A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  But it wasn’t going to work.

  The bottles were too large, about half the width and length of his forearm. They had been designed to be difficult to hide. I was an idiot not to have seen that.

  After his next shift, Ketkam poured over the schematics and sketched out a design for a bottle a quarter of the size. It’d need less power, but the magnetic field would have to be more tightly controlled. He thought he could do it. He had to do it.

  He went back to work.

  Alloy shavings gathered in drifts about Ketkam’s feet. They glinted and winked in the uneven light. The power to the lathe, too, was sporadic, surging in and out, and as he worked in a dreamlike trance, intently focused on the bottle, the ceiling light and the lathe gave a buzzing, groaning sigh . . .

  Ket. Kam.

  Ketkam shook his head. Long ago he had rinsed and scrubbed the nanogrease from his ears.

  But now, each time as he walked past machinery, magnets and cryopumps, trams and airlocks, syllables buzzed at him.

  Ket.

  He hurried down the corridor.

  Kam.

  He closed his eyes, hummed a lullaby his mother had sung when he had been small. When he went back to his lathe, he sang loudly and tunelessly, while the ceiling sparked ozone-accented words.

  Don’t.

  He wrapped wire around the redesigned bottle, attached the battery, tested the magnetic field inside.

  Blame.

  During his sleep shift, Ketkam closed his eyes but remained awake, his thoughts whirling around like the iron filings in his magnetic bottle. He lay in a far corner of the dorm on his mat, against the wall, and turned his plans over and over again in his head, while other voices whispered in the dark, about alcohol and dopeyweed and comfort, pussy-this, and titty-that, how self-centered you are, blaming yourself for Esir’s death.

  Ketkam’s eyelids flapped open.

  Oh ho, now you listen, came the vibration through the floor, Tiktayut’s voice. You are so frail and yet so stubborn, insistent on taking responsibility for things that have nothing to do with you. You pride yourself in what you mistake for strength, and you fear what you mistake for weakness. If you are so smart, didn’t it occur to you that your friend might have had weaknesses of his own? Fears of his own? None of you are as strong as you pretend, as self-reliant. And even now, though your design is impressive, you foolishly risk—

  Ketkam rolled off his sleep mat and moved it to the middle of the dorm, in the midst of a flock of snores.

  Later, though he knew it was a bad idea, he walked several times past the guarded gate to the spaceport. He glanced at the bored faces of overpeople in powered armor, at the queue for the inspection, and the hatch to the shuttle just beyond.

  Walking past, he carried a little prayer rug, just as Esir had, and then as he passed out of sight he turned and went into the abandoned storeroom. He laid out the prayer rug and knelt there, feeling he ought to pray, that his prayer should be, Please guide my endeavor, help me save my father’s life. If I steal, it is to help my father. But instead, he spent hours staring at the blank ferrocrete wall at the back of the room.

  Ketkam finished his magnetic bottles. With a tingle of excitement, as well as a residue of dread, he realized it was time for the next step.

  In his next shift as collection-wallah, Ketkam donned a radiation suit and crawled into the guts of the collection station. In the very heart of the collection chamber he put his bottle (hidden inside an inert cylinder that looked like a standard bottle) into place. On the floor, he set a real magnetic bottle, complete with radio-frequency tag, and hoped the locator machines would be fooled. He was gambling that an anomaly would be produced on his shift, so that no other collector-wallah would see the two magnetic bottles.

  Then he crawled back out, waved and signaled for the beam to be steered back into the target again, and waited.

  Near the end of his shift a bell rang, signaling the capture of an anomaly. The beam was diverted, the radiation in the collection station allowed to die down for an hour, and then Ketkam crawled in to fetch the magnetic bottle. He had to carry both out, his with the anomaly hidden in the bulky suit, and the other with the radio-frequency tag. Carefully, he placed the empty, radio-tagged bottle into the storage rack and then walked away.

  As he signed off from his shift, he felt a measure of relief. But he wasn’t finished. For Ketkam had realized that in order to succeed, he had to steal more than one.

