Iterations and other stories (collection)

This is the oldest story in the book. It was written in November 1978—my last year in high school—for my English teacher William Martyn, a man who encouraged me enormously and remains a friend to this day. The story was first published (for no pay) in 1980 in White Wall Review, the literary journal put out by Ryerson Polytechnical Institute, edited that year by Ed Greenwood, who went on to be a major force in Dungeons and Dragons. (I was a student at Ryerson from 1979 to 1982, and co-edited White Wall Review myself in 1982).

In 1982, I sold reprint rights to Isaac Asimov, Terry Carr, and Martin H. Greenberg for their anthology 100 Great Fantasy Short Short Stories—and this time I was paid!

In 1985, I wrote and narrated three hour-long documentaries about science fiction for CBC Radio’s Ideas series; for that project, I got to interview Asimov in his Manhattan penthouse. I brought along just one book for him to sign: not one of his famous novels, but rather a copy of 100 Great Fantasy Short Short Stories, the book that contained this, my first professional fiction publication.

* * *

“It’s getting too much for me,” said the leader of the Party in Power, his voice thundering through the sky. “I propose a simple contest, winner take all.”

“Oh?” replied the leader of the Opposition, the syllable materializing as a puff of flame. “This intrigues me. The terms?” “We select a mutually agreeable subject, an average man, and measure his tendencies toward our respective sides. The party whose ideology he leans to will gain custody of the species for all time. I’m getting too old to fight over each individual with you. Do you agree to the contest?”

“It sounds like a Hell of an idea.”

“It is done, then.”

John Smith was, of course, the perfect choice. He was of average height and average weight, of average intellect and income. Even his name was average. He went to work that morning just another one of four billion people, but, during his lunch hour, he became the sole object of attention of two great minds.

“Aha!” proclaimed the leader of the Party in Power, whom henceforth we shall call G. “Observe his generosity: his gratuity is over twenty percent of the total bill. My point.”

“Not so fast,” interposed the leader of the Opposition, D. “Look into his mind for his motive. The magnitude of the tip is intended to impress the buxom secretary he is dining with. His wife, I suspect, would not approve. The point is mine.”

John Smith left the table with his secretary and proceeded through the streets to their place of employment. Catching sight of a matronly woman ahead soliciting donations for a worthwhile charity, he crossed the road early.

“Generosity, you said?” D smiled. “My point.”

Returning to his office ten minutes late, Smith settled to his work. His secretary buzzed him to say that his wife was on the phone.

“Tell her I’m in a meeting,” Smith commanded.

“Three zip,” said D.

Smith next entered his purely personal luncheon date on his company expense account.

“You’re lagging behind,” said D, satisfied. “I would say he is a staunch supporter of my party. Four.”

“Perhaps,” said G, “perhaps.”

At 4:50, Smith left his office to go home. “Don’t worry. I won’t count that against him,” said D, comfortable in his lead.

On the subway, Smith read over the shoulder of the man sitting beside him, averting his eyes from the old woman standing nearby.

“Five.”

Walking from the subway station to his house, he threw a candy bar wrapper onto his neighbor’s lawn.

“Is littering a sin?” asked D.

“I’m not sure,” allowed G.

“It’s unimportant. The outcome is inevitable.”

Entering his house, Smith called a greeting to his fat wife and sat down to read the newspaper before dinner. His wife asked him to take the dog for a walk before they ate. He left something else on his neighbor’s lawn this time.

“Well, I’m certainly entitled to a point for that,” said D.

“Crudity. Six to nothing.”

“Perhaps a more definitive test?”

“For instance?”

D waved his red arms and screams rose from an alley near Smith. “Help! Somebody help!” D chalked up another point as Smith turned deliberately away from the noise. G sent a police officer running past Smith.

“Did you hear anything?” shouted the cop.

“No. I don’t want to be involved.”

G frowned. D smiled.

Smith headed quickly back to his house, hurrying up the driveway as he heard the phone ringing. “It’s for you,” called out his wife.

He picked up the receiver. “Why, Christopher! I’ll be damned!”

“Would you care to play the best two out of three?” sighed G.

Stream of Consciousness

Winner of the Aurora Award for Best Short Story of the Year

Author’s Introduction