2014 Campbellian Anthology

by Various

  I ran for my truck, Leggo huffing after me in protest. He threw the bike in the back, and as soon as I coaxed the ignition, we tore out of the parking lot.

  • • •

  The hilltop was hidden under a cloud of dust as I braked and leaped out. Parked next to the paddock were a big rig with a cattle trailer, a few police cruisers, and two gigantic black SUVs. A pair of sheriff’s deputies stood by, next to a man in khakis and a too-clean barn jacket. The herd mooed in protest as braseros yaaaaa­ed them into the trailer.

  I pulled the plumber’s wrench I used for dealing with water lines out of the truck’s toolbox, climbed onto the hood of one of the SUVs, and beat its windshield until everyone stopped.

  The man in the barn jacket ran up to me. “What are you doing?”

  I jumped to the ground and thrust a finger in his face. “You’re on my land, stealing my bison. You don’t get to ask questions.” I shoved past him to get to the deputies, holding up the warrant. “You gonna arrest these cattle thieves, or what?”

  The older of them sighed. “I’m sorry, Doc, but we got word from on high.”

  I snorted. “Of course. We wouldn’t want your boss to turn his back on his biggest campaign contributors.”

  “You had thirty days to respond, Doctor Higley,” said Barn Jacket. “Your product—”

  “My bison,” I spat.

  Barn Jacket shrugged. “Your bison violate my client’s intellectual property rights. You don’t have the license to raise them.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I said. “By the time you get back to town, you’ll find yourself up to your eyeballs in countersuits.”

  “Already noted,” he said, pulling a satphone out of his pocket and waving it. “Still, under the terms of the injunction, the Modoc County Sheriff’s Department has to confiscate your herd.” He nodded at the braseros, and they continued leading the bison into the trailers. The pipe wrench tapped against my knee, and I wondered how quickly I’d be able to hit someone before I got shot. One of the younger deputies caught my eye, his hand hovering near his holster. I let the wrench fall to the ground.

  “That’s a nice benefit,” said Barn Jacket as the last of the bison climbed into the trailer. “Must make getting them to market easy.”

  I just stood there.

  “We’re going to need your research as well,” said Barn Jacket.

  I spread my hands to my sides. “Come and get it.”

  He gave me a once-over, then walked to the undamaged SUV. He opened the back door but didn’t get in, instead talking and pointing to me and the bison. I didn’t have to guess who was inside.

  I heard Leggo digging around in his jacket and caught a brief whiff of weed. “Put that away,” I said, punching him on the shoulder. “You want to get arrested for real?”

  “Conflict works me up.” He took his hands out of his jacket and wiggled his fingers.

  “You and me both.”

  Barn Jacket walked back over to us. “We won’t be charging you for the windshield,” he said, giving me a smile like he’d just done me a favor.

  “How generous.”

  “For what it’s worth, Doctor Higley, Amagco isn’t opposed to what you’re doing,” he said. “It’s just that, well, people need to play by the rules.”

  “That’s kind of tough when your opponent can pay off the people who write the rules.”

  “Now, that’s not fair—”

  I stalked toward him. “Mister, considering all of the heavy-handed, undercutting crap Amagco has pulled with farmers around the world, you have some gall coming here and talking about fair.”

  Barn Jacket stepped backwards. “Look, Doctor—”

  “You fulfilled your injunction, now get off my land.” I pointed at the road. “In fact, get out of my valley. Go back to Sacramento or St. Louis or wherever you’re from. I recommend taking 395 so you can see all of the family farms you’ve ruined with your licensed seed stock and overpriced fertilizers.”

  He shook his head and climbed into the SUV with the busted windshield. The deputies gave us sad nods as they flicked on their cruisers’ bubble lights, and the whole armada of vehicles rumbled away, leaving us with a bunch of dangling electric fencing and the mixed smell of grass, soil, and manure.

  “What now, dude?”

  I double-checked the batteries to make sure they weren’t hooked up, then grabbed a post and undid the wiring. “First, we clean this mess. Then we wait until dark.” I wound the wire around my arm, trying to keep it all orderly.

