Страница 21 из 59
“It’s all I need. I’m not offering the money for making the compu-drama. You know, and I know, Mr. Willard, that you can go to any of a dozen people in the country and say you are doing a compu-drama and you’ll get all the money you need. After King Lear, no one will refuse you anything, or even ask you what you plan to do. I’m offering you one hundred thousand globo-dollars for your own use.”
“Then it is a bribe, and that won’t work with me. Good-bye, Mr. Laborian.”
“Wait. I’m not offering you an electronic switch. I don’t suggest that I place my financial card into a slot and that you do so, too, and that a hundred thousand globo-dollars be transferred from my account to yours. I’m talking gold, Mr. Willard.”
Willard had risen from his chair, ready to open the door and usher Laborian out, but now he hesitated. “What do you mean, gold?”
“I mean that I can lay my hands on a hundred thousand globo-dollars of gold, about fifteen pounds’ worth, I think. I may not be a multimillionaire, but I’m quite well off and I wouldn’t be stealing it.
It would be my own money and I am entitled to draw it in gold. There is nothing illegal about it. What I am offering you is a hundred thousand globo-dollars in five-hundred globo-dollar pieces-two hundred of them. Gold, Mr. Willard.”
Gold! Willard was hesitating. Money, when it was a matter of electronic exchange, meant nothing. There was no feeling of either wealth or of poverty above a certain level. The world was a matter of plastic cards (each keyed to a nucleic acid pattern) and of slots, and all the world transferred, transferred, transferred.
Gold was different. It had a feel. Each piece had a weight. Piled together it had a gleaming beauty.
It was wealth one could appreciate and experience. Willard had never even seen a gold coin, let alone felt or hefted one. Two hundred of them!
He didn’t need the money. He was not so sure he didn’t need the gold.
He said, with a kind of shamefaced weakness. “What kind of a novel is it that you are talking about?”
“Science fiction.“
Willard made a face. “I’ve never read science fiction. “
“Then it’s time you expanded your horizons, Mr. Willard. Read mine. If you imagine a gold coin between every two pages of the book, you will have your two hundred.”
And Willard, rather despising his own weakness, said, “What’s the name of your book?”
“Three in One. “
“And you have a copy?” “I brought one with me.“
And Willard held out his hand and took it.
That Willard was a busy man was by no means a lie. It took him better than a week to find the time to read the book, even with two hundred pieces of gold glittering, and luring him on.
Then he sat a while and pondered. Then he phoned Laborian. The next morning, Laborian was in Williard’s office again.
Willard said, bluntly, “Mr. Laborian, I have read your book.”
Laborian nodded and could not hide the anxiety in his eyes. “I hope you like it, Mr. Willard.” Willard lifted his hand and rocked it right and left. “So-so. I told you I have not read science fiction, and I don’t know how good or bad it is of its kind-” “Does it matter, if you liked it?”
“I’m not sure if I liked it. I’m not used to this sort of thing. We are dealing in this novel with three sexes.”
“Yes.”
“Which you call a Rational, an Emotional, and a Parental. “
“Yes.”
“But you don’t describe them?”
Laborian looked embarrassed. “I didn’t describe them, Mr. Willard, because I couldn’t. They’re alien creatures, really alien. I didn’t want to pretend they were alien by simply giving them blue skins or a pair of ante
“What you’re saying is that your imagination failed.”
“N-no. I wouldn’t say that. It’s more like not having that kind of imagination. I don’t describe anyone. If I were to write a story about you and me, I probably wouldn’t bother describing either one of us.”
Willard stared at Laborian without trying to disguise his contempt. He thought of himself. Middle- sized, soft about the middle, needed to reduce a bit, the begi
There was Laborian, dark in complexion, crisp curly black hair, looked as though he needed a shave, probably looked that way all the time, prominent Adam’s apple, small scar on the right cheek, dark brown eyes rather large, and his only good feature.
Willard said, “I don’t understand you. What kind of writer are you if you have trouble describing things? What do you write?”
Laborian said, gently, somewhat as though this was not the first time he had had to defend himself along those lines, “You’ve read T hree in One. I’ve written other novels and they’re all in the same style. Mostly conversation. I don’t see things when I write; I hear, and for most part, what my characters talk about are ideas-competing ideas. I’m strong on that and my readers like it.”
