Esther M Friesner - Chicks 03 - Chicks 'N Chained Males, Angielskie [EN](4)(2)
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Chicks 'n Chained Males
Table of Contents
Introduction
Myth Manners' Guide to
Greek Missology #1:
Andromeda and Persueus
Chain, Link, Fence
Fool's Gold
In for Pound
Death Becomes Him
Straight Arrow
Bad Heir Day
Why Do You Think They
Call It Middle Earth?
(or how I slew a dragon
and found myself a mate)
Leg Irons, the Bitch,
and the Wardrobe
Shiftless
May/December at the Mall
Yo, Baby!
Don't Break the Chain!
Cross CHILDREN Walk
. . . But Comedy is Hard
Baubles, Bangles and Beads
Hallah Iron-Thighs and the Five Unseemly Sorrows
Miss Underwood and
the Mermaid
Chicks 'n Chained Males
edited by Esther Friesner
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any
resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright (c) 1999 by Esther Friesner & Martin Harry Greenberg. All material is original to this volume
and is copyright (c) 1999 by the authors individually.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-671-57814-6
Cover art by Larry Elmore
First printing, May 1999
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Typeset by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH
Printed in the United States of America
ALSO IN THIS SERIES
Chicks in Chainmail,
Edited by Esther Friesner
Did You Say Chicks?!
,
edited by Esther Friesner
Mathemagics
by Margaret Ball
BAEN BOOKS by ESTHER FRIESNER
Child of the Eagle
The Sherwood Game
Winning Season
Introduction
I know what you're thinking and I want you to stop it
right this minute
.
Don't try denying it. We both know the first thing that popped into your mind when you read the title of
this book. I'd tell you that you really ought to be ashamed of yourself, but Who Am I To Judge? Besides,
for all I know, you've already got a career in politics and my mama didn't raise any kids who like to
pound sand down rat-holes.
Perhaps I should explain what this book is
really
about: It's about women rescuing men. There. Perfectly
innocent. Wholesome and admirable, even. When I first came up with the title/concept for the Chicks in
Chainmail series, one of my noble goals was to give the doughty Woman Warrior of fantasy fiction
something
different
to do, a nice change from stomping around the landscape with a permanent grouch
on, slaughtering any who dared oppose her (or worse, tried telling her to "Lighten up!"), and using her
days off to go to the local tavern, get drunk, and have some out-of-work sailor tattoo the phrase All Men
Are Worthless Scum Except For Breeding Purposes somewhere on her body guaranteed to upset her
mother. (Unless, of course, she'd learned the whole stomp, slaughter 'n' swill routine from Mom herself.)
Here I must admit that when I was told that lo, the title of this book was to be
Chicks and Chained
Males
, initially I reacted in much the same way as you did. (Yes, you did so too! 'Fess up and be done
with it.) But how much greater was my startlement when I learned whence came the aforementioned title!
As those of you already familiar with these modest volumes may recall, the title of the first Chicks in
Chainmail anthology (still available; buy many copies) caused a momentary access of trepidation on the
part of Our Revered Publisher. This was understandable since, as he himself stated in the Disclaimer on
the back of said book, he is a Sensitive, Nineties Kind of Guy.
Well, guess what? The Nineties are almost over. Maybe it's the approaching millenium, maybe it's
ascribable to the ripple effect of the dreaded Y2K Bug, but for whatever reason,
he
is the one who came
up with the title for the book you are presently holding in your dainty hands.
I think this is laudable, commendable, praiseworthy, and the rest of the synonyms in my on-line thesaurus
for, as you may also recall from my introduction to the original
Chicks in Chainmail
, it was my desire to
show the world that women can be strong and still be able to take a joke. (In fact, laughter when the
joke's on you is a pretty good gauge of just how secure in your strength you are. Ever notice what
happens to a whole lot of political humorists under certain military dictatorships? Ow.)