  Ketkam let three shifts pass before attempting to steal another anomaly. This one went even smoother than the previous—he caught a second anomaly halfway through his shift, and a third at the very end. Perhaps this is going to work, he thought, as he looked at the three bottles he had built. His heart beat faster. I might just succeed after all. Maybe a god listened to my prayer and had mercy. Although he didn’t really believe in gods.

  He had already signed up for a shuttle back home and was packing his few belongings when Hakim came into the dorm. Ketkam’s heart squeezed, but he kept his face calm.

  “Shuttle’s been cancelled,” Hakim said.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Hakim shook his head. “Trouble with the Samraatjus. Couple of minor sons were killed during some tarindhu ritual; a period of mourning has been declared.”

  Ketkam’s mouth was dry, but he managed to say, “How long?”

  “The factory is to be shut down for four days. Listen, all you stinking jhuto! No drinking, no dopeyweed, no gambling, no comfort girls.” He had to raise his voice over the grumbling. “The Samraatjus insist! Any violation will mean termination. You’ll be sent back down and your life will be very unpleasant after.” He lowered his voice and added to Ketkam, “No shuttles for nine days,” and then left.

  Nine days to wait! And the anomalies sitting out in the open, in the abandoned storage room. Ketkam was told it was okay to continue his “prayers,” but all he could do was drape an old rag over the magnetic bottles. He stood back and looked. The room had been stripped bare, and the rag lay there, glaring at him. And there was nowhere else to hide them.

  The days crawled by, each one a torment. Ketkam began to wonder if there really were gods, and this delay had been sent as punishment. Or as a test.

  At last, another shuttle was announced. Ketkam’s hand shook as he entered his name on the list. There were still several dangerous steps in his plan yet to come.

  A few hours before boarding the shuttle, he took his prayer rug into the abandoned storage room. All three magnetic bottles lay undisturbed. He took one, tied a thin copper wire to it, and stood it upright against the back wall. Then he stood away and, with a deep breath, yanked on the wire, causing the bottle to tip over. Seconds passed. Minutes. Nothing happened.

  After a long, cautious wait, he carefully repositioned the bottle. This time the cylinder tipped over, a second passed, and then—half the wall and floor were gone. A smooth round hole two meters in diameter had been bitten out.

  Ketkam had taken only half a step when he felt the soft whump! of the brane blister breaking deep underground. His heart beat faster. Would anyone notice the shudder coming from the wrong place of the factory?

  But the anomaly had eaten a hole through the wall and to the other side.

  He clambered down into the cavity left behind and up, and carefully placed the remaining two magnetic bottles on the far side. Then he scrambled back and walked out as casually as he could, his pulse screaming in his temple, carrying his prayer rug back to the dorm room.

  The queue for the shuttle was short, and he patiently endured the inspection and the probing by the physicians. Then he was through, and, as they waited for the shuttle hatch to open, Ketkam slipped away and fetched the magnetic bottles, easing them under his clothing. He hoped no one else entered the abandoned inspection rooms for a long time.

  After the shuttle landed, Ketkam took a lift. It bumped and rattled and squeaked as it went down, down, down, and Ketkam wrapped his arms tight about his midsectio
n, pressing tight against the magnetic bottle.

  Wandering in his own thoughts, he didn’t pay attention when the lift door opened. A hand reached in and grabbed Ketkam, and he found himself nose-to-nose with Goli.

  “They know,” the thug said brusquely. “They’re looking for you.”

  The overpeople, Goli explained as he thrust filthy clothes at Ketkam, had come an hour before. But rumors travel fast, and Ketkam’s family melted into hiding, leaving behind soiled cardboard and a cracked cooking pot.

  Ketkam sighed. “I thought they would find out, but I hoped for more time. That’s why I brought two anomalies. One to pay for my baa’s heart, the other to buy . . .” He was going to say, to buy passage on a starship, but he wasn’t sure even that would be enough. “To buy an escape for me,” he said abruptly.

  When Ketkam pulled out the magnetic bottles, Goli frowned. “Doesn’t look like much.”

  “The demon inside could swallow you and—”

  “No time for that.” Goli dragged Ketkam away and started racing down the corridor, dodging and leaping over the families huddled on cardboard sheets.

  “Not so fast,” Ketkam said. He bent over, his heart racing, sweat pouring off his back and chest, and rested his hands on his knees.

