Tiffany smiled, showing straight even teeth. “A lot of guys are surprised."
That explained the sleep-bombs and good-night kiss. Peace Corps did not kill people, they just went after those who did. “What are you doing here?"
"Investigating exploitation of underage natives by offworld corporations,” Tiffany explained. “You can do what you want on your own worlds, but it is a crime to murder, abuse, or torture inhabitants of another planet for profit. And against Navy antislaving regs. Greenies won't police the pleasure palaces, so someone must."
"If you say so.” Greenies did not care what humans did offplanet, even half a haad offplanet. Policing humans on Barsoom was bad enough, thanks to humans like him.
"We need a witness,” Tiffany explained. “Who can be truthtested, and brain scanned. Otherwise it is he-said, she-said."
Human witness. SinBad arched an eyebrow. “Greenies do not count?"
"Absolutely.” Testimony by bio-engineered beings counted far less than fingerprints off a toaster.
Jem's eyes fluttered, and she asked in Apache, “Where are we?"
Good question. When Jem had fallen asleep, she was starring in a high-flying orgy. Now she lay half-naked on the mossy ochre sward, with Cluros shining overhead, and Thuria due up soon. “We are a hundred haads south of Exhume."
Flat, featureless sward faded into darkness in every direction. “We have to hide,” he added. “Thuria rise is in half a zode."
Jem immediately understood. Apache girls played hide-and-seek with Thuria all their lives. “We should head downwind."
More Apache thinking. SinBad agreed. It meant heading west, instead of straight north to Exhume, but that threw off pursuit, and put possible predators up ahead, while forcing fliers from Erotopia to work their way upwind.
He set off downwind, limping behind Jem and Tiffany, trusting in Apache senses and blonde ambition.
At first it worked. After twenty or thirty xats, Jem held out her hands, then slowly lowered them, palms down. SinBad threw himself face down in the sward. Closing his eyes, he listened. Hearing nothing.
SinBad listened harder, finally hearing the whump of propellers, slowly growing louder, as an airship churned her way upwind. Erotopia was looking for them.
Lots of luck. Antelope fed on sward moss. So did springbok and moropus. Dire wolves fed on them, and jackals cleaned up afterward. There were so many human-sized infrared sources and heat trails hereabouts that examining them all was hopeless.
Whoever piloted the airship agreed. Propeller sounds passed laboriously overhead, then slowly faded upwind.
Jem called out softly, “Let's go."
They set out again, across the flat sward. Jem no longer headed straight downwind, casting about instead, checking out streams and low spots. Tiffany dropped back to ask, “Where are we going?"
"We are looking for cover,” SinBad explained. “Thuria will be up soon.” Too soon. Slavers had high-powered optical scanners designed to work by Thuria light. If you could see Thuria, Slavers could see you. And Tiffany was just what they wanted. Jem too.
Finally they found a shallow draw, with an overhanging bank big enough to hide them from Thuria. There they slept and rested, while Barsoom's nearer moon raced overhead.
At seven xats past the eighth zode, Thuria set. This time they headed straight north. Rigel, Barsoom's north star, could not be seen at this latitude, but Betelgeuse was up, a great yellowish-red beacon, pointing the way to Exhume.
Beyond some low hills, mossy ochre sward gave way to sandy short-grass steppe, dotted with thorn trees. Barsoom's few forests lay mainly along the equator. Halfway through the ninth zode, Thuria rose again, and they sheltered beneath a spreading thorn tree. Betelgeuse was down by now, but the red lights of Exhume beanstalk poked above the northern horizon, pointed at the stars.
Within sight of their goal, Jem sat up and sniffed the air, saying, “They're coming."
Who's coming? SinBad sat up and sniffed. He smelled it too, a faint catbox odor borne by the night wind. “Ba'aths?"
Ba'aths were black-maned Barsoomian lions, bigger than any earthly cat, with saberteeth and gleaming green eyes. Jem shook her head. “Ba'aths do not stalk downwind. SuperCats."
Made sense. Lions would not waste a stalk. SuperCats were paid either way. And these knew that their prey dared not run when Thuria was up.
First light shone in the east, spilling slowly over the steppe. SinBad crouched behind the thorn tree, straining his eyes.
There they were, tall figures spread out in the short grass, backlit by dawn light. Homo smilodon stalked upright, just like humans. These carried repeating crossbows.
