For Service Rendered, by J F Bone Performed by Paul Lawley-Jones Television made Miss Enid Twilley's life endurable
by providing the romance which life had withheld. So when the picture tube in her old-fashioned
set blew out, it was a major crisis. But Ed Jacklin's phone didn't ring. The spare twenty-eight
inch tube in Jacklin's T.V. shop remained undisturbed on the shelf. And the drawn shades
of Miss Twilley's living room gave no hint of what was happening behind them. The town
of Ellenburg wen
t its suburban way unaware of the crisis in its residential district. Which was probably just as well. Frozen with terror, Miss Twilley sat in spastic
rigidity, her horrified eyes riveted on the thing in front of her. One moment she had
been suffering emphatic pangs of unrequited love with a bosomy T.V. blonde, the next she
was staring into a rectangular hole of Cimmerian blackness that writhed, twisted and disgorged
a shape that made her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth and her throat con
strict
against the scream that fought for release. It wasn't a large shape but it was enormously
impressive despite the lime green shorts and cloak that partially covered it. It was obviously
reptilian. The red skin with its faint reticulated pattern of ancestral scales, the horns, the
lidless eyes, the tapering flexible tail, the sinuous grace and Mephistophelean face
were enough to identify it beyond doubt. Her television set had disgorged the devil! Silence draped the room in smothering folds
as Miss Twilley's frozen eyeballs were caught and held for a moment by the devil's limpid
green eyes whose depths swirled for an instant with uncontrolled surprise. The devil looked
around the room, at the closed drapes, the dim lights, the shabby furniture and the plate
of cookies and the teapot on the tray beside Miss Twilley's chair. He shook his head. "No pentacle, no candles or incense, no altar,
no sacrifice. Not even a crystal ball," he murmured in an impeccable Savile Row accent.
"My de
ar young woman--just how in Eblis' name did you do it? There isn't a single sixth
order focus in this room." "Do what?" Miss Twilley managed to croak. "Construct a gateway," the devil said impatiently.
"A bridge between your world and mine." "I didn't," Miss Twilley said. "You came crawling
out of the picture tube of my T.V. set--or what was the picture tube," she amended as
her eyes strayed to the rectangle of darkness. The devil turned and eyed the T.V. curiously,
giving Miss Twilley an excell
ent view of his tail which protruded through a slit in his
cloak. She eyed it with apprehension and distaste. "Ah--I see," the devil murmured, "a third
order electronic communicator transformed to a sixth order generator by an accidental
short circuit. Most interesting. The statistical chances of this happening are about 1.75 to
the 25th power, give or take a couple of hundred thousand. You are an extremely fortunate human." "That's not what I would call it," Miss Twilley
said. The devil smiled,
an act that made him look
oddly like Krishna Menon. "You are disturbed," he said, "but you really needn't keep projecting
such raw fear. I have no intention of harming you. Quite the contrary in fact." Miss Twilley wasn't reassured. Devils with
British accents were probably untrustworthy. "Why don't you go back to hell where you came
from?" she asked pettishly. "I wish," the devil said with a shade of annoyance
in his beautifully modulated voice, "that you would stop using those terminal 'l's',
I'm a Devi, not a devil--and my homeworld is Hel, not hell. One 'l', not two. I'm a
species, not a spirit." "It makes no difference," Miss Twilley said.
"Either way you're disconcerting, particularly when you come slithering out of my T.V. set." "It might give your television industry a
bad name," the Devi agreed. "But there are many of your race who claim the device is
an invention of mine." "I don't enjoy being frightened," Miss Twilley
said coldly. She was rapidly recovering her normal self-
possession. "And I would have
felt much better if you had stayed where you belonged and minded your own business," she
finished. "But my dear young lady," the Devi protested.
"I never dreamed that I would frighten you, and besides you are my business." He smiled
gently at the suddenly re-frozen Miss Twilley. I must be dreaming, Miss Twilley thought wildly.
This has to be a nightmare. After all, this is the Twentieth Century and there are no
such things as devils. "Of course there aren't," the De
vi said. "I only hope I wake up before I go stark raving
mad!" Miss Twilley murmured. "Now he's answering before I say anything." "You're not asleep," he said unreassuringly.
