Five Stars: Five Outstanding Tales from the early days of Stupefying Stories

Five Stars
Five Outstanding Tales from the early days of
Stupefying Stories
TM

Featuring
Aaron Bradford Starr • Rebecca Roland
Guy Stewart • David W. Landrum • Ryan M. Jones

Edited by

Bruce Bethke

Rampant Loon Press
Lake Elmo, Minnesota, USA

ISBN: 978-1-938834-34-9 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-938834-35-6 (print)
FIVE STARS: Five Outstanding Tales from the early days of
Stupefying Stories
Published August 2014 by Rampant Loon Media LLC

Copyright © 2014 Rampant Loon Media LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photographic, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher.

The individual works contained herein are published by contractual arrangement with the authors
and are copyrighted as follows.

“First Impressions” Copyright ©
2011 by Aaron Bradford Starr.
All rights reserved.
First published in
Stupefying Stories
1.2
, November 2011.

“Sennacherib” Copyright © 2011 by David
W. Landrum.
All rights reserved.
First published in
Stupefying Stories 1.3
,
December 2011.

“Teaching Women to Fly” Copyright © 2010 by Guy Stewart.
All rights reserved.
First published in
Stupefying Stories: It Came From The Slushpile
, August 2010.

“The King of Ash and Bones” Copyright © 2011 by Rebecca Roland.
All rights reserved.
First published in
Stupefying Stories
1.2
, November 2011.

“Return to Earth” Copyright © 2011 by Ryan M. Jones.
All rights reserved.
First published in
Stupefying Stories
1.1
, October 2011.

Stupefying Stories
is a production of RAMPANT LOON PRESS, and is published in the United States of America by Rampant Loon Press, an imprint of Rampant Loon Media LLC, P.O. Box 111, Lake Elmo, Minnesota 55042. “Stupefying Stories” and the Stupefying Stories logos are trademarks of Rampant Loon Media LLC. “Rampant Loon Press” and the Rampant Loon colophon are trademarks of Rampant Loon Media LLC.

www.rampantloonmedia.com
facebook.com/stupefyingstories

Contents

Introducing
Five Stars
             
v

First Impressions
, by Aaron Bradford Starr              1

Sennacherib
, by David W. Landrum              11

Teaching Women to Fly
, by Guy Stewart              26

The King of Ash and Bones
, by Rebecca Roland              50

Return to Earth
, by Ryan M. Jones              62

Introducing
Five Stars

When
Stupefying Stories
debuted in August of 2010, we began with a hat full of dreams, an oversupply of chutzpah, thirty years’ experience in writing and selling fiction to professional markets, and two simple goals: to bring you the sort of stories that made us fall in love with reading fiction in the first place, and to introduce you to new writers whose names you might not yet know—but in the years to come, you
will
.

F
our years, twenty-some books, and more than 200 published stories, novelettes, and novellas later—

(
And untold numbers of
rejected
stories, too. How many? We’re not sure. We quit counting at five thousand.)

W
ell, we’ve certainly had share of our ups and downs, and more than a few times when everything seemed to be going sideways, if not pear-shaped. But we’re still here, and we still have the greatest confidence in the mission.

As we flip the corporate calendar over to the beginning of Yea
r Five, though, it seems like a good idea to take a quick glance back at where we’ve been, and to bring you these five carefully selected stories from our earliest issues. This little book is by no means a complete and definitive ‘Best of’ collection: we’re still years away from being ready to do that. But the five stories in this book are all outstanding examples of the types of stories we love to publish; the types of stories that have made us who we are. Sometimes comic; sometimes tragic; sometimes brimming over with pure adventure and excitement and other times dripping with bone-chilling horror. Sometimes fantastic, sometimes astounding, but
always
stories with characters you will come to care about, plots that make sense and matter, and endings that will leave you wanting to read
more
stories by these authors. These are stories with
hearts
.

Thus,
we now invite you to kick back, relax, and enjoy
FIVE STARS: Five Outstanding Tales from the early days of Stupefying Stories
. While you’re doing that, though, if you don’t mind, I’m going to flip the corporate calendar over, and then get back to work on all the great new stories we will be publishing in the coming issues.

Upward and onward, into Year Five!

Bruce Bethke
Editor,
Stupefying Stories
August 2014

First Impressions

by Aaron Bradford Starr

Darrel sat in the only chair
,
near the featureless white table, in the center of an otherwise empty room. The station was completely silent, and he looked out the large windows at the empty black vista, the stars drowned out by the soft glow from the panels overhead. He leaned back a ways in his seat, amazed anew at his situation.

I’m in space
, he thought.
I’m about to meet aliens.

But the silence remained, and Darrel took to examining the table before himself, marveling at its smooth whiteness. It looked, he thought, about like any kitchen countertop at home. Surely, he thought, the surface was some form of advanced molecular structure.
It’s probably harder than diamond
, he mused.

But it sure looked like Formica.

And his chair, now that he thought about it, was almost supernaturally comfortable. Had he ever sat in a chair of such marvelous comfort? He thought back. No. No, he didn’t believe he ever had.
Alien technology
, Darrel thought to himself,
is certainly amazing
.

