Jim and the Flims by Rudy Rucker Page B

issuing instructions—which Ira dutifully keyed into his cell phone, compiling today’s route for the expected party crowd.
    â€œLeft here,” intoned Ginnie. “Down that alley to the right, a left here and...”
    Now and then she’d pause, holding her lovely face still—as if basking in the light of a hidden sun. During one of these pauses, I heard a scratching on the van’s windowless back door, and Droog stiffened, alert for a fight.
    â€œThe yuel,” Weena breathed into my ear. “Be prepared when we exit. Don’t allow him to seize me.”
    â€œ...go two blocks and then do a U-turn,” Ginnie was saying. “Back up through that alley in reverse. Yes, reverse. And now, okay, straighten out and drive towards town. One more left and—home sweet home.”
    â€œI’m messaging the directions right now,” said Ira. The van pulled to a halt.
    â€œCome back here and open our door, Header,” I said. “The pizza’s getting cold.”
    â€œYou just want me to be the first out of the van,” said Header looking back at us with a mirthless smile. “Because of the yuel.” So far as I knew, nobody had directly mentioned that word to Header yet.
    Actually, I didn’t see the yuel until we were all out of the van. Header and Ira were trundling the keg up the walkway to the porch steps. Weena and I were behind them, me helping Weena with one arm and carrying half the pizzas with the other. Ginnie had run ahead with the other pizzas to make some light in the house. A faint noise made me glance back at the driveway.
    Sure enough, the alien blue baboon was perched on the van’s roof. The yuel. His golden eyes glowed in the gloom.
    In that moment, I heard the yuel’s voice in my head, a smooth and oily sound. “Nurture bloom grow,” he said. “Kill wallow leech.” Whatever that meant.
    â€œBe gone!” said Weena out loud, trying to make her frail voice sound authoritative. The yuel ignored her. Droog put his paws up against the side of the van and began barking like crazy.
    Baring his teeth, the yuel hopped off the van, capered down the driveway and scrambled up the trunk of a eucalyptus tree. I could hear him rustling up there. Ira and Header didn’t seem to notice him—being absorbed in humping the keg up the stairs.
    â€œI don’t know about trying for Flimsy just yet,” I murmured to Weena, propping the pizzas against my side. “You’d better get back your jiva before I try opening that door again. What with the yuel watching us.”
    â€œQuite right,” whispered Weena. “In a few hours my baby jivas will be grown. I’ll summon them and they’ll handily eliminate this yuel. Meanwhile, let us savor the degenerate revel of the surf folk.”
    â€œCome on in, dorks,” yelled Header from the porch. “We want the rest of those pies!” A geyser of foam shot from the keg as he and Ira tapped it.
    Glancing around the neighborhood, I noticed that, once again, the nearby houses were but faintly visible—as if seen at a distance, or through a mirror maze of many turns. The sounds of the town were attenuated as well. I was on my own here.

10: Surf Party

    I escorted Weena inside and set my pizza boxes on a plastic table in the front room. The very image of alertness, Droog stared raptly at the table. Ginnie had lit the place with candles. For a heartbeat, our eyes locked. In the candlelight, Ginnie’s eyes seemed to glow. Quite enchanting.
    â€œOur house doesn’t have any wiring,” said Ginnie, looking away. “But we do have running water. Very sweet and clear. And there’s a gasoline-powered generator we’ll start up pretty soon.” She flipped open one of the boxes. “Oh, this is Ratt’s veggie Hawaiian, with fresh pineapple, smoked tofu, locally made mozzarella, and coconut shreds on top!” She tore off a drippy slice