New Writings in SF 20 - [Anthology] Read online

  ‘I don’t know how we came to miss it first time through,’ murmured the other man, watching Weinshenk uncertainly. T guess it just never occurred to us to count chromosomes. They seemed about the right number, not halved or doubled as has been known to happen. The forty-seventh is right here,’ he pointed to the tiniest line of all. ‘See how small it is? It’s probably only a few hundred genes long. We reckon it’s a chromosome unit formed from the DNA of the virus. Hiding, Sam. Hiding in the only place it knew it could go unnoticed. Not unnoticed by us, but by the body.’

  ‘That’s a real cunning little virus you’re harbouring, Spaceman,’ said the deep voiced doctor. ‘It also poses a question for the evolutionists—we have to assume either DNA is a universal development, or your virus disguised himself right from basics. See what I mean?’

  ‘Now we’ve found him,’ said the other man, ‘we’ll get the better of him, Trouble is. Well, never mind ...’

  ‘Tell him,’ said the doctor sternly. ‘I don’t want Sam to think we’re keeping anything from him.’-

  ‘Nothing particularly staggering,’ went on the other man. ‘Just... well, it’s in every cell we look at and we’ve looked at every tissue, virtually. Every single nucleus we’ve looked at, and we’ve examined thousands ... we have a computer eye to do the work for us. Every one, every nucleus, has a forty-seventh chromosome. It’s widespread, Sam,’ he smiled, briefly. Then moved out of view. The other doctor went and just the nurse remained staring at Weinshenk thoughtfully. Then she leaned over and placed her lips on his, kissing him through the sheet. She looked at the screen that showed his adrenalin level. Looked back at Weinshenk and smiled.

  * * * *

  It was when he realised that the sun had not moved from its near-zenith position for the last few hours that Weinshenk began to understand the situation.

  ‘Caught,’ he explained to himself. ‘Caught in one moment of time. That has to be it. Somehow, incredible though it seems, Sam, you have got yourself lodged in an instant of time.’

  He looked up at the sun, that motionless orb—it was so unreal—it was like a painting, a frozen portrayal of the sun at the hour of eleven.

  Weinshenk walked, dejectedly, along the cracked remains of a tarmac road. Distantly he heard a brick clatter as it was dislodged and fell to earth. This whole place is decaying visibly, he thought to himself. I guess I must have created it when I came here; it exists for me alone, but being so far from its parent time stream, it can only exist for a little while. It’s decaying. And presumably I’ll decay with it.

  ‘A limited existence at least,’ he said to the streets.

  I haven’t eaten or drunk for a long time, he thought. And he didn’t feel hungry or thirsty. Everything was in stasis, including him. There was just one hunger he felt and with the passing hours it grew worse. It was a hunger he would never satiate.

  On the banks of the river he sat down. Across the other side of the sluggishly moving water there was a land of broken buildings and decaying docks. The bridge that spanned from side to side was incomplete, the middle section having fallen into the muddy depths. Thus, to cross meant to swim. And Weinshenk could not swim with confidence.

  That land was not his land. His land lay behind him, the crumbling white ruins of a city that, somewhere in time, was buzzing with activity.

  As he sat there it came again—a woman’s voice calling. Calling his name. He froze, intently alert. But there was only the silence. Gradually he hunched over his knees and watched the water. Imagination, he told himself. It must have been.

  When he tried to rise, later, he became aware that his body was failing him. His skin was beginning to wrinkle and his joints ached. He smiled grimly. I’m decaying, he told the entity within. What are you going to do about it?

  Back to the rotting streets, places full of festering memories. Weinshenk, a man alone, the remnants of a soul, walking painfully through the remnants of a city.

  Weinshenk, a player all important, and yet a puppet, the strings worked from within.

  He slid down in the corner of the room where he had awakened. As he sat there, thinking, his skin started to tingle and itch. A rash was spreading from his chest down his arms and legs. He scratched it, absently, then stopped appalled.

  I’m rotting faster than the world, he thought. At this rate the flesh will start to peel off me before too long.

  As if to illustrate his point he noticed that the left thumb nail was torn loose. He felt no pain. Gritting his teeth he pushed it back into position.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ he moaned.

  As he sat, slouched and unhappy, facing the bed, two things happened to unnerve him even more. He imagined he saw a figure lying there—its blind, staring eyes fixed upon the ceiling, the whole apparition pale and dead. It had lain there hideously for a few seconds while Weinshenk, mouth agape, had cringed back into the corner and felt the scream rising within him. Gradually he had found his calm and then he tore his eyes away. When he looked back the apparition was gone.

  He was glad, for there is nothing more unnerving than to regard one’s own dead body, a mirage or real. It is a frightening and soul destroying sight.

  He sat in the room for a long time, watching the bed, willing the corpse to return in moments of morbid curiosity. But it didn’t. He was just climbing, stiffly, agonisingly, to his feet when a hand touched his wrist.,

  He gasped and sank down on to his haunches. The touch lingered, pressing gently into his wrist. Then it went and came again, this time on his throat, strong, gentle fingers pressing and searching. They went; he waited. A hand rested upon his thigh and its nerve-tingling touch moved to his knee. He felt the nerve there stimulated and felt the reflex jerk his limb. But his limb remained motionless. After a few seconds the invisible hand was removed. Weinshenk, trembling, waited and after a minute had passed he felt what he had almost known would come. A kiss, long, soft and so very intimate.

