Galactic Wonders – Matthew Wuertz

Galactic Wonders

by Matthew Wuertz

“Who opens a story like this?”

Jen looked up from her stack of manuscripts, smiling just enough to reveal the crooked tooth on the right side of her mouth. “What have you got?”

“The night was dark and quite,” I said.

She chuckled. “Quite?”

“Yeah, as in, ‘I’m quite certain I don’t want to keep reading.’”

I was into the second month of my summer internship for Galactic Wonders, one of the oldest professional markets around for speculative fiction, heavily favoring the obvious genre. A lot of people become vitriolic when they hear that undergraduates rejected their masterpieces, but I wasn’t just some kid off the street. I had two professional sales to date and had worked as an editor for our university’s literary magazine for three semesters. Some authors choose not to submit at all during the summer, preferring the magazine’s regular slush reader who takes the season off.

Ivan Grantham, the venerable editor for the past fifteen years, had spent time with me my first couple of days pointing out flaws among the submitted manuscripts. He taught me how to quickly screen submissions after reading the first few sentences (if even that much). Anything questionable went to Mr. Grantham, and he preferred that I err on the side of passing a story through than rejecting it. Of course, authors who had already been published in Galactic Wonders had an automatic pass to Mr. Grantham’s desk.

Jen was much more callous than me in her screening process. I’d only seen her pass three stories to Mr. Grantham. She was either perspicacious or a tad lazy.

I think I’d have gone mad that summer if not for Jen. She kept her blonde hair in a ponytail most days and tended to wear jeans and a tank top. She was borderline chubby, but in a way that made her attractive; I can’t explain it. Clearly, I was in love with her, but all I had mustered to express my fondness was a curt greeting each morning.

“So are you and Chuck doing anything this weekend?” I asked.

“I’m sure we’re doing something,” she said flatly. “What about you?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I was thinking about going to a Sox game.”

She grinned. “I really want to go to one, but Chuck hates baseball.”

I stuffed a rejection slip into an envelope. “Wow, that sucks.”

She was still looking at me when I set the envelope aside. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

The unpretentious headquarters of Galactic Wonders is a suite of rooms in a one-story building in Naperville, just outside of Chicago. I think the space was designed for a dentist or doctor because there’s a lobby just inside the front door with a sliding glass window on the far wall. Jen brought a clipboard in one day as a joke, so we sign in as science fiction authors each day. Today, I signed in as Orson Scott Card.

The back door slammed shut, announcing Mr. Grantham’s arrival. “Good morning, Mr. Grantham,” I said as he entered our room.

Mr. Grantham was over six feet tall and wiry. His hair was short, wavering between gray and white. He might have been fifty or sixty, possibly more; ageless is more accurate.

“Good morning, Pete,” he said. I still couldn’t place his accent. Jen believed he was from Croatia, but she didn’t really know. After all, a name like Grantham didn’t seem Eastern European.

“Do you have anything for me?” he asked.

Jen shrugged.

I handed him two manuscripts. “These look interesting,” I said.

“I’ll take a look. You know, I’ve found some good stories in a few you’ve passed along, but they weren’t as political as I was hoping for.” Mr. Grantham favored stories from new writers that expressed opinions on government. He gave more leeway to more established authors.

“Maybe one of these is better,” I said.

“Maybe,” he said with a nod. “I’ll be in my office.”

It was near lunchtime when I heard someone knocking on the front door. It locks automatically, so without a fob, you can’t get in. We didn’t get any visitors, aside from the ones we imagined, so I wasn’t sure what to do. Jen just looked at me. “Someone’s probably lost,” I said.

Jen stood just outside the lobby while I opened the front door. Two men in suits pushed their way inside. The first strode past me and shouldered Jen aside to reach the hallway. “Don’t shove me!” she cried.

I turned to the second man for an explanation, and his response was a punch to my stomach. As I sank to my knees, Jen said she was calling 911.

The man grabbed part of my hair and jerked my head back. Then I felt something sharp pricking my neck. I imagined a blade slicing my throat, wondering how long I’d be floundering about as my blood washed over the carpet.

“Just calm down,” Jen said shakily. “I haven’t called anyone.”

A moment later, I heard footsteps from behind, and the first man returned to stand at the entrance. He said something that sounded Russian (not that I’ve heard any outside of movies), but the syllables came very quickly.

Both men were very pale, like their skin might have been bleached white. The one who had spoken had a dimpled chin and abnormally thin lips, like someone had cut them off. Lipless Joe, I thought, and his thuggish partner Rocky.

Lipless Joe drew a small cylinder that resembled a Wii controller from his breast pocket. A metallic voice emitted from it, like from an artificial voice box that survivors of throat cancer might use. “Where is Ivan Grantham?” it asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“He doesn’t come in every day,” Jen added.

After a nod from his counterpart, Rocky released me. Lipless Joe’s controller offered a parting comment before they left. “Do not contact authorities or things for you will worsen.”

When the door closed, Jen knelt beside me. “Pete, are you all right?”

