Tales From the Spaceport Bar Read online

  "I’d say. Then I’ll just knock off your knight with this one.”

  "I guess I’ll just pull this knight back to K2.”

  "... And I’ll take this one over to B3. May I have another Beer?”

  An hour and a quarter later, Martin resigned. The rain had let up and he had folded the umbrella. "Another game?” Grend asked.

  "Yes.”

  The afternoon wore on. The pressure was off. This one was just for fun. Martin tried wild combinations, seeing ahead with great clarity, as he had that one day...

  "Stalemate,” Grend announced much later. "That was a good one, though. You picked up considerably.”

  "I was more relaxed. Want another?”

  "Maybe in a little while. Tell me more about bars now.”

  So he did. Finally, "How is all that Beer affecting you?” he asked.

  "I’m a bit dizzy. But that’s all right. I’ll still cream you the third game.”

  And he did.

  "Not bad for a human, though. Not bad at all.

  You coming back next month?”

  "Yes.”

  "Good. You’ll bring more Beer?”

  "So long as my money holds out.”

  "Oh. Bring some plaster of paris then. I’ll make you some nice footprints and you can take casts of them. I understand they’re going for quite a bit.” "I’ll remember that.”

  Martin lurched to his feet and collected the chess $6t*

  "Till then.”

  "Ciao.”

  Martin dusted and polished again, moved in the player piano, and scattered sawdust upon the floor. He installed a fresh keg. He hung some reproductions of period posters and some atrocious old paintings he had located in a junk shop. He placed cuspidors in strategic locations. When he was finished, he seated himself at the bar and opened a bottle of mineral water. He listened to the New

  Mexico wind moaning as it passed, to grains of sand striking against the windowpanes. He wondered whether the whole world would have that dry, mournful sound to it if Tlingel found a means for doing away with humanity, or—disturbing thought —whether the successors to his own kind might turn things into something resembling the mythical morning land.

  This troubled him for a time. Then he went and set up the board through black’s P-Q3. When he turned back to clear the bar he saw a line of cloven hoofprints advancing across the sawdust.

  "Good evening, Tlingel,” he said. "What is your pleasure?”

  Suddenly, the unicorn was there, without preliminary pyrotechnics. It moved to the bar and placed one hoof upon the brass rail.

  "The usual.”

  As Martin drew the Beer, Tlingel looked about.

  "The place has improved, a bit.”

  "Glad you think so. Would you care for some music?”

  "Yes.”

  Martin fumbled at the back of the piano, locating the switch for the small, battery-operated computer which controlled the pumping mechanism and substituted its own memory for rolls. The keyboard immediately came to life.

  "Very good,” Tlingel stated. "Have you found your move?”

  "I have.”

  "Then let us be about it.”

  He refilled the unicorn’s mug and moved it to the table, along with his own.

  "Pawn to king six,” he said, executing it.

  "What?”

  "Just that.”

  "Give me a minute. I want to study this.”

  "Take your time.”

  "I’ll take the pawn,” Tlingel said, after a long pause and another mug.

  "Then I’ll take this knight.”

  Later, "Knight to K2,” Tlingel said.

  "Knight to B3.”

  An extremely long pause ensued before Tlingel moved the knight to N3.

  The hell with asking Grend, Martin suddenly decided. He’d been through this part any number of times already. He moved his knight to N5.

  "Change the tune on that thing!” Tlingel snapped.

  Martin rose and obliged.

  "I don’t like that one either. Find a better one or shut it off!”

  After three more tries, Martin shut it off.

  "And get me another Beer!”

  He refilled their mugs.

  "All right.”

  Tlingel moved the bishop to K2.

  Keeping the unicorn from castling had to be the most important thing at the moment. So Martin moved his queen to R5. Tlingel made a tiny, strangling noise, and when Martin looked up smoke was curling from the unicorn’s nostrils.

  "More Beer?”

  "If you please.”

  As he returned with it, he saw Tlingel move the bishop to capture the knight. There seemed no choice for him at that moment, but he studied the position for a long while anyhow.

