Tides of Possibility

T I D E S

O F

P O S S I B I L I T Y

Edited by K. J. Russell

A Science Fiction Anthology from the Houston Writers Guild

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Tides of Possibility Copyright © 2014 edited by K.J. Russell.

ISBN 978-1-939889-21-8. Smashwords Edition

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S P O N S E R S

The Houston Writers Guild, SkipJack Publishing, and the authors of the Tides of Possibility gratefully thank these generous sponsors for giving so much support to this project:

Janice and Tony D'Agostino

Timothy and Nancy Zeiger

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C O N T E N T S

War-Bird

John Grey

The Black Prince

Erin Kennemer

Reaction

Kelly Horn

Invitation to Planet

Richard King Perkins III

Filling Out the Life Form

John Grey

The Reader

D. L. Young

Bottoms Up

E. L. Russell

Observation Without Affection

Steven R. Smith

The Commitment

E. L. Russell

A Lovable Face

C. Stuart Hardwick

The Collector

Mandy Broughton

The Face

John Grey

Part of a Whole

Carolina Dolislager

A Perfect World

Brandon Crilly

The Color of Silence

Mandy Broughton

Currents of Time

Richard King Perkins III

The Woman Who Wanted To Play Havisham

Haralambi Markov

Downsizing in the Technopoly

David Conyers

The Traveler

Steven R. Smith

Space

Steven R. Smith

Imaginary Numbers

Corinn Heathers

Of Intersections and Light Amusement

Mark Mills

Numbers Game

Duncan Cary Palmer

2 Steps Ahead of the Vapor Line

Doug D'Elia

House of Tin

L. Fabry

Teachable Moments

Brandon Crilly

I Think I Think

William M. Mays

A Perfectly Stabile Dataglobule

K. J Russell

Imperfection

Jay Wilburn

Circuit Benders

Richard King Perkins III

About the Authors

About the Editor

Contributors

~~~

War-Bird

John Grey

Through my roof-top telescope,

I watch the heron-shaped ship

float high on stellar winds

with wings arched wide

and glistening bronze.

The rocket's elegance

overwhelms its practical,

long sleek body,

cocked, probing head,

and tail, long and fluid,

waving gently,

preening itself of stars.

For a moment, it's in Virgo.

In a trice, it saddles Serpens.

It stakes ground in the sky

and the constellations sweep to it.

At unfathomable speeds,

it acquires a gentle cadence.

On mission dangerous,

it embraces the safety of the dream.

I've heard its weaponry

can waste a comet,

evaporate an asteroid belt,

obliterate a gas giant

On a clear night,

on a beach of tar,

a war bird of such grace

brings peace down to my level.

~~~

The Black Prince

Erin Kennemer

Tyrone pressed his hand against the screen, a static black and white image of his daughter strapped against two tons of metal and neo-fuels. Had it been weeks? Two months? Three? Every moment held the agony of an eternity. It was the slowest death scene in the history of mankind. Tyrone cradled his head in his hands, longing to cry out to his dead wife, but knowing he couldn’t. She wouldn’t want to hear from him now.

Tyrone had built the Blackship that carried his daughter to the edge of the universe. Now it was stuck, wedged between everything and nothing, never to move again. He felt a familiar crawling feeling up his back as he looked at the outboard cameras. Pure black, like they weren’t even on. He felt cramped and pulled apart at the same time.

Special Agent Warren jangled the hand binders behind him. Tyrone looked back and forth between the screen camera and Warren to make sure that his little girl couldn’t see. She didn’t have much time left; her last sight shouldn’t be her daddy being led off in irons.

Baby girl, I’m going to catch some shut-eye, you hear me?

She was reclined in the blinking cockpit, her eyes closed, and her face serene. She didn’t seem to hear him. Tyrone stared hard at her face. He wanted to burn it into his mind; her tightly curled black hair, the warm brown tones of her skin, the slight upturn of her nose. She had his nose, which had worried him when she was a babe, but she’d grown into it.

Warren stepped so close that Tyrone could feel the cuffs pressed between them. After he flipped the switch to kill the audio, Warren asked, How much food does she have left, do you figure?

Ten day supply, if she’s careful. Someone will stay with her again tonight, right?

Every night. Frankly, I’d let you stay if it was up to me, but I’m having trouble keeping the full story from my higher-ups. Seems they think a criminal who builds a Blackship and leaves the keys in the ignition for his ten year old daughter to stumble across ought to be in jail. With a sigh, Warren threw himself into the office chair, the hand binders still in his hands. I never asked, but why build a ship you couldn’t land?

I never could figure a way to. He could taste the bitterness in his own voice. And, I still built it because if I found the stars, I planned on staying with them, and if I didn’t, well, I didn’t want to come back. He didn’t care if Warren thought he was a bastard for trying to leave his daughter. In the end, she had left him.