  He sat there remembering the pressure of those lips. He knew, now, that they had been Angela’s. The memory came back as a knife wound to the heart. How beautiful she had been when he had left, long years ago. And she would still be beautiful because her face had that construction of bones that would never age.

  He would have married her, he remembered. He would have married her and right now they would be just finishing their honeymoon.

  Strange, he mused. I never thought at all about her during the last two years, never sentimentally, anyway. A message spool every month, played over subspace radio. Earphones and strained ears every six months, trying to discern something of the voice that spoke to him. It was so distorted, so unhuman that it had ceased to be Angela. He had pushed her from his mind until the day he returned to earth.

  Now he remembered her and remembrance was sad.

  Outside the building a brick was kicked. It was an unnatural sound and Weinshenk crawled over to the window, peered out. He was in time to see a leg vanishing into a nearby building.

  Heart pounding, mind racing, an excitement welling up inside him such as he had never known before, Sam Weinshenk loped to the door and ran, stumbling, down the stairs. As he ran the stairs creaked and crumbled and he felt heavily. He was substantially unhurt as he lay dazedly on the ground floor, but he noticed how black were his arms. When he put a hand to his head some of the hair fell from his scalp. It was white and dry and not only with the dust. He clenched his teeth and his teeth were loose. He was decaying.

  For a moment he thought it might be best to avoid going across the street to investigate the other person. Then he changed his mind.

  The street was deserted. The sun its usual hot self, unwinking, unchanging. Weinshenk walked across to the open door of what had once been a store. He looked in through the huge, glassless window and saw...

  ‘A woman! Goddam!’

  He staggered away from the window and leaned against the wall. Now he was very conscious of his decrepit state. He was on the point of running away when her voice came to his ears
.

  ‘Hello, Sam

  He hesitated, face reflecting the indecision he felt. Then: ‘How do you know who I am?’ As he spoke he edged to the window again and looked in. She was squatting in the corner and looked very unsure. But very pretty. Almost familiarly so ... She wore the pale blue slacks and shirt of a spacer.

  ‘Hello, Sam. I thought it must be you.’ She had blonde hair, her eyes were dark and looked as if they had been rubbed violently. She looked muscular.

  Heart hammering, mind trying to fit her face to that which he already suspected, Weinshenk walked into the shop and crouched in the opposite corner to her.

  ‘Angela...’ he breathed. ‘My God, Angela ... you’re Angela.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘My name is Toriq.’

  ‘But... but you look like Angela. The eyes, the face ... oh, my God! You look just like her.’

  She smiled simply, ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But my name is Toriq Slater, This,’ she looked about her, ‘was once my city. I lived here.’ Smiling she looked at Weinshenk. She had wrapped her arms around her knees and was peering at him. ‘Until I went into space, that is. That was my big mistake

  ‘I went to Aurigae with a Slater. Andrew Slater.’ Weinshenk looked up at her. ‘Any relation?’

  She nodded. ‘Brace yourself,’ she said. ‘He was my Great grandfather.’

  Weinshenk was stunned. ‘Your GREAT GRANDfather! But...’

  Toriq shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me, Sam. I was born a hundred and twenty years after you died.’

  ‘After I died?’

  ‘Well, yes. You died after about six months. A living corpse, they said. I’ve read much about it. Aurigae Sam II was put out of bounds. But there are always those who will go against the rules. Me included. My grandfather once told me that his father, your friend, thought the solution to your illness would only be found on Aurigae Sam II. That’s why I went there, not that it would have done you any good at that time, of course. But I was curious.’

  ‘And...?’

  ‘Was the answer there?’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I was caught by the virus before I knew it. I thought I was protected enough, but I wasn’t.’

  Weinshenk was having difficulty keeping up. His mind threatened to blow at any moment. ‘But wait a minute ... listen ... you said that I died after six months. Where ? Where did I die?’

  ‘In hospital.’

  ‘But I’m here. Do you mean I’m going to get back?’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, Sam. As far as we can figure it out there has to be two of each of us. Weird, isn’t it.’

  Weinshenk was trying to imagine it and although it was too strange for immediate acceptance, it made sense of the apparition and it made sense of the ghostly hands, the invisible lips. Someone had been kissing his ... other self.

  ‘How did you know me?’ he asked after a while. My God, he thought. She is like Angela. Before his mind could take the question further Toriq spoke.