"I merely read your mind." He grimaced distastefully. "And what a mass of fears, inhibitions, repressions,
conventions and attitudes it is! Ugh! It's a good thing for your race that minds like
yours are not in the majority. It would be disastrous. Or do you realize you're teetering
on the verge of paranoia. You are badly in
need of adjustment." "I'm not! You're lying! You're the Father
of Lies!" she snapped. "And liars (he made it sound like "lawyers")
so I'm told. Nevertheless I'm telling you the truth. I don't care to be confused with
some anthropomorphic figment of your superstitious imagination. I'm as real as you are. I have
a name--Lyf--just as yours is Enid Twilley. I'm the mardak of Gnoth, an important entity
in my enclave. And I have no intention of seizing you and carrying you off to Hel. The
Council wou
ld take an extremely dim view of such an action. Passing a human permanently
across the hyperspatial gap that separates our worlds is a crime--unless consent in writing
is obtained prior to such passage." "I'll bet!" "Are you calling me a liar?" Lyf asked softly. "That's the general idea." "There's a limit to human insolence," Lyf
said icily. "No wonder some of my colleagues occasionally incinerate members of your race." Miss Twilley choked back the crudity that
fluttered on her lips. "That's be
tter," Lyf said approvingly. "You
really should practice self control. It's good for you. And you shouldn't make assumptions
based upon incomplete data. Your books that deal with my race are notoriously one-sided.
I came through that gateway because you needed my help. And yet you'd chase me off without
really knowing whether you want my services or not." "I don't want any part of you," Miss Twilley
said sincerely. "I don't need a thing you can give me. I'm healthy, fairly well-off
and"--she was
about to say "happy" but changed it quickly to "satisfied with things as they
are." It wasn't quite a lie. Lyf looked at her critically. "Permit me to
disagree," he said smoothly. "But you are wrong on every count. You are neither satisfied,
wealthy nor happy. Frankly, Miss Twilley, you could use a great deal of help. In fact,
you need it desperately." "I am thirty-eight years old," Miss Twilley
said. "That's old enough to recognize a high pressure sales pitch. And you needn't be so
insulting a
bout my appearance. After all, I don't have my makeup on." Lyf flinched. "I almost hate to do this,"
he murmured. "But you have doubted my honesty. Perhaps it is compensation to hide a feeling
of inferiority. Primitive egos are notorious for such acts. But the truth is probably less
harmful than permitting you to lie to yourself." Miss Twilley jumped angrily to her feet. "How
dare you call me a liar!" she snapped. She towered over the Devi, her tall bony body
a knobby statue of wrath. Lyf's eyes
locked with hers. "Sit down," he
said coldly. And to her surprised consternation, she did.
A physical force seemed to flow from him and force her back into the chair. She sat rigidly,
seething with a mixture of fear and indignation as Lyf picked up his discourse where he had
dropped it. "You are not satisfied," he said quietly "because
you are undernourished, ungainly, and ugly. You would like to be attractive. You wish
to be admired. You long to be loved. Yet you are not." "That's enough!" Mis
s Twilley snapped. "Neither
man nor Devi has the right to insult me in my own house." "I am not insulting you," Lyf said patiently.
"I am telling you the truth. Now as for this business of being well-off, which I infer,
means moderately wealthy--you are not. There was a small inheritance from your father,
but through mismanagement and inept investments it is today less than fifteen thousand dollars,
although it was fifty thousand when you received it a few years ago." "You are the devil!" she ga
sped. "I told you I could read your mind. I'm a
telepath." "I don't believe you. You found out somehow." "You're not thinking," he said. "How could
I? Now, as for your health, you will be dead in six months without my help. You have adenocarcinoma
of the pancreas which has already begun to metastasize. You cannot possibly survive with
the present state of medicine your race possesses. Of course, your doctors do have ingenious
ways of alleviating the pain," he added comfortingly, "like chordotomy
and neurectomy." Miss Twilley didn't recognize the last two
words, but they sounded unpleasant. She had been worried about her health, but to hear
this quiet-voiced death sentence paralyzed her with a cold crawling terror. "It's not
true!" she gasped. Yet she knew it was. "I could make a fortune as a diagnostician
for your sham--your doctors," Lyf said. "It's as true as the fact that I'm a Devi from Hel.