Sir, something is happening! The young tech Warren had brought in practically fell out of his chair. The craft is moving.

Tyrone launched himself at the audio switch.

Daddy! Walima screamed.

Baby girl, look at your environmental panel. He cringed as she was flung from one side of the craft to the other. It shouldn’t be happening, not in zero-g.

Daddy, I hear something, she screamed.

A loud screeching sound that morphed into a lupine howl stretched the capacity of the speakers. Warren launched himself at the audio, flipping it off.

Tyrone struggled to turn it back on, his eyes focused on the mad form of his daughter writhing around, no doubt hammered by the same sound. He had to help her. Warren pushed him away, but Tyrone was a man with nothing to lose. A man with fight left in him.

* * *

Walima Prince, first girl in the black. Walima the Spacewalker. The Flying Prince, she scrawled across the white paper, looping the L in her name as large as her heart. Her daddy had built a Blackship to fly into the Big Empty, and she was going to ride in it. Didn’t much matter that he told her no. Wasn’t anyone who could tell her no since her mama died. The lemon yellow kitchen was her favorite room of the house because the walls were as bright as your mother’s smile, like her daddy always said. Sometimes it felt normal just sitting at the dining table; like mamma was still around.

The paper folded neatly into her pocket; she’d keep it there until the newspapers came. She’d ask the reporter which one he liked best. The papers didn’t know about Daddy’s Blackship yet, but they’d come as soon as he let her tell.

She was late for school, and nothing would do to cool teacher’s head if she walked in after the bell again. It’d only take her a few minutes to walk there, assuming she cut through the Jenkins’ yard. Their old dog was all bark, and Walima could outrun him, anyway. She grabbed her satchel, checking that her science project was safely inside.

Walima, Explorer Extraordinaire. Oh, I should write that one down! She repeated it to herself the whole way, just to keep from forgetting.

Sure enough, she made it in time. Her third grade classroom only had one window, and her desk was right next to it ever since Marco had tried to crawl out it when Mr. Deladeaux’s back was to the board. She slipped into it, pulling the rolled up poster from her bag and laying it across the top of the desk.

Who wants to show their project first? asked Mr. Deladeaux.

Walima and Clovis Jr. both raised their hands at the same time. Walima stretched as far forward as she could, trying to make her arm taller than his. Clovis was doing the same thing, and his too-small shirt gapped over his belly. Clovis was one of those poor kids her daddy always said to be nice to, but Walima wanted to go first.

Okay, Clovis, you’re first. Walima, settle down. You can go afterwards.

Walima gave a loud sigh and rocked back in her seat. Clovis was going to take forever, she just knew it. His daddy fixed cars so he’d written about how different paints worked better on different metals. The rest of the class was just as bored, heads dipping and eyes blinking. Clovis was such a big-mouth. Mr. Deladeaux moved a sour gaze around the stuffy room, making sure no one was asleep. The papery slapping of a dozen half-hearted claps made Walima jump. Clovis was finally done flapping his jaw. She straightened out the curled edges of her poster board and took a deep breath.

Mr. Deladeaux waved her forward. Show us what you’ve done, Walima.

My report is on The Black. She waited a moment to make sure everyone was paying attention. Henry, now you better look up here! she snapped, and the rest of the class laughed.

Mr. Deladeaux gave her a look. Just keep going, Walima.

The big black is all around us. She showed her poster board. Inside it, we can see Sun, Moon, Big Brother & Little Brother. She gestured at each planet as she said its name.

What are those other things you drew? Henry asked. He was still sore at her.

I’m getting there! Some people say there used to be more out in the night sky. There used to be stars. Walima’s face fell as the other kids started to laugh.

You’re supposed to be doing a science report, Wacky! teased Clovis. He was a poor kid; how could he be teasing her?

Settle down, kids. Walima, maybe you best keep your report about the four celestials. I’ll still pass you if you tell us about them.

Walima plowed ahead. Everyone knows about Earth, and the Moon’s what comes out at night to give us light. Big Brother and Little Brother move with us and look like tiny bright dots you can see when there aren’t any clouds. But stars, they’re something special. No one has ever seen them, but they hide behind the Sun. They shine like Big Brother and Little Brother, only brighter. If you can catch one, it’s good luck.

That’s enough, Walima. There isn’t such a thing as stars. I want you to take that project home and have your father sign it. Does he know what sort of silliness you’re spinning?

Sure he does! He’s the one that told me about them! Just because you haven’t seen a thing, doesn’t mean it isn’t real. Sometimes you have to have faith.

