Unmoored: Worlds of Pure Chaos: Fictionate.Me Publishing Short Fiction Collection, #2

By Tracy Pitts, Hannah Greer, J.P. Raison and 20 more

Unmoored: Worlds of Pure Chaos is a spellbinding collection of science fantasy stories that will transport you to extraordinary worlds. Imagine medieval castles coexisting with spaceships, dragons cohabitating with robots, and ancient magic intermingled with advanced tech. This action-packed anthology, crafted by a talented group of international authors, offers an exhilarating escape from reality. You'll be transported to worlds that will challenge your sense of what's possible and break down barriers between the known and unknown. The astounding world-building coupled with endearing characters will have you turning page after page, immersing yourself in these fantastical realms. With each story lingering in your mind, you'll find yourself revisiting these worlds time and again. Don't miss out on this thrilling anthology that will leave you wanting more. Escape to worlds of pure chaos. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fictionate.Me Publishing
• Release date: Aug 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887573281

Book preview

Unmoored: Worlds of Pure Chaos

Fictionate.Me Publishing Short Fiction Collection, Volume 2

Tracy Pitts et al.

Published by Fictionate.Me Publishing, 2023.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

UNMOORED: WORLDS OF PURE CHAOS

First edition. August 28, 2023.

Copyright © 2023 Tracy Pitts et al..

ISBN: 979-8887573281

Written by Tracy Pitts et al..

Title

Contents

Letter from the Editors

Radio Silence by Tracy Pitts

The Way the Stars Glow by Hannah Greer

From Jineria by J.P. Raison

Lunar Hunt by Kate Seger

The World of Ather by Vrisan Shah

Bridge of Questions by Katie Jordan

With Eyes Wide Open by Lore Nicole

The Hell of Hashvan by Shadonovic

Heart of Ash by Sabrina Li

The Watcher from Above by Jon Besanko

Continent Alpha by Amy Bush

Heretic by Daniel D’Agustino

Infection by DoubleBlind

The Upload Cycle by J.C. Lovero

When Once They Radiated by S.R Malone

Erato’s Song by Casey Melnrick

Final Hour by Enriko Pratt

Petals in the Snow by Rachel Rackers

Metal Tongue by RatTheBrave

Joyride to Planet Terror by Kim Riot

The Moon Witch’s Brew by Chandra Snicker

A Son, A Gift by Jonathan Sud

Afflicted by Auctor Trevel

Contributors

Other Contributors

About the Editors

Radio Silence © 2023 Tracy Pitts

The Way the Stars Glow © 2023 Hannah Greer

From Jineria © 2023 J.P. Raison

Lunar Hunt © 2023 Kate Seger

The World of Ather © 2023 Vrisan Shah

Bridge of Questions © 2023 Katie Jordan

With Eyes Wide Open © 2023 Lore Nicole

The Hell of Hashvan © 2023 Shadonovic

Heart of Ash © 2023 Sabrina Li

The Watcher from Above © 2023 Jon Besanko

Continent Alpha © 2023 Amy Bush

Heretic © 2023 Daniel D’Agustino

Infection © 2023 DoubleBlind

The Upload Cycle © 2023 J.C. Lovero

When Once They Radiated © 2023 S.R Malone

Erato’s Song © 2023 Casey Melnrick

Final Hour © 2023 Enriko Pratt

Petals in the Snow © 2023 Rachel Rackers

Metal Tongue © 2023 RatTheBrave

Joyride to Planet Terror © 2023 Kim Riot

The Moon Witch’s Brew © 2023 Chandra Snicker

A Son, A Gift © 2023 Jonathan Sud

Afflicted © 2023 Auctor Trevel

Letter from the Editors

As humans, we crave escape.

Escape from our mundane, ordinary lives. Whether it’s mediation, watching TV, or losing yourself in a great book, we need time away to reset our batteries, both physically and mentally.

And what better getaway is there than to escape to another world that is totally different from our own?

For our second 2022 writing contest, Unmoored: Worlds of Pure Chaos, we wanted to immerse our readers in fantastical worlds with a touch of science fiction. We wanted our authors to craft the perfect escape for readers, so they can sink into someone else’s skin, if only for a few moments.

