How Beer Saved the World

by Phyllis Irene Radford

  <<>>

  Mr. D turned the light off, then on again, as Wally waddled along the Embankment into the mist. After he was gone, we all re-entered, guarded by the “closed” sign. Should anyone have asked, we were the volunteer cleanup crew; many places depended on such with all the help off on the war effort.

  “German,” Mr. D said. “Or I’ve not been doing this for thirty years.”

  “He hasn’t been to Minnesota, I should think, John added. “Hamm’s, indeed. That gave him away.”

  “I rather thought that was an American beer of that region,” Harry said.

  John nodded. “Indeed. And nobody who likes real beer will drink it.”

  “What’s he doing in an American uniform? All this talk about pumps and the like,” Harry asked. “We’re building the...”

  I put a hand on his arm. “There’s not a little mingling of forces; Yanks in the RAF, RAF chaps flying Yank bombers, and so on. I imagine someone with credible looking papers could get himself involved as an exchange officer, and as such, he could be a little different without being too obvious.”

  “He’d be in on the whole bloody thing,” Mr. D said. “We should talk to someone.”

  “Or he could be what he says he is,” Fred said.

  “An American wouldn’t connect valves with electronics,” Harry said, now quite sober, “and then correct himself so clumsily.”

  “An American who likes beer wouldn’t have a good word for Hamm’s,” John added.

  “If he is a spy,” Arthur said, “he would need to communicate with his handlers. Perhaps a clandestine radio.”

  “I hazard certain parties could pick that up rather quickly,” John said.

  Harry nodded. “Yes. And other things. We are being watched.”

  Arthur got a faraway look in his eyes. At twenty-seven, his imagination was a little less hindered than ours, and we were a not unimaginative group. “Watched. Hmmm. Yes, well, I imagine such a transmission would have to be a one-shot sort of thing. Send it, then get out if you can.”

  I nodded, with a slight feeling of compassion. In all likelihood, we were going to trick Wally into sacrificing his life for the wrong reason. On the other hand, he was going to sacrifice it anyway.

  “Perhaps we could get him to use that one shot for something other than my work or whatever else is a-building. I may, inadvertently, have already laid the groundwork. John, you have a fairly large telescope.”

  He nodded. Rooted firmly in his garden, John had made a half-scale working model of Herschel’s largest telescope, which he took delight in showing off to the occasional grammar school class.

  “It would work in reverse, would it not? If one were to replace the eyepiece with a powerful lamp and place an aircraft-shaped mask at the prime focus...”

  <<>>

  A couple of weeks later, we were ready to spring our trap.

  Wally came into the bar at his now-usual time and Mr. D. started pouring his now-usual stout. Once he was with beer, he turned to Arthur.

  “How fast does your rocket go?” he asked. “As fast as sound?”

  “I don’t recall saying that I had a rocket,” Arthur said. “But if I were to design one to travel through space, it would go many times the speed of sound here on Earth. Of course, it would not be proper to say that it went faster than sound in space, where there is no air to carry the sound.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Okay. It could get to Berlin, or Washington, in a few minutes.”

  Arthur stared across the room, saying nothing, which I knew to mean his mind was elsewhere. Then he came back. “At orbital speed, it would be about three minutes to Berlin.”

  “Or the Moon in a couple of days,” John said.

  “I’d like to see something like that,” Fred said.

  “Me too,” Wally added.

  “Perhaps something can be arranged,” Harry said, then took a long slow drink of his Pride.

  Arthur looked upset. “Really, we shouldn’t be talking about something that could get someone to one of Dr. Luyten’s stars in a lifetime. If someone wanted to weaponize that...”

  “Wally’s okay,” Harry said. “The Yanks are on our side, this century.”

  Everyone chuckled at that.

  “Now, I’ve talked to Mr. Bray at the Met Office...”

  “Group Captain Stagg’s aide?” Wally interjected.

  “The very man, yes. You do get around, Wally,” Harry said.

  “Ike expects his exchange officers to be up on stuff.”

  “Ah, quite. Well, Bray thinks conditions should be just about right tomorrow night for, shall we say, an unusual event.”

