Happy New Year! 1999... doesn't that have a science fictional ring to it? It's always amusing (or unnerving) to read or watch an old science fiction story set in a future year which has now come to pass; 1999 provides many examples of this. Space: 1999 would spring to many people's minds first of all, being Gerry Anderson's second foray into live action television, which contained some excellent early episodes (although degenerated markedly as it progressed). As far as the big screen goes, James Cameron's under-rated Strange Days starring Ralph Fiennes, Angela Bassett and Juliette Lewis is probably one of the best millenial motion pictures. Books set in 1999 abound, but a notable example is Ben Bova's Millennium, subtitled "A Novel About People and Politics in the Year 1999". Ironically, this novel is currently out of print, but scour your second-hand bookshops.
This issue we have two short stories, Silica by A Y Tanaka and Just a Cat by Josh Boeringa. You'll also find the conclusion of Fred Noweck's adventure gaming narrative, more poetry by Keith Allen Daniels, plus links and reader feedback. Artwork for this issue is contributed by Rebecca Kemp and Jason. Rebecca, who has contributed the first three graphics, is a fantasy, horror and wildlife artist who paints in acrylics and works full time from home in Salem, New Hampshire. Jason is a technical support engineer for a major ISP who has contributed the final graphic in this issue, a Photoshop-enhanced drawing in pencil. You can visit their Web sites by clicking on their images.
All Ibn Qirtaiba's contributors enjoy receiving correspondence from readers, so if you particularly enjoy anything in this issue please don't hesitate to let its author know.
Short story: Silica by A Y
Tanaka The Compleat
Adventurer, part 3 by Fred Noweck
We've not detected traces of the Fellow known as Boss anywhere on the 360-thousand frequencies scanned each second by SIMCHA for conscious signals from space or from rogue transmitters here on Earth, location or purpose not determined or not revealed. He may have once or often been tracked during a less nervous era, SIMCHA mis-analyzing the transmissions as public-noised pulsars, sunspots, vague starspots or ubiquitous background radiation.
Or because his transmission style hadn't stood out, might have been a patchwork based on static-loaded snatches he'd picked up second-hand, federal security and smugglers' codes, soccer play-by-plays, stock quotes, navigators' musings.
Or because the coded tongue he used, when broken down, is too much like the long-dead Island talk - the one they'd cooked up just to deal with strangers.
Our Island folk, the Old Ones for sure, must have wandered to the Boss's
node long years ago to trade and left their tongue, and memories. Brigham ponders, hates
to have to tell me this, but "They don't seem the sort," don't have, never had,
the fit technology, "fit" meaning what I think it means.
What went wrong? Wood, stone and bone are what their hands speak now (away from their city, un-slept-in as it reamed its way to the future) but in pre-dawn times their hands spoke copper, iron, silica and gold, canoes slipped out beyond the narrows they keep watch on now. They've no great gray crabs today to raise their sunken hulls, each hull a name. What made them drop the long strides and the broad paddle strokes? Or made them say the hell with it.
Or the Boss himself had wandered through when young (if young) to study, rob or save us, learned the Island talk and took it home, along with - we don't miss it. What evidence would he or his coach or his trainees or his camp followers have left behind? Baubles, trinkets, sealed and buried canisters, sand-clogged gunsights. Or living evidence: Marsupials or viruses or unusual varieties of maize or unusual ethnic groups huddled in the wings, not eager to be next.
The evidence would be obvious. The Boss's brethren free on someone else's world, without permit, would leave scars. Not obvious; we wouldn't know they were scars.
Dr. Crespo had been covering those Islands since the summer of 4.5/3 (n.c.). Of his dry dispatches to wisdom journals over the years, only the note on "the Abandoned" of Island 518 sparked controversy.
"The implicit assumption," he wrote carefully, "except where scholars lose their appetite - or shall I say their guts ['i suoi testiculi' in the first edition; 'i suoi visceri' subsequently] - is ever thus: The confectioner who creates the pastry, the urchin who endeavors in vain to fly off with it, and the patron who ultimately delights in it, share the same taste, die for the same spoonful.
"And why not, I ask, for the kitchen toiler and the dining hall glutton are, I am sure it disgusts you to learn, intrinsically the same. But reluctantly, and I suspect to your relief, one makes an exception."
