“My name is Gresbeziax,” said the slug.

  “And I am Laurie.”

  “And does your toy have a name?”

  “He’s not a toy,” replied Laurie.

  “I meant no offense.” It turned to the automaton. “Your name?”

  The automaton’s mind raced through its enormous library and finally hit on what it thought was an appropriate answer. “My name is Lazarus,” it responded.

  “I approve,” said Laurie. Then: “Pawn to King Four.”

  It was a close game, very close, but finally Laurie announced mate on the sixty-fourth move, using a strategy she had learned from Lazarus during some of their multitude of draws.

  “I shall hopefully be given my chance for revenge during the tournament,” said Gresbeziax, who inclined his head in what passed for a bow, and they slithered off to what had clearly become the slugs’ side of the building.

  “I beat him!” enthused Laurie. “We should win this tournament without working up a sweat.”

  “Why would one sweat?” asked Lazarus.

  “Never mind,” she answered. “Just get ready for an all-human final.”

  “Do you expect me to lose?” asked Lazarus.

  “Probably not,” she said. “Why?”

  “Because I am not a human.”

  “But you’re playing on the human side,” said Laurie.

  “I see,” said Lazarus, who didn’t quite see, but felt no desire to argue with her.

  The tournament began some three hours later, with some twenty players representing each side. It came to nineteen humans and an automaton versus twenty slugs . . .but within fifteen hours it was three humans and Lazarus against four slugs.

  Lazarus used a variation of the Indian defense (which became known in the chess books as the Robot defense) to win his next game, a brilliant queen sacrifice to win the one after that, a long and tortuous journey through the enemy lines to finally hit the white king from behind, and suddenly he was in the final match, the one that would determine the champion in the most-publicized chess game in history.

  “You can do it,” whispered Laurie to Lazarus as he prepared for the match.

  “Who is my opponent?” he asked.

  “You’re not going believe this,” she answered. “It’s Gresbeziax! Hell, if I could beat him, you’ll make mincemeat out of him!”

  “What is mincemeat?” asked Lazarus.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Just concentrate on the game. Damn, but I wish I was playing against him! If I can beat him, he should be a pushover for you!”

  “Not necessarily,” replied Lazarus, deciding that the truth would hurt her more than a lie, and that he could therefore deliver the lie without causing any internal harm to his thinking gear. “You improve with almost every game. You’re still not able to win, but you can no longer lose.”

  She shook her head, with a sad grin.

  “Just go out there and prove you’re the best!” she urged him.

  The two players were signaled to go the table at the center of the building, which had been sitting vacant until that moment. Their names were announced, a coin was flipped, and Gresbeziax won and chose white. He opened, Lazarus responded, and the game was under way.

  Lazarus used that section of his brainpower that was geared to chess to considering the game at hand, but the rest of his mental faculties were concentrating on what Laurie had said, and suddenly he thought he had found a way to make her truly happy. A strategy so close to the essence of chess that he hadn’t ventured there before. He wished he could ask someone if he was correct, but there was no one near him except Gresbeziax and a six-limbed referee from a neutral world.

  He thought about his plan for as long as he could, and then he put it into action. He moved a knight instead of a bishop, counted on the slug to spot and avoid the trap he was trying to set up, and conceded on the fifty-third move.

  And as the building erupted in cheers on one side and groans on the other, Lazarus congratulated Gresbeziax and looked around for Laurie. Finally he spotted her as she was approaching him.

  “I’m so sorry!” she said. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to lose.”

  “I ran up against a better player,” said Lazarus.

  “He couldn’t be!” she exclaimed. “After all, I beat him!”

  “I stand by what I said,” replied Lazarus, and the interlocked gears on its torso suddenly ground to a stop with a terrible grating sound.

  Its arm fell on the board and it froze into immobility.

  * * *

  They tried to resurrect him, of course, but it was no use, and finally they laid him out on a lab table and prepared to extract those parts of him that could still be used by other automatons.

  Suddenly there was a strange, metallic, grinding noise coming from its head.

