The Package

The package was waiting sticking out of my front door letterbox like a wrinkly white tongue. I grabbed it as I stepped inside. It was a small box. It rattled when I shook it. It was quite heavy. I frowned, placed it onthe kitchen table, and grabbed a cuppa. A few sips later I stood staring down at it. It had my name typed in some fancy handwriting. Closer inspection: written. Curiosity overtook my thirst and exhaustion from a hard day's work in the office. I ripped it open and stared at the gun inside.

There was a note tied to it like you'd tie a name-tag to a Christmas present. Same twirly writing, just a few words: It's loaded. The Hunt begins 8pm. See you then.

I dropped the package and the gun slid out and acorss the tiled flor, bouncing and twirling slowly til it came to a rest at the fridge. The nozzle pointed at me, a tiny black eye. I yelped. I gulped. For a second I was nearly blind with panic and shock. Then I giggled. A practical joke: Johnny, had to be. The bastard was a right little joker. I'd get him back. I kept laughing, until something horrible dawned on me.

The sender had used my old birth cert name. A name I hadn't used since school. A name johnny couldn't have known; few did. Only someone who had traced me, tracked me down, could know it.

I stared at the gun waiting for me on the floor.

It's loaded.

The clock said 7.45pm.

The Hunt begins 8pm.

Oh shit.

See you then.

Last Gasp

The Jagged Mountains hid them from sight but we knew they were coming for us.
 

    The earth shuddered beneath their pounding feet. The air carried the stench of their rotten flesh. The winds brought the shrieks of their human-bone battle horns. The sun wavered behind the fingers of black smoke rising from their weapons of doom.
 

    Soon they emerged from a crack in the wall of mountains, an ocean of white flesh spilling out upon the Open Plains. The walking dead.
 

    My crimson cape swirled about me like a flame. My armour shone brightly under the gaze of a rising sun. Banners of Liberty rose behind me. Flags. Trophies. Symbols of honour and courage. I would uphold that image with my dying breath if needs be. We were the heroes of this legend-to-be, or the martyrs. Either way, blood would flow soon, and I intended it to be that of the deathwalkers, not that of the humans. I was the captain now. I would bring victory this day.
 

    A thousand men's eyes turned to me, most wide with panic and fear, some with pain. We had fought long and hard this week, through the dense network of invading Scouts and Intruders. We faced down beings of such immense power that only a tenth of our army still stood ready for battle today. The rest lay buried, or burnt, or twisted beyond recognition. Dark magic still crackled in the Northern Skies, above the Circle of Light, where we had brought death upon the final Shadowmancer. Now, here, upon the Frontier Towers, we stood ready to do battle with the greatest force of evil ever unleashed upon the world. And we knew, in a few hours, only light or shadow would prevail. No half-measure. No submission. No compromise.
 

    Today would be our day of destiny,
 

    “Captain.”
 

    It was Korgan, my finest soldier. Tougher than a legion of soldiers put together, he could strike down his enemies with one hammer-blow of his fist, and still find time to crack a joke. A good man.

    “Come forth, Korgan.”
 

    He bowed and stepped out of formation. Immediately his brothers stepped in to replace him. All instinct now. We were all one. Seeing our brothers die, holding them as they rasped their final breath---even killing some, after they'd turned---had broguht us closer than friends or family.
 

    Krogan rested his sword against a nearby wall, then lowered to one knee. I shook my head. “Up. You are my equal, now. Should I die, you will replace me, and make my spirit proud. Now...what is it?”
 

    A war horn cried out, louder than the rest. Hungrier. Sharks, they were. No matter. They would drown in their own black blood, smother in their own guts, soon enough.
 

    “Captain, you should retire to the control room. From there, you can deliver your commands and strategies.”
 

    I smiled and leaned in close, so that he could see nothing but my eyes and teeth. “You think me a coward, friend, after all this time?”
 

    “No! You are a genius. Far beyond those that worship you and covet you as their master, I included.” He looked off to the growing mass of evil creatures, licked his teeth. He too wanted to leap down there and slay them all. Only a shred of common sense kept him from doing so. “To lose you would be to lose the battle.”
 

    I softened my grin, calmed down. Blood lust had overtaken me; I was a mere moment from striking him down. I cooled. “Thank you, but I am simply a stubborn bastard.”
 

    At that, he laughed loudly and proudly, punching his chest. A few young soldiers chuckled nervously along with him. It eased the tension, if only for a moment. I glanced down. The Open Plains were gone. They were at the base of the Towers now.
 

    “Korgan,” I said softly, reaching slowly for my sword. “How many do you estimate are down there, baying for our blood?”
 

    The big man followed my gaze and returned my concerned expression. “One hundred thousand, at least.”
 

    “Good. Get the Gun.”

Crashlanded

Night fell swiftly. Only five of us left now. Rest had been shot or eaten. We'd abandoned the crashed ship, fled into the surrounding forest. Big mistake. Full of predators, some sneaky, others downright unstoppable. I could still see the captain's face as the big beast chomped down on his mouth.

A cry, from the distance. It echoed, bouncing off the far off mountains. Four of them loked to me. I was their captain, now. My job, to keep them alive. As long as I could, anyway. The cry grew louder. We'd seen sense; killed the big thing while it ate the rest of the captain. Raced back to the crash site. Our ship had scorched a clearing as she landed. A circle of flatened grass, so we could see for a mile each way. And hear. Everything.

The cry grew not just in volume, but in pitch. Like a girl, shrieking. A banshee seizing the night. I looked to Dom. “That's not an animal.”

He kept his eyes up and wide. “Aerial cruiser. Medium sized. Headed right for us.”

Two guns between five. Though the other three were mere cadets. Wouldn't want them pulling a trigger unless it was to off themselves; even then, couldn't trust them to do it right. They huddled, knees bobbling. Pants wet with urine, no doubt.

I spat. “You good at longshots?”

“Nope,” said Dom, raising his linegun and aiming at the heavens. “But I'm a bloody quick learner.”

“Good man.” I afforded myself a smile. Only luxury we had now, humour. No food or water. And a big bastard waiting to kill us. Fun time was over.

The scream reached painful levels. There was an underlying boom.

“Rockets!” I shouted. “Get down!”

Too late. Dom was just a foot away when he exploded. Bone and blood flew everywhere. My autoshield flared up and most of it was stopped but a few drops and splinters flaked my suit. I gagged. The three kids wailed. A roar overhead. She was coming around for another shot.

A mumble. I looked down. “Jesus, Dom...”

He was still alive. Half his face blown off, his body ending at the sternum. He drooled blood and other things as he chuckled, “Almost had him...blew his load too early, inconsiderate...” His only eye glazed. I gritted my teeth and swore a silent oath. The three calmed down, looked to me.

“Here's a gun,” I said to the oldest, Fred I think. “Aim it and fire it.”

“But I don't have any--”

“Follow fucking orders.”

The scream came again, hungry for more.

He nodded, pale as death. “Aye, sir.” He dutifully aimed her up, sweeping the skies.

I followed suit with my more modest handgun. Long range, but poor visual. Had to follow my ears, allow for delay. The scream filled our ears. I aimed for a spot, pulled the trigger three times quickly. Pop-pop-pop. Three purple bolts splashed against white metal. Another boom.

We were done for. I took enough time to give Frank-I-think a too-bad smile, a maybe-next-time shrug. The missiles never came. The ground shook, and a pillar of blue fire rose up a mile away, in the forest. I'd got them.

I'd nailed the bastards.

“Fuck yeah!” I punched the air, gave fred a hug, winked at the cute young cadet-ette sitting down. Things were looking up. OK, we were marooned on a nightmare of a planet, but for now, tonight, we'd kicked those pale-faced monsters right in the vulnerables.

Dom...well, plenty of time for mourning.

“C'mon kids, let's make sure they're dead.”

Fred looked at me like I'd turned into one of those ghost aliens. “Sir! The animals...”

“We got guns and guts, Fred. They're no match.”

The cute one raised a hand. “They'll send a landing party, sir.”

I flashed her my cheapest smile. “I hope so. Kill them, take their ship, fly back upto the bigger ship, and kill them too!”

I turned to run when Fred grew a set and stepped in front of me. “We want to go home.”

“You see any other ships here?”

The young lad took a moment to ponder, so while he did I drove my knee where the fresh set had descended. He groaned and doubled up. “Exactly, Cadet. Only way home is right through those bastard's hearts. Now follow me.”

