Encounters Magazine - Issue 14

Thispublicationcopyright2015byBlackMatrixPublishingLLCandindividuallycopyrightedbyartistsandindividualswhohavecontributedtothisissue.Allstoriesinthismagazinearefiction.Names,charactersand

placesareproductsoftheauthors'imaginationsorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblanceofthecharacterstoactualpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.EncountersMagazineispublishedbimonthlybyBlackMatrixPublishingLLC,1339MarcyLoopRd,GrantsPass,OR97527.OurWebsite:

www.blackmatrixpub.com

ABOUTOURCOVERARTISTCandraHope

CandraHopeisafreelanceillustratorandlandscapeartistbasedinLanark,Scotland.Youcanseemoreofherworkonlineathttps://candrah.artstation.com/ortodiscussacommission,[email protected].

ENCOUNTERSMAGAZINEVolume03June/July2015Issue14

TableofContents

ShortStoriesREMEMBERTHESUNFLOWERSbyK.C.AegisPage5

THANATOSIVbyMaxGrayPage24MEATFORTHEBEASTbyBuckWeissPage50

THELEATHERBRACELETbyGuyT.MartlandPage71CHRISTMASEVILbyDarrenFrenchPage85

NoveletteSHRIEKOFTHEHARPYbySebastianBendixPage96

PUBLISHER:KimKenyonEDITOR:GuyKenyon

From the Editor's Desk

As the search for habitable worlds around other starscontinues to expand, most estimates place the number at abillionormoreinourgalaxyalone.Manyofthoseplanetsarelikelymorehospitabletolifethanourcurrenthome.Aperfectcandidatewouldbeaplanetslightlylargerthanearth,circlinginthehabitablezoneofaslightlycoolerstar.Themorestablestarwouldallowlifemoretimetoevolveintoanintelligentspeciesandthelargerplanetwouldholditsatmospherelongerandretainitsinteriorheatanadditionalfewbillionyears.Thiswould allow a molten core to create a strong and stablemagnetic field to shield living organisms from harmfulradiation,andsustainactiveplatetectonicsthathaveprovenimportanttothedevelopmentoflifehereonEarth.

It's important to recognize that planetary systems have ashelflife, and ours may be approaching its expiration datefaster than we realize. About 3.5 billion years ago Earthenjoyedamuchthickeratmosphere,ahigherconcentrationofoxygen and a biosphere far more dense than today. Mostinsectsweremeasuredinfeet, not inches. All this ata timewhenEarthwassquarelyinthecenterofourSun'shabitablezone.

Todaywearecirclingontheinneredgeofthatzone.TheSunhasgrownhotterandmore luminousasit convertsthenuclearfuelinit'scoretoheavierelementsandwillpushthehabitablezonebeyondourorbitinthenextbillionyears.Longbeforethat, pandemics, changes intheglobalclimate, supervolcanoeruptions,asteroidandcometstrikesoragammarayburstorginatingwithinourgalaxycouldseriouslydamageordestroyhumancivilization(perhapsasearlyaswithinthenextfivehundredtoathousandyears).It's time as a species that we take seriously the need to

expandoutwardintotheuniverse.It'samatterofsurvival.

GuyKenyonEncountersMagazine05/12/2015

ENCOUNTERS MAGAZINE Issue #14

REMEMBER THESUNFLOWERS

by K.C. Aegis

ItellmyselfI'mnotafraidofdeath,notreally.ButIamscaredofoldage.Seemsfunny,Iknowespeciallysincemosthaveconsideredmeancientfordecades.Duringthattime,however,Ididn't feel old.IhadGina,mywife,tomakesureItookcareofmyself.Butsinceshepassedfiveyearsago,Ihaven'tbeensomotivated.Now,itseemsmybody'sfinallyhadenough.It'sclosingupshop,lockingallthedoorsandboardingupthewindows.Everyday,Iwakeupwithabodythatachesa littlemore,movesa littleslowerandthinksa little lessclearly. It's theagonizingcrawlattheend.That'swhatI'mafraidof.ButIkeepgoing,don'tI?Feardoesn'tstopme,doesit?

Andevennow,Igoonliving.Thealarmgoesoffatsixa.m.butI'malreadyawake.I

don't sleepmuch,yousee. I reachacrossabedthat isemptyandcoldtoflickoff thenoise. WhenIrisetoasittingposition, I pretendthecracks I hear arecomingfromthebedandnotmyshiftingbones.Igetdressed.Ittakeslongerthanitusedto.Everything

does, but I've adapted. I slip my feetswollen anddeformed stumps of raw hamburger meatinto nylontights. It's supposedtohelpwiththecirculationbutit'sjustducttapeonadamagedcar.AfteramodestbreakfastpreparedbySilvia,mychef,

shedrivesmetoworkshe'salsomydriveralthoughI

5


usethetermlightly. Peopledon't really drive anymore,youknow.TheonboardintelligencelinkswiththeSenseWayanddoestherealdrivingwhileSilviajusthelpsmegetinandoutwithoutfallingliketheoldfoolIam.Inanycase,Ienjoyhercompany.ThedrivelastslessthantwentyminutesinwhichIgaze

outmywindowatthecity.It'schangedsomuchinmylifetime that its labyrinthine flow of streets is now astrangertome.Actually,thestreetsIgrewuponblackasphaltwithpotholesandsucharegonenow.Well,notgoneIsuppose.Theoldstreetsstillexistbelowthenewersensor ways. Somesay they've becomea kindof slumcalledtheUndercity, butIcan't imagineaworlddowntherewithoutsunshine, people living intheshadowofprogress.Theideacouldkeepyouawakeatnightifyouchosetobelieveit.Andthestreetsaren'ttheonlychangesI'vewitnessedin

myyears.Skyscrapersthatwereoncesoiconichavebeentorndown.Newer,flashieredificeswereconstructedontop of the old foundations. The way of the world, Isuppose.Wearriveatourdestinationthebuildingthatbears

my name soars one hundred and sixty floors into theazuresky.Silviahelpsmeoutofthecarandholdsoutmycane. She takes myelbowand guides me through thedoorsofLeafTower.Themainlobbyisimpressiveinbothsizeandwealth.Thewallsarelinedwithsteelpillarsthattwist and curve like liquid metal. The engineers thatupdated its aesthetics say it uses magnetismandsometype of superconductivity, but the fluidity is just anillusion.Thepillarsarequitesecure,soI'mtold.Idon't

6


much care for their explanations because at my ageeverythingisnearcollapse.Thefloorbeneaththepillarsismarbleandshineswith

a reflective gloss. Many a young lady has beenembarrasseduponenteringthelobbyandrealizingthatwearingaskirtwasamistake.WhenIlookdown,anagedmanwobblingonawoodencanestaresbackatme.It'sanimageofgreatcontrastwithSilviawhoisstillyoungandfullofpreciousvitality.Shegentlyurgesmealong.Shedoesn'tthinkInoticetheimpatientfrownonherface."I'llbebackatfive,"Silviasaysandvanishesbackthe

wayshecame.Whatshedoesinthetimeshe'snottakingcareofme,Ican'tsay.Wouldbeimpolitetoask.I'mlessthanhalfwaytotheelevatorswhenTomBellis,

anarrowpostofaman,stridesacrosstheglossyfloortostanddirectlyinfrontofme."Goodmorning,Mr.Leaf."Heextendshishand,butI

don'ttakeit. I'mnotinterestedinhearinghissolicitingspielagainandfrankly,justwalkingfromthecartomyofficehasbecomeastrain. Mymind is set on thesoftleatherchairbehindmydeskandnotthemanwhoissoinsistentonsellingmehisResetPlan.I move past Bellis without responding and his hand

drops.Behindme,hecalls,"Whenyou'rereadytotalk,Mr.Leaf,youknowwheretoreachme."Ithinkhe'sgivenupwhenhe says onemore thing. "Say hello to DianaBrandtforme."I haltat hiswords.Diana's oneofmychieffinancial

officers.She'sbeenwiththecompanyforclosetothirtyyearsandshe's becomeadearfriendinthemeantime.She's the kind of person that would just as soon

7


complimentyouascallyouafascistidiot,butIadmireherhonesty.Andovertheyears,I'vecometodependonitmorethansheknows.Sadly,she'sbeenonmedicalleaveforoveramonthandtheideathatBelliswouldbringherupinhissalespitchisabittoomuchtotake.Imeantosay so, but he's already gone by the time I've turnedaround.MyknucklescrackasIformafist.Imoveon.AquickrideintheexecutiveelevatorandI'vereached

the top floor. When the doors open into the receptionareaof the executive suites, there's quite a commotiongoingon.Foronething,nooneisworking.Usuallybythistime,

the offices are buzzing with boardroom meetings andvideo conferences, but instead of this, everyone hasemergedfromtheirglasswalledofficesandisstandinginasemicirclearoundawomanI'veneverseenbefore.Atleast,that'swhatIthink.HerbackistomesoIcanonlymakeout a slim, attractive physiquewith longauburnhair.Thosearoundheraregrinningeartoear.Othersare

applaudinglikethey'reatsomekindofstageshow.AllIcan figure is that this strange woman is telling themsomethingthatgetsthemgoing.Whatthatis,Ican'tsay.Afewofmystaffcatchsightofmesteppingoutofthe

elevatorandhushupprettyquick.Theothersfollowsuitas if I'm a teacher who's just walked into a room ofmisbehavingstudents.Thewomanmustnoticetheirshiftinattentionbecause

shespinsaroundtofaceme.Whenherhairflipsbehindasurprisinglyyouthfulface,Inoticetwothings.First,she'snot a womanat all, not by at least three years. She's

8


pretty,butwithfeaturesnotfullydeveloped. She'sjustachild,Ithink.Andsecond, this girl knowsme. I'mcertain that I've

neverseenherbefore,butsomethingaboutthewayshelooksatmetheunnaturalconfidencethatburnsbehindheryoung,hazeleyesmakesmethinktwice."DoIknowyou,younglady?"Isay.Thepeoplebehind

herbreakintolaughter,butIcan'timaginewhy."Mr.Leaf,"thegirlsays."It'sme.It'sDianaBrandt."Withoutwarning,theroomisclosinginonmeandthe

floorfallsaway.IknowI'mgoingtofaintbutsofthandscatch my arm. It's the girl. Her hands are slim yetpowerful.Sheguidesmetomyofficeandhelpsmeintomyseatbehindthewidewoodendesk.Peoplearespeakingfrantically, butIdon't heartheir

exactwords.Theysoundasifthey'reunderwater.Ilookuptoseethegirltheonewhosaysshe'sDianashooingpeopleawayfrommydoor.Whenthelastofmystaffhasleft, she pulls the blinds closed and shuts the door,leavingmealonewithher.Sittingdownhelpsandafterafewminutes,myhead

clears."So, youwentaheadanddid it," I say. "Yougot the

ResetPlan.""I did." Shebeamsandspinsaroundinacircle. Her

bluesundresstwirlswithhermovement."Canyoubelieveit,Mike?I'myoungagain!"HerjoyisinfectiousandIfeelitpouringthroughmy

discomfort.Still,Imanagetovoicemyconcerns."Butyouwerealreadyyoung."

