 
Tales of Science Fiction

### by Robert E. Keller

Smart Goblin Publishing 2020

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

*The cover art for this book was created using paid, licensed, modified

stock images from Bigstock in an original interpretation.

Copyright © 2020 Robert E. Keller

Content Notice:

A collection of science fiction short stories.

About the Author:

Robert E. Keller is a fantasy writer who has had more than 30 stories published in online and print magazines, and he is the author of several epic fantasy novels. You can find more information on his projects at www.robertekeller.net

**Other books by Robert E. Keller** :

Novels:

Knights: The Eye of Divinity (free)

Knights: The Hand of Tharnin

Knights: The Heart of Shadows

Knights: The Blood of Kings

Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (free)

Knights: Legends of Ollanhar

Knights: Shadows of Ollanhar

Knights: Immortals of Ollanhar

***

The Curse of Credesar, Book 1 (free)

The Curse of Credesar, Book 2

***

A Knight of Tharnin, Book 1

### Table of Contents

Sand Painter

The Gates of Plutonis

The Mercy of Photons

Eye of Othareos

Frozen Nuclear Dreams

Nature's Balancing Act

The Heart-332 Endures

A Rainbow Light Coffin

Glass Windmill

Countdown to Zero

The DNA Pen is Mightier

Than the Sword

Clone Hammer

### Flash Fiction

The Universe in a Nutshell

Universal Cookie Crumbs

The Disease

The Vortex

The Searchlights at the

Edge of Reason

Sand Painter

(Originally published in _The Absent Willow Review._

Revised for this collection.)

The Wasting Disease rotted our metals into the sand. Only the thickest structures remained, shingled with rust, eaten through in many places. The sandstorms took away our will to expand and drove us into tight little communities.

Many of the old pumps still functioned beneath the ground where the metal-eating bacteria couldn't reach, bringing water from the deep, and we didn't thirst. We hungered though, and not just for food but for hope. Our belief in ourselves and our sense of destiny had worn away like our buildings. We'd lost our way, so we turned to myth and legend for guidance.

One such legend--the most famous among the people of my village--was that of the Sand Painter. I'd sought the mysterious figure all my life, that elusive artist who seemed to command the earth itself and left his designs all over the wastelands. I'd spent decades chasing him through dead forests, over fields of cracked mud, and through windswept valleys.

But as I stood atop a dune, my beard laced with windblown sand, I was no closer to catching him than I'd been at the start. I drank deeply from my flask, not caring that only a little water remained. My face was set in a scowl of frustration. I was getting old.

At my feet was a pattern of multi-colored sand grains so intricate that one could have gazed at it for hours. There was a time when I'd studied these designs in painstaking detail, seeking to unlock their mysteries in spite of the fact that the greatest scholars had failed to do so. But now I only gave it a quick glance before looking away. The sight of it only served to deepen my frustration.

I opened my map book and ran my finger over the screen, picking out the most likely sights where the Sand Painter would appear--a cluster of rocks and a dry river bed. I chewed some jerky and washed it down with the remaining water from my flask.

I was in Skullman territory now and would have to stay focused on my surroundings. The Skullmen would be an annoying distraction at best--and my reapers at worst. I clicked on my communication band--which like my map book was free of vulnerable metals, containing only tiny amounts of gold--and raised my wrist to my lips. "Rulo Cassain reporting. Entering Skullman territory and pursuing two promising leads. Heading for the Vice Rocks."

"Some heavy Skullman activity has been reported there lately," said Veeda, the base commander. She cleared her throat. "One seeker has been confirmed missing in that area. Clarson Santain. Keep watch for him. It's been three days."

"Three days?" I said. "He's probably dead--or wishing he was. Too bad. Anyway, I think I'm wasting my time out here. Just a feeling. Another day, another failure."

"Do you want to withdraw?" Veeda asked.

"No, I'll stay on the search," I said. "The years are slipping away from me, Veeda. A lot of gray in my beard. I don't have time to sit around in the tavern getting drunk and whining about poor food, poor wages, and the blasted sand."

I could picture her roll her eyes. "Same old speech again. I passed fifty a couple years ago, and you don't hear me moaning about it. Should I run you a bath and get ready to rub your feet when you get back to base?"

"Negative. The sand's ground so deep in my skin that water wouldn't do a thing for me, and I lost any feeling in my feet years ago."

"Just be careful, Rulo. I'm getting tired of losing seekers. Two have died in the last month alone. The task of chasing a legend shouldn't be so dangerous. It's a wonder people keep volunteering for this."

"Danger or not, this is what I live for," I said. "I'd do this full time if I got paid for it. Rulo out." I kicked the sand design, scattering some of it into ruin. The wind would take care of the rest. Even the colors that coated the grains would fade away. These patterns only seemed to mock me and I was glad they were temporary.

Wiping sweat from my brow, I wandered through the dunes in the direction of the Vice Rocks. A skull rolled down a slope and came to rest at my feet--a warning that I was being watched. It was painted orange and bristling with rusty nails. I un-slung my wooden dart gun and aimed it toward the top of the dune. Nothing more came of it and I started walking, wondering if that was Clarson's skull back there. I didn't bother reporting the incident to Veeda.

A bit farther along, I found Clarson. His corpse was nailed to a post, left for the gritbeaks. One of the birds had already found him and was pecking away at his skull. The gritbeaks would clean him up nicely for the Skullmen, removing all the flesh from his bones.

I threw some liquid fire on Clarson from a flask and set him ablaze. It would burn him completely to ash, leaving the Skullmen with nothing. Liquid fire didn't come cheap--as a single flask was worth a month's wages--but what else could I do? I was a Rust Belly--a desert man who lived and died by a staunch code of honor.

I saluted Clarson's burning body and walked away, staggering like a drunk. I was weary in mind and soul--tired of chasing a ghost, tired of having no other purpose in life. But like the rest of my people, I had to believe we were destined for something beyond rotting away in the dunes. The Sand Painter might give us the answers we sought. The village wise men believed it, and a lot of good men and women believed it. Our faith was strong.

But I paused, the old questions nagging my mind. What exactly were we hoping to gain? What if the Sand Painter knew nothing of our destiny? I shoved those questions back into the depths of my mind, reminding myself that the wise men usually knew what they were talking about. I spoke into my wrist band. "Clarson's dead. I burned him."

"I'll let his family know," Veeda said.

A Skullman warrior stepped from behind a boulder and glared at me. He wore a dusty black robe, leather boots, and leather gloves. He carried a dark briefcase under one arm, and his face was shadowed by a pair of black sunglasses. The stink of law was all over him, a smug arrogance that spoke of being entitled to do whatever he wanted to a lower life form like me. His briefcase undoubtedly contained thick law books carefully detailing his right to murder me if he so chose and claim my skull as a decoration for his underground village.

"You had no right to burn the Rust Belly," he said, smoothing back his greasy, orange-dyed hair. "We had already laid claim to him."

I considered just shooting him, but that would have brought a whole bunch of them after me. I shrugged. "He was from my village."

"But you've broken Skullman law." He started to open his briefcase.

"I already know your laws," I said. "I'm hunting the Sand Painter and I don't have time to stand around and chat."

"The Sand Painter is a law breaker," the Skullman said. "He passes through our territories and doesn't pay a toll. If we catch him, he'll face trial and execution."

My face burned hot with rage. I raised my dart gun. "And did Clarson pay the toll? Or did you kill him regardless?"

The Skullman's eyes widened. "We don't kill those who pay up--even though we have the right to do so. The Rust Belly had no money or goods to barter, and he shouldn't have come here. We had no choice but to carry out the law, which stands taller than all else."

"Your laws are unjust," I said. "Clarson would never have willingly entered Skullman territory without goods to trade for his passage. He must have been robbed by bandits."

"The law has no tolerance for human error or misfortune," he said. "Nor does it know mercy or forgiveness. The law is above such concepts."

"What's your fee?" I muttered.

The Skullman nodded. "The toll is either your gun, or whatever liquid fire you have remaining."

"That's ridiculous," I said. "The toll is too high."

"I've increased the toll," said the Skullman. "You cost us the Rust Belly's bones. Now you must pay extra to bring things into balance."

My finger twitched on the trigger, but I lowered the gun. I tossed the flask of liquid fire at his feet. Then an idea struck me. "I'll give up the gun, too, if you can tell me where the Sand Painter will appear next." It was a desperate gamble, and I wasn't confident the Skullman would tell the truth even if he did know. But my weariness was getting the best of me, demanding I do something outside the norm.

The Skullman adjusted his sunglasses. "You wish to strike a bargain, then?" He opened his briefcase and produced a contract. "You must first sign this general contract, so that payment can be enforced under penalty of law."

I read the contract and signed it. He put it back in his briefcase, ordered me to wait, and disappeared behind a boulder. I said nothing to Veeda and kept my wrist band off, certain she wouldn't understand. I wasn't sure if _I_ understood. A gun like mine was something you bought once and owned for life. But I was getting old.

An hour later, the Skullman returned. "I've consulted with our village scouts and wise men. They've concluded there is no accurate way to predict where the Sand Painter will appear. Now, as authorized by the signed contract, hand over that gun."

My hands shaking, I aimed the weapon at his chest. "I didn't agree to that. I asked where he'd appear next, and you failed to give me an adequate answer. Not acceptable."

He sneered. "Very well. We shall take it up in a court of law." He patted his briefcase. "The contract states that I must provide a truthful answer. I did that."

"I don't give a jolly damn about your laws," I said, stepping toward him. "I'll shoot you right through your heart."

He hesitated and gulped. "However, I could give you my own opinion on the matter, just to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. The Sand Painter appeared in the Vice Rocks a week ago. He likely won't return there anytime soon as he passes through this region. That would leave the Red Dust River as a more likely place. In fact, we already sent warriors there to ambush and arrest him."

I tossed the rifle and my dart belt to the Skullman. "You'll never arrest him. He'll always slip through your fingers--just like the desert sands."

"And yours as well, Rust Belly," he said, and walked away.

I stood in silence for a while, hardly able to believe what I'd just done. It would take months of careful saving for me to buy another rifle. I knew Veeda would give me a tongue lashing when I returned without my weapon, but there wasn't much else she could do about it. We were legend hunters, a base of volunteers and not a real military group.

I checked my map book and altered my direction slightly. I was lucky to still have that, as it made navigation out here a breeze. The wind picked up, blasting my face with sand. I raised my hood and dropped a face mask with goggles into place. The storm came on so violently in moments I could see nothing, and I had to keep lifting my map book to my eyes to make sure I was walking in the right direction. For a moment, I considered giving up. It seemed like everything was against me.

Something seized my leg and I cried out. It dragged me to the ground, winding itself around my torso. I was in the grasp of a sandknot, a mass of long, thin tentacles and not much else. Its ropy strands of flesh were seeking to tie knots around me and squeeze me to death. I drew my stone knife and hacked at it, even as it constricted against me like steel bands.

As quickly as the sandstorm had come on, it lifted. Standing a few feet away from where I lay was a blue-cloaked figure with a wide-brimmed blue hat. Colorful sand swirled at his feet, commanded by some invisible force that he radiated, and then scattered out from him in delicate patterns. The Sand Painter! I'd found him at last, but I was in no position to do anything but struggle with the creature that was trying to crush me.

In renewed desperation, I hacked furiously at the rubbery ropes, severing two of them. Meanwhile, the Sand Painter finished his design and then turned to glance at me. His face was not human, but made of dark blue metal that matched his shiny cloak and hat. His eyes were silver orbs that reflected like mirrors. He had no discernable nose or mouth.

We looked at each other, and then he started to turn away. "Don't leave me!" I shouted, fighting furiously to break free and crawl to him. "I've been seeking you all my life."

He hesitated. Then he turned and began striding away.

"Meet me at the Red Dust River!" I yelled after him. "I'll be there soon."

He paused, his back still to me. Then a sandstorm arose again, obscuring him completely. The winds didn't touch the design he'd left on the desert floor. As always, the pattern would remain intact for a while before dispersing.

I finished cutting my way free of the sandknot and staggered up. I ran into the storm, feeling around. Soon I was lost and had to check my map book again. I prepared to radio Veeda to tell her what I'd discovered--that the Sand Painter wasn't human but looked to be a highly advanced machine, perhaps from the days before the great wars and diseases had reduced us to wasteland rats who relied on whatever leftover technology we could salvage. But I lowered my wrist. For some reason that I couldn't explain, I didn't feel like reporting anything yet. I should have been overflowing with excitement to have actually gotten a good look at the creature, but I was gloomy, believing that was as close as I'd ever come.

The sandstorm vanished again, and I removed my mask. I worked my way through boulders, over dunes, and through stretches of cactuses and fallen, skeletal trees. The remains of buildings that had once towered over the land stood here and there--rusted metal frames and chunks of concrete that stuck out of the dunes.

The land sloped downward to the river bed, where more boulders lay scattered in the reddish-colored earth. I glimpsed Skullman warriors hiding behind some of the rocks. They were facing another direction and didn't see me. I quickly moved away from them, not wanting to take the time to explain that I'd already paid the toll.

Finally I sat down before a boulder, resting my back against it. The Skullmen were nearly a mile away, waiting for a creature I felt certain they'd never capture. I sat there for hours, as the sun drifted farther into the west. I closed my eyes and dozed, and when I opened them again, the Sand Painter stood a few yards away from me. I held my breath and didn't move, letting the creature take the lead.

The Sand Painter stepped closer to me, but otherwise did nothing. The moments drifted by. Unable to stand it any longer, and fearing he'd leave, I said, "So you came." It was a stupid thing to say, but all I could think of.

"Yes, I did as you asked," the Sand Painter replied. He had no mouth, but spoke in a distinctly male voice nevertheless. "So what do you wish of me?"

Chills rippled over my flesh. This was the moment I'd been waiting decades for. The questions poured out of me. "What is the destiny of my people? What can we do to change things, to become great like the civilizations of the past? How can we stop the Wasting Disease from destroying things we try to build?"

"I don't know," said the Sand Painter. "I'm only an artist. My function is to make designs in the earth. That's all I was created for, and all I do. It's what I've done for centuries."

"But you must have some advice I can take back with me!" I struggled up, my chest heaving. "Anything...please. My people need hope. The wise men said you had the answers, if only we could get close enough to ask."

"The wise men are wrong," said the Sand Painter. "I have no advice for you. I just paint pictures for others to look upon and enjoy."

"But what can my people do?" I said. "We have only our legends. Now another one has crumbled."

"Then perhaps your legends are useless," said the Sand Painter. "Perhaps you waste your time on them. Long ago, your people did things for themselves--through their own ingenuity and hard work. Now if there's nothing more, I shall return to my function."

When I made no reply, the Sand Painter turned away and began creating his beautiful and meaningless patterns. He paused once, and seemed to be considering something. My heartbeat sped up and I hunched forward, wondering if he'd changed his mind and was going to reveal something more. But then he simply went back to his task.

I put my head in my hands and sat that way for a long time. Eventually I fell asleep. When I awoke, the Sand Painter was gone. The stars gleamed in the heavens and the air was cool. Once, we'd dreamed of traveling among those stars and we'd believed it could be possible. But a series of hardships had destroyed our confidence and hope.

I clicked on my wrist band. "Veeda, are you there?"

"Rulo! Thank goodness. It's about time I heard back from you. Kretz is on his way to look for you. He should be arriving anytime now."

"I'm okay," I said. "I spoke to the Sand Painter and he told me what we needed to do." I paused, waiting for her reaction.

"Well, what did he say?" Her voice trembled with excitement.

"He said we need to stop believing in him and start believing in ourselves."

"That's it?" she said, sounding profoundly disappointed.

"That's it," I said. "Rulo out."

I leaned back and gazed at the stars for a while, my heart heavy with sadness. Then I noticed something glinting in the starlight a few feet away from me in the sand, a small metal object shaped like a sun with a screw sticking out of it. I picked it up, and it warmed my hand. Energy pulsed through me, and images appeared in my mind--of gleaming towers and domes standing amid lush grasslands and forests, of airships crisscrossing the heavens. It was a little piece of the past, and something to inspire me--a gift from the Sand Painter.

He must have taken pity on me as I slept. Or had he intended to leave the gift all along? Somehow I knew those questions would never be answered, that I would never get close enough to speak to him again.

I found a piece of bleached wood and screwed the metal sun into it, creating a scepter. I had no idea if this was what the Sand Painter had intended the relic to be used for, but it worked for me. My destiny had awakened in my heart. I would lead the Rust Bellies from desert ruin to a glorious new civilization. All who laid hands on the scepter would realize the true potential of our race and know we could rise above any challenge.

I brushed sand from my beard and, holding my scepter forth like a beacon to guide the way, I headed toward my village, new wisdom and purpose burning in my gaze. I felt like a holy man who'd just received a vision, and that wasn't far from what had happened. In a way, I was now blessed--charged with bringing my people out of despair.

Our faith in the legend had been vindicated. But as always, the upcoming work was left to human hearts and hands.

End.

### The Gates of Plutonis

(Originally published in _M-Brane SF_.

Revised for this collection.)

The mining machines of Plutonis glittered in the frosty air, the diggers and loaders shut down in the quarries by the roadside. Everything was frozen and still, and my windshield kept fogging up thanks to a busted heater. But I couldn't stop to work on it. I had a load of floaters--alien body parts in fluid tanks--to deliver to base.

I cursed and wiped the windshield with a greasy napkin. A steaming burger and fries would have warmed my insides, or even just a cup of coffee. But there were no truck stops on Plutonis, and I'd have to wait until I reached base.

My mind kept wandering to the cargo I was hauling--pieces of some life form discovered during a mining operation. They'd accidentally blown it to bits with dynamite. Poor thing, whatever it was.

I pressed down on the acceleration pedal, daring to make my rig go a little faster on the icy road. I had no love for this world. To me, it was just a larger version of Pluto. The only thing remarkable about it was that it had been hidden from view in our solar system for centuries by a distortion in spacetime. It was found to contain earth-like gravity, a thin atmosphere not quite breathable for humans, and primitive life forms that had somehow adapted to the extreme conditions.

I gazed out my clouded window. Nothing but miles and miles of gravel pits, shacks, and mining equipment. Most of it was shut down right now. It was Christmas Eve, and the miners were mostly at home--which could mean Earth, the moon, Mars, Venus, or Space Station Cronos. I was one of a select group that was after the big money, working right through the holidays. It was lonely as hell out here, but I had a thick skin.

I tried to wiggle around in my seat to get warm, and my hand slipped on the wheel, jerking it hard to the left. The rig started to turn into a slide, and in spite of three years' experience driving the Plutonis ice roads, I made a rookie mistake and overcompensated to the right. I knew I was screwed, as the rig went into a fishtail skid. I fought hard to reign it in, but the rear end whipped around, plunging me into a sideways slide. The truck toppled over and slammed into a bulldozer with a crunch of metal, rocking me violently in my seat.

I wasn't hurt, but I felt like a colossal fool. I hung in my seatbelt, groaning at my stupidity. I'd wrecked up twice in the past--it was easy to do on these frozen roads--but this was the worst night I could have picked to do it. I radioed base, which was still about two-hundred miles away, and told them what had happened. They confirmed my worst fear--that the closest active mine was the one where I'd loaded the body parts, and it was a good fifty miles farther away than the base. It was going to be a long wait.

I checked my oxygen mask to make sure it was on securely, shut off the truck, and crawled out. I climbed down and surveyed the damage. The top of the rig was smashed in where it had struck the dozer. I walked to the rear to check my cargo. The backdoor hung half off its hinges, and the fluid containers had flown out and lay busted open. The alien body parts lay scattered on the ice.

The parts had been in the tanks when I picked them up, so this was the first opportunity I'd had to look at them--and undoubtedly the last, as once they arrived at base they would be hustled off to some government laboratory for study. They looked like piles of long, stringy ropes of muscle fibers, mixed with blood, fluid, and gut-like things. It was a big mess that I could make no sense of. Where was the skin, fur, hoofs, or facial features?

"They must have blown you to hell," I muttered, shaking my head. "I don't know what you were, but you were a big sucker."

I prodded the fleshy parts with my boot. "At least you're not going to rot out here in this cold. That's a comfort, huh?"

I paced around to stay warm. My survival suit wouldn't let me freeze, but it wasn't keeping me cozy, either. In fact, it was so cold out this night I thought I might be in danger of a little frostbite. I wished I was home with my wife and kids, eating some tasty pudding and doing all that yuletide stuff by the fireplace. Actually, my wife was as cold to me as the Plutonis night, and my kids couldn't stand me. I guess that was the price you paid for working seven days a week, eleven months of the year, on another planet. But even a bitter wife and some sullen kids were better than waiting to catch a ride on a frozen hunk of rock.

When I glanced at the alien remains again, fear gripped me. Something was different, but I couldn't tell exactly what. Had the parts moved around? "No way!" I whispered, chills flooding over me. "No way those things..." I backed up a few steps and nearly tripped.

I watched and waited, hardly daring to breathe. It had to have been my imagination, but if it wasn't, things were going to get very weird.

Then the parts began moving like bloody, skinless eels. "Oh, man!" I whispered, backing away. "What are you?" My brain worked furiously to rationalize what I was seeing. Could this simply be nerves or something? Muscle twitches? After being dead this long? It seemed unlikely, but what did I know?

Nope, it definitely wasn't nerves or muscle twitches. Things were squirming around with obvious intent, trying to fit together. The creature was still alive, and it was trying to reassemble itself somehow. I stood paralyzed for a few minutes, wondering if I should run away. But then I decided--for some instinctive reason I couldn't explain--that I had to stop the parts from merging.

_If I can stop it from reassembling, it can't harm me,_ I reasoned. I had no proof of that, of course, but it seemed logical to my panicked mind.

I ran over and grabbed handfuls of bloody strands, pulling them apart. It should have been a disturbing experience, but all I could think about was stopping its regeneration. The horror of ripping apart an alien life form by hand was lost in panic, and I worked furiously at my grim task. In less than a minute, I managed to turn it back into random piles of meat. My survival suit was covered in blood and fluids that should have froze but were somehow maintaining a liquid state.

I stood shaking, unable to quite believe what had just happened. Life forms weren't supposed to grow back together after being blown into pieces. The human race had discovered thousands of new alien species, many right in our own solar system. All of them were dumb and simple, and none of them could regenerate from total dismemberment.

The body parts lay still now, seemingly lifeless, perhaps shredded beyond repair. I gazed at my bloody hands. What had I just done? Had I just murdered something extraordinary and innocent and possibly intelligent, ruining its one chance to regenerate, or stopped a monster from rising up and destroying me?

I had little time to ponder the situation, as once again the parts began to slither around in an effort to merge together. Any pity I had for the alien, or remorse over my deed, instantly evaporated--replaced by a dark and sinister realization. This thing was determined to become whole, and when it did, it would likely want revenge for the way I had treated it. Surely it would destroy me!

Again driven by panic, I tore the ropy strands apart. I felt like I was trying to prevent an alien invasion, which was rather silly considering _I_ was actually the alien and the invader to this creature's home world. But it was so strange to me--so terrifying--I was compelled to see it rest in pieces forever.

For more than an hour (at least it seemed that long in my mind) I fought to keep the creature apart. I ended up rolling around on the ice, pulling and tearing, resting; then pulling and tearing some more. By the time I was too exhausted to fight on, I realized I'd made a dire mistake, for now I was too weary to flee. I lay amid the heaps of squirming flesh, helplessly watching as the creature took form.

What a miserable failure. One slip on the steering wheel and there I was, lying next to something that would probably be the death of me. What a fool I had been in life. I should have been home, working on my marriage and raising my children, not facing death on some frozen, ugly world. I had put my job ahead of my family, convinced I would have plenty of time (and money) later. Always later. Now perhaps there would be no _later._ I vowed that if I survived this, I would cut back on the work hours and spend quality time with my family. I wasn't a religious man, but maybe some greater intelligence than my own out there in the universe could hear my vow and help me out. Or maybe I was truly alone in the cold, empty night.

But I _wasn't_ alone. Something horrific was rising up before my eyes--two tall fleshy pillars with some sort of pulsating membrane in between. It looked powerful and menacing, and was surely a killer. Something this strange and grotesque _had_ to be a killer. With a cry, I flung myself at the thing and used the last of my strength to shred it. I nearly passed out from the strain.

When I shook off the darkness and looked around, the creature was still in pieces, and it had stopped moving, as if it had given up. My arms feeling like lead, I lay motionless and gazed into the star-filled heavens. My brain was numb, and I didn't think too deeply about anything as I rested.

At last I managed to stand up. I leaned against my truck, my lungs burning. I wanted to vomit, but with my oxygen mask covering my face, I couldn't let that happen. I waited until my stomach settled a bit, and then I staggered toward the road, determined to get as far away from the monstrosity as possible.

A scraping noise arose behind me and I whirled around. I groaned. The thing was at it again. The ancient Beatles song _Come Together_ ran through my mind as I watched the fleshy ropes search each other out. It occurred to me that the creature just wanted to be whole again, which was perfectly understandable, but I was having none of it. All that mattered now was winning this little war.

I threw myself into the mix again. I fought it with such fury I thought I might have a heart attack, but the thing gave out before I did, its chunks scattered around me. This alien was learning a grim truth--that humans were a tough and relentless species (and maybe a bit insane when provoked).

I lay panting on the ice. Then I started laughing hysterically. "I showed you," I muttered. "There's no reassembling on my watch, buddy."

The creature seemed unaffected by pain or injury, but it did appear to need a bit of recuperation before it could regenerate. If I acted quickly, I could end this. I struggled up and stood swaying, my head pounding with dizziness. I was a tough guy (you had to be to make a living like I did) and I was determined to finish the creature off. I grabbed a big armload of alien flesh and carried it to my truck. I managed to climb up and dump it down inside the cab. I pulled the door shut.

As I jumped back down, I saw that the creature was already forming again. I staggered over and ripped it apart. I took another armload of flesh, carried it to a gravel pit, and threw it in. I threw some flesh in a snowdrift and buried it, and I rolled a large chunk of ice on top of another pile. I tossed a bunch of it inside the dozer I'd hit.

