by Eric Juneau
STUPEFYING STORIES 1.14
March 2015
Editor: Bruce Bethke
Dotar Sojat: Henry Vogel
Editorial Minion: Katherine M. Karr
Technical Advisor: M. David Blake
Copy-editing & proofreading: Alicia Cole & Chris Bailey Pearce
Cover: "50 Foot Romance" by Aaron Bradford Starr
Published by: Rampant Loon Press, Lake Elmo, Minnesota
Special Thanks to: The Fearless Slush Pile Reader Corps. Guy, Barbara, Frances, Jason, Karen, Ryan, Arisia, and Alicia: we couldn't have done it without you. Thanks!
Copyright © 2015 Rampant Loon Media LLC
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March 2015: Vol. 1, No. 14
ISBN: 978-1-938834-32-5 (ebook edition)
ISBN: 978-1-938834-34-9 (print edition)
STUPEFYING STORIES is a production of RAMPANT LOON PRESS and is published in the United States of America by Rampant Loon Press, an imprint of Rampant Loon Media LLC, P.O. Box 111, Lake Elmo, Minnesota 55042.
www.rampantloonpress.com
Copyright © 2015 Rampant Loon Media LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photographic, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher.
The individual works contained herein are copyright © 2015 by their respective authors, unless otherwise indicated. All works contained herein are published by contractual arrangement with the authors. Stupefying Stories, Rampant Loon Press, the Stupefying Stories logo, and the Rampant Loon colophon are trademarks of Rampant Loon Media LLC.
From the Editor’s Desk
By Bruce Bethke
Stupefying Stories: The Magazine That Refuses To Die!
Has kind of a ring to it, don’t you think?
Actually, despite appearances, Stupefying Stories has not been dead, dormant, or even hibernating lately. Since Issue 1.13 went out the door we’ve released two more original novels (with another two in the pipeline to be released very shortly), launched our Very Serious and Literary sister publication, STRAEON, published dozens of new stories on our webzine, StupefyingStoriesSHOWCASE.com—and if you’re not following SHOWCASE, you should be, especially if you’re not following us on Facebook—
And of course, right now we are up to our armpits in getting the Mother of All Pro-Bono Projects, the 2015 Campbellian Anthology, ready to unleash on the world. It’s going to ship Real Soon Now. Keep on eye on SHOWCASE (or if you must, on Facebook) for the announcement.
But in the meantime, what about poor, neglected Stupefying Stories? Actually, it hasn’t been neglected at all. We have been very busy behind the scenes, adding production staff, streamlining production processes (that’s always been our #1 Bottleneck), and in a stunning change of policy, actually writing detailed project plans for everything we’re going to be publishing, months in advance! (If nothing else, this change makes our cover artists much happier.)
So if you’ve been wondering where we went: never mind that now, we’re ba-ack!
And 2015 is going to be one heck of an exciting year.
Cheers,
~brb
Contents
Title Page
Copyright and Trademark Notices
From the Editor’s Desk
Contents
CITY OF OPPORTUNITY
by Jānis Zelčāns
THE ALIENS WENT DOWN TO GEORGIA
by Peter Wood
THIRTY NINE
by Shedrick Pittman-Hassett
50 FOOT ROMANCE
by Eric J. Juneau
RIGEL’S MISSING TAIL
by Antha Ann Adkins
THE BONE POINTER
by Chuck Robertson
GODS ON A HILL
by G. J. Brown
THE ANNIVERSARY GIFT
by Gary Cuba
MASTERS
by Jason Lairamore
WATER PRESSURE
by Anna Yeatts
EMISSARY
by Matthew Lavin
THE GHOSTLESS MACHINE
by Austin Hackney
About STUPEFYING STORIES...
CITY OF OPPORTUNITY
By Jānis Zelčāns
WHILE WAITING IN THE SUBWAY, Ian was looking at the wall across the tracks, where advertisements changed every ten seconds. Two cents per ad viewed was the usual rate, if you were focused, not simply gazing in the approximate direction. The latest updates in the city’s eye-tracking system took care of those not observant enough.
ENDLESS HOLIDAYS OF PRINCE LAFFOON.
Season Two continues on Monday 8 PM.
CITY SECURITY REMINDER.
Salvaging in areas without adequate license is strictly prohibited.
A HAIR DYE WITH MODEST LEAD CONTENT AND UP TO 80% PREDICTABLE RESULTS.
Try at your home or shared residence!
A row of empty subway cars filled the tracks with their dirty, rusty frames and flung their doors open with a loud, indelicate bang. Ian was one of the first ones to step inside and stop with his back against the window, defending his private space, while the rest of the crowd squeezed in, as far as they could.
By this moment, six cents should have been credited to his account, which usually added up to almost a dollar, when he reached his quota by the end of the day. At the weekend, it would be enough to buy a small trinket, flower, or nutrition bar for a potential girlfriend.
