The
Shapeshifter
Chronicles
WINDRIFT BOOKS
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THE SHAPESHIFTER CHRONICLES
No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the proper written permission of the appropriate copyright holder listed below, unless such copying is expressly permitted by federal and international copyright law. Permission must be obtained from the individual copyright owners as identified herein.
The stories in this book are fiction. Any resemblance to any place, event, or person—whether furred, feathered, scaled, skinned or any combination thereof—is purely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
The Shapeshifter Chronicles copyright © 2016 Samuel Peralta and Windrift Books.
“Into the Night” copyright © 2012 by Samuel Peralta. First published in Tango Desolado (2012) by Samuel Peralta. Used by permission of the author.
“Rock, Paper, Scissors” by Wendy Hammer, copyright © 2016 Wendy Hammer. Used by permission of the author.
“Waterborne” by Anthea Sharp, copyright © 2016 Anthea Sharp. Used by permission of the author.
“Of Bats and Atomic Bombs” by Thomas Robins, copyright © 2016 Thomas Robins. Used by permission of the author.
“Breakdown” by Christopher Boore, copyright © 2016 Christopher Boore. Used by permission of the author.
“Not Quite Her” by K. J. Colt, copyright © 2016 K. J. Colt. Used by permission of the author.
“She’s Such a Nasty Morsel” by Julie E. Czerneda, copyright © 2005 Julie E. Czerneda. First published in Women of War (DAW). Used by permission of the author.
“Baba Yaga and the Quantum Universe Theory of Shapeshifting” by Kim Wells, copyright © 2016 Kim Wells. Used by permission of the author. Woodcut images copyright © lezhepyoka, image#90383659 and licensed through Adobe Stock images.
“The Night of the Hunted” by Stefan Bolz, copyright © 2016 Stefan Bolz. Used by permission of the author. Image copyright © 2015 Helena Vólkova and used by permission of the artist.
“Jeb & Aces: The Mechanical Plagues” by Alexia Purdy, copyright © 2016 Alexia Purdy. Used by permission of the author.
“With Hair of Teeth and Claw” by Charity Tahmaseb, copyright © 2016 Charity Tahmaseb. Used by permission of the author.
“Good Hunting” by Ken Liu, copyright © 2012 Ken Liu. First published in Strange Horizons. Used by permission of the author.
All other text copyright © 2016 by Samuel Peralta.
Edited by Crystal Watanabe (www.pikkoshouse.com)
Cover art and design by Adam Hall (www.aroundthepages.com)
Print formatting by Therin Knite (www.knitedaydesign.com)
The Shapeshifter Chronicles is part of The Future Chronicles series produced by Samuel Peralta (www.samuelperalta.com).
978-1-988268-02-6
THE SHAPESHIFTER CHRONICLES
STORY SYNOPSES
Rock, Paper, Scissors (Wendy Hammer)
Ma-too is a shape-shifting alien living on earth, with a mission to fulfill, a secret identity to protect… and a stepson to get through college. When her carefully-constructed life is threatened, the game changes—and she intends to win.
Waterborne (Anthea Sharp)
Growing up in a small fishing village, Brea Cairgead always knew she was different. After her father dies and she is forced to leave her home, Brea encounters dangers she's unprepared for. Only the silver thread of magic submerged in her blood will enable her to escape, but can she draw upon her hidden powers before it's too late?
Of Bats and Atomic Bombs (Thomas Robins)
Trent’s life is trouble-filled, but moving on seems difficult, his choices to change never working out the way anyone would expect them to. But is Trent truly looking to change, or is there something more insidious involved?
Breakdown (Christopher Boore)
Campburn BioTech is a state-of-the-art scientific institute. Brimming with the latest in automation innovation, it almost runs itself. Almost. An early-morning emergency call pulls Jack Banks, facility maintenance technician, from sleep into a spiraling abyss of unrelenting terror.
Not Quite Her (K. J. Colt)
Jay has done this before, shifted into the bodies of patients in the throes of death, assuming their identities and lives until the next cycle for transformation comes around. This time, however, things will turn out differently.
She’s Such a Nasty Morsel (Julie E. Czerneda)
Esen is a shapeshifter, semi-immortal, with the very best intentions, and the worst luck. She’s part of a Web of similar shapeshifters who can share memories, including Skalet, who is impulsive and militaristic. What they share will change them both.
Baba Yaga and the Quantum Universe Theory of Shapeshifting (Kim Wells)
A dark power has been threatening the world we know from the beginning of time. Will the strength of magic-wielding wise women be enough to fight the shapeshifting evil, or will it be for naught, and the evil consume them, and all it touches?
The Night of the Hunted (Stefan Bolz)
On October 14th, 1910, Robert M. Clark and his fiancée, Elizabeth Moore, also known as Ellie, left their flat on 16 Cumberland Street in Edinburgh at 07:00 in the morning to go on a ten-day hunting holiday at the Churnsike Lodge in Greystead, a small town in the county of Northumberland. They never returned.
