Unidentified Funny Objects 2

by Silverberg, Robert

  Using Magic as an Enhancement to Remote Troubleshooting.

  Magical Test & Accept Procedures.

  Arcane Solutions to Personnel Problems.

  Unauthorized Use of Arcane Energies.

  Troubleshooting Blocked Mana Streams.

  Proper and Improper Employee Conduct.

  I hacked off tentacles. I swept thorny vines from their tentacular bodies. I split open the connections between cubicle walls and watched the vines sluggishly reweave them closed. Don pelted me with rubber bands, striping open holes in my shield that began to close more and more slowly.

  “This is it, Jin,” Don said. “I’m going down anyway, but I’m taking you with me.” A giant pink band split open the final crack in my managerial protections.

  Revealing my supervisor’s tough skin.

  “Damn it!” Don said, and renewed his attack.

  I grinned and renewed mine.

  “Jin, what are you doing!” Candace called from outside. “Go after Don!”

  “With an axe?” someone hissed. “If they actually hurt one another’s bodies, that’s big trouble!”

  I wanted to tell her I knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t afford to distract Don, not when he was doing so well in that frenzy.

  I chopped off a vine… and it didn’t grow back. I grinned and swept the axe in a long arc, knocking down one of the fabric walls and taking half the hedge with it.

  A rubber band pinged off my body and fell at my feet. I turned to Don, axe in hand.

  He was staring at the band. A properly charged missile weapon penetrates the magical defenses; it does no harm to the physical body.

  “Go on,” I said. “Try again.”

  He flicked another band at me. It bounced off my stomach.

  “What the hell?”

  I waved a hand at the fortress. “You’ve been feeding this thing with your mana stream from your night job, but HR closes off all external energy shunts at a field of honor. Since you’re lazy and not much of a theorist, you didn’t bother to see what store-bought spells default to when they’re supposed to be fueled by external lines and those lines get clogged or closed.”

  “The caster!” someone said behind me in wonder.

  “No!” Don said, throwing down the ball. He looked at his hands, but nothing in them glowed. “NO!”

  “I’m sorry, Don,” I said. “Your own lack of foresight defeated you.”

  The HR advocate lifted a hand and centered it over Don, evaluating my claim. “You are without power,” she said to him after a few moments. “You have lost. This duel is ended.”

  Don’s hands balled into fists.

  “Pack your things,” the woman said. “You’ll be escorted off the premises at lunch.”

  I lifted my axe and the crowd cheered. My group swarmed me, babbling their congratulations.

  And then they parted like a wave for Giselle.

  “Jin!” she said, and her eyes were considering. “That was a nice job.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said. “Oh, by the way, here—” I took out a company keychain, still mostly full, and offered it to her. “I only used a little.”

  She smiled and arched a brow. “Would you like to keep it?”

  “Of course!” I said, startled.

  She sketched a privacy shield before continuing. “It’s obvious why I should be pleased with you. Tell me why I shouldn’t.”

  I flushed. “I let this matter with Don progress to a point where I had to fire him.”

  Giselle nodded. “Good answer. I don’t think Don could have been salvaged, so I’m not all that unhappy he’s gone… but I hope you don’t exercise the nuclear option with every employee who plays hooky on company time.” She smiled. “There’s your bonus. Do something worthwhile with it.”

  I watched her go, speechless. Shaking myself, I looked through the crowd for Don—up the stairs, no doubt. Mindful of Giselle’s admonition, I followed him and found him in front of his computer.

  “Why’d you do it?” I asked, after we stood in tense silence for a while.

  “I wanted a door,” Don said with a shrug. He resumed packing.

  “Everyone in my group’s allowed to cast Cubicle Door,” I said.

  “A real door,” Don said.

  “Only management gets offices,” I said.

  Don snorted. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

  I spent a long time, considering that.

  “ALL RIGHT,” I SAID, “Open your eyes!”

  My people greeted the sight of their new cubicles with a series of completely satisfactory gasps and exclamations. The sun shone on fabric walls, cast from the giant floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the edge of the building… but the retractable roofs and full translucent doors with the sliding sun-shields allowed each person to control just how much light they got. As an extra bonus, the line of cubicles was adjacent to my office… and right next to one of the copy rooms, the one that often netted the best baked goods.

  “Oh wow, Jin,” Candace said. “This is a lot of trouble!”

  “You have no idea,” I said with a laugh. “I thought Facilities was going to clock me when I put in the move request. Still, the area next to Don’s fortress isn’t going to be useful for at least a few weeks, so I had a slightly easier time of it.”

  “This is wonderful,” Candace said. “Sunlight and a roof! It’ll be like having our own little offices.”

  “That’s the idea,” I said. “Hey, guys?”

  Most of them turned to look at me.

  “Just do me a favor and answer the door when people knock?”

  They laughed and went back to excited talking and moving of boxes. I couldn’t think of a better use for my bonus; a happy employee is a productive employee. I went for coffee, still grinning.

