by Anthology
Mikey pulled his arms back and waved them in the air.
Erin said, “Now what?”
Both chamber doors clanged open. Four Quggano guards, looking even bigger and more menacing now that Erin had gotten used to seeing Mikey’s compact form, stomped into the chamber and grabbed Erin and Mikey. Erin didn’t even have time to say good-bye, or offer a handshake to her opponent. She hoped they weren’t both being taken away to be executed. Was not winning the same thing as losing?
***
Erin shivered as refrigerated oxygen cycled into the Myrmidon’s airlock. She clutched her bundle of clothes against her private parts. The shivering was partly due to the cold air, but mostly because she’d had no idea what the Quggano would do to her for throwing the game, and she had feared the worst.
She had been pleasantly surprised when they escorted her back through the docking tunnel with remarkable grace and used their unexpectedly gentle pincers to nudge her into the airlock, where her clothes were still waiting in a pile on the floor. It would take her a few minutes to get over being scared out of her mind.
Lieutenant Darrow rushed forward as the airlock doors opened and threw a scratchy Fleet-issue gray blanket over Erin’s shoulders. He guided her onto a bench in the corridor. A crewman waiting there handed Erin a cup of something dark and warm. Erin spat out the red capsule under her tongue, sending it skittering across the deck, and watched the crewman race after it.
“You did it,” Darrow said. “I don’t believe it. I mean, it’s great that you won—”
“I didn’t win,” Erin said, pulling the blanket around herself. She felt not just cold, but numb. She gulped down the warm liquid. It might have been coffee, but the important thing was, it was warm.
Darrow frowned and knelt down next to her. “What do you mean, you didn’t win? They let you go.”
“S-stalemate,” Erin stuttered. She took another drink. Her fingertips tingled as feeling returned to them. “Nobody won.”
“That’s—” Darrow stood up, his mouth open. “I’ve never heard of that happening before.”
Erin chuckled. “First time for everything, I guess.”
Darrow’s wristcom chirped. He raised it to his face. “Darrow here.”
“This is the captain,” came Yokota’s voice. “Get Miss Bountain up to the bridge. The Quggano want to talk to her.”
***
Erin was glad that Darrow delayed the lift long enough for her to put on her clothes. Everyone on the bridge watched as she and Darrow walked out of the lift and over to where the captain stood, in front of the main viewscreen.
The display showed the Quggano bridge, with a similar array of personnel: the captain, wearing his ceremonial sash, in the middle; next to him, another officer; behind them, Mikey, flanked by his parents; and the rest of the crew at attention. Two dozen alien eyes stared out from the screen, dark orbs rotating back and forth occasionally. The Quggano stood perfectly still otherwise.
“Here she is,” Captain Yokota said, motioning for Erin to stand next to him. “Our champion, Erin Bountain of Earth.”
His eyes flashed a what-the-hell-is-going-on look at her. She shrugged and wondered what to do with her hands while the Quggano translator relayed Captain Yokota’s message. She settled for folding her arms across her chest. No need for everyone on the bridge to see how cold she was.
“Captain FFRRHHHD congratulates both champions on their performance in the contest,” the translator said. “It is an unusual outcome, but surely speaks to the skill of the competitors.”
“Thank you, Captain Fred,” Erin said. She heard someone cough behind her and saw Yokota shooting a dirty look over his shoulder. “I feel honored to have played Ton-Gla-Ben with a challenger as adept as Mikey.”
This time, someone actually laughed out loud. Yokota snapped his fingers and pointed at the lift. Erin heard footsteps behind her.
“As tradition dictates, we will now open peace negotiations,” the translator said.
“What?” Erin said.
“We accept,” Yokota said, stepping forward. “Please let me offer—”
“Excuse me, Captain,” the translator said. “Negotiations will proceed between our two champions.”
“What?” Yokota said.
“They have proven themselves in the contest,” the translator said. “They now represent our respective species in this proceeding. I will translate for Champion MMMAAAKH.” He gestured with one arm, and Mikey’s parents reluctantly released him.
