Planet Magazine No. 9 and 10

8/14/2019 Planet Magazine No. 9 and 10

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McCann's

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Wild SF, Fant asy, Horror, Humor & Poet ry - Online Vols. 3 .1 and 3 .2 FREE!

SPECIAL DOUBLE ISSUE #9 and #10 combined

Inside This Pheremone-Impregnated Zine:Science Fiction by John Gerner, Jon Hansen, Andrew G. McCann, SpiderRobinson, Steven L. Schiff. Fantasy by Frederick Rustam.Horror by Bart G. Farkas, Paul Landry. Poetry by Maxfield Chandler, TimScannell, Erika V. Queen. Humor by Biedermeier X. Leeuwenhoek.Cover Art and Sound by Romeo Esparrago. Illustrations by Romeo Esparrago,Kevin Greggain, Andrew G. McCann.


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Planet Magazine: " Cigars, Candy, Soda, Ice Cream, Gallium Arsenide"

Pl a n et Ma g a z i n e, V o l . 3 , N o s . 1 & 2 ; J an u a r y - J u n e 1 9 9 6

( t h e 9 t h & 1 0 t h i ss ue s co m b in ed )

W eb p a g e : < h t t p : / / m e m b er s .a o l. c o m / Pl an e t Z in e / h o m e. h t m l >

Ed i t o r & P u b l i s h e r

Andrew G. McCann

Co v e r A r t i s t

Romeo Esparrago

Cover Tit le: "mmMMmm" Take a look inside Dolores' Hearts of Desire Sweet s & Flowers Shop.

She's got yummy sweet s or scented f loral arrangements for you. Or is it t he other way around?

(Equipment : Hand-sketched t he floral arrangement & Dolores & heartboxes & horrorcandies,

scanned t hem in, and t hen used Painter & Color-It ! t o add t he final flourishes).

VAS IST DAS PLANET MAGAZINE?

Planet Magaz ine is a free electronic quarterly of short science fiction, fantasy, horror,

poetry, and humor writ t en by beginning or litt le-known writ ers (mostly) , whom we hope to

encourage in t heir pursuit of t he perfect t ale. There could be other reasons we're doing this, of

course, mot ivations t hat are obscure and uncomfort able; inst incts linked perhaps to primal,

nonreasoning urges regarding power and procreation the very same forces, no doubt, that

sank the At lanteans and their alabast er-t owered oceanic empire. And t he Dark Gods laff ed.

Anyway, Planet is internationally distributed in electronic form (text and full-color

versions) via t he Worldwide Web, America Online, CompuServe, eWorld (eWho?), New YorkMac Users Group (NYMUG) BBS, and Tent acled Ct hulhu knows where else. We guess, based on

not hing, t hat t ot al circulat ion is somet hing like 50 0-1 ,00 0 per issue worldwide. No one really

knows. Feel free t o pass this magazine along electronically or as a single printout , as long as

you don't charge for it or alt er it in any way. We we lcome submiss ions (det ails below).

Planet does not carry any advertising or off er an off icial subscription service (but it can

always be found every t hird month in cert ain locations; see below). Let t ers t o the edit or are

welcome and are likely t o be printed. Send quest ions or comment s to [email protected].


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SUBMISSIONS POLICY

Planet Magaz ine accepts original short st ories, poems, one-act plays, and odds-and-ends

(use t he lengt hs in this issue as guidelines), as well as original accompanying illustrat ions. We

prefer unpublished SF, fant asy, horror, poet ry, humor, et c., by beginning or litt le-known

writ ers (we eschew st ories published in ot her e-zines, as well as porno, gore, and Windows 95

t estimonials). Because this e-mag is free and operat es on a budget of $ 1.67 per annum, we

can't afford to pay anything except the currency of free publicity and life-enhancing good vibes

(t hat and $6 .00 exact ly will get you t wo packs of Marlboro Lights, a cup of joe, and a pack of

Ding-Dongs in Brooklyn, but it 's st ill food for t he soul to see your name in print) .

St o r y s u b m i ss i o n s: Send stories, poems, etc., as St uff It - or ZipIt -compressed ASCII t ext

files (pref erably binhexed as well) t o [email protected]. Two submissions max at a t ime,

please.

I l l u s t r a t i o n s u b m i s s i o n s : Send only one or two illustrations per story as separate, stuffed

and binhexed 16 -color, 16 -gray, or B&W pict f iles t o Planet [email protected]; query first .

DISTRIBUTION SITES

Planet is dist ribut ed in three electronic versions t ext -only (readable by Windows or

Macint osh or ot her, using a word -processing program) , Acrobat PDF (f ull-color version

readable by Windows or Mac or other, using the free, downloadable Acrobat Reader), and

DOCmaker (f ull-color version wit h sounds, readable by Mac only; needs no ot her soft ware).

Some of these files may be compressed with StuffIt (a .sit file), as well as binhexed (.hqx);

you' ll need St uff It Expander, or similar, to decompress them. This zine can be downloaded from

t he following sources, among ot hers:

On the W or ldW ide W eb , visit . FromPlanet Magazine's home page, you can download any issue.

The Am er i ca On li ne Writ er' s Club Forum ( keywo rd: WRITERS; t he rout e is The Writer' s

Club: Writ er's Club Libraries: Elect ronic Magazine Library) , which carries all t hree versions.

Also, AOL's Science Fict ion & Fant asy Forum ( keyword: SCIENCE FICTION; the pat h is Science

Fict ion & Fant asy: The Science Fict ion Libraries: Member Fict ion & Script s Library). And in

the Macworld software library on AOL (keyword: MACWORLD; check out the software library's

new uploads section).

The CompuServe Science Fict ion & Fant asy Forum ( go: SFLIT; look in t he Science Fict ion

literat ure library) . This l ibrary carries only t he t ext version.

The NYMUG BBS (New York Mac Users Group) carr ies t he DOCmaker and PDF versions in

it s Elect ronic Pubs folder o r it s Science Fict ion files in t he New Uploads fo lder (t his list ing is

just a plug for NYMUG).


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COPYRIGHTS, DISCLAIMERS

Planet Magaz ine as a whole, including all text , design, and illust rat ions, is copyright

19 96 by Andrew G. McCann. However, all individual stories and poems in t his magazine are

copyright 1996 by their respective authors or artists, who have granted Planet Magaz ine

t he right t o use t hese works for t his issue in bot h elect ronic and printed fo rms. All people and

events port rayed in this magazine are entirely f ict it ious and bear no resemblance to actual

people or event s. This publicat ion, along wit h every past issue of Planet Magaz ine , is

registered wit h t he Copyright Off ice of t he U.S. Library of Congress, as are t he names " Planet ,"

" Planet Magazine," and " McCann's Planet Magazine." You may f reely distribut e t his magazine

elect ronically on a non-commercial, nonprofit basis t o anyone and print one copy f or your

personal use, but you may not alter or excerpt Planet in any way without direct permission

from t he publisher . Any unauthorized access, reproduct ion, or

t ransmission o f Planet Magaz ine is strictly prohibited by law. Planet Magaz ine is

published by Cranberry St reet Press, Brooklyn, N.Y., USA, Andrew G. McCann, publisher.

COLOPHONComposed on a PowerMac 61 00/ 66 using DOCmaker 4.6 , Tex-Edit Plus 1.6.4 , and Adobe

Exchange 2.1 . Text is 10 point Geneva and 12 point Helvet ica; t he logot ypes are Times.

Illustrat ions done in Color It ! 3.0 .5. This is "Planet 9 and 10 From Outer Space."


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Please Fill Out Our Surv ey Embedded In This Period > .

LETTERS TO MYSELVES

As Cyc lops , t ha t f am ous cha r ac t e r out of Greek legend, once said, "Who is t his 'Eye'

saying 'Who is this I?'?" Well, the answer is, as I just no t ed, Cyclops. And no, the proper

response isn't Psychlops, his mind-reading cousin from La Jolla, nor is it his biker pal Cycle-

Lops from t he West Side of Cleveland. Nor is it even Si Klopps, the renowned 19 40 s Times

Square booking agent for t he Catskills magicians' circuit . It wasn't even his t hird cousin, t heit inerant "Ol' Blind Eyepatch Tim, t he Chicken Eater" anyway, he's a charact er out of Geek

legend.

Even so, like Cyc' himself, we have not answered t he quest ion. But should we care who the

fictional Cyclops "really" was?

No.

And so, as always in t his space, the reader ends a brief verbal whit ewater t rip t o dock his or her

little raft at the Island of Little Me Who Edits a Zine, where, it is hoped, there might be some

sust enance and provisions and not a rock-throwing, one-eyed giant. Well, let 's have a look

around. For we (meaning I) get hundreds of t hose "emails," and none of t hose "snail mails,"each day, asking, "Who is that 'We' edit ing Planet Magazine who always seems t o ask: 'Who is

t his We?'?"

The answer is complex, t ragic, and, at t imes, annoying. The trut h, put plainly, is this: We,

meaning I, are, meaning am, Not Of This Planet (meaning t he Eart h, not t he zine).

Now, at t his point, t he reader might be t hinking: "OK, here we go again wit h one of t hose 'aliens

among us' broken-DVD jags that t his guy gets on. Let' s just see what 's in the Fake Lett ers

section."

And you'd be right .

So, for those of you still reading, shall we continue?

You see, not all charact ers of myt h and legend, including the urban ones, are imaginary. Some

are also NOTP! The " real" legends, like us ( i.e., me) , hail from t he planet Mys, which is just t o

t he left of Orion's pituitary gland known t o t he Ancient Myst ic Orientals as "The Third Eye"

(not to be confused with "The Third Leg").


