THE POLAR TERROR (Part 1) by Liana Brooks

Andrea scrolled through tumblr - hashtag supervillains - looking for a cosplayer who would fit the bill.

It was heartbreaking working with the Dreams Come True program at the pediatric hospital. Sure, it was wonderful when she could help the kids make a dream come true, but sometimes... sometimes it was all too much. Everett Jones was a special one. His parents had been in a car wreck when he was four months old and an improperly fitted car seat had thrown him from the wreckage. It had saved his life - the semitruck behind their car hadn't been able to stop in time - but it had left Everett broken and orphaned. He'd been in and out of the foster care system until his aunt graduated from college.

At seven, he should have been okay. But a little cold turned into bronchitis, and then they'd found abnormal growths along the bone. And then the doctors at Merriton Pediatric Hospital, the premiere children's hospital in the Yukon Territory, found out that the donor from Everett's last surgery hadn't been screened correctly. The bone cancer was sinking in.

Everett was seven and suicidal. His adoptive mother was a wreck.

Andrea wanted to do nothing more than make sure Everett had one dream come true. She'd gone to his hospital room with binders, folders, and brochures. Disneyland. Cruises. The Stanley Cup playoffs. She would make sure he got what he wanted.

And then Everett asked for the absolutely impossible: a day with The Polar Terror, the only supervillain north of the 66th Parallel.

She glanced at the clock. It was already two in the morning and she had her first meeting tomorrow at eight. Tanya Nothstien from the third floor (burn victims) was meeting with the Whitehorse Huskies and going to three days of hockey training camp, a reward for finally hitting her physical therapy milestone and being able to walk. Tanya had a long road ahead, and at least one more surgery to repair her arm, but she could be a hockey goalie as she was.

The Huskies had even invited her to come play goalie at one of their home games once the season was in full swing.

In the afternoon she had to meet with the Jenwa family. Three-year-old Doug was terminal. Dreams Come True was getting the whole family together -grandmas and grandpas too - and flying them to Hawaii to celebrate what was expected to be Doug's last birthday.

Unthinking, she grabbed a kleenex and wiped away the tears.

Tomorrow was going to be rough. She needed sleep. But...

Blurry-eyed, she hit the pencil icon on Tumblr and wrote a post...

WANTED: The Polar Terror for a day of fun and crime with 7yo Everett at the Merriton Pediatric Hospital.

Everett is a sweet boy who has had a bad run of luck. He wants to conquer the mountains with his favorite villains, and maybe rob a candy store.

If you're available, please email me at: andrea@canada.dreamcometrue.org

She posted it with a sigh and turned the computer off. Yukon Territory was not a geek hub with ten thousand cosplayers. But, who knew? Maybe she'd get lucky and some rich American who could afford his own batmobile would feel like dressing up in a traditional Yukon furs and flying up here.

***

The next day didn't dawn so much as slink in well after Andrea was at work. Winter mornings were an illusion more than a reality. By ten the hospital was sending home non-essential staff because of an incoming blizzard. Andrea shut her door, turned off the overhead light, and worked with the street light outside.

No one could send her home if they didn't know she was there.

Lunch was a bag of pretzels nabbed from the vending machine while the hospital director dealt with a car collision in the parking garage. And at two she went up to see Doug's family.

His room was filled with red toy robots, red balloons, and red stuff dog that was bigger than he was. Andrea confirmed all the details, checked with Dr. Harper to ensure that Doug was up for travel, checked with Doug's nursing staff to make sure all their paperwork was in order, and - worn out and ready to cry - she limped back to her office.

It was cold.

Bone-freezing cold.

She was Yukon born and bred, but negative 10 Celsius with snow swirling around her desk as she opened the door was too much. Her lips puckered as she sucked in a sob.

Someone - some utter bastard - had broken her window.

She closed her office door quietly behind her. There was no need to be rude, she told herself. There was cardboard behind the filing cabinet and the Good Lord had given her duct tape and common sense, more than enough to fix anything, as her grand-mère had always said.

Andrea turned to reach for the down coat hanging on the back of her door and screamed. There was a person standing there.

A huge, fur-covered aberration with a spear in one hand a rabbit-fur pouch at his hip. All the emotions of the day came pouring out in an ear-piercing wail that was swallowed by the howling wind outside. The bowl of tiny, polished rocks on her desk jumped and rattled as the despair and rage rolled off her. And then it finally stopped; her throat was swelling and scratching.

The snow stopped swirling and her window slammed shut.

"Sorry about the entrance?" the menace offered.

Andrea stalked behind her desk, sat down in her creaking, broken chair in a huff, and grabbed a kleenex. Then a throat lozenge. She glared at the face hidden by a black balaclava.

"You, um, asked for me on Tumblr." The voice was deep. Definitely masculine. Almost apologetic.

She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a fresh bottle of water. It was against her policy to drink bottled water unless the pipes froze, but this was an emergency.  Sometimes her carbon footprint had to take a back seat to panic.

The person shuffled and took a seat in the stiff-backed client chair.

After several minutes, and half a bottle of water, Andrea sighed. "All right. That didn't go well. I try not to scream at anyone." She glanced at the window. "Who are you? And why is there snow melting on my desk?"

"It can't stay snow in this heat."

Andrea glared. "What I meant is; why didn't you come through the front door? We have a receptionist."

"They went home early. A security guard told me everyone had, so I came up here to leave a note."

"Through my window."

The masked face turned to consider the now-unbroken glass. "Eh... it made sense at the time?" He lifted his shoulder and dropped it. There was a slight twang in his voice. Almost...

"Are you from Newfoundland?"

He turned faster than she expected. "How'd you- "

"It's the accent. I dated a guy from there once. It didn't end well." Andrea realized her hand had tightened around her limited-edition Glamdring letter opener and dropped it. She wasn't going to risk getting blood on a collectible. At least, not a limited-edition one. She had a Toronto Maple Leafs hockey stick, signed by Leo Komarov.

She could part with that.

"You did want to see me, didn't you?" With gloved hands the man reached into his rabbit-skin pouch and pulled out a folded piece of paper that he held out for her.

Andrea stood just enough to reach out and take the paper between her pointer and middle finger, then plopped back down. Glaring at him, she unfolded it with great ceremony. It was a screen capture of her desperate Tumblr post.

