MMuse Staff

Editor in Chief Misha Kydd Director of Writing Bridget Iverson Director of Art Ryan Peden-Spear Directors of Layout, Design, & Not Building an Orbital Laser in our Backyard. Really. We Promise Joe Adkisson, Will Adkisson Director of Proof-Reading Sierra Makaris Advisor Jennifer Adkisson Staff Extraordinaire:

Art & Photo Credits: Cover & Inside Cover: Marcia White Cover Design: Joe & Will Adkisson Masthead: Dylan Sylvester Page 1: Megan Reilly Page 2: Lindsey Flanders Page 3: Nichole Bergeron Page 3: Christine Hallock Page 4: Sylvia Esmay Page 5: Emma Hartswick Page 6: Marcia White Page 7: Megan Reilly Page 8: Ryan Peden-Spear Page 8-9: Megan Reilly Page 10-11: Maya Bower Page 12: Ryan Peden-Spear Page 13: Noelle Kichura Page 14: Dakota Deady Page 14: Annavitte Rand Page 15: Meaghan Hughes Page 15: Lindsey Flanders Page 16-17: Victoria Mousely Page 18: Sarah Buxton Page 19: Ryan Peden-Spear Page 20: Dylan Sylvester Back Cover: Lisa MacKenzie

Elizabeth Cummin Eli Dorney Braeden Hughes Eric Iverson Ashley James Katelyn Jewell Marissa Kelemen Elizabeth Morris Emily Mulvihill Megan Reilly Juliana Skelly Ceilidh Peden-Spear Marcia White Rebecca Young

Shall I, for tonight, think in reies, morse code, condensed inspiration, those tiny stars, this night & the grass gone monochrome, black, dirt; swings, songs & voicesshall I, for tonight, just list wordsshall I confess? I write for peopletonight I write for you. A toastthe mosquitoes drink in our honor, they drink our honor thicker than watera toast! to this place, to this evening, seeds, to reies! & pine needles, to ears. to lips. to Who are you to me so far? to Who are we but chance? - Bridget Iverson As the frigid gusts of autumn rage The sun retires early in the sky. A scene of sleep is set on natures stage All things green will slumber and will die. The leaves y to the ground in sweet repose And barren trunks are clothed in a ne frost. In this crystal nightcap trees will doze As ora ees and rocks become de-mossed. So does autumn put the man to rest And hair like leaves grow somnolent and fall And as the trees in frosty robes are dressed Sickness shrouds the man in wintery pall. Yet spring results from each autumn before And so the man may yet be spry once more. - Alli Green

Stars Laying in the grass, Of the eld, Behind my house, The dark velvet of the sky, Dips around the invisible curve of the earth. These pinpoints, These small pinpoints of light, Fascinate me. Entrance me. Call to me. Not in a way, That makes me want to go up. But in a way, That makes me want to stay down, And want to watch. The Dippers, big and small, Slip towards me, Asking to scoop me up. Orion, waving his arms in battle, Crying for help. Ursa Major, the bear, His jaws open in a fearsome roar. Pegasus, his wings spread wide. The Seven Sisters, dancing slowly around the sky. Winter comes, And Orion disappears, Taking Betelgeuse with him. - Cami Douglas

There is something indescribable, so despicable in the way the waves refused to hold me. Tide-breakers smashed against my walls but I refused to crack. The dams in my lungs did not shatter & my chest did not ood. But the mountains mocked me whilst I oated, high & mighty above their grammatical imperfections. The cliffs would not echo the subjunctive when I shouted your name, always screaming, If I were there (if I was there), you wouldnt be crying (you wouldnt be crying). If I could be an entity greater than myself, I would be the ocean, steady, sure, & constant. My words would form saltwater waves & youd cause my ever-present tide. This ink would prove thicker than water & Id immortalize you, Selene, keep you alive forever. Can you see me drifting through these walls, these cement barriers trapping me between the lines of my own poetry?

