planet magazine no. 1

8/14/2019 Planet Magazine No. 1

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Planet

M agazineWild SF, Fant asy, Horro r, and Humor Online Vol. I, No. I Free

INSIDE THIS PREMIER ISSUE:

Science fiction by Robert Alan, Rick Blackburn, and Andrew G. McCann.Poems by Toni Long, Kevin McAuley, George Pfister, and Mark Phillips.Fantasy by Andrew McCann. Horror by Kate Tana. Humor byMargare t McCann

Planet Magazine 1 Page 1 Sat , Apr 8 , 1 9 9 5


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P lanet M agazine

STAFF

Ed i t o r a n d Pu b l i s h e r ( a n d L a y o u t a n d Gr a p h i c s )Andrew G. McCann

Co p y Ed i t o r s , P r o o f r e a d e r s , A d v i s o r sToni Long , Joan Warner, Donna Fleming, Louella Salvador, Greg Deutsch, David Leibowit z

SUBMISSIONS POLICY

Pl a n e t Ma g a z i n e accepts short st ories, poems, one-act plays, and odds-and-ends (uset he lengt hs in t his issue as guidelines). We want original, unpublished SF, fant asy,horror, humor, et c. (eschew porno, gore, t ragic parent / off spring explorat ions). Because

Planet is free, we can't aff ord t o pay anyt hing. Send submissions (as St uff it -compressedASCII f iles or, if br ief, unco mpressed ASCII) t o Planet Mag on Amer ica Online (int ernet :Planet [email protected]) . P l a n e t is Mac-only , but an IBM versio n is planned.

COPYRIGHTS, DISCLAIMERS

Cont ents, design, and the name Pl a n e t M ag a z i n e are Copyright 19 94 by Andrew G.McCann. All right s reserved. Individual st ories, poet ry, or illustrat ions copy right 19 94 t heir respect ive authors or creators, who grant t his magazine one-time rights. Allpeople and event s in t his magazine are entirely f ict it ious and bear no resemblance t o act ualpeople or events.

C O L O P H O N

C omposed on an Apple Quadra 60 5 using DOCmaker 4.02 . Text set in 12 point Geneva; t helogot ype is Times. Illust rat ions done in Color It ! 2.3 or KidPix 1.1. Planet is publishedby Cranberry St reet Press, Andrew G. McCann, publisher.

DEDICATED TO UNFINISHED DREAMS

"And as the star shone in t he HeavensThey landed . . .Like flocking geese they slit hered acrosst he drunken street sThey carried lat erns and slayed animalsdragged from t he skies and beaten off t he earthsFor it was t he Elves, once again ret urningfor t heir t went y-f our-day feast . . ." Thomas J. Keenan



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P lanet M agazine

REALITY BYTES: OUR DECLARATIO N OF PRINCIPLES

Welcome to Pl a n e t M ag a z i n e , electronically published in the heart of Brooklyn'sScience-Fict ion-Magazine Dist rict and available free on Amer ica Online (and maybeelsewhere). P l a n e t is intended t o be a quart erly or semiannual on-line magazine focusingon short f iction and poetry generally in t he realms of science fict ion (hard or soft ),fant asy, horror, weird, wacky, or just plain likable. We want t o publish st ories byunknown or lit t le-published writ ers who have t alent, det erminat ion, and love t o read andwrit e this genre st uff . What can I say. So what 's our angle? Quit e frankly, we get acharge out o f do ing our own magazine, and if we can encourage new writ ers, heck, why not ?Since t his magazine is likely t o be a money-loser at b est , we'v e gone electr onic, which is arelat ively low-budget , quick, and kinda trendy rout e (it 's like trail mix for t he

Informat ion SuperDirt Path) . The stat e of our finances also means t hat we can't affo rd t opay contribut ors anyt hing except t he currency of f ree publicity and general good vibes.We've also tried t o lay out t his magazine in such a way t hat it will look good on screen andalso print out somewhat coherently , so you can have a nice paper copy t o read in t hebat htub, if t hat 's your bag (wat ch out f or t hat non-wat erproof ink).

This premier, collect or' s-edit ion issue was put t oget her by Andrew G. McCann (who is, att his moment , referring to himself in t he third person the edit orial oui, as the Frenchsay) , a part-t ime writ er himself, as you will see. If you' d like to cont ribute t o t hispaperless publicat ion, see "submissions policy" in t he Mast head departm ent . Feel free todistribute Planet to anyone, or to print a copy for your own use (put three, evenly spacedstaples down t he left -hand side t o make t he experience even more magazine-like).

However, we ask that you don't alter or excerpt any part of t his magazine.

To summarize, our goals are as follows: To have fun. To provide talent ed but unpublished or litt le-published authors wit h encouragement by

print ing t heir st ories in a real periodical (however low -budget , sporadic, or narrowlycirculated).

To help disseminat e SF, fant asy, and horror st ories.

We sincerely hope you enjoy reading t his on-line magazine. Please feel free t o send anycomment s or questions to Planet Mag on America Online (int ernet : [email protected]) .

Andrew G. McCannEditorMarch 1994



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GUEST-EDITORS TIRADE

They laffed at me at Heidelberg.* They prodded me with cheesecake. They banned myunort hodox experiments on swine. Then I wait ed. Alone. At night . Now is t he moment Ihave chosen t o emerge int o t he unpit ying light of right eous " day." My weapon? Thiscolumn, which at t his moment I cont rol absolut ely, harshly, with squint ed eyes andslight ly flared nost rils. You are reading the verbal equivalent of an enormous Deat h-Rayhowit zer perched crazily at op a Swiss alp and locked on t o cert ain, classified brain-wavepatt erns. I am immortal .

Do you see t his scar? No, no. This one; the one t hat r uns like a death s-head grin fr ommy pince-nez t o my lip-ring. It is but one of t he reminders t hat I carry of every glovet hat has laid me down or cut me t ill I cried out in my anger and my pain: "I am eat ing, I ameat ing," but so much pot t ed pork product still remains.

Never mind t he scar. Im over it . It means not hing t o me. I now crave just ificat ion: When

I gained cont rol of t his half-page I pushed the edit or t o name this publicat ion " Porkchops: AJournal of Loining." But t he st ubborn fool dug his heels in. So, I " relent ed," t hinking: " No,dont t ip your hand. Draw t hem in, draw t hem in."

Biedermeier X. LeeuwenhoekGuest Editor

* Heidelberg Ag ricult ural College, Heidelberg , Ohio.

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Dear Edit or: I would like t o cont ribut e to your magazine. Such as it is. Below is t he firstparagraph fro m a piece I' m current ly onworking, which is about some financiallysuccessful young people who suddenly realize they' re deeply out of t ouch wit h t heirfeelings and probably need therapy ( don't worry, it ' s got a Sci-Fi " t wist " ):

"Alienated" Linford was on t he deck barbecuing ot t er steaks when Bran pulled the map-blue st ationwagon int o t he garage; Lily, the golden ret riever, came suddenly bounding out of t hat t hinspace betw een the rear-right quart er-panel of t he car and the worn-gray planks of t heNew England salt box-style garage, followed abruptly by t he pallid invest ment banker ( a

man whose psyche was like an act ive volcano under tw enty t housand feet of granit e) who int wo weeks everyone assumed would be married t o Eunice. Sharon st ood in t he kitchen paring knife hovering, unmoving, above t he charred-f ennel appet izers looking out t hewindow at t hese t wo men, boys, really, and she felt as if she were st anding on a t ight wire.Was her spirit ual advisor right ? Was her discomfort more than just normal "boundaryissues" ? Was it somet hing more sinist er: Had she really been abduct ed by Them in t he



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harrowing, early st ill of t he morning? Could it really be repressed memories of an alienpant y raid?

If t hat 's no good, if t hat 's not what you're looking for, don't worry. I've got ot her styleswit h which I'm familiar. Howzabout somet hing more " radical/ st reet" :

" CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE NASTY KIND" HOMELESS GUY SMASHED THE BOTTLE OF SPODI-ODI AGAINST THESTREAKED BRICK WALL. YELLED: AT THE CREATURE IN THE SILVER SUIT COAT HOLDINGTHE KRAZY PIECE: WHADDYA MEAN LEADER? I DON' FOLLO NO ONE!" HOME'S GIRLFRENFELL BACK LIKE SHE HADDA BULLET THRU THE BRAIN BUT SHE WAS JUS' TOO HIGH, ORMEBBE IT WAS THE RAY GUN.

Er . . . What about a poem?

" UFO Manifest o" This is my manifest o:I do not believe in manifestos.But it does not make me a philist ineNor a Phyllis Diller.The wind sermonizes t he st raining t rees;Thin whiplashes against a vast, f rozen porkchop.

Anyhoo , lemme know. Please call my lit erary represent at ive, Chip N. Theshoulder, whohappens t o have t he same phone number (t hat ain't no agent, t hat 's my wif e!).

Sincerely,Mywercks de Rivat ive

P.S.: If y ou need me on staf f, Ive dow nloaded my personalit y ont o an interact ive CD-ROM,which is yours grat is.



