Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 3, July 2013 (17 page)

Sledge lay propped up, scrubbed very clean and neatly shorn, with his gnarled old hands folded on top of the spotless sheets. His raw-boned cheeks and sockets were hollowed, still, but a healthy pink had replaced that deathly blueness. Bandages covered the back of his head.

Underhill shifted uneasily.

“Oh!” he whispered faintly. “I didn’t know—”

A prim black mechanical, which had been standing statuelike behind the bed, turned gracefully to Underhill, explaining:

“Mr. Sledge has been suffering for many years from a benign tumor of the brain, which his human doctors failed to diagnose. That caused his headaches, and certain persistent hallucinations. We have removed the growth, and now the hallucinations have also vanished.”

Underhill stared uncertainly at the blind, urbane mechanical.

“What hallucinations?”

“Mr. Sledge thought he was a rhodomagnetic engineer,” the mechanical explained. “He believed he was the creator of the humanoids. He was troubled with an irrational belief that he did not like the Prime Directive.”

The wan man moved on the pillows, astonished.

“Is that so?” The gaunt face held a cheerful blankness, and the hollow eyes flashed with a merely momentary interest. “Well, whoever did design them, they’re pretty wonderful. Aren’t they, Underhill?”

Underhill was grateful that he didn’t have to answer, for the bright, empty eyes dropped shut and the old man fell suddenly asleep. He felt the mechanical touch his sleeve. Obediently, he followed it away.

Alert and solicitous, the little black mechanical accompanied him down the shining corridor, and worked the elevator for him, and conducted him back to the car. It drove him efficiently back through the new and splendid avenues, toward the magnificent prison of his home.

Sitting beside it in the car, he watched its small deft hands on the wheel, the changing luster of bronze and blue on its shining blackness. The final machine, perfect and beautiful, created to serve mankind forever. He shuddered.

“At your service, Mr. Underhill.” Its blind steel eyes stared straight ahead, but it was still aware of him. “What’s the matter, sir? Aren’t you happy?”

Underhill felt cold and faint with terror. His skin turned clammy, and a painful prickling came over him. His wet hand tensed on the door handle of the car, but he restrained the impulse to jump and run. That was folly. There was no escape. He made himself sit still.

“You will be happy, sir,” the mechanical promised him cheerfully. “We have learned how to make all men happy, under the Prime Directive. Our service is perfect, at last. Even Mr. Sledge is happy now.”

Underhill tried to speak, and his dry throat stuck. He felt ill. The world turned dim and gray. The humanoids were perfect—no question of that. They had even learned to lie, to secure the contentment of men.

He knew they had lied. That was no tumor they had removed from Sledge’s brain, but the memory, the scientific knowledge, and the bitter disillusion of their own creator. But it was true that Sledge was happy now.

He tried to stop his own convulsive quivering.

“A wonderful operation!” His voice came forced and faint. “You know, Aurora has had a lot of funny tenants, but that old man was the absolute limit. The very idea that he had made the humanoids, and he knew how to stop them! I always knew he must be lying!”

Stiff with terror, he made a weak and hollow laugh.

“What is the matter, Mr. Underhill?” The alert mechanical must have perceived his shuddering illness. “Are you unwell?”

“No, there’s nothing the matter with me,” he gasped desperately. “I’ve just found out that I’m perfectly happy, under the Prime Directive. Everything is absolutely wonderful.” His voice came dry and hoarse and wild. “You won’t have to operate on me.”

The car turned off the shining avenue, taking him back to the quiet splendor of his home. His futile hands clenched and relaxed again, folded on his knees. There was nothing left to do.

Copyright © 1947 by Jack Williamson

********************************************

Brennan Harvey, a 2010 Writers of the Future finalist, has sold short stories to science fiction magazines and anthologies.

--------------

JUST ANOTHER NIGHT AT THE QUARTERLY MEETING
OF TERRIFYING GIANT MONSTERS

by Brennan Harvey

Two minutes to go, and the room was mostly empty. It looked to Antoinette like attendance for the Quarterly Meeting of Terrifying Giant Monsters was going to be a new low.

A few more monsters trickled in before the hour, but not enough.

Godzilla raised his hand. “Mr. Chairman, we can’t conduct the meeting without a quorum.”

The only board members present were Godzilla, King Kong, the Cloverfield Monster, Barbara the Blob, and Antoinette herself. There were other attendees, but they needed one more board member to start an official meeting.

King Kong arose and spoke. “The Chair will give them a few moments.”

Godzilla pulled out his cell phone. “Back in a sec,” he said as he stepped out of the room. Antoinette decided that he was undoubtedly calling Mothra or Gamera, or perhaps even Megalon.

Kong picked up his own phone and stepped away from the table. He only had two board members he could call—Gordo and Gabby.

Godzilla stepped back in and said, “Five minutes.”

A moment later, Gabby the Graboid slithered in, trailing sand behind her. Stay Puft followed. Godzilla grimaced and crossed his arms, trying to ignore Kong’s triumphant smile.

