planet magazine no. 2

8/14/2019 Planet Magazine No. 2

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MastheadCirculat ion f or t his mind-bending e-mag: about 31 5 as of 7 / 9 4

STAFF

Ed i t o r & P u b l i s h e r

Andrew G. McCann

Copy Ed i t o r

Toni Long

SUBMISSIONS POLICY

Planet Magaz ine accepts short sto ries, poems, one-act plays, and odds-and-ends (use

t he lengths in t his issue as guidelines). We want original, unpublished SF, fant asy,horror, poet ry, humor, et c. (no porno, gore, or investm ent research). Because this

e-mag is free, we can't afford t o pay anyt hing except t he currency of f ree publicity and

life-enhancing good vibes. Submissions: query f irst , t hen send stories or poems as

St uf fit - or ZipIt -compressed ASCII t ext f iles t o [email protected]. Planet comes in two

flavor s: a t ext -only f ile for IBM or Macint osh or a Mac-only file wit h a nice layout , color,

and graphics. This magazine is dist ribut ed in print ed form and via America Online's

Science Fict ion Library (keyword: science fict ion; part of t he Science Fict ion & Fantasy

Forum) or AOL's general Fict ion Library ( keyword: writ ers; part of t he Writ er's Club

Forum) ; it' s also available in CompuServe' s SF Library ( go: science fict ion; part o f t he SF

& Fant asy Forum) and in NVN's SF fo rum libraries (go science fict ion).

COPYRIGHTS, DISCLAIMERS

All cont ent , design, illust rat ions, and the names Planet and Planet Magaz ine are

copyr ight 1994 by Andrew G. McCann, unless labeled ot herwise. All rights reserved.

This publication has been registered wit h t he Copyright Off ice of t he U.S. Library of

Congress. At t he same t ime, individual st ories and poems are copyright 199 4 t heir

respect ive authors, who have grant ed Planet permission t o use these works for t his issue.

All people and event s in t his magazine are ent irely fict it ious and bear no resemblance t o

actual people or events. You may freely dist ribut e this magazine to anyone electronically

and print one copy for your personal use, but do not alter or excerpt Planet without

direct permission f rom t he publisher ( Planet [email protected]). Planet Magaz ine is

published by Cranberry St reet Press, Brooklyn, N.Y., Andrew G. McCann, publisher.

C O L O P H O N

Composed on an Apple Quadra 60 5 using DOCmaker 4.02 . Text set in 10 point Geneva and

12 point Helvet ica; t he logotype is Times. Illustrat ions done in Color It ! 2.3.

Planet Magazine 2 Page 2 Sat , Apr 8 , 199 5


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"The Kravarian" was scary; how close those t wo came to going all t he way and for not hing . .

. a powerful, brief ant i-war st ory.

"My Name is Konen t he B..." Konen? wit h a Brooklynese accent ? Too much! Especially

effective "stage direction."

" On Bloating" What can I say, it IS funny , even if it is about a rat her unfunny subject . I

hope that t here will be some more humor in your Number 2 issue. But who' s she try ing to

kid: "Let 's f ace it , bloat ing is underrat ed"??????

Looking forward t o Number 2 .

Rick

via AOL

To t he Ed i t o r : How does one download Planet Magazine? (My brot her and friend have

Macs, and I'd like to download t he magazine for t hem.)

Good luck wit h t his wonderful vent ure!!!

Bob

via AOL

[ Edit or' s not e: Planet is available on America Online, CompuServe, and NVN as a t ext file or

as a read-only, st and-alone applicat ion t hat is fully f ormat t ed wit h t ext, color, and

graphics (see "Submissions Policy" on "Mast head" page for more info) . The text file can

be read wit h either a Mac or a PC t ext reader (such as M.S. Word) and t akes about 4

minutes t o download at 24 00 bps; the st and-alone app is Mac-only and takes about 17

minutes to download at 24 00 but only 4 minut es at 960 0 bps.]

To t he Ed i t o r : Hi! I loved reading t he quart erly Planet it ' s great ! I especially liked

t he "Konen" st ory, the humor column, and the "Tail of t he Dog." How neat t hat you've

started t his newslet t er!

Cora

via Freenet

To t he Ed i t o r : I just finished looking through Planet Magazine No. 1. Wow!

Maggie

via NVN

To t he Ed i t o r : I just wanted to drop a note t o say how much I enjoyed your last issue of

Planet Magazine. There was a nice diversit y of lit erat ure. I part icularly enjoyed t he poem" Last Night I went t o Africa," by M. Phillips. I am int erest ed t o know the fut ure of your

magazine, when t he next issue will be out . Thanks!

P.S. Your magazine could st and t o have a lit t le more artwork/ graphics. ( In my opinion.)

Mulu1

via AOL



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LETTERS TO SOMEONE ELSE

L a r r a b y : Egads, man, these "suicide notes" were not humorous then, and t hey most

cert ainly are not at t his late hour. Perhaps t hat young alienist in Vienna a Dr. Freund, I

believe can see you over this ghast ly hump of ghoulish jest ing. In any case, recall t hat

your one and only (it is hoped) such att empt inhaling direct ly from a lamp gas jet

only resulted in you blowing up into a shpere the likes of which only Col. Blimp's mot her

could love.

Nevert heless, I am sorry t hat I can not come 'round, as I am leaving at t his moment f or

Vict oria St ation t o cat ch t he 17 15 t o Folkest one. Flynn has t he carriage out f ront right

now, and Flashmon is beginning to doze of f aft er finishing my last bot t le of vintage '57

Taylor' s. I shall have my hands full.

Bear in mind t hat I will be meeting wit h M. Eiff el for t he entire week, dadblang it.

Take it easy, dude,Ann Akronizm , M.B.E., F.Y.I., P.O.R.K.

Surf City , Vancouver

e-mail: [email protected]



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Science Fiction

T HE BOMBARDMENT :Prologue to "The Star Nomad Chronicles"(Vol. II, Part I "Tales of Casa Alto")

by Rick Blackburn

St ardat e: 6903 .30

Casa Alt o, 70 Ophiuchi

For severa l days now t here had been uneasy rumors t hat t he Rebel's V Bat t le Fleet was

heading for 70 Ophiuchi, and for it s sole Class M1 planet Tarsus. No one was sure why;

t here cert ainly was not much tactical advantage t o at t acking what was essentially an

agricult ural world. Tarsus 2 held litt le in t he way of st rategic resources, and even less in

t he way of war materials. But it didn't t ake a Mensa graduat e to see t hat since t hey had

erupt ed out of t he warp gate at Arct urus, t heir course was straight for t he 70 Ophiuchi

t hree-star system.

Lord Eric Everett , t he St ar Nomad port captain on Tarsus, wat ched as t he computers

updated t he last known posit ion of the Rebel Fleet. When they had first come through the

Arct urus Warp Gate last week, it had been suggest ed t hat t hey were on a suicide run at

Imperial Terra it self, only 17 light y ears furt her up the American Arm t han Tarsus was.

But now, there could no longer be any doubt . Their destination was the Agro-world of

Tarsus. The huge situat ion board covered one whole wall of t he St rategic Defense Command

Headquart ers, buried deep in t he mountains t hirty kilometers nort hwest of t he capital of

Casa Alt o. The sit uat ion board was set at long-range sensor posit ion and displayed all of t he

Terran Empire' s Prime Quadrant in essence a globe surrounding Terra 50 light years in

radius. On it f lickered light s of various laser-pure colors, indicating st ars, planet s, and



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manned vessels en rout e.

It didn't look good. Alt hough, like all worlds in the Prime Quadrant , Tarsus was protect ed

by an orbit al fort ress and several ion-gun emplacement s on t he surface these were

meant t o act in concert wit h St ar Fleet units. The Terrans were of course safe, in the home

system; nearly every chunk of rock was prot ect ed by ion cannons and lit erally t housands of

sub-light fight ers capable of delivering a lethal blow t o t he most powerful dreadnought .

All of t his was backed up by planetary defense screens that would vaporize any invading

ship or missile while it w as st ill several planet ary radii out .

Such elaborate defenses for t he agro colony had been discussed briefly at each meet ing of

t he Planet ary Assembly for t he past 1 00 years; however, in the end, t he cost of

establishing such a defense net work had led the Assembly t o cont inue t o vot e to rely on St ar

Fleet f or prot ect ion. Af t er all, as 70 Ophiuchi had never been molested in any of Terra's

many interstellar wars over the centuries, it was reasonable to assume it never would be.

Except now a Bat t le Fleet of Rebels was on a direct course for t hem . . . and where was St ar

Fleet? Nint y-nine percent of Star Fleet' s resources were engaged in fight ing the Rebels on

t heir homeground, around t he New Titan Warp Gate, 9,000 light years away in the Persus

Arm of t he Milky Way Galaxy four warp gat es away. To be sure, St ar Fleet was aware of

t he V Rebel Fleet , and a St ar Fleet Task Force was in pursuit of t hem, but t he Rebels would

have five t o seven days in t he 70 Ophiuchi syst em before St ar Fleet caught up wit h t hem . .

. plenty of t ime to crush Tarsus's obsolet e defenses.

The Nomad t urned t o Genera l Yanov, t he Commander-in-Chief of Tarsus's Armed

Forces. The general looked gaunt and worried, and much older than his eight y years. Eric

was here in his off icial capacity as Port Capt ain, but Yanov was also a close personal

friend.

"Do you t hink we can hold t hem, Mikel?" Everet t asked.

"Not in space," t he general conceded. "All we can do is slow t hem down, make them bleed.

But t hey will get t hrough. And t hey will make a landing then will come our chance. We

may be able to hold t hem on the ground with t he Army."

"Then the bat t le is already lost if t he Rebels use nukes."