He explained.
That dispatch drew Rose Benedict, then a young professorella, to 518, not to prove Crespo wrong - that's petty - but to see and feel for herself.
She returned home in less than a month, her flaming red hair now white. She never published her findings.
Cyrus Hagstrom came to 518 to put this folk on his map, and found they had an old map of their own. And a wrinkled leather alphabet. Scholars with lost appetite have sworn to hunt up any Mayan, Khmer, Nilotic, or Phoenician influence, assuming/proving/hoping Islanders never harvested their own thoughts, never hoarded them on paper, rag, wood, bronze or stone without a ray or two of strangers' inspiration.
In the rush to claim or blame, Renfrew narrows it to the Fathers glimpsed at the Mont Saint-Canaque mission. Brother Theobald snorts, shares Malcolmson's view of the Fathers as too hide-bound to teach things as radical as literacy.
Father Miereanu concedes converts in these Islands were fewer than elsewhere, where strong chiefs (Curzon's word; Fornander: "kings") ruled broad lands and obedient multitudes. One solid God-book-talk with such a chief, with his clear view of the gunboats offshore, and he was converted; through him, the whole valley, the whole world perhaps. But how does one convert an endless chain of small autonomous Islands? Threaten and preach to every one? Every single... good God.
Brigham suspects a king hides in the Islands, the last true king, who'd seen the trouble coming, disbanded the kingdom and disguised himself as one more dense village elder/ bossboi/topfella, the missionaries could never figure out. He spends his vacations searching for that king or the king's successors; pretends not to search, not to care, which makes the folk suspicious. He says he's found nothing, or no one, but he fingers his silica bracelet, and mumbles to it, and bows to it. Or nods, which is almost a bow.
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When next I came from Fate, I noticed something different. I now had faith! I, who followed no gods! I went to Laric, the Elfin Cleric, for advice. He brought me to the High Cleric. He told me that the gift of Faith must be used and that I could probably Heal with it. This was a wonderful gift! I told Psyche and the Human Warrior who shared my cabin and we decided to search the woods for supplies together. Psyche and a Ra'Kash female had gone off to freshen themselves when Rudolfo, the Gypsy King, approached us. He asked if we would help him retrieve a very special magical item for him from the Famori Undercity. He had no permits to go there, so if we were caught, we were on our own. He told us that anything that we found we could keep as long as we gave him the item he was looking for: a special fortune-telling card made by the Master Mage Bruce. "You can tell it is a Bruce card because it says 'Bruce' across it!" We agreed.
We left the women behind, not for any reasons of chivalry, but because the inclusion of the Human and myself made six in the party - a mystic number and the most that could enter the Undercity unnoticed. The Famori built underground, so Rudolfo led us to the entrance of the caves, and left us.
As we entered, we found that only the Human had a light spell, and then we found that the spell had spoiled! It was useless! As we waited for our eyes to adjust to the faintly glowing fungus on the cave walls, I took the precaution of applying poison to my blade (I was surprised that the small vial was back in its hiding place. I thought that I had used it all.) We crawled through the tunnels, fog following us, making things even dimmer!
The Ra'Kash Warrior found the first chamber (her sword was bigger than
she was!) and we all straightened up to get the kinks out that crawling puts in. But we
found nothing there. I, then, took the lead. Putting all my senses to work to detect what
might lie ahead... the tunnel divided... I took the right fork. Ahead was a chamber. I
cautiously entered... but to no avail. A shadow rose in front of me... I cried out a
warning even as I was cut down. When I was revived, the fight was over. The Healers were
going among the wounded (myself included) casting healing spells. I searched the monsters'
bodies while the others searched the chamber. There were some coins on them but I couldn't
tell what they were without light. We continued on. We came to another branching tunnel...
again I chose the right-hand path. And there, in a small chamber, was a richly dressed
corpse. I checked the body and found a couple of coins. Then I checked the altar at the
corpse's head while the Dwarf checked the body again. In this near darkness, this is a
wise precaution. There, on the altar, was an Amulet that positively stank of magic! I
checked it for traps but found none. I removed it and checked the rest of the altar -
nothing. We explored several other chambers, finding nothing. Until we came upon the final
chamber. There a monster awaited unlike any we had ever seen. What we could see of it in
the dark. I fell to the first attack as I was leading again, but was quickly Healed and
back into the fray. I awaited my chance and when opportunity beaconed, slid my poisoned
blade into its chest. Rather than let it suffer, we granted it a quick death, then
searched it. We found a few coins (So far all the treasure has been in dribs and drabs).
