Flash of Aphelion

By Daniel Hollifield, Mark Edgemon, Larissa March and 14 more

More than 70 very short stories in Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror! Why are 18 million spoons disappearing from Melbourne, Australia each year? How good is the magic of a discount wizard? What if superheroes were afraid to use their powers? These and other flash fiction challenges were put to the writers in the forum at Aphelion Webzine, one of the internet’s oldest and finest sources for fiction. The 17 authors in this book responded to those challenges with amazing tales that will thrill, entertain, horrify, and may even move you to tears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257156689

Book preview

1. Space-Based Mom and Pop Shop

The challenge was to use a Mom and Pop space-related business as a backdrop for a story. Stories were required to include an unpleasant individual or event and a hitherto unknown kind of candy.

Example story:

Mom and Pop’s Space Travel, LLC

By N.J. Kailhofer

Mom, you have those sandwiches ready?

Aggie raised her eyebrows at her husband. Harold, when have I not? Do you have the paperwork finished so they can get underway?

Harold resumed putting his chicken scratches on the pad of forms.

She smiled at the newlyweds on the other side of the counter. Don’t you worry, dears. We’ll get you all fixed up.

The young wife spoke up. Sandwiches? I thought the brochure said fine dining.

Aggie clucked her tongue. Oh, hon, the boat’s kitchen is fully stocked. Ever been weightless before? No? Most folks’ stomachs are a bit queasy. Good old comfort food the first day, that’s the ticket.

Harold patted the bag. Aggie’s PB and Js and a couple of raspberry wobblers to suck on are just what you need, trust me. Been doing this for—for how long now, Mom?

Close on fifty-four years. She scolded, The same number we’ve been married, Harold.

The new husband looked at this wife. Hope we’re still together after that long.

She hugged his arm and smiled, like they all did.

Aggie watched Harold shuffle down the hall, taking the couple to the dock. She knew they thought they’d be in for a romantic time of it, making it the whole way, but by the time they actually got used to the weightlessness, their week would be just about over. Still, without these birds renting their boats, she and Harold would have been out of business long ago. It wasn’t like the old days, when the station was new, and those big liners weren’t running.

Harold was shaking his head when he came back. I bet I wind up having to go get those two. Neither one of them were ever in a magsail before. No idea how it worked. Fella doesn’t want to admit it.

There’s always the autopilot.

And I showed him how to use it three times, but I don’t expect much.

Aggie shrugged. Just as long as we don’t have to hose it out again.

The desk bell rang behind them.

Inspector Graal hissed between his fangs, the closest his kind came to a friendly greeting. Manifests. Now.

Graal grabbed the clipboard out of Harold’s hands and flipped the pages. When he found the one he wanted he tore it out and threw it on the counter in front of them. Return. Autopilot override.

Aggie glanced down at the sheet. No, we won’t.

Rage shuddered from every inch of Graal, and his muscles flexed into a combat stance.

Whoa, there, Harold interjected, stepping in front of his wife. What she means is we can’t do that. It would be illegal.

Graal resumed his normal surly pose. Explain.

Aggie stepped out from behind her husband. The Freedom of Movement Act of 2219 prohibited computer control that couldn’t be overridden without consent of the pilot. It was right after those AIs tried to take control of everything. We can’t bring Mr. Smythe back without his ok unless he misses his payment, in which case he’s no longer the rightful operator.

Wanted. Smuggler.

Harold tapped the sheet. Indigo credit line with the Bank of Earth, as you can see.

Graal paused, then smiled.

The effect of the smile shook Harold to his loafers. What?

Provide transport. Intercept. Graal arrest.

Aggie put her hand on her husband’s arm. Better take him.

Harold shrugged. "Whatever you say, Mom.

* * *

Harold gently tapped out the rhythm of an old tune against the buckle of the harness that held him in the pilot’s chair. Floating in midair next to him, Graal appeared flustered by the weightlessness.

Raspberry wobbler? Harold offered, popping one into his mouth.

The noise Graal made reminded him of an angry tiger, so he moved his hand out of easy biting range.

A beep brought his attention back to the panel.

We’re now crossing the Free Space border, which is the edge of your jurisdiction, Inspector. Mr. Smythe’s ship is just past that. Your warrants are no good.

Graal’s claws clenched. Engage! Catch!

Harold sucked hard on his candy. I’ll have to go at him from the side to keep the sails from hitting. If you look out the door, you should see him.

Graal peered through the narrow window slot on the door.

Harold took a deep breath and clenched his eyes shut.

