Dandelion of Creation

A fuzzy seed of a dandelion planet
drifts alone in space,
encountering only warm gasses
and cool dust, wrapping itself tightly
in their reluctant embrace, until it grows
heavy with the gravity of desire,
pulling celestial flotsam and jetsam into it.

From the depths of the newborn planet
springs the dandelion’s passion for life,
bursting into a ball of golden florets,
soon teeming with dancing creatures,
their many keratinous limbs arranged
like lions’ teeth.

The creatures breathe and grow
and spread and prosper and take,
until their writhing masses
overburden tender petals,
curling them into ashy wisps.

Desiccated, they detach, carrying
scurrying residents into the void.
The planet’s leafy appendages bend
backwards onto themselves, opening
to reveal a sea of swaying tufts.

Freed of its weighty burdens,
the dandelion planet sighs, dispersing its
tufted seeds, which catch gentle solar winds
and glide into the endless land devoid of matter
but full of promise, searching for new worlds.

From the Delta Front

The return address had been struck through by the censors, but she knew where the package was from. At least… she knew who it was from. His handwriting on the address label was enough to tell her that. Her brother, fighting somewhere out in the asteroids, had somehow managed to find time to buy a gift and mail it. Obviously, that would have been more than a year ago, but there it was. Proof that Jacob had been alive a year ago.

The package was just as battered as anything else that came from the asteroids, but she carried it into the house carefully.

“There’s a package from Jacob! Mom?” She knew how much her mother dreaded the mail. There was always a chance that she would receive one of the military’s infamous black envelopes, or that the letter they got from the front would be from one of Jacob’s friends, instead of from Jacob, himself. “Jacob sent us something!”

Her mother emerged from the kitchen cautiously, wiping her hands on her apron as she did. “Did he, now?” She took the package, and inspected it, as if Elsie might not remember what her brother’s writing looked like. When she was satisfied, she relaxed. “We’ll wait til your father gets home,” she said.

Elsie nodded. It was only fair. Her father would want to see it—all of it—to experience the thing from beginning to end. It might be another year or two before they heard from Jacob again. She wanted to make the experience linger, as much as her mother did. A package. For an hour or two, they could pretend they really knew Jacob was alive and well. That they believed he’d gotten enough leave to eat a hot meal. There might be a letter in the package, but that could wait. They should read whatever Jacob had to say together as a family.

When her father got home from work, he handed Elsie a knife. “You open it, kiddo. My hands are dirty.”

Her mother nodded.

Her hands shook just a little, as she cut through the brown paper tape. They would read the letter and open their gifts, but afterward, they’d go back to wondering. Nothing in the package could tell them where Jacob was right now.

But in the end, they’d know a little more than they had before. The package would tell them where he’d been. What he’d done. It would give them one more thing to share with the soldier who was so far away.

She opened the outside box, and then, she opened the letter.

“I had a few days leave, so I thought I’d send you some things.”

She’d gotten good at reading between the lines. A few days leave. That meant there had been a battle, and that it was big enough that Jacob’s commanding officers decided the men needed time to recover. They were lucky. Somewhere else, other families would be getting black letters, but Jacob was on leave, and he was telling them he’d survived.

The gifts were wrapped in newspaper, which meant that he was somewhere too remote to get any real wrapping paper. The gifts would be something exciting, at least. The newspapers, themselves, told her nothing. The same ones were distributed to every military base in the galaxy.

She tore through the newspaper wrapping, and then stopped.

She was holding a skull.

A real Cephian skull.

Some of the flesh was still there, freeze-dried by its time in space. Dead. Somewhere between a skull and a mummy. She’d heard of soldiers sending trophies home to their families, but Jacob—

She’d been expecting a pretty box, or a necklace, not a man’s head.

It was the Enemy. She’d never seen one, before. The face was sharper than she’d expected, the nose ridge was nearly a blade, and just as tall as the face, itself. She’d never really believed that a Cephian could split a man’s rib cage by head-butting him, but she did, now. The thing seemed almost designed for the purpose.

“Well, that’s really something,” her father said. He took the artifact from her, and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it, as if he were looking at a sea shell or a part of a machine he didn’t quite understand. A Cephian skull. He was fascinated.

“What do I do with it?” Elsie asked.

“We’ll get you a case for it,” he said. Wasn’t that what you did with beetles and stuffed birds? “You can put it on the mantle, if you don’t want it in your room.”

***

On Cephia, Mareki rubbed her nose ridge.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The postman gave her a sympathetic smile, and waited for her to sign the receipt.

She took the package. “A little more than a year,” she said.

He nodded. “Used to run to meet me at the door,” he said.

She smiled back at him. “He’s a soldier, now.”

“Yes, I know.” Maybe, if the military didn’t insist on a return receipt for packages from the front, he would already have fled. “Thank you,” he said. “For your son’s service.”

She hesitated. That was it. The tone she dreaded. This time, the man was thanking her for the boy’s service. Next time, he might be thanking her for his sacrifice.

