Allergies

by
Christine W. Murphy

Tracy woke to a hell of a hangover and a heavenly view of Dixton Three. Giga-tons of plated metal with poly-thermal walkways sported the requisite escape seats and jinx cubes. There was nothing reminiscent of home about the place. Perfect.

“Hey, Polly-Anna, you taking a piss or looking for a place to squat?”

Reaching the comm-link took concentrated effort in half-grav, but Tracy managed to flick the switch and flick off the fuzzy image that grinned at her.

“Squat, control,” was all she managed to croak out. Damn, she needed water, but it required too much effort to reach the hose.

“You’re cleared for approach four, but you’ll have to hang. Got a party clanging here.”

“Great,” she muttered, “just what I need.”

“Again, Polly?”

Tracy tweaked her starboard restraint strap to bring her level and tried for a smile. “That’s great, control. Hanging on approach four until you fit me between clangs.”

“Security’s waiting. You’re expected.”

Smile fading, Tracy over-torqued and found herself wondering why station control’s mustache resided above his nose.

Damn, what had Dusty told these guys? She’d asked for only one thing when she bussed him that final time and staggered onto her flitter. Well, two things, a decent recommendation and a head start. He must have put a trace on her. Men! Why did they have to be so blasted predictable?

Her hand hovered over docking controls as she asked a more pertinent question. “Got hydroponics over there?”

“If you’re looking for fresh produce, you’re headed in the wrong direction, Polly. We’re all synthetics. Report to med if multi-poly sensitive. We’re installing new jinx cubes. Lots of fibers floating loose.” The mustache righted itself, resting below a rather cute nose.

Tracy’s world brightened a smidge. “Have to make do peeling synthetic grapes. Meet you in the local mess when I talk my way past security?”

The fuzzy smile on her screen broadened. Inviting lips laughed and said “That’s if not when.” Then he broke contact.

Tracy twitched her hand to accept docking prompts.

After a two-hour nap while her ship settled into its new berth and ten seconds devoted to complying with regs, Tracy ran her fingers through her hair twice and dragged the zip-lock on her flight suit down a few extra centimeters. Wouldn’t do to make a bad impression.

A quick duck through the airlock and connecting poly-therm brought her breast to chest with a hunk, a hunk of burning beauty the likes she hadn’t seen since…well…since the last security guy she’d fallen for.

He stole a glance between her assets, his pupils growing before he started his spiel. He didn’t bother with introductions.

“Tracy no-middle-name Hatches, owner and captain of the Polly-Anna, oh-four-six-nine–”

“That’s me.” She extended her arm to bare her code.

He scanned and she batted, her eyelashes, that is. This one didn’t have a mustache. Damn, she liked a little hair on a man.

In response to his scanner’s green light, he grunted and turned on his heel. She interpreted the jerk of his shoulder as an invite to follow.

“So Dusty called ahead, did he?” Best to be up front. The fraternity of security bums was close knit despite billions of clicks ‘tween stations.

“Security at Bella Point sent heads-up. Interested in a gig or plan to cut straight to the bar?”

Good ol’ Dusty hadn’t pulled punches. Tracy didn’t disguise her wince. Not possible considering her pounding head and burbling stomach. Besides her new boss wasn’t looking her way.

“Give me a cycle-shift or two to settle in and–”

“Two cycles, those are twenty-two hours each here. Limited access and your flitter hangs outside. If you want to stay longer, report dressed for work, that’s sentry duty for starts, and I’ll get you and Polly-Anna a berth.”

The door ahead parted to let him past, then slammed in her face. “Approved Personnel Only” blinked in time with the blood at her temples. She didn’t even know his name.

Three ten-day shift-cycles later Tracy knew everyone’s name on staff, plus most civvies on sight. Couldn’t be more than two thousand total with ten percent of that security. It was a high stick to fluff ratio on a research station that left little for a grunt to do except gripe about lack of prospects. Which was why she now stood at attention in front of her new boss Captain Berdic, the previously unnamed security hunk and one of Dusty’s old war buddies.

“You did well with that altercation last shift in the calti-section.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Tracy refrained from clicking her heels. Soft soled to avoid scuffing the deck plates, regulation boots didn’t make a satisfying sound. Instead she rolled her shoulders and leaned forward a fraction, careful to keep her eyes wide open. Berdic pursed his lips, disapproval warring with dilating pupils as he noted her gaping uniform.

