Subject: FSFNET Vol 11 #2

From: [email-masked] (Chuq Von Rospach)
Date: Mon, 18 Jul 88 17:32:56 PDT

FSFnet within the  next couple months, beyond what  has been mentioned 
in recent issues about my graduation. The current plans go like this: 
    In late August, I will be graduating from UMaine, and coincidental 
with that,  FSFnet will stop  production. However, before I  alarm you 
too much, let  me mention that the Dargon Project  will continue under 
new leadership,  and there  are plans  to begin  a new  magazine after 
FSFnet ends, and all users who are subscribed to FSFnet at the time of 
its last  issue will automatically  be subscribed to the  new magazine 
when it  begins publication. The new  magazine will be edited  by John 
White  <WHITE@DUVM>,  and will  publish  Dargon  Project stories,  and 
everyone who is subscribed to  FSFnet will automatically be subscribed 
to the  new magazine. Several  people I've  talked to have  asked "Why 
bother ending FSFnet  and starting a new magazine if  they're going to 
be so similar?" In a discussion in FSFNET CSNOTICE (available from the 
server  CSNEWS@MAINE) I  talked about  why I  think it  better to  end 
FSFnet; what follows is a reprint  of that discussion. All readers are 
welcome to join the discussion and add their comments via CSNEWS. 
 
    First  of  all, let  me  mention  that  running  a magazine  is  a 
gratifying experience. It would be silly of me (or any editor) to deny 
some degree of  emotional attachment to his  magazine, particularly if 
the  magazine is  successful.  With  that in  mind,  here's the  basic 
reasons why I think the 'new' magazine should be considered a separate 
entity from FSFnet, even though they will be almost identical in their 
basic nature, as Leo pointed out. 
    Firstly, but not necessarily most importantly, I'm posessive about 
it. I'm rather attached  to it, and the thought of  turning it over to 
another editor, whom I don't know and  over whom I have no control, is 
difficult  for me  to accept.  This is  putting things  a little  more 
bluntly   than  is   actually   the   case,  but   I   do  feel   some 
defensiveness/protectiveness  about it,  and  that's  natural for  any 
editor to feel. 
    The flip side of this is  the real reasoning behind ending FSFnet. 
Presumably, if FSFnet  continued, a new editor would  be recruited and 
be forced  to adhere to formats  and policies which I  set three years 
ago. I mentioned that editing a magazine is a personal experience, yet 
I suspect that editing  a magazine which, in the end,  is not your own 
creation, lessens this tie. The new editor would probably find running 
FSFnet much less rewarding and put less effort into it than if he were 
running a magazine which was his  own creation, and could make his own 
policy decisions  from scratch. Sure,  the two magazines will  be very 
similar (particularly with  the continuation of the  Dargon Project in 
the new mag), but  because of the change in editors,  they will not be 
identical,  and  separating them  (at  least  theoretically) into  two 
distinct magazines will make both parties happier. 
    So, what appears to be best for everyone, is to discontinue FSFnet 
as such, while starting up another (very similar) magazine to fill its 
void. Let the old editor have his wish of not letting someone else get 
their hands  on 'his' magazine,  and let the  new editor start  a zine 
which he can take pride in and truly call his own, without being bound 
by the policies of the old.  Keep the readers involved by allowing the 
new zine to make use of the  same mailing list. The key to improvement 
is to  not to be afraid  of changes, and I  feel that a change  in (at 
least)  the name  of  the magazine  will permit  the  new editor  more 
freedom to improve than if he were bound to a set of guidelines not of 
his own choosing. 
 
    So that should  give you a fair  idea of what is  going to happen, 
and why.  I'll keep producing  issues as  frequently as I  have enough 
material (hint hint), and I  anticipate perhaps two more issues before 
the end  of summer. Speaking  of which,  there will be  a (hopefullly) 
large gathering of FSFnet people at  the Pennsic War this year, and if 
anyone is  going to be around,  drop me a  line to be included  in the 
planning.  But  back  to  the  matters  at  hand;  we've  got  a  very 
interesting issue here.  It includes two very  entertaining SF shorts, 
Becki Tants' newest installment, and  the first in an excellent series 
by Max Khaytsus; I'm sure you'll enjoy it. 
                    -'Orny' Liscomb  <CSDAVE@MAINE> 
 
