25 Impossible Tales of Survivors Flawed Heroes and Annoyed Villains Read online

  25 IMPOSSIBLE TALES

  OF SURVIVORS, FLAWED HEROES, AND ANNOYED VILLAINS: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection

  Tyrean Martinson

  Copyright © 2023 by Tyrean Martinson

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Contents

  Intro

  1. HELP WANTED: CODE GRAY

  2. SHADOW MAGIC

  3. THE BLADE SMITH OF BRIN

  4. WAKING UP ALIEN

  5. THE GREAT ELEVATOR

  6. ROOT DEEP

  7. WISHES

  8. HEARING THINGS

  9. NEW ANSWERS

  10. LIFE POD

  11. 11:06 THE TIME OF NOW

  12. KARRN SURVIVAL

  13. OF CLONES AND ROBOPUPPIES

  14. WHEN LIFE IS ALMOST AS STRANGE AS FICTION

  15. DEAR DREAD LORD

  16. HOTHOUSE

  17. THE SHIMMER

  18. HERE THERE BE DRAGONS!

  19. TRUST AND LIES

  20. AM I A MONSTER?

  21. OUT OF MANY, ONE

  22. NEW AND OLD HORIZONS

  23. OF WORDS AND SWORDS

  24. ENOUGH TO DO

  25. A COMPANION FOR THE JOURNEY

  PREVIOUS PUBLICATIONS

  NOTES ON STORIES

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MORE TO READ!

  Intro

  Speculative fiction can range from the outright, noticeably hard sci-fi and all-encompassing fantasy worlds to the somewhat subtle supernatural and sci-fi elements like those we see in the Indiana Jones movies.

  The genre offers us a wonderfully, flexible landscape with blurry edges in which to ask tough questions about humanity and morality, go play in a field of unicorns and leprechauns, or attempt to do all of those. We can read The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Lord of the Rings, The Stand, and The Last Unicorn, and still be within the huge, welcoming space of speculative fiction.

  In speculative fiction, we get to ask questions. What will someone do when faced with completely impossible odds? Calculate them like C-3PO, go full speed like Han Solo, get one with the force like Luke, attempt diplomacy like Leia? Or put shields on full and attempt diplomacy first with fingers ready on defensive weapons’ arrays like in many Star Trek scenarios?

  Will the characters fight for survival and freedom or give into despair (Hunger Games), and if they fight, is there a right way and a wrong way, and who determines that? Can the characters beat the insurmountable odds, or is it too late (Divergent and 1984)? What makes us human, and can AI be “human” in the way we mean? (Blade Runner)

  With those questions and more in mind, I assembled speculative fiction short stories I’ve written mostly over the last six years into this new book: 25 Impossible Tales of Survivors, Flawed Heroes, and Annoyed Villains, A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection.

  No matter how hard circumstances are, there is hope for survival, even if it means making one simple choice in the right direction or standing up in the face of impossible odds. But the question remains: What is the right direction and which way is up?

  *The main text of this introduction came from an answer to a question for the Insecure Writer's Support Group monthly blog hop. The question was: What do you consider the best characteristics of your favorite genre?

  HELP WANTED: CODE GRAY

  Dave felt a headache coming on as soon as he opened the first of the virtual classifieds. He needed a job. Everyone wanted experience. The best jobs were taken by the time he clicked through and the worst ones wouldn’t even hire him because he didn’t have “expertise” in their particular field of horse manure.

  A sip of his coffee eased the ache in his sore throat but did nothing for his stuffed nasal passages. In addition to being out of work, he was sick. Even if the perfect job opening landed in his lap, he’d probably sneeze all over his future employers. Definitely not a good idea these days. And how would he interview in a mask? He glanced down at his gray tie and suit jacket.

  A few weeks ago, his suit jacket had been fashionably tight, and now it easily overlapped. His mother would cluck over his skinny frame if she saw him, but he didn’t want to give his older brother the satisfaction of proving his predictions about him right if he showed up home after college with no job and giant loans riding his shoulders.

  Dave sighed again. None of his family angst was putting money in his pocket. His drip coffee kept him out of the fall chill, but it wouldn’t last long. He had just enough money in his accounts to keep him from the streets for another few weeks. Or, he could buy a bus ticket home.

  No, he told himself. He would do anything other than go home with his tail between his legs. He sat up straight, trying to use his posture to improve his mood as he glanced out the window in time to see a classified ad flash on the billboard across the street.

  “Help Wanted: Apply in Person by Midnight. Gray Building, Suite 42. Code: Gray.”

  Dave closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if he was going a little crazy. When he opened his eyes again, the ad flashed across the billboard and paused there.

  The choice didn’t seem like a choice at all. Even if he had no idea what kind of job it was, Dave felt desperate enough to check it out. With one last dab at his nose, he gathered his things, then took three more napkins from the dispenser and shoved them in his pocket.

