A very small man with a very small face in a very large head approached them riding in a silent and ugly little cart with invisible wheels.
"The unconscionable and tricksy person you see before you," whispered the princess, "is that very wicked magician who snatched me from the City of Peace."
Sir Bradwen bowed as he would have at Arthur's court. "Perhaps we meet as antagonists," he said politely, "yet I would much prefer to count among my friends a man so learned in all the ways of the Unseen World. You placed the lovely and royal lady at my side atop this mountain—"
"To find us a man of the Dark Ages who showed a glimmer of intelligence," the very small man in the cart replied. "She's done it, too, as I knew she would." He simpered, and seemed to be on the verge of laughter. "my name's 12BFW-CY-, by the way, and I come from the remote future."
The knight bowed deeper still. "Sir Bradwen of the Forest Tower am I, and in larger sense of glorious Camelot. In a sense larger still, of Albion, the White Isle."
"This inconsiderable person," the princess said, "is called by the unattractive name of Apple Blossom. She has been torn, as may be known, from the Land of the Black-haired people, Kingdom of Ch'in, a country well governed by the most illustrious person whose light dazzles these inferior eyes, her father, here styled King of Far-Off Cathay."
12BFW-CY-’s smile broadened, becoming almost as wide as both the princess’s thumbs. "You wish to return home, I'm sure. This knight has won you, though. He probably won't agree to it."
"On the contrary," Sir Bradwen declared, "if this lovely lady can be returned to her parents in safety, I could wish for no happier outcome. I declare her—" His voice wavered, and he paused to clear his throat. "I declare her free to go at once, and may God speed her on her way."
At this, the princess clung more tightly than ever. "This wr-wretched person, the m-m-most m-miserable of w-women, w-would — w-w-would…" She burst into tears.
With his free hand, Sir Bradwen patted her shoulder. "There, there. Do not weep, Your Highness. You will be in the arms of your royal mother almost before you know it. Do you have sisters?"
"She has five hundred and twenty-six," 12BFW-CY- put in somewhat dryly. "And six hundred and ten brothers. It was because she came of such an extensive family that we selected her — the removal of one very minor princess from so large a group is unlikely to result in historical—"
"I w-want to st-st-stay here!" wailed the unfortunate princess. "I w-w-want to be inyour arms!"
Sir Bradwen's heart bounded like a stag. "Then you shall! As long as my hand can grasp a sword, no one shall take you from me. By good Saint Joseph I swear it! By the Holy Family! By my honor and my mother’s grave!"
"Certainly not me," 12BFW-CY- remarked dryly. "I don’t want her. As for your sword—" He tittered. "I am about to give you a more effectual weapon."
Sir Bradwen's eyebrows went up. "Do you mean a magic bow? An enchanted lance? Something of that kind?"
12BFW-CY- tittered again. "Precisely. It will enable you to overcome the most powerful opponent without fighting him at all. A little background must be filled in first, I think. If you'll indulge me.
"Hem, hem! My companions — vile and selfish creatures with whom you would not wish to speak — and I represent a sizable fraction of humanity in the year thirty-two thousand three hundred and eleven. in another generation or two the human gene pool will be too small to support a viable race, even with all that genetic engineering can do for us, and humanity will be irrevocably doomed. Finished. Ended. Headed to be shredded, eh?"
"This fribbling person weeps," declared the princess with feeling.
To which Sir Bradwen added, "I'm not sure I understood everything you said, the bit about the magic pool especially, but it sounded very bad. If my sword can be of service to you, you need but ask."
"Oh, we don't mind." 12BFW-CY- waved an airy hand. "We don't mind at all. In a way we rather enjoy it. Our race has always been a filthy mess you know, and we feel it's high time we gave the daisies a turn at the hupcontroller. Now I'll show you. Don't be afraid."
Sir Bradwen was sorely tempted, but said nothing.