        <>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<> 
 
                             Your Order... 
    "Rhadhishe  Sheffield  will be  with  you  momentarily," said  the 
attractive young woman. "Can I do anything for you while you wait?" 
    "Yes, you  can answer  a few more  questions," the  chief delegate 
said, "To start with, how is it that one in her early twenties is part 
of the famous diplomatic corps of S'lah?" 
    "I am not  really a member yet," the woman  replied, "but I belong 
to Sheffield, and  I am training to be a  rhadhishe. Is there anything 
else you wish to ask?" 
    "Uh--no," the delegate said, forgetting his other questions in the 
surprise caused by her answer. 
    "Well, then I shall leave," the woman said, pressing a small green 
button  causing the  door  to slide  open, "If  you  have any  further 
questions, you can ask Rhadhishe Sheffield, himself." 
    The woman left the room, and the chief delegate turned to face the 
six other delegates from his world as the door to the room closed. 
    "Did you hear that?" he  asked, "Apparently, this culture has some 
peculiarities  that  were not  mentioned  in  the briefing,  including 
slavery.  I suggest  we be  especially careful  to avoid  breaking any 
tabus." 
    The delegates  mumbled their agreement,  and then broke  back into 
grumbling about the clothing that had been provided for them. 
    "This stuff looks  so silly. I mean, look at  this pattern of vine 
and long-bodied fish with black splotches that look like oil stains." 
    "Mine isn't much better. Do we really have to wear these clothes?" 
    "Yes. It's  part of  the tradition of  peace negotiations  here on 
S'lah  that  all  parties  wear these  diplomatic  clothes.  They  are 
symbolic of fair treatment for all  sides of a dispute. And, remember, 
the N'rr said that we should do our utmost to secure a FAIR peace. You 
wouldn't want  to fail  her over  such a  trivial matter  as clothing, 
would you?" 
    "No. It's just that these clothes are so--" 
    A  short  buzz  came  from  the control  panel  beside  the  door, 
interrupting the delegates  speech. The chief delegate  walked over to 
the panel, pressed a small button, and spoke at the panel. 
    "Who is it?" 
    "This is Rhadhishe  Sheffield. I have come to  guide the delegates 
from Kruetos to the Meeting." 
    "Hello. Enter." 
    The  chief delegate  pressed  a  button and  the  door slid  open, 
admitting a short, cheerful-looking man wearing a dull red robe with a 
white sash hanging from his right shoulder to his left side. 
    "Hello. I am Rhadhishe Sheffield, but  you may call me Sheff," the 
man said, "I see  you have put on the clothes  we have provided. Good. 
You do realize, of course, the significance of these clothes?" 
    "Yes," the chief delegate said,  "that was covered in the standard 
briefing." 
    "Good.  Many  do  not  realize their  significance.  They  do  not 
remember  that  for many  years  our  people  were tossed  by  warring 
neighbors and  that we  developed our diplomatic  policy as  a defense 
response. The clothes  that you now wear ensure fair  treatment to all 
the delegates and put you under a  very strict code of conduct. If any 
one of you breaks  part of the code, not only  the individual, but his 
entire people will be liable to punishment. This ensures the safety of 
the other delegates and the safety  of our world from retaliation if a 
delegate should come to harm. 
    "Do you have any questions to ask  before we go to the Meeting? It 
is my  responsibility to inform you  on any matters that  interest you 
concerning our culture in general or the nature of the Meeting." 
    "We presently only have a few short questions," the chief delegate 
said, "You can answer them while guiding us to the Meeting." 
    "As you wish. Shall we leave then?" 
    The chief delegate nodded, and Sheff began to lead them away. 
    "You said  that you  have some  questions that  you would  like to 
ask," the rhadhishe said, "What would you like to know?" 
    "Well, first," the chief delegate asked, "the woman who came to us 
to announce your coming said that  she "belonged" to you. What exactly 
did she mean?" 
    "Oh," the rhadhishe  said, mildly surprised by  the question, "She 
is my  cumbre--you might call  her an  indentured servant. I  am quite 
fortunate  to have  her; the  queue for  such intelligent  and readily 
trainable servants is quite long. In fact, colloquially they are known 
as line-servants because one must usually  wait so long before one can 
buy one. 
    "You shouldn't consider us less civilized because we practice this 
form  of  slavery," the  rhadhishe  said,  catching  the look  on  the 
delegates' faces, "It is the only way we have found to ensure that the 
poor are not  thrust into poverty. Our laws protect  the rights of all 
cumbres and ensure  that they are fairly treated. The  demand for such 
servants  keeps the  prices  high;  and our  laws  prevent any  single 
contract longer than seven years and ensure the servant's right to buy 
himself out  of any  remaining time;  and, of  course, only  a willing 
citizen can become a cumbre. In addition  to being a path for the poor 
to  escape poverty,  this ensures  a  high standard  of education  and 
allows gifted individuals to receive special training. Admittedly, not 
all   individuals  have   equal   opportunity  nor   are  all   owners 
exceptionally kind to  their servants, but our system seems  to us the 
best of  the systems  to which  we have  been exposed.  Remember, this 
system has ensured the stability of our society for almost two hundred 
years; few  other societies  at our advanced  level of  technology can 
make such a claim about their social systems. 
    "At  any  rate, I  think  that  answers  your question.  Is  there 
anything else that you would like to know?" 
    The chief  delegate asked  Sheff several  more questions  which he 
answered at some  length. Then, after a brief moment  of no questions, 
the chief delegate spoke again. 
    "Oh, yes," the chief delegate paused before he continued speaking, 
"As you  may know, the N'rr,  the leader of all  Kruetos, ordered this 
gathering as she  lay on her deathbed. For this  reason we are obliged 
to attempt  to make peace with  our enemy, though all  indications are 
that we could start an invasion of B'konbi itself within the next year 
and thus ensure  victory; but we must be certain  that the treaty will 
be fair,  otherwise we will be  forced to settle our  dispute with the 
weapons of war. We have heard that a Terran will be presiding over the 
Meeting; is this true?" 
    "We are  almost at the  place where the  meeting will be  held. Is 
this your last question?" 
    "Yes." the chief delegate nodded. 
    "Well, then follow me." 
    The  rhadhishe turned  at  a  fork of  a  type  particular to  the 
architecture of S'lah and led them  into a small rectangular room with 
a large window offering a view of  the room that had been prepared for 
the Meeting. 
    "There, in  the center of  the room, is  the one who  will preside 
over this gathering," the rhadhishe  said, pointing through the window 
at the bowl-shaped room beyond. 
    The room had trees, shrubs, and other plants spread throughout it. 
It  was filled  with greens,  as was  the custom  among the  people of 
S'lah. At its center, sitting behind a small, curved table which faced 
the seats for both delegations, was  a woman whose long brown hair was 
streaked with grey and who looked  at once both above all concerns and 
open to the concerns of others. 
    "Her name is  Sherry Mato, though she prefers to  be called by her 
middle name  of Theresa," the  rhadhishe continued, "As you  may know, 
our world has significant  economic interests on B'konbi-- significant 
enough  that these  interests might  make one  of our  diplomats favor 
their  side, or,  in an  effort to  avoid this,  favor your  own side. 
Fortunately, we  are prepared for  such problems.  We make a  habit of 
adopting people from other worlds, and training them, in a politically 
neutral environment, to deal with these relatively rare situations. 
    "To answer  your question, yes,  she is  a Terran, though  she was 
adopted at a very early age and  has received the same training as all 
native  arbitrators.  She was  picked  especially  for this  gathering 
because of her special  understanding of the underlying circumstances. 
You need have no worries that she is less well trained or in any other 
way less ripe for this situation than a native arbitrator would be." 
    "Are you  ready to enter  the Meeting?"  Sheff asked after  a long 
period of silence. 
    The chief delegate nodded, and Sheff led them back to the corridor 
from which they had come and into the Meeting-room. 
    Once all the delegates had  seated themselves the arbitrator stood 
and addressed them. 
    "Now that  the Kruetons and  the B'konbits have arrived  in S'lahd 
dressings, let us begin. . . ." 
                    -Paul A. Clayton  <P5C2@WUGOLD> 
         (with Jason Malkoff, Bryan Paschke and Thomas Payerle) 
 
