Out of Here

by Patty Jansen

  His phone beeped.

  Damn it.

  Holding the gun in one hand, he grabbed the phone and looked at the screen. SMS from the boss. Target moving towards the station.

  OK, time to roll. He tucked the gun under his jacket, slipped the phone, USB and cigarettes in his pocket and left the house.

  Rain-slicked roofs glistened under a dead grey sky.

  The pedestrian crossing in front of the station was a churning sea of umbrellas. Thomas waited next to the newspaper stand, the gun heavy in his pocket.

  There he was--Andrew Macauley, the young accountant with the serious look permanently glued to his face. Clutching a black umbrella, he sprinted across the road as the light flashed red.

  Thomas looked at his watch, sauntered to the traffic light and pressed the button. There was plenty of time. Andrew was always early; the train wouldn't leave for another five minutes. Punctuality, grey suits, a copy of the Business Review under his arm. The man was such a bore. And such a delightful target.

  Traffic roared across the intersection. A car honked and a bus splashed across a puddle. Splatters of water arced in a wide spray.

  A high-pitched shriek and a female voice. 'Oh--look at me!' The woman had bright red hair tied in a ponytail. Spots of mud dotted her blue skirt and jacket.

  Thomas grinned, stroking the barrel of the gun through his jacket. He inched through the waiting crowd, closer to the woman, who had opened her laptop bag and attempted to wipe herself with a tissue. Yes, she would do perfectly. How he loved his job.

  The light turned and commuters spilled onto the road. Thomas followed. Into the station, through the turnstiles, onto the platform.

  Andrew sat at a bench, his attention firmly on the magazine.

  The young woman stumbled past, wiping her arm with ripped tissues.

  Thomas inserted his hand under his jacket. Took out the gun. Aimed. Pulled the trigger. For a split second, the world went pink.

  Andrew stretched out his legs. The red-haired woman tripped. Her bag went sailing, spilling newspapers, tissues, her phone and purse onto the concrete.

  Red-faced, Andrew stumbled up. 'Oh, I'm so sorry.' He scrambled to pick up her belongings.

  She thanked him, wide-eyed.

  His face still red, Andrew stammered. 'Look, can I buy you a coffee?'

  Thomas turned; tears pricked in his eyes. Best not to watch too long--he would start feeling lonely. He took his phone from his pocket and sent his usual message, Straight through the heart--next please.

  About this story:

  I wondered what a modern-day Cupid would do, how he would go about his job and what would be the tools of his trade. This story is the result.

  To Look at the Sky

  Originally published in Semaphore SF

  Tizzo planted her hands on her hips. She knew Ilac's mocking smile, which said I win without even trying, without flashing his white teeth in his bronzed face. He smelled of compost and something she couldn't define, but which made her shiver. He was halfway a man, and had become so much taller then her. She was kind-of scared of him, but then again, she wasn't; she had made up her mind.

  'I want to see the sky.'

  'Please, Tizzo.' His eyes were wide, and he looked kind-of sad like that. 'I'll have to call the elders if you don't come for your pedalling duty.'

  'Fine.' She looked up. The trunk of the tree before her was massive and full of handholds: strangler figs and clumps of plants. 'Pedalling is stupid anyway.' She flung down her blowpipe, bow and arrows and put one foot on an aerial root, the other in a fork in the strangler fig's growths. She hauled herself up.

  'Please, Tizzo, you'll become a monkey.'

  'I don't care. Rather a monkey than a slave to the pedalling room. I'm going to see the sky.'

  She grasped for new handholds and climbed another step and then another.

  The soft green glow of the Vine lit her hands and the trunk before her. Its flow protested in her mind. Comebackcomebackcomeback. The voice was that of the tribe elder; it sent images of tribespeople. Women stirring a large pot over the fire. Children playing in a tree house. The tribe house full of pedallers on duty, without whom the Vine's glow would die. Her tribe, where she belonged.

  This time, for once, she was not going to listen to their voices.

