Drifting

by Jeff C. Carter -

Rahab piloted the hulking spider along the lightless tunnels of the space station’s outer ring.  When Rahab entered this arachnid body, it had seemed so rigid and heavy.  Here, in zero gravity, it floated gracefully like Rahab’s true form.  Rahab never suspected that space was so like the ocean depths.

Rahab had learned much about this strange city in the sky.  Artificial atmosphere, to fill the air-breathers’ lungs.  Artificial light, to hold back the dark.  Artificial gravity, to hide the pull of the endless void.  The air-breathers here were even more sheltered than the weaklings of the cities of the sea.  Constant panic boiled beneath the surface of their minds.  The flavor was piquant and intoxicating.

Rahab crippled the artificial gravity wherever he could.  With its illusion torn away, only the truth of empty chaos remained.  The air-breathers of the city in the sky believed they were safe from the crawling horrors below.  Their fragile minds believed themselves beyond reach.  But Rahab was patient.  Rahab was sly.  Rahab was Death.

The spiders were spreading throughout the city in the sky.  Rahab felt waves of blood lust and gales of despair saturate the metal corridors.  The air-breathers were learning the way of all flesh.  The city in the sky would plunge out of orbit and rain destruction upon the cities of the surface and the cities of the sea.  Rahab would greet their scattered corpses as they sank into the blackest depths.  Rahab would embrace them all in his many arms.  Together they would await the end of time. 

A vibration along the tunnel wall caressed the fine hairs in the spider’s clawed legs.  Its multitude of eyes picked out a pair of small air-breathers shuffling along in magnetic boots.  Rahab tasted the sizzle of nervous energy in the air, but not the spice of panic.  Rahab’s heart sang with joyful murder.  Rahab would descend from the darkness and split their rational minds wide open.  Rahab would feast on fresh, primal fear.

One of the air-breathers, a female, spoke.

“Should we double back, Dressler?  This tunnel looks clear.”

Rahab crept closer. 

“Could be.  We have bagged a lot of bugs on this deck,” Dressler said.

An unpleasant clear tone, like a high pitched whine, rang from the male.  It was not just the absence of fear.  It was a quiet conviction.  The bitter tang was nauseating, and somehow, strangely familiar.  Rahab let the air-breathers escape with their sour, overripe minds.  Rahab was seeking juicier prey.

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.

Quo Vadis

By Jeff C. Carter

Kwame wandered aimlessly through the tangled corridors of Avenir, lost in his thoughts.  He hadn’t eaten in days.  He hadn’t slept in weeks.  He haunted the endless hallways, always moving, trying to find his way back to where it all began and figure out where it had all gone wrong.

He remembered his grandfather’s stories from the faiths and traditions that had melted together during the long voyage across the stars.  Stories of wanderers.  Epic journeys, exiles, quests and redemption.  Kwame had foolishly believed himself beyond those tired and inbred superstitions.  He was a scientist and a pioneer.  Eclectia was a new world, free from the chains of the past.  He was going to discover mankind’s new beliefs and witness firsthand the evolution of the spirit.

He had glimpsed it on the borders, in the eyes of people who lived on the sea of lava or chased meteors tumbling through empty space.  He observed the children of the undersea cities who pressed their faces to the portholes, desperate to connect with the shimmering phantoms of the deep.  None of it had been enough. 

Others were charting the same developments and spinning their own theologies.  Kwame wanted his name alone studied and remembered.  He had to get there first.  He had to go deeper than anyone else dared.

Finally, in the depths of the ocean, it found him.  The monster outside his ship had touched his mind.  He had experienced raw revelation.  It hadn’t been easy.  The visions of catastrophic chaos had deeply disturbed him.  He tried to parse them, or place them in the context of an alien culture and history he couldn’t fathom.  When the visions finally overwhelmed him, he broke down and confided in his peers.  The more he shared them the better he felt until he came to believe that it was his purpose.  He had been chosen to deliver the alien’s dire message of imminent disaster.

Most of his peers turned him away and shunned him, but Dr. Lev had embraced him.  He encouraged Kwame to speak to the poor lost souls at his clinic.  They eagerly drank in his words and took them deeply to heart.  Kwame had felt fulfilled.

The next day he saw the news reports of the riot.  The inmates had put his warnings of chaos entropy and doom into practice or made them reality in a bloodthirsty nihilistic rampage.  Kwame felt the stain of all that blood on his hands and the ashes on his tongue. 

He had been a vainglorious fool, blindly furthering his own reputation.  He hadn’t cared what people believed as long as he got the credit for its discovery.  He had failed to proceed with caution and objectivity, to put the mental impressions from the aliens in the context of their own history or culture.  He had been so impressed with himself that he had convinced himself that he was some chosen messenger. 

He had wandered from his path a long time ago and there was only one way to arrive at a little redemption.  He had to repudiate the warnings he had preached so mindlessly and take the blame for the misguided souls who had acted without hope.  He turned down a dark intersection of tunnels and tried to get his bearings. 

The shadows shifted, swelling and reaching out to towards him.  Kwame stared in shock as the lengths of shadow bent at strange angles and pulled eight gleaming eyes out of the darkness.  Kwame’s mind desperately refused to accept the giant black spider stalking towards him.  Mandibles locked down onto his shoulders and an indescribable stench filled his senses.  He looked up into the malevolent eyes pressing down on him and felt an overwhelming sense of familiar horror.

