In Custody

by Edward M. Erdelac

Considine sat wedged on the damp bench, head bowed beneath the leaky bulkhead of the sub-ferry between Jelly and Haj, their body armor jabbing his sore joints and leg painfully.

“You look like you’ve been shook in a box of nails, Inspector,” Jelly observed.

“I don’t feel much better than that, Jelly.”

“Don’t talk to the prisoner, Jelly,” Haj said.

“Come on, Haj,” Jelly whined. “A couple days ago we were working for him. The Inspector’s no crook.”

“What exactly did they tell you, Haj?”

“You killed a guy up on Avenir. Some guy at Morgenstar Munitions. Fed him to an autochef, then stole a company fighter and crashed it out in the desert.”

“That guy fell in the autochef himself, the clumsy sod,” said Considine. “And he killed Brendermeyer.”

Haj and Jelly both looked at him at that.

“Brendermeyer’s dead?” Haj repeated.

“Blown up, with the same Morgenstar Munitions detonite we confiscated from Croix. Croix got it from Orin Bantry, the fellow who got turned into meat paste. He was supposed to blow up the angels.”

“Blow up the angels?” Jelly perked up.

“The ones on the edge of the Boatic Trench. They’re keeping something at bay. Something big and mean down there. This creature, it thinks the world is going to end, or at least it’s telling people it is, mentally or somesuch. It wants to get on the Avenir and high tail it.”

“Go on,” said Haj shaking his head. “So this Bantry fella was what? Mind controlled?”

“No, he was a fanatic. Like his boss. Morgenstar.”

“Aloysius Morgenstar?” Haj said, and now he laughed. “That’s a big one, Inspector.”

“Morgenstar serves Rahab?” Jelly ventured.

Considine looked sharply at Jelly and narrowed his eyes. He nodded once.

Jelly drew his pneumatic pistol and pointed it at Haj.

“What’re you on, Galveston?” Haj exclaimed, flinching back. “Put that thing away!”

“Take yours out and give it to the Inspector,” Jelly ordered.

“You scrambled?” Haj chuckled nervously.

“I mean it, Haj. Two fingers.”

Haj grimaced and pinched the end of his pistol, slid it from its holster and dangled it before Considine, who took it and primed it.

“Thanks, Haj.”

“Don’t mention it,” Haj murmured.

“When we dock, you stay on board, ride the ferry back,” Jelly told Haj, reaching forward and plucking his communicator off his vest.

“Your stupid beliefs are gonna get you thrown in the brig with him, Jelly,” Haj warned.

“Better company than you at least,” Considine quipped. “Jelly, what do you know about this Rahab thing?”

“The angels tell us it’s evil, and it trades powerful visions for a man’s life force. They’ve watched over it for a long time. It takes all of them to keep it down there. And it’s not alone. There are others like it. Demons.”

“This is such detritus,” Haj whispered.

“Then don’t listen!” Considine snapped. “But shut up.”

“So yeah,” Jelly said, “the angels guard Rahab and the demons.”

“What about the cataclysm? Is it real?”

“The priests tell us nothing lasts forever, but that if it does come, Rahab has to be at the center of it, or his evil will spread to other worlds, and follow mankind wherever he goes.”

“They were going to make me do it,” Considine said. “They use these organisms, implant them in your bodies, they did it to Croix. They’ve got another sub, all wired to blow and waiting in Zirconia. I’ve seen it,” he said, tapping his own temple and recalling the image the pilot organism had placed in his mind. “I remember…it’s in the southwest dock. A one man affair. Blue, with a red stripe. The number….the number AA-32. Call ahead and have it impounded.”

Jelly nodded and flipped open his communicator.

“You’re as crazy as Croix was,” said Haj, shaking his head. “What the hell happened to you up there, Inspector?”

“I guess I was illuminated, Haj.”

Jelly had been talking the whole time. Now he closed his channel and looked over at Considine.

“I called the southwest dock controller. He said that sub left Zirconia ten minutes ago.”

“Damn it! Did he get a look at the pilot?”

“He said it was Aloysius Morgenstar.”

Game Changer, Part 3

by Mary Ruth Pursselley

Robin dropped his pencil into the pile of paper on the table and sat back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes and stubbled face. He’d taken the disk translation as far as he could. He was no linguist or angel expert, so most of the finer nuances and references in the inscription would have to be figured out by someone else, but he had understood enough.

Enough to make him laugh as he sat, face in his hands, exhausted and ecstatic. Enough to assure him that this was the find of a lifetime—maybe several lifetimes.

“Unbelievable,” he said aloud, referring not just to the disk and its writings, but to his own fortune in being the one to decode it. God was, as always, watching out for him… though His watchfulness and favor were surpassing even Robin’s wildest imaginings. He couldn’t possibly have deserved this.

He said a brief prayer of thanks, then looked at his watch. Doing so made him laugh again—he’d been sitting here for almost twenty-four hours. No wonder he was starving. He stood up and stretched, already working on a mental to-do list:  Arrange for the disk to be taken to Trinity University. Get a crew of interns assigned to Adagio to help him. Look into renting boats and diving equipment for an expedition to Funder’s Cove, where the fisherman had found the disk.

Oh—the fisherman. Robin remembered his promise to tell the man what the disk said. He rifled through the blizzard of papers on the desk until he found a blank sheet, grabbed his pencil again, and jotted down a basic outline of the translation.

As he wrote, he considered a few of the stranger points in the account. Strangest of all was the reasoning given for the angels’ decision to abandon their city, Light: an invasion that caused the loss of several lives, as well as considerable damage to the city itself. It wasn’t an invasion of humans—references to the Founders were very distinctly worded—but Robin was sure either he or Hanks must have mistranslated the symbol describing what the invaders were. It was too random, too bizarre. An invasion of crazy bugs, so crazy they nearly destroyed the city? Robin had no doubt that the linguist assigned to the disk would get a good laugh at his expense over that one. Oh well. He’d never claimed to be a linguist.

He was curious to find out what or who the invaders really were, though. Especially since the disk explained the angels’ realization that the event would take place again, because “such is their nature”. Whatever that meant.

As he headed for the bathroom to get a much-needed shave and shower—the last one he was likely to get for a while, if he set out on the expedition to Funder’s Cove as soon as he hoped—he suddenly stopped and grimaced. He’d promised that girl from the school in Zirconia that he’d contact her sister, the archaeologist, while he was in Adagio.

