"You already asked me that. I mean, what did youreally want to ask?"
"Well, I mean... Why would you stay here with me? I'm just a cigar shoppe owner."
Gaston walked over to him and held the man's face in his articulated metal fingers. "No one is ever 'just' anything. If you haven't figured out by now why I stick around, I don't feel inclined to tell you. Except for this."
Gaston lifted the mirror visor from his face and kissed dear sweet Mr. Arsenault, with his off-center mustache. And he was kissed back, for quite a long time.
"Love is the only thing that becomes more valuable the more you remember it," Gaston said.
Gently, he reached behind Mr. Arsenault's neck and tapped a discrete button to shut him down for the night. With a twist, he removed the robot's head and held it to his chest and rocked.
"And I have a whole planet devoted just to remembering you," Gaston whispered, "and how you saved me, long ago."
The parts of Mr. Arsenault were lovingly packed away in a special box to recharge until tomorrow.
When he was done, Gaston removed the metal devices and plastics attached to his body. Where they had been embedded into his skin, he watched as his pierced flesh regenerated.
The dead cells fell to the floor and became dust.
No one asks why a robot doesn't age.
Gaston erased the unimportant memories of his day. Then, one by one, he shuttled the ones he wanted to treasure into the virtual wormhole leading to his backup, which for the last several decades had been a gas giant planet in the Europa cluster.
Acknowledgements
Samuel Peralta has quietly and competently created a small empire of curated anthologies, Future Chronicles, that showcases the very best short story work happening today.
Appearing in a Peralta anthology is like getting water from the moon.
To have my work so graciously placed, I stand forever grateful.
Carol Davis edited the story with brilliant insight.
Information about the anthology
The Immortality Chronicles
(The Future Chronicles)
Other authors in the original anthology:
Samuel Peralta (Author, publisher),
Will Swardstrom (Author), Thomas Robins (Author), D. Robert Pease (Author), Paul B. Kohler (Author), D.K. Cassidy (Author), Harlow C. Fallon (Author), Patricia Gilliam (Author), E.E. Giorgi (Author), Drew Avera (Author), David Bruns (Author), Gareth Foy (Author),
Carol Davis (Editor)
Reviews
★★★★★ BEST ANTHOLOGY OF THE YEAR as voted in the 2016 Preditors and Editors Readers Poll ★★★★★
★★★★★
"The best place to discover new SF authors, I think, is any of the anthologies coming from Samuel Peralta"
-- Hugh Howey, NY Times bestselling author of Wool
★★★★★
"A powerful new voice in speculative fiction"
-- Nick Webb, USA Today bestselling author of the Legacy Fleet trilogy
Books by John Gregory Hancock
(Chronological order)
A Plague of Dreams
Amber
Splintered Dreams
Roof
Crawlspace
Three Magic Tales
Utopia Syndrome
The Mortuary Arts
Coming soon:
More installments in The Sea of Endless Suns series
Planned:
In 2017: Banyan's Law
In 2017: ROOFWORLD: Nike's Choice
In 2018: Return to me, my beloved
AudioBooks
AMBER
THREE MAGIC TALES
ROOF
The Mortuary Arts
This author's work in other anthologies
(Chronological order)
Off the KUF, vol 1
Off the KUF, vol 2
Flying Toasters
Prep for Doom
Bite-sized Offerings
The Immortality Chronicles
About the author
John Gregory Hancock
John Gregory Hancock is a storyteller.
Like many of his characters, life has shaped and unshaped him.
A graphic professional for many years (which is one way to tell a story), his graphic journalism garnered international awards, and was nominated for a Pulitzer. He incorporates his visual sense in his ability to spin compelling yarns.
Besides his own books, he has written for The Future Chronicles anthology series, whose titles have hit the overall Amazon Top 10 Bestsellers list. The Immortality Chronicles - a Top 5 SF Anthology and Hot New Release - featured his story 'The Antares Cigar Shoppe', which was nominated for Best American Science Fiction, and eligible for Campbell Award.
He lives with his wife and soul mate (who puts up with him, beyond all logic) and a fantastically brilliant son (who thrashes him soundly in video games -- really, it's no contest). They are hopelessly landlocked in Midwest America, far from ocean or desert. Or glacier, come to that.
His fingers itch to write and so far, luckily, people seem to enjoy the things he offers.
You can find his facebook author page at JohnGregoryHancock
On twitter: @Grokdad
Amazon: Amazon John Gregory Hancock
Goodreads: GoodReads John Gregory Hancock
What readers are saying...
