by Lisa Mangum
“Yesss. And … no.” He paused, seemed to think. “I am more me when we sspeak. I will soon be part of … greater. We will watch out for you. Wanted you … know. Not gone.”
“I guess that’s nice. Someone on this planet being on our side.” It was kind of nice, actually. Better than thinking he was just going to be fertilizer, or under the control of whatever the hell the sludge was. I could almost believe it, him saying it like that.
“May I sssee hergain?” he asked.
I nodded, and pulled out the unicorn for him to see. After a second’s thought, I managed to draw a live feed. You couldn’t see all of her properly, but he could see her in action at least. The nubbin, I saw, had grown ever so slightly. I held the flat back up to his eye, closer to him than I’d ever risked before.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, so quiet I almost couldn’t hear. “Please do not let them end her,” he said, each word gently drawn out. “If you bring … her, we will protect. We will bring her water, and not make her part of … usss.”
“I don’t think it’ll be up to me, Joe,” I said. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”
I paused a second, and then moved directly in front of his eye so he could see my face while I spoke. I didn’t flinch this time.
“This is it, right?” I said.
“Yess. I was only waiting for … you,” he said.
“You sure this is what you want?”
“Isss wanted,” he said.
I nodded. I tried to think of the right thing to say, to tell him he was the best friend I’d ever had and I didn’t want him to go, that these kids didn’t remember the things we did, that no one would understand me when he was gone, but it didn’t matter, because his eye imploded then, softly, the sludge shimmering gently over it to cover its crime.
“Oh, Joe, oh, man,” I said, my words panicked and high. “You’re sure, Joe? You’re sure?”
“Isssokay,” he said, the words barely comprehensible. “Goodfrien. Thank. You. Isss … beautiful.” And with that, his jaw collapsed inward, a soft de-molding of his bones that the sludge gently embraced. The whole wall started to shimmer—I’d never seen that before—and I watched it for a second before I turned and got the hell out of there, racing down the cliff as fast as I could, half blind with grief.
By the time I got back to my horse, I couldn’t see anything shimmering up on the cliff face, and I felt ashamed, but I also didn’t go back.
* * *
I went by Loua’s as soon as I was back, and told her, in a gentle, somewhat censored fashion, what I’d seen. She nodded briefly, calmly, and I was surprised to notice a little gray in her hair. It’d had been a hard year, I knew, but in my head she was still that pretty young thing that Joe had somehow won over. Was she nearing fifty? I couldn’t remember. I guess the years were catching up to all of us.
I didn’t ask her why she hadn’t told me he was waiting for me, though I wanted to. She looked too blank, lost. She didn’t even notice when I stopped talking finally. I guessed she was losing him all over again, too. I left after that, heading back to the stables, where apparently the secret foal had been kept none too secret, and a crowd had gathered. I took one look and told them to leave or I’d call enforcement. A few troublemakers asked me if they thought that would keep my job, and I rounded on them quickly enough, still raw from Joe.
“Dam needs to bond with the foal. You screw that up and it dies, I’ll hang you myself. Get out.” That cleared them out fast enough. The colostrum is critical in horses, since foals are born without any kind of real immune system, so I wasn’t being totally unreasonable, even if at this point I was pretty sure she’d had her fill. Still, I owed the creature a little privacy, and a chance. Maybe the Standard would declare it unacceptable, but I wouldn’t have it die on my account.
It was steady on its feet already, suckling happily, and by all appearances was doing just fine. Still, I watched it for a few hours, albeit from a distance, and through the slats. I finally left to talk to some of the splicers about who might be a good candidate for its creator, which led to some interesting glances among the crew. Who had broken the rules? I got nothing for my trouble and gave up after few attempts.
Back at my place, I checked my flat again and saw that Olympia had written. Sorry, talked to Father, the message said. The word was out. He’s on your side. They’ll convene tomorrow noon. I sighed, though the news hadn’t been entirely unexpected. Nice kid, that Olympia. Reminded me of my Allie, back in the day. Or at least the grandkid we might’ve had, if she’d made it. Macarty had finished a few token interviews, and I read through those, too, though I could tell he wasn’t really trying. It was a needle in a haystack, and we both knew it.
