Kzine Issue 1

by Graeme Hurry et al.

  KZINE MAGAZINE

  edited by Graeme Hurry

  Kzine Issue 1 © September 2011 by Kimota Publishing

  cover © Dave Windett, 2011

  copyright of individual stories is retained by the authors

  The Family Programme © Caroline Dunford, 2011

  Leila © Martin Owton, 2011

  Sons of the Dragon © Mike Chinn, 2011

  Blue © Julie Travis, 2011

  A Tear In The Web © Alex Shvartsman, 2011

  What You Get Is No Tomorrow © Stuart Young, 2011

  Monty Argliss’s Dog © Don Norum, 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written pemission of the copyright holder. For editorial content this is Graeme Hurry, for stories it is the individual author, for artwork it is the artist.

  EDITORIAL

  by Graeme Hurry

  Welcome to this first issue of Kzine. This kindle magazine aims to offer original science fiction, fantasy, crime and horror stories by new and established authors. So, why do we need another fiction magazine when you can find hundreds if you look hard enough? Well, most current magazines are print only, and when I first had access to a kindle I found there seemed to be a lack of original genre material only for the kindle. Also, for me, a magazine combining genres is more satisfying than a magazine dedicated to one genre because once you start a story you never know where it will go.

  Many years ago I published a small press magazine called KIMOTA which, although not widely circulated got some good reviews for the time. Those were the days when email was experimental and manuscripts flopped through the letterbox in large envelopes and were expected to be returned in SAEs (Self-Addressed Envelopes for those too young to remember). With this history in the small press publication business I hope to overcome some of the pitfalls previosly encountered and offer quality fiction in this twenty first century medium. I did an anthology of many of those Kimota stories in an Anthology for the kindle to test the water for this magazine.

  It is hoped that Kzine will be issued every three months or so, but it does depend on the flow of quality stories. If you enjoyed this e-magazine leave a review on the Amazon website. Even if you didn’t like it an honest and constructive opinion will always be useful.

  Keep an eye on the website for news www.Kzine.co.uk

  Graeme Hurry, 2011

  THE FAMILY PROGRAMME

  by Caroline Dunford

  ‘Down!’

  Jimmy ducked quickly. Too quickly. He fought for balance - a frantic, comedy moment as he danced on the bloody deck. One foot, then the other, went out from under him.

  He landed on his back with a dull bang sending up a shower of gory rain. As the drops splattered across his vision a gleam of silver cut through the red mist. The cutlass passed through the air exactly where his chest had been.

  The ship burned. An orange light flickered to his left, wisps of brown smoke curling into the cerulean sky. The sails were on fire! Another timber split in the heat with a loud crack. But where was great granddad?

  With perfect skill the cutlass reversed and arced down.

  Jimmy rolled deftly to one side a split second before the metal bit into the deck. A large splinter flew up and embedded itself into his cheek. The mutineer grinned. Then he grunted and pulled free his sword.

  ‘Better boots. Next time better boots,’ muttered Jimmy as he half rolled, half scrabbled, away.

  ‘Avast, ye scally-wag!’

  The mutineer swung half round. He crouched low his cutlass ready to slice the new adversary, while his left hand kept a dagger trained on Jimmy.

  Silence.

  A lone hand rolled across the listing bloody deck with an unpleasant squelchy sound. It lodged by the mast, one finger cocked in the air. The light from the sails sparked a reflection off a large gold ring.

  A protesting creak from a rope made the mutineer look up. He cried out sharply. Jimmy followed his gaze to see a young man, astonishingly attired in a blue and gold Captain’s uniform and enormous feathered, cocked hat, sailing through the air on the end of a piece of rope that didn’t appear to be attached to anything.

  ‘How come you get to play with the paradigm?’ he shouted indignantly as his relative came to a stop by planting a boot in the mutineer’s face.

  His great grandfather dropped to the deck and with one well aimed strike, spitted the unfortunate mutineer through the middle. The mutineer’s eyes flashed crimson in shock as he staggered across the deck grasping helplessly at the sword in his gut.

