Writers of the Future, Volume 27 Page 6

Captain Leonides Farrago carved a path through the crew with his cutlass. The smell of blood was past bearing. Maddy pounded again and again against her cage, and then Emma, the girl with the parasol, had her hand on the latch. Emma didn’t see him, Maddy’s guard, the one who had promised to do things to Maddy after she had her first blood, who whispered to her in the night, who petted her, laughing deep in his throat. Now he crept toward the girl, his steps behind her drowned in the cries of dying men. Madame Aubergine was a blue-black whirlwind, razor claws shredding the guard’s face as he raised the boarding ax above his head. Emma turned at the sound, a fluid motion that terminated with a discharged pistol and a fountain of gore. Maddy licked her lips and howled. The bird Rookhaven alighted on the bars overhead. Maddy watched him and waited as Emma unlatched the door to her cage.

  “Kill them all,” Rookhaven crowed. Maddy’s heart soared as her feet hit the deck.

  Nadine pressed the muzzle of her handgun against the forehead of the sorcerer and fired. The undead thing blinked once before he shook his head and laughed. He was still laughing when Quille slammed him to the deck with a transfixion spell. Nadine worked the Undeath Hood over the sorcerer’s head before he had a chance to stand. He was standing again by the time she actuated the plunger that sucked the hood tight about his skull and kept on shrinking.

  Maddy paused long enough to bark out a cry of joy before she barreled down the companionway to the crew’s quarters. He was here, somewhere, hiding among the other creatures too weak or insufficiently willful to earn a cage. A cage where the men could prod and tease her every moment of the day. Maddy could smell him. Maddy could see him, hiding between two packing crates. He discharged a pistol as Maddy advanced. The ball whizzed past her ear. She could taste his fear. Maddy smiled at the man who had stolen her away from the hunt. Maddy longed for the feel of his throat between her teeth. She burned for the taste of his pain.

  That was where they found her, her new family. Even then, no one had the nerve to come near. Except Nadine. The Detective Inspector clapped the man in irons. Captain Farrago inched forward and dragged him away.

  Maddy licked Nadine’s blood-soaked hand and arched her back in contentment. She was safe. Safe and free.

  Maddy faced the crowd, and for once, she didn’t stifle the growl that swelled inside her.

  “My happiest memory,” Maddy said. Maddy bared her teeth. She imagined her fangs shone like ivory in the stage light.

  No sound was to be heard but a young girl’s soft sobbing.

  Tan’s cabinet was pulled carefully forward and positioned on the X.

  “Project your happiest memory,” the referee said.

  “Certainly,” Tan said.

  A ruby-eyed girl danced with a broom. She moved as if she knew his every thought, as if together they shared that dark knowledge of the cage he was born to wear.

  When the referee called the Acolyte of the Sisters of St. Anselm’s for the fourth round, she ignored him. She sat, back to the audience, rocking side to side and whispering.

  The referee placed his hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Really, miss—”

  She turned, tears streaming down her face. “I brought them back.” She stood. A moist and rotted sack dripped murky water onto the stage. “See?”

  “You brought what back?” the referee said.

  “The kittens,” the Acolyte said, “from my happy day.”

  The bag had begun to writhe as if something large and powerful were trying to break loose. The referee stepped back. He jerked his head toward the opposite side of the stage. “We’ll just put that over here.” A half dozen sisters picked up their helms.

  The sack twisted and made a tearing sound and the scent of corruption poured forth. A claw pushed out, then another. If those were kitten claws—

  “Kill them all, kill them all,” Rookhaven croaked. He swooped overhead just as the bag parted and its contents flopped out onto the floor. Not kittens. Grimfoxes. A half dozen of them. They swarmed the Acolyte and the sack fell from her hand to transform, melding into the stage, shifting to open a black pool of emptiness. A withered hand gripped the edge of that black portal, then another. Someone was coming through. Something. The Acolyte had worked sorcery and raised the dead.

  “Maddy, step back,” Nadine said.

