Fictions

by Nancy Kress

  Two men and a woman lay bleeding on the floor, covered with stones. Kendall was tied to a chair, gaping at him. The old man had a gash on his forehead and serious blood on the arm of his pajamas. Jared picked up the knife somebody had dropped and cut Kendall’s ropes. He doubled over, gasping, and Jared was afraid Kendall was having a heart attack or something. But then he straightened and staggered to his feet.

  “Jared . . . I’m all. . .right . . .”

  “Sure you are. Never better, right? C’mon.” Jared helped him up the stairs, but then didn’t know what to do next.

  Kendall did. He gasped, “Go back downstairs and get a cell phone from anybody who has one. Be careful—they’re not dead. Don’t kill anybody, Jared—we don’t want a murder investigation. Then come back up here and lock the door at the top of the stairs.”

  Jared did as he was told, a sudden sick feeling in his stomach. It fought with a feeling of unreality—this can’t be happening—that only got stronger when he again saw all the stones lying around the basement.

  He’d done that. Him, Jared Stoffel.

  Kendall called somebody on the cell, said, “Code blue. The address is . . .” and looked at Jared. Jared gave it to him. They only had to wait a few minutes before a car screeched up and they went out to meet it. A silver Mercedes S, at least seventy grand. Jared blinked. A pretty black girl jumped out. She had on a school uniform like rich girls wore, green skirt and jacket and a little green tie on a white blouse. Ordinarily Jared hated kids like that, rich snobs, but now was different.

  “He did it?” she said, talking to Kendall but staring at Jared, her eyes wide. “How did—”

  “I don’t know yet,” Kendall said. “How much—”

  “I hadn’t yet told them anything. But I would have, Denise.” She nodded, grimaced, and tenderly helped Kendall into the car, apparently not caring that he got blood on the leather seat. Jared climbed into the back. Denise must be old enough to drive, he figured, but she didn’t look it. Was the Mercedes hers, or her family’s, or maybe stolen?

  She pulled the car onto the road and accelerated hard. Over her shoulder Denise threw Jared a glance at once respectful and a little scared. He sat up straighter in the backseat. She said, “Stones?”

  “Yeah,” Jared said.

  “We don’t have anybody that can do stone.”

  He liked the tone of her voice. It let him say, “What do you do?”

  “Wind. But strictly small-time. You’re gifted, dude.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet. You should see me skate.”

  In the front seat, one arm cradled carefully in the other, Kendall smiled.

  “NO,” Larson said. “Absolutely not.” He wore his do-rag again and it looked, Jared thought, just as dumb as the first time. Larson himself looked furious.

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” said the older woman in a business suit. Probably she’d been getting dressed for work when they pulled up, just like Denise had been getting ready for school. This house must be the woman’s—it looked like something a business lady would have, nice but really boring. Light brown rugs, brown furniture, tan curtains. The lady acted like she was in charge. Trouble was, Larson acted in charge, too. Jared thought they’d square off for a fight, but things didn’t work like that around here.

  “We do have a choice, Anna,” Larson said. That was her name—Anna. “There’s a number of cities we could send them to.”

  Jared said sharply, “Send? You mean me and the doc? Nobody’s sending me no place!”

  Anna said, “I’m afraid we have to, Jared. The Other Side now knows about both of you. They’ll eliminate you if they can, and we might not be able to protect you.”

  “Oh, right. You can’t just put a spell around my house or something? No? I guess you’re not real wizards after all!”

  A voice behind him said, “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” and Jared spun around. Denise, back from parking the car someplace. If he’d known she was coming back, he wouldn’t have sounded so snotty.

  She said to Jared, “I can do wind magic, and Anna can communicate with wild animals, and so on, but only when we’re present at the scene, Jared. There’s no such thing as a spell that can just be left in place to guard someone. I wish there was.”

  If anybody else had explained it like that to Jared, he wouldn’t have felt so stupid now. Kendall was off in a back room of this house, getting patched up or something. Jared crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “I can’t just leave and, like, move to some other city! I’ve got Ma and school and crap!”

