by David Hardy
He wasn’t the only one who needed attention. Exhaustion, delayed stress and the lingering effects of hypoxia all dragged at her body, but she could not rest yet.
She thought back to what happened. Varankov’s consciousness had been trapped in the Tesla weapon and been transferred when Kurt brushed against it. Physical contact was needed for transfer, and some kind of physical housing was required to sustain his existence. So when she placed both herself and her husband on the brink of asphyxiation, Varankov had nowhere left to go and just faded away. Exactly how the weapon had done this to him, she did not know or care. It was a mystery for someone else to solve.
She saved Kurt. That was all that mattered.
Sierra brought Kurt to their quarters where she zipped him into a sleeping bag and gave him a sedative.
She watched on her handscreen as the Soyuz dwindled behind them. Varankov had been trapped alone for so long, with nothing but rage and despair. She pitied him.
Sierra glanced back at her husband’s peaceful sleeping face.
But she was not alone. And never would be.
About the Author – Christopher M. Chupik
Christopher M. Chupik lives in Calgary, Alberta. His previous work has appeared in the anthologies Enigma Front and Enigma Front Burnt and, while he is a Canadian, his favorite Avenger is Captain America.
The World Turned Upside Down
Lou Antonelli
The pair left the trans station and began walking on foot.
“It’s just around the corner,” said Jihm.
Macronville had been terraformed for over a century, so it had little of the orange Martian dust on its streets and grass. One might have thought it was a quaint small city in old Earth’s Ohio.
“It reminds me a little bit of Zanesville,” said Roggie.
“When was the last time you were Earthside?” asked Jihm.
“Three years ago, when my great-grandfather died,” said Roggie. “I mean, Zanesville before sand. We have photos.”
“Don’t we all,” said Jihm.
Somewhere nearby someone was cooking. The smell of roasting chicken was strong in the still-thin Martian air. After a few minutes they stopped in front of a small low brick building with a sign that read “MCC”.
Roggie touched the sign as they walked past.
“It’s been scoured,” he said. “They must still get sandstorms occasionally.”
Jihm smiled. “Don’t we all.”
Roggie held the door open. “Is that all you have to say today?”
“For now. I’m thinking about the package.”
Roggie smiled as he walked behind him.
There was the usual rush of air as they passed through the pressure foyer into the building.
Jihm stepped inside. “Hey, my ears didn’t pop!”
Roggie shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “The air pressure is now up to 78 percent of Earth’s, I hear.”
“That’s great,” said Jihm. “Someday we’ll only need doors instead of airlocks.”
A Mars Colonial Customs agent greeted them from across the counter.
“Sirs, how can I help you today?”
Jihm pulled out a card and scraped it across the counter. “I’m Jihm Bean. I’ve had a package going through clearance.”
The agent looked at the ID and then turned and looked across a shelf with an assortment of bags and packages. He read and then rested his hand on one.
“Here it is, from the Texas Protectorate,” he said as he pulled it off the shelf.
He smiled a bit as he brought it over to the counter. “Full and clear, no notes or removals,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Jihm and he nodded and turned. He hefted it. “Dang, this is heavy.” They stepped away from the counter.
“Well, you said it’s books,” said Roggie.
“Yes, they belonged to my father’s family,” said Jihm. “He wanted me to have them, and left money in his will to have them shipped from Earth.”
He struggled with clutching the heavy parcel and they walked away.
“Would you like a bag?” asked the Agent.
“That’s a great idea,” said Roggie as the Agent reached one across the counter to him.
As they walked back to the trans station, Jihm shifted the bag from one arm to the other, and then Roggie took a turn carrying it.
“What are friends for?” he said. “Besides, it isn’t often real books come to Mars any more.”
○●○
Back at Jihm’s pod, Roggie made a beeline and began to rattle in his refrigerator.
“Make yourself at home,” Jihm snarked.
“I’m parched,” said Roggie.
“Yeah, and I’m hot from lugging this package,” said Jihm. “Grab me a beer, too.”
Roggie brought a pair of Farage’s Dark and plunked them on the tabletop as Jihm began to unwrap the package.
“I suppose it’s a bit of a help that Customs opens these packages first,” he grumbled as his fingers fumbled through the plastic wrap.
Roggie smiled. “It still looks like you’re having trouble.”
“Yeah, they seal them up tight again,” said Jihm.
Roggie raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure those are books? That’s a large package.”
“Oversize format books,” said Jihm. “Very uncommon. Anyone could stick a cheap paperback in a pocket during the Sand Exodus. Books like these…” he grunted as the wrapping tore loose… “take a lot of trouble to transport.”
The package opened and the books spread across the table like a fan. Jihm picked one up.
“OK, I see why Dad saved these,” he said. “It’s a series on natural wonders on Earth.”
Roggie picked another one up. “Yes, the way it used to be, pre-Sand.”
Jihm smiled painfully. “Nice, the way it used to be.”
Roggie grunted dubiously. Jihm looked up.
“It will be like that again, we just don’t know how long the Luminosity Spike will last,” said Jihm.
