Tag: short story

The Ziggurat by Gene Wolfe

The Ziggurat by Gene Wolfe (Full Spectrum #5, edited by Tom Dupree, Jennifer Hershey, Janna Silverstein, 1995) wasn’t, given that the last two stories of his I read were Seven American Nights and The Fifth Head of Cerberus, exactly what I was expecting, and the piece initially feels more like something from Stephen King. To that end, the beginning is not only evocative of place—a snowed-in log cabin in the woods—but also of character—Emery is estranged from his wife Jan and is waiting in his cabin for her and their children to arrive, along with the divorce papers she is bringing for him to sign. While he tidies up before their arrival he broods about this, and also thinks about a visiting coyote1 he has been feeding and trying to tame:

The coyote had gone up on the back porch!
After a second or two he realized he was grinning like a fool, and forced himself to stop and look instead.
There were no tracks. Presumably the coyote had eaten this morning before the snow started, for the bowl was empty, licked clean. The time would come, and soon, when he would touch the rough yellow-gray head, when the coyote would lick his fingers and fall asleep in front of the little fieldstone fireplace in his cabin.  p. 391 (Year’s Best SF, edited by David Hartwell)

While he is outside, Emery also gets the impression he is being watched from the woods, a feeling that is confirmed when he sees a flash of a mirror . . . .
The rest of the first half of the story proceeds at a brisk pace. Emery gets dressed and goes to the area he saw the light, only to look back at his cabin to see he is being burgled. When he shouts at one of the small, dark figures, they raise the rifle they have taken from cabin and shoot. He takes cover. Five minutes later Jan and the three kids arrive, but when Emery hurries back he sees the interlopers have vanished. He decides to keep quiet about what has just happened.
The next part of the story switches temporarily from thriller to family soap opera, with a conversation between Emery and Jan about the details of the their divorce (and an allegation of child abuse by Emery on the twin girls). This culminates in Emery’s refusal to sign the papers, and Jan and the two girls leaving the cabin (unlike the twins, Brook is Emery’s biological son and he stays). Shortly after the mother and daughters exit Emery and Brook hear a scream, and rush outside to see the burglars under the hood of the car, seemingly once again looking for parts (as they did with Emery’s Jeep earlier on). There is a struggle, and a shot is fired: the interlopers flee. After the family regroup, they realise one of the twins, Aileen, is missing.
Emery then drives through the snow towards the lake to see if he can find her, eventually coming upon the burglars, who are dark-skinned and petite young women. They have Aileen, but Emery manages to trade the car for her—although the women don’t speak throughout the exchange—and, after another scuffle during which he is shot (a flesh wound in his side), father and step-daughter walk back to the cabin.
At this point (a third of the way through) the story starts becoming SFnal: Aileen says that she has been in a ziggurat (she later clarifies that it wasn’t actually an ancient terraced structure, it just had the same shape), where she was stripped and examined, shown pictures of things she didn’t recognise, and given food before she slept for a while. Emery is puzzled, and tells her she has only been gone a couple of hours.
When they get back to the cabin domestic hostilities resume as Emery undresses to tend his wound, and the girls are told not to look:

Jan snapped her fingers. “Oil! Oil will soften the dried blood. Wesson Oil. Have you got any?”
Brook pointed at the cabinet above the sink. Emery said, “There’s a bottle of olive oil up there, or there should be.”
“Leen’s peeking,” Brook told Jan, who told Aileen, “Do that again, young lady, and I’ll smack your face!
“Emery, you really ought to make two rooms out of this. This is ridiculous.”
“It was designed for four men,” he explained, “a hunting party, or a fishing party. You women always insist on being included, then complain about what you find when you are.”  p. 425

There is more of this kind of thing:

Privately [Emery] wondered which was worse, a woman who had never learned how to get what she wanted or a woman who had.
“You actually proposed that we patch it up. Then you act like this?” [said Jan.]
“I’m trying to keep things pleasant.”
“Then do it!”
“You mean you want to be courted while you’re divorcing me. That’s what’s usually meant by a friendly divorce, from what I’ve been able to gather.”  p. 426-427

“Emery, you hardly ever answer a direct question. It’s one of the things I dislike most about you.”
“That’s what men say about women,” he protested mildly.
“Women are being diplomatic. Men are rude.”
“I suppose you’re right. What did you ask me?”
“That isn’t the point. The point is that you ignore me until I raise my voice.”  p. 430