I rubbed my neck. “I’ve been better.”

“Mr. Grantham must be involved with the mob,” Jen said. “Did you see their suits? I knew this magazine had to be funded by an illegal organization. How else could it be profitable?”

“Well, now what do we do?”

“I’m calling the police.”

“Are you crazy? These guys are probably professional hit men from the Russian Mafia. They’ll find out where we live and kill us in our sleep. I’ve seen enough movies to know that you don’t get in their way.”

She walked to the door and pulled the handle a couple of times, making sure it was locked. “I don’t know what to do.”

Music cut through the momentary silence, and we both jumped. Then I realized my cell phone was ringing. I flipped it open and whispered, “Hello?”

“Pete, it’s Mr. Grantham,” I heard. “Are you all right?”

“Mr. Grantham, where are you? Two guys came in and assaulted us. I thought they were going to kill me.”

Jen’s eyes widened. “Tell him to run,” she said.

“I’m sorry that happened,” he said. “I never thought they would find me.”

“Who are they?”

“Government agents,” he said, “but not from your government. Listen, I left something behind in my hasty escape. Something extremely important. I hate getting you more involved, but do you think you might be able to bring it to me?”

“What do you need?” I asked. I think my adrenaline rush was overpowering reason. If a foreign government was sending guys like Lipless Joe and Rocky after Mr. Grantham, it would have been wise to let them do their job rather than aiding a fugitive.

“Look in the third drawer of my desk. You’ll find a small, metal box. Take it. I’ll call you later tonight with additional instructions. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“Thank you, Pete,” he said and then briskly hung up.

As I flipped my phone closed, Jen asked about the conversation.

“Jen, he needs our help,” I said, though he had only asked me to carry out this errand. She followed me down the hallway and into Mr. Grantham’s office.

Framed issues of magazines hung on the walls, including the first issue of Galactic Wonders, dated Friday, April 11, 1947. On the cover, a flying saucer orbited a planet shrouded by a red haze.

Mr. Grantham’s desk was a light faux-wood; a laptop and stacks of paper lay upon its surface. I tugged firmly on the bottom drawer, slowly pulling it open. There was an assortment of hanging folders tagged categorically, the most common being for contracts. Behind the folders, I found the metal box Mr. Grantham had told me about: jet black, the size of a brick and as heavy as lead. The lid was firmly in place.

“What’s inside?” Jen asked.

I considered that its contents might be the undoing of the foreign government and that if I saw them, Lipless Joe and Rocky might need to tie up another loose end. “It’s probably best if we don’t know.”

“What did Mr. Grantham want you to do now?”

“He said he’d call me tonight with more details.” I took a breath. “Do you want me to call you then?”

“Of course I do,” she said with a defensive tone.

What a way to get a girl’s number, I thought.

My parents both work, so no one knew that I came home early. I sat in my room trying not to stare at the box. Honestly, I wasn’t that tempted to open it. Pandora probably wouldn’t have been as curious in her situation if she’d been socked in the gut beforehand. Mostly, I thought about what those guys might do to me if they found me with Mr. Grantham.

After my parents got home, we had dinner and watched television. I kept going back to my room periodically, convinced that either someone had stolen the box or that it had disintegrated. Unfortunately, it never moved.

When my parents went to bed, I feigned retirement and sat in my room. There was no point in trying to sleep or do anything else. I just wanted this terrible assignment to be over.

Just after midnight, my phone rang. “Hello?”

“Pete, I trust that you have the box,” Mr. Grantham said.

“Yes.”

“Very good. Now, I want you to meet me at a storage facility about two miles from the office.” He described its location, and I recalled driving past the place. “When you arrive, enter my pass code. It’s 2-2-8-6. Drive to the back. Do you understand?”

“2-2-8-6,” I repeated. He didn’t bother to say goodbye before hanging up.

I called Jen next. My hands shook as I pressed the button to connect to her. “Hi, Pete,” she said cheerily. “Did you hear from Mr. Grantham?”

“Yeah. Can I come pick you up?”

“Sure,” she said, and my heart melted. Could I count this as a date? For a moment, I wondered what Chuck would say about it. But then, next to Lipless Joe, Chuck was just a harmless kid.

I scribbled down Jen’s directions and grabbed my keys. I reached the stairs before realizing that I’d forgotten the box. I’m not sure how I could obsess about the thing all day and then nearly leave without it, but I guess that’s just how my mind works.

Jen’s house was up in Wheaton, but it was a pretty quick drive that late at night. I considered whether or not to open the door for her, but as soon as I pulled to a stop in her driveway, she jumped in.

“Are you ready?” she asked with a wide grin.

“Aren’t you at all nervous about this?” I asked.

“Yes, but it’s also exciting.”

I checked my mirrors a couple of times, but I didn’t see anyone behind us. I turned left at a lonely stoplight and then pulled into the entrance for the storage facility. I punched the code into a security box, and the gate rose up with a squeal.