No more waiting. No more fleeing. I holstered my gun and leapt into the darkness of the alien forest, straight for the ship full of corpses.

Animal Smiles

It's night so I'm walking the beat. Ten blocks around my house. I always bring my gun in case I come across a Thing. Body armour too, light on the shoulders but able to take a pounding. It's wintery, real frosty, so I'm kinda shaky. Plus it's my dead wife's birthday. Irene, all smiles til the Things came and chewed her face off. I'm sipping on a naggin. Kills the pain, steadies the shakes, makes that pretty smile fade away.

It's cold. I said that already. But it;s important. See they don't like the cold. They're hot-blooded, just like us. And they shed skin a lot faster than us (we shed skin---see dust? That's mostly yours, Reader). Whole layers just peel right off under their clothes, like snakes. Leaves them raw, exposed. They find warm nests, burrow deep, wait til the sun comes back. Weeks, sometimes months, of pure, unadulterated bliss.

But tonight was fucking different.

The whiskey's made my belly warm, and to be honest I'm a little dizzy. Only three blocks to go. Another sip, why the hell not. Happy birthday, love. Rest in pieces. I chuckle, then break my shit laughing. It's unfunny as fuck but I'm bent right over, ass to the moon, laughing hard, thinking she's up there now, shaking her head, trying not to laugh too. I'm heaving til my eyes sting, and I finally get my breath back and hear the noise.

It's like a dog panting, or those excited grunts before the big white splurge. I straighten back up and he's there, leaning against a car, breathless. I can't see his eyes, but I know they're blood-red, and I know what he is. My hads are numb with the cold and the booze, and like a pure green-horn I drop the naggin. The smash is loud enough to wake the dead. I panic, grab my gun and point it at his bowed head. Bowed---he isn't looking at me. Just at the ground. Eyes down. Can it be this easy?

I waste no more time. Two flicks of the trigger—pop pop—and the gunshots fill my ears, echo through the street. Head goes back, damn near snaps off. Body falls back too, legs comically up in the air. Bam bam, dead and down. He's not even twitching. They normally twitch. He's just a few feet away, but something says don't go over there. Is it my wife? I can hear her. Stay away. I tell her to fuck off, and I go over. The eyes are shut. The face is so relaxed, like he's just sleeping, and he could be, except everything from his forehead up is a mess. Skull-bits and brain-bits all swirling in dark blood.

I'm looking, and I'm realising. I'm starting to pani again. Where's the scars? Where's that constant, twisted grin the Things have? Where's the blue veins, the blotches, the fangs? Fuck.

Fuck.

When the craziness all started, info-packs were miled to everyone. ID the monsters real quick, get them before they get you. Some bore some tell-tale signs, most bore all. But this dead guy was just a regular dude. Probably going for a run.

A run.

He was being hunted. Oh shit. OH SHIT.

The eyes flick open, and now my heart's going nuts. The eyes have no pupils. Might as well be cue balls. The smile appears. Cheeks go up, teeth yellow. He lunges for me but I jump back and pop another bullet right between the eyes. The head literally explodes. Steam rises from the ravaged neck. He's dead. Really dead this time.

This is a bad fucking sign, ladies and gentlemen. They're playing games with us. They're roaming at night, in winter. And this fucker wasn't afraid to die.

I'm sober as hell now. Gotta run home. Ring the guys. Warn them before they get lured in like my schmucky self.

Still two bullets left in the chamber. I keep the safety off, turn towards my street and see five figures waiting for me. It's dark, but I can still see their animal smiles.

a Poem about Fear

I can feel him hiding where the least light lies
I can feel him staring with his lidless eyes
I can feel him smiling through his blood-soaked teeth
I can feel him coming over to eat me.

I pull the sheets up to my chin and pray
I squeeze my eyes shut to keep him away
I curl into a ball and hope I can't be seen
I feel something trickle from my groin to my knee

His laugh echoes across the dark room
He leaps from his hiding-place and lands with a boom.
He scrapes the floor with his nails, making them sharp.
His eyes are red with hunger, his teeth like those of sharks.

Time for dinner, he says with glee.
I whimper, Please don't kill me...
I won't kill you, he says softly.
Then he adds, Immediately.

In womb of shadow I can just make out
His twisted shape, all turned about.
The snake-like neck, the bobbing head.
I'll see him soon, soon I'll be dead.

I lick my lips. You're not really here.
He replied, Then you've nothing to fear.
I feel him bite down on my cheek.
I swing my fists and growl and shriek.

He pulls away, tears off face-flesh.
Pain fills me up until I retch.
Everything is white and black stars.
I'm just as real as you are.

I roll out of bed, coccooned in sheets.
I wait to see horned hoofs, thorned feet.
Instead fast thoughts, faster heartbeat.
I look up into the eyes of: me.

My reflection is six feet tall.
I stand up slowly, nearly fall.
I touch my cheek--not a mark.
Maybe this was just some lark.

A cruel joke of my own making.
I laugh a bit, though I'm still shaking.
Then I slowly recall I'd recently sold
That man-sized mirror, it was too old.

I blink, I nod, it all sinks in.
I look up into His Wide Grin.

Munch

The doorbell rang and the four of us grinned through smokefumes and thought, Finally, the food's here. Tom was closest so he ran out, we could hear him swinging the door open. We all drooled on the carpet waiting, heard a bit of natter, then the door slammed shut. The excitement was too much. Pizza was going to sort out our munchies.

No sign of Tom.

“Tom?”

Nothing.

He was a prankster so i jumped up and ran out to give him a slap but he wasn't there. The door was shut. I opened it in time to see the really tall---I mean REALLY---tall man standing about five feet away, dressed all in black like some Halloween freak. Black cloak, he was even wearing a skull mask.

“Looking for your friend?” he asked.

I'd lost my smile and my appetite. “Uh. Yeah?”

“Thomas.” The masked man turned his head. I didn't recognise the voice. Why was he dressed up? Why did his voice sound like that? “Thomas?” Real sing-song voice. “Oh Thooomaaas...” The head turned even more,and I could see the neck twisting like a rubber hose, and I couldn't see where the skull-mask ended and the skin began.

A little voice said: Maybe it doesn't. Maybe it's really a skull.

Ridonkulous! shrieked my inner Mr Sensible.

The skullface was looking right at me, and the eye sockets were glowing now.

“Cool LEDs,” I told him, gulping down bile.

“They're not LEDs,” he said as he creeped up to me one step at a time. “And you know I ate your FUCKING FRIEND!”

He lashed out and I screamed and swing the door shut, fell on my ass and all the lads started laughing. Til they saw my face, and they laughed even harder.

“Jesus,” someone said, picking me up off the floor, “I really had you going there!”

There was Thomas, standing over me, smiling down at me with his pearly whites. I shook my head. “You...you...”

“Me me me.” He shook his head and slapped my shoulder. “What've you been smoking buddy?” He laughed out loud, and as I watched him approach the lads, I thought two things:

Where did the mask end and the skin begin?

and

Didn't Tom have braces?

Daddy Issues

Thinking bout my daddy makes me ill. He did bad things when I was young so he died in a chair, hair smoking, eyes like jelly. I didn't see it but I seen films and I've a vivid imagination. That's what Uncle Joe said: "You've a vivid imagination. Don't waste it. Don't waste your life." He died days after, peacefully. Mom said he was smiling in his sleep, so he must've died happy. I liked that. Maybe he stayed in the dream.

I grew up in a small town where people pretended to mind their business, while peering over fences and sticking their nose up their neighbours' asses. Everyone gasped when I knocked up Anna. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when that business ended before it started. She was upset. I was just numb. Shit like that does that. To me, anyway. I felt relief, not that it was gone, but that we didn't get a chance to decide to let it live. It must've known, all small and mindless, it must've sensed it, and popped out into death.

School was a chore and classmates were cunts. Teachers were dartboards. I read the books but it might as well been Latin. It was like static; it filled my head with nothing. I loved movies. Loved them. Space movies with heroes and villains. Comedies with slapstick and slippy floors. Westerns---narrow eyes, no name, fast trigger finger. Better than life. Realer. Wished I could jump in, make a mark, live. Often went home and hid in my room. Walls were palettes, my brain was a paintbrush.

