New Voices Volume 11 Read online

  New Voices

  Volume 11

  By S. H. Marpel, J. R. Kruze, R. L. Saunders

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  NEW VOICES VOLUME 11

  First edition. December 20, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 S. H. Marpel et al..

  Written by S. H. Marpel et al..

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Doppel

  The “Panic of 2020”

  The Projector

  The Girl Who Believed Tomorrow

  The Case of The Tenacious Typist

  The Eye In Team

  Riot Wall

  Idylls of a Lazurai

  The Autists: Jenna

  Did You Find the Strange Secret in This Story?

  Related Books You May Like

  Expand Your Collection

  Don't Miss Out!

  Did You Like This Book?

  Further Reading: An SF/Fantasy Reader: Short Stories From New Voices

  Also By S. H. Marpel

  Also By J. R. Kruze

  Also By R. L. Saunders

  About the Publisher

  To all our many devoted and loyal fans:

  We write and publish these stories only for you.

  (Be sure to get your bonuses at the end of the story...)

  - - - -

  From the editor: This book is part of a continuing series, and has subtle references to earlier material. "Book Universes Notes" have been included at the end of each story - just to help you with a character list, referenced books, and point out some easter eggs...

  Introduction

  2020 WAS A YEAR NONE OF us will soon forget, but we'd rather...

  At least these authors left us with some decent fiction as distraction – fantasies and mysteries in exotic surroundings as well as the ordinary.

  Our latest anthology of this year's works has all of their stories in a single volume. And we collected the last of this election year's artistic output into this single volume.

  Of course, we also have a little satire creeping in (like the president making his appearance in two of our stories). And while his opponent didn't appear, the riots did. Even our authors are not immune to being inspired by the reported events, though I can assure you none of them were ever in personal danger from these or that pesky virus which only spread worse the more you tried to lock it down...

  (And that sounds like some editor should put a bug in one of their ears with a new idea for a story.)

  For now, I'll leave you to this marvelous collection of these New Voices stories.

  Robert C. Worstell, Editor

  Doppel

  BY S. H. MARPEL & R. L. Saunders

  TWO TWIN BOYS WERE born one stormy night, while flying through the Bermuda Triangle.

  One didn’t belong to this universe, the other did.

  An easier entrance was made in Washington, D. C.

  Just a test appearance. Because this man wanted to find his own doppelganger. Somewhere in Congress.

  Around his finger was a thin dark ring with two stones on it - one red, and one blue. The ring was carved into the shape of a serpent eating its own tail. An ancient legend that foretold death before rebirth.

  That ring had found the man.

  Like the twin boys had found each other.

  Regardless of the universes they belonged to.

  These two sets of twins had different goals for being here. One set to save both universes, the other set sought to master and control everything possible - regardless of what had to be destroyed in the process.

  Only one set could win - while the fate of both universes hung in the balance...

  I

  THE SMALL TWIN-ENGINE plane rocked in the sudden thunder storm, lightning flashed outside. Cabin lights flickered on and off. Along with the sky flashes exposing the passenger’s drawn faces to alternate pitch black and brilliant white.

  Besides the pilot and the stewardess, the only occupants in the rocking craft were a man, his very pregnant wife, and an attending doctor.

  In the midst of the thunder and whining engines, A cry rang out, then another.

  Two young children entered this world inside that small airplane.

  In the next minute, that craft pitched forward, pushing all the occupants against their seats. The husband and wife each holding tight onto one child each, while the doctor grasped his black medical bag to his chest with one hand, and the arm of his chair with the other – both hands white from a straining grip.

  Seconds turned into eternity as the plane plummeted through the flashing clouds.

  In the cockpit, the pilot was furiously working to level out the plane at least into a gliding pattern. All by brute force of his straining arms, legs, and back. At his side, strapped into the co-pilot seat, the stewardess was working through the re-start sequence to get the engines powered again, to get the hydraulics and electrical working once more.

  With her practiced moves, any observer could see they had been through similar scenes before. Their quick, sure actions coming from repetitive training and sheer muscle-memory – despite the steep angle of descent and the continual rocking that shook the craft.

  At last, the engines caught again, and lights flickered back on in the cabin. Thrusting the throttle full forward, the young woman in the co-pilot seat then helped the straining pilot pull back on the shared yoke of that plane, using the controls on her half of the small cockpit.

  They got their too-rapid descent back under control only a few thousand feet above the storm-whipped waves. There the clouds left them as a retreating ceiling, and they were now below the cloud-to-cloud lightning. The rain had also quit – which gave the pilot and stewardess a clearer view. As the craft leveled out, the engines bit into head and side-winds – pulling them toward their nearest safe landing, still hundreds of miles away.