Walima, you sound like a loon. Have a seat and stop upsetting the rest of the class. The other kids didn’t sound upset. They were laughing so hard it was a good thing they weren’t drinking milk. Walima walked back to her desk. It was going to be a long day, but soon, she’d be able to stop their laughing for good.

* * *

Daddy! cried Walima, one hand against the barn door.

It was always hard to step into the darkness after the bright daylight. Hunks of pipe and other scraps made a minefield between her and the Blackship. As her eyes adjusted, she could just make out her daddy’s boot sticking out from under the front.

Daddy, she called again.

Walima, come bring me that socket wrench!

She looked around until she found it. It took a moment to pick her way over to him, but she managed it without tripping. He grabbed her hand instead of the wrench and pulled her into a hug.

How was school, baby girl?

Not so good, Daddy. She blinked a few times. No way could he be mad at her. Still, she better do this right, just in case. The other kids teased me.

About your gigantic nose? he asked, a sly grin creeping on his face.

No, Daddy! she hollered, giving him a punch. She couldn’t help but laugh some. About your huge elephant ears.

He dipped her over and tickled her stomach. You better watch yourself, little girl. After he straightened her back up, he asked, What’s this all about? You don’t care what other people think.

My science report was due today and-

Oh, Walima, I said I’d help you! I’m so sorry. How did it go?

Not great. I did it on the celestials, and the other kids laughed at me.

Oh, Walima, you didn’t.

Well, you’re always talking about stars, and I thought everyone else would find it as interesting as I do.

Other people don’t see the world like we do, baby girl. I’m sorry, but you have to keep things like that to yourself. You didn’t tell anyone about the ship, did you? The lines in his face deepened.

No, Daddy. But I need you to sign my poster so I can take it back to teacher. She handed it to over.

He unrolled it carefully, taking in the bright yellows and deep blues. It really is beautiful, isn’t it? His voice sounded far away, like when he talked about Mom.

When you go, will you bring me back a star, so I can show everyone? Walima asked.

I’ll keep my eyes peeled.

And, can you look for mamma, too? She looked down, overwhelmed for real this time. He hugged her closer. I love you, Daddy.

* * *

One Year Later.

The bright yellow paint in the kitchen was peeling, and grease made it look unhealthy. Dad wouldn’t paint it until it was all peeled away, though. He was always putting things off. Walima hit her head lightly against the table again.

Don’t do that, Walima; you look like a loon. Her daddy put his hand between her head and the wood.

She straightened and looked him in the eye. Daddy, it’s been ready for ages! How much longer are you going to make excuses? Are you yellow? She stuck her chin out at him.

He let out a hard sigh and looked away. Walima, you mind me, now. If I say it ain’t ready, then it ain’t.

Walima pushed away from the table and stood to face him. So this was her daddy, afraid of his own shadow, afraid to follow his dream. Well, she wasn’t going to let him give up. When mamma died, you were out there, ready to leave as soon as the engine worked. Now you just keep saying, ‘One more test.’ I’m sick of it.

Are you so ready for me to leave you? he asked, his voice going soft.

Of course he’d see it that way; he didn’t know her plan to come with him. If he found out, he’d never let her get away with it. She thought of the fight they’d had when he’d discovered his silly exercise equipment had been replaced by extra rations. Good thing he hadn’t looked behind the paneling in the main cockpit, or he would have seen her other stash.

I’m supposed to finish up some math problems. She shifted away from the table and slunk up the stairs without another word.

It was a lie; she always finished her math problems in class, being so much faster than everyone else. She just needed time to think. She pushed through the door to her room, frowning at all of the clutter on her desk and bed. The ceiling was covered in Christmas lights, made to look like stars. The desk was a papier-mâché nightmare from the model of the Blackship, something special for Daddy’s birthday. She pushed the little craft off the edge of the desk and watched it crack as it hit the side of the waste basket. He didn’t deserve it. Three years he’d been working on that ship, practically since the day Mamma died.

A little slip of paper wedged between the drawer and the side of her desk caught her eye. She wiggled at it with her fingers until it slid free. It was filled from top to the bottom with names, names they would call her after she took the flight into space. At one point, she'd circled ‘The Black Prince’. Well, they’d never use that as a headline now. She flopped down on her bed and stared up at the fake stars. If only there was a way she could make her father take flight.

* * *

The cramped office was filled with whirring machines and printers spitting out pieces of paper filled to the margins with text. A single desk fan fought against the summer-strong heat.

Does your daddy know you’re here? asked the editor, whose face shone with grease and sweat. His white collared shirt was un-pressed and had little stains around the bib area. Mamma would have called him a deep-fried mess.

He sent me, Walima lied easily. We agreed it was time everyone knew. Together, we’ve built a Blackship capable of withstanding the big empty. We’re about to be the first Father-Daughter team in the Black.