Yanov sighed, " I know. But I'm gambling t hat t hey are fresh from t aking a pounding by

St ar Fleet at Corridon you' ve seen the TACNEWS. The Fleet kicked t he Rebel's ass at

Corridon, and I'm bet t ing they' re low on ammo, fuel, and pract ical everyt hing else."

"But why come to us?"

" I t hink we' re looking at a pirat e fleet now, not Rebels. I t hink we' re in for t he granddaddy

of all pirate raids here, and if t he Terran Sect or Commander wait s even a week t o send

relief, there won't be anyone here for t he Terrans to f ight wit h."



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Eric looked at t he sit uation board, and watched as the computer again updat ed the posit ion of

t he Rebel Fleet as it inched it s way across the elect ronic screen t oward t he green circle of

light representing Tarsus. " You may be right," t he St ar Nomad nobleman said. " I' ll do my

best t o get a squadron of Orbit Guards from t he Homeworld, but with most of t he fleet

deployed backing up the St ar Fleet , it may be tougher t han I'd like . . . ." He spread his

hands in front of him in a show of helplessness.

"Hell of a way for a spaceman to die," Yanov growled, "grounded here, behind a desk!"

"Bah!" Eric snorted, "You're t oo mean and nast y t o die . . . ."

A collective cheer from t he technicians manning t he defense comput ers made the two

off icers glance at t he status board again. Off in the sout hwest corner of t he huge board the

orange ball that was Arct urus and it s warp gate had swollen t o t wice its size. Green and

blue diamond-shaped symbols of St ar Fleet and Allied Navy craft began to inch aft er t he

Rebels.

" Well, now, wit h the Terrans t hrough the warp gate," Yanov said, " it 's a race. If we can

hold t hem for a week they may yet come to regret t his day."

Eric leaned over a comput er t erminal and t yped in a command.

"Less t han two hours before t he advance unit s of t he Rebels arrive," he mut t ered at Yanov.

" Yes, I know. They' ll be coming out of warp in under an hour. The Orbit Guard will slow

t hem down some, but t here are too many, they'll be over the city very soon now."

"Spaceman's luck, Sir," Eric said, and salut ed. The General only had t ime t o nod inacknowledgment as he began to attempt to deploy his too-few defenders in the path of the

oncoming f leet.

The A r m y gua r ds a t t he ent r ance t o t he vast underground defense complex came t o

stif f at t ention and present ed arms as Eric came out. He returned the salute and clat t ered

down t he concret e steps t o t he jet car port, his red and gold and black cloak swirling around

him like a super-hero's cape. If he only had some of t hose super powers, Eric t hought

ruefully as he headed for t he far end of t he ramp. His protocol droid already had t he staff

car around in front await ing him.

Eric climbed into t he front seat wit h t he droid he wanted t o feel t he wind in his face it

might be the last t ime he would be on t he surface for an ext ended period.

"Good-morning-sir," t he droid's monotone voice greet ed him.

"Where-are-we-going-now?"

" Home, CP-47, it looks like t he Rebels are about six hours closer t han we originally



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thought."

" Is-t hat-bad-sir?" t he droid inquired.

Dumb droid, Eric thought . " Yes, CP-47 , that' s bad very bad."

* * *

N i n e- a n d - a - h al f - y e a r - o l d D a v i d E v e r e t t and his best f riend, ten-year-old Bobby

St arkie, were playing cat ch wit h a small, hard rubber ball in David's f ront yard when t he

staff car pulled up to Eric Everet t 's ranch-sty le home in an aff luent west side secto r of Casa

Alto.

Eric paused a minute t o t ake a loving look at his young son. He was small and lithe, slender

and long-limbed like his mother. His chestnut brown hair was st raight and thick; it was

square-cut in t he back and long in the f ront , so that it fell across his forehead and his large

brown eyes. He had a sprinkling of f reckles over the bridge of his nose and was somewhatt aller than average for his age. He had a loud, high-pitched voice that he could shape into a

let hal weapon by whist ling bet ween his strong, white t eeth.

He was slow to make friends, but once he had, he was affect ionat e and loyal to t hat person

lucky enough to be so favored. Eric was pleased and proud of being a friend and a parent t o

his young son. St ar Nomads had a tendency t o spoil t heir children because they were so

fond of t hem. This dated f rom t he Great Exodus that had sent t he St ar Nomads roaming

t hrough the galaxy. The location of t heir home world and t he nat ure of t he Great

Catast rophe were now forgot t en, and about t he only t hing Nomad hist orians could agree on

was t hat it had all happened some 27,000 t o 30 ,000 years ago. Children had been scarce

and precious commodit ies in t hose long-past days, and t heir value t o t heir parents had not

decreased over t he millennia.

" Hi Daddy!" David screamed, and ran over t o his fat her. Eric grinned and picked up his

young son under t he arms and swung him around.

What will become of t he children? Eric t hought . Will t he rebels have slavers with t hem?

Will they even bother wit h enemy children . . . or just slaught er them?

" Hi, brat!" he said aloud. " Is Mom in the house?"

"She's shopping. Can Bobby and me go swimming in the canal?"

"No, son. Not t oday . . . ."

"Aww, but " both boys started to protest.

" David!" Eric said sharply. Much t oo sharply, Eric reprimanded himself, t oo much of my

own strain showing through. " I have a good reason for want ing you t o stay close t o the



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house t oday, and Bobby?" he said, t urning to t he ten-year-old.

" Yes sir?"

" I know that bot h your parents are working, but I'm sure t hat t hey would t ell you t o stay

close to home t oday also."

"But why?" asked David.

" Is something wrong?" Bobby asked.

Eric frowned, t oo many quest ions for which he did not have answers. " Well, you boys have

heard t hat t here is a space fleet cruising toward Tarsus. Well, they' re going to be here in a

litt le more t han an hour now."

"Oh boy!" t he two children said in unison.

"But no one knows exact ly what t hey want . We parent s will want t o know exactly where

you kids are today. If it t urns out t hat t here is going to be t rouble, we may have to evacuat e

all t he children."

" INVASION!" Bobby said. " Like on the Tri-D!"

" I want you boys t o promise me that you'll bot h stay close to home, and always ask before

you t ake off somewhere," Eric cont inued.

"We promise, don't we Dave?" Bobby immediately said. David nodded, st ill not quite aware

of t he seriousness of his father's warning. The t wo boys returned to t heir game of cat ch,

and Eric start ed for t he house.

He im m ed iat e l y headed f o r t he com m - web , wondering if he could st ill get an

off -planet call through. He dialed a five-digit code to access t he int erstellar net , and

specified his calling dest inat ion: t he planet Valhalla, in orbit around Mu Cassiopeiae, 31

light years away. There were some delays, but t he system did not out right reject t he

coding, as it would have if t he Rebels had been able to jam the sub-space channels t hat t he

hyper-relay used. In under 30 seconds the blue, gold, and red banner of t he St ar Nomad

Nat ion was displayed on his screen, with t he let t ers "VALHALLA" along the bott om limit of

t he screen. Anot her eleven digit s and a similar inst rument on a desk over t hirt y light

years away in t he Valhallian Defence Direct orat e was ringing.

"Deput y Chief of Operat ions."

The Ops Specialist was an att ract ive young woman in her twenties wit h t he insignia of a

Chief Pet t y Officer Three on her gray uniform jersey. An involuntary whist le escaped

Eric's lips; alt hough happily married, he st ill enjoyed t he art of girl-watching.



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" This is an of f icial aut ovon circuit , sir. Whist ling is prohibit ed," t he Specialist said

curt ly, and leaned forward t o press t he dissolve swit ch.

"Of course," Eric said, somewhat abashed. "Capt ain McKim's of fice please."

"Yes sir and sir?"

"Yes?"

" It s Commodore McKim now, sir." She disappeared from t he screen, and an instant later

the face of his old friend, Donald McKim, filled the screen.

" Eric," t he Commodore said warmly, "are you and the family off t hat mud-ball yet ? What

IS happening over your way?"

"Hey, Don! Congrat ulat ions on your post ing to Flag Rank!" Eric was glad of t he personal

business to blunt t he request s he had to make of his old friend . . . requests he knew the

other could do nothing about.

" Well, I'm not in your league." McKim grinned widely, and Eric blushed. " Boy milit ary

genius, graduat ed t op of your class at t he Academy at sixteen, Captain at t wenty -nine,

promot ed t o f lag rank at t hirty -five, Hero of t he Ardallian Campaign."

" But you finally got here t o t he rarefied heights of senior command." Eric grinned.

"How are t hings t here? Our lat est int elligence plot locates t he V Rebel Batt le Fleet as being

only hours away at best. You and that pret t y wife and kid had bett er high-tail it out of

t here and I mean now!"

Eric' s grin disappeared. " The advance element s are already in syst em." he said. " Janice

and David are safer behind the city defense screen now. Look, Don, I've got t o ask do you

have any uncommit t ed units you can send us t o patch up a cent uries-old defense

structure?"

McKim's face fell. " I was afraid that was what t his call was about . Why the hell did you

wait so long? When the fleet 's t rajectory confirmed 70 Ophiuchi as the destinat ion I called

t o warn you t o get t he hell out of t here . . . ."

"Janice "

"Yes, I know, didn't want t o leave her people behind but look at my situat ion." TheCommodore's f ace was replaced by a combat -readiness spreadsheet . "Admiral St arn's 83 rd

Squadron is due in port t omorrow f rom t he East ern Circuit." As he spoke, colored icons

moved around the spreadsheet from one disposit ion to another. "But t hey are tot ally dry on

Tylium for t heir int ercept ors and are low on ammo. Admiral St arn made me swear a blood

oath t hat he's top of t he list f or refitt ing. But even so, that' ll t ake a week t o ten days.



