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Chapter 9




YOSARIAN CAME TO SEE GRIMES shortly before Sister Sue was scheduled to lift off. He was carrying a parcel, a gift-wrapped box. Grimes, taking it from him, was surprised at how heavy it was.

“Just a small gift, Captain,” said the roboticist. “From myself, and from another . . . friend. I hope that you will like it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Yosarian. But the other friend . . . ? Apart from you I don’t have any friends on this planet.”

The fat man laughed.

“Open the parcel,” he said, “and you will see.”

Grimes put the package on his desk. The tinsel ribbon around it was tied with a bow that came undone at the first tug. The metallic paper fell away to reveal a box of polished mahogany with brass fittings. The two catches holding down the hinged lid were easy to manipulate. Inside the box was foam plastic packing. Grimes pulled it out carefully, saw the rich gleam of metal, of gold.

He stared at what was revealed. There was a tiny bicycle, perfect in every detail. Seated upon it was one of Yosarian’s mechanical dolls, a miniature golden woman, naked and beautiful. He recognized her—or, more correctly, knew whom she represented.

“Una Freeman . . .” he murmured. “Commissioner Freeman.”

“As I said, Captain, an old friend of yours. And a friend of mine for quite some years. A charming lady.”

“Mphm.”

“When I mentioned to her that I was going to give you one of my dolls as a farewell gift she said that she would like it to be from both of us. But I got the impression that the combination of naked lady and bicycle was some sort of private joke.”

“At least she didn’t ask you to include a golden can of baked beans. That’s another private joke.”

“But what is the meaning of this?” asked Yosarian. “I was able, easily, to make the lady and her steed to her specifications. But a bicycle . . . ?”

“Miss Freeman and I were working together. It was when she was a member of the Corps of Sky Marshals and while I was in the Survey Service. It’s a long story; you must get her to tell it to you some time. But, fantastic as it may sound, the two of us were cast away on an almost desert planet with two bicycles for company. Mphm. Rather special bicycles.”

“I gathered that.”

Carefully Grimes lifted the exquisitely made models from the box, the little woman still sitting on the saddle, her tiny hands grasping the handlebar, her feet on the pedals. He set the toy—or the toys; he did not think that the assemblage was all in one piece—down onto the desk. He let go of it hastily when one foot lifted from the pedal, went down to make contact with the surface on which the bicycle was standing.

“It—she—is attuned to your voice, Captain,” said Yosarian. “Tell her to ride around the desk top.”

“Ride around the desk top,” ordered Grimes dubiously.

The golden foot was back on the golden pedal after giving a backward shove; both feet were on the pedals and the golden legs were working smoothly, up and down, up and down, and the golden filaments that were the wire spokes of the wheels glittered as they turned, slowly at first, and then became a gleaming, transparent blur.

Round the desk she rode, balancing on the very edge of its top, cutting no corners, faster and faster. And then she was actually over the edge with the wheels running on the shallow thickness of the rim, machine and rider no longer vertical to the deck but horizontal.

This was fascinating, but Grimes had to think about getting his ship upstairs in the very near future.

He asked, not taking his eyes from the fascinating golden figurine, “Are there batteries? How is she powered?”

“From any light source, natural or artificial.”

“How do I stop her?”

“Just tell her, Captain.”

Grimes restrained himself from saying ‘Stop,’ realizing that if he did so the golden toy might fall to the desk, damaging itself.

“Back onto the desk top,” he said. (Sometime, he thought, he must make a slow motion recording of that graceful gymnastic maneuvering.) “Back into the box.” (The bicycle ran up the vertical side of the container with ease, hovered briefly in the air before plunging downward.) “Stop.”

“You’re getting the hang of it, Captain,” said Yosarian.

“All I can say,” said Grimes, “is thank you. Thank you very much.”

“You should also thank Commissioner Freeman. The nature of the gift was her idea—and she was the model for part of it.”

“Then thank her for me, please.”

“I will do so.” Yosarian got up from the chair on which he had been sitting. “And now I must go. There is still work for me to do aboard my ship.” He extended his hand. Grimes shook it. “Bon voyage, Captain. And good fortune. Oh, I have a message from the Commissioner. She told me to tell you that bicycles aren’t always what they seem, and to remember that.” Something seemed to be amusing him. “Bon voyage,” he said again, and left.

Grimes pottered about his day cabin, making sure that all was secure. He lifted the box containing Yosarian’s—and Una’s—farewell gift down from the desk, stowed it in his big filing cabinet. (There was room for it; the ship, under her new ownership, had yet to accumulate stacks of incoming correspondence and copies of outgoing communications.) He made sure that the solidograph of Maggie Lazenby was secure on the shelf on which he had placed it while he was settling in. He would have to find a suitable site for Una and her bicycle, he thought; it would be a crime to leave her to languish unseen in the box. He remembered another gift from another woman, the miniature simulacrum of Susie. He remembered, too, the troubles that it had brought him. But the mini-Una, he told himself, for all her motility would be no more dangerous than the image of Maggie.

His telephone buzzed. The fleshy face of Williams appeared on the screen.

“Mate here, Skipper. Mr. Yosarian’s ashore now. I’m sealing the ship.”

“Thank you, Mr. Williams.”

“And Aerospace Control confirms that we’re all set for lift-off at 1400 hours.”

Grimes looked at the bulkhead clock. The time was 1350. He left his quarters and went up to the control room.







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Framed