Letter From The Editor - Issue 55 - February 2017

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Issue 37
Stories
Elsa's Spheres
by Marina J. Lostetter
Underwater Restorations, Part 1
by Jeffrey A Ballard
Into the Desolation
by Catherine Wells
IGMS Audio
InterGalactic Medicine Show Interviews
At the Picture Show: Extended Cut
Missing pieces
by Chris Bellamy

Writing Fantasy

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Into the Desolation
    by Catherine Wells


  Listen to the audio version


I know when I see her that she's headed into the Desolation. I mean, why else would a middle-aged woman carry a single, huge backpack and check into a run-down motel on the edge of the Event? Probably put all her money into a fancy dunerunner with all kinds of equipment that won't do her much good once she crosses the boundary. I glance out the front window, but I don't see any dunerunner.

Her look says I'm right, though: that unwavering, even look of someone with their mind made up. Someone whose family tried to talk her out of this. I watch her come up to the desk, make one sweep of the lobby with her eyes, then fasten them on me. "I'd like a room, please."

A low, strong voice. Polite, but not deferential. Lines around her eyes, a couple from her nose to her mouth , all soft. Mousy brown hair with strands of gray. "One night?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Fifty-three dollars, cash only."

She sheds her backpack and looks down at the index card I slide across the desk. One eyebrow goes up. "No computers?"

"Not this close to the boundary." The Desolation screws with magnetism and makes computers unreliable. At least, the kind of computer we can afford.

"Ah." She fills out the card, hands it back. Imogene Glass, someplace in Nebraska, phone number that probably doesn't work here. But my mom insists we get one. Then she fishes in her backpack for the cash.

"Second floor okay?" I ask.

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