“Not if you give me nothing to work on. Think, Mr. Laborian, think! This Parental. He’s the dumb one.”
“Not dumb,” said Laborian, frowning. “Single-minded. He only has room in his mind for children, real and potential.”
“Blockish! If you didn’t use that actual word for the Parental in the novel, and I don’t remember offhand whether you did or not, it’s certainly the impression I got. Cubical. Is that what he is?”
“Well, simple. Straight lines. Straight planes. Not cubical. Longer than he is wide.”
“How does he move? Does he have legs?”
“I don’t know. I honestly never gave it any thought.”
“Hmp. And the Rational. He’s the smart one and he’s smooth and quick. What is he? Egg- shaped?”
“I’d accept that. I’ve never given that any thought, either, but I’d accept that.”
“And no legs?”
“I haven’t described any.”
“And how about the middle one. Your ‘she’ character-the other two being ‘he’s.”‘
“The Emotional.”
“That’s right. The Emotional. You did better on her.”
“Of course. I did most of my thinking about her. She was trying to save the alien intelligences-us-of an alien world, Earth. The reader’s sympathy must be with her, even though she fails.”
“I gather she was more like a cloud, didn’t have any firm shape at all, could attenuate and tighten.”
“Yes, yes. That’s exactly right.”
“Does she flow along the ground or drift through the air?”
Laborian thought, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I would say you would have to suit yourself when it came to that. “
“I see. And what about the sex?”
Laborian said, with sudden enthusiasm. “That’s a crucial point. I never have any sex in my novels beyond that which is absolutely necessary and then I manage to refrain from describing it-”
“You don’t like sex?”
“I like sex fine, thank you. I just don’t like it in my novels. Everyone else puts it in and, frankly, I think that readers find its absence in my novels refreshing; at least, my readers do. And I must explain to you that my books do very well. I wouldn’t have a hundred thousand dollars to spend if they didn’t.”
“All right. I’m not trying to put you down.”
“However, there are always people who say I don’t include sex because I don’t know how, so-out of vainglory, I suppose-I wrote this novel just to show that I c ould do it. The entire novel deals with sex.
Of course, it’s alien sex, not at all like ours.”
“That’s right. That’s why I have to ask you about the mechanics of it. How does it work?” Laborian looked uncertain for a moment. “They melt.”
“I know that that’s the word you use. Do you mean they come together? Superimpose?”
“I suppose so.”
Willard sighed. “How can you write a book without knowing anything about so fundamental a part of it?”
“I don’t have to describe it in detail. The reader gets the impression. With subliminal suggestion so much a part of the compu-drama, how can you ask the question?”
Willard’s lips pressed together. Laborian had him there. “Very well. They superimpose. What do they look like after they have superimposed? “
Laborian shook his head. “I avoided that. “
“You realize, of course, that I can’t.” Laborian nodded. “Yes.”
Willard heaved another sigh and said, “Look, Mr. Laborian, assuming that I agree to do such a compu-drama-and I have not yet made up my mind on the matter-I would have to do it entirely my way. I would tolerate no interference from you. You have ducked so many of your own responsibilities in writing the book that I can’t allow you to decide suddenly that you want to participate in my creative endeavors.”
“That’s quite understood, Mr. Willard. I only ask that you keep my story and as much of my dialogue as you can. All of the visual, sonic, and subliminal aspects I am willing to leave entirely in your hands.”
“You understand that this is not a matter of a verbal agreement which someone in our industry, about a century and a half ago, described as not worth the paper it was written on. There will have to be a written contract made firm by my lawyers that will exclude you from participation.”
“My lawyers will be glad to look over it, but I assure you I am not going to quibble.”
“And, “ said Willard severely, “I will want an advance on the money you offered me. I can’t afford to have you change your mind on me and I am not in the mood for a long lawsuit.”
At this, Laborian frowned. He said, “Mr. Willard, those who know me never question my financial honesty. You don’t know me so I’ll permit the remark, but please don’t repeat it. How much of an advance do you wish?”
“Half,” said Willard, briefly.
Laborian said, “I will do better than that. Once you have obtained the necessary commitments from those who will be willing to put up the money for the compu-drama and once the contract between us is drawn up, then I will give you every cent of the hundred thousand dollars even before you begin the first scene of the book.”
Willard’s eyes opened wide and he could not prevent himself from saying, “Why?”
“Because I want to urge you on. What’s more, if the compu-drama turns out to be too hard to do, if it won’t work, or if you turn out something that will not do-my hard luck-you can keep the hundred thousand. It’s a risk I’m ready to take.”
“Why? What’s the catch?”
“No catch. I’m gambling on immorality. I’m a popular writer but I have never heard anyone call me a great one. My books are very likely to die with me. Do Three in One as a compu-drama and do it well and that at least might live on, and make my name ring down through the ages,” he smiled ruefully, “or at least some ages. However-”
“Ah,” said Willard. “Now we come to it.”
“Well, yes. I have a dream that I’m willing to risk a great deal for, but I’m not a complete fool. I will give you the hundred thousand I promised before you start and if the thing doesn’t work out you can keep it, but the payment will be electronic. It : however, you turn out a product that satisfies me, then you will return the electronic gift and I will give you the hundred thousand globo-dollars in gold pieces. You have nothing to lose except that to an artist like yourself, gold must be more dramatic and worthwhile than blips in a finance-card. “ And Laborian smiled gently.
Willard said, “Understand, Mr. Laborian! I would be taking a risk, too. I risk losing a great deal of time and effort that I might have devoted to a more likely project. I risk producing a docudrama that will be a failure and that will tarnish the reputation I have built up with Lear. In my business, you’re only as good as your most recent product. I will consult various people-” “On a confidential basis, please.”
“Of course! And I will do a bit of deep consideration. I am willing to go along with your proposition for now, but you mustn’t think of it as a definite commitment. Not yet. We will talk further.”
Jonas Willard and Meg Cathcart sat together over lunch in Meg’s apartment. They were at their coffee when Willard said, with apparent reluctance as one who broaches a subject he would rather not, “Have you read the book? “
“Yes, I have.”
“And what did you think?”
“I don’t know,” said Cathcart peering at him from under the dark, reddish hair she wore clustered over her forehead. “ At least not enough to judge.”
“You’re not a science fiction buff either, then?”
“Well, I’ve read science fiction, mostly sword and sorcery, but nothing like Three in One. I’ve heard of Laborian, though. He does what they call ‘hard science fiction.”‘
“It’s hard enough. I don’t see how I can do it. That book, whatever its virtues, just isn’t me.”
Cathcart fixed him with a sharp glance. “How do you know it isn’t you?”
“Listen, it’s important to know what you can’t do.”
“And you were born knowing you can’t do science fiction?”
“I have an instinct in these things.”
“So you say. Why don’t you think what you might do with those three undescribed characters, and what you would want subliminally, before you let your instinct tell you what you can and can’t do. For instance, how would you do the Parental, who is referred to constantly as ‘he’ even though it’s the Parental who bears the children? That struck me as jackassy, if you must know.”