The Second Fredric Brown Megapack

All Good Bems

The spaceship from Andromeda II spun like a top in the grip of mighty forces. The five-limbed Andromedan strapped into the pilot’s seat turned the three protuberant eyes of one of his heads toward the four other Andromedans strapped into bunks around the ship.

“Going to be a rough landing,” he said.

It was.

Elmo Scott hit the tab key of his typewriter and listened to the carriage zing across and ring the bell. It sounded nice and he did it again. But there still weren’t any words on the sheet of paper in the machine.

He lit another cigarette and stared at it. At the paper, that is, not the cigarette. There still weren’t any words on the paper.

He tilted his chair back and turned to look at the sleek black-and-tan Doberman pinscher lying in the mathematical middle of the rag rug. He said, “You lucky dog.” The Doberman wagged what little stump of tail he had. He didn’t answer otherwise.

Elmo Scott looked back at the paper. There still weren’t any words there. He put his fingers over the keyboard and wrote: “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party.” He stared at the words, such as they were, and felt the faintest breath of an idea brush his cheek.

He called out “Toots!” and a cute little brunette in a blue gingham house dress came out of the kitchen and stood by him. His arm went around her. He said, “I got an idea.”

She read the words in the typewriter. “It’s the best thing you’ve written in three days,” she said, “except for that letter renewing your subscription to the Digest. I think that was better.”

“Button your lip,” Elmo told her. “I’m talking about what I’m going to do with that sentence. I’m going to change it to a science-fiction plot idea, one word at a time. It can’t miss. Watch.”

He took his arm from around her and wrote under the first sentence: “Now is the time for all good Bems to come to the aid of the party.” He said, “Get the idea, Toots? Already it’s beginning to look like a science-fiction send-off. Good old bug-eyed monsters. Bems to you. Watch the next step.”

Under the first sentence and the second he wrote. “Now is the time for all good Bems to come to the aid of—” He stared at it. “What shall I make it, Toots? ‘The galaxy’ or ‘the universe’?”

“Better make it yourself. If you don’t get a story finished and the check for it in two weeks, we lose this cabin and walk back to the city and—and you’ll have to quit writing full time and go back to the newspaper and—”

“Cut it out, Toots. I know all that. Too well.”

“Just the same, Elmo, you’d better make it: ‘Now is the time for all good Bems to come to the aid of Elmo Scott.’”

The big Doberman stirred on the rag rug. He said, “You needn’t.”

Both human heads turned toward him.

The little brunette stamped a dainty foot. “Elmo!” she said. “Trying a trick like that. That’s how you’ve been spending the time you should have spent writing. Learning ventriloquism!”

“No, Toots,” said the dog. “It isn’t that.”

“Elmo! How do you get him to move his mouth like—” Her eyes went from the dog’s face to Elmo’s and she stopped in mid-sentence. If Elmo Scott wasn’t scared stiff, then he was a better actor than Maurice Evans. She said, “Elmo!” again, but this time her voice was a scared little wail, and she didn’t stamp her foot. Instead she practically fell into Elmo’s lap and, if he hadn’t grabbed her, would probably have fallen from there to the floor.

“Don’t be frightened, Toots,” said the dog.

Some degree of sanity returned to Elmo Scott. He said, “Whatever you are, don’t call my wife Toots. Her name is Dorothy.”

“You call her Toots.”

“That’s—that’s different.”

“I see it is,” said the dog. His mouth lolled open as though he were laughing. “The concept that entered your mind when you used that word ‘wife’ is an interesting one. This is a bisexual planet, then.”

Elmo said, “This is a—uh—What are you talking about?”

“On Andromeda II,” said the dog, “we have five sexes. But we are a highly developed race, of course. Yours is highly primitive. Perhaps I should say lowly primitive. Your language has, I find, confusing connotations; it is not mathematical. But, as I started to observe, you are still in the bisexual stage. How long since you were monosexual? And don’t deny that you once were; I can read the word ‘amoeba’ in your mind.”

“If you can read my mind,” said Elmo, “why should I talk?”

“Consider Toots—I mean Dorothy,” said the dog. “We cannot hold a three-way conversation since you two are not telepathic. At any rate, there shall shortly be more of us in the conversation. I have summoned my companions.” He laughed again. “Do not let them frighten you, no matter in what form they may appear. They are merely Bems.”

“B-bems?” asked Dorothy. “You mean you are b-bug-eyed monsters? That’s what Elmo means by Bems, but you aren’t—”

“That is just what I am,” said the dog. “You are not, of course, seeing the real me. Nor will you see my companions as they really are. They, like me, are temporarily animating bodies of creatures of lesser intelligence. In our real bodies, I assure you, you would classify us as Bems. We have five limbs each and two heads, each head with three eyes on stalks.”