  “Are you sure, Harry?” Fred asked, alarm written on his face.

  “I think we can trust Wally to do the right thing.”

  Mr. D quickly put a bar rag in front of his mouth and coughed slightly. Wally, with a big grin on his face, appeared not to notice.

  I didn’t smirk. Everything had gone smoothly so far, but if we made a mess of this, it could be at best very embarrassing. At worst, lives would be lost.

  <<>>

  As expected, there was a dark low cloud deck over clear air that night. We arrived early in Fred’s car on the south side of Albany Road near the end of Bagshot Street, where one could get a relatively unobstructed view over the lake. It was not far from where John lived on Mina Road; though, of course, John had sent his regrets for this expedition. Trouble struck immediately.

  “You’re here early, Wally,” Fred remarked.

  “Yeah, your British cabs are efficient.”

  I had an essential piece of setup to do, that we didn’t want Wally to see. While I was trying to think of a diversion, Fred took charge.

  “Quite. Now, Wally, what we are looking for should show up over there,” Fred pointed toward the western side of the lake, “and proceed east, rather rapidly. You see the oaks across the lake? It should pass...”

  While Fred had Wally’s attention, I pulled a big box from the boot and lugged it over a few yards right of our vantage point. I came back unobtrusively trailing a wire, attached to a button.

  “Look carefully. It will be very subtle,” I said. “There will be a glow, somewhat like a searchlight beam. Something to do with ionizing the air to lower friction, I should think. Mind you, I don’t know anything about this. Nor does anyone else here.”

  Wally bobbed his head.

  We waited, and waited. Half an hour passed. Conditions were just right now, but might not be in another hour. John was having fun with us, I thought, or maybe playing a psychological trick; information gained too easily might not feel as important to a spy.

  “There!” Fred said.

  It was very subtle, only a patch of distant searchlit cloud scudding rapidly over the lake. I looked through my binoculars and smiled. A deep black triangle lay in the center of the glowing spot, wavering slightly as the clouds whipped by. And then it was gone. I had almost forgotten my button, which I then pressed, only microseconds after the tardy thought had entered my mind.

  A soft distant-sounding boom echoed from our right, long after the triangle had passed.

  “Much faster than sound,” Harry covered. “Like lightening. It takes the sound a while to catch up.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Wally said.

  I could detect no suspicion in his voice.

  “Mind you, this didn’t happen,” Fred added.

  “I saw nothing,” Wally said, and I imagined the “o” in his nothing had more of an “oh” sound to it than an “uh,” but I might have been mistaken.

  “Two minutes 48 seconds,” Arthur said. From the look on Wally’s face, he didn’t have to add “to Berlin.”

  We had played our roles to perfection. The hook was set. The only question now was whether he would run with it and Section 5 could reel him in. But that was out of our hands.

  <<>>

  Wally wasn’t with us on the fifth of June.

  I arrived last and got my pint from Mr. D. Harry already had a nic
e cluster around the bullseye, and Fred, in his usual place, had an eye on him. Arthur had his head in a book; not totally unusual.

  John was at a side table staring at the foam of an as-yet untouched stout.

  “Anything from five?” I asked Harry, pint in hand. He frowned at my use of the number, but one had to call those people something.

  Harry nodded, and the room fell silent.

  “They homed right in on him. Walter Petersohn.” He pronounced the “W” as a “V” and dragged it out into a buzz. “They waited until he got off everything about Arthur’s supersonic spaceship, then nicked him right proper, clean as a whistle. “He didn't get a word out about the invasion.”

  “German! I knew it. Cut it a wee bit fine, if you ask me,” Mr. D. said with just the hint of a smile.

  Harry shook his head. “Bray says it’s all up to the weather, and the weather isn’t talking very clearly to us or the Gerries right now. Wally couldn’t have compromised anything. And their intelligence should now be thoroughly confused as to Arthur’s activities.”

  Arthur looked up from his book and gave a quick smile.

  John also looked up, as if confused about something. “It worked, then?”