She shut her eyes.

This was the problem with the geek community, when cosplayers got into something, they really went all out. She was willing to bet that later - much later - when she wasn't so worn out she'd find the string this guy had used to tug the window closed so it looked like he was using the wind.

"You don't look happy," the man said. "I thought, children's hospital and all, it might be time sensitive. And I was in town."

"Of course." Andrea closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry. I've had a very... rough... afternoon. I was expecting an email. There's paperwork to be done. If you cosplay for a living you can use your time as a tax write-off. We also have security checks and things like that."

"I won't pass those," he said. "I'm a supervillain. An ecoterrorist or a planet defender, depends on who you ask."

Andrea opened one eye to glare at him. "I appreciate your dedication to the role, mister...?" She held out her hand as invitation for him to fill in the blank.

"Terror. Polar Terror. Rhymes with bear."

She looked at her water bottle and willed it to become a Chilkoot Larger from Yukon Brewing Co. The color didn't blush the deep amber of ripening wheat, so she figured she still hadn't come up with the ability to spontaneously make alcohol appear.

"Do you want colder water?" the man asked.

"No. I want beer, but I can't have it during working hours and usually only drink on my birthday, Canada Day, and New Year's Eve. This is not a job where I need more depressants in my life."

"I thought bringing good cheer to kids would make for happy work."

Her sour smile was enough to make him lean back. "It's great when you actually can help. Some of our kids will recover. But they don't all walk out of here healthy and alive." She lifted her shoulder and dropped it. "This afternoon I had to talk to a family whose little boy probably won't live to see four."

"Oh." His head tilted to the floor. "Is that Everett?"

"No. Everett is seven, he was in a car accident and had several surgeries to fix broken bones. One the bone grafts left him with bone cancer."

There was a moment of silence, a place for grief.

"His parents must be devastated," the man said, quietly.

"They're dead." Andrea hated how callous she sounded, but she was out of emotion. "His aunt has custody. She's a very nice woman, but totally overwhelmed. Her sister, Everett's mother, was the only family she had. She's been working hard to raise Everett and be supportive through everything, but she really doesn't have anyone else to lean on." Andrea picked up Glamdring and spun the miniature sword around. "They have your comic books."

The man nodded. "All the proceeds go to college funds for kids from the Yukon Territory, you know. I don't get paid for that. I didn't license it either, but..." He shrugged, and Andrea thought she heard a hint of a smile when he said, "I had a word with the duo drawing the comics and we worked things out."

"They donate all the money, and you don't kill them with your freeze-ray?"

"See, the way you say it sounds so mean. And it's not a freeze-ray. That's something only fake supervillains need. I have superpowers."

PART 2 (coming soon!) 

A Glimmering Green Hope

Galen Andez crossed the threshold to his living quarters and set the door code to private. There were times when he would welcome the intrusion of his flight. Some days he left the door open hoping he'd catch someone from the training fleet to come and join him for an evening meal. Today his head ached, his muscles screamed in protest after extensive use, and he was the kind of fatigued that would end either with eighteen hours of sleep or with killing someone.

There wasn't an in-between on days like this. Too many hours linked to a Daylion Pride fighter could kill a man. This week he'd been hitting his limit every day ending in Y.

Stripping off his sweat-soaked shirt he tossed it in the general direction of his room before prowling over to the kitchen. Food. Lots of food, heavy on carbs and vat-grown proteins, and then he was going to sleep like the dead. Showers could wait.

He eyed the remains of a kitchen that had gone through this carnage six days trying to find something. Going out shopping was out of the question. Having his food delivered would require more human interaction than he could mentally entertain at the moment. There had to be something. A ration bar if nothing else.

A wink of emerald green caught his eye.

He tilted his head, watching the shimmering green to see if it would wink away, a hallucination caused by too many hours uplinked to a machine. Nope.

Stalking into the receiving area he stared down at the emerald green bra draped casually over the arm of one of the low, comfy chairs. None of the women in fleet wore bras under their body armor. It was, he'd been told, both uncomfortable and redundant. The body armor did an excellent job of keeping bouncing to a bare minimum. This... he ran a finger over the curve of the plush bra before picking it up. This was a fancy cage for full breasts.

The scent of warm wood and fresh grass lingered on the fabric like the memory of a ghost. Lyrian treesilk... expansive and luxurious. He caressed the fabric. Oh, hell yes!

There was only one woman he knew who would wear Lyrian made clothing. Last time he'd seen her he'd been a junior cadet still fighting for a chance to become a fighter pilot. She'd been... something else. Nothing like fleet. Nothing like the station-raised normcore people he'd been raised with. No ground pounder or starchaser could compare.

Just remembering her set his blood burning. The taste of her kiss was addictive, her voice hypnotic... Women like her were trouble. Sometimes the cause of it, but sometimes just there, like a rogue catalyst in the chemical equation of life.

A background sound he hadn't registered in his fatigued stupor became silent. He looked toward to the refresher room where the sound of water had stopped. Oh, hell no.

"Shyla?"

The door cracked open and a vixen with brindled hair curling from the refresher's humidity grinned at him. "Hiya, handsome. Dinner's in the chiller. I'll be out in a moment."

"Oh. No." Galen shook his head as his body tried to divide into two equal halves. One half wanted to run like a star was about to collapse in front of him. The other half wanted to rush to her embrace.

She tilted her head to the side, the little coquette. "No?" One bare foot crossed the threshold between the door and the living area. A tanned, toned leg followed, hinting at the naked body hidden from view. "Should I come out now?"

"What are you doing here?" His mouth was dry. Aching muscles found new life. She could have asked him to dance across the vacuum of space and he wouldn't have stopped to grab an EVA suit.

"My room wasn't ready, and I needed to shower. I didn't think you'd mind. Do you?" Her voice was pitched perfectly, a cross of sweet innocence combined with the fluster of a girl who knew he was cross but couldn't quite understand why.

Which was a bloody lie. Shyla was a 'pathic, one of the rare humans who could touch other human minds.

Every computer could read a person's fingerprint. Every 'pathic could read a mindprint, the unique pattern than belonged to an individual. She wouldn't have had to consult anyone to find him. She'd probably walked past, felt the impression of him in the room, and waltzed in without further thought.