  The Newlands watched his progress silently, until with a final, dramatic lurch he disappeared over the ship’s side. They waited. Several moments later there was a very loud splash. Jimmy and his great granddad spontaneously broke into applause. The scenario was complete. The story ended. Flames hung motionless, a thousand gold, red and orange phoenix feathers. Sails wrapped in misty smoke no longer billowed in unseen winds. Even the clouds in the sky stopped in their course.

  ‘But will he live to fight another day?’ asked Jimmy’s great grandfather, a huge grin on his face. ‘I think he will, don’t you son?’

  ‘Perhaps, great granddad, but I really do have to go now. I’m going to be late for school.’

  ‘The dreaded SI?’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘Believe me. I’d much rather stay here.’

  His great granddad placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘Ah, you and me, son, we could have had some grand times together. This environment is amazing. It’s a pity you only knew me as a grouchy old codger in a wheelchair.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Probably just as well, lad. That was just a few years – a bad few years out of what had been a good life. Be careful which thoughts you upload in your journal, Jimmy. Always remember they form the basis for your post-life AI. I didn’t upload anything near the end. Which is just as well or you wouldn’t have Captain Dave scourge of the High Seas. You have the best of me.’

  Jimmy smiled. ‘If it wasn’t for the obvious drawback. I’d want to be in here right now.’

  ‘Leave it running for me?’

  Jimmy nodded. He reached up to disconnect.

  ‘Next time I’ll show you that treasure map!’ called his great granddad.

  ‘I’ll believe that when I see it!’

  Before he left Jimmy restarted the enemy algorithm.

  The last thing he saw was two recently dead mutineers arguing over whose right hand they had found by the mast, while his great grandfather, still in his cocked hat, snuck up behind them a new shiny sword in hand and an expression of glee on his face.

  The neural interface glittered enticingly on Jimmy’s desk. He shoved it into a drawer. He printed out a vouch slip and went to look for his mother.

  Arlene Newland was in her office wired into her machine. Jimmy approached her cautiously and pressed the yellow attention button. His mother stirred, the antenna retracted.

  ‘I need you to sign this.’

  ‘Why? What are you thinking of doing?’

  ‘Mum, it’s just to vouch I’m not involved in any anti-government activities.’

  ‘But how do I know that’s true, Jimmy? You hardly talk to me.’

  ‘Mum, please don’t start now. I’ve got an idea for a smell sensor interface for the habitats and I need you to sign this so they will release neural download information to me. It’s nothing you couldn’t scan for, but I want to do this properly – through the right channels. If it works…’

  Arlene sighed and picked up her antique pen. Jimmy recognised it. An hour earlier his great granddad had been using it to mark sea charts. His mother signed a very shaky si
gnature in sharp contrast to the practiced penmanship he’d seen her grandfather display.

  She handed him the paper. ‘There. Now do try to get a decent mark in Social Interaction this year. You know they can stop you graduating if you don’t make an effort to interact with your peers. You can’t upload yourself, Jimmy. You have to come out and deal with meat-space sometime.’

  ‘Mum, no one says meat-space anymore.’

  Jimmy focussed on the background whine of the struggling air-con. It was giving him a headache, but it made a good artic blizzard sound. He pressed the switch in his pocket and uploaded a small sample.

  Of course, the best way to get a wind noise was to download it from a weather site, but just thinking about the algorithm he’d need to edit out the Principle Gilmour’s voice helped.

  Primarily, Jimmy was concentrating on trying not to sweat. So far this wasn’t working too well. He could feel the prickle at the edges of his hairline that meant lines of perspiration would all too soon be tracking down his face. Hot rivulets were already running down his spine, but at least they couldn’t be seen under his suit.

  Jimmy dug his fingernails into the flesh of his palms and thought about the artic. He imagined sleet blowing in his face, frostbitten fingers and the endless white of the rolling snow.

  But it simply wasn’t like being inside. Without warning one of students would scratch or sniff or fidget startling him and Jimmy’s image would shatter. Worst of all was the smell. His vision was blurring – just like in the Atlantis habitat.

