Kemlo and the Zombie Men

Book 0: Kemlo

by E.C. Eliott

Genres: Science Fiction; Alien Contact; Post-Apocalyptic sci-fi

Synopsis

'Zombies' is Krillie's name for them - although Kemlo and Kerowski explain that the men engaged in the Sonic Wave Experiment are risking their lives in the attempt to revolutionise man's powers of communication through space. Yet even the leader of the Space Scouts and his friends are shaken at the odd behaviour of some of the S.W.V.s under text conditions thousands of miles out in space. Perhaps after all there are stronger forces at work than the earth scientists had anticipated. Kemlo is determined to find out. But they have another problem as well. What is the mysterious weakness which haunts Alvin Searle, the stern and dominating figure in charge of the experiment - and can the space-born boys help him overcome it?

Release date: August 25, 2016

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 112

Sample

‘I BLAME Krillie,’ said Kemlo angrily. ‘He’s responsible for spreading this information.’

‘If he’s saying the wrong things, then you can’t call it information,’ Kerowski observed as he stretched his lanky form on Kemlo’s bed and prepared to relax.

Kemlo grabbed him and, after a tussle, rolled him off the bed.

‘Sit on it if you like, but don’t wipe your boots on it.’ Kemlo grinned and, with a swift action, reached up his hand to a control-panel set in the wall. Kerowski was immediately jerked off the side of the bed to land on his hands and knees on the floor.

‘Foul play, Kem!’ he gasped. ‘A d-dirty trick!’

But Kemlo was performing some intense muscular exercises and did not answer. The increasing of the gravity feed in the room had made both boys act as if suddenly they were carrying about three times their own weight. Normally, only sufficient gravity force flowed through the space-born boys’ quarters to allow them to pursue life without floating—or having every loose object float around them. The presence of this gravity force also made certain that their muscles were regularly exercised, and balance and physical reactions were maintained. In this way they all kept a high standard of fitness.

The switch controlling the increase of gravity power was fitted only in the older boys’ quarters. It prevented any quick movements because its effect was to draw the boys to floor level as if attracted by a powerful magnet. It was great exercise while it lasted.

Kerowski grunted and heaved in an attempt to reach up to throw the switch back to normal. But for all his extra height, he was not so well-muscled as his friend, and it was Kemlo who reached the control switch first and slowly cut the gravity feed back to normal.

‘Childish!’ Kerowski exclaimed pantingly as he wiped perspiration from his forehead. ‘That’s the sort of trick Krillie revels in.’

Kemlo laughed. ‘You know very well that all senior Space Scouts are supposed to spend at least one session of five minutes a day at full gravity power. I hadn’t used my five minutes today—that’s all.’

‘A muldroon on your five minutes!’ Kerowski retorted in his best Shakespeare-quoting voice.

‘You don’t have to obey every silly order. Five minutes of that extended gravity feed and I discover muscles I never knew I had.’ He staggered to the self-moulding chair and sprawled his length in it. ‘I suppose I’m safe while I use a chair?’ he questioned in a hurt voice.

‘Possibly.’ Kemlo grinned.

‘What were we discussing before you pulled that muscle-testing trick? Oh yes—Krillie and his information. Which isn’t, anyway.’

‘Isn’t what?’

‘Information.’

‘It’s the wrong word, I suppose,’ Kemlo admitted. ‘The trouble is that Krillie’s diary is getting a little too famous. By that, I mean that everything he writes or records in it is taken as absolute truth by the other kids up here on Satellite K.’

Kerowski frowned thoughtfully. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say this in front of the little pest, but Krillie’s done a good job of work with that diary of his. No other kid has taken such an interest and kept it up. Do you remember how the educational bods tried to persuade other kids to do a sort of diary? They were supposed to take it in turns each month.’

Kemlo nodded. ‘Didn’t work though. None of the others kept their interest for more than a few weeks.’

