Science fiction magazine from Scotland

  ISSN 2059-2590

  ISBN 978-1-9997002-0-1

  © 2017 Shoreline of Infinity.

  Contributors retain copyright of own work.

  Shoreline of Infinity is available in digital or print editions.

  Submissions of fiction, art, reviews, poetry, non-fiction are welcomed: visit the website to find out how to submit.

  www.shorelineofinfinity.com

  Publisher

  Shoreline of Infinity Publications / The New Curiosity Shop

  Edinburgh

  Scotland

  140617

  Cover: The Rescue of Sister by Stephen Pickering

  Editorial Team

  Editor & Editor-in-Chief:

  Noel Chidwick

  Art Director:

  Mark Toner

  Deputy Editor & Poetry Editor:

  Russell Jones

  Reviews Editor:

  Iain Maloney

  Assistant Editor & First Reader:

  Monica Burns

  Copy editors:Iain Maloney, Russell Jones, Andrew J Wilson

  Extra thanks to: Caroline Grebbell, M Luke McDonell, Katy Lennon, Abbie Waters

  First Contact

  www.shorelineofinfinity.com

  contact@shorelineofInfinity.com

  Twitter: @shoreinf

  and on Facebook

  Table of Contents

  Shoreline of Infinity 8

  Pull up a Log

  Eastercon Joke Competition Winner

  The Pink Life (La Vie En Rose)

  The Black Tide

  The Starchitect

  Goddess with a Human Heart

  These Are the Ways

  Arthur Kovic’s Days of Change

  Targets

  SF Caledonia: Chris Kelso

  The Folger Variation

  The Beachcomber

  Noise and Sparks: The Legend of the Kick-Arse Wise Women

  Reviews

  Multiverse

  SupportShoreline of Infinity

  Flash Fiction Competition for Shoreline of Infinity Readers

  Back Cover

  Pull up a Log

  We have another fine crop of story-tellers and poets for you in this issue. There’s a wee tale of what threatens to be from Eric Brown (his novel, The Kings of Eternity, is on my reading list equivalent of speed-dial). We have an elegant story from Jeannette Ng of a sacrifice in an Aztec Cyberpunk Dystopia. Barry Charman writes of isolation and ambition – on a stellar scale; Laura Duerr tests us with a gruesome temptation; Premee Mohamed offers a raw tale of love under fire in an alien war; Michael Teasdale leads us on a spiralling journey into a crumbling reality; and Nathan Susnik hints at what happens when reality is ignored. Chris Kelso, our contemporary writer featured in SF Caledonia, takes us through anguish with the help of a time machine.

  When we gather stories for an issue, we don’t look for a theme, but one often emerges. And this issue belies the nonsense that science fiction is just about ray guns and aliens*: it’s people in circumstances that test their humanity, challenge their very being.

  And so we come to another aim of Shoreline of Infinity – to encourage you to grab a sheaf of blank paper and demonstrate your penskills. We have a flash fiction competition to tide you over the summer months, with a pair of pictures waiting for their stories to be told.

  But before you do, make sure you read Ruth EJ Booth’s The Legend of the Kick-Arse Wise Women to set you on your way: “I began to write in earnest. And once I did, things began to change.”

  Settle in and enjoy the ride.

  Noel Chidwick

  Editor-in-chief

  Shoreline of Infinity

  June 2017

  * though sometimes ray guns and aliens are just what you need to get you through the day.

  Congratulations to Barnaby Seddon (age 7) who won our Eastercon 2017 joke competition with:

  Q – What do you do if you see a spaceman?

  A – You park in it man.

  Barnaby, you will go far!

  The Pink Life

  (La Vie En Rose)

  Nathan Susnik

  Art: Dave Alexander

  On Monday a crisply painted fire hydrant moved into the alcove next to my apartment building. On Tuesday it sang La Boheme. On Wednesday, Carmen. Today, Der Vogelfänger. The fire hydrant has digitally perfect tone and tenor. I walk past it twice a day on my way to work:

  #operasingingfirehydrant #pureperfection

  I reach my 85th floor office, greet my secretary, and look out at the architecture. The city is an art deco wonderland. #newyork1950s. Market reports waterfall down the Chrysler Building, splashing onto the Theatre des Champs-Elysees. A personal message blinks on the Empire State Building:

  @rickstock538 – InComp/Filefunk merger approved. Buy!