Jeb & Aces: The Mechanical Plagues (Alexia Purdy)
Charged with guarding a cache of cryogenically frozen humans afflicted with a devastating plague, Jessie and Ace make a gruesome discovery after their supply drops from Earth are interrupted. As they struggle to survive, the dividing line between humans and machines will become blurred.
With Hair of Teeth and Claw (Charity Tahmaseb)
A pregnant wife. A desperate husband. A witch’s garden filled with lush and tempting greens. It’s the start of a familiar tale. Or is it? A fierce beauty. An old crone. A tall tower. And an ending that may lead not to happily-ever-after, but to heartbreak.
Good Hunting (Ken Liu)
In China, as the old world of magic and monsters gives way to a new world of railroads and steam engines, a young man and his father contend with a shapeshifting spirit, and struggle to come to terms with the onrushing future.
CONTENTS
Foreword
Rock, Paper, Scissors (Wendy Hammer)
Waterborne (Anthea Sharp)
Of Bats and Atomic Bombs (Thomas Robins)
Breakdown (Christopher Boore)
Not Quite Her (K. J. Colt)
She’s Such a Nasty Morsel (Julie E. Czerneda)
Baba Yaga and the Quantum Universe Theory of Shapeshifting (Kim Wells)
The Night of the Hunted (Stefan Bolz)
Jeb & Aces: The Mechanical Plagues (Alexia Purdy)
With Hair of Teeth and Claw (Charity Tahmaseb)
Good Hunting (Ken Liu)
A Note to Readers
Foreword
Into the Night
by Samuel Peralta
Woman, if I told you that sunlight
blinds me, that the moon's cold light suffuses
th
rough my veins, that I fear silver, and water,
and my own reflection, who would you say I am?
If I told you that should I give in
the night will come with your eyes' surrender,
with your soul's wrists bound tight behind you,
who would you say I am?
I would touch you with the tenderness of tears...
But my dreams are the tiger's dreams,
the trampled undergrowth of desire and fear,
the feral heart, the gnarled awakening into myself...
Even now I feel it in me, the wolf hunger,
the fire, the human thunder caught fast
in my throat, like a finger of salt,
the madness writhing free into
one long, lone, lost, unutterable cry...
I am what traces the crescent of your neck
into the white of your shoulders.
I am the hunger hidden underneath
the pinstripe masquerade, greatcoat and tie,
the hunger that will devour you.
I will brand into your skin the fervor of my mouth.
I will traverse the ravine of your soul.
My shadow will cover your shadow.
And yet...
If I told you that tonight I could write
the lines hold me and hold me and hold me
until the night is shattered, and morning comes...
who would you say I am?
Behold the man.
__________
Samuel Peralta is a physicist and storyteller. An award-winning author, he is also the creator and driving force behind the speculative fiction anthology series The Future Chronicles.
www.amazon.com/author/samuelperalta
Rock, Paper, Scissors
by Wendy Hammer
HUMANS ARE ONE of the still species—the report got that much right. The rest was rubbish.
To be fair to those responsible, it takes years, not days, to appreciate the mutability of Homo sapiens. Accurate interpretation of collected data requires more than mere observation. In fact, I’ve come to believe that the most efficient and thorough understanding of humans can only be achieved by taking a potentially dangerous risk.
You need to fall in love with them.
Never underestimate the difficulty of managing such a high level of emotional attachment. It can obscure vision. Compromise judgment. And no matter how much experience you have, even the best habits can slip while you’re swept up in the moment.
If that ever happens, be ready.
* * *
When Leo came home for spring break I immediately lost control and flipped into full Mom Mode. I hovered, cooked too much food, couldn’t stop babbling or fussing. I only managed to settle down once his father went back to practice and the first lilting notes from his violin drifted down the hall. The sound soothed me into silence and freed Leo up to talk.
That’s when something between the moment and his manner clicked to reveal a glimpse of the boy he used to be. I’d seen that kind of echo once or twice before and snapped to attention. The phenomenon was one of my favorite human tricks—maybe because a long-term emotional connection is necessary for it to work. Or maybe I liked it because the doubling is something like a shift—a brief reminder of my homeworld. Whatever the reason, I didn’t want to miss a second of the show.
I maintained eye contact as Leo spoke. Smiled as he dropped names like Drake, Fermi, and Hart. Nodded along while he talked numbers, rates, fractions of suitable planets, lengths of time, and detectable signals. I tried to focus on his enthusiasm and fought to be fully in the present, but the demands of the past soon won. Memory threw me back to our first game of Rock, Paper, Scissors.
Like most kids, Leo had played the game loads of times and hadn’t been impressed. Two fists, two shakes, one choice, and you’re done. Simple. Boring. “I thought it was just for babies,” he’d said.
