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Coffin For Two by Winston Marks

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Three years away has left Bill unprepared for an Earth where people can send perfect artificial bodies out to live for them. When an old rival threatens the woman he still loves, Bill discovers that becoming almost impossible to kill may be easier than accepting what life has become. Coffin For Two by Winston Marks. That’s next on The Lost Sci-Fi Podcast.

Winston Marks was a Wisconsin-born science fiction writer who became remarkably prolific in the 1950s, publishing nearly 60 stories in just a few years. Before making his living as a writer, Marks claimed an extraordinary assortment of jobs—including aircraft pilot, soldier, sailor, bellhop, advertising man, electronics technician, political campaign manager, linoleum layer, and sugar loader—which probably gave him plenty of material for his often humorous, slightly offbeat fiction.

This is his eleventh story on our podcast. It was first published in the September 1955 publication Imaginative Tales on page 70, Coffin For Two by Winston Marks…

Next on The Lost Sci-Fi Podcast, A familiar world becomes terrifying when everyone around Sam Weber accepts a new order that he cannot understand. As children take command and adults surrender without protest, Sam must discover why he alone still believes something is terribly wrong. Crack of Doom by Stephen Marlowe.

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Coffin For Two by Winston Marks

The Lost Sci-Fi Podcast - Vintage Sci-Fi Short Stories

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The Lost Sci-Fi Podcast - Vintage Sci-Fi Short StoriesCoffin For Two by Winston Marks. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.

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Three years away has left Bill unprepared for an earth where people can send perfect artificial bodies out to live for them. When an old rival threatens the woman he still loves, Bill discovers that becoming almost impossible to kill may be easier than accepting what life has become. Coffin for two by Winston Marx. That's next on the Lost Sci-Fi Podcast. Winston Marx was a Wisconsin-born science fiction writer who became remarkably prolific in the 1950s, publishing nearly 60 stories in just a few years. Before making his living as a writer, Marx claimed an extraordinary assortment of jobs, including aircraft pilot, soldier, sailor, bell hop, advertising man, electronics technician, political campaign manager, linoleum layer and sugar loader.

Whatever that is. Which probably gave him plenty of material for his often humorous, slightly offbeat fiction. This is his eleventh story on our podcast. It was first published in the September 1955 publication of imaginative tales on page 70. Coffin for two by Winston Marx. When I saw the lights of Albany feel below me, I just about cried. It takes guts to live anywhere by yourself for three years. But that itchy, stinking garden of hell out on Venus does things to you that aren't worth money. Not even the kind of money I'd get for the two tons of refined uranium concentrate I prospected out of Chalispo Valley. Well, that was all over.

And I just sat there at the controls trying not to ball. I sat her down, gunned up to the import shed, checked in my cargo by shortwave. God, but that first voice sounded good. And turned the forty-tonne crade over to the port receiver. And then the first human eyes in three years watched me shake out fourteen inches of beard, and climbed down on good old USA Earth dirt. He was the surface jockey, a blonde young man and a black jumper. Man, almost hugged him, I was so glad to see flesh and blood again. I was especially glad, although a little surprised they hadn't sent out one of those gangly robot jockeys. They were beginning to use at the ports when I left for Venus. It would have been a hell of a homecoming, staring into those face eyes for a welcoming committee. I pumped his hand and said, Boy, do you look good to me?

I'll come no robots on duty around here. And what's the red star on your forehead for? Welcome home, mister, he said. You must have been out there for quite a while. You'll find things changed, I imagine. If you want, I'll take over now. Sure, things were bound to be changed after three years. But not certain people, not Tommy and Alec and Forrest and maybe not even Gwendolyn. I didn't dare to expect that Gwenn was still waiting for me, but I couldn't help hoping. I knocked the glass out of a foam booth, getting in and started punching coins into the slot. Tommy was out, but Alec answered and swore a grand welcome. He'd have the gang rounded up at his flat in two hours. I'll be there soon as I get my lawnmode. I told him and say, how about is Gwenn still around? Of course, she'll be there, just like that.

I noticed everyone on the taxi ramp wore red stars. Five pointed affairs about an inch across, right smack in the middle of their foreheads. Funny kind of a fad, I thought. Nobody had paid much attention to me around the port. But when I got out of the cab at the Vilt Hotel, I got long goings over. The driver wore a red star, so did the hotel clerk, and a woman in an urban rap, and about nine tenths of the people in the lobby. My stare just hearted them as they did it me. I got a room and took a bath, then feeling self-conscious in my out-of-date clothes. I went down to the barbershop. Here I got a real surprise. The barbers were barbers. The shoe-shine boy and the porter were amiable looking darkies. He no more got the bib under my chin than I asked. What happened all the robots? Not that I prefer them, you understand.

