Five Unicorn Flush

by TJ Berry

“Write what down?” she asked.

  “The story of the meeting of our two cultures and what came after. You have a unique perspective on the events that have taken place over the last few decades. And the Bala are now a people without a written history. Every report we have access to from the Kilonova and Mary was filtered through the lens of the Reason. You could tell the story of how humanity encountered the Bala as a lesson and a warning to future generations.”

  “I’m no historian. I hate all those dates and numbers,” she said.

  “But you were there. Just tell your story. How you got to this point. What you’ve learned,” he said. “Tell it your own way.”

  “There would have to be lots of action,” she said tentatively. “I can’t stand a boring story.”

  “There was lots of action as I recall,” he said.

  “It’s not a terrible idea. I could write about the redworms and the Century Summit. Oh and the escape from the Well Actually. I never told you about that day. It was wild.” She picked up her tablet and started flicking through pages, looking for an entry in the encyclopedia.

  “There has to be something in here about that old ship…” she mused to herself, already engrossed in the research.

  Gary got up and went to the door. He touched the wooden doorframe, still dewy from where the dwarves had recently hewn it. A few dwarven characters were carved into the wood. An invocation for protection, not from the person held captive inside but for her safety.

  “I’ll do it if you help me. Fill in the parts that I wasn’t there for,” she called to him.

  “Of course,” he replied.

  “Space unicorns,” Jenny mused to herself. “I guess I could make it work.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Higher Powers

  Boges sat in the hold of the Pymmie ship, awaiting instructions. It was just as Gary had described. The Pymmie had morphed the interior of their ship to resemble a dwarven great hall. It was uncannily real, down to the smallest detail. The stone walls were dotted with cool blue twinkling crystals. It even smelled properly wet – a crisp mineral scent laced with a hint of rot. It was as if they’d pulled it right out of her memories of home. She couldn’t say for sure that they hadn’t.

  The Pymmie had seated her at a carved table piled high with buttery mushrooms and roasted grubs. These were delicacies from generations ago, but they smelled delicious right now. After such a terrible day, Boges wanted nothing more than to shove great handfuls of grubs into her mouth and let them burst nuttily on her tongue. Instead, she waited patiently for someone to appear.

  A Pymmie approached, out of place in the dwarven environment. Their body was as small as hers, but spindly instead of stocky. They had chosen not to wear any type of covering over their gray skin. The most disturbing part was that Boges could see her own reflection in the inky black pools of their eyes.

  “We can change shape if it comforts you,” said the bug-eyed creature.

  “No,” she replied, suddenly aware of the dryness in her throat. The Pymmie reached out and handed her a steaming mug of kummel brew, spicy and sharp. She drank gratefully, aware of the Pymmie watching the inside of her mind to ensure that she was satisfied. There would be no lying here today – at least not on her part.

  “We have failed,” Boges said. “We were unable to prevent the invaders from spreading.”

  “Not entirely,” said the Pymmie. “But your actions have galvanized a new human-Bala alliance. The balance of power has shifted toward the Bala. That leads to a greater chance of eventual success and survival for everyone.”

  “The things I had to do…” began Boges, feeling her chest tighten in sorrow.

  “I know this was difficult for you,” said the Pymmie. “We appreciate what you have done.”

  “Will it have been worth it?” she asked, surprised at her own boldness. It wasn’t every day that she stood in the presence of a being this powerful. Even Unamip couldn’t manipulate reality like the Pymmie. But she had to know if what she had lost would somehow be offset by what they would gain.

  “I don’t understand the question,” said the Pymmie. Boges could swear she saw a supernova flare in their right eye, then fade into blackness. She could stare into those black orbs all day, if she didn’t faint from the disorientation first.

  “Will it have been worth it to betray my friends and harm the Bala village in order to protect them from these supposed invaders?” she asked again, letting her rising anger give her voice strength.

  “There is no such thing as worth it,” said the Pymmie. “There simply is what is done and what is not done. We attach no value to the outcome. It is just a data point.”

  “You are such a cankerpox upon the universe,” said Boges, no longer caring what the Pymmie did to her in retaliation for her surliness.

  “We are scientists,” said the Pymmie. “We realize that burden of the future is a heavy one, so we have brought someone along to share it with you.”

  The captain of the Kilonova stumbled into the great hall. Her uniform was stained with blood and spattered with vomit. Her cheeks and nose had blackened from frostbite and her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She’d likely been on the Kilonova when the stoneships crushed it, just as Boges had. The Pymmie had pulled them both out of the carnage.

  “Join us,” said the Pymmie, waving a hand so that the captain’s injuries disappeared. Her uniform transformed into a brilliant blue sari and dastaar. She froze for a moment, then joined Boges at the table.

  “I don’t understand but I’m suddenly starving, so you can explain as I eat,” she said, pulling a plate of spiced potatoes and chickpeas toward herself.

  “We are the Pymmie. We manipulate variables in the universe in order to study outcomes. You reside in the laboratory of our creation.”

  “Did you create cockroaches? Because I have to lodge a complaint,” said Captain Singh, her mouth stuffed with naan.

  “We know about cockroaches. They were an unintended result of a tweak to plasma rotations in the yellow sun in the Milky Way galaxy. They aren’t worth fixing,” said the Pymmie.

  Captain Singh picked up a mug of tea and took several big gulps. Coming back from the dead was hard work. Boges could attest to that firsthand.