There was a box on the table. I carefully checked the box, but could find no obvious
traps. I settled myself, set my mind to avoid any traps that I sprang, and carefully
opened the box. No trap. Now I had to get my heart back under control! Checking the box,
we found several coins. Curse this darkness! We can't see what we have found! We searched
the chamber but found no other exit. We re-entered the tunnels but were unable to go any
farther. We turned around, with myself in the lead again. I sniffed the air. My senses
told me that there was at least one other chamber that we had not gone through. I let my
senses guide us now. There! A narrow opening that was not noticed before! I led the way
through to another chamber but found no guardian monsters. A chest of drawers by one wall.
I sniffed again... there is something familiar here but it escapes me momentarily. I
cautiously pick up a Scroll tube, but then realize to my horror that I wasn't careful
enough. My senses had tried to tell me. Contact poison! I barely managed to croak out a
warning before losing consciousness.
The Dwarf was the only one with a cleanse spell left (and what was a Dwarf doing with such a thing?). When I recovered from the effects of the poison, the others were already taking the chest apart. The Dwarf kept the Spell Scroll. The coins were handed to me to hold. I led the way again, my senses telling me that there was still another chamber. After several deadends, I finally found it. An Alchemist's Study! There were potions in a rack, several coins, and a mortar and pestle with poison in it according to my nose. I had nothing to get a sample in, so tried to take the mortar and pestle. It wouldn't move! A fortune in fine poison and I had to leave it! Oh, the injustice of it all! Finding nothing further, we left toward the tunnel exit. After we left the caves, I realized to my chagrin, that we had failed to check one place - under the rug in the first chamber! Perhaps I can come back later by myself and check it. Meanwhile, we need to check out what we have away from prying eyes and while we still have light as the day is far advanced. I pull the coins from my pantaloons where I stored them - a good haul, but not when split six ways. We examine the Amulet but aside from being magic, can tell nothing about it. The spell scroll and potions we will have to have someone who can read the runes to tell what we have. We go to the Silvermane Inn to look for a (reasonably) trustworthy soul who can read the runes.
After dividing up the coins, the Dwarf approaches one that he can trust to check what he has. The potions are a potion of Healing (always handy) and a potion of Air Mana. But the Mana potion is of low quality. We sell it to a Mage for six coppers. The Dwarf is sure that the Scroll is worth at least ten silvers but in the interest of a quick sale, we agree on six silver ( the more easily to divide it). I have my fine! I agree with the Mage to trade my portion of the Amulet (which is worthless to me anyway) for his portion of the scroll. Two silvers now! I am wealthy! I must find Corporal Mudd and pay my fine before anything else happens! I hide most of my money and take one silver and four coppers with me. In view of the way my money had been stolen the last time, I don't hide it in my room this time.
I located Mudd and paid my fine - he showed no curiosity about how I obtained it so fast - curious - I will have to investigate further when I get the chance - perhaps a little blackmail is in order? Remembering the Scribe's advice, I look him up and register as a Bounty Hunter. You can't have too many irons in the fire, after all! In an excess of good feeling, I go toward Hightown to donate two coppers to Baku.
Before I leave the Inn, I notice a gypsy reeling in weakness. On finding out that his Vitality is low, I grant him one of the Vitality points made possible by the gift of Fate. He is somewhat recovered and promises the Friendship of the Rom for this favor. Things are looking up!
I go toward Hightown but on the bridge I meet a Jester who offers to buy me a drink at the Inn. I never turn down a free drink! Maybe I should have. When I pieced it together after I returned from Fate, when the Jester touched me, he cast a spell of Drunkenness on me and then goaded me into a fight - I had no chance.
I also noticed something else - the Faith that I had as a Gift of Fate was now gone.