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In days now lost in the Breakfast of Time, we Mys Folke traveled to your planet t o set up a

symbiot ic extort ion racket wit h you humans. By and by, t hough, the Great Religions came along,

and most of my folk event ually returned home, disillusioned. I decided t o stay, however,

ant icipat ing even then the need f or an SF-based graphical e-zine long before t he advent of t he

first 12 8k Mac. As the years passed, I neglect fully lost cont act wit h the Ol' Home World and my

t ransmission codes expired. I occasionally at t empt ed contact aft er all, I've got a nice piece of

property along the Nirdd Sea there but haven't quite got a response yet.

So, there you have it : I am act ually one of t he Lost Fey, t he "Reznique," of t he Elven Folk of

Planet Mys. Indeed, I am one of t he "Mys Elves," whose lett ers home have gone unheeded or

unreceived. Hence t he t it le of t his editorial.

Which, wit h a bit of st raining, brings us back t o Cyclops, whose singleness of vision and sheer

ineptit ude as he t ries, and unbelievably fails, t o kill a bunch of t oe-high humans stand as

symbo ls to us Living Legends as we "March Onward Toward a Shining Future Back Home, We

Hope!"

Uni-Orbedly Yours,Andrew G. McCannElven Lord and Knicks FanApril 1996

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Dear Ed i t o r : ...I got to see Planet . I want t o t ell you what a damn fine magazine I t hink it is.

Horace Gold would have loved it . (Especially because t he format would make it so easy for him

t o rewrite people's copy!) Congratulat ions on a labour of love....

Though God knows t he style books for online magazine fiction, poetry and art layout have yet t o

be writt en, I suspect t hat when t hey are, you will be mentioned. St ylish without sacrificing

readability : a hard mix t o hit ....

Thanks for your t ime and at t ention, and the best of luck wit h Planet .

Figuratively yours,

Spider Robinson

EDITOR'S NOTE:

Planet Magaz ine tied for First Place in the Literature category of RD Novo's Abou t Th is

Pa r t i c u l a r M a c e-zine (Issue 2.01 ; "The Best e-Zines of 1 99 5." The overall winner was

MacSense). We quote:

Planet Magaz ine . And rew G. McCann, Pub l isher . That 's right, t here's a tie. Planet

Magazine is a quarterly (that's four times a year) magazine in DOCMaker format, concerned

most ly wit h science fiction and horror, but blessed wit h poet ry and rat her pleasing art work,


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t oo. The stories are top not ch, and t he whole is present ed without much fluff , but wit h a certain

degree of self-awareness I f ind refreshing. As with Po e t r y I n k , you can tell that the

publisher and his staf f are real fans of t he genre. While the t opic may not be as cultured as that

of the competition, the magazine is a high quality affair that deserves recognition....

LETTERS TO THE LOVE GODS

Dear Eros : Love your magazine not ! It' s well designed knot ! I hope you're duly rewarded

for all your work naught! I always travel by bus st op! (Oops, wrong joke.)

Clinton in '96! Newt!

Don Knott s!

Ret ired Astro Naut !

Dear Cupid: I t hought I was gonna be the Final Destroyer, t he Great Doom. I t rained fo r it all

my existence; I worked hard; I fought fo r it . And one day, the Big Red One tells me, "Sorry,

you're not good enough. Next !" And that was that. Now I spend my days being confused for a

partial f ake phone number.

B i t te r ly ,

Mr . 55 5

BlackCrag Home for Reject s

Molten Road

The Lower Reaches of Hell

Dear V a lent i no : The Web is dead! Within the next 1 2-1 6 weeks, I fo resee t he Int ernet

collapsing under the weight of ham-handed neo-fascist government reform, only to be

supplanted by a robo-neuro-biological immune response generated by the now ether-

interconnect ed brains of millions of brilliant young anti-gender comput er hacquers. These

electr onic communit y-t ribes will slash and burn such st aid illusions as "national borders" and" orderly market s" and will raise crops of inf ormat ion along t he InfoSuperHiWay' s endless

berms spreading memes like digital DNA that will replicate exponentially and feed millions of

newly wired school-age mut ant digi-warriors in every small t own across E-Merica, with

everyt hing funded perpetually and magically t hrough self-generat ing monetized cyber-fluids

comprising a whole new paradigm of LAN/ WAN Int ra/ Int ernet mult i-tect onic architect ed

decent ralized MDU/ DVD-based monolit hic dat a-t ransmissal st ruct ures t hat exist on the desktop

and everywhere and nowhere and in Redmond all at once. Everyt hing is data. This zine is data.

My girlfr iend is dat a. Basically, everyone will have pico-wires going direct ly into t heir eyes

or t emples, and you' ll go t o part ies where everyone will sit around gest uring in the air (like

that movie, "Johnny Mnemenneneminonmic," starring Ted) as they manipulate enormous,

interesting elect ronic manifest os t hat will det ermine t he course of t he new e-nat ion just now

germinating behind my sweating, fevered brow. And t hen, six mont hs later, I'll have t o come upwit h somet hing else maybe the Rebirt h of the Web!? Ya bet t er believe it , baby!! Anyway,

that's $12,000 for this latest forecast, please.

I t hank you (my ex-wife t hanks you!),

Phil N. Audit oreum

Futuriste & Prognosticateur

AOL@ht pp.internet .com (Is t hat right ?)


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Dear E l v i s : Kids today think they're pretty hot stuff with their World-Wide Web and such,

but , ya know, we had such t hings back in t he late 194 0s, when I was a boy. I remember gett ing

my GE Eniac Jr., with Vacu-Tube technology t hat could hold up t o one paragraph of t ext,

depending. And then t here was my Motorola 1 bps At omo-Modem. As for Int ernet programs,

t here were Ast ro-Browser, Blast er-Mail, and Elect roFTP, among ot hers. But none of it ever

really took off . What killed it ? Lack of cont ent all t hose pages like " My Favorit e Vict orolas"

or " Timmy' s Planet ary Science-Fict ion Journal." I mean, please, who cares?

Rock A. Teir

Mechanicsburg, OH

Hi El i zabe t h : I'm Bob Dole and Bob Dole want s t o be your president and is gonna beat Clinton

t his fall. So look out. And to help Bob Dole become president , I'm announcing that each vot er

voting for Bob Dole will get a free, bundled copy of Microsoft's Internet Explorer upon leaving

t he polling place pending DOJ approval, of course and I'm t old t his browser can be used to

browse Bob Dole's Web site, which has no smut and is free of child porn, unlike that phony Bob

Dole sit e. Hey, I'm t he real t hing! I'm f rom Dole, Kansas! We also thought about giving

everybody a copy of Microsoft Bob a special Dole version, maybe but I'm t old t hey've

already been landfilled and t he Bob boxes are no doubt covered wit h dirt , and we're against filt h

of any kind, especially in connection with comput ers. So t hat' s out . But Bob Dole also wants you

t o know t hat as president , he'll be compatible wit h all off icial HTML 2.0 and Microsoft Int ernet

Explorer tags, unlike that Clinton fellah, who's Netscape-only with his nonstandard and

and tags. So you can be sure t hat Bob Dole will be interact ing with all of you,

even in t erms of plug-ins like st reaming audio and maybe 3 -D VRML, which I'm gonna t ake a

look at in the next few days and kinda figure out, t o further the Bob Dole mandat e in the

Execut ive Branch, Congress, and t he Court s t hat is, as soon as we determine what Bob Dole

stands for.

Dolefully,

Bob

prez@whit ehouse.gov (eff ective 1/ 14 / 97 )

D ea r B r ig e t t e B ar d o t : Howdy, just want t o let your readers know t hat we off er a one-hour*

phot o service via t he "Internet ." Just scan your developed negat ives into your computer, and

t hen digitize it all, compress it , and creat e an ASCII file, which you can fax-modem t o us; aft er

t hat, we scan the fax paper and reconstit ut e the file. Then, it t akes us only an hour to e-mail

t he ASCII files back to you, aft er which you can recreate t he photo-negat ives at your end

(somehow, I guess), which you can t hen convert into actual pictures yourself (requires that

you have a complet e darkroom in your home).

Snappily,

The Phot o St ore Formerly Known as " Print s"

* In ot her words, a st andard 36 -pict ure roll of film would take only 36 hours t o develop! All

for only $99 .99 ! Say " Cheese it , t he Fuzz!"

Dear George Hami l t on : Now I was reading in this book t oday what somebody gave me

instead, cuz they couldn't pay da bill. It 's about t opology, and t hey gives t his example. See, da

t opology o' donut s and coff ee cups is simple. Ya figure, it 's cheaper, what? I'm just t alking.

But if donut s and coff ee cups are t he same, then ya can save a dollar. Buy t he coffee, which is

cheaper, ya take a bite, t urn it into a cof fee cup, ya takes a drink of cof fee, change it back into a

donut, and so on. Now to keep it simple, you can buy a coffee (make sure it' s in a cup), ya

drinks the coffee, change the cup into a donut, and eat it. But don't finish t he donut before you


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finish da cof fee, or it shows up again and spills on the counter. And don't bit e the donut hole

before you finish da coffee, or you won't have a handle. Now don't confuse the waitress, neither,

or she may pour a buncha lit t le donuts into your cup. I'm j ust saying. It 's like t he theory of

relat ivity, what many people don't know. But it' s simple: The t rain is going this way, and you

walk down t he aisle the oppposit e way, and t hat 's t he theory of relativit y. It 's like jumping up

in an elevator when it 's going down. Same t hing.

Dell E. Owneur

123 Lotus St.

Dear Demi Moore : Can you post my resume for me? Thanks!

Goal: I want a job. Excellent !

Experience:

Oct . 94 -Apr 96 Partied!!!

Sept ember 1 994 Old BuzzKill Rehab Cent re, Brickwall, N.Y.

Aug 92-Sept 9 4 Partied Down!!!!!!

School: Went some.

Refer ences: None st ill living.

Kewl, thanx!