9


She stops her spinning and gives me a look ofexaggerateddisgust."Sixtythreeyearsoldisnotyoung,MichaelLeaf."Thenafterapause,shesays,"Nooffense.""Butyouweren'tdying,"Iprotest."Yourbodystillhad

twenty,maybefortyyearsleft."Shefoldsherarmsandsays,"Whywait?Withallthe

medicalproblemsI'vebeenhavinglately,Ifigured,whynotstartoversoonerratherthanlater?"Herwordsechoinmymind.I'veheardthembefore,

butnotfromher.It'sthesamepitchthatsolicitorBellisused."So,howoldareyounow?"Isay."Fifteen," she says. Her cheeks flush with color. "It's

crazy,Mike.Justlastmonth,Icouldbarelywalkacrossmylivingroomwithoutmybonescracking.Now,Icanjump and dance and sing and run and laugh all daywithout even getting tired. This body..." She runs herhands up from her stomach, over slim shoulders andthrough silky hair. "I haven't felt this alive in half acentury.""Didithurt?"Isay.She smiles and I'm taken aback by the playful

innocenceshedisplays."Notevenalittle.ThelastthingIrememberwaslyinginthepersonalitytransferward.ThetechnicianputanIVinmyarmandtheroombegantostretchalmost immediately. Before I really knewwhatwasgoingon,itwastwoweekslater.""Whysolong?""It takes time for the data carriers to fully embed

themselvesintothenewbody.Imean,we'retalkingoversixty years of memories to beswitchedover. Thedata

10


carriers enter the blood through the IV and theirprogramming guides them into the brain. They knowwheretogo.Theylatchontothehippocampusandfeeditwithmemoriesmymemories."Whentheprocesswascomplete,Iopenedmyeyesand

sawtheworldwithvisionsoclearit'shardtoexplainhowdifferentitis.Istretchedoutonthebedwithjointsthatdidn'tachewitharthritis.AndwhenIcalledforthenurse,myvoicedidn'tcroakwithalltheyearsofcigarettesmokeI'vepoisoneditwith.""What about" I'm not sure how to say my next

question without insulting her, but it's not until thismoment I realize how seriously I've been consideringReset for myself. "What about your old body? Whathappenedtoyouroriginalself?""Theytimethewholethingsorightwhentheprocess

finishes,youroldbodypasseson.""Theykilledyou?"Herfacecontortsintoascowl.It'salookthatisoutof

placeontheyoungbody."DoIlookdead?"Dianasays.It'strue,thepersonbeforemecertainlyisn'tdeceased,butshelooksnothinglikethewomanIusedtoknow."Howdoyouknowtheytransferredallofyou?Whatif

partofyouwasstillleftuncopiedinyouroldbody?""It's pretty thorough, Mike. Before the transfer, they

send in memory receiverstiny machines smaller thanbloodcells.Theyscourthebrainforeverytraceofyourpersonality. Once they've created a complete copy, thetransferbegins.""Doyouknowwhereitcamefrom?Yournewbody,I

mean."

11


TheawkwardsilencethatfollowstellsmeI'veoffendedher.Finally,Dianasays,"Sheesh,Mike.What'swithallthe

questions?Areyouhappyformeornot?""Iam...I'mjust...justcurious,youknow."An impish smile spreads across her lips. "Why? You

thinkingaboutdoingittoo?"Iavoidthequestionandshedoesn'tpushit. Instead,

theconversation turns to her plans for thefuture. Shesaysshe'llbetakingagreatdealofvacationdaysinthecoming months. She'll take her young body on a touraroundtheworld.Withalifetimeofaccruedwealthandabody full of energy and hope, she wants to takeadvantage.Shesaysshemighteventakeashuttletothemoonanddoaspacediveonthewayback.Iurgehernottooverdoit.Shewouldn'twanttoget

herselfkilled.Hercarefreelaughterrevealsthatdeathisthefarthest

thingfromhermind.After another hour or so of prattle, we say our

goodbyes.ShewrapsherarmsaroundmybrittlebonesandI'msurprisedwhentearsforminmyeyes.Shewasmyfriend,butnowtherearesomanyyearsbetweenus.Iwonderhowmuchlongershe'llevenwanttotalktomelikethis.She knows I'm upset and before she leaves, she

whispersinmyear."I'mstillme,Mike."Then,sheturnsaway and flutters so quickly out of my office that Iwonderifshewasreallythereinthefirstplace.Isinkbackintomychairandstareattheatomicclock

on my desk. The hours crawl on until the end of the

12


workday. I don't take any calls and my secretaryreschedulesallmymeetings.Idon'teventhink,notreally.Recoverisabetterword.Fortheentireday,Isitbehindmydeskwhilemymindslowly,painfullymakessenseofwhatDianatoldme.BythetimeSilviaarrivestotakemehome,I'malready

waitingforheronthecurb.Withoutaword,Islumpintothebackseat."Badday?"Silviaasks.In response, I shut my eyes to close out the world.

Silvia reads me well and doesn't try to coax me intoconversation.Laterthatnight,I'msittingontheedgeofmybedwith

abusinesscardinmyhand.It'scontactinformationfortheBellisfellow.Iturnthecardoverinmyhandsmystiff,agedhands.Blue,bulgingveinscrisscrossthebackofmy hands like lines on a transit map. My fingers aremisshapen with arthritic joints. But they're my joints, Ithink.Myhands.Mybody."What should I do?" I ask no one in particular, but

whenIlookupmyeyesfallonasmall,framedpicturerestingnexttoabedsidelamp.Afinelayerofdusthasformedonthepictureofmywife, Gina,but I canstillmakeout her sweet smileandsparklingeyes. Shehadalwaysbeensofulloflaughter,evenindeath.Shehaddiedinhersleepawispofasmileonherface.WhatwouldshesayifIdidn'tfollowher?Woulditbea

betrayaltothewomanwhohadalwaysstoodbyme?IthinkofDianaandhernew,youngbodythebody

thathadbelongedtosomeoneelsejustafewweeksprior.Canthesoulreallybeseparatedfromthebody?Gina'seyes

13


areonmefromtheframe.Theyarenotjudgmentaleyesneverwere,buttheyburnjustthesame.Lookingaway,Imakeadecision,andwithpoppingknees,Istand.Bellis' businesscardfoldsinmygnarledfist.I takea

steptowardsthewastebinrestinginthecornerofmyroom.Imeantotossthecardinthetrash,butcrushingpaingripsmewhereIstand.AcryescapesmeandIcrumpletothefloor.Thepain

pressesagainstmylungsandcutsoffmyairsupply.ThelastthingIseeisSilvia'shorrorstrickenfaceassheturnsmeontomyback.Tryingtoescapethepain,Iclosemyeyeswhiledeathgripsmythroatandpullsmeundertheearth.Timepasses.Ican'tsayhowlongbecauseI'minand

outofconsciousness.Atonetime,Iwaketofindmyselfensnared ina myriadof tubesandwires. An imageofgrimfaceddoctorsatmybedsideflickersbrieflybeforeI'mbackunder.Time flows like a river all around me, but I'm not

affectedbyit.I'vebecomeaheavyboulderrestinginthemiddleofastream.Itswaterswearawayatmyedges,smoothing me out, but I don't move. Too large to bepusheddownstream.Imightremainthiswayforever,buttheoutsideworld

is calling me. Begging me to return. Slowly, the hazefadesawayandIopenmyeyes.Atfirst,thelightsinthehospitalroomareblinding,but

afterafewmoments,Icanseeclearly.Infact,thecolorsonthevariouspostersaroundtheroomaresocrispthatI'm afraid they might jump out at me. One poster in

14


particularA warning about cross contaminationhasletteringsoclear,Ifeelthatit'sshoutingatme.Thenursecallbuttonishangingfromthesideofthe

bed.IreachforitandMyhands!Thevaricoseveinsaremissing.Intheirplaceisskinthatistanandsmooth.Myfingersareslimandstrong.Ikickthebedcoverstothefloorwith legs that arenot mine. Theyareyoungandpowerful. A moment of glee surges through mebut isquicklydispatchedbyadawningrealization.Adeepchillcreepsupmyspine.A nurse all but hops into the room. She's smiling

stupidlywhileholdingawhiteclipboard inherchubbyfingers."Mr.Leaf,"shesays."Sogoodtoseeyou'vecomeback

tous.Whatdoyouthinkofyournewbody?"Icanonlystare.Idon'tknowifIshouldyell,cry,or

laugh.The nurse ignores my silence and continues going

throughherroutine.Sheasksmeaseriesofquestionstomakesurethepersonalitytransfusionwasasuccess.Sheasksmemyname,myaddress, what I dofora living.Then she moves on to more personal questions aboutwhenImetmywife,whatwasherfavoritesong,whatisthenameofmysecondgrandchild,andsoonandsoon.Ianswer each of these questions with a voice that ishorriblyforeigninmyears.Whenshe'sfinished,shesetsdownherclipboardand

begins detaching several cords and wires. After sheremovesmycatheter,shegivesaplayfulsmileandsays,"Youreallyluckedout,Mr.Leaf.Yournewbodyis...very

15


handsome."Ifeelsick.Thisnurseisyoungenoughtobemygrandchild."HowoldamI?"Thenursecheckstheclipboardandsays,"Seventeen."

Eightyyearsgoneinablink.Notgone,stolen.Iwanttowalkandthenursehelpsmestandbecause

eventhoughI'mnowyoung,I'vebeenasleepforovertwoweeksandmylimbsareallpinsandneedles.Atfirst,IfeelthatmylegsaresopowerfulthatImight

accidentally jump through the ceiling. It takes me amomenttoadjusttotheincreasedenergyandbeforelongI'vetakentothehallwaysinlongstrides.Imakeatleasttenlapsaroundthehospitalwardbeforereturningtomyroom.TomBellisiswaitingforme."Hello,Mr.Leaf,"hesays.

"Looks like the Reset was successful." Several pressingquestions come to mind. Bellis must see it in myeyesbecausehesays,"Issomethingwrong?""Ididn'tagreetothis,"Isay.Bellispuffsouthischeeksandhiseyeswiden.Toobad,

thoseeyessay."Ididn'tgiveconsent.""Whenyourcaregiver,Silvia,foundyouralmostcorpse,

you were holding my card. That's all the consent sheneeded.Asyournurse,sheholdscertainmedicalrightsthatallowhertomakeimportantdecisionsinsituationswhenyouareunabletodoso.Sheactedfastandsavedyourlife.Savedyourlifeandgaveyouanewone."Ilookdownatmynewbodyandsay,"Andwhatabout

him?ThekidwhosebodyI'vemovedinto?"

16


Bellis waves his hand dismissively and says, "Allvolunteersgiveuptheirbodieswillingly.Andbesides,thecompensationtheirfamiliesreceiveisfarmorethanmostof them can earn in a lifetime. Most volunteers arehonoredtoknowtheirbodywillgoontodogreatthings."ThisisanothersalespitchandIdon'twanttohearit.I want to scream, If you think nobody is forced into

suicideforthesakeoftheirfamily,thenyoudon'tknowathing about poverty. But I'msilent. What the hell do Iknowaboutitanyway?I'velivedthehighlifefordecades.AnyempathyIhaveforthepoorisimaginedatbest.BythetimeBellisstartstoexplainReset'sinsuranceplan

that guarantees a new body in case anything shouldhappentomycurrentone,mybloodisboiling.Icuthimoffmidsentenceanddemandthatheleave.