The strange man came to me when I was seventeen. I remember he smelled like cigars. His teeth were yellow. "You're just like your daddy," he said. He was shaking his head, looking me up and down like I was some slab of meat. "Need a job?"

I told him to fuck off and pushed past him to the bar. One big blobby hand stopped me. "Think it over. Lotsa money out there. Wanna spend your life takin orders?"

I can't remember his eyes. I don't think I looked at them. I was too scared, or disgusted, or something. I just put the pint glasses on the bar, thought bout the hair on fire, the screams. Fifty quid a night. It was fuckall, but I was ok. I was ok.

Home

Morning starts like any other. Take the call, get the target's name and location, show up smiling like a salesman, suitcase in right hand, gun inside. Door swings open and a double barrelled shotgun pokes out and rips my chest wide open with a bang. I fall sideways, coughing up last night's dinner; meantime two feet blur past me and then all turns black.

Magic carpet ride over ice mountains. Look Mom I'm flying. The mountainpeaks spout blue flame, ice melts off, red fire everywhere. Oh shit I'm dying. The pain: it's in me, it's fucking me and it's enjoying it, I'm screaming. Get it out. GET IT OUT.

Morning starts like any other. Take the call...

*You fucked it up."

I nod as if he can see me. Cos I know he can. The cameras are all over the hospital. And he's all over the city. I'm a dead man. "Sorry."

"You fucked it up."

My head feels like the business end of a dick at a stag's. I've got more sweat than skin. "He must've ID'd me. Security breach."

"We're unbreachable. You know that. Nothing goes out we don't want going out. You weren't traced. You were tracked. You know what that means."

CLICK. Line's dead. So am I. Footsteps, squeak of a heel. Someone steps in grinning. Tall man, skinny face, very wide mouth, like someone's pulling his cheeks til his lips come close to splitting. He has something small and sharp in his hand. He's spinning it slowly.

"Ah," he gasps, "I see you're awake. Let me take a look."

Slides over to me. Can smell the grease in his slicked-back hair. He leans in til we're eye-to-eye. Only one chance. I give him the thumbs-up, smile, and push my thumb into his left eyesocket. The eyeball pops under the pressure, oozing down my wrist while I push in deeper. Can feel something spongy---must be brain---so I push hard, jab at it a few times. He is screaming throughout all of this. I pull the thumb back out with a comical PLUP, and he vomits and dies right there on my chest. I ignore his quivering lips. Dying neurons are having one last party.

I jump to my feet. My chest is clean, clear. No bullet-holes. "You guys are good," I tell the probably dead man. What's the thing in his hand? Oh. It looks anal.

I rob his doctor's costume---he's not REALLY a doc---and stroll out whistling. faces emerge from behind curtains along the hallway, like a queue of ghosts. I wink at a chesty nurse. I walk out the door into the light.

A car pulls up. "Get in." It's Busby. "I SAID...get in."

One longing glance at the hospital---it's remarkably ornate, with glass everywhere, even a trimmed garden---and hop in.

"You've blood on you." Busby wrinkles his chubby nose, swipes at the remnants of a combover.

I nod, smirk, flick the bit of brain out the window. "They tried to get me. I have to go spectral."

Busby's face goes diagonal. "That's a zero. There's nothing below grid these days. If they want someone, they'll get them. Even if they have to cut through fuckers like me."

Pangs of guilt. "Busby, thanks for this---I owe you."

He nods. I listen to the wheels spin, the road and wind ripple past. All this is the past already. I'm watching it scroll like film strip. When's it over? Soon.

Very fucking soon.

"Here we are." Busby slaps my knee, holds on a little too long. "Best be going." He's given me airline tickets.

I shake his hand--again, cloying. I grimance, then grin. "I'll make it upto you."

Busby goes red. "You already have. Take care."

Out and in. Hundreds of nobodies. Make way, a doctor in the house. I dump the overcoat---no doubt my face is getting widespread. I flex my face-muscles, now I'm Beta-me. Same but different. All in the expressions, see. Like accents for your face. Same but different.

Flight takes off. Free and clear. Stewardess leans in, chest perky, lips red. "Glad you're back, sir."

I wink. "Glad to be back." Curtains. Faces. Phone rings. No place like Home.

Cinderella

“I love her dearly,” he said and smiled for the first time in a long time. “I love her Ella.”

“Then so shall I,” his daughter dutifully replied, forcing a smile and swallowing a cry. They embraced tightly, yet something lay between them, a darkness and sadness too acute to confront.

So the bells tolled and confetti tumbled and the new bride flashed her bright white teeth at a thousand onlookers. She reserved a special grin for Ella; her eyes were ice. Ella's smile froze, cheeks hurt, but she held it, and blew a kiss to her father as the couple set off.

The crowd cheered and strode to the bar. Two women lingered, fingers pointed, heads nodding and bobbing, eyes narrowing. Strangers, now step-sisters. Ella nodded back. The two departed, laughing out loud.

Mr Prince was here, shaking hands with the queue of women waiting to meet and greet and whatever him. Ella wanted to laothe him, but loathed herself for wanting him. Tall, handsome, wealthy, but also very kind;a good friend of her father's, and way out of her league.

She dropped her gaze, dragged deep on a cigarette. To the butt, then lit another.

One of the step-sisters approached gingerly, holding her dress like it might blow away. “Excuse me, you're Ella?”

Ella held a hand out and coughed on a puff of smoke. Doubled over, ash and embers popping and stirring from her cigarette, splashing across her newly-bought dress. The cigarette tumbled away. The step-sister doubled over too—laughing, pointing. Sister number two joined her from who knows where. Elle stifled a groan, straightened up, and went to the bathroom.

Mirrors surrounded her. Everywhere Ella, ash-stained and sad. She wiped the tears and said, “Be a big girl.” She scrubbed at the stains and only smeared them, and now she was tearful. Over the sobs she heard a creak—the two sisters.

“Aww,” said one. “Covered in cinders.”

“Cinder Ella,” said the other. They jeered and left.

Elle looked into the mirror, into her dark-ringed eyes. A fce popped out from over her shoulder. She yelped.

“Relaaaax,” said the arrival, her face beaming with light. “I'm your pal, your buddy, your Fairy-uking Godmother. And you look like you need a treat.” She raised a hand to Ella's mouth and Ella didn't think twice—nor once—she swallowed them and muttered “Thank you” and went to the bar.

Minutes passed. Vodka bulls were really kicking in. Afternoon light suddenly seemed so damn beautiful. And when she looked at her dress she realised it wasn't stained—it was mottled, like the shadows cast by clouds across grassy fields in summer. Patterns flowed across her surface, and she glowed, and she smiled.

Music flowed smooth, and she followed its beat. Others looked upon her in awe. She was the princess.

“Where is my prince?”

She found him smoking in the corner, his eyes fixed upon something far-off. She stood by, and reached for his hand. He jumped, and laughed, and leaned in to kiss, then said, “Are you OK?” and other things like “Get this girl some water!” Then darkness came.

She awoke to starlight and cool air touching her cheeks. Prince was there, holding her hand, and she felt like hell had creeped into her bowels and released demons into her face. The sisters were around her apologising profusely, “We didn't mean it” “Oh don't die”.

Lights flared up from the corner: red and blue. “About time!” roared Prince, letting her go, and soon she was floating.

“My chariot has arrived,” she said with a smile, and closed her eyes. “Goddamn Fairy Godmother.”

Between Darkness and Light

First bomb went off was like thunder. I stopped mid-sip of my cup of coffee. Looked out from my high-rise apartment onto the city. Saw a white flower grow the size of ten blocks. Thought it was nuclear, screamed, til I realised I was still alive, still holding my cup, though I'd long since spilled the liquid onto my toes. Ignored the hot sizzle as I stood up and watched the bright mushroom expand and widened and faded til it was gone.

What was it? Question marks filled my head. Static from the radio nipped at my ears. It was dusk, and some lights were on, but now they were flickering and fading. Not nuclear, I thought. I was still moving, not burnt nor shivering, but the lights were dying, and I knew something horrible was happening. Then the lights died, and that was the last time I saw artificial light ever again.

The sky was silver. Grey clouds festered, and they began to swirl. Tornado? They swam and circled but nothing sprung out of them. A baby cried off in the distance. Heads poked out from windowsills. A face popped out from a nearby flat, turned and stared, mouth open. I shrugged, feigning disinterest. Inside I quaked.