For this contest, we gave our writers a prompt that instructed them to create a science fantasy world with contrasting elements: think medieval castles and spaceships, dragons and robots, ancient magic and advanced tech. What we received were some of the best stories our platform has seen to date!

We are so thrilled to bring you this incredible collection of science fantasy stories with exquisite worldbuilding and endearing characters you’re sure to fall in love with. Many of these stories will linger in your mind, making you wish to revisit these worlds again and again.

So, leave the bills, laundry, and other adulting behind for a spell—and get ready to be bewitched by these tales of courage, longing, and love, full of action, adventure, and relatable life lessons.

The beauty of literature is that it has the power to transport it anywhere without ever needing to leave home. So, adventurers, buckle up, and get ready to blast off to unmoored worlds of pure chaos.

Soak yourself in fiction!

Sincerely,

Heather R. Parker, Editor in Chief

Jillian Karger, Editor

Radio Silence

by Tracy Pitts

1st Place Grand Prize Winner

This is a remnant of the Old World.

Eleanor sits cross-legged on the soft forest floor. The heavy, metal-cased object is cradled in her lap, and her fingers itch to tear it apart. She promised her Gran, though, that she would try to curb her destructive streak.

You are a scout, not a tinkerer. It won’t do you any good, especially once I am gone. No one wants a scout with distracted hands. Leave that to the boy.

Instead, Eleanor turns the box over in her hands. She taps on the casing and it makes a hollow sound. One of the knobs on the top clicks when she turns it, but the other moves smoothly.

What is it? she asks, trying to hand it back to Gran. She doesn’t trust herself with something so old and fragile. Gran is old, but she is far from fragile, which is why she has been able to take care of Eleanor for so long. She pushes Eleanor’s hands away with a surprising strength.

It’s yours, she says. You are always so curious, my dear child. When I found it, I thought of you. It’s called a radio. They used it to communicate in the Old World, using invisible waves in the sky.

The Old World. Eleanor sits back against a tree and looks between Gran and the radio. Gran was alive in the Old World, but she was very young when the Others came and changed everything. Her distant memories fade more and more as the days drag on, but what she can recall, she tells Eleanor at night when the stars are out. Those cold eyes stare down at them while Eleanor reclines, cradled in the lichen that covers the roots of a tree, and Gran tells her stories.

It’s hard to imagine what the Old World was like. Many a restless night have passed while Eleanor strained her mind, trying to picture the softly glowing lights, cool enough to touch, powered by something called electricity. How selfish and unnecessary it seems. They don’t need to create their own lights. They have the most perfect ones already in the sun, the moon, and the stars. And in emergencies, they have fire.

Sometimes, Gran gets lost in her own mind. These are the moments that fascinate and frighten Eleanor the most. They will be sitting together in silence, Gran completing sewing orders while Eleanor tries, painstakingly, to create a map of their little commune. It’s her final assignment before she can become a full-time scout, and she has been struggling for months to finish it. Her lack of patience is highlighted in her marks. Gran calls them chicken scratch. Parchment is limited, so she uses the big leaves from the trees for practice, over and over until she has stripped a limb bare and Gran reminds her to respect the trees. They don’t want to be in the same situation that brought the Others to begin with. Recently, Gran has been murmuring that they are overdue for another visit. The Others have not come to check on earth since Eleanor was very young.

We didn’t even know there was other life out there, Gran says dreamily, and Eleanor stops what she is doing to watch her. It’s always the same; Gran’s eyes get a faraway look, like she is seeing something invisible to Eleanor. Her sewing drifts downward until it is resting in her lap, and her head tilts back until Eleanor thinks her neck might snap. That distant look is turned to the sky, and though Eleanor follows her gaze, there is never anything there. But Gran sees it. If she is close enough, Eleanor can even watch her pupils dilate. It scares her a little, but she has mostly gotten used to it over the years. Now, after the little thrill of fear passes, she listens eagerly to what else might surface from Gran’s muddy thoughts.

Usually, Gran stares for a few long minutes before coming back to herself. She locks eyes with Eleanor, and even as she watches Gran’s pupils shrink back down to normal, she is already being chastised for getting distracted.

