This Crazy Infection Read online

This Crazy Infection

  by

  Kaylim

  Copyright 2014 by Kaylim

  Discover other titles in this series:

  “When Places Call”

  Visit my website at https://www.kaylimwrites.com/

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

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  Table of Contents

  Start of “This Crazy Infection”

  Endnotes

  For all the rovers out there. Here’s looking at you, John Masefield.

  ###

  “Star-Fever”

  I must go to the stars again, to the lonely constellations in the sky

  And all I ask is a clear night and a prayer to get me by,

  And a good wind and a glowing moon and a finely tuned motor

  And a last kiss from a pretty girl for this wayward boater.

  I must go to the stars again, for the call of a twinkling sun

  Is a wild call and a clear call that cannot be outrun;

  And all I ask is a landing site with new horizons dawning

  And comet dust and planet rings, and the new moon yawning.

  I must go to the stars again, to the willful explorer’s life

  To the asteroid’s way and the nebula’s way, where creation is born from strife

  And all I ask is a simple smile from a passing fellow-rover

  And we’re just two specks in the endless night when everything is over.

  --Turobeck

  It’s Myrha’s first time in space and she’s fucking terrified.

  “This was a mistake,” she says to the passenger seated next to her, a bland little fellow who prefers to ignore her.

  “I mean, what was I thinking?”

  Of course she entered that poetry contest, because the lure of an all expense paid trip was too much to resist. She remembers the night she submitted her poem vividly: in colors of regret.

  “I can’t do it!” she whines, holding her head in her hands.

  “Of course you can, baby,” her gal pal Zel says, patting her shoulder, “your stuff is good.”

  “I’m too scared. I’m a chicken. I’m going to hide under the bed now.”

  Zel taps the screen where it says WIN A VACATION TO LIEVAL: A WORLD MADE OF BEACHES, BABES AND BARBEQUE. COLONIZED FOR YOUR PLEASURE!

  “Well, yeah,” Myrha acknowledges.

  “So what’s the good in resisting? Submit your poem and send me pics of your new tan.”

  Myrha hesitates.

  Zel reaches over and hits the submit button, “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “You bitch,” Myrha pouts.

  That’s right, this was Zel’s fault.

  Myrha presses the heels of her palms to her eyes and decides she needs a drink. Only there’s no beverage button on her armrest.

  “Fuck,” she sighs, “isn’t getting wasted part of the vacation experience? What does a person have to do to get a drink around here?”

  The man next to her coughs and fidgets, but doesn’t look at her. Instead he’s intensely interested in his utiphone, which is flickering with a reader icon; she bets he’s looking at pornography, because honestly no one can be that interested in a book unless it has graphic pictures of the best kind.

  She tries to lean over and see, but he’s locked his screen so that only he can see what’s on it.

  “What kind of porn are you reading?” she asks.

  He squeaks (an embarrassing sound for a grown man to make, really), and his face prunes as he asks, “I beg your pardon?”

  “You wanna share?”

  He shuts off his utiphone and it disappears from sight.

  She rolls her eyes, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “How dare you imply that I would—“

  “Attendant!” she shouts, and then she leans in closer to him, “I could use a drink. You?”

  His face by now is blood red, and it’s a pity all that blood is in the northern region, really. The boner was much more attractive than his blushing face.

  “I thought so,” she pats his arm and at the moment she can hear the little robotic noises that means an android is nearing.

  “Finally,” she says as the attendant makes it to her aisle.

  The android merely ticks an eyebrow in her direction. And what a fine eyebrow it is. Myrha sits back a little to look the android up and down.

  “Why hello there,” she grins.

  Myrha hasn’t had much experience with androids, and she never expected one to look so…delicious. She’s made of long legs, a pile of blond hair and a slender torso (she is kind of slim on the bust to be honest, but really, those lips are sinful).

  “What’s a pretty little android like you doing in a place like this, eh?” she asks.

