The Fifth Science Fiction MEGAPACK ®. Darrell Schweitzer

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СКАЧАТЬ me and said quite clearly, “They’re coming back.”

      I was afraid we were about to get our answers.

      * * * *

      It was raining men in the Castro, literally, and every single one of them was named Todd. Every single one of them wore Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts and Birkenstocks. Every single one of them landed on their backs, flopped like trout for a full minute and leaped to their feet shouting one word: “Penauch!”

      —San Francisco Chronicle, November 11th, 2015; Gail Carriger reporting

      * * * *

      “I must leave,” Penauch said, his voice heavy as he stroked a hairless cat on the freshly polished floor of the bookstore.

      On a small TV in the back office of the store, an excited reporter in Milk Plaza spoke rapidly about the strange visitors who’d fallen from the sky. Hundreds of men named Todd, now scattered out into the city with one word on their tongues. As it played in the background, I watched Penauch and could feel the sadness coming off of him in waves.

      “Where will you go?”

      Penauch stood. “I don’t know. Anywhere but here. Will you help me?”

      The bell on the door jingled and a man entered the store. “Penauch,” he said.

      I looked up at the visitor. His Hawaiian shirt was an orange that hurt my eyes, decorated in something that looked like cascading pineapples. He smiled and scowled at the same time.

      Penauch moved quickly and suddenly the room smelled of ozone and cabbage.

      The man, named Todd I assumed, was gone.

      I looked at my alien, took in the slow wriggle of his pale and determined face.

      “What did you do?”

      Penauch’s clustered silver eyes leaked mercury tears. “I… un-fixed him.”

      We ran out the back. We climbed into my car over on Guerrero. We drove north and away.

      * * * *

      Xenolinguists have expended considerable effort on the so-called “Todd Phenomenon.” Everyone on 11/11/15 knew the visitors from outer space were named Todd, yet no one could say how or why. This is the best documented case of what can be argued as telepathy in the modern scientific record, yet it is equally worthless by virtue of being impossible to either replicate or falsify.

      —Christopher Barzak, blog entry, January 14th, 2016

      * * * *

      We stayed ahead of them for most of a week, turning east and then north. We made it as far as Edmonton before the man-rain caught up to us.

      While Penauch slept, I grabbed snacks of news from the radio. These so-called Todds spread out in their search, my friend’s name the only word upon their lips. They made no effort to resist the authorities. Three were shot by members of the Washington State Patrol. Two were killed by Navy SEALS in the small town of St. Maries, Idaho. They stole cars. They drove fast. They followed after us.

      And then they found us in Edmonton.

      We were at an A&W drive through window when the first Todd caught up to the car. He t-boned us into the side of the restaurant with his Mercedes, pushing Penuach against me. The Todd was careful not to get within reach.

      “Penauch,” he shouted from outside the window. My friend whimpered. Our car groaned and ground as his hands moved over the dashboard, trying to fix it.

      Two other cars hemmed us in, behind and before. Todds in Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts stepped out, unfazed by the cold. One climbed onto the hood of my Corvair. “Your services are still required.”

      Penauch whimpered again. I noticed that the Todd’s breath did not show in the sub-zero air.

      The air shimmered as a bending light enfolded us.

      * * * *

      “Af-afterwards, it, uh, it did’t m-matter so much. I m-mean, uh, you know? He smiled at me. Well, n-not an, uh, a smile. Not with that face. Like, a virtual smile? Th-then he was g-gone. Blown out like a candle. You know? Flame on, flame off.”

      —RCMP transcript of eyewitness testimony; Edmonton, AB; 11/16/15

      * * * *

      I awoke in a dark place choking for air, my chest weighted with fluid. Penauch’s hand settled upon my shoulder. The heaviness leapt from me.

      “Where am I?”

      I heard a sound not unlike something heavy rolling in mud. It was a thick, wet noise and words formed alongside it in my mind. You are in—crackle hiss warble—medical containment pod of the Starship—but the name of the vessel was incomprehensible to me. Exposure to our malfunctioning—hiss crackle warble—mechanic has infected you with trace elements of—here another word I could not understand—viruses.

      “I don’t get it,” I said.

      Penauch’s voice was low. “You’re not meant to. But once I’ve fixed you, you will be returned to the store.”

      I looked at him. “What about you?”

      He shook his head, the rigatoni of his face slapping itself gently. “My services are required here. I am now operating within my design parameters.”

      I opened my mouth to ask another question but then the light returned and I was falling. Beside me, Penauch fell, too, and he held my hand tightly. “Do not let go,” he said as we impacted.

      This time we made no crater as we landed. We stood and I brushed myself off. “I have no idea what any of this means.”

      “It won’t matter,” Penauch told me. “But say goodbye to the cats for me.”

      “I will,” I promised.

      “I liked your planet. Now that the—” again, the incomprehensible ship’s name slid entirely over my brain “—is operational once more, I suppose we’ll find others.” He sighed. “I hope I malfunction again soon.” He stretched out a hand and fixed me a final time.

      I blinked at him and somehow, mid-blink, I stood in the center of Valencia Street.

      * * * *

      I walked into Borderlands Books, still wondering exactly how I was wandering the streets of San Francisco in an orange Hawaiian shirt and a pair of khaki shorts three sizes too large.

      A pretty girl smiled at me from behind the counter. “Hi Bill,” she said. “Where’ve you been?”

      I shrugged.

      A hairless cat ran in front of me, feet scampering over floors that were badly in need of a polish.

      “Goodbye,” I told it, but didn’t know why.

      PEACEMAKER, by Gardner Dozois

      Roy СКАЧАТЬ