The postman said something else just as awkward, and excused himself.

She went inside, and set the box on the kitchen table. Whatever the boy had sent, it should wait until his father got home.

Scene From a Celestial War

“I’m about to die,” the man said, smiling. “After all these years you’re not even going to give me a goodbye kiss?”

He extended his hands, reaching out to caress the girl’s cheek as she cradled him in her arms. He saw his reflection in the girl’s golden eyes as tears streamed down incessantly, mourning him.

“Robert, don’t make another joke,” the girl said in between her sobs. “You haven’t held your promise yet.”

The world around them didn’t care about the heartbreaking scene happening amidst years of yearning for a forbidden love between a man and an angel. Nor did the dragon that had impaled Robert’s chest with his tail, not too long ago. With a newfound surge of energy, the dragon slowly approached the couple.

“Dear Mariel, I promise you a lot,” Robert chuckled. “Remind me… which one do you need me to keep?”

Mariel closed her eyes and held his hands close to her cheek before replying. “A home, Robert. You promise me a home.”

The dragon was now a breath away from them, poised to launch another attack.

Sensing the dragon, Mariel cursed. “Damn it, Robert. Why must I do everything?”

With that, she unfurled her wings, clutching Robert, and charged up in astonishing speed toward the dragon.

“Let’s go home.”

With all her might, she jumped onto the dragon’s back, casting a glowing spell with her left hand. A shimmering shield grew from where the spell was casted, until it fully encapsulated them. Dragon, man and angel—they were now one, blasted into bits and pieces.

Beautiful, like a glistening supernova.

A Remembered Nightmare

Audio conversion check complete. Therapist Reyn, confirming your thoughts are now being relayed loud and clear. Subject 271 has entered the simulation. Please proceed with Rehabilitation Test 16.

Understood, Command. Confirming all systems are operational. I’m on the train, we’re moving along the Connecticut coast. Thirty minutes to go before the incident. Requesting permission to engage Subject 271.

Permission granted. Go into the car. Do it quick—we were supposed to log off after ten tests. And my husband is going to kill me if I make him do bedtime again.

I’m opening the door to the car—I can see a piece of luggage has fallen off the rack. I lean down to pick it up and push it back into place. The car is quite busy, there are almost no seats available. Of course, that is why Subject 271 chose it for the attack in the first place. I’m moving along towards Seat 6B, where I know he is sitting. I pass a family playing a game of Uno. A group of office workers who all seem to be on the same video call even though they’re sitting two feet apart. An old lady is snoozing on her granddaughter’s shoulder.

I’m at row 6. I see him in front of me. He’s wearing a long coat, even though it’s already April. It’s not that cold outside. There is a bottle of water still sealed shut in the bottle holder beside him. He stares out the window, eyes hooded behind a thick pair of glasses. He seems exhausted.

Reyn, how long are you going to stare at him? Sit down.

Apologies, Command. Moving in. I sit down in the seat facing Subject 271. He shuffles his legs to make room for me and straightens up. A woman is seated across the aisle, reading a copy of Man’s Search for Meaning. It looks like it is about to fall apart. His eyes dart across the cover. Good.

“At some point, it all just becomes a remembered nightmare, doesn’t it?” he says to me. It’s a quote from the book. Perfect. I’ve got a good feeling this time, Command. He is engaging with me of his own volition. Confirming Phase 1 complete.

Good idea to insert the book into the simulation, Reyn. Proceed to Phase 2. Let’s fix this guy.

“I’m afraid I haven’t experienced anything so horrible,” I say to him carefully. The rehearsed lines come naturally. After all, I’ve said the same things to Subject 271 fifteen times already.

“You are lucky, then,” he says. Exactly as he did in the last four tests.

“Have you?” I ask, my gaze unwavering from him. I cross one knee over the other to show my nonchalance. I am not here to fight him. I am merely here to talk. To see if I can sway him from what I know he has planned. Sway him from what he has already done.

He shrugs but says nothing. That’s alright. We’ve prepared for this possibility. It means he is thinking about that darkness in his past. That it is still haunting him. Now is my chance to steer him away from thoughts of revenge. Thoughts of destruction that I know plague his mind.

Stay focused, Reyn. I know, Command. I am focused. None of the other tests have gotten this far. Uncharted waters. I know.

“What takes you to the city?” I ask.

“Business,” he replies.

“I’m adopting a dog there,” I say, pulling a photograph from my pocket. I show it to him and he looks at it—little does he know the photograph is of the dog he had as a child, slightly manipulated to look just different enough. I see his eyes widen slightly as the memories of Bingo come rushing to him. The-dog-who-is-not-Bingo is working.

Careful. I know how to do my job, Command.

“May I?” he asks, reaching out for the photograph. I nod, handing it to him. He looks at it closely, running his index finger along the edge of the photo.

“He looks just like the dog I grew up with,” he says.

“What a coincidence.”