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S cience F iction

T H E A R R O W

by Andrew G. McCann

T h e ex h a u st b u r n e d b r i g h t l y, whit e flames licking against t he patio b arbecue andMrs. Dalt on's seven-foot -high wooden fence. Wit h a shuddering roar t he projectile, t allert han a t enement and wider than tw o retired ast ronauts, lift ed slowly and mightily. Then, itwas up and away, arcing int o t he soft night sky of Brooklyn t o become just anot herpinprick of light . The smell of charred pine tar f rom t he fence hung in the spring air.Rhododendron leaves along t he perimet er of t he yard cont inued t o burn and curl, thenwinked out like a crowd depart ing.

Bob moved away from t he screen door and pushed his prot ect ive Ray-Bans up onto his

bright -blond hair. I wondered briefly how some people could get t hem t o stay like t hat." You did it , Chuck. The Arrow has launched. Way t o go."I moved t o t he kitchen table, scraped a chair along the maroon linoleum and sat

lumpishly. " Yup." I grinned t iredly, and t hen let it fade, as if a t hought t hat in fact hadbeen bot hering me for weeks had just occurred to me. " I dunno, t hough, I'm t hinking theneighbors are going t o complain one of t hese days. Mrs. Dalton shot me a dirt y look at KeyFoods t oday."

Bob sat down, and t hrew his arms wide. " Well, where else are you gonna do it ? Aft erall, t his is privat e ent erprise entrepr eneurialism t he Fut ure of Space, and junk liket hat . That 's what y ou keep t elling me."

" I guess you' re right ," I said, giving a smile to show t hat, indeed, I was pleased. So f ar,anyway.

" 'Not her beer?" Bob got up and opened t he door of t he heavy, old Frigidaire, which thelandlord long ago had touched up wit h off -whit e house paint . He leaned in and rootedaround; t he rustle of shrunken let t uce heads in plast ic wrap mingled wit h t he clinking ofbottles.

" Not f or me, thanks," I said, "I want t o see where we are." I picked up t he clipboard." The Arrow should pierce the Van Allen Belt in about 3 0 minut es, dispat ch t he bird, andt hen ret urn fo r a neat , one-point landing. I guess everyt hing's covered." I began idlyt apping my pen on t he schedule.

Bob kicked t he fridge shut and sat down. So, tell me again, what' s the point of put t ingup a fake satellite? With concentrat ion, he opened the bot t le and t ook a large swallow.

I let exaggerat ed shock show on my face. " I can't believe you're asking me that ." Boblooked at me blankly. " First off , it' s not ' fake,' and secondly, it is one of t wo very seriousscient ific experiment s." Bob rolled his eyes heavenward, which I ignored.

" Now," I continued, "deploying the t est satellite is a pract ice run, so that once the U.S.space program becomes t ruly privat ized my f ledgling company will be well placed to getmany contract s. As to t he secondary aspect of t his mission, which I've to ld you aboutcountless times, it involves t he effect s of weightlessness and cosmic rays on mildew avery simple life form f or a very basic experiment. Any changes in the sample, at t ached t oa piece of t hick polyethylene a shower curt ain, in fact will be beamed back t o me via aPlanet Magazine 1 Page 6 Sat , Apr 8 , 1 9 9 5


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narrow but unused sector of t he amplit ude modulat ion band, which you know as AM radio."I gave Bob a prim, satisf ied smile. " That , of course, is t he simplified explanation."

" St ill doesn't sound very pract ical, even when you use big words," Bob said, raising hisbeer bot t le in a smug, precise way.

I ignored the implied smirk. " Well, I had somet hing set up wit h a count erfeit -perfumemaker from Ozone Park. We want ed to see how t he st uff would react in a spaceenvironment , wit h t he idea we could sell lit ers of of ficial perfume t o NASA f or all thosewomen who' ll one day be living in space stat ions and st arships for long, unglamorousperiods. But it was hard t o find a skin sample in time fo r t his space shot , so the deal fellapart ."

I paused, start ing again to worry about how I would get t hese launches t o pay fort hemselves. I looked up at Bob; he cert ainly hadn't been exploding wit h ideas. " Anyway, Ican't believe you asked me t hat," I snapped.

" Sue me," Bob said, shrugging and finishing of f his beer wit h a long, st eady pull. Hebelched. " 'Not her cold one?" he said, moving t oward the fridge.

" Not f or me, I'm t aking a quick nap," I said, standing and stret ching." Okay, ace," Bob said airily. He ret rieved a beer and sat dow n, causing t he Ray-Bans to

flop back onto his nose." Keep an eye on t hings. I' ll see you in an hour," I said." See ya lat er," he agreed.I left Bob sitt ing at t he t able, among t he cannibalized toast ers, mixers, and ot her

appliance-whatnot s t hat had given t heir lives so t hat The Arrow could f ly.

So m e t h i n g w o k e m e s u d d e n ly. Swinging my legs off t he side of t he bed, I grabbedfo r t he alarm clock, squint ing dazedly. Dimly, I could see it was 4:3 0 a.m., but I couldn'tgrasp what t hat meant . My f ace felt puff y and lined, slightly damp on one side where it had



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faced the pillow. My ear felt plugged up. But t here was something more bot hering me what was it?

Then it st ruck me: The rocket !I stood up and flipped on t he bedroom light. We had launched at 9 p.m. That was

seven-and-a-half hours fo r a one-hour flight . What had happened? Had the aut opilotret urned The Arrow in one piece?

Hope and trepidat ion roiled wit hin me as I stumbled out o f t he bedroom and down thehall. My shadow loomed ahead of me like Frankenstein's Monst er. In the kit chen, empt ybeer bot t les, worn plaid shirt s, and greasy elect ric-mot or part s were st ill st rewn about,but Bob was gone. I hurried t o t he back door and peered out .

No rocket ! And no Bob.Wait had Bob mist akenly been on the rocket? No, I remembered, he had been in the

kit chen, drinking heavily and quibbling." Where are t hey? They should be here," I said to no one. A cricket, perhaps from

behind t he fridge, chirped t wice amid the st illness. The 40 -watt bulb cont inued t o burnunevenly above. I knew my mout h was hanging open, but I did not hing about it .

" The radio!" I dashed int o t he living room, t ripping over a wrinkle in the t hreadbaregreen carpet . Reaching back along t he wall, my fingers found t he light swit ch and flicked itup. Nothing happened.

" No rocket , no Bob, and no living-room lights," I mutt ered. My hands fumb led along t hecoff ee table, touching sticky spot s from long-gone TV dinners, until t hey recognized t herect angular shape of t he radio t hat had come free wit h a subscription t o " PopularMechanix."

I swept t he kit chen t able clear wit h t he edge of t he clipboard. Sit t ing down, I t urned ont he radio and began searching t hrough t he stat icky wavelengt hs for any communication, anysign, any thing f rom t he prodigal project ile.

The all-news radio st ation blared fort h suddenly. " ...crashed at Vandenberg Air Forcebase in a fiery disast er. Tight -lipped Air Force of ficials would only say t hey have no idea

where t he rocket came from. Meanwhile, a NASA spokesman said a preliminary inspect ionof t he part s indicate it isn't Russian, but more likely a crude, homemade device. Moredet ails aren't available yet. Weat her and t raff ic updat es aft er t his message..."

I switched it off hurriedly, guiltily. " Vandenberg? How did it get t o California?"

T h e s h a d e s w e r e a l l d r a w n . My repeated phone calls had only reached Bob' sanswering machine. Maybe he had heard t he news. Apparent ly, I was in t his alone. Wouldt hey t race t he rocket t o me? I knew the neighbors would be more t han happy t o t urn mein; it 's a wonder t hey had never called t he police, and here was t heir golden opport unity .

Then another t hought hit : Had anyone been killed?Ohmygod.Then I heard a voice, muff led but loud, coming from t he front yard. With one finger

crooked around t he window shade I peeked out t he front window.My landlord? What was he doing here at six in the morning? What was he saying?

Was he drunk?I listened closer. " ...know yer in dere, ya lowneck. I' m giving ya da shovel! I' m sick of

hearing from da neighbors about yer mot ors and high-speed radio and bongos. Do me afavor and get da hell out!"



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Foot steps crunched down the driveway. A car door t hunked shut and an engine noiseroared away.

Oddly enough, I was relieved. I had really want ed to move closer t o t own, anyway. Andt his was a good reason. Good mot ivat ion. Rent s on t he East Side are comparable, and I couldeven walk to work. Lot s more going on, t oo. Night life, bars, movies and maybe I wouldmeet more girls, or at least one.

Then my rhapsodic line of t hinking nose-dived again: What if someone had been killed?Would t hey link it t o me? Was I in big t rouble? And where the hell was Bob?

But no, I decided t o put it out of my mind. Wit h quick resolve, I began loading my fewwort hwhile possessions int o my Hyundai to t ake a fast , perhaps permanent, vacat ion backhome.

As I packed, I also decided I would call Whit e Goods Repair later and t ell my b oss I hadbeen called back to Dayt on on emergency family business. That should work.

I h ur t l e d d o w n a n e n d l e s s r u n w a y, amid t he st eady whine of t ires chewing up t heconcret e miles and t he choppy roar of t he half-open window, t rying t o drive fast er t han Icould think. I kept t he radio off . Hearing even t he smallest number of casualt ies wouldhave sent m e over t he edge, lit erally, t he car snapping t hrough t he guardrail like it wast insel. Airborne, t o land . . . where?