A rumble, deep in my bones. Like hunger, only not mine. My teeth chattered, like I was cold but didn't feel it. My skin tingled, like I was burnt but didn't notice it. Hairs stood up to attention. Something passed through me, making me freeze, stretching my eyelids. Another mushroom, only this time I sensed it without seeing it; felt it rise nearby, grow and swell, tumorous and invisible. I remembered Crazy Tom and his sign: "The End Is Nigh!" his billboard declared and for once I agreed. And then, the skies darkened. And that. Was. It.

I looked at my pasta. It was cold and limp. An hour had passed since I'd first stood and stared. What happened in the intervening moments between the light and the darkness? I dared not guess. The silvery sky had withered. Sounds muted to nothingness. I felt alone. I reached for my mobile. Its screen was dead--I'd charged it minuted before. The TV refused to switch on. Punched the on-switch; the TV lay dead. I padded my laptop, it had been in Sleep Mode: should have reactivated in a heartbeat, but it stayed quiet, its screen black; its battery should have at least blinked in need of another charge. But it was silent, its hard drive long since stopped whirring, and I stood all alone in a room full of dead machinery, scratching my head, alone.

Shaun would know. He was a geek. Take any tech-ailment and he was the cure. Hit my phone-on button and it stayed comatose. Grabbed my keys and my coat and hit the lift--the buttons clicked but no power. The stairs--the lobby--no faces--the street. No sounds, no life. I was a ghost.

Shaun lived three blocks away. I ran. I hadn't ran in three years. Five blocks and I was panting. Ten, and I retched. The sky flickered, like a TV screen struggling to revive. Thunder rolled, but at a distance, like through waterlogged ears, or behind a thick wall. I shook my head to dispel childish worries. To shake off those two mushroom clouds: one of fire, one of silence.

Shaun's place was much like mine, less classy, bad insulation. Up stairs far too steep to a hallway where a body lay. Its eyes peered into mine. Mouth open, teeth white, red tongue lay to one side, a string of bile to the other. It was still, and so was I, ram-rod straight, staring, trying not to puke. I failed. Processed pizza tumbled in chunks from my quivering lips. Waves of ice spilled over me. Dread and terror consumed me. Ate me up. Left me crawling by the motionless human corpse.

304, Shaun's apartment. Rapped once on the half-hollow door. No response. In my mind, saw another dead body, not the one staring at me, but the other, Shaun, sitting in his couch, waiting for me. Gritted my teeth and threw a shoulder into the door, felt it give way. Tumbled forth and lo and behold, Shaun nestled in his leather suite, mouth full of blood, teeth red and shining, eyes glazed over, gazing my way. Arms held out, as if embracing an invisible friend, or Death Himself.

I cried out long and hard, til my chest quivered and my voice turned to a squeak. Shaun was my best friend, best you could have. There he was, smothered in his own red ooze, his eyes glazed over, choked up and dead. That awful silence, it seemed to choke me. I keeled over and spewed my last vomit. I wept like crazy, inches away from my dead friend. Outside came the horns of some attack. Like some world war was about to strike---but there was no other sounds, no tanks or planes or missiles or bombs. Just the silence and the machine-screams, andmy coughs, and the ticking of a clock. No. Not ticking---trickling: blood-drops dripping from my friend's blue lips.

A surge took me over, energy from nowhere; up to my feet and out the door. Empty dark hallway, I swept through it and down into the silent streets. The horns had died. I went to the only place I could imagine: home. Real home. Where my parents slept. A day from here, it seemed ten days. The journey took me through the bowels of hell.

Flames licked the pavements. Dogs ran the roads. Children lay trembling by their unmoving parents on the corners of blocks, looking up to black skies. I leaned by one kid, who looked semi-capable; she said, "Go away mister, it's all over, everything." I dared not ask, for she knew what I feared. The end is nigh. The end is nigh. I ran to my parent's home, and the windows were broken. Eyes glowed from the shadows. A rifle poked out from the door.

"Stay away mister, if you know what's good for ya."

I grabbed the gun and pulled the wielder outside. All bones and rags he yelped and fought back; I shoved an elbow against his throat and roared, "Who are you?"

Just a traveler, he said, just a surivor. His eyes were deep behind rings of fear. His skin was grey and his jaw was slack. Drool bridged the gap between his teeth and his toes. He held his hands to deflect my punch.

I didn't punch though; he was just so fearful. "What happened?"

"I don't know. Just saw two booms, one light, one dark. The lights switched off, and then people keeled over. All dead, electricity and people. Everything dead."

"Gas bomb?" I whispered.

He nodded, "Probably."

I leaned in, "Who did this?"

"Fukk knows." And he ran.

Went inside, and the house stunk of decay. How come so fast it had become so dead? I found children whimpering in the kitchen chomping on dry cereal. Their parents stood up slowly, approaching me in fear. I realised I still held the rifle butt-first. Lay it down, asked, "Where's my folks?"

Four eyes shook slowly, and so did my two. "Tom and Philomena?"

Those eyes widened, looked out, and I followed to where two makeshift mounds and a shovel stood tall in my parents' back garden.

The eyes followed me as I stepped out and looked down at those two fresh mounds and that one shovel. They lay there, I knew, dead as my own soul. A hand lay upon my shoulder and I whirled and lashed out; my wrist spasmed in pain; something braced it tight; I groaned loudly.

"Hush."

It was the guy who had watched me, now taller than me, eyes bright. He held me as I cried, and he said, "I'm sorry," over and over. "We found them laid down, hugging one another, in the garden. they were gone, long gone," he said, as I wept against his chest.

The winds picked up for a moment and stirred my pain into something else, a dead pain, a sombre sorrow, and I composed myself and stepped back and appraised my consoler, this digger for the dead. He was forty and looked fifty, and he shook his head and apologised once more.

I thanked him and shook his hand.

"We'll go now," he offered and it was meant, for he went to usher his family away--two kids in the kitchen went to move to leave--but I shook my head forcefully, brushed my tears as I told him,

"No, this is your home now."

"Stay with us, then," he offered, long after he'd thanked me over and over.

I smiled and I felt the gratitude even as I felt a purpose overtake me. "No. Thank you but no." I reclaimed my new rifle, gave a nod to the kids and their mom from their place in the kitchen. Patted the man on the shoulder. "I'll go on. Find others. Make sense of this."

"Not safe," he whispered, stepping close.

"Where is?" My smile widened. Shook his hand once more. Out I went into those barren streets full of houses full of dead. Thought about the insulation in my apartment, and its saving me from the gas and the fire and the darkness. All those revellers in the street parties and the shindigs. New Years Eve, it had been. New Years Day, it was now. And me, and a select few, entombed and saved, whilst the rest choked and died. I would go, and help anyone in my path til I lost it all. I would go, and make sense of what had long since confounded me.

The end is nigh, they had screamed, before fear became fact. Now I walked in the terrible truth of their dread, and I knew I had not long before more terror was bestowed.

Make the best of any bad thing, my parents had once said. I would make them proud.

Silent Partner

"How was work." Daily question without even a tone of interest. I shrugged at the floor while Marla stared at her tabletron. Silence bridged us. Golden sunset poured through the office windows. Ninety floors up, hip-deep in the mass of hovercars rushing to get home, drivers dying to hug their wives and husbands and kids, watch some quality 3D.

Not Marla. She had her tabletron.

I dramatically dropped my workpack onto the floor. "Whoops." It crunched. I'd probably smashed the screens, maybe broken the drives. I finally looked up at her: head bowed down, face washed out by the pale light of the tronics. Ghostly. "Call Ed, he'll replace that for you."

Ed burst in as if on cue. "We've got a problem."

Marla's face turned, eyes hidden behind the ultra-reflective glasses. I could see her forehead crease. Ed never rushed in. Never used the word "problem". The atomic disaster on Mars was a "setback". "Ed?"

Ed was a foot taller than me, but seemed double that. He peered down, gave me a nod, then said, "Perhaps we should speak alone?"

Marla agreed and ushered me out. I gave her a pained glance; she might've responded, had she bothered to look at me. The doors slid shut, and glowed red around the doorframe. Locked.

Luckily, I had a sharp ear. I leaned in and listened.

Ed: The courier ship, headed for Mars yesterday? (Ed always had that way about him...asking instead of telling.)

Marla: Uh-huh. The Crescent IV.

Ed: Never arrived.

Marla: It came back.

Ed: Not that either. It's gone, Marla.