  Someone farted. A long, drawn out, rippling sound. The warm smell of organic decay rose around him. All those microparticles of –of – touching his skin, going up his nose, into this brain. Someone else’s… Jimmy retched.

  Meat. His mother was right. They were just row upon row of meat self-basting; all standing there in their sensor suits sweating. Bile filled his mouth. Jimmy swallowed it down. He had to get out.

  ‘So enjoy your day and remember. Say hello to three new faces to get an extra merit award.’

  It was over. The doors swung open. Jimmy pushed his way through. Behind him were over two hundred students, and ahead the narrow corridors that led to the project suites.

  ‘Excuse me! Excuse me!’ Most people moved. Bill Winters didn’t. He turned at the last moment, so Jimmy caught him a glancing blow. It hurt. Bill had illegal dermal plating pads in his suit. Jimmy staggered, but ploughed on.

  Behind him he heard Bill’s loud laugh and coarse, mocking voice, ‘Make way for The Gland. Make way for The Gland. He’s having a really bad one today.’

  His face flaming, large balls of sweat rolling down his nose, Jimmy reached the entrance. He put his hand on the scanner – nothing happened. The light stayed red.

  Frantically, he wiped his palms on his trousers. Bill’s laughter rang in his ears. By now the sweat was oozing uncontrollably from every pore. Each time he jammed his hand down on the screen the sweat-slick got bigger and bigger. Jimmy’s heart began to do odd and painful things deep within him. The world was disappearing down a long black corridor.

  ‘Here,’ said a girl’s voice.

  The door swung open and Jimmy staggered into the comparative quiet of the suite.

  ‘Better make sure you wash that hand well, Shelagh!’ came Bill’s hateful voice.

  Shelagh? Jimmy caught a glimpse of her honey blonde hair as the door shut behind her. Shelagh, the head girl, who always smelled faintly of sweet soap in assembly, who had the longest eyelashes Jimmy had ever seen and a pair of lips that slipped through his dreams night after night, had finally noticed him. She’d rescued ‘The Gland’ from Bill Winters’ torments. He was an object of pity. Jimmy slumped down in his booth and rested his head in his hands. His hair was matted with sweat.

  Moments later the screen lit up and Jimmy found himself explaining to Professor Duggan about his latest project.

  ‘I am surprised you would want to undertake such a project, Jimmy, given your difficulties.’

  ‘My counsellor thought it would help, sir and I thought I could make a lot of money if it worked.’

  Professor Duggan smiled. ‘Your idea is an intriguing one. I am not aware of anyone approaching the problem in this particular way. I estimate your chances of success as being below 2%. However, as it is the planning and execution of the project which attains your grade this will not matter.’

  ‘So I can do it? I have the vouch slip from my mum.’

  ‘Just a minute, Jimmy. I am accessing your counsellor by email. Ah, I see. She also thinks your success is unlikely, but … etc… etc.. counsellor speak… blah.. blah. Hmm,’ the computer generated face, tilted in what someone had decided was an appealing manner. ‘I think though very unlikely, it is possible that you could succeed. I further suggest that confronting a symptom that triggers your real life attacks in what has become your refuge from physical life could be catastrophically detrimental. I am now emailing your counsellor to this effect. She is a bit on the long winded side, isn’t she?’

  Jimmy grinned. ‘You’re one of the few people I enjoy talking to Professor Duggan.’

  ‘I’m not exactly a person now, am I Jimmy?’

  ‘But you’re based on one.’

  ‘On four actually. Ah, she agrees with me. We feel you should work with another student on the project and that the other student should be the one who does the primary testing.’

  ‘I don’t know, Professor.’

  ‘It is unlikely you will need to meet the student in person – and certainly not before your model is approved for testing. Personally, I think it is unlikely you will be able to create a working model, so the problem is unlikely to materialize.’

  ‘Who do you suggest,’ asked Jimmy grudgingly.

  ‘The other student has been selected by your counsellor for reasons that should quickly become obvious.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Shelagh Monagan.’

