Science Fiction and Fantasy Box Set 1: The Squishies Series

by Claire Chilton

  She held up her detention slip and handed it to him. Then she waited for him to read it.

  “Right,” he said. “In my office.” He pointed through the doorway.

  She walked in, feeling slightly apprehensive as she sat down in the plastic chair that was facing his desk. The headmaster sat behind his desk in a green wing-backed chair before absent-mindedly shuffling some papers. After a moment, he leaned forward, tapping his pen against the green slip of paper.

  “Carla, Carla, Carla,” he hummed. “What are we going to do with you?”

  “Er…” She began, not entirely sure if the question was rhetorical.

  “I’ve got a report here from Mr. Perkins in Religious Education. Did you commit blasphemy in his class by asking him why the Gods Persil and Ajax got married?”

  “But Bold is a better match for Persil,” she protested. After all, shouldn’t she question things that made no sense, wasn’t that part of learning? It seemed unless you accepted everything you were told, you wouldn’t get very far in this world.

  “It’s blasphemy! And you also put it on your exams last year.” The headmaster seemed appalled. “Do you know how upset the examinations board were when they saw it? They’re blaming the school for it.”

  “I was only trying to explore the relationship between the Gods like the question asked,” she mumbled, peering down at her feet.

  “Look … I realize your background is culturally different,” he said, rubbing his green chin. “But this incessant misbehavior cannot continue. You’re in your final year now, and it’s time you learnt to behave.”

  She frowned. “Culturally different?”

  “Well, you know,” he said, smiling. “One of them.”

  “Them?” She narrowed her eyes, beginning to get annoyed. She was used to people thinking she was foreign because of her different colored skin, but she’d been at this school for nearly five years now.

  “Actually, I’ve never heard of one of your kind with such a good Derobmi accent before. I suppose your parents taught you?” he said, seemingly oblivious to her growing annoyance.

  “Mr. Saunderson, I was born here! That’s why my accent is Derobmi.” She narrowed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists.

  “Yes, well, no doubt, but regardless of that, I don’t know what you people do over there in purple-land, but here in Derobmi, you’ll have to learn to live by our laws, okay?” He spoke slowly as if she was mentally impaired by her color.

  “Yes, do let me know when they outlaw racism, won’t you?” She scowled, jumping out of her chair and kicking it back behind her. Without waiting for his reply, she turned on her heel and stormed out of his office. She slammed the door behind her so hard that the hinges gave way, and the door crashed back into the office.

  She headed away from the broken doorway, but she paused when she overheard voices coming from within.

  “Blimey.” She heard the headmaster’s matronly secretary say. “What happened in ‘ere?”

  “Oh, that Mainston girl, always trouble with that one,” Saunderson muttered.

  “Well, I suppose she can’t help it. It’s in her genes, init? You know what that sort’s like,” the secretary said. “Cup of tea, headmaster?” she asked.

  “Oh, that’d be lovely.” She heard the headmaster cheerfully reply.

  Carla scowled. I hate this world!

  She stormed out of the building, past the sports field and off the campus, keeping going until she’d left school far behind her.

  A small orb of light flickered in the distance, growing larger and blinking faster and faster as it drew closer to Parklon Eldemf. He silently shrank back against the cold, concrete wall of the underground parking lot, vanishing into the shadows.

  He glanced around the corner of the security hut, peering out from beneath the dark rim of his hat. He couldn’t make out what the light was, but he could hear a low humming sound as the flickering light drew closer.

  Despite the cold air, beads of sweat formed on his skin.

  Why did I park here, of all places?

  He was standing in dimly-lit parking lot, too far from his car for it to be of any use to him.

  He had no idea what he was seeing. A shiver ran down his spine. This place was too quiet, too desolate, and the light—why was it heading straight toward him?