Then he reminded himself with pity that Prince Laffoon was on tonight; the weekend was many days and subway rides away. As soon as the doors were able to shut, Ian closed his eyes and turned on his decade-old worn-out mp3 player.
A slight push told him they were on the move. A barely noticeable change in light and they would have disappeared into the underground tunnel. A breeze of air blew across his face; a window had been opened somewhere. He even was able to identify some particular stops by a mild aroma in the air, depending what extra rations were sold there.
He was disturbed by the tiny impact of someone with a mass too small to keep balance when they started to move again. By the light lilac scent of homemade perfume, for a moment so clearly felt in the nostrils, it was a young woman. He even was able to hear a feminine sounding “Sorry” through the music in his ears.
Ian opened his eyes for a moment of confusion, because the reality exceeded his imagination. Opposite him, holding on to the next handle, stood a wonderful young girl, with a blushing smile that raised her rosy cheeks and sparkled her green eyes. Ian foolishly smiled back and took off his headphones.
“Sorry,” she repeated, assuming she wasn’t heard the first time.
“It’s nothing. Would have missed my stop.”
She squinted teasingly, as if saying, “No, you wouldn’t,” and began to look past him through the window.
Ian immediately noticed that in spite of the collision, she hadn’t moved much back. They were now separated just not quite close enough to feel each other’s breath. Instead of putting his headphones back, Ian used the opportunity to have an unnoticeable look at the girl, especially her firm breasts covered by a thin blouse.
It was immediately decided that he would not wait for the weekend, but try his luck right here and now. Simple plan: get out at the same stop, buy a triple- or even double-diluted coffee, catch up with her, have a chat. Then he remembered that t
here surely was not enough spare cash to afford anything. For a moment Ian considered finding some advert to look at for a few cents, but quickly drove away such a silly idea. That would not make a good first impression.
Then a recording blasted through the announcement speakers, so loud and sudden it made some people jump.
“This is city’s personal-security announcement. All passengers, be advised. Inappropriate attention of sexual nature has been noticed in this public area. Stay friendly. Stay safe.”
Ian realized with horror where he had been looking all the time. There were chuckles all around. Also, the girl could barely abstain from laughter. As soon as they stopped, Ian worked his way out, and embarrassed, paced out of everyone’s sight.
¤
Later he found himself standing at the same tracks, cursing, and trying to recuperate his ticket by watching the ads again.
Jānis Zelčāns lives on a small peninsula in Latvia, one of the Baltic states. By day he works as a network engineer, but during the night he stays awake to feed the dinosaurs or write preposterous stories.
THE ALIENS WENT DOWN TO GEORGIA
By Peter Wood
CAPTAIN ORN UNLATCHED THE TAILGATE to his dented Ford pickup truck so the troops could unload the death ray. He shivered and pulled up the hood to his Atlanta Falcons sweat shirt. Georgia was supposed to have a warm climate, but the entire Earth was cold to him. “Make short work of this,” he grunted to the five Zuulians under his command. “I have a double shift at the factory tomorrow.”
Fast food wrappers and beer cans littered the dirt parking lot. Orn wondered how the Royal Council deduced that Georgia was the seat of power on this backward alien world. Aside from it being the home state of Jimmy Carter, Orn had seen no evidence of any widespread influence in the months he had spent here.
Lieutenant Zark leaned casually against the rusty El Camino that had barely huffed and puffed up Mount Currahee. As second-in-command he drove the second-best vehicle. He pointed to the enlisted men sitting in the car. “Two of you to a side. Hurry. I will hook the death ray up to the cable in a minute.”
The soldiers clambered out and began untying the four corners of the tarp that covered the death ray.
Orn hoped they wouldn’t damage the cable while hoisting up the death ray. He’d have a hard time explaining to the factory foreman why he had borrowed company property without permission.
Holding a beer, a young human came out of the shadows. “What are y’all doing?”
Orn was surprised anyone had driven the mile-long gravel road to the mountain top at midnight. There was a time when he would have reacted with anger, but nothing upset him anymore except his ex-wife’s attorneys. She had gotten their house, his brand new space cruiser with interstellar drive, and monthly alimony. He had volunteered to go to Earth, hoping the bonus for going off-world would put a dent in his debts. He had not expected to become interested in these Earthlings. He smiled at the boy. “Good evening. We are just checking out the view.”
Orn was abnormally tall for a Zuulian, but he still had trouble blocking the teenager’s view of the truck. Orn coughed loudly, the pre-arranged signal to his troops, and they stopped taking the tarp off the anti-matter weapon.
The boy took a swig of beer and wiped his mouth on his Toccoa High School sweat shirt. “We just came up here to drink.” He let out a loud hoot and called into the woods. “We all just came up here to drink!”
From the shadows came loud whistles and cheers. Somebody screamed “Toccoa!”
The boy chugged the last of his beer and threw the bottle into the woods. “We beat Cedar Shoals tonight.” He let out a loud belch.