  Story notes:

  It always bewildered me that few people seemed to see the potential for magic in a modern office. Here was a world with its own language, its own rituals, even its own mazes… ! Twisty little passages through endless gray cubicles, all alike, reminding me of the first RPGs I ever played on my green-and-black Apple IIe screen, where dungeons looked like endless blank corridors with tiny square rooms that might contain pixelated monsters and the possibility of treasure.

  Nothing as bland as a cubicle farm could fail to hide a dragon or two. “Improved Cubicle Door” was born out of that instinct for magic and my lifelong love of RPGs. I even gave the result to my coworkers. The HR director wanted to know why she got cast as the creepy one, and where she could get a cloak of her own.

  Daughter of two Cuban political exiles, M.C.A. Hogarth was born a foreigner in the American melting pot and has had a fascination for the gaps in cultures and the bridges that span them ever since. She has been many things—web database architect, product manager, technical writer and massage therapist—but is currently a full-time parent, artist, writer and anthropologist to aliens, both human and otherwise.

  ON SAFARI

  by Mike Resnick

  It was a sunny summer day on Selous, as it always was. The sky was a perfect blue, the grass was green, and you could smell excitement in the air.

  “Just think,” said Anthony Tarica, as he and his companion stepped through the hatch of the ship and began walking down the ramp to the ground. “We might have won a negatronic washer and dryer instead.”

  “Poor Roberts,” agreed Linwood Donahue, following him down the ramp. “If he’d sold just three more units, he’d have replaced one of us here.” He snickered. “I hope the poor sonuvabitch has a lot of laundry.”

  “I can’t believe we’re really here!” enthused Tarica. “All my life I’ve wanted to go on a real safari.”

  “I wonder how they could afford it,” said Donahue. “I mean, a safari has to cost a lot more than a washer and dryer.”

  “Why worry about it?” said Tarica, taking a deep breath and scenting adventure. “We’re here for the next five days, and that’s all that matters.”

  They cl
eared customs and walked out of the tiny spaceport. They looked around, but there were no people in sight, just a few parked vehicles.

  “That’s funny,” said Tarica. “I’d have thought there’d be someone from the safari company here to meet us.”

  “Yeah,” said Donahue. “What do we do now?”

  “If you gentlemen will step this way,” said a cultured masculine voice, “I will attend to all your needs.”

  Tarica looked around. “Who said that?”

  “I did.”

  Tarica and Donahue exchanged looks. “Am I going crazy, or did that safari vehicle just speak to us?” asked Donahue.

  “I most certainly did,” said the vehicle.

  “I never saw a talking car before,” said Tarica. “Oh, back home mine reminds me to fasten my seat belt and take the keys out of the ignition and not to try to beat the yellow light, and it castigates me when I go over the speed limit, but I’ve never actually had a conversation with one.”

  “I am Quatermain, your fully-equipped safari car and guide, trained in every aspect of safaris and safari life. I have an encyclopedic knowledge of the flora and fauna of Selous, I know every watering hole, every secret trail, every hidden hazard. I come equipped with a mini-kitchen in my trunk, an auxiliary trunk for your luggage, and a supply of water that will last for the duration of your safari. Furthermore, I am capable of erecting your rustic tent at day’s end, and of protecting your safety at all times. I run on a small plutonium chip, and will not run out of energy for another 27.348 Earth years.” One of the trunks popped open. “If you gentlemen will please deposit your luggage in here, we can begin our exotic adventure.”

  “Right now?” asked Tarica, surprised.

  “Have you a problem with that?” responded Quatermain.

  “No,” said Tarica hastily. “I just expected that we’d spend a day unwinding in some luxury lodge before we set out on the actual safari.”

  “Luxury lodges are incompatible with safari experience,” replied Quatermain. “If you gentlemen will climb into my back seat, we can be off on the adventure of a lifetime.”

  “Do you do this every day?” asked Donahue, as he joined Tarica on the back seat and the door automatically shut and locked.

  “Yes, sir,” responded the car. “This is old hat to me, but each excursion is still thrilling, because each is unique.”

  “Have you ever lost a client?”

  “No, sir,” said Quatermain. “I always know right where they are.”

  Tarica pulled out a cigar. “Well, I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this.”

  “I’d prefer that you didn’t smoke, sir.”

  “But you’ve got an ashtray built into the arm rest here, and I assure you my friend here doesn’t object.”

  “It’s bad for your health, sir.”

  “I’ve been smoking for thirty-five years,” said Tarica, “and I’m in perfect health.”

  There was a brief humming sound.

  “I have just given you a level three scan, sir,” said Quatermain, “and you have incipient emphysema, an eight percent blockage of the arteries leading to your heart, adult onset diabetes, and an undefined gum disease. You really must take better care of yourself, sir.”

  “I feel fine,” said Tarica.

  “I could give you a print-out of the scan, sir.”

  “All right, I’ll take better care of myself.”

  “You could begin by not lighting that cigar, sir,” said Quatermain. “I notice you’re still holding it.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be looking for animals?” complained Tarica.

  “I can see in every direction at once, sir.”

  Tarica sighed and put the cigar back in his pocket.

  “I’m sure you’ll be much happier for doing that, sir.”

  “You have two more guesses,” growled Tarica.

  They rode in silence for a few minutes. Then Donahue asked Quatermain how to open the windows.

