Big Book of Science Fiction (7 page)

“Will it wash clothes?” Iris was
glum.

“That’s exactly what I mean!
Light, portable, and more power than it has any right to have—of
course
it’ll wash clothes. And drive generators, and cars, and . . . Iris, what do you
do
when you have something as big as this?”

“Call a newspaper, I guess.”

“And have a hundred thousand
people peeking and prying all over the place, and Congressional investigations,
and what all? Uh . . .
uh!”

“Why not ask Harry Zinsser?”

“Harry? I thought you didn’t like
him.”

“I never said that. It’s just
that you and he go off in the corner and chatter about multitude amputation and
debilities of reactance and things like that, and I have to sit, knit— and spit
when I want someone’s attention. Harry’s all right.”

“Gosh, honey, you’ve got it!
Harry’ll know what to do. I’ll go right away.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind!
With that hole in the roof? I thought you said you could have it patched up for
the night at least. By the time you get back here it’ll be dark.”

The prospect of sawing out the
ragged hole in the roof was suddenly the least appealing thing in the world.
But there was logic and an “or else” tone to what she said. He sighed and went
off, mumbling something about the greatest single advance in history awaiting
the whim of a woman. He forgot he was wearing Mewhu’s armpit altitudinizer, and
only his first two paces were on the ground. Iris hooted with laughter at his
clumsy walking on air. When he reached the ground, he set his jaw and leaped
lightly up to the roof. “Catch me now, you and your piano legs,” he taunted
cheerfully, ducked the lancelike clothes prop she hurled at him, and went back
to work.

As he sawed, he was conscious of
a hubbub down below.

“Dah—dee! Mr-r-roo ellue—”

He sighed and put down the saw. “What
is it?”

“Mewhu wants his flyin’ belt!”

Jack looked at the roof, at the
lower shed, and decided that his old bones could stand it if he had to get down
without a ladder. He took the jet-tipped rod and dropped it. It stayed
perfectly horizontal, falling no slower and no faster than it had when he had
ridden it down. Mewhu caught it, deftly slipped his splinted arm through it—it
was astonishing how careful he was of the arm, and yet how little it
inconvenienced him—then the other arm, and sprang up to join Jack on the roof.

“What do you say, fella?”

“Woopen yew weep.”

“I know how you feel.” He knew
that the silver man wanted to tell him something, but couldn’t help him out. He
grinned and picked up the saw. Mewhu took it out of his hand and tossed it off
the roof, being careful to miss Molly, w ho was dancing back to get a point of
vantage.

“What’s the big idea?”

“Dellihew hidden,” said Mewhu. “Pento
deh numinew heh.” And he pointed at the flyin’ belt and at the hole in the
roof.

“You mean I’d rather fly off in
that thing than work? Brother, you got it. But I’m afraid I have to—”

Mewhu circled his arm, pointing
all around the hole in the roof, and pointed again to the pogo-chute,
indicating one of the jet motors.

“I don’t get it,” said Jack.

Mewhu apparently understood, and
an expression of amazement crossed his mobile face. Kneeling, he placed his
good hand around one of the little jet motors, pressed two tiny studs, and the
casing popped open. Inside was a compact, sealed, and simple-looking device,
the core of the motor itself, apparently. There seemed to be no other fastening.
Mewhu lifted it out and handed it to Jack. It was about the size and shape of
an electric razor. There was a button on the side. Mewhu pointed at it, pressed
the back; and then moved Jack’s hand so that the device was pointed away from
them both. Jack, expecting anything, from nothing at all to the “blinding bolt
of searing, raw energy” so dear to the science-fiction world, pressed the
button.

The gadget hissed, and snuggled
back into his palm in an easy recoil.

“That’s fine,” said Jack, “but what
do I do with it?”

Mewhu pointed at Jack’s saw cut,
then at the device.

“Oh,” said Jack. He bent close,
aimed the thing at the end of the saw cut, and pressed the button. Again the
hiss, and the slight, steady recoil; and a fine line appeared in the wood. It
was a cut about half as thick as the saw cut, clean and even and, as long as he
kept his hand steady, very straight. A fine cloud of pulverized wood rose out
of the hole in the roof, carried on a swirl of air.