Can you see me jaywalking across the skyway? The Relocationist My astrologer always told me I was a being of the earth, yet I yearned to y, to soar above the torment this body had offered me. I wanted to be a source of light, some far-off star that you could only see on the clear nights of autumn, your telescope trained where your eyes darent look. Life was a leap of faith Id never opted to take, yet jump I did. I still havent hit rock-bottom of this penniless well & Ive grown accustomed to the melancholy darkness of grey-cloud skies. There was a re on the horizon years ago that seared my irises. They hadnt burned in ages & the beauty wet my eyes in a way this smoky fog never had. I once breathed ames that were white-hot & skin-scorching. I dont think she ever forgave me for that. Burns are different than cuts or scrapes. The latter bleed & scab & bleed again until you teach yourself to let them go. Burns blister & make your ngers

Lindsey Flanders

go numb. I dont think I ever apologized. I was & always have been earthbound, regardless of my craving to taste the other elements. Logic tells me that gravity will keep me here for as long as my atoms retain this form. This body is my cage & only in freefall can I believe I have wings. The blazing heat of the supernovas deep within my pupils melts the wax & I, Prince Icarus, nd myself crashing towards my reection, my existence pooled in an effervescent shadow just beneath the waves. I am suspended here in this hellish limbo & I have never felt so alive. - Katelyn Jewell

Sky Games

Nichole Bergeron

Christine Hallock

I wish I could y. I would y high up above the clouds, Gliding along rays of sweet sunshine. I wish I could y. I would hop-scotch across the rain clouds, Jump-rope with daring birds, Leap frog with commercial jets, Patty-cake with spirits. Let condensation bead on my lips, Sweet buttery kisses. I wish I could y. I would dance across the wide expanse of blue, Sing to ll the silence that is more alive Than anything. Harmonize with the song That no one hears, But everyone feels. I wish I could y. I would tap dance on the petals of the owers in the sky, Samba throughout the everlasting vastness. Una esta en el cielo! I wish I could y. I would ll the air With everything that is missing. And when night falls, I would kiss the stars goodnight And tuck the moon into bed. I would whisper through the fog And refuse to go back home. - Rebecca Young 3

May Days Circa 300 BCE Romans break from work and war To gather in praise of the goddess Flore And celebrate the miracle of spring. They sing; they sing. Unbeknownst to the Romans, Celts and Germans dance a wide girth In fete of Natures verdant rebirth Round Beltane and Walpurgis From deep primal urges: Cry, Make us whole Maypole. Circa 1300 CE In England, each village dances into May In Germany, Tanzen in den Mai Where girls about the Maypole whirl In a orid, visual delight With the whole of the natural world to unfurl To the light, to the light. May Day! 1886 Natures choking a bit In Chicagos Haymarket Square Where Anarchists ght to make it fair. Bombs burst, Yet fail to Slake the thirst Of a million-man Workforce wanting rst Hungry! Hungry for wages, hungry for land, Hungry for a piece of the damn pie. Mayday, mayday! 2010 Now grown and glutted on more than pie, A middle class refuses to die. The burst of that 1886 day Drinks heavily this May From the growing ink spot in the Gulf sea That I see on the at-screen TV. Then that night at the sports bar The M&M mans M&M car Drinks lustily, too, from that ink spot With its gaping funnel and roils the plot Magnied on HDTVs Count em, sixty-one That also drink from The ink spots well In that gulf of Hell. Mayday, mayday, mayday. - Bucky Brandt

Sylvia Esmay

Friday It was Friday, late afternoon. I had just gotten a ride home from a friend. I opened the front door, dropped my stuff off, and went to get the mail. A few minutes after, I saw my dads bright red Saab pull into the driveway. He parked and quickly got out of the car. I asked him what was going on; he usually arrives home around seven. He told me hed left a message that said he was coming home early. Annoyed that my afternoon alone had been disrupted, I went inside. In the middle of looking through the mail, I noticed my dad lingering awkwardly in the dining room. He turned to me and said, Nana is very sick. She had a brain aneurism. I started racking my brain. I knew that word; its bad, isnt it? It looks like shes not going to make it. I instantly burst into tears. The next hour was a blur. A blur of tears, phone calls, and a hot chocolate with too much powder at the bottom. We went, my dad and I, to the hospital. I tried to create a lighter atmosphere and stay optimistic by singing along with the radio in the car, but to no avail. When we got to the hospital, it took about ten minutes to nd the Intensive Care Unit. Level four, room eleven. We called to see if we could go in because the ICU was behind locked doors. They said yes. We walked in. I saw Nana, red hair shining just as bright as every other day. But she was lying in a hospital bed, eyes closed, and white tape securing some equipment to her mouth. We were summoned back into the hallway. A doctor was in the room, and we couldnt go in. We waited in the hallway for what seemed like hours. Seeing my nana like that was one of the most difcult things Ive ever experienced. She was one of the strongest people I 5