Well, he decided with a sigh, that shouldn’t take too awfully long—a day, at most. He’d get that out of the way, give the fisherman his rough translation of the disk, and then he’d be free to get to work.

Game Changer, Part 2

by Mary Ruth Pursselley -

Ash storms blasted Adagio all through the night, hissing and scratching against the window of Robin’s room, but he barely noticed. Morning came and went in similar fashion. He hadn’t slept or eaten since starting work on the angel disk the previous afternoon.

“Incredible,” he said aloud for what must have been the three-hundredth time—not that he was keeping track of that, either. He’d completely forgotten everything but the disk. He had a stack of paper covered with translations, notes, and corrections, most of which were scrawled so haphazardly that even he would have trouble reading it later. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the revolutionary information flowing from the disk’s inscription.

It was a Founding-by-Founding record of an angel civilization’s attempt to colonize land. If it was to be believed—and at this point Robin had no reason not to believe it—the angels had actually built a water-filled city, like a giant aquarium, on a peninsula that, according to the descriptions, wasn’t far from where the fishermen had found the disk.

A good portion of the inscription was taken up with growth records of the city’s population, descriptions of the algae and fish they raised for food, and a few incredible passages describing technological developments or cultural practices. There was scarcely a sentence in the entire thing that wouldn’t rock the academic world all by itself.

There were also several passages alluding to light and dark, and Robin had been at a loss for hours trying to decipher them. Finally, he had realized that the references to light and dark weren’t literal: the angels had named their city “Light”.

The name carried some literal connotation in that there was more light from the Whale on the surface than undersea, but most of it seemed to stem from the angels’ relief at having escaped the “dark ones” and what Robin took to be some kind of undersea war.

If he was interpreting the information correctly, Robin realized that this disk proved more than the fact that angels were sentient and intelligent. It proved that they were moral—creatures with understanding of right and wrong, and the means and will to fight about it.

The implications of that were staggering. Even Robin, whose love of revolutionary discoveries was unrivaled, had to wonder if Eclectia was ready to face this.

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.

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.

Caught

by Deborah Cullins Smith -

“Is something wrong, Cassie?”

The gentle voice spun the girl from the observation window.

“Oh, Master Ambrose! I’m so sorry! I’ve done something terrible and now he’s going to murder one of the angels.”

The thin, stooped wizard raised both eyebrows as the torrent of words poured from his young assistant. A trainable and obedient girl, but far too easy to rattle, he’d noted in his journals.

“Now really, my dear. What could you possibly have done that’s so terri…” his voice trailed off and shock washed over his ashen face. His eyes widened in horror at the window just beyond Cassie’s stricken face.

Cassie turned and her scream ripped the air just before she slid to the floor, unconscious and finally silent.

The sea monster was unlike anything ever observed before. Water pumped through its mouth and over its gills as the mottled black and brown body charged toward the human figure in diving gear. A wide, flat snout opened and caught the man in its jaws, thrashing it back and forth like a rag doll. A flash of steel slashed at the snout, but broke against the tough hide like a toothpick against steel.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the attack stopped. The monster released its prey and retreated, paddling swiftly through the murky silt. The human slowly sank to the ocean floor; bubbles still rippling from the air hose told Ambrose that he lived. However that could change any minute if they couldn’t get him inside. But how? To scramble divers would take time—time that the unknown person outside did not have.

Then Ambrose saw the angel. He’d seen this one before, always watching from a distance, curiosity etched in those shiny black eyes. It focused thoughts toward the figure on the ground, but the aged master, an adept empath, heard the projections clearly.

Though you sought to kill us, I will not harm you.

Kill? Ambrose cast a frown at his assistant’s limp form crumpled below the window. Is that what she meant? That she had been party to an attempt on an angel’s life? No, she couldn’t have known. She’d shown curiosity—even awe—at the shimmering beings residing in the sea. He would reserve judgment until she was able to state her case. But he would almost certainly have to terminate her employment. Trust was a primary concern in these labs.

Ambrose peered back out the window and saw vague shapes in the swirl of sediment. The angel scooped the diver up, balancing the limp body on his wide tail fin, and deposited him carefully at the lab’s pressurized chamber door. Tentacles of the angel’s “hair” snaked forward to skim over the panel beside the door, as the angel cocked its head and studied the buttons. Ambrose stared, fascinated at this turn of events, then projected the numbered sequence in his mind. The angel turned to meet his eyes through the window and a tiny smile curved the lips below the mammalian muzzle. Turning back to the panel, the tentacle-like appendages skipped over the buttons. With a whoosh and a blaring alarm, the door opened. The angel shoved the limp body into the chamber with a flip of his strong tail fin, and closed the door. Ambrose knew he should move quickly to assess the damage to the person in the diving suit, but he remained riveted at the window.

The angel swam forward, closer to the glass than he had ever come before.

Why am I so sure this one is a male? We so often think of them as female...

Ambrose felt his heart thump in his chest. Contact! But the angel wasn’t looking at him. He stared through the window at the girl huddled on the floor. Then he raised soulful eyes to meet Ambrose’s.

Sorrow! The empathy was directed at Cassie!

No blame.

A glow enveloped the girl’s body, and her face no longer bore the trauma that had sent her into a dead faint. Her features relaxed into peaceful repose. Ambrose stared into those deep eyes, strangely flecked with a deep sea green around the edges of the dark iris, and felt a tremor of exhilaration. He’d never been so close to an angel before. Details flashed as his mind recorded them: the tentacles of hair that worked like fingers when necessity dictated, the blue-green tinge along the white wings that reminded him of ancient Earth’s manta rays, the lower face that resembled a feline predator but without the elongated fangs. His eyes were drawn back to those amazing orbs, mesmerizing, alien—and his amazement grew as he felt the angel’s sympathy for the child at his feet.

In a flash of shimmering light, the angel darted away from the window and disappeared into the swirling silt.

It defied all reason. It was inconceivable—in view of the diver’s actions. And Cassie had to have given him access. But in spite of these facts, Ambrose knew that the angel did not want Cassie held accountable for this incident. His mind churning over the ramifications, Ambrose took a lab coat from the back of a nearby chair, folded it in a small square, and placed it gently beneath Cassie’s head. He stared down at her for a moment, then rose to tend the person in the entry chamber.