  Leggo picked up a fencepost and cradled it in his meaty arms. “And then what?”

  I tossed the bundle into the Chevy. “Then we steal our bison back.”

  • • •

  After we packed away the fencing, we rolled to Mom’s house. The cattle trailer’s tires were still good, though hooking it up was a pain. And, of course, the Chevy’s starter ground and refused to catch, so I hammered at the horn and cussed out the truck, Chevrolet, Amagco, Marisol, Gus, the universe in general. It felt good to let loose like that, even though it was enough to bring Mom out of the house. She had a coffee cup and an angry look.

  “If you’re going to act like a crazy person, Bruce, please go and do it up in the hills where no one will hear you.”

  Leggo excused himself to smoke.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  She folded her arms. “Your dad used to do the same thing when he was frustrated. That’s why his truck always steered a little funny—he’d bashed it out of alignment.”

  “Probably not a good thing to emulate.”

  “You’ve gotten most of his good bits. We can overlook a few faults.”

  I tapped the steering wheel. “Sorry about last night. That was rude.”

  “You’re damn right it was. Understandable, but still rude.”

  “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

  “Like Dad taught you,” said Mom. “Don’t yell at anyone…”

  “… they’ll kick you when you’re not looking,” we said together, then laughed.

  “I know this isn’t what Dad would have wanted,” I said.

  “I think he would’ve wanted you to succeed.” She shrugged. “And I think he would’ve wanted you to get your herd back.” She cleared her throat and looked toward town. “I heard through the grapevine that your bison are parked in front of Diego’s Auto. Something about getting a windshield replaced.” She smiled. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  I kissed Mom on the cheek, called for Leggo, and we roared away.

  Diego’s was on Twelth, on the north edge of town. We took the long way around and parked on Spruce. I left Leggo with the truck and ran as quickly and quietly as I could to the back of the shop. The SUV with the shattered window and the rig with the trailer were parked in front, the bison mooing loud enough to hear in the next county. No one was around. Across the street, the other SUV was parked in front of the Wagon Wheel Restaurant. Barn Jacket and Mari had to be in there, cooling their heels. I ran back to Leggo and told him we were still in business.

  Leggo shook his head, then dug in his jacket until he found a fresh joint. “Conflict, man, conflict,” he muttered, lighting it up.

  “I’ll get the herd into our trailer,” I said. “You go and distract the crowd at the Wagon Wheel.”

  Leggo blew out a smoke ring and caught it. “Not sure I’m up to that, dude.”

  “I’ll buy you that expensive syrup from Quebec you’ve always wanted.”

  Leggo leaped out of the truck, took off his pants, and sprinted down Spruce Street. There was a howl from the restaurant as he turned onto Twelfth Street, and everyone ran outside to cheer. It was amazing how someone that big could be so graceful at speed.

  There was no time for finessing it, so I just pulled the truck into Diego’s and backed up to the Amagco trailer. There was still some fresh hay in the bed, and I hoped it would be enough to entice the bison to walk. I got out, scattering the hay into my trailer, lowered the ramp from the Amagco
trailer, and stepped away.

  The bison stirred for a moment, then trooped up to the hay. The air was thick with their musk and trampled manure. I resisted the urge to pet them; I’d never done it before, and the last thing I wanted to do was spook them. They jostled and nudged, but they all piled in, all except that one bull with the white eye circle.

  I took a breath, then climbed in after the bull, remembering Dad’s advice: don’t crowd them, don’t let them see you scared, and don’t cuss in front of them. I held out a handful of hay. “C’mon,” I said. “There’s plenty more over here.”

  The bison shook his head, then pawed the ground.

  “You want to stay here so they can dissect you?” I backed away. “Be my guest. But don’t come crying to me when you’re laid out on the slab.”

  “Actually, we’re just going to incinerate them outright,” said Barn Jacket from behind.

  “Jesus!” I spun around. The bison snorted, then backed further into the Amagco trailer.

  “Ms. Cisneros said you were supposed to keep a clean mouth around them.” He smirked. He wasn’t wearing his barn jacket any more. He was also, I realized, about a head taller and thirty pounds heavier than me.

