Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 2, May 2013 (2 page)

Mercedes Lackey, author of the wildly popular Valdemar universe, has written a seemingly endless series of bestsellers, and has also collaborated with Andre Norton, Anne McCaffrey, and Marion Zimmer Bradley.

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I don’t do humor very often. Funny scenes in books sometimes, but comedy is hard… But about the time I was asked to write a humorous story I heard a filk song called “Stray Dog Man” by Bill Sutton, and that gave me the idea. Now both of us start with the notion that an alien pet gets dumped (in my case, lost) and taken in by a very folksy type. And the “pooch” will eat about anything. But that is where our two stories part company; living as I do in rural Oklahoma I have powerful respect for the shrewdness of my neighbors. They like to fool outsiders, but—

Well, see for yourself.

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ALIENS ATE MY PICKUP

by Mercedes Lackey

Yes’m, I’m serious. Aliens ate my pickup. Only it weren’t really aliens, jest one, even though it was my Chevy four-ton, and he was a little bitty feller, not like some Japanese giant thing…an’ he didn’t really eat it, he just kinda chewed it up a little, look, you can see the teeth-marks on the bumper here an’…

Oh, start at the beginnin’? Well, all right, I guess.

My name? It’s Jed, Jed Pryor. I was born an’ raised on this farm outsid’a Claremore, been here all my life. Well, ’cept for when I went t’OU.

What? Well, heck fire, sure I graduated!

What? Well, what makes you thank Okies tawk funny?

Degree? You bet I gotta degree! I gotta Batchler in Land Management right there on the wall of m’livingroom and—

Oh, the alien. Yeah, well, it was dark of the moon, middle of this June, when I was out doin’ some night-fishin’ on m’pond. Stocked it about five years ago with black an’ stripy bass, just let ’em be, started fishin’ it this year. I’m tellin’ you, I got a five pounder on m’third cast this spring an’—

Right, the alien. Well, I was out there drownin’ a coupla lures about midnight, makin’ the fish laugh, when
wham!
all of a sudden the sky lights up like Riverparks on Fourth of July. I mean t’tell you, I haven’t seen nothin’ like that in all my born days! I ’bout thought them scifi writers lives over on the next farm had gone an’ bought out one’a them fireworks factories in Tennessee again, like they did just before New Years. Boy howdy, that was a night! I swan, it looked like the sky over ol’ Baghdad, let me tell you! Good thing they warned us they was gonna set off some doozies, or—

Right, the night’a them aliens. Well, anyway, the sky lit up, but it was all over in less’n a minute, so I figgered it couldn’t be them writers. Now, we get us some weird stuff ev’ry now an’ again, y’know, what with MacDac—that’s MacDonald-Douglas t’you—bein’ right over the county line an’ all, well I just figgered they was testin’ somethin’ that I wasn’t supposed t’know about an’ I went back t’drownin’ worms.

What? Why didn’ I thank it was a UFO? Ma’am, what makes you thank Okies got hayseeds in their haids? I got a satylite dish on m’front lawn, I watch NASA channel an’ PBS an’ science shows all the time, an’ I got me a subscription t’Skeptical Inquirer, an’ I ain’t never seen nothin’ t’make me thank there was such a thang as UFOs. Nope, I purely don’t believe in ’em. Or I didn’t, anyway.

So, like I was sayin’ I went back t’murderin’ worms an’ makin’ the bass laugh, an’ finally got tired’a bein’ the main course fer the skeeters an’ chiggers an’ headed back home. I fell inta bed an’ didn’ thank nothin’ about it till I walked out next mornin’.

An’ dang if there ain’t a big ol’ mess in the middle’a my best hayfield! What? Oh heckfire, ma’am, it was one’a them crop circle things, like on the cover’a that Led Zeppelin record. Purely ruint m’hay. You cain’t let hay get flattened down like that, spoils it right quick ’round here if they’s been any dew, an’ it was plenty damp that mornin’.

