Analog SFF, March 2006

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Mit, Hel, and Sesch, the Red Demons, were a meter long, exoskeletal, with spiky red armor. “They'll attack anything their own size including each other,” Queeblishiz said. “I'll give them police cuffs. They won't be able to come near each other. We can give them a confined space in the tavern.”

  I suggested, “Outside. You can fence out wolves.”

  The Chirp Matriarch accessed some beamed-in source of data. “Wolves? I think our three charges can handle such creatures. Bigger predators might be a problem. We'll confine them to a patch of tundra and watch them for as long as this warm weather lasts. We can put the Wayward Child outside too.”

  The Wayward Child was a filter feeder armed with gauzy wings and a tremendous vented cavern of a mouth. She needed a lift pack to fly; her world was less massive than Earth. Siberian summer wasn't exactly warm, but it was warm enough to generate immense clouds of mosquitoes. I was going to like having the Wayward Child around. As for the rest, we'd see.

  Day Five

  Another freezer failed.

  We were lucky. It held Folk puppies. Folk from previous flights had traded for hunting grounds in various parts of the world. For a few dollars more, Nevada accepted seven hunters with their fifteen progeny. The Tavern never need see the feral pups.

  “—and a few hundred Bebebebeque spawn,” said Queeblishiz.

  “A few hundred?”

  Queeblishiz said, “Bebebebeque spawn must be culled. We will turn them loose in the tavern and leave the Rainbow Wyrms to deal with them.”

  I had long since stopped seeing signs of mice inside the Tavern, barring little heaps of tiny bones and tufts of fur. That was nice. I didn't want an infestation of bugs! “Why not outside? Give them more room to run.”

  “They like it warm,” Queeblishiz said implacably.

  Bebebebeque infants were the size of my thumb, little golden bugs looking a lot like their parents. For a couple of days they were all over the place, snatching food of the tee tee hatch nex ool variety, including my own meals. Hyperquick Rainbow Wyrms were all over the place, hunting them down. The bugs became scarce, then invisible. Survivors had learned to hide.

  Day Nine

  Jehanneh had worked in the tavern on and off for a year, before and a little after Walt's birth. It's a good way to study aliens. She knew the territory and she had all the passes. This time she didn't phone ahead; she just flew in.

  I saw her coming through one of the bigger airlocks, dressed for Arctic cold, manipulating Walt and a lot of his gear. I went to meet her,

  “Hi,” she said. “If I'd phoned you'd have told me not to come.”

  I said, “Yes.” I started moving Walt, his stroller, his toys, diapers, powder and Q-tips, food. “Where's your stuff?”

  “Still in the SUV. But I got to thinking. Picture Walt in his teens, or in his thirties,” her hands flat on my chest so I had to look her in the eye, “knowing that his father runs the only bar for aliens in the known universe—”

  “But that's just Earth.”

  “—and he never got in to see it when he was a kid.” Her eyes roved, seeking the newest lot of aliens.

  There weren't any, barring Speedy, who looks like an abstract sculpture of a turtle and doesn't move fast enough to notice. Speedy pushed his way through the jelly lock two years ago and is on his way to a booth. The Rainbow Wyrms were hiding, and the rest of the kids were outside, even Djil. Nonetheless Jehanneh said, “This place is the most wonderful toy on Earth.”

  “Yes, dear, but other children are using it.”

  “That's—”

  A whirr and a wind and a glimpse of orange-green passed between our noses. Jehanneh yelped and threw herself back. I caught her wrists so that she missed falling on Walt and hit flat floor. I was kneeling beside her in an instant.

  “I'm all right,” she said, and sat up, and clutched the back of her head. “What was that?”

  “That was the Rainbow Wyrms. They're very fast.” They'd slowed down now, but six orange-green snakes surrounded us, ready to investigate. I snatched up Walt. “I have to put a bar code on him right now.”

  “Bar code?” She tried to follow me behind the bar. The field stopped her, so she watched while I peeled down Walt's shorts and stamped his butt. The mark was a simplified picture of a set of alien fangs.