A few more minutes passed. Darrel tapped his fingers on the amazing table, and swiveled back and forth in the amazing chair. Then, at length, he rose and walked over to the windows. While sitting in the middle of the room, he’d seen a faint reflection, but from so close, he couldn’t perceive the surface at all. It was as if he stood before the vast darkness of space, impervious. In his element. He reached out a hand to touch what he assumed must be some form of force field, but his hands encountered cool glass, and he suddenly felt nervous. All that stood between him and the unforgiving vacuum of interstellar space was a piece of
glass
? He stepped back, noticing the smudges his fingertips had left on the pristine surface. Glancing around the empty room, he began buffing at the mark with his sleeve.

At that moment the opposite wall opened, a single line admitting a wash of blinding radiance, which only increased as the entrance widened. Darrel shielded his eyes, looking away, quickly returning to the chair at the table. Squinting into the brilliance, he saw the vague shapes of two towering figures enter the room.

This is it
, he thought.
First Contact with alien life!
He composed himself, waiting as the two glided gracefully across the space, their lanky forms tall enough that he had to crane his neck uncomfortably when they reached their side of the table. The entrance behind them stayed open, pouring forth painful illumination, making close study difficult, but they seemed to be humanoid, though extremely tall, and dressed in long, gray robes that hid their bodies. The silvery skin of their faces held dark eyes set below large, prominent foreheads, evolved, no doubt, over millions of years to contain their vast knowledge. Without words they settled, kneeling so they were roughly at Darrel’s eye level.

One of the figures placed an object onto the table and sat back. Darrel leaned close, studying it by the harsh lighting, and coming away with the impression of a tangle of metal strands, like guitar strings. With a glance at his two silent hosts he reached toward it, watching for their reaction. One gestured, indicating that Darrel was to take the thing. Doing so revealed that it was a woven mesh, like a hat made out of metal threads. The figure on the left motioned that Darrel should place it on his head, and with only slight hesitation, he did so.

For a moment it sat, inert and limp, dangling loosely over his skull, tucked over his ears. Without warning the limp threads pulled tight, suddenly very firm and snug. In a few moments more the threads tightened enough to be uncomfortable, and then became quite painful.

Holding his breathing steady, Darrel fought the impulse to rip off the hellish hat, guided by two lines of reasoning. First off, he had no idea of the ritualistic significance of the hat, and removing it might pose some diplomatic risk. Secondly, he was convinced that hasty removal might well peel off the greater portion of his scalp, so tightly was it wound. This second image stilled his hand when the first wasn’t sufficient.

“Are you comfortable?” the alien on the left asked. His voice was resonant and soothing, and Darrel took in a shuddering breath, relieved at how reasonable the being seemed. “The speech-hat is sufficiently snug?” it continued.

“Actually,” Darrel said, “I would describe it more as being—” Here he paused for just a heartbeat, realizing that the device was translating his words and concepts, but that he had no good idea of the culture of these beings. He dared not offend their hospitality! “I would describe it more as...sublime,” he finished.

“We are glad to hear that,” the alien on the right said.

“Your comfort is very important to us,” agreed the other. “There is no concept as terrible to our people as to fail in matters of courtesy.”

They both nodded, and Darrel was thankful he’d not mentioned the absolutely terrible pain the hat was inflicting on him. Managing a smile, he nodded as well, noticing the hair that drifted off his head when he moved it, sheared clean off. He stopped moving his head, afraid to goad the hat into a tighter fit.

“Oh, I completely concur,” he said, offering his hand across the table. After a moment, the left-side alien took it. Darrel gave the thin-fingered appendage a gentle shake, and let go.
I just shook an alien’s hand,
he thought.

“My name is Darrel,” he said. The two figures exchanged glances, and then faced him once more.

“We rarely use formal names,” the alien on the right said. “But, since you have honored us with yours, we will exchange them.”

“I didn’t realize—” Darrel began, but the alien waved his words away.

“Still,” Right said, “an exchange is only proper. My name is—” without further word, it raised a single finger. Taking the slender digit firmly in his other hand, he wrenched it violently backwards. Darrel heard the crunch even past his own gasp of surprised horror. The alien shut its eyes for a moment, grimacing, then let the arm drop back to its side.

“And my name is,” said the other, slamming its head violently onto the tabletop. The impact made the entire surface jump, and the alien wavered, composing itself with a grip on the table’s edge. Darrel looked at his two hosts, agape, realizing he’d have to be more careful with his words and actions.

“I can appreciate why you rarely use your names,” he said.

“Introductions
can
get awkward,” Right replied, smoothing his sleeve over his disfigured hand.

“I’m sorry,” interjected Left suddenly, “but what is that
noise
?”

The three sat in silence for a moment, Darrel straining to hear the source of the disturbance. But there was nothing.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” said Left, “but that hissing is very disturbing to us. It’s a neurological thing, you understand.”

