Infinite Science Fiction One

By Dany G. Zuwen

From a sentient space ship lost in deep space to a man whose hatred of robots risks tearing his family apart, the characters in this collection of short stories will stay with you long after you’ve turned the last page. Discover the future face of human trafficking through the eyes of a little girl, follow an ancient tribe’s shaman as he embarks on a journey to save his people, or share in an astronaut’s final moments as an alien growth takes over his body; these are just some of the thrilling adventures packed into Infinite Science Fiction One.
Infinite Science Fiction is intended to be a long-running series of anthologies. We aim to collect some of the best science fiction stories from all over the world.
We will be back.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS: Introduction by Dany G. Zuwen -- “REAL” by Janka Hobbs -- “BY THE NUMBERS” by Tim Major -- “TIN SOUL” by Elizabeth Bannon -- “SIX MINUTES” by P. Anthony Ramanauskas -- “MATCHMAKER” by John Walters -- “THE WEDDING” by Nick Hilbourn -- “SLOW” by Jay Wilburn “GOSPEL OF” by Rebecca Ann Jordan -- “THE SILENT DEAD” by Dan Devine -- “NOTHING BESIDE REMAINS” by Matthew S. Dent -- “THE NIGHT WITH STARS” by William Ledbetter -- “BUTTERFLIES” by Doug Tidwell -- “MESSAGE OF WAR” by Michaele Jordan -- “ROLLING BY IN THE MOONLIGHT” by Liam Nicholas Pezzano -- “INFINITY” by J.B. Rockwell

• Language: English
• Publisher: Infinite Acacia
• Release date: Sep 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9782960132625

Dany G. Zuwen

Dany G. Zuwen was born Gaston Ndanyuzwe in 1985, Rwanda, South-East Africa. Dany writes (essentially) science fiction and some fantasy. Amy Boggs, from the Donald Maass Literary Agency, represents his fiction work.

Book preview

Introduction

by Dany G. Zuwen

I’ve read the bible at least once. Yes, the whole thing. It’s not that I’m a man of God, but when I was a young boy, it was the only book in the household. My parents were catholic; we went to church every Sunday—everyone shine your shoes and ready your best dresses! Something in the way religion works has always attracted me; when I was younger and was forced to practice it, but even as I got older, as I developed a personality of my own, when I could choose what to do with faith.

It has taken me nearly thirty years to understand it, but what fascinated me about the bible, and still does to this day, are its stories. Supernatural tales of unimaginable wonders. It doesn’t really matter if you’re a believer or not; whether you pray to Allah or Yahweh or Jesus or stick figures, there’s always an origin story behind every belief system—one that is so potent, so rooted, and so widely known that it cannot be ignored, not even by the most fervent atheists, agnostics, and other non-believers.

At age seven, I couldn’t comprehend what was, for my parents at least, a fact; my soul was in the balance between Good and Evil and only through prayer could I bring it to salvation. I labored at it, waking from nightmares where the Devil had claimed me, fearing the stench of sulfur and surface-of-the-sun-hot temperatures of the Eternal Pit. Or in rare moments of elation, I imagined myself in the dignified company of Moses, Abraham, and other Ancient Testament heroes, reveling in rivers of flowing honey and milk, drinking never-ending wine and eating the bread of Kings.

All this because of stories. Every single parable or teaching in the bible has a fantastical element to it; David battles the giant Goliath, Moses tears the Red Sea in two, Jesus walks on freaking water.

Far be it from me to sound blasphemous, I have nothing but respect for faith, but the Bible is the very reason I’ve come to cherish speculative storytelling. Like a miracle, the birth of a story is something that defies logic or understanding. Even more so with stories whose premise, as of today, is impossible. But that’s just it, the speculative world challenges us, defies us, teases us. I believe that only through imagination can we outgrow ourselves, reach farther, think bigger, dream larger. And speculative fiction dares us to look beyond the veil of reality; whether it be through science fiction, sheer fantasy or even horror—not to mention many, many other sub-genres.