By giving us this title, Our Revered Publisher has demonstrated that Sensitive Nineties Guys can also
own up to a sense of humor without relinquishing one inch of the moral high ground. Has the shining
example of favorable public reaction to
Chicks in Chainmail
been instrumental in this epiphany? Have I,
in some miniscule manner, been responsible for facilitating this cognitive evolution? Might we not interpret
this consequence to signify that we have, in some fashion, rescued yet another man from the meshes of a
misleading-if-well-intentioned ideology? (Oooh, I just
love
my on-line thesaurus!) I like to think so. It
makes me quietly proud. In fact, there is one aspect above all others connected with this book and all
associated therewith for which I am deeply, truly, and warmly grateful:
This time,
I
get the Disclaimer. It's mine, do you hear? Mine! Minemineminemine . . .
mine
!
Enjoy.
Harry Turtledove studied Greek in college and has a doctorate in Byzantine history. He's been
selling fiction for over twenty years, won a Hugo, and has been a Nebula finalist. None of this has
stopped him from "applying" the aforementioned knowledge and experience to creating the story
that follows, for which I will be deeply grateful once I can stop laughing.
Myth Manners' Guide to
Greek Missology #1:
Andromeda and Persueus
by Harry Turtledove
Andromeda was feeling the strain. "Why
me
?" she demanded. She'd figured Zeus wanted something
from her when he invited her up to good old Mount Olympus for the weekend, but she'd thought it would
be something else. She'd been ready to play along, too—how did you go about saying no to the king of
the gods? You didn't, not unless you were looking for a role in a tragedy. But . . . this?
"Why you?" Zeus eyed her as if he'd had something else in mind, too. But then he looked over at Hera,
his wife, and got back to the business at hand. "Because you're the right man—uh, the right person—for
the job."
"Yeah, right," Andromeda said. "Don't you think you'd do better having a man go out and fight the
Gorgons? Isn't that what men are for?—fighting, I mean." She knew what else men were for, but she
didn't want to mention that to Zeus, not with Hera listening.
And Hera
was
listening. She said, "Men are useless—for fighting the Gorgons, I mean." She sounded as
if she meant a lot of other things, too. She was looking straight at Zeus.
No matter how she sounded, the king of the gods dipped his head in agreement. "My wife's right." By
the sour look on his face, that sentence didn't pass his lips every eternity. "The three Gorgons are
fearsome foes. Whenever a man spies Cindy, Claudia, or Tyra, be it only for an instant, he turns to
stone."
"
Part
of him turns to stone, anyway," Hera said acidly.
"And, so, you not being a man, you being a woman . . ." Zeus went on.
"Wait a minute. Wait just a linen-picking minute," Andromeda broke in. "You're not a man, either, or not
exactly a man. You're a god. Why don't you go and take care of these Gorgons with the funny names
your own self?"
Zeus coughed, then brightened. "Well, my dear, since you put it that way, maybe I ought to—"
"Not on your immortal life, Bubba," Hera said. "You lay a hand on those hussies and you're mythology."
"You see how it is," Zeus said to Andromeda. "My wife doesn't understand me at all."
Getting in the middle of an argument between god and goddess didn't strike Andromeda as Phi Beta
Kappa—or any other three letters of the Greek alphabet, either. Telling Zeus to find himself another
boy—or girl—wouldn't be the brightest thing since Phoebus Apollo, either. With a sigh, she said, "Okay.
You've got me." Zeus' eyes lit up. Hera planted an elbow in his divine ribs. Hastily, Andromeda went on,
"Now what do I have to do?"
"Here you are, my dear." From behind his gold-and-ivory throne, Zeus produced a sword belt. He was
about to buckle it on Andromeda—and probably let his fingers do a little extra walking while he was
taking care of that—when Hera let out a sudden sharp cough. Sulkily, the king of the gods handed
Andromeda the belt and let her put it on herself.