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"The 179t h just left for t he Capella Warp Gate and the Ras-Alget hei front ; 22nd is on

stand-down, their crews scat t ered all over the Empire on 30 -day leave, not due back for

another 14 days; 40 77 t h is also on stand-down but because of heavy casualt ies and

severe bat t le damage, it 'll be six to eight mont hs before t hey're ready t o warp out of orbit .

"Bat t le Group C now t here's what you need: two at t ack carriers, four bat t le ships, a

dozen cruisers, and t heir support ing auxiliaries. They are scheduled t o leave t omorrow t o

relieve the convoy escort group t aking convoys to t he Persues Arm batt le front . I can t ry

t o divert t hem, and I will try , but . . . ." The display on Eric's comm-web screen changed

from dat a mode back to HD visual mode as the Commodore was speaking.

" A Romulan's chance, eh?" Eric grow led.

" I'm afraid so."

" What about some of t he Allies? The H'Rumbians? Wookies? Chrissakes, t he Klingons

never willingly miss a chance at combat ."

" The problem is t hat alt hough t his is a Terran war, it has polarized much of t he Federation

also. Most races eit her already have t aken sides and their milit aries are as stret ched t hin

as ours, or they have decided upon a policy of complet e neut ralit y. Good idea about t he

Klingons t hough, I have a fr iend on the Armada's CinC's st aff who owes me a favor. I' ll send

him a message immediat ely, 'All Speed' and all. If t hey've got anyt hing, you can count on

t he Klingons to show up, but t he victory part y aft er might be as bad as a pirate raid t he

Klingons are big believers in party ing and fight ing."

McKim's face suddenly brightened. " Is that your lit t le rugrat, t here?"

" Huh?" Eric turned. David was st anding at t he rear of t he room, Eric's makeshift of fice in

their home.

"Yeah," he said, mot ioning David to join him. " This is my son, David," he said, squeezing

t he boy's shoulders aff ectionately.

"Good-looking kid," McKim said.

" David, t his is an old friend of mine, Commodore McKim," Eric said.

" By your command, sir," David said, repeating t he formal milit ary greeting t hat his fat her

had t aught him, wide-eyed and awest ruck by t he figure on t he screen.

"At ease, Trooper," McKim said, laughing at t he solemnit y of t he small boy. " Do you t hink

you will follow your f ather's people then . . . and take t he TEST and become a St ar Nomad?"

" Yes sir," t he lit t le boy said, st ill standing at att ention. The screen blurred for a moment



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and was filled wit h snow, t he pict ure rolled several t imes before st abilizing again.

". . . jamming . . . -squawk- . . . when it 's all over," t he speaker of t he comm-web spat .

McKim's image wavered again and dissolved into snow for a final t ime. " Spaceman's Luck!"

"St op by for a drink Frank's Pass Out next Empire Day," Eric shouted bef ore t he

connection was t ot ally broken by enemy elect ronic warfare. He turned away from t he set ,

worried.

"What happened, Daddy?" David asked.

"The Fleet is jamming all of f-world calls." He turned t o David and t ook t he boy by the

shoulders again. "You may be called upon t o be very brave in t he next f ew days. I want you

t o remember t hat you are a St ar Nomad. It is not a sin to be afraid, but you must not panic

. . . no mat t er what . Do you understand, David?"

"Yes, Daddy," t he small boy said.

" I'll be at t he st ar port f or a few days, I may have to sleep over. I want you t o mind your

mot her. And if you have to, to t ake care of her until I get back."

"I will, Daddy."

Eric sighed, " You and Bobby will be able t o wat ch t he Fleet landing from our f ront yard, it

should be quit e a sight ."

At t hat moment, Bobby's t reble voice drift ed into t hem, "DAVID! Come outside, quick! You

won' t believe it !" His voice was drowned out by an intense, rumbling sonic boom.

Out s ide , up in t he sky , a format ion of f ive delt a-wing Planet ary Assault Cruisers

were lumbering across t he cit y at perhaps t wenty-t housand feet t ree-t op level for t he

mile-long int erstellar behemoths. Suddenly, a double-V of t en Viper int erceptors f lashed

overhead, perhaps 1,500 feet off t he ground. The alien fight ers were followed by a huge

sonic boom. David and Bobby were jumping up and down with excit ement at t he unexpected

milit ary air show. David shout ed something, his hands jammed over his ears, but was

drowned out by anot her squadron that flashed overhead even lower. Mach 2.5 or 3; Eric

automat ically began thinking like an ant iaircraft gunner lead the t arget by some much,

determined by t he est imat ed speed multiplied by a coeff icient representing t he alt it ude and

read in degrees, minutes, and seconds of arc.

Janice Everet t , Eric's wife, pulled t he family jet car int o t he long drive beside t heimmaculat e lawn and immediately draf t ed her young son and his fr iend int o servitude,

unloading the cargo compartment of her purchases. She came over to st and beside t he tall,

muscular figure of her husband.

"Does t his mean war?" she asked.



14/45

Eric smiled at his long-limbed young wife. " Honey, half t he galaxy has been at war for t he

past four years . . . but yes, I'm afraid t hat t he war has finally caught up wit h us. I only

hope we can negot iate an honorable surrender."

" Surrender?" Janice was surprised, "but you' re t he one who always says surrender is t he

coward's way out ."

"Yes," Eric agreed, "But t hat presupposes t hat bot h sides have the means to cont inue

combat ." Eric pointed skyward, ot her format ions of PACs higher up were st ill passing

overhead. "That 's a full bat t le fleet . . . against an outmoded planetary defense system t hat

should have been scrapped and rebuilt over a cent ury ago."

David and Bobby had managed to draft Eric' s prot ocol droid, CP-47 , into service carrying

groceries from t he jetcar parked on its landing ramp into t he kit chen of t he Everett 's

home.

" If we f ight ," Eric said wit h finalit y, "we sign t heir deat h warrant s." A sweep of his hand

indicated David, Bobby, and all t he other children on t he block. "We simply cannot defend

t he planet against t hat many guns and ships."

Eric put his arm around her waist and bent down to kiss her on t he cheek. " Don't worry,

unless the Fleet Commander is a madman, they' ll simply raid t he planet fo r gold and

supplies; aft er all, t here really isn't much here t o loot for a smash-and-grab pirate. And,

t hey've got t he St ar Fleet less than a week behind them . . . ."

" I know," Janice began, and suddenly snat ched out at a bag David was carrying and

ret rieved a t hin piece of paper. " The newsfax is full of speculat ion about t he fleet ." She

waved the newsfax in Eric's face. " Look at t his . . ."

" TERRAN FLEET ANNIHILATES MAIN REBEL RESISTANCE IN PERSEUS ARM (Unit ed Press

Int erst ellar) In a news release f rom St ar Fleet Command, Amiral Melvin...." Eric

frowned as he scanned the newsfax rapidly. The Trilat eral Alliance, which had long been

neut ral during t he interstellar power struggle for t he Terran Throne, had t wo weeks ago

concluded an agreement wit h Gar Landry, t he Terran Emperor, and had entered t he war on

t he Emperor's side. The first ef fect s of t heir powerful military had been t ot al obliterat ion

of t he Rebel's XIII Fleet in t he Perseus Arm and t he subsequent f all of Corridon t o t he

Imperial Marines. It meant t he beginning of t he end for t he rebels loyal t o Tokerarat

Bulgannin, self-st yled king of Perseus. It meant t he rebels would be t wice as dangerous t o

deal wit h when t hey arrived, fresh from a smarting def eat .

Eric and Janice had walked t o t he st aff car, their arms int ert wined. Eric paused t o kiss his

beautif ul wife again; it was a long and passionat e kiss.

" Will you be home t his evening?" Janice asked.



15/45

" I don't t hink so," Eric said slowly. " I may be away for a few days, but I'll be back as soon

as I possibly can. To be on t he safe side, perhaps you'd bet t er load the car in case we have

t o evacuat e the cit y, okay?"

"Okay," she said, and squeezed his hand. " I love you!"

"And I love you, too, sweet buns."

CP- 4 7 h a d r e t u r n e d fr om his port er dut ies and Eric climbed in, saying,"St arport ,

CP-47."

The staf f car pulled out of t he driveway and headed for t he st arport, 20 kilometers t oward

t he cent er of t he cit y. The drive was a short one, but in that t ime, Eric managed to read all

of t he newsfax concerning the Corridon Bat t le. The more he read, t he more worried Eric

became; it was obvious that t he rebel Admiral would be in no rush to join t he blast ed XIII

Fleet in t he Perseus Arm, and it would make an honorable surrender harder st ill.

The st arport was a beehive of activit y. Tarsus had no off icial navy, it s GNP being too small

t o support a large fleet , but several capt ains of Free Traders current ly in port had agreed

t o accept Tarsus's commission as privateers in return f or commercial concessions af t er

t he war and gold up front . These twenty or so rust bucket s had been mount ed with phaser

cannons and ship-t o-ship missile launchers. Most had complet ed the inst illation of

weapons and repowering and had lift ed into circumpolar orbit s around eit her Tarsus or

Awesome, around which Tarsus orbit ed.

Two of t he ships, relics from t he last century, were still standing on t he port, t echs

hurrying t o finish connect ing power leads f rom hast ily installed phaser cannons inside

weapons turret s that looked like t wo large blist ers on the port and st arboard sides of t he

ships.

CP-47 eased the staf f car int o Eric's reserved space at t he Port Operat ions center; Eric

climbed out and began surveying t he work still in progress on t he two remaining

privateers on the ramp of t he st arport , a half kilomet er away. As he shaded his eyes, Ian

Fischer, t he port 's manager came up t o him.

"What's the word from the defense center?"

"Hi, Ian. Not good, I'm sorry t o say. The planetary defense bat t eries are about t wo-t hirds

combat -ready and only Casa Alt o has a defense screen . . . and I don' t know long t hat ant ique

will hold up against a concent rated at t ack."

