Breach

Published by Breach at Smashwords.

Cover Art by Oliver Hayes / Design by Peter Kirk

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Contents

The Unknown

Matey

The Devil’s Loop

Hurk + Dav

The Unknown

Hannah C. van Didden

Hannah C. van Didden plays with words in the second-most isolated capital city in the world. You will find pieces of her in places like Atticus Review, Southword Journal, Gravel Magazine and her blog thirtyseven — and she hopes you'll see her first novel on a bookshelf near you very soon.

AARU approaches the room containing his latest addition with a reverent caution. The room is lined with sacred wood, stained with henna sap. The viewing pane is made from diamond glass. The beast's reputation warrants such measures.

Bedell, the bounty hunter, called the beast Emims. He'd qualified the name in low tones: "Terror, it means. In ancient tongues."

The ship's captain bestowed a different title. "We'll call it The Unknown. It sounds more mysterious, don't you think?"

These are the costs of Aaru's work — the placation of dangerous creatures, the captain always being right, the lack of respect that comes with his attachment to this floating freak parade. Because this is what he is. One of the freaks.

The creature is craned into the room in a two-metre cube, the roof fixed quickly overhead. Aaru watches the cube scatter to dust from the door's tiny window. Even when the cloud has settled, the extent of the beast is not apparent.

It's a shadowy mass of sinew, limbs and tail tucked from sight; breathing, but without any fight.

Aaru offers thanks to Bedell in his absence, for not scrimping on the tranquilliser. He shunts the door to its stopper-gap, slips through, brings the door to a close. He doesn't bother to lock himself in. The creature is an ephemeral: it can not escape without taking a host, and he has already set a charm over this place.

But in an eyeblink, Emims has disappeared from view. There is no sound, no sign, no sight other than the vent holes' foggy light.

Aaru reaches for the tomahawk strapped to his side. His head flicks back at the approaching shrieks. Guests. Ready to gawk at the beast.

Keep calm. Work fast, he tells himself, anxiety rising.

Aaru sits cross-legged, breathing long and deep. He unfurls his artefacts from their leather and arranges elestials. From an apothecary bottle, he shakes a golden elixir that glints at the compass points. He opens his mouth to chant. Then comes the click of a glottal stop.

It is swift. There is no time to register, no time to scream.

Frank and Ivy Iverson gaze up and survey the ship with saucers for eyes. It looks like an office tower. N-O-V-U-S shimmers golden on each side. Ivy tries to fathom how enormous the letters must be in order to be legible from the ground.

"Welcome to Novus," Frank reads from the cruise brochure, "Earth's biggest atmoship, with a maximum passenger capacity of 25,000 and its own zoo, including a quarantine centre for new and unusual interplanetary creatures. The mesoliner's specially shielded observation decks allow unprecedented views of the southern lights, meteor showers, sprites, noctilucent clouds and the neo planets." Under his breath, he adds, "Whatever that means."

"Isn't it lovely?" says Ivy, hooking her arm into his.

The "Welcome to Novus" message repeats under the excited thrum of the guests on the gangway. Droids beam guests aboard from where they stand.

Frank and Ivy have joined the cruise to keep life interesting into retirement. Until yesterday, they were a butcher and a librarian who, according to their daughter, had no life.

It was Mystic Nevista who pushed them towards new adventures.

"It's a sign, Frankie!" Ivy had exclaimed after reading her horoscope.

"Okay," Frank had said with a smile.

"Okay, what?"

"It leaves in three hours. Plenty of time to pack and zap to the dock," he said, and they both beamed with the prospect of a holiday.

Now, waiting to board, Ivy pinches the skin of her forearms with opposite hands. It's a nervous habit.

"Cut that out, Ivy," Franks says. He smiles when he says it.

"It's like a dream, darling. If Annie could see us now..."

"Give her a call." He pats his wife's hand.

Ivy holds a hand to her temple and her daughter's face dances in front of them. "Annie!"

"Mum! How are you? I can't talk long. About to go into class."

Annie is studying for her Honours in Alien Morphology. Her parents don't understand what it is, but the idea of it makes them bloom with pride.

"Sweetheart, we're going into space!" Ivy voice is a quiver.

"You and Dad?" Her daughter's eyebrows fold. "I don't believe it."

"You'd better! We've signed up for everything. The zoo tour, space diving, planet-spotting, sing-along-a-Lady Gaga. On Novus, a mesoliner, for two weeks."

