IGMS Issue 37 Read online

  Issue 37 - January 2014

  http://www.InterGalacticMedicineShow.com

  Copyright © 2014 Hatrack River Enterprises

  Table of Contents - Issue 37 - January 2014

  * * *

  Elsa's Spheres

  by Marina J. Lostetter

  Underwater Restorations, Part 1

  by Jeffrey A Ballard

  High-Tech Fairies and the Pandora Perplexity

  by Alex Shvartsman

  Big Al Shepard Plays Baseball on the Moon

  by Jamie Todd Rubin

  Seven Tips to Enjoy Your Time in the Unreal Forest

  by Van Aaron Hughes

  Into the Desolation

  by Catherine Wells

  At the Picture Show: Extended Cut

  by Chris Bellamy

  InterGalactic Interview With Brenda Clough

  by Darrell Schweitzer

  Letter From The Editor

  by Edmund R. Schubert

  Elsa's Spheres

  by Marina J. Lostetter

  Artwork by Eugene Carter

  * * *

  Elsa slipped a glossy travel brochure over the top of Amir's cornflakes' bowl. He chewed slowly, scanning the white letters that splayed across a background of vines and palms. Visit Costa Rica, Pura Vida!

  "This is where I want to go for our anniversary," she said, brushing aside her unkempt curls. "I especially want to visit Caño Island. See the Spheres."

  "The Spheres," Amir whispered to himself, splashing cold water over his face, washing the memory -- along with his shaving cream -- down the drain.

  He patted his face dry, then examined his teeth in the mirror, smiling a caricature of a smile. His fingers ran through his freshly cut hair, trying to get it to lie down like it was supposed to.

  This would be the first time he'd visited the cemetery since she'd been moved. It had been a while; she wouldn't recognize the scruffy, unwashed, sweat-pants wearing lay-about he was on most days. He wanted to clean himself up, look like he used to when they lived in California, so she would remember him.

  He didn't want her to know he'd lost his job at Berkeley. Or that he'd had to sell their old house. Or that he'd barely been able to hold down a minimum wage position these last few years.

  Bypassing the crookedly hung family photos in the hall, he left the apartment without breakfast. When he started the truck, his hands shook. He could barely control the tremors well enough to back out of the drive.

  I don't want to. I don't want to see her.

  But he had to. He'd put it off for too long. He'd planned this morning for months, promising himself he'd go.

  It's just a walk in the park, he told himself. A nice walk on a spring day.

  "Can you hear it? A buzz," Elsa yelled. Wind whipped past the motorboat fast enough to steal the majority of their conversation.

  Amir leaned closer. "A bug?"

  "No." She cupped her hand over his ear. "A buzz. A hum. I can feel it in my chest."

  He smiled. "That's just the boat."

  "It's coming from the island. I'm sure of it."

  He shook his head. "You're too eager."

  She shrugged. "Maybe."

  The scientist in him remained skeptical. Subconsciously, he'd already dubbed it a hoax.

  Rain had plagued the coast all morning, but the mid-afternoon sun finally broke through, brightening everything. Beyond the lingering haze, the island rose out of the water, not much more than an oblong, boxy silhouette at that distance.

  They'd hired a local man, a Tico, to take them to Caño for the day. From his wet-dock they'd sped south along the coastline toward the Osa peninsula and the island about ten miles off shore.

  Twenty minutes later they pulled abreast of the rocks surrounding the island; the uncontained jungle toppled down the side of its sheer cliffs, reaching the sea in several places. The boat stopped ten feet shy of the shore and their guide signaled for them to hop into the ocean. Elsa jumped overboard without a second thought, not even bothering to pull her sundress off over her swimsuit. The water came to just above her waist, which caused her sundress to float around her like a brightly colored jellyfish.

  "Come on Amir, toss me the backpack!"

  He handed her the towels instead, then slid into the water, carefully keeping their supplies balanced atop his head.

  The pull and push of the waves fought them all the way to the dry-line, but they kept their footing. The guide called that he'd be back in five hours, then sped away.

  They flopped down in the sand together, a heap of limbs in the hot sun.

  With the boat gone and the sloshing of the ocean away from his ears, Amir heard it. "They do hum."

  "I told you," she sighed, slapping his chest.

  "But I still don't believe it's the stones," he said.

  Near the tree line, a small, weather-beaten cabin served as the Reserve entrance gate. Inside was a modest museum and gift shop filled with wood and clay wares, as well as colorful Boruca tribal masks.

  A ranger came down from the cabin to great them. "Buenos Dias. You are here for the Spheres, not for the beach, yes? You are the geologists from California?"

  "Yes, but we aren't visiting in any official capacity --" said Amir, afraid to add an air of legitimate scientific inquiry to their arrival. "We called ahead for passes."

  "Yes, no problem," said the ranger, ushering them toward the path.

  In amongst the trees, the heat of the day did not lessen. A wave of mugginess settled over them, which made breathing difficult and sweating pointless. Despite the rough ground and their usual sense of decency, they both discarded their shoes and the majority of their clothes.

  The further they climbed into the jungle, the louder the hum became. "It's a pleasant sound, almost musical," Elsa commented.

