The Arsenal Files 8/The Arsenal Files Collection #8 (Arsenal Computer) (1996).ISO/doorware/rubyv60.zip/RUBY60-5

Text File | 1996-08-31 | 14KB | 321 lines

Copyright (c) 1996

                    PRIVATE ZOO
                    (Part One)
                    by Colin Dale

     Frank Davis knew he was in for an interesting day the moment
he found the elephant in his rose garden. He had awakened to the
not-uncommon sound of his two children getting an early start on
their daily re-enactment of the war of 1812 (Claudia was
eighteen, Dan, twelve), stumbled into and out of the shower,
through breakfast and out the front door having had no reason to
believe that today would be any different from his last six-
hundred-odd uninteresting days, all consecutive (he was working
on the record).  He was halfway to his car when he turned to
glance casually into the garden to see how Edna's white roses
were doing, and that's when he saw the elephant.

     It was standing in the middle of the garden, seemingly
oblivious to his presence.  No, not standing, Frank checked
himself, but kneeling.  Outside of being in his rose garden, it
seemed to Frank to be a perfectly normal elephant, just like the
ones he'd seen at the circus when the kids were younger.  It was
grey and had large ears - that made it an African rather than an
Indian elephant, he knew that much - and was about ten feet tall,
or would be if it were standing.  Its trunk was about the length
of Frank's arm, he reckoned, and the two 'fingers' at the end
were holding, of all things, a garden trowel.  As Frank watched,
the elephant stuck the trowel into the ground and deftly scooped
out a weed.  It reached for another weed, but suddenly seemed to
take notice of Frank and lifted its giant head to look at him.

     "Good morning, Frank," the elephant said pleasantly.

     Too stunned to be frightened, Frank managed to choke out a
hoarse "Good morning," of his own.

     The elephant put down the trowel and rose ponderously to its
feet.  "Are you all right, Frank?" it asked in an oddly familiar
voice.  "You look a little pale."

     Frank, who certainly *felt* pale, tried desperately to
remember the last National Geographic special he'd seen.  He
couldn't quite decide whether elephants attacked people who
turned and ran or people who locked eyes and backed away.  But
after all, he reminded himself, no National Geographic special
had ever, to his knowledge, dealt with a *talking* elephant
concerned about his health.  He was on his own.

     "Um, I'm a little tired," he ventured.  "I didn't sleep well
last night."

     The elephant advanced on him.  On a wild hunch, Frank
decided not to run.

     "Oh, that's too bad," it said sympathetically.  "I hope I
didn't disturb you when I got up.  I wanted to get an early start
on those weeds.  The flower show is less than two weeks away, you
know."

     This was too much.  Much as he hated to, Frank knew that he
was going to have to ask the elephant what on Earth it was doing
in his yard and speaking in his wife's voice.  It might decide to
trample him to powder for his insolence, but Frank didn't know
how much more of this...

     His wife's voice?

     Frank looked again, and suddenly where the elephant had been
there was only Edna standing in front of him.

     "Frank, *are* you all right?" she said.  "You really don't
look well at all.  Why don't you call in sick?"

     He was tempted to ask her where the elephant had gone, but
stopped himself at the last moment.  "No!" he said quickly.  "I
mean, no.  I'm fine, really.  I'll be all right once I get on the
road.  Will you make breakfast for the kids?  Thanks.  Bye."  He
kissed her and, before she could object again, climbed into his
car and drove off, rather too quickly.  In the mirror, he saw
Edna watch him leave, then turn and go back into the house.

     As Frank turned onto the main road, he was surprised to
notice his hands shaking.  He gripped the steering wheel firmly
and forced himself to calm down.  By the time he arrived at work
he was actually laughing at himself.  An elephant, indeed!  He
really *was* tired.  He'd been working on this project harder and
for longer than he'd intended, but he'd certainly never expected
to start imagining things as a result.  As he pulled into his
parking space he promised himself a nice long vacation with Edna
and the kids when this project was finished.  His last thought of
the elephant before he sat down at his desk was how appropriate a
figment of his imagination it had been.  After all, Edna *had*
been putting on a little weight recently...