Jack experimented, holding the
jet close to the wood and away from it. He found that it cut finer the closer
he go to it. As he drew it away from the wood, the slot got wider and the
device cut slower until at about eighteen inches it would not cut at all.
Delighted, Jack quickly cut and trimmed the hole. Mewhu watched, grinning. Jack
grinned back, knowing how he would feel if he introduced a saw to some
primitive who was trying to work wood with a machete.

When he was finished, he handed
the jet back to the silver man, and slapped his shoulder. “Thanks a million,
Mewhu.”

“Jeek,” said Mewhu, and reached
for Jack’s neck. One of his thumbs lay on Jack’s collarbone, the other on his
back, over the scapula. Mewhu squeezed twice, firmly.

“That the way you shake hands
back home?” smiled Jack. He thought it likely. Any civilized race was likely to
have a manual greeting. The handshake evolved from a raised palm, indicating
that the saluter was unarmed. It was quite possible that this was an extension,
in a slightly different direction, of the same sign. It would indeed be an
indication of friendliness to have two individuals present their throats, each
to the other.

Mewhu, with three deft motions,
slipped the tiny jet back into its casing, and holding the rod with one hand,
stepped off the roof, letting himself be lowered in that amazing thistledown
fashion to the ground. Once there, he tossed the rod back. Jack was started to
see it hurtle upward like any earthly object. He grabbed it and missed. It
reached the top of its arc, and as soon as it started down again the jets cut
in, and it sank easily to him. He put it on and floated down to join Mewhu.

The silver man followed him to
the garage, where he kept a few pieces of milled lumber. He selected some
one-inch pine boards and dragged them out, to measure them and mark them off to
the size he wanted to knock together a simple trapdoor covering for the useless
stair well; a process which Mewhu watched with great interest.

Jack took up the flying belt and
tried to open the streamlined shell to remove the cutter. It absolutely defied
him. He pressed, twisted, wrenched, and pulled. All it did was to hiss gently
when he moved it toward the floor.

“Eek, Jeek,” said Mewhu. He took
the jet from Jack, pressed it. Jack watched closely. Then he grinned and took
the cutter.

He swiftly cut the lumber up with
it, sneering gayly at the ripsaw which hung on the wall. Then he put the whole
trap together with a Z-brace, trimmed off the few rough corners, and stood back
to admire it. He realized instantly that it was too heavy to carry by himself,
let alone lift to the roof. If Mewhu had two good hands, now, or if— He
scratched his head.

“Carry it on the flyin’ belt,
Daddy.”

“Molly! What made you think of
that?”

“Mewhu tol’ ... I mean, I sort
of—”

“Let’s get this straight once and
for all. How does Mewhu talk to you?”

“I dunno, Daddy. It’s sort of
like I remembered something he said, but not the . . . the words he said. I jus’
. . . jus’—” she faltered, and then said vehemently, “I don’t
know,
Daddy. Truly I don’t!”

“What’d he say this time?”

She looked at Mewhu. Again Jack
noticed the peculiar swelling of Mewhu’s silver mustache. She said, “Put the
door you jus’ made on the flyin’ belt and lift it. The flyin’ belt’ll make it
fall slow, and you can push it along while…it’s…fallin’.”

Jack looked at the door, at the
jet device, and got the idea. When he had slipped the jet-rod under the door,
Mewhu gave him a lift. Up it came; and then Mewhu, steadying it, towed it well
outside the garage before it finally sank to the ground. Another lift, another
easy tow, and they covered thirty more feet. In this manner they covered the
distance to the house, with Molly skipping and laughing behind, pleading for a
ride and handing the grinning Mewhu a terrific brag.

At the house, Jack said, “Well,
Einstein Junior, how do we get it up on the roof?”

Mewhu picked up Molly’s yo-yo and
began to operate it deftly. Doing so he walked around the corner of the house.

“Hey!”