It looked as though the Hallorans’ front property suffered from some weird disease. Their walk and their lawn were marked all over with ugly white blotches. A small folding chair that Halloran had put out was decorated with long white streaks.
I couldn’t help myself. “Yeecchhh.” It was pretty damned disgusting.
“You going to stop it or am I going to have to call my lawyer?”
Okay, it was Alice in Wonderland time. I lost my temper and any type of neighborly restraint. “I’m sorry, but are you insane?”
“Your birds are messing up my property!”
Maybe it was the dead squirrel, maybe it was just exasperation, but I’d had it. “You stupid bastard, what are you talking about? You think I’m ordering the birds to shit on your stuff?”
“It’s your damn feeder!”
I began to laugh—I couldn’t help it. “Who the hell do you think I am?” I finally sputtered. “The freakin’ birdman of Alcatraz? I don’t tell the birds where to do their thing.”
But the man just wouldn’t let go. “Then why aren’t they doin’ it in your yard?”
I looked, and damn, but he was right. The white stuff was all over his walk, his grass, his chair—but the only evidence of the birds on my side was a scattering of seed hulls.
“Huh!” was all I could say.
As though to underscore the puzzle, a small finch, its purple head making it look as if it had been dipped in grape Jell-O, fluttered from the feeder, where it had been busily gorging, and landed on Halloran’s lawn chair, where it serenely lifted its tail and left a small white spot in the center of the green plastic webbing.
I couldn’t do anything but stare. At that point, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the bird had started a conversation like some come-to-life Disney cartoon.
“So?” Halloran asked, apparently not impressed by the idea of a supposedly wild creature purposefully using his chair as an outhouse. “Are you going to take that damn birdfeeder down?”
“I’m not sure I should,” I said, still watching the small birds fluttering around the seed. “Mrs. Delaney said...”
“Robert? What’d he say?” Mrs. Halloran, her hair carefully teased into a tall structure that looked like one of the birds had built it as a nest, banged out of their door and strode over, her eyes already narrowed and ready for battle. “Is he going to take it down?”
“It was Mrs. Delaney who put up the damned birdfeeder,” said Halloran to his wife.
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “I put it up. She just suggested it.”
“Damned, indeed,” said Mrs. Halloran, totally ignoring me. “Didn’t I tell you that she had something to do with it? I swear, if we were living in my mother’s time, I would have reported her to the priest years ago.”
Her husband scowled at her. “I don’t give two pennies for what your mother would have done. What I want to know is, what are we going to do about this?”
“Well,” Mrs. Halloran asked, “what does she want?”
They both turned and looked expectantly at me, like I’d know the answer to whatever it was they were asking.
I shrugged. “It was the day the squirrel got caught in your trap,” I said. “I helped her bury it, and she told me to buy the feeder.”
“You see?” Mrs. Halloran said to her husband. “I told you that you should be more polite to her. Now she’s helping out strangers instead of us, who have practically grown up in the neighborhood.”
He looked as though he wanted to say something, but before he had a chance she turned and glared at me.
I took a breath. “Look, Mrs. Halloran,” I said. “I’m new here. I don’t want to make trouble. I’ll tell you what. If you stop laying traps and setting fires, I’ll do some research, ask around, see if there’s something out there that will keep animals off your lawn without either killing them, or driving the rest of us crazy. But I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Nothing doing!” she said firmly. “We can’t wait for you to find some ‘acceptable’ way to keep our lawn clean. You wouldn’t care if every stray animal in the neighborhood to use our yard as its private toilet!”
A small flock of about 15 starlings fluttered down, found a bare spot on the lawn, lifted their tails and flew off again, chattering gaily.
She looked back at me. I shrugged.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “We’ll stop. What we want doesn’t matter. Just tell that witch to leave us in peace.” She stamped back into her house, her hair quivering slightly on top of her head.
Her husband watched her go and then turned back to me. To my surprise, he almost looked apologetic. “Look, I don’t really care if the feeder is up or not if you can just stop the birds from messing up our property.”
He almost made me feel a bit guilty. “I’ll go talk to Mrs. Delaney immediately,” I said. “And could you tell your wife I really didn’t mean any harm by putting up the feeder?”
“Sure,” said Halloran. “But she won’t believe me.”
A mockingbird which had been steadily eating at the feeder chose that moment to flutter up from the perch. As we watched, the bird rose, circled Halloran’s chair three times, and then flew up to the tree that loomed over the center of the courtyard. It came to rest on a wide, bare branch well away from the Halloran’s walk, sang for a few seconds—it sounded just like a car alarm—and daintily lifted its tail. A small white parcel hit the roots of the tree.
I stared at it, and then looked back at Halloran. After a moment, I said, “It looks like I won’t have to talk to Mrs. Delaney after all. Would you like some help cleaning up?”
“Nah,” said Halloran. “I’ll call my son. He owes me some money anyway; this will square us.”
He leaned forward a bit. “But perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I gave you some advice.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I said.
“Don’t take Mrs. Delaney’s favor for granted,” he said. “She’s been here longer than any of us, and she has some strange ways.” He paused and looked briefly, nervously, at the tree, whose leaves were starting to show the first signs of autumn. “And she’s very changeable.”