  I’m halfway through a reply when – flash – #newyork1950s is gone. An endless field of homogeneous, concrete skyscrapers is in its place.

  Flash – #newyork1950s.

  Flash – endless concrete skyscrapers.

  Flash – #newyork1950s.

  Flash. Flash. Flash.

  “Ava,” I say.

  “Yes Ms. van Kamp?” She comes in the room looking different from before, less than perfect. There’s a pimple on her forehead, a large white head pressing out from a glowing red base.

  Flash – Silky smooth.

  Flash – Krakatoa.

  “What do you see outside?” I say. She ambles to the window, limping slightly. She shrugs.

  “Buildings?”

  “Nothing unusual?”

  “Nothing,” she says.

  “Thank you Ava. You can go.” I sigh.

  #whyisitalwaysme

  When she leaves, I message Dsense corp. Five seconds later (poof) they project a representative over the intercerebral computer.

  “It’s not an error with the iPerceive app. It must be a problem with your operating system ma’am,” she says. “Turn iPerceive off.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Turn iPerceive off,” I say. She winks.

  “You’d be surprised how many people don’t know that. But then again, why in God’s name, would you want to turn it off? Anyway, if you have it on while it’s glitching, it can be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Yes, just between you and me, a client jumped in Niagra Falls last year thinking the water was cotton candy. Anyway, have the InComp run an update tonight while you sleep. That should solve the problem.”

  “I’m not paying for services this month,” I say.

  She is as sweet as strawberries. “Here at Dsense corp customer satisfaction is key. You won’t be charged for services for the next two months. Plus we’ll...” She pauses, scanning through her records, trying to find an app or addon that I don’t have. “...we’ll unlock AllGourmet level 5 for two months.”

  “Fine,” I say.

  I stare out the window. The shadows of concrete monstrosities darken the streets below. It’s depressing, like being smothered with a soiled pillow.

  “Serotonin levels decreasing. Go ahead and take the day off,” advises LifeCoach app. It’s good advice, and I should follow it. Since subscribing to LifeCoach my self-satisfaction levels have increased 523%, according to LifeCoach app. A message blinks from the dark streets:

  @rickstock538: U buy?

  I exhale, and LifeCoach tells me about the dangers of critically low neurotransmitters.

  @laurenvankamp923: Technical problems, Plz take account till 2morrow! #vactionday

  •

  I board a transporter. Without iPerceive, darkness fills streets where sunlight formerly shone. There are considerably fewer flowers than usual, considerably fewer birds too. In fact, I realise, no birds and no flowers; it’s all trash and beggars, concrete and darkness.

  I get home, and in the place of the #operasingingfirehydrant is a beggar. He’s young, the left half of his face is scar tissue, his eyes are sunken, and his cheek bones are too sharp. Instead of singing opera, he’s begging. He wants food. A wave of crumminess sweeps over me. LifeCoach calmly informs me about dangerous levels of something or other. I flip iPerceive back on.

  Flash – The Barber of Seville.

  Flash – homeless beggar.

  Flash – Count Almaviva.

  Flash – beggar.

  iDentify kicks in:

  *Ping – Sergeant Steven Johnson, 32, earned a Silver Star and a Purple Heart in the second battle of Pyongyang...

  I interrupt the facial recognition app. Wait, a second battle of Pyongyang? When did that happen?

  *Ping – The Second battle of Pyongyang began on April...

  I interrupt WikiSearch app. On second thought, I really don’t need to know.

  Sergeant Johnson looks at me. He cocks his head like some kind of intelligent bird. It’s clicked. He knows that I see him.

  “Please,” he says reaching out. I walk past. He follows. “I’m hungry,” he says. I keep walking. He reaches to touch my shoulder. I jump away and he screams, grabbing his head. I exhale. At least ProTect app is still functional.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” says the beggar, but I am up the stairs and in the building.

