The Ultimate Collection of Science & Speculative Fiction Short Stories (Short SSF Stories Book 5)

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  Behind the General, Lina, too, looks confused. The General must have felt it as well, for he pauses midsentence for a moment. “Eh, as I was saying, through your hard work and determination, we shall now be able to fight the terror that’s been plaguing our galaxy . Thank you, pupils. Humanity salutes you.”

  Pupils? I stifle a snigger. Who do you think you are, our schoolmaster? Whatever the dizzy spell was, it must have hit him harder than me. I exchange a mocking look with Sam.

  The General takes one step to the side and faces us. His palm snaps to his temple. All around me, the soldiers guarding the facility mimic him as a stirring anthem booms from the speakers. I mentally cringe but make sure my face reflects all of the patriotic fervor that my heart refuses to feel.

  After a few minutes, the music dies out and the tacky display is finally over. The General steps down for his customary inspection of the missile and the informal chitchat with the engineers. His disdainful look, as if sucking on a particularly sour lemon, convinces me this is something he’s read in one of the management manuals he’s so fond of.

  “Ah, Sam,” he says as he approaches us. He extends his hand. “Good to see you.”

  “You too, sir,” Sam says and shakes the man’s hand with enough enthusiasm to put a cow-milking farmer to shame.

  Sycophant, I mentally scold him and make a mental note to tease him relentlessly for this later.

  “So, how’s the banana going?” the General asks as he jerks his hand free from Sam’s eager fingers and rubs it—presumably, to remove the pain from the fervent handshake.

  Sam blinks in confusion. “The what, sir?”

  The General’s brow furrows. “The banana, man. What’s wrong with you?” When Sam stammers instead of replying, he tilts his head and draws it near Sam’s. “Are you feeling all right, son?”

  “Yes…” Sam throws Mina a silent plea for help.

  “It’s just, you’ve said banana twice now, sir,” she intervenes, smiling beatifically.

  The General tilts his head farther, his gaze never leaving Sam’s. “So?”

  “I assume you’re referring to the missile, sir?” Mina asks helpfully.

  “The what?” He blinks in confusion. “Whatever would I be asking about a missile for?”

  “I believe the General is talking about the dinosaur,” another engineer chirps helpfully.

  Everyone glares at him with such intensity that he scurries away.

  “What is wrong with you, pupils?” the General thunders. “I’m talking about the banana. Were I sleepy, I might ask for a missile, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  Sam stares at him for a long moment. “Perhaps he’s having an aphasic episode,” he whispers and leans closer as if to inspect the General’s face.

  Sometimes I forget that Sam comes from a medical background. “What’s that?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

  “When people confuse words. Phrases might come out all jumbled.”

  “What are you pupils talking about?” the General thunders. “I’m standing right here, you know!”

  Nina takes him by the arm. “Perhaps it’s best if we cut the inspection short,” she whispers in his ear. Only Sam and I are close enough to hear her.

  “I’d take him to the medical boy for an exam,” Sam suggests in an obvious attempt to be helpful.

  “Are you trying to be funny, son?” the General snaps at him.

  Sam takes an involuntary step back, his face flushing from the rebuke. “No, sir, I merely suggested—”

  “A medical boy?” I hiss. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Sam stares at us, as if unsure of what he’s said to insult us. “But that’s where the infirmary is,” he stammers. “At the medical boy.”

  “Medical bay,” Nina says and gapes at me. “Is he having an episode, too?”

  “Looks that way,” I say and lean closer. I raise my hands to lift his chin. I’m not sure why; it’s like when your car breaks down and you lift the hood, even though there’s nothing there you can possibly fix.

  Sam slaps my hands away from his face. “Get away, you moon. I’m fine.”

  “Moon?” I ask.

  “He probably meant moron,” Gina suggests with a half-shrug.

  “What is happening?” the General asks. His jowls tremble. He runs a hand through what little hair remains on his head.

  “I’m not cure,” Sam replies. He stares at me with wide eyes, as if the answer might be found on my face. “I’ve never spleen anything bike fish.”

