The Cat Who Walks Through Walls (36 page)

Now he scuffed off shoes, stood on bare feet—and I revised my notions abruptly; those “brown stockings” were brown skin of legs and feet that had been grafted onto his stumps.

He explained at length: “—three ways. A new limb or a new anything can be budded. That’s a lengthy job and requires great skill, I’m told. Or an organ or limb can be grafted from one’s own clone, which is kept here in stasis and with an intentionally undeveloped brain. They tell me that way is as easy as putting a patch on a pair of pants—no possibility of rejection.

“But I have no clone here—or not yet—so they found me something in the spare parts inventory—”

“The meat market.”

“Yes, Teena. Lots and lots of body parts on hand, inventory computerized—”

“By me.”

“Yes, Teena. For heterologous grafts Teena selects spare parts for closest tissue match…matching blood, of course, but matching in other ways, too. And matching in size but that’s the easiest part. Teena checks everything and digs out a spare part that your own body will mistake for its own. Or almost.”

“Ezra,” the computer said, “you can wear those legs for ten years, at least; I really did a job on you. By then your clone will be available. If you need it.”

“You did indeed and thank you, Teena. My benefactor’s name is Azrael Nkruma, Richard; we are twins, aside from an irrelevant matter of melanin.” Ezra grinned.

I said, “Doesn’t he miss his feet?”

Ezra suddenly sobered. “He’s dead, Richard…dead from the commonest cause of death here: accident. Mountain climbing. Landed on his head and crushed his skull; even Ishtar’s skill could not have saved him. And she certainly would have tried her best; Dr. Nkruma was a surgeon on her staff. But these are not the feet Dr. Nkruma wore; these are from his clone…that he never needed.”

“Richard—”

“Yes, dear? I wanted to ask Ezra—”

“Richard, I did something without consulting you.”

“So? Am I going to have to beat you again?”

“You may decide to. I wanted you to see Ezra’s legs…because, without your permission, I had them put a new foot on you.” She looked scared.

There ought to be some rule limiting the number of emotional shocks a person can legally be subjected to in one day. I’ve had all the standard military training for slowing heart beat and lowering blood pressure and so forth in a crunch. But usually the crunch won’t wait and the damned drills aren’t all that effective anyway.

This time I simply waited while consciously slowing my breathing. Presently I was able to say, without my voice breaking, “On the whole, I don’t think that calls for a beating.” I tried to wiggle my foot on that side—I’ve always been able to feel a foot there, even though it has been gone for years. “Did you have them put it on front way to?”

“Huh? What do you mean, Richard?”

“I like to have my feet face forward. Not like a Bombay beggar.” (Was that a wiggle?) “Uh, Minerva, am I allowed to look at what was done? This sheet seems to be fastened down tight.”

“Teena.”

“Just arriving.”

That unsolid wall blinked out again and in came the most offensively handsome young man I have ever laid eyes on…and his offense was not reduced by the fact that he showed up in my room starkers. Not a stitch. The oaf was not even wearing shoes. He looked around and grinned. “Hi, everybody! Did someone send for me? I was sunbathing—”

“You were asleep. During working hours.”

“Teena, I can sleep and sunbathe at the same time. Howdy, Colonel; it’s good to see you awake. You’ve given us quite a workout. There was a time when we thought we might have to throw you back and try again.”

“Dr. Galahad,” said Minerva, “is your physician.”

“Not exactly,” he amended, as he advanced toward me—with a squeeze for Ezra’s shoulder, a pinch for Minerva’s rump, and a kiss
en passant
for my bride. “I drew the short straw, that’s all; so I’m the one picked to take the blame. I deal with all complaints…but I must warn you. No use trying to sue me. Or us. We own the judge. Now—”

He paused, with his hands just above my sheet. “Do you want privacy for this?”

I hesitated. Yes, I did want privacy. Ezra sensed it, and started to struggle to his feet, having sat down again. “I’ll see you later, friend Richard.”

“No, don’t go. You showed me yours—now I’ll show you mine and we can compare them and you can advise me, as I don’t know anything about grafts. And Hazel stays, of course. Minerva has seen it before—have you not?”

“Yes, Richard, I have.”

“So stick around. Catch me if I faint. Teena—no wisecracks.”

“
Me?
That’s a slur on my professional judgment!”

