Elsewhere in the Middle of Eternity

Elsewhere in the Middle of Eternity

Edited by Phil Giunta

Line Editing & Proofreading by Sandra Zier-Teitler and Paul Balzé

Cover design and Title design by Chris Winner

Cover & Interior Art by Mike Riehl

Published by:

Firebringer Press

6101 Hunt Club Road

Elkridge, MD20175

Smashwords Edition

Collection Copyright © 2016 by Firebringer Press.

Copyright of each work belongs to the respective author or artist.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ELSEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF ETERNITY

Edited by Phil Giunta

INTRODUCTION

Welcome aboard! You hold in your hands a ticket to ride the rails of eternity where every stop promises a new world of adventure, exploration, a dash of magic, even a touch of romance. You’ll encounter everything from androids and clones to elementals and warlocks, from selkies and golems to starships and superheroes. You’ll visit a dystopian future where the wealthy reside on trains for their own safety, encounter an ancient artifact that can regenerate severed limbs, discover a mysterious lifeform with the potential to threaten the galaxy…and that ain’t all, folks!

Each experience is crafted by our redoubtable storytellers, many of whom have returned from our first volume, including Parsec and Mark Time award winner Steven H. Wilson (also our beneficent publisher), Daniel Patrick Corcoran, Michael Critzer, Susanna Reilly, Stuart S. Roth, and Lance Woods.

Additionally, we welcome back extraordinary artist Mike Riehl who once again delivers not only a captivating cover, but also marvelous interior illustrations.

Of course, the purpose of our Middle of Eternity anthologies is to showcase the considerable talents of burgeoning fiction writers and we are pleased to introduce two new female voices. After all, we wouldn’t want Susanna to feel completely outnumbered!

Shortly after joining the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group, I began attending their annual Write Stuff writers’ conference in Bethlehem, PA. Within a few years, I was invited to be a presenter and recently served as chairman. It was at one of these conferences where Melissa Carta Miller and I shared a lunch table, struck up a conversation about Doctor Who and Sherlock, and became instant friends. Later, I published one of her flash fiction gems on my blog.

April Welles and I originally met at the Wonderfest SF Hobby Expo in Louisville, Kentucky back in 2007. We had since fallen out of touch until we crossed paths two years ago on Facebook (where else?). I then discovered that April had written and published a few short stories in the horror genre. I found her style unique and invited her to join our little soiree.

Whether you read our first book in this series, Somewhere in the Middle of Eternity, or are joining us for the first time, it’s great to have you with us. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the view as we take you on a journey Elsewhere in the Middle of Eternity.

Phil Giunta

May 2016

Table of Contents

Making Tracks – Steven H. Wilson

The Willow Tree – Stuart S. Roth

Unboxing Anna – Michael Critzer

Life and Limb – Phil Giunta

Tree of Love – Susanna Reilly

Selchidh – Melissa Carta Miller

The Hard Place – Daniel Patrick Corcoran

Gravest Show Unearthed – Lance Woods

Working the System – Phil Giunta

Terror in Agradeb – April Welles

The Golem and the Gypsy Girl – Steven H. Wilson

The Mule – Stuart S. Roth

An Early Fall – Michael Critzer

My New Shiny – Phil Giunta

MAKING TRACKS

by Steven H. Wilson

Houses are not safe.

There used to be an expression: Safe as houses. It meant that doing something was so safe, you were in no more danger than you would be sitting at home. Houses used to be fortified, protective structures that would keep out anything short of the Red Death.

Not anymore. We have the Red Death, too, as grisly and awful as Mr. Poe ever imagined it.

How do I know this? Me, a dumb kid, almost 14 years old? I'm a dumb kid who reads a lot. Taught myself when I was three. The train has a library car. I know a lot about the time before the Fall. I read encyclopedias and maps for fun.

Trains are safe. That's why we live on one. You sit still, like the Housies, anyone can get at you. You keep moving, no one can catch you, except another train. Maybe a car, but only rich people can afford cars. Even if the Lowdowns steal one, they can only drive it till its battery runs dry. Solar cars don't go fast or far. Gas cars? Can you even find one? That's why trains are safe.