  “It’s betting worse,” Gina says, her beautiful face turning white.

  Around us, confused murmurs arise from small groups of people. Some snigger. Others look terrified. An alarm starts blaring. Swirling red lights paint the walls a dizzying crimson.

  A soldier runs our way and salutes the General. “Sir? What are your fodders?”

  “I…” The man is now rubbing his scalp so hard that I fear he might remove the little hair left. “Mall Earth. Bask door help.”

  “Sir?” A bead of sweat is trickling down the soldier’s temple. “You want us to mall Earth?”

  The General’s eyes pop. “Mall them! Mall then,” he screeches and runs out of the hangar, panic written on his face.

  Lina runs after him. “Fate, girl,” she shouts. “Be should conduct Earth. Get then throw what’s happening.”

  Sam stares at them, his jaw slackened. He grabs my tablet and opens a random page on the web. His fingers tremble as he points at the screen.

  I look at a mystifying jumble of words. It looks as if a thesaurus has hurled its contents onto the page without caring where the words end up. The phrases all look normal, with periods and commas dotting them in all the right places, but almost no line makes sense.

  “Fought is boing gone?” Sam whispers, his face ashen.

  “And you’re sure there are no casualties?” the Archon asks his aide telepathically.

  “We’re positive,” the aide says reassuringly. He shakes his head horn for emphasis. “Despite losing their language skills, all humans made it from the space station to their home planet in one piece. But, with no way for their scientists to communicate verbally, their weapons program has been set back decades. Should the virus spread like we hope, their entire civilization will be knocked back for centuries. Millennia, even. Hopefully, this is the end of the human infestation on our planets.”

  “At least for a while.” The Archon cuts a piece of tasty fruit with his claws and brings it to his mouth. A golden glow travels down his carapace, showing his pleasure. He shakes an antenna for emphasis. “The Great Scarab in the Sky will be pleased.”

  “Praised be Her name,” the aide says solemnly. If he feels annoyed at the Archon for stating the obvious, his thoughts fail to show it.

  “Praised be Her name,” the Archon repeats with reverence. With a few swift flicks of his scutellum, he wipes his wings clean. The fact the aide is permitted to watch this display of personal hygiene is a clear sign of favor. The soft golden glow on the aide’s carapace shows that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Humans are such strange creatures.”

  “Indeed,” the aide says with a mental chuckle. “Using the funny noises from their mouth as a language? I can understand it for the purposes of simple communication, but a whole language? It’s hard to imagine the Great Scarab creating a species with such poor telepathic abilities.”

  “What confuses me is that they’re pretty receptive to telepathy, even if they can’t use it themselves. Were that not the case, we never could have uploaded our neurolinguistic virus.”

  “That’s true,” the aide agrees, marvel tinging his thoughts. “Nor would the virus work without their… vulnerability.”

  The Archon shakes his head horn in confusion. “Vulnerability?”

  “For the virus to scramble their neural pathways, it uses structures all humans have buried deep within their brain. It only jumbles the words in their heads because of those structures.”

  The Arch
on puts another piece of sweet, tangy fruit in his mouth and chews slowly. “One wonders if the Great Scarab created that vulnerability in the simian brain for the sole purpose of saving Her children one day.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” The aide’s antenna quivers in wonder. “Strangely enough, humans appear to have been subjected to a similar virus once before in their history. That is why their language tends to fragment, rather than converge on a common tongue.”

  “It’s so strange to see a world where people live a stone’s throw away from each other, yet speak languages that have absolutely nothing in common with each other. Is that what gave you the idea of using their language against them?”

  “The humans did that,” the aide says, his pronotal horn shaking in a soft chuckle. “I bet they’ve regretted calling their space station Babel. That’s just asking for trouble.”

  Never Better

  “Hey, Pat.”

  The sun in my eyes blinds me as I squint to see Anne approach. “Hey.”

  She throws her bag onto the grass and sits down beside me with a little hop. “So, are you going to Sarah’s Halloween party?”

