MYTH-Interpretations: The Worlds of Robert Asprin (12 page)

It seemed I had done something intelligent for a change, though I'll admit that at the time I had not been aware of the full ramifications of my action.

"So how does that help me figure out what to do with Buttercup?" I said, frowning.

"Well, it seems to me you need to find Buttercup some action, even if it's just a dummied up training exercise," Big Julie said. "Between the two of us we should be able to come up with something."

"A training exercise?"

"Sure. We do it all the time in the service. Schedule a war game to keep the troops on their toes," he dropped his voice to a conspirator level. "We don't ever admit it, but sometimes we even deliberately position our forces a bit too close to an opposing force
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like over their border accidentally on purpose. Of course, they respond, and by the time things are sorted out and apologies have been made, the boys have had a little action to clear away the cobwebs. We could rig something like that for your unicorn."

I got up and did the honors of refilling our goblets. I didn't really want more wine, but it gave me a few minutes to mull over what Big Julie had said. Something about it wasn't sitting right with me.

"Actually, I don't think so," I said finally, shaking my head. "I appreciate the advice, Big Julie, and it's given me something to think about, but I think I'll try a different kind of solution."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well, instead of hunting down or making up some kind of conflict to make Buttercup feel useful," I said, carefully, "I'm thinking what I need to do is spend some time re-training him."

Big Julie cocked his head.

"Re-training him to do what?"

"I don't really know just yet." I sighed. "As you were talking, though, it occurred to me how sad it was that all Buttercup knows how to do is to fight. More specifically, that, in his opinion, his only value is as a fighter. Instead of trying to re-enforce that problem, I think I want to spend the effort to try to change his self-image."

The general stared at me for several moments.

"I've never asked you, Skeeve," he said at last. "Why did you retire?"

"Me?" I said, caught off guard by the subject change. "I wanted to spend more time studying magik. I'm supposed to be this hot shot magician, but I really can't do all that much. Why?"

Julie made a derisive noise.

"Like the world needs more magicians," he said. "As I understand it, there's barely enough work for the ones we already have."

That stung a little.

"Now I know you military types don't think much of magik or magicians, Big Julie," I said a bit stiffly, "but it's what I do."

"Uh-huh," he said. "Like fighting is what Buttercup does."

"How's that again?" I frowned.

"You should listen to yourself, Skeeve," the general said, shaking his head. "You're saying that your only value to anyone is as a magik user. You still think that even though you admit that you don't really know all that much. Do you really think that's why your old team gave you their respect and followed your lead? You think I ended up running the army because I'm a rough, tough, invincible fighter?"

That really gave me pause for thought. I had never really considered it, but looking at his frail body, even allowing for age, it was doubtful that Big Julie could go toe to toe with any of the heavyweights I knew like Guido or Hugh Badaxe.

He leaned toward me.

"No, Skeeve. What you did just now, thinking through what's best for other people
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in this case, your unicorn
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that's a rare talent. To me, that's more valuable than any new magik tricks you might pick up. The world needs more of that kind of thinking."

Someone, sometime, might have said something nicer than that to me, but if so, it didn't spring readily to mind.

"So what is it exactly that you're suggesting that I do? Come out of retirement?"

"Exactly?" he smiled and winked at me. "I haven't got a clue. You're the thinker. So think about it. Maybe while you're working on Buttercup's self-image you can do a little tinkering with your own."

From the Files of Tambu:
The Incident at Zarn

Robert Lynn Asprin

As the airlock door hissed shut behind him, the reporter took advantage of the moment of privacy to rub his palms on his trouser legs. He wished that he had a bit more faith in his Newsman's Immunity.

He had never really expected to be granted this interview. The request had been the prelude to a joke, a small bit of humor to casually drop into the conversation with other reporters at bars. He anticipated making lofty reference to having been refused an interview with the dread Tambu himself, then as the skeptics voiced their doubts, he could silence them by producing the letter of refusal. These plans had come to a jarring halt when word arrived that his request had been granted.

