Esther M. Friesner - Chicks 05 - Turn The Other Chick

Turn The Other Chick

Edited by Esther M. 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.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-7434-8857-1

Cover art by Mitch Faust

First printing, November 2004

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Turn the other chick / edited by Esther M. Friesner.

p. cm.

"A Baen Books original"—T.p. verso.

ISBN 0-7434-8857-1

1. Women soldiers—Fiction. 2. Adventure stories, American. 3. Fantasy fiction,

American. 4. War stories, American. I. Friesner, Esther M.

PS648.W6T87 2004

813'.0876608358—dc22

2004015088

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

This book is respectfully dedicated to

Tanya and Grant Van Der Ploeg

Artists and Artisans

BAEN BOOKS by Esther M. Friesner

Editor, Chicks in Chainmail Series

Chicks in Chainmail

Did You Say Chicks?!

Chicks and Chained Males

The Chick is in the Mail

Turn the Other Chick

E.Godz(with Robert Asprin)

Introduction

Welcome to the fifthChicks in Chainmailanthology. Allow me to offer you a comfortable chair, a bowl of

popcorn, some corn chips and salsa, perhaps a few carrot sticks, and the healthful beverage of your

choice before placing this book in your lap. No, it's notTurn the Other Chick;not yet. It's a family album.

"Whose family?" you ask. (Or perhaps you ask "What's this bushwah about a 'healthful beverage'?

Gimme a chocolate ice cream soda, straight up, before I getnasty." In which case, shame on you.)

Maybe it's yours. It's definitely mine. The members thereof are a small selection of fictitious heroines who

aren't represented in this book but who have had a whole lot of impact on changing how people think

about women. They've put down the order pad, the bake sale brownies, and theWhy His Problems Are

Always Your Faultbook and picked up the sword instead. I'd say they deserve at least a passing nod, a

smile, and even a few words of thanks for all that they've done for us. (I wouldn't suggest a pat on the

back, though. These chicks have got ratherenthusiasticreflexes, they don't like surprises, and they're

probably toting something sharp.)

There's the woman herself, Xena, Warrior Princess. She's gone now, as is her faithful sidekick Gabrielle

who became a woman warrior in her own right before their story ended.

Ah, and Eowyn and Arwen from the movie versions ofThe Lord of the Rings! Not 100% true to the

book, but that's the nature of the cinematic critter. The purist in me might sulk, but my Inner Child is

brandishing an elven blade and whooping "Arwen finally gets to do something besides wait around for

Aragorn to show up!Yes!"

Check out Princes Leia, who proved to a doubting world that just because you send out a wideband

Damsel in Distress call you can still kick plenty of Dark Side butt when the opportunity presents itself.

And can this be little Buffy Summers? My, how she's grown. Yes, youcanfight evil and still hold down a

job in the exciting and high-paying fast food industry!

I apologize to those of my fellow J.K. Rowling fans who are asking why Hermione Granger isn't here.

She's certainly a fighter, just not the kind that uses a sword.

Oh, very well, let's include her. I suppose you could argue that not every woman warrior fights her

battles with a sword, and that a wand is close kin to Buffy's favorite vampire-slaying stake, Mr. Pointy. I

can't say no to Hermione. Really. Ican't. She slapped thisLet Me In Or Elsespell on me and I had no

choice.

Ironic, that. Freedom is all about having options and until fairly recently, being a woman was not. We

were forever hearing "But you're agirl, so you can't:

"1. vote.

"2. live on your own.

"3. manage money.

"4. be paid the same as a man who's doing the same job.

"5. defend your country or even yourself.

"6. compete in professional sports.

"7. save France."

Women warriors—all of us, not just the ones who look slick in video—stand ready to defend our

hard-won freedoms, our options, and to strive for further triumphs on the battlefield, big or small. Our

battle cry, a thunderous "Sez you!" is often underscored by a resounding Bronx cheer in the direction of

anyone who tells us "Youcan't'cause you're agirl."

Among these freedoms is the choice of keeping a sense of humor on your person at all times. On

occasion we don't hear "You can't do that 'cause you're agirl!" but the equally snarky "You can't do that

'cause you're aFeminist!"

Oh yes I can. (See above:Freedom. Also:Sez you.)

You'll notice that the women I've mentioned all hail from movies and television, though some originally

saw the light of day in books and some have come to have spin-off books written about them. Their

sisters who exist in print alone are even more numerous, but the Received Wisdom of the modern world

is that eye candy reaches more people (and thus has more societal impact) than brain food. I'm not going

to debate the truth or error of that, though I'd be the Amazing Ostrichwoman if I denied the

wide-reaching influence of TV and movies.