He thought of the monstrous alien squid that had appeared outside his ship beneath the ocean.  He felt that same smoldering heat of its awful intelligence inside his head.   The lightning flashes of promised agony and destruction flickered once more before his eyes.  A sinister voice dripped like acid across his brain.

Where are you going?

And then Kwame knew that it was all real.  The ruination of flesh.  The annihilation of worlds.  Death incarnate.  Chaos surging on rivers of blood.

The spider dropped Kwame and he hit the ground running.  He screamed as he ran, hysterical warnings of doom.

Corrupted

by Jeff C. Carter

“Go ahead, I’ll show you how it’s done,” Grady said.

Enforcer Barney Keepagami slipped on the Medical Examiner’s electronic goggles.  A perfect replica of a pale dead man floated in front of him.  Hovering next to the cadaver’s no-nonsense buzz cut was a name and occupation: Kyupiti Brantry, customs officer.  His brutish frame and rough hands clashed with his fashionable clothes and expensive bug shell jewelry.  Barney’s old detective training jumped to the conclusion that the customs officer had been taking bribes.  He dismissed the thought and watched Grady work.      

“Thanks to the deep scan we’re free to do a virtual autopsy any time we want,” Grady said.

“Back in my day they used arthroscopic threads,” Barney said.

“Yeah, and in the dark ages they cut cadavers open and pulled everything out,” Grady said with a shiver of disgust.  “Can you imagine?  Thank God for deep radiation scanning.  Every detail gets captured while the entire body is sterilized.  But here’s the best part…”  

The corpse grew larger until it filled Barney’s view like a foreign landscape. 

“Let’s take a look inside,” Grady said.

Everything tilted and the surface of the dead man rushed up to meet them.  Barney tensed as they smashed through the outer layer of fabric and skin.  They flew through a tangled forest of muscles and arteries towards a pulsing red horizon.

“The red lights are areas that the computer has flagged as outside the healthy base line,” Grady said.

They coasted through the abdominal wall and passed under the broad sweeping arches of the rib cage. “Arteries aren’t in bad shape for his age.  So where’s the red light coming from?”  Grady wondered.

The heart swelled to the size of a house while the red lights shrank down to glaring pin points.  No matter how far they zoomed in the red lights always slipped into the distance.  Finally, they skidded to a halt inside a grey patchwork of spheres pierced with glowing red lines.

“Incredible.  The injury is at the cellular level,” Grady gasped.

“Have you ever seen this before?”  Barney asked.

“Once.  Micrometeor damage.  It happens to meteor cowboys sometimes.  It’s a bad way to go.  I’m ruling this death by trauma,” Grady said. 

Barney pulled off the goggles and looked around the morgue.  He imagined the room stacked full of bodies after the bloody riot.  If there were any clues to glean from the inmate’s cadavers, they would be on these scans.

“Now, about your missing doctors.  What are their names?”

“Doctors Thaani Lev and Samuel Loomis.  They disappeared around the time of the riot.  Actually, I’d like to review all the scans from that period,” Barney said.

“Think they were lost in the shuffle?  I’ll pull up the whole batch.”

A long list of names rolled up onto the screen, but the doctors were not among them.

“Let me dive deeper.  Could be they were filed as Jon Avenirs.” A garbled list appeared on the screen and Grady hissed. “Dammit!  The files have been corrupted.”

Barney gave a low sigh of disappointment that held little surprise.  When would people learn that information was too important to entrust to machines?  The first thing he had learned on the job was that you could only trust hard evidence.

Barney glared at the computer screen and the fragmented list of the dead.  So many lives lost, so many questions without answers. “Did you perform these autopsies?”

“No.  But I remember who did,” Grady said.

Barney’s eyebrows perked up with renewed hope.

“His name was Dr. Kes.  Said he was with the ZMB.”

Barney rolled onto the balls of his feet, ready to go. “Where is he now? Can I speak with him?”

“He was just passing through.  The Peace Council brought him in to help process bodies while I was at the crime scene.  It’s possible he didn’t know our system, or just made a mistake.  We were completely swamped.”

“I suppose I’ll have to add him to my list of missing doctors,” Barney sighed.  “Where are the actual bodies now?”

“If you’re lucky they might be in the disposal bay, waiting for next of kin,” Grady said. 

Barney nodded and handed back the goggles. “I suppose I’ll go pay my respects.”

Expedition

by Jeff C. Carter

Barney didn’t bother taking out his badge as he entered the Avenir morgue.  In his experience, coroners were always happy to talk to someone.  A skinny man with long black hair sat on the examination table, his mouth agape, eyes hidden beneath a pair of electronic goggles.  Barney coughed twice to announce his presence before finally jostling the man by the shoulder.

The skinny man swatted away Barney’s hand and grunted. “I’m working!”

Barney fished out his badge and leaned in to the man’s ear.  “Me too.  I’m looking for some missing persons.”

The skinny man slid the goggles up and eyed the badge before sliding off the table. “Grady Wilkyn, Medical Examiner.  Pleased to meet you.  Don’t get a lot of enforcers down here.”

“I’m looking for two missing doctors from St. Christina’s Clinic.”