Actually, my dear Miss Twilley, I had no intention of coming here even though your gateway
appeared
in my library. But I was intrigued enough to scan through it. And when I saw you at
the other end, frightened, diseased, and friendless, I could not help feeling pity for you. You
needed my help badly." He sighed. "Empathy is a Devi's weak point. Naturally I couldn't
refuse your appeal." He shrugged. "At least I have offered to help, and my conscience
is clear if you refuse." He wrapped his cloak around him with a movement of his lithe body
that was symbolic. The case had been stated. H
is part was done. "I have nothing more to say," Lyf added. "If
you do not wish me to stay I shall leave." He turned toward the T.V. set. "After I have
vanished," he said over his shoulder "you may turn the set off. The gateway will disappear."
He shrugged. "Next time I'll look for a sabbat or some other normal focal point before I
enter a gateway. This has been thoroughly unsatisfying." "Wait!" Miss Twilley gasped. He paused. "Have you changed your mind?" "Maybe." "For a human female, that's qui
te a concession,"
he said, "but I'm a Devi. I need a more devinate--er--definite answer." "Would you give me twenty-four hours?" Miss
Twilley said. "So you can check my diagnosis?" She nodded. Lyf shrugged. "Why not. If your T.V. holds
out that long, I'll give you that much time. Longer if necessary. You can't really be blamed
for being a product of your culture--and your culture has rejected the Snake. It would be
easier if you were a Taoist or a Yezidee." "But I'm not," Miss Twilley said miser
ably.
"And I can't help thinking of you as the Enemy." "We Devi get blamed for a lot of things,"
Lyf admitted, "and taken collectively there's some truth in them. We gave you basic knowledge
of a number of things such as medicine, writing, law, and the scientific method. But we can't
be blamed for the uses to which you have put them." "Are you sure I have cancer?" she interrupted. "Of the pancreas," he said. "And you can cure it?" "Easily. Anyone with a knowledge of fifth
order techniques can ma
nipulate cellular structures. There's very little I can't do, and with proper
equipment about the only thing that can't be defeated is death. You've heard, I suppose,
of tumors that have disappeared spontaneously." Miss Twilley nodded. "Most of them are Devian work. Desperate humans
sometimes use good sense, find a medium and generate a sixth order focus. And occasionally
one of us will hear and come." "And the others?" "I don't know," Lyf said. "I could guess that
some of you can crudely manipu
late fifth order forces, but that would only be a guess." He
spread his hands in a gesture of incomprehension incongruously Gallic. "I don't know why I'm
taking all this trouble with you, but I will make a concession to your conditioning. See
your doctors. And then, if you want my help, call through the gateway. I'll probably hear
you, but if I don't, keep calling." The darkness where the picture tube had been,
writhed and swirled as he dove into it and vanished. "Whew!" Miss Twilley said shakil
y. "That was
an experience!" She walked unsteadily toward the T.V. set.
"I'd better turn this off just in case he gets an idea of coming back. Trust a devil!
Hardly!" Her hand touched the switch and hesitated. "But perhaps he was telling the truth," she
murmured doubtfully. "Maybe I'd better leave it on." She smiled wryly. "Anyway--it's insurance." "Miss Twilley," the doctor said slowly, "can
you take a shock?" "I've done it before. What's the matter? Don't
tell me that I have an adenocarcinoma
of the pancreas that'll kill me in six months." The doctor eyed her with startled surprise.
"We haven't pinpointed the primary site, but the tests are positive. You do have an adenocarcinoma,
and it has involved so many organs that we cannot operate. You have about six months
left to live." "My God!" Miss Twilley gasped. "He was telling
the truth!" "Who was telling--" the doctor began. But
he was talking to empty air. Miss Twilley had run from the office. The doctor sighed
and shrugged. Probably
he shouldn't have told her. One never can tell how these things will
work out. She had the diagnosis right and she looked like a pretty hard customer. But
she certainly didn't act like one. Panting with fear, Enid Twilley unlocked the
door of her house and dashed into the living room. Thank G--, thank goodness! she thought
with relief. The set was still working. The black tunnel was still there. "Help!" she screamed. "Lyf! Please! come back!" The blackness writhed and the Devi appeared.
