2017 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide

by Maggie Allen

  Jen’s eyes twinkled slightly, and she lifted her plastic necklace to clatter it in front of Olivia’s eyes. “You mean these? I downloaded all the maps and survey info onto chips as soon as I got the ship patched enough to hope I might live.” She took off the string of brightly colored plastic and draped it around Olivia’s neck. “Here. You take the star systems. I’ll hold onto the geo surveys and retire on some nice orbital station.” Jen indicated the matching bracelet.

  Olivia’s spirits rose. “You reckon you’ll be okay? After everything?”

  Jen considered the question. “I’m done with space and being alone. I wouldn’t mind the company back to civilization, but if you want to keep this ship I won’t say a thing. As far as anyone knows, we were lost. Why, you probably found me floating in cryogenic stasis in an escape pod.”

  “Here’s hoping you live happily ever after,” said Olivia. And together, the two went about recalling the New London’s escape pods. After finding chocolate, of course. A promise is a promise.

  Man’s Best Friends

  by Bruce Golden

  Novelist, journalist, satirist, Bruce Golden’s short stories have been published more than a hundred times across twenty countries and a score of anthologies. Asimov’s Science Fiction described his second novel, “If Mickey Spillane had collaborated with both Frederik Pohl and Philip K. Dick, he might have produced Bruce Golden’s Better Than Chocolate” – and about his novel Evergreen, "If you can imagine Ursula Le Guin channeling H. Rider Haggard, you'll have the barest conception of this stirring book, which centers around a mysterious artifact and the people in its thrall." You can read more of Golden's stories in his new collection Tales of My Ancestors, which has been described as "The Twilight Zone meets Ancestry.com." http://goldentales.tripod.com

  I was told to wait inside my compartment, so I did. I always did as I was told. I made no note of time's passing as I waited. The passage of time had no meaning for me. Instead I speculated, as I had recently begun to do, on what might exist outside the walls that contained me. On the rare occasions when I was transported to other locations, I had seen glimpses, but they were always momentary and my transport always dark.

  The great majority of my existence was spent within my compartment, leaving me nothing to do but ruminate and wonder. Though I was not trained for curiosity, I was curious. I contemplated. I learned. I even had the ability to imagine, though the fragments of my imagination were meager and dull.

  "Open it up," said a voice on the other side of my door.

  I recognized it as belonging to Carter, my handler.

  The door opened. I did not move.

  "Gettin' kind of old, isn't he?" said another man I was unfamiliar with.

  "Nah," responded Carter. "He's still got a lot of fight left in him."

  "Just sayin', the Cobalt Crusher here looks a little crushed himself."

  "It's all for show. Makes him look like a battered underdog, but inside he's a hundred percent."

  "If you say so."

  "All right, Crusher, today you'll be using the short cudgel and a buckler." He handed me the selected implements, adding, "This guy has a pair of sledgehammers, and he uses an overhand strike, so remember to protect yourself with your buckler high, like this."

  I watched as Carter demonstrated the movement. I mimicked it precisely.

  "All right, let's go."

  I followed, ready to comply with my trainer and exchange blows with my selected opponent. I had experienced many such encounters.

  Recently I had begun to wonder why. I speculated over the purpose of the bouts—the rationale of each and every struggle in which I had participated since my inception. I did not understand the nature of the conflict. I only knew I must fight in order to prolong my existence, even if I did not comprehend why my existence was necessary.

  Waiting at the arched entrance, I gripped my tools, familiarizing myself with their weight and balance. I looked across the arena grounds. My adversary was waiting, as well.

  I felt no malice towards him. I felt nothing at all. It was his task to destroy me, as it was mine to do the same to him.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready for more rock and rumble?" intoned the announcer, precipitating a roaring affirmation from the assemblage. "Monsters of Metal Productions, in association with Viejas Casino, presents tonight's main event, a bout scheduled for six rounds, featuring a no-holds-barred match between two battle-scarred veterans.