  “What the hell was that?” asked one of the mechanics.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” answered another, “but the damned robot is smiling.”

  Copyright © 2016 by

  Mike Resnick & Jean-Claude Dunyach.

  Barb Galler-Smith lives in Alberta, Canada. She edits for On Spec: The Canadian Magazine of the Fantastic and likes quirky fiction. She’s taught Writing Fantasy and Science Fiction at Grant MacEwan University, mentors writers of all ages, and is co-author of three historical fantasies: Druids, Captives, Warriors with Josh Langston.

  NIGHT FOLK

  by Barb Galler-Smith

  Bonnie loved the quiet dark with her friends, but tonight she felt unsettled. The games area of Sunnyside Acres Assisted Living was deliciously deserted.

  Magnolia stared out the window at the new crescent moon, her face a sad mask. Helen drummed her fingers on the table for the thousandth annoying time, and Abigail still pondered what was trump. Bonnie dropped her cards on the table and stood up.

  “I’m tired and I’m hungry. Who wants to go out to get something to eat? It seems like days since I had anything filling. One simply can’t live on green beans and veggie stew forever.”

  “Count me in,” said Abigail and Helen together.

  “I’m not feeling well,” said Magnolia. “I think I’ll stay here. I’m really . . .I’m just so tired of it all.” She looked forlorn. “I’m done,” she whispered to Bonnie. “My time is short.”

  Bonnie pulled her to her feet. “Nonsense! You just need a decent meal. Let’s go get something.”

  Magnolia reluctantly followed as the others passed Kyle, night receptionist and handyman.

  “We’re going out for a walk,” said Bonnie.

  Kyle didn’t look up from his comic. “Okay,” he said, and then what seemed an afterthought, “Stay safe.”

  * * *

  Pete tossed the brochure for Sunnyside Acres on a coffee table already littered with advertisements from other assisted-living homes. “It’s only for women! It was so perfect, but no married couples. No exceptions.”

  Ellie choked back a sob. “My blindness is getting worse. Soon I won’t be able to do anything for myself.”

  Pete understood. Ellie’s macular degeneration was debilitating for them both. “Sure you will. And I’ll help you. We’ll be all right.” He gingerly rose from his chair in front of the fire, stretched and shook vigorously to loosen his joints. He took her hands in his, as he had for all of their fifty-three years of marriage. “We knew retirement wasn’t going to be easy.” He couldn’t bear to see her so sad. “Our hunting days are over, my dear. It’s time to relax and do other things.” They would find a place to move to, and Ellie would be safe.

  He transformed into his preferred shape—a German Shepherd-husky mix. He was large enough to wage battle and could take down and hold all but the strongest prey. With Ellie’s talons helping, they could eliminate most others. But now, modern life had driven so many night creatures underground and those left in the world were fitting in as they never had before. Pete had to face it—they needed to retire. They were just not strong or fast enough anymore.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said. “One last flight as Night Folk.”

  He padded to the apartment door. She stuffed a change of clothes and shoes for them in the small pack he carried across his back. She stepped into the moonlight, then closed and locked the door behind them. He looked around to make sure no neighbor was watching. He woofed softly.

  Ellie transformed and spread her wings.

  Pete watched her soar then bank toward the river. He followed at a trot.

  * * *

  At the end of the block Bonnie and her friends turned into the park and kept close to the few streetlamps. It wasn’t much of a park, but it had enough trees and shrubs to make it friendly to any who didn’t want to be seen doing what they weren’t supposed to be doing.

  They took it slow, walking two by two, arms linked, and engrossed in quiet conversation. In their bright, baggy cardigans, using four-footed walking canes, Bonnie thought they looked like a multicolored twelve-legged caterpillar as they shuffled along the darkening path.

  They pretended not to see the two guys creeping parallel to them.

  “Careful,” whispered Bonnie. “Keep walking.”

  They kept walking, eyes on each other, never letting their gaze linger on the men.

  Then the men leapt from the near bushes. One grabbed at Bonnie’s purse and pushed her hard against a large tree trunk.

