Kzine Issue 7

  KZINE MAGAZINE

  Issue 7

  edited by Graeme Hurry

  Kzine Issue 7 © September 2013 by Kimota Publishing

  cover © Dave Windett, 2013

  Editorial © Graeme Hurry, 2013

  A Room in the Sky © Louise Hughes, 2013

  Lord Lion’s Design © Simon Kewin, 2013

  Call Hold © Steve Conoboy, 2013

  Kid Sister © Forrest Roy Johnson, 2013

  Blood of the Sacrifice © Mike Phillips, 2013

  Every Step You Take © Sarah L. Byrne, 2013

  It Doesn’t Sound Too Good © Edward McDermott, 2013

  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 permission 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

  A ROOM IN THE SKY by Louise Hughes (17)

  LORD LION’S DESIGN by Simon Kewin (10)

  CALL HOLD by Steve Conoboy (6)

  KID SISTER by Forrest Roy Johnson (19)

  BLOOD OF THE SACRAFICE by Mike Phillips (10)

  EVERY STEP YOU TAKE by Sarah L. Byrne (17)

  IT DOESN’T SOUND TOO GOOD by Edward McDermott (3)

  Editorial by Graeme Hurry

  Reviews

  Contributor Notes

  The number in brackets indicates the approximate printed page length of the story.

  A ROOM IN THE SKY

  by Louise Hughes

  In the suit put together over several months, Esme didn’t feel out of place. She expected to. She had sneaked it out in a basket that morning, dreading what the neighbours would say if they caught her.

  The laser train, designed to be crowded, held three people. Herself, a stranger with space-station pale skin, and the man who matched the photo in her pocket. She had met him at the spaceport. He thought she was someone else.

  Esme clung to the handrail, flicking the pile of leaflets by the door with her fingernails. They encouraged the carriage full of travellers to take them, to tell their friends, to fill the city with the highest class of citizen. She traced a cross into the dust on the top.

  She saw the city over the top of the mountains. The mile-high spires, fog still clinging to their tips, gathered around the side of the lake and watched the seagulls circle. Mr. Cheviot Spencer flicked out a handheld device that might have been a phone. An image sprang from it, circling before his eyes. The city in miniature.

  This wasn’t unusual, she told herself, twisting her toes as she channelled her reaction away from her face. On other worlds, probably everyone had one of these devices. They would watch a film, all angles visible. They didn’t queue for hours when the cinema ship stopped by on its way to the building yards of another solar system.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll agree the public transport system in Efferwater is the best on Karmia.’ She edged down between the seats, hoping he wouldn’t see right through her lies. They had no option but to travel this way. She didn’t have a car to take him in.

  She imagined getting in a sleek, blue four-wheeler, roof pulled down so her hair blew loose in the wind, driving round the corner from her tent and getting out again. How the neighbours would envy her, showing off her wealth when everything she needed lay within a mile. In the narrow street she would crush their tents beneath the tyres.

  ‘Do you have a car, or…?’ she asked.

  He looked up at the city and gave her his reply through a daze. ‘Oh, no… I won’t be bringing my car here. Not unless I really need it.’

  Must be nice, to have that kind of choice. ‘I have no doubt you won’t require it.’ The smile began to hurt her jaw.

  She turned to find mountains looming over the train. Her hand tightened on the back of the seat.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Mr. Spencer paused, his fingers hovering above the image of the city. His concern looked strange, genuine.

  ‘What?’ She looked around, checking on the stranger further down the carriage, and on the approaching mouth of darkness. ‘No, of course not. I just have to…’ She backed away, reaching for the rail by the door again. Being near an exit helped.

  Her phone rang and she whipped it out so fast she nearly dropped it.

  The phone’s answer button took three attempts; it stuck like sponge in custard. ‘What is it?’ She kept her voice low.

  ‘Mama.’ Tayrina, her eldest daughter. ‘Hanni saw Jake out by the yards.’

  Esme tried not to let her frown carry in her voice. ‘Is Alfie still there?’ Knowing Alfie, he would be. He never liked to arrive earlier than a minute late.

  ‘Alfie! You still here?’ Tayrina’s yell drove the phone from Esme’s ear. Mr. Spencer’s head stayed down. He didn’t notice.

  With a smile she saw her second son hiding in the tent he shared with Kit, wrapped in blankets with his patched-up tablet on his knees. He would not shout back.

  ‘He’s there, Tayri.’ Stupid to even ask. ‘Go and fetch him and tell him I want Jake in school before the lunch bell rings. Both of you.’

  That boy spent too much time hanging around the yards, too much time with his spacer friends. The ones who hitched down on a plane from the orbital port. The ones who spoke of travelling the universe, but never of their family.

  ‘But, Mama…’ As close as Tayrina got to a whine.

  Esme turned to find Mr. Spencer peering over his seat. Move fast, she urged the train. She looked over his head, pretending to be far away. A picture at the end of the carriage looked back, a painting of someone’s urban dream.

  ‘I don’t care. You get down there and get your brother in school.’ She hung up before the girl could argue. If this all went wrong, she wanted to hold her head up high in the canteen tomorrow, knowing her children went to school like she told them.