        <>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<> 
 
                             A Sudden Storm 
    Arrangements didn't take long. The next night, a young dock worker 
named Johan  was waiting for  her at the door  and walked all  the way 
home with  her. He was  a nice enough young  man, about her  age, with 
dark hair and fiery blue eyes.  Nice and muscular too. She immediately 
got the feeling he had been handpicked by Karina or Camron as not only 
a good body guard, but a good  husband candidate as well. He seemed to 
have the same idea. 
    "So, I hear you're new to the  city" he said. Interested in a tour 
sometime? I've lived  here all my life and could  show you some really 
beautiful spots." 
    "That's really very nice of you,"  Ariel said, ducking just out of 
reach as he tried to put his arm around her. He saved the gesture from 
looking  stupid by  going into  his  pouch with  his hand  as it  came 
around, but  that didn't stop  a couple  passers-by from giving  him a 
look and  a chuckle. Ariel blushed,  amazed at how unworldly  city men 
could be. "I  really don't think I'll have time.  Camron is keeping me 
very busy." 
    "Well  that's OK,"  Johan said,  "Uncle Camron  will be  more than 
happy if we went for a picnic sometime." 
    "Uncle Camron?" Ariel said with  a sinking feeling. She KNEW she'd 
been set up. 
    "Ya. He suggested  I walk you home because I  know where my sister 
Karina's house is. So what about that picnic?" Johan asked. 
    Luckily  the walk  home  wasn't long  and she  was  able to  claim 
fatigue to get out of answering  the question. She climbed the stairs, 
mildly cursing  Karina for setting  that one up.  Her and her  idea of 
getting  Ariel "properly  married". Unfortunately,  her thoughts  were 
overrun by the ache in her legs from the previous night's run. Opening 
her door,  she was  about to  collapse on her  bed, when  she stopped, 
staring at the man sitting on the edge of her bed. 
    "Good evening,  Ariel. Come in,  close the  door and sit  down. We 
have quite a bit  to discuss." he said. He was an  older man, not very 
out of the  ordinary looking, but it didn't matter.  All she could see 
was the symbol of Haargon hanging about his neck. 
    "Like it?" he asked, holding up the pendent, "It took 7 long years 
of searching for  the stone and weeks spent in  the smithy and jewlers 
shops to make it.  I made it myself, so that I would  know it had been 
done right. Would you like to see it closer?" 
    Ariel couldn't  take her eyes off  the pendent. She began  to move 
forward toward  it with a faltering  step. There was a  nagging in the 
back of  her mind that  said she should run  away, but it  was quickly 
fading away as she got closer to the amulet. 
    "Good. Come  here, touch  it if  you like. You  may hold  it. It's 
really  the only  way  to  examine the  excellent  workmanship of  the 
amulet." the old priest said, with a wonderful, friendly smile. 
    Ariel began to reach up for the  medallion, to pick it up and look 
at it,  when she caught  sight of Stefan's ring  on her finger  in the 
candle  light. With  a start,  she came  back to  herself, out  of the 
drug-like stupor she  had been in and snapped  upright, taking several 
steps backwards  to the wall.  "What are  you doing here?"  she asked, 
panic in her voice. 
    "I see you are a bit stronger then I thought. it takes quite a bit 
of power  to break  a mind lock.  So be  it." he said,  as he  put his 
amulet back on and walked to the door. 
    "I just  came to  see for myself  who you were  and what  you were 
like. I do so  hate killing people who are no threat.  So messy. But I 
see now that you are a viable  concern. Therefore I will give you this 
warning and  this offer. My god  Haargon has commanded your  death. he 
says you are a grave danger to  myself and my followers. I give you 48 
hours before I kill you to decide on one thing. You have the potential 
to be  an extremely  talented mage.  I would  rather not  destroy that 
potential. So I ask you to join  us. I will train you myself. You have 
48 hours to  decide. At the end  of that time, I will  return for your 
decision. Remember tho, that if your decision is wrong, you will die." 
He walked out of the room and closed the door. Panicing for Karina and 
Marcus' sake, she ran  to the door and opened it,  looking for him, to 
make sure he  didn't harm them. He  was nowhere to be seen.  It was as 
though he had disappeared. 
    Walking back into  her room, she collapsed onto her  bed in tears. 
She felt so  powerless. What could she do against  someone who had the 
power to disappear like  that? She was so caught up  in her tears that 
she  jumped when  Marcus knocked  on the  half open  door, saying  " I 
thought I heard voices up here." One  look at her face tho, and he was 
immediately at  her side, with  an arm around her  trembling shoulders 
saying "It's OK now." and smoothing her hair. 
    By the time  she had calmed down,  Karina had come up  to see what 
was wrong. Karina  sat with her, while Marcus went  and made some tea. 
When he came back, he asked her  the question she had known was coming 
but dreaded. "OK,  Ariel.. We'd like the whole story  now. All of it." 
he said as he handed her the cup. 
    Taking a long  slow drink, she began her explanation.  By the time 
she had finished,  the tea was cold  in the pot, yet  she continued to 
drink it. 
    "Why didn't you tell us in the first place?" Karina asked. 
    "Several reasons. I hoped that it was over and I could settle back 
down to being a normal person again.  I didn't want to worry you. Most 
of all I was afraid you wouldn't believe me." Ariel said. 
    Karina came over  and gave her a  hug. "Well, I admit it  is a bit 
out of the ordinary, but I don't  believe you to be a liar. We'll help 
you." Marcus nodded in agreement. 
    "No!" Ariel  protested. "You've  done too  much already.  And now, 
because of  me, you're in  danger. I must leave.  Maybe I could  go to 
Baranur. Find a job there. Maybe they'll leave me alone then." 
    Marcus spoke  up for the first  time since he initially  came into 
the room.  "Ariel, you heard what  the priest said. You're  special in 
some way. They  won't leave you alone...ever. You're going  to have to 
fight them, one way or another. At  least let us give you what help we 
can. Camron might be able to  get some information on this other cult. 
And we  can go to one  of the fortune tellers  on the dock and  see if 
they have any guidance for us. I hear Corambis recently returned. He's 
the best they say." He was in his fatherly tone. Caring, but firm. She 
knew better then to go against him.  "And we'll get that young man who 
walked you home to  stay with you all the time.  We'll work this out." 
He gave her a  hug, saying "Now you go to  bed. You're exhausted. I'll 
go talk to Camron  first thing in the morning so  he doesn't worry and 
can get things moving." 
    "OK," she said, "you're right. I  do need some sleep." She quickly 
crawled under the covers as Karina came over, gave her another hug and 
tucked her in. "Good Night" she said as they closed the door. 
    She waited until after she knew they were in bed and asleep before 
getting  up.  It took  Ariel  less  then 5  minutes  to  pack her  few 
belongings and quietly walk down the  stairs. In the kitchen, she took 
a loaf  of bread, some cheese,  and a wine  skin, and added it  to her 
pack. Then she left a quick note on the table for them. 
 
         I'm sorry, but  I can't stay here. My  presence puts you 
     in danger,  and I  care too much  for you to  do that.  I am 
     going  to find  myself somewhere  to live  where I  won't be 
     hurting anyone.  You can  reach me at  Camron's, as  I still 
     have to work for at least the next couple of days. Thank you 
     for everything. 
                                        Ariel. 
 
    Folding the note  and placing it where she knew  it would be seen, 
she took  one last fond glance  around the kitchen before  walking out 
into the night and off to find somewhere to stay. 
    Marcus shook his head as the  door closed, swore under his breath, 
and followed her out the door into the night air. 
    He wasn't the only one. 
                      -Becki Tants  <RETANTS@SUVM> 
 
        <>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<> 
 
                     DNA For Sale, Slightly Used... 
 
          Changing technology doesn't mean changing people... 
                    ...but the problems may vary... 
 
                                                    2800 Whitney Drive 
                                                            Denver, CO 
General Genetics Corporation 
14000 Michigan Way 
Research Triangle Park, NJ 
 
To Whom It May Concern: 
 
    I have  recently taken care of  four thousand square feet  of your 
"Everlush Living Carpet", impressed by the salesman's demonstration of 
its ability  to devour cigarette  butts, cookie crumbs,  and household 
dust, turning same into natural  pine scent and negative ionization. I 
was  initially pleased  with the  carpeting,  and even  wrote off  its 
propensity  to leach  out the  cellulose from  newspapers as  a timely 
reminder not  to be  untidy. Later,  I noticed that  it had  also been 
absorbing the feet  of wooden furniture, so I installed  steel caps on 
the legs of those chairs and tables. 
    Last week,  however, my youngest  son tripped and dropped  a large 
pepperoni pizza  on the hearth rug,  which promptly gulped it  down. I 
could forgive this indecent haste for  cleanliness were it not for the 
fact that it  was a sudden swell  in the carpet that caused  my son to 
trip  in the  first  place,  and the  carpet  had  been making  subtle 
advances towards the kitchen for the previous ten days. 
    Things  have now  gone too  far. Yesterday  my prize  rubber plant 
disappeared, and there is a new springiness to the carpet (I leave the 
obvious inference to your imagination). Visitors have been discouraged 
from  entering  ever  since  the  welcome mat  developed  a  habit  of 
dissolving  their shoelaces.  The pile  is now  over a  foot thick  in 
places and  my daughter's dachshund has  not been heard for  two days. 
And while I find a small quantity of negative ions to be beneficial to 
the health, I  don't think it appropriate that there  should be arcing 
between the wall sockets.  I am not writing at this  time to request a 
refund,  but I  would  be  profoundly grateful  if  you  would ship  a 
sufficient quantity of specific  weedkiller to eradicate your Everlush 
carpet before I call out the National Guard. 
 
