Kzine Issue 16

  KZINE MAGAZINE

  Issue 16

  Edited by Graeme Hurry

  Kzine Issue 16 © September 2016 by Kimota Publishing

  cover © Dave Windett, 2016

  A Fire Beneath © Derrick Boden, 2016

  Best Laid Plans © Joseph Benedict, 2016

  Kane and Grable © Michael T. Best, 2016

  Nine Corpses, Three by Three © Meryl Stenhouse, 2016

  Season’s Greetings © Edward Ahern, 2016

  DSpeculum Crede © Tara Campbell, 2016

  Stranded © Thomas Cranfield, 2016

  The Neighbourhood Angel © Charles Ebert, 2016

  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 FIRE BENEATH by Derrick Boden (11)

  NEIGHBORHOOD ANGEL by Charles Egbert (13)

  NINE CORPSES, THREE BY THREE by Meryl Stenhouse (12)

  STRANDED by Thomas Canfield (5)

  BEST LAID PLANS by Joseph Benedict (3)

  SPECULUM CREDE by Tara Campbell (24)

  KANE AND GRABLE by Michael T. Best (3)

  SEASON’S GREETINGS by Edward Ahern (4)

  Contributor Notes

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

  A FIRE BENEATH

  by Derrick Boden

  The hallway door creaked open on rusted hinges. Adria strode into the small visiting room.

  “Twenty minutes,” the guard said from behind her, then slammed the door shut.

  White paint peeled from the concrete walls. Dust and grime caked the grout around the faded floor tiles. A light swung above a wooden table with two chairs at the center of the room. Burned into the corner of the tabletop were stenciled letters: “Brickendon Penal Colony Number Six.”

  Adria ran her fingers across the lettering. Brick Six. Home of political prisoners and war criminals. It had taken almost a year to work up the nerve to catch a flight to Earth for this. Now her twenty minutes couldn’t seem to go by fast enough.

  The door opened and a man walked in. His muscular frame stretched his orange jumpsuit, the cuffs rolled up past his elbows exposing faded military tattoos. A thick brown mustache hung on his aging face.

  He walked up to Adria and held out a hand, worn from years of service and confinement. Adria looked down at it, then back up. He looked just like the photos from the news, from her old history books. Devon Sandoval, shame of humanity.

  “I’m Adria,” she said, fighting to sound calm.

  “I know.” His voice was deep, with a reserved power. “My daughter.”

  Adria’s face flushed. The word sounded filthy, coming from his lips.

  He motioned to the table. “Sit?”

  Adria shook her head. “I won’t be here long.”

  Devon leaned against the table. “It’s good to see you. I doubt you remember me.”

  “I don’t.”

  Devon sighed. “I wish they’d at least told you about us. You might have visited sooner.”

  “Unlikely.” The word came out clipped. Her roommate had told her this would happen, but Adria was sure things would be different. She should’ve listened. This whole thing felt like a mistake.

  Devon pursed his lips. “So then… why did you come?”

  Adria gritted her teeth. The journey from the Discus was a miserable six-week roundtrip, all unpaid leave from the Brigade. She’d have a hundred questions from command to dodge when she got back. All for this self-righteous crusade.

  “Closure,” she said.

  Devon rubbed a hand against his cheek. “You came to see if I was real, hoping I wouldn’t be. Hoping the whole thing had been a misunderstanding. Hoping you’d get here and they’d tell you that your father was someone else, not the man you’ve been raised to fear and hate.”

  Adria stood, awkward and exposed, trying to collect herself. “Everyone is raised to fear and hate you.”

  Devon raised an eyebrow. “And you? Do you buy it?”

  “The evidence is written all over the caves of Titan. You pleaded guilty.”

  “It’s not that simple—”

  “Your squad massacred the only alien civilization ever discovered, under your watch. Seems simple enough.”

  Devon studied his boots. “There’s more—”

  “Don’t try to justify it to me!”

  Devon’s eyes glistened in the overhead light, drawing her into their intense sadness.

  “Some of the things that happened on Titan wouldn’t have made for a good PR story.”

  Adria fought the urge to look away.

  “We didn’t land with orders to negotiate. We weren’t even trained to communicate with them. We were soldiers, trained to kill.”

  “You were the first contact team, visiting a peaceful alien race.”

  Frustration edged Devon’s voice. “We were told they’d be aggressive. We were ordered to kill first.”

  “The government had no reason to commit genocide.”

  Devon gripped the table’s edge until his knuckles whitened. “They had plenty of reason. The Lanaid power cells. From what I can tell on the news, nobody seems to have taken any issue with how widespread the cell technology has been used since then. Revolutionized space flight, solved widespread hunger on the colonies, improved overall quality of life. The mission, by government standards, was a success.”

  “The Lanaids were peaceful! If the government wanted the cells so badly, why didn’t they just ask?”

  “They did. Just after the Lanaids landed on Titan, during the initial communications. I can only assume the response was not positive.”

  Adria eyed him. He seemed so sure of himself. Was there truth buried in his accusations? Or was this a sympathy act from a man desperate for his long-lost daughter’s affection? She wrung her hands. This was not how the conversation was supposed to go.

