The Robert Stanek Short Story & Novella Collection

by Robert Stanek

  “Very much so,” said Ev. “We’ve been able to confirm it as well.” Ev went to the review board then, walking Director Finn through each moment of the operation. “Everything according to plan. No surprises.”

  “I didn’t expect there to be with your planning. You really are the best.”

  Caught up in the moment, Ev’s eyes lit up and she smiled. “Tactics are what I live for.”

  “Indeed.” Director Finn went to the review board. “This room. Can you tell me again what happened after you broke through the plasma shielding?”

  “UFC 707.B4A.”

  “By the book?”

  “I made sure. I carried it out myself.”

  The director looked up, straight into Ev’s eyes. “You didn’t have any problems?”

  “Is this leading somewhere?”

  Director Finn thumped the digix in his hand. “Did you view or make copies?”

  “Eyes only. Procedure.” Ev said it coolly but inside her stomach twisted in knots.

  Director Finn opened his palm, tapped the tiny display screen. The digix holograph filled the space between him and Ev. “Do you recognize this face?”

  “UFC 707.B4A: the silencing.”

  “He’s the one and you’re sure?” Ev nodded. “And you’re the one he’s speaking to aren’t you?”

  The weight of the universe crushed Ev into a seat. She’d been waiting for this moment, preparing for it, but dreading it all the same. “I am.”

  “Then you know the truth of it?” Director Finn said it as coolly as Ev had spoken previously.

  “I do.” Ev looked away, down the long mahogany table, thinking it ironic just then that the table was the only non-artificial thing in the room. “And you do as well.”

  Director Finn stood at the back of Ev’s chair, putting his hands on her shoulders. His touch gentle at first became firm, then forceful as he spoke, “According to UFC 707.B4A, I pass silencing on you. Don’t struggle, it’ll be over soon.”

  Ev didn’t struggle. In her mind’s eye, she saw and heard the twins. They were running, playing. Their voices echoing down the halls. She knew also that in a matter of moments the escorts would come through the doors. Mellack would phaser the director, destroy the digix, then turn the phaser on the other escorts.

  The surprise in waiting was a second cleanup crew, the one that would take out Mellack. Ev had seen them—her trip to the lavatory hadn’t been about tinkling.

  Behind the cleanup crew would come others and by day’s end, there would be no more Central. But it wouldn’t stop there, the UFC programming would continue. If someone was doing the cleaning, someone was giving the orders: someone always knows so the edict that no one can know must loop and that loop would sooner or later carry the edict back to Majority-1. Ev was only sorry that she would miss that moment, that moment when Majority-1 realized they had become the hunted and that their end was near.

  August Rains

  August Rains

  The halls lined with well-worn steel lockers stood silent; no more laughter, no more children, ever. Principal John Anderson—Mr. Anderson to his students, John to his colleagues, Johnny to precious Angelica who left seven summers ago—strolled down the long empty hall one last time.

  “Forty-two years,” he whispered to the fading echoes of his footsteps, and to Angelica.

  He caught a glimpse of Autumn leaves through well-frosted windows. The leaves, brown, gold and red from the two great maples that guarded the entrance, littered the central walkway; the walkway that ran straight and true to the Jane’s School Elementary flagpole. Beyond the flagpole, School Circle met East and 3rd. Beyond that lay things John didn’t want to think about.

  A northerly wind began to gust and John whispered after it, “Old man winter isn’t your time.”

  By now he had reached the opposite end of the long dividing hall. His brief stroll was at an end. He turned to look back. K through three were lined up on his left; four through six, his right. At the far end, waited his nearly deserted office. At the near end, the music room, less piano, students and teacher. The piano, purchased in ‘57, had served thirty consecutive years. It had been there for the school band, summer singing lessons, little Bobby Ferillo who had earned a fellowship, and even the church choir auxiliary after the fire of ‘72.