knew. And she was laying on a hospital bed, with a machine breathing for her. It was taped to her face. Distorting it. I didnt know what to say. My mom said Nana could hear us but couldnt acknowledge us; my mom said we could hug her, kiss her, talk to her, hold her hand. I stood there awkwardly for a bit, and then I stepped forward and rubbed her hand through the blanket. Mom said I could hold her hand, so I did. We were like that for a while, hand in hand, while I thought of all the things I wanted to tell her, hoping she would get my message telepathically. I think that she did. Once, ever so slightly, I thought I felt her hand tighten on mine. I told her that I was there, but the slight smile on her face told me that she already knew. Soon, it was time to say goodbye for the day. I hugged her through the various wire connected to her and kissed her. I told her I loved her and I would see her tomorrow. I kissed her two more times on the cheek, said a few more words, and left. My mom pulled me aside and said that they didnt know when she would pass away, and that theyre might not be a tomorrow. I told her I needed to go back once more to Nana. I hugged her and told her repeatedly how much I loved her. I kissed her once more and stood up to get one last full look at her. Then I saw her lips move, just slightly. As if she was trying to give me her last kiss. I leaned down and kissed her softly on the chin. I love you so much, I whispered. - Justine Tibbits

Emma Hartswick

Gross You Out I woke up to shaved sandpaper where my eyeballs used to be; bones splintered by lunching mealworms; brain liqueed by radioactive sludge shining slime-green in my grey matter. The universe took an eggbeater to my spleen and bore forth something raw, something middling between half-alive and mostly-dead. Humanity souf. I woke up to joints twisted under oppressive gravity, and its all I can do pick up my pen and write:

theyre coming for you, too.

- Sierra Makaris

I Lie I lie to keep myself alive, to keep myself awake. I lie to make the dreams stay down and to continue to be fake. I lie to keep him close to me, to keep him in the dark. I lie to ensure that Cupid aims and shoots true to the mark. I lie to hide who I really am and lie to beat her down. I lie to mask the pain and tears, to rise up from the ground. My pain brings hope and grants me wings to y so far away. Running from my hopes and fears, keeping them at bay. Im not who you suppose I am, Im not that girl at all. The real true me, I push her down, laughing as she falls. - Aiden Pichette 6

The Writer Writes

Courage

Why does the writer write in prose? because of its beauty I suppose it is the beat of the music that you can not hear but when the words are spoken theyre crystal clear it is the painting brushed from the artists eye so beautiful it sometimes makes you cry it is the sculptor at the wheel, his hands in motion his minds eye took shape with determined devotion. - Marion Surprenant

Yo Y ou will w ll nd yo wi our co You your courage Fr F rom o deep within From To stay steady A life throws all it As its got at you. F rom new life to d From death, i n to stress, From relaxation And yet you survive, A shining light in a world of dark, A beacon to lead the way for others When they are lost. You will nd your strength And help others nd theirs. Reach for the stars. You have the courage to do anything If only you try. You will nd your courage As you live life strong and unstoppable For you know That dreams can come true If only you try. Dont hold back, Let loose with all youve got, Show you true self, No one can stop you. No matter how fast life ies by, You have the power to slow it down. You can control your path in life, You can make it around those corners And still survive to see what lies ahead. - Ceilidh Peden-Spear

Vampire Im a vampire Skin like snow and lips pure red But Im no freaking Princess I may be the fairest but to no one am I ever fair Your blood is my drug And I will possess your heart Dont give me Twilight I may not sparkle But my bite is quite a brilliance - Devon Preston Three Hundred Years Its been three hundred years now, I think, though it is hard to judge the passage of time when I never sleep and never stray into the sun. Three hundred years since I ventured out boldly, rashly, armed with a vial of holy water and a dug-up fence post, and the thing I sought turned me into what he was. I built a castle in Romania, mostly for the style, but also so the rumors of a horror lurking on the moors would bring a fearful solitude instead of the police. Sometimes people come out to the castle. They are clever, having deciphered the riddles, but nave. Girls come, sometimes, seeking their Edward, or scholars looking to run controlled experiments to determine details of my cravings. I send them away, if I can, before the hunger overcomes what willpower I still possess after all this time. I am not a monster. I would not have anyone live as I do. For three hundred years I have lived here, alone in my lonely castle on the moors. And when the mob nds me, armed as I once was with stakes and crosses and strings of garlic around every mans neck, I will sadden. For although they are strong, a vampire is stronger; I will drink my ll that night. - Will Adkisson 8