But what's the score? I've been away, and I thought, the barber grin. You must have been away. I suppose you mean those animated junk piles three or four years ago. They're gone. Nothing on the hoof, but government issue now. Without any comment, he clapped a rubber something over my nose, and I took a dive. When I woke up, my beard was on the floor. I was trimmed, shaved, manicured, and shined. That being my first brush with barbershop anesthetic. Now I understood the sign on the mirror. We feature the new Dream Service. This new wrinkle made me forget about the robots. But one thing I did notice. In this barbershop, there were only five chairs where they used to have them strung out as far as you could see. And there was something else that should have tipped me off to the situation. All the other four chairs were occupied by fellows without red stars on their faces.

But me, I was space happy about then with the prospect of seeing Gwen in the gang. So I didn't think any more of it at the time. I caught an inter-urban hedge hopper for New York, and spent the time wondering a game of, she loves me, she loves me not. I like it done pretty well in two hours. Almost everybody I knew in New York State was jammed in his apartment when I got there. I looked around for Gwen. For us said she'd be alone pretty soon. She came in on Tommy's arm looking about as sweet as the girl you're still in love with can look. She held out her arms and kissed me. But there was a little too much welcome home in that hug. And not enough G-Bill, but I missed you to suit me. Tommy didn't approve too much of what she did give me. But he seemed cordial enough at first. So things were like that. Old pal, old gal, and absence makes the heart go wander.

Gwen wasn't wearing a diamond, so I said to myself, nuts, Tommy's a nice guy. But he wasted too much time. After a while I got her alone out on Alex's little balcony. It developed that Tommy had made more headway than I figured. She was pretty standoff-ish at first. Just beginning to get somewhere when the door jerked open behind us. Tommy saw me with my arm around Gwen's shoulder. He looked mean, that red star in his forehead made him look meaner. What's up, Tommy? I asked. Your numbers up if you don't lay off Gwen. She's my girl now. Hey, wait a minute, I said. This is still America. Come on, Gwen. He took her arm and jerked. I was in no mood for that. I lined out a left jab across his bow. Somehow a fist got in my way. It was Tommy's fist. And I could feel a couple of bones in my hand crack when our knuckles met.

He said, go away, giving me a little shove, and almost dumped me over the railing for a six-story glide. By the time I got untangled, Tommy had towed Gwen out of the flat. I went back to the party almost as mad as I was curious. I collared Alec and asked him. Since when did Tommy become an Iron Man? I used to toss him around like a sparrow. And incidentally, what's all this red star business? Looks pretty silly to me. Alec looked at me kind of funny. You don't know what the red star signifies? I shook my head and he frowned. Look, he said, let's have a party tonight, and I'll tell you all about it in the morning. That was all right with me. This crowded flat was getting on my nerves, so I invited the whole mob into a fleet of cabs and went searching for some nightlife. We were barely out in the lights when a snubby little vehicle whammed out of a side pass

and just about pulverized our lead cab. Oh, that's too bad, Alec said. I think Forrest and Kelly were in that one. They'll hate to miss this party. Too bad, I shouted. My God! Is that all it is when a couple of your buddies get ground into a pudding? Look at that mess! That's all our driver did, was to glance at the two smoking half-fused lumps of machinery. Then swung out around them and back into traffic. Alec caught my arm. Make it easy, Bill. They're not hurt. That's all part of this new setup. I guess I'd better tell you now. My guesty better had. My stomach was rising and about to shine. I said, none of your super-searchery is going to do those boys any good. They're pulp. Bill, there isn't a spot of real flesh and blood back there on the pavement. Unless the cab driver was fleshing it. Damn few of them do. Just then the cab stopped.

I'd like shouted to the rest that we'd be back pretty soon. He turned on the dome light and told the driver to cruise around. Tapping his red star solemnly he said, Bill, have you ever thought about not dying ever? He stuck out of bare hand. He cramped his fingers, wiggled them, pressed each against his thumb, and grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. He felt warm and human until he put the pressure on. I got the sensation of being caught in a hydraulic vice. There was any human power in those slender fingers. Jab it, niddle jump. Cut it, niddle bleed. Freeze it, and it would rot off if you didn't replace it. It's 50% stronger and reacts with greater sensitivity and coordination than the hand I was born with. I didn't understand yet. But I was getting disgusted already. Alex said, now keep your mind open a minute, Bill.

