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.

Wild Card

by Mary Ruth Pursselley -

Robin Corpsman had been told that the Steakhouse Arjentina was the best place to have dinner in Zirconia, so he headed there. This was his last night in town, and he planned to enjoy it.

The restaurant doors swung inwards, injecting him into a U-shaped room glowing with neon blues and greens. Wait staff dressed in black moved among the tables, their steps matching the beat of rhythmic music flowing from hidden speakers.

Robin made his way to the obsidian-top bar and pulled a stool out for himself. The waiter behind the counter offered him a good evening.

“What can I get you?”

“Dinner and a drink,” Robin said, “whatever’s best here.”

“Coming right up.” The waiter smiled, a look that promised an excellent meal, but with an exorbitant ticket attached.

Robin didn’t mind. Why not splurge on his last night in town and the school’s tab? Tomorrow morning he’d be heading landside, back to bland food, gritty water, ash, earthquakes, and lava. Back to his quest.

He’d have to spend enough time at one of the already-established digs to keep Trinity’s archaeology department directors happy, but as long as they had something new to brag about and display in the museum, they didn’t usually complain about the time Robin spent chasing legends. His quest, should he ever succeed, would benefit them too.

The waiter brought a glass flute of something that sparkled silvery-green. Robin lifted the flute and took a sip; the taste was exquisite, like nothing he’d had before.

Seeing the waiter watching him, he nodded his approval and raised the flute as if in a toast. The waiter smiled and nodded as he walked back into the kitchens.

Robin took another sip and swirled the drink slowly in the glass. If he ever succeeded in his quest, the whole of Trinity University, the entire Christchurch community, and even the high-ups on the Avenir would be toasting him. His discoveries would be the greatest in Eclectian history. He would be guaranteed a relatively easy life and substantial income for as long as he lived.

If he failed, he’d likely keep working as an archaeologist until age or ash lung disabled him. Then Trinity’s darling poster child would be left to fend for himself on a planet that was far from merciful to the weak.

The two potential futures were always standing over him, taunting him with suspense about which one would become reality. Reality hinged on the chances of him drawing the wildcard from a deck shuffled by fate and volcanoes.

The wildcard was Empathia.

A Spirit of Fun

by Walt Staples -

In his idle moments, Pomphee, the department’s head, wondered whether it was prescience on the part of an ancestor that led to picking the name or whether, possessing that name, the man before him felt at some level required to live up to it. Doctor Professor Erschreckendmann or, more simply Doctor E, hulked in the armchair across the desk from him, if a man of 60 kilos can be said to “hulk.” Perhaps it was it was his way of holding his head tilted forward and regarding the subject of his interest from beneath thick, bushy brown eyebrows, a gleam of green glimmering in the shadows. In combination with the ferocious mustache, one was given the uncomfortable impression they were being observed through a sniper’s sights from ambush.

The other spoke, “And that’s your problem? One freshman prankster?”

Pomphee nodded. “Precisely, Doctor.”

Doctor E lowered his right eyebrow. “What makes him special?”

The department head sighed. “The last stroke was the neutron particle spectrum analyzer.”

“Richardson’s new toy?”

“Yes. Well, it seems young Hacket found a way to view questionable artworks on it.”

Doctor E half smiled. “Something neither the League nor the chaplains would approve of, no doubt. So? Take them off.”

“That was the first half. The second became apparent when those, in a moment of weakness…indulged, shall we say. It seems anyone who does comes away with a red face.”

The professor chuckled. “That shocking, are they?”

“No,” Pomphee shook his head, “literally red. Hacket linked a cantrip to the instrument. If one uses it for its proper purpose, there is no problem, but if used to view…” he let the rest hang and reached for the cigar box on his desk.

Doctor E gave a great gust of a laugh. “Ah. That’s why Richardson and half his grad students are nowhere to be seen. And the mice of the department want me to bell this young cat.”

The other nodded. “Just so.” He pushed the cigar box across the desk and raised his eyebrows.

Doctor E put up a hand in negation. “No. A wise alchemist doesn’t smoke. There are far too many things in my laboratory that are much too fond of fire.”

The department head choose a dark Cabyo and touched it into ignition. “Will you handle the matter?”

The smaller man rose, turned, and with his hands clasped behind him, strode to the door. As the guard gnome held the door, he stopped, turned, and with hands still clasped, answered, “I’ll think on it.”

*

Hacket peeped around the corner of the sub-hallway. Though designated only for maintenance robots and gnomes and other such creatures running errands, the students often used it as a shortcut between their cells and the library. The string was almost invisible and stretched across the hall neck-high on a human. He snickered. The next student though would receive a very wet surprise. He glanced again at the buckets; their color merging them into the walls and ceiling.

Footsteps! He crouched so as to peer around the corner from a lower vantage. The freshman’s freckled face broke into a big toothy grin as he recognized his victim, the sawed-off little runt with the huge mustache from the Materials Department. This was going to be so good!

His quarry approached the string oblivious to its presence. Hacket put a hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle. The little man touched the string—his head flew from his body! Hacket froze in horror and the bottom dropped out of his stomach as the headless body fell forward, hit the floor, and flew into hundreds of fragments.

As he stood transfixed, a hand dropped on his shoulder and a voice rumbled, “You might consider breathing again.”

Hacket slowly turned his head. The hand on his shoulder belonged to the little man and it was attached to the rest of him.

The redhead found his tongue. “How?”

Doctor E twitched his mustache with amusement. A green fire burned behind his eyes. “A simple matter of bi-location and atomization, my boy.”

“How the devil—?”

“No,” the professor cut him off, “in my case, they’re from the other side. An inheritance, one might say.

“Now, if you can control your clownish impulses until the end of the semester, I’ll take you on as a lab assistant. Come along.”

As he followed, Hacket asked, “Inheritance? Is it elven blood then?”

The old man snorted. “Elves? Of course not--Heinzelmännchen.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Look it up, boy,” Doctor E threw over his shoulder, “That’s the way you learn.”