  As the pilot pulled the throttle back to a more normal speed for the new conditions, the stewardess patted his shoulder. “I’d give you a kiss, lover, but I need to check on our guests.”

  At that she unbuckled her seatbelt and made her way aft.

  A smiling mother greeted her with the baby boy cradled in her arms.

  The doctor was taking her pulse.

  The husband was looking around the cabin – frantic.

  The other baby was missing. But there was no trace the child ever existed – except in the memories of the three adults in that small cabin.

  Memories that faded quickly, as part of the nightmare they had just escaped.

  By the time that storm-worn plane landed in Miami, they each thought it had been only a dream – or a nightmare. And they didn’t talk with each other about what happened.

  Because all the indicators of the woman’s pregnancy only indicated her carrying one child.

  Despite giving birth to two while they flew through the Bermuda Triangle.

  II

  I FELT A PAIR OF ARMS embrace me across my back and the nuzzling kiss on my cheek. Good thing I’d already stopped walking in the pasture, taking the shade of a massive oak..

  A familiar voice whispered in my ear. “Hi-ya, lover.”

  “Sal, what a delightful surprise.”

  She came around to my front and gave me another hug, resting her blond head on my chest. I was getting used to my personal spirit-guide arriving without notice, but that’s not to say I wasn’t startled at first.

  I was wearing my typical red t-shirt, work jeans and boots, a ball cap and bandanna kerchief. She was in a tan v-necked t-shirt of
her own and dark brown jeans, with sensible, but lightweight hiking boots.

  She stood back from me and pulled a beige ball cap from her own hip pocket to cover her head and shade her eyes from the dappled sunlight that passed through the thin Spring foliage. Sal left her blond hair waving down her back. This outfit said that her visit was not any official Library assignment, but the comfortable choice of clothing was meant to assist her in helping me with something I needed.

  That I didn’t know I needed.

  She took my hand and we stood there for awhile, looking toward where the cows were grazing. The grass was still short, and I’d moved them once already today. You could hear them munching from here. In their world, they had everything they needed.

  The spring leaves had just started coming out on the trees. And I was learning again which tree and bush species leaved-out earliest. Buckeyes and spice-bush were taking the green color of the grass up to mid-height on the mostly bare tree trunks. While the maple “blossoms” were an early indicator of the twirly-birds that would fall from their limbs in a few months. Soon the wild plum and crab apple blossoms would appear, along with the redbud blooms.

  Walking calmed my mind and let the stories come to me.

  “That and your stack of legal pads at the back of your writing table.”

  I was still getting used to Sal listening into my thoughts as if I spoke them out loud.

  I just nodded and smiled. “You’re a wonder, Sal. And I have to thank whoever I could for your finding me those years ago.”

  She squeezed my hand. “It wasn’t just you needing me, it was both Jude and I needed you as well. You’re one out of a million-million, and we both still have need of your rare talents. All we did was to help you help us – and help all those many, many beings out there who needed your help.”

  I shrugged. “Thanks. But I needed to help them as well.”

  Sal pulled my arm around her back and leaned her head on my shoulder briefly. “You have such an interesting way of phrasing things. Turning the emphasis back toward helping others.”

  Then she stopped, stood up straight, a bit away from me while close enough that we could hold hands – and looked into my eyes. “And that makes helping you even harder.”

  “Not like I want to make anything difficult for you.”

  “So just let any idea of ‘me’ go and tell me what story you’re writing now – then I can use your own tactic against you.”

  “Tactic?”

  “Like you deal with all the ghosts we’ve helped over the years. You get them to tell you their story, and prompt them where they leave out some clue which would resolve their mystery. Like any good mystery writer.”

  My mind ran away for a bit with memories of all the mysteries we’d solved together.

  Sal cleared her throat.

  I looked down at her face. She had a small pout on her face, her cute lower lip saying that I needed to be talking, not just flying away with my thoughts.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Just start with the story you’re working on, and then we’ll peel out why you need to be writing it.”

  I smiled at her and began.

  “It has to do with mirror universes...”

  III

  I‘D SHOWN UP TO THE storefront in a brown sport jacket, stone-washed jeans, and a open collar perma-press button-down shirt – solid light blue, but faded.

  The event was some volunteer activity for the U. S. House representative of this district.

  Envelope stuffing was a simple task, and I took a spot on the end of the table, even though it meant getting up frequently to get supplies from the middle.

  “Say you look familiar – no, that’s just too uncanny.”

  Turning toward that female voice found a young brunette was studying my face.

  “Uncanny? This mug has never been described like that.”

  “No – I mean sure, you’re handsome and all, but – wait.” She reached over to pick up one of the brochures we were stuffing into envelopes, and flipped it to the backside.

  Her sudden intake of breath prompted me to wonder what she was thinking.