                          Yours sincerely, 
 
                      Nathaniel S. Horner, M.D. 
 
                         ------------------- 
 
                                                      141 Podunk Drive 
                                                      Poughkeepsie, NY 
General Genetics Corporation 
14000 Michigan Way 
Research Triangle Park, NJ 
 
To The Boss: 
 
    See  here,  I'm  not  looking  for trouble  or  nothin',  but  one 
afternoon Ira  brings home this gizmo  he says is a  "Biogulp" organic 
vacuum cleaner. What do I care, it picks up schmutz and there ain't no 
bag to change. 
    The first day  it's here, Amos 'n  Andy -- the kittens  -- mark it 
for a stranger  and pounce. Why not,  I said, they could  use the fun. 
But now it's hiding in the closet under the stairs and refuses to come 
out. I call your service man, he  comes and talks to it, and says it's 
gotten  neurotic. Then  he says  the  warranty don't  cover repair  of 
"malicious damage",  but any schmuck  can see  it's only got  a coupla 
scratches.  That  ain't  no  reason   for  it  to  be  whimpering  and 
complaining about the spiders. 
    My husband  says you're supposed  to find the psychos  before they 
leave the factory,  and that I have a prima  facie case (whatever that 
is) for a full refund. 
                               Yours, 
 
                        Irma Goldstein (Mrs.) 
 
                         ------------------- 
 
          General Genetics Corporation INTEROFFICE MEMORANDUM 
 
To:     Departmental Manager, Quality Control 
From:   Director of Field Inspection 
 
    Ed, your  boys have got  to stay on  their toes more!  My division 
doesn't like  playing quis custodiet any  more than the next  man, but 
yesterday  they earned  their pay.  Regs say  that any  spillage in  a 
storehouse means everything in the  room gets cancelled, but yesterday 
your  people  knocked  over  a box  of  self-regenerating  tampon  RNA 
substrate and  a vial  of Magic  Mix Cocktail  Shaker base  and didn't 
sterilize for  thirty minutes!  You know  I hate  to get  officious -- 
besides, I've  joined in the poker  game myself, won a  few beads from 
your people at times -- but this was one time when the size of the pot 
shouldn't keep  the men from  their work. Fortunately, the  only thing 
shipped out during  that half hour was  a box of towels,  but it could 
have been a lot worse. 'Nuff said, Ed? 
 
                               -- Mike 
 
                         ------------------- 
 
                                                10231 Sunset Boulevard 
                                                     Beverly Hills, CA 
General Genetics Corporation 
14000 Michigan Way 
Research Triangle Park, NJ 
 
Hi: 
 
    I just want you to know right off that this is not a complaint, in 
fact quite the opposite, I simply  had to write and compliment you for 
the wonderful quality  of your "Sta-Warm" self-heating  body wraps. In 
the movie business  a girl's kept working a fourteen-hour  day most of 
the time, a hot bath is about the  only luxury I can expect when I get 
home, and  when there's no-one around  to dry me off,  your towels are 
really better than the  usual cheap kinds that make you  do all of the 
work yourself. 
    I must confess  I was unprepared for some of  the things the towel 
did, but I've  grown used to it  since then. The towel  seems to enjoy 
it, too: more than once it has snuck into my bedroom after a hard day; 
and although it did  try to strangle my director when  he called to go 
over the next day's script with me there was no harm done in the end. 
                                Love, 
 
                          Mitzy Moreno (Ms) 
 
                         ------------------- 
 
                                            1200 Madison Ave Suite 501 
                                                          New York, NY 
President 
General Genetics Corporation 
14000 Michigan Way 
Research Triangle Park, NJ 
 
Sir: 
 
    As you know,  Consolidated has grown into Fortune 500  status in a 
record period, and I'm writing to share with you one of the secrets of 
our success, seeing as indirectly, you brought it about. 
    At the  beginning of this  year we  were facing a  projected first 
quarter loss  of $27 million, and  as part of  the cost cuts I  had to 
halve my secretary's hours. Well, to  cut a long story short, I bought 
the latest telephone answering machine from your AI division, figuring 
that it would be good for telling people when I would be back, fobbing 
off salesmen, maybe even pacifying my wife. 
    Your  literature leaves  the  limits of  the machine's  capability 
rather  open-ended (don't  worry --  you're  not the  first to  market 
before  you've researched:  just common  business practice),  but does 
mention that they depend on "heuristic factors". At the time I thought 
that meant something to do with background noise; anyway, I plugged it 
into the listed line  and left it for a few days. Now,  I get a lot of 
calls. Most of  them at that time  from people I owed money  to. I was 
pleasantly  surprised to  discover that  the machine  had developed  a 
smart strategy for  handling these people by playing  them off against 
each other. I was still strapped for time, so I let it have the run of 
the whole board. For  a week it was doing a great  job -- even learned 
to imitate  my voice  -- until  one day  I caught  it haggling  with a 
distributor  over his  contract. I  listened to  it for  a while,  and 
discovered it was actually a pretty shrewd operator! 
    Anyway, that must have given it  some ideas, because the next week 
it told  me I  had a  10:30 appointment  with Higgins  of Amalgamated. 
"You're wrong," I said, "I haven't talked with Higgins in five years". 
It turned  out that the  machine had made  the appointment so  I could 
rubber-stamp a merger deal it had made! I didn't mind making it a full 
partner -- in fact, if it bucks for the chair, it can have it. I still 
have my stock and that's all I need... 
 
