"Our readers have found the above submission unsuitable for our publishing needs, and we are therefore returning it to you. ... We apologise for not being able to give you a more detailed response, but hopefully the checklist below will at least offer some guidance as to how you could be more successful next time." No, this is not an Ibn Qirtaiba rejection form letter - we don't have them! - but one I received recently to a novel submission I made to a British publisher.
It is easy to blame editors for being short-sighted, shallow and motivated by concerns other than the quality of the work submitted to them. Undoubtedly there are finer novels, stories and scripts rejected every week than much of the turgid, cliched formula-writing that is automatically accepted from established authors.
But that is where the fan press, small press, and - yes, even Webzines like Ibn Qirtaiba come in. With few exceptions, the most successful science fiction authors and script writers working today cut their teeth in the fan press or small press. Even if this did not directly lead to their acceptance by a mainstream editor or producer (and in many cases it did), the experience of writing and being published is the only qualification you will need once your big break eventually comes.
So, as much as every editor who has rejected my own fiction was undoubtedly suffering from some severe impairment of their critical faculties at the time, my attitude is that there is no such thing as a wasted piece of writing. I hope you will feel the same way when submitting contributions to Ibn Qirtaiba, whether they are accepted or (most unlikely!) not.
Short story: CandleFlame by Josh
Boeringa
Serial: Further Adventures of a
Data Organizer, part 3 by Frederick Rustam
The candle that stood on Brad's night table and lit the night, keeping Brad unafraid of the shadows that lurked in the corners, went out, leaving the room dark. The small boy stirred in his sleep, then drifted into some unpleasant dream. He began to turn restlessly and moan in a low, fearful voice.
The closet door on the far side of the room creaked open and a pair of glazed, dead eyes peered into the room. The eyes roamed across the darkness, stopping at the open door which led into the hall. Light flowed through the thin crack, illuminating a sliver of the room.
The door closed with a soft click the echoed in the dark. The room was silent.
The shadow crept across the room, moving closer to the foot of the boy's bed. He was still sleeping restlessly, caught in a nightmare that was soaking his bed sheets in cold sweat.
The candle sparked and then a flame leapt from the wick to the air, illuminating the room once again. The shadow disappeared, the closet door swinging shut again. The boy slept peacefully.
The shadow sulked deep in the back of the closet. Outside the candle flame danced, throwing light shadows to the corners of the room.
The closet door opened again and it saw the flame wink out again. The shadow opened the door with a bang, rushing toward the bed at full tilt. It knew that if it did not move fast enough then it would not get its chance-
The light sparked up again.
The closet door swung shut.
The boy's eyes cracked open, blinked, and he got out of bed. He walked to the door, opened it and walked out. A few minutes later the toilet flushed and the boy walked back into the room. He left the bathroom light on and the door open. He looked at the candle and fell back onto his pillow.
Moments later he was asleep again.
The closet door opened again and the light winked out. The shadow rushed out again. Just as the shadow disappeared under the bed, the candle lit up again. It peered up at the flame with hate before it lunged out at it. It pinched the flame between two oily fingers and snapped the candle at the base.
It smiled.
The candle base on the table suddenly burst into flames, throwing light on the entire room. The part it held in its hand ignited as well, sending a flame up its arm. It began to melt, seeping black fluid onto the floor as it flailed in the bright light. By the time it was back in the safe shadows of the closet all it could do was curl up in the corner and die.
As the door swung shut the candle calmed down and burned a low flame that danced merrily in the dark.
The boy slept on.