Grady grabbed a control pad and scrolled through data on a large screen.  “Missing, huh?  We haven’t had any unclaimed bodies.  Not since the riot,” Grady said.

An old disposal tech rolled in a gurney holding a cadaver. “Got a fresh one,” the old man said.

“Give me a hand here, officer,” Grady said.  He tossed a pair of sanitation gloves to Barney.  He grabbed the dead body by the ankles and indicated the examination table with a nod of his chin.

Barney reluctantly hooked his hands under the corpse’s armpits.  They set the body down on the table and the old man shuffled away with a wave. 

Barney had seen dead bodies before.  They never ceased to bother him.  He saw them as tangles of unanswered questions. “I just need to confirm that the missing doctors aren’t here, then I’ll leave you to your work,” Barney said.

“Sorry Officer, this takes priority.  Avenir is a closed environment.  No bio-hazards allowed.  Every cadaver gets an immediate and complete autopsy.  Watch your toes,” Grady said.

The examination table sank into the ground and vanished beneath a heavy lid.  The medical examiner pecked a few buttons on his control panel and a deep rumble shook the ground beneath Barney’s feet. 

Grady snapped off his gloves and turned back to his computer. “Alright, when did you lose your doctors?”

Barney looked down at the floor and then up at Grady.  “I thought you had to perform an autopsy,” Barney said.

“I just did.  Don’t they teach enforcers what the medical examiner does?”

Barney blushed. “It’s been a while.  I met Mr. Neils a few times.”

Grady scratched his head and then smiled.  “Oh yeah, he ran this place way back.  Things have changed.  The body is on its way to the disposal queue.  If there are any next of kin the computer has notified them.”

“And the autopsy?”Barney prompted.

The medical examiner handed Barney a pair of electronic goggles.  “See for yourself.”

Fingerprints

by Jeff C. Carter

Enforcer Keepagami stood before the St. Christina’s Clinic video wall and watched red handprints blink into existence, swarm and fade like a frenzied school of squid.

“Take me back further,” he said.

Nurse Vuong dialed back the art therapy wall’s timeline, jumping days into the past.  The crimson marks dwindled, crowded out by finger painted beetles, faces and space ships.

“Run it forward.  Stop,” he said.

The first handprint appeared, roughly forced onto the digital canvas in blood red, wavy strokes flaring out from the fingers like tentacles.  Enforcer Keepagami double tapped on the handprint and information blossomed forth.

St. Christina, Smitz.  AKA ‘Smudge’.  No last name on file.  Ward of Avenir.  Committed for pyromania, self mutilation, and violent behavior.  He was the first to draw that handprint symbol, the ‘mark of Rahab’.  Could he have incited the inmates into the bloody riot?  His I.Q. and social skills were non-existent.  Was his simply the spark of madness that ignited a mass psychosis?

“Who was his doctor?”

“Smudge?  His therapist was Dr. Loomis.  But Smudge hated everyone.  He would only talk to Dr. Lev,” the nurse said.

“When can I speak with the doctors?”

Nurse Vuong stared at him, confused. “Dr. Lev went missing during the riot and Dr. Loomis disappeared a week ago,” she said.  “I thought you were trying to find them!”

Enforcer Keepagami rubbed his face to mask his irritation.  He was semi-retired.  He didn’t mind thawing out a cold case now and then for extra income.  This case was still bloody and raw, and he would have to build it from the ground up.

“We’re still gathering info for our investigation.  Can you pull up the video for the day of the riot?”

Nurse Vuong glared at the enforcer and then prodded her control panel.  A renewed look of confusion crept across her face. “It’s gone.  The entire day!” she gasped.

Enforcer Keepagami confirmed it for himself.  A full twenty five hours, deleted.  He closed his eyes and stood motionless for a long moment.

Smudge hardly seemed capable of breaking into the computer and erasing the video, either.  Did he have help from the staff?  The nurse seemed an unlikely suspect.  Where were the doctors?  Dead?  One went missing during the riot.  One vanished only days ago.  Was it connected?  Was there more behind the ‘mark of Rahab’ than the feverish chaos of a broken mind?        

“Enforcer?”  Nurse Vuong rousted him from his meditation.

He opened his eyes and they sparkled with renewed light. “I need personnel records for everyone on staff, including doctors.  I want patient files, therapy recordings, and specs for the clinic,” he said.

Nurse Vuong prodded her control panel. “I can transmit most of the files now.  Some hard copies from the archives will take longer,” she said.  Her shoulders drooped suddenly under an invisible burden.

He realized that she was completely alone.  The clinic had been empty since the riot, leaving her with nothing but grief and survivor’s guilt.

“You will find the doctors, won’t you?” she asked.

Enforcer Keepagami nodded. “I promise to do my best.  I’ll get started looking for them right now.” 

His footsteps echoed in the hollow clinic as he headed towards the morgue. 

Legs

by Jeff C. Carter

Dr. Loomis winced as the old door grated open.  He held his breath and waited for the lights to activate.  The darkness refused to yield and he exhaled a quiet curse.  He stayed in the dim column of light that spilled from the tunnel outside.

“Welcome, doctor.  We were just about to begin our session without you,” Dr. Thaani Lev’s voice rasped from the corners of the black room.

“Give yourself up, Thaani.  Come quietly or I’ll call the enforcers,” Dr. Loomis commanded.

“So you came alone, then?”