                              Regards, 
 
                        Hiram X. Hamilton III 
 
                         ------------------- 
 
                                                 7343 Waterside Avenue 
                                                           Norfolk, VA 
General Genetics Corporation 
14000 Michigan Way 
Research Triangle Park, NJ 
 
Dear Sir or Madam: 
 
    I  am returning  my  "Adapta-Mirra" to  my  dealer forthwith,  and 
advise  you that  I  will be  consulting  various consumer  protection 
groups as to the safety of  this product. Your mirror functioned quite 
adequately in wiping condensation off  itself, dimpling into a shaving 
mirror  for my  husband, and  giving the  time-honored response  to my 
teen-age daughter  whenever she  asked it to  identify The  Fairest Of 
Them All. 
    However, when my  daughter woke up one day with  a small pimple on 
her  nose, she  was aghast  to see  in the  mirror a  malignant fungus 
spreading over half her face. I did  not think it funny when my mother 
visited and the mirror shrieked loudly and pretended to shatter in its 
frame. Nor do I find it amusing that your mirror chooses to portray me 
variously as a wizened old hag, a pregnant sow, or Tyrannosaurus Rex. 
    I have raised my family never to shirk away from reality, and this 
has  been a  traumatic experience  for us  all. We  may seek  punitive 
damages. 
                               Yours, 
 
                            Sylvia Foster 
 
                         ------------------- 
 
                                                     1102 Forest Drive 
                                                       Carson City, NV 
General Genetics Corporation 
14000 Michigan Way 
Research Triangle Park, NJ 
 
Dear Sir or Madam: 
 
    I am writing on behalf of my  wife and myself to tell you about an 
application of your "Slumber-Rite" active-deforming beds which you may 
not yet be aware of. 
    When we bought the bed, Adele and I were on such bad terms that we 
even discussed at the same time who  would get custody of it. Sex was, 
frankly, the  only thing keeping us  together at that time  (if you'll 
pardon the  crude pun),  and that  hadn't much life  left in  it. That 
night as  we glared at  each other  across the pillows,  wondering who 
would  draw  first,  your   bed  coughed  apologetically  through  its 
diagnostic vocoder, and asked us how  long things had been that bad. I 
started to snap, "None of your business!", but Adele -- who always had 
a way  with machines --  gave it an honest  answer. Soon we  were both 
talking with the bed, which proved to have a considerate and urbane... 
well, bedside manner. 
    Well, the  rest is  history. We  sold the house  to take  a second 
honeymoon, and  gave the bed to  a pair of friends  whose relationship 
seemed headed for the rocks, and that set us wondering: could your bed 
be certified as  a bona fide marriage counselor? Come  to think of it, 
formal recognition might spoil the surprise value of its approach. Hey 
maybe you guys had more to do with this than we thought! 
 
                          Nuptially yours, 
 
                            George Miller 
 
                         ------------------- 
 
                                                           "Bramleigh" 
                                                         Old Farm Road 
                                                          Pebblesworth 
                                                          Herts., G.B. 
General Genetics Corporation 
14000 Michigan Way 
Research Triangle Park, NJ 
 
Sirs: 
 
    What with the recession forcing us  to close down the east wing of 
the old  homestead, and  my having  to lay  off the  groundskeeper, we 
considered  ourselves somewhat  fortunate  to acquire  your new  model 
"Genetigardener" on very reasonable terms, but there have been several 
slight problems that I think you ought to know about. 
    Firstly, it has a most inconvenient allergy to tea. What's the use 
of having a gardner that doubles as a manservant if the wretched thing 
throws up all  over the serving tray every afternoon?  First time this 
happened was  when we were entertaining  the Buffington-Joneses. Can't 
tell you how embarrassing it was... 
    Secondly, it's  quite obvious that  the thing was educated  in the 
colonies, since it can't tell the difference between game and poultry. 
Discovered this after  I found the best grouse being  pecked to pieces 
in the chicken  coop where the blasted thing had  herded them. And why 
should it keep  asking me where the swimming pool  is? Elizabeth and I 
haven't touched  the waters since a  spot of paddling at  Blackpool in 
'69! 
    Talking of  the mem-sah'b, this  brings me to the  most perplexing 
problem. A few weeks ago, she started spending an inordinate amount of 
time  in the  gardner's shed  teaching  it how  to behave  in the  Old 
Country. Then, one day, both she and  the thing were gone! I can't get 
a word out of the butler and the maid about the whole affair. What the 
deuce d'you suppose is going on? 
 
                          Yours faithfully, 
 
               Major Harrington Dexter-Smythe (ret'd) 
 
                         ------------------- 
 
         General Genetics Corporation INTEROFFICE MEMORANDUM 
 
To:     All Operations Staff 
From:   Director, Security 
 
    Last night Research  had an accident in the  bio-electronic lab: a 
prototype intelligent television was fed several 1950's 'B' movies and 
got  the  idea  to  break  out.  Unfortunately  it  contains  the  new 
controlled mutation genes, and there  may be problems with recognizing 
it. Please  look out for an  object that resembles at  various times a 
gelatinous blob,  a giant fly  in a double-breasted suit,  Godzilla or 
the Smog Monster, or an Egyptian mummy. 
    Since it also saw both editions  of "The Thing", all personnel are 
to report to Medical for a full check-up after clocking-on. 
 
                         ------------------- 
 
            -Peter Scott  ([email-masked]) 
 
        <>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<> 
 
                           Unlikely Partners 
         "A  very rare  form of  lycanthropy is  mutation into  a 
     wolf.  This  should  not,  however,  be  confused  with  the 
     legendary lore of werewolves. A wolfling, as commonly called 
     by mystics,  this lycanthrope  is a product  of fusion  of a 
     werewolf  and  a wolf  by  a  group  of mad  alchemists  and 
     wizards. Three quarters  wolf blood, this animal  is a blood 
     thirsty, vicious killer that by  bite can repopulate its own 
     kind. A sort of venomous substance will, on contact with its 
     victim, begin  the incredible transformation of  man to near 
     wolf. This ferocious, large creature  has been know to bring 
     beasts as large  as bears to the ground  with sheer strength 
     alone.  Being  an  intelligent  creature,  a  wolfling  will 
     selectively attack and kill only those it can not convert to 
     its own species..." 
         -Ilyan, alchemist to King Dillas of Gledon, "A Discourse 
          on Alchemy, Magic and the Consequences of Their Use", 
          pages 181-182. 
 
         "It has come to my attention that in centuries past more 
     myth  has  been  developed  around the  prospect  of  a  man 
     becoming a wolf than of  the actual strength of the Fretheod 
     Empire. Being  a historian,  I feel  that I  do not  need to 
     exaggerate  the facts,  as often  done  by Bards,  and as  a 
     scientist, I  feel I  can understand the  facts that  lie in 
     this terrible affliction. 
         "Let me begin  by saying that there is  no such creature 
     as a  werewolf. A transformation  of a human (or  any other) 
     body  to  creature  such   as  that  is  simply  impossible, 
     particularly  two times  in one  night. A  wolfling, on  the 
     other hand is a diseased man that over a long period of time 
     becomes a wolf. 
         "My personal research and experimentation has shown that 
     such a transition is possible, though not for all creatures, 
     to experience the mutation  specified above. Let me reprint, 
     for your information  an exerpt from the  journal of perhaps 
     the first man to come across the condition described: 
 
         "...I can  no longer  discern between  what is  real and 
     what is not.  My dreams have become primitive  in nature and 
     bloodthirsty in content. I feel myself slowly going mad. 
         "The potion I created weeks ago to cure the madness dogs 
     carry works, but  it also adjusts the  organisms that imbibe 
     it to that of a dog. Already the animals that I experimented 
     on died  of the severe  changes to their  metabolisms. Their 
     fate did  not become  mine. Though cured  of one  disease, I 
     carry the  other. My  skin is becoming  grey and  covered by 
     thicker hair. I noticed that my teeth are much sharper and I 
     am growing fangs. Yesterday I  woke up to blood, carnage and 
     a  partially gnawed  animal in  my house.  The blood  on the 
     floor was also on my hands and face. 
         "To these  ends, I am  leaving my  home, to live  out my 
     life in the woods as far from human life as possible. I feel 
     that if I do  not find a cure soon, I  may become the father 
     of a new 'human' race..." 
 