“Where are your real bodies?” Elmo asked.

“They are dead—Wait, I see that word means more to you than I thought at first. They are dormant, temporarily uninhabitable and in need of repairs, inside the fused hull of a spaceship which was warped into this space too near a planet. This planet. That’s what wrecked us.”

“Where? You mean there’s really a spaceship near here? Where?” Elmo’s eyes were almost popping from his head as he questioned the dog.

“That is none of your business, Earthman. If it were found and examined by you creatures, you would possibly discover space travel before you are ready for it. The cosmic scheme would be upset.” He growled. “There are enough cosmic wars now. We were fleeing a Betelgeuse fleet when we warped into your space.”

“Elmo,” said Dorothy, “What’s beetle juice got to do with it? Wasn’t this crazy enough before he started talking about a beetle juice fleet?”

“No,” said Elmo resignedly. “It wasn’t.” For a squirrel had just pushed its way through a hole in the bottom of the screen door.

It said, “Hyah dar, yo-all. We-uns got yo message, One.”

“See what I mean?” said Elmo.

“Everything is all right, Four,” said the Doberman. “These people will serve our purpose admirably. Meet Elmo Scott and Dorothy Scott; don’t call her Toots.”

“Yessir. Yessum. Ah’s sho gladda meetcha.”

The Doberman’s mouth lolled open again in another laugh; it was unmistakable this time.

“Perhaps I’d better explain Four’s accent,” he said. “We scattered, each entering a creature of low mentality and from that vantage point contacting the mind of some member of the ruling species, learning from that mind the language and the level of intelligence and degree of imagination. I take it from your reaction that Four has learned the language from a mind which speaks a language differing slightly from yours.”

“Ah sho did,” said the squirrel.

Elmo shuddered slightly. “Not that I’m suggesting it, but I’m curious to know why you didn’t take over the higher species directly,” he said.

The dog looked shocked. It was the first time Elmo had ever seen a dog look shocked, but the Doberman managed it.

“It would be unthinkable,” he declared. “The cosmic ethic forbids the taking over of any creature of an intelligence over the four level. We Andromedans are of the twenty-three level, and I find you Earthlings—”

“Wait!” said Elmo. “Don’t tell me. It might give me an inferiority complex. Or would it?”

“Ah fears it might,” said the squirrel.

The Doberman said, “So you can see that it is not purely coincidence that we Bems should manifest ourselves to you who are a writer of what I see you call science-fiction. We studied many minds and yours was the first one we found capable of accepting the premise of visitors from Andromeda. Had Four here, for example, tried to explain things to the woman whose mind he studied, she would probably have gone insane.”

“She sho would,” said the squirrel.

A chicken thrust its head through the hole in the screen, clucked, and pulled its head out again.

“Please let Three in,” said the Doberman. “I fear that you will not be able to communicate directly with Three. He has found that subjectively to modify the throat structure of the creature he inhabits in order to enable it to talk would be a quite involved process. It does not matter. He can communicate telepathically with one of us, and we can relay his comments to you. At the moment he sends you his greetings and asks that you open the door.”

The clucking of the chicken (it was a big black hen, Elmo saw) sounded angry and Elmo said, “Better open the door, Toots.”

Dorothy Scott got off his lap and opened the door. She turned a dismayed face to Elmo and then to the Doberman.

“There’s a cow coming down the road,” she said. “Do you mean to tell me that she—”

“He,” the Doberman corrected her. “Yes, that will be Two. And since your language is completely inadequate, in that it has only two genders, you may as well call all of us ‘he’; it will save trouble. Of course, we are five different sexes, as I explained.”

“You didn’t explain,” said Elmo, looking interested.

Dorothy glowered at Elmo. “He’d better not. Five different sexes! All living together in one spaceship. I suppose it takes all five of you to—uh—”

“Exactly,” said the Doberman. “And now if you will please open the door for Two, I’m sure that—”

“I will not! Have a cow in here? Do you think I’m crazy?”

“We could make you so,” said the dog. Elmo looked from the dog to his wife.

“You’d better open the door, Dorothy,” he advised.

“Excellent advice,” said the Doberman. “We are not, incidentally, going to impose on your hospitality, nor will we ask you to do anything unreasonable.” Dorothy opened the screen door and the cow clumped in.

He looked at Elmo and said, “Hi, Mac. What’s cookin’?”

Elmo closed his eyes.

