top of page

11

0

Fan link copied

+0

A light Latrandian cruiser waited for them in ambush behind the mangled hull of the destroyed Schild battle station. The long-range sensors of the Icarus were damaged by the hyperspace mine, and they didn't notice the enemy until it was too late.

 

The Icarus crew numbered only six men, and they all knew their chances of surviving were slim. There was no choice, however, and they began preparing the little ship for battle.

 

Turning his head, Dingham looked at Lieutenant Arvale, acting first officer.

 

"I'm afraid this is where our story ends, my love," he said. "But I'm glad I met you."

 

Arwail shook the blond locks out of her mantle, and her beautiful green eyes sparked with cold fury.

 

"No," she said. "I don't know about you, Dingy, but I'm not going to disappear for nothing. What's got into you, anyway? It's just some lousy ant cruiser, nothing to our gunners."

 

Dingham stood up and kissed her tenderly before sitting back down and buckling his harness.

 

"Listen to my command!" he said into the communicator. "Power room to reinforce forward shields, launcher operators to prepare all ammunition, fire on my command only!" He paused. " We don't stand much chance, boys. But if we play our cards right, we might find a joker among them. Remember, Earth is behind us. So let's kick the ants in their chitinous balls!"

 

They almost made it.

 

A second before he was reduced to a cloud of red-hot plasma, Dingham managed to meet the furious glance of green eyes, proud and full of love.

 

* * *

 

"Damn it, Oleg, you're walking on the edge! What if someone rats to the Oversight?" Jansson habitually ran his greasy fingers through his lush red hair and scratched the back of his head. There were bits of bacon on his chin and a few fresh mayonnaise stains on the dirty T-shirt that encircled his big belly.

 

Oleg shrugged.

 

"Then you gut your stash and will give some grease to proper people," he said. "Zeroids may not have imagination, but there's nothing wrong with greed. Besides, nobody's complained yet. Customers get what they come for."

 

"Oleg, my dear, you're my best employee," said Jansson. "But you have to give our clients bright, colorful worlds, filled with strong experiences ... And not to kill them at the end of each session. Especially since it is illegal."

 

Oleg closed his eyes. The headache was beginning to chew on his brain.

 

"Our whole shop is illegal," he said.

 

"Technically..." Jansson began, but Oleg didn't let him continue.

 

"Technically, we provide services that do not exist in the state register," he said. "According to the license, we are a mixture of a cinema and a library because the zeroids don't want to deprive themselves of their drug."

 

"But there is an agreement," Jansson said. "Even if it's not official."

 

Oleg thought a bit.

 

"I have not harmed anyone. And no one has complained yet," he finally said." They come for the bright, edgy fantasies... And we provide." He sighed and stood up. "Look, Uwe, you knew who you were hiring. Tens don't do kiddie carousels and cheap porn. If you don't like it, I can leave, and you can hire somebody else. I hear Cavagata is going to shut down his shop, so you can get his staff. Or you can remember your youth."

 

Jansson waved his arms frantically, causing his belly to fall even more out of his unbuttoned gray overalls.

 

"No, no, no! Cavagata ain't got nobody higher than a seven, and I was barely a six at my prime." Jansson ran his fingers over a small terminal. "Here's your fee for the week, plus a bonus of three hundred from yesterday's client." He smiled all over his greasy mouth.

 

"Whom, by the way, I killed in the gladiatorial arena," said Oleg and walked out before Jansson could say anything else.

 

* * *

 

The street was, as always, quiet and peaceful. A row of identical cars drove at perfect intervals, stopping at every traffic light and crosswalk with the clarity of clockwork. In each car sat a man with an expressionless face - "zeroid" or, to use the official language, "citizen of the category of imagination level zero ." Zeroids ruled the Earth. The citizens of categories other than zero were considered too unreliable for that. All they were entitled to now was a disability allowance. And the occasional entertainment for the zeroids.

 

Oleg rubbed the neural link on his temple. After long sessions, the skin around it always started to feel sore, but he was willing to endure anything for those hours when he finally gained power over the zeroids. The neural link allowed the zeroid's perception to be connected directly to consciousness of Oleg. Oleg was graded as ten, the man with the most potent imagination. Whatever he was able to imagine, zeroids experienced as if it was real. Space travel, the life of a gladiator, battles against dragons and aliens...

 

But there was something else. This powerful imagination could make copies of the minds of all clients. The world of zeroids was a gray, blank prison for Oleg.

 

And he knew how to get his revenge.

 

* * *

 

Captain Dingham (once Citizen 0/26783.B22) awoke to sharp pain in his side. When he opened his eyes, he saw a grim, hairy face with red eyes and a fanged mouth. Two crooked, asymmetrical horns protruded from the forehead over the face.

 

"Well, hello there, handsome," the face said, breathing in stench, and jabbed Dingham again in the liver with the trident. As he gasped in piercing pain, Dingham was horrified to see the head dangling from a rope around the creature's neck. A blond head with beautiful dead green eyes. Struck with grief and horror, he didn't even scream when the demon picked him up and dropped him into a cauldron of boiling oil.

 

* * *

 

Oleg smiled dreamily and staggered along the gray cars toward his standard apartment.

Copyright 2023 - SFS Publishing LLC

The Power of Imagination

Sometimes it can be an absolute power

Nik Hein

11

0

copied

+0

bottom of page