Quick Stories & Poems: "Stalkers"

Dive into a captivating world of emotion, imagination, and profound insight
with this extraordinary collection of short stories and poetry.

Anthology Contributor: "Stalkers"

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Sample Reading by Author | Reviews

Sample

Kittridge stepped one foot off of his hoverbike onto the rim of the floating island that held York far above the decadent wasteland that had once been New York City. He looked down at the tops of decrepit, crumbling buildings, rising from sea water like islands in and of themselves. When the glaciers melted, sea level rose roughly two hundred thirty feet, submerging even the Statue of Liberty below the surface. In some places, entire states were lost, like Florida. Of course, that the ocean was still a drab brown near the shore, before it faded to greenish, then blue, was a mystery unto itself. With York hovering a mile above the new sea level, he could see it all. He had to admit that the shift in colors was rather beautiful. If only it did not butt up against the eyesore of what remained of New York City. The saving grace was that the sun had already set and the sky was growing steadily darker, although the hundred or so hover craft and hoverbikes sailing around York in all directions had not even turned on their headlights yet.

Since the hoverbike had stopped, Kitty poked her head out of the compartment where cycles once held liquid fuel. Being battery-powered, the “fuel” now sat between the biker’s thighs. The only time that was a problem was on longer trips, where the solar panels had to kick in to keep the battery charged. It tended to get a bit warm in a part of the body where there was a dense concentration of nerve endings. Kittridge reached into the compartment and lifted out Kitty with one hand to hug her against his chest. “Soon, we’ll have to talk to Mayor Farrell about this, Kitty. It’s long past time to sweep away that awful mess down there.”
He bent low to set the cat down on the platform, still straddling the gap between his bike and the sky island boasting the world’s largest city. While bent down, he detached a silver disc from behind the foot rest and dropped it into the edge of the platform, a length of spider-thread cable attached to its center. It caught and held firmly, forming a magnetic seal, then the cable shortened, being drawn into the hoverbike’s chassis until it rested right up against the platform. The spider thread was literally thin enough to floss his teeth, although he would not recommend it. He had done it once, on a dare and under the influence, then had to get some dental work to repair the damage to his gums.

He swung out of the saddle and a gust of wind hit him, nearly pushing him backward a step, forcing him to lope lightly away from the edge. His weight gone, the hoverbike bobbed slightly. He walked the five yards to the edge of the opaque, gray dome enclosing York. It rose a thousand feet overhead and extended five miles to the West. The cat rubbed against his legs and he plucked her up to sit her on his shoulder like a pirate’s parrot. Her claws dug into his t-shirt, a sensation that had evolved into a sense of comfort in situations like this. Devon took the final step for light to flash briefly against his calf as he triggered the electric eye. A smooth, deep voice, very deliberately masculine and authoritarian, said, “Name and code.”

“Kittridge, Nathaniel,” he lied. “M58734-Alpha-1.” Another gust of wind rocked him lightly and the cat growled softly, no doubt warning him that dislodging her from her perch would be unwise. Of course, it was taking longer than usual to be permitted entry. “Don’t disdain a blessing in disguise, Kitty. This means that lots of people are going in and out tonight. That’s good cover.” Finally, the computer waded through its backlog of security checks.

“Very well, Kittridge, Nathaniel,” the deep voice came. “Proceed.” A door hissed open a few feet to one side and he left the cool wind to enter the moist, warm air of the city within. In the same moment, he left the noise of incessant wind, trading it for the chaos of twenty different styles of music playing within his earshot, voices in as many languages, and other sounds of civilization. According to the docustreams, the interior of York was similar in many ways to big cities on terra firma, particularly the biggest cities in Japan. Of course, with most of their nation gone, it made sense that they would do their best to recreate it up here. The black cat dropped off his shoulder, padded ahead, and the door swished shut again. Kittridge watched the cat for a moment, city lights flashing beautifully off her glossy, well-groomed coat, wondering what the transition was like for a creature with hearing so much more sensitive than his own. When a dozen yards away, Kitty stopped and looked back at him, as if asking, “Coming?”

Kittridge smiled thinly and followed. Most people understood that they were recorded when they passed through entry points. They had to use their names and codes, which logged their movements. What most people did not realize was that they were also scanned from head to toe, recording physical dimensions, gender, hair and eye color, and the composition of their clothing. Soon, he reached the end of the alley created between two buildings built right up to follow the arch of the outer dome. On either side were open doorways with the slight scent of urine emanating from within. Kittridge entered and marched past a man who did not wait long enough to dry his hands after washing them, then a woman emerged from a stall, most of her face concealed behind a filtered mask. He actually liked it when women wore masks: it allowed him to focus on the beauty of their eyes.

Kittridge reached the last stall and entered. Immediately, he pulled off his t-shirt and turned it inside-out, then held it in one hand as he dug a small spray bottle out of his pocket. He pumped the top with his index finger, spraying the outside of the fabric with a fine mist. He sprayed the front, then the back, then replaced the bottle in his pocket and pulled his shirt back on. Immediately, he could feel the nanobots he had deployed doing their work, altering the fabric at the molecular level, changing it from cotton to a synthetic fabric. At the same time, it tightened, forming itself to his frame, leaving nothing loose enough to catch or snag on outcroppings, let alone catch at his fingers. That done, he took a plastic cup out of his sock and put it down the front of his slacks, shifting and adjusting it for comfort. Last, he sprayed his slacks, performing the same transformation as he had his shirt. If he was scanned again, his clothing would be made of different fabric, and his gender would be obscured. Some might claim that he was being paranoid, but that did not mean that no one wanted to kill him. In fact, a great many people would very much enjoy emptying his crematory urn into a backed-up toilet, then giving it another filthy flush.