Door

by Fred Warren -  

“Let me in!”

“No.”

“I need your help! Open up! Now!”

The narrow corridor that dead-ended at Carson’s room was deserted, a welcome relief after Melanie’s flight through the smoke and chaos of the ring sector beyond, choked with fleeing colonists and swarming spiders. She figured she had only a few minutes, at best, before the spiders decided to investigate this passage. Her palms were already fiery red from banging on the door. Why was he being so stubborn?

Her brother’s voice was maddeningly calm, a bored drone of indifference magnified by the commbox’s tinny vibration. “You know the rules, Sis. That door opens for nothing and no one. If you want to talk, log yourself into the game net or message me.”

There was a rumbling sound in the distance, followed by a long, warbling shriek that climbed slowly in both pitch and volume, then stopped, as if it had been cut off with a knife.

Melanie swallowed hard and fought to keep her voice steady. “Do you have any idea what’s happening out here?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. This is a really inconvenient time to pester me. My guild’s getting ready to run the Fathomless Catacombs in Wizard’s Realm, and I still have to equip.”

“Carson…I…am…in…trouble! The whole station’s gone haywire. Things are exploding, and there are spiders everywhere!”

“How do you expect me to help? Go back to your apartment, or call an Enforcer.”

“The corridors to my apartment are sealed off, and the only Enforcers I’ve seen are running as fast as they can in the opposite direction. These spiders are aggressive…the brown ones are attracted to motion, the gray ones move in packs, and the red ones go straight for the throat. I need a safe place to hide. You’re all I’ve got.”

“Don’t be such a baby. They’re bugs. One-shot kills.”

“This isn’t a game, idiot. I don’t have a gun.”

“Fine. Step on them. Hit ’em with…with a book or something.”

“Aaggh! Would you please link into the public cam server and actually look at what I’m dealing with here?”

“Will it shut you up?”

“No.”

“Oh, all right. Hold your water.”

The corridor was still empty. Melanie stared at the commbox, wishing she could pull words from it by sheer force of will. “Carson? Are you there? Do you see it?”

Silence, then a metallic hiss. “Yeah, yeah, I see it. What a mess. This is the sort of thing that started me gaming in the first place. I still don’t understand how you can bear living outside.”

Something tugged at the edge of her awareness, a faint crackling—or scratching. She checked the corridor again. It was clear, but a whiff of acrid smoke tickled her nostrils. “Understand it later. For now, just open the door and let me in.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t believe this. You’re going to leave me out here to be eaten by…by who-knows-what, while you go scamper through some infantile fairyland with your pathetic friends?”

“Is that what you think of me?” The boredom was gone. Even through the commbox, his voice was soft, almost plaintive.

She stiffened. “No…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean…” The scratching sound was louder now, and her hands pounded a staccato drumbeat on the door. “Carson, this is not the moment for this particular argument! Let me in, and we can spend all the time you want debating the pros and cons of your lifestyle choices!”

“Stay where you are. You’ll be fine. I’ll watch you on the door camera. There’s nothing in this corridor that would interest a spider. Once the Enforcers get a handle on the situation, you can go home.”

The skittering of a million fingernails across aluminum plate preceded a fuzzy river of tiny grey spiders that surged into the corridor and flowed toward Melanie.

She flattened herself against the door’s cold, unyielding metal. “Carson!”

No answer.

Then something gave, and she tumbled backward into darkness. Her right foot barely cleared the threshold as the door cycled shut again, and myriad tiny nails clicked and scraped outside.

It took a few moments to figure out which way was up.  There was light—dim, but sufficient to begin making sense of her surroundings. She groaned and rubbed her shoulder, stifling a yelp as she found herself flanked by two tall, black-clad cyborgs, faces blank, eyes empty. They made no motion to assist her.

Carson’s voice whispered behind her, thin and reedy. “Stay there. Don’t look at me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I visit Hamsa all the time. I know what the nutrient feeds do to you guys. It’s no big deal. I understand.”

Melanie turned, and her brother was there. Her hands flew of their own accord to cover her mouth, to stop the sharp intake of breath and the pungent, antiseptic tang that knifed into her lungs.

Carson.

Oh, Carson.

No.

The Rahab Conspiracy #24 - Tangled

by Jeff C. Carter

Dros slouched behind his menu and scratched the yellow fuzz sprouting from his scalp.  A perky waitress skipped over and he shooed her away.  The bright, airy food court on the lower cordeck was a great place to hide in plain sight, but he’d take a dark smuggler's cove and an air gun at his side any day.  He pulled a hat back onto his prickling head.  Constant scratching was the only giveaway of a good bio-disguise, and Dros knew that he was being watched.  He could feel eyes upon him from some unseen corner.  The walls were closing in.

