Six
In the huge and empty apartment building, following the roar of the TV in the distance, John Isidore slowly walked down the dusty stairs. He could already distinguish the familiar voice of his old friend Buster - he was happily chattering to a large audience across the solar system.
" - Ho, ho, everyone! Click, pop, crackle! Now a brief introduction to tomorrow's weather. First, East Coast . The U.S. Mangus satellite reports that radioactive fallout will be particularly severe near noon and then slowly weaken. So those who want to venture out, it is best to wait until the afternoon , Huh? Speaking of waiting, there are only ten hours left before the big news. That will be my exclusive news! Ask your friends to watch it too. Now you may think this is just ordinary-" Isidore knocked on the door and the sound of the TV disappeared immediately. The TV not only went silent, but seemed to cease to exist, scared back into its grave by the knock on the door.
He felt that besides the TV, there was life on the other side of the door. His stupid brain was working in overdrive, imagining or feeling an invisible, silent fear. It seemed that someone was pushed to the wall at the other end of the room by the knocking on the door. He just wanted to escape as far away as possible.
"Hello," he shouted, "I live upstairs. I heard your TV. Let's meet, okay?" He waited for a while, but didn't hear any sound or movement. His words did not impress the other party as much as
. "I brought a box of margarine." He pressed against the door, trying to let his voice pass through the thick door. "My name is John R. Isidore. I work for the famous veterinarian Mr. Hannibal Slott, you must have heard of him. I am a reputable man. I have a full-time job. I drive a truck for Mr. Slott."
The door opened a crack, and he saw a broken and crooked figure shrinking in the room. A girl cowered behind the door, but still held on to it, as if to steady herself. The fear caused her pain, distorting the lines of her body, making her look like she had been broken into pieces and then maliciously glued back together. She smiled softly and stared at him nervously with her huge eyes.
It dawned on him and he said, "You thought there was no one in this building. You thought it was an empty building."
The girl nodded and whispered, "Yes."
"But," Isidore said, "it's good to have neighbors. God, I didn't even have neighbors before you came." That wasn't fun, God knows.
"Apart from me," the girl asked, "are you the only one?" She became bolder, stood up straight, and raised her hand to straighten her black hair. At this time, he discovered that she had a good figure, although she was relatively petite. Long black eyelashes decorate the beautiful eyes. The girl was suddenly startled and was only wearing a pair of pajamas and nothing else. He looked beyond her and saw the messy room, suitcases here and there, and the contents spread all over the floor. But this is normal. She has just arrived.
"Besides you, I am the only one in this building." Isidore said, "But I won't disturb you." He was a little depressed. His gift, although out of true old pre-war courtesy, was not accepted. In fact, the girl didn't seem to notice his gift at all. Maybe she didn't know what the box of margarine was for. He had a hunch that the girl was probably confused rather than impolite. She seemed to have just emerged from the deep sea of fear and was floating helplessly on the surface of the sea. "Buster, my friend," he said, trying to put her at ease, "do you like him? I watch him every morning, and I watch him every night when I get home. Watch him at dinner, and then watch his late-night show until I go to bed. As long as the TV isn't broken, I watch it."
"Who--" the girl stopped before she started. She bit her lip fiercely, as if she was angry with herself. "It's my old friend Buster," he explained. He found it strange that the girl had never heard of the funniest comedy show on earth. "Where are you from?" he asked curiously.
"I don't think it's important." She raised her eyes and glared at him.She didn't know what she saw, but her worries were eliminated and her body relaxed again. "I'm happy to entertain guests," she said, "but that will have to wait until I get settled. Now, of course, I can't entertain you."
"Why isn't it possible?" He was confused. Everything about her baffled him. Maybe, he thought, I've been here alone for too long. I have become disconnected from society. They say chicken heads are like this. This thought made him even more depressed. "I can help you sort it out," he ventured, the door now almost shut on his nose. "I can also help you get furniture."
The girl said: "I don't have furniture. All these things," she pointed to the room behind her, "are here."
"These furniture won't work." Isidore said. He could tell at a glance. The chairs, the carpets, the tables, all rotted away, sunk in the common ruins, uncared for and maintained, crushed by the violence of time. The room had not been occupied for many years and all the furniture was almost in ruins. He couldn't imagine how she could live in such an environment. "Listen to me," he said eagerly, "if we wander around the building, I can help you find something that is not too shabby. A lamp for this room, a table for that room."
"I will do it myself." The girl said, "Thank you."
"Will you go into those rooms and look for it yourself?" He found it incredible.
"Can't you?" She shuddered nervously, realizing that she might have said something wrong again, and made a face.