Sometimes, though, Gran will drift for even longer than usual. This is when Eleanor tries a little harder. Pushes a little farther.

What other life? she asks, braced to be told that she must get back to work.

They came and they destroyed everything, Gran says in a voice that is hers but somehow not hers at the same time.

Everything?

Everything we had worked for. Everything we had built. No more buildings. No more factories or stores or internet or electricity.

Sometimes at night, long after Gran’s soft snores drift across the trees to reach her ears, Eleanor tests out the words. Buildings. Factories. Stores. Internet. Electricity. They feel clumsy in her mouth, but the more she says them the more naturally they fit into the spaces between her teeth. It’s how she has learned about the Others. About the ones who left the boy here, all alone. Bite sized pieces coaxed from a little girl’s distant memory, torn roughly, and chewed carefully, thoughtfully, until they taste like something from a dream.

But now, Eleanor doesn’t want to listen to stories of ancient times. She wants to get up and run so badly that her skin actually itches with it. Gran can sense it—she always seems to know what Eleanor is thinking before she even knows it herself.

Go, she says with a smile.

Eleanor jumps up, but before she takes off, she carefully sets the radio down on the ground.

Take it with you, Gran says, nodding to the device. He would love to see it, too, I’m sure.

Eleanor grins and picks the radio back up. She forces herself to move slowly though her whole body vibrates with the urge to run. She crosses the clearing to Gran instead. Her steps are charily controlled, and she bows low in front of Gran to receive the customary kiss to the top of her head.

Then, she takes off.

Stickers and thorns hide within the grass that coats the forest floor, but her bare feet are so toughened that she doesn’t even feel them. Brightly colored berries and other fruits flash past her as she speeds through the trees. If she were on duty, she would stop to make note of their location, their color, their edibility. But today is her day off, and all she can think of is showing him the radio.

When she bursts from the tree line, she is met with the edge of a steep cliff. She skids to a stop and makes her way around it slowly, looking for the best foothold. She has visited the crash site almost every day since they became friends, but the ground is always shifting. Gran calls it radioactive. The rest of their little commune calls it toxic, and dangerous. That’s what they call him, too, and they tell Eleanor to keep her distance.

You know in your heart what is right, Gran tells Eleanor when she comes home furious about something the people have said about him. You care about him, and he deserves your love. It isn’t easy to be left behind.

Finally, she finds a sturdy place to begin her descent. The radio feels even heavier as she tries to balance. It throws her off, tugging her too far to one side or the other as she shifts her weight to take a step. The air here has an acrid smell. Juniper was just left behind the last time the Others visited earth, but this defunct station has been here since the first time they came. Eleanor wonders if this is what outer space smells like.

Juniper! she yells when she gets closer to the bottom. It’s impossible to count the number of times she has cut her feet on scrap metal here before learning to be cautious where she steps. After dark, some of the metal glows faintly. She wonders if it could be electricity.

June! she calls again. A thin curl of smoke rises from the middle of the wreckage, indicating that he is home. The radio seems to get heavier with every step, and Eleanor sets it down at her feet.

Juniper finally pokes his head around the entrance to the station. He looks like a normal child to Eleanor. His frame is wiry—a little skinny but covered in lean muscle from all the lifting and shifting he does as he works with the scrap metal here. Gran makes him clothes whenever she finds the time between her sewing orders, but he prefers the same pair of trousers that he has ripped off just above the knee. He tells Eleanor that he prefers the ease of movement, but she thinks he may just like the feeling of the sun on his skin. The only part of him that truly stands out as different is his eyes. They are a vivid violet color, so bright that they almost glow. They keep him from blending in with the commune.

Hey, Elle, he says. He has a chunk of meat in his hand. As he speaks, he rips a piece off with his teeth. Eleanor wrinkles her nose. She much prefers the food they grow or find back in the forest. She likes the little creatures that live there, and it makes her a bit melancholy when he catches one to cook. He tries not to eat meat when she is around, but at times like these when she drops in unexpectedly, she really can’t blame him. Even so, he sets the meat aside when he sees the expression on her face. What’s that?

Gran gave it to me, she says. Can I come in?

Of course.