  “Have you gone soft?” Goli said, grabbing Ketkam’s clothes. “Didn’t you work at all on the Moon?”

  “Very hard,” said Ketkam, puffing, “but the gravity is lighter.”

  “You should be well-rested.”

  “It’s not—” Ketkam began, but suddenly Goli touched a hand to his lips. From down the corridor came the sound of whirring and a heavy tread.

  Goli and Ketkam both slid down to the floor and affected the blank, dead look of lost hope so common in the corridors. A moment later two overmen walked by in their powered armor, scanning the crowd.

  When the overmen had moved out of sight, Goli hustled Ketkam down the corridor. “Move fast. I don’t trust any of these jhuto. None has a love for the overpeople, but for a few coins they’ll sell us out.”

  “Why didn’t you sell me out?” Ketkam asked.

  Goli laughed. “I’m expecting a lot of money from you!” He added, “We’re going to the rug-wallah. He can hide you. Maybe his daughter will comfort you.”

  Ketkam, hunched over, nodded. His legs felt like lead, and exhaustion draped his entire body. He hoped Goli had a plan to hide the anomaly and get it to the buyer, but Ketkam had no idea what the plan was or how practical it would be.

  He was still worrying about these things when Goli placed a hand against Ketkam’s chest. It took all of Ketkam’s strength to lift his head. From among the crowd in the corridor materialized men with dangerous eyes. One ugly as a cockroach stepped forward. “The overmen are looking for you,” he said. “Not us, Izam,” Goli said.

  “Oh, yes, you,” said the man, and he fiddled with a knife. “You, without any of your boys, and with the trash-wallah’s son.”

  “You stole something from the overpeople,” another said. “They’ll pay for it back, I bet. Pay for you dead, I bet.”

  “Now, let’s not be hasty,” said Izam. “If the overpeople get back what he stole, they won’t care about these fools.” He held out his hand, keeping the other hand on his knife.

  Ketkam shook his head. Goli leaned in close. “Give one to him,” he whispered.

  “No.” Ketkam’s insides twisted into a knot.

  “Not after all—”

  “My boys are not far off. We’ll get it back, I swear on my sister’s tart-hole.”

  Slowly, not breathing, Ketkam reached under his filthy clothes. Pulling out a magnetic bottle felt like plunging a knife into his baa’s chest. Tears stung his eyes.

  “Throw it here,” Izam said.

  “A demon lives inside,” Ketkam said. “If I throw it, the demon will wake and eat you.” When Izam snorted, Ketkam said, “Why do you think the overmen are so eager to get it back, if it were not so powerful, so dangerous?”

  Izam rolled his eyes. As he did so, there came the clank and heavy tread of powered armor. Izam snarled, “I want it now!” He gestured to one of his men, who reached forward, snatched the bottle from Ketkam’s grasp, and handed it to Izam. Izam grinned.

  As the overmen trudged down the corridor, people scattered in panic. Izam spun around and walked triumphantly towards the overmen, holding the magnetic bottle over his head. “Good sirs!” he called out. “I have found what you lost! I have recovered what was stolen!”

  Ketkam started, but Goli grabbed him. “Please,” Ketkam said, almost a whimper but Goli would not let go, and Ketkam’s limbs felt made of lead.

  Izam stepped quickly toward the overmen, wagging the bottle as he did so. “What will you pay me in reward?” He stopped in front of the first overman and tapped the bottle against the armored breastplate, making it ring like a bell. “Heh? What is my reward?” Izam continued to tap the magnetic bottle against the armor.

  And then much of the overman, and most of Izam, were gone. They blinked out of existence, followed by a slight breeze as air rushed in. The stump of the armored suit sparked and squirted hydraulic fluid, then toppled over onto the ferrocrete floor with a heavy clang.

  Moments later, Ketkam felt the floor shudder beneath his feet and heard the faint whump! as the brane blister broke far below.

  Ketkam found his way to the rug-wallah, who hid Ketkam beneath a heavy carpet. The rug-wallah’s daughter, pretty yet with sad eyes, brought food and tea. She smiled at Ketkam but did not say a word.