I headed toward the Inn, when Rock (one of the Warg guards) told me that I was wanted at the guard hall. Wondering what was amiss, I went with him. For a Warg, Rock is a fairly decent sort. He led me to the jail, took me inside, and then locked me up! Although, he did forget to take my sword from me. Once Mudd arrived, I found out that I was accused of killing a Priest! I never! As the story came out, though, I found out that it was the woman from the (botched) robbery of just that morning. She couldn't identify me but others made a partial identification from the clothes that I had worn that morning. I denied everything, of course. I did feel bad about that one, though.
When the Guard Captain arrived, he told me that I could either stay in jail all night and face trial in the morning or I could trust in the judgment of the gods by being in the front ranks of the defenders when Abraxas attacked that evening. It seems that a special alignment of the planets would open a vortex to the Void that night, releasing Abraxas and his Demon Horde. At ant rate, the Guard Captain told me that if I survived, obviously I had the favor of the gods and was innocent, and if I didn't, well, what was one less thief? I thought that there was something wrong with his logic but I wasn't about to point it out. Then I found out that I was to be chained in the front ranks! There would be no retreat for me!
Of course, I was killed in the first rush, revived by a Battle-Cleric, killed again, revived again, and finally killed without revival. As my spirit went to Fate, I wondered what would happen this time.
I approached Fate. His features distorted even to spirit-sight. He had me kneel and choose four of his mystic cards to represent Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. Of those four, I had to choose one as my Fate. Of the four elements, I chose Fire. Fate looked at the card chosen, and told me to return to life with all abilities intact and with full memory! I couldn't believe it! No one ever left Fate with memory! However, you don't argue with Fate. Returning to Life, I saw that the battle was over, so I went to bed.
Sunday morning - I awoke and left the others to fend for themselves. If they couldn't get up, they deserved what happened. I made my way to the Inn and smelled the aroma of black potion and sweetcakes. Greeting several of the townsfolk that I had met the previous day, I finished my potion and left the Inn. There I heard that someone had stolen the High Chancellor's banner! Perhaps a reward would be offered! I joined a search party and headed to Lowtown.
The search went badly. We found nothing. Upon returning to town, we found
that Ken Shai, the Oriental Mystic, had confessed to taking the banner and been arrested!
Impossible. The man wouldn't hurt a fly. (He would gently kill you but he wouldn't hurt a
fly) What's more, he could neither read nor write Common and could not say what had been
written on the banner by the perpetrator(s) . He was obviously protecting someone. While I
was speaking to him, a Ra'Kash female came up to me and asked me to escort her to Hightown
as she could not find her papers. This was my chance to get in good with the sheriff and
collect a bounty at the same time! Fool that I am, I agreed. As we were passing the guard
station, I grasped her shoulder so that she could not escape, and called out to Corporal
Mudd. "I've brought you a Ra'Kash who has no papers!"
This got immediate attention, as all Ra'Kash must have their papers on them at all times. Whereupon, the Ra'Kash purred sweetly, opened her pouch, and produced the 'lost' papers. "Here they are. I found them."
I realized then that I had been set up. If I turn her in, I make the sheriff angry for accosting a registered Ra'Kash. If I don't turn her in, I am arrested for trying to smuggle an illegal Ra'Kash through town. I glared at her, memorizing her markings. I'll keep an eye on this one.
As I returned to town, Rudolfo pulled me aside.
"You see? I got one." and showed me the Bruce card. It was the Kantara card and he was right: it was incredibly beautiful. I filed this information away for future use. Perhaps the Brigand Band would pay for this information. I congratulated Rudolfo on his good fortune.
When I returned to my cabin, I learned that someone had told Mudd that I had the Lord Chancellor's banner and he had torn my few belongings apart searching for it. A chill went over me. I have a deadly enemy.
Now it is noon and the weekend is over. We all get out of costume and return to the 'real' world... until next time.
