Once Upon a Future

by Robert Reginald (ed)

  In the shuttle craft that brought him back to Station Six he read the little quotation printed on the back of every seat for the ten thousandth time; it told him that the shuttle dated back to the building of the giant Earth station system.

  “…What we are building now is the nervous system of mankind…the communications network of which the satellites will be the nodal points. They will enable the consciousness of our grandchildren to flicker like lightning back and forth across the face of the planet….”

  * * * *

  Praeger got up from his bunk and made his way back to the watch room. He was glad now to get away from his own thoughts and return to the visual stimulation of the watch screens. Soon he would be talking to Julian again; they would share each other’s friendship in the universe of the spoken word as they shared a silent past every time they looked at each other across the void.

  Julian’s large green eyes reminded him each time of the view out by Neptune, the awesome size of the sea green giant, the ship outlined against it, and the fuel tank near it blossoming into a red rose, silently; the first ship had been torn in half. Julian had been in space, coming over to Praeger’s command ship when it happened, to pick up a spare part for the radio-telescope. They blamed Julian because they had to blame someone. After all, he had been in command. Chances were that something had already gone wrong, and that nothing could have stopped it. Only one man had been lost.

  Julian and Praeger were barred from taking any more missions; unfairly, they thought. There were none coming up that either of them would have been interested in anyway, but at the time they put up a fight. Some fool official said publicly that they were unfit to represent mankind beyond the solar system—a silly thing to say, especially when the UN had just put a ban on extra-solar activities. They were threatened with dishonorable discharges, but they were also world heroes; the publicity would have been embarrassing.

  Julian believed that most of mankind was unfit for just about everything. With his small fortune and the backing of patrons, he built his bubble station, number 233 in the registry; his occupation now was “sculptor,” and the tax people came to talk to him every year. To Julian Earth was a mudball, where ten percent of the people lived off the labor of the other ninety percent. Oh, the brave ones shine, he told Praeger once, but the initiative that should have taken men to the stars had been ripped out of men’s hearts. The whole star system was rotting, overblown with grasping things living in their own wastes. The promise of ancient myths, three thousand years old, had not been fulfilled….

  In the watch room Praeger watched the delicate clouds which enveloped the Earth. He could feel the silence, and the slowness of the changing patterns was reassuring. Given time and left alone, the air would clean itself of all man-made wastes, the rivers would run clear again, and the oceans would regain their abundance of living things.

  When his watch was over, he did not wait for his relief to come. He didn’t like the man. The feeling was mutual, and by leaving early they could each avoid the other as much as was possible. Praeger went directly to his cubicle, lay down on his bunk, and opened the channel, both audio and visual, on the ceiling com and observation screen.

  Julian’s face came on promptly on the hour.

  “EW-CX233 here,” Julian said.

  “EW-CX006,” Praeger said. Julian looked his usual pale self, green eyes with the look of other times still in them. “Hello, Julian. What have you been doing?”

  “There was a reporter here. I made a tape of the whole thing, if you can call it an interview. Want to hear it?”

  “Go ahead. My vacation was the usual. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  Julian’s face disappeared and the expressionless face of the reporter appeared. The face smiled just before it spoke.

  “Julian—that’s the name you are known by?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you describe your work for our viewers, Julian?”

  “I am a water sculptor. I make thin plastic molds and fill them with water. Then I put them out into the void, and when they solidify I go out and strip off the plastic. You can see most of my work orbiting my home.”

  “Isn’t the use of water expensive?”

  “I re-use much of it. And I am independently wealthy.”

  “What’s the point of leaving your work outside?”

  “On Earth the wind shapes rock. Here space dust shapes the ice, mutilates it, and I get the effect I want. Then I photograph the results in color and make more permanent versions here inside.”

  Praeger watched Julian and the reporter float over to a large tank of water.

  “Inside here,” Julian said, “you see the permanent figures. When I spin the tank, the density of each becomes apparent, and each takes its proper place in the suspension.”

  “Do you ever work with realistic subjects?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think you could make a likeness of the Earth?”