  She had seen boys like Jake before. Her neighbour’s sons, who loitered by her door, sat on her step when she wanted to leave and smoked their foul-smelling roll-ups. They hung around the yards and the noise of industry, mocking the men who still believed a good day’s work was worth it. She would not let Jake think like that.

  ‘All sorted.’ She mouthed and smiled, tried to focus only on the faces of her children.

  A shadow fell over the train. The mountain. The edge of the tunnel swallowed them in a moment. Esme felt it close around each carriage in turn before clutching theirs. Bright lights deceived her. She saw the walls rush past.

  ‘Are you well.’ Mr. Spencer’s voice broke into her panic. He had got up.

  ‘Yes.’ But it didn’t come out quite right. His hand touched hers where it gripped the rail and she felt her elbow tighten as she tried not to flinch. The warmth of his fingers turned hers cold, sucking the heat from her veins. In the dim glow of the laser train’s internal lights, she concentrated on not shivering.

  Those neighbours’ sons who sat on her doorstep, or followed her footsteps down the street with slouching walks and tilted hats, sometimes took her hand like this. They teased for a reaction and they got a slap. But they were just silly boys pretending they were gangsters until their mothers caught them.

  This man, whose presence she tried for a moment to forget, was a mystery by comparison.

  She should have done more research.

  She looked down the carriage, at the stranger reading a tablet with his head in his hand.

  Daylight crashed though the windows. The train swept them into the
city itself on arching, gleaming rails.

  ‘Looks like we’re here.’ He did not immediately release her hand, as if he’d forgotten it was there.

  Esme wasn’t convinced, but tugging her fingers back might be taken as an affront. She knew so little of these off-world people. They lived in an airless void, never seeing a bird or a blade of grass, or water that shone the colour of the sky. How was she to know what they considered appropriate in their sterile existence?

  ‘Yes. The bullet car system is very efficient.’ She nodded.

  ‘Well, we’d better get going then.’ He hurried to get his briefcase, eyes never moving from the view beyond the window.

  Esme threw herself from the carriage, desperate for air. She swore, as she turned her face to soak up the weak sunlight, never to travel like that again. Her hand went up to where her wide-brimmed sun hat should have been but it wasn’t there. A moment of panic flashed past until she remembered where she was. Her neighbours wouldn’t see her here.

  Her phone shook once and she slipped it out. Someone at the yard had noticed Kit’s absence. He and Alfie were the only ones she had trusted. Alfie because he would forget by tomorrow if it all went wrong, and Kit… Kit because he was the eldest.

  ‘Your boy didn’t turn up to work today.’ She heard the smug smile in the text. How could they know he wasn’t just sick? Her son didn’t loiter in the off-world queues like theirs, hoping to be picked for a job elsewhere. Kit wasn’t his father.

  She typed half a response then deleted it.

  Platform gates opened halfway up a lake-side building, a plaza alive with palm trees. Benches and wrought iron chairs sat empty, the glass fronts of restaurants showing the void inside. Esme found herself counting the seats, wondering how many times over the works canteen would fit here.

  ‘The block you expressed most interest in isn’t very far from here.’ Esme led the man between the pillars. She caught a whiff of flowers and paused to see inside a café. An automaton moved between the perfectly-positioned tables, emptying each little vase into a recycler, replacing each fading bloom with a new one. No one noticed. The café had no customers.

  She imagined sitting there, drinking tea and looking down on the marina, on the colourful sails of the yachts and the mountain peaks cluttered to the horizon. Tayrina would never lack for beautiful things to paint. Perhaps then she would stop bringing her charcoal crowds with cap-hidden faces.

  And, with the solar-generated heating system, she wouldn’t need to put each one on the fire.

  Mr. Spencer stopped at an intersection and waited, head tilted back to see the windows towering over them. He had his device out again and tapped at it without looking.

  ‘Windows facing out to the street can be modified, of course.’ She had spent weeks learning this stuff off Alfie’s tablet, and the net link in the canteen mess, so it felt wasteful not to show it off. ‘There are over ten thousand alternatives available free of charge. Many from Karmia itself.’

  He looked at her but his eyes drifted right past.

  ‘Or you can just leave them as they are. It’s your choice.’

  He nodded and moved away, as if he already knew where he was going. Esme hurried past him, eager to be out of the street. The paving tiles soaked up her footsteps. She wouldn’t hear anyone else coming.

  A security camera turned slowly at the corner but she told herself to ignore it. The suit would hide her from its stare.

  They entered the lift and Esme held the railing as the street plunged away.

  ‘Are there stairs?’ Mr. Spencer closed his eyes just a little too long for a blink.

  ‘Of course. But it’s a long way.’

  He nodded and the knuckles clutching his briefcase turned white.

  She considered telling him the next one would be less high up, but his agitation kept his attention away from her, from the hand checking her inside pocket. The leaflet promising a better life crinkled, the memory chip Alfie had given her stabbed her in the rib.

  She hoped Taylina and Alfie had rounded up their little brother by now. Seeing Taylina in her mind, the image of a fairytale witch, with wild dark hair and bare arms far too white, screaming at Jake to get himself gone, Esme felt reassured. They would deal with it. Of course they would.