My family runs the Santa Fe, the biggest railroad in the Americas. That's why my dads named me Tracks. Tracks Loco, everyone calls me. Legally, my dads have some other last name, but the public considers Locomotive our family name. Everyone calls us Loco. It also means crazy.

We were bound for Albuquerque, levitating at 350 MPH, slowing down and getting ready to entrack at Trinidad for the final, slow hours of the trip. Our top speed is 497 MPH on maglev, floating over the tracks. On the tracks, we can't break 90. You have to entrack within 50 miles of a station.

The road to Albuquerque is well established. Trains travel it often, and the dead spots have been filled. On blazed trails, there's enough metal buried that we don't have to drop to tires like we would on an unexplored or unused route. Tires suck, but they mean our train can go almost anywhere a truck can go, thanks to an automated magnetic monitoring system and wheels that drop into place when we need them.

Train people feel safest at speed. We want to be levitating as much as possible. Our blood chills when we hear the obstruction alarm—something's in our path that shouldn't be, and we have to slow or even stop to clear it. Slowing and stopping is one thing in a city station, where we have security and extra weapons in storage. It's another, scarier thing in open country.

This morning, it wasn't the obstruction alert that frightened us. It was the silence.

It should have sounded by now, said my dad, dragging the map on the table to re-center it. A blackish blur appeared, an aerial photo of a rockslide. Drones captured that last week.

Maybe someone already moved it, I said.

No. It's too big for any of the local families. They've been re-routing around it. We had the front loaders ready to move it, and I was expecting the signal to send them.

Our family's train is one of the few that carries heavy equipment to clear large obstructions. We make a lot of our money keeping the railways clear.

I don't like it, said Dad.

The scout car's signal looks right, I said, showing Dad my smartphone. Dad had been teaching me how to monitor the scouts. It would be my first real job on the rails when I was ready. I still had to run results by him.

Dad squinted. Weak eyes. He's almost sixty now. Except for the lack of mention of the rockslide.

You're sending crews anyway, right?

Of course. Shay's about to launch.

May I go?

He chewed his lip.

It's not dangerous, Dad.

"It is dangerous. Never assume otherwise. But you may go, if you don't distract Shay."

I won't. Maybe I can figure out what's wrong with the scout.

He leveled a finger at me. You can play with scouts when they're docked safely on the train. Not in the field.

But—

"You want to go, you go to observe."

Dad! I couldn't help rolling my eyes at him. What a dumb, typically teenage thing to do. "I don't play with scouts! I practically took one apart and put it back together myself last month."

He cocked his head at me. Really?

My term project. Shay's idea.

Impressive.

Then—

"If you did it right. Until I see this project myself, you observe."

***

I caught up with Shay. She was on the launch car, a modified hopper that holds our heavy equipment. The front loader can levitate out and away, then ahead of the train, going wherever it's needed. Shay is crew boss and my tutor.

She saw me and rolled her eyes. Babysitting? Again? I'm going to be busy.

I'm going to see what's wrong with the scout.

Your Dad knows that?

You gonna tell him?

She shot out a hand and messed up my hair. You're gonna get me fired one day, kid.

***

The car we took was a slightly modified scout—the one Shay used to troubleshoot. Small and sleek, it could outpace the engine. In the old days, when repairs were needed, you used to swap out engines while the train waited on a siding. That was way too risky now.

On maglev, the train moves at such high speed, a clear course is essential. A scout car goes ahead and maintains a signal with the train. If the signal is interrupted, the train sends a manned scout to investigate. Most scouts are robots, so no one gets hurt if pirates grab them.

I knew something was wrong when we'd cleared the engine by a half mile. My smartphone app still showed the scout's GPS blip, but my eyes didn’t show the scout. Our tracking program thought it was there, but it wasn't.

We've still got signal, said Shay. It has to be there.

I looked again at the smartphone. The little red dot of the scout's GPS signal was suddenly gone. I cried out in surprise.

Then it was back, a red dot, moving, a few hundred feet south of our car's green map icon. It faded again almost instantly.

I saw it again, for a second, but—

You're imagining things.

I'm not. It was moving fast, due south. I looked at Shay. What's due south of us right now?

She shrugged. Albuquerque.