  They first noticed small Spheres near their feet, softball to basketball sized. Larger ones appeared as they walked deeper into the heart of the island. Elsa trembled with giddiness.

  The Spheres were made of granite, painted over with a lime-wash. Their color and shape made them stand out in harsh contrast to the organic lines and tones of the environment.

  Elsa found one that loomed a foot above her. Tentatively, she touched the stone. "It's vibrating, deep inside," she said with wonder. She wrapped her arms around the perfect globe as far as she could reach. "It's amazing."

  Amir could see in her eyes what this visit meant to her. She was making a connection to the stones on a personal level -- it went deeper than her love of geology or the uniqueness of the experience. There was something spiritual to the way she embraced the stone.

  A pair of tourists walked by and she let go, stepping back from the stone as if she'd been caught in a private moment with a lover.

  Amir took her hand, gave a wave of acknowledgment, and led her down the path. He kissed her cheek, smiling understandingly at her embarrassment. "What makes them sing like this?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "They didn't used to. Not until the government returned all of the wayward stones to the island. They used to be scattered all over the region. I -- I actually petitioned forthe Costa Rican government to release a Sphere to our labs at Berkeley." She blushed under his stare. "I'm sorry, I should have told you, but I know you're skeptical about them. You would have tried to stop me. Doesn't matter anyway; the request was refused."

  They passed a smaller one, baseball-sized, and she bent down to feel its vibrations. It pulsed at a much higher frequency than the large one. Different-sized Spheres made different sounds, like the strings on a guitar.

  She pushed it and it rolled away, eventually stopping by a crook in a tree root. Picking it up with both hands, she looked up and down the path to be sure no one was watching, then passed it to him.

  He rolled
it over and over in his palms. It still hummed. Convinced of its solidity, he put it back. "Genuine wonder of the world," he said without cynicism.

  Taking her hand, he lead her deeper into the jungle.

  His truck tucked into a corner of the parking lot, Amir slumped with his forehead against the steering wheel. You're working yourself up over nothing, he insisted. Don't think of it as Elsa.

  Her parents had prompted the visit. They'd stopped by under the pretense of seeing Jake, but they knew it was the beginning of spring semester at the University of Oregon. They weren't there to see their grandson; they wanted to gush about Elsa's new home.

  "Oh, it's wonderful there," her mother had said. "So clean and pretty -- trees everywhere. You need to go see her, Amir. It'll be good for you."

  But if it was so good for him, why did he feel like puking?

  He knew they thought it would help him move on, but . . .

  No, no 'buts.' Get out of the truck.

  He locked his Toyota and thrust the keys in his pants pocket. Hunching his shoulders, he walked toward the broad, wrought-iron gates as though heading into a chill wind. He passed through the open archway without glancing up at the sign that proclaimed, Welcome to River View Cemetery.

  He moved briskly down the well-manicured walks toward the river side. Tiny finches flitted back and forth over head, chirping happily, and a light breeze carried the scent of roses past his nose. There were just enough clouds in the sky to keep the sun from beating down, and just few enough to assure him there was no chance of rain. It very well could have been a nice walk in the park -- if he wasn't surrounded by the dead.

  Passing a grove of spruce trees, his ears picked up the sound of distant music. It became louder the closer he drew to Elsa's plot. He could hear the full melody long before he saw the first Sphere -- watermelon-sized, perfectly chiseled, and glaringly white.

  Just like the original ones on Caño.

  His legs seized up and he stopped walking. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. It was too much. Why did they have to move her? The Spheres were only supposed to make him smile. Never . . . never remind him she was gone.

  After their initial visit to Caño, Elsa had worked all the harder to get a sample stone sent to the university. Amidst international cries of "Hoax!", the Costa Rican government had finally caved.

  Elsa's experiments had been broadcast all over the media. Every journalist had a take on why the stone stopped humming as soon as it left the island, and why the humming on the island had changed. Every reporter had a theory as to what was inside.

  Jointly leading the study, Amir and Elsa sliced the sample Sphere open and found crystals. Each Sphere that hummed was a ball of pegmatite -- an over-sized geode. But that hadn't explain why they sang.

  Willing himself now to walk on, Amir located her plot easily. Elsa's parents had left him with a photo and a map. She rested directly under the spread of an oak tree, with one human-sized Sphere three feet away and another tennis ball-sized one tucked up against the oak's rough trunk. Their individual notes rang clear, more defined than any of the hums produced on the island.

  "Well, I made it," he said. He glanced awkwardly at his empty hands, thinking, I forgot flowers.

  He wandered around her grave, fidgeting. "I know what you'd tell me, Elsa. That it's been six years, and that's more than enough time for anyone to grieve. But -- "He looked at the large Sphere, staring blankly into its center. After a moment he found himself laying his finger tips on its white-washed surface . . .

  The answer to the riddle of the Spheres had come to a young grad-student of Elsa's. Caño was one massive graveyard. The indigenous people had buried their dead on the island for centuries. Somehow, the dead made the Spheres come alive.