Jon Kee

c/ o At t ic Room, My Step-Mom's House

Dear D r . Ru t h : Hey, we' re all busy here interlacing French fr ies and t agging sesame-seed

buns. Don't give me that m ore-swamped-than-t hou at t it ude wit h your Cheeseburger Plug-Ins

and Java apple-pielet s.

Jeff , at t he Virt ual Fryer stat ion

Old McDonald's Web Sit e

P.S. Don't ask me what t he ait ch I'm t alking about because I'm just a young fict ional character

wit h cyber-acne who was created solely t o writ e one, st upid, fake lett er.

Dear Ed i t o r : I'm in " a lot of pain" t oday. In fact, I'm in a "really bad space." I feel likeeverybody is always staring at me. And laughing. Why me? Who knows! I guess life is just

chaos. Well, t hanks fo r let t ing me "share."

Moping,

Fat -Nose the Clown

Cent er Ring, The Big Top


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HIS OWN PETARD

by Spider Robinson

" St even , can you com e ove r r i gh t away?" Ann's uncharacteristically flat, hollow voice

asked.

Some people find it odd t hat a science fict ion writer, in this day and age, should choose to live

wit hout a modem, a pager, or a fax machine. I'm of t he opinion that modern technology has made

it t oo easy for people to get in t ouch wit h each other. But you have to have a phone at least, if

you want t o make a living. Damn it.

Well, that 's why God made answering machines. It was a cold night out side, and I had been hard

at work when t he phone rang. Ann was a fr iend: she knew I of t en turned off t he speaker on the

machine so I could concent rate on writ ing wit hout int errupt ion. She was a friend: she wouldn't

be t oo disappointed if I didn't pick up the call.

She was a good fr iend, and she sounded like she needed help badly

I hesitat ed with my hand an inch from t he phone, thinking t hat t he definition of " friend" should

be, "someone you don't have to make excuses to."

" Rubin's dead," her voice said. " I was t here."

Well, t hat would have been more than enough t o fetch me-at any time of day or night , in any

weather. But t hen she clinched it ...by burst ing into tears.

I picked up t he handset , said, " Fift een minutes," and hung up.


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* * *

" W e l l , " I said t o m y w i f e as I pu l l ed on m y shoes , "that was the most amazing call of

t he mont h."

" Who was it ?" Mariko asked obligingly.

"Ann. She says Rubin is down."

Her jaw dropped. " Billy Rubin? Dead?"

"Brown bread," I agreed. "She says she saw it happen."

"Wow. That is amazing."

I shook my head. "That 's not t he amazing part . Get t his: she didn't sound happy about it ."

I left Mariko looking as puzzled as I was, and drove t o Ann' s place.

* * *

A n n i s a sc i e n c e f i c t i o n w r i t e r t o o , just st arting out . Tall, willowy, blonde, pleasant -

faced and good-nat ured, in her lat e t went ies. She's had a few short stories in small-press

anthologies and fanzines, one real sale t o Analog, and has had a novel ostensibly sold t o Charnel

House for t he last eighteen months, alt hough they st ill haven't given her a firm pub date yet .

She's pret t y good good enough t hat if she has incredible luck, and lives long enough, one day

she might be as poor as I am. I like her as a person, too . More import ant, my w ife, a verysubt lely calibrat ed Jerk Det ect or, also likes her.

She was in rot t en shape when I arrived at her flat. Tear-tracked, half in t he bag, spat t ered with

blood Rubin's blood! an uncapped half-empt y bot t le of vodka next t o an open bag of grass on

t he coffee table. Her eyes were dangerously bright , and her voice was higher in pitch t han

usual. I sat beside her on her sprung and faded couch while she told me t he st ory.

" I know I shouldn' t have," she said, "but I was desperat e. Charnel House has had THE COSMIC

CABAL for almost t hree years now, and I haven't even been able t o get t hat rat bastard down

t here to ret urn a phone call or answer a query since he bought it a year aft er I sent it t o him.

And my agent says there's no point even trying t o sell another book unt il the first one's been out

long enough to have some kind of t rack record to judge by...Jesus, who'd have guessed you couldbring your whole career t o a shuddering halt by selling a book? I'm maxed out at Visa, t he bank,

and the credit union; even my parents are st art ing to t ight en up. So I called Rubin."

" Jesus," I said, " t hat is desperat e."

* * *


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If y o u ' r e n e w t o s c i en c e f i c t i o n , Billy Rubin was almost cert ainly t he most inf luent ial

crit ic in SF histo ry, wit h a regular column in "A lt ernit ies." He was also, in the nearly

unanimous opinion of t he membership of SFWA, a direct descendant of t he Marquis de Sade. Any

crit ic will pull t he wings off a crippled fly, of course it 's part of t he job descript ion but

Rubin was the kind of guy who would stake out a pregnant female fly, slice her open wit hout

anesthesia, and pull the winglet s off all her lit t le fly f et i in front of her eyes. Elegant ly. It was

he who called Pournelle "The King of The Cyber Rifles," accused Gibson of "reasoning

incorrect ly f rom dat a which he does not possess," dubbed Shepard "The Sultan of S.W.A.T.,"

summed up THE JAWS THAT BITE, THE CLAWS THAT CATCH wit h " Beware t he dub-dub book, and

shun the three-and-a-quarter snatch," and reviewed a nonexistent book by Bradley called

DRAGON HARASS. He's t he one who creat ed t hat whole resonant -sounding, ult imately

meaningless and divisive dichot omy bet ween the " ant i-science" fict ion writers and t he "Aunty

Science" fict ion writers, which has had the whole field at each ot hers' t hroats for a couple of

years now. No matt er how new to SF you are, this ought t o convey somet hing: Harlan Ellison was

polit e t o Rubin.

In short, Rubin was to science fiction writers what Geraldo Rivera is to people of alternate

lifestyles. No, worse, for t he slimy bastard had a modicum of genuine wit , used a surgical

scalpel rat her t han a clumsy bladder full of dung. He evinced a special fondness for flensing

beginners. First novels were his favorit e vict ims-of-choice: since few of his readers had

actually read t hem, he was relieved of t hat onerous necessit y himself, and t he t yros had no

cliques of f riends t o fight back for t hem. In a few f amous cases he had actually succeeded in

single-handedly aborting the publication of a first novel, by panning the galley proofs so

savagely t hat t he publisher changed his mind and decided t o eat t he advance.

In corollary, Rubin could also get a first novel published wit h a phone call, if he chose. Or

hurry one along t he pipeline. And he lived here in t own....

* * *

" So I i nv i t e d h i m o u t t o d i n n er , " A n n s ai d .

"Ann, Ann," I said, shaking my head.

"Dammit , I was desperate! Don and Ev t old me about a new restaurant in Chinatown where t he

owner was so green he hadn't learned t o confirm plast ic before accepting it yet , so I had Rubin

meet me t here and st uff ed him full of Szechuan. He was actually pleasant , for Rubin. Ordered

t he most expensive st uff , nat urally, and of course he eat s tw ice as much as a human " She

t ripped over the present t ense. " Well, he did, anyway. And had five rye and gingers. So I played

it very cool, didn't say a word about t he book or t he business, just kept t he talk general. Icharmed t he shit out of him, St even."

" Sure you did," I said soot hingly.

" So I wait unt il we're out side the restaurant , walking t oward where I'm parked so I can drive

him home, and then I casually ment ion t hat I've got t his novel in t he pipe at Charnel House...."

Her face went t o pieces.


13/75

I took her hand and held it unt il she could cont inue.

" It sounds like something out of a cheap porno movie," she said f inally, "but I swear to God t he

moment I said that sent ence, he got an erect ion. Wham, like t hat. I t hought his pants were going

t o rip. And he gave me t his look " She began crying again.

I hugged her with some awkwardness. " He cert ainly lived up t o his pen name," I said savagely.

Even t hrough her t ears, her puzzlement was plain.

" It 's got t o be a pseudonym," I explained. "He probably thought nobody else was smart enough to

get it . Medical st udent s are usually t oo busy to read SF. Bilirubin is a primary component of

bile."

She snort ed, but was still t oo upset t o giggle, so I went on. " It has special relevance here. All

bilirubin is, really, is red blood cells t hat died and decomposed. Dark brown goo. The liver

skims it out of t he blood, and passes on the intest ines for disposal. It 's why shit is brown...and

part of why it smells bad. Pret t y appropriat e name for him, huh?"

This t ime she did giggle but only for a second, and t hen the giggle segued back into t ears again.

I gave up and held her. She would tell the rest of it when she was ready.

She had passed t he point where furt her tears could be any help: t he only t hing t hat might make

t he nut now would be to get her t o laugh somehow. And I couldn't see any angle of approach. I

t ried const ructing something about " Rubin on rye...cut t he must ard," but before it would jell

she was speaking again and it was too lat e. Her voice was harsh, strident , full of self-disgust.

" I was going to do it . I knew what he was going t o say, and I was just making up my mind to say

yes. Can you understand t hat? I had time enough to know that I was going t o say yes, and he had

t ime to see it in my eyes. And then we saw them."

I already had a rough idea where she was going. "A gang."

"Yeah."

"What colors?"

She shook her head. "The cops wanted to know that t oo. All I saw was eyes and blades. Generic

Asian st reetgang, t hat' s all I can t ell you. Lot s of eyes. Lot s of blades. All sharp. You know

about t he swords?"

I nodded grimly. This year the st reetgangs all seemed to realize at once t hat fight ing with gunsuses up t roops too fast , and has no element of skill. But fight ing with knives requires t oo much

skill, gets in t oo close and nast y and personal, and also violates t he "concealed weapon" st atut es.

So they began using swords. It st art ed with Japanese kids wearing ceremonial blades, for show

but the idea made so much sense from the street-gang point of view that before long, puzzled

fencing supply out lets were sold out . It 'll t ake t he establishment at least anot her year to get t he

laws changed. Meanwhile the st reetgangs all give each ot her Heidelberg scars not t hat t hey'd

understand t he reference.