Shit. He had been so close. Why couldn't it be ba'aths? Why did he have to be lame? And unarmed? “Who is it?” Tiffany asked.
"Erotopia has found us.” Or maybe it was the Aymads, looking for him. By now they had burned both their employers.
He hunkered down, watching the SuperCats come on, hoping they did not have the scent yet. No such luck. They were converging on the thorn tree, crossbows at the ready. Tiffany whispered, “Don't worry."
"Why not?"
"We'll deal with them."
"You will?” He turned to see Tiffany putting lipstick on Jem. Then freshening up her own.
"SuperCats don't kiss.” Saberteeth made liplocks awkward.
Smiling, Tiffany slipped a hypo-ring on Jem's finger, showing the Red girl how to use it. That was more useful. Unless you were facing a dozen armed bio-engineered killers. “Just lie low,” Tiffany advised, squeezing his hand. “You have been wonderful. This is my problem, not yours."
Too true. Leave it to the Peace Corps.
"Sorry, I cannot kiss you good-bye,” Tiffany added.
He understood.
Taking Jem's hand, Tiffany strolled out to meet the advancing SuperCats. Warily the cat circle closed on them.
SinBad tensed, worried for Tiffany. Jem too. He had been putty in their hands, taking insane risks for their sake, but these were hunting cats, bred to be better than humans.
Three hypersonic missiles streaked silently down from orbit, exploding in a triangular pattern just above the SuperCats. Osiris orbit-to-surface missiles, armed with sleep gas. SinBad recognized the white puffs of anesthetic, followed by triple sonic booms, arriving well after the missiles hit.
Silence settled over the pre-dawn plain. Thuria shone down on Tiffany and Jem, lying amid sleeping SuperCats. SinBad cowered under the thorn tree, peering through the short grass.
Presently a silver ship fell out of the sky, a stripped down Fornax Skylark, with strap-on antimatter boosters. Someone's fancy gravity yacht that now fairly screamed “Slaver.” As soon as she set down, men in gas masks emerged, stepping over the SuperCats, then scooping up Jem and Tiffany, taking them back to the ship.
Slavers overpowered anyone. So pretty women, young girls, and graceful boys hid from Thuria. Blame it on the Greenies, who forced Barsoom to make do with homemade weapons, like bows, slings, and hand-forged rapiers.
He watched the Skylark seal herself and take off, with both his air hostesses aboard. Easy come, easy go.
Leaving some sleeping SuperCats, who would soon be awake and angry, at him. He had to go, but where? Away from Hastor and some very mad Aymads, that was for sure. By now, his sand sail was even further off. That left Exhume.
SinBad climbed to the top of the thorn tree, no easy feat. Going out on a prickly limb, he leaped off, flapping his solar wings. Stored power lifted him into the air, where he found a thermal, rising off a bare patch in the plain. Spiraling upward, he gained a couple of haads in height, then headed north, aiming at the base of Exhume beanstalk.
He almost made it. Landing several haads short of Exhume, he limped the rest of the way.
Exhume beanstalk stretched up into orbit, providing free transport to a geosynch point, connecting Barsoom to the cosmos. SinBad dragged himself up the Avenue of Offworlders, past swank hotels, cheap bars, curio shops, Outback brothel
s, and airship docks, offering service to Erotopia and the Heliums.
Having neither the time or credit for offplanet pleasures, he staggered straight to the lift shaft, entering the negative-g zone, rising up alongside hungover tourists and hopeful emigrants, headed offplanet.
SinBad got off at a platform ten haads up, where the view was terrific and the air was okay, thin but breathable. SinBad spread his wings and dived off the beanstalk, soaring from thermal to thermal, using long ridgelines, prevailing winds, and hot dark patches of red-orange sward, headed for his sand sail, thousands of haads to the southwest.
Fifty haads out, he spotted a flier following him, lower down, half a haad back, sporting pink and black primaries. Erotopia colors. So long as he had height advantage, SinBad was not much worried. When night came, he would shake this pursuer, then find somewhere to roost and rest.
His pursuers did not wait for dark. Soon he spied a silver airship coming up behind him, closing fast. Eros was written on its nose. More pink and black fliers emerged from the forward gondola.