"Have you heard about t he Government emissary's meeting wit h t he Rebels? He's shutt ling

up right now, should be in about fif t een minutes."

" I've st ill got a lot of work to do," Eric said. " I'll watch from my off ice."



16/45

"Okay, Eric," t he ot her said. " We'll have t o get t oget her for a good stif f drink when this is

over."

"Yeah," t he Nomad agreed, "next Empire Day."

Er i c ' s o f f i c e w a s i n a l o n g , w i d e b u i l d i n g in the administ ration complex of t he

St arport . In t he cent er of an audito rium-sized room was a t hree-dimensional image of t he

starport it self; around t he edges of t he room in a t wo-t ier semicircle were t he people

responsible for t he smoot h t echnical operation of t he st arport , Tarsus' Space Traff ic

Cont rol people. As Eric headed for his privat e off ice, t he Bulwark, one of t he tramp

freight ers-cum-privateers, lift ed of f. It s highly det ailed 3-D image balanced on it s

ion-plasma flame for a second, running it s drives up t o maximum out put t o make t he

60 -second run for deep space. Then it quickly rose toward t he ceiling, where t he image

left t he model at a scale altit ude of 5 0,00 0 f eet .

Eric sat down in front of his desk, just as the soft " kweep" of t he beep signal indicat ed

somet hing on the communicat ions channel he should watch. Eric leaned forward and

t ouched a but t on and t he 36-inch LCD screen on the opposit e wall of his off ice glowed t o

live with t he image of T. Cecil Olgelthorpe, local news pundit .

"Good af t ernoon, ladies and gent lemen, this is your KSRX news service, anchored by t he

award-winning comment ator T. Cecil Olgelthorpe. Of course, t he biggest news story t o

cross t his report er's desk in several years is the arrival of t he Space Fleet, current ly

t aking up station in planet orbit around our modest lit t le world. Alt hough t he exact

intent ions of t he aliens are not current ly known, the government has appointed Cyrus

Wackerbat h, a well-known ret ired polit ician, as well as a former m ember of t he Imperial

Senate and Federation Ambassador, t o communicate the complete welcome of t he

government of Tarsus to t he aliens . . . ."

"Hhrump!" Eric snorted. " A lot of good that' ll do," he mut t ered t o himself.

" . . . while they are in orbit ." t he Tri-D cont inued. " The alien fleet is composed of a

mixt ure of Federat ion races, wit h t he majorit y being Saurians. Saurians are rept illian

bipeds native t o t he 45 Delta Aquillae st ar syst em, just t he other side of t he Rigil Warp

Gate . . . Ahh, I t hink the Admiral commanding the Fleet is about t o address us . . . ."

The im age sh if t ed t o a l ar ge b r i e f i ng r oom aboard one of t he Saurian bat t leships.

Cyrus Wackerbat h, t ogether with his ent ourage, was st anding at t he foot of a long, polished

Tarmarakwood t able, while t he Saurian Adm iral, and his of ficers, including a sour-looking

human, sat at t he head of t he table.

"Your Excellency . . ." Wackerbat h began, but was cut o ff in midsentence as a Saurian MP

used his phaser rifle but t t o hit t he emissary in t he midsect ion. Wackerbath doubled over

t o t he gasps of his entourage, who rushed forward t o him.

The camera shift ed t o t he Saurian Admiral, whose jaws were open, exposing half-inch



17/45

incisors and lot s of needle-sharp teet h. Eric, having dealt wit h Saurians, recognized t he

alien facial expression: cont empt fo r a meat animal.

The weasily human arose from his chair and int roduced t he Saurian Admiral: " The High

Lord Admiral Ra'ak Leahcim kor Reay, Flag Of f ice Commanding t he Fift h Fleet of his Most

Sublime Majesty, Toker arat I, King of Perseus."

The Admiral arose and looked direct ly int o t he Tri-D camera.

"You arrrreee our meat !" t he sentient rept ile hissed at t he camera. "You cannot save

yourselves by at t empt ing to surrender. Surrender from a foe who lacks the ability t o

defend himself is an insult t o t he at t acker. For t his insult , and because you all have

commit t ed t reason against t he lawful Emperor, Tokerarat of Perseus . . . you are all

sent enced to die!"

" Crom' s Devils!" Eric roared, and jumped t o his feet , slapping at t he dissolve switch.

There would be no honorable surrender, and, as long as that lizard was in command, no

surrender at all t he rebels meant t o slaughter t hem all!

Eric st abbed at t he comm-web but t on, the screen came to life with t he Chief of t he traff ic

controllers.

"Get t hat ship off t he field, NOW!" Eric ordered. There was no need t o specify which ship,

t he Chief Contro ller had been wat ching t he Tri-D also.

" Aye aye, sir," was t he reply.

Er i c w e nt o u t o n t o t h e o p er a t i o n s f l o o r . Already t he pre-start warm-up of t he

freight er's plasma ignit ers was visible as a soft purplish-green glow at t he stern of t hestubby cigar-shaped starship, sit t ing on its t ripod landing gear on t he ramp out side. Eric

sat in his oversized command chair wit h it s comput er connect ions and display screens,

pulling on the headset wit h its earphone and at t ached microphone. Eric signaled t hat he

would handle this depart ure himself. It was quit e likely t hat he was sending t hese men and

women to their deaths high above the planet in combat against an implacable foe. If it was

t o be, bet t er t he order came from him, rat her t han one of t he civilian t echnicians.

" Privat eer Wodin's Beard request ing clearance to lift ," t he omni speaker crackled.

" Wodin's Beard," Eric said into t he boom microphone on his headset . " All clear forward

and up. Spaceman's Luck, guys."

" Thanks, Tarsus. We'll need it ."

The last remaining privateer began it s slow ascent t o orbit , a starship's most vulnerable

moments.



18/45

T w o V i p e r i n t e r c e p t o r s s u d d e n ly r o a r e d across the apron of t he main ramp of t he

st arport , pulse-laser cannons blazing. The gunners on the newly created privateer

returned fire, and for a heart-st opping moment it appeared t hat t hey might actually make

it into free space as one of t he vipers was caught in a burst of killing light and dissolved

into flame.

But it was not t o be. The remaining Viper swooped in close, firing at t he most vulnerable

point of t he ancient starship, it 's liquid-fuel boost ers, used t o att ain orbit and t hen

jet t isoned t o be reclaimed by an orbit al t ruck lat er. Wit h a single, thunderous report and

a huge gout o f red-yellow f lame, one of t he mono-hydrozine18 t anks exploded, spewing

flaming wreckage over a f ive-kilometer radius of t he Labyrint h, t he warehouse and

black-market sector just out side t he ring of t he st arport proper.

Already, one could hear t he wail of f ire sirens in the dist ance.

St ory copyright 1 99 4 Rick Blackburn.

(Edit or' s note: "The Bombardment " will be cont inued in the next excit ing issue of Planet .

Rick Blackburn can be cont act ed at St [email protected] or at

[email protected].)



19/45

ST EAL T H

by Andrew G. McCann

T h a t ' s r i g h t , you saw me on Oprah and Donahue. And I'll bet cha my last beer

you' re wondering what kind of chucklehead would've done it . Well, let me explain by

t elling you that only one word describes t he Ult imate Joyride: tot ally awesome. And that' s

what it was, a joyride. If it wasn't , you t hink I'd be sit t ing here t elling you about it ? Like

my lawyer said, I didn't intend to st eal t he plane, I intended to go f or a joyride. It ain't

even grand-theft jet.

Look, how could I resist ? Here I was, a laid-off beverage deliverym an from Cleveland,

hitching out west f or t he summer. I'm bored, kicking t hrough t his empty t own in Nevada,

Rosy Palm or somet hing, and I come across t his long, chain-link fence. Behind it , t here's

t his big empty parking lot , huge sheds built int o t he side of t he mountains, and some

dark-blue parade stands. But I don't see anyone, and, like my lawyer t old t he press

conference, I swear I didn't see any signs saying "privat e propert y." So, alley oop and over

I go. Okay, so why? Because sit t ing in t he middle of t his giant, concrete lot , right in front

of t hese stands, was a humongous UFO. A mean, bat -shaped sucker. I wasnt t hat scared, of

course; I'm used to seeing UFOs. Anyway, I had nothing else t o do.

So I come scrambling over low t o t his evil gizmo, just sitt ing t here like a hi-t ech Shelob,

t he Queen Spider. I t ook a walk around it : perfect ly smoot h, dark gray; just a big wing

wit h two vents and massive landing gear for each wing and t he nose. Now, if you' re

wondering how come I sound so knowledgeable, that' s because I did a lit t le bit o f reading up

on the subject during the trial. Newsweek, I t hink it was. Anyway, I decide t o t ake a look

in t he cockpit , and I creep up t he side of t his billion-dollar, Teflon-coat ed monster. And

you never saw such a video game in your life; so in I go. It was very comfort able.



20/45

Now I strap myself down and st art pressing but t ons and making machine-gun noises and,

would ya believe it, t he t hing start s up. Don't ask me how, but t he more I t ried t o stop it ,

t he more it st arts moving down t he tarmac. Before I know it, I'm airborne. Like my

att orney says: "Hey, they left t he keys in it ."

And I' m f l y i ng t h r ough heaven . In a few minut es, I'm over San Francisco, and I go in

low and just miss clipping t he Golden Gate Bridge. Talk about your UFOs. Then, I somehow

swing slowly around and go screaming back across t he country . Af t er awhile, I t hink I

must be back over Cleveland at least , it looks like a shining city on a lake.

There's t his sort of whispery, crackling sound I keep hearing, and I realize it' s coming

from t his really cool Top Gun helmet , which I forgot t o put on. So I squeeze it on, and

t here's this very calm fella keeps asking me my name, and do I speak English and so fo rt h.

