Fantasy Magazine Issue 49 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: fantasy, magazine, short story, fantasy magazine, short stories
Publisher: Prime Books
Published: 2011-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

Drug-induced unconsciousness is rarely like sleep. When Cabal opened his eyes, he had no sense of any more time having elapsed than in a blink. But his change in surroundings and the chemical dryness in his mouth told their own story.

Samhet, like Cabal, preferred his laboratory to be up in the attic. Unlike Cabal’s relatively cramped facility, however, Samhet’s stately house provided a large and airy space that he had filled with gleaming white surfaces and art deco science. Cabal lay untidily sprawled across a very low-lying gurney while Samhet, his steel torso once more sheathed in black, wheeled happily back and forth collecting a variety of surgical tools and mechanical enhancements for Cabal’s imminent metamorphosis. It disturbed Cabal that he could hardly tell the difference between the tools and the enhancements.

He tested his limbs and found some response, but little more than the twitch of a finger or the flare of a nostril. His tongue, at least, no longer seemed to be made of soft leather.

“Samhet,” he wheezed, almost losing the “m” sound to sluggish lips.

The name was not spoken loudly, but Samhet heard it instantly. He trundled to Cabal’s side. “You are awake, M’sieur Cabal? That is unfortunate. I shall have to sedate you again.” He made to go to the pharmaceuticals cabinet.

“This is it?” whispered Cabal. Samhet paused, spun on the spot to look back. “This is your great triumph?”

Samhet frowned. “Mais, naturellement,” he replied, “it is self-evident. As this body wears out, I replace the failing components with others at the last equivalent or even superior. How can this not be a greater and more elegant solution to the question of mortality than your pettifogging about in burial grounds? I,” he held out his arms and posed, “am the ultimate.”

“You look like a milk churn on wheels.”

Samhet giggled girlishly. “I could, perhaps, be taller. And I shall be. My physicality is now subject to my whim. That is another advantage of my method.” He turned away.

“Still going to have trouble with stairs, though, aren’t you?” Concealed by his body, Cabal was frantically exercising one finger. If he could raise his heart rate, metabolize the drug more quickly, perhaps there might be a way out of this. His little finger straightened and crooked, straightened and crooked like the most enthusiastic disciple of calisthenics. But he needed time. “What about those wretches you have experimented upon? There is precious little of the ultimate about them.”

Samhet paused and turned back to Cabal. It seemed he had the overweening vanity of the egomaniac, which was hardly surprising. If Cabal could keep him explaining his grand scheme until able to move again, then he’d probably find the house also contained a poorly concealed self-destruct mechanism. “They? Oh, they were just doodlings, variations on a theme of perfection. Being variants, they are not perfect.”

“I’ve seen more intelligence in a zombie,” said Cabal truthfully. “You’ve ruined their minds for no reason.”

“No reason?” That giggle again. “M’sieur Cabal, have you any idea how difficult it is to get staff these days? They came to my door seeking an insight into my method.

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