Decision Point (ARC)

by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

  oncoming DC invaders, scream like a madman and blast away

  one enemy after another? Maybe he would use the weapon as a

  club if he ran out of ammunition. He would bare his teeth. He

  would claw at them with his hands. The women would treat Rex

  as a hero, a savior. Then he would hop aboard the Flying

  Dutchman and streak off into space, using the ship’s weapons to

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  Decision Points

  destroy more of the DC attackers. He would make them pay

  dearly.…

  Rex wiped away the faint sweat that had broken out on his

  forehead, shaking his head at the strange ideas. The implant

  struggled to banish the thoughts as fast as they came into his

  head. None of it felt like something he could do, something he

  should do. Rex was a newt, with his specific role to play—just

  like every Worthy. Ardet would have been gravely disappointed

  to learn his son had even entertained such fantasies. It was not at

  all what the great leader had designed newts to do. They served

  another purpose.

  Rex emptied his container of strawberries, then went to pick

  soybeans. Even after the women had rushed off, he and four newt

  companions stood together chatting. Their conversation didn’t

  touch on the approaching Democratic Progressives. Rex was

  confident that everything would work out for the best.

  *

  The family huddled together in the living quarters for their

  final hours. Rex held a squirming Max as he stood at the window,

  but even his uncle’s attentions could not calm the boy against the

  palpable storm of panic. Rex felt the boy’s misery and held him

  close, but they could not help each other.

  Intellectually, he knew their dire straits, though the implant

  worked overtime to keep him quiet and anchored. Now he

  needed it more than ever. With a glance at the pale, wide-eyed

  faces of his mother, of Ann and Jen, Rex wondered if they envied

  him his calm.

  With Max clinging to him, he pondered what it might have

  been like if he’d had a child of his own. If things had been

  different, would he have felt the longing to reproduce, the

  endless ticking of a biological clock?

  Rex kissed the toddler’s cheek, then looked toward the

  upswept rings, where he could see the glimmers of inbound DC

  ships. Some families were using telescopes to watch the

  defensive measures Commander Heron was struggling to

  implement. Rex saw all he needed to see with his own eyes.

  Each weapons launch, each explosion, was a tiny spark. The

  Earth forces had come with more than a hundred fully armed

  military vessels, more than enough to overwhelm any resistance

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  the Worthies could mount. Even so, Heron had taken the Flying

  Dutchman into battle; the other intact men had a few ships, little

  more than tiny cargo shuttles loaded with explosives. They faced

  off against the DPs in a brave but hopeless last stand. Fifteen

  newts had been recruited to man some of the defensive posts, but

  the Worthies did not have enough weapons for them. Rex

  wondered if his neutered comrades were experiencing any fear

  in their extreme circumstances. Was this what Ardet would have

  wanted them to do?

  As they approached, the DC ships issued numerous

  warnings—they sounded like pleas—for the Worthies to stand

  down. From listening to the battle chatter, it seemed to Rex that

  the enemy fired only after Commander Heron had launched his

  weapons. Once the battle began, however, the DPs quickly

  obliterated the resistance.

  The Earth ships were visible now as distinct blips closing in

  on the isolated colony. There seemed to be as many hospital

  ships as armed military vessels. Decoys? With their superior

  forces, why would the DPs expect so many casualties? And if

  they meant to slaughter the Worthies, why bother with medical

  aid? “We do not intend to harm you,” said a strangely accented

  but gentle-sounding voice over the dissemination channel. A

  female voice, in command. That startling fact alone

  demonstrated to Rex how different these invaders were.

  “They’re lying,” Ann growled. Now she tried to take Max,

  but the boy clung to his uncle. Rex soothed him, and Ann

  withdrew to her terrified pacing.

  As the DPs passed the outer supply depot, it exploded,

  booby-trapped with proximity bombs. Flying shrapnel tore open

  one of the Earth battleships. Rex knew that the depot had been

  manned by two newts assigned there by Commander Heron.

  Tears streaked Jen’s lovely face. “That one was for Ian,” she

  whispered, her voice cold and bitter.

  Mother sat grimly in her favorite chair. “At least the damned

  Capitalists won’t be able to take our supplies.”

  “Cease your resistance!” The female commander’s voice

  sounded sterner now. “We cannot allow you to threaten peaceful

  ships. After you are disarmed, you will be given an opportunity

  to explain yourselves and air any grievances in world courts. But

  we must protect ourselves.”

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  “Then stay away!” Jen shouted. Her once-luxuriant dark

  brown hair was stringy; her eyes grew red as she kept crying.

  Rex was sure his brother would still have found her beautiful.

  When the ships surrounded the habitation complex, there

  were no more flashes, no more desperate attempts to block them.