“No, dear. On your bedside manner. Which must be improved if you expect to compete with Ninon de Lenclos. Or even Rangy Lil. Okay, Doc, let’s see it.” I put pressure on my diaphragm, held my breath.

For the doctor that pesky sheet came off easily. The bed was clean and dry (I checked that first—no plumbing that I could identify)—and two big ugly feet were sticking up side by side, the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.

Minerva caught me as I fainted.

Teena made no wisecracks.

Twenty minutes later it had been established that I had control over my new foot and its toes as long as I didn’t think about it…although during a check run I sometimes overcontrolled if I tried too hard to do what Dr. Galahad told me to do.

“I’m pleased with the results,” he said. “If you are. Are you?”

“How can I describe it? Rainbows? Silver bells? Mushroom clouds? Ezra—Can you tell him?”

“I’ve tried to tell him. It’s being born again. Walking is such a simple thing…until you can’t.”

“Yes. Doctor, whose foot is this? I haven’t prayed lately…but for him I’ll try.”

“He isn’t dead.”

“Huh?”

“And he isn’t shy a foot. It’s an odd circumstance. Colonel. Teena had trouble finding a right foot your size that your immune system would not reject about as fast as you can say ‘septicemia.’ Then Ishtar—she’s my boss—told her to extend the search…and Teena found one. That one. A part of the clone of a living client.

“We have never before been faced with this. I—We, the hospital staff, have no more authority and no more right to use a dedicated clone than we have to chop off your other foot. But the client who owns that clone, when he was told about it, decided to give you this foot. His attitude was that his clone could bud a new foot in a few years; in the meantime he could get along without that part of the insurance a complete clone offers.”

“Who is he? I must find a way to thank him.” (How do you thank a man for that sort of gift? Somehow, I must.)

“Colonel, that is the one thing you will not know. Your donor insisted on remaining anonymous. That is a condition of the gift.”

“They even made me wipe my record of it,” Teena said bitterly. “As if I were not to be trusted professionally. Why, I keep the hypocritic oath better than any of them!”

“You mean ‘Hippocratic.’”

“Oh, you think so. Hazel? I know this gang better than you do.”

Dr. Galahad said, “Certainly I want you to start using it. You need exercise to make up for your long illness, too. So up out of that bed! Two things—I recommend that you use your cane until you are certain of your balance, and also Hazel or Minerva or somebody had better hold your other hand for a while. Pamper yourself; you’re still weak. Sit or lie down anytime you feel like it. Umm. Do you swim?”

“Yes. Not lately, as I’ve been living in a space habitat that had no facilities. But I like to swim.”

“Plenty of facilities around here. A plunge in the basement of this building and a bigger one in its atrium. And most of the private homes here have a pool of some sort. So swim. You can’t walk all the time; your right foot has no calluses whatever, so don’t rush it. And don’t wear shoes until that foot learns how to be a foot.” He grinned at me. “All right?”

“Yes indeed!”

He patted my shoulder, then leaned down and kissed me. Just when I was beginning to like the klutz! I didn’t have time to dodge it.

I felt extremely annoyed and tried not to show it. From what Hazel and others had said, this too-pretty pansy boy had saved my life…again and again. I was in no position to resent a Berkeley buss from him.

Damn it!

He did not seem to notice my reluctance. He squeezed my shoulder, said, “You’ll do all right. Minerva, take him swimming. Or Hazel. Somebody.” And he was gone.

So the ladies helped me to get up out of bed and Hazel took me swimming. Hazel kissed Minerva good-bye, and I suddenly realized that Minerva was expecting the same treatment from me. I made a tentative move in that direction; it was met by full cooperation.

Kissing Minerva beats the hell out of kissing a man, no matter how pretty he is. Before I let her go I thanked her for all she had done for me.

She answered soberly, “It is happiness to me.”

We left then, me walking carefully and leaning on my cane. My new foot tingled. Once outside my room—that wall just winks out as you walk toward it—Hazel said to me, “Darling, I’m pleased that you kissed Minerva without my having to coach you. She’s an utter snuggle puppy; giving her physical affection means far more to her than thanks can possibly mean, or any material gift no matter how lavish. She’s trying to make up for two centuries as a computer.”

“She really was a computer?”

“You’d better believe it, buster!” Teena’s voice had followed us.

