Scene 6
Wells resisted the urge to gawk at the moon rock, or the dinosaur bones the Second Bureau had recovered from deep inside a dormant volcano.
References to Jules Verne’s science fiction novels, Journey to the Center of the Earth and From the Earth to the Moon.
“…Nostradamus was a mechanical assassin from the future, sent back in time to kill—”
A gratuitous nod to the Terminator franchise. Curie doesn’t let Sklodowska finish reading the paper because I thought it would be more fun to leave the robo-Nostradamus’s target ambiguous.
“Before I kill you, Mr. Doyle…”
Another homage to James Bond.
Colonel Jean Sandherr looked over the ransacked office, his captured boss, and the discarded syringe on the ground.
Colonel Jean Sandherr was, in fact, the director of the real Deuxième Bureau between 1886 and 1895.
“…until there is so much contempt for your government that people everywhere will henceforth refer to their lunch bread as freedom baguettes.”
Playing off the 2003 incident when the scandalized American politicians renamed French fries served in the Congressional cafeterias into freedom fries after France refused to support the invasion of Iraq.
The Case of the Yellow Submarine
Scene 1
Its hull was painted bright yellow.
When satirizing British culture one would be remiss not to include The Beatles.
“You shall travel to the îles Saint-Marcouf via submarine.”
These are a pair of uninhabited islands off the coast of France in the English Channel. The smaller of the two islands, île de Terre, is unremarkable. However, the larger island, île du Large, is home to a circular fort, surrounded by a moat.
Yes, that’s right, a moat. In the middle of nowhere, and separated from the ocean by a tiny strip of sand.
The construction of this fort began on Napoleon’s orders in 1803 and completed by 1812. It could accommodate up to 500 troops and included seven underground chambers and a cistern.
And while it may have had a perfectly reasonable historical explanation, this thing looks more like a villain’s lair than any other real-life locale I know of.
Scene 2
“I was hoping it would somehow turn out to be bigger on the inside.”
And there’s your obligatory Dr. Who reference.
“There’s little sense in trying to invent something new when you know with absolute certainty that there already exist versions of the same technology so advanced, they’re practically indistinguishable from magic.”
A reference to Arthur C. Clarke, who wrote that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
Scene 3
“I was on a mission in Belgium once, where the moat was filled with sharks which had Gatling guns grafted onto their heads.”
An Austin Powers reference, playing off the bit about “sharks with laser beams attached to their heads.”
“Philippe? Philippe Pétain?” said Curie.
Philippe Pétain would have been thirty-three years old in 1889, but during World War II he was the Chief of State of Vichy France, a German collaborator. He was tried and convicted for treason after the war, which informs his “I was just following orders” comment.
Scene 5
A thick lit cigar dangled from the corner of his mouth.
Nothing to see here. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
“When Al grows up, we shall rule Europe as father and son!”
One more Star Wars reference, for good measure.
“Super-smart teenage military commanders? There’s something to this…”
And a nod to Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game.
Scene 6
“I’m not that kind of doctor.”
Not a reference to any one specific book or movie, but a nod to a very common trope across genres and stories, where a character with some sort of PhD is asked for medical help. (Examples I can think of include Stargate SG-1 and Treasure Planet.)
“Mmmm, pie…” said Al.
A variation of Homer’s favorite line from The Simpsons.
The young Albert Einstein waved back.
There’s a widespread belief that Einstein was a bad student, almost developmentally delayed, when he was young. This is, in fact, not true at all. He was a very bright child and got good grades, though he may have had some disciplinary problems early on, which are common among smart children who get bored easily in class.
Even so, playing off this historical fallacy worked perfectly for my plot. This way I can claim Freud’s mad-scientist scheme had succeeded (though not instantaneously, as he had hoped) in producing one of the greatest geniuses of the 20th century.
A Sample from EXPLAINING CTHULHU TO GRANDMA
Alex Shvartsman’s award-winning short story
I just made the deal of the year and I couldn’t wait to tell Grandma.
As soon as the customer left, I locked the front door, flipped the cardboard sign to Closed, and headed into the back. Clutching my latest acquisition to my blouse, I entered the packed stockroom, dodged around the bronze naval cannon, nearly caught the hem of my skirt on a rusty suit of armor, and made my way through a plethora of other items too large or too heavy to be stored on the shelves. Most of this stuff has been here since before I was born, and will likely remain in the same place long after my hypothetical future children take over the shop. You never know when the right buyer might come along, and the family is in it for the long haul.
Grandma Heide was in our office, sitting at the desk. She had moved the keyboard out of the way to make room for the game of solitaire she was playing with a Thirteenth century Egyptian Tarot deck. She barely glanced up when I walked in.
“You do know you could play this on the computer, right Grandma?”
