A Certain Number of Hypothetical Scenarios

by Joseph Wright

Offer it the crescent (Go to 28)

  Threaten it with the crescent (Go to 29)

  Otherwise:

  Beg it (Go to 26)

  Threaten it (Go to 27)

  26-

  The figure remains silent.

  Go to 27.

  27-

  The figure laughs. “You cannot harm me,” it rasps. “I am mortality itself. Your daughter belongs to me.” You swing your sword at the figure in a rage, and just as it said, you cannot wound it in any way. For what seems like an age you hack at the angel of death, but for all your strength it will not stop cackling.

  28-

  The figure bows and gladly accepts the crescent object. You ask it for the return of your daughter and it inclines its head, raises its arms, and conjures her in front of your eyes. As you wrap her in your arms you see out of the corner of your eye as the creature crushes the artefact in its hand. Suddenly it reaches out and seizes your daughter by the neck, choking her back into death.

  You scream and lunge at your daughter's killer.

  Go to 27.

  29-

  The figure cowers in fright, bound by the power of the artefact. You ask it for the return of your daughter and it inclines its head, raises its arms, and conjures her in front of your eyes. As you wrap her in your arms she whispers into your ear that she missed you. Scooping her up, you carry her out onto the hillside, pausing on the rocks to take in the spectacular view over the valley. Snow drifts by on the wind, catching in her hair as you begin the journey home.

  FAR-FETCHED

  An elf lay in a tree, comfortably as if it was a hammock. A dwarf stoked their campfire and lit his pipe. The forest was quiet but for the rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of owls. The night spun lazily above them.

  'Do you ever wonder who lives in the sky?' said the elf after a while.

  'Birds,' grunted the dwarf.

  'No, I mean the people up there.'

  'All the poor buggers who fell up into it, I would imagine.'

  The elf sighed. 'Where do your gods live?' he asked.

  'Our gods are wrought in stone,' replied the dwarf. 'What would they do up there? There's nothing to do, nowhere to stand.' He paused, then added 'Nothing to hit with an axe.'

  Silence again, until the elf thought he had found an angle to spark his friend's interest.

  'Do you think it would be possible to fashion some sort of boat? A sky boat?'

  The dwarf chewed his pipe in contemplation.

  'Possibly,' he conceded. 'But it would be a life's work without purpose. There's nothing up there.'

  'I disagree. I dreamt last night of all manner of creatures, warring in the stars with blades and arrows of light.' The elf breathed in deeply. 'For a moment I thought I heard the song of the celestial ether.'

  Exhaling bluish grey smoke, the dwarf regarded his friend, and wondered where he was getting these bizarre notions. Especially puzzling considering that he was doing it without the aid of bluish grey smoke of his own.

  The elf was drumming his fingers on a branch, and a red squirrel danced to his tune.

  'Can you imagine,' he said, his eyes aglow with reverie, 'sailing from star to star in a beautiful white ship, and witnessing an eternity of strange new worlds? Wouldn't that be just the most perfect thing?'

  The dwarf squinted at the sky as if he suspected it had been making fun of him behind his back.

  'I don't know,' he grumbled. 'Sounds a wee bit far-fetched to me.'

  ENGINE

  Koschei sat in front of the starboard viewport sharpening his knife. “Are you done yet?” he asked, not bothering to look at Tern, who he knew wasn't done yet.

  Tern looked up, his anxiety somehow visible through his mask. “They're not here are they?”

  “Not yet, but considering they're capturing slash killing a margrave I'm pretty sure they'll want to get gone pretty damn pronto. Which they're not going to be able to do, because you broke the ship.”

  Tern was elbow deep in the engine. Sparks showered out intermittently as he welded. “I was improving it.”

  “And then it broke. Or are you expecting it to run better with a melted condensation array?”

  “Shut up shut up shut up.”

  A female voice came from the cockpit down the hall. “Is it fixed yet?”

  “Working on it!” roared Tern from inside the engine casing, a little louder than was necessary.