He was
wearing an orange and purple striped outfit this time. Miss Twilley shuddered. "Well?" Lyf asked. "You were right," she said faintly. "The doctor
says it's cancer. Will you cure me?" "For a price," Lyf said. "But you said--" "I said nothing except that I felt sorry for
you and that I could cure you. Even your own doctors charge a fee." "There had to be a catch in it," Miss Twilley
said bitterly. "It will be a fair price. It won't be excessive." "My soul?" Miss Twilley whispered. "Your soul? Ha!
Just what would I do with
your soul? It would be no use to me--assuming that you have one. No--I don't want your soul." "Then what do you want?" "Your body." "So that's it!" Miss Twilley blushed a bright
scarlet. "Hmm--with that color you're not bad looking."
Lyf said. "Would you want my body right away?" "Of course not. That wouldn't be a fair contract.
You should have use of it for a reasonable time on your homeworld. Say about ten years.
After that it becomes mine." "How long?" "For the rest
of your life." "That doesn't seem quite fair. I'm thirty-eight
now. Ten years from now I'll be forty-eight. I'll live perhaps to eighty. That gives you
over thirty years." "It gives you them, too," Lyf said. "But your world is alien." "Not entirely. There are quite a few humans
on Hel. You'd have plenty of company." "I can imagine," she said drily. Lyf flinched. "I've told you I do not like
those anthropomorphic references to my race." "So you say. But I don't trust you even though
you've told m
e the truth about my body. I won't sell my soul." "I'll put a disclaimer in writing if that
will satisfy you," Lyf said wearily. "I'm tired of haggling." "But will you obey it." "With us Devi, a contract is sacred. Even
your mythology tells you that much." She nodded. "Of course, I'd want a few more
things than health," she said. "I'd want to enjoy these ten years on earth." "That is understandable. I'll consider any
reasonable request." "Beauty?" "As you humans understand it. Sarcoplasty
isn't
too difficult." "Wealth?" "That's more difficult. And more expensive.
But I could perhaps give you a one month chronograph survey. In that time you could probably arrange
to become rich enough to be independent. But I can't guarantee unlimited funds. And besides
you're not worth it." Miss Twilley bridled briefly and then nodded.
"That's fair enough I suppose. And there's one more thing. I want to be happy." "I can do nothing about that. You make or
lose your own happiness. I can provide you such
tangible things as a healthy body, beauty
and money, but what you do with them is entirely your own affair. No man or Devi can guarantee
happiness." He paused and looked thoughtfully at a point above Miss Twilley's head. "I could,
perhaps, provide you with a talent such as singing or manual dexterity--and even make
sufficient adjustments in your inhibitions so you could employ your skill. But that is
all. Not even I can play Eblis." Miss Twilley's eyes glittered. If he could
only do what he sai
d it would be worth any payment he demanded. She had never been pretty.
As a child she had been bony, ungainly, awkward and ugly. As an adult she had only lost the
awkwardness. Boys had never liked her. Men avoided her. And she wanted desperately to
be admired. And, of course, she was about to die. That alone would be reason enough.
She was appalled at the thought of dying. At thirty-eight she was too young. Perhaps
thirty or forty years from now the prospect wouldn't be so terrifying, but not n
ow--not
when she hadn't lived at all. Life had suddenly become very precious, and its immediate extinction
appalled her. She wasn't, she reflected wryly, the stuff from which heroes or martyrs were
made, and ten years were a lot more than six months. As far as repayment was concerned
it was a long way off, and Hel was probably not much worse than Ellenburg. "In my opinion Hel's infinitely better," Lyf
interjected. "You're prejudiced," Miss Twilley said absently,--"now
if she had a figure like--h
mm--say one of those movie actresses, and a face like--hmmm--and
money to go with them--hmm--it just might be worth the price. Of course, it might not.
It could be something like a salt mine--or--" "It's nothing at all like a salt mine," Lyf
said. "The hours are reasonable and there's plenty of free time outdoors if you want it.