It w a s al m o s t d i n n e r t i m e by t he t ime I swung t he cheap, foreign-made car ontomy parent s driveway, and I realized I didn't have a cover st ory. What if t hey knew?Would t hey turn me in? I resolved to wing it.

Daisy began yipping as I walked into t he living room; t hen she recognized me, andlaunched herself t oward me, t ail spinning like a propeller. Dad and Sis were sit t ing on t hesofa, drinking glasses of lemonade and reading big pict ure books about dinosaurs andgeography.

They looked up, surprised.

" Chuck, what brings you home besides your car?" Dad said.I paused, and t hen blurt ed it out . " I had t o get away. That rocket t hat crashed inCalifornia; it was mine."

Sis just looked at me, st unned. Dad said: " Trouble wit h the autopilot , I'll bet . Maybe wecould go over your blueprints aft er dinner?"

" Okay," I said, feeling my fears already beginning to abat e. " But t ell me," I said,looking back and fort h at Dad and Sis, "did y ou hear. . . were t here any casualties?"

Dad stuck his lower lip out in brief concentrat ion. " I don't t hink so."I heaved a sigh.

O v e r d i n n e r , Mom, Dad, Sis, and I managed to laugh off t he whole episode. " Youshould have seen me t rying t o cont act t he rocket over t he AM radio, flipping t he dial every

which way. Oh, you would have died," I said wit h a chuckle. Tremulous relaxat ionpervaded me, and a sound night ' s sleep was beginning t o look possible.

The room eased int o silence. Daisy's head was on my lap, her t eary, brown eyes lookingup patiently.

I cleared my throat , and vent ured: "Things had been going so well, even flawlessly. ButI guess t hat ' s life: Suddenly, no dream, and no best fr iend. I know where the rocket is now



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what 's left of it , anyway but I never did find Bob."" Well, son. At least you tried. We may never know what happened to Bob, but I guess

t his put s the kibosh on any furt her plans t o conquer space on your own." He admonishedme wit h one sadly-but -lovingly raised eyebrow.

I smiled back, but shook my head slowly. " No can do, Dad. I'm going for a Moon shotnext."

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E N C O U N T E R

by Rick Blackburn

Early Morning,STARDATE 6904.02 Casa Alt o

D an n y G ul l e d g e l o o k e d c a u t i o u s l y across t he sixt y-met er expanse of St ar PortAvenue, now more t han half-clogged wit h t he rubble and debris of t he fierce bat t les foughthere a day or t wo earlier. In places, thin t rails of inky smoke st ill rose from burnt -outArmo red Personnel Carriers, jet t rucks, and various ty pes of civilian traf f ic unluckyenough t o be caught in the firefight bet ween t he defenders and the invading rebels. Theproud towers of the city's hotel district were now just so much detritus, through whichprowled danger and sudden deat h in the f orm of armored infantrymen f rom bot h sides of t he

campaign. The morning fog was cold and damp against his face . . . half way t o being abone-chilling drizzle. It was about seven in the morning, the t welve-year-old est imated .. . but w ith t he ever-present f og and the t hick clouds of smoke generat ed by batt le.

It had been several days since he'd seen t he sun, and to make matt ers worse, he'd brokenhis watch t he day before yesterday. The fog was thick and gray; so thick in fact t hat nowt he opposite side of t he wide avenue was t ot ally obscured from sight . A Saurian patrolcould pass by and he'd never know it ; wit h t heir advanced combat sensors and IR-visionequipment, THEY would make short work of him, however.

There were swirls and eddies in t he fog as a st iff Fimblewint er breeze pushed againstt he wet mist . Abruptly, a clear area in the uniform blanket of gray swept across theimmediat e area, and t he boy's vision extended t o several hundred meters. At t he edge of t hefo g, half a klick away, a huge bipedal form mov ed. From around a large mound of debr is

from a shatt ered residential tow er, and slowly mat erializing out of t he fog, came a shapeout of t he lower chambers of hell.

Advancing slowly up t he center of t he avenue on thick, st ubby durrillium legs was a . . ." Combat droid," Danny whispered t o himself and scrunched back int o t he rubble, hopingt here would be enough ambient heat in the debris to part ially mask his body heat f rom t hedroid' s infrared sensors.

A t 0 7 : 1 3 : 2 1 . 0 5 6 8 0 , l o ca l t i m e, I am upgraded fro m st andby alert t o f ull combatalert. My combat reflex cent er is brought o n line and responds wit h its report t hat allweapons syst ems are at 10 0 percent eff iency. My ego center feels pleasure at t hisreact ivat ing and the anticipat ion of t he coming bat t le. For 1,96 2,8 15 u-seconds I receivea combat situat ion updat e and combat briefing. It is now clear t hat I have spent over sixhours in st andby alert mode. This was brought about by a successful enemy assault on theCP, causing t he standby signal t o be t ransmit t ed by Command while a new CP wasest ablished, furt her to t he south.

Af t er t he briefing, I conduct a t ot al maintenance check. I have suff ered minor combatdamage t o my Ku-band imaging radar in t he last act ion. During my enfor ced inact ion, mymaint enance sector has nearly completed repairs. In 00:0 6:5 3.1 00 00 t he repairs will becomplete.



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My early warning radar det ects t wo t arget s at an altit ude of 1 ,800 meters, azimut h03 7 14' 55 " .01 35 5. My infrared sensors also detect a ground t arget at extremely closerange, azimut h14 0 04 '2 1" .99 89 5. There is no response t o my IFF interrogat ion of t heground target. The aircraft are t entat ively ident ified as friendlies by t he transpondercodes received in answer t o my IFF pulse. In t he absence of a valid IFF t ransponder codefrom t he round t arget, I lock an antipersonnel laser on to t he target .

A s t h e d r o i d c a m e c l o se r on it s bipedal transport carriage, Danny could clearlymake out t he markings. He relaxed a lit t le and stood up. It was NOT a Saurian droid, butone of t he Tarsus RFL-3Ns, a Rifleman-class combat droid. The boy wat ched admiringly ast he t welve-and-a-half-met er t all, sixt y-t on war machine came closer. For years, Dannyhad dreamed of someday joining t he Terran Dynachrome Brigade and " pilot ing" one of t hedroid behemot hs, or perhaps even a BOLO cont inental siege unit . He had read everyt hing every scrap of declassified dat a available on t he Dynachrome Brigade and t he gigant icsent ient BOLO units and simi-sentient combat droids.

The RFL-3N Rifleman, Danny t hought , ment ally reviewing everyt hing he knew about t hedroid, was sixt y t ons of f ighting mecha. Built originally in t he lat e 22nd Century byKallon Indust ries on Dariabar, it w as now obsolet e by Dynachrom e st andards. But becauseof t he large number manufact ured, and t he Rifleman's legendary bat t lefieldsurvivability -t o-kill ratio, t hey had quiet ly moved from f ront -line mecha t o t he variousplanet ary defense for ces on front ier worlds like Tarsus. Technically, t hey were st illreserve members of t he Terran Dynachrome Brigade, but operat ional command has passedt o t he various planetary government s.

The fo ur hundred RFL-3Ns of t he 3r d Batt alion, Tarsan Mechanicals, comprised t hebackbone of t he planet 's armored att ack for ces. In it s current conf iguration, the Riflemanwas armed wit h t wo giant Magm MK III laser cannons and a10 5mm aut o cannon, in addit iont o a backpack-mounted batt ery of 12 SAM-27 antiaircraft missiles. At t he Rifleman's" knees" were eight 1 2.9 mm antipersonnel lasers arranged in four duel t urrets. The droid

was a biped and could use it s legs t o good advant age, crawling over pract ically any kind oft errain, at speeds approaching 17 5 km/ hr.

Su d d e n l y, t h e a ir o v e r h e a d was rent b y t he shriek of t wo Saurian Viper at t ackcraft coming in low, just over t he top s of t he local buildings. The Vipers quickly alignedt hemselves on t he Rifleman and released a salvo of 76 mm rocket bombs, all of whichdet onated harmlessly in t he rubble around the droid, as its electronic-warfare t ransmit t ersucceeded in interrupt ing t he link bet ween the rocket bombs and the Viper's onboardguidance, depriving t hem of guidance.

Danny dove f or cover; cowering behind an especially large chunk of concret e, the boypulled t he hood of his windbreaker up and jammed his hands against his ears.

The Rifleman's main bat t eries swung around and tw o burst s of killing light raced aft er

t he retreat ing Vipers. A hell-flow er of burning fuel and exploding ordnance blossomed asone of t he laser beams caught t he t railing Viper. Immediat ely, a SAM-27 r ose on a t rail offire f rom t he combat dro id's back pack launcher and sped aft er t he remaining raider.

Two t urbof an-powered Jackhammer air-to-g round cruise missiles fired bef ore t heatt ack began thundered over Danny' s head and slammed directly int o t he droid's blindback side. The for ce of t he det onations literally picked up t he t welve-year-old and t hrew



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him against a permaplast wall a dozen met ers away.

ALARM! ALARM! I am under att ack, I have been t he vict im of elect ronic decept ion.The Air Target s are not A3 6 C Corsairs from PDS-2 1 4, as t heir for ged IFF t ranspondersindicated, but are instead A19 E Viper at t ack craft flown by enemy pilot s and equipped withJackhammer turb of an-powered air-t o-ground cruise missiles. ADF t racking indicatestwo have been fired.

