by Anthology
In-between raids you may need to stop, adjust your hair, powder down your face and wipe away smudges; a compact mirror is essential on longer missions. Hair conditioner is in short supply now, of course, so if you come across malls, supermarkets or a convenience store, be sure to check the health and beauty aisles first. Hair salons are high-priority targets, but avocados, olive oil and mayonnaise are acceptable substitutes to keep your hair lush and high-luster, if products cannot be found. Tooth whitener strips should be applied after eating heavily pigmented foods. If possible, avoid coffee and black tea; if you need caffeine, energy drinks and nicotine patches are preferable, but they may still cause bags under the eyes. Bottled water and Vita filtering systems are also priority supplies, as sallow cheeks and dry skin are among the first signs of infection. Other hydration sources may carry the virus if not boiled.
Make sure that while you have a unified aesthetic in some way, no two members of your team are dressed too similarly; for example, only one person in the group at a time may don a bomber jacket or hat. If multiple members of the group are missing an eye, encourage one to use an eyepatch and another to either wear sunglasses or utilize a glass eye in a pleasant complimentary shade to the color of their biological eye. Safety in numbers may seem to be a tactically intelligent choice, but this is the logic of the enemy. Keep squads to five members maximum.
When at all possible, eschew a paramilitary look. Showing some shoulder or leg can be classy on persons of any gender. If you are accessorizing a miniskirt, make sure stockings are at least over-the-knee and paired with a garter belt to avoid slippage and tangles. Should your leggings or tights develop runs, either discard them immediately or consider adopting an edgier look. Don’t overdo it. Some zombies have developed a keen sense for detecting sub-cultures.
Remember that the zombies are attracted to human scent; deodorant and perfume should be worn at all times. Similarly, you must avoid all sexual conduct in the field, whether intra- or inter-personal. Minor flirting is fine, so long as it contains the requisite amount of sass. If you do not come up with quips handily under pressure, be sure to memorize a few before you leave. Manicures and pedicures are good team bonding activities.
If you are wounded in the field, prioritize a solution to the wound that maximizes mobility and prevents any decay or unsightliness. Hydrogen peroxide with surgical clippers can be useful both for personal hygiene and to snip away extra flesh or sterilize cuts during emergency surgery. If bleeding is profuse, be sure to compress the wound and wrap the bandages neatly. If bandages are not available, rip white shirts up for bandages; white shirts dirty so quickly that you may carry them as supplies but never, ever don them as part of your uniform. Sloppiness kills. If your wound heals in a non-aesthetically pleasing manner, embellish the scar. In a pinch, fastening a weapon such as an assault rifle or machete to a lost limb will at least ensure a minimum of practicality. In a best-case scenario, try to emboss the prosthetic with a meaningful but enigmatic symbol, or at least your name so that your squad mates know what happened to you when they find it.
If a member of your squad has been severely injured or has lost their nose, there’s no recovery. Be sure to place a tasteful assortment of flowers over their grave marker.
If you come across survivors, wipe down their faces with a damp cloth immediately, and apply correctly-toned makeup to cover any scars. When your medic administers the physical in a secure area, be sure they are accompanied, as this process can often make the infected violent or belligerent, particularly if they are under the delusions that obvious signs of infection such as severe facial acne, extreme body odor, matted hair, and ill-fitted clothing are in fact ordinary human traits. If you discover a group of children, though they are more resistant to infection, try to only escort one child back to the encampment at a time; they’re noisy, have difficulty following instructions, and resist efforts to introduce and maintain the proper makeup protocols. Be sure the child has one, but no more than one, stuffed toy. If you find teenagers, be sure to introduce them to each other and instruct them to act as close—but not too close—friends. Enmity within groups of survivors is easily sensed. Once inside, survivors will be quarantined for twenty-eight days before being released into society, or what passes for it these days, anyway.
