Stupefying Stories: July 2013 (Stupefying Stories II)

by Russ Colson

  “I’m assuming, of course, that you have only the finest stud in mind for my Lola?” I reached for the earthenware goblet the servant handed each of us. Another servant set a silver platter of dates and figs before us.

  “But of course. Norfats and I have the finest bloodlines of Grenitschee on the planet.” This said with a hint of pride.

  At least in this he is probably telling the truth. I suddenly realized that I had probably made myself an enemy to Norfats by not only making him lose money, but also by taking one of his finer brood mares. That gave me more to think on as I made plans for my future; one in which I became more of my own boss, and not a lackey for Norfats.

  I hesitated before replying, considering the new revelations, allowing Ndranna to stew a bit. The first hint of uncertainty rose to his face. I’ve something over him, but what?

  “Perhaps, since this is her first breeding, I’d only require one of her young, but one of my choice,” Ndranna said, too quickly.

  That glint, again. He knows he’s being greedy and hoping he isn’t too obvious. You don’t trade on as many worlds as I have without being able to read faces, human and alien.

  I continued to gaze thoughtfully at him, allowing him to stew some more. I needed for him to get the better deal in the exchange, but not one that would make him hold me in contempt. Traders on Gnossis held in contempt didn’t live long, I’d found.

  “I’ll allow you to have one of the young from the pairing, but of my choice.”

  His face fell, but did not turn red. He still was getting the better part of our bargain, which left me to wonder if I was supposed to make him offer me credits.

  Probably. He looked thoughtfully at my own now-resolved expression. Not seeing any hint of waffling, he spat on the back of his hand and touched it to his own forehead before leaning across and touching it to mine. I repeated the gesture. We now had a contract as binding as any recorded in a database.

  “Then let us enjoy our refreshments before we allow the beasts to mate.”

  ¤

  It was a good thing we ate first.

  The Grenitschees engaged in a bout of mutual admiration vomiting that made the bath Lola gave me look like a small puddle, then without further ado, Darnag—the stud I’d seen earlier—mounted her and rode her like a stallion.

  It was a noisy, messy, violent exchange. Everyone stopped what they were doing and backed away to watch from a safe distance. Green blood oozed from love bites. After an hour of frantic humping with no sign of a let-up we all decided to turn in and try to get some rest. Both suns were up and I was getting terribly sunburned on top of my already lobster-red skin. Ndranna offered me the courtesy of allowing me to sleep in the shade of his tent. I took him up on the offer.

  A few hours later the harsh squealing and squelching noises of the Grenitschee’s lovemaking ceased, and I fell into a fitful sleep.

  ¤

  “Wake up, Westley.” A hand shook my shoulder. I roused quickly and sat up on my carpet, rubbing crusty sand from my eyes. Ndranna pushed himself to his feet and smiled down on me. “It is almost sunsets. You will wish to continue your journey soon.”

  I felt like I needed another bath, even though I’d taken a dip in the oasis pond before turning in. On Gnossia, men sleep together to stay warm and for sexual reasons. I didn’t swing that way, and fortunately Ndranna didn’t make overtures, so though we slept huddled close, that’s all we did. Still, Ndranna had a certain look in his eye that made me feel a tad uncomfortable.

  A thought occurred to me. “How long is the gestation period of a Grenitschee?”

  “One-half of the rotation of Gnossis around our suns. After your mare weans the young I’ll come and collect on our trade, if that is agreeable to you.”

  I’d no intention of being on Gnossis for half a Gnossian year, let alone keeping Lola, but nodded. Anything to seem agreeable.

  “Then there is only one thing left that I am curious about. To which Clan did Norfats send you?”

  “The Eye-Feast Clan.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” Ndranna said. He pulled a wicked-looking stunner from within his robe and blasted me into unconsciousness.

  ¤

  I woke with an abominable headache and the taste of blood inside my mouth. The latest generation of stunners used old taser technology. I smelled something foul and realized that I laid in my own crap, courtesy of the stunner’s effects. I rolled over and crawled to the pond to wash myself off, noting that the caravan had left.