  I lay on the sofa, head spinning, waiting for sleep. I post #badday and there is a wave of #sosorrys, what’s wrong?s, #poorbabys, Kitten pix, Puppy pix, Frowny faces, inspirational quotes, and #feels on my wall. An email pings in. It
’s from my mother. Subj: Opportunity/joys of motherhood. There’s an attachment, an advertisement for a surrogacy firm.

  #notreadymom. I need updates. I turn DreamWell, and (poof) I’m out, dreaming an archived file.

  The shop is old. My grandfather picks up something large and square. Dust flies, and I sneeze. “I remember these. My grandfather had these,” he says chuckling. “Watch this.” He pulls a black circle from the rectangle, puts it on something and flips a switch. The circle spins around and around. There’s a noise like fingernails on wood. Then, music starts. There’s no digital fixing, no lyrical translation, no tempo control; it’s scratchy and all treble, the woman’s voice is too shrill and in a language that I don’t understand. The song melancholy but joyous, sober but whimsical, flawed but... (poof) DreamWell pulls me into the next archived file. But there’s something about the song, and I want to linger, to listen. DreamWell won’t let me. Dwelling in files leads to obsession, and obsession leads to bad sleep, and bad sleep leads to low levels of something or other. LifeCoach works in concert with DreamWell and I’m pulled into the next archived file, then the next and the next, until I wake up in the morning, fully refreshed

  I roll off of the sofa, LifeCoach playing a light piano ditty in the background. “You have 165 new notifications, none of them urgent,” it says. “Have patience, you can check the notification underway to work. For now, enjoy the perfect morning.” I look out the window. Sunlight glints off of a pristine layer of snow coving my Art Deco wonderland.

  #snow #newyork1950s #pureperfection

  ProGusto has huevos rancheros ready and waiting in the kitchen.

  AllGourmet level 5, #wow #pureperfection #timeforwork

  Opening the door, I see people passing on the sidewalk, their feet leaving no impressions in the immaculate whiteness. I listen to the virgin snow, crunch, crunch, crunching beneath my feet as I walk down the stairs. It’s the only sound in this muted, winter wonderland, and...

  And something is missing, something that was here yesterday, but not today.

  Opera music.

  I find the crisply painted fire hydrant tucked into a corner of the alcove.

  “Hello?” I say. It doesn’t respond. “The snow is beautiful. Why aren’t you singing today?” I ask. The hydrant remains silent. There’s something wrong. It should be singing, moving, doing something.

  “Hey,” I say. “Hey?”

  “Everything alright?” interrupts a voice from above me.

  *Ping – Juan da Silva Torrão, 47, lives in apartment 12J.

  He peers down into the alcove at me. I know what he’s thinking.

  #losingit #crazy

  “Yeah. I just dropped something,” I say.

  “Okay,” he says and walks down the stairs, foot prints disappearing as he goes.

  The fire hydrant remains still, just sitting there as if frozen stiff.

  Frozen stiff.

  But it’s not that cold, is it?

  “Heart rate increasing, blood pressure rising. Time for a break,” says LifeCoach. It starts playing a light piano ditty again. The best choice is to just walk away. Don’t get involved, I think. Just call the city. They’ll send someone out in a jiffy to pick it up.

  It...

  I take a step away from the fire hydrant.

  Crunch, goes my foot into the immaculate white sheet.

  A second crunch.

  Five more. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. I turn. My foot prints are gone. There’s only virgin snow between the fire hydrant and me. No trail of incrimination. I could leave now. When I come home later, (poof) the problem will simply disappear as readily as my footsteps.

  “Blood pressure...”

  I interrupt LifeCoach. Is he really frozen or just acting? It this some pity game he’s playing to get free food? Before yesterday, I didn’t know he existed. But now I’ve seen. Now I know what’s in that corner, cold and not moving. Oh God.

  #terriblebadnogoodstupidstupidstupididea

  But I have to.

  As iPerceive shuts down, sunlight turns to shadow, pure snow turns to trodden slush and the silent hydrant turns to a shivering man, curled under a blanket in the only dry corner, and I...

  #waitaminute

  Shivering?

  He’s alive?

  “Your heart rate is...” I interrupt LifeCoach and run to him.

  “Hey...” I say. I’ve forgotten his name. He looks at me.

