"Oh! Is it ugly! Oh, close it up, close it up!"
The smoke and fire coalesced into a form hideous beyond description, but its human lineaments were discernible.
The ugly thing jabbed a taloned finger at Tweel.
"You, shit-breath! Get your ass down here, now!"
A pale yellow stream arched past the thing's face.
"Hey… what the bleeding blazes…?"
Carney stood in blissful relief, emptying his bladder into the internal conflagration.
"You, there! Just what in Hades do you think you're doing?"
Carney said. "When you gotta go…"
Thick clouds of steam began to rise from the hellflame below. They billowed to the crumbling ceiling and filled the room.
"Now, just a damned minute. You just can't go whipping it out and whizzing wherever your fancy pleases. People live down here!"
"Yeah, they're going to be all upset about a little pee water. Spoil their day, it will."
"That's not the point. The point is you don't casually piss on somebody's property. What if I came over to your game room and took a dump on your pool table?"
Carney grunted pleasurably. "You know, when it's like this, after holding off so long, it's almost as good as an orgasm. Know what I mean?"
The steam roiled up in puffy white clouds, obscuring the fiendish apparition. Carney continued his evacuation, playing the stream in fancy filigrees across the chasm.
At length, he was drained to the dregs. A few last spasmodic spurts, and he was done. He repacked himself and zipped up.
It took a while for the steam to clear. The flames were gone. Nothing was in the pit but sooty, steaming rock, reeking acridly.
The apparition was partially dispersed, but still had voice.
"Son of a bitch! It'll take a thousand years to restart those furnaces! If they start at all! We might have to replace them!"
"Easy installments, no payments till spring."
"Okay, pal, we got your name, and we know where you live. You think you're big stuff? Well, think again. This won't be the last time this abyss gapes before you."
"Abyssinia."
The infernal specter vanished. Faint smoke rose from the pit, carrying a smell like a four-mile-wide kitty-litter box.
Tweel staggered to his feet. He came to the edge of the abyss and looked down. "They're gone. They're really gone." He looked up. "You did it, John. You pissed on the flames of Hell. It was epic. Homeric!"
"Have any more wine?"
Twenty-four
City at the End of Time
A gargantuan caterpillar-like machine had arrived and disgorged from its hatches hundreds of lesser machines: robots, drones, and automatons of every description. Big and small, they converged on the Sidewise Voyager, invading its interior, crawling on the hull, attaching probes and contacts, and generally taking its measure. Then, having reached a consensus on what was ailing the craft, the visitors set about trying to fix it. Tool attachments spun on the ends of mechanical arms, and busy sounds came from within and underneath the crippled ship. The area around the Voyager swarmed with antlike metallic workers engaged in countless auxiliary tasks, moving to the music of beeping diagnostic instruments.
Gene, Linda, and Snowclaw had wakened to Goofus's barking and the sounds of the commotion. Fascinated, they watched the goings-on.
The Ablomabel had returned also. Antenna up, the dying being monitored the progress of the robot work force.
"They are saying there is chance of success," the sea-creature said.
"Encouraging," Gene said. "Have they ever worked on anything like the Voyager before?"
"All machines are alike in certain respects, perhaps," the Ablomabel said. "Being that they are of the same class."
"If you've seen one you've seen them all. Well, as far as road service goes, these guys sure beat most service stations. They look very organized. What do they do when they're not helping strangers from another dimension?"
"They do not do much," the Ablomabel said. "The time is long past when they were needed. Now, just maintenance every few centuries."
The work continued. An occasional flash lit up the undercarriage of the ship.
To pass the time, the Ablomabel related the story of his life, describing the seagoing civilization of which he was the last representative. He outlined the history of his race and its cultural, social, and technical development, and tried to fill his visitors in on the last days of the breakup of that culture and its eventual lapse into a moribund state. He also tried to give them some idea of the history and fate of other varieties of intelligent life on the planet. At one time there were thousands, if not tens of thousands, of different but peacefully coexisting races and subraces ― all, it seems, the product of technologies that abetted the proliferation of artificial and semiartificial life forms. This glorious pluralism was in the past, however. Now the world was depopulated, almost lifeless.
The trouble for Gene, Linda, and Snowclaw (and perhaps for Goofus, for he seemed to find the narration interesting as well) was that most of the Ablomabel's story was hard to understand in detail.
"… it was then that the Yvlem decreed the laws of Nyah Lyeh, and the Weem protested, yet they were not so much uncooperative as shifting paradigms in the manner of Gel Minap-Tev, yet they eventually achieved Yow-Negarah. At the same time, factions within the Humenathylathuiopuhthem demurred, wishing to curry favor with the Yvlem, yet not wanting to assume the onus of Slagg-Gefeen…."
At the end of it, the Ablomabel heaved a sigh, and fell silent.
"That was interesting," Linda said. "Thank you, Ablomabel."
"I am only too happy to have obliged," replied the Ablomabel, whose English had improved markedly in just the last half-hour.
"Is there any chance that your race can get reestablished some way?" Linda asked.
"I am afraid that the reproductive machines of the Hblutmen are not capable of being re-vohmed easily, and the task is beyond my poor powers."
"What about the machines helping?"
"Ah, but their doing so would precipitate an ethicophilosophical quincunx. Such a step would invoke the Imperative of Nexial Periphrasis, if I am transliterating correctly."
"Oh. Uh-huh. I see."
They all waited silently, watching the sea roll in and roll out under the huge red sun.
At last the machines made their report.
"They say that the craft is now functioning," the Ablomabel announced, relaying the message. "They estimate the chances of further malfunction to be within the parameters of acceptable risk."
"Meaning it's damned dangerous," Gene said. "But that's okay. We'll be going now."
"Oh, Ablomabel," Linda said.
"Yes," the Ablomabel returned, "sadness is in my primary pumping unit as well."
"But we can't just leave you here. You helped us. You saved our lives."
"What else could an intelligent being have done under the circumstances?"
"A lot of nasty, heartless stuff. But you didn't. You helped."
"Only too happy. Only too happy," was all the Ablomabel could say.
Linda hugged the creature's massive head.
"Goodbye, Ablomabel."
"Goodbye, Linda Barclay. Goodbye, Gene Ferraro, Snowclaw, and Goofus. May you live to see the cosmos reborn in the coming time of the holy Bunya Vree-Gel."
"You too," Gene said. "So long. Thank the machines for us."
"They, also, are glad to have been of service." They left the Ablomabel to his long, peaceful dying at the edge of the sea.
The lights on the control panel were all green. The craft hummed reassuringly.
Gene snapped switches, pressed buttons. The lights on the panel reconfigured. The engines began to whine and whir.