How’d I feel? Ma’am, I was hot. I figgered it was them scifi writers, foolin’ with me; them city folk, they dunno you cain’t do that t’hay. But they didn’ have no cause t’fool with me like that, we bin pretty good neighbors so far, I even bought their books an’ liked ’em pretty much too, ’cept for the stuff ’bout the horses. Ev’body knows a white horse’s deaf as a post, like as not, less’n’ it’s one’a them Lippyzaners. Ain’t no horse gonna go read yer mind, or go ridin’ through fire an’ all like that an’—

Oh, yeah. Well, I got on th’ phone, gonna give ’em what for, an’ turns out they’re gone! One’a them scifi conventions. So it cain’t be them.

Well, shoot, now I dunno what t’thank. That’s when I heerd it, under th’ porch. Somethin’ whimperin’, like.

Now y’know what happens when you live out in the country. People dump their dang-blasted strays all th’ time, thankin’ some farmer’ll take care of ’em. Then like as not they hook up with one’a the dog packs an’ go wild an’ start runnin’ stock. Well, I guess I gotta soft heart t’match my soft haid, I take ’em in, most times. Get ’em fixed, let ’em run th’ rabbits outa my garden. Coyotes get ’em sooner or later, but I figger while they’re with me, they at least got t’eat and gotta place t’sleep. So I figgered it was ’nother dang stray, an’ I better get ’im out from under th’ porch ’fore he messes under there an’ it starts t’smell.

So I got down on m’hands an’ knees like a pure durn fool, an’ I whistled an’ coaxed, an’ carried on like some kinda dim bulb, an’ finally that stray come out. But ma’am, what come outa that porch weren’t no dog.

It was about the ugliest thing on six legs I ever seen in my life. Ma’am, that critter looked like somebody done beat out a fire on its face with a ugly stick. Looked like five miles ’a bad road. Like the reason first cousins hadn’t ought t’get married. Two liddle, squinchy eyes that wuz all pupil, nose like a burnt pancake, jaws like a bear-trap. Hide all mangy and patchy, part scales and part fur, an’ all of it putrid green. No ears that I could see. Six legs, like I said, an’ three tails, two of ’em whippy and ratty, an’ one sorta like a club. It drooled, an’ its nose ran. I’d a been afraid of it, ’cept it crawled outa there with its three tails ’tween its legs, whimperin’ an’ wheezin’ an’ lookin’ up at me like it was ’fraid I was gonna beat it. I figgered, hell, poor critter’s scarder of me than I am of it—an’ if it looks ugly t’me, reckon I must look just’s ugly right back.

So I petted it, an’ it rolled over on its back an’ stuck all six legs in th’air, an’ just acted about like any other pup. I went off t’the barn an’ got Thang—I ended up callin’ it Thang fer’s long as I had it—I got Thang a big ol’ bowl’a dog food, didn’ know what else t’give it. Well, he looked pretty pleased, an’ he ate it right up—but then he sicked it right back up too. I shoulda figgered, I guess, he bein’ from someplace else an’ all, but it was worth a try.

But ’fore I could try somethin’ else, he started off fer m’bushes. I figgered he was gonna use ’em fer the usual—

But heckfire if he didn’t munch down m’junipers, an’ then sick them up! Boy howdy, was that a mess! Look, you can see the place right there—

Yes’m, I know. I got th’ stuff tested later, after it was all over. Chemist said th’ closest thang he’d ever seen to’t was somethin’ he called Aquia Reqa or somethin’ like—kind’ve a mix a’ all kinda acids together, real nasty stuff, etches glass an’ everthang.

Anyhow, I reckon gettin’ fed an’ then sickin’ it all back up agin jest made the poor critter ’bout half crazy bein’ hungry. But next I know, Thang’s took off like a shot, a headin’ fer one’a my chickens!

Well, he caught it, an he ate it down, beak an’ feathers, an’ he sicked it right back up agin’ ’fore I could stop ’im.

That made me hot all over agin’. Some dang idjut makes a mess’a my hayfield, then this Thang makes messes all over m’yard, an’ then it eats one’a my chickens. Now I’m a soft man, but there’s one thing I don’t stand for, an’ that’s critters messin’ with the stock. I won’t have no dog that runs cows, sucks eggs, or kills chickens. So I just grabbed me the first thang that I could and I went after that Thang t’lay inta him good. Happens it was a shovel, an’ I whanged him a good one right upside th’ haid ’fore he’d even finished bein’ sick. Well, it seemed t’hurt him ’bout as much as a rolled-up paper’ll hurt a pup, so I kept whangin’ him an’ he kept cowerin’ an’ whimperin’ an’ then he grabbed the shovel, the metal end.

