Chicks - Chicks 'N Chained Males Part 1

Chicks 'n Chained Males.

Esther Friesner

Introduction

I know what you're thinking and I want you to stop itright this minute .

Don't try denying it. We both know the first thing that popped into your mind when you read the t.i.tle 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 isreally about: It's about women rescuing men. There. Perfectly innocent. Wholesome and admirable, even. When I first came up with the t.i.tle/concept for the Chicks in Chainmail series, one of my n.o.ble goals was to give the doughty Woman Warrior of fantasy fiction somethingdifferent 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 Sc.u.m 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 t.i.tle of this book was to beChicks 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 t.i.tle!

As those of you already familiar with these modest volumes may recall, the t.i.tle 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 t.i.tle 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 originalChicks 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 dictators.h.i.+ps? Ow.) By giving us this t.i.tle, Our Revered Publisher has demonstrated that Sensitive Nineties Guys can also own up to a sense of humor without relinquis.h.i.+ng one inch of the moral high ground. Has the s.h.i.+ning example of favorable public reaction toChicks 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 fas.h.i.+on, rescued yet another man from the meshes of a misleading-if-well-intentioned ideology? (Oooh, I justlove 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 a.s.sociated 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. "Whyme ?" 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 G.o.ds? 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 Herawas 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 G.o.ds dipped his head in agreement. "My wife's right." By the sour look on his face, that sentence didn't pa.s.s 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."

"Partof 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 G.o.d. Why don't you go and take care of these Gorgons with the funny namesyour 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 G.o.d and G.o.ddess 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 G.o.ds handed Andromeda the belt and let her put it on herself.

From behind her throne, Hera pulled out a brightly polished s.h.i.+eld. "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'snot , Mr. Swan, Mr. Shower-of-Gold, Mr. Bull-plenty of bull for all the girls from here to Nineveh, and I'm d.a.m.ned Tyred of it," Hera said. Zeus fumed. Hera turned back to Andromeda.

"If you look in the s.h.i.+eld, 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 was.h.i.+ng earthenware plates, no matter the well from which the house slaves brought back the dishwas.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+eld," 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'tthink 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 G.o.ddess' 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 G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses weren't allowed to set up shop on Olympus; they lowered surreal-estate values. Andromeda had to go through almost all ofMidas' Golden Pages before getting so much as a clue about where she ought to be looking.

Even then, she was puzzled. "Why on earth-or off it, for that matter-would they hang around with a no-account Roman G.o.ddess?" she asked.

"What, you think I hear everything?" Midas' long, hairy, donkeyish ears twitched. "And why should I give a Phryg if I do hear things?" His ears twitched again, this time, Andromeda judged, in contempt.

"You know about the Greek G.o.ddess of victory, don't you?"

"Oh, everybody knows abouther ." Andromeda sounded scornful, too. Since the Greeks had pretty much stopped winning victories, the G.o.ddess formerly in charge of them had gone into the running-shoe business, presumably to mitigate the agony of defeat on de feet. Nike had done a g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger business, too, till wing-footed Hermes. .h.i.t her with a copyright-infringement suit that showed every sign of being as eternal as the G.o.ds.

"So there you are, then," Midas said. "I don't know what Victoria's secret is, and I don't give a darn."

"That's my shortstop," Andromeda said absently, and let out a long, heartfelt sigh. "I'll just have to go and find out for myself, won't I?"

Thinking of Hermes and his winged sandals gave her an idea. Back to the high-rent district of Mount Olympus she went. The G.o.d raised his eyebrows. He had a winged cap, too, one that fluttered off his head in surprise. "You wantmy shoes?" he said.

"I can't very well walk across the Adriatic," Andromeda said.

"No, that's a different myth altogether," Hermes agreed.

"And then up to Rome, to see if the G.o.ds are in," Andromeda went on.

"They won't be, not when the mercury rises," Hermes said, "They'll be out in the country, or else at the beach. Pompeii is very pretty this time of year."

"Such alovely view of the volcano," Andromeda murmured. She cast Hermes a melting look. "May I please borrow your sandals?"

"Oh, all right," he said crossly. "The story would bog down if I told you no at this point."

"You'd better not be reading ahead," Andromeda warned him. Hermes just snickered. G.o.ds had more powers than mortals, and that was all there was to it. When Andromeda put on the winged sandals and hopped into the air, she stayed up. "Gotta be the shoes," she said.

"Oh, it is," Hermes a.s.sured her. "Have fun in Italy."

As she started to fly away, Andromeda called back, "Do you know what Victoria's secret is?"

The G.o.d dipped his head to show he did. "Good camera angles," he replied.

Good camera angles. A quiet hostel. A nice view of the beach. And, dammit, a lovely view of thevolcano, too. Vesuviuswas picturesque. And so were Cindy, Claudia, and Tyra, dressed in lacy, colorful, overpriced wisps of not very much. As soon as Andromeda set eyes on them, she started hoping the mountain would blow up and bury those three in lava. Molten lava. Red-hot molten lava. The rest of Pompeii? So what? Herculaneum? So what? Naples, up the coast? Who needed it, really?

But Vesuvius stayed quiet. Of course it did. Hephaestus or Vulcan or whatever name he checked into motels with locally was probably up at the top of the spectacular cone, peering down, leering down, at some other spectacular cones. "Men," Andromeda muttered. No wonder they'd given her this job. And they wouldn't thank her for it once she did it, either.