  The android looks rather resplendent in a silver skirt, tight-fitting shirt and black vest. Myrha fucking loves uniforms.

  “Serving you alcohol,” she answers crisply.

  “And so you are. Give me your strongest, and one for him, too.”

  As usual, the alcohol is like alien cum: it’s far too gummy, green and doesn’t have high enough of an alcohol content to knock her unconscious.

  “Wish they would update the menu selections,” she grumbles, and makes herself feel better by watching the pretty android sashay away.

  The man looks at his drink as if it is an extra appendage he never knew he had.

  “Well, cheers,” she says.

  She clinks her glass against his, pinches her nose, and downs the drink in one gulp.

  Lieval isn’t a ‘world’ so much as it is a big blue ball of water with a tiny island on the equator.

  “That’s it?” she asks, aghast.

  She was promised a world of beaches, babes and barbeque, and all she gets is a tiny island?

  When their starshuttle lands they are greeted by…silence. Lieval doesn’t have a bustling port full of greasy food, expensive souvenirs, and cheap prostitutes. Instead, it has a landing pad and a sandy walkway to a rickety WELCOME sign.

  “I thought this was a resort,” she says to the man next to her as they stand to disembark.

  He goggles at her.

  “You know: beaches, babes and barbeque?”

  He titters nervously, “Lieval used to have an old research facility, but it was shut down because of potential chemical contamination. The entire planet was condemned for more than fifty years.”

  “And where do the beaches, babes and barbeque come in?”

  “They don’t. All that’s here is a refueling station and a beach hostel.”

  “A hostel?” Not fucking cool.

  “Well,” he says timidly, “the owners have recently been renovating it. They’ve offered really cheap rates for travelers who just want to leave civilization behind.”

  She surveys her fellow passengers with disgust, “Is that why you all are on this shuttle?”

  “Yes, as you can see there aren’t that many of us. In the three years the hostel has been open it has gained a steady if modest following. I visit every year.”

  He says this last bit with some sort of abashed pride.

  “So you pay a shit-load of money just to go nowhere.”

  “Escaping from civilization is harder than it looks,” he sniffs haughtily, “maybe you’ll enjoy the experience.”

  “Who the fuck do I look like: Dellylee? I don’t want to run away from civilization, I want to bathe in it!”

  “Dellylee was an eloquent and verbose po
et. With your crude language, I highly doubt any comparisons between the two of you are apt.”

  Myrha turns at the cool, placid voice behind her. The android calmly glides past her and Myrha’s mouth drops.

  “You know Dellylee?” she asks.

  Never mind the fact that she hates Dellylee’s poems.

  The android doesn’t answer, simply collects the luggage plates from their stack by the door, and presses a button by her throat. Her voice immediately carries through the shuttle’s speakers.

  “We have arrived at Lieval’s port of entry. As there is no luggage facility present, your luggage plates will be returned to you as is. The local hostel has a facility it is graciously offering to let travelers use.”

  Myrha grumbles as she snatches her luggage plate from the android and steps off the shuttle. The sun is ridiculously bright and it is ridiculously hot out. Her contacts immediately start to darken and the big, luminescent star in the sky becomes a bearable pale blob.

  She taps her wrist utiphone and a screen pops up; she scrolls through for the tickets and instructions that were sent to her. A voucher for two week’s stay at any Lieval hotel pops up on her screen. Too bad there is only one hotel.

  The other passengers, of which there are only about fifteen, climb off the shuttle and drag their feet to the hostel. Myrha can’t wait to wring the owner’s neck. Bogus advertising, that’s what this is!

  The sandy trail leads up a slight hill, and there on the beach is a dilapidated two-story building. Behind it is nothing short of a tropical jungle. Great. Who knows what kind of rabid, radioactive animals live in there?

  When they reach the hostel no doors fly open, no automated voices greet them, no menus show up displaying food and drink possibilities, and no screens accost them to offer hotel rooms. Nothing happens except that they have to push the door open and then they