Published by Adventure Books of Seattle
Edited by Geoff Nelder and Robert Blevins
Escape Velocity: The Anthology
© 2011 by Adventure Books of Seattle
Stories are copyright by their respective authors
and presented here under special license.
Published by Adventure Books of Seattle
‘The Small Press from the Great Northwest’
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be used, stored by digital, print, or electronic means, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
www.adventurebooksofseattle.com
ISBN 13: 978-0-9823271-9-7
First edition in paperback
April, 2011
Images
Front cover – Artist’s rendition of Mount Olympus on Mars
Back cover – Earthrise from lunar orbit, Apollo 11 mission
Courtesy of NASA
Kindle Reader version available at Amazon.com
Editorial by Geoff Nelder
Chester, Great Britain
A lump formed in my throat when we decided to put Escape Velocity, the innovative magazine of science fiction and fact, on ice after only a handful of print runs. However, many talented writers had sent us their gems to read for future issues and it was a privilege to read through them all. Some shone through, worthy enough for competition winners, all were excellent. I hated the notion of returning those stories without using them and so the idea of an Escape Velocity Anthology was born. Past contributors had suggested the best of their stories could also find their way into the collection. The anthology is a collector’s item, a fabulous gift for any lover of science fiction and a significant brick in the cathedral of speculative writing.
Editorial by Robert Blevins
Seattle, U.S.A.
I sometimes say that Escape Velocity was an experiment that failed beautifully, like a shooting star streaking across the heavens. The magazine business is highly competitive, and it is much more difficult to do a magazine than to edit a book, for example. To produce a book you only need to prepare the manuscript, create a cover, and assign an ISBN and a barcode. To create a magazine, you have to work with multiple contributors, insert images, and many other things. It was rewarding, yet very difficult, especially with our small staff. However, these efforts resulted in several very good issues of the magazine.
Presented here are forty-eight great science fiction tales, one poem, and a cute cartoon. We certainly hope you enjoy them.
Table of Contents
Finding Farber.......................................T.M. Crone
Zuggyzu and the Humans.....................Sheila Crosby
A Smaller Step...............................Michael Anderson
The Zozoian..........................................Duane Byers
Sixes, Sevens..........................................Simon Petrie
Birthright...................................................Ian Smith
Being of Sound Mind..................................Roy Gray
Auditory Crescendo.................................Geoff Nelder
Caveat Emptor!..........................................Bec Zugor
First Class........................................Barbara Krasnoff
Heaven As Iron, Earth as Brass....Richard J. Goldstein
Galactic Collision................ Poem by Magdalena Ball
Testing......................................................Kaolin Fire
Freer Enterprise............................Lawrence Buentello
The Rising Cost of Insurance.............Branden Johnson
Caitlin Invisible......................................Ben Bamber
Scream Quietly......................................Sheila Crosby
An Empty Kind of Love........................Adam Colston
Hole Card...........................................Robert Blevins
Chester...................................................Karl Bunker
Perfection of the Mind............David Wallace Fleming
Borrowed Time...............................Gustavo Bondoni
The Inn Between............................Michael Anderson
The Prettiest Star.......................................Jaine Fenn
One Way Trip...........................................Rick Novy
Table of Contents Continued
The Cat Comes Back......Cartoon by Roberta Gregory
The Shower..............................Mark and Tony Ricca
Outside the Grid........................................D.J. Emry
Silver.............................................Derek Rutherford
Free Market..........................................Gavin J. Carr
Jutzi Coblentz – Amish Time Traveler....Joshua Blanc
Relativity..........................................Gareth D. Jones
Oveio..................................................Kevin Gordon
Target Audience.......................................Mark Lewis
The Insult.............................................Paul Freeman
Goodbye Maggie..........................Catherine Edmunds
Of Honeysuckle and Sunsets......Koscienski and Pisano
Doc.....................................................Barry Pomeroy
Symbiosis .......................................Jonathan Pinnock
It’s Easier to Pretend in the Dark.......David Tallerman
Wet Life............................................Gayle Applegate
One Long Holiday...............................Ben Cheetham
Home in Time for Breakfast.................Clyde Andrews
A Handful of Stars.......................................Mark Iles
The Oceans of Mars......................William C. McCall
Jack in the Box...................................Robert Harkess
Whisper in the Void.............................Robert Blevins
Thank You for the Music.........................Rosie Oliver
Royal Flush...............................................Ian Whates
Red Monkeys.................................Rebecca Latyntseva
About the Editors.. .Robert Blevins and Geoff Nelder
Finding Farber
T. M. Crone
The early morning tram from East Park entered Station 12 ten minutes behind schedule. A lucky break for Banger Dunn. He hurried to catch the rail-runner, grabbed onto what was left of Farber’s arm and shoved him through the tram door. Covered with blood, Farber’s coat sleeve hung like a limp fire hose.