My laser cannons f ire at t he host iles. Take THAT, you lizards. I have missed one of t heraiders, but a SAM27 will event ually dest roy t he remaining enemy. Meanwhile my ADFsyst em t akes on t he incoming Jackhammer missiles. My ballist ics and t ime comput erestimates that I have a less t han one percent chance of successfully neutralizing bot ht arget s. I alert my Damage Cont rol sect or t o be prepared for t he missile st rikes.

W h e n Da n n y m a n ag e d t o r e c o v e r his balance, and the ringing in his ears haddulled to a st ill-painful rushing sound, t he Rifleman had advanced to appro ximately t enmet ers away. Icy f ear gripped t he boy as he saw t hat t he droid's antipersonnel lasers weret rained on him. Alt hough they were t he smallest armament t he Rifleman carried, t heywere designed to b e used against armored infantry men, not small boys in clot h jacket s. A50 u-second burst from even one of those barrels would be sufficient to render most of hissmall body int o an at omic mist , leaving only a pile of scorched bones behind.

Even worse was the fact t hat t he missile at t ack had dest royed t he Rifleman'scommunicat ions array. Nothing but t wist ed, fused metal showed t hrough a blackened gashin t he droid's upper-right quadrant. This left t he droid without t he benefit of co mmand andcont rol signals fr om his human count erpart , somewhere in a CP, perhaps tens ofkilometers away. The RFL-3N was only semi-intelligent, possessing only t hose at t ribut esof intelligence useful in combat . Like all combat droids, the Rifleman also had a modifiedset of t he Three Laws.*

The droid's mult i-layered positronic influx grid comput er could handle the immediate

t actical sit uation, but t he majorit y of command decisions were made by t he droid's humancount erpart at t he CP. If t his link were severed, t he RFL-3N was capable of independentoperation, relying on it s last sit uation briefing, but t hey were highly unpredict able.There were hundreds of st ories of Riflemen beref t of command and cont rol signals goingberserk. There was simply no way t o anticipat e how t he droid would int erpret hissurroundings and react t o t hem in accordance wit h it s bat t le plan.

My K u - b a n d r a d a r i s s t i l l u n d e r r e p a i r . The cruise-missile st rikes luckilydid not set back t hat repair schedule because t hey hit 18 0 away from t he radar's emitt erhorn. The most serious damage has been done t o my communicat ions array. Alt houghrelat ively minor damage has been sust ained by t he communicat ions hardware it self, t heentire ant ennae array has been 10 0 percent dest royed, thus cutt ing me off f rom command

and cont rol signals. Alt hough I have pract iced the emergency response to loss of signal, ithas never happened to m e before, and I am t emporarily confused.

Since I am st ill at comb at-alert, and fit for dut y, I have brought my invit eprogr amming block on line. My ego again feels pleasure as I am once again able t o perf ormmy primary mission, t o seek out and dest roy all enemy t roops and vehicles. I am stillcapable of report ing t o my combat station as ordered by t he CP, and as soon as the



14/34

st and-down order is t ransmitt ed, maint enance will be available t o replace my blast edant ennae array.

It is good to be performing one's primary f unction!I have advanced to within ten meters of the ground target without its firing upon me.

My bat t le reflex screams " FIRE," but I have placed a hold on weapons release. The targetdoes not match any of t he target overlays in my warbook. I again regret t he loss of mycomm ant ennae; with it, I could t urn this t horny problem over t o command. Wit hout it , Iam forced t o deal wit h the possible t hreat on my own. A primary t enet of my bat t le plansays, " Never bypass an enemy who may t hen at t ack from t he rear."

For 2 18 u-seconds my bat t le reflex argues with my primary logic cent er, urgingweapon's release . . . point ing out t hat it was an error in my identif ication program sect ort hat has led to t he last at t ack upon me, and t o t he current crisis in command andcommunications.

My audio detect ors, located on t he outside of my durilium skin, det ect t he complexamplit ude and frequency modulat ed waveforms of biological communicat ions. I shift intolong-time scan mode to accommodat e t he ridiculously low baud rate of biologicalcommunication.

" I am non-host ile, Rifleman. Do you copy?"

The linguist ics bank of my command comput er analyzes t he biological communicat ion.It proves to be Syst em English, but t he timber and pit ch of t he voice are t oo high by 50percent t o be any authorized voice at t he CP. My bat t le reflex urges weapons release again,and again my command computer refuses. I decide t o t est t he voice for decept ion.

" Hello Command, t his is unit DNE-99 3 . Request Combat St atus Updat e and CommandVerification."

The voice pauses for 52 9,4 11 u-seconds. " Unit DNE-99 3. I am NOT command, I am a

non-hostile, do y ou copy? NOT hostile."

Once again my bat t le reflex urges my command comput er t o release its hold and assuresme t hat t he ant ipersonnel lasers can reduce t he unarmored biot arget t o ashes in under amicrosecond. It point s out t hat over 50 0,0 00 u-seconds delay is very long, evenconsidering t he low baud rat e of biologicals. Are we t he vict ims of clever psych-war? Myego center concurs, but t he command comput er still refuses t o authorize t he st rike, andinst ead I direct several infrasound and biological sensors at t he t arget. The result s areinconclusive, except t hat t he target is not Saurian but human. The combat intelligencesector informs me t hat although t he enemy fleet current ly in orbit is made up of primarilySaurians, nearly fif t y percent of t he rebel ground forces encount ered so far have beenhuman/ humanoid. I decide t hat more extensive t esting is required.

" Not-host ile, t ransmit y our aut henticat ion codes for IFF ident ification."

" DNE-9 93 . I am a non-combat ant. My name is Danny Gulledge, I' m t welve years old. Ihave no idea of what your authent ication codes are. Please deflect your ant ipersonnellasers."



15/34

I re-analyze the input f rom t he infrasound and ot her sensors. The infrasound dat areveals t he target t o be immat ure, both physically and sexually. Probable time elapsedsince primary activat ion tw elve years, tw o mont hs, plus or minus fivedays. Since t his agrees wit h t he bio-t arget 's stat ement and it has not t ried to deceive me,nor is it in armor, I order t he antipersonnel lasers raised thirt y degrees and t ransversedt en degrees right .

" What is your mission in this t heat er of op erations, non-combat ant Danny Gulledge?"

D an n y b r e a t h e d a l i t t l e e as i e r as he wat ched the deadly laser guns deflect ed. Now,here was a chance t o get t he droid to cont inue on with its own mission.

" The entire cit y is a combat area, DNE, I had no choice in t hat ."An abrupt t hunderous report caused t he boy t o jump. From around a corner a block

away came a squad of Saurian infant ry." DNE!" shrieked Danny, " SAURIANS! To your right flank. Wat ch out , t hey are armed

wit h LAWS!"

My Ku-band radar is st ill out , but my back-up , an obsolet e X-band imaging radar haslocked on t o t he Saurian enemy. Unit Danny Gulledge is correct in his analysis of t hedanger. Alt hough the X-band image is vastly degraded from what I am used t o from t hehigher-resolution Ku-band image, I can det ect t he bright f lash as one of t he LAW rocket sbegins it s at t ack run on me. As I open fire wit h my antipersonnel lasers, t he rocketdet onates against my right drive pylon, causing substant ial damage.

Unit Danny Gulledge has traveled around my bulk, and into sight and t he line of f irefr om t he Saurians. It is not immediat e apparent what t his act ion will gain him. He isdrawing attention to himself by throwing stones at the enemy, a tactic which I concludewill be t ot ally ineff ect ive, as the enemy is dressed in light combat armor. But as t hesurprised Saurian t roops t urn t o Unit Danny Gulledge, I see the t act ic, he is buying t heprecious seconds I need to dest roy t he enemy. Six of t he seven enemy fall to t he burst s

from my ant ipersonnel lasers, t he sevent h is part ly shelt ered by rubble. He is aiming aproject ile weapon at Unit Danny Gulledge.I launch an RPG at t he enemy. My ballist ics and t ime comput er shows me t hat t he

running t ime of t he RPG is too long t o prevent t he enemy f rom f iring.A blast f rom my air horn causes unit Danny Gulledge t o jump. A line of impact s from

t he enemy's weapon causes sparks from t he permaplast rubble around unit Danny Gulledge.My t actic has, however, been only partially eff ect ive. The last project ile in t he seriesst rikes Unit Danny Gulledge in t he shoulder, spinning him around and thr owing his bodyagainst a pile of rubble. The last enemy is neutralized as t he RPG det onat es wit hin a meterof him.

PAIN! FEAR!Searing P A I N !!!!!!

Win c i ng , t h e b o y m a n ag e d t o s i t u p , propped against t he shat t ered wall behind

him. Blood was running down his left arm from t he bullet wound. Danny t ook only a secondt o examine t he wound. Alt hough it seared like a branding iron pressed against his flesh, theboy was relieved t o see that t he wound was just a scratch. The bullet had to rn a large,ragged hole in his playsuit, but t here was no hole in his shoulder. Evident ly, t he 7.62 mm



16/34

slug had grazed his upper shoulder and t orn t he skin open t hat was where t he blood hadcome from and now as he watched, t he bleeding stopped. He grinned slyly and wondered ifhe were eligible for t he purple heart .

The Rifleman was st ill standing ov er him." Are you operat ional, Unit Danny Gulledge?" t he droid's synt hesized voice asked.

