Free Alien Accounts by John Sladek Page A

‘Quarks’.
    ‘“Quarks” are mathematical entities proposed to explain certain behaviour in subatomic particles. “Quasars” are quasi-stellar radio sources which have often puzzled astronomers.’ Clem tore Frank’s picture into thirty-two pieces. Why can’t the others share time, the whatyoucallems,the computer makers, the peoples? On a radio small as a pocket watch, Clem heard the news.
    They had invented a polymer of water which, if uncontrolled, could turn all the water of the world into plastic.
    Dot and Frank are in bed when Al
    No, Dot is at home. Al dies of heart failure in his office, slumping across the digital calendar. ‘A black and white picture!’ muttered Clem, as his heart begins to beat. ‘What do they take me for?’ Dot and Ernest are in the vibrating bed. Clem hears of a plan to widen the Panama Canal with atomic blasts. Dot and Ernest are vibrating when Al walks in with the electric carving knife in his hand. This carving knife could run as now on batteries. Alternatively, it could use house power, ultimately derived from a distant atomic pile.

S CENES FROM THE C OUNTRY OF THE B LIND
     
    Outside the window of the Faculty Lounge, between the great slabs of blind concrete that house University departments, there is a small square of empty green lawn. On the architect’s immaculate drawings, this is called ‘the Quad’, but no one here has ever called it anything, or made any use of it, either. Once ‘Corky’ Corcoran – but that comes later.
    I was looking out of this window while Beddoes talked on andon. Out and down, from my privileged perspective, I could see the architect’s intention, an arrangement of little trees. I thought of
that
limerick, naturally, but it didn’t seem appropriate: It wasn’t the Quad, I wasn’t God, and all the little trees looked dead. Anyway, Beddoes was sure to quote it himself, sooner or later.
    No, I thought – I suppose what I thought was: How stupid to plant those trees down there, where they can’t get any light. Even birds are afraid to descend to them, in the shadow of the Philosophy Department, or the Psychology Department, or whatever it is. I’d been here two years, and still couldn’t find my way about …
    The rat’s pink nose turned the final corner, came up against a food pellet and stopped. Dr Smith took a reading from the electric timer.
    ‘Eight point two nine seconds,’ he announced. ‘Check this, will you, Latham?’
    I read the figures and entered them on my clipboard. ‘It’s very good,’ I said. ‘Better than we’d hoped.’
    ‘Yes, even Beddoes will have trouble explaining this away. Though no doubt he’ll try. All yours, Gorky.’
    Corcoran leaned over the maze, politely waiting for the rat to finish devouring its prize. Then he picked it up and stroked its belly with his thumbs. He crooned over it. ‘Clever lad. Clever little lad. Wait till Beddoes hears about you, eh?’The animal clung to his red beard.
    Smith grinned. ‘That’s exactly why I insisted we take every possible precaution against mistakes. We must have strict records, with everything trebly-checked. Because, if
we
find it hard to believe, how do you suppose it’ll hit the rigid behaviouristic mind of Dr Beddoes?’
    Taking the hint, Corcoran turned the rat over and read out its identification number. Smith and I both looked to be sure, then wrote it down, while he returned the animal to the bank of cages across the room.
    ‘Don’t forget Ariadne,’ said Smith.
    I opened the black cage suspended above the maze and took her out: the large female rat who acted as our experimental ‘transmitter’. Though by now we all knew Ariadne by sight, we now read and recorded her number.
    The entire fussy operation bored me. It was meant to be a test for ESP in animals. Dr Smith had planned it, Corcoran had designed the equipment, so of course they had reason to be excited: It was going well. Since our Paranormal Experience Research Group was, as always,