Pungent Women

By Gary W. Shockley

On the sanctuary world Hearth Seven, with its world-forest of mile-high trees, Sarah joins a band of troubled women. All have suffered past traumas. While Sarah expects a positive and supportive group, she receives a rather cool welcome; and the only support seems to come through a need to cooperate to survive. In this unbearably hot and humid forest, with almost no supplies, they must continually flee before migrations of hostile insects. And that is only the start of the problems. 150 pages

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cranefly Press
• Release date: Sep 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223047100

Gary W. Shockley

Gary W. Shockley grew up in the Indiana countryside before moving to California by means of Pennsylvania and Oregon (it’s a long story). Along the way he learned a thing or two. He has made a living as software QA tester, software engineer, copy editor, and technical writer. But ever since he was a child, he has written stories. He is now an award-winning writer whose stories have appeared in various magazines and anthologies. Most of what he writes defies genre boundaries and could be called slipstream. He currently lives in Mountain View, California, with his wife, Lori Ann White, herself an award-winning writer. They have a cat named Manti. Lori and Manti are currently working on their second novels. Email: [e-mail] Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/gary.w.shockley

Book preview

THE DESCENT WAS AN endless assault of slaps and scrapes as branches and foliage resisted the Hope’s downward advance. In her makeshift cabin aboard the supply ship, Sarah gripped the edge of her cot, prepared to be buffeted, but the gravity dampers worked well, and she felt only the barest vibration. The transparent hull provided a panoramic view both exhilarating and terrifying. The dark tangle of limbs would yield to momentary storms of iridescence, and now and then she spotted colorful bulbous masses. Whether these were bugs, epiphytes, arboreal beasts or something else entirely, she could not know. Occasionally a trunk loomed close, big around as a city block, sprouting branches that rose, dipped, twisted and forked, contributing to the vegetative maze. As the minutes passed and the ship’s descent showed no signs of ending, Sarah found it hard to believe she had come here to start over, to create a new life for herself. It felt more like being buried alive.

A large bug smacked the hull in front of her. Splayed there, cinnabar eye squished and oozing, it seemed for an instant to be distant and monstrous. Sarah struggled to regain perspective, then lost it anew in the ever-scrolling jigsaw of foliage, until at last the barest bump brought stillness.

She had reached the floor of the world forest of Hearth Seven.

Though apprehensive about what awaited her, she had come too far to be hesitant now. The moment the hatch cycled and clanked open, she was striding outside. She grabbed a railing, hitting a wall of suffocating heat. Standing at the top of a ramp, she looked about. There was no clearing, just a tight knit of vegetation on all sides.

Everything squirmed. The foliage itself seemed alive. Bugs. The place was thoroughly—maniacally—alive with bugs.

As she started down the ramp, faint voices drifted to her. She glimpsed human forms, but it was impossible to make anyone out clearly or determine their number in this jungly quagmire.

Hello? she murmured at the base of the ramp, puzzled that no one had come forward to welcome her. She brushed a bug from her forearm. Velvet-winged and the size of her palm, it pulsated in the air. Her misgivings grew. She knew so little about this place. Maybe this had all been a terrible mistake.

Hello? she said again, ducking past tall fronds. She pushed a giant leaf out of the way and got drenched in the process. About to call again, she saw ferns part and a woman start past and then abruptly halt, taking her in.

Oh. I hadn’t realized, said the woman. She was fiftyish, her face finely boned, with a regal air about her. Someone should have checked. Usually we just get supplies, so— Anyway, hi, my name’s Whitey.

Her name no doubt derived from her hair, which, tied back in a ponytail, was like quicksilver.

Sarah, Sarah introduced herself. She found it hard to breathe.

Welcome to Hearth Seven, Whitey said, smiling pleasantly. Please don’t mistake our nonchalance for not caring, because we do. She swatted tiny bugs out of her line of sight.

Sarah turned, hearing someone just behind. A large exotic blossom lay at her feet. She turned again, and again, each time glimpsing a figure dashing off while at her feet the blooms thickened. At last she whipped about and found herself confronting an android. The face was long, the features subdued except for the eyes, which were perfectly round and a dark blue. The expression seemed one of melancholy. The android dropped its flower and quickly fled.

Rob welcomes you, said Whitey.

Sarah circled quickly, frightening away two more. She saw others bringing her baggage down the ship’s ramp. They worked with a quiet inefficiency, their slender bodies so weak that it took three to offload her biggest suitcase.

I wasn’t expecting soup here, Sarah said, letting her displeasure show.

Whitey followed her gaze. You have a problem with metabrains?

With a lot of things. She felt her face flushing. I was led to believe this was an escape from civilization, a simpler way of life.

Oh, you won’t be disappointed in that. But there’s soup and then there’s soup. Rob’s as bland as it gets.

Sarah realized that Rob was a collective term for the androids—perhaps an affectionate throwback to the term robot.

Rob’s a drone-class metabrain, Whitey added, and defective at that. He’s as much an outcast as we are, discarded by his brethren.

Sarah felt her paranoia draining away. Though neural-souped, these androids were obviously a far cry from sage-class. Then she gave Whitey a closer scrutiny, seeing a row of buttons on her neck and tiny blinking lights at her temple.

Functionless adornments, Whitey assured her. I’m fully human. It’s a cultural thing, something many of us wear around here. Even as Whitey spoke, a bug fluttered down into her hair. It was not alone. Half a dozen were there already. More covered her shirt and pants. The air fairly swarmed with bugs, and the jungle reverberated with their myriad clicks, chirps, saws and keens.

There’s no tour, by the way, said Whitey. No orientation. It works better if you just discover things for yourself. And no, I’m not in charge. New arrivals always think that right off.

Sarah found herself admiring the delicate crinkles about Whitey’s hazel eyes. She did have a wise and commanding air about her.

You were briefed on the few rules that do exist here?

Sarah flinched as some noisy bug clattered past her face. Pregnancy wasn’t really covered.

Whitey’s pleasant smile did not waver. If it’s a boy, you’ll be allowed to raise him here until his first birthday. She looked aside. Rob provides very good medical care.

Sarah watched an android wade past through fronds, watching her intently.

If you’d like to know the sex of your child—

No. Sarah wiped her brow, surprised at the sweat already there. Perhaps later. Is it always this hot?

You’ll get used to it.

The passing android still watched her, and with such intensity that it walked into a sapling. Rebounding, it vanished into the jungle.

You clearly have issues with metabrains, said Whitey with a chuckle. "Let me guess. It’s the many-worlds thing. They