Emery finally agrees to take his wife and daughters into town and, for the next part of the story, it is just the two men, Emery and Brook, who are left to deal with any remaining problems back at the cabin. (Apart from a couple of phonecalls, the weather conveniently keeps the local sheriff and the other authorities away.)
As they drive back, Emery does some more pontificating to Brook on the nature of women (“For women, love is [. . .] magic, which is why they frequently use the language of fairy tales when they talk about it.”). Then there is talk of “Brownies” (fairies) and the like, and an information dump where Emery speculates (spoiler) about the women landing the “ziggurat” in the lake; that they are afraid of men and want to leave the area; and a possible time-distortion effect that would explain Aileen’s experience.
They sleep, and when Emery wakes up the next morning he realises Brook isn’t there. When he goes outside to find him he discovers one of the women has killed him with the axe. After he covers the body and puts it by the woodpile, he then calls the undertaker and sheriff. Then he calls the mobile phone in Jan’s car: one of the women answers, and Emery tells her he is going to kill them for what they did to his son.
The last section of the story sees the climactic encounters between Emery and the women, which take place in both the ziggurat/space-time ship (where he fights a woman with an axe) and in the cabin (where the other two ambush him, and he kills one and injures the other.
The final scene has him tending the wounded woman: Emery tells her he us going to burn the ziggurat and that she will just have fit into current day society. While she sleeps he plans a new company which will exploit the time-travellers’ technology. He also determines to make the woman, who he calls Tamar, his new wife. Emery talks to himself while she sleeps, saying that they’ll have a family, and build a house on the lakeside to take advantage of the still functioning time distortion device. She squeezes his hand, and the story ends.
Now the unfortunate thing about reducing this story to a plot summary is that it makes it sound like something that A. E. van Vogt might have cobbled together in one of his wilder moments, and I’d have to concede that at times it does have a whiff of that about it. However, it is a very readable piece. The problem is that is it a mixed bag, and the second half is not as good as the first. Part of this is due to the wild plot, and the way that key information is delivered (apart from the dumping a lot of this in the middle section, I’m not sure that there is a clear mention of a ziggurat in the middle of the lake until he goes into it later on). Then there are the Emery’s actions and his character: the former seem borderline reckless and/or idiotic at times, and he comes over, at best, as a complex character, or, at worst, as having patriarchal, misogynistic, and abuser tendencies. Whichever side you come down on regarding Emery’s character, this is something which threatens to bend the story into a no-man’s land between a dark, mainstream examination of a complicated man, and a highly entertaining SFnal potboiler (or as I found out later, make the account the delusions of a madman2). At times it’s an uneven mix.
These reservations notwithstanding, it is a fast paced read with some good description and characterisation, and, if you don’t pay too much attention to the bonkers plot, and the distractions of Emery’s character, it’s a pretty good read. I enjoyed it.
***+ (Good to Very Good) 27,200 words.

1. No doubt the coyote reference is Wolfe inserting himself into the narrative as per The Fifth Head of Cerberus.

2. After posting this review, one of my Facebook group members posted a link to a draft of an article by Marc Armani (a Wolfe scholar) which describes what the story is really about (spoiler): Emery is delusional and has killed/raped the members of his family (or something like that). I wonder what my blood pressure was when I read the line “If we accept that Wolfe might occasionally present delusion as objective narrative fact [. . .] then some aspects of “The Ziggurat” become easier to contextualize.”
I think I am now officially past caring about what this story, or any of Wolfe’s work, is about. But those of you who like walking on quicksand, knock yourself out.
The discussion thread and link to the Armani article are here (although the Armani link may have expired by now—buy the book).

Lunatic at Large by Ron Goulart

Lunatic at Large by Ron Goulart (F&SF, February 1977) is one of his ‘Jose Silvera’ stories about the planet-hopping writer-for-hire. This one opens with him and a new client, the actress Mary Elizabeth Trowbridge, arriving at a film premiere on Barafunda naked in her aircar:

“And let’s see who’s in the aircar which is just now landing on the A-List landing yard!” boomed a voice immediately outside their cabin windows.
Silvera found himself staring into the lens of a robot video camera and the bright blue eyes of a grinning lizard man in a purple dinner jacket. “Oops,” said Silvera. “Black the windows, stupe.”
“Miss Trowbridge,” replied the voice of the aircar, “had earlier expressed a wish to see the myriad stars of the Barnum System night sky whilst being—”
“That was a prior mood,” said Silvera. “Black the damn windows.”
“It looks like our beloved novelist, Mary Elizabeth Trowbridge, spread-eagled under a dark saturnine man I don’t recognize, folks,” boomed the lizard announcer.  p. 87

