1) Miss Goldsmith had to be seen to be believed. She was the only science fiction editor I’ve ever seen who looked like a show girl, and I happen to be aesthetically affected (or something) by show-girl types.
2) I take science fiction seriously and I was annoyed that that 1938-39 magazine should have given Playboy a handle for satire. I wanted to satire back at them.
3) I quickly thought up exactly what I wanted to say. So I wrote “Playboy and the Slime God” using some of the same quotes that Playboy had used and trying to show what an encounter between sex-interested aliens and an Earth-woman might really be like. (1 might say that Miss Goldsmith wrote the final three paragraphs of the story. I had a quite pretentious ending and Miss Goldsmith’s was much better. So I let it stand, not only in the magazine, but here.)
The title was a problem, though. It’s disgusting. When the late (alas!) Groff Conklin, who was one of the most indefatigable anthologizers in the business, was considering the story for one of his collections, he asked rather piteously if I had an alternate title. “You bet!” I said, “How about ‘What Is This Thing Called Love?”
Mr. Conklin was delighted and so was I, and that is the title that he used, and the one that I am now using.
First appearance--Amazing Stories, March 1961, under the title “Playboy and the Slime God.” Copyright ©, 1961, by Ziff-Davis Publishing Company.
What Is This Thing Called Love?
“But these are two species,” said Captain Garm, peering closely at the creatures that had been brought up from the planet below. His optic organs adjusted focus to maximum sharpness, bulging outwards as they did so. The color patch above them gleamed in quick flashes.
Botax felt warmly comfortable to be following color-changes once again, after months in a spy cell on the planet, trying to make sense out of the modulated sound waves emitted by the natives. Communication by flash was almost like being home in the far-off Perseus arm of the Galaxy. “Not two species,” he said, “but two forms of one species.”
“Nonsense, they look quite different. Vaguely Perse-like, thank the Entity, and not as disgusting in appearance as so many out-forms are. Reasonable shape, recognizable limbs. But no color-patch. Can they speak?”
“Yes, Captain Garm,” Botax indulged in a discreetly disapproving prismatic interlude. “The details are in my report. These creatures form sound waves by way of throat and mouth, something like complicated coughing. I have learned to do it myself.” He was quietly proud. “It is very difficult.”
“It must be stomach-turning. Well, that accounts for their flat, unextensible eyes. Not to speak by color makes eyes largely useless. Meanwhile, how can you insist these are a single species? The one on the left is smaller and has longer tendrils, or whatever it is, and seems differently proportioned. It bulges where this other does not. Are they alive?”
“Alive but not at the moment conscious, Captain. They have been psycho-treated to repress fright in order that they might be studied easily.”
“But are they worth study? We are behind our schedule and have at least five worlds of greater moment than this one to check and explore. Maintaining a Time-stasis unit is expensive and I would like to return them and go on--”
But Botax’s moist spindly body was fairly vibrating with anxiety. His tubular tongue flicked out and curved up and over his flat nose, while his eyes sucked inward. His splayed three-fingered hand made a gesture of negation as his speech went almost entirely into the deep red.
“Entity save us, Captain, for no world is of greater moment to us than this one. We may be facing a supreme crisis. These creatures could be the most dangerous life-forms in the Galaxy, Captain, just because there are two forms.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Captain, it has been my job to study this planet, and it has been most difficult, for it is unique. It is so unique that I can scarcely comprehend its facets. For instance, almost all life on the planet consists of species in two forms. There are no words to describe it, no concepts even. I can only speak of them as first form and second form. If I may use their sounds, the little one is called ‘female,’ and the big one, here, ‘male,’ so the creatures themselves are aware of the difference.”
Garm winced, “What a disgusting means of communication.”
“And, Captain, in order to bring forth young, the two forms must cooperate.”
The Captain, who had bent forward to examine the specimens closely with an expression compounded of interest and revulsion, straightened at once. “Cooperate? What nonsense is this? There is no more fundamental attribute of life than that each living creature bring forth its young in innermost communication with itself. What else makes life worth living?”
“The one form does bring forth life but the other form must cooperate.”
“How?”
“That has been difficult to determine. It is something very private and in my search through the available forms of literature I could find no exact and explicit description. But I have been able to make reasonable deductions.”
Garm shook his head. “Ridiculous. Budding is the holiest, most private function in the world. On tens of thousands of worlds it is the same. As the great photo-bard, Levuline, said, ‘In budding-time, in budding time, in sweet, delightful budding time; when--’ “
“Captain, you don’t understand. This cooperation between forms brings about somehow (and I am not certain exactly how) a mixture and recombination of genes. It is a device by which in every generation, new combinations of characteristics are brought into existence. Variations are multiplied; mutated genes hastened into expression almost at once where under the usual budding system, millennia might pass first.”
“Are you trying to tell me that the genes from one individual can be combined with those of another? Do you know how completely ridiculous that is in the light of all the principles of cellular physiology?”
“It must be so,” said Botax nervously under the other’s pop-eyed glare. “Evolution is hastened. This planet is a riot of species. There are supposed to be a million and a quarter different species of creatures.”
