The Flavors of Other Worlds
13 Science Fiction Tales from a Master Storyteller
Alan Dean Foster
Contents
Praise for the Author
Book Description
Introduction
1. Unvasion
2. The Man Who Knew Too Much
3. Perception
4. Chilling
5. Consigned
6. Cold Fire
7. Pardon Our Conquest
8. That Creeping Sensation
9. Rural Singularity
10. Seasonings
11. Our Specialty Is Xenogeology
12. Ten and Ten
13. Valentin Sharffen and the Code of Doom
Previous Publication Information
About the Author
If You Liked …
Other WordFire Press Titles by Alan Dean Foster
Praise for the Author
“Alan Dean Foster is the modern-day Renaissance writer, as his abilities seem to have no genre boundaries.”
—Bookbrowser for The Mocking Program
“One of the most consistently inventive and fertile writers of science-fiction and fantasy.”
—The Times (London)
“Alan Dean Foster is a master of creating alien worlds for his protagonists to deal with.”
—SFRevu for Sagramanda
“Foster’s greatest strength remains his world building, easily creating evocative alien landscapes and populating them.…”
—Booklist for Strange Music
“Amusing … intriguing … consistently entertaining.”
—Locus for Lost and Found
“A winner for all ages.”
—Publisher’s Weekly for Lost and Found
“Packed with action, intriguing human and alien characters, and a message of strength through diversity.”
—Library Journal for Drowning World
“Surefire entertainment … the author’s mastery of his exotic setting cannot be denied.”
—Publisher’s Weekly for Drowning World
“Inventive and packed with flavorsome incident.”
—Kirkus Review for Carnivores of Light and Darkness
Book Description
Thirteen Science Fiction Tales from a Master Storyteller
From fighting giant bugs to defeating an interstellar empire without firing a shot; from scientific idiot savants toying with the universe to how the robots will really win the robot apocalypse, these thirteen flavorful tales are guaranteed to entertain, amuse, awe, and maybe even enlighten.
Includes the first appearance in print of the Icerigger novelette “Chilling” and a new novelette, “Valentin Sharffen and the Code of Doom.”
The Flavors of Other Worlds
Copyright © 2018 Alan Dean Foster
Introduction, copyright © 2018 by Alan Dean Foster; appears for the first time in this volume.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-61475-958-4
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61475-959-1
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-61475-986-7
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Cover design by Janet McDonald
Cover artwork images by Adobe Stock
* * *
Kevin J. Anderson, Art Director
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Published by
WordFire Press, an imprint of
WordFire, LLC
PO Box 1840
Monument, CO 80132
* * *
Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers
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WordFire Press eBook Edition 2019
WordFire Press Trade Paperback Edition 2019
WordFire Press Hardcover Edition 2019
Printed in the USA
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Introduction
Alan Dean Foster
Prescott, Arizona
June, 2018
* * *
A few years ago, at the behest of some friends and relatives, I took a stab at starting an autobiography. It never got very far, mostly because I found it odd to be writing about myself. The proposed autobiography was called Wanderings.
Eventually it morphed to become Predators I Have Known (Open Road Media), a book about some of my travels. It was a good deal more fun to write about animal encounters than how a high school teacher named Solomon helped shape my future or how a water pistol my grandfather bought for me at age four suggested an eventual career choice.
All I ever wanted to do in life was travel. Restricted as I am to one small planet, I determined to see as much of it as possible. For this I largely blame Carl Barks and his creation Scrooge McDuck. When I was very young (three or four) my parents bought me subscriptions to about a dozen monthly comic books. There were no comic book stores, let alone comic conventions, and I was plainly far too young to be picking anything out of racks at newsstands (you can research these wonderful relics of ancient history, and you see them regularly in old movies). I learned to read via comic books.
Of which my favorite by far was Uncle Scrooge. Despite being old, having to use a cane, wear glasses, and having memory problems, Scrooge wandered the world in search of adventure (and profit). Even as a very young child I perceived via this comic character that anyone could see the world no matter their age. I determined that when I was old enough to do so, I would emulate Scrooge. I did not foresee that it would lead to a career as a writer, far less one focused on speculative fiction.
When I discovered science-fiction, through a couple of books my father kept, I was both enthralled (Asimov’s collection Nine Tomorrows) and intimidated (Van Vogt’s World of Null-A). I put SF aside for a while while I focused on academics and the classics, not returning to science-fiction until my senior year in high school. That was when I realized that via SF I could wander not only this one world but dozens, hundreds of others. I began to do so, starting with the classic Groff Conklin and Judith Merrell collections and moving on to individual novels. As a senior at UCLA I began to imagine new worlds of my own.
