by Lisa Mangum
Pris considered this carefully. “You say it at the Dunkin’ Donuts down the street and they give you a free squirt of jelly filling into any pastry you want. It’s like asking for your fries ‘animal style’ at In-N-Out.”
Lem jerked a thumb behind him. “The Dunkin’ down by Union Square? Or the one over on Cobble Hill?”
“Forgot about those. I was thinking of the one on Broadway. But obviously the correct answer is all of the above.”
“Nice,” said Lem. “I was thinking of something with a bit more intrigue and danger, but your idea sounds pretty delicious. Mmm … In fact, all I can think about now are jelly-filled bagels.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his stomach sensuously, which earned him a laugh from her. It was a great big snorty braying laugh, like a drunk donkey being tickled to death. She blushed ferociously and pulled her scarf over her mouth, trying to keep it in. But it was absolute music to his ears.
Then he got an idea.
“Hey,” he said, as she got a grip on her laughter, “we should go there some time and try it.”
Her forehead wrinkled with an unspoken question.
“Dunkin’,” he said. “Ask for the purple unicorn. See if it works.” He shrugged, striving with desperate intensity to look nonchalant. “And if not, maybe … we … have coffee.”
She pulled her scarf back down and lowered her hands, staring at him with those impossibly big anime eyes of hers. He very much wanted her to say something. Even no. But she said nothing.
Lem adjusted his glasses. “Or not. You know, whatever.”
She nodded. “Hey, you said you had a more dangerous idea.”
“Yeah, no. It was stupid.”
“Come on,” Pris said, leaning forward. “Spill. Dangerous like international espionage, or like underground cockfighting?”
Lem took a deep breath. “Okay. So, there’s something weird I’ve noticed in this town. Every time they’re doing work under the street, like any time you see a manhole cover off, there’s always a cop there. You noticed this?”
Pris narrowed her eyes. “Not really.”
“Trust me. Now that you know about this, you’ll see it every time. And why do you think they always have a cop there?”
“Union regulations, city ordinance, I don’t know.” Pris shrugged. “Either way, it’s cushy duty for the police. Nothing for them to do but stand around drinking coffee.”
“So it would seem,” Lem said.
“But things are not as they seem,” Pris said, in a conspiratorial stage whisper.
“Indeed. A secret menace lurks under the streets of Boston. What was it that delayed the completion of the Big Dig? Simple corruption? No. Hideous mutants, the products of radiological experiments, with a taste for human flesh.”
“And this radiation,” Pris said, “has it left their skin discolored? The ugly purple of an old bruise, perhaps?”
Lem nodded. “And they get calcium spurs growing out of their frontal lobes. Very distinctive. Hard to mistake for anything else. Which is why this all has to be kept so hush-hush. Even at the police station, only specially cleared personnel are cleared to know about the purple unicorns.”
“I love it,” said Pris.
Lem blushed. “Thanks.”
“Except,” Pris said, “that you’ve gone back to the plural, which led to my poor LARP group being disqualified.”
“Right.”
“Fun while it lasted, though.” She stood up. “All of this, I mean. Thanks for helping me pass the time. That’s my bus at the stoplight over there.”
“Oh, okay,” said Lem. He moved out of the way so she could slip past him. “It was nice talking to you.” It had been. Despite crashing and burning once or twice, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a conversation so much. “Guess I’ll see you around. Maybe someday we’ll even get to the bottom of this mystery.” He inclined his head to the graffiti.
Pris tucked away her tablet. “Maybe.”
Lem nodded blankly. His mind raced. Optimism and pessimism held a brief but passionate debate on the topic of whether or not this meant he had chased her away forever by boring her with a bunch of nerd talk. She hadn’t said yes to coffee, but she hadn’t said no, either. And now that they had been introduced, the next time they saw each other it would be easier to talk. Once they got to know each other a little better, he could try again—if she ever came back.
“Huh,” he said.
The light changed, and her bus pulled through the intersection and stopped at the curb where Pris stood. With a hiss and a groan, the doors opened, and Pris reached up to take hold of the handles on either side.
