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    Mad Scientist Journal: Winter 2013
    Mad Scientist Journal: Winter 2013
    Mad Scientist Journal: Winter 2013
    Ebook205 pages2 hours

    Mad Scientist Journal: Winter 2013

    By DefCon One Publishing

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    About this ebook

    Captured angels, bioterrorism, chimpanzee politics, and tips on staging your own death. These are but some of the strange tales to be found in this book.

    Mad Scientist Journal: Winter 2013 collects three months worth of essays from the fictional worlds of mad science. Included are three new pieces of fiction written for the discerning mad scientist readers written by Eric J. Guignard, Richard Zwicker, and Nicholas Knight. Readers will also find other resources for the budding mad scientist, including an advice column and other brief messages from mad scientists.

    Authors featured in this volume also include A.W. Gifford, Nicholas P. Oakley, Franz Bidinger III, David Taub Bancroft, Cameron Suey, Mark Wardecker, Mark Carpenter, Antoinette McCormick, Alexis A. Hunter, Kate Elizabeth, James Rowland, Conor Powers-Smith, Sean Frost, Jesse Heindl, Pôl Jackson, Andi Blija, Andy Brown, Jeremiah Cheney, Mike Dominguez, and Parker Mackenzie. Illustrations are provided by Justine McGreevy, Katie Nyborg, Eleanor Leonne Bennett, Cory Caywood, Scarlett O'Hairdye, and Luke Spooner.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDefCon One Publishing
    Release dateMar 29, 2013
    ISBN9781301077236
    Mad Scientist Journal: Winter 2013

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      Book preview

      Mad Scientist Journal - DefCon One Publishing

      Mad Scientist Journal: Winter 2013

      Edited by Jeremy Zimmerman and Dawn Vogel

      Cover Illustration by Luke Spooner

      Cover Layout by Katie Nyborg

      Copyright 2013 Jeremy Zimmerman, except where noted

      Smashwords Edition

      Dear Father is Copyright 2007 A.W. Gifford

      Dividend is Copyright 2013 Nicholas P. Oakley

      The Goliath Complex is Copyright 2013 Franz Bidinger III

      The Assembly of Equals is Copyright 2011 David Taub Bancroft

      Zero (or, The Collected Correspondence of Patient Zero) is Copyright 2013 Cameron Suey

      The Maleficent Egg of Dr. de Groot is Copyright 2013 Mark Wardecker

      My Neighbor, Mr. Telford is Copyright 2013 Mark Carpenter

      Rigor in Mortis: Helpful Hints for Staging Your First Grave Deception is Copyright 2013 Antoinette McCormick

      The Writings of Brigham Worthing is Copyright 2013 Alexis A. Hunter

      Blood Tests, Types, and Ties is Copyright 2013 Kate Elizabeth

      The Disappearance of Mr Christopher Asquith is Copyright 2013 James Rowland

      Artist Killed in Mysterious Affray is Copyright 2013 Conor Powers-Smith

      The Daring Scheme of Dr. Schou is Copyright 2013 Eric J. Guignard

      Mary, Mary is Copyright 2013 Richard Zwicker

      Swarm is Copyright 2004 Nicholas Knight

      You Oort to Know! is Copyright 2013 Sean Frost

      To a Good Home is Copyright 2013 Andi Blija

      Dr. Jekyll's Confidence Pills, Jack Driver's Vehicles of Character, and Tommy Trimmer's Tonsorial Talents are Copyright 2013 Andy Brown

      Grey Streak Chic, Peter Spider is Missing, and Seeking New Partner are Copyright 2013 Jeremiah Cheney

      Estate Sale, Free to a Good Home, Wanted, and Missed Connection are Copyright 2013 Mike Dominguez

      For Sale: Cheap, Do people start ..., For Sale:, Missing, and Thank You are Copyright 2013 Parker Mackenzie

      Photos accompanying Dear Father and The Disappearance of Mr Christopher Asquith are Copyright 2013 Eleanor Leonne Bennett

      Illustrations accompanying Dividend, The Assembly of Equals, The Maleficent Egg of Dr. de Groot, and Artist Killed in Mysterious Affray are Copyright 2013 Katie Nyborg

      Illustration accompanying The Goliath Complex is Copyright 2013 Luke Spooner

      Illustrations accompanying Zero (or, The Collected Correspondence of Patient Zero) and Blood Tests, Types, and Ties are Copyright 2013 Justine McGreevy

      Photo accompanying My Neighbor, Mr. Telford is Copyright 2013 Dawn Vogel

      Illustration accompanying Rigor in Mortis: Helpful Hints for Staging Your First Grave Deception is Copyright 2013 Cory Caywood

      Illustration accompanying The Writings of Brigham Worthing is Copyright 2013 Scarlett O'Hairdye

