IGMS Issue 47 Read online

  Issue 47 - September 2015

  http://www.InterGalacticMedicineShow.com

  Copyright © 2015 Hatrack River Enterprises

  Table of Contents - Issue 47 - September 2015

  * * *

  Fixe

  by K. C. Norton

  What the Blood Bog Takes

  by Barbara A. Barnett

  I Was Her Monster

  by Jessi Cole Jackson

  The Debugging of Martin Jarreau

  by Rahul Kanakia

  Intertwined

  by Kate O'Connor

  Antique

  by Jared Oliver Adams

  Updraft

  by Fran Wilde

  The Topaz Marquise

  by Fran Wilde

  InterGalactic Interview With Fran Wilde

  by Lawrence M. Schoen

  Letter From The Editor

  by Edmund R. Schubert

  Fixe

  by K. C. Norton

  Artwork by Andres Mossa

  * * *

  The boy's name is Japetus Fixe, and he has run all the way to the Society office. When he pounds on the door, a voice inside says he should let himself in, but he stands in the doorway for a long moment gasping for breath. Deciding what to say.

  "Use your words, boy," says Captain Pearce, not unkindly.

  "There's there's there's --" Japetus stops himself, closes his eyes. He has been teaching himself how to keep control of his voice, how to move from one word to the next so that the stammer will be overcome by momentum, but sometimes he forgets how. One deep breath. Two. "There is a monster on the beach."

  Captain Pearce sits up straighter in his chair. He is quite young, which should make him less intimidating; but he is also foreign, and very clever, which make him more so. He stares so intently at Japetus that the boy can feel himself turning inside-out and shrinking to the size of a pinhead.

  "A whale?"

  "No," says the boy. "Nor nor nor nor a sea lion, neither, sir."

  "Clever lad," says the Captain. He rises at last, lifting his jacket from the chairback. He shoves his feet into his knee-high gleaming uniform boots. Japetus is aghast to observe that he is not wearing socks.

  The Captain pauses at the door to wave Japetus out, stepping back to let the boy lead even though he knows full well where the beach is. Japetus is aware that he is being provided with a formal but largely meaningless position of authority, and is simultaneously resentful and proud of it. He leads the way, while the officer follows with long unhurried strides, one to the boy's two.

  "Did you find this creature, then?" asks Captain Pearce. He is Australian, but his Danish is perfect. Some foreigners come through speaking their formal classroom Danish, which is nothing like the way locals speak. Pearce has mastered idioms; only his accent gives him away.

  Japetus shakes his head. "There were people gathered out -- out on the beach." Another deep breath -- he tries to think what he will say before he says it. "My sister Nano heard the shouting. We went out out to see."

  "Out to sea," murmurs the Captain.

  "I was only thinking you'd want to see it before . . ." he trails off, but this time he is simply not sure what to say. Before what? "I thought you'd want to see first, sir. Since you're with the Society and all."

  "Clever lad," says the Captain again. He does not ask any more questions, and Japetus has nothing left to say. Any further description, he feels, would be pointless. He does not know how to describe the monster, and he is certain the Captain knows better, anyway. The boy prefers to let his tongue lie still. It is so often treacherous when called to action.

  The crab-like monster lies on a sandbar in the middle of the beach. The tide laps at its belly, but surely it must have crawled partway; it is so enormous, it cannot have floated this far.

  Even seeing it for a second time, Japetus cannot quite come to grips with its size, its bulk, its alienness. A French scientist recently published his description of the Martian landscape; Japetus has read it several times, and he thinks this is what something from another world must look like. Surely such a thing cannot live along their own coastline? Surely this cannot be a representative of a larger population?

  A few other people, mostly children but not all, stand with their feet sinking into the wet sand. They point at the creature, and chatter like sandpipers among themselves, but they do not come close. Japetus knows that a few have thrown rocks and sea glass and knobs of driftwood. No one throws anything in front of Captain Pearce.