  Devon smiled. “You have Britney’s ferocity. She would have loved to have seen you.”

  Adria looked away. Her mother had died in prison years ago, long before Adria had learned the truth about her biological parents. But Britney Sandoval had been part of the massacre squad, too. She could have stopped it. It was just as well she wasn’t here.

  “I got my attitude from the man that raised me,” Adria said. Devon’s smile evaporated. “Jerome seems to have come out of this on top. Got a medal and a daughter out of the deal.”

  Adria spun on her heel and marched to the door.

  “Wait, Addy. I’m sorry.”

  Adria paused, facing the door. “It was a mistake coming here.”

  “Addy.” Devon’s voice grew softer. “I’m… dying.”

  Adria looked over her shoulder. “You look pretty healthy to me, old man.”

  Devon’s eyes glistened in the yellow lighting. “Brain disease, all the radiation catching up with me. The dizzy spells are getting worse every day. I don’t have much time left.”

  Adria stood with her hand sweating on the doorknob. The air felt suddenly thin. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

  She turned and left.

  * * *

  Adria awoke with a start, sweat clinging to her brow. The climate-controlled air of the Discus was cool against her skin. Something had w
oken her. She held her breath and listened.

  Silence. She let out a sigh. Ever since returning from Brick Six, her sleep had been fitful. Every creak of the pipes or drip of the faucet would wake her, disoriented. Dreams of frog-like aliens haunted her nights, screams bubbling from their lips as the flames consumed their flesh. Usually she could make out Devon’s face through the fire, face contorted into a wicked grin. Sometimes, though, she wielded the torch, burning everything in sight. On those nights, there was no going back to sleep.

  Tap, tap, tap. Metal rapped against metal. Adria crept to her feet and padded into the living room. She cracked the front door.

  A man stood outside in the Discus’s artificial night, swathed in oversized sweats. His face was shrouded in the shadows of his hood. The streetlight of the South Blocks caught a streak of gray hair and a bushy mustache.

  Adria slammed the door in Devon’s face. She was halfway to the kitchen when he knocked again.

  “Go away!” She swiped the only clean glass with a shaking hand and filled it with water.

  The news reports had announced him dead, six weeks ago. The last of the Death Squad. She’d cried for hours, alone in her room. She still didn’t know why.

  Now it seemed they’d been wasted tears.

  Devon knocked again. “Please, Adria. I just want to talk. I don’t have much time.”

  How had he gotten here? The Discus Station orbited Saturn, which at its current position was more than a month’s journey from Earth.

  “Please,” he said. “You’re all I have left.”

  Adria slammed the empty glass down on the counter and turned around. Now was he so determined to take from her what little she had? Her gaze drifted to a row of plaques hanging askew on the far wall. Military academy achievements, her acceptance into the Coalition International Aid Brigade, recognition for her first two tours of duty. It had seemed like a decent life. Sure, she had never been at the top of her class, had never been as successful as her father—her other father—had hoped. But he still seemed proud, if distant. What would he say if he knew she had gone to see Devon? If he knew Devon was standing outside right now?

  Adria ran her fingers through her hair. Whatever Devon had done, he was still human.

  She rushed to the door and threw it open. “Get inside before someone sees you.”

  Devon slipped in. She shut the door behind him after a furtive glance outside.

  He tossed his hood back. His hair was longer, and he had a fresh cut running the length of his jaw. Seeing him standing in her living room, Adria wrestled with an uncomfortable feeling of relief.

  He surveyed the apartment. Adria’s gaze followed his own, from heaps of unfolded laundry to scattered workout gear. Her face flushed.

  “The news said you were dead,” she said.

  “Not yet.”

  “How did you get here? The prison—”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “You’re lucky my roommate is off-station, or we’d both be in the brig right now. What do you want from me?”

  Devon sat on the frayed arm of her big green chair. “Take me to Titan.”

  Adria shook her head. “No way. Wait, why?”

  “Same reason you came to see me, back at Brick Six. Closure.”

  “You’re crazy. The most I can offer is a place to stay tonight before you get off this station.”

  Devon watched her, waiting. He seemed different out of prison. Prouder, more reckless. More like her. She glanced around for something to ease the sudden awkwardness.

  “You… want a beer?”

  “Sure.”

  Adria walked to the kitchen, pulled two cans from the cavernous fridge. When she turned around, Devon stood hunched over her desk.

  “Hey, get away from there—”

  “What’s this?” Devon picked up a live-doc. His own image was emblazoned on the top, shoulder-to-shoulder with twenty-nine other soldiers. As second-in-command, he stood to the right of Commander Chet Tashner. His wife Britney was to his left. The headline read: “Team Chosen for First Contact.” Scattered across the desk were digital news clippings, photographs, and paraphernalia.

  Caught. Adria shoved a beer into his hands, then cracked hers open and took a swig.

  “I haven’t gotten around to throwing this crap out yet.” She dismissed the desk with a wave. “After I found out that you’re…that we’re related, I did some research. Turns out you were as terrible as I thought.”

  “Hey, you know you could pull your punches every now and then.”