When nothing remained but a few slimy strands, I collapsed on the ice in utter exhaustion. The frozen night fell silent. The frost glittered beneath the stars around me, and I closed my eyes, content that everything was okay.

I fell asleep, waiting for rescue.

***

When I awoke and opened my eyes, I was staring up at a nightmare. Two crimson pillars, each about ten feet tall, towered over me. They bore dark markings, wavy symbols like runes burned into a hardened skin. Between them was a reddish-, transparent membrane, ripples moving across it like water.

The membrane was more than just a skin--it was a vortex of some sort determined to suck me in. I began to slide toward it, and I screamed. It was a strange sound to my ears. A trucker like me didn't scream. But there it was, ringing in my ears.

Battling with all my strength, I rolled over and tried to crawl away. I made it a few feet, but then I slipped on the ice and slid backwards. I felt like a cartoon character, scrambling for all I was worth and getting nowhere.

I made it to the cab and found the door open. I climbed up and crawled down inside, pulling the door shut above me like a hatch cover. But the force kept tugging at me, so I wrapped my arms around the steering wheel and clung to it. The cab was clean, without a trace of blood or fluid in spite of the fact that I'd dumped a heap of flesh down here earlier. In fact, my survival suit was also clean.

My body shook as I hung from the steering wheel. I clicked on the radio and tried to talk, but it was full of a peculiar static, a randomly occurring mystery unique to Plutonis that scientists couldn't explain. The static shifted through various tones, almost like music. I prayed that the rescue person would show up soon, and that when he did, he wouldn't get pulled in and devoured by that creature.

The force tugging on me was relentless, and it grew stronger, ripping me away from the steering wheel and slamming me up against the door. The door popped open and I was pulled through the air straight into the creature's membrane.

I managed to grab one of the crimson pillars, wrapping an arm and a leg around it. It felt like smooth, warm stone under my touch, but it also had a pulse that made me shudder and want to tear away from it. I tried to get my other arm around the pillar, but it got sucked into the membrane along with part of my face. I yanked my head away, but my arm wouldn't come out. It was up to my shoulder inside the creature--or rather, _through_ the creature, since the membrane was paper thin. I screamed, kicked, and pulled--all to no avail. I could see through the membrane, but I couldn't see my arm. It was as if it had been cut off at the shoulder, yet I could still wiggle my fingers.

Static filled my head, the same stuff I'd heard through my radio. My right eye (the same one that had touched the membrane) was dark, and I wondered if it had been damaged.

The creature stopped trying to draw me in, and so I ceased struggling. I thought I might black out and I almost welcomed it. Instead, I tried to yank out my arm again, but it was still stuck fast.

"Let me go!" I howled, thrashing around.

Then my panic died, the tension flooding out of me as my mind adjusted into focus. My gaze strayed to the sparkling frost. The ice crystals were the source of the musical static. Much of the frost wasn't frost at all, but a layered artificial network scattered over the landscape through which communication occurred. This was old technology, its purpose having long ago run its course. A small piece of my mind had been altered by the membrane, allowing me to hear the static and see the frost for what it really was.

My right eye started working again, and I saw tall, thin, metallic towers rising into the air--some standing over a hundred feet in height. So many of them existed here they were like a forest, stretching as far as I could see in all directions. They stood in a different dimension than my own, and something had happened to my eye to allow me to view them. The towers formed a pattern designed for waves to flow across periodically, like grass rippled by the wind. But this was simply one tower bending to tap another tower and so forth, creating a domino effect. But it happened so smoothly and uniformly it seemed to be done by an outside force like a breeze. The whole system was so alien to me I couldn't hope to comprehend it.

I was now able to talk to the creature telepathically, and I told it to let me go, that I didn't want what it thought I did. I was content to remain half merged between dimensions, so I could have the best of both worlds.

The creature released me.

I slid down to the ice and backed away. "I'm sorry for your loss," I said, again using my thoughts. "You've taken them all away, and now there's no one left."

It stood silently, proudly, but it was sad and alone. Its function was no longer needed. The intelligent beings who once lived here had all passed through the gates long ago. This gate was an old relic from a primitive age, yet still so far advanced beyond humans we had no hope of understanding it.

It would wander the frozen planet alone, immortal, still waiting to carry out its function of transporting beings into another dimension.

"I wish I could help you," I said. But what help was there for a creature that had lost its primary reason for existing long ago?

It rolled quietly away from me, as if there were wheels under its pillars. Soon it was lost beyond the snowdrifts and hills.

I closed my right eye and looked at my arm. It was gone--cut off completely--yet still there somehow. I opened my right eye again, to see the arm hanging down fully intact. I used that arm to touch one of the thin towers, and it spoke words of peace and comfort to me--reasoning so advanced my mostly human mind faltered trying to comprehend it. But I was different now, and I did gain new, impressive knowledge.

Base wouldn't understand. They'd think I'd lost my arm and would try to hook me up with a replacement. I'd have some explaining to do. But I wasn't going to explain everything, because they weren't quite ready for such knowledge.

Maybe in a million years or so...

End.

### The Mercy of Photons

(Originally published in _Golden Visions_ magazine.

Revised for this collection.)

Sparks buzzed into the electric-blue air, dancing on the metal surfaces, reflecting in the old man's intense gaze. Scuttling and leaping, their hair-thin legs working frantically, the mechanical spiders spun the strands of light around her body. Adrasteia could hardly breathe, her shock evident in her trembling limbs.

"Behold," the smith said, waving blue smoke away. "A defender is forged this day, one who will bring glory to the Hard Grid. My children forge you the armor of the gods--strong enough to repel incineration waves, yet as light as light itself."

The dramatic speech was hardly necessary. Adrasteia was plenty amazed by the new glowing armor that engulfed her. She felt powerful and battle ready, like nothing could harm her.

Finished, the spiders leapt away from Adrasteia, vanishing down holes in a metal table. She had to struggle to gather her wits. Her entire body was encased in the strands. Even her eyes were covered--though she could see just fine through the pale, transparent haze that hung over her vision. No mirror was at hand, but Adrasteia knew she must look incredibly odd, like someone wound in a luminous web. Her armor blazed with spirals of colored radiance like rainbow fragments, swirling along the strands of white light, some splitting apart to form smaller spirals that in turn split again and branched out. Each dynamic pulse was a tiny shield that could reflect shrapnel, energy beams, or weakness–exploiting darts.

"This is...beyond belief," said Adrasteia. "What have you done to me?"

"What have I done to you?" The old man raised his white eyebrows and shook his head. "You should be eternally grateful. I have given you the most intelligent armor ever forged. No weapon can fool it. Its weakness will never be found--because it does not exist." His gaze seared into Adrasteia, challenging her to dispute him. She could think of no challenge.

The armor-smith seemed so smug and confident. He was a small man in a black and red robe. His bald head featured a red, tattooed symbol representing wisdom, and his thin beard was dyed with a red streak that looked like blood.

"I guess we'll see, old man," Adrasteia said. She didn't like this smith, but she couldn't deny his genius. "The Soft Grid will reveal the truth."

He pounded his fist on the table. "The Grid will look foolish."

Adrasteia turned away, almost hoping he was wrong. She didn't deserve such armor. She was a prisoner on temporary release, a thief many times over. She had never killed anyone who didn't deserve it, but she had stolen dreams and left weeping hearts in her wake. She was a hard woman, the muscles rippling over her frame and the scars of prison crisscrossing her calloused flesh--yet she was tired of pain and violence.

Seeing Adrasteia's lack of enthusiasm, the smith stepped in front of her. "This armor can redeem even the likes of you. I know what you've done to earn a life-sentence in the worst prison in the Three Spheres, and this is your one chance to be reborn a hero. Do not let your guilt keep you from glory!"

"I don't want to be a hero," she said. "I'm only doing this for the same reason every convict does it--to gain my freedom. You try to make it sound grand, a battle for glory in the arena. But all I'll really be doing is shedding Siboshen blood for the amusement of the rich. It's no different than the gladiator battles of ancient Rome on the Old Earth Sphere."

The smith lowered his gaze. "You're too young to understand. The Siboshens are cold-hearted warmongers who believe themselves superior to us. We set up combat on the Hard Grid to prove to them we have honor and that we're not the weaklings they believe us to be. For centuries they mocked us in their media and entertainment. But ever since the light-smiths like myself came along, they mock us no more! And now, at last, my skills have reached the highest level, and you wear a masterpiece of craftsmanship that I predict will be decades ahead of its time." He pressed his face close to Adrasteia's, his sour breath flooding her nostrils. "You wear immortality itself."

She ran a trembling hand over the armor. Warmth spread from beneath her touch. "I don't doubt your skill. And I don't mind killing Siboshen fighters. But don't pretend this is about honor. It's about rich people getting off on bloodshed. It's sick."

"No, it is about my glorious armor!" he growled, again leaning close. She stood a few inches taller and he stood on tiptoes.

"Clean your teeth," she muttered. "Your breath is foul. Is building armor all you care about in life? Do you do anything else?"

"This argument is pointless," said the smith. "Your simple mind cannot understand what is at stake. Now, Prisoner 7166277, prepare for Soft Grid testing. Once that is complete, you will return here for transportation to the Hard Grid, where you will engage in combat to the death with the Siboshen warriors. If you survive that, you will have gained your freedom. But my armor must be returned to me."

Adrasteia placed her hands on the transport rods. "Don't worry. If I survive, I'll return your bloodstained armor."

Scowling, the smith waved at a sensor and walked away. Adrasteia tensed up, waiting for deconstruction. One of the great scientific mysteries of her time echoed in her thoughts--the music of universal warp travel. It was like the string vibrations of some musical instrument of creation, expanding her awareness as she was divided, again and again, until she became a pattern sliding along the god-mucus (as she had come to name it) from which universes were spawned. She knew everything, but could store nothing. She knew ultimate peace and harmony, but could not appreciate it. She was a mind separated, able to comprehend yet unable to focus, and all the wonders that would have driven her human brain beyond rational thought slid through her as easily as she slid through the jelly of creation.

Then it was over--nothing remembered and nothing felt save the peculiar anxiety that always gripped a person after they had warped, an anxiety that spoke of something magnificent having been lost or left behind. It was a strange way to travel and Adrasteia wasn't too fond of it–but it was cheap and effective for covering vast distances in an instant.

The Soft Grid was cheesy looking, made of a blue floor crisscrossed by green lines. It resembled a primitive Old Earth Sphere video game. The Grid ran on as far as Adrasteia could see in all directions, beneath a pitch-black sky. She waited until a pink arrow appeared in front of her, pointing the way to another arrow, and so forth.

Humming a prison tune, Adrasteia followed along. She had already proven herself in combat, which was why she was here. This was strictly to test the armor, and all she had to do was follow the arrows. She was in no real danger.

A dart vortex materialized. It was a blur of spinning, dazzling metallic orbs that shot about six-thousand poison darts at her. Adrasteia's armor erupted into flashes--reflecting the darts back at the vortex and obliterating it into smoke.

A pink arrow awaited, and she moved on. A few steps later, a holographic image of the old smith appeared in front of her.

"Are you bored yet, Prisoner 7166277?"

"The armor works, old man. Give me an incinerator and transport me to the real thing. I want to get it over with." Adrasteia was far from bored. She trembled with anxiety, sensing her freedom was close. She would have a chance to do good and redeem herself, maybe help some of the families she had victimized. Adrasteia imagined them forgiving her, stripping away the layers of guilt that had burdened her heart for two decades--making her _truly_ free.

The smith sneered. "Do you think the Siboshens are pushovers? They're working on highly advanced armor of their own. They are masters of robotics, and our spies inform us of a new nanorobot suit they've completed that some have suggested is invincible. My light armor must be fully tested before I will allow it to be used in Hard Grid combat. In other words, I'm setting the testing here to maximum--or _lethal_."

"You're joking, right? Is that allowed?" Adrasteia whirled around, scanning for foes--driven into full alert. Chills flooded down her spine.

"I have special permission from our government. In fact, the armor you wear has already been tested six times, and during those trials, flaws were revealed that resulted in the prisoners' deaths. But this time I think it's fine-tuned and ready."

"This is ridiculous!" she said. "I don't want to risk my life here, and then have to risk it again on the Hard Grid. You never told me about this."

The smith shrugged. "Does it matter? Can you consider an existence in a brutal prison to truly be living? No, it's a sort of death. Worse, really. You have nothing to lose here, and everything to gain. But I won't force you to risk your life. If you want to back out of this, I'll let you return to prison to rot. I can always get someone more willing. What is your choice?"

"If you give me an incinerator," said Adrasteia, "I'll agree to do this." Instantly one materialized beside her. She snatched it up.

The smith smiled. "Don't think that weapon will get you very far. My armor will do the real work of ensuring your survival."

Adrasteia held up the orange, glowing rod. She tested it on the smith's image, and the glow leapt forth and engulfed it. It dispersed the image into green mist that hovered over the Grid. She clutched the rod to her. She preferred to trust her own combat skills above all else.

The smith's voice echoed from the mist. "Trust in your armor. It can sense your thoughts, and will evolve based on your personality. If you're truly the warrior I want representing my race, you'll survive this--and the armor will become an extension of who you are. We're in uncharted territory. Experimental evolution is at work here. If nothing else, you'll die a magnificent part of history. Think of--"

"I'm ready," Adrasteia interrupted, weary of talk. Whatever the light-smith was going to throw at her, she deserved. She envisioned the faces of her victims. She had taken some for their life savings, and others for money that kept their businesses afloat. She had crushed dreams and ruined lives. And she had killed many men in prison--those who had tried to force their desires onto her. Their blood had stained the filthy washrooms and tunnels, until they had learned to leave her alone. She didn't regret killing them, but she regretted everything else to the point where just living with herself had become a constant struggle. If she was going to be ripped apart on this Grid, it was only just. But she wasn't about to go willingly. Her instincts were conditioned by prison life to fight tooth and nail for survival. She was ready to choke, burn, beat, or trick her way to freedom.

The pink arrows turned crimson and Adrasteia followed. A shadow darted across the Grid--so fast she barely glimpsed it. She fired the incinerator at the spot where it had been, and then hands seized her from behind and squeezed her throat. Adrasteia's armor strengthened around her neck, keeping the hands from locking onto her flesh. The creature was too close for Adrasteia to dare try her weapon, but the armor sent a shock into her attacker that flung it off her. She whirled around, and glimpsed a tall, thin robot shaped like a human, lying stunned on the Grid. It blended in with the black and green surroundings almost flawlessly. Before it could recover, she incinerated it.

After taking a moment to steady her nerves, Adrasteia followed the arrows. She was certain the worst was yet to come.

An instant later, seven golden orbs rose up, and she froze, recognizing them from models her brother--a military man--used to construct. They were mind orbs, clairvoyant weapons capable of learning and duplicating most forms of attack. These ones looked radically advanced compared to the models her brother used to assemble.

The mind orbs hung motionless, as they planned their strategy. They were spread out around Adrasteia, and she could only attack one. She pointed the incinerator at the nearest and fired. But the orb sensed her attack beforehand and dodged the beam. All seven orbs rushed in to overwhelm her--a strategy reserved for single opponents. She was hit with so many different attacks at once she could do nothing. Energy bolts, slashing blades, toxic darts, and exploding bullets bombarded Adrasteia. The attack was astonishingly swift and accurate--the mind orbs programmed to test the armor to the extreme. In the hint of a moment that Adrasteia had time to think, she was certain she was about to be obliterated.

She fired the incinerator, determined to die with her finger on the trigger. Multiple explosions erupted, along with blinding flashes of light. Then all went silent. When Adrasteia dared look again, the orbs lay in smoking pieces, scattered about the grid. From what she could tell, she didn't have a scratch on her. Even her incinerator was still intact. In fact, her body felt thoroughly energized. Her skin burned hot, but it was not unpleasant.

The old smith appeared before Adrasteia again, grinning. "Outstanding! I must admit--I wasn't sure that armor could withstand such a coordinated effort. By the way, your incinerator blast hit nothing. It was the armor that destroyed them all. Now, however, the greatest test awaits you--an actual living Siboshen, wearing powerful battle gear. And yes, it's all perfectly legal. The Siboshen is a criminal like yourself, and he has chosen to fight for his freedom."

"This is stupid," Adrasteia said, her muscles knotting in frustration. She wanted to throttle the smug armor-smith for his tyranny. "Just send me to the Hard Grid so I can face the Siboshens there. What difference does it make?"

His eyes widened. "All the difference in the world! If my armor fails here, no one will know or care other than myself. But out there, my reputation is at stake."

Adrasteia shook her head in disgust. "I see. Pride over your accomplishments is all that really matters to you." She almost threw down the incinerator in defiance, but knowing her freedom was on the line, she couldn't bring herself to do it. "I realize I'm a ruthless woman, that I've done some evil deeds. But at least I can admit that and try to change. You're not even aware of how rotten you are. How sad is that?"

He frowned. "I almost hope the Siboshen kills you. Almost. Now go and finish your task, so I can send you off to the Hard Grid and be done with you. I grant you the highest honor imaginable--not to mention a wonderful chance at freedom--and you throw it back in my face. Disgusting."

Adrasteia smiled, the taste of his anger sweet on her lips. His image vanished, replaced by an eight-foot-tall alien in a robotic exoskeleton. It had black, slime-coated flesh and was shaped like an Old Earth Sphere bear--right down to the snarling muzzle. Even without the machine parts it would have been a powerful foe, but the robotic enhancements made it terrifying. Giant spikes protruded from its fists along with vacuum rods that were capable of sucking the skin right off a victim. The vacuums were designed to pull the victim into the spikes.

Adrasteia was about to fire the incinerator when she saw something that made her pause. The Siboshen had fear in his eyes, and he was hesitant. This was no hardened criminal--but a young warrior in over his head. He was talented, no doubt, but trembling as he gazed at her. Adrasteia guessed he had some idea of what her armor was capable of. She could have taken advantage of that fear and hesitation and finished him off. But she was overcome by pity--an emotion that had been growing stronger in her lately, as she contemplated her possible freedom and all the evil she had done.

Adrasteia waited, wondering if he was going to make a move. His body shook harder. She sensed the armor was feeling him out, preparing its defense. Her skin burned hotter, a fire that spread throughout Adrasteia's body and mind, fusing data with her thoughts and feelings and hurling her to dizzying heights of awareness. As the old smith had predicted, she was merging with the armor--but in a way he could never have envisioned or calculated. The gleaming strands had evolved to become inseparable from Adrasteia's flesh, and she was transformed into a new entity.

With a cry, the Siboshen flung himself at Adrasteia, trying to stab her with the great spikes. The weapons snapped off against her armor, and the Siboshen backed away, the broken spikes revealing gun barrels. He fired two incineration beams at her chest. Her armor-- _her flesh_ \--caught the beams, but instead of reflecting them back for the kill, it dispersed them.

Adrasteia threw down the incinerator. "Why should we fight?"

The Siboshen gazed at her with wide eyes, and backed away. A moment later, the alien vanished from the Grid--replaced by the old smith. She knew he had come in person, as she could smell his foul breath. "What has happened? Why didn't my armor finish him?"

Adrasteia stared at him calmly. "Your armor--as you call it--has evolved, grown more intelligent. It has come to understand pity, mercy, and justice. When you put this armor on me, you assumed I was a ruthless convict, but you didn't take into account that underneath my desire for freedom and survival was a conscience capable of feeling guilt. The armor recognized that truth in me, and drew knowledge from it to help shape itself. Your creation shall not be used for pointless killing."

"Then remove it!" he cried, shaking his fist at her. "It is my greatest accomplishment, and you can't take it from me."

"I can't remove it," Adrasteia said. "It's now fused with me completely." In spite of this knowledge, she had no regrets. She had the chance to do some good in the universe--to teach others the ways of peace. Adrasteia would not be sent back to prison, for no cell could hold her. Her armor, and her own mind with it, would continue to learn and evolve for the benefit of all.

Adrasteia gazed into the old man's eyes. "I am the first of a new race--a being of light who feels the pain of all who suffer. My armor mourns for the terrified, the diseased, the hungry, and the tortured. I dedicate myself to helping those in need."

The smith fell to his knees. "Then what will happen if I make more armor? Will it too become peaceful? Can't I create intelligent armor that will fight for me?"

"I don't think it's possible," Adrasteia said. "You can create cunning armor that will know many ways to kill. But if you choose to give it _real_ intelligence, it will come to understand right from wrong and no longer serve you as a puppet."

End.
Eye of Othareos

I hunched forward, my eye jammed against the brass telescope so tightly it could have bruised the surrounding flesh. My domain was the universe, and my eye saw everything in detail--everything except the strange masses that made up a good portion of that universe. Not even _my_ eye could pierce the fog of mystery surrounding those.

The mystery of the shadowy matter should have captivated my soul. It should have been the reason I looked half-starved these days, the reason I stank from lack of a wash. And there were countless other universal mysteries I should have been studying--such as the two galaxies that seemed locked in some horrendous combat, or the crimson orb that appeared to digest planets like a hungry god on the hunt, or the light beacons that shone between the worlds of a distant solar system.

So many mysteries to explore--yet all I cared to focus on were Saturn's rings. A series of icy debris fields right in my own puny solar system, boring and seemingly lifeless. Yet I kept casting my eye upon those rings, searching for the anomaly that was driving me insane. I had caught only a brief glimpse of that anomaly before losing sight of it, but there was something so compelling about it that I couldn't focus on anything else.

"Ice fragments," I whispered. "Miles and miles and..." I sighed. "You've got to be in there somewhere." Something lurked amongst all those ice pieces--something not natural in origin. Was it a space station? A star ship? A huge piece of alien junk left to float in those rings forever? I simply had to know. I, of all people, could locate it, and when I did, I would study it in extreme detail. Nothing could escape my telescope--my _great eye_. The anomaly couldn't hide from me forever.

I realized my wife had been pounding on the door and yelling. This was nothing new. She did it every day lately. Somewhere deep within, I still found it disturbing and sad whenever she was desperately trying to get my attention. Feeling a mild pang of guilt, I opted to reply.

"Yes, dear? What is it?"

"Your dinner is getting cold, Parker!" Her voice was shrill with desperation. "There has to be a way to get through to you! I want my husband back!"

"I'm still here," I said reassuringly. _But was I?_

She didn't understand. She didn't know the power of the eye. "I'll be out in a minute. I...just have a few important things to do. Just a few..."

"That's what you always say, Parker. You need to eat!"

There was a moment of silence, and I hoped she had retreated. I gazed into the telescope again.

_BANG!_ She whacked the door a good one, startling me. "Come out! This can't go on. You are losing your mind. I'm losing _you._ You need to find a way...somehow...to get your mind right."

No, I didn't. I needed to keep searching Saturn's rings for the anomaly until I found it. That was more important than my wife's happiness, my marriage, and anything else. There was something so compelling about what I had glimpsed in the ice belt--a metallic object bristling with spikes or towers--that halting my search even to eat or spend a few moments with my panicked wife was not possible. I pitied her, but that was it. She simply had to leave me to my task!

I waited for her to go away.

She banged on the door again--a weaker, defeated sound. "Please, Parker. You're wasting away in there. I'll call...someone. I'll have you hospitalized. I'll--"

"Leave me alone, woman! I said I'll be out in a minute."

She hit the door again, and went away sobbing.

Good riddance. It was sad indeed, but not all that important in the grand scheme of things. She had reached the erroneous assumption that I was going insane, that something was terribly wrong with my mind that needed investigating, and there was no telling her otherwise. My mind was as sharp as ever and filled with new, wondrous ponderings. I had told her about the powers of the Great Eye, but she had dismissed my honesty with a tearful response and a plea to seek help. This was mostly her fault, actually--a result of not being more open minded. I had done my best to convince her.

Thoughts of her slipped from my mind, as my task drew me in again. Moments later, my heart lurched in my chest. Could that be it? Something pale and round, floating calmly through the debris field. But where were the towers I had previously glimpsed? Perhaps they had temporarily retracted into the object. With a trembling hand, I reached to the side of the telescope and turned a dial one slight click. The image zoomed into clarity, and the breath rushed out of me in defeat. I was seeing nothing more than a curious-looking clump of ice. In frustration, I clicked the dial again and zoomed in closer, to reveal dust in the ice's surface. Worthless.

I leaned back, overcome with frustration. A loud knock on the door made me jump from my chair. This wasn't my wife's knock--but the heavy hand of a man. For an instant I panicked. Had she called the authorities? Would I be arrested and taken to a mental institution?

"Parker?" a deep voice called out. "May I come in?" It was James, a doctor and old friend of mine. Relief flooded through me.

"James!" I cried in delight. "I'm glad it's you!"

"You are?" he muttered. "Why?"

I glanced about. Charts and papers strewn all over, molding dishes crawling with flies, cigar butts and ashes caked on the table and floor. For an instant I contemplated how badly I had let things go, and then my mind turned back to Saturn's rings and the thing I was looking for out there.

"Parker? Can I come in or not?"

I unlocked the door and faked a smile. "Come in, of course, James. I'm afraid the study is quite a mess. I've been so absorbed in my research that I haven't had time to clean." It was a weak excuse, considering my wife did all the cleaning. But she wasn't allowed in here, not with my most precious possession--an instrument she didn't believe in and might try to harm in her foolish state of mind. James, on the other hand, was a man of science like myself. He would at least demand to see proof.

James moved his hefty frame into the room and looked me up and down, his mouth agape beneath a bushy mustache. "Good heavens, man. Have you looked in a mirror lately? Your face is beginning to sag, and your eyes look like they've become lost in your skull. Is Anna feeding you these days?" He wrinkled his nose. "And what's that obnoxious odor? Oh dear."

I looked away, and could feel my face flush. "Nothing to worry about, old chap. As I said, I've been so absorbed lately." I reached behind James and bolted the door. I lowered my voice so my wife wouldn't hear. "You're the one man I can trust, James. So I will admit the truth--I'm making discoveries you couldn't even begin to imagine!"

