The Big Fix! By RICHARD WILSON Illustrated by ENGLE As a drug, uru was a junkie's dream. As a planet, Uru was paradise. But combined, the two became a living hell! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Infinity Science Fiction, August 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "_I read about a drug called_ yage.... _Maybe I will find in_ yage _what I was looking for in junk and weed and coke._ Yage _may be the final fix_."--William Lee, _Junkie_. I was meeting The Man in a cafeteria on West End Avenue--the rundown part of the avenue south of 72nd Street where all the garages and auto parts places are. I didn't need a fix. I'd been off the junk for three months and I was all right. I was drinking a lot, but that was all. The meet in the cafeteria was set up by an old connection of mine who'd heard I was interested in this new stuff. My connection's name was Rollo, sometimes called Rollo the Roller because he rolled lushes in the subway. Rollo and I had coffee while we waited for The Man. "He's a funny one," Rollo said. "Not like any other pusher I ever dig." "You sure he's straight?" I asked. "He wouldn't be one of The People, would he?" "Nah, he's no agent. Don't you think I can make a cop or a Federal by now?" "All right. I wasn't trying to insult you." We sipped our coffee and talked in low voices. The cafeteria wasn't a regular joint. It might be in time, and then it would be one till it got too hot, but it wasn't now. I didn't see the guy come in. The first thing I knew he was standing at the table over us. Tall, wearing a black suit like an undertaker or a preacher, but with a dark blue shirt and a white tie. He had a young-old face and his skin was a light tan. Not the tan you get at Miami Beach or from a sun lamp, but as if he had Chinese or Malay blood in him somewhere. Rollo jumped a little when he noticed him at his elbow. "Oh, hello, Jones. Creepin' up on people again. Sit down. This is Barry." I acknowledged the introduction. I was sure Jones wasn't his real name any more than Barry was mine. I asked him if I could buy him a cup of coffee and he said _no_, and then Rollo left. Rollo'd mumbled something about business, but I got the feeling he didn't like being around Jones any more than he had to. "I understand you are interested in my product," Jones said. He had dark brown eyes, almost black. He didn't talk like a pusher, but you can't always make generalizations. "I don't want to score any," I said. "At least not right now. I'm off the stuff, but I take a sort of philosophical interest in it, you might say." "I could not sell you any at the moment, in any case," Jones said. "I do not make a practice of carrying it on my person."