In Dark Corners (46 page)

Her head obviously clear now, December smiled and kissed him softly on the lips. "Hmmm, I missed you, too. The Irazii told us—K.D. and me—that you were indeed alive. So, I wasn't worried about that. Only if we were ever going to see each other again."

Jake nodded, realizing the Irazii had undoubtedly explained the fate of the other crewmen to December.

They hugged and kissed each other again, slightly more passionately this time.

"Wait, wait," December said, breathlessly breaking from his grasp. "I need to get my bearings. A moment ago, I was eating in my cell, then wham, here I am visiting my lover. The abrupt dislocation is more than just a little disorienting, you know…How do they do that with us, the food, the vids, the shower, apparently anything they want to move into or out of a cell or wherever? Is that how they abducted us? And how—?"

Holding up his hand in the stop gesture, Jake said, "Hey, you're the doctor. I'm just a lowly trawler pilot."

December stuck out her tongue and punched his shoulder playfully.

For a few minutes they speculated on their fate, comparing notes on the Irazii interrogations, December lifting her eyebrows curiously when he mentioned his concerns about the odd focus. He told her his theory about the three of them actually being experimental subjects.

December said, "I've been thinking somewhat along those lines, too. And whatever it involves, I think these visits have something to do with it. Even my short one with K.D."

Jake nodded, reminded that his visit with the first engineer had been very short, too.

"What do you think they want?" he asked, reaching out and taking her hand in his as they talked, leading her to a seat on his bunk. "What's going on?"

"I've been thinking about that a lot, and I have a general theory," December said, kind of huskily, her green eyes seeming to darken slightly in tone as her eyelids drooped, giving her expression a seductive look, "but we'll just have to talk about that later." She rose, unzipped her one-piece uniform, shucked the garment, and quickly slipped out of bra and panties; then she stood with her hands on her hips, a kind of defiant look on her face. "I have something else in mind right now."

She moved closer and kissed him again, wetly, her nakedness making Jake forget about the Irazii experiment.

He removed his coveralls and briefs.

Then they stretched out on his narrow bunk and made love, and though they were each totally familiar with the other's body and moves, Jake felt somewhat clumsy and awkward, unable to completely relax, attributing his inadequacy to the presence of the unseen observers. But December made up for his lack of commitment and enthusiasm, apparently her passion undampened by an awareness of the Irazii viewers beyond the indigo glass.

***

Afterwards, still lying naked side-by-side on the narrow bunk, December, apparently aware now of being observed, whispered, "Seriously, Jake, you have no idea what they're doing with us, even after all your interviews?"

Shaking his head, he whispered back, "No, but we must have peaked their curiosity. This visit has lasted a long time. Maybe they are nothing more than common voyeurs?"

"Well, they're obviously interested in our sex habits," December agreed, giggling, then looked at him more thoughtfully.

After a moments silence, she added, "But I think it's more subtle than common voyeurism. It has something to do with our emotions. "

She stood up, slipped on her clothes, and crossed the cell to the table. After pouring a drink of water, she turned to face Jake, her expression completely serious now.

Then she stared at the indigo glass wall, lost in thought. After a minute or so, she began to talk in a kind of tentative way, obviously working it all out as she went along. "You know of course that for some time our autonomic responses to some emotions have been outdated? The flight/fight reaction to a sudden fear response, for example, is really inappropriate in modern urban living. Actually causes damage. A lot has been written on this, beginning last century with Hans Selye's work, suggesting these types of inappropriate responses create internal stress on the immune system, eventually contributing to bodily breakdowns, heart attacks, and susceptibility to a wide range of diseases, and so forth…" She paused to take a drink, then turned back in his direction as she continued. "Suppose the Irazii have evolved past us in this whole area of dysfunctional affective response. They are obviously advanced intellectually and technologically. Why not their biology, too? I don't mean they have lost their ability to emote. Imagine their affective reactions as very low key. A kind of flat line of emotional responses. Not like ours, with high peaks and low valleys." A trace of excitement raised her pitch, as she spoke more confidently now. "And just suppose they still appreciate…even savor the rich intensity of our high and low affective responses. Perhaps they are technologically capable of actually sharing our emotional reactions, experiencing the high or low psychological kick…Kind of like piggybacking on our joy, our anger, our fear, our passion, the whole gamut of emotions…" She suddenly snapped her fingers. "No, not piggybacking, that's crude, not an elegant or graceful image. Let's call it hitchhiking—"

Suddenly the blue line traced her shape, increasing in brilliant intensity.