Hefeignsahurtlook,butexitswithoutfurtherdiscussion.Onhiswayout,hetacksanotheroneofhisbusinesscardstothebulletinboardnexttothedoor.Silvia arrives soon after and takes me home. Our

exchangesarealittleawkwardbecauseshe'ssousedtohelpingmearound,butnowI'myoungerthansheis.I'msureshe'swonderingwhereshestandsinmyworldnowthatInolongerneedacaregiverbutshedoesn'tbringitup.Instead,shesilentlydrivesmehomeandcarriesmythingstomyroomwithoutaword.Afterthat,sheleavesandI'mleftaloneinsomeoneelse'sbody.Intheprivacyofmyownbedchambers,Istandinfront

ofatallthreewaymirrorandstareatmynewreflectionforhours.Thebodyisslender,butnotfrail.AmuscularphysiqueisadornedwithpatchesoflightfuzzIwouldn'tcallithaironthechestandcheeks.Deepblueeyesstare

17


backatmefromwithinafaceofsmoothskinandsoftangles. Aside from a small starshaped scar on theunderside of its chin, the face is flawless. And it'shandsome,there'snodenyingit.Aboy'sfaceonthecuspofmanhood.Turning away from the mirrors, I catch sight of my

wife'spicturebesidethebed.Iopenadresserdrawerandsetthepictureinside.Iburytheimageofmylatewifebeneathapileofsocksandclosethedrawer.Outofhabit,Isleep.Whenthemorningwakesme,I

rise.Silviabringsmebreakfast,butIdon'teat.Instead,IgetdressedinapairofjeansandaflannelshirtIhavetopunchextraholesinmybeltbecausethepantsaretoobig.SilviatriestostartupaconversationwhenIemergefrommyroomtryingtodispelsomeofthetensionthat'ssprungupbetweenusbutIdon'trespond.I justwalkout the front door without a word. When I reach thesidewalk,Ikeepwalking.Aboutthreeblockslater,Istarttojog.Twoblocksafter

that, I'm sprinting. My pulse pounds in my ears, mybreathingisunlaboredandrhythmic.Onsomelevel,Ifeellike I might run too hard and damage this newbody.Blowitoutlikeanewenginepushedtoohard.Butafterafewmoreminutes,Irealizethat'simpossible.Thebodyistooyoungandtoopowerfulforthat.Islowtoasteadypaceandletmyfeetcarrymealong

theearlymorningstreets.IfearpeoplewillstareatmeasIpasslikeI'msomesortofabomination,buttheyonlyseea young man on an morning run. They don't see theelderlyhijackerhidingwithinstolenskin.

18


Sweat is dripping in my eyes when my feet stopmoving.Thisisn'taconsciousdecision.Iwasn'tplanningonstoppingIjustdobecausesomethinghasgrabbedmyattention.Halfablockupthesidewalkonmyleft isanarrow opening between two buildings. I might havemisseditifIhadn'tstopped,butnowI'mintrigued.Oldage has limited my desire to pursue any curiosities.Whetherit'scynicismoraweakbladder,Ican'tsaywhat'scausedmylackofadventure.Ionlyknowit'sbeenawhilesinceI'vefeltcomfortableenoughtotrysomethingnewandunexpected.IfigurethatI'vealwayswonderedabouttheUndercity.

Whynotseeifitreallyexists?Apeekinsidetheopeningrevealsanarrowalleywitha

steep descent below street level. I step inside a deepshadowandwalkthroughairthickwithhumidity.Attheendofthealley,someonehastiedatorncardboardboxtoarustedchainlinkfence.Imovetheboardasidetorevealaroomfullofdarkness.Ishouldfeelfear,Iknow.Doubtshouldberushingin

andurgingmetoturnbackthewayIcame. Gobacktowhatyouknow.Butthereisnofear.Nodoubtbarsmyway.Istepintothedarkandletthecardboarddoorclosebehindme.Afaint lightfromsomewhereupaheadrevealssome

kindofparkingstructurelongabandonedtovagrantsandrodents. The edges around me are lined with severalformsburiedbeneathblanketsandpilesofjunk.PeopleoftheUndercity.Ishufflethroughmoundsofgarbageandoccasionally

jumpbackasratsscurrythroughthedarkness.Again,I

19


knowwhatIshoulddo.Ishouldstopthisfoolishnessandreturntotheworldabove.I'mabouttodojustthatwhensomethingupaheadcatchesmyeye.Atfirst,IthinkI'mnotseeingclearlyorperhapsit'sacrackintheconcreteabovethat's lettinginarayofsunshine.ButasI grownearer, I see that I'm not mistaken. Growing from amoundofmuckonthefloorisaflowerthatglowsbrightyellow.Ireachforitandsomethingheavyshiftsfromwithina

moundofblankets."Ey!Getyerown!Leavemine'lone!"The face of the speaking vagrant is shrouded in

darkness,buthiseyesglowfiercelywiththereflectionoftheilluminatedflower.Ademoninthedark.It's a wonder I don't bolt for the exit, but I'm still

overcome with wonder for this strange place I'vestumbledinto.Withoutarousingthevagrantanyfurther,Istepaway

andmovetowardsevenmorelightcomingfrombelow.Ifollow the parking structure down two ramps and astairwaylinedwithemptyliquorbottlesuntilIstepoutonto the streetan actual street the asphalt andpotholesofacitylongforgottenbyprogress.Asenseofrecognitionstrikesmeandthedarkcorridors

aroundmesuddenlytransformbackintoascenefrommyyouth.Amoviemarqueeflasheswithtubelightingwhileafolkbandplays joyouslyonthecorner. Anopenguitarcaseattheirfeetisfilledwithglitteringcoinsanddollarbills.Besideme,Ginasmilesandtossesacoinintothecase.Shetakesmyhandandkissesmesoftly.

20


Thescenefrommyyouthfadesbackintoitsnew,darkreality. Aseries of slantingpillars line thestreet. TheymustbethesupportbeamsfortheSensorWaythatliesoverhead. It blocks out the sun and has turned theUndercityintoaseaofshadowsandforgottenmemories.Asidefromafewsputteringstreetlampsinlongneedofrepair, the only other lighting comes from a glowingstorefrontdirectlyacrossfromwhereIstand.Withnowhereelsetogo,I crossthestreetandpush

against an iron barred door. A tin bell rings as I stepinside what first appears to be a convenience store ofsomekind. I'mnot surebecause thereseems to be norhymeorreasontowhat'sstockedontheshelves.Theyaren'tanymoreorganizedthanthestreetsjustoutside,butonethinginparticularcatchesmyattention.Anentirerowatthebackofthestoreisstockedwithat

least twenty of the glowing flowers I first saw in theparking structure. Each one is resting in a plastic cupfilledwithsoil.Ipickoneuptogetabetterview.Itlookslikeatulip,butitspetalsglowwithaslowpulsingyellow."Ey, mister," says a woman's voice from behind me.

"You thinking 'bout buying a Sunflower? They's realspeciallymade,ya.Speciallybredwithphosph'rous,ya.They keep dat glow for two, three weeks before theydarken."Imeantoturnandfacethewoman,butIcan't.Anicy

chillhasplungedintomycenterandIstandmotionless.The woman says something else but I'm not listening.Instead,myattentionislatchedontoapicturepinnedtothewallnexttotherowofSunflowers.Inthepicture,twokidsaboyandagirlarekneelingnexttoaboxfilled

21


withtheglowingflowers.Theyarecoveredheadtotoewithdirt,buttheyaresmiling.Theyseemunconcernedbytheblackworldtheylivein.Theworldwheretheonlysunlight is the kind produced by their bioengineeredgarden.ThegirlI recognizerightaway.It's DianaBrandtat

least,nottheDianaIknew,buttheoneIsawyesterdayinmyoffice.Ittakesmeamomentlongertorecognizetheboy.Thewomanbehindmespeaksagain, this timemore

urgentlyandIspinaroundwiththeSunflowerstillinmyhands.Thewomangaspsandputsupablacksmudgedhandtocoverafaceriddenwithwetsoresandlinedwithdeepcuttingwrinkles.HereyesshowthehorrorIfeel."Tim?"shesays.Hervoiceislittlemorethanawhisper.

"Isdatyou,Tim?""I...I'msorry...Ishouldn'tbehere..."Thewomansteps backward, bumps into a shelf and

knocksabottleofvinegartotheground.Itshattersandtheacridstenchfillsmynostrils."No,"shesays,herhorrorturningtodisgust."Youain't

him.Ishouldaknown.Firsthisgirl,Lucy,volunteered.Hecouldn'tstandit.Hisgirlalivebutgone.Icouldn'tstop'im.Afewweeksafterheleft,theysentmedamoney.Acheckwidalottazeros.Iwasthinkin'thatifIdidn'tcashit, he'dcomeback."Hereyesnarrowed. "ButI seeyouain'thim.Why'reyahere,then?Yacometorubitin?""No,Ididn'tmean""Getout!"InmyhastetoexitthestoreIcommitanothercrime

againstthiswomanoftheUndercity,andit'snotuntilI'm

22


back in the sunlight that I realize I'mstill holding theflower.Itsradianceisdiminishedinthemidafternoonsun,but

itstillpulseswiththatyellowlight.Istareatitforalongtime.Whetherit'smyimaginationornot,Ican'tsay,butsomewhere within the illuminated petals are memoriesfromanother life. A life that endedabruptlybefore itstimewasup.AsIgazeattheflower,Iwonderjustwhosememories guided me to that subterranean store.Coincidencesareafool'sexplanation.Ibeginheadinghomewalkingthistimeallthewhile

asking myself the samequestions over andover. Am IMichael Leaf, an old man with a young man's body?Or...amITim,ayoungmanwithanoldman'smemories?Idon'tknowtheanswer,butIsupposeI'llhavealonglifetofigureitout.Inthemeantime,IthinkI'llpayDianaanothervisit.I

will showher my new souvenir from the Undercity. Iwanttoknowwhatshethinksaboutit.Ineedtoknowifshecanrememberthesunflowers.

K.C. Aegis lives in Southern California with his wife and three kids. Whenhe isn't writing science fiction in the middle of the night, K.C. teachesEnglish in a public school classroom. You can learn more about K.C. Aegis,leave comments, and/or read sample chapters from his novels by visitingkcaegis.weebly.com.

23


THANATOSIVbyMaxGray

Thesirenwailsinhisdreamseverynight.Itsalwayschanging.Firstitsshrillandincessant,likeahighwind,andthenexttimeitsapulsingwarble.Thefactis, if itactuallywentoff,hewouldhavenowayofknowingwhatitwouldsoundlikebecauseU.N.Commanddidntincludethat in his training module. All he knows is the sirenmeanstheendofeverything.Dendersconceptionoftheapocalypseisprobablynomoreaccuratethanthatofthepeople livingdownthere,onEarth.ForgetHeironymusBosch,forgetDurer.Denderknowsbeyondashadowofadoubtthattheendoftheworldwillbefarnicerthanallthat, not to mention instantaneous. This time it isnt asirenatall,butababycrying.Hesitsupinbed.Thesheetsarelimpwithsweat.His

lipsaredry.Theheartratemonitorontheceilingreads92. He has seen and heard infants before only in themovies. That means his brain recreated the pitch, thefrequencyofthechildsscreamsbyconfabulation.Dendershakeshishead.Thisistroubling.He exits the dark cocoon of D1, the bedroom, and

passes, barefoot, into the dimmaroon light of D2, thegym and track room, through a portal connecting theexercisespheretothenumbroom,whichpowersdownovernight.Theportalhissesopen,admittinghimtoD4,theobservationsphere.Dendershieldshiseyesfromthelight. The spotless primary window turns with the

24


imperceptible rotationof the satellite so that it alwaysfaces Earth. As expected, the alarmbeacons lining thewalls aredormant. Its quietbutfor thegentlehumofautomatedgyroscopesandotherinstrumentsthatDenderisntrequiredtounderstandoreventoidentify.TheEarth lookspensive.Cloudslikeshreddedcotton

driftoverthesurface.TheblueskinoftheAtlanticOceanandtheGulf of Mexicoshowthrough theholes intheclouds.TherimoftheEarthshinesemeraldwithafaintinfusionofpink,asthoughitsblushing.C02levelswouldbethroughtheroof.Conditionsonthegroundwouldbeworseningbytheday.Bynowit wouldfeel likelivinginsideavastbowlofpho.Thecelestialbodythatwasonceconsideredthecenter

oftheuniversenowoccupiestheinnermostchamberofDendersheart.Herevolvesaroundit14.42timesaday,365daysayear,everyyear,untilthey,intheirinfinitewisdom,decidetopickhimup.Heshatedthisplanetforsolongthatthehatesitsin

hisstomachlikeanavocadopit.Denderisbeginningtodoubtthathellevergetthechancetopressthebuttonthatwilldestroyit.Ofhis500daydeployment,thisisday611. And to top it all off, hes pretty sure hes goinginsane.