  Larson said brutally, “If you don’t go, you’re dead. And some of us, the ones you can identify, will be with you.”

  “But my ma—”

  “Will be told that you’ve been taken away from her by Child Protective Services. She’ll believe that.”

  Jared felt hot blood rush into his face. So Larson knew all about his mother! Furious and embarrassed, he turned to slam out of the room, but Denise blocked the doorway.

  Larson said, “We don’t need to send him to Tellerton. Send him somewhere else, to a nonactive cell. We don’t need a kid this angry in the very center of the Brotherhood.”

  “I disagree,” Anna said.

  “No one will be able to control him. He’ll endanger everybody there.”

  “I won’t endanger nobody I don’t want to!” Jared said.

  Anna said, “I think that’s true, Larson. And Nick will be with him.”

  Denise, still standing in the doorway, spoke in a low voice that only Jared could hear. “I know it’s hard to be sent away. But Anna’s right—you’ll have Dr. Kendall with you. And the place you’re going . . . I know for a fact that it has an awesome skate park.”

  “It does?”

  “The best.”

  He blurted, “Will you come there to see me skate?” and instantly hated himself. She was too old for him, she would think he was a little kid, she’d shame him in front of Larson—

  “Sure. I think that one way or another, we’ll end up working together, anyway. Things are going to get much more serious soon, we’ll need every wizard we can get, and we don’t have a good stone man. You’re really talented.”

  That was the second time she’d said that. Jared turned back to Anna, ignoring Larson. “Okay. I’ll go. Where is this Tellerton?”

  “In Virginia.”

  Jared blinked. “I—”

  “Zack will drive you both down there this afternoon. The sooner you get out, the better.”

  “My stuff! I have—”

  “It has to stay here. They’ll get you new belongings in Tellerton. Don’t worry, Jared, you’re one of us now.” Anna left. Larson said, “Wait a minute, Anna, I want to talk more with you about the hurricane.” He strode after her.

  Jared was left alone with Denise. He blinked, scowled, and said, to say something, “What hurricane?”

  “It was on the early-morning news,” Denise said somberly. “A big hurricane suddenly changed direction and came ashore in Florida, and the hurricane season is supposed to be over. Eight people dead so far. At least one big warehouse was destroyed that we found out had just been bought by the Other Side. Now they’ll file all kinds of insurance claims on the stuff inside. Anna, one of our lawyers, just tracked the purchase and the warehouse insurance yesterday, but she hasn’t had time to follow through.”

  Jared tried to understand. Denise was smart; all these people were smart. And wizard stuff seemed to involve nonmagic things like insurance claims, which Jared had never thought about. But one thing was clear to him, the part about eight people dead. So far.

  He said, “They’d really do that? Kill, like, innocent people just to make money?”

  “They would. They do.”

  He felt a little dizzy. Too much stuff, too fast. Wizards and magic and moving away and stones . . . He could still feel the rocks warm in his hands, ready to tell him things. Him, Jared Stoffel, who nobody except Shawn ever told anything.


  And Shawn . . . the so-called friend he’d trusted like a brother . . .

  “Shawn is gonna pay,” he said to Denise.

  “Yes,” Denise said, and that was what decided him. No lame bull about not being into revenge, or calming himself down, or being too angry a kid to be useful. Just: Yes. She understood him.

  All at once, Jared felt like he’d just ollied off a twelve-set and was doing serious hang time in the air.

  A wizard. He was a wizard. He didn’t want to be, but he was. A stone man. And everything was different now.

  Maybe that was a good thing.

  He could learn about insurance claims or whatever. He wasn’t dumb. He had learned to do a Back-180 down a four-set; he could learn what he needed to. He could.

  “Welcome to the Brotherhood, Jared,” Denise said softly.

  “Thanks,” Jared said.

  ART OF WAR

  An addition to beauty, Art—and especially the value of Art—are things that are most definitely in the eye of the beholder . . .

