Aliens Alien Harvest - By Robert Sheckley Page 0,8

into a fluted glass and tasting it.

"Just on the verge of turning,'' he said. "But still superb.

We've caught the St Emilion at its peak, Julie. This is probably the last bottle of this stuff in the world." She tasted the ruby red liquid he had poured for her. "It's marvelous, Stan. But what are we celebrating?"

"Need you ask?"

"I think not," she said, "but I would like to hear it anyhow."

"And hear it you shall." Stan smiled. Never had he felt so at peace with himself. He didn't know where this course of action was going to take him, but he was satisfied to follow it.

"We're going to go with your plan, Julie. And we're going to follow it all the way. We both know the risks. We discussed them yesterday. We both know the odds are against us. But no more talk about that. I've decided, and I know that you have, too. We'll start in the morning."

She reached across the snowy tablecloth and held his hand tightly. "Why tomorrow morning?"

"Because that's when my bank opens," Stan said. "I'm ready for whatever we have to do."

"I'm ready, too, Stan."

"Well," he said, half as a joke and half seriously, "I guess we've taken care of everything except what to name our alien."

"What would you suggest?"

"What about Norbert, after the great Norbert Wiener, father of cybernetics, the science that gave it birth?"

"Sounds good to me," Julie said. "I guess that just about covers it, Stan. Except for one thing."

"What's that?"

She leaned close to him. He felt dizzy with her face so close to his. She bent closer. Her lips were partially open. He was fascinated by her teeth, all perfect except one small one to the left, an eyetooth. It was a little crooked.

And then he stopped thinking as she kissed him, and Ari the cybernetic ant stood in his box on the mantel and watched, and the flames of the fire lifted and died away, and Stan watched Ari watching and watched himself kissing Julie, not knowing that Ari was watching, and all this from within his frozen moment in time and all of it stained in the blue light of the royal jelly of memory.
Chapter 4
Next morning he had a chance to show Julie around his house. She admired the fine old silverware he had inherited from his grandparents, and looked with something approaching awe at the portraits of his ancestors that hung on the great staircase that led to the upper rooms. There were dozens of somber oil paintings in ornate gilt frames, showing stern faced men - some with side whiskers and some clean shaven - and proper looking ladies in starched black bombazine and stiff Dutch lace. Stan had been lucky that this stuff still remained after the great destruction.

"It's wonderful, Stan," Julie said. "I never knew who my parents were. They sold me before I knew them."

"I've got more than enough relatives," Stan said. "You can have some of mine."

"Can I? I'd like that. I'll take that fat one with the smile for my mother."

"That's Aunt Emilia. You've picked well. She was the best of the bunch."

There were other treasures upstairs. Eiderdowns whose cases were heavy with intricate embroidery; gaudy antique jewelry; massive furniture cut from gigantic tropical trees whose species had become extinct.

"This is such beautiful stuff," Julie said. "I could look at it forever. How do you ever pull yourself away?"

"You know, it's funny," Stan said. "I never liked any of this before. But since you've come here... Well, it looks pretty nice to me now."

The next day Stan was pleased when it was the time for action. He felt like his life was just beginning. He was very pleased with this notion, although he also dreaded it, because if his life was beginning, it was also drawing to a close. Which would come first, he wondered, victory or death? Or would they arrive simultaneously?

He refused to think about it. What was important was that he and Julie were in this together. He was no longer alone.

He dressed with special care that morning, humming to himself as he shaved. He selected an Italian silk suit and a colorful Brazilian imported shirt made of a light cotton. He wore his tasseled loafers, even going so far as to buff them up to a high polish. He usually laughed at people who took pains over their dress and appearance, but for this morning, at least, he was one of them. It was a way of reminding