Soul Music

the machinery and partly because the orang-utan was wrenching both handles, jumping up and down on the Fire pedal, and screaming at the top of his voice.
    “I wouldn’t have it in the place,” said the barman behind him. “But it’s popular with the customers, you see.”
    ONE CUSTOMER, ANYWAY.
    “Well, it’s better than the fruit machine, at least.”
    YES?
    “He ate all the fruit.”
    There was a screech of rage from the direction of the machine.
    The barman sighed. “You wouldn’t think anyone’d make so much fuss over a penny, would you?”
    The ape slammed a dollar coin on the counter and went away with two handfuls of change. One penny in a slot allowed a very large lever to be pulled; miraculously, all the Barbarians rose from the dead and began their wobbly invasion again.
    “He poured his drink into it,” said the barman. “It may be my imagination, but I think they’re wobbling a bit more now.”
    Death watched the game for a while. It was one of the most depressing things he’d ever seen. The things were going to get down to the bottom of the game anyway. Why shoot things at them?
    Why…?
    He waved his glass at the assembled drinkers.
    D’YOU. D’YOU. THING IS, D’YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE, EH, HAVING A MEMORY SO GOOD, RIGHT, SO GOOD YOU EVEN REMEMBER WHAT HASN’T HAPPENED YET? THAT’S ME. OH, YES. RIGHT ENOUGH. AS THOUGH. AS THOUGH. AS THOUGH THERE’S NO FUTURE…ONLY THE PAST THAT HASN’T HAPPENED YET. AND. AND. AND. YOU HAVE TO DO THINGS ANYWAY. YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN AND YOU HAVE TO DO THINGS.
    He looked around at the faces. People in the Drum were used to alcoholic lectures, but not ones like this.
    YOU SEE. YOU SHEE. YOU SEE STUFF LOOMING UP LIKE ICEBERG THINGS AHEAD BUT YOU MUSTN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT BECAUSE—BECAUSE—BECAUSEITSALAW. CAN’T BREAK THE LAW. ’SCOTABEALAW.
    SEE THIS GLASS, RIGHT? SEE IT? ’S LIKE MEMORY. ONNACOUNTA IF YOU PUT MORE STUFF IN, MORE STUFF FLOWS OUT, RIGHT? ’S FACT. EVERYONEGOTTA MEMORY LIKE THIS. ’S WHAT KEEP HUMANS FROM GOING ISS—ISH—INSH—MAD. ’CEPT ME. POOROLE ME. I REMEMBER EVERYTHING. AS IF IT HAPPENED ONLY TOMORROW. EVERYTHING.
    He looked down at his drink.
    AH, he said, FUNNY HOW THINGS COME BACK TO YOU, ISN’T IT.
    It was the most impressive collapse the bar had ever seen. The tall dark stranger fell backward slowly, like a tree. There was no sissy sagging of the knees, no cop-out bouncing off a table on the way down. He simply went from vertical to horizontal in one marvelous geometric sweep.
    Several people applauded as he hit the floor. Then they searched his pockets, or at least made an effort to search his pockets but couldn’t find any. And then they threw him into the river. *

    In the giant black study of Death one candle burned, and got no shorter.
    Susan leafed frantically through the books.
    Life wasn’t simple. She knew that; it was the Knowledge, which went with the job. There was the simple life of living things but that was, well…simple…
    There were other kinds of life. Cities had life. Anthills and swarms of bees had life, a whole greater than the sum of the parts. Worlds had life. Gods had a life made up of the belief of their believers.
    The universe danced toward life. Life was a remarkably common commodity. Anything sufficiently complicated seemed to get cut in for some, in the same way that anything massive enough got a generous helping of gravity. The universe had a definite tendency toward awareness. This suggested a certain subtle cruelty woven into the very fabric of space-time.
    Perhaps even a music could be alive, if it was old enough. Life is a habit.
    People said: I can’t get that darn tune out of my head .
    Not just a beat, but a heartbeat.
    And anything alive wants to breed.

    C.M.O.T. Dibbler liked to be up at first light, in case there was an opportunity to sell a worm to the early bird.
    He had set up a desk in the corner of one of Chalky’s workshops. He was, by and large, against the idea of a permanent office. On the positive side it made him easier to find, but on the negative side, it made him easier to find. The success of Dibbler’s commercial strategy hinged on him being able to find customers, not the other way round.
    Quite a large number of people seemed to have found him this morning. Many of them were holding guitars.
    “Right,” he said to Asphalt, whose flat head was just visible over the top of the makeshift desk. “All understood? It’ll take you