Attack

by Deborah Cullins Smith -

Cassie’s hands clenched at the railing along the observation window.

Jacian’s up to something. The words played and replayed as she watched his progress along the ocean floor.

An angel floated toward the window –toward Jacian—its fins raised and motioning him back. The angel’s features twisted in alarm and Cassie heard the words echoing in her own mind.

“No! Go back! Danger!”

Angels had not proven to be hostile. Yet this angel projected warnings to them both, fins waving frantically as though pushing little wavelets in Jacian’s direction would prompt him to turn back.

Jacian headed in the angel’s direction, pulling something from the side of his air tank.

Images of Jacian’s face close to her own in the observation room flashed in Cassie’s mind.

'Just a quick visit,' he pleaded...

‘A stroll in the park…’

Her hands pushing against those rock hard chest muscles.

‘Holding out for an underwater lover?’

Eyes like two ice blue diamonds…

Cassie swallowed hard, a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes. She knew he was lying even as he whispered in her ear. Why had she allowed him access to her lab? Why did she allow herself to believe he might be sincere? The credits he had thrust into her pocket felt heavier in her conscience than they had been in her pocket. She brushed the tears from her eyes and locked her attention on the figure buffeted by the sea’s deep pressure. Then she saw a glint of silver through the murky water.

A knife? Cassie’s breath caught in her throat. He went out there armed? Why?

Horror dawned in her eyes.

This isn’t contact –it’s murder!

“NO!” she shrieked, banging the glass with both fists. “Jace, you can’t!”

A Beautiful Thing

by J.L. Rowan -

Elmerin stood within the shadows of an abandoned corridor and gazed down its length at the little girl cowering behind a broken table.  She squeezed shut her eyes as though her inability to see the world would protect her from its evils.

He’d been spying on her of a night, when his duties ended and he was free to take his rest.  Tegan was small, smaller than any other child on Avenir, and undernourished, a mere wisp of humanity, leaving her easy prey.  But she’d surprised him.  She knew more places to hide than the engineers who had built the ship.  He left food for her in those secret places, but it was no longer enough.

A scrape of metal and a muttered curse drew his gaze to the end of the corridor.  A trader stalked in, a strap of leather in his hand.  “Where are you, you brat?  I know you’re here!”

Elmerin clenched his fists and stepped into the light of the Whale.  “No one is here, sir.  No one but me.”

The trader started back.  “My lord wizard, I—a girl came this way—”

“No girl came here,” Elmerin said.  “Leave.  The next Approaching will soon be upon us.  I require solitude.”

A look passed over the trader’s face, a panoply of rage that stopped the breath in Elmerin’s throat.  With a snarl, he spun on his heel and disappeared.

Elmerin crossed to the table and knelt.  “He has gone, child.”

Tegan uncurled, blinking, lifting her teary gaze to his.  Her eyes widened, and she stared at him.  “She told me you would come.  She showed you to me, and told me you would come.”

A chill seized him.  “Who?  Who told you this?”

“I don’t know.  She lives in the waves, and comes when I sleep.”  She touched his face gingerly, as though he would vanish if she pressed too hard.

A sharp, bitter taste surged in the back of his throat.  “They speak to you?  A child?”  He could hardly whisper the words.

“She said you would save me.”  And she threw herself into his arms and clung to his neck.

He closed his eyes.  He couldn’t let jealousy take from her the only beautiful thing she had ever known.  He held her close.  “Of course I will save you.”  He rose, lifting her in his arms.  “No one will ever hurt you again, I promise.”

Goodbye

by Travis Perry

The shuttle trailed black smoke as it dropped toward the ocean.  Ernsto struggled with the controls to slow the landing.  Behind them, somewhere, two other vessels were hunting for them in Eclectia’s atmosphere.

He’d originally aimed for Zirconia but he realized it would be impossible to enter the city, not with enforcers chasing him.  They’d surely radio ahead.

At an unknown location on the high sea, somewhere in the Zirconia region, the shuttle hit the water hard.  It bobbed upward due to the air in the hull, but immediately afterward the fractured ship began to slowly sink.

Ernso unstrapped and seized the angel’s pressure tank and shoved it toward the airlock, which he moved to release.  Lock open, ocean water began pouring into the vehicle, hastening its doom.  Ernsto quickly released pressure, unlatched the tank, and hauled the angel out.  He shoved her into the water and plunged in after her.  Seconds later on the surface, coughing cold green water, he scrambled upward, coming to his feet on top the still-sinking shuttle.

Beneath a nearby wave he saw the angel’s glowing white light.  The low pressure at the ocean surface caused her pain, yet she looked past her own agony to project worry about what would happen to him.

“I’ll make it, get out of here!” he shouted.  There was no way for her to save him anyway—she needed to dive to the ocean depths; he could only survive on the surface.

Her mind projected understanding and regret.  She dove deeper.

At that moment it struck Ernsto that he’d never loved anyone the way he’d loved her, not even his grandmother—certainly far more than any woman who’d ever shared his bed.  Her mind had been so beautiful, so kind, so gentle and soothing.  How would he survive without her?  He fell to his knees, astonished that his heart was breaking, astonished that if he could have swum after her, he would have followed her to her underwater world and been her husband if she’d have him. 

Her mind reached out to him in pity.  He could feel her embarrassment at his gushing emotion.  It never had been like that for her.  She’d cared for him…but like a pet…

On his knees, the ocean rising, he buried his hand in his face and wept.  He’d been like a pet, like a savage dog taken in by a gentle woman who believed a little loving kindness would calm its vicious ways.  The love of his life, yet to her only a pet, an animal.  This pain—he knew he’d never overcome it.

His peripheral vision caught a vapor trail of a shuttle overhead.  It turned in a big arc across the ash-gray sky back his way, apparently having spotted him.

Ernsto Mons stood upright on the shuttle hull, water now lapping his ankles.  He pulled the plasma pistol from his belt and aimed it at the incoming shuttle, his mood hardening. 

“Come on,” he rasped.  “Come kill me.”  

More Bedtime Stories

by Greg Mitchell -

Dressler awoke on rock. Vision blurry, he heard the drip, drip, drip of water echoing in a cavern. Above, he glimpsed wet stalactite, glistening with reflected ethereal light.

Am I dead?

His head ached, but his thoughts were his own. Private once more, as they ought to be. The monster in his mind was dead—he could feel that. He’d done it. He’d killed the blasted devil.