My Lover Lies in My Leaded Arms My lover lies in my leaded arms. His pulse has beaten a tattoo in the base of his neck, a faint purplish bruise that lies so sweetly still. The steady thrum of life that echoed throughout the cavernous pit in my chest ed in the night like an ill-advised lover. His eyes, which had been molded with the sky itself, lie xed upon my face, the faintest trace of a smile on his perfect lips. Numbly I lean over, hoping to feel the sweetness of his breath on my cheek, hoping for him to shiver and fold my arms around his being. But no movement, not even a twitch to ease my aching, bleeding, needing soul. He lies dead, so far away, even as he sleeps in my warm embrace. Goosebumps march along the base of my neck, almost like ghostly ngertips were grazing across my skin. The knife lays on the bed stand, almost within my grasp, but Im fearful that if I move, he will fall and be gone from my hands. We lie there for an eternity, me stroking his face, his hair, just like we used to. The comforting weight of him lulls me into believing that hes not dead, merely sleeping. That he will awaken and smile and draw me closer to taste the passion that blooms on his lips. But too much time has passed and I now cannot help but face the truth; hes gone and Im alone. -Anonymous Cold Blackness I watch him lie there. He shifts in his sleep. He turns, and each time he turns, another whimper, another shudder, another tear escapes. The moonlight seems to strike him at an odd angle. Shadows shift, covering his back, his arm, his wrist. He ings a hand over the dew-covered night grass. The ngers uncurl, and there, upon his palm, another shadow stirs to life. He twists, and on his smooth bare chest there is an empty space of stars and blackness, deep, deep, something falling in the cold blackness, crying to be heard. He, himself, falling while I watch fascinated and do not move even as those stars wheel suddenly into the sky. I try to count them as they go, as they blur past the trees dappling the sky. I slowly and gently reach for his pale, elegant hand and hold onto it as my only salvation, as my only way to keep him safe. I sigh softly and lay beside him, holding that hand close to my heart, never wanting to release it. I uncurl his ngers to t mine perfectly between them. As I do so, I again look upon his palm. There in his hand rests a single star. I watch trembling as it splits to form two, one gliding with a small tingling sensation into my own palm. Then we are falling, falling, into the cold blackness in his scarred sad soul . . . - Juliana Skelly 9

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- Maya Bower

The grass is green The skies are blue The clouds are grey As I think of you The hot summer heat beat down on the theater. He worked, alone, in the dark behind stage. Young, only an apprentice. He ran the lighting board as the singers came and went through the Cabaret. As the night came, the songs got lonelier and sadder, mostly old smooth jazz, speaking of lost loves and broken hearts. Alone - in the world of dark, silently pacing underneath the shadow strewn rafters, quickly darting past patches of light from the old hole lined curtain. As the night was drawing to a close, he set the lights and silently disappeared into the lobby, completely devoid of people, heard the bittersweet solo, sung beautifully by the young actress on stage. How he longed for a partner to dance with, but he was alone. He danced by himself, sadly, lonely, minuscule in the eye of the galaxy, of the universe. He slowly walked back, through the side door, into the dark. He slowly walked back, occasionally peaking through the curtains at the pretty actress. He slowly shufed back to his seat as the song drew to its heart wrenching climax. The actress walked off stage, brushing past him, giving him a nod with a sad look of compassion in her eye. As he sat down he looked out the window to the right of him, out into the lonely darkness on that hot summer night. As he gazed out, it began to rain with a faint, distant boom of thunder. The rain fell softly at rst, as the last handful of songs came to a close. The crowd slowly shufed out of the theater into the night, still unaware the lonely man existed, and he cleaned up the back of the stage, utterly alone, in the dark. The only sound was the soft, slow swish of his broom as he swept away all the memories. He shut off the light of his lights, his beautiful, beautiful lights, and began to cry as he ipped the nal breaker. He slumped in his chair as the rain turned to torrent, his tears as numerous as the drops of rain. He eventually stopped and peered out into the black night. The rain came down and the wind blew through the trees, almost as lonely as he. With a nal, solem movement, he stood and looked, one last time, at his beautiful lights. He closed the door, picked up his coat, and put it on as he walked through the dark, silent, deserted theater. He got to the door and picked up the sign on the oor, hanging it on the door. Closed Indenitely, it read. He turned, gazed one last time into the lonely, sad theater. With the deed done, he locked the door and walked out of the theater, the last man to ever be there, the last caretaker, his last love. And with that, he walked through the rain and wind, through the strife and silence, into the dark, and you would have sworn you could hear the smooth jazz playing on the night air. - Shevla