  The Captain, for his part, seems delighted. He walks right up to the beast, rubbing his hands together and grinning. He is so careless of the great legs, stepping over them as if they pose no threat. He peers into its great glassy eyes without fear. When he walks around the back, seawater fills his boots and soaks his trousers. Japetus has never seen a man with such a fine uniform who is so cavalier with regard to its upkeep.

  The others look at Japetus for answers, as if he has taken on the role of adjunct. Perhaps he has. He speaks for all of them when he asks, "What is it, sir?"

  From 'round the back of the creature, Pearce calls, "What do you think it is, lad?"

  Japetus has never studied monsters before. He is as uncertain as his neighbors, and at least as superstitious. What is the creature? Bad news. An omen. Trouble, is what. He would just as soon stand right there and wait for answers.

  But Captain Pearce has asked him. So the Captain must trust him, must respect him, must like him a little. Or perhaps he thinks the boy will not know and wishes to make an example of him in front of everyone.

  Either way, there is only one thing for it. The boy takes a step closer.

  Overcoming the stammer is all about momentum. Once you get going, you can't let up or you'll find yourself stuck. Japetus Fixe knows this, so after that first step, he keeps going. Even though his skin prickles at the sight of the creature; even though it turns his stomach and weakens his knees. If Captain Pearce does not fear it, then neither will Japetus.

  He looks down at the claw as he passes, making his steps small so that he can look without stopping. It is hoary with barnacles, a rusty seaweed green. Something about it strikes the boy as odd. But the whole thing is odd, and he can't yet place what he's seeing. The body is smooth, the same color as the arms, mottled and encrusted with grime. He isn't sure what it looks like underneath.

  He does not stop until he is looking the creature in the eyes. They are lifeless. Hollow. Empty.

  No. Not eyes.

  Windows.

  "It it it is a machine," squeaks Japetus.

  "Clever boy," says Captain Pearce.

  In his twelve years on Earth, Japetus Fixe has only met two officers in the Society. The first was rather old and rather fond of drink. He did not think much of other people, and the people here did not think much of him. They tolerated him, and accepted his money when he deigned to spend it. Japetus assumed that the whole Society was like that, old and drunk and belligerent. The old officer stayed only three months before being called off to another part of the world. Nobody seemed to know where, or to care, so long as he was gone.

  "The Society is a dying breed," joked Dane Fixe, Japetus's father. "Soon they'll be able to study themselves!"

  That was before Captain Pearce arrived. People speak differently now.

  "If if if . . ." Japetus's brain is whirring so fast his tongue has no hope of keeping up. He doubts it would keep up even if he did not stammer. Impossible as it was to imagine that the beast was once alive, it is stranger still to think that it was built. Who would conceive of such a thing? And why? It serves no obvious purpose, and yet Japetus is already enthralled by it -- imagine climbing inside such a thing. Piloting it.

  "If it's a machine, does that mean there could be someone inside?"
<
br />   Captain Pearce places one damp hand on the boy's hair. "You've a quick mind, lad. Why don't we find out?"

  One problem: there are no obvious doors. Another problem: the layers of salt and barnacles and seaweed are so thick that even when they run their hands across its surface, they can find no seam. It is as if the main body is formed of one smooth piece of metal -- unlikely, but not impossible. Nothing is impossible today.

  "Perhaps the door is not in the side," suggests Captain Pierce. He begins examining the creature's legs, several of which end with various pincers and clamps. Japetus suspects that these are for dealing with all the different sorts of problems that might crop up along the sea bed.

  But Japetus is not interested in the legs just now. He is climbing up to get a better view through the windows, which are made of a thick, cloudy glass. The longer he looks, though, the more it seems that the glass is only clouded on the inside. He has pressed his own face against a cold windowpane enough times to know what might cause that.

  There is someone alive in there. He is sure of it. He is also sure that they are in trouble. Why else would they have let their ship run aground?

  He taps gently on the glass with his knuckles. "Hello," he whispers. "Hello?"

