dreamszilla

Jake works in a gene bank at the understaffed Moonbase Alecto - an easy job, until something goes wrong; by M.E. Proctor. The last hour of Jake's double shift was the longest. Gail had been flagged during decon and sent back to her quarters until the virus in her bloodstream gave up under the assault of chemistry. The team leader had been unable to line up a replacement at short notice and Jake was conveniently at hand. "Just this time, Jake," the team leader said. "We'll make it up to you." To be fair, they always did. Double pay and a day off. They were sticklers for fairness on Moonbase Alecto. They had to be. With personnel being shipped out to the new settlements at an accelerated rate, the technicians who stayed behind to keep the station in operation were increasingly valuable. Jake hoped to leave in a couple of weeks, a month at most. This wasn't the right time to make a stink about the minor inconvenience of a double shift. He checked the c

When British supply ships start getting torpedoed by Nazi U-boats just outside US waters, mercenary spies Jan and Cristian are hired to fix the problem; by Martin Grise. Jan Tangen, the towering, red-headed, red-bearded, soft-spoken Norwegian, and Cristian Valencia, the diminutive, olive-skinned ne'er-do-well with a sardonic grin and passports from three Latin American nations, drank Gilbey's in Rudy's Bar and Grill in the Tenderloin at two o'clock on a Wednesday morning. Despite their garrulous dispositions and notable generosity, evidenced by the numerous drinks they bought for the late-night barflies, they were not in Rudy's for pleasure. Many lives, and not an inconsiderable sum of money, hung in the balance. The two had recently taken a new assignment with their sometime employer, His Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service. It was September of 1940, a restive time even in neutral America, and particularly tense in New York, especially for the British. M

Lainie Baker travels to Africa where her husband is on a hunting trip, hoping to join him for a romantic ride in a hot-air balloon - but romance is not on his mind; by Scott McDonald. Africa felt like Atlanta, humid and balmy. Lainie walked down the airstairs to the ramp in a fog of jet lag and hunger. She had slept through the flight from Johannesburg and they had had to shake her awake for the landing. The tarmac held a half dozen one-engine airplanes. Some were being loaded or unloaded, trucks and hotel vans were driving around, and people walked about unhurriedly. It was all very informal with no sense of strict security. The terminal was open air and had a comfortable third world feel. She had two hours to wait, and she didn't want to fall asleep and miss her small plane to the camp, so she put her duffel and backpack into a storage locker and explored a little. Tiny gift shops, a snack bar, and two ticket counters. Everything looked like a movie from about 1950. Out-side o

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Andrew and Daniel are cycling to their friend's house when they come across a body in the street; by Kevin Hopson. When Andrew and I arrived at Josh's house, the last thing we expected to see was a body in the street. "Whoa," Andrew said, coming to a stop on his bike. "Is that a dead body?" I squeezed the brake lever on my bike's handlebar, skidding to a halt beside Andrew. The figure was dressed in blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and sneakers. "I hope not," I finally said. Andrew got off his bike and dropped it against the curb. "Let's check it out." "Are you sure that's a good idea?" "They may need help." I pondered. "Maybe we should call 9-1-1." "Not until we know," Andrew insisted, already approaching the body. "Come on." I walked my bike over to the curb and rested it there. "I think it's a man," Andrew said. The figure's big build a

Sam Berman's character has mixed emotions as his family pick through his dead mother's house. It's a beautiful thing. Like a stranger buying a homeless dude a fresh pair of running shoes. Like forgiving your wife's lover. Like not killing the spider you find in the hallway. It's beautiful like that: my newly-dead mother's house. I watch from the breezeway as the rugrats rugrat about the freshly mowed lawn and pretend the cedar chips are lava while skipping from rock to rock along the walking path. Inside, the adults are talking with a hush, dishes are clanking in the living room, and there's gossip taking shape in the kitchen like the start of a revolution. My aunt and grandmother wondering who should get what of the jewelry, the enamel pots from Spain. And how, if Howard Stuller hadn't left, my mother probably wouldn't have killed herself with drinking and smoking and sleeping pills. A broken heart, says my aunt, wrapping rubber bands

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Newspaper reporter Richard Callaghan must figure out what's happening when he starts getting mysterious migraines and people are treating him differently; by Brian Clark. Excerpt from an article in the National Register, headlined Goodbye Mr. Hyde: by CAMILA MARTINEZ Medical Reporter The annals of medical history are filled with stories about brain-damaged patients who have undergone dramatic personality changes, and usually not for the better. Perhaps the most famous case is that of Phineas Gage, an American railway construction worker who miraculously survived after an explosion drove an iron bar straight through his head in 1848. Although most of his mental faculties remained intact, the formerly courteous and deferential man became foul-mouthed and insensitive. Then there's Mary (known only by her first name), a kind, easy-going woman of 42 who would frequently transform into a belligerent, vulgar personality who called herself Courtney and spoke with a British