"Mum. The mesosphere? That's hardly space."

"It's certainly nowhere on Earth."

"You are off the planet. But it's Clayton's space travel, if you ask me."

"Oh, Annie. Be happy for us."

"I am happy for you." Annie luminesces with her smile. "Enjoy yourselves and call me when you get back. Love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart."

At the signal's close, Ivy and Frank teleport onto the ship. They are beamed next to a pair of newlyweds who introduce themselves, without looking away from each other's eyes.

The gangway tones reprise over the loudspeaker with, "Those on the two o'clock zoo tour, make your way to Deck 60..."

"That's us," says Frank.

"And us," says the young wife, tugging up the arm of her husband. His name is Joshua. Neither Frank nor Ivy can remember hers.

The beam-up point takes them to a white door — "Zoo of the Peculiar and Protected" — and Moran, their swarthy tour guide. He turns a wheel lock and gesticulates over the threshold.

"Welcome," he says, "to the tour that will extend your reality."

Frank and Ivy squeal and squeeze each other with gleeful grins. They might be the oldest in the group but they are also the most enthusiastic. When the door turns to a lock behind them, they squeal at that too.

A boardwalk tracks in a loop with metal-barred enclosures on the right, white doors studded along the left. The boardwalk's centre section is a screen of lush greenery and butterflies whose wings extend farther across than Frank's handspans.

"Only two of the zoo's doors are locked," their guide explains. "The entrance, which you just walked through, and the door to our newest beast, The Unknown."

He pauses to soak up the oohs and aahs.

The new wife raises her hand and says something low.

"Why aren't the other doors locked?" Moran asks.

"Good question, Erin."

Ivy nudges Frank with her elbow. Erin, she mouths, and he nods.

"Our creatures dare not leave their enclosures, thanks to Aaru, our Chief Scientist who also happens to be an honest-to-Jupiter shaman. His rituals keep the creatures calm and us safe. We'll meet up with him at some stage.

"But we begin," he continues, "with the Reconstructs. These are live creatures, folks, fabricated by splicing the genes of existing species. They have little genetic relationship to the original animals but have been created to match historic accounts."

The group gasps at the sight of a tiger, a platypus, a dodo.

"Next up, endangered species. We're part of a breeding program that supplies the Star Alliance with rare species for repopulation."

The boardwalk auto-extends with the group's movement. Ivy's eyes widen. There must be more than fifty creatures in these confines.

Moran awaits the group at the pygmy sloth enclosure.

"Now to the final section, where we house our creatures under study. If it's brand new to Earth, we have it first." He puffs out his chest. "These creatures are not fully understood. Stay on the inside of the boardwalk if you would. Yes, towards the butterflies, Erin. And you will find our latest and most terrifying acquisition in the last room."

At this, Moran stops. The entire tour group is unbreathing.

"The last rooms holds a grotesque monster known universally for its wiles and ferocity," he says. "The Unknown."

The crowd ripples with escalating murmurs, and they round the bend in a gathering swarm.

Frank and Ivy lag behind to take in the curiosities at a more leisurely pace, but their peaceful meander is disturbed by screeches of delighted terror.

"Did you see that? How horrific!"

"I know! Was it feeding?"

"Black! Pure black."

"Blacker than the Devil himself."

Moran shushes the crowd and ushers them on.

By the time Frank and Ivy reach the door, their group is nothing but a cloud of sound — clinking glass and echoed giggles.

"What is it? What's in there?" Ivy bounces at her husband's much-taller shoulder. He is peering into the viewing pane.

"Nothing," Frank says. "There's nothing in there. It's pitch black."

"That's strange. Everyone else saw it. Look harder."

Frank presses on the glass and the door creaks open, but only so far.

"It's unlocked!" He flashes a cheeky look at his wife. "Another sign, my love."

"Oh, yes. This is terribly exciting." Ivy nods into his eyes. "If only Annie could see us now."

The opening is just large enough to fit them through. Beyond the door is near-blackness. As their eyes adjust, Frank runs his finger across the inside of the viewing pane.

"This is why we couldn't see anything," he says, leaving a grubby smudge in the thick maroon coating over the glass. "It's painted over."

"That can't be right. The others saw something."

"Or maybe they only thought they did. That Moran is a bit of a storyteller."

"Too true, dear. Too true."

Ivy's eyes adjust to the dim glow, illuminating a collection of objects in the centre of the room.