      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

      Essays

      Dear Father - Provided by A.W. Gifford

      Dividend - Provided by Nicholas P. Oakley

      The Goliath Complex - Provided by Franz Bidinger III

      The Assembly of Equals - Provided by David Taub Bancroft

      Zero (or, The Collected Correspondence of Patient Zero) - Provided by Cameron Suey

      The Maleficent Egg of Dr. de Groot - Provided by Mark Wardecker

      My Neighbor, Mr. Telford - Provided by Mark Carpenter

      Rigor in Mortis: Helpful Hints for Staging Your First Grave Deception - Provided by Antoinette McCormick

      The Writings of Brigham Worthing - Provided by Alexis A. Hunter

      Blood Tests, Types, and Ties - Provided by Kate Elizabeth

      The Disappearance of Mr Christopher Asquith - Provided by James Rowland

      Artist Killed in Mysterious Affray - Provided by Conor Powers-Smith

      Fiction

      The Daring Scheme of Dr. Schou by Eric J. Guignard

      Mary, Mary by Richard Zwicker

      Swarm by Nicholas Knight

      Resources

      Advice: You Oort to Know! - Provided by Sean Frost

      Classifieds

      About

      Bios for Classifieds Authors

      About the Editors

      About the Artists

      ________________________________________

      Dear Father,

      A letter by Subject 025, as provided by A.W. Gifford

      Photography by Eleanor Leonne Bennett

      If you're reading this, I must be dead. Of course, you've probably already figured that much out.

      I want you to know that this was all your fault. No, I'm not saying that you were a mean father when I was a kid, nor abusive. But you just couldn't leave well enough alone.

      You need to do a better job of hiding things you don't want people to find, and never tell a child that a room is off limits. That just about guarantees the child will snoop. And yes, that means I went into your study, and discovered the truth behind my existence.

      Why you kept the news articles I found in the bottom drawer of your desk, I'll never understand. Well ... I do understand. An egomaniac will always keep news reports about him.

      The articles were about your cloning experiments. The first one hailed you as a hero; the first man in history to clone a primate. How proud you must have been.

      I learned about this monkey in school the other day, and how it suffered and died in agony, bleeding from its eyes and ears while wailing in misery. The other kids in the class accused me of being cruel to animals. No matter the effort I made telling them that I had nothing to do with the monkey, the taunts continued simply because I am your son.

      The second article turned out to be more critical. You were trying to clone a human. You were trying to clone me. The report quoted you as saying you were devastated by the death of your four-year-old son and overcome with guilt for not watching more carefully while backing out of the garage.

      The article concluded by saying that you failed, but I don't think you failed. You were scared to report your success all because you were terrified of how a judgmental society might react.

      I am no longer a creation of God. I'm nothing more than a creation of men in your lab, trying to play God.

      You remember those headaches I get? You know, the really nasty ones?

      How have I always described them?

      That's right. Like my head's being crushed.

      Did you ever stop to think that my headaches were a residual effect of the accident?

      No, of course you haven't.

      I have a gun and I plan on using it, but please don't bring me back again. I don't want to know what a bullet taste like.

      I guess your experiment failed after all, sixteen years after it began.

      I have to go now ... my eyes are starting to bleed.

      Subject 025, son of Dr. Richard and Laura Newbury, brother of the late Adam Newbury, penned the preceding letter upon learning what his father had done. Funeral services will be held at the First Methodist Church this Friday. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that you donate to the charity of your choosing in Adam's name.

      Many of A. W. Gifford's story ideas come from the nightmares of his wife, Jennifer. Though she too is a writer of dark fiction, she will never write these stories herself, fearing that if she does, they will come true.

      He is the editor of the dark fiction magazine Bête Noire and his work has appeared in numerous magazines, webzines and anthologies.

      He resides in the northern suburbs of Detroit with his wife and daughter.

      Dividend

      An essay by E. E. Malatesta, as provided by Nicholas P. Oakley

      Art by Katie Nyborg

      "Imagine a drug. A virus, actually. One so powerful, so clever, that you could release it inside a dome or on a station full of hundreds, thousands, of people and it would go undetected. And imagine that this virus would only infect a very specific set of people, a group that you yourself could determine, and that it would kill them--and only them--completely painlessly. Everyone else would be safe. Now, imagine you had a pathogen like this in your possession. What would you do?"

      The man stopped talking, taking a long gulp from a tall glass, his eyes locked on mine. He'd been talking quietly, almost whispering, but I'd still heard every word over the noisy crowd.

      I'd use it, I said, returning his stare.

      His eyes crinkled into a smile over his drink.

      #

      I'd met him three months before. I'd been on the station nearly a year, and he'd been the first person I'd spoken more than three words to outside of my work shift. I was young, my forehead bare, another anonymous drone. My type weren't worth making friends with. Shareless, doing the dirtiest of jobs, we'd be transferred, conscripted, or dead in less than six months anyway. And who talks to a dead man?

