinging bee?”

Shima nodded with conviction. “Regina, the Queen Bee. It has to be.”

“Indeed yes. We have established the prime source of the Hundred-Hander. It is generated by the colony, the hive of bee-ladies, but the colony is held together by its queen. The queen is the source.”

“So the queen is the house that must be destroyed,” Gretchen whispered.

“But what baffles me,” Ind’dni said slowly, “is the letter ‘double-U’ which turned into strong arms and then large buttocks. Why did it inspire the appearance of death?”

“Death appeared to me before that, Subadar.”

“Yes, in response to ‘R.’ Why subsequently in response to ‘double-U’?”

“Obvious,” Shima said. “For ‘double-U’ as in Winifred.”

“A little too obvious for me, doctor.” Ind’dni sighed. “Perhaps it is a flaw in the Bombazine attitude to reject the immediate obvious, yet I don’t like it. There must be a deeper, perhaps double implication in Death hovering over that letter, the robust arms, the buttocks…”

“Aren’t you creating unnecessary complications, Subadar?” Gretchen asked.

“Perhaps.” Ind’dni took a deep breath and smiled. “Or perhaps, to paraphrase Dr. Shima’s dictum, I am trying to meet the unknown with the unknown.” He took another deep breath. “At any rate we know where we stand vis-à-vis Golem¹⁰⁰. It is an iddentity—thank you for the coinage, doctor—linked firmly to the psyche of Miz Winifred Ashley through the colony which she controls. If she can be deposed, the colony will be scattered and the Golem will have no home.”

“That’ll be a job for me,” Gretchen said firmly. “I’m in the hive. I’ll have to figure out a way to undermine Her Majesty.”

“Boring from within?” Ind’dni smiled. “A pardonable treachery in this fantastic situation. However, I suggest that the planning wait until tomorrow. This is not the time for sustained discussion. We’re all very tired and require rest.”

“He’s right,” Shima yawned. “I’m wiped. Come on, Miz Lig. Leave us go to bed, and no funny business.”

“It’s Jig, Mr. Jap. Can’t you ever remember?” Gretchen led the way to the door. “We’ll see about the funny business when we get to your place. There’s still earth on the terrace. Good night and Opbless, Subadar.”

Ind’dni made no response and no move to see them out. He sat and watched the Jig and the Jap leave with a horrified expression of enlightenment and incredulity.