The above gives you an idea of the tone of the story, which is mostly about Silvera attempting to recoup an overdue payment from a lizardman literary agent called Mazda. Mixed into this are the various manoeuvrings of the KAML (Kill All Monarchs League) and the possibility that the planet’s ruler, Prince Lorenzo, may be an android. All this is mostly irrelevant though, as the plot is pretty much an excuse to string several amusing scenes together (my favourite is probably the fight scene that takes place in a pub after Silvera smirks at a dandy who “playfully inserted the lighted table candle into [the] handy orifice of yonder serving wench android.”
Minor stuff but quite funny (if you don’t mind the rude humour).
*** (Good). 5,550 words.

Microbe by Joan Slonczewski

Microbe by Joan Slonczewski (Analog, August 1995) is one of the author’s ‘Elysium Cycle’ stories, and opens with an exploration team discussing the biochemistry of the alien planet, IP3, that they are orbiting. The team are Andra, a human female; Skyhook, a sentient space shuttle AI; and Pelt, a sentient nanoplast AI who also serves as a protective suit for Andra.
Their discussion, in particular, focuses on the alien cell structure of life on the planet, and they watch as an alien cell splits into three. Unfortunately these discussions (there are more later on in the story) tend to result in writing like this:

“The usual double helix?” asked Skyhook. The double helix is a ladder of DNA nucleotide pairs, always adenine with thymine or guanine with cytosine, for the four different “letters” of the DNA code. When a cell divides to make two cells, the entire helix unzips, then fills in a complementary strand for each daughter cell.  p. 372 (Year’s Best SF, edited by David Hartwell)

The second act of the story sees Andra, Pelt and Skyhook exploring the surface, where they discover a herd of strange rolling aliens which are later attacked by a much larger one. Then Pelt starts malfunctioning, and Andra (spoiler) barely makes it back to the shuttle before Pelt shuts down. There is some further discussion about the way that the alien microbes attacked Pelt’s nanoplast structure, and the crew’s solution.
This reads like part science lecture, part story, and has an open ending that suggests it is the first chapter of a novel. I’d have preferred a longer piece that was more of a story, but overall this is okay, I guess.
** (Average). 4,200 words.

How Dorothy Kept Away the Spring by Joanna Russ

How Dorothy Kept Away the Spring by Joanna Russ (F&SF, February 1977) has a young girl called Dorothy dreaming of adventures in a winter landscape with the Hunter, Clown and Little. Together they go to save a Princess from a tyrant. After they succeed, the Princess blows away:

Thank you for saving me, she said in a damp, rushing voice like water falling under stone arches. I am very grateful to you.
The Clown dropped to one knee. The pleasure is all ours, lovely lady, he said. She patted him on the head, and a little cloud from her hand caught on his hat and trailed from it like a breath.
They walked out of the castle. At once the fierce, grinning wind lifted the Princess and whirled her away in ragged, torn streamers.
What a shame, said Dorothy. Little nodded.
She was beautiful, declared the Clown sadly. I never saw anyone so beautiful before. Two tears rolled down his cheeks.  p. 58

At the end of the story Dorothy wants to keep away the spring but the three of them tell her she can’t. Then the Hunter says she doesn’t have to. When she arrives home in the (real) snow her father tells her to get back to bed, where she later dies.
There may be allegorical or metaphorical levels to this surreal, dream-like story (I’d guess it may be about puberty and adulthood) but, if there are, they went way, way over my head.
* (Mediocre). 2,700 words.

The Day the Aliens Came by Robert Sheckley

The Day the Aliens Came by Robert Sheckley (New Legends, edited by Greg Bear & Martin H. Greenberg, 1995) gets off to a quirky start when an alien Synestrian (they appear similar to humans but have faces that look as if they have melted) comes to the writer’s door wanting to buy a story. They come to a deal and, when the writer finishes the story, he takes it to the alien and gets the latter’s notes:

