Kzine Issue 3

  KZINE MAGAZINE

  Issue 3

  edited by Graeme Hurry

  Kzine Issue 3 © May 2012 by Kimota Publishing

  cover © Dave Windett, 2012

  Editorial © Graeme Hurry, 2012

  A New Conscience © Anthony W. Eichenlaub, 2012

  Artificial © J. Michael Shell, 2012

  Depths © C.I. Kemp, 2012

  Dreamworld © Caroline Dunford, 2012

  In His Eyes © Milo James Fowler, 2012

  The Danger In Between © Ian Welke, 2012

  The Horrid Music of the Hydrogen Band © Don Norum, 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written pemission of the copyright holder. For editorial content this is Graeme Hurry, for stories it is the individual author, for artwork it is the artist.

  CONTENTS

  Editorial by Graeme Hurry

  A NEW CONSCIENCE by Anthony Eichenlaub

  ARTIFICIAL by J. Michael Shell

  DEPTHS by C.I. Kemp

  THE DANGER IN BETWEEN by Ian Welke

  IN HIS EYES by Milo James Fowler

  THE HORRID MUSIC OF THE HYDROGEN BAND by Don Norum

  DREAMWORLD by Caroline Dunford

  Contributor Notes

  EDITORIAL

  by Graeme Hurry

  This third issue of Kzine contains a fine mix of Science Fiction, Horror, Fantasy with a touch of crime. Again the reader is asked to delve into the stories unprepeared by hints of which genre it is. You never know, it may be a mix of more than one.

  So, does electronic fiction have a future? Will it replace books? It seemed to be a constant issue on the TV and in the news, but as more adverts for eBook players are now being shown it seems to have less prominance. But the issue is still nagging at the back of reader’s minds. It is still not quite a decided issue.

  For me, I have a vision. Not a manifesto type vision, more a soothsayer or mystic vision. And this vision shows books and eBooks living in perfect harmony. It’s just that the bloated puerile books which fill supermarket shelves have made way for a fewer number of slimmer collector’s and first editions. The blockbuster epidemic is cured and moved over to electronic medium. Remainder bookshops have a leaner time of it but second hand bookshops thrive as the reduced quantity allows older books to be more avidly collected. eBooks give collectors little of value to collect. eBooks are truly ephemeral. So real paper books would gain value by virtue of being physical.

  So books and eBooks thrive together much like TV and radio. That is my vision, Valuable printed books containing worthy content, and the rest, the holiday fodder, the “reading to waste time books” reduced from store shelves to virtual shelves. My deam, though, is that a navigator is also produced which will allow these virtual shelves to be searched easily because it is so difficult to separate the wheat from the chaff. There will be so much virtual material available, and still at least 90% will be crap, so some easy way of focusing in on what we want is needed.

  At the moment we have Amazon reviews and ratings. Useful, but not quite enough to fulfil my dream. But as it is the best we have please use it. Please review Kzine on Amazon so others can decide if it is for them. Please help me turn my vision into my dream.

  A NEW CONSCIENCE

  by Anthony W. Eichenlaub

  One quick treatment was all that stood between Erik and freedom. Seven years of bad food, ugly fights, and the ever persistent stench of stale urine were enough to make Erik sign up for the program. Never mind that it was a deserved sentence. Never mind that he robbed that store and stole that car. It wouldn’t matter once this was done.

  Erik Shaeder would lie down on the frigid metal table a prisoner of Stateville Penitentiary and arise a free man.

  ‘Let me guess, this won’t hurt a bit.’ Erik Shaeder breathed the lingering odor of antiseptics as a white haired man brandished way too much shining metal before him.

  Was that a needle?

  The doctor, an aging man with bushy white eyebrows and piercing blue eyes, stopped, took a breath, then continued without saying a word.

  ‘Where exactly does that go?’ Erik’s leathery skin, tattoos, and square jaw made him look tough, but his tolerance of pain was actually quite average.

  The doctor - Vincent Kraus according to his name tag - paused again. ‘This goes into your chest cavity. It will deploy to your heart, lungs, and central nervous system. Be still.’ He glanced at the two guards by the door. ‘This will hurt.’

  Dr. Kraus advanced again, sterilizing a spot just below Erik’s ribcage. Erik closed his eyes, took a breath, and waited for it.

  This was the only way to be free. This was the only way to get out of prison, get a job, and live as a free man. It was another easy out for a man who had always lived a lousy life full of easy ways out.

  A sting told him the massive needle had penetrated the skin. Not so bad, really. He had expected it to be much worse.

  Then it was.

  Something was crawling, stabbing its way through his chest. It felt as though a spider the size of his fist were crawling through his chest on legs made of searing hot knives. Everywhere it touched was a new, sharp pain. His heart skipped beats, his lungs contracted involuntarily.

  ‘I have designed the device to help you make the correct decisions. Each time you disobey a law you will sense a bit of pain. Commit a more serious crime and you will be immediately debilitated and brought back to your home here in Stateville.’

  A raging fire tore through Erik’s body. The flames spread through his arms down to his fingers. Everything hurt; his whole body convulsed.