  “Why?” Praeger saw Julian smile politely. The reporter suddenly looked uncomfortable. The tape ended and Julian’s face reappeared.

  “See what they send up here to torment me?”

  “Is the interview going to be used anywhere?” Praeger asked.

  “They were vague about it.”

  “Have you been happy?”

  Julian didn’t answer. For a few moments both screens were still portraits. Both men knew all the old complaints, all the old pains. Both knew that the UN was doing secret extra-solar work, and they both knew that it was the kind of work that would revive them, just as it might give the Earth a new lease on life. But they would never have a share of it. Only a few more years of routine service, Praeger knew, and then retirement—to what? To a crowded planet.

  Both men thought the same thought at that moment—the promise of space was dead, unless men moved from the solar system.

  “Julian,” Praeger said softly, “I’ll call you after my next watch.” Julian nodded and the screen turned gray.

  On impulse Praeger pushed the observation button for a look at Station 233. It was a steel and plastic ball one hundred feet in diameter. Praeger knew that most of Julian’s belongings floated in the empty center, tied together with line. When he needed something, he would bounce around the tiny universe of objects until he found it. Some parts of the station were transparent. Praeger remembered peering out once to catch sight of one of Julian’s ice sculptures and seeing a pale white ghost peer in at him for a moment before passing out of sight.

  Praeger watched the silent ball that housed his friend of a lifetime. Eventually, he knew, he would join Julian in his retirement. A man could live a long time in zero-g.

  The alarm in his cubicle rang and Higgins’s voice came over the audio. “That fool! Doesn’t he see that orbital debris?”

  Praeger had perhaps ten seconds left to see Station 233 whole. The orbital junk hit hard and the air was gone into the void. The water inside, Praeger knew, had frozen instantly. Somewhere inside, the ruptured body of Julian floated among his possessions even as the lights on the station winked out.

  Praeger was getting into his suit, knowing there was no chance to save Julian. He made his way down the emergency passage from his cubicle, futilely dragging the spare suit behind him.

  The airlock took an age to cycle. When it opened, he gave a great kick with his feet and launched himself out toward the other station. Slowly it grew in front of him, until he was at the airlock. He activated the mechanism, and when the locks were both open he pushed himself in toward the center of the little world.

  Starlight illuminated Julian’s white, ruptured face. Through the clear portion of the station Praeger saw the Earth’s shadow eclipse the full Moon: a bronze shield.

  * * * *

  For a long time after Praeger drifted in the starlit shell. He stared at the dark side of the Earth, at the cities sparkling like fireflies; never sleeping, billions living in metal caves; keeping time with the twenty-four-hour workday; a
nd where by night the mannequins danced beneath the flickering screens, their blood filled with strange potions which would give them their small share of counterfeit happiness.

  Praeger tried to brush away the tears floating inside his helmet, but with no success. They would have to wait until he took his suit off. When the emergency crew arrived an hour later, he took charge.

  The station was a hazard now and would have to be removed. He agreed. All this would be a funeral rite for Julian, he thought, and he was sure the artist would approve.

  He removed all of Julian’s written material and sent it down to his publishers, then put Julian’s body in a plastic sack and secured it to the north pole of the station bubble.

  He left the sculptures inside. On the body Praeger found a small note:

  When we grow up we’ll see the Earth not as a special place, but just as one place. Then home will be the starry cosmos. Of course, this has always been the case. It is we who will have changed. I have nothing else to hope for.

  * * * *

  The hulk continued in its orbit for three weeks, until Praeger sent a demolition crew out to it and blew it out of existence. He watched on the monitor as they set the charges that would send it into a new orbit. Station 233 would leave the solar system at an almost ninety-degree angle to the plane of the ecliptic, on a parabolic path which would not bring it back to Sol for thousands of years. It would be a comet someday, Praeger thought.

