Dragon

by submission | Oct 6, 2007 | Story

Author : Scott Hallford

They called him Dragon. I never understood why until I saw one of his “shows”—the little gatherings in the dark alley behind the pub. Some folks traveled over from Warshire or Bromley to see the muscled lad, a man no older than twenty-five, who breathed fire and swallowed flame. Of course, I didn’t believe it myself at first, which is what prompted me to attend. True to gossip, Dragon belched fire as the show ended. Certainly not something you see every day, but worth a second viewing. Or third.

In fact, my obsession began during the third show. Breathing fire, while a local phenomenon, has captivated audiences around the world. But usually, there’s a trick to it—powder or liquid breathed from the mouth, or a chemical reagent to reacts with carbon dioxide. So far as I could tell, Dragon used one method only: Breathe, exhale.

By the fifth showing, I’d started reporting early (by use of the pub’s rooftop, no less) to watch Dragon prepare. They say that spying on a magician can ruin the show, but Dragon arrived five minutes before the crowd started to gather and leaned against the wall, waiting. The show, like all other shows, ended with a long breath and blast of flame, the plume bursting into the night, rising above the pub’s slanted roof.

I followed him home that night, keeping to the shadows as best I could. Dragon accepted no donation thrown at him. The coins in the alley at the end of the show were left there, and simple logic begged a question: Where does a man who accepts no wages for his work live?

He crossed the river east of town, walked to a lone hilltop cottage where a single lantern sat burning on the windowsill, entered and shut the door. Soon, an old man wearing a tinkerer’s apron hurried to the window and doused the lamp. Odd, a showman like that taking shelter with an old man. I started to turn away when I saw a distinct set of glowing eyes staring out the window. Odd, that. Quite odd.

By the seventh showing, I discovered a pattern. Every night, Dragon arrived at a specific time, performed the same routine and returned to the cottage, taking the same path. The crowd had begun to notice it, too and at the ninth showing had grown bored with every trick but Dragon’s finale. A round of complaints rode up at the end of the show, and a some young bloke—most disgruntled—hurled a mug of liquor at Dragon just as he breathed fire. The liquor, protected by the mug, failed to ignite until it crashed against Dragon’s skull and soaked him. The crowd scattered, screaming, as the flames burned his flesh away, revealing a slick metal frame, once sheathed in skin.

Dragon, sensing no pain, sent his final flaming plume into the sky and started the long journey home, following the same routine (as robots often do).

King of Kings

by submission | Jul 23, 2007 | Story

Author : Grady Hendrix

Stevenson walked down Corridor J-12 and a rustle went through the living quarters. Stevenson was coming! Stevenson was on his way! Stevenson! Stevenson! He turned the corner at Junction J-12/J-13 and the first thing that hit him was the marshy smell of flatulence, followed by the briny odor of stagnant urine. Up ahead of him was the end of the line. When the women at the back saw him they fell to their knees, palms upturned, foreheads on the deck. Stevenson pulled on his gas mask, never breaking his stride.

He followed the line down corridor J-13 for nearly half a mile and as he went the women fell to their knees. As he approached the facility more and more of them wore homemade filter masks, nose clips, even scraps of cloth tied over their faces, anything to cut the stench. Their eyes were red and watering, their stomachs swollen and distended, their foreheads carried fading bruises from the last time Stevenson had passed their way.

A contingent was waiting for him at the door to the facility.

“Stevenson, you have come!” the leader said.

They presented him with their offerings.

“Show me the problem,” he said.

And they opened the door and led him into the public toilet.

When the vast starship New Hope left Earth 20 years ago, it rapidly became apparent that some genius had thought of everything – artificial gravity, entertainments, education – except toilets. The commanding class had personal chemical toilets in their quarters, but for the 40,000 people in the general berths there were communal facilities and they had built the exact same number for men as they had for women. That is to say: not enough. And so they kept breaking, getting clogged, overflowing from overuse. Man’s great expedition to colonize the stars and they were up to their knees in their own shit and piss. In a situation like this, who becomes the most important man on the ship? The plumber.

It had been easy enough for Stevenson to get rid of the other two plumbers over the years. Airlock accidents. A plunging machine run amuck. Those two men were thought of as heroes who gave their lives in service to humanity but Stevenson was the ship’s only hope. He knelt in the dirty chemical backup from the toilet and he sent the women out while he arranged his tools and he thought about the baby in his wife’s belly back in their enormous suite. His chosen successor.

They were 30 years from their destination and by the time they landed, the Stevensons would be the most important humans alive and no one would quite remember why. Outside the door he heard the line of women begin to sing a hymn in his praise. Stevenson took his plunger and began to churn it in the bowl and he smiled to himself. So this is what it felt like to become a God.

Ashes to Ashes

by submission | Jun 29, 2007 | Story

Author : Debbie Mac Rory

The high preacher approached the lone figure at the front of the hall of remembrances. He passed gases through his membranes in such a manner, that if he were human, would have been called a polite cough. The particle entity turned it’s attention to the high preacher.

“I wished to sympathize with your loss” it intoned, “and I wished to inquire if perhaps you might permit me to suggest an action which may help to relieve your current malaise”

The entity appeared to sigh, but raised itself from its place of dejection. The high preacher led its charge to one of the secluded sections of walls, and with a brief gesture from one of its pseudopods, the wall turned transparent. The particle entity absorbed the light that entered through the now transformed wall, taking in the view of a not too distant yellow star and another particle entity drifting slowly towards it, like the one inside the ship in more ways than it was different, but somehow the internal combustion that drove that species was omitted.

“Some feel that it is comforting, seeing the remains of the loved one move on.” The high preacher tilted its visual receptors, marginally changing the selectivity of the wavelengths of light it was receiving. “Just as emissions from stars such as this one are collected by the ships sails to provide us power and energy, so are our remains sent to them, so we may feel their presence once more”

“And the fate of the inhabitants of this star?”

The query from the particle entity washed over the high preacher as waves shape the sand on a beach. It changed the angle of its visual receptors once more, to receive the information its charge had already absorbed, and perceived the objects which appeared to be in regular orbit around the star.

The high preacher commenced a series of chemical reactions, forming for its species, a gentle smile. “Decisive tests have already been conducted. We would of course never use any star in any manner than could bring harm to its inhabitants. The species developing around this star are as yet, quite primitive, and in time, perhaps we can begin to open up communications with them. But for now, we harvest the energy and we wait”

Both the beings fell silent for a time watching as the extinguished entity was engulfed and consumed by the star. The flare from the its consumption rose up from the surface of the star in a glorious swirl of colour that far transcended the range of visible light, and was swept on solar winds to be shared throughout the system, the planets circling their sun, and the other ships, drifting in silence.

“And perhaps those creatures developing there have the ability to see some of these flares our bodies create. And perhaps, we have already communicated with them, and brought beauty to their lives”.