The Ironic Fantastic #2

  “The Bronze Age is over? But—”

  “The Iron Age is here instead. It has arrived now!”

  And the stick continued to spin and the tip of it seemed to be breaking the surface of a pond; but that pond was the sky, the sea, the sand, and it disrupted the image of the world as it was, replacing the old reality with a new one, so that when the pond settled the images had all changed. Walls rose up, as if flat areas of the beach had fused into squares, and part of the sky came down, encasing the men indoors.

  They stood and shivered. Suddenly it was very cold.

  Where had the tropical paradise gone?

  There were tiny high windows set in the walls, but no sunlight beyond the grimy glass, only thick grey clouds.

  The hooded figure had also changed: he was now a pile of clothes in a laundry basket in a corner. Ironing boards had been set up throughout the room and electric irons hissed like conspirators. Stepping over the cables that connected these spitting devices with the wall sockets, the men knew instinctively what to do. The bronze of their skin was already fading into the colour of rancid milk. They set to work.

  The Bronze Age was over. It was the Iron Age at last.

  The steam from the irons billowed.

  The war against creases had finally begun.

  The Honker Sting

  David Gerrold

  The round-robin novel never happened. Too bad. It could have been fun. Here’s the chapter I wrote. It doesn’t matter what came before, and what follows afterward is irrelevant. As you will shortly see why.

  Jack woke up in a hospital bed.

  The room was silent—incredibly silent—and shaded. He couldn't tell if it was night or day.

  His head hurt. It felt like it was caught in a vise and two sumo wrestlers were tightening it. His mouth was dry. His throat ached.

  He pushed the blanket aside and sat up in bed. The effort made his head swim and for a moment he couldn't move. He almost fell back against the pillow—but he forced himself to remain upright and put his feet on the floor. The floor was some kind of cold stone and felt rough against his soles. He was wearing a pale blue hospital gown.

  Why am I in a hospital? What happened?

  And then he remembered.

  The jolt of pain nearly dropped him to the floor. He clutched at the bed-railing while tears of pain came to his eyes.

  There was a pitcher of water and a glass on the nightstand. He groped frantically for it. He knocked both to the floor. The glass shattered loudly, the water splashed across the tile. Jack felt so helpless—

  The door flickered and a nurse entered the room. She wasn't wearing a standard nurse's uniform, but Jack knew she was a nurse. There was something about her manner.

  She looked at Jack, at the broken glass, at the water, at Jack again. “Oh, you're up? Good. I'll get someone to clean that up for you. Get back in bed.” She stepped back through the door—this time Jack tried to see how she managed the trick of walking through a closed door without opening it, but it happened too fast. She flickered through and was gone.

  With a great deal of effort, Jack lay back in bed and pulled the blanket over him. He leaned back and rested his head against the pillow. He waited for the throbbing to ebb.

  It didn't.

  He opened his eyes again.

  I'm still groggy. Isn't that interesting that I can be so detached about it? Why am I still groggy? What happened?

  There was no TV in the room. Hospitals always had television sets.

  There was a chair opposite the bed. One chair.

  There was no call button. He looked around on both sides of the bed, on the nightstand, on the wall. There was no call button. Hospitals always had call buttons.

  There was no light switch by the door. There were no electrical outlets. There were no lamps; there were no light fixtures—there was no apparent source of light in the room at all.

  There were no windows.

  The shades—what Jack had thought were shades—were merely blank panels against the wall. There was something odd about those shades. Jack pushed the blankets back again and got out the other side of bed. He staggered the two steps and reached out and—jerked his hand back as if stung. The shades tingled. They also hummed. Hummed?

  “What the hell? Where in—?”

  The door flickered and a thing entered.

  At first, Jack thought the thing was a teenage boy—wearing some kind of makeup. Then he took a second look and decided it was a woman. Then he took a third look and realized he had never seen a human being like this before in his life. The thing was slender, androgynous and had skin that flouresced like pearl. It looked like a pubescent child. Its hair was nearly shoulder-length and had the same pearlescent sheen as its skin. The creature was human—of a kind. It was not unfriendly looking—just startling. It—he? she?—nodded to Jack and crossed to the other side of the bed.

