Free Short Stories 2013

by Baen Books

  There was a moment of silence as Dmitri came as close as he would to acknowledging that she was right.

  She continued on with what probably happened at the WQED studios that morning while she and Hal played hooky to film a new episode. "I figure that network just about shit themselves with last month's stories that you dumped on them yesterday and spent all last night flooding our servers with conflicting demands because they couldn't do anything as logical as actually reading your summary first. I also figure that they had ignorant questions like 'why didn't we get any video of the royal wedding' or 'where were the still shots of the new princess in her wedding gown' and 'why did we send them a hundred photos of hoverbike racers covered in mud instead.'"

  The answer was that there been no "wedding" per se as elves apparently didn't go in for that kind of thing and the only photos of the bride were of her racing. They couldn't find a single picture where Tinker wasn't covered in mud, so they just sent them all.

  "Someone did figure that out. Eventually." Which meant there probably had been several dozen patiently ignored emails before the light bulb went on at Network.

  Jane laughed bitterly. "This is a large strangle vine in the backyard of an EIA desk jockey who has two little kids. He called his supervisor asking what to do about the half-buried deer under his tree, and his boss called Hal."

  Dmitri huffed out as he realized all the vectors of the situation. The United Nations for some reason thought that clerical employees wouldn't encounter Elfhome's hazardous wildlife, so they provided no training on how to recognize lethal situations. The supervisor probably knew that there were professional exterminators to handle things like strangle vines, but decided to ask Hal for help. For all his love of explosives, Hal was a political creature, honed by years of clawing through the ranks of network television to achieve in-front-of-the-camera status. That he insisted that they tackle the strangle vine at dawn meant that the EIA manager was worth currying favors for – plus Hal would get to use his flamethrower. Lastly was that the lowly EIA employee wouldn't know to keep his children out of the yard until it was safe.

  "How soon do you wrap up there?" Dmitri obviously was trying to sound causal while his blood pressure spiked through the roof. The meeting was long over, and Dmitri rarely reamed them out for anything short of setting someone on fire – which they hadn't done yet today -- so why was he calling now?

  "What else did Network drop on us?"

  There was a too-long silence that meant she was going to hate what Dmitri said next. "Network wants us to provide a 'native guide' for a crew filming on Elfhome…"

  "You want me to play babysitter?"

  "No, they asked for a guide, they're getting you as a producer, and you're going to keep them out of trouble even if you need to hogtie them, which I know you're fully capable of."

  "I don't do babysitting!"

  "It's not babysitting, and you're very good at it, otherwise Hal wouldn't be alive now."

  Chesty went to point on a strangle vine staging a surprise rear attack. Jane sighed. When was Hal ever going to learn that these things were more like octopuses than snakes? "That is debatable," she said as Hal went down with a yelp.

  "Ouch. Is he going to be okay?"

  "Probably." Jane backed up to where she had the tripod set up and a small arsenal of garden weapons and a fire extinguisher.

  Hal rolled, trying to bring the flamethrower to bear on the vine that had him by the ankle, cackling wildly. Unfortunately, the plant was much larger than the homeowner had led them to believe. It jerked Hal up into the air even as he squeezed the trigger. He went flying into the tree, leaving a contrail of flame behind him.

  "Shit." Jane grabbed the chainsaw.

  "Oh the viewers are going to love this one." Dmitri said and hung up, hopefully to call the fire department.

  #

  After Hal was packed off in the ambulance, Jane stopped in the Strip District to pick up supplies for the month. After a morning of fighting a giant man-eating plant with a chainsaw, she didn't want to talk to anyone, and certainly not Dmitri about some stupid babysitting job to some stuck-up New York City network idiots. It was going to be twenty-eight days of useless fighting back and forth until the next Shutdown proclaimed one of them a winner.

  She silently loaded her cart with fifty-pound bags of rice, dried beans, coffee, and dog food while considering her choice in career. This wasn't what she thought she was going to do when growing up, but really she had stopped thinking about having a life when she was sixteen.