Marla: Juggernauts don't just vanish, Ed. Plus, we've trace-locators. Fire it up and find her quickly.

I could see Ed shaking his head violently, face reddening: Did that, five hours ago. It's gone! No trace. Sent thirty Scoopers out to search for ion trails, debris. Came back with shrugs and nothing more.

Marla: That ship has thirty-five Neutrino--

Ed: I know, I know...!

The voices had gotten progressively louder, and only too late did I realise they were approaching the door. With a whisper the doors parted, and I looked into four very anxious eyes. I was smart enough to know I wasn't supposed to hear that thirty five Neutrinos were missing.

Marla's pupils were like lasers. "Snooping is for spies. You know what we do with them--"

Ed studied his hands, then rested one---it was cold and shaky---on my shoulder and gently pushed me away, whilst saying, "Marla, we had him intrigued, leave him be-"

Marla whirled around and she looked ready to pounce. Ed flinched. Marla then quietly commented, "That was a rash comment from a divorced father of three kids he never sees. Maybe your advice is unnecessary, eh? Maybe you should get those world-bombs found and put back in my factories, eh?"

Ed nooded, eyes glistening, and patted my shoulder again as he scurried off. What a weasel---I felt bad straightaway thinking that. Marla's coldness, rubbing off on me. Figuratively---our marriage had long since negated any phsical rubbing off. Her job was primary focus, apparently.

Marla--she was staring at me. Really looking at me, for the first time in a long time.

"Neutrinos," she said, "are classified technology. Everyone wants to know what we're up to, even UniCorps." The last word was spat out like an epithet. She adjusted her expensive suit, slicked back her hair, gave me a cold smile. "And if I see Neutrinos mentioned once in the media, I'll know it was you."

She stepped up close, and although we were at eye-level, I felt myself shrinking under her terrible stare. "I'll send you to the mines. Now get the hell out of my sight."

I ran to the nearest lift. One rushed up, swallowed me and spat me into my room-cubicle. I shuddered, grinned, groaned. I knew where that ship was. Knew exactly what had happened her and her crew. Every cell in my body cried out Save them! But how? Without a doubt, if I told my wife what had occurred, she would send a Sweeper team to slaughter every last one of them. Delete their files. Erase their familes.

And when they were done, she would kill me.

No, I was going to need someone's help. Someone with a ship, and some guns. A name burned brightly in my mind, and I smiled. Perfect.

Mirrors in the Sky

The air is thin at the peak of the Sky City. I slip on a mask before I step out onto the balcony. Out into sunshine, away from the murky apartment, and the corpse.

Winds break through the geo-shield, fussing with my jacket. Shut my eyes, imagine I'm hovering twenty-thousand feet above ground. It's not a stretch. Sky City has a triad of ion repulsors keeping her high above the Wasted World. Nothing but fire and craters down there; this is the new world. Fresh start. Safe, secure...yet there it is: the body, propped up in its seat, looking out at me with eyes that had long glazed over, its jaw slack, as if to say:

Why me? What'd I do?

"Wrong place, wrong time, buddy," I murmur through my mask. My voice is odd to my own ears. The corpse says nothing, just stares.

Did it move?

I blink, rub my nose. No. Still there, watching the clouds roll out onto the horizon, watching the empty blue sky, and watching me.

I step back inside. Damn near fall down when a young face jumps out at me. "Jesus--knock or something!" I throw the mask away. "What is it?"

The face beams, barely out of his teens, wearing a suit double-worth mine, thanks to Daddy Mayor. "COD, Detective. Cause of death verified: Laser-line."

Years of experience unfurl across my thoughts; I'd been planetside before the Burn. Saw crimes go unhindered; saw the victims, scattered and splattered. Laser-lines were common back then: perfect for long-distance. Back when there were buildings and streets, and people on the ground. Not all of us clustered in one giant hub in the heavens. And not when we're monitored and scanned. Every action recorded; every kill prevented. Until now.

"Laser-lines belong back in the twenties," I inform him, feeling smug and sour at the same time. The apartment's big, wide, full of tech and art I couldn't dream of acquiring. The dead guy, in his forties, chest torn open like bag of crisps. Bowels at ankles; scorch-marks orbiting the tear. Consistent with laser-lines, sure. What else? Oh. I lean in. Should retch--been ages since I sniffed a cavader; yet the old instinct--breathe through mouth in short, shallow breaths--serves its purpose. Nose-to-nose with the dead thing in the chair, and in the eyes I see writing.

Words. Scrawled perfectly around the irises. I read them.

"Boss?"

Re-read them. "Get the chief."

"On the pod?"

I give him a look that rivalled laser-lines for ferocity. "Get him here. Now."

The young guy yelps a little, mutters Rightaway something, and falls into the horizontube. Whisked away, the gush of air easing off, leaving me alone in that gorgeous pad, staring into the dead eyes, the words leaving scars in my soul:

This man is a clone, says Left Eye.

Right Eye: And so are you, Detective.

Gravestones of Fire

She's there when I close my eyes. In the darkness, floating, hair rippling in unseen currents. Her face is pale--as it should be. Her clothes--the last outfit I ever saw her in--are baggy, bright white like the moon, whiter than her skin, shining bright. I wince--I always wince--because then her eyelids flick open, and what I see terrifies me beyond imagining.



I awaken in a pool of my own sweat. Tears cascade down my cheeks, and my chest quakes with a deep and dreadful sadness--so deep, so dreadful, that my body dares not let it free. I sob silently, my open mouth letting out a gasp like the last gasp of a dying man. Eeys wide, adjusting to the darkness, I soak in my surroundings--each and every time I suddenly remember:



Space. Mission. You're the captain. I'm the captain.



Meds lie beneath my mattress. I always take three, to soothe me, lull me into a dreamless sleep. Never do it going to bed at first---I won't see her then, and I want to see her, painful as it is, dead as she is. I want her.



But just this once, leaning forward, ignoring the aches in my joints, I deny myself the meds. I close my eyes, breathe in the recycled air of the cruiser Everlast, and let my heartbeat drown out the sounds of ion engines hurtling me and three guys into the heart of space.



Sleep. Her dead face. I groan and cry, I reach out across the black, touch her, feel her soft smooth features harden and crumble under my fingerstrokes. Like old paint. Fragments of my lover's flesh tumble by, and she smiles, even as her lower jaw tears off.



"Alert! Captain to the bridge!"



I snap awake. I push the memories down to my gut, let them fester. Out of bed, into uniform, and onto bridge, double-time. Jane is there, and she's looking worried.



"Came out of nowhere. Heading straight for us. Vector Alpha-two-nine. Speed, point-three L."



"Jesus." The bridge is cramped. The front port dominates. The rest is consoles and tiny seating for me, Jane, and Tom. I look out the port, see the flicker of blue out in the nothingness. "ID?"



"Unknown."



It's not the black hole. It's an object, a something, in the nothing. Traveling at point three L. A third of lightspeed. Ten times faster than us. I think of sci-fi shows, of spaceships, of dead faces. "Comm HQ: send them a link."



Jane gives me two eyebrows up and a creased brow. "Tried that a minute ago, no luck--"



"Try again." I lean into my seat, drum up a few command sequences. Scanners usually taste an asteroid no problem. Comets come up nice and simple. Old satellites lost in space belch out radio waves. This thing is a ghost.



I think of Morena, and the night she choked to death, her eyes wide, looking right at me. "Anything?" Jane shakes her head, punches in more commands; Jane hates to lose. And she's scared. So am I. Please, she cried. Morena. I mouthed the word. She begged me to save her. I love you, I said.



"Rut this," I grunt. "Tom deserves his beauty sleep, but I need his brain. De-cryo, fast-pace."



"Could hurt him," Jane tells me, and I nod. "Can't we-"



"Wait?" Shaking my head, I say flatly, "No." Jane is opening her mouth just like Morena. I push the thought away, blink, hope the single tears dries quickly. "That thing is coming for us. I put us on evasive. It matched out trajectory perfectly."



Like a ghost. Chasing us. Jane said, "Sequencing cryo-negative process. Tom'll be with us in five."



Space is silent and dark. The stars do not gleam like those in holos. They are pinpricks in an ocean of death. They are themselves the light of the dead, shining brightly, in remembrance. Gravestones of fire, burning themselves out. So even the fires of the dead die. I look at the shadow I cast upon the deckplates, and wonder, when I die, will my shadow die too? Do shadows stay, while light dies away?