  The doors glided open.

  ‘Here we are.’ Her voice stuck in her throat. A wave of cold washed over her, crushed an instant later by a blast of warm air in the hallway. Esme nearly jumped back into the lift. Her eyes scanned for flames, but found nothing. Then she relaxed. Of course, air conditioning. She remembered such a thing from the works offices, before they’d shipped the bureaucrats away to Tandoria and taken their buildings with them to start on another government-funded cityscape. She had been a proper caterer then, taking meals and drinks on lace-covered trays to the managers and architects. She had worn a smart uniform and the people she smiled at always smiled back.

  The card reader on the door blinked red. Panic stopped her breath.

  She took the pass card out and slid it in again, slower. The tiny bulb drilled into her vision. She willed it too change, ready to run. She had no excuses.

  The light blinked green and inside something clicked. The door faded away.

  ‘If you’ll step inside.’ Esme’s tongue had gone dry.

  Mr. Spencer followed her direction, device still out as he moved towards the window. The thing was beginning to worry her. What if it didn’t work like a phone?

  Esme tried to keep talking as she stuck her hand in her pocket. ‘Its quite spacious, with a lot of lighting, and as you can see, the bedroom walls are optional, so if you do want less of a studio feel, you can close them. Standard furnishings, but you can of course provide your own. Food storage and dispenser, integrated grocery delivery, plus water filtration. And a printer.’ She almost missed out the last, but her mind skipped over the possibility that he might notice the omission. ‘It’s pre-programmed with over a million basic items, customizable, and can be connected to your phone for further purchases, so you can produce whatever you like. Well, within reason. There are security protocols.’ She forced a laugh.

  Well, the security protocols were laughable.

  Whoever had decided the printers be fitted in every new home probably didn’t expect the occupants to do more than produce a new dinner plate every time they broke one.

  Her fingers found the button on the jammer Kit had given her and she pressed her thumb down.

  Mr. Spence paused in his tapping then put up a hand to stop her words.

  ‘Excuse me, just a moment, my…’

  She turned back to the door, found the printer just where the brochure had said it would be and took out the memory chip. Alfie had given her very specific over-ride instructions. But the buttons weren’t coloured. She paused.

  Hold down the blue button for five seconds before inserting the chip, that was what he had said. The buttons mocked her. They were all grey, slimly fitted to the operation panel of the printer.

  She slipped out her phone and tried to type a message, but her fingers shook. The letters danced all over the place.

  ‘It’s very nice.’ Mr. Spencer put his device away and moved to the desk. ‘Very compact, yet spacious.’

  ‘That’s one of the most important things about building in a city.’ Esme dredged up memories of overheard conversations as she fiddled with the phone behind her back, snapping a picture of the printer and hoping that would do. ‘Space is at a premium, but no one should feel crowded. There’s an optional garden as well, on the roof.’

  ‘Is that included in the price?’ He sat down at the desk and the chair shifted to the correct height automatically.

  She gripped her phone tightly, urging it to quiver. What if Alfie was still out trying to find Jake?

  ‘Try the bedroom wall. You’ll be surprised how much space there still is.’

  Mr. Spencer got up and went to do so.

  Esme’s phone demanded her attention and she turned to check
it. Two words stopped her panic in its tracks.

  Far left.

  She pushed the button down and counted. At three she thought she heard Mr. Spencer approaching but when she turned she couldn’t even see him past the bedroom wall.

  She slipped the memory chip into the slot and closed her eyes. She had no idea how long it would take. They would have to move on, see the next flat.

  ‘You’re right. It does feel very roomy.’ He shouted.

  Of course it did. There was more space in there than in her family’s shack and tent put together.

  ‘If you want to make them permanent, just tap it into the display and then you can decorate, or put up pictures, or whatever takes your fancy.’ She should be showing him things, opening cupboards and drawers, really selling the place.

  But she wasn’t a salesperson. The uniform couldn’t hide that.

  ‘Will it just be you here… or…?’ The question sounded prying, but she couldn’t think of any other to make him wait.

  ‘Just me for the moment.’ The walls slid down and he was sitting on the bed, testing the mattress by bouncing up and down. ‘I can always find a bigger flat, if I need to, if the situation arises.’

  The concept floored her. Getting one flat was hard enough.

  ‘Well,’ she tried to keep talking through her surprise, ‘some buildings allow for the easy addition of more space, by outward construction, if required. It’s a simple enough application process.’

  For him anyway. For her, it would be out of the question.

  The printer beeped.

  ‘What was that?’ Mr. Spencer looked up.

  Esme stepped back against the printer. Her hands, already behind her back, gripped the thing it had produced. Fingers ran over the sleek form, found the trigger, and tingled.

  ‘Please. Move away from the bed.’ She pointed the gun at his chest, fingers clipping the cartridge she had brought with her into place as she had practiced. In itself, that wasn’t a weapon. Not to the security scanners anyway.

  The gun’s weight gave her confidence. She looked down it and praised Alfie for his program. It was perfect, threatening without being too heavy.