STAR DREAMER
The Early Short Stories of Victor Methos
Volume 1
CONTENTS
Introduction
Lusus Naturae
Formation
Dinosaura Tempus
Hatshepsut
Az
INTRODUCTION
I remember few things from my childhood as vividly as science fiction and few things still give me nightmares like the horror movies I was exposed to. I don’t think there’s a kid alive in America or Great Britain today that can’t tell you exactly when and where they saw Star Wars for the first time. It holds, for many, a special place among all forms of entertainment. And if you’re from my generation, just the names Freddy Kruger and Michael Myers sends a chill up your back.
And one of my first exposures to science fiction and horror was through the medium of excellent short stories. Perhaps more than any other genre, science fiction excels in the short story format. The other genre that even comes close is that of horror. Perhaps this is because both science fiction and horror are meant to convey one idea. In the case of sci-fi that idea is wonder and for horror it is fear. Short stories can capture this one idea/emotion in a way that is sometimes lost in novels.
Science fiction, more than any other genre, also serves a purpose: to inspire. Many engineers and researchers at NASA site Star Trek as the reason they began studying science. Physicists, biologists, chemists, bioengineers, robotics professors…the list of professionals inspired by this one, small, genre is far too enormous to list. To be sure, science fiction stimulates these creators to invent everything from cell phones (directly taken from the original Star Trek by a Nokia inventor) to the atom bomb (a phrase coined by H.G. Wells). Rocket ships, androids, robots, mechanical organs, inhalers, GPS and lasers were all first conceived in the minds of science fiction authors before ever being put to the test in a laboratory.
But science fiction serves another purpose as well: to comfort. Readers of science fiction, though varied, come from an upbringing that has certain characteristics in common. Many simply come from backgrounds so horrific that science fiction is a way for them to escape and dream of a place filled with intrigue and imagination (who wouldn’t want to live in a society with no need for money like Star Trek?) For others, their intelligence and sensitivity may force them to be outcast from the “popular” group, their community or social herd, or even their own family. They turn to science fiction as a way to identify with those more like-minded. Stephen Hawking has stated something similar along these lines.
Whatever the reasons people first turn to science fiction, once they do, it is seemingly a life-long obsession. I don’t think Star Wars can come on television without me watching the entire movie and any other sequels that come on afterward. It is a genre filled with wonder and possibility. It is the reason I began to write.
Horror, on the other hand, can you teach you lessons. As a prosecutor first and now a criminal defense attorney, I feel like I have seen the heart of darkness in men. I have seen fathers rape their daughters and put the films on the internet, I have seen friends murder each other for twenty dollars of meth, I have seen religious leaders sexually assault the women in their flock in the name of God. The genre of fiction that teaches you that people are capable of such things is horror. I grew up watching the Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween movies and in a way, I’m certain it prepared me for a future career dealing with crime. I was desensitized. I was prepared for the monstrosities men can become when they think no one else is watching.
Some of these stories are the first things I ever wrote to attempt publication. Some are published in magazines in the United Kingdom and the States; some were rejected by every magazine out there. Some are well written. Some are not. Either way, for me, they hold a special place: they were my first attempts at getting ideas down on paper.
Many of you will notice themes running through these works. Freedom from oppression is perhaps most prominent. When I was young, I saw the Soviet government slaughter innocent men, women and children with impunity. Perhaps this has colored my view of government and its function; but even so, it doesn’t mean my view is mistaken. Or, perhaps it is? The question of who should lead and who should follow in a society is so infinitely complex that it would be hubris to assume that even a genre like science fiction could scratch the surface of the deeper philosophical question.
Then again . . .
Victor Methos,
Utah, 2011
LUSUS NATURAE
David pulled his car to a stop away from the crime scene. He could already see the camera crews setting up and a crowd had gathered past the police tape, quietly talking among themselves. Crimes scenes brought out two simultaneous traits in people: morbid curiosity, and the enjoyment of another’s suffering. Neither was acknowledged by anyone there and many times David caught himself staring at the crowd, wondering if they knew how frightening they appeared to someone that could see through their façade.
The scene had already been processed and both men had spent hours there but David wanted one more look. The radio was playing something by Joy Division and he turned it up as they sat and watched.
The victim had been drained of all blood; down to the last drop. But there were no puncture wounds that the medical examiner could find. No witnesses, no signs of a struggle. It was as if she had dropped dead in the road and her blood had evaporated.
David started the car after fifteen minutes and hopped onto the interstate. They drove in silence a long time before coming to the laboratories of Research Park and taking a stall near the front next to handicap parking.
“They thought it was porphyria at first,” David said as he stepped out and threw a cigarette on the ground, “but after testing his blood, the doctors said no.”
“What the hell is porphyria?” his partner, Tom, said.