" Yes, DNE, I'm okay just a graze."

" Unit Danny Gulledge, a heavy vehicle is approaching. My imaging radar is st illinoperative. Can you direct my main batt ery?"

" I'll t ry, DNE. I can hear somet hing out t here in t he fog . Swing your torso 90 port ."Danny crouched and list ened; from much t oo close he could hear the rumble of a large,heavy-dut y deisel-elect ric engine coming ever closer in the f og and drizzle.

" DNE!" Danny shouted. " Crouch down, it' ll be easier for me t o aim your weapons if Idon't have to guess with them eleven meters over my head."

Without a sound, t he Rifleman crouched down, bringing t he main armament t o wit hint hree met ers of t he ground. Wincing, because of t he wound, Danny managed t o crawl up onsome rubble and fro m t here out o nt o t he blast b aff le of t he Rifleman's t win MK III lasers,making it possible t o visually sight dow n t he t win barrels.

Danny squinted t hrough the fog. At t he very edge of visibilit y, somet hing rumbled,crashing t hrough t he rubble and debris with abandon on huge mult i-wheeled t racks.

" Target azimut h . . . ."

I w a i t a n ag o n i z i n g l y l o n g t i m e for t he correct ion to f eed into my fire-controlcomput er. Unit Danny Gulledge has now t wice aided me in combat against t he enemy;alert ing me the first t ime to d anger, and now augment ing my ineffect ive X-band imaging

radar.With a t ot al disregard f or t radition, I assign Unit Danny Gulledge t he symbol of aComrade-in-Arms on my combat -sit uat ion plot . My primary batt eries are fully charged,I will t rust my comrade t o aim my blow, and at his command I will unleash t he furies ofnuclear fire boiling deep within my react or.

My ego cent er receives a reprimand from my com bat r eflex for being overly poet ic andverbose. These are serious flaws in an RFL-3 N. Perhaps I should apply for a posit ion asan embassy guard inst ead of a member of t he elite Tarsan Mechanicals . . . .

" DNE! Abor t fire mission! The vehicle is a non-host ile a maintenance VTR, wit h ourmarkings."

I allow Unit Danny Gulledge t o dismount fro m my main bat t ery bef ore I st and up again.At 07 :18 :55 .000 00 , local t ime, VTR Number Six from t he maintenance section of my

unit , D Company, Third Bat t alion, Tarsan Mechanicals, arrives, and we exchangeauthent icat ion codes. The biological who is t he maint enance VTR's count erpart rigs anopt ical dat a cable so t hat t he VTR and I can communicat e via a dat alink.



17/34

" Looks like you have some prett y bad bat t le damage t here t o your comm array. That 'swhat alert ed me and sent me your way . . . t he CP lost cont act w ith you."

" Yes. I'm glad t o see you, Six. I've been without command and cont rol input for f ar toolong now."

" What was t he biological doing on yo ur main guns?"

" Unit Danny Gulledge has been acting in t andem wit h my command sector since I lostcommunication wit h t he CP."

" Well, we'll let my count erpart t ake care of him . . . not much I could do f or him," t heelectronic equivalent of a chuckle reaches me from t he maint enance VTR. Somet imes t heyare hard t o fat hom.

" . . . And let ' s see about YOUR bat t le damage. Let 's see, imaging radar out , comm out ,struct ural damage t o upper-right quadrant . . ."

T h e m a in t e n an c e V T R s h u t s d o w n m y c o m m a n d c o m p u t e r, and I revert t o t henear-death of maintenance st andby. Just bef ore I loose consciousness, I require t he VTRscount erpart t o see t o it t hat Unit Danny Gulledge is also t aken care of as befit s a vet eran ofcombat . The VTR and his counterpart, not being init iat ed int o t he rit es of combat , do notunderst and, but t he human assures me it will be t aken care of. I hope the bat t le isn't overby t he t ime t he VTR is finished with t he repairs.

I st ill have work t o do.

* The Three Laws of Robot ics. Originally suggest ed by the 20 t h Cent ury SF author andbio-chemist Isaac Asimov, t hey stat e in brief t hat a robot cannot eit her harm a humanbeing, nor t hrough its inaction allow harm t o be done t o a human being. The Third Law isabout self-preservat ion, which would be count er-product ive in combat .

(Edit or' s note: Rick Blackburn can be cont act ed at St arTrek76 @aol.com or at [email protected].)



18/34

T H E K R AVA R I A N

by Robert Alan

H e s p o t t e d t h e Kr a v a r ia n down t he barrel of his laser. Short and squat , with t hoseKravarian eyes spaced just f ar enough apart t o make you feel uncomfort able. And t hatsickly green skin. Yet , somehow t hrough his scope t here was somet hing appealing abouthis enemy. He had never seen one up close. Just t hose grisly pict ures in t he St rat egyClips. But t here was t he Kravarian t en meters away, shivering in t he cold dark dit ch, withdirt clumps clinging in his spidery hair.

Corporal Millig dug his feet deeper int o t he t rench and kept t he laser aimed. TheKravarian just lay t here, st aring back, it s black slits fo r eyes unblinking. Millig chokeddown a gritt y gasp of dirt and parched air and t ightened his grip on t het rigger. " Well, run for it , Kravarian!" he t hought angrily t o himself.

A burst of violet light split t he blackness of t he night. Millig threw himself back down

into t he soil. Thunder shook t he dirt from t he ground, sending it flying everywhere.Quivering, Corpo ral Milling looked up. The Kravarian was st ill t here. Distant f lashes

and rumbles lit t he sky, illuminat ing t he barren, desolate land." Why are we st ill fight ing!" Millig groaned as the light disappeared, but t he image

burned in his mind. " We've pract ically dest royed t he ent ire planet ." He shuddered as heremembered how he had eagerly volunteered t o come t o Kravaria t o st op t he militantuprising once and for all. " They're not even people," he remembered his voice saying." And they want a seat on t he Galact ic Council? Af t er all t he t rouble t hey've caused t heSet t lers!" Now as he lay in a t rench a million miles fro m home,he wished he'd never set of f on t he marine ship. Never heard of t his horrid planet .

All his friends were gone. They' d left him for dead. Just a nasty wound in his side, and adark, cold night met him when he awoke. And t he Kravarian, alone t oo, shaking in theditch, st aring wit h fright ened anticipat ion. Millig stared int o t hose silent eyes and he felt arush of warmt h running t hrough his body.

H e l o o k e d o u t a c r o s s t h e f i e l d at his son smiling in the grass. Laughing, t hey rant oward each ot her. The bright sunshine smiled down on them as t hey embraced and fell t ot he ground. And t hen Ross jumped on them bot h, licking t hem and whining content edly.



19/34

T h e K r a v a r i an s t a r e d u n b l i n k i n g . "Go ahead, SHOOT!" he seemed to say. "It 'squiet now. But t hey'll be back t o kill us bot h. Get it over wit h already!"

Millig blinked and steadied his laser. He couldn't look away. " I . . . I don' t want t o killyou," he thought . All the anger he had felt . . . it had consumed him when he heard storyaft er horrible st ory. Now it didn't seem as real. There was just him and the Kravarian.

The Kravarian just st ared back. For a moment Millig fo und himself looking out t hrought he Kravarian's eyes. He saw the pale whit e Invader and he remembered t he hat red and t hehorrible t hings t hey'd done t o generat ion aft er generation of his people.

Milling shook himself and clutc hed t he laser closer, st ill unable t o look away fro m t heKravarian. What was t hat barbarian doing t o his mind? He want ed to look away, but t heirgaze remained locked t oget her, and t he air was deathly quiet .

Then they heard the sounds of shut t les and voices, and t he Kravarian seemed t o screamwit h his eyes, " THEY' RE GOING TO TORTURE US. IT' LL BE HORRIBLE. SHOOT ALREADY!GET IT OVER WITH . . . ."

Millig closed his eyes t ight ly and pressed the t rigger. He fell back when he heard t heexplosion.

A n e t e r n it y l a t e r he was being lift ed onto a st retcher. He st ared down at t heground, at t he laser which lay in a massless heap someone had shot it out of his hands.The Kravarian might st ill be alive! He felt groggy and t ried to f ocus his eyes. He t ried topush himself up on shaky arms.

" Relax, Corpo ral," his rescuers urged. " The war is over !"And t hen he saw the Kravarian across t he rock-st rewn ground. He t oo was being

rescued by his own kind. For a moment t heir gaze met once again." Farewell," t he Kravarian's eyes seemed t o say over t he sounds of t he voices around him

and the engine of t he shut t le that await ed Corporal Millig. " Farewell, my friend," Milligwhispered.

The shut t le door closed, t aking t he Earthling away from Kravaria forever. But Millig

would never forget t he Kravarian.

Story copyright 1994 by Robert Alan



20/34

N O S E Sby Thithpof Blipp

Me t a l c y l in d e r b u r n t h r o u g h w o r l d . Fiery screams. Awe. Terror . Much deat h.Silence.The hot t hing st and on The Under. Then. Open. Emerging, moving.New sounds: . . . and remove your helmets. . . Wow, this is fant astic; get a few

lungfuls of t his at mosphere. . . Bet t er t han Eart hs. . . I could breathe t his all day. . .Families. Friends. Mut ilat ed. Gone.