  Memories of music and a soft, raised voice carried his eyes to the empty playground. The merry-go-round was turning in the sharp wind and every now and again he could hear its shrill squeak. “Beverlie Smithe bought it for $15.00 at the auction, Angelica. I nearly wept, yet I just couldn’t let myself buy it. Really though, I had no place to put it... I remember the first time I heard your voice; it was the first time we met: September 5th, 1957. As if it were yesterday, I remember. Teaching English to the fourth grade class right next door, I was. The singing and playing, soft at first, raised me to a start because there hadn’t been a piano the previous year, and of course there hadn’t been a music teacher the previous year either.

  “The voice was sweet don’t get me wrong but I was trying to teach a class of unruly nine and ten year olds English and it just couldn’t be done with music and singing drowning me out. Oh yes, I’m sure you remember. How could you forget?”

  Leaves, brown, gold and red, were chasing round the merry-go-round in a great flurry—up, up, up, carried on a stout tuft, then left to swirl lazily down and finally settle around the still moaning merry-go-round. The first rain drops spattered the glass of the padlocked red doors as John looked on.

  “In ‘57 didn’t need padlocks or chains,” muttered John as the PA tweaked and then hissed.

  “Mr. An-der-son?” called out an unsure voice, “Mr. Anderson? I gotta lock up now.”

  John crooned, “Few more minutes!” Then turned back to rain spattering the now muddied glass and wind kicking up Autumn leaves.

  “Remember little Tommy Ferillo, Bobby’s brother? You always said he’d never amount to much and never cast a shadow in his brother’s footsteps. Well, he didn’t, but there he is turning me to the street just the same... Our visits keep growing shorter and shorter, don’t they?”

  John turned back to face K through three on his left and four through six on his right. The street beyond the flagpole seemed suddenly close. He took the first and most important step back down the long, empty hall lined with worn metal lockers. Again he listened to the echoes of his footsteps—step, drag, step drag, old age. He’d sworn he’d never use a cane and he hadn’t, even when Autumn rains made his rheumatoid arthritis flare and walking became God’s only chore.

  He stopped at the door to the fourth grade. The door’s glass, covered in the dust of years, was dark and solemn. John twisted the knob. The door was locked. But never mind that old lock had never worked even on the day it had been installed by Henry Green the town’s one and only locksmith forty odd years ago. Jimmying the lock required only a few sharp twists. 1,2,3, click!

  “The desks are all gone. Over to the new school I’d reckon. But never you mind, I won’t be going there. ‘Retirement,’ they said. I said, ‘You’d have to close the school first.’ Well, you know they did. I never expected it. Never did. ‘Progress,’ they called it. Well, if that is progress, I don’t want any part of it.”

  Footsteps outside the door broke the reverie. John turned. “Mr. Anderson, you in there? I gotta close up now. Cindy and the kids are waiting for me to take them to the new Mc Donald’s, just opened you know. If it’s jam packed with gawkers and lunch crowd by the time we get there, I’ll never hear the end of it. And that storm’s really coming in off the lake!”

  “How’s Bob, Tom, you see him much these days?”

  “The Nam took ‘im in ‘71, Mr. Anderson. Are you all right? You don’t look well. Your face is much paler than it was this morning.” John took a step toward the door, then dragged his right foot. “Mr. Anderson, did you hear what I said, that storm’s...”

  “I can feel it clear to my bones, going to be a mighty powerful storm. Better te
ll Cindy and the kids that Mac Donald’s can wait.”

  John pushed away the extended hand, took another step. “Come back every Autumn don’t you, Mr. Anderson?” asked Tom.

  “Got to see if they tore her down, just got to know. Then I can endure winter snow, spring flowers, and summer sun—all the things she loved so.” John stopped, turned on his left heel. Tom jumped to support his right side as he teetered. “See there, the fifth grade. Only six desks there in ‘51. One more the next year, two less the year after.”

  The two turned, ambled down the entry corridor; Tom continuing to lurk at John’s right waiting to catch the other if he fell. Shadows from the two great oaks, their leaves mostly fallen revealing bare boughs extending to the darkened heavens, lay about the entryway. Between the trunks, John glimpsed School Circle, the flagpole and the street beyond.