An angry bleep sounded on the car's built-in phone, the engineer asking us what happened to the scout's signal.

Scout's gone, Shay told them. She winked at me. My navigator will give you a feed. We'll stay here as the acting scout until we get to Albuquerque.

I heard my dad's voice. "Your navigator? Tracks?"

On it, Dad.

Like hell! If we've lost a scout, I won't have anyone out there unprotected.

Phil, said Shay in that patient-but-condescending tone that only she could get away with, if there's no scout, the whole train's unprotected. Tracks is fine.

I got this, Dad.

Dad growled. That meant he knew he was beat.

I asked Shay, Do you think someone was trying to crash us?

Do you?

Yes. Why else would we be receiving a signal after the scout was gone? And—

The red dot had reappeared on my phone.

The signal's still there, nearby but moving off fast.

The scout?

I don't think so. We didn't see the scout when we got here. Whatever's generating the signal, it's doing it from hiding. Like throwing your voice.

Where's it heading? Shay asked.

Albuquerque.

***

When we got back, I tracked down Dad.

Whoever tried to wreck us is in the City. My estimate says within a mile of the station.

Not even looking at me, he said, Too dangerous. And no time to follow up. The stationmaster is trying to short-change us on our cargo. I have to deal with that.

But—

Tracks, even a mile from the station is outside our safe zone. We don't leave without an armored vehicle and plenty of people. We can't afford to do that right now. Shay outsmarted whoever—

I outsmarted them.

Okay, you outsmarted them. That's good enough.

He was absorbed. In a minute, he'd forget the conversation. For a few hours, he wouldn't wonder where I was, if he even remembered he had a kid. I decided to take matters into my own hands. It was nearby, in a residential neighborhood. I was one kid. Who'd notice?

I'd been out in the city before. I knew the drill. I put on Housie clothes—ratty, too big for me. When the train stopped, I was off into the growing twilight. Not safe to be out after dark, but I'd be back in time. I killed the tracker on my phone, so no one would follow me. I'd scout the area; snap some pics for evidence. Dad would be sure to want to act.

The stations were walled in, with 12-foot steel barriers all around them, and gates that only open to our fingerprints—all of us on the all the trains. They're temp-and-vibe checked, too. You can't get in with a dead, severed finger. Gotta be warm with a pulse.

I slipped out easily and pulled out my phone. The red blip was still moving, but slowing down. Like someone was almost home. I'd check out a few neighborhoods, and I'd find residual activity.

I had made it about 20 feet before something landed on my back and drove my face into the pebbles by the sidewalk.

My attacker's hand grabbed my hair and yanked, getting ready to pound me into the rocks again. I twisted. He straddled me, but with poor balance. I found enough leverage to flip him flat on his back and stand.

There wasn't much to him. Small-framed, little muscle. Geez, was I fighting a girl? No. His jacket hood fell back and revealed the puggish face of a boy about my age. He looked scared, which was a little silly, since he'd started the fight.

If you'll stop, I won't hurt you, I said.

Like I'd trust a Pirate.

I'm not a Pirate.

Only Pirates have smartphones.

I eased my grip on him and sat back, keeping my weight off his chest. I got it from a Rider.

A Richie?

Yeah. He paid me to track down a GPS signal.

I guess you don't look like a Pirate.

I'm not.

Then could you get off me?

Sure.

He stuck out his hand. I'm Billy.

Tracks.

Weird name.

I, uh, hang by the tracks a lot. You're not really a fighter. Why would you jump a Pirate?

He shrugged. I figure, if I see him first and jump him, maybe I can slow him down. Otherwise I'm dead or worse. They press Housie kids into slavery.

Housies. Richies. Pirates. Labels for everyone.

Next time either run or hide. I'm not very strong, and I could have killed you. I looked at my phone again and swore. I've lost their signal.

Who?

Someone tried to wreck the Santa Fe. That's who I'm tracking.

You mean, like Pirates? This is a poor neighborhood. They raid sometimes, but they don't stay.

A shout rang out, a gruff, male voice. Hey, you kids! A huge shadow moved toward us, one of the denizens of the city who emerged in the gathering dark.

Eyes wide, Billy grabbed my arm and pulled. Run!

