The Road to Mars: A Post-Modem Novel (1999) (24 page)

Carlton found Lewis’s rod in the closet by the main exit. It was a fine Hawking & Pincher rod, made in the last century from molded titanium. He found a small but powerful electromagnetic battery pack to use as bait. It would look attractive to anything seeking power. He attached the battery pack to the end of the line, but there was a snag: why would the motherbug go for the bait and not for him? He would have to shut himself down and that was very risky. He opened the main hatch and carefully climbed out of the
Ray
, easing his way up the hand rails until he was above the entrance. It was freezing out here and the shock of the extreme cold of space hit him. He was built to withstand some extremes of temperature, but this absolute cold slowed him down. He could last out here two, maybe three hours at most before he’d freeze up.

He cast off the rod and allowed the battery pack to dangle tantalizingly in the entrance way. It had a blinking red light which ought to look tempting to anything hungry for power. He angled the line and let the battery lie flat on the floor with the big door wide open behind it. His idea was to lure the bug outside the craft, and then slam the door shut. But the motherbug was clever. It might still sense his energy, even though he was outside. He would have to gamble on shutting down his power circuits and hope the jerk on the line would tell him when he had a bite. And he would have to hope it happened before he froze up completely. It was a big gamble, but if it worked, he could power up the ship and get them all back inside before it was too late. He began to switch himself off.

Had anyone approached the
Ray
, they would have seen a very strange sight: a switched-off humanoid, above the main entrance, holding a fishing rod, dangling a tiny power pack before an open doorway.

“What do you know,” thought Carlton, “I’m fishing in space.”

I have a book, The Joy of Gravity-Free Sex; but I fell off the bed reading it.

—
Alex Muscroft

What do you think? Did they or didn’t they? Alex and Katy. Katy and Alex. In the dark, in the B cabin, strapped together, holding each other for warmth. What would you have done?

I must admit a slight nervousness here. I’m only a micropaleontologist and I’m aware of the dangers of translating the mysteries of sex into science. Not that there isn’t a certain amount of wild behavior amongst scientists. There certainly is, I can assure you, particularly at conferences, which provide the perfect opportunity for exchanges of more than purely scientific information. Copious quantities of genetic material are frequently exchanged, often under particularly lubricious circumstances. My Molly was apparently the hottest item at several conferences. She was, it seems, popular for more than her elegant paper on “The Mating Instincts of the Male Mole.” Apparently amongst those in the know, she was considered absolute proof of certain types of Darwinian behavior. It was on one of these so-called conferences, which I now see as some kind of Dionysian root fests, that she met Mike the Mathematician. I hear she has moved in with him now. My Molly. I suppose I must get used to calling her my ex-Molly. She always said the brain is the primary sexual organ, though in the case of the male it is drained of blood in order to fill a different vessel. In Alex’s case the vessel was close to bursting.

Carlton had already observed that the comedian has a large sex drive. Is it the touchy, needy, demanding child again? Alex had a gag that comedians give good foreplay because they have the funniest way of begging. But why should comedy be so sexually attractive to a potential mate? Carlton found it was absolutely true of the female, a staggering 75 percent of whom cite “a sense of humor” as one of the most important features they seek in a mate. Is that its point? Laughter lubricates? Carlton had already noticed that genetically unfavorable types prevail in comedy. Is this the revenge of the nerd? Their way of getting laid?

“Laughter as an Aphrodisiac,” that’s what he called his chapter. He even wondered whether
aphro
in aphrodisiac was something to do with mankind’s African origins. After all, if the ape originated there, then presumably so did humor. It’s an interesting subject, but
did they or didn’t they
, I hear you asking. Yes, yes, I can feel your interest, I can hear you demanding details, but, as I said, I am a scientist not a wordsmith. What words do I have for nibbling, licking, stroking, tonguing? What am I doing describing the shagging for you anyway? God knows I’ve tried with the dispassionate narrator thing, but there’s a me behind this too, you know. I have my feelings. Though Molly always denied it. How at this particular point in my life am I supposed to describe the overwhelming sensuality of two people attracted to each other? Don’t I just picture in my mind Molly and Mike the Mathematician getting it on? I mean, isn’t this unfair? I’m supposed to describe a moment of monumental lust between two young people consumed by excitement and I’m not supposed to feel—what?—anger, jealousy, resentment? All right, I know it’s not Molly. It’s Alex and Katy in each other’s arms. And yes, I’m aware of their situation, their peril, their feeling that this might be their last moments of life, but it’s not easy for me.