Dr. Loomis took a small step back towards the open doorway. “I suspected your behavior was becoming erratic.  I should have stopped you sooner.  Had I known what you were doing to those poor patients…,” Dr. Loomis’ voice faltered.

“Former patients, doctor.  Cured.  Set free!”

Dr. Lev’s voice exploded into a fit of ragged wet coughs that bounced off the walls, making it impossible for Dr. Loomis to trace.

Dr. Lev regained his breath and continued his taunts. “If you disagree with my methods you had better come in.  I have new friends inside who will be disoriented when they awaken.  Try to make them feel comfortable until they find their…legs,” Dr. Lev chuckled.

Dr. Loomis stepped fully into the room and the door squeaked shut behind him.  His eyes soon began to pick out grey contours from the shadows of the room.  The old storage bay was thick with the hard angles of dusty furniture and the manufactured edges of equipment.  Nestled among them were the glistening curves of countless large orbs. “You don’t have to hurt anyone else.  Release your patients and I’ll take care of them,” Dr. Loomis said.  He moved deeper among the strange mounds looking for Dr. Lev’s captives.

A wet pop echoed in the distance, followed by an unrecognizable yet horrid stench that clawed at Dr. Loomis’ eyes and nose.

“You have my word, doctor.  I will release them all,” Dr. Lev croaked.

A slow tapping hit the floor.  Its tempo quickened into a hissing splash.  As the steady drizzle increased the odor became overwhelming.  Through his watering eyes Dr. Loomis saw that the mysterious globes were deflating. Dr. Loomis shielded his nose and mouth with his sleeve and stumbled towards the door.  It slid open automatically, the light from the tunnel flaring across his blurry vision.  Blocking the exit was something dark skinned and hunch backed, like a man on all fours. It must be Thaani, Dr. Loomis thought, catastrophic schizophrenia. “I’m not going to hurt you, Thaani.  Do you understand?”

The shape in front of him replied with a slow chitter.  It sounded like teeth clicking together. 

Dr. Loomis squinted and rubbed his eyes.  I must be seeing double, Dr. Loomis thought.  It looks like he has eight legs.

A sudden sharp pain stung Dr. Loomis’ neck and he whirled around to find Dr. Lev holding a thin syringe.  His eyes danced with manic glee from their red rimmed lids and sunken purple hollows.

“Relax, Doctor.  It will all be over soon,” Dr. Lev cooed.

Dr. Loomis’ legs turned to rubber and he crumpled to the ground.  He heard a sharp smack of his skull hitting the floor but he felt no pain. Thaani drugged me.  But if Thaani was behind me… who is crouching at the door?

Dr. Lev looked around and gave an asthmatic chuckle before slipping into the shadows.  More of the hunched shapes shambled into the light. 

Eight legs…eight eyes.  Dear God, not up here…not on Avenir!

Dr. Loomis grasped the true nature of the crawling things and tried to shriek in horror.  The growing chorus of clicking mandibles swallowed the thin gurgle from his paralyzed throat.

Hybrid

by Jeff C. Carter -

Barney Keepagami wriggled his fingers into the soil, searching for the fine thread-like feeder roots of the genetically modified plant.  There were machines that could handle such simple tasks but he liked to dig.  His finger brushed an invisible string and when he closed his eyes he could trace it back, branching like a fractal, to the heart of the plant.  He slowly pulled away the dirt and exposed the tangled roots to the light. 

He grabbed a handful of dry Eclectia soil and packed it around the roots, praying that the plant would not choke on the orange grit.  He hoped that one day these hybrids, part ancient earth plant, part alien plant, would find purchase on the planet below. 

He held up a small pot containing one of the grey alien weeds that clung to the planet’s barren surface.  It was useless for agriculture, yet Barney admired its tenacity.  If mankind hoped to last on Eclectia they could learn much from this dauntless creature.

Barney left the experimental agriculture lab, passing through a series of decontamination chambers.  He finally emerged with a whoosh, stepping into the space station’s massive greenhouse.  He took a deep breath of air and held it, savoring the fresh clean taste that was so rare on Avenir. 

The thick canopy of plants purified the air supply and provided the luxury of fresh food to the lucky few who could afford it.  It was a marvelous system, and Barney knew that the seaweed aquaculture labs of the underwater cities were even more abundant.  Barney dreamed of a future beyond stagnant space stations and dank underwater cities.  He dreamed of a lush and verdant Eclectia, a place where people could cultivate the soil, live off the land and make a real connection with their world.

A whiff of stale air assaulted his nose and he turned around in time to see a tired looking enforcer wander through the indoor forest. “Officer Solorzano?” Barney called.

Solorzano squinted, his eyes unaccustomed to the strange yellow glare of the simulated sun overhead.  He shaded his eyes and spotted Barney. “Barnacle!” He indicated the trees with a nod of his chin. “You call this retirement?  Working as a gardener?”

Barney gave the enforcer a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. “Something like that.  How have you been?”

“I’m beat.  The P.K.’s running us ragged.  The good news is that I can finally throw you some of the overflow.”

 “I’m sorry, but I’ve got my hands full here.  I don’t have the time for a cold case right now.”

Solorzano shook his head. “This one is red hot.  What do you know about the St. Christina’s Riot?”