"John." It's Tom. He's groggy, and hugging his ribs.



I give him a grimace. "Sorry. but there's odd sh!t out there, and that's your specialty. You OK?"



"No, but I will be. ID?"



"No clue. It's big though," says Jane, and she flashes him a smile that tells me she has recently, or plans to, bed him. It doesn't make me jealous, especially at a time like this, but I feel a lot more alone, these two lovebrids, while my Morena rots away long lost, and that big boogeyman comes toward us at a speed that makes the hairs on the neck of nature curl.



Tom takes his spot, rubs a sore rib, and peers into the goggles mounted on his board. A beat. A gasp. "It's here."



Jane throws me fearful eyes. I stay calm. No fear in the unknown. It's excitement, I tell myself. "Here? Where?"



Tom points, and I follow his still icy-arm to the port, where a thin haze of rippling light shimmers before the glass, and I think I see a heartbeat.



Here. All round us. We scatter signals, send pulses and beams. All come back contradicting one another, like a bunch of professors in a room crying out for attention. Like a bunch of bugs scrambling over one another to chew at the corpse's meat. All vying for alpha-attention.



The readouts say yay, nay, organism, ship, matter, anti-matter.



"Well one way or another," I say, and I'm shaking, "it's got us. Now what?"



Tom rubs his eyes. He's pale, and not just from the cryo-stasis I lurched him out of. Tom's as sh!t-scared as me and Jane. "You're the captain, Captain."



Jane mumbles, "We're not moving, our air is fine, energy cubes up and running...but I'm picking up weird energy-streams."



"Where?" I bark that. Shouldn't have done that.



"Everywhere," and suddenly Jane is that young student I seduced with stories and drink and bedded two nights before Morena died in front of my very eyes. Did Morena know then? Was that why her eyes said, Why? as she tumbled out of the airlock? I still felt the gentle thud, as air and machinery and Morena were sucked out into space. Still felt the hum of the console, as my finger slipped away from the blinking red button, and I stepped back, watching my wife die. My finger, warm, after touching the big red button.



"Thing's got us encapsulated," I state. Two meds, pop-pop, chew them like gum, hope they don't notice, or if they do, don't care. We're dead meat anyway. "So we bring the fight to them."



"Fight!" Tom rubs his shaved head. "This is a phenomenon. It's an aberration. It's not--"



"A Spectre? A Spectre, Tom? Cos it sure rutting looks like one to me, Tom." I lean in, and yeah, I'm mad. The meds ate up my fear, left a big bag of hate in my chest, and I'm dumping it on baldy's head. "Now go get your gun."



No... ]She's here, in my head, in my ship. No... she says, and she's in the outfit I last saw her in, the baggy space-suit, and she's tumbling, only this time she's tumbling towards me. Tales of Spectres kept kids awake at night, it's fun, right? Only one's really got us pincered, and now there's Morena, in the room, in her suit, reaching for me. I see her face, the red eyes, and I embrace her. I close my eyes, and when I open them, I can see the Everlast, turning away, heading home. I'm floating. Warm, burning white.



She's all around me, my wife Morena. Her light is enveloping me, protecting me, a womb of light in space, and I am unafraid, I am with her again, she is alive!



You killed me, she says sweetly, as she pushes her visor down, and I see my own reflection, and it is a mask of fear now.



I didn't! I didn't want to!



The black helmet with my face stretched across it nods once. I had the Virus. You did right. You did right... But two days ago, you slept with her. And I knew, and I forgave you, and then you let me die...



The white light is fading around us, and I suddenly I feel very cold. I'm sorry. I should've tried---



I'm sorry too. She fades to nothing, and I wonder, as she hurtled into space with only a minute of O2, could a Spectre have found her, and saved her? Was she real?



I wonder this for a milisecond. This milisecond. This very moment. I am frozen in time. I know now, in the next heartbeat, in the next fraction of infinite time, my body will submit to space. I know, but I do not want to know.



I'm sorry.

Loose

You and me, he said, we're special. We see through the layers that cloud man's eyes. Through the bull and the waffle, the ego and the title. We see.

His eyes widened, he leaned in, and I struggled not to flinch. I kept my eyes on his even as he leaned in close enough to breathe garlic on me. Eyes like water, trembling with a terrible darkness trying to break through—Mr Herod was no perv, I knew, but he sure was crazy. I could see that.

You don't believe me. Back, he leaned back, his narow frame nearly disappearing into the confines of his leather chair. The room looked huge when he did this, but it was a small classroom, in an old school, with ancient rules. And Herod hated it all: the rules, the school, even the chair that threatened to gobble him up.

But he liked me. So I said, I believe you, sir.

That strange smile played across his lips. The eyes glowed, renewed with an odd energy. Leaning forward again slowly, a slender weird man, he said, Good. Then I have something I want you to do for me. My heart pounded in anxiety. Not a perv. Not a- It's going to seem, ah, inappropriate to ask, but it would please me. Smile, nervous, trembling eyes. Will you?

Will I what. I coughed the words, swallowed my bile.

I want you to kill a man named Howard Whyte, tonight, with your mind.

Howard Whyte was sixty two years old with cancer. When he cycled home to work, he did so with a well-tuned sense of purpose. Years of army training had instilled in him a level of self-discipline that his dad's beatings had damn near pulverised. Killing—soldiers, villagers, children—had hardened him. Civilised life was a breath of fresh air, as fresh as city air can be, and he took deep breaths, and built a store and a family, and lost both to circumstance, and now had carcinogens worming away at his innards. Six months on the outside, said his doctor behind small glasses. I'm sorry.

Those words rang like the bullets he popped at the runners and pleaders, the fighters and bleeders. Bang bang. I'm sorry. No. You're just glad it;s not you. Again, something he was very familiar with. Bang bang.

I sat on a park bench in a quaint square of green grass and withering flowers, watching the old dying man dismount his bike and guide her round the side of the old house. Pebble-dash walls, windows that relfected the world, showing nothing inside.

I knew what lay inside. I heard the cries of those innocents, from his past. Bang bang.

Soon as he disappeared behind the granular walls I darted across. I was in my usuals—t-shirt, jeans, runners---and I carried only one extra item, of which I shall discuss with you later. No-one stopped to stare at me, future-OAP-killer. No-one was there, see.The streets were empty. The wind was high—I felt buffeted by fate,as I slowed and then creeped along the side of the home to the back gate and pushed through gently, finding a garden in disarray. Weeds grew high. Grass had browned and fragmented. The wind stirred the corpses of long-forgotten roses. Thorns remained, drooping. I took it all in while the object weighed heavy in one hand. The other was clenched.

Like the fist that smashed my nose from one side—bang bang—twice it hit me, making my head explode and knees give way. My head bounced off the ground twice—bang bang—white stars popped in my eyes, like those bullets, and...Those kids...

Bang-bang...I'd said it, two words, through bloodied teeth, swollen lips. Those kids. His feet paused, one in mid-swing, and he settled down, stared.

Whaddya know? he grumbled. He leaned over, like Herod, his eyes were different though: splintered with gold, narrow to a point, piercing. Whaddya say?

Feign surprise, I said, laughing, choking down vomit. Those kids.

The war was a long time ago, he shook his head, spittle flying from his grey lips.

Kill him, said Herod, two hours previously.

I showed Whyte the object: The gun, Mr Whyte. I ushed myself to one feet, and to the other. The gun you used on those kids.

No.

Not the war, Mr Whyte. Long after. Just recently. Very recently.

No.

I stole into his thoughts and saw so many children weeping as he used all his anger and despair on their fragile little bodies. Crunch went a bone, at the pubis, as he convulsed, laughing and smashing the child's dreams of happiness away. You scraped the leftovers, burned the bodies. But some lived, and squirmed, like worms, didn't they.

Yes. No!

So you killed the worms, stone dead. Bang bang.

And he screamed and ran inside, and fled upstairs, and I took a hop-skip-jump across space and time and took a peek into his head, just as his own bullet exited the other side. His thoughts zapped away like a cathode ray tube, winking, and blinking, and shrinking to zero. Zipped back to my bruised cranium, the whip-crack of the gunshot tickling my ears. I laughed, then said, Ow. A tooth had come loose.

Play It Casual

Walking the street, eyeing up the talent at corners, newspaper under the arm, gun at the hip: keep cool, shades hide the beady eyes, the smile keeps the lips from jittering, be cool. Be cool.