Welcome to the first volume of Infinite Science Fiction. Since I discovered there was more to the world than the Holy Book, science fiction has been my passion, as a reader and as a writer. I hope the adventures in these pages will take you where no one has taken you before, and I hope you’ll join us for the upcoming titles in the Infinite Speculative Fiction family.

Happy reading!

Dany G. Zuwen, Brussels, August 4th 2014.

Story Break

Real

By Janka Hobbs

Crystal fished a stub of light blue crayon out of her crayon baggie and went to work on the sky.

Crystal, you want to be a rich girl, don’t you? Mander asked.

She looked up from her coloring book and nodded. When a grown-up used that tone of voice, she agreed first, then started listening to see what they were talking about.

See, Cherrie, Crystal thinks it’s a good idea.

Crystal don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. Cherrie gathered up the food wrappers and stuffed them down the compost chute.

Look at her, Cher. She’d have nice clothes and a computer, not thrift shop and broken crayons. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Crystal?

Crystal nodded again, less certainly.

And we could move someplace dry. Someplace above the sea wall. Or even someplace near a real beach. He smiled at Cherrie. You could get a real tan. He tipped his chair back against the wall and gestured around the apartment. Or do you want to live in this dump for the rest of time?

Crystal watched her mother’s eyes follow Mander’s gestures, taking in the windowless room with its broken entertainment wall, saggy sofa bed and stained sink-quikoven-disposal chute that passed for a kitchen.

Cherrie swallowed. Then she shook her head. Mander, she’s my baby. I can’t.

You want her to grow up in this? And where’s she gonna go from here, when the ocean keeps rising?

Story Break

Cherrie shook Crystal awake with a big smile on her face. Get up, honey. Today’s a big day.

Crystal rubbed her eyes. You said you were gonna take today off. How come I hafta get up?

Today’s a big day, Princess. You’re gonna be rich. We’re all gonna be rich.

She made Crystal shower, helped her wash her hair and even let her dry off in the one big fluffy red towel she usually saved for herself. She wrapped Crystal in it, sat her on the sofa and brushed her hair over and over again.

Mander came in, carrying a shopping bag. I got it. Here.

He handed it to Cherrie. Cherrie looked inside and pulled out a brand new outfit for Crystal: white socks, underpants, a blue tunic, leggings and red tennis shoes. Mander went off to the washroom while Cherrie helped Crystal put them on.

When Mander came out, he’d changed into the suit he sometimes wore while looking for work. Ready? he asked.

Crystal nodded.

Good girl, he said.

Cherrie picked Crystal up to hug her. You be good. If you wanna be rich, you gotta be good. Do what Mander says.

Cherrie put her down, and Mander took her hand. Come on, Crystal, we’ve got an appointment.

Cherrie opened the door for them, whispered, I love you, Princess, and stood in the doorway to watch them go.

Story Break

Mander took Crystal down the elevator, then onto an old-fashioned diesel bus deep into the city. The bus was packed, but Mander glared at people so that when someone finally got up, nobody challenged him to a seat by the window. Crystal sat in his lap and watched the city go by, leaning as far forward as she could so she could smell the oil and gum scent of the bus rather than Mander’s sharp cologne.

They changed buses twice. Crystal did her best to remember the numbers of the busses they went on. Mommy sometimes quizzed her on them so she could find her way home if she got lost. They got off in front of a shop with a pretty white dress in the window, then Mander led her around a corner and down a sidewalk lined with boarded up windows and closed steel security doors. They stopped in front of one, and Mander pressed the bell. The door buzzed open.

Inside, tiled stairs ran up and down. The walls were painted rose, and everything smelled like orange peels.

You’re going to meet Mr. Bee, Mander told her, You need to be real good for Mr. Bee.

Crystal nodded.