A thunderclap shook the ship as the hatchway blew out and hurricane-force winds howled through the doorway. Graal’s claws dug into the ceramic of the door frame, holding him fast. Through the maelstrom, he roared his death challenge at Harold.

Harold jammed his fingers in his ears and prayed his harness would keep him in place.

A broom swung down from above the outside of the hatch, breaking across Graal’s snout. The Inspector lost his grip and tumbled into open space.

The abrupt silence of vacuum surprised Harold. He wanted to look around but dared not open his eyes. His skin was pins and needles all over. All too soon, his lungs burned.

A gloved hand touched his arm, and he felt something start to slide over his head. He yanked the helmet down as fast as he could. A moment later, he heard the hiss of air.

You ok? a voice asked.

Harold opened his eyes.

Aggie smiled back at him through her spacesuit’s helmet. I closed the door. In a couple of minutes we’ll be all pressurized again.

He gone?

She nodded. I recorded it all from outside. He ordered you to attack a legal ship in Free Space. Clear piracy. We’re covered. Those wobblers do their job?

Harold smiled. Kept my tissues full of oxygen. You were right as rain, dear.

Aggie turned to watch the body of the inspector as it tumbled away. That was my favorite broom.

Indigo credit doesn’t come by that often.

She patted his shoulder. The Ratherford’s will be in at three, and we’ll need this boat cleaned and stocked for two weeks by then.

Harold chuckled. Honeymooners. God bless ’em.

---

Little House in the Asteroid Belt

By Bill Wolfe

Dear Diary, big doins today. A bad storm came up from Old Sol and our receiver’s down ’till Pa can get to the trading post at 1 Ceres for spare parts. If Ma hadn’t called over to Mrs. Halverson on the lasercomm for her gossip, we wouldn’t have known until it was too late. She quilted herself a program that tells her when the other homesteads are line-of-sight so she can ‘chat.’ I bet Pa never teases her about it ever again. Ma’s quilting is almost as famous as her molasses chews. Nobody has her knack for growing sugar cane in the hydroponics.

When she told Pa about the storm, I could see him trying to figure whether he’d have time to stable all the grazers before they got fried. She offered to take the mule out to Payload but everybody knows that storms are hard on babies when they’re still small in the belly, so he let me go do it. The mule’s easy to ride. With only one CO2 thruster even an Earther could steer it. But Pa looked me square in the face for a long time and then he said: You can do it, Half-Pint. Just make sure you check for rad and get back in plenty of time. My tummy felt funny when he said that, kind of high-up and in the middle.

He told Ma to get the storm cellar ready, then he took the wagon out to the South Range to tend the iridium grazers first. I was real excited about riding the mule ’till I saw the look on Ma’s face when he’d gone. They’d been talking all season about how important this crop was going to be. With a new baby on the way, Pa was planning on moving the whole house over to Payload once he’d had a chance to sell the eggs, especially the platinum eggs from his ‘lucky’ rock. If he had to buy a whole new herd because of the storm, I don’t know what we’d do.

I’d heard them talking, at night. The homestead is so small that I hear lots of things at night. Pa said that we were about to ‘turn the corner’ on the farm. That after ten years of hard work we were almost out of debt and about to start pulling ahead. They told us in school that was why the big corporates couldn’t graze the asteroids. You can’t pay folks enough to work sixteen-hours, seven days a week and barely make enough to eat and keep the air-recyclers working. But folks who wanted to leave the crowds and sickness of Old Earth and be pioneers could do it.

My job was the two grazers in Payload, but I guess I’m going to have to get used to calling it our house. Pa set two of his oldest, dumbest grazers to hollow-out the nickel-iron asteroid that got them through that first hard season, before I was born. I haven’t been out there in a while and from what I can tell, they’re almost done. I still can’t believe I’m going to get my own room in the new house. The space inside the first compartment—Ma calls it our parlor—is bigger than our whole homestead.

With just a small hole where the airlock goes, it was kind of creepy being inside there by myself. The parlor is done, so I had to go in deeper to find the grazers. It was really dark ’till I remembered to turn on my helmet lights. I hardly ever need them, most times Big Jove is bright enough to see by, when I’m outside.

It’s funny, Diary. The homestead is cramped, smelly and almost all metal everywhere you look. Since it’s what’s left of a mine-scout actually built on Old Earth, it’s not even shaped right. Everything is up and down, which don’t really make any sense out here. The big empty spaces in Payload should have made me feel free, like I could stretch-out in every direction but when I was inside there all alone, I just felt tiny. I felt like one of Ma’s little dolls put in her hope chest all by itself with the lid closed. It was strange and I didn’t like it.