“I think you’re ready for regular shift duty.”

After thirty cycles of random calls to work, she was more than ready. Tempted to jump up and down or more honestly to tear off her uniform and fling herself into Berdic’s arms, Tracy plastered a measured smile on her face and nodded in what she hoped was a benign, not manic, fashion.

“I’ve assigned you to the brig. Night shift.”

“Night shift, sir?” So much for seeing Captain Berdic during down time. He worked days, leaving orders not to be disturbed unless the station threatened to implode.

“We’ll have increased activity with construction on the new jinx cubes. The union will provide off-time entertainment, the usual. Dusty said you have experience.”

Tracy concentrated on Berdic’s hairless upper lip. No sign of double entendre. “You have my record, sir.”

“That’s why I’m putting you in charge of the watch. You’ve been there before. Several times.”

His back was to her now, but his hands were held where she could see them, long fingers caressing his riot baton. The baton was a relic from an earlier century, from another world. Earth. The thought sent ripples of tension through her throat that repeated swallowing could not calm.

His fingers drummed in time with his rocking heels. “I suspect you lacked proper supervision in the past.”

No way to detect a suggestive expression from the rear, not that she was complaining about the view. Should she speak up? Defend Dusty? She’d punched out an entire diplomatic entourage before she left Bella Point. Not Dusty’s fault any more than it had been the fault of the previous two dozen bosses on two dozen stations–sites of two dozen fights, the result of her getting stinking drunk.

“My fault entirely, sir.”

Berdic made a practiced turn on his ex-military heel to face her. How the hell did he do that in soft-soled boots?

“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why.”

Tracy studied her boots. Getting drunk remained a human right, one she practiced on occasion. She’d had to switch from fermented ale to synthetics two years ago, but she didn’t have to explain.

“Just like a good fight, sir. Cut loose once in a while.”

Berdic frowned and stroked his ancient wood safely encased in polymer. “You’ll submit a personal report at the end of each shift. We can meet over breakfast. My private mess.”

Now this was when a mustache came in handy. Tracy knew how to read twitching hairs. Berdic stood there without revealing what he meant by “personal” or “meet.” Not to mention “private mess,” a phrase that could mean anything from a personalized dining room to dirty underwear.

While she chewed her lower lip to keep from asking questions that would embarrass them both, Berdic returned to his desk and sat. “You’ll receive a supervisor’s stipend and a bump to a single berth.”

No more eating on her bunk and brushing her teeth out of a teapot. And enough money to start a stash for the day that would inevitably come when someone thought “wouldn’t it be dandy to bring a piece of Earth to the wilderness.”

“Will that be all, sir?” Tracy silently clicked her heels, leaving him to wonder if she was waiting for him to dismiss her or to sweeten the pot.

Berdic shuffled papers. “You start tonight. Don’t disappoint me.”

Disappointing people was what Tracy did best, not that she didn’t have the perfect excuse, but no one wanted to hear it. No, this way was best way. No one got hurt. Other than a few people at the station bar. And Tracy, of course.

Three ten-day shift-cycles after switching onto the night shift, Tracy had given up on having any social life, but not on sharing it with Berdic. When she delivered her report over breakfast this morning, he had slammed his baton on the table in a way that suggested wearing tight leathers and a few well-placed bruises might draw his interest.

Now, well into what should be her sleep cycle, she found herself filling in for the day-shift captain for what had to be the second time in ten days. A suspiciously polite knock sounded, catching her standing bleary-eyed, halfway between the duty desk and the peephole. She waved the clerk to his seat. No reason for them both to be inconvenienced.

When her vision cleared, Tracy focused on a few centimeters of what appeared to be a blue rug requesting admittance, while she fumbled at the switch on the console. The clerk behind her cleared his throat and mumbled “try this.”

Not a rug after all. Not even fibers. Hair, more gray-green-blue specked than a simple blue. And quite tall. She stared at what would be a rather impressive chest if not for the upholstery job.

“ID,” she snapped, wondering if her clerk was also standing double shifts.

“Karlspert Thanderserm. Arrived a month ago. Clean record. Runs a gaming room for construct crews. You incarcerated one of his last night. Name of Thumper.”

“Short, weasely guy?” Tracy turned to catch the clerk’s nod of agreement. “What’s he doing hanging out with an alien?”