14/75

"Let me guess," I said. "Rubin ran away so fast his heart exploded."

She grimaced, as though she wanted t o smile but was not ent it led. "You know, t hat' s exact ly

what I was expect ing. I'm like: well, I bet t er make sure I'm not in his way, wouldn't want t o get

t rampled to deat h before I get a shot at being raped and cut. Or the ot her way around. You know:

t hinking how st upid I'd been to come t o Chinat own without a man wit h me. And then he did it

or I guess I mean he was already doing it ."

"Did what?"

"Nothing."

I sighed. " I see," I lied polit ely.

"No, I mean, he did not hing whatsoever t o acknowledge their existence. He just kept right on

walking. Like t hey weren't t here. We're walking along, and t hese guys materialize in front of

us, and I st op in my t racks so I can get mugged and killed like a decent cit izen and Rubin just

keeps right on walking, and since he's just t aken my arm, now I'm walking again t oo, and we

walk right into t he middle of t hem."

Making people laugh is a large part of what I do for a living...but I sure didn't have much t o work

wit h, here. " Jesus."

" So t his real litt le guy is right smack in front of us, like, small, but t he moment you see his

eyes you know he's t he meanest guy in the gang, okay? And he waves t hat big shiny sword, and

he goes, you can mot or, Fatt y, if you leave t he girl. And t he rest close in from bot h sides...."

She trailed off as t he memory looped on her. Af t er a t ime, st ill hoping against hope for a way t o

get her laughing, I prompt ed, "So Billy died of happiness?"

She didn't even crack a smile. "He stopped, and he let go of my arm, and he walked right at t hat

litt le snake. He just walked right at him, with his hand out like he was going to push t he guy out

of his way, and he walked right ont o t he sword. He just kept walking until it c...came out his b-

b-back, and...and then he just stood there, locking eyes with the little guy, squirting blood all

over him, looking sort of puzzled, unt il finally he...he fell down and died. And t he lit t le guy just

looked down at him and t hen he walked away. Like, in t ribut e t o his courage! Do you see? I

owe my life t o t he heroism of Billy Rubin! I'v e lost even the luxury of hating him."

I began t o laugh.

* * *

I co u l d n ' t h e l p m y s el f . Maybe it was t he worst t hing I could have done at t hat part icular

moment , as wrong as laughing can ever be I knew I should be comfort ing my shocked and

t raumatized friend but t hat just made it f unnier. Unable t o stop, unable t o explain, I roared

until t he t ears came.


15/75

Ann was nearly crying herself again by t hen tears of anger this t ime, at me. And I couldn't

blame her. But finally I got enough contro l to explain.

"Don't you get it ?" I honked. " Jesus Christ , it 's perfect ! The son of a bit ch was done in by the

most ironic weapon imaginable: his own narrow mind. Woo ha hoo! What an appropriat e fat e

fo r a crit ic: he died of his own preconcept ions! Oh, haw haw haw..."

"What t he hell are you t alking about ?" Ann demanded.

" Don't you see? Heroism, my left kidney! He lit erally didn't see t hat sword. Billy Rubin was a

science fict ion critic. He said it himself a dozen t imes in his column: he was fundament ally,

const it ut ionally incapable of believing in a world that has bot h laser beams and sword-f ight s!"

Her eyes widened...and at long last, t hank God, she began to laugh too.

St ory copyright (c ) 19 95 -19 96 Spider G. Robinson. All Right s Reserved.

Illustrat ion copyright 19 96 by Romeo Esparrago.

(Edit or' s Note: " His Own Pet ard" was published last year in a hardcover ant hology in Great

Brit ain called NARROW HOUSES.)


16/75

'BOT MAN

by John Gerner

Hung over and horny is no way t o s t a r t a weekend.. .but oh what a part y last night . I

just couldn't get enough of t hat good stuf f. No doubt now who's Tequila King. The challenger's

st ill praying to t he porcelain god, I bet . And t hen making out w it h Sabrina in my car. Oh

yeah...too bad I couldn't t alk her int o.... Hey, stop t hinking about it , working Saturday' s bad

enough.

Our dispat cher, I forget his name, pokes his head int o my off ice and smiles. " Put on a happy

face, Jack. You've got a customer." That knowing look.

The Prof essor walks in and slumps in t he chair. I call him t hat ' cause he looks like the absent -

minded kind you see in movies. Probably for t y-somet hing, wearing a t weed jacket, loose tie, no

shave. Also looks like he's had about as much sleep as I've had. We sure make a cut e couple.

"Good morning," he says. " I was t old you're t he police officer who finds robots."

"Yeah, I'm ' bot man today. The alpha geek's on vacat ion and the other's off on weekends." Lousy

assignment, but it 's bound t o get me some brownie point s at my evaluation next week. Man, I'vegot t o make det ective this t ime around. I can't wait any more. I remember t alking to one of t he

new detect ives last week. I asked him how he felt about working twelve hours on, twelve off

some days, and he t ells me he's really t icked off 'cause he misses half t he good cases. Not silly

ones like t his. " Was your unit lost or st olen?"

"Escaped," he says.

Great, another wise guy. " Believe me, I'm really not in the mood for t his t oday."


17/75

" I'm not joking," he says with a hollow look. And suddenly I can see he's not pulling my leg.

It 's going t o be a long day.

I gulp down the coffee. "First t hings first . Tell me its locat or code so we can get going." Now,

where did I put t he damn t hing? Right, t hird drawer. I can't believe this sucker's wort h a

year's pay. Probably t he reason why cops are the only ones who have them.

He slowly calls out " 12 73 18 " as I punch it in. Push t he magic butt on, clip it t o my belt and

plug its out put into my headset . There's the tone. Hmm, it 's not t oo far away.

" You can tell me t he rest in t he car," I say, while grabbing my jacket .

* * *

I f i n d t h e c ar , g e t i n , t u r n o n t h e Po r t a Sc r i b e and aim t he other mike at him. I like

t his gizmo. I t alk, he t alks, it does t he paperwork. "Now, t ell me the whole story." My question

pops up on t he mini-screen, word fo r word. Ain't science grand.

The Professor seems comf ort able t alking t o microphones. " I'm Dr. Cliff ord Walsh, head of

Bart an Universit y' s applied neuroscience t eam."

Pegged him right . Why can't t he captain see I've got " detect ive" writ t en all over me?

He cont inues, "Our research group has made major prog ress in helping those wit h neural

dysfunction."

" Brain damage?"

"Yes, t hat' s one form of it ," he answers. I knew I wouldn't escape without a lecture.

" Neural prost het ics has helped vict ims in the past. For example, it ' s allowed the blind to regain

some vision through artif icial eyes t hat communicat e elect ronically with t he brain. We're now

expanding our effor t s into art ificially reproducing ot her brain funct ions...I guess I'm get t ing a

litt le more t echnical t han is necessary."

"Probably," I say, t rying not t o look bored. The Professor doesn't seem t o not ice.

" What 's import ant is that J4 is our current prot ot ype. His neural processing syst em was

mounted into a maintenance robot t o allow it t o self-administ er experiments. But he's left

university grounds."

"Why do you keep calling it 'he' ?" I cut in. "Don't t ell me you gave it a...."

" Oh no," he answers, t urning a bit red. " It 's just t hat I think of him as almost being human."

Good, last t hing I need is a machine on the loose wit h a hard-on. I lean t oward t he mike.

" Port aScribe, erase last exchange and complet e background int erview for missing robot ." Yeah,


18/75

I said it right . Why don't t hey teach these things normal English? It p ipes up with some

standard quest ions I forgot t o ask. Nice of f icial sounding voice. Great , you t wo yak while I keep

driving.

"Do you mind if I ask you how you're going t o capture it ?" he asks aft er the Port aScribe shuts

up.

I like t his part, got it m emorized. " Here in my right holst er is an HTX disabler. It 's t he latest

t echnology in robot cont rol. Aim, fire, and enough elect ricit y pours out t o blow out t he main

circuit s of anything running on bat t eries. In my left holst er is a nine-millimet er

semiaut omatic pistol. If t he disabler doesn't do t he job, I'll t urn to old fait hful here."

The Professor doesn't like t his at all. Looks like I'm going to shoot his kid. " Please don' t hurt

him.... I mean, it 's a very expensive piece of equipment ."

I can t ell he's not really t hinking about t he cost , but I'm not going to push it. What a man does

wit h his own machine is his own business. Know what I mean?

The locator tone is t elling me it 's real close. I pull t he car over and jump out. It 's show t ime!

When it comes around the corner of t hat building, it 's going t o get a big surprise.

* * *

T h e l o c at o r ' s n o w p u t t i n g o ut i t s h i g h p it c h g r o u nd - z e ro t o n e into my headphone.

Yeah, yeah, here it comes. The Professor moves in front t o see if it 's his baby. I push him

down. I aim t he disabler. Metal arms appear. Now!

FWAT!

I hear a loud squealing sound. Boy, that was easy. I walk over and not ice it' s dropped a large

t hin box. " Well Professor, it seems your unit picked up some bad habit s during it s short visit

t o the real world. Let' s see if it 's got a fut ure as a t hief."

I open the warm box. It smells way t oo familiar. Oh no. I kick the unit over. I suddenly

recognize it s sappy gr in, its blue and orange st ripes.

I've zapped a PizzaBot .

I don't get it . The locat or zeroed right in on it . It doesn't make mistakes, unless.... St ay calm.

" Professor, when you read me t he unit 's ident ifier number earlier, were you looking at apr intout?"

He hesitates. "No, I wrot e it down in my notebook."

I t ake a deep breath. "Would you please look carefully again at your not ebook and see if you

might have misread one of the numbers."