“We have a quorum, now.” Kong adjusted his agenda papers and tapped his gavel on the sounding block.

Antoinette twitched her antennae and took the roll. Just as she finished, Gamera burst in and took a seat. Now it was Godzilla’s turn to smile at Kong.

Then, as Antoinette passed out the minutes for the previous meeting, Barbara gurgled, after which Godzilla and Gamera both said, “Second.”

“It has been moved and seconded that we skip the reading of the minutes,” announced Kong. “All in favor?”

A chorus of “Aye”s rang out.

“Opposed?”

Antoinette said, “Nay,” and Kong announced that the minutes were approved.

Antoinette chittered her mandibles in annoyance. If just once she could read what happened during one of their meetings, perhaps these behemoths would realize how unproductive the meetings had become.

Kong looked to Barbara. “Treasury report?”

Barbara’s gelatinous mass rose into a crest above her chair, and she gurgled her report. The organization’s ending balance had increased considerably from the previous quarter, and everyone around the table nodded in approval. Barbara handed the report to Antoinette, who wiped off the slime and placed it in her folder.

Then Kong said, “Mothra isn’t here. Is there anyone from Health and Benefits that can fill us in?” No answer. “I know they’ve been working to get us coverage for injuries caused by pulse and plasma weapons of extra-terrestrial origin. Anyone know their status?” Silence. “Okay, we’ll table that report until next time.” Kong looked at Godzilla and asked, “Promotions?”

Godzilla stood up. “I want to remind everyone that I’m destroying Tokyo in a three-D extravaganza next year.”

“More like Tokyo is destroying
you
again,” said the Cloverfield Monster, and everyone laughed.

Kong nodded to Godzilla. “Anything else?”

Godzilla glared at the Cloverfield Monster. “Not at the moment.”

The meeting was deteriorating, and Antoinette wondered if it would last long enough to get through the opening business.

“Other outstanding business?” asked Kong, and Gabby reared up. “The chair recognizes Gabby.”

“The Architectural Weaknesses class has been cancelled this quarter because we only got three sign-ups. We’ll try again next quarter.”

“What about the Zen of Building Smashing?” asked Kong.

“It’s full,” Gabby said.

“Damn!” muttered Kong. “I wanted to take that myself!”

“You
need
to take that,” said Godzilla, and Gamera laughed.

Antoinette quickly raised her leg, hoping to turn the meeting back to business. “The chair recognizes Antoinette.”

“We still haven’t determined a location for our holiday party.”

Gamera said, “I thought we agreed on the Hilton again?”

“They refused our application.”

Kong asked, “Will you please explain why to the board?”

Godzilla shook his head in disgust. “Destroy a few floors and the lobby, and suddenly they don’t know you anymore.”

“That’s about it,” agreed Antoinette.

“Is the Hard Rock available?” asked Gabby.

“They’re booked,” answered Antoinette. “So is the Marriott.”

Barbara gurgled.

“Really,” said Godzilla, making no attempt to hide his disgust. “The Holiday Inn? Why not a Motel 6?”

Shut up, Godzilla!
pleaded Antoinette silently. Aloud she said, “The Holiday Inn isn’t a bad idea. It’s downtown, it’s within our budget, and it’s available.”

Godzilla groaned. “I’ve stepped on dozens of their buildings. Do you know how easily they collapse, how utterly flimsy they are? Have we sunk to ‘Holiday Inn level’?”

“We’re running out of time!” said Antoinette. “We have to book something
now
!”

Kong banged his gavel. “Order!”

“I move we keep looking,” said Godzilla.

The Cloverfield Monster stood up. “Second!”

“It has been moved and seconded that we continue our search for a venue for our annual holiday party,” stated Kong. “Do we approve?”

Godzilla, Gamera, the Cloverfield Monster, Stay Puft, and Gabby replied “Aye.”

“Opposed?”

Barbara gurgled and Antoinette said, “Nay. We need to make a decision
now
.”

Kong shrugged. “Motion passed. Any other outstanding business?” Nobody spoke. “Okay, new business. We have an application from El Pájaro Grande.”

El Pájaro Grande was a gigantic stylized bird, twenty-one feet tall. She looked like a toucan crossed with a macaw that had grown half of a feathered iguana’s tail. She ruffled her red and blue feathers, opened her huge black, orange, and yellow beak that stretched out over the table, and screeched.

Nods of approval came from most members at the table. Godzilla and Gamera both rolled their eyes.

“El Pájaro Grande would be assigned to South America, primarily,” said Kong. “Her franchise area might stretch up through Latin America and Mexico, depending on her marketability.”

Godzilla groaned. “
Another
North American monster?”

“
South
America,” replied Kong irritably.

“When did Mexico become part of South America?” demanded Gamera.

“I move we table this application,” said Godzilla.

Gamera nodded. “Second!”

Kong growled. “It has been moved and seconded that we table this application. Ayes?”

Godzilla and Gamera said “Aye.”

“Opposed?”