As long as the aforementioned influence continues to present us with powerful, independent women who

know how to fight in defense of themselves and others, I'm not about to complain. The more people who

getthatmessage, the merrier.

"That is all very well and good," I hear you say, "but that is also the past. Xena and Buffy have gone to

Syndication Heaven. Who's going to replace them? Or are we going to go back to the days when the

most important battle ever fought by women in fiction was Betty versus Veronica to settle that burning,

earth-shattering question,Who will Archie take to the prom?"

I wish I had an answer handy. There are plenty of people who would be all too happy to return women

to being objects of Rescue, Ornament, and Enforced Cheerful Domesticity. This would be bad enough, if

they limited these desires to women's roles in books, movies, and TV. It's a sad truth that many of our

fellow human beings can't feel tall unless they're standing on someone else's face. For some folks a mad

dash back into the Dark Ages ("When Underlings Knew Their Proper Place!") looks like progress

simply because it's motion at high speed.

Are we going to see more strong heroines appear on the big and little screens, or are we going to get a

pat on the head and the jovial reassurance that everything will be taken care of for us, go have a manicure

and let the nice media moguls handle it?

Um, how many female media moguls are there, by the way? And how many of them think of the rest of

us as more than just a Marketing Demographic?

It's tiring, swinging a sword all day, and it's hell on that darling manicure, but it beats having to fight the

same battles all over again because you assumed someone else would guard your freedom for you. If you

haven't got a sword handy, you can always wield your wallet.

You can also choose not to worry your pretty little head about it. (Note: This is still your choice, not a

constraint. For now.)

And while we're talking about choices, here's hoping all of us will forever be free to choose laughter.

Buffy would have wanted it that way.

* * *

You'll notice that the dedication of the book is for Tanya and Grant Van Der Ploeg. "Why?" you may

ask. (Unless you are still demanding to know when the heck you're going to get your chocolate ice cream

soda. Stop that.)

Go tohttp://www.dolls-n-daggers.comand you'll understand. Heh.

Mightier Than the Sword

John G. Hemry

Suzanne entered the temple hesitantly, her footsteps sounding small in the great structure whose marble

pillars reached toward a ceiling emblazoned with pictures dark and bright. Before her, torches flared

around the great statue of Inspiration, Goddess of Writers. To either side of the goddess, lesser idols in

Inspiration's pantheon were ranked behind their altars. There stood proud Contract next to faceless

Writer's Block, while Slush was almost invisible behind the pile of offerings on his altar. Not far away,

several petitioners were down on their knees before the grim visage of Deadline, praying for the extra

time only she could grant.

Suzanne rendered honors to Inspiration, then turned toward the cubicles lining the sides of the temple

and approached the tiny cells where the Editors worked. One glanced up as Suzanne reached her desk.

"Do you have an offering?"

"Yes." Suzanne knelt and proffered her manuscript, carefully settling it into the Editor's offering tray.

"May I beg an audience?"

"An audience?" The Editor frowned, then shrugged. "You may speak."

"Oh, Editor, why have my previous offerings been rejected?"

"I'm afraid the Mysteries of Editing are not for the uninitiated."

"But, please, grant me at least a hint!"

The Editor sighed heavily. "Very well. You can scarcely go wrong if you follow your Muse."

"My Muse?"

"Yes. You do have a Muse, don't you?"

"Ummm." Suzanne looked around. "Would I know if I did?"

"Most assuredly. I'm afraid if you lack a Muse—"

The Editor was interrupted by a sweet voice coming from above and just to the right of Suzanne. "She

lacks one no longer."

"You?" The Editor held up her hands, palms out. "Oh, no. Not Calliope."

"What?" Suzanne looked toward the voice and saw floating there the almost transparent figure of a

woman perhaps two feet high. "A Muse? I have a Muse?"

"Wait!" the Editor cautioned. "That's Calliope!"

"Is that bad?"

Calliope answered. "The Editor cannot say, can you? For Editors cannot reject a writer's Muse. You

see, dear writer, I have already revealed one of the Mysteries of Editing to you."

The Editor glared at Calliope. "You might mention to her that Editors can't reject the Muse but we can

always reject the manuscripts that Muse helps create!"

"Oh, posh." The dimunitive figure began drifting toward the exit from the temple. "Come along, my

writer."

Suzanne followed hastily, catching up just as the Muse floated out of the temple. In daylight, her figure

remained faint but clearly visible. "I didn't know Muses could be seen."

"Only by our writers, and Editors of course. Now, let's have a look at your latest offering." Somehow,

Calliope had retrieved Suzanne's manuscript from the offering tray. She quickly flipped through it, then

frowned down at Suzanne. "Oh, dear."