  True, she had always loved making videos, but it had never occurred to her that she could make money doing it. She had graduated from high school without a plan, vaguely thinking she'd do something like join the Pittsburgh Police force or Fire Department or open a daycare. She lucked into the job at WQED and collided with Hal.

  He'd pitched Pittsburgh Backyard and Garden to Dmitri as a remake of his hit lawn makeover show on a shoestring budget. In truth, though, it had been Hal's way to flee an avalanche of failure on Earth. The early episodes were boring, mundane and ultimately of no use to anyone. Hal zombie-walked through the episodes, sliding toward alcoholism. Jane had been assigned to be Hal's "production assistant" but what she'd really been hired to do was head off his self-destructive tendencies brought on by boredom.

  Jane saw the need for change in the show – for Pittsburgh's sake and Hal's. Together they shifted it toward addressing the dangerous species of flora and fauna that crept into people's homes. It was important work. They saved lives at the risk of their own.

  Of course they'd had to steamroll over their producer to do it. An imported New York City talent, the man just didn't understand Pittsburgh or how to stay in control of his minions. Her little brothers would have eaten him alive.

  After they chewed through two more imported producers, Dmitri had promoted her into the slot. That was four years ago – and all four years they'd been the top show of Pittsburgh.

  The checkout girl eyed the sawdust still clinging to Jane's blue jeans, the soot on her face, and the one lone leaf stuck in her braid. "Strangle vine, eh? They're bitches. Gave me nightmares as a kid. You know what Mr. Rogers says on PB&G?" She pulled a pair of pruning shears out of her back pocket. "Never go out unarmed."

  PB&G was the locals' affectionate way of referring to Pittsburgh Backyard and Garden. The station ran with the nickname and changed their logo to look like a PB&J sandwich. The line was actually Jane's favorite saying that Hal stole for the show. It reflected what growing up in Pittsburgh had taught her. None of the New York imports had ever been able to wrap their brains around that. They used to mock her – quietly – for always having a variety of weapons near at hand.

  No way she was going back to that.

  #

  WQED was one of the three channels still in Pittsburgh, one time proud home to Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, which made Hal's last name of Rogers faintly ironic. Originally part of the PBS system, they lost their funding when the United Nations took control of the city, which was a bunch of bullshit as a great deal of the population considered themselves "Americans." However, since Pittsburgh was now under UN jurisdiction, the residents only paid city taxes, not state or federal. WQED currently was affiliated with NBC since the local NBC station had been wiped out in the first Shutdown. The other two local TV stations hadn't fared much better; all three stations were on equal footing. It was a lose-lose situation for the television viewers.

  As it was, the WQED studio in Oakland was nearly razed by the Rim as it cut its way through parallel universes. From space, the Rim looked like a perfect fifty-mile diameter circle punched through reality. At street level, the line wobbled oddly so you couldn't actually use map and compass to plot its course. She wasn't sure if it was because the orbital gate shifted over time or if the Rim varied in thickness at different points. Whatever the reason, WQED no longer sat deep within the confines of city, but at the edge of the mile wide field that was alternately used as a pasture, fairgr
ounds, or airfield for the big living airships. One of the massive creatures currently floated above the grass, announcing that the Viceroy was in town.

  "No damage today." She told the studio's motor pool mechanic Juergen Affenzeller as he came out to greet her in the parking lot. She backed the production truck into its assigned space.

  "Hey Jane!" Juergen leaned in the passenger side to pat Chesty. Since he'd been introduced as a friend to the elfhound, he didn't get his face ripped off. "Saw the show. That was epic."

  "Really?" He couldn't have seen today filming but last week's show had been fairly tame for them. They tackled Earth's common poison ivy, oak, and sumac and Elfhome's death crown and bloodied lace, which were both deadly in a very sedate way.

  "It was totally awesome! Yoyo Hal!" Juergen bounced up and down as an upright version of Hal falling repeatedly out of the tall wind oak only to be recaught and dragged upwards because he insisted on doing commentary in calm even tones. "It's important to note that a strangle vine can have as many as thirty-seven snare vines. Gak! You need to strike the base of the plant, its nerve center, to kill the strangle vine. Fuck! Never tackle one of these alone. Jane!"