  She climbed. Leaves and branches scratched her bare chest; bark was rough under her hands.

  The glow from the Vine grew weaker. She could no longer hear its voice, its incessant babbling.

  For the first time in her life, Tizzo heard the pure sounds of the forest. Birds called in the distant greenery. Insects buzzed between the leaves. A troupe of monkeys squawked and cackled. There was also another noise, a distant hum she didn't know, a sound that made her shiver.

  'Hey, Tizzo.' Ilac stood at the base of the tree, looking up, his face very small.

  She called down, 'What?'

  'Please come to the pedalling house. I . . . care about you.'

  Now that was a confession.

  'Why don't you come up here?' It was not as if they would lose the Vine. It passed the trunk of the tree; there was no other way down. Up, she went, and up.

  Monkeys darted all around her. They, not the Vine, spoke to her.

  They cackled.

  They whooped.

  And they looked funny.

  They had smart little beady eyes with which they followed Tizzo. Lose the Vine and you might as well be a monkey, the elders had said.

  But monkeys were pretty. And from their home in the trees, you could see so much more.

  Up here, it was so light, so incredibly bright, she had to squint.

  'Tizzo! Tizzo!' Ilac's voice came from somewhere below.

  But she was so close; she just had to see the sky. Then she'd better go, or Ilac would tell the elders what she had done and she would be made to do double duty in the pedalling room.

  She grabbed a trailing vine to climb further up. At that moment, the trees, and the leaves, and the branch vanished.

  Tizzo sat on her knees on a hard, flat surface that was grey and dirty. Her hands were dirty, too, her skin grey. Bits of sharp rock hurt her knees.

  'Who are you?'

  A boy stood over her, fists planted at his wrists. He wore a cloth that might once have been white, but was so no longer. The arms that stuck out were incredibly thin.

  Tizzo rose from her crouch. A cut on her knee was bleeding.

  'What am I doing here? Where is the tree?'

  'The--what?'

  The grey box was open on one side, from where listless light shone in. She ran to the edge and looked down into a huge hall, where silvery monsters hissed and steamed. Overhead was a covering of grey material.

  'Where am I?' she screamed. 'Ilac, Ilac!'

  A teenage boy at ground level stared up, his eyes distant.

  'Have you seen Ilac?'

  He didn't reply. Most likely he couldn't hear her over the hissing and clanging.

  Tizzo spotted some thin vines, leafless and bronze-coloured. They were rigid and cold in her hands. She let herself slide down the side of the grey wall as fast as she could. Down there, in the semi-darkness, the boy still waited. He looked a bit like Ilac, she had to admit, but rather than strong and muscular, he was thin and pale, although there was a tough-ness about him that made her think he worked hard for many long days and he'd battled and survived many illnesses.

  'Come,' he said. 'We have duty now.'

  It was like resuming their old conversation. 'Duty?'

  'At the boiler room.'

  She followed him between the silvery monsters that hissed and spat steam. They moved, but never left their spot. They had arms that turned, wheels that whirred, hammers that clanged. Each such monster was attached to the others by a metal vine. All these vines met up with other vines, bronze strands leading into the middle of the hall.

  There, they disappeared into an arched door. It was terribly dark and humid inside, with clouds of hissing steam and
the scent of hot coals. Men, women and children slaved over fires, hauling water, emptying buckets into huge vats, stoking fires.

  'What are they doing?'

  'Keeping the fires burning. That keeps the machines going.'

  'Why?'

  'Machines make light. Machines make tea. Machines make bread. We can't live without machines.'

  Tizzo looked up at the faraway roof. A group of monkeys played on a beam near the ceiling. They were no longer golden, but dark grey.

  'Does anyone ever go outside?'

  'What would you want there?'

  'Look at the sky.'

  He frowned.

  'Is there a way . . . out of this place?'

  'Why? We have everything we need here? Look--can we talk about this after duty?'

  'No, because I'm not going to do duty.'