An’ he ate it.

He didn’t sick that up, neither.

Well, we looked at each other, an’ he kinda wagged his tails, an’ I kinda forgave ’im, an’ we went lookin’ fer some more stuff he could eat.

I tell you, I was a pretty happy man ’fore the day was over. I reckoned I had me th’ answer to one of m’bills. See, I c’n compost ’bout ev’thang organic, an’ I can turn them aluminum cans in, but the rest of th’ trash I gotta pay for pickup, an’ on a farm, they’s a lot of it what they call hazardous, an’ that’s extra. What? Oh, you know, barrels what had chemicals in ’em, bug-killer, weed-killer, fertilizer. That an’ there’s just junk that kinda accumulates. An’ people are always dumpin’ their dang old cars out here, like they dump their dang dogs. Lotsa trash that I cain’t get rid of an’ gotta pay someone t’haul.

But ol’ Thang, he just ate it right up. Plastic an’ metal, yes’m, that was what he et. Didn’ matter how nasty, neither. Fed ’im them chemical barrels, fed ’im ol’ spray-paint cans, fed ’im th’ cans from chargin’ the air-conditioner, he just kept waggin’ his tails an’ lookin’ fer more. That’s how he come t’chew on my Chevy; I was lookin’ fer somethin’ else t’feed him, an’ he started chawin’ on the bumpers. Look, see them teethmarks? Yes’m, he had him one good set of choppers all right. Naw, I never took thought t’be afraid of him, he was just a big puppy.

Well, like I said, by sundown I was one happy man. I figgered I not only had my trash problem licked, I could purt-near take care of the whole dang county. You know how much them fellers get t’take care’a hazardous waste? Heckfire, all I had t’do was feed it t’ol’ Thang, an’ what came out t’other end looked pretty much like ash. I had me a goldmine, that’s how I figgered.

Yeah, I tied ol’ Thang up with what was left of a couch t’chew on an’ a happy grin on his ugly face, an’ I went t’sleep with m’accountin’ program dancin’ magic numbers an m’haid.

An’ I woke up with a big, bright light in m’eyes, an’ not able t’move. I kinda passed out, an’ when I came to, Thang was gone, an’ all that was left was the leash an’ collar. All I can figger is that whoever messed up m’hayfield was havin’ a picnic or somethin’ an’ left their doggie by accident. But I reckon they figger I took pretty good care of ’im, since I ’spect he weighed ’bout forty, fifty pounds more when they got ’im back.

But I s’pose it ain’t all bad. I gotta friend got a plane, an’ he’s been chargin’ a hunnert bucks t’take people over th’ field, an’ splittin’ it with me after he pays fer the gas. And folks that comes by here, well, I tell ’em, the story, they get kinda excited an.…

What ma’am? Pictures? Samples? Well sure. It’ll cost you fifty bucks fer a sample’a where Thang got sick, an’ seventy-five fer a picture of the bumper of my Chevy.

Why ma’am, what made you thank Okies was dumb?

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Copyright © 1998 by Mercedes Lackey

ON SALE NOW

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Paperback:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/1612420494?tag=arcman-20

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Kindle:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006F8I45Y?tag=arcman-20

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Publisher’s Direct

http://www.PPickings.com

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COMING SOON
(by popular demand)

_{REBOOTS II}

Ken Liu, a relative newcomer to the field, was nominated for two Hugos in 2012 (and won one); for two Nebulas (and won one); and he also won a 2012 World Fantasy Award. As this issue goes to press, he has been nominated for three 2013 Nebulas and a 2013 Hugo. Ken also does translations from the Chinese, and is working on his first novel.

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EFFECT AND CAUSE

by Ken Liu

.ssengnihton, neht dnA

***

Flash white blinding a.

***

“Brace for impact,” says the computer.

The superheated air cools. Out of the white light, things emerge: the instrument panels; myself in the chair, clutching the handholds; the jagged edges of the cockpit wall knit themselves into a pristine whole.

“T minus one. Shields breached.”

Through the porthole, I see a silvery fishlike shape depart. Already, it’s kilometers away.

“T minus ten.”

The silver light winks out at the edge of visibility like a dying star.