  Outside the coffee shop, he walked briskly to the Gray building. It loomed above him, completely concrete except for the top floor of windows that winked in the chilly autumn sunlight. The doors, which always looked uninviting, were closed

  Dave felt a thrill of nervousness run through him. He remembered joking with his college buddies that the Gray building was actually a morgue of epic proportions – a place where all the bodies were hidden, when the government wanted to cover something up. They had laughed about it, thinking it was a clever sort of thing to say. Now, it didn’t seem clever.

  The door swung open in front of him, and a young woman with a brilliant tangle of shimmery afro-curls stepped out and walked towards him.

  “We’ve been expecting you,” she said.

  “Uh.” Dave felt transfixed by fear and interest.

  “Don’t you want to apply for the job?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, and put her manicured hands on her hips. She was dressed in a charcoal gray pant-suit that hugged her curves and flared out at the ankles.

  “Sure,” Dave heard himself say. He felt like he’d gotten lost in a fog as he followed her into the building.

  Inside, the walls were all dark gray, and even the decorations – a huge fountain in the center of the atrium, and an oil painting – were in various shades of gray.

  “Your interview is in Suite 42. I’ll take you up.” The gorgeous woman led him towards a bank of elevators, and then offered her hand. “My name’s Kestral Hawk.”

  “Seriously?”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “I mean, that’s a beautiful name, but it’s a . . . well, your parents must love birds.”

  She laughed a husky, echoing laugh that filled the whole room.

  When the elevator doors opened, she walked in and pressed 42.

  Dave followed her. “I’m Dave.”

  “I know.” She smirked at him.

  Dave wanted to ask how she knew, and what this was all about, and he suddenly wondered if this was some kind of prank, but the elevator rose with a jostling swiftness and then the doors swooshed open to reveal a plush, charcoal carpeted space with multiple screens stretched across the opposite walls.

  Dave stepped into the room.

  “Good luck, Dave.”

  The doors closed, Kestral Hawk was gone, and Dave was alone with a bunch of blinking screens in a large, gray office space.

  The screens flared to life all at once, depicting world maps with ciphers running across the bottom. It reminded Dave of his favorite game on his notebook, the one he had been playing all the way through college. He went to the small keyboard and began to solve the ciphers, one after another, sometimes having to match them with the correct section of the world maps. He didn’t know how long he worked. The room had a constant light. As he solved the last cipher, the screens went dark.

  The doors of the elevator opened behind him, and Dave turned to see Kestral Hawk enter the room.

  “You’re hired,” Kestral Hawk said.

  Dave sneezed.

  “Bio-signature accepted,” said a computerized voice.

  “But what kind of job is it?”

  “The kind that lets you solve puzzles for work, pays off your loans, and isn’t something you write home to mumsy about,” Kestral said. “We’re keeping secrets safe, Dave. It’s what Grays do.”

  “So, this is where they hide the bodies,” he said.

  Kestral shrugged. “You need a job, don’t you?”

  “When do I start?”

  “You already did, Dave.”

  Dave felt his stomach plummet. “What organization is this?”

  “We serve the country’s best interests, Dave. Don’t worry. And, we’ll take care of your illness before you even start.” She pulled a wicked-looking syringe from her pocket and poked it through his suit jacket and into his skin before he cou
ld protest.

  Dave forced himself to relax against the pain and all of the fear shooting through his mind. At least he had a job. He could figure out the rest, later.

  SHADOW MAGIC

  Therese had just managed to escape from her room when destiny showed up on her doorstep, several feet below her. Clinging to the branches of the sorrel tree, Therese listened as the two riders banged on the front door of her father’s house. They hadn’t even bothered dismounting and one of the horses had flecks of sweat in its mane.

  Finally, the door creaked open and Therese’s stepmother confronted the riders. “What do you mean by . . . oh, I apologize for my manner, Lords. I thought that ruffians had . . .”

  “Never mind that, good woman. May we speak to Master Chutney?”

  Therese’s stepmother put her hand to her chest and shook her head sorrowfully, “ah, my Clement. He died only a fortnight ago and . . .”

  “Did he have any heirs?”

  “Excuse me?” Therese’s stepmother lost her sorrowful act.

  The second rider, a woman, put up her hand. “We mean no offense, Mistress Chutney, but our errand is urgent. We need the heir of Master Chutney for a rite at Shadow Castle.”

  “Well, now, my husband passed without any male heirs, but he did have a daughter, a sickly child with . . .”

  In her tree, Therese stiffened. She wasn’t sickly. She was house-bound by her step-mother, forced to do indoor chores and never let out of the attic, except by escape.

  The horsewoman glanced upward and caught sight of Therese in the tree. “Why don’t you come down, girl? And, come with us. We have need of you in a life and death situation.”

  Therese clung to the bark, willing herself to blend. She wasn’t sure she wanted to take part in any rite at Shadow Castle. Her father hadn’t liked the wizards there, often crossing the street to get away from them in the market and muttering about how he couldn’t stand the sight of them in church.

  Fading didn’t work. She supposed it was too late now that the riders had noticed her.

  “Therese! Get down here, now!” Therese’s stepmother bellowed up at her, and then turned sweetly to the horse riders. “I’m so sorry, but she gets these addled thoughts in her sickly head, and I really don’t think a rite at the Shadow Castle would . . .”