Now here I am today: still wandering, both on this world and in the hundreds of others in my mind, occasionally describing them for others to share. As much as I enjoy pointing out Bellini’s last sculpture in Rome or a particularly interesting bug in Peru’s Manu, I take pleasure in detailing a planet-wide rainforest in Midworld or one based on slime in the forthcoming Secretions. It all harkens back to Barks and Scrooge.
On the first page of Barks’ Scrooge adventure The Mines of King Solomon, a frantic Scrooge is preparing for his annual tour of his international properties. While dictating instructions to his army of subordinates, he recites a litany of utterly fascinating place names that Barks doubtless drew from his file of old National Geographic magazines. My favorite was Famagusta, which for years I thought surely must be an invented name for a made-up place. When I discovered that it was a real location, I determined one day to go there.
Famagusta is an old city on Cyprus. There aren’t a lot of tourists, it’s a fun place to wander around, and there are a couple of little cafes and one dec
ent souvenir shop. My thanks to Barks and Scrooge for the heads-up.
I hope you get to Famagusta some day. In the interim, here are some more wanderings, to places and times and worlds that I’ve enjoyed making up for myself, and am pleased to share.
1
Unvasion
Guns and bombs, or spears and arrows, or rocks and clubs: all variations on the same theme, and all of them outdated. Why, historically, has one country, or tribe, or fiefdom sought to overthrow another? To control its population and its resources, of course. But if you embark on a Thirty Year’s War, or a Hundred Year’s War, or a World War, one side not only ends up destroying the opposing population and resources it desires to control but also inevitably impoverishing itself.
It’s just not a very cost-effective way to conquer.
Yet nation-states are still stuck in the same mindset. Destroy, overpower, obliterate. Everyone has seen one of a thousand variations on the cartoon of a single surviving soldier standing alone amidst total destruction and crying out, “I won!” Won what? Scorched earth?
Some aspects of society are finally growing more sophisticated where such enterprises are concerned. That doesn’t mean that some newcomers might not have more experience in such matters and be better at it.
Aliens, for example. With better credit scores.
* * *
It all began when the L’treth indicated their desire to acquire a McDonald’s franchise.
Yes.
As an experienced executive assistant and qualified paralegal, Karen possessed an exhaustive assortment of expressions, but the one she flashed Noble when she entered his office was new to him. “I thought I’d come and tell you in person, Derrick. I wanted to come and tell you in person.” Her gaze flicked ever so briefly backward, in the direction of the outer office. “There are two aliens waiting to see you. They’re causing something of a stir.”
Noble had been a lawyer far too long to let anything, anything at all, unsettle him. Especially so early in the morning. “Do tell. Well, I guess you’d better send them in before the stir becomes a ruckus.” He glanced at a desk calendar and exhaled slowly. “I’m free ’til eleven. Hold the Harrington department store group half an hour if you have to.”
“Yes, sir.”
She disappeared momentarily. In her wake there eventually appeared a pair of L’treth. They studied the office with interest and, Noble chose to believe, approval. “Won’t you come in—gentlemen,” he added after a moment’s indecision. The L’treth were hard to sex. “Please, take a seat.”
The aliens were short, squat, horizontal of eye, and broad of nose and mouth. Frog-like, according to the popular media, but not intimidatingly so. Any superficial batrachian resemblance ended there. Their shimmering, silvery skin was smooth to the point of looking polished, their attire colorful and varied according to individual taste, and they were reassuringly bipedal. The fold of delicate, fluted flesh that crossed their otherwise bald heads weaved slowly back and forth like kelp off the California coast. The single hearing organ was no less offensive to the general aesthetic than were humankind’s dual, projecting, wrinkled ears. Only their limbs smacked of the truly exotic: a pair of supple three-foot long pseudopods that terminated in flexible, black-rimmed suckers. As the L’treth sat down they rested these, not on their hind limbs, but by draping them back over their shoulders and crossing them behind their short necks. Not only was this posture intriguing, to a human it was also demonstrably non-threatening: the equivalent of putting one’s hands behind one’s back.