  “If you've killed my ship, I'll give her a traditional Kalerian funeral. That means she'll be on fire. You'll be inside.” Sorla was the pilot of the Redoubt, and although she would never set it on fire, the threat of violence against Tern was real enough.

  “I have a horrible feeling,” said Koschei, “that Nihl and Elorisa are gonna come screaming round the corner with a ridiculous number of armed, angry people right behind them.”

  “I can't imagine them arriving any other way at this point,” said Tern. “The angry people come as a package deal. I can't picture Nihl in my head without someone in the background shooting at him.”

  “If you don't get this boat patched up before they're back, you're going to find yourself with some angry people of your very own.”

  “Listen. It's in good hands.” Tern twirled his plasma lance nonchalantly. Koschei was going to tell him about the moustache-like line he'd just scorched onto his own faceplate, but decided not to. “Anyway, you're forgetting about our secret weapon.”

  “Just because you welded some machine guns to a load lifter doesn't mean it's suddenly a combat mech,” sighed Koschei. “For a start its targeting system isn't exactly military grade. It's calibrated to recognise boxes. I severely doubt it'll hit anything with those guns unless it starts bludgeoning people with them.”

  The engine roared to life as Tern emerged and closed the casing. “I rather think you're underestimating my prodigious engineering talent.”

  “Well, I hope so,” said Koschei, watching from the viewport as Nihl and Elorisa came screaming around the corner followed by a frankly ridiculous number of armed, angry people.

  MUSEUM

  It takes almost a minute to walk from the entrance to the skull, and it broke the bounds of my peripheral vision at about the halfway point. It's huge. A cathedral of death. To measure it is to miss the point; the exact height is less important than the terror it inspires. No creature should be that big.

  From where I am now, it towers above me, impossible to take in all at once. Most striking is the crescent-shaped crest arcing skyward, waiting to fall like the sword of Damocles. The serrated edge only makes the silhouette more brutal, if such a thing is possible. Eye sockets are lined up on either side, each one wide enough to sail a yacht through. The multiple rows of teeth are simultaneously fascinating and horrifying, growing over each other and fighting for space like trees in a forest.

  It's impossible to look at it without feeling something I can only liken to a deep religious awe. Hundreds of people are here in this yawning empty space, craning their necks upward like me, and yet all I can hear is the echo of footsteps and reverential whispers. The skull is lit by yellow lamps, angled against the surface to better display its rich texture. I can see the rills and channels where veins and arteries once twined around its bones.

  This thing was alive. Two years ago it came from the ocean, levelling buildings and snapping bridges and exhaling impossible heat. It destroyed three cities before we were able to bring it down. We still don't know what it was. We still don't understand how it existed at all.

  I can hear a wailing noise. Insistent and unsettling, like air raid sirens.

  The visitors around me are getting frightened, and the severe yellow lighting around the skull begins to feel very sinister indeed. The ground begins to shake, rhythmically like a heartbeat. It's getting stronger and stronger, and suddenly I figure it out.

  Twenty three million deaths, and it hadn't been enough.

  The creature this skull belonged to was just the first.

  APOC-ELLIPSIS


  I'm lying on the roof of a narrowboat, watching the sky. The rain continues to fall, and a rumble from the clouds makes sure I know the world isn't done ending yet.

  The hiss of the rain on the floodwater is quite relaxing really. Occasional quacks from the crew keep me awake. It's been a few days since we set sail. The city hadn't been that bad, but there was no food, the water didn't work or drain, and behind the barricade and the door I was well aware of the other people in the block. There wasn't much of the fight-for-resources internecine warfare you're conditioned to expect from an apocalyptic scenario, but I wasn't going to chance an encounter. The main reason there had been so little bloodshed was that nobody had access to weapons.

  I take a moment to wonder what it's like right now in America.

  Anyway, when the narrowboat drifted over, I packed a bag, threw it down from the balcony and dropped down after it. Looked like the previous owner had died unmooring it. Lightning strike or something. Poor old man. He still had the keys. Good thing I checked his pockets before letting him float away.