From behind her throne, Hera pulled out a brightly polished shield. "Here," she said. "You may find this
more useful against Cindy, Claudia, and Tyra than any blade. Phallic symbols, for some reason or other,
don't much frighten them."
"Hey, sometimes a sword is just a sword," Zeus protested.
"And sometimes it's
not
, Mr. Swan, Mr. Shower-of-Gold, Mr. Bull—plenty of bull for all the girls from
here to Nineveh, and I'm damned Tyred of it," Hera said. Zeus fumed. Hera turned back to Andromeda.
"If you look in the shield, you'll get some idea of what I mean."
"Is it safe?" Andromeda asked. As Zeus had, Hera dipped her head. Her divine husband was still
sulking, and didn't answer one way or the other. Andromeda cautiously looked. "I can see myself!" she
exclaimed—not a claim she was likely to be able to make after washing earthenware plates, no matter
the well from which the house slaves brought back the dishwashing liquid. A moment later, her hands
flew to her hair. "Eeuw! I'm not so sure I want to."
"It isn't you, dearie—it's the magic in the shield," Hera said, not unkindly. "If you really looked like that,
loverboy here wouldn't be interested in feeling your pain . . . or anything else he could get his hands on."
She gave Zeus a cold and speculative stare. "At least, I don't
think
he would. He's not always fussy."
A thunderbolt appeared in Zeus' right hand. He tossed it up and down, hefting it and eyeing Hera.
"Some of them—most of them, even—keep their mouths shut except when I want them to be open," he
said meaningfully.
Hera stood up to her full height, which was whatever she chose to make it. Andromeda didn't quite
come up to the goddess' dimpled knee. "Well, I'd better be going," she said hastily. If Zeus and Hera
started at it hammer and tongs, they might not even notice charbroiling a more or less innocent mortal
bystander by mistake.
* * *
Just finding Cindy, Claudia, and Tyra didn't prove easy. Minor gods and goddesses weren't allowed to
set up shop on Olympus; they lowered surreal-estate values. Andromeda had to go through almost all of
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Chicks 'n Chained Males
Table of Contents
Introduction
Myth Manners' Guide to
Greek Missology #1:
Andromeda and Persueus
Chain, Link, Fence
Fool's Gold
In for Pound
Death Becomes Him
Straight Arrow
Bad Heir Day
Why Do You Think They
Call It Middle Earth?
(or how I slew a dragon
and found myself a mate)
Leg Irons, the Bitch,
and the Wardrobe
Shiftless
May/December at the Mall
Yo, Baby!
Don't Break the Chain!
Cross CHILDREN Walk
. . . But Comedy is Hard
Baubles, Bangles and Beads
Hallah Iron-Thighs and the Five Unseemly Sorrows
Miss Underwood and
the Mermaid
Chicks 'n Chained Males
edited by Esther Friesner
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any
resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright (c) 1999 by Esther Friesner & Martin Harry Greenberg. All material is original to this volume
and is copyright (c) 1999 by the authors individually.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-671-57814-6
Cover art by Larry Elmore
First printing, May 1999
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Typeset by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH
Printed in the United States of America
ALSO IN THIS SERIES
Chicks in Chainmail,
Edited by Esther Friesner
Did You Say Chicks?!
,
edited by Esther Friesner
Mathemagics
by Margaret Ball
BAEN BOOKS by ESTHER FRIESNER
Child of the Eagle
The Sherwood Game
Winning Season
Introduction
I know what you're thinking and I want you to stop it
right this minute
.
Don't try denying it. We both know the first thing that popped into your mind when you read the title of
this book. I'd tell you that you really ought to be ashamed of yourself, but Who Am I To Judge? Besides,
for all I know, you've already got a career in politics and my mama didn't raise any kids who like to
pound sand down rat-holes.