They went up the stairs. The first door opened as they approached, and a hairless man covered in bright tattoos stuck his head out.

Damn, Mander, you actually here! She’s cute. You sure you wanta do this?

Mander put his foot in the door. Yeah, man. It’s the best way. Now quit yellin’ in the stairwell.

The man opened the door far enough for them to walk in. They were in a room cluttered with a few chairs and a padded table. The walls and cupboard doors were covered with pictures of tattoos and steel bits sticking out of people.

I never done this to a baby, Mr. Bee said.

She’s gonna be a rich girl, Mander answered.

Mr. Bee leaned over and asked Crystal, What’s your name?

There was a blue swirl on his cheek, leading to a red and orange butterfly above his ear.

Crystal, Mander said.

Can I have a butterfly? Crystal asked.

No, Mander said.

Mr. Bee picked Crystal up and sat her on the padded table.

I could just glue the parts on. Lasts a couple of weeks. Should be long enough.

No, said Mander.

Mr. Bee shrugged. Lay down on your belly, sweetie. This might pinch some, but if it really hurts, you tell me.

Crystal nodded and did as she was told. Mr. Bee went over to one of the cupboards and got out a square box about the same size as the one her new sneakers had come in. It was shiny and black and had a hole in one side. Mr. Bee opened it and brought it over.

Put your left hand in the box, sweetie.

Crystal pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked inside the box. It was lined with puffy white foam. She put her hand in. The foam wasn’t as squishy as she’d expected. Mr. Bee looked into the box, then went back to the cupboard, got out a handful of little pillows made from the same foam and stuffed them around her hand before closing the box.

You got a number? he asked Mander.

Mander pulled an envelope out of his inner jacket pocket, took out a piece of paper and unfolded it. He pointed at a string of numbers printed across the bottom.

Mr. Bee put the paper face down on the box and pressed a button, then gave the paper back to Mander and adjusted some settings. Crystal tried to see what he was looking at on the top of the box, but Mander growled, Lay down!

The box made a funny humming noise, and something pinched the top of Crystal’s hand. She bit her lip to keep from yelping. She didn’t want to upset Mr. Bee, and she knew Mander would be mad if she wasn’t brave.

Mr. Bee opened the box and took out all the little pillows, then he and Mander both looked into the box.

Mander nodded. Good enough.

Mr. Bee grinned. You know I do good work.

They both looked at Crystal. She pulled her hand out of the box and looked at it. On the back of her hand was a silver rectangle with a row of tiny numbers printed into it.

Crystal started to touch it with her other hand.

Don’t fiddle with it! Mander told her.

It’s pretty solid, said Mr. Bee, Just don’t pick at it.

It did itch a little, now that she was thinking of it. Can we go home and show Mommy now? she asked.

Mr. Bee’s forehead creased and he looked at Mander.

We’ve got other stuff to do first, Mander said, Hop down and let’s get going.

Mr. Bee picked her up off the table and set her on her feet. He bowed like a storybook prince and kissed her hand, just next to the silver tag.

Come back when you’re all grown up, and I’ll make you a real pretty butterfly. Wherever you want.

Crystal curtsied like Cinderella or Snow White. Is my hand pretty? she asked.

Your hand is real pretty.

Let’s go, said Mander.

He took her other hand and led her down the stairs, down another level past the front door. There was a steel door at the bottom that opened into a stuffy, dim, yellow corridor. Mander tugged on her arm, and she had to trot to keep up with him. Water oozed through the paint on the walls, and the wet carpet squished under her new red tennis shoes.

They went a long way down that hall, passing lots of steel doors. Some had latches or doorknobs, most didn’t. Some didn’t even have doors and the doorways led off into dark stairwells. In some places, the light-panels in the ceiling were broken, making the hallway even more dingy. Crystal held on tight to Mander’s hand and hurried so he wouldn’t leave her behind. The silver patch on her hand glittered as she walked. It was pretty. Not as pretty as a butterfly, but she’d get a butterfly later. Mr. Bee had promised.