  She stared at Juergen in dismay. He'd seen all that? Live? Unedited? With all the embarrassing parts still intact? How?

  The mechanic continued to act today's filming. "And you. Rawr!" He mimed the chainsaw. "That rocked! And then Brian! 'Don't try this at home, hire a professional pest control contractor.'" Brian was Brian Scroggins, Pittsburgh Fire Marshal and accidental guest co-host on a regular basis. "Just epic." She fled the embarrassing recount, ignoring the belated, "So how is Hal?"

  Dmitri was in the break room, stealing all the coffee. Jane would have avoided him otherwise.

  "I need some of that." She leaned against the doorway, waiting for the coffee and the questions.

  He started a new pot of coffee brewing. "So?"

  It was his way of asking all possible questions at once.

  "The fire is out. Brian isn't going to press charges. Hal has a broken nose, a dislocated left hip, probably a mild concussion – once again that damn pith helmet saved him from anything serious -- and third degrees burns on his foot after his boot caught on fire. Nothing major but we're still out of production until his face heals."

  Dmitri picked up the insulated pitcher full of coffee and tilted his head in a "follow me" signal. "Oh, didn't know you could dislocate a hip."

  "It takes talent." Jane growled as she followed him through the studio. It would get her coffee faster.

  The office area was a kicked anthill of activity with people on the phone and gesturing at each other madly. Still as Jane passed, people would nod and sometimes cover their headsets to murmur "Great job, Jane" or "Great show, Jane."

  "What? Was everyone in production with you?" She clung to anger to tamp down on the hot blush of embarrassment burning at her collar line, trying to climb higher. She hated it when she ended up on camera. It meant she lost control of Hal, which was quickly followed by nearly losing Hal.

  Dmitri snatched up the morning Post-Gazette and waved it toward her. "Princess Tinker came home last night with the Viceroy."

  "I saw his gossamer out on the fair ground."

  "Well, she just tore the living hell out of Perrysville North, beyond the rim."

  "She what?"

  "She strong-armed the EIA into providing bulldozers and dump trucks and started to build something."

  "And we don't know what?"

  "We sent Mark's crew out to the building site to see what they could find out." Mark Webster was WQED's reporter most fluent in Elvish. "The elves have not a clue; they're just blindly following orders. Apparently asking questions never occurs to them. One of humans Mark interviewed claimed that they were building windmills out of pickup trucks. Ford F-250s. Another claimed that they're building some kind of super computer running on magic. A third said that Tinker kept saying it was something that sounded like 'infrastructure' but he's not sure he was hearing her correctly."

  "So, we still don't know."

  "We were reviewing the video, trying to guess." Which meant everyone was in production with him and had seen the live feed from her camera. Juergen was probably included because of the windmill/pickup truck angle. The entire office had seen her rescue Hal with the chainsaw.

  Jane cursed slightly as the hot burn threatened to climb higher.

  "You did a good job, Jane." Dmitri flung the newspaper onto another desk as they passed. "Tinker invented hoverbikes that use magic to fly when she was twelve..."

  "Thirteen," someone corrected him.

  "Twelve! Thirteen! Who cares? The point is that she's a little mad scientist and the Viceroy just gave her complete control of the city because he's in love."

  Dmitri opened the door and gestured that she was to go in. He'd successfully distracted her enough that she'd forgotten about the "network surprise" until she was five steps into the office. There were two strangers sitting on his leather couch. Empty cups waited on the coffee table, explaining why he'd stolen all the coffee from the break room.

  "I found the coffee, and your new producer." Dmitri shut the door firmly behind him.

  "What?" Jane whispered fiercely. She had assumed that the "network surprise" was in the way of a memo, warning of a film crew's arrival during the following Shutdown. She didn't think that they were already in Pittsburgh.

  The two network men were polar opposites. One was a middle-aged Peter Pan, a schoolboy that never grew up, fair-haired, wiry build, and all grins. The other was a brooding wild man of dark hair beefcake. Host and cameraman, probably in that order.

