by Mike Resnick
Sahara del Rio and the Aliens
Sahara del Rio’s ship settled into orbit around Henry VII, and she ordered her computer to scan for life forms.
It had been a long time since she’d seen any military action, and in the past she’d usually been a spectator. When Earth was attacked by the Sett Empire, all aliens—Sett and non-Sett alike—had been rounded up and placed in camps until the brief battle was over.
In fact, she’d spent a lot of time in places she didn’t much like. Bigotry was outlawed within the Monarchy, but there were always “legal exceptions” and “extraordinary situations.” Like the fact that she couldn’t purchase a first-class spaceliner fare anywhere in the spiral arm. Or that she had to stay in the Alien Quarter on Spica II. Or that she was not allowed to dine in The Fatted Calf, Deluros VIII’s finest restaurant.
Oh, it wasn’t bigotry, she was assured. Take the spaceliner, for instance. The seats were created for humans, not humanoids such as herself. The company had received so many complaints that humanoid aliens found the seats uncomfortable that they no longer offered them to any race but Man, since they constantly had to refund the price of the ticket.
(“Does that mean if I’m uncomfortable in the economy class seats, I can get a refund?” she had asked. The ticket agent stifled a guffaw and explained why it was impossible.)
As for Spica II, the Governor had received numerous death threats. Since there were no human fingerprints on any of the missives, it was assumed that they came from an alien. And while no one in the government was a bigot, surely she understood the necessity of keeping all aliens under observation until they could capture the one who was causing all the trouble.
(“How long is this situation likely to last?” she asked as she was directed to the Alien Quarter. No one knew … but she finally got them to admit that it had already existed for 34 years with the end not yet in sight.)
The Fatted Calf’s maître d’ explained the menu was prepared for the human palate, and that it could cause serious digestive problems for aliens.
(“But I’ve lived on Earth for six years, and eaten human food the whole time,” she explained.)
(“I’ve no reason to doubt you,” answered the maître d’ smoothly, “but if we make an exception in your case, then we must admit every alien who is certain he can metabolize human food, and since most of them are not as truthful as you are, we could be legally liable.”)
She thought about these and other abuses, all the private insults and public humiliations, and deactivated her ship’s scanner. She’d been too long at The Outpost; she had forgotten what normal humans were like.
She took one last look at the scanner, saw that it had picked up alien life forms near the equator, shrugged, and instructed her navigational computer to lay in a course back to her home planet.
She’d lived among savages too long, and she was damned if she’d go to war on their behalf.
Catastrophe Baker and the Aliens
Catastrophe Baker, all six feet nine inches of him, walked boldly into the middle of the alien encampment on Henry III.
“My name’s Baker!” he bellowed. “Catastrophe Baker! And I’m here to settle the war by fighting your champion—winner take all!”
He was instantly surrounded by armed aliens. A hundred weapons were aimed at him. Finally one alien, wearing more medals and brighter insignia than any of the others, stepped forward.
“We have heard of Catastrophe Baker,” he said. “But how do we know you are that hero?”
“If I ain’t, your champion will beat me without working up a sweat,” answered Baker.
“True enough,” said the alien. “But we have already won the war, so your offer is meaningless.”
“You ain’t won nothing while I’m still standing,” said Baker.
“Blow his legs away,” said a feminine voice.
Baker turned and found himself facing a beautiful young woman.
“Now that’s a hell of a thing for a prisoner to suggest, ma’am,” he said. “Meaning no offense.”
“I’m not a prisoner.”
“Well, if push comes to shove, it’s an even worse thing for a turncoat to suggest.”
“I’m just a businesswoman. These people need weapons. I sell weapons. We fill mutual needs.” She stared at him. “What are you doing here all by yourself?”
“It goes with the heroing trade, ma’am,” said Baker. “I aim to take on their most fearsome fighter, wipe up the floor with him, and bring this unfortunate conflict to a close.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Ain’t nothing born, foaled, hatched or spawned has ever been able to make me holler Uncle. I don’t imagine these here alien scum got the exception.”
“Why should they fight you at all?” said the woman. “They’ve already defeated the Navy, and you’re here all by yourself. Why shouldn’t they just kill you and be done with it?”
He stared right back at her. “Are you sure you’re a woman and not just some alien look-alike?”
“I’m a woman.”
“You sure don’t sound like a member of the same race. You got a name, ma’am?”
“I’ve got lots of names,” she replied. “In my profession, it’s a necessity.”
“You got one you prefer to all the others?”
“Not really.”
“Then, since we’re on Henry III, I think I’ll call you Eleanor of Provence.”
“Isn’t that the name of the moon?”
“You’re every bit as round in the right places as the moon,” replied Baker.
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“I ain’t flattering you, ma’am,” said Baker. “You can’t help being beautiful any more than you can help being a deceitful, backstabbing, unscrupulous traitor to the human race. But at least you’re easy on the eyes.”
“You still haven’t answered the lady’s question, Catastrophe Baker,” said the alien commander. “Why shouldn’t we just shoot you down in cold blood?”
“Because you don’t want me to fall down.”
