Beyond: Space Opera

by Milo James Fowler

  "Justice," he mused as he sank into the tub with a long sigh.

  Even way out here on the sector's frontier, there was a place for the long arm of Space Command to ensure its human colonists behaved in an ethical manner with regard to the galaxy's native species. Perhaps such would not always be the case. Someday, humankind may spread far beyond the reach of Earth's interplanetary governance. Then it would be up to others to make certain justice prevailed, like marshals in Earth's ancient West—those with the fortitude to do the right thing regardless of consequence.

  "Punishment pit," Quasar murmured to himself, then snapped wide awake as he realized he hadn't seen a single sand serpent on that moon. Disappointing. "Well, there's always next time…"

  The chieftess might require the services of her favorite detective again at some point, and Captain Bartholomew Quasar knew he'd be the right human for the job.

  "Case closed," he said with a grin, winking at himself in the mirror.

  Milo James Fowler is a teacher by day, speculative fictioneer by night, and an active SFWA member. When he's not grading papers, he's imagining what the world might be like in a dozen alternate realities. Over the past 5 years, his short fiction has appeared in more than 100 publications, including AE Science Fiction, Cosmos, Daily Science Fiction, Nature, Shimmer, and the Wastelands 2 anthology. www.milojamesfowler.com

  His novel Captain Bartholomew Quasar and the Space-Time Displacement Conundrum is now available:

  Captain Quasar is out of time.

  Pursued by vengeful Goobalob toll collectors, savage Arachnoid bounty hunters, and formidable Amazonians, Captain Bartholomew Quasar must do whatever he can to keep the crew of the Effervescent Magnitude out of harm's way. All in a day's work—except time is not on his side.

  Torn from the present to relive his past, he vows to keep mistakes from occurring the second time around. But is he doomed to repeat history? Or can he erase his regrets?

  Villains will be vanquished. Lives will be lost. Bonds will be betrayed. Heroes will be heroic.

  Join the crew of the Effervescent Magnitude for a hilarious time-traveling space adventure the likes of which you've never seen!

  Find out more: Captain Bartholomew Quasar

  The Ungreat Escape

  by Siobhan Gallagher

  Everyone kept telling me "Lorelei, this will never work," and I said "shove off" because they're a bunch of pessimists. I've been planning this heist for a good three weeks, so I think it's fair to say that I know what I'm doing.

  There's this little jewelry shop inside the city-dome; they've got a lovely selection of diamonds—real diamonds, I might add. None of that synth stuff.

  I've stopped by a few times, pretending to look for an engagement ring. They only have two security cameras: one by the door and one at the back, and they're not even the good kind that can shoot lasers. There's a single guard, but he's asleep most of the time. Guess you get what you pay for.

  Now I'm not going to go in there, guns a blazin'. That's just stupid. Photon laser blowing up in your face is a good way to get yourself killed. At least it'd blow up in my face because I don't know how to use a gun.

  So what am I going to do instead? Rocket suit.

  Think about it: the most important part of a heist is getting away, and that's where things go wrong. You can't out-drive the cops: they'll close off the roads and lay down those spikes. You can't hide: they've got those DNA sniffers. You can't go underground: the sewer is full of mutants. So obviously you've got to go up, up, up. And yeah, there are flying cars, but they're so cumbersome and can't get into the tight spaces. See, there's a gap in the dome wall, only large enough for a slim-figured girl like me to get through. Once outside, cops can't get you: it's beyond their jurisdiction. Isn't that brilliant?

  Granted, this rocket suit, complete with pack and boots, set me back 3,000 credits, but after I pull this off, I'll be rolling around in credits—figuratively speaking. I know you can't actually roll around in numbers.

  On the day of, I wear a long coat over my rocket suit and carry the guard-screen and a couple of smoke canisters inside a huge tote bag—which is the latest fashion, by the way. The jewelry shop is located on the eighty-sixth floor of the mall tower; the big shiny one surrounded by 3D adverts. I decide to be clever and not-so-obvious, by taking the elevator up of the adjacent tower, then walk across the connecting ramps.