I kept quiet. It was the first time he’d ever sought me out for conversation and I didn’t want to mess it up. Fifth graders don’t give many second chances, especially to their new stepmothers.
My silence earned me a re-enactment of the day’s lesson. He’d chattered on about inferences, predictions, and probability. We played and made tree diagrams. “It’s a fair game, Ma-too,” he’d said. “We proved it—and math doesn’t lie.” I’d held my tongue and nodded. Some lessons are best saved for later.
Leo’s voice had deepened since then, but the tone was the same, and he still bounced his leg when he got overexcited. I clutched my mug of tea so it wouldn’t jitter off the table. I bit back a laugh and didn’t say anything about what I knew of his fancy equations and paradoxes. He really only cared about the math—and that’s the part I never paid much attention to. I like to keep things simple and practical. I like sticking to short odds whenever I can.
Most agents do. We tend to live longer that way.
* * *
The alarm on my wristband shrilled, startling us both. I fumbled and mashed at buttons until it went silent.
Leo glanced over at the economy-sized plastic bottle perched on the countertop before turning back to me. “Time for your pain meds?”
I shook my head. “No. Meat first, then meds.”
His face fell and his shoulders slumped. “Want me to do the check? I mean, it’s my fault, so I should take care of it. While I’m here, at least.”
I tapped my index finger on the table and mustered up my best tone of maternal authority—firm, clipped, and softly sweet around the edges. “Nonsense. Taking the scholarship from EnviroSteak was a family decision and your education is worth it. Don’t ever believe anything different.” I tilted my head in the general direction of the practice room and said, “Besides, it helps keep me from interrupting Glen’s music too often. Probably saved our marriage at least twice by now. You know how grumpy your father gets when he’s thrown out of his groove.”
A shy smile emerged and grew into a grin as Leo extended his arm toward me. “How about we play for the privilege?” He made a fist.
I curled up my fingers and said, “You’re on. Prepare for defeat, son of my heart.”
We shook our fists once.
All small disputes and decisions had been settled in this way since the day he’d learned the first secret of the game. To a kid, the promise of getting an equal chance on a level playing field with an adult was revolutionary.
We shook twice.
Even once he’d discovered psychology and started employing some of his own strategy to better his chances, we kept up the tradition. By then he’d learned to savor absurdity and we all agreed it was as good a system as any.
I’m certain Leo’s never figured out I cheat. Tiny twitches of muscle, the barest ripples of tension, and minute adjustments of bone tell me everything—though I don’t often use the information. Risking exposure over pizza toppings or movie selections isn’t worth it.
On the throw, I kept my fist tight—and tapped it on the V of Leo’s extended fingers. “Rock smashes scissors. I win.” My signature super-villain-style victory laugh filled the small kitchen.
Leo clutched his chest and moaned out his concession. “Enjoy it while you can, Ma-too. I shall vanquish you next time. Mark my words.”
We sat in silence until I finally broke the warmth of the moment by pushing away from the table. When I tried to stand, my lower back seized up and my knees threatened to buckle. A little hiss of pain escaped before I could stop it.
Leo jumped to his feet, ready to help. I waved him off. “No worries. I sat still for too long, that’s all. Gotta work out a few kinks before I get back up to speed.” To demonstrate my fitness, I made sure my gait was smooth as I walked to the access door. “But if you want to take care of the dishes while I’m down there, I won’t complain.”
Leo was still laughing when the door snapped shut behind me.
* * *
The Meat Room was cavernous and cool, warmed only by the feeble output of an aged he
ating system and the amber glow of LED lights reflecting off the bioreactors. Glen hated the constant low hum of the machinery and claimed the labored clatter of the exercising cycle caused his hair to gray. Leo wasn’t much better about it, but limited his complaints to a phantom odor of mushrooms soaked in cleaning fluid.
The space—and the meat—soon became mine alone to deal with.
My heart sped up and my breath caught in my throat while I stood on the first landing for an entire ten count. I checked the position of the two security cameras standing watch over the storage and manufacturing units below. They hadn’t budged, so I stepped forward, confident the blind spots would protect me—and my secret.
I shifted into seawater and fell to the floor with a sigh. I splashed out of the way of my discarded clothing. The movement stirred up row after row of frothy waves. With a quick flex, I shifted one small section of the pool. It bloomed into a delicate pink reef of coral. I rested for a few seconds before I beaded up into a gleaming string of pearls and slithered down to rest on the next landing, where I morphed into a shapeless lump of clay.
I stretched up and out, sculpting my form into a perfect replica of Michelangelo’s David. I took advantage of being seventeen feet tall and swiped away a cobweb from the wall. It stuck to my hand. I froze into cool white marble and broke into grains of sand with a shrug. Air from the vents scattered me the rest of the way downstairs. I came to rest in a gently sloping dune, moved into a castle shape complete with flagged turrets, and kicked the structure down by puffing up into a dust devil.
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