"What if this were my girlfriend's room?" Galen asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

"I checked for women's clothes and signs of a lover. I wouldn't have stayed if I thought you were with someone." She stepped out of the refresher room wearing the shortest dress he'd ever seen on a woman. It might have been a long shirt. The navy blue fabric dropped from a string around her neck and unapologetically covered only the most spectacular views. Her back, arms, and legs were free to view, and he did, reveling in the sight of her.

Shyla reached out and stroked the side of his face with a gentle hand. "You're hurting."

He closed his eyes and took her touch too. The pain in his head eased, his muscles relaxed, the tension that wrapped around him like a boa loosened its grip. "Shyla..." He'd meant to rebuke her, to push her away, but it came out as a prayer.

One moment she was standing at arm's length, the next she was pressed against him, the heat of her body washing through him. Her lips found his, and he was lost.

When he opened his eyes he was laying on his bed with Shyla propped up on one elbow beside him. His pants were still on. The magical blue dress was still clinging to her and hiding everything he wanted to see. Shyla had added a knowing smile to her wardrobe. And he felt better than he had since the war started.

He flopped back on the pillow with his eyes closed. "Shyla."

"You needed it."

"No. I was fine."

"You were close to breaking."

"I was fine. I needed some nutrients and some sleep, not a full healing."

Two points of warmth touched his bare chest. Fingers, walking from his navel to his sternum, then dragging back down with the faintest hint of pain as her nails abraded his skin. He arched his spine involuntarily as she pulled her hand away. Every nerve in him thrummed with needing.

"You need so much more than healing, Commander." Her breath was hot against his ear.

"Shyla." This time her name came out as an impatient growl. Seven years without her. Seven years of thinking of what he would say next and all he'd managed to grind out was her name. Galen pressed his palms to his eyes in a desperate attempt to center himself. "Why is it that I can't think around you?"

"Because you haven't had a decent sex partner in three years and you've spent every waking hour since we parted beating your body into a pulp for the glory of the fleet and the safety of humanity."

"It's not about glory." Not anymore.

"Dying to save the rest of the species isn't a very efficient plan," Shyla said. She shifted on the bed and he felt the weight of her pulling the mattress down, the heat of her body near but not touching. "You should at least donate to the gene pool before you kill yourself."

A horrible thought occurred to him. "You're not-"

"No." She didn't need to hear the question. She probably didn't need to hear him talk at all. "Breath, Galen. I'm on the station for work. Lawfully hired. You aren't aiding or abetting a fugitive."

"This time."

"This time," she agreed. "Nor did I come to seduce you, well, not with the intent to procreate. Children aren't really in my five-year-plan at this point." The bed bounced as she got up. "Come on, flyboy. You need to rehydrate before you fall back asleep."

He let her take his hand and pull him out of bed. "Shyla?"

She stopped in the doorway, silhouetted by the light of the kitchen. "Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're back."

Ji Min and the Unnamed Enemy

Ji Min shook feeling back into her hand as the medibot released her arm. The scar tissue from where Harrison had etched his name into her flesh was healing nicely. After a day at the beach no one would be able to distinguish anything had happened.

She stood, collecting her uniform coat, but stilled as the commanding admiral walked in. "Sir?"

"Sit, captain, we have things to discuss with the medic before you go."

She obeyed the order with no show of reluctance. This was not the time to act out of character. "Did my tests results come back abnormal, sir?" She'd run three gauntlets in the hours since dawn, and she was certain she'd been near her top time on the obstacle course. Quickly, Ji Min reviewed her memories of the written tests she'd received. All her answers had been perfect. Unless there was a hidden test she'd missed. A color test perhaps? With a frown she considered the possibility that her eyesight had been damaged in the last mission. That would be inconvenient.

A medic – a human one this time – walked in with a datpad. Her black hair was pulled in a regulation knot that matched Ji Min's but that's where the similarities ended. This woman was nervous. Fear rolled of her in waves. Her smile was tight and never reached her eyes.

Ji Min raised an eyebrow, consciously lowering her pulse rate to appear calm and collected. The little medtech could learn something from her. Hopefully the girl would be smart enough to just that.

"Captain Zhang, Admiral Dai, thank you for meeting with me." The girl's nervous eyes darted to Ji Min and dashed away. "I've... I've taken the liberty of reviewing your files, captain. You were very thorough."

"Thank you," Ji Min said. She made a mental note to speak the hospital's commanding officer on her way out. This medtech wasn't fit to do more than apply bandages. Fortunately she didn't need a doctor to tell her anything. All her injuries were familiar ones.

"I have a treatment plan for you," the medtech said.

"Yes," Ji Min said. "I completed the final tests this morning."

The admiral stirred in his chair. Hairs on the back of her neck went up.

"Sir? Was my test time less than desirable?"

The admiral shook his head. "It's not that."

"You were tortured," the medtech said breathlessly.

A lightbulb moment. The girl was worried, possibly traumatized by the report. "I'm fine," Ji Min said with a patient smile.

"You aren't," the girl said. "You sustained severe torture over a period of twenty-three days."

"I was trained to withstand torture," Ji Min said with perfect patience.

"Nothing like this," the medtech argued, seeming to gain confidence.

Ji Min turned to the admiral. "Sir, the first week doesn't count. All they did was withhold food. It was a love tap."

"It was torture," the admiral said gruffly.

"I didn't break," Ji Min pressed. "I'm not a security risk."

The admiral's dark gray eyes were filled with anger.

Ji Min straightened her shoulders. Anger she could work with. "It was a high stakes mission. I took four days longer than planned to accomplish my goal but I had a six day window. Everything went according to plan."

The medtech cleared her throat. "Captain, this is your sixth traumatic incident in less than fifteen years of service."

"The first two don't count," Ji Min said imperiously. "They were both my first week as a cadet and were not my fault."

"You were the only survivor of a fleet cruiser!" The medtech gasped for air.

Ji Min's lip curled in disgust. "Leave. Find someone who can control themselves. Your fear is grating on my skin."

The medtech's hands clenched into fists but didn't budge. "You are being medically retired."

"No." Ji Min looked at the admiral.

"It's for your health, Zhang. You need to spend a few years in rehab. Get mentally adjusted. It's for your mental health."