Banger thrust a token into the pockmarked metal depository and pulled Farber up from the floor, where he had fallen. Blood trailed behind them as they walked down the aisle. The tram moved onward, toward 39th Street.
Banger shoved a newspaper off the back seat and guided Farber into it, next to him. Farber’s thin body trembled beneath the big overcoat. Banger moved him closer. Then he noticed the kid, the only passenger on the tram, sitting six rows ahead staring at them. Too early for the commuter crowd. This kid didn’t look like the working type; he had that street-gang, hood look about him: hollow face with glossy eyes, strip of orange hair perched on top of his scalp. The kid would probably forget he ever saw Farber and him. Nothing to worry about.
Farber leaned over, his sullen face nearly resting on Banger’s lap. Patches of hair had already begun to fall off Farber’s head.
“We’re almost there,” Banger said. He rested his badly cut left hand on Far
ber’s shoulder, being careful not to touch the sleeve of Farber’s coat that concealed the stubble of muscle and bone. Banger looked at the kid, who now watched with a more alert gaze. No wonder. The way he and Farber dressed, both wearing brown pants tucked into heavy black boots and enormous matching gray overcoats stained with mud, blood, grease, and God knows what else, would invite attention anywhere.
Farber, with his white skin and black eyes that looked like they had just exuded his life right out of him, and a missing arm ... and now his hair.
Farber sat up and seemed to stare right at the kid, but Banger knew better. There was nothing left behind those eyes.
Banger felt Farber’s body heave once, twice, and he inched away. “Farber, no! Not here.” Farber opened his mouth, releasing the contents of his stomach onto Banger’s lap, down his legs, into his boots.
“Aaahh, geeze, buddy.” For the first time since he had met Farber,
Banger wanted to cry.
Too shaken to worry about the caustic puke seeping into his boots, Banger stared out the window, counting tile blocks on the tunnel wall as the tram slowed down through Station 25. Banger didn’t see where Farber had gotten the syringe, but when he pulled his gaze away from the window Farber had already jabbed a needle into his own thigh.
A shiver cascaded down Banger’s spine. “Farber, what are you doing? Oh, God.” Banger jerked backwards, watching Farber’s body coil and plunge to the floor. Farber trembled for a moment, and then went limp. A thick yellow liquid oozed from the pores in Farber’s face and remaining hand, devouring his skin.
Banger’s gaze locked onto the yellow goop that had once been Farber’s body, the enormous overcoat he had worn sinking into its mists, melding with the tram’s rusty metallic floor; Farber’s existence erased from the world — just like what should have happened to that cliff-diver, Jekkie Lane, if only —
The kid must have activated the emergency signal, because the tram came to a sudden stop just outside Station 25. When Banger looked up, he saw the black “E” on back of the kid’s tan jacket as the kid left the tram.
A wave of dread moved through Banger. He leaped over what was left of Farber and ran.
What had incited Molly Holden to stay in the soul-wrenching town after she passed the Bar exam eluded her. A bad decision. Corrupt political fruitcakes, street-gang hoods, serial-killer wannabes, and now she could add sick bastards to her list of clients. The closest thing she had to a friend was a floppy-lipped, over-fed precinct detective with a shocking disregard for fashion.
Fighting her desire to slump on the floor and curl up, Molly pressed her hand against the observation window. It had been another late night. She tried her best to stand straight.
“Doctor Nicholas Lorenzo Dunn III,” said Detective Allen Parker, glaring at the detainee who sat behind the glass. “Brought him in early this morning. Found him wandering outside Station 25.” He sipped his coffee and tucked his sweater into his trousers. His baggy retro pants rolled halfway down his butt and ejected the shirt right back out.
He leaned into her, his breath reminding Molly of the garbage truck she had passed on her way to the precinct. “Goes by the name of Banger,” he said. “An astrophysicist, believe it or not, and two-time, silver-medal runner. Should’ve seen him when we brought him in. Wore a big bloody overcoat. A real sick-o. You wouldn’t believe the crime scene.”
Molly inspected the man who sat on the wooden chair behind the glass. He wore the red jumpsuit given to all suspects. Thin. Needed a shave. Hair like a half-breed Pekingese on a bad day. “Why would an astrophysicist want to kill Jekkie Lane?” she asked.
“Beats me,” replied Allen. “Look at the guy. How could someone that skinny overpower a guy like Lane, twice his size? He keeps mumbling something about galeapers and finding an orange-haired mohawk kid. Frankly, I think he’s nuts. But that’s for you to prove, counselor. He’s your client.”
“Thanks, Allen.”
Allen wrinkled his nose and turned to go, but hesitated. “Let me give you some advice, Molly. This creep killed a super star. Don’t try too hard.”
Wanting nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed, Molly squared her shoulders and entered the observation room. Doctor Dunn stood when she entered, his wrists in shackles. She hadn’t noticed the chains, or the bandage on his left hand. She kept her distance.
