Punktown: Shades of Grey

PUNKTOWN: Shades of Grey

© 2005 by Jeffrey Thomas and Scott Thomas

Cover & interior art ©2005 Travis Anthony Soumis

DIGITAL EDITION

ISBN: 978-1-4524-7315-4

Assistant editors:

John Everson, Jeff Funk, C. Dennis Moore, Amanda Baird

Cover, Book Design & Typesetting:

David G. Barnett

Fat Cat Graphic Design

http://www.fatcatgraphicdesign.com

a
Necro Publication

5139 Maxon Terrace • Sanford, FL 32771

http://www.necropublications.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

— | — | —

JEFFREY THOMAS:

For Jeff VanderMeer

(
and
with thanks to Nancy and Rose for their dancing digits).

SCOTT THOMAS:

For Jeffrey—Thanks for inviting me to join you in Punktown those years ago and now.

TRAVIS ANTHONY SOUMIS:

Travis would like to thank the following deviant artists for their photography:

www.miette.deviantart.com

goldfishdreams
-stock.deviantart.com

dream
-traveler-stock.deviantart.com

— | — | —

“That City’s atmosphere is dark and dense,
Although not many exiles wander there,
With many a potent evil influence,
Each adding poison to the poisoned air;
Infections of unutterable sadness,
Infections of incalculable madness,
Infections of incurable despair.”

—
The City of Dreadful Night
, James Thomson

— | — | —

Part I: Jeffrey Thomas

The Unbearable Being of Light

The Hate Machines

Sweaty Betty, Termite Queen of the Danged

Purple Wings

Perfectly Beastly

Adrift on the Sea of Milk

Hydra

Willow Tree

Part II: Scott Thomas

Pulse

Frankenstein’s Reflection

A Shade of Grey

I Have Killed Millions

Under the Cherub

Veterans

The Merciful Universe

Grey Area:

Biographical Data Compiled by Jeffrey Thomas

— | — | —

PART I

JEFFREY THOMAS

— | — | —

THE UNBEARABLE LIGHT OF BEING

“Who can open the doors of his face?”

—Chapter 41, Book of Job

The scarecrow was twenty feet tall, seemed to loom even taller for having been erected atop the roof of the derelict factory. Its torso was a gutted hovercar, its arms and legs twisted rails, and its head a razored metal pinwheel—a fan blade from some factory
machine which
spiraled lazily or became a blur when the winds picked up. The monster windmill was spray-painted black with green streaks and patches that glowed in the dark, and around its wrists were lashed long red ribbons that snapped in the air. Zandra felt these were meant to look like streaming blood; perhaps the demon had slashed its wrists in bringing its spidery metal hands to its vortex of a face.

It was some god or devil of N’r’j folklore, but whether it was meant to overlook its erectors as a kind of guardian idol, or to ward/warn off outsiders from entering the factory grounds, Zandra didn’t know. She did not speak the N’r’j tongue, and though she wore a translator headset in her work, it was of little avail if the N’r’j did not talk to her. They were nearly silent as a people—even amongst themselves, from her experience thus far.

Even the infant before her didn’t squall as Aileen, Zandra’s more experienced partner, inoculated it. It already had the tangled, glossy black N’r’j hair down past its shoulders. Zandra found the N’r’j sexes indistinguishable from each other, and the children were merely smaller versions of the adults without (from her perspective at least) the “cute”
factor which
prompted everything from humans to dogs to feel affection for their young. That is, the infant’s eyes were no larger; they were the same crusty white slitted lids contrasted within black sockets like oil stains. Its skin was the same grayish brown color, with a look and texture like layers of mummifying bandages sealed with a glistening varnish, the nostrils black dots and the lips a scabby black, ever peeled back from gray teeth half the size of human teeth. The adults were very slender but a head taller than humans, like ghastly scarecrows themselves. Zandra was sure their appearance accounted for a lot of the negative feelings the adjacent neighborhoods felt for the beings. Even in a colony city like Paxton, teeming with transplanted life forms in a day-to-day Mardi
Gras
, they were considered repellent.

Aileen smiled up at the creature’s mother. “He’s a good patient…nice and quiet!” Zandra heard Aileen’s words turned to disjointed growls over her mike.

The mother said nothing into their headsets. She gathered her child in her arms, turned, and walked back toward the gaping loading dock caverns, her long hair and long black robe rippling in the chill breeze.

Aileen looked to her new partner. “They’re a proud people—but I know they appreciate our efforts.”