She snorted in amusement. "You won't let me have leave because I cause trouble when I'm bored and you want to make me a civilian? That's not going to go over well." Her eyes snapped to the medtec

h. 

"You were given an order to leave."

"I..."

The admiral pointed at the door.

In a flurry of frustration and fear the girl excited the door.

"You scare her," the admiral said once they were alone.

"She insulted my training." Ji Min gave the admiral a flat look. "I was trained to withstand torture. I am by far one of the most experienced soldiers in the fleet. My record is near perfect. That girl shouldn't have been intimidated by me, she should have been watching me, trying to learn and improve herself. If that's what the academy is turning out these days there will be a drought of decent officers in the coming years."

The admiral scowled at her. "She was scared because your anger was making the walls vibrate."

Ji Min glanced at the brick wall. "Only a little." She waved off his concern. "It's a side effect of the medication I took during the control test this morning. Everyone knows that."

"Nevertheless, you are a dominant mindpath and frighten weaker minds. Even someone with no intrinsic skill can sense you're dangerous."

"And this is your argument for making me a civilian?" She settled into her chair, resting her hands on her knees and waiting for his rebuttal. He wasn't going to find a good one.

The admiral mimicked her calm position. "Six incidents of extreme emotional or psychological trauma. Two near-death experiences. Over six months of hospital time."

"Over fifteen years," Ji Min said. "Not all at once."

"The fact is, no unit will take you. You're bad luck, Zhang."

She smiled as sweetly as the tiger seeing her prey. "You need a commander who isn't a coward."

"I can't name one that would want you."

"Then promote me. You'll have the benefit of my expertise, lessen the risk of the civilian population suffering from close contact with a dominant, and have a commander who isn't a craven fool. The perfect solution."

"No," the admiral said coming to his feet. "You need time to rest. Medical leave if not retirement."

Ji Min's skin cooled as she contained her emotions. "Send me with a trade delegation."

The admiral turned in startlement. "What?"

"We have three trade delegations leaving within the month, I'll go with one of them. There will be less cost because I won't need a large security detail, and the Emperor gains the advantage of me using my skills on our trade partners. We'll do very well if I go." The number of people who could tell her no was somewhere near zero. She obeyed orders because she enjoyed the discipline of the military and recognized the need for a chain of command. But even within the command there were very few people who she couldn't persuade to see things her way. That was the great skill of being a dominant. Telekinetic skills that allowed her to move things without physical contact were a bonus.

The admiral crossed his arms, retreating into a defensive position. "No."

"You have to give me something to do," Ji Min said calmly. "Bored, I'm too much of a threat to balance of a healthy society. I'm a typhoon in the harbor. The sudden wind as you climb a mountain peak. Dominants go into military training early for a reason. Left to my own devices at such a young age I might do something silly, like start a revolution. You can't endanger the populace that way."

"You are menace."

"All good soldiers are."

He looked at the window panel with the projected image of a formal water garden. "There is one place I could assign you."

"Frontline in a war zone where I can die like I ought?" she guessed with a smile. It was an old military joke. Back before the current emperor's ancestors claimed the throne the destruction of dominants was considered the best thing for society. They were caged, trained to be monster, and unleashed on war like the titans of old. Now dominants were perhaps not revered, and not always trusted, but their lives weren't wasted.

"How familiar are you with the wasteland situation on the edge of the Hani 667?"

Ji Min shook her head. "I've read the reports. Hanni 667 is a dead star with no planets orbiting. There's a few mining outposts collecting minerals there. Rumors of trouble."

"They are more than rumors. Ships going past the system never return. Probes show nothing but darkness."

"A black hole perhaps?"

"There's no gravitational anomaly to support that theory. There are, however, signals."

That caught her full attention. "Communication?"

"Possibly." He watched her face.

Ji Min smiled.

The admiral nodded. "It isn't our territory."

"No one owns the system."

"It abuts our own territory and the provinces of the Sunlords."

Her heart rate fluttered with delight. "I've heard stories of the Sunlords. How many of them are true?"

"We don't know. Until recently their only communication with us has been to tell us where their boundaries were and order us to stay on our side. They aren't aggressive. The borders on our side haven't changed in two centuries and we've no reason to believe they wish to expand."

"But they've contacted us?" she guessed. Everyone was wrong. She had the best kind of luck.

The admiral nodded, eyes sparkling with amusement. "They have been asked by the miners in the system to defend them from an unnamed threat. In turn, the Sunlords have extended an invitation to us to work in tandem since it is a shared border."

"A sign that they have no intent to attack or are they testing us for weaknesses."

"Either is possible. Or perhaps they are considering a trade agreement of some kind. Isolated cultures do not last forever."

Ji Min nodded. "Do we know whether they'll accept a mix gendered crew?"

"They gave no indication of their status, but requested anyone of rank. Would a single gendered crew be a limitation for you?"

"Never." Dominants were dominant whatever gender they professed. Smacking down a few chauvinists was child's play, although things would be easier to the Sunlord commander was equally dominant. She gave it a one in twenty chance. Every civilized culture saw the value of using dominants as officers. Even if they weren't openly recognized personality dragged most people like her to the spotlight.

The admiral nodded. "I'll have your promotion, orders, and packing list prepared by this evening. You'll ship out first thing tomorrow."

Ji Min smiled as the old man walked away. A free day all to herself. She swiveled her chair around in thought. Somewhere on the planet there was a sunny beach where she could intimidate a few sharks and work on her tan. The equatorial islands were nice this time of year. Lilac sand, blue waves, and fruity pink drinks were calling her name. With a sharp smile for the cowering medtech waiting in the hall Ji Min stalked down the halls with a smile, her jet tickets were bought even before the transport arrived to take her to the port.

It was a beautiful rainy day. 

When the Ground Met The Sky - Liana Brooks

CONTEXT! World-building is often thought to stop after an author names the mountains and rivers, but it's actually runs much deeper than that. In one of my series a character quotes a popular children's book that everyone would know... which meant I need to write at least part of that book so I could quote it properly. That's where this short story comes from.

~ Short Stories For Small Spacers ~

Once, when the universe was very young, Sky was born between the places of nothing. Out there in the darkness thoughts and ideas rushed around, all seeking something marvelous. Sky went with them, rushing away from the center of the universe to find something.