Barney had seen the news.  The entire affair had been so shocking and aberrant.  So inexplicable.  The investigation was still open.  There were clues out there, answers to be found.  An old stirring welled up inside of him. 

“Not much,” Barney said, “but I’ll do some digging.”

Saboteur

by Jeff C. Carter

Facilities Admin Kelix Tremonti looked at the report on her desk and rubbed her temples.  The nascent undersea vent beneath Port Xenia was mirrored in her rumbling stomach.  She popped an antacid into her mouth and swallowed, dropping it into the scalding rift below. 

Why hadn’t she taken the job at Zirconia? She thought for the millionth time.  She ran through her mantra of self justification; Zirconia practically runs itself.  An Admin can’t make a name for herself there.  Port Xenia is a work in progress, a place where a Facilities Admin could build a career.  She shook her head in disgust.  If that seafloor vent erupted it would cut more than just her career short.

“Mr. Tolliver to see you,” her secretary announced through the intercom. 

Tremonti dumped the report into a drawer and sat up straight. “Send him in.”

The door opened to reveal Mr. Tolliver, a tall, well built man with dark skin and a glowing smile. Everything about him seemed to shine, from the exquisite fabric of his luxury suit to the polished jewelry on his fingers. 

“Mr. Tolliver, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

“Please, call me Anansi,” he purred.

“I hope your trip was a pleasant one.  Is this your first visit to Port Xenia?”

“As a matter of fact it is, and I had no idea how charming it would be.  Such potential!”  he gushed.

Good, he wants to get straight to business, Tremonti thought. “We like to think so.  I am eager to hear more about your group’s proposal.”

Mr. Tolliver beamed his winning smile and gestured towards the door. “Might we tour your great city while we talk?”

Tremonti stood and reached for her hard hat out of habit.  She looked at Mr. Tolliver’s magnificent suit and hair and decided to leave the helmets behind. She led them in a circuitous route, avoiding the passageways with water stained walls, the dank chambers of stale air and the alcoves dotted with stubborn pale blossoms of mold.

“We believe that Port Xenia is well positioned for development.  It is already the entertainment destination for nearby Trinity.  Why isn’t it drawing in people from everywhere?” he asked.  “After all, you can deliver an experience that Zirconia simply can’t.”

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

They approached the cool undulating light of the first view port. “Port Xenia has the highest per capita angel sightings.”

Tremonti barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “That’s debatable.  Your group…they’re not affiliated with the Blue Liberation Front, are they?” She steered Mr. Tolliver away from the view port so that he would not see the grey seeps of sewage that occasionally welled up on deep sea currents.

“Certainly not, but they make some good points, don’t they?  The oceans belong to the angels.  That’s what drives tourism.  Imagine a system of tunnels running through the city where angels swam freely among the citizens.  Think of the industry that would promote.”

A burning wave shot up to the back of Tremonti’s throat and she choked it down.  Was this guy a crackpot? “That is certainly…ambitious.  The engineering challenges would be tremendous.  The amount of money...”

Mr. Tolliver cut her off. “We want to make Port Xenia the jewel of Eclectia, a place where people can have a true native experience in comfort and style.  It will be an embassy for Avenir, a university for the wizards, and the only tourist destination in the Ceti system.  We need someone who knows this city like the back of her hand, someone with vision and ambition.  What do you say?”

They stood before the wide glass wall of the observation deck and bathed in the blue green light of the seemingly infinite expanse beyond.  Glittering submarine traffic darted in all directions, a jumble of shining submersibles and bioluminescent creatures.

“We’d need to seriously reinforce the outer hull before we began restructuring anything inside.”

“I’m sure you know what’s best.  Do we have a deal?” Mr. Tolliver smiled and extended a hand.

Maybe these wackos will be good for something before the money runs dry, she thought.  She shook his hand and felt her stomach finally settle down. “It’s a deal.  If you don’t mind waiting here for a moment, I’ll check on our shuttle for the tour outside.”

Mr. Tolliver nodded and waited until Tremonti was gone.  He pulled a handset from his wrist that crackled briefly as it sent a short signal burst up to Avenir station. He dropped the winning smile from his face, discarding it like a garment no longer needed.  The warbling tone in his ear announced that an encrypted channel was now open. 

“It’s done.”

Delicacy

by Jeff C. Carter

Customs Officer Brantry tapped the switch on the conveyor belt to roll the next package into the screener.  Dros, the grizzled smuggler following the crate, gave him a conspiratorial nod.

“Organic goods.  Soft scan only, please,” Dros said.

Brantry slapped a yellow button on the side of the screener and pinged the crate with a brief burst of radiation.

A grainy hologram of large clustered spheres appeared in front of Brantry but he waved it out of existence before anyone else saw.  Live insect eggs were contraband on Avenir, but the aristocracy had an endless appetite for such delicacies.  It took Brantry three approachings of tedious work to earn as much as he did letting a package slip through.  He might not ever be able to afford a high class life aboard the Avenir, but he was determined to retire to Zirconia in style.

“Your shipment has been sterilized and entered into the quarantine queue.  We’ll notify you when it’s ready,” Brantry said, loud enough for anyone who might be listening.

He flipped up the lid of the crate to lay the falsified quarantine seal upon the cargo.  The light struck the aerogel packing around the insect eggs and a disturbing shadow caught his eye.  These weren’t typical Honey Beetle eggs.  They were larger, with too many legs radiating from their dim silhouettes. 