I say sure, I'm Buck Yaeger. As a policy, I always give fake names t o t he authorit ies, but I

quickly realize I'm very likely bust ed already. So I say, Who' s this? And he says General

Somebody, f rom CONDOM or MIDOL or somet hing. Well, t hey said t hey were having a lit t le

t rouble locating me exact ly because of t he St ealth t echnology, which prett y much

neut ralized their radar waves, and which on this model was part icularly "advanced," as

t hey put it . So he asks my locat ion so's he can talk me down to t he nearest airport .

But t hen I realize, he's got t a be kidding: I wouldn't know an aileron from my elbow.

What 's more, like him, I hadn't t he faintest idea where I was. That' s when I panicked. I

start ed sweatin' and flippin' switches and went int o t his rollercoast er t urn where t he blood

just lef t my brain. I mean, consciousness said, Later, dude. But I must have pressed

something else, too, because when I came to, I was slowly falling t o earth st rapped int o just

my bat -shaped seat , wit h t his bat -bizarro parachut e billowing above me.

I l a nd e d p r e t t y h a r d , but t he plane landed harder right on t op of t he largest

t elevision studio in t he Midwest, I hear. As you probably read in the papers, I managed t ohide out in a barn for a few days unt il the horses had enough of me and raised hell one

morning. Out of t he house tot t ers Old, Wrinkled McDonald with a 12-guage shot gun and no

sense of humor. He held me off unt il the cops came.

My legal counsel expect s I'll do only a lit t le t ime, since public opinion says it was the

milit ary's own damn fault f or leaving that plane right out in the open like that , with no

signs or guards anywhere in sight . And it seems the judge'll let me keep prof it s from t he

book I'm writ ing with some dude from " People" magazine, alt hough the lawyer' s fees are

gonna snarf down a big chunk of t hat. In any case, my brot her-in-law got me a job as a

night guard wit h Cleveland Secur-i-Tee Co. I'm gonna need some scrat ch when I get out

of t he slammer and t his media rock-st ar gig flames out .

So, you ask, What are my regret s? I guess t he only t hing I'm sorry about is t hat TV st udio

I t urned into an enormous slice of burnt t oast. But , hey, look at t he bright side: Maybe it

means one less talk show you' ll see me on.

St ory copyright 19 94 Andrew G. McCann.



21/45

CLIMBING JACOB'S LADDER

by Brian Burt

The sun neve r shone in He l l , and fo lks never saw the stars. That was what t hey

missed more t han anyt hing, why t hey hat ed it so much. Three-quart ers of t he luminary

panels had been shat t ered by punks or juicers, leaving the leprous metal skin of t he place

in perpet ual dusk. Except , of course, during sleep-cycle, when t he wary fled t he

glowt ube-speckled darkness to cower in t heir apart ment s unt il it passed; when

demon-boys and blackheart s lurked in hungry shadows, swallowing t he foolish, t he

unlucky, and each ot her. During day-cycle a homeboy could move around if he knew whichareas were DMZ, if he crossed the t urf borders in the right places and could afford t he

t olls. It was st ill a dangerous place, day or night . Food, clot hes, medicine, t ronix Hell

got t he worst of everyt hing, shoddy discards from up t he Ladder. St ill, what bot hered most

folks was not seeing t he sun.

Unlike the rest , Raghib Jones could scam his way out of Hell. At least once a week he tubed

up t he Ladder, t hrough t he nether levels all t he way t o Paradise: Chicago Met ro Level Five.

Up t here, above the strat ified met al shell of t he city , he could walk under an open sky

beside t he Topsiders. Somet imes he stayed past sunset, ignoring sublevel curfews so he

could watch t he st ars sparkle dimly above Lake Michigan, wat ch t he moon glow overhead

like a wedge of ripened honeydew. Being the best hacker on the nets bought him that

precious breat h of f reedom. If t he Ladder cops caught him, theyd t oss his ass in the juvie

Hellpit s for sure. He didnt give a damn. Everybody deserved a t aste of sunshine, and it

wasnt f air t hat f olks buried on Level One couldnt aff ord it . Besides, there were worse

t hings to worry about t han Ladder cops.

One of t hose worse t hings hacked into Raghibs net session without warning. The Net ware

Engineering classroom of Depauls Virt ual Universit y dissolved around him, replaced wit h



22/45

a swirling f ract al fog. Raghib cursed as the image of an immense dragon filled his gogg les,

its armored body covered with scales t he color of jade, its t ail bristling wit h bony spikes

dripping blood. Leat hery wings billowed like sails above a serpentine neck t hat ended in a

human face. Akuma, leader of t he Helldragons, his slanted eyes glowing like hot slag.

Akumas virt ual lips part ed in a razor smile. Hey, Raw, how you got t ime to link into

t hat sweet litt le Topside college when you so busy fucking wit h my Dragons?

Raghib juiced up his own virt ual image, a proud black warrior w it h bulging biceps and a

glitt ering afro sculpted int o t he sleek out line of a spaceplane. A righteous look, kind of an

ast ral Malcolm X on steroids. Im takin t hem classes cause t hey my t icket out a here,

Akuma. I just wanna stay clean and get my family up the Ladder. I don mess with nobody,

specially not your Dragons.

Akumas spiny t ail t wit ched in t he background. Ninja St orm hit our St oney Island dojo

last night . Killed t en soldiers, left f ive more scrambled. Cut t hrough our guard-dog

netware like it not t here. Word on nets is no way they do that wit hout Raw.

Raghib winced. Man, t hat s rat shit an you know it ! I don soldier for no Ninja St orm,

and I don soldier for no Helldragons. I just do my classes and stay outa yalls way. I don

want no part o no gang war!

You sing sweet , Raw, like mockingbird . But mockingbird lies. I want proof you not

St orms boy. You hack for Dragons. Then I know you not my enemy.

Raghib shook his virtual head, felt his helmet ed realtime head shaking in t andem

somewhere far away. No way, man. Ill send you just like I did Shibo an t he St orm. I

don hack for hire. I don do gang biz.

A crackling tongue of flame flicked from Akumas mouth. Hey, kage, you play nast y game

wit h me. How you like if I play nast y wit h your woolly old Mama-san? Maybe your sweet

lit t le kage brot her?

Raghibs realtime f ist s clenched inside his gloves, t he glove sensors translating t he

movement s int o digital pulses t hat caused his virt ual image t o mirror the gesture. The

racial slur didnt bo t her him. Kage Japanese for shadow. Who gave a shit. But

t hreatening Mama and Jamaal? Man, this squint was begging f or a gigajolt of juice in his

wet ware! Raghibs t emper sizzled like a pissed-on powerpack.

You mess wit h my blood an youll see how nast y t he game can get . Ill kick your skinny

yellow ass, an I won t need no Ninja St orm t o help!

Akumas dragon roar shook the nets. You gone, kage, you hear? You yurei! You a fucking

ghost!

That s right . I walk t hrough walls an slip t hrough your greasy fingers like smoke. Just



23/45

don be steppin on my grave.

Raghib purged t he Helldragon simulacrum f rom his net space before t he crazy Jap could

rant at him again. Level One was gett ing too hot for someone who refused to choose sides.

He had to f inish his degree so he could get his family up to Level Two. Level Two could still

bleed you, but at least f olks t here kept t rying. They kept t heir eyes up. Not much left in

Hell but fog-eyed zombies wit h no hope. And bloodsuckers like Akuma who kept t hem that

way. Damn, he hat ed the gangs! He wouldnt let t hem drain the life out of Mama and

Jamaal. He cut t he link and stripped off his virt ual int erface gear, tr embling wit h

impotent rage.

Jam aa l punched h im in t he a r m , a good shot for a bony ten-year-old, and st ared at

him wit h pleading eyes. Hey, man, you dint f orget ?

Raghib grinned, his ill t emper fading. Nah, I dint fo rget . Come on, monkey.

Mama raised her t ired head f rom t he gel-couch, her short -clipped silver hair brist ling

like steel wool. A lifet ime in Hell had et ched deep fissures into her gaunt brown face.

Where you boys off t o?

Raghib sighed, knowing Mama would hassle him. Promised Id t ake Jam t ubin t oday, let

him breathe a lit t le rich mans air. The boy aint never seen Heaven, Mama. I spect it s

time he did.

Mamas sleepy eyes flashed. The boys name aint Jam, it s Jamaal. And your name aint

Raw, it s Raw-heeb. You use it , boy. Your Daddy gave you t hat fo re this place ate him.

That s a freedom name, gonna take you straight up the Ladder someday, if you don get

yourself t hrown in t he Hellpit s fore t hat can happen!

Jamaals wide brown eyes narrowed in disgust. Ah, Mama, Raw promised! I just got t a

see t he sky wit h my own eyes, not in no vid. Even the rats too scared t o come out in this

smelly ol dump.

Mama sat up and waved a gnarled finger at bot h of t hem. Maybe them rats got more sense

t han bot h of you. Theres a lot of evil t ween here an the t ubes!

Raghib spoke quiet ly enough t o smother her anger. The boys tired of suckin soot down

here. He needs real air an sunshine. I swear Ill t ake care of him.

Mama seemed to age several decades before Raghibs eyes. He hated to pain her, t o play on

her guilt , but she had t o face the t rut h. She bust ed her ass, did the best she could for t hem.But t he best of Level One was still shit , and she couldnt t urn it int o gold. She sank back

into t he gooey cushions of t he gel-couch with a sigh. You feed him while you up there, an

make damn sure he wears plent y of UV blocker. An you get back fo re curfew, or Ill beat

both your black butts til they purple!



