I felt the pain first, fire digging into my neck as something sharp split the skin open. It dragged me from a deep, healing slumber. Unable to tolerate it anymore, I forced my eyes open as the blade again bit deep into me.

“What the f**k?!” I shouted as a wild haired madman pulled the knife back. His own eyes flew wide behind safety goggles as his other hand flinched away from my neck, dragging with it the ident chip that had quietly rested there for more than 20 years.

“You’re not dead!” The short man took a step back, red dripping from his gloves.

“I’d damn well hope not.” I struggled to sit up. Bad move. My side felt like it had been stabbed by a red hot poker. “Oh crap,” I moaned. “I’ve got to get back before they find out the job isn’t done....”

Thrusters hummed in the background as I tried to identify the insignia on his uniform. Other than pegging him as Sovereignty, I didn’t recognize the distorted caduceus or black ring behind it.

“No, no. I prefer you dead,” he stuttered, staggering back farther. “I don’t work on the living.They promised me - only dead ones. Aliens are okay. Even Zorixians, but not live ones.” He shook his head. “They need to know you’re not dead and take you away.”

“Wait.” I stumbled as I tried to stand, my damaged body screaming in protest. Probably not a good time to tell him about the alien DNA from my father, then. Instead, I fixated on that one word, Zorixians. “I need to