  Bonnie wheeled, elbowed him in the face, and threw him to the ground. Magnolia sat on his chest with her knees pinning his shoulders. He bucked and thrashed in an effort to dislodge her. Bonnie sat on his legs.

  He yelped in pain. “Get off!”

  The other man grappled with Helen. She jabbed him in the groin with the end of her cane. He fell to his knees, and Abigail kicked him flat and held him with a foot on his back.

  The men struggled and swore, but were unable to extricate themselves.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Bonnie said. “There are consequences to being bad boys.”

  “Let me go, you old hag,” cried the one under Abigail’s foot. He nearly wiggled free, and she secured him with the tips of her cane pressing hard into the back of his knee.

  “Let go!” he howled.

  “This will hurt a smidgen,” Magnolia said to the man she sat on. She leaned over and bit him hard on the side of the neck. “Ick!” she said, recoiling and spitting the blood to the ground. “This guy is full of drugs.”

  Bonnie had a stronger stomach than Magnolia. She quickly maneuvered to his neck, bit hard, and took a long drink. She winced at the taste. Whatever he was on, it was nothing she couldn’t quickly overcome. His blood was the main thing. She drank until he stopped struggling. She nudged him. He wasn’t dead but would be weak for a few days. She’d stopped short of killing him, or worse, turning him.

  Magnolia stepped to the other man. “May I try that one?”

  He stopped struggling for an instant. “Don’t kill me,” he said, his eyes wide.

  Magnolia stroked his cheek. “Not my style,” she said. She bent close and nibbled delicately on his neck. “No drugs,” she murmured and sank her teeth deep.

  The tasty man groaned. He didn’t resist her—she had a flair for soothing her prey and they rarely struggled. She drank her fill. Her curly white hair grew bloody on the ends that draped over his neck. A glistening darkness dribbled down her chin. He stared up at her.

  Both Abigail and Helen had a taste. Not enough to satiate them, but a decent snack.

  Tasty’s gaze never left Magnolia’s face.

  Bonnie recognized the look in his eyes. Hate rather than fear. They’d either have to kill him or let him go soon. If he were turned, he’d be a danger to everyone. Especially Magnolia.

  High Guy scuttled backward as fast as he could. He grabbed his friend by the coat and tugged him a short way. When his friend didn’t move quick enough, he ran.

  Something growled behind them.

  A massive dog knocked Magnolia to the ground. Abigail and Helen rushed to her rescue. Helen held her cane up to fend off the dog.

  She was strong, but the dog was stronger. It grabbed her by the arm.

  A silent, pale form dove at Bonnie with talons open. She jumped, swung a fist wildly and knocked an enormous owl to the ground. The dog immediately abandoned Magnolia and ran to the fallen bird.

  “Hunters!” Bonnie cried. “Run!”

  * * *

  “Ellie!”

  Pete transformed from his dog shape and knelt beside his wife, no longer an owl. A lump was forming on her forehead just above her left eye. Ellie opened her eyes, blinked and shook her head. “Oh gods, Pete, I can’t see at all now!” Tears streamed down her face. “What am I going to do?”

  Pete growled. He looked for the blood-eaters but they were long gone. If his Ellie was permanently damaged, there would be payback.

  * * *

  The clash with the Hunters seemed to take the spirit out of Magnolia. About a week after the incident in the park, she said she was ready to go. They pretended she was moving to Florida to live with family. She packed away all her belongings and Sunnyside Acres held a party for her.

  Kyle gave a short speech. “Being a night person let me meet one of the best ladies in the place. I’ll miss you, Magnolia.”

  They would all miss her.

  Just before her last dawn, she bid her friends pleasant dreams and stepped into the cloistered garden. Bonnie and the others watched her through the blinds of Bonnie’s heavily shaded room. As the sun rose, Magnolia waved to them, and then turned toward the rising sun with a smile.

  * * *

  Life wasn’t the same without Magnolia.