Above all else, zombies are ugly. Your job is to represent the last hope of humanity among the thoughtless, ravenous hordes by being wholesome, clean, symmetrical, patient, and most of all, unique.
Good luck.
I can already see you’ll need it.
END
Chris Reher
http://www.chrisreher.com
The Kasant Objective(Short story)
by Chris Reher
Originally published in 'The Galaxy Chronicles' (Windrift Books, 2015), edited by Jeff Seymour and part of The 'Future Chronicles' anthology series, created by Samuel Peralta
“Are you sure this is it?”
The question hung in the room like one of the three-dimensional displays projected helpfully from its curved walls. It might have been Zio’s attempt at decorating the otherwise-empty space, or perhaps their ship’s invisible and ever-patient Ambient Intelligence felt that the crew was in need of visual stimulation. Half of the room displayed a glorious one-hundred-and-eighty-degree floor-to-ceiling view of their galaxy’s broad swath of light, but apparently a little clutter was just what was needed here.
Jase walked through a three-dimensional representation of a nearby solar system and then past a schematic of their little ship. It was upside down, as was the holo of what seemed to be a dancer. Zio liked to make sure the crew remained entertained during long voyages. Perhaps the information it had to combat psychological issues during deep-space travel didn’t include concepts like “up” or “down.” A long line of number symbols scrolled through the air, undoubtedly reporting on something.
He stopped before the manual control interface near the door. After a moment, Ocia shifted away from it to allow him access. Her expression suggested that his question was—at this point—pretty much rhetorical, although she refrained from rolling her jewel eyes.
Jase loaded another holo tracing their journey from the Kiza System to here, each leap marked and the connecting routes clearly charted, and frowned as if trying to remember the exact route home before they jumped off the edge of the map.
“Not scared, are you?” Ocia said with a slow smile that told him that confiding his misgivings to her would just end in derisive gossip around the dinner table.
He sent an overlay to the forward screen to reveal the exact coordinates of the rupture, outlined in white and red symbols. They glowed reassuringly, beckoning the approaching fleet of explorers.
Treasure hunters, Jase thought, letting his eyes shift to Ocia. She stood with her arms crossed and her head cocked before the panoramic viewscreen, a buccaneer in search of fame and riches, surveying the shores of some distant land.
Except, of course, that they still had to cross the distance to get there. “Zio?”
“Yes, Jase.”
Jase looked up, although the toneless voice, male today, emanated from the wall behind him. The dancer, an Outlander tetrapod, cavorted up there in triplicate now, twirling to some music that perhaps only the ship heard. “Let’s get ready for the leap,” he said, watching as the control interface began the thousands of tasks that would ensure that this little expedition remained alive during the voyage. “And clean this up,” he added, waving at the solar system now orbiting Ocia.
Zio Four, the ship’s invisible and ever-patient Ambient Intelligence, dutifully removed the holograms. The round, unfurnished space seemed larger now, although Jase was rarely bothered by small ships. Small ships made for smaller crews and a lot less trouble, he thought, although this crew made up for it with their own peculiarities.
He returned to the bulging wall to gaze out into space. Black sky pricked by distant stars, denser toward the center of their galaxy, stretched out into forever. The four ships accompanying
them cruised in a wide sprawl and now, at Zio’s signal, began to converge on this location. The silence up here, and out there, was bothersome today. Looking out at the approaching ships, he could almost see the silence.
“Music, Zio,” he said, barely audible. A soft rhythm from his favorite collection filled the room, and he breathed deeply.
“You’re tense, pilot,” Ocia said. When he looked up, the smirk was still on her lovely face. “It’ll check out, you’ll see. We’ll be back in the sector before breakfast.”
“You hope.”
Both of them turned when the door slid aside, allowing light from the hall to seep into this dim space. Jase smiled when he saw Ranael enter the bridge followed by their guest. The overbearingly large Chidean bustled past her and rushed to look outside, perhaps unaware that the curved panorama was simply a collage of display screens in the windowless chamber. He looked a little paler today, and Jase wondered if the conditions aboard this vessel suited the creature. Ranael had done her best to learn about his people and make him comfortable but, to Jase, the man looked ill.