But just before she blinked out with her back to him, Jake caught a glimpse of something shiny, like wire, braided into her queue.

Wha—?

December was gone.

He was left dumbfounded.

***

Long after December was jerked from the cell, Jake remained seated on his bunk, thinking, puzzling over what she proposed as explanation. She thinks we have something the Irazii want to share, he thought. They don't feel much on their own. So what if they could hitchhike on our feelings for recreational purposes? An emotional roller coaster…

December was right about the Irazii, Jake finally decided.

But the wire in her queue? What about that?

Then it occurred to him that K.D. had her hair done in the same manner.

Yes, he was convinced now that both women were wired.

And he pictured the Irazii, wired to their consoles.

Jesus, he swore silently, holding his breath and combing his fingers carefully through his hair, expecting to feel foreign strands. But no, nothing but hair.

Jake wasn't wired.

Tired, baffled by the mystery of it all, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply—

Then Jake blinked, a chilling thought reviving him: What if I was the only survivor of the snatch? What if the women were really some kind of reconstructions, completely controlled by the Irazii, their only purpose to elicit an emotional response from him? Maybe that explained the wires connecting them to the Irazii.

Yeah, kind of like puppets.

"Oh, my God," he whispered aloud, remembering the lovemaking with December. It hadn't been right at all; not uninhibited, wet, and wild like normal. No, it had been kind of stiff…mechanical. He thought it had been his fault, worrying too much about the Irazii watching.

But, no, it was December.

She was only a puppet now!

Jake shook his head sadly, convinced that he was right, that he was the only experimental subject here. The Irazii were hitchhiking all right, but only on his emotional responses.

Probably right at this moment, too…

The Hitchhiking Effect

Crackling static.

The indigo glass simultaneously dimming.

A brief glimpse of two Irazii communicating with each other:

"Congratulations, Azi, your reanimated pilot is an overwhelming success, both females emoting wonderfully, their responses to him delightful."

"Yes, the mating episode was exquisite…"

The glass wall opaques back to indigo, cutting off the obvious translation mistake.

But, wide-eyed, Jake remains rooted in place in his cell, gazing at the indigo wall, as if looking into eternity.

***

He remains frozen for a long, long time, sorting it all out, until he sees fully what the Irazii have done, what they are doing, what they must intend. The complete horror of it all. And since being reborn seven days ago, he atavistically explores, without reliance on their flat programming, the depths of real emotional despair…

***

Then, the Irazii construct, who had once been a man, sneers contemptuously at the indigo glass, reaches slowly up to his face, and with the tips of his fingers he carefully claws out both of his eyes.

By John Little

Gene O'Neill is a friend of mine and has been for quite some time now. But, long before I knew him as a friend, I knew him as an author.

Gene wrote for all the magazines I loved to read. In fact, I still have a bunch of yellowed
Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction
issues from the 80s that hold his stories. I also found him in
Twilight Zone
,
Pulpsmith
,
Cemetery Dance
, and probably other magazines that sit in huge piles on my book shelves. I always looked forward to reading Gene's work, but I never imagined actually meeting the man. In the 80s, I was just a quiet, beginning writer myself, with only a few credits under my belt. I'd never met any other writers in person.

Over the years, I kept up with Gene's work, picking up each of his books as they were released, and always sharing a satisfied feeling when reaching the end.

Sometime around, oh, 2005 or 2006, I was at a World Horror Convention. I can't actually remember much about the particulars of the weekend, but there's one incident that's crystal clear in my mind. I was standing in a hallway between the presentation rooms, just browsing around at some books that were for sale, when a man approached me with a huge grin and his hand out. I shook his hand as he said, "I'm Gene O'Neill and I've enjoyed your writing. It's great to meet you."

Gene O'Neill? Really?

I remember actually checking his name tag, and sure enough, it was him. Fortunately, Gene wasn't as tongue-tied as I was and he carried the conversation as we talked about writing, the convention, what we like to read, and a bunch of other topics. It was like we'd known each other for years.

