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    The Fifth Di... March 2018
    The Fifth Di... March 2018
    The Fifth Di... March 2018
    Ebook79 pages1 hour

    The Fifth Di... March 2018

    By J Alan Erwine

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    About this ebook

    The March issue of The Fifth Di... takes a walk on the dark side with Lachlan Walter, Robert N Stephenson, Rik Hunik, and Gustavo Bondoni bringing you stories of the darker side of humanity.
    You’ll be taken to a bleak future where the poor are taken advantage of, a future where a branch of humanity comes back to Earth, but the encounter doesn’t go anything like people might have expected, a future where immortality brings a terrible consequence, and an effort to explore the universe that is brutally sabotaged.
    If you like fiction that warns you about the dangers of the future, this is the issue for you.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNomadic Delirium Press
    Release dateFeb 27, 2018
    ISBN9781370413638
    The Fifth Di... March 2018
    Author

    J Alan Erwine

    J Erwine was born Oct. 15, 1969 in Akron, Ohio. Early in his life he was exposed to science, and specifically astronomy. From there on, J’s passion turned to science fiction, a passion that’s never died.Due to family issues, J eventually found himself in Denver, Colorado, where he still lives (well, right outside now.)From the time he could put subject and predicate together on paper, J has been writing stories. None of those early stories exist anymore (thankfully), but that passion for writing has never waned.After several years of rejection, the story Trek for Life was eventually sold to ProMart Writing Lab editor James Baker. It wasn’t Asimov’s, but it was a start. Since that time J has sold more than forty short stories to various small press publishers. In addition ProMart also published a short story collection of J’s entitled Lowering One’s Self Before Fate, and other stories, which is still available. ProMart also published a novel from J entitled The Opium of the People, which sold a few copies before going out of print.The relevance of the novel after the events of September 11th caused J to self-publish the novel, as he felt the story had a lot to say in the new reality we now find ourselves living in. Now, this same book has been re-released by Nomadic Delirium Press.Eventually J would become an editor with ProMart. Then, after the untimely death of ProMart editor James Baker, J would move on to ProMart’s successor Sam’s Dot Publishing. J also spends most of his time working as a freelance writer and editor.J’s novel was voted a top ten finisher in the 2003 annual Preditors & Editors contest, and his short story The Galton Principle won a ProMart contest for best story over 5,000 words. In addition, a number of his stories have been voted “best of” in various issue of The Martian Wave and The Fifth DI... and have been included in Wondrous Web Worlds Vols. 2, 3, 4, and 6.In 2009, the Ephemeris Role Playing Game was released. J is the co-creator of this game, and has written numerous supplements for the game.J has now sold three novels and four short story collections, all of which are still available from various sources, including Smashwords.J currently lives with his amazing wife, three wonderful children, three cats, and a very quiet turtle.

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      Book preview

      The Fifth Di... March 2018 - J Alan Erwine

      THE FIFTH DI…

      March 2018

      Edited by J Alan Erwine

      Published by Nomadic Delirium Press at Smashwords

      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 person. 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.

      Copyright 2018 by Nomadic Delirium Press

      All stories are copyrighted in the names of their respective authors

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passes in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, broadcast, etc.

      Nomadic Delirium Press

      Aurora, Colorado

      Table of Contents

      She Has No Toys by Lachlan Walter

      A Blood Pact by Robert N Stephenson

      What Do You Do With an Empty Baby? by Rik Hunik

      Spinning Candle by Gustavo Bondoni

      She Has No Toys

      by Lachlan Walter

      It was just another night here in the camp – fires were burning in rubbish bins, the flames holding back some of the darkness and adding more heat to the already hot air; people sat in the streets and crowded the footpaths, killing time and waiting for the dry day to drain away; the lucky ones who had been allocated actual houses huddled inside behind locked doors. Do-gooders wandered through the throngs, doling out food and water and patronising advice; gangs roved and threatened; guards blackmailed and coerced; gunshots and screams occasionally rang out.

      Like I said, it was just another night here in the camp.

      Your old man and I were sitting right here where we’re sitting now, at the same wonky table, in the same rickety chairs. You were swaddled despite the heat, wrapped in a torn sheet and lying in a cardboard box. You were bloody quiet, just like you are now. It’s funny how some things don’t change.

      We’d been talking shit for a while, something that we did most nights. We talked about life before the camp, about who we’d been and what we’d done. We never talked about your mum, though. She disappeared before I met your old man, and I didn’t want to pry.

      After a while, he’d starting talking about you, airing his worries about the life you’d have to live.

      I was used to this change of direction; hell, I worried about you as well. As it always did, this worry-talk eventually shifted to his work out in the graveyard, and his hope that someday he’d find enough scrap to get you out of this shithole.

      You sure you don’t want to come along? your old man asked me at some point, something that he ended up asking every time. One more trip and, with a bit of luck, I’ll find enough to bribe a guard and get transferred. It’d be an easier job with the two of us, and if it all works out I can tell them that you’re her big brother.

      He gestured at you, a tiny nod of his head. You smiled blankly and gurgled and then let out a little laugh.

      Nah, it’s alright, I said. I’ve got better things to…

      A gunshot, somewhere close, drowned me out. Your old man and I flinched, but you didn’t make a sound. Another gunshot rang out, and then another. Your old man and I flinched again; this time, you screwed up your face and started crying. Your old man got to his feet and scooped you up and gave you a cuddle. You eventually calmed down, and so he put you back in your box and tucked you in tight. You reached out, your tiny hands clutching at the air, and he passed you that crude figurine he’d carved from a lump of wood.

      I reckon that’s what changed my mind – you deserved a better life than what the camp could offer, but if you couldn’t have that you at least deserved an actual toy.

      Alright, I’m in.

      We sat there for a moment, staring at each other without saying a word.

      Well, I guess we’d better haul arse, your old man finally said. It’s a fair way to the depot, and even further to the graveyard.

      What about her? I asked, gesturing at you.

      You were chewing on the wooden figurine and drooling and cooing contentedly, and I smiled wide.

      She’ll be right – I’ve got an arrangement with the old bird next door, she babysits in exchange for a bit of salvage.

      Fair enough.

      *

      Your old man kissed you on the forehead and then hollered at the woman next door, and then we took off, winding through the junkyard maze of the camp, through the sprawl of crumbling buildings, patched tents and corrugated-iron shacks. We didn’t stop to talk to anyone. You know what it’s like – you don’t know who’s a banger or a snitch or a crazy, and anyone could be desperate enough to knock you down for the shirt on your back or the shoes on your feet.

      We walked for an hour or so, sometimes making small talk and sometimes trudging along in silence. He mostly talked about you, airing more of his worries and then telling me about your latest ‘first’- that day you’d taken your

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