James frowned. "Not according to Anna. She told me you're losing your bloody mind. She wanted me to convince you to see a psychiatrist. And I agreed, because she is a good woman and a sensible woman."

"She is," I conceded. "But she is not a woman of science and can never understand. This is all about my most prized antique, James. It is more powerful than you could ever imagine. It is...highly advanced technology."

James gave me a skeptical (predictable) look. "So you've gotten that old telescope to work like you wanted, have you? And what has it revealed? Can it see a bit farther than an old telescope should be able to? Is that what all this fuss is about?"

I didn't answer, relishing the moment.

"Well?" James demanded. "What can it do? What can it see?"

I grinned, knowing I surely looked insane but not caring. "What can it see? Oh, it can see everything. _Everything_ , James! The entire expanse of the universe, right down to the finest details. All of it. The whole cake, man!"

James grimaced. "Impossible, Parker--no telescope could do that. Your wife is right. You are indeed losing your marbles." He shook his head and sighed.

I kept right on grinning, knowing James' hard-nosed skepticism would only make things sweeter once he learned the truth. James was staunch fellow, fat and raspy and always scowling. He didn't believe in anything science couldn't prove. He had always viewed me as a radical, as someone too willing to believe anything based on flimsy evidence. And he was right. But this time I had absolute proof.

"Come on, James. Why don't you take a peek for yourself, then?" Though I dreaded sharing my secrets, I couldn't resist showing off to James. I salivated at the prospect of shocking his narrow mind. And he was my most trusted friend--my _only_ friend, actually. He had strong morals and would not betray me.

James eyed the big brass telescope that was pointed out the window at the night sky. He shuffled over to it and ran his fingers over the Greek symbols that adorned its surface. "Beautiful, I must say. Did you ever figure out how old it is?"

I shook my head. "Nor do I know who designed it. There's a name on it I'm unfamiliar with-- _Othareos_. And words beneath that which probably mean _The Great Eye_. Curiously, there is another word-- _Atlantis_ \--engraved on the opposite side."

Seeing the thoughtful look on my face, James raised his eyebrows. "You don't think this device actually came from Atlantis, do you? Heaven help you, Parker."

I shrugged. "I don't know. But the writing is intriguing. It's clearly ancient Greek--yet somewhat different, making it difficult to translate."

James waved his hand dismissively. "Could be a hoax. And furthermore, this telescope is likely in far too good of condition to be truly ancient."

"Not necessarily," I said. "You see--I believe the device has a unique ability, something that keeps it from aging or retaining damage." I took a deep breath. "I believe it can repair itself. _Heal_ itself, if you will."

"What?!" James bellowed, his jaw dropping. "Seriously, Parker, you need professional help. This is rather unfortunate." He sighed deeply.

For an instant, my lips tightened in rage and my hand closed into a bony fist. I wanted to smash James right in his fat, disbelieving face. I wanted to crush his smug spectacles and watch that expression of intellectual superiority and pity disintegrate. But then I remembered this time he was wrong, and soon a different look would adorn his face--one of stunned amazement.

I forced a smile. I held all the cards this time, and my reaction had been foolish and irrational. James was my friend, undeserving of such petty rage. "Steady yourself, old chap. The answer lies there." I pointed at the telescope. "Have a look."

James hesitated. "I'm not sure I should play this game."

"You simply must," I said. "You owe it to science and to yourself, and maybe even to _me._ Prove me wrong, James, and I will seek help. I will leave immediately and see a psychiatrist and do whatever it takes to fix my brain."

James peered out the window and shook his head. "But it's a cloudy night. Surely that telescope can't pierce such a blanketed sky."

I nodded toward the device.

James adjusted his spectacles and grunted. Then, with yet another sigh, he sat down and peered into the telescope. I waited, holding my breath. Finally, he shook his head. "Well, I see something bloody unusual. Doesn't look like the universe, though."

I had forgotten the telescope was displaying an extreme close-up of dusty ice. I pushed James aside, found a distant sun, and zoomed in on it.

James let out a whine. "Oh, dear God! Is that a star? And what is this I see over here?" He tried to move the telescope, but it wouldn't budge on its tripod.

I laughed and clapped him on the back. "Marvelous, isn't it? But you don't adjust it like that. There are dials--some that zoom in, some that move it up and down, and some that move it back and forth. The dials are very precise and have many settings. Nevertheless, it's quite easy to miss things out there. Obviously, some objects are farther away and can't be seen without increasing the magnification."

James clicked some dials and gasped. "I see something--a huge mass that looks like a glowing silver cloud. What is it doing? Is it moving toward me?"

I yanked him back. "Careful, James. If you try to peer too closely at that substance, it plays tricks on your mind. It's some type of matter--but unlike anything known to science. I'm certain that only this telescope has the ability to reveal it. Otherwise, it would be invisible. It's all over out there, but somehow hidden from normal lenses. I've studied the heavens all my life, but never caught a glimpse of it until I used this telescope."

"What...what is it?" he stammered.

I ignored the question. "So are you convinced?"

"Well, yes. Of course. But how does it work?"

Unable to hide my grin, I opened a secret panel on the telescope by clicking a series of switches. Inside was a rectangular object, also made of brass, inserted into a cavity. "This is the power source. It was shut off, but after months of study and experimentation, I managed to activate it. It's a very complex device that generates seemingly endless energy. This device alone could elevate humanity to a new level, if we could duplicate it. We could power machines with it and they would never grow sluggish. Think of the amazing possibilities, my friend!""

James leaned close to it, but I snapped the panel shut. "There's something more." I opened another secret panel--this one requiring the dials on the telescope to be set at certain points while I clicked the switches again in a particular order. I paused. "This secret is very well hidden, as you can see. It took me a great deal of painstaking study to figure out the correct combination. Actually, I don't know how I figured it out...it sort of came to me bit by bit. Although this secret that I am about to reveal resides right in the center of the telescopic shaft, you can't view it through the lens for some reason that I can't yet explain."

"Well, what's in there?" James said, his breathing more raspy than usual. He was standing on tiptoes and his hands trembled.

"Brace yourself, James," I said.

I opened the panel and stepped aside. James peered in and let out a yelp. "What is that ugly thing? Why, it looks like a huge eye! Is...is it alive? Wired right into the machinery somehow?"

I handed him a lantern so he could see it in greater detail. "Fantastic, isn't it?" I whispered. "An eye, over a foot wide--and so incredibly complex. I find it hard to believe it came from any creature born on earth."

James leaned closer, shining the lantern. "So many strange parts inside it. Are those blood vessels and nerves? They are so detailed in structure. It appears to be some sort of...super-eye!"

I nodded. "A super-eye, yes. That's a good description of it."

"Is this all an elaborate hoax, Parker? Is this thing a stage prop...and, and the telescope showing fake images?"

I sneered at him. "Really, James. Take a close look at it. You know it's living tissue. Stop denying the truth."

Being a doctor, and a fine one at that, James wasn't going to quit examining the eye anytime soon. So I pulled him back and shut the panel.

James' clutched his chest, his face tense. "I'm dizzy. I think I need some water. Or maybe something a bit stronger."

I poured him some brandy in a dirty cup. He gulped it down.

"So you see, James, I have the universe at my fingertips."

James slumped down in a chair. "But where could it have come from? Do you think the device is alien?"

"I'm not sure. When I told you I found it, I lied. I actually paid a small fortune for it--my entire life savings--from a collector in Greece who had no idea how to make it work. Yet I could sense there was something unique about it right from the start. We're approaching the twentieth century, and our society has seen quite an advancement in the way of machines. But nothing even close to this."

"What will you do now, Parker?"

I shrugged. "So much to explore. Yet..." I almost told him about the anomaly in Saturn's rings, but decided against it. Suddenly, I wanted James gone. This was _my_ telescope, _my_ research. James knew I wasn't insane. Now he needed to go away. "You look unsettled, James. Maybe you should go home and rest."

James nodded. "I need time to think. This could be one of the greatest discoveries in the history of the human race. Imagine what this could mean for England--for the world. If we could learn how the device works, who knows what wonders could spring from it?"

My hands twitched. "Yes, who knows. But we can discuss that later. I really have to get back to my research."

James looked me up and down. "Perhaps, but you need to eat something first. I understand your excitement and enthusiasm, Parker. God knows I'm feeling overwhelmed myself. But you simply must tend to your health."

_Ever the doctor_ _._ I wanted to shove James out the door. I tried to fight off the anger that was building. "Fine, I'll get Anna to fix me something and then I'll take a nap." I stood waiting for him to leave, tapping my foot. I could hardly bear it.

Slowly, James stood up. "I'll be back later to check on you, and we can talk more about this. We may need to get others involved."

I almost lunged at James to seize his throat. "You must swear secrecy!"

James frowned. "Are you sure that's wise? Does one man, or even two, deserve to have exclusive rights to something of such importance?"

"Just for now, James. Please!"

He reluctantly nodded. "Very well, I'll keep it to myself for now. Just make sure you eat and rest. When is the last time you slept?"

"Goodbye James. We'll talk later."

"Eventually others need to know," said James, as he left the room. "This needs to be studied by a team, Parker, in laboratory conditions."

"And it will be," I promised. "Soon." I locked the door, wondering if I should have killed him. I clutched my head, overcome with shame.

How could I think such a crazy thought? James would not betray me--not without first revealing his intentions. And I had bought myself some time, which was all that really mattered.

I hurried to my chair and adjusted the telescope. Foolish. I should never have tinkered with it, as it was way off target. It took me close to an hour to locate Saturn again and zoom in on the rings.

The hours slipped past. Night and day were irrelevant. James didn't return, but my wife smashed the door open with a block of firewood at some point and stuck a plate of beef and potatoes and a cup of water on a nearby table. The food smelled good. I would eat some later, after I found what I was looking for.

She grabbed my shoulders and tried to tell me how much she loved me (or something to that effect), and I pushed her away--a little too hard, unfortunately. She tripped over a chair and fell. Probably suffered a bruise, but I wasn't sure because I didn't take the time to look. She said something to me and left the study. I think she told me she was leaving, and that was a sad thing. I would address that issue later, however. My shaky marriage could wait. This was too important!

I was weak and exhausted, and could hardly hold myself together. Eventually I was going to pass out. I fumbled around on the plate and shoved a chunk of beef into my mouth. It was dry and I gagged. I slopped down some water and tossed the cup on the floor. _That should sustain me for a while_ , I reasoned.

A lot of empty space lay between the ice pieces. If the anomaly still lingered there, surely sooner or later I would glimpse it. Also, the anomaly was considerably larger than the ice masses and visible from a good distance away. I prayed it was still amongst the rings. If not, I had no chance of finding it at some random point in the universe...unless the telescope chose to help me, which was a possibility.

What was driving me like this? Was it some dark whisper in my mind, perhaps the telescope itself somehow commanding me? These questions were fleeting--nagging me for a second or two and then vanishing as I focused on the hunt.

Regardless, my persistence paid off, and I finally located my target. It was almost as if the telescope adjusted itself just enough to lock onto it. I wasn't sure. Yet there it was, floating calmly through space. I clicked a switch--ensuring the telescope would now move on its own and keep the object in sight.

I had to pause, lest my shaking hand throw the dial out of adjustment. I zoomed in. It was a huge glass bubble, beneath which lay some sort of city. I saw white pillars and buildings, beautiful trees, flowers, and fountains. The architecture clearly had ancient Greek influences. I focused on a courtyard at the center of it all. I zoomed closer and glimpsed objects that looked like complex machines, some with smooth surfaces displaying moving images that seemed almost phantom-like in quality. Alien creatures scurried about the courtyard--some that resembled nude human females with golden skin, chased by hairy goat men.

Standing in the courtyard was a towering figure wearing a shiny, metallic loincloth. It was human in shape, but almost twenty feet tall and its muscular arms and legs were covered in coarse reddish hair.

Hardly able to breathe, I zoomed in on the creature's face. Its head was adorned with a glass helm with metallic rods sticking off of it. Beneath that helm was a wide, hairy face, with open jaws that revealed huge teeth. The creature was smiling. It was smiling because it was aware of my presence. It couldn't see me--because it had no eyes, just a single dark crater in the middle of its forehead. But it could somehow sense I was watching it. It pointed a finger at me, its face contorting with malice.

I clicked off the telescope's power switch.

End.

### Frozen Nuclear Dreams

I was just seeking a camping spot to wait out the blizzard when I stumbled upon the old nuclear facility. I'd suspected there was an undiscovered base here, and after months of searching, I'd finally found it. I could tell right off she was a beauty. The steel door--once disguised by a layer of mountain stone that had crumbled away--was now fully exposed, the classic yellow radiation hazard symbol still retaining most of its color. How cheesy and delightful.

I ran a trembling hand over the door. Seldom was I so excited about anything, but this was quite a find. It wasn't difficult to get swept up in emotion and imagination, caught in a blinding snowstorm in the Rocky Mountains miles from civilization, staring at a fortified entrance that led to some atomic crypt full of treasures. This was a door into the ancient past, into an age when the atom powered everything and the world was still threatened by nuclear destruction. This was what I lived for.

I took a moment to thank God for my extraordinary luck. I wasn't sure I believed in an all-powerful God (or even in minor deities) but if there was a God, surely he had to be a collector like me and presided over a giant museum of epic wonders.

Grinning, I saluted the heavens. I shouted my thanks, but the wind smothered my dramatic moment. Oh well, it was the thought that counted.

I took out my collector-key and pointed it at the door. A swarm of nanobots poured out of the rectangular device, gathered information, and carried it back. A radiation readout--far from dangerous thanks to my hazard suit--popped up on the key's screen, along with a list of options. I selected _repair door_ , and the microscopic robots rushed out to do my bidding. It took them about an hour to get things working. I could hardly stand the wait, as I kept envisioning all the wonderful items that would soon turn up on display in my museum.

Finally a new option appeared on the screen: _open door_. With a screech of metal, the steel slab raised to reveal a dark tunnel mouth. I set my collector-key to _illuminate_ and walked inside with a cloud of glittering snowflakes.

The tunnel was about ten-feet tall and uneven, extending an untold distance into shadow. Steel drums and crates stood off to the sides, but I'd check on those later. I liked to get right to the heart of things first, to venture into the deep, sealed places where the real treasures were stored.

But I hesitated, chills creeping over my flesh. You never knew what you might find in these strange old facilities. There was always the possibility of danger, but I couldn't let that stop me. No risk was too great for the glory of my collection.

A moan came from the dark ahead and I froze.

Terrified, I mumbled aloud, _"Okay, maybe the risk isn't worth it."_ I wondered if I should run. What the heck could be alive in this ancient sealed base? I envisioned mutant creatures (or humans) with dripping sores and crooked teeth. Mutants were a real thing, though quite rare. But what else could it be?

Two green eyes peered at me from the shadows.

Those had to be shining mutant eyes. I adjusted my collector-key, switching it to a setting I'd never had to use before: _defense mode._ Now it was a weapon capable of emitting a very powerful laser that could surely burn through any mutant flesh.

I waited, barely breathing.

And then a young boy stepped into the light. He was there for just a second, his face crinkled with curiosity, and then he scurried off down the tunnel.

My fear giving way to excitement, I ran after him. I knew he must be a robot, but he looked so lifelike it made me wonder. Could generations have somehow survived in here, isolated from the rest of the world? It was so improbable I could scarcely take such a notion seriously. But I'd never seen a robot from the atomic age that could be mistaken for a living person, so that too was very unlikely.

The boy vanished beyond a steel door, slamming it behind him. I heard a click as he locked it from the other side. I sent out my nanobots. It only took them a few minutes to deactivate the lock, but the boy was gone beyond another door when I entered the next room.

I leaned against the wall and forced myself to calm down. Eventually I'd catch him. For now, I needed to proceed with caution or I could get myself killed in a place like this. I was in another storage room, this one full of lockers and hanging hazard suits that were bulky and primitive compared to my own.

I scanned the room with my collector-key but found nothing of interest. There were two doors the boy could have left through. One led to a kitchen and a dining room full of long tables. The other one led to another hall, and when I stepped into it, he was standing there facing me.

He appeared to be around ten years old. He wore a silver body suit that kind of looked like my own, but his had no helmet. He had brown hair and freckles. I scanned him. He was a nuclear-powered robot. Yet a significant portion of his anatomy appeared to be advanced living tissue, meaning he was possibly a cyborg.

"Hello," I said, barely able to get the word out. What a find! I pictured him running around my museum. God knew how many people would come from all over the world just to see the most advanced atomic robot ever discovered.

"Hello," he replied. His eyes were wide and fearful.

I leaned closer. "Why are you scared? I won't hurt you."

"No one's supposed to come here. My daddy said so."

"You don't have a daddy. You're a robot." I tensed up, not knowing how he'd react.

His eyes widened. "How did you know?"

I held up my collector-key. "This tells me a lot of things."

"I need to scan you back," he said. "Stick out your hand."

I hesitated, wondering what he was planning. My curiosity got the better of me and I extended my free hand. He took it in his own and touched his cheek with it. He smiled at me, and I smiled back. Then he shoved my fingers into his mouth and bit them.

I yanked my hand back. His teeth hadn't been able to penetrate my hazard suit, but I was rattled. "That wasn't very nice."

His face blanked. "I need a DNA sample to find out more about you. I'm guessing you're not human, since no human could enter this tomb."

"I'm fully human. And I want to know why you call this place a _tomb_. Are there dead people in here?"

"There might as well be," he whispered. "They're dead to me. How did you get in here?"

I shrugged. "You've been in here a long time. A lot of things have changed."

He pointed at my collector-key. "May I see that?"

I pulled it close to me defensively. "No, you may not."

He stood silently for a few minutes. Then he said, "Would you like me to show you around? I'll do that, as long as you promise not to disturb anything."

I considered the proposal, then nodded. There would be plenty of time to disturb things when I returned with a salvage crew.

"Great!" he said, and skipped off down the hall. "Come on, then. We'll visit the Cyclone Room first. It's one of my favorites. My name is Nick."

I ran after him. "What's your function, Nick?"

"Tour guide of the tomb. What else?" He gave me an amused look.

"You wouldn't happen to also be the guardian, would you?"

He didn't reply. Three doors stood at the hall's end, and he chose one. The Cyclone Room was dominated by a circular atom smasher at the center, coiled like a spring. It looked like a silver serpent rising up from amid control panels. It was small--only about fifteen feet wide, which was odd considering particle accelerators were miles long, and always linear in shape, when they neared the end of their usefulness. How was this tiny, circular accelerator able to function properly?

"The smasher still works," Nick said. "But I'm not allowed to run it. You could activate it if you wanted, though, but you'd have to be careful."

I smiled. "Would this accelerator happen to produce black holes?"

Nick hesitated, then nodded. "They do evaporate. Do you know why?"

"I know all about the atomic age, Nick." I approached the device, while Nick watched me intently. The radiation readout was well beyond lethal for a human, and Nick was no doubt wondering why I was still alive. He'd led me into a trap, but I was fine with that. According to my scan, this was easily the most advanced atom smasher ever discovered. It was ancient technology, but developed beyond any point I'd ever conceived of.

I was overwhelmed by the strangeness of it. This was abandoned technology, traded in favor of easier, better devices and techniques. Why had a crude atom smasher been refined to such an extraordinary level?

"Who built this, Nick?"

"That's a secret," Nick said. "But I'll give you a clue. It was done by people who didn't want to be part of society anymore. They locked themselves away under the mountain."

A shiver ran over my flesh. "Are they still alive? Their descendants?"

"This is a tomb," Nick said, rolling his eyes. "Or didn't you hear me say that?"

"So you're the only one aliv..." I cleared my throat. "The only one left?" Nick possessed living tissue, but he was clearly a robot first and foremost.

He bowed his head but didn't answer. I repeated my question.

"Everyone is dead," he finally replied. "Or they might as well be."

"Are you lonely, Nick?"

He shrugged. "A little. They should have removed that emotion when they programmed me. Pretty dumb, if you ask me. But who cares?"

"I care. You're something special, Nick. A special child." Again, I pictured him in my museum, and I had to force myself not to smile. He really was a wonderful creation, and I'd give him a pleasant home. I'd never had time for a child--but I had time for Nick. And so did all my customers.

His hands knotted into fists. "I'm no child, sir. I was just made to look like one. If you didn't have that device in hand, and that suit to protect you, I would have torn you to bits the moment you broke in here."

Snapped from my trance, I raised my collector-key defensively. My spirit hardened. "I understand, Nick. But I can shut you down anytime I want. In fact, I can have you dismantled into pieces if I choose."

We faced each other in silence. Nick bowed his head again. "I didn't mean to get angry. Don't dismantle me, sir."

In spite of his death threat, I pitied him. He'd spent centuries locked in a cold mountain cave, and robot or not, that had to take its toll. "We don't have to be enemies, Nick. Why don't you show me around some more? I promise I won't touch anything. When we're all done, I'll just leave and never return." It was a blatant lie, and my face warmed a bit with shame.

Nick nodded. "We'll visit the History Hall. You should like it, and there's nothing dangerous in there."

Nick was right--I found the History Hall intriguing even though it contained little that wasn't already in my museum. The tunnel was lined with glass display cases, showing photos of scientists like Einstein, Oppenheimer, Fermi, Rutherford, and Geiger. And of course there were relics--some that were disturbing, such as a piece of melted iron from Nagasaki after the atomic bomb destroyed the city.

"I want to see your creators, Nick. Can we pay them a visit?"

"Maybe," he said. "But I still don't trust you. Let me get a closer look at that device you're holding. I just want to touch it."

I made sure my collector-key was in _defense mode_ and extended it. Nick snatched it from my hand so quickly my eye couldn't follow it. He leapt away from me.

"You should give that back," I said calmly.

"I'm guessing you're powerless without this," he replied.

I nodded. "But it's not powerless without me."

Nick dropped the key, but it was too late. The nanobots had already poured into him and shut him down. His head tilted sideways and he toppled over.

I patted him on the back and retrieved my key.

I checked Nick's status. He was temporarily deactivated but he'd return to life in about an hour. He had a tiny fusion reactor inside his chest--his heart. It was too complex for my nanobots to return accurate data about it. They hadn't been able to shut down his reactor on short notice, so they'd disabled simple electrical circuits in his brain.

I gazed down at him for several moments, wondering why I felt guilty. It was an emotion I wasn't used to. I could have disabled his brain circuits more permanently, boxing him up nicely for shipping to my museum. But he'd touched my heart somehow, and I couldn't let it be. I sent the nanobots back in and woke him up.

Nick rose from the floor. "What did you do to me?"

"I'm a collector," I said. "Truthfully, I'm going to clean out this entire facility--you with it. Everything's going to either be auctioned off or, if unique--like you--be stored in my museum. I'm sorry, Nick. I know you were created to guard this place, but--"

"I wasn't created for that," Nick said. "It's just what I do."

"Then what were you created for?"

Nick looked away. "Nothing. Why were you created?"

"I'm human. It's not the same deal."

"I won't let you disturb them!" Nick shouted. "My dad wants to sleep forever. He told me that. If you wake him up, he won't be happy anymore."

I shook my head. "I don't understand. Are you talking about your creator?"

Nick's eyes smoldered. "Call him whatever you want. But if you try to wake him, I'll destroy this whole place. I can blow it up, and I'm not telling you how."

"Be reasonable, Nick. You're not really a child, remember? Blowing everything up would accomplish nothing."

"I lied," said Nick. "I'm pretty smart, but I am a kid. I always will be. Now you better leave here and never come back, or I'll turn this place into rubble."

"Don't make me shut you down again," I warned.

"You can't shut me down. In spite of what you did to me, I could still think--and if I can think, I can destroy this place." His eyes held a wild, desperate look. "I don't want to hurt you, but I have hurt others."

"Where are they, Nick?"

"Dead. Would you like to see them?"

I nodded, and followed Nick down some tunnels to an ancient, rusty door. We stepped into a room littered with human bones. Many of the bones lay shattered.

Nick's eyes gleamed. "They came here to disturb my father, so I killed them. That's why this place is a tomb." His hands slowly opened and closed. "It wouldn't bother me to do the same to you. I don't even remember their screams."

Chills broke out all over my flesh. "I don't believe that. I don't think you're so ruthless. You may have felt desperate, and did what you felt you had to--but that doesn't make you a cold-blooded killer."

Nick stepped toward me. "If you lay down that device, you'll know the truth. Your body is fragile compared to mine. I can tear your flesh right off your bones."

"I'm sure you can," I said, my hands shaking. "And perhaps you would. But I know in my heart you're not an evil chil... You're not an evil creation at all, Nick."

Nick hissed at me and stepped closer.

My fingers caressed the collector-key. "Don't force me to destroy you."

"You mean _murder_ me?" said Nick. "Go on and do it, then. Murder me! I deserve to die for what I did to these people."

"You don't deserve to die, Nick."

"I won't live as your captive," said Nick. "I've already murdered people in order to remain in this place, and to be honest, it bothers me more than anything. I hate who I am, and I won't hesitate to destroy myself. You should just get out of here and leave me alone!"

"Lead me to your father," I said. "Then we can discuss the situation. Who knows--maybe I'll see something that will make me change my mind."

Nick's eyes narrowed. He paced back and forth amid the bones, wringing his hands together. At last he said, "Okay, I'll take you there so you can know the truth. But remember what I said about blowing everything up."

We took an elevator deep into the earth. A tunnel led us to a circular chamber guarded by an extremely thick steel door. Inside were the bodies of five men and four women, submerged in transparent fluid tanks. They were perfectly preserved, their eyes closed and their faces peaceful.

One tank was open--and empty.

I glanced at Nick. He nodded. "Yes, I was human once. We all were. We became cyborgs so we could survive the radiation. Then we froze ourselves in the tanks so we would live forever and always be happy."

We stood in the doorway. At the room's center was a metal display pedestal--with a luminous golden disk resting atop it. Tubes ran from the disk to all six fluid tanks. I sent forth my nanobots. The room was saturated in lethal radiation--to the point where my hazard suit was pushed to the limit. It was all coming from the golden disk.

"What is that thing?" I whispered. My nanobots couldn't figure out exactly what it was, only that it was highly radioactive. They shied away from it.

