Transmaniacon by John Shirley Page A

far from here and the ’Vegas cops were on my tail. These people weren’t too hard to impress. They took me in. And I’m Head-man, now. I’ve never been the Head-man of anything before. Always number three man in the mob at best. I got me three good women here and we get by. I don’t want nothin’ from outside to spoil it. Understand?”
    Ben nodded. “I understand perfectly. Never fear.
    We’ll eat and leave.”
    â€œJust don’t hang around,”
    The savages, seeing that their leader approved the stranger, had edged closer. Ben could see their tattoos, the ancient symbols of power: miniature octagonal Stop signs; No Left Turn; No Passing; Truck Route; Gas Food and Lodging Next Exit. . . all in crude black letters. A few were tattooed with other symbols on their foreheads, indicating their tribal rank and station. The man in charge of rationing the tribe’s food was tattooed with % . The seer wore a ?. The First Among Warriors sported a ! . And each woman had one & for every child she had borne.
    Ben was given a large steaming clay pot brimming with a savory stew of antelope and herbs. Sitting beside the lake, he and Gloria ate. She ate slowly, pausing to turn faintly green between each mouthful; but she kept it down and shortly the spirit returned to her eyes. She seemed to enjoy Ben’s attendance, however, and was careful not to seem completely recovered.
    After eating, they bathed in the icy lake. They soaked their clothes and wrung and beat them on the rocks, then spread them out in the sun to dry.
    Watching from a dozen yards away, a handful of the tribe muttered about the fly-children’s maggot-white skin. They watched the fly-car apprehensively as if they expected it to come alive.
    The lake was bitter cold but it brought Ben awake like a cymbal crash beside his ear, and later he stretched out with a grunt of satisfaction beside Gloria, on the smooth round pebbles. The sun dried and warmed them.
    They examined one another frankly. Ben watched Gloria’s face as she took stock of a naked Professional Irritant. Her expression was entirely impassive; he felt foolish, realizing he’d hoped to see approval in her eyes. Long and white, skin almost transparent. She seemed fragile, a wraith. Her breasts were wide apart and pointed; her damp collarbone shone like polished ivory. Against a gray pebbly beach her body, outstretched, gleamed like a vein of quartz in a cliff-face. Stiffened from the chill water, her wine-red nipples were hard and prominent.
    â€œYou’re lovely,” he said, the words hardly louder than a breath. But she heard.
    â€œAnd you’re a jerk,” she replied. But she was smiling. Suddenly she stood and went into the fly-car. Perhaps she meant for him to follow her.
    â€œWhen you leaving?” It was Chancey, hovering impatiently near. “This ain’t a resort, man. You running from somebody? I’ll bet you are, Rackey. I don’t want them to come here looking for you. Look, there’s two groups of people around here right now besides us. Few miles north there’s a caravan of Dis-lovers, pilgrims to ’Frisco, and about two hours before you got here I saw another weird insect flyer…”
    Ben was up and getting dressed. The clothes were still damp. But suddenly he was in a hurry to leave. “What did the flyer look like?”
    â€œLike a wasp. A big wasp, like yours is a big house-fly. Only it was a wasp. And the way it was circling, I figure it was looking for someone. Now I wonder who? So beat it. I got a helluva good thing here, see.”
    But Ben had already scooped up Gloria’s clothes and was climbing up the ladder.
    He closed the hatch behind him, tossed Gloria her clothes, and took the fly-car up.
    He headed north.
    Strung through the shallow valley between the scrubbed-topped hills, the pilgrims trudged in dismal procession, their heads muffled in their red cowls. Ben estimated