He had half expected, half hoped that when he completed Phase-Shift that he would be greeted by empty space. The ship had been there. Now, here he was aboard Tambu's own flagship about to meet face to face with the most feared individual in the settled Universe. He had only a moment to reflect upon these thoughts when a soft chime sounded and the inner door opened to receive him. Taking a deep breath, he entered.

The first thing that struck him about the quarters was the physical warmth of the room. Since man first invaded space, engineers had been struggling unsuccessfully to combat the chill inherent in dwelling in a metal-alloy ship cruising the cold voids. Even after the problem was supposedly solved with insulations and heated walls, the chill remained, though many claimed it was purely psychological, a subconscious human reaction to the nagging knowledge of the icy emptiness waiting just outside the thin metal walls. But, here it was warm, a heavy, enveloping warmth unlike any he had ever experienced in space.

He instinctively wanted to examine the room more closely and, just as instinctively, suppressed the desire. Instead, he contented himself with a brief visual scan of the room and it's contents. The walls were of a texture unfamiliar to him, which might contribute to the warmth. Or perhaps it was their dark gold color, which was a dramatic contrast to the customary white found in all other ships, and in this one as well, outside the airlocks he had just traversed.

Then, too, there were the trappings of the room making quiet contribution to the atmosphere. There were paintings on the wall and books lined the shelves, honest-to-God books, instead of the sterile tape-scanners usually found in libraries and studies. Facing the far wall was a large desk, clean but well stocked and obviously accustomed to use. The reporter made special note of the fact the desk was set against the wall and faced away from the door, in direct contrast to any other office he had ever been in. Apparently, Tambu was not accustomed to receiving visitors in these quarters.

The overall effect of the room was quite different from what the reporter had expected. It had the lived-in, personal air of a home, rather than the cold efficiency of a command post. Anywhere else it would have had the effect of being incredibly relaxing. Here, it gave the room the feeling of a lair. The reporter glanced about him again. Where was Tambu?

"Please be seated, Mr. Erickson."

The reporter started at the voice. Glancing around again, he saw a small speaker on the desk he had observed earlier. He crossed the room and seated himself at the desk, facing the speaker.

"I see you brought a Tri*D A/V Recorder with you."

The reporter stiffened in his chair. As he replied, he closely scrutinized the room, particularly the desk in front of him, but was unable to locate the camera which was obviously watching him.

"Yes, sir. I was promised a personal interview."

"Personal, in that you will be dealing with me directly, rather than with one of my subordinates. Unfortunately, a face-to-face meeting is out of the question. In fact, I am not even on the same ship with you. I maintain several flagships identical to the one you are now on. Part of the problem confronting any Defense Alliance ship seeking to capture me is discovering which ship I'm on, and when. Frankly, I was a little dubious about this meeting with you. No offense, but reporters have been known to stray from their oaths of neutrality. If there had been a fleet waiting for us when we completed Phase-Shift, or if you had attempted to sabotage the ship in any way, the crew was under orders to blow the craft up. It is loaded with sufficient explosives to destroy or damage any ships in firing range at the time of detonation. It would have been a costly, but necessary, example to any who might entertain similar thoughts of entrapment."

No wonder the crew had been so glad to see him when he arrived. The calm voice which so casually informed him that the ship he was currently aboard was in actuality a huge bomb did little to ease his frame of mind.

"If you would care for a drink, Mr. Erickson, you will find a bottle of your preferred liquor in the top right-hand drawer. Please, feel free."

More out of curiosity than need, the reporter opened the drawer. In the drawer was a bottle of a particular brand he was extremely fond of, but whose limited production kept the price well beyond his reach, save on special occasions.

"There is a case of that particular brand being loaded onto your ship right now. Please accept it as a personal gift from me."

"You seem to know a great deal about me."