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Hunger, We all know what it is. We have all felt it before, When you skip breakfast to try to shed that pound, Or when dinner is later than usual. But do we really know hunger. The clawing, debilitating pain in your stomach, The weakness that eclipses everything, The uncertainty of when the next meal will come, If it will ever come, The embarrassment of standing in line at the soup kitchen, Feeling like everyone is looking down on you, Your hungry children that look up to you With questions written all over their faces, Questions that you do not know how to answer or quench. What is hunger, really? Whenever I say that I am starving, Because I only ate one bowl of cereal for breakfast, I do not think of all those people, Who cant remember when they last ate a bowl of anything. If I am starving, then what are they? - Ellie Pitmon

For Granted Do you still take me For that love stuffed teddy bear Dusty on your shelf? One buttons missing I sit in my misery Fully neglected My heart of stufng Has broken; bitterness seeps Through moth eaten holes Was I only your childhood plaything A toy To be thrown away? - Elizabeth Cummin

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Rain clouds Though the sky is grey and indistinct, It doesnt rain. Everything looks sadder in the grey. The tall trunked trees grow solemn, The wicker chairs cold. The cobblestones show their moss. The birds are off, Hiding from the impending storm, Wary of the sky, So much like a sleek, grey cat. The cats, too, are uninterested, Lying near the door, Making a show of keeping inside. And nally, When the rain clouds break down, Drips at rst, Drops, There is no relief from the disquiet, From the tristesse du monde. The rain is colder Than it should be, Too cold, Too sad, Too lonely for today. Sitting and waiting for the storm to pass, I hear just the ticking-tock of the rain, The clicking snap of the clock, And the soft time keeping of my heart. - Emma Hadden

Wings of Intangibility

Violet silk bleeds like ancient wine across ame-seared tapestries of cobalt earth. Charred remains of sage brush and dark wood drown in rivers of parched rocks, thirsting in the umber sun.
Dakota Deady

The planes of rock split where thin arches once lingered, and moth-like, her raven hair its around her shadowed countenance. She shifts gracefully in the smoke-steeped air, traversing the length of imagination just above the memories of tangibility. On her, wings would be a mere redundancy. - Braeden Hughes

School vs. Learning An academic dilemna To learn is the passion School, the obstacle that often gets in the way. - Ariana Matthews-Salzman
Annavitte Rand

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Unchained She stands alone Watching and w

her world will become. The waves of emotion swarm And ow over her As she stands tall

Ready to continue the ght. The ght that she is chained to. The chain that holds her there Binds her, holding her captive And soon

ming to an end. She knows and understands What will happen What

the links will shatter. Setting her free To be who she wan 15

ts to be. -Meaghan Hughes

Take one look These mirrors contort They hate me Degrade me These mirrors deform Take one look Is that you in the glass? Or is it a stranger Who keeps looking back? You seize us And tease us Control us To please us I give into fear Take one look These mirrors surround me I spin and I turn But theyre still all around me Look in the mirror All that we see All that we are All we can be I take one look My reection complete I tear down these mirrors Until my image is free. - Gabby Mantone

aiting Knowing theres only so much time The battle that has been going on for years Is co

