Unidentified funny objec.., p.1
Unidentified Funny Objects 8, page 1
part #8 of UFO Series
Unidentified Funny Objects 8
Edited by Alex Shvartsman
Contents
Foreword
The 10:40 Appointment at the NYC Department of Superhero Registration
Soul Trade
A.I., M.D
The Fellowship of the Mangled Scepter
When the “Martians” Returned
Welcome Home
The Unwelcome Mat
Get Me to the Firg-
Black Note, in His Transition to a Supreme State of Wokeness
The Other Ted
C.A.T. Squad
Ambrose Starkisser Encounters That Which Is Locked
Gommy
Journey to Perfection
Fifteen Minutes
Zaznar the Great's Fifty-Sixth Proposal to the Council for Urban Investment
Terribly and Terrifyingly Normal
Couch Quest
Pet Care for the Modern Mad Scientist
The Punctuation Factory
One Born Every Minute
Shy and Retiring
The Dangers of Suburban Deer
Body Double
Acknowledgments
About the Editor
PUBLISHED BY:
UFO Publishing
1685 E 15th St.
Brooklyn, NY 11229
www.ufopub.com
Copyright © 2020 by UFO Publishing
Stories copyright © 2020 by the authors
Trade paperback ISBN: 978-1-951064-01-3
All rights reserved. No part of the contents of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher.
Cover art: Tomasz Maronski
Interior art: Barry Munden
Typesetting & interior design: Melissa Neely
Graphics design: Jay O'Connell
Logo design: Martin Dare
Copyeditor: Elektra Hammond
Associate editors: Cyd Athens, Frank Dutkiewicz, James A. Miller, Tarryn Thomas
Created with Vellum
For Mike Resnick (1942–2020).
May his memory be a blessing.
Foreword
Alex Shvartsman
Welcome to the eighth installment of the Unidentified Funny Objects series. This series aims to showcase lighthearted stories, from whimsical to downright funny, across the science fiction and fantasy genres. In this book you'll find superheroes dealing with government bureaucracy, cat cat-burglars, grandmotherly golems, literal-minded self-driving cars, and several sets of aliens visiting Earth for various and occasionally wacky reasons.
This is also the first time a UFO volume has had a dedication. Mike Resnick, who passed away in early 2020, was a friend and mentor to me, and his fiction has appeared in every previous installment of this series. Mike was practically synonymous with writing science fiction and fantasy humor. He also encouraged and taught others, dedicating much of his time and energy to shepherding the careers of younger authors, whom he affectionately referred to as his "writer children."
It is Mike's pay-it-forward attitude that, in part, has inspired me to always keep the door open to newer writers. Many anthologists fill their books by only inviting contributors directly. They rely on experienced writers who they know will deliver quality stories. This strategy is also a lot less time consuming than an open submissions call, which is something we do at UFO.
Over half of our stories come from a submission window that is open to everyone. For this book, my associate editors and I read over 900 stories! The successful authors have their work appear alongside best-selling and award-winning headliners.
Occasionally, we're privileged to find a brand-new voice and become the first venue, or at least the first professional publication, for that writer. There's hardly a more pleasing thing for an anthologist: after all, we may end up discovering the next Bradbury or Le Guin. So it is both thrilling and very fitting of Mike Resnick's legacy that I was able to feature several brand-new voices in this book.
I won't single them out in this introduction. Instead, you can discover who they are in the brief bios listed at the end of each story. I don't think you'll figure it out sooner; their writing and plots are every bit as engaging and fun as the other stories collected in this book. I hope some of them go on to enjoy illustrious careers and their writing touches many lives, the way Resnick's did.
Happy reading!
The 10:40 Appointment at the NYC Department of Superhero Registration
Chris Hepler
When they called ticket number 57 up to Window F, I stepped over the sleeping guy in samurai armor, slipped past the liquid metal mom trying to persuade her liquid metal toddler to stay in the stroller, and put on my winningest smile. My origin story started back in July, but today was going to be the day I actually became a superhero.