Isidore said: "I tried it. Only once. Since then, I only went into my room when I came back and didn't think about anything else. Each of the hundreds of empty rooms was filled with items left by others. Family photos or clothes. The dead couldn't take anything with them, and the immigrants didn't want to take anything with them. This building, except for my room, has been completely bastardized."
"Geppetized?" She was confused.
"Kippi are useless things, such as junk mail, empty matchboxes, chewing gum wrappers, and yesterday's newspapers. When no one is around, kipi will reproduce by itself. For example, if you leave some kipi in the room before going to bed, you will find that the number of kipi has doubled when you wake up the next day. There will always be more and more kipi."
"I understand." The girl stared at him hesitantly, not knowing whether to believe him or not, and was not sure whether he was joking.
"This is Kippi's first law," he said, "'Kippi drives out non-Kippi'. Just like Grasham's law of bad money driving out good money. In those empty rooms, there is no living person resisting Kippi."
"So Kippi completely occupied those rooms." The girl finished for him. She nodded, "Now I understand."
"This place," he said, "the room you picked is too basal to be inhabitable. But we can lower the basal factor. Like I said, we can rob other rooms. But—" He stopped.
"But what?"
Isidore said: "We can't win."
"Why?" The girl came into the corridor and closed the door behind her. She embarrassedly folded her hands on her small and tall chest and faced him, eager to understand his theory. Or so it seemed to him. At least she was willing to listen to him.
"Nobody can win against kippies," he said. "Only short-lived, local victories. In my room, I create a balance between kippies and non-kippies. But I always die, or leave, and kippies take over again. This is a universal truth throughout the universe. The entire universe is evolving toward the final, most absolute kippy state." He added, "Except, of course, Wilbur. Beyond Mercer's Climb."
The girl stared at him. "I don't see any connection."
"But that's the purpose of Mercerism." He was confused again, "Don't you participate in the integration? Don't you have a resonance box?"
The girl hesitated for a while and said carefully: "I didn't bring it here. I thought I could find one here."
"But the resonance box..." he started to stutter with excitement, "is the most personal thing! It is an extension of your body, your access to other human beings, your escape from loneliness. But of course you know this. Everyone knows it. Mercer even lets someone like me—" He stopped suddenly. But it was too late, he had already said it. He saw a trace of disgust flash across her face, and it seemed that she already knew. "I almost passed the IQ test," he said in a low and trembling voice, "I'm not extremely disabled, just mildly disabled, different from the ones you see. But Mercer didn't mind that at all. "
"As far as I know," said the girl, "that is an important reason against Mercerism. Her voice was clear and neutral. He realized that she only wanted to state a fact, which was her attitude towards chicken heads.
"I guess I should go back upstairs." "As he said that, he turned and left. The box of margarine in his hand was already moist and softened.
The girl looked at him walking away, the expression on her face was still lukewarm. Suddenly, she shouted: "Wait a minute. "
He turned around and asked: "What's wrong? "
" I need you. Get me some furniture. Move it from another room, like you said. "She walked towards him slowly, her naked upper body smooth and slim, without a trace of fat. "What time do you get off work? You can come over and help me after get off work.
Isidore said, "Can you make dinner?" If I bring the ingredients back. "
" No, I have too many things to do. "The girl rejected him effortlessly. He noticed her indiscretion, but didn't understand what was going on. Her initial fear had subsided, and something else began to emerge. Something stranger, something far away. A kind of coldness. Like a breath exhaled from the vacuum between planets, coming from nowhere. It wasn't what she said or did, but what she didn't say or do. "Next time. "After that, the girl turned and walked towards her room.
"Do you remember my name? " John Isidore," he said eagerly. My employer is - "
" You have already said who your employer is. She paused for a moment by the door, then opened the door and said, "It's an awesome man named Hannibal Slott." I'm sure that person only exists in your imagination. My name is—" She glanced at him coldly for the last time, hesitated before entering, and said, "I'm Rachel Rosen. Is "
" related to Lawson Company? " He asked, "The largest manufacturer of humanoid machines in the solar system, the backbone of the colonization program? "
A complicated expression flashed across her face, and then disappeared without a trace. "It doesn't matter. "I had never heard of that company and didn't know what it did," she said. It must be another boring imagination in your chicken head, I guess. John Isidore and his personal, private resonance box. Poor Mr. Isidore. "
"But your name seems to be—"
"My name," the girl said, "is Prince Stratton. This was my married name and I have always used it. I just use Pris and no other name. You can call me Pris. She thought for a moment and then said, "No, you'd better call me Ms. Stratton." Because we don't know each other very well. At least I don't know you. "The door closed behind her. He stood alone again in the dim, dusty corridor.