"The concentrated waste from millions of particle collisions." Nick's voice was full of pride. "They feed off its energy, and it makes them feel good in their dreams. I remember how I used to be so happy."

"What happened?"

"I stopped feeling good," said Nick. "My dreams turned into nightmares and finally I woke up. I think they screwed something up when they made me a cyborg. Something in my brain loses power and shuts down over time." He gazed at me pleadingly. "Can you help me? Can you send me home? I didn't really kill any people, you know. They all died from radiation. Only you are able to survive it."

I stood in silence for several minutes, while Nick watched me. This was what I had been looking for--a way back from the shadows. For too long I had wandered in the lonely places of the world, seeking what I thought were relics from ages past. But I had been seeking something else, something I couldn't even clarify in my own mind. All I knew was that whatever it was, I had finally found it, and a heavy burden was lifted from me.

My hands trembled as I pointed the collector-key at him. I sent the nanobots into his brain with new instructions. They had to shut him down, and I waited for a few hours while they gathered data. Finally they presented me with a solution.

When Nick awoke, he looked dazed. "Can you help me?" he asked again.

I smiled. "It's already done, Nick. You can go home now."

"Thank you," he said, and he entered the tank, sealing it behind him. He activated a control panel within, and the tank filled with fluid. He closed his eyes as he became submerged, and he looked peaceful. I wondered what he was dreaming about.

How long would these people live in their dreams, in a beautiful world no doubt full of wonders? Was it even right to escape reality like that? A gift, or a curse? Was this a sort of living death, or a paradise on earth? I had no idea, but Nick had made his choice and I was happy for him.

I turned away, knowing I would never solve the mysteries of this facility now that Nick was gone, but it didn't seem that important anymore. I wondered how I was going to hide the door to this place so no one would ever find it again.

Nick had finally gone home. It was time for me to do the same.

End.

### Nature's Balancing Act

I glanced at my watch, and goose bumps sprang out all over my flesh. Hell wasn't far off now. I desperately craved a shot of vodka, but it would have gotten me banned from the diving capsule. You had to be sober when you journeyed into Hell.

I zipped on my hazard suit, saluted the little science trailer I'd come to detest with its oppressively cramped spaces, and headed out to the docks. Dave and his wife Lisa were making a final check of the Devil's Helm, a couple of old hippies from the thirties, badly outdated. It was 2062, and most people didn't go for the long-haired look these days--especially when that hair was a naturally aged silver--or the wrinkled-skin _see, I'm aging_ look. Probably smoked pot, too.

"Everything looks good, Joe," Dave said. "Shield ports are clean, all six particle engines running smooth. We can take 'er down river anytime you're ready." He scanned my hazard suit and made a few adjustments to it.

Lisa smiled at me. She was pretty, in spite of her natural aging. "Are you ready to do this, Joe? If you have any hesitation at all, Dave and I can handle it." Seeing my hurt look, she added, "We'd stand a better chance with you along. But you know the risk and I don't--"

"No, I'm up to it. Got my notebook and recorder. Which reminds me." I clicked on my voice recorder, which was capable of identifying emotions and even lies. "You're now officially under public scrutiny. So if you had anything to say that you didn't want on record--too late. Just kidding. But I'd like to keep recording as much as possible."

"Here's the plan," said Dave, his voice adopting a professional tone as he eyed the recorder, "we're going to Hell. Any concerns?"

"What if the structures down there are unstable?" I said. "Won't we risk being buried alive under collapsing super sludge?"

"Any other concerns, Joe?" Dave asked, and I shared a laugh with him. Ah, the friendly banter. It did nothing to calm my boiling stomach. Lisa patted me on the back, and the three of us approached the capsule. We wore helmets that made us look like astronauts, and I felt like I was headed for Mars.

I gazed into the Brescabo River, wondering what top-secret military experiments had been carried out here to spawn such a nightmare. The nearby military base was closed now, with no dumping for the past decade, but the river's condition continued to worsen on its own. It didn't seem too bad here, though. The water was just sort of muddy looking, with toxic bubbling at a minimum. Skeletal trees lay on the banks, their trunks and limbs blackened. But as polluted as it was reputed to be, the river--at least here--certainly didn't look like anything that could eat a hole in the universe.

"For the record," I said, "what would happen if I went for a swim?"

"You'd last a couple of minutes," Lisa said. "Then the chemicals would eat through your hazard suit and excise your flesh from your bones. Basically, you'd peel away in layers right down to your skeletal structure. Imagine a banana skin peeling away and then the edible part popping out. Your skeleton would pop out like that. The bones would last a few more minutes, before dissolving into raw calcium." She winked at me. "After that it gets kind of gruesome, so I better stop."

"Can I go home now?"

Dave put his arm around me and gave me a shake. "Come on, Joe. It's not that bad. This is the good part of the river. In Hell, you'd dissolve before you hit the water. Okay, maybe not that quickly, but pretty damn close."

I managed a chuckle, but my heart lurched as if trying to pull me away. I'd known the river was bad, but hearing just how bad it was from these two highly respected chemists and geologists was a stinging blow to my nerves. I reminded myself that this was the opportunity of a lifetime for an environmental journalist.

Lisa turned a wheel and a door popped open beside her, dropping down to form a ramp. We entered and buckled ourselves in. The capsule was spacious inside, with room to move easily amid the control panels. A large view screen dominated the interior. Lisa pushed buttons to close and secure the door. We took off our helmets.

Lisa moved some switches and studied a control panel. "Shields at fifteen percent. Particle engines on standby. Activating rollers."

Dave pressed some buttons and then glanced at me. "Hold on, Joe." The capsule lurched and threw me sideways in my chair. I shrugged. That wasn't so bad.

"We're now treading water," Lisa said. "Dave will keep us on the surface." She chatted with other scientists on the view screen, giving facts and figures I knew nothing about.

"I've got no view from in here," I said, speaking just to help calm myself. "Can you open a window? Let in some of that fresh river air?"

"Not with the shields at fifteen percent," Dave said. "Once we're in Hell, we can open a few windows, but the chances of actually seeing anything down there will be slim even with the glow field from the particle engines. But you never know."

One of the scientists on the screen was trying to get my attention. I was so jacked up I hadn't noticed. "Hello, Mr. Bergman? How are you feeling, sir?"

"A little anxious," I said. "But pretty good, all things considered. Can't wait to see what's down there."

The scientist flashed a smile that seemed fake to me. He looked to be in his fifties, his black hair showing a hint of gray at the temples for effect, and he had what I considered to be a politician's looks and demeanor. "Neither can we. I just wanted to remind you of a few things, if Dave and Lisa haven't briefed you already. I'm assuming you've brought only a voice recorder and a notebook as requested. If I ask you to stop recording for any reason, you must do so immediately. If I ask you to keep anything from the public, you must also do so--as stated in the contract you signed. And finally, you'll be subjected to a search after exiting the capsule, in which your materials will be seized for review and possible editing before being returned to you."

My eyes bulged. "Hey, I don't remember that being in the contract or briefing." I'd been shoved over the edge, my reporter's instincts tingling with paranoia. Words like _Nazi_ and _communist_ sprang to mind.

The scientist cleared his throat. "Well, it wasn't. The decision was made moments ago, from a higher authority whom I'm not at liberty to identify. Regardless, you still have time to back out if you want. The choice is yours."

Dave and Lisa looked embarrassed, and I felt sorry for them. Lisa turned and whispered to me, "Tim Harper's a good guy, Joe."

"I'll stay the course," I said, irritation in my voice. "The public should know the truth about what's down there."

Tim raised his hands defensively. "Hey, Joe, I'm the one who secured permission to let an environmental reporter come along. I'm all for the public knowing what the world is coming to. All of us at Earth Detox feel that way."

"Not a problem, Tim," I said, giving a fake smile of my own. His argument made sense. "So how's the weather over there?"

He ignored me and started talking to Lisa.

I shifted about uncomfortably and took to watching what Dave was doing. The moments drifted past, and my stomach churned more vigorously.

"Approaching the North Lift," said Lisa. "We're in position. Increase shield strength to ninety-five percent, Dave."

The three of us sat in tense silence for about twenty minutes, while we waited for the Devil's Helm to power up and for the crane to attach its hook. "Lift is away," said Lisa. "We're Descending into Hell. Dave, got a prayer for us?"

"Lord, protect this capsule, in spite of its unfortunate name, from the forces of destruction that will surround us on all sides. Keep us safe in your grasp so we may complete this vital mission and gain the info we need to possibly save millions of lives."

"Amen," Lisa said.

"Amen," Tim said enthusiastically on the screen.

I shifted about, and looked away. Realizing that all three of them were staring at me, I mumbled, "Amen. May we be kept safe." No harm in asking for divine intervention, even though something about it creeped me out.

"We've reached the gates of Hell," Lisa said. "Or to be more precise, we're at minimum depth." She made a sighing, whistling noise that startled me. "Shields are holding at ninety-five. Dave, take us down five-thousand feet."

Dave opened his mouth to continue the _descent into Hell_ theme, but then snapped it shut. His face had paled some. After a moment, he said, "Descending."

"Speed at one knot," Lisa said. She glanced at me and smiled. "Or about one mile an hour, Joe. Holding steady."

"I know what a knot is," I muttered. "Don't forget that I had to undergo a good deal of training prior to this mission."

No one spoke for several minutes as the Devil's Helm descended. Little chills crept up and down my spine. I _did_ feel like I was journeying into Hell--and not the nicknamed river version, but the actual biblical place where you suffered eternal torment.

"This doesn't feel right," said Dave, shivering.

"Not at all," I agreed. "Feels very wrong."

"Hey, come on guys," said Lisa. "Don't freak out on me this early."

"Everyone try to relax," Tim said. "What you're sensing is probably caused by the electromagnetic field generated by the particle engines. You're going to experience some strange sensations, but nothing harmful. Try to stay focused on your mission."

I felt puke-ready for sure. Electromagnetic field, huh? I wasn't so certain about that. A sinister aura hung in the air, and seemed almost to be seeping into my pores. I felt heavy with it. Lisa and Dave were clearly feeling it too.

"Down to twenty-five hundred feet," Lisa said. "Shields have dropped to ninety-two percent."

My knuckles whitened on the chair's armrest. "What does that mean?"

"Relax, Joe," she said. "We're going to lose some shield strength as we go deeper. We expect to get down to about eighty-five percent near the bottom. What was that you said about extensive training?"

My mind was blanking on me, making me forget what I'd learned. Glancing down, I saw a trembling mass of pudding that was my body.

"We're now at five-thousand feet," Lisa said. "Hmm... Don't freak out, Joe, but the shields are at eighty-three percent. We figured our estimate might be a point or two off."

"But what if they drop below eighty?" There was no denying it--I was terrified. "That's only a few points away." I kept imagining my skeleton popping out of my flesh the way Lisa had described.

"They won't," Lisa said. "Eighty-three percent is well within safe parameters for this depth. Take it as a good sign."

"Hang in there, Joe," Tim said. "This capsule is one of a kind--the absolute latest in advanced diving technology. Nothing down here is getting through those shields. I'll stake my reputation on it."

My face reddening, I took out my notebook and pretended to examine it. But it was shaking so badly in my hand I put it away.

"Got a question for you, Joe," said Lisa. "What's your opinion on what we're doing to this planet? All the damage, I mean?"

I shrugged. "We do bad, we do good."

She sighed in disgust. "Really, Joe? You're an environmental reporter and that's your best answer?"

Again, I shrugged. "I've seen some bad stuff, sure. But if you want me to condemn the whole human race and all that, I can't get into it." Now I was distracted from the mission, and getting a bit riled up politically. "I don't like narrow-minded viewpoints of all bad or all good. The human face has its faults and its blessings."

"And what do you call this river?"

"A major failure," I said. "Yup, the government screwed up royally here. There's no other way to spin it. The place was named Hell, after all."

"They sure did screw up," she muttered. "It's all about the rich, the decadent, and our rotten President--"

"Hold on," I said, interrupting her. "You're exceeding my political limits now. Look, I just deal with facts. I report them. That's it. I'm not trying to force my politics onto the public. They can make up their own mind. I happen to like this planet and I have high hopes for it, even with...a disaster like this river threatening our existence. This just happens to be one of the worst things ever."

"It might be _the_ worst thing ever," said Lisa.

I couldn't argue with her.

"So what are your political views, Joe?" she asked. "How do you vote? Are you conservative, liberal, or somewhere in the middle?"

"I don't even know," I answered. That was true. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about politics, and it made me uncomfortable when others tried to pin me down on it. "I vote for whoever I like. That's all there is to it."

"And do you like our current president?" she said.

"I suppose," I said. "I _did_ vote for him. He's doing okay."

Her lips tightened for a moment. "Oh, I see. That tells me a few things about you, Joe. Pretty much answers all my questions, actually."

I sighed. "So now you're going to hold it against me?"

She laughed. "No, I was just trying to distract you from your fear. It was a planned strategy. Has it worked?"

"Pretty darn well," I admitted. "Thanks."

"What do you think of politics, Dave?" I asked, just for the heck of it.

Dave didn't answer. I thought maybe he hadn't heard me, or didn't want to get into it, and I let it go.

"Dave, two engines are down," Lisa said, turning to her husband with a frown. "What's going on over there?"

Again, Dave didn't answer. He was slumped over the control panel, and I couldn't see his face.

"Dave?" Lisa said, her voice rising in pitch. "What's wrong?"

For an instant I thought he was dead--that maybe his heart had given out during the descent. But then he sighed and turned, and I glimpsed his face. It was paler than a human face should ever look. "I shut them down," he said. "Accidentally. Look, I don't want to stay down here anymore. I'm not sure I can take it."

"Dave, don't back out on me now!" Tim cried, pressing his face into the camera. "It's taken a lot of time, money, and damn hard work to get to this point. Just take a deep breath and try to get a hold of yourself. A lot of people are counting on you."

Lisa looked shocked. "Dave, are you serious?"

"This isn't just a polluted river," Dave said. "There's something...evil down here." He punched the control panel. "This is wrong!"

Lisa glanced at Tim and shrugged. "Dave, honey, listen--"

"Don't call me honey when we're on the job. You're never supposed to do that." He punched the control panel again, this time denting it.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Dave was seething with rage, his hands knotted into fists and his face contorted.

"What can we do to help you, Dave?" Tim asked. "You name it, buddy, and we'll do it. Do you want to abort the mission?"

"Yes, I think he does," Lisa said. She lowered her gaze. "I think we need to abort. Sorry, Tim. Sorry, Joe."

I nodded, a sigh of relief bursting from my lips. "It's okay." Some part of me hated to abort-- _the reporter side_ \--but it was strongly overruled by my fear.

"Hold on a freaking minute," Dave said, clutching his head. "I just need to get a grip on myself."

Lisa gave the thumbs up to Tim. I wanted to scream that Dave was right and we should abort, but the reporter in me finally took control and forced me into silence. I had to know what was down here.

"All engines should be running," Dave said, his voice sullen. He turned and glowered at me. "You want a story, Joe? We'll here's the true story. Our greed opened the gates of Hell--literally. I've never felt farther from God than I do now. The military kept dumping chemicals from their top-secret experiments here. Meanwhile, this river transformed into an abomination, and they finally realized they'd gone too far, that the fabric of spacetime itself had rotted through. Now they want to fix things, but the devil already has his foot in the door. There's your story, Joe--cut and dried."

Tim sighed and walked away from the view screen.

"I'm sorry about Dave's behavior, Joe," said Lisa.

Tim's face popped onto the screen again. "We either have to speed things along here or abort. Those shields are probably going keep dropping slowly but steadily. Look, Dave, I don't know exactly what you're experiencing. I wish I did, so I could help you get through it. If I had known something down there was going to push your religious hot button, I'd never have sent you. But any more of that preaching, and I'm ordering an abort so I can draft a new team. Understood?"

"I'm fine," said Dave. He was hunched forward, his stare burning into the controls. "I can handle this."

"Shields still at eighty-three percent," Lisa said. "Dave, begin wave scanning and take us down river. Let's get this over with."

Dave turned his cringe-inducing stare toward me. "You want a glimpse of Hell, Joe? Here, have yourself a look." He clicked some switches, and four plates raised to reveal windows made of a thick, transparent material. "Just be careful. You might find something unpleasant gazing back at you."

Chills flooded down my spine. "I'll keep that in mind, Dave." He was still staring at me, like I was to blame for everything. I looked away. _What a crackpot._

"Dave, take us down river," Lisa said. Slowly, he complied.

In spite of Dave's warning, I gazed out the windows. An orange glow surrounded the capsule, but all I could make out were unusual shapes that floated past. Most of it was probably clouds of toxic muck, but it was impossible to tell.

"I'm seeing massive structures on all sides," Lisa said, her face pale. "Far worse than we anticipated. They've formed into tree shapes, sort of like trunks and sprawling branches. Lucky for us we didn't hit anything on the way down. Some of them go up hundreds of feet, and the soil on either side has become completely encrusted, forming solid walls. I'm guessing the stuff's rooted pretty deep into the earth. But I'm wondering how stable these formations are, if one little bump could bring tons of debris down on top of us. The wave penetration from our scanner might be enough to cause a massive collapse."

Tim chewed his lip. "If you spot a hint of trouble, don't hesitate to pull out. If it's that bad there, I can only imagine what it must be like at the breach. The main goal here is to wave scan the breach, so we can learn more about it. There's a ton of radiation coming out of that hole, so if the shields are eighty-one percent or lower, I want you to call it a day."

"What the heck?" Lisa gasped. "Our speed is at two knots. But our shields are still at eighty-three percent. What's going on, Dave?"

"Particle engines are at thirty percent," he said, shrugging.

"We're speeding up!" Lisa said, and her voice chilled me to the bone.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means something is pulling us," Lisa said. "Tim, we need to abort!"

"Do it," Tim said. "Get out of there."

"Beginning climb to minimum depth," Dave said.

"Speed at five knots," Lisa said. "We're at forty-five hundred feet. The breach must be sucking us in!"

I unfastened my safety belt and jumped up, dropping my voice recorder. "We need to get out of here. Take us to the surface!"

"Sit the hell down, Joe!" Dave shouted at me. "Get your belt back on. If we flip over, you're going to fall on your head."

Shaking like crazy, I did as ordered.

"Speed at fifteen knots. Dave, drop the shields to eighty percent and apply the increased power to the engines."

He hesitated, then did it. "Engines at forty-seven percent."

Lisa groaned. "Not enough. Can we go lower with the shields?"

"Once those chemicals get past the shields," said Dave, "the capsule itself is going to dissolve like a lump of sugar."

"Okay--Lisa, Dave, listen up," Tim said, after conferring with other scientists. "The breach may have caused a whirlpool-like effect. You might get pulled in and spun around a little bit. It's undoubtedly temporary, or none of those structures would have formed--as all of the sludge would have been sucked into the whirlpool. I suggest you put full power back to the shields and just ride this thing out."

"What?" I said. "No way we're doing that. I need to get out of here. I'm not cut out for this crap!" I'd always fancied myself a tough guy. _Joe_ was a tough-sounding name, for a hard-nosed reporter. But I was on the verge of coming apart. My voice rang shrill in my ears, my weaknesses laid bare for the others to see.

Lisa rubbed her forehead. "Dave, do what Tim said. We don't have any choice. That breach is going to suck us in long before we surface."

"The devil's got us in his clutches now," Dave said.

No one responded.

I held my breath, waiting for an update from Lisa. None came. Everyone stayed quiet, waiting to see what would happen. I suspected Tim was full of it--that he really had no idea what was going to happen. But I had to give the guy credit for trying to hold us together.

The capsule lurched, and Dave began to pray in a creepy, monotonous voice. I wanted to shout at him to shut his mouth, but I wasn't about to try to silence a prayer under these circumstances on the chance it might help. But Dave's voice--the calm, flat chanting--disturbed me to the core.

I kept my eyes fixed on a window. I screamed. Faces were peering in at me, dead friends and relatives of mine with gaunt flesh and hollow eyes. They looked tortured. Dave was right--this really was Hell! And a whole lot of good people had somehow ended up here.

Lisa screamed and swung at something that was invisible to me. Meanwhile, Dave called on the power of God to smite something only he could see, saliva flying from his mouth as he shouted. Neither of them seemed to notice the dead faces pressed to the windows. I was close to totally losing myself to panic.

Tim was calling for us to get a grip, that it wasn't real. Finally Lisa caught on, and left her chair to go and shake some sense into Dave. The capsule lurched again, and Lisa flew into me. I caught an elbow to the jaw that rocked my head back, and then the capsule flipped. Lisa fell to the ceiling and stopped moving.

"Get us out of here!" Tim, I bellowed, as we hovered upside down. "Tow us to the surface if you have to."

"I can't do that, Joe. We don't have any other capsules that can withstand the pollution down there. You've got to persuade Dave to do his job. Get him to flip the capsule, very slowly. Meanwhile, try to grab Lisa. Just remember that whatever you're seeing and feeling is an illusion, okay?"

"How do you know? You think some electromagnetic crap is causing this? I'm surrounded by dead people, Tim!"

"It's...it's that rift in spacetime," Tim said, his tone unconvincing. "Clearly it's more bizarre than we anticipated. Causing hallucinations. Dave, are you there? Dave, dammit, get that capsule turned. Your wife might be hurt bad."

Whimpering, Dave adjusted the controls and the ship slowly began to turn over. Lisa started to slide. When we were turned enough, I unbuckled myself, leapt from my chair, and grabbed her. A deep gash in her forehead dripped blood, but her eyes fluttered open. "Where am I?" she said. "Why am I bleeding?"

"Lisa!" Dave cried, seizing his wife. He sobbed for a moment, then took to rocking her and mumbling.

"Dave's lost," I said, "and Lisa's out of it too. She's got a major concussion--at the least. How can I get us out of here?"

Tim paced back and forth, talking with other grim-faced scientists. Finally he shoved his face into the screen. "You're right. Dave's no good to us. I should never have sent him on this mission, but I just didn't realize--"

"What can I do?" I shouted. I glanced at the windows. The faces were still pressed to the glass, their mouths gaped open as if in agony.

"Take Dave's seat," Tim said. After I buckled myself in, he said, "Push the left incline switch, and turn your swivel key three degrees."

"What?" The control panel was covered in switches, buttons, and diagrams on screens. I'd been trained in the basic operation of the capsule--in case of an emergency situation--but my mind was frozen.

"This won't be easy, Joe, unless you calm yourself."

"More like impossible," I said, my eyes racing over the controls. "How do I close the damn windows? Just tell me that, would you?"

"It's the switch marked _windows_ ," Tim said.

"Right." I hit it, and the plates slid down, shutting away the faces that I knew couldn't possibly be real. I took a deep breath and calmed myself. Chills wracked my body. Nature had been completely unbalanced here, and the wrongness of it hung in the air like an evil stench, gagging me.

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. It was Dave. He looked like a demented zombie. He opened his mouth to say something, and I knew it was going to be about Lisa--maybe that she was dead. But he never got the chance. The capsule shook and then spun, hurling Dave and Lisa against the walls. My stomach seemed to fall through my feet, as if we'd just dropped with incredible speed.

But how far did we descend, and to where?

***

"Joe, are you there?" Tim said. "Can you hear me? The signal shows you're down two miles below what should have been the river bottom. I don't understand it. I didn't think the pollution had eaten a trench that deep."

The capsule had stabilized, and I stood up. Dave and Lisa were standing as well, and they were okay. I clicked the switch and opened the windows. Brilliant white light shone in, flooding my mind and body with absolute purity.

"We're okay, Tim," I said, my mind filled with clarity. "Nature has found a way to set things right. You see, ultimate darkness is balanced by ultimate light. Even Dave isn't afraid anymore." The three of us stood motionless, and we no longer needed anything from anyone. We were at peace. The river's corruption had spawned a place the exact opposite of the pollution zone, and we could never bring ourselves to leave it.

"Joe, you're not making sense. Did you hit your head on something? The view screen must have been damaged. All I can see is light. But listen carefully, and I'll explain how to get those particle engines moving again."

The moments drifted past, but it no longer mattered. Time was as meaningless as life and death. We had found perfection.

"Joe? Dave? Lisa? Joe, please answer me! What's your shield strength?"

"Is anyone there? Anyone...?"

End.

### The Heart-332 Endures

Josh Kessler lay shivering on the cold metal table. He almost considered abandoning the experiment and accepting the fact that his heart disease was going to kill him. The pale lights cast everything in a soulless shine, and it was all too easy to believe that nothing mattered and the universe didn't care.

The lab stank of chemicals, forcing Josh to breathe shallowly. But the famed scientist and inventor who was going to try to save his life--Kaye Lyons--seemed oblivious to the odors. Sweat beaded on her brow as she rubbed the sterilization gel all over Josh's chest--the only sign that she might be nervous over the impending operation.

She smiled, her wrinkled face still beautiful in her old age. "How are you doing there, Josh?"

"Good," he mumbled. "So are you going to slice me open?" He was actually hoping she would say yes, because if he remembered right, the alternative was a lot more terrifying.

"As I explained before," Kaye said, "the Heart-332 is a self-inserting organ. The only thing I have to do is activate it."

"I don't know about this," he mumbled.

She sighed. "I understand your apprehension, Josh. If you want to back out, you certainly can. But...you know what that means."

"I die," he said. Obviously, he couldn't back out, no matter how terrifying this seemed. He was trembling from head to toe.

"What is your decision, Josh?" She gazed down at him with stern compassion. He gave her his whispered answer and she smiled. "So be it. Onward we march, into the great unknown."

She turned and motioned to the doctors and scientists who were gathered to witness the experiment. It was a small, elite group that had been flown into the mountain research facility by helicopter. They stepped closer.

Kaye patted Josh's shoulder. "Josh has Coronary Wasting Disease--more commonly known as _Super Heart Disease_. There is no known cure for his condition. Even total cardiovascular replacement cannot rid him of the ailment. The disease lurks in every cell of the body, and eventually, it will cripple and destroy his heart. Even a mechanical heart will succumb to this dreadful condition. He requires a heart that can endure the endless onslaught of the disease and remain healthy and strong."