At my window was a woman who looked grandmotherly, by which I mean stone-faced and with eyes that were already tired of my crap before a word was spoken. So, my-grandmotherly. She also had two bristly steel antennae sticking out of her head and wore red-and-black spandex like she was daring me to comment on it. Her name tag read JEWEL. I set down my form and the thermos I was carrying with me. Bringing a drink did not seem to please Jewel, and I wondered if there was a rule about food and beverages here.
"Fingerprints," she said, and I put my finger on the scanner. "Right hand," she said in a voice that could melt gravel. "Your whole hand." I complied.
"Mister ... Amir al-Madani?"
"Doctor al-Madani, but yes."
She looked at me as if medical degrees were something incontinent dogs left on the floor. "What do you need?"
I wondered if anybody came to the Department of Superhero Registration for anything other than the obvious, and bit back my sarcastic comment. There were probably all kinds of paperwork for insurance renewal and alien repulsion team sign-ups, and other stuff I didn't know about. "A superhero license," I said.
"This is an AUSL-33/b," she said, handing me some paper. "Come back to this window when you're done." She pressed a button, and number 58 appeared on the monitor.
I took a clipboard and returned to my seat, only to see it filled by a guy in a pinstripe suit talking on a smartphone and smelling like a tobacco farm. He seemed to notice my annoyance, and moved down.
"'Scuse me," he said, then into the phone: "So we set up this summoning circle, and we put in what we value most, right? I put in my cigs, because honestly, I turn into a monster without them. We light up the pile, Bill chants a lot, and I don't see nothing, but I start hearing the voice. Not a demon, nothing so cool." He paused. "Okay, you handle that." He looked over at me, rolling his eyes. "Of course, she's on call waiting. Agents, am I right?"
I managed a sympathetic nod. "Don't have one."
"You should, man, this city's lousy with heroes. You need everything you can to stand out."
"So, you were conjuring a spirit?" I asked, as I filled out the paperwork. It felt good to talk to someone else with superpowers. These people would be my brethren now.
"Yeah, Bill took charge and said, 'We will release you if you give us powers beyond mortal men.' And I play good cop and am like, 'Also, who are we talking to, bud?' And it said, 'The people of this land call me Great Tobacco.' So Bill says 'Forget this, I'll get the next one.' And I'm all, 'Congrats, big guy, you got your freedom for half off. Do me up.'"
I looked him up and down. If he had a power, it wasn't glamour. Sure, he wore a suit, but if I saw him on the street holding a Starbucks cup, I'd throw a dollar in. And maybe an insulin needle.
"So you captured it and now ... what? You've got magic?"
"Yeah, I can smoke all I want, no health problems. Throw fire, too."
"Right." I considered that maybe the paperwork and regulations were a good idea. I stayed polite, though. "That always seemed like a really dangerous power for a hero."
"You ain't telling me the news. Why d'you think I'm signing up? They catch me shooting fire from my fists, I'll be in Rikers for twenty to life." He leaned toward me conspiratorially. "But you get a superhero license? You can get away with the world. Why else wait in line, am I right?"
Oh, boy. I could smell this one. In a year's time, this guy was going to be a villain. "It was different for me," I said. "I survived this accident, and pow, I became more. I wasn't just destined for the job my parents picked out for me. Whatever force runs the universe was saying, 'You can be what you wanted when you were a kid.' I couldn't just say, 'Sorry, schedule's full, gotta get back to testing Uncle Tarek's dairy for bacteria.' I dropped everything to come here."
"Mmm," the fire guy said.
I had more, mostly about helping the needy, but I'd never win his type over with morality lectures. "You, uh, got a name picked out?"
"Coffin Nail," he said, pointing gun-fingers at me. "Hold on." He saw something on his phone's display and brought it back up to his ear again. "Latoya, baby, let's make me famous."