  She held the brochure up so she could study the picture on the back side and my face – glancing between them. “OK, sure, not uncanny. But you do look like him. Put you in a suit and comb your hair different and you’d be a dead-ringer.”

  “So your saying I was ‘saved by the bell’?”

  Her smile made her face even more attractive.

  “No, although that’s a cute twist of a phrase. If you dressed up in a suit and combed your hair different, maybe got a trim, then you could pass for the guy we’re envelope stuffing for.”

  I had to smile back. Her perky nose and open look were disarming. “I suppose the next thing you’re going to say is that we should go and get something to eat, maybe a drink.”

  She gave a quiet laugh. “Like I’d even thought of using that as a pick-up line.”

  I chuckled myself. “Well, how about a conversation starter?”

  She relaxed at that idea. “Sure, I am hungry – and those ham and cheese sliders over on the buffet line go great with their sweet tea. Just to keep us fueled up so we can keep going on these long nights volunteering.”

  “But at the same time, we’re encouraged not to bring them back to the stuffing table where incidental grease marks would wind up on what we’re stuffing.”

  She nodded. “I’m Pat. And you are...?”

  “Mike.”

  “OK, Mike. Can I interest you in a dutch date at the free food buffet?”

  “Sure, Pat. That would be my pleasure.”

  IT WAS A LONG NIGHT. Even after we left the nearly endless stuffing tables to make our way to her apartment.

  The reverse psychology of implying some young thing is trying to get you in bed tended to work well.

  But Pat was right. I did look like the candidate.

  That was exactly why I was there that night. And why I’d picked a spot where I would have to get up and move around so often, as well as being on the end where my profile would be visible to everyone.

  Pat got up before I woke, and I could hear her in the other room. She was talking to someone. Since I didn’t hear the other voice, it had to be a phone call.

  At last, she came back and snuggled beneath her cotton sheets and satin comforter to get next to me again.

  “Thanks for keeping it all warm.”

  “Well, at least on my side. But now that you’re here, we can work on warming up your side again.”

  Pat kissed my neck and stroked by chest beneath the sheets.

  “And thanks for last night.”

  “What’s that phrase about politics making strange bedfellows?”

  She hugged me close and wrapped her leg around one of mine. “You’re not strange at all.”

  My arm was under her pillow and I used it to pull her close. “But bedfellows we are.”

  She nuzzled closer to me and ran her hand across my stomach. “Say, Mike, what’s in your plans for today?”

  I smiled. “Nothing much. You?”

  “I’ve got the day off, it’s the weekend. So anything goes. Except the time I’d like to spend helping the campaign – they’re always looking for people to help out.”

  I smiled, and she reached up to pull my head down to hers for a kiss that lasted awhile. And promised other things.

  THE NEXT DAY, SHE STARTED taking me around and introducing me to all the key people who ran the local campaign for our Congressional Representative.

  Before we left her place, she spent some time with a comb and some scissors to make my hair look like the candidate’s. And I shaved close, trimmed my sideburns to look like his.

  It wasn’t too much surprise that I got double-takes and the occasional long look as if I weren’t just trying to fool them with an incognito surprise visit by the candidate himself.

  Our last visit was to the PR guy. He took a photo of me when we first met and we ha
d a talk. I told him a made-up story of moving from place to place and a series of foster homes, somehow getting a GED by distance education. Nothing that could be traced easily. My fake ID went along with everything I’d said.

  He sent the photo to a few people and heard back by text and call while we were talking.

  By the end of the interview, I had a job.

  Off the books, of course.

  Just making occasional non-speaking appearances.

  You gotta start somewhere...

  IV

  IT WASN’T TOO SURPRISING when our twin boy brought his parents to visit one afternoon.

  For their birthday party. It had become an annual event. Rob and Bob. More than identical twins, they were absolutely identical to each other. Because they came from other universes.

  All that we figured out from the way he acted, how they finished each others sentences, loved exactly the same games and toys. Of course, our Rob went to visit their Bob occasionally as well. We just made sure he knew to tell us before he left. Worrying got tiresome.

  There they all were, walking in the front gate of our little estate. (Real estate ventures had their side benefits.)

  We introduced each other and then led them all to the main dining salon, where we had a nice dinner and cake and ice cream. Two cakes, one for each of them.

  Then the boys scampered off to their play room and we parents all sat around in our comfy, deep chairs in the main living room. All around a cozy fireplace.

  And we compared notes, finding out about each other.

  He and I had the same name, Roger, and looked identical (no surprise there.) And as much as I love my wife, having two of her took some getting used to. Roger-1 noticed my reaction – which of course he was also experiencing.

  Our wives (Hilda and Hilda-1) just looked at each other and chuckled slightly in amusement. I’m sure they shared exactly the same thought.