Voice leaps into my ear: Almost there buddy. Y'alright?

Bite my tongue, swallow my yelp; the earpiece is tiny, wormed right into my ear, out of sight. The voice should be welcome, should be calming: Kip, my partner, trusted friend, watching overhead, a sentinel in the clouds: ship cloaked, scanners on full. I know I'm a blue dot on his screens, my target's big and red, and the gap is shrinking real fast. Too fast.

My toes squirm; I push on. Pavement is bouncing the afternoon sun into my eyes: my shades bounce the light right back, but the heat is melting me, sweating me. Any minute now and I feel like my face'll melt off, and the word SPY!!! will blaze across my teeth.

Yup, I say, choking on panic. Round the corner, past the monitor-droids, he's sitting there on the steps, yo-yoing, laughing, spitting at passers-by.

Gunshot; left, I drop to one knee, blink, it's just an old-school car with a bust-up engine; I untie then tie my lace smoothly. Good hands, that's it, pretend, don't shake, good.

Up, my knees crack, up and walk. Streets are pretty empty. The odd laugh or shout or scream pops in the air. Everything mellows, fades. Everything but my target.

Hey YOU.

Second heart-stopper. My spine dances. My fingers tickle the bump of my holster. Behind my shades, my eyes are OO.

Turn; swivel. Keep it casual til sh!t gets actual. Always had a ring to it when I wrote it years ago. Now it stains my brain, makes me wince, as I rotate, smiling and look into the eye of a seven-foot tall killer. He's not subtle. He has a machine gun, and its dick is eye-level.

Whoa there. I'm a Brother. The smile cramps my cheeks. Gun, so close, grab it? Flip it up, flick off the safety toggle, then put a bullet through this bear's chin? Can be done. Maybe throw a shoulder in first; stagger him, then send him to hell.

But Enemy number One is behind. Probably watching, mildly interested. I'm one of many who faced down a gun on that bad bad man's street. Hence my mission. He makes this world a bad place. He's an infection. My gun is pumped full of cure.

A brother. All moustache and slick-back, frowns and grunts. Must top two-fifty pounds of dumb-ass. Gun in my face, though. Play it casual.

Yeah. Here, let me show you... I stretch a hand out, up, palm out, then guide it into the folds of my cloak of the Brothers of the One. His eyes flick down. My mirror-shades frown back. I pull out the Volume, show its gold-plated edge, and drive it straight into the bridge of his temple. Gentle crack: skulls are quite quiet when they split. Wetness: blood, brain matter.

He looks like a confounded cow as he stumbles back and falls ass first to the curb.

I, in a convenient flash of thinking-on-my-feet, snatched his weapon as he fell. Thirty bullets.

More than enough.

That was all thirty seconds, maximum. Enemy number one is gone, though. Probably into his fortress: a terraced home in a down-and-out street, the very street I'm on, surrounded by whores and slave-bots, straggler junkies and steroid junkies, heavies and heavy artillery.

I've got a submachine gun, a handgun, and the book that tells fairytales about an absentee father. I leave the book. No sense in lying. I remove the robes; they clung to tight to my armour. No spying, to waiting, no sweat.

Kill.

Faces blur by. Sirens wail. Ambu-levs scurry over to the dead sack of meat. I stroll on, confident now, metal exo-suit gleaming. I'm a knight of the round table. I'm justice incarnate. I'm The Man.

Steady, says Kip. Heart-rate's topping two-fifty.

Bio-meds, I insist, will hold me together. Scan the house.

A beat. Ten footsteps. Two gasps, one child looks at me and smiles. I smile back. It's a good day.

Thirty lives. Ten bots. A--Jesus, he has a trans-atomic bomb in there!

I freeze. Of course! QuanTech got wasted last week. Wasn't ever random. This laywaste's got a cunning plan.

Kip says nothing; I feel his worry, share it. Then: Pull out. Too dangerous, you know it.

It's one-way. Always was the plan. Besides, I've knocked on the door-

Get out! Now!

Bye Kip. I flick the earpiece away like an errant snot. Door opens; darkness and dampness waft through. I don't look at the face. I close my eyes, curl my finger, raise the gun, and pull. There's a loud chain of cracks; the gun jumps so hard my elbow hurts; BANG and there's two feet keeping the door open, soles up, soul gone.

In I go; subtlety unrequired. A string of screams and shouts. Epithets and hasty instructions: Run, damn you, kill him, aaaaggghhhh! Heard it all from these punks' victims. In I go. In I go...

All shiny inside, but dark. Floors clean but something smells. Light is far away in here. Cramped but retro-fitted with the top tech. Stairs at the end, screens inbetween; faces beaming from both. I shoot the tellies, then point my gun at the unshot faces hovering on the stairwell; legs frozen, I'm the headlights and they're the deer. I sniff their fear; good enough for them.

Kage, I say calmly. Where.

They point up, up up up and I realise why it's so damned dark: the ceiling's low: this building has an extra floor squeezed in real nastily. Bet Kage and the bomb are in there.

I run. Along the hall, up the stairs, the face---a hot girl gone nasty with drugs and drunk---screams and sees me shooting her five times in the belly but it's just her drug-addles brains going haywire. Pity attempts to invade my brain. Then I remember the junkie that raped my little brother all those years ago, and I shove past, almost making her nightmare a reality.

Past that wench and smack bang into the belly of the beast: Kage. Smiling, like me ten minutes ago, smile hiding a grimace. I gleam. I grin. I aim. I fire. Bullets hit the wall behind him. He keeps on smiling, while his holo-image flickers and ripples, dances and writhes, then returns to its original visual perfection.

Damn.

Kage's eyebrows raise, as does the hand with the glass of wine. Indeed. Bomb's long gone. Give you ten seconds....?

Nine seconds flat I'm out the door, running. The ground bounces under my feet. I'm spun by the shockwave, hurtling to land on my head, while the mouth of that awful house vomits fire and smoke and brick and bones.

***

Booby-trapped or remote-detonated: either way , he saw me coming. And... I dab at the cut on my forehead, accept a cup of tea from Kip, take a sip, ...he killed all those hookers. They were his bread and butter.

Kip sits slowly into his pilot's chair of the Aerion---his sky-ship, his pride and joy, and now our "getaway car". I was maybe wrong. Maybe those life-signs were faked. Maybe no-one died.

I nod. I think about the veined-up hollowed-out face of the girl I didn't save. I wanted to kill her on the stairs. Now I wish I had. I could still hear the screams, as she was pulled from the rubble, a limbless mess. Kip had not reached me, did not see her, it, that thing that banshee-screamed for her mamma, while I wept...

Maybe, I'm saying, voice echoey, like when your ears pop while you hurtle towards the earth in a jet-engine coffin. We know that Kage knows our movements. We thought we had him. He had us. And now we've lost him.

I ponder the trans-atomic bomb. I push the girl with the craters at her sockets away. Drown out the screams with thought of what that time-bomb could do. Mushroom clouds of anti-time ripping through the world. Unimaginable.

Kip's looking at me like he might slap me awake from a drunken stupor. Any ideas?

I smile. For the first time in a long time, it's genuine. Oh yes.

Star Trek

They came from nowhere and unleashed hell: five cruisers, long and sleek, built for war. They opened fire on the civilian spaceport. She cracked open like an egg, spilling her inhabitants. They screamed and choked and died in silence. The ships detected escape pods, picked them off one by one. One escaped their sensors, whisked its way through a nearby nebula, and got caught up in a sun’s gravity well. Its sole inhabitant sent a distress signal, wept and roared, slept, and in her sleep, she died, as the pod sunk into the heart of the sun.

Her cries reached out through the ebb and flow of subspace: a message in a bottle buffered by cosmic waves. It bounced off old satellites, wound up in the ear of a frowning half-human named Spock.

“We were attacked,” cried the dead woman, “and they killed...all of us. Couldn’t ID...” Static intruded, the effects of long-distance signals. She said another word, an alien word, and then her voice died off. Spock replayed it, then left his science station and stood staring out his starship’s viewport.

“Captain to the bridge.”

He watched Earth roll in blissful silence while his captain and friend stepped onto the bridge. “Problem, Spock?”

Nod. “I picked up a distress call.”