  The crackling accented voice continued, “Please stand down. We

  do not wish to hurt anyone else. We will not harm you. You have

  our word.”

  Jen moaned from the other side of the room. “They’re going

  to kill us all! They’ll drag us back to Earth and make us their

  slaves.” Ardet had painted that picture many times, convinced

  his followers what monsters the DPs were. Rex couldn’t let

  himself believe that his father might have distorted the truth,

  exaggerated the threat.

  Little Max continued to squirm, and Rex set him down. “It’s

  already over.”

  Ann glared at him. “Don’t you even care? Don’t you realize

  what they’ll do to us?”

  Reaching an impossible decision, Mother disappeared into

  the sleeping quarters, then returned holding a heavy pulse rifle.

  Both Ann and Jen saw the weapon and cringed. Even Rex could

  barely cope with his surprise.

  Ardet Hollings had wanted a peaceful society. He had

  reconfigured the human structure to guarantee there would be no

  conflict, only order and productivity. By using his followers as

  human building materials, by creating the unshakeable and

  diligent newts to be the backbone of a strong and satisfying life,

  he had intended to make such weapons unnecessary. The pulse

  rifle had no purpose other than to shed blood.

  “Mother, we can’t do that! It is forbidden,” Ann said, though

  her voice held a rough hunger. Rex cou
ld see the raw conflict in

  her mind.

  “The men are our defenders,” Jen said.

  “All our men are dead,” Mother said. “We have no choice.

  We have to defend ourselves.” She lifted the weapon, and it was

  obvious she already knew how to use it. Rex wondered where

  she had gotten the practice, why she had ever considered it

  necessary. “Unless Rex will do it.”

  She held the pulse rifle forward, and Rex found that he was

  unable to move. “I can’t. I’m a newt. Our father made it so—”

  “Do you believe in Ardet’s teachings? Do you truly trust his

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  words?”

  He shied away from the weapon, shaking his head. “The

  implant, the operation—our father forced me not to be a man.

  How can you demand it of me now?”

  “Because times demand it.” Mother’s eyes were sharp and

  hard. “You know what you have to do.” She placed the rifle in

  his hands. It felt heavy and cold. He stared at the firing controls.

  The DC ships clustered around the colony domes and locked

  themselves down. Rex’s family members all jumped upon

  hearing a loud thump as the invaders forced open the access

  airlocks. “They’re coming!” Ann said.

  Rex stood with the rifle like a dead weight in his arms. Yes,

  he did believe what Ardet had told them. He had listened to all

  the speeches, enough to memorize most of them. He knew what

  the Worthies stood for. He accepted everything Ardet had

  claimed, though the actions of the DC invaders were not what he

  had expected.

  The implant helped him to consider his thoughts, to see them

  objectively, without the disturbing backwaters and eddies of

  unruly emotions. He had no testosterone-induced distractions, no

  aggression, no wild mating drive. In this impossible situation,

  only the newts among the Worthies could remain solid and true

  to Ardet’s principles.

  Yes, he believed. He knew what his father would have

  wanted of him. Ardet had made it plain in his teachings, in his

  speeches, and in his actions. How else could Rex accept what

  had been done to him?

  Mother looked at her only remaining son, her face full of

  emptiness. Jen and Ann stared at him, perhaps seeing echoes of

  his brothers.

  The female DC spokesman broadcast another message. “You

  will not be harmed. You will be taken care of. If some of you

  wish to come back to Earth, we will arrange safe passage.”

  “Don’t believe them,” Jen cried. “They’re barbarians.”

  Heavy footsteps came down the halls. Rex stood like a rock

  in a fast-moving stream, feeling the weight of great events all

  around him. He was a Worthy, a vital component of Ardet’s

  vision. He had his role, he was a newt. He believed in what they

  stood for.

  The pulse rifle in his hands was armed. The DPs were coming

  closer.

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  He set the weapon aside. Behind him, someone moaned in

  fear or disappointment. Mother, perhaps?

  If he truly believed in his father’s plan, then he had to accept

  what he was—and what he was supposed to do.

  Newts were made to be teachers, listeners, faithful workers,

  a stable class without violent tendencies. If Ardet had wanted his

  son and all those like him to be heroes, he would never have cut

  them off at the … knees. Rex didn’t need the implant to tell him

  that this was for the best.

  As the DC consolidation parties moved toward the family

  habitat, Rex faced them. He experienced no despair or panic,

  neither elation nor fear. Just an unending sense of calm …

  Kevin J. Anderson is the author of more than 125 books, 54 of

  which have appeared on national or international bestseller

  lists; he has over 23 million copies in print in thirty languages.

  He has won or been nominated for the Nebula Award, Hugo

  Award, Bram Stoker Award, Shamus Award, the SFX Reader’s

  Choice Award, and New York Times Notable Book. He and his

  wife Rebecca Moesta are the publishers of WordFire Press.

