Jim Baen's Universe Volume 1 Number 3 October 2006

by Baen Publishing

  "Sir, we've seen the records of what happened down there. For more than twenty years Arion has been blaming himself that he didn't show courage when, in fact, he did. Besides, he helped rescue me. And, whatever the psychologists say as to how soon a person can remember things, I can remember Arion's face—I must have seen him when the ship blew up. When I met him, I was overcome with emotion."

  The General said, very carefully, "I wonder if this is one of those sins of the fathers that is passed on unto the seventh generation? Just where did this guard ring come from?"

  "Sir, from my uncle. He said that in thirty years, he'd really never felt the need to use it. Now that I was in the Patrol, Uncle Basil thought maybe I could use it."

  Colonel Sanders looked blankly at his son.

  The General looked equally blank. "Val, do you have a brother in the Patrol?"

  The Colonel shook his head. "No, sir. I'm afraid not."

  There was a considerable silence, as the General stared at the Colonel, while the younger Sanders looked on in puzzlement. Finally, the General said, his voice sounding a little hoarse, "You don't mean—"

  Colonel Sanders said hesitantly, "Basil is a Stellar Scout, sir."

  The General gave a grunt, as if he had come down a staircase in the dark, and stepped off with one more step still at the bottom.

  Colin said, "But what's wrong with that, sir? They scout the planets ahead of the classification teams, ahead of the colonists—They're even ahead of the trapminers and freebooters. The Stellar Scouts are the most advanced outfit there is!"

  The General managed a sketchy smile.

  Colonel Valentine Sanders growled, "They're advanced in a different way than we are. They use the newest equipment available."

  Colin began to ask what was wrong with that, then noted the expressions of his two superiors, and kept quiet.

  The Colonel went on. "Ask Basil about his friend, Barnes, some time. Barnes spent a chunk of his life imprisoned on a planet in the Forbidden Zone, back before it was the Forbidden Zone. He wound up there courtesy of several pieces of exceptionally new equipment."

  The General said carefully, "Very few people in their right senses use experimental equipment on a day-to-day operational basis. We ourselves use new equipment, when we think it's proven, and now and then we get a black eye or a broken arm out of it. But the Stellar Scouts, if they see something that looks interesting, will raid the research lab for it. I have it on good authority that Stellar Scout ships have gone through the middle of territory controlled by commerce raiders, and the raiders have come boiling out to surrender to the Space Force. Anything to keep away from the Scouts. Years ago, the Scouts had a thing that fired 'holes'—If they aimed it at you and pulled the trigger, chunks of your ship would vanish and reappear unpredictably all through adjacent volumes of space. They still use it—though with a little more discretion."

  Colin Sanders blinked. "The chunks reappear unpredictably all through the adjacent space?"

  "Right. Including, now and then, the space occupied by the ship using this weapon."

  Colin grappled with this revelation.

  The General added, "A little imperfection in their equipment won't stop the Scouts. They're used to it."

  "I—I see, sir. But the guard ring—"

  Colonel Valentine Sanders said thoughtfully, "What was it Basil said? That in thirty years he hadn't really found the need for it? He'd had it thirty years and hadn't tried it out yet?"

  "Yes, and now I was in the Patrol, I could have it."

  The General growled, "Generous of him."

  Colonel Sanders nodded. "Aren't they always generous?"

  The General said, "And if he had it for thirty years—"

  "Then it's almost certainly one of their early models." The Colonel looked back at his son. "You see, Basil had it for thirty years. And he never used it. As you've pointed out, the Scouts get in dangerous spots. Why hadn't he used it?"

  "I don't know. Unless—" Colin hesitated.

  "Unless what?"

  Colin said indignantly, "Unless he was nervous with it and wanted someone else to try it out first?"

  The Colonel nodded. "The first time they go out, when they're still new to the Scouts, little more than recruits, they tend to use all this wonderful stuff. Once it blows up in their faces, provided they survive, they get wary. When two Stellar Scouts get together, what do you suppose they spend the first few hours doing?"

