The Last Kiss Goodbuy

The Last Kiss Goodbye

By Karen Robards

 She snorted, shaking her head in firm denial. Terrifying to think that having a ghost-following her made her feel more fully alive than she had in days. Even more terrifying to realize that what she really wanted to do was turn around and walk right into his arms.

Which she couldn't do, because he had no more substance than air. And which se wouldnèt do even if she could

Because she really wasn't that self-destructive. She didn't think.

Moonlight pouring through the kitchen windows – a tall, wide one that took up almost all the back wall behind the eating area, and a smaller one set into the top of the kitchen door – illuminated the white cabinets and stainless steel appliances and hardwood floor. She'd left the curtains at the front of the house closed, so no one could see in from the street. The kitchen blinds were raised all the way to the top of the windows, since there was no one living behind her to see in, and since she liked the view. As she stepped into the silvery light from the hall's darkness, Charlie realized that she could see her reflection in the big window's dark glass. Her chestnut brown hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders. Her denim blue eyes looked surprisingly sultry. It took her a second to remember that she had deliberately played them up with liner and shadow, which she almost never wore, and an extra coat or two of mascara. Her wide mouth looked full and soft, but more vulnerable than it should have, given that right after dinner she had freshly applied deep red (vampy) lipstick. The softly smudged look would be the result, she realized, of Tony subsequently kissing all her lipstick off, so her lips were now both slightly swollen and bare.

The Last Kiss Goodbuy. Picture by Elena.

The makeup plus the three-inch heels made her look, um. Sexier than usual. In honor of her date with Tony, she'd made an effort. With, yes, the thought that she might allow their relationship to progress to the next level, as in, sleep with him. Because Tony was way handsome and because she really liked him and because she badly needed a normal, uncomplicated man-woman relationship in her life.

And because she'd feared – thought – that Garland was gone for good and she was determined to eradicate any lingering memories of him. Of them.

In the end, she hadn't been able to bring herself to invite Tony in.

She'd already been sending him on his way when the blasting of her should-have-been-silent TV reached her ears and caused her heart to swell with hope and hurried things along. Sex with Tony, she had decided somewhere between dinner and her front door, was something that just wasn't going to happen. At least, not yet.

The Last Victim

The Last Victim

By Karen Robards

By nightfall, which in North Carolina in August happens right around ten p.m., Charlie was in the FBI's makeshift search headquarters, otherwise known as a Greyhound bus-sized RV parked in the driveway beside a pale pink beach house just outside of Kill Devil Hills. The RV was central command, the house provided parking for the RV and lodging for the agents – and Charlie, whose suitcase had already been carried up to the second floor. Not that she had been inside the house yet: she had been ushered straight into the RV. The feds had commandeered the property, which was next door to the murder scene, as their base of operations for the duration of the investigation. Having flown to this bustling beach town in a private plane with Bartoli and Crane, she was now surrounded by FBI agents – and cops, and sheriffs, and deputies, and constables, and practically every other law enforcement type known to man. Even as twilight had turned to full dark and tourists had left the wide white sand beach just beyond the dunes in favor of the town's restaurants and nightlife, more law enforcement types had swarmed the place to report in or exchange information or otherwise help in the investigation, until the RV was as busy as a Macy's just before Christmas. Seated at a desk in front of a computer in a tiny back bedroom that had been turned into a surprisingly efficient office, Charlie pushed the hard-copy files she had been studying aside to pore over the autopsy photos that had just popped up on her screen. Shaken loose from her safe haven at Wallens Ridge by the unnerving prospect of encountering Garland<s ghost every time she turned around for approximately the next week, she had embraced the lesser of two evils and agreed to do what Bartoli and Crane wanted.

Now she couldn't believe she had ever hesitated. Bayley Evans' desperate need had smacked her in the face the minute she'd stepped inside the RV to join the search dedicated to finding her. Any distress Charlie might be feeling – and she was definitely feeling some distress – was nothing compared to the terrible reality of the missing girl's plight.

Dr. Charlotte Stone. Photo by Elena.

She's going to die if we don't find her fast.

The knowledge sat like a rock in Charlie's stomach.

“So is anything jumping out at you?” The question came from Crane, who leaned back against the wall just a few feet away, scant minutes later. Ever since the photos had appeared on-screen he'd been watching Charlie like a dog hoping for a bone. The blinds covering the narrow window beside him were closed against the nigh, and the overhead light in the room was giving Charlie a killer headache. Or at least, something was. If not the light, the the glow of the computer screen, or possibly the fact that all she'd had since lunch (which she's lost) was two cups of coffee and a candy bar. Or maybe it was because she was forcing herself to concentrate really, really hard on the details of the pictures in front of her to keep from getting emotionally flattened by the gruesomeness of the whole.

The Naked Sun

The Naked Sun

Isaac Asimov

The Robot Series

A robot is stymied

Baley said, "So the higher potential wins out again, Daneel. You will hurt me to keep me alive."

"I do not believe hurting you will be necessary, Partner Elijah. You know that I am Superior to you in strength and you will not attempt a useless resistance. If it should become necessary, however, I will be compelled to hurt you."

