THE MENTOR 77, January 1993

THE MENTOR Australian Science Fiction CONTENTS #77 - COLUMNISTS: 9 - FANTASY DOWNUNDER by Bill Congreve 22 - WARRIORS OF ANCIENT WORLDS by Andrew Darlington 36 - ARGENTINE SF HISTORY 2 by Claudio Omar Noguerol 44 - OUT OF OZ by Ron Clarke COMIC SECTION: 47 - FERAL KILLERS by Carter & Carcinogen FICTION: 2 - OBUNAGA'S FINGER by Mustafa Zahirovic 15 - GODDESS OF STONE by Sean Williams 31 - THE SALE OF YOUTH by George Ivanoff DEPARTMENTS: 56 - THE R&R DEPT. - Reader's Letters. 75 - REVIEWS by Ron Clarke Front Cover Art by Peggy Ranson. Interior Illos: Peggy Ranson p. 8, 21, 30, 74 Jozef Szekeres p. 14, 55. Kerrie Hanlon p.1 THE MENTOR 77, January 1993. ISSN 0727-8462. Edited, printed and published by Ron Clarke, 6 Bellevue Road, Faulconbridge, NSW 2776, Australia. THE MENTOR is published at intervals of roughly three months. It is available for published contribution (fiction [science fiction or fantasy]), poetry, article, trade ( not with an APAzine), or substantial letter of comment on a previous issue. It is not available for subscription, but is available for $5 for a sample issue (posted) Contributions may be on an IBM ascii file or a known-brand world processor on disc or typed, single or double-spaced, preferably a good photocopy (and if you want it returned, please send a Stamped, Self Addressed Envelope of the appropriate size)! Contributions are not paid; THE MENTOR 77 page 1 however they receive a free copy of the issue their contribution is in, and any future issue containing comments on their contribution. Contents (C) Copyright 1992 for the Contributors THE MENTOR 77 page 2 OBUNAGA'S FINGER by Mustafa Zahirovic The first breath of life is the best breath. Take it Ya, the first breath of life is the best. from a guy who's been dead a couple of times before. My wallet was undisturbed but the .47 calibre was Despite the maternal embrace of genesis I was gone from its shoulder holster. Too bad it was a birthday beginning not to feel too well. Many things had happened present. in too short a time. My forebrain was beginning to ache as I scraped myself fully out of the gutter, people the primary centres for logic started gearing down to were beginning to stare. My gut felt heavy, my knees sore second, maybe first. and my hands were beginning to tremble. If I looked as bad So I lost the finger. Or it was stolen, which ever as I felt they had good reason to stare. way you want to angle it. Walking back to my car I searched my pockets for I pulled myself out of the gutter and sat on its some Vision. Two capsules left, I popped both. "Two edge, facing the road. I massaged the bridge of my nose. minutes, mon. Two minutes. Faster Vision no can buy." Could I laugh at all this? Hmm, nix. That was the sales pitch the Rastafarian used to sell me half Ten days invested trying to trace the path of the a dozen capsules. According to him in only two minutes I'd finger. It had changed more hands than peace keeping be riding The Wave. The wave of an endorphin and forces had entered Portugal. Ten days littered with adrenalin rush strong enough to be sustained for a couple countless international phonecalls, bad leads and useless of hours but with enough bio-bypass chemistry to avoid bribes. I understand there's an embassy official in Sapporo frying receptor sensitivity. who bought his wife a holiday in Turkey with my bribe I had to collect myself. There was no thread of money. In return I get an authentic Hokkaido Government continuity. Pieces of unconnected data sat heavily, letterhead with a curt but apologetic message rejecting my awkwardly. Ya. I had all the classic signs of Pre-Wave visa application. Exhaustion. Elevated desire for control of self and Two days ago I received a singing telegram surrounds, feelings of urgency, wry sense of humour. It commissioned by my Japanese contacts. A tall blonde was a well documented syndrome. Psychosomatic, wearing rubber boots cut off at thigh level and nothing else apparently. tells me I'm now the proud owner of the finger, yes the Deeper, search deeper. finger, yesirree! The boys in Japan still haven't lost their Munen Muso . No design, no conception. sense of humour. Or their gift for a clever business deal. Musashi's strong words were coming back to me. Words of They tra ded the finger from a scurvy stricken warehouse reason, holding an intuitive correctness. Without the overseer for three kilos of imported oranges. chemistry I had to fall back on the internal strength of my Less than an hour ago it was placed in my