Their lone, delightfully wealthy passenger placed his blunt fingers on the screen and drawled something in that odd cadence that none of them had been able to master. When Ranael shrugged, Zio translated.
“Mister Tenzo would like to go right now.”
Jase tipped his chin toward the approaching escort ships. “When we’re together. We’re doing this just once.”
“Mister Tenzo asks if your ships are perhaps inadequate.”
Jase threw an accusing look at Ocia. Her idea, all of this. He had wanted nothing to do with the project from the moment she presented it to the boss. No real research opportunity, only a questionable return on their investment, and a fair chance of ending up smashed into bits when trying to jump through what was pretty much an unknown breach. He relished the rare thrill of dipping into another layer of this onion they called a universe. But not when the landing site was little more than rumor, legend, and the word of this foreigner nearly bouncing up and down with excitement.
But Ocia’s daddy owned the company, owned the ships, and pretty much owned any future mission Jase could hope to command. He reflected mournfully upon the loss of his own vessel, the Calume, before putting that memory aside again. This was now, and he was a hired hand who no longer had the luxury of picking and choosing his assignments. So when she dug up Mister Tenzo and his treasure map, he was at the mercy of her ability to manipulate the boss.
“Ask Mister Tenzo to return to his cabin below so that we can get ready.”
“Mister Tenzo wishes to stay up here.”
“Of course he does,” Jase muttered. He caught a gentle smile playing at the corners of Ranael’s lips. Her eyes gleamed with good humor, as always, and he reminded himself that some parts of this dreary trip had, so far, been downright pleasurable. He returned her smile, noting how beautifully the elegant swoop of her cheekbone was taken up by the design of the pretty exocortex shell cradling her skull.
He shook himself out of this mood and gestured to Zio’s ever-present eyes to open the ship’s com system, even though the AI would by now have alerted the entire crew of their imminent jump into what, for many, was another universe. “Jase here,” he said to the crew, a talented assortment of pilots, ex-military members, adventurers, and mercenaries. “Let’s do this. We’ll take an inverse formation—who knows what’s on the other side.”
“You’re not probing?” came Naka’s voice from one of the other ships, sounding a little incredulous.
“I’m not sure we maintain the field long enough to get any meaningful return. Not with five ships. And we’ll probably run into considerable dilation.” The last comment was meant for Ocia, whose eyes narrowed.
They had argued this for weeks now. Time dilation rarely affected brief jumps. On the remote chance that anything of significance was encountered, who really cared what time it was for anyone? This, though, was a different matter entirely.
Aga Tenzo had brought to them the coordinates of what was thought to be the last known location of the Kasant expedition, lost nearly sixty stat years ago. It had taken that long for their distress beacon to reach anyone able to interpret it and then to find its way into Ocia’s eager hands. No one knew how much time had passed for them, or if any of them were still alive.
But they had embarked on this three-month journey mostly for Tenzo’s promised fee, traversing the distance in a fraction of the time it would have taken Tenzo’s people to arrive at this unknown breach at the edge of what could only vaguely be called explored space. When the Kasant expedition had lost its fuel, its only choice had been to drift here in wait of rescue that might not come for centuries or go into the breach in hope of finding some safe haven. Given what little they knew of the commander, the choice would have been clear.
“Let’s do this,” Jase said. “They’re either there or they’re not. Alive or not. We’ll soon find out. They can’t have drifted too far, right, Zio?”
“Are you looking for an exact projection, Jase?”
“No, Zio.” Jase had to smile. Like many mission commanders, he had an aversion to sentient AIs and preferred them to resemble the computers they were meant to be and communicate with words rather than thoughts. No mechanical bodies, no sense of humor, no second-guessing their living masters. It made it far easier to wrap his mind around the incredible power harbored by the intelligence stored in these circuits. His civilian crew, so very different from the military ranks he had come to value, strained his people-management skills enough. “I think we’re pretty sure they’re nearby, if anything is left of them.”