I tried to sleep, but two hours later staring up at the ceiling, I realized I was an idiot. If I’d built a unicorn, I’d want to see the thing, wouldn’t I? I swore, threw my pants back on, and raced to the stable, flat in hand, ordering the computer to pull up all the feeds and everyone who’d visited or had so much as checked out a script on simple genetics in the past seventy years. The list was long; it was kind of a hobby on the planet, after all.
I told the computer to drop the ones with only an interest in flora, and that cut the numbers pretty substantially. Vegetable farming was useful around here, and after the disastrous attempts twenty years ago, there wasn’t much tinkering with the fauna. Too dangerous. The remaining list, crossed against the video feed, left only a few candidates, but in the end, none of it mattered. There was only one person besides Olympia who stayed to watch that unicorn for hours, dreamily, a mother’s proud smile on her lips.
I’d been right all along, in a way. So had Joe. I should’ve seen it. I checked on the unicorn one last time before I started walking to Loua’s. I was pretty annoyed she hadn’t saved me the trouble initially, honestly.
When she opened the door, I started up fast. “You could have told me when I saw you before,” I said.
“News of Joe kind of threw me,” she said tiredly. She didn’t even bother to pretend, the truth plain on her face. “I was going to tell him myself, you know. Show him. I’m glad he got see it. That why I didn’t tell you he wanted to see you. I knew she was so close.”
Surprised, I nodded. Not that I was happy, but at least I felt less betrayed.
“I’m surprised he didn’t figure it was me, Bel. They were Vi’s favorite. She used to say the umph-bangs used to be unicorns. ’Cause of their tails, you know?” She sighed and opened the door wider, letting me in. The smell of coffee was in the air, and she poured me a cup in short order.
I sat down across from her at the old standard-provision table, its legs almost as wobbly as my own back home. The fury radiating from me slowing to a trickle. She barely seemed to notice I was there, holding a cup of coffee, but not drinking it.
I wondered about what she’d said: if he had guessed. Maybe he’d been trying to mislead me, to protect her. I didn’t want to think that, though I didn’t want to think he’d betray her, either. Maybe he really hadn’t guessed. I could be stupid, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only one who had thought she was just your average microbial splicer, working on nice oxygen-producing algae, the kind of person everyone pushed paperwork off on. Paperwork. Of course. Everyone loved to ask good old Loua to finish off the paperwork.
“He didn’t even ask about the other kids when I saw him last,” she said sadly. “I don’t think it was all him at the end, no matter his I’m-still-me crap. Mi José habría preguntado.”
“You planning to stand up behind this?”
“Why?” she asked calmly. Her eyes didn’t seem quite focused. “Call it a mysterious accident. A wonderful permutation. That horn’ll grow, you know. It’ll be a hell of an impaler. I put in some killer instinct, protective instinct. And it loves girls. It’ll take on a Roller before it lets one get hurt. I made sure Olympia was there, you know. Moved the schedules. It imprinted. Probably pretty fond of you now, too.”
“Things don’t wo
rk that way, Loua,” I said, annoyed. “Nearly everyone here has a background in biology. It’s nice work, but it’s Earth-based. Any fool could see that.” I put down the untouched coffee and sighed. She wasn’t exactly doing me any favors.
“I guess so,” she said. “Everyone’s got too much time now. Twenty years ago, it wouldn’t have mattered. The storms, and the Kyros proliferation. I guess I forget things have changed.”
I snorted. Goslings acting like they were geese.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
I sat a moment, waiting for an answer, thinking of Joe. Finally, I spoke. “Joe left around Herasios, right? Before the fall festival?”
She nodded. “A few days after, I think.”
“Good,” I said. “Do you think you can change a date?”
* * *
The Standard was fully assembled for the graphe, the public hearing, which was unsettling in and of itself. I couldn’t remember the last time they’d all bothered to show up.