See, Gene in addition to being a wonderful writer, he is also a warm and friendly man who loves to talk to anybody and immediately makes everyone feel at home with him.

Over the years, it's always been a pleasure when we run into each other at conventions, and I look forward to whenever the next opportunity is.

A short time ago (as I write this), Gene e-mailed me to ask asked if I'd be interested in writing a short Afterword to this collection. Of course, I was incredibly flattered and happy to do so. One of the benefits to me was that I got to read the manuscript of the book long before most people had a chance. It was really fun to read all these stories, some of which rang a bell from all those yellowed pulps, but most of which were new to me.

Everyone will have their own favorites, and I'm not going to spoil any stories in case you're reading this before actually reading the stories themselves (a sin I'm always guilty of myself), but I can tell you that I got immense pleasure reading "Counting Backwards," "10th Street Wolfpack Is Back," "The Ishikawa Proliferation," and "A Fine Day at the Zoo."

Who knows why these particular stories stuck out in my mind . . . but they did. However, there's one piece that I keep coming back to think about: "In the Big Window." This is a story I found heartbreaking and very original.

Gene's work often resonates that way with me. His characters are all fully realized, making the reader really care about them. I hope they hit you with the same impact they did me and that you enjoy this wonderful collection as completely.

It really is an honor to write this Afterword, but it's a bigger honor to be counted among Gene's many friends. If you ever attend a horror convention that Gene's also at, look for the guy with the big smile and open handshake. Go introduce yourself. I'm sure you'll remember the meeting years later, just as I have. Gene's that kind of writer and that kind of person.

Now, if you haven't yet read his work in this book, get back to it. I might just go back for a second helping myself right now . . .

—John R. Little

December 15, 2011

Gene O'Neill
lives in the Napa Valley with his wife, Kay, a retired primary grade teacher at St. Helena Elementary School. They have been married for 40-plus years. Their grown children, Gavin and Kay Dee, live in Oakland and Solana Beach. Gene has two degrees, neither having anything to do with writing (or much of anything else). At one time or another he has been a college basketball player, an amateur boxer, a Marine, carried mail, worked on seismic crews exploring for oil, a Right-of-Way Agent (appraised, acquired, condemned, and managed real property to build the interstate highway system around Sacramento), a contract specialist for AAFES (contracting to bring private services like barbers, cleaners, and beauty parlors onto military bases), and vice president of a small manufacturing plant. Gene describes his employment background as "rich, varied, and colorful." His brother-in-law, the president of the above manufacturing plant, describes Gene as more of a "disgruntled ne'er-do-well."

Since surviving the Clarion Writers' Workshop in 1979, Gene has seen over 120 of his stories published, perhaps most notably: two in the
Twilight Zone Magazine
, six in the
Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction
, two in
Pulpsmith
, four in
Science Fiction Age
, three in
Cemetery Dance Magazine
, and many in specialized publications like
Dragon
and
Starshore
, with numerous anthology placements, including
Borderlands 5
and
Dead End: City Limits
. Stories have been reprinted in France, Spain, and Russia. A few of his past stories have garnered Nebula and Stoker recommendations, including "Balance," a short story Stoker finalist in 2007, and
The Confessions Of St. Zach
, a Stoker finalist in the long fiction category in 2009.
Doc Good's Traveling Show
was a long fiction Stoker finalist in 2010 and
Taste Of Tenderloin
won that year for Best Collection. Some of these stories have been collected in
Ghost Spirits
,
Computers & World Machines
,
The Grand Struggle
, and
Taste Of Tenderloin
, which also garnered a 2009 starred review in
Publishers Weekly
. Upcoming are two collections in 2011-12:
Dance Of The Blue Lady & Other Stories
and this title,
In Dark Corners
. His novels include
The Burden Of Indigo
,
Collected Tales Of The Baja Express
,
Shadow Of The Dark Angel
,
Deathflash
,
Lost Tribe
, and the recently completed
Not Fade Away
. All of these novels and the two forthcoming collections have been/will be released as s/l HBs in 2011 and 2012 along with the
Cal Wild
trilogy in 2012/13. Also just released are two novellas,
Rusting Chickens
from Dark Regions Press and
Doublejack
from Sideshow Press. SSP will also release a Cal Wild chapbook,
Chronicles Of The Double Sparrow
in 2012 sometime.