Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“Now, you understand that the people I come from, the Hixzhlk, are a quasi-hive-mind. We constantly broadcast our thoughts and feelings via subtle pheromones, and tend toward group consensus. By leaving them, by stepping away from the hives, I am certifiably insane by the standards of the Hixzhlk. But I believe strongly in the ordered society that my people promote, so much so that I am willing to bring them to you, even crippled as you are the lack of pheromone receptors.”

“So, as your administrator, I will ask only that you work ably, harmoniously, and well. Some in my previous posts have called me a cruel taskmaster, a heartless bug who won’t be happy until the workers beneath me are assimilated into my hive mind. This could not be further from the truth. If I seem cruel, it is because I am acting for the greater good. My door is always open if you need an explanation, and I expect and encourage the questioning of my decisions. But unless and until I say otherwise, they will be carried out efficiently and with alacrity.”

“Also know that I greatly value harmony as a Hixzhlk. There will be no discourtesy, no bullying, no fighting. You will be civil to one another. Beyond that, and beyond the fulfillment of your duties during working hours, your time is yours. Just make sure that you do nothing that will diminish productivity, incite disharmony, or embarrass me.”

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Thank you for inviting me to speak. I think you’ll find that my years of experience in terraforming planets to be habitable for my people, the Chug, will transfer very nicely to the Earth Republic.

First, we will need to alter the atmosphere with the introduction of carbon dioxide. This will thicken it to the necessary atmospheric pressure. We are aiming for something in the area of 100 megapascals, of course, but we can settle for as little as .5 to .75 megapascals to start with. I recommend a series of phased fusion reactors in the 40 gigawatt range and can recommend a good contractor to build them. I’ve had good luck with GesteCo, for instance.

Once the atmosphere is thick enough, we move into the second phase: the creation of a runaway greenhouse effect. Carbon dioxide is sufficient for this, of course, but we want to make sure that the ingredients for life are still present. To that end, I usually switch about half of the phased fusion reactors to sulfur dioxide and water, in a propriety ratio I’ve developed that I think you’ll find very effective.

The end result is a planet that is completely suitable for life in as little as 5-10 years. I recommend introduction of my specially crafted bio-nanites partway through the process, but again, that is a proprietary technique. I hope you don’t mind me keeping a few secrets.

Eh? What’s that? Those temperatures and pressures aren’t conducive to Earth life? Goodness me, I had no idea you were so fragile. Even worse than the denizens of Nylar IV!

Well, ah, I think you’ll find that the atmospheric pressure and temperature about 50 kilometers up will be perfect for your species. And you say you breathe an oxygen/nitrogen mix? Better still! That’s a lifting gas on a standard planet such as this. You might even be able to rent the surface to a Galactic Common race like the Silanes or even the Polysilanols, if you can get them to behave themselves.

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“No,” Luis whispered.

Darius’s footage was nothing but static. Something had corrupted the video files entirely.

Candice moaned from where she lay. Her skin was thick with sweat, and more open sores dotted her body. Whatever had killed Darius was about to do the same to her, and Luis could feel it happening to him as well.

It had all been for nothing.

Luis was losing control of his body, and he stumbled backwards over the wheelbarrow of plunder that had lain there, forgotten, since they had confronted the looters.

It tipped, spilled, scattered. And amid the copper wire and steel trays, Luis could see a familiar glow in the darkness, eerie and blue. He reached out a trembling hand and turned the capsule over.

WARNING RADIATION SOURCE Contains radioactive cesium-137 chloride salt. DO NOT HANDLE.

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“You’re seeing this, right?” Darius said. “Tell me you’re seeing this.”

It was right there on the camera, through increasing static and interference. Glowing footprints on the floor. A figure, shambling and alight against the darkness.

“It’s more than we ever could have hoped for,” Candice whispered.

“Get everything together,” Luis said. “We’re getting this footage. The hell with getting a Netflix greenlight, this is Academy Award stuff.”

“Hang on,” Darius said. “I recognize them.”

“Wait, really?” Luis said. “Someone…someone you knew when they were alive?”

“It’s one of the looters that we chased off the other day.”

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“What do you think they meant,” Candice said. “About the glowing figures. Ghosts?”

“Judging from the open sores everyplace, I’d say the ghosts of crystal meth past,” replied Darius. “They were stripping the place for parts. See? Copper wire, electronics, and stuff I don’t even recognize.” He tapped a rather large cylinder in the center of the wheelbarrow, one that had been partially smashed open by the looters. “I don’t know what this is, but I bet it’s worth a hit.”

“Yeah,” said Luis. With the air of an old hand, he stuck his pistol back in his waistband. “Raving drug-addicted lunatics is not the kind of paranormal we came here to document. Darius, did you get any of that?”

“I got the whole thing,” said Darius, proudly. “Them wigging out, you pulling the gun, everything.”

“Good. Delete it all. We’re not getting a Netflix greenlight with that kind of footage.”

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“I’m getting interference,” Candice said. “Here, take a look.”

She pulled Luis over to her computer screen, where the instruments were reading. Both the microphone, the infrared camera, and the low-frequency microphone were picking up intense interference.

“That’s a result,” said Luis. “That’s a result right there.”

“Not only that,” said Candice. “It’s directional. See?”

She picked up her microphone and moved it in an arc. The static spiked when she held it down and to the left, pointing at a location that roughly corresponded to the hospital’s newest wing.

Darius already had his portable camera. “All right,” he said “Let’s go.”