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I read with bemusement the letter by Andrew Johnson in IQ 35. If I read the letter correctly, Andrew has never watched Xena. If this is the case, where does he find the chutzpah to criticize the show? Furthermore, he makes no specific complaints about the show (which makes sense if he knows nothing whatever about it, as appears to be the case). I am not an apologist for Xena and I am not a fan, but I've watched a dozen or so episodes, and it is far far far from the worst fantasy or S&S I've seen on TV! The characters are complex and their predicaments are at least interesting. The so-called "history" of the show obviously comes from an alternate time line, but that is no different from most other TV SF or fantasy I've seen. Even if the show were worse than Space: 1999 (it is not), I don't like the "I've never seen it, but lots of people say it's bad so it must be" attitude that I found in Andrew's letter. However, if Andrew's letter was a joke, or if he actually has watched the show, then, in the words of a former Saturday Night Live commentator: "never mind."
Is there any t & a on Xena? Watch it and find out!
David Kopaska-Merkel
Alabama
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| 1 | Star Trek Continuum | Since it defected from the Microsoft Network, this site has not only become much more popular but has expanded its content also. It's well worth another look. |
| 2 | Spiff on Science Fiction & Fantasy |  Spiff's legendary Web site contains a wealth
of information for fans laid out in an easy-to-use fashion. |
| 3 | The Gargoyles Saga | Gargoyles is an animated series that has garnered a substantial cult following, and not just for the calibre of the science fiction actors who voiced it. The Gargoyles story continues here on a regular basis. |
| 4 | The Grand List of Overused Science Fiction Clichés | So funny and so true. The best part of this site is the little Star Trek icon indicating clichés of which that series is particularly guilty. |
| 5 | Fandom Directory - On-Line Edition | You've all seen the dead tree version of this directory, or noticed it advertised. Here is the on-line version, and it is now more useable than ever before. |
| 6 | Fandom Net | There is also a fandom.com and a fandom.org, but I'm biased towards this one because it's Australian. It contains fan bulletin boards, information, an art gallery and other useful bits and bobs. |
| 7 | Lycos Top 5% SF Sites | The "Top 5%" appellation is highly subjective, but there are a number of very good sites listed here along with even-handed reviews. |
| 8 | Write Market Webzine | A non-profit site for readers and writers mainly containing reviews of genre magazines and books, with a particular emphasis on horror fiction. |
| 9 | Scientifiction links | A Finnish site with seventeen categories of SF, fantasy and horror links. Speaking of Finnish sites, wouldn't you just kill for a URL like http://www.sci.fi? |
| 10 | The Ultimate Fantasy Stories Page | Previously unpublished fantasy short stories, novellas and even entire novels can be found here. Highly recommended for fantasy fans. |
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Summer vacation is coming up North of the Equator. I don't know what the school year is like in Australia where winter is beginning....
This month we have:
High Crusade takes place in the year
1345 (with brief asides in the first and last chapters), at the height of the crusades. In
the small town Ansby in Northeastern Lincolnshire (don't bother to look it up, it
disappeared in the 14th century) a spaceship landed while Sir Roger de Tourneville was
gathering his levy of men to join the crusades. When the Wersgorix troops came out to
concuer with thier hi-tech weaponry, the townsfolk thought that they were demons from
Hell. The Wersgorix, however, had never tried to concuer such a lo-tech culture before and
had never faced a massed charge of armored knights....
Needless to say, while the knights took casualties, the Wersgorix soldiers took more, and eventually the knights prevailed, taking possession of the warship. Sir Roger, seeing visions of taking the warship to the Holyland and beating the Paynim once and for all, loaded the entire village into the ship with the intention of "single-handedly" freeing Jerusalem. The coerced pilot, however, set the automatic controls toward the Wersgorix Empire.... big mistake....
An amusing look at what a lower
technology warrior culture can do to a high-tech warrior culture when the high-tech
doesn't know that the lo-tech is lo-tech... did you follow that? I'm not sure that I
did....
Pstalemate as you might assume from the spelling has to do with psi, the powers of the mind. Harry Bronson, inventor and engineer, doesn't believe in that "nonsense". That is, until he is hypnotized to relieve a headache and finds to his dismay that he is the most powerful telepath/clairvoyent in the world... and all telepaths go mad while still fairly young. As a clairvoyent, he can see the black fingers of madness taking him in the near future...