  “Why bother, sir?” replied the car. “I am equipped with the most modern climate control system. You name the conditions and I will accommodate you.”

  “But I’d like to feel the wind in my face,” said Donahue.

  Suddenly a blast of cold air hit his face.

  “Simulated wind at 32 miles per hour, 82 degrees Fahrenheit, 7 percent humidity,” announced Quatermain. “Would you like any adjustment, sir?”

  “I’d just like some fresh air,” complained Donahue.

  “All right,” said Quatermain. “Just let me slow down first.”

  “Why?”

  “Even a small insect could damage your eye at the speed I was going,” answered Quatermain. “It will take us an extra hour to reach the closest of the great herds, but your comfort is more important than an extra hour of daylight.”

  “All right, forget it,” said Donahue. “Close the windows and get back up to speed.”

  “You’re sure?” asked the car.

  “I’m sure.”

  “You’re not just doing it to make me feel better?”

  “Just speed up, goddammit!”

  They drove for twenty minutes in absolute silence. Then Quatermain slowed down to a crawl. “Bluebucks at nine o’clock,” it announced.

  “It’s three-thirty,” said Tarica. “Do you expect to wait five and a half hours for them to show up?”

  “Nine o’clock means to your left, sir,” explained Quatermain. “Three o’clock is to your right, twelve o’clock is straight ahead, and six o’clock is straight behind us.”

  “And I suppose twenty o’clock is some bird that’s directly overhead?” asked Donahue with a smug smile.

  “I don’t call that by an o’clock, sir.”

  “Oh? What do you call it?”

  “Up, sir.” A brief pause. “Daggerhorns at two o’clock.”

  “There must be a thousand of ’em!” said Tarica enthusiastically.

  “1,276 by my count, sir,” said the car.

  “Drive a little closer. I’d like to get a good look at them.”

  “I think this is as close as we should go, sir.”

  “But we’re still half a mile away from them!” complained Tarica.

  “783 yards from the nearest, to be exact, sir—or 722.77 meters, if you prefer.”

  “Well, then?”

  “Well what, sir?”

  “Drive closer.”

  “My job is to protect you from danger, sir.”

  “They’re grass-eaters, for God’s sake!”

  “There are two cases on record of tourists being killed by daggerhorns,” said Quatermain.

  “Out of how many?” demanded Tarica.

  “There have been 21,843 safaris on Selous, comprised of 36,218 tourists, sir.”

  “So the odds are 18,000 to one against our being killed,” said Tarica.

  “Actually, the odds are 18,109 to one, sir.”

  “Big difference,” snorted Tarica. “Drive closer.”

  “I really advise against it, sir.”

  “Then take us back to the spaceport and we’ll get a vehicle that caters to our needs.”

  “You don’t need to see a daggerhorn close up, sir,” noted Quatermain reasonably. “You merely want to.”

  “The spaceport or the daggerhorns,” insisted Tarica. “Make your decision before they all move away.”

  “You are adamant?”

  “I am.”

  “Very well,” said Quatermain. “Shields up! Screens up! Laser canon at the ready!” It began playing a male chorus singing an invigorating martial song.

  Tarica and Donahue peered out through a suddenly-raised titanium grid that covered the windows. The daggerhorns continued their grazing, paying no attention to the approaching vehicle.

  Suddenly Quatermain’s voice blasted out at 300 decibels through the external speakers. “I warn you: I am fully armed and will not let any harm come to my passengers. Go about your business peacefully and make no attempt to molest them.”

/>   The second they heard the speakers all grazing stopped, and the entire herd suddenly decided it had urgent business elsewhere. A moment later Quatermain and its passengers were all alone on the savanna.

  “Invigorating, wasn’t it?” said Quatermain in satisfied tones.

  “I’m starting to understand why the corporation could afford this particular safari company,” muttered Tarica.

  “Tailswinger at nine o’clock,” announced Quatermain.

  “Where?” said Donahue, who was on the left side of the vehicle.

  “Well, actually it’s about 1400 yards away, and is totally obscured by branches, but my sensors detect its body heat.”

  “Well, let’s go over and look at it.”

  “I can’t, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “There is a female tailswinger in an adjacent tree, and she’s nursing an infant.”

  “We’re not going to steal it,” said Donahue. “We’re just going to look at it.”

  “I really can’t disturb a nursing mother, sir,” said Quatermain.

  “But you had no problem disturbing twelve hundred daggerhorns,” complained Donahue.

  “None of them were nursing, sir.”

  “Fine,” muttered Donahue. He tested the door handle. “Oh, well, as long as you’re stopped, unlock this thing.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “We left the spaceport before I could stop by a bathroom and I’ve got to pee.” He tried the door again. “What’s the problem? Is the door stuck?”

  “Certainly not, sir,” said Quatermain. “I am in perfect repair.”

  “Then let me out.”

  “I can’t, sir.”

  “Nothing’s going to attack me,” said Donahue. “You scared all the animals away, in case you don’t remember.”

  “I agree, sir. There are no potentially dangerous animals within striking distance.”

  “So why won’t you open the goddamned door?”