I mentioned editorial ethics. Well...

In this manner this story came to join my collection of rejects, so was available for this volume. I submit it as Exhibit A in my case against editors, who can treat seasoned pros as shabbily as hopeful unsold writers.

I do believe in my story. There are things here that I subscribe to, such as protection of the environment and a longing for a better world. It is an editor's right to reject what doesn't suit his taste. But it is a writer's right to make his own case. Here is mine.

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It was a desolate region. What pollution hadn't stunted, the drought had wilted. Duff turned his eyes away from the dreary scene and snoozed as the taxi carried him on.

He imagined a melange of the great realms of fantasy, where magic worked and fantastic creatures roamed and swords were the state of the art in weaponry. Where wizards cast horrendous spells, and maidens were not only beautiful but innocent. He had used fantasy settings in role-playing games, and had tried many fantasy computer games, but none of them were quite enough. Mostly he just read and reread the wonderful adventures; they were his main escape from dullness.

For Duff had long since resigned himself to the fact that though he had the aspirations of an adventurer, he had the body and mind of a nonentity. He wasn't handsome or brilliant; about all he could claim was decency, and decency didn't carry much weight in the military life. Or the civilian life, he knew. So he longed for the realms where magic could supply what he lacked.

Soon he achieved his desire: He dreamed he was in such a land. He didn't have a quest; he was just walking through a world he knew was magic. He was sure that if he walked far enough, he would encounter both dragons and sweet maidens. He didn't even want to hurt the dragons; he just wanted to be in the same world with them. For in such a place, he would have some kind of magic ability that would make him a person of note. Not of great reputation, just someone to be respected for himself, that one woman would find intriguing.

He woke as the car slowed, approaching the project grounds. Here, at least, there was greenery, and the main building looked like an old hotel. It probably was just that, converted to military use. Behind it was a tall wire fence with the top angled, the kind used to contain dangerous men or animals. But all that was visible within that compound was a forest, with a hill in the background.

A portly man in civilian clothing was waiting as the taxi stopped. Duff climbed out, and hesitated. "Sir?" he inquired.

"Colonel Clelland, but don't salute," the man said, proffering his hand.

"Sergeant Duff Van Dyke, sir," Duff said, taking the hand.

"Come in. Leave your things; you won't be using them." The Colonel drew him on into the lobby.

"Sir?"

"We have less than an hour to get you into action," the Colonel said. "Keep your mouth shut and listen while we get you ready."

Duff obeyed, knowing better than to argue with an officer. But he was beginning to doubt his wisdom in accepting this mysterious assignment. He had admitted to being bored with military life, and to the consideration of letting his hitch lapse so he could return to civilian life. But he still had three months to go, and his commander had made him an offer he couldn't refuse: finish out his hitch with this special assignment, and if thereafter he wished to re-enlist he would receive a jump promotion. If he elected to leave the service, he would be given an equivalent civilian job in any region he chose. The commander was a man of honor; Duff could trust the deal. So he agreed, without knowing anything about it. In fact, he had been flattered that his re-enlistment was so strongly sought; he had been no more than a quiet, hardworking paper-pusher. He hadn't figured they would miss him.

He still did not know the nature of his assignment. It was evidently secret. But strange.

The Colonel brought him to a private chamber. A middle-aged woman was there. "Dress him," the Colonel told her.

She approached Duff immediately and began to remove his clothing. "Sir—" Duff protested, surprised.

"Stand still; there's no time for that." The Colonel flashed a momentary glare that showed that he had indeed had decades of command, and Duff was cowed. He tuned out the woman as well as he could, and listened.

"As you know, we have been exploring alternate aspects of reality," the Colonel continued after a pause. Duff hadn't known that, but masked his surprise. The military cult of secrecy was one of the things that had made him yearn for civilian life. Evidently the Colonel assumed he had been briefed. "Most of the alternates we have discovered are similar to our own culture, with distressingly similar problems of overpopulation, depletion of resources, and fouled-up political systems. There really is no point in establishing relations with them; they can't help us and we can't help them. We have been looking for rich wilderness worlds to colonize and exploit; we could solve all our problems with a few of those."

