Asimov's Science Fiction 10-11/2001
Page 38
“Aubrey!” Surplus cried. “We are headed the wrong way!”
It was true. They were running deeper into the Labyrinth, toward its heart, rather than outward. But it was impossible to turn back now. They plunged through scattering crowds of nobles and servitors, trailing fire and supernatural terror in their wake.
The scampering grotesque set fire to the carpets with every footfall. A wave of flame tracked him down the hall, incinerating tapestries and wallpaper and wood trim. No matter how they dodged, it ran straight toward them. Clearly, in the programmatic literalness of its kind, the demon from the web had determined that having early seen them, it must early kill them as well.
Darger and Surplus raced through dining rooms and salons, along balconies and down servants’ passages. To no avail. Dogged by their hyper-natural nemesis, they found themselves running down a passage, straight toward two massive bronze doors, one of which had been left just barely ajar. So fearful were they that they hardly noticed the guards.
“Hold, sirs!”
The mustachioed master of apes stood before the doorway, his baboons straining against their leashes. His eyes widened with recognition. “By gad, it's you!” he cried in astonishment.
“Lemme kill ‘em!” one of the baboons cried. “The lousy bastards!” The others growled agreement.
Surplus would have tried to reason with them, but when he started to slow his pace, Darger put a broad hand on his back and shoved. “Dive!” he commanded. So of necessity the dog of rationality had to bow to the man of action. He tobogganed wildly across the polished marble floor between two baboons, straight at the master of apes, and then between his legs.
The man stumbled, dropping the leashes as he did.
The baboons screamed and attacked.
For an instant, all five apes were upon Darger, seizing his limbs, snapping at his face and neck. Then the burning dwarf arrived, and, finding his target obstructed, seized the nearest baboon. The animal shrieked as its uniform burst into flames.
As one, the other baboons abandoned their original quarry to fight this newcomer who had dared attack one of their own.
In a trice, Darger leaped over the fallen master of apes, and was through the door. He and Surplus threw their shoulders against its metal surface and pushed. He had one brief glimpse of the fight, with the baboons aflame, and their master's body flying through the air. Then the door slammed shut. Internal bars and bolts, operated by smoothly oiled mechanisms, automatically latched themselves.
For the moment, they were safe.
Surplus slumped against the smooth bronze, and wearily asked, “Where did you get that modem?”
“From a dealer of antiquities.” Darger wiped his brow with his kerchief. “It was transparently worthless. Whoever would dream it could be repaired?”
Outside, the screaming ceased. There was a very brief silence. Then the creature flung itself against one of the metal doors. It rang with the impact.
A delicate girlish voice wearily said, “What is this noise?”
They turned in surprise and found themselves looking up at the enormous corpus of Queen Gloriana. She lay upon her pallet, swaddled in satin and lace, and abandoned by all, save her valiant (though doomed) guardian apes. A pervasive yeasty smell emanated from her flesh. Within the tremendous folds of chins by the dozens and scores was a small human face. Its mouth moved delicately and asked, “What is trying to get in?”
The door rang again. One of its great hinges gave.
Darger bowed. “I fear, madame, it is your death.”
“Indeed?” Blue eyes opened wide and, unexpectedly, Gloriana laughed. “If so, that is excellent good news. I have been praying for death an extremely long time.”
“Can any of God's creations truly pray for death and mean it?” asked Darger, who had his philosophical side. “I have known unhappiness myself, yet even so life is precious to me.”
“Look at me!” Far up to one side of the body, a tiny arm—though truly no tinier than any woman's arm—waved feebly. “I am not God's creation, but Man's. Who would trade ten minutes of their own life for a century of mine? Who, having mine, would not trade it all for death?”
A second hinge popped. The doors began to shiver. Their metal surfaces radiated heat.
“Darger, we must leave!” Surplus cried. “There is a time for learned conversation, but it is not now.”
“Your friend is right,” Gloriana said. “There is a small archway hidden behind yon tapestry. Go through it. Place your hand on the left wall and run. If you turn whichever way you must to keep from letting go of the wall, it will lead you outside. You are both rogues, I see, and doubtless deserve punishment, yet I can find nothing in my heart for you but friendship.”
