Identity Theft and other stories (collection)

Second, on the Saturday night of the convention, Carolyn and I had dinner with editor John Heifers, who works for Martin Harry Greenberg’s company Tekno-Books, and John’s wife Kerrie, plus editor Bill Fawcett and writer Jody-Lynn Nye. We had a terrific time, and a fabulous meal, at Harry Caray’s steakhouse, a Chicago institution. I was in a mellow mood, and when John asked me to contribute to an anthology of cross-genre SF stories—tales that combined science fiction and any other category—I found myself saying yes.

Of course, saying yes is the easy part. Coming up with the story is the hard part—normally. But not this time. I had already built a cross-genre world for my novella “Identity Theft,”and I had a motive for a murder already in mind. Id devised it originally for my novel Mindscan, but then cut the subplot that used it from the final version of the book. I married that salvaged idea to the world of Martian private eye Alex Lomax, and this story was born. I’m now back on my “no more shortfiction” kick, and so “Biding Time” may in fact be the last short story I will ever write.

But I’m pleased to be going out with a bang: just as I was putting the finishing touches on this book, I got word that renowned mystery writer Peter Robinson had selected “Biding Time” for The Penguin Book of Crime Stories (and for a bigger reprint fee than I got for writing the story in the first place!). And on top of that, as I was proofreading the galleys for this collection, “Biding Time” won the Aurora Award for best English-language short story of the year.

Like its prequel, “Identity Theft,” this story is set in New Klondike on Mars. And on the day after I sent this book manuscript off to the publisher, I headed off for the old Klondike, here on Earth, for a three-month-long writing retreat at the childhood home in Dawson City of famed Canadian nonfiction writer Pierre Berton. And although I have a specific novel to be working on there—the first volume of my upcoming WWW trilogy—I’m sure the surroundings will keep me thinking about the Great Martian Fossil Rush.

* * *

Ernie Gargalian was fat—“Gargantuan Gargalian,” some called him. Fortunately, like me, he lived on Mars; it was a lot easier to carry extra weight here. He must have massed a hundred and fifty kilos, but it felt like a third of what it would have on Earth.

Ironically, Gargalian was one of the few people on Mars wealthy enough to fly back to Earth as often as he wanted to, but he never did; I don’t think he planned to ever set foot on the mother planet again, even though it was where all his rich clients were. Gargalian was a dealer in Martian fossils: he brokered the transactions between those lucky prospectors who found good specimens and wealthy collectors back on Earth, taking the same oversize slice of the financial pie as he would have of a real one.