The corridor ended in three steps leading up to yet another steel door. Mander let go of her hand and pulled a rubber glove out of his pocket. When he put it on, it was almost the same color as his own skin. He pressed the glove against a pad on the door, and it slid open. Here the walls were painted gold, not yellow, and there were real lamps sticking out of the walls, with pretty beaded shades.

Is this where we’re gonna be rich? she asked.

Going to, not gonna, Mander said.

He took her hand again and strode to another door, which he pushed open.

This time, they were in a bright passage with shiny white walls. In front of them was a row of little white cars, just like one of the rides at the Kiddie Karnival her mom had taken her to once, but these ones were big enough for grown-ups.

Mander opened the door to the one in front and told her to get in. Crystal climbed onto one of the two plastileather seats. As soon as she sat down, it wrapped a harness around her and jacked itself up so that she could see out the window. Mander climbed into the other seat, pressed his glove against a pad on the front panel and typed something into the keypad below it. The car started to move. Crystal’s hand was itchy, so she scratched at it.

Mander slapped her hand away. Don’t touch that. It’ll swell up and be ugly. The rich people won’t want you if you’re ugly.

I’ll tell Mommy.

Do you want to be rich?

Crystal could feel herself starting to cry. I wanna go home.

Mander patted her arm. Don’t cry, sweetie. You’ll get your face all puffy.

Crystal crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip.

There’s a good girl. Right now we’re going to go see Mitch and Abby, and we’re going to play a game with them. You’re going to pretend that you’re a simulacrum. If you win, you’ll get to live in a big house and not have to worry about the sea walls anymore.

And have a computer and new crayons?

And have a computer and new crayons.

And Mommy will have real windows to look out of?

If you’re good.

Crystal looked out the window. The car zipped past the busses and trams in the outer lanes. She could see people looking out of their windows at her, thinking she was already a rich girl for getting to ride in a car. All she had to do was play Mander’s game. She was good at games, except when Mander made up new rules in the middle.

What’s a sim-you-lack-rum? she asked.

Mander chuckled, then scrunched up his face. He looked like a frog when he was thinking.

It’s a doll that acts just like a little girl, except it doesn’t whine or pout and shuts up when you tell it to.

So it’s what you want me to act like anyway.

Mander rolled his eyes, but nodded.

The car clicked and lurched a little as it pulled itself out of the track in the express lane and rolled through a tunnel up to the surface street. Blooming trees hung over the road and nearly brushed the car windows. Crystal could hear birdsong piping through the glass. She blinked and touched the window.

It’s real, Mander said.

The car came to a stop under a shaded entrance. Posts made of glittery stone held the entrance roof up, and high walls stretched left and right around the perimeter of the property. The car’s harnesses retracted, and the doors opened. Mander got out, then came around the car to help Crystal hop out. The floor was covered in big, square slabs of the same crystalline rock as the posts.

Game starts now, Mander muttered.

The car doors closed, and the car sped away. Crystal watched it go, but quickly turned back to gaze around at the high walls and the big square pots full of flowers.

Mister Jones! What perfect timing.

A big blond man in a dark blue suit stepped out from behind the sliding gates. He looked like he ought to be on the TV saying important things about the weather or which team won today.

And there she is. What a cutie! She could almost be real.

Mander reached out to shake his hand. Mitch! Good to see you. He paused and said, Where’s Abby? I’m looking forward to meeting her.

Mitch stopped and dropped to one knee to look at Crystal. He took her left hand and read the numbers on her plaque, then put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around in a circle.

Abby had to work this morning. You know how bosses can be.

Yeah, said Mander, But I’m supposed to get both of your signatures on the paperwork.

Mitch smiled. "I can do a fair ‘Abigail Brewster.’ No one will know the difference. There’s a picnic table at the back of the clubhouse we