“That it is,” he says. A hint of a smile is on his lips. He is feeling nostalgic.

“Dogs are wonderful, aren’t they?” I say, taking the photograph back and stuffing it into my pocket. “No matter what happens, they are so full of love.” He leans back in his seat thoughtfully. I glance out the window. We are approaching New Haven. The critical moment—the moment when I either succeed or abort—is just minutes away.

“They are indeed,” he says. “I miss Dingo,” he says after a moment.

“Bingo, you mean,” I say, still focused on the window, calculating the minutes till we pull into New Haven.

Reyn. Shit. I wait for a tense moment, ready to abort, but he simply nods. I let out a breath. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that this stranger on the train knew the blasted dog’s name.

You need to focus, Reyn. That was reckless. Maybe if you stopped whispering in my head, I could focus, then. Just give me a second. I have this. The train begins to slow down. Only a minute before we pull into Union Station. A boy in a Yale lacrosse sweatshirt stands up to stretch, pulling the straps of his backpack around his shoulders.

He looks up at the boy and hesitates. I wait and see what he will do. Finally, he stands. Shit. Okay, time to try one last thing.

I think we should call it, Reyn. Let’s abort. We can do Test 17 tomorrow. Wait, not yet. Just give me one minute. I stand up as well.

“I thought you were going to the city,” he says, pulling the black duffel bag from the overhead luggage rack. I look at it warily, knowing what is about to happen.

Reyn, it’s okay. Let’s abort. It’s too late. He’s not changing his mind. Would you please stop talking? This is it—this is the moment.

“Something tells me I should get off the train now,” I say. He stares at me for a moment before glancing down at the bag in his hand.

“Then get off,” he says.

“Should I tell her to get off too?” I ask, pointing at the woman reading Viktor Frankl. “What about them?” I point at the family playing Uno. The little girl has just won a hand and is giggling with delight. He looks at her.

“Why would you do that?” he says slowly.

“Once you do this, you can’t take it back,” I say. This is a breach in protocol, Reyn. You cannot tell him what is happening. Just shut up.

“You don’t have to hurt all these people just because you’ve been hurt. They’re innocent,” I say slowly, reaching my hand over to him. I place it slowly on the bag. I can feel the electronic equipment inside. He swallows.

“What’s happening?” he whispers.

“I know what you’re about to do. But you have a choice. Right now, you get to decide if you will murder all these people, or save them from yourself.” I wait, still leaning down with my hand on the bag.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I’m someone who knows you’re not a monster,” I say. I believe that. It’s why I do what I do. I know I can teach them to peel away the evil.

“Tell me what’s happening,” he says tersely. The train has stopped. People are getting off outside. This is working. He isn’t doing it. In just sixty seconds, the moment will have passed.

“I just want to know that you’re capable of deciding not to do this. I want you to know that you’re capable of deciding not to do this,” I say. It’s true. The moment he decides not to do it, the moment he chooses not to be a murderer—it is his ticket to freedom. The rehabilitation will be complete. He will be pardoned. The Second Chance Initiative has worked two hundred and seventy times. It will work again.

“What happens if I decide not to?” he says. I can see the confusion flitting behind his eyes. To him, this is the first time any of this is happening. He doesn’t know this is all in the past. That this is just a remembered nightmare. But it is a nightmare he can correct. He can choose to wake up and live his life again.

“You can be free,” I reply. Command, are you seeing this? Why haven’t you said anything? Why aren’t you responding?

“Are you free?” he asks. I nod. Command?

Are you? I don’t move. Command? What’s going on up there?

Answer the question. Are you free? Command, what’s happening? Why is he smiling like that? Command?

You had the chance to abort and you didn’t. It stands to reason I should follow your lead.

My blood chills. What have you done to Command?

Be calm, Reyn. Your colleague is fine—she’ll be conscious in a few minutes. But you…you’re the one who thinks you can get inside my head, aren’t you? How the tables have turned…

Stop it. Press the abort button. Someone is going to find you if you’ve hurt her.

“You were supposed to log off six tests ago, Reyn. Everyone’s gone,” he says. The voice is back in the man I’m staring at again. His lips have turned upwards into a curl that can only be called a sneer. “No one is coming,” he says, his voice lilting.

I begin to panic. He can read my thoughts. I try to calm my mind, but to no avail. He can hear me. You can hear me. You know I am scared. Please don’t hurt me. I’m trying to help you.

Do you know what happens when you experience death in a dream? Of course I know. The adrenaline spike. The blood rushing to your brain. It’s why we abort the test before the therapist is killed in the attack. Because if you die in your sleep, you won’t wake up. Please. He opens the zipper on the duffel bag and I reach forward to try and stop him. Because all I can do at this point is subdue him physically. He is taller than me, but I am agile. I can fight him. I can get the others in the car to help me. Together, we can stop him.

Sweet nightmares, Reyn. Please—

< This is an automated voice message to confirm the end of the recording >