Sky searched in all the dark places, trying to find the something everyone was searching for. One day, he saw something that was not air or darkness. This new thing was not light or void. It was strange and new, so he went to it.

“What are you?” ask Sky.

“I am Ground,” said Ground as she spun around herself.

Sky watched her form into a perfect sphere. “You are not expanding,” Sky said. “You are not reaching. You are not searching.”

“I have done my searching,” Ground said. “I have found what I wanted. Now I will stay here and grow beautiful things and make new things the universe has never seen.”

Sky watched Ground for a time, but then he traveled onward, searching for the thing that would give him meaning.

After many years Sky returned to Ground and she looked much as she had when he left.

“Ground” he said, “how did you know when you found what you were searching for?”

“How can you search for something if you don’t know what it is you want?” Ground asked in reply.

Sky considered this. “I want to find the place where I belong,” he said.

“Yes,” Ground said. “That is good. I belong here, because here I can grow things and create great things.”

“I should find a place where I can make great things,” Sky said, and so he went off into the void.

He searched in the darkness, and in gas clouds, and in nebulas. He hunted for his purpose. Near great gravity variations and on the edges of black holes, Sky sought the place where he could grow new things and add something wonderful to the universe.

Again, he returned to Ground.

Ground was crying.

“Why are crying?” Sky asked.

Ground showed him the barren soil, dark and scarred by the ravages of creation. “My beautiful creations keep dying. I build mountains and they tremble and fall. I create oceans and they evaporate. All my beautiful things are destroyed. I can create, but I have no way to protect my beautiful things.”

Sky hugged Ground and held her tight as she cried. He watched ripples turn into mountains, and green grass began to grow. “Look!” Sky said. “Look how beautiful this is! You have what you wanted!”

“But only when you are here,” Ground said sadly. “When you leave, all these beautiful things will fall away.”

So Sky held her tighter. “I will stay.”

“You should go,” Ground said. “Go and find the thing you are searching for.”

“I have,” said Sky. “I was searching for you. I was searching for a place to belong, and it is here, with you. I was searching for a purpose, and it is here, helping you make beautiful and wondrous things for the universe. I was searching for love, and it is here. I love you, Ground.”

“I love you, Sky,” said Ground. 

And that is how the ground got an atmosphere.

Find more of Liana's stories at GoodReads, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.

Dream Away

"Sir, how would you like to take your dream vacation today?" The women, really no more than a girl, smiling at Jazin was a perky little thing. Cute button nose, cinnamon colored hair, and pale gold freckles on skin a few shades darker than her hair. She waved a synthpaper brochure at him. "Where do you want to go?"

"Home," Jazin said. "My bank account doesn't match my dreams."

She stepped in front of him, her ivy green skirt flaring a swirling as she moved. "I have dream vacations for all budgets."

"Yeah?" And he was going to get a promotion to a corner office. Just as soon as the moon turned blue. "Does this dream vacation come with paid leave 'cause my boss isn't the type who likes to give people time off." Company CEOs weren't famous for caring whether their worker bees had rest and relaxation. The only thing that mattered to the boys calling the shots upstairs was the company's bottom line and their fat quarterly bonuses.

The girl smiled impishly. "No leave time required. This really is a dream vacation." With a touch of her finger the brochure projected a hologram of him on a white sand beach. "Do you know the average dream lasts less than five minutes? With Dream Away's new REMtech Dream 6K you can have a week's worth of luxury in five minutes."

Jazin pushed the brochure away. "Thanks, but no thanks. I can't afford a vacation, real or otherwise."

"Oh, but you can!" the girl insisted. "Give me a minute, I'll give you the perfect day. Give me five minutes, and I'll give you a week in paradise. Give me an hour, and I can give you a lifetime!"

"You'll give me a sticky chair to nap in that stinks of other people and hasn't been sanitized in a week. Pass."

Her face lit up in an infectious grin. "Don't be that way!" She hit him playfully in the chest with the brochure. He noticed her brown eyes were luminous as sunlit topaz, and for just a moment he wanted to stay.

Shaking his head, Jazin tried to sidestep her again. Pretty girls were easy enough to come by in the beauty capital of the system. But he knew the sales pitches and the tricks. The way the sellers would befriend you, ask you your name, create a need. Oh, they were good, it's what kept the companies in business and the populace in debt.

"Come on," the girl cajoled. "What would it hurt to try it?"

"I'd like to pay my rent this week, thanks all the same."

She licked her lips. "What if I... gave you a taste? For free."

"Sounds like you're pedaling hard addictives, lady."

"Oh, no!" She shook her head and her beaded earrings jingled a soft melody. "Dream Away's product is one hundred percent non-addictive."

Jazin rolled his eyes. "I bet. I nap, I walk away and the dream's forgotten in ten minutes anyway. Everyone knows dreams don't last."

"Dream Away dreams do." She placed a small, elegant hand on the crook of his arm. "In one minute I can give you the perfect day. You want the corner office? It's yours. Do you want to be the star of your favorite sports team? Done. Do you want a day to catch up on your reading? I have all the books waiting for you. You'll feel the pages in your hands, smell the paper and ink, and when you open your eyes you'll remember the book just as if you'd spent the day reading."

"And then I'll want another hit which will cost me – what – a day's wages? A week's? It's not worth it."

"Dream Away provides no more endorphins than you would get from a thirty minute run at the gym. And while we can't burn calories for you like a run will, we can offer you a reduction of mental distress. Five minutes and you'll feel as if you took a week to relax. Think of it as the perfect vacation, all of the benefits and you've lost no time!"

He frowned skeptically. "Things that sound to good to be true..."

"... usually are!" She pointed at him and smiled cheekily. "I know! Dream Away isn't the real thing. You won't get a real sunburn at the pool in the Jawamai Mountains. You won't really eat draris fruit in the orchards of the Old King. The new friends you meet won't be real. But you'll remember all of it like it was."

"How?" he demanded. "Are you going to dribble fruit juice on my chin?"