  *Ping – Sergeant Steven Johnson

  “Hey Steven,” I say. “You’re freezing,” He nods. “You need help.” He nods. “Okay, okay, okay, okay,” I say.

  “Epinephrine and norepinephrine critical. Anxiety is a health hazard. Relax, put your feet up. Imagine a happy place,” says LifeCoach and starts a steel-drum-Caribbean ditty.

  “Go to hell,” I say, but the steel-drum ditty keeps playing. Sergeant Johnson’s eyes widen. “No, no, no, not you. Don’t go to hell. I was talking to LifeCoach,” I say.

  “L-l-l-i-i-f-f?” he stammers.

  “Never mind,” I say. But I still don’t know what to do.

  *Ping – Treatment of hypothermia. Bring the victim to a warm place. Remove wet clothing. Wrap the victim in a blanket. Bring the victim a warm drink...

  #thankgodforwikisearch

  I drape St. Johnson over my shoulder and wretch, twice. I’ve never smelled anything like him. My knees buckle as I take the first stair. I take the next two with my hand on the concrete.

  Three stairs up, I hear:

  “Lauren, I was just going by on my way to the office.” I turn. Who is this bald man speaking to me? “Listen, I wanted to talk to you,” he says. “I was able to catch the tail the action, but we missed out on most of the profit from the merger yesterday.”

  *Ping – Rick Stock. Business Associate. Twitter: @rickstock538

  #OMG.

  It’s Rick, but it’s not Rick. It’s like Rick’s chubby older brother.

  “Okay, yeah. The merger,” I grunt. Why doesn’t he offer to help?

  “Well, the problem is that this mistake is probably going to cost the company a pretty penny. This might be reflected in your bonus and...” I stumble. He cocks his head, “Is this a bad time?”

  “I think that I need another day off,” I say. Rick peers at the homeless man on my shoulder, opens his mouth and then closes it.

  “Alright,” he finally says. “It’s your bonus, not mine.” He turns to go and then stops. “Just out of curiosity, is this some kind of modern art or something?”

  “Modern art?” I say, the steel-drum ditty in my head still going de-dada, da-da-da, do-do-do-do-do, de-de da-da-da.

  “The fire hydrant,” he says pointing at my shoulder.

  “Oh, yeah,” I say. “Modern art.”

  “You know that there’s a new neo-perfectionist exhibit that you might be interested in. It’s over on... (*Ping) ...Kinnickinnic Avenue,” he says.

  “Great, I’ll check it out,” I say.

  “Alright,” he says. “Enjoy your day off. See you tomorrow.” Then, he trots down the slushy, dark sidewalk, cheerily whistling the same steel-drum-Caribbean ditty playing in my head.

  Inside, I put Sergeant Johnson on the sofa.

  *Ping – Remove wet clothing. Wrap victim in a blanket.

  I do what WikiSearch tells me to. It’s, well...unpleasant.

  *Ping – Bring victim a warm drink.

  I run to the kitchen. AutoBev pours a nice cup of, water?

  #wtf

  I asked for hot coco. Okay then, tea.

  It’s water.

  Coffee = water.

  Mulled wine = water.

  Merlot = water.

  Beer = water.

  Coco loco = water.

  Vodka? Water.

  Talk about timing. My AutoBev is broken. I’m halfway through a message to the repair department when it hits me.

  iPerceive on.

  Suddenly, the kitchen is a gustatory wonderland, full of multicolored hot/cold/sweet/bitter/fizzy/flat/flamboyant drinks. I sip the vodka.

  #burnssogood

  I gulp it down, the whole cup. It’s exactly what I need right now. There’s a pleasant tingling in my stomach and fingers. My head drifts off like a balloon.

  “Excuse me?” I hear from the other room.

  iPerceive off. My head is clear as a bell.

  Hmm...

  On, buzzed.

  Off, sober.

  On, off, on, off, on/off/on/off/on/off.

  “Hello?” calls Sergeant Johnson.

  “Just a minute,” I call back, grabbing the hot cocoa/water. Oh yeah, it’s not even warm. It gets dumped in the disposal. I run to the bathroom, shove the cup under the shower head and hope. Yes! It’s warm.