FSF, July-August 2010
Page 29
"Do you always take the form of those you are about to claim?"
"No."
"Then why take my form?"
"You have two doctorates. Surely you can work it out."
To me it was not obvious, and I was not in a mood for games.
"The Retributor has no more charges, so tomorrow is the verdict,” I said, steering the subject onto my own agenda. “Is that what you're here for?"
"No. You will get pardoned."
Pardoned. Even this word now carried a chill.
"You already know? Then why bother coming for me?"
"I am not here for you."
* * * *
"Doctor Jason Hall, you are found pardoned of both squandering and display,” declared the Auditor General.
For a moment there was no sound at all, then came a huge, collective gasp for air. A mighty cheer rolled over the benches of the auditors, across the greenhouse fields, and into the desert. Chaz had lost, but I had won.
I knew that the Retributor would not appeal. This was the sixteenth day of my audit, which was four times longer than any other since the World Audit itself had begun. To prolong it would attract a charge of squandering to him, and that was a very bad idea. I bowed to the auditors on the bench, then waited to be dismissed.
"You are the standard that your age should have lived by,” continued the Auditor General. “You lived as responsibly as an ordinary twentieth-century tipper could have. Had everyone else behaved as you did, minimizing their burden on the ecosphere and teaching others to do so, the world could have pulled back from the Tipping Year. Everyone born before the Millennium must be audited against your example. Members of the Audit, those of you in favor of appointing Doctor Jason Hall to the bench in the new position of Precedent, be upstanding."
The Auditor General got to her feet before my brain caught up with what was happening. To her right and left the other members of the audit bench were standing up as well. At the extreme left the Advocate stood, and to my surprise, at the other end of the bench, the Retributor was already on his feet by the time I turned.
I'll never escape! screamed in my mind.
"Doctor Hall, the bench has voted unanimously in favor of admitting you,” the Auditor General concluded.
"But—but surely others are more worthy,” I heard myself say. “Many environmental activists were far more extreme and militant."
"Not everyone needs to be a warrior, you have demonstrated that. You set a standard that all those born before the Tipping Year could have met, had they but bothered. In the audits to come in the days, months and years ahead, you will provide the precedent to be met by everyone who stands before us, and even worldwide."
"But what about my work in climatology? Surely the Earth needs climatologists more than auditors."
"The Earth needs both, to heal its wounds and punish the guilty. However, while there are now many climatologists, there are few good twentieth-century role models."
The Retributor was smiling. Now I was in his position. If I refused, I would be guilty of squandering a nonrenewable resource. Myself.
"I am honored to accept,” I said, then bowed with my heart sinking.
"The precedents established in your audit have already been applied to all those in the national borderline database. Clerk of the Audit, have you run the program over the backlog of borderline audits as yet?"
"I have, your honor."
"Can you give us a summary of results?"
"Verdicts drawing sentences of death or mines have been returned in ninety-nine and three quarters of a percent of cases."
"Auditor Hall, it seems you are a hard act to follow,” said the Auditor General, turning to me with a very sincere smile.
* * * *
The rest of the day's audits were canceled. Ceremony and procedure were important in this new world, and there were few occasions more important than the appointment of a new auditor. The entire encampment was assembled to watch. The hatred in the eyes of the two thousand borderline tippers glared hotter than the sun as I stood before them. Only five would get service, branding, or pardoning. Worldwide ... my brain shut down when I tried to make an estimate. With a tipper on the bench, the audit became justice for the guilty, rather than mass slaughter.
I was dressed in the black robes of an auditor by the wardens, who also shaved my hair and beard. The Inspector of Wardens presented me with a pair of red leather gloves.
"From this day, the blood of the guilty will be on your hands,” he said as he went down on one knee and raised the gloves on his upturned palms.
The Retributor now stood before me, bowed, and gave me a pair of sunshades.
"From this day, there will be no frailty, pity, or mercy in your eyes,” he declared.
The Advocate had a staff, which she put into my hand.
"From this day, you will strike down the guilty but spare those tippers who are in truth victims."
Only one in four hundred passed through my mind.
Last of all was the Auditor General with my cowl.
"From this day you are an auditor, shielded from the sun because you are without blame for its ravages."
* * * *
That night I was exhausted at many levels, yet dreading what would come with sleep. I was given a tent in the victims’ enclosure, but I could not relax in it. I had slept in the open for too long, so now I went outside to try to sleep. The wardens did not like the idea, but nobody argues with an auditor.