Here, I'll show you some more. He bared the right half of his upper torso. Touching a spot in his armpit, he laid open a flap of skin over his right breast. In a four inch cubic cavity snuggled a red rubber lump with two tubular outlets that buried their opposite ends in his body. Just the power pickup, the sympathetic mechanism is in the skull. I watched him rearrange his clothing. I said, so the red star signifies a robot. So I've been on a party with a bunch of pretty synthetics? Okay, Mr. Rubberliver. Now tell me what happened to Alex. Where is he? Don't tell me they cut his heart and brain out and stuck it in that phony flesh pot. I don't believe it. And if you don't tell me where Alex is, I'll scramble your cogs. What I had been calling Alex laughed nervously and realistically. You give me the same chills we all had when we first tried these proxies out.

It does seem a bit ghastly at first. But it's also perfect that you can't argue it down. Bill, I'm in two places at once. Right now my real body is back at my apartment and indestructible. Well, you won't like the word, but we call them coffins. Oh, very well. Don't believe me. I'll show you by heaven. We drove back to his apartment. I was so befuddled that didn't even seem strange when he told me to wait beside him while he stretched out full length in front of a closed door leading out of his kitchen at. He relaxed and then sagged even more until he was motionless at my feet. The door clicked an inch ajar behind me. Alex's voice yelled out from the room. Wait a minute, Bill. I wasn't waiting. I was finding out. I kicked the door open and found myself in a five by eight cell with just enough room

for the narrow door to swing in and miss a sure enough coffin. Only it was transparent and the body in it was just lying down, making itself comfortable. A white arm was reaching up to close the lid when the head turned and saw me. It was Alec all right, naked and looking kind of annoyed. Damn it, Bill. I told you. Well, it's no longer sterile in here. So come in. He shoved back the lid. Cut out and took a robe off a hook. Are you convinced now? He grinned and stuck out his hand. I was convinced, but I wasn't happy about it. Yeah, I suppose so, I admit it. But now that I'm here, how does it work? He put on the robe and reached down inside the coffin. These two levers control the whole business. This one, he pressed it. It's in the proxy. When my head is between those electrode plates, I'm in perfect rapport.

Watch. He bent into the coffin. I heard a shuffle on the kitchen floor and in walked another Alec. I looked from one to the other. It wasn't a healthy sensation. I said, cut it out. One of you guys is enough at a time. The proxy lay down carefully. And Alec withdrew his head. This other level controls the lamps and the gas. He moved it, and the glass box filled with a smoky blue light from tubes that ran the length of the inside edges. That fog is an organic gas that seeps in at a specific rate. It's mixed with oxygen, and when you inhale it, your lungs absorb it directly into the blood stream. In the presence of this ultraviolet H-light, your body can utilize this stuff by photosynthesis. A shot of synthetic porphyrins once a month keeps up and have normal sensitivity to light. And your bloodstream manufactures enough carbohydrates to supply the minimum energy you use up lying

prone, and in your hours exercise a day. Exercise? Of course. There would be general atrophy at the whole body if you didn't flex your muscles once in a while. This shortwave light keeps your organs toned up and inhibits infection. The whole room is sterilized once a day, or whenever the door is open. The door, incidentally, locks only on the inside. What, my ass, would happen if I lay down in there? Nothing. You'll have to have your own proxy molded and synchronized. There one man affairs. Whatever made you think I'd have one of those blasted things around impersonating me, I grouched. Hell, you're impossible. Get out of here. I'm going to sterilize this room. I slammed out of the apartment before Alex Proxy came to life. What's better than watching college football? Watching it on your own terms with slang.

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It has offline downloads so you can watch without Wi-Fi, background play, so you can lock your phone and it still plays baby. Oh, and it is completely ad free. Yes, I said it ad free. Try YouTube Premium for two months free at youtube.com slash premium. Now eligibility varies, terms apply, cancel anytime. Yes, it's Angus Maximus. This partner has one pound of a pound of hot sushi cooked to honor Angus Speed. It's more expensive than a quarter pounder. The battle is closed. And for only $599, even regular dudes can afford it. Like that guy. Give me that big old burger. Yes. He holds Angus Maximus for the $599,000 gold senior. A bill for a limited time of participating restaurants tax on included, not valid for use within a combo or in combination with any other offer or discount. The next morning I got Gwen on the phone. She was still a little cool, but she apologized.