Zeroeighthundred.Lightson.ThisweekthisEarthweek,thatisthealarmclockissettoa22nd centurypsychopopsongbyagroupcalledtheAutoErotics.Brushyourteethtoawaterfallofcrashingcymbals,amachinegunofstaccatobassnotes.Dontbotherheadbanging.The

25


lasttimeyouhadthemotivationtoheadbangwasalmostan Earthyear ago. Next week is Wolfgang AmadeusMozart,fifthsymphony.Goodluckgettingupbeforeten.Zeroninehundred.Lieonyourstomachandplaceyour

palmsflatonthefloor.Archyourbackandfeelyourspinestretching.Breathein,breatheout.Dialupthecontrolsfor the exercise sphere and deactivate the automatedtrack.Todayyouwanttorunwithoutanyhelp.Its aneasyday.Thelogsaysnottostopuntilyouhittenmiles,andyoudont.Youstopattenmiles,exactly,andnotastepfarther.Youcanbeaspreciseasamachine,ifyouwanttobe.Thats whatgotyouhere.Thats whytheychoseyou,overalltherest.Youweretheclosestthingtoabotthattheycouldfind.Yourememberthewhitecoatswatching you through the glass as you ran on thetreadmill, electrodestapedall over yourchest, andtheexpressiononthefacesofthemilitarybrass. Incredible,youimaginetheyprobablysaid,whataspecimen,orsomesuchdrivel.Yousawawayout,andyouranfaster;youranuntiltheytoldyoutostop.Twelvehundred.Lunchtime.Unsealthewrapperona

LongTermDryPackedNutrimentUnit,orLTRation.Theugly,brownslabinsidegaspsforair.Itsthesizeofyourhand odorless, cold to the touch, inflexible, utterlyunappetizing.Youputitintheenrichingovenforthirtysecondsandoutcomesanodorless,inflexiblebrownslabthattastesmiraculouslylikeabaconcheeseburgeronatoastedKaiserrollwithmeltedprovolonecheese,tomato,slicedonionsandapickle.Holdthemustard.Twelvehundredthirty.Computer,dimthelights.You

assumethefulllotuspositionandallowyourselftothink

26


ofnothing.Well,firstmanythings,thensomethings,thenafewthings,andthenWhenitsreallygood,onlyonething;theonlythingthereis.Thebuttononthemasterdashboard. How it depresses with a satisfying click.Tendrilsoffirebloomoutfromthesurfaceoftheplanet,likeastopmotionfilmoforchidsopening.Cloudsigniteand seas boil. The Earth becomes a molten sphere, aflawlessmarble, adiamondinacoalmine.It is finallyperfect.Shit.Thinkofnothing.Breathein,breatheoutThirteenhundred.Freetime.Trythecrosswordpuzzle

again,maybethisisyourday.Computer,thesaurus.Lookup erstwhile. Never mind. Computer, dictionary. Andbrowse.Thisistheclosestthingyouhavetorecreationalreading. The books all remind you of Earth. Half thewords in the dictionary are useless to you. Arachnid.Middlemanagement.Teamwork.Dragonfly.Freeway.Closeyoureyesandwalkinastraightlineforaslong

aspossiblewithoutbumpingintoanything.Yourrecordtodate:twentyeightpaces.Fourteenhundred. Set up the easel in front of the

primarywindowonD4.Chooseanewspot.Moveitupafewinches,thenbackagain,nowabitmoretotheside.Thatsit.Breakoutthebrushesandthepencilsandthecharcoal. Express yourself. Employ whatever colors ormethodsyourheartdesires.Bynowyounolongerneedto lookout thewindow.If abadLTRationstruckyoublind,youwouldstillbeabletopaintitjustaswell.Youcloseyoureyes,andtheresEarth,shininginthedarknesslikeaChristmasornament.

27


Whenyouredone,youhangituptodrywiththerest.Orcrumpleitintoaballandeatit.Sixteenhundred. Shadowboxing. The hologram

opponentsareMikeTyson,RockyMarciano, SugarRayLeonard.ThehologramisDr.Gregorian,theheadoftheU.N.Comresearchteam,oneof the last humanbeingsevertolayeyesonyou.ThehologramisGod,istheDevil,isacompositeimageofamanbasedonroughsketchesofthehoodedindividualwhodonatedyoutoscience,whoseimagewascapturedonsecuritycamerassprintingacrossthe lawn of the U.N. Climate Reclamation complex inToronto, having left you on the doorstep in a basinet,swathedinblanketslikebabyMoses.Littledidheknow,aticking time bomb manifested in flesh and blood. Youhope your progenitors, the man and woman whoconceivedofyoumorethantwentyfiveyearsago,arestillalivewhenyoupressthebutton.Youwerenot,arenot,willneverbewhattheywantedyoutobe.YouarenotMoses,buttheangelofdeath.Seventeenhundred. Retire to thenumbroom,where

youcongratulateyourselfforputtingitoffforthislong.All of humanhistory is distilled onboard the satellitesvideo library. Every film thats ever been produced,accessibleatthetouchofafinger.Thelightsgodown.YouwatchallofJohnHustonsmovies,StevenSpielberg,DavidLynch.Nothingreleasedsincetheturnofthe21st

centuryinterestsyou.Therewasatimewhenanancientfilm called 2001: A Space Odyssey used to make youlaugh.Youdontlaughanymore.Nineteenhundred.HavealeisurelydinneronD4.Eat

withyourbacktothewindow.

28


Round out the night in the numb room, watchingdocumentary footageof the last fourknowngenocides,only three of which were statesponsored. An entireethnic tribe at the foot of the Caucasus MountainsdecimatedbyahordeofflyingbotwaspsinJPMorganInbev jerseys. The last one in North America, sparked,ostensibly,overwaterrights,degeneratesintoanalloutpurgeof arural subpopulationbasedontheir peculiarblueeyes.Youwatchithappeninhighresolutionvideoanditsalmostlikeyourestandingtherewiththem.Youtrytofeelsomething,anything,andfail.Youcanhavealmostanywomanwhoseverlived,via

hologram.Andyoudo.Cleopatra,AnnBoleyn,MonaLisa,even, in a moment of shamethat floods you fromtheinside like ice water, theMadonna. Youcant helpbutnoticeaneerieresemblancebetweenthemotherofGodandCatharinetheGreat.Thecomputerdiagnosesyouwithinsomnia,broughton

byanoveractiveimagination.Itprescribesabreakfromthenumbroomandincreasedtimeforartisticexpression.Thethoughtofevenmorepaintingmakesyouwanttoscream, though nothing else interests you besides claysculpture,whichisnonconducivetoLowEarthOrbit.Earthdays,solarweeks,nucleartime,spacetime.Time

elongates; it is elastic; subjective; twopolishedmirrorsfacing one other. The sight of the calendar on thebedroom wall begins to irritate you. Back when yourdeployment started you used to count the daysreligiously.Tallyingthemcomfortedyou.Nowthenotionofquantifyingtimestrikesyouasunnecessary,asalittlecrazy.Towhatend?Youmightaswellcountyourown

29


breaths. Countheartbeats. Countthoughts. Theurgetomeasure, you realize, is a terrestrial mutation, suitedexclusively to Earthdwellers. Thanks to your training,you are above such trivialities. Theyve evaporated likeliquidoffastovetop.Onlytheurgetodestroyremains.Late into the night, you watch history videos on

interstellar imperialism. The biospheres of the Moon,miningcolonies onMars, theNewCaledonia ice cavesbeneaththecrustofEnceladus.Thislastsegmentcapturesyourattention,ifonlybecauseitwillbeyourpenultimaterestingplace.If,Godwilling,youfinallypushthebutton,thesatelliteisprogrammedtotransportyoubymagnetictrajectorytoSaturnsfrigidmoon,whereyouwillliveoutyourretirementasaborderguardforthefrontiercolony.There,inthedark,andthecold,thousandsofmilesawayfromtheremnantsoftheEarth,youwillhaveearnedthepurestsolitudeimaginable.Youbegintodozeoffduringadocumentaryfeatureon

thedevelopmentofspacebasedweaponryinthelate22nd

century. It was a time of great innovation andunprecedented state spending on defense, a deepvoicednarrator intones. Butnot everyproject wasmeant togosmoothly. Take Ares VI, for instance. The image of asatellite flashes across the screen. You perk up. Bymodern standards, the thing looks laughably complex,loadeddownwithsolarpanelsandarcanesensors.Youwatch as the satellite reenters Earths atmosphere,spinningrecklessly,itsmetalappendagesheatingupandbreaking off. The deep voice chimes in. Due to amalfunctiononboardthesatellite,monitorsonthegroundwerentalertedtotheproblemuntilitwastoolate.TheAres

30


VIprojectofficiallyendedwhenthesatellitecrashedlandedin the Indian Ocean, twohundredmiles off the coast ofSeychelles.Zeroonehundred.Computer,powerdown.Youstand

intheneardarknessofthenumbroom,notintheleastbitsleepy,asanideabeginstoforminthebackofyourmind.

A series of compartments underneath the masterdashboard house an array of wiring related to sensorsaffixed to the exterior of the satellite. The sensors areattuned, like sunflowers, to the slightest change in theheadymixofvaporscomprisingtheEarthsatmosphere.Atleast,thatswhatheremembersfromtraining.To be fair, that was fifteen years ago, and recently

Denderhasfeltabitblunted.Buthefiguresitsagoodplacetoinvestigate.Intheory,ifthesensorsarentatpeakfunctionality, then the composition of the atmospherecouldreachcriticallevelswithouttrippingthealarm,andifthealarmdoesntgooff,thenhewontknowtopushthebutton,andifhedoesntpushthebutton,thenhefailsinhisduty,andifhefails,thenallthisisfornothing,andifallthisisfornothingYes.Hewillcheckthesensors.Callinghomebaseforhelpisimpossible,asspecifiedby

DirectiveNumber13.Permanentradiosilence:initiatedonthepremisethatlongbeforeatmosphericlevelswentcritical,theboysonthegroundwouldloseallimpartialitydue to symptomsassociatedwithanailment thewhitecoatsreferredtoaffectionatelyasterminationsickness.Dender knows the satellite is incapable of transmitting

31


outgoing messages of any kind besides an emergencyS.O.S.,andthatwouldsurelybeunnecessary.Thatwouldbe the boy crying wolf. Besides, he doubts U.N.Comwould look kindly upon nonessential instrumentmaintenance. That sounds like tampering, theyd say, iftheycould. Thatsnotwhatyoureuptherefor,dammit.Youre living in the most sophisticated luxury apartmentcomplexeverconceivedbyman.Rememberyourdirectives?Noassemblyrequired.Denderknowsjustwhattheydsay.Thisisnolaughingmatter.Youreimpartial.Emotionless.

Reliable!Understood,soldier?Doyouread?Its surprisingly easy to remove the rivets on the

compartmentsusingamultitoolfromtheutilitycabinet.The wires are colorcoded and organized in packets.Denderproceedstopokearound,insearchofsomethingamiss.Pokingprovesvaguelysatisfying.Hetriestapping,prying,and,ultimately,yanking. Itbecomesincreasinglyobviousthathecannotdistinguishbetweengoodpacketsand bad. He has to face it. Dender has no businessunderneaththemasterdashboard.Heisntamechanic,orascientist,oracommando,orevenadogooder.Hesagrunt.Hesnothingbutagoddamnedbuttonpusher.Inamomentoffrustration,hestrikestheinsideofthe

compartment with the butt end of the multitool. Thelightsflicker,andthesibilantbackgroundnoiseoftheD4instrumentbankgoessilent,foraninstant.Denderliesonhis back. That was stupid, he thinks. That was reallystupid.Testing,onetwothreeTestingHello?Isthisthe

rightbutton?

