Iterations and other stories (collection)

At one point, Cholo discovered the body of a meatscooper. From its warty snout to the tip of its tail, it measured more than four times as long as Cholo himself. When he approached the body, birds lifted into the air from it, and clouds of insects briefly dispersed. The stench of rotting meat was overpowering; the giant had been dead for a month or more. And yet there were hundreds of stoneweights worth of flesh still on the bones. If there had been any mid-sized scavengers left alive in the area, they would have long since picked the skeleton clean.

“So much death,” said Garsk, her voice full of sadness.

Cholo bobbed in agreement, contemplating his own mortality.

Months later, Cholo at last returned to Queen Kava’s chambers.

“And you found no great beasts at all?” said the Queen.

“None.”

“But there are lots of them left on the mainland,” said Kava. “While you were away, countless trips were made there to find wood and supplies to repair our cities.”

“ ‘Lots’ is a relative term, Your Highness. If the legends are to believed—not to mention the fossil record—great beasts of all types were much more plentiful long ago. Their numbers have been thinning for some time. Perhaps, on the eastern continent, the aftermath of the asteroid was the gizzard stone that burst the thunderbeast’s belly, finishing them off.”

“Even the great may fall,” said the Queen.

Cholo was quiet for a time, his own nictitating membranes dancing up and down. Finally, he spoke: “Queen Kava, before I left, you promised me another reward—whatever I wanted—for saving the Shizoo people.”

“I did, yes.”

“Well, I’ve decided what I’d lik…

The unveiling took place at noon six months later, in the large square outside the palace. The artist was Jozaza—the same Jozaza who had assured her own immortality through her stunning frieze on the palace wall depicting the Eggmother’s six hunts.

Only a small crowd gathered for the ceremony, but that didn’t bother Cholo. This wasn’t for today—it was for the ages. It was for immortality.

Queen Kava herself made a short speech—there were many reasons why Kava was popular, and her brevity was certainly one of them. Then Jozaza came forward. As she turned around to face the audience, her tail swept through a wide arc. She made a much longer speech; Cholo was growing restless, hopping from foot to foot.

Finally the moment came. Jozaza bobbed her torso at four of her assistants. They each took hold of part of the giant leather sheet, and, on the count of three, they pulled it aside, revealing the statue.

It was made of white marble veined with gold that glistened in the sunlight. The statue was almost five times life size, rivaling the biggest meatscooper’s length. The resemblance to Cholo was uncanny—it was him down to the very life; no one could mistake it for anyone else. Still, to assure that the statue fulfilled its purpose for generations to come, Cholo’s name was carved into its base, along with a description of what he’d done for the Shizoo people.

Cholo stared up at the giant sculpture; the white stone was almost painfully bright in the glare of the sun.

A statue in his honor—a statue bigger than any other anywhere in the world. His nictitating membranes danced up and down.

He would be remembered. Not just now, not just tomorrow. He would be remembered for all time. A million years from now—nay, a hundred million hence, the Shizoo people would still know his name, still recall his deeds.

He would be remembered forever.

The Abdication of Pope Mary III

Author’s Introduction

Scientists dream of having their work published in either Science (the leading American scientific journal) or Nature (the great British one).

Imagine my surprise, then, when I received a commission from Dr. Henry Gee, the Senior Editor of Nature, to write an original 800-word science-fiction story for that magazine (a commission that concluded, in delightful British fashion, by proffering “apologies for this intrusion”). Nature was publishing a series of short stories, beginning with a contribution from my favorite SF writer, Sir Arthur C. Clarke, in celebration of the dawn of the new millennium.

I was thrilled to contribute the following. I deliberately touched on the theme of my twelfth novel Calculating God, since that book would be hitting the bookstore shelves just as this story saw print in the summer of 2000.

* * *

Darth Vader’s booming voice, still the network’s trademark 600 years after its founding: “This is CNN.”

And then the news anchor: “Our top story: Pope Mary III abdicated this morning. Giancarlo DiMarco, our correspondent in Vatican City, has the details. Giancarlo?”