Esther M. Friesner - Chicks 02 - Did You Say Chicks

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DID YOU SAY CHICKS

Edited By

Esther Friesner

Contents

Introduction, Esther Friesner

No Pain, No Gain, Elizabeth Moon

Slue-Foot Sue and the Witch in the Woods, Laura Frankos

A Young Swordswoman's Garden PrimerSarah Zettel

The Old Fire, Jody Lynn Nye

Like No Business I Know, Mark Bourne

A Bone to Pick, Marina Frants & Keith R.A. DeCandido

The Attack of the Avenging Virgins, Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

Oh, Sweet Goodnight!!Christina Briley & Walter Vance Awsten

A Bitch in Time, Doranna Durgin

Don't You Want to Be Beautiful? Laura Anne Gilman

A Night with the Girls, Barbara Hambly

A Quiet Knight's Reading, Steven Piziks

Armor Propre, Jan Stirling & S.M. Stirling

A Big Hand for the Little Lady, Esther M. Friesner

Blade Runner, K.D. Wentworth

Keeping Up Appearances, Lawrence Watt-Evans

La Difference, Harry Turtledove

Tales from the Siushpile, Margaret Ball

Epilogue: Yes, We Did Say Chicks! Adam-Troy Castro

About the Authors

GIRRRL FIGHT!

Milhauser reopened the paperback and resumed reading aloud. We were well into the first dumb fight

scene, where Gort skewers a couple of city guards through the heart, when a glimmering of an idea came

to me.

"Mr. Milhauser, that's not such a great technique. You know, the heart is an awfully small target. Also

you've got to get through the rib cage. Me, I prefer to take them in the abdomen. It's a nice big soft

target. Or if your employer wants them brought back alive, go after the legs and try to cripple them."

That point was engraved on my memory; I'd once had a very embarrassing discussion with Duke Zolkir

after a call. Trans-Forwarded from the P.T.A. had distracted me in the middle of a swordfight so that I

forgot to keep any of the thieves I was after alive long enough to stand trial.

Milhauser gave me a cold, reptilian glance. "Gort," he said, "is the world's greatest swordsman. For him

to pierce an opponent through the heart is child's play."

"Oh, yeah? You just don't know how hard it is. I bet you've never tried."

"I've done my research!" he snapped.

"And I've livedmine. Also, it's not that easy to pierce chain mail."

"Lady, will youstop interrupting'? I've studied the matter in great detail, and…"

"Let's have a demonstration, then." I stood up, wriggling slightly so as to get maximum jingle from my

chain-mail corselet and divided skirt. "I'm willing to let you try and skewer me. Or are you scared to fight

a girrrl?" I added with a teasing pout and another strategic wriggle.

—from "Tales from the Slushpile" by Margaret Ball

ALSO IN THIS SERIES

Chicks in Chainmail,

edited by Esther Friesner

Did You Say Chicks?!,

edited by Esther Friesner

Chicks 'n Chained Males,

edited by Esther Friesner

The Chick is in the Mail,

edited by Esther Friesner

Mathemagicsby Margaret Ball

Also by Esther Friesner

Wishing Season

Did You Say Chicks?!

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. Box1403

Riverdale,NY10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-671-87867-0

Cover art by Larry Elmore

First printing, February 1998

Second printing, August 2001

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of theAmericas

New York,NY10020

Production by Windhaven Press,Auburn,NH

Printed in theUnited States of America

Dedication

Of course by rights this work must be dedicated to:

Melanie Marttila

without whose efforts the book you now hold in your hands would be calledThe Sequel Formerly

Known As Princeor some such.

However, it has come to this humble editor, as it must to all humble editors (the three of us get together

for drinks sometimes down at Binky's Oyster Bar) that there is room in a really spiffy Dedication for

more than one round of thanks and acknowledgment. Therefore, in this late hour of soft purple twilight

and not enough gin, I would like to append the following tribute to a woman who is perhaps this work's

chief Muse and guiding light, whether she likes it or not.

