Fiction Vortex - December 2013 Page 5

  At least the numbers were finally starting to fade.

  "I just have a feeling," Blob said. It leaned in close. Prudence smelled over-ripe peaches on its breath. "There's blood in her mouth. Let me check her assimilation numbers before we seal her up, okay?"

  Butterfly sighed. "Fine."

  Blob pulled a little box off of its belt and fiddled with a knob. It pressed the box against Prudence's forehead. "Hmm."

  "Are you satisfied yet? Can I get back to my crossword?"

  "No, this is serious. She's definitely aware of us, and her link percentage has dropped to almost zero. We can't just close her back up, she'll go mad in there." Blob shifted away, and Prudence heard it typing at something. "Bad news, this life form is a fragile model with a super high assimilation rate. We need to take her out to fix her, and we can't plug her back in again, after."

  The extraterrestrials were being terribly rude. If they were really her hallucinations, they wouldn't talk about her as if she wasn't there. And the things they were saying didn't sound promising. Fear curdled in Prudence's belly.

  Butterfly pulled its own box off of its belt and duplicated Blob's movements. "Looks like you're right." It fluttered its wings. "If we plug her back in she'll assimilate completely. And her physical form is too fragile to handle the time dilation unshielded."

  "Poor little thing," said Blob, leaning over and patting Prudence's face with its cilia. The smell of peaches overwhelmed her. "What should we do?"

  Prudence wished it was asking her. She wished she could answer. She wished she understood the choices.

  "Pull her out. She's still bleeding; that can't be good for her," Butterfly said. "Set her up in a room, then we'll figure out what to do next."

  ~~~~~

  Prudence flexed her fingers, then her toes, watching them move as she did so. They still felt distant and odd — more like someone else's digits than her own — but at least they moved at her will again.

  The coveralls that Blob had supplied hardly reached her knees, and they were too long in the arms and too tight across her bust.

  Overall, a large improvement from paralyzed, naked numbness, but it was still far from ideal. She wished they'd given her a tool belt. Or a sandwich.

  The door slid open at her touch. The hallway outside was white and plain. It stretched uniformly off in either direction. She had no idea which way to go. She sat down on her narrow bunk and hugged her knees to her chest.

  Time crawled by. Eventually, the door slid open and Blob oozed into the room. It balanced a tray on its head. "I thought you might be hungry," it said.

  "Yes. Quite." Prudence stood up and took the tray, barely restraining the urge to bolt her food down like some uncultured savage. She uncovered the food gingerly, expecting alien mush or strange food cubes. Instead, she found a perfectly presentable tea spread, complete with cucumber and watercress sandwiches and scones with butter and jam.

  "Do you understand me, then?" Blob asked.

  Prudence nodded, her mouth full of scone.

  "Hmm. Your assimilation must have gone quite deep. Well, at least that will make whole experience a little easier for you." He paused and watched her eat for a moment. "Is the food acceptable?"

  Prudence nodded again.

  Blob's cilia waved, and the purple color of its skin deepened. "Good, good." It scootched closer to her. "I'm sure you have questions."

  Prudence gulped down the last of her tea. "I do indeed. Where am I? Why am I here? How did I get here? Who, and what, are you?"

  Blob waved its feelers. "Our ship gathers samples of life forms from every habitable planet we find. We take them home to study, then we return them to where and when we found them."

  "You travel through both space and time?" Prudence reconsidered the state of her sanity.

  "Yes."

  "And something went wrong with my transport, so now you can't put me back when and where you found me?"

  It fanned its feelers. "Yes. I — I'm really quite sorry. Nothing like this has ever happened before."

  "How much time has passed?" Prudence asked.

  "150 years."

  Prudence could barely comprehend the number. "I've been gone for 150 years? You mean Earth years?"

  Blob bobbed in agreement.

  She rubbed her temples. "What are my options?"

  Blob's skin darkened to the shade of India ink. "I'm afraid we have to let you off now, unless you want to be assimilated into the ship."

  "Why would I want that?" Prudence asked.

  Blob shrugged. "The ship has a sort of higher intelligence. Assimilation is almost like transcendence, from what I understand. I hear it can be very beautiful."

  Prudence imagined being sucked back into swirling numbers and floating through nothing. The thought was oddly seductive. There had been a sense of something greater just beyond her understanding. But she didn't want to lose herself. "I don't think assimilation is a viable option." She closed her eyes and struggled to maintain her decorum. 150 years in the future. Everyone she knew and loved would be dead. And how would the world have changed? She felt dizzy. And nauseated. "Are you going to simply lower a ramp and present me in these ill-fitting coveralls?"

  Blob flinched. "No! Of course not. We'll do all we can to help you acclimate. Gold is still very precious here, we can give you a supply — enough to live on until you get your feet under you. And we can get you clothes that will help you blend in. And I can do some research on what you can expect."

  "That's very generous of you," Prudence said. She reminded herself of all of the times she'd dreamed of adventure. She tried not to think about her family — the way her mother tucked her hair behind her ear, the way her father always ate the crusts of his bread first, the sound of her brother's laughter.

  She thought of David, his intense brown eyes and shy, sideways smiles. How long did he mourn her before he found another girl?

  Had he found another girl? Or had he lived and died alone, without her?

  "I — I need to be alone for a while," Prudence said.

  "I understand," Blob said, its voice soft and small. "I'll send you whatever information I find."

