By then I wasn’t too sure myself.
Perhaps, Ktch said through Laszlo, we were being so headstrong because we hadn’t had time to think the problem out. Or perhaps the group didn’t agree with me as unanimously as I thought. Perhaps I wasn’t as appropriate a spokesman for the group as they had formerly believed. Perhaps the group would like some time to discuss the situation, maybe even take a vote.
Therefore (another hard word for Laszlo) Ktch was giving us twenty minutes’ grace before he loosed his arsenal against us. He instructed us to take the bus out a hundred feet from the shore and talk it over. He also apologized for putting guards around us, but surely we could understand his position? And he wished us wisdom in our deliberations. (Poor tongue-tied mindless Laszlo.) If we decided to go home, we had only to blink our lights and he’d have us escorted to the nearest road.
That ended our parley. Laszlo shut up, turned, and shuffled back into the willow thicket. Mike backed the bus off a hundred feet, as ordered, keeping the beach well lit all the while. Our guards were pretty bad — huge, luminous green swimming things with red eyes, lots of teeth, and tentacles — but they didn’t even disturb us; not after the black shadow.
We were all thoughtful and quiet. When we spoke we didn’t whisper, but our voices were low. No one even mentioned going home but Gary the customary Frog, and even he pretended he was joking.
I found myself standing beside Sean, and felt a duty to apologize.
“This isn’t what I expected last Saturday,” I said softly. “No, it’s not at all the way I expected things to go. Now I feel I should’ve sent you back to Fort Worth, or not taken you in, or something. I’m sorry I got you into this mess, Sean.” We shook hands.
“Hell, man, you didn’t get me into this. I done that myself. Me an’ them damn butterflies. Shucks…”
“Butterflies!” I yelled, scaring everyone on board. “Butterflies! Yahoo!”
“Hey, man, cool it!” Sean thought I’d flipped, and, I had, too, but not that way.
“C’mon!” I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him toward the harpsichord. “Everybody!” I was shouting. “C’mere! On the double!”
Everybody, looking mighty puzzled came running.
Butterflies indeed! And there under the harpsichord, where I’d left it hours ago, there was my briefcase. I pulled it out, set it on top of the harpsichord where everyone could see, and opened it.
And there they were, hundreds of thousands of pretty blue Reality Pills. We had our weapon!
Maybe.
Time was our only problem. We had something less than twenty minutes, and I had no idea how long it took the pills to get to work. Except for that one little hangup, we were saved.
Well, we had a chance.
“Everybody take at least five,” I ordered, hoping superstitiously that the more we took, the faster they’d work. Considering what Ktch and company were planning to dump into the reservoir — ten billion doses — I wasn’t seriously worried about overdoses, and it didn’t really matter anyhow.
“Take at least five,” I repeated. “The more the better.” I grabbed a handful of the pills, stuffed my mouth with them and started swallowing. The U.S. Cavalry was on the way!
25
FOR A WHILE we were too busy swallowing pills to talk. Adam’s apples twitched, solemn faces grimaced, pills went slowly down, time passed. I learned that pill swallowing loses its charm after the twenty-fifth pill. You get to feeling like a sack of BB’s — nothing like my favorite way to feel.
When all the pills were dealt with, I started talking. I told my loyal troops how to control the hallucinations they were going to have, time and lobsters willing.
“Concentrate on Fighting,” I told them. “Remember, whatever you imagine will be real, no matter how kooky it may be. Imagine weapons: death rays, bombs, bigger and better killing machines. Think death!”
I had to stop. I was embarrassing myself. What kind of talk was this for a pacifist? Forget it. I went on.
“I don’t know what they’re gonna throw at us, but in general here’s what to do:
“Kill anything that moves in your direction. Don’t stop to ask questions. It won’t be friendly.
“Kill lobsters. That’s probably the only way to persuade them to give up.
“Above all, don’t let anybody pour Anything into the water. The only reason we’re here is to keep that from happening. If they get that stuff into the water, we’ve had it, no matter how the fighting goes.
“If you can avoid it, don’t get killed.
“Also, if you can avoid it, please do not kill Laszlo. I have plans for that boy.”
I couldn’t think of anything more to say, so I sat down. Everyone looked solemn. Time passed.
Just plain waiting is a drag. Waiting for a pill to take effect is worse, and waiting for a battle to begin has nothing at all to recommend it. Put them all together, it’s depressing. We sat quietly. Time passed.
Michael said, “Ten minutes.” Everybody twitched.
“Ten minutes since or ten minutes till?” I wondered.
“Till.”
“Groovy. Is anybody getting high yet? Even a little bit?”
Little Micky raised his hand. “I don’ know, man,” shrug, “but, like…”
“Groovy.”
We sat quietly. Time passed.
I was trying to think up something to say before the fireworks, something terse and memorable that would look good in a history book, but I couldn’t seem to find the words. The best I could come up with was, “54-40 or fight!” and, “Don’t give up the glub!” neither of which fit somehow, so I gave it up.
Time passed.
Little Micky was smiling ecstatically. That was encouraging. I too, was beginning to feel the first faint stirrings of euphoria. Groovy. And how about the rest of the gang?
Michael was expressing solemn dignity, which looked in his case like a banker breaking wind. Gary the ultimate Frog looked Garyish — or Froggy, if you like. Sean’s left eyebrow was raised a full inch higher than his right one — a possibly hopeful sign, if you weren’t too hard to please. The others just looked serious.
“Five minutes,” Michael chimed.
Little Micky giggled. Sometimes being short and scrawny helps.
“Micky?” said I.
He giggled again.
“You may have to do a solo set at first. No one else is off yet.”
“That’s coo, baby.” Further giggles.
“Can you do it? Seriously.”
“I said it’s cool, baby.” Additional and prolonged giggling. I crossed my fingers.
Actually, I was starting to feel decidedly better. The hopelessness of our situation was beginning to amuse me. The fact that we fourteen ill-sorted nuts were sitting here waiting to get high enough to save the world was so outrageously absurd I couldn’t help giggling a bit myself.
Little Micky politely giggled back at me.
“Two minutes,” said Michael. “Let’s go upstairs.”
The Tripsmobile had a sun deck on the roof, planted with grass and dandelions. We’d intended to put a few lawn chairs up there, too, and a table with a parasol, but we never got around to it. And now we were going to use it for a battlefield. I giggled again. Little Micky joined me.
We took our places along the fence, ten of us facing the beach, four guarding the rear and flanks. Sean was now among the gigglers, and most of the others were smiling.
“One minute,” Mike announced. “And before we begin, I have a request to make. Please try to avoid killing each other. Especially me.”
“I agree,” I said. “Don’t blow your cool.” Several people giggled.
There was nothing happening on the beach yet. It still had that deserted look. There was no trace of the lobster gang, no sign of the war approaching. Only Laszlo’s footprints on the sand suggested anything had ever happened there.
“Thirty seconds.”