Fascinating read. And well thought out. DelRey has never disappointed me.
Bellwether combines Chaos theory
(thats the one that says that a butterfly flapping its wings in Sydney can cause a
hurricane in Florida) and research into fads. Sarah Foster, researcher, is trying to find
out what causes fads so that she can predict the next one for the company that she works
for. Personally, I don't see how that company could survive. What with research being
constantly interrupted for "management meeting" and funding applications being
"shortened" and "simplified" from 24 pages to 63 pages (yes, you read
that right), nothing can ever get done.
Those of you who know about sheep know what a bellwether is. For those who don't and don't have a dictionary or encyclopedia at hand, a bellwether is a sheep just like any other sheep, just as stupid, looks just like any other sheep, but a half-step ahead of the flock. The bellwether doesn't know that it is leading the flock and the flock doesn't know that it is being led, but where the bellwether goes, so goes the flock. What would a human bellwether be like, hmmm?
Very interesting read from a new author. I give her about a 4 out of 5.
Timescoop, an older book by Brunner (my copy has a 50 cent price on the cover), deals with Harold Freitas III, scion of Freitas Interplanetary, who wants nothing more than to finally impress his wife. His research teams perfect, you guessed it, a time travel technique, whereby anything and anyone can be scooped up from the past to materialize in the "present". When he gets the idea to bring his "illustrious" ancestors forward for a grand family reunion, he fails to look very closely at the source material being used by the genealogist tracing his roots (the genealogist wasn't told what the trace of the Freitas roots were going to be used for, of course). So when the Freitas forebears arrive, all Hell breaks loose!
Very funny but not very long, this one just does qualify as a novel. The cover art is classic Kelly Freas.
No letters this month. Give me some feedback here! Tell me your thoughts, what you like about the column, what you don't like, anything! Keep sending in those emails to Freddy47@aol.com or to Fred@sf.sig.au.mensa.org and we'll keep answering them in this column. As usual, letters of interest will be given our closest scrutiny (I think I have a scrutiny left over somewhere) to be able to answer your questions about Sci-Fi & Fantasy.
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Bobby Crawley found himself a dataslave on the legendary space station, Arcade - to be sold at a forthcoming auction by a commercial slavetrader, Kivo Artish. However, he inadvertently revived Amanuensis ("Manny"), the multitalented datadroid with whom he was confined, and the two escaped from the slave quarters. On the Concourse - while seeking sanctuary with the local agent of the alien Rulatuvani - Bobby and Manny encountered the Security Garda, and ducked into the antique shop of M. Kandu. While Bobby admired Kandu's valuable antique Website datacards, the shady dealer saw an opportunity and captured the two valuable data operatives. He intended selling them, himself, as slaves.
Bobby and Manny reached an agreement with Kandu. The dealer promised to sell them to a person or organization of their choice if they cooperated with him in this illegal enterprise of commercial theft. Bobby was sent by Kandu to a public dataterminal on the Concourse to steal Kivo Artish's slave records so Kandu could alter them and file them in his own account to provide a seeming legality for the sale of his captive datadroid and datajack.
Bobby had seized root-control in the Arcade central computer's NUNIX operating system, and was in the process of transferring Kivo Artish's records of himself and Amanuensis to Kandu's account for alteration, when he felt the touch of cold metal on the back of his neck.
"Don't even think about running, Crawley," said a high-pitched voice, which sounded to Bobby like that of a nonhumanoid. "Please continue with your records deletion... Then, remove your illegal root-account from our central computer."
Bobby had lowered his robe's cowl - that of a Brother of the Order of the Holy Fire. He had been turned by Kandu into a bearded member of that Order - all for nought, it seemed.
He did as he was told, without looking around to learn the identity of his new captor. But the fellow's word, "our," was an ominous reminder of the ubiquity of Arcade's security. "I hope you've got a good reason for allowing me to steal myself from Kivo Artish - whoever you are."