  "See anything?" asks Captain Pearce.

  Japetus nods. He does not trust himself to speak. Beyond the glass, something moves.

  Pearce pounces up beside the boy and they stay there, peering into the window like beggars at Christmas trying to catch a glimpse of the feast. Japetus's heart hammers in his chest. He has so many questions that he is sure his tongue will tie itself in knots trying to ask them.

  A shadow moves inside, but it is too dark to clearly discern what cast it. Japetus thinks there must be only one person -- two would be a tight fit in the crowded space. Beside him, Captain Pearce's breathing shallows out. His shoulder, just brushing the boy's, is quivering.

  Above them, there is a grating scream of metal against metal. Both jump back; the man laughs to show that he is not afraid, but the boy does not dare. Both crane their necks upward to see what will happen next.

  What happens is this: a flap pops up, folds back. A thin body, almost skeletal, emerges. Japetus cannot see more than an outline against the sun, but still he bites the inside of his cheeks and clutches his stomach. This is what starvation looks like.

  When the woman's body falls, he expects it to float down like a sheaf of paper or an autumn leaf. Instead, it crumples and plunges like any other body. The boy steps back, but Pearce moves in fast, lifting his arms as in in prayer.

  She falls into his grasp, her limbs unfolding around her. It seems to Japetus that she is already dead.

  Japetus has never met anyone like the captain of the beached monster.

  Captain Pearce may be a foreigner, but he looks, more or less, like everyone Japetus has ever met. He has never met a woman, met anyone, with such dark skin or with such copious amounts of black hair. She is rail thin, and her skin is pallid for all its darkness; but that hair flows around her, thick and soft.

  The boy has seen photographs of mummies, and when he looks at her, he cannot help but remember. It pains him to touch her. Just looking at her makes his stomach ache.

  "Pull the ship up to the shoreline," orders Captain Pearce, lifting the woman in his arms. She stirs, pulls her limbs in close to herself like a dying beetle. Japetus wants to cry for her, and he's never even seen her eyes.

  A small army of children scurry to obey the Captain's command, knowing he will likely pay in copper pennies and hoarhound later. Japetus almost joins them -- but he is tethered to the Captain now. When the man strides up the beach, saltwater sloshing in his regulation boots, the boy follows.

  The Society station is small, meant for one man. The Captain lowers the stranger gently into his own bunk, then draws the sheet over her.

  "No," squeaks Japetus.

  Pearce looks up.

  "She's not not not . . ." He silences himself. She's not dead yet, he meant to say, only it seems obvious now that the Captain was only tucking her in, and would not have pulled the white sheet up across her emaciated face. The bones stand out beneath her skin like knives. Japetus can't look away.

  While the Captain gathers blankets, Japetus gathers his thoughts. He must do something for her; surely, she must eat. When Japetus was little, and his mother still lived at home, she used to feed him beef broth if he was too sick to chew.

  He goes to the cupboard, carefully turning his back toward the stranger. Either he must be looking at her full on, or he must keep her altogether out of sight. It is too disquieting to glimpse her from the corner of his eye. She looks like a ghost of herself.

  There are bouillon cubes in the cupboard. Japetus builds a small fire in the grate and fills a kettle from the barrel. The outpost, he realizes suddenly, is built like a ship, with the same economy of space. In a way, that makes him feel more at home here. Suddenly he knows where he will find everything, as surely as if he had spent years of his life in this place.

  Captain Pearce stays out of his way. He is mixing something from the medicine cabinet, which Japetus knows is full of all sorts of strange things. Didn't Pearce produce a tonic that cured Evlyn Moll's jellyfish stings this very spring?

  If knowing some of everything is what it means to be a member of the Society, Japetus would join in a moment.

  If it means caring for dying curiosities, he isn't so sure.

  "Have you ever seen one of those ships before?" he asks. See? When he's focused on an answer, the question can roll off his tongue like birdsong.

