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He could recall all of them. Why not? He had spent much
time after the age of twelve contemplating them. Though
there had to be more flaws, these were enough to satisfy the
most self-pitying.
He did not get any sympathy from Doctor Porsena.
"You cannot continue to drag your chains around and
whine, 'Woe is me!' like some castle-haunting phantom.
You were making excellent progress in fact, phenomenal.
Now, you've regressed. It's as if you've not only gone back
PHILIP JOSE FARMER
to the lowest previous point of lack of self-esteem in your
life, you've plunged below that. Reached that personal
nadir, as it were."
Jim summoned up enough spirit to say, "As opposed to
the Zenith, right? Well, I was never one for TV."
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That took the psychiatrist aback for a moment. Then he
smiled, and he said, "If you've got enough fire to make a
pun, rotten as it is, there's still hope for you."
Jim did not think so. That remark was the last flicker of
a dying flame.
"What if Ore is dead?" Jim said. That question caught
him by surprise. It had shot out of his mouth as if something
had exploded in him.
Porsena's lips formed the ghost of a smile. He was, Jim
thought, not only The Shaman. He was The Sphinx. That
expression was exactly like the smile on the stone face of
the Great Sphinx of Giza. Jim could see the pyramids and
the palm trees beyond him. The wisdom of the ages was
behind that age-cut face and behind the doctor's, too.
"What if Ore is dead?" Porsena said. "You select
someone else to become."
At least Porsena had not argued with him that Ore was
only a fictional character. He must think that Ore was, but
he was going to play by Jim's rules. Never invalidate. That
was the Golden Rule, and Porsena was the Golden Ruler.
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"I don't want to be someone else," Jim said.
"Then find out if Ore is dead or alive."
"I'll do it," Jim said. "I'll do it for you."
"No. You'll do it for yourself. You'll do it because it's
the thing to do for you and you only."
He leaned forward over his desk, his bright blue eyes
locked onto Jim's. "Listen up, Jim. I'm aware that I'm an
authority figure to you, perhaps a father/mother substitute.
That's good in one sense because you've reacted differently
RED ORC'S RAGE
to me than you have with other authority figures. You've
done your best to please me, though that is not necessarily
desirable. But I am here only to guide you through your
therapy. Perhaps that's too cold a way to put it. I like you,
and I think we might eventually become friends after your
therapy is complete. I do have authority, and I'm not your
peer. At the moment, I'm your superior, though I won't take
advantage of that unless it's for your good.
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"But we may have to work a bit to temper your attitude
toward me. I'm not God, I'm not your parents. I expect you
to hear my advice and then to use your judgment concerning
its value. Nevertheless, there'll be times when I'll override
your judgment. I am older and wiser, and I am a thoroughly
trained professional. However, I am human. I can make
mistakes and errors.
"On the other hand, I'll be far less likely than you to do
so. Keep all this in mind. We'll do some work on your
attitude, as I said. But your therapy is the big thing here.
So, I insist that you reenter Ore or pick another character to
enter. If you don't, your therapy will be ended. Do I make
myself clear?"
Jim nodded.
"What would Ore do if he were in your shoes just now?"
"Huh? Oh, I see what you mean! Sorry, I was thinking of
something else. If he was me, he'd've jumped right back
through the tragil. But I'm not him, not yet, anyway. Ore
never would've been in a depression. Not for long, anyway.
I know him, and ..."
"Do what he'd do, even if it seems to be against your
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nature, no matter how hard it is to do. This isn't easy work,
you know."
"I'll try. Hard," Jim said.
He did not think he could do it, not in his state of mind.
But there were ways to alter those states. Porsena would not
PHILIP JOSE FARMER
RED ORC'S RAGE
approve those ways. In fact, taking any drugs except those
prescribed was forbidden on pain of immediate expulsion.
But desperate situations demanded desperate means. Before
the group session that afternoon, Jim got Gillman Sherwood
to one side in the main hallway.
"I hear you're dealing. Gill."
"Not at all," Sherwood said. "I wouldn't do that. Hell,
I'm here to get rid of the monkey, among other things."
"Let me put it this way," Jim said. "I understand you
may have access to certain cures for what ails me. I'd like
to get hold of one, preferably one of the speedy kind."
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"It could be," Sherwood said. "But there are a lot of
rumors, mostly false, running around this place."
"Speed's the word," Jim said.
"Might be what the doctor ordered. However, nothing's
free in this harsh world."
"I know the price," Jim said. "I got the wherewithal."
That morning, the mail had brought him a ten-dollar bill
along with a note from his mother. At first, he was tempted
to send both back. Yet, he needed money badly, so he had
put the bill in his pocket after tearing up the note. And here
he was, spending half of the ten on amphetamine when
every cent he had should go for absolute necessities. He
despised himself. At the same time he was looking forward
to the rush through his body and mind.
Gillman Sherwood put his hand on Jim's shoulder.
"There are other ways to pay debts than with money."
"Forget it!" Jim said. "I told you last time, no way!"
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