Aboriginal Science Fiction, Issues 57–58 — page 62: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

buy American, sir.” “T don’t find it funny,” Royer said grimly. “The Chaldrons are a necessary precaution, Malcolm. I’m sure at least ten other countries have hostili- ty farms of their own. It’s the only logical solution to that damn stupid PDA.” “Why should they cheat?” Royer looked at Malcolm coldly. “If we trusted them blindly, they’d screw us; if they trusted us blindly, we’d screw them. That’s just how it is. Don’t cheat, you’re screwed.” “T’m not sure I follow, sir.” Royer frowned. “You don’t know anything about the government at all, do you? How did you get this job, anyway?” Xlll hey walked for two days, a dull, arduous | trudge through the mountains. All the things that had plagued Newell’s mind prior to the journey — the ramifications of leaving the colony, wild imaginative ramblings of what lay beyond, happy anticipation of an end to the dismal village lifestyle — had been swept clean by the numbing exhaustion of endless exertion. And then something snapped. As she pulled herself to the top of a particular- ly steep ascent and turned to help Danoff up after her, she accidentally slipped and stepped on Danoffs hand. He plummeted to his death. At first she was totally shocked. Then she laughed. “That was no accident,” she said to nobody, and continued her climb. Confused, distressed, and exhausted, Newell turned around as she heard a loud, foreign hum in the background. She frantically scrambled to the top of the slope and found herself looking out over an immense, mysteriously illuminated and mirac- ulously complex hive of tall, diverse, rectangular prism-shaped buildings sticking up into the sky. The slope led down to a broad path where vehicles like the helicopter, without spinning metal things on top but rather round black circular things rolling along underneath them, were surging back and forth at ridiculous speeds. To put it simply, she was having a dreadful problem of perspective. Then two men came up to her and said, “Glad you could make it.” One of them took her overcoat and slid it on. He was a six-foot brown-hair with a gap-tooth who looked completely out of place, almost comically so. He wandered off into the maze. “What the hell ...?” Newell asked. “He’s the decoy,” the remaining man said. “He'll take the Feds off your trail. Don’t worry about him. He’s done this five times; he always escapes.” He extended his hand, leading her down toward the street. “My name’s Carl. Come on, before someone sees you. I| take it you got the 62 Aboriginal Science Fiction — Summer 1998 note?” “In the carton?” Newell asked. “Yep. We were hoping for a bigger turnout. You're alone, eh?” “Yes,” Newell said. Carl smiled. “We'll have to try again. It’s not easy sneaking those messages in, you know. If you hostiles weren’t so suspicious of each other, wed get more of you out.” Carl opened the door to one of the vehicles and pointed into it. A woman sat there waiting. “Anyway, hop in. You’ve been liberated. Sheila here will take you to our adjust- ment therapist in Wyoming.” Adjustment therapist? Decoy? Sheila? There were too many questions. “I don’t get it. Why have I been ‘liberated?’ Who the hell are you people? What’s in this for you?” Carl smiled affably. “You'll find out at the adjustment therapist, but I will say this much. Hostiles are worth their weight in gold, these days. You're going to be a very wealthy woman.” Newell smiled. She could live with that. She bent down to get into the vehicle. “Oh, one more thing,” Car] interjected, pulling a blunt object out of his coat. “Would you mind clubbing me over the head? For the effect, you ” see. Trree-tme Huge Award Nominee ee ean td Savis Sib - Flevigw Our Next Issue The Fall 1998 issue of Aboriginal will contain the following stories by Aboriginal veterans: “The Dome Game,” by Keith Brooke, “The E-ticket,” by J. Brooke (no relation to Keith); and some first appearances including “Lou’s Seventh Cylinder,” by Marc Levinthal, “Watching Maynard,” by Stephen Wallenfels, “Angel With A Stainless- Steel Soul,” by B. McLaren, and “The Catafalque,” by Scott M. Azmus. In addition we'll have all of our usual features and a another special sculpture cover by artist David Deitrick based on the Motie from Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle’s The Mote in God’s Eye. Don’t miss out.