  "Nothing like that," says Pearce. "I mean, not the design. There are ships like fish, we call them submersibles, which dive and swim. Never seen a crab before. Nothing that walks along the bottom like that. Wonder what she needs it for? Who are you, lovely?" He speaks as though he's talking to a small child, dripping tonic into her mouth one drop at a time.

  When the broth is ready, Japetus brings it to the bed. Pearce takes the bowl, relieving him of this duty. The boy is glad; he doesn't know if he could bear what comes next.

  Pearce brings the spoon to her lips, dribbling broth between them. Some of it runs down her cheek. Pearce wipes the spill away, then repeats the process once, twice, thrice. A little always escapes.

  Japetus isn't sure she's swallowing, or if she's even still alive, until all of a sudden she sits up, coughing, gasping for breath. She leans over and spits the brown liquid onto the thick blue rug of the station. She says a word he doesn't recognize, asks it like a question.

  Pearce speaks that strange language, too, and answers her. She spits again, then drags the back of her hand across her face. The boy realizes she's wiping her tongue on her sleeve. She mutters something else and slumps back against the wall.

  Pearce laughs.

  "What what what --"

  "She won't eat the broth," he says. "She won't eat beef. It's against her religion."

  Japetus stares down at the bowl, then back up at the woman. She's too weak to move -- even now her eyes are fluttering closed.

  He is annoyed, that she expects him to find something else for her.

  He is impressed, that she is so fervent in whatever it is she believes.

  The crab-monster's captain's name is Canth. She tells them this is short for Coelacanth, but will not give her surname.

  The boy goes to find plain bread and fresh milk and a ripe apple. When he returns, she is sipping water from the barrel and answering Pearce's questions with crisp, brief replies.

  Japetus tells Pearce, "I brought milk, but I don't know if she'll drink it, as it's from a cow."

  "I will," she says, looking right at him.

  "Apparently the lady speaks Danish," says Pearce, leaning back and eying their guest.

  "Apparently," she replies.

  Japetus brings her two slices of bread, a quarter of the apple, and a cup of milk. She nods her thanks and accepts them, setting them to the side.

  "Where are you from, t
hen?" asks Pearce. There are no extra chairs, so Japetus sit on the floor, his back to the wall, watching her.

  Canth tears a bite-sized piece of bread off one slice and dips it in the milk. "India."

  "But where?"

  She puts the bread in her mouth and sucks on it. She does not answer.

  "Alright." Pearce nods. "Then I suppose it's fair to tell you that I'm an Aussie myself. From Melbourne, I don't mind adding. Michael Pearce. I'm stationed up here to --"

  "You're observing the whales." Her voice is hoarse. He hadn't noticed, before, since she spoke so little.

  Pearce raises his eyebrows. "How did you know?"

  She nibbles her apple. "I read the missives."

  "Miss --" It seems as though Pearce has developed a stammer of his own.

  Canth smirks at him, turning up the collar of her ragged jacket. A small patch is sewn there, depicting a strange flying lizard. The stitching is faded, but it is an insignia the boy knows well. It is stamped on the letterhead lying on Pearce's open rolltop desk. It appears on the sign out front. It is sewn on the Captain's own lapel.

  It is the insignia of the Society of Cryptic Biology, of which Coelacanth is, apparently, a member.

  Japetus has seen pictures of India before. He has read a few translations of the Englishman Burton's travels. In his mind, he has always imagined the people there as something less than human. It is as if that part of the world is so far away, and so exotic, that it is closer to the alien lands of Mars than to Greenland.

  Now, in Canth's presence, his toes curl and his face burns with humiliation. Perhaps it is because of her restraint with the broth; perhaps it is because of her fantastical vessel; perhaps it is because of her membership in the Society; perhaps it is because Pearce speaks to her as if she were anyone else; no, perhaps it is because starvation has put her most elemental components on display . . . well, he doesn't know quite why, but he is disgusted with himself. He wants to apologize to her, but he doesn't know how he would explain it.