  I washed off, crawled back up onto the sand, and turned over onto my back, staring up into the sky. The placement of the stars told me at least a couple of hours had passed since I’d been stunned. No way could I catch up with the caravan and try to steal Lola back. Things looked pretty bleak.

  I did have water to drink, however. I could strap some sort of carrier together and take enough Gnorth palm nuts to supply me with water for traveling. But the fact remained that I had no idea where I was or if a village was within walking distance. My best hope for survival was to stay put and hope that I was on a major trade route, and that another caravan would pass through soon.

  With these sobering realities in mind, I gathered up some of the shed Grenitschee hair lying about and tied it together as best I could, to construct a makeshift blanket. The night was going to be a cold one without Lola’s curly coat and warm hide beneath me.

  A few minutes later I had the semblance of a wrap. It would keep me a bit warmer, at least. I settled into a small depression in the sand and waited for the night to pass, pondering much.

  Ndranna had stunned me, but why? To steal Lola was part of it. I’d guessed that much.

  Ndranna competed against Norfats, obviously. Was this a ploy to keep Norfats from garnering the Eye-Feast Clan’s trade? I heard some rustling noises across the dunes in the three-mooned night, and stood up to see what might be approaching.

  A Grenitschee shape—no, two Grenitschee shapes—came into view, the first one dragging a rope from its neck with something attached to it. When the shapes grew closer I realized the first Grenitschee was Lola. The other one had to be Darnag, or Lover-boy, as I now chose to call him.

  Lola pulled up close to me and lowered her head to head butt me playfully, like a cat, knocking me from my feet. I stood back up and grabbed her by the horns and scratched at her favorite spot. She sighed and crooned. Lover-boy lowered his head, wanting in on the action, too. I obliged him, thinking it would behoove me to get on his good side, too. He mumbled and drooled in contentment. Now I hadtwo Grenitches. At least Lover-boy saved the barf-festing for his true love.

  Lola lifted her head and looked back over her shoulder in the direction from which she’d come. Torches held by bearers on Grenitschee-back approached. Ndranna was coming back to claim his own, and perhaps finish me off this time.

  I whistled and gathered up the rope tied to Lola’s neck, while she lifted me up to sit on her neck.

  The rope suddenly grew heavier when I hauled it up. I lifted it to see that a severed arm was tangled up in it. “Gah!-Gah!” I cried out in horror, turning Lola toward the East. I almost fell off her as she accelerated.

  Lola had to be doing at least be doing ninety klicks. My eyes watered and I hunkered down deeper into her neck ruff to ward off the chill. Lover-boy followed in hot pursuit.

  I untangled the arm and noted the multiple rings on every finger, gold and platinum, heavily jeweled. Ndranna’s arm. For a second I considered taking them from Ndranna’s hand, and then considered what Norfats had told me.

  I believed he and Massina had every intention of killing me as soon as I returned from brokering the trade compact between them and the Clan. But I also believed he was telling me the truth about approaching the Clan in the proscribed manner. I sighed and tossed the arm.

  The rope, while useful, was artificial also, not made from Grentische hair. It would have to go, too. I pulled it through its knot and let it fall to the ground.

  The torch
lights behind us faded in time, finally disappearing altogether a few minutes later.

  ¤

  “Gah,” I said. Lola slowed her pace. Lover-boy followed suit. I wanted to rest the Grenitschees. I had no idea how long they could keep up their faster pace without foundering.

  We traveled at the slower pace for an hour while dawn approached the faintest glimmers of gold in the east. Lola turned toward the south. Knowing what she probably had in mind, I didn’t try to fight her this time. Less than an hour later, we found another oasis. We had it to ourselves.

  I whistled and Lola let me down, then she and Lover-boy plodded over to the pool and stuck their heads in the water. I hobbled, awkward and sore, over to the other side of the small pool, and did the same.

  I wasn’t under any illusions about my safety. Those pursuing us would find this water hole. We had to be gone before they did. I hoped to rest the Grenitshees enough to get another burst of speed out of them if need be.