  Colin said angrily, "Comparing notes on the equipment?"

  "Exactly. And there may be items they both left strictly alone. It looks as if you've passed along one of those."

  "But, if that's so—What about Arion?"

  The General said, without enthusiasm, "What about him?"

  "Sir—We can't leave him with this—this experimental guard ring—"

  "Now you've given it to him, how do you take it back?"

  Colin looked blank.

  Colonel Sanders said, "It is keyed to him, isn't it?"

  "Yes, sir. Otherwise, what would be the point?"

  "All right. Considering what a guard ring is, how do you or anyone else now take it away from him? If you try to do that, you'll activate it. Then what?"

  "That's true . . . Still, he'd give it back if I asked, wouldn't he? And I could replace it with a more reliable—"

  The General shook his head. "One involuntary agent on that planet is plenty."

  Colin said bleakly, "Poor Arion." He hesitated, then said miserably, "I meant well."

  Colonel Sanders said, "Arion seems level-headed. He shouldn't wind up imagining he's a god because of the power of the device. And until it's activated, there should be no great risk. Then, who knows? It might even work as it should. Seeing who made it, probably the greatest risk is to these hairy invaders. And it could be quite a risk. The Stellar Scouts don't pull their punches."

  "What if, some day, the wrong person should get it?"

  The General said, "Why do you suppose we try to keep track of these things? Why does PDA have the rule against technological devices? Sure, it could make trouble. Lots of it."

  Colonel Sanders said, "If Basil offers you anything else, think twice. He means well, too. But, just incidentally, you end up testing the thing for him."

  "At least, there was no warning against it in that prophetic chant—and I don't understand that chant, either. How could anyone predict what would happen?"

  "Well—When a given culture finds a method that seems to work—that they have the right talent to use—they tend to standardize it, and skip the rest. There may be another method that works, but they pass it by. We used to have prophets. But science seemed more useful and reliable, so we've put more effort into it, and developed it. You have to be prepared for these differences. We even have them from one generation to another."

  The General nodded. "There used to be a good deal of wisdom in proverbs. Our ancestors relied on them as guides."

  Colin said unhappily, "I could have used one for this situation."

  "No problem," said the General, "I'll adapt one for you. A little late; but it might still be useful."

  Colin blanked his face and stood straighter, in preparation for what he sensed was about to hit him.

  The General thought a moment, then smiled benevolently, though he spoke with real feeling:

  "Beware of nearly anyone who comes bearing free gifts. Yourself included."

  ****

  Fantasy Stories

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  Protection Money by Wen Spencer

  Illustrated by Carol Heyer

 

  Tommy Chang had no sympathies for the humans of Pittsburgh. Every time he heard someone complaining about how dangerous the city had become with the war between the elves and the oni, he wanted to punch the speaker in the face. Pittsburgh had never been safe—not for his half-oni kind. He'd grown up a slave to his brutal oni father; his money controlled, his family held hostage for his good behavior, and his every action watched.
<
br />   Tommy had wanted freedom, so he had thrown in with the elves during the last big battle. Somehow everything had changed, yet stayed the same. The city was under martial law, so the elves were controlling his cash flow. His family had to register as known oni dependants. And the arrival of a summons from the viceroy meant that the elves were keeping track of his moves.

  If Tommy was currently free, then somehow, he'd confused freedom with starvation. He didn't want to go talk with the viceroy at his enclave, but the elf owed him money that he desperately needed. At his knock at the enclave gate, a slot opened and elfin eyes studied him with suspicion.

  "I'm Tommy Chan. The viceroy sent for me."

  The slot closed. When the gate opened a few minutes later, armed elves filled the courtyard beyond. Most of them were common garden variety laedin-caste soldiers, but sprinkled among them were the holy sekasha-caste warriors, with spells tattooed down their arms in Wind Clan blue.

  Tommy figured it would go like this, but it was still hard to ignore the fear racing through him and calmly step through the gate. He raised his hands carefully as the gate clanged shut behind him.