                    *   *   *

     Stopping only for an extra-large cup of coffee at the
cafeteria, Frank proceeded directly to his office, foregoing his
usual walk around the floor - his "review of the troops", as he
like to think of it.  It was a misnomer, of course; no one in the
office aside from his secretary was technically responsible to
him, although many of the junior architects at the firm often
came to him for advice.  He arrived at his office a few minutes
before nine, and spent the time gulping down his coffee and
resolutely not having any more hallucinations.  That done, he sat
down at his drawing board and got to work.  The new Maxwell
building wasn't going to design itself, after all.

     The morning turned out to be an especially productive one.
With the end of the project in sight, Frank felt invigorated, and
by eleven had managed to design almost a whole floor of the 60-
story, ultra-modern office building that had occupied most of his
time for the last month.  If he could finish a second floor in
the afternoon, that would leave him only seven to go, and would
probably allow him to have the whole thing done by the weekend.
He began to wonder contentedly what he would do with Edna and the
kids with two whole days to himself, and as he happily counted up
his options his fingers flew over his drawings, the Maxwell
building taking shape moment by moment.

     "Mr. Davis?"

     He had been so absorbed in his work that he nearly jumped
off his stool at the sound of the sudden voice.  He turned to
look at the door to his office.

     "Mr. Davis, it's nearly one o'clock," said the white-tailed
deer standing there.

     Even though something like this had already happened to him
once today, the experience didn't help Frank much.  As before, he
could only stare stupidly at the apparition before him.  This
time, however, he did at least manage to keep his voice from
cracking when he replied.  "Uh, I beg your pardon?"

     The deer blinked its large brown eyes and took a step toward
him.  Its long, slender legs, seemingly too flimsy to support its
weight, fascinated Frank for some reason, and he found himself
staring at them without replying.

     "Are you all right, Mr. Davis?"

     He came to with a start.  "Hmm?  What?"

     The deer took another step forward.  "I just wanted to know
if you were coming to lunch with me today," it explained.  "I
have a few things to ask you about."

     Frank's mind raced.  The deer expected him to go to lunch
with it?  And ask him things?  That was all wrong; he always went
to lunch with...

     He closed his eyes, held them shut for a count of three,
opened them again, and breathed a sign of relief.

     "Of course I'm coming to lunch, Christine," he said as
pleasantly as he could manage to his secretary, who now stood in
front of him.  "I just lost track of time."

     Her large brown eyes continued to regard him suspiciously.
"Are you sure you're all right, Sir? You seem a bit distracted."

     "I'm probably just weak with hunger," Frank told her with
what he hoped was an encouraging smile.  "Happens every time I
get too wrapped up in my work."

     Christine seemed satisfied, because she smiled back.  "Well
then, let's go while there's still something left in the
cafeteria!  I'll just get my purse."  She turned and walked out
of his office, and Frank, with a last glance at her very
excellent legs, followed.

                    *   *   *

     He enjoyed having lunch with his young, attractive secretary
for the obvious reason, of course, but it wasn't the only reason.
Christine was organized and efficient, and didn't like being
interrupted in her work any more than Frank himself did.  Thus,
they tried to keep their contact with each other down to his one
daily meeting over lunch, when Christine reported the results of
the tasks that Frank had asked her to do the day before and Frank
gave her a new list for the next day.  The system worked
beautifully, and was largely responsible for Frank's being on the
threshold of completing his design weeks before his deadline.
He'd have to thank Christine for that, somehow.  Maybe he would
have her over for dinner this weekend.  Edna had always liked
her...

     "Mr. Davis?"

     He suddenly realized that she has asked him a question and
was waiting for a reply.  He would have answered her, except that
he had no idea what the question had been.  He cleared his throat
apologetically.

     "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

     "I said that Mr. Krebs came to see you this morning."

     "That nice young fellow with the glasses?  What did he
want?"

     "He said he was having trouble with some designs he was
working on, and he'd like your advice.  I told him you were busy,
of course, but can he come back and see you this afternoon?"