This time the clerk shrugged. “Even weasels got to eat.”

Tracy’s turn to nod as she keyed the door to open and stepped aside. Could never tell what an alien might be carrying. Oh, lurkers tried to reassure. Universe had a purpose, all one big happy family. But Tracy had reasons for taking a paranoid view. You couldn’t tell by looking what might make you sneeze and this hairy beastie had allergy written all over him.

He also had the most glorious smile if you overlooked the whole blue alien thing. His face looked almost human, structure contoured by hairs shorter than those that covered what she could see of his body. What was he hiding underneath his fake-leather pants and boots, both a dark orange that made his blue hair positively glow?

“So, Karl, what can a girl do for you?”

His glaze didn’t flicker below her neck. A mini-glance circled the perimeter of her face then returned to stare into her eyes. When she blinked, he lowered his chin to take in her nameplate.

“Officer Hatches, I come most humbly to beg a favor from your most worthy, white hands.”

Tracy glanced to her clerk and took in a slight shake of head, eyebrows level. Which could mean this alien was serious or was making off-color comments concerning begging and hands, a serious breach of protocol.

“Come to round up Thumper?” She raised a finger in the clerk’s direction as she returned to her desk. One thing in the blue guy’s favor, he’d sprung his man before they’d been forced to provide a free meal and before poor Thumper had been forced to eat it. Captain Berdic was one sadistic bastard when it came to feeding the prisoners.

Karl bowed his head in what appeared to be a move to hide his rather attractive grin and sharp, white teeth. “How wise and compassionate of Officer Hatches to have foreknowledge of my wishes before I draw sufficient breath to beg. I have in truth come for my unworthy servant Thumper, whom I understand has strayed from the truth path.”

Tracy hoisted the rap sheet above her breasts to see if he’d follow. Karl examined his boots while she contemplated whether or not he had hairy toes.

“Drunk and disorderly. Broke enough glassware to get him sent home to my mother.”

“Your mother?” His blue brows furrowed. He took his time raising his head, taking her in from ankles to eyebrows, lingering on her hips.

“Whatever,” she mumbled, resenting the need to explain a perfectly clear expression. Aliens! “Put your paw print here if you’re going to bail him.”

Something that looked suspiciously like anger curled his lower lip, but he took the pad she extended and studied the terms. When the door swooshed open behind her, neither of them looked up to see Thumper. His odor preceded him.

Karl turned his attention to the clerk, who held Thumper’s leash.

“Opposable digit?” Evidently, Karl was no longer willing to address her.

Great, she’d managed to insult him.

The clerk all but genuflected in response to the alien’s glittering teeth. “Yes, sir.”

Karl turned again, this time fixing Tracy with a stare before he raised his thumb to his mouth and licked it. She followed the wet stroke across the thick pad of his digit, catching herself licking her lips. No hair on the undersides of his callused hands, black like his tongue. The idea teased–his wet, black tongue stroking her pale thumb.

When he extended his arm to return the signed pad, he grinned with lips pulled back. His teeth were white and very sharp. What did creatures eat with a mouth full of those? Universe had a purpose, or so they said. Tearing flesh from other blue furries or plucking apples off trees?

Thumper stumbled past her to his master’s side, her eyelid twitched. The blue beast’s pupils widened, distorting his vermilion irises to bloody wedges. A moment later Karl and his cohort were gone.

Repeat twelve times over the next month, minus the eye twitch. Tracy kept making sarcastic reference to Karl having paws instead of hands. He seemed to like it. Thumb licking continued, a necessity one of the experienced clerks explained. Stray hairs messed up the ID system.

Her stomach now fluttered at the sight of Karl, not just when his tongue appeared but when she heard his respectful rap at the door. He always showed up during her shift, even if it meant arriving in the middle of the night and leaving Thumper to suffer through a day of meals. The attention was enough to make a girl lose her aversion to aliens.

Morning meetings with Berdic alternatively pounding the table and stroking his baton, Karl showing up when her nerves peaked, Tracy could have gone forever like this. The last time she insulted Karl while they waited for the clerk to return with Thumper, her blue friend had backed her into the desk. He’d suggestively rubbed his chest against the front of her shirt while he grinned down at her, flashing his teeth. Exciting stuff.