         "This was  written by  Aran Leigh,  an alchemist  in the 
     city of Kevra. 
         "There  is  no longer  evidence  of  the potion  or  its 
     ingredients that are  mentioned, but it is  quite clear that 
     the disease  is in  no way  supernatural or  a wrath  of the 
     Gods. It is simply an  infection that can be transmited from 
     one individul  to another, such  as a cold. While  not being 
     one  hundred per  cent  certain of  the  precise methods  of 
     transfer, I feel  I can unerringly say that  by the transfer 
     of  body fluids,  such  as when  bitten, would  successfully 
     infect others. 
         "The disease itself can take  anywhere from a few months 
     to a full  year to come to completion. In  its progress, the 
     only  species  known  not  to  die  before  the  process  is 
     completed, is  humans. Perhaps it is  because of stubborness 
     to live or that the original  potion was designed to work on 
     humans only,  but all  other animals for  which a  record of 
     this disease exists, died very quickly. Humans infected most 
     often go  mad from the  striking changes they go  through in 
     the progrees of the mutation..." 
         -Bistra, head chronicler, city of Shakin, "The Realities 
          of Myths", pages 33-37. 

    Rien  jumped  off  his  horse  near  a  squeaky  old  cart  labled 
'Salamagundi Stew'.  Its owner was busy  with a sailor, making  a sale 
and took little notice of Rien, who in his turn became fascinated with 
a monkey sitting atop the stew cart.  He carefully put out his hand in 
front of  the animal,  allowing it  to examine  his riding  glove. The 
monkey pulled at his fingers and uttered a loud scream. 
    "Looks like Skeebo  doesn't like the animal that gave  up its hide 
for that glove." 
    "Skeebo?" Rien looked up at the preprietor, puzzled. 
    "The monkey! I'm Simon Salamagundi. What can I do for you?" 
    "Stew?" 
    "Ah!" Simon  exclaimed. "Regular, sweet and  sun-sweet. Which will 
it be?" 
    Rien looked  at the three kettles,  as a sailor approached  at the 
side. "A sweet stew, Simon!" the man exclaimed. 
    With an adroit move  Simon scooped up a bowl and  handed it to the 
sailor, not once  changing his focus of attention. The  sailor paid to 
Skeebo and left. 
    "Regular," Rien said. "Seems to be the least traveled of the lot." 
    "Least traveled because it's so regular," Simon smiled, picking up 
a bowl. 
    Skeebo screamed  as Rien was  violently pushed aside by  a running 
girl.  Simon stretched  out  the bowl  of stew  as  Rien regained  his 
balance. "On the  house," he said, seeing Rien reaching  for his pouch 
with coins. "She's got it," he  pointed to the girl moving through the 
crowd. "Just take the stew and forget her." 
    "Watch my horse," Rien growled, his crystal eyes fading to grey. 
    "I wouldn't if  I were you..." Simon called after  him, but Rien's 
heart was  already set on  his action. He  chased the girl  across the 
docks and into  a maze of alleys.  She did not seem aware  of him, but 
this did not mean his guard could be let down. 
    Rien drew  his long dagger on  the run, following the  girl into a 
less than respectible neighborhood. What  did Simon mean 'forget about 
her'? The answer was just around the corner. 
    Making  the  turn,  Rien  spotted three  well  armed  cut  throats 
blocking his advance to the girl.  She dangled his purse in a teasing, 
you-won't-get-it manner and Rien reached for his sword. 
    "This isn't  worth it," he  thought aloud, realizing his  sword is 
was still strapped on his horse. "Damn fool!" 
    "Ain't worth  it's right,"  one of  the cut  throats uttered  in a 
drunken voice. "No challange at all!" and threw his sword to Rien. 
    "Still ain't no  challange!" the second thug  roared. His laughter 
ended in a cry of pain as the 'borrowed' sword cut deep into his side. 
    The third rogue charged Rien in frenzied anger. His charge was cut 
short by the dagger. Rien took  his time letting the wounded man slide 
off the blade. He stared at the one who gave up his sword. "LEAVE" and 
the man charged past him like a bat out of hell. 
    "Next time  pick friends who  are not  drunk," Rien turned  to the 
girl. "If there is a next  time." He slowly advanced towards the girl, 
who now backed herself into a wall. 
    A few more steps and... 
    A sharp pain spread through his  leg and Rien spun around, letting 
out an abrupt cry.  The grey in his eyes disolved  to his normal shade 
of crystal  blue. He grasped  his calf, coming  nose to muzzle  with a 
growling dog.  He swung  his dagger, losing  his balance,  but avoided 
being bit again by the dog. Rien  rolled and stood up, expecting to be 
attacked, but was surprised to see the animal lying on the ground with 
a crossbow bolt  in its side. Down the alley  a town guardsman lowered 
his weapon as  three people rushed past him. Two  were dressed in town 
guard uniforms, but the third was  elderly and dressed in lose fitting 
clothing. 
    The man knelt over the dog  and produced a white sphere that begun 
to glow green after  a short chant. "This is the  animal," he stood up 
and looked at the guards. "Dispose of it. Burn it." 
    One of the  guards pulled out a sack and  started wraping the dog, 
while the  other two  looked over  the alley.  "What happend  here?" a 
guard asked  Rien, who was diligently  searching the other end  of the 
alley for the girl. Both she and his money were gone. 
    "I was ambushed while taking a shortcut." 
    The guard nodded. "There's a reward  for the capture of those two, 
you know." 
    Rien shrugged. "I wasn't aware of  that. There were three of them. 
This is the last man's sword." 
    The guard took the weapon and looked it over. Not finding anything 
distinct in it, he passed it to one of the other guards. "Burn the dog 
and find a physician who'll treat them," he instructed. 
    "What's with the dog?" Rien asked. 
    "It did not hurt you, did it?"  the guard asked and called the old 
man over. 
    "No, no it didn't, but shooting it  and burning its body on such a 
suspicion does seem a bit extreme." 
    "Burning a  creature diseased with  lycanthropy is no  crime," the 
old man  said to Rien  as he  approached. "A lycanthrope's  bite makes 
others into lycanthropes." 
    "You mean like those stories  about men turning into werewolfs and 
howling at the moon?" 
    "That IS a myth. Being a wolfling is not." 
    Rien made a mental note to check into this later and accepting the 
small reward, bid them farewell. 
    He returned to the spot where he last saw the girl and scanned the 
area  again. She  could  have  left in  any  direction,  while he  was 
struggling with the dog. No chance of finding her now. 
    As Rien  was preparing to leave,  he heard a voice  behind him and 
spun about. The grey haired wizard was still standing in the alley. 
    "The dog bit you." The old man's words were a statement. 
    "Who are you?" Rien asked. 
    "Taishent, the mage," the man bowed low. 
    "Yes, the dog bit me. What's it to you?" 
    "Why so hostile? You will need  my council if you are to survive," 
the wizard said and again produced the white sphere. The glow about it 
was faint green. "You have the disease. You have only a few months." 
    "All  this  wolfling-werewolf  talk  strikes  me  as  stories  for 
children, not a sickness." 
    "When magic goes  bad, it becomes a curse,"  the wizard responded. 
"You do  believe in magic?"  he asked and  not waiting for  an answer, 
turned to leave. 
    "Is there  a cure?" Rien stopped  the old man, not  quite ready to 
believe that  he would be  howling at the moon  a few months  down the 
road, but wanting to know more. 
    "If there was, I  would have given it to that  poor animal. I wish 
you luck." He walked out of the alley and disppeared down the street. 
 
