The Ultimate Collection of Science & Speculative Fiction Short Stories (Short SSF Stories Book 5)

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  “So how did you get here?”

  “What, you mean Earth? We can travel everywhere, even on meteorites.”

  Actually, I meant here, at my home, but it felt good that she could not read my mind.

  “Well, give me some time,” she protested, much to my dismay. “I just joined you.”

  “Fine. You were saying?”

  “I was explaining that it all started back when you were but chimps climbing trees. Our ancestors were not yet tuned in to your species, so we were able to use them as hosts. We helped the ones we joined survive and multiply. You could say we gave them an evolutionary advantage, and soon they surpassed all other members of their tribes, until they developed a full consciousness.”

  “The less developed ones must have loved them,” I joked.

  “More than you realize. They worshipped them, believing them divinely inspired. In a sense, they were, of course. But progress had its cost; after a number of millennia, we couldn’t join other species.”

  “Why would you have to?”

  “Because the unexpected happened. After hundreds of thousands of years of symbiosis, people started treating hosts as mentally ill, fearing them. They accused them of devil worshipping, persecuted them, slaughtered them in the thousands. Many of us died then, without an opportunity to join another host.”

  I remembered my history lessons; man’s capacity for cruelty to anyone deemed different, never ceased to amaze me. I had no idea our vicious nature had so much collateral damage.

  “Not many do,” she agreed.

  I should have felt annoyed at her reading my mind, but a new feeling had started filling me. A contentment I had never experienced before; I was one with a creature that accepted my very existence with a deep gratitude. Her appreciation of me seeped into every fiber of my being. I can only compare it to being caught in a snowstorm until you’re ready to die of exposure and not even realizing it. Then, someone takes you into a warm room, sits before the stove and hands you a plate of hot soup, until you forget the very notion of cold, the icy death now replaced by cozy contentment. I had never experienced anything like it, and could not imagine living without it. I now understood why people would die to protect this fragile creature that had found its way into my soul.

  I can remember little of the following weeks, the days passing like seconds. I was alive again, after two years of numbness. Most of the day I passed chatting with my new friend. She had so much to tell me, so many images to share. I could live every moment she had with her previous hosts, until they felt more real to me than my actual friends. Every story was an immersive experience, consisting of words, images, sounds, flavors… and emotions. Deep emotions, just as real as my own, or even more so. I could feel everything these people had felt, caress every lover they had kissed, taste every meal they had enjoyed, listen to every song they had heard. My senses were overflowing with a richness I never imagined possible. Within a few weeks, I had lived entire lifetimes.

  Until, one day, it finally hit me. Those people were dead. Their emotions, experiences and lives were little more than memories of my unusual companion. Soon enough, I would be one of them. What could I offer her next host, but a dry, repetitive existence within the four walls of my room? What was a retreat, suddenly felt like a prison, and I longed to walk the streets again, to take advantage of the precious, brief moments of life I had.

  I burst the windows open and let the sunlight chase away my drab existence. The sounds of the city hit me with unusual intensity, and I stormed out the door, to re-join life.

  Did she make me feel this way? Does she need my experiences, feed on them? She made no comment, but I did not care; it was the right thing to do, I knew, and I wanted to claim back everything I had lost when my parents died. Everything!

  I don’t remember much of the rest of the day. I visited parks, stared at cars rushing by and fed pigeons and ducks. I walked a lot, ending up at the port, a place I had not visited since I was a child. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people passed me by, ignoring my silent giggles as I gossiped about them with my new friend.

  The setting sun found me sitting on a bench, facing the water. It was the most beautiful sunset I could remember, bringing tears of joy to my eyes. When the last thin sliver of the golden disk sank into the ocean, I rubbed my eyes and started to get up. This was the best day I’d had in years, I decided.

  A sudden shiver ran up and down my spine, and my guts clenched involuntarily. “What’s wrong?” I asked, as a feeling of dread filled my heart.

  “We should go,” the Voice implored in my head. For the first time since we had joined, she sounded apprehensive; scared even.