24/45

Raghib and Jamaal raced down t he hall, laughing t oo loud, act ing dopey. Raghib checked the

lobby monitors carefully before palming through the flophouse exit into the gray twilight

of Hells day-cycle. Mama was right about one thing. Evil ruled t he st reet s, and Jamaal

was just a kid. Raghib scanned the shadows for any sign of t rouble as he hauled his lit t le

brot her through t he skeletal remains of Old Downt own t oward t he Michigan Ave Tube.

Jamaal jit t ered and jived like a juicer at t he t op of his buzz.

They hu r r i ed d own Gr and , dodging a pack of t att ooed, depilat ed blackhearts cooking a

slab of ribs over a heat ing vent at t he corner of Michigan Ave. Raghibs st omach lurched.

Only t he craziest blackhearts came out during day-cycle. He wondered which poor dumb

juicer had been but chered in an alley so this bunch could have their lit t le picnic. Raghib

t ried to b lock Jamaals view, but he couldnt block out t he ghast ly reek of smoking flesh.

As they hust led to put some pavement bet ween themselves and the blackheart s, the batt ered

entrance t o t he CTA Tubeline came into view t he gateway t o blue sky and green grass and

cot t on-ball clouds. The gateway t o a t en-year-olds dreams.

A st reet f reak lumbered out of t he alley beside them, t he smell reaching them before he got

wit hin five met ers. His toot hless mout h dribbled spit t le across a ruined face cratered wit h

radiat ion scars. He mumbled something t hat sounded like a plea as he st ret ched two

scabrous hands t oward Jamaal. Raghib grabbed his brot her wit h bot h arms and backed

away f rom t he walking corpse, Jamaals litt le-boy scream jabbing into his eardrums. The

freak dist racted him only for a moment. A moment t oo long.

Four lean teenagers slipped out of an abandoned flophouse between him and t he Tube, their

silver jackets shimmering wit h jade dragons that seemed t o dance inside their chest s.

Akumas boys. Shit ! Raghib watched in horror as t wo of t hem raised st ingers t o their

mirrored eyes and sight ed, numbly realizing he st ill held Jamaal in his arms. He ducked

under the palsied swipe of t he street freak and hurled Jamaal t oward the mouth of t he alley.

A beam of ruby light scorched across his back and he heard the freaks gurg ling scream.Two more beams exploded at chest -level, dropping Raghib into a vat of boiling agony.

Long minutes passed as he struggled through an ocean of liquid fire. He lay on his stomach

on t he filthy pavement , his head t urned toward t he alley. Jamaal sprawled a few met ers

away, limbs akimbo like a broken doll. Two grinning Helldragons loomed over him,

stingers bulging inside their silver jackets. One of t hem pulled a crystal dagger from his

belt and knelt beside Jamaal, burying the blade in what remained of t he boys chest t o

claim the kill. Raghib fought t o move, t o scream, but could do nothing. His t raitorous body

would not even let him pour out t he grief t hat welled behind his eyes. When t he second

Dragon bent t o t hrust a dagger into Raghibs own back, Raghib welcomed it . St ill he felt

nothing. Where was the pain? He wanted it , want ed somet hing t o fill the yawning void.

Please, God, let me die. I promised. I promised t o t ake Jam to Heaven.

As t he world faded into midnight , Raghib Jones stared at t he wreckage of his brother,

searching for t he boys depart ed spirit . And for t he st rengt h to cry.



25/45

Ragh ib awoke in t he m idd le o f a c loud . As his vision cleared, t he snowy vapor

hardened into whit e ceiling tiles. The pale glow of a luminary panel hurt his eyes, but he

could not t urn away. Tronix hummed nearby, soot hing him despit e his confusion. Where

in Hell was he? The cloying smell of antisept ic told him he lay in a hospit al bed. He t ried

t o look around, but he could not move. He could not f eel his arms, his legs, t he mat t ress

against his back. Memories of Michigan Ave. drift ed t hrough his mind like angry ghost s.

Relax, Raghib. Youre going t o be okay. The face of a white woman appeared above him,

brown eyes crinkled with sympat hy.

Who are you?

The woman t ried to smile through t hin, colorless lips. Im Dr. Nichols. Ive been in

charge of your case since t he Ladder police brought you in six days ago. The injuries to

your spinal cord were extensive, Raghib, t oo ext ensive for us t o deal wit h down here. Your

mot her gave us consent t o bring down some Topside specialist s t o perform an experimental

procedure. It was your only chance.

I cant . . . feel . . . nothin.

This is a new t echnique, Raghib. We implant ed a neural int erface web in your brain stem

above t he area of spinal t rauma. Signals from your brain are rout ed t o a microprocessor

t hat int erprets and relays t hem along the proper neural pat hways. It s incredibly

complex. We were able t o restore basic aut onomic funct ions, enough to keep you alive.

Beyond t hat . . . Well, we couldnt reverse t he quadriplegia. We did t he best we could.

Raghib fought a growing t ide of despair. Okay. He was fucked. He could buy t hat if only . . .

Wheres my brot her? Let me see Jamaal.

Dr. Nichols face t ight ened. There was not hing we could do fo r him. Im sorry.

Raghib st ared at her, hopelessness kindling into rage. You bit ch. You already banked

h im!

The doct or did not flinch, salt-and-pepper hair curling around her face like smoke. He

could see she had been through t his many t imes. Reclaiming viable organs from nonviable

pat ients is standard pract ice. Your brot hers gone, Raghib. Maybe we can save a few ot her

t en-year-olds wit h his help. Do you t hink he wouldnt want t hat?

Raghib knew she was right , t hat t he law backed her up, but he st ill hated her. Just another

gigabuck cut t er from some Topside medical center doing her hit ch in Hell. This was a

research lab for her, a chance to see all kinds of ugliness shed never see in Heaven.Jamaals part s would wind up in some rich brat on Level Five, not in any poor homeboy .

None of it mat t ered, because Jamaal was dead. Dead because of him.

When you banked Jamaal, you shoulda banked me t oo.

Wrong. Youre disabled, not dead. It sounds like garbage right now, but you can st ill lead



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a good life. That micro has a lot of power. When you get used t o it, youll be able t o adjust

t he gel-bed wit hout help, load yourself int o a hoverchair and go where you want .

Event ually youll be able to pat ch into your own resident ial cont rols, be self-suff icient .

You dont look like a quit t er, Raghib. Find a reason t o live.

Dr. Nichols left him flounder ing in his misery. A few minut es later Mama leaned over

him, looking ancient and defeat ed. She kissed his forehead and began t o cry. At last he

managed to shed his tears, for Jamaal and Mama and for himself. That night , as he lay

sleepless and alone, giant scaly lizards writ hed in t he darkness above him, laught er

gleaming in t heir mirrored eyes. He knew that he had found it. His reason to live.

He had to slay the Dragons.

It d idn t t ake Ragh ib l ong t o figure out how t o uplink from his microprocessor t o

Wacker Hospitals main system. From t here it was simple t o hack into t he net s. He did

reconnaissance every chance he got , searching for signs of Akuma and t he Helldragons. His

hatred gave him strengt h, but only the net s could free him from his gel-bed prison. Only

Virt ual Realit y could breat he life into dead flesh. He spent hours refining the micros VR

prost hesis, strengt hening his presence on the net s as the realt ime Raghib Jones faded

t oward oblivion. Dr. Nichols t ried to rest rict his link time, but he slipped the securit y

easily, spending every conscious moment in VR. That was how he met Calico.

He was wearing his baddest Zulu astro-w arrior look, kicking back in a corner of Wackers

virt ual lounge, when she sat down at his t able. Lean muscles rippled beneat h velvety fur

as she slipped int o t he chair beside him. He had never seen such an elegant blend of feline

and human graphics, her cat shape melt ing seamlessly int o t he lines of a beaut iful woman.

Eyes t he color of f lame glit t ered above her whiskered nose, t heir orbs bisect ed by ovals of

obsidian. She smiled, a hint of fangs adding just t he right spice of danger. Breasts swelled

gent ly above her slender waist, nipples hidden by t he caramel fur of her chest and belly.The rest of her coat shimmered wit h patches of go ld, orange, and amber. She leaned

forward, moving wit h the erot ic grace of a panther, relaxed but ready to spring. The sheer

beaut y of t he simulacrum bewit ched him, and he could not speak. She tapped a claw on t he

t able t op, her voice a t hroaty murmur. What do you t hink?

Raghib managed t o pull his eyes away long enough to glance where she point ed. A poem

appeared in t he cent er of t he table.

The Filt hy Rich in Heaven t ell

Of how t he Wret ched Refuse fell

Down Jacob s Ladder int o Hell,

Where we have only souls t o sell.

But heed my words, and heed them well:

The Lowly Poor t oward Heaven swell

On t ides of rage you cannot quell.

Opressions Children shall rebel!



27/45

Raghib nodded, praying t hat his voice would not quaver. Right eous. Sound like t he

preacher t alkin, but t hat s a real sweet rap.

Somet imes you have t o preach at people t o wake t hem up. My names Calico. Youre Raw,

arent you?

Yeah. How you know t hat?

Im in your Net ware Engineering class at Depaul. We miss you, Raw. Im so sorry for

what happened to you . . . t o your brot her.

You a cop, or just a snoop?

Neit her. Akuma wants everybody to know he hit you. Youre a legend, Raw. Youve been

Topside. Thats somet hing Akuma can never do. The Ladder cops will bust him if he goes

vert ical, and the gangs will fry him if he goes horizont al. Hes t rapped until he dies.

Youre not . He gained mega status by t aking you out.

The ghost sinews of Raghibs arms and legs jerked taut wit h t he force of his hat red. Let

him talk his t rash. Af t er I kill t hat squint so slow t hey hear t he screams for a week, Ill

make sure the nets know who did him!

