inspiration, slid open the glass doors to the deck.
Caught in a draft of air, the jelly released Revel, floated out through the doors, and sailed off over Tug’s redwood deck. Tug watched the dog-sized jelly ascending serenely over the neighbors’ yard. Engrossed in beer and tofu, the neighbors failed to notice it.
Toatoa the parrot swooped off the roof of the Samoans’ house and rose to circle the great flying sea nettle. The iridescent green parrot hung in a moment of timeless beauty near the translucent jelly, and then was caught by one of the lashing oral arms. There was a frenzy of green motion inside the Urschleim sea nettle’s bell, and then the parrot had clawed and beaked its way free. The nettle lost a little altitude, but then sealed up its punctures and began again to rise. Soon it was a distant, glinting dot in the blue California sky. The moist Toatoa cawed angrily from her roof-top perch, flapping her wings to dry.
“Wow!” said Tug. “I’d like to see that again—on digital video!” He smacked his forehead with the flat of hishand. “But now we’ve got none left for testing! Except—wait!—that little bit in the vial.” He yanked the vial from his pocket and looked at it speculatively. “I could put a tiny Monterey bell jelly in here, and then put in some nanophones to pick up the phonon jitter. Yeah. If I could get even a rough map of the Urschleim’s basins of chaotic attraction—”
Revel yawned loudly and stretched his arms. “Sounds fascinatin’, Doc. Take me on down to my motel, would you? I’ll call Ditheree and get some more Urschleim delivered to your house by, oh, 6 A.M . tomorrow. And by day after tomorrow I can get you a lot more. A whole lot more.”
Tug had rented Revel a room in the Los Perros Inn, a run-down stucco motel where, Tug told Revel as he dropped him off, Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe had once spent a honeymoon night.
Fearing that Tug harbored a budding romantic notion of a honeymoon night for himself, Revel frowned and muttered, “Now I know why they call this the Granola State: nuts, flakes, and fruits.”
“Relax,” said Tug. “I know you’re not gay. And you’re not my type anyway. You’re way too young. What I want is a manly older guy who’ll cherish me and take care of me. I want to snuggle against his shoulder and feel his strong arms around me in the still of the night.” Perhaps the Etna Ale had gone to Tug’s head. Or maybe the Urschleim had affected him. In any case, he didn’t seem at all embarrassed to be making these revelations.
“See you tomorrow, old son,” said Revel, closing his door.
Revel got on the phone and called the home of Hoss Jenkins, the old forehand of the Ditheree field.
“Hoss, this is Revel Pullen. Can you messenger me out another pressure tank of that goo?”
“That goo, Revel, that goo! There’s been big-ass balloons of it floatin’ out of the well. You never should of thrown those gene-splice bacteria down there.”
“I told you before, Hoss, it ain’t bacteria we’re dealing with, it’s primeval slime!”
“Ain’t many of us here that agree, Revel. What if it’s some kind of plague on the oil wells? What if it spreads?”
“Let’s stick to the point, Hoss. Has anybody noticed the balloons?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, just keep folks off our property. And tell the boys not to be shy of firing warning shots—we’re on unincorporated land.”
“I don’t know how long this can stay secret.”
“Hoss, we need time to try and find a way to make a buck off this. If I can get the right spin on the Urschleim, folks’ll be
glad
to see it coming out of Ditheree. Just between you and me, I’m out here with the likeliest old boy to figure out what to do. Not that he’s much of a
regular fella
, but that’s neither here nor there. Name of Tug Mesoglea. I think we’re on to something big. Send that tank of goo out to Mesoglea’s address, pronto. Here it is. Yeah, and here’s his number,
Caught in a draft of air, the jelly released Revel, floated out through the doors, and sailed off over Tug’s redwood deck. Tug watched the dog-sized jelly ascending serenely over the neighbors’ yard. Engrossed in beer and tofu, the neighbors failed to notice it.
Toatoa the parrot swooped off the roof of the Samoans’ house and rose to circle the great flying sea nettle. The iridescent green parrot hung in a moment of timeless beauty near the translucent jelly, and then was caught by one of the lashing oral arms. There was a frenzy of green motion inside the Urschleim sea nettle’s bell, and then the parrot had clawed and beaked its way free. The nettle lost a little altitude, but then sealed up its punctures and began again to rise. Soon it was a distant, glinting dot in the blue California sky. The moist Toatoa cawed angrily from her roof-top perch, flapping her wings to dry.
“Wow!” said Tug. “I’d like to see that again—on digital video!” He smacked his forehead with the flat of hishand. “But now we’ve got none left for testing! Except—wait!—that little bit in the vial.” He yanked the vial from his pocket and looked at it speculatively. “I could put a tiny Monterey bell jelly in here, and then put in some nanophones to pick up the phonon jitter. Yeah. If I could get even a rough map of the Urschleim’s basins of chaotic attraction—”
Revel yawned loudly and stretched his arms. “Sounds fascinatin’, Doc. Take me on down to my motel, would you? I’ll call Ditheree and get some more Urschleim delivered to your house by, oh, 6 A.M . tomorrow. And by day after tomorrow I can get you a lot more. A whole lot more.”
Tug had rented Revel a room in the Los Perros Inn, a run-down stucco motel where, Tug told Revel as he dropped him off, Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe had once spent a honeymoon night.
Fearing that Tug harbored a budding romantic notion of a honeymoon night for himself, Revel frowned and muttered, “Now I know why they call this the Granola State: nuts, flakes, and fruits.”
“Relax,” said Tug. “I know you’re not gay. And you’re not my type anyway. You’re way too young. What I want is a manly older guy who’ll cherish me and take care of me. I want to snuggle against his shoulder and feel his strong arms around me in the still of the night.” Perhaps the Etna Ale had gone to Tug’s head. Or maybe the Urschleim had affected him. In any case, he didn’t seem at all embarrassed to be making these revelations.
“See you tomorrow, old son,” said Revel, closing his door.
Revel got on the phone and called the home of Hoss Jenkins, the old forehand of the Ditheree field.
“Hoss, this is Revel Pullen. Can you messenger me out another pressure tank of that goo?”
“That goo, Revel, that goo! There’s been big-ass balloons of it floatin’ out of the well. You never should of thrown those gene-splice bacteria down there.”
“I told you before, Hoss, it ain’t bacteria we’re dealing with, it’s primeval slime!”
“Ain’t many of us here that agree, Revel. What if it’s some kind of plague on the oil wells? What if it spreads?”
“Let’s stick to the point, Hoss. Has anybody noticed the balloons?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, just keep folks off our property. And tell the boys not to be shy of firing warning shots—we’re on unincorporated land.”
“I don’t know how long this can stay secret.”
“Hoss, we need time to try and find a way to make a buck off this. If I can get the right spin on the Urschleim, folks’ll be
glad
to see it coming out of Ditheree. Just between you and me, I’m out here with the likeliest old boy to figure out what to do. Not that he’s much of a
regular fella
, but that’s neither here nor there. Name of Tug Mesoglea. I think we’re on to something big. Send that tank of goo out to Mesoglea’s address, pronto. Here it is. Yeah, and here’s his number,
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