by Russ Colson
Torchlight filled the clearing. Wooly shadows capered just beyond the circle of light, rude fingers clutching spears and clubs. They garbled and brayed as Meghan stepped from the trees. Her golden breastplate gleamed on an outfit of fringed leather. She held an elegant bow, one wood and flint arrow partially drawn. Mike dropped the cell phone into the leaves.
“So, you probably don’t want me to mention this in my article.” He tried a wan smile.
Meghan threw back her head and laughed, eyes like polished sapphires, then raised her bow and fired. Mike looked down at the arrow in his shoulder.
The world went cold and dark.
¤
There was no pain when Mike woke, only a tingling chill in his extremities. He hung with the others, arms and legs secured by heavy manacles. The fire had died down to ashes. Someone had removed the arrow and covered the wound with gauze. Mike flexed his shoulder. It felt stiff, but the wound was almost closed. It must have been at least a few hours since he was shot.
Soft blue light filled the room, rippling as if refracted through water. Meghan and Orin stepped into Mike’s vision, flanked by several other dark-haired men and women.
“Meg, I thought you said we were finished with this,” Orin said.
Meghan frowned. “He saw you. What else could I do?”
“He’s a journalist, not some random backpacker.”
They still thought Mike was a reporter. Good. He raised his head. “What the hell is going on here?”
“You were trespassing.” Meghan stepped forward.
“Then call the cops.”
She snorted and turned to her brother. “He’s not a reporter.”
Dammit.
“You’re here to spy on us. Who sent you—Monsanto, DuPont, Syngenta? Tell me.”
Mike gaped at her.
“It doesn’t matter. Well, now you’ve found our secret, and you’re going to pay.”
“You’re going to kill me over sweaters?”
“Not sweaters...souls.” Orin glided past his sister, frowning. “America is a melting pot in every regard, Mr. Martinez. The immigrants who came here brought not only their culture and history, but their folklore as well. Monsters, gods, and demons from the old world, carried to the new in the hearts of their believers. Sometimes they fought the native spirits, sometimes they didn’t, and we are the result.”
Meghan’s smile could have frozen fire. “Our great-great-grandmother was Frau Holda, mistress of the Wyld Hunt, matron of spinning, domestic animals, and witchcraft. Our great-great-grandfather was Tsi-Noo, a soulless demon of Abenaki myth, spirit of winter, and devourer of souls. They met, quarreled, and fell in love.”
“Touching.” Mike tested the chains, they were tight. There was only going to be one way out of this.
Orin walked behind Mike, sending a shiver down his spine. “They passed into legend, but we remained, alive but unable to live. Do you know what it is like to be born without a soul, Mr. Martinez? We feel no love, no happiness, no pain, nothing except hunger. We crave the intoxicating rush of emotion when we devour a human spirit, doomed with the knowledge that our first true feeling will be murderer’s guilt.”
Meghan drew close, her breath frosting the perspiration on Mike’s brow. “It took centuries, but we’ve finally perfected the process. The spells woven into the sweaters siphon just a tiny strand of animus from those who wear them. They won’t be as lively—but not enough to notice. We can finally live without remorse. We’ll be just like everyone else. Isn’t that the American Dream?”
Mike grimaced. “Yeah, except for the part about draining people’s souls.”
“America is built on suffering and death, and you have the gall to tell us that what we’re doing is wrong? You act like your ancestors didn’t climb over a pile of bodies to give you a better life. They did what they had to.” Meghan’s flat tone belied her fiery words.
Mike shook his head. “That doesn’t mean they were right.”
Orin moved in front of him. “Mr. Martinez, you must see this is the only way.”
“No, it’s not.” Mike felt the familiar animal rage rising within him. “You see, I know something about hunger, and I know something about evil. It doesn’t matter how few people you kill to get what you want, you’re still murderers. You’re still monsters. I’m sorry.”
Meghan’s hand came up. Blue fire limned her splayed fingers. “I don’t give a damn what you think, Mr. Martinez.”