Perhaps I should explain what this book is
really
about: It's about women rescuing men. There. Perfectly
innocent. Wholesome and admirable, even. When I first came up with the title/concept for the Chicks in
Chainmail series, one of my noble goals was to give the doughty Woman Warrior of fantasy fiction
something
different
to do, a nice change from stomping around the landscape with a permanent grouch
on, slaughtering any who dared oppose her (or worse, tried telling her to "Lighten up!"), and using her
days off to go to the local tavern, get drunk, and have some out-of-work sailor tattoo the phrase All Men
Are Worthless Scum Except For Breeding Purposes somewhere on her body guaranteed to upset her
mother. (Unless, of course, she'd learned the whole stomp, slaughter 'n' swill routine from Mom herself.)
Here I must admit that when I was told that lo, the title of this book was to be
Chicks and Chained
Males
, initially I reacted in much the same way as you did. (Yes, you did so too! 'Fess up and be done
with it.) But how much greater was my startlement when I learned whence came the aforementioned title!
As those of you already familiar with these modest volumes may recall, the title of the first Chicks in
Chainmail anthology (still available; buy many copies) caused a momentary access of trepidation on the
part of Our Revered Publisher. This was understandable since, as he himself stated in the Disclaimer on
the back of said book, he is a Sensitive, Nineties Kind of Guy.
Well, guess what? The Nineties are almost over. Maybe it's the approaching millenium, maybe it's
ascribable to the ripple effect of the dreaded Y2K Bug, but for whatever reason,
he
is the one who came
up with the title for the book you are presently holding in your dainty hands.
I think this is laudable, commendable, praiseworthy, and the rest of the synonyms in my on-line thesaurus
for, as you may also recall from my introduction to the original
Chicks in Chainmail
, it was my desire to
show the world that women can be strong and still be able to take a joke. (In fact, laughter when the
joke's on you is a pretty good gauge of just how secure in your strength you are. Ever notice what
happens to a whole lot of political humorists under certain military dictatorships? Ow.)
By giving us this title, Our Revered Publisher has demonstrated that Sensitive Nineties Guys can also
own up to a sense of humor without relinquishing one inch of the moral high ground. Has the shining
example of favorable public reaction to
Chicks in Chainmail
been instrumental in this epiphany? Have I,
in some miniscule manner, been responsible for facilitating this cognitive evolution? Might we not interpret
this consequence to signify that we have, in some fashion, rescued yet another man from the meshes of a
misleading-if-well-intentioned ideology? (Oooh, I just
love
my on-line thesaurus!) I like to think so. It
makes me quietly proud. In fact, there is one aspect above all others connected with this book and all
associated therewith for which I am deeply, truly, and warmly grateful:
This time,
I
get the Disclaimer. It's mine, do you hear? Mine! Minemineminemine . . .
mine
!
Enjoy.
Harry Turtledove studied Greek in college and has a doctorate in Byzantine history. He's been
selling fiction for over twenty years, won a Hugo, and has been a Nebula finalist. None of this has
stopped him from "applying" the aforementioned knowledge and experience to creating the story
that follows, for which I will be deeply grateful once I can stop laughing.
Myth Manners' Guide to
Greek Missology #1:
Andromeda and Persueus
by Harry Turtledove
Andromeda was feeling the strain. "Why
me
?" she demanded. She'd figured Zeus wanted something
from her when he invited her up to good old Mount Olympus for the weekend, but she'd thought it would
be something else. She'd been ready to play along, too—how did you go about saying no to the king of
the gods? You didn't, not unless you were looking for a role in a tragedy. But . . . this?
"Why you?" Zeus eyed her as if he'd had something else in mind, too. But then he looked over at Hera,
his wife, and got back to the business at hand. "Because you're the right man—uh, the right person—for
the job."
"Yeah, right," Andromeda said. "Don't you think you'd do better having a man go out and fight the
Gorgons? Isn't that what men are for?—fighting, I mean." She knew what else men were for, but she
didn't want to mention that to Zeus, not with Hera listening.