But where am I?

Groggy, he stood, covered in cuts and bruises, sopping wet. Looking about, he saw he was in a cave, a giant lagoon at his feet. Was he still underwater? Had he floated up into some kind of air pocket after the blast? Kneeling to the edge, he peered into the water—

“Ah!”

A host of fish-like “angels” floated just below the surface, all of them staring back at him. He fell back on the seat of his pants, backing away. “No, no!”

{Wait} a soft voice implored him psychically, patient and kind.

“Where am I? What do you want?”

{You were foolish to come here}

“Yeah,” he said at length, standing again, feeling in no immediate danger. “I know. I’m…sorry.”

{We guard the Trench. There are many secrets in the depths that man should not know. We were trying to warn you, when you evaded us}

“It was a mistake…I didn’t know…”

{The dark can be deceptive and alluring. We understand how weak you can be, more than you do, it seems}

At the time Dressler was about to take offense, the angel’s soft voice soothed his heart. {But we also see how strong you can be. You have killed a terrible foe. And you did it at great personal sacrifice}

“How did you know?” he asked, then shrugged it off. “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

{You have impressed us—one most in particular} A lithe feminine hand emerged from the lit waters. In its scaly palm, a tiny mess of tentacles, dark green in color, and squirming comfortably.

“What is that?”

{He doesn’t have a name. He believes in being defined by one’s actions. By your act of bravery, he recognizes you as kin. As family}

“He…thinks we’re related?”

{Of a sort. You would sacrifice your life to save your people from a wayward of our kind. He would like to return your generosity}

“I don’t understand.”

{Take him to your child. Fix him to her breathing port—her mouth. He will breathe into her. She will be cured of her ailment. He would consider it an honor to die so that his kin might live}

Dressler stepped forward. “Wait, die?”

{This act will be his last. He can save her, but he will die in the process}

“I-I can’t,” he said, painfully.

{But you must. That is what family does and he considers you family now. Do not dishonor him}

Dressler focused on the writhing thing in the outstretched hand, gently writhing, waiting for him to accept its sacrifice.

Carefully, he extended a hand in gratitude.

#

“Daddy? Tell me about the angels. The ones who saved me. And Crazy!”

Dressler pulled the covers to Edilyn’s neck, red light from the small bunker window painting her face in soft contrast. The sound of dirt and grit brushed against the pane glass, a constant white noise that Dressler found pleasant and reassuring these days.

“Come on, Lyn.” He grinned. “How many times have I told you that story?”

“Not enough.”

There had been five Approachings since bringing back Edilyn’s cure. The little squirmy angel did it, breathing new life into his daughter, clearing her ash lung, and softly giving up his spirit in the process. Dressler didn’t know what “peaceful” looked like on an angel, but he’d liked to think he’d seen it.

Lyn was fine, running and playing again, living life. Dressler returned to hunting, even had a new partner. Yulaura was a pistol, a rough and tumble sort that kept Dressler on his toes, and so far, had shown no signs of being under some evil angel’s thrall.

He liked that best about her.

Life had returned to a modicum of normal, but Lyn still wanted to hear the stories.

“Please, Daddy,” she begged, healthy and full of life, his every prayer answered.

Maybe Trebs—as barking mad as he was—had been right: His faith had been rewarded. Dressler had never considered himself a man of faith before that day at the bottom of Eclectia’s oceans, but Life had a funny way of changing things.

“Okay,” he laughed easy, before kissing her cheek. “I tell you the story. One more time.”

Escape, Part 3

by Travis Perry

In the early morning hours, the holding cell’s lights dim, Ernsto awoke from his thinly padded steel bed to the sound of the cell door opening. He sat up, clutching his single blanket for warmth.

Officer Salzar stood on the other side of the open door, an unknown peacekeeper beside him. “Come on,” said the young officer. “We’re getting you out of here.”

“What…why?”

“I believe Hobson means to kill you. And the angel as well. I don’t think we can keep you safe here, or anywhere else I know of. He’s too well connected and too…powerful.”

As Ernsto stood up and dropped the blanket, he felt the crude bandages on his back sticking to the bright yellow jumpsuit he’d been forced to wear. “I don’t suppose you brought a change of clothes for me?”

“Yes, but not here. We need to move, no talking.”

The two men escorted him out of the Avenir upper brig. For some unknown reason, no other officers were in sight. Through a back corridor they escorted him to a loading dock. A familiar black pressure tank on a robotic wheeled cart waited there. Ah, angel babe, so glad to see you, said his mind. A familiar rush of warmth answered him back.

“On the other side of the airlock is a shuttle, with clothing and some equipment inside,” Salazar said. “You do mean to return the angel to the sea, right?”

“More than anything.”

“Then take her and go.”

“Er…as much as it’s not like me to question good news, won’ this get you in trouble?”

“Possibly. But who knows that the infamous smuggler Ernsto Mons didn’t force his way out? Not that I would ever lie about that. Or anything else. But I hope people draw their own conclusions. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to come back here for trial, after you set the angel free, risk to your life or not?”

“I don’ suppose you’d believe me if I said I would?”

“I don’t believe so,” replied the enforcer with a grin. “Well, don’t think this means I won’t put your face on every enforcer bulletin I can. You’ll be more famous than ever after this—which will make it very tough to sneak anything past anyone ever again. I’d give up smuggling if I were you.”

Before he could answer, the unnamed peacekeeper inserted himself into the conversation. “If it wasn’t for the angel, I wouldn’t do anything for you. If I see you on Avenir again, I’ll shoot you on sight. Understand?” The tall, gray-haired man scrunched his eyebrows together as he spoke, making his menace clear.
“Understood,” he said mildly, some part of his mind surprised that he’d let anyone threaten him without any desire to threaten in return.

Officer Salzar shook his hand before he departed, but the peacekeeper kept glaring at him and warned, “Hobson is still after you. If you don’t keep a low profile, he’ll have you dead within the week.”

“Understood,” he replied again, this time in a whisper.

Within minutes he had changed, astonished to find his coin bag inside his pants pocket. He then powered up the small shuttle, getting ready for the quick flight to Eclectia, the angel in her portable tank behind him.

Escape Part 2

by Travis Perry -

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Hobson. “If the firecrew could proceed on to deal with the blaze internal sensors say is raging in one of my rooms, I’d be most grateful. But as for this man, this Ernsto Mons, please allow me to deal with him myself.”