"The oldest reason in the universe, Crawley: greed... So you thought you could use your WebPoss techniques here on Arcade, did you?"
"Why not? The NUNIX system is a Swiss cheese. It was reasonable for me to believe you'd only plugged a few of its holes. And you had."
"But I caught you, anyway... Can you guess why?"
"You put an alarm-applet on Artish's records because you thought I might try to alter them. I got careless and forgot to look for such things... I guess I'm not as good as I think I am... You must be the station's data-security chief."
"Wrong. I'm merely a plainclothes detective. But I got the computer man to install an alarm, just like you said. You're mine, now - Brother Robert." Bobby would forever be stigmatized for his long-time membership in the datacult, Web Possibilities, Ltd... He removed his illegal root-account from the central computer.
"Okay. I've cleaned up my dirty work." He turned to face a short, beady-eyed policeman. ("Oh, God. A damned Rat.") He sneered, "Do you have a name, Sherlock Holmes?"
The detective was a Quartorian, a near-humanoid species. His face resembled that of the familiar, omnipresent rodent of Old Earth. He had a long, pointed nose and short rat-whiskers which twitched as he continually sniffed the air - for what Bobby couldn't guess. His skin was grayish, but lacked any rodent-fur. This species had produced several well-known detectives, and they were sought for police and private security positions by the Galaxy's more-fearful employers. Many, though, distrusted them.
"Of course. Just because I'm not a human doesn't mean I don't have a name. But my honorable name's only for my clan, and not for you, Crawley." He showed his teeth; his rodential incisors were the most visible. Bobby wondered if the guy had to chew on hard stuff to keep them down to a manageable size. He kept this and other provocative speculations to himself, though.
"Just call me 'Ratt' - with two 't's, please. I know that's what you're thinking."
Bobby smiled wanly. "So what's next, Detective Ratt?"
"I want to know where you're hiding that lummox datadroid."
("Does Ratt know about Manny's 'defensive' talents? If not, he might just have to learn about them the hard way. I've got to search for the police records and find out what they know about Manny and me.")
"I want the two of you to remain confined until I can make some arrangements. Then, I want you gone from Arcade - and me rich." He clicked his incisors together in an unmistakable gesture.
"A crooked cop... Is there anyone on this miserable cheesebox who doesn't want to sell me and get rich?!"
Ratt smirked. "Reverend Davey, maybe. At the Full Gospel Chapel, he tries to reform juvenile delinquents like you."
The Detective retrieved Amanuensis from Kandu's workroom, where he was still standing in the corner. Kandu put on an elaborate show of innocence, claiming that the android was a burglar he'd caught.
"I was holding him for the Garda... Is there a reward for him?"
Detective Ratt replied, "Yes, Kandu. Your reward is no punishment for your complicity in the escape and attempted resale of two registered slaves... Provided you forget everything, that is."
After receiving Kandu's abject apology and his assurance that the two escaped slaves were no longer his concern, Ratt escorted Bobby and Amanuensis into the Maze. Bobby gave the android a highsign to request that he not take "action" against the detective, yet.
After many twists and turns, they arrived at a private compartment. It was a bit more luxurious than the policeman's status and salary would have normally entitled him to. Bobby was certain the smarmy detective had his hands into many nefarious enterprises - the kind that were so prevalent on Arcade.
"This is my former mistress's compartment. Unfortunately she was banished from Arcade for possessing the psychodrug, nephedrine... I arrested her, myself... You two'll stay here until your new owner is ready to ship you out. There's food enough for you, Crawley - but don't count on using that terminal in a creative way. I had our data security man cripple it at the central computer. You can use it to read the Code of Conduct, though," he snickered.
With that caveat, Ratt closed the compartment's door and locked it from the outside. Bobby and Amanuensis looked at each other. "Did Ratt lock his mistress inside here? No wonder she took dope... What a thug he is."