  He watched the charges flare up, burn for thirty seconds, and die. Slowly the bubble moved off toward the top of the screen. He watched until it disappeared from the screen. In twenty-four hours it would be beyond the boundaries of Earth. Interstellar gas and dust would scar it out of all recognition: a torn seed on the wind.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  PETRU IAMANDI is an English professor at Dunărea de Jos University of Galaţi, Romania. His current and forthcoming translations from Borgo Press include:

  The Little Giant-Tamer: Seven Children’s Fantasy Stories, by Victor Cilincă, translated by Petru Iamandi and Tom Carter.

  Polonius: A Political Farce: A Play in Two Acts, by Victor Cilincă, translated by Petru Iamandi and Richard Wright.

  Angel of Death: A Suspense Novel, by Christian Russell, translated by Petru Iamandi. A posthumous thriller by a Romanian writer.

  The Praetor and Other Stories, by Aurel Stancu, translated by Petru Iamandi. Thirty-two stories by a well-known Romanian author.

  Top Priority: A Science Fiction Novel, by Doru Tătar, translated by Petru Iamandi and Raymond Humphreys. Borgo Press, 2011, 207 p. The signs and portents are all there!: when the destiny of a Universe is about to be fulfilled, intelligent life and civilizations fill the great void, the energy released by the conjunction of a quasar and a black hole suddenly breaks loose, and the Universe opens to a new dimension—a dimension of information. A cosmic adventure in the grand style.

  * * * *

  JEAN LORRAH is best known for her Sime~Gen series, co-authored with Jacqueline Lichtenberg. The Borgo Press editions are:

  House of Zeor, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#1), Borgo Press, 2010, 274 p.

  Unto Zeor, Forever, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#2), Borgo Press, 2011, 360 p.

  First Channel, by Jean Lorrah and Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#3), Borgo Press, 2011, 380 p.

  Mahogany Trinrose, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#4), Borgo Press, 2010, 294 p.

  Channel’s Destiny, by Jean Lorrah and Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#5), Borgo Press, 2011, 248 p.

  RenSime, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#6), Borgo Press, 2011, 252 p.

  Ambrov Keon, by Jean Lorrah (#7), Borgo Press, 2011, 250 p.

  Zelerod’s Doom, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg and Jean Lorrah (#8), Borgo Press, 2011, 306 p.

  Personal Recognizance, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#9), Borgo Press, 2011, 165 p. (Wildside Double #14).

  The Story Untold and Other Stories, by Jean Lorrah (#10), Borgo Press, 2011, 99 p. (Wildside Double #14)

  To Kiss or to Kill, by Jean Lorrah (#11), Borgo, 2011, 290 p.

  The Farris Channel, by Jacqueline Lichtenberg (#12), Borgo Press, forthcoming.

  * * * *

  WILLIAM MALTESE is the author of almost 200 works of fiction and nonfiction. His many Borgo Press books include:

  Schism on Antheer / Schism on Bnth (Gods and Frauds #1-2) (Wildside Double #18), 2011, 116 + 118 p. Two biting SF novels in which religious fervour dominates a future society.

  Incident at Aberlene / Incident at Brimzinsky (Spies and Lies #1-2) (Wildside Mystery Double #3), 2011, 135 + 127 p. Two cutting-edge suspense novels from the Grey Zone, where everyone’s for hire, and all services are available—if the price is right! First-rate action adventure.

  Total Meltdown, with Raymond Gaynor, Borgo Press, 2009, 162 p. Near-future action-suspense.

  Blood-Red Resolution: Being Excerpts from the Crypto-Coded Files of the United Courier Service, Borgo Press, 2007, 179 p. A suspense novel set in the Peruvian jungles.

  The Fag Is Not for Burning: A Mystery Novel, Borgo Press, 2007, 250 p. A serial killer who specializes in stalking gays.

  Gerun, the Heretic: Being Excerpts from the Clan-Missionary Chronicles: A Science Fiction Novel, Borgo Press, 2007, 171 p. Gerun flees a religious pogrom on another planet.