(Editor s Not e: We hope t his st ory, t ranslat ed by Andrew McCann, will be t he first in aseries we will call The Best A lien Fict ion. Thit hps t ale, considered a horror classic ont he Blipp homeworld, as well as many ot her planet s, was w rit t en f our st andard-yearsago into t he Blipp Collect ive Gas, soon af t er the chaos of First Cont act . For t his series, Noses was t ranslat ed direct ly f rom t he Blipp Odor-Tongue using a specially configuredSony IBM Universal Translat or.

Next issue, we will present another chilling tale, t his time f rom a writ er on a newlydiscovered world Riw in Sect or IV. Excerpt ed from an 80 0-page novel by Ceh Ff o f t he

Soil People, this menacing st ory is t it led, "Treads.")



21/34

P oetry

POEM (#1)

by Toni Long

I wonder how you sleepwhen I am not t here for y ou t o hold.

Do you wrap your armsaround the windkissing t he ears of st ars,snuggling up close t o t he moon?

Do you warm the universewhispering your sweet promisesof tomorrows yet to come?



22/34

T H E FAT H E R

by Kevin McAuley

When fat her diedWe fed him t o t he autumn moon.

I was on a t rain heading nort hPast w oods running like wild dogsThrough snowfields of sleeping brides.

When I arrived at her houseShe was drawing pict ures of t he leaves.She drew t hem t o look like old menWhose flesh was so t hin

The sun had scorched t heir bones.

When I t old her about t he fat herWe could hear t he wind out sideSwirling around t he door.We could hear t he leavesWhich we had t aken for deadCrawling on t op of t he house.



23/34

S TA R S O N G

by George Pfister

And somewhere in t hat vast ,Unset t led infancy I hear,In silence, voices t uned in st one;Where st one has ceased it s heaving inSlow ryt hyms worked t o ot her tones.

In t hese t elluric syllables,A tangled metaphor unfoldsWhich moulds my seething t houghtsAround t he mandrell of my bones.

And on t hese st ark encrusted shores,Coagulat e of star st uff , coldAnd curdled in the voidI resonat e t hese sullen songs,As veins, enamored, writ he in t imeAnd t et hered cryst als, t imbrels tied,In st rat a more harmoniousWeave melodies subdued.

A st erile gleam of st arlight seepsAmong t hese frozen swellsWhich roll in st aggered str idesAgainst t he oceans superficial moods.

The auguries I seek in veinsWhich surface, squeezedIn slow, laconic spasms,Infuse my blood,In it s own vastBut fickle disposit ions.



24/34

A B A N D O N L A N D

by Mark Phillips

Last night I went t o Africawit h a lioness

stripped a gazelle

and when t hey ran out of burlapt hey used camel hairto pack the bones

and when t hey ran out of camel hair I was t herewrapped in cool plast er

set in t he t all grasst he warrior kingwit h a scrat ch on my face as proof



25/34

F antasy

MY NAME IS KONEN THE B. . . .

by Andrew G. McCann

Characters:Konen: A barbarian f rom t he chilly wastelands of Slusheria.

Juma: A mercenary from t he wild jungles of kHot t .Blunda: A fat , st upid innkeeper.

(Konen and Juma ent er. They are walking, bat t le-weary, down a medieval-lookingst reet and carrying crude, not ched swords.)

Konen: By R-Krum, t he laughing god of Khart oun, killing is thirst y wo rk!J u m a : Aye, indeed it is, Konen my hulking barbarian friend. But now t hat t he bat t le

out side the cit y walls is ended, and our side is vict orious, what say you we celebrate insideyon t avern?

K: By Dondhis blood, y ou t alk my language, Juma my st rapping mercenary c omradefrom t he darkest jungles of shadow-haunted kHott ! How I lust for a flagon of mead and ahaunch of roast beast , and perhaps lat er some supple young wench.

J : Let us ent er, t hen, my savage companion from t he intemperat e North. ( Konen andJuma ent er t he t avern and seat t hemselves at a rough-hewn oaken table next t o a large openheart h.)

K: (Immediately waving frustrat edly t o a dist racted bart ender, who t akes his t imecoming over t o t he tw o) Ho, man! (To Juma:) By all t he serpent s in Shadowia, if t hisinkeeper doesnt serve me drink soon Ill split his head like a ripe melon and serve it t ohis wife f or breakfast !

J : Relax, my chiseled part ner, he is com e.B l u n d a t h e In n k e e p e r : (sneering) Whatll i t be?K: An enormous skin of w ine and a plat t er of charred meat , you sluggish cur!J : Ill have a decaf and a veget arian burrit o, wit h extr a Pehpir sauce! ( The barkeep,

scowling, leaves t o fet ch t heir food and drink.)



26/34

K: Gods, man, what sort of cit y-bred slop are you having?J: This morning, before t he bat t le, Cherbono, t he witch-m an, said I must eat diff erent

foods, fo r t he charms t ell him t here is to o much of t he evil spirit Khilest irahl in my blood.( Konen grunt s, and t hey fall silent . Yet Konen, ever-wat chful, sizes up t he ot her

t avern pat rons.)K: I must always be as vigilant as a sleet leopard R-Krum knows t here could be a

slew of enemies here from m y past adventures, or perhaps I will espy some besot t ed priestor merchant whom I could plunder as he tot t ers home. My blade may well have slaked itsbloodt hirst deeply t his day, yet it is st ill keen enough t o cleanly part a f ool and his head.(The barkeep abrupt ly ret urns, serves t hem bulging skins of wine and heaping plat t ers ofmeat, throws down the bill, and departs offstage.)

( Konen falls t o, stuf fing himself like t he near-animal he is.)K: ( bet ween mout hf uls and slurps) R-Krum s gonads, I feel ravenous as a were-ape

from t he spider-cloistered t owers of fabled Skahri-Tuum. Where is t hat barkeep? I needmore wine, by all the go ds in t he Mahrvehl Universe, or Ill spill his gut s wit h a cruelfoo t -length of my sure Porcinian sword!

J: You know, Konen, my associat e from t he chilly front ier, you drink quite a lot forone man even one who is built like a Brikian Shet aus.

K: What ? What are you saying, man?J: I am only averring t hat , over t he years, I have seen you down f lagons upon flagons

of t he st uff . Yet , as t ime passes your moods are ever blacker and t urbulent . (Pauses) Iwas once like that , as you may well recall: Af t er all, it is what made us comrades lo t hosemany years ago in t he t errible, sand-haunt ed t renches of t he War against Szaddham, t heDevil-King of Dezzirt .

K: (int ense, thought ful) How mean you, my part ner from t he st eamy, t imelessswamps of t he faraway Sout h? Just what are you driving at ?

J: Konen, I . . . I t hink you re an alcoholic.K: R-Krum, no!

J : R-Krum, yes.K: Hmmm. Yes, my heart t ells me you may be t rut hsaying. Why did I not see t hisbefore? (Konen throws his drink on t he ground) Have I been cursed by t he ArchdmonRhm himself?

J: No, Konen. Youre not a cursed person, just a sick person. (Pauses) Listen,fr iend, t heres some people Id like you t o meet , people fr om all walks of lif e: merchant s,priest s, wizards, mercenaries, even a Nubian slave. If y oull t ry not t o drink t oday, I cant ake you t o a place a meet ing where youll learn more about your habit , and yourself!

K: Yes. Yes, my wise warrior from t he hot , trackless dept hs of t he leafy lands. Let usgo t hen, you and I.

(They st and and gat her t heir gear.)J : Konen, t his repast will be my t reat. (He looks at t he receipt t he innkeeper had

left .) Let s see, t wo silver pieces.(Konen pauses, a smile spreads slowly across his face.)K: Let me get t he tip. There, t wenty percent should be nice!

(The t wo grin at each ot her, slap each other on t he back, and walk out .)



27/34

H orror

THE TAIL OF THE ANSWERING MACHINE

by Kate Tana

A s s is t a n t D i st r i c t A t t o r n e y Jo e Ki m b a ll stuck his head around t he opendoorway: "Yo, Tim, quit t in' t ime. You ready?"

Tim Graham grinned and swung his feet down f rom his desk. He gave one last , cursoryglance to t he file he had been reading and stood up.

" Sure, what t he hell . . . it 's Friday." He gest ured to t he windst orm of papers on hisdesk. " These aren't go ing anywhere."

Joe grinned. " OK, so let 's go."" In a sec," Tim nodded as he picked up the phone. " I just have t o check my machine."Joe frowned as Tim began to dial his home phone number. " You still gett ing those

hang-ups?"" Yeah," Tim nodded as he began to punch in his replay code. " Pret t y much every day

now, but only during t he week in the dayt ime or when I'm not home never when I'm

there."" Weird," Joe responded. " Like whoever's doing t his knows your schedule, huh?"" Yeah, somet hing else t o worry about ." Tim listened for a long moment, punched in his

ending code and hung up the phone.Joe bright ened. " Finally gave up, huh?"Tim shook his head. " No, t here was anot her one . . . . I didn't know you were int o heavy

breat hing, or I'd have let you listen."



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The two f riends left t he office as Joe said, "You'd t hink t his guy would've f igured out bynow t hat he' s calling anot her guy' s phone and move on already."

Tim was uncharact eristically abrupt . He was uncomf ort able t alking about t hisanymore, even with Joe.