  Derobmi was a freaky place, full of shiny, happy people. But for the most part, he felt safe here. Although, today had been an eye-opener when he’d seen the school nurse force that girl to have an injection against her will. And they call Zoolafs barbaric.

  When he’d delivered the vaccination shots to the school, he hadn’t expected to see a purple girl. There weren’t many immigrants in Derobmi. Most the people here were green.

  He glanced around the dark lot. He also, hadn’t really thought about where he parked his car. Sure, this parking lot was derelict and run down, but it was also the only free parking in the area. He didn’t expect Derobmi to have so many dark things in it. It seemed so perfect and clean on the surface.

  Although he tried to ignore it, the cold chill shivering up his spine and the goosebumps crawling over his skin were indication enough that something dark and dangerous was in here with him.

  He rubbed his bare arms, trying to shake off the feeling of doom along with the goosebumps, but he jumped when the nearby elevator doors opened with a loud clunk, shattering the silence.

  With his heart racing, he watched a stout Derobmi—who was dressed in a black suit—walk out of the elevator toward the whining hum and flickering light.

  Parklon tried to sink into the shadows by pressing himself against the wall. The freezing temperature of the wall seeped through his clothing, causing him to shiver even more. He wanted to run, but fear and curiosity pinned him to the wall. He was thankful to be cloaked in shadows while the scene before him unfolded.

  The light gradually increased in magnitude until it became a glowing orb that flickered like a light bulb about to blow. The eerie humming sound grew louder, and a bubble of panic expanded in his stomach.

  His panic deflated like a leaking balloon that was slowly farting out air when the overwhelming stupidity of it all became apparent. He watched a small, garish-orange electric car with one broken headlight pull up next to the portly Derobmi.

  Great, I was scared of a headlight .

  But the feeling of doom remained. He gritted his teeth as the hairs on his arms stood up. His senses went on high alert.

  “Bloody hell! Why didn’t you just drive up with a neon sign saying dodgy dealings on it?” The raspy voice of the Derobmi echoed hauntingly through the parking lot.

  Parklon frowned. The accent was foreign to him, and the voice was deep and sharp. But then, most Derobmis sounded a bit odd to him. His home colony of Zoola had a much more rhythmic accent.

  “This vehicle has its uses. Have you done as I asked?” a hollow voice asked through the partially-opened window of the humming car.

  The portly man shuddered at the voice and lowered his tone in submission. “Yes, it’s done,” he said, nervously glancing around. “It’s for the best. Now, I’m done with you. We part ways from here on.”

  “Yessss.” The voice hissed through the open window of the car. “We have no need to meet again.”

  In the blink of an eye, a purple light streaked from the car window, and the portly Derobmi visibly shook when it hit him. He crumpled to the ground and lay motionless.

  Parklon gasped as the car sped out of the parking lot. In the flash of purple light, he’d seen the red glowing eyes of the attacker.

  He ran over to the injured man and knelt beside him.

  The green-skinned man wasn’t breathing. His eyes were open with a glazed and shocked expression permanently set on them. He was most certainly dead.

  Parklon checked him for a pulse, but there was nothing. He panicked. He didn’t know the emergency services phone number in this colony. He’d only recently arrived here. He needed to find a telephone.
>
  He looked around for a payphone and saw a glass doorway in front of him, which led out of the parking lot. Beyond the doors was a long corridor with a payphone at the end of it. He stood up and ran over to the door, bursting through it and running as fast as he could down the hall until he reached the other end.

  On the front of the phone was a list of emergency numbers.

  Thank Budda!

  He paused for a second.

  The emergency number here is 101. What like room 101?

  He blinked, and then shook himself back to the task at hand before dialing the number.

  “Welcome to Derobmi Emergency Services. How may I help you?” a female voice asked.

  “There’s a man. He’s been shot. I think he’s d-dead.” Parklon stammered down the phone.

  “Can you tell me where you are, sir?”

  He looked around the corridor for the name of the parking lot or a hint of where he was. He noticed a health and safety sign on the wall beside him.