"Yes, sir," Duff said. But he remembered how the Western Hemisphere had represented such a solution for crowded Europe. He was something of a fan of medieval Europe, because that was the implied setting for much of heroic fantasy. It was even said that Middle Earth was merely a map of Europe turned sideways. But in real life, Europe had destroyed most of its heroic natural resources. All too soon the New World had been fully colonized and exploited, and now had problems just like the old ones. Was it really good to have man laying waste pristine lands for short-term benefits?

Meanwhile, the woman was undressing him. She was perfectly businesslike, but it was hard to tune it out completely.

"A year ago, we discovered an ideal world," the Colonel said. "Phenomenal resources of wood, coal, oil, gold, diamonds, pure water—everything this Earth of ours ever had, because it is this world, but with all its assets untouched. There are people there, but they do not use these things. They do not seem to amass wealth. They do not practice war. They seem to live in absolute peace and harmony with nature. It's uncanny, and of course suspicious."

"Of course, sir," Duff agreed. Oh, to live in such a culture! He was tired of the rat race that was daily existence. He had enlisted in the military life because of the security of money, housing and health care it offered, but felt stultified by its lack of adventure. It would not be better in war time, he knew; then there would be excitement of a sort, but it could kill him.

He wanted ultimate security and ultimate freedom, and it didn't seem to exist.

Which reminded him: He was now standing naked, the woman having stripped him completely. The Colonel didn't seem to notice.

"So we sent in an armed party to subdue them, naturally. And it disappeared. So we sent in planes and tanks—and they disappeared. Obviously the natives have some kind of weapon we don't know about. We don't dare try to colonize and exploit that world until we have pacified those dangerous aliens. But we can't pacify them until we nullify their weapon, and we can't do that until we know what it is."

"That makes sense, sir," Duff said. But in his private heart, he was rooting for the folk of the other world. Let them remain undespoiled!

Now the woman was dressing him in odd clothing. Strange thick underwear, and a winding around the waist. The dress of the otherworld folk?

"So six months ago we set up a special project," the Colonel said. "We constructed a village just like one we had photographed in the alternate world, and made costumes like those of the natives, and instituted a life-style just like theirs. It is medieval, actually; it most resembles our society of a thousand or so years ago. But patterned on what we know of the aliens. We copied their icons and their architecture, as far as we know it. We managed to get one of their books, and translate it; it's a book of spells and rituals. So these are required of the inhabitants. Then we populated it with volunteers. We gave them drugs and electroshocks to disorient them and erase their recent memories, and put them into that model village. Fifty-two people, evenly divided in sex, ranging in age from ten to fifty. We made an instant functioning alien community. People who believe in magic, and think they are in a land of dragons and sorcerers."

"That must have been quite a trick, sir." In fact, Duff doubted that it would work; strangers could not simply be dumped into a setting and made to operate like clockwork dolls. He himself longed to be in just such a world, but he would not be fooled for a moment. He did know the difference between reality and fantasy. But the military mind didn't know that people weren't automatons. Nevertheless his interest was intensifying. This was a fantasy setting!

The clothing, too, was fantastic. Now he was being garbed in a robelike wrapping with an attached hood, bright green.

"Of course we have pickups throughout the village. We can see and hear everything that goes on. We have everything on tape: every conversation, every bodily function, every sexual encounter. The idea is that by watching this community, we may learn how the aliens think. Then we hope to introduce our villagers into that other world, after teaching them as much as we can of the other language, and with luck they will get along well enough to find out where and what that secret weapon is."

"Smart ploy, sir." Trust the military mind to care nothing about any of the other culture; all it wanted was to nullify a weapon, so the conquest could proceed. And how much of a thrill were the voyeurs getting, watching the villagers have sex?