  Chased on by strong gusts, rain fell in a thick and ceaseless torrent. Wet leaves pressed against the glass of the entryway. A flash of lightning and a rumbling clap of thunder made dark skies seem much more ominous. The lights flickered twice, then the sound of wind-chased raindrops returned.

  “Wait, I have an umbrella around here someplace—Cindy made me take it with this morning,” said Tom, “Say would you like to come over for lunch? She’ll be less sore, the kids less disappointed, if I bring over a guest. They were sure looking forward to Mc Donald’s. They’ve been watching those commercials on TV. You know the ones for the Big Mac. Ever had one?”

  “Don’t have a TV, never had the need. Never had a Big Mac either.”

  Tom turned back around. “Hey what’d you know, I found it. You’ll be coming over then, yes?” Tom opened the door and unfolded the umbrella. The outside air was full of dampness and chill.

  “Tell Cindy and the kids: Hello. I got a long drive around the lake ahead. She loved to drive in rain storms. I never quite understood why.”

  Tom folded the umbrella and stepped back inside. “She, your wife you mean? It was terrible. They finally cut down that oak tree on the corner of Main and Center when it took Mr. Miller and his wife during the blizzard last year. Did you know, we, mom, Cindy and I, visited the hospital in July on her birthday. She still dotes on what you and her did for Bob. She always says if the Nam wouldn’t of took him, he’d have been a world-class pianist... World-class... The rains not going to stop you know.”

  “I know. I just needed a bit of a rest is all. Will you walk me to my car?”

  “I can’t twist your arm to come over?”

  “No, I’ll be all right. You just walk me to my car. I have a long drive around the lake ahead. I like to listen to the rain slap at the windshield. It helps me forget. But you can bet I’ll be back next autumn and I might just take that offer if it still stands.”

  “You can count on it, Mr. Anderson. You’re always welcome, always...”

  An Introduction to Ruin Mist

  Ruin Mist is the name used for the fictional universe of Robert Stanek. The name “Ruin Mist” is the common language translation of an ancient elvish word, which means “the lost ages” or “the ruins of time.”

  The history of Ruin Mist is divided into four ages:

  The First Age: the Age of Titans

  The Second Age: the Age of Men, Elves, and Dwarves

  The Third Age: the Age of Men and Elves

  The Fourth Age: the Age of Men

  Beyond the Kingdoms and the Reaches, Ruin Mist has two other distinct realms of existence:

  Over-Earth – the home of dragons and titans. But don’t forget about the eagle lords. Those three are the great races of Ruin Mist’s past.

  Under-Earth – an otherworldly realm that has blood-red skies, and no sun or moon.

  During the early ages of Ruin Mist, travel between the realms was accomplished using the Gates of Uver. Uver is one of the great elven kings of old and the founder of Greye in Under-Earth. In all, there are believed to be seven gates fashioned by the Uver from a magic substance once mined from the deepest, darkest reaches of the Samguinne.

  Each gate is fashioned for a different purpose and a different kind of traveler. Two gates are recorded in the histories of men. The gate in the Borderlands, fashioned for men, is opened with the following words of power: “Eh tera mir dolzh formus tan!” The only other known gate is located in the Twin Sonnets. Both gates are masked from the world by a veil of illusion.

  History of the Ages

  In an age long since lost to myth and memory, a race of supreme giants, known as titans, ruled over all the lands of Ruin Mist from their homes on Over-Earth. Without question, titans were the masters of the gates. They moved freely between realms and across lands.

  Darkness came to mark the end of age of the titans as surely as there was ever light at the beginning. During this time of darkness, known as the Great Purge, it was the greatest of all titans, Ky’el, who gave the lesser races (men, elves, and dwarves) their freedom—at a great cost to himself and his people. Before the Great Purge, the lesser races were slaves to the greater races (dragons, titans, and eagle lords).

  By the end of the purge, the only known gate to Over-Earth was sealed for all time ushering in a new beginning. A new age. An age of men, elves, and dwarves. Over the millennia, knowledge of Over-Earth’s existence faded from the memory of the living, even that of the long-lived elves and dwarves until there came a time when most believed it was a place of myth and that it never truly existed.