  * * * *

  A. R. MORLAN is best-known for her stories and novels of riveting, unrelenting horror. Her Borgo Press publications include:

  The Amulet: A Novel of Horror, Borgo Press, 2009, 359 p. In Ewerton, Wisconsin, the murders and unexplained accidents just keep piling up. Anna begins to suspect that her not-so-kindly grandmother, Lucy, is behind the festering evil that seems to permeate the community. Clearly, something has gone seriously awry in this upper-Midwest burg. Only Anna can find a solution—if the maelstrom doesn’t get her first!

  Dark Journey: A Novel of Horror, Borgo Press, 2009, 483 p. Like Stephen King’s cursed village of ’Salem’s Lot, the town of Ewerton is a bad place—a very bad place! Founded on a lie, and nursed by the dark spirit of whatever god or devil manipulates the people of this little burg, Ewerton just rumbles on, chewing up the lives of its inhabitants—and then spitting them out again, embittered, embroiled, enmeshed, and enchained.

  Ewerton Death Trip: A Walk Through the Dark Side of Town, Borgo Press, 2011, 472 p. 25 horror tales. “One of the most talented and original writers I have read in my long life. The horror she evokes is not so much occult as uniquely human—the worst of human traits are her stock in trade. The hints of otherworldly elements are used in just the right proportions to make one shiver!”—Ardath Mayhar.

  * * * *

  Edward R. Morris is an up-and-coming writer whose stark visions of a bleak future are finding a wide audience. His Borgo Press books include:

  Fathers and Sons: Blackguard, Book One, Borgo Press, 2011, 241 p. On the West Coast of the United States in the mid-twenty-first century, several decades after an ill-fated Secession, a young solder is chosen to lead the Security team for a mile-wide dance club. Lt. Sean Mallory and his “Blackshirts,” as they’re dubbed by the customers, find themselves embroiled in a bitter turf war with several gangs on their own grounds. Though Sean’s worst enemy is pulling most of the strings, someone from much further out of town is actually responsible—light-years further out, in fact. Fathers and Sons is the first book in the Blackguard Series, which spans roughly one decade in the life of Paisley’s Jones’s legendary club. Once you spend some time with the folks who work the gate there, you’ll never see our world in quite the same way again….

  Shock Theatre: Collected Speculative Fiction, 2002-2006, Borgo Press, forthcoming. Seventeen stories from the cutting edge of modern science fiction.

  Beyond the Western Sky: Collected Speculative Fiction, 2007-2011, Borgo Press, forthcoming. Seventeen more stories of razor-edged SF by a rising star of the field.

  * * * *

  Charles Nuetzel is a well-known paperback author from the 1960s, who began writing again in the last decade. His Borgo Press b
ooks include:

  Slavegirl of Noomas: Noomas #2, with Heidi Garrett, Borgo Press, 207, 255 p. The second volume in this stirring sword-and-sorcery series is the author’s first new fantasy novel in more than thirty years.

  Torlo Hannis of Noomas: Noomas #1, Borgo Press, 2006, 276 p. The first of the Noomas Trilogy combines two separately-published works for the first time into one volume: Warriors of Noomas and Raiders of Noomas.

  Dimensions: Stories of the Past, Present, and Future, Borgo Press, 2006, 307 p. The best science fiction and fantasy stories by this author.

  The Ersatz; &, The Talisman, Borgo Press, 2006, 183 p. Two SF novellas, one of them previously unpublished.

  Swordmen of Vistar, Borgo Press, 2006, 158 p. Another great sword-and-sorcery epic fantasy.

  Slaves of Lomooro, Borgo Press, 2006, 159 p. A rousing sword-and-sorcery novel.

  * * * *

  ROBERT REGINALD has edited over 1,600 volumes in his career. He also has penned more than twenty-five books of fiction, among them:

  Knack’ Attack: A Tale of the Human-Knacker War, Borgo Press, 2010, 174 p. (Wildside Double #7). The second riveting book in this military SF series.

  The Elder of Days: Tales of the Elders, Borgo Press, 2010, 174 p. (Wildside Double #8). Four fantasy stories of near-immortals.