  “Perfectly. Exactly as planned. You know, if you had whipped that beam across the face of the moon in a hundredth of a second, its apparent velocity would have been roughly the speed of light.”

  “Do you think we’ll ever go that fast for real, Arthur?” John asked.

  “Given enough time. Given we don’t kill ourselves in wars. Or maybe something else will find us that already goes nearer light speed.”

  “In this case, faster than sound was more than sufficient,” Harry said. “Another pint. Mr. D. Make it the Young's Stout; as it betrayed Wally and helped secure our invasion's success. Is something wrong, John?”

  John looked around, with the oddest sort of look on his face. “I was going to apologize. The operation was all a complete flop on my end. The power supply for the lamp burned out and I couldn’t get the light on at all. There was no projection.”

  Then what was there?

  After a decent interval, Harry said, “To reiterate, we are being watched. Another pint, Mr. D.” He lifted his glass with the kind of manic smile with which a man greets his dentist. “Cheers. Shouldn't be long now, should it?”

  BEER GOES TO WAR

  Joyce Reynolds-Ward

  “Ah.” Alice Mary, Our Lady of Justice, Solace to Superheroes, sipped her latest brew, savoring the light honey and berry notes. She shoved back the light cotton cuffs of her pale blue work shirt and raised the clear glass high, studying the amber liquid carefully for any floaters. Nothing. She compared the color of the beer to her own straight, ash-blond hair, pulling a strand forward to hold next to the glass. In contrast, the brew brought out the faint copper notes buried amongst the dull gold hair fading into brown. She could see the beer's faint glow much better. A good sign, especially when brewing for superhero consumption. If the beer didn't glow in plain light when compared to her hair, then it lacked the appropriate supernatural touch. “This should work for tonight’s War Council.”

  She carefully took another swallow, inhaling deeply and smiling at the light aroma of honey and berries. Her talents didn’t include fighting battles, but at least she could brew up a beer to ease the pain of the superheroes, deities, saints and Holy People who formed the alliance battling the Kraken’s forces.

  Someone stood behind her. Only a slight displacement of the warm, late afternoon breeze whispering through the open door of her brew shed in a garden courtyard of Monalba monastery told her of the arrival. Then the improbably lily-shaped magic wand hanging from her belt tingled. Itchy spot behind her right shoulder. Alice Mary smiled to herself.

  “Hello, Coyote,” she greeted her old friend, rising to pour a glass for him. “Come early to taste my latest brew?”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “I always know when it’s you. You fill the room differently from anyone else.”

  “Ah.” He sighed, took the mug, and sat heavily, his shape blurring between canine and human. His muzzle grew more pronounced as he sniffed her beer deeply. “And how do you produce such ambrosia?” His shape morphed toward the canine as he lapped the beer. A hind leg scratched at his left shoulder. He paused in his drinking to twitch the shoulder’s skin.

  “Got something there?” Alice Mary asked.

  Coyote shrugged and continued to lap his beer. “Nothing. Just an itch that won’t stop. This beer is marvelous! You’ve outdone yourself! How do you do it?”

  “It’s just a knack,” she said. “Nothing big.”

  Coyote stopped halfway through his change back to fully human, scowling. He scratched at his left shoulder with his right hand, growling deep in his throat. “You give us heart. That has value.”

  “But does it stop the Kraken?” Her words came out sharper than she intended.

  “Not all of us are called to war,” Coyote said. He lapped further at the beer, struggling to angle his muzzle deeper into the mug before pulling it out just enough for him to finish his transformation back into mostly human shape, that of a handsome young Native man with long black braids, laughing dark eyes, faintly pointed chin, and, incongruently, a gray and white tail. He took the mug in both hands once his nose had receded and drank deeply, slamming the now-empty mug down hard with a grin and wiping his face on the pearl snap-buttoned sleeve of his gray Western shirt. “And this—this, my lady of Justice, this will bring us the solace we need after today’s battle. Those hobgoblins—” He shook his head. “They are nothing like those we’ve encountered in the past. We’re losing superheroes, saints, demigods and humans alike. Something keeps sucking the strength out of the hobs' victims. Foul, pustular growths appear on those the hobs attack, so they collapse and die. We can’t see where they come from, but those things grow freely on the hobs without affecting them!”