“You sound pretty optimistic,” said Roggie.
“Runs in the family,” said Jihm. “My great-grandfather was a member of the team in the 21st century that discovered that as the luminosity rose, the water and frost under the Martian deserts was beginning to evaporate, and we weren’t doomed to living on an inhospitable desert planet in the future, because we could make a run to Mars.”
“I guess that was a welcome development,” said Roggie.
“That’s an understatement,” said Jihm as he turned pages. “My family lived in Texas, which was already semi-arid. Surface temperatures are now averaging 170 degrees Fahrenheit there during the summer, and what’s left of Waco is underground.”
Roggie was flipping through the pages of another book. “I guess that’s why these books are in such good condition,” he said. “Being stored underground.”
“They are also high quality books to begin with, printed on archival paper,” said Jihm. He frowned. “What’s this?”
He turned the book sideways and a square piece of folded shiny material fell out.
“Wow, this is so thin, I didn’t see it at first,” said Jim. “I wonder what it is?”
He pulled it out and began to tug it open.
After he unfolded it a few times, he stopped. “Oh crap, this is a national flag!”
Roggie reached around him and finished unfolding it. “Not just any national flag!”
Jihm looked at him. “You recognize it?”
“Haven’t you ever heard old-timers mention the ‘stars and stripes’?”
“Oh, my God, this is an American flag!” Jihm stood up. “We have to turn this in! We don’t want to be caught with it! Did you hear what happened to the man caught with the Israeli flag last month?”
“He had that on purpose, this is an accident,” said Roggie.
“All the more reason to turn it in immediately and come clean,” said Jihm.
“Come clean of what? We didn’t
do anything purposely wrong,” said Roggie.
“Listen, it’s been 180 years since the Sand Trek began, and customs is still screening for political materials and symbols. It’s the oldest colonial law.”
“It was a law adopted in panic and haste in the wake of the Resource War,” said Roggie.
“Hey, you know what? It worked!” Jihm reached for the flag. “If we hadn’t laid aside those differences, we couldn’t have cooperated in the massive transport effort to move people to Mars.”
Roggie was faster and yanked the flag towards him. “Someday things will ease off, and a flag like this will be worth a lot.”
“A lot of time in jail,” said Jihm.
“This was handed down in your family Earth-side,” said Roggie. “Your father must have wanted you to have it.”
“I doubt he even knew it existed, it must have been hidden by someone else,” said Jihm. “I know from things he said that he was a firm believer in what they called the ‘Masonic Standard’ in the colonization effort.”
“Yes, no discussion of politics,” said Roggie. “But the package was inspected by customs. They missed it. We took delivery in good faith.”
He continued, “Let’s at least take a good look.” He used the palm of his hand to lay it flat. “These national flags supposedly used a lot of symbolism.”
“Yes, it’s easy to see. This field at the lower right is blue,” said Jihm. “That probably stands for the blue-green algae they tried to brew to extend the food supply as crops failed. These stars,” he said as he pointed, “remind me of grave markers. I don’t know why there are 50, but it must have had some symbolism about the famine. This square shows a graveyard, probably a memorial to the starvation that led to the Resource War.”
“These red streaks going across the white sky must stand for the death that rained from the sky during that war,” he added.
“Hmm, I don’t know, the Colonial Authority’s ban on symbols and references to old Earth nationalism has insured that we’re working without any references,” said Roggie.
“Let’s give them the flag, then, and hope they believe our story,” said Jihm.
“Let me put out some feelers first,” said Roggie. “I’d feel better if I knew there is some kind of good faith amnesty. I’m your accomplice, I don’t want to stroll into a long jail sentence.”
He folded the flag back up and stuck it back in the book.
“What kind of feelers are we talking about?” asked Jihm.
“Feelers? What are you talking about?” he asked with a wink.
Jihm raised his eyebrows. “Nothing, nothing at all.”
“Good,” said Roggie. “Grab your beer, and head over here, I want to see some zero-g soccer on the vidfeed.”
○●○
Jihm’s pod pinged and he looked at the screen.
“Hey, Roggie, come on in,” he said as he pushed a button. “Who’s your friend?”
The pair stepped through the foyer lock. There was the usual rush of air, and the squeaking of the door going back across the rubber seal.
“Jihm, this is Dr. Victor Davalos,” said Roggie with a gesture towards an older man. “He’s a professor of Terran History at the university.”
They shook hands. “I’m honored, Professor,” said Jihm. “But what is the occasion?”
Roggie and the professor shot glances at each other. “He’s here about that, ahem, find we made the day before last,” said Roggie.
Jihm’s eyed widened. “Oh, no, are we in trouble?”
“No, son, relax. I have certain dispensations when it comes to historical research. Your friend here sought me out,” said the professor. “I have a definite academic interest in what you found.”
Roggie laid a hand on Jihm’s shoulder. “Professor Davalos is willing to take the American flag off our hands, and put it in a secret archive he is allowed to maintain.”
“With government approval,” said the professor with a nod.