  After countless wars waged against themselves and the other races, men, elves, and dwarves settled in to an uneasy peace within their divided lands. In time, like titans before them, dwarves became folk of myth and legend, leaving only absence like a darkness where once there had been great presence and a light.

  The age of men and elves had arrived, its arrival marked by the coming of the Great War. Some would call this war: Dnyarr’s war after the elven king who started it. Others would call it the War of the Thousand Year Siege. Those that fought and died would call it the War of Ten Million Tears. Victory for men above all others brought little joy though it did usher in a new age. The age of men.

  After the Great War that divided the peoples, the kingdoms of men plunged into a Dark Age that lasted 500 hundred years. To heal the lands and restore the light, the great kings decreed that magic and all that is magical, be it creature, man or device, shall be cleansed to dust. Creatures born of magic were hunted to extinction. The cleansing raged for so long that no human could recall a time without it and it is in this time that the Dark Lord Sathar returned from the dark beyond.

  The one hope of the peoples of Ruin Mist was Queen Mother, the elf queen of old. She saw a way out of everlasting darkness, a path that required the union of the divided peoples. Yet the Elves of the West did not share her vision. They thought her mad and answered her call for help with a call to arms. Now for the first time in recorded history, the armies of the West are marching toward the sacred city of the East and an unholy war where elf must fight elf is inevitable.

  Though despair abounds and evil seeks to reign, there is hope. Queen Mother sees hope through a union of the divided peoples: an alliance of men and elves to fight against the forces of darkness. But between men and elves, there is no love and little trust. Only truth and faith can guide their destinies.

  Some fear this age to be Ruin Mist’s last. For if men succumb to darkness there will be no beginning and darkness will surely rule forever. It is in this time at the twilight of the age of men that those long lost have returned to thwart the darkness. They are the fallen sons of ages past and present. They are the keepers, the watchers, and the guardians. They are those who hold the key to Ruin Mist’s future.

  Inhabitants of Ruin Mist

  Ruin Mist has many inhabitants. The Beastmen of the Hunter Clan first appeared during the Great Wars. Little is known about them except that they are for-hire hunters and trackers. They are half human and half animal—the type of animal is unknown but suspected to be that of a black tiger or black wolf.

>   Saliva dripping from the upturned canine fangs of beastmen indicates they are on a hunt and may have sighted their prey. They frequently lick their hair-covered faces with their long, sticky tongues and ride magical horses that have the power to bend time and distance. No other race has been able to tame the Beast Horse, but many have tried.

  Long ago extinct, or so it is thought, dragons are the stuff of myth and legend in Ruin Mist. Stories say dragons are a hundred times the size of man and that titans rode from the heavens upon their backs. The only true facts regarding dragons, recorded in an early text, is that there were once many races of dragons and each was as unique and distinct as men, elves, and dwarves. Over-Earth is the ancestral home of the dragon races.

  Dwarves dwell in many areas of Under-Earth. They are friends to the dark elves and loath the forest elves, which are aligned with the Gnomec Dwarves. They are highly regarded for their prowess in battle and their ability to mine ore from deep within the earth.

  Gnomec Dwarves, sometimes referred to as gnomes, are an ancient line of dwarves whose ancestors once had great powers of divining and magic. Magic in dwarves is rare and was regarded suspiciously by other dwarves until the Rhylle/Armore wars, when the gnomes were driven out of the known lands.

  The exile sowed the seeds of discontent and thus a cycle of hatred and revenge between Gnomec Dwarves and other dwarves was born. This led to the Gnomec Dwarves aligning with the kingdoms of men against Under-Earth.

  Of the Eagle Lords, it is said that eagles once looked more like men than birds. Known for their great wisdom, able to speak, to fight and to fly, they were formidable allies and deadly enemies. Many clans of the great eagles existed. One of the greatest clans was the Gray Clan, and their mightiest warrior, their liege lord, Ayrian, ruled the skies over the Rift Range for hundreds of years.