“Madame....” Darger began, deeply moved.
“Go! My bridegroom enters.”
The door began to fall inward. With a final cry of “Farewell!” from Darger and “Come on!” from Surplus, they sped away.
By the time they had found their way outside, all of Buckingham Labyrinth was in flames. The demon, however, did not emerge from the flames, encouraging them to believe that when the modem it carried finally melted down, it had been forced to return to that unholy realm from whence it came.
* * *
The sky was red with flames as the sloop set sail for Calais. Leaning against the rail, watching, Surplus shook his head. “What a terrible sight! I cannot help feeling, in part, responsible.”
“Come! Come!” Darger said. “This dyspepsia ill becomes you. We are both rich fellows, now! The Lady Pamela's diamonds will maintain us lavishly for years to come. As for London, this is far from the first fire it has had to endure. Nor will it be the last. Life is short, and so, while we live, let us be jolly!”
“These are strange words for a melancholiac,” Surplus said wonderingly.
“In triumph, my mind turns its face to the sun. Dwell not on the past, dear friend, but on the future that lies glittering before us.”
“The necklace is worthless,” Surplus said. “Now that I have the leisure to examine it, free of the distracting flesh of Lady Pamela, I see that these are not diamonds, but mere imitations.” He made to cast the necklace into the Thames.
Before he could, though, Darger snatched away the stones from him and studied them closely. Then he threw back his head and laughed. “The biters bit! Well, it may be paste, but it looks valuable still. We shall find good use for it in Paris.”
“We are going to Paris?”
“We are partners, are we not? Remember that antique wisdom that whenever a door closes, another opens? For every city that burns, another beckons. To France, then, and adventure! After which, Italy, the Vatican Empire, Austro-Hungary, perhaps even Russia! Never forget that you have yet to present your credentials to the Duke of Muscovy.”
“Very well,” Surplus said. “But when we do, I'll pick out the modem.”
Copyright © 2001 by Michael Swanwick.
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Verse
TEN THINGS NOT TO SAY WHEN YOU MEET A FAMOUS SF WRITER
(after G. O. Clark)
Where do you get all those crazy ideas?
You must have made a fortune off that stuff.
I don't know why you win so many awards.
I write as well as you do.
Can you sign this crate of books now?
How did you get your start?
Did you know someone in the business?
I have a brother who wants to be a writer.
Could you take a look at his stories
and let me know what you think?
Do you ever do any regular fiction?
So how come they never make
your books into movies?
I've never read anything by you.
But I hear it's pretty good.
I've got this fantastic idea for a novel.
Listen to this!
—Bruce Boston
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FREAKISH CONFIRMATION
At the age of fifty-five
I receive substantive evidence
for what I have known
since I have known
anything at all.
After X-raying my spine
my chiropractor blinks,
and blinks again.
"You have two extra ribs!”
she tells me. “And one
extra sacral vertebra!”
I am a freak of nature.
A mutant under the skin.
A skeletal overachiever.
That one in a million
and a half kind of guy.
Back on the street
I open my chest,
remove two long bones,
toss them into the clouds.
"Make me a couple women?”
I say. “Eve-like and tempting?”
The extra vertebra
I decide to keep for a while.
At least until I figure out
just how sacral it is.
—Bruce Boston
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HOW TO DETECT A GHOST
The politically correct ones
usually wear T-shirts with the words
Existence Impaired printed in bold
letters across the front.
After arriving home each day,
to your swinging bachelor pad, you find
the television turned on, and tuned
to the History Channel.
Each morning, you find lengthy,
silent messages left on your answering
machine, and you're pretty sure
they're not meant for you.
Things keep disappearing,
then suddenly reappearing, but
hard as you try, you can't seem to keep
track of which ones are which.
Your cat, who used to sleep
at the foot of your bed, now sleeps in the
garage curled up on the hood of your
Volvo—her feline bags packed.