“Why not?”
Baker opened his tunic to reveal a number of explosives taped to his torso. “Because if I fall down, so will every alien and every structure within ten miles of me.”
“Then why should we have our champion face you?” asked the commander. “If he knocks you down, the effect will be the same as if we were to shoot you right now.”
“You give me your word of honor as an alien and an officer that you won’t shoot me and I’ll take the bombs off before the fight.”
“And if we refuse, what then?”
“I ain’t thought that far ahead,” admitted Baker. “A race that’s willing to take on our Navy don’t strike me as a bunch of cowards.”
“You have a remarkable way of expressing yourself,” said the alien. “Even when you are complimenting us, it sounds like an insult.”
“Have your champion make me apologize,” said Baker with a confident grin.
“You are much bigger than any of us. I don’t think it would be a fair fight.”
“Tell you what,” said Baker. “I ain’t twice as big as you. I’ll take on your two best at the same time.”
“It’s an interesting proposition,” said the alien commander. “But the stakes are unrealistic. I do not have the authority to call off the war—and when your Navy sends reinforcements, as I suspect it will, I very much doubt that you can get them to return to their base.”
“Okay, you got a point,” said Baker. “What stakes do you want to fight for?”
“We don’t need money and we don’t need weapons,” answered the alien. “And I have no idea what else you want. So why don’t you propose the stakes?”
“Okay,” agreed Baker, “I reckon I’d better, if we’re ever gonna get this thing up and running.” He looked around the area, and then his gaze came back to Eleanor of Provence. “Here’s my proposition. If I win, you
give me the woman.”
“What?” she demanded.
“Us humans got to stick together,” said Baker. He smiled and winked at her. “The closer the better.”
“That’s outrageous!”
“Fighting for outrageous stakes just naturally goes with being a hero.”
“Just a minute,” said the alien commander. “That’s what we give you if you win. What do you give us if we win?”
“I’ll fight the rest of the war on your side.”
“Isn’t that at odds with your stated beliefs?” asked the commander.
“Sure is,” answered Baker. “It’ll give me that much more incentive to win.”
“But if you do lose, you will place yourself under my command?”
“Right.” He shrugged. “It won’t be so terrible. I like fighting.”
“It’s a deal,” said the commander.
“Now wait a minute!” said Eleanor.
The alien turned to her. “I do not expect to lose this wager,” he said. “But even if I do, how can I turn down the proposition? If our champions lose, then, while I will miss your wit and charm and companionship, you are, after all, merely a salesperson of dubious loyalty who can be easily replaced. But if we win, we will secure the services of the famous Catastrophe Baker.” He turned to Baker. “How long will it take you to prepare?”
“As long as it takes me to unwrap these here bombs.”
“We shall be ready.”
Baker was watched carefully as he detached the explosives from his body and laid them gently on the ground. Then he looked around to see if his opponents had shown up yet.
They had. One was short and heavily-muscled, the other tall and lean, with the grace of a dancer.
“What are the ground rules?” asked the alien commander as the two champions approached Baker.
“What rules?” he responded. “This here is a freehand fight. Hitting, kicking, biting, and gouging are all legal. So are kidney punches—always assuming you got kidneys.”
“When is it over?”
“When only one of us is left standing.”
“I agree to your rules—or lack of them,” said the commander. His army moved closer, forming a circle about thirty feet in diameter around the three combatants. “Let the battle begin!”
The muscular alien charged Baker. He could have sidestepped, grabbed an arm, and twisted, but he was curious to see how he measured up to his opponent, so he planted his feet and took the charge against his chest and belly.
The alien bounced off.
Now the tall one approached cautiously, dancing on his toes like a boxer. Suddenly he launched a kick at Baker’s groin. Baker grabbed his foot before it landed, lifted it as high as he could, and twisted sharply. The alien flipped in the air and landed on his back with a heavy thud.
Baker grinned. “Come on!” he urged them. “Let me have your best shot!”
Both aliens charged him at once. He took two blows to the face and one to the neck, then swung a roundhouse at the taller, thinner alien and floored him. He felt a trickle of blood on his lip, licked it off, and turned to the muscular alien.
“You throw a pretty nice punch for a little feller,” he said. “Now let’s see how you take one.”
He stalked the alien around the circle, finally cut off his escape route, and connected with a mighty blow to the head. The alien dropped like a ton of bricks.
Just as Baker thought the fight was over, the taller alien leaped onto his back, biting his neck and digging his fingers into Baker’s eyes. Baker shook his massive head, sending the alien reeling away. Then he picked the graceful being up, held him over his head, spun around three times, and hurled him as far as he could. The alien flew totally beyond the circle of soldiers, hit the ground heavily, tried groggily to stand up, fell over, and lay still.
Baker turned to the alien commander. “They put up a good fight for a pair of alien heathen. Tell ’em when they wake up that they lasted about as long with me as anyone ever has.” He walked up to the woman and took her by the hand. “Come on, Queen Eleanor. Time for us to be going.”
As they began walking to his ship, the alien commander called out after him. “You have forgotten your explosives, Catastrophe Baker. We are an honorable race. We will allow you to take them with you.”