Smuggling contraband spider eggs onto Avenir had been risky, but the offer had made it worth any risk.  Or so he thought.  The first time he tried to return to Port X his travel credentials were denied without explanation.  When he saw the alert out for his backup identity, he knew he was in serious trouble.  Then his contact at Customs turned up dead.

Someone was trying to keep Dros from getting off this station.  He didn't know who.  He didn’t want to find out.  He just needed to lay low for one more hour.  There was a shuttle leaving with a reservation for his name to match his new biometrics.

A fresh-faced enforcer in a crisp uniform strolled past the mammoth viewport window that lined one side of the dining area.  Dros clenched his teeth as a burning itch crawled across his scalp.  The waitress waved at the rookie officer and he sauntered over.  Dros buried his face in the menu. 

The sudden clatter of plates made him jump.  Someone on the far side of the dining area was shouting.  Dros tried to see who it was, but the enforcer was blocking his line of sight.

"The end is coming!  Ragnorok!  They're heeeere!"

A sweaty dark skinned man loped off down a hallway, flailing his arms.  The enforcer turned to follow him and froze.  His head slowly turned back to the entrance where the maniac had appeared.
Dros looked over the enforcer's shoulder and saw it too.  

A monstrous black spider blocked the entire arched entry space.  Dros' heart sank.  The young enforcer grasped for the air gun in his holster but it was gone.  Dros had slipped it free and started running.  

Dros looked back and saw the rookie slammed beneath a pouncing spider.  Dros’ finger twitched towards the trigger for an instant before he resumed his flight towards the exit.  As he reached the exit tunnel another spider appeared, forelegs thrusting out in a threatening display.  Dros skidded to a halt and frantically back-pedaled.  He raised the stolen air gun and took aim.

Dros’ foot rolled off something and he went down hard.  He caught a glimpse of the blinking metal canister as it spun away.  He knew an enforcer stunfoam grenade when he saw it, so he pulled himself into a tight fetal position.

The grenade detonated with a crackling thump, spraying high voltage foam in all directions.  Dros crawled beneath scattered tables, careful to avoid the sparking globs of quivering black foam.  He snatched up the air gun and scanned the courtyard.  A terrified mob of people collided into each other as they scrambled away from clouds of stunfoam and the spiders lurking in every tunnel. 

Dros slid along the wall with the air gun extended in front of him.  He reached an exit and saw thick hairy legs slashing the air.  He silently closed the last few inches.  His stomach fluttered and his body felt weightless.  His finger closed around the trigger as a piece of glass floated past his nose.

By the time his mind registered the loss of artificial gravity he had clenched the trigger.  The air gun drilled back into his chest and sent him tumbling.  Storm clouds of floating stunfoam silenced the shrieks of people as they flailed helplessly through the air.

The lights of the food court flickered and died.  The only light was the hellish glow of Sheba’s volcanic sea cast through the viewport window.  Dros bounced off a table and twisted to get his bearings.  Flashing wisps of stunfoam illuminated the spiders.  They had left their posts and were crawling effortlessly along the walls.

Dros waited to hit the ceiling and then shoved off towards an open exit.  His body snapped back, trapped in something viscous.  He realized in a flash of hysteria that he was caught in a spider web that covered the vaulted ceiling.  He squirmed out of his sweaty clothing and began to shimmy free.  His bare skin snagged on the sticky cables and ripped away in sheets.  He whimpered and thrashed, sending tremors through the giant web. 

Dros felt eyes upon him.  He craned his head and saw the spiders slinking onto the web.  He writhed and fought, but his bonds only became tighter.  The spiders began closing in.

Where Angels Sing 1: Wizard's Recruit

by Peter H. Solomon - 

"So what's the job?" Tayla asked. She sipped her drink and gazed casually about before moving to leave when the thin wizard hesitated at her question.

His slender hand covered Tayla's and she paused. The sounds of the pub pulsed around them. Songs rang in her ears. She relaxed in her seat.

"Time is money for someone in my line of work," said Tayla. "So let's get to the point, shall we, wizard?"

"I’m Creston," he murmured.

"Creston it is," Tayla answered, though she doubted this was his real name. She drummed her fingers and looked at her glass, catching a warped reflection of her dark eyes; she sought sign of anyone spying in other images captured there. Tayla raised her gaze to the wizard, but neither asked for his full name nor gave her own, just in case questions were ever asked.

The wizard sighed, glanced sidelong at the nearest patrons and said, "I have – sponsors – who want something done. They have provided a ship…"

As a smuggler, Tayla understood the hesitance but her body tensed for action anyway. "I don't need to know what it is…just how much, how dangerous and where to get it. I have my own ship, and I like to use it."