The firefighters moved toward the second door but the enforcers stood in place, looking confused, as if there was something not quite right with what Hobson had said. After a long moment, one said “Sure” and the lone peacekeeper in the room said, “Sounds reasonable” and then suddenly all of them murmured a chorus of agreement.

All of them except one. “No,” said a young dark-haired man in the uniform of the governor’s personal security detachment. “That’s not normal police procedure. This man needs to be arrested and processed for trial.” Ernsto recognized the young man as Officer Salzar, whom he’d met once by chance. For some reason, more than half of the enforcers in the room wore the uniform of the governor’s security detail—apparently they’d been nearby.

Hobson smiled at Salzar and gazed directly into his eyes. “Young man, I realize you work directly for the governor and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help with my personal crisis here. But I am a high government minister myself and can be completely trusted in this matter. The man is my employee; please allow me to deal with him.”

“No,” said Salzar. And then a battle erupted of sort Ernsto had never seen before. Hobson’s eyes blazed and his voice rang out words. They were not foreign or magical words; Hobson told Salzar in a torrent of words why he should relent, why he should do as he was told, why he was duty-bound to obey, but the rhythm of his speech was hypnotic and Ernsto found he could not retain in his mind anything the wizard was chanting. Salzar balled his hands into fists and stared right back at the wizard. In a low voice the enforcer muttered words Ernsto could not hear, but they reminded him nonetheless of the prayers his grandmother used to make.

He felt the angel reaching out in this fight too, somehow knowing she comforted and helped Salzar. The words from Hobson hammered on with power and Ernsto felt as if he were no longer himself. His whole being, everything about him, turned numb and he dully watched, barely perceiving, as the invisible battle before him raged. It stretched on timeless, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours.

In an instant it was over. Hobson stopped speaking. Sweat poured from the wizard’s brow and he huffed with effort. His eyes lowered to the ground.

Salzar turned to Ernsto. “Let’s go. Take the tank. I’m bringing you into custody.”

The other members of the governor’s detachment followed Salzar and all of them exited Hobson’s quarters as a group. Walking out the door, Ernsto felt an astonished sense of relief. He was still alive, even though going probably going to prison. Still alive, but better yet, free from Hobson…

Your Mother's People (FLASHBACK)

by Kaye Jeffreys -

With graduation from tertiary school in a week it was hard for Jereth to take this last Seacology field trip seriously. It was hard to take anything serious that wacky Professor Bonswarzick taught either in the classroom or here on the observation decks of Zirconia. Others hung on his every word. His eyewitness stories concerning angels had half the class mesmerized including Lessie who scanned the sea held back by glass as though an angel would appear any minute. Of course, Lessie also had an eyewitness account concerning an angel.

All Jereth ever saw was oppressive amounts of water that filtered and colored the sunlight, causing dull and splotchy patterns on everyone. Oh, and the occasional floaty thing that meandered in the sea without enthusiasm.

Jereth whispered in Lessie's ear, "Kind of romantic, huh?" At least he hoped she thought so. All he felt was boredom and was looking for a diversion.

Lessie leaned into Jereth's whisper, a smile pulled at her lips.

"Let's go find a quiet corner somewhere and you can tell me about your angel sighting again." He pulled her away from the center of the room and she came willingly, even as she kept searching the sea.

In the corner Jereth put his arms around her and pressed his cheek against hers. It was all right that she searched over his shoulder for angels. She snuggled more when she thought of them.

"So tell me again what that angel said to you," he whispered in her ear.

Lessie whispered back. "She told me go landside and help the less fortunate."

"She said all that?"

"Not in those words. Not in any words. It just felt like she said something like that. She thought it to me."

"Fascinating." He pulled her tighter.

"There she is." Lessie broke free and rushed back to the middle of the observation area amidst the other spectators who gasped and spoke in hushed tones to each other.

Jereth stood alone in the corner glaring at the thing that hung suspended in the water out beyond the glass. He missed Lessie's warmth already. Why did it show up now?

It looked like it smiled at him. Then he felt it enter inside his thoughts. Your mother's people.

Jereth could not breathe. A weight on his chest kept him from getting air. He had to get away from it. So he turned and left.

#

In the rest area, Jereth supported his weight with one hand on the sink and rubbed water on his face with the other. He could not shut out the alien voice in his head.

Your mother's people.

What about them? he thought back at it.

Release Lessie and go find them.

Why would I look for filthy grit breathers on a God-forsaken vol...?

God-forsaken?

Then Jereth understood. It was never his place to decide who or what God had forsaken. But he asked-thought again. Why should I look for them?

If you don't you will turn into your father.

Jereth covered his eyes and nose with one hand while he continued to support his weight with the other on the sink. His mouth turned dry as it silently formed the words, "I don't want to be weak."

If you find your mother's people, you will also find strength.

Jereth's resistance drained away with the cold water down the sink.

The feeling of the angel's presence backed away. The weight on Jereth's chest lifted. He took in a deep breath. And then another.

A custodian walked in, "There's a young lady out here worried about you."

Jereth stood up straight. "Yeah." He wiped his hands on his clothes and checked to see if all the pain of his life had leaked out down his front. It hadn't. At least the angel had left him a little dignity. "I'll take my girlfriend to a nice place to eat, then take her home."

"Good, treat your lady right."

Jereth managed a meager smile. "I will."

On the Eve of the End

by Greg Mitchell -

The sub was on autopilot. Crazy had since outmaneuvered the angels at the top of the Boatic Trench, hiding within a series of underwater coral caves. It’d been tense for nearly twenty minutes as Dressler, Trebs, and Crazy nestled in the coral, no lights on, running on minimal power. The sub had been quiet as a tomb, filling Dressler with dread. At last, the angels moved on and the sub resumed its underwater quest.

Now they were lowering their way towards the meeting place, where Trebs’ angel contact was leading him. It occurred to Dressler more than once to ask why, if the angels had invited him to the ocean depths, the ones closer to the surface were so intent on keeping them away. The couple times he’d posed that same question to Trebs, his co-hunter had simply said “Trust me.”

It was a lot to go on trust, but every time Dressler thought of returning to dry land, he only had to think of Edilyn.