32


Denderseyeswiden.Veryslowly,hecrawlsoutfromunderthemasterdashboard.There we go. Thats better. Lahdeedah. Greetings

Earthlings.ThisisThanatosLogNumber482.Ahologramofawomanisplayinginthecenterofthe

room.SheswearingleggingsandaU.N.Comtunicandlooksabouttwentyfive.Herblondehairistiedupinasloppy knot on top of her head. It lolls like a wiltingflower.Shetalksrapidlyaboutherparentsandagoldenretriever named Pygmalion. Dender kneels and studiesthesideofherface.Icantbelievetheresonlyafewmonthsleft.Atthis

point,Imalittlescaredtogoback,ofcourse.ButthatsnaturalIthink.Imgoingtobehonest.IfIwasntgoingback, who knows what would happen to me. Forgetwhatsnatural.Idworryaboutmysanity.Thewomancrosseshereyes.Idprobablyloseit.Butwouldntyou,dearviewer?Idaresayyouwouldtoo.Itslonelyuphereinspace.Itsarelieftoevenhearmyselfsaythatitslonely.Itis!Fivehundreddaysisalongtime.Ithasntallbeenwineandroses,dearviewer,letmetellyou.Shespeakslikeapersonwhosaccustomedtothesound

of her ownvoice. The womanengages in a variety ofnervous gestures. She bites her nails, plays with hercollar,andcorrectsastrandofhairthatslipsoutofplaceas shes talking. A metallic trill rings out in thebackground.Oh,shoot. Thats theoven.Wouldnt youknowit, I

completely forgot. This is Jenny, Operative Seventeen,overandout.

33


Thehologramvanishes, anditsquietagain.Denderblinks.Hestandsupandputshishandsonhiships.Well,IllbeThespeakersontheobservationspherecrackle,andthe

hologramofthewomanreappears.Hello,Earthlings!Itsme,OperativeSeventeen.ThanatosLog483.Denderfindsachairintheutilitycabinet.Hegetsan

LTLibationandsitsbythedoor,facetofacewithJennyshologram.Hebarelysipshisdrink.HewatchesLogs483,84,85,and86.Thecomputersoundsabellatthirteenhundred,andatfourteenhundred.Denderignoresit.Heleansforwardandrestshiselbowsonhisknees.Atnineteenhundredhours,thehologramisstillgoing.

Denderisafraidtotouchthewiresagain.Themoreheseesofthewoman,themoreheresentsher,andthemorehebeginstowonder.Hebeginstowonderifhehasbeencompromisedbythepassageoftime.Thenaggingworryfossilizesintoacertainty.Heisdefinitelycrazierthanthiswoman.

Twodayslater,JennyOperativeSeventeenisstilltalking.DenderretreatsfromD4andspendsallhistimeinthe

otheractivityspheres.Hecookshismealsinthebedroom,burnsthehoursawaywithexerciseandwatchesvideosinthe numb room. Despite his efforts, Jennys voicepenetrates all the way through to D2. She provides asoundtrack for his lifting regimen. It sounds like shesunderwater,likeshesbeengaggedwithasoftcloth.Hervoice is high and excitable. Dender has never met a

34


teenagerbefore,butthesoundofJennyremindshimofarchivedvideoclipsfromthenumbroom.Thetakeawayisthathecannolongerbeartowatchhisfavoritesitcom,BotPartySummer,or20thcenturyclassicslikeFullHouseorStepByStep.Thisdoesntmakesense.OperativeSeventeenJenny

must be about Denders age. Teens, if theyre luckyenough to be admitted to the weapons project, arerestricted by U.N.Com to fulltime training exercises.Theydontseethelightofday,letalonetheinsideofanoperationalsatellite.Youredrawingillogicalconnections,Denderthinks.Stopfreeassociating.HepassesthroughtheportallinkingD2andD3,and

pauses on the threshold. Something doesnt feel right.Dendertakestwostepsbackward,whichfeelsbetter.Andfour steps forward. Thats muchbetter. He repeats thestepsthenexttimehepassesfromD3toD2,andthenexttime,andthenexttime.Thepattern,thenumbers, aresomehow comforting. Eventually he cannot move fromonespheretotheotherwithoutengaginginthecorrectsteps.Thenumbersincreasefromtwotofourandfromfourtoeight.Each timeherepeats thepatternhemovescloser to

Earth, and then further away. Closer and then further.Jennystandsbetweenthem,chatteringincessantly.Sheishisproblem.Sheisalivingbarrierbetweenhimandtheobjectofhishatred.Itisunavoidablethatshe,too,willbecome loathsome. Dender begins to wish he had aDestroyJennybuttononhand,butthathahathatisjustsilly.

35


Wormhole Adventures of Andromeda Nine is on andDender is eating zerocalorie sea saltflavored potatochipsandcheesedippingsauce,withthevolumeturnedall the way up. For a short time, the video programdrownsJennyout.Then,duringalullintheaction,thevolumerecedes,andhecanhearheryelling.Denderturnsthevolumeup.Forafewminutes, this

seems to work. Whenhe lowers the volumeagain, itsquiet.Hegetsupandwandersacrosstheroom.Forthefirst

timesincethewiringmishap,DenderpassesthroughtheD4 portal and enters the observation sphere. Jenny isstaringatthefloorwithherarmscrossedoverherchest.Her shoulders quake, silently. The log number in thecornerofthehologramreads505.Youvegottobekiddingme,hethinks.It isDenders 615th dayaboardthesatellite, andthis

woman is crying about 505. Dender remembers 505.Whatheatethatdayforbreakfast.Okay,maybeitsabitdisconcertingtopassthedeadlinewithouthearingawordfromhomebase.Someuneasinessisunderstandable.Butamoredramaticreactionisunbecomingofaprofessionalweaponsspecialist.Itsnothingtothrowatantrumabout.Try 550, lady. Try 615. Then well see what youre

madeof.Dendermovescloser. Jennywipeshereyesandputs

her face in her hands. A tear travels down from hercornea,leavingadamptrailinthecreaseofhernose.Herhairismussedandherlipsarechapped.Denderstandsafew feet away from the hologram. He mirrors her,crossinghis armsanduncrossing them. TheEarth is a

36


mottledorbinthebackground.DenderseyesflickerfromJennysfacetotheplanet.Itseemstoregardhimforamoment.Whatareyoulookingat,Denderthinks.Jennysskinlookssofterintheblueglowoftheplanet.

Theusualflushofhercheekshasgivenwaytoasadnessthat spurns the camera, denying an audience. She isprettierthanhefirstrealized.Denderfeels,suddenly,likeanintruder.Somethings going onhere, Jenny says. Her breath

waversinherthroat. AndImgoingtofindoutwhatitis.

The numbroomhas familiarized you with hearingvoices.Sure,thosearethevoicesthatexistonlyinthemind,commonlyknownasdelusions.Illusions,allusions,elisions. Sure. But you arent delusional. The voiceechoinginyourbrainisreal;itsJenny.Zeroeighthundred.Yourelyinginbedwithyoureyes

openwhenthe lights comeon. Youdont blink; pupilsdilate.Todayis638andthealarmclockisplayingnoisefunkfromtheWyomingmarshlands.YoucantwaituntilDay666.Therewillbesomanypossibilities.Ittakesfortyeightpacestoreachthewallseparating

D3 and D4, ninetysix if youre forced to begin again.Yourealwaysstartingover.Youputyoureartothewallandlisten.Layersofmetaldampenhervoice.ofcourse, Imuphereandyoureall downthere,

waitingtobeeuthanized,andthatsAOKwithme.Justthink of me like a doctor, hmm? Like a crazy space

37


doctor,pointingabiglaserbeamatyourentireplanet.Doctor Jenny is in, folks. Symptoms?Gettinga bit hotunderthecollar,yousay?Whatelse?Ohyes,abnormaltemperaturefluctuations,rovingmonsoonseason,yes.Goon. Fascinating.ThisismoreseriousthanIexpected.Ohyes, very bad, very bad indeed. Im going to have toprescribeselfdestruction,or,aswedsayintheacademy,time to pull the plug. Haha. I know, what a tastelessidiom.Illtellyouwhat,folks,Imgoingtolevelwithyou.Comeclose.Closer.Illtellyouasecret.Imnotadoctorat all! Shh, keep it down. Im a metronome. Im anexecutivestoy,whatdoyoucallthose,aNewtonscradle.Wecantletthisinformationgetout.Ixnayonellingtay,okay?Alongstretchofsilenceensues,followedbyanabrupt

bang and a clattering sound, as though someone hasopenedatoolboxanddumpedthecontentsontothefloor.Surgerytime!Letsseehere,whatdoesthisgadgetdo?

Nope,next.Howaboutthisone?Better.Nowthen,whatcanwepopopenaroundhere?Anotherclatteringsound.Oops,thatwaseasy.Whatdowehavehere?Hello,mylovelies.Youreaprettysetofcircuitboards,arentyou?Areyoutwotwins?Yesyouare.Yesyouare.Oh,youaretoocute.Jennystartstosing,tunelessly.Come to mama. Mahmah, lahdeedahhdah, mah

mah,mahYou remove your ear from the wall, but her song

continues. For a moment it feels like someone else islisteningintothehologramnextdoor,someonefamiliar,andyet,astranger.YouareDender,arentyou?Yes.But

38


yourenot.Youreorbitinghim,alongwithJenny,likeamoon,aspacerock,anexpensivesatellite.Yourechainedtohim,obsessedwithhim,thesunrisesandsetswithhim.YouloveDendersomuchthatithurts,somuchthatyou hate him. But theres a simple solution: push thebutton,andsparkachemicalreactionsoviolentthatitsendsyouhurtlingoutwardtodisappearlikeapinprickinthedarkness,anexplosionsomomentousthatiterasestheveryideaoftime.Soon.

Itbeginsasasmatteringofhalfchokedsobs,andsoonescalates.Jennyiswailing,pleadingly,asthoughshesinpain.Denderleapsoutofbed.Hebumpsintothewalland

fumblesfortheswitchinthedark.Herunsthroughtheexercise sphere and the numb room to D4. Burstingthroughthedoor,panting,hefindsherhologramdoinganexercisevideo.Jumpingjacks.Kicks.Lunges.Herponytailbouncesfromsidetoside.Denderhasnotbeensleepingwell.Heisnthimself.He

isntJenny.Heisnothingbutanger.Ihateyou!Hescreamsatthehologram.Ihateyou

somuch!Justgoaway,wouldyou!Jennycontinuesdancingintimewiththemusic.The

beatpulsesmindlessly.Suddenly,sheslipsandfallstotheground.Foramomentthehologramisvacant. Dendertakesaninstinctivestepforward.Sheclimbstoherfeet.Jennywinces,pressingahandtothesmallofherback.

39


Ouch.Herbrowfurrowsandshethrustsoutherlowerlip.Thatsgoingtobruise.Dendersmouthhangsopen.Thefall,heknows,isjust

acoincidence.Shecouldntpossiblyhaveheardhim.Hebacks away, until hes standing at the doorway. Jennyrubsherback.Shelookssadandangry.Theresnowayshecanhearhim.Itwouldntmakesense.Imsorry,Denderwhispers,andletstheportalclose

behindhim.