" You know, Joey, you have an unbelievable nose for t he obvious. Why assume it ' s aguy? As it happens, it 's a woman doing t he breat hing. The voice is sort of husky and loud,but it was definitely f emale."

Mu c h l at e r t h e s am e n i g h t , Tim staggered slightly as he caught his foot coming inhis front door. He had no idea why he was dragging his only clean suit jacket along thedusty floor like a pull-to y; maybe he'd remember why in t he morning.

He stumbled again as he entered the bedroom. A shape rose from t he bed and wassilhouett ed against t he moonlit window. As Tim flicked on the light , t he shape wagged it st ail and bounded off t he bed.

" Easy, easy girl," Tim said unsteadily. " Down, Mart ha, down," he cont inued as hemanaged t o pat his English set t er on the head on t he third t ry. He t hrew his jacket in t hegeneral direction of the bed and submitted himself to the frantic and loving attentions of thedog. Aft er a couple of minut es he rose and led t he dog through t he townhouse, downstairs,and out into t he pocket-sized yard that att empted t o live under his deck. Martha st opped att he door and looked at Tim reproachfully; this was t he short cut he took on occasions whenhe got home t oo lat e and too drunk to navigate t he lengt h of Catherine St reet f or a real walk.

Leaving Martha t o her explorat ions of t he yard, Tim wove his way back t o t he t elephoneand answering machine. The machine was blinking steadily: once, t wice, t hree tim es as heeased himself ont o t he bed. But as he lowered his head, the room began t o rot ate in slow,lazy circles.

Bad idea, he thought as he reached for t he play but t on on t he answering machine. As t het ape rewound, he mouthed a silent prayer. At t he same t ime, he was unable t o stopchecking his machine, wait ing t o once again hear t hat slow, heavy breathing.

Tim shook his head and tried t o remember when he'd last got t en this drunk. The reasonwasn't a real myst ery; Joe had spent t he ent ire night pumping him for inf ormat ion aboutt he hang-up calls. Tim had left t he bar abrupt ly when Joe, aft er his fourt h or fift h drink,had offered t he suggestion t hat t he caller was Tim's girlfriend, Andrea.

" Ge t r e a l ," Tim had pract ically shout ed; he knew what Joe was leading up to . Thepeople at t he next t able had briefly st opped debat ing bat t ing averages and t urned to look athim. " And just who t he hell is it t hat 's supposed to be fat ally at t racted t o me, huh?"

There was a long pause before Joe replied. When he spoke, he looked everywhere butdirect ly at Tim. " Well, it w ould have t o be Andrea, wouldn't it?"

Aft er that , Tim left t he bar. Joe t hrew some money on the t able and ran out aft er him.Joe caught Tim by t he arm, but before Joe could say anyt hing, Tim cont inued as t hough

t here had been no break in the conversat ion. " And just suppose . . . which I don' t fo r oneminut e . . . just suppose you're right . . . why now? Why not hing in the last f our months?"

" I don't knew," Joe answered. " Maybe she didn't have enough invested before now. Hell,Tim, look, you know I don' t like Andrea . . . but t hat doesn' t change how I feel about t his . . .it 's not a joke anymore . It 's got t o be someone who knows you and knows your schedule.Who else could it be? Remember how Andrea got at t hat part y last mont h? Hell, even t he



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worst dregs from t he office couldn't come near you. It was like she was spitt ing flames."

" . . . A n d d o n ' t f o rg e t t o c al l no w if you' d like t o come up and t ake a look at t hisfabulous time-share propert y. Prime weeks are st ill available . . . ." Tim shook himselfand realized that t he had fogged out during the first message. Before he could rewind thet ape, there was a beep and the second message began.

" Hi, darling. Me again. Or should I say, me speaking for t he first t ime? I t hought I'dlet y ou hear my voice for a change. The hang-ups are effect ive, but it 's nice to hearsomeone's voice, don't you t hink?"

Tim st ared at t he machine and concentrated on recognizing the voice. It sounded rusty,but familiar. He decided that someone was disguising her voice.

The voice cont inued: "St ill have you guessing, don't I? Well, the answer' s prett yobvious. . . ." Here, t he voice grew somewhat agit ated. " You've always had a t alent f or theobvious, Tim, especially when it comes t o women . . . always go f or t he cheap and easy ones.. . ." The voice t railed off and t he heavy breat hing that had become so familiar t o Tim filledt he room. Then she spoke again. " However, I'v e always thought y ou were, shall we say,t rainable? Anyway, I'v e got y ou now."

Tim sank back on t he bed, shaken by the int ensit y of emot ion in t he voice. He jerkedinvolunt arily as t he third and last message began. The voice t hat t rilled out of t he machinet his t ime was unmistakably Andrea's.

" Hi, kiddo, I suppose you' re out o n one of your Friday night prow ls with Joe. Well, hopeyou had fun, but just remember: boys' night is boys' night out, not a time to scout out newt alent ." Tim frowned as he list ened t o Andrea sigh and t hen cont inue.

" Look, hon, I just found out t hat I have to w ork on Saturday, so I won't be able t o go t ot he reunion in New York with you. There's not hing I can do about it . I hat e t he idea of yougoing there by yourself; I really hat e it . But I guess it can't be helped. Anyway, I can st ayover at y our place and doggie-sit Mart ha if yo u'd like. Give me a call, ' kay?"

Tim sat and replayed t he t wo messages over and over unt il a pit eous whine reminded

him t hat he'd left Martha outside for f ar t oo long. He ignored t he dog's bids for his att entionas his mind raced along several pat hs at once. Af t er replaying the messages several moret imes, he was no closer to deciding whether or not t he two messages had been left by t hesame person, and especially whet her or not Andrea had been t hat person.

Tim finally fell asleep much later, wit h Martha laying right next t o him. He dreamed ofa line-up where all t he suspect s were Andrea, except for one woman who remained inshadow. He sat in front of t he line-up with Martha at his feet , growling at t he women. At elephone began to ring on t he table next t o him. As he picked it up, Martha looked up athim and t humped her tail. He looked up and saw t hat all the Andreas and t he other womaneach held a telephone in their hands. He woke up in a cold sweat .

T i m l e f t f o r h i s l aw s c h o o l r e u n i o n on Friday, feeling as if he had never

recovered from t he binge of t he previous weekend. His head spun every t ime he consideredt he possibility t hat A ndrea was behind t he phone calls. There had been more messages.Same throat y, raspy voice; like someone giving her voice a workout for t he first t ime in along time. He had agreed to let Joe get a buddy in the police depart ment t o run a t ap on t hephone, but t hat was as far as he was willing t o go y et .

Not knowing what else t o do, Tim f ollowed his original plan and left for New York



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directly f rom work. He said nothing about Andrea's plan t o stay at his place for t heweekend, despite his misgivings. Before he left , he called her and t old her t hat he wanted tot alk t o her about something when he got back.

A n d r e a B an n e r s a t b a c k o n h e r h e e l s and brushed the st ray hair out of her eyes.It was four o' clock on Saturday af t ernoon and she had only just finished cleaning t he firstfloor of Tim' s townhouse. She had been amazed at t he mess when she walked in t he nightbefore; f or a guy who w as so part icular about his suit s and personal appearance, his housewas a pig-sty .

" You have my sympat hy, Mart ha," she said out loud as she turned to look t o t he kit chen;t he dog had been lying t here just s few minutes ago. Now she had disappeared again. Andreashook her head; the dog seemed to be going out of it s way to avoid her. She supposed it wast he upset at having Tim away and her t here alone. Last night had been a real st ruggle;Martha had t hrown herself across t he bed so that Andrea couldn't even get a corner toherself. Andrea had event ually given up trying t o shove the large dog over and had spentt he night in t he guest room.

Now, as Andrea st raightened up, her eyes roamed around t he first floor in sat isfaction;t he place really looked great when it was done. She st ood poised between t he living roomand kitchen areas, undecided as t o what t o do next . The bright sunshine got her out on t hedeck to wat er t he plant s.

A n d r ea s t e p p e d o ut o n t o t h e d ec k , loaded down wit h Tim's gardening t ools and astepladder to deal wit h t he hanging basket s. She smiled as she spot t ed Martha, basking int he sun between t wo redwood lounge chairs at t he far side of t he deck.

" Hi, Martha. So t his is where you' ve been hiding out . Can't say I blame you. It 'sgorgeous out here, isn' t it ? Maybe we'll have an early dinner out here, whaddaya say?"The dog merely lift ed its head and gazed at Andrea. Andrea turned her back to t he dog andclambered up t he ladder. Andrea was about f our feet of f t he deck, while t he drop t o the yard

was almost 1 8 f eet .Andrea sighed as she cont emplat ed watering t he dozen or more hanging basket s t hat hungover t he deck. She was underneat h the plants closest t o t he sliding door. She began to pluckthe dead leaves from the plant.

Mart ha, now fully awake from her nap, lay on t he deck wit h her head on her f orepaws asshe wat ched Andrea' s every move. Andrea, in the fashion of most people left alone with ananimal, began t o t alk t o t he dog.

