Description: Up In a Heaval 1 EMULATION I t all started, others agreed later, with Umlaut. Because he wasn''t what he seemed to be. His talent was emulation, which was mostly a matter of causing others to see him as he represented himself to be, to a degree. But it might as well have been troublE with a capital E, because of the mischief it led to. It was the teenth of the month, and all the teens were out, but that was only the setting. At the moment Umlaut was pretending to be a seventeen-year-old girl. The age was right, but not the gender. He was doing it to escape the attention of a real girl who had taken an unwholesome fancy to him. In fact she was chasing him. That might have been all right, for Sherry was pretty enough, except for her talent. That was in her kisses: They were sweeter than wine. Which was fine, up to a point. Unfortunately her first kiss made him feel so pleasant that he wanted more, and three made him tipsy, and last time he had awakened next morning with a dreadful hangover and no memory of the date. But Sherry''s father had warned him that if he did it again, he''d have to marry her. That might not have been so bad, except that what good was an experience if he couldn''t remember it? So he was trying to take it easy, atleast until he figured out whether he really wanted to marry a sixteen-year-old girl just yet. She thought he was strong, handsome, and suitable; now he regretted emulating her ideal man quite so thoroughly. It would be impossible to do it continuously, and what would happen when she found out how dully ordinary he really was? Umlaut rounded a bend and spied a group of teenagers having a party. That seemed ideal; he could merge with them and conceal himself until Sherry gave up the chase. Then he could sneak away, free, and return to his normal, somewhat inadequate self. He ran up to them, hastily adjusting his emulation to make him seem like one of them. "Sorry I got lost," he said somewhat breathlessly. "What''s up?" "We just got a package of Wetti shirts," the tallest and handsomest boy replied. "We traded a rock hound for them." "Rock hound?" "Don''t you remember? We found it in the old rock mine last week. Friendly dog made of stone." "Oh, sure," Umlaut said. Of course he didn''t remember, because he hadn''t been part of this group. Then, to hide his ignorance, he changed the subject. "What are Wetti shirts?" "We''re not sure, but they say they''re a lot of fun for girls to wear and great for contests. So why don''t you be the first? Put one on." He shoved the package at Umlaut. Of course he took Umlaut for a girl, because that was what he was emulating. At that point Sherry rounded the turn and ran up. She was breathing hard with the effort. She was a fairly full-figured girl, and several of the boys were looking with interest. "Have you seen Umlaut?" she panted. "Who?" "A strong, handsome, suitable boy, running down this path." She paused for a deeper breath, straining a shirt button or two in the process, along with a male eyeball or two. "No, only another--" "Try a Wetti shirt," Umlaut said quickly, shoving the package at her. "They''re great fun for girls and contests." "Now wait," the boy protested. "She''s not one of us." That got Sherry''s dander up. The dander immediately flewoff in search of a flock of deese, but that didn''t stop Sherry. She grabbed the boy by a lapel and planted a kiss on his face. "You were saying?" she demanded, well knowing her power. The boy looked pleasantly dazed, as if he had just downed a glass of something intoxicatingly sweet. "She''s one of us," he decided. Sherry took a shirt from the package and put it on over her blouse. Suddenly a wash of water fell on her, making her scream pleasantly. The new shirt turned transparent and clung to her body, which seemed about twice as fully formed as before. "I like it," she said. "Who else is in this contest?" "Contest?" the boy asked, his eyes locked to her front profile. So were the eyes of the other boys in the group, and some of the girls, though there might have been a difference in the girls'' expressions. "The shirt is for contests," she reminded him. "How can I win, if nobody else competes?" "This girl, what''s her name," the boy said, prying his eyes away and turning to Umlaut. Oops. Umlaut couldn''t put on one of those shirts. Emulation had its limits, and it would be shattered if his top half got transparently wet. Then the teens would all know he was an impostor, and Sherry would nab him. All she had to do was plant one sweet kiss on him, and he''d linger for another and be lost. Next morning he''d wake up with a headache and married. He