Creston shook his head and waved his long hand, saying, "There are no goods. But you must use our ship. It's for scanning, special scanning."

Tayla's eyes narrowed. There had to be more. "I have sensors. What are you studying?"

The clatter of cups and murmur of voices melded with the song, a strangely eerie melody Tayla found it impossible to ignore. The wizard licked his thin lips and leaned closer to speak, "There are rumors my clients want confirmed. Rumors about angels." His sunken cheeks flushed, contrasting with pale hair.

Tayla eased her right hand to a hidden weapon and leaned closer to Creston. Her voice rang with challenge. "What rumors? You want to scan for angels from a ship?"

Creston motioned for quiet and whispered harshly, "Shh, shh. Not so loud. I need to know something first." He paused again to check whether anyone was watching, although Tayla supposed anyone could use a listening device. He continued, "Do you hear them? Angels – do you hear their song from here? There are rumors some people can…"

Tayla shrank back, heart thumping. Surely he couldn’t… She took a sip of her golden drink that turned into several long gulps. Then she slammed the cup down, blinked at the wizard as she wiped foam from her mouth and then said, "This will cost you big time, wizard."

It took a few moments for her meaning to register on the wizard's face, but when it did, a smile spread wide. "We expected as much." He slid a small note to Tayla.

The smuggler peeked under the note. She held onto her poker-face – they really wanted to know something. Tayla grinned sly agreement.

Creston downed the shot of sweaty, purple alcohol and stuck out his hand.

Tayla spit in her palm and smacked Creston's with a firm grip of her own. The wizard winced. Shutting her eyes, Tayla let the sweet whispering of angel song sweep over her through the babble of the pub.

The Direct Route

Six Fathoms Down, Part 14, by Edward M. Erdelac - 

It seemed to take forever for Gorsh to finish laying out his plans for Considine’s investigation.

It took only a few moments to give the two Avenir Enforcers he was assigned as assistance the slip.

He left them scratching their heads and peering up and down a crowded passageway while he slipped into a gyrovater and instructed it to take him straightaway to Morgenstar Munitions.

“Access to Morgenstar Munitions is granted by appointment only,” the cultured voice of the gyrovater informed him gravely.

He did not slip his ID badge into the access port. Instead he used the one he’d taken off one of Gorsh’s Enforcers.

“Investigative priority,” he told the computer.

“Complying,” the computer responded as the gyrovater thrummed to life beneath his feet and began to whisk him through the various levels of Avenir.

No need for him to leave a digital trail or announce his intentions. Besides, there was probably a lock on his own credentials.

It was only a matter of time before the Avenir Enforcer’s loss of badge would be detected. He left it sitting in the slot, knowing he probably couldn’t use it on the way back anyway.

He exited the gyrovater when the doors spiraled open and found himself in a high-ceilinged, pristine white lobby with smooth silver lines and a plush blue carpet.

He approached the multi-armed service machine at the front desk.

Before the robot had done more than glance up, he had pulled his Enforcer-issue handheld directional EMP flasher. It was intended for deactivating runaway vehicles or circumventing pesky electronic locks, but it knocked out the bot’s central processor with a flick.

“No thanks, I’ll help myself,” he muttered, sliding around the console past the inert robot and calling up the company directory.

Orin Bantry’s name was listed, and if he was wearing his ID badge, he was currently in the southwest cafeteria. A swift glance at the schematics and he had the route memorized.

He’d always been good with maps.

Inquiry

Inquiry

By Travis Perry

“You seen this man?” The woman asking had a definite no-nonsense presence—titanium patching on her face, a robotic left arm and left leg. The glossy she held in Jax’s face looked familiar.

“Uh, maybe. I see lots of people.”

“There’s a substantial bounty on this one—the biggest I’ve ever seen. If you know something leading to the arrest of Ernsto Mons, that would be worth five thousand credits to you.”

“Ernsto Mons—that’s the guy in the picture?” Jax looked up at the woman’s face. Her non-robotic parts were actually quite attractive. He felt embarrassed to notice, and it formed a painful reminder of his wife separated from him on Avenir, but in fact he hadn’t seen a lot of women of late—other than Maddie, of course, and some old hag who did cleaning. But the blaze in her eye told him she was even more no-nonsense than his first impression would indicate. Her dog eyed him with a tilted head, as if suspicious.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“What’s he wanted for?”

“About everything—theft, smuggling, murder, human trafficking, insurrection, plotting to assassinate an Avenir government official, plotting to overthrow the Avenir government.”

Jax let out a low whistle. “Whoa. So what’s five thousand credits? Like ten percent?”