I stabled the first grazer fine but had to wait for the Shutdown Complete on the second. It told me its High Value compartment was full and asked if I wanted to Harvest now. This was the oldest grazer we have. It’s twice as big as the others but it’s slower and dumber than an Earther. It was busted, but Pa traded a whole batch of Ma’s molasses chews and some household-chores programs she quilted for it. It only took him a week to get it working, so he said it was worth it.

I didn’t know what else to do so I pushed Yes. I could feel some gears grinding ’cause I had my hand on its belly. I thought it was busted again and was worried about what Pa would say when I noticed a hatch on the bottom was open. Pa had said he didn’t understand all of what this grazer did, so he just set it to digging holes.

Diary, inside was the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen! Big as my fist! There ain’t much lenticular carbon out here, it’s mostly from comets from out in the Oort. It probably took this grazer a hundred years to collect and egg this much diamond dust. No wonder it was so slow.

Pa made it back from the North Forty in plenty of time. Ma was worried and checked his dosimeter before he even had his boots off. She laughed when she told him there might be more young’uns after all. They think I don’t understand them when they talk like that. But I’m not a baby.

I haven’t told them about the diamond, yet. It’s almost Christmas, after all.

---

- Challenge Winner -

Bill and Harriet’s

By N.J. Kailhofer

Hon, it’s time to milk.

Harriet tried to squeeze the last pungent dregs of coffee from the tube. It’s too early. Not even 3 a.m. yet.

Those cows aren’t going to milk themselves. Aphelion One’s launch date moved up, so if we want our cheeses on the trip, we need to start a big batch.

She knew she didn’t need to see Bill’s face to know there was that grin on it, the same one he had the day she met him all those years ago, sitting on the fence between their yard and his family’s pasture.

You, she said toward the empty hatchway, can’t count what we’ve got in that back room as cows. Not really.

His voice called from the next room. They still need milking, love.

Fine. She floated after the voice, gliding into the room called The Creamery, the heart of their small business. The thought made her chuckle. It’s more like Frankenstein’s lab, with all these organs racked around the room. People don’t like to talk about it, but we’re the heart of the station and every mission to Mars, no matter how Rupert advertises his fancy zeoponics next door. Fresh cheese makes people feel like they’re back home and that’s worth more than gold.

She floated through her routine like she had so many days before, starting the nutrient flow and suction lines. The bulk tank came in from the cold, sterilizing vacuum outside, and was wiped down.

You gonna help with this? she called out.

Bill muttered something from the next room about arranging another ice allotment when the load arrived from the lunar mine.

Harriet shrugged. He was better at making cheese than milking.

She found herself staring at Aida, her top producer. Bill hated it when she named them, but somehow never remembered they were the same names as his families’ cows. She remembered them all from the first time she watched him milk, even though they were just kids. Strong and handsome, she thought he was, and more than a little shy, too.

A voice yelled from the doorway. Shit, Harriet!

She brushed a lock of white hair from her eyes, and looked at her neighbor hovering across the room. Rupert, you’re a sight.

It’s shit, Harriet. I’m covered in shit from your damn monsters.

Bill roared with laughter from the other room.

She said, I didn’t know you caught it all in your bathtub.

Not funny. We were changing the lines and the temporary holding tank overflowed. It’s everywhere. Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were making so much today?

She put her hands on her hips. Why didn’t you tell us you were changing the lines? You know we milk at three in the morning, since you changed your inflow rate to charge more then.

"Your volume is more than the rest of the station. You should pay for keeping these things alive."

Harriet’s tone was like ice. You signed a big contract for both Aphelion One’s and Two’s greens. It’s all over the station. I know you don’t have enough fertilizer for that. You need our manure a lot more than we need your nutrient backflow, Rupert. You think about that. Now, get outta here before I call Bill.

Bill? His tone was uneasy. Fine, next time just say something.

Weightlessness made it impossible for Rupert to stomp on his way out or she was sure he would have.

She felt Bill behind her. Nicely done, love. I think that deserves an indigo whippet.

She shook her head. Oh, no. Those candies are over twenty credits each.

Nonsense, my dear. It’s not every day you can tell that SOB off, and you know you love them.

She grinned. I love the way they make my skin glow in the dark.

I won’t tell the health inspector if you won’t. Besides, you’re saving on the light bill, then. But don’t take too long, we’ve got to pipe into the whey centrifuge soon or there won’t be a clean break. Gonna make a couple wheels of cheddar today. That ought to be aged and sharp just when they decide to celebrate their arrival.