Her words ran through Josh's mind. Why had he acquired this rare disease that had been created in a lab as a biological warfare experiment? Who had he picked it up from? He would likely never know how and exactly when the virus had entered his body. It was terrible luck. Everyone who had ever been infested with Super Heart Disease had died from the condition. They had died with robot hearts as strong as steel in their chests, the best that modern technology could offer as replacements.

"This time there is hope," Kaye continued. "Josh Kessler came to me out of desperation, knowing his life would end in mere weeks unless something revolutionary could save him. And now, if all goes well, the Heart-332 will be his salvation. If all goes well, this young man will lead a normal life."

The audience applauded. Josh cringed, wondering how her biomechanical organ was going to work itself into his chest. The idea seemed so farfetched, so unimaginable, that it left him trembling from head to toe. She had explained it to him more than once, showing charts and diagrams and doing her best to prepare him for the operation. But most of it had either been too technical for Josh to understand, or he had intentionally refused to acknowledge it. All he knew was that it was going to be bizarre and shocking. There was simply no way to prepare for this procedure."

Kaye lifted the Heart-332 from a nearby table and held it up for the others to see. It was a fleshy orb that looked like a large pink fungus. It appeared to be completely organic. She laid it on his chest, and his own heart hammered with dread. The audience pressed closer, watching with pure scientific interest in their eyes and not a shred of sympathy. Undoubtedly they assumed Josh had already made his peace and was prepared for the worst.

"It's beautiful," said Kaye, and her eyes seemed misty. "I cannot help but feel awe at this creation that I put so much of my own heart...and _soul_...into."

Again, the audience applauded.

"What...what is it going to do?" Josh said, his mouth and throat dry. No sense of peace or acceptance existed in his mind, and it angered him when people assumed he was okay with dying. He didn't want to die, whether from the disease that had ravaged his heart or from this strange blob lying on top of him. Josh was terrified of death. At twenty-two years old, he felt like there was so much left for him to see and experience. He wanted to get married and travel the world. He didn't want to be a corpse festering in the ground, cut off forever from friends and family. He didn't believe in an afterlife--few people did these days--and he considered death to be final. The supernatural and even religion had been dismissed as fake in his society years before and was not tolerated. It was illegal to even discuss the subject. _Dead was dead_ in Josh's mind.

"Relax, Josh," Kaye said softly. "At worst, you'll feel no pain. At best, your disease will be wiped out completely, and you'll be a new and improved man."

"At worst I'll be dead," said Josh. "I won't exist anymore. That terrifies me." Surely Kaye Lyons, being an extremely rational scientist, would understand his fear. Some people found ceasing to exist a comforting thought, but not Josh. He expected Kaye to explain that going to sleep forever was not so bad, but instead she gave him a peculiar look and didn't answer.

A shiver rippled over Josh's flesh. Something in her look had seemed strange and knowing, but he dared not ask. He didn't want to know.

Again, Kaye gazed at him sternly. "Now, are you totally, positively sure you want to go through with this? There is roughly a twenty-percent chance this won't turn out like I anticipate and you'll die during the replacement surgery. _Twenty percent_."

He was so scared he was wheezing. She smiled sadly and ran her fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, Josh. I know this must be frightening. I wish I could put you under, but you must be fully conscious for the merging to take place. The Heart-332 needs to tap into brain processes that are not active when you're unconscious."

Josh nodded. What choice did he have? He wished she would have allowed his family to be in the room with him, but the research facility was off limits to civilians, and Kaye had felt the operation would be too shocking for them to witness. They were waiting at a hotel in a nearby town. He pictured his mother--how she must have been pacing back and forth like she usually did when she was worried--and his father begging her to sit down. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He had never felt so alone.

"Do you need a moment, Josh?" Kaye asked.

He shook his head, wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible. In spite of everything, he was embarrassed over the tears, and she wiped them away. "Go ahead and do whatever you need to do. Just hurry, okay?

She hesitated, wringing her hands together. "I really feel you should let me blindfold you. It will be so much easier that way. And remember, once the operation is underway you won't be able to close your eyes."

Josh shook his head. He hated the concept of not being able to see what was being done to him. He hated it so much he was willing to witness the temporary mutilation of his body. Kaye had tried vigorously to get him to change his mind, but he had resisted her best efforts. The terror of _not_ knowing was too extreme.

With a nod, Kaye reached into the folds of the Heart-332 and then pulled her hand back, her fingers dripping clear fluid. She stepped away, her face set in a hard, scrutinizing expression. She lifted her electronic notebook. She had shut Josh out now, becoming the calculating scientist, and he knew he had passed the point of no return.

"No matter what happens," she said in a stern voice, "stay relaxed. We've been over this several times." But her eyes reflected doubt.

She nodded to her assistants, who began monitoring all Josh's vital functions on various screens. The Heart-332 began to quiver, and six legs sprouted from it. It stood up like a spider, the tips of the legs spongy against his skin. He hated spiders! He opened his mouth to scream and shove the thing off him, when it plunged one of the legs right into his mouth and partially down his throat. Meanwhile, another leg jammed down through his stomach and he felt a sharp pinch in his back. His body went numb and he couldn't move.

Kaye clutched Josh's shoulder, commanding him to relax and telling him that all was normal. But he was gagging and nearly out of his mind with terror. He fought desperately to break the paralysis, but the struggle was all in his mind because his body could do nothing. Three legs speared into Josh's chest and began ripping him open. Thankfully, whatever this thing had done to his spinal cord had completely killed his ability to feel pain.

The Heart-332 tore Josh's chest wide open, laying bloody flaps of skin to either side like rose petals spreading into bloom. Meanwhile, tendrils, veins, and tubes that squirmed like worms sprouted from the biomechanical organ and burrowed into his chest. He couldn't even close his eyes, and he was forced to watch as his heart was pulled right out and raised into the air like a webbed fly in a spider's grasp.

Kaye took Josh's old heart--which was blackened from his disease--and held it up for the audience to view. They did not applaud. Their mouths hung open, their faces pale. Obviously, they hadn't been properly prepared for this either.

The Heart-332 lowered itself into his chest cavity, until only some of its legs protruded from the hole. Then the remaining legs followed, pulling the flaps of skin back neatly into place. Kaye used a surgical laser to seal the wounds.

At last, the audience broke into relieved smiles and applauded. Josh remained paralyzed, but he could feel his new heart beating strongly in his chest. His horror gave way to relief, excitement, and amazement. He was still alive, and his new heart was in place. He could tell by Kaye's smile that she felt the surgery had been a success.

"You did great, Josh," she said. "You can rest for now, and it won't be long until you're able to get up and walk around. In fact, you can probably go home in a few days. You have a beautiful heart now. Not only will it make you healthier than you've ever been, it will also turn you into a truly wonderful human being. As I told you before, the Heart-332 is programmed to give you a generous and kind personality that will make you loved and respected." She caressed his hair. "You'll be a saint, Josh."

He already felt it--a positive aura flooding through him. He wanted to help people, to bring goodness to the world. Kaye gave him an injection and he began to pass out. As his mind slipped into darkness, he noticed a face staring at him through a window in the door. It was ugly beyond anything he had ever imagined--almost like a cross between a goat and a man. The whites of its eyes showed, and one lip was curled up to reveal oversized teeth.

***

When Josh awoke, he was alone in the lab with Kaye. He didn't know what time it was, but he had a feeling it was late. She was seated at a desk, typing on a computer. She had put a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket. He pushed the blanket aside and touched his chest. He could feel his heart beating, but the rhythm was strange, erratic. It seemed to pound too hard, and it would often pause and then quiver.

Hearing him stir, Kaye hurried to the bedside. "How are you feeling, Josh?"

"Okay, I guess. The heartbeat seems weird."

She shrugged. "Well, it _is_ weird. That's no common pump you have in there. It's a smart heart--capable of not only supplying blood to your organs, but also diagnosing problems and in some cases fixing them. And unlike other biomechanical hearts, this one is built to learn and evolve. And it has a few other surprises, too."

"I'm really grateful for this," Josh said. "But I saw something strange before I passed out." With a trembling finger, he pointed at the window in the door. "It looked like...like a monster, staring at me. A goat-man or something."

Kaye sighed and nodded. "I know. It's a side effect that I...sort of forgot to mention." She lowered her gaze, unable to hide a guilty expression. "The positive aura you now generate has attracted some negative forces. They're probably harmless, and I'm guessing that eventually they'll quit bothering you." As she hurriedly scribbled something in her electronic notebook, her hand was shaking.

Josh's mouth dropped open. For a moment he was stricken speechless. Then he said, "Do you mean like evil spirits or...or demons?"

Kaye wrung her hands together. "No, not exactly. We know such things don't really exist, Josh. These are more like creatures that feed off negative energy. They don't like positive energy because it disturbs them. So they try to seek the cause of the disturbance in hope of swaying it to the negative side of things. They can't physically hurt you. All they can do is try to influence you to be more like them."

He managed to sit up. "But that means they're evil, doesn't it?" Was he actually hearing this? Had a famous scientist just suggested that demons were coming after him? It sure sounded that way, no matter how she tried to spin it.

"I don't believe in such things as evil or good," Kaye said. "At least not in the ancient sense of the divine. Our society is based on reason and science." She scratched her head, looking uncertain. "But I do believe in...negative and positive energy fields. Try to think of this in scientific terms."

"But what are they?" he said.

Kaye shook her head. "I wish I knew. We know they exist, but they're like a phantom mist that always manages to slip away, leaving no trace. We can't capture them or study them by any known methods. I hate to say it, but they're sort of like ghosts. But I believe they can and will eventually be classified scientifically."

A shock surged through Josh. What if they actually _were_ demons? What if science was wrong? "What do they want from me?"

"Relax, honey," she said. "You might see more of the creatures, or you might not. Your aura is very strong now, and others may come. But they're harmless--no different than wisps of fog. Once they realize they can't touch you, they'll fade away."

Josh tried to relax, but he was suddenly jumpy, staring off into every corner. "How can I get them to stay away?"

"You can't," Kaye said. "Just try to remain strong. The Heart-332 will protect you by shielding you from their ev...." She cleared her throat, and looked away. "From their negativity. I wish I could tell you more, but I really don't know what else to say. I knew this was a revolutionary operation and certainly very risky. Look, Josh. I'm trying not to frighten you. Our society is so far removed from this sort of thing, it's quite a shock to experience it. In ancient times, it wasn't such a big deal. They would grab a Bible or do some holy ritual, or whatever. They accepted it as normal."

"Can you shut off the positive aura thing?" Josh asked. "If the demons are attracted to it, I want it turned off!" He seized her arm.

"Impossible," she said, pulling away. "The Heart-332 is part of you--deeply rooted into your body, into all of your vital functions. It would have to extract itself before I could reprogram it in that manner. At this point, there are too many possible complications to risk it. I'm so sorry, Josh, that I never told you about the consequences. I feel awful."

Josh shut his eyes, praying no creatures like that goat-man would ever appear again. For a moment he was furious that Kaye had hid the truth from him, but he reminded himself that she had saved his life. Without the Heart-332, he would have died. But on the other hand, maybe death was better than being terrorized by demons. What kind of life was he going to have?

"Tell me the truth," he demanded. "All of it."

She nodded. "Demons are real." She rubbed her temples, looking deeply stressed. "They're real as hell, Josh, and they are horrific. They do more damage in our world than you can ever imagine. A lot of the strife and pain and division comes directly from them. It's why we're always at war with other nations and why there is so much hate."

Josh felt short of breath. "How...how dangerous are they?"

"When invoked?" she said. "They are deadly to the human mind."

"Invoked?" he asked. "Like my aura invokes them? That sort of thing?"

Kaye nodded. "Your aura is deeply offensive to them. They despise anything positive and good."

"Then I'm going to die anyway!" Josh said, his mind overcome with panic. "Are you sure about all this?"

"As sure as can be," said Kaye. "So we have to be very careful. But understand this, Josh--I didn't leave you defenseless by any means."

Josh gasped. Something was standing behind Kaye--a tall and shadowy figure that rippled like smoke. Kaye saw the terrified look on his face, and she tried to turn--but the thing grabbed her neck, leaned down, and appeared to bite her.

The creature seemed to be made of twisting fingers that pointed and beckoned--not clearly defined, but writhing bits of darkness possessing familiar shapes. Two narrow, drooping suction cups hung from its mouth, which it seemed to fasten on Kaye's head.

Josh shrank back, feeling helpless.

Kaye threw herself away from the monster, screaming. Her eyes bulged. Josh knew instinctively the bite had poisoned her will somehow. She clutched her head and dropped to the floor, the life gone from her eyes.

Josh ripped electrodes from his flesh and leapt off the table, crying for help. The creature leaned over Kaye as if to bite her again, and Josh fled past it out the door. He had no plan other than to flee. It was a terrible thing, leaving Kaye to her fate, but he was nearly insane with panic.

As he stumbled into the hall and fled along it, turning corners, he saw other people scattered about. Their eyes were wide and glazed over, their bodies motionless. He couldn't tell if they were dead. _Had he caused all this with his aura?_ He ran to a steel door and shoved at the handle, but it was locked.

The stink of evil was in the air. It was crawling on the walls, floor, and ceiling. Josh kept picturing Kaye in his thoughts--the shocked look in her eyes as she collapsed. He couldn't believe it was real, that such a logical and precise scientist had been reduced to a mindless mass with a single bite. He wanted to run back and help her, but terror drove him on--making him feel like the world's biggest coward. The Heart-332 had apparently done nothing to enhance his courage.

As Josh fled, he feared that his body--in light of the recent operation--might not be able to withstand the strain. But he felt amazingly strong and agile, and he never even got out of breath. And somehow he was starting to grow calm.

He scurried from hallway to hallway, seeking an exit from the fortified research facility even though he knew the demons would follow. But the whole building was in lockdown and Josh had no way out. He was trapped in a maze full of zombie-like people where the shadows were growing thick enough to choke him.

Things moved at the corners of his vision that he dared not focus on--dark shapes exuding hatred and rage. And there was something more terrible than all the others combined, something coiled like a spring that was such an abomination he could scarcely bear to know it existed. The coils were tearing the fabric of physics and reason, a sadistic spring of anti-flesh that sent nature scrambling away in shock. Serpent or worm, lesser demon or Satan himself--it didn't matter. These seemed like the coils of hell, constricting and searing the soul. This abomination against nature had forced its way into the world, and the world was suffering and demoralized as a result.

Josh's mind might have shattered from the strain of what he was seeing, but the Heart-332 kept that from happening. It seemed like such a petty thing now, that heart--a feeble scientific dream in comparison to the monstrous truths now being laid bare. But it had meant everything to Kaye. It had been her ultimate dream, her masterpiece born out of a lifetime of sleepless dedication. And now it was hard at work in his chest, fighting to keep his brain from overloading and shutting down his ability to reason.

Josh knew it couldn't last. The demons were too many and too strong. Everywhere he fled, some new and terrifying apparition awaited. The positive aura still filled him, still emanated all around him. The Heart itself generated it, and his terror and sorrow couldn't stop it. The pump that was designed to save his life was going to end up killing him--or maybe send him to a fate even worse than death.

He wandered in circles and ended up back at the lab. Kaye was lying on the floor, seemingly motionless. But on closer inspection Josh realized she was shivering so slightly it was barely noticeable. She was dead, though--in the only sense that mattered. The level-headed scientist he had grown to profoundly respect, and maybe even love in some sense, was gone--her sanity destroyed by things her mind could not contain. He gazed at her helplessly.

"Kaye," he whispered, kneeling by her. "I'm so sorry for you. You should be the one the Heart is keeping sane, not me. I didn't create it, and I don't deserve this."

The demons had apparently retreated, leaving Josh alone with his thoughts. Maybe they had given up for now, or maybe it was some sort of game they were playing. It didn't matter. The Heart-332 had brought peace to his mind, and he wasn't sure they could actually harm him. If all they could do was drive someone crazy, they had already failed and might as well leave him be--because the Heart would never allow his will to falter. But where could he go? He dared not lead the demons near anyone else, or he would be responsible for their doom.

Kaye had sacrificed herself and others, but why? Just to keep Josh alive? Why had she given him an aura that attracted malicious creatures? It all seemed so senseless. The Heart seemingly could have functioned just fine without generating a field that summoned demonic beasts.

"Why, Kaye?" he whispered in frustration. _It didn't have to be this way._

The air grew heavy in the room, and chills erupted all over Josh's flesh. He rose and whirled around. _The coils._ They alone had come to claim him. Before he could move, he was wound tightly in their grasp--not physically, but spiritually and mentally. They seared into him, rubbing against him like bone grinding on bone and sending screaming pieces of his soul flaking off. Josh's positive energy field was crushed down into him, down into a tiny pocket along with everything that kept him human.

The aggressive creature wanted to silence Josh and his saintly aura forever, but the Heart-332 resisted. A squirming, sucking tube suddenly sprouted from Josh's chest and vacuumed the evil coils into it, storing the creature in one of the 332 chambers in the organ designed to imprison demons.

The demon squirmed inside Josh. Now it was the one in torment, imprisoned within his positive energy field--right at the concentrated core. It would remain there to suffer until the Heart decided to release it again once its will was broken and it had become passive and harmless.

Kaye had suspected this would happen. While she perhaps hadn't known exactly how powerful the creatures were, or the carnage they would inflict on the people in the research facility, she had known they would come--and she had designed the Heart to deal with them appropriately.

During the operation, Josh had been a terrified young man. Now he had grown quickly in wisdom, and he knew his purpose. He would battle the dark forces that plagued his world--hunting them down (or letting them hunt _him_ down), then drawing them in and neutralizing them.

He would make the world more positive and peaceful. In the long run, countless lives would be saved. While he mourned the dead around him and wished things had turned out differently, the path only led forward. Kaye's true goal in creating the Heart-332 had been achieved, and a demon hunter had been born.

End.
Author's Note: The following story, and a few other darker stories of mine, were published under the pseudonym of Robert M. Lance in another book that I have since removed from sale. I have stopped writing horror altogether to focus more on fantasy.

### A Rainbow-Light Coffin

Jake's mother, Melissa, was weeping quietly by the sink, a coffee mug clutched in one shaking fist and a dishrag in the other. Jake's father was awake again to the fruity sounds of beeps and buzzes, one pale hand having slid out from beneath the coffin's lid, and the blue light was shining into the living room. Jake dropped a game interface cube and hugged his mother, trying to cover her ears to block out the noises.

"Not again, Jake!" Melissa moaned. "I can't take this anymore. He's supposed to stay quiet." She took her dishrag and pulled it tight over her mouth like a gag, her eyes bulging. "Like this," she mumbled through the cloth. "Quiet forever."

Jake pulled her arm down. "Don't do that, Mom."

She slammed the coffee mug into the sink. It cracked in two.

A concerned voice responded: "Would you like to repair--"

"No!" she interrupted. "Dispose."

The broken mug got sucked down the drain.

"Try McDales Coffins again," said Jake. "Tell them they either need to fix it or you want your money back. Tell them, Mom!"

Melissa sighed. "They're not going to help, Jake. And they certainly aren't going to reimburse me. You know how it is."

"Just try it," Jake pleaded.

Melissa raised her hands in surrender. "Fine. McDales!"

"Coffin troubles," the concerned voice responded. It had interpreted her mood from her tone. "Connecting. On hold. Insisting. Insisting. Connection established. Begin speaking."

"McDales Quality Coffins," a female voice said. "Name?"

"Melissa Ellen Bridgeford."

"You tone indicates a problem. We want to help. Please state your--"

"Just like I told you before, some kind of glitch. Flashing lights, bodily movements, beeps and crap. This is a nightmare!"

"Your emotional distress is noted," the voice said soothingly. "You will be granted special attention. Our file indicates a Joke Bug has infected your purchase. It is considered a Type 16 infestation, very rare and passive."

"Then get rid of it, or give me my money back."

"Your warranty has expired. Type 16 is not considered a serious threat. No danger of spreading, no malicious intent. The bug was originally created as an attempt at humor. It is also called Jolly Coffin Disease. It was created 45 years ago by--"

"I don't care! I want it gone."

A moment of silence. "As you know, our previous attempt to remove the bug failed. We strongly recommend you call a specialist. Thank you for doing business with McDales Quality Coffins." More silence.

Melissa groaned and glanced at Jake. "Yeah, like we can afford a specialist."

A shuffling noise emerged from the shrine room.

Jake ran in there and grabbed his father's arm. "Dad, you've got to go back to sleep, okay? You're upsetting mom."

Tom Bridgeford glanced down at his son. A round blue light glowed in his forehead, an implant the bug had created. He wore a silver burial suit, and pink letters had recently appeared on his chest that read, _I'm not dead, just on an extended vacation._ "Not tired, Jake," Tom said. "Hungry." He shambled toward the doorway.

Jake ran after him, tripped, and grabbed his father's leg, clinging with all his might. "Dad! Please go back to your coffin."

Tom groaned. "Why, son? What's in it for me? I want a decent meal for a change. That's right, dang it--a decent meal. I can still eat and poop and all the rest that goes with it. Old dad might even pass gas, if you don't let go."

Jake released him and moved away. "Come on, dad. You're not yourself. There's a bug that..." He sighed. He'd tried to explain this several times. His father was dead. Tom had suffocated in deep space working on the outside of a cargo ship when his oxygen tank had failed. His body had been retrieved and preserved forever in his new coffin, where it should have stayed motionless and silent.

"What's that you say, Jake?" said Tom. "You've got a bug up your butt? Sounds like you do, with all that complaining! Now stay the heck away. I'm heading straight for the cold chicken and pickles." Lurching and groaning, Tom stumbled out into the kitchen.

Melissa glared at him and shoved his chest. "Leave us alone, Tom!"

Tom leaned forward with his lips puckered. "I just want a kiss, honey. What the heck, maybe a little more."

Melissa grabbed a cutting board off the counter and slammed it in Tom's face, shattering the blue light in his forehead. His eyes glazed over and he toppled to the floor. Together, she and Jake dragged him back to the coffin and heaved him inside it. They closed the lid and then gazed at each other helplessly.

The coffin came alive with rainbow flashes and fruity noises, then went still and dark. They waited, but it stayed inactive.

"Maybe we killed the bug," said Jake, but he suspected otherwise.

"We need to chain it shut or something," said Melissa. She slumped against the wall and sighed, wiping her eyes. "I don't know, Jake."

Jake ran downstairs to his father's workshop and found a roll of thick, flexible wire. They bound the coffin tightly, tying the ends in large knots.

"We need a moving crew," said Melissa. She grabbed her notebook and punched some keys, calculating how much money they could spare. Times had gotten tough since Tom had died. A lot of money had dried up quickly.

Jake cringed. "But we can't get rid of _Dad."_ His eyes strayed to the shrine they had erected, complete with holograms of Tom's life that could talk and even answer questions. Maybe the body didn't matter so much.

"He's dead, Jake. All we need are memories."

On a whim, Jake activated a hologram.

"Howdy son," Tom said, appearing instantly beside the coffin.

"Hi, Dad. I have a question. How can we keep you in your coffin?"

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Why don't you ask the Galactic Database, Jake? Surely it knows a lot more than I do."

"I already tried that," said Jake. "So do you have an answer or not?"

Tom smiled, and his eyes turned blue. "Why would you want to do that? I didn't raise a little snot, did I? Sure, keep daddy locked away. All well and good, you little bully." He balled up his fist. "I ought to--"

Jake pounded the button and the hologram vanished. He gulped. "Sorry mom. I forgot that stupid bug has infected everything."

Melissa finished her calculations and tucked the notebook away. "We can afford a moving crew for the coffin--if, that is, we opt not to pay our bills for the next three months." She slumped to her knees. "God, what a mistake it was to buy that stupid thing. If your father hadn't left plans for it in the will..."

"Can we sell it?"

Melissa rolled her eyes. "I'm sure people would jump at the chance to buy a lunatic coffin."

"That cable is pretty strong," Jake said optimistically. "Maybe he won't be able to get out now, and he'll...he'll go back to sleep."

Melissa ignored him. She ran trembling hands over the coffin. "Let's see... Pretty heavy stuff. Not sure if we have the tools to even begin taking it apart."

"Mom, let's forget it for now."

"Maybe we could just find a way to smash it to pieces."

"Mom! Let it be."

Melissa turned and glowered at him. Then she fell across the coffin and broke into sobs. Jake pulled her away. "Come on, Mom, let's see what's on TV. I think we should do a show, something fun."

She wiped her eyes and nodded. They grabbed TV interface cubes and selected characters from a show to play. Soon they were lost in a fictional world that was far more real and stimulating than their gloomy space station apartment.

They did a few shows, and quit when they got hungry. They emerged in a better mood, and Melissa punched dinner into the food processor. They sat down to a pot roast accompanied by glasses of milk.

The door to the shrine room was closed, but lights flashed through the space beneath it and the fruity noises grew piercing. Moments later, they heard thumping sounds.

Jake opened the door and peered in. His father had gotten the coffin open a few inches, and his pale hand was probing the cable. Sighing, Jake pulled the door shut. "Let's eat, Mom," he said sternly.

"Greedy little bully," came a remark from the shrine room. "Where's Dad's food, huh? I didn't know I raised a..."

Jake went to the table and sat down. He took a bite of pot roast, but didn't taste it. He drummed his fingers on the table anxiously, knowing what was to come.

The door popped open and Tom lurched in, carrying a piece of severed cable. He tossed it aside. The blue light had rebuilt itself in his forehead. His mouth widened into a leering smile. "God, that smells good. Nice cooking, hon."

Melissa glared at him. "You always hated pot roast, Tom. That's why I made it. I was hoping the scent would entice you to stay dead."

Tom shrugged. "What can I say? Tastes change sometimes." He lurched to the table and sat down. "I'd eat a raw potato at this point."

Jake hung his head.

"Son, are you gonna fix your dad a plate? I'm still getting this muscle coordination thing down, and I might make a mess."

"You're dead, Dad."