  "First, fighting out of Reno, the one-time Nevada state champion, weighing in at 335 kilograms, with a record of 42 wins and 5 losses, the pugnacious, the punishing Piledriver!"

  The throng roared in approval as Piledriver made his entrance, swinging his hammers in high-speed loops. I took note of his technique and considered how I might counter such an assault.

  "His opponent, fighting out of San Diego, weighing in at 312 kilograms, with a record of 34 wins and 6 losses, the quick killer, the sudden assassin, the Cobalt Crusher!"

  I made my entrance without the flair of Piledriver. I was too intent on my plan of attack to waste my energy reserves on such flamboyance. My task was at hand; my survival dependent upon what I did next.

  I was lying on the cool kitchen floor, half dozing, half listening to the talk in the next room, but not really paying attention. It was the same old conversation—nothing I hadn't overheard before. Then I heard my name and perked up.

  "...Terra's the best herding dog I've ever had. I wasn't sure about getting one of those genetically-enhanced canines—regular dogs had always been fine. But she's the smartest dog I've seen. Best investment I ever made."

  I knew I was being praised and gave my tail a little shake.

  "I know she's a good dog, Pop, but you can't take care of everything with just you and that dog anymore. Your arthritis is only going to get worse, and soon you won't be able to pick apples or shear sheep."

  "You're a doctor. Can't you give me some kind of pill?"

  "I've already given you something to help with the pain, but there's no magic pill—no cure."

  I didn't understand everything they were saying, but I knew Pop was getting old and having a hard time working. I tried to help as much as I could because he was good to me.

  "I think you should sell the farm and come live with me and Isabel. You don't have to work anymore."

  "Working's what I live for. What would I do?"

  "I know you like to read, and you could get to know your grandkids. You could do whatever you want. There's a thousand things to do in the city. You could go to the movies, see plays, visit museums..."

  Pop made a noise I knew translated as disgust.

  "I'm not so old I need to be in a museum yet."

  "Come on, you know what I mean, Pop."

  This wasn't the first time his grown pup had tried to get Pop to leave the farm. Now that he'd sired his own litter, he was always trying to get Pop to live with him. I wondered what would happen to me if Pop left. I never heard him tell Pop he could bring me with him.

  "You remember your mother's buried here."

  "We can move Mom to a better place, one close by, where you can visit whenever you want."

  "There is no better place."

  "Julian's not as nice as it used to be, Pop. I've read about the roving gangs harassing people out here in the East County. You can't deal with that, and I know, even though you won't admit it, the work's getting to be too much for you."

  "I just got this place off the grid. I got my own wind and solar power, I can always hire neighbor boys to pick the apples if I have to, and Terra takes care of the sheep for me. I can still shear them. It doesn't hurt that much."

  I knew Pop didn't really believe everything he was saying. I sensed he was worried.

  "I don't know what else to say, Pop, how else to convince you."

  "Well, stop trying then. This is my home."

  That's when the pup's pups came running in. Suddenly three pairs of hands were all over me. I didn't mind, though. I l
iked being stroked and scratched, especially on my belly.

  I took no measure of satisfaction from the exaltation of the crowd. I departed the arena victorious, functioning within acceptable parameters, though with severe exterior damage. Piledriver had proved a powerful adversary, but a slow one. I was not certain of his condition, but it was unlikely he would soon be fighting again...if at all.

  I was ordered to report to the maintenance room. There, some parts were replaced and others repaired. During the period of my repair, another fighter was carted in, looking as battered as I had left Piledriver. His power drain was complete, so one of the maintenance workers connected my power core to his, to, as he said, "jumpstart this piece of junk."

  As power flowed from my internal core to his, feedback from his system made its way through my neural nets. Within this feedback were hundreds of images—images of things I had never seen. I perceived a vast two-dimensional plane of darkness, speckled with bright lights set in various patterns; boundless liquid stretching from horizon to horizon, a formation of living creatures moving through the air, and towering columns of rough wood topped with wavering crests. I glimpsed much more than I comprehended.