‘If they had any sense, which of course no-one in authority seems to possess,’ said Kerowski loftily, ‘they’d have made me the official diarist. Then they would have received adequate, unbiased reporting of events and a tolerable standard of exquisite dramatic writing.’

Kemlo chuckled. ‘You hate yourself, don’t you?’

‘No. Actually, I’m very fond of myself. Unfortunately, being a natural, honest philosopher, only I have the temerity to admit it.’

‘Philosopher! At your age?’

‘Why not!’ Kerowski demanded indignantly.

‘You don’t have to be half dead before you become a philosopher.’ He grinned as he added: ‘Or do you?’

‘Well, let’s say a few years older than you are, anyway,’ Kemlo replied gently. ‘As for being a diarist: there’s nothing to stop you keeping a diary, but there’s a good reason why the “educational bods”, as you call them, want someone of Krillie’s age to do the job.’

‘I know, I know.’ Kerowski sighed. ‘They are less concerned with grammatical phraseology than with the factual content.’ He waved his hands as he continued to declaim. ‘The object of such a diary kept by a space-born boy is to provide his Earth-born contemporaries with direct records and observations which would not be portrayed with the same natural freshness of style and approach by an older mind.’

‘Wow!’ Kemlo exclaimed as Kerowski paused for breath. ‘What a memory!’

Kerowski nodded glumly. ‘Yes. I’m somewhat phenomenal in many ways. But as yet unhonoured and unsung. A man is never a prophet in his own country. And our country is the world of Space. We were born into it. The first space-born generation which—said all the experts many years ago—was completely impossible. Before then, there were others who said that Man could not fly higher than twenty miles above the Earth. Yet here we sit in our world, a thousand miles into Space, and the only natural information about us, human information, is given to Earth-born children via the medium of Krillie’s diary.’

‘Stop exaggerating, you dope. The Elders of the Satellite Belts, the Chief Technical Officers and the scientists pour out masses of information about our life in Space.’

‘That’s what I mean,’ Kerowski insisted. ‘More than half the stuff they put out is so technical that you need a couple of computer brains with electronic keyboards to translate it. Oh yes, it’s wonderful for the International Space Commission and all the rest of the dome-heads, but what about the real people?’

‘If you’re leading up to one of your favourite speeches, you can stop right now.’ Kemlo smiled. ‘It’s no good, Krow, they won’t let you make a T.V. appearance with your own script. You know how keen they are to make sure we’re never exploited. Remember that one trip we made to Earth in those EASHAM suits?’

Kerowski nodded. ‘Do I not! No set of freaks could have been exploited more than we were then.’

‘So there’s your answer. Krillie’s diary is just a natural reporting of the space-born children’s impressions of things which happen up here. I think it’s a good idea and Krillie does a good job; but the trouble is, he often oversteps from fact into fiction and he’s inclined to give our kids the wrong impression.’

‘What about the Earth kids?’

‘Well, the diary is vetted before it’s broadcast to Earth, but the kids on the Satellite hear a lot of it direct from Krillie. Like this Zombie business. That’s why I blame him.’

‘He generally takes notice of you,’ said Kerowski more seriously. ‘You’re his hero. Why not talk to him about it? And anyway, you’re his captain as well, so he’ll listen to you.’

‘Maybe he will,’ Kemlo agreed. ‘But have I the right to interfere?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

At this moment the transceiver’s incoming signal light flashed and a cheerful voice sounded pantingly in the speaker.

‘This is Krillie calling Kemlo. Come in, please, Kemlo.’

‘Well, well!’ Kerowski exclaimed. ‘Speak of pests and you hear their yelping voice.’

The last part of Kerowski’s observation was transmitted because Kemlo had at once flicked up the switch and opened his transmitting circuit.

‘I heard that,’ said Krillie’s voice resentfully. ‘And it sounds like Kerowski’s voice. If I’m a pest, then you’re the pestest pest that ever was—yah!’

‘And yah to you too.’ Kerowski chuckled good-humouredly.

‘I’m glad you called me, Krillie.’ Kemlo cut into this amiable bickering. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m in the Reference Library.’