"Probably more than you do about yourself and definitely more than you'd like me to know. Family history, health records, psychological reports, as well as copies of everything you've ever written, including that rather dubious series of articles you wrote in school under an assumed name. That is to say, you were very closely checked before permission for this interview was granted. I don't talk with just any maniac who drops me a note. In my line of work, my whole future, and that of my forces, hinges on my ability to gather and analyze data. If I didn't think you were safe, you wouldn't be here."

"Yet you refuse to meet me face to face and rigged the ship to blow in event of betrayal?"

There was a moment of silence before the reply came.

"I've made mistakes before. Often enough that I long since abandoned any ideas of infallibility. In lieu of that, I guard against all possibilities to the best of my abilities. Now, if you don't mind, could we start the interview? Even though I have tried to set aside time for this meeting, there are many demands on my time and I can't be sure how long we'll have before other priorities pull me away."

"Certainly. I guess the first question would be to ask why someone of your intelligence and abilities turned to the ways of War and world conquering as a way of life, rather than seeking a place in the established order?"

"Purely a matter of convenience. If you think for a moment, I'm sure you could think of several men both as intelligent and as ruthless as I in your so-called established order. As you pointed out, they have successfully risen to positions of power, wealth, and influence. I am not that much different than them, only I chose to move into a field where there was little or no competition. Why fight my way up a chain of command when, by taking one step sideways, I could form my own chain of command with me at the top, running things the way I felt they should be run from the start, instead of adapting someone else's system until I was high enough to make my presence felt."

"But why resort to terrorism and violence as a way of life? It seems a rather harsh way to extract a living from the universe."

"First tell me how you differentiate between what I and my forces do and the methodology of the Defense Alliance. As near as I can tell, we both make a living from violence and threats. I tell a planet they have to pay me a certain percentage of their resources as tribute, or I'll burn them to a crisp. The Defense Alliance tells them to pay a certain percentage of their resources in taxes to support the fleets or I'll burn them to a crisp. We're both exacting protection money on the threat of violence if they don't pay. Only when they do it, it's an accepted ‘police action within the established order.' When I do it, it's a ‘reign of terror.' Perhaps I am oversimplifying the situation, but I don't see that much difference between the two."

"Then you don't see anything wrong with what you're doing?"

"Please, Mr. Erickson. None of your journalistic tricks of putting words into my mouth. I did not say I don't see anything wrong in what I do, simply that I don't see that much difference between my own forces and tactics, and those of the Defense Alliance."

"Are you then asserting that in the current conflict that it is you who are the hero and the Defense Alliance the villains?"

"Mr. Erickson, I have asked you once. I will now warn you. Do not attempt to twist my words into quotes I have not said. If I make a statement or express an opinion you take exception to, you are, of course, welcome to comment to that effect, either in this meeting or in your article. However, do not attempt to condemn me with opinions which are not my own. I have shown my respect for you and your intelligence by granting this interview. Kindly return the compliment by remembering that in this interview you are not dealing with a dull-witted planetary sub-official and conducting yourself accordingly."

"Yes, sir. I'll remember that."

"See that you do. You did raise a curious point, however. The rather romantic concept of heroes and villains, good guys and bad guys. That's another reason I granted this interview. It stands out all over your writing, and I wanted to meet someone who really believes in heroes. In exchange, I offered you a chance to meet a villain."

"Well, actually.
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"There are no heroes, Mr. Erickson, just as there are no villains." The Death Lord's voice was suddenly cold. "There are only humans. Men and women who alternately succeed and fail. If they are on your side and succeed, they're Heroes. If they're on the other side, they're Villains. It's as simple as that. Concepts such as Good and Evil exist only as rationalizations, an artificial logic to mask the true reasons for our feelings. There is no Evil. No one wakes up in the morning and says ‘I think I'll go out and do something rotten.' At the time, their actions are logical and beneficial to them. It's only after the fact, when things go awry, that they are credited with being Evil."