Hellbedamnedifheisgoingtoletagirlsabotagehismission.Thatsthebottomline.Caseclosed.Dender passes briskly through the portal onto the

observationsphere,ignoresJenny,andmarchesrightuptothebutton.Asarule, hedoesnt let himself getthisclose to it. The temptation is too great. But desperatetimescallfordesperatemeasures.TheEarthisaballoffumes,isagiantzitwaitingtobepopped.Itloomsinthewindow, taunting him. The button is bright red andcoveredinafinesheenofdust.Dendershandhoversoverit.Thisishowitwasmeanttobe,hethinks.Hecrackshisknucklesandscowlsattheplanet.Itleersbackathim.Hishandinchescloser.Forthefirsttimesinceentering

the observation sphere, Dender becomes aware of thesilence.Heturnsaround,slowly,toregardthebackofJennys

head.Shessittinginachairthechairfromtheutilitycloset,fromthelooksofitanddoingsomethingwithher hands. In spite of himself, Dender circles thehologram.Shesknitting.Aballofyarnrestsinherlap,a

40


placidexpressiononherface.Longneedlesclickbusilyagainsteachother.Hesgladshesavertedhereyes,sohedoesnthaveto

lookintothem.Partofhimfeelsasthoughheswrongedthiswoman.Mostofhim,however,issickandtiredofherchatter. Dender makes faces at her. He imitates thepursed lips and the uncomprehending frown, the doeeyed smile. Jenny doesnt look up from her knitting.Denderstickshistongueoutather.Satisfied,hefeelsthemusclesinhisneckbegintorelax.

Itisntsobadinhere,hethinks.IfitwasntfortheGodforsakenplanetsquattingoutthere,D4mightbekindofpleasant.Hesetsuptheeaselontheleftsideofthewindowand

breaksouthispaintsandbrushes.Itsbeenawhile,hesays, out loud.Denderisstartledbyhisownvoice.Heglances at Jenny, involuntarily. As if shed notice, hemutters.Hechucklestohimselfandbeginsmixingcolors.Itfeelsgoodtopaint.Thecomputerisright.Creative

expressiondoes have its benefits. Once he finishes thefirstlandscape,hedecidestotrypointillistandabstractversions.TheEarthasabowlofchili,rawandbubbling.TheEarthasagrinningfacewithanarrowthroughit.TheEarthasamedleyofblacksandgraysandgreensandblues,withflecksofwhiteshowingthroughthedarkness.Selfportraits:theEarthisDender;DenderistheEarth.Cometomama,hehumssoftly.Mahmah,lahdee

dahhdah,mahmah,mahHestopsshort.Adribbleoftaupe paint falls from his brush and stains the floor.Jennys song. He looks sideways at the hologram. Hereyesaretrainedontheyarn.

41


Dender has an idea. At first, it strikes him asamateurish,almostmaudlin;butitfeelslikeagoodtimetotrysomethingnew.WhatelseamIgoingtodo?Hethinks. Watch The Cat Empress of Turkmenistan again?Dender arranges a newpalette of colors, a mixture ofwarmandcool.Hestartswithdetailwork,andswitchestothickerbrusheswhenhecomestothebackground.Thesoundofhisownhummingbarelyregisters.Mahmah,mahlahteedahMahmahWhenhesdone,Denderstepsbackfromtheeaseland

frowns approvingly. Its more of a caricature of Jennythanarealisticportrait.Buthesgottenafewthingsright:thegentlecurveofherneck,thetipofherponytail,andthesoftshadingofhereyes.Nottoobad,really.Notbadatall.Itsgoodenoughtojustifyanothertry.Atnineteenhundredhours,hewrapsupforthenight.

Onhiswayout,Denderhangstheportraitsuptodryonthewallinfrontofthehologram,whereJennycanseethem.Whenshefinishesherknitting.OnthethresholdtoD3,hetakesthreestepsback,threeforward,fourback,fourforward.Dendergetsintobedandsleepssoundlyforthefirsttimeinmonths.

OnDay695Day660forJennyatelevenhundredhours,shestandsup,yawns,andstretchesherarmsoverher head. Shes done knitting. Well, that wasconstructive,shesays.Ifeellikedancing.Dontyou?Notreally,Dendersays.Great.Illputsomethingon.

42


She leans off camera, and her backside suddenlyoccupiesmostofthehologram.Denderscheeksflush.Helooksatthefloor.Thespeakersinthebackgroundcrackleandsnap.Jennyreappears inthehologramandbeginsdancingtoadrumbeat.Abasslineandsynthesizerscomein.Shetwirls,herarmsliftedhighoverherhead.Denderfrowns.Itdoesntseemrighttojuststandthere,

staring.Butthesongisterrible.Inthewindow,theEarthjudges him. Heglares backat it and bites his tongue,seventimes.Theheavydrumbeatfadesout,transitioningtoasingle

voiceandanelectricguitar.Itsmelancholy,butsoothing.Jennyswaysbackandforth,aslightsmileonherface.Shesenjoyingherself,Denderthinks.Thatskindofcute.Henodshishead,keepingtime.Theplaylist shifts intoclassicsfromthe20th and21st

centuries.Herecognizesastringofsparemelodies:soulmusic,theoriginalgenreprecedingsouldirt,Mongoliansouldrumming,andsoulmetalcalypso.Itsasoftspotofhis.Dendercanthelpit.Hestartsslidingbackandforthinanapproximationofashuffle.Ive never danced before! Dender shouts. Jenny

shakesherhips.His fingers play the air like piano keys. The music

toucheshisneckandtravelsdownhisspine.Heallowshimselftoclosehiseyes.DendershufflesincirclesaroundJenny.Shelaughsandclapsherhands.Heisrelaxed.Dendersfeetarefloating.Thepaleglow

oftheEarthseemstoblankettheobservationsphereinawarm haze. For once its presence is comforting, eveninviting.

43


Thisisacelebration,Jennyyells.Letscelebrateme!BecauseIhittheS.O.S.Mayday,Earthlings!Mayday!Imgoing hooomeImgoing hooomeOhyeah, thatsrightDender stops dancing. His heart, for some reason,

jumpsinhischest.Imdonewiththistincan.Iveservedmytime!Jenny

pirouettesawkwardly,onebareanklekickingintheair.Dendergawksather.Imcominghome,Earthlings!Mommie?Canyouhear

me?Imcominghome!Jennys face is a fireworks show, is a sculpture of

burnished brass; her happiness, an airborne currentflowingthroughtheroom.Sheisfree.Dender sinks to the floor. His knees feel weak. The

Earth just sits there, in the distance, pitying him. Hedoesntevenneedtolookatittoknow.

Hesleepsalldayandallnight.Earthday,Earthnight.Words, ideas like these are obsolete tools of an aliencivilization. Time no longer holds him. Instead, theresonlythecomputer.Wearingabathrobe,hewandersfromD1toD2,toD3.

And hesitates. Dender steps out onto the observationsphere.Jennyishunchedoverwithatatteredstripoftissuein

herhands.Shetwiststhetissueintoacoil, slowly,andunwindsitagain.Shredsofpaperlittertheflooraroundher.Inthehologram.Therealfloor,Dendersfloor,lookscleanasitsalwaysbeen.Behindthehologram,theEarth

44


wearsaveilofdappledclouds.Itgivestheplanetasurlycomplexion. Jenny is talking, as usual. Her hoarsenesssuggestsDenderhasmissedalongspeechalready.Shedoesntappeartonoticehim,butthenagain,sheneverdoes.HeknowsJennyisahologram,butitdoesntmatteranymore.Denderisbeginningtothinkhesahologramtoo. Jenny speaks rapidly, with an absentmindedinflection.theS.O.S.signalhasbeenbroadcastingforsixteen

days,withnoword.Imsureitsnothingtoworryabout.Imean,itis,itissomethingtoworryabout,andIhave,Ihavebeenworrying,alot.Itsfinethough.Imean,whatsanother sixteen days? Jenny sighs. Talk, talk, talk.Seems likethats all I donow.Thats all Imgood for.Forget that I have the whole world in my hands.Whatever.AllImsayingis,howcouldeverybodyforgetabout me like this? Ill tell you, Earthlings, it doesntcompute. ThisremindsmeofthattimeinsecondgradewhenDadgotintothataccidentonthewaytopickmeupfromschoolandIthoughthedforgottenaboutme.Iwentinsidetotell theoffice ladythat IdbeenabandonedthatIdbecomeanorphanbutIwastooembarrassedtosayanything,soIhidinthebathroom.Doyourememberthat, Dad?Youcalledtheschoolfromthehospitalandaskedthemtolookforme, andit tookthemfortyfiveminutestofindmeinthere.Iwassittingonmybookbagandpunchingmyleg,tryingtomakebruises.Shepauses.Im sure you remember. You know, its funny, in mysevenyearold brain, I got the idea that Id somehowcausedyouraccident.Itdoesntmakesense,Iknow.Butyoucantblameme,canyou?Iwasjustakid,Ithought

45


everything that happened in the world had to relatesomehowtome,andmysevenyearoldlife.Man,thatallseemssolongago.Imabiggirlnow.Notimeforsuchsilliness anymore. There are much weightier mattersafoot, and I have a very important job. Wouldnt youagree?Dad,youweresoproudwhenU.N.Comacceptedme. Momwasnt so excited. Shewentonathreehourwalk.Youweremad,Mom.Butyoucamearoundintheend,afteryousawhowmuchitmeanttome.Aonceinalifetimeopportunity,Isaid.Talkaboutseeingtheworld.Iwantedtoseeitall,andIdid.Itwassobeautiful,backonmyfirstday.Iwishwordscoulddescribeit.Itwaslikeagiantpearl.ButitsbeenalongtimesinceIfeltthatway.NowIjustlookatthebuttoninstead.Ilook,andthink,andlookaway,andlookback.Whatelseistheretodo?TheresjustEarth,andthebutton.SometimesIimagineIcan see you guys down there. And then I picture youwavingatme.Isntthatdumb?Iknow.Alittlesad,too.IhateitwhenIgetallsappyanddumblikethis.Itmustbeawfultowatch.Imsorry.Imsorryyouhavetoseethis.Jenny examines her nails. But I cant help wonderingwhynoonespickedmeup.Iservedmytime,andthensome.NoonecansayIdidntdothat.Sowhatsgoingondown there? Seriously. What the hells going on? Twoyearsislongenoughtobeupherewithnoonetotalkto.Tobeallalonewiththatgoddamnbutton.ImtiredofitandImlonely,andImreadytocomehomenow.Doyouhearme?Hello?DidIdosomethingwrong?Whydidyouforgetaboutme?Jennyleansforward.Pleasebringmehome.Mommy?Canyouhearme?Imlonely.Canyou

46


just saysomething?It doesnt havetobeabigspeech.Justasound.Anythingatall.Please.Canyouhearme?Yes,Denderwhispers.Imnotkidding.Ineedyoutospeakup.Becauseifyou

dont,IdontknowwhatIlldo.Icantstoplookingatthatstupid button. Hello? For Gods sake. Please! Saysomething!Canyouhearme?Yes,Dendersays,louder.Imhere.Imrighthere!Jennys face dips closer to the camera. Her hair is

stringyandtousled.Shelaughsasad,angrylaughandwipeshereyeswiththebackofherhand.ThatswhatIthought.Hesneverseenherlikethisbefore.Dreadisashadow

onthewall, isachainofsunspots. Dreadis adisease.Denderinchesuptotheedgeofthehologram.Iknowitsthere.Thebutton.Icanfeelit.Itslooking

at me. Its boring a hole in my forehead. When Imrunning,whenImwatchingvideos,itssittingthere,inthecornerofmymind.Ivebeenthinkingabouthowtogetawayfromit.SometimesIwonder,ifIdidgetawaysomehow,ifIdstarttomissit.Thebutton,Imean.Isntthatcrazy?No,Dendersays.Heisrapt.Hecantlookaway.If anyone ever watches these logs, theyre going to

thinkImonesickpuppy.Heresakeeper,theyllsay.Thisones gone off the deep end, Jerry. Sometimes I evenwonder, what if someones watchingmeright now?Atthisverymoment?That wouldbea shocker. Theres aplot twist for you. Yeah. Theres something nicelyderanged about that idea. Theres a certain pervertedbeautytoit.Dontyouagree?Whatiftheywerewatching

47


metalkrightnow?Theydprobablyturntoeachotherintheir white lab coats and grumble. Jenny makes hervoicedeepandpompous.Oh,hell,shesfiguredusout.WebetterJenny abruptly disappears, leaving only empty air.