And Hera
was
listening. She said, "Men are useless—for fighting the Gorgons, I mean." She sounded as
if she meant a lot of other things, too. She was looking straight at Zeus.
No matter how she sounded, the king of the gods dipped his head in agreement. "My wife's right." By
the sour look on his face, that sentence didn't pass his lips every eternity. "The three Gorgons are
fearsome foes. Whenever a man spies Cindy, Claudia, or Tyra, be it only for an instant, he turns to
stone."
"
Part
of him turns to stone, anyway," Hera said acidly.
"And, so, you not being a man, you being a woman . . ." Zeus went on.
"Wait a minute. Wait just a linen-picking minute," Andromeda broke in. "You're not a man, either, or not
exactly a man. You're a god. Why don't you go and take care of these Gorgons with the funny names
your own self?"
Zeus coughed, then brightened. "Well, my dear, since you put it that way, maybe I ought to—"
"Not on your immortal life, Bubba," Hera said. "You lay a hand on those hussies and you're mythology."
"You see how it is," Zeus said to Andromeda. "My wife doesn't understand me at all."
Getting in the middle of an argument between god and goddess didn't strike Andromeda as Phi Beta
Kappa—or any other three letters of the Greek alphabet, either. Telling Zeus to find himself another
boy—or girl—wouldn't be the brightest thing since Phoebus Apollo, either. With a sigh, she said, "Okay.
You've got me." Zeus' eyes lit up. Hera planted an elbow in his divine ribs. Hastily, Andromeda went on,
"Now what do I have to do?"
"Here you are, my dear." From behind his gold-and-ivory throne, Zeus produced a sword belt. He was
about to buckle it on Andromeda—and probably let his fingers do a little extra walking while he was
taking care of that—when Hera let out a sudden sharp cough. Sulkily, the king of the gods handed
Andromeda the belt and let her put it on herself.
From behind her throne, Hera pulled out a brightly polished shield. "Here," she said. "You may find this
more useful against Cindy, Claudia, and Tyra than any blade. Phallic symbols, for some reason or other,
don't much frighten them."
"Hey, sometimes a sword is just a sword," Zeus protested.
"And sometimes it's
not
, Mr. Swan, Mr. Shower-of-Gold, Mr. Bull—plenty of bull for all the girls from
here to Nineveh, and I'm damned Tyred of it," Hera said. Zeus fumed. Hera turned back to Andromeda.
"If you look in the shield, you'll get some idea of what I mean."
"Is it safe?" Andromeda asked. As Zeus had, Hera dipped her head. Her divine husband was still
sulking, and didn't answer one way or the other. Andromeda cautiously looked. "I can see myself!" she
exclaimed—not a claim she was likely to be able to make after washing earthenware plates, no matter
the well from which the house slaves brought back the dishwashing liquid. A moment later, her hands
flew to her hair. "Eeuw! I'm not so sure I want to."
"It isn't you, dearie—it's the magic in the shield," Hera said, not unkindly. "If you really looked like that,
loverboy here wouldn't be interested in feeling your pain . . . or anything else he could get his hands on."
She gave Zeus a cold and speculative stare. "At least, I don't
think
he would. He's not always fussy."
A thunderbolt appeared in Zeus' right hand. He tossed it up and down, hefting it and eyeing Hera.
"Some of them—most of them, even—keep their mouths shut except when I want them to be open," he
said meaningfully.
Hera stood up to her full height, which was whatever she chose to make it. Andromeda didn't quite
come up to the goddess' dimpled knee. "Well, I'd better be going," she said hastily. If Zeus and Hera
started at it hammer and tongs, they might not even notice charbroiling a more or less innocent mortal
bystander by mistake.
* * *
Just finding Cindy, Claudia, and Tyra didn't prove easy. Minor gods and goddesses weren't allowed to
set up shop on Olympus; they lowered surreal-estate values. Andromeda had to go through almost all of
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]