Looking around to see if some hall monitor was listening and would disqualify him, I only saw heroes signing forms, on their phones, or in the case of the samurai next to us, still asleep. I finished as much of the AUSL-33/b as I could manage and headed back up to Jewel.
"Here you are," I said, expecting a smile. No way.
"Two forms of I.D.?"
"Brought three, just in case." I handed over my driver's license, my UAE work visa, and my American passport. Jewel took a look at the Arabic wr iting on the visa and oriented some skeptical eyes on me.
"You a citizen?"
"Yeah. American parents, born in the United Arab Emirates, raised in New Jersey, kinda bounced back and forth a bit for school—"
"Yes or no is fine." She finished scanning the American documents and picked up my AUSL-33/b. She scowled, probably trying to decipher my handwriting.
My attention wandered to the floating girl at Window G. She couldn't have been more than eighteen. She was in bronze armor and was casually resting a spear over her shoulder while signing something with the other hand. Strands of her long black tresses blew artfully over her chiseled face. It took me a second to realize that there was no fan blowing. I wasn't feeling anything, and I was five feet away from her.
"Excuse me, miss, do you make that breeze?" I asked. "That's nice."
She looked at me with a patient smile. "Side effect."
"Of what?"
"Genetically engineered progeny of a battle goddess," she said. "My pen doesn't work."
I loaned her my pen. "You new to this?"
"I'm forming my third supergroup."
Jewel finished digesting my form. "All right, Mister Madani, I have to confirm a few things before proceeding. You checked 'act of God' for how you got your powers, but also 'radiation.'"
"Uh ..." I said. The demigoddess next to me met my eyes. I tried to squash the higher registers of my voice and explain myself in a smooth Leonard Cohen bass from the good albums. "I do microbiology, and I was testing a flash-pasteurizer that got hit by lightning."
"Flash-pasteurizer is radiation," Jewel said. The demigoddess frowned and floated a few feet farther away.
"Yeah, but given the probabilities, wouldn't you say that 'act of God' would be a safe bet, too?" I grinned at the demigoddess, saying help-me-out-here with my eyes. She rolled hers.
Jewel had even less sympathy. "Do I look like an expert? I'm putting down accident, radiation. Now, here it says 'catalyzed cellular reproduction dependent on consuming vitamins A, D, and bovine growth hormone.' What's that mean?"
"Milk," I said, tapping the thermos I'd put down. "I drink milk, and I heal myself."
"Anything else?"
"I have the proportional strength of a cow," I said. "Considering cow weight, it's, um ... about ninety-five percent ..." I glanced at the goddess girl, "Maybe up to a hundred and five percent of human normal."
"Anything else?"
"That isn't enough?"
"That's fine, but you left this assets list blank."
"Uh ... I wasn't sure what it meant. I mean, I have a car—"
"Is it designed for battle?"
"It's a leased Prius."
"Sweetie, we ain't the tax man. Assets as in 'what you fight crime with.' Black belts in karate. The sword Excalibur. A milk truck with machine guns. Supercomputers, secret lairs, all that."
I swallowed and realized the demigoddess next to me was watching, her arms folded. I actually did have a black belt, but so did anyone who put in three or four years at my tae kwon do school. I led with the unique bit. "I'm analyzing my regenerative tissues using my M.D.," I said. "I figured it'd be pretty dumb if I didn't use them to try to cure cancer."
"Okay, so fill out 'cancer cure' on your sheet here."
"Uh, no, I'm just working on a ... okay, it's kind of a back-burner project. I can heal, I can punch people, and I've got no criminal record. I'm pretty sure you've got heroes running around the city with just that much."
"And you were immigrating, Mister?"
Oh, for cripes' sake. "Doctor. American citizen. I worked in the UAE, that's all." I tried to help her out. "Little country, near Saudi Arabia?"
"You left 'religion' blank, too."
"Why do I need to state that?"
"Standard information."
"Yeah?" I pointed at Miss Lovely, who had turned in her form. "Does she get questions like that?"