Meanwhile, the woman had finished the job of dressing him. All that remained was the shoes, which turned out to be soft green slippers with pointed toes that tapered into lengths of cord which flopped as he moved his feet. They were comfortable, but he would hate to be seen in public in them.

"But there's a problem. We can see that the members of this community are honoring the prescribed rituals. They make obeisance to the symbolic statues we installed. They seem to be truly accepting the life-style established for them. They have, to a remarkable extent, become aliens. But in the process, they have become too strange for us to fathom. That's why we need to send in a normal man to investigate."

Now it came clear. "Me. Because I read fantasy and am available for something unusual." It hadn't been his record or his dedication, it had been his weirdness. He should have known.

The Colonel nodded. "You. For those reasons. And because you're not one of our regular personnel. They wouldn't accept one of us; they know who we are, somehow, even when our number changes. But it takes at least an hour for them to pick up on a new member, so we must move you through within that time." He paused for a deep breath. "All the volunteers were fantasy addicts; we felt we would succeed better if they had a predisposition. The aliens seem to believe in magic, so our community believes in magic.

We fear the people will not accept a person who isn't sympathetic."

"I'm not volunteering to be given shock treatments and memory loss!" Duff protested.

"No, of course not. You must remain one of us. That is the point. You must pass as one of them, but retain your objectivity."

Thus the costume: evidently what the members of this artificial community wore. He surely looked the part, now! "But sir, I am perplexed. If you have visual and sonic monitors throughout the village, surely you already know what's going on there."

"We thought we did. But the villagers seem to have developed types of communication we aren't aware of. They act with an uncanny unity we can't fathom. They have make-believe children that they evidently believe in—and when a 'child' goes from one family to another, the second family greets it though there has been no communication between the two families. They go up a hill to placate a dragon-god. We do have a mock-dragon there, but they—" The Colonel shook his head. "Sometimes I think I'm going crazy myself."

"Why should I see anything the sensors don't?"

"I don't know. But it seems that they see what the sensors don't, and we hope they will show you what that is. When you find that out, you will return to report to us. We expect it to take two weeks or a month; you will need that long to be accepted by them. A lot depends on the woman."

"Woman?"

"You are single. All of the villagers have paired. That was one of the earliest surprises."

"Well, sir, isn't it natural for men and women to get together?" He spoke as if this was routine, but it wasn't; he had spent his adult life longing for a woman who would love him.

She wouldn't have to be beautiful, just adequate. Just so long as she cared.

"I must explain that for convenience we named them alphabetically. The men were given names beginning, in turn, with A, B, C and so on through the letter Z. The women were similarly named. It was patently artificial, but we were in a hurry. We never thought—" The man shook his head.

"What is the problem, sir? Names are just names." Actually, in fantasy, names were things to conjure with, literally, but there was no point in trying to clarify that.

"Arthur matched with Angela; Bradford with Belinda; Charles with Carla. We didn't do that; we named them randomly by computer. They did it. It seems that there is magical significance in names, so they believed they were destined for each other. Hundred per cent alignment."

"But you said some were children!"

"Down to age ten. Didn't matter. Todd is thirty, Tara is ten. They are a couple."

"Maybe like father and daughter—" Duff protested.

The Colonel merely looked at him.

They spied on every act of the colony. Evidently it was a complete union. This was apt to be more of an assignment than he had anticipated!

"Victor died, so Violet is alone," the Colonel said. "That was the one remaining thing that brought you to the head of the list of availables."

"My name. Van Dyke."

"Yes. You will be Van, there."

"But Violet may not—"

"Don't be concerned. She will come to you."

"But to be assigned a woman, just because—I never agreed—"

"Sergeant, you have a mission to perform."

Duff saw the way of it. "How did Victor die, sir?"

"He was slain by the dragon."

"But there is no dragon! Not a real one!"