She set down a card in one of the columns after a few seconds’ thought. “Can your newfangled gadget fake the feel of shuffling a dog-eared deck of cards? Simulate the pleasure of placing one in just the right spot to make a perfect play? I didn’t think so.” She looked at me over her glasses. “The old ways are almost always best.”
“Yes, well, I’m not here to argue about that again. Guess what I just picked up on pawn.”
I stepped closer and placed a pocket dimension in front of Grandma. It looked like a pyramid-shaped snow globe the height of a soda can. It was filled with ocean water. In the center floated a being of scales and tentacles and shapes so unnatural that staring straight at it caused a headache. When not stored outside of our space/time continuum, it was the size of a cruise liner and must have weighed as much as a small mountain, which is what made pocket dimensions so darn handy.
Grandma picked up the pyramid, pushed the glasses up her nose and peered inside.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Cthulhu,” I said, smug with satisfaction.
“Geshundheit,” said Grandma. I couldn’t tell for certain if she was kidding or not. Probably not.
“I didn’t sneeze,” I said. “Its name is Cthulhu. It is an ancient god of anxiety and horror, dead but dreaming.”
Grandma didn’t appear impressed. “What does it do? Besides dream.” She turned the pocket dimension slowly to examine its contents.
“Do? It’s a symbol for the unknowable fathoms of the universe which dwarf humanity’s importance. Besides, it’s a god. How long has it been since we had one of those in the shop?”
“1982,” she said immediately. “The government of Argentina pawned a few of the Guarani nature gods to help fund the Falklands conflict. Little good it did them.”
I didn’t remember this, but I was still in diapers in 1982.
“Pre-Columbian godlings barely count. This,” I pointed at the pyramid, “is the real deal.”
Grandma finished inspecting the god and placed the pocket dimension on top of the computer, next to a mug filled with ballpoint pens. She turned her attention back to me.
“And what did you pay out for this rare and unique item?”
I told her.
Grandma pursed her lips and stared me down. Ever since I broke the wing off the stuffed phoenix when I was a little girl, it had been the withering expression Grandma Heide reserved for when I screwed up especially badly.
“Whoever pawned it will have taken the money and run,” she declared. “They won’t be back. Enjoy it for the next month, and let’s hope some fool gets as excited about this overgrown octopus as you did. If not, then maybe we can sell it off by the pound to the sushi chains.”
“You never have any faith in the deals I make.” I crossed my arms. “I’m not a little girl anymore, and I spent my entire life around the shop. When will you begin to trust my judgment? I say we got a bargain and I’ll prove it.”
“This shop is full of the mistakes of overeager youth, Sylvia.” She pointed toward the stock room, brimming with stuff. “I made my fair share when I was your age. The pawn shop business is simple. Stick to quality common items that are easy to move, and pick them up cheap. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll be ready to take over the family enterprise.” Then she drew the next card from her deck, indicating that the conversation was over.
When your family is in the business of running the oldest pawn shop in the world, there are big shoes to fill. I wondered if Grandma had similar trouble when she became old enough to work at the shop, back before Gran-Gran Hannelore had retired.
Under the terms of the pawn, the customer had thirty days to come back and claim his item. That gave me plenty of time to line up potential buyers. There were a number of leads for me to pursue, but I started with the obvious.
I unlocked the front door, flipped the sign to Open, powered up my laptop, and logged on to Craigslist.
***
Continue reading this and 39 other short stories in, Explaining Cthulhu to Grandma and Other Stories, available in paperback, e-book, or audio formats.
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Praise for Explaining Cthulhu to Grandma and Other Stories:
“Wit, sentiment, imagination—Alex Shvartsman’s got them all.” -Mike Resnick, Hugo award winner.
“Fantastic variety and scope ... Prepare to be entertained, delighted and amazed.” -Esther Friesner, Nebula award winner.
“His stories feature tightly constructed, intricate, puzzle-like plots with clever banter and plenty of fresh, twisted pop culture references.” -Ken Liu, Hugo and Nebula award winner.
“Full of intriguing ideas and wit.” -Jody Lynn Nye, bestselling author.
“A wonderful collection of short stories that will make you laugh, think and feel.” -Gini Koch, bestselling author.
About the Author
Alex Shvartsman is a writer, translator, anthologist, and game designer from Brooklyn, NY. Over 80 of his short stories have appeared in Nature, InterGalactic Medicine Show, Galaxy’s Edge, Daily Science Fiction, and many other magazines and anthologies. He is the winner of the 2014 WSFA Small Press Award for Short Fiction.
Alex edits the Unidentified Funny Objects annual anthology series of humorous SF/F.
His collection, Explaining Cthulhu to Grandma and Other Stories, was published in February 2015. His website is www.alexshvartsman.com
H. G. Wells, Secret Agent Page 8