Mike gritted his teeth. Anger coursed through his veins, his heart hammering as the wolf battered at his resolve. He tried to resist, tried to let them kill him, but in the end, he was weak. He was always weak.
Mike’s last sensation before he slipped away was of the manacles around his wrists and ankles tearing like paper.
¤
Mike woke shivering, naked, and covered in ash. He rubbed his eyes, feeling like he was coming off a ten-day binge. He was hungry, which was good. It was better than being full.
The chill breeze carried a sharp chemical tang. He limped towards the smell, smoldering buildings canting into view as he stepped from the forest. The clearing swarmed with police, firemen, and FBI agents.
“We’ve got another one!” A fireman jogged forward to catch Mike just as he fell. The scene faded in and out, voices rising from the swirling babble of sounds.
“...just like the others.”
“...only one we found outside the basement.”
“...must have gotten free somehow.”
Mike was carried to a gurney, his world narrowing to one small point of sky. He was so tired.
Edward Chen’s frowning face filled his vision.
“What the hell happened here, Mike? I’ve got a dozen burned human bodies in the barn and about ten times that many sheep. The firemen pulled seven people from the basement, all babbling about shadows and spindles.”
“They were going to sacrifice us, Ed. Witchcraft. Some sort of cult. Things got out of hand...there was an explosion, a fire. I must have stumbled clear.” Mike lied. There were limits to what even Chen would believe.
“I told you not to get involved.”
“They came after me.”
“And the sweaters?”
“I’d send out a recall order.”
“You didn’t...you know?” Chen pawed at the air, fingers crooked into claws.
Mike shook his head weakly. Another lie.
“Well then, if they just grabbed you, I suppose you didn’t have much of a choice.” Chen glanced at his watch.
“We had choices, they were just all bad.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, you should rest. You’ve been through a lot.” Chen’s smile was perfunctory at best. He stepped away, calling to the policemen who were still dragging bodies from the ashes. The charred, shrunken forms were almost indistinguishable as man or beast. Fitting.
An angry snort drew Mike’s attention to where a harried looking policeman struggled to hold the halter of a very agitated llama.
Mike chuckled, breath rasping in his throat. It looked like things had turned out alright—well, almost alright. He’d killed all the monsters except the one that really mattered; the one inside himself.
By day, Evan Dicken fights economic entropy for the US Department of Commerce and studies Edo Period cartography at the Ohio State University. By night, he does neither. His work has most recently appeared in: Daily Science Fiction, Ray Gun Revival, and The Innsmouth Free Press, and he has stories forthcoming from publishers such as: Chaosium, The Lovecraft eZine, and Andromeda Spaceways In-Flight Magazine. Feel free to visit him at: evandicken.com.
THE ROBOT AGENDA
By Samantha Boyette
1986
Standing, staring over the falls, I think back to what has brought me here. I was seven when I was first introduced to the robot agenda, or at least people called it that back then. The year was 1971, not so long ago that our parents didn’t remember what it was like to be part of a world at wa
r, but to me World War Two might as well have been a century earlier. I lived in a small town near Albany New York and to me the world began and ended in the six blocks surrounding my house.
As always, the thoughts carry me back to that time, a time when I was nothing more than a seven-year-old boy with his two best friends. A time when the world’s problems were only just beginning to become apparent to me.
1971
“Elyon!” I shout, chasing after a boy robot three inches taller than me. “Get back here!” I hear him laughing. He isn’t expecting it when Matty Jenkins tackles him from behind a bush. They go down and I hurry to add to the dog pile.
“Okay, okay, okay!” Elyon is screaming with laughter now, squirming and trying to get out from under us. “I give.”
“Say it then,” Matty says without moving.
“The Pirates will win the World Series,” Elyon says, though it comes out bitter and all three of us know he doesn’t really think that. I’ve almost got to agree with him; my Dad says the Orioles look set to win. Can’t tell Matty that though, ‘cause I don’t wanna be at the bottom of the dog pile.