"I could blast you down where you stand," said Baley. "Right now! There is nothing in my potentials to prevent me."

"I had thought you might take this attitude at some time in our present relationship, Partner Elijah. Most particularly, the thought occurred to me during our trip to this mansion, when you grew momentarily violent in the ground-car. The destruction of myself is unimportant in comparison with your safety, but such destruction would cause you distress eventually and disturb the plans of my masters. It was one of my first cares, therefore, during your first sleeping period, to deprive your blaster of its charge."

Baley's lips tightened. He was left without a charged blaster! His hand dropped instantly to his holster. He Drew his weapon and stared at the charge reading. It hugged zero.

For a moment he balanced the lump of useless metal as though to hurl it directly into Daneel's face. What good? The robot would dodge efficiently.

Baley put the blaster back. It could be recharged in good time.

Slowly, thoughtfully, he said, "I'm not fooled by you, Daneel."

"In what way, Partner Elijiah?"

"You are too much the master. I am too completely stopped by you. Are you a robot?"

"You have doubted me before," said Daneel.

The Naked Sun. Illustration by Elena.

"On Earth last year I doubted whether R. Daneel Olivaw was truly a robot. It turned out he was. I believe he still is. My question, however is this: Are you R. Daneel Olivaw?"

"I am."

"Yes? Daneel was designed to imitate a Spacer closely. Why could not a Spacer be made up to imitate Daneel closely?"

"For what reason?"

"To carry on an investigation here with greater initiative and capacity than ever a robot could. And yet by assuming Daneel's role, you could keep me safely Under control by giving me a false consciousness of mastery. After all, you are working through me and I must be kept pliable."

"All this is not so, Partner Elijah."

"Then why do all the Solariand we meet assume you to be human? They are robotic experts. Are they so easily fooled? It occurs to me that I cannot be one right against many wrongs. It is far more likely that I am one wrong against many right."

"Not at all, Partner Elijah."

"Prove it," said Baley, moving slowly toward an end table and lifting a scrap-disposal unit. "You can do that easily enough, if you are a robot. Show the metal beneath your skin."

Daneel said, "I assure you - "

"Show the metal," said Baley crisply. "That is an order! Or don't you feel compelled to obey orders?"

Daneel unbuttoned his shirt. The smooth, bronze skin of his chest was sparsely covered with light hair. Daneel's fingers exerted a firm pressure just Under the right nipple, and flesh and skin split bloodlessy the length of the chest, with the gleam of metal showing beneath.

And as that happened, Baley's fingers, resting on the end table, moved half an inch to the right and stabbed at a contact patch. Almost et once a robot entered.

"Don't move, Daneel," cried Baley. "That's an order! Freeze!"

Robots. Photo by Elena.

Daneel stood motionless, as though life, or the robotic imitation thereof, had departed from him.

Baley shouted to the robot, "Can you get two more of the staff in here without yourself leaving? If so, do it."

The robot said, "Yes, master."

Two more robots entered, answering a radioed call. The three lined up abreast.

"Boys!" said Baley. "Do you see this creature whom you thought a master?"

Six ruddy eyes had turned solemnly on Daneel. They said in unison, "We see him, master."

Baley said, "Do you also see that this so-called master is actually a robot like yourself since it is metal within? It is only designed to look like a man."

"Yes, master."

"You are not required to obey any order it gives you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, master".

"I, on the other hand," said Baley, "am a true man."

For a moment the robots hesitated. Baley wondered if, having had it shown to them that a thing might seem a man yet to be a robot, they would accept anything in human appearance as a man, anything at all."

But then one robot said, "You are a man, master," and Baley Drew breath again.

Horizon Storms

Horizon Storms

By Kevin J. Anderson

Chief Scientist Howard Palawu

In Earth`s largest factory the compy production line hissed und burled with molten alloys and sprayed solvents. The smell of hot metal and caustic chemicals filled the air. The din og large-scale fabrication, with the whirring machinery and the clang of shaped components, was deafening.

Howard Palawu, the Hansa's Chief Scientist, took comfort from the sights and sounds of an efficient plant operation at full capacity. Smiling, he called up quota numbers on a handheld electronic pad and studied delivery records, projections, and profits. He turned to the tall Swede next to him. "We'll be ten percent higher than the last month, Lars. Fewer errors, faster throughput. More Soldier compies for the EDF."

Lars Rurik Swendsen, the lead Engineering Specialist, stood beside the shorter man, showing a lot of teeth in his broad grin. "The Factory's running like a well-oiled machine, Howard."

"It is a well-oiled machine."

"I can't wait until the new fabrication wing comes online in two weeks. How are you going to spend your bonus?"

Palawu shrugged; he had never much cared about his salary or his rewards. "I still haven't figured out what to do with the last one."

The dark-skinned scientists had broad shoulders and a stomach that wasn't quite as flat as he thought it was. He kept his graying hair cropped extremely close to his scalp. Palawu Had two grown children and had lost his wife a decade earlier in a medical accident during what should have been an ordinary procedure. Since then, the Chief Scientist had devoted himself to his work for Hansa and King. It kept him busy.

