Memories and Magic, Anthology #2

By Paul Comstock

Six science fiction stories of memories and magic. Stories of human duplicates stealing identities, and lives, people controlling memories, magical pennies, drudgery turned into ritual, and gods with magical power.

52,700 words in six short stories and novelettes. Also included in Anthology #3 (ISBN# 9781476122038).

Includes the stories:

A Case of Identity - (ISBN# 9781465711946)
A Penny's Worth - (ISBN# 9781465754851)
Rituals of Change - (ISBN# 9781476138664)
The Rune Priest - (ISBN# 9781476374857)
Starlight and Memories - (ISBN# 9781476412894)
Memory Stick - (ISBN# 9781466029910)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Comstock
• Release date: Apr 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476146225

Book preview

Memories and Magic

Anthology #2

by

Paul Comstock

http://www.paulallancomstock.com

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Paul Comstock on Smashwords

Memories and Magic

Anthology #2

Copyright © 2011 by Paul Comstock

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Memories and Magic

Anthology #2

Table of Contents

A Case of Identity

A Penny's Worth

Rituals of Change

The Rune Priest

Starlight and Memories

Memory Stick

A Case of Identity

by

Paul Comstock

http://www.paulallancomstock.com

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Paul Comstock on Smashwords

A Case of Identity

Copyright © 2008 by Paul Comstock

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A Case of Identity

The news this morning wasn't anything to get excited about, unless you counted the story about me being dead. Well, I guess it wasn't really me, but what else could I call it? They found the body, my body, a crumpled and broken mess on Highway 76 over by the industrial park, a victim of some freak accident. That was bad enough, but even worse my coffee was getting cold and I was going to be late for work.

You have two visitors, the entry VOX declared in its irritating, mechanical voice. The cold and bitter tasting coffee went down the drain and I went to the door. Looking through the peephole I could see it was the BIT, the bulges of their stun guns betraying the commonness of their dull gray suits. Great, just what I needed, another thing to make me even later. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.

Yeah, I said through the VOX. What do you want?

Mr. Thompson, we're with the Bureau of Identity Theft. There's been an incident and we need a word with you.

They said it in a flat, nasally monotone as if I wouldn't know what they were talking about. I didn't really want to talk to them, but I didn't want to appear guilty of anything, either, especially since I hadn't done anything wrong. Not that wrongdoing was a requirement if they wanted to make my life hell. It was better to cooperate, but I was still annoyed enough to make them work a little for it.

Show me your badges, I said. The shiny badges glared, and I couldn't make out much detail, but they looked real enough. Okay, come in.

Thank you, Mr. Thompson, the first agent said, entering with his partner following behind, both pushing past me. They looked like twins with their hair cropped down to a fine matting on their perfectly shaped heads showing off their somewhat crooked ears. They even wore the same cologne, a sickly sweet one I had always hated. The similarity in the two wasn't surprising. One was a dupe. BIT agents often used dupes as their partners.

So what is this about? I asked.

The first agent glanced around the room while the other kept my attention. I see you've been watching the morning news so you probably already know why we're here.

You mean my dead body? So? I'm in a hurry this morning and I'd appreciate it if you could get to the point.

"Do you know anybody by the name of Dangler?"

No.

"That was the name on the dead dupe's ID, Tom Dangler. Are you sure it doesn't sound familiar?"

I said no.

The agent nodded. Normally, the dead body would be enough to close the case and we wouldn't have bothered, but there are a few loose ends, and a concern.

What do you mean by a concern?

We think there might be more of you out there and we have no idea how many.

Why would you think that?

It wouldn't be the first time, the other agent replied.

So how does anything I say help? It's not like I'm the one that made the dupe. The twin agents looked at each other then back at me, turning their heads in eerie, synchronous unison. You don't think I made the dupe, do you? I asked, feeling queasy. My throat was suddenly itchy and the cold coffee wasn't sitting well in my stomach.

The original is often in on it, the agent said, his face as set as stone, cold and calculating.

I swallowed. I didn't have anything to do with it. Really.

The agent raised an eyebrow but went on. "The dupe didn't commit any crimes that we know of but he had some papers containing information from Victory Financial. You work for them, don't you?"