Also, Binky promised the Humble Editors' Club a round of free drinks if this Dedication caused the lady

in question to send him an autographed photo.

Ahem:

Hail to thee, O Lucy Lawless,

Xenaactress great and flawless!

Beacon by whom we all steer

In this book. Wish you were here.

Thou who art a constant charmer,

Thou who wearest way cool armor,

Thou who provest, day by day,

Women have a lot to say

Whether sword or child in hand,

Spread our message through the land!

Say to every mother's son:

"We are strong, but we're still fun.

"Do not fear us, do not hate us,

"Never,neverunderrate us.

"We are Women, aye, you betcha.

"Want to rile us? We won't letcha.

"Whether what we choose to don

"FromFrederick'scomes or Pentagon,

What we wear don't signify

"Diddlysquat, for by and by

"You will learn (as most men do)

"We're your equals. Whoop-de-doo."

So once more, thee do we hail,

Lucy Lawless, and the Grail

Of full-fledged equality

Which we hope we'll live to see.

Thou who art, in syndication,

Hope of all the female nation,

Thou whom sponsors court and coddle,

Thou, our daughters' chief role model,

Thou who play'st no girlie games

But kickest butt and takest names,

Please accept this book, with thanks

From thy sisters in the ranks.

"Bad doggerel. No biscuit!"

—Dr. Samuel Johnson (attrib.)

Did You Say "Chicks"?!

Introduction

^»

Back for more, eh?

I'm assuming you're a repeat offender, having already purchased and read numerous copies ofChicks in

Chainmail. (Well, theydomake excellent gifts for birthdays, anniversaries, and most major holidays.)

You're certainly not a repeatoffendee. Despite fears and collywobbles to the contrary,Chicks in

Chainmaildid not generate a firestorm of feminist outrage, thereby proving the point I made in my

previous introduction: Wecantake a joke.

Well, duh.

WhatChicks in Chainmaildid generate was a landslide of questions. These fell into two simple,

easy-to-digest categories, the first being:

"How come you didn't have more stories by men?"

Well, duhredux, babycakes. Ye Olde Editor solicited stories from the gents, but a whole lot of the gents

demurred, citing fear of being chopped up into little bitty sticky bits by the ladies. (See above: Firestorm

of Feminist Outrage! Film at eleven!)

The second line of inquiry was of the sort that does an editorial body's heart a power of good, namely:

"So? Where's the sequel? When's it coming out? Real soon now? Can't you make it sooner? Wouldnow

be too soon? Pleeease?" This question was inevitably followed by a slew of suggestions for the sequel's

title, one or two of which zeroed in on the word "broadsword." (You'll have to excuse me from making

the obvious rejoinder, but I've taken a mighty and sacred oath not the use the phraseWell, duhagain in

this introduction.)

Now I'm sure you'll all recall the tasteful disclaimer concerning the title ofChicks in Chainmail. It was,

after all, printed right on the back cover of said book. It was furthermore backed up by my own ready

admission that the title was mine-all-mine, please direct any enusing feminist outrage to my doorstep. If

anyone asked, I would admit with all alacrity that the title in question was strictlyMeaCulpaCity.

No onedidask. Fancy that. We did get a number of compliments on the title, though, and whole lot of

giggling. But I digress.

As the public clamor for a sequel mounted, the good folk at Baen (Purveyors of Really Cool Books to

the Gentry) had a neat idea: A Name That Sequel contest! And so, via the Internet, on the Baen Web

page, all interested competitors could submit their ideas for what to nameChicks 2, the prize being a

generous selection of Baen books. My sources inform me that Baen had been running monthly contests

for a while, but when this one hit, they gotthousandsof entries. Jim Baen himself came up with the idea for

the contest, and judged same. (No, he did not do it because he was afraid of what I'd come up with for a

Chicks 2title if left to my own devices.)