Juniper steps aside to let Eleanor pass. She has been here more times than she can count, but she always takes a moment to look around. His home fascinates her, even more so after she found out that people used to live here. That it once floated.

How’s it going? Eleanor asks, nodding to Juniper’s most recent project. At first glance, the little creature just looks like a pile of scrap sitting in the corner of the station, but the longer she looks the clearer its features become. A hand here, an eye there. Juniper has told her that it is called a robot, and that it will have something called artificial intelligence.

I don’t know why it’s called artificial though, he said when he first started working on it. "It should be called true intelligence. There won’t be anything artificial about him when I’m done."

Now, though, Juniper looks upset.

I can’t get him to work, he says, scowling at the metal creature. I’ve done everything right. Or at least, I think I have. I don’t have the technology I really need. If they had just left me with something… He trails off.

Here, Eleanor says, trying to change the subject. She thrusts the radio into his hands. What about this tech? Do you know anything about this? Juniper’s arms drop with the unexpected weight. He takes a few shuffling steps over to his worktable and heaves the radio up onto it.

No, I don’t think so, he says. He turns the radio around, inspecting it from all sides. This looks very old. Primitive, really.

Just because your people had more advanced technology doesn’t mean everything we did is ‘primitive,’ Eleanor scoffs, but there is the ghost of a smile on her face. Her people hate the way Juniper talks about them, but she finds it strangely endearing. She has tried to explain to them that he doesn’t mean it. That it’s just how he talks. But being called words like ‘primitive’ is hard to get used to.

Juniper looks at her and cocks an eyebrow. He reaches for the antenna on the top of the radio without breaking eye contact and flicks it. The resounding boing, that reverberates off the metal walls makes them both laugh.

Can I hold on to this? he asks. His hands are moving over the radio now. His inspection is much more thorough than Eleanor’s.

I don’t know, Eleanor says, hesitating. I mean, Gran gave that to me. It’s very old, and it seemed like she wanted me to care for it…

I won’t tear it up, Juniper says, a trace of hurt on his face. I only do that to my own things. I just want a closer look.

After another moment of hesitation, Eleanor concedes. Okay, but if you do take it apart, make sure you put it back together, okay? What should I tell Gran?

Tell her the alien boy forced you to give it up in exchange for letting you keep your soul, Juniper says, opening his eyes wide and wiggling his fingers. Eleanor laughs.

That won’t work on her, she says. She likes you, believe it or not.

Juniper grins, and this time it’s completely genuine.

*

Sleep doesn’t come easily to Eleanor that night. She shifts around, unable to find a comfortable position. When she quiets down enough to listen to the forest, she realizes that Gran’s breathing pattern doesn’t sound like sleep, either.

Gran? she whispers. Her voice carries over the silent clearing.

There is a pause, and then yes, child? floats toward her from the darkness.

Do you think the Others will ever come back?

Another long pause. Eleanor wonders if Gran fell asleep, until she hears, They haven’t been here since you were a baby. I hope we never give them another reason to. I hope they have forgotten us.

It was bad. I said it as a statement, not a question, but Gran responds anyway.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

Gran’s voice sounds thick, and Eleanor immediately feels the tell-tale burn of tears in her own throat. She crawls over to where Gran lays. There is no moon tonight, and even the stars seem dimmer, like they are listening to Gran’s words, too. Eleanor feels through the darkness until her hands meet Gran’s foot. She makes her way up her body and settles against her side like she did when she was very small.

Tell me again?

Gran’s next breath shakes as it enters her lungs. Eleanor stays quiet. Sometimes Gran needs prompting to speak, but there are times when silence works just the same.

They saw what we couldn’t, she says finally. Eleanor can hear the faraway sound in her voice. She is glad for the darkness.

They saw the destruction of this world. So much has changed since I was very little. These trees, this forest. Brown. Barren. Ruined by the selfishness of humans. So, they stepped in. They destroyed what we had built. They destroyed us to save us.

And the place where June lives? Eleanor asks in a whisper.

The International Space Station, Gran whispers back. We sent too much metal into the sky. They sent it back.

