The Gravity Business by James E. Gunn (recommended ebook reader TXT) 📕

be helpful," Four replied without hesitation, "and he's lonely. After all," he added wistfully, "he's never had any friends."

"How do you know all these things?" Joyce asked from her doorway, excitement in her voice. "Can you talk to it?"

Behind her, Fred said, "Now, Joyce, you promised—"

"But this is important," Joyce cut him off eagerly. "Can you? Talk to it, I mean?"

"Some," Four admitted.

"Have you asked it to let us go?"

"Yes."

"Well? What did it say?"

"He said he didn't want his friend to leave him."

At the word, Fweep rolled swiftly across the floor and bounced into Four's lap. It nestled against him lovingly and opened raspberry lips. "Fwiend," it said.

"Well, now," Grampa said maliciously, his eye on Joyce, "that's no problem. We can just leave Four here with Fweep."

In a voice filled with sanctimonious concern, Joyce said, "That's quite a sacrifice to ask, but—"

"Joyce!" Reba cried, horrified. "Grampa was joking, but you actually mean it. Four is only a baby and yet you'd let him—"

"Never mind, Reba," Four said evenly. "It was just what I was going to suggest myself. It's the one really logical solution."

"Fwiend," said Fweep gently.

The land of the Fweep turned like a fat old man toasting himself in front of an open fire, and Junior sat at the computer's keyboard swearing in a steady monotone.

"Junior!" said Joyce, shocked.

Junior swung around impatiently. "Sorry, Mother, but this damned thing won't work."

"I'm sure that calling it names won't help, and besides, you shouldn't expect a machine to do something that we can't do. And if it did work, it would only say that the logical answer is the one I sug—"

"Mother!" Junior warned. "We decided not to talk about it any more. Four is strange enough without encouraging him to think like a martyr. It's out of the question. If that's the only way we can leave this planet, we'll stay here until Four has a beard as white as Grampa's!"

"Well!" Joyce said in a stiff, offended tone and sat back in her chair.

Grampa lowered the nippled bottle from his lips and chortled. "Junior, I apologize for all the mean things I ever said about you. Maybe you got the makings of a Peppergrass yet."

Junior turned back to the keyboard and studied it, his chin in his hand. "It's just a matter of stating the problem in terms the computer can work on."

"I take it all back," said Grampa. "That computer won't help you with this problem, Junior. This ain't a long, complicated calculation; it's a simple problem in logic. It's a pircuit problem, like the one about the cannibals and the missionaries. We can't leave Fweepland because Fweep won't let our polarizer work. He won't let our polarizer work because he doesn't like gravity that's polarized in a straight line, and he don't want Four to leave him.

"Now Fweep ain't the brightest creature in the Universe, so he can't understand why we're so gosh-fired eager to leave. And as long as he's got Four, he's happy. Why should he make himself unhappy? As a favor to Four, he'd let us leave—if we'd leave Four here with him, which we ain't gonna do.

"That's the problem. All we got to do is figure out the answer. No use making a pircuit, because a puzzle circuit is just a miniature computer with the solution built in; if you can build the pircuit, you've already solved the problem. And if you can state the problem to Abacus, you've already got the answer. All you want from it then is decimal points."

"That may be," Junior said stubbornly, "but I still want to know why this computer won't work. It won't even do simple arithmetic! Where's Four? He's the only one who understands this thing."

"He's outside, playing in the meadow with Fweep," Reba said, her voice soft. "No, here they come now."

Through the airlock came Four, carrying Fweep on his shoulder like a raspberry cat without head or tail. Four's thin face glowed with exertion and glistened with sweat. Already the orange sun had begun to paint his skin tan.

"We've been playing dodge ball," Four panted. "Fweep was the ball and I had to dodge him."

"There's something wrong with this computer," Junior complained. "Take a look at it."

"Sure, Daddy," Four said promptly, and he took his father's place at the keyboard. After a few moments, he began to frown, then detached a front panel. He started sorting through the maze of wires and electronic components.

Grampa watched him with a wary eye.

Joyce was unable to restrain herself any longer. "The way you people talk, a person would think we were never going to leave this godforsaken, miserable, uncivilized planet."

"That seems to be the general idea," Grampa chuckled, enjoying her dismay.

"Unless we can build a reaction rocket ship to push us out of Fweep's range," Fred said glumly.

"We've got the iron ore!" Junior put in eagerly.

Grampa snorted. "Come on, use your brains. You'd have to build a ship; these flivvers weren't built for the stresses of reaction flight. By the time you've solved all the problems of motors and alloys and rocket-tube linings, fuel, ship construction, personnel protection, and all the rest of it, this planet would be another Detroit and your great-great-great-grandchildren would be living in it. You couldn't build a blast furnace even if you had the complete Congressional microfilm library! You'd do better trying to figure out how Fweep does what he does and doing some practicing on that."

"Well," Junior said peevishly, "trying to get away is better than sitting here talking about it."

Reba stared thoughtfully at Junior and said, "Maybe Fweep would go with us."

"Yes!" Joyce said excitedly. "Maybe the dear little thing would go with us. That would solve everything!"

Without looking around, Four said, "I asked him already. Fweep's afraid to come along."