  The androgyne was wearing a singlet of industrial beige. It carried some kind of cleaning tool, which it swept across the floor. Jack stared. The tool made a soft whirring sound. The water and the pieces broken glass disappeared—they just flickered away like the door. The androgyne picked up the empty pitcher—

  “Hey?”

  The androgyne stopped. “Yes? Do you wish something else?” Its voice was soft and musical—like being stroked with blue velvet. Its expression was oddly expectant. As if it knew what Jack really wanted and was only waiting for him to ask for it.

  “What is this place? Where am I? Who—what are you?”

  The androgyne blinked in confusion. Its expression turned to disappointment, as if Jack had asked the wrong questions. It smiled politely and said, “I'll get you more water.” It flickered through the door.

  Jack tried to follow—

  — and slammed hard against the cold, metallic surface. The door felt absolutely solid. Jack ran his hands up and down the door, looking for a doorknob, a handle—something, anything. His head throbbed. He staggered back toward the bed and sank down onto it again.

  He tried to remember. Maybe—if he could figure out how he got here—

  Tappy! Where was Tappy now? Who or what was Tappy anyway? She had been so soft and warm. Don't think about it.

  They had climbed up the hillside and walked through a rock and into an alien world. Tappy had seemed to be headed somewhere. There had been that thing with the head of a medieval knight—the honker. And then—

  Jack's head hurt like a furnace. There was a roaring in his ears.

  He put his head down in his hands and waited for the dizziness and nausea to pass.

  — he remembered being split in two. His mind had fragmented out of his body and had gone exploring on its own. He had seen—

  He didn't understand what he had seen.

  But there has to be some explanation! The people who run this place must know—

  The androgyne returned with a fresh pitcher and a new glass. Without speaking, it poured a glass of water and held it out to Jack. Jack looked up, saw the glass, and took it with both hands. “Thanks,” he said. The water was cold. Jack drank it slowly, but he drank it all without stopping. “Thanks,” he said again. He put the glass on the nightstand, being more careful this time. “Thanks,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say. The androgyne was almost attractive in an innocent sort of way. Idly, Jack wondered what kind of sexual equipment it had. Jeezis! Don't you ever stop?

  The androgyne's expression flickered—as if it wanted to say something more—and then abruptly, it closed down again and flickered out the door.

  Jack sank back in the bed. He wondered what time it was, but his watch was missing. He wondered what day it was. He wondered what planet he was on.

  The door flickered and the nurse entered again. She was carrying a thing that looked like a pocket flashlight. She held it up and checked the meter on its side, then pressed it against Jack's upper arm. It hissed. “There,” she said. “That should ease some of the pain. For a w
hile, anyway. Honker stings are nasty. Are you hungry?”

  Jack shook his head. He was nauseous.

  “All right. If you want anything, just ask.”

  “Uh—how?”

  The nurse looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how do I ask?”

  “Just—ask,” she repeated. “Just open your mouth and say what you want. `I'd like a—'“ Abruptly, her expression clouded in embarrassment. “Oh no. I'm sorry. You don't remember, do you?” She pretended to smile. “Don't worry about it. Everything will sort itself out very quickly.”

  “Can I have some more light in here?” Jack asked. “Can I have my clothes? Can I get out?”

  Even before he finished speak, the room was brighter. The nurse was very pretty, Jack realized. He looked at her left hand. No ring. There you go again!

  The nurse reached out and patted his shoulder. “Just rest for a bit. Let this take effect.”

  She flickered out the door.

  “Goodness,” said Jack. “People come and go in the strangest ways around here.” He giggled. At least my head doesn't hurt any more.

  Androgynes, spaceships, out-of-body experiences, extra-terrestrials, flash-guns, doors that flickered instead of dilating like a proper door should —

  What else could happen now?