Caught up in Billy's panic, I started to run. Then I heard the train whistle. My blood ran cold. They were leaving early. I pulled back against Billy and broke away.

What are you doing? he demanded.

The train's leaving! I won't get paid if I don't find the signal. I lied. The shadow was coming at a fast trot. You'd better get home.

He's too close. We have to hide!

Behind me was the station gate. We could make that. I had to take Billy with me. I couldn't let him be caught.

Come on.

We can't get through there.

I thumbed the lock. It clicked open. Billy gaped at me.

Get in! I snapped, and, grabbing the back of his coat, shoved him through. I dove in behind him, kicking the door shut with my feet, ready to kick it hard against our pursuer if he got here before it closed.

The door latched. I heard a muffled curse from outside, but we were safe.

The train whistle blew again. I had to catch the train. No choice but to bring Billy along for the ride. If I left him for the stationmaster, he'd be tossed out the gate to fend for himself.

We've got to make the train, I told him.

But it was pointless. Already, the train was moving. I ran harder, Billy dead weight behind me; but my train—my home—was already coming up to speed. Billy and I ran to the end of the platform, my arm reaching out to grasp any part of the train I could. I never even came close.

I sank to my knees and tried hard not to cry. Billy didn't help matters any. As soon as the train was gone, he slapped me in the back of the head.

What the hell, man? he demanded.

I was trying to get on the train!

And take me with you? Do you know what the Richies do to stowaways? They'd have waited till they got to full speed, and then splattered us all over the rocks!

No they wouldn't, I told him. That was my train.

He looked at me as if I'd just told him I had leprosy.

And now I'm stranded here.

So what do we do, genius? I can't go home. He hugged himself against the growing cold of the desert night. My dad's gonna kill me.

My dad won't be happy either, I said. But at least I can call him.

Some of the anger drained out of his tone. Will he come get you?

I shook my head. The train's got a schedule to keep. Give me a sec.

I dialed Dad's phone. When I told him I wasn't on the train, that I'd stepped out for air, he was silent. I assured him I was okay and would check into a room.

Finally, he sighed. We'll be back tomorrow. You stay at the station, you understand me?"

I said I would, lying and hating it.

Then I held out my phone to Billy. You should call your Dad too.

He rolled his eyes. Yeah, thanks, Richie. How am I supposed to call someone who's too poor to have electricity, much less a phone?

I felt stupid. Sorry.

His shoulders slumped. Man, I am in so much trouble.

Well, at least you can stay here with me, until it's safe to go home. There are overnight rooms for stranded Riders. Tomorrow, I can go out again and look for the signal.

Why did they send a kid to look for this signal, anyway?

They didn't. I admitted.

Wow, he muttered, and suddenly there was a little admiration, a little camaraderie in his tone. You're in a lot of trouble too.

***

Billy had never used electric lights before. When I asked if he wanted to play a video game or watch a movie, he looked blank. I felt sorry for this kid. I knew there were poor people out there in the houses, but I didn't figure they were ordinary kids no different than me. I thought they were drunks, lying on sidewalks, muttering.

It was fun, introducing Billy to things he'd never experienced. Like having a little brother. Billy ate about three times as much dinner as I did; he was like a starving man at a banquet. We fell asleep on a movie. We checked out at sunrise.

***

Nothing could have prepared me for what a poor neighborhood looked like. Children played in the street as if there were no danger in being outside. Mothers and fathers watched from windows where laundry hung out to dry. Aside from the cries of children, it was quiet. No music or news programs echoed. These people had no power—no lights, radios, phones, or tablets—no access to the world beyond this sad little street.

The only technology was a rusted, gasoline-powered car.

My dad's trying to fix that up, said Billy. It almost starts.

Got fuel? I asked.

We found a few gallons in an old garage. Charged the battery, too, but no luck yet. Someday, he'll take us on a cruise around the city. He looked at me with envy. Must be nice to move around fast like that.

I said nothing.

***

This is my dad.

Mr. Hunter was probably younger than my dad, by quite a few years. My dad said he was old when I was born. But Mr. Hunter looked older. His eyes were tired, but angry. Where've you been? The whole neighborhood was looking for you. He added nervously, You were out past curfew.