  That is, if they wanted to rest. Lover-boy grunted, atop Lola once again. I had to admire his endurance but hoped it wouldn’t tire the two of them out too much. I watched their love-play for a while and thought.

  It would be nice to stay close to the water and get all of us fully hydrated again. Still; we were being pursued, and our pursuers would catch up to us faster the longer we waited. There was a sudden shriek from Lover-boy as he released his load.

  “I’m glad that was good for you,” I said abstractly noting that he immediately began humping Lola again.

  We’d gotten away from our pursuers the last time when they drew near. But what if they chose to run their beasts longer than I ran mine? No, that didn’t make sense. They would’ve caught up to us by now if that were true.

  Lover-boy shuddered and released his love-load again, this time quietly, his four eyes rolling back into his head. He disengaged from Lola. The two of them lay down in the sand, coiled their necks around one another, and fell asleep immediately.

  I decided to let them rest as long as they wanted. I would take my chances on another quick getaway and trust to their keen senses to alert us if the others drew near. I decided to catch a little sleep myself.

  The suns beat down on us. I moved around the two beasts to place myself in the shade while the suns rose overhead, and napped as much as I could. During one of my times awake I also thought to secure another Gnorth nut from the low-hanging palms, for my eventual trade with the Eye-Feast Clan. I wove it into Lola’s neck ruff so it wouldn’t get lost, settled back down, and slept.

  When I finally awoke again the suns were near setting. Lola and Lover-boy were standing and peering with interest off into the east. I shaded my eyes and made out a large troop of Grenitchees, with what appeared to be spear-carrying riders. There were round objects attached to some of the spears. My pursuers had gotten much closer to me than I’d hoped to allow them.

  I whistled.

  Lola ignored me.

  When the riders came into closer view, with me whistling frantically all the while, I noticed the riders wore red Clan colors. Ndranna’s servants had all been decked out in blue. Who were these guys?

  With no place to go and Lola and Lover-boy continuing to be more curious than alarmed, I allowed some of my anxiety to slip away. I gave the ritual greeting as the first group of riders pulled up and whistled their dismounts. They ignored me.

  When their feet touched the ground, I realized the objects on the spears were blue-turbaned heads. One of them was Ndranna’s. All were missing their eyes.

  I tried the ritual greeting again to the decidedly unfriendly faces of the second group of riders, when they pulled up and dismounted.

  “And who are you, Outworlder, to trespass on the lands of the Eye-Feast Clan?” a voice spoke from the second group. A tall man pushed through the others and stood before me. His hawk-like eyes bore me no love and no welcome. Yet, I was in too far to retreat.

  “Only one who would have trade with your Clan, noble one,” I said, hoping I used the proper honorific.

  “I, Prince Jarfa, do not trade with Ndranna or his lackeys. I see a Grenitschee of Ndranna’s stable and one of Norfat’s, if my eyes deceive me not. Which trading house is your hire?”

  This was my play. All or nothing.

  “Neither, great one. I bear the Gnorth nut in the hope you might have some use for a trader who can bring off-world goods directly to you.”

  I stepped over and started to untie the Gnorth nut from Lola, and was tackled from behind by two soldiers as the nut fell to the sand. They held spears over me and kept Lola—and surprisingly, Lover-boy, who had joined in my defense—at bay.

  “You’ve bonded a pair? How extraordinary!” The Prince waved his guards back, and then walked over and held his hands palm-up to the two Grenitschees.

  A braver man than me. They sniffed his hands and then bent their heads for him to scratch.

  For a moment I felt jealousy that he was able to do so easily what I’d suffered through.

  “You own noble steeds.” He bent down and picked up the Gnorth nut. “Let us share the milk of this nut and speak further.”

  ¤

  An hour later it was all arranged. The Prince provided me with a small shuttle and an escort to fly back in safety to the spaceship port, away from Norfats, and retrieve my ship and fly it to a village near his. He bankrolled me for fuel and gave me a list of what he wanted from off-world, and the money to get it. He allowed for an obscene profit margin to be figured into the exchange for me, too.

