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was quietly kneeling on the bottom. "With the sorceries they seem to have
here," she remarked, "I'm surprised the sword can hold their interest as it's
doing."
"Yes, well, jewels that big always dazzle people. Besides, they're
scramblebrains."
"I'm afraid we won't be able to get a very high price for it now," the
sorceress apologized.
"That isn't worrying me. I just want to get out of here before they go crazy
again."
Frostflower pulled out Dathru's Circle and the friends stepped through into
a saner world without even wading ashore.
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About Diana L. Paxson and "The Dancer of Chimaera"
Diana and I go back a long way, too; back to when Diana was an as-yet-
little-published writer of a few short stories. She had written a story I liked
tremendously; and I told her that if I got a chance to do a non-Darkover
anthology, I'd take it right away. Later that year, Don Wollheim gave me a
chance to edit Greyhaven, and the first thing I did was to call Diana and ask
her if the story had sold yet. It was still available-what were my fellow editors
thinking of?-and it was the first story I bought. My faith in Diana has been
justified-all of her work since then has been superb. After half a dozen or so
of the Westria novels, she began making a name for herself with historicals;
the splendid White Raven gave a new look at the Tris-tram-and-Yseult story,
and she has just published a new look at the Siegfried and Brunhilde legend.
She collaborated with me on my book The Forest House, though the
publishers thought it would sell better with my name alone. At this writing it
is out in England, but not here till April 1994. We have already contracted for
a big historical sequel. This story is probably the nearest to science fiction
ever to appear in the pages of my magazine; to me it has a flavor of a story by
C. L. Moore, and hence I couldn't resist it. Nor can I resist the temptation to
share it with you.
The Dancer of Chimaera Diana L. Paxson
They called her Mariposa, and she danced in a tavern on Chimaera Station.
She was scarcely a woman yet, but she was female enough for the men who
did their drinking at the High Orbit. They were Space Forcers on shore leave
mostly, or techs from the defense project that was the main reason the
Station was there. In the evenings they drank, and watched Mariposa, and
tried to forget the war.
Johnny Yaleran wavered in the doorway. The heat of the tavern reminded
him of the generator room of the Glinka, though the sour smell of spilled beer
and the mixed reeks of tobacco and weed were richer than the high ozone air
he'd been breathing since he left home. He bent forward, peering through the
gloom.
A bunch of big techs from the repair docks heading for the door were
enough to make up his mind for him. They drew him in their wake toward the
bar. Even then he might have retreated, but there was an empty place, and he
slid into it, trying to look as if he belonged there. Beyond the bar was a small
bare stage and a musician's stand. But the synthetor's
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lights were dead and canned music strove unsuccessfully with the patrons'
din. The man in the stained coveralls on the next perch slurped noisily at his
drink and set it down, turning to the thin fellow beside him. "Well, I say we've
nothin' to worry about-" Johnny heard him snort. "The Shifters will never get
this far, and if they do, we'll implode 'em." He drank again and wiped his
mouth with a beefy hand. "Think so? They've taken the Iberian system, and
Lutece, Lord knows how. The project's a prime target..." The thin man
stopped, looking at Johnny. There was a loud cough and Johnny flushed,
realizing that the barman was waiting, order disk in hand. There was a list on
the wall before him, and Johnny chose at random. "... one double Red,
straight," the barman repeated, punching the order and waiting impassively
while Johnny fumbled in his pouch for his credit chip. "Thank you," Johnny
said. The man smiled automatically and went off. "You new here?" the big
man asked, and Johnny nodded. "Thought so-" He grinned suddenly and
extended a hand. "I'm Hank Mendos, Tonics Tech, and this here's my buddy
Duprey." Johnny introduced himself, and the thin man beside Mendos
nodded. "Glinka, you say? She hasn't seen combat yet, has she?"
"Neither have I," Johnny confessed. "I signed on when she was
commissioned on Soyuz." The barman set a glass of crimson liquid before
him. Johnny picked it up, aware of their eyes upon him, but the fluid slid
easily down his throat. As he took a second sip, the first exploded in his belly.
Their expressions had warned him, but he was still gasping a few moments
later when the nova inside him began to die down. Carefully, he drank again.
Duprey smiled with approval-or perhaps it was amusement. "I wish you luck.
Of course, the Shifters' weapons are no match for ours--not their physical
weapons, anyhow-" He leaned forward, lowering his voice so that Johnny had
to strain to hear. "I'm in Communications, and I've heard the log of the
Tonnerre." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]