Abruptly, she turned to him. “So what do you think it is, really?” Her immense, violet eyes were surprisingly intent. “Distant nebula, Wi-Fi password, mysterious vigilante? Cryptic line from a Nostradamus prophecy?”
Lem nodded. “Pirate ship, designer drug, Internet meme, the world’s largest uncut amethyst.” He shrugged. “Why limit ourselves? In the best of all possible worlds, they’re all true.”
Pris tilted her head and parted her lips slightly, before being interrupted by a blast from the bus’s horn.
“Hey!” cried the driver, a heavyset African-American woman. “You getting on?”
Pris whipped her head around and shouted, “Give me a second, all right?” Then she turned back to Lem. “Listen, I’m going out of town for a while. But next Friday you want to meet me at the Dunkin’ on Broadway about quarter to nine?”
“Yeah!”
The bus driver honked again. “On or off!”
“Fine!” Pris pulled herself up and into the bus, throwing Lem one last smile over her shoulder as the doors closed.
With a conscious effort, he succeeded in keeping himself from running after the bus or even waving, and instead merely watched it drive down Washington with a huge, goofy grin plastered all over his face.
* * *
“Sorry, Jules,” Pris said, standing directly behind the white line painted on the floor of the bus.
“I been young,” said the bus driver, her eyes remaining on the road ahead. “And they ain’t nobody else on the bus anyway.”
“Slow day, I guess.”
“Mm-hm.”
The bus stopped in Union Square, but Jules didn’t open the doors. A South Asian man in a long coat called for her to open up, but Jules merely pointed to the marquee on the front of the bus: Out of Service. The man pointed at Pris and demanded that the doors open, but both women studiously ignored him.
“You like him?” Jules asked, as the light changed.
Pris shrugged. “He’s kind of sweet.” She wasn’t sure she had the patience for him to develop a little self-awareness, gain a little confidence. But he was cute, and bright, and almost charming—in an awkward, earnest sort of way. “Might be worth a coffee.”
“Well, he sure likes you,” Jules said. She turned her head slightly and raised one eyebrow. “Any potential there?”
Pris sighed. “I don’t know. I hope so. I’m tired of always having to wonder if a guy will be cool with it.”
Jules reached a hand over to give Pris a little squeeze. “Well, try not to break his heart.”
“Oh, that’s your job.”
The older woman cackled with laughter. “You got that right.”
They crossed Beacon and continued past Harvard without picking up any other passengers. As they turned down Cambridge Street and approached the underpass, the bus began to vibrate.
“Here we go,” said Jules. She shifted the gearstick into the final position, and the lines of the buildings around them began to blur. With a flash of red light, the bus grew translucent. Outside the bus was formless blackness, lit only by the aura of the bus itself, now glowing orange.
As the light shifted to yellow, the bus appeared to Pris to balloon outward. Its roof and sides swelled and rose upwards, becoming the vast envelope of a dirigible. The floor of the bus became the wooden deck of the airship’s gon
dola.
Pris reached down for the deck with arms that were growing longer, fingers that were fusing together into hooves. She tossed her mane as the green light shifted to blue, feeling her horn stretch out to its full and glorious length. No longer chained to human form, she exulted in once again being a purple unicorn.
“End of the line,” said Jules, now an enormous robotic beetle, steering the wheel of the airship with two of her six gleaming limbs. Her iridescent metal carapace reflected the light of the warp bubble as it passed from indigo to violet. “We are arriving at the Best of All Possible Worlds. Please watch your step as you disembark.”
***
Korgak’s Daily Schedule
Jeanette Gonzalez
Korgak the Orc, Head Guard for the Tower Gaols, second only to Grugrak the Fierce, kicked the rusty bucket with his boot. Putrid contents slopped into the gutter. Korgak spat a lugie at the stone wall, where it dribbled a shiny trail through moss and lichen. He fished a rough-hewn pencil from his pocket, meticulously added a check mark to Empty dungeon toilets.
On his way to the kitchens, he missed almost every rat with his carefully aimed boot. He’d already gathered the prisoners’ food and water bowls that morning and checked that task from his list. Now he rinsed the bowls under scalding water, winced with each burn, and dumped them on the table. He filled the bowls, then rifled for his list and checked off Fill bowls with fresh food and water.