“Get them to a conference table,” Yokota said to Erin, under his breath. “Do not say anything else. You get them to the table, and then you hand off to me. You got that?”
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Erin replied. “I got this.”
She ignored his glare and stepped forward to meet Mikey’s image.
“Good game,” she said.
The translator conveyed her message. Mikey said something in response.
“Champion MMMAAAKH respectfully requests a rematch,” the translator said. “At your convenience, purely for sport.”
Erin smiled. “Tell him I’m ready. Anytime, anywhere. Gaalaann.”
Mikey waved his antennae and made that cawing sound again. The translator seemed confused. “Apologies, Champion Erin, I am not certain I understand your meaning.”
“Gaalaann. It’s what you say when you begin a game of Ton-Gla-Ben, right?”
“That is the tradition,” the translator said. “However, the word itself can convey other nuances.”
Erin glanced at Darrow. “Like what?”
The translator flicked one antenna. “It denotes a challenge, but the specific context can apply other connotations. In the most literal sense, I believe it would translate as: ‘Follow me, if you are able.’ What did you mean to say?”
Erin smiled at the people on the viewscreen. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
Making Waves(Short story)
by Curtis C. Chen
Originally published by SNAFU: An Anthology of Military Horror
"You check those corners, sailor?" the Chief of the Boat barked. "Those lines are off by half a degree and our visitor doesn't materialize!"
"Re-measuring now, Master Chief!"
The COB was exaggerating, but I'd learned early in my naval career not to argue with a superior. If it wasn't likely to kill me, I just did it.
I placed my protractor on the dowstone panel we had strapped to the deck and re-checked all the angles in the chalked pentagram, then inspected every stroke of every rune around the circle. Then I climbed the ladder and verified the matching dowstone on the ceiling. Satisfied both stones would activate correctly, I stepped back and reported my progress.
"Very well," the COB grumbled. "Rosebud!"
The seaman's real name was Roseler, but after that Orson Welles flick, everyone called him ‘Rosebud’ as a tease. He jumped forward, holding his clipboard. I did my best to get out of the way. The COB's quarters weren't exactly spacious. Roseler and I didn't both need to be here, but we were apparently the only two sailors on the Bowfin rated for magic, and the Master Chief wanted us to double-check each other.
"You got the incantations there?" the COB asked Roseler.
"Aye, Master Chief!" Roseler said, his voice cracking. And people said I sounded like a girl.
"Corrected for position and depth?"
"Aye, Master Chief! I've got the math right here—"
"I can't read your damn chicken scratches." The COB waved the clipboard away and checked his wristwatch. "Rendezvous in twenty seconds. Make sure you're doing it right."
Roseler looked like he might cry. "M-maybe you'd like to do it yourself, Master Chief?"
"Do I look like a motherfucking magician?" the COB roared into Roseler's face. Their noses couldn't have been more than half an inch apart. "Now incant that fucking spell so we can receive our goddamn visitor!"
"Aye, Master Chief!" Roseler buried his face in the clipboard. I made a fist with one hand, re
ady to give him a kidney-punch if I heard the slightest mispronunciation. I didn't want to be within a hundred yards of the Bowfin if anything went wrong on the receiving end of this teleport.
"Five seconds, sailor!" the COB shouted.
"Aye, Master Chief!" Roseler began making unnatural noises with his mouth. "Hagitaa, moro-ven-schaa, inlum'taa…"
Both pentagrams pulsed blue and white. Roseler finished the incantation, only going a little flat on the last syllable, and a pillar of light flashed into being between the two circles. A moment later, the light faded, and an officer stood inside the pentagram, carrying a large suitcase and wearing a…skirt?
"Permission to come aboard, Master Chief," the woman said.
She looked to be about my mother's age. Unlike my mother, she wore lieutenant's bars and the most perfect makeup I'd ever seen. But the expression on her face and the fact that she'd just teleported nearly seven thousand miles onto a submerged attack boat in the South Pacific told me she wasn't here to entertain anyone. Her nametag read: MARKEY.