  Tizzo ran. A ladder led up the wall, and at the top was a trapdoor. She climbed and climbed. She pushed the trapdoor open and climbed through.

  But it was dark and she couldn't see where she was going. There was a steep hill, with no footholds. She slid down a slippery surface, first slowly, but then faster, until she landed on a hard and cold floor. And when she looked up, she was in a room made entirely of grey material.

  A square opening appeared before her when a part of the grey slid aside. A young man looked in.

  'Ah, here you are. Come.'

  He, too, looked like Ilac, but was neither muscular and strong nor thin and hardy. The eyes that examined her held far more intelligence than those of the other two Ilacs. He wore a white suit that covered his whole body except his head, hands and feet.

  Tizzo was too stunned to protest. She followed him outside, but 'outside' was nothing but a long corridor of more grey metal. There was shiny stuff on the floor; there were lights above. She couldn't see the end, because the entire corridor curved up, and up, and continued to go up as they walked, yet she never felt like she was actually walking up. It made her dizzy.

  She wanted to ask the young man so much, but she didn't dare. Her questions would betray that she was not who he thought.

  Eventually, they came to a large room, where people--if they were people--sat wearing similar white suits to Ilac's and strange things on their heads. Before them were square things made from light.

  He gestured at an empty spot before such a square. 'Come, sit down; I'll show you what to do.'

  'Do what?'

  'Operate the light sails. They need to be angled to the nearest star. We need them to provide the energy. How else do you think we can keep the ship moving?'

  Ship? She didn't see any water.

  Tizzo squinted at the lighted squares. There was another square, huge, at the far end of the room. It showed darkness, and a curved surface, grey and scratched, and beyond that, huge sacks of billowing cloth.

  'Can you see the sky from here?'

  He laughed. 'The sky? We are in the sky.'

  'I don't believe that. The sky is blue, and has clouds.'

  They were all lying to her, telling her things so she'd do the mind-numbing work. And before he could force her to sit down, Tizzo ran from the room, into the curved corridor. Monkeys cackled somewhere in the distance. She found the door through which she had entered this strange place, scrambled up the slippery roof, tumbled back into the hall with the hissing machines, climbed back up the metal vines into the leafy canopy.

  The forest returned, and the golden monkeys. And the smell of mushrooms.

  Familiar. Comforting.

  She slid down the tree. 'Ilac, Ilac, there are strangers out there. The whole world is different . . .' She jumped the last part of the distance to the forest floor. Her hand found the Vine. Green light flowed through her body. The calming chatter of the elder's voices once more soothed her. you'rebackyou'rebackyou'reback. They were happy voices.

  Tizzo fought to keep her mind clear. 'Up there, Ilac, I saw--'

  don'tworrydon'tworrydon'tworry.

  Tizzo balled her fists and shouted. 'Go away!' Her voice echoed through the forest. The monkeys cackled in the crown of the tree.

  'Tizzo?' A voice at the edge of her awareness.

  Ilac shook her arm. Behind him stood Yuko and three other elders with almost the entire tribe, thunder on their faces.

  'You . . .' Anger rose inside her as her gaze met Ilac's. 'You went to tell on me?'

  Ilac shrunk back. 'You were so long gone. I couldn't see you any more. I was afraid. And there were monkeys . . .'

  don'tlistentothemonkeydon'tlistentothemonkeys.

  Tizzo pressed both hands against her ears. 'Stop! Listen to me. There are other places out there.'

  Elder Yuko raised his eyebrows. 'Other places? Why do you talk such nonsense, girl?'

  'It's not nonsense! I saw them! From up there, in the tree.'

  'The Vine has shown us nothing. Do you question the wisdom of the Vine?'

  'I saw it.' Even to herself, her voice sounded less convinced than before. Did being away from the Vine make you see things?

  A tribeswoman gasped. 'A monkey. She's a monkey.'

  And a man yelled, 'Banish her!'