A bird which is free. Illustration by Elena.

"The more we milk that Klikiss robotic technology, the more tweaks we can make to the production line," he said. Two years earlier, he and Swendson had been chosen to supervise the complex dissection and dismantling operations of the Kikiss robot Jorax. The breakthrough they had made by copying the alien system had been a giant boon to Hansa technology. Motivational modules and programming routines were scanned, duplicated, and transferred wholesale into resilient Soldier-model compies, which and already been put to good use in the Earth Defense Forces.

The two men walked down the line, watching the identical Soldier compies being assembled step-by-step, each one exactly according to spécifications. The new-model compies were perfect warriors, sophisticated battle machines sure to be the key to defeating the hydrogues.

"I got a report from the shipyards this morning, Howard," Swenden said. "They're already in production with sixty heavily armored rammer ship, according to the Chairman's new plan. They seem to be a week ahead of schedule."

"That's just on paper. The rammers won't be ready for months. We've got plenty of time to manufacture a compy crew for them... even though I hate to see such beautiful machines destroyed in a suicide mission." Palawu watched as another armor-plated Soldier glided by on the assembly plat. "But they were designed to be expendable, I suppose."

A well-dressed man with blond hair came up to the two senior production leaders. Wearing a business suit and a bland expression, the man looked out of place on the Noisy, dirty fabrication line. He didn't even seem interested in the new compies coming off the assembly belts. "Chief Scientist Palawu? Engineering Specialist Swendsen? Come with me, please."

Palawu recognized the self-proclaimed "special assistant" to Chairman Wenceslas who had tried to stop King Peter from ordering a shutdown of the factory because of his concerns about the Klikiss technology. That had been a nerve-racking time, but everything was back on Schedule now.

"Where are we going?" Swendson asked.

"Chairman Wenceslas wishes to see you in his office."

Palawu stood next to his tall colleague, wondering which of them was more nervous. Previously, whenever they'd been spoken to by the Chairman, it had been part of a large board meeting; now they waited alone in the empty room.

A Quite Friendly-model compy strutted like a Wind-up toy, carrying a tray with a pot of strong-smelling cardamom coffee. Palawu preferred tea, but apparently they wouldn't be given a choice. He and Swendson each took one of the proffered cups while the compy set the third on the Chariman's immaculately clean desk. Palawu took a polite sip, looked at his friend. They both waited.

A Horizon Storm. Illustration by Elena.

Gathering of Shadows

A Gathering of Shadows

By V.E. Schwab

Kell strolled the Night Market for the first time in weeks.

He'd taken to avoiding such public appearances, his moments of defiance too rare compared to those of self-consciousness. Let the, think what they want was a thought that visited him with far less frequency and force than They see you as a monster.

But he was in need of air and Rhy, for once in his life, was too busy to entertain him. Which was fine. In the growing madness of the approaching games, Kell simply wanted to move, to wander, and so he found himself strolling through the market under the heavy cover of the crowds. The influx of strangers in the city afforded him shelter. There were son many foreigners here for the locals to look at, they were far less likely to notice him. Especially as Kell had taken Rhy's advice and traded his stark black high coat for a dusty blue one more in fashion, and pulled a winter hood up over his reddish hair.

Hastra walked beside him in common clothes. He hadn't tried to ditch his guard tonight, and in return, the young man had agreed to change his red and gold cloak and armor for something less conscious, even if the royal sword still hung sheathed at his side.

Now, as initial hesitation gave way to relief, Kell found himself enjoying the market for the first time in ages, moving through the crowd with a blissful degree of anonymity. It made him impatiens to don the competitor's mask, to become someone else entirely.

Kamerov.

Hastra vanished and reappeared a few minutes later with a cup of spiced wine, offering it to Kell.

“Where is yours?” asked Kell, taking the cup.

Hastra shook his head. “Isn't proper, sir, to drink on guard.”

Kell sighed. He didn't care for the idea of drinking alone, but he was in dire need of the wine. His first stop hadn't been to the market. It had been to the docks. 

And there he'd found the inevitable: dark hull, silver trim, blue sails.

The Night Spire had returned to London.

Which meant that Alucard Emery was here. Somewhere.

Kell had half a mind to sink the ship, but that would only cause trouble, and if Rhy found out, he'd probably throw a tantrum or stab himself out of spite.

So he had settled for glaring at the Spire, and letting his imagination do the rest.

“Are we on a mission, sir?” Hastra had whispered (the young guard was taking his new role as confident and accomplice very seriously.)

“We are,” muttered Kell, feigning severity.

He'd lingered in the shadowed overhang of a shop and scowled at the ship for several long and uneventful minutes before announcing that he needed a drink.

Which was how Kell ended up in the market, sipping his wine and absently scanning the crowds.

“Where's Staff?” he asked. “Did he get tired of being left behind?”

“Actually, I think he's been sent to see to Lord Sol-in-Ar.:

See to? Thought Kell. Was the king that nervous about the Faroan lord?”

He set off again through the market, with Hastra a few strides behind.

Gathering of Shadows. Illustration by Elena.