      This guy was different. Ajura was his name. I first saw him loitering outside the shuttle drop-off, his eyes drawn and shoulders twitching, the familiar stimhead nervous tics immediately apparent even from a distance. I tensed up. I'd already had a few brushes with people like him. I made a mental note of his facial tattoos and the contents of my pockets, and squeezed my fists in anticipation.

      Instead of the shiv I was expecting, I was met with a smile. It caught me off-guard, and my expression must have given me away. His smile broadened into a toothy grin, a cackle escaping his lips.

      He bought me a drink. The first time I can remember anyone ever giving me something for free.

      What's your debt? he'd asked.

      70 standard, I said, cautiously. It was actually a bit more than that--90 years--but everyone always lied about it, and I was no exception.

      He whistled. How you feel about that?

      Figure I'll be dead way before then anyway. Try not to think about it.

      He nodded sagely. We didn't talk again for the rest of the night, just sat playing cards and eyeing up the others, just as they eyed us back.

      After that it became a regular thing. The shuttle would drop me off, and he'd be there, waiting for me. We'd usually go for a few drinks, drop a few shares into the slots, or tool up on some dodgy looking stims that he'd hand me under the table. Occasionally we talked, most of the time we didn't. I appreciated Ajura's company. His burly physique and stimhead tics were enough to scare off troublemakers, and I got a familiar face to have a drink and lose some cards with.

      Of course, I asked a couple of my shiftmates about him. You can't be too careful, right? But they'd just stared at me blankly, probably figuring me for an enforcer or a stimhead myself, so I stopped asking. I'd managed to keep the tics I'd begun to exhibit from using hidden most of the time, and no-one had said anything yet, but it couldn't hurt to be cautious. Stim use was usually tolerated, but I was working maintenance on the upper decks, so I was on show, and the syndicate had an image to maintain even with grunts like me. Working so close to the shareholders had advantages. Clean clothes, soap in the showers, that kind of thing. But it meant I had to be presentable, and the tics might earn me a reprimand, reassignment, or worse, if they caught me. So I tried not to go overboard, and Ajura had just smiled his sly grin when I'd refused on a few occasions, apparently unoffended.

      #

      Then he disappeared. One day he was there waiting for me as usual, the next he was gone. I waited for a while, hanging around the drop-off point, then checked our usual haunts. But he'd vanished, and he didn't show up the next day, nor the next. I tried to think back, to see if he'd dropped any hints, but there was nothing. I wondered if I'd said or done something. I couldn't think of anything special.

      I have to admit it, I missed his company. We might not have had much in common, but he'd quickly become a big part of my life. He was pretty much my only friend, and for him to drop out sent me into a bit of a depression. I took too many stims, and got into a couple of fights and submitted way too late for my own good.

      The usual scenarios passed through my head. An enforcer had taken him, stim debts being collected, or maybe he'd just got bored and hitched a ride to another station. For some reason he seemed the type to have connections that made that a possibility.

      And then he just showed up again one day about a month later, waiting for me in his usual spot, looking the same as ever. He didn't offer an explanation. I didn't ask. We just picked up from where we'd left off.

      #

      It was nearly a week before he really starting to talk to me. We'd chatted a bit before, about life on Kaiin before I got recruited, or my shifts, but never for long periods or in much detail. The stims and the noise of the bars we visited cut out most of that. But he started taking me to smaller, quieter places, smoke-filled rooms where the lights were low and the tables occupied by solitary figures. I'd always avoided these on my downtime, preferring the jostling and rowdiness of the main deck bars to these morbid, lonely hovels. As I was there with him I didn't complain, though. I found that once I started talking I quite enjoyed having someone to listen to me.

      A captive audience.

      Ajura didn't say much, but even from his rare contributions--little more than one-liners said into the bottom of a glass--I got the impression that his distaste for the syndicates ran deep. What had previously been throwaway remarks and humourless scowls had, since his return, become more obvious. They painted a picture of his resentment, of his hatred and bitterness towards them. When I spoke about the job or my debt, or the shareholders I'd sometimes see from a distance on the job, his remarks were cutting and frank. I soon realised that this wasn't merely the bravado or juvenile rebellion I had seen before, where turning up three minutes late in an unwashed shirt to a shift was considered the summit of insurrection. With Ajura it was different, this was personal. He detested them.

      I'd heard about people like this before, on the dark feeds. They were mentioned in the same breath as the saboteurs, the syndicate-backed assassins, patent-thieves, the narcs, and the unsyndicate. A hazy world of subterfuge, rivalries, and terrorism that I had never really understood or managed to distinguish between the players.

      When Ajura

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