"I could have neutralized him, sir."
"I know, Manny. But I need some time to think... We're just going from one evil opportunist to another. We've got to get to get to Jerash Norin's tailor shop."
"I will open the door, sir."
"Not yet, Manny. I want to check something."
He sat down at the terminal and began pounding the keys. Before he could accomplish anything, it chimed and a message appeared on the screen: "THIS TERMINAL IS NOT AUTHORIZED FOR INTERACTIVE USE."
"We'll see about that." He tried every trick he could think of to access the central computer. "I've never had so much trouble, before," he explained to Amanuensis. "He must have hardwired this terminal out of the loop - or something... Damn."
He stood up and pointed at the door. "Do your thing, Manny."
Ratt's electrolock was the same type as Kivo Artish's. It quickly yielded to Amanuensis' deft touch.
Detective Ratt had been so confident he'd canceled the Wanted Notice for the two escaped slaves. With the Garda no longer seeking them, Bobby and Amanuensis were able to hasten to Jerash Norin's tailor shop... When they reached the shop, they received yet another surprise.
Norin had been arrested, and his shop had been sealed.
"How the heck did Ratt find out about Norin?"
"Perhaps the tailor committed an unrelated crime, sir."
"Maybe... But I think Ratt knows more about us and the Rulatuvani than I gave him credit for... Where do we go, now?"
"The Full Gospel Chapel, perhaps. I am not a juvenile, but you could represent me as your servant, sir."
"Oh great - a juvenile delinquent with his Paramount datadroid... Even a preacher couldn't be naive enough to believe that."
"Where did you obtain this expensive 'droid, my son?"
The Reverend Davey Wilfurd stared at Bobby and Manny over his half-moon reading spectacles. He was in his fifties, tall, his hair streaked with gray. He sat at the altar-table before his lectern. He'd pushed aside the altar's golden cross so he could write notes for his Sunday sermon... He'd looked up to behold a young fellow and, seemingly, a monster he recalled from the old videos he'd secretly watched in his own youth.
They'd requested sanctuary.
"I'll level with you, Reverend. I and my 'droid are escaped slaves. We escaped from Kivo Artish's slave quarters." He didn't mention they'd also escaped from M. Kandu and D. Ratt.
Wilfurd took off his glasses. "Well, you know slavery is legal here. If I hid you in my Chapel, I could get in big trouble with the Arcade Management." He pondered the situation for a moment, then, "Tell me about yourselves."
Bobby gave him a censored version of their backgrounds.
"So you worked for WebPoss, but you had to God-given sense to escape before that madman Dee made his flock commit suicide. That's most gratifying to hear... I suppose you learned a lot of useful skills at WebPoss?"
"Yes, I did." ("What's he getting at?")
"Well, if you could teach me some of them, I might be able to risk hiding you from the Garda. Of course, I only want to learn enough datajacking help the less-fortunate here on Arcade."
"Of course." Bobby fought to keep from smirking.
"Often, I'm asked to assist people who conceal their circumstances from me. It would help me to be able to access official personnel records which are denied to the public... You see?"
"Oh, yes. That's a good idea, Reverend." ("Boy. This really takes the cake: a holy wannabe-datajack.")
"While we're burrowing into the station's central computer, perhaps we can take the opportunity to arrange your escape from Arcade."
"I sure hope so, Rev."
"I want to know why you removed the Wanted Notice for my two escaped slaves from the public dataterminals?"
Kivo Artish was quite annoyed, but he knew better than to berate Ratt. The detective had a reputation for ruthlessness, but he was trusted by the Management and the Garda Chief. Artish, however, trusted no Quartorian - especially this one, who had created such a secure position for himself that he feared no entrepreneur.
"I've received reliable intelligence that your two slaves have been smuggled out of Arcade, Mr. Artish. I'm in the process of verifying that, but I judge it to be true. They were too valuable to remain in hiding, here. Allowing them to escape was equivalent to dropping a couple of 100-credit gold pieces in the Concourse, I'm afraid."