The food isn't the Cafe Ritz, but it's nourishing, and the life is healthful. After all we Devi
aren't savages." "I wonder," she said thoughtfully--"now if
I could--hmm-
-say a gold lamé sheath dress--ah!--and perhaps in a bikini--" "Women!" Lyf sighed and gave up. Why should
he bother about listing the disadvantage. She hadn't been listening to the advantages. "What are you stopping for?" Miss Twilley
demanded. "I'm listening." "There are a few other things such as free
medical care, splendid recreation facilities, and conducted tours of Hel." "And the disadvantages?" "Very few. There's no pay, of course, and
you will be required to devote a certain amount of t
ime to my service. On the whole, employment
on Hel isn't much different than here except that it's a bit more enlightened." "Like slavery?" Miss Twilley smiled unpleasantly.
"You're not dealing with a fool." "The concept of freedom is a relative thing,"
Lyf said. "And who among us, either Devi or human, is truly free. And what is the essential
difference between being a slave to society and a slave to an individual? We Devi don't
have such a high regard for physical liberty--" "Obviously." "But
as long as you do your work, there's
no interference with your outside activities. You can think and read as you please. We supply
our help with a very complete library--and keep it up to date." "Is that so?" Lyf paled to a dull pink. "I wish you'd stop
mentally dredging those old lies about fire and brimstone. They're embarrassing. It's
been quite a few thousand years since a Devi has derived any satisfaction from sadism.
We've removed that particular trait from our race. You won't be overworke
d or cruelly treated.
And you won't be beaten or subjected to physical torture. Since I have no knowledge of what
you might consider mental torture, I couldn't say whether there would be any or not. I think
not, since no other human has complained of being mentally misused, but I can't tell." "Why can't you? You can read my mind." "Only your thoughts, not your emotions or
attitudes." Miss Twilley shrugged. "It sounds fair enough,
but twenty or thirty years for ten is a high price." "You fail to
consider the costs involved.
Your physical rehabilitation will be expensive and your financial even more so. I'll have
to employ the Time Study Enclave to predict a financial plan for you, and chronography
isn't cheap." "Why can't you just give me the money?" Lyf shrugged. "I don't have it--and I couldn't
supply you with gold. It would be suspicious and we try to avoid attracting attention to
our clients or ourselves. Humans have some rather messy ways of abrogating a fellow human's
contract. So
you acquire your wealth within the framework of your society--through the
stock market in your case." "Oh--I see." "Your money is enough to start you off. I'll
show you how to make it multiply." "And if I cheat you?" Miss Twilley asked. "You won't, I'm not utterly naive. There is
a security clause in the contract which must be fulfilled." "And what is that?" "I put my mark on you. That makes you a permanent
sixth order focus I can contact at any time." "That gives you quite an advantage." "Have
you ever read any contracts on your
own world? I'm not asking for a thing more than your grantors do. In fact, not as much.
Read a mortgage sometime if you don't believe me." Lyf eyed her with mild reproof. "Think,"
he said. "When--even in your perverted mythology--has one of my race failed to live up to his end
of an agreement? Who has done the cheating? Who attempts to break contracts? Your whole
history is filled with specious promises, broken words, and outright falsehood. Just
why do you t
hink we had to make contracts in the first place? Because you humans cheated
at every opportunity. And you still do. That's why we must have guarantees. We go to all
the expense, take all the risk and then run the added risk of being double crossed. That's
too much." "But our souls are beyond price." "I've already told you that I care nothing
for your soul. It's useless to me." He frowned. "We have had to fight that canard for centuries.
We Devi are practical folk, not starry-eyed idealists. We
deal in real property, not in
intangibles. Now stop quibbling and make up your mind. You've heard the concessions. After
all, there is a limit to altruism. Now if you don't want to deal, say so and I'll leave.
It will be no skin off my tail if you don't accept." Lyf half turned toward the T.V. set. "I haven't said I wouldn't," Miss Twilley
said. "Nor have you said you would. Now speak up.
My time's valuable." "Oh--very well," Miss Twilley said sulkily.
"I accept." Lyf smiled, reached under his c
loak and produced
a long sheet of paper covered with writing. "You're a hard bargainer, Miss Twilley," he
said. "You extracted every condition you could possibly get on a deal of this kind. My congratulations.
This is a personal contract I had drawn up. It's in English so you can understand it.