Denderstarts.Hereachesoutandfumblesintheblankspace. Bringherback.Computer?Bringherback!Doyou

hearme?Hey!Hewhirls.Theroomisempty.Comeon. Wheredidshego?Computer?Wheredid

youputher?Isthisajoke?TheEarthperchesinthewindowandholdsitsbreath.

Beneathit,asever,isthebutton,mockinghim.Denderrefuses to lookat them.Hetriestocheckthesenseofpanicfloodinghischest.Ofcourse,itcanthappenanyotherway.Thesilence,

whichhadseemedamomentagoasloudasawaterfall,iscanceledbyasuddenexplosionof noiseandred light.Dendercovershisears,cringing.Theobservationsphereis submerged indarkness. Theredbeamsof thealarmbeaconschasethedarknessaroundtheroom.Itsthesiren.Itswhathesbeenwaitingfor,allalong.

Denderisreducedtoajelly,toatremorinamoundofflesh.Itstime.Dontyouremember?Youaretheexecutioner.Isntthis

whatyouwanted?There,inthedarkness,isthebutton.Gingerly, Denderapproachesthewindow.Hecrosses

the invisible line that hed never, really, until thismoment,believedhewouldcross.Heliftstheglassshield

48


covering the button. Dender notices, for the first time,thatthehologramlensismountedonthedashboardcloseby.Inordertofilmavideolog,youwouldhavetofacetheEarth.Youwouldfeel,naturally,asthoughyouwereaddressingtheplanet,asthoughitconstitutedafriendlyaudience.Asthoughalltheeyesintheworldweretrainedonyou.Hesquatsonhishaunchesinfrontofthelens,justas

Jenny must have done. He feels her standing over hisshoulder.HefacestheEarthandactivatesthecamera.Atinysensorblinksathim.He clears his throat. This is Dender, Operative

Eighteen. As you can see by the lights behind me, itstime.Thetimehascome.AsyoucanseeHe falls silent. Dender looks at the Earth for a long

time,forsolongthatheforgetsthecameraison.Thebeaconsbathetheobservationsphereinwavesofshadowandredlight.Allaroundhim,theyflash,andflash,andflash

Max Gray is a graduate of the Rutgers-Newark MFA program. His workhas appeared in Conte, The Newer York, and most recently in Mount Hope.He blogs regularly at The Rumpus.

49


MEATFORTHEBEASTbyBuckWeiss

TRANSCRIPTOFALETTERFOUNDAPRIL12,1985INAN ESTATE AUCTION NEAR THE TOWN OF ST.CHARLES,MISSOURI.

January20,1863

DearestHenry,Isitdowntowriteandaddressthislettertoyouinthe

hopethatyouwill spareourlongsufferingandangelicmother,whowhenIlastsawher,wasfrailofbodybutmightyofspirit.IbelievethatthestoryIwilltellhereinandthefateof

herson,likethethreethathavepassedbeforeme,willnotsitwellonheroverlyburdenedsoul.Ifearthatthisknowledgewouldfractureherwhollyandmaystealwhatisleftofherearthlyform.Ibegyoutonotsharethisgrimnewswithher.Burnthisletter.Iamsorryfortheweightof knowledge that the reading will place on yourshoulders,butIwriteonlytoshowthatIamlosttothefamilyandmustneverbefound.YoushouldthankmercifulGod,LittleBrother,thatyou

aretooyoungtobepulledintothiscruelanddamnablewar.Theneedforsecessionfeltgreatattheoutsetandmen

who could speak stronger and more convincing wordsthanIdroppedtalesofinjusticeandresistancethatwould

50


haveenticedthestaunchestabolitionisttosetasidewhathethoughtoftheNegroesplightandpickuphisrifleforwhatwenowcalltheSouth.MissourihasneverbeentheSouth,Henry. Iseethat

nowasIwishIwouldhaveseenitthen. Weareslaveholdersandfarmers,notcitypeoplelikethenortheastYankee, yet, wearenot to becountedamongtherichVirginianorthesegloryhoundsofTennessee.ImayhavesignedupwiththeArmyofEastTennessee,butIworeMissourionmyclothesandskin,andkeptahandfulofhomelanddirtinmypocket.ThemenaroundmeknewIansweredtoMissouriaseasilyastoConnorsandmanyonlyknewmebythenameofourgreatstate.Menpointedmeoutasdistinctfromtheflagwaving

multitudearoundmeandIlearnedquicklythatIwasnotaSouthernman.Steven, mayherest inpeace, knewthis andsaidas

much. But,hecouldnotconvinceJed,Percy,ormetostandasideandletthetideofwarwagearoundus.DamntheHomeGuardandeveryLincolnloverinour

stateforthedeathsofourrighteousandgoodbrothers.I trust that theyare all in thearmsof theheavenly

fatherandthatourpapaistherewiththem. ThoughitwastheirmemoriesthatbidmejoinunderMajorGeneralKirby Smith and follow him into the great Army ofTennessee,IfearthatthefinalrestingplaceofmysoulwillbeahotterabodeasfarfromheavenastheSouthisfromourbelovedhome.Bythetimeyoureceivethisletter,newsofthebattle

nearMurfreesborohasreachedyourdoor.Mylastletter,fromnearChristmastoldofthegreatwelcomeGeneral

51


BraggandallofthetroopsreceivedwhenwemettheretospendoutthemonthofDecember. Thepleasantriesofthatletter,thedancesandfeasts,aregonenow,replacedbythecold,bloodyrealityofthisharshearthandwhatliesaboveandbelowit.Ishowedmyselfwellonthebattlefield. Youcantell

your future children that their uncle was a brave andhonorablemanatStonesRiver.ThatheshotmanyBlues,butneverinthebackorthroughtreachery.IwasneveratreacherousmanbeforetheBeastcame

forme.IhadneverdoneanythingtodamnmysouluntilIsawitseyesandknewthattherewasnosalvation.Iskipaheadasmymindwanders,brother.Forgiveme

myfightwithtimeandchaos.Youwillhavetolooktosomeoneelseforafullaccount

ofthebloodyencounterthattookplaceinthewoodsandfields surrounding the fair city of Murfreesboro,Tennessee.AllIcanquicklysayisthatwelostmanyandIbelieve

thattheUnionlostthreeforeveryoneofours.Yet,thoseBluesareliketheantsthatwewouldtormentaschildren.Youfilloneholeandtheypouroutanother.On the fourth day of the battle, we were less in

number,butstronginresolve.GeneralBraggheardthatUnion reinforcements were arriving and bid us marchsouthandaway. It wasanhonorablewithdrawandIplacenoblameonhimforwhathappenednext.InthemarchtoTullahomaIwastaskedwiththejobof

rearscout.Iandfourothernonwoundedmentookfiveof the few mounts that were left after the battle andmovedofftothewestofthemainforces.

52


ItiscommontoworryaboutthepursuitofanenemyandweweretaskedwithmakingsurethatRosecransandhisboyswerestayingback. Iwasofthemindthattheywereproperlywhippedandthereinforcementsthatwereon the wind would not be quick enough to catch ourmovements.Yet,andthankGodforit,Ihaveneverbeenplaced in a position where my thoughts or ideasamountedtoahillofbeans.WespentthefirstdayridingbacktowardtheStones

Riverandwest,moreinanefforttoforageforfoodorgamethantoactuallyfindafollowingenemy.That night we camped near a small creek in a vast

woodedareathatseemedtogoonforevertothewest.Themen,incaseyoueverfeeltheneedtocontactthe

armyortheirfamilies,were:BoydReynoldsofMillsburg,Tenn.Hewasbetrothedto

anolder school mistress in his hometownand readuspoetrythatshewouldsendhimwithherletters.Gregory Franklin of Brentwood, Tenn. A no good

scoundrelwhowasquickwithaninsultoracurse.Somemenofthecompanysworehewasahorsethief,buthehadneverdonetimeforanycrime.Tom Ashwood of Murfreesboro, who lamented the

abandonmentofhisdearcityasifitwashismotherorhistruelove. Ashwoodwasadearfriendandonetohavewhenstationedinhis fair city. Wehadspent manyanight out on the town with him showing us the bestplacestodrinkorchaseskirts.And,RichFieldsofpartsunknown,thoughmanysayhe

wasbornonthestreetsofLondon. Richwasanactor

53


withatravelingshowbeforehesignedupforthewar.Youshouldhaveheardhimsing.Heledusaswefacedoff against thoseBluesat the

beginningoftheMurfreesboromess.Irememberhearinghis voice as he belted the refrain from Home SweetHome, and thinking of fair Missouri. Many of ournumbercriedatthesoundsoftwoarmies,tiedtogetherbyas muchas pushed themapart, squallingabout theloveofhearthandhome.One commented that he wished all wars could be

foughtwithtalentratherthanbloodshedandyetanothersaidthathistalentwasthesheddingofblood.Suchwastheunbridledtalkofsoldiersontheedgeofviolenceanddeath.ThesearethetypeofmenIsatdowntosupwithon

that cold night. We huddled over the fire with ourblanketstightaroundusandtalkedoftheeventsofthelastfewdays.Franklinwasinafoulmoodandspokeoftheendof

everything.Ihadmeadream,herantedaswepassedaround the beans and meager bits of a rabbit thatReynoldshadcaughtinthebrush. Inthedream,deathwasaloomingfigure. Acreaturethatstoodnearmeonthebattlefield.Franklin stood and lifted his hands like a fire and

brimstonepreacher.Inthisnightmare,mycouragewasmorethanitwouldbenow. IwalkedtowartheBeast,forabeastitwas,shroudedindarkness.AsIgotcloserIcouldseethedarkredgorecrustingitsbody.

54


He rubbed his hands down his sides as if he wascoveringhimself inthebloodhespokeof. I shudderedandpulledmyblanketcloseraroundme.Shutyourlyingmouth,horsethieforIllgladlyshutit

for you! called out Ashwood, and I could hear in hisvoicethathewasaschilledasI.Iaskedit,Franklincontinuedwithoutevenhesitating

atAshwoodswarning.Iaskedit,whatwasthemeanenawar?Ha!barkedFieldsnervously. Youhaveaquestion

fordeathandyouaskitsomethingthatnooneHEANSWERED!!Franklinscreamed,morelikeawild

animalthanaman.Therewasfearinhisvoiceandinmyspineaswell.Dammit,Man!Ashwoodshoutedbackasweallsat

frozenbyhisscream.Franklin steppedback from the fire andbrought his

handacrosshisbodytotakeusallin.Deathraisedonelargearmcoveredinthickblackhairandsweptitacrossthemengathered. Hisvoicewassodeep, I knowedIcould never makeyouunderstandhow it sounded. Itvibratedlikewhatanearthquakefeelslike.Likealossofcontrol,offallinginapitwithnobottom.Franklin paused for a moment and I could feel the

tensionaroundthefire.Whatthehelldiditsay,man?Iasked.MEAT!Itsaid.Franklinheldhisheadproud,likehe

wasaprophetbeingtoldthesecretsofthedarkuniverse.YOUAREALLMEAT.Franklinlookeddownatallofus.Thenheturnedhis

headtowardmeandIsawstarkwhitetusksjuttingout

55


fromhishugemouth. Hiseyeshadafireinthem,thatwouldconsumeme,butIcouldnotlookaway.Helookedatmeandhismouthopenedforspeechoncemore.WARPROVIDESMEATFORTHEBEAST!Wefellintonervous,butrelieved,laughteratFranklins

ludicrousravings.Hesmiledweaklyas hesatbackdownandtookhis

turn at the food. Thats when I woke. I woke to aplayingofthebandsandthefeelingofaspookoromen.SomethingtellingmeIdfallinthecomingfight,buthereIam.TheBluesseemedtoignoreme.Asmanythatdied,andIkilledmyshare,butneverevenfeltasmuchasabulletbreaktheairaroundme.Franklinshookhisheadseeminglikeamanlost,Neveraone.Youarejustliketherestofus,Franklin.Fieldsbegan

tophilosophize.Thedreamclearlymeansyoufeardeathandaresearchingformeaninginwhatyouseeasawarwithoutrealreasons.Iknowreasons,Fields!Franklinfiredback.Idont

doubtthegreatcauseoftheSouthandtheplaceoftheslavelikemanyayaWatchthatmouth,HorseThief!Ashwoodinterrupted,

drawinghislonghuntingknifeoutforemphasis.Wecanalways saya skirmish withtheenemyleft oneof ournumberdead.Puttheknifeawayandcalmitdown,Gentlemen. I

said in as soft a toneas I could muster. If wekeepyelling, well have a real skirmish with Blues. Its awonderyouwerentheardcleannorthatStonesRiver.Withthat,thecampfellintoanuncomfortablesilence.