"I want proof of your claim, Detective." Artish ignored Ratt's gratuitous analogy.
"If you don't hear from me to the contrary, you'll know it's true... Now, I have work to do. Good day, sir."
Kivo Artish scowled, but left. There was little he could do about the missing slaves but file an insurance claim. The insurance company, a big one, would take up the task of annoying Detective Ratt - to avoid paying the claim. ("Let's see him handle their investigators so rudely,") he thought, with satisfaction.
Bobby worried that Detective Ratt would recall his jocular reference to Reverend Davey, and come to the Full Gospel Chapel seeking the thrice-escaped delinquents.
He hastened to tutor the preacher, who was an avid student. Often, after a datajacking success, Wilfurd would exclaim, "Praise the Lord!" - or something similar. Bobby found this amusing.
While teaching the preacher datajacking skills, Bobby had the opportunity to jack intelligence data on himself and Amanuensis.
He found a police report which detailed his history. Only his love affair with his former datahandling associate and girlfriend, Ranavalona, was missing... He also found out about Amanuensis. The android had been owned by a superwealthy media magnate, Delbert Madoc. Madoc had purchased him, through an intermediary, from the Rulatuvani. The records indicated the magnate had wanted both a bodyguard and a datasecretary in one being, so he must have known about Amanuensis' defensive abilities... So might Ratt, then.
One day, while datarambling, Bobby remembered the public bulletin board, and the message he had written for Ranavalona. He accessed the BBS, and with his reestablished root-account, he looked for all the messages to and from Terrinforma personnel.
He found one addressed to him!... It was from Capt. Brickbender.
"Sorry to hear of your enslavement. DO/3D Ranalova has been restored to her former position aboard the Terrinforma. She briefed me about your troubles. Please feel free to visit my ship anytime we dock at Arcade, if you are able to do so. /S/ Harold Brickbender, Master."
Capt. Brickbender was telling him, circumspectly, that he was welcome to smuggle himself aboard the Terrinforma if he could escape from his Arcade owner. Bobby was elated. He immediately checked the list of stopover ships for the Terrinforma... He couldn't believe what he found.
The dataship was docked at Arcade, now, for a few days of crew R&R.
He yelled, "What outrageous luck!... Manny, I've found a way for us to escape from Arcade."
The android refrained from answering. He was standing in the corner. Since Bobby's initial jocular order to him in Kandu's workroom, he regularly took up a position there. Perhaps he felt "comfortable" in such an out-of-the-way place... But he had a good reason for his current silence.
"Too bad you won't be able to use it!"
Bobby turned in his chair at the sound of the familiar squeaky voice. Ratt was pointing a radpistol at him. He'd entered this room from the Chapel's miniauditorium.
"I've been monitoring your datajacking for some time, Crawley." (Actually, the detective had only just recalled his remark about Reverend Davey, and had rushed 'round to the Full Gospel Chapel to see if the two escapees might really be there.)
Ratt advanced toward Bobby, buoyed with success. "Your illegal skills have improved. You somehow avoided the alarm-applets I had attached to certain records... I'll be asking a lot of money for you."
"Thanks so very much, Detective," snarled Bobby. Then, he sought to distract Ratt. "I was just examining your personal records. You've been a naughty fellow."
It worked. Ratt put his pistol to Bobby's head and bent to the screen. "What're you up to now, Crawley?"
He never heard Amanuensis approach from behind.
"Ow!" Ratt shrieked as his arm was whacked in a sensitive spot, and the pistol was snatched from his paralyzed hand. He tried to turn and face his attacker, but didn't quite make it. The 'droid quickly immobilized the little Quartorian with one arm, and silenced him with the hand of the other.
"Gee, Ratt, you sure look funny with your legs dangling like that," joked Bobby with satisfaction.