I have here in my hand certain documents which reveal that the winning entry, as posted by Melanie

Marttila of our good neighbor to the north(Canada, okay? Do I have to do everything for you?), reads in

part as follows:

Comments: Ok. I'm willing to bet that Babes with Broadswords has come up about a thousand times

already. I want to be a little original so here are my best three:

Hot Leather Hauberks

PMS in Plate-Mail

Did You Say CHICKS?

Thus a star was born. Our thanks to Ms. Marttila and to all who entered the contest.

We think thatDid You Say "Chicks"?! does its sister-volume proud. You'll recognize some of our

authors fromChicks in Chainmail, back with new tales of Women Who Slay Too Much (And the Men

Who Prudently Get Out of the Way), but you'll also encounter plenty of stories from some new

contributors. We hope you'll enjoy them all.

The woman warrior in fantasy fiction is no longer merely a stereotyped barbarian tough who just

happens to wear a skirt instead of a loincloth. Has humor humanized a formerly two-dimensional

character? I like to think so. There are still all sorts of battles for us to fight, and many different kinds of

armor for us to wear.

And we're still strong enough to keep on laughing.

No Pain, No Gain

Elizabeth Moon

«^»

Meryl the shepherdess woke from nightmares in which she waded through glue on grotesquely swollen

legs. She opened her eyes to the smoky rafters of her mother's little hut, and stretched luxuriously. Bad

dreams make good days, Gran always said. Flinging back the covers, she rolled out of bed and burst into

screams. There they were, attached to her own wiry body—the plump soft legs of her dream, and when

she took a step, it felt as if she were wading through glue. She didn't stop screaming until her mother

slapped her smartly across the mouth. Gran said it was the Evil Eye, and probably the fault of Jamis the

cowherd's second wife, no better than she should be, jealous becausehergirl had a mole on her nose, for

which she had blamed everyone but herself. Everyone knew that the Evil Eye didn't cause moles on the

nose: those came from poking and prying.

Meryl's new flabby legs ached abominably for days, but eventually she was able to keep up with her

flock without too much trouble. Gran had a quiet word with The Kind One, and the cowherd's

step-daughter broke out in disgusting pustules very like cowpox next market-day. Meryl figured it was all

over, but she still wished for her own legs back.

Dorcas Doublejoints, justly famed dancer at The Scarlet Veil, could do things with her abdominal

musculature which fascinated the most discerning clients, and resulted in a steady growth in her bank

account. She had trained since childhood, when her Aunt Semele had noticed the anatomical marks of

potential greatness. So now, in the lovely space between her ribs and her pubic bone, all was perfectly

harmonious, muscle and a delicately calculated amount of "smoothing," and unblemished skin with one

artfully placed mole—the only plastic wizardry in which Dorcas had ever had to indulge, since by nature

she had no marks there at all.

She woke near noon, after an unpleasant dream she attributed to that new shipment of wine… until she

rolled on her side and felt… different. Where her slender supple belly had been, capable of all those

enticing ripples hither and yon, she now had… She prodded the soft, bulging mass and essayed a ripple.

Nothing happened. Dorcas thought of her burgeoning bank balance—not nearly as much as she wanted

to retire on—and groaned.

Then she wrapped herself in an uncharacteristic garment—opaque and voluminous—and sought the

advice of her plastic wizard.

Mirabel Stonefist had done her best to avoid it, but she'd been snagged by the Finance Committee of the

Ladies Aid & Armor Society. Instead of a pleasant morning in her sister-in-law's garden, watching the

younglings at play, she was spending her off-duty day at the Ladies' Hall, peering at the unpromising

figures on a parchment roll.

"And just after we ordered the new steps the court ladies wanted, they all quit coming,"

Blanche-the-Blade said. "I haven't seen hide nor hair of them for weeks—"

"They'll be back," Krystal said, buffing her fingernails on her fringed doeskin vest. "They still want to

look good, and without our help, they'll soon return to the shapes they had before."