All you do is sign both copies. In transactions like this no witnesses are necessary." "You don't mind if I read it first?" Miss
Twilley said. "Not that I don't trust you--but this is business." "Not at a
ll," Lyf said "and please note the
escape clause which allows you a peremptory withdraw if you are not satisfied with the
basic services." Miss Twilley eyed the paper, skipping over
the legal jargon, but carefully reading the specific provisions. It was deceptively simple
and completely binding. But it didn't vary from Lyf's proposals. She would have ten years
of health, wealth and beauty, in return for which she would surrender her body to Lyf,
mardak of Gnoth, to employ as he saw fit--within c
ertain limits provided by the exceptions.
She sighed. It was fair enough, she supposed. There were a few exceptions like the suicide
clause that allowed Lyf to take immediate possession if she tried to kill herself, and
the war clause which permitted him to remove her to a safe place for the duration of the
conflict. She shrugged. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it except the tone.
Somehow it managed to convey the impression of a property rather than a personal transaction. "It's alw
ays best to keep these things impersonal,"
the Devi said. "You sign on the bottom line underneath my cartouche." Miss Twilley signed. "And now," Lyf said briskly "there are a few
formalities. Not that I don't trust you, of course, but business is business. Will you
please disrobe?" "Must I?" Lyf nodded. "You must. I realize that this
is embarrassing for you, but it would be infinitely more embarrassing if I placed my mark upon
you while you were clothed." Miss Twilley shivered a little as she re
ached
for the zipper of her skirt. But she had expected something like this. Lyf looked at her critically. "You're worse
than I thought," he said. "However, your skeleton seems structurally sound and well proportioned.
Now please turn around." Miss Twilley had hardly turned her back when
a lance of numbing cold struck her in the base of the spine. She jumped involuntarily
as Lyf's voice came to her ears. "There--that does it." He walked past her
and turned off the T.V. The black hole winked out,
leaving a shattered picture tube where
it had been. "Now that you're a sixth order focal point we can dispense with this monstrosity,"
he said. "The automatics on Hel will generate a new gateway shortly." "Now what?" Miss Twilley asked. She wasn't
sure that she liked the idea of being a sixth order focus. "The mark leaves a small red lesion," Lyf
said, "but it won't bother you. However, I should warn you not to attempt to have it
removed. That could be quite painful and perhaps fatal." He moved
in front of her. "I expect
that we'd better start therapy right away. That tumor isn't going to be easy to remove."
His eyes were level with her own, twin pools of clear bottomless green with the darker
spots of his pupils sharply demarcated from the surrounding iris. With mild surprise she
realized that they were oval rather than round, and that their ellipses were growing--and
encompassing her in their inner darkness. Lyf eyed her solicitously from a chair next
to her bed. There was a faint p
roprietory glint in his eyes but his voice was as soft
as ever. "It's all done Enid," he said. "How do you like it?" Miss Twilley didn't like the use of her first
name. It sounded entirely too familiar, but she supposed that there was little she could
do about it. After all he did have certain rights, even though their full exercise was
some years hence. She stirred sleepily. She was in her own bedroom and the bed that she
had slept in these past eighteen years was familiar and comforting. Excep
t for the Devi
sitting beside her everything was normal down to the last fold of the flannel nightgown
that covered her. She felt oddly alive, and somehow different.