* * *
Barbara Krasnoff ‘s short fiction has appeared in a wide variety of anthologies, including Memories and Visions, Such A Pretty Face, Clockwork Phoenix 2 and 4, Broken Time Blues, Subversion, Fat Girl in a Strange Land, among others. Her work has also been published (online and off) in Amazing Stories, Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, Weird Tales, Sybil’s Garage, Escape Velocity, Apex, Electric Velocipede, Space and Time, Crossed Genres, and Cosmos. Barbara earns her living as Sr. Reviews Editor for Computerworld. She is a member of the NYC writers group Tabula Rasa, and lives in Brooklyn, NY, with her partner Jim Freund and an absurd number of toy penguins.
REVIEW:
A Legacy of Stars by Danielle Ackley-McPhail
by Sam Tomaino
A LEGACY OF STARS by Danielle Ackley-McPhail, Dark Quest, LLC, Neal Levin, Publisher, 23 Alec Drive, Howell, New Jersey 07731, www.darkquestbooks.com, 2012, ISBN: 978-1-937051-95-2
A Legacy of Stars is a collection of short stories and poems by Danielle Ackley-McPhail. Some of the stories I have reviewed before, so I will not review them again. Nor will I review the poems as I do not really feel qualified to. So here are are the contents of this volume with reviews for the stories I have not reviewed before:
Building Blocks – Captain Kyle Dunjen and his five crew members, including the new kid, Sanders, land the Cortez on a planet designated for exploration by his superiors. Immediately, things go wrong. All eight of their Remote Specimen Extractors cease working. What is happening? A another plot thread about a civilization calling itself The Unity being destroyed gives us a clue. Interesting look at both sides of a story with good character development for Dunjen.
Carbon Copy - Private Katr
ion Alexander is not happy. For reasons unknown to her, she has been washed out of the 142nd Infantry aka Daire’s Devils and wound up with a desk job on the command deck of the Groom Experimental Complex, unexpectedly filling in for the officer of the watch. She watches her former unit depart on the Rommel, letting them go a bit early. Then, all hell breaks loose. Another ship just disappears and the station commander cannot be located. She calls an immediate alert and things get exciting really fast. Nice twist at the end, too!
Zinn Mensch - The Mortimer has docked at the Eisenwald Outpost in need of supplies. But the outpost is not responding to their calls. Lieutenant Kitch is sent to investigate and does not find the station’s human crew there He does find something, though, and we get an exciting story.
Oracle – Poem
Travellin’ Show - In the future, there are still “travellin’” shows with the “gypsies, tramps and thieves” referred to in the opening paragraph. Paolo and his sister Terlinda are part of the Kalderaš Caravan visiting the Midway Outpost, a space station in orbit around the planet Xerxes, midway between Earth and the furthest colony. Paolo is fiercely protective of his sister, but longs to live on a planet. When his sister disappears, Paolo goes after her abductor. Good solid thrilling story.
Self Reflection – Poem
The Devil You Don’t - Following the events in “Carbon Copy” Kat Alexander and her comrades in Daire’s Devils further exploits against the pirates who were the villains of the previous story. She finds out that they are under secret orders from Military Command to investigate possible infiltration of personnel on board their own ship, the Rommel. More exciting adventure follows.
SciFiKu 1 – Poem
By Any Means - Jean-Paul Marot survived mine disaster in space with his body mangled. Long-time care until he dies wll leave his parents in debt, His other option is to have his brain transplanted into a “developmental exoskeleton” and become a mining drone. But that’s not all the horror that awaits Jean-Paul. He finds out what keeps him alive and what automatic responses over which he has no control will do in case his “life” is in danger. This story was truly amazing. In just 13 pages, it does all it needs to. The best story in this book.
In the Dying Light – Reviewed in Breach the Hull
SciFiKu 2 – Poem
True Colors– Reviewed in By Other Means
Last Man Standing - A sequel to “By Any Means” - Jean-Paul Marot has sued for his freedom and been released from the chemical command that made him a mechanical vampire. Now, he works independently and only the foreman on the ship Caliphus knew that he was anything but a piece of machinery. A disaster befalls the ship and it looks like all of them will die. Can Jean-Paul regain some of his humanity? Another great story!
To Look Upon The Face of God - Private First Class Cassandra Franklyn late of the Dominion patrol vessel Clark is alone in a spacesuit drifting in space after that ship had blown up. She had been on EVA when the disaster occurred and that is what saved her, for a while. But her oxygen will probably give out before she is rescued. Her past literally flashed before her eyes. Fortunately for her, she is not alone out there, even though th other is not human. Nicely done story of survival.
Ghosts on the Battlefield – Reviewed in No Man’s Land
First Line – Reviewed in So It Begins -
SciFiKu 3 – Poem
A Legacy of Stars - The book concludes with a beautiful prose poem about a woman named Sesheta who has “gazed into the heart of a star.”
This was a great collection from Danielle Ackley-McPhail, a writer who spends a lot of time being a publisher and an editor, but truly shows she is a triple talent.