"Permission granted, ma'am," the COB said without missing a beat. I guess you don't get to be a Master Chief by balking at the unexpected. "Sorry the captain couldn't be here to greet you himself. We're playing hide and seek with the Japs."
As if on cue, the entire boat groaned and rolled to starboard. I was impressed that the lieutenant kept her balance in those heels.
The COB shoved Roseler and me back. "If you'll follow me, ma'am?"
Markey looked at the pentagrams. "You're not going to clean this up?"
"These two can handle—"
"You secure those surfaces, Master Chief," Markey snapped. She looked straight at me. "You. What's your name?"
I blinked, surprised that she would address me directly. "Uh, Hatcher, ma'am."
Markey nodded. "Seaman Hatcher can escort me to see the captain."
***
"A kraken?" Captain Channing glared at Lieutenant Markey. "Is this a joke?"
Everyone else in the control room, myself included, was doing their best to listen in without looking like they were eavesdropping. Markey had handed over an official envelope from COMSUBPAC, and the captain and XO had verified the code sigils with their authorization amulets before unsealing the Bowfin's new orders.
"No joke, Captain," Markey said.
"We're at war, and some egghead in OP-20-G wants us to go hunting for a sea monster?" The captain turned over the paper in his hand as if looking for something more on the back. "What makes you think this creature even exists?"
"The Japanese are very chatty," Markey said. "They don't know we've broken their codes, and they talk about all kinds of things over the wireless. Lately they've been diverting their ships away from the western side of Kyushu Island, to avoid disturbing something they call nemuru kaiju—a 'sleeping beast.' Surely you've noticed the changes in your patrol routes."
"Yeah, we noticed," the captain said. "But maybe they do know you've cracked their codes and this is a trap. We've been doing a lot of damage to their merchant fleet. They must be looking for ways to kill more of our subs."
"I'm not here for a conference, Captain," Markey said. "You have your orders."
"I've got a question," the XO said.
Markey looked up at him. "Yes?"
"Let's suppose this kraken is real," the XO drawled, "and as powerful as you say it is. How come the Japs haven't already woken it up and sicced it on us?"
"The people of Japan live on a collection of small islands surrounded by the entire Pacific Ocean," Markey said. "Most of their mythology tells of how dangerous the sea and its inhabitants can be. They live with that danger every day. The Japanese aren't going to risk waking the monsters under their bed." She turned back to the captain. "But we can."
"Okay, fine," the captain said. "If the Japs are busy fighting off this kraken, they're not making war on us. Good plan. But we have to find the damn thing first."
Markey smiled. "That's why I'm here, Captain."
***
Lieutenant Markey insisted on using the head right after leaving the control room. I didn't understand why she would need to piss when it had been only minutes since she'd left the comfort of Main Navy. There was no privacy door for the toilet, so I stood in front of Markey with my back turned while she squatted. My body also blocked the sound of her voice when she spoke.
"So how long have you been using that glamour, Miss Hatcher?"
My stomach leapt into my throat and my heart rate must have tripled. I was glad she couldn't see my face. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I'm not sure what you mean."
"Please. I know a conjured disguise when I see one. Can I give you some advice?"
My fear soured to irritation. "Can I stop you, ma'am?"
"You need better scent concealment," Markey said. "I'm guessing that's a fake bandage on your hand, to explain the smell of blood, right? But that trick won't work every month. And you don't want to get a reputation for being clumsy."
My hands were both behind my back, at parade rest, and I fidgeted with my bandaged left palm. "Do you have a suggestion, ma'am? Other than dousing myself with cheap cologne?"
"Yes." Markey stood and flushed. "But we should talk in private."
***
The COB wasn't happy about giving up his quarters for our visitor, but the captain refused to have a woman sharing rack space with a bunch of sailors. I wondered what he would do if he ever found out the truth about me.
Markey interrupted the COB as he and I were preparing to carry his personal effects to a temporary bunk. "Excuse me, Master Chief. I'd like to speak to Seaman Hatcher alone."
