Authors: Mike McPhail (Ed)
And I guarantee . . . We’ll throw it right back!”
The captain, of course, could only be overjoyed by the obvious shift in the average Edilsonian attitude toward humanity. But Rocky was set to wondering. He had seen the response the natives had shown the Danierians. They had gotten into the rhythm of things, had seemed ready to sign on to the program, so to speak. But, the reaction to Noodle’s presentation was overwhelming. The aliens were actually dropping down onto the stadium grounds and rushing the stage, eager to join the machinists’ newly forming macarana formation.
“But we’ll stand at your side,
We’ll be there at the end,
We make lousy dictators,
But we make really good friends.
“Yes, everything’s better with monkeys,
The bad ones mixed in with the good,
So, show a little trust, but keep your eye on us,
And everything—I’m saying just everything—
Will work out, as it . . . sshhhoooouuuullllddddd!”
And in that moment, as Noodles dropped to one knee and delivered the greatest display of jazz hands since Bob Fosse starred in “The Al Jolson Story,” the long unfathomed secret of the Edilsoni came to light. Although the race
could
communicate through speech, they were
actually
a telepathic species, one bound by a hive mentality. As the native population cheered, not just there in the capital city’s stadium, but across every continent, in every corner of the planet, their human guests’ minds were suddenly filled with billions of voices, all of them sharing in the wonder that was the unquestionable uniqueness of the human race.
“Do you get it, Vespucci,” shouted the captain, straining to be heard over the multitudinous ringing within his mind, “the Edilsoni have rejected every offer that’s come their way because no one else has ever opened up completely to them!”
“Jiminy,” answered Rocky, still a little befuddled over exactly what had happened, being distracted as he was by coordinating the start of the
Roosevelt
fireworks display, “I didn’t think his song was that good.”
“It’s not the song,” cried Valance, tears streaming down his face as an utterly alien race’s reflected understanding of the true nobility of the human spirit washed through his mind, “it’s not the song.”
What happened over the next few days became somewhat of a blur in the intergalactic news items out of the Kebb Quadrant, the official reports sent from the
Roosevelt
back to the Confederation, and to be honest, in the minds of most of the ship’s crew. That last, however, had more to do with the planet-wide party spontaneously thrown by every individual on Edilson than with any deficiency in the human ability to comprehend the situation.
Distrustful of aliens who masked their true intent, the Edilsoni had turned down every offer of alliance over the two hundred years since first contact. Understanding better than any others the upcoming importance of their world, they had kept communications open with all, dangling the hope of eventual alliance with one world, or league, or whatever, to keep any one of them from invading.
“Four hundred of your years,” their prime minister eventually sang to Valance, “is not a great deal of time, galactically speaking, but it did give us some room in which to maneuver.”
They had responded as well as they had to the Danierians because, vicious and cruel as that race might be, at least they were honest about it. Their warriors had held nothing back emotionally on the field, and for once someone had shown the Edilsoni true intent. Luckily, as the prime minister was happy to admit, someone else had come along and done the same who had something better to show.
The surprise hit of the negotiations, or whatever one would call the drunken insanity that had transpired on Edilson, had been the trio of Thorner, Harris, and Michaels, who had taken to the stage in their dress kilts to not only sing the Scottish ballad, the Blue Ribbon song, but to show off the fact that the Edilsoni were not the only sentient beings around who walked on three legs. Valance had been mortified at first, but the riotous response of the natives to the spontaneous gesture had been so positive the captain had been given no choice other than to return to attempting to drink the prime minister under the table.
In the end, the Confederation of Planets got the wished-for deal with Edilson. Valance was showered with praise from Earth Central, which he translated into as much shore leave and good favor as he possibly could for his crew. The next issue of the Monthly Newsletter of the Grand Gaggle of Confederation Machinists tripled in size and, once the ship’s doctor had been able to synthesize enough Hangover-B-Gone, the crew of the
Roosevelt
had been able to finally remember how to break orbit and set a course that did not skew to a basanova beat.
Heroes all, loved and admired by an entire world, showered with gifts, the men and women of the
Roosevelt
set off for whatever the universe had in store for them next. The Edilsoni could tell the earthlings were reluctant to leave, and yet somehow eager to be on to whatever came next, and loved them all the more for it. But, beyond that display of all-too-human confusion of purpose, beyond everything they had heard and felt and learned of the gorilla-spawn who had won their hearts, there was one single moment that gave them greater insight than any other.
Being a collective species, having no actual experience with the idea of male or female, sons and daughters, or any of the other mammalian building blocks of individuality, nothing revealed more to the Edilsoni about their human visitors than when the prime minister met privately with Noodles. Asking the machinist what boon he might ask for his part in that which a united Edilson believed was the cementing of their security for the next four centuries, offering him anything the wealth and might of an entire planetary treasury might secure, the sailor asked if he might send a real-time message.