  “It keeps the others away from him.” Keeps him from being eaten, I didn't say. “The tracers can read the mark through clothing. Show me some skin, woman.”

  She didn't argue: she bared enough of her butt for a flu shot. I stamped her.

  “Rick, did you mean actual children?”

  I started to explain. Djil had come in through the big lock, and I waved at her awesome pink bulk. “That's Djil. She's old enough to babysit. Djil, this is Jehanneh.”

  “The Red Demons are loose,” Djil said.

  “Loose? How loose?”

  “Barman, I only turned my back for a time-hack. The sky was full of birds. The Wayward Child tried to catch one. You know, she shouldn't do that. These birds are much too big for her mouth, but there aren't any big birds where she comes from, and while I was turning around, the bird wriggled loose and dove down over the Red Demons and it hit the origin point of the field, the singularity.” She waved her arms. “Flash! And the first thing the Demons did was try to get me! I got to the airlock—”

  “Good. Don't go out there. Jehanneh, don't go outside.”

  Djil said, “The toilets are all around the back.”

  Not true. There was a bathroom for humans in my quarters, but all the alien sanitation equipment—"We'll find you a bucket. Are you all right?” The smell had just reached me: Djil was scorched across the back of her clothing.

  “I am not hurt.”

  “I'd better call the ship.”

  * * * *

  One of the Red Demons was trying to batter its way to me through the tavern's glass wall. Though half my height, he looked spiky and devilish. I couldn't see the others. That bothered me.

  The translator said, “Rick, hello.”

  “Get me Queeblishiz or any crewperson connected with children.”

  Matriarch Queeblishiz came on. “Barman, your call is opportune. Another freezer has failed. The lander is here boarding—”

  “The Red Demons are loose. Your confinement field failed.”

  “Details.”

  I described the situation. One Red Demon was still watching me through glass. “I've lost track of two of them. Djil, what were you doing out there?”

  “Feeding them, barman, but they didn't come. They wanted the birds. See, I dropped their food at the airlock.”

  Yes, I could see the cage and the red-furred prey inside. “Queeblishiz, they're hungry. They'll be outside chasing ducks. They'll still be wearing police cuffs if you can activate them. Can you track them?”

  “If they're on the tundra, we can stun them from orbit, once the lander is in place. Keep them occupied.” She clicked off.

  Djil said, “Don't do anything to hurt the Red Demons.”

  “No.” You didn't harm children, if that's what they were. Worse yet—but call them children. The one I could see was under an overhung roof. It stopped clawing at the glass, made a rude gesture, and went around the curve and out of sight.

  The lander was near the Moon. We wouldn't get help from the Chirpsithra for many hours.

  A bit of a search found the other Red Demons. All three were now wandering around the line of airlocks. One found a way to open the cage. They ate the prey animals, messily, then continued to explore the locks.

  I hadn't been thinking in terms of escape until now. No problem: we could get out through the bar, downstairs and through the storerooms under the tavern. But it was safer in the tavern.

  Then one of the Demons figured out the small airlock.

  “Behind the bar,” I ordered, and looked around and didn't see Walt.

  * * * *

  “Djil,” I snapped, “Get into the bar.” I didn't want to worry about her to
o. Walt at two and a half was surprisinglyagile. When he saw he was being chased he chugged off between and around booths, under float chairs, around the bar and off again.

  Jehanneh and I tried to corner him.

  It wasn't that easy. The Draco Tavern has been a dome for most of its life. There weren't any corners, and there were plenty of obstacles for adults. Another problem was that Djil hadn't obeyed: she too was trying to corner Walt.

  I think Walt found her scary. She was too big. He tried to climb the ladder to the loft. The field repelled him, and he dashed around a booth and was lost to us.

  One of the Red Demons had figured out the lock. He got inside, then looked around, undecided. The Rainbow Wyrms buzzed around us, bouncing off the fields. Walt charged at the Demon from around a booth, then stopped, startled. They looked at each other, then at Jehanneh and me easing toward them. Another Demon was coming through the small lock. Where was Djil?