  Finally, "Bishop takes bishop,” he said.

  "Of course.”

  "How’s the warm glow?”

  Tlingel chuckled.

  "You’ll see.”

  The wind rose again, began to howl. The building creaked.

  "Okay,” Tlingel finally said, and moved the queen to Q2.

  Martin stared. What was he doing? So far, it had gone all right, but— He listened again to the wind and thought of the risk he was taking.

  "That’s all, folks,” he said, leaning back in his chair. "Continued next month.”

  Tlingel sighed.

  "Don’t run off. Fetch me another. Let me tell you of my wanderings in your world this past month.” "Looking for weak links?”

  "You’re lousy with them. How do you stand it?” 'They’re harder to strengthen, than you might think. Any advice?”

  "Get the Beer.”

  They talked until the sky paled in the east, and Martin found himself taking surreptitious notes. His admiration for the unicorn's analytical abilities increased as the evening advanced.

  When they finally rose, Tlingel staggered.

  "You all right?”

  "Forgot to detox, that’s all. Just a second. Then I’ll be fading.”

  "Wait!”

  "Whazzat?”

  "I could use one, too.”

  "Oh. Grab hold, then.”

  Tlingel’s head descended and Martin took the tip of the horn between his fingertips. Immediately, a delicious, warm sensation flowed through him. He closed his eyes to enjoy it. His head cleared. An ache which had been growing within his frontal sinus vanished. The tiredness went out of his muscles. He opened his eyes again.

  'Thank—”

  Tlingel had vanished. He held but a handful of air.

  "— you.”

  "Rael here is my friend,” Grend stated. "He’s a griffin.”

  "I’d noticed.”

  Martin nodded at the beaked, golden-winged creature.

  "Pleased to meet you, Rael.”

  "The same,” cried the other in a high-pitched voice. "Have you got the Beer?”

  "Why—uh—yes.”

  "I’ve been telling him about Beer,” Grend explained, half-apologetically. "He can have some of mine. He won’t kibitz or anything like that.”

  "Sure. All right. Any friend of yours...”

  "The Beer!” Rael cried. "Bars!”

  "He’s not real bright,” Grend whispered. "But he’s good company. I’d appreciate your humoring him.”

  Martin opened the first six-pack and passed the griffin and the sasquatch a Beer apiece. Rael immediately punctured the can with his beak, chugged it, belched, and held out his claw.

  "Beer!” he shrieked. "More Beer!”

  Martin handed him another.

  "Say, you’re still into that first game, aren’t you?” Grend observed, studying the board. "Now, that is an interesting position.”

  Grend drank and studied the board.

  "Good thing it’s not raining,” Martin commented. "Oh, it will. Just wait awhile.”

  "More Beer!” Rael screamed.

  Martin passed him another without looking.

  "I’ll move my pawn to N6,” Grend said.

  "You’re kidding.�
��

  "Nope. Then you’ll take that pawn with your bishop’s pawn. Right?”

  "Yes...”

  Martin reached out and did it.

  "Okay. Now I’ll just swing this knight to Q5.” Martin took it with the pawn.

  Grend moved his rook to Kl.

  "Check,” he announced.

  "Yes. That is the way to go,” Martin observed. Grend chuckled.

  "I’m going to win this game another time,” he said.

  "I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  "More Beer?” Rael said softly.

  "Sure.”

  As Martin poured him another, he noticed that the griffin was now leaning against the tree trunk.

  After several minutes, Martin pushed his king to

  Bl.

  "Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d do,” Grend said. "You know something?”

  "What?”

  "You play a lot like a unicorn.”

  "Hm.”

  Grend moved his rook to R3.

  Later, as the rain descended gently about them and Grend beat him again, Martin realized that a prolonged period of silence had prevailed. He glanced over at the griffin. Rael had tucked his head beneath his left wing, balanced upon one leg, leaned heavily against the tree, and gone to sleep.

  "I told you he wouldn’t be much trouble,” Grend remarked.

  Two games later, the Beer was gone, the shadows were lengthening, and Rael was stirring.