Crazy sipped at a mug of steaming drink, the same as Dressler and Trebs tended. The three of them sat around a small card table in the sub’s hold, taking a moment for themselves while the autopilot finished its journey. The coffee break was equal parts celebration that they’d dodged the angry angels and a time of quiet reflection. A strange sort of bond had been formed through the experience, and Crazy was feeling chatty.

The large man went on, pleasantly enough, talking about his various adventures piloting the oceans. Dressler nodded in and out of the conversation, enjoying the man’s stories when he was listening, but mostly thinking of home and how much he stood to lose if this little sojourn went south.

“So you’re a bug hunter, huh?”

Dressler blinked, realizing that Crazy had addressed him. “What? Oh. Yeah.”

He sipped at his drink. “Thought only criminals took that job.”

Dressler shrugged.

“I don’t mean to offend,” Crazy quickly added. “If that’s the case, then that’s your own business. Just saying you don’t look to me like much of a criminal.”

“No, it’s okay,” Dressler said. “I…served some time.”

Trebs blanched. “You never told me that.”

Of course he hadn’t. He didn’t tell anyone, save his employers. “It was about three years before Lyn was born. My daughter,” he added, realizing he’d not told Crazy her name. He felt as though the man had earned that much—risking all he had to escort Dressler on this fool’s errand. “It was a bar fight. I was lit up and mad about something. Guns got involved…I got a lenient sentence on account that we both were drunk and no one could tell who started shooting first. But…”

Crazy nodded, listening with a sympathetic ear. “You’re not that man now,” he said, not asked.

Dressler felt a thin smile emerge. “No. My daughter changed all of that.”

“Kids have a way of doin’ that.” Crazy buried himself in his mug again, thoughtful.

“You have any kids?” Trebs asked the pilot, suddenly, and it felt as though the man was a third wheel, butting in on a private conversation, though he’d been there the whole time.

“Used to,” Crazy answered, and left it at that.

Proximity alarms bathed the cabin in red. Crazy simply rose, slow and steady.

“What’s that?” Dressler asked, his heart starting to race.

“We’re here,” Crazy announced, like they’d reached the end of a leisure tour. “Now it’s time to see what the fuss is all about.”

“Yes,” Trebs stood, solidly. “It is.”

That’s when Trebs pulled the knife.

Escape, Part 1

by Travis Perry -

Each movement brought a spasm of pain to his back and his left ear felt like a hot poker had been shoved inside it. In the angel’s chamber, Ernsto maneuvered the robotic cart carrying the portable pressure tank to the circular lock near the floor, below the transparent wall that physically separated him from the angel.

Two doors entered this room; the one behind him he felt confident was secure—shut tight, its locking mechanism damaged. His left hand held the plasma blaster, covering the door in front of him as his right hand worked the controls to the circular entrance into the angel’s tank.

Waves of comfort and empathetic caring emitted from the angel, reminding him of his grandmother’s touch when he’d been sick as a child, a warm soothing blanket and hot honey tea from her gentle hands, her voice telling him she loved him. The angel’s care probed not only into the suffering of his body, but reached deep into hidden parts of himself, working to soothe the damage he’d done by destroying other men.

The light near the door flickered and he fired on the entryway, a plasma bolt peeling the blue paint on the metal sliding door. Easy, easy, said the warm embrace of the angel’s mind.

He replied, “Babe, the lock’s ready. You needa come out so I can transfer you to this tank, so I can take you back where you came from.” His voice rasped in a whisper, but he knew she understood him. He hadn’t actually needed words at all.

She came out and he physically pulled her from the lock and briefly her body was in his arms, wet and rubbery. Now she suffered the pain of low pressure and his mind clumsily tried to comfort her with it’s okay, it’s okay. But then she was in the portable tank, the lid sealed shut, and the rising water pressure returning her to normal.

At that moment the door snapped open and two enforcers scrambled into the room, plasma pistols raised, shouting, “DROP YOUR WEAPON!” He was ready to kill or die trying—the angel flooded his mind please please please, begging him to stop. His left arm twitched to raise his weapon but he found his hand had let go of it. It dropped to the floor and his heart accepted what the angel wanted. He would allow himself to be captured.

Behind the first enforcers came two others, and then another two. The first pair threw him to the ground and handcuffed his wrists together. They hauled him to his feet and he saw there were now at least ten enforcers in the room and a plainclothes peacekeeper and some firecrew. Among them, in the safety of their numbers, stood Hobson, a triumphant smile on the wizard’s face.

Making the Run

by Greg Mitchell -

Dressler settled in the seat of the sub, his thoughts a jumble. He was really doing it—going down to the depths of Eclectia’s waters. Trebs sat beside him in the cockpit, uncharacteristically quiet. A serene smile stretched across the resurrected hunter’s face, one that Dressler didn’t understand. He didn’t share Trebs’ newfound faith or security.

At the controls of the underwater vessel was Crazy. His hands roved like wild over the console as he chewed a fat wad of tobacco. Music blared from the sub’s speakers, some long lost ancient genre called “hip hop”, Crazy said. The hairy man bebopped his head, but the rattle gave Dressler a headache.

“This is the classic stuff!” Crazy guffawed. “This was back when folks knew what music was all about. Now it’s all just noise and drek.”

“If you say so,” Dressler replied loudly to be heard over the bass.

Crazy chanted along with the music, and Dressler’s eyes wandered to the viewport to his left. His ears popped as they descended deeper into the ocean and wondered how long this would take. How long did it take to speak to some angels and get a cure for Edilyn?

“You’re nervous,” Trebs seemed to pick his thoughts. The man leaned over with a knowing nod. “Don’t be. Believers are rewarded.”

Yeah, Dressler worried. That was the problem. I’m not a believer, not as such. Would the angels find him wanting? Would his doubts and Sheba-blamed practicality steal away the love of his life? He saw his daughter’s face in his mind’s eye, left behind on the surface with her aunt. Meryl, his older sister, with four screaming, joyous, healthy children.

He only had Edilyn.

What was he saying? That’d he rather see one of his sister’s children die than his own? Was he saying Meryl had some to spare?

I’m horrible.

“Whoa!” Crazy bellowed. At first Dressler thought he was injecting some flavor into his sing-along, then he glimpsed it. Glowing, ethereal, vaguely humanoid, but wrong somehow. Fish-like. Alien. Other.

An angel.