—G.O. Clark
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The SF Conventional Calendar
The DC area rejoins the convention circuit, with CapClave and our own Gardner. Plan now for social weekends with your favorite SF authors, editors, artists, and fellow fans. For an explanation of con(vention)s, a sample of SF folksongs, info on fanzines and clubs, and how to get a later, longer list of cons, send me an SASE (self-addressed, stamped #10 [business] envelope) at 10 Hill #22-L, Newark NJ 07102. The hot line is (973) 242-5999. If a machine answers (with a list of the week's cons), leave a message and I'll call back on my nickel. When writing cons, send an SASE. For free listings, tell me of your con 6 months out. Look for me at cons behind the Filthy Pierre badge, playing a musical keyboard.
—Erwin S. Strauss
September
13-16—Poland National Con. For info, write: skr. Poczt 502, Katowice 40-946, Poland. Or phone: (973) 242-5999 (10 AM to 10 PM, not collect). (Web) www.skf.from.hell.pl. (E-mail) skf@skf.from.hell.pl. Con will be held in: Katowice (if city omitted, same as in address) at a venue TBA. Guests to include: Silverberg.
14-16—Cinema Wasteland. www.videowasteland.com/show. Holiday Inn, Strongsville OH. Sullivan. Film fans.
14-16—Cavalcade. (01947) 821-7111. Spa Pavillion, Whitby, N. Yorks., England. UK costumers’ annual con.
15-16—VulKon. (954) 441-8735. Airport Sheraton, Ft. Lauderdale FL. B. Campbell. Commercial Trek event.
15-16—Resurrection. www.vortex-events.freeserve.co.uk/events. Moat House, Stoke-on-Trent UK. Dr. Who.
20-23—GateCon. (719) 574-6427. Best Western Richmond Inn, Vancouver BC. Rothery, Stait. StarGate SG1.
21-23—ValleyCon. (218) 233-4046. Quality Inn, Fargo ND. J. G. Hertzler, S. Rosema, A. Burbeck-Gould.
21-23—FreeCon. (Web) freecon.tripod. com. Ramada Inn, East Lansing MI. Free admission.
21-23—Nan Desu Con. www.ndk.cc. Sheraton, Lakewood (Denver) CO. S. Frazier, S. Bennett IV. Anime.
21-23—Anime Weekend. (404) 364-9773. Sheraton/GA Conv. Center, Atlanta GA. M. Iijima, T. Grant, C. Orr.
21-23—Oxonmoot. www.tolkiensociety.org. Oxford England. UK Tolkien fans’ annual con. About 100 people.
22-23—HypothetiCon. secretary@hypotheticon2001.co.uk. Glasgow Scotland. No more on this at press time.
27-30—Spain National Con, c/o Celestino Junquera, Gijon 33201, Spain. (Web) salduba2001.8k. com/. Zaragoza.
28-30—CapClave, c/o Gilliland, 4030 8th St. S., Arlington VA 22204. www.wsfa.org/. Beltsville MD. G. Dozois.
28-30—Arcana, Box 8036, Minneapolis MN 55408. (612) 721-5959. Holiday Inn, St. Paul MN. Written SF.
28-30—Foolscap, c/o Box 2461, Seattle WA 98111. (206) 301-9630. Southcenter, Tukwila WA. P. & K. Foglio.
28-30—FilkContinental, c/o Drîge, Wielandstr. 28, Hamburg 22089, Germany. www.filk.de. Freusburg. Music.
November
5-7—Archon, Box 8387, St. Louis MO 63132. (314) 326-3026. Gateway Ctr., Collinsville IL. Cherry, Jackson.
5-7—AlbaCon, Box 2085, Albany NY 12220. www.albacon.org. Ramada, Schenectady. Niven, Eggleton, Atwood.
5-7—ConText, Box 163391, Columbus OH 43216. (614) 889-0426. Trueman Club Hotel. Haldemans. Written SF.
5-7—Maquis Gras, Box 1101, Portage IN 46368. (219) 759-2272. Ramada. G. Walsh, Robin Curtis. Star Trek.
5-7—Animagic, Box 221, Lancaster CA 93584. www.ani-magic.org/. Best Western Antelope Valley Inn. Anime.
5-7—Retribution, Box 1701, London SW6 5WU, UK. www.supernovaconventions.com. Radisson Heathrow. Trek.
