Other Worlds: Volume 1

By Dorothy Davies

There are many other worlds, most appear in fiction but how many are based on real life? How many could we access if we found the right way in, the right key, the right password? Other Worlds offers you a brief glimpse of possibilities of some of these strange, often dangerous, occasionally endearing worlds, where death walks on silent feet and the access to the world is capable of being closed - for how long...

This anthology contains the following:-

Nothing Else Like Returning Home – Rickey Rivers Jr
Congregation – Dorothy Davies
The Primal Assassin – John Keane
Miles To Go - Rie Sheridan Rose
Soulbane – F G Laval
Identity Crisis – Geoff Nelder
Butterfly – Dorothy Davies
The Retrieval – Rie Sheridan Rose
Across a Broken Bridge – Rickey Rivers Jr
In Space No One Can Hear You Sing – F G Laval
Bugged – Rie Sheridan Rose
Five Card Shuffle - David Turnbull
Fool’s Hope – Michael B Fletcher
Replication – Dorothy Davies
Do Humanoids Breathe Electric Air? – Dona Fox

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fiction4All
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005107109

Dorothy Davies

Dorothy Davies, writer, medium, editor, lives on the Isle of Wight in an old property which has its own resident ghosts. All this adds to her historical and horror writing.

Book preview

OTHER WORLDS – VOL. 1

An Anthology of Science Fiction Stories

Edited by Dorothy Davies

Published by Fiction4All (Double Dragon imprint) at Smashwords

Copyright 2022 Dorothy Davies

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Nothing Else Like Returning Home – Rickey Rivers Jr

Congregation – Dorothy Davies

The Primal Assassin – John Keane

Miles To Go - Rie Sheridan Rose

Soulbane – F G Laval

Identity Crisis – Geoff Nelder

Butterfly – Dorothy Davies

The Retrieval – Rie Sheridan Rose

Across a Broken Bridge – Rickey Rivers Jr

In Space No One Can Hear You Sing – F G Laval

Bugged – Rie Sheridan Rose

Five Card Shuffle - David Turnbull

Fool’s Hope – Michael B Fletcher

Replication – Dorothy Davies

Do Humanoids Breathe Electric Air? – Dona Fox

Book 1 - Nothing Else like Returning Home

Rickey Rivers Jr.

The blue planet was revealed to the passengers through the bubble shuttle window.

Would you look at that?

Home sweet home!

Sif put its arm around him. It's such a beautiful planet.

You should see it up close.

The planet drew near, an orb of blue-white surrounded by blackness like a marble in a pocket. The trip was successful, the mauve planet had been mostly barren beyond the being whose arm was currently around his waist.

He recalled his first encounter with the being, then only a flesh-like blob. That blob would transform itself into a human image. Langston had stuttered on the word ‘safe’, pronouncing it incorrectly, leaving the being to believe it had been named. Its first words to him were Sif? and Langston shook his head to confirm. He was scared. In that moment he feared harm would come to him.

The name stuck and Langston was left unharmed with a new-found friend. They enjoyed movies together. They enjoyed music together. But most of all, conversation was priority, especially tales of Earth. For this topic Sif had been most curious.

What of the Earth? he had asked.

And Langston had told tales of the biggest animals to the smallest, the beauty of the ocean, the view of the mountains, the sweet air of carnivals with popcorn in every direction, the joys of carnival rides jolting you this way, that; the songs of birds each morning, the moonlight that lit every night time secret. All of this was wonderful to Sif. All of it intrigued Sif.

Presently it turned itself to Langston. They'll want to meet me.

Who? said Langston, only to Sif's reflection.

Your parents

Langston smiled. Yes, I'd assume so.

The closer they came to Earth the more Langston thought: the implications, the judgmental whispers. What would his parents think? Not to mention Diana. Was he ready for this?

They might be weird.

No weirder than I.

I mean they might reject you, reject us together.

Why would they?

Earth man and alien isn’t-

Please, that word.

Langston sighed. Sorry, you know what I mean.

No, I don’t. I've never once called you an alien. After you named me the first thing I did was ask you your name. I've called you your name ever since. That's what you're supposed to do.

You’re right, Sif. I’m sorry.

It’s okay. I’m not upset. Sif pecked his check. Don’t worry. I’m sure things will be fine on Earth. Besides, if you want, I could make myself female for a time. Maybe that would help?

He considered. It might.

But eventually I would like to show the form that I’m most comfortable in.

The blob? He thought of that, a mass of flesh oozing out of the shuffle, scaring people on Earth: women screaming, men readying weapons, the press snapping photos.