  “City View Parking. It’s on the outskirts of the city,” he said.

  “And have you tried to revive the person who’s been injured?”

  “Er, no. He’s not breathing, and he has no pulse. Should I?”

  “Emergency services are on their way, sir. If you can wait there, they will be with you soon. Can I take your name?”

  He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to give his real name.

  “Sure, it’s Jeff Jones,” he said before quickly hanging up the phone. Blame it on fear, caution or just plain panic, but giving his real name seemed like a very bad idea.

  He ran back down the corridor toward the parking lot. He needed to make sure the victim was dead. If there was even a small chance that he could save the man’s life, he had to try.

  He dashed through the glass doors and into the empty parking lot before wildly looking around. For a moment, he was certain his own heart had stopped beating. The body was gone.

  He stared at the spot where it had been, and part of his brain ceased to function.

  What the hell is going on here?

  He could hear sirens in the distance and decided he’d had enough intrigue for one day.

  Screw this.

  In a panic, he ran to his car. He quickly climbed in it and stared at the empty tarmac where the body had once been.

  This colony is crazy!

  He shook his head before he turned the car and drove in the opposite direction of the sirens, down a winding dark road and into a maze of city streets.

  Carla stormed her way down a muddy slope to the local park, fuming with anger and frustrated over her powerlessness. The hill was a slimy swamp of mud due to the extensive rain earlier that day, but she marched down without a care, distracted by her anger.

  “Flaming idiots!” she muttered as she stamped down the hill, hating people, hating school, hating Derobmi—hating everything!

  Wrapped up in her fury and not paying attention to her footing, her foot slip over a muddy rock just before her feet flew out from beneath her. She frantically waved her arms in the air, trying to stop herself falling—too late.

  She tumbled down the hill in a muddy ball and came to an unceremonious stop on the soft and squelchy ground, landing flat on her back.

  “Bloody Dumfollab!” She shouted at the sky, blaming the planet for everything that was wrong in her world.

  “I hate this place,” she moaned, picking herself up off the ground and glancing down at the wet, muddy mess running down her clothes.

  Bowing her head in defeat and expelling a loud sigh, she began brushing off as much mud as she could from her clothes.

  Was life always going to be this awful? At fifteen, she was tired of trying and failing. She was tired of feeling helpless in a world of constant disappointment. But mostly, she was tired of everything going wrong. Even when she tried her very best, something always happened to mess it all up.

  She walked toward the broken-down, old bandstand, which was hidden away at the back of the park, out of sight and out of mind.

  She liked the bandstand for many different reasons. It was nice and quiet, secluded from the rest of the world. But more importantly, it was her place.

  Ropey and falling apart with broken beams in the roof and chipped dirty mosaics in its central floor, the bandstand was lost in time. It was different from the rest of the park, which was so perfectly manicured. It was filled with history and had an ancient charm. It had seen people’s stories pass by its delicately carved posts. Past Derobmis had stepped across its beautifully engraved plinth and shared a moment of their life here too. It was a hidden treasure in the wilderness, left behind by time and concealed in the lesser-walked paths of the perfectly-styled park.

  She enjoyed the feel of history and used to wonder who’d sat here before her. Had another Derobmi sat upon these steps and dreamed of lands far away?

  It was also a place that was completely unpoliced. It was a piece of wilderness hidden from the rest of the world that was open to all kinds of misbehavior. Teenagers came here to make out, dealers came here to sell things and Carla came here to feel normal.

  She sat on the cold, stone steps and stared out at the wild grasses that were bordered by thick lines of trees, which hid the bandstand from the rest of the park. She was completely alone, which was a relief.

  The world would be perfect if there weren’t any other people in it.

  Unfortunately, other people plagued her world.

  She glanced down at her clothes as they dried in the filtering sunlight. She groaned at the mud and grass stains on her creased and ripped uniform. There was no going home looking like this.