"I was trying to—"

"My dear . . . what's your name?"

"Suzanne. Suzanne of—"

"Suzanne's fine." Calliope drifted down to eye level with Suzanne. "If you have to explain to the reader

what you're trying to do, you haven't done it. That's lesson one. Lesson two is that it really helps to write

something interesting."

Suzanne rubbed her forehead. "Well, I try to write about what I know, you see."

"Haven't you ever done anything interesting?" Calliope paused in anticipation of Suzanne's answer, then

hung her head theatrically. "You have to seek Inspiration in your experiences."

"But, if I imagine—"

"Who's the Muse here?"

"You are." Suzanne bit her lip and looked around. "I don't see anything interesting."

"You have to seek it! Come along." Calliope floated off down the street, passing through obstacles

without hindrance, while Suzanne struggled through the crowd to catch up. When she finally did, Suzanne

saw Calliope admiring an armorer's shop display. "This is just the place."

Suzanne peered at the armor and weapons. "For what?"

"If you're going to go adventuring, you need to be outfitted properly." Calliope's shape drifted inside the

shop.

"Adventuring? What? Wait!" Suzanne rushed through the door, finding herself the object of the attention

of several rough-looking men. "Excuse me." She slid sideways until she reached some shelves near

Calliope. "What are you looking at?"

"Armor. Look at this one!" Calliope pointed to a gleaming mail shirt with mesh so fine it flowed like

water.

Suzanne checked the price and yelped, drawing more glances from the men in the store. "I can't afford

that."

"Whatcanyou afford?"

Suzanne scanned the shelves. "That." She lifted a stout leather shirt, stained and scored with damage, a

sheet of scarred metal tacked to the upper chest. "I wonder why it's so cheap." In the center of the

largest stain, her fingers found a thin hole about two inches in height in the armor. "Oh."

"It'll do," Calliope announced. "A writer's real armor is her imagination."

"Does that stop swords?"

"Now that you mention it, you also need a sword."

"Wait!" Suzanne once more followed Calliope, to where the Muse hovered near a barrel of rusty

weapons. "These don't look all that good."

"The price is right. Try that one with the nicks in the guard."

Suzanne hefted the blade doubtfully, then smiled as it seemed to fit herself to her hand. "It is nice! I think

its name is Guardian."

"Guardian? Good. You'll need one of those."

"I thought you—"

"I'm a Muse, not a Guardian." Calliope waited with every sign of impatience while Suzanne paid for her

purchases, then drifted back out onto the street as Suzanne awkwardly carried her new armament in the

Muse's wake. "Now, you've a pen?"

"I always—"

"Good. Write something on your armor."

Suzanne frowned down at the battered leather and metal. "It's not the best writing surface."

"You must armor yourself with your imagination! Write something upon your armor that will strike fear

into the heart of evil!"

Suzanne paused, her pen poised above the leather. "Isn't my Muse supposed to help me write?"

"I'm an agent of Inspiration, not a secretary."

"But what should I write?"

"Try a spell to protect you and smite your foes."

"I don't know any spells."

"Make. One. Up!"

"All right." Suzanne's pen paused again. "Should it be in a foreign language?"

"That's usually a good idea. Do you know any foreign languages?"

"No. Can I make up a foreign language?"

Calliope applauded. "Wonderful. Of course you can. That's thinking like a writer."

Suzanne patiently inscribed a series of nonsensical but impressive looking words upon her armor just

beneath the metal plate. "Now what?"

"Put iton."

"In public?" Calliope's glare answered Suzanne's question, so she hastily struggled into the stiff leather.

"Oh, it smells."

"That's called atmosphere. Comfortable?"

"No."

"Good. Let's go."

"Go where?"

Calliope glanced back as she began floating away again. "In search of Inspiration and adventure! You

won't find that in a safe little town. To the countryside!"

"But there's bandits out there."

"Excellent! Follow me."

Suzanne tried to stand her ground, but found her feet moving briskly of their own accord. By the time

they reached the gate to the city, she was sweating in the heavy leather and wondering if she should've

listened to the Editor.

The guards at the gate frowned as Suzanne approached. "We're gettin' ready to shut the gate for the

night. Come back in the mornin'," their leader announced.

Suzanne, momentarily managing to stop her feet with the greatest of effort, watched Calliope drift

unheeding through the gate. "I have to leave now."

"Why? Got a fella out there?" The guards broke into laughter.

"No! I'm a writer and I have to follow my Muse!"