“Dr Dunn, I’m your attorney, Molly Holden. I’ve been asked to—”
“I didn’t ask for an attorney.”
“Doctor, you’re being held for murder. You do need an attorney.”
He sat back down on the chair and remained quiet, rotating his shackled wrists.
She walked closer, examining Dunn’s physique. It was hard to determine what musculature hid beneath the jumpsuit, but his posture indicated a lean build. No match for Jekkie Lane. She watched his eyes and asked, “What does the orange-haired kid have to do with this crime?”
“Doctor, yours was the only foreign blood found on the victim, and his blood was all over you.”
“I was with a galeaper. Ever hear of them?”
“No, but there’s a man dead with your DNA—”
“Galeapers’ blood is different. They don’t leave their blueprints on the body. They ordinarily don’t leave a body.”
She circled him, studying his saggy-faced expression. He didn’t look like a killer, but sick bastards usually didn’t.
He gazed at her with bloodshot eyes. “Farber said it had to be done.”
“Who’s Farber?”
“The galeaper. He’s dead. He melded himself with the tram because he was dying and couldn’t take the pain. His hair was falling out. That’s how galeapers die. They fall apart and then turn to dust.”
“What?”
“Farber injected himself with melding-blast in front of the mohawk kid. Then the kid stopped the tram and ran off. Then I ran off, and that’s when they picked me up.”
Banger blinked wet eyes. Then he continued. “It shouldn’t have happened that way. Farber was supposed to shoot Jekkie Lane with melding-blast and Jekkie Lane should’ve blended right into wherever he fell. We dressed like Lane’s agents, in overcoats and boots, so he’d think we were there to talk business — Farber’s idea. It didn’t work. Lane fought back, hard. Pulled off Farber’s arm. It turned to dust. Farber got a little crazy then. He killed Lane then we fled. I know this sounds outrageous. That’s why I have to find the kid.”
Molly began to think that Dunn was nuts. She played along. “So, Farber was a galeaper. And where did he come from?”
Banger hesitated before he answered. “I found Farber in a black hole.”
“You’re an astrophysicist?”
“Right.”
“This black hole. It’s out in space?”
“Yes, that’s the kind I’m talking about. Farber’s matter was emitted from the hole along with Hawking radiation. His atoms cohered within the particle reaper I used to find the hole and somehow he transported himself through the beam and into my laboratory. It was either Lane or me. You see, I invented the technology to find black holes, but Lane’s descendent will take that knowledge to a formidable level.”
Dunn’s story garbled Molly’s balance, or was it latent effects of the previous night? “Doctor, I don’t understand all of this. What is Hawking radiation?”
“Black holes emit radiation and information about what had been sucked into them.”
After drinking a life-sized virgin Bloody Mary, Molly took the tram to a section of town called the “drudge,” where she hoped to find Sonlin, a former client. Sonlin knew all of the hoods in Graveton, and for a price would do anything to help her.
The rain came down in icy sheets. She pressed her arms against her body, keeping her raincoat shut. Her head still spun from listening to Banger’s crazy story.
“The idea of an alien race
transforming planets into what they perceive as paradise is absurd, Doctor,” she had said at the precinct.
“That’s why they’re called galeapers,” Banger had replied. “They leap through time and galaxies, eliminating bloodlines that interfere with their plans. Jekkie Lane’s descendant would do just that.”
Genetic cleansing, or extreme justice; A spooky, preposterous story that Molly suspected was just another dark tale told by another sick bastard. Banger was either completely out of his mind or she was being set up.
Molly soon found herself staring at the third floor of the ‘leaning house,’ a name given to the building because of the illusion provided by missing red bricks along one of its sides. Plywood covered most of the windows, and wooden cartons served as front steps. The usual hawk-eyed lookout lingered by the doorway. He gave Molly a nod of recognition as she walked past him.
A spindly-looking doorman she didn’t recognize let her inside Sonlin’s third-floor dwelling. Sonlin sat cross-legged on the floor beside a plywood-covered window. A light-blue silk poncho draped his large body. A pile of clothing, an old mattress, and many small wooden crates packed with food remnants cluttered the room. The smell of cannabis drifted from behind her and mingled with a greasy odor of stale sweat.
Sonlin remained seated, delivering his blanket of warmth to her in a wide, compassionate grin. A contrast to his dark Asian skin, his synthetic teeth sparkled like sun off a pond.
“Ms. Molly,” Sonlin said in a deep voice. He extended his arm.
Molly returned his smile and squeezed his hand. She pulled cash out of her raincoat’s pocket and handed him a bill. “I need information, Sonlin.”
He snatched the bill. “Anything for you.”
“I’m looking for someone. He wears a tan jacket with a large black E on the back. Has an orange mohawk.”
Sonlin’s grin faded. “What he do?”
“Nothing. I just need to talk to him, for a client of mine.” She handed him another bill.
Sonlin hesitated before taking the money, a wrinkle forming above his brow. “Does this have anything to do with a tram?”