Calicos lips curled in a feral smile. That s t he right idea, baby. Youve got t he wet ware

bet ween your ears to do it. But youre going to need some help.

I don need nobodys help t o smoke Akuma!

Calico bared her fangs. All you care about is your own lit t le t ragedy. Theres more t o itt han t hat! The gangs have hacked int o everyt hing on Level One. Food and water delivery

systems, power, communicat ions. Pay their tariff s or get not hing. Most people down here

cant aff ord to pay. For them, it s a goddamn death sentence!

Look, Calico . . . I read what you sendin, but you t ryin t o fix the world. That s too big a

job for me. Im just lookin fo r some payback.

All right t hen, t hink of it t his way. If you help me hack t hrough those Dragon barricades,

you ll inflict more pain and humiliat ion on Akuma than he can stand. I have friends in

sectors all over Hell, people who can f ind out anyt hing you need t o know. You help me, I

help you. Were both bet t er off . She snaked her t ail around his wrist , her eyes liquid,

her voice aphrodisiac. Well have fun t oget her, Raw. I promise.

Desire boiled in Raghibs brain. He drank the sweet , intoxicating nect ar of her image, and

he believed her. She led him from t he lounge to a separat e net space where they craf t ed a

private realit y, a place of sof t lights and soft caresses. She offered him every fantasy he

had ever dreamed, a chain of phant om passion joined wit h links of silk and flame. Love



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exploded in his mind as it never had in his body, leaving him happy and exhaust ed. Perhaps

t here was more t o live fo r than revenge. Calico was right .

They would have fun together.

* * *Ra g h i b s a t i n h i s c o r n e r of Wackers virtual lounge and studied t he stream of data t hat

flowed across t he t able t op. Most of t heir hack at t acks had gone well. Greektown and Lit t le

It aly now had t ariff-f ree supplies of wat er and power. The poor devils in Tort illa Towers

could get all t he food they needed without begging the Helldragons for it. In his home

sector, Jamaicaville, hed t ied Dragon hackers in so many knot s t hey were chasing each

ot her. Akuma was losing money, prestige, and what lit t le pat ience he had. Not knowing

who t o blame, he t urned his fury on t he Ninja St orm, sending st rike aft er strike across

t reat y lines onto Storm t urf. The st reets of Tokyo West glowed wit h incandescent rage as

bit t er fire fight s erupt ed during every sleep-cycle. If Akumas soldiers didnt t ake out

Shibo soon, the St orm would take out Akuma. That would be a shame. Raghib wanted that

pleasure for himself.

Calico sat down across from him and smiled. Hey, baby. Slacking off ?

Raghib grinned back. Just t akin some t ime t o watch em bleed. Looks like we kickin

some serious ass on Akuma an his boys. He might just t ake out t he St orm for us, too, fore

hes through.

Calico nodded. Youve got him and Shibo at each others throat s. Look, Raw . . . I dont

give a damn how many soldiers get smoked in t his litt le war. Theyre gett ing what t hey

deserve, t he bastards. But a lot of civilians are get t ing caught in t he crossfire.

Aint no civilians in Tokyo West, Pussycat. Just squint gang-bangers an t he squint s t hathelp em. None of em wort h cryin over.

Calico bared her f angs in a snarl, orange eyes spitt ing f ire. Raghib flinched and felt

foolish. She was just a harmless VR ghost , her image shift ing to match t he thermal

fluct uations in t he skin of her realt ime body. He knew that. St ill, he had never seen all

t hat smoldering sensuality t ransformed into molt en rage. You dont know shit, Raw! You

t hink you and your brot her had it bad? Let me clue you, baby. The Dragons and the St orm

do f ar worse on t heir home turf t han they ever did in Jamaicaville!

Don expect no sympathy f rom me! Every Jap I ever met , on t he st reets or on the nets,

t ried to smoke me or own me. If t heres right eous folk dyin in T.W., Ill bleed for em.

But I aint found none.

They stared at each ot her in pained silence, VR masks suddenly t ransparent. In a world of

programmed vision, Raghib saw somet hing hideous reflect ed in Calicos eyes t he specter

of his own bigot ry. A t rick of her virt ual imaging or his guilt y conscience? You know that

aint r ight , Raw. What about Jimmy Sato, helped Mama get a job when Daddy died? What



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if he lyin dead on the st reets cause you so full o hate you aint got no room left for t rut h?

Shame engulfed him, and he felt his realt ime eyes water. Finally Calico spoke, her voice

pinched and brit t le. We can argue it later. Right now let s just concent rate on get t ing

t his over wit h so the killing can st op. Hows your Dragonslayer Program coming?

Raghib t ried to f ocus his thought s away from t he look in her eyes. Big, bad, an ready to

rumble. We just got t a find us t he right t ime t o use it. Akuma an his boysll fade away like

a bad dream.

Som e d r eam s las t f o r eve r , kage . A short Lat ino with a silver skull t att oo on his

forehead rose from a nearby t able, smiling through blackened teeth. As he drew closer, t he

image of Wackers virt ual lounge wavered. The Lat inos head imploded at t he same t ime his

body began to swell. A serpent ine neck sprout ed from t he wreckage above his shoulders,

ending in a familiar face. Akuma leered at t hem, his dragon bulk expanding to fill t he

netspace. They stood in a blackheart boneyard deep in the maw of a decaying Level One

warehouse. An army of hairless blackheart s surrounded t hem in the gloom, brandishing

laser torches and gut t ing knives. A fence made from st acked columns of human bones

circled t he perimeter, it s top lined with ribs curving t o sharpened point s. An alt ar of

human skulls rose from t he cracked floor nearby, eye socket s glowing from t he fire that

burned in t he altars hollow belly. A long spit jut t ed above the iron grate t hat formed t he

t op of t he alt ar, barely visible through t he smoke. Panic danced in Raghibs mind, but he

managed t o force a laugh.

This be one t rippin freak show, Akuma. Make a wicked cart oon, but aint none of it real.

You t hink you gonna scare us wit h shit like t his?

Akumas smile glit t ered darkly in t he torch light . See if you laugh when show over. He

mot ioned t oward the blackhearts. They part ed as four of t heir number dragged someone

t hrough t he mob. Raghib recognized the womans sobbing and his heart f roze. The t att ooedcannibals carried t he strugg ling image of his mother t o a blood-soaked slab beside the

altar. He fought t o reach her, but some invisible barrier had been programmed into t he

virt ual geography of t he place. He could do not hing but watch in horror as t he four

blackheart s held her fast while a fif t h raised his gut t ing knife. Raghibs screams cont inued

long aft er hers had died. He t ried to ret reat t o realt ime, but t he micro would not disengage.

When he opened his eyes, Mama and the blackhearts had vanished. Akuma and the alt ar

remained.

Scared of shit like t his, kage? None of it real . . . yet. Tell me what I want t o know, or

she maru-yaki. Blackheart barbecue.

Just . . . just ask your quest ions, man.

Dragonslayer Program you discuss wit h t hat whore. How would it destroy us?

Don work like that. It s defense, so t he homeboys can prot ect t hemselves. Wrote me the

slickest security knowbot on t he planet. When we juiced it up in Jamaicaville, your boys



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couldnt cut into t hem syst ems t o save their ass. It s smart , an it learns. St ops any hack

att ack, jams em up. I call it Jam-All. We was gonna download t o every sect or so you

couldnt scam shit from a sept ic tube. Woulda worked, too . . . it woulda goddamn worked.

Akumas smile widened. Shori! If we put t his on Helldragon syst em, St orm cannot t ouch

us. Cops cannot t ouch us! You give me Jam-All. You hack for Dragons. Otherwise

Mama-san goes t o last supper.

Hat red seethed in Raghibs head, a blinding, searing cloud. God, he wanted t o kill that

squint, snap the slimy lizard neck with his bare hands. Trut h was, in here he could do no

harm. Somewhere out t here, the realt ime Akuma could do plenty . Raghib spat t he words

out like poison. Yassuh, boss. Look like you got yourself another slave.

Calicos voice grew shrill wit h anger. Dont do t his, Raw. Well find a way t o prot ect

your mot her. If you give him that program, you make us all slaves!

Akuma roared, spewing flames in her direct ion. Shut up, imbaifu! You betray your own

people!

Raghib suddenly felt as if t he blackhearts had gut t ed him. Own people? What t he hell you

sendin, Akuma?

You not know? Hah! Her realt ime name Tenshineko. She grow up on Dragon t urf . You

sleeping wit h t he enemy, kage.

Raghib st ared at Calico in shock. She would not meet his eyes. A st inger pulse had reduced

his realt ime world t o ashes. Now t he fire raged through his virtual world, consuming all

he had left . Emot ions mixed inside him like toxic chemicals, eating a hole in his chest ,

leaking away t o leave nothing but a smoking void. She had bet rayed him, hidden t he trut hbehind t he image of a cat -goddess. An did you ever let her see the real you? No. But how .

. . how can you be in love wit h a Jap?

Im . . . Im gonna download Jam-All to your syst em an show your boy s how to juice it

up. Im even gonna hack for you, Akuma. But anyt hing happens to Mama, I swear Ill stick

your sorry ass on that altar, an Ill personally eat your f uckin heart !

Akuma smiled. As long as you belong to me, Mama-san the safest woman in Hell. The

boneyard dissolved. Raghib found himself sit t ing across from Calico in Wackers lounge.

Neit her moved, t rapped in a silent bubble of pain.

How could you sell us, Raw? How could you sell us all?

I always t ried to imagine what you look like in realt ime, sweet-m eat . Figured you was

probly ugly as a str eet f reak wit h radiation rash, but I didnt give a shit . I could tr ust

you. But you . . . you used me like a t wenty-credit hooker. Guess there aint much

difference t ween workin f or Akuma and workin f or you.