Anyway, to answer your question: Well yes, they did. Of course they did. And oh, the sweet delight they found in one another. Ah, the luscious drug of sex. The delectable delectation of that thrilling moment, that pure stimulating first glimpse of nudity. That wonderful feeling of surrender to the senses, the pheromones scenting the hidden tingling of the other body. The swell of passion, the fury of lovemaking with every inch of skin twitching and aching for stimulation. Oh, the joy of being welcomed, of sensing the excitement in the partner; ah, what bliss to be pulled in and wanted while every cell in your body is dancing with joy, dancing with the other; ah yes, yes, the sweet wonder and glory of it all.

I’m not making a very good job of it, I can tell. Let me try again. Her naked beauty shocked him. Literally took his breath away. He found her warm, welcoming, and ready. He had a boner beyond belief. His balls were blue, practically purple. They raced for each other, liking starving gourmets at a feast. Tasting, testing, sipping, nuzzling, reveling in the frenzy of their naked passion. Alex was wild with her beauty and the feel of her. She thrashed and rolled beneath him, thrusting hard at him with her hips; grabbing his head and pulling him towards her, she began wildly licking his face, which excited him beyond belief. The feel of the sweat on her glistening slender body drove him crazy; he tried to nuzzle on her and slipped between her thighs, where his tongue sought her. But she was impatient and pulled him up to her face.

“This is what I want,” she said, grabbing his dick and pulling him into her.

“Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.”

Is sex funny? Is being funny sexy? Check yes to both, but don’t ask me to explain why; I’m just a micropaleontologist with an interest in Carlton’s quest for the comedy gene. Does it exist? Is it like the G spot, the Holy Grail of the vagina, something that may be found and stimulated? How exactly does comedy pass from one generation to the next? How does gayness? How does bravery or cowardice or genius, for that matter? Is it neurological? Is it like a disease, a virus that is contagious, or is it transmitted through learned behavior? Or is it like sex, something that is natural, something inherent in the animal, to be instinctively called on when the right circumstances are present? Is Alex even now passing his comedy gene into Katy? A tiny little comic sperm complete with punch lines and timing and bad taste and bravery? The Red Nose comic is Priapus, says Carlton, the god of procreation, and personification of the erect phallus. He seeks the orgiastic release of his pent-up insecurities. Well, whether comedy genetic material passed or not, this particular Red Nose found his release.

They lay together wrapped around one another. Alex could feel her breathing. He thought she was napping. She surprised him.

“You asleep?”

“No.”

“How long have we been in here?”

“Not long enough.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Oh please.”

“I need to pee real bad.”

“It’s in the corner.”

He shone a tiny flashlight, ostensibly to help her find her way, but really so he could look at her. His body still sang with the feeling of her. She unclipped the loose restraining buckles and reached for a sheet. He pulled it off her. She smiled and shrugged and stretched languorously, naked and still warm, enjoying posing for him.

“Seen enough?”

“Oh no, no way.”

“I’ll be back. Give me a push,” she said.

As she floated naked towards the head, he followed her greedily with his eyes. She was exquisite from all angles. He felt a pang of lust as his torch lit up her smooth, firm, rounded buttocks, and then as she turned, he glimpsed the dark triangle of her pubic hair against the curve of her thigh. She smiled at him as she slipped inside the tiny toilet, and he lay back thinking of all the things he wanted to do when she came floating back to him. Ah the joy of zero-gravity sex. Like making love
inside
a water bed.

Lewis heard the head door open. Was he aware of what was going on? Did he hear the breathing, the muffled shouts, as he lay there?

Of course. But what could he do? Disapprove? Envy? Hate? All of the above.