hand. forefathers; philosophy, Munen Muso. When thought and Only a few parties knew I had it. There had to be some action are instantaneously the same. No design, no weak link in the chain. conception. The finger was on my person. In its humble The finger in question was in fact the distal wooden case it sat snugly in the inside pocket of my jacket. phalanx of the little finger, and before its removal it was It was sliced out of its nest while I was out to lunch, rather attached to the left hand of Obunaga Martez. The two deftly I may add. parted company some seventy years ago. That high voltage anti-personel blast someone Obu was a famous badman of northern Japan in a used to stun my higher brain functions must have stopped mongrel Yakuza clan, now extinct. The mongrel clans, like my heart for a time. When I came around my fingers were the finger were real relics. Only the finger more so. still blue. My eternal thanks to the Australian Armed Severing part of the digit was an act of penitence Forces and Nihon Biotechnologies for implanting that peculiar to the Yakuza. The digit was an offering, it cardiac jump starter for my active duty in Colombia. signified to the Oyaban that his retainer had acknowledged JANUARY 1993 page 3 his error and wished to continue loyal service. It was The Vision finally kicked in. Pain became a dry, simple, and extreme. That's how the Yakuza lived. warm throb. I made it back to my car. My heavy feet falling one Now in focus, I managed another swing at his face after another as if by automation. I sat on the bonnet, I before he made it to the ground. The impact of the blow didn't know where to go first. My focus was displaced, I sent his head backward dramatically with a long spray of had no idea where to start. Where the hell was that Wave? blood and teeth. A little more than two minutes, what say you, mon? The running footsteps of the other two were a Munen Muso. welcomed sound. The strained breathing and wet murmurs Wallet intact, gun taken. Finger cut out of my of the first three held their own felicity. jacket, not simply taken out. Flamboyant. No blood, a I got into the car. Home. Right now that was as perfect horizontal slice. Nice piece of knife-work, very nice. good a destination as any 'Hello, Slam Head.' Llancafilo, you have much to answer for. Ya? Knife-work. High voltage blast. Not very I drove home carefully. From the glances I caught compatible. in the rearview, I could see my left eye was quickly swelling 'Hey! I'm talking to you, Coffee Boy.' and turning purple black. Great punch. Kid's got a good Long distance electrical assault. Short range future. knifing, very clean. Two parties, must be. But the gun was I reviewed what I had. Llancafilo stole Obunaga's taken. Llancafilo, you prick. finger, nobody else I knew could handle a knife the way he 'Hey, Moron.' does. Or would have specific interest in my gun. No-one Finally realizing the barrage of abuse was directed but Llancafilo knew the gun was a gift from Myu. at me was like being woken from sleep by a sharp slap to the The catch was that Llancafilo had no idea I had gonads. the cardiac jump starter implanted before my tour in There were five of them, none older than sixteen. Colombia. In other words that high voltage blast was set to They carried chains and knives, one had a hockey stick. flat-fine me not just stun higher brain centres. They stood in a half circle around me, grinning. Eyes full of I gripped the steering wheel tightly. Much to the innocence of youth and the sparkle of ten plus answer for Llancafilo. milligrams of Chorus. Trying to find the central thread, even Vision I slid off the bonnet, behind me was busy roadway. assisted, proved to be a tortuous exercise. I was in a highly compromised position. It was ten days ago that Brin Lois, the chief of 'Gentlemen', I said, instinctively crossing my arms New-Melbourne's most powerful mongrel gang, approached across my chest. The absence of metallic weight in my me in person. I was touched, a person of his ill-repute seen shoulder holster was not comforting. in public, associating with me. He had achieved legendary The one with the hockey stick approached. status, leaders of other crime cartels prayed facing toward 'Sarah Connor?' he asked. his condominium. The story of how his type evolved, with Great, just great. Me and these young hoods were all their far-reaching influence, read like the author was the last people left in New-Melbourne who watch those drawing inspiration from the peyote cactus.

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