  With a long drawn out sigh, she decided to hide out here until she could find an answer to her problem. That was what she always did, hid away while waiting for a solution.

  She didn’t know why she was purple and everyone else was green. The only thing she had in common with everyone else were her green eyes, and not many people looked into those.

  Doctors said it was some kind of skin pigmentation problem, so she spent most of her young life defending her genetics. As she had grown older, she began to appreciate her lilac skin and now brazenly showed it off, much to her mother’s distress.

  She would always be different, and she would always be in trouble. Her first word had been, ‘why?’ and it would probably be her last, too.

  She wasn’t born to relish the fine art of polishing, and she didn’t agree with the seven deadly sins, which included, ‘Thou shalt not dirty another’s carpet’. If she were completely honest, she didn’t find mud offensive at all.

  This was of course blasphemy in the world she lived in, and she knew there was something wrong with her. That’s why her life so far had been fraught with disaster after disaster.

  She was called a bad kid, a criminal, and at fifteen, she’d had enough of it all. The purple sheep of the colony suddenly felt a spark of defiance. She was not worthless. Difference was not a crime. She’d make them see. She’d do something amazing. She just didn’t know what.

  She plucked a daisy out of one of the cracks in the stone steps and peered at it. She wondered if all the other daisies would eat it alive, had it been any color other than white.

  While she considered the daisy, she spotted a dark, cloaked figure slinking through the shrubbery toward her. He was dashing from one tree to another, shiftily flashing orange here and there when his cloak swished around him.

  “Hiya, Bob.” She waved at him and chuckled.

  Bob froze on the spot, quickly glancing around him and checking for the lord knows what before he slinked over to her.

  He frowned as he removed his hood, revealing a bright orange face and fiery red hair.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “You could have blown my cover.”

  She tried to compose a serious expression, but it was hard to do in Bob’s presence. He was so weird.

  He was always like this, constantly thinking he was being watched. But then, he was a
lways up to no good.

  She liked his weirdness. She didn’t know very much about him or the colony he came from. Well, no one knew much about the orange colony of Kalamar. They were all so secretive and paranoid.

  All she had managed to discover about him in the several years she’d known him was that he was Kalamarian, he’d emigrated here due to some legal problems in Kalamar, and he was very good at getting hold of illegal products.

  He was a friend of sorts, but mostly he was her dealer, and an expensive one at that. She was addicted to her illegal literature. She knew she wasn’t supposed to read it, but she didn’t know how she’d get through a day in Derobmi without it.

  “Got anything new in?” she asked him.

  He looked to the left and then to the right before pulling a book out of his back pocket and offering it to her.

  “New import, very strong stuff. It might be a bit much for a nice girl like you, but …” He paused and lowered his voice to a whisper. “They say this is pre-Dawn of Time stuff.”

  She controlled the urge to laugh. Bob seemed to be the only person on the planet who thought she was a nice girl.

  She looked at the book. Just about every book he promised her was ‘pre-Dawn of Time stuff’. Mostly it was a dud and not really from that period, but she still got excited at the hidden promise of the book.

  Pre-Dawn of Time books were life-altering, and every so often, he wasn’t wrong. Admittedly, the last book he’d sold her, ‘The Colony Wars’, had been a really boring historical book about a general who hadn’t done much at all, from what she could gather.

  It had cost her a week’s pocket money, and she wasn’t eager to overspend today. It certainly hadn’t been a pre-Dawn of Time book, and it had only been banned because it made too many references to dirt and mud.

  She read the title of the offered book, ‘A Clockwork Orange’ before frowning at Bob.

  “Are you sure this isn’t just about Kalamar?” she asked him, feeling skeptical.

  “No, honest.” Honest didn’t really work on his face. His eyes had a permanently sneaky look about them.

  “Have a taste if you don’t believe me,” he said, appearing offended as he handed her the book.