" I t hink t hat aft er I finish t hese plants, I'm going t o go to t he grocery sto re, Martha. Weneed some wine and maybe a nice st eak for dinner for t omorrow night w hen Tim get s home.He said he had somet hing special t o t alk t o me about , and I t hink I know what it is." Andreafinished wat ering the first group of plant s and began moving closer t o t he edge of t he deck.Mart ha raised her head and cocked it t o one side. Thus encouraged, Andrea cont inued to

prattle." I t hink you' re going t o be seeing a lot more of me aft er tomorr ow, Martha. I t hink t hat

Tim want s to t alk t o me about moving in here won't t hat be great ?" In her enthusiasm,Andrea rocked the met al stepstool; causing the sun t o bounce off t he side bar. Martha' s eyesnarrowed as the glare bounced around t he deck.

Andrea steadied the stoo l. " Jeez, I'm such a klutz somet imes. Anyway, this is going to



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be t errific, Martha." She laughed again. " I guess you' re going to have to learn how t o shareTim wit h another wo man, huh?"

Andrea was redecorating Tim' s house in her mind as she dragged t he stepladder until itstood under the flowerpot s closest t o t he end of the porch. A few feet away, Martha rose andpadded silent ly across until she was standing next t o t he st ool. She st ood at t he foot of t hestepst ool and jumped, pushing her forepaws violent ly against Andrea's leg.

Andrea felt a sudden drop in the pit of her stomach; she equat ed t he feeling wit h t he lossof her foot ing. As she felt t he st epst ool go out f rom under her, she inst inctively grabbedfor t he only available support , the hanging plant er. The screw holding the plant er t o t hewooden beam came flying out wit h a crack almost as soon as Andrea threw her weight ont oit . She had no time t o scream.

Martha sat back on her haunches and wat ched Andrea claw at t he air as t he combinedforce of t he fall and the pull of t he planter sent her careening over the edge of t he deck andonto t he ground 18 feet below. Right before she hit t he ground, Andrea ut t ered one short,powerful scream. The force of her body landing on t he ground broke four ribs and bot h herlegs. The jagged edges of t he broken ribs punct ured several vit al organs. Andrea wasunconscious almost immediat ely; t he internal bleeding didn't kill her f or almost an hour.She wasn't discovered unt il Mrs. Grayson from t he house in t he back came out int o her yardt o light her barbecue t wo hours later.

Above, Mart ha lay on t he deck wit h her head hanging over t he side, napping as Andreadied. Af t erwards, Mart ha went inside and cont inued her nap on the bed she shared wit hTim.

Tw o w e e k a s a f t e r A n d r e a ' s f u n e r a l , Tim sat in his off ice, st aring int o space.Out wardly, he looked like a man on the f ar edge of exhaust ion. Inwardly, his mind raced ata furious pace. He hadn't really start ed grieving yet ; he knew that . For one t hing, t herewas the guilt: Andrea had died hours before he was going to call a halt t o t heir relat ionship;he had never had a chance to confront her about t he phone calls. And he hadn't got t en over

t he horror of t he whole t hing; t he bruised and shatt ered shell t hat he had t o face in themorgue t hat weekend, and in t he funeral home aft erwards. Tim's reverie was int errupt edby t he arrival of Joe, carrying an envelope.

" Tim . . . hey, man . . . how' re you doin' ?" Joe cocked his head to one side and eyed Timspeculat ively. " You don't look so good. Gett ing any sleep? You gott a get sleep. Won't doanybody any good if y ou start passing out ."

Tim tried t o rouse himself. " Yeah, Joe, I'm OK, not great, but OK. What 'v e you got f orme?" He st retched out his hand to t ake t he envelope.

Suddenly, Joe looked uncomf ort able; he ducked t o avoid meeting Tim's eye. " Well, it 's . .. well, I'v e got . . . ."

Tim was suddenly exhausted. " Just say it , Joe. I've got t o get out of here."Joe sighed. " OK, OK. I'm not sure I should do this, but I thought you' d want t o know,

even t hough . . . . . Well, here: We finally got t he result s of t he trace we put on yourphone. We t racked t hirty of t hem."

"And?"" And there were no calls. None."" That 's impossible. You heard t he messages. And besides, t he answering machine gave

t he dat es and t imes of t he calls." Tim took a deep breat h. " Damn it, Joe, you heard the



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tapes."" Hold on," Joe replied. " I didn't say t here were no messages; only t hat t here were no

calls." At Tim's puzzled look, Joe cont inued. " The messages were left on your machine bysomeone in your house. All the messages were left at t imes t hat you were out of t he house,based on the schedule you gave me."

" Well, at least t hat let s me out as a psycho who was calling himself." He paused andsighed. " Thanks, Joe, I appreciat e you checking t his out f or me." He gestured to t he phone,and t hen almost defiantly dialed his home number.

" At least I don't have to be afraid t o check my machine anymore," he said t o Joe as hepunched in his code. " Poor Andrea, she was much more screwed up t han . . . ."

Tim's voice t railed off as he stared at Joe. He held t he receiver away f rom him as if ithad suddenly t urned into a snake. He forced his now-shaking fingers t o punch the speakerbut t on on t he phone: The insist ent and familiar sounds of heavy, female breat hing, sointense that it was a panting sound, filled the room.



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H umor

O N B L O AT I N G

by Margaret McCann

Let 's face it , bloating is underrat ed. While people like t o think t hat t he words thatrhyme with bloating are more important t han bloat ing it self, in fact bloat ing functions asan infrastruct ure for t hese words, allowing them t o int ermingle playf ully on the surface oft he pond of ordinary prat t le instead of sinking into it s unplumbable dept hs. Like a coronerinspecting a set of t eeth t oot h by t oot h, we will plod adroitly t hrough our task dodgingcavit ies, extract ing " spinach," rewarded maybe wit h a loose gold f illing in order t oidentif y bloat ing's incisive role in our speech.

FLOATING is made possible by the bloat ed stat e of t he fat t y part of t he floatee. BOATING,

an aspect of floating, involves mutual bloat ation bet ween the sated swells of wat er and t herounded bot t om of t he boat , who conspire to joyfully bounce t he boater about . MOATINGmakes inevitable a bloated onslaught of churning, seemingly chuckling, waves int o a moat ,filling it t o complet e it s meaning t he same way a stuf fed st ocking spells Xmas.

What was once a passing comment gains weight t he moment it is NOTED, becomingcuriously bloated. QUOTING proceeds a st ep furt her, placing around what has been notedsmall, bloated m arks, whose plump, well-meaning curvat ures are a delight for t he humaneye to behold.

DOTING and COATING are almost int erchangable words. Both funct ion to prot ect , yetwhile dot ing encourages t he dotee' s self-satisfact ion to a dangerously bloated degree,coat ing att empts t o de-bloat t he coatee, who or what may be chubby and can't fit int o a coat ,or, like a wall, must be squeezed int o t wo coat s of paint.

VOTING automatically bloats t he significance of one candidate over another in a boot ht hat can only be described as bloat ed aft er a night of heavy vo t ing. TOTING requires anobject bloat ed enough to be properly tot ed, ot herwise the person would carry a folder. AndGOATING, a vocat ion rapidly belonging t o y esteryear, is undert aken wit h t he expectat ionthat the trotting about of the bloated-bellied goats will bring the goater seasons of pleasureand profit in greener past ures than t hose harvest ed from his goat less past .

It can now be concluded absolutely t hat bloat ing is a Cinderella of a word t hat does all thework while the evil st epsist ers, so to speak, get all t he credit for it . The occasional oroffhand "Look, that dead fish is bloated," or "I feel a little bloated today," are simply notenough. Perhaps t his expos will relocat e bloating t o it s proper place in t he common usagedict ionary, and celebrat e its decades of st eady and mysterious service at t he bot t om of t hevocabulary reservoir where, every now and t hen, swellling wit h enough pride to bubble t ot he surface, it releases helpful amounts of oxygen int o t he atmo sphere, marshalling cheerand courage int o t he frot hy currents of t he river of life like some of t he most f earless ofWest ern civilizat ion's earliest explorers.



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P lanet M agazine

A B O U T T H E A U T H O R S

Robert Alan writes non-fiction for a living and fict ion for f un, but hopes someday t owrite f iction for bot h reasons.

Rick Blackburn, a disabled Viet nam Vet, is interest ed in ast ronomy, astro physics,role-playing gaming, drawing, and writ ing. He's a FANatic f an of Star Trek, St ar Trek,The Next Generat ion, St ar Wars, Bat t lest ar Galact ica, Dr. Who, and SF in general. He isalso president of t he Power Pack Fan Club, and can be reached at :POWER PACK FAN CLUB, PO Box 13712, Los Angeles, CA, 90013-0712.

Thomas J. Keenan is a drummer in Cleveland, Ohio.

Biedermeier X. Leeuwenhoek the guest editor, is unaware that he is fictional.

Toni Long is a black wom an, revolut ionary, cat owner, and displaced Texan living inNYC. Her work has appeared in " St andards," among ot her publications, and will appear inupcoming issues of " Evergr een Chronicles" and "Bay Area Poet s Coalit ion."

Kevin McAuley is a Brooklyn-based writ er.

Andrew McCann is a writ er and edit or in New York Cit y.

Margaret McCann is a prof essor of paint ing and published writ er living in NewEngland. Her work has appeared in "Primavera," among ot her publications.

George Pfister is an award-winning poet living in Brooklyn. His poems haveappeared in such publicat ions as "New Press" and " Parnassus."

Mark Philips is a poet in New York Cit y.

Kate Tana is a Philadelphia lawyer who' s really a horror w rit er.

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