  Djil came up from the storage space under the bar. She was carrying four cages occupied by furry red creatures from another star. She opened the cages and shook the creatures out onto the floor.

  The third Demon stopped just inside the lock, confronted by a lot of motion. He decided: he scrambled toward a sudden cluster of golden bugs. Something snapped, and he howled.

  “They mustn't be hurt!” Djil cried. “Can't you see? They're the Chirpsithra males!”

  Well, yes, I'd seen the resemblance. The Chirpsithra never talk about their sex lives, and nobody's ever seen one pregnant, and sexual dimorphism isn't uncommon even on Earth. Sure they could be carrying their mates in cold sleep.

  The poor bastard was wriggling like he'd stepped into a bear trap. I couldn't see what had him; but it wasn't my doing. I guessed that the tiny Bebebebeque were setting traps. We'd better stay clear of them.

  Walt cooed and tried to reach the Demon. The field held them apart. An airborne snake ricocheted off the Demon, then Walt, not attacking, just using the repulsive fields to play with momentum.

  “Jehanneh,” I said, “get behind the bar. Watch your footing.”

  “I have to get Walt.”

  “Walt, follow your mother. Jehanneh, the fields won't let you pick him up out here. They don't work inside the bar. Walt!”

  But Walt was playing with the snakes. When I tried to get to him, I stepped into something that snapped shut on my toe.

  It didn't quite cut through my shoe. I wrestled my way out of it, noting the tiny components of a trap, noting also the Rainbow Wyrm wriggling out of another. Two Red Demons freed the third. I got behind Walt and shooed him toward the bar.

  Day Ten

  The lander came down eleven hours after I'd called for help. They hadn't found anything from the air, barring the Wayward Child, who had wandered several kilometers in search of bigger and better clouds of mosquitoes.

  Queeblishiz came out surrounded by eleven Bebebebeque. They were normal size, the size of a fifth of Haig Pinch and somewhat the same shape. A massive yellow and purple snake followed them, a score of skinny arms folded along its belly. What followed the snake looked like a polar bear in a fur suit: the head was conspicuously large, with a shortened snout, and a pair of darker fur lapels ran down her snowy-white fur torso.

  They made their ways through various airlocks.

  The Red Demons, Walt, Jehanneh, and the five remaining Rainbow Wyrms were playing together, all separated by the fields. I saw Walt pounce on something small and furry, look it over, then toss it two-handed to one of the snakes.

  The little snakes came at the big snake's whistle. I don't know what the Bebebebeque did, but a score of little bugs crawled out from somewhere and ran into the ring of big Bebebebeque.

  So it was nearly over, and I wasn't sure how to feel about that.

  * * * *

  I told Queeblishiz, “The kids can't get to each other, but that doesn't mean they can't play with each other. It's been like an invisible zoo. They like it. Walt dashed out there while we weren't looking. Djil turned the prey animals loose, and they've all been scampering around catching them, even Walt.”

  “I take it we still cannot invite visitors here.”

  “I'd say no. Look at the place, it's infested! But we're recording everything. We'll have videotape to sell. How are your repairs going?”

  “We'll have a cold sleep locker in two days. Which of the children would you like to be rid of first?”

  I thought. “It's getting colder. I wouldn't want to bring the Wayward Child inside. Better take her.”

  “Not these? Not the Red Demons?”

  “We seem to have struck a balance. Just reassure me that the fields will hold.”

  “The fields will hold, and so will the police cuffs on the Demons. Also, you will have parents. We have persuaded them to tend their children until more tanks are available. My apology, Rick, that should have happened earlier. Our passengers are explorers; they may neglect their duties.

  “Of course there are none to supervise Djil or the Wayward Child. Djil wants entertainment. We brought down a virtual set for her. The Wayward Child is harmless; let her roam free here. The Bebebebeque have finished their culling and will go back to the ship with their clan. I will stay to guard the Red Demons.”