Now you offend me. No, I mean this form, the form of a human male. I’ve grown quite fond of the male genitalia. It's humorous.

Langston's jaw tightened. How can I sneak you out of here? This was supposed to be a solo mission. One man leaves and the same man returns.

You are returning.

Alone, Sif, that was the mission.

…right.

He put his arm around Sif’s waist, a waist that was made to appear human, but Sif was only an imitation. Langston understood that. He also understood that others would not understand them together. It would not normal or seen as such. It would not be accepted. Sif would be harmed, tortured, killed.

He considered this and his heart raced, almost catching up with his thoughts. He recalled past testing procedures. How difficult it had been to observe an autopsy. Seeing it was one thing, but the lingering smell had been worse. Creatures cut down the middle, a strong smell filling the air, the odor almost tangible in its thickness.

One time a Government scientist fainted and Langston would have followed him to the floor if he hadn’t held his breath and counted backwards. The poor guy hit his head on the floor. He almost re-heard the fall. The recollection of the smell always brought him back to a place of discomfort. The smell was worse than death itself.

He shook his head and took his mind away from that, brought himself back to the now, back to Sif and back to telling the truth.

I'm sorry, he said. I'm so sorry.

It's okay.

Difficult as it was, Langston pulled himself away from Sif and revealed the thing on his waist. A tiny black pen with a red stripe, made to seem harmless, given to him in case he ran into trouble. He had never used it before. He had never needed to.

What’s that? said Sif.

Sif, my parents won't accept you, not to mention the Government. On Earth things are different, much different. We couldn't be together.

You've told me about that. We'll come up with something.

No, I don't… I don't think so. Langston's mind traveled. He saw the looks, heard the jeers. No, it just can't be.

Hold on. At least give me a chance.

Even the decontamination process, the amount of testing, it would be too much. You couldn't take it. I couldn't take seeing it.

Don’t make that decision for me. Sif took a step forward. His shape regressed. He became the blob again, the mess of gelatinous clay.

I have to. It won't hurt.

Hold on.

It was fun.

Langston's fired the tiny weapon.

Hold o-o-o-o

Sif disintegrated and left not even a scent behind. Its final words echoed in the once again lonely shuttle.

Langston put his hands on the bubble shuttle window and exhaled. His breath fogged the glass.

Had to be done, he told himself.

The coldness of space embraced him. He was alone again, this time with new memories. Those would last even when the echo faded. They would last like the smell in the labs on Earth.

Though Sif had been kind, Langston knew the potential future. Sif would be seen as a possible threat and would soon, if not immediately, be exterminated. Once it set false foot on Earth it wouldn’t matter what sex it assumed, what form it took. Sif would only be seen as what it didn’t want to be called, an alien.

Still, their time together had been nice and Langston had found happiness and companionship on the journey. However, in the back of his mind he knew it wouldn't last. He just wanted it to, a bit of happiness, for a bit longer. On Earth, that behavior, his feelings, would be frowned upon. Humans were to be with humans. That was the law. All discovered lifeforms must be registered, decontaminated and detained. That was the law. Smuggling a lifeform back to Earth was a crime punishable by law. Law, law, it was all law. And laws didn't change much, not anymore.

He wasn't sure if the law even stopped him primarily. Maybe it was only fear, of judgment, of misunderstanding, of the implication. He didn't know, not for certain. All he knew was the fact, it wasn't right by law and he had to abide.

He approached Earth at a steady speed and would return as he had left prior. The welcoming planet drew near. Langston rested his eyes and mind, leaving Sif behind in the warm but lonely interior. Pestering thoughts would come and he would shut them out.

On the trek back he thought of Diana. At one point he removed a scrap of paper from his pocket and began to scribble. He managed to write something that sounded half-way honest even if he didn't believe it. Tears came from him. One fell on the scrap of paper. One slid to his chin. The chin slid tear waited where it was, before finally falling to the floor.

Book 2 - Congregation

Dorothy Davies

Soft air cool on skin chill underfoot we walk slowly unsurely stumbling over grass broken stones neglected pathways damaged roads redundant electrics trip unwary feet walk who walks any more but walking is the only way. See them come from far away from nearby they approach old frail edging senility useless castoffs unwanted unloved uncared for.

Solid steadfast impregnable stands the door ajar we slide by into stone coolness crumbling pillars exerting strength holding vaulted ceiling high above our heads stained faces frown down as we shuffle into long accustomed places.

Countless endless years this has been my place left for me no matter what or who familiar as my own bed. Sun throws coloured shards on gravestone aisle long mouldered people lucky enough to be buried we who live reluctantly on envy you.