Lindsey Flanders

Smile The sky is shrouded black; a thick heavy mask that yields to no one. Ahead of me lies a bomb shelter. People are piling in by the dozen, screaming and shouting, tumbling and kicking and running over one another in their hustle. They know whats coming. I, too, am running. But I am so far away. I can feel myself getting nearer with every footfall and still, I know it is not enough. And so I stop. I fold over, my forehead scraping the cold concrete. I reach up touch the hideous yellow star emblazoned on my gray shirt. My ngers curl around it, and I begin to rip it off. But a hand touches mine. I look up, quickly, and scramble to my feet away from the touch. A woman stands there. She pushes a stroller. And in that stroller is a baby, who is obviously malnourished and sick. And the woman just stands there. Her clothes are rags that hang off of her waif-like form. And sure enough, a star just like mine sticks out like a sore thumb against the black of her dress. She gazes at me with a look so piercing, I feel she can see right through me. I nd my voice. What are you doing?! I scream at the top of my lungs, Run! You have a baby with you! And the woman smiles. I am struck, dumbfounded. For this smile is not a smile of malice, of conceit or contempt or hatred which is the only smile I have seen since being forced to wear this star. This is a real smile, a genuine smile, one which I myself have not been able to wear ever since I can remember. This time, my voice comes out as a whisper, and amid all of the chaos I dont expect her to hear. You dare to smile? And this woman, she throws back her head, and she laughs. A full, hearty laugh. My child, she says to me in a voice that is almost musical. How can you not smile when there is so much beauty to behold in this world? Beauty? I whisper. I look around me, and everywhere I see black and gray. I see misshapen lumps of fabric pretending to be human running towards the one bomb shelter we have in our town. And around it, I see the bodies of those who were trampled to death. There are children screaming and crying for their mommies who lay dead at their feet while they wail.

Victoria Mousley

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I see no sky, only black clouds, and all of the trees around me, if not cut down, are bare and dead. This is not beauty. Oh, child. she says softy in her melodic voice. Come see the world through my eyes. She reaches out her small, frail, withered hand to me, and lays it over my own. All of a sudden, the world is bright. The trees are in full bloom, and the world is lled with their splashes of color. Red and orange and pink and green and brown and yellow. And the sky. Oh, the sky. The sky is blue, the clearest blue I have ever seen. The radiant sun beats down on my face and warms me right to my soul. The bomb shelter is an ice cream shop, and where there were screams there is now laughter. Laughter! as children pick their favorite avors, and the parents eat the remains of what their kids cant nish. They are hugging and smiling and laughing. There are no skeletons, no darkness, and no ugly yellow stars. Here, we are all people. Just people. And then, I hear something I never expected to hear again. A lark, perched in an oak tree nearby, opens its throat to sing. Its song washes over me, and I cry out with joy. Its call is answered by others in the trees surrounding. The song swells and swells, and soon it is all I can hear. My heart aches with longing, and I involuntarily take a step towards the sound. But when I do, the womans hand falls off of my own. The birds, those glorious birds, they are no more. Now I hear them for what they really are...the whistle of what we all knew was coming. My world had now returned to black and gray. Beside me, the woman knelt down, picked up her baby, and cradled it to her. The babys huge, chocolate brown eyes bored into mine. A contented look was on her too-skinny face, and her eyes glistened. And I knew she was seeing the world through her mothers eyes. As the world around me changed from black and gray to red and orange, as everything I had ever known erupted where I stood, I looked into that babys face, and I could hear the larks song in my head. And in those last few moments, when all was being lost forever, I smiled. - Cassidy Thompson

Victoria Mousley

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Devils Decade Time seems to slow As it progresses Through its never ending Flow of math and Words and battles and Sciences and theories and Laws and hypotheses and Monotony. The clocks hands Begin to stop As if the very Molecules themselves have Hit their Breaking point. It is here, Lost amongst the Fallen chalk, that It seems one can Only truly become A single object Of complete stillness. As the periods slowly Shift to eras and eons And nally super eons, And the days get longer, s Becoming weeks and months And years and nally Decades, it all begins to Slowly sink in and Create its own impression. And just as you Begin to grasp the theory of Why hydrogen wants to be Greedy and steal another f, Valence electron, all for itself, It happens.

The bell slowly whines out its Monotonous screech, and oh how It stings, but it signies the Freedom given to those who waited And survived thus far into The clutches of the demon of Time and formulas and algebra And grammar. Their excursion from the Depths of this icy hell sends them Flying back to the residence of Their kin, only to forget who Conquered the Trojan City Amongst the piles of music And pizza and movies left Behind from the party at Joes house. And when the yellow demon Returns to steal the souls of Those who succeed in Making it through the previous Decade of the hell, Only to return for another Round with the caretakers of This frozen garden of the Devil himself.

