Michael Swanwick's Periodic Table of Science Fiction

Thulium

168.9342

Conan the Elemental

The mighty-thewed barbarian, Conan, was a native of Ultima Thule, that

cold, drear land to the uttermost North. There, amid snow-clad mountains,

his tribe fought ice-trolls and raided neighboring lands. It was a living.

But like many a small-town boy, Conan yearned to get the hell out of his

parents' yurt. So one day he strapped sword to waist, threw a bear-fur

cloak over his naked chest, and stalked off into the snows, to find his

destiny.

Three days into the frozen wastes, he was awakened by a hum outside his

snow-cave. Making certain that his sword was secure within its sheath, he

burrowed his way out and was astonished to see a metal tower where none

had been the day before.

A round doorway opened in the side of the tower and a man?weak and pink,

like the city-dwellers of the South?popped his head out. "Ho?primitive

savage!" he shouted. "Have you seen any monazite hereabouts? Or

bastnÄsite?"

"Eh?" said the heroic adolescent.

"Thulium-containing ores!" Nimble as a monkey, the little man dropped to

the ground. "Thulium is extremely hard to isolate in my world, so I

invented the alternate-past machine to search for alternate-ores from

which it might be more readily extracted." He whipped out a small metal

box that beeped and peered intently at it. "Say! It looks like your sword

is made of an alloy containing a good fourteen percent thulium. Would you

mind giving me a closer look at its blade?"

Conan drew the sword from its sheath. "I suppose," he said slowly, "that

something like that could be arranged."

There were, disappointingly enough, no gold bars or precious gems in the

little wizard's tower. But his boots fit well enough. They lasted him all

the way to the jungles of Kush before falling apart. For the rest of his

life?even after he became emperor?Conan was to regret not asking where

they'd come from, before killing the wizard.