Read Online Crompton Divided by Robert Sheckley - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Sheckley
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this time Crompton stood motionless, not even blinking, due to the small paralysis gun in whose beam he was frozen. This instrument was standard issue to members of the Galactic Writers Guild, and was designed to ensure the respect and attention of unappreciative audiences during the dull but meaningful parts.
At length the writer concluded with a quotation from Rilke and turned off the paralysis gun. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘let’s hear a nice round of applause, plus the Guild minimum fee of one hundred prontics for a nonexclusive one-shot hearing of an impromptu passage of moral import.’
‘Like hell,’ Crompton growled.
‘Pay,’ the writer said sternly, ‘or I shall be forced to turn on the paralysis beam again and give you a ten-minute lecture on Gratitude at standard rates.’
Crompton paid, applauded perfunctorily, and rushed off.
He reached the designated place just in time to see a bearded man in a dhoti declare to the audience: ‘And so on sweet Antione’s tombstone it shall be duly graven: “She never saw it coming!” ’
The audience – thirty-seven middle-aged and jovial people from Phoenix, Arizona – really broke up at that one.
The bearded man bowed and vanished.
Crompton grabbed one of the audience – John Winslow Audience from Flagstaff, by an eerie coincidence – and demanded, ‘The actors! Where did they go?’
John Audience – a portly, jovial man with steely blue eyes and an incongruous dueling scar on his left cheek – pulled his arm free peremptorily.
‘What did you say?’ he demanded.
‘I said, “The actors, where did they go?” ’
‘Oh, I guess they went backstage to get ready for the grand finale, which will be starting any moment now,’ the man said helpfully.
‘Was one of the actors named Edgar Loomis?’
‘I believe I saw that name on the program,’ Audience said, his hard blue eyes becoming momentarily gelid. ‘Yes, by jingo; Loomis, he was one of the actors.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘He had on a silver shirt.’
‘Is that all you remember?’
‘It was the most distinguishing thing about him. You’ll be able to see him in the finale. Look, it’s beginning!’
A large stage had appeared. Crowded on it were all of the humanoforms who had performed in that night’s episodes. Behind them were two symphony orchestras. As Crompton watched, all of these beings threw off their clothing and crowded together, closer, closer, writhing and slipping and sliding over, around, under, and into each other in an unlikely potpourri of arms, thoraxes, feelers, wings, cunts, chitins, claws, tentacles, cocks, shoulders, heads, ovipositors, exo-skeletons, pistils, kneecaps, mandibles, fins, stamens, suckers, and the like. Somehow, despite their contorted and unnatural positions, the humanoforms were able to sing, squeak, whistle, and vibrate the following song:
People and gnoles and hingers and tadies,
Barbizans, trelizonds, lunters, and muns
All in together in sexual friendliness –
Love conquers all, even beastly fat gruns!
A beastly fat gruns now appeared at the top of the quivering mound of flesh, chitin, et cetera. The gruns was grinning! It was a first for the Gardens of Rui!
The audience – sentimentalists all – applauded wildly. Trumpets blared, and a long roll of kettledrums began. The audience watched with bated breath as the great mound of composite flesh, chitins, et cetera, heaved and strained, grunted and groaned, strove and endeavored. …
Crompton caught a glimpse of a silver elbow down near the bottom left-hand corner of the stack. Loomis! It had to be Loomis!
And then the entire great mound of intermingled and interpenetrated humanoforms came simultaneously in a vast greenish white orgasm of various forcibly expelled secretions. The audience really lapped it up, but Crompton, revolted, was already on his way toward the exit, heading as quickly as possible for his hotel room and a game of
At length the writer concluded with a quotation from Rilke and turned off the paralysis gun. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘let’s hear a nice round of applause, plus the Guild minimum fee of one hundred prontics for a nonexclusive one-shot hearing of an impromptu passage of moral import.’
‘Like hell,’ Crompton growled.
‘Pay,’ the writer said sternly, ‘or I shall be forced to turn on the paralysis beam again and give you a ten-minute lecture on Gratitude at standard rates.’
Crompton paid, applauded perfunctorily, and rushed off.
He reached the designated place just in time to see a bearded man in a dhoti declare to the audience: ‘And so on sweet Antione’s tombstone it shall be duly graven: “She never saw it coming!” ’
The audience – thirty-seven middle-aged and jovial people from Phoenix, Arizona – really broke up at that one.
The bearded man bowed and vanished.
Crompton grabbed one of the audience – John Winslow Audience from Flagstaff, by an eerie coincidence – and demanded, ‘The actors! Where did they go?’
John Audience – a portly, jovial man with steely blue eyes and an incongruous dueling scar on his left cheek – pulled his arm free peremptorily.
‘What did you say?’ he demanded.
‘I said, “The actors, where did they go?” ’
‘Oh, I guess they went backstage to get ready for the grand finale, which will be starting any moment now,’ the man said helpfully.
‘Was one of the actors named Edgar Loomis?’
‘I believe I saw that name on the program,’ Audience said, his hard blue eyes becoming momentarily gelid. ‘Yes, by jingo; Loomis, he was one of the actors.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘He had on a silver shirt.’
‘Is that all you remember?’
‘It was the most distinguishing thing about him. You’ll be able to see him in the finale. Look, it’s beginning!’
A large stage had appeared. Crowded on it were all of the humanoforms who had performed in that night’s episodes. Behind them were two symphony orchestras. As Crompton watched, all of these beings threw off their clothing and crowded together, closer, closer, writhing and slipping and sliding over, around, under, and into each other in an unlikely potpourri of arms, thoraxes, feelers, wings, cunts, chitins, claws, tentacles, cocks, shoulders, heads, ovipositors, exo-skeletons, pistils, kneecaps, mandibles, fins, stamens, suckers, and the like. Somehow, despite their contorted and unnatural positions, the humanoforms were able to sing, squeak, whistle, and vibrate the following song:
People and gnoles and hingers and tadies,
Barbizans, trelizonds, lunters, and muns
All in together in sexual friendliness –
Love conquers all, even beastly fat gruns!
A beastly fat gruns now appeared at the top of the quivering mound of flesh, chitin, et cetera. The gruns was grinning! It was a first for the Gardens of Rui!
The audience – sentimentalists all – applauded wildly. Trumpets blared, and a long roll of kettledrums began. The audience watched with bated breath as the great mound of composite flesh, chitins, et cetera, heaved and strained, grunted and groaned, strove and endeavored. …
Crompton caught a glimpse of a silver elbow down near the bottom left-hand corner of the stack. Loomis! It had to be Loomis!
And then the entire great mound of intermingled and interpenetrated humanoforms came simultaneously in a vast greenish white orgasm of various forcibly expelled secretions. The audience really lapped it up, but Crompton, revolted, was already on his way toward the exit, heading as quickly as possible for his hotel room and a game of
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