  “Why do—” I started to complain, but decided against it. Her fear was too real for me to ignore it, even though it made no sense to me. Anyway, watching the thinning crowds, I realized I was getting tired.

  I walked faster and faster, until her urgency made me run down the street. I took a backstreet shortcut towards the metro station; it would be the fastest way back. As soon as I started down the poorly-lit alley, I realized it was a bad idea. This was the sort of place where bad things happened, I decided, and spun around to head back to the main street. A punch to my stomach took me by surprise, and I found myself on all fours on the dusty ground, trying to catch my breath.

  Truth be told, I did not even feel the pain; the shock was too great for that. It’s just that one moment I was standing, then the next I was crawling on the dusty backstreet, trying to figure out what had happened. I started to get up, when every muscle in my body contracted and expanded in rapid succession, making me scream in pain. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a silhouette with a silver cylinder, like a small rod. Blue sparks, like tiny lightning, burst from its tip to enter my chest at the same point where the Voice had entered.

  Through half-open eyes I saw the sparks rip out a ball of light from my body. It twisted and turned in a grotesque way as it exited my flesh, its colors now changed. It seemed to suffer; I could feel her pain adding to mine as it tore away to enter the cylinder, netted by the lightning.

  When the cylinder sucked her inside, it snapped shut with a hiss. The sparks finally died, leaving me fighting for breath. I moaned and tried to crawl up, every cell in my body aching. It was more than physical pain; I felt empty, as if part of my very soul had been ripped out.

  The shadow behind the cylinder leaned forward, coming into sharp focus. A man caught me by the shoulders, not ungently, and helped me to my feet. With my back against the wall, I ended up sitting on the pavement. He patted me down, as if searching for injuries, and I had a chance to examine him. His tired, prematurely aged face was lit up by too kind eyes. A long, dark coat, completely inappropriate for the warm season, covered him from head to toe. God knows what else was hidden in its pockets, beside the cylinder.

  “You’re gonna be fine,” he murmured as soon as he finished his cursory exam. His self-assured voice betrayed efficiency.

  “Who are you?” I mumbled. My tongue felt swollen in my mouth, making it hard to speak.

  “Not important. What’s important is that we got to you in time.”

  “For what?” I asked, hoping he did not hear the bitterness in my voice.

  “You had a parasite. Not only that, it was pregnant. Had I not removed it, you might have a few months left, maybe even weeks.”

  My eyes opened wide. “You’re lying!” I blurted out. He gave me a questioning look, and I hastened to explain. “I spoke to her.” I cringed, as I bit my tongue. Ignoring the pain, I continued. “She’s my friend!”

  The man chuckled. “Yeah, it can look that way. Since you spoke to it, it must have told you where they’re from. Did it also tell you its species is no longer compatible with ours?”

  I shook my head, too weak to protest. “She said we grew up together. I mean, her species and ours did.”

  “Sure. But we haven’t been compatible in ages. No longer than a few months, anyway; a couple of years at the most. That
’s why people turned against them. When pregnant, they’re really dangerous—and I’ll be damned if I know how they get pregnant in the first place.”

  I avoided his eyes. “How dangerous?”

  “Some ninety percent of the cases lead to death or coma when they give birth. I guess our nervous system is overloaded. Maybe it didn’t use to be like that, maybe we were hardier as a species. Who knows. All I know is, you’re one lucky kid; a few weeks, and she’d have given birth.”

  He raised himself to his feet and studied the cylinder, clicking small indentations on its otherwise smooth surface.

  I stared at him for a while, gathering my thoughts. “How did you find me?”

  “I followed its pheromones. When it enters a new host, it releases special chemicals—”

  “I know what pheromones are,” I interrupted him.

  “Well, we had traced the parasite to its last host, but it gave us the slip. Our sniffers caught it.” He glanced at my questioning face and cleared his throat. “They’re special stations looking out for pheromones. All big cities have a couple of sniffers. Anyway, we picked it up at the port. I was sent to capture it.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “We never met, and you go home.”

  “Not me, her.”

  He glanced at the cylinder and shrugged. “The parasite? I only collect them; others will dispose of it.”