The editor gave a deep-throated laugh. You’re a little loony, aren’t you? I’ll believe it when I see it.

She could see the keen look in his eyes. Even if he thought she was crazy, he wouldn’t be able to resist checking it out.

I know of your father. He used to work for the jet propulsion center in Lafayette. Lots of neighbors complained about the noise coming from his house a few years ago, too.

Like I said, we built a Blackship.

Or a bomb…, he muttered as he turned from her and began to thumb through a filing cabinet.

We’ll be running a test tonight at seven near the old Gernine Airstrip. Bring cameras. She stood, clutching her schoolbag and left.

* * *

Press the red button, Walima! her father yelled from the engine panel at the back of the ship. She slammed her hand down on it, feeling the answering roar of the engine. The sound was so loud it rattled her teeth. She looked at the statistics panel. They’d need a hundred times more thrust to break the grasping hands of the Earth.

She could see Daddy through the onboard cameras, so when he drew his hand across his neck, she started to power-down. It was easy, she just need to flip down the black levers with the kitty stickers on them. The engine continued at a steady hum.

Her daddy climbed back to the cockpit and waited on the engines to quiet before saying, It’ll need time to cool off before we can leave it. I packed some hot cocoa and sandwiches. What do you say we picnic under the Moon?

Walima felt a catch in her throat. Either the reporters would be out there or they wouldn’t. Still, it felt like she had betrayed him. Everyone’s eyes would be on them, and he couldn’t back out. They’d do it together, like they always should have.

The airlock slid open, and her daddy took the first steps out. Brightness flooded the field as several spotlights kicked into life. Walima could make out the bulbous outline of two government vehicles. The blue glow that let them hover feet above the ground made the grass ripple. Her whole body shook. She didn’t have to fake surprise as she swallowed the shriek that threatened to escape.

A dark figure approached them from behind the line of hover-wagons. She couldn’t make out any details. Mr. Prince, my name is Special Agent Warren. I need you to come with me.

What is this? asked Daddy.

We were informed about your home-made spacecraft. Seems like the rumors were true.

Walima glanced at her father, dread filling her. He wasn’t looking at her. We’re working on a new model flying car. Nothing else.

Not according to your daughter.

Her father threw her a glance, the thermos of cocoa slipping from his hand and bouncing along the ground. My daughter is taken to flights of fancy.

Still, you’ll have to come with us. Is there someone you can call to look after your girl?

Mr. Jenkins, our neighbor. Her daddy bowed his head to the ground.

Walima reached for the thermos as they turned her daddy around and put binders on his arms. She didn’t even argue, none of it seemed real.

* * *

Mr. Jenkins had respected her wishes and waited for her at the front of the police station. His house smelled like peppermint on account of his job at the sweets factory. The smell followed her down the corridor, and she wondered how long she’d have to smell it. She wouldn’t cry. She hadn’t known this would happen, so it couldn’t really be her fault, could it?

As she caught sight of her father dressed in a white-cloth jumpsuit, her control slipped away.

Daddy, I’m so sorry! I’m a plumb fool. She rushed to the bars and stuck her hand through.

He looked her up and down. Mr. Jenkins taking good care of you?

Yes, Daddy, of course he is. She brought her hand back to her side. That’s not important. What are we gonna do to get you out of here?

Baby girl, I don’t know. I used most of our money to build that ship. Now I’m wishing I’d gone with cheaper paneling so I could afford a lawyer.

Daddy, all we got to do is get you out of here, and then you and I can take the Blackship anywhere. We’ll go see the stars and-

No, Walima. There ain’t going to be a flight. He approached the gate, grabbing the hand she had wrapped around a bar. Best we can hope for is that I get out of here with a slap on the wrist. The government is going to take the Blackship apart tomorrow. I told them where all my research and notes were as part of a plea bargain.

Daddy, you can’t! It’s not just your dream, it’s mine, too!

Walima, I love you, but you knew what could happen if you told anyone what we were doing. His voice was soft, but the accusation in his eyes made her shiver.

She ran from him, careful not to lose her bag as she pushed out the doors into the waiting room. Mr. Jenkins called for her to stop, but all she had eyes for was the exit. She had a few dollars in her pocket; she could take the bus to Gernine Airstrip.

* * *

The code to get into the terminal was easy. Daddy had used mamma’s full name: Walima Dante Prince. After that, it was all about getting the sequence right. Daddy had always started the systems, but it hadn't seemed too hard, not when she paid close attention. She pressed the switch to power up the stabilizers and checked her watch. She was taking too long. Someone would figure out what she was doing and stop her. She couldn’t let that happen. She rushed over to the engine panel. Dad made this part easy for her. Stickers marked the order- the dog chases the cat which gets the bird. The engine behind her roared to life.

She’d already put on her headphones. Now she needed to