The live feed of the foal was up on a large flat as evidence, and everyone was eying it with interest. Talk fluttered up and down in waves of sound, unicorn and purple and magical and a hundred other silly words jumping out at me as I walked past the mass of attendants. The members of the Standard, unfortunately, were not the source of those comments. I was pretty sure which one was Olympia’s father, based on cheekbones, but he looked just as severe as the others.
When it came time for me to speak, I laid it out slow and simple. People seemed to accept the administrative error pretty calmly, and we all agreed that the loophole would have to be closed, which was a relief. My hands stopped shaking after that part, at least. I verified the state of the foal’s health, had its genetic history up on the wall—we’d taken a sampling that morning—and it was pretty clear from the tweaking that it wasn’t a magic hybrid, as Loua had suggested I maintain. Too much Earth in that coding, too many biologists on the Standard.
“I can’t say for sure where this originated,” I finally said, because you’d hang her, I thought, sorting through my words as carefully as I could, “but it’s clear it can be of use. If I had to guess, when I saw it, I thought this is very much like where Joe’s line of work was. He opted for—well, everyone knows about his transition. I never heard of anyone who was as good a splicer as he was, who knew the planetary fauna like he did. He could’ve managed it, before he left. You can check the insemination log. It shows it was two days before his departure.” It was a lie, but the paperwork confirmed it. I apologized, quietly, in my head to my friend. “He loved farewell gifts, grand gestures.” True enough. “Unfortunately, he can’t be questioned or held responsible, as he has truly passed, or transitioned, or whatever you want to call it. I went to the cave, and there’s nothing left of him now.”
Also true, if not what it sounded like; I didn’t want questions about our last conversation. A gasp went around the room, and I tried not to show relief at their shock, at the distraction that would help me. I should’ve remembered I hadn’t been Joe’s only friend.
“I informed Loua already, in case you’re wondering. You can check the cliff side yourself. I hope you’ll give it—give her—a chance,” I said. “The foal. She wasn’t planned by the community, and she sure wasn’t legal, but she sure is a pretty thing.” I cleared my throat and sat down.
I was stuck there waiting, but thankfully it wasn’t long. It was good none of them knew me closely, or they’d have seen in the stillness of my form how utterly terrified I was. About an hour after the Standard had gone into private session, a probationary offer was extended to the as-yet-unnamed foal of a limited life license. I idly wondered if I could get away with asking Loua what she’d like to call it.
I ducked my head to all the right people and got out of there as fast as I could, citing the foal’s health. I felt eyes on the back of my head like a thousand buzzing flies I couldn’t hope to swat away. I wondered how many people really believed me about Joe, and I finally decided I didn’t care so long as I wasn’t Excommunicated and the foal was alive.
Olympia and Macarty were at the stall when I got there. They both looked a little guilty. I turned off the video feed first thing so no one at the Standard could see us anymore. It wasn’t legally required now.
“Ya’ll planning on springing her if they voted her down?” I asked.
“Something like that,” Olympia said, though Macarty harrumphed and said nothing.
The unicorn nickered and came up to me, its dam protectively right behind. I let it smell me, then gave it a good petting. It rubbed its head into my hands, leaving a barely visible hint of glitter in its wake that reminded me of the sludge Joe was now.
The lies I’d made, by implication at any rate, troubled me, though not as much as I’d have guessed. I’d been honest in a way. Loua had worked on the foundation Joe had left, after all. It was probably as much his baby as it was hers. I should have told them, maybe, about Loua. She wasn’t exactly stable, and I’d have to make sure she didn’t get into any more mischief, but then again, maybe she was done. Joe’s passing had knocked her down again, maybe forever. We’d see.
“Did he say why he made her purple?” Olympia asked lazily, sidling up next to me with that earnest-kid look again.
“Oh, he didn’t admit to anything,” I said, then winced when I remembered I’d implied Joe had been dead when I arrived. She grinned proudly at me, pleased at having snuck the truth from me. “Damn. You’re right, he was alive when I got there, though you don’t need to go spreading that. But his kid’s name was Violet. She died a bit back.”