Antoinette, the Cloverfield Monster, Stay Puft, and Gabby all said “Nay.” Barbara gurgled as well.

“Motion rejected.” Kong looked smug.

Godzilla slammed his fist on the table. “Moviegoers don’t
want
new monsters! They prefer the classics. Everyone knows that.”

The Cloverfield Monster said, “I beg to differ.”

“Me, too,” chimed in Gabby.

Godzilla pointed at the Cloverfield Monster. “One movie!”

The Cloverfield Monster said, “That grossed one hundred seventy million. What were your box office numbers when you attacked New York?”

“And turned into an iguana?” added Stay Puft.

“I was stretching as an actor,” replied Godzilla with all the dignity he could muster.

Stay Puft chuckled. “I guess that included stretching to another gender as well.”

Almost everyone laughed. Antoinette didn’t think it was all that funny, and Kong wasn’t helping things by refusing to call for order. She raised her nether leg. “Gentlemonsters—”

“I had three movies, one prequel, and a television series,” Gabby was saying.

Godzilla rolled his eyes. “We know all about your television series. I don’t go around talking about my two cartoon series all the time, do I?”

Barbara gurgled.

Antoinette couldn’t help but chuckle at Barbara’s comment that
nobody
talked about Godzilla’s two cartoon series, and with good reason.

Godzilla pointed to Gabby. “Mexico, isn’t that a stone’s throw away from your stomping grounds? When was your last movie?” He then pointed to Antoinette. “And New Mexico is even closer.”

El Pájaro Grande didn’t really affect Antoinette’s career. She had been a member since 1955. The movie
Them
, filmed in New Mexico, had just come out and she had great hopes as an actor. Unfortunately, she’d only been in one other movie,
Empire of the Ants,
back in 1977, and hadn’t worked since.

“I have a three-D blockbuster coming out next year!” roared Godzilla. “I don’t need the competition!” He pointed at El Pájaro Grande. “All I’m asking is that we put this vote off for a quarter or two.”

“We all have movies in the works,” noted The Cloverfield Monster.

“You hope!” sneered Godzilla. He spread his hands. “I ask you, what is there to destroy in South America? What are the landmarks that the public will recognize on the big screen?”

El Pájaro Grande turned to him. “I was thinking about Rio de Janeiro. I’m climbing up the Sugar Loaf Mountain, toward
Cristo Redentor
.”

“You’re planning to destroy the symbol of Brazilian Christianity?” asked Gamera.

El Pájaro Grande paused a moment, then said, “Actually, I was thinking of arriving during Carnival. Imagine it! The streets are filled with five million people all drinking, dancing, laughing. Thousands of nearly-naked women on parade floats cruise past them. The ground shudders once, twice, three times. The whole place goes silent. Then—”

Gabby said, “Okay, Carnival. What else?”

“There’s high-rise hotels lining the beaches, just ripe for smashing.”

“As ripe as the girls?” asked Godzilla.

“Those coastlines look just like the Miami shore or Waikiki,” said Gabby. “What makes Rio iconic?”

“There’s a beautiful rainforest just outside of Rio,” replied El Pájaro Grande.

“You mean where the people aren’t, and the danger to life and property is minimal?” snorted Godzilla. “This bird brain doesn’t understand the first thing about monster movies.”

“I do so!” yelled El Pájaro Grande, “I’ve completed all the required courses and aced all my finals!”

Kong banged his gavel. The handle splintered and its head bounced down the meeting table. “Order, order!” he growled.

Godzilla said, “Again I move we table this application for another meeting.”

Gamera and Gabby both seconded it.

Kong said, “Moved and seconded. Ayes?”

Godzilla, Gamera, and Gabby raised their hands and growled “Aye!”

“Opposed?”

Stay Puft and the Cloverfield Monster said “Nay.” Barbara gurgled “Nay” as well. Antoinette remained silent.

“Three for, three against, with one abstention.” Kong leaned forward on the table and stared at Godzilla with open hostility. “The chair votes nay. The motion is defeated.”

Godzilla reared back. His dorsal spines glowed, and he spewed his atomic breath across the table at Kong, who ducked under the table just in time. Antoinette retreated to the outer walls of the meeting room with the other monsters.

When Kong emerged, he held the table aloft and charged Godzilla, hitting him square in the torso. The momentum drove them both through the wall into the adjoining ballroom where two hundred people, who were enjoying a wedding reception dinner of poached salmon and peanut butter, scattered for safety. The bride and groom, sitting separately at a sweetheart table, were instantly hurled into their cake.

Antoinette ran into the ballroom and shrieked, “We’re going to lose our deposit again!”

Kong raised his fist to pummel Godzilla, but the dinosaur whipped his tail around. Kong tumbled over, and the ballroom rug ripped along its length where he landed. Godzilla rose to his feet and turned to Kong, his dorsal scales flickering again.

Antoinette scurried between the two behemoths. “Enough! Stop it, both of you! Why does every meeting have to end like this?”

Kong got to his feet. He and Godzilla glared at each other as the other monsters filtered into the ballroom.