"Bobby! What's going on, here!" Reverend Davey had arrived to find the infamous Detective Ratt being manhandled in his Chapel.
"We're about to ship some cargo, Rev... Would you happen to have a big box handy?"
Bobby watched as the shipping container was loaded into the cargo bay of the dataship Terrinforma. It contained two live individuals: Amanuensis and Detective Ratt - the former in control of the latter. The container was not examined by Arcade customs. Bobby had created official records validating a transfer of food, computer components, and Web antiques from Arcade to the dataship. Everything was in order.
Reverend Davey had been persuaded to allow Ratt to be boxed - after Bobby reminded him of his own complicity in their escape - and of the consequences he might suffer if Ratt were released... One of Davey's reformed delinquents who worked in the station's warehouse provided the cargo container.
Bobby was in the uniform of a crewmember, now. It was a new copy of his old uniform. He'd returned to being DO/3d Eldon Roath - his old pseudonym - and to his old position of Data Organizer, Third Class.
Capt. Brickbender had brought the uniform to him at the Full Gospel Chapel. Bobby had altered the official file of visitor records in the central computer to indicate that DO/3d Roath had alighted from the Terrinforma with the other funseeking crewmembers. When he slipped into a party of returning crew, Visitor Control allowed Bobby to enter the ship with his crewmates.
His reunion with Ranny was joyous... She took him to the Captain's readyroom to report to Brickbender about the "shipment."
"Cargo loaded, Cap'n," he reported.
"Good. I hope they're still alive."
"Ratt is well-packed, and Amanuensis can lie doggo 'til doomsday."
"I'll open the container after we're well away from Arcade," said the master of the Terrinforma. "We'll drop-off the Quartorian on Minas Gerais, a mining colony where he can find out what slavery is really like... But what am I supposed to do with the android?"
"He'll serve you well, Cap'n... You see, he has a very-large data storage capacity. That's why he's so big. You can upload your most valuable Web data into his storage, so when datapirates board the ship, you won't lose so much. He can pose as a cargomover 'droid."
"Why, thank you Roath. We can sure use him."
The Captain was impressed with Bobby's resourcefulness. He keyed the ship's intercomm. "Chief, open that box we loaded on Arcade, and bring the 'droid up to my readyroom... Put the other guy in the brig."
"Now, Roath, tell me what happened to you after you were taken from my ship by Morganski's pirates.
"Wow. It's a long story, Cap'n."
Amanuensis stood before Brickbender and his younger master.
"Manny, demonstrate your Web storage capability for the Captain."
"Aye, sir," he replied like a good crewman. Then, he unzipped his jacket and shirt and spread them to reveal his chest-screen.
"Great nebula!" exclaimed Brickbender. "He has a display, too!"
"Aye, Cap'n," the 'droid replied... On the screen flashed the intro page of a classic SFF&H ezine - the one Bobby had mentioned wanting when they were in Kandu's antique shop.
"Manny! You stole that 'tique from Kandu's!" Bobby gestured his innocence at Brickbender. The Captain smiled.
"I merely copied the datacard, then replaced it in its case while Kandu slept, sir."
"I see... Thanks, Manny."
"And, sir, no amputation was required."
"Amputation?" inquired Brickbender of Bobby.
"I'll have to explain that, Cap'n."
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It is a world of half-bridges,
of rivers and canyons only half-spanned,
of blue clouds and white sky
and snippets of wind-blown music.
It is a mecca for lemmings and lovers,
an eyrie for the gliding angels.
True flight is denied them, and their haloes
are visible only in the infrared.
At moments of impending suicide
they cease to be statues in their lacunae,
their protean vessels ripple and come to life.
Like condors of another world
embracing thermals, their membranes
thrumming with soft music,
they pluck the falling from the spaces
at bridges' end. And the saved
remember nothing but their epiphanies,
their new and poignant purposes,
as they who had intervened
return to their bridges and become stone -
they who had fallen to this world
through wormholes of black despair.