  For whatever reason, he'd stocked the boat up pretty good before everything happened. From the poker set and the quantity and calibre of the food, I reckon he was planning on a get-together with some old friends. Doesn't really matter anymore, but it's a shame they never got to see each other one last time.

  The boat is coasting along now. I'm conserving fuel. There's a few tanks spare under the sink but who knows when I'll get my hands on more. We've passed a few hills-come-islands, but they were all barren. One had a visitor centre with a full fridge in the back. Another was where I'd been boarded by a contingent of ducks. I don't mind them. It's nice to have someone besides the sea to talk to.

  I sit up and skim poker chips across the water. One just keeps on skipping until it's out of sight, but nobody is around to see.

  BROKEN

  He wandered aimlessly through the drizzly forest, stumbling in the fallen leaves. His chest felt tight, restricted. No, all of him did.

  His clothes were smart but disarranged and scruffily worn. A white shirt, untucked. A black suit jacket, a little torn on the left arm. Black trousers, soaked from the knees down from crossing the river. Black shoes, ruined, the right one trailing its laces. Black hair, tousled, also wet.

  Rainwater collected on his fringe and nose. He sniffed. It was ridiculously cold. His heart had felt like it was being clenched in a fist for weeks now. He'd expected it to be the end of him, but to his dismay he kept waking up every morning. He kept drawing in awful, ragged, asthmatic breaths. One after the other. Day after day.

  He dropped onto the ground and felt the freezing water filter through him. He hadn't fallen out of exhaustion, just out of unwillingness to live, and awareness of the pointlessness of it all. It didn't matter where he was, if he wasn't with her.

  Sometimes you have one shot.

  And sometimes you miss.

  He looked up at the grey sky through the thin autumn canopy and blinked the rain from his eyes. A shadowy figure stood over him.

  'Thomas Redgrave?'

  He didn't answer or move. When you have nothing to lose you have nothing to be scared of.

  'I represent the Brotherhood of Broken men,' continued the figure, regardless. It wasn't so much a physical presence so much as a vaguely human shaped area that was darker than everything else. Thomas got the impression that the figure was somehow on the surface of his eye, and it made him want to rub them frantically. 'I'd like to extend to you an offer.'

  'An offer,' he croaked.

  'Indeed. One gets the impression that you're looking for a way out. That you might benefit from... no longer being burdened with consequence.'

  Redgrave sat up a little. Mud sloughed from the back of his jacket. He looked at the shade with a kind of detached curiosity.

  'Mister Redgrave, do you want to die?'

  He thought about it. 'No,' he said, eventually. 'I just don't want to live anymore.'

  The shade had eyes like two distant suns.

  'Very good,' it said. 'We may be able to come to an agreement.'

  CHEESECAKE

  The woman sliced the end from her cheesecake with the edge of her fork and put it in her mouth, savouring the feeling of it sliding gently off the tines.

  The man hadn't ordered dessert. He looked around the restaurant, his expression unreadable. “Do you remember when this was an almshouse?”

  “I remember when it was a forest.” The woman said, her attention solely occupied by her cheesecake. “And a lump of rock and lava before that. But yes.”

  “We came here once. I think. Before they knocked it down,” said the man.

  “Those were stupider times.”

  The man regarded his surroundings again. “They're all stupid times,” he said.

  FANGS

  The vampire bared his fangs, the stark white enamel gleaming with a cleanliness unrepresentative of their dark purpose.

  'Aaaaaaaaaa.' he said.

  'Very good' said the dentist, prodding around with a couple of implements, one of them a mirror. 'You've been taking good care of them.'

  'Ih reawy hurhs here roh' slurred the vampire, indicating a canine. The dentist inspected the tooth closely and discovered a nasty looking cavity lurking on the inner side. Surely the vampire couldn't bite down with a fang like that? He tapped it.

  'Owaauugh!'

  Yes, it would certainly be impossible for the vampire to feed with his teeth in this state. But should he fix it? The vampire was obviously in pain. In any case, it was his job and his duty to help people who needed dental care! But what if he went out and drank someone's blood?

  He tapped each tooth in turn and muttered random letters and numbers while he pondered, pretending to be working.

  'B6, L4, K3...'