[The] Synester said, “this character you have in here, Alice.”
“Yes, Alice,” I said, though I couldn’t quite remember writing an Alice into the story. Could he be referring to Alsace, the province in France? I decided not to question him. No sense appearing dumb on my own story.
“Now, this Alice,” he said, “she’s the size of a small country, isn’t she?”
He was definitely referring to Alsace, the province in France, and I had lost the moment when I could correct him. “Yes,” I said, “that’s right, just about the size of a small country.”
“Well, then,” he said, “why don’t you have Alice fall in love with a bigger country in the shape of a pretzel?”
“A what?” I said.
“Pretzel,” he said. “It’s a frequently used image in Synestrian popular literature. Synestrians like to read that sort of thing.”
“Do they?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “Synestrians like to imagine people in the shape of pretzels. You stick that in, it’ll make it more visual.”
“Visual,” I said, my mind a blank.
“Yes,” he said, “because we gotta consider the movie possibilities.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, remembering that I got sixty percent [of the movie rights].  p. 356 (Year’s Best SF, edited by David Hartwell)

This extract pretty much sums up the quirky, offbeat tone of the story. Unfortunately the following scenes are equally as odd: we learn that his wife is also an alien; a family of Capellans turn up in their house as uninvited guests; the writer’s home is burgled when they are out but the Capellans just watch; the Capellan’s baby is kidnapped and they don’t seem to care; the couple watch a show where a man eats small aliens that congregate on his plate; the couple’s baby arrives before the wife goes into labour; etc.)
This just seems like random, pointless nonsense, and seems typical of what I’ve read of Sheckley’s late period work. I don’t know if he forgot how to write normal stories, or whether he was attempting to write some kind of modernist or post-modernist humour but, either way, it’s not worth your time.
– (Awful). 3,800 words.

Martian Heart by John Barnes

Martian Heart by John Barnes (Life on Mars: Tales from the New Frontier, edited by Jonathan Strahan, 2011) opens on Mars with an old man talking to a botterogater (robot interrogator or interviewer) about his life. He begins by talking about his partner and later wife, Samantha, and tells how, as teenage vagrants in LA, they got picked up by the police. After that their options in this punitive future world were (a) twenty years in the military, (b) ten years in the “glowies,” (radioactive decontamination squads) or (c) going to Mars as settlers. They choose the latter option (after marrying to qualify) as the much smarter Samantha realises it is the only way they can stay together.
Most of the rest of the story tells of their time as Martian prospectors, an occupation that takes them to distant parts of Mars in the rover Goodspeed, until, eventually (spoiler), Samantha’s well-telegraphed heart problems (caused by the reduced Martian gravity that affects a substantial proportion of the new settlers) leads to her death. Before she dies she gets him to promise to cremate her—she doesn’t want to be buried in the freezing ground—and also that he will continue with his ongoing education (earlier on in the story he is illiterate, but she manages to cajole him to learn to read on the long trip out to Mars).
When he later crashes the rover trying to get back to base with her body it lands on its roof and damages the radio. He realises that he won’t be rescued, and so decides to use the remaining oxygen to burn the rover with her in it—that way he can keep at least one of his promises to her. He’s subsequently knocked out by the explosion, but a satellite detects the flash and the AI sends an auto-rocket to rescue him. He is later indentured for the cost of his recovery and treatment, but eventually buys his freedom, partly because of his continual program self-improvement. The final scenes show him having become vastly wealthy, and the founder of a huge Martian city called Samantha.
This may seem a relatively uncomplicated piece, but the pleasure is in its telling: the narrative is delivered by a man whose other half is obviously his better half (and who continuously works on his improvement); it is set in a frontier, Old West-like Mars, which is explored in the story; and the scene where he cremates his dead wife (and indeed the greater love story included in the piece) is affecting without being mawkish:


I carried Sam’s body into the oxygen storage, set her between two of the tanks, and hugged the body bag one more time. I don’t know if I was afraid she’d look awful, or afraid she would look alive and asleep, but I was afraid to unzip the bag.
I set the timer on a mining charge, put that on top of her, and piled the rest of the charges on top. My little pile of bombs filled most of the space between the two oxygen tanks. Then I wrestled four more tanks to lie on the heap crosswise and stacked flammable stuff from the kitchen like flour, sugar, cornmeal, and jugs of cooking oil on top of those, to make sure the fire burned long and hot enough.
My watch said I still had five minutes till the timer went off.
I still don’t know why I left the gig. I’d been planning to die there, cremated with Sam, but maybe I just wanted to see if I did the job right or something—as if I could try again, perhaps, if it didn’t work? Whatever the reason, I bounded away to what seemed like a reasonable distance.
I looked up; the stars were out. I wept so hard I feared I would miss seeing them in the blur. They were so beautiful, and it had been so long.