Eleanor shivers and scoots closer to Gran. Tears roll down her cheeks now, and she tries to wipe them away without alerting Gran. If they do come back, will they take June? Gran wraps an arm around her.

I hope not, she says. She squeezes Eleanor tightly. I certainly hope not.

*

The next day Eleanor is on duty until late. The sun is already sinking below the horizon when she runs to meet Juniper. The fading light makes it clear that he has a fire lit—a warm glow emanates from the cracks in the metal station. She hurries down the rubble strewn slope, sliding and skidding in her haste.

Juniper pokes his head out as she approaches.

I thought I heard your blundering, he says with a grin. Eleanor thinks she sees that familiar flash of glowing violet in his eyes. Come see.

Eleanor follows him inside. The radio is sitting on the worktable in almost the exact same position she left it in, but something is different. It takes Eleanor a moment to realize what she is seeing.

You cleaned it, she says, stepping closer so she can examine its metal casing. Now that the dirt and rust that coated it are gone, she can see that it was once bright red. When she looks closer, she can see that Juniper even scrubbed out the places where the casing is broken.

Yes, Juniper says, coming to stand next to her. But that’s not the most important part. Watch.

He reaches out and twists the knob at the top of the radio. It clicks, but nothing happens. Eleanor looks at him, confused, but he shakes his head. When he twists the second knob, Eleanor catches a movement out of the corner of her eye. She jumps.

Do that again, she says, her voice barely over a whisper. Juniper twists the knob further this time. The little robot in the corner of the room twitches, and Eleanor stumbles back a few steps. I don’t understand!

I don’t either, actually, Juniper says. He works the knob back and forth. The robot’s limbs jerk and twitch, but nothing else happens.

When did it start doing that? Eleanor asks. Now that she feels more confident that the robot won’t lunge for her, she approaches it cautiously. Juniper twists the knob again, just as Eleanor reaches out to touch its arm. The limb twitches and Eleanor jerks her hand back. Juniper laughs.

When I took the radio apart, he answers. He switches the radio off and the robot settles back into stillness. I cleaned the outside, and then I figured I’d see what it looks like on the inside. Everything was coated with dirt, and there were a few pieces that weren’t even connected anymore. So, I cleaned everything and reattached it. That’s when Alder started responding.

Alder, Eleanor repeats with a grin. You named it.

Juniper shrugs. I felt like he deserved a name, now that he really seems to be alive.

Another tree, Eleanor muses as she inspects Alder a little closer. She remembers a time when Juniper didn’t have a name, either.

Juniper trees are survivors, Gran had said when Eleanor first dragged the skinny, scraggly boy home with her. I see that in you.

June, she says slowly, turning around to face her friend again. He has returned to fiddling with the radio, brushing nonexistent dust from the top and straightening the antenna. Gran said that they used radios to communicate in the Old World. They used invisible waves in the sky. They both look up simultaneously and then laugh. Do you think she was telling the truth?

Juniper shrugs. He bends down to put his face by the radio.

Earth to the Others! he calls into it, twisting the knob while he speaks. Alder jumps and dances in the corner. Come in, Others! We’d like a few words! They are ‘you’ and ‘suck’!

Juniper! Eleanor says. She is laughing, but fear drives a sharp spike through her chest. She moves to stop him, but he has already backed away from the radio. He isn’t laughing anymore. Don’t! What if they actually hear you?

What if they do?

There is a strange look in his eye now, and Eleanor is startled to realize that it’s the same expression Gran wears when she goes far away. She feels a deep sadness welling up within her. Do you ever hope that they’ll come back?

Juniper stiffens. He drops his gaze to the floor, and Eleanor is relieved that she doesn’t have to see the strange look in his eye anymore. She watches his bare chest shudder as he takes a deep breath.

You mean my people? he asks finally. He breaks his stillness and grabs a scrap of fabric. He uses it to wipe down the radio. It doesn’t need it.

Yes, Eleanor says. The—the Others.

Do you want me to leave? Juniper asks. He still hasn’t looked her in the eye. He wipes the same spot on the radio over and over in small circles. Eleanor starts to feel dizzy watching him.

No, she says. Of course, I don’t want you to leave. I just want to know if-if you wanted to leave. If you wished you had the tech you need. And the company of people who are—smarter than we are.