  ‘OK, great granddad where’s this treasure map?’

  They were standing on the deck of the Cutty Sark as she ploughed through the frozen waste of the Antarctic. Jimmy wasn’t entirely sure the Cutty Sark had gone to the Antarctic, but he was certain she wouldn’t have encountered the zombie pirates that would soon be besetting them.

  ‘Call me, Dave. It’s much less of a mouthful. Did you know the Cutty Sark was named after a pair of knickers? Not many people do. There that’s your education for the day. Now, are there going to be pirates?’

  ‘Yes, Gra…Dave. Look, it’s OK if there isn’t a map. I would still do this, but I’m getting a bit fed up with the empty promises.’

  ‘Ah, me lad, but this time I do indeed have the map.’

  Dave produced a rolled scroll from behind his back and handed it to Jimmy. ‘Is this for real?’

  ‘You mean is there real treasure? Oh, there’s treasure all right.’

  ‘But you can only create things you had in real life.’

  Dave nodded. ‘And sadly, I never did meet any pirates.’

  ‘But you went treasure hunting? Mum never mentioned it.’

  ‘Open the map, Jimmy. You won’t regret it.’

  Jimmy took the map over to the capstan and unrolled the scroll on the flat surface. At first he couldn’t make sense of what he saw. The scroll was black, shot through with a thousand tiny silver lights.

  Jimmy heard Dave whisper ‘It’s full of stars, isn’t it?’ There was a curious feeling like being inside a fan that was closing. Jimmy cried out in alarm. One star flared brightly and the darkness around it rolled up to meet him. Then he was tumbling, over and over, in freezing blackness, utterly alone with the faint star far, far, below him.

  Because he was still inside the programme Jimmy didn’t open his eyes so much as reform. The lieutenant’s uniform was gone. Looking down Jimmy could see he was wearing very ordinary teenage clothes that normally he wouldn’t be seen dead wearing in a habitat. The space around him was gloomy and full of shadows. There was a lumpish purple shape. As Jimmy
moved towards it he realised it was an old-fashioned and somewhat dirty beanbag seat. A girl moved out of the shadows. A soft purple light surrounded her. She was about Jimmy’s age. Her eyes were outlined with thick, black make-up and her ghostly white face was framed by long dark feather-cut hair. She was wearing a purple shirt, jeans and bright red boots.

  ‘Have a seat. I’m Andi with an I. I’m the treasure.’ She gave him a friendly shove and Jimmy sat down hard on the beanbag, releasing a cloud of dust. Then she leaned one hand casually against an invisible wall, crossed her legs and pouted. Jimmy stared around him and brushed dust off his sleeve. ‘This is so real in a-welcome-to-my-crypt type way. I almost feel like sneezing.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve had time to make it feel like home. You know who I am, right?’

  Jimmy shrugged. He wiped his hands down his trousers.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘People make me nervous.’

  ‘Even in the Family Programme?’

  ‘No, of course not. You’re part of the programme? I didn’t know I had an ancestor, who died so young.’

  The girl shivered dramatically. ‘Let’s not talk about my death. It’s not polite, but no, don’t worry, I’m not related to you.’

  ‘Why should that worry me?’

  ‘Because then you wouldn’t be allowed to fancy me. You do, don’t you?’

  Jimmy grinned. ‘Right now I’m blushing in the real world. Just so you know.’

  ‘What’s real? You said this seemed real. How real do you want to make it?’

  In one fluid move Andi stepped away from the wall, and bent low over Jimmy. Her breath was warm on his face. ‘I smell of cinnamon,’ she said and ran one slender finger down his face. ‘You feel that?’

  ‘Not really, sorry. I only have a limited physical component module in my suit. It’s all you’re allowed at my age.’

  Andi straightened. ‘Damn. That’s what I thought.’ She scowled. Then she stamped her foot. ‘It is so boring in here!’

  ‘Did I go through some kind of backdoor?’

  ‘Uh-huh. What did you think happened? That you’d died and gone to heaven?’