We moved quickly to ready ourselves for the morrow.

56


WatchesweredecidedandI, beingchosen for the lastwatchofthenight,wenttomybedroll.Itriedmybesttoprayandplacemythoughtsonhome

andfamily,butIwonderedifthespectreofdeathwasgoingtomakeanappearanceinmydreamsaswell.

Iawoketothescreamsofhorsesinthenight.Adeathknellthatwasswirlingaboveme.Istartedtorisejustasahugeweightwasdroppedonmylowerbody.ThescreamseruptedagainandIsawthatoneofthe

horseswasrightontopofme. Somehow,ithadfallenacrossmylegs,pinningmeinmybedroll.Ipushedupwardsandfeltthehorsetrytoriseupoffof

me. Then, it let outanotherheartgrippingscream. Ithought in that moment that I wouldgive anything tostop that horse from throwing another noise into thenight.Nosoonerdidthethoughtcrossmymind,whenIfelt

thebrushofsomethinglargegopastmyfaceinthedarkandthehorsesscreamswerecutshortasitsheadwasseveredfromitsbody.BloodandgoregushedintomeandIhadtofightfor

air,feelingasifIwasdrowninginaseaofsalty,thickliquid.Icouldmovemyarmsandquicklywipedatmyfaceto

get as much of the grume as I could away from mymouth, nose, andeyes. As quickly as the waterfall ofblood began, it trickled down to a slow and steadystream.

57


Inthechaos,Icouldnotseethelandscapearoundme.Iwasonmybackwithmyheadtowardthedyingfire.ThehorsepinnedmetothegroundandIwasnotabletopushupwards.Ipausedforamomenttogetmybearingandhearda

slowcrunchingandslurpingsoundcomingfromtheothersideofthefirepit.Thiswasnotinmylineofsight,beingpastthetopofmyhead.ImaneuveredthebestIcouldtotryandglimpsethe

events that were making such a visceral sucking andcrunch. It wasas if amanwasslurpinghissoupandeatingchickenbonesatthesametime.Myheadcrankedaround just enough tosee a black

imagesilhouettedbythemoon. Isawthetoppartfirst,whichlookedliketwolimbsofatreeblowingrecklesslyina violent wind. The two limbs moved quickly anderratically,thoughIfeltnottheslightestbreeze.Movingdowntheimage,wherethetwolimbsmetthe

mainbody,therewasastrangeconnection,asifthelimbsdidnotsproutfromatree,butwerefallingslowlyintoalargeblackshape.IcranedmyheadmoreandIfullyunderstoodwhatwas

happeningbeforemyeyes.Acreature. Somethingblackandlargerthananybear

wehadeverhuntedwithPaandourdearbrothersstoodontheothersideofthefirepit.It loomedover thecampsite, standingat least8feet

tall. It had its large face raised to the sky and in itsgapingandgnashingmawwaswhatwasleftofaman.TheslurpingsoundIhadheardwastheslickbloodofoneofmycompanionsbeingsuckeddownthisbeaststhroat.

58


The cracking was the breaking of his bones by thecreatureshumongousteeth.Onlythelegsstuckoutfromthe mouth and miraculously still kicked into the sky,tryingtoruninairandgoingnowherebutslowlydowntheBeastsgullet.Ithoughtofthedreamandknewitfortheomenthatit

surelywas.Istartedtorecitetheprayerthatourmothertaughtustopraybeforeweturnedoutthelanterneachnight,IfIdie,beforeIwakeHandsgrabbingmyarmsbroughtmetorealityandI

triedtopunchoutatwhatevercompanionsranalongsidetheBeast.Dammit, Missouri! I heard Ashwoodwhisper and I

silentlythankedGodasIstoppedmyfussingandopenedmyeyes.Were gonnapull youout fromunder there, Fields

saidasheandAshwoodeachgrabbedabloodcoveredarmandtriedtheirbesttogetagrip.Itseemedlikeforever,butIslowlyslidoutfromunder

theBeasts littleprisonofdeadhorse fleshandquicklyfoundmyfeetunderme.IlookedbackattheBeast,justintimeforittofinishits

mealandslowlyturnitsgazeuponthethreemenwhoweretoostunnedtorunawayorattack.Illuminatedbythefire,Icouldnowseeitsfullform.

Thethingwasblackaspitchandthelightseemedtohitthe barrier of its being anddie there. Yet, one couldmake out the large form of legs that brought thecreatures waist up near my shoulder. Its arms wereelongated and hung almost to the ground. It was asbroadasamanistallandtheheadrestedonverylittle

59


neck. Thewholeof its bodywascovered inmidnightblackfurandbloodcakeddetritusfromthewood.Itshead!God,Henry!Itsfacewasthefaceofademon.

ItwasunlikeanycreatureIhaveeverwitnessedbefore.The simian face of a great ape, but altogether morehuman. There was thought behind thecreatures eyesandIrememberedFranklinsrantingthatitspoketohim.Yet, jutting from the creatures maw were ferociouscaninesandtwolargeshinywhite tusks that jutteduptowardtheeyes.Eachtuskwasasbigasamanshuntingknifeandtheylookedtwiceasdeadly.It tookasteptowardusandIwasfullypreparedto

hear words spill out from the Beast, but only the lowgrowlofapredatorthatseescoweringpreyescapeditslips.TheBeastmovedtosteparoundthefireandstillwe

wererootedtothesamespot.IfearedthatIwouldstandthereandletitkillme. Ihadalmostresignedmyselftofate, whenFranklincameout of the darkness with hisrifle.Franklinletoutawarcryandhisshotwentintothe

creaturesmiddlejustbeforehedrovethebayonethome.NoteventhegutturalscreamoftheBeastbroughtusto

oursensesandwestooddumbfoundedas thecreaturebackhandedFranklintothegroundandshovedonelargeclawedhandintothemeatofhisstomach.Franklinsfleshtorelikeclothandthehandcameback

outholdinggorecoveredinnardsandintestine.To Franklins credit, he rolled away and stood up

screaming,Move,Soldiers!totherestofus,whowerewastinghissacrificebystayingimmobile.

60


TheBeastgrabbedthemanfrombehindandproceededtotiehimtotheclosesttreewiththechordsthatmadeuptheinsidesofhisownbody.Thecreaturekeptwrappingthemaroundthemanandthetrunkoverandoveragain,asifitreallyfearedhewouldsomehowuntanglehisgutsandrunaway.FranklinsfeetkickedattheBeastthewholetimeand

hisanguishedscreamsfinallybroketherestofusoutofourstunnedineptitude.Ashwoodgrabbedmyarmandpulledmequicklyinto

thewoodsandaway.Noonespokeasthethreeofusranfullborethrough

the dark woods. The high and almost full moonsomewhatlitourwayaswepushedhardtothenorth.Weranforwhatseemedlikehours. Finally,Ashwood

pausedaheadofmeandleanedforwardwithhishandsonhisknees.JustasIreachedhisspot,hevomiteduphisdinnerontotheleafcoveredground.Thank God we were all trained to sleep with our

clothesandbootsonorwewouldbenakedtotheworld.AshwoodwassmartenoughtograbuphisrifleandFieldshadhisrevolver,aweaponhighlyprizedandboughtwithhisownmoney,butIwasemptyhandedsavemyhuntingknifeandgumption.Ofcourse,wesawwhatgumptionandariflegotpoor

Franklin.OurFather,IheardFieldswhisperingaprayeraswe

allstoodforamomenttocollectourbreathandthoughts.I silently joinedhimas we stood trying to hear any

movementcomingfromthewoodsaroundus.

61


Ashriekingscreambrokethesilencefrombacktowardthesouth. Thoughthescreechwasalmosthuman,wemovedquicklybackintoourfranticrun,knowingtoowellthatitwastheBeast.Thethreeofus,usedtomarchingmostofthedayand

night,keptastrongpace.Therehasnt Ashwood tried to spit out as we

moved.Beenanotherhowlsincethefirst.Hewasaskingforachancetoslowourpacewithout

thedisgraceofactuallysayingit.FieldsandIobliged.Weslowedtoabriskwalkasthenightworeon. The

moonwashighandtherewerestill somehoursbeforedawn.Whatisthisthing?Fieldsspatoutaswestoppedfora

drinkataslowrunningstream.Hell if I know, Ashwood replied. My Granddad

alwayssaidweshouldnotbepushingwestward. ThattherewerecreaturesthatweEuropeanspushedoutwhenwesettledhere.Thatshogwash!Fieldsfussed. Indianswereliving

onthis landforhundredsofyearsbeforewegothere.TheywouldaTheIndiansknowall aboutit, Ashwoodcountered.

Granddadsaidtherearelegendsinmanyofthetribes.Dammit,Ishouldhavelistenedclosertohisstories!WellFieldscontinued,butIshuthimout.Mymind

was falling back and remembering the dream I washaving just before I opened my eyes to this wakingnightmare.

62


ThoughIhadprayednottodreamoftheBeast,thecreaturewaswaitingthereassoonasIdriftedoff.Iwaswalking the battlefield of Stones River. Bodies werethrown about everywhere and the ground was muddywiththebloodofthedeadaroundme.IlookeduptoseethecreaturefromFranklinsranting.

ThecreaturethatI knewsowellnow. It stoodinthemiddleofthedeath.IttoweredoverthebattlefieldlikeadarkscarecrowandInoticedthatvulturesandscavengerbirdsperchedonitsbroadblackshoulders.AsFranklinbeforeme,Iwasnotscaredinthedream.I

approachedthecreaturewiththeneedtospeaktoit.AsIgotcloser,Icouldseesalivagushingfromitsmawlikeariver. As it lookedoutatthebodiesofBlueandGreyboys,itsonlythoughtwasoneoffoodandfreshmeat.BeforeIcouldspeak,itraiseditsheadandbrokethe

silence.Askyourquestion,Manflesh.IfoundinthedreamthatIknewexactlywhattosayto

this monstrosity. You told Franklin that we were allmeat.Istartedandthecreatureshookitsgreathead.MeatfortheBeast!Itrepliedharshlyandthecarrion

birdstookflightoffasifitsmerevoicecouldstealtheirlives.I stepped back at the recitation of the words that

Franklinhadscreamedintothefire.Askyourquestion,TheBeastrepeated.Inoticedthatthegapbetweenushadlessenedaswe

conversedand I could have reachedout myhandandtouchedthebloodmattedblacknessofthecreaturesfur.

63


I spoke in a hushed tone, lowering my eyes to avoidseeingthegallonsofliquidfallingfromitsgreatmaw.Willyou

MymindwaspushedbacktothepresentbyFieldspanickedscream.Isawhewaslookingupintothetrees,andIturnedmygazejustasthehugeshapeoftheBeastfellinamongus.HugeblackpawsclosedaroundAshwoods bodyand

liftedhimfromtheground.Ashwoodsscreamsfilledthenightasthecreaturegrabbedhislegswithonelargehandandhisbodywiththeother.Ashwoodsrifledroppedtothegroundunfiredandhis lifebalancedonthe

Documents

Encounters Magazine - Issue 14