In Deep by Damon Knight Read Free Book Online Page B

voice went on, “But he is R panga to his cousins and all their N pangas or bigger, except when—”
    Alvarez leaned over and peered around the desk. There on the carpet was the owner of the voice, a pinkish-white spheroid with various appendages sprouting in all directions, like a floating mine: “George” the gorgon. “Oh, it’s you,” said Alvarez, producing his echo sounder and humidometer. “What’s all this nonsense I hear—” He began to prod the gorgon with the test equipment, making his regular morning examination, It was the only bright moment of his day; the infirmary could wait.
    “All right,” Womrath interrupted, scrubbing furiously. “ R panga to cousins—wait a minute, now.” He turned with a scowl, “Alvarez, I’ll be through in a minute. N panga or bigger, except when…” He sketched in half a dozen boxes, labeled them and began to draw connecting lines. “Now is that right?” he asked George.
    “Yes, only now it is wrong panga to mother ’s cousins. Draw again, from father’s cousins’ N pangas, to mother’s cousins O pangas or bigger… Yes, and now from father’s uncles’ R pangas, to mother’s uncles’ pangas cousins —”
    Womrath’s hand faltered. He stared at the chart; he had drawn such a tangle of lines, he couldn’t tell what box connected with which. “Oh, God,” he said hopelessly. He climbed down off the ladder and slapped the stylus into Alvarez’s palm. “ You go nuts.” He thumbed the intercom on the desk and said, “Chief, I’m going off now. Way off.”
    “ Did you get that chart straightened out? ” the Intercom demanded.
    “No, but—”
    “ You’re on extra duty as of now. Take a pill. Is Alvarez here? ”
    “Yes,” said Womrath resignedly.
    “ Both of you come in, then. Leave George outside .”
    “Hello, Doctor,” the spheroid piped. “Are you panga to me?”
    “Don’t let’s go into that ,” said Womrath, twitching, and took Alvarez by the sleeve. They found the chief of the Xenology Section, Edward H. Dominick, huddled bald and bearlike behind his desk. The cigar in his hand looked chewed. “Womrath,” he said, “when can you give me that chart?”
    “I don’t knew. Never, maybe.” When Dominick scowled at, him irritably, he shrugged and lit a sullen cigarette.
    Dominick swiveled his gaze to Alvarez. “Have you,” he asked, “heard about what happened at the banquet in George’s honer yesterday?”
    “No, I have not,” said Alvarez. “Will you be so kind as to tell me, or else shut up about it?”—
    Dominick rubbed his shaven skull, absorbing the insult. “It was during the dessert,” he said. “George was sitting opposite Mrs. Carver, in that little jump seat. Just as she get her fork into the pie—it was lemon meringue—George rolled up over the table and grabbed the plate away. Mrs. Carver screamed, pulled back—thought she was being attacked, I suppose—and the chair went out from under her. It—was—a—mess.”
    Alvarez ended the awed silence. “What did he do with the pie?”
    “Ate it,” said Dominick glumly. “Had a perfectly good piece of his own, that he didn’t touch.” He popped a lozenge into his mouth.
    Alvarez shook his head. “Not typical. His pattern is strictly submissive. I don’t like it.”
    “That’s what I told Carver. But he was livid. Shaking. We all sat there until he escorted his wife to her room and came back. Then we had an interrogation. All we could get out of George was, “I thought I was panga to her.”
    Alvarez shifted impatiently in his chair, reaching automatically for a bunch of grapes from the bowl on the desk. He was a small, spare man, and he felt defensive about it. “Now what is all this panga business?” he demanded.
    Womrath snorted, and began to peel a banana.
    “Panga,” said Dominick, “would appear to be some kind of complicated authority-submission relationship that exists among the gorgons.” Alvarez sat up straighter. “They never