Plague of Dreams:
"One of the things that I really love about anthologies is the ability to reset after a few pages and go in another direction. A Plague of Dreams offers that variety in an extreme way. Every story isn't just a little different, it's a new world and new characters and if you didn't know that the stories were all written by one person, the suggestion of a new author."-- Rabid Readers Reviews
Splintered Dreams:
"I'm always pleased to read a good collection of short stories. This book contains tales of science fiction, fantasy, horror, humor, and the supernatural. While I enjoyed them all, I did have favorites. A Winter Crossing is an excellent fairy tale, of the original type. I thought of PRISM as a fable, featuring a an unlikely hero. Subway is certainly science fiction, but I perceived it as horror also, considering that the scenario presented is not at all impossible. It's scary stuff. The Interpreter is a satisfying example of wisdom trumping arrogance, and is more about people than science fiction. The Well deals with wishes and justice in a unique fashion. Danger in the Night is an unusual look at an unsolved crime, and the lives that it disrupted. These stories stood out for me as excellent tales."-- Deb Robbins
Amber:
"Very well-written and definitely thought-provoking. This is one that will stick with me the way Isaac Asimov's "The Last Question" has for the last 20-25 years. Yeah, it's that good."-- Jeff Carter
ROOF:
"ROOF is an easy and quick read, with tension that will drive you all the way to the end. Although classic dystopian themes are at the forefront of the story, it's not stuffy or pretentious and best of all it leaves you with a heart warming, meaningful message. So did I cry? Oh yeah, I bawled like a baby at the end and that for me equals 5 stars every single day of the week. I highly recommend this book to both teens and adults."-- Cheer Stephenson Papworth
Crawlspace:
"Hancock has succeeded in turning the haunted house sub-genre on its head with this bizarre satire of reality TV. ... Crawlspace you never quite know what is or is not real, but not in an unsatisfying "Lost" kind of way. The best compliment I can give this book is that possibilities were constantly running through my mind, nightmarish possibilities from every horror story I have come across, but as my imagination ran wild, events were still able to take me by surprise. ...."-- Ebook Planet
Three Magic Tales:
I'm amazed at how well I was able to be transported to another world (well, in this case three of them!). Every one of these stories was incredibly imaginative, and extremely unique. I happened to listen to the Audiobook version, and I have to admit I took it everywhere I
went until the stories were finished! I really hope I can find more by this author, because I really enjoy his writing style.-- Cassie L.
Utopia Syndrome:
This is a short story but there's a lot packed into just a few pages, as the author creates distinctive characters you care for, fleshes them out and integrates them into the ongoing plot. How these events affect each of them in very different ways is one of the absorbing aspects of the story. There are some surprising and disturbing twists and turns here that make for fascinating reading.-- Chris Fried
The Mortuary Arts:
"Honestly I have to say WOW! This was masterfully written. It had shades of Shelly and Matheson in the way Hancock plays with the reader's fears. I love the way the story builds slowly, just tickling the edges of uncomfortable and frightening concepts. Ruffling the edge of one dread before turning and prodding another, until BOOM! The story explodes. Hancock's style in this book is much different from his norm. It has an almost Victorian feel to the language that reminded me of some of the classics of horror. I can't rave enough about this one. It's not for the faint of heart, but it's not gratuitously gory either. A great Halloween read, or something to read at home. Alone. When the power is out."-- Colby Zoeller
Sample excerpts
from ROOF:
Chloe and I finally arrived at a jumbled rooftop nestled against some taller buildings with bricked-in windows. She gathered up the gear and winked at me before pulling her hood back up. She appeared none the worse for the journey, but I was exhausted.
We came to a haphazard mound of camouflage material, positioned between AC units and rooftop structures, and stuck on the roof like a spider nest. Firelight flickered from within the jumble. There were cracks between tarps that were hooked together with rough twine and bungee cords. The whole place looked ready to be folded up and packed away at a moment's notice.
Flexibility. Mobility. Anonymity.
Chloe held open the drapes of the tent entrance for me, and I ducked through the folds. The difference in light was dramatic. Outside it was the ink of night, but inside it was brightly lit. Once my eyes adjusted, it was a struggle to keep them from dancing around the enclosure.
Just inside the entrance, a beautiful Japanese woman was having her face painted. The artist was bent over her, concentrating, and either didn't notice or didn't care when we entered. The painting was going on one half of the girl's face. I recognized the image as one of Salvador Dali's melting clocks. The hands spread out from her eye, and the clock face was melting down one cheekbone. In contrast, purple flower petals rimmed the eye socket on the opposite side. It was in the style of a Monet painting. The woman being used as a canvas wore a tutu made of twisted dark green trash bags, sashed with yellow plastic crime scene tape. She had a bodice that appeared to have been fashioned by cutting off the bottom of a discarded gown, with ragged edges along the bottom exposing her midriff.
The face-painting artist had intricate sleeve tattoos on both arms, done with brilliantly colored inks. The Japanese woman eventually noticed us and turned her eyes in our direction.