"I'm sure we would be very good to him," Joyce said swiftly. "I've always liked pets. Why, I once had a goldfish of my very own!"

"Which you let die," Fred said dryly, "because you forgot to feed it."

"Oh, he's not afraid of people," Four told them. "He's afraid of space and unpolarized gravity and things like that. He's lived here all his life—that's a long time—and it makes him feel awful funny just to think about leaving. He says he can still remember the way our linear gravitation felt inside when we landed."

"Well," Joyce said firmly, "he'll just have to fight it, that's all. If a person let that kind of neurotic impulse rule his life, he'd be completely demoralized in no time."

Four glanced over his shoulder at Joyce, as if to see if she were joking. Shaking his head, he returned to the computer's innards. A moment later, he swung around and stared accusingly at Grampa. "You've cannibalized Abacus!"

"Well, now," Grampa protested, licking his lips nervously. "You see, I—"

"That's where you got the parts for the pircuits!" Four said with merciless logic.

Joyce stood up virtuously and shook her finger at Grampa. "First you entice us out here in this nasty old flivver; then you get us stuck; and now you've ruined the computer for your nasty old games!"

"Well, now," Grampa blustered, "the goldarn thing wouldn't work, would it? We didn't need it—not with Four around. He figures everything out in his head and we just used Abacus to sort of check him. Ain't that right now?"

Five pairs of eyes stared at him in silence.

"Well, now," Grampa said defensively, "I got it all worked out anyhow. We can leave here any time we get ready."

The land of the Fweep turned and grew small in the view screen, and Junior sat in the pilot's chair, his hand on the control stick, his eyes fixed on the moving dials in front of him.

There were three others in the room: Reba, who looked at the dwindling Fweepland and sighed; Joyce, who sat tautly in her chair, her face fixed and unbelieving; and Fred, who looked at Joyce and shook his head.

Grampa opened the door to his room and stepped cockily into the central cabin, shutting the door behind him. "Well?" he demanded confidently. "Are we heading for Earth?"

Junior gestured toward the screen. "If Four's coordinates are right."

"Speaking of coordinates," Grampa said briskly, "make sure we got the coordinates of Fweepland. It'll take a long time for that atmosphere to dissipate. A nice little world like that is worth its weight in uranium to a good real estate salesman."

"How did you do it?" Joyce challenged.

Grampa slapped her familiarly on the shoulder. "A problem of gravity," he said gayly, "but a simple one. Nothing for an old pircuit man like me. I guess you folks won't laugh at Grampa and his pircuits any more. Not only did Grampa get you out of Fweepland, but he's taking you back with a valuable little subdivision in the third quadrant to file on."

"I hate to spoil the party," Fred said, "but have you thought about what you're going to do with Fweep?"

"Fweep?" Grampa repeated, puzzled. "Why should I do anything with Fweep?"

"We can't take him back to Earth with us."

"Why not?" Grampa demanded.

"In the first place, the Immigration Authority would have to pass on him. That might take years, with Fweep's powers and abilities. More important, if Fweep got loose on Earth, every flivver would have the same problem there that we had here. And next time Fweep might not be so cooperative. I don't know what you did to Fweep in there, but if he's still alive, the I.A. isn't going to take a chance."

Grampa considered the prospect without dismay. "I wonder if we could smuggle him in. With all those flivvers not working, they'd have to pay us before they could take off."

"Grampa!" Fred said sternly. "That would be blackmail—or worse. Besides getting in trouble with the I.A., you'd get it from the W.B.I. and the I.C.C."

Grampa waved his hand impatiently. "We'll solve that problem when we come to it. After all, an old pircuit man like me—"

"What did you do to Fweep?" Joyce repeated insistently.

Grampa cleared his throat with pride. "Well, now, I'll tell you. I just happened to notice that Fweep liked my tonic. Every time I took a little nip, the little beast was around my chair, trying to clean my hand for me."

"Tonic!" Joyce sniffed. "Liquor, you mean!"

"Now that's not right," Grampa objected. "I said tonic and I mean tonic. Got a little alcohol in it for a preservative, maybe, but the important part is the minerals. That's the Longevity Institute's secret. It's what keeps me young. Want a little nip?" He leered at Joyce.

"You mean you got Fweep drunk?" Fred exclaimed.

"Well, now, that was the effect, but I can't swear it was the alcohol. Not unless Fweep can use the stuff on the molecular level if he wants. On the other hand, maybe it was the minerals in there that affected him. Little world like Fweepland, maybe it lacked a few things when it was made. But the way I looked at it, it stood to reason the little fellow could use a drink. Alone all these centuries, he must've got pretty dry. But whatever it was, he sure got high. Lost all control."

"Poor Fweep," Reba murmured.

"Poor nothing," Grampa said. "He was the happiest little critter I ever saw. When Four explained to him just what we wanted, he went right to work on that bottle and—"

Gramp's door swung open once more. "Grampa! Grampa!" Four shouted. "Fweep! He—I mean—well, we've been calling him by the wrong pronoun. Look!"

Four came running out of the room. Behind him rolled a tiny raspberry sphere about the size of a marble. Occasionally it hopped in the air and said, "Fweep?" in a small, high voice.