Before & Beyond

by Patrick Welch

  “Welcome, my friends. I hope you found your journey not too unpleasant,” the unseen Trader’s voice called in their tongue. “I shall be with you in a moment. Relax yourselves.”

  The Aldians sat and hurriedly sampled the banquet. Gren had learned long ago that anything the Trader offered was safe and oftimes delicious. He first tried a round, red fruit. It tasted like toasted sawdust. He spat and threw the offending vegetation on the floor. The carpet closed over it and seconds later the litter vanished. Bre and Fjen started; Gren merely grabbed some green and gray berries. They were more to his liking and he munched contentedly until their host made his appearance.

  He arrived with the whistling of an opening panel. The Earthman, John Ma-lud, was five feet tall, fat and greasy. His hair hung in perfumed braids and rings sparkled on each stubby finger. His gold embroidered indigo robe stretched to the wall even as he sat at the table. The Aldians towered over him, six feet of gold-furred claw and muscle. But he was not intimidated. “Welcome again my friends,” he began cheerfully. “I hope you have not waited too long?”

  “Not too,” Gren purred softly. The others ignored him.

  “I trust your village had a very prosperous year. Very prosperous.”

  “Thank you.” Gren continued eating, waiting for the Trader to open negotiations.

  Ma-lud decided the time was not yet right. “I see you have brought some new friends. Tell me, what do you think of my humble home?” Bre and Fjen made no acknowledgment. His smile did not quiver. “Well, I see you are in a hurry. Shall we dispense with the formalities?” He pressed a button on the side of the table. Immediately all signs of the banquet vanished and they were faced with a bare bargaining area. Bre snarled, but a quick look from Gren put him back in his seat. “May I see the pelts?”

  Gren nodded and Fjen emptied the packs on the table. The merchant chose one and examined it. The fur was soft like chinchilla and long like mohair, yet each strand was a crystal rainbow, changing color with every ray of light. They were the rarest, most prized furs in the galaxy. The Trader ran his fingers through the pelt while staring at the pile before him. There were enough to make him a very rich man, a very rich man indeed.

  “Excellent, my friends, excellent. I am sure we can do business.” He pressed another button and mugs of steaming ale appeared before all. “How many pelts do you have?”

  “Forty-five.”

  The Trader smiled and calculated rapidly. On the open market they would bring him almost two million solar credits. He pressed another button. “My friends, you deserve something special for this year’s work.” He chose three gold collars from a tray and presented one to each Aldian. “For you troubles getting here.”

  Bre and Fjen looked to their leader. He nodded and they placed them carefully in the packs. Meanwhile Gren opened his pouch and released the Llyl. The creature was only half a foot tall, a miniature kangaroo save for the single eyestalk and a beak. It hopped around the table twittering to itself, then took a perch on Gren’s broad shoulder. Gren’s gaze narrowed. “What do you have for us?”

  The merchant watched the Llyl with little interest. He had seen them before – accursed creatures as far as he was concerned. But every Aldian party had carried one with it. For the life of him he couldn’t understand why. “Whatever you desire.” He opened another panel on the table, revealing bolts of brightly colored textiles, cooking utensils, jewelry, boots, jackets and other clothing designed for the Aldian frame. “Help yourselves, my friends.”

  Gren’s eyes widened at the booty, but he remembered his orders. “No, no more, not this time.” The words were edged with ice.

  The merchant smiled quizzically. “What is wrong? You don’t like what I have to offer? It is not enough? There are other things; medicines, food, luxuries if you prefer. Ask and you shall have.”

  “Weapons.”

  “Weapons?” The Earthman scratched his forehead. “I don’t have many swords, or crossbows, but I can get...”

  “Not ours. Yours.”

  With difficulty Ma-lud kept his composure. It was against Federation law to sell anything to aliens they could not produce themselves--in theory at least. Supposedly this was to allow the cultures to develop at their own rate. In practice it kept them at the mercy of the Traders, a situation he applauded. Giving the Aldians weapons would alter it considerably. “My friends, I am sorry but I cannot. My people forbid me. But I’m sure that if you look through my other merchandise...”

  “No!” Gren stood and his companions followed. “If we don’t get your weapons, we don’t trade.” He told Bre and Fjen to repack.

  The Trader paled. If he gave them weapons and the Federation found out, he would lose his license and spend years on Alomar. But the pelts were valuable. Even on the black market, they would bring more than enough for him to live in exile comfortably.

  Something else bothered him also. The Aldians were insistent upon weapons, his weapons. Someone else, a pirate or young wayfarer beginning his fortune, probably had found this world and talked to them. He disliked competition, not only because it was illegal but also because the felines might have learned the true value of what he gave in return. Whether he capitulated or not, these might be the last pelts he would ever see. And Ma-lud had no other prosperous territories.