"Here's what we've come up with, and very clever of us too, if I may say it. Of me, especially, which is why I get to talk to you two."
It was a short staff with a bulging, lusterless crystal at one end.
"I won't point it at you," 12BFW-CY- continued, "and if I did, I wouldn't turn it on. That would be too dangerous for you. But you may point it at other people, you see. It's thought-controlled, of course, just like my car. Point it, think of it working, and you'll see a crimson flash, very short."
Sir Bradwen nodded slowly.
"Suppose an enemy knight comes into view. He doesn't have to attack you. If you can see him, that's plenty. You merely have to point my paciforcer at him, and think of him being paciforced. He will be incapable of any violence whatsoever, from that moment on."
Softly and involuntarily, the princess moaned.
"Yes! Yes, yes!" 12BFW-CY- paused to clear his throat. But there's — hem, hem! — more. The same holds true for his descendants. Or at least for any conceived after ten days or so. No violence. None! Can't kill a chicken or bait a hook. And their own children will inherit the, er, tendency. If they have any. You appear troubled."
"I am," Sir Bradwen conceded. "You see, Sir Magician, many of my foes are Arthur’s rebellious subjects. It is my task to return them to their loyalty, whether by killing them or by other means. With this…?"
"Paciforcer."
"With this paciforcer they will be of no use to Arthur even if they renounce their rebellion. Knights and nobles who will not smite the heathen have no value."
"Why worry?" 12BFW-CY- smiled. "In such cases you need not use it. But against the — ah?"
"Heathen."
"Heathen themselves… Eh? Eh?"
"I hesitate—" Sir Bradwen began.
"Do not." 12BFW-CY- held out the paciforcer, and edging his cart nearer actually forced it into Sir Bradwen’s hand. "I must warn you that should you decline, this toothsome lady will be restored to her family. I shall be compelled to use the paciforcer myself. On both of you."
Sir Bradwen bowed. "In that case I accept. No price is too great."
"Good. Good!"
Sir Bradwen’s hand closed about the paciforcer.
And 12BFW-CY- released it with a sigh. "An infinity of pain and suffering is thus wiped away. Human history will be infinitely more peaceful. Shorter, of course. Much shorter. But delightfully peaceful. My own generation will never have been." For a moment he appeared radiantly happy. "We will have the oblivion we crave. Guard my paciforcer well. If it is not subjected to abuse, it will endure and continue to function for a thousand years."
"You may trust me," Sir Bradwen declared, "to do the right thing."
"Then go."
12BFW-CY- pointed down a long aisle between towering devices of sorcery, and suddenly Sir Bradwen beheld an opening at its termination and sunlight beyond the opening.
"Blessings are without meaning," 12BPW-CY- murmured, "and yet, and yet…"
"Farewell!" Sir Bradwen told him, and flourished the paciforcer.
The princess bowed until her hair swept the floor. "This submissive person makes haste to remove her loathsome self from your august presence. Ten thousand blessings!"
***
No sooner had she and Sir Bradwen left the glass hill than its opening shut behind them. A pleasant walk of a quarter mile (over much of which he carried her) brought them to the old peasant and his helpers. Sir Bradwen gave each of them a full day's pay, though they had labored for less than half that.
That done, he lifted the princess into his great war-saddle and mounted behind her; and together they rode away until they reached the path beside the River Sart. There he took the paciforcer from his belt and flung it into the water.
And the two of them rode on, upon a great white charger who felt and shared their joy, the princess s
inging and Sir Bradwen whistling.
Castaway, by Gene Wolfe
We picked him up on some dead world nobody ever goes to. We did it because we had a field problem that required a lot of tests, and that stuff is easier if you can just dodge in and out of the ship without worrying about the airlocks and how much air you're dumping every time you go outside. Bad as this place was, you could breathe—the air turned out to be real good, in fact—so we set down in a warm belt around the middle.