"Everything you experience is a secondary sensation as processed by the brain. If the brain misinterprets a signal a sound can become a color, or a light breeze can become a burning fire along your skin. When Allerd Wria first started working on his theory of Unified Brain Function he was looking for a way to address those inconsistencies in damaged brains. Further research allowed him to develop a method of retraining brains after traumatic injury. The REMtech Dream 6K is the delightful outcome of his otherwise serious work.

"While hospital may need Dr. Wria's more serious projects this one was created to let people play."

Jazin's eyes narrowed in thought. "What was the original purpose of the machine? Torture? Interrogation? Punishment?"

Her lips flattened into a frown. "Treating depression." She held the brochure up. "Overworked people suffering from seasonal depression or sudden loss were able to use pre-programmed dreamscapes to work through their difficulties. The commercial model is less structured, you will design your own dream as you dream."

"So you can't guarantee I won't have a nightmare." There was always a catch.

The girl hooked her arm through his elbow and steered him toward the store. Brightly colored travel calendars and pictures of famous buildings lined the walls. "We do exert a little control. The REMtech Dream 6K reads what the brain is dreaming of and enhances the thought by triggering the respective neurons. You think of a fruit and by your first dream-bite you will taste the perfect fruit. Using the same technology we can steer dreams so that you stay in a pleasant and happy state, whatever that may be for you." She shrugged. "Or not. We don't judge."

He watched as the door open and a smiling man accompanied by a blue-skinned woman wearing the same green dress as the girl walked past chatting happily. The man's uniform was of a low-level maintenance worker, someone who did manual labor ten hours a day, but instead of a laborer's perpetual frown the man looked as if he'd never had a bad day.

"A regular customer," the girl said. "He comes in every few days for a three minute dream. Says it's like getting an extra weekend."

"And how much of his pay are you stealing."

"Small packages have small prices," she said. "He pays two credits, only a quarter of an hour's wages for him. Fifteen minutes worth of pay and he gets three days in paradise."

Jazin snorted in disbelief. "I bet he can't tell reality from fairyland anymore."

Her smile grew amused. "Dream Away does complete product testing before putting anything on the market. You'll find, as our researchers did, that it is easy to differentiate from dreams and reality. You retain the memory of the place, but the human mind always knows where it is. That gentleman has been doing classes and training prep during his dream sessions. Dream Away is helping him get a better job."

The blue-skinned girl started chatting up another prospective customer in the busy transit corridor.

He sighed. That was life, wasn't it? Rush to work, hustle all day, rush to catch the next tram home. Every day was regulated down to the minute. His pay meant he had sixty minutes a week of running water, four hours a week of electricity, and a single meal box with seventeen nutritional meals a week. The other meals he either had to skip or spend money on at a company restaurant.

The girl nudged his shoulder. "One minute and I'll make all your cares go away."

"One minute?"

"The perfect day. And the first time is free."

"Fine." Jazin waved to the back of the store. "Fine. I'll try it. It's the only way you'll let me go."

"You won't be disappointed!" she bubbled. Grabbing his hand she dragged him back to a small parlor painted all black. "Don't worry about the color. This is just to keep light reflection down. Please, have a seat."

A black plethasynth chair sat in the middle of the room with a green light shining out of diodes along the headrest. "That's it?"

"The REMtech Dream 6K is a very advanced machine. We don't need wires and cables everywhere to do this. After all, this is the age of nanotech!"

"All right." Reluctantly he shrugged off his coat. "Um..."

The girl pointed to the wall. "There a locker right there. You can code it to your handprint just like the lockers at work."

Quaslin LockerShop lockers than. They were ubiquitous. Seventy years ago Quaslin had been a minor repair company and now a person couldn't turn around without seeing their logo plastered on some piece of metal. That was the advantages of having one of the only metal refineries left in operation in the system.

He tucked his briefcase and coat in, double checked the lock, and reset the code.

"You'll only be asleep for a minute," the girl said. "You're things will be perfectly safe."

Spoken like a woman who wouldn't lose her job if the boss found out she'd been casual with the security of a company briefcase. It didn't matter that he didn't have rank or secrets to hide, the company was in open conflict with three other big corporations and any sign of indiscretion meant a pink slip and your name on the station blacklist.

"Sit here, sir, and I'll adjust everything for optimal comfort."

Jazin eyed the chair and then heaved a sigh. "Fine." He sat down and noticed wrist braces on the arms of the seat.

The girl followed his worried gaze. "Those are there for your safety. About twenty percent of our clients experience sleep-walking tendencies, involuntary and uncontrolled movement, while dreaming. The straps keep you from waking up with a black eye." She snapped the locks shut and a screen on the ceiling lit up.

The words I AM FULLY AWAKE glowed softly in the darkness.

"What's that?"

"That is the voice control panel for the retraints. When you wake up you read the words provided and the machine will release you. Would you like to try it?"

"I am fully awake," Jazin read aloud.

The word RHUBARB appeared in the same soft pink glow.

"Rhubarb," Jazin read obediently.

The restraints unsnapped with metallic click.

"Ready for your perfect day?" the girl asked as she locked him back in.

He settled back into the soft arms of the machine. "Sure, let's do this."

"Where would you like your perfect day to be?"

Jazin shook his head. "I don't know. The beach sounds nice. I've never been there."

"Then the beach it is. Sweet dreams!"

The lights dimmed and he heard the door shut. He took a deep breath, blinked, and he was standing on the beach with a hot sun beating down on his bare arms. A white bird swooped overhead screaming. Just ahead he saw a shack of some kind that looked like it was selling drinks. It seemed like a promising direction, so he walked that way...

***

She lifted the ident card off the corpse in the chair. Jazin Reirs, software technician second-class. Middle aged, overweight, single, and stupid as a box of rocks. He'd carried encrypted documents to and from work every day and never known the value. Poor fool. If he'd guessed maybe he could have sold the papers and bought some protection.

Her ear comm crackled. "How is our friend?"

"Dreaming. Permanently. I have everything we came for."

"Then get out. We have another target for you."

Folding the papers she tucked them into a locked carrying case hidden in the garter on her thigh and locked the dream parlor behind her. The nice young lady she'd rented the room from waved as she showed another perspective client the latest in TuyongTech virtual reality. Experience the beach in real time, sand in your shoes is extra! 

It was true what they said, people who spent their lives dreaming of a better future never were awake enough to make one.