She—he assumed it was a she—filled his port, startling him. But she was not alone. More joined her, swimming around the sub. Suddenly, he felt words worming their way through his mind. Words of warning. Turn back now, and You don’t belong here.

“Told ya!” Crazy snapped, shaking his bushy mane. He must have been hearing them too. “Told ya they wouldn’t want us poking around.”

“It’ll be fine,” Trebs said, still calm. Still smiling. “It’s a test, that’s all. Scaring off the unfaithful.”

“It’s working!” Crazy said.

“No!” Dressler snapped. “I paid you for a job. Keep going.”

“I am, I am, relax. And hold on!”

The sub lurched forward, evading the angels, swirling down into the dark abyss of the Boatic Trench.

Separation

by Greg Mitchell -

Dressler stepped over a scrambling child, Edilyn in his arms. The shrill screams of her four tiny cousins cut through Dress’ mind like a hot poker. He winced. Edilyn’s chubby hands cupped her ears.

“It’s loud here, Daddy.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s only for a couple days, though, okay? Then we’ll be back home to the peace and quiet.”

One of the ankle biters charged, a toy spaceship in his hand. The boy made aggressive laser sounds, orbiting Dressler in a strafing run. Edilyn looked at her father, helpless. She’d always been a shy child, but ever since getting sick, she’d been rendered nearly invisible by other children. She never felt well enough to play, and Dressler knew dropping her off here was a mistake, but he had nowhere else to go.

Maybe this whole thing is a mistake. Angels underwater want to give me the cure to Lyn’s ash lung?

I must be nuts to go down there.

But he’d already spent a small fortune hiring Crazy—the sub pilot. Along with Trebs, they’d made the preparations. He was locked into this course of action now, and could only hope it paid off.

For Edilyn’s sake.

Or maybe just for my own.

Meryl stepped in between two warring children shouting over who had a doll first. She looked flushed with embarrassment, or perhaps just exhaustion. “Hey, little brother,” she exhaled, beaming. “Hey, Lyn.”

Edilyn just buried her face in Dressler’s shoulder.

He stroked her hair, his heart breaking. Meryl rubbed the little girl’s back sympathetically. “It’ll be fine, kiddo. We’ll have lots of fun. You’ll see.”

Dressler appreciated his sister taking Edilyn in. Especially since he’d not told her what he was going to do. He’d only said that the bugs were migrating and they had to move with them for a couple days—just enough to bring back his quota. She’d accepted that. Meryl’s husband was a miner and knew that sometimes the job called for sacrifices. This whole blamed planet did.

Nothing comes without sacrifice. That’s what their father had taught them. Dressler wondered what sacrifice he’d be called to make to appease these angels. Benevolent creatures or no, he didn’t think for one moment they were just going to hand over Edilyn’s cure out of the goodness of their squishy hearts.

No, they needed something.

But for Edilyn . . . he’d pay any price.

He kissed his daughter on the head and sat her on her own two feet. Her arms tightened around him, breaking his heart. “I won’t be gone very long, I promise.”

“I’ll miss you,” she muttered, her eyes sparkling with budding tears.

He tried to hold in his own emotion. “I love you.”

She hugged his leg as he stood. “Thanks, Meryl, for doing this.”

His sister smiled, a bit sad. “She’ll be fine, Dress. Just take care of yourself.”

Then Meryl rubbed his arm. “We’ll say a prayer to the angels for you.”

Dressler grinned for his sister’s benefit, though in his heart, her words felt ominous and filled him with dread. “Yeah . . . thanks.”

A Personal War, Part 1

by Travis Perry -

Rolf reached inside his jacket for his weapon, too late. Ernsto shot the needle gun into his neck, through the carotid. Nasir, much faster than Ersnto suspected, drew his plasma blaster and fired.

Ernsto had already leapt forward into the doorway at the front of Wizard Hobson’s quarters when the hot plasma passed his back. Without looking, he squeezed off five needle shots behind him as he charged toward his room.

Plasma bolts hurled past him and a searing burn engulfed his left shoulder. Normally he would have picked a spot with good cover and held his ground. But he couldn’t, not with Hobson somewhere nearby.

Run, had said the angel into his mind, run, she said, revealing Rolf and Nasir’s thinking—this time, they intended to kill him as he walked past, his usefulness finished, as was hers. But he’d never been the type to run—and there was no way he’d let Hobson have the angel.

He charged past the pressurized aquarium that held her on the way towards his room and its hidden weapons. The angel’s eyes were wide and frightened, her ray-like wings tapped the glass in her distress. No, no, don’t kill, her mind told him.

“Sorry babe,” he shot back as he exited her chamber.

“Ernsto!” The voice belonged to Hobson. Something informed him if he looked back he’d lose his will to fight. Whether it was the angel that told him this or his own mind, he knew not.

He sprinted into his small room and slid shut the door by pressing the yellow button on the right side of the frame. He held his thumb to the pad for his print to lock it. Next he flipped the knife hidden in his right sleeve into his hand and stabbed the control panel, penetrating its thin aluminum face three times, hoping the door servo would never operate again.

His key for the lockbox he jammed into the slot and threw open the box. Within seconds he used the tool to open his hidden panel in the wall, the hiding place for his weapons.

His eyes searched and saw…nothing. He reached his left hand into the gap and felt nothing.

A slow chuckle came in through the room intercom. “Ernsto, my lad, did you really think you could hide a weapons cache from me? In my own private section of Avenir?”

Ernsto didn’t answer. His stomach balled into a knot.

“Now be a good lad and fix whatever you’ve done to the door and come on out. We need to sit down and discuss this rationally, man to man.”

I’d rather die first, he thought, eyeing his sleeve knife and hoping this time the wizard knew exactly what was on his mind.

Gettin’ Crazy

by Greg Mitchell -

“That him?”

Trebs led the way through the clatter and chatter of Maddie’s Pub. Dressler trailed behind uncertainly, nodding a friendly “hello” to the madam of the bar. She was a mother to all the rugged workers who came here after hours and Dressler usually spent a while visiting with her, but today Maddie would have to wait.

They were here to save Edilyn.

At Dressler’s question, Trebs answered, “Yeah.”

In the corner of the pub, a bear of a man sat alone. He had an old prospector’s hat on his head, a pair of dark green goggles over his eyes, and a great bushy white beard covering his cheeks, chin, and the better part of his chest. Presently, his head was leaned back against the wall, his mouth agape. A foul odor emanated off his gargantuan bulk and flies buzzed around him.