“It’s a blood disease. The victims are so sensitive to sunlight that their lips burn and pull back over their teeth so it looks like fangs. A chemical in garlic makes their skin itch so they have to avoid it, you know, all the vampire stuff.”
“Oh yeah. I think I have heard something about that,” Tom said.
David looked at the entrance to the William Jefferson Clinton Research Center and swallowed. He was nervous as hell, but there was no way he was going to let Tom know. The guys at the precinct would never let him live it down.
“So, what do you think it is?” Tom said.
“Don’t know. Some doctor’s coming to fill us in. As soon as they’re done with him, he’s got an appointment with a needle.”
Detective David Huner opened the entrance door and looked back to Tom who was nervously rubbing his hands together. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of vampires?”
“Of course not. I know they don’t exist. It’s just, this guy gives me the creeps that’s all.”
“Tom, he’s a freak and they don’t know what he has, but I promise you, he is not a vampire.”
Only slightly reassured, Tom followed David down the large white hallway of the research facility. It smelled like alcohol and iodine and the floors were shiny and wet. Freshly mopped. All the furniture was bolted down and there was nothing loose; no papers, pens, garbage bins…nothing that wasn’t attached to something bigger.
They approached a glass desk with a petite blonde woman sitting behind it reading a copy of Cosmopolitan.
“Excuse me ma’am, LAPD Homicide,” David said as he showed her the tin. “We have a meeting with Dr. Taylor.”
“One sec,” the woman said. She pressed a button on a small black box. “Dr. Taylor?�
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“Yes?” a soft feminine voice replied.
“LAPD to see you.”
“I’ll be right down.”
The woman looked up at the detective as she popped her gum. “She’ll be right down.”
“Thank you.”
David stood admiring the large metal double-doors leading to the main laboratories as Tom looked from his shoes to the secretary. He could imagine far more pleasant ways to spend a morning.
The sound of high-heels on linoleum began echoing in the hall and both detectives turned toward it. A slim woman in a lab coat wearing wire-frame glasses approached them with her hands in her pockets.
“Jessica Taylor,” she said as she stuck out her hand.
“Detective David Huner,” he said as he shook. “This is my partner Thomas Mensia.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said with a nod. “Are you ready to interview him?”
“Yeah,” David said, “lead the way.”
Jessica swiped her ID card over a small silver box attached to the double-doors and they began sliding open with a loud hiss. She walked down the hall and the detectives looked at each other before following her.
The white linoleum was replaced with gleaming chrome. The floors, walls, and ceiling were all made of steel. There were no windows or furniture and it had the look of the inside of a sterilized tube.
“So Ms. Taylor-”
“Doctor Taylor.”
“Of course,” David said, “I apologize.”
“No apology necessary. What did you want to know?” she said without turning to him.
“So, I mean, what exactly is he?”
“We don’t really know, Detective.”
“Is he human?”
“Oh he’s quite human. It’s most certainly a disease of some sort that hasn’t been identified. He’s spent some time in South America, we think he contracted it there.”
Tom needed to chime in. “But does he, you know, look like a vampire?”
“What does a vampire look like?”
“You know,” Tom said as he blushed, “pale, blood drinker, fangs. Sleeps in a coffin…”
“No. Dr. Zaman sleeps at night and is awake during the day. But, he is pale and does have an obsession with blood.”
“A fetish,” David said as he turned to Tom.
“No,” Jessica said, “it’s more than a fetish. A fetish is a preoccupation with a material item or nonsexual part of the body. It arouses sexual desire and eventually becomes necessary for sexual climax. There’s no sexual stimulation with Dr. Zaman and blood. He’s not aroused by it. He just seems to like the taste.”
“We place the number of his victims at twenty-two. Is that what he’s told you?” Tom asked.
“Something like that,” Jessica said as she swiped her card at another set of double-doors.
“What is it exactly you guys are doing here?” David asked.
Jessica stopped walking and turned around. “Gentleman, you’re here strictly because a warrant has forced us to allow you to be here, for now. Our attorneys will soon get that warrant revoked. Everything you see here is classified and requires a top secret clearance just to read about much less see. So please, try not to touch anything and just interview him and get out.”
“Doctor,” David said placatingly, “he’s a serial killer. That makes him ours.”
“He is a serial killer, Detective, but he’s killed a military officer and will be put on trial in front of a military tribunal before being handed over to the civilian system, if he’s handed over at all. That makes him ours.”
She stared at him a little longer than necessary and began walking again.
“So Doc,” Tom said anxiously, “do you think what he has is contagious?”
“We don’t believe so. But we did run a hematocrit test on the victim that survived. Some of her red blood cells were replaced with whatever type of cell he has.”
“He has a different kind of blood cell?” David asked.
“Yes. It’s a mutation but it’s certainly nothing fantastical. And by the way, whoever in your department that leaked his condition to the media should be fired.”