  Several times each day he heard the clank and whirr of powered armor. On two occasions overmen interrogated the rug-wallah, who invited them to search among the carpets.

  I almost did it all, he thought. But it was an accident. An accident that I was born son of a trash-wallah, an accident that I thought to steal an anomaly and save my father.

  He had counted on using the proceeds from the second anomaly to buy passage on a ship to another sun, another world. But now, as he lay there, holding his breath, willing his heart to beat silently, the cold pressure of the last magnetic bottle against his skin reminded him that, on account of an accident, he lost his own chance to buy his escape.

  After three days, the carpet was lifted up, and Ketkam blinked at Goli. Just behind him were the solemn faces of his maa, his baa, his brother Kedukam. The thug held out a hand and helped Ketkam to his feet, and Maakam swept in and embraced him. Baakam coughed then kissed his son.

  “I must go,” Ketkam told his family. They pleaded with him, but he insisted. “If I stay it will only bring danger to you.”

  Tears stung his eyes and slid down his cheeks as he followed Goli. “Do you have coins?” Goli asked. “We’ll need some for bribes.”

  As they walked up, level after level, through back ways and cramped passages, a coldness settled on Ketkam’s chest. He thought of Esir’s stories of his brother, imprisoned for his crimes. That would be Ketkam’s fate.

  At last, they reached the corridor of glass and gleaming metal outside the starman’s saloon. The wall-faced overwoman nodded to Goli, then said to Ketkam, “It’s been a few years. What do you bring?”

  Ketkam pulled the magnetic bottle out from underneath his clothes. She turned it over in her hands, and when he explained what it was, her face showed surprise, the first emotion he’d seen on her face.

  The overwoman produced a slim chit, which Goli snatched up. “The bottle,” she said. “An unusual design. Very clever.” She looked at him with bright eyes, so intense they might x-ray him. “And where would you go?”

  Ketkam shrugged. He whole body ached, his body and mind and soul. “I’ll crawl away to some corner, away from here, don’t worry,” he muttered.

  Goli slapped the top of Ketkam’s head. “You’re supposed to be smart. Don’t you hear? Tchaa, you don’t.” When Ketkam stood with his mouth open, Goli laughed. “They’ll pay for your plans, for the demon-prison.” The overwoman nodded.

  For a moment, Ketkam’s hear
t lifted. But then he sagged again. “But will it take me far enough away? No matter where in the world I go . . .”

  “Then go out of the world,” said the overwoman. “No one will follow.” Ketkam stared as she stuck her finger in her ear. It came out with its tip black and glistening with nanogrease.

  Goli said, “The finder’s fee, as we agreed?” The overwoman nodded as she wiped the nanogrease into Ketkam’s ear. Goli leaned close and said, “And it’s a fat fee, too!” He waved the chit. “All of this can go to buy your father the best new heart.”

  “You won’t just take the money?”

  A new voice whispered in Ketkam’s ear, He promised, and few break their promises to me. The voice was like Tiktayut’s, but brighter in tone, like brass chimes singing, and was both kinder and more stem.

  “I’d rather not make Captain Apilak angry,” Goli said, looking away and shivering.

  Ketkam grinned at the thought of someone who scared Goli. The voice in his ear continued: Tiktayut told me about you. How clever you are, how persistent. I worried you would not come.

  The overwoman stepped aside and gestured for Ketkam to enter the starman’s saloon. He took a step forward, his body jangled and crowded with feelings: a great emptiness at the thought he would not see his family again, and yet bursting with excitement. He would rise up and travel far beyond the Moon, to the stars like sparks in the sky.

  Almost unable to breathe for his emotions, Ketkam looked back. Goli raised his hand in farewell, and Captain Apilak sang in his ear:

  We will have many adventures together, out among the stars.

  UNDELETED

  Aidan Doyle

  In the old days he would have been looked after when he got out of prison, but young ones like Saito had no sense of tradition.

  One of Saito’s guys led Kentaro through the arcade. They passed row after row of black game pods, silent except for the hum of their cooling systems. The idea of crawling into a pod and letting the rest of the world deal with its own problems was tempting, but Kentaro had spent 30 years hidden from society. He needed his old job back.