‘You’re on strange ground, then,’ said Kerowski. ‘What are you doing in there?’

‘I’m looking up technical history for my diary,’ Krillie announced importantly.

‘What special technical history are you looking for, Krillie?’

‘I want some more details about the Zombie Men, but I can’t find them.’

‘Who told you to call them the Zombie Men?’ said Kemlo. But before Krillie had a chance to reply, he added: ‘Look, Krillie, I want to talk to you. I’d rather not do it over the transceiver. Can you come to my quarters?’

‘Right away?’

‘Yes, if you can.’

‘Oh—all right,’ Krillie agreed in a resigned voice. ‘If it’s really important.’

‘It’s as important as whatever you’re doing now,’ said Kemlo sharply. ‘I’ll be waiting for you.’

He saw the disappointed expression on Krillie’s face in the seconds before he clicked the switch and cut the transceiver and vision screen back to its normal receiving position.

Kerowski had also noticed this expression, for he laughed softly before he said: ‘Krillie’s not quite sure how to take you, Kemlo. He has such respect for you and thinks so much of you, yet because you’re also his captain he never quite knows what he’s done wrong.’

‘I don’t want to give him that impression,’ said Kemlo in a rather startled tone. ‘I don’t, do I?’

‘Well, you’re a pretty severe type, you know. At least when you want to be, or when there’s a real need for it. I’m not saying that being a Captain of Space Scouts is easy. You have to be strict when it’s necessary, but you get very stern sometimes, and Krillie’s very sensitive to it. He’ll be worrying all the way here.’

‘Not Krillie!’ Kemlo exclaimed. ‘He doesn’t worry for more than two minutes together. But if I really sound like that and look as stern as that, I’ll have to do something about it. I don’t mean it, you know. I suppose mine is one of those serious sorts of face and’—he shrugged—‘well, people just misunderstand me, that’s all.’

‘Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself,’ said Kerowski. ‘It’s not as important as all that. I just mentioned it.’

‘Glad you did.’ Kemlo glanced up as the buzzer sounded and somebody crossed the entry beam. Then the door slid open.

Krillie paused on the threshold before he stepped into Kemlo’s room.

‘Hello, Kemlo,’ he said hesitatingly, then blurted out: ‘Are you angry with me?’

‘Now why should I be angry with you?’ Kemlo asked gently. ‘You’ve done nothing for me to be angry about, have you?’

‘Not that I can remember.’

‘Well, then?’

‘Then it’s all right?’

‘I don’t know what’s supposed to be wrong, but yes—it’s all right, Krillie.’

‘Krillie’s young and eager face creased up in a huge smile and he ran across the room and plonked himself on Kemlo’s bed.

‘What did you want to see me about?’ he asked.

‘Mainly about this Zombie Men business. You’ve got the wrong idea, you know, Krillie.’

‘I have?’

‘From what I’ve heard of your diary so far,’ Kemlo explained. ‘Who told you to call them the Zombie Men?’

Krillie frowned in concentration, then shook his head slowly from side to side.

‘Nobody—at least, I don’t think so. They’ve always been called the Zombie Men. Haven’t they?’

‘The first I heard of it was when one of the junior kids in the gym started to talk about what would happen when the Zombie Men came. I asked him where he’d heard the name, and he said you’d used it.’

‘Oh, I’ve used it right enough,’ Krillie admitted. ‘But I thought that was what they were called.’

‘You didn’t think anything of the kind,’ said Kemlo severely. ‘You just thought it would be a good idea to call them the Zombie Men, and you did so.’

‘Then you are angry with me.’

‘No, I’m not, but I think you should be careful about what you call people. “Zombie” isn’t a very nice name.’

‘They’re not very nice people.’

‘That isn’t right either. Of course they’re nice people. In fact, they’re very brave people. And they’re not Zombies.’

‘What is a Zombie, Krillie?’ Kerowski spoke for the first time since Krillie ha. . .