  ~~~~~

  150 years had wrought more changes than Prudence ever could have imagined. She pored over the documents that Blob brought her. Her eyes ached — all she'd done for days was read and cry. She had more options than she'd ever dreamed of having. Could she truly be sorry that she'd missed the chance to grow old with David, when this new world offered her so much?

  A tear fell onto the screen in front of her. She sighed. Of course she could.

  Butterfly poked its head into her room. "How long do you intend to make us stay here? Time travel can only overcome so much tardiness." It grabbed her checklist of things to learn and shook its head. "This will not do."

  "What is it you're in such hurry to get back to?" Prudence asked.

  "I don't want to 'get back' to anything," Butterfly said. "Except to our schedule."

  Prudence imagined hitting Butterfly as hard as she could. How hard could its exoskeleton be? Would she break her knuckles, or would it crumple under her blows? She took a deep breath. "You disrupted my entire life. I'm only throwing you off by a week or two."

  Butterfly glared at her and stormed out. "Just hurry it up."

  ~~~~~

  Prudence wandered through the halls, thinking about what she wanted to do with her life.

  Her choices were dizzying. She was leaning toward becoming a pilot. She'd always longed to see the world.

  Blob approached her and bobbed in welcome. "How is your research progressing?" it asked.

  "Well." Prudence smiled at it. "You can tell Butterfly that I'm almost ready."

  "There's no rush," Blob said. "I enjoy your company. It gets lonely sometimes, with just the computer and Butterfly. Butterfly gets terribly ... annoying sometimes."

  Prudence leaned forward. "Do you want to annoy him in return?"

  Blob darkened, but it leaned forwa
rd, too. "What do you suggest?"

  Prudence laughed. "Well, why don't we go get some tea and make a show of taking as long as possible. I bet that'll curl its antennae in knots. And the ship makes lovely tea."

  Blob burbled in amusement. "That sounds like a very pleasant way to spend the afternoon."

  ~~~~~

  Prudence stepped out of the ship into the middle of a field. Moonlight glinted against swaying stalks of wheat. "At least fields still look the same," she said.

  Blob caressed her face with its cilia. "Do you have your address? And your identification cards and things?"

  Prudence nodded. She was excited to start her new life. Scared, but excited.

  Blob rolled away. He looked back and waved. Butterfly stood in the doorway, radiating impatience.

  Prudence waved back.

  The ship lifted into the air, flew twenty feet, and tangled in a strange group of overhead cables. Sparks flew. The ship wavered, then slumped down to the ground. It left a furrow of crushed wheat behind it.

  Prudence ran to the ship. She pounded on the door, and it slid jerkily open. She stepped inside. "Hello? Are you all right?"