    An hour later  Rien found Simon's stew cart and  his horse. Skeebo 
was jumping  up and down  in the saddle,  with the realization  that a 
hard enough landing would make the horse stir. 
    The surprised Simon looked at a smiling Rien. 
    "Regular,  please," Rien  said and  handed a  coin to  Skeebo. The 
monkey jumped off the horse and handed the pay to Simon. 
    "Good show,"  the vendor laughed.  "Not many get their  money back 
from her." 
    "Many aren't persistant," Rien grinned. He may not have gotten HIS 
money back, but was working on it. "What's her deal anyway?" 
    "I'm sure  you know  every town has  some problems,"  Simon began. 
"Dargon just  happens to have a  monopoly on them. Kera,  the girl who 
took your purse, is  the legal ward of Lord Liriss,  who is rumored to 
be the man behind  a lot of the crime in this town.  I'd watch out for 
his men. Bad things happen to those who cross him, I hear." 
    "Why doesn't the  local Duke do anything about  the problem?" Rien 
shifted, sipping the spicy stew. 
    "What can he do? Lord Dargon is rumored to have enough problems of 
his own.  Liriss is  but a  small problem compared  to what  is really 
going on in this town." 
    "And what is really going on?" inquired Rien. 
    Simon  looked   about  uncomfortably.   "They  say  there   is  an 
assassination plot against  Lord Dargon. There've been  some deaths in 
nobility  recently.  Slowly, but  surely,  the  assassins are  getting 
closer to him." 
    "Sounds like the town guard has its hands very full..." Rien said. 
    "It's  only a  rumor,"  Simon replied.  "What's  your interest  in 
Dargon anyway? What do you do?" 
    Now it was  Rien's turn to look about uncomfortably.  "Just out to 
have an adventuresome vacation... You wouldn't  be able to point me to 
a local alchemist, would you?" 
 
    Terell was a tall, young man,  dressed very commonly, so as not to 
reveal  his life's  calling. Besides,  no one  wore the  "traditional" 
starscape cap and robe in real life anyway - no reason unless you were 
a showman or  a fraud. He looked about absent  mindedly as Rien pushed 
open the door to the alchemy shop. "What can I do for you, young man?" 
    Rien stopped dead in his  tracks. 'Young man'? Right. "I'm looking 
for Terell, the alchemist...this is his shop?" 
    "You found 'im!" 
    This caused Rien to pause even longer. "You?" he finally asked. 
    "Been m'self for up over sixty years." 
    Sixty? This man  looks well preserved for someone  his age, though 
he does act it. 
    "So what can I do for you?" the man presisted. 
    "I am interested in what you can tell me about lycanthropes," Rien 
said, leaning on the counter across from Terell. 
    The alchemist smiled. "Heard o'  that crazy dog Taishent captured, 
have you? Well,  there isn't much I can tell  you about that. Taishent 
is said  to o've  been casting  his cards  for the  town when  he came 
across the dog.  No one knows where  it came from or how  it got 'ere, 
but town guard's always pleased to shoot some'ing." 
    "I meant the  disease," Rien explained his need,  grateful for the 
alchemist's loose mouth. "Do you know anyhing about the curse?" 
    Terell paced his  lab for a minute. "The disease  can be passed in 
many ways. Most common is bite. The infected either die or mutate into 
those beasts - wolflings. Takes different amount of time for different 
people, but it  get's 'em all. I never  heard of a cure for  it, but I 
just know I  could find one if  I'd have a sample!  Ah, they sh'uldn't 
've killed that dog!" 
    Rien thought for a moment. If  there was the slightest chance of a 
cure, he  was in desprate need  of finding it, but  telling someone of 
the disease was just about as intellignet as running naked through the 
middle of  the market  place, screaming  about having  leprosy. Terell 
looked young for  his supposed age. Thirty at the  most and that means 
that his potions  really do work. Sometimes risks have  to be taken in 
life... 
    "What if I  can get you a subject?" Rien  asked the alchemist, who 
was now reorganizing the vials on his counter. 
    Startled,  the man  dropped one  of the  glass vessels.  "And just 
where d'you propose to come up with one?" he asked, ignoring the smoky 
vapor raising up toward the ceiling. 
    "Let's just say," Rien smiled, "that  I can locate one. What would 
be in it for me?" 
    I'll pay you!" Terell exclaimed, his old-like tones dissipating. 
    "I'll be rich and you'll be famous..." Rien said slowly. 
    "Precisely!" 
    "No," Rien  shook his head. "I  don't want money. The  deal is you 
cure the subject. Then you can have your fame." 
    "All right,"  Terell agreed.  "I'll make a  profit either  way and 
you'll have a cure for who ever you want to aid. Yes?" 
    "Yes," Rien nodded. 
    "So where is my subject?" 
    Rien could not believe that this old man could act so young. "I am 
he," he answered, almost expecting death. 
    Terell made a step back in shock. 
    "I won't bite you, honest," Rien promised. 
 