  The trip off-world to procure everything for the Prince took nearly half a Gnossian year. I was back just in time to see Lola and Lover-boy’s colts being born; all four of them. Half an hour later, after they had nursed for the first time, they all barfed sour purple milk on me.

  The Prince said it was a good omen.

  Mark Wolf has stories published with bizarre titles such as “Bubba Versus the Werewolf,” “Killer Krill from Outer Space,” “Flat-Cat Frisbees and Bullfrog Amputees,’ and most recently, “Revenge of the Rabid, Killer Werepossum.”

  He would write more such stories if his attendants would give him back his crayons during activity time.

  COTTAGE INDUSTRY

  By Evan Dicken

  Mike MARTINEZ WAS ON HIS TENTH PORTERHOUSE when the waiter ushered his old boss into the booth at the back of Chardon’s Steakhouse.

  “Hungry?” Special Agent Edward Chen slid into the varnished oak seat across from him.

  “Atkins Diet.” Mike grinned around a bloody mouthful of steak. “Actually, it was a full moon two days ago. Got to get my protein somewhere.”

  Chen looked at his wristwatch, a nervous tic Mike recognized from their days at Quantico. “Listen, Mike, I know it’s been a long time. I’m sorry—”

  “Sorry for what?” Mike sawed at the meat, carving down to the plate.

  “You don’t understand, Martinez. There was a lot of heat on you after that fiasco at Gold Point. What you did to those junkies...it was best to fall off the radar.”

  “Those weren’t junkies.”

  Chen nodded. “I know that. You know that. But to the rest of the Bureau they were just a bunch of backwoods methheads you brutalized. It was all I could do to keep you out of prison.”

  Mike met Chen’s eyes. “Was that really all you could do?”

  “Dammit, Mike. I am sorry, but if I’d stuck my neck out, we would’ve crashed and burned together, and I couldn’t help you now. It won’t be steady work, but if the Raleigh office can have a psychic on staff, there’s obviously broad latitude—”

  “I don’t want your charity.”

  “It’s not charity. What have you been doing since you left the Bureau? PI work? Tracking down lost relatives? Spying on cheating husbands?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “I’m offering you a chance, Martinez. If you don’t like it, just walk away. It’s a free dinner, at least.”

  Mike’s nod was almost imperceptibl
e in the dim light.

  “Great.” Chen snapped open the clasps on his black leather briefcase and removed a swatch of dark fabric. “This came across my desk about a month ago.”

  “I didn’t really figure you for a Department of Commerce ringer, Ed. Hunting illegal sweatshops now?”

  “No, it’s not like that. This is cut from a sweater one of my friends in the DOC tested. The tag says it’s one-hundred percent wool, and from a legal standpoint it is, but my friend found something strange; another type of thread spun into the fabric. When he tried to isolate this mystery filament, it vanished like smoke. That was enough to catch his interest, and mine.”

  Mike felt the swatch. It flowed across his fingers like silk, but had the heft of heavier fabric. The intricate weave tugged at his eyes, seeming to twist and warp in the soft light of the overhead lamp. It drew him in, hinting at something just beyond his vision, an important message begging to be deciphered. If only he could look longer, look deeper.

  A low growl reverberated from the depths of Mike’s subconscious.

  “It’s like one of those ‘magic eye’ pictures.” Mike covered the swatch with his free hand. “Who made it?”

  “A little company from upstate Vermont called Wild Wool.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Didn’t exist until a few years ago. It’s run by a family of ex-hippies turned capitalist mavens. Last year they started shipping to a couple of stores along the coast. Now they’re looking to expand out of state, which is how my friend got hold of it.”

  Chen withdrew several glossy photographs from the briefcase. “And I haven’t even shown you the best part yet.”

  “What am I looking at?” Mike craned his head at the photos.

  “A micro-fiber analysis of the fabric. Look here.” Chen poked at the picture with his knife.