There was a fullness to her body and a heaviness to her chest. She looked down and gasped with
surprise and pleasure at the jutting rise of the nightgown. She had changed! "That was the biggest part of the specifications,"
Lyf said with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. "Your mental patterns were extraordinarily
precise a
bout some things. About others I had to use my own judgment. I hope the overall
effect meets with your approval." Miss Twilley felt as excited as an adolescent
on her first date. She slipped out of bed and padded on bare feet over to the vanity
in the corner. Eagerly she eyed herself in the big mirror. Even in the nightgown she
looked good. Her face was still her own but it had been subtly changed, the features smoothed
and rearranged. Her pale blue eyes were now a smoky gray, and her plain mous
e-brown hair
had reddish glints in it and was much thicker than before. It was a very satisfactory face,
smooth and beautiful, and years younger. Why--she looked barely twenty five! With a quick movement she bent, grasped the
hem of her gown, and pulled it over her head. And gasped! She had never dreamed of looking like this,
even in her wildest flights of fancy! "Like it?" Lyf asked from his seat in the
corner. "Like it!" she chortled. "I adore it! How
on Earth did you do it? You've not only ma
de me beautiful, you've made me young!" "I didn't do it on Earth," Lyf admitted. "I
took you to Hel where there's some decent equipment. It wasn't much," he added vaguely,
"merely the application of some rather simple cellular biology--mostly a rearrangement of
DNA molecules and a bit of sarcoplasty. Actually it wasn't too difficult. The removal of your
tumor was much harder. You'll find that two weeks have gone from your life, but they've
been well spent." "I should say they have!" Miss Twilley
said
as she pirouetted slowly before the glass. Her brows knit in a tiny frown as she saw
her only blemish, a bright red spot at the base of her spine. "The mark can't be helped," Lyf said, "but
it doesn't detract at all. And it won't show even in a bikini." "Forty, twenty-four, thirty-six." Miss Twilley
breathed. "Lyf--I could kiss you!" "I'd rather you wouldn't," Lyf said. "There
is, after all, a certain species incompatibility between yours and mine. Incidentally, you
have perfect health. Yo
u'll never know a sick day for the rest of your life which should
be quite long. And I gave you a fine singing voice, and a mental attitude that will let
you use it." "Thank you," Miss Twilley murmured as she
stared at her reflection. "I've left instructions for your financial
operations on your dresser. Follow them and you'll be financially independent. I think
that does it. Everything is satisfactory, I trust." "Completely," Miss Twilley breathed, never
removing her eyes from the mirror. "Then
I shall be leaving." Miss Twilley drew in a deep breath and observed
the results with utter fascination. "Don't you think I'm beautiful?" she asked. Lyf smiled. "Different worlds, different standards,"
he said. "Beautiful isn't quite the word I would use." "What word would you use?" "Useful," Lyf said. "Useful? Hmm. What do you mean?" "It should be obvious," Lyf said. "But I suppose
it isn't. You humans are a strange lot. You assume. You don't reason. And it always shocks
you to find that your
assumptions are wrong." Miss Twilley looked at him with wide eyes.
A cold chill ran down her spine and poked tingling rootlets of ice into her viscera.
"What have I assumed?" "Do I have to answer that?" Miss Twilley blushed. The effect was far more
startling this time. Lyf smiled with an air that would have been
infuriating in a human but was somehow appropriate for a Devi. Miss Twilley sighed. At least
that worry was removed. "Perhaps I should give you a short synopsis
of Devian society," Lyf s
aid. "It's not like yours. Millennia ago our culture and technology
evolved to the point where individual needs could be satisfied effortlessly. As a result
we were compelled to consider group desires. Modern society on Hel is composed of enclaves
with a community of interest plus certain ancillary groups that support them. The task
of satisfying the desires of an enclave is infinitely more complex than satisfying an
individual, which gives our civilization the necessary stimulus to progress. "O
ne of the reasons we deal with your world
is to provide us with things impractical to produce upon our own. Another reason is amusement.
If only you humans were not so savage we could perhaps arrange tours of Earth to observe
you in your native haunts." "Is that why--" Miss Twilley began. He shook his head. "No--the importation of
humans for ethnological studies has long since become a matter of interest only to highly
specialized enclaves. That subject has been exhausted for popular satisfactio
n. We have
tried to import other species, but they do not thrive on Hel, and it takes a great deal
of trouble merely to keep them alive. However, your race adapts so readily that even your
cultural variations disappear in a few decades. "It was this early importation and your ability
to survive that has placed your race in such demand. It is unfortunate, perhaps, that your
species cannot reproduce on our world, but the inhibitors we use to regulate our numbers
also affect yours. Naturally, we ca
n't risk a population explosion merely to reproduce
your race. So we obtain more of you when necessary." "Why?" "Consider for a moment what might be valuable
in a civilization that has no basic needs." "Luxuries?" "Precisely. As an ancillary system operator,
I supply a luxury item to my fellow citizens. One that cannot be readily produced by our
techniques. I said I was a mardak, but you never asked what it meant. You assumed it
was a title. It is, but it's professional, not social. There are no
classes on Hel, merely
occupations." "All right," Miss Twilley said reluctantly,
"What is a mardak?" "The closest analogy in your society," Lyf
said, "is a dairyman." You have been listening to For Service Rendered, by J F Bone Performed by Paul Lawley-Jones
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