In the muted spotlight lies a skinned and gutted torso on its side, the sternum in full view, scalloped ribs shining white in the pale light. To its right is a neatly folded leather sheath. Beneath it is a small axe, positioned in a T-shape, the handle aimed at them.

"This can't be it, surely," says Frank. "It's not a creature. Actually, I guess it was at some point or another. But, well, you know what I mean."

"It smells like your old shop in here."

He shrugs. "I can't smell a thing."

"Well you wouldn't," Ivy says. She ventures closer to the carcass. "I didn't bring my glasses with me, but this looks familiar."

Frank licks his lips. "Like dinner."

"Oh, Frank. Really."

"What? This carcass is perfectly trimmed. It's probably The Unknown's dinner. Lucky beast. Ribs and backstrap. My favourite."

"No, it looks like it could be— human."

Frank stifles a snigger. "Human? I don't think so, Ivy. They wouldn't feed people to the beast."

"Oh, I don't like this, Frank," she says, pinching at her forearms. "I don't like this at all."

"There's nothing in here. Nice play by Moran. Let's go get that drink." Frank shudders in spite of his bold words and shuffles back through the door.

Ivy remains, transfixed.

She notices something crumpled in the cavity of the chest and bends to retrieve it. A mask. Upon lifting it up in the meagre light, she sees scant stubble. Its reverse side is wet with red. At the sight of her glistening fingertips, she drops the mask and jumps back, her feet encountering softer ground. She looks tentatively down.

The grisly visage of the room grows clear. She is standing on an ashen sheath of skin, laid out as it would have been attached to its body, a shortish person with olive skin. There is no obvious cut, except to remove the head. The skin has been precisely excised. She gulps in a breath and holds a hand to her mouth. She is cold, so very cold.

"Ivy?" Frank calls from outside the door.

She appears in the doorway.

"Whew! You gave me a fright. Come on, love." He turns and walks ahead of his wife, doesn't look back, doesn't notice the black of her eyes or the too-taut skin over her fingers and face.

She ekes the edges of her lips to an expression akin to a smirk, and tugs the door to a quiet close behind.

Back to Contents

Matey

Peter Kirk

Peter is a Melbourne-based lifeform who, after one too many rejection letters and far too many beers, decided to seize the means of production by founding Breach – the very magazine you are now reading. Crazy, right?

COLE slowly removed the back panel from the radio.

"Gemme the long nose pliers, will ya, Matey."

The robot beeped and wheeled across the room. Its main service arm reached into the ancient toolbox at its base and picked out a pair of pliers. Cole looked at the pliers in its grip and sighed.

"No, Matey. Long nose pliers. Those are short nose pliers."

The robot dropped the pliers on the table. It beeped, wheeled back to the kitchen, and resumed drying dishes.

Cole swapped the pliers and went back to work on the radio. He quickly found the problem – a small piece of solder had come loose. An easy fix. The soldering iron was in the garage and was easy enough to get to but Cole wasn't sure if Matey would find it.

"Matey." Cole spoke slow and clear. "Can you get me the soldering iron and the roll of solder from the garage."

Matey beeped and dropped a plate. The plastic didn't break but the bang of it hitting the floor seemed to startle the little robot. It beeped and thrust out a service arm into a cabinet door, gouging a deep scar in the wood. Cole repeated his request. "Don't worry about the plate, Matey."

The robot retracted its arm and left the room. Cole stood and bent to pick up the plate. He was a little wheezy today but otherwise he felt fine. He thought about calling his daughter and hoped he'd remember to ask Matey to remind him. She worried too much.

Matey had still not returned. Cole grabbed his cane from the back of a chair and walked down the hall to the garage. He could hear Matey's beeping.

The robot was lying on its back. A cardboard box lay beside it. Wires and old electrical components spilled from the box.

"Oh bloody hell, Matey."

Matey beeped. Cole bent over and tried to lift him up.

"You're too bloody heavy."

Beep.

"Where's your thingy at the back? Stick it out and I might be able to roll you over."

Beep. Beep.

"Bloody hell, just stick your arm out."

A service arm in its front console poked out.

"Your back, Matey. Your back arm."

Matey beeped again and suddenly thrust out two arms from its back. It rolled on to its front and snapped off its main service arm. Cole sighed. He bent down, grabbed a hold of the attached end of Matey's arm and pulled the robot upright.

Breach

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