  ‘You will learn quickly to act as a good citizen. I am proud to say that there have been no failures in this program. A pity they are shutting it down.’

  Then there was numbness.

  ‘You are to be the last for a while. The last one we reintegrate. The last one to be freed.’

  Dr. Kraus licked his lips and eased the needle out.

  ‘I believe you will change their minds, though.’

  Erik breathed again. It was done.

  With one painful procedure all of his crimes had been forgiven.

  He was free.

  Yet, freedom was not so easy. Erik soon discovered that the rules were not easy to follow. Long weeks drew out into long months and life attained a rhythm. A endless cycle of work, television, and work was laid out before him as far as he could see.

  Then a year later it all changed.

  The roof of the apartment complex was a good place to take a break from the world. A sleepless night could be spent up there breathing the cool air and watching the city below. It was peaceful. Few ever ventured to the roof - fewer still at night - so Erik was shocked when he saw the two shadows moving toward him with grim faces and blunt weapons.

  Erik glanced at his plain black armband and caught sight of the dim light on it.

  Yellow.

  It was yellow, trending toward orange.

  This was not good.

  His options were few. None of them looked very good.

  First, he could fight. It was hard to size up the men in the moonlight, but Erik had always been a pretty good scrapper. He’d take them by surprise, disable the tall guy with the broken nose quickly and then square off against the stocky guy.

  He would then be taken in for violating the ‘no fighting’ clause of his Faux Conscience. He’d spend the rest of his life in prison. Most of that time would probably be spent fighting.r />
  He would likely die a young, violent death.

  His second option was similar. He could hand over his money.

  Any average citizen would probably be able to do this without trouble, but Erik knew what it meant. His surveillance had already flagged these guys as part of a gang. If he handed money to them he’d be flagged for violating the ‘no funding criminal enterprises’ clause.

  Prison.

  Death.

  Running was an option, but not a good one. Erik scanned his surroundings. He was atop one of those shoddy apartment complexes. It was only seven stories tall, but at that height it might as well be a hundred. The only way to the stairs was through those thugs. The only other safe way down was the fire escape.

  He thought about that option. Run to the edge of the building, jump down to the fire escape.

  Trespassing.

  Prison.

  Death.

  It wasn’t looking good.

  Erik was going to get mugged on the roof of his own apartment building and there was no way out of it. The tall man stepped closer. The cold wind carried the smell of cigarette smoke from twenty feet.

  Frustration boiled up inside Erik’s chest. It muddled his thoughts and wore him down, but he fought the urge to turn it into raw anger. The rules were his daily struggle, and he knew they rarely made sense. One thing he had learned was that anger always made obedience harder and disobedience hurt.

  The short guy held back, making sure to always block off access to the only door. The other slowly worked his way around massive air conditioning units and rooftop gardens.

  Erik had an idea. The machine inside him which he did not understand worked the idea through its cryptic rules. In the time it took to fully think through the option, it had an answer.

  Yellowish-green.

  That was good enough.

  He pulled out his phone, holding it out of sight of the closest thug. He quickly dialed.

  ‘Hello?’ A sleepy voice came on the other end.

  ‘Jerry, open your window. All the way.’ Erik whispered into a microphone that he always left clipped to his shirt.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said open your window. This is important. I’ll explain in a minute.’

  ‘Ugh. Do you know what time it is?’ Jerry’s voice moved from sleepy to annoyed.

  The tall man leaped up on top of a barren garden, then stepped from that to the next. He worked his way forward, lazily swinging a baseball bat in one hand.

  ‘Yeah, I do. I need you to open your window. Now!’

  ‘OK, it’s open. Now what?’

  ‘Can I come over?’

  A pause. Then came Jerry’s reply. ‘Sure.’

  Erik turned toward the edge of the building and ran.

  The tall man broke in to a run after him.

  Adrenalin pumped; Erik’s heart raced. Cold wind burned his lungs as he hit the edge of the building.

  He jumped.

  For a moment he was seven stories above nothing. Yellow street lamps far below lit an empty alley. Crisp, cold air tore at his face.

  He saw immediately that his aim had been good. Three rooms from the corner, one floor down there was an open window. It opened outward like a double door. It had no screen.

  Erik’s shin hit the window sill but his momentum carried him forward into the room.

  He rolled on the floor and clutched his injured leg. Pain exploded from the wound and he already felt a bump forming. Seconds later he was standing, testing it. It hurt like hell, but wasn’t broken.

  He turned, looking out the window. The two thugs scowled down at him. He smiled up at them and closed the window.

  Finally, he noticed Jerry, gaping at him from the corner. Jerry held a phone in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He was a man in his thirties, just like Erik, but a life absent the stress of crime had left him looking much younger. His longish, chestnut hair and brown eyes had won him a lot of favor in his circles, and he was considered a fairly popular activist and rising politician. Erik didn’t know why Jerry lived in such a poor neighborhood, but he supposed it was some sort of image thing. At that moment Jerry’s image was less than impressive. He wore a blue bathrobe, cinched tight, and stared as if he had just witnessed a miracle.

  ‘Explain?’ Jerry stammered.