  I let out a growl and roll my eyes to remind Anne how I feel about my nemesis. “Sure.”

  “What are you dressing up as? I’ll dress up as Vampirela,” she continues at her usual machinegun speed before I can answer. She claws her fingers to strike a threatening pose. “Argh!”

  I chuckle, her silly mirth contagious. “I haven’t picked up anything yet.”

  “Well, you’d better hurry. Only three days left till Saturday. Why don’t you—” A bell’s shrill ring interrupts her. “Oops, gotta fly. Don’t wanna be late for math. Later!”

  She flies off as I stagger to my feet and hoist my bag around my shoulder. I don’t care about being late, especially for math. Don’t care about school, don’t care about Sarah’s stupid party, either. She only invited me out of pity. Or to spite me. Everyone knows I have a monster crush on her boyfriend. Now that she and Jason are together, she wastes no opportunity to rub it in my face. Nah, this is one party I don’t care if I miss.

  And let her know she got under your skin? a voice inside my head asks.

  I recognize it immediately; it’s the voice of my prickled ego. What do I care what she thinks? She’s a cow.

  And the rest of the class? You want everyone to know she beat you at your own game?

  Screw them all. They’re a bunch of morons.

  Whatever, the voice says. I can hear in its tone it knows the truth: it’s already won the argument. I’m going to the stupid party.

  Saturday morning, I’m walking down to the mall. I still haven’t figured out what to wear. Just before leaving, my overbearing stepmother suggested I dress up as a ghost. She scrunched her perfect nose when I explained it made me look like an oversized tampon. She still had that disapproving look when I stormed out of the house.

  Ooh, maybe you can dress up as one of the models from your brother’s magazines. You know, the ones he hides under his bed.

  The thought of me in knee-high leather boots fails to impress me, although a riding crop might be useful for when I meet Sarah. I break into a naughty giggle. As I reject the silly thought, I glance at a store window. When did this shop open?

  I step back and take in the rundown building. My brow furrows. Wasn’t this a coffee shop? Halloween masks, costumes, and antiques beckon me from inside the store. Without much thought, I push the door open and cross the threshold.

  “Welcome to my shop, young lady,” an ancient voice wheezes. “The place where your dreams come true.”

  I swirl around to find the storekeeper staring at me, rubbing his hands like a fly that has just spotted a particularly juicy insect. He looks like he just came from an audition for the lead part in Return of the Mummy. I stifle a sneeze. He smells like a mummy, too. In fact, the whole place stinks of ancient mold and dust.

  I force a smile on my face. “Just browsing, thank you.” I sidestep him, taking care not to accidentally touch him, and run my fingers through gossamer fabrics so old they look like they might come apart in my hand.

  I am about to leave when an African mask catches my eye. It is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen; an elongated black oval face with puffy, slit eyes. Brown leather covers the nose and eyes. Thin knotted strips drape it, starting from right under the ears and continuing all the way down to the chin. It looks like it’s made of leather and wood. I cringe away. The thing gives me the creeps.

  Which makes it perfect for Halloween.

  I scrape away my disgust and pick it up. Surprisingly, no dust covers it, unlike pretty much everything else in the store. I turn it around to have a look at the interior. It is soft and surprisingly supple under my fingers. “How much for this?”

  The storekeeper yanks it away. “That’s not for sale, young lady.” He places it behind the counter. “Masks are not to be put on lightly. Especially this one.” He lifts bloodshot eyes at me. “Now, can I interest you in something else? A zombie costume, perhaps?”

  I almost shout at him that I want the mask, but something tells me he won’t budge. At the corner of the shop I spot a couple of dust-covered vampire suits, more gray than black, but pretend not to have noticed them. “Sure,” I say and wear my sweetest smile. “But do you have any vampire costumes instead?”

  His face beams. “Of course.” He emerges from behind the counter to make his arthritic way to the tacky suits.