It wasn't fair for Tommy to push you around while you were fleshing it. If you reported him, he'd stand to stiff fine. He'll stand a carbon knock in his carburetor if he crosses me again. I promised her. How about you and me at the Vilt Ball Room tonight? In the flesh, I added. There was a little silence. You don't understand, Bill. We don't flesh it unless something serious happens to our proxies. And then only until they're repaired. Besides, you'd better stay away from me until your proxy is completed. Tommy has taken certain proprietary rights in me these days, and he's terribly jealous. In my Sunday vocabulary, I told her what the government health bureau could do with their proxies. She took this as a reflection upon herself. Which shit more or less was, I guess. Anyway, she hung up on me. The first thing I had decided was to teach Tommy the open door policy.

I didn't want him butting in when I got in the swing with Gwen. I found his proxy at his office behind a loose-site door labeled Assistant Traffic Manager stratus 5. Tommy, I said, for the sake of old times I won't pop you. But get this straight. Next time you shove that plastic nose into my business, your proxy will be crying for a proxy. Incidentally, if you ever have guts enough to play patty cake for keeps, leave that super stand in at home and come see me. Tommy smiled with a set of perfect, of course, teeth. The trouble with you, Bill, is that you're in my office. Your flesh is stinking up the place. Get out! Tommy, stand up and defend yourself. Tommy not only stood up, but he slept down my special one-two punch like an orius buggy der spanking flies. Then he threw me out.

This was getting not only monotonous, but kind of painful. Now both hands ached, and I bled from minor lacerations I won't identify. I got pretty interested watching them put my first proxy together that afternoon. It was much more complicated than I had thought. Only the skeletal structure was inanimate when brought into shortwave rapport. There was a heart and a regular bloodstream. They explained that a nervous system operates under more influences and afferent and efferent control impulses. And in order to give sensation and emotional reaction, they had to include synthetic glands to release real secretions like adrenaline. Hence they needed a bloodstream, which distributed the various juices and produced authentic reactions and adjustments to the emotional stimuli of the real body. And the environmental conditions of the proxy.

It wasn't a bad experience at all. They even warmed the mud for the muleage cast, and it felt kind of good mushing around in it, until I got told the lie still. The first proof of the matrix showed every mole and hair on me, even the tiny insect scars I collected on Venus. I was sitting there admiring the finished product. It's a funny sensation, getting the first good look at the back of your neck. When a guy stepped up with a short handle and hammer and potted my poor proxy on the forehead, the damned and delabal red star. It reminded me of certain aspects of second-hand living that had slipped my mind. This ghoulish feeling got even stronger that night when I lay down in my new apartment, in my new cell, in my new coffin. Following directions I had locked the door from the inside, stripped, sterilized the cell,

and pulled the transparent coffin lid down over me. The two levers jutted conveniently by my hand. I pushed the first one and had to close my eyes against the sharp H-light. A warm draft of Swedish gas stripped it in, smelling like grass right after its cut. The deadly silence and this smell reminded me of a cemetery. I noted my heart slow down. Then I didn't seem to need such deep breaths. This was approaching the state of semi-suspended animation they had explained with length in a man's lifespan almost indefinitely. When I pulled the second lever, something seemed to jar my brain into a long tunnel full of mercury. At one end was this coffin affair, and my earthly clay. The other end led out through the eyes of my proxy and the white laboratory of the government health bureau eight miles away. After a few minutes of this mental ice skating, I decided to take over my understudy, which

just required, apparently, a curious feeling as to what was going on at the other end of the line. I stood my new container up on its feet and did little experimental shadow boxing. After a few minutes, a blonde red star female came in and tossed me a towel to wipe off the salty scum of synthetic perspiration and said, nothing wrong with that build. It'll get you there and back. If you want to leave now, your clothes are in there. The long mirror in the dressing room showed the one flaw in my proxy. I was supposed to be blushing. Back at the apartment, I smeared some makeup over the red star. My Venusion complexion, which was still about the color of an old soccer ball, and which they had refused to improve in my proxy, made it easy to disguise the mark. It was a penitentiary offense, I'd been told.

But I wanted to find out something about Tommy, knowing that Gwen had a date with Tommy, and I got there early. She let me in and then invited me to get out. Tommy will be here any minute, she told me, avoiding her star with a powder puff. I said, you almost look human in that purple outfit. Well, I don't want blood spattered all over it, she said. Oh, Bill, why didn't you get a proxy? I think a great deal of both of you. You're no match for Tommy's proxy. Tommy will kill you, then he'll be executed. Then I'll throw away my proxy and let myself dry up to be an old maid. I don't quite get this, Gwen. You changed a lot. The Gwen I used to know hated it fully. You stand there and tell me that Tommy will use his proxy to mash me up in my skin, and still you're sweet on him. She looked just a little embarrassed.