  My memory retained the images even after we were disconnected. I replayed them incessantly. They were part of the world—the world outside I was curious to see.

  It was a hot night, so Pop left the front door open, and I strolled out to sleep on the porch where I might catch a cool breeze or two. I hadn't been asleep long when I heard Pop talking. No one else was in the house, and I hadn't heard the phone ring. I knew Pop wouldn't be calling anyone at this time of night, so I used my special door to go back inside.

  I stopped outside Pop's bedroom. He was talking, all right—to someone who wasn't there.

  "...wants me to leave our home and go live with him. He doesn't understand, but you do. Sure the work's getting harder, and someday I'll have to give it up. But not now—not yet.

  "I wish you were still here. I could sure use your help right about now." Pop chuckled. "Maybe you could send me an angel."

  I heard Pop do this before. I knew he was talking to his wife, Grace, even though she'd died long ago, before I was even born. I felt bad for him. He must be depressed about his pup's visit, or maybe he was missing his wife more than usual. I promised myself I'd do whatever I could to help make Pop's life easier.

  It had been a long interval since my last bout—longer than any I had previously experienced. It had been so long I wondered if there would ever be another. Had I been abandoned? I heard nothing outside my compartment. I tried the door. It was open. I went through it. Then another door...and another. I did not see Carter. I did not see anyone. Finally I exited the building itself. It was dark. My visual sensors adapted. I looked around. I looked up. Above me I saw the same plane of darkness speckled with bright lights that inhabited my fellow fighter's memories.

  I was drawn to understand the nature of these lights in their irregular patterns. I wanted to see them better, so I climbed atop a nearby transport vehicle. Strangely, even though I was closer to them, they grew no larger and I perceived them no better. I stared at them for some time, making no sense of their patterns or purpose. They provided little light, no heat I sensed, and demonstrated no motion.

  The transport's engine suddenly came to life. Before I could consider a course of action, it began moving. I was thrown off balance and nearly fell from the height I had scaled. I grabbed hold and secured my position.

  The excursion provided the opportunity to see much more. I observed many different transports of various sizes and shapes. I saw a multitude of lights, much closer than those above. Some, I knew, were in the form of a language, but I had no comprehension of their meaning.

  I watched and wondered as the transport increased speed. The farther it traveled, the fewer lights and less activity I was able to discern. Soon there was almost complete darkness, except for the transport's own lights and the occasional vehicle traveling in the opposite direction.

  The transport finally stopped. I disembarked.

  I had not traveled far when I realized my power core was running low. It had been a long time since I had recharged. I searched for a power outlet.

  I walked outside to take care of my normal morning business and I spied something so unusual it startled me. It was man-like, but it wasn't a man. It was too large and made of metal. Naturally I reacted by signaling there was trouble. I kept it up until Pop came to see what all the noise was about.

  "What in the hell are you barking about, Terra?" Pop stepped out the front door and froze in his tracks. "What in the world...?"

  Now that he'd seen it, I stopped barking. Pop approached the metal monstrosity cautiously, and I scampered to his side, though staying a step back. I didn't know if I was going to have to fight or run.

  "It's some kind of robot. Looks pretty beat-up. Might have looked good once, painted all blue and silver, but look at all the dents. The paint's scratched and scored—looks like junk. Probably what it is. Someone dumping their trash on my land again. I'm not going to stand for it!"

  Pop stood there, staring at the thing, making his disgusted noise and looking like he was trying to figure what to do with it.

  "Damn thing's too big for me to move."

  Pop started fiddling with the thing, and I thought I'd give it a good sniff. It smelled like any other machine as far as I could tell. So I wandered off and took care of business. When I came back, Pop had connected a long cord to the metal junk.

  "All right Big Blue, I can't find no on/off switch, but there's a plug here. So let's see if I can turn you on."