She’d been looking forward to Karl’s next visit when it happened. She didn’t usually eat in the officer’s mess, but she couldn’t refuse Berdic’s invite. So there she was in her one good dress–red vinyl poly cut to her ass in back, tits in front–when a touch of home was unveiled.

A sprig of green mint rested on a perfectly innocent fabrication that tasted like roasted lamb. What next, a real tomato? How about a tray of grass to adorn the public head or a station cat to prowl the pristine, dander-free corridors?

Before the first itch, the first sneeze hit, Tracy was on the way to the bar. Thumper wasn’t there, neither was Karl, not that he ever was. She’d checked him out. It seemed suspicious that a man, make that alien, like Karl would throw good credits after a bad egg like Thumper. In fact she was starting to believe Thumper drank and Karl bailed him out just to see her.

She didn’t remember much past the fifth gee-verber she tossed against her tongue between sneezes. The equivalent of a couple dozen beers ingested in two hours did that to a girl. Tracy would know. She’d done it more than once, twenty times in fact.

This time made twenty-one.

She woke to Berdic’s disapproving frown and immediately closed her eyes to entertain the fanciful notion that she was ensconced in his private quarters. No such luck unless he slept on a metal slab covered with a foam mat.

Her slippered feet met metal floor as she sat up too fast, her assets covered from tip to toe in orange plastic.

“Guess I blew it,” she said to save him the trouble. “I’ve got enough credits to gas up Polly-Anna and–”

“You’ve got a six, ten-cycle sentence to serve unless you come up with bail, two paychecks more than you’ve got in your account.” His hairless face revealed no regrets.

Sixty cycles? She’d never survive. The contamination was spreading. Tolerable in detention. Luxuries always arrived in the tombs last. But any day now some do-gooder would decide station scum needed cheering up and she’d be done for. Unless she wanted to confess, sent off to another doctor to hear the same damning prognosis: progressive, worsening, unnatural, unfortunate, unforgivable….

Tracy stole another glance at Berdic. Berdic wasn’t the type to understand. Oh, he might understand far enough to allow her to slip off the station, but word would follow as surely as Dusty’s had followed her here. Only this time she would be labeled something more shameful than a drunk.

“What’ll it be, Hatches? You’ve got three alts that I can see. Sell the Polly-Anne to make up the difference for bail and work in the galley. Or sit here and rot time served, and slink out without references.”

Her hands cradled her head, where it wobbled pathetically back and forth. The heavy hand on her shoulder gave her no hope.

“I’ll send the doc down with something to settle your stomach. While you wait consider what you’ve done. Take a day or two. You’re not going anywhere soon no matter what you decide.”

“You said three choices,” she said trying to manufacture some hope. They didn’t serve alcohol in lockup. She’d never make it to the other side of her sentence.

Berdic grunted and sat on her bunk. He twisted his academy ring, a testament to how awkward he felt and to the absence of his baton in lock-up.

“I could be persuaded…I mean if you promise you’ll stay out of the bar…I could get you work release to earn bail money and save your flitter. With time served you’ll have a year to go, two at most.”

Two years? What the frick and frack had she done?

She grabbed his sleeve, only then becoming aware that her wrists were linked by poly-wire. “Please, Berdic, you can’t do this to me. Polly and I can be out of here two minutes after I board. I’ll market you back the money, I promise.”

Berdic stood and shook his arm to release her hold. “Listen, Hatches, I took you on as a favor to Dusty. For some reason he still cares about you. If it were up to me….”

He shook his head and strode out of the room.

“Don’t look so sad.”

The familiar voice snapped Tracy out of her suicidal ponder. She almost asked what he was doing there, but that was obvious. Thumper had spent most of his stay on Dixton Three in the brig.

“What’s the matter, Karl give up on you?” she asked.

“He’ll be along any minute. Won’t have to wait for your shift to see you.”

Thumper’s ensuing giggles woke the other inmates, each confined to his separate cell. Tracy found herself retracting her limbs to form a compact ball and bring them equal distant from any mug with ideas of exacting revenge on their former jailer or spending a fun afternoon with a girl.

“Don’t suppose your boss would bail out a former security officer for giggles.”

“Not for giggles but–”

“Hey, Thumper,” reverberated through the metal cages, “your big, blue friend is here.”

The other inmates took a sudden interest in their toes. Tracy kept right on looking and was rewarded with the sight of a maintenance crew guy shuffling past with a refuse hamper. How would he know what was going on up front?