Warm's one of those words, you know? It was still cold enough for hightherms, and even with hightherms I blew on my fingers a lot. The sun was red and real close, but there didn't seem to be a lot of heat in it.
Anyway, he had been there twenty-seven years, he said, and I said, standard years or world years, and he said, they were so close it didn't make any difference. World years were half an hour shorter now, he said, and I should've asked why now—had they been longer a while back? Only I didn't think of it right then.
"We got hit by the Atrothers," he said; so it had been back during the war all right, back before I was born. "We tried to get home, but we could see we couldn't make it. This place was close, and we landed here."
We're not there anymore, I told him, we took off. Well, that shut him up for the rest of the week. So next time I tried not to say things like that. I know they had him up to Debriefing three times. So you know they never got much out of him, didn't get what they wanted, or they wouldn't have talked to him so much. Somebody said his mind was blown, and I guess that was sort of right.
Only he used to open up to me sometimes in the break area, and that's what I want to tell about. Then maybe I can stop thinking about him.
"There were only three of us," he said, "and Obert died the first year and Yarmouth the second year. I thought we were dying off one by one, and I'd go next year if nobody came. But I didn't. We'd hung up the distress buoy. It didn't do a bit of good, but I stayed tough."
He looked at me then like I wanted to argue. I just said, sure.
"The rations ran out," he said. "I had to eat whatever I could find. There's still a few plants. They're not good, but you can eat them if you boil them long enough and keep changing the water."
I said you were there all alone, huh? It must've been double duty.
Of course that shut him up again, but next day he came in about ten minutes after I got off shift. He sat down right where he'd sat before. All the tables are white and so are the chairs, so it doesn't make any difference where you sit, it's all the same. Only he knew somehow, and that's where he sat. I carried my caff over and sat down across from him and waited.
About ten minutes after that he said, "There was a woman. A woman was there with me. I wasn't alone. No. Not really. Not with her there."
I said you should have told us. We'd have taken her off, too.
He just shook his head.
Later he said it was too late for her. "She's old," he said. "Old and ugly, and she can't think any more. She tries to think of new things, but nothing comes. Nothing works now, and sometimes she can't think at all. She told me. You've got a good medpod. That's what they say."
I guess I nodded.
"I've been spending a lot of time in there. Maybe it's helping. I don't know. But it wouldn't help her."
Then he reached over and grabbed my wrist—his hand was like a vise. "We could have saved her. Earlier. We could have made her young again. We could have taken her away. We could have done it. Nothing stopping us."
Next day he wouldn't talk at all, or the day after that either. I guess I should have just let him alone, but I was sick of talking to the other guys in the crew. I'd been talking to them ever since I signed on, and I knew what they were going to say and the games they wanted to play and what all their jokes were.
So I tried to figure out a way to get him going again. Everybody likes to brag, right? Especially when you can't check up on them. The next time he was in the break room, I sat down next to him and said tell me some more about this woman that was dirtside with you. I guess you got plenty, huh?
He just looked at me for maybe two minutes. I knew he was talking in his head. He'd been alone for so long. I ran into a guy once who had tended a navigation beacon way out on the Rim for ten years. You do that, and the severance pay's a fortune. Go in at thirty—you've got to be at least thirty—and come out at forty, rich for life. What they don't tell you is that most of them go crazy. Anyway, he said you get to talking to yourself. When they finally pull you out, you try to stop and you don't talk to anybody, just in your head. You haven't talked to anybody for so long that talking out loud is the same as talking to yourself, as far as you're concerned.
Finally he said, "She was old. Terribly old and dying. I thought I told you."
I said, yeah, I guess you did.
"Millions and millions of years old, and used to think she'd never die. But it was all over for her, and she knew it. We never wanted to help her. We never wanted to save her, and now we couldn't if we wanted to. It's too late. Too late …"
After that he started to cry. I listened to it and sort of tapped his shoulder and talked to him for as long as it took to finish my caff. But he didn't say anything else that day.