He placed his hand on one of the interface panels and began to guide the ship toward the coordinates still illuminated on the screen before them. The other ships, more streamlined and most definitely more heavily armed than this one, came into formation, tight enough to slip through the gap and into whatever lay on the other side.
Jase felt the apprehension now permeating the room like a whiff of ozone. Even Ocia was not immune to the instinctive terror of the unknown. What they were doing was frowned upon in politer circles and officially forbidden by most governments. It also made companies like theirs ridiculously wealthy and formed the very foundation of deep-space exploration. While they had never come across any living matter in any of their dips into another ’verse, they had twice sold maps and sensor readings to mining companies at spectacular profit margins.
“Zio, let’s have us a nice, tight bubble.” Jase smiled reassuringly at Ranael. She, part of their crew as their ambassador and cultural expert, had made only a few of these leaps so far. But she just took a deep breath now and kept her eyes on the displays.
Now encased and ready to be gripped, the small fleet made contact with the breach to be sucked into its conduit like some tasty morsel into an unfathomable creature floating in these reaches. For all of his reluctance to indulge Ocia’s treasure hunt out here, Jase exulted in the utter thrill of entering a universe none of their peers had ever seen. They could end up in endlessly empty space, or perhaps buried in some piece of debris, or even just disintegrate into components when hitting some unknown anomaly on the other side. Until someone, an expedition just like theirs, returned with charts and maps and sensor readings, any leap into these breaches was considered a suicide mission. It made being alive all the more enjoyable.
The crash couches and safety restraints used for entering an atmosphere remained below the smooth floor panels—a transit like this had no physical impact on their well-shielded ships. The screens flickered as the sensors tried to make sense of what was happening outside and then just gave up and showed a swirling pattern of nonsense until Zio brought them into alignment again. Ranael sighed quietly and Aga Tenzo shook his shaggy head when they all felt the odd shift of their physical senses accepting a new reality. Their little bubble of null energy was all that protected them now from the massive burst of radiation emitting from the rift, sure to puzzle some distant
world millennia from now.
“Zio? Report!”
One by one, the screens before them came back online, showing mostly space. But here, in front of the backdrop of stars, looming large and rather healthy-looking, a colorful planet took up a considerable part of the display.
Ocia, behind him, clapped her hands and whooped gleefully. They were alive, and a planet was already much better than a whole lot of nothing.
“All ships have made a successful transit,” Zio reported.
“Let’s get busy,” Jase said. “Full scan of that planet and see if there’s any sign of Mister Tenzo’s people.”
They, like the crewmembers aboard the other ships, took up their stations to sift Zio’s reports—already accumulating at a terrific speed—for anything interesting or unusual. The planet’s mineral composition and other resources, living organisms, the nearby star, and any hint of technology had to be examined for clues to the value of this breach. And, of course, the region would be scanned for signs of the missing Kasant expedition.
Zio interrupted before they had even settled into their task. Jase looked up when the main screen’s output zoomed more tightly onto the planet. “We are being scanned,” Zio said.
“What?” Ocia snapped.
“From the ground. Extensive populations on all major continents. Marginally industrialized communities, primitive. They are using electromagnetic frequencies to scan the skies in this direction.”
“Gods, go dark!” Jase shifted the com system to include the other ships. “Going dark. Stealth protocol. Zio, get us out of here.”
“We can’t jump back yet,” Ocia protested. “Still calibrating.”
“Mister Tenzo indicates that there is a moon,” Zio said. “I have located it.”
“He’s right,” Ranael said, pointing to her screen where one of the probes now showed the satellite. “Synchronous orbit, eccentric.” How did she always manage to seem so utterly tranquil?