  Erik paused. He didn’t know Jerry well, even though Jerry had been one of his most reliable friends. Jerry had been the one to help Erik get a job. Jerry had picked him up when he had been unable to find a taxi driver without criminal connections. Jerry had been a friend to have a beer with when everyone else in Erik’s life had abandoned him.

  ‘Thanks, Jer. I, um, well you know I have a FoCon, a Faux Conscience,’ Erik indicated the scuffed black armband and its ominous light. ‘Turns out jumping in your window was the only legal way to stop from getting mugged.’

  ‘So, the little thingy on your wrist told you to do it?’ Jerry took a sip of water and motioned for Erik to sit on a leather recliner.

  ‘Yeah, pretty much. I couldn’t fight, I couldn’t pay them, and I could only run to places where I wasn’t trespassing. You invited me, so I’m not breaking any rules.’

  ‘You could have been killed. That’s a pretty decent fall.’

  ‘What’s worse, falling to a quick death or going back to prison?’

  ‘Good point. So, you think they’ll be waiting for you downstairs?’ Jerry sat on an old plaid couch.

  ‘Yeah. Likely. I’ve seen these guys around before.’ Erik tried to think of ways around them. The device on his wrist cycled between yellow and orange as he considered each option.

  ‘Well, why don’t you stay here and sleep on my couch. They’ll get bored and go home eventually, right?’

  The light on Erik’s wrist went full green. ‘Yeah, that’d be great.’

  ‘I’ll get you some ice for that leg, too.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Feel free to let yourself out in the morning. I’ll probably sleep late. I was up working some numbers for that town hall meeting next Tuesday.’

  ‘More politics, huh?’

  ‘Yeah, apparently Brad Gainer is on the warpath again. Trying to clean up this city, and he doesn’t mind taking a few innocents down in the process.’

  ‘And you’re going to convince him that respecting people as human beings is the best way to help them reintegrate with society?’

  ‘No.’ Jerry said. ‘I don’t think I’ll convince him of anything. But if I can convince enough people, then it doesn’t matter what he thinks.’

  Erik sat on the couch, exhaustion sweeping over him as the adrenalin subsided. ‘Thanks again, Jer. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘No problem, Erik. Just try to use the door next time, okay?’

  Erik slept the fitful sleep of a troubled man that night. He woke, back stiff and eyes bleary, ready to face another brutal day of freedom.

  He had no idea that he would never make it to work that day.

  Who were those two guys? Erik wondered why he had been cornered for the third time this week by these same thugs.

  It had been a narrow escape last night. He would need to be more careful in the future.

  Now, at seven in the morning, Erik prepared to make the trip across the street to his own apartment. He needed to shower, get ready for work, maybe even grab a bite to eat.

  ‘See ya, Jer.’ he called out, closing the door before the response.

  The elevator whooshed him to the ground level. All green here. No hint of trouble from his wristband overlord. Moments later he was in his apartment. He showered, dressed, ate and mentally prepared himself for the journey to work.

  He could not afford a taxi every day. Few could. He could ride the bus, but the guy who drove the bus on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays must have had a criminal record, because Erik’s artificial conscience wouldn’t let him pay the guy. Erik’s regular conscience had no problem with the quick, convenient mode of transportation, but the fake one had wireles
s access to police data. He could walk, but it was twenty-seven blocks and so often he had trouble waking up early enough to make that work.

  He would ride his bicycle.

  He quickly rehearsed the rules before setting out. There were so many. There were hand signals, lane changes, sidewalk rules, and street rules.

  There was little chance his twenty-year-old Schwinn ten-speed would break the speed limit, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that. He pedaled hard from his apartment down 5th Street. Traffic was slow, but the advantage of a bike in a big city was its ability to cut through most gridlock. The disadvantage is that most drivers either didn’t see him or actively tried to get him killed.

  Three near misses and a frightening near traffic violation later he reached the halfway point. This was where it got easier, due to a bike path, but he had to navigate a tricky spot first.

  It had taken him three tries and one severely skinned forehead to figure out how to successfully get to the bike path from the street.

  If he crossed the street, stopped at the corner, then hopped off his bike and walked to the sidewalk then he would be in violation. Entering a crosswalk when the signal clearly states ‘Don’t Walk’? Shame. Could he ride straight across the street and up onto the sidewalk, hopping off as he mounted the ramp? Shame again. That would put him on a crosswalk riding a bike just for a fraction of a second. Violations and pain would follow. He could go straight, then make a sharp right over the curb onto the bike path. This was another failure. There were three solid feet of sidewalk before the bike path officially started. How could a person even think about riding on that?

  Jaywalking and bike traffic violations wouldn’t actually have sent him to prison, but they were still something to avoid. A violation would have earned him a sharp jolt of pain followed by a brief numbness and lack of bodily control. He might have collapsed, regardless of how dangerous that might have been. It was a humiliating, possibly dangerous, and always painful experience whenever it happened.

  So he stopped at the light and waited for the green. Just as the walk signal appeared Erik rounded his corner, hopping off into the crosswalk. From here he could walk his bicycle across the street, cross the ‘no bicycles’ sidewalk, and enter the blessed safety of the bike path.