William Tenn - Child's Play

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2024-11-24 0 0 52KB 19 页 5.9玖币

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Child's Play

William Tenn

After the man from the express company had given the door an untipped slam, Sam Weber decided to

move the huge crate under the one light bulb in his room. It was all very well for the messenger to drawl,

"I dunno. We don't send 'em; we just deliver 'em, mister"—but there must be some sensible explanation.

With a grunt that began as an anticipatory reflex and ended on a note of surprised annoyance, Sam

shoved the box forward the few feet necessary. It was heavy enough; he wondered how the messenger

had carried it up the three flights of stairs.

He straightened and frowned down at the garish card which contained his name and address as well

as the legend—"Merry Christmas, 2353."

A joke? He didn't know anyone who'd think it funny to send a card dated over four hundred years

in the future. Unless one of the comedians in his law school graduat-ing class meant to record his opinion

as to when Weber would be trying his first case. Even so—

The letters were shaped strangely, come to think of it, sort of green streaks instead of lines. And the

card was a sheet of gold!

Sam decided he was really interested. He ripped the card aside, tore off the flimsy wrapping

material—and stopped.

There was no top to the box, no slit in its side, no handle anywhere in sight. It seemed to be a solid,

cubical mass of brown stuff. Yet he was positive something had rattled inside when it was moved.

He seized the corners and strained and grunted till it lifted. The underside was as smooth and

innocent of openings as the rest. He let it thump back to the floor.

"Ah, well," he said, philosophically, "it's not the gift; it's the principle involved."

Many of his gifts still required appreciative notes. He'd have to work up some-thing special for Aunt

Maggie. Her neckties were things of cubistic horror, but he hadn't even sent her a lone handkerchief this

Christmas. Every cent had gone into buying that brooch for Tina. Not quite a ring, but maybe she'd

consider that under the circumstances—

He turned to walk to his bed, which he had drafted into the additional service of desk and chair. He

kicked at the great box disconsolately. "Well, if you won't open, you won't open."

As if smarting under the kick, the box opened. A cut appeared on the upper sur-face, widened

rapidly and folded the top back and down on either side like a valise. Sam clapped his forehead and

addressed a rapid prayer to every god whose name he could think of. Then he remembered what he'd

said.

"Close," he suggested.

The box closed, once more as smooth as a baby's bottom.

"Open."

The box opened.

So much for the sideshow, Sam decided. He bent down and peered into the container.

The interior was a crazy mass of shelving on which rested vials filled with blue liquids, jars filled with

red solids, transparent tubes showing yellow and green and orange and mauve and other colors which

Sam's eyes didn't quite remember. There were seven pieces of intricate apparatus on the bottom which

looked as if tube-happy radio hams had assembled them. There was also a book.

Sam picked the book off the bottom and noted numbly that while all its pages were metallic, it was

lighter than any paper book he'd ever held.

He carried the book over to the bed and sat down. Then he took a long, deep breath and turned to

the first page. "Gug," he said, exhaling his long, deep breath.

In mad, green streaks of letters:

Bild-A-Man Set #3. This set is intended solely for the use of children between the ages of eleven and thirteen. The equipment,

much more advanced than Bild-A-Man Sets 1 and 2, will enable the child of this age-group to build and assemble complete adult

humans in perfect working order. The retarded child may also con-struct the babies and mannikins of the earlier kits. Two

disassembleators are pro-vided so that the set can be used again and again with profit. As with Sets 1 and 2, the aid of a Census

Keeper in all disassembling is advised. Refills and additional parts maybe acquired from The Bild-A-Man Company, 928 Diagonal

Level, Glunt City, Ohio. Remember—only with a Bild-A-Man can you build a man!

Weber squeezed his eyes shut. What was that gag in the movie he'd seen last night? Terrific gag.

Terrific picture, too. Nice technicolor. Wonder how much the director made a week? The cameraman?

Five hundred? A thousand?

He opened his eyes warily. The box was still a squat cube in the center of his room. The book was

still in his shaking hand. And the page read the same.

"Only with a Bild-A-Man can you build a man!" Heaven help a neurotic young lawyer at a time like

this!

There was a price list on the next page for "refills and additional parts." Things like one liter of

hemoglobin and three grams of assorted enzymes were offered for sale in terms of one slunk fifty and

three slunks forty-five. A note on the bottom advertised Set #4: "The thrill of building your first live

Martian!"

Fine print announced pat. pending 2348.

The third page was a table of contents. Sam gripped the edge of the mattress with one sweating

hand and read:

Chapter I—A child's garden of biochemistry.

Chapter II—Making simple living things indoors and out.

Chapter III—Mannikins and what makes them do the world's work.

Chapter IV—Babies and other small humans.

Chapter V—Twins for every purpose: twinning yourself and your friends.

Chapter VI—What you need to build a man.

Chapter VII—Completing the man.

Chapter VIII—Disassembling the man.

Chapter IX—New kinds of life for your leisure moments.

Sam dropped the book back into the box and ran for the mirror. His face was still the same,

somewhat like bleached chalk, but fundamentally the same. He hadn't twinned or grown himself a

mannikin or devised a new kind of life for his leisure moments. Everything was snug as a bug in a

bughouse.

Very carefully he pushed his eyes back into the proper position in their sockets.

"Dear Aunt Maggie," he began writing feverishly. "Your ties made the most beau-tiful gift of my

Christmas. My only regret is—"

My only regret is that I have but one life to give for my Christmas present. Who could have gone to

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William Tenn - Child's Play

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