Even lying on the sand beneath the new moon and first stars, I could not sleep. I got up and paced around my tent. At last I had the answer to the many puzzles that my dark visitor had been posing, yet he did not appear. A warden came over and asked if I was all right. It was Olivia.
"Can't sleep,” I replied curtly, now suspicious of her smiles and concern.
"I can call a counselor,” she suggested.
"No. No, I...I'm just a bit edgy about being on the other side of the audit tomorrow."
"Why not rehearse?"
"Sorry?"
"Others do it. Walk down to the audit bench and sit there for a while. Practice speaking, like you're in a real audit."
"That's a good idea. Thank you."
"I'll make sure you're not disturbed. Just don't wander any farther out."
She escorted me out of the victims’ enclosure and away to the audit space. She then left me and walked on to the outer perimeter to make sure that I went no farther. I was an auditor and could go where I liked, but shadows in the wrong place got shot, no matter who they were. The bench was empty and unguarded. I sat down. Out in the glasshouse fields someone was still alive and screaming. A figure in black came walking toward me from the victims’ enclosure. As he got closer I could see his face in the weak moonlight. As I expected, it was my face.
"So, do you understand yet?” I asked.
The figure nodded unhappily.
"Death was not coming for me, I was becoming Death,” he said.
"True."
"Death will sit among the auditors on the bench tomorrow. Jason Hall is Precedent, the standard by which they will audit. Jason Hall is Death."
"That is what you wanted—"
"No! I didn't realize that being Precedent means providing instant, brutal decisions. Instead of giving borderline tippers a proper hearing, the auditors will just check if they measure up to Jason Hall. Thousands of borderlines who would have died of natural causes will now be re-audited and executed."
"Some will get service, branding or pardoning."
"Handfuls out of thousands. Dozens out of millions. This is not what I wanted. I wanted to give hope to tippers."
"You have done that."
"You told me I was a hard act to follow. Now I understand. Hardly any tippers measure up against what I did. I can already see millions of frightened, desperate, pleading eyes staring at me."
The horned moon touched the western horizon, then sank out of sight. Jason became just a dark shape.
"I can't take it,” he said. “I can't live with that."
"Can Death claim himself?” I asked.
"I can, and I will."
I now saw that he was merging with the shadows around him. His voice was becoming faint, and the white patch that was his face had lost focus.
"You fought so hard against the Audit, but now you give up?” I said, suddenly afraid of losing him.
"This world is no place for tippers,” said his fading voice. “Even those who are pardoned must kill themselves by abandoning their pasts, values, lifestyles, achievements, attitudes...."
"Wait!” I called. “Without you I will not be human."
There was no reply. He was already gone.
"Sir?"
It was Olivia's voice. I shook my head and looked up.
"Sir, you were asleep. We should get back to the victims’ enclosure."
We began to walk through the darkness. Olivia's goggles were enhanced for night vision, so she guided me along the path.
"Did you rehearse well, sir?” she asked.
"Not really. I was thinking about tippers, and the danger that their story might soon be lost and forgotten."
"No bad thing, sir."
"Forgetting what the tippers did to the Earth means forgetting the lessons they left us, warden. We need to remember what not to do, or it could all happen again."
She did not reply. The tippers had not left much to the world that was worthwhile, but they had to be remembered. The thought was not a palatable one, but the alternative was more terrifying than death.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Department: FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION MARKET PLACE
BOOKS-MAGAZINES
S-F FANTASY MAGAZINES, pulps, books, fanzines. 96 page catalog. $5.00. Robert Madle, 4406 Bestor Dr., Rockville, MD 20853
* * * *
20-time Hugo nominee. The New York Review of Science Fiction. www.nyrsf.com Reviews and essays. $4.00 or $40 for 12 issues, checks only. Dragon Press, PO Box 78, Pleasantville, NY 10570.
* * * *
Spiffy, jammy, deluxy, bouncy—subscribe to Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet. $20/4 issues. Small Beer Press, 176 Prospect Ave., Northampton, MA 01060.
* * * *
Winner of the 2009 National Indie Excellence Award for best S.F.! In Memory of Central Park, a green novel set in N.Y.C. circa 2050, is as bleakly terrifying as George Orwell's 1984. www.CentralParkNovel.com
* * * *
The Visitors. $14.95 Check/MO
OhlmBooks Publications
Box 125
Walsenburg CO 81089
* * * *
The Star Sailors (Gary L. Bennett). Prometheus Award nominee. “Highly recommended”—Library Journal. $15.95 trade ppb. Major bookstores or 1-800-AUTHORS (www.iuniverse .com).