  “You are.” I crouched down and sprinkled the hay in front of the bison.

  “I guess cattle rustling will get a man rattled.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” I stood up and brushed my hands on my jeans. “You would, though. You and your bosses. You’re nothing but a bunch of thieves and murderers.” I pointed at the bull. “You toss that guy in the fire, you are just going to damn another generation of ranchers to more antibiotics and feedlots and all the hell that comes with them. But, you know, you’ve got to protect your client. So go ahead.” I sat down and ran my hands across the floor, gathering clumps of mashed-up hay. “I won’t resist. I’m a dead man anyway.”

  Barn Jacket pulled his satphone out of his jeans pocket. His smirk vanished. “I heard you were smug, but not a drama queen.”

  “You want to see drama? Find out what happens when no one can pay your license fees anymore. Find out what happens when you’re up to your neck in dead cattle ’cause the ranchers can’t afford the modified feed. You can’t see it, but I can. My dad could. That’s why he fought Amagco so hard.”

  Barn Jacket paused in his dialing. “You know, Ms. Cisneros, she talks about your dad a lot. He sounded like a good man. But he was behind the times. So are you.”

  “I like to think I’m just too far ahead for you to catch up.”

  He shook his head and thumbed the phone. “Sorry, Doctor Higley.”

  I nodded. “Me, too.” Then I threw the hay in his face. It might have had a little manure mixed in.

  He sputtered and swore while I dove for the mini. The bull mooed as I grabbed it by the horns and dragged it past Barn Jacket, who was too busy spitting out hay to block my path. I lobbed the bison in with the rest of the herd, then slammed both trailers shut.

  I leaped into my truck, only to find the engine had died. I swore at it, banged the steering wheel, jumped up and down in my seat. The starter just ground and ground. In a few minutes, there would be sirens and cops and guns. Could you get arrested for stealing your own cattle?

  There was a knock on the truck door, and I jumped. It was Mari, looking confused and angry and holding a stack of mail. “You forgot this last night,” she said. “I meant to bring it to you, but.…” She looked at the trailers. “You can’t just run, Brewster.”

  For a moment, I didn’t know what to say, then laughed. “What, you want me to stay and fight?”

  She shook her head. “I want you to think of something else.” She put one of the letters in my hand; it was the plea from the Annual Fund.

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure how donating to Davis is going to help me right now, Mari.”

  She patted my cheek. “For a smart guy, you can be so dense. Just think about someone else taking up your fight.” She reached in, flicked the key once, and the truck roared to life. “Your herd deserves better than this.”

  I nodded, gave her a tiny wave, and wheeled out of the lot.

  Leggo ran alongside the truck as I pulled it around to Twelfth Street. He jumped onto the running board and whooped, “FREEDOM! FREEEEEEDOM!” before climbing into the cab.

  “Jesus, what a scene,” I said.

  “But a righteous one,” he said, catching his breath.

  I stomped on the gas and checked the rearview mirror. “How much of a head start you think we got?”

  “About an hour.” He held out his hands and showed me a dozen tire-valve stems. “These things are real easy to snap off, but a bitch to replace.”

  I looked at the stems, then at his pale bulk. “Now, why can’t you move that fast when you’re doing fencing?”

  “’Cause it’s not breakin’ the law, dude.” Leggo struggled into his pants. “Take a left here.”

  “That’s a dead end.”

  “Exactly.”

  We bumped off the pavement onto an empty lot. We bounced through the hardpack for a hundred yards, and Leggo pointed to the right. There was a dirt trail that led to the hills. “One of my escape routes.”

  “Where does it go?”

  Leggo shrugged. “Wherever we want, dude. The road’s wide open. By the time they get a move on, we’ll be in Shasta County.”

  I looked at the letter from Davis, still crumpled in my hand. Think about someone else taking up your fight, Mari had said. And then I remembered Gus, just yesterday, saying Just give your bison away.

  “That’s it,” I whispered.

  “What’s what?” said Leggo.

  “How far to your old grow spot?”