This is a pretty good old-school story that will appeal to lovers of mid to late 20th Century SF.
***+ (Good to Very Good). 6,650 words.

Collapse by Nancy Kress

Collapse by Nancy Kress (XPrize, 20171) was a recent group read choice of the Science Fiction Book Club FB group (they’ve just gone private so you’ll need to join to see the comments in that link), and the story is set in a future where a 2017 Flight 008, from Tokyo to San Francisco, passes through a wrinkle in space-time and lands in 2037. (Kress’s piece is one a number that share this initial premise.)
The story sees Matthew McAllister, the occupant of seat 12C, experience the first glimmerings of future shock as odd looking airport security staff move through the cabin in their fuchsia uniforms retinally scanning the passengers. The next morning, matters are worse:

By mid-morning, it was major news: The Flight From the Past. Lost for twenty years, no wreckage ever found. Interviews with the “miracle survivors,” bewildered or furious or terrified, frequently all three. Tearful reunions, mothers staring in disbelief at grown sons last seen as toddlers. Then the harder reunions: husbands facing wives now married to someone else, people whose elderly parents had died.
I’m the lucky one, McAllister thought, not without irony. He had no wife, children, parents, girlfriend; he’d always preferred it that way. He’d escaped the swarms of newspeople, government officials, and scientists tormenting the other Flight 008 passengers. He had cash in his briefcase from the currency exchange in Tokyo. He had hefty bank and brokerage accounts, and without instructions to the contrary, those went on forever. He had—
He had hysteria rising in his throat like bubbles of carbonation. He forced it down. Control. It was what would get him through, what had always gotten him through. He could do this.

McAllister then takes the maglev to Sacramento and spends the journey observing the changed world, the holo-TVs in the train, building roofs covered by green-white material he later learns is climate cooler, VR parlours, etc., but the thing that shocks him more than anything is a field of cucumbers. This plot element reappears at the end of the story (and also as section headings which give a time line of the exponential price rise of Dill Pickles: “2027: 40-Ounce jar of whole dill pickles, $7.99”)
The rest of the piece sees McAllister unable to access his apartment or funds (he is thrown out of the bank as an imposter), and when he tracks down his cousin, the beneficiary of his estate, he finds that he has died and the money has gone to a hostile wife. McAllister’s next move is a journey to see an old acquaintance called Erik, a cucumber farmer, and there we get a climactic SFnal data dump where we learn (a) McAllister was in Japan to sell a pollinating drone that was intended as a cure for Colony Collapse Disorder in bees and (b) that his device is been superseded by tiny FCO pollinating robots that no-one operates (FCO=fast, cheap, and out of control).
The story ends with McAllister staying the night and contemplating his future.
This is an interesting and readable enough piece, but it’s more futurology than story, and it fizzles out at the end.
** (Average). 3,350 words.

1. There have been at least a couple of these X-Prize digital anthologies. Another that I’m aware of is 2019’s Current Futures: A Sci-fi Ocean Anthology, edited by Ann VanderMeer.  ●

In Saturn Time by William Barton

In Saturn Time by William Barton (Amazing Stories: The Anthology, edited by Kim Mohan, 1995) is set in an alternate world where there was an extended Apollo program. The story starts with the narrator, Nick Jensen, and his commander on a 1974 Apollo 21 rover mission beyond the lunar daylight terminator line. In a dark crater they find hard white rock (frozen water?) under a thin film of black matter.
The rest of the story telescopes forward at roughly four year intervals, and each time deploys an event vignette: Jensen is in orbit with the 1977 Apollo 29 when the Russians land on the Moon; in 1980 he is with President Udall, Vice President Mondale, and California Governor (and the next Democratic President after Udall) Jerry Brown, watching an (enhanced ) Saturn 5M lifting a moon base station; then, in 1984, he is on a mission taking a seventy-year-old Walter Cronkite to the Moon:

And, sitting there on the pad, just as T minus thirty seconds was called, [Cronkite had] chuckled softly and said, “This kinda reminds me of Paris . . .”
Uh. Paris.
“Sure. I went in with the Airborne. Jumped with them, carrying a goddamn typewriter . . .”
Then, sitting on the Extended LM’s floor, as required, face far below the level of the window while the engine rumbled and we dropped toward touchdown, he’d whipped out a kid’s folding cardboard periscope, the kind of thing you could still buy for 98 cents, holding it up so he could see out. That won us over, a kind of guileless astronautical ingenuity, like smuggling a ham sandwich onto the first space flight.  p. 273 (Year’s Best SF, edited by David Hartwell)