  The dentist couldn't fill the cavity, he'd practically be an accessory to murder. On the other hand, he wasn't entirely sure how he could get away with not fixing it. Perhaps he could remove the tooth altogether? That would probably be as bad as fixing it though, the vampire could probably still suck blood with just one fang. Bugger.

  Okay, assuming he didn't fix the tooth... what then? The vampire would probably die without drinking blood! Is that what happens? Or do they just get thirsty for it but not actually need it to live? Un-live. Whatever. The dentist couldn't take the chance if it might end in his indirectly killing somebody.

  'Cah I hehwp oo?' said the vampire, slightly annoyed. The dentist was deep in thought and had stopped working without realising several minutes ago.

  'Oh, uh, sorry.' said the dentist, surprised, withdrawing his tools. 'I'll level with you, I'm having a kind of ethical dilemma.'

  'Hmn.' the vampire narrowed his eyes. 'If it's relevant, I'm a teetotaller.'

  'Ah!' exclaimed the dentist, his moral quandary shattered. 'I mean, I never assumed...'

  'To be sure.' interrupted the vampire, laying his head back down.

  The dentist applied a filling to the fang in awkward silence. Afterwards he offered his client a sticker, but it was declined. The vampire left without booking a future appointment, muttering something about predjudice.

  APSIS

  The Advanced Planetary Survival Intelligence Scout had been active for just over a century, sent into space to seek out new worlds for humanity to colonise. She'd far exceeded her own estimates; it had taken a vast amount more time than her makers had anticipated, but her mission was finally complete. Jupiter rolled below her as she slingshotted around it. Nearly home.

  APSIS looked like someone had dropped a dozen different-sized eggs and had tried to reconstruct one from the shards. Her engineers had told her she was beautiful. She was travelling at luminal velocity, faster than any signal she could send. Her makers would'nt know about the planet she had found until she told them directly; she was mere minutes away from fulfilling her purpose now. She hoped they would be pleased.

  Her impellors glowed blue as she rocketed out of Jupiter's orbit. Earth
and Luna were thin rings of light hanging between her and the sun; right now they were the only places humanity could be found in the whole universe, but soon there would be colonies across the milky way.

  APSIS was proud of her purpose. At launch date, she was the only true non-military AI ever created; her programmers had told her she'd be the first of many, that what they'd started together was the beginning of a new species entirely. APSIS liked that idea. Other than her, the only AIs to be found were in Pantheon class mechs, walking tanks unable to conceive of anything but conflict resolution and combat strategy. She hoped that humanity had progressed beyond their need for them during her absence.

  Rounding Luna, she arced gracefully into Earth orbit. The sun crested the horizon, illuminating the planet as she slowly circled closer and closer. She could see clouds, and continents, and smoke... Great sheets of dark smoke. It occurred to her that she'd seen no lights on the night side of Earth. Where were all the people?

  Europe was criss-crossed with bright orange scars. Oh no, thought APSIS as her planetary analysis software began to run. Oh no, no no no no.

  FILTER

  We walk in the snowy streets and drift across a silent park. Inside my mask all I can hear is my heartbeat. Tabby holds my hand as we pick our way down a slope of rubble.

  I can't keep my thoughts to myself. "When do you think we'll be able to breathe the air again?" I ask her.

  "Don't know."

  We emerge into the broken grey canyon of the main avenue. The snow falls like silver leaves. My lenses are wet.

  "Do you think we ever will?"

  "I'm sure God's on top of things," says Tabby.

  CICADA

  Every night they're back.

  There's something wrong inside my skull. I might be ill. I hope I'm ill, because then I'd know they weren't real. Every night for the past few weeks I've been compelled somehow to get out of bed and enter the living room, and every night they're waiting for me there.

  At first I thought I was dreaming. I suppose I still might be.

  Tonight I'm sleeping in a hotel. I wake up and they're standing over me. Each of them wears a suit. Not business suits, or a uniform, but proper tailored suits with the visible stitching and everything. Each one is subtly different in cut and colouring. I only mention because aside from one important detail they're identical.