  On a spiteful impulse, Adria grabbed a media drive from the desk and thumbed the play button. The recording was scratchy with interference, but Devon’s voice was unmistakable.

  “Alright soldiers… we’re not leaving here until every last alien has burned. Kill them all.”

  Devon closed his eyes.

  Adria tossed the recording onto the desk and scowled. She looked over the scattered news clippings. The headlines began with great hope and wonder. “Aliens Crash-Land on Titan”, “First Transmission From Lanaids” and “They Come in Peace.” But they devolved into something much different. “Titan Contact Team Turns Into Death Squad,” “Thirty Red Firemen Defy Orders, Torch Aliens,” and the iconic: “Massacre on Titan.” The news stories followed the squad’s survivors back to Earth, through their swift military trials and sentencing. Over the course of the next two decades, the remaining members of the squad had died off—some from health issues, others by suicide. After every funeral, the news outlets would run specials on the massacre, reminding everyone of just how villainous those thirty men and women were.

  “This is far from the whole truth,” Devon said.

  “You had your chance to tell the truth. If you really believed that crap you tried to feed me at Brick Six, you would’ve told the judge and the press a long time ago.”

  Pain creased his face. “They kept us silent with threats to our families. They threatened you, barely two years old. This was before Jerome—”

  Adria shot him a warning glance, and he bit back his words.

  “Please. Let me see it one more time. Let me make my peace before I die.”

  Adria bit her lip. His story was far-fetched and desperate, but what if he was telling the truth?

  She shook her head. “You’re crazy. That whole region of Titan is restricted. We’d be nabbed by a sweep within minutes.”

  “A small shuttle won’t register through Titan’s fog, if we stay low enough. Your Rad-3 is perfect.”

  “There’ll be guards at the entrance. Sensors, something—” Adria paused. How did he know she owned a Rad-3?

  “No guards, no sensors. I’ve been keeping tabs. They removed all that a decade ago in favor of simple aerial sweeps. Budget cuts. Besides, who in their right mind would want to go there?”

  Adria looked away. This was ridiculous, and it could only end in disaster.

  “Please,” he said. “After this, I’ll leave you alone forever. I promise.”

  Adria looked at his weathered face and his intense eyes. Bad decisions, it seemed, ran in the family.

  * * *

  Titan was cold, dark, and lifeless. Adria slouched in the bucket seat of the shuttle. She peered out into the leaden fog that hung over Titan’s liquid-methane delta. Up ahead, a knot of clouds tossed sheets of slow-moving methane rain to the ground.

  Adria checked the shuttle’s power levels. She hadn’t dared risk refueling on the Discus, with Devon on board. But the green bar still hung at the halfway mark. Plenty of power, thanks to the shuttle’s Lanaid cell technology.

  Adria shot a sidelong glance at Devon. He hadn’t spoken since they arrived on Titan. He sat motionless, his jaw set, his eyes locked on the landscape.

  The shuttle banked left, and the autopilot weaved the craft inland between rock formations. The altimeter flashed a constant warning from the dash. Jutting peaks swept past overhead. It was a risky course, but the only way to avoid Coalition sweeps.

 
They dipped beneath a sweeping arch. An expanse of scorched rock stretched out before them. Near the center, the shelf caved inward where a gaping maw opened up in the moon’s surface. In front, rows of blue lights illuminated a raised landing platform.

  Adria shivered. Suffering was burnt into those rocks. The last gasp of a dying civilization.

  The shuttle descended toward the landing site, its thrusters firing in tiny bursts. A smooth metal plaque dominated the far side of the platform, riveted into the ground. Adria couldn’t read the etchings from here, but she knew what it said: “The Lanar Plateau, site of the Titan Massacre.”

  “This had better be quick.” Adria double-checked the valves on her oxygen tank.

  “We’ll be out before you know it, Addy.”

  Adria’s stomach knotted. “It’s Adria. Not Addy, not dear, not daughter. Adria. Now let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  The beam of light from Adria’s headlamp plunged into the mist and shadows of the cave. She gripped the auto-rappel unit with a gloved hand as they descended on twin ropes from the landing pad. The air tasted metallic, piped into her slim mask through tubes pressed against her jawline and neck, from the thin canister on her back. The skin-tight suit was comfortable, at least. It kept her warm in Titan’s frigid atmosphere, and there was no need for the cumbersome pressure suit she had suffered through during the previous year’s Mars ops.

  Her goggles registered their depth at thirty meters. The chute opened up into a massive cavern. Pools of methane mottled the rocky ground, interspersed with heaps of twisted metal and plastic. Tunnels branched off in every direction, some jagged and uncut, others smooth and polished.

  Everything was scorched and blackened. The whole place felt like death. It had been over twenty years since the massacre, and countless teams of xenologists had swept through the cave network, cataloging and testing. But there was no scrubbing the tragedy from this room. It clung to the thick methane air, was burned into the rock walls.

  Adria touched down atop a dry rock slab. She unclipped her rope. Devon dropped to the ground nearby, looking all too natural in the black, form-fitting suit. The last time he was here, he would’ve been wearing red and wielding a military-grade oxygen torch, raining death upon the last vestiges of the Lanaid civilization.