They approached a steel door with yellow and black cautionary signs across it. Jessica leaned down and spoke into a small speaker next to the door. “Taylor, Jessica. 1-5-2-4.”
“Recognition affirmed,” the computer replied in a choppy mechanical voice. The door unlocked and Jessica walked in and held it open for David and Tom.
The room was cement from floor to ceiling. In the corner of the room was a console and an overweight security guard sat at it with his feet up eating a sandwich. In the middle of the room was a thick, clear, plastic cage. A man dressed in black sweats and a T-shirt sat with his eyes closed in the center of the cage. David noted that the room smelled like liquid thorazine; a smell he remembered from his days in Army Intelligence. The good doctor had been tranquilized recently.
“There he is detectives. He’s just meditating.”
David straightened his slouching posture and approached the cage. Tom followed and Jessica sat by the entrance in a steel chair.
“Dr. Zaman?” David said.
He didn’t look as David thought he would have. He was probably in his mid-forties with silver hair and a tan, leathery face. He was extremely muscular and his forearm muscles rippled as he stood himself up and then lay down on his white cot. David noticed his K-9 teeth protruded much farther than they should have.
“How may I help you?” the doctor said in a raspy voice with an accent David couldn’t place.
“We’re with LAPD Homicide. We have a few questions for you.”
“Very well.”
David pulled out a notepad. “We found another body across town in Santa Monica. All the blood’s been drained from her body, same manner as your other victims.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me more, Detective. I couldn’t possibly keep track of them all.”
David’s upper lip curled for just an instant. “Her name’s Nicole Tufts. She’s twenty-one, blonde, and has a tattoo of a butterfly on her lower back.”
“Ah yes,” the doctor said as he sat up and looked toward the detectives. Tom looked away when he noticed that his eyes reflected the light in a way that made his pupils appear large and black. “I recall her now. Quite the tasty morsel.”
“So you are admitting that you killed her?”
“Oh certainly. You’ll have bodies popping up here and there for quite a while. Feel free to come by and ask me about them. Next time however, bring a photo.” The doctor stood and walked toward the detectives. “Now, if you would, it’s time for my therapy session.”
Jessica immediately stood up. “That’s enough detectives. Please leave now.”
“You’re in counseling doctor?” David asked.
“Oh no, not counseling. Preparatory gene therapy, Detective. They’re planning on cloning me.”
“All right!” Jessica yelled, “that’s enough. You can come back tomorrow if the warrant’s still valid.”
David looked at Jessica and then at the doctor who had a sardonic smile spreading his lips.
“All right, Dr. Taylor, we’re leaving. For now.”
Jessica told the security guard to show them out and then pulled a chair in front of the cage when they had left. “Why’d you do that, Dr. Zaman?”
“What’s the matter my dear? Embarrassed of your little experiment?”
“If you would cooperate with me we wouldn’t have to experiment with you.”
Dr. Zaman backed away without taking his eyes off of Jessica and sat back down on his cot. “I assume that I’m to be cloned for military purposes?”
“Yes.”
“You need a cage and armed guards to control just one of me and you think an army can simply be told what to do?”
“We’ll use recombinant DNA insertion to create chimera’s that don’t have your…faults.”
“Gene splicing? Quite the primitive art fo
rm, no? And what faults exactly will you be selecting out?”
“Your frontal lobe disorders. In fact, it’d probably be best if our chimeras didn’t have frontal lobes.”
“Frontal lobe disorders? Do you mean my evil doctor?”
“I don’t believe in evil.”
“Why not?”
“Scientifically, it doesn’t exist. There’s always neurological damage or childhood trauma that account for misbehaviors.”
“Misbehaviors? I murder and drink blood Dr. Taylor. Calling it a misbehavior is trivializing it a bit don’t you think?”
“You’re insane, not evil Dr. Zaman.”
“What’s the difference? Everyone has their excuses, don’t they? In the end, I knew what I did was wrong and I did it anyway. How is that insanity?”
“Your beliefs persuade me more than your actions.”
“I haven’t told you all of my beliefs.”
“Then tell me now.”
Dr. Zaman smiled. “To say it bluntly, Dr. Taylor, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“Very well.” Dr. Zaman leaned himself against the plastic of the cage. “What you look at when you look at me, Dr. Taylor, is the next step in your evolution. I am to you what you are to a monkey. I am the next stage in the human evolutionary process.”
“How so?”
“I wasn’t born in the twenty-first century doctor. I was born in 2312 in a colony on a planet called Silore, after which I was moved to what you now call the moon.”
“Is that so?” Jessica said impassively.
“You see? I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Convince me doctor. You’re right that I don’t believe you. But your delusions are important to me. I promise I’ll keep an open mind.”
“An open mind…yes.”
“Why did humans evolve into you?”
Star Dreamer: The Early Short Stories of Victor Methos Page 1