“Yes, but where does that leave me? I can’t devise a compudrama based on conversation alone. I have to create sight and sound and subliminal messages, and you leave me nothing to work on.” “Are you thinking of doing Three in One, then?”
“Not if you give me nothing to work on. Think, Mr. Laborian, think! This Parental. He’s the dumb one.”
“Not dumb,” said Laborian, frowning. “Single-minded. He only has room in his mind for children, real and potential.”
“Blockish! If you didn’t use that actual word for the Parental in the novel, and I don’t remember offhand whether you did or not, it’s certainly the impression I got. Cubical. Is that what he is?”
“Well, simple. Straight lines. Straight planes. Not cubical. Longer than he is wide.”
“How does he move? Does he have legs?”
“I don’t know. I honestly never gave it any thought.”
“Hmp. And the Rational. He’s the smart one and he’s smooth and quick. What is he? Egg- shaped?”
“I’d accept that. I’ve never given that any thought, either, but I’d accept that.”
“And no legs?”
“I haven’t described any.”
“And how about the middle one. Your ‘she’ character-the other two being ‘he’s.”‘
“The Emotional.”
“That’s right. The Emotional. You did better on her.”
“Of course. I did most of my thinking about her. She was trying to save the alien intelligences-us-of an alien world, Earth. The reader’s sympathy must be with her, even though she fails.”
“I gather she was more like a cloud, didn’t have any firm shape at all, could attenuate and tighten.”
“Yes, yes. That’s exactly right.”
“Does she flow along the ground or drift through the air?”
Laborian thought, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I would say you would have to suit yourself when it came to that. “
“I see. And what about the sex?”
Laborian said, with sudden enthusiasm. “That’s a crucial point. I never have any sex in my novels beyond that which is absolutely necessary and then I manage to refrain from describing it-”
“You don’t like sex?”
“I like sex fine, thank you. I just don’t like it in my novels. Everyone else puts it in and, frankly, I think that readers find its absence in my novels refreshing; at least, my readers do. And I must explain to you that my books do very well. I wouldn’t have a hundred thousand dollars to spend if they didn’t.”
“All right. I’m not trying to put you down.”
“However, there are always people who say I don’t include sex because I don’t know how, so-out of vainglory, I suppose-I wrote this novel just to show that I c ould do it. The entire novel deals with sex.
Of course, it’s alien sex, not at all like ours.”
“That’s right. That’s why I have to ask you about the mechanics of it. How does it work?” Laborian looked uncertain for a moment. “They melt.”
“I know that that’s the word you use. Do you mean they come together? Superimpose?”
“I suppose so.”
Willard sighed. “How can you write a book without knowing anything about so fundamental a part of it?”
“I don’t have to describe it in detail. The reader gets the impression. With subliminal suggestion so much a part of the compu-drama, how can you ask the question?”
Willard’s lips pressed together. Laborian had him there. “Very well. They superimpose. What do they look like after they have superimposed? “
Laborian shook his head. “I avoided that. “
“You realize, of course, that I can’t.” Laborian nodded. “Yes.”
Willard heaved another sigh and said, “Look, Mr. Laborian, assuming that I agree to do such a compu-drama-and I have not yet made up my mind on the matter-I would have to do it entirely my way. I would tolerate no interference from you. You have ducked so many of your own responsibilities in writing the book that I can’t allow you to decide suddenly that you want to participate in my creative endeavors.”
“That’s quite understood, Mr. Willard. I only ask that you keep my story and as much of my dialogue as you can. All of the visual, sonic, and subliminal aspects I am willing to leave entirely in your hands.”
“You understand that this is not a matter of a verbal agreement which someone in our industry, about a century and a half ago, described as not worth the paper it was written on. There will have to be a written contract made firm by my lawyers that will exclude you from participation.”
“My lawyers will be glad to look over it, but I assure you I am not going to quibble.”
“And, “ said Willard severely, “I will want an advance on the money you offered me. I can’t afford to have you change your mind on me and I am not in the mood for a long lawsuit.”
At this, Laborian frowned. He said, “Mr. Willard, those who know me never question my financial honesty. You don’t know me so I’ll permit the remark, but please don’t repeat it. How much of an advance do you wish?”
“Half,” said Willard, briefly.
Laborian said, “I will do better than that. Once you have obtained the necessary commitments from those who will be willing to put up the money for the compu-drama and once the contract between us is drawn up, then I will give you every cent of the hundred thousand dollars even before you begin the first scene of the book.”