"I'm dead? _Dead hungry_ , that is. Ha, ha, ha! Now come on, son. I really am hungry. Are you going to let your poor father suffer?"

Melissa lifted her plate to hurl it in Tom's face, but Jake gently pushed her arm down. He got up and fixed Tom a plate.

Tom shoved some dripping pot roast in his mouth. "Don't worry, it'll digest and poop out just fine. It tastes so darn good!"

With a shrug, Jake started eating. A moment later, Melissa did the same.

"I've got a joke for you," Tom said. "Knock, knock."

Silence greeted his words.

"Come on, darn it--knock, knock!"

"Who's there?" said Jake, reluctantly.

"Orange."

Sigh. "Orange who?"

"Orange you glad your old dad is still around?"

Jake groaned. "That was dumb, Dad."

Melissa rolled her eyes in disgust. "Your jokes haven't gotten any better, Tom, Jolly Coffin Disease or not."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "I've got plenty more where that came from. Got a whole new database of original jokes and joke variations. Enough to last a lifetime or three. Want to hear a few thousand more?"

"Maybe later," said Jake. He wondered if he was about to step past the point of no return. "Can you play Scrabble?"

"Jake!" Melissa gasped in disgust. "That's my favorite game!"

"Count me in," said Tom. He smiled slyly at Jake. "You know, your mom never could beat me at that game."

Melissa's eyes widened. "What? Are you kidding me? Get the Scrabble, Jake. Dead or not, your dad's in for a prime butt kicking."

End.

### Glass Windmill

June Wilson was on the hunt. She circled the chamber, can held ready to release its deadly spray. Glass tubes, shimmering like rainbows, crisscrossed overhead. She felt like a spider in a web, searching for the fly that vibrated the strands.

The low, steady thrum of the windmill's gears droned on, masking any beating wings that might have alerted her to the mal-squito's presence. June grimaced in frustration. So many color-drenched tubes webbed up the forty-foot high ceiling that it was hard to get any sort of a good view. The mal-squito could be anywhere up there, its proboscis locked onto any power tube or memory cell.

Fighting off panic, she climbed the ladder at the room's center. She was in great shape, her sixty-three year old body lean and strong. Thanks to science, she was indistinguishable from a healthy, fit eighteen-year-old. After a ten-foot climb, June was surrounded by tubes and trembling. She kept her hand over her forehead, lest the creature shove its proboscis through her skull and suck out her brain.

A tapping noise jolted her. She twisted about, the can twitching in her hand. But it was only an overloaded power tube temporarily sealing itself to prevent the memory cells it fed from burning up. June's breath rushed out.

She climbed to growing terror. After ten more feet, she spotted the mal-squito and groaned. It was attached to the wall about thirty feet up--a creature about the size of a basketball--mostly hidden behind a tube. She could see part of its leathery wings but had no clear shot unless it moved. And it didn't seem to be in any hurry to move.

She recognized the cell it was feeding on. June knew all of them by heart. Of all the memory cells it could have chosen to devour, why that one? She knew it was an absurd question. They were all so precious.

"Stop it!" June yelled, hoping to startle it into flight. But it was lost in its feeding. She aimed the spray can at its wings and jammed her thumb on the button. The neuroacid gushed out and splashed the tube that was protecting the mal-squito. A few drops hit the creature but only made it flinch. The rest dripped from the tube.

June had to fight to keep her thumb from jamming down again. Neuroacid was extremely expensive, and according to the label, the can held only three blasts. She'd scraped out her bank account just to get this one. She needed a clean angle and couldn't risk another miss. It would take a direct hit to kill the mal-squito.

She fought to steady her nerves, and pondered her options. She could wait until the creature moved. Sooner or later it would have to move, but by then it might have consumed the entire cell. Dozens of memories would be lost forever.

"No, no, no!" June moaned in frustration. "It can't happen like this." If only the mal-techs could have seen her now. Her misery would surely have stroked their egos. It would also have pleased them to know how little she understood about her own windmill and its defenses. But she was the type who seldom opened an instruction manual and who took anything that broke to a repairman. In other words, she was easy prey for people like the mal-techs. She imagined them laughing and patting each other on the back, and her face burned hot with rage. It was all so pointless.

The mal-techs had created this creature with tender care, pouring their genius into it. They were able to see what the mal-squito saw--through a camera attached to its body--and witness the destruction it carried out. They enjoyed every moment of it. It was the definition of mindless evil. They didn't profit from it in a monetary sense. They simply enjoyed inflicting misery on others with their malicious creations. They were a club, and their primary entertainment--their sport--was releasing their biological machines into the world and seeing how much chaos they could cause.

June seized the power tube that led to the threatened memory cell. Instantly the cell data shot along the tube, through her hand, and into her brain. This was a big risk--one that could cost June her life. She would no longer be aware of what was happening in the real world and could end up with a proboscis lodged in her brain. But she needed to know how many memories had already been lost.

Exhilaration flooded through her in a burst of white light, and then she stood in grass up to her knees. She inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet smells. She stretched her arms as a warm breeze blew back her hair. Sunlight warmed her cheek.

This was perfection, and hers forever. June stood in her bathing suit in the grass, dripping from a swim in a nearby river, and she was letting the breeze dry her off. She was in the middle of the sprawling Northern Michigan woodlands.

Her boyfriend, Luke, stepped from the woods into the clearing. He'd run back to the jeep for some object that hadn't been properly stored in her brain cells for some reason (and thus hadn't been transferred into the windmill's cells). He was holding whatever item he'd gone back for, but because it hadn't been recorded, it appeared as a default bucket of popcorn thanks to June's weird sense of humor.

"What are you doing?" he said. "I thought you went for a swim. You done already?"

She nodded. "Come here and give me a kiss."

He glanced around, faking a nervous look. "What if someone sees us? I don't want to get caught acting like a teenager."

She shrugged. "What if they do? They shouldn't be spying." She extended her arms. "Get over here, you goofball."

He grinned and started toward her. Anticipation flooded through her.

But then Luke began to melt like wax, his face becoming distorted. She screamed, the flow of the memory data broken. June watched as Luke, and a large stretch of scenery behind him, turned into a brown sludge.

Tears rolling down her cheeks, June activated another memory in Luke's file. This one should have been of her first kiss. But most of it was sludge--the kiss, and most of the surrounding beach, completely obliterated. She checked several other memories, and found that many were either partially or completely damaged.

Frantically, June activated the most important memory of all--Luke, telling her how much he loved her and how they would always be together, on the night before he was killed in a bus accident. Her last memory of him.

She relived it from start to finish and it was all there. June wiped the tears from her eyes, as she deactivated her link to the cell, and her sorrow gave way to determination. One of her most precious memories was still intact, but a lot of harm had already been done. Soon the whole cell would be mangled and useless unless she did something to stop it.

She yelled at the creature and flung the can at it. The can hit the tube and bounced off, clanking down to the floor below. The mal-squito didn't flinch. June groaned at her stupidity. She could have damaged that power tube, and now she didn't even have her can of neuroacid--the only weapon that could kill a mal-squito without causing massive damage to her windmill. Though the windmill's skeleton was made of metal, the tubes inside it were as fragile as ordinary window glass. She needed her spray can.

It had only been an hour since June had discovered the mal-squito. She'd rushed to the bank, withdrawn all she had, and bought the acid spray. She'd reacted swiftly to get this far, but what she needed now was a clear mind. Flinging a hundred-thousand-dollar spray can, regardless of her desperation, hadn't been wise.

"Don't let it be punctured!" June repeated to herself as she climbed down the ladder, sweat dripping from her brow. She swiped up the spray can and looked it over. It seemed fine. Even the plastic nozzle was still intact.

She glanced at the control panel. She couldn't shut the power down, and regardless, doing so would cause the memory cells to die. The cells were fed by wind and solar power--the converted energy piped to them constantly with no permanent on or off switch that she knew of. June shook her head. She was wasting time.

An idea struck her, and she raced to the door. With a hiss, it popped open just as she reached it and she leapt out into the grass. She ran to her house, grabbed the garden hose, and hauled it into the windmill, praying it would reach far enough. She dragged it up the ladder, aimed it at the mal-squito, and squeezed the nozzle. Nothing happened.

"What?!" June cried in disbelief. Glancing down, she saw the hose was kinked on the floor twenty feet below. Of course. She scrambled back down the ladder, worked the kink out of it, and climbed up again, ready to blast away. But the mal-squito had vanished from sight. She sprayed the area with water where it had been, just in case it was hiding behind the tube, but it didn't appear.

June heard a buzz behind her and whirled around--to see the mal-squito diving straight for her face. It was the ugliest, most beautiful creature she'd ever seen. Its leathery wings were bat-like and streaked with purple. Its bulbous eyes were also purple, and ringed with glittering silver. Gold, silver, and purple designs covered its head and torso as well as the long feeding tube that hung from its face. It was an impish monster, crafted to appear cunning and evil. But it was dazzling and majestic too. The sunlight glittered off it like it was covered in precious stones and metals, a young dragon encrusted with treasure--straight out of a mal-tech's geeky fantasy dice game.

If June had quicker reflexes and less terror, she could have finished it then and there. But instead of bringing up the spray can and shooting the beast right out of the air, she did the cowardly thing and threw up her hand to protect her face.

The mal-squito whizzed past her head, flying high up to the ceiling and disappearing into a hole above. It had entered the windmill's peak, where her most precious memories were stored--those of her family.

June dropped the hose, which wouldn't reach that far, and climbed so quickly she nearly slipped off the ladder. She paused, took a deep breath, and resumed her climb. When she reached the peak, she found herself in a circular chamber containing super reflective solar panels positioned both inside the windmill and outside of the glass walls. June was blinded by the glare, and she shut her eyes, wishing she had the special sunglasses she was supposed to wear whenever she entered this room. She'd taken them out to watch a solar eclipse and had left them in her house.

June held her hand over her face, wondering if the mal-squito would attack. Though it was rare, they'd been known to kill humans.

Only one memory cell existed up here, fed by many tubes that crisscrossed above the solar panels. That cell held dozens of memories from her childhood and adult years, all concerning her family. The ones of her father were especially important, because he'd died when June was a child.

Her frustration growing almost unbearable, she struggled back down the ladder. As she neared the bottom, she tried to jump the rest of the way down to save time. It was only about five feet to the floor below, but she landed awkwardly and her right ankle popped sideways. June cried out in pain and clutched her ankle, writhing around on the floor for a moment. She'd been a nurse for more than thirty years, and after probing it, she concluded it was probably just a bad sprain.

She cursed her stupidity. It hurt so bad her eyes watered, and it took all of her willpower to get up. She managed to stand on her left foot, but when she tried to put weight on her right one, the pain made her gasp. She dropped to the floor and crawled toward the door.

An injection of bio-builders at the hospital--tiny organisms that rebuilt flesh and bone--could heal her in less than an hour. But that would have to come later. June crawled for all she was worth, whispering to herself the whole way that she had to keep going. It was slow, agony-filled work. She reached her house, crawled inside to the table, and fumbled around for the sunglasses. She shoved them into her shirt pocket and began the long crawl back.

As June headed for the door, the sunglasses--her only pair--fell out and she planted her knee on them, shattering them into pieces. She lay on her belly for a few moments, groaning. It was over. She was going to lose everything.

Regaining her senses, June sat up. "Phone book," she said.

"Phone book activated," a male voice replied.

"Look up mal-squito exterminators."

"Seven entries located."

"Call one at random."

"Calling The Bug Butcher."

"Hello, this is Bug Butcher Bob."

"This is June Wilson at 4077 Hilltown. I've got a mal-squito in my windmill. Eating all my memories."

"Easy there. Just relax. One mal-squito only? What version?"

"I don't know what version! What do you mean? Yes, one bug. Just get out here!"

"Is your windmill insured?"

"I never could afford it. I'm only a nurse."

"Backup storage, hopefully?"

"I don't think so."

"Model number?"

"TS3900."

"Wow. Nice going. You must be a heck of a nurse. Where do you work? Never mind. What are your access codes?"

"I don't know what those are."

Butcher Bob cleared his throat, perhaps a bit disdainfully. "Never mind. Are auto defenses activated?"

"I don't know all that!" June yelled. "I paid for the thing, but I didn't build it. I'm still paying for it. I know about memory cells and stuff like that, but nothing more. Now can you help me or not? That monster is eating everything."

"Matter of fact, I can. I'm on lunch break now. Can be there in about...oh, an hour or so. Does that sound good to you? Cost will run you about three-hundred thousand, and it's pay before spray."

"I can't afford that. I just spent all my money on a can of neuroacid."

"Neuroacid?" Bob made a whistling noise. "You know that stuff only works with a direct hit, right? Should only be used by a professional like me. I'll call Tannatech and see if they'll grant me those access--"

"Cancel phone call," June muttered. She considered calling friends or family, but all of them lived too far away. She crawled back to the windmill, determined to save her memories or die trying. She'd invested far too much time and money in the TS3900 to give up on it now. June was a memory enthusiast, and storing them away to relive them vividly, over and over, was her primary hobby. The windmill was a chest of priceless treasures. Yet once the memory cells were destroyed, it cost more money than she was worth to restore them. The entire windmill could be rendered useless by a single bug. It had happened before. The TS3900 was a classic, and the cost of building one was much higher than it had been when June had first purchased hers. Most of that cost was the memory cells themselves, the very thing the mal-squito found most tasty. June would never be able to afford to rebuild.

Climbing the ladder on her throbbing ankle pushed June's endurance to the limit. When at last she reached the windmill's peak, she struggled up from the floor. The glass walls were smooth, and her hand wanted to slip. But she managed to hop around the room, her eyes shut to the blinding glare, feeling for the mal-squito on the walls and behind jutting solar panels. June didn't know how many times she circled the room, but she never felt a hint of the mal-squito.

At last June collapsed to the floor in exhaustion, but her anger still burned hot. It was just a game to the mal-techs--something to amuse them. But to June, it was her life. "I hate you," she mumbled at the creature.

As if reacting to her words, the mal-squito buzzed over her--so close she could feel something brush her face. Then June heard wings beating beneath her, much fainter, and finally silence. The mal-squito must have flown back down through the trapdoor.

June felt around for the hole and climbed down a few feet. Her eyes were burning from the glare, and she took a moment to let them adjust to the more tame lighting. At last, squinting, she could make out her surroundings. The mal-squito was about three feet away from her, latched onto a power tube.

Her hand shaking, June raised the spray can and aimed it at the creature's back. This was it--target locked. Before she could jam her thumb down, the mal-squito wheeled and flew at her face. It paused about a foot away, its wings beating and its purple eyes gazing at her in curiosity.

June stood paralyzed. Why wasn't it attacking? Surely this monster did nothing but feed and kill. Yet it seemed to be studying her.

The spray can was pointed right at the creature's face, yet still June didn't react. She'd fought hard to reach this moment, and now she was in danger of letting it slip away. They gazed at each other for some time, while her thumb rested on the button.

Do it! June commanded inwardly. But she did nothing. As she gazed into those hypnotic eyes, her rage drained away. The mal-techs were the ones trying to crush her dream, not this creature they'd created to do their dirty work. It was only trying to feed itself. Intelligence gleamed in its bulbous eyes, and something far more shocking--a reflection of kindness. The mal-squito could have attacked, but it didn't want to hurt her.

Wrapping one arm around the ladder for support, June reached out and gently stroked its head. Its skin was covered in a layer of fur as soft as velvet. "I won't hurt you," she promised. "But I can't let you ruin my windmill."

The creature flinched at her touch but stayed its ground. Boldly, June scratched behind its ear. It made a low humming noise. Her heart pounded with excitement. This was a miracle, something entirely new. Out of pain and destruction, a connection between a human and a cyborg pest had been formed. The creature had somehow defied its programming and was warming up to her.

June smiled, knowing the mal-techs had never envisioned anything like this. From the depths of their selfish egos something wondrous had been born. Perhaps now she could gently guide the mal-squito from the windmill and into her home, where she could contain it and figure out how to help it.

"Alright, we're good to go," a male voice suddenly boomed out. "Don't move a muscle."

"Who's that?"

"Butcher Bob here. Got your access codes. Hold on a second."

Hissing spray shot from the wall and soaked the mal-squito. Its wings slowed, and June saw terror reflected in its eyes. She cried out in dismay. Some of the neuroacid had splashed on her, but it was harmless to humans. Yet even if it had been searing her flesh, June might not have immediately noticed. The mal-squito tried to fly away, but it ended up dropping like a rock, bouncing off power tubes along the way.

"One less dirty insect in the world," Bob said. "You okay?"

"How could this happen?" June groaned and pressed her face into the ladder.

"It wasn't too hard," Bob said. "By the way, you're hearing me over the windmill's built-in phone that you probably didn't know about. Anyway, the TS3900 was designed to defend itself against mal-squitos. And a few other things. All you have to do is activate auto-defense and it senses the bug and sprays it. I'm still in my office. Once I got your access codes, I was able to link with your windmill. I can basically control the whole operation from here. A sign of troubled times, but a nice deal for folks like you."

"A nice deal," June repeated, the will gone out of her. She wanted to shout at Butcher Bob, to tell him he'd ruined a miracle. But there was no point. How could he have known?

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine. So how much has been lost?"

"I already checked that. Only surface cells were attacked. Basically, they're backup cells and not the real stored memories."

"But they seemed real to me."

"Sure. But those cells are just outlets--like movie screens. The real memories are stored in a format you wouldn't recognize, buried deep. And the mal-squito didn't get to them. It would have had to do a lot more damage to reach those." Bob gave a little cough. "The TS3900 has a built-in tutorial library. Teaches you everything you need to know. Of course, you have a bug in your system, and I'm not talking about the mal-squito. It's a common flaw in these windmills. It prevents the tutorial from activating on its own to guide you."

"So what do I owe you, Bob? I already told you I'm broke. Unless I can return this spray can, minus one use."

"You probably can't return it. You should be able to sell it and get a little money back, though. Care to have dinner with me? That would be payment enough, since killing that bug didn't actually cost me anything. You're a cutie."

June grimaced. "You can see me?"

"Right down to the sweat."

"I think I'd rather find some way to pay you with money, Bob."

"Alright," said Butcher Bob, sounding slightly wounded. "Ah, just forget it. It's no big deal. Just keep my suggestion in mind. By the way, I'm turning control over to you, and the windmill will stay in voice-activation mode. Ask for a tutorial. Pay attention even if it bores you. This is stuff you need to know. Bob out."

June struggled up the ladder and back into the glare. Wincing, she managed to stand, leaning against the wall for support. "I hope this works. Solar panels dim."

The glare weakened enough to allow June to see. She gazed out through a glass wall over the grassy hills. Other windmills stood there, some made of glass and some made of shiny metal. Dome-shaped houses like her own dotted the countryside. An airship floated in the distance, leaving clean air in its wake.

"Begin tutorial for dummies."

As June listened, chills crept down her spine. Her TS3900 was practically alive, an organism that could evolve. No wonder it was a classic. It could learn, grow, and repair itself. It could modify its defenses to prevent future invasions. But she needed to play a part in that. She needed to feed it the latest information, allow it to link to the outside world. It was much more than just a storage chest for memories.

But more importantly, June had come to learn that she was a fine hunter, and the mal-techs could be worthy prey. The mal-squito had revealed a weakness in their malicious programming that could be turned against them. Their ugly creations could become noble--perhaps even helpful--and that was the ultimate slap in the face to the mal-techs. The plan was uncertain, her thoughts darting this way and that, but the fire had been lit, and it was sure to spread into a blazing inferno. June thought of the mal-squito and managed a smile. The miracle had not been wasted.

End.

Countdown to Zero

"It's like California in July down here, Bobby," I said, pressing my lips close to the chatter tube. My frosty breath contradicted my statement. "Think I'll just relax for a while, kick back. Nothing like cold steel and a Russian winter to warm the bones."

I was in the bomb compartment of a highly modified B29 Superfortress freezing to death, while Bobby and the rest of the crew were in the cockpit keeping the plane in a loop. Bobby chuckled. "You can have that vacation spot all to yourself, Dan. How are things looking?"

My lips tightened. "Gears are all frozen--twice as bad as before."

I could picture Bobby shudder. "I can't believe it's that cold down there."

I didn't answer. I crawled away from the chatter tube, but Bobby would still hear me just fine thanks to the sensitivity of the sound-amplifying tube that ran from the bomb bay to the cockpit. Using a big screwdriver, I resumed chipping and digging ice out from around the gears that would cause the bomb compartment to open and drop its eleven-ton payload.

"How much time do we have?"

Bobby paused. "About an hour, I'd guess. If we don't make the drop by then, we're in big trouble. Unless there's a gas station floating around up here somewhere."

I grimaced. This was the third time I'd crawled down here to dig out ice, and I was getting sick to my stomach of it. But we had to make the drop.

"Damn Hitler, anyway," Bobby said. "That must have been some weapon he used to tear a hole in the atmosphere like that. Or maybe it tore a hole in the universe itself. He tore a hole in something, buddy."

"We're gonna tear a hole in him," I muttered.

"You know it," said Bobby. "But first we have to deal with this strange crap. What do you think this is all about?"

"I don't know," I said. "But I can feel the cold right in my bones, like I've never felt before. Makes the Russian winter seem ten times worse. If this plane were any lower, I'd be as stiff as stone right now and this mission would be over."

"The Russians should have dealt with this," said Bobby. "I think they're liars, saying they don't have the weapon to stop that cold spot from growing. They just want us Americans to do all the dirty work. Lazy Reds. We need to get things fired up, start this campaign for real. I've got ideas, Dan. Big ideas! You just wait and see what this old boy can do. My brain is a war machine powered by thoughts of beautiful women. We're going to show them the American way, champ."

I said nothing. Bobby talked too much, and he usually sounded like a jackass and barely made sense half the time. But there was no better pilot alive, which was why he was at the controls.

As I chipped frantically at the ice, my hand numb, I kept dropping the screwdriver. "Man, I'm freezing," I said to myself, as if my words could warm me. Unfortunately, that got Bobby talking again.

"Check that heater again. That thing's supposed to be top notch. You know this whole damn plane came out of a super-secret factory in the Nevada desert? Oh, there's a lot more to it than meets the eye. This is top of the line, Danny Boy."

"I've wasted enough time on that already," I said. "Blows nothing but cold air, and I can't handle any more cold air right now. I can't believe they installed a trashy heater down here. Top of the line my arse."

"You getting anything through the vents?" Bobby asked.

Again, I ignored him and kept digging for all I was worth. Heat was filtering in--but I could only feel it if I took off a glove and put my bare hand right to a vent. Without the heater, everything down here was doomed to freeze solid--except the bomb itself, which was super insulated inside its casing.

"Can't take much more," I said, my teeth chattering. "I'm ready to say screw it--let those Reds and Krauts freeze down there. Let Stalingrad freeze. The Krauts are our enemies anyway, right? Why save their arses?"

Bobby sighed. "For sure, let the Nazis freeze. But the Reds are counting on us, Dan the Man. By the way, we're flying fat right now. So much ice on the wings we're using twice the fuel. I don't think base accounted for all this ice. All four engines are running hot, and my gauges are acting funny. Get those gears chipped out so we can make that drop. I'm worried we're going to start losing engines."

"Going as fast as I can," I muttered.

***

A half hour later, the gears were still frozen and I was nearing the breaking point. I was sure I was frostbit, but couldn't really tell where since my body was numb all over. My fingers had to be in rough shape under the gloves, but I didn't want to check them for fear of what I might see. And to top it off, my brain seemed foggy--as if it too were iced over.

"This is killing me, pal," I said. "No joke."

Bobbing was speaking to me, but it was like unintelligible mumbling in the background that my mind just didn't want to clarify. I lost track of time. It was too cold to think. Too cold to live.

"We have to pull out," Bobby yelled, snapping me from my trance. "Everything's frozen. Rick and Jimmy agree with me--it's time to get the hell out of here."

"Maybe take 'er up a bit?" I suggested.

"Already did. Don't dare take her any higher. The cold is staying with us--right around the plane. Doesn't matter where I go. Nothing but blowing snow and the blasted winds."

I cursed. "You should be reporting that stuff."

"Hey, it's me! I've been reporting everything. You losing your wits down there? We've been dodging the cold for a half hour now. Also, Rick's been trying to make radio contact with base. I'm hoping they can tell us how to fix the heater. But so far, nothing but static."

Time passed while I chipped away. How much time? I wasn't sure.

"Are you there?" Bobby asked. "Dan? We're having all kinds of trouble now. Why aren't you answering me?"

I shook my head. Was I losing my mind? "What's our altitude?"

"Not sure exactly, Dan." It was Jimmy's gruff Texas drawl. "But we're probably halfway to heaven. Gauges are frozen. Don't know how it happened, but they're stuck firm. We gotta end this pretty dang quick or its going to end us."

The Superfortress shook and lurched from the ice and winds. I'd been taking a beating and was hardly aware of it. My forehead was crusted with dried blood. Even if I did make the drop and get out of the cold, I had probably already suffered permanent damage. Might lose my toes or fingers (or both). Oh well.

"Let me get this straight," I muttered. "You fellows don't know our position? You don't know if we're even anywhere near the cold spot?"

"Didn't say that." Bobby sounded wounded, defensive. "I'm pretty sure we're still over our target, but as to how far above it--your guess is as good as mine. I'm doing my best, Danny. And it ain't good enough."

"Then we can't make the drop," I said. "The bomb has a twenty-second timer. According to base, we need to be at around fourteen-thousand feet to make a successful drop."

"I don't know what to tell you, Dan. With the gauges stuck, I can't even give a good estimate of our altitude. And with no radio contact, we're pretty much screwed. Lucky we can even keep this thing afloat. It's killing us to keep fighting the controls. One moment it's locked in, and the next we're wrestling to get her stabilized. For all their enhancements, they forgot to stick in boosted controls. Or maybe it was intentional and necessary. Who the hell knows with those brain boxes?"

Knowing it was finished, I stumbled to the ladder and climbed up. But the hatch was frozen shut. I pounded it uselessly with my first.

I slumped back down amid the panels and gears. I needed to find something to smash the hatch open, but right now I just wanted to rest.