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  In this tale set in an urban fantasy retelling of Peter Pan, a

  Salvation Army store worker discovers a doll in a donation box

  that she just can’t let go …but what if it’s alive? Urban fantasy

  meets horror in K.D. McEntire’s fascinating Lightbringer series,

  with …

  B A B Y D O L L

  ( A L i g h t b r i n g e r T a l e )

  By K.D. McEntire

  The screen door screeched shut behind me. Across the street, my

  neighbor Manny’s old tom slunk beneath the snarl of dead

  bushes bracketing his front porch and the branches rattled like

  bones, catching at his fur. The tom hissed, exposing yellow,

  blunted teeth. He was old. I didn’t take it personally.

  Carmen’s Camry ground into life as I rushed down the front

  steps. No sooner had I slammed the passenger door than Aunt

  Carlie strode onto the porch, robe flapping around her knees,

  screaming fit to wake the dead.

  “YOU GET BACK IN THIS—”

  Carmen didn’t let Carlie finish, she peeled out, and in

  minutes, we were out of the sad wreck of our neighborhood,

  heading south toward San Jose. Her engine rattled oddly when

  we hit the highway.

  Decision Points

  I glanced at the dash out of habit—Carmen’s gas gauge has

  been busted for months, pointing to full even when the car is

  coasting.

  “We’re early. Wanna stop?” I dug in my pocket for a couple

  ones, almost all I had left until payday but payday was today, so

  it was kind of kismet. I waved the bills under her nose and

  Carmen laughed, thanking me, and jamming the dollars into her

  cup holder.

  We stopped at the Mom’n’Pop close to work. I was thirsty

  but figured on snagging a dented Dew at work. I’d run through

  my savings going up to the City, so soda was a couple bucks I

  couldn’t afford.

  “Hey,” Carmen said, poking her head through my window.

  “You feel up to blowing off the Army today? We can snag a

  Redbox and head back to my place. Pop popcorn and veg.”

  Carmen’s fingers brushed against my elbow. She had a zit on

  her jaw beneath her ear, small now, but I knew it’d be a

  whitehead by the end of the day. Her diet was terrible.

  I hesitated. I’d had the nightmare again last night and

  Thursdays were always slow; bailing on our shift at the Salvation

  Army was super tempting but, then again, that meant I’d have to

  spend the whole afternoon with Carmen.

  This wasn’t normally a problem. Carmen and I have been

  best friends forever, but since Juan and I split up two months

  back Carmen’s been touching me more—a poke on the shoulder,

  fingers skimming my elbow—and inviting me out more than

  usual. One-on-one stuff.

  If I’d asked her straight out, she’d have la
ughed in my face

  and called me a lez, but it wouldn’t be personal. Carmen’s closet-

  case had always just been this aspect of her that didn’t bug me

  until now. Now, though—now I’m stuck. Carmen’s smart, she

  probably knows what I did and is trying to make up for it—to

  make me feel better, or take care of me—but I don’t need her

  help.

  I’m not ashamed.

  I’m just tired.

  If I went with her we could talk, maybe air out stuff. Maybe

  if I weren’t still bare over the whole mess, I’d consider it,

  consider her, but not now. I need her friendship and Carmen has

  to know that, to understand it, before she gets resentful and

  weird.

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  I swallowed, about to agree on faking sick, but then I

  remembered that I’d called out three times last month when I’d

  had to go up to the City. If I bailed again, I’d get fired for sure.

  A sane person would’ve told bosslady Jackie about my

  medical thing, but she was kind of a prig and a gossip. I did not

  want everyone at the Salvation Army to know I’d been up to San

  Francisco for a hoovering. I needed this gig to start fresh, get out

  of this town. Be the badass I know is hiding somewhere inside

  me. “Nah,” I said flippantly, inhaling the diesel-stench and

  prodding a piece of peeling rubber peeking out from the

  doorframe. “Jackie’ll hold our checks if we try to pick them up

  and buzz off.”

  “Point,” Carmen sighed.

  We were ten minutes early to work.

  I promised myself that I’d talk to Carmen soon, maybe during

  our shift, if we could find a corner to clean together, but luck

  wasn’t with me.

  It never is.

  Slow doesn’t even cover how dead it was. Jackie runs a tight

  ship; most of the night there was jack-all for us to do except keep

  the browsers from shoplifting.

  Carmen’d been assigned the register and wasn’t allowed to

  leave the front, so it was a long, lonely night. I organized the

  clearance bins.

  Just when I thought my head would explode from boredom,

  Jackie dumped a box in my arms. “Come on,” she said, bustling

  past the jeans without looking to see if I was following, “your