I eased my car through the enclosed area, scanning each lane between the long storage buildings. When we reached the edge of the property, I turned right and moved alongside the gate. At the far corner of the lot, Mr. Grantham stood outside an open unit.

“He looks scared,” Jen said.

“He should be.”

After I got out of the car, Mr. Grantham looked at Jen for a moment. I thought he might ask why she was with me, but instead, he flashed me a quick grin. “Could you help me move something?”

Inside the concrete unit, a loaded trailer was covered by a khaki tarp. “I don’t think the three of us can get that out,” I said.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Grantham said. “It’s not as heavy as you think.”

He turned out to be right, but I was breathing hard by the time we pushed it clear of the garage. “Do you have the box?” he asked.

Nodding, I retrieved it from the car and handed it to him. “Is this what they’re after?” I asked.

He laughed nervously. “Pete, they’re after me. I need this to help me escape. It’s the only way I can fake my own demise when they try to capture me.”

“We weren’t followed,” I said.

“Then they’re tracking your movements. Did they touch either one of you?”

I told him about my encounter, ending with the part about having the tip of a knife against my throat. “It wasn’t a knife,” Jen said. “It looked more like an ice pick.”

“Ah, so they injected him,” Mr. Grantham said. I must have looked queasy because he quickly added, “Don’t worry, Pete. They’re short-term nano-emitters. In a couple of months, they’ll flush out of your system.”

Jen and I looked at each other for a moment, and I felt like we were both questioning the editor’s sanity. “Look, I know I’ve been quite enigmatic about all of this,” he said, “but I’ve been hiding for so long, and I haven’t been able to tell anyone the truth.”

He whipped the tarp away from the trailer. I walked around it, noting the cockpit towards the front and the fanned thrusters along the sides. It was a metallic black, polished and yet not glossy, like it simply absorbed the dim light from the garage.

“My name is Iivanth Sothic. I’m wanted for insurrection. Our galaxy is ruled by a body of government known as the Glodux. In our language, the word means a group of intelligent planners, such as you would use for constructing a building. Sadly, the Glodux lost its way over time, and for the past century, they’ve chosen to become increasingly oppressive.

“I wrote a series of articles against the Glodux over thirty years ago, appealing to the senses of everyone across the galaxy. Over time, a revolution began, but it was short lived. The Glodux broke upon our leadership, executing those who were captured.”

He wiped his eyes. “I fled. What else could I do? I was a wanted terrorist. The only worlds safe to me were the ones ignored by the Glodux due to primitive technology, worlds that had not yet been inducted into our one nation.

“Earth was a good choice. I took interest in your literary works and was especially fascinated by stories of science fiction. By leveraging my experience as a writer and editor, I worked my way up through various editorial positions and was eventually offered the position of editor of Galactic Wonders.”

“How did they find you here?” I asked.

He smirked. “I became arrogant and careless. There is a hefty reward for information leading to my arrest. Even on Earth, there are aliens among you. One of them must have subscribed to this magazine and noticed an abundance of stories that question government authority. That theme, along with my occasional editorials, would have revealed my identity to anyone who’d read my articles.”

The cockpit clicked open when Mr. Grantham (I couldn’t think of him by another name) unlatched it with a small lever. He set the box inside. “When they chase me, I’ll expel this explosive device that contains a sample of my blood.”

“You asked me to retrieve a bomb?” I asked.

“I doubt you could have detonated it,” he said, but his manner wasn’t very reassuring.

“Won’t they expect to find wreckage?” Jen asked. “The shrapnel from the box isn’t large enough.”

“Part of my ship will be cast aside as well,” he replied. “The core will be cloaked.” He pat the ship. “This is the smallest ship in the galaxy with a cloaking device. Illegally installed, of course.”

He climbed into the cockpit, and the ship began to hum softly. “Before you go, is there anything we can do?” I asked. “Maybe we can expose the Glodux.”

“Even if people believed you, there’s nothing you’ll be able to do against them until Earth takes a few more technological leaps.”

“Well, after we advance, maybe the revolution can begin again, with Earth leading the way,” I said.

He laughed in a way that reminded me of how parents laugh at children’s ideas. “Pete, I’ve published stories by liberals and conservatives that illustrate the dangers of totalitarian governments and how bleak such futures would be, yet regardless of who is elected in this country, your government continues to grow. Whether in favor of more rules or more programs, your citizens look to the government to answer all questions. When Earth does advance, you’ll join the Glodux, and you won’t notice much of a difference.”

As his ship lifted up from the trailer, I reached for Jen’s hand, and she wrapped her fingers around mine. Then we took a step back, tilting our heads towards the darkened sky.

Matthew Wuertz develops software in addition to developing fiction. His stories have appeared in Heroic Fantasy Quarterly, The Sword Review, MindFlights, and Aoife’s Kiss. Matthew lives in Indianapolis, Indiana with his wife and two children. To learn more about Matthew, please visit his website: www.matthewwuertz.com.

 

Galactic Wonders - Matthew Wuertz, 4.3 out of 5 based on 12 ratings