"Dan? You okay?" It was Bobby again.

"Aside from being stuck down here? Just fine. I wish I had a pretty girl and a bottle of booze to warm me."

Bobby fought with the hatch. I could hear him banging on it from above. The tenacious little sucker wouldn't give up easily. Sure enough, he kept at it until I yelled at him to get back to the controls. "Sorry Dan. Can't budge it."

The plane lurched sideways, and Bobby bellowed a curse. I could hear him scurry down the tunnel over the bomb bay, probably bruising his knees something fierce. Moments later, the plane leveled off again.

"Get us out of here!" I shouted. "Don't worry about me. We need to get someplace warm. To hell with Stalin. This will probably help him more than hurt him anyways. His men are used to bitter cold. The Germans will freeze before the Russians do. Might turn the war in Stalin's favor." I lay curled up and shivering.

"What if that cold spot spreads out and freezes the world?" Bobby said. "Base might not have time to launch another mission before it's too late."

"What if it does?" I said. "Couldn't be worse than what Hitler would do. I'd rather the world was a popsicle than overrun with Nazis."

"I can hardly hear you," Bobby said. "That chatter tube they installed must be freezing up too. This cold ain't natural."

I managed a laugh. "I think we realized that back when they briefed us."

"Were we wrong for this mission?" Bobby asked.

"Nah. We've got the best pilots in the world. We're just freezing up is all. Could have happened to anyone. Blame base if you want to blame someone. The bottom line is things are worse over here than we thought. This cold is sneaky."

"So we're giving up?" he asked.

"No, we're not giving up, pal. Just wishful thinking. It's all on us. A handful of soldiers and one bomb. If we don't do it now..."

Bobby said nothing--or if he did reply, I couldn't hear him. I crawled to a tiny window and gazed out. It was positioned in the floor so I could see through the bottom of the bomb bay to check my target if need be. That target was supposed to look like a boiling white cloud that was steadily growing. But all I could see was blowing snow. I'd given up on dropping the bomb that would supposedly disrupt the cold spot by releasing some kind of energy I didn't know a thing about. I'd given up on staying alive. Now I was thinking like a Kamikaze, wondering if we could fly into the cold spot and just set off the bomb inside the plane.

As I started to turn away from the window, I glimpsed a face that formed out of the blowing snow beyond the glass. It was Hitler's face, right down to the mustache. I figured I was losing my mind, so I just waited for the formation to vanish. Moments later, it broke apart and disappeared.

The cold was alive, creeping all over the B29. I could hear its whisper and feel its touch. I found a pry bar and pounded on the hatch some more. That got Bobby riled up, and I could hear him working at it from above. Unable to break it loose, I flung the bar aside. I gazed at the floor, and saw snow swirling around.

I rubbed my eyes and the snow vanished. I climbed down, picked up the pry bar, and beat the snot out of that useless heater until pieces of it were scattered all over the bomb bay. I made damn sure they weren't going to fix that ten-thousand-dollar unit. I was going nuts and freezing thanks to that device, and the mission had collapsed.

I turned and came face to face with a snowy Hitler. I swung the pry bar at his head, but it passed through it like it wasn't there. The figure broke into swirling flakes and settled around the compartment, adding another layer of glittering frost to the gears and panels and the car-sized bomb that sat on the hatch doors.

I clicked the steel arming switches on the bomb, and found only two of them were frozen. I worked at them but couldn't get them loose.

Out of frustration, I seized the hatch lever and yanked, determined to dump the bomb and hope it somehow went off. But the lever was frozen solid. I beat it with the pry bar, then yanked some more. Still nothing. It was a thick hunk of frozen steel, and without a blow torch, it wasn't moving. But I didn't have a blow torch, because the bomb was heat sensitive and might go off in the presence of a direct flame. And why was I yanking on the hatch lever when the bomb wasn't even armed?

A shock surged through me and I stumbled backward. I wasn't yanking the hatch lever at all. The hatch lever wasn't in the bomb bay--it was in the cockpit area. This compartment was pressurized in this particular B29 and if I opened the hatch from down here, I'd be sucked out with the payload. Instead I was struggling with the heater mount that was welded to the floor, which was missing the heater that I'd smashed off of it.

I shook my head, lit a match, and stuck it against the bomb, but the flame wasn't strong enough to make it blow. Not even close, of course. I tried to will it to blow, calling it every swear word a desperate solider could think of. Something touched my shoulder and I whirled around, but nothing was there.

"Buzz off!" I snarled. I turned back and tried another match.

Clank, clank, clank\--Bobby kept on pounding the hatch. Then would come a pause as he scurried back to the controls. Then more clanking. Tough little sucker.

The symbol of the communist flag materialized from the frost on the bomb's surface. "You want a hammer?" I laughed. "I'll give you a hammer." I smashed the iron bar against the bomb, but didn't even dent it. The Russian symbol morphed into Stalin's smug face. Whack! I smashed it again, and this time the bar flew out of my hand.

The cold had seeped into my brain. How many Germans and Russians had gone nuts down there just like I was? First you went crazy; then you froze to death. That was the way it worked, according to my mission briefing. Not a pleasant way to go. Since both myself and the plane were obviously afflicted with the unnatural freezing, we were probably skimming the cold spot if not right in the midst of it.

I slumped against the bomb, my body giving out. I could hear voices that sounded like they were coming from a radio. They were discussing the war, and how the Russians had the Germans on the run. The winter had proven too harsh for them--with thousands of Germans having starved or frozen to death--and the tide was turning in favor of Stalin. Russia wouldn't fall to the Nazis.

I somehow knew I was hearing voices from the future. Static filled my head. My eyes were closed, yet I could feel icy fingers caressing my face. "I am absolute zero," the voice whispered. "I am the cold beneath the cold, and I will take away your breath."

More voices invaded my head--telling of a great ice age that could prove to be the downfall of humanity, and then a lonely sounding man speaking of the glory that once was America. The last radio broadcast of the human race before the machines froze forever.

I dared to look. Misty hands clutched my throat, and a cluster of seven hungry eyes gazed at me like points of blue flame. But beyond that, I saw that Bobby had fought his way down into the compartment, and he'd managed to click the last two switches on the bomb. My heart swelling with pride, I knew the twenty-second countdown had begun. Forget about that busted heater--this was American ingenuity at work.

The cold was so pure it froze my breath, but before it stole the last of my life force, I smiled at Bobby, and he smiled back and saluted me just as the timer reached zero and the vibrations started.

End.

### The DNA Pen is Mightier than the Sword

I had never seen Jakku look so serious. Usually, he was upbeat and smiling under any circumstances, a good-natured joker. But now his youthful face was pale. His eyes were wild, and his mouth seemed frozen in a frown.

I gazed down at the report Jakku had laid in my lap, squinting at the notes and diagrams. "The bomb can cause a chain reaction that would destroy our atmosphere. True?" I kept my voice calm, but inside I was already a mess. I wanted to leave my electric wheelchair, get up, and pace around.

"That's what the scientists at West Shield believe," said Jakku, his mastery of the English language nearly flawless in spite of the fact that he had been born and raised in Japan. "Of course, they don't understand the technology, so it's hard to prove." He cleared his throat. "But writings found with the bomb speak of such a catastrophe occurring. And based on the device's level of sophistication, those writings have to be taken seriously."

"This is a Greek device?" I asked.

"Yes, and no," said Jakku. "It's Greek, but older and stranger. We were barely able to translate the writings that accompanied it. Also, the technology is far beyond anything the Greeks could have produced. It's so radically advanced it may be alien. Or maybe it came from Atlantis." He shrugged.

I needed air. "Left thirty degrees," I said, and my wheelchair obeyed. "Forward, three feet." The chair took me to an open window.

Jakku put his hand on my shoulder. "You okay, Roger?"

"So why hasn't the bomb been defused?" I asked.

"Because it's armed," Jakku answered.

"I realize that. Again, why wasn't it defused?"

"Because it's armed."

"Jakku!" I said sternly.

"It's literally armed," he said. "With a sword and shield. It destroys anything that tries to get close to it--soldiers, robots, anything."

"So I'm being asked to neutralize the bomb," I said.

"You're the top DNA manipulator at LivCore," said Jakku. "West Shield is counting on you to design a fighter that can crush the bomb's defenses so a team can defuse it."

"How long do I have?" I asked.

"Eleven months," said Jakku, tapping the report, "sixteen days, three hours, and twenty-seven seconds."

"We will fly to Area 51 tomorrow," I said. "Call my son and inform him I won't be home for a while."

"You've got a year," said Jakku. "If you want to take a day or two to get things in order, that shouldn't be a problem."

I didn't answer. My eyes strayed to a calendar on the wall.

***

Holding the DNA pen in my mouth, I sketched my creation onto the screen. I drew armor plating that was ten times stronger than steel and a spiked tail that could smash through an army tank. Part of my skill lay in understanding what was possible with our current technology and what was not--and making the computer agree with my sketch. But I also had an extremely rare gift--a power that came from within that science could not explain. It flowed through the crystal pen and brought my sketches to life. The energy was channeled along the pen and into the computer. From there, it would work in harmony with machinery I had no knowledge of. It was a way of fully exploiting my mental power and creativity. All I had to do was visualize and draw. I understood--crudely--that the sketch and the energy formed a pattern, and that this pattern was somehow used by the computer to manipulate DNA and grow my drawing into a living creature. I didn't need to know more than that.

After a week of sketching, erasing, and sketching some more, I cleared the image for molding. But an error message appeared. The computer couldn't translate the sketch into a living creature because my concept was too extreme. I reduced the armor to roughly five times the toughness of steel and tried again. Another error message popped up. The creature possessed too much physical strength, and its brain was too large. I made more cuts.

It took me a month to produce my first workable sketch. By the time it was ready, an arena had been constructed a mile below ground at Area 51. The bomb sat in the middle of the arena, a square, golden object about six feet in diameter and engraved with symbols no one could translate. I'd worked hard over the weeks, getting little sleep--all leading up to this showdown.

With several top scientists and military officials looking on, Jakku activated the arena door, and after a few minutes, my nightmare creation lumbered in. Green scales were crusted to every inch of its body. Its eyes gleamed with cunning in its horned head, its massive claws scraping on the steel floor. I'd created a living dragon.

The bomb unfolded like a blooming flower, revealing two human-like arms--one that held a golden sword and one that held a golden shield. It slid toward the dragon, its means of movement hidden to my eye. I clenched my teeth--the only action I could take to deal with my anxiety. I wanted to see the bomb destroyed, of course, but the scientist in me cringed at the thought of watching a technological marvel--a possible alien robot perhaps centuries beyond our own creations--be obliterated.

My monster turned and slammed its spiked tail down on the bomb, but the bomb blocked with its shield. The tail glanced off the shield without leaving a dent. The bomb rammed its sword into the beast's side, right through the armor plating, and delivered a nasty wound.

The dragon tried to turn, staggered a few steps, and collapsed. The bomb moved away and hunkered back down into a square.

Jakku stood trembling. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.

"We will return to lab," I said calmly, "and begin Project 2 immediately."

***

"Take some time off," said Jakku. "Your son called this morning. He misses you."

"I find that hard to believe." My words were muffled because the DNA pen was clenched in my teeth. "I'm all but useless to him." I spoke in my usual flat tone.

"Your son loves you," said Jakku.

"I don't doubt that." I wondered if I should give my creature limited flight. "But regardless, I can't be a father to him--not until I find a cure for my disease. A boy his age wants someone to play baseball with, or wrestle with, or go fishing with. I am not capable of such feats, and therefore logic dictates that I am useless to him." I was hoping Jakku would tell me otherwise. I needed to hear someone tell me I was worth something to my son.

"He needs you," said Jakku. "And more importantly, you need to rest and clear your mind."

"I have no time to rest. If my son misses me, bring him to the base."

"It's against the rules," said Jakku. "Obviously, we can't allow a child into a top-secret government testing facility."

"Bend the rules. Let my son come and watch. Maybe he'll learn something. Tell our superiors that I need his support. They'll do it as a favor to me."

Jakku looked skeptical. "It would be highly unusual."

"These are unusual times, Jakku. I rolled back a couple feet to view my sketch from a distance. "Are they not? I want to see my son before..."

Jakku nodded. "I understand."

The wings would prevent the beast from easy burrowing, so I erased them.

"It looks like a worm," said Jakku.

"Correct," I said. "A worm that can burrow through our strongest experimental metals. Also, it will be made of sections that can survive independently from each other--so if it gets sliced into pieces, it can still carry out attacks. I estimate that it will have a penetration power ten times greater than our most advanced armor piercing missile."

Jakku smiled. "How can anything stand against that?"

I did not return the smile. "Without knowing the strength of the robot bomb's armor, I'm really just making wild guesses."

"Your son will be impressed," said Jakku.

"Hold off on my request," I said, reconsidering the issue. "My sketch is progressing rapidly. We'll test Project 2 first."

I gazed at the worm on the screen. I was in new territory now, creating monsters that would never have been approved prior to the bomb being discovered. The worm was a real horror, virtually unstoppable. As with all of my creations, I had given it a unique weakness--in this case a vulnerability to fire. Nevertheless, if it managed to somehow escape the arena, people might die before it could be neutralized. I didn't want my son anywhere near the base until the worm had accomplished its goal and was then destroyed.

***

Jakku and I gazed into the arena. I felt like a Roman emperor watching two gladiators. But I could glean no enjoyment from these epic battles, and in fact I found the moments to be torturous. As usual, the crowd of scientists and military officials looked on, but my eyes were focused exclusively on the combatants. I had been locked in my own mind for weeks and weeks, and aside from Jakku, no one else registered in my thoughts.

A gasp arose from the crowd as the worm slithered into the arena. It was a sleek creature, its body covered in a smooth gray shell that was made of bendable segments. It had no recognizable facial features but simply tapered to a spear-like point. It looked almost mechanical, or plastic, but its movements were beautifully fluid and natural.

The worm slithered over to the bomb and reared up, as if sniffing the air. The bomb bloomed into attack mode, and the two circled each other. The worm was as fast a lashing whip, darting in and out and trying to burrow, but the bomb countered its motions.

My monster was extremely aggressive, designed to attack anything that moved. It did not know pain or doubt--but neither, apparently, did its foe. The worm speared in, but the bomb got its shield up in time to deflect it. It slashed at the worm with its sword, but the worm twisted out of the way.

I wanted to lean forward in my chair, grab onto something. I clenched my teeth together, praying the worm would finish this here and now.

"What if the bomb goes off?" Jakku whispered. "If the worm tunnels in..."

"Silence!" I said.

The worm somehow got behind the bomb and drove in for the kill. But the bomb spun around in an impossibly swift motion, lashing out with its sword and cutting the worm in two. Both halves attacked the bomb at once. It blocked one section, and cut the other in two. Now three pieces attacked it.

I watched with a sinking feeling in my gut as the bomb somehow blocked all the attacks and cut the worm into useless twitching chunks.

"Back to the lab," I said, my voice cracking. "We will begin Project 3."

Jakku didn't argue with me.

***

For three days I sat in front of a blank screen with the DNA pen in my mouth. I barely ate and I didn't let anyone bathe me. I had begun to smell a bit stale.

My head throbbed from trying to force knowledge into it. I was losing touch with my creative powers, bogged down in too much thinking. Many times I started sketches only to erase them soon afterward. I needed an entirely new idea, but all I could think about was strength, armor, speed, or cunning. Yet none of those traits had worked so far.

The bomb seemed invincible, a wall I could not pass. Its shield blocked everything, and more significantly, its sword cut through my creatures with surgical precision.

Jakku entered the lab, leading my son by the arm. "You were right, Roger. They overlooked the rules for you."

I nodded. "Hello, Mike."

My son wrinkled his nose. "You kind of smell, dad." He had a ball of slime in his hand, some grotesque child's toy he was tossing into the air and catching. I gazed at it, calculating the possibilities. But there were none.

"I said you stink, dad," Mike pointed out again, trying to get through to me.

"I've been too busy to bathe," I said. "Jakku, you may leave us for a while."

Jakku smiled and left.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Okay, I guess." He shoved the slime back into his pocket and pulled out a toy spider.

"I would think you'd be outgrowing those toys by now," I said, unable to resist the urge to criticize. "You're ten years old now. Have you used that electron microscope I gave you for your birthday?"

"A little," he said. "But I like monsters--like the ones you create."

"You're never supposed to mention that," I said sternly.

"Jakku said it's okay here," said Mike. "He told me you really need to make a tough monster. Are you having any luck?"

My lips tightened. "No, son, I'm not." My eyes lingered on the toy spider. Yes, there might be something there. I almost smiled at how desperate I had become.

Seeing my interest, Mike held it up. "What about a giant spider?"

"Huge insects or arachnids aren't possible with the program I use," I said. "I have to obey certain rules. There is a reason most insects are small. But maybe...maybe I could build something that shoots a web. Another worm, perhaps." I sighed. "I've been going through so many ideas, Mike. A team of scientists has been feeding me suggestions, but they're all wrong."

I sighed. "Maybe this will be the one to do the job."

Mike smiled and laid the spider atop my monitor screen for inspiration.

"I'm serious about this, Mike," I said. "I think you just gave me an outstanding idea--if I can make it work, of course. And I'm guessing I can. By the way, you're going to have to leave the base for a while, for your own safety. Then you can return again."

"I can't stay and watch the battle?" Mike said, frowning in disappointment.

"Not this time, son," I said.

"I wish you could come home," said Mike. "I miss hanging out with you. When are you going to get done working?"

"I'm not sure, Mike. Place the DNA pen in my mouth."

Mike did as I asked, and then he swung the monitor close to my face. I began to sketch.

Mike watched for a while, then tapped his foot impatiently. "Why don't you cure yourself, Dad? Then we could go walk around and stuff."

"I'd like to," I said. "But the cure for my disease remains elusive, and that's not my field of study. I'm working on various ideas, yet nothing--"

"You'll be stuck in that chair forever, Dad," Mike interrupted, hanging his head.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I wish it were otherwise."

"That's why Mom left you, isn't it?" said Mike. It was an old question, but it still packed a wallop.

I swallowed. "That, and my busy schedule, yes. That's the way things go, Mike. Marriages sometimes fall apart."

"You don't care anyway," said Mike. "At least, you don't seem to."

I said nothing. If he only knew.

***

When the battle was over, hacked up white strands lay scattered around the arena, and the web-shooting worm I had created lay in pieces. The bomb was folded into a square again, its golden surface displaying not a single scratch.

I wanted so badly to rest. The webbing had been strong enough to resist intense laser cutting during testing, but the bomb has sliced through it as if it were thread. Once the strands were severed, the worm itself had been an easy victim. I had thrown everything into the webbing--sleepless nights, blurred vision, and a mouth that was so sore from holding the DNA pen I could hardly chew my food.

"Time for Project 4?" Jakku asked.

I didn't answer. I rolled past him, my son walking beside me with his head bowed.

***

My mental block grew worse. The days blurred into weeks, the weeks into months. I started dozens of sketches and scrapped them. Occasionally, my son would come and watch. Sometimes he brought toy monsters to try to give me ideas, but nothing worked out. I was one of six uniquely gifted DNA manipulators tackling the problem, and other creatures besides those I'd created had battled the bomb and lost. The bomb had fought dozens of them, sometimes slaying several at once, yet not so much as a dent had been inflicted upon its armor.

"Are we all going to die, Dad?" Mike asked me.

My head was pounding from too little sleep. I wanted to rub my eyes, but I couldn't even do a simple task like that. I couldn't move so much as a finger.

"It might come to that," I said. "Honestly, son, we're running out of time. We've done all we can. If the bomb does what the tablets predict..."

"Where did it come from?" Mike asked.

"From the ocean somewhere near Greece," I said. "And that's about all we really know of its origin. Its sole purpose seems to be to destroy life on earth--or at least the human race. Anytime it feels threatened, it attacks."

"Then why not go to it peacefully?" said Mike.

I managed a smile. "You're a smart boy. However, that does no good. The bomb won't open up unless threatened. It just maintains a square, featureless form."

"How does it know if it's threatened, Dad?"

"We haven't determined the answer to that question."

"Why not take it into space?" said Mike.

I wanted to pat him on the back. "We tried that. When the bomb reaches a certain height above sea level, it opens and goes on a rampage. Two pilots died trying to transport it into space. We've tried using advanced weaponry on it, cutting tools that burn hotter than the sun--but when it thinks it can't win, it hunkers back into that seemingly invincible square. Yet it appears to enjoy fighting gladiator style, opening itself up to being attacked in the process--almost as if to prove its superiority. It is indeed like something the ancient Greeks might have designed if they'd possessed the ability. It's a very strange device, yet it's so cleverly programmed it seems to have thought of everything."

"Then you've got to crush it, Dad," said Mike, his lip quivering. "I don't want to die."

I couldn't even hug my own son. I felt useless.

"You should return home now, Mike. If the bomb goes off, I'd rather you weren't near it--just in case it's not as powerful as we believe."

Mike hung his head. "I don't want to leave you, Dad."

I sighed. "I understand, but--"

"I'm not leaving this time!" Mike yelled. Tears formed in his eyes.

"Okay, Mike," I said gently. "You can stay. It probably won't make a difference anyway, considering what we're dealing with." Inwardly I cringed, wondering if I was making a terrible decision. Was I a complete failure of a father, giving in to Mike's demands and putting his life at risk only because I was never able to be there for him in the past?

"I want to stay and help you," Mike said. "You might need me."

My mouth slid open, and some drool ran from my lips. I tested the sore spot with my tongue. This was going to hurt. "Give me the DNA pen, son."

Mike stuck the pen in my mouth and adjusted the monitor. In spite of tired, protesting neck muscles, I began sketching furiously--strength, armor, speed, intelligence, gooey webbing...useless. Mike said something to me but I just didn't hear him, lost in concentration.

As Mike stomped away, something bounced off my shoulder. It was the toy slime he had been playing with when he first came to the base. He had thrown it at me in frustration. I gazed at it for several minutes.

It wasn't possible. A creature like that couldn't exist. And even if I could create it, how would it put up any sort of a fight? I was so tired I wanted only to sleep, to leave the fate of the earth in the hands of someone else.

I began to draw again. My son needed me.

***

"I suppose this is it," Jakku said.

"It's now or never," I agreed.

"What did you build?" Mike asked.

"Show him," I said to Jakku.

Jakku handed Mike the ball of slime. He snatched it from Jakku's hand and gazed at it with wide eyes. "Are you kidding me, Dad? You built a slime?"

I said nothing, gazing into the arena. I was so tired I felt like I was dying.

A steel door rose, and my creature crawled into the arena--a mass of crimson ooze. It looked like transparent Jell-O streaked with blood and floating fibers. It moved like an inch worm, humping up and stretching out. I had tried to give it a fair amount of speed, but it was still slower than what I had hoped for. As programmed, it went straight for the bomb.

The bomb bloomed into full battle mode and struck first, hacking into the slime. But the sword merely passed through it, leaving the creature intact.

"You're a genius!" Jakku said.

"It's not over yet," I said.

"Slime that robot!" Mike yelled.

My monster engulfed the bomb, thousands and thousands of flexible, squirming muscle fibers tightening down. The bomb hacked through it, but the muscles closed the wound instantly. The bomb began to slow, its sword and shield caught in the squeezing vice.

"Now what?" said Mike.

"Now we find out what that thing is made of," I said, my voice husky with emotion. For the first time, I felt the anger surge forth that had been bottled up inside me.

A larger door rose, and my original dragon--reborn and made stronger--came lumbering through, a towering behemoth of claws, green scales, and horns. It paused before the trapped bomb, threw its head back, and roared its challenge.

Then the dragon turned and smashed its spiked tail down--once, twice, three times. The first and second blow cracked the bomb, and the third one broke it into pieces.

Cheering, Mike and Jakku threw their arms around me, but I sat tensely, waiting. The bomb didn't go off, however, and my breath rushed out in relief.

***

"You're going home today, Mike," I said, as we sat in the lab. "And I don't need to remind you that you're never to speak of what you witnessed here. In fact, you can't even acknowledge that this base exists, or we could both be in big trouble."

"Aren't you coming with me?" Mike asked, his face uncertain.

"Not for a few days," I said. "I have another project I'm working on."

"Another monster?" said Mike.

"Sort of," I said.

Mike reached out and hugged me. "I'll see you when you get home, Dad."

I smiled, longing to tell him what my latest project was. But I had to be completely sure it was going to work. If it didn't, life would go on and I would make do. Maybe I couldn't play baseball with my son, or take him fishing, but I knew he wouldn't trade me for any other father in the world--and that's what counted.

Mike patted me on the shoulder and left.

I turned back to the screen. Displayed was a sketch of slippery muscle fibers like my slime beast--only shaped like a body suit.

End.

### Clone Hammer

This was the worst day of my life--one I'd dreaded since I was old enough to comprehend murder. The sun was just beginning to break over the grassy hills. Either by day or by night, the clones would continue to come out of their caves and seek the gateway to what we jokingly referred to as Heaven.

And I was supposed to be waiting for them, hammer in hand.

I shuddered. "I can't do this. I don't even kill bugs."

My witness, a young man named Vax Williams, scowled at me. "What higher honor could there be than crushing clones with Vax Mason's hammer? You would shun the gift of all gifts? I've waited all my life to be called upon, but instead a doubter like you gets chosen. If that doesn't represent life's unfairness, I don't know what does!"

"I don't want to hurt anyone. Not even clones." My feelings were not typical. Everyone I knew hated clones. In fact, ninety-nine percent of the roughly four-thousand people living in the Hub despised them and would gladly have killed them.

"Are you afraid?" Williams said. "I'll remind you that it's my duty to make sure you don't lose your nerve, Vax Andrews." He looked me up and down with concern and disgust. He was an extreme clone hater, who'd personally executed dozens of them during raids on their cavern compounds.

"Your duty is to belittle me, and pressure me." I gazed back defiantly. In spite of being softhearted toward living things, I was no thin-skinned weakling, and I had no problem standing up to narrow-minded bullies. I'd been doing it all my life.