"Precisely." The Colonel took him by the elbow. "I regret that we lack time to brief you on the nuances of the culture, but all you have to do is say you can't remember, and act disoriented. If they accept you, you'll pick up on it quickly enough. When you discover how they do what they do, return here to the building and we will take you in. After your report, you will be done, and can return to your regular unit."

"Just like that, sir? In and out?"

"That's it, Sergeant. But it may not be easy to fathom what they are doing. They baffle us now in much the way the aliens do. In fact, they have become eerily like the aliens. So our problem may also be our success: If we can understand what has happened here, we may have the key to dealing with the aliens. That's why we have come to call their reservation the Alien Plot."

"Plot, sir? As in conspiracy or as in land?"

"Both." They had come to a door in the back. "Out you go, and good luck, Van. We are depending on you."

The door opened and Van stepped out. He heard it close behind him. He turned to glance back, and saw that it was a weathered stone wall without sign of an aperture. Excellent camouflage, that.

"I beg you—what is your name?" It was a dulcet woman's voice.

Duff turned. There stood an unattractive woman of perhaps thirty, wearing what he took to be the feminine equivalent of his own costume. It was green, like his, with the pointed slippers.

"Van," he said. Then he remembered to act confused. "I—where am I? I don't remember—"

"I am Violet. I knew you would come, Van, for I have need of you. I will take you home."

His heart sank. This was the single woman matching his initial. He had not had time to think about it, but given any choice he would have hoped for a beautiful creature, and settled for average. This woman had straight, hard facial features and dark brown hair tied into a severe bun. She was somewhat heavyset.

Well, duty was duty, and at least he wouldn't have to flounder around the countryside. The Colonel's notion that it took the villagers a while to catch on to the identity of new people had been proven false already; the woman had been expecting him. "Thank you, Violet. I—

are we—I don't remember you—"

"We have not met, but we are destined for each other," she said, taking his arm much as the Colonel had.

"But why?" he asked, not having to pretend confusion.

"Because of the way of the name. Had you been any other letter, I would have known you were not for me. But you match, therefore it is ordained. We will be lovers tonight, and tomorrow I will begin to teach you the Way."

"But—"

"You do not feel it?"

"I don't feel anything! I don't know you, and as for being lovers, I'm certainly not ready for that!"

"You will be ready tonight," she said confidently.

Duff stopped arguing. He had a mission to accomplish, whatever sacrifice he had to make.

They came to the village. There were, he was sure without counting, twenty-six crude structures, each occupied by a couple. They were fashioned from local materials: stone, sod, branches, mud and grass. No trees had been cut, and the landscape remained wild except for the paths to the houses. This was truly a natural community, and he liked that.

Violet's hut was green, which at this point did not surprise him. It was open and neat inside, more attractive than he had expected. He hoped there would not be bugs.

"First we must address the hearth," Violet said. "I know this is new to you, so I will explain to V. I'm sure he will understand."

"Vee?"

"The patron spirit of this house. You must have his approval if you are to stay here, and you must stay here."

Duff remembered the Colonel's remark about rituals. Well, that was what he was here to understand. He knew that the monitors were recording them; in fact the Colonel himself was probably watching personally, to be sure Duff was settling in. So he would join the ritual, so that Violet and the others would accept him.

The patron spirit was unmistakable. It was a figurine in the shape of the letter V, with an eye and ear on each side and a mouth below, making a distorted face whose nose was formed by the hollow center of the V. It sat on the mantel above the fireplace, and its eyes stared into the main chamber.

Violet fetched a cushion and set it on the packed-earth floor before the hearth. "Kneel here.

Bow your head. Do not gaze at V until I tell you. I will guide you through it."

Obediently, Duff kneeled and focused on the floor. Violet set a similar cushion down beside him, and kneeled on it herself.

Violet looked at the fireplace. Suddenly the coals blazed up, making a warm fire.

"Oh V, master of this house," she intoned. "I bring to you a new man, and I plead for your favor toward him." She paused. "Yes, he is of your clan. His name is Van." She paused again. "What?"

Then she turned to Duff. "As you value your life, tell me your real name!"