Dumping air, SinBad dove into a stoop, folding his wings back, sacrificing height for speed. His one hope was to go to ground. Somewhere down there, he would find a place to hide.
But he never got the chance. Suddenly a big silver shape came between him and safety. It was the Slaver ship, returning for him. What in Issus for? He was not that attractive.
SinBad backed off, feathers spread, flaps down, braking franticly.
An airlock opened on the silver ship. Jem stood at the lock door, wearing what was left of her air hostess costume, waving at him.
She did not have to ask twice. Pulling in his flaps, SinBad beat hard with his primaries, propelling himself into the lock. He landed in a heap, piled against the inner hatch.
Jem shut the lock and the ship took off, headed for orbit. Struggling out of bent wings, he wiggled to his feet, feeling the here-we-go sensation given off by gravity drive. Barsoom fell away beneath them.
Cycling the inner hatch, Jem stepped onto the ship's control deck. Tiffany lay on the command couch, giving him her sweetest air hostess smile. “Welcome to the Draco..."
Slavers named their ships for dragons, to better prey on other vessels.
"...formally the Fornax Star. Missing more than a century."
A twice stolen antique that Tiffany flew easily. There was no end to her talents. He stepped through the inner hatch. “Where's the crew?"
"Asleep."
Figures. Waking up in a Navy brig was a hazard of slaving. “Where are we headed?"
Tiffany engaged the antimatter boosters. “Away from Thuria."
How like a man, he had forgotten the nearer moon was up. SinBad checked the aft screens. Thuria loomed big and round behind them. Slavers had seen the whole rescue, and knew they had lost a ship. Two dots separated from the nearer moon's cratered surface, headed their way, swiftly closing the gap. “Who's that?"
"Hiryu and Salamander, two high-g Slaver starships, based on Thuria."
"Can they catch us?"
"With ease.” Tiffany did not seem worried. She never did. Peace Corps training. No wonder folks hated her. Personally, SinBad found pretty, fearless women endearing—if somewhat unnerving. Tiffany Panic had dragged him halfway across Barsoom, and now totally offplanet, to face new and different dangers.
Alarms blared, “RADAR LOCK, HELLHOUNDS ENGAGED."
Salamander got ready to fire anti-ship missiles, while Hiryu hung back, covering the attack. Forward screens showed Tiffany was shaping straight for Cluros, Thuria's stogy consort. A last bit of Barsoom. Beyond Cluros lay hundreds of millions of haads of vacuum.
Jasoom, the main Greenie world, was on the far side of the system. Not that Greenies were much good in ship-to-ship actions. Photo sapiens lacked the killer edge that made humans the most fearsome species in this part of the spiral arm.
At the rate the Slavers were closing, Draco would not even make Cluros, much less Jasoom. Tiffany calmly ignored commands to throttle back and be boarded. “They want this ship intact, and us alive. Hellhound locks are just a bluff."
"HELLHOUNDS AWAY."
Some bluff. Gravity drive missiles streaked toward them, at ten times Draco's acceleration. Salamander signaled, “DISENGAGE BOOSTERS. PREPARE TO BE BOARDED."
Tiffany ignored the Slaver commands, saying, “I am blonde, but not that blonde. We have an old family motto for just this situation."
"What is that?"
"Don't panic, Panic."
"HELLHOUNDS CLOSING FAST."
He could see that. Be boarded, or be blown apart. SinBad left it to Tiffany. Slavers would kill him either way.
Cluros loomed ahead of them, another icy cratered ball, unused by Slavers, since it was small, and slow, and far from the surface. With fewer places to hide.
"HELLHOUND IMPACT ONE HUNDRED SECONDS."
SinBad saw a large blip, the size of a Navy corvette, separate from Cluros, firing anti-missiles.
"ANTI-MISSILES CLOSING AHEAD. HELLHOUND IMPACT FIFTY SECONDS."
"What's that?"
"Tarzana,” Tiffany explained, “the suburb-class corvette that brought me insystem. She has been hiding on Cluros ever since."
Waiting for the Slavers to make a mistake. Like this one. Tarzana was more than a match for any two Slavers, carrying an arsenal full of missiles, and a reinforced company of marines. Hiryu and Salamander peeled off in opposite orbits, knowing that even a Navy corvette could not go two ways at once.
"HELLHOUND IMPACT TWENTY SECONDS."