  The furs were packed and the Aldians donning their clothing when he spoke. “Do not be so hasty, my friends. I have always treated you fairly, have I not? I have always given you everything you desired? If it is weapons you want, it is weapons you shall have. If you will excuse me.” The Aldians had not moved when he returned with an armload of assorted guns. “This,” he chose one, “is a rifle. With it you can kill at one hundred yards.”

  He fired at a vase. Bre and Fjen jumped at the explosion and the Llyl screeched, but Gren was unimpressed. “Insufficient. Show us something else.”

  The rotund merchant chose an oddly-shaped pistol. “How about a laser?” A picture burst into flame for their benefit.

  “No good for game.” Gren’s orders were clear, he was honor-bound to follow them. “The distorter.”

  The Trader froze. He had been right; someone else had landed and talked to the Aldians. The distorter was the most sophisticated and powerful handweapon the Federation had yet invented. His garments, flimsy though they seemed, could stop any projectile or temperature ray, but nothing could be shielded from a distorter. When he left, he would have to warn the Federation--anonymously, of course. “I don’t have one,” he lied. “But I’m sure you should find these sufficient.”

  Gren turned and the Aldians headed for the door. The merchant made a swift calculation between greed and exile. “Just one moment,” he said heavily. He disappeared and returned carrying a pistol with a prism for a barrel. “This is what you came for.”

  “Show me how it works.”

  The merchant carefully adjusted the dials. “Watch.” He pressed the trigger. A vase quivered violently, then became dust. “You wouldn’t want this. It would destroy your game, not just kill it.”

  “Yes.” Gren snatched it away.

  Sweat poured from Ma-lud’s forehead. “I have always been your people’s friend,” he began, almost pleading. “Have I not always given you what you wished for? If the distorter is what you want, then it is yours.”

  “Thank you,” Gren said quietly and pressed the trigger. The distorter does strange things to flesh. The Trader’s insides--bones, organs, blood--turned to jelly. His eyes exploded and blood poured from his gaping mouth. He made no sound as he collapsed on the floor. Gren placed the weapon carefully in his tunic and the now-content Llyl in its pouch. The carpet was already closing over the Earthman when the Aldians left, carrying their packs with them.

  When they arrived at their village, another six-foot cube was resting in the square. Its occupant, a lizard-trader from Xnglia-5, was relaxing in the lodge and greeted them when they entered. “I’m glad you didn’t let John cheat you this time. What did he have to say when you told him?
”

  “He was surprised,” Gren answered.

  “Congratulations on keeping your wits about you. He always had a silver tongue.”

  Gren sat and quaffed some stek. “Are you still interested?”

  The lizard gave his equivalent of a smile. “Definitely. I’ll let you and your men have a chance to warm up and relax. I’m sure that was quite a cold journey you had. When you’re ready, come to my ship and we’ll talk business.”

  “We know what we want.”

  “Really?” His enthusiasm was obvious. “I can guarantee you’ll find me more than generous. Clothing? Metals? Medicine? Name it and it’s yours.”

  “We want you to teach us how to fly your ship.”

  The merchant started. “Why? I mean, of course, but what good will that do you? After all, you don’t have any.”

  Wrong, Gren thought as he sipped. We have one. No. He fingered the distorter inside his tunic, the weapon the lizard had mentioned one careless, drunken, bragging night. Two. He had no idea what would be done with the ships, but then it was not up to him to decide. He finished his stek and purred. The Llyl would think of something.

  Last Call at the Dew Drop Inn

  "What’ll it be, Jasmine? The usual?"

  I sighed as I took a seat at the bar, then forced a smile for Daryl the bartender. "Sure, why not?"

  Within seconds he had a draught sitting in front of me. "So what do you think?" He held up his right arm. Instead of flesh it was now silvered steel. The hand had four fingers instead of five, each encased in chain mail. It looked good on him.

  "New?"

  He nodded. "Cost me a pretty penny, too. But you should see the attachments! Knife, laser, automatic pistol, can opener."

  I laughed along with him. "So you decided to be a cyborg. Last time I was here you were leaning toward lycanthropy."

  "Thought about it, read the brochures and all. Even went to a seminar. But they only come out once or twice a month. Don’t sound too safe to me. What about you? Decided yet?"

  "Still debating. I’m not sure…"

  Daryl broke me off with muttered curses as two ogres entered. "No weapons," he pointed at the heavy clubs they carried. "You know the rules." The ogres glared at him, then mumbled amongst themselves. Finally they reluctantly handed the clubs to Daryl, who put them behind the bar for safekeeping. I grimaced as I watched them order. Clubs or not, they would still likely cause trouble. Their temperament naturally leaned toward mindless violence.

  They were among my least favorite additions of the last Change. A dimension rift, some had called it. Our world had been thrust into another time, another universe, another reality; the scientists didn’t know and it hardly mattered now. The results of the latest had been nearly catastrophic. Planes wouldn’t fly, atoms wouldn’t split, water ran uphill and creatures which never were suddenly appeared. Vampires, satyrs, succubi, dragons and others even more wondrous and dreadful now shared this world.