  "Malfunction," a shimmery female voice said. Prudence had never heard the ship speak before, but it sounded somehow like the swirling equations.

  "Hey!" Prudence shouted. "Where are you?"

  "Here!" It was Butterfly's voice, weak and gasping.

  Prudence followed the sound of its voice, and found it half crushed under a splintered pod. There was a strange, furry creature trapped inside, its eyes open but unmoving.

  "If I lift this, can you crawl out?" Prudence asked, gripping the pod by its jagged edges.

  "I think so."

  Prudence lifted with all of her strength. The pod barely budged. But it was enough. Butterfly slid to freedom.

  "Are you going to be okay?" Prudence asked.

  "If the medical bay is still functional, yes. If not..." Butterfly glanced down at its crumpled wing. "I can get myself there."

  "I'll find Blob," Prudence offered. She imagined him crushed somewhere and her heart twisted.

  "He was in the core," Butterfly said.

  Prudence hurried through the now-familiar corridors. When had the ship started to feel like home?

  She found Blob frantically sliding around the ship's core, where the A.I.'s integral parts curled together. Prudence sagged with relief. "Are you all right?" she asked.

  Blob's skin was almost black. "No."

  Prudence scanned it for injury. "Where are you hurt? Do you need my help?"

  Blob froze for a moment, then turned to her. "You might be able to help. The question is, are you willing?"

  "What are you talking about?" Prudence asked. He didn't look injured.

  "The surge scrambled some things. Things that might be stored in your mind. If you're willing to let us connect you to the ship."

  "But won't I be completely assimilated if you connect me?" Prudence asked.

  Blob bobbed up and down. "Yes. But if you don't help us..."

  "Aren't there others? There are so many pods, surely one of them would do?"

  "And how would we ask their permission?" Blob said. "And there's no guarantee that they'll have the information we need."

  "Is there any guarantee that I will?" Prudence asked.

  Blob rattled off a string of numbers. "Do you know what comes next?"

  She did. She thought about lying. But then she remembered that Blob had been a friend to her, that the ship did feel like home. She couldn't strand them here. "Yes."

  Blob scootched toward her. "Will you help?"