Yes.

They're encrypted so we brought them with us. We were hoping you would be willing to examine them, tell us what they're about.

Sure, hand them over. The agent's counterpart nodded then produced the papers. There wasn't much to be said for the encrypted documents. Nothing but gibberish filled the pages. No wonder the agents couldn't decipher them. The green bar running across the top of each identified them as level three documents. I'll have to try to decode them, but my code may not work.

Do what you can, Mr. Thompson, the agent said.

I typed my personal decode key into my portable encrypter and put the papers in the hopper. The papers processed slowly, gliding out of the machine in a slow procession, page after page. I grabbed each page as it emerged and examined it.

My decrypt key only worked for parts of the documents and large areas were still filled with gibberish--something I had expected. My decode key would only work for information I was cleared to see regardless of my general security clearance. On the third page something about dupes caught my attention. It was definitely troubling considering the situation, but now was not the time to show any concern. I took extra time examining them, waiting for the temporarily decoded parts to reverted back to their original, encrypted form. I didn't want to be arrested, and even the hint of a connection would probably bring that about.

Well, I'm sorry, I said, but I haven't had any more luck with them than you. But you're right, these shouldn't have been taken from the office.

So those papers are of some importance?

Probably, since they are encoded at a high level.

What do you make of them?

I needed to give the agent a good reason why someone would want these papers without revealing the part involving dupes. I chose to tell him part of the truth rather than lie completely. I figured it would sound more convincing. If I were to guess I'd say someone was trying to steal this stuff. Some of it could be worth quite a lot to the right people. You know, investments and stocks, things like that.

Which people?

I had some ideas. Victory had made plenty of enemies, and some of their competitors could, and would, do most anything to get even. There were a dozen possibilities, but nothing concrete. I don't think I should answer that. I'd only be guessing.

The agent nodded. Very well. We'll need the papers back.

Certainly, I said, handing over the documents without hesitation. I didn't need them since the encoder kept a copy in its memory. It was a deluxe model.

Very well, Mr. Thompson. Please contact us if you need more assistance in this matter. Since no laws, other than illegal duplication, seem to have been broken, and since we have the dupe's body, this case is officially closed. But we will be back if any more of you show up. They left, saying nothing more, but leaving a contact card on my counter. I sighed, relieved that they hadn't hauled me in. It was true that I hadn't done anything and wasn't responsible for the dupe, but the BIT had more power than the IRS and could have locked me up for a lot less than suspicion of duplication.

I went back to the encrypter and reprinted the pages. As I examined them in greater detail I became even more uncomfortable. One referred to a project I had never heard of, the Worley Exponent. The name was strange and I had no idea what it meant. I shrugged in frustration. There was little else I could do about it here. The only thing left was to see if I could find out more at work. Maybe I could get the rest of the documents decoded there. Besides, I really didn't want to be late.

###

When I got to work I was only a little late, but that was still going to be bad. Being even a second late would be enough for Ms. Hanson to rake me over the coals. She loved to harass her charges and often staked out the elevators waiting for some poor fool like me to roll in after that nine o'clock tick. Even being dead probably wouldn't be a good enough excuse for her. It would be far better to avoid her altogether.

When the elevator dinged and opened, I looked around and sighed in relief. Ms. Hanson wasn't anywhere to be seen. I had gotten lucky. I didn't waste the opportunity and immediately turned right and kept moving. I knew where I was going. Ray's office was at the end of the hall, over to the right, past the fake brownish-green, dusty plants in the corner. I'd visited it a hundred times, and I managed to slip into his office without incident.

Hey dead man, what's up? Ray said as I entered and shut the door.

The dead man thing is getting old, I said. I must have heard it a thousand times today.

Okay Josh, don't be so touchy. I'm just not very creative today. Give me time, and I'll come up with something better. He sat down at his desk and indicated a chair for me. I didn't sit. What's wrong? he asked.

Well, I assume from your comment that you know all about me being duped.

Who doesn't? It's all over the news.

Right, well it's starting to get to me.

