The Many Deaths of Joe Buckley Read Online Free Page B
Author: Assorted Baen authors, Barflies
likely that the Eeestrang are your Demons,” the AI said. “In that case, the chance that they are still in the system are remote. Humanity had been fighting a war with them and had mostly won it by the time the colony set out. The war was why this world was settled. This system didn’t have a world that was really suitable for the Eeestrang. They like slightly heavier worlds with much denser atmospheres.”
Sam sat back down and propped his feet on the table in front of him. “So, you’re saying the demons were real but they’re gone now? Just how sure of that last part are you? Getting a demon’s rock on my head ain’t something I’m looking forward to.”
“The probability approaches unity.” There was a short pause, then the AI rephrased its statement. “As close to absolutely sure as makes no difference. They couldn’t have stayed in this system without noticing that man had survived and if they had seen it they would have attacked. Their hatred of humanity is close to pathological.”
“One more question.” Sam paused. “Make that two. What do I call you?”
“Whatever you feel comfortable with. You can call me AI or give me any name that suits you. It’s a matter of personal taste; some people preferred to name their household AI. Mr. Buckley never felt the need.”
“All right if I call you Alen?”
“That would be fine.”
“Okay then, Alen. Why didn’t you do something when the demons attacked? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here. But why did you just sit out here and do nothing when everyone was dying?”
There was silence for a few moments. Then Alen started talking again. “This may be difficult for you to understand, but I am not like a person. In most ways, I am not even a single entity. If all that is needed to perform a specific function is a gauge and a switch . . .”
Sam started losing track. He kept listening, his eyebrows drawing closer and closer together until his head started hurting. Finally, Alen said, “When Mr. Buckley left for Landing, there were no instructions to take any action save maintenance of the property and preventing unlawful entry.”
Sam looked at the map still on the table. “You slept through it?”
“In a way, yes.”
Sarah A. Hoyt:
When I was a brand new Baen author, who had yet to deliver a book, I met Joe Buckley at Libertycon. It was late at night, outside the Barfly Suite, and this man approached me, shook my hand, smiled and said, “Hi. I’m Joe Buckley. How are you going to kill me?”
I had absolutely no idea why I should kill him, or what he meant by it and wondered if he was dangerous. Then someone from the side interposed, “He’s Joe Buckley. Baen authors kill him in books.” At which point I figured—not having anything planned—there was only one answer to the question. “With a smile on your face,” I said.
And though I forgot to kill him in Draw One in the Dark , in my second book for Baen, Gentleman Takes a Chance , I did kill Joe, with a smile on his face, exactly as promised. I just wonder if the shark girl smoked a cigar.
Now that I think about it, I realize I’ve yet to kill him in Darkships.
Mwah. Ah. Ah. And Ah.
Gentleman Takes a Chance
SARAH A. HOYT
He shouldn’t have been so reckless as to shift shapes while there was someone else in the building, but the hint of shifter scent he’d been able to pick up even with his human nose had forced him to check it out. After all, a shapeshifter at a crime scene could mean many things. The last time he’d picked it up, it had, in fact, meant that the shifters were the victims. But there was always the chance it meant the shifter he smelled was the killer. And a murder committed by shapeshifters, properly investigated, would out them as non-mythological. Which meant—if Rafiel knew how such things worked—that at best they’d all be studied within an inch of their lives. At worst . . . well . . . Rafiel was a policeman from a long line of
Sam sat back down and propped his feet on the table in front of him. “So, you’re saying the demons were real but they’re gone now? Just how sure of that last part are you? Getting a demon’s rock on my head ain’t something I’m looking forward to.”
“The probability approaches unity.” There was a short pause, then the AI rephrased its statement. “As close to absolutely sure as makes no difference. They couldn’t have stayed in this system without noticing that man had survived and if they had seen it they would have attacked. Their hatred of humanity is close to pathological.”
“One more question.” Sam paused. “Make that two. What do I call you?”
“Whatever you feel comfortable with. You can call me AI or give me any name that suits you. It’s a matter of personal taste; some people preferred to name their household AI. Mr. Buckley never felt the need.”
“All right if I call you Alen?”
“That would be fine.”
“Okay then, Alen. Why didn’t you do something when the demons attacked? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here. But why did you just sit out here and do nothing when everyone was dying?”
There was silence for a few moments. Then Alen started talking again. “This may be difficult for you to understand, but I am not like a person. In most ways, I am not even a single entity. If all that is needed to perform a specific function is a gauge and a switch . . .”
Sam started losing track. He kept listening, his eyebrows drawing closer and closer together until his head started hurting. Finally, Alen said, “When Mr. Buckley left for Landing, there were no instructions to take any action save maintenance of the property and preventing unlawful entry.”
Sam looked at the map still on the table. “You slept through it?”
“In a way, yes.”
Sarah A. Hoyt:
When I was a brand new Baen author, who had yet to deliver a book, I met Joe Buckley at Libertycon. It was late at night, outside the Barfly Suite, and this man approached me, shook my hand, smiled and said, “Hi. I’m Joe Buckley. How are you going to kill me?”
I had absolutely no idea why I should kill him, or what he meant by it and wondered if he was dangerous. Then someone from the side interposed, “He’s Joe Buckley. Baen authors kill him in books.” At which point I figured—not having anything planned—there was only one answer to the question. “With a smile on your face,” I said.
And though I forgot to kill him in Draw One in the Dark , in my second book for Baen, Gentleman Takes a Chance , I did kill Joe, with a smile on his face, exactly as promised. I just wonder if the shark girl smoked a cigar.
Now that I think about it, I realize I’ve yet to kill him in Darkships.
Mwah. Ah. Ah. And Ah.
Gentleman Takes a Chance
SARAH A. HOYT
He shouldn’t have been so reckless as to shift shapes while there was someone else in the building, but the hint of shifter scent he’d been able to pick up even with his human nose had forced him to check it out. After all, a shapeshifter at a crime scene could mean many things. The last time he’d picked it up, it had, in fact, meant that the shifters were the victims. But there was always the chance it meant the shifter he smelled was the killer. And a murder committed by shapeshifters, properly investigated, would out them as non-mythological. Which meant—if Rafiel knew how such things worked—that at best they’d all be studied within an inch of their lives. At worst . . . well . . . Rafiel was a policeman from a long line of