  Daryl had returned, his mood permanently darkened. "Damn, I hate waiting on those things. Ever get up close to one? They stink."

  "Hose them off or throw them out." I pointed to a sign behind the bar. "Says there you have the right to refuse service to anyone."

  "True, but they tip well. As long as they don’t try to mess with me or my patrons." He patted his metal arm for emphasis.

  "Don’t rely on that too much, now. Who knows what will happen next."

  "Perhaps. Better those purple skies than this." He was referring to the Change that had happened a good year or so previous. One day the skies were suddenly awash in all shades of lavender. Attractive in a way, and once everyone realized there were no other consequences they pretty much got along with their everyday lives. It lasted for about a week. "When do you think things will go back to normal?"

  "What’s normal?" I sipped my beer and glanced around the bar. The crowd in the Dew Drop Inn wasn’t large but it was definitely varied. A succubus and a vampire were plying for the affections--and life--of a single man at a table near the jukebox. My money was on the vampire. A troll was having a heated debate with a harpy. A minotaur and a dragon were arm-wrestling. All in all, a typical evening. Boring.

  "You’re going to have to, you know."

  Daryl’s remark snapped me out of my spectating. "Do what?"

  "Decide. A young woman like you, you’re going to have to choose. Protect yourself. I think you should choose vampirism, myself."

  "Why? And lock myself in some stuffy coffin all day long? Just my luck the next Change will be 24-hour sunlight. Then where would I be?"

  "Maybe this will be the last one."

  "Maybe." There had been nine of them in the past three years. Abrupt, unpredictable, no apparent reason the scientists could discern. Some had been benign, like the purple skies. The day electricity stopped working, or the week the oceans turned to fresh water… those had been most unpleasant. "Or maybe we’ve finally reached Armageddon."

  "Even so you have to protect yourself."

  I patted him on the arm. The metal was warm to the touch. "I appreciate your concern but I can take care of myself."

  The door opened and three zombies entered. While Daryl hurried off to wait on them I sipped at my beer. The last Change had been exciting. At first. The panic, the chaos, the overwhelming fear and uncertainty as everyone tried to cope with the new order. After the initial confusion, however, people and society adapted. The river of life once again returned within its banks and flowed on mindlessly, pretty much as before.

  The scream briefly caught my attention. I turned and saw the succubus rising triumphant from her latest conquest, the vampire next to her grimacing in disgust and defeat. Several ghouls converged immediately on the dead man; the sight of their feeding didn’t interest me. "You’ve got to do something about your clientele," I called out to Daryl.

  "As long as they pay." He pointed to another sign above the bar: "Management is not responsible for loss of personal possessions or life."

  "Come now, you can’t be that prejudiced," the werewolf who suddenly sat next to me said.

  I only gave him a cursory glance. "Doesn’t it get hot in that get-up? What do you do about fleas?"

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up. "I’ll have you know I chose to be thus. Considering the alternatives." He pointed at one of the trolls. "Who would want to be like that?"

  I studied it. "I don’t know. Kinda cute and cuddly, if you ask me."

  "I can be cute and cuddly."

  "Don’t waste your time." I finished my beer and signaled Daryl. "I’m not looking for a pet."

  His civility vanished. "Be careful, Little Red Riding Hood. I could rip out your throat in a second."

  I patted my purse. "I have a gun in there and it’s loaded with silver bullets. Go fetch a stick or something."

  "He bothering you?" Daryl asked as he set a fresh beer in front of me. The lycanthrope had left to approach the female vampire sitting by herself and lamenting her defeat.

  "He was just taking the ‘wolf’ part too seriously. No biggie."

  Daryl shook his head. "I tell you, Jasmine, you gotta do something. You’ve got to choose something. Just being human isn’t enough anymore. Why not be a cyborg like me?"

  "I don’t know. I kinda like the parts I already have."

  "A siren might work," he pointed to one sitting in the corner.

  I grimaced. "I have seven friends who became sirens. Rather predictable if you ask me. But then, all this is becoming predictable."

  He shook his head. "You’re a mighty hard woman to please, Jasmine."

  "So I am. Maybe I’ll become a goddess or a queen. How’s that?"

  "Darling," he caressed my arm, "you are already a goddess to me."

  I jerked back. "Go hump a troll." He laughed as he walked away. Still, my mood was permanently soured. Even the scuffle between an ogre and a gnome, one that ended when the ogre drove his foe through the floor with a table, failed to interest me.

  Ev
erything failed to interest me now. This Change had gone on too long. I glanced up at the clock. It was near closing. Unless I left soon I would get caught in the inevitable melee that erupted nightly among the various groups. I threw a ten on the counter. "See you," I waved to Daryl as I walked out.

  Tomorrow, I decided as I started my drive home. Tomorrow I would evict the monsters, turn all brick into gingerbread, all steel into cotton candy. The results should be amusing. It was certainly time for a Change.

  * * *

  [PW1]