As Andromeda flew down toward the Gorgons with the spectacularly un-h.e.l.lenic names, Victoria flew up to meet her, saying, "Whoever you are, go away. We're just about to shoot."

Shooting struck Andromeda as altogether too good for them. "Some victory you're the G.o.ddess of," she sneered, "unless you mean the one inLysistrata ."

"You're just jealous because you can't cut the liquamen, sweetheart," Victoria retorted.

Andromeda smiled a hemlock-filled smile. "Doesn't matter whether I am or not," she answered. "I'm on a.s.signment from Zeus and Hera, so you can go take a flying leap at Selene."

"Uppity mortal! You can't talk to me like that." Victoria drew back a suddenly very brawny right arm for a haymaker that would have knocked the feathers right off of Hermes' sandals.

"Oh, yes, I can," Andromeda said, and held up the s.h.i.+eld Hera had given her.

She didn't know whether it could have done a decent job of stopping the G.o.ddess' fist. That didn't matter. Victoria took one brief look at her reflection and cried, "Vae! Malae comae! Vae!" She fled so fast, she might have gone into business with her Greek cousin Nike.

A grim smile on her face, Andromeda descended on Cindy, Claudia, and Tyra. They were lined up on the beach like three tenpins-except not so heavy in the bottom, Andromeda thought resentfully. Had they been lined up any better, she'd have bet she could've looked into the left ear of the one on the left and seen out the right ear of the one on the right.

They turned on her in unison when she alighted on the sand. "Ooh, I like those sandals," one of them crooned fiercely. "Gucci? Louis Vuitton?"

"No, Hermes'," Andromeda answered. She fought panic as they advanced on her, swaying with menace-or something.

"I wonder what she's doing here," one of the Gorgons said. She waved at the gorgeous scenery, of which she and her comrades were the most gorgeous parts. "I mean, she's so plain."

"Mousy," agreed another.

"Nondescript. Utterly nondescript," said the third, proving she did have room in her head for a three-syllable word: two of them, even.

And the words flayed like fire. Cindy, Claudia, and Tyra weren't even contemptuous. It was as if Andromeda didn't rate contempt. That was their power; just by existing, they made everyone aroundthem feel inadequate.Zeus wanted me , Andromeda thought, trying to stay strong. But what did that prove? Zeus wanted anything that moved, and, if it didn't move, he'd give it an experimental shake.

Andromeda felt like curling up on the beach and dying right there. If she put the s.h.i.+eld up over her, maybe it would keep her from hearing any more of the Gorgons' cruel words. The s.h.i.+eld . . . !

With a fierce cry of her own, Andromeda held it up to them. Instead of continuing their sinuous advance, they fell back with cries of horror. Peering down over the edge of the s.h.i.+eld, Andromeda got a quick glimpse of their reflections. The s.h.i.+eld had given her and Victoria bad hair. It was far more pitiless to Cindy, Claudia, and Tyra, perhaps because they had further to fall from the heights ofhaute couture .

Whatever the reason, the three Gorgons' hair might as well have turned to snakes once the s.h.i.+eld had its way with them.

"Plain," Andromeda murmured. "Mousy. Nondescript. Utterly nondescript."

How the Gorgons howled! They fell to their knees in the sand and bowed their heads, trying to drive out those images of imperfection.

Still holding the s.h.i.+eld on high, Andromeda drew her sword. She could have taken their heads at a stroke, but something stayed her hand. It wasn't quite mercy: more the reflection that they'd probably already given a good deal of head to get where they were.

Roughly, she said, "Stay away from Olympus from now on, if you know what's good for you. You ever come near there again, worse'll be waiting for you." She didn't know if that was true, but it would be if Hera could make it so.

"But where shall we go?" one of them asked in a small, broken voice. "What shall we do?"

"TrySports Ill.u.s.trated ," Andromeda suggested, "though G.o.ds only know what sport you'd be ill.u.s.trating."

"Been there," one said. Andromeda had no idea which was which, and didn't care to find out. The other two chorused, "Done that."

"Find something else, then," Andromeda said impatiently. "I don't care what, as long as it's not in Zeus'

back yard."And mine , she thought. Thinking that, she started to turn the terrible s.h.i.+eld on them again and added, "Or else."

Cindy, Claudia, and Tyra cringed. If they weren't convinced now, they never would be, Andromeda judged. She jumped into the air and flew off. That way, she didn't have to look at them any more, didn't have to be reminded that they didn't really look the way Hera's s.h.i.+eld made them seem to. Plain. Mousy.

Nondescript. Utterly nondescript. Her hand went to the hilt of the sword.Maybe I should have done a little slaughtering after all . But she kept flying.

She took the scenic route home-after all, when would she be able to talk Hermes out of his sandals again? She saw Scylla and Charybdis, there by the toe of the Italian boot, and they were as horrible as advertised. She flew over the Pyramids of Egypt. Next door, the Sphinx tried his riddle on her. "Oh, everybody knowsthat one," Andromeda said, and listened to him gnash his stone teeth.

She admired the lighthouse at Alexandria. It would be very impressive when they got around to buildingit-and when there was an Alexandria. Then she started north across the wine-dark sea toward Greece.

When she got to the coast near Argos, she saw a naked man chained to the rocks just above the waves.