I winced. The COB looked from Markey to me and back again, his eyes wide. I had no doubt I'd get a good yelling-at later. "Of course, ma'am." He glared at me. "You know where to find me, Seaman."
"Aye, COB," I said. He shut the door behind him.
I turned back to Markey, who was already making herself comfortable on the COB's bed. She kicked off her shoes and rubbed the soles of her feet.
"With all due respect, ma'am," I said, "I'm trying to not call attention to myself here—"
"Relax," Markey said. "I'm just a crazy dame from Washington. They won't suspect anything. Now."
She reached into her wavy hair and pulled out a bobby pin. Then she twisted the metal—it looked like copper—until it became an impossible shape, and even I could see the energy rippling off its surface like a heat mirage.
"You're using a visual glamour," she said. "This will extend the illusion to mask odors. Just keep it in contact with your skin at all times."
She held out the object and I took it with a trembling hand. If Lieutenant Markey could turn a bobby pin into a charged talisman, and if the Navy had sent her, alone, to locate a kraken, she would be one hell of a powerful friend to have.
She also scared the shit out of me. People who seem too competent always make me nervous.
"Thank you, ma'am," I said. "This is—I mean, I don't know how I can repay you." What I really meant was: I don't know why you're helping me.
"Well," Markey said, "you can start by finding me some trousers and boots. I don't plan to spend the next two weeks showing off my legs."
"Yes, ma'am." I tucked the hairpin under the bandage wrapped around my left hand. "If there's nothing else?"
Markey looked at me with dark, unfathomable eyes. "Tell me how you ended up here."
"In the Navy?" That was easy: I wanted to kill Japs. I tried to think of a nicer way to say it.
"On the Bowfin," she said.
I frowned. "I didn't exactly get to choose my posting."
Markey shook her head. "Why disguise yourself as a man?"
I should have figured she'd ask that. "I knew Uncle Sam wouldn't let a girl do any real fighting. And that's bullshit. Pardon my French."
"Why do you want to fight?"
"You're kidding, right?" I gaped at her. "They attacked us! Stabbed their damn aluminum planes through the Pacific defense screens and into Pearl
Harbor. I was born in Honolulu. When I saw the photos—all that black smoke filling our sky—I hated them. I wanted revenge, I'm not afraid to say it."
I felt my hands shaking, and I folded my arms to hide them. "Not to mention their Nazi pals are killing or enslaving their way through all of Europe. If we don't stop the Axis, ma'am, they're going to take over the world, and I don't want to live in that world."
Markey nodded and seemed to relax. "Sorry to interrogate you like that, Hatcher, but I'm never sure whether to trust people in disguise."
"Yeah, well, we can't all look like movie stars."
"Don't imagine for a second that makes things any easier for me," she snapped. "And I will thank you to address me as 'Lieutenant' or 'ma'am', Seaman Hatcher."
I looked down at the floor, my face warm. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."
"This is not a costume I'm wearing." Markey touched her uniform. "I earned my rank. I had to fight to get this job, and I fight every day to keep it.
"Yes, there are advantages to men finding you beautiful, but that perception also limits you. They think all you are is a pretty face and a nice body. They only care about what they can see." She shrugged. "But I don't have to tell you how appearances can be deceiving."
"No, ma'am."
Markey sighed. "What you're doing now is very brave, Hatcher. But when this war is over, you'll have to go back home—back to being a woman. Have you thought about how you're going to handle that?"
"Well, ma'am, since most of my time in the Navy's been spent cleaning one thing or another, I expect I'll be well trained to be a housewife." My words came out sounding more bitter than I intended.
"You have the talent, Hatcher," Markey said. "More than that, you clearly have the will. These two things are powerful in combination."
This conversation was becoming very uncomfortable. "With all due respect, ma'am, why the hell do you care? You don't even know me."
Markey stood and walked over to me. "I won't be pretty forever. I'll get old, and men won't want me anymore. But this?" She held up a hand, then snapped her fingers to create an illusory flame bobbing in midair. "The talent will be with me until the day I die. And to know that, to have that and not use it for something good—that would be such a waste."