Heavy with sorrow and hesitation the chimes toll stiffly. Carefully awkwardly we bend aching aged limbs into semblance of humility veined hands support grey white balding heads.

Soft comes the priest behind him light flickers into oblivion before him radiance bathing the path toward the decrepit altar long overdue for someone me her why not to clean the cross the ancient symbol once glowing with inner radiance now grimed by neglect and disinterest. Tomorrow is always another day. Hands held high in supplication incantation dedication whispering prayerful imploring words destined for ears greater than ours have ever been will ever be mouths mumble words ears eyes thoughts elsewhere comfort of sitting warmth of fire filling of long empty lonely days stay here in humility posture of devoutness head bent devotion to the words rolling sonorously endlessly over ears now dulled by passage of years passing of time monotony of living who listens any more words so familiar loved well know subconscious can recite them we forget to listen Epistle read chanting holy long forgotten words over devoutly bent head will they know of course they cannot will they care are they the same as I aged bones cannot take bending standing kneeling sitting as the pattern of this service demands. Why not do things because they are easier stay kneeling head resting on book rest books since when were there books long long ago gone leaves flying white butterflies covers limp petals destined for rubbish recycling plant long long gone beloved familiar books stay kneeling head down thoughts adrift through ancient hallowed ceremony.

Almighty God but is He greater than Government greater than war than those who direct lead drag us toward edge of oblivion every day nearer a token of madness Almighty God if You care if You are at all interested if this is more than just another ritual stop the lemming madness.

Almighty God Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ Maker Of All Things Judge Of All Men we acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness longing for sanity in the world youthful resilience strength for aged limps comfort warmth food love care tenderness the life that was and is not Lord what sins can the old commit in Thy sight it is better to be absolved than stay heavy laden with unknown sinfulness onward rolling sound of words prayers glorifications sanctification consecration invitation.

Slowly rising shuffling moving uttering silent heavenward communion prayers frail and weak we move to the support the solidness the communion rail provides begging beseeching hands outstretched awaiting benediction.

Comes the priest surplice absolution white cassock sin black wafer for cupped hands time honoured familiar words flow over round trough conscious spirit yearning for deeper involvement turns the priest rustle of cloth turning moving carefully slowly communicants reaching for shining Chalice bitter blood red wine touches withered lips for a fleeting moment of time the Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ the Blood of the Lord Jesus Christ the Blood of Our Lord –

Chalice tilts shining pouring a libation to the dead life blood spilled on granite splashing cascading myriad droplets staining sin black disruption interruption disturbance we move shuffle back to pews and continue long loved service in heads in wavering whispering voices finishing with a prayer nay a heart-felt cry for help encouragement understanding and for someone anyone to come with expertise knowledge patience to mend the robot priest stopped inelegantly inopportunely we need this robot and the solace consolation never ending security of the benediction blessing ritual of this most holy of services.

Leaving disappointed we slide past impregnable solid steadfast door into alien antagonistic dangerous frightening world taking with us a small measure of devotion contentment happiness could there be such a word left in a world of insanity that is the sole purpose we belong to the sect known as the Congregation.

Book 3 - The Primal Assassin

John Keane

I pass the guards with ease, although there are nine of them, all armed and doubtless highly experienced. I cast my senses wide within the walls of Chiang Lo Kun’s estate and take stock of the situation. An elegant pagoda looms amidst a complex of modern buildings, its seven storeys dark against the tropical sunset. Chiang occupies the topmost level. His private rooms are heavily guarded twenty-four hours a day. A risky job, though the rewards make the risk worthwhile.

As I gather my strength and will, I recall how I fell into this career. It was fifteen years ago, in a lecture hall in another country...

‘Kant concluded that we can never truly know if the world of our experience is really ‘there’, or merely a by-product of our sensory apparatus. Many subsequent philosophers tried to unravel this riddle in various ways. Arthur Schopenhauer’s solution was quite ingenious: we can only experience things in the world because we and the world are composed of the same ‘stuff’.

‘And what is the nature of this ‘stuff’?’ asked the lecturer, warming to his topic. ‘According to Schopenhauer, its nature is Will: a pure, blind striving to exist. Our bodies, all objects and everything we see is mere illusion. The only truth is Will, eternal and boundless.’

That word Will flashed through my mind like a bolt of lightning, illuminating everything. For the first time in my life, I felt my father’s beatings were worth the pain. Even the years of ostracism and ridicule by my peers tasted sweet as chilled Chablis.