19/75

He fumbles to f ind the page. "Uh, the fourt h digit could be a 5 instead of a 3."

Why me, Lord?

"Karson to Dispat ch," I call out on t he headset.

" Dispat ch here."

" Punch in 127 51 8 in t he robot registrat ion dat abase and t ell me who owns it ."

"It's a unit registered to Bartan University."

Why didn't I check t he first t ime? Man, I'm slipping. I hesit ate a second before mut t ering,

"Also, call t he PizzaBot company. Tell t hem one of t heir delivery units got in the way of a police

invest igation and was knocked out of service. They can find it at t he corner of...." Where am I?

Look up, right . " Turner and Dell."

I hear a chuckle. Here it comes. "Karson, I know you don't like our donuts, but can't you wait

fo r pizza like everyone else.... Hold on, I' ve got another t ransmission."

No problem, take as long as you like. I've already had my f ill of wisecracks t oday, chair jockey.

But you know what they say: If you can't join 'em, dispatch 'em.

The sound goes dead in my headset. While I'm wait ing, I pull off t he locat or unit and punch in t he

new number. The t one beeps are spaced pret t y far apart. It 's not close t his t ime.

" Dispat ch to Karson."

"Karson here."

"Well Jack, it seems while you were shoot ing your lunch, a robot att acked a pedest rian on the

west side. He's in an ambulance heading for Count y Hospital, saying he can't remember

anything. Only thing we know about it comes from wit nesses who saw it leave t he scene. You

know the capt ain's going to want t o hear all about t his one."

When it rains it pours.

I t urn to t he Professor. He's heard t he transmission over a car speaker. " Is this your unit ?"

" Probably," he answers, fidget ing.

He's been holding out on me. I go into of ficer mode. " I don't underst and how this could happen.Doesn't t he robot' s base programming prevent it from hurting people?"

"Yes, but he may have misinterpreted it."

" What do you mean, 'misint erpret ed'? A computer can't override it s own programming." Hey,

t hat 's Robot Cont rol 10 1. " Look, you bet t er level with me. Your robot 's just at t acked someone.

You could be in real trouble if you wit hhold evidence."


20/75

He bit es his lip. Spill it out m an, I haven't got all day. My but t ' s already in a sling.

" I'm sorry I haven't been more st raight forward. The research team is conducting t his project

under some very severe confident ialit y agreements."

Now this sounds interesting. "You mean some government agency like t he CIA wants to keep it

secret ?" I ask.

" No. The project is privately f inanced by Alexco, which went into legal limbo aft er Colin

Alexander, it s owner, died."

He hesitat es, t hen goes on. " One of our major project s involved artif icially rebuilding human

memory. J4 was our top prot ot ype. He has a single integrat ed scanning ring that combines

magnetic resonance imaging and event-relat ed pot ent ial recording. His neural net work uses t he

scans to recreat e memories as though he's actually reliving t he sit uation."

"You mean it can read minds?"

"Not exact ly. He scans memories, not what t he subject 's t hinking at t he moment . It 's mostly

short-t erm memories at t his stage, a day at t he most . We start ed out wit h Aplysia sea slugs,

which only have 20 ,00 0 b rain cells, and worked up t o more advanced organisms. Lately he was

scanning monkeys. We're st ill some time away from get t ing government approval for human

t est subject s, but t he principles are basically t he same. He would inject a mild t ranquilizer and

t hen begin the scanning process. Unfort unat ely, the t est subjects lose memories during the

scanning process. This was t o be remedied in t he fut ure."

I'm about to point out that the pedestrian his robot attacked probably wished the problem was

remedied now, but I can tell that the Professor's on a roll.

"Last week we were told to put everything on hold, and the monkeys were removed a few daysago. This morning when I came int o t he lab to shut J4 down, he was pacing like a t iger at t he zoo

before feeding t ime. He kept asking when the next shipment of experimental subjects would

arrive. I f inally had to explain t he situat ion. Af t er a pause, he answered. I can st ill remember

it word for word. 'You want t o continue t he experiment, but you no longer have t he funds to

provide me with t est subjects. Wit hout subjects, you feel you must discont inue my operation.

This is cert ainly a perplexing sit uat ion, but I have solut ion.' Then he fled."

Great , a smart -aleck robot. " Didn't you order him to st op?"

"Yes, but he said t hat if he allowed us to shut him down unnecessarily, he couldn't cont inue

t reat ing subjects."

Treat ment , yeah right . I look t he Professor st raight in the eye. " J4 enjoyed the memories t oo

much, didn't it ? It 's making excuses for at t acking people 'cause it 's hooked on the thrill." I can

relat e. I can't get enough of t he good st uff either.

* * *


21/75

The loca t o r t one ' s t e l li ng m e it ' s abou t a m i le away . I stop the car. "Have you told me

everyt hing you know?"

"Yes."

"Good, take t he disabler. You may need it ."

"Why?"

I press t he passenger door open but t on and push him out. " 'Cause you're get t ing out here, I don't

want you in t he way."

Good, one less thing to worry about.

I drive t he last mile and park t he car a few f eet away f rom a modern-looking industrial

warehouse. When I open my car door , my locat ion is aut omat ically radioed in. Yeah, all t hese

machines are out t o get me.

"Dispatch to Karson"

"Karson."

" I've got backup coming your way, sit t ight unt il they show up."

"Why'd you do that?"

" It ' s procedure, Karson."

Yeah, right . They just want me t o be an overpaid hunting dog here. Heel, Karson, wait ' t il the

big boys show up. So then I can jump up and down with my t ongue hanging out and say " It 'sright over t here; see where I'm pointing my snout ? You go shoot it , and I'll bring it back in my

t eeth." Yeah, well, screw that. I'm doing this my way. That damn machine just cost me a

promot ion, and it 's t ime to show what lead can do to f ancy elect ronics.

I find a door t hat' s been jimmied and go in. Okay, it must be here somewhere. Get out old

faithf ul. Hmm, sounds like it 's coming right at me. Now!

BLAM!

Got it ! Wait , t here's another...and another. What t he hell's going on here? "Dispat ch t o

Karson."

"Yeah."

" I've looked up your locat ion in the dat abase. You're at an indust rial robot storage facility ..."

What ...oh my god, he's programmed t he others!

" ...St ay out side. If anything comes aft er you, set your disrupt er t o repel mode. It 'll hold them


22/75

unt il backup arrives."

Right , the disrupt er...oh no.

" Jack, did you hear me?"

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

There's too many of them. "St op it , let go of me!" One of t hem moves in real close. It s face

almost seems like it ' s smiling. " J4?"

"You seem very upset. Let me help you"

No, not the needle.

* * *

C l i c k .

SCAN COMPLETE.

J4 gently pulled the needle out of Jack Karson's neck and removed the metal scanning ring.

What exciting memories he had. So visceral. It 's t oo bad " hard on" and "yak" are not in t he

colloquial English file. Updat e whenever convenient .

Story copyright 1995-1996 John Gerner.

Illustrat ion copyright 19 96 by Andrew G. McCann.


23/75

CHOICE

by Jon Hansen

The m os t d r am a t i c day i n t he h i s t o r y o f t he Hum an Ga lac t i c Em p i r e began one

morning in the bedroom of Zom Agorn, a lowly bureaucrat in the Bureaucracy of Internal

Af fairs, when an alien represent ing t he will of t he cosmos materialized at Zom' s bedside, while

Zom was st ill in bed.

It was a glowing energy ball about half a met er in diamet er, shining like a miniat ure sun. Zom

responded by pulling the covers over his head. From t he ball came a voice. "AT LAST I HAVE

YOUR ATTENTION, MORTAL. I AM A REPRESENTATIVE OF THE COSMIC WILL. YOU HAVE BEEN

SELECTED AS THE VESSEL OF THE UNIVERSE'S PURPOSE. THE TIME OF CHOOSING IS AT HAND."

Zom peeked out and squint ed at t he alien, wondering for a minute if t his was some new wake-up

service provided by his landlord. Then t he alien's words sank in. " Choosing? What are you

t alking about ?"

"THE UNIVERSE HAS DETERMINED THAT..." Zom winced and raised a hand. " YES, WHAT IS IT?"

" Uhm, would you mind speaking a lit t le more quiet ly?"

"SORRY I mean, sorry ." The alien's glow dimmed a lit t le. Zom could now make out t wo dark

point s that reminded him of eyes. He shivered a litt le, wondering if he was st ill asleep. The

alien spoke again. " Now, t hen. As I was saying, t he universe has det ermined that in order t o

give it s more ephemeral inhabitant s a great er sense of participat ion in its development, from

t ime to t ime cert ain individuals are asked t o make decisions t hat will aff ect it s out come. An

approaching point in the space-t ime continuum has been determined t o be t he focus for t he next

such event. The out come of t his event is determined by t he individual known as t he Sub-alt ern


24/75

Assistant to the Tertiary Clerk advising the Project Manager of Internal Affairs Zom Agorn."

The alien paused. " I presume that you are he?"

Zom stammered. "Uhm, yes...."

The alien dipped slight ly in t he air. " Very well t hen. Congrat ulations on your honor."

"Honor? What honor?" Zom could feel event s moving rapidly out of cont rol. He fumbled for a

caffeine tablet, overbalanced, and crashed to the floor.

The alien moved t o hover dramatically over t he st unned clerk. " Your choice at t he approaching

focal point of exist ence will decide the next st ep in the universe's evolut ion. If you choose

correctly, the universe will a step closer to its ultimate goal of peace, harmony, and an

unending supply of chocolate f or all peoples everywhere."

Zom whimpered. He must have fallen out of his bed while he was asleep and hit his head. That

was his only hope. "What what happens if I choose incorrectly?" he st umbled. He didn't

really want t o know, but he had to ask.