  Nancy Kress began selling her elegant and incisive stories in the mid-seventies, and has since become a frequent contributor to Asimov’s Science Fiction, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Omni, SCI FICTION, and elsewhere. Her books include the novel version of her Hugo- and Nebula-winning story, Beggars in Spain, and a sequel, Beggars and Choosers, as well as The Prince of Morning Bells, The Golden Grove, The White Pipes, An Alien Light, Brain Rose, Oaths & Miracles, Stinger, Maximum Light, Crossfire, Nothing Human, and the Space Opera trilogy Probability Moon, Probability Sun, and Probability Space. Her short work has been collected in Trinity and Other Stories, The Aliens of Earth, and Beaker’s Dozen. Her most recent book is the novel Crucible. In addition to the awards for “Beggars in Spain,” she has also won Nebula Awards for her stories “Out of All Them Bright Stars” and “The Flowers of Aulit Prison.”

  “Return fire!” the colonel ordered, bleeding on the deck of her ship, ferocity raging in her nonetheless controlled voice.

  The young and untried officer of the deck cried, “It won’t do any good, there’s too many—”

  “I said fire, goddammit!”

  “Fire at will!” the OD ordered the gun bay, and then closed his eyes against the coming barrage, as well as against the sight of the exec’s mangled corpse. Only minutes left to them, only seconds . . .

  A brilliant light blossomed on every screen, a blinding light, filling the room. Crewmen, those still standing on the battered and limping ship, threw up their arms to shield their eyes. And when the light finally faded, the enemy base was gone. Annihilated as if it had never existed.

  “The base . . . it . . . how did you do that, ma’am?” the OD asked, dazed. “Search for survivors,” the colonel ordered, just before she passed out from wounds that would have killed a lesser soldier, and all soldiers were lesser than she . . .

  No, of course it didn’t happen that way. That’s from the holo version, available by ansible throughout the Human galaxy forty-eight hours after the Victory of 149-Delta. Author unknown, but the veteran actress Shimira Coltrane played the colonel (now, of course, a general). Shimira’s brilliant green eyes were very effective, although not accurate. General Anson had deflected a large meteor to crash into the enemy base, destroying a major Teli weapons store and much of the Teli civilization on the entire planet. It was an important Human victory in the war, and at that point we needed it.

  What happened next was never made into a holo. In fact, it was a minor incident in a minor corner of the Human-Teli war. But no corner of a war is minor to the soldiers fighting there, and even a small incident can have enormous repercussions. I know. I will be paying for what happened on 149-Delta for whatever is left of my life.

  This is neither philosophical maundering nor constitutional gloom. It is mathematical fact.

  Dalo and I were just settling into our quarters on the Sheherazade when the general arrived, unannounced and in person. Crates of personal gear sat on the floor of our tiny sitting room, where Dalo would spend most of her time while I was downside. Neither of us wanted to be here. I’d put in for a posting to Terra, which neither of us had ever visited, and we were excited about the chance to see, at long last, the Sistine Chapel. So much Terran art has been lost in the original, but the Sistine is still there, and we both longed to gaze up at that sublime ceiling. And then I had been posted to 149-Delta.

  Dalo was kneeling over a box of mutomati as the cabin door opened and an aide announced, “General Anson to see Captain Porter, ten-hut!”

  I sprang to attention, wondering how far I could go before she recognized it as parody.

  She came in, resplendent in full-dress uniform, glistening with medals, flanked by two more aides, which badly crowded the cabin. Dalo, calm as always, stood and dusted mutomati powder off her palms. The general stared at me bleakly. Her eyes were shit brown. “At ease, soldier.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Welcome, ma’am.”

  “Thank you. And this is . . .”

  “My wife, Dalomanimarito.”

  “Your wife.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “They didn’t tell me you were married.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” To a civilian, obviously. Not only that, a civilian who looked . . . I don’t know why I did it. Well, yes, I do. I said, “My wife is half Teli.”