- Brendon Giroux

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The Enforcer - an excerpt Acidic rain pattered on the roof of the shuttle as it dove through the Venusian clouds toward the immense dirigible-city of Persephone. As it swooped over the balloon, Rukan saw a multitude of workers scurrying atop the balloon like insects, racing against time to repair corrosion before their own protective suits were breached by the relentless acid. The shuttle cleared the segmented titanium, turned, and Rukan caught his rst glimpse of the gondola. It was huge 5 miles long, 2 miles wide, and a mile deep. Three stubby wings protruded from each side, supplementing the balloons lift to carry the citys 10 million inhabitants and providing a mount for the jet engines that propelled the city through the atmosphere. An outer shell protected Persephone from the sulfuric acid. The shuttle shuddered as the laser rockets turned off and the jets on the wings turned on. It entered an aperture. Rukan screamed and ducked. If the autopilot hadnt been on, he would have died in seconds. The computer wove the shuttle through the dizzying array of catwalks, buildings, and other vehicles. Roads only existed for pedestrians and magtrains; ying vehicles followed whatever route the onboard computer determined was fastest and not going to result in injury. Collisions were surprisingly uncommon, happening only one out of perhaps ten ights when a vehicles guidance beacon (which the computers used to prevent collisions) did not take into account propellers, wings, long tails, and the like. Obviously, all the vehicles in Persephone were required by law to be equipped with ejector seats. Also the layout of the city wasnt what he was used to. The buildings were heavily industrial, putting out obscuring clouds of smoke and sparks. The city was built in three dimensions: in addition to the standard grid pattern of buildings one might expect on a planes surface, the pattern continued along the vertical axis. The only connection between a building and the structure below it was a massive pylon, probably with elevators and a magtrain line. At long last, the shuttle arrived at the City Hall. It was located at the top of the gondola, betting its important position and preventing attacks from above. The shuttle touched down gently, and Rukan slowly lifted his head. An ambassador and several guards were ling onto the landing pad. Rukan quickly made himself presentable, then exited the shuttle, salvaging as much dignity as he could. Greetings! he called. Are you the ambassador from the Venusian government? I am, said the ambassador. My name is Hovalk. I suggest you come inside; as you are no doubt aware, this is a fairly lawless planet despite our best efforts, and an Interplanetary Enforcer would make as tempting a target as I can imagine visiting our rather inhospitable city. You give yourselves too little credit, Rukan said. Im sure there are some places that are worth visiting here. You do make a good point, however. They proceeded indoors. They entered an elevator, one wall of which was a large screen that showed pastoral views of other planets. The elevator deposited them into an ofce. The ofce had wood paneling on the walls, an enormous oak desk, and upholstered furniture; this was clearly where important dignitaries were met. Another huge screen replaced one of the walls, this one showing a nebula somewhere. Rukan supposed that these were used instead of windows because the Venusian landscape was so unappealing. Hovalk took his place behind the desk. The guards took their places at the door. Rukan sat at a chair across from Hovalk. How should I begin? the ambassador wondered aloud. How much do you already know? he asked Rukan. Very little, Rukan replied. I know you have a problem you cant solve on your own, or I wouldnt have been called here. I know it must be of a military nature, because you didnt request an Investigator or Diplomat. I know that the cause must be moral, or in keeping with the Interplanetary Charter, or the Interplanetary Council wouldnt have sent me.

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Correct on all counts, said Hovalk. Actually, its not entirely military, but an Investigator would be ill-prepared for what we need. Some time ago, a new band of smugglers calling themselves the Freed Coin formed in the Production Quarter. We didnt think much of it at the time; smugglers arent exactly uncommon here, and we had better things to do with our manpower. But then one of our law enforcers, who must have discovered them, was found dead. He had a tattoo of a coin in the loop of a padlock, which had a key in it. The autopsy determined that the tattoo was added after death, like a calling card. Since then, the Freed Coin has become more active bolder. Theyve added members and taken more than a passing interest in theft, assassination, kidnapping, forgery, and a dozen other illicit ways to make money. Most of these types of criminals wipe out their rivals, but the Freed Coin has been absorbing theirs. Theyre the

rst criminal group to become a real threat to the government. Every time we think weve tracked down their headquarters, which isnt hard to do with a group of this size, its either a false lead into an ambush, or the headquarters are abandoned and rigged with explosives and all manner of traps. But not this time. This time, we have a contact inside. She just wants to get on the right side of the law without being hunted by both the Freed Coin and us. She basically offered us information on the Freed Coin, its location, and help getting in if wed drop all charges against her once the Freed Coin is dispersed. Obviously, we took the opportunity. But we dont know if our own forces will be able to defeat the Freed Coin. So we sent for you quality over quantity. To be continued. . . - Jamie Duke

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So much depends Upon So little and Yet So much beauty Comes Forth

- Kellen Hopwood