He paused. We’ll need something mellow for contrast, too. Maybe muenster.

She chuckled. "My man, the cheese artiste."

* * *

You see? And glowing, too! Rupert was in the doorway again, this time with the station administrator.

Dan! she called with a big smile. What brings you down?

Dan jabbed a finger toward Rupert. Stinky here does.

Rupert crossed his arms in front of his chest. Aren’t you going to do something about it?

Dan stared him down. This is the last, original, demonstrator business in operation on any of the ten Free Market Stations. As such, it has a different charter, so whatever happens to it is solely my discretion. Get lost or I’ll inspect you next.

Rupert skedaddled.

Annoying git, Dan muttered under his breath. So, Mom, how are things going?

She shrugged. Same old cheese factory. Same old cheese makers.

Dan grinned. I remember when Dad told me about turning this old Columbus module into a cheese factory. Nobody believed it was even possible in microgravity. Now, folks sure love how he timed different cheeses to mature at different times throughout their trip. Always kept it fresh. Although really, it was your ship’s storage design just as much. Brilliant, figuring out how to use the dark side of ships just enough to keep things refrigerated without using power.

She nodded.

He sighed. Look, Mom, you can’t keep talking to Dad like that. It’s not right.

Think I’m crazy, do you?

Dan looked at the floor. Just knock it off when people are around, ok?

Harriet regarded her son sourly. Anything else?

We’ll bring the kids for Sunday dinner. Give you some real company, ok?

She nodded.

Watching him leave, she felt the spirit of her late husband wrap his arms around her.

Kids, Bill said. Never know as much as they think they do.

She smiled. Nope.

2. Discount Magic

The challenge was to craft a fantasy story with a witch or wizard not skilled or powerful enough to handle the situation they’ve agreed to face. Entrants had to include a wooden duck decoy.

Example story:

Deathmatch

By N.J. Kailhofer

Carl put his hand on the door and took a deep breath. The Butcher was not forgiving. Timidly, he knocked.

No one answered, but the torches beside the door were lit, so someone had to be within. The circle of their flickering light made the rest of the grounds that much more foreboding in the moonless night.

C’mon, he told himself. She’s depending on you. You can do this. It’s your time.

Shaking hands opened his thin book and found the spell for opening doors. He placed one trembling hand on the knocker. The high-pitched squeak that was supposed to be his voice read, Agor!

Except it didn’t. Sometimes when he read things aloud, the letters jumbled up. What came out was something that sounded like, Broga!

The door jumped in its hinges. The boards wiggled and writhed in place, shaking themselves apart. The massive door fell towards him, and he dove to the side.

When the cloud of dust subsided, he looked up to see himself watched by two enormous eyes. The eyes were attached to the body of a frog—a frog made of wood. A frog as tall as he was. And the door was gone.

Carl said, Oh, good grief!

The mouth of the giant frog opened a little, and he saw rows of big teeth, and what looked like a tongue beyond.

Carl felt uncomfortably like an insect in front of the wooden creature, and he grabbed one of the torches off the wall. He brandished it in front of himself.

The frog reacted instantly to the flame, leaping away into the darkness, higher than the trees.

Are you here about the decoys?

Carl jumped. In the doorway was the Butcher.

M-Mr. Schwartz, Carl stuttered. You’re home.

The high wizard patted his pouches of spell components impatiently. Carl knew there were things in those pouches that could kill him in grotesquely painful ways. Schwartz wasn’t called the Butcher because of his love of meat.

Decoys, sir?

Schwartz frowned. You don’t remove pests?

Carl swallowed hard. Um… no. Actually, I was hired by your housemaid, Drewetta, to… uh…

Schwartz’s voice boomed loud enough to shake the windows. To what?

Carl’s squeak returned to his voice. To get her old job back or to… Carl’s voice lost the last of its potency and the next words came out barely stronger than a whisper. Or to defeat you in magical combat. Sir.

There was a pregnant pause.

Schwartz howled in laughter. He doubled over and slapped his knees. That’s a good one!

Carl laughed too, wondering how far he could get if he ran. All the way outside, or only two steps? Will they even find my body?

Schwartz wiped tears from his eyes. I haven’t laughed that hard in years. He pointed to his right. They’re in my workshop. I want them gone tonight!

Carl tromped what he figured would be his death march down the hall with the Butcher close behind, grumbling.

They can’t be removed! Can’t be disintegrated! Not any amount of my magic can get rid of them!

Inside, Carl could hear crashing, breaking, and strange quacking.

Carl leaned into the