  “How are you feeling?” It was a man's voice.

  Jack opened his eyes.

  Standing beside his bed was a man in a metallic-looking black uniform. Jack couldn't identify it. He wasn't too good with military things. Air force? Marines? It was definitely a Confederate States uniform though. Jack recognized the stars and bars. Jack allowed himself to relax.

  The man was mid-fortyish. His haircut was military crisp, his eyes were hard. He looked like he was in top physical condition.

  “Colonel Walling,” he said, by way of introducing himself. He looked around and said, “Chair?” A chair materialized behind him and he sat down without looking to see if it was actually there.

  Jack didn't know what to say.

  “Well, son—” Colonel Walling had a thick Georgia drawl. “You sure stepped in it this time.”

  “Sir?”

  “You don't even know what you stepped in, do you?”

  Jack shook his head. “I'd like an explanation.”

  Colonel Walling nodded. “And that's just what you're going to get. But I have some questions for you too—where's the girl?”

  “Tappy?”

  “Is that what they're calling her?”

  Jack shrugged. “That's the name I was told.”

  “Fine. Where is she? When was the last time you saw her?”

  “I don't know. The last clear memory I have of her was—” Jack gulped. “—I don't know how long ago. We were sleeping. I woke up and there was this honker—is that what you call them? Anyway, this honker was doing something to her. Then he came over to me and patted me or something. In the morning, Tappy had a very hard swelling the size of a marble under her skin—between her breasts. And I had a similar one on the side of my neck—”

  Jack touched his neck where the honker's tongue had pierced him. The spot was sore, but the swelling was down. “Right here.”

  “We know where the honker stung you. Go on.” The Colonel's voice was knowing and sure.

  Jack shrugged. “That's when things started getting really weird. I mean, things were already pretty weird—I mean, you must have seen the big crater and the—and—and the—” Jack's throat constricted in sudden hurt; he was abruptly confused. “Who are you? I mean, how did you get here too? How do you know what's going on? I mean, why is the army of the Confederacy here? We were in Union Territory. Where is here anyway?”

  “Relax, son. I'm here to debrief you. Just keep talking and we'll get it all handled. Do you want some more water. Walling was already pouring.

  Jack sipped at the water, slower this time. Colonel Walling had pale gray eyes. Jack found them very easy to look into.

  “You still with me?”

  Jack nodded.

  “All right. What happened next?”

  Jack took a breath—I've got to trust somebody—and began slowly. “There was some kind of a ship in the sky. A spaceship? And there was a gun—Tappy's leg brace turned into a weapon. Or maybe it wasn't, but she shot me with it and—then everything—nothing made sense after that, Colonel. I'm sorry. I heard voices, I saw things. Tappy wasn't Tappy, she was some kind of a hamadryad or a—an insect-god. I don't know. There were people after her for something. I had become some kind of disembodied thing, floating around. I went back to Earth for a while—” Jack shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

  Colonel Walling sighed. It wasn't a sound of exasperation. It was a sound of resignation. As if he'd heard this story before. “Yeah,” he said. He looked thoughtful. Abruptly, he asked, “You do a lot of drugs, son?”

  Jack shook his head. “I've done some. A little grass. Coke once. I don't like it.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Too bad?”

  “No tolerance. You're going to be hit by this thing very hard. I wish we'd found you sooner.”

  “Sir—?”

  Colonel Walling held up a hand. “Easy, son—your system has had a terrible shock. And I'm about to make it worse. Much worse.”

  “Look, I'm a big boy, I can take it—”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so,” Jack snapped back.

  “All right—” Colonel Walling made a decision and started ticking points off on his finger. “First, you're in the custody of the Armed Services of the Confederate States of America, Paratime Marine Corps. Something was triggered that shouldn't have been, and you have stumbled into the middle of a very big, very important operation. You shouldn't be here. Now that you're here, you've attracted a lot of attention to a few things we were trying to keep secret.”