  "I'm a half-oni." They were going to find out one way or another, and he didn't want to give them an excuse for killing him. "The viceroy ordered me here."

  "Weapons?" One of the sekasha-caste warriors asked.

  Tommy surrendered over his pistol and knife. They searched him for more. He hadn't been stupid, so there was nothing for them to find. As a final humiliation, they had him take off his bandana and reveal his cat-like ears. No one who wasn't family or half-oni had ever seen his ears before. Tommy locked his jaw on anger; he'd vent his annoyance when he knew he was safe.

  Windwolf, the viceroy and head of the Wind Clan for the Westernlands, waited in a luxurious meeting room. With cool elegance, the elf noble wore a white silk shirt, a damask cobalt-blue vest, and black suede pants. That was elves for you—everything had to be done with polished style. Windwolf acknowledged Tommy with a nod.

  "This wasn't necessary," Tommy said. "You could have mailed me a check."

  "I wanted to talk to you. Sit."

  Tommy considered all the alert and heavily armed sekasha. The holy warriors were considered perfect, thus above the laws made by common elves, and free to kill anyone that annoyed them. So far a Pittsburgh policeman and elf nobles had fallen under their blades.

  While the sekasha bristled with swords, guns and knifes, the viceroy seemed unarmed. Tommy had seen the elf blast down buildings and set oni troops on fire with a flick of his fingers; Windwolf didn't need knives or guns—he was a living weapon.

  Tommy took a chair. "So talk."

  Windwolf laid an envelope onto the table.

  Tommy studied the thick, white envelope as if it was a trap. He couldn't see the strings attached, but he was sure they were there.

  "That is for the damage I did to your family's restaurant." Windwolf said.

  Tommy's grandfather Chang had started the business in a time when Pittsburgh existed solely on Earth and oni were only an Asian myth—a "myth" that infiltrated all levels of the Chinese government. When Pittsburgh started to shuffle between Earth and Elfhome, it was the unexpected side effect of the "mythological" oni trying to return home to Onihida. Unlike the other two worlds, Earth had no magic, and was a place to flee. Lightly populated Elfhome, however, represented a great prize and invasion plans were laid. The oni's first step was to find Chinese people who had family members in Pittsburgh. The Changs were the first family enslaved, thus Tommy was the oldest of the half-breeds.

  For twenty-eight years, working in great secrecy, the oni sought a way to bypass Earth and invade Elfhome directly. That summer, they nearly succeeded. Pittsburgh was embroiled in open warfare as royal elfin troops washed the city in blood and Fire Clan red. Sick of oni enslavement, and knowing that Windwolf was key to the elves' defense, Tommy risked everything to save the viceroy's life and hide him at the Changs' restaurant. Then the stupid elf fuck picked a fight with oni warriors, blowing out the storefront and structurally weakening the building to the point that it collapsed.

  But it worked as Tommy hoped. The oni stranglehold on him was broken, and Windwolf crossed the half-oni off the elves' "kill on sight" list.

  "This is not stake money," Windwolf tapped the envelope between them. "But a repayment of what I owe you."

  "Which makes us even." Tommy wanted that clear even though he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. There was some degree of security inherent in having Windwolf in his debt, but the elves were making it clear that their protection came at a cost.

  "The question is now, what does the half-oni intend?"

  "My family wants to rebuild." Tommy left the envelope on the table, waiting for the outcome of the conversation. "We have a good reputation in Oakland, so we would stay in the same place."

  He used "want" to indicate desire, not concrete plans, as lying to elves was a dangerous thing to do. He wasn't sure, however, if the elves approved of his more lucrative but illegal operations.

  "I have spoken with Director Maynard, and the Earth Interdimensional Agency will help you move to Earth, if that is what you want. Through the EIA, the UN has set up extensive programs to help the humans dislocated by Pittsburgh's move to Elfhome. Those programs can apply to the half-oni."

  Tommy shook his head, locking down on a flare of anger. Remember the sekasha. "Moving to Earth would be a serious step down for my people. We don't know shit about Earth. The only people that know us over there are oni. And I know Earth history enough to know that the UN could completely dick us over—'relocating' us to whatever hellhole no one else wants."