“Let me just get some things.” Luis grabbed his forged documentation from the gurney and, dipping into his bag, retrieved a small .380 pistol.

“Is that really necessary?” Darius said.

“We’re not the only people that could have figured out this place would be abandoned,” said Luis. “People have broken into these places to steal copper wire and stuff. I have a permit, but if it comes to it…I’d rather have it and not need it.”

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“Look at this,” said Luis, laying his hand on the walk-in freezer. “This is the hospital morgue freezer. If any part of this building is haunted, this is it. Just imagine…everyone who died here over fifty years spent time in this freezer. All those deaths, all that turmoil, all that negative psychic energy…it’s like a precipitate. Like a chemical reaction. You saturate the area with enough of the stuff, and it will eventually start to fall out.”

“You want to wait until after I get the cameras set up to start making your speeches, hmm?” said Darius.

“You know me better than that,” said Luis with a sharp-edged grin. “I can speechify at a moment’s notice. That, along with your camera and Candice’s instruments, is what’s going to get our series picked up.”

“It looks like the walk-in freezer they had at Arby’s,” said Candice, idly latching and unlatching the giant freezer door. “No drawers or anything.”

“I guess they’d only keep people here for a little while,” Luis said. “No point spending money on drawers you’re not going to use. Darius?”

“We’re all set here,” said Darius. “The cameras will capture anything unusual. We can come back and film some segments tomorrow, once we get everything else set up.”

“The equipment’s ready too,” Candice said. “But are you sure we’re not going to be bothered? Or arrested?”

“Here, you can read it yourself if you like,” Luis said. He handed a creased and sweaty piece of paper to Candice. “A court order prohibiting anyone not involved in demolition work from being on the premises. Seems this place owed a lot of people a lot of money. Demolition doesn’t start for a week, and I’ve got paperwork here showing that I’m a duly sworn officer of the court doing advanced scouting.”

“Fake?” Darius said.

“Hell yeah,” laughed Luis. “But if it means that, for the next week we can live here while we film our pilot, I’ll forge a letter from the goddamn President.”

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Admiral Strauß lowered his glass, worrying the brass and leather as he did so. He said nothing to his second, who was waiting patiently.

Strauß was only there by dint of his family’s connections and several close relatives in or married to those at court. No one had expected a naval war to break out, so his utter inability to sail and the queasy seasickness that had bent him over the rail after every meal…well, they had seemed less glaring.

But then Admiral Leipnitz had been killed when his squadron had been ambushed and destroyed, and Admiral Hummel had died in an accident shortly after his squadron had routed enemies trying to enforce a blockade. That only left Grand Admiral Wettin and Strauß himself, and Wettin was 88 years old, blind as a bat, deaf as a post, and so riddled with gout he couldn’t walk.

Even so, Wettin had been carried aboard the flagship SMS Drache on a bier at Strauß‘s request. He had only been hauled off after a breathless courier had arrived one hour before the fleet made sail, bearing a message from the Chancellor himself. Many passages had been underlined in red that had faded to rust, giving Strauß the uneasy feeling that Chancellor Schroeder-Mayer had augmented the missive with his own blood.

“Sir…?” Admiral Strauß‘s second, Ignaz Ender, had been hastily promoted after the previous aide-de-camp had been partially swept off the deck by a cannonade. If the boy had any fear after learning that his predecessor had been buried at sea in two distinct stages, he wasn’t showing it.

Strauß could feel every pore on his body prickling with sweat. The upcoming battle, coming after a decisive defeat and a decisive victory, would decide the war at sea. Every last available ship was under his command, and if the fleet suffered a defeat or even a stalemate, there would be no one else to blame.

“Eternal glory if we win…eternal damnation if we lose…” Strauß muttered.

Ender looked at him. “Sir?” he said. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Strauß clutched at the butt of his holstered flintlock with one hand and the heavy cutlass—too ornate and poorly bedded to ever split a real skull—with the other. It was simply too much.

He unholstered his pistol and pulled the trigger with his thumb.

Ignatz Ender, shocked, stood agape a moment. Then he pointed to the enemy fleet, scrambling to form battle lines. “Treachery!” he cried. “They’ve shot the admiral from their rigging! His final order was to attack…all ships carry it out!”

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The plaza was already filling with people, notables in their Sunday finest. Men, in suits and hats all made from animals that had lived and died continents away, clutching fine hardwood canes. Women, parasols in hand, their raiment soaring to such heights of impracticality that many had maids about to help manage their trains and massive hats. All of them thronging on the square’s ancient cobbles toward the assembly building. It looked like a great religious edifice, but it was a secular one until noon, when the emperor himself would address the crowd.

Already, moving throughout the throngs, secret policemen could be seen–the only men in ill-fitting suits who looked like they’d seen a little sun. An occasional shout from above, too, as curious folk who had flocked to the upper-story windows in the Old Town were cleared out. The sharp-eyed might have seen the barrel of a bolt-action rifle, the glint of a high-power scope, from some of those now-darkened windows. There had been no sign of them, but it was an absolute certainty that some of those cleaned-out apartments and tenements hid the new repeating rifles, machine guns. The State Evidence Bureau–what an innocuous name for such a far-reaching and keen-beaked octopus!–was taking no chances in a repeat of the Peace Riots from the year before.

From the shadows in a bricked-up arch, Jan watched the preparations, quietly gnawing on a piece of tough meat from an Old Town street vendor. “They might think they’re prepared, but those preparations are ten years out of date. When the emperor is actually out there, spouting his nonsense, we’ll see who is really safe.”

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