  He might have saved me, but the emptiness inside me hurt like an open wound. The man spun around and started down the street, still fiddling with the cylinder. I pushed down to get up, and my hand touched something metallic. I felt the round shape of a lead pipe under my fingers, and clutched it. Before I knew what I was doing, I was on my feet, lunging at the man, pipe in the air. It crashed against his head, sending him to the ground.

  “Oh no, no, no,” I mumbled in panic as I saw blood gushing from a cut on his head. The pipe slipped through trembling fingers to crash on the ground.

  The man lay still, and I touched his throat, trying to stop my hand from shaking. I sighed in relief when I felt his pulse beat under my fingers, and grabbed the cylinder. I took off as fast as my legs would take me, trying to pry it open. The damned thing would not budge. Still running, I beat the cylinder against the wall beside me. It took three hits before the lid flew off. A ball of shimmering light darted out and flew away.

  “Where are you going?” I shouted. “Come on!”

  It hovered in the middle of the street for a moment, undecided. “What are you waiting for? Come!” I repeated.

  It dashed towards me and burst into my chest, filling me with terror mixed with relief. The emotions threatened to swallow me, but I somehow managed to reach my home and rushed inside, to safety.

  I sank into the couch with a loud sigh. She had not said a word since entering me, but her presence filled me, comforted me. I could tell she was calmer now, and my own heartbeat finally started slowing down.

  “Why?”

  Her question startled me. I did not answer for a while, shuddering at the memory of my life without her, and the dreaded loneliness she had put an end to.

  “Why did you save me?” she insisted. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you?”

  “There are worse things than death,” I murmured in the end. “Besides, we still have a ten percent chance of making it, right? Grow old together… Maybe on an island somewhere, where we’ll be safe.”

  I let out a loud groan as I raised myself to my feet to switch off the light, before crawling to bed.

  A Fresh Start

  “Move! Step aside for our master!”

  The voice of my guards riding before my comfortable carriage startled me from my nap. I must have dozed off, missing the last part of the journey. Stifling a yawn, I pulled slightly aside the thick curtains to look outside the window. Behind the backs of the people bowing respectfully before us, I could see my mansion, sitting atop the lush hill overlooking the city. It looked splendid, with the setting sun painting it gold and the twin moons rising behind it. It was part of the vast complex of buildings that formed the Emperor’s palace. Then again, everything in this world was part of the Emperor’s property. Since he usually did as I instructed him, I guess that made the whole world mine. Not bad for a simple builder!

  And to think it had all started as a simple prank.

  Fifteen years had already passed since that day. My past life seemed so far away—and yet, like only yesterday. I drew the curtain back to sink heavily onto my silk pillows. My mind was drawn back to that day, when I was still working as a simple builder in Athens. I had been an engineer in my own country, but after the war I gave all my money to the dubious characters who had promised me a new beginning. What else was there to do? Had I stayed back home, I may have ended up dead—or worse, been recruited by one of the many militias that sprung up daily.

  The trip to Europe had been harder than expected, but in the end I managed to arrive at Europe’s south-eastern corner. After years of living in a semi-legal status, I managed to scrape together enough to get a work permit. Mercifully, I did not have much to spend my money on. I had no family back home, having lost my wife in the war, and I never did like drinking. Nothing to do with my religion; it just upset my stomach. It was the same with women; I avoided the kind of women who could suck you dry before leaving you for their next victim; not because of my ethics, but because the memory of my wife was still too fresh and painful. So, I found myself an immigrant in a land with a schizoid attitude towards us. In the many buildings I worked on, I met some people from my country and we joined our loneliness.

  My best friend had probably been Arak. A heart of gold, but so gullible and superstitious. Naturally, this made him a perfect target for our teasing. One night we were eating kebabs, gossiping about our boss’ latest girlfriend, a plastic brunette with blond roots, when Arak stared at us and announced that he had something important to say. Stealing careful glances around, he whispered that he had found out about a haunted building right next to where we worked. It used to belong to a rich family, he said, but no-one would step in nowadays, for many people had disappeared there. I almost choked on my kebab, but it seemed that he was serious. He gave me a stern look and started to count the people who had supposedly disappeared after entering the house. We all laughed at him and teased him all night, until he angrily dared us to go there and see for ourselves. Since we had all had some ouzo—even me—we accepted immediately.

  Our reaction startled poor Arak; he must have thought we would have rejected his daredevil suggestion. He started to mumble that he didn’t mean it, but of course that only made us more daring and we practically carried him there, forcing him to show us the way.

  The notorious house was an impressive mansion that had obviously seen better days. It must have been built in the 19th century, when rich merchants hired famous architects like Kleanthis, Schaubert, Hansen and Ziller to display their wealth. Typically eclectic, it combined many different styles of its time. I stared at it admiringly, ignoring the many wounds time had inflicted on it. Like most of these houses, with the happy exception of a lucky few that were rescued by a shipping company or a bank, it had been left to rot. I felt sorry for it, but there was not much I could do, so I pushed the heavy door that smelled of rotten wood and decay. It gave a deep sigh as it opened, sending Arak to fly away in a frenzied gallop. He paused only for a moment at the gate to plead with us not to enter, but this only served to make us laugh even harder before swaggering inside.

  The house was all dark, but many windows were broken and a sickly yellow light from the street squeezed through. It was the kind of place that would normally serve as a squatters’ hideout; I was somewhat surprised to find it empty. What was particularly eerie were the silhouettes of some old, forgotten furniture, covered in thick dust; I was sure the house would have been cleaned up by now. Perhaps the building’s notoriety served a purpose after all. As it were, even the oil paintings on the walls were intact, creating an eerie, haunting atmo
sphere, as if we were walking amidst the remnants of a long-gone past.

  I stood before one of the paintings, studying a stern-looking lady, grim enough to grant plausibility to Arak’s fears. It seemed her gaze made me forget myself, as I realized I had been left alone in the room when an invisible breath of cold wind shut the big door behind me with a loud bang. Although I had a healthy disrespect of anything fantastic, I hate to admit I was getting spooked. The fact that the rest of the gang seemed to have disappeared somewhere deep in the house’s bowels did not help either. I went to the door and tried to pry it open, but it was stuck. It was no wonder in such an old house; the wood must have expanded and contracted with the weather countless times in its century of life. Still, I found myself wondering what to do next.

  I absent-mindedly took out a fag from my pocket and reached for my lighter. For some reason, I found it hard to light it and had to turn towards the wall, to protect the fragile flame from any sudden gusts. When I finally managed to light the cigarette, I drew the smoke in with a deep, guilty pleasure and exhaled towards the crumbling plaster. I gazed at it, realizing with a start what was wrong with it. The smoke seemed to be drawn into a narrow crack on the wall. I placed my hand on it, noticing a fine draft.

  I started patting the wall lightly, looking for an opening, and pushing various bumps on it. One of them gave way and the wall sprung open abruptly, revealing a doorway. I glanced nervously behind me before crossing into the darkness. As soon as I had done so, the wall closed behind me, just as abruptly as it had opened. For a moment I panicked and started scratching it, trying in vain to push it open. Failing to do so, I noticed a flickering sliver of light, and spun around to make my way towards it. It seemed to emanate from the thin opening between another door and the floor. Upon reaching it, I pushed, nearly soiling myself at the sight of a lush, sunlit field.

  When someone has such an experience, it can be hard for the mind to comprehend it. In its effort to explain what’s happening, it starts coming up with alternative explanations: perhaps I’ve died and am in Heaven. Or maybe this is but a dream. It’s like a car switching gears awkwardly; it jerks momentarily, trying to regain its balance. That’s the reason why it took me so long to notice the pretty young girl staring patiently at me, fiddling with a shiny metal object. Her long, green dress highlighted her emerald eyes. Heaven. This must be Heaven, I thought when I finally did notice her. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. So, I was left gazing, mouth open. Mercifully, she was more experienced at this than me. She approached me gently, cleared her throat, glanced once more at the gadget in her hands as to confirm something, and simply said, “Hello”.