  "This is Nigel Reid and -- Taggart." Dmitri frowned as he realized that he didn't have a first name to stick on wild man. "They arrived late last night during Shutdown. Apparently they had visa problems at the border and were delayed. Almost didn't make it."

  "Came across just before midnight, minutes to spare, like Cinderella." Nigel had a slight Scottish burr to his baritone voice. He beamed with the charisma that the camera loved but was pure hell to contain. People like him were sure that if they could just talk long enough, they could persuade anyone into anything. And, normally, they were right.

  "Apparently our news stories to the network preempted their attention as we didn't hear about your arrival until this morning." Dmitri found a stray cup, inspected it to see if it was clean, and then poured coffee for Jane.

  Taggart was obviously the behind the camera guy, from his unkempt black mane to heavy five o'clock shadow. His black muscle shirt, worn blue jeans and hiking boots indicated he expected to hit Pittsburgh running and be out filming shortly after arrival yesterday, not holding down a chair in an office today. "We were warned that last Shutdown the Viceroy had been attacked and was missing and that we might be walking into a war zone."

  Jane snorted at the ancient news.

  "It's complicated," Dmitri temporized. "Things are a lot more edgy here but so far, we're not at war with the elves, and we want to keep it that way." He indicated the spare guest chair, meaning he wanted Jane to sit. "This is Jane Kryskill, the producer of our top show, Pittsburgh Backyard and Garden."

  "Backyard and garden?" Taggart leaned back, body language full of defensiveness that made lie to the vague query in his voice. Hopefully he didn't play poker with that many tells. "Nigel and I do award-winning nature documentaries all over the world. We've been a team for six years. I'd rather not add a third wheel to our machine."

  Jane started to protest that the most dangerous places on Earth wouldn't prepare a crew for Elfhome and then caught herself. If they turned her down, she was free. She spread her hands in a "what can I say" motion to Dmitri. "I'd be a third wheel."

  Dmitri gave her a stern look. "They're yours, keep them out of trouble."

  "Excuse me," Taggart started. "I thought I made it clear…"

  "No, let me make it clear. You're going to be driving around with a great big truck that says you are our responsibility. The e
lves might not speak English but that NBC logo is fairly universal. If you screw up, every human in this building becomes a target. You've been dumped in my lap without any warning, so you will play by my rules, or so help me god, I'll have the EIA lock you up until the next Shutdown and boot you back to Earth with no chance for a visa approved ever again, understand?"

  "I say, I don't think there's any need to…" Nigel started to bring his charisma to bear.

  Dmitri stabbed a finger at him. "Shut up! The only thing I want to hear from you is 'yes, sir' and 'thank you, sir.' From now on, Jane is not just your producer, she is your god. You will not go anywhere or do anything without her knowledge and you will do what she tells you to. If you even try to fight with me over this, I will have you locked up until you realize that this is Pittsburgh, and you can't do anything you damn well please."

  There was a knock at the door and Michelle Baker leaned in. "Jane, Hal is – calling you." When Jane started to take out her phone, Michelle shook her head. "He's got your camera and he's broadcasting live."

  "Oh shit!" Jane leapt to her feet.

  "Jane!" Dmitri snapped to keep her from bolting. "They're yours." He pointed at the two men. "Keep them out of trouble."

  She cursed and went. Maddeningly, they followed. At least Nigel had the intelligence to wait until they were in the hall to ask in a very quiet voice, "Would he really have us locked up?"

  "In a heartbeat." Jane said. She considered telling them about what had happened to the last person who hadn't taken Dmitri seriously. Then she realized that if they were locked up, they'd no longer be her responsibility.

  #

  Hal's mark of bruises had darkened to solid black purple from ear to ear. They hadn't cleaned the sap out of his fine blonde hair, thus it stood up in wild spikes. He looked totally demented, making a great first impression on the two New Yorkers.

  "What the hell, Hal!" Jane cried over the link. "How did you get my camera?"

  "I told Johnnie Be Good the code to the truck's locker."

  Johnnie Be Good was the slimeball of an EMT who had responded to the 911 call. She didn't trust him near her drinks at parties and she didn't trust him not to be stealing things off her truck.