  Below the ramps are hundreds of flying cars crisscrossing in all directions, and every so often, a car will break away and hover-park at one of the balconies that encircles each floor of the mall. You can't even make out the ground from up here, and the far-edges of the dome are barely visible. Most times it doesn't feel like you're inside a giant bubble—except for the fact that the outside world is dry, harsh, and near unlivable.

  I peek at couple other places before entering the jewelry shop. The android behind the glass counter takes a moment before it responds to my presence, its dead eyes lock with mine. I'm not worried about facial recognition because this little doohickey on my temple scrambles any perception of my face. This set me back another 1,000 credits.

  "May I see your necklaces?" I ask in my sweetest voice. Not that the android would care, but it lulls the guard, and he soon after starts snoring.

  The droid starts to open up the case up front, but I tap on the counter. "No, no. I want to see the ones you have in the back." They always keep the good stuff in back.

  It nods, and with stilted steps, heads to the back room.

  About this time I notice there's a hunchback in a trench coat standing in the corner. Crap! What if he's a cop? Those undercover cops are always wearing trench coats—them and the perverts. Crossing my fingers that he's a pervert.

  Oh well, if I get out of here quick enough, it won't matter what he is—speaking of quick, where is that droid? That cheap thing probably broke down... Oh! Here it is.

  In the android's arms is an open black velvet box, and inside are the most gorgeous necklaces. Diamonds and rubies as big as your eye. Sterling silver wrapped around pearls of midnight.

  It sets the necklaces down and carefully picks up each one for display.

  "Do you have any earrings to match?"

  It cocks its head, probably processing my question. In a hollow voice, it says, "I don't believe so, miss."

  How disappointing. Guess the necklaces will do. "Well show me your earrings, anyway—no, no." I shoo the android's hands away from the necklaces. "I'm still looking."

  "I'm sorry, miss. But this is protocol." The android opens up the counter cabinet and places the box of necklaces inside. "I will return shortly."

  Well that's just great. If I had a gun I could blow the counter to bits, but I'm not going to magically start using a gun. Hmm, think, think, think...

  I set my bag on the counter and open it up. Smoke starts pouring forth. I quickly put on the screen-guard and smash the counter with my foot, then grab fistfuls of jewelry before the smoke becomes blinding. I'm out the door, running as fast as one can in rocket boots.

  But someone's behind me.

  I glance over my shoulder—oh damn! That hunchback in a trench coat. Who knew he could run so fast?

  The edge of the balcony isn't far. I rip off my coat and start warming up the jets. I glance again. No fair! He's got a gun.

  Hot beam blazes to my left. He should really watch out where he's pointing that—he could've hit me! Looks like now's a good time as ever to take off.

  The boots and pack ignite, steadily lifting me off the ground. I leap over the balcony rail before he can even lay a hand on me.

  Ha! I'm actually getting away with it, I really am. Of course I knew I would, not a shadow of a doubt, not even with the hunchback in a trench coat there. Bet he's pissed now. I half-turn to stick my tongue out at him.

  The hunchback removes his trench coat and...what the hell? He has a jetpack! What kind of weirdo goes around wearing a jetpack?

  He takes off.

  I adjust my speed
and trajectory, head straight up. All I have to do is make it through that gap.

  The dome's skeleton is a network of metal cross-beams, with glass panels in each square subsection. Light filters through at an odd angle from one glass panel that wasn't placed properly, the one with the gap. So close!

  I glance back—and yep, he's there. I shift sharply to the right and try a little loop to lose him...

  Everything goes blurry and sideways, warmth trickles down from my nose. Crap! I right myself, but my vision takes a few moments to clear. And after all that, the not-hunchback is still on me.

  A little orange light appears on the suit's wrist. Less than half a tank left. Wow, rocket fuel sure doesn't go far.

  Not to worry, not to worry. Just need to focus on getting through that gap. I can practically touch the dome walls.

  I slow down, just hovering now, and kick my way toward the gap. Flying is a bit like swimming, except if you stop, you fall hundreds of feet to your death... I really shouldn't think about that.