     "Well," Frank mused, "I suppose if he comes by at five I can
see him for a few minutes.  I think I may forego overtime today.
I'm not really feeling very well."  That was an understatement.

     "You certainly don't look yourself," Christine agreed.  'And
neither do other people', thought Frank.  "Are you sure you
haven't been working too hard?"

     Frank chuckled.  "Actually, I'm sure that I *have*.  You
won't believe this, but today I've even been having..."  He
suddenly stopped himself short.

     "Having what?"

     "Um, hot and cold flashes," Frank improvised.  "I think I
may be catching another cold.  Was there anything else you wanted
to ask me?"

     The suspicious look was back in Christine's eyes, but she
only said, "Well I have a few letters for you to sign, and Mr.
Maxwell called again.  He wants another update on the progress
you're making on his building."

     "And I thought he would finally manage to wait a whole week.
Doesn't the man realize that looking over my shoulder won't get
it done any faster?"

     "Apparently not, because he wants to come in person this
time.  He said he was very dissatisfied with the last report, and
wants you to completely rethink your approach.  He even mentioned
something about finding a new architect if he doesn't like what
you show him."

     "What??  He can't be serious!"

     "Probably not, but he wants to come in all the same.  He
says he'll be at your office at exactly five-thirty, and he wants
answers."

     "Why can't he come during office hours?"

     "I asked him that, and he said that he believes you should
naturally be spending every working minute on his building."

     "I'm sure he does," Frank agreed glumly.  "Damn these self-
made millionaires!  They expect you to jump when they snap their
fingers."  He sighed.

     "Well, I guess I have no choice but to meet him.  You'd
better move Krebs up to three o'clock..."

     "Hey, hey, beautiful!" said a voice.

     Frank knew exactly who it was even before looking up.  That
made the six-foot tall turtle standing on its hind legs that much
more of a surpise.

     "Hi, Brad," said Christine disinterestedly.

     "What are you doing with this old fart?" Brad the turtle
asked, not for the first time.  "You know you want to be with me!
What time are you getting off tonight?  That's the time I'll be
getting on!"

     He laughed raucously at his own joke, also not for the first
time.  Christine opened her mouth to make yet another flat
refusal, but before she could, Frank, already upset by the news
about Maxwell, lost his temper completely and rose to his feet.
He stood eye-to-eye with the turtle and poked it with his finger
in the middle of its shell, where he assumed Brad's chest would
be.

     "Now look here!" he said.  "Ever since you came to work for
this firm you've been bothering me and my secretary at the same
time every day, and I'm sick of it!  If you ever do it again,
I'll personally see to it that you're fired and beaten to a
bloody pulp, not necessarily in that order.  Is that perfectly
clear?"

     He hadn't been thinking particularly clearly, and now
realized that he had no idea what he would do if Brad took
offence to Frank's poking him in the chest and invited him to
step outside.  He had seen Brad often enough to know what he
looked like, and it wasn't anything like a turtle.  From Brad's
massive build and carefully coiffed hair Frank might have
expected to see a gorilla or a rooster.  If, of course, he had
expected to see an animal at all, which he hadn't.

     Brad took a moment to react to Frank's words - Frank
mentally added 'slow loris' to his list - and then did a very
surprising thing.  Instead of tearing Frank limb from limb, he
tucked his head down into his shell and began backing away.

     "Hey, man, don't get upset," he said in what Frank could
have sworn was a hurt voice from inside his shell.  "I was just
talking to her, you know?  No need to yell at me; I won't bother
her any more."  He turned and walked away, far too quickly for a
turtle.  Frank blinked a few times, but the turtle stayed a
turtle, and hadn't changed back to Brad by the time he had
disappeared from sight.  'No big loss', Frank thought, sitting
down.

     Christine was staring at him in blank astonishment.  "I
don't believe what I just saw!" she gasped.  "I've never seen you
do anything like that before!  He could have killed you!"

     Frank suddenly burst out laughing.  "Yes, he could have, but
he didn't think he would.  I just had a sudden hunch that he was
going to turn turtle."

                               *   *   *

                (to be continued in next month's issue)