Startled, he answered before thinking. "Duff Van Dyke."

She turned back to the statue. "Oh V, I did not know! I thought he was—" Again she paused, as if interrupted by another person. As if she were having a dialogue on the phone, and he could hear only her words.

"Victor was true," she said after a moment. "But he found disfavor with the dragon, and the dragon killed him. I knew there would be another, and I hope the dragon accepts him, because I must not be alone when we go home. So I went daily to the wall, and today this man came out from it, and I asked his name, and he said Van, and I knew he was mine. I will teach him our way, and he will love me and be by my side when we go. I beg you, V, make it all right, for time grows short and there may not be another man for me."

She paused once more, then turned to Duff. "V will address you now. Lift your face and meet his gaze. Do not look away until he gives you leave."

Duff tilted his head up. He looked at the statue.

The face seemed larger and more lifelike. He stared at the eyes. They stared back at him.

"Say your name," Violet told him.

"My name is—" But somehow he couldn't speak it as he had before. He wanted to be accepted by this group, and he realized that it had been a mistake to give his full name. It really was irrelevant, because all the members of this planned community had been randomly renamed. So it would be consistent for him to adopt a new name too. Part of his own name was fine. So it wasn't even wrong to say it; it was appropriate. Especially since he would fail in his mission if he did not. "Van."

Only then did those penetrating eyes release him. Van looked down, relieved.

Violet reached across and hugged him. "V accepted you!" she exclaimed. "Now it's all right!"

They got up and returned the cushions to the chairs. Van felt somewhat light-headed, though that might be because he had stood suddenly after kneeling for a while.

"You must be hungry," she said. "I have nuts and fruit." Indeed she did. Van was unfamiliar with the varieties, but satisfied to eat them. There was some kind of berry juice too, just at the edge of fermenting. It was a delicious drink.

"Uh, that trick with the fire," he said, remembering. "I could have sworn you just looked at it, and it blazed up."

"Yes, of course. I did a firemaking spell. It's not nice to address V without a fire, because fire makes him strong. If his fire ever went out completely, he would dissipate."

"You made it burn, just like that? How?"

"I thought the spell. I just focused on it and thought 'Fire, fire, light my hearth,' and it responded. Of course there has to be fuel."

"Of course," he agreed weakly.

There was a knock on the door. Violet opened it. A child of about four stood there. "Is it all right?" he asked.

"It is all right, Keith," Violet said. "The spirit of the hearth has accepted my new man. I will mother his children."

Van opened his mouth to protest. But he remembered that there were no children younger than ten here. Where had this younger child come from?

Violet closed the door as the child departed. "Keith will spread the word," she said. "It is all right, now. Except for the dragon. I hope he doesn't reject you!"

"I hope so too," Van agreed. "Uh—the child—Keith—"

"Kane and Kay's son," she said. "He's a good boy. You and I can't keep a child until the dragon approves you, but we can choose one if we wish. Tonight we can make love. In fact we had better, because the dragon may inquire whether we are sexually compatible. Go ahead and strip and use the sanitary closet while I get ready." She indicated a curtained alcove.

The woman was serious. She had accepted him the moment she verified his name, and in her view they were much the same as married already. How was he going to dissuade her, without risking the success of his mission? Because he realized now that it was all very well to dream of a nondescript woman, but this was real, and she did not turn him on.

For want of an answer, he went to the curtained alcove. There was what was evidently a small composting toilet, probably installed by the project personnel, and a basin and pitcher with water. A furry towel and small sponge were on the counter.

He used the toilet. What now? She expected him to remove his clothes, preparing for a sexual encounter. He would have to tell her no. But would she accept that?

He stalled for time by undressing and washing up. It took a while to figure out exactly how the clothing attached, because he had not donned it himself. The robe seemed to hook into the underwrapping so that it would not slide around. It was comfortable enough, just odd.

He poured some water into the basin, dipped the sponge into it, and sponged off his body.