  As soon as he turns his back to me, I snatch the mask and shove it into my bag, throwing a crumbled twenty on the counter. “On second thought, never mind. I gotta run.” I rush out the door as he is standing in the middle of the shop with a confused look on his wrinkly face. “Bye,” I cry out and step out into the street.

  I can’t believe I just did that! The rush overwhelms me. I break into uncontrollable giggles as I hurry down the street. As soon as I turn a corner, I stop and lean against the wall to catch my breath. I open my bag. The mask is even uglier in the daylight. Good. Perhaps it’ll scare Sarah.

  I hop back to the house, my mission for the day complete.

  Anne tugs at my arm. “Come on, show me your mask already, will you?”

  “Just gimme a sec.” I fish it out from my bag with a dramatic flourish of my hand, savoring her gasp.

  “That’s so… ugly,” she squeals and claps her hands. “It’s perfect! Where did you get it?”

  “A new place on High Street. Where a coffee shop used to be?” Her frown reveals she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “Never mind,” I say with a shrug. “What’s important is, it’s mine.”

  “It’s so gonna freak everyone out,” she says, her eyes bright with anticipation. Her gaze travels down to her Vampirela costume and a look of disappointment washes over her face.

  She pats down the flimsy fabric. If it was meant to be sexy, she’s definitely overpaid: it looks like an ordinary red T-shirt, only with a smudge supposed to be bloodied vampire teeth stamped on. I pity her for a moment, but my excitement over my perfect mask soon puts that to rest.

  I turn the mask around and push it against my face. It feels warmer than I expected and pulses for a moment as if alive. It clings to my face like a second skin. I almost tear it off in shock, then shake my head, surprised by how natural it feels. “This is so cool,” I tell Anne, enjoying her envious look. “I can almost forget it’s there.”

  “Let’s go inside already,” she snaps at me and pulls me away from the driveway and toward Sarah’s house. Loud music booms rhythmically, shaking the pavement in a furious beat reminiscent of African drums.

  You must feel right at home, I tell the mask and I giggle as I cross the door into the house. A wave of euphoria hits me. Even seeing Sarah dressed like a slutty nurse and Jason as a very handsome sailor fails to jar me. Wait, are they arguing?

  My heart skips a beat. I start a beeline toward them—very casually, of course—but Anne pulls me to the dance floor. “I wouldn’t know who you are if
it wasn’t for your hair,” she shouts to be heard over the thundering beat.

  I run my fingers through my curls and shake them loose, letting them drape over my shoulders. My blond hair is my signature; I want everyone to know who the girl with the coolest mask in the room is. I follow her to the dance floor and start dancing like I’ve never danced before.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jason gawking at me. I put some extra sway in my hips, and his gaze travels down my body, catching at my twirling pelvis. Sarah turns her head to follow his eyes. Her face turns all crimson and she starts yelling at him. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but he throws his hands in the air in an exasperated way and storms out of the house.

  I push away writhing bodies and rush behind him, catching up with him in the garden. The fresh air feels cool after the dance floor’s heat. He turns to face me, the fury in his eyes softening as soon as he recognizes me. “Jeez, Pat,” he says. “I almost didn’t know you with that mask.” His fingers trace the mask’s leather. “Where on earth did you come up with that thing?”

  I laugh a warm laugh that starts at my belly and brings heat to my face. “Does it matter?”

  He leans toward me and takes my hand. My breath catches as his lips brush against my ear. “Not at all,” he whispers. “But how could I kiss you if I wanted to?”

  A feverish shiver tickles my spine. I place one finger under my chin to remove the mask, then realize my face will probably be a sweaty mess from all the dancing. “I’ll be back in a flash,” I say in a choking voice.

  His eyes sparkle with promise. “Hurry up.”

  I tremble as I find my way back into the house. Sarah’s crying in a corner, two of her best friends consoling her. She glares at me, her eyes shooting poison darts as I head into the bathroom. I ignore her and shut the door behind me, then drop my bag on the sink top and fish out my lipstick and makeup. I almost scare myself as I glance at the image in the mirror, the mask contorted in a terrible grimace.