He Who Shapes by Roger Zelazny Read Free Book Online

quickly.
    Like the shadow of a bird, Sigmund had gotten to his feet,
    crossed the room, and was already circling the machine and
    sniffing at ittail taut, ears flat, teeth bared.
    "Easy, Sig," said Render. "It's an Omnichannel Neural T & R
    Unit. It won't bite or anything like that. It's just a machine, like
    a car, or a teevee, or a dishwasher. That's what we're going to
    use today to show Eileen what some things look like."
    "Don't like it," rumbled the dog.
    "Why?"
    Sigmund had no reply, so he stalked back to Eileen and laid
    his head in her lap.
    "Don't like it," he repeated, looking up at her.
    "Why?"
    "No words," he decided. "We go home now?"
    "No," she answered him. "You're going to curl up in the
    corner and take a nap, and I'm going to curl up in that machine
    and do the same thingsort of."
    "No good," he said, tail drooping.
    "Go on now," she pushed him, "lie down and behave
    yourself."
    He acquiesced, but he whined when Render blanked the
    windows and touched the button which transformed his desk
    into the operator's seat.
    He whined once morewhen the egg, connected now to an
    outlet, broke in the middle and the top slid back and up,
    revealing the interior.
    Render seated himself. His chair became a contour couch
    and moved in halfway beneath the console. He sat upright and
    it moved back again, becoming a chair. He touched a part of
    the desk and half the ceiling disengaged itself, reshaped itself,
    and lowered to hover overhead like a huge bell. He stood and
    moved around to the side of the ro-womb. Respighi spoke of
    pines and such, and Render disengaged an earphone from
    beneath the egg and leaned back across his desk. Blocking one
    ear with his shoulder and pressing the microphone to the other,
    he played upon the buttons with his free hand. Leagues of surf
    drowned the tone poem; miles of traffic overrode it; a great
    clanging bell sent fracture lines running through it; and the
    feedback said: ". . . Now that you are just sitting there listening
    to me, saying nothing, I associate you with a deep, almost
    violet, blue . . ."
    He switched to the face mask and monitored, onecinnamon,
    two leaf mold, three deep reptilian musk . . . and down
    through thirst, and the tastes of honey and vinegar and salt,
    and back on up through lilacs and wet concrete, a before-the-
    storm whiff of ozone, and all the basic olfactory and gustatory
    cues for morning, afternoon, and evening in the town.
    The couch floated normally in its pool of mercury,
    magnetically stabilized by the walls of the egg. He set the
    tapes.
    The ro-womb was in perfect condition.
    "Okay," said Render, turning, "everything checks."
    She was just placing her glasses atop her folded garments.
    She had undressed while Render was testing the machine. He
    was perturbed by her narrow waist, her large, dark-pointed
    breasts, her long legs. She was too well-formed for a woman her
    height, he decided.
    He realized though, as he stared at her, that his main
    annoyance was, of course, the fact that she was his patient.
    "Ready here," she said, and he moved to her side.
    He took her elbow and guided her to the machine. Her
    fingers explored its interior. As he helped her enter the unit, he
    saw that her eyes were a vivid seagreen. Of this, too, he
    disapproved.
    "Comfortable?"
    "Yes."
    "Okay then, we're set. I'm going to close it now. Sweet
    dreams."
    The upper shell dropped slowly. Closed, it grew opaque,
    then dazzling. Render was staring down at his own distorted
    reflection.
    He moved back in the direction of his desk.
    Sigmund was on his feet, blocking the way.
    Render reached down to pat his head, but the dog jerked it
    aside.
    "Take me, with," he growled.
    "I'm afraid that can't be done, old fellow," said Render.
    "Besides, we're not really going anywhere. We'll just be dozing
    right here, in this room."
    The dog did not seem mollified.
    "Why?"
    Render sighed. An argument with a dog was about the most
    ludicrous thing he could imagine when sober.
    "Sig," he