Free Si in Space by John Luke Robertson Page A

issue. See, the story’s going a little long. And we can’t have that. I know you guys have some things to figure out and all that, but could you just   —you know, skip ahead? Hurry it up? Make one choice and go for it.”
    Everybody is looking at you with grave concern.
    “Well, of course, Mrs. Watson. You’re the boss.”
    “That’s great. Thanks. I’m also gonna need you to come in here on Saturday. Yeah, thanks a bunch.”
    The phone goes dead.
    So now you have a quandary. Do you disobey the lady at the publishing house and continue your adventures? Or do you make one choice and get everybody home safely?
    Hey, Jack, is that how it works here in this universe of words?

    Disobey and go here .
    Obey and go here .

BLACK DOG

    OPENING THE DOOR APPEARS to produce some kind of chain reaction. First comes the smoke. Then the glowing, trembling lights. Then the low, pulsing sound.
    “Hey, Jack, this is like a Led Zeppelin concert.”
    “Stay focused, Si,” Wade says.
    “Buddy, focus is my middle name.” You lead the way into the foggy, disorienting room. You can barely see the floor you’re stepping on.
    You try to reassure yourself. “There’s no sneakin’ up on me.” But after a few more steps, you turn around.
    “Wade?”
    You shine your flashlight here and there but can’t see Wade or anything else. You decide to head back in the direction you came, only to find the door closed. You try to open it, but it doesn’t have a handle or a button to work with.
    “Wade? Wade, you hear me? You out there?”
    Nothing.
    “Commander? John Luke? Hello? Is anybody out there?”
    But nobody’s responding over the headset.
    Great.
    “Wade, you around?”
    The smoke is starting to disperse, revealing an orangey glow from several lights in the ceiling.
    Good news.
    Until you see the center of the room.
    It’s more skeletons. Maybe half a dozen of them.
    All piled on top of each other.
    Like in the longest wrestling match you’ve ever seen.
    “Uh, Wade, we got a problem here.”

    You scan the walls for any way out, but there’s nothing. This room looks like it used to be the sleeping chamber for whatever these things were.
    There’s a set of drawers built into the wall. In one of them, you find what appears to be some type of weapon. A gun. A laser pistol. Or maybe a space blaster. Whatever it might be called.
    A door on the other side of the room opens. A figure in a black suit of body armor walks into the room, aiming a rifle at you. He’s got on a space helmet that looks sinister, just like the barrel of his weapon.
    You grab the blaster from the drawer, expecting it to fire some colorful laser shots. And of course, you expect to hit him and take him down.
    That’s what happens in the movies, Jack.
    But in this story, your “blaster” only emits a little stream of black stuff. Like you’re spraying some soy sauce on this stranger with the rifle. It barely makes it onto him. Jason Bourne would be better prepared.
    You look down at the gun, then throw it as hard as you can at the armed stranger. He doesn’t seem to notice. So much for being a hero.
    “Silas, you’re a fool,” you hear Wade say.
    Hold on! That’s coming from the figure right in front of me. Is this the big twist? The double-crossed fist?
    You always thought this guy was trouble. And, as usual, you were right. You could have avoided this situation. Maybe next time.
    Good thing this isn’t really . . .
    THE END
    Start over.
    Read “Look at the Stars: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

TWO FELLAS

    “JOHN LUKE, TRY TO OPEN THE DOOR AGAIN,” you tell him as you feel the shifting, wet, slushy goop underneath you.
    Junk of all sorts surrounds you. Engine parts. Pieces of metal and plastic. Cans of Chef Boyardee beef ravioli (wait, huh?). All in a juicy, sticky soup.
    Yummy. I’m hungry now!
    “But if I open the door, won’t they find us?” John Luke asks.
    You hear the sound of something deep and deadly underneath you