simply wasn''t ready for that, apart from the problem of fooling her. Because Sherry, however sweet her kisses and full her body, was not his idea of the perfect wife. Anyway, he was too young to marry. He bolted. "Hey!" the boy cried. In a moment all of them were chasing him. Now he was in twice as much trouble as before. Where could he go to escape? He came up on a young woman who was walking in the same direction. "Uh, hello," he said somewhat breathlessly. She turned to face him. She had an explorer''s cap and a name tag saying Miss Guide. "May I help you?" "Yes! Please tell me where I can escape a group of pursuing teens!" "Take the left fork," she said. "Though you are welcome to dally a bit." "Thank you!" He ran on ahead of her. Belatedly he wondered why she might want to dally with another girl. But before he found a fork, he came up on another young woman. From behind she had a remarkable figure, and from before also, when he passed her. Her name tag said Miss In Form. "Is the left fork the one?" he gasped. "In Dubitably," she agreed. "Thanks!" He ran on. He overhauled a third young woman, this one wearing a many-feathered bonnet. Her name tag said Miss Chief. "Is the--?" he started. "Oh, yes," she agreed. "You''ll make a fine Indian maiden." "Thanks!" He ran on. But something was nagging one corner of his mind. Those young women--if their name tags were literal, they might not be the best sources of information. Misguide, Misinform, Mischief ... Then he spied a fork in the path. The left fork was marked CONTEST BEACH and the right fork CASTLE ZOMBIE. Ordinarily Umlaut would have preferred the left, especially if he could have watched all the girls in the group donning Wetti shirts for the contest. But at the moment the right fork seemed better. Nobody much who wasn''t a zombie went there. Sure enough, the pursuit soon languished. Umlaut knew the teens wouldn''t be too disappointed, because Sherry liked to kiss people, especially boys. But just in case any of the girls followed, he kept running. He let his emulation lapse; he''d run by the castle and then go home. He almost collided with a group of teen zombie girls. He hadn''t realized that zombies had teens, but of course they would be out today if they existed. "Ooooz, ughsh!" one cried. "A live bzoy!" "Who caresz?" another demanded. "He''z male." "Say, yesh," a third said. "Letz kisz him!" For some reason that escaped him at the moment, Umlaut did not want to be kissed by a group of zombie girlz. So he quickly refurbished his emulation. "I''m notz a boy," he protested. "I''m anozer zombie girzl." "Oh, zo you are," the second girl said, disappointed. "Whatz you got?" "Wetti shirts," Umlaut said, realizing that he still carried the package. "They''re good for girls in contests." "Letz try them!" the first girl said. The zombies quickly took the remaining shirts and put them on. In a moment all were thoroughly soaked, their upper bodies showing to disadvantage. What looked great on live girls was somewhat sordid on zombie girls. "Ooooz, ughsh!" they exclaimed, quickly appreciating that fact. "We look awzful!" They tried to remove the shirts, but the wet things clung, tangling with the regular clothing underneath, so that the effect became worse. The girls were screaming with frustration as bits of cloth tore and dangled. "What''s going on here?" It was an irate black girl who appeared to be fully alive. "Wetzi shirs," a zombie girl explained. "Contezt." "A wet T-shirt contest? Zombies have no business getting into that. Who put you up to this nonsense?" "Zhee did!" the girls said, pointing to Umlaut. More mischief! Umlaut tried to shrink away but couldn''t think of a suitable emulation on the spur of the moment; the spur merely jabbed him uncomfortably. The black girl turned on Umlaut, a small black cloud forming over her head. "I''ll deal with you later," she said menacingly. "For now, go muck out the dungeon." Umlaut decided not to argue; he was in enough trouble already. This was evidently a person of authority. He hurried toward the castle. He had expected something pretty dingy. He had underestimated the case. Castle Zombie up close was a festering ruin of an edifice. The moat was covered with sludge, and there was slime on the worn stones. The drawbridge was rotten and about to collapse. He did not want to try to cross over it. "Got a problem?" It was a young man, fully alive. Umlaut decided to stick with his zombie girl emulation. "Who zhou?" The man smiled. "I am Justin Tree, master of Castle Zombie. You don''t recognize me?" Umlaut thought fast. "Bad eyzs."

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