  “Mom?” Maddy twisted around. Nadine’s voice was coming from Tan’s cabinet.

  “I’m coming out,” Nadine said. A crack appeared in the cabinet. It grew in size, a door, then the sound of the crowd made Maddy look away. The sorcerer was free of the portal-sack. He rained black fire on the audience almost casually as he made his way toward the cabinet of Its Royal Highness. A musket volley tore across the stage. Several balls struck the sorcerer and one might have struck Maddy if Nadine hadn’t tackled her and pulled her down.

  “What are you doing here?” Maddy said.

  “I promised you,” Nadine said. “And someone needed to guard Its Royal Tanist. A last-minute assignment.” Nadine unholstered her handgun and unclipped the Undeath Hood from her belt. “Your father is with Its Royal Highness.”

  “Mom—”

  “Stay back, Maddy.” Nadine clambered to her feet. She cocked her firearm.

  The sorcerer rained death down on the musketeers. They shriveled and burned in his dark fire.

  “Mom—”

  “Wait here, Maddy,” Nadine said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  More creatures were coming through the portal now, Gray Men and Uncle Leo and Emma had their hands full.

  There was nothing but a pile of well-picked bones where the Acolyte had been. The grimfoxes disappeared, one by one, through the cracked door of Its Royal Tanist’s cabinet.

  Maddy darted into the cabinet and kicked the door shut with her heel. She didn’t need anything else sneaking up on her.

  Tan was surrounded by grimfoxes. They shied away, unwilling to approach him closer. Yet. Maddy couldn’t blame them. He burned from head to toe with a crimson flame that flickered and danced.

  “Maddy, stay back,” Tan said. “I told you not to look.”

  “You’re beautiful,” Maddy said.

  “They can’t hurt me,” Tan said.

  “They can hurt anyone,” Maddy said. Grimfoxes were pure, cunning evil, shades of vile men too weak for sorcery, but too strong to die.

  One of the grimfoxes noticed her. Then another.

  “Maddy, go now,” Tan said. “Leave. Hurry.”

  “No,” Maddy said. Three of the grimfoxes were trying to get behind her. “Not without you.”

  “I can’t go out there,” Tan said.

  “I can see that,” Maddy said. One look at Tan and everyone in the crowd would feel as dirty and half-made as she did when they looked at her.

  “Maddy—”

  “There’s only one thing to do.” Maddy swallowed. “You may not want to watch.”

  “Kill them all,” Rookhaven cried. He’d landed on Tan’s cabinet. Tan’s cage. “Kill them all.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s what I was made for.”

  “No, it’s not,” Tan said. “Trust me. I know.”

  Rookhaven flapped away when Maddy growled. It wasn’t just Maddy in the cage this time. This wasn’t just another sick game. Someone needed her. Tan needed her. Needed her to kill them all.

  There was no fifth round.

  Maddy tried to sit up, but her Uncle Leo’s strong arms stopped her. “You need to rest.”

  Eusebius Quille leaned on his ashplant and smiled. “Well done, daughter.”

  “A professional job, Sis.” Emma patted Maddy’s bandaged hand. Only Maddy’s fingertips stood proud of the bandages.

  Madame Aubergine padded on Maddy’s pillow before she circled twice and settled in for a nap. Maddy felt at home in her room at
Mundane House for the first time ever.

  “Shoo, all of you,” Nadine said. “I need to speak with my daughter.”

  They all left, except Madame Aubergine, who cracked an eye and settled back in, purring loudly.

  “Maddy—”

  “You were there for me,” Maddy said. “That’s all that matters. I’m sorry I doubted your word.”

  “I couldn’t speak,” Nadine said. “Anyone . . . Anything might have heard.”

  “I know that,” Maddy said. “Now.”

  “Maddy—”

  “I don’t see how you can do it,” Maddy said. “I can’t think of anything else.”

  “Do what?”

  “Guard Tan,” Maddy said. “And then come back to the world.”

  “Its Tanist has . . . a winning personality. He’s quite witty, and . . .”