Tay stirred.

“Daddy?”

“What is it, sweetie?”

“I’m hungry.”

Why hadn’t he thought to bring a chocolate bar or something for her?

“Won’t be long now. Carlton will be fixing us something good to eat soon.”

“I miss Mommy.”

“I know, sweetie. Of course you do. But she’s okay. We’ll get you back to her.”

“And then will you go away again?”

“We’ll see,” he said, “when we get out of here.”

“Why, is that bug going to kill us?”

“No way. Carlton’s going to find it and get rid of it.”

“Did I do bad, Daddy?”

She felt guilt?

“Of course not, Tay. You did good. You told us about it. We just didn’t listen.”

“Can I go and see Katy?”

“Not right now honey. We have to stay strapped in. Go back to sleep.”

The only honest art form is laughter, comedy. You can’t fake it…try to fake three laughs in an hour—ha ha ha ha ha—they’ll take you away, man. You can’t.

—
Lenny Bruce

“Lewis.”

“Yes, Alex.”

“We know where light comes from, but where does darkness come from?”

It was one of their old routines on the Joke Box.

“I don’t know, Alex.”

“You know the speed of light?”

“Yes.”

“Well I know the speed
of night
.”

“What?”

“I know the
speed
of darkness.”

Lewis would raise his eyes and look at the audience. Inviting them, like him, to be baffled by the stupidity of this simple child.

“Really?”

“Yes. It is the same as the speed of light.”

“Really? And how do you know that?”

“Well, you know if you turn off the light in the bathroom.”

“Yes.”

“Then when light stops rushing out of the lightbulb at 186,000 miles a second…”

“Yes?”

“…darkness comes rushing in at
exactly the same speed
.”

Alex beamed in triumph.

“If it came any faster, then it would get dark
before
you turned the light off. Which would be tremendously inconvenient every time you went to the bathroom. You’d be about to put the light off and it would go all black as darkness came in rushing in faster than light and you’d keep bumping into the wall looking for the switch.”

“Well, that is fascinating, thank you for sharing that…”

“I know the
sound
of light.”

“The what?”

“The sound of light.”

“The sound of light?”

“Yes, it’s a little like a very high-pitched fart.”

Alex made a thin noise with his lips.

“Phhhht. Like that.”

“That’s the sound of light?”

“Yes. Phhht. Only you can’t hear it, because it’s moving away from you so very fast.”

“Fascinating.”

“If you could take a pair of ears and accelerate them to 186,000 miles a second, then that’s all you’d hear. Phhhht. But obviously you can’t, so you don’t hear anything.”

“Well, thank you very much for sharing all this…”

“I know the taste of light too.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it tastes like pussy.”

At this point Lewis would chase Alex off stage.

“Uhm, tastes like light,” said Alex.

“What?” asked Katy. Not following him. Context is everything. She had stopped giggling and become quite serious.

“What are you doing down there?”

“Talking with my mouth full.” He licked her gently.

“Oh, Alex,” she said. “Come up here. I miss you. I need to feel you inside me.”

She pulled him on top of her, and as he thrust wildly into her, she felt that she would never stop coming. How did he know when to hold, when to move? He responded to her desires so completely. She let the wave take her away, thrusting her head to one side and biting her lip.

After a long while they both lay still.

They must have slept because when he awoke he heard a slight sob in the darkness.

“Hey, you’re crying. Why?”

He tasted a hot salt tear on her cheek.

“What is it?”

“Oh, Alex, hold me.”

She was shaking.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“I just had the weirdest dream.”

“What?”

“I dreamed my father was still alive.”

Comus was staring at the wall. Tears ran down his face. He seemed lost in his own world. An old man, tired and infinitely sad. They were watching him, concerned. Pavel had tried everything—food, drink, cigarettes, alcohol—but no response. Josef gazed at him without expression. Pavel broke the silence. “He’s been like this for three hours.”

“Some kind of crack-up?”

“I guess so. He seems to have just given up.” Josef looked at the old man and then asked Pavel evenly, “Is he going to make it safely to the ship, do you think?”