Brantry slammed down the lid of the crate and hissed at the smuggler. “Are you insane?  I can’t let this through!”

Dros glared at the customs officer but dared not call attention to himself.

Brantry punched the red button to initiate deep sterilization.  The machine did not respond.

A low voice from behind Brantry sent a chill racing up his back. “Is there a problem, officer?”

Brantry turned to see a well dressed man standing in the restricted area of customs.  This was undoubtedly the aristocrat seeking the egg sacs. “I’m sorry.  There has been a mistake -- these are… spiders,” Brantry whispered.

There was no hint of surprise in the aristocrat’s expression, and now Brantry recognized his face.  Lancet Palmar VIII, scion of the Palmar dynasty.  Was this the latest status symbol, consuming the rarest, most dangerous and most expensive eggs?

“My fee has tripled,” Brantry said, a small tremor in his voice.

The aristocrat casually nodded and walked away. 

Brantry let the conveyor belt whisk the crate through customs.  He licked his lips, wondering how sweet the spider eggs must taste.

The Sickening Plunge Part 4

by Jeff C. Carter

When Lancet opened his eyes the morgue was empty.  He was completely alone.  Even his constant companion, his smart sword, was gone.

"Hello, Lancet."

A tall, older man in an archaic gray wool suit appeared.  He was bald, with creases around his eyes and mouth but an upright posture that made his age hard to guess.  He smiled reassuringly, yet Lancet saw something calculating and not quite human behind his eyes.

Lancet felt trapped and defenseless.  He involuntarily groped for his missing weapon.

"Ah, one moment," the old man smiled.

There was a tingling in Lancet’s head and suddenly his sword was back, nuzzled against his body. He could feel every part of it, as if the sword had truly become an extension of him at last.

"Are you Beebe?" Lancet asked the stranger.

The old man put a hand on Lancet's shoulder and gave him a grandfatherly squeeze. "I am.  It is so good to see you, lad."

"Are you... a Dreamer?"

Beebe smiled cryptically. "I've certainly dreamed of this moment.  I've known your family for a very long time.  I've watched you grow, seen you become the kind of man who could change the course of history, as your ancestors once did.  I knew I could trust you to step forward now, to do what must be done."

Lancet had waited his entire life to hear those words.  His heart filled with pride but his stomach clenched in uneasy anticipation.  He could feel that he was no longer in control of his life.  He was rapidly being swept away by the tide of fate.

One by one, Moab, Anansi, and the doctor blinked into visibility, looking shaken and confused.  The wizard Pavlovon appeared in several places at once.  Was this her ‘distributed intelligence’?

"Hello again, everyone.  This is an encrypted simulation space.  We are now in direct mental contact via your new implants.  In case you haven't guessed, I am Beebe.  I am pleased to report that no one was compromised by alien influence, and that each of you has my complete trust and undying gratitude.

"Here is what we know:  the aliens have infiltrated society with their followers, dupes, and parasite infested thralls.  They believe that Eclectia is doomed.  They want to accelerate this apocalypse, and with access to our technology they might very well succeed.

"I did not choose you to root out the infestation or declare a pointless war.  I gathered you for your talent, your leadership and your vision.  You believe, as I do, that humanity is destined for more.  This alien threat has the potential to rock our stagnated society to its foundation.  We are the ones who shall decide which pieces remain and how they fit together,” Beebe said.   

"So we're going to use these Rahab maniacs to light a fire under their butts?" Moab stroked his mustache approvingly.

Beebe gave him a knowing smile. "Never let a crisis go to waste."

The Sickening Plunge Part 3

by Jeff C. Carter

Everyone in the morgue was struck silent by Beebe’s announcement.  Lancet’s heart skipped a beat and he felt a fleeting kinship with the dead body laid out nearby.

“If the angels did cause the riots they must have used those spinal parasites to boost their psychic signals,” Anansi stated confidently, “Is that why you brought us inside Sheba?  Their signals can’t reach here?”

Lancet frowned.  He was irked that Anansi was putting things together faster than he was.

“That is correct,” the wizard finally sparked to life, “Although we have taken other precautions as well.  We cannot assume Sheba is secure, merely furthest from the signals.  We know a good deal about this thanks to the late Mr. Jon Valljon.”

She indicated the body on the slab.  Dr. Kes peeled back the side of Valljon’s head and exposed a cratered brain, filled with tangles of gleaming circuitry and the oily tendrils of a dead parasite. “Luckily for us he had a standard servant control implant in his head long before he was infected.  Not only was the chip ultimately able to override the parasite’s control, but we were able to pull memories of the alien transmissions directly from his brain.”

“Control implants allow me to monitor the hostile aliens in secret.  They will also protect you from coming under their control.  Pavlovon will fit you each with such a device,” Beebe said.

The wizard hefted a sinister gun with a long drill bit and smiled obligingly.

“You can’t be serious?” Councilman Moab gasped.

Lancet thought about the agonized look on Valljon’s face as the implant shut down his brain.  Everyone took a step back from the wizard.  Even Anansi’s smile was replaced by shock.

“I’m sorry, but this is not a request.  Any one of you could already be under alien influence.  Until we know for certain I cannot allow any of you to leave Sheba,” Beebe said.