Why would I? he asks, and his voice sounds bitter now. They don’t want me, he says fiercely, finally looking at her. She is startled to see that his large eyes are filled with tears. They intensify the violet color. It’s clear that they don’t want me. If they did, they would have come back for me already. If they did, then they wouldn’t have left me in the first place. A tear makes its way slowly down his cheek, shining violet when the light from the fire reflects off of it.

No one wants me.

He turns now and scrubs the radio harder, and Eleanor crosses the short distance between them and grabs his elbow to stop him. He jerks his arm out of her grasp, and in the scuffle, knocks into the radio.

They watch together as the radio falls. Everything seems to happen in slow motion, and they both lunge at the same time. The radio hits the ground hard, teeters on its edge, and then settles.

Is it broken? Eleanor whispers, all thoughts of bickering gone.

I don’t think so, Juniper says. He crouches next to it, examining the casing, and then jumps back. Eleanor starts to ask him what’s wrong, but then she sees the light on the top.

That wasn’t there before, she says. She takes a few shaky steps away from the device, more alarmed by Juniper’s reaction than the new light.

No, says Juniper. It wasn’t.

He approaches the radio cautiously. When he stretches out a hand, Eleanor almost stops him. Before she can react, he twists the knob.

They both jump when Alder springs from his seat. His eyes light up, and his limbs twist and move as he tests his joints.

Good evening, he says, and his voice is smooth. I am VO291. The year is 3045, post-Cleanse. My primary function is to relay current messaging. Your termination is eminent. Please comply.

The Way the Stars Glow

by Hannah Greer

2nd Place Grand Prize Winner

The Queen Ship needs a planet to consume. As I descend in my ship upon planet 5,264, I hope it’s devoid of intelligent life.

Mist conceals most of the surface, with only a few tall mountains of rock poking above. As I fly closer, a few scraggly trees against a cliff face come into view. No signs of life.

My headset rattles. How do the metrics look? Raggor, my Searching Partner, asks in a rough voice.

I tap the screen on my dashboard and it flares to life. Bright lights flash numbers and charts. I blink twice at the metrics. They’re perfect. The best we’ve found. The Queen Ship and our people could survive for months off the resources of this planet.

They appear promising, I say.

Let’s scope it out. Raggor’s ship bursts past me on the right. I glare after him and follow at a more reasonable pace.

As I drift closer to the surface, my heart sinks. A castle sits snuggly atop one of the shorter mountains. It’s dilapidated, but structures are never a good sign. My fingers tremble when a bridge comes into sight. It connects two cave mouths set into cliffs.

A flock of small creatures takes flight from the sad bunch of trees. Sapient? The way they flee indicates instinct and not awareness, but I’ve met too many surprisingly aware creatures to be sure from this distance.

A flash of movement from the right side of the bridge draws my attention. A bipedal creature rushes out of the cave, head angled towards our ships. The creature waves up at us.

I rub the bridge of my nose. The metrics are perfect but there’s sapient life. The Queen Ship won’t care, but I do. Raggor’s ship glides closer to the being.

What are you doing? I snap.

I’m going to land near the little guy. Maybe he’ll have food that doesn’t come in liquid form.

You’re going to scare him.

Look at him wave. He wants to meet me. Raggor’s ship touches down on the bridge. It’s a wide bridge made of stone and has no trouble supporting the weight of the ship.

I prefer to keep my distance from the populations we come across, especially when we might have to summon the Queen Ship to consume them. You get less attached. But Raggor can’t be trusted alone, so I land my ship behind his, close to the cave on the left.

By the time I finish reading metrics to ensure we can breathe the air and the atmosphere won’t kill us, Raggor’s already out of his ship. I wrinkle my nose; he shouldn’t have run out so fast. He stalks towards the being, towering two feet taller and almost twice as thick. As our Defender, he has to keep his muscle up, even while on Searches.

The being freezes at the sight of Raggor. I sigh as I climb down from my ship. It would have been better for me to do introductions. My slight frame and smaller height make me far less intimidating. And my general demeanor helps. Though, I’ve been told the curved horns that protrude from my black hair might intimidate some.

I stride