"Actually, they did ask me that," said the goddess girl. "It's for your ID tags." She pulled out two stainless steel plates on her necklace. I could read KHARIS PROMAKHOS—PAGAN. "Superheroes get a state-sponsored funeral. They need to know what type of service to give if you jump on a grenade."
This reassured me until it totally didn't reassure me. My gaze went back and forth to both women. "Uh ... do you get a ... lot ... of grenades here?"
"Do I look like an expert?" asked Jewel.
Kharis patted my hand, then seemed to remember I might be radioactive. "Look, you seem new to how New York does heroes. Just sign what you want, the road test is going to be the tough part for you."
"Road test? What does driving have to do with it?"
"Doc, don't pay attention to her," said Jewel. "You're going to need a religion, or declare atheist, whatever, just write something that fits on a tag. Then, we get to superhero name."
I was distracted, but not so much that I forgot my moniker. "Fine. Put down 'expensive,' and it's Doctor Awesome."
She typed it into her desktop, then swiveled the monitor to show me the results. "Name's taken."
"That's a thing?" I had no backup. I had wanted to be Doctor Awesome since I was doodling it on my notebooks in seventh grade, and it was my e-mail besides. "Can't we both be Doctor Awesome?"
"Not even if you were his clone. There've been lawsuits."
"Does he have a Ph.D. or an M.D.?"
"He doesn't need to. He has precedent. He's had it for six years."
"Well, I only got my superpower in July. I pretty much came here as fast as I could, you know?" I didn't want to get into the first month, which had all been arguing with my mom.
I was starting to notice Jewel had a remarkably long streak of being unimpressed. "Name's still taken."
"Right ... Doctor Mystery?"
Clickety-click went the keys. "Taken."
"Well, what the frick isn't taken?" I asked. "I got it. I'll do Doctor Awesome, but in Arabic."
Jewel looked at me as if I were a particularly dense kindergartener. "Doctor Awesome holds the trademark to his name worldwide, in all localized versions, for his merchandise. That's why your AUSL-33/b is 'Application for Universal Superhero License,' we register it all over the world." She must have seen my crestfallen face, because after that, she added, "Okay, sweets, you're not the first one this has happened to. You check that box on sheet two there, and our department will assign you one appropriate to your background and power. For fifty bucks, you can expedite it to be delivered before you leave here today, and after that you can appeal for a change if you develop new powers or join a themed supergroup. You want to just do that?"
"Want to? No. What I want is to be Doctor Awesome." Then I paused. "What sort of names do they come up with?"
"Well, if you're Arabic and your powers rely on milk, odds are they're gonna call you the Milk Sheik."
Kharis looked like if she had a drink at that moment, she would have spat it. She covered her mouth with her hand, but then took it away when the giggles stopped. "Oh, gods, that's terrible. You're gonna get jokes about bringing all the boys to the yard."
"That makes me sound as legit as the damn Burger King!" I yelled, then lowered my voice because I got a glare from the liquid metal mom, who was now a window away and holding a bucket into which she had coerced her toddler. In a stage whisper that I hoped sounded threatening, I said, "I will give you the fifty bucks with the one express condition that I am not the fricking Milk Sheik. Can't I beat someone up around here to get to choose my name? I mean, that's how it works, right? I just throw down with whatever twerp took the name Doctor Awesome?"
"Save it for the road test," said Jewel. "'Cause that's next."
Jewel keyed in the code to a door that looked like it belonged on a bank vault. There was a hiss of air as she opened the seal, probably because you don't want crime-fighting sleep gas getting out of your testing chamber. The cavernous place on the other side smelled funny, like ozone, and I saw the walls made of twelve-inch steel plate had turned to slag in places. I was pretty sure the whole room was an Office of Safety and Health violation, but when I turned to Jewel to tell her, the vault door slammed shut, leaving me alone with only my thermos and my newly stamped AUSL-33/b for protection.