* * * *
C.M. KORNBLUTH major new biography; 439 pages; photos. $44.95 postpaid. McFarland Publishers, 800-253-2187, www.mcfarland pub.com
* * * *
Dancing Tuatara Press supernatural series, hard-to-find titles introduced by John Pelan. www.ramblehouse.com
* * * *
Autographed New and Used First Edition Speculative Fiction, Fantasy, Murder/Mystery/Thriller, Action/Adventure, Horror. Plus Audio Books and Ephemera. See my site—www.ABNormalBooks.com or email to info@ABNormalBooks.com or write to PO Box 414, Groton, MA 01450 USA.
* * * *
BIRTH OF A CHILD
FATE OF A WORLD
Think You've Heard Before...?
Think Again!
THEDA-MAISAGA.WEBS.COM
Or Place Orders At
THEDAMAISAGA@YAHOO.COM
Book 1: The End of All Peace
* * * *
MISCELLANEOUS
If stress can change the brain, all experience can change the brain. www.undoingstress.com
Space Studies Masters degree. Accredited University program. Campus and distance classes. For details visit www.space.edu.
Dragon, Fairy & Medieval decor and collectibles. Huge selection of statues, swords, wall plaques and more. www.paperstreetgiftco.com
* * * *
Written a Book?
Publish, Promote & Sell Your Book. Get Your Free Publishing Guide Now! www.AuthorHouse.com
'YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE! You are cordially invited to a distant galaxy for an action-packed space adventure. Buckle your safety belt and find out more at ... www.crystalship.info/'
Five Star Protective Services: Live or dead, we'll keep you safe.
F&SF classifieds work because the cost is low: only $2.00 per word (minimum of 10 words). 10% discount for 6 consecutive insertions, 15% for 12. You'll reach 100,000 high-income, highly educated readers each of whom spends hundreds of dollars a year on books, magazines, games, collectibles, audio and video tapes. Send copy and remittance to: F&SF Market Place, PO Box 3447, Hoboken, NJ 07030.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Department: CURIOSITIES: BUT FOR BUNTER, by David Hughes (1985)
Before Harry Potter, Billy Bunter was Britain's best-known schoolboy hero—or antihero. Created by Frank Richards for The Magnet in 1908, the bespectacled “Fat Owl” of Greyfriars School lied, cheated, stole, indulged in huge gluttony, and left any heroics to braver schoolmates.
David Hughes's comedy unveils a secret history in which the Greyfriars boys are real people: Frank Richards himself, Field-Marshal Montgomery, Pandit Nehru (the comic Indian lad), Oswald Mosley (the school rotter), novelist J. B. Priestley, future Prime Minister Anthony Eden, the Prince of Wales (later, briefly, King Edward VIII), and more.
Bunter himself—real name Archibald Aitken—has left his sticky fingerprints all over the twentieth century. In the world as it would be without his bumbling intervention, the noted murderer Dr. Crippen escaped, the Titanic never sank, World War I ended two years sooner with millions of lives saved, Edward VIII didn't have to abdicate after meeting a certain lady through Bunter, Mosley's UK Fascist party lacked its trademark black shirts—a specialty of Bunter's tailor—and D. H. Lawrence failed to write Lady Chatterley's Lover.
The narrator, a nostalgic fan of Bunter's fictional exploits, is jolted to learn that Aitken/Bunter is still alive. Incredibly aged, the Fat Owl has a vast fund of stories (some very tall) about his impact on society. Relevant papers were suppressed by the British government because “they embarrass the entire century. They make history itself look ridiculous.” Can our hero expose the truth? Perhaps not....
—David Langford
[Back to Table of Contents]
Department: COMING ATTRACTIONS
In our next issue, we'll celebrate our sixty-first anniversary in fine style.
Richard Chwedyk returns—has it really been six years?—with a new story concerning the saurs Agnes, Tibor, Axel, and the late Diogenes, whom readers might remember from “In Tibor's Cardboard Castle” and “Bronte's Egg.” It has been too long since these saurs graced our pages; fortunately, the new story is worth the wait.
And speaking of long times between visits, we'll also be running a new tale by Richard Matheson, whose last new story in F&SF appeared in 1963. Appropriately enough, “The Window of Time” is a walk down the memory lane.
We've also got Ken Liu's “The Literomancer” on tap for next issue, an affecting story of magic and politics in China in the early 1960s.
What's more, we've got new stories by Terry Bisson, David Gerrold, John Kessel, Michael Swanwick, and Kate Wilhelm coming soon. Use the reply card in this issue or go to www.fandsf.com and subscribe now and you'll get these stories and lots more.
* * *
Visit www.fsfmag.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
z-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share