“Yes,” said Right. “Although the incessant thumping is really the problem. I didn’t want to mention it, but now that it’s been brought up, and since you seem so reasonable...”

Darrel stared at the two, unsure of what they were talking about.

“I don’t hear anything,” he ventured. The aliens exchanged glances.

“Perhaps his auditory system has evolved to disregard the noise,” Left mused.

Right nodded. “It seems likely he cannot hear the racket at all,” it said.

“Are you talking about my heartbeat?” Darrel asked, incredulous. “You’re bothered by my
heartbeat
?”

“Well,” said Left, “it is quite a distraction. I don’t suppose you could stop it, for a while? It really would be easier to concentrate.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Darrel said, at a loss. Seeing their crestfallen looks, he hastened to explain. “You see, I would stop my heart, and gladly, except... well... that would kill me.”

“We appreciate that it’s difficult to accept the ways of others,” Left said, his voice steeped in understanding. Darrel raised his hands imploringly.

“No,
really
,” he said. “I’d love to stop my heartbeat, except that I would then be dead.
Actually
dead. Not uncomfortable. Not afraid to try new things. I’d be
dead
.”

Left stared, wordless. “Dead?” it asked finally.

“Dead.”

Right raised its single functioning hand, holding up an object that looked, to Darrel, like nothing so much as a large pair of earmuffs.

“I have an idea,” it said. “Perhaps if you were to put this on.”

“What is it?” Darrel asked, taking the thing and studying it. Up close, the impression of earmuffs was even stronger. The ear-covers were fuzzy and bright red, held together by a flexible band that appeared to be plastic.

“It’s a Cone of Silence,” Right explained. “For your heart.”

“This goes over my heart?” Darrel asked tentatively. The two figures nodded, and so Darrel opened the two covers and arranged them over his heart, the fuzzy oblongs gripping his chest, but, thankfully, without the terrible pressure of his hat. The connecting band, however, was a problem. Too small to go over his arm, and too large to wrap close about his ribs, it left his left arm hovering awkwardly, unable to go down fully. No other orientation of the red cups would keep his heart covered front and back, and so Darrel sighed silently to himself and turned his chair slightly, so he could prop his extended arm on the backrest.

The two aliens sighed in contentment.

“That’s much better,” Right said. “I hope it’s no trouble?”

“Of course not,” Darrel assured them, flexing his arm a bit as his shoulder began to cramp.

Right sighed with relief, but Left leaned forward, his voice earnest.

“You would tell us the truth, if our actions make you uncomfortable, correct?” he asked. “It would dishonor our entire race if we were to cause even a moment’s discomfort for you, no matter how slight it might be.”

“It would destroy us,” agreed Right.

Darrel clapped his mouth shut, silencing the admission he’d been about to make. He shook his head silently, feeling what felt like a trickle of blood from his scalp run down the back of his neck from beneath the language-hat. He stopped the motion abruptly, and the three stared across the table in renewed silence.

“How are your genitals?” Left asked suddenly.

Darrel looked from one to the other. “My...?”
The language hat must have flubbed that one
, he thought.

“Your genitals,” Left confirmed. “You know. Genitalia?”

“Oh, well,” Darrel began, shifting in discomfort, “they’re fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Left said, “because mine are extremely itchy.” So saying, the creature began scratching at his opposite palm with the long fingers of his other hand.

“Those are your...” Darrel began.

“Genitals, yes,” said Left. It made a sound like a chuckle. “That’s quite a grip you’ve got!”

“I, well, I hope you’ll be all right,” Darrel said, blushing furiously.
I may not be the right person for this job
, he thought.
My first action as representative from Earth was to infect my host’s privates
.

“Well, no matter,” Left said, pulling on what appeared to be a latex glove with an authoritative snap. “Still, it’s best to be prepared, should we contact genitals again.”

Darrel switched the subject quickly. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said. “I’ve actually come to talk about trade between our peoples. An exchange of knowledge. Your culture is far beyond ours, technologically.”

“Really?” Right asked. “Well, we’d be glad to exchange the goods of Earth for technology.”

“That’s true,” said Left. “We’re very interested in the unique things only Earth can provide.”

“That’s wonderful!” Darrel exclaimed, relief flooding him.

“What will you be most interested in?” Left asked. “Faster than light travel? Matter transmission?”

“Time travel, possibly,” added Right. “All the new species have fun with that one!”

Darrel couldn’t disguise his enthusiasm. “Yes, yes! All of those sound good.”

“Well then,” Left said, “it would be a simple thing to coordinate the exchange. We could start with faster than light travel, and go from there. How does that sound?”

Darrel couldn’t believe his ears. This was going better than he’d ever imagined possible. “That sounds great!” he exclaimed.

“Very well, then, it’s agreed,” said Right. “Would a price of one billion be fair?”

Taken aback by the speed of these sudden dealings, Darrel found himself stalling for time to think. “Well,” he began, “we’d need to establish some form of interstellar commerce. Trade agreements, currency exchange rates, and so on.”

“Such trade is always conducted in whole units,” Right said.

“Fractional divisions are cruel,” added Left.