The Doberman asked the cow, “Where’s Five? Have you been in touch with him?”

“Yeah,” said the cow. “He’s comin’. The guy I looked over was a bindlestiff, One. What are these mugs?”

“The one with the pants is a writer,” said the dog. “The one with the skirt is his wife.”

“What’s a wife?” asked the cow. He looked at Dorothy and leered. “I like skirts better,” he said. “Hiya, Babe.”

Elmo got up out of his chair, glaring at the cow. “Listen, you—” That was as far as he got. He dissolved into laughter, almost hysterical laughter, and sank down into the chair again.

Dorothy looked at him indignantly. “Elmo! Are you going to let a cow—” She almost strangled on the word as she caught Elmo’s eye, and she, too, started laughing. She fell into Elmo’s lap so hard that he grunted.

The Doberman was laughing, too, his long pink tongue lolling out. “I’m glad you people have a sense of humor,” he said with approval. “In fact, that is one reason we chose you. But let us be serious a moment.”

There wasn’t any laughter in his voice now. He said, “Neither of you will be harmed, but you will be watched. Do not go near the phone or leave the house while we are here. Is that understood?”

“How long are you going to be here?” Elmo asked. “We have food for only a few days.”

“That will be long enough. We will be able to make a new spaceship within a matter of hours. I see that that amazes you; I shall explain that we can work in a slower dimension.”

“I see,” said Elmo.

“What is he talking about, Elmo?” Dorothy demanded.

“A slower dimension,” said Elmo. “I used it in a story once myself. You go into another dimension where the time rate is different; spend a month there and come back and you get back only a few minutes or hours after you left, by time in your own dimension.”

“And you invented it? Elmo, how wonderful!”

Elmo grinned at the Doberman. He said, “That’s all you want—to let you stay here until you get your new ship built? And to let you alone and not notify anybody that you’re here?”

“Exactly.” The dog appeared to beam with delight. “And we will not inconvenience you unnecessarily. But you will be guarded. Five or I will do that.”

“Five? Where is he?”

“Don’t be alarmed; he is under your chair at the moment, but he will not harm you. You didn’t see him come in a moment ago through the hole in the screen. Five, meet Elmo and Dorothy Scott. Don’t call her Toots.”

There was a rattle under the chair. Dorothy screamed and pulled her feet up into Elmo’s lap. Elmo tried to put his there too, with confusing results.

There was hissing laughter from under the chair. A sibilant voice said, “Don’t worry, folks. I didn’t know until I read in your minds just now that shaking my tail like that was a warning that I was about to—Think of the word for me—thank you. To strike.” A five-foot-long rattlesnake crawled out from under the chair and curled up beside the Doberman.

“Five won’t harm you,” said the Doberman. “None of us will.”

“We sho won’t,” said the squirrel.

The cow leaned against the wall, crossed its front legs and said, “That’s right, Mac.” He, or she, or it leered at Dorothy. It said, “An’ Babe, you don’t need to worry about what you’re worryin’ about. I’m housebroke.” It started to chew placidly and then stopped. “I won’t give you no udder trouble, either,” it concluded.

Elmo Scott shuddered slightly.

“You’ve done worse than that yourself,” said the Doberman. “And it’s quite a trick to pun in a language you’ve just learned. I can see one question in your mind. You’re wondering that creatures of high intelligence should have a sense of humor. The answer is obvious if you think about it; isn’t your sense of humor more highly developed than that of creatures who have even less intelligence than you?”

“Yes,” Elmo admitted. “Say, I just thought of something else. Andromeda is a constellation, not a star. Yet you said your planet is Andromeda II. How come?”

“Actually we come from a planet of a star in Andromeda for which you have no name; it’s too distant to show up in your telescopes. I merely called it by a name that would be familiar to you. For your convenience I named the star after the constellation.”

Whatever slight suspicion (of what, he didn’t know) Elmo Scott may have had, evaporated.

The cow uncrossed its legs. “What tell we waitin’ for?” it inquired. “Nothing, I suppose,” said the Doberman. “Five and I will take turns standing guard.”

“Go ahead and get started,” said the rattlesnake. “I’ll take the first trick. Half an hour; that’ll give you a month there.”

The Doberman nodded. He got up and trotted to the screen door, pushing it open with his muzzle after lifting the latch with his tail. The squirrel, the chicken and the cow followed.

“Be seein’ ya, Babe,” said the cow.

“We sho will,” the squirrel said.

It was almost two hours later that the Doberman, who was then on duty as guard, lifted his head suddenly.

“There they went,” he said.