31/45

Raghib let his consciousness drif t back toward realt ime. He heard Calico sobbing in t he

background, but he ignored her. She deserved a t aste of t he pain she had caused him. And

t he Helldragons . . . they deserved more than a t aste. Much more. God willing, he would

feed t hem enough misery t o choke them.

* * *It t ook Ragh ib seve r a l hou r s t o show Akumas hackers how t o download Jam-All into

t he Helldragons secured netspace. He jammed enough t echno-babble down t heir t hroats t o

get t hem t ot ally confused, but t hey were too proud to admit it. Just what he had counted on.

What he hadnt count ed on was Calico.

He heard the doors of his room hiss open and rotated t he gel-bed to face them. A slight

Japanese girl float ed beside him in a hoverchair, lips pressed toget her in a t ight , grim

line. He had never seen her before, but he knew her. Long black hair cascaded across her

shoulders, framing a china-doll face: large almond eyes, a dainty nose, skin that had never

known a blemish. Her slender arms were folded above the void where her legs should havebeen, as if she were hugging herself against a draft only she could feel. He had been wrong

about Calico: she was just as lovely in realtime. And just as deadly. When her right arm

swung t oward him, he could see the st inger in her t rembling hand.

I cant let you do it , Raw. I dont know what happened to you, or how much of it s my

fault . But I cant let you hack for t hat cockroach.

Raghib t ried t o shake his head, but t he muscles in his neck were as dead as childhood

dreams. Rage and frust rat ion burned in his mind. Why couldnt she face me down in VR?

But there were advant ages t o realt ime. Fewer eavesdroppers.

You really t hink Id slave for Akuma, with all the hate I been carryin? With what he didt o Jamaal? Aint no way in Hell. But if you gonna break a cocky scuz like Akuma, you got t a

make him think he broke you. I wanted to t ell you, Calico . . . but t here aint no privacy on

t he nets. Couldnt risk sendin you t he gospel on no part y line. Akuma dont have no idea

what I gave him, an neit her do you. You want t o learn, sit back an wat ch the vid. You still

want t o smoke me when it s over, go for it . Be doin me a favor.

Raghib saw t he uncertainty in those lovely, almond eyes. She wasnt sure she believed

him, but she wanted t o. Calico lowered the stinger onto her lap without a word. She turned

t he hoverchair for a bet t er view of t he vid screen on t he wall of t he hospital room,

choosing an angle that st ill gave her a clear shot at him. Raghib raised t he gel-bed so he

could see t he screen as well. Tension t wist ed his innards int o knot s as he waited for

Channel Fives noon report t o begin. Not because of Calico he doubt ed she could pull t het rigger if she t ried. But t he gamble wit h Akuma was t he biggest of his life. A t iny voice cut

t hrough the f ear, hard and sharp. You aint just rolling t he bones with your own life, boy.

You bett in Mamas t oo. He listened t o t he newscaster wit h a rigid int ensit y t hat made his

jaws ache.



32/45

Our top st ory t his hour: gang violence explodes on Level One. Ninety -four members of a

Japanese st reet gang known as the Helldragons have been killed this morning in t he

bloodiest purge in the citys hist ory. Metro police report t hat most of t he deaths resulted

from an explosion in gang headquart ers, but a number of y out hs were slain in separate

incidents of sabotage t o t ransport t ubes and residential cont rol syst ems. Comput er crime

expert s expressed considerable surprise at t he coordinat ed t iming of t he att acks and t he

diversit y of systems involved. Federal Investigat or James Concanon called t he purge t he

most int ricat e case of net work sabot age Ive seen in twent y years. So far aut horit ies are

baffled by t he att acks, but Gang Int ervention sources believe a rival street gang known as

t he Ninja St orm may be responsible. The Helldragons and t he Ninja St orm have been

embroiled in bloody t errit orial bat t les in the Tokyo West secto r of Level One for t he past

three months . . .

The muscles in Raghibs jaws began t o unclench. His lips curled int o a smile of t riumph

and relief. At last Mama was safe. At last his brot her could sleep in peace. He st ill carried

t he guilt, would probably always carry it , but it no longer suff ocated him. For t he first

t ime since he had awakened inside the walls of Wacker Hospit al, he felt almost free.

Calico rot ated t he hoverchair t o face him. Her dark eyes shimmered like the mist above

Lake Michigan on a humid summer night . Way t o go, baby. I dont know how you did it,

but . . . you got t hem. You got t hem all.

A t h i r d vo ice cam e ou t o f nowhe re t o shat t er t he fragile beauty of the moment. Not

all, whore.

Raghib heard t he ominous hum of t he doors locking sequence and swiveled t he gel-bed

t oward t he sound. Calico sat frozen in her hoverchair, her back to t he door, her own

privat e ghosts dancing across her face. She t oo had recognized t he voice. Raghib st ared at

t he figure beside the door, t rying t o make sense of it . He had always pict ured Akuma as amonst er, even in realt ime, some gruesome incarnation of t he virtual disguise he wore. He

saw only a skinny, bedraggled Japanese boy who could not have been more than sevent een.

When Raghib met Akumas eyes, he understood. They were not t he eyes of a boy. They were

the merciless eyes of the dragon.

Akuma took t wo st eps t oward the gel-bed, point ing his st inger direct ly at Raghibs face.

Akumas hand did not t remble. Raghib noticed for t he first t ime t hat t he boys jacket was

badly t orn and scorched in places. He could not hide a smile.

Akuma, you don look so good. News-man said somebody put a whole lot o hurt on your

boys. Guess Jam-All didnt work as slick as I said, huh? Guess you come here to ask fo r a

fuckin refund.

Akuma smiled back. A dragon smile, full of f ire. No refund, kage. I just going to cook you

blacker than charcoal. But f irst, I want t o know. How?

You want ed Jam-All, an you got it . Got somethin you cant begin t o understand. I t old



33/45

you: it s smart , an it learns. Not your average If A t hen B bullshit Im t alkin

complet e personalit y algorithm, modeled on somebody real. I been workin on it f or years.

Turn it on, it makes its own rules, decides who the bad guys are. An what t o do wit h em.

It spread through your net space like a fuckin plague, man, even chased your pack of

murderin bastards int o t heir private systems. Cut em up like so much raw meat . I

spect t he blackheart s be eatin real well t onight.

Akumas eyes seemed t o pull at him with t heir own demonic gravit y, black holes

swallowing every bit of light inside him, leaving not hing but empt y space. Somet hing

monst rous crouched behind those nightmare eyes. It was far more terrible t han any st upid

VR dragon. It was real. And it was hungry. When Akuma smiled, t he monst er growled deep

inside his t hroat . Yes, blackheart s will eat well t onight . They will eat dark meat . One

crippled piece of kage shit . . . and t he gray-haired bitch t hat squeezed him out .

Calicos voice came out in a st rangled whisper, her back st ill facing Akuma. Leave him

alone, you bastard.

Akuma leered in her direct ion. I not f orgett ing you, imbaifu. Last t ime you defy me, I

t ake your legs slowly, because t raito rs to Helldragons are only fit t o crawl. Now I t ake t he

rest, one piece at a time. Akuma took a step t oward her, t he monst er hissing in his voice.

You know which piece I will t ake first, w hore.

Akuma saw her shoulders t ense and laughed. He could not see her hand t ight ening around

t he st inger in her lap. Raghib saw t he hatred in her eyes, t he t error. He could not move.

He could not st op her. She spun the hoverchair, raising the st inger wit h a quivering arm.

Akuma saw the object in her hand and smiled as he leveled his own st inger at her head.

Everyt hing seemed frozen. Raghib could only wat ch in impot ent horror. She was too slow.

Way too slow. He lay t here, a useless block of ice, and saw it happening all over again, just

like in the alley on Michigan Ave. He did not want t o see. Oh god, please don make mewatch somebody else I love get blown away by t his piece o garbage.

He no t i ced i t ou t o f t he co r ne r o f h i s eye and t hought f or cert ain he had lost his

mind. The mult i-joint ed robot ic arm of t he aut onurse swung away from t he wall behind

Akuma, arcing toward the litt le bast ards out stretched hand. The mindless met al arm that

gave Raghib inject ions, t ook fluid samples, empt ied wast e containers. He wat ched it all

like some slow-mot ion gunfight in a bad western: Calico spinning t o face Akuma, Akuma

aiming coldly bet ween her fright ened eyes, t he aut onurse unfolding like the leg of some

gleaming insect .

Suddenly t ime melted, and everyt hing happened at once. The aut onurse whipped its last

segment upward int o Akumas arm. Raghib heard the deadly hum of a st inger pulse, theelect ric shriek of a luminary panel exploding overhead. Akumas st inger flew across t he

room as t he arm of t he aut onurse wrapped around his skinny chest , pinning his arms to his

sides, squeezing him like a jointed met al pyt hon. Crushing him. Akuma bellowed in pain.

Raghib could see the blood t rickling f rom t he places where st eel cut into flesh, could see

t he monst er raging in Akumas dark eyes. Calico could see it t oo, but anot her beast danced



34/45

across her snarling face. As she pressed the tr igger, her eyes were t he incendiary eyes of

t he cat . Akumas chest exploded in a shower of bloody, smoking pulp. The monster

shuddered. Then, at last , it died.

Raghib and Calico stared at t he wreckage of Akuma in st unned silence, Calico st ill gripping

t he st inger beneat h knuckles as whit e as bone. They heard shout ing from t he hallway.

Calico seemed to wake from a deep, disturbing dream. The st inger clat t ered to t he floor

near where her feet should have been, and she began to sob. Raghib tried t o find t he words

t o soothe her, but he could not t hink. He could only repeat t he same two words again and

again, like some shell-shocked combat vet . It s over. It s over.

They both heard pounding outside t he door now. They didn

planet magazine no. 2

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