  I grab the edge of the glass panel and swing myself through the gap. I'm outside! This is officially outside the cop's domain! I land on a horizontal ledge where the cross-beams jut out, and turn off the suit to conserve fuel. Now I actually have a reason to stick my tongue out.

  Except the cop comes through the gap, too. Wait—he can't do that!

  "You can't do that!" I tell him as he lands on my ledge.

  "Do what?" He looks at me with a ragged face and five O'clock shadow.

  "Come out here and arrest me. This is outside your jurisdiction."

  He laughs. He laughs so hard that there are tears in his eyes. Is he one of those dirty cops who doesn't follow the rules because he thinks he's so badass? That would explain why he forgot to shave.

  "Oh wow." He inhales deeply. "What makes you think I'm a cop?"

  "Uh, the trench coat?" His brows furrow, but I quickly follow it up: "And you were chasing me, even shooting at me!"

  "Maybe I wanted the loot, too."

  I raise my chin, taking the high ground. "That doesn't justify you shooting at me. Guns aren't toys, you could really hurt someone."

  He rubs the back of his head, a bit of a frown on him. "Sorry about that. Was trying to get you to stop."

  "And why the jetpack? How did you—"

  "I'm friends with one of your friends online, and she was saying how you had this whole heist planned out, but she didn't think it'd actually work."

  My jaw drops open. Unbelievable. People can't keep their big blogging mouths shut.

  "What makes you think I'm going to hand my loot over?"

  "Because I have a gun."

  My grip tightens on the bag. I'm not giving up without a flight.

  I leap off, thinking the jets will come on in time. They don't. I drop straight down—except he grabs a hold of my wrist. His grip is like a damn vice.

  "Geez. What the hell were you thinking?" he says after he pulls me to safety.

  I can't help but blush as I sit on the ledge, sucking down air. Okay, so that didn't work out so well.

  "You're wackier than your friend made you out to be."

  Now that's just mean.

  "What's wrong with trying to prove a point? I did it, didn't I?" Take that my pessimistic friends!

  He gives me a puzzled look. "So you didn't actually need the credits?"

  "Well now I do. Have to pay back this suit and doohickey." I point to my temple.

  He indicates to his back. "I have this jetpack to pay off as well."

  "They're pretty overpriced, aren't they?"

  "No kidding."

  I take a moment to think over the situation, because I don't have the strength to push him off the ledge. "Okay, well, I think it's safe to say we got away—well I got away, you just followed."

  "Yeah?"

  "So how would you like forge a partnership? Because I can't use guns for the life of me." I hold the bag out in front me. "And we can split this to cover the technical costs."

  He runs a hand through his dark hair, which is kind of greasy but kind of nice at the same time. Like one those guys with wavy hair in the commercials who walk around their apartment, shirtless, showing off their sexy pecs and abs. This guy here looks like he could hit the gym more often—but I'm not saying I'd turn him down either, if he'd clean up a bit.

  The seconds go by, and all he does is glance at me, frowns, then goes back to thinking. It's like being with my friends whenever I suggest something: too afraid to tell me that my idea is dumb. Why does everyone doubt me?

  I sigh. "You don't—"

  The sound of engines cut me off.

  We both look up to see a chopper—and not just any chopper, but a police chopper. Crap! I check my fuel gauge. Double-crap.

  Mister Five O'clock Shadow thumbs the strap of his jetpack, looking away. I guess he's in the same predicament as me.

  "What are you two doing?" the police chopper booms.

  "I could be asking you the same!" I say.

  "Don't." He grips my shoulder. "Local police jurisdiction actually stretches 200 yards outside the dome."

  Wikipedia lied to me!

  "Well?" the police chopper says. "We're waiting."

  I press my fist to my forehead. C'mon, think of something...

  I jump up, hand the bag off to him. "We're inspectors from the energy company. The dome's air conditioning bill is through the roof—literally. See this gap here?" I gesture behind me. "Shameful architecture work."

