Azazel - By Isaac Asimov Page 0,43

He shook his head as though unable to grasp the concept.

"Can you make my friend less heavy?" I asked, pounding away at what was, after all, a very simple point.

"Of course," said Azazel indignantly. "All it requires is the application of the anti-gravity principle, activated by the water molecule under appropriate conditions. It isn't easy, but it can be done."

"Wait," I said uneasily, thinking of the dangers of inflexibility. "It would be wise to place the anti-gravitational intensity under my friend's control. He might find it convenient to flounder on occasion."

"Fit it to your crude autonomic system? Really! You know no limits to your effrontery."

"I only ask," I said, "because it's you. I would know better than to ask this of any other of your species."

This diplomatic untruth had its expected effect. Azazel expanded his chest by two full millimeters and, in a lordly, counter-tenor squeak, said, "It shall be done."

I supposed Septimus gained the ability at that moment, but I couldn't be sure. It was August at the time and there was no snow cover with which to experiment - nor was I in the mood for a quick trip to Antarctica, Patagonia, or even Greenland in a search for experimental material.

Nor was there are point in explaining the situation to Septimus without snow for demonstration. He would not have believed me. He might even have come to the ridiculous conclusion that I - I - had been drinking.

But the Fates were kind. I was at Septimus's country home in late November, in what he called his farewell stay for the season, and there was a copious fall of snow - unusually heavy for the month.

Septimus chafed loudly and proclaimed war on the universe for hot having spared him this vile insult.

But it was heaven to me - and to him, did he but know. I said, "Fear not, Septimus. Now is the time for you to find out that snow has no terrors for you." And I explained the situation in ample detail.

I suppose it was to be expected that his first reaction would be one of ribald disbelief, but he made certain totally unnecessary animadversions on the state on my mental health.

However, I had had months to work out my strategy. I said, "You may have wondered, Septimus, how I earn my living. You will not be surprised at my reticence when I tell you that I am the key figure in a government research program on anti-gravity. I can say no more except that you are an invaluable experiment and will greatly advance the program. This has important national security implications."

He stared at me in wide-eyed amazement as I softly hummed a few bars of "The Star-Spangled Banner."

"Are you serious?" he asked.

"Would I palter with the truth?" I asked in my turn. Then, risking the natural rejoinder, I said, "Would the CIA?"

He swallowed it, overcome by the aura of simple veracity that pervades all my statements.

He said, "What am I supposed to do?"

I said, "There's only six inches of snow on the ground. Imagine yourself to be weighing nothing and step out on it."

"I just have to imagine it?"

"That's the way it works."

"I'll get my feet wet"

I said sarcastically, "Put on your hip boots, then."

He hesitated and then actually got out his hip boots and struggled into them. This open show of lack of faith in my statements hurt me deeply. In addition, he put on a furry overcoat and an even furrier hat.

"If you're ready - " I said coldly.

"I'm not," he said.

I opened the door and he stepped out. There was no snow on the covered veranda, but as soon as he placed his feet on the steps, they seemed to slide out from under him. He grabbed the balustrade with a desperate grip.

He had somehow reached the bottom of the short flight of steps, and he tried to push himself upright. It didn't work, at least not in the way he intended. He went sliding along for a few feet, arms flailing, and then his feet went up in the air. He came down on his back and continued to slide until he passed a young tree and wrapped an arm around the trunk. He slid around it three or four times and came to a halt.

"What kind of slippery snow do we have here?" he shouted in a voice that trembled with indignation.

I must