by Frank Herbert
_Though Frank Herbert started free-lancing less than two years
ago his writing career for the past fifteen years has been both
accomplished and varied. He has been copy or managing editor of the
Salem, Oregon, Statesman, Portland Journal, Tacoma Times, Seattle
Star and the Santa Rosa, California, Press-Democrat. His stories
have appeared in_ COLLIER’S _and_ ESQUIRE, _and a number of science
fiction magazines. There’s prophetic magic in this star-bright tale
of tomorrow._
=The Nothings stemmed from the future’s tragic lack of courage. But
one man and woman dared to shape a more audacious tomorrow.=
If it hadn’t been for the fight with my father I’d never have gone
down to the Tavern and then I wouldn’t have met the _Nothing_. This
_Nothing_ was really just an ordinary looking guy. He wasn’t worth
special attention unless, like me, you were pretending you were Marla
Graim, the feelies star, and him Sidney Harch meeting you in the bar to
give you a spy capsule.
It was all my father’s fault. Imagine him getting angry because I
wouldn’t take a job burning brush. What kind of work is that for an
eighteen-year-old girl anyway? I know my folks were hard pressed for
money but that was no excuse for the way he lit into me.
We had the fight over lunch but it was after six o’clock before I got
the chance to sneak out of the house. I went down to the Tavern because
I knew the old man would be madder than a tele in a lead barrel when
he found out. There was no way I could keep it from him, of course. He
pried me every time I came home.
The Tavern is a crossroads place where the talent gets together to
compare notes, and talk about jobs. I’d only been in there once before,
and that time with my father. He warned me not to go there alone
because a lot of the jags used the place. You could smell the stuff all
over the main room. There was pink smoke from a hyro bowl drifting up
around the rafters. Someone had a Venusian Oin filter going. There was
a lot of talent there for so early in the evening.
I found an empty corner of the bar and ordered a blue fire because I’d
seen Marla Graim ask for one in the feelies. The bartender stared at me
sharply and I suspected he was a tele, but he didn’t pry. After awhile
he floated my drink up to me and ’ported away my money. I sipped the
drink the way I’d seen Marla Graim do, but it was too sweet. I tried
not to let my face show anything.
The bar mirror gave me a good broad view of the room and I kept
looking into it as though I was expecting somebody. Then this big
blond young man came through the front door. I saw him in the mirror
and immediately knew he was going to take the seat beside me. I’m not
exactly a prescient, but sometimes those things are obvious.
He came across the room, moving with a gladiator ease between the
packed tables. That’s when I pretended I was Marla Graim waiting at a
Port Said bar to pick up a spy capsule from Sidney Harch like in the
feelie I’d seen Sunday. This fellow did look a little like Harch--curly
hair, dark blue eyes, face all sharp angles as if it had been chiseled
by a sculptor who’d left the job uncompleted.
He took the stool beside me as I’d known he would, and ordered a blue
fire, easy on the sugar. Naturally, I figured this was a get-acquainted
gambit and wondered what to say to him. Suddenly, it struck me as an
exciting idea to just ride along with the Marla Graim plot until it
came time to leave.
He couldn’t do anything to stop me even if he was a ’porter. You see,
I’m a pyro and that’s a good enough defense for anyone. I glanced down
at my circa-twenty skirt and shifted until the slit exposed my garter
the way I’d seen Marla Graim do it. This blond lad didn’t give it a
tumble. He finished his drink, and ordered another.
I whiffed him for one of the cokes, but he was dry. No jag. The other
stuff in the room was getting through to me, though, and I was feeling
dizzy. I knew I’d have to leave soon and I’d never get another chance
to be a Marla Graim type; so I said, “What’s yours?”
Oh, he knew I was talking to him all right, but he didn’t even look up.
It made me mad. A girl has some pride and there I’d unbent enough to
start the conversation! There was an ashtray piled with scraps of paper
in front of him. I concentrated on it and the paper suddenly flamed.
I’m a good pyro when I want to be. Some men have been kind enough to
say I could start a fire without the talent. But with a prying father
like mine how would I ever know?
The fire got this fellow’s attention. He knew I’d started it. He just
glanced at me once and turned away. “Leave me alone,” he said. “I’m a
_Nothing._”
* * * * *
I don’t know what it was. Maybe I have a little of the tele like that
doctor said once, but I knew he was telling the truth. It wasn’t one
of those gags like you see in the feelies. You know--where there are
two comedians and one says, “What’s yours?” And the other one answers,
“Nothing.”
Only all the time he’s levitating the other guy’s chair and juggling
half a dozen things behind his back, no hands. You know the gag. It’s
been run into the ground. Well, when he said that, it kind of set me
back. I’d never seen a real-life _Nothing_ before. Oh, I knew there
were some. In the government preserves and such, but I’d never been
like this--right next to one.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a pyro.”
He glanced at the ashes in the tray and said, “Yeah. I know.”
“There’s not much work for pyros any more,” I said. “It’s the only
talent I have.” I turned and looked at him. Handsome in spite of being
a _Nothing_. “What did you do?” I asked.
“I ran away,” he said. “I’m a fugitive from the Sonoma Preserve.”
That made my blood tingle. Not only a _Nothing_, but a fugitive, too.
Just like in the feelies. I said, “Do you want to hide out at my place?”
That brought him around. He looked me over and he actually blushed.
Actually! I’d never seen a man blush before. That fellow certainly was
loaded with firsts for me.
“People might get the wrong idea when I’m caught,” he said. “I’m sure
to be caught eventually. I always am.”
I was really getting a feeling for that woman-of-the-world part. “Why
not enjoy your freedom then?” I asked.
I let him see a little more through the circa-twenty slit. He actually
turned away! Imagine!
That’s when the police came. They didn’t make any fuss. I’d noticed
these two men standing just inside the door watching us. Only I’d
thought they were watching me. They came across the room and one of
them bent over this fellow.
“All right, Claude,” he said. “Come quietly.”
The other took my arm and said, “You’ll have to come, too, sister.”