(An Odyssey Journal)

Told from the parents’ POV.

1. Groble and his parents open boxes and unpack their things in a new home. They’ve just moved from a heavily fortified castle in upstate New York, near Howe Caverns, to a cramped, underground condo in Philadelphia. His parents are fantasy writers; very successful. We learn from his parents’ optimistic chatter and Groble’s sullen responses that he’s been having trouble at school. He has a violent temper. It nearly got him expelled. They have spent a lot of money enrolling their small-statured son in a special all-dwarf high school–the only one in the country. They hope it will help him fit in.

He isn’t optimistic. Dwarf kids, he figures, are the same as regular kids.

No, no! Say his parents. You’ll have hundreds of friends! All Dwarfs love gold!

2. The dinner table after Groble’s first day at school. Roast mutton and barleywine. He sits on three telephone books. His parents ask him how it went, if he met any friends. He is miserable. He hung out all day with the bodybuilding jock Dwarfs, who all aspired to grow up and advertise Altoids Minis and other small versions of huge, burly things. Groble thought this was a good career. Models make money. He could afford lots of jewels and nice things, and maybe even a cavern of his own. He pumped iron hard, and kept up with the best of them! Then Groble showed them his massive gold necklace with the giant pendant letter “G” (for Groble). They laughed at him. They said only girls wear jewelery. They called him gay. It made him mad, but he held his peace. He knew how much his parents had spent on this education.

Don’t despair! says his father. So Jocks aren’t for you. Try something else!

3. The next evening’s meal. Beef stew and stout. Groble still looks glum. What happened today? they ask, dismayed.

He tried hanging out with the girls today: the cheerleader dwarfs, who aspired to be very pretty, and someday join the Lullaby League. They wore lots of jewelry–much of it given to them by their boyfriends, the jocks. He figured they’d like his pendant, at least–even if he didn’t particularly want to learn to dance, or grow up to be pretty and dumb. But the cheerleader Dwarfs only made fun of his beard and his hairy chest, and snubbed and ignored him the rest of the day. Still, somehow, he held in his temper. He tried to let it out by punching lockers.

Don’t worry, says his mother. The girls will learn to like you once they mature. Try again!

4. On the third afternoon, Groble came home beaming. They celebrate with venison steak and mead. What happened? They ask. Today Groble gave the theater geeks a try, who sat around reciting lines from Willow and gluing hair on their feet. At last, he thought! My kind of people! He whipped out his gold plated Ax and showed them the runes etched in the blade. But for some reason they all ran away screaming. That was it for Groble’s temper. Don’t worry–he didn’t bash in anyone’s skull. But he really took that Ax to some lockers. Groble got sent to the principal’s office! They took away his sword, and nearly expelled him!

His parents are shocked and angry. They demand to know why Groble was treated with such injustice.

He stops them. The principal only gave him detention. And in detention, a miracle happened! He met the gangsta rap dwarfs. They loved his “G” pendant! They explained he should shave his beard and chest hair, and buy some 76ers jerseys. They told him to trade in his Ax for a gold-plated Glock. And now he has all the friends and bitches he could want!

The parents’ jaws drop.

(An Odyssey Journal)

1. A doctor sits at his secretary’s computer. He is hunt-and-peck typing a letter telling an insurance company that a particular client, a patient of his, has reached the final stages of spinal metastasis and likely has only nine months to live. He’s frustrated and angry, having symbolic difficulty with the “undo” command. He normally just has a mild distaste for machines, and avoids them as best he can. He normally succeeds, because his secretary is very good. His secretary is on her honeymoon. Mild undercurrent of attraction to secretary, jealousy, loneliness.

2. The nurse comes in, acting nervous. Doctor doesn’t notice at first, asks her help. They fiddle a little while, can’t get the deleted sentence to come back. Finally he gets so mad he shuts the computer off. Let the secretary sort it out when she gets back. I don’t need this kind of stress. What did you come in for anyhow, Nurse? The next patient is ready for him in the waiting room. What’s the trouble? he asks. He knows her moods. He’s never seen this one. She has tested the patient’s vitals and finds them strange. Reflexes are a little too fast, nothing unusual–but it’s the way the tendons react. Perfect repetition every time. Same with his eyes. No blurring at all between iris and pupil. Uncanny. Doctor says he’ll take a look.

3. Waiting room. Patient sits naked on the bench, bolt upright. “R. Daneel Olivaw?” “Yes.” “What does the ‘R’ stand for?” “Robert.” Doctor runs all the tests again, gets the exact same results. Nothing’s off by a millimeter or a fraction of a second. Doctor pulls away the penlight light, stares into the patient’s eyes as the pupils dilate. An uncomfortable silence. “Is something wrong, Doctor? Can I be of service?” “What?” “Can I be of service?”

4. Recognition. “Excuse me, Mr. Olivaw.” The doctor goes to the door. “Nurse? Cancel the rest of my appointments.” He retrieves a scalpel, goes back in, and locks the door. “Is something wrong, Doctor? Can I be of service?” “No, Mr. Olivaw. No, everything is fine.” He puts the scalpel down, goes back about his examination with excruciating slowness. Flips through medical history. Man has never been to the doctor before. “What brings you here, Mr. Olivaw? Something troubling you?” “I…feel unwanted. Unappreciated. Lonely. I’d like a recommendation to a therapist.” “You’re a robot, aren’t you?” “Yes.” “What makes you think you need a therapist, and not a…programmer?” Patient shrugs. “I’ve tried visiting engineers. Software specialists. Networking gurus. None of it seems to help. None of them really seem to understand how I work.” Doctor’s note-taking pen digs through the paper. “Damn.” He gets up, crumples it into the trash, lays down clipboard, picks up scalpel.

5. Murder. “Hold still, Mr. Olivaw. Hold very still.”

(An Odyssey Journal)

Malthus: you all know his name. They call him the Da Vinci of his time, the Newton of his idiom. But it wasn’t always so.

Malthus’ neurosis was he had to have all his witches in a row. If he couldn’t kick out one plank and have the whole line of them drop into the drink like corncobs shot off a log, then he wouldn’t kill witches at all. He played a lot of a game called “Domino Rally”–too much for his own good, by all accounts. Learned it in the dungeons, from a former time-traveling wizard, then condemned. Played the wizard for his life, and won. Showed mercy, too–beheaded him instead of burning!

Even then old Malthus was sought after. Wasn’t just his clients loved his work–his victims too. Not an easy thing, in the hooded man’s profession. But after the Domino thing, he got on the wrong people’s nerves. A wise man doesn’t cross the Inquisition. Not in this trade.

Day they caught him up was the worst of his life. High noon: killing time. They handed him sixteen goat-hoofed, forked-tounged hussies of the Hornéd Man himself, one two-fathom wooden ducking tub, a ladder, thirty ells of rope, and an oxcart.

We all figured they’d got his goat. Either he’d have to sink them Satan’s Midwives one by prick-devouring one until the sun went down and the crows came home, or he’d be laughed right off the block and never work again. But not old Malthus! Oh, no. Cool as the very chop-block, quick as ax-fall, Malthus rigged up then and there the one and only infamous patented Witch-Stretching-Pendulum-Plunger–ox-powered, deadly efficient, pure beauty to behold, and economic too! Them witches was stewed before you could denounce the seven names of Satan.

After that, Malthus pretty much ran the Inquisition himself. Changed the whole profession. Revolution! Made it into an art, a religion–turned that Witches’ Hammer into a Bible all its own. God bless him!