“I didn’t know such an archive exists,” said Jihm.
“You’re not supposed to. Can I see the flag?”
Jihm slowly broke eye contact and walked over to the shelf where the over-sized books rested. He pulled out one and brought it over to the table, and slid his fingers between his pages.
He pulled the flag out. The professor took it and held it up.
“My God, this is in magnificent condition,” he said. “It’s fabric, obviously Pre-Sand.”
“I assumed it was plastic,” said Roggie. “But it’s not like any plastic I ever saw.”
“It’s silk,” said the professor. “My god, this is rare. Nothing like this will ever be made again.”
Jihm grimaced. “Take the damned thing away, with all its evil symbolism,” he said with a gesture. “It’s because of rags like that that billions of people died in the Resource War.”
“This flag design was already more than three hundred years old when the Resource War broke out,” said the professor. “It stands for ideals that predated the droughts and sandstorms by hundreds of years – ideals that most of its own people had already forgotten by the time of that holocaust.”
Roggie cocked an eyebrow. “Hey, is that the right way to hold that thing?”
The professor looked at him. “Yes, the blue field with stars is at the upper left. Why?”
Jihm looked at Roggie. “We didn’t even know which way it went. I had the field of stars at the bottom.” He looked at the professor. “I thought it stood for a graveyard.”
“No, the symbolism is that the blue field represents the heavens with the stars in the sky. When the American people revolted against their colonial government, they prayed God in the heavens would grant them victory – which he did. They put a circular constellation in that blue field at the time, with thirteen stars representing the thirteen states – or provinces, as you’d probably call them.”
“There’s a lot more than thirteen stars there,” said Roggie.
“By the time the European settlers were done organizing the North American continent, they had fifty states,” said the professor. “They had to put the stars in rows – but they kept the thirteen stars and stripes.”
“What about the stripes?” asked Jihm.
“The red stripes symbolism the blood shed by the revolutionaries in their cause,” said the Professor. “The white stands for purity of purpose.”
Roggie looked at the flag as the professor held it up and turned it around.
“And this happened hundreds of years before the Resource War and Sand Times?”
The professor smiled. “Seventeen seventy-six, Old Style,” he said. “It’s still a worthwhile message, after five hundred years.”
“I had no idea,” said Jihm.
“Of course not, and the Masonic Rule was really a necessity as billions of people relocated to Mars, in the wake of the Sanding. While the Resource War happened because of that – the depletion of resources and the spread of desertification on Earth – who attacked whom was driven by politics.”
Davalos began to fold the silk flag up. “It was necessary for everyone to focus on the immediate problem, or there would have been no one left at all.”
He put it inside a black case he was brought with him. “Instead, we now have three billion people on Mars, and still more than a million die-hards scattered around Earth,” he said with a small smile. “Humanity has survived.”
“Perhaps someday we will all learn to remember the good that came before the Sand Times, and forget about that bad that happened later,” said Roggie.
“That’s my department, literally,” said the professor. “There is already a confidential colonial task force working on guidelines for allowing the study and public display of national symbols.”
“That would be like a breath of fresh air,” said Jihm. “Besides, I think it’s better to replace fear with curiosity.”
“Well said. We are secure here on Mars, and have nothing to fear any more. We can only gain from
studying our own history. There was a great deal in the old United States of America that was noble and well-intended. Of course, there were also shortfalls, too, but all recriminations ended when the sand dunes washed across North America.” The professor patted the case that now held the flag. “Thank you for this.”
“Thank you for explaining it to us,” said Jihm.
“Let’s go out for dinner, before the professor heads back to the university,” said Roggie. “It’s on me.”
Jihm made an expansive gesture. “Who could turn down such a generous offer?”
“That’s very nice of you, Mister McKeith,” said the professor. “May I suggest the Red Dune Café?”
“Excellent suggestion, Professor,” said Jihm as he opened the pod door. “But why do they stand out for you?”
“They always have excellent service,” said the professor. “I hate waiting to be served.” He continued as they walked out, “I despise having to flag down a waiter.”
The door squealed shut behind Roggie.
“Let’s change subjects, shall we?” he said. “No more talk about flags.”
They turned onto the sidewalk. “Well, at least for today,” said Jihm.
About the Author – Lou Antonelli
Lou Antonelli started writing fiction in middle age; his first story was published in 2003 when he was 46. He’s had 106 short stories published in the U.S., U.K., Canada, Australia, India and Portugal in venues such as Asimov's Science Fiction, Jim Baen's Universe, Tales of the Talisman, Andromeda Spaceways In-Flight Magazine, Greatest Uncommon Denominator (GUD), Daily Science Fiction, Buzzy Mag, and Omni Reboot, among many others.
A Massachusetts native, Antonelli moved to Texas in 1985 and is married to Dallas native Patricia (Randolph) Antonelli. They have three adopted furbaby children, Millie, Sugar and Peltro Antonelli.
Aloft in the Whirlwind:
A TALE OF THE GREAT WAR
James Reasoner
Chapter 1: Thin Air