  There's silence from the police chopper, and everything inside me crosses. If there's a God or some powerful deity out there, I promise to use my robbing abilities for good...after I pay off this suit.

  The chopper's megaphone cracks to life. "So you're inspectors, huh?"

  "Yep!" And I nudge Mister Five O'clock Shadow to nod along.

  "Interesting."

  It takes all my willpower to keep from grinning. Now this next bit might be pushing my luck, but... "By the way, could you give us a lift? They don't make these fuel tanks like they use to."

  "Sure. Just hop on over." The side door of the chopper opens.

  This time I make sure to let the jets warm up before leaping off. I get in, followed by my temporary companion. The two police officers don't even ask what's in the bag when he comes on board; they just take it.

  They both chuckle. No sense of morals, these dirty cops.

  Nothing I can do about it, as depressing as it is. I'm in debt and I have no proof that I robbed the shop. But the cops were nice enough to give us a lift, so long as we kept our mouths shut. We didn't see them and they didn't see us.

  The chopper leaves us at the dome entrance, but I more or less drag myself, the hot sun beating down on me, making me sweat; the suit sticks to my skin. I take the guard-screen off and toss it aside, lean against the dome. I'd love a shower right about now, to wash away the day's failures.

  "Hey." Mister Five O'clock Shadow comes up to me, smiling. "That was a nice job you did back there."

  "Eh?" The heat must be getting to him. "I didn't do anything."

  "Well, you handled it pretty well, and didn't get us killed. So that's a plus."

  "I suppose."

  "It's not like we can't rob another place."

  "We?" I perk up. "You mean you want to partner up?"

  His smile widens. "Sure, why not? It'll be like Bonnie and Clyde."

  "Yeah, exactly! Except with rockets and better sounding names."

  "I'm Derrick, by the way."

  I guess my name will be the better sounding one, then. I nod. "Lorelei."

  "Now let's get out of this heat." He wipes his brow.

  "Ummhmm." As I pick the guard-screen, I glance down at the obnoxious red light on my wrist. "Oh, and next heist we're buying fuel efficient rockets."

  Siobhan Gallagher is a wannabe zombie slayer, currently residing in the Forever City. Her fiction has appeared in several publications, including AE - The Canadian Science Fiction Review, On Spec, Abyss & Apex,
Unidentified Funny Objects anthology, and Grimdark Magazine. Occasionally, she does this weird thing called 'blogging' at: defconcanwrite.blogspot.com

  All Comms Down

  by Anne E. Johnson

  Medda

  The Exceptional left the Milky Way right on schedule.

  "The crew is thoroughly prepared for every eventuality," Captain Medda Kim assured her first officer, Banjeree. Although it wasn't in the budget, Medda had insisted on hours of mandatory extra training for Deep Space. That training had started on Earth two months before takeoff, and had continued daily for the three months it took to get this far.

  They would remain in Deep Space for almost two years before they reached the edge of the galaxy called Benkin Fields. There, on the planet Alendara, earlier colonists awaited their arrival.

  "Two years is a long time not to know quite where you are," Medda admitted solemnly.

  Banjeree laughed; his sense of humor was one of the reasons Medda valued him. "Our people are so ready," Banjeree said with a twinkle in his eye, "they wouldn't even be surprised if a Null Dragon attacked the ship."

  Medda allowed herself a small smile. It disappeared as she pictured the lumpy veins she'd seen in victims of space bends and the screeching madness that had taken over most of the surviving crew in the first intergalactic flight. One of those madwomen had been her grandmother, who had suffered severe mental illness the rest of her life.

  "Sometimes I think made-up creatures like Null Dragons would be preferable to what might actually face us out here," she said to Banjeree.

  Not picking up on the trauma in Medda's thoughts, he laughed again. "I dare say, my daughter agrees with you, Captain. She's rather obsessed with Null Dragons."

  "So was I at that age," Medda said quietly. "I used to dip my finger in shampoo and draw Null Dragons on the bathroom mirror. I always imagined them having feet shaped like snowboards."