“Right they will.” Matty pushes himself up, neatly flipping me to the ground. “Watch it, Nate,” he teases me with a big smile. “You fell right off there.”
“You alright?” Elyon asks as he offers me a hand up. I take his cold metal hand and he pulls me up easily.
“Yep, I’m good.” I brush leaves off my pants. It’s late September and the park is already littered with them. “Nice tackle, Matty.”
“He didn’t even see me coming,” Matty brags with a wide smile. He’s bigger than Elyon and me, so I guess that’s why he acts like he’s the best at everything. He is better at tackling though, that’s why he’s on pee wee football and I got cut.
Out of nowhere there’s a loud clang as a rock the size of my fist bounces off Elyon’s head. He tilts his head in confusion and I can only look at him with my mouth open. A hit like that would have laid a normal boy out.
“What the hell?” Matty screams at two older boys laughing two dozen feet away from us on the sidewalk. My eyes widen in surprise; I’d thought about saying that word before, but was afraid if I did Mom would tan my hide. Then Dad would, too, when he got home.
Before I can think to say anything, Matty is storming toward the two boys, his fists clenched tight at his sides. Elyon and I hurry to keep up because if we don’t he’ll certainly get flattened. When we get closer I realize they’re a couple fifth graders from our school, but I don’t know their names. I know the bigger one is Sarah Allen’s older brother, though, and since she’s mean, I figure he is too.
“You coulda really hurt him,” Matty says, jabbing a finger into the shorter, red-haired kid’s chest.
“Can’t hurt him, he’s nothing but metal, moron.” The kid shoves Matty back. “What are you two, gay for him?”
“You’re gay,” I say, even though I’m not sure what it means and I’m pretty sure he might hit me for saying it. “And a moron,” I add, ‘cause I know what that means.
Without a thought, the bigger kid reaches out and shoves me so hard I fall down. I get up fast, embarrassed as I wipe dirt from my butt.
“You won’t like him so much when the bolt bucket is taking away your job,” the red-haired kid says. “His kind took away my dad’s job, and he says it’s just a matter of time before we all lose our jobs to them.”
“Your dad’s a liar,” I say, ‘cause I know it’s true. Elyon and his family wouldn’t ever want to take anyone’s job.
The red-haired kid steps past his friend and punches me good in the shoulder. I don’t get a chance to hit him back before Matty tackles him to the ground and the two of them are rolling around, each trying to catch the other one off guard. For a moment I’m afraid the bigger kid is going to come after me, but instead he goes after Matty too. Then I know I have no choice and I take a flying leap onto his back. Elyon stays back, always reluctant to join any fight.
Minutes pass as the four of us roll in an awkward ball of fists and feet, kicking and punching where we can. It seems like more time has passed before strong hands grab us, tugging the four of us apart.
“What’s going on here?” My heart sinks when I see that Dad is the one holding the other boys by the shoulders. When I glance behind me, I see Mr. Yates holding Matty and me. He lives around the corner from us and must have seen the fight from his house. Elyon stands behind him.
“Nothing,” the red-haired kid says, shaking Dad’s hand from his shoulder. Dad lets go of the big kid as well. After a moment I feel Mr. Yates let go of us.
“Nate?” Dad raises an eyebrow at me. When I don’t reply, he sighs and looks at the other boys. “You two get out of here. Boys, come on.” As the two older boys scurry off, Dad steps forward to shake Mr. Yates hand. “Thanks for the help.”
“No trouble.” Mr. Yates words are laced with a hint of Maine accent. “Raised two boys of my own, I know the trouble they can be.”
“Sure enough. Boys, come on.”
In a glum group, the three of us fall into step behind him. I glance at Matty. His knees are dirty and his shirt sleeve is torn. He grins when I point to it. I elbow Elyon, and he nods, smiling as well. I wonder if I look as rough as Matty. We’re silent until we file in the door behind Dad and into the living room. He points at the couch without a word.
“What was that about?” he asks, looking at me. “You don’t get into fights.”