  “He burns like fire, Mother.”

  “Does he?” Nadine swallowed. “Quille does much the same, you know. For me.”

  “What does Tan look like to you?”

  “Well,” Nadine said. “I try not to look.”

  “Nadine—”

  “Shush, dear heart, and listen.” Nadine took Maddy’s bandaged hand in hers. “Its Royal Highness and Its Tanist are cursed. When we look into their eyes we see our souls reflected.”

  “But he burns!” Maddy closed her eyes and remembered. “He burns with a magnificent fire.”

  Nadine’s lips touched Maddy’s forehead. “I have no doubt, daughter.” She squeezed Maddy’s fingers gently and touched her hair. “Who could help but love such a one?”

  The door to Maddy’s room opened and closed quietly when Nadine left. It opened and closed again shortly thereafter.

  “Maddy?” Tan’s voice was tentative and soft. Gentle fingers of fire touched her hand. Soft lips of flame brushed one fingertip, then another.

  Maddy opened her eyes. Her room was lit with an endless, burning light.

  Rookhaven landed on Tan’s shoulder. He tugged on Its Tanist’s blazing earlobe thrice and croaked out Maddy’s inner thoughts, the ones she didn’t dare voice. “Kiss them all! Kiss them all!”

  “I will, bird,” Tan said, “in time.” Tan’s lips brushed Maddy’s fingertips and she felt an answering flame in her heart. “For now, two will have to do. Your well-armed relatives insist that Maddy needs her rest.”

  “I really don’t,” Maddy said.

  “You do if you wish to join me for lunch tomorrow. There’s a small ceremony, where I’m to pass the Spelling Bee Trophy to this year’s champion. Apparently spelling grimfoxes back to hell earns a tremendous bonus in flair points.”

  “I could have killed them all,” Maddy said. “But I didn’t want to ruin my dress.”

  “A plausible story, Maddy Dune,” Tan said. “We’ll come up with a better one tomorrow.”

  “Or the next day,” Maddy said.

  “Or the day after that,” Tan said.

  “This could take forever,” Maddy said.

  Tan blazed with a brighter flame when the pounding on the door began. “All right, I’m coming out! Avert your eyes.”

  “See you tomorrow, Tan,” Maddy said.

  “Right,” Tan said. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Me, too,” Maddy said. “So get used to it.”

  The Truth, from a

  Lie of Convenience

  written by

  Brennan Harvey

  illustrated by

  IRVIN RODRIGUEZ

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Brennan Harvey has always enjoyed science fiction. The television shows Star Trek and the movie Beneath the Planet of the Apes are two of his earliest SF memories. When a friend loaned him Robert Heinlein’s novel Friday, Brennan started reading science fiction regularly. Years later, Mike Resnick’s short story “Kirinyaga” ignited his desire for writing.

  In high school, Brennan’s talent for writing was first recognized. He won a certificate for “composing an exceptional article for the CDC bulletin.” In college, an English professor was impressed with Brennan’s storytelling and submitted one of his short stories to the campus newspaper.

  Brennan began writing fiction in 1998. He took creative writing classes and attended workshops, seminars, conventions and conferences. Brennan’s first short story “In the Service of Others” was a Finalist in the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest in 2004. In the first quarter of this volume, his persistence finally paid off when he won first place. “The Truth, from a Lie of Convenience” is his first professional sale. He finished his first novel EVE320 in 2009 and is currently working on his third novel, an untitled space opera.

  Brennan lives in Huntington Beach, California. He is the organizer of the Long Beach Writers Meetup Group, a critique group in southern California. Brennan volunteers for the Southern California Writers Association and the online critique group SFNovelist.com.

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  Irvin Rodriguez was born in the Bronx, New York, the second youngest of five children. He was shown at an early age the value of hard work and creativity by his father. Pencil in hand, Irvin took on the world one drawing at a time, honing his skills the only way he knew how, drawing everything he could get his hands on.