Thumper straightened his jacket and his hair. Paid particular attention to his hair.

Thumper’s locks were his only attractive feature. Now, he pulled one edge of his scalp up, groping beneath with his fingers. He flushed an unbecoming red when he realized she was watching.

“Want one?” he whispered.

She crept to the bars where their cells met. A tiny, silver packet slid from between his fingers and dropped to the floor. She bent to retrieve it and missed all but the final stage of the hand-off. By the time she’d refocused, Thumper was patting his hair in place. The maintenance drone gave him a wink.

Maintenance left the cellblock by the service entrance at the same time security stuck his head in the front. Tracy turned away to examine Thumper’s gift.

“Hey, Hatcher, you’ve got company. Bring your stuff.”

After raising a hand in reply, she peeled back the thin covering and stared into enough frick to seal her ass in the brig until Polly-Anna’s boosters rusted.

She stuffed the bar of brown heaven, strictly black-market, under the corner of her bunk. Wouldn’t do to get caught with contraband now that Berdic had come to his senses and decided to let her out. And she didn’t want to explain Karl’s visits to bail his frequently drunk employee now that she knew what was up.

But if Berdic didn’t come through, she could trade information on one blue teddy bear for a ship full of fuel and a free pass to the path away from civilization and death by sneezing.

Her plan held until she realized who company was. Not Berdic, not the station doctor. She looked into a face full of blue fuzz.

They were alone and headed rapidly away from the brig, her hands free and a change of clothes in a bag.

“Why didn’t you bail Thumper?”

Karl shrugged his shaggy blue shoulders. “Yours was less.”

That gave her something to ponder for the next five steps. “I don’t see how.”

She caught a glimpse of rippling muscle, but instead of shrugging, he grabbed her arm to hurry her along.

“Will be higher in a few.”

Karl was grinning now, one of his toothy grins. Someone should tell him that he didn’t look entirely friendly when he smiled.

“How would you know?” she asked. “Got someone inside?”

“Had someone. You.”

“Hey, I never….”

Karl’s blue-lipped grin grew wider. “Captain Berdic will think differently after reviewing the vids.”

“He never does that unless…hey, what’s going on?” Tracy tried to pull away, but Karl held her plastic jail jumper in his paw. His grip tightened as she struggled. With little visible effort he lifted her off the floor, removing what slim leverage she could manage.

“You are as good at getting yourself thrown into jail as my previous creature.”

“Hey, who you calling a creature. I’ll have you know I–”

“Have gotten yourself thrown off every station since you left Earth. Your official record makes interesting reading. One step ahead of what your people consider civilization. Exactly where I’m headed. Far from what Earthers call civilization.”

She stopped struggling and started running to keep pace with his leggy blues.

“You’re the first to notice. Should I feel flattered?”

He shrugged as he lengthened his stride. “You’re easier to look at than Thumper and I suspect you’ll smell better in the morning. Do you like chocolates?”

“Never touch the stuff.” Chocolate might be contraband on most stations but it was natural and native to Earth. She couldn’t ingest it without her throat closing up.

Frick and frack! Berdic would order her cell stripped. They’d find the silver wrapped bar under her bunk. She should have risked swallowing it wrapper and all. The thought made her throat itch.

They ignored the startled looks and pounding of boots that started a half-sec after the first blast of the alert siren. Karl picked her up and tucked her under his arm as he dashed up the ramp to his ship.

He threw her in the copilot seat as he prepped his ship with amazing agility for a giant blue teddy bear. Make that punched his ship to go, no preop before this flight. While Tracy fumbled to strap down, Karl lied through his white fangs to control.

That’s when Tracy realized Berdic didn’t know where she was or who had her. She might still have a choice.

“I do have my flitter, you know.”

“Not anymore you don’t,” Karl growled.

He slammed his freighter into overdrive. She had do admire his piloting skills. That or he’d over-engineered the cow of a ship. She shouldn’t be able to rig through the docking bay like this without stripping her insides to goo.

When they kicked away from the station, Karl’s shoulders and chest deflated a bit. No fighters to pursue them, not from a research station. If anyone was coming to Tracy’s rescue, they’d meet her on the down side. Somehow she didn’t think Captain Berdic harbored that much affection for her.