  “Paratime Marine Corps?”

  “The Confederacy has been using the Dimensional Wormholes for a hundred and thirty years. They happen to be one of our greatest military secrets.” Walling grinned. “Wouldn't you have liked to have seen the look on Ulysses S. Grant's face when three Confederate divisions outflanked the Union Army at Gettysburg? I know I would have. We've been very careful with the wormholes because of the potential for Paratime disaster. Unfortunately, others haven't been as careful as we have.” Walling sighed. “Trust me. We have only used the wormholes in cases of extreme emergency. The last time was World War III. We had no choice. We launched the North American Vengeance through the wormholes. That's how we really leveled Berlin, Tokyo, London—but that was the only other time.” Walling held up a hand to stop himself. “I know this is a lot to assimilate, Jack, but you're going to have to try.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Walling looked astonished. “Son, you've stumbled into what could very well become the War of All Worlds!” Walling added, “—And the bad news is that you don't even know your own part in it.”

  “Tappy?”

  Walling looked troubled. “Son, Tappy is—only a part of it. There's something else. If only you hadn't been stung by that damn honker. If only we could have gotten to you sooner—” He stopped himself. “Okay, look. The crater—it's not a crater. It's a landing pad. It's eleven thousand years old. There's a ship coming—no, not the one you saw, that was one of ours, at least it was one of our allies. No, there's a Vampire Breeding Vessel heading toward us at near-light velocity. It's about three light-weeks away and still decelerating. We've been watching it come in for three years now. We haven't had a lot of time to prepare for it. We didn't think they'd be coming back. We were wrong.” His expression went sour. “It's probably going to be our last big mistake.

  “That Vampire ship has got to have more than a million warriors ready to hatch. God knows how many breeder eggs it's carrying. We don't know where they're heading or where they came from. We think they use this system as a staging base for battles in the Oort Cl
oud. We don't know what's going on out there—but we've been picking up Malenkov radiation for years. I can tell you that the last time the Vampires passed through here, eleven thousand years ago, they decimated the planet. It still hasn't recovered.

  “The problem is that Earth, Paratime Line-Three, has doorways all over it now—the Madryads have been punching holes in the Paratime Envelope for centuries, leaving us all vulnerable. If the Vampires find their way through to Line One, we're all dead. Comprendez?”

  Jack nodded, dumbstruck.

  It almost made sense.

  “Then that means that Tappy is—” He stopped. He didn't know what Tappy was.

  “—lost,” finished Colonel Walling. “Look, son—I can't tell you everything. I can tell you this. If you're ever to realize your full powers, you're going to have to let go of your need to have explanations. Explanations are the booby prize.”

  “Yes, sir.” Whatever it was the nurse had given him, it was terrific.

  Abruptly, Walling stopped. He looked as if he were listening to something far away. Jack frowned, but waited patiently. Walling looked back to him. “We've had a breakthrough. Damn! I was hoping we'd have more time.”

  “A breakthrough?”

  “Clone warriors.”

  “Sir?!!”

  “The Japanese, Taiwanese, Koreans, refugees from Free Hong Kong. We think they've got vat-grown androids too. If it's true, this means that the Fourth World has Paratime Injectors.” Walling stopped himself. “It's bad enough the Madryads have been punching doors—they don't like Line One very much, we think we can close some of the holes—but if the nations of Line One start opening new doors from the other side and pouring in, we're in big trouble. We'll never be able to contain the Vampires to Line Three if there are doors all over hell and gone. And we're never going to get the Fourth Worlders to believe that the Vampires are a real danger. The way most Paratime politics work, they'll believe what they want to believe—that we're just trying to keep the resources of Line Three all to ourselves.”

  Jack's head was starting to throb again. He was getting confused. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “You need to know this, boy. Wait—” Again, the Colonel put his body on hold while his mind leapt a thousand miles away. Jack had the weirdest sensation that the Colonel was on a telepathic conference line.

  And then Walling was back. “Things are heating up. Wait—”