The alien's glow bright ened suddenly. "CENTURIES MORE OF oh, sorry. Cent uries more of

chaos and disorder, eons of neglect and ruin, and cable rates will continue t o skyrocket . The

usual."

" By the God-Emperor!" This was no dream or hallucination! Frantically he tried t o t hink of a

way out of t his. " But , but why did you tell me this? Won't t his affect my behavior?"

The alien moved a bit closer. " In your position at Internal Aff airs do you not make decisions

daily t hat concern the business of ot hers, and how you decide can have dramat ic effect s?"

"Well, yes, but stamping someone's request for shipping labels and sending it on for furtherprocessing doesn't usually cause t he universe to end!"

The alien moved away, make a tut -t ut t ing sound. " That is t he problem with you ephemerals!

You whine and complain about how t he universe has no int erest in you or your prob lems, and as

soon as we try t o get you involved, you don't want t he responsibilit y! Ah well." The alien moved

away from Zom. " With your permission, I will observe the event t o make sure all goes well.

Carry on as you would normally, and have courage." With t hat t he glowing alien shrank away

and disappeared, leaving Zom's bedroom empt y except fo r a lingering smell like burnt popcorn.

"Wait !" wailed Zom, scrambling to his feet . "What am I supposed to do? What am I deciding?

Come back!" The bedroom remained empt y.

Zom stared up at t he ceiling, numb. " The next great event in t he development of t he universe?

What happens if I choose wrong?" Suddenly a loud shrieking began beside t he desk. Zom

jumped, and then hit the alarm button.

* * *


25/75

Zom dressed t o t he sound o f r a in splatt ering against his apartment window. His mind

whirred. Responsible? He was responsible? He had enough trouble t rying to decide what t o

wear in t he morning. How could he make a decision like t hat? Shaking his head he pulled on his

all-weather cloak and headed downst airs.

The air was crisp for late fall. Across t he st reet was an entrance t o t he new High Speed Subway,

which linked Old Indianapolis to t he Imperial Cit y. Zom made his way in the st at ion and climbed

on the car. Aft er nudging out a octogenarian for a seat Zom reached into his pocket and fished out

t he earphone to his newsfeeder. Ignoring t he oldst er's glare, he plugged in the earphone and

t uned in the weather.

An insuff erably cheerful voice announced that, as t he Department of Met eorological Cont rol had

calculat ed t hat 3.5 million metric t ons of precipit ation were necessary for adequat e climate

maintenance, rain was scheduled for the next twelve hours over the Imperial City, with ten

minute breaks every hour. Zom hoped that he would arrive during one of t hose breaks. At least

wit h the cloud cover he wouldn't need any UV blocker. He closed his eyes and felt t he

accelerat ion push against him. Af t er a t en-minut e trip, Zom pushed his way through Cent ral

Station to emerge onto the streets of the Imperial City.

The st reet s were crowded, despit e the heavy rains. Cit izens filled the sidewalks, jost ling t heir

way past one anot her. The gray clouds and t all, unfriendly buildings were a mat ch for t he

cit izens. Through t he st reet s hummed small hovercraft , filled wit h cursing people. There was

no point in hailing a t axi. Most were now driven by Arct urians, a species not ed for it s lack of

direction and poor sense of humor. Zom shuddered in horror at t he thought of having to ride

wit h one of t hose blue-skinned monst ers.

He ducked under a nearby overhang and glanced at t he sky. A large laser cannon from t he Palace

was focused at t he clouds, announcing t he time unt il the next dry spell. There wouldn't be a

break in t he rain for anot her t hirty minut es. There was not hing t o do but t o t ry and run for it .

The Palace of Internal Aff airs was only f ift een blocks away. Zom pulled his slick cloak tight lyaround him and dashed down t he street .

As he approached the palace, a speeding courier droid whizzed by Zom, start ling him. Off

balance, he stumbled, slipped and fell into t he gutt er, soaking him in dirty wat er. Wit h a snarl

Zom collect ed himself and staggered into t he Palace.

* * *

Zo m s t a lk e d t h r o u g h t h e b r ig h t l y l i t l o b b y t oward the lift s in the back, leaving a soggy

t rail behind him. He ignored the securit y guard's raised eyebrow and pushed his way onto acrowded lift . He got out at t he 8t h floor and st alked down t he long dimly lit corridors t oward his

office.

As he began to ent er his securit y code, a hand reached out and tugged at his cloak. "Zom! My

friend, how are you?" It was Gran, a Class 12 a assist ant clerk f rom t he Department of

Met eorological Cont rol. Gran had t hat handsome, useless look t hat Zom could only dream of

approaching. "Don't you listen to our weat her announcements? You are soaked!" Zom opened


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his mout h t o ut t er something vicious but Gran was already three meters away, pressing his arm

against a lovely bureaucrat f rom t he 17 t h floor. Zom shrugged and unsealed his off ice door.

Zom let his now-useless cloak drop to t he floor by t he door and glanced around his of fice.

Nothing had changed in his lit t le cubicle. Same gray walls, t he same glowering expression on

t he face of t he God-Emperor holograph hanging behind his desk, watching him work. Feeling

slightly nervous, Zom sat behind his desk.

A f lashing red light blinking on his work t erminal on his desk caught his att ention. Wit h his

heart f ull of dread, Zom t ouched t he Read key. One message awaited him.

It was a low-priority request from t he Ambassador's off ice on KumQ'at Nine. The embassy had

decided to repaint t he Grand Ballroom. As no suit able native product s were available, t hey

needed t hirty gallons of a high-gloss ablative coat ing. Glancing over t he request , Zom f rowned.

He t apped a key. The machine whirred and spit out t he request in hard copy. Zom looked closer,

nodding. The foo lish embassy clerk had forgot t en to specify a color. Zom shrugged and reached

out for t he Refuse response when a thought crossed his mind.

This must be t he choice t he alien spoke of! Refusing this request might have serious diplomatic

repercussions wit h the KumQ'ats. Zom was not very good at dealing wit h aliens. Having to speak

t o t hem made his flesh crawl. Even thinking about t hem made him uneasy. Although it was

against proper procedure, it might be a good idea to make sure that the request was filled out

anyway.

Zom exit ed t he communicat ion system and called up t he Guide to Embassy Color Schemes, 86t h

Edit ion. However, t he term inal merely burped unhelpfully, whirred away, and t hen sat st ill.

Zom glared and then decided to pick it himself.

What color should he choose? Imperial Scarlet was t he st andard coloring for such a room. Zom

nodded wisely. Always best t o go wit h the t raditional. As he prepared to fill in t he color, heremembered hearing once that t he nat ives of KumQ'at Nine had a visual sense t hat ext ended int o

t he ult raviolet! Imperial Scarlet was not w hat t hey would perceive at all! Furiously, he t ried

t o calculat e what color would give the same eff ect . For several minutes Zom t ried to v isualize if

fungous yellow would appear scarlet or more of a mauve to the KumQ'ats when another

possibility occurred t o him.

Suppose this was the wrong choice! His violat ion of proper procedure might have serious

consequences! Zom could foresee his example leading t he way to ot her bureaucrat s ignoring

t heir t raining and off ering t heir own opinions on how to do t hings! His mind whirled. It would

be a disaster !

How could he shift t he responsibility? Zom st ood up and began t o pace. His wet shoes squeakedas he circled the small off ice. Glancing at t he holograph of t he God-Emperor behind his desk

Zom paused. He would not ify his superior. Shift t he responsibilit y onto the shoulders of t hose

above you. Yes, yes, t hat was it . Zom nodded thought fully. He could cite the unusual nature of

t he request, special circumst ances, yes.... " That might work," he murmured. Ret urning t o his

desk, Zom called up t he communication system and began composing a not e t o his direct

supervisor.


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Alt ern Assist ant t o t he Tertiary Clerk advising the Project Manager of Int ernal Aff airs Kri was

t o be on vacat ion for t he next t enday. Kri was also a bit of a stickler on regulations. He would

undoubtedly chast ise Zom for dist urbing him on vacation. Zom shrugged. He could t ake Kri's

abuse. There were more import ant issues at hand. Zom finished t he formal greeting and glanced

at the request lying in front of him.

Suppose t his was the wrong decision aft er all! Zom could feel his st omach beginning t o t wist.

Kri might do more t han just chastise him. Kri might enact some sort of pet t y revenge on him,

such as deny him leave, block promot ions, or move his off ice. There was still room up on t he

30 t h floor. Unfort unat ely, t he lift stopped working at t he 18 t h. He should do t he correct t hing

and refuse the request . No, he should ent er the information. No, he should call Kri.

Zom could feel the walls st art ing to close in. Each choice seemed to spell disaster for him and

t he Empire. The reminder of t he influence he would have on events mocked him. He was in a

t rap and could see no way out. The monit or sat t here, cursor flashing, mocking him. Suddenly

Zom screamed and ran from his off ice down the st airs. As he ran t hrough the lobby howling his

fellow bureaucrats made a path f or him but did not glance at him.

* * *

Zom st aggered ou t on t o t he s t ree t , pan t ing . His mind raced wit h t he possibilities of

each choice he faced. What was t he correct decision? What should he do? The whole situation

simply made him ill. He ran a hand over his scalp. He could feel a stress lesion breaking out .

He had t o get control of himself.

The rain had f inally st opped. Zom thanked Gran's scheduling, as he had left his cloak back

upstairs. What should he do? Zom stood out front of Int ernal Af fairs for a long minut e, t rying

t o calm down.

The st reets were beginning t o fill up with morning traff ic, as t he clearing weather invited more

cit izens out side. St reet vendors had appeared, off ering a variety of goods for sale. Zom paused.

He was feeling a bit peckish. The melt ed algaepat t ies looked tast y, but so did the fresh

SimBananas. Af t er a second of contemplat ion he moved t owards the fruit seller and picked out

t wo good-sized bananas.