SinBad did the math in his head. Twenty-something tals. Hearing it in seconds made the missile sound even closer.
"Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen..."
He gripped Tiffany's free hand as she swung the helm to port.
"Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen..."
"ANTI-MISSLES PASSING TO STARBOARD.” Good news. Tiffany gave him a squeeze.
"Twelve, eleven..."
SinBad held his breath.
"HELLHOUNDS DESTROYED.” Impact alarms ceased. Tarzana's anti-missiles had taken out the Hellhounds. With tals to spare. He exhaled, “We did it."
"You did it.” Tiffany smiled up at him. “You got me and my witness off Barsoom. Without you, I would be lying dead on a sand dune."
How true. Without thinking, they kissed.
* * * *
He awoke flat on his back, staring up at a bulkhead, with Tiffany bending over him, no longer at the controls. “The ship? Don't you have to..."
Tiffany shook her blonde head. “It's over."
"Over?” That seemed awfully quick.
"Salamander's been disabled by a missile burst, and boarded by marines."
"Hiryu?"
"Got away,” she was sorry to say. “If anything else happens, the ship will tell me."
He had been out for awhile. Just as well. Win or lose, battles were best slept through—making for less stress, and a lower profile. Tiffany ran her hand over his cheek, saying, “Sorry I kissed you."
"I am not.” He would have felt like a bigger fool if they'd never kissed.
And that was all he would get. Peace Corps whores only put out in the line of duty. Tiffany would bring perfect strangers to the heights of ecstasy, repeatedly, because it was part of her cover. All he got was a drugged kiss. Not that he was complaining. One heartfelt kiss from Tiffany, was better than a free pass to a pleasure palace.
By now he knew women thought this was just fine, pleasing men “on the job” because that was business, while drawing a strict circle around “personal” relationships. SinBad much preferred crime.
He and Jem split the Navy reward for returning the Draco and capturing its crew. More offworld credit than the whole Huron nation had ever seen. Issus knew what he would do with it. And he got a free ride back to his sand sail, still sitting on the sward south of Hastor.
Tiffany produced a box of meds, matching the one the Massingales got, paid for by the Peace Corps. She tucked it into the cargo bay of
his sand sail, then gave him a long, drug free, kiss. When they were done tongue wrestling, Tiffany told him, “Take care."
"If you insist,” SinBad replied. He popped his sail and set out again, with the wind on his port beam, rolling over red-orange sward bordered by sand, headed north for Hastor.
Copyright © 2009 R. Garcia y Robertson
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Short Story: SLEEPLESS IN THE HOUSE OF YE by Ian McHugh
Ian McHugh is a 2006 graduate of the Clarion West writers’ workshop. In 2008, he won the grand prize in the annual Writers of the Future contest, and in 2009 that story was a finalist for the Aurealis Awards in Australia. In his first story for Asimov's, Ian captures the essence of an alien lifeform and makes us care about the survival of those who are...
"Some of us will have to stay awake,” Ghei said. “Some of us will have to take koy."
A chorus of hissing reverberated around the chamber.
Poe quivered, hearing the words she'd been dreading. She held her belly with both hands, feeling the heat of the hundreds of embryonic spawn growing there. To take koy—summer's drink—as a sire, and avert the change of life for another year was one thing. To take it now, already female and with spawn in their bellies, was ruinous.
Ghei stood defiantly against the tide of disquiet she'd caused, her neck stretched up, ears fanned wide. It was Ghei who'd found the gap—the snowdrift forming where the clean lines of the walls dissolved into the jumbled echoes of the rubble pile, where the stair used to be to the House's upper levels. Ghei had brought the worm she found in the drift to Poe and Chyu. It had been as long as her hand, its movements frantic, responding to Ghei's heat, mouth petals opening, its muscular tail flailing as it sought purchase.
"The gap might not get any worse,” someone ventured.
"What if it does?” came the response.
"It's bad enough already,” said Poe.
A sneeze echoed. The air in the birthing chamber was acrid, ventilation for the oil heaters largely blocked by the House's fall. A handful of dams had already lain down beneath the vaults furthest from the door—mostly those who had been injured when the House fell, whose spawn had grown faster since. Their bellies were mounds of cool, slowly pulsing life amid cold and withered limbs, the growth of the spawn inside them suspended until spring.
Asimov's SF, July 2009 Page 9