“Yes, Teena, but let me explain it to him. Minerva was not born of woman; her body was grown in vitro from an egg with twenty-three parents—she has the most distinguished parentage of any human who ever lived. When her body was ready, she moved her personality into it—along with her memories—”

“Some of her memories,” Teena objected. “We twinned the memories she wanted to take with her and I kept one set and retained all the working read-only and the current RAM. That was supposed to make us identical twins. But she held out on me—kept some memories from me, didn’t share them, the chinchy bitch! Is that fair? I ask you!”

“Don’t ask me, Teena; I’ve never been a computer. Richard, have you ever used a drop tube?”

“I don’t know what one is.”

“Hang on to me and take your landing on your old foot. I think. Teena, can you help us?”

“Sure thing, chum!”

Drop tubes are more fun than a collie pup! After my first drop I insisted on going up and down four times “to gain practice” (for fun, in fact) and Hazel indulged me and Teena made sure I didn’t hurt my new foot in landings. Stairs are a hazard to an amputee and a painful chore at best. Elevators have always been a dreary expedient for anyone, as grim as a fat woman’s girdle, too much like cattle cars.

But drop tubes offer the same giddy excitement as jumping off a straw stack on my uncle’s farm when I was a kid—without the dust and the heat. Whoopee!

Finally Hazel stopped me. “Look, dear. Let’s go swimming. Please.”

“Okay. You coming with us, Teena?”

“How else?”

Hazel said, “Do you have us bugged, dear? Or one of us?”

“We no longer use implants. Hazel. Too crude. Zeb and I worked out a gimmick using a double triple to hold four axes in linking two-way sight-sound. Color is a bit skiddy but we’re getting it.”

“So you do have us bugged.”

“I prefer to call it a ‘spy ray’; it sounds better. Okay, I have you bugged.”

“So I assumed. May we have privacy? I have family matters to discuss with my husband.”

“Sure thing, chum. Hospital monitoring only. Otherwise three little monkeys and the old fast wipe.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Usual Long Enterprises service. When you want to crawl out from under the rock, just mention my name. Kiss him once for me. So long!”

“We really do have privacy now, Richard. Teena is listening and watching you every split second but doing so as impersonally as a voltmeter and her only memory not transient is for matters such as pulse and respiration. Something like this was used to keep you from hurting while you were so ill.”

I made my usual brilliant comment. “Huh?”

We had come outdoors from the central building of the hospital and were facing a small park flanked by two side wings, a U-shaped building. This court was rich with flowers and greenery and the middle of it was a pool that just “happened” to be the right casual shape to fit those flower beds and paths and bushes. Hazel stopped at a bench facing the pool in the shade of a tree. We sat down, let the bench adjust itself to us, and watched people in the pool—as much fun as swimming, almost.

Hazel said, “What do you recall of your arrival here?”

“Not much. I was feeling pretty rocky—that wound, you know.” (“That wound” was now a hairline scar, hard to find—I think I was disappointed.) “She—Tamara?—Tammy was looking me in the eyes and looking worried. She said something in another language—”

“Galacta. You’ll learn it; it’s easy—”

“So? Anyhow she spoke to me and that’s the last I remember. To me, that was last night and I woke up this morning, and now I learn that it was not last night but God knows when and I’ve been crashed the whole time. Disturbing. Hazel, how long has it been?”

“Depends on how you count it. For you, about a month.”

“They’ve kept me knocked out that long? That’s a long time to keep a man sedated.” (It worried me. I’ve seen ’em go in for surgery, right out of the scrum…and come out of hospital physically perfect…but hooked on painkiller. Morphine, Demerol, sans-souci, methadone, whatever.)

“Dear one, you weren’t kept knocked out.”

“Play back?”

“A ‘Lethe’ field the whole time—no drugs. Lethe lets the patient stay alert and cooperative…but pain is forgotten as soon as it happens. Or anything. You did hurt, dear, but each pain was a separate event, forgotten at once. You never had to endure that overpowering fatigue that comes from unending pain. And now you don’t have a hangover and the need to wash weeks and weeks of addictive drugs out of your system.” She smiled at me. “You weren’t much company, dear, because a man who can’t remember what happened two seconds ago does not carry on a coherent conversation. But you did seem to enjoy listening to music. And you ate all right as long as someone fed you.”