Lancet knew this was just a step towards Beebe’s master plan.  He knew that they would have to fill this morgue a thousand times over to make it a reality.  If he was going to commit himself to this cause then he must be willing to start with his own body if necessary. “I’ll go first.”

Pavlovon lifted the drill and aimed it at Lancet's right eyeball. The wizard's face was blank again, her thick black goggles staring somewhere else entirely.

As the drill bit veered closer to his eye Lancet saw a cluster of needles jutting out, as thin as the woman's own silvery hair.

"Try not to move,” she mumbled.

The drill plunged forward with a sickening crunch.

The Sickening Plunge Part 2

by Jeff C. Carter

Lancet immediately recognized the body on the slab.  It was his old ‘servant’, Valljon, the man who had tried to kill him.  He didn’t know the skinny man in the rubber smock.  He appeared to be some sort of doctor.  He understood now why they were meeting in the damp gray morgue, but not why they had been made to travel to a morgue on the dark side of Sheba.

“Welcome.”

The soothing voice came from a speaker in the ceiling.  Lancet recognized the voice – it belonged to Beebe, the mysterious man who had been his long-distance mentor for most of his life.  They had never met face to face, and he was beginning to doubt that they ever would.  He was even beginning to doubt if Beebe had a face at all.

“Please allow me to make a few introductions.  Councilman Dresden Moab you surely know.  He is a long serving and distinguished member of the Peace Council,” Beebe said.

Beebe didn’t introduce himself, which indicated that everyone there knew him well enough that they would travel to Sheba without asking why.  It was a small group and introductions didn’t take long.  

Lancet began to understand what role each person was there to play. 

Anansi Tolliver, the stylish dark skinned man with the big smile.  Confidence man.  Smooth operator.  Trickster.

Pavlovon Neumann, the pale woman in the goggles staring off at something no one else could see.  Distributed intelligence engineer.  Lancet knew better than to think he understood what wizards did or what they were capable of.

The one in the smock was Dr. Kes.  Beebe had brought him up from Zirconia because he had made some important discovery.

Dr. Kes asked everyone to come closer to Valljon’s corpse on the gurney. “A short while ago I performed a detailed scan on a smuggler named Almer Croix. There was something unusual with his nervous system that a lot of physicians would have missed.  I was able to refine the image and find a separate life form.  The patient’s immune system was ravaged and failing and this life form was to blame.  It was actually a highly evolved alien parasite that had taken root in the poor man’s spinal cord.  

Lancet couldn’t see what a sick Zirco had to do with the St. Christina’s Riot and the Rahab murders that had precipitated this secret meeting.

“Dr. Kes graciously agreed to perform the autopsies on the inmates of St. Christina’s clinic.  They all shared the same parasitic infestation, which I believe is linked to the recent wave of criminal insanity,” Beebe said.

Dr. Kes proudly held up a pair of tongs and dangled a long, oily ribbon of flesh.

Councilman Moab cleared his throat.  He awkwardly looked at the speaker on the ceiling, unused to addressing someone he could not hold in his glare. “Are you saying that the riots happened without a leader?  There was no agenda?”

“Quite the opposite, Councilman.  I have uncovered patterns of association between individuals on Avenir and Zirconia that suggest a loose organization.  When combined with the parasite cases an unmistakable network emerges.  There has been almost no communication between these individuals, however.  All of which leads me to believe that this network is coordinated through psychic transmissions,” Beebe said.

Lancet’s stomach dropped.  Was there going to be a war with the aliens?  Had it already begun?

The Sickening Plunge Part 1

by Jeff C. Carter

Lancet watched the other people in the bleak bare elevator with him.  Councilman Moab he already knew quite well.  The well dressed man with the dark skin and the easy smile looked familiar, but Lancet couldn’t place him.  He didn’t buy the vapid smile; not when he could feel the dark eyes above it assessing him in return.  The pale woman with the slack face framed by thick goggles and wild gray hair he had never seen before, yet he recognized her as a wizard all the same.

The elevator squealed open at a dim sub-floor below the Sheba Forced Labor Penal Colony.  The wizard wandered off without a word down a poorly lit hallway.  They did their best to follow but the passage was choked with mounds of battered old equipment.   The wizard stared at her feet as she walked through the claustrophobic maze, yet she managed to skirt every obstacle.

Lancet looked around and noticed deep gouges and dents on every surface of the hallway.  The wizard stopped at a row of pipes along the wall.

“Hang on,” she murmured.

Suddenly, gravity quit.  Lancet and the others quickly joined the wizard at the pipes.  The equipment in the hallway drifted and smashed into the ceiling.  Soon it was spinning out of control, careening off walls and colliding into each other. 

Lancet and the others bobbed for a moment in silence.  A hefty piece of machinery pitched towards them and Lancet gave it a sharp kick down the hall.  The recoil nearly scattered them into the chaos. There was a sickening plunge in Lancet’s stomach, which he knew from experience meant that artificial gravity was about to resume.  They landed amid a deafening thunder as heavy equipment crashed to the ground.

The wizard wandered onward, effortlessly dodging the machines as they bounced and tumbled into their new places. The well dressed man flashed a wide grin and sauntered after her.  Moab gave Lancet one of his infamous ‘unamused’ looks and followed.

They reached the end of the corridor and came to a single door. A small sign marked it as the prison morgue.  It was a fitting place to meet, Lancet mused, for they were there to plan treason.  Worse, in fact.  Much, much worse. 