“Oh. That’s sad,” she said, a little of the smugness fading. “Guess that’s how you figured it out. Smart.”
I shrugged. It had only occurred to me while I was in front of the Standard. I was a quick one, all right. Any quicker and I’d turn to stone where I stood.
“It’ll be fine,” Olympia said, certainty in her voice.
“Glad one of us is sure,” I said.
“No, it will be,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “I was born here, too. We natives are strong. It’s like … she was meant to be, kinda. We should call her Athena,” she said.
I barked a laugh, unsettling Starmeadow briefly before I quieted down and we both stilled.
“That’ll work, I guess,” I said finally, softly. “I’m sure they’ll love that.” Loua would, I knew it. Joe would have, too. Maybe I’d even go back to tell him, on the off chance he could understand. Not sure words would matter much anymore to him, but you never knew. Things had a way of changing around here when I wasn’t paying attention, people growing older, the world changing.
If nothing else, maybe I’d bring Athena on by to show her off, just near the cliff’s edge, just so she could see where she sprang from. Everyone should know where they came from. Everyone should have a place where they belong.
***
The Godfairy
Quincy J. Allen
Small fists pounded on my front door, waking me out of what I wished had been a permanent coma. With a titanic headache pressed between my sweaty palms, I watched two dwarves in green police uniforms barge into my bedroom. They dragged me to my feet, informing me that my “old friend” Lumpy was calling in a solid I owed him.
“Lumpy, huh?” I managed over the cotton-swathed tongue wallowing in my mouth. I glanced at my cuckoo clock: six in the morning. I didn’t care what Lumpy needed, getting me up at six would settle accounts … like it or not.
I was still dressed in a thoroughly wrinkled brown suit, so I was ready to go. My head spun from the previous night’s bender. I’d been with three gruff but amiable elves who thought they could outdrink me. They were wrong, of course, but it took everything I’d had to be the last—and only—man standing. Hell, I was the only human in this godforsaken hellhole of cheery smiles, carefree dancing, and happy endings. Well, mostly happy. While I cursed daily the misbegotten deity of mischief that sent me here, I gave equal thanks that the place h
ad a dark enough underbelly to keep me working, otherwise I would have blown my brains out a week after waking up in Fairyland.
It’s a long story, and that was five years ago.
Anyway, the two little constables tugged at my arms, dragging me headlong out of my low-rent apartment. I was barely conscious, but I figured I’d wake up on the way to … wherever. They both kept idiot grins on their faces as they pulled me along. In Fairyland, nearly everyone walks around with sickeningly bright smiles all the time. At least in daylight. Except me, of course. I’m a curmudgeon. I generally do my best to avoid daylight—hence the drinking at night with gruff but amiable elves.
The constables poured me into a filigreed blue carriage pulled by four pink ponies that literally pranced the entire way. We bounced from the poor side of town through a few posh neighborhoods and out into the countryside. An hour later, the dwarves dumped me in front of a tall flight of stone steps that led to two massive oaken doors carved with a menagerie of mythical creatures. The doors were set into a bastion of white marble walls stretching high and wide. As the carriage pulled away, ponies prancing gleefully, one of the diminutive officers poked his head out the window, waved, and, I swear, winked at me.
I stood in the bright morning sunshine, a million colors reflecting off every surface. Dewdrops shimmered beneath the pregnant bellies of delicate petals. Bees trundled hither and yon. A troop of pixies in flowing gowns of yellow and green darted out from behind the castle. Their fluttering gossamer wings of gold carried them over a crystal blue moat full of dazzling koi and into the Whispering Wind Forest beyond.
What a load of crap, I thought, wishing my head would just come apart and get it over with.
I turned and stared up at the castle. It was right out of some fairy tale—no surprise—with pointy towers and broad turrets poking up into a cobalt blue sky. They made a hodgepodge skyline, suggesting the architect preferred form considerably more than function. Pinions of blue, pink, and white fluttered from each tower apex on a breeze that somehow didn’t reach the ground.