  And for a long moment, she actually looked uncertain. Yes, Dalo has the same squat body and light coat of hair as the Teli. She is genemod for her native planet, a cold and high-gravity world, which is also what Tel is. But surely a general should know that interspecies breeding is impossible—especially that interspecies breeding? Dalo is as human as I.

  The general’s eyes grew cold. Colder. “I don’t appreciate that sort of humor, Captain.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I’m here to give you your orders. Tomorrow at oh five hundred hours, your shuttle leaves for downside. You will be based in a central Teli structure that contains a large stockpile of stolen Human artifacts. I have assigned you three soldiers to crate and transport upside anything that you think has value. You will determine which objects meet that description and, if possible, where they were stolen from. You will attach to each object a full statement with your reasons, including any applicable identification programs—you have your software with you?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “A C-112 near-AI will be placed at your disposal. That’s all.”

  “Ten-hut!” bawled one of the aides. But by the time I had gotten my arm into a salute, she was gone.

  “Seth,” Dalo said gently. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes. I did. Did you see the horror on the aides’ faces when I said you were half Teli?”

  She turned away. Suddenly frightened, I caught her arm. “Dear heart—you knew I was joking? I didn’t offend you?”

  “Of course not.” She nestled in my arms, affectionate and gentle as always. Still, there is a diamond-hard core under all that sweetness. The general had clearly never heard of her before, but Dalo is one of the best mutomati artists of her generation. Her art has moved me to tears.

  “I’m not offended, Jon, but I do want you to be more careful. You were baiting General Anson.”

  “I won’t have to see her while I’m on assignment here. Generals don’t bother with lowly captains.”

  “Still—”

  “I hate the bitch, Dalo.”

  “Yes. Still, be more circumspect. Even be more pleasant. I know what history lies between you two, but nonetheless she is—”

  “Don’t say it!”

  “—after all, your mother.”

  The evidence of the meteor impact was visible long before the shuttle landed. The impactor had been fifty meters in diameter, weighing roughly sixty thousand tons, composed mostly of iron. If it had been stone, the damage wouldn’t have been nearly so extensive. The main base of the Teli military colony had been vaporized instantly. Subsequent shock wave
s and air blasts had produced firestorms that raged for days and devastated virtually the entire coast of 149-Delta’s one small continent. Now, a month later, we flew above kilometer after kilometer of destruction.

  General Anson had calculated when her deflected meteor would hit and had timed her approach to take advantage of that knowledge. Some minor miscalculation had led to an initial attack on her ship, but before the attack could gain force, the meteor had struck. Why hadn’t the Teli known that it was coming? Their military tech was as good as ours, and they’d colonized 149-Delta for a long time. Surely they did basic space surveys that tracked both the original meteor trajectory and Anson’s changes? No one knew why they had not counterdeflected, or at least evacuated. But, then, there was so much we didn’t know about the Teli.

  The shuttle left the blackened coast behind and flew toward the mountains, skimming above acres of cultivated land. The crops, I knew, were rotting. Teli did not allow themselves to be taken prisoner, not ever, under any circumstances. As Human troops had forced their way into successive areas of the continent, the agricultural colony, deprived of its one city, had simply committed suicide. The only Teli left on 168-Beta occupied those areas that United Space Forces had not yet reached.

  That didn’t include the Citadel.

  “Here we are, Captain,” the pilot said, as soldiers advanced to meet the shuttle. “May I ask a question, sir?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Is it true this is where the Teli put all that art they stole from humans?”

  “Supposed to be true.” If it wasn’t, I had no business here.

  “And you’re a . . . an art historian?”

  “I am. The military has some strange nooks and crannies.”

  He ignored this. “And is it true that the Taj Mahal is here?”

  I stared at him. The Teli looted the art of Terran colonies whenever they could, and no one knew why. It was logical that rumors would run riot about that. Still . . . “Lieutenant, the Taj Mahal was a building. A huge one, and on Terra. It was destroyed in the twenty-first century. Food Riots, not by the Teli. They’ve never reached Terra.”