Williams seized my shoulder and shook me. "Call it what you will. If you don't take up Vax Mason's hammer, you're a dead man. So says the law of the--"

I shoved him away and kept walking. "I know the law. It's wired into my genetics, as strongly as my desire to eat. But I simply cannot understand why we must continue this barbaric tradition. Isn't it bad enough that we raid their lairs, blast them with artillery, and set fire to them? Do we have to also squash them with a ridiculous oversized hammer, pretending it's some great and worthy honor?"

Williams ignored me, steps brisk and angry, black robe billowing in the wind. He certainly hated me. So why had the Elders stuck me with him?

I could see the gateway to Heaven shining in the distance--four power plants resting on a square metal grid atop a hill. The refined electricity made me light-headed and anxious--electricity so close to the essence of life it made the grass on the hill grow taller and more vibrant than it otherwise would have. Animals prowled around the repulse-fence that we humans had erected, but dared not touch it for fear of being hurled to their deaths. Black smoke arose from near the gateway entrance--a sickening reminder of my purpose here.

Almost there, unfortunately. Frantically, I struggled to think of a way out, but kept coming up blank. If I tried to flee or hide, they'd just send a snaker after me to bind my leg and drag my body back to the Hub. In fact, I noticed the snaker was already there, its long form rippling the grass to my right.

Williams nodded proudly. "Good. The snaker has arrived."

"I'm nothing but a prisoner," I said. I stared hard at Williams, challenging him to dispute my claim, searching for some spark of compassion and understanding.

"You're a free man, Andrews. As long as you show courage."

"I dispute you, sir," I said. "I am conditionally free at best--which really isn't free at all. When the choice is death or following orders, freedom remains elusive."

"Death is a choice. A foolish one, but still a choice."

"We clearly don't like each other, Vax Williams. So what are you doing here?"

"That's the point, Vax Andrews. You're not supposed to like your witness. Hence, the neutrality of the situation."

"Animosity is not neutrality."

"Enough. Take up Mason's hammer or die!"

"You just proved my point, sir." I turned and starting walking back toward the Hub.

The snaker slithered onto the road and reared up, blocking my path. Its smooth, metallic body was so dazzling in the morning sunlight I was forced to shield my eyes. I glimpsed its cable port--open and ready to shoot.

Williams sighed. "You're wasting my time."

I lifted a stone and smashed it against the snaker. It glanced away without leaving a scratch. "Ignorant machine. Do you know whom you serve?"

"It serves our mother ship," Williams said. "Our great Hub."

"A crashed piece of junk."

William's face burned crimson. "Your words boarder on treason. How dare you speak of the Hub that way? Lucky for you, free speech is allowed among us."

"For now," I said. "But how long until that gets squashed?" I was getting nowhere, just delaying the inevitable. Even if I got Williams on my side, it would change nothing for me.

"You've got to be the worst choice for this task ever," Williams said. "We've got four-thousand clone haters in the Hub. The gateway to Heaven is only unsealed once a year for twenty-eight hours, and only two people are chosen to stand guard with Mason's hammer at fourteen hours each. What are the odds that one of them would end up being you?" He calculated for a moment and then shook his head. "I realize it's a random process and anything can happen, but the bad luck of it is appalling. If it were up to me, I'd release you from your duty and pick someone more deserving."

"I wish you could," I said. I turned and continued on toward Heaven. The snaker slithered along behind me. Typically, they favored concealment. I must have angered it with the rock throwing, and I took a little satisfaction in that.

I spotted my first clones of the day. They walked hunched over and single file across the hills, their steps steady with purpose. They were pale, bald humanoids, wearing silver body suits, indistinguishable from each other. Their eyes were large and dark, almost sad looking. "Turn back, you fools!" I called out. There were ten of them, as always, casually heading for their fatal beating that I was supposed to provide. They looked so harmless and peaceful. I envisioned their bloody, broken bodies in a heap, and I cringed.

We climbed the hill and approached the incinerator--a metal pit embedded in the hilltop where dead clones were burned. Standing next to that pit was Vax Kent, holding Mason's hammer. Her witness held a bloody clone in his arms--the last of those she'd crushed. The witness tossed the body into the pit and pulled the lever. Black smoke arose.

She smiled. "Good, you're right on time. As great of an honor as this is, I've grown tired of killing clones. Glad to pass this hammer off to someone else."

She held it forth. "Accept it proudly."

Vax Mason's hammer was appropriately ugly--crimson, black, and twisted. It had a plastic look, giving it a toy-like appearance. It was humorously large--six feet long with a head roughly the size of a man's torso.

Vax Kent raised her eyebrows. "My part is done. It's all yours now. Don't worry, it's much lighter than it looks. Anyway, you'll be killing clones until nightfall, and then an Elder will come and seal the gateway until next year, when two new killers will be picked and so--"

"Did you know Vax Mason detested the murdering of clones?" I interrupted, giving her what I hoped was a piercing stare.

She shrugged. "So legend says. But need I remind you this hammer is a weapon he created for the sole purpose of clone squashing?"

"The records show he was sympathetic toward clones," I said.

"The records lie," Williams chimed in. "No friend of clones could have created such a wondrous device as that hammer."

I ignored Williams, and stayed focused on Kent. Maybe there was still hope for her. "The records are the absolute truth. Our greatest scientist, Vax Mason, was indeed a friend to clones. I believe he created that hammer as a symbol to represent our ignorance and barbarism. Look how ridiculous it is. There is nothing proud or honorable about it. It looks like a child's hideous plaything. Clearly, Vax Mason intended it to appear absurd to anyone clever enough, and unbiased enough, to view it that way."

Kent bit her lip thoughtfully. "If that's true, it didn't work. All it has done is smash clones into goo for decades. Looks like he failed miserably in that task."

"Perhaps. But he knew we'd kill them anyway, and by creating this hammer, there was a chance he'd somehow get his message across. Have you ever wondered why we're still stuck on this planet--why we can't ever resume exploring the galaxy or return to earth?"

She laughed. "No, because the answer is well known. The power source to our ship was destroyed in the crash, and we don't have the materials to build another."

"Not necessarily true," I said. "If anyone could have built a replacement, it would have been Vax Mason. Records show he was, at one point, working on doing just that. Then he apparently stopped. Why? I believe because he realized how backward and uncivilized we still are. Our hatred of clones proved that."

"Clones are hideous," she said. "They are weird and creepy. Who likes a clone? Not any sane person. They're...just creepy! And furthermore, they're all the same. Killing one is no different than killing another."

"They are intelligent and peaceful," I said. "They deserve to be allowed past this barrier we built, to honor their oldest tradition. Just because we cannot communicate with them doesn't mean they don't have thoughts and feelings like we do."

"They feel nothing," said Williams. "And this barrier seals off some power plants they built for some sick reason. Those plants are no good for anything except charging batteries and power cells. But they didn't even use them for that. Why do they want to bathe themselves in that electricity anyway? Weirdos."

"You're making assumptions," I said. "You don't know anything about clones. None of us do. So why hate them? Sure, they are quite different than we are, and their strangeness makes us uncomfortable. But are they violent? No. Are they evil? No, as far as we can tell. So what are they guilty of?"

"They are secretive," said Williams, "and invasive. They go where they are not wanted, and disrupt our technology. Sometimes their creepy faces appear on our view screens. Clones are bad luck! Surely you agree with that."

I sighed. "Yes, they somehow have a bad effect on our technology, but it might be accidental. How do we know, when we cannot communicate with them? Maybe the situation could be resolved."

"You shouldn't have been chosen," Kent said. "Too bad we're picked at random. You don't seem like the man for the job. You seem like a sissy!" Vax Kent slammed down at the hammer at my feet and left with her witness.

I sighed, feeling defeated.

"Take up the hammer," Williams urged. "It's a matter of honor."

The ten clones had reached us. They stood somberly watching with their big, dark eyes. Their faces were incapable of showing emotion (though their eyes always looked a bit sad), but I could sense their fear and anxiety. Ever peaceful, they would offer no resistance. If I chose, I could crush them at will. I lifted the hammer. It was indeed as light as plastic, but it was a technological marvel and would strike with enough impact to turn bone into fragments.

"You might as well get started with the killing," said Williams. "Later, ten more will come. Clones breed as fast as we can exterminate them, unfortunately. They're like earth mice. They may survive our attempts to eradicate them, but they'll never step foot in their little Heaven. Not as long as Vax Mason's hammer still exists!"

"Today, they will find their Heaven," I said, and I threw down the hammer. "It ends here, Williams. I won't continue this tradition."

Williams gasped. "Then you're sacrificing your life for some clones?" The snaker slithered toward me. I winced, sensing I was about to have a rough cable lashed tightly around my leg. But I stood my ground.

"Wow!" said Williams. "I never thought I'd see the day when someone would choose to die for clones! This is a first. Are you sure?"

I dreaded the outcome--which would surely be my death--but what choice did I have? I could not carry out these orders. It wasn't in my nature.

Williams shook his head in disbelief.

Then Vax Mason's hammer spilt in two, revealing a square object that had been hidden within. The object pulsated with thousands of colors, and it radiated such powerful energy the snaker fled and didn't return.

Williams cried out in despair. "You broke it! You broke Mason's hammer!"

A holographic image of an old man in a black robe appeared, hovering above the object. "I am Vax Mason, and you have my admiration. No one has ever refused to take up the hammer until now. At last, one of my people has found enlightenment. Therefore, I lift the curse that has kept humans bound to this world. I present to you the power cell to our mother ship--a new version that I built entirely from scratch. I imprisoned it in the hammer, awaiting the day when someone would condemn the weapon's use."

Williams hung his head in shame. "Forgive my ignorance."

"I do not forgive you," the image replied. "Not yet. You must earn my forgiveness through your deeds."

William's eyes widened. "How can you answer me? Are...are you alive?" His hands trembled.

"I assure you I am quite dead," said Vax Mason. "This cube is programmed with over eight-billion responses, a vast part of my once living brain. Return me to the Hub so I can state my case. Now, in this time when I am hopefully honored as a legend, my influence may at last be strong enough to cleanse the closed-mindedness from my people and stop the mass extermination of the clones. You may lift the power cell, worthy one. It will not harm you."

I seized the object. Meanwhile, the clones filed past me and entered the grid. The four power plants lit up as if covered in hundreds of fireflies, and the clones began to glow. They had found their Heaven, where they would remain in a state a human like me couldn't fathom, until the next batch of clones arrived to take their place.

End.

### Flash Fiction

Very short tales.

### The Universe in a Nutshell

(Originally published in _Golden Visions_ magazine.

Revised for this collection.)

Relentlessly, the luminous worms battered the hull of our ship in an attempt to borrow through the metal. Gaseous, crimson and brown clouds swirled around us, and occasionally the worms would shoot out of them and deflect off the energy-protected windows. It was like being caught in some apocalyptic hailstorm.

I smiled at Gloria, trying to keep my sense of humor to the bitter end, but I suspected it looked more like a grimace of despair. Her own sad smile met my gaze. We sat across from each other, buckled into our chairs.

"Hull integrity is below fifty percent," she said. "It won't be long now."

"What a waste," I said.

An entire universe floating inside the shell of a walnut. Billions spent on warping spacetime so we could be shrunk to inconceivably small levels in order to explore it. And it turned out to have a rotten core.

"Gas clouds and nasty worms," said Gloria. "Oh joy."

"Professor Wagley will try again," I said. "The worms are life forms and they had to originate from somewhere other than gas clouds."

"But we won't live to see it," she said.

A massive impact shook the ship.

"I think the time is right for us to sleep," I said. "Agreed?"

"Agreed," she said, sighing.

We entered the commands into the computer, and a stinky vapor flooded the chamber. Gloria's head slumped forward, and then my eyelids dropped shut.

***

To my astonishment, we awoke in the laboratory on cots. Professor Wagley smiled at us. "Welcome back."

I sat up. "But how did you get us out of there so fast? The ship was about to be destroyed. The worms--"

"For now, just rest" he interrupted, raising his bushy eyebrows. "We can talk later."

"No way, professor!" I said. "Tell us how you saved us."

"Tell us!" Gloria said.

He frowned. "Very well. Yes, there was no time to extract you by means of another ship. So I had to resort to, well, an old-fashioned means."

I shrugged helplessly. "I don't understand."

The professor reached into his pocket and pulled out a nutcracker. As he withdrew it, a few bits of shell dropped to the floor.

Our mouths hung open.

"The meat itself was rather bitter," said the professor, making a face.

I tried to speak, but ended up just shaking my head.

"It's not...not scientifically poss..." Gloria couldn't finish.

"It's a magic nutcracker," said the professor, shrugging. "Magic nutcracker. Anyway, that ends that. Shall we go get a drink?"

End.

### Universal Cookie Crumbs

(Originally published in _Everyday Weirdness._

Revised for this collection.)

The thing I hated about Bobby was that he always ate mashed tomatoes for lunch. No food turned my stomach more than mashed tomatoes. He didn't even put gravy on them, just butter and garlic. Yuck! And if that wasn't bad enough, he usually washed them down with a glass of orange-milk. Orange-milk was for breakfast, but apparently Bobby couldn't make that connection. And--not to keep going on about this or anything--he didn't even use freshly milked oranges. He got his orange-milk from a Styrofoam can!

But that was Bobby--always doing things a little differently. He'd even killed his dad in a strange fashion, by force feeding him a universe. How silly was that? No one killed their dad by shoving a universe down his throat--a galaxy, star, or planet, maybe. But an entire universe? _Here, dad, choke on this!_ Yeah, Bobby was so crazy.

I'd stopped by to check on his latest crop of universes, but had been unlucky enough to find Bobby still eating lunch. I stood across the room, trying to breathe shallowly lest I catch a whiff of mashed tomatoes and garlic.

"You almost done yet, buddy?" I asked.

He shrugged and took a sip of orange-milk. "I'm not in any hurry. And you shouldn't be either. My latest crop sucks. Three rotten universes, including one that gave birth to a galaxy outside the bubble. Sucker burned my hand."

"They get hot," I said. "Especially just after they're born."

He finished his lunch and we went into his lab.

Bobby's dad lay in the corner, a yawning black hole with a half-digested universe lodged in his maw.

"Dad was quite a creator, wasn't he?" said Bobby. "He grew more quality universes than anyone I know. Too bad he had to eat them all. What a glutton!"

"I need to tend to my crops more often," I said guiltily. "I've got three crates of rotten rejects stinking up my cellar. How lame is that?"

"You always were lazy," Bobby said. "It's in your blood, and I'm surprised you even bother to hang out with me. But that's no excuse to neglect your crops."

"I've got better things to do," I said. "I'm trying to mold a new all-knowing mind. The last one withered on me."

"You must have starved it," said Bobby, shaking his head. "You've got to keep feeding them knowledge or they shrivel up." He sniffed at a tiny, rotten universe and then bit into it. He brushed crumbs off his shirt. "Tastes pretty sweet." His eyes bugged out.

"Let me try one," I said. He handed me one, and it _was_ sweet. I could taste a little of everything--sprinkles of hot stars, crunchy planets, and black holes that made my tongue go numb, all bound in the molasses of spacetime. Gave me a head rush.

"You know," I said, "these reject universes aren't all that bad. Maybe we shouldn't throw them away. Maybe we should experiment with them. We can crunch them down so tightly that even the galaxies will be compressed. Then everything will blow outward."

Bobby shrugged, biting into another.

We thought it over for a million years or so, and then we decided to go ahead with it. Bobby got out a stew pot, and we set to work.

The explosion was catastrophic, and we patted each other on the back. Bobby poked his fingers into the stew of cooling universes and galaxies. "Worked out pretty neat," he said, licking his finger. "What should we do with it?"

"We'll eat it!" I said, smiling. "We'll each take a spoon and start at the outer edge, like one big dessert."

"Great idea," said Bobby. "But what will we wash it down with?"  
"Orange-milk," I said, "from this dipper." I moved some stars around in one of the galaxies, forming a pattern.

We shared a laugh, and then started eating.

End.

### The Disease

(Originally published in _Everyday Weirdness_.

Revised for this collection.)

I liked to go where no one could smell my stench, even though I knew it didn't matter and no one would care. I was always creeping around--behind bushes, along walls, and sometimes stooped low in the tall grass on the outskirts of the city.

Sometimes the neighborhood boys would throw rocks at me. Some would call this taunting. But the hurled objects were dangerous, and I had already suffered some bruises. They taunted me not because of my disease, but because they knew I detested them. But I couldn't help myself. Once, I had loved people and wanted only the best for them. Yet now I was filled with anger.

I paused to lean against a tree and catch my breath. My disease made me tire easily. Also, I often needed to eat or I would get dizzy. It wasn't fair. Why did I have to be stuck in a body that was feeble and dying? My stench reflected my impending death--an odor of dead skin.

I ran my fingers over my face, caressing the strange bumps, creases, and oozing glands. I was a mass of decaying tissue. I could feel my body succumbing to death by the moment. I experienced any number of pains for even the smallest misstep. I was in constant danger, my fragile self ready to fall apart in a snapping of bone.

The park was empty save for a homeless man sleeping by a trashcan. I crept off amid the oaks and waited. I knew my father would come. He liked the cool shade of the trees, and he knew how much I was suffering.

At last, he appeared in all his glory, his muscular arms folded across his chest. His robe was so white it blinded my weak eyes. His bearded face bore a frown of concern.

"Father," I said, "please cure me of this disease and take me home."

He sighed. "That time will come. But your punishment must be carried out in full. For now, you must remain a mortal man."

End.

### The Vortex

(Originally published in _Hypersonic Tales._

Revised for this collection.)

Janie gazed at the vortex, hardly daring to breathe. She was only eight years old, but she was a smart girl and could tell when someone--or something--didn't like her. She knew the vortex was a robot that was hard to understand, so she wasn't sure whether it actually hated her or just wanted to eat her simply because it liked to eat things.

Janie stood in the kitchen watching it, wishing she could ask it why it wanted to do mean things to her. The vortex stood by the dish washer. It was a shiny metal device shaped like a bent stovepipe, with a pair of boots like those that astronauts wore on TV sticking out from beneath it. It had no eyes or nose, but she thought its head was the bent part at the top of the pipe and the pipe-hole was its mouth.

She shivered. The pipe was pointed right at Janie again, and the vortex was edging toward her. "Mommy!" she cried. "It's coming after me again."

But her mother wasn't listening. She was yelling at some man in the bedroom, and he was yelling back. They were fighting about money she thought he owed her in exchange for something bad she'd done for him.

Janie was about to run away when the vortex stopped moving. But its pipe hole was still pointed at her.

"You stay away," Janie yelled. "I don't like you. You're ugly and weird. I wish you weren't even in my house, and I hope a scrap-angel comes and takes you away."

The vortex stayed still.

The bedroom door slammed open and the strange man walked out, buttoning his shirt. He yelled something bad at Janie's mother and left. She came out in her bathrobe. She had a bruise on her cheek and her hair was a mess.

Janie's mother had a handful of needles, and she tossed them into the vortex. A sucking, grinding noise came from the ugly robot for a moment.

Janie's mother ran her fingers through her hair. "I've got to go out and do some work. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Don't leave me," Janie said. She pointed at the vortex. "I'm scared of it."

Her mother sighed. "It's just a trash remover, honey. Like I've told you many times, the government says every house has to have one to protect the environment. Even if I got rid of this one, they'd just bring a replacement. And they might find traces of bad things that I threw in there."

"I don't care. I want a new one. A scrap-angel could take it away."

"That's true. But then I'd get nailed with a hefty bill I can't afford. I'm sorry, Janie."

Janie started crying. "Why do you always leave me alone at night?"

Her mother looked away. "Those are my work hours. But I'll be home as soon as I can."

"With another man?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Her mother glared at her. "None of your business. Another word about that, and I'll slap your face. God, I need some meth."

Janie knew what meth was. It was that stuff in the needles her mother put in her arm that got her high. She never let Janie try it, even though she always said how good it made her feel.

"I'll call a scrap-angel," Janie said, stomping her foot.

She slapped Janie's cheek and it stung. "Better not! I'll take a belt to you. Besides, they don't listen to little kids. In fact, kids who call them get in big trouble and end up getting taken away by social workers. Then they end up living with weirdos like my old boyfriend Ron. Remember Ron?"

Janie cringed, but she wouldn't let herself remember.

"That's the type of person you'd end up living with. Still want to make that call?"

Janie shook her head.

"Get some sleep, Janie." Her mother put on that nasty perfume she always wore when she went out to find men, and she left the house.

Janie was alone--except for the vortex, which was still watching her. Now that her mother had left, she was sure it was going to try to suck her in and eat her. She wanted to hide, but she felt she would be too scared not knowing what it was doing. Janie had to stand there and watch it until her mother returned.

Just as she thought, the vortex stepped toward her. She looked into its pipe-hole, and saw rubbery, bumping things writhing around. Were those its teeth?

"Stay back!" Janie yelled.

But she knew it wasn't going to listen. It had been chasing her more and more when her mother was gone--like it was getting bolder.

It lowered its head, then raised it slowly, as if looking Janie up and down. Then it lumbered after her. She ran to the living room and tripped over a shoe.

This time it caught Janie and sucked her in. She screamed with all her might as she was pulled inside. But then Janie realized it wasn't hurting her. She could see out of the pipe hole. The vortex was taking her from the house. But to where?

All the vortex could do was waddle along slowly, determined to take Janie somewhere. Finally it carried her into a building full of frowning, concerned adults and spit her out. She was okay, but they called a repairman who came to take it away.

Janie cried and hugged it--realizing it had only wanted to take her someplace safe. It just stood there quietly gazing at her while the repairman shut it down. He said it must have gone crazy and would need its brain replaced. But Janie would never forget.

End.

### The Searchlights at the Edge of Reason

(Originally published in _Alien Skin_ magazine.

Revised for this collection.)

Mort's daddy used to say reason had an edge, and once you went over it, there was no way back. Of course, Mort's daddy was usually drunk on moonshine when he said that, so Mort never believed him until he saw the searchlights.

The first night Mort spotted them, he was out in the wheat field looking for a runaway pig. He'd found his pig just after sundown--tangled up in some barbed wire and bleeding for his troubles. Mort had just gotten him free when he saw the searchlights above the woods--pale and bright, like lights in a doctor's operating room. There were two of them, and they made a cold glow like you might see outside a closed shop at night, a reminder that the world could be a lonely place.

Mort stood watching for a while, unaware of time's passage. He could make out a dark bulk behind the lights, a cylinder-shaped thing, and hoses (or something) that ran down from that to disappear into the trees. Then another light popped up, and another.

Mort's pig squealed and ran off. Mort ignored him and kept his gaze on the searchlights. Was he seeing helicopters? Alien spaceships?

The searchlights floated out over the wheat--a quiet, slowly turning wheel. Eight of them hovered above Mort, with the dark bulk at the center outlined against the stars--looking like some sort of spider or octopus. One of the searchlights dropped down toward him on its long hose, and he was frozen in its beam.

The light moved over Mort slowly, and then the hose pulled back into the sky. The thing floated away over the woods and vanished from sight.

Mort stumbled over to a rusty farm truck and crawled inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The smell of old sunbaked leather was strong in his nostrils. He lay there for a long time, trembling with fear.

On another night a few days later, Mort spotted the searchlights over his crops, and some long-buried memory awoke in his mind--of lights in the sky when he was a young boy. He recalled a strange presence and his father being scared stiff. Mort remembered his father later telling him everything was going to be okay, that the presence had left and Mort would never see it again. Mort had believed him and had shut those memories away forever.

But the presence had returned to terrorize Mort, and he felt like a scared little boy again as he crouched behind a woodpile. At last, the lights floated away.

A week went by and Mort didn't see them. His appetite shrank to almost nothing, and he slept poorly. Finally Mort decided to go and confront the thing in the woods for better or worse. He had to know the truth or he'd get no peace.

It was a warm evening, the stars blazing in the summer sky. Mort loaded his shotgun and headed into the forest--in the direction the lights usually came from. He wandered around for a few hours and saw nothing. Then he spotted a glow through the trees.

Two lights popped up, and then the remaining six appeared--all pointed toward the forest floor. They had a cold trace of blue in them. Mort shivered, and bizarre thoughts popped into his mind--of how lonely he was and how the universe didn't care about him way out here on this little planet.

Mort started thinking there was no good in the world, and that's why this ugly thing was allowed to exist. He was sure it wanted to kill him or take him away, or do something else just as evil. He found himself hating it more and more as he got closer. But he was fed up and he wouldn't back down.

The lights were hovering over a little clearing, where nasty mushrooms grew in the grass. They were big and twisted, dripping slime. Mort was now certain this was an alien invasion, that these mushrooms would spread all over the world and everyone would end up dead or turned into slaves.

A figure stood in the clearing--a being so ugly Mort wanted to kill it on sight. He was a short, man-shaped alien wearing a silver suit, and in one hand he held a sack that looked to be made of the same material as his suit. In the other hand he held a long, thin blade. His eyes were bulbous and golden, like a bug's, and they gleamed with pure meanness--as if he wanted to cut Mort up and stuff him in the sack.

Mort aimed his shotgun at the alien's chest. "You won't take over my world!" he cried. "I'll put a stop to it right here and now." His finger tightened on the trigger. Then another memory woke up in Mort's mind--something about his father bringing home strange mushrooms to cook. It was just a trace of a memory, but enough to make him lower the gun.

Suddenly, Mort saw everything differently, as if a fog had been lifted from his mind. The lights weren't cold and evil--they were warm and nourishing. The mushrooms were big and juicy--a healthy crop. And the alien was a friendly little fellow, and the only glint in his eyes was one of joy that Mort had come to his garden.

Mort's face burned with shame. The alien knelt and used the blade to cut some mushrooms from their stems, and he put them in the sack. He was here to make a trade--some of his crops for some of Mort's.

"I'll go and get you some vegetables," Mort said. "I've got a good crop going, and you should like them."

They shook hands--two lonely farmers doing business.

Mort's daddy had been right. Reason did have an edge, and Mort was happy to have gone right over it.

End.