From the communications centre, halfway across the wide bridge, the comms officer Uhura shared his frown. “I’m not detecting any-“

“The signal is analogue,” Spock added, which only vexed Uhura more.

“Radio signals in space, Spock?” Kirk smiled warmly. “I told you we’re in Spacedock for five days, take some leave...” He walked over to Uhura. “Analogue signals, Nyota?”

She drummed her board, tweaked the booster, then grimaced and nodded. “Yes, Captain, picking it up now. I’m sorry, I-“

Kirk shook his head while Spock said, “It was pure chance that I found it, Lt Uhura. Radio signals are centuries old. I could not get the full message, but I know that you are more than capable.”

Uhura nodded her thanks. “Straightaway.” Their eyes locked, lingered, then she went back to business, while Spock returned his gaze to Earth.

Kirk hovered, stepped up close. “For a Vulcan,” he said gently, “you look pretty bothered.”

“The woman on the message said something.” He turned to his captain, and his eyes burned. “‘Rihannsu’.”

Uhura’s bright eyes flashed up at them.

Rihannsu. Kirk grunted, “Romulans.”

***

Scotty took a sip of whiskey, put his feet up on the bar and grinned. Five days shore leave. Three, really. The last two would be spent priming the Old Girl up for another five-year stint.

Sure I might as well enjoy the calm before the storm.

The barkeep leaned on the counter, said, “What has you in such a humour?” His smile matched the Scotsman’s; they were friends for too long, saw each other not enough.

“I love my job, Joey,” he said, “I love my ship, and my crew...but sometimes, you need a little distance to make the heart grow fonder.”

Joe nodded. “Wish I could say the same. Stuck here, no choice. Gotta feed the kids y’know?”

“All for a good cause,” he said, raising a glass. “To family.”

Joe grabbed a high-baller, poured a drop in, raised it to the roof. “To family and friends.”

Both knocked their drinks back—Scotty’s considerably larger---slammed the glasses to the bar, and grimaced.

Joe coughed and spluttered, somewhere inbetween he got the word “Liver” out, walked away to rub his eyes.

Scotty’s hip buzzed; he snatched up his communicator, flipped the lid, coughed, “Scotty here, go ahead.”

It was Kirk: “Mr Scott, gonna have to finish shore leave a little early.”

“Aye, Captain. Be right with ya.”

“Thank you, Scotty. Kirk out.”

“Kirk cracking the whip again?” Joe smiled, his cheeks still red from the whiskey burning inside him.

“Och, he’s a good man, our captain. Must have a decent reason to spoil my fun!” He leapt to his feet, surprisingly sprightly considering his girth, and threw on his overcoat.

Joe offered, “One for the road?”

“No roads where I’m off to, Joey. See you in five years.”

Joe saluted, and watched Scotty disappear in a transport beam. “Godspeed buddy.”

***


The young ensign strummed his board, checked all systems, then turned and said to his captain, “All departments check out, Captain. We’re ready to depart.”

Kirk slid into his chair. “Very good, Chekov. Sulu, departure protocols.”

Sulu, seated beside Chekov to the front of the bridge, nodded. “All systems are go. Cutting all moorings. Warp engines primed.”

On the front viewport, Spacedock gleamed—a gigantic ring of enclosures, into which Starfleet’s greatest ships harboured. Spacedock fell away, as did the blue Earth, and then all that remained was black space, white stars, and that repeating voice of the dead woman.

“All stations, this is the captain. I’m sorry your leave was cut short. You’re the best crew in the Fleet, and our mission is urgent. Our destination is Alpha Kitana system. A lot of good people died out there, and we’re going to get some answers.”

Rihannsu.

“Remember your training, trust your shipmates, and we’ll be home before you know it.”

Romulan ships, cloaking devices, the unknown...they didn’t scare Kirk, but he worried how many of his men were going to die. He always did. For good reason.

“ETA two hours, crewmen. Be ready. Kirk out.”

Sulu and Chekov looked to him. Spock gave a quiet nod. Uhura scanned the boards, always focused.

Kirk said, “Best speed to Kitana.”

The stars became swirling columns of fire, as Enterprise rushed off towards her fate.

Evac

I remember it well: me, my mom and dad all bundled into a shuttle and flown across town. I was six and small for my age, on my mom’s lap, peering through the shuttle’s slits for windows, watching bombs rain down on the homes. There was so much fire and noise. I worried my friend Tommy was dead. I wondered if he made it out, was on a shuttle like mine. I later realised, no one had a shuttle like mine. We were special. My parents were special. We were the only ones to make it out alive.

        The noise. Booms of bombs. The gush of twin ion engines blasting us towards Hub City. I’d never been, only heard of it.

        Mom had said One day when you’re grown up you can enlist, go to the Hub. See what we saw.

        She kept me up late at night telling me stories, so many stories of the wars, of how she patched up the soldiers, send them back out to keep the planet safe. Of giant Sentinel Ships, the size of cities, coming in for shore leave. Beaming men and women in bright white, grins gleaming, eyes bright with heroic pride. I’d be them. I’d be a Protectorate soldier.

        I looked past my parents, past the pilots’ seats, to the front window. The Hub was mushroom shaped and colossal. Black ants darted to-and-from: escape pods, defence droids, countless other ships and drones. It was hell but I didn’t know it yet. We flew in fast, scraped to a stop in a landing bay, and were dragged up stairs, into lifts, til we reached the central station, the Bridge. Me, mom, my dad, and two armed escorts. I couldn’t see their faces; they wore insect-like helmets. Later I would realise they were biobots.

        A man came up to us, turning away from the dozen or so chattering officers. He smiled widely, I remember how blue his eyes were. “You must be Ben.” He ignored my parents, looked right at me, through me. He offered a hand; I frowned at it. “Mom?”

        I turned and she was gone. So was dad. I looked to the tall smiling man, and said—nothing, because there was a terrible shudder, and the deck tipped sideways, and everything turned dark for a moment. I remember screams, and sparks, and a terrible burst of smoke from one of the walls. A man rolled to the deck, and when he pulled his hands away from his head, half his face came off. The tall man was not smiling. He was crouched by him, injecting something into the screaming man’s neck, and the injured soldier went still, his scream fading, while the rest of his face slid to the floor.

        I stood, frozen still, legs and arms numb. My heart kicked my little chest. Where were my parents. “Mom.” Where were they. “MOM!” What was going on?! “MOOOOM!”

        Fire and screams and death. Shuffled off, this time by the man who no longer smiled; the man with the silver hair, and crystal blue eyes. He looked ten foot tall, and he carried me the rest of the way, and he told me, “Don’t worry, son, you’ll be OK.” Lights flashed by as he hurtled down corridors, shoving past running soldiers, barking, “Out of the way.” Someone froze in front of us, his face a mask of blood; the silver-haired man stopped, took one arm out from under me, and shoved the bleeding soldier to one side; then off we went. I cried for my mom, while everything around us—the corridors, the deck, and the people---burst into flame.

        Dark now; though not completely. Cold air rushed around me, and I curled into the warmth of this strange protector. Protectorate soldier. I was tired suddenly, and my face was covered in sticky tears. He hushed me gently and brought me into the waiting arms of a giant and monstrous looking ship. I saw guns on its nose, huge engines, long wings; it looked like a pterodactyl, and it smelled like burnt metal. He lay me on a bed, and behind us five soldiers rushed on, carrying huge rifles, eyes wide. One shook violently. I watched him bit his lower lip until it bled. The deck heaved. Another cried, “Come on, come on!”

        My strange friend turned from his seat; I saw him through tears as I lay on the bunk; he roared, “Mouth shut, private, before I shut it for you.” He turned back and shoved his nav-sticks forward.

        The deck bounced, and daylight flooded the pterodactyl; we were sky-bound, free of the Hub. I watched the front window like I did from the shuttle; the Hub was trembling, blackened, spilling fire and men. Screams filled the air. The empty blue sky was filling up with hundreds of pillars of smoke rising from the ground. As the pterodactyl tipped its nose up, I saw the Hub topple and heard and felt a terrible boom. The Hub was destroyed, and even through the fear and panic, I remembered my mom saying it housed a thousand warriors at times of peace; ten times that during war. This was war, and most certainly, ten thousand were dead.

        But I just wanted my family back.

        Blue sky became flames; then black replaced it all. We launched into space,and as the stars became smears, exhaustion took hold, and as the ship leapt into hyper, I fell into nothingness, the screams following me.