  Prudence's dreams of a new life as a pilot faded like stars at dawn. She blinked back tears and nodded. "Of course I will."

  ~~~~~

  Prudence settled into her pod. She closed her eyes, and all sensation faded. Memories fell away from her. Her father's voice, her mother's touch. David's eyes. Butterfly's stunned, grateful babbling. Blob's final slimy embrace.

  The numbers shimmered, and whispered the secrets of the universe.

  Prudence understood.

  Jamie Lackey lives in Pittsburgh with her husband and their cat. Her fiction has appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and Penumbra. She's a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Her Kickstarter-funded short story collection, One Revolution, is available on Amazon.com. Find her online at www.jamielackey.com.

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  Promised Land

  by Rebecca Ann Jordan; published December 17, 2013

  Second Place Award, December 2013 Fiction Contest

  “It will not come to that.”

  “But what if it does?”

  If it did, Ariadne would be out of the ruling family. She didn’t dare speak up. But she watched her father rub his neglected chin and silently listened to the voices in her head.

  “We will attack at dawn.” Nightfall, then. Lies for the cameras hovering nearby, relics from before the End, rediscovered a decade ago. Polished up, now they relayed what the enemy saw and heard on the other side of the field. “And if it fails, we will propose a duel. Captain Halmon will fight.”

  The red-haired captain pulled his attention from the video feed of the enemy’s camp. He stood abruptly with a deep bow. “Sire.”

  “Don’t let me down.” The king squeezed Halmon’s decorated shoulder. “I know you won’t.”

  If they did not die tonight, and Halmon did not lose, then the good captain would be king. It was an honor many would eagerly kill for.

  Fight, the voices whispered. They echoed themselves, toppling each other.

  Ariadne stepped among the group of men, saw herself move on the screens. The light shifted on her greasy yellow hair. The hovering camera shifted in the air to take her into view. “Father. I will be your champion.”

  The men looked at her, and then the old king laughed darkly. “Ariadne, this is no time for jokes.”

  “I’m not joking. You have trained me to fight, and I will fight. I will be your champion, and when I win we will keep the kingdom in your bloodname.”

  Reflexively, and at risk of betraying his honored reputation, the king glanced at the cameras. The technology had come about in her father’s lifetime, and he was still uneasy with it. Ariadne was born into constant cameras, and she was adept at pretending they weren’t there, which was, after all, the honorable thing to do. “This is the fight of men,” he informed her. Those feral eyebrows made the king look like a rabid muskrat. “Not girls. Would it be nice to keep my bloodname? Yes. But these are thousands of lives we’re talking about, and I won’t let your childish pride jeopardize them.”

  Fight, the voices whispered.

  “It isn’t pride.” She stood straighter as she faced him. “I can win, and I will win.”

  “Nonsense,” the king snapped. “You’ve never been in a real fight. Your teachers let you win because you’re the kingsblood.” He glared and took a step toward her, though Ariadne was taller than the old man. Her mother must have been tall.

  Fight.

  “I will win,” she told him, and glanced at Captain Halmon. “No offense, sir, but though you’re strong you are also wild with your sword arm. It serves you well by luck alone, but while you swing your enemy will cut you in half.”

  “You upstart child.” The lean captain put his hand on the hilt of his sword, the honorable weapon. In this new world, guns ruled the battlefield, but after the treaty, they had agreed to use them as little as possible. It was like that with the cameras, too, though nobody seemed to have been able to help themselves. “I would like to hear you speak after you've survived a war. You’re here only because your father wants to ensure you don’t whore yourself out and get a brood of bastards while he’s away.”

  The guards caught her midair as the two rushed at each other. She struggled, enraged, but they dragged her outside at the king’s shout. “My lady, forgive me,” said the guard who steered her back to her tent.


  “Get off of me.” She shoved him back outside with enough indignance to wind him when he fell. Ariadne didn’t care. She paced her tent with the clamoring of battle in her body and nothing to take it out on. It was lucky that the enemy’s hovering cameras had not deemed her interesting enough to follow; otherwise, she would have destroyed them underfoot. No doubt they now followed Captain Halmon, learning his strengths and his weaknesses so they could ensure their champion’s strengths outweighed his.

  Night was falling. Camp was alive with noise as soldiers prepared for the battle. They would have to move quickly, before the enemy caught on that they had used code in front of the cameras. The voices whispered amongst each other. Had they changed their minds? Was she to let Halmon steal her bloodname? The dimming light flicked across the inside of her tent as Ariadne’s whetstone slik-slecked on her ancient curved blade.

  And then in the distance she heard men dying. Bullets punched through shields of tempered steel and whizzed through flesh. Swords clanged off each other before their honor killed their masters. The temperature dropped and brought with it the scent of sharp blood. Dry thunder threatened a hundred miles away. The battle would be over soon.

  We lost too many men. Halmon will be killed in tomorrow’s duel.

  Patience, said the voices. Trust.

  Trust was a hard thing to give to mere whispers. She had learned at a young age that only she could hear them.

  Trust, they whispered again, and she was content. A single voice piped up, Your hair would be pretty, red. Not an ideal time to make a fashion statement, but her hands found henna powder in one of her packs, a new color every week.

  As Ariadne predicted, the battle was over quickly. The lamplight flickered behind the returning soldiers, which cast puppet shadows against the wall of her tent.

  Be ready.

  She was on her feet in an instant, pulling a green woolen hat over her head and a coat over her blue clothes, blue that only the wealthy could afford. Her clothes marked her, and she hid them as she stepped into the seething camp.

  There were dead and wounded men everywhere, but she paid little attention to them. It was the man they were bringing in now on a stretcher who had her interest. She followed them to Halmon's tent with a vague stirring of understanding, watched from just outside as the soldiers set him down and fumbled with thin bandages, knives, surgical scissors. Halmon screamed. Despite her resolve, Ariadne flinched.