It does seem a bit strange, I'll grant you, but I don't see anything ominous. It does happen, even to guys like us.

Yeah, I know. It shouldn't bother me, but it does. I need to know if there are other dupes of me somewhere. The whole thing creeps me out.

Ray frowned. You should let the BIT handle it. It's their job.

I would, but a couple of them came to my apartment this morning and I didn't like their implications. They made it sound like I was to blame for it. It worries me, and I can't just let it go. I've got to find out.

Oh, a mystery. Sounds interesting. So how can I help?

The dupe had papers on him that the BIT asked me to decrypt this morning.

So the plot thickens. Got them with you? Ray asked.

Here, I said, opening up the briefcase and handing him the papers. He immediately ran them through his desk encrypter, then carefully studied them.

Hmmm... Well they are vague, but they do seem to have something to do with dupes and productivity, don't they?

Yes, I said.

Did you tell the BIT about any of this?

No. I was worried they'd arrest me, and I needed some time to decide what to do. I need information, Ray. Something to go on. Is there anything at all you can figure out from these papers?

Ray shrugged. Not immediately, but I can certainly try a few things. After a couple of minutes pecking and jabbing the keyboard in front of him, Ray looked up. I can't decode any more of this page than you could and I can't get into the data on the project at all. It's a red project, it seems, even though this document was coded green--probably some kind of goof-up.

That's it? That's all you can figure out? It was definitely a letdown, and it didn't help solve my worries.

Now, now, calm down. I didn't say I couldn't find out more, I just said that I couldn't get to the data. For one thing, every project has to go through accounting. I can at least tell you every employee that was ever associated with the project. Might be a place to start.

Better than what I have right now, I answered.

Ray pursed his lips and nodded, then tapped the keyboard again, typing furiously. Then he stopped. The ever-present smile from his face faded and the redness in his cheeks vanished.

What? What did you find? I asked.

Did you say you don't have any idea what this Worley Exponent project is?

Yeah, why? Don't you believe me?

Oh, I believe you, but... I guess there's only one way to tell you. Your name is listed as a person associated with the project. I would assume you'd know about it if you were a part of it.

What? That's impossible. I don't know anything about it other than its name.

It's right here, see? Ray tapped a couple of keys and a copy of his screen displayed on the desk in front of me. There it was, just like he said. A listing of all the people associated with the Worley Exponent project. Fred Worley's name appeared at the top, followed by a guy named Jason Lawson, another guy named Ted Dangler, and then mine. The same Ted Dangler found dead this morning, no doubt. And what about the name of the project matching the one at the top? Just what did all this mean?

Then reality smashed down on me and my world collapsed. If Worley was one of the people listed with the project, and had the name of the project, then he must be... And that would make me...

I swallowed, and my vision blurred. Everything was wrong and out of focus. My stomach churned, and I had to grab the edge of Ray's desk to keep myself standing. I closed my eyes and soon felt Ray's hands helping me to sit down in a chair. Thanks, I said, and opened my eyes.

Ray always smiled unless things were really bad. There wasn't a time I could remember when Ray was serious about much of anything, but the thin line of his lips and the frown on his face told me that he understood as well as I did. I can't be a dupe, can I? I mean, wouldn't I know?

I don't know, pal. You seem pretty normal to me. Maybe you aren't a dupe. Maybe you're just listed there because of something else you worked on and this whole dupe thing is a coincidence. They do happen you know.

I really wanted to believe him. Hell, I needed to believe him, but I just couldn't. I knew better. My dead dupe was found with papers that implicated a project I was tied to. What were the odds? One in a billion? One in a trillion? No, I think it's clear that I'm a dupe.

Look, you're still a person, with a job and an identity, even as a dupe. You're not a spy or anything.

Are you certain? Maybe I am, and I don't even know it. I don't know enough about how the whole duping thing works to feel sure of anything.

Ray shrugged. "I can't say I know a lot more about it, either, but I do know a few things. For example, all it takes is a hair root, a piece of skin, or some blood to get somebody's DNA. Then they just grow the dupe. I have a friend over at GenCo, Graham Goodsend. I think you met him once when he dropped by. Anyway, Graham says that