The court ladies, in the fitness craze that followed the repeal of the tax on bronze bras, had asked the

women of the King's Guard how they stayed so trim. In anticipation of a profitable side-line, the Ladies

Aid & Armor Society had fitted up a couple of rooms at the Hall for exercise classes. But unlike the

younger girls, who seemed to like all the bouncing around, the married women complained that sweating

was unseemly.

"What annoys me," Blanche said, "is the way they moan and groan as if it's our fault that they're not in

shape. I personally don't care if every court lady is shaped like a sofa pillow and about as firm—Inever

made fun of them—" She gave Mirabel a hard look. Mirabel, a few years before, had been caught with

pillows stuffed under her gown, mimicking the Most Noble Gracious Lady Vermania, wife of the then

Chancellor, in her attempt to line-dance at the Harvest Ball. That story, when it got back to the Most

Noble Gracious Lady and her husband, had done nothing for the reputation of the Ladies Aid & Armor

Society as a serious organization.

"I was only nineteen at the time," Mirabel said. "And I've already done all the apologizing I'm going to

do." She unrolled another parchment. "Besides, that's not the point. The point is—our fitness program is

losing money. We're not going to have enough for the annual Iron Jill retreat sacrifice unless we get some

customers. And we're stuck with all those flower-painted step-stools and those beastly mirrors which

have to be polished…"

"Recruits' work," Blanche said.

"Yes, but not exactly military training. As for the ladies themselves—they looked pretty good at the

dance two days ago," Mirabel had been on what the Guard called "drunk duty" that night, and had

attributed certain ladies' newly slender limbs to her sisters' efforts in the Ladies Aid and Armor Society

Shape-up Classes.

"Who looked good?" asked Krystal. No one would trust Krystal for drunk duty at a royal ball; she was

entirely too likely to disappear down dark corridors with one of the drunks she was supposed to sober

up. She claimed her methods worked as well as the time-honored bucket of water from the stable-yard

well, but the sergeants didn't agree. Mirabel, like most of the guards, thoroughly enjoyed sousing the

high-born with a bucket of cold water.

"Well—the queen, for one, and the Capitola girls. You know how thick their ankles were, and how they

complained about exercising…" The Capitola girls had taken their complaint to the queen, who hated the

women soldiers.

"Yes… ?"

"They were wearing those new gowns slit up to here, that float out on the fast turns, and their legs were

incredible."

"I can imagine," Krystal sniffed. "People with thighs like oxen shouldn't wear that style—"

"No—I mean long, slender, graceful. Even their ankles. I wondered what the Shape-Up classes had

been doing."

"But—" Blanche frowned. "The last time they were in our classes, they had taken perhaps a tailors tuck

off those thighs, but their ankles were still thick."

"They must've found someone who knows more about exercise than we do," Mirabel said. "And that's

why they're not coming to our classes any more."

"Nobody knows more about exercise than soldiers," Blanche said. "There's no way to change flab to

muscle that our sergeants haven't put us through."

"There must be something," Mirabel said, "and we had better find it."

They were interrupted by the doorward, who ushered in a handsome woman muffled in a cloak far too

warm for the day. Mirabel perked up; anything was better than staring at those figures another moment.

She had the feeling that staring at them would never change red ink to black.

"Ladies," the woman said, in a voice meant to carry only from pillow to pillow, not across a drillfield. "I

understand that you have a… an exercise program?"

"Why yes," Blanche said, before Mirabel could speak. "We specialize in promoting fitness for

women…"

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摘要：

DIDYOUSAYCHICKSEditedByEstherFriesnerContentsIntroduction,EstherFriesnerNoPain,NoGain,ElizabethMoonSlue-FootSueandtheWitchintheWoods,LauraFrankosAYoungSwordswoman'sGardenPrimerSarahZettelTheOldFire,JodyLynnNyeLikeNoBusinessIKnow,MarkBourneABonetoPick,MarinaFrants&KeithR.A.DeCandidoTheAttackoftheAven...

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