* * *
Sam Tomaino is a lifelong resident of New Jersey and a lifelong science fiction and fantasy fan. You can read his monthy short fiction reviews at www.sfrevu.com
CHATEAU NEVREANT
by Wade German
The cypress shadows spread a cryptic gloom
Across the portal of the old chateau;
And statues in the courtyard weirdly loom
Like watchers on an alien plateau.
Past crumbling stairs, dark halls and chambers seem
Too vast and void of solace for repose,
As if supernal forces had enclosed
This space in strange dimensions of a dream.
Dark echoes out of time are anchored here.
The portraits, armor, faded tapestries
Would speak of baleful crimes and unknown things;
As if a word might summon to appear
The presence of a spectral agency
Still bound by spells in some conjurer’s ring.
ONLY THE BONES REMAIN
by David Hollingsworth
artwork by Brad W. Foster
As he had for the past twenty years, Odala Vosh stared at the sword laying on the stone floor of the cave. But this time, instead of turning away, he reached out with a trembling hand. He could bear it no longer. Tears poured down his face as he clutched the braided silk handle and unsheathed the gleaming, blue-silver blade. He took a deep, ragged breath. His monstrous shame, mountain heavy, crushed him continually and could no longer be endured. He had put this off for far too long.
He held out the sword one last time, feeling the perfect weight of it in his hands. The old joys of swordplay flittered briefly over him. But all of his skills had been useless when he needed them most. All of his courage had fled at the worst possible moment. Even after so long, the memories still tormented him. He turned the blade to his stomach, feeling the sharp point begin to penetrate the flesh.
“Master Odala?”
Vosh spun around, pulling the sword away. In contrast to the darkness he knelt in, the harsh light blurred his vision as he gazed at the sun-brightened mouth of the cave. A girl stood at the wide entrance, wearing dusty and travel-worn robes. She adjusted the satchel slung across her chest.
“Forgive me,” she said with a bow. “I am Myono Sohka.”
The name rippled across his memory. “Myono?” His voice cracked from unaccustomed use. He could not even recall the last time he had spoken.
“Yes,” she said, bowing again. “Myono Keji is my father.”
Vosh rubbed his face, somewhat startled to find himself drenched in sweat. He tried to ignore how badly his hands were shaking. “I remember him. An excellent student and an excellent Senshu. How is he?”
“He is in the Dragon’s Repose.”
Vosh lowered his head, staring at the glimmering, naked blade in his hand. “He was a good man.”
“Before he died, he asked me to give you this.” She walked toward him, holding out a rolled parchment. There was no one else behind her, only the swaying of tall grass in the wind. Birds chirped outside of the cave.
Vosh rose to his feet and sheathed his sword. He could see her more clearly now as she approached him. She barely reached the middle of his chest. She had a round, young face with big, bright eyes. Strands of sunny brown hair had partially slipped from the long braid hanging over her shoulder. Her cotton robes, decorated with flowers and stars, were slightly bedraggled as if she had slept in them for many nights.
She had traveled a long way to find him, and by herself. What could be so important?
He unfurled the letter and stared at the words in disbelief. He read it over and over, thinking it must be some kind of jest:
There is no one I trust more, revered Master. Protect my daughter on her journey, I beg of you. May Sharak’kai bless you both.
Your former student,
Myono Keji
His expression evidently surprised her, and she began to speak quickly. “My father always spoke highly of you. When I first made it known to him that I would one day travel to Two Skies to study the Starry Heavens in the Temple of Harmony, he said you would have to be the one to e
scort me. Barely a day passed in my childhood that he did not mention you or one of your lessons. He always said you were a man of great wisdom and skill.”
“That…was a long time ago.”
The girl tilted her head as she gazed at him. “I walked all the way from Sweetfield in honor of my father’s final request. I will walk all the way to Two Skies by myself, if I must. But it is a dangerous road to travel, or so I’ve been told. You would honor me and my father’s wish with your protection.”
He was far from other mouths and ears and had not seen another person in all the time he had spent in this cave. No one knew he was here. “How did you find me?”
She smiled. “Why, the stars told me.”
* * *
Wispy clouds floated through the sky that spread out blue and wide over the rippling sea of grass in the Bountiful Plains. Odala Vosh stuck his long walking stick into the ground at each step. He had hacked it off of a tree near his cave when they set out on their journey to the Temple of Harmony in Two Skies. Each night by the light of the campfire, he carved it a little more with his knife.
“Wouldn’t it be easier on the road?” Myono Sohka asked as she trudged along beside him.
Vosh shook his head. “Bandits and the Order of Light hide in the well-traveled paths, lying in wait. Like snakes. The Order of Light kidnaps thousands of innocents each day and forces them into slavery under the foolish belief that subservience is the only true path to the Starry Heavens.”
He spat and gnashed his teeth as memories of his wife and son inundated him. Vosh had spent many futile years trying to hunt down that vile cult of slavers before secluding himself in the cave. It was difficult to think of them without roaring into a rage. Yet he managed to compose himself after a moment despite the hatred blazing bright and fearsome in his chest.
Space and Time Issue 121 Page 9