“I beg your pardon,” said Elmo Scott.

“Their new spaceship just took off. It has warped out of this space and is heading back toward Andromeda.”

“You say their. Didn’t you go along?”

“Me? Of course not. I’m Rex, your dog. Remember? Only One, who was using my body, left me with an understanding of what happened and a low level of intelligence.”

“A low level?”

“About equal to yours, Elmo. He says it will pass away, but not until after I’ve explained everything to you. But how about some dog food? I’m hungry. Will you get me some, Toots?”

Elmo said, “Don’t call my wife—Say, are you really Rex?”

“Of course I’m Rex.”

“Get him some dog food, Toots,” Elmo said. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s all go out in the kitchen so we can keep talking.”

“Can I have two cans of it?” asked the Doberman.

Dorothy was getting them out of the closet. “Sure, Rex,” she said.

The Doberman lay down in the doorway. “How about rustling some grub for us, too, Toots?” Elmo suggested. “I’m hungry. Look, Rex, you mean they just went off like that without saying good-by to us, or anything?”

“They left me to say good-by. And they did you a favor, Elmo, to repay you for your hospitality. One took a look inside that skull of yours and found the psychological block that’s been keeping you from thinking of plots for your stories. He removed it. You’ll be able to write again. No better than before, maybe, but at least you won’t go snow-blind staring at blank paper.”

“The devil with that,” said Elmo. “How about the spaceship they didn’t repair? Did they leave it?”

“Sure. But they took their bodies out of it and fixed them up. They were really Bems, by the way. Two heads apiece, five limbs—and they could use all five as either arms or legs—six eyes apiece, three to a head, on long stems. You should have seen them.”

Dorothy was putting cold food on the table. “You won’t mind a cold lunch, will you, Elmo?” she asked.

Elmo looked at her without seeing her and said, “Huh?” and then turned back to the Doberman. The Doberman got up from the doorway and went over to the big dish of dog food that Dorothy had just put down on the floor. He said, “Thanks, Toots,” and started eating in noisy gulps.

Elmo made himself a sandwich, and started munching it. The Doberman finished his meal, lapped up some water and went back to the throw rug in the doorway.

Elmo stared at him. “Rex, if I can find that spaceship they abandoned, I won’t have to write stories,” he said. “I can find enough things in it to—Say, I’ll make you a proposition.”

“Sure,” said the Doberman, “if I tell you where it is, you’ll get another Doberman pinscher to keep me company, and you’ll raise Doberman pups. Well, you don’t know it yet, but you’re going to do that anyway. The Bern named One planted the idea in your mind; he said I ought to get something out of this, too.”

“Okay, but will you tell me where it is?”

“Sure, now that you’ve finished that sandwich. It was something that would have looked like a dust mote, if you’d seen it, on the top slice of boiled ham. It was almost submicroscopic. You just ate it.”

Elmo Scott put his hands to his head. The Doberman’s mouth was open; its tongue lolled out for all the world as though it were laughing at him.

Elmo pointed a finger at him. He said, “You mean I’ve got to write for a living all the rest of my life?”

“Why not?” asked the Doberman. “They figured out you’d be really happier that way And with the psychological block removed, it won’t be so hard. You won’t have to start out, ‘Now is the time for all good men—’ And, incidentally, it wasn’t any coincidence that you substituted Bems for men; that was One’s idea. He was already here inside me, watching you. And getting quite a kick out of it.”

Elmo got up and started to pace back and forth. “Looks like they outsmarted me at every turn but one, Rex,” he murmured. “I’ve got ’em there, if you’ll cooperate.”

“How?”

“We can make a fortune with you. The world’s only talking dog. Rex, we’ll get you diamond-studded collars and feed you aged steaks and—and get everything you want. Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Speak.”

“Woof,” said the Doberman.

Dorothy Scott looked at Elmo Scott.

“Why do that, Elmo?” she asked. “You told me I should never ask him to speak unless we had something to give him, and he’s just eaten.”

“I dunno,” said Elmo. “I forgot. Well, guess I’d better get back to getting a story started.” He stepped over the dog and walked to his typewriter in the other room.

He sat down in front of it and then called out. “Hey, Toots,” and Dorothy came in and stood beside him. He said, “I think I got an idea. That ‘Now is the time for all good Bems to come to the aid of Elmo Scott’ has the germ of an idea in it. I can even pick the title out of it. ‘All Good Bems.’ About a guy trying to write a science-fiction story, and suddenly his—uh—dog—I can make him a Doberman like Rex and— Well, wait till you read it.”

He jerked fresh paper into the typewriter and wrote the heading: