by Waiting for the Machines to Fall Asleep- The Best New Science Fiction from Sweden (retail) (epub)
"Lucas!" Kirkegaard hisses in front of him.
Lucas takes a few steps and catches up with the doctor. "Yes?"
"Do you see that?"
Up front, just past the last curve, something's approaching. Lucas stares into the darkness. There is no light, yet he sees it clearly. And he can't believe his eyes.
Kirkegaard takes a deep breath. "Oh my God," he says in a voice full of fear, backing until he bumps into Lucas. "What do you see, Lucas? What do you see?"
Lucas shakes his head. It's not possible. But still, here he is, in the depth of little Annelise's sub-conscious.
"Father?" he whispers to the figure standing in the center of the labyrinth.
"You see your father?" Kirkegaard asks.
Lucas barely has enough strength to nod. It's his father, alright. He would recognize those hate-filled eyes and the big-knuckled ham hands anywhere. Father wears the same shirt and oil-stained jeans that he wore the last time Lucas saw him. The draining black hole inside grows even more, and now Lucas feels what he has not felt since he was five years old. When his father was still alive. Before someone up there finally heard Lucas's prayers and saw to it that his father got a knife between his ribs, in the alley behind the bar where he always hung out during his periods.
"How is it possible?" he whispers. "How can he be here?"
Kirkegaard shakes his head. "Damn it! It tricked us."
"What?"
Kirkegaard begins to walk backwards through the labyrinth. "Run! We might be able to escape before it –"
"What is it?" Lucas follows, but he keeps his eyes glued to his father. He never took his eyes off him then, and he wouldn't think of doing it now either. The chance to avoid the worst blows were better if he saw them coming.
Kirkegaard moves backwards through the passage as he thinks out loud. "It made the girl hurt herself to draw someone in," he says. "It needs a way out."
"Does my dad need a ..."
"No! You don't understand! I don't see your father."
"But he's right there in front of ..."
"No, I see something completely different. It appears as each person's worst fear."
Lucas wants to say something. But his father is closer now, just a few meters away, big hands reaching for him. Lucas knows what to expect if he gets hold of him: a couple of slaps won't do it this time, not by a long shot.
Kirkegaard groans. Lucas senses the old man's fear.
"Now I understand why he cut his throat." Kirkegaard whispers, then raises his voice. "Lucas, if you get out, promise to do what you can to stop it. It must not ..."
The old man's voice turns into a scream of terror when whatever he sees knocks him to the ground. For a moment Lucas thinks that he should use the stunslinger; he should help Kirkegaard, that's why he's here. Then his father's upon him, and he is petrified with fear. The big hands grab the front of his overall and throw him to the labyrinth floor. Lucas wants to scream and pray as he did when he was a little boy. But he knows that it is useless. Evil does not listen to prayers.
It never listens to prayers.
The small speaker above Christine's desk gives a metallic chime. Kirkegaard and that new big guy, Lucas, probably stand outside the gate and want to get in. Christine adjusts a blonde curl behind her ear and activates her intercom device.
"Doctor?" she asks.
First there's no answer, only silence. Almost like that dead silence that Christine could never endure if her life depended on it. She's been in one of those separation rooms just to test it – it was enough to know that she does not want to work as a PSIchologist. The small desk in the tiny secretarial room next to the operating room with the PSIscanner is a perfectly fine world for her.
"Doctor?" she asks again. "You coming in?"
"He cannot talk." She hears a voice that is not the doctor.
"Is that you, Lucas?"
"Yes. Could you please open the door, Christine?"
Christine smiles. The doctor is exhausted. Of course. It's amazing that he can continue doing what he does at his age.
"Certainly." She presses a button. On one of the small screens from the entrance room, she can see how the PSIscanner's round door slowly opens.
On another monitor, she sees that Annelise is still asleep in the operating room. A nurse stands next to her sleeping form, checking the girl's values on the PSIscanners side panel. But there seems to be something wrong – the nurse leaves the panel and returns with a stethoscope.
In the entrance room she sees the big guy, Lucas, come crawling out of the machine. But he seems to be alone.
"Lucas, where is Kirkegaard?" she asks in the intercom.
The big guy doesn't respond. He just stands up, staring into the camera, straight at Christine. And smiles. A strong feeling of discomfort spreads in Christine. She senses a presence, as if the guy was inside the room with her.
And there's something with his eyes.
On the second monitor, she sees that the nurse has dropped the stethoscope and is backing away from the sleeping girl. She is asleep, isn't she?
Christine looks at the monitor of the entrance room. Sees how the big guy takes a couple of steps toward the camera (what is it with his eyes?) and raises a hand. The next moment the reception is cut off, and the screen is filled with static. And not only that – all five screens in front of her suddenly display static.
The lights in the room go out. For a moment it's pitch black, then the red emergency lights turn on. What is going on?
Christine presses the intercom button, but all she hears is dead silence. When it's clear that she no longer has contact with the outside world she pushes back the chair and gets up. She looks around the room that is drenched in blood red light and on the static monitors. She wants to get out of here now, find someone who can tell her what the hell is going on.