  No one felt much like going out, and had it not been for Bonnie’s urging, the other two might have followed Magnolia into the sun. Bonnie kept herself occupied by discovering the lair that the two thugs used. The ladies worked harder at night to keep other hoodlums from returning to the park at dusk. As a result, neighbors started gravitating to their little green belt. Families gathered and children played during the day. At night young couples walked hand in hand without fear. Kyle said the park felt protected. That cheered her.

  Bonnie sat with the others playing three-handed Whist. Three-handed was all right, but they really needed a fourth.

  “Hey, Kyle!” called Bonnie. “Wanna play Whist?”

  “Thanks for thinking of me,” he said, putting down his ever-present superhero comic, “but I need to greet our new resident in a few minutes. She’s a night owl, just like you ladies.”

  Probably not quite, Bonnie thought with a smile, but maybe she played cards. The sight of the newcomer at the door with a white cane and a guide dog squelched that idea.

  It took half an hour to settle the paperwork, and then the movers began unloading their truck. The woman and her dog didn’t have much and within an hour all was unloaded. The men spent another two hours unpacking boxes. The woman and her dog disappeared into her room, but after the movers left, Bonnie was sure she heard a man’s voice coming from the small apartment.

  She didn’t want to be seen prying, but the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She moved closer to the apartment’s door and almost bumped into Kyle.

  He grinned at her then knocked. “Ellie, I’ve got those last papers for you to sign right now.” The door opened and he closed it behind him.

  The scent of Hunters washed over Bonnie. She stepped back in panic and struggled to remain calm. A blind woman and her dog. But not just any dog. It was the dog from the park.

  She gritted her teeth. The dog had nearly killed Magnolia. In a way, it had killed her.

  Bonnie hurried back to the table.

  “Well?” said Helen.

  “Hunters.”

  Abigail shivered and put her head in her hands. “Oh no! I’m not ready to move on. I like it here, and this is where . . .where Magnolia was. I don’t want to leave.”

  With Hunters so near, it meant life or death for her and the others to remain where they were at Sunnyside Acres. They tried not to kill and only drank what they needed to survive. Hunters had no such principles. Hunters killed all of their kind.

  She snarled. “We’ll just have to take them out. Divide and conquer.”

  The couple emerged from their room with Kyle and walked across to his desk. The dog was the largest Bonnie had ever seen, and he was by far the more dangerous of the two. The woman beside him must be the owl Bonnie had struck down.

  In her human form, the woman was truly blind. She walked with one hand extended slightly, the other clutched the dog’s harness handle. The dog had eyes only for her. Seeing a Hunter become such a frail figure somewhat saddened Bonnie. It was an emotion she could not afford to nurture. As soon as the dog turned his head toward her, he sniffed and his ears pricked. Then his hackles rose, and a low growl washed across the room. He had recognized her.

  “Pete!” said the woman softly. “Not now.”

  The dog settled but he raised his lip to Bonnie in a promise of a more private meeting.

  After they signed the last of the paperwork, Kyle led the woman to Bonnie and the others.

  “Hey, ladies. This is Ellie and her dog, Pete. Ellie, these are my night-owl Sunnysiders—Bonnie, Abigail, and Helen.”

  “Welcome,” said Abigail. She gave the woman a melancholy smile. “You’re the spitting image of a friend who recently left us.” She started to cry. “I hope you’ll be very happy here.” With that, she hurried away to her room.

  Abigail was right. Ellie resembled Magnolia. They had the same height and build, and her hair fell in white curls around a heart-shaped face with a wistful smile. It was unsettling.

  Ellie held out her hand to shake but withdrew it the instant Bonnie touched her. She shivered, as if ruffling feathers.

  A grumbling threat came from the dog and he moved in front of Ellie.

  “Pete! Back!” she whispered. “How do you do?” she added stiffly.

  Bonnie stepped back. They all knew, but they couldn’t allow Kyle to know anything was wrong. The Hunters also seemed to be keeping a low profile.

  She watched the dog for a moment, and then smiled as if she meant it. “I think you will love Sunnyside. It’s been our home for five years. It’s very private and nobody pries. Turnaround is slow, so there is time to make new friends, but I think everyone who was here before us has moved on—some to more care and some . . . ”