A guard with a brass ornament on his shoulder which apparently identified him as the leader gave

Suzanne a skeptical look. "A writer? You look more like one of them barbarian sword maidens. Ain't

that right, guys?" His fellow guards chorused in agreement. "How come a writer's wearing armor?"

"I . . . I'm going to a writer's workshop. They're going to criticize my writing."

The head guard eyed Suzanne suspiciously. "Not a barbarian? What's that on your armor, then? It looks

like barbarian writin'."

Suzanne looked down at her armor. "It's a, uh, spell. I wrote it."

The guards exchanged glances. One of them came close, leaning to peer into Suzanne's face. "She ain't

got on much makeup." He looked downward. "And she's wearing sensible shoes. Maybe sheisa writer."

"I dunno." The head guard scratched his scalp with a spade-like fingernail. "Barbarian sword maidens

wear sensible shoes, don't they?"

"Sometimes. But they always fight half-nekked. This one's got too much clothes on."

"That's true. There's not even a hint of cleavage visible on her. Hey, I know. Check 'er hands."

"Okay." The closest guard grabbed Suzanne's hands and turned them palms up. "She's got ink on 'em."

"Hmmm. Now ask her to spell somethin' hard. Like, uh, arachnid."

The guards looked from their leader to Suzanne. "Go ahead," one urged. "If you're a writer, spell that."

"Uh . . . a, r, a, c, uh, h, i, no!, n, i, d."

The guards looked to their leader. "Is that right?"

"I dunno. Sounds right. Okay, you can pass. Hey, can I be in your next book? Somethin', you know,

heroic? No comic relief, mind you!"

The closest guard leaned even closer. "I got this great idea for a story. I can tell it to you, and you could

write it up and split the money with me. Whattaya say?"

Suzanne smiled with what she hoped appeared to be sincerity. "What a wonderful deal. Let's talk about

it later." Her feet were already moving again, pulling her along the path Calliope had taken.

Calliope slowed enough for Suzanne to catch up. Her form had taken on a golden glow as the sun began

to set. "You've passed your first obstacle. Isn't it glorious?"

Suzanne glared at Calliope from under lowered brows. "I don't feel glorious. I certainly don't smell

glorious in this armor. Did you hear those offers I got from those guards?"

"You have to expect to be propositioned when you're a writer."

"I'm notthatkind of writer!"

Calliope sighed. "Ah, you're the artistic type. There's nothing wrong with selling your talents occasionally,

you know."

"I really don't like the way you're describing this. Where are we going?" The sun kept sinking toward the

horizon, and Calliope kept drifting down the road.

"To an adventure."

"It's getting dark."

"Mysterious night! What wonders and terrors does it hide?"

"My feet hurt."

Calliope gave Suzanne a disappointed look. "I thought you were an artist."

"I work best after a good night's sleep. And something to eat."

"You didn't bring anything?"

Suzanne opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Calliope peered ahead and smiled. "Here comes a rider! What adventurous prospects!"

"A rider?" Suzanne glanced around frantically. "I have to hide."

"Nonsense. You have a sword."

"A sword?" Suzanne glanced down at Guardian, swinging forgotten at her side.

"And your armor," Calliope added. "I'd try to avoid getting hit, nonetheless."

"Thank you." Suzanne drew Guardian and stood in what she hoped was a confident posture as the rider

drew closer. It soon became apparent that the rider was male and, from his expression, in a foul mood.

Instead of veering his horse slightly to the side to avoid Suzanne, he aimed a kick at her. "Get out of the

way!" As she dodged the kick, he took another look. "Hey. A babe. Out here all alone?"

Suzanne gritted her teeth. "And planning to stay that way."

The man grinned unpleasantly. "What's with the armor, babe? It just gets in the way."

Suzanne's eyes narrowed. "It helps protect me from jerks."

"Ah, that's no way to be. I bet you're hungry, huh?"

"Not that hungry." Suzanne tried to ignore the growling in her stomach, but it was obvious the rider heard

it.

He rummaged in his pack and surfaced with an oblong object. "What say we make a trade? I give you

this, and you give me something in return."

"Is that chocolate?" Suzanne stared at the bar. "Trade? What do you want?"

The grin grew into a leer. "Like I said, that armor gets in the way. Take it off."

"That's all? Take off my armor?"

"Then take off everything else. You'll get the chocolate when I'm done."

Suzanne's temper boiled over. "I'm tired and hungry and out in the middle of nowhere and you dare treat

me like some kind of slut who'd sell herself for a single bar of chocolate?"

The rider frowned. "I've got two bars if that's—"

Esther M. Friesner - Chicks 05 - Turn The Other Chick

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