  "I see."

  "There's no golden promised land for us. Let someone else chase that shit. We know the score here."

  "Very well. Here you will stay."

  When Windwolf said it that way, it sounded ominous.

  "Are we done here?" Tommy asked.

  "We elves had our own cruel masters, the Skin Clan, who we turned against. We know that good can come from evil, which is why we're allowing the half-oni to live, but not without conditions."

  Here it comes, Tommy thought. "Those being?"

  "All of the half-oni must allow themselves to be known to us, so we can weed them from the oni. We are still set on our course to eliminate the oni from our world. The EIA are urging us to detain them and have them deported to Earth. Whatever is decided, the half-oni will be spared only if they reveal themselves."

  "And have a Star of David sewed onto their sleeves?"

  "The oni invaded our world. If we are not ruthless in our actions, the oni will take Elfhome from us by merely breeding like mice and overrunning us. We are sparing the half-oni because we believe you have inherited compassion and the capability of honor from your mothers."

  Tommy flinched, as always, at the thought of his mother. His father had murdered her when he'd grown tired of her. Tommy valued his life, so he chose to find it lucky that his father continued to see him as useful. "You don't have to convince me that oni are filthy pigs."

  "The half-oni will also have to conform to elfin culture. You will form households under the Wind Clan."

  "Why not the Stone Clan or the Fire Clan?"

  Windwolf raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Has the Stone Clan offered?"

  So Prince True Flame of the Fire Clan was so unlikely that it wasn't even a question. "Not yet, but rumor has it that Forest Moss on Stone is quite insane, and capable of anything."

  "Yes, I suppose that's the truth. I would not recommend him."

  "Because he's insane?"

  Windwolf shook his head. "I don't know if he is as insane as he makes out to be; it might be a ploy he's found useful. I believe, however, that the Stone Clan sent Forest Moss here because they saw him as expendable. If that's true, he does not have firm backing by his clan. Nor does he have sekasha, which leave any household he builds vulnerable."

  "Ah." Tommy fought a flash of respect for Windwolf. Th
e elf was shrewd. Unfortunately, that could work to Tommy's disadvantage.

  "This is repayment." Windwolf tapped the money on the table. "If you wish to establish a household under me, I will advance you stake money. You would be under my protection."

  Tommy had lived under the oni 'protection' long enough to know that was a two-edged sword. "I'll need time to think about it."

  Windwolf nodded. "We're lifting martial law today. Do what you will, but know that the offer is still on the table."

  ****

  Tommy collected the money, his bandana, his knife, his pistol and his freedom, in that order. With the money stuffed into his jeans' pocket, he rode his hoverbike up to Mount Washington. There he sat, smoking a cigarette, looking down at the city. He spent years taking calculated risks trying to free himself from his father, Lord Tomtom, leader of the oni. Looking back, it was odd which ones led to this moment.

  The most unlikely was staying silent when his father started looking for a man by the name of Alexander Graham Bell. Tommy knew Bell was really a teenage girl genius who went by the name of Tinker and ran a metal salvage company in McKees Rocks. He saw her and her cousin, Oilcan, every week at the hoverbike races. Knowing what his father would do to Tinker if he found her, Tommy went to her scrap yard to kill her. He told himself it was the merciful thing to do.

  Tinker been working on an engine, but greeted him with a smile, a cold beer, and a blithe assumption that he cared about the inner workings of big machines. She was so small and trusting. He'd waited until she leaned back over the engine and wrapped his hand around her slender neck. . .

  And realized he was rock hard with excitement. He was getting off on the idea of killing someone who, with her pulse pounding under his thumb, only looked at him with mild confusion. It was like the monster that was his father suddenly woke inside him and stretched against the limits of Tommy's skin. It wanted out to fuck with something that had been beaten to bleeding and then kill it. Like Lord Tomtom had done to his mother. Like his father had tried to do to him.