There are various other events: Jensen is the first man on Mars; a partly reusable Saturn 5R is launched; Jupiter’s moon Callisto is orbited, etc.
This is a well enough done piece but it’s really just a techo- fantasy for thwarted space geeks, and one that exists in a world that is completely devoid of any sense of realpolitik (there is no explanation as to why the voters would happily spend the colossal amount of money needed to fund an Apollo program on steroids, and the piece also posits the election of four Democratic Presidents succession).
For dreamers.
*** (Good). 5900 words.

Who’s Cribbing by Jack Lewis

Who’s Cribbing by Jack Lewis (Startling Stories, January 1953) is one of the short-shorts we’re currently group reading in my Facebook group1 from the 1963 anthology Fifty Short Science Fiction Tales, edited by Isaac Asimov & Groff Conklin. I’m not sure I’d want to review all fifty of those here (most are inconsequential squibs) but I really liked this one, so thought I’d mention it.
The story is written as a series of letters between Lewis, a budding writer, and the editors of various SF magazines. The correspondence begins with this:

Mr. Jack Lewis
90-26 219 St.
Queens Village, N.Y.
Dear Mr. Lewis:

We are returning your manuscript THE NINTH DIMENSION.
At first glance, I had figured it a story well worthy of publication. Why wouldn’t I? So did the editors of Cosmic Tales back in 1934 when the story was first published.
As you no doubt know, it was the great Todd Thromberry who wrote the story you tried to pass off on us as an original. Let me give you a word of caution concerning the penalties resulting from plagiarism.
It’s not worth it. Believe me.

Sincerely,
Doyle P. Gates
Science Fiction Editor
Deep Space Magazine  p. 83

Lewis writes an indignant reply wherein he protests his innocence, and further states he has never heard of Thromberry in the ten years he has been reading the field. This is met by a world weary letter from Gates stating that he realises there are overlapping plots and ideas in SF stories, but not word for word replicas.2 Lewis cancels his subscription.
This back and forth continues with various other editors and fans, during which Lewis finds out that Thomberry’s works are very hard to come by, and that the writer specialised in electronics. More rejections follow, and Lewis (spoiler) eventually suggests to Gates (who he has contacted again) that the chances of him accidentally producing several stories similar to Thromberry’s are astronomical, and suggests that maybe Thromberry used his electronics expertise to travel through time to steal his manuscripts. He gets a short, blunt reply to this, and the final act has Lewis submit his letters and the responses he received in the form of a story to Sam Mines at Startling Stories—with the inevitable response.
This is a clever and amusing piece, and it is also pitch perfect (apart from the tone of both Lewis’s and the various editor’s letters, there are other neat touches like Lewis stating in one cover note that, because of the extensive research that went into a story, he must “set the minimum price on this one at not less than two cents a word.”)
This is one I’d probably use in my Best for 1953 (although, if I recall correctly, there is a lot of competition from that year).
***+ (Good to Very good). 1300 words.

1. Best Science Fiction and Fantasy Short Fiction is the name of the Facebook group.
2. Talking of word for word replicas, someone recently tried to sell a copy of Arthur C. Clarke’s The Nine Billion Names of God to Clarkesworld.

The Three-Day Hunt by Robert R. Chase

The Three-Day Hunt by Robert R. Chase (Asimov’s Science Fiction, January/February 2021) starts with an Afghanistan veteran called Hammond going to investigate a flying saucer that has crashed near to his cabin in the woods. When he and Tripod, his three-legged dog, get to the craft the pilot is missing, so they start tracking it.
The rest of the story has the pair following the alien through the wood for the next couple of days, during which we get Hammond’s military and domestic backstory as well as the dog’s (their paths crossed in Afghanistan, just before a bomb went off and injured them both). Later, the military contact him by phone to try to get him to stop his pursuit, but Hammond ignores them and carries on.
Then (spoiler), when Hammond stops to treat the dog’s bleeding paws, he finally sees the alien. As Hammond approaches it, the alien gestures towards the dog—at which point the story dissolves into a mini-lecture about how humanity’s domestication and/or symbiosis with dogs makes it more likely that we will be able to successfully establish a relationship with aliens.
More a notion than a story, but okay, I suppose.
** (Average). 4900 words.