Yes, Noodles explained, he could send notes to Earth via the
Roosevelt
, but because of the distance they could take months, sometimes years to reach their intended destination. He did not want to send anything exceedingly long, he told them, just a few words. Understanding his request, touched to the core of what he had thought until meeting human beings was an emotionless heart beating within his breast, the prime minister not only agreed, but without the machinist’s knowledge, he sent his own note as well.
Which is why, while the U.S.S.
Roosevelt
broke orbit and headed back out to their next destination in the stars, on the planet Earth, at 12/17 Seloon Street in one of the quieter corners of Canton, China, Mrs. Xiu Yue Kon received two messages. One that read;
“Thanks, Mom.”
And a second that read;
“Yes, good Earthwoman, thank you, indeed.”
Author Bios
Charles E. Gannon
RECIDIVISM
TO SPEC
Dr. Charles E. Gannon is a Distinguished Professor of English (St. Bonaventure U.) & Fulbright Senior Specialist (American Lit & Culture). He has had novellas in
Analog
and the
War World
series. His nonfiction book
Rumors of War and Infernal Machines
won the 2006 ALA Outstanding Text Award. He also worked as author and editor for GDW, and was a routine contributor to both the scientific/technical content and story-line in the award-winning games
Traveller
, and
2300 AD
. He has been awarded Fulbrights to England, Scotland, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Netherlands, and worked eight years as scriptwriter/producer in NYC.
John C. Wright
THE LAST REPORT ON UNIT TWENTY-TWO
John C. Wright is a retired attorney, newspaperman, and newspaper editor, who was only once on the lam and forced to hide from the police who did not admire his newspaper. His works include a number of short stories in such publications as
Asimov’s,
Absolute Magnatude
, and several editions of
The Year’s Best SF
. In addition he has eight novels to his credit published with TOR Books, including his first,
The Golden Age,
and the forthcoming
Titans of Chaos
. He presently works (successfully), as a writer in Virginia, where he lives in fairy-tale-like happiness with his wife, the authoress L. Jagi Lamplighter, and their three children: Orville, Wilbur, and Just Wright.
James Daniel Ross
THE NATURE OF MERCY
A native of Cincinnati, Ohio, James has been an actor, computer tech support operator, historic infotainment tour guide, armed self-defense retailer, automotive petrol attendant, youth entertainment stock replacement specialist, mass-market Italian chef, low-priority courier, monthly printed media retailer, automotive industry miscellaneous task facilitator, and ditch digger.
The Radiation Angels: The Chimerium Gambit
is his first novel. Most people are begging him to go back to ditch digging.
Jonathan Maberry
CLEAN SWEEPS
Jonathan Maberry is the multiple Bram Stoker Award-winning author of novels (
Patient Zero, Ghost Road Blues
, etc.), nonfiction books (
Zombie CSU, The Cryptopedia
, etc.), comics (
PUNISHER: Naked Kill
and
WOLVERINE: Ghosts
), and over 1100 magazine articles. Jonathan is the co-creator (with Laura Schrock) of
On The Slab
, an entertainment news show for ABC Disney/Stage 9, to be released on the Internet in 2009. Jonathan is a Contributing Editor for
The Big Thrill
(the newsletter of the International Thriller Writers), and is a member of SFWA, MWA, and HWA. Visit his website at www.jonathanmaberry.com or on Facebook and MySpace.
James Chambers
WAR MOVIES
James Chambers “writes stories that are paced fast enough to friction burn a reader's eyeballs,” says Horror Reader.com. His tales of horror, fantasy, and science fiction have been published in
Bad-Ass Faeries, Breach the Hull, Crypto-Critters
(Volume 1 and 2),
Dark Furies, The Dead Walk, The Dead Walk Again, Hardboiled Cthulhu, Lin Carter’s Anton Zarnak Supernatural Detective, No Longer Dreams, Sick: An Anthology of Illness, Weird Trails,
and
Warfear
as well as the magazines
Bare Bone, Cthulhu Sex
, and Allen
K’s Inhuman
. His short story collection, with illustrator Jason Whitley,
The Midnight Hour: Saint Lawn Hill and Other Tales,
was published in 2005. His website is www.jameschambersonline.com.
Patrick Thomas
THE BATTLE FOR KNOB LICK
Patrick Thomas is the author of 80+ short stories and fifteen books including the popular fantasy humor series
Murphy’s Lore
. The eighth book,
Empty Graves: Tales of Zombies,
was recently released from Padwolf Publishing. His tentatively titled
The Mystic Investigators of Patrick Thomas
and
Fairy With A Gun
(a Terrorbelle collection) will be out in 2009. Patrick co-edited
Hear Them Roar
and the upcoming
New Blood
vampire anthology. Patrick has novellas in
Go Not Gently
and
Flesh and Iron
from the Two Backed Books imprint of Raw Dog Screaming. Patrick writes the syndicated satirical advice column
Dear Cthulhu
. Drop by his website at www.patthomas.net.
Andy Remic
JUNKED