A couple of muffled thumps followed by a low rumble is heard on the other side of the wall. From the entrance room. Where the big guy is. It sounds as if something breaks, and not just random things. Everything. The walls vibrate from it.
It's like the whole world is about to crumble and fall.
"Wishmaster" – Andrea Grave-Müller
Marcus was on his way to work, rush hour speed, when he spotted the goblin clinging to the back of a garbage truck in front of him.
Nothing unusual so far.
The goblin climbed up and down the back of the garbage truck, scrawny and greenish, wearing a tattered dress that once might have been pink. It looked to the left and to the right, over the solemn parade of cars slowly working its way along the road. It looked through the front window of Marcus's car and right at him with eyes that were big, red and frightened.
For a moment they stared at each other, man and goblin. Then the goblin dropped from the truck and was gone.
Marcus tried to catch a glimpse of it. A fear that it might have been hurt made him stir uncomfortably in his seat, but the goblin had disappeared without a trace, and he couldn't very well stop and get out of the car in the middle of the hour traffic.
He didn't tell anyone at work about it, even though it was never far away from his thoughts during the day. It even made him think a little less about her than usual.
That night, after another uninspiring dinner consisting of pasta, meatballs and ketchup, Marcus decided to take a walk.
He had always been quite a slender man. In his younger days, days he with horror realized were about twenty years past, sports and exercise had kept his belly flat and shoulders broad, but married life and a full-time job had put an end to most physical activity. Recently he had discovered that the past years had not only given him some quite flattering wrinkles around the eyes, but also a slight roundness around the belly. Maybe it was some sort of post-divorce vanity, but he wanted to get rid of this annoyance. He admitted to himself that his vanity also might be caused by the fact that he had a chance to run into her about once or twice a week. Not that she would ever be interested in him, she was way
out of his league, but still – he told himself that it didn't hurt to look as good as possible.
If only it wasn't so hard to find new, healthy habits! Less junk food, more jogging, and a trip to the gym at least a couple of times a week, how hard could it be? A walk this fine spring evening was a good enough start, Marcus told himself as he put on comfortable shoes, a fleece sweater and pulled a knitted cap over his blond hair.
He hurried down the stairs from his apartment, stepped out the front door and nearly tripped over a scrawny creature with red dreadlocks and a dirty pink dress.
"Oh God!" Marcus exclaimed as he jumped back and slammed his elbow into the front door. The goblin was just as startled. It squeaked and hurried away a few meters. When it stopped, turned and scowled at him, he recognized it from the garbage truck.
"Don't do that!" it said in a high-pitched voice, a girl's voice.
Of course the goblin was a girl, Marcus thought. The dress and long dreadlocks were hints, but for a human, a goblin's gender wasn't always easy to determine.
"You were right outside my door," he said, rubbing his elbow. "I had no chance."
The goblin snorted. She certainly didn't look afraid now. She put her hands on her narrow hips, still scowling.
"Why were you staring at me this morning?" she said.
"Was I staring? Sorry," Marcus started, but then he became a bit annoyed. Who was this goblin to question him? "You were clinging to the back of a garbage truck, I was sitting in my car right behind you, where was I supposed to look? You were right in front of me."
"Oh," she said. "I thought you recognized me. I was worried ... oh, never mind."
"Recognized you? Sorry, should I?"
"Well, you know, you might have seen me at work. There's usually not many people left when I come in to clean, you're one of the few who always work late it seems. You're one of the IT guys, aren't you?"
Marcus knew the cleaners at the company were goblins, but he had never paid much attention to them. They just were there, doing their job in the evenings, looking pretty much the same. This one should have stood out, with those long, fiery dreads, but he couldn't recall her either.
"Oh, yes, now I recognize you," he lied. "Sorry. You know, sometimes, when you see someone you don't really know someplace where you don't expect them to be ..."
She hugged her own arms and peered at him, and Marcus realized that this goblin was very young, maybe still a child. He thought about the fear he had seen in her eyes this morning.
"You were afraid of something, weren't you?" he said in a softer voice.
She nodded.
"I think ..." she started, then fell silent for a few moments before starting again. "I think I might need help. Maybe you can help me? If you want to?"
Marcus hesitated. Help with what? a suspicious voice said inside him. Don't meddle in the affairs of goblin, it added. He opened his mouth to tell the goblin to go away and hide somewhere else.
"Sure," he heard himself say.
What?! the voice inside him exclaimed. No! Wrong answer!
"Great!" the goblin said, grinning with sharp teeth. "My name's Ella. What's yours?"
So much for taking a walk, Marcus thought about ten minutes later. Ella sat in his kitchen, eating his chips and drinking his Coke. She had kicked off her sneakers in the hallway and was now resting her big, greenish feet on his kitchen table, as if she owned the place.
Well, Marcus thought, goblins weren't exactly known for their fine manners, were they? They were called garbage-eaters and sewer-dwellers, known as thieves and fences, always ready to do the dirty work for the humans, if you paid their price.