My Grandma Carries A Machete

My grandmother carries a machete.

Really, it isn’t anything cool or exciting. She doesn’t fight crime or monsters. It’s just a gardening tool. And once you see the garden you realize what she really needs is napalm.

The garden of terror that requires a machete to hack your way to the center of started life as a discreet herb garden on the side yard of the house. It’s older than my grandmother, planted by some pioneering ancestor with more enthusiasm than gardening skill.

Planted by someone who didn’t realize that those small plants in tidy rows would grow so that the rosemary now resembles a small tree and the parsley is dense enough that small tribes of toddlers have been lost in there.

Perhaps the planter thought the Texas heat would be enough to keep the garden from taking on a life of its own.

Certainly it’s a theory that works for the rest of Texas. The easiest way to kill a plant is leave it outside during the month of August and wait for the plant to shoot itself in despair. Even cacti wither and die under the unrelenting heat of the Texas sun.

But not in grandma’s garden.

You can ignore the garden, walk away for months at a time, leave it unwatered for years, drop weed killer on it, curse it, exorcise it, even burn incense over it and yet the garden grows.

My great-grandmother tried giving the plants away. She uprooted the mint and gave it away to everyone who made eye contact. During the worst of Texas droughts you can tell who has the monster mint.

The media dubbed it the “Glenwood Mint”. The scientists at Texas A&M are still studying rogue clippings trying to determine how a plant can live with four inch roots and no water for two years.

That’s why Grandma needs the machete.

Every spring, around about March, she pulls the polished weapon from the cupboard over the washing machine, dons her gardening gloves and sandals, and marches into the backyard to see what damage has been done.

This year was different.

She sat in her rocking chair on March second, a tear in her eye as she watched the snapdragons bloom along the front walk. “I can’t do it this year,” she whispered to me. She raised a papery hand, set it on my knee. “Jenny. Go get the machete. It’s your turn.”

With a sense of impending doom I walked into the mudroom. I pulled on the gloves and the sandals. I pulled the machete from its case, put my cell phone in my pocket in case I needed to call for back up, and marched into the living room and out the back door.

“Grandma! There are tomatoes!”

Grandma moved with blazing speed to peer over my shoulder. “Good googlymoogly,” she breathes. “I forgot about them.”

“We haven’t planted tomatoes in two years!” I choke back fear. Four lush plants sit with their red fruit tempting the sinner like the apple in Eden.

“Get the pots!”

There are four burners on the stove, each large enough to hold a twenty-two gallon stockpot. We have two slow cookers, and each can hold sixteen gallons. I plunder the tomato orchard; the abandoned plants have grown well over six feet tall, they droop with heavy fruit, and spring upright as I pull the tomatoes away.

Stuffing the tomatoes into pots, and piling the excess on the long kitchen counter, my grandmother pours water over each set and turns on the heat. “Get garlic,” she orders. “You’ll find it behind the roses.”

I shudder, grab the machete, and stalk into the herb garden of terror.

The rosemary bush towers over me, a fragrant giant. Thick stalks of parsley reach to my knees. And all I can smell is the mint.

In the far corner I see the rambling roses that cascade over the front fence in a shower of red and pale pink. Beneath those roses the fresh garlic grows. I heft the machete in my hand. With grim determination I set out, hacking, slashing, pruning with fervor that is nigh on religious.

I bring the slaughter to Grandma: rosemary twigs as long as my arm, bunches of parsley, enough oregano to stuff a piñata, garlic, wild onions that I found tucked in a corner next to the lavender.

“Tell your cousins to bring garlic bread,” Grandma instructs as she stirs the six pots, tasting, testing, and adjusting the flavors until they are perfect. “Call the in-laws, we need extra noodles!”

I go back to the garden to trim yellowed leaves that have never seen sunlight. I slip on fresh loam; my cell phone flies. I scream as my cell phone slips between the thorny canes of the roses, another casualty of the garden of terror. From my prone position I see a miracle.

Basil!

“Grandma! Basil!” I hold the aromatic leaves up for her perusal.

“The mint must have insulated them from the snow this winter.” She rubbed the leaves between her fingers, releasing the scent like a lover’s perfume. “Perfect.”

The next day, as rosy-fingered dawn reaches out to her fleeing love, I roll out of bed and reach for the machete.

My machete. I have a cell phone to save and a legacy to keep. The garden must be tamed.

“Holler if you find a body!” Grandma calls.

I walk out the door.

I carry a machete.

The Game

Andrea stood at the edge of the clearing studying the opposing force. She counted three hundred and seven killerbots loaded with every armament the engineers could think of. They stood there, a lethal wall of AI menace separating her from her goal.

The bushes behind her shook.

With a puzzled expression she watched a man roll into view.

Lasers seared the bush, setting it on fire.

The man stood up and brushed the dirt away. He looked… wholesome.

Andrea tried to find another word. Crazy, maybe, he only had a small destabilizer, no armor, no vanguard of cohorts.

“Hello.” He smiled.

Andrea smiled back. “All alone?”

“No one else could play today. You?”

“Flying solo,” Andrea confirmed.

“Can’t figure out how to get past?” the man asked.

“I can’t figure out how to get past without cheating,” she corrected. “This is only level seven, I’ve gone past a dozen times. But I always cheat.”

“You can’t cheat the game.”

“You can,” Andrea said. “You aren’t supposed to, but you can.”

“How?” He looked over the massed infantry of death in confusion.

She knew what he was thinking. The gate leading to level eight was plain to see. All you had to do was charge in, kill all of the killerbots in your way, and run through the level gate.

“If you’re very fast…” he began.

“No. Just lazy. Watch.” Andrea lifted a small stone; she weighed it in her hand. “Watch.” She threw the rock, arcing it into the center of the killerbots.

As a unit the droids turned and opened fire on each other. Within seconds there was nothing left of the wall of death but the hiss of cooling metal.

“Impossible. It must be a system glitch. They are programmed so they can’t attack each other.”

“They each attack the rock and most of them miss,” Andrea said. “If the rock shatters it gets even better. Then they start shooting at the fragments.”

“And they don’t reset?” Intrigue and respect were written on the man’s face.

“No,” Andrea said. “It really is cheating though. I feel guilty just walking past their charred corpses.”