“They said Elyon’s family is trying to steal jobs,” Matty says, saving me from trying to figure out if I should tell the truth. “Called Elyon a bolt-bucket.”
“Ah.” It’s as if all the frustration and anger leaves Dad with that one word. “That still doesn’t call for fighting.”
“They shoved me down first,” I say. “And they hit Elyon in the head with a rock.”
“Let me see.” Dad’s face is filled with concern as he peers down at Elyon’s head. Matty and I kneel on the couch and can just see a small ding on his head. I shiver, thinking of how much that rock would have hurt Matty or me. “You’ll be okay.” Dad pats Elyon on the shoulder.
“My dad wouldn’t take away someone’s job.” Elyon’s bland face projects as much emotion as possible with those words. His face is like a mask of a real boy's. I know that when he’s older, he’ll get a body like his parents, who look as human as my parents. For now though, he’ll run through a pile of temporary bodies until his programming develops more fully.
“Don’t worry about those boys,” Dad says. “People just need to blame someone for the state of the country, and robots make an easy target.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because people are always afraid of what they don’t understand.”
“I understand Elyon.”
Dad smiles and leans forward to ruffle my hair. “I understand him too. People just think the robots have some sort of agenda, like they’re trying to take over America and that’s why the economy is so bad right now. Really, it’s just that we’re still broke from the war.” I nod, though I don’t really understand what he’s saying. “Come on outside, how about we get a picture of the warriors?”
The other two hurry outside, but I wait as Dad pulls out his camera. When he notices me, he bends down on one knee, bringing himself eye level with me. “What’s up, champ?”
“I’m sorry we were fighting,” I say.
He smiles. “I’m proud of you for standing up for your friend. Elyon’s going to have a hard time if things keep going the way they are. You do me a favor and always fight for your friends, no matter what other people tell you.” I nod, and together we head outside.
Elyon and Matty are pretending to sword fight with sticks, but they run over when they see us step outside. As Dad gets the camera ready, we joke around in front of the fence that runs in front of my house.
“Okay, stand still now,” Dad orders.
Matty and I each put an arm across Elyon’s shoulders and his arms wrap around
ours, pulling the three of us close together. I feel good. I made my dad proud, and I stood up for my best friend. When the camera flashes, I have a thought that it will be a picture I’ll keep forever.
1976
“I think Carly Pierce has a crush on you,” Matty says, elbowing Elyon in the side as we spot a group of giggling girls in the distance. One of them is Carly, and I’m pretty sure Matty’s right. She’s always watching Elyon and offering to work with him on projects. She’s human, so I’m not sure how that would work out in the long run, but for now it’s too fun to pick on him.
Elyon already has his teenage body, so right now he’s a little bit bigger than Matty or me. He got it when he turned thirteen last summer, almost six months ago. At first he seemed huge, but already I’m catching up to him. When we were little I was always the shortest, but now I’m a couple inches taller than Matty. Elyon’s new face is more human than any of his past ones; the body, too.
“Why don’t you go ask her out?” I tease, pushing him toward the girls.
“Shut up,” Elyon mumbles, edging away from us a few paces and hurrying along.
“Aw, come on, just one date?” Matty hurries after him.
“Yeah, ask her to the dance,” I add from behind.
Elyon whips around to face us. “Will both of you just shut your stupid mouths? I don’t like Carly and I’m not going to any dumb dance so both of you just shove it.” He turns and hurries away, almost running.
Matty looks at me with a shocked expression that I’m sure mirrors my own. The outburst was so out of character that I hardly know how to react. Without saying a word, we both jog after Elyon, catching up quickly.
“What’s up, man?” Matty asks, clapping Elyon on the shoulder. Elyon shrugs him off.
“Nothing.”
“No, really, Elyon.” I grab him by the arm, forcing him to stop even though he could easily shake me off. “What’s going on?” Elyon looks at the ground. I glance back toward the girls, but we’re out of sight now. I put an arm across Elyon’s shoulder and lead him to the curb. Matty follows and the three of us sit.