  "See you next month?”

  "Yeah.”

  "You bring any plaster of paris?”

  "Yes, I did.”

  "Come on, then. I know a good place pretty far from here. We don’t want people beating about these bushes. Let’s go make you some money.”

  "To buy Beer?” Rael said, looking out from under his wing.

  "Next month,” Grend said.

  "You ride?”

  "I don’t think you could carry both of us,” said Grend, "and I’m not sure I’d want to right now if you could.”

  "Bye-bye then,” Rael shrieked, and he leaped into the air, crashing into branches and tree trunks, finally breaking through the overhead cover and vanishing.

  "There goes a really decent guy,” said Grend. "He sees everything and he never forgets. Knows how everything works—in the woods, in the air—even in the water. Generous, too, whenever he has anything.”

  "Hm,” Martin observed.

  "Let’s make tracks,” Grend said.

  "Pawn to N6? Really?” Tlingel said. "All right. The bishop’s pawn will just knock off the pawn.”

  Tlingel’s eyes narrowed as Martin moved the knight to Q5.

  "At least this is an interesting game,” the unicorn remarked. "Pawn takes knight.”

  Martin moved the rook.

  "Check.”

  "Yes, it is. This next one is going to be a three-flagon move. Kindly bring me the first.”

  Martin thought back as he watched Tlingel drink and ponder. He almost felt guilty for hitting it with a powerhouse like the sasquatch behind its back. He was convinced now that the unicorn was going to lose. In every variation of this game that he’d played with black against Grend, he’d been beaten. Tlingel was very good, but the sasquatch was a wizard with not much else to do but mental chess. It was unfair. But it was not a matter of personal honor, he kept telling himself. He was playing to protect his species against a supernatural force which might well be able to precipitate World War HI by some arcane mind-manipulation or magically induced computer foulup. He didn’t dare give the creature a break.

  "Flagon number two, please.”

  He brought it another. He studied it as it studied the board.. It was beautiful, he realized for the first time. It was the loveliest living thing he had ever seen. Now that the pressure was on the verge of evaporating and he could regard it without the overlay of fear which had always been there in the past, he could pause to admire it. If something had to succeed the human race, he could think of worse choices...

  "Number three now.”

  "Coming up.”

  Tlingel drained it and moved the king to Bl.

  Martin leaned forward immediately and pushed the rook to R3.

  Tlingel looked up, stared at him.

  "Not bad.”

  Martin wanted to squirm. He was struck by the nobility of the creature. He wanted so badly to play and beat the unicorn on his own, fairly. Not this way.

  Tlingel looked back at the board, then almost carelessly moved the knight to K4.

  "Go ahead. Or will it take you another month?”

  Martin growled softly, advanced the rook, and captured the knight.

  "Of course.”

  Tlingel captured the rook with the pawn. This was not the way that the last variation with Grend had run. Still...

  He moved his rook to KB3. As he did, the wind seemed to commence a peculiar shrieking, above, amid, the ruined buildings.

  "Check,” he announced.

  The hell with it! he decided. I’m good enough to manage my own endgame. Let’s play this out.

  He watched and waited and finally saw Tlingel move the king to Nl.

  He moved his bishop to R6. Tlingel moved the queen to K2. The shrieking came again, sounding nearer now. Martin took the pawn with the bishop.

  The unicorn’s head came up and it seemed to listen for a moment. Then Tlingel lowered it and captured the bishop with the king.

  Martin moved his rook to KN3.

  "Check.”

  Tlingel returned the king to Bl.

  Martin moved the rook to KB3.

  "Check.”

  Tlingel pushed the king to N2.

  Martin moved the rook back to KN3.

  "Check.”

  Tlingel returned the king to Bl, looked up, and stared at him, showing teeth.

  "Looks as if we’ve got a drawn game,” the unicorn stated. "Care for another one?”

  "Yes, but not for the fate of humanity.”

  "Forget it. Fd given up on that a long time ago. I decided that I wouldn’t care to live here after all. I'm a little more discriminating than that.