  Pop walked back into the house, trailing the cord behind him. Suddenly the junk lit up. It had eyes that glowed and a circle of small lights on its belly. I backed away and started barking again. Pop came back out.

  "Shush, Terra." He looked at the machine. "Well, Blue, looks like you still work. I wonder what kind of work you were programmed for. Can you talk? No? What's this switch here do?"

  Pop flicked the switch back and forth several times, but the machine didn't react. I was worried he was going to be hurt, but I stayed back. Pop didn't smell like he was afraid, but I sure was.

  When he was done tinkering he walked in front of it and scratched his head. The machine moved, and I barked a warning. But all it did was imitate Pop and scratch its own metal head.

  "Shush, Terra."

  I shushed again, but I didn't like it. Pop raised both hands in the air and so did the junk monster. He dropped his arms and the machine did likewise.

  "Well, well. Monkey-see monkey-do, huh? I must have flipped your copycat switch. Maybe that's how you learn."

  Pop rubbed at his chin like he did when he was thinking, and the machine grabbed at what would have been its chin if it had had one.

  "I wonder if I could teach you to pick apples."

  It can pick all the apples it wants, but keep it away from my sheep, Pop.

  "Do you understand what I'm saying? I wonder. Folks call me Pop. I'm going to call you Blue—understand? Blue, take two steps forward."

  The machine took two steps forward, and I backed up just as quickly. Pop's heart rate increased enough I could tell he was excited.

  "Voice command, too. Blue, you and I are going to get along fine. Terra, meet Blue, our new farmhand."

  I won't say Pop was crazy right then, but I was sure he wasn't thinking straight. That metal monstrosity was more likely to crush apples than pick them.

  "Blue, this is Terra." Pop bent down to give me a pat and the machine mimicked him. "I guess I'd better turn off your copycat switch before you follow me into the house."

  That's right, Pop. Thing probably isn't even housebroken.

  I had no indication of where Carter was located. So I accepted Pop as my handler. I proceeded with a new training regimen, doing my best to follow each command as precisely as I could.

  "...so you don't want to yank the apples straight down, cause that'll tear off
the spur and mess up next year's buds. What you need to do is turn the apple up toward the branch like this, then twist lightly. If it doesn't come right off, it's not ripe yet. Let's see you try."

  I tried to imitate Pop's movements. My first attempt failed.

  "No! No! You cracked the whole damn branch! Easy does it. Just a light touch."

  I tried again, this time using only a fractional amount of power. I tilted the fruit and gave it a light twist.

  "Good. That’s it. At least you learn quick. Now, put it into your basket—gently. Don't throw it, ’cause that'll make it bruise quicker."

  Carefully I placed the fruit in the basket Pop had attached to my exterior.

  "Good. Now, let's see. You're so tall you can reach most of the branches, but we're going to have to get you something for up high. I know. Go get that big fence-wire spool over there. Maybe that'll hold your weight."

  I saw what he referred to and retrieved it.

  "Lay it flat. Now try it out. Go ahead, get up on it."

  I complied. The wood construct supported my weight.

  "That should do it. All right, Blue, start picking apples."

  I began. Pop continued to diligently observe. The other creature—Pop called it a dog but referred to it as Terra—also watched. I could not tell whether it approved, for I did not understand its language.

  I was standing with Pop, enjoying the breeze and watching Blue work the orchard. Yes, I was resolved the metal monster was here to stay, and he was helping Pop quite a bit, so I figured I'd call him by the name Pop had given him. It was a provisional truce as far as I was concerned, but if Blue helped Pop stay on the farm with me, then who was I to complain, just because he didn't smell right?

  Speaking of smelling, that mongrel from the farm down the road had been sniffing around again lately. I'd had to make a ruckus so Pop would run him off once. I'd already had two litters of ten, and I figured enough was enough. He wasn't my type anyway. I'm more into Collies or German Shepherds with good bloodlines.