6-7—VulKon, Box 821673, So. Florida FL 33082. (954) 441-8735. Marriott, Hunt Valley MD. Commercial Trek.
7—Sisters in Crime, Box 251646, Los Angeles CA 90025. (213) 694-2972. Barre, Fowler, Neri. Mystery fiction.
12-14—ConClave, Box 2915, Ann Arbor MI 48106. www.conclavesf.org. Holiday Inn South, Lansing MI.
August 2002
29-Sep. 2—ConJose, Box 61363, Sunnyvale CA 94088. www.conjose@sfsfc.org. San Jose CA. WorldCon. $140.
August 2003
28-Sep. 1—TorCon 3, Box 3, Stn. A, Toronto ON M5W 1A2. www.torcon3.on.ca. WorldCon. C$170/US$115.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Upcoming Chats
Webs of Wonder
September 11 @ 9:00 P.M. EST
David Brin, Julie E. Czerneda, and James Van Pelt talk about SF in the classroom.
Neil Gaiman
September 25 @ 9:00 P.M. EST
chats about his new novel, American Gods.
A Woman's Liberation
October 9 @ 9:00 P.M. EST
Nancy Kress, Pat Murphy, Sheila Williams, Connie Willis, and Sara Zettel on the new Warner Aspect anthology.
Halloween
October 23 @ 9:00 P.M. EST
Andy Duncan, Esther M. Friesner, and Lawrence Watt-Evans on the latest Ace anthology.
Go to www.scifi.com/chat or link to the chats via our home page (www.asimovs.com). Chats are held in conjunction with Analog and the Sci-fi Channel and are moderated by Asimov's editor, Gardner Dozois.
[Back to Table of Contents]
In our next issue...
By long tradition, December is our Special Holiday Issue. It features two Christmas-related stories, of very different sorts. as well as tales that take us far from ho-ho-ho territory. The first is by the Queen of Christ-mas Stories, the only SF writer to have ever published an all-Christmas-story collection (Miracle and Other Christmas Stories...most of the content of which appeared for the first time right here in Asimov's), and a writer who also happens to be the most-honored author in the history of the field, multiple Hugo and Nebula award-winner Connie Willis. In her witty and sparkling novella called “deck.halls@boughs/holly,” she takes us to a frazzled and frantically busy future for a fast-paced screwball comedy of people trying to hang on to some kind of values in a Future Shocked world where everything is in constant flux ... and
, of course, this being a Connie Willis comedy, there's a tale of star-crossed and unlikely love at it's heart.... This is warm, clever, and funny, perfect for Holiday Viewing; you won't want to miss it. Our other Christmas-related story is a tale of a very different sort. Kage Baker, one of our most frequent contributors, returns with another of her popular stories about the agents of the time-traveling Company, this one taking us ahead in time (from our present-day perspective) to visit a Winter Solstice feast, where the story of “The Applesauce Monster,” a story of somber power and deep emotional impact, soon begins to play itself out; be warned that this one will not make visions of sugarplums dance in your head, but it may well haunt your dreams for a long time to come.
This issue also features part two of Robert Silverberg's powerful new novel, The Longest Way Home. A young man being hunted across the face of a strange planet must face physical dangers, plus a challenge to everything he thinks he knows about the world as well. (Do we need to remind you that Silverberg is a multiple Hugo and Nebula Award-winner, and one of the true giants of the field? If we did, consider yourself reminded!) Popular British “hard science” writer Stephen Baxter paints a melancholy portrait of a very out-of-place stranger doomed to live out her life upon the “Grey Earth"; World Fantasy Award-winner John M. Ford returns after a long absence to take us on a daring and dangerous expedition to the edge of the solar system, as he details what it's like to live “In the Days of the Comet"; and Uncle River lets us in on all the fuss and excitement stirred up by “My Stolen Sabre.”
Robert Silverberg's “Reflections” column considers the question of “Hobson-Jobson"; Paul Di Filippo brings us “On Books"; James Patrick Kelly's “On the Net” column examines the extreme Future Shock that lies ahead of us in “Singular"; plus an array of poems and other features.
* * *
Visit www.dellmagazines.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.