“I am J’mard,” the slightly larger alien began, without further delay. The L’treth were known to have a horror of wasting time. “We understand that you are given to taking atypical assignments, Mr. Noble.” J’mard’s English was flawless. In consequence of their wondrous talent for aural mimicry, not to mention flexible larynxes, the L’treth easily mastered whatever Earthly language they chose to study. Conversely, a human could speak L’treth, but it required a good deal of effort. Even then, the experts had trouble with pronunciation and grammar.
“I like a challenge,” Noble admitted readily. “I’ve been a lawyer for a long time, and I’m easily bored.”
“I am N’delk,” declared the other. Reaching into a pouch made of some sumptuous metallic material slung at his short waist, he handed his host a thumbnail-sized cube. “Please to insert this into your computer. I assure you, it will do it no harm, nor will it plant anything intrusive. We do not injure those whose advice we seek.”
Noble hesitated only briefly before popping the cube into the less essential of the two machines on his desk. Something loaded instantly, and he was rewarded with a spray of diagrams and figures. Captions were rendered both in English and in the complex L’treth script. Noble recognized surveyor plats almost as soon as he did the familiar yellow arch.
“This shows a plot of land at the junction of Interstate 17 and New River Road in the central part of the American state of Arizona,” J’mard explained. “We think it would be an excellent location for a McDonald’s.”
N’delk’s hearing organ fluttered. “Humans would flock to it. We calculate that it would return an admirable profit.”
Noble studied the monitor for a while, then nodded. “I agree. Not really my specialty, but to my casual eyes it looks like a good site.” Turning away from the monitor, he met large, limpid gray eyes. “The first question that occurs to me is; what do the L’treth need with monetary profit? Or for that matter, Earthly currency of any kind?”
J’mard replied. “Since the time of First Contact, which was not so very long ago, many of us visiting your world have expressed a desire to work with your kind in the evolution of ventures of mutual interest. Your world has much to offer the L’treth, in the form of opportunities for mutual manufacturing, tourism, the acquisition of your wonderful handicrafts, and so on. In order to do this, those of us who are interested require access to quantities of the local medium of exchange.
“The best way for us to obtain such currency is to participate in your dominant free-enterprise form of commerce. This means entering into and participating in the local business community. Making investments. Dumping valued items easily obtainable elsewhere, such as gold or hard, clear carbon, would only weaken your economic system. Not only do we have no desire to do this, but it would be counter to what we seek to achieve. We hope to work within the framework of your existing economic system without causing it any harm.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” Noble admitted. “I can, of course, represent you in negotiations for the land, and for the acquisition of the franchise. Where will you get the currency to pay for them?”
Opening his own pouch, N’delk brought forth a sucker full of small metal needles. They glittered and danced in the light of Derrick Noble’s office. “We can offer access to certain technologies that your scientists and researchers are tracking, but have not yet perfected. Inserting one of these into a human body will kill any runaway cell development that is present. To prevent the development of dangerous economic jealousies, we intend to make this simultaneously available to more than a single company.”
Noble stared at the innocuous little needles that had suddenly assumed an importance all out of proportion to their appearance or size. “In other words, they are a cure for cancer.”
“Generally. They are not omnipotent.” N’delk was nothing if not earnest. “Do they constitute a suitable initial offering, or should we retire and attempt to bring forth an alternative?”
Noble’s brows were as gray as the eyes of the L’treth. They arched as he focused on the needles. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. You will be amply compensated by several companies in return for the rights to exploit the properties of these … devices. So much so that I can’t help but wonder why you need a McDonald’s franchise.”
The aliens exchanged a glance and a murmur before N’delk replied. “As we have told you, we wish to participate in your commerce. Imposing from above i
s not participation.” He held out the needles. “There is a limit to how much technology we can offer that your kind would find useful.”
Among other skills he had acquired in thirty years of practicing law, Noble had learned how to make rapid decisions. Rising, he extended a hand. “Mr. J’mard, Mr. N’delk, I am delighted to inform you that you are now represented, at least in the state of Arizona in the country of the United States of America, by accredited legal counsel.”
The L’treth were right. With its carefully chosen location, their new McDonald’s prospered. The parent corporation was equally pleased, as any company is when someone franchising its product expands its customer base. They were so pleased that when another pair of L’treth, desiring to emulate the local success of their pioneering brethren, applied for a franchise in North Carolina, it was immediately granted. Since franchise territories did not overlap, their human counterparts had no objection to the aliens’ success. After all, general sales contributed to the overall earnings of the national company, whose success in turn benefited all franchisees.
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