“Stupid prisoners,” he grumbled at the bowls. “Stupid Grugrak the Fierce.”
He cringed and looked over his shoulder. Complaining got orcs beheaded.
Feeling particularly rebellious, he withdrew his list, hunched over the table and very carefully wrote in his very best handwriting, face screwed up and biting the tip of his tongue, Piss in food bowls.
Korgak chuckled to himself as he slid the bowls into the prisoners’ dank cells. He liked the way they eyed their bowls and made retching noises.
Back in the kitchens, Korgak cleaned the big orange bowl—the favored bowl of Grugrak the Fierce. Korgak filled it to the brim with gruel, glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, then added a new line to his list and did his deed with another chuckle. He checked off Spit in Grugrak’s gruel.
His next task was the highlight of his day. He completed Torture the prisoners with smiles and out-of-tune whistling. But when he returned the prisoners to their cells, he was met with a surprise—a skinny knight with long blond hair. Puny Lokolok held the end of the prisoner’s chain.
“Found this outside skulking.” Lokolok jangled the chain and flashed his rotten teeth. “Stupid human. Too small and slow.”
“Get back outside,” Korgak spat.
Lokolok grumbled and turned away.
Korgak yanked the prisoner’s chain and did a double take. Prisoners never smiled. He gave the scrawny knight a suspicious glare as he stomped down to the end of the line, past all the broken knights who barely lifted their heads at the sight of him.
“Why you so scrawny?” Korgak asked as he shoved the newcomer into an empty cell and pulled the door shut with a clang. Knights never came pathetic. Months in the tower made them that way.
The newcomer raised a brow and cocked his head, hands on hips. “Are you really that daft? I heard orcs were stupid, but really.”
Korgak made a blustery noise. Knights usually struggled and fought, never insulted. He leaned closer to the bars, furrowing his brows and looking quite menacing. He was proud of this practiced glower. Broken knights squirmed beneath it. “You not be smiling when I torture you tomorrow.”
“You would torture a woman? A princess?”
Korgak snorted and stepped back. He’d never seen a human female. Frankly, they all looked the same to him. But now it made sense why he’d never seen one before. Females were small and weak. Why else would the village send only males in gleaming armor? The tower walls were slick as sewer slop, the rock hard as diamonds. Guards captured every knight who came in search of the secret entrance.
Korgak shrugged. “Make no difference to me. Sure you scream just the same.”
But the female would not be cowed. She stepped from the gloom. Torchlight sparkled in her soft hair and long lashes—ugly as a swan. The corner of her mouth turned up. “I seek vengeance on your purple unicorn.”
Korgak frowned, then burst into laughter. “You fight Krezul?” He doubled over with a painful belly laugh, then straightened and wiped his eyes. Tormenting weaker orcs had never been so funny.
“Your fire-breathing unicorn burned my kingdom. You filthy people are nothing without your beast to do your dirty work. Cowards, the lot of you.”
Korgak clenched his fists. In that moment he didn’t know which one he hated more: Grugrak the Fierce or this puny human female. He almost pulled out his list and added Prisoner has accident with gruel processor but managed to keep his fury in check. For now. Grugrak the Fierce liked to hear the prisoners scream. He’d not be happy to hear Korgak had killed one accidentally on purpose.
“Well, today’s your lucky day, then,” Korgak said with his most unpleasant smile. “You get your wish at four o’clock. Too bad you so slow.” He laughed all the way to the can.
After relieving himself, Korgak had to make his mandatory appearance in the great hall. All orcs were required to demonstrate their fealty to Grugrak the Fierce with lots of song and dancing at three o’clock every day.
“Stupid Grugrak,” Korgak muttered on the way out of the raucous hall. His thighs and throat burned. He checked off Dance and sing like fool for Grugrak.
Korgak dreamed of replacing Grugrak. Then he’d be able to play cards and drink all day. Have orcs dance and sing for him. Torture whenever the fancy struck him. He’d be the king’s favorite, instead of Grugrak the Fierce. But that would only happen if Grugrak displeased the king.