“You keep ’em,” said Baker over his shoulder.
“You are sure?”
“Yeah,” he said. “They got waterlogged back on Silverleaf II a couple of years ago, and haven’t been worth a damn ever since. You couldn’t blow ’em up with a detonator.”
Sitting Horse and Crazy Bull and the Aliens
“This is some ship, this flagship of yours!” said Sitting Horse, obviously impressed.
“Damned thing must be a mile long,” added Crazy Bull.
“It is the greatest dreadnaught ever constructed,” said the captain of the alien vessel.
“The humans don’t have a chance,” said Crazy Bull. “Not against this thing. What kind of armaments do you carry?”
“121 nuclear warheads, 77 pulse energy warheads, 16 laser cannons, and more than 300 torpedoes,” replied the captain proudly.
“You could probably win the war all by yourself,” said Sitting Horse.
“It’s quite possible,” agreed the captain.
“I knew we made the right decision,” continued Sitting Horse. “I took one look at this ship and told my friend here that we were fighting on the wrong side, that Men didn’t have anything that could stand up to this.”
“Besides,” said Crazy Bull with a note of contempt in his voice, “what did Men ever do for us?”
“You are just one of the many races that Men have subjugated,” said the captain. “I am surprised that you were willing to fight for them.”
“Willing is the wrong word,” said Crazy Bull. “We just didn’t see any way they could lose—and if you think Men are hard on races that submit to them, you ought to see what they do to races that try to stand against them.”
“That is why we are fighting this war of liberation,” said the captain.
“Oh?” said Sitting Horse. “I thought it was to conquer a few more star systems.”
“That is another reason,” acknowledged the captain calmly.
“And of course, it makes sense to attack Men out here at the edge of the Frontier, where all you had to defeat was a small, unprepared squadron of the Navy.”
The captain stared at them for a long moment. “Are you impugning our courage?” he demanded.
“Not at all,” said Sitting Horse. “We’re complimenting your strategy. Why take on the main body of Man’s Navy until you have to? You grow stronger every day, while their political and moral corruption makes them weaker every day.”
“I’ve never thought of it like that,” said the captain, “but, on reflection, it’s absolutely true.”
“Sure,” said Sitting Horse. “The day will come when you advance on Deluros VIII at the heart of the Monarchy and no one can stop you.”
“You have an exceptionally clear view of the situation,” said the captain. “I admire your way of looking at things.”
“We admire your way,” said Crazy Bull. “That’s why we chose to defect.”
“We are delighted to have two such intelligent beings join us.” The captain paused. “I will want you to address the crew later, to discuss the abuses you have suffered at the hands of Men.”
“It could take hours,” said Crazy Bull.
“Maybe days,” agreed Sitting Horse.
“Splendid!” exclaimed the captain. “We will excerpt your descriptions of the most humiliating abuses and transmit them to our home world, so that our people will know why we must conquer this vile and odious race.”
“We’ll be happy to participate,” said Sitting Horse. “After all, if it’s Man against the galaxy, as we have so often heard their leaders say, then it is only fitting that the galaxy unites against Man.”
“And if your race control
s a few hundred more worlds when the fighting is done, that’s a small price for the galaxy to pay for its freedom from oppression,” added Crazy Bull.
“Besides, you’ll have earned those worlds,” said Sitting Horse. “Whereas Man simply took them.”
“It is a subtle difference,” admitted the captain. “I am surprised that you can grasp it so quickly.”
“We’ve been trained by experts.”
The captain didn’t know quite how to respond to that statement, so he settled for summoning his steward and breaking open a bottle of his home planet’s most potent beverage. They spent the next hour toasting each other’s good health and swearing eternal friendship.
Then Sitting Horse stood up, swaying gently, and asked directions to the bathroom. When he returned it was Crazy Bull’s turn, and finally they signed their official requests for asylum.
“Excellent!” said the captain. “I’ll show you to your quarters now.”
“First we’ve got to get our gear off our own ship,” said Crazy Bull.
“You didn’t bring it with you?”
“We didn’t know what kind of welcome we would receive,” said Sitting Horse. “We might have decided you were no better than Men.”
“If you had refused to join us, I might have tortured you, or thrown you into the brig,” agreed the captain.
“Why?” asked Sitting Horse. “After all, we’re not the enemy. We’re just another poor, innocent, downtrodden race.”
“So how do we get back to our ship?” asked Crazy Bull.
The captain signaled for his steward again, and the steward showed them back to their own ship.
A moment later they were sitting at their controls, starting to break free of the huge alien flagship.
“Terrible tasting stuff, wasn’t it?” remarked Crazy Bull as they sped away.
“Give me human booze every time,” agreed Sitting Horse, adjusting the ship’s spin. “By the way, do you think there’s any chance he’ll find the bomb?”
“I doubt it,” said Crazy Bull. “You hid it pretty damned well. I mean, hell, it took me a couple of minutes to find it so I could activate the timer, and I knew it was there. Besides, what possible reason would he have for looking behind the toilet bowl?”