  “How much?” asked the woman.

  “What? I can’t think what you might . . .”

  “How much money do you want for her, to take her off of your hands?” the woman stated.

  The male horse-rider had reined his horse backwards, slightly. He looked up at Therese.

  As she looked at his black eyes, Therese didn’t feel the chill her father warned her about; but she did feel a longing. She scrambled down the tree and went to stand by his stirrup, staring up at his dark eyes.

  “That’s enough, Reggie.”

  The man, Reggie, blinked, and suddenly his eyes were a muddy brown.

  Therese backed away from him. “How? Why?”

  “We didn’t have time to do this gently, child,” the woman said.

  “I’m no child!” Therese stood up straight and glared at the woman. She was an adult, short for her age, but an adult.

  “Good and I’m Daria, of the First Order. We need your help to unlock the scrolls of the Wizard Chutney, of the 7th order.”

  “There’s never been a wizard in the Chutney family.”

  Daria sighed. “I wish that were true, considering your family’s streak of stubbornness. Now, we haven’t time to waste. Get on the back of my horse, and you might just have a chance to save a life.”

  Therese didn’t particularly want to ride on the back of the woman’s mare, but she didn’t want to stay with her stepmother either. This was, at least, a chance for freedom. She accepted the woman’s help and swung up behind her saddle, sitting on the edge of blanket behind it.

  They rode in silence. Therese had the sense to see that the other two were grim and hurried. For her part, she thought she should study them more closely before she submitted to some rite at Shadow castle and helped them unlock scrolls, if she even could.

  Daria’s hair was tightly woven into tiny braids, which were braided together and knotted at the base of her skull. Her clothes were fitting, severe black, and well-kept. Even the tack of her horse looked like it had been polished.

  Reggie, although he wore the same uniform, had a much different demeanor. His clothes looked well-worn, his boots were polished but scuffed, and the tack of his horse needed mending on the back of his saddle. Despite all of this, he sat straight and rode just as well as Daria.

  Therese wasn’t sure what to make of either of them by the time that the towers of Shadow Keep loomed above them.

  As they neared the gate, she shifted in her seat, considering the possibility of jumping off and making a run for it. She knew she couldn’t outrun the horses, but the idea of going into the keep that her father had cursed so often made her twitchy.

  Daria glanced back. “We need you, Therese. I wouldn’t ask you, otherwise.”

  Therese sighed. She didn’t doubt the sincerity of Daria’s words. The woman seemed too intent, as if she bore a heavy weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

  As they crossed through the gated threshold into the yard of Shadow Keep, Therese expected something to happen, some foreboding or prickling, or sense of unease. Instead, she felt as if she had come home.

  Around them, children, young people, and elderly people were gathered around the courtyard, either cooling down horses, herding sheep into a pen, making music, or just simply talking by the stall of an enterprising coffee seller. Everyone seemed comfortable with one another; although Therese could tell that everyone was somber. Even the music held the soothing tones of a lullaby or a hymn, although it was no song that Therese had ever heard.

  A few feet into the courtyard, Reggie dismounted swiftly and handed his horse off to a young man who seemed to be waiting for their mounts.

  Daria nodded to Therese in encouragement.

  Therese swung herself to the side of the horse, using her hands as leverage, and then slid down. As her feet touched the pavement, Therese felt a hum of contentment course through her from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, and she leaned into the flank of the horse for a moment, letting it soak into her like a warm bath. Every part of her felt invigorated, and when she looked up, she noticed that the courtyard had gone quiet.

  She turned slowly and noticed the play of light and shadow over the faces of everyone in the courtyard, and on the ground, stretched out around objects and buildings. A particular shaft of brightness poured from the uppermost tower of the keep, but it was sullied by a strangely pulsating shadow unlike any of the others in the courtyard.

  “What is that?” she asked Daria, pointing to but not touching the pulsating shadow.

  “You see it?” Daria looked shocked. “Dear heavens, I’m glad we brought you here, Therese.” She jumped down from her horse, and grabbed Therese’s elbow. “Come with me now. If you can see it, then you can certainly help us defeat it.”

  “But it is a shadow and is this not Shadow Keep?” Therese resisted Daria’s gentle pull on her arm.

  “There are shadows and there are shadows,” Daria said with her mouth thinned into a narrow line. “We don’t work with that kind here.”

  Therese nodded and allowed Daria to pull her forward into the keep’s castle proper. They hurried past guards, groups of students and magicians, up a grand staircase and then up a smaller spiral staircase that led upward to that small tower above. On the way, Therese would have liked to watch the shadows and the light flickers on the walls, but she could feel that pulsating miasma now, all around them, and she understood Daria’s hurry.

  At the top of the stairs, Daria pushed her way through another set of guarded doors, and led Therese to a book on one side of the room. The center of the room held a chair with a single occupant, whose eyes were widened in horror at the dark miasma around him. In a silent scream, he looked frozen by the darkness, but his eyes darted wildly from side to side as if searching for something.

  Therese hesitated, looking at him. How was she, a mere girl from the village, supposed to save him, when he was obviously a shadow master by the cut of his clothes?