  Alice Mary shuddered and got up to pour him another. “That sounds horrible. I’m glad this little brew gives you heart.” Her lily began to tingle again, this time in warning. She paused during the pour, frowning, trying to isolate the sensation. The vibration intensified. Invader. Invader.

  But what? And how? She turned and slid the filled mug back toward Coyote, looking around, seeing no intruders. She frowned. Sometimes the lily sent her false warnings. This might well be one of those times. She took another sip of her brew. The world around her shimmered. Curious. She drank more. There was something on Coyote’s shoulder, a knobby, gnarled little gray and white knot that didn’t go with the shirt. Another drink. The carbuncle swelled larger.

  “Is something wrong?” Coyote asked. He scratched at the outgrowth. His skin paled, gray under tan, almost the shade of his pale gray shirt.

  “I’m not sure,” Alice Mary said slowly. She watched the growth. “How are you feeling?”

  The growth faded away, but the skin on Coyote’s face began to sag. She took another drink, and the excrescence returned.

  Coyote shook his head. “Faugh, I feel faint. More beer!” He drank deeply. “Ah.” Color returned to his face and the monstrosity shrank slightly.

  Her lily buzzed insistently. Beer in one hand, she pulled it out of her belt, holding tight to the stem. A gift from her patroness St. Catherine, the lily had been known to develop a mind of its own at times. The lily pulled toward the thing on Coyote’s shoulder, tugging at her hand.

  Alice Mary whacked Coyote on the shoulder, knocking the outgrowth loose. Coyote flinched away, a hurt look crossing his face.

  “What the—Alice Mary, I didn’t do anything!”

  “Look,” she said, pointing at the malignant, pulsating globule on the table between them.

  “At what?”

  “Drink. Drink it all.” She shoved another full tankard into his hands.

  Coyote took a deep swig, his eyes on the table. Suddenly he leapt back, raising his hands protectively, spilling his beer on the table.

&nb
sp; “That’s what appeared on those who died! I thought I was clear!”

  The horror began to ooze toward Coyote, until it reached the puddle of beer. It stopped, then drew back.

  “It doesn’t want to cross the beer,” Alice Mary said.

  Coyote dumped the remaining contents of his mug over the excrescence. Foul black smoke nasty enough to provoke both of them into choking coughs rose momentarily, then snuffed out.

  The pustulant monstrosity was gone. Her lily stopped vibrating. Alice Mary drank deeply, staring where the thing had been.

  Nothing.

  “It’s gone,” Coyote breathed. He shook his head. “My Lady of Justice, I do believe I owe you a favor. And more.” He looked sorrowfully at his mug and shook his head. “But to my regret, it meant wasting some good beer. But—beer as a weapon? Hmm. It’d be worth a try.”

  Alice Mary reached for his mug. “I can take care of the wasted brew. There’s a small keg to share for tonight, more than enough for all. I’d say you’ve earned another mug.”

  Coyote’s lips pulled back in a feral grin. “Oh my dearest lady, the War Council will most definitely want to hear about this! You may have given us the weapon we need for victory!”

  “Perhaps,” Alice Mary said. “Most likely it will prove only to be a cure.”

  “Even a cure would be most welcome, my dear Lady of Justice.” Coyote drained his mug. “But if we can find a way to drench those hobs in the beer, then maybe we could stop this battle. After all, if it kills their weapons, what would it do to them?”

  “I don’t know. Even with divine help, there’s no possibility that I could brew enough by myself to drown a whole army.”

  “Hm.” Coyote frowned thoughtfully. “I might have some ideas about that. Let me think further. Meanwhile. Current business. May I help you carry the keg?”

  Alice Mary frowned at him. “And how much of the beer will actually make it to the War Council?”

  “My lady!” Coyote protested.

  Alice Mary relented. “You may help.”

  The tail protruding from Coyote’s jeans began to wag slightly.

  “But—” Alice Mary scolded, wagging a finger at him. “I’m watching you.”