  “One got injured.”

  “I see that. They heal fast.”

  “We lost a Wyrm too, to the traps. Who is the bulky individual?”

  “Harharharish, come and meet the barman. Rick, she has been in cold sleep with her brood—”

  Harharharish opened her lapels. Seven on each side, nestled in two vertical runnels, her brood clung to folds of skin and suckled. They looked like miniatures of their mother.

  “She isn't sapient while she suckles, but that time is nearly over. Tomorrow the children will be all over the tavern and Harharharish will begin their education. Give me the bar code marker, Rick, before all chaos breaks loose.”

  Day Thirty-One

  Her brood surrounded her in a ring. Harharharish was reading to them, in English. Walt was among them, listening quietly.

  The Wayward Child was inside, hovering near the top of the dome. She wasn't happy. I couldn't help that. A blizzard was raging beyond the dome.

  Queeblishiz spoke, and I jumped, because she wasn't in the tavern. “Rick, the lander is down. We will take the children aboard as soon as your climate is habitable again. How long will that be?”

  “I never know how long a blizzard will last,” I said.

  Pause. “We'll send a tank.”

  Oh, yeah? “You carry a tank big enough for the Wayward Child?”

  Pause. Hell, she must be in orbit around the Moon, not on the lander. “We'll generate it. One hour. Rick, this affair must have cut deep into your profits. We will pay recompense.”

  “That's fine.”

  One point four seconds passed. “I would have come to bid you goodbye, but I cannot tolerate your environment.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “We're all pregnant.”

  The impulse to laugh disappeared in an instant. “What are Chirpsithra children like?

  “Voracious,” Queeblishiz said. “Goodbye.”

  Jehanneh handed me an Irish coffee, half strength. “I'm going to miss them,” she said.

  “Which?”

  “Well ... the mother bear. The rest I can do without, except that Walt loved the snakes. Djil, where do you go from here?”

  Djil said, “Colorado. The Folk are planning a Grand Canyon run, puppies and all. They'll go home on the next ship. Where do you go?”

  Jehanneh looked the question at me. I said, “From this point on, the tavern is for adults, unless it's adults and Walt. You've played barmaid here. You think Walt is safe?”

  She thought it over. She said, “Yeah.”

  (c)Copyright 2006 by Larry Niven

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  * * *

  Wasting Time

  by Grey Rollins

  * * * *

  There are things we'd all like to be able to do, even if it required finding a loophole in the laws of nature. But you can't do just one thing....

  * * * *

  hristopher Arken quietly closed his office door behind Tammy. Although he would never say it out loud, it was clear that Ms. Odom wasn't going to do well in his introductory physics class. The semester was only six weeks old and she was already hopelessly lost. He had to give her credit, though, she was still trying. Most students in her position adopted a defeatist attitude and began skipping class rather than face the seemingly impossible task of catching up.

  As he slid back into the chair behind his desk, he caught sight of the spider plant on the windowsill. It looked pretty bad. Sighing, he leaned towards the plant and probed the soil with his fingertip. Dry. He pushed himself to his feet, reaching for the plastic pitcher he kept on top of a filing cabinet. Not much water in it, but he went ahead and poured what remained onto the parched soil, watching it pool on the surface before soaking in.

  Arken didn't really like the plant, but it was a gift from the departmental secretary, intended to cheer him up after the sudden death of his wife five months previously. Why women always wanted to give plants was a mystery to him. From his point of view, the damned thing was a burden to care for and a continual reminder of what he had lost. Still, he couldn't bring himself to let it die through neglect. He went to refill the pitcher in the bathroom down the hall.

  It was the chartreuse sheet of paper taped to the door of the bathroom that reminded him that he had refilled the pitcher just that morning. He distinctly remembered seeing the flyer advertising a band he'd never heard of playing at a local bar. The band's name, Five O'clock Shadow, had struck him as incongruous at seven thirty in the morning and ... oh, never mind, the pitcher was empty and that was that.