  Else and Amir tested it. Artificially produced Spheres -- grown in a lab -- had been taken to a graveyard near the university, and sure enough, they sang. But they sang differently than on Caño. The sound was more distinct. Solid notes could be heard. Different configurations of the stones changed the music. It varied from a mellow buzzing all the way to a real melody.

  The indigenous Costa Ricans had discovered a connection between their dead and the stones. The pegmatite resonated with the mass of organic matter, drew energy from it, directed vibrations -- but the specific mechanics were a mystery.

  "I know you loved these." Amir's voice cracked. "I know that's why your parents wanted to move you to a Portland graveyard that had them. But, that day, and our years of research . . . And now it's . . . tainted."

  He moved to lean against the oak, pausing to listen again to the music. The song was long and looped over and over, seamlessly. The pattern was subtle and hypnotic, calming, yet somehow eager. It felt like an unanswered question, like there was something more.

  "I'm sorry. I know it's selfish of me. But, you know how I am. You were taken from me so fast, I never got to say goodbye." His tone changed, pitch rose, "And I can't say it to a grave. I needed to tell you. You have to know. Maybe other people are satisfied talking to thin air and pretending their loved ones are really there, but I'm not. You're gone and I'm talking to the wind."

  He punctuated his last word with a kick at the small Sphere. It rolled a few feet down the subtle incline away from the oak.

  He walked away as it went, finished with his visit.

  "Amir."

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder. The voice was soft, almost not there; so quiet he wasn't sure it hadn't come from his own thoughts.

  "My Amir."

  He held still, letting only his eyes roam. He resisted the urge to call out like a frightened child in a haunted house.

  "Amir."

  Legs like Jell-o, he staggered back to her graveside. "Elsa?"

  "Amir, my love." The words were monotone, delivered as if spoken to no one. They had a breathy, bell-like quality.

  "I'm driving myself insane." He stood and placed his hands over his ears. "I shouldn't have come."

  He gripped his head firmly between his palms as though he could squeeze out the madness. When he let go, his ears immediately sensed a difference in the music. The song of the Spheres had changed.

  Its questioning quality was gone.

  Why was it different?

  He looked over at the Sphere he had kicked. His brain connected the dots. Different configurations change the sounds. Different alignment, a different relation to the graves.

  He reached out and scooped up the stone. Its vibrations felt like heavy breaths. The Sphere seemed alive.

  Testing, he put the stone back against the tree. The song returned to its usual tempo. He heard something desperate in it now, like the call of a creature that had tasted freedom but was now trapped in its cage again.

  He searched frantically for the next nearest moveable stone. This one came up to his knees. He braced himself against the ground and pushed. It rolled easier than he'd imagined. He moved it several feet closer to her plot. The music leapt in volume, but he heard no more words.

  He tried again, and again, with all of the smaller stones he could find. He listened intently to the changes. Perspiration stains fanned out across his back and under his arms. His hair rose up in a sweat-aided cow lick, and his tie and his belt found a resting spot beside a random plot some way down the path.

  He worked toward defining the sounds, making the music clear enough to transcribe to notes.

  And finally, in the background, like chimes tinkling in the wind, he heard her for sure.

  "Amir. You make me so happy."

  He ran back to her grave. "Elsa? Elsa, please, don't do this. Not unless it's real. My God, how is this possible?" He crawled to her headstone and lay down with his face in the turf as though snuggling into bed. "Elsa."

  She whispered sweet things to him, memories of their life together. He stayed for hours. Later into the day, visitors began wandering past, looks of amazement on their faces.

  A little girl called out, "I hear Grandpa!"

  Some
people laughed, some cried, one woman fainted dead away.

  Only the chill of the evening tugged Amir out of his stupor. He sat up and leaned against Elsa's headstone, more revitalized than he'd ever been after a solid night's sleep.

  "I'll be back tomorrow," he promised, and kissed the letters of her engraved name.

  Two days later Amir found an article in his newspaper: River View Cemetery Speaks. The first sentence suggested the phenomenon was a publicity stunt to get more people to pay for high-priced Sphere-surrounded plots.

  Amir laughed, then finished his breakfast. Ignoring his responsibilities for the day, he decided to go for another chat with Elsa. He stopped by a flower shop on the way.

  "I remembered this time," he said, laying three stems of purple dendrobium orchids beneath her name.

  He visited every day after that, snubbing the world around him. He didn't work, he didn't pick up his phone, he didn't answer the door, he didn't open his mail. A few weeks later he received a letter from his son. The envelope was emblazoned with the university's yellow-and-green emblem. He shoved it in his jacket pocket and forgot about it.

  All he did anymore was plan for the next day with Elsa. What he would bring her, what he would say.

  They never had a real conversation. He didn't think the connection was as strong as it could be. Sometimes it seemed like she could hear him, other times it was as though she were speaking just to speak. But she was there, she was back in his life.

  He began seeing the same faces every day. Some wore renewed smiles, as he did; others looked haggard, re-burdened. Just the same, they were there for many long hours, standing, sitting, or kneeling. They took scant notice of each other, never with a wave of greeting or a word of introduction.

  Sometimes Elsa spoke of the same things over and over, telling a story nearly word for word as she had before. Once in a while, she told him something he didn't know.