    Kera snuck up on a fat man leaning over a table with trinkets. The 
items appeared cheap,  but since he intended to buy  something, he had 
some funds. Besides, anyone that fat  had to have money to support his 
belly. 
    Kera looked  over the man's  shoulder at the assortment  of glass, 
clay and  metal statuettes of  people and  animals. Her left  hand ran 
across the belt  pouch on the man's right hip,  while her right picked 
up a  crystal clear unicorn. Neither  the fat man nor  the booth owner 
noticed  what she  did. Kera  smiled,  pocketing both  her prizes  and 
allowed a young  child to squeeze in before her.  Her "profit" for the 
day was already  well above average and thinking that  Liriss would be 
pleased, she turned and left the market place. 
    Kera had been working for Liriss ever since she could remember. He 
picked her up off  the streets as an orphan and  trained her to steal. 
Liriss provided everything she needed, even luxuries at times. Perhaps 
there was  a better  life somewhere,  but it certainly  was not  as an 
orphan  in  the  Fifth  Quarter.   She  even  had  Liriss'  thugs  for 
protection, when she needed them...like the day before. 
    Oh, Liriss was mad to learn what happend! Not only were his guards 
drunk, but they also got trashed by a single man and later arrested by 
the town guard. Still, that last  purse she lifted would more than pay 
for new hirelings;  especially in the Fifth Quarter.  It's the stupid, 
careless people who provide the most profit. 
    Kera  turned into  an  alley, winding  up face  to  face with  the 
stupid, careless person she just  been thinking about. Stupid and over 
confident. He hadn't camped out here all day, did he? 
    "Just your luck," Rien smiled, grabbing her arm. 
    "You're hurting me!" Kera screamed trying to wriggle free. 
    Rien's grip did not lessen. "You're hurting yourself." 
    Kera stopped trying  to pull free. "Bastard! I'll  have you killed 
for this!" 
    "I don't  think so," Rien smiled  again. "You used the  same alley 
twice too often. Your body guards will not be able to help you today." 
    Stealthily Kera pulled out her  stolen unicorn figurine and jabbed 
it into  Rien's hand, the  one that was  holding her, horn  first. The 
glass snapped and  with a curse Rien withdrew his  hand. Kera took off 
down the alley. For the first time in her life, she wished she had not 
neglected carrying weapons  on her person. She  desperately hoped that 
Rien had  lied about  Liriss' guards  not being able  to help  her. It 
wouldn't look good to lose two sets of men on consecutive days. 
    Right about  then she went  sprawling to  the ground over  the out 
stretched arm of one of the downed  guards. He lay on a pile of trash, 
with his companion not far away. 
    Kera picked  herself up, surprised  that Rien was already  next to 
her.  His eyes  were a  strange shade  of grey,  producing a  hypnotic 
effect,  as he  thrust her  into the  wall. 'Weren't  they blue?'  she 
thought, bending over from pain. The  jolt gave her the right state of 
mind to shrug  the useless thoughts off. With the  last of her breath, 
Kera screamed "Help, rape!" 
    She saw a  red streak before her and Rien's  hand clamped over her 
mouth. She turned her head, spitting  blood and smearing it across her 
right cheek. A finger of her  assailant passed across her lips and she 
bit into it. 
    Rien looked startled. Kera could have slipped away, but the change 
of color in his eyes kept her watching. His hand slipped off her face. 
"I could have killed you..." 
    Kera shrunk further into the wall behind her. 
    "The dog  that bit me..." Rien  continued, "you saw it  happen. It 
was a  lycanthrope. I have the  disease and now that  you've tasted my 
blood, so do you.  I tell you this becase you have  the right to know, 
nothing else." 
    Kera looked  at the broken statuette  still in her hand.  The horn 
and part  of the  head were missing.  She let the  figure fall  to the 
ground, where  it shattered completely.  "I have no reason  to believe 
you!" Her defiant eyes challanged Rien. 
    "No," he said,  "but then I have  no reason to lie to  you. I only 
want my money back." 
    "You're not  getting it back,  so you  might as well  kill me...or 
whatever it is you do!" 
    "I am not going to hurt you if you cooperate." 
    "I don't have your money. Liriss has it." 
    "Then I'll just take what you've collected today," Rien said. 
    "The hell you will!" 
    Rien held up the pouch containing her days work. "I already have." 
    "You bastard!" she tried to grab it, but missed. 
    Without saying anything, Rien turned to leave. 
    "Hey!" Kera screamed. 
    "I have a name." 
    After a moment of hesitation, Kera  caught up to Rien. "May I know 
what it is?" she asked, wiping the blood off her face. 
    "Rien Keegan," he answered without hesitation. 
    "Mine's Kera." 
    Rien did not respond. 
    "If  I don't  bring  Liriss  what I  stole  today,  he'll have  me 
punished," Kera said. "I am not going to entertain his troops again!" 
    "Should have thought  of that earlier. Just be sure  and tell them 
what disease you have so they can decide if they want it." 
    "Damn you! Please? It's too late to start over." 
    Rien shrugged. "That's your problem." 
    Kera  clenched  Rien's arm.  "If  I  have  some disease,  you  are 
responsible for it!" 
    "You'll try every approach until you find one that works, eh?" 
    She smiled. "Did this one work?" 
    Rien shrugged. "Let me think about it." 
    "If I don't have anything to show for my day's work, I'm not going 
back," Kera stated. 
    "Then don't," Rien answered. "Why do work like that at all?" 
    "It's the  only thing I  know how to  do well," Kera  answered. "I 
would have run away long ago if I'd be assured of a better future." 
    "How old are you?" 
    "Twenty. And you?" 
    "Even if  Liriss had some  wardship over  you before, you  are old 
enough to leave now," Rien ignorred the counter question. 
    "Where would I go?" Kera asked. "The only life I know is what most 
would consider to  be the wrong sid of the  fence. Besides, he'll have 
me hunted down and killed." 
    "How can you live in that environment," Rien wondered aloud. 
    "The punishment may be great, but so are the rewards." 
    "Oh? The guards get to entertain you if they screw up their job?" 
    Kera threw a disapproving glance at Rien. "Sometimes," she finally 
said, casting down her eyes. "There are other rewards too." 
    "Like what? Doing the boss?" 
    Kera stopped dead in her tracks. "That's damn unfair!" 
    Rien stopped to look at her. "But it's true, isn't it?" 
    "Yes," Kera said after a moment and burst into tears. 
    In spite  of himself Rien  gave her a hug  and held her  until she 
calmed  down. This  was certainly  not a  good way  to earn  someone's 
trust, but perhaps there could be  a second chance... "I am sorry," he 
finally said. "That was unfair." 
    "I'll go  with you where ever  you're going," Kera said.  "I don't 
want to stay here any longer." 
    That was a sudden change. "I am planning to remain in Dargon until 
I find a cure for the disease," Rien stated flatly. 
    "It's real..." Kera whispered. "You're a warrior, right?" 
    "You could say that." 
    "If  you're willing  to  take the  risk, I'm  willing  to be  your 
apprentice." Kera looked hopeful. 
    Rien needed an  apprentice about as much as a  cow needs a saddle. 
When he was apprenticed in his arts,  it was expected that he would do 
housework as much as learn what  he was there for. Granted, the master 
may  have wanted  some payment  for the  services rendered  and skills 
taught, but for some reason that just didn't sit well with Rien. If he 
was going to agree, the deal would have to be changed...a little. 
    Of  course there  was  a second  problem as  well.  The risk  Kera 
mentioned. Naturally Liriss  would not be happy to  lose an investment 
that just  the day before  brought in such a  yield. Taking on  two or 
three of his drunk guards was no  problem, but a dozen sober men could 
be a  bit more risky.  "I'll bite them,"  Rien smirked to  himself and 
unnoticeably chuckled. 
    "Are you sure that's what you want?" Rien finally asked. 
    "Yes," Kera answered  without hesitation. "I think it  was you who 
made the point that my life could be better." 
    "Then you have a mentor. Come, it's beginning to get dark." 
    "What about my things?" Kera stopped him. 
    "Is there anything irreplaceable?" Rien  asked, trying not to seem 
impatient, but wanting to leave the alley. 
    Kera thought for a moment, then  shrugged. "I suppose not. I tried 
not to grow too attached to my things for some reason. What about your 
money?" 
    "If Liriss has any intelligence at all," Rien said, "he would have 
hid or invested that  some place by now. Don't worry  about it. I have 
enough funds to draw on." 
    "I'm really sorry  about that," Kera continued. "I'll  try to make 
that up to you." 
    "That will be a lot of pockets to pick," Rien smiled. "Come." 
          -Max Khaytsus  <[email-masked]> 
 
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  -Max Khaytsus  <[email-masked]