“Death by Strangulation” by Ian Muneshwar

[Illustration: “Space Alien” © 2006 by R. Lloyd rrobot34@aol.com.]

Eleanor Wolfsson had a rather bleak outlook on the fate of the world, but for now she was concerned only with taming her unkempt hair. Strands of brown hair escaped from between her fingers as she tried to pull them back and tame the tangle with the delicate, golden hairpiece her grandmother had given her for good luck. She managed to capture some of her hair in the clip, but the rest evaded her and hung limp at her shoulders.

Forsaking the hairpin at the sound of the alarm clock on her desk, Eleanor raced over to the only mirror in her one-room flat and critically regarded her clothing, hands akimbo. Her many-layered gauze skirt, printed with a pattern of interlacing flowers, was complemented by a black blouse with opalescent buttons. Looking over her green horn-rimmed glasses, she adjusted the choker around her neck.

Preceded only by a thin, whining noise, a sudden roar screamed by and then dimmed into nothing. This time, the noise was so loud that she winced; her ignorance as a newcomer to the Global City hardly ever worked in her favor. The single window in her underground flat peered out onto Highway 63, and every time a nucleobus whirled by the explosive blast was deafening.

The scanner whirred softly under Eleanor’s finger as she locked the door to her flat, and she slipped into the sleek metal elevator silently. The elevator climbed upward swiftly, reaching its destination before Eleanor could finish polishing her glasses. The doors stood open, almost restlessly, as they waited for her to step out.

“Dusk” by Devin Miller

[Illustration: “Abadonna” © 2006 by Romeo Esparrago.]

The Hill of Magnificence had been in sight all day, but it was only on the eve of dusk that Samuel reached it. It was tall and verdant, and standing at the base, he could not see the top, where the stone slab stood embedded in the wild grass.

Samuel’s head swam as he ascended the slope. Now, after so long, reaching his destination felt like the final step on the gangplank, or perhaps the final tightening of the knot that held him to the guillotine. His calves were screaming, his feet blistering, but none of that registered.

He had spent what seemed like an eternity, lumbering along desert roads, with the eastern mountains at his back, searching for the Hill, which was somewhere in this desert world between the mountains of his home and the mysterious sea in the west. Finally, struggling over the crest of the Hill, he was bombarded by scarlet sunbeams. They stung Samuel’s tired eyes, and he raised his arms to block them.

The stone sentinel was there in the center, just as he had been told; silent and austere, it cast its long shadow towards where he stood. He sensed the energy in his body evaporate like the sparse morning dew on the desert roads. He fell to his knees and slid forward on the slick grass. He hid his face in his arms, despairingly, and lay prostrate, weeping uncontrollably. As the sun sank, the headstone’s cold shadow reached out and kissed his face, taunted him, made the memory of Michelle jump to life and fill him with guilt. He knew it was his fault that she was dead.

“Choices” by Dianne Rees

[Illustration: “Like I Don't Exist” © 2006 by Romeo Esparrago.]

It’s not easy being a superhero. Snap judgments are what it’s all about. I mean, all I saw was her, running out of her bedroom. Him, panting at her heels, his face red — leering — his shirttails hanging out of his pants. He grabbed her when she reached the top of the stairs, pinning her against the banister and she cried out. It sounded like a scream.

So I only did what any superhero would do. I yelled, and when he turned, I concentrated all of my energy in the heel of my foot and I kicked him downstairs. How was I supposed to know that he was her boyfriend?

His neck was bent at an odd angle from how he landed, head first, knocking against the wall at the foot of the staircase. Mom and I craned our own necks to look at him. “What did you do?” Mom whispered. She stared at me as if she didn’t know who I was. Not for the first time I thought: She doesn’t appreciate me.

She walked downstairs like the bride of Frankenstein, limbs all unhinged. She leaned to get a closer look at him, her hair falling forward and hiding her expression. She didn’t touch him though. She didn’t lay a finger on him. Then she walked into the living room and I sent myself to where she was walking. She yelped when I materialized in front of her. You’d have thought she’d be used to it by now — I’ve only been doing it for about seventeen years.

“What are you going to do, Mom?” I asked.

She gazed at me steadily. Then she said, “Jacie, I’m going to call the police.”

“Taxoran” by Matthew Ide

[Illustration: “Wolfman” © 2006 by B. Lloyd.]

Dwelis Spurnfit exited the tower of the Order of the Watch and looked up at the night sky. His long, brown hair swayed with a passing breeze. It was cold and coming from the north. Soon the snows will cover the land, he thought.

The last embers of dusk glowed, low on the horizon, and stars appeared in its wake. He slung saddlebags over his mount, Loth, and prepared for the night’s patrol of the woods that surrounded the tower. The tower itself, a large structure of solid rock standing taller than a giant, overlooked much of the Split Land. This was where the knights surveyed the land for any trouble that might be seen.

Dwelis looked to the two brothers who were also preparing for the patrol. Chaltin Locke stood as tall and as proud as his brother Welthin, although the two could not be more different. Chaltin was always clowning around, and as knights in training had often gotten the three of them many detentions.

His brother, Welthin, was the opposite. Quiet and reserved, he calculated every movement and observed every detail.

The three knights had entered training together from the town of Thistlehorn, a day’s ride southeast from the Castle of the Order. Their training in combat and the codes of the knights made the three almost inseparable over the years. Now, among the two siblings, Dwelis couldn’t help but feel like a brother with them. He looked forward to the patrol this evening with the two men he admired most, even though they would be patrolling different areas.

“Any signs of trouble?” asked Welthin.

Website: Atomjack Magazine

To the editor(s) of Planet Magazine:

I am the editor of the new online science fiction magazine Atomjack, and I’m pleased to announce that Atomjack has just published its first issue, with short stories by Rick Novy, Bruce Boston, Cameron Pierce, Thomas Canfield, and Robert Laughlin. The site was created by the Rev. Brian Worley, whose credits include every issue of Susurrus Magazine and the web site for Lullaby Hearse.

http://atomjackmagazine.com

I’d be thrilled if you could check it out and let me know what you thought. I think you’ll enjoy the site, the stories, and the artwork.

Thanks for you time and consideration,

Adicus Ryan Garton, Editor

“Garbage Men” by Andrew Hellard

[Illustration: “Nuke Moon” © 2006 by Tracy Dilorenzo.]

Maxwell was in the middle of the first steak he had seen in almost a year when the communicator holstered at his waist began to beep. Maxwell sighed and closed the lid of his magnetized plate so the medium-rare ribeye wouldn’t float away, and answered the call. The mid-watch duty officer appeared on the device’s tiny screen.

“What can I do for you, Commander?” Maxwell said, idly using a fork to pry a piece of gristle from between two molars.

“Haystack has picked up a sizable object headed our way,” the officer said. Maxwell locked the fork into a slot on the table.

“How long?”

“We’ve got 372 minutes before it enters the exclusion zone. I’d say you should get a move on it.”

Maxwell passed his steak to the surprised maintenance tech sitting across the table and headed for the door. Eleven months off-planet had taught him to use the handholds lining the station’s walls with the agility of a hyper-adapted space monkey. The launch bay containing the only two Catfish class spacecraft in existence and their control apparatus was on the opposite end of the linked-globe structure that made up Platform Alpha.