  * * *

  So Tizzo was a monkey. Well, that was just fine by her. The tribespeople would never have understood the other worlds anyway. She climbed another tree and sat on a low branch, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

  Beneath her, the tribe went about their business. The men plucked and scaled their catches, the women cooked. Tribespeople took their turns in the pedalling house.

  Sometimes Ilac stopped to watch her, but when she returned his gaze, he quickly left.

  Tizzo couldn't see the world in the same way she had before. She climbed to the top of the trees and looked out for glimpses of sky, but the branches were too thin to let her push aside the leaves.

  At night, when most of her anger had faded into a dull ache, she came to the forest floor and made a fire. She wasn't hungry, and sat staring into the flames. Was it all a dream? Did the sky even exist?

  * * *

  The old man came out of nowhere. He padded across the forest floor and sat down at her fire.

  Tizzo narrowed her eyes; she remembered him from when she was young. He, too had been banished from the tribe.

  'Who are you?'

  He didn't answer that question, but said, 'You are blessed, my child, to be a walker of worlds.'

  'You mean . . .hose places were real?'

  'As real as this one.' Which was either very real, or not at all.

  A blessing it was not. Her life was ruined. She'd wanted to mate with Ilac, but he only ever saw the world of the Vine. Or the grey building, or the metal place with the curved corridors. In all those places they had pedalling houses, or something similar, stupid places where people did stupid things for no good reason at all.

  'I only want to see the sky.'

  'And have you, my dear?'

  'Just so briefly. It is pretty. But no one seems to care.'

  'They will, once you show it to them.'

  'How? No one will listen to me.'

  'Long ago, something happened and the world separated into different cells of reality each of them as large as the pedallers can maintain. These chambers are no longer connected. If we stop the pedalling or steam-making or sailing, the structure will collapse.'

  'Is that going to kill anyone?'

  He shrugged, letting the answer hang between them. Then he rummaged in his pocket and withdrew three smooth stones. They were black and heavy in her hand.

  'Long ago, the monkey king gave me these. I've never dared do what I think must be done with them.'

  * * *

  Tizzo knew she had one chance. She ran to the pedalling house, and threw the first stone in the wheel. It jammed in the cogs and all along the Vine, the green glow jolted and went out. Then she clambered up the tree, down the metal vines into the grey world with the hissing machines and threw her stone into the boiler's furnace. It belched fire and sparks. The doors blew off. The hissing p
istons squealed and stopped. Then she climbed up the ladder, slid down the roof and ran into the air ship. In the sail room she threw the stone at the big lighted square. It shattered

  All the people shouted and ran.

  The world shifted.

  Tizzo fell . . . and fell . . .

  * * *

  She lay on her back in the grass. Above her, the stars spread out. There were clouds, and a sliver of moon. There were no trees, no walls, no sails.

  'Hey, Tizzo, there you are.' Ilac knelt in the grass next to her. The light of the fire, because there was a fire nearby, showed his face, with the strength of the hunter, with the endurance of the boiler-man, with the intelligence of the star-man.

  He sat down and took her hand. 'The sky is very pretty tonight, isn't it?'

  Once again, the world was whole.

  A monkey cackled in the distance.

  About this story:

  This absurd story grew out of the idea that every society, no matter its level of sophistication, has its dull and dumb work that needs to be done by common people with un-glamorous jobs.

  The Invisible Fleas of the Galaxy

  Originally published in MBrane SF

  Jono Rasmussen became twice-dead on the night before the launch of the Giant Telescope. He had been working in the downtown office of Comtel Imaging and Telescopy when a mailbot ambled out of the lift to deliver a box of chocolate. Jono was very partial to chocolate. As soon as he picked it up, the box exploded in his face, and took out half the office as well.

  The builder-bots fixed the office, while a medbot collected all the pieces of Jono, took them to the medbay where it put him back together again. That done, Jono applied for his second yellow stripe. Not just twice-dead, twice-murdered. Insignificant people died; important people were murdered. He'd be wearing the badge tomorrow, thanks insignificant Cygians; they hadn't even made him late for his meeting with the president.

  * * *