doesn’t see me where I stand.
I crawl to the bottom of the narrow path I have found and look up it, then look back. I inhale sharply again as a large hand lifts up over the ledge. I move up the narrow trail, holding on the cliff face as best I can.
“Why run away?” the Murderer asks from behind me. “You won’t live to return to our village anyway.” I come to a bend in the trail and look back. The Murderer is standing on the ledge. I shiver.
“Give me what you have,” the Murderer calls out.
“Why do you think I have something?” I start up the next part of the trail, the cliff now on my right.
“Because you’re still alive!”
I hear the Murderer’s feet as it starts up the trail. It is moving faster than I am. I turn one eye around to watch behind me as I move into the cleft, and I see the Murderer moving around the first in the trail. Too close. Above me, I see the trail curve into a small cleft. A sharp wind is whistling out of it.
“Do you really want it?” I ask.
“Give it to me! Maybe I’ll let you live.” The Murderer stops below me, holding out one of its hands.
I move the fore part of my body out of the cleft, holding one of the spore packets in right hand. With my left, I worry open the twist that holds the packet shut.
“Take it!” I hold the packet up and empty it onto the wind.
“No!” The Murderer scrabbles up the trail, and reaches out for me. I draw back into the cleft, and watch as the Murderer misses its step on the narrow trail. The Murderer screams once, and I hear a thud, followed by a rattle. I move forward and look over the edge, holding tight to another spur of rock, and watch the small avalanche the Murderer’s body starts as it bounces its way to the foot of the cliff.
The chill of the autumn wind ruffles the hair on my back as I make my way into Green Hollow. I hope some of the others from my group have survived their Testing. I do not want to be the only one of my age group to return. I carry the remaining packets of fungus spores in my sack, with what is left of my travel rations. I have returned, in time.
I reach the village common and look around. One of the people standing near the well swivels his eye turrets, then dashes off. He will bring the elders to complete the formalities of my Test.
The elders come and question me according to the law, then they take away my bit of fungus. When they return, they hold their hands out to me, accepting me as a Real Person and giving me back my gender. I stand to face them. Once I choose a life task and a name, I can consider selecting a mate and raising my own family.
“I wish to be a lawgiver,” I tell them. I do not say that I want to change some of the harsh laws, like the ones that destroy so many of our young. I will have to be very careful about how I go about that. “For a name, I will wear my distinctive mark.” I show them the leg. “Call em will take the name of Silverleg.”
THE LOAVES AND THE FISHES
by John DeChancie
I STOPPED AT the Long John Silver’s right next to the Long Island Expressway ramp and bought myself lunch—a three-piece “Fish ‘n’ More” with fries and slaw and extra hush puppies on the side. I liked the hush puppies. But I really liked the fish. I liked fish, any kind of fish. Hence, my moniker, which had stuck with me since high school in Bensonhurst.
I came out of the restaurant and headed toward the parked Lincoln. It was one of those perfect fall days on Long Island when you can smell the sea and the wind comes in from the Atlantic and stirs the tall grass. The sun was bright and the sky was mostly clear except for a few clouds that seemed to hurry across the blue, as if called to some pressing business beyond the horizon.
I was so intent on the prospect of eating my lunch— the tantalizing smell of deep-fried cod filled my nostrils, inducing a kind of trance—that I didn’t notice someone sitting in the back of the Town Car until I’d slid into the front seat.
I jumped a little; but when I saw a familiar face in the rearview mirror, I grinned.
“Hello, Jerry.”
“Hello, Fish.”
My grin faded. “Something’s up.”
Jerry Juliano, in black turtleneck and brown leather jacket, shrugged his narrow shoulders. He was blond and thin and had a fierce look. He always looked mad at someone. Anyone. Everyone. Legs crossed, he held a revolver almost languidly across his chest. “You screwed up big time, Charlie Fish.”
“Yeah?” I said innocently. “I was just going to the meet with DiNardo.”
“Yeah, with a wire, I’ll bet,” Jerry added.
“Huh?” I said.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Juliano told me. He heaved a big sigh. “Christ, I hate it when I know the guy.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“But you don’t leave us any choice. I don’t know what got into you. What the hell did get into you, anyway?”
I played dumb, always a good policy. I shrugged and said, “Jeez, I dunno.”
“Okay, I can understand the midlife crisis thing. Your ma dies. Your brother goes to jail. Your wife starts fooling around. Then she bails on you. I can understand all that.”
“Yeah,” I said. I couldn’t believe this. This was too much. I started to laugh. The irony.
Jerry was appalled. “What, you think this is funny? You think I’m kidding? This is just a warning, or what?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I know it ain’t no warning.”
“We gave you warning. Christ, how many times? You don’t steal from us. That’s one thing you don’t do. We don’t care that you run a perfectly good dry-wall business into the ground. We gave you the best contracts, we cut a deal with the union. City contracts, county contracts. All the business you want. And then you don’t pay the withholding, you skim that off, you shortchange on all the paperwork—and we do a surprise audit and what? What do we find? Company’s practically bankrupt. And then what? Do we take you out? Do we whack you? No. We give you a second chance. And then a third chance. And Christ, if everyone don’t start talking about giving you a fourth. Finally, we gotta throw in the towel. Right?”
“Yeah,” I said, shrugging almost apologetically. “Yeah.”
“I even put in a good word for you,” Jerry said. “But I mean how many times do you go to bat for a guy and he goes on screwing you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And then we get the word. You’re talking to the feds.”
“Hey,” I said. “When the feds talk to you, you gotta talk back.”
“Yeah? They talked to me, too. I told ‘em to take a cab.”
“That’s you. I strung ‘em along, is all.”
“Christ.” Juliano let out another sigh. “Don’t you think we have people with the feds? People who feed us info? Did you think you could get away with it?”
“With what?”
“Forget it. Okay, get driving. Take the Expressway east.”
“Okay.”
I started laughing again. It was just too much.
Jerry was annoyed. “What the hell is with you?”
I turned the key and the big car’s motor hummed to life.
“I think you’re nuts,” Jerry said. “I always thought you were a flake.”
I shot a grin into the rearview mirror.
“Cut me a break,” was all Jerry Juliano had to say.
I pulled out of Long John Silver’s, drove slowly to the Expressway ramp, and pulled onto it. As I did, I sent a furtive right hand to rummage in the cardboard box bearing the fried fish lunch.