“A dozen and a quarter more likely. Don’t accept too completely what you read in the native literature.”
“I’ve seen dozens of radically different species myself in just a small area. I tell you, Captain, give these creatures a short space of time and they will mutate into intellects powerful enough to overtake us and rule the Galaxy.”
“Prove that this cooperation you speak of exists, Investigator, and I shall consider your contentions. If you cannot, I shall dismiss all your fancies as ridiculous and we will move on.”
“I can prove it.” Botax’s color-flashes turned intensely yellow-green. “The creatures of this world are unique in another way. They foresee advances they have not yet made, probably as a consequence of their belief in rapid change which, after all, they constantly witness. They therefore indulge in a type of literature involving the space-travel they have never developed. I have translated their term for the literature as ‘science-fiction.’ Now I have dealt in my readings almost exclusively with science-fiction, for there I thought, in their dreams and fancies, they would expose themselves and their danger to us. And it was from that science-fiction that I deduced the method of their inter-form cooperation.”
“How did you do that?”
“There is a periodical on this world which sometimes publishes science-fiction which is, however, devoted almost entirely to the various aspects of the cooperation. It does not speak entirely freely, which is annoying, but persists in merely hinting. Its name as nearly as I can put it into flashes is ‘Recreationlad.’ The creature in charge, I deduce, is interested in nothing but inter-form cooperation and searches for it everywhere with a systematic and scientific intensity that has roused my awe. He has found instances of cooperation described in science-fiction and I let material in his periodical guide me. From the stories he inst
anced I have learned how to bring it about.
“And Captain, I beg of you, when the cooperation is accomplished and the young are brought forth before your eyes, give orders not to leave an atom of this world in existence.”
“Well,” said Captain Garm, wearily, “bring them into full consciousness and do what you must do quickly.”
Marge Skidmore was suddenly completely aware of her surroundings. She remembered very clearly the elevated station at the beginning of twilight. It had been almost empty, one man standing near her, another at the other end of the platform. The approaching train had just made itself known as a faint rumble in the distance.
There had then come the flash, a sense of turning inside out, the half-seen vision of a spindly creature, dripping mucus, a rushing upward, and now--
“Oh, God,” she said, shuddering. “It’s still here. And there’s another one, too.”
She felt a sick revulsion, but no fear. She was almost proud of herself for feeling no fear. The man next to her, standing quietly as she herself was, but still wearing a battered fedora, was the one that had been near her on the platform.
“They got you, too?” she asked. “Who else?”
Charlie Grimwold, feeling flabby and paunchy, tried to lift his hand to remove his hat and smooth the thin hair that broke up but did not entirely cover the skin of his scalp and found that it moved only with difficulty against a rubbery but hardening resistance. He let his hand drop and looked morosely at the thin-faced woman facing him. She was in her middle thirties, he decided, and her hair was nice and her dress fit well, but at the moment, he just wanted to be somewhere else and it did him no good at all that he had company, even female company.
He said, “I don’t know, lady. I was just standing on the station platform.”
“Me, too.”
“And then I see a flash. Didn’t hear nothing. Now here I am. Must be little men from Mars or Venus or one of them places.”
Marge nodded vigorously, “That’s what I figure. A flying saucer? You scared?”
“No. That’s funny, you know. I think maybe I’m going nuts or I would be scared.”
“Funny thing. I ain’t scared, either. Oh, God, here comes one of them now. If he touches me, I’m going to scream. Look at those wiggly hands. And that wrinkled skin, all slimy; makes me nauseous.”
Botax approached gingerly and said, in a voice at once rasping and screechy, this being the closest he could come to imitating the native timbre, “Creatures! We will not hurt you. But we must ask you if you would do us the favor of cooperating.”
“Hey, it talks!” said Charlie. “What do you mean, cooperate.”
“Both of you. With each other,” said Botax.
“Oh?” He looked at Marge. “You know what he means, lady?”
“Ain’t got no idea whatsoever,” she answered loftily.
Botax said, “What I mean--” and he used the short term he had once heard employed as a synonym for the process.
Marge turned red and said, “What!” in the loudest scream she could manage. Both Botax and Captain Garm put their hands over their mid-regions to cover the auditory patches that trembled painfully with the decibels.
Marge went on rapidly, and nearly incoherently. “Of all things. I’m a married woman, you. If my Ed was here, you’d hear from him. And you, wise guy,” she twisted toward Charlie against rubbery resistance, “whoever you are, if you think--”
“Lady, lady,” said Charlie in uncomfortable desperation. “It ain’t my idea. I mean, far be it from me, you know, to turn down some lady, you know; but me, I’m married, too. I got three kids. Listen--”
Captain Garm said, “What’s happening, Investigator Botax? These cacophonous sounds are awful.”
“Well,” Botax flashed a short purple patch of embarrassment. “This forms a complicated ritual. They are supposed to be reluctant at first. It f heightens the subsequent result. After that initial stage, the skins must be removed.”
“They have to be skinned?”
“Not really skinned. Those are artificial skins that can be removed painlessly, and must be. Particularly in the smaller form.”
