Cover Art for Issue #4 by Lori McMullen
Click on the small cover above to view full size colour cover. (107K jpeg)
This issue leads off with " Monsters Contemplate the Revolution " by Sean Stewart, a dynamite standalone excerpt from his upcoming novel, The Night Watch (Ace 97). Sean's fabulous new novel, Resurrection Man will be available as an Ace paperback this winter.
Other works:
Charles M. Saplak 's gorgeous, melancholy fantasy, " Visanna "
An inspired bit of loon-acy from Stepan Chapman called "The Brain Ruby"
A sweet, modern-romantic fable about "The Muse" by Fringe playwright, journalist and touring comic, Mark Leiren-Young.
" Virtual Casualties " a great cyber-drama novelette by a new writer, Lesley Morrison.
And Robert J. Levy welcomes you to the "Creche" with Willywoo and Kirbypoo. Baby, this is one dark, twisted little sf story.
The issue is fleshed out by the lyrical poetry of Nancy Bennett, wild sf poetry by David Kopaska-Merkel and Sue Storm. Poems by Nancy Bennett include "Pupation" and "Flesh".
The gorgeous full colour cover is by Victoria artist Lori McMullen and other treats for the eye in the issue are provided by GAK, AnnDel Farrish, John Barrick...And there's more!
Excerpts from Issue#4:
Excerpted From Sean Stewart's "Monsters Contemplate the Revolution":
"So. Everybody ready for a little action?" The Duct Weasel swerved his thin head around with a smile.
"Ready and willing," said the Girl. She held up the power screwdriver she had been issued,and tabbed it. The modified head whined and jumped twice, like a snake striking.
The Window Washer blinked and looked away. The Actor watched, expressionless.
"Nine...eight...seven..." The Elevator hummed quietly to himself, poking at their little fire. Yellow flames crawled and danced. Burning rubber sizzled and stank.
The fire they owed to the Duct Weasel. Over the Window Washer's protests, he had slunk into the abandoned Tire Orchard, slithered up a trunk, and cut free a radial with the tin snips at his belt. The Elevator carried it back to the store-front where they had been stationed. The Duct Weasel also knew where to find an old oil barrel. He cut five snips into the barrel's top rim, and let the Elevator peel it down like a metal flower. The noise had been terrible, but at the end they had a nice little fire pit.
Charles M. Saplak
Charles, who lives in Virginia with his wife Karen and daughter
Charlene, has sold stories to numerous magazines and anthologies, including Year's Best
Horror 22, Science Fiction Age, Cthulhu's Heirs, and the British magazine Beyond.
Excerpted from Charles M. Saplak's "Visanna":
Visanna's attention was drawn to one particular woman who picked delicately at the flesh of roasted bird. She was stunningly beautiful, with slick black hair woven into a complex braid; with light blue eyes, pale skin, and translucent teeth.
But Visanna looked behind the woman and saw the faces of her past selves. Yes, going back only a few years one saw the same exquisitely sculpted features and mysterious, calm expressions, but if one looked far enough back one could see the earliest faces. No, this woman had not always been beautiful! Far back in her past her faces were sallow and thin, her eyes ringed round with the crimson of pain and the gray of fatigue, her hair stringy. Perhaps she had been a refugee, or perhaps even a slave. She had not always been noble. No matter what she was capable of looking like now, there was no possible way to beautify that young woman which she had been.
Taking some comfort in the pity she was able to direct toward the woman, Visanna turned away.
She moved through the crowd until she came to seven people surrounding a Ghost Pool, standing with their hands joined. The group peered into the liquid, watching the images created by their conjoined imaginations. From above they must look like some strange flower, Visanna thought. There are the seven of them forming a ring; behind them are the faces of their past; at their center is the rippling pool.
Excerpted from "Virtual Casualties" by Lesley Morrison:
Finally she becomes aware of men around her falling back, retreating to the sides of the narrow street, some leaping fluidly up on walls. Behind her she hears the thunder grow; she takes a quick glance, and through a haze of dust she sees the huge-shouldered dark forms almost upon her.
She runs in desperation now, her heart hammering her ribs. She can feel the hot breath on her neck, and taste the pungent feral smell. Terror and rage climax within her simultaneously; she stops, and turns around.
A glimpse of lowered, great horned heads, the flash of a single, red-rimmed eye, but at the moment of impact they break up and pass over her like mist.
"Pupation" by Nancy Bennett
In the dream, hot green dance, we instinctively wed
in insect matrimony, pulling at each other's wings
self centred thoughts dropping like flies...
Man and wife/ wide awake/ times
change -- we begin to transform, others run away
but we do not look ugly to each other.
Cocooned, we make children with soft butterfly ways
but there are always nets wielded by giants,
sticky sweet webs spun by relatives, deceptions to be caught in.
I grow afraid, I have done this for the children, sweet,
wholesome.
I brought them forth without even a stinger to protect them...
running out of my dream, ahead of the sticky wet, awake to find
It is only the sweat of a nightmare, too many bodies in bed...
the children wrapped around me--feeding off me.
Sometime in the night they had dreamt they were spiders
and hid under my arms for comfort.
"Flesh" by Nancy Bennett
Flesh lines - flesh arching into
one parable - a story this face
peppered with memories - this old man he has one.
Transformed by the glint of metal - the surgeon
swiping out the bad cells - stretching the flesh
to hide the crevice-encapsulate life suddenly he spins
parables - what he is - his wealth built by hard work
This old man, he had too.
The cancer came from foolish times he reasons.
A narrow scar cannot hide the price
paid out - too many freckled face summers
darting by the ocean - face to the sun - picking violets
off the earth's face - never worrying about the ultras.
This old man wants to be free.
On to Issue #5
Order Issue#4
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