  ‘Sam,’ she cocked her head and looked down at the floor. ‘When I came here there were already two others. We figured out the situation as best we could. The first to arrive was the man who was last to visit Aurigae Sam II. Sam, his name was Togor and he lived two thousand years in the future. He was the last to go there because he blew the planet up. That was his job.’ Her brow wrinkled as she thought about that. ‘Funny job, eh ? But you see how things are reversed somehow. Don’t ask me why or how. But it was obvious that the last to arrive here would be the first to have contacted Aurigae Sam II—Sam himself.’ She looked at him long and hard. ‘Togor and Will have disappeared. I think they went over that river. There are things over there, Sam. I don’t know what. Sirens, I think. I think the others were lured to their deaths,’ she added a dramatic intonation to her voice. ‘I don’t really care. Togor had some funny-ideas on certain things,’ she grinned. ‘And Will was too old anyway. I’m glad you came, Sam, because it was getting very lonely here.’

  Weinshenk wanted to scratch his crawling, itching skin, but he didn’t dare. His whole body was racked with discomfort and he knew he could not get up without considerable effort. He felt as if, should he stand, he would leave his legs behind on the grounds He ached. ‘Where are we, Toriq? Did you and ... Togor, ever figure out where we are?’

  ‘In a moment of time, I guess. A timeless moment, Sam, else how could we all get here from such different ages? That virus—if only we could understand It more. But not even Togor knew of any advance in understanding. I guess whatever the thing is it needs a few hosts and this microcosm. We figured it needed the microcosm to exist, as well as needing us, our bodies.’

  ‘But the bodies,’ said Weinshenk loudly, ‘they’re decaying—look at me. I’m falling apart. Maybe the virus needs us, needs this ... this MICROCosm, but it didn’t figure on our bodies being unable to survive here. It’s doomed and so are we...’ He trailed off, looking at her. ‘You’re not ... I mean, you haven’t rotted?’

  Toriq was laughing. ‘I did at first, Sam.’ She crawled over to him. ‘Touch me, Sam, feel me.’

  Hesitantly Weinshenk touched her face. It was ice cold. Her skin was like cold steel. He touched her hair. Wire. It was springy but wiry.

  ‘You’re moulting, Sam,’ she laughed, ‘and when you’ve shed your soft outer covering and much of your soft insides, you’ll be perfectly adapted to this weird place.’ She sat back on her haunches, looking at him. ‘Get used to it, Sam. It’s all life can offer you now. There seems no need to eat or drink. Get used to icy, metallic skin and you’ll find this place not so bad after all. All I’ve got is you, Sam. And all you’ve got is me.’ She smiled, watching him carefully. ‘Call me Angela, if you want. Anything...’ she leaned forward, close, ‘but hurry up and moult, Sam ... I’m ... starving.’

  * * * *

  ‘Come in, Mr. Slater.’

  Slater walked into the doctor’s office and sat down next to Angela. He reached over and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

  The doctor looked at him. ‘As far as we can determine this illness is not contagious.’

  Slater nodded. ‘That’s a relief.’

  ‘His germ cells are no longer potent—no test tube progeny, I’m afraid.’

  Slater said nothing.

  ‘Weinshenk’s condition does not improve. He has ceased to respond with fluctuating adrenalin levels to such things as being kissed, for example. The periodic neural output has ceased.’

  ‘Has he started to rot?’ asked Slater softly.

  ‘No. And I don’t suppose he ever will.’

  Slater settled back in his chair. ‘Hmm. You know ... mystics believe that the soul does not leave the body until forty days after death—or rather, the soul is still in a transitory plane between body and heaven. It is still capable of returning to the body. In the New Testament Christ, after his crucifixion; appeared to the disciples for forty days. Then he was gone for ever.’

  The doctor turned to his notepad. He began to count backwards through the sheets.

  ‘How many days since that day he stopped breathing, Doctor?’ asked Slater very softly.

  ‘Forty days,’ replied the doctor, placing the notebook on the table. ‘Exactly forty days.’

  They sat in silence for a long, long time.

  ‘Bury him,’ said Angela. ‘But don’t tell anybody what has happened. Don’t let anybody know. Let them think he died naturally after a few months.’

  The doctor nodded. Slater looked at Angela and smiled. ‘I’ll take you home.’

  Afterwards, as they drove home, Slater caught Angela looking at him with a strange expression on her face. He recognised the expression and had to fight to keep his concentration on the road.

  <>

  * * * *

  CAINn

  By H. A. Hargreaves

  Rehabilitation can be almost soul-destroying in its intensity of purpose but learning new techniques can have a compensatory effect, especially when it leads to a new-found freedo
m.

  * * * *

  ‘and he builded a city.’

  Genesis 5:16

  One

  He was poised in a taut half-crouch, ten feet into the great, stark hall, eyes shifting wearily from the robocop at the double doors to the young man in the black utility suit. Lip curled in a snarl, black hair wildly tangled, he looked like a savage predator strayed down from the fringes of the Arctic tundra and brought to bay in this keep of civilised man. The golden eyes suddenly blazed as he hissed an obscenity and launched himself at the figure in black, only to crumple in mid-air, as if struck by an invisible bolt. He slid on his back to the young man’s feet, arms and legs splayed without control, gazing upward, upward, at the unfocused face far above him. Slowly strength returned, he saw clearly, and the young man gently reached down and lifted him to his feet. ‘Peace,’ he said. ‘Peace and unity within these walls, and within ourselves.’