  "Except for this bar.” Tlingel turned away as another shriek sounded just beyond the door, followed by strange voices. "What is that?”

  "I don’t know,” Martin answered, rising.

  The doors opened and a golden griffin entered. "Martin!” it cried. "Beer! Beer!”

  "Uh—Tlingel, this is Rael, and, and—”

  Three more griffins followed him in. Then came Grend, and three others of his own kind.

  "—and that one’s Grend,” Martin said lamely. "I don’t know the others.”

  They all halted when they beheld the unicorn. 'Tlingel,” one of the sasquatches said. "I thought you were still in the morning land.”

  "I still am, in a way. Martin, how is it that you are acquainted with my former countrymen?”

  "Well—uh—Grend here is my chess coach.” "Aha! I begin to understand.”

  "I am not sure that you really do. But let me get everyone a drink first.”

  Martin turned on the piano and set everyone up. "How did you find this place?” he asked Grend as he was doing it. "And how did you get here?”

  "Well...” Grend looked embarrassed. "Rael followed you back.”

  "Followed a jet?”

  "Griffins are supematurally fast.”

  "Oh.”

  "Anyway, he told his relatives and some of my folks about it. When we saw that the griffins were determined to visit you, we decided that we had

  better come along to keep them out of trouble. They brought us.”

  "I—see. Interesting...”

  "No wonder you played like a unicorn, that one game with all the variations.”

  "Uh—yes.”

  Martin turned away, moved to the end of the bar.

  "Welcome, all of you,” he said. "I have a small announcement. Tlingel, a while back you had a number of observations concerning possible ecological and urban disasters and lesser dangers. Also, so
me ideas as to possible safeguards against some of them.”

  "I recall,” said the unicorn.

  "I passed them along to a friend of mine in Washington who used to be a member of my old chess club. I told him that the work was not entirely my own.”

  "I should hope so.”

  "He has since suggested that I turn whatever group was involved into a think tank. He will then see about paying something for its efforts.”

  "I didn’t come here to save the world,” Tlingel said.

  "No, but you’ve been very helpful. And Grend tells me that the griffins, even if their vocabulary is a bit limited, know almost all that there is to know about ecology.”

  'That is probably true.”

  "Since they have inherited a part of the Earth, it would be to their benefit as well to help preserve the place. Inasmuch as this many of us are already here, I can save myself some travel and suggest right now that we find a meeting place—say here, once a month—and that you let me have your unique viewpoints. You must know more about how species become extinct than anyone else in the business.”

  "Of course,” said Grend, waving his mug, "but we really should ask the yeti, also. I’ll do it, if you’d like. Is that stuff coming out of the big box music?”

  "Yes.”

  "I like it. If we do this think-tank thing, you’ll make enough to keep this place going?”

  "I’ll buy the whole town.”

  Grend conversed in quick gutturals with the griffins, who shrieked back at him.

  "You’ve got a think tank,” he said, "and they want more Beer.”

  Martin turned toward Tlingel.

  "They were your observations. What do you think?”

  "It may be amusing,” said the unicorn, "to stop by occasionally.” Then: "So much for saving the world. Did you say you wanted another game?”

  "I’ve nothing to lose.”

  Grend took over the tending of the bar while Tlingel and Martin returned to the table.

  He beat the unicorn in thirty-one moves and touched the extended horn.

  The piano keys went up and down. Tiny sphinxes buzzed about the bar, drinking the spillage.

  Successful authors are often asked by anthologists if they’ve ever written a story about rutabagas from outer space or sexy robots or whatever the theme of the editor’s anthology might be.

  Roger Zelazny’s work has been in uncommonly high demand for more than twenty years now, ever since he established himself with such memorable efforts as "A Rose for Ecclesiastes,” "The Dream Master,” and ”The Doors of His Face, the Lamps of His Mouth.” When his novel This Immortal beat Frank Herberts Dune to a tie in the 1965 Hugos, it was clear that Zelazny was a major force to be reckoned with. Since that time he has written many novels, including Doorways in the Sand, Madwand,