The Fifth Di... September 2014

By J Alan Erwine

The Fifth Di... features some of the best science fiction and fantasy fiction. In this issue: Robert P. Hansen, Rik Hunik, J. L. Neves, and Fredrick Obermeyer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nomadic Delirium Press
• Release date: Aug 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311253828

J Alan Erwine

J Erwine was born Oct. 15, 1969 in Akron, Ohio. Early in his life he was exposed to science, and specifically astronomy. From there on, J's passion turned to science fiction, a passion that's never died. Due to family issues, J eventually found himself in Denver, Colorado, where he still lives (well, right outside now.) From the time he could put subject and predicate together on paper, J has been writing stories. None of those early stories exist anymore (thankfully), but that passion for writing has never waned. After several years of rejection, the story Trek for Life was eventually sold to ProMart Writing Lab editor James Baker. It wasn't Asimov's, but it was a start. Since that time J has sold more than forty short stories to various small press publishers. In addition ProMart also published a short story collection of J's entitled Lowering One's Self Before Fate, and other stories, which is still available. ProMart also published a novel from J entitled The Opium of the People, which sold a few copies before going out of print. The relevance of the novel after the events of September 11th caused J to self-publish the novel, as he felt the story had a lot to say in the new reality we now find ourselves living in. Now, this same book has been re-released by Nomadic Delirium Press. Eventually J would become an editor with ProMart. Then, after the untimely death of ProMart editor James Baker, J would move on to ProMart's successor Sam's Dot Publishing. J also spends most of his time working as a freelance writer and editor. J's novel was voted a top ten finisher in the 2003 annual Preditors & Editors contest, and his short story The Galton Principle won a ProMart contest for best story over 5,000 words. In addition, a number of his stories have been voted "best of" in various issue of The Martian Wave and The Fifth DI… and have been included in Wondrous Web Worlds Vols. 2, 3, 4, and 6. In 2009, the Ephemeris Role Playing Game was released. J is the co-creator of this game, and has written numerous supplements for the game. J has now sold three novels and four short story collections, all of which are still available from various sources, including Smashwords. J currently lives with his amazing wife, three wonderful children, three cats, and a very quiet turtle.

Book preview

THE FIFTH DI…

September 2014

Edited by J Alan Erwine

Published by Nomadic Delirium Press at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright 2014 by Nomadic Delirium Press

All stories and poems are copyrighted in the names of their respective authors

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passes in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, broadcast, etc.

Nomadic Delirium Press

Aurora, Colorado

CONTENTS

Armageddon by Robert P. Hansen

Troubleshooter by Rik Hunik

Time Shifter by J. L. Neves

Fruit of the Word by Fredrick Obermeyer

ArmageddonARMAGEDDON

By Robert P. Hansen

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, letting the half-forgotten scents waft through her. Fresh cut grass, she thought, trying to separate them from each other. Dandelion, marigold, daisy, rock dust. . . .

She frowned. Rock dust? She opened her eyes and looked at the tiny garden she kept on the ledge overlooking the vast fields of the Antarctic plateau. The wheat had just started to sprout, and the fresh green shoots stuck up through the rich black soil like a vast mottled carpet for as far as she could see. She was fortunate to have such a view; most people only saw prefabricated walls and tenants from other residential complexes staring back at them -- if they had windows at all. Fewer still had gardens.

She reached out to caress a dandelion, its array of tiny yellow daggers fanning outward in a hemispheric pattern like the sun’s corona dancing in a magnetic breeze. It was almost ready for tea. The marigolds --

A distant hum, barely audible, drew her attention to the plateau. There was something fluttering erratically over the surface near the distant horizon. An injured transport? she thought, instinctively reaching for the communications control panel. It’s going to crash!

But there was no control panel. All she had in her hand was a dried out pompom, the dehydrated seed pod of a marigold, its flower petals a shriveled crisp crown. She frowned, rolling it between her fingers, letting the crumpled bits fall to the upturned earth of her future garden. Where they fell, the seeds grew shovel-like hands and dug into the dirt like a piston-driven badger nestling down for the winter to wait for the spring thaw. . . .

Her mother had sewn that seed pod into the hem of her pantsuit and had kept it secreted through her months-long migration from the uninhabitable zone in the U.S. to the Canadian tropics. Her mother had been one of the lucky ones: she had survived. The seeds. . . .

The buzz was growing louder, closer. Susurrus, she thought, half-smiling as she let the sibilants slide past her lips in a poetic scream. Sssussssurussss. She lifted her gaze to the snow-covered plateau and tilted her head. A honeybee hovered above the chill landscape, hopping from one frozen perch to another as it made its zigzagging approach toward the residential complex.

The honeybees are all dead, she thought, frowning. Most of the flowers had died with them. Her frown deepened, and she smiled. Not all of them. The marigold had been saved. The dandelion. The daisy. A small pocket of Eden sewn into her mother’s pantsuit, tiny treasures worth more than the cost of emigration.

It must be large, she thought, noting how she could see the honeybee clearly even though it was still several hundred meters distant. Her hand reached up to pull the collar of her robe more snugly around her throat. She looked down at the plush purple velvet and felt her forehead scrunch in upon itself. Where’s my uniform? she thought.

Her fingers toyed with the soft contours of the robe, reveling in the sensation brought by the tiny velvet fibers that righted themselves as her fingers released them. It should be gray, she thought. Gray thermal pantsuit, Cartel emblem. . . .

The buzzing had grown to a grisly sinister hum. It nagged at her, plagued her. It demanded her attention, and she reluctantly gave it -- and gasped. The honeybee filled the whole window, and it still had not reached the near edge of the wheat fields. It’s as large as a full-sized transit package to Mars, she thought, and the honeybee’s aimless wandering suddenly changed. Its multifaceted eyes focused in on her, as if it was noticing her for the first time. Its erratic movement straightened, and its pace quickened with a very clear purpose: Her.

No! she said, backing into a