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| 1 | GEOS | The Global Episode Opinion Survey, an Australian initiative to provide the ultimate referendum amongst fans of their favourite SF TV episodes. |
| 2 | The Psychohistory Project | From one of the SF SIG's members comes this interesting exploration of psychohistory - that's right, the science founded by Hari Seldon in Asimov's Foundation series. |
| 3 | Meltdown | "She is a crusader, She is the necessary evil. Cyberpunk Style." Intensive multimedia entertainment on the Web. |
| 4 | Cybling Science Fiction Chat | Cybling is a SF, Science Fiction, Horror, & Fantasy Chat area featuring interviews with the movers, shakers and up-and-comers in the genres. |
| 5 | The Artemis Project | A private venture to establish a permanent, self-supporting community on the Moon. For real! |
| 6 | BBC Doctor Who site | Often "official" sites aren't a patch on most of their fan-run equivalents, but this excellent site is an exception. |
| 7 | GNP Crescendo Records | If you have any science fiction soundtracks in your music collection, most likely they were released on this label. |
| 8 | SF Mailing Lists | If your email inbox isn't full enough, do something about it now. |
| 9 | HyperBooks Online Bookstore | One of many publishers of on-line novels, but this one has a focus on science fiction. |
| 10 | Wolfgreen: Books on Demand | As does this one, which includes fiction from one of Ibn Qirtaiba's published authors Loren Cooper. |
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Hi. My name is Tammy and I'm writing to you on behalf of my writer's group because we are holding a short story contest in sci-fi/fantasy, horror and romance. I'd like to let your readers know about it. Can you tell me what the best way to do that might be? You can check out the contest at http://www.netcom.ca/~salivan. Thanks.
Tammy Mackenzie
Canada
P.S. Salivan Enterprises is the business end of the writer's group and is Non Profit.
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As the last rays of sunlight passed through their bedroom window, Mary and Bill got ready for sleep in the house they had kept for 19 years now. They had been married for 18 of those years, happily so, and neither had any complaints about their life. Their one child, Jon, was at a sleep-over at a friend's house and they had spent the evening reminiscing over a candlelit dinner and an old movie they both loved.
As they lay down to bed there came a scratching at the front door, just across the hall. At first both pretended not to hear it, dismissing the sound as the wind or imagination. Then it came again, more distinct.
"Bill, what is that?" Mary turned toward him, her face dimly lit by the moonlight.
"Just the wind, or maybe a stray cat. Jones' ran away, Jake said. Maybe that's it. Don't worry about it or you'll be up all night. Get some rest." Bill rolled over and slept.
Mary turned over, but couldn't sleep. The sound of the scratching kept coming louder and louder, but Bill apparently didn't hear it. Mary looked at him thoughtfully, then closed her eyes.
The scratching came again, much louder and Mary's eyes shot open.
"Bill, wake up!" She shook him violently.
"What? What is it?" He rubbed his eyes and looked at her.
"That cat is going to scratch the door to pieces, by the
sound of it. Can't you shoo it away for me?"
"Mary, if you need that cat gone so bad you're going to have to take the broom and shoo it away yourself. I'm not going to get out of bed just so I can get rid of some vermin at my door. After all, Mary, it is just a cat."
"Fine, if that's the way you're going to be-"
"That's the way I'm going to be." Bill closed his eyes and turned his back to her again.
Mary got up out of bed, muttering to herself, grabbed the broom from the corner and proceeded to the front door.
When she got there the scratching had stopped.
"Stupid cat anyway, keeping people up to all hours of the night…" She said as she opened the door, but there was nothing there.
She knelt down to look at the door in the dim moonlight, but the bottom of the door was unmarked. She looked up and gasped as she stood.
The top of the door, eye-level and above, was scratched and splintering, looking as if someone had taken a hacksaw to it. "What kind of-"
She stopped short when she felt warm breath on the back of her neck, and a clawed paw on her shoulder. Before she could cry out it was upon her. Bill was awakened by the sound of the front door slamming shut, and a shuffling sound in the hall.
"Mary, is that you? Come back to bed, the scratching stopped." He tried to see her shape in the darkness, but couldn't. "Who are you?"
"Just a cat," it replied. "I'm just a cat."
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Here on the table top I have constructed Stonehenge from several dominoes. I search for meaning
in the arrangement of dots, in quincunx and quadrangle, in the way the little black Sarsen stones
cast shadows in the sunlight slanting through the window. I seem to remember a circlet of lights in the sky,
a starship growing brighter and brighter as it descended. But just before the mysteries unfold, our resident green iguana
flicks her tail impetuously and the cromlechs scatter in all directions. Iggy guards her secrets like a dragon guards its treasure.