The Future Is Short Read Free

me!
    Hopelessness engulfed him. Why had he been spared from death before, just to be killed now? He no longer recalled how he had wound up dead the first time, but he did not think it could have been nearly this terrifying.
    Becoming aware again of the reverberations, Michael noticed a musical sub-note gaining strength that was starting to calm him. The sound came closer, and he was handed back to the being that had been holding him when he first awoke. Soothing resonance lilted above him, cradling his despair and smoothing his trembling fears. He felt a touch on his hand and his fingers instinctively closed around the proffered digit. He looked down and saw that his hand was a tiny replica of the three-digit claw that tenderly held his own. He nestled contentedly against the warmth and strength that he knew would fiercely protect him from harm, forever.
    Momma.
     
    Carrol Fix is a short-story writer and novelist whose science fiction work includes the novel Mishka: Book One of the Quadrate Mind. She is currently writing the second book in the Quadrate Mind series, while working on a young-adult fantasy novel, Worlds Apart. “Time of the Phoenix” appeared in the May 2013 issue of Perihelion Science Fiction. [email protected]   http://www.mishkabook.com
     
     
     
     

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    3.
    Here Be Dragons
    J.J. Alleson
     
    There was a woman here once, named Mo. A wondrous dancer. That’s how she taught me. History, maths, chem, astro-fizz. “Time for school, Denzel!”
    Eyes still closed, I’d smile. Whenever I opened them, she always looked the same. Pale. Long blonde hair, mussed; grey-misted gaze full of love. The world on her shoulders. She’d help me dress; comb my hair, whispering softly, “The Shield-suits will fix your legs soon, Denny. You’ll be able to run as fast as you can.”
    “Like the Gingerbread Man?”
    “Faster. Like Conran.”
    Mo didn’t much resemble Conran or me. We’re identical. Both dark-skinned, with ebony corkscrew curls. Con didn’t need her, she’d say. He could walk; go to out-school—a no-go area for me. Mo said Earth had wasted all its money on space exploration and intergalactic communications. She said that chain reactions from environmental disasters had killed too many, created deformities. That the next generation had to be protected.
    Conran agreed with her. “It’s just freaks and dodos out there now.”
    I knew they were both fudging. Con’s friends were Primes, who stared endlessly at my withered legs. And the gliders I saw through the ’zone-shields were clearly Alpha-Hs. But everyone has secrets. Mine were hidden deep in Hol-EF/Cca 4-2340 of the virtuarchives—the Fairy Tales section.
    I’m a fire dragon.
    At ten, I had my first birthday party. Girls came. That evening, still pumped with excitement, I fell asleep on silky blue sheets. I woke up on singed, smoking ones. Con got the blame: Mo gave him a day-long bout of Celtic curses which made my own ears burn. But Con’s never picked up Cornish. He simply gave Mo a blank look and carried on playing Galaxy Division.
    At thirteen, the Shield-suits came for me—like thieves in the night. Brought me back at dawn. They left me standing solo in the hallway like some triumphant trophy.
    “Shh,” they said, “It’s a surprise.”
    Surprise …? Back then, my child’s mind has no time for caution. I skip decks; leap upper levels; race down corridors. I can go outside! Have friends! Meet girls!
    ***
    Flying into Mo’s cube, I shake her awake excitedly. “MammMammMammIcanwalkIcanRUN!”
    Mo snaps upright, sentry position, and I see something inconceivable in her eyes. A killing terror. She slaps at me. “Away, ye FREAK!” Icy horror strikes me. I stumble back, mute. She knows … Mo knows all about my fire.
    My own terror erupts when those Celtic curses begin. And under a diamond-white roar of despair, my whole world dissolves. Flesh; blood; bones. From ashes to dust, Mo’s screams