Tracy released her restraints with jerking motions and lunged for the comm-link. Karl caught her by the scruff of her neck and lay her across his knees, using one hairy elbow to hold her in place. Kicking her legs brought the unwelcome response of a stinging slap on her backside.

She forced herself to go limp, waiting for him to forget about her. Then she’d make her move. But he didn’t forget about her. There was hard evidence that he hadn’t poking her belly. The question of what he hid beneath his pants, answered.

After what seemed like a cycle, she gave up and sighed. His, more growl than sigh, answered hers.

“I sold your flitter. Needed the cash to bribe the loading crew. They left the bay doors unlocked.”

“So I noticed.” Tracy slid off Karl’s lap to rest on her knees beside him.

He looked apologetic with his lips almost closed, the tip of his tongue and front teeth just visible. Then he cleared his throat, something she’d never heard him do.

“Would have asked first, but there wasn’t time.”

“Time for what?” Her mind ground to a halt as she stared into his widening pupils. They’d never done that before.

“To get you off. The flowers were arriving.”

“Probably for some big brass upstairs. Never would have made it down to my level. I would have been safe, you big, blue boob.” She’d finally done it. Admitted what she’d fled Earth ten years ago to keep secret. She couldn’t hide the shaking the thought engendered in her thighs.

Karl patted her head, soothing her like a puppy. Frick, that’s what he thought she was, a pet or a perp, someone to serve in Thumper’s place.

“Flowers to be delivered to you, in person. Couldn’t have that. Would have turned you blue.” Karl laughed at his joke, pausing when she didn’t. He patted her head again and tweaked ship’s controls.

She searched the deck plates for a crack large enough to crawl through. “How did you know?”

“Why else would a lady being pursued by a full station captain spend her nights getting drunk and thrown off one station after another.”

“Dusty’s pursuing me?”

“With flowers and a marriage proposal. I assumed you’d want to make a hasty exit.”

Tracy shook her head, to clear her thoughts and remove Karl’s paw from her head. “No, how did you know about me?”

Karl feigned interest in hanging gear they wouldn’t need for days, assuming her estimation of his settings was right. They were headed for deep space, months between stations.

Months at the mercy of this stranger. No alternative but a quick death at Dusty’s hands, pampered with blossoms and endearments from home. Had the transport cranked cabin temp up by itself or was Karl trying to parboil her?

“About the flowers and the rest?” she prompted. “How did you know?”

With speed that blanked her vision, Karl picked her off the floor. Her palms pressed against his chest were all that separated them. His blue hair felt smooth, not bristly as it always had before. Something rough and warm swept across her face, causing her toes to curl and her mouth to open in a gasp.

She pictured his wet, black tongue stroking her skin as it had his own thumb on all those other occasions when he’d stared into her eyes while slicking the hair from his pad.

“Smelled you,” he growled, his lapping tongue wetting her ear. “Polys in your veins. And you avoided Thumper. Skin flushed around your eyes when you touched his–”

“The chocolates!”

Karl’s arms trapped her, holding her closer, while his teeth chattered–half cluck, half hush–like a mother calming its child.

“Dumped before I came for you. Only synthetics here now, nothing to harm you. Only nice, safe poly. Thumper’s neck-charm was made from animal bone, a gift from his mother on your Earth. I noticed your reaction to it the first time and removed it.”

For the first time in ten years she relaxed.

She was allergic to Earth. No greater shame existed as humans pushed their way from her confining orbit to join the other races in outer space. But Karl knew, had known from that first day, and he didn’t care. Whatever his plans for her, her secret was safe.

When she looked up, he was smiling that toothy grin of his–lips pealed back, teeth flashing white against his black lips and blue mustache.

The End

When she was little, Christine believed that she’d been left by aliens in a small town in Minnesota. After graduating from college 20 miles away, she decided drastic action was called for and she joined the Navy. The Navy, in their infinite wisdom, sent her to Iceland, one of the few places with more Lutherans per square foot than Minnesota. After serving her three-year hitch, she realized that no one was coming for her and she settled for domestic bliss.

Writer of submarine manuals by day and science fiction by night, Christine W. Murphy has published six novels with Hard Shell Word Factory (www.hardshell.com). Allergies is her first short story in a periodical.

You can read more about Christine at her website: www.christine-murphy.com

Published in Apex Science Fiction and Horror Digest, Volume 1, Issue 1, Spring 2005