The Second Fredric Brown Megapack. Fredric Brown
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after the constellation.”
Whatever slight suspicion (of what, he didn’t know) Elmo Scott may have had, evaporated.
The cow uncrossed its legs. “What tell we waitin’ for?” it inquired. “Nothing, I suppose,” said the Doberman. “Five and I will take turns standing guard.”
“Go ahead and get started,” said the rattlesnake. “I’ll take the first trick. Half an hour; that’ll give you a month there.”
The Doberman nodded. He got up and trotted to the screen door, pushing it open with his muzzle after lifting the latch with his tail. The squirrel, the chicken and the cow followed.
“Be seein’ ya, Babe,” said the cow.
“We sho will,” the squirrel said.
It was almost two hours later that the Doberman, who was then on duty as guard, lifted his head suddenly.
“There they went,” he said.
“I beg your pardon,” said Elmo Scott.
“Their new spaceship just took off. It has warped out of this space and is heading back toward Andromeda.”
“You say their. Didn’t you go along?”
“Me? Of course not. I’m Rex, your dog. Remember? Only One, who was using my body, left me with an understanding of what happened and a low level of intelligence.”
“A low level?”
“About equal to yours, Elmo. He says it will pass away, but not until after I’ve explained everything to you. But how about some dog food? I’m hungry. Will you get me some, Toots?”
Elmo said, “Don’t call my wife—Say, are you really Rex?”
“Of course I’m Rex.”
“Get him some dog food, Toots,” Elmo said. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s all go out in the kitchen so we can keep talking.”
“Can I have two cans of it?” asked the Doberman.
Dorothy was getting them out of the closet. “Sure, Rex,” she said.
The Doberman lay down in the doorway. “How about rustling some grub for us, too, Toots?” Elmo suggested. “I’m hungry. Look, Rex, you mean they just went off like that without saying good-by to us, or anything?”
“They left me to say good-by. And they did you a favor, Elmo, to repay you for your hospitality. One took a look inside that skull of yours and found the psychological block that’s been keeping you from thinking of plots for your stories. He removed it. You’ll be able to write again. No better than before, maybe, but at least you won’t go snow-blind staring at blank paper.”
“The devil with that,” said Elmo. “How about the spaceship they didn’t repair? Did they leave it?”
“Sure. But they took their bodies out of it and fixed them up. They were really Bems, by the way. Two heads apiece, five limbs—and they could use all five as either arms or legs—six eyes apiece, three to a head, on long stems. You should have seen them.”
Dorothy was putting cold food on the table. “You won’t mind a cold lunch, will you, Elmo?” she asked.
Elmo looked at her without seeing her and said, “Huh?” and then turned back to the Doberman. The Doberman got up from the doorway and went over to the big dish of dog food that Dorothy had just put down on the floor. He said, “Thanks, Toots,” and started eating in noisy gulps.
Elmo made himself a sandwich, and started munching it. The Doberman finished his meal, lapped up some water and went back to the throw rug in the doorway.
Elmo stared at him. “Rex, if I can find that spaceship they abandoned, I won’t have to write stories,” he said. “I can find enough things in it to—Say, I’ll make you a proposition.”
“Sure,” said the Doberman, “if I tell you where it is, you’ll get another Doberman pinscher to keep me company, and you’ll raise Doberman pups. Well, you don’t know it yet, but you’re going to do that anyway. The Bern named One planted the idea in your mind; he said I ought to get something out of this, too.”
“Okay, but will you tell me where it is?”
“Sure, now that you’ve finished that sandwich. It was something that would have looked like a dust mote, if you’d seen it, on the top slice of boiled ham. It was almost submicroscopic. You just ate it.”
Elmo Scott put his hands to his head. The Doberman’s mouth was open; its tongue lolled out for all the world as though it were laughing at him.
Elmo pointed a finger at him. He said, “You mean I’ve got to write for a living all the rest of my life?”
“Why not?” asked the Doberman. “They figured out you’d be really happier that way And with the psychological block removed, it won’t be so hard. You won’t have to start out, ‘Now is the time for all good men—’ And, incidentally, it wasn’t any coincidence that you substituted Bems for men; that was One’s idea. He was already here inside me, watching you. And getting quite a kick out of it.”
Elmo got up and started to pace back and forth. “Looks like they outsmarted me at every turn but one, Rex,” he murmured. “I’ve got ’em there, if you’ll cooperate.”
“How?”
“We can make a fortune with you. The world’s only talking dog. Rex, we’ll get you diamond-studded collars and feed you aged steaks and—and get everything you want. Will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Speak.”
“Woof,” said the Doberman.
Dorothy Scott looked at Elmo Scott.
“Why do that, Elmo?” she asked. “You told me I should never ask him to speak unless we had something to give him, and he’s just eaten.”
“I dunno,” said Elmo. “I forgot. Well, guess I’d better get back to getting a story started.” He stepped over the dog and walked to his typewriter in the other room.
He sat down in front of it and then called out. “Hey, Toots,” and Dorothy came in and stood beside him. He said, “I think I got an idea. That ‘Now is the time for all good Bems to come to the aid of Elmo Scott’ has the germ of an idea in it. I can even pick the title out of it. ‘All Good Bems.’ About a guy trying to write a science-fiction story, and suddenly his—uh—dog—I can make him a Doberman like Rex and— Well, wait till you read it.”
He jerked fresh paper into the typewriter and wrote the heading:
ALL GOOD BEMS
FIRST TIME MACHINE
Dr. Grainger said solemnly, “Gentlemen, the first time machine.”
His three friends stared at it.
It was a box about six inches square, with dials and a switch.
“You need only to hold it in your hand,” said Dr. Grainger, “set the dials for the date you want, press the button—and you are there.”
Smedley, one of the doctor’s three friends, reached for the box, held it and studied it. “Does it really work?”
“I tested it briefly,” said the doctor. “I set it one day back and pushed the button. Saw myself—my own back—just walking out of the room. Gave me a bit of a turn.”
“What would have happened if you’d rushed to the door and kicked yourself in the seat of the pants?”
Dr. Grainger laughed. “Maybe I couldn’t have—because it would have changed the past. That’s the old paradox of time travel, you know. What would happen if one went back in time and killed one’s own grandfather before he met one’s grandmother?”
Smedley,