“All right, then. Tell it to remove the skins. Really, Botax, I don’t find this pleasant.”
“I don’t think I had better tell the smaller form to remove the skins. I think we had better follow the ritual closely. I have here sections of those space-travel tales which the man from the ‘Recreationlad’ periodical spoke highly of. In those tales the skins are removed forcibly. Here is a description of an accident, for instance ‘which played havoc with the girl’s dress, ripping it nearly off her slim body. For a second, he felt the warm firmness of her half-bared bosom against his cheek--’ It goes on that way. You see, the ripping, the forcible removal, acts as a stimulus.”
“Bosom?” said the Captain. “I don’t recognize the flash.”
“I invented that to cover the meaning. It refers to the bulges on the upper dorsal region of the smaller form.”
“I see. Well, tell the larger one to rip the skins off the smaller one. What a dismal thing this is.”
Botax turned to Charlie. “Sir,” he said, “rip the girl’s dress nearly off her slim body, will you? I will release you for the purpose.”
Marge’s eyes widened and she twisted toward Charlie in instant outrage. “Don’t you dare do that, you. Don’t you dast touch me, you sex maniac.”
“Me?” said Charlie plaintively. “It ain’t my idea. You think I go around ripping dresses? Listen,” he turned to Botax, “I got a wife and three kids. She finds out I go around ripping dresses, I get clobbered. You know what my wife does when I just look at some dame? Listen--”
“Is he still reluctant?” said the Captain, impatiently.
“Apparently,” said Botax. “The strange surroundings, you know, may be extending that stage of the cooperation. Since I know this is unpleasant for you, I will perform this stage of the ritual myself. It is frequently written in the space-travel tales that an outer-world species performs the task. For instance, here,” and he riffled through his notes finding the one he wanted, “they describe a very awful such species. The creatures on the planet have foolish notions, you understand. It never occurs to them to imagine handsome individuals such as ourselves, with a fine mucous cover.”
“Go on! Go on! Don’t take all day,” said the Captain.
“Yes, Captain. It says here that the extraterrestrial ‘came forward to where the girl stood. Shrieking hysterically, she was cradled in the monster’s embrace. Talons ripped blindly at her body, tearing the kirtle away in rags.’ You see, the native creature is shrieking with stimulation as her skins are removed.”
“Then go ahead, Botax, remove it. But please, allow no shrieking. I’m trembling all over with the sound waves.”
Botax said politely to Marge, “If you don’t mind--”
One spatulate finger made as though to hook on to the neck of the dress.
Marge wiggled desperately. “Don’t touch. Don’t touch! You’ll get slime on it. Listen, this dress cost $24.95 at Ohrbach’s. Stay away, you monster. Look at those eyes on him.” She was panting in her desperate efforts to dodge the groping, extraterrestrial hand. “A slimy, bug-eyed monster, that’s what he is. Listen, I’ll take it off myself. Just don’t touch it with slime, for God’s sake.”
She fumbled at the zipper, and said in a hot aside to Charlie, “Don’t you dast look.”
Charlie closed his eyes and shrugged in resignation.
She stepped out of the dress. “All right? You satisfied?”
Captain Garm’s fingers twitched with unhappiness. “Is that the bosom? Why does the other creature keep its head turned away?”
“Reluctance. Reluctance,” said Botax. “Besides, the bosom is still covered. Other skins must be removed. When bared, the bosom is a very strong stimulus. It is constantly described as ivory globes, or white spheres, or otherwise after that
fashion. I have here drawings, visual picturizations, that come from the outer covers of the space-travel magazines. If you will inspect them, you will see that upon every one of them, a creature is present with a bosom more or less exposed.”
The Captain looked thoughtfully from the illustrations to Marge and back. “What is ivory?”
“That is another made-up flash of my own. It represents the tusky material of one of the large sub-intelligent creatures on the planet.”
“Ah,” and Captain Garm went into a pastel green of satisfaction. “That explains it. This small creature is one of a warrior sect and those are tusks with which to smash the enemy.”
“No, no. They are quite soft, I understand.” Botax’s small brown hand flicked outward in the general direction of the objects under discussion and Marge screamed and shrank away.
“Then what other purpose do they have?”
“I think,” said Botax with considerable hesitation, “that they are used to feed the young.”
“The young eat them?” asked the Captain with every evidence of deep distress.
“Not exactly. The objects produce a fluid which the young consume.”
“Consume a fluid from a living body? Yech-h-h.” The Captain covered his head with all three of his arms, calling the central supernumerary into use for the purpose, slipping it out of its sheath so rapidly as almost to knock Botax over.
“A three-armed, slimy, bug-eyed monster,” said Marge.
“Yeah,” said Charlie.
“All right you, just watch those eyes. Keep them to yourself.”
“Listen, lady. I’m trying not to look.”
Botax approached again. “Madam, would you remove the rest?”
Marge drew herself up as well as she could against the pinioning field. “Never!”
“I’ll remove it, if you wish.”
“Don’t touch! For God’s sake, don’t touch. Look at the slime on him, will you? All right, I’ll take it off.” She was muttering under her breath and looking hotly in Charlie’s direction as she did so.