The woman nearly smiled at him. The expression sent a chill down his spine. “Why? Are you going to try to haggle for a bigger cut?”

“No—I mean, no, ma’am. Just, er, wondering…” his voice trailed off.

“Look, do you know something or not?”

Jax had already decided what to do. Whatever else he had done, Ernsto had kept a coriander beetle from attacking him from behind while another attacked from the front. Ernsto had also helped move the beetles into the trading camp, yielding a good haul, though he had insisted on staying outside himself. Jax owed him. “Er, sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Hmmm,” she replied, studying him. “Well, if you change your mind, ask for me at the trading post. Everyone knows my name there.”

“Which is?” When her fierce eyes met his own, Jax added, “…er, ma’am…”

“Zana. That’s all you need to know.” And then she turned away.

Game Changer Part 1

by Mary Ruth Pursselley -

Robin Corpsman kept clean living quarters. For all the faults he willingly owned up to, he at least had that to his credit. Weekly room checks during his years at boarding school and the university had trained him well.

There were times when clutter was a necessary evil, though, and this was one of them. The table in his hotel room was a wreck of books and diagrams surrounding the disk Robin had bought from the fisherman, Burt.

He had transcribed the symbols from the disk onto paper—reading them line by line was easier than following their spiral—and was now beginning the process of comparing them with the symbols in Hanks’ book.

He’d been surprised at how quickly Trinity had responded to his request for informational resources. Ernesto Hanks and his work weren’t exactly lauded in the academic community, and yet the archaeology department had gotten a copy to Robin in just a couple of days. They must be getting antsy for a big find—it had been a while since their last one—and Robin’s descriptions of the disk must have seemed irresistible.

They wouldn’t be disappointed. Robin was only a few lines in, and already his heart was pounding, his hands shaking. His excitement grew with every symbol he translated and transcribed into his notebook. This was incredible: the artifact was angel-made.

Hanks was right about everything—angel writing, angel intelligence and civilization, all of it. If he was right about that, Robin could see no reason Hanks couldn’t have been right in his theories of angel-human interaction, too.

It was amazing. The very beginning of the inscription was a short list of meaningless words that Robin guessed were names, followed by an account of the angels’ decision to colonize some kind of headland somewhere, above water. Incredible! There were legends about this, theories thrown around by the most radical dreamers and speculators, but who would have guessed those dreamers were right all along?

This very premise of this find went against everything Robin had learned about angels. It was almost more than he could process and accept at one time.

It would take time to translate the disk, at least another day, but God only knew what he could have learned by then. This was going to revolutionize the academic world—maybe the world in general. Whether he ever succeeded in finding Empathia or not, the find in front of him not only had the potential to secure his future, but to open the door to a whole new world of knowledge.

Bounty

by Travis Perry -

Jax ran after the headless coriander beetle that dragged Ernsto under its body. The spear would not be effective against the thick shell at the rear of the creature, but he thrust it anyway. Perhaps some sort of pain reflex would slow it down…

The beetle’s hindquarters twitched when Jax jabbed, but otherwise the spear point had no effect. A streak of dark human blood flowed behind the dragged human, from Ernsto’s back.

“Help! Help!” Ernsto barked as he helplessly kicked and punched upward. Jax briefly considered pulling his scythegun. It would ruin the value of the kill, but it certainly would stop the beetle’s forward motion. He hesitated, concerned the blast might also injure or kill the human underneath the beetle…

Before he could decide, the beetle’s headless—but still running full speed—thorax pushed into the sandy patch where Ernsto had hidden. In the sand, Jax saw him push hard with arms and legs and disengage himself from the bug’s undercarriage, the softer ground allowing him to succeed in pushing himself down and away. The decapitated beetle kept moving forward until it impacted a boulder on the other side of the sandy patch. Its way blocked, it still tried to move ahead, its legs vainly scratching the rocky ground, the headless torso pressed into the boulder too big for it to budge…

“You all right, pal?” asked Jax, standing over the motionless Ernsto, who had rolled over to his stomach on the sandy ground. Quite a lot of dark venous blood oozed from his back, all over the back—the wounds in fact seemed deeper and more extensive than what he could account for based on the recent scrape along the ground.

“Just give me a minute,” said Ernsto. “I’ll be fine.”

 “We need to get you to a doctor,” Jax replied. “With this bounty of a harvest—three corianders in good condition—we should be able to pay the medics for some treatment.”

“Bounty,” muttered the voice below him, “That’s an interestin’ choice of words…there’s a bounty on my head that’ll make your notion difficult to carry out…”

“Don’t worry. Nobody checks that sort of thing at the Palmer trading camp.”

The man chuckled bitterly. “If only you knew.”