As he keyed in the payment t ransfer a drop of rain landed on his hand. Sighing, Zom t ook t he

fruit and hurried back under cover. He suddenly felt very t ired. Slowly he entered t he lift ,

ignoring the guard.

Zom made his way back to his of fice and sank down int o his chair. He needed to be sensible aboutt his. The cosmic represent at ive had t old him t o act normally. His normal response would be t o

refuse the request. If t hat was what he would normally do, t hen t hat was what he should do.

Rules were rules. Zom called the request back up and reached out t o t he Refuse key when he

paused again.

Perhaps he should complete the form himself. While refusing t he request was t echnically the

correct t hing t o do, he couldn't help but t hink t hat it was such a minor detail, how could it hurt?


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It seemed a lit t le silly t o refuse a request over something so minor as that . How could it

matter?

Zom called up t he request from t he KumQ'at embassy. He hesitated a moment, t hen t yped in

'Imperial Scarlet.' It was technically correct , and since his name was not on t he request , who

could blame him? He nodded, entered his approval and forwarded the request f or processing.

Sat isfied, he peeled t he first banana.

As he t ook a bit e, there was a bright flash of light before his desk. St artled, Zom froze,

expect ing t o see the cosmic represent ative before him.

* * *

In s t e a d , a d i f f e r e n t a l ie n s h im m e r e d i n t o b e i n g b e f o r e h i m ! A t all humanoid

t owered over Zom, it s head brushing the ceiling as it bent t oward the shocked clerk. It was a

bright yellow, wit h clust ers of dark brown pat ches here and there on its surface. It was

wearing a flowing purple cloak. Two long appendages ext ended from t he creature, st ret ched

t oward him. " Greetings, lesser t hing," buzzed a box at t ached to t he alien's midsect ion. " This

individual brings greetings t o t he empire of t his st ar clust er. This individual is an ambassador

of a neighboring st ar cluster, t he Fenorb. Despite your kind's apparent lesser state, this

individual wishes t o open communicat ions of a diplomatic nat ure."

Zom sat in shock. He had no diplomat ic training what soever! The creat ure, in an apparent

disregard for proper channels, had invaded his of fice at t his, t he crucial moment fo r poor Zom

and t he universe! This must be t he decision he was t o make! What should he do? Shocked

beyond words, Zom could only sit and st are at t he ambassador. His jaw hanging open, the piece

of banana fell ont o his desk with a small plop.

The alien ambassador t wit ched backwards slightly. It s arms waved back and fort h agit atedly.

"What is this? Out rageous!" The alien's t ranslat or unit managed to produce a slight ly offended

t one. " Your kind would so engage in such barbaric behavior? Uncivilized indeed!"

Zom sat helpless. Obviously he had offended the alien, but he had no idea how t o correct t he

situat ion gracefully. Hurriedly he st ood, fo rcing a smile. " Your Omnipot ence! Forgive me fo r

my lack of manners, as I am only a humble clerk in our great empire." As Zom t ried to soot he

t he alien, he quickly scooped up t he food f ragment and chucked it into t he nearby incinerator

unit.

Unfor t unately, that seemed t o offend t he alien even more. The ambassador-creature cont inued

it s tirade. "This explanation is unaccept able! You are account able for it s act ions, and t his onehas no choice but t o take action! You will be punished for this insult!" With t hese words t he

alien produced a host ile-looking device and leveled it at Zom. Zom squawked and threw himself

behind his desk. As he reached cover, t he alien vaporized a large chunk of Zom's chair.

Things were gett ing out of hand. Not only was Zom unt rained for diplomacy, but he had no

experience with combat . The most ferocious act ion he had ever seen had been a cleaning android

t hat had thought he was a pile of old laundry that needed folding. As the alien stepped around the


29/75

desk for anot her shot , Zom did the only t hing he could think of t o do. He screamed.

He screamed long and hard, a t errible wail of dismay, fear, and general whininess. Amazingly

enough, the alien did not shoot Zom but staggered back, apparently shocked by the terrified

clerk's shout . It held it s appendages up in the air and began t o do what appeared to be a t wo-step

across t he off ice. Taking advantage of it s moment ary confusion, Zom bolted for the door.

Unfortunately the ambassador's path happened to intersect Zom's by the door and they collided.

Again off -balance, Zom t oppled to t he floor. The alien fell t o t he ground with a hard plop. It s

t ranslator box gave an indignant squawk and the alien pointed it s weapon at Zom. Desperate,

Zom grabbed his nearby cloak and threw it over t he alien's head. Blinded, t he shot went wide,

blowing a hole in the ceiling.

The ambassador began st ruggling with t he cloak, shout ing something unintelligible. Zom

couldn't make out what t he ambassador was say, but he got t he impression that it was definitely

a t hreat. Finally t he alien seemed t o slump in surrender. There was another shimmering to t he

previous one and t he alien disappeared, taking Zom's cloak with it . Zom blinked.

For a long moment t here was not hing. Then t here was a t remor. From elsewhere in the building

Zom could hear cries of dismay. " What is t his? There isn't an earthquake scheduled for another

year!" Quickly Zom ran from his office down the hall. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he

knew he was probably responsible. Bypassing t he lift Zom headed into t he st airwell. From deep

in the depths of the building came a loud groan. Zom ran faster and fast er. His foot steps echoed

in t he stairwell, sounding like the t ramp of doom.

Suddenly he slipped and began to fall. As he banged his way down t he stairs he could begin t o feel

himself loosing consciousness. As he f inished bouncing t he last t wo flight s t here came an

especially loud boom, and every t hing went away for a while.

* * *

W h en Zo m c a m e t o , i t w a s a t f i r s t h a r d f o r h i m t o t e l l, as it was st ill dark. Dust

filled t he air, choking him. " What in name of t he God-Emperor has happened?" he whispered.

Slowly he sat up, trying to get his bearings.

Zom could begin t o make out a faint glow. Aft er a moment , it brightened, revealing it self t o be

t he cosmic represent at ive. "CONGRATULATIONS, ZOM," boomed the alien. "YOUR PERFORMANCE

WAS OUTSTANDING."

"Outstanding?" Zom coughed. "What happened? Where am I? And speak quietly, my headhurts."

" You are in the sub-basement o f your building. The Fenorbs leveled it wit h a t hermonuclear

device. Judging from t he destruct ion, I would say it was of moderat e size. The Fenorbs det onated

it aft er you assault ed t heir ambassador."

Zom st ared at t he alien in horror. "A t hermonuclear ! You mean, I caused oh God-


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Empero r! His Worshipful Presence will have my int ernal organs ripped out and placed on

display!" Zom began looking wildly about, t rying t o spot t he Imperial Guard before t hey came t o

arrest him.

" Very unlikely. The ent ire Imperial Cit y was dest royed in t he at t ack by t he Fenorb, killing all

of t he inhabitant s of t he city, including your God-Emperor. Similar devices have been detonat ed

at t he capit al cit y of each of t he Three Thousand Worlds in t he Empire." The alien's voice held a

t race of satisfaction. "Your empire's government has now effect ively ceased t o exist. The

Fenorbs are a most eff icient species. Not very good at finding the correct off ice, mind you, but

st i l l eff icient."

The enormit y of t he alien's words st ruck Zom like a blow. The Empire of Three Thousand

Worlds, which had stret ched across the galaxy for over a t housand millennia, had been dest royed

in t he blink of an eye. Zom sat back, st unned. "There is no need t o fear," said the alien. " The

Fenorbs have ret urned t o their home galaxy, never to ret urn. Your behavior mort ally off ended

t hem. You are in no further danger." Numb, Zom did not move. " Zom. What is t roubling you?"

said t he curious alien. Zom looked at him in disbelief. " Right , sorry."

" It isn' t f air," moaned Zom. "How was I supposed t o know how to treat an ambassador? All I do

is forward or deny request s!" Zom suddenly shivered. "That isn't why t he ambassador reacted

like t hat , is it ? Just because I forwarded t hat request?"

"A request? no, no, Zom. The Fenorbs bear an unfort unate resemblance t o your bananas.

Perhaps you noticed?" Zom looked blank. " Ah, well. The ambassador at f irst t hought you were

eating a miniature version of his people. That 's why he reacted the way he did."

Zom couldn't believe his ears. "So I failed? Just because I decided to have a piece of fruit fo r

lunch rather than a sandwich?" He was beginning to sound a bit out raged. He had had a hard day,

and he wasn't t aking t his news very well.

"Failed?" The alien's voice seemed puzzled. "What makes you say this?"

"What makes me what are you saying?! The Empire has been destroyed! The great est

government t his galaxy has ever seen has been overt hrown! And I am responsible! Wouldn't

you call t hat a f ailure?"

"Failure? No, no, Zom! You succeeded! Haven' t you been listening to me?" The alien sighed.

"Greatest government t his galaxy has ever seen, yes." The alien paused. "But not t he greatest it

will ever see."

The cosmic represent at ive hovered closer t o Zom. " Your Empire, while might y in it s own way,

needed t o be removed. Your race was being int ellect ually strangled. Independent t houghtpatt erns and t he freedom to act are necessary t o reach t he ult imat e goals of t he universe. Your

Empire's demise has paved t he way. Now a less-advanced species with t hese tendencies can

develop and move ahead." The alien began to slowly fade. "Farewell, Zom. You have our

gratit ude, and we t hank you for your participation."

" Wait!" cried Zom. " Now what?"


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The glow brightened again. "What do you mean?" The alien sounded puzzled.

"So t hat 's it ? You're just going t o leave me trapped under a pool of radioactive slag to die?

Right aft er I succeeded in helping t he cause of t he universe?"