Perhaps in time they would end up back where it all began.

Swordplay

by Jeff C. Carter

Councilman Moab placed a sheet over two bodies.  The third, a bloody man in a hospital gown, he left exposed.

Lancet held a gel pack to his bruised face and neck. “Is it over?”
 

“My men haven’t reported any other attacks.  We’ll have to review the vids and body counts before we know for sure,” Moab sighed.  “Two good men, dead for nothing.  What a waste.”

“And my family’s koto,” Lancet added.  He knelt down and picked through the wreckage of a shattered musical instrument on the floor of his chamber.

“Let me see the telemetry from your sword,” Moab said.

Lancet stood and slipped off a black silk sash, a priceless creation from the nanoforges of Avenir.  It snapped into the shape of a long blade.  Lancet turned it downward and a crisp holographic display mushroomed up from the butt of the sword’s handle.

In the floating movie, a scaled down version of Lancet darted down a hallway and severed an attacker’s arm. “Notice how he felt no pain,” Lancet said. The other man continued to lunge and swing.  A blur of information speckled the hologram as facial recognition software and DNA analysis overlapped.

A file photo of the man appeared along with his I.D. and personal history. “This says he was a patient at St. Christina’s Clinic for the Neuro-Atypical,” Lancet read. With a twist of the sword’s grip the playback streaked forward through Lancet’s other battles, completing a grid of I.D. photos in the air. 

“All from the clinic,” Lancet said.

“Do you think it was some kind of mass psychosis?” Moab wondered.

Lancet pulled his shirt taut, revealing a bloody handprint with smeared fingers that the killer had imprinted there. “No.  They seemed too orchestrated.  They rallied around this symbol.  The mark of Rahab.”

Moab nodded. “I saw that on the walls.  They had a battle cry, too.  ‘Rahab is death’.  It seems too organized to be psychosis but too sloppy for proper terrorism.  Perhaps they belonged to a cult?”  

Lancet pulled the sword to his chest and it slithered back into a sash and fastened around his ribs.  He walked over to the uncovered body. “This one claimed to have been a former servant of mine.  He had just killed my guard when your man arrived and put a round in the back of his head.  I thought it was over, but somehow he managed to get back up and kill your man, too.”

Moab rolled the body over with his boot and peered into the deep gunshot wound. “It sounds like he was unstoppable.  So then…why did he stop?”

Lancet grinned. “His old control chip kicked in.  A servant cannot kill his master.”

Moab walked to the transparent wall and peered into space. “What a senseless act.  And two good men, dead.  What a waste,” Moab sighed. He looked down at the broken instrument at their feet. “And your koto as well, of course. I know you wanted to pass that on to your heirs.”

Lancet scowled down at the barren, hostile planet below. “The only thing I want to give my heirs is a world worth having.”

Opportunity

by Jeff C. Carter -

Nosey ran through the hall ways of Avenir singing and screaming and crying tears of joy.  She had never felt so free from fear or guilt or obligation.  She painted the walls, marking them as she explored the wide open spaces outside St. Christina’s Clinic.

She heard shouting up ahead and saw a bloody handprint on the wall.  The mark of Rahab.  She sprinted around the corner and found herself in an enormous ball room with a high vaulted ceiling.  On any other day she would have shriveled in panic to find herself in such a large space, but not today.  With Rahab working through her she was fearless.

Her little friend Bruzzy was nearby, clinging onto a rich lady’s back and roaring into her ear.

“Rahab is death!”

He sank his small teeth into her neck.

Nosey giggled and snatched a broken bottle from the floor.  Sweat and blood flew from her hair and hospital gown as she danced and whirled, painting people red like roses and sunsets and fire. 

A sound like a dozen corks popping echoed off the ceiling.  Bruzzy and the rich lady both fell down in the most gorgeous spray of scarlet and cherry red. 

“Stand down!”

A big fancy old man with gray hair and a mustache swung a pistol towards her.  He was surrounded by piles of bodies, some in hospital gowns, and some in satin and lace. 

“I just want to help you, Mister.  Once I open you up you can feel the wide open space!” Nosey whined.

The big fancy man pulled the trigger but nothing happened.  He cursed. 

Nosey giggled.  She darted forward, the bottle in her hand shining crystal green and crimson.

The big fancy man pulled a glass off a table and splashed its bronze liquid into her face.  Eyes stinging, Nosey slashed at the air blindly.  No fair!  She wanted to see what was inside of him! 

The big fancy man slapped her to the ground with a meaty hand.  Nosey rolled over and rubbed her eyes.   There was a shiny blur in the big fancy man’s hand, and when it opened it produced a beautiful red glow.

“Rahab…” Nosey squealed.

The big fancy man dropped the lighter onto the girl and she was instantly wrapped in flames. 

“Councilman Moab, you’re alive.”

The big fancy man turned from the fire to see Lancet Palmar VIII panting in the doorway, holding a bloody sword.

“You’re here.  Good.  What do we know?” the big fancy man asked.

“Too soon to say for sure.  Terrorists, perhaps?” Lancet said.

“Perhaps.  Any idea who or what this ‘Rahab’ might be?”

Their faces were both illuminated by the crackling flames.

“Yes,” Lancet said, “an opportunity.”