If you didn't pay their price, everyone knew you would likely end up with their pointed teeth in your throat.
"So," Marcus said to the goblin, "what can I help you with?"
Ella swallowed the last of the Coke and threw the can into the kitchen sink with careless accuracy.
"I found something," she said. "And now I need to hide."
"So you want me to hide you? Here? In my apartment?" The idea didn't sound very appealing.
"Well ..." Ella tilted her head slightly from side to side while she seemed to study Marcus's kitchen lamp very carefully. "Not exactly. I mean, come on. You're human. You know basically nothing about hiding."
Her eyes met Marcus's. They are really red, he thought. Not bloodshot, but a pure, deep red.
"So what is it you want?" he asked.
"That thing I found – I need it to be returned to, uhm, to the rightful owner."
"Oh."
"And that's where you come in," Ella went on. "If you'll help me."
"So you want me to get this thing you, ehum, 'found', and give it back to its owner? Is that it? That doesn't sound too hard."
The moment he said it, he knew he was wrong.
"Well ..." Ella said again, this time inspecting her dirty fingernails. "It's not really that simple."
The woman with steel colored hair brushed something from the sleeve of her likewise steel colored suit.
"You should do something about that leaking roof," she said. "There's a puddle on the floor."
Her remark made the other woman snort.
"Not your problem." Her voice was deeper and hoarser than most human women's. Her face was half hidden behind tangled black hair. Only one eye was visible, and it stared the human woman down. "Who are you to have opinions, by the way? I thought you were here to do business, not complain about my home."
"Indeed." The woman in the suit crossed her arms, but she didn't quite manage to look comfortable. Maybe the rat sniffing around her designer ankle boots had something to do with that. It was the biggest rat she had ever seen, and the way it looked at her made her shudder. Rats might be clever animals, but this one looked far too intelligent.
"So." The goblin woman sat down in what once must have been quite an expensive armchair. She tossed some of her hair away from her face, which made her look even more hideous, with a complexion in desperate need of some skin care. "You said you needed help finding something, eh? I suppose it's something you don't want everyone to know about, then, since you're here. We can do the job – as long as you pay the price."
"Yes, I'm aware of that," the human woman said in a dry voice. "I'm willing to discuss the price. Then I can give you the details."
"Oh no," the goblin chuckled. "The other way around. First you give me the details. Then I'll give you a price. I need to know what I'm dealing with, see. Come here, sweetie."
The last was directed to the rat. It scurried over to her and climbed into her lap. She scratched its chin while she continued:
"Is it illegal? Could my people get hurt? Do they need to hurt someone? Even kill? Are you the only one seeking this thing, or do we have competitors? What expenses are involved? I can't give you a price without knowing what I'm selling."
"All you need to do is to find a little girl," the human woman said. "A tiny, harmless little girl who happens to have in her possession an item that belongs to me. Find the girl, scare her a little, get the item back and deliver it to me. Discreetly, of course. A piece of cake."
"And the girl doesn't have angry parents or any other protectors? Or just happens to be the daughter of the police chief? That item we're talking about, it won't explode if it's touched the wrong way? What are you not telling me?"
"The girl's a goblin. That's the prime reason I'm here and not at the police station. You might even know her. Her name is Ella."
The goblin woman raised an eyebrow but shook her head.
"Nope, doesn't ring any bells. And the item?"
"A wrist-watch. A very, very expensive wrist-watch. This Ella girl stole it while cleaning my office."
"I see." The goblin woman nodded. "Well, you're right. It doesn't sound too complicated. I think we should be able to agree on a price."
About five minutes later, the human woman in the gray suit did her best to avoid getting sewer nastiness on her Jimmy Choos while making h
er way back to daylight and fresh air. Back in her sewer home, the goblin woman patted her rat on the head.
"Now be a good boy and hurry off to find Ella. Grandma needs to see her."
Friday morning. A bittersweet day for Marcus.
Sweet, because another workweek was over and the weekend shimmered within sight, full of promises of mornings without the alarm bell and time to do whatever he wanted (at least, that was what he told himself).
Bitter, because it meant two days without any chance of seeing her. Two days without knowing how she spent her weekend. Probably hanging out with her cool girlfriends and handsome boyfriend. He knew about the boyfriend, at least he assumed that the guy who picked her up after work every now and then was her boyfriend. Technically, he could of course be her brother or just a friend who used to accompany her to the gym, but Marcus tried not to be too optimistic. They were a pretty couple, both dark, both looking like models.
This Friday morning, however, Marcus found his mind occupied by other things. Like little goblin girls with stolen wrist-watches.
"I can't go back there!" she had exclaimed when he had tried to convince her to return it to the rightful owner herself. "Everyone will assume I stole it!"
"Well, you did."
"That's not the point! The point is that I don't want to be arrested, or worse. I might even get killed, who knows? It's not an ordinary watch! It's – it's – very special."
He had tried to ask her what was so special about it, but that had made her even more upset, and then she had marched off to his living room and refused to talk to him about it.