He didn’t appear to be breathing. Dressler hesitated. “He’s . . . not moving.”

The two inched closer to the old man. Not a snore escaped his lips. His chest did not rise or fall. No, this isn’t happening. Dressler worried. We need him to save my daughter. Dressler reached one hand towards his throat, intending to check his pulse. “I think he’s dead . . . ”

“Nope,” the man barked, sitting straight up, suddenly alive. Dressler jerked his hand back, startled. “Just playin’ dead. Tryin’ ta keep the lowlifes away. You the guys got a job for me?”

Dressler shared a hesitant look with Trebs, but his partner simply nodded with a knowing grin. Trebs seemed a lot giddier since his brush with death and the angels of the seas. He had a perpetual glow about him these days that Dressler had to admit was a little creepy at times.

“I need someone to take me below,” Dressler said, still standing.

The burly man raised his goggles and eyed the bug hunter suspiciously. “Let me guess. Angels, huh?”

“Yes.”

“You one of them jelly rollers? This some kind of spiritual thing to you?” Before Dressler could answer, the man banged the table, carrying on. “Used to be a time folks stayed away from those critters. Now every Tom, Dick, and Harry wants to take a box a’candy down to them squid heads and learn about ‘em.”

“No,” Dressler corrected. “That’s not why I want to go.”

The scruffy brute swatted at one of the flies hovering by his nose. He snorted and glared. “Then what is it yer after?”

“I was . . . invited.”

“By who?”

Dressler shifted uncomfortably. “By them. The angels. They want to cure my daughter. But, I need a tub to take me down there. Trebs says you’re the best pilot.”

“Ha!” The man threw his head back, roaring. “The best. The cheapest, you mean!”

“That, too. I don’t have a lot of money, but if this saves my kid, whatever I’ve got is yours.”

The pilot snickered a bit more. “Angels don’t often take too kindly to our kind poking around in their habitat, invite or no. It’d take a crazy man to drive you down there to the deep to find ‘em.”

Dressler nodded. He knew the risks. But Edilyn was worth it.

The other man looked him up and down, but Dressler remained determined. “Will you take me?”

After a moment’s pause, the pilot stood to his full height; the hairy ogre was more monster than man. He swelled his barren chest, looking down on the two tiny mortals that sought his help on their foolish quest. At last he thrust out a hand the size of Dressler’s face, offering a shake. “Call me ‘Crazy’.”

Experiment

by Travis Perry -

***Today we celebrate our 100th story! Can you believe it? And we're celebrating with an all-new look designed for us by Mike Rogers. Here's to the next 100! And now, on with the story :) ***

In the chamber with the pressurized angel tank, Ernsto shuffled toward Wizard Hobson against his will. The feeling was not so much his legs disobeying his orders as the part of the mind controlling his legs no longer seemed to be a part of him.

Hobson’s eyes were green-blue, he realized as drew close enough to peer into them. And then in a blur he threw his hands against the wizard’s throat.

Hobson gagged and his eyes bulged in surprise, but an instant later Ernsto found the control of his fingers no longer belonged to him. His arms dropped to the side—limp, like they were dead.

The wizard coughed and rubbed his throat. He laughed hard, as if all were a joke, but an angry glint lit his eyes. “You have very quick hands, my boy. And a quick, violent will. I was not able to detect your intent before you struck. If I had, you never would have moved a muscle.”

As if to prove the wizard’s point, his thought to bash the old man’s nose with his forehead left him feeling numb in his neck and back. He couldn’t make any movement at all.

“How?” he uttered. He’d intended to say more, but the paralysis that gripped his body hindered his mouth.

“How do I control you? Simple, my dear friend. Chemical compounds, mind-enhancing compounds which I’ve discovered from my studies of the angel cerebral cortex. This one isn’t my first…not even my first live one, but the other live one I captured, one I took myself when I was a much younger man, I moved into a pen under the sea, isolated, but still connected to the ocean. He called for help, mentally of course—after two days the facility was assaulted by hundreds from his tribe. I barely escaped with my life. But even more importantly than my personal survival, I retained the knowledge I had gleaned, knowledge I’ve been adding to and using it for decades now. All wizards use knowledge derived from angels, but I assure you, with all due modesty, I am the greatest of them all.”

“What…?” rasped Ernsto.

“What do I intend to do with you? Or the angel? Or both? I’m not quite sure what you mean. You see, I should be able to know, since I can enter your mind. But I don’t fully—which simply is further proof that there is more work to do, more discoveries to be made. In spite of all I have learned from the tools provided by the angel brain, in spite of all the corners of the human mind I’ve learned to tap into, I still struggle to do what they do with ease—communicate complete thought to thought. I wondered for a time if perhaps the human brain were simply incompatible with such a form of communication. But you, my boy, you give me hope!”

“Why?”

“Why, because you communicate with the angel. Or better said, she communicates with you. That’s why you enjoy being with her, even though you do not admit to yourself that’s how you feel. It’s because she touches your mind. I think,” Hobson chuckled, “she’s trying to heal your ‘sickness’ of violence…how quaint!”

“Now?”

“Ah, now. Now I get to experiment with the link that has sprung up between the two of you. That’s why I haven’t simply shut your mind down, by the way, or reoriented your will. I need to test you in a more natural state.” Hobson turned to the cyborgs, “Strap him to the table.”

Flat on the table, the two cyborgs finished with Hobson’s command, Ernsto felt his body return to his control. Not that it helped—the straps were tight and strong.

The wizard had opened the box. It contained some sort of advanced drill, with a very fine bit surrounded by thin clear tubes. The bit whirred in the air as the professor pressed a button. “For brain tissue samples,” he explained unbidden. “First you, then the angel.”

No, no! he heard her mind say from the pressurized tank.

As the wizard moved the drill closer to the base of his skull, Ernsto said through gritted teeth, “If you do this, you’d better kill me. Elsewise, as soon as you let me go, you’re a dead man.”

“Oh, I imagine this experiment will last weeks. You and the angel don’t die until after that. But I promise to wipe your memory of this moment. Tomorrow, you won’t even know any of this ever happened. You’ll think it’s just another well-paid day on the job. I’ve already done it to you twice.”

Great, he thought. He set in himself a determination to remember every detail.

I’ll help you, said the angel into his mind.