"Ariadne is waiting for you guys."
"Yeah, we had a few noob jitters at first that slowed me down." Chloe apologized.
The painted woman spoke while trying not to move, "Happens to all of us at first." She gave a small half wave. "I'm Izumi." She smiled and the artist pulled back the brush, waiting for her to stop animating her face.
"Hi," I said, before Chloe shrugged at Izumi and grabbed my hand to drag me through the maze inside the compound, the dividing walls made by hanging tarps and blankets. The place smelled delicious, permeated by the aroma of something cooking. It seemed an odd time at night, or rather morning, to be cooking. I checked my watch and it was one a.m.
As we went, I could see rooms that opened onto the cloth hallways. Inside some of the rooms were bedrolls and a small number of personal items. More than a few rooms had sleeping occupants. Chloe held up her fingers to her lips and I nodded, understanding. No need to wake the sleeping.
The circuitous hallway opened up onto a larger center area, where there were pillows and salvaged carpet remnants, reminding me a sultan's tent. If your sultan was one of the homeless. I was surprised at the number of people milling about at this hour, and at the diversity of the people. Not just ethnically, but I could tell some had once been upper middle class, hobnobbing with those I assumed were lifelong homeless. There is a particular way one carries themselves in either economic station. It was as if all caste systems had evaporated, and everyone was fine with that.
Maybe that was exactly what needed to happen.
from Crawlspace:
Ethan's anxiety didn't improve once he boarded. The plane was smaller on the inside than it looked on the outside. It was just a long metal sardine tube. One he was going to be stuck in for several hours. With other sardines.
He stalled, trying to take his time, wandering about the cabin. He acted like he was double-checking his seat assignment several times. That took all of five minutes.
The plane continued to fill up with other passengers and he couldn't avoid getting strapped in any longer.
"Excuse me, I'm in the middle." He informed two larger men already seated on either side of his assigned seat. The man near the aisle got up so that Ethan could climb in like a contortionist. Once he sat down, he closed his eyes and clutched his arms inward to his chest. He tried to reach some kind of center. Quietly he fastened his seatbelt.
The men formed the unintentional walls of a sweaty human canyon. He tried not to think about it, to place his focus on anything else. He pulled a magazine out of the seat pocket in front of him. It was a travel magazine featuring an article on the sport of exploring caves. Spelunking. Climbing around in tight spaces in the dark.
Great. Ok, that's not helping. He hurriedly stuffed the magazine back. He leaned back into his seat, and felt the mass of human flesh surrounding him.
He made a point to check his watch repeatedly. He decided the plane couldn't take off fast enough for him. The sooner they took off, the faster they'd land and he could get out of there. Then he would kiss the ground.
It was bad enough he struggled with his own tensions, but the thoughts and anxieties of other passengers were drawn to him. He acted like a psychic magnet, attracting their frightened worries. The passengers were too close. Their private thoughts were concentrated by hitting the rounded metal of the fuselage and bouncing back at him. Whatever the mechanism, their fears were crowding against his mind.
Finally, it was time for the plane to approach the runway. His hopes were dashed, however, because the plane would move, stop, and then move again only to stop and wait. The incremental progress was unnerving. The airplane was a large, noisy machine. And he was inside of it. He couldn't leave now if he wanted to.
A halfhearted cheer arose from the passengers as they began moving down the runway at increasing speed. The nose of the plane suddenly pulled up at a steep angle, and Ethan felt the vibrations as the landing gear folded in and the engines strained for the sky. Although it was definitely the loudest part of the flight so far, it also signaled they were at least on their way.
Unfortunately, he could sense the psychic back-flow of jangled nerves from the surrounding passengers even more intensely. People were still nervous. The communal emotions were layering on top of his own apprehensions, doubling them, quadrupling them.
He felt hemmed in by the physical confines of his seat, and the meaty arms of the men in his row as they encroached on his personal space. He drew his arms into his torso to avoid impolitely brushing up against them. He experienced a general feeling of suffocation as the acceleration pushed him further back into his thinly padded seat.
Ethan shut his eyes, attempting to block out the here and now. He tried to set up a barrier between him and the thoughts of the other passengers.
There was a mental trick his doctor taught him, to distract him from his own anxiety. He was to imagine a flat, neutral
field, empty of anything, like a holodeck. The next step was to construct something, a structure or a world, piece by piece.
It could have been anything, but this time he chose to create a flower garden. He started by adding a layer of rich soil to the void, and spread fertilizer on top.
Next, he gathered thin white slats of wood and rough twine to construct an arched rose trellis. Once that was built, he carefully planted seeds around the trellis, watered the ground, and coaxed the growing rose bush to wrap itself around the lattice.
The Antares Cigar Shoppe (The Endless Sea of Suns Book 1) Page 3