You aren't used to things yet, Bill. The ethics are changed. If you stay, you'll be luring at Tommy and baiting him. You know what a temper he has? Well, my ethics haven't changed any, I said. And personally, I doubt that you're right about Tommy. I like Tommy. We were pals. Sure, he's got a temper. But if it's changed him into an adolescent maniac, then maybe you shouldn't be running around with him. Anyhow, we'll find out pretty soon. The hard way? She looks so bleak and concerned. I knew she wasn't just feeling sorry for herself. The trouble was, I couldn't be sure if it was Tommy or me she was really worried about. I finally figured there was one way of finding out. But I got only halfway to her when Tommy busted in. Very sweet he looked until he saw me. I let off. Hello, Pinocchio. You look smooth.

Who takes a dent out of your fenders these days? I was surprised to notice Gwen sit back in her chair. Interested, but not so fearful looking anymore. Tommy glared for a second. Then he said, you, right, I admit it. I see your headlights are adjusted too. Well, if you people are going out for the evening, I guess I'll go home and rest up. See you tomorrow, Gwen. This is wonderful. They've even improved on a man's snare. Tommy's lips twisted into something like what a pretzel maker would dream about. Deep down in his rubber throat, he said, this is what you asked for. I dived over the sofa and yelled, take it easy, you lug. What are you going to do? Well, let him catch me the third time around the sofa. He knocked down the few feeble cracks I took at him. Then he got a hold of my throat.

I wilted and waited. Here was the answer. Approxy breeze, but only for the purpose of talking. All the vital arteries and nerve threads being buried good and deep. It was easy to let his fingers gouge in. All I felt was the surface pain which I was plenty of. Just when my eyes were supposed to come popping out of my head, I quit play acting. I reached up and scrubbed my red star clean for Tommy to look at. Look all my tie, I commanded, and he did. That's illegal, he gagged. It was surprising how fast he cooled off. Of course he'd been meaning to break a ruler to himself, and it was only my Trojan horse in reverse that had stopped him. He turned on Gwen and shouted, that's a fine sweetheart you are. Why didn't you warn me? Why Tommy against what? She asked innocently. Besides, I didn't know for sure.

I only guessed. I don't know what you can see in a vanusian mudmucker, but if you want him, take him. Thank you, Gwen said. Maybe it's his ethics I like. Don't bother dropping in at the wedding. For a second I thought Tommy was going to throw his proxy into battle. But I guess he reconsidered the fact that with my proxy I'd gotten back my old muscle ratio in proportion to his somewhat puny one. Knowing how hard he was going to take this gilt, I wouldn't even have kicked him in the pants if he hadn't used a dirty word on the way out. Gwen shut the door after him and said, he meant to kill you. I asked her, you serious about that wedding? You just ruined the self-respect of my only other prospect. Do I have to get down on my hands and knees? I guess that does lead me a clear field, doesn't it? She looked at me half smiling and half not smiling. Well, Bill, what have I done to deserve all that enthusiasm?

Come to think of it. This was my idea, wasn't it? Good here I was supposed to say something and put it all right, but the something wouldn't come. Gwen came over and turned up her face. If those had been her real eyes, they'd have had tears in them. She said, it looks like I stuck my neck out. Maybe I'll learn not to take a proxy for granted. That's just it. I managed to say, I really wanted to marry you three years ago. And I still feel that way about the real you. But I just can't get feeling like that about a rubber doll, even if it does look like you. Oh, she said. And looked down so I couldn't see her face. Look Gwen, I hesitated. Then I blurted out, how do these proxy people go about getting married? Same as always, hung up a minister and take the vows. Then what?

I insisted. And at that instant I made a discovery. Lady proxies can blush. And then you go out and buy a coffin for two. She murmured into my mangled necktie. Next on the Lost Siphon podcast, a familiar world becomes terrifying when everyone around Sam Weber accepts a new order that he cannot understand. As children take command and adults surrender without protest, Sam must discover why he alone still believes something is terribly wrong. Crack of Doom by Stephen Marlow. Right now when you buy more carpet at the Home Depot, you save more. Getting our Buy More, Save More event going on now. Upgrade your carpeting with the top brands and save up to 15% off installed carpet projects. Installation starting at just 49 cents per square foot. Select from a wide assortment of carpet to fit your room, lifestyle and budget during

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