  “Which one, dude? I had Modoc Monster around Trinity, and Shasta Shine at Whiskeytown, and.…”

  “Okay, which one would have good pasture for the minis?”

  Leggo looked back at the trailer. “You serious?”

  “Completely. We’re gonna hole up for a while, then bring ’em down to Davis.”

  “Davis? What for?”

  “We’re giving them away.”

  Leggo held up a hand, his finger shaking like he was trying to pop his brain into gear. “I know I smoke a lot and stuff confuses me, but… this confuses me.”

  “I don’t know if I can win this time. Gus is getting old, and if he can’t handle it, who else is gonna take the job?” I showed him the letter. “I can’t fight Amagco, but they can’t fight the UC Regents. I’ll give them the bison, the licenses, the research, everything. Put it into the public trust. Make the genome open source.”

  Leggo’s face relaxed, then curled into a smile. “You’re serious.”

  “Completely. The minis belong to everyone, just like the big guys did. I’ll surrender my rights. If Amagco wants to sue everyone, they can try.”

  Leggo settled into his seat and dug out a fresh joint. He lit it and took a long, hard toke. “So why did we steal these back?”

  I plucked the joint from his fingers, then a took a tiny, tiny hit. “You don’t mess with a man’s herd. Dad taught me that.”

  We drove into the night, the road getting rougher and the stars getting brighter.

  Melanie Rees became eligible for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer with the publication of “Seven Sins” in Daily Science Fiction (Jul. 2012), edited by Michele-Lee Barasso and Jonathan Laden.

  Visit her website at www.flexirees.wordpress.com.

  * * *

  Flash: “Seven Sins”

  Short Story: “Virtually Human”

  Short Story: “The Dragon”

  SEVEN SINS

  by Melanie Rees

  First published in Daily Science Fiction (Jul. 2012), edited by Michele-Lee Barasso and Jonathan Laden

  • • • •

  HUNCHED on the waiting-room floor, a gargoyle clasped a chair leg with razor sharp talons. Its ridged spine protruded through its leathery skin.

  I glanced at Ms. Shipley at the reception desk.
>
  “That is your ten o’clock appointment.” She handed me a manila file. “Case of vertigo,” she whispered.

  “Excuse me!” blurted a man, sitting cross-legged with his arms folded across his chest.

  “We’ve been waiting for ever.” At the other end of the bench, a woman in a baroque dress bounced a baby on her lap.

  “Come in…” I looked at the patient file. “… Mr. and Mrs. Charming.”

  Mr. Charming stormed into my office, plonked himself on the couch and tossed down his crown.

  “Why don’t you take a seat, Mr. Charming?”

  “Hurry up, dear.” Mr. Charming gazed at his wife, oblivious to my sarcasm.

  “Ms. Shipley can take care of the baby, if you like?” I said to Mrs. Charming.

  “I’d rather hold her. Although, I’m sure my husband would love it if I left her outside. Maybe left her out in the woods.” Mrs. Charming rocked the baby in her arms.

  “I am sensing some resentment,” I said, picking up my pen and notepad.

  “Resentment? Not at all, doctor. I don’t resent my arrogant two-faced husband.”

  Whaaah! The baby erupted into a chorus of screams.

  “Hush. Don’t cry. There, there, my sweet baby girl,” whispered Mrs. Charming.

  “Let me hold her.” Mr. Charming extended his arms.

  “Oh, now you’re going to step in for your fatherly duties?” Mrs. Charming glared at him.

  “How noble of you. How princely.”

  “Might I interject at this point? Let’s take a deep breath.” I massaged my temples. “Mrs. Charming, how about you begin?”

  “Thank you, doctor. I just don’t feel like I get any respect for what I do around the castle—”

  “What! Your servants do all the cooking, shine the silver, polish the mirror—”

  “Mr. Charming, you can have your turn in a moment,” I said. “Let Mrs. Charming have her say.”

  “Have her say? Have you seen those ruby red lips? They haven’t stopped wagging since the day I kissed them. And I do plenty around the kingdom.”

  “Oh yes, it is so hard sitting on your white-maned horse, waving to the peasants as you trot down the forest path each day.”