I was headed home when I met Tracks. He pointed to me. Some Lowdown spotted us and chased us. We had to hide. Then it was too late to come home. Tracks... knew a safe place. He didn't say where. Was he embarrassed to admit his new friend was a Richie?

And does your new friend live around here, Billy?

A woman, maybe as old as Mr. Hunter, but not as worn-looking, stepped in from another room. Billy stiffened.

Mayor Jenkins, Billy's dad nodded at the woman, has been very concerned about you.

Thank you, ma'am, said Billy. He seemed scared to say more.

My dad's...out of town, I explained. We were supposed to meet at the train station. I got the time wrong.

The Mayor looked at me and I felt...examined.

Your father's traveling legally?

Of course, I said. He...he's doing work for the railroad.

She looked impressed. Nice work, if you can get it.

You boys get something to eat, said Billy's father. Tracks can stay until his father comes home.

As Billy led me to the kitchen, Mayor Jenkins stopped him for a hug. She said she was glad he was all right, but I couldn't help thinking I wouldn't want that woman to hug me.

***

You have a mayor? I asked as we ate oatmeal and split an apple that was going soft. So you have, like, elections?

"Wow, you really are a Richie, aren't you? In the real world, the mayor is the one with the toughest muscle and the biggest house. He smacked his oatmeal with a spoon in disgust. Elections."

Hey, elections are a good idea. My dads told me—

His eyes widened. You have more than one dad?

Yeah. Dad—his name's Phil—is my biological Dad. Jack is his husband. He's been in Europe for a while.

Don't...mention that. Folks here don't like gays.

Gays?

Guys who marry guys.

I guess I've heard that word. I don't think of my dads as gay. They're just my dads. Funny that Billy said Folks don't like gays, not, I don't like gays. I'd have to ask—

My smartphone bleeped. It had found that signal again.

I showed Billy. It's nearby.

He tossed our dishes in the sink and pulled me toward the back door. Let's go. He was getting as excited as I was about the search.

***

Out on the street, I followed the red dot, watching my own green GPS indicator approach it on the map. We'd walked less than a block when the map auto-zoomed and showed me that the GPS fix was within the building immediately in front of us, a medium-sized house with adobe walls in Southwestern style, surrounded by a decorative iron fence laced with barbed wire. The gate was open.

It's in here. I started up the steps to the front door.

Billy grabbed my shoulder and yanked back. I fell. He caught me and half-carried me to the side of the stairwell, where he shoved me down into a crouch.

Are you crazy? he said.

I rubbed my elbow, which I'd bumped on the steps. I guess we shouldn't go in the front door?

Front door, hell. That's the Mayor's house!

Why would your Mayor have the signal generator? I asked.

Maybe she caught the guy who was trying to wreck your train?

Somehow I didn't think so, but I didn't argue. Billy seemed to have faith in this woman. I didn't trust the way she looked at me.

A hand landed on my shoulder. A hand landed on Billy's shoulder, too. We looked up and saw that the hands were attached to two very large men with even larger guns on their shoulders.

Trying to break in? one of them asked.

Billy said, No. We just came for a visit, we—

Why are you hiding, then? asked the other man.

Never mind, said the first. He hauled me to my feet, and his partner did the same to Billy. If you came for a visit, then let's visit. It happens that the Mayor is available just now. I'm sure she'd like to find out what brings you here.

***

We had about 30 seconds to come up with a story. It wasn't enough.

In the Mayor's office, we were pushed into chairs. She was standing behind an antique desk, not in the greatest shape, but probably expensive for this part of the city.

She smiled at Billy, glared at me. She didn't trust me any more than I trusted her. Sometimes, you just don't take to a person, and the feeling is mutual.

Caught 'em hiding out front, said the man who held me down in the chair. Looked like they're up to no good.

No, said Billy. We were just going to visit, and…

And I dropped my phone down the stairs, I said quickly. I immediately realized it was the wrong thing to say.

Your phone? she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Uh...my dad's boss gave it to him. So I can keep in touch.

She didn't believe a word. How conscientious. She stepped around the desk. "But phones can get you in trouble around here. Pirates would think nothing of killing two boys to