The next day he sort of motioned to me to come over and sit with him. He'd never done that before. So I did.
"She could make pictures in your head." He was whispering. "Show you things. Did I tell you about that?"
He never had, and I said so.
"They're trying to make me forget the leaves. Billions and billions of leaves, all sizes and shapes and shades of green, and the rising sun turning them gold. Sometimes the bottom was a different color, and when the wind blew the whole tree would change."
I wanted to ask what a tree was, but I figured I could just look it up and kept quiet.
"She used to show me birds, too. Wonderful birds. Some that could sleep while they flew. Some that sang and flew at the same time. All kinds of colors and all kinds of shapes. You know what a bird is?"
Naturally I said I didn't.
"It's a kind of flying animal. Some of them made music. A lot of the little ones did. Singing, you know, only they sounded more like flutes. It was beautiful!"
I said, did they know "Going to Bunk with You Tonight," because that's my favorite song. He said they didn't play our music, they played their own, and he sang some of it for me, looking like he was going to kiss somebody. I didn't like it much, but I pretended I did. I wanted to know how she had showed him all this and made him hear it, because I think it would be really nice if I could do that, and useful, too. He said he didn't know, and after that he was pretty quiet ‘til I'd finished my caff.
Then he said, "You know how a man puts part of himself into a woman?"
I said sure.
"It's like that, only in the brain. She puts part of herself into your brain."
Naturally I laughed, and I said was it as good for you as it was for her, and did you feel the ship jump?
And he said, "It wasn't good for her at all, but it was wonderful for me, even the time I watched the last bird die."
There was a lot of other stuff, too, some of it happy and some really, really sad. I will remember it, but I don't think you would want to hear about all of it. Finally he told me how sick she had been, and how he had sat beside her night after night. He would pick up her hand and hold it, and try to think of something he could say that would make her feel better, only he could never think of anything and every time he tried it was just so dumb he made himself shut up. He would hold her hand, like I said up there, and sort of stroke it, and after a while it would melt away and he would have to look for it and pick it up all over. I didn't understand that at all. I still don't.
But finally he thought of something he could say that didn't make him feel worse, and he thought maybe it had even made her feel better, a little. He said, "I love you." It seemed like it worked, he said, and so he said it again and again.
And that is al
l I remember about him except for when we set down and he left the ship. Only I want to say this. I know he was crazy, and if you read this and want to tell me I was crazy too to hang out with him in the break area like I did for so long, that's all right. I knew he was crazy, but he was somebody new and it was kind of fun to pull it out of him like I did and see what he would say.
Besides, he was a lot older than I am and his face had all these lines because of being down there so long and practically starving, so he was fun to look at, and the other thing was the color. The ship is all white, the walls and ceilings and floor and everything else. That makes it easy to spot fluid leaks and sometimes shorts that start little fires someplace. But all that white and the white uniforms and so on seem like they just suck the color out of everything except blood.
Only it never sucked the color out of him, and that made him special to me. Nice to look at, and fun, too. I remember seeing him walking along Corridor A the last time. He was headed for the lock and going out, and I knew it from the old, old dress blues and the little bag in his hand. And I thought, oh shit, that's the last color we had and now he's going and this really licks.
And it did, too.
So I ran and said goodbye and how much I was going to miss him and called him Mate and all that. You know. And he was nice and we talked a little bit more, just standing there in Corridor A.
Of course I put my elbow in it, the way I always did sooner or later. I said about the woman that had been dirtside with him, was she still alive when we took him off, because he'd said how sick she was, and I thought he wouldn't go off and leave her.
He sort of smiled. I never had seen a smile like that before, and I don't ever want to see another one. "She was and she wasn't," he said. "There were things inside her, eating the corpse. Does that count?"
I said no, of course not, for it to count they would have to have been part of her.
"They were," he said, and that was the real end of it.
Anthology of Speculative Fiction, Volume One Page 408