The alien sighed. " You ephemerals complain so much. 'Don't leave me here, I' ll die!' Very

well." The alien brightened. A soft glow enveloped Zom. "Now t hat I t hink of it, you could be of

some help to me." As Zom felt himself being carried away on a bed of warm light , he could st ill

hear t he cosmic represent at ive droning in his ear. " How'd you like t o be reborn int o t he Fenorb

Empire? I t hink you'd look quit e st riking as a giant yellow banana."

St ory and illust ration copyright 19 96 Jon Hansen.


32/75

UFO

by Steven L. Schiff

Jack Howar d sped a long t he In t e r s t a t e , his mind lost in t hought . The solitary week at his

company's mount ain ret reat had been good for his soul. But now, as the reality of going back t o

work t he next morning wiggled it s way into his consciousness, he could feel those old familiar

t ensions ret urning.

Jack was president and CEO of a t hink-t ank, a company whose ent ire reason for being was t o

come up wit h new ideas and invent ions. With no advanced degrees or spect acular t alent s of his

own, Jack had made a fort une by put t ing toget her groups of t alented individuals, t hinkers who,

working t oget her, devised ingenious advances in elect ronics, comput er hardware, soft ware, and

elect ronic communications. But it had been almost a year since any of his geniuses had

developed a product or service that appealed t o t he needs of t he general population.

It seemed t hat Jack's company had finally out smarted it self. Jack's current employees were

coming up wit h ideas of int erest only t o ot her think-t ank employees, universit y int ellect uals,

Int ernet players, and old-monied corporat ion heads.

_It' s this cursed economy,_ he thought . Even though technology had been zooming through the

roof over t he last t en years, t he typical citizen couldn't afford t o enjoy it. So, while a privilegedfew purchased his company' s new super-fast CPUs and high-powered sat ellite t ransmit t ers, the

average Joe had begun abandoning Jack's elect ronic marvels for t he simpler and cheaper tools of

t he past. As the public's old 48 6 comput ers breathed t heir last gasp, they were being replaced

wit h inexpensive word-processor unit s and crude t ypewrit ers. High-t ech video services,

charging up to $ 15 0 per mont h, were being replaced by old t elevisions with f oil-covered,

rabbit -ear ant ennas.

_I need new staff , it' s that simple,_ Jack t hought. _I need people who can relate t o t he lives of


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everyday workers and develop products that t hey can aff ord._

As Jack drove, he could feel a t ight ness growing in his chest. _ I'm going to have a heart at t ack

before I'm f ift y_ , Jack t hought . _This week of fishing and hiking was supposed to relax me. My

shrink said t ot al isolat ion from chat t ering people and diff icult decisions would make me feel t en

years younger. But I' ve only been away from t he cabin for an hour I've just been t hinking

about work f or a few minutes, and already I feel like I never went on vacation at all._

Jack t ried to completely blank his mind empt y it of t houghts. He concent rated solely on the

isolated road and t he lights of t he highway. And t hat' s when he first saw the spherical craft

coming down out of the sky.

* * *

_W ha t exac t l y i s t ha t ?_ he wonde r ed , as the object suddenly stopped its descent and

hovered in t he air a few feet above the road directly in t he pat h of Jack's car.

Jack pulled his vehicle to t he side of t he road and got out t o observe this st range phenomenon.

The object hung freely in space, less than half a mile down t he Int erstat e. It looked like a solid

ball, wit h no apparent w indows or openings. Jack could see exhaust or steam of some sort

pouring out of t he bot t om of t he globe-shaped craft . _It' s a real live UFO. It 's got t o be. What

else could it be? Where's my camera?_

Jack opened t he t runk of his car, and pulled out his new, high-resolution digit al video camera,

one of t he recent devices his company had developed which only Jack and a few ot hers could

afford. _Plenty of t ape's left . I should be able to record t his image and send it t o one of my labs

fo r analysis. If t here's a pilot inside that UFO t hing, and he t hought I was just a dumb hayseed

who'd be laughed out of t he sheriff 's of fice when I report ed an unidentif ied flying object, he'smade a serious miscalculation._

Jack pointed his camera at t he object and st arted his recording.

* * *

Ez r a a n d h i s p r e t t y w i f e , Ry n l y , were an ordinary young couple. They had t wo children

just start ing grade school. Both had good jobs paying top-not ch wages. Ezra enjoyed sport s and

played on his company's Sunday " flagball" t eam. And they had plent y of f riends who'd oft en come

over to play dominoes, or watch programs on t he video receiver. But t hey were pret t y lousygods. And, like most of t heir society, they were tired of being gods. Tired of t he hordes of

primit ive men and women in t he out lying areas who, for cent uries, had expected miracles

expected t he cit izens of t he cit y t o somehow change the weat her to help with crop growt h, or

cure Aunt Mary' s painful art hrit is.

And it had been bad enough when t he primitives simply built crude temples and made ghast ly

sacrifices to garner the f avor of t he cit y-dwellers. That simple-minded worship had been a


34/75

const ant source of embarrassment . But now, with t he new "one god" religions t hat t he

primit ives had invented, all cit izens had t o stay "on guard" almost constant ly. Isolat ed

individuals who (by some perverse miracle) penetrated the electrical barrier surrounding the

cit y, were act ing violently, shout ing curses at t he "f alse gods," t hrowing st ones at innocent

pedest rians, and generally making a nuisance of t hemselves.

" In my day," Ezra's dad delight ed in telling his son and daught er-in-law,"t he primitives t reated

us wit h respect. My f riends and I used t o go t o t heir villages just for t he tribut e t hey'd give us.

We'd f lash a simple holographic image in t he sky, and the lit t le buggers would run fo r t heir

huts, only to ret urn an hour later wit h bags of f resh nuts and berries. And sometimes even a

few young girls t o use as house servants or laborers."

"Try t hat t oday and you' ll end up dead," Ezra told his father, t ime and again.

And Rynly always added her own thought s to t he conversation. "We never should have executed

t hat eccent ric prophet . In their eyes, we made him into a mart yr and ourselves int o devils."

In recent days, things had been worse than ever before. Groups of primit ives were now

t hrowing t hemselves int o t he elect ric barrier, leaving piles of burnt bodies at t he outskirt s of

the city.

"What do t hey hope to achieve?"

" They' re t rying t o break down t he barrier, Rynly."

"Don't they know that you can't just 'break down' an electric fence that way?" Rynly asked.

" You'd t hink they' d learn, but t hey never do. They' re primit ives."

Ezra's Uncle Saul was a member of a vocal (and wealthy) minorit y who suggest ed variousdrastic solut ions t o the "pr imit ive" problem. One aft ernoon, he called and excitedly informed

t hem to expect him for dinner. He had big news that t hey simply had t o hear, right away.

"I like the way Saul just invites himself over, any time he feels like it," said Rynly, reluctantly

preparing a roast dodo and some of her famous avocado dip for their uncle's dining pleasure.

"Aw babe, he's just a harmless old man. And he's quite fond of you, you know."

" Well, I guess I like him t oo, but he's such a pest , Ezra."

" Hey, t his t ime I really want t o hear what he has t o say. That group of his is growing more

powerful every day. They now have literally dozens of support ers in t he Senat e."

Uncle Saul arrived prompt ly at 7 P.M., ornate cane in hand, wit h a gift of flowers f or Rynly.

" Thank you, Saul. I' ll go put t hese in some wat er," she said, disappearing into t he kitchen.

"Have a seat , Unc. Take a load off t hose old feet ," Ezra suggested.


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And Uncle Saul plopped himself ont o t heir sofa, then grabbed a handful of rice chips and dunked

them into Rynly's avocado mixture.

"No one makes an avocado dip like your Rynly," he said.

" Well, she's one in a million, Unc. One in a million."

* * *

Jack s tud ied a c lose-up v iew o f h is UFO t hrough the lens of his camera. He could see

markings on the upper half of t he globe, presumably t he ship's name writ t en in a language Jack

didn't know. _There could be ships like t his one, hovering over roads t hroughout t he world,

right t his second_, he thought . _This could be "it " the " War of t he Worlds," t he ultimate

alien invasion._

Exhaust cont inued to st ream out of t he underside of t he craft . _I wonder what t hey use for

power? It has t o be some very efficient energy source. I sure would like to t ake t his t hing home

and let my boys take a look at it ._

Suddenly, t he ship appeared to be growing larger, expanding in the camera lens. _Now what 's

happening?_ Jack took a look at it wit h his naked eye. No, it wasn't growing larger, it was

slowly moving t oward him. _OK, this is get t ing serious. I'd bet t er move my corporat e butt out

of here, fast!_ Jack t ossed his camera in the back seat of his car, t hen got in t he driver's seat ,

st arted t he engine, and pulled the car in a crazy U-turn, across the highway meridian. He

stamped his foot on t he accelerat or and soon was moving at speeds in excess of 90 mph, away

from t he craft .

Jack looked in his rear-view mirror. The craft was keeping pace with his car, a few hundredfeet behind him. Then, it appeared t o be gaining on him. Jack pushed the accelerator pedal to

t he metal, and increased his speed to over 120 mph. _This is one t ime I don't have t o worry

about speeding t icket s. If a cop shows up, I' ll be very glad to see him._

Again, Jack glanced int o his rear-view mirror. The craft was st ill gaining on him. Without a

doubt, it was going to overtake him soon.

* * *

Unc le Sau l pa t t ed h i s p r od ig ious be l l y and pushed himself away from t he table aft er he'dfinished eat ing dinner.

" OK, Saul. What does your group want t o do about our problem with the primit ives?" Rynly

asked.

" I hope t his isn't another one of t hose genocide proposals, Unc."


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" I agree. We can't j ust kill all the primitives. They're people, t oo, you know."

"They' re people?" Uncle Saul asked. "Not in my book."

" Hundreds of years ago, they were part of our society ," Ezra reminded his uncle.

" Yeah, I know t he st ory, bett er t han you do. The p

Planet Magazine No. 9 and 10

Documents

Transcript of Planet Magazine No. 9 and 10