  The high school years were endured grudgingly until the day he met a friend who taught him how to airbrush and gave him his first job getting paid to make art. This experience expanded his knowledge of the art world and gave him the confidence and ability to experiment with different media and let his creativity take over. In 2006, Irvin began college at FIT as an illustration major, where he spent the next four years developing his abilities with traditional and digital media. His traditional foundations were learned under the tutelage of the painters from The Grand Central Academy of Art and the Guild Atelier.

  Irvin’s imagination is an untamed place that pulses with new ideas and images every minute of the day. Most days are spent drawing, and so are his nights, which leave little time for sleeping and eating. Luckily for him, he eats pencils and you can sleep when you die. Irvin loves nineteenth-century painting and illustration, SF and fantasy art and has a soft spot for a portrait. He hopes to soon share his beautiful imagery and love for fantasy in the entertainment industry.

  The Truth, from a

  Lie of Convenience

  Marianne Summers scanned her image in the third cueing holotank, ensuring her displayed 3-D image looked presentable. In the one-sixth gravity of the Moon, she didn’t need to tease her hair to give it any lift, but she did adjust her breasts, pulling them together to emphasize her cleavage. It was a trick every female newscaster knew, and she might as well take advantage of the forgiving gravity in Luna City and the gift it gave to her forty-five-year-old body. This ceremony she was covering might only be a one-time gig to pay the bills, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Anyone could be watching, and this job might lead to more work—or even a permanent position for a news blog or network vlog.

  The reminder beeped in her headset and the director’s voice came over the network channel. “Okay, everyone. Look sharp. Tommy, are you ready?”

  “I’m ready,” Tommy Rubner answered over the director’s channel.

  Something in his voice didn’t seem right. Marianne hoped he was already outside in the air lock as he had rehearsed, waiting for his cue to approach the ruins, say his prepared speech and lay the ceremonial wreath at the memorial marker. She keyed his private channel on her headset and said, “Tommy, it’s Marianne. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s just . . . five years, you know.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re all here. Don’t worry. You’ll honor her memory just fine.”

  “Thanks.”

  He didn’t sound any better. Marianne wanted to speak with him furth
er, but the reminder in her headset beeped again, and she had to trust that he would come through.

  She removed her headset and switched her attention to the blond anchorwoman’s 3-D figure in the main holotank as she waited for her cue. Even on Earth, the newscaster’s breasts were perky and showed ample cleavage. Marianne didn’t want to be jealous, but young women were taking over the news business, even though they were inexperienced. A pretty face and a young body went further than skill and experience did nowadays.

  The blond anchor said, “And continuing our live coverage from Luna City on the Moon, we have Marianne Summers.” The main holotank shimmered as Marianne’s image from the cueing tank transferred there.

  “This is Marianne Summers with the fifth annual wreath-laying ceremony honoring the victims of Habitat Fourteen here in Luna City.

  “Five years ago, radicals claiming to be fighting for Luna City’s independence from Earth barricaded almost six thousand Luna City citizens into Habitat Fourteen and demanded political sovereignty. When negotiations stalled, they destroyed Habitat Fourteen, themselves and those unfortunate hostages. Here’s footage from that tragic day.”

  The main holotank image shifted to a 2-D image of a semicircular, off-white dome framed in the center of a gray moonscape. At the zenith of the dome, a red beacon blinked at regular intervals.

  As the image displayed, Marianne narrated, “Negotiations came to a standstill the night of May 9, 2062. Negotiators expected to try again the next morning. That attempt never took place.” After a second of stillness on the video, the dome exploded in slow-motioned silence.

  Marianne had seen the same video hundreds of times in the last five years. She watched as every seam in the geodesic half-dome split and the humid air inside vaporized into flashes of terrifying mist.

  Twisting triangular panels spun like choreographed dancers in the silence. Fifteen seconds into the video she saw the famous severed arm, bent at the elbow like an obscene boomerang, spin toward the camera and finally disappear out of frame—the same arm that conspiracy theorists always pointed out shouldn’t be bent like that.