Well, at least Korgak could nurse his wounded pride with a little fun. His next task was almost as thrilling as torturing prisoners, and the final count was always a mystery, which really was the best part.
Korgak released the prisoners, one at a time, chained them together in a line, and marched them to the great wooden door at the end of a maze of tunnels. They begged for mercy. Korgak liked that. Only the scrawny female was quiet. Korgak hoped she’d be among those who failed to report at the end of their run.
Korgak gripped the thick metal ring, gave it a hard twist, and heaved the heavy door open. Wooden planks screeched on the floor. Korgak had never added Fix screeching door to his list because it was the best way to put Krezul in a foul mood.
Korgak unhooked the prisoners and shoved them through the opening, one at a time. All but one struggled—the female had tied her long hair in a knot on her head, and she had a grin to match the smuggest of Grugrak’s. Korgak slammed the door shut behind her.
The screams had already started.
Korgak checked off Exercise the prisoners and leaned on the door to wait, checking his watch from time to time.
As the end clicked closer, Korgak grew eager with anticipation. The prisoners were only too relieved when he finally opened the door and they spilled out in a steady trickle of smoke and pleasant smells of cooked hair and skin. None tried to escape. They never did. If they had the energy, they spent it putting out small fires in their clothes and beards.
Korgak forced them to their feet so they could be counted. He grinned when he reached the end of the line. Two missing. One male, one female. He checked off Entertain the unicorn.
“Stupid puny female. Too slow.” He almost did a jig, but didn’t want to risk appearing the fool in front of the prisoners.
He was about to close the door when one last knight came stumbling out of the unicorn’s den. As the smoke cleared, Korgak’s heart sank. The female had survived. He growled and adjusted his prisoner count, thinking again about adding Prisoner has accident with gruel processor to his list.
Korgak had just finished amending his list and tucking it away in a pocket when he noticed the wild grin o
n the female’s soot-covered face, the streaks of purple blood all over her armor.
Confused, he ducked his head into the unicorn’s den and rubbed his eyes, unable to believe what he saw. The great Krezul lay in a crumpled heap in the cavern, massive chest still and sword-pierced golden eye resting in a lake of viscous blood.
The female had slain a unicorn?!
He whirled on her, eyes wide. He opened his mouth dumbly.
How had the sword been missed? And how had a puny female managed to take down a unicorn? A unicorn that had burned a hundred villages and torched a thousand villagers?
As if reading his thoughts, the female said, “Retractable blade forged with Shadow Mountain magic. The only blade that could pierce unicorn flesh.” Magic now spent, the blade dissolved, and the pommel clattered to the cavern floor. “And I’m faster than I look.”
Korgak stared, stunned. Had the female wanted to be captured? And had Korgak fallen for her trap, even tossed her in with her quarry?
He couldn’t believe it. The humans had succeeded in reaching the most closely guarded unicorn in the land. A purple unicorn released only to torch villages, to keep the humans scared. Korgak didn’t care about politics. But he did care what the king would think.
The king would be most displeased, and Korgak knew who to blame.
He pulled his list from his pocket, a grin spreading across his face, and penciled in Get Grugrak beheaded, then checked it off. And since he was feeling especially generous given his upcoming promotion, he added One free pass to prisoners after promotion ceremony.
***
Dead Friends and New Horses
Sharon Dodge
I saw Macarty bobbing and weaving through the stable long before he saw me, and what I saw wasn’t comforting. Even from this distance, I could see he was scared, moving too fast and catching the attention of all the horses and half the groomsmen. It was the south block, so it wasn’t the busiest part of the stable, but a hundred horses is still plenty, especially with so many of them close to parturition.
The colony had six thousand members now, and it’s not like we had the plasmass available to print out transports left and right. The horses ate up the local green matter just like it was hay, and they were fine so long as you supplemented and you made sure not too many got eaten by the local creatures. A good breeding program and a dozen mares, and twenty years later you had a nice organic transportation module that worked for old-school plowing, too. Not that we did that anymore, really, but there was a time.