Zark leaned towards Orn and pulled open his Toccoa Tool and Die shirt slightly to reveal his standard-issue ion disrupter. “Let me know when to kill the human, sir.”
The boy swayed over to Orn’s pickup and pointed to the Tool and Die parking sticker on the bumper. “My Daddy works down there.”
Zark stared at Orn. “Sir?”
The boy tugged at the tarp. “What do y’all got under there?” he slurred. Then he noticed the cable dangling from a scraggly pine tree. “Y’all aimin’ to set up a zip line, ain’t ya?”
“No, we are not,” Orn said.
But the boy didn’t seem to hear Orn. “It’d be awesome to zip down into the valley.” He ran towards his friends. “They’re putting in a friggin’ zip line!”
“We are not putting in a zip line!” Zark shouted.
The boy skidded to a halt on the loose gravel and turned around. “Then what are y’all doing up here?”
Orn fumbled for the correct words. “We all are just here enjoying the view.”
The boy smiled. “You mean all y’all?”
Zark rolled his eyes and pulled out the disrupter.
“Put it away, Lieutenant,” Orn hissed.
Zark glared at Orn, but tucked the weapon back under his belt.
Orn smiled at the boy. “It was nice to meet you. My friends and I have to leave now.” He turned to Zark. “We better leave.”
Zark patted his shirt. “Sir, the job is not complete.”
Orn pulled at the caved-in truck door. It resisted until Orn put his whole body into it. “We are leaving.”
¤
Orn sat at the battered Formica table and filled out the meticulous paperwork demanded by the Royal Council. He stored the daily reports in a filing cabinet by his bed. Some days he doubted anyone would ever read them.
He brushed back his long hair. After years of a close-cropped military style, it felt odd still. But all undercover Zuulians needed to hide their retractable antennae. He glanced at the wall-mounted plastic Budweiser clock. Only six hours before another shift at the Tool and Die.
The flimsy screen door to the doublewide trailer he shared with Zark slammed open. His roommate stormed inside. “Sir, I disagree with your actions on the mountain tonight.”
Orn sighed. “We cannot start massacring the humans, Lieutenant.” He pointed to that night’s stack of forms. “I am rather busy.”
“Sir, nobody will even see your reports until the mission is over,” Zark said.
Orn smiled. “Exactly.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out an RC cola. “Would you like one, Lieutenant?”
Zark snorted. “No, sir. I prefer space rations.”
Orn’s stomach lurched. After six months in the claustrophobic starship, he was tired of stale space rations. Some bureaucrat had mistakenly sent the ship off stocked only with protein bars, fruit juice, and rock-solid bread. For the last four months as he and his team worked deep undercover at the Tool and Die, Orn had grown to like the local food. He was especially fond of sweet tea and fried chicken and cornbread.
He pried the bottle top off with an opener and took a sip. “Would you like a moon pie then?” he asked Zark.
“Is that a joke, sir?” Zark asked, showing his typical disinterest in local customs.
Zark probably thought he was making some reference to the starship that was stationed on the far side of the Earth moon. “No joke, Lieutenant.” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a moon pie, a concoction of graham crackers, marshmallow and chocolate.
Zark shook his head.
There was a loud beeping sound. Orn put down the moon pie. He unlatched the dishwasher and looked at the cumbersome radio that almost filled up the inside. He flipped switches and twisted dials until he heard the General’s voice from the starship on the moon. “Captain Orn, is the death ray in…?”
The General’s voice faded away and the radio went dead. Orn had requested a replacement months ago, but was still waiting for the quartermaster to process the paperwork. He cursed and kicked the radio. It whimpered back to life.
Orn swallowed a mouthful of moon pie. “Sir, we had to postpone the death ray.”
“Another delay, Captain?”
Zark crossed his arms and frowned.
Orn took a sip of soda. “Sir, we were discovered. Some humans were on top of th
e mountain.”
“At night, Captain? Did they suspect our plans?”
“No, sir. They saw nothing.”
“Captain, do you understand your orders regarding humans who discover our plans?”
Orn repeated the standard order. “Yes, sir. All humans who might jeopardize the mission shall be vaporized.”
“Correct, Captain.”
Orn put his head in his hands. “Sir, has the Royal Council decided when the rest of the fleet will arrive?”
There was a long pause before the General spoke in a slow and patient voice. “Son, when they tell me what to do, I will inform the ground troops.”
“Sir, if I may speak freely, we cannot defeat Earth with one death ray.”
“The Royal Council is evaluating data. This is all for now. End of transmission.”
When the radio went off, Zark pounded his fist against the refrigerator. “For the love of the Creator, over a year on this mission and the Royal Council is still looking over data?”
Orn closed the dishwasher and looked at the growing stack of dirty dishes in the sink. A dishwasher would probably be far more useful than the radio. “Before I finish the forms, I will go outside for some boiled peanuts. Would you like some?”