  “How did I get here?” asked Captain Singh. “I was on the Kilonova getting into an escape pod when the ceiling in the hold caved in. That’s the last I remember.”

  “We brought you here. You have a role to play in the future,” said the Pymmie. “You were supposed to get on Captain Jenny’s ship and go down to the new planet, but you stayed behind and ceased to function. That was not an outcome that led to the result we were looking for, so we changed it.”

  “But if you’re scientists, don’t you have to simply record your observations without manipulating the results?” asked Captain Singh.

  “You’re thinking of journalists,” said the Pymmie.

  “The humans will find the Bala again,” said Captain Singh, wiping orange sauce off her chin with the back of her hand. “We have pieces from the horn that Jim… smuggled… on Jaisalmer, along with necromancers to find them.”

  “You didn’t hide us very well,” said Boges.

  “We hid you exactly as well as we wanted to hide you,” said the Pymmie. The room trembled slightly and Boges wondered if she’d overstepped too far.

  “As a Sister, I’ve sworn to follow your orders, but I’d like to know at least a little more about what we’re facing,” said Boges, finally breaking down and taking a bite of a mushroom without being invited. It was buttery and caramelized, the perfect ideal of a mushroom. She chewed slowly, knowing she would never taste such a thing again.

  “Your two civilizations are facing an insidious enemy which will destroy both the Bala and the humans if you don’t work together,” said the Pymmie. “As we said, both cultures have a chance of survival if they can use their strengths to cooperate… like they should have done from the beginning. We took all the time to introduce y
ou two and instead of working together, you destroyed each other. You lost out on a hundred-year head start.”

  “And what exactly is this enemy that is coming?” asked Captain Singh, using her bread to scoop up dollops of a tomato sauce studded with squares of cheese.

  “Non-corporeal invaders. Invisible to both human and Bala. They cannot be beaten by conventional means. Several have already infiltrated the new Bala planet. They will send a signal to the others and more will arrive. No one will know they have been compromised until it’s too late,” said the Pymmie.

  “That’s the parasite in Jenny,” said Boges, urgently wishing she could be back with her kin on the planet.

  “He calls himself Kamis, but he is no elf. His real name is much older than that,” said the Pymmie. The illusion of the table faltered for a fraction of a second and Boges saw they were floating freely in orbit around a crystalline geometric structure as large as a sun.It was dizzyingly huge. The Pymmie shuddered and the illusion returned. They said the next words slowly and deliberately.

  “He is building a beacon to signal the others. It must be destroyed.”

  “We’ll need help. More than last time,” said Boges.

  “We have brought you help,” said the Pymmie.

  A lean and lanky man sauntered into the dining room with a half-smile blossoming on his face. A plate of grilled cheese appeared on the table. Cowboy Jim plucked one off the pile and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

  “Needs more cheese.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book would not have come into existence without the tireless support of many people. Dave, you set this bizarre world of space unicorns and asteroid spaceships into motion with a single comment. You’re there to break down a problem when I’m ready to the work and to cheer me on when I’m not. You prompt me to challenge my assumptions about everything. I love you and I look forward to spite-writing many more books with you by my side.

  Boysies, as usual, your contribution to this book was a multitude of interruptions and distractions that I wouldn’t trade for all the world. I learned about Twitch-streams and Discord servers, Fortnite dances and blacksmithing techniques. Thanks for all of the fun chats. Never stop knocking on my office door.

  To the team at Angry Robot and Watkins with whom I’ve had the pleasure of working with over these last couple of years – Marc, Penny, Phil, Mike, Nick, Lottie, and Gemma – every one of you has brought considerable expertise and skill to the table and it’s always a pleasure to work with you.

  Many thanks to my agent Sam Morgan, who answers all of my questions patiently, keeps me pointed in the right direction, and who helped me craft the perfect name for this book.

  All my love to Team Arsenic, because you’re always ready to show your love over a five-hour brunch or a massive platter of steak. And to the Clarion West family as a whole, when I’m with all of you, I feel like a single thread in a rich tapestry of speculative writers. I value every one of you who teaches me how to be better at my craft.

  To everyone down at the Pub, thank you for helping me name the Well Actually and for being caring friends during this tumultuous year. Codex Writers, you pull no punches and always let me know when I’m not doing the work. I look forward to spending more time with all of you in every city around the globe. Writing Excuses friends, you coaxed me to take breaks during revisions, but also brought me souvenirs from the beach as you went swimming and I continued editing. Next year, I’ll be right there in the sand with you.

  Warm appreciation to my sensitivity readers, who always see things that I’ve missed. As always, you should take credit for the good parts, but all of the mistakes are on me. And an appreciative high five to Jerry who always held things up, no matter how late I worked.

  UNDER THE PENDULUM SUN BY

  JEANETTE NG

  PAPERBACK & EBOOK

  from all good stationers and book emporia

  Two Victorian missionaries travel into darkest fairyland, to deliver their uplifting message to the godless magical beings who dwell there… at the risk of losing their own mortal souls.

  Winner of the Sydney J Bounds Award, the British Fantasy Award for Best Newcomer

  Shortlisted for the John W Campbell Award

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  An Angry Robot paperback original, 2019

  Copyright © TJ Berry 2019

  Cover by Lee Gibbons

  Set in Meridian

  All rights reserved. TJ Berry asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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