“Is a melted droid really a corpse?” he asked.

Andrea punched a code into the controller at her wrist and the level reset.

The bushes shook again.

This time an entire band of warriors rushed in, armed to the teeth and yelling.

“You need to go through?” one the adrenaline junkies asked.

Andrea looked at the first stranger; he shook his head. “We just reset the level to try a different tactic, not enough challenge the first time,” she said.

“Mind if we charge through?” one of the heavily-armed men asked.

“Go for it.” Andrea and the wholesome man with the charming smile watched as the band of berserkers rushed the killerbots.

“We could try that,” he suggested.

“They lost two people.”

“Ah, good point, the odds aren’t in our favor.”

“Any suggestions?” Andrea asked as the level reset again.

The man picked up a rock.

They stepped through the level eight gate casually, almost to casually. Andrea had to grab the man by his shirt to keep him from making a fatal mistake.

“Trip wires under the leaves on the path,” she explained.

“Ah,” he looked down at the jungle path in front of them. “How do we avoid the trip wires?”
“See the wood planks outlining the path?”

He looked at the narrow span of wood. “Yes.”

“Stay on that until we hit the clearing.” Andrea balanced easily on the beam and waited for him to follow before she began moving. “The wires trigger the killerbots and skydroids on the other end. If you don’t trigger the wires the ‘bots don’t come out.”

“I thought the rules said you had to stay on the path,” the man said.

“The rules were written by the same people who designed the killerbots. Think about it.”

“Good point. I suppose they aren’t rooting for the gamers.”

“If they are, I’ve never noticed.”

They moved through the artificial jungle, listening to the sounds ahead. A battle raged and fell suddenly silent.

“Do you think the berserkers died?”

“This isn’t a level that charging works on. I’ve seen lots of groups try that and it never works. Level seven is the last one you can survive on just charging. By eight you need tactics.”

“Do you play a lot?” the man asked politely.

Andrea looked at him, weighing her possible responses. “I play when I can but it isn’t often.”

“Do you always come alone?”

“Do you?”

The man laughed. “I’m not trying to pry. I’m harmless. Really. And yes, I usually play alone.”
“But you pick up the odd damsel in distress if you happen on them?”

“Nope. Never met one. Although I don’t mind picking up beautiful women who know how to cheat two levels in a row.”

“Do you meet many?” Andrea asked.

“Nope. But after I met you, who else could I need?”

Andrea snorted. “Nice line. But what you’re going to want is someone who knows how to get past level nine, because I don’t.”

They stepped into an empty clearing with monumental buildings on each side. The doors to the building were closed, locking in the hordes of death.

The level gate loomed ahead of them.

“Suggestions?” the man asked.

“Level nine is dark, pitch black. Outside light sources don’t work. The level gate is to the left but there’s a cliff and a river between you and the gate. I’ve died in each of them. And there’s a couple of killerbots. It never seems like a huge number but there are enough.”

“Maybe we should try splitting up? One go left the other go right?” he suggested.

“Bad plan. There are synergy bombs. If you and your buddy stand on the corresponding demolition plants at the same time everyone in the level dies.”

“Great.” He checked his charge. “So, want to try again if we die?”

Andrea blinked at the thought. “I’ve got to get to work soon.”

“Maybe we can meet up later this weekend. Where are you at?”

“Tetraterren, Alpha Side,” Andrea said. “You?”

“Homely,” he named a planet on the far side of the system.

“Thank goodness for faster than light relays, right?”

“Right.”

“Our best bet is to try not to die,” Andrea said. “Failing that, remember every detail you can so you can map the level when you die.”

“When are you coming to play next?” the man asked.

Andrea shrugged. “I don’t know.” She stepped into the darkness of level nine.

Five minutes later, simulated leg broken, a killerbots honed in on Andrea. She shot out its sensors, trying to buy herself a few more seconds in the game.

Light flashed, a fire flare. “I’ll find you!” the stranger shouted as he died.

The killerbots fired.

Andrea died.

The black and green grid of the ten by ten game room replaced the encircling dark of level nine.
Andrea checked her watch. “Flippers!” Her shuttle for the space station took off in ten minutes.
She raced out the door stripping her game suit as she went. She tossed the controls to the tech outside with a smile and grabbed her raincoat from the hangar.

“Good game?” the tech asked as she pushed herself out the door.

“The best!”

Andrea looked away from her computer screen to finish her sketch. It showed level seven in detail, with one minor new addition, a handsome man crouched and smiling. He looked predator, devilish, intelligent.

“How were the lectures?”

Andrea slammed her notebook closed. She looked up into the round, banal, face of Dave Sumners with a smile.

“The lectures? I enjoyed them very much,” she lied. “I especially enjoyed the series on Intrinsic Energies and Met Forces.”

“I knew you would.” Dave always knew what people liked. “Did you get to listen to Doctor Carores lecture on Forward Math’s?”

“No,” Andrea said regretfully, “that lecture was all sold out.”

“He usually is. I told you to buy the tickets earlier.”

“I know. I was really upset I had to miss his lecture. Everyone was talking about his ideas. I understand his new formula for to replace the Commonplace Theorem is quite revolutionary.”

“He just published a journal article on it, I’m expecting my copy to arrive any day now. Once I’ve read it I’d be happy to lend you my copy.”

“Would you really? That’s so sweet of you, Dave.”

Dave blushed.

Andrea looked at her desk, rolling her eyes. Her computer monitor pinged to get her attention. “Oh!” She looked at Dave with what she hoped was a regret-laced smile. “My equations are done running. I better get back to work. Being away for three days, well, I feel like I’m so behind in everything.”

“I know just how you feel,” Dave said. “I can’t stand vacation myself. All the free time? Ugh. I’d rather be doing something productive.”

Andrea made an appreciative noise. “There just aren’t many men like you anymore, Dave. You’re a rare breed.”

Dave laughed. “Rare breed? Ha! And I’m not even a biologist. Ha! Funny!” He walked away chortling.

Andrea assessed the readout from her computer and sent it to run another set of complicated variables. The number twelve solar array wasn’t getting optimal efficiency and she was trying to find the perfect angle for efficiency. The array would adjust to one one-hundredth of a nanometer, that gave her lots of variables to run, and lots of time to sketch game levels.