***

Dashing about the cockpit, I frantically punch lit up buttons to make them go dim. The anxiety subsides.

I run backwards out of the cockpit until I end up in the galley.

The klaxon goes off.

“Incoming: theta six-one, phi one-four-eight, distance six-five-five, velocity one-oh-seven.”

Ignoring this, I sit down at the table and pick up a cup to spit scalding hot coffee into it. Then I proceed to vomit food onto my plate so I can sculpt it with a knife and fork into peas, carrots, an omelette.

***

A shiver, and my thoughts flow forward again.

“What…happened?” I ask.

“Unknown.” The computer pauses. “System clock is out of sync with sidereal observations.”

“It’s like someone just took his finger off the REWIND button.” I set down the cup of coffee that had just come out of me, nauseated. “We were dead.”

“Affirmative.” The computer hesitates. “And impossible.”

“An Azazin ship,” I say.

***

We know almost nothing about the Azazin save that they’ve made repeated incursions into this region of Union space. My one-man sentry ship is our first line of defense.

“They seem to believe in preemptive attacks,” I say.

“Hypothesis: we hit a temporal anomaly that briefly reversed the flow of time,” the computer says.

“I’m going to return fire.”

“But if time has been reversed, our attack now would be unprovoked.”

I shrug. “The military lawyers can sort out causality later.”

From the trajectory of the projectile that hit me, it’s easy to calculate the location of the stealth Azazin ship.

“Subphotonic missile ready.”

The
click
from the big red button is satisfying.

I press up against the porthole. Watching flickering numbers on a screen is never as good as the actual explosion.

“T minus ten.”

The passing seconds seem to slow down.

“T minus zero.”

But there is no dazzling flare, no new star in the sky.

“.orez sunim T”

The arrow of time.

…The missile reverses its course, now flying backwards, retracing its arc back to the launch tube…

…I rush around the cockpit, frantically pushing buttons…

***

The galley. Spitting coffee. Someone takes his finger off the REWIND button.

We’ve been through it dozens of times. Sometimes I shoot at them; sometimes they shoot at me. But always, we end up back here, fifteen minutes earlier.

“They can temporarily reverse the local flow of time in a bubble for up to fifteen minutes,” the computer says. “Perhaps it’s even triggered automatically when their ship is destroyed.”

“I think the time-reverser is designed to allow those in its field, including the Azazin, to keep their thoughts and experiences,” I say, finally understanding. “They’re repeating the experiment to gather intel on our tactical responses, like running rats through a maze.”

***

Ignoring the computer’s vociferous objections, I engage the manual override targeting system.

I press the big red button; the
click
is satisfying.

The faint trail of the missile approaches the spot in space where I know the Azazin ship is hiding.

“T minus ten.”

So close—

My heart is in my throat.

—nothing.

“A miss. Closest approach to target: fifty meters.” There’s a faint trace of
I-told-you-so
in the computer’s voice.

Time continues to flow forward. The Azazin were able to tell that I was going to miss, and they didn’t bother to reverse time for my useless attack.

No choice now.
“Set a collision course. Full speed ahead.”

“They will simply rever—”

“DO IT!”

We dive towards the invisible target, the oldest, most desperate tactic known to man. But, perhaps, they cannot believe that I will actually go through with it.

***

.ssengnihton, neht dnA

***

Flash white blinding a.

***

The ship zooms backwards, in front of me a dark, looming bulk that quickly fades against the stars.

And then the finger is off the REWIND button. It’s fifteen minutes earlier.

“A miss—”

Before the computer can finish, I punch a small black button: my jury-rigged secret. It sends a signal that shuts off the antimatter containment field in the subphotonic missile’s warhead.

A dazzling flare, and then the most beautiful sight in the universe: the spinning, glowing vortex of a matter-antimatter annihilation explosion.

“Well done,” says the computer.

I gambled that the Azazin time reverser could not be triggered twice in quick succession. The missile was meant to come close, but miss. My suicide collision course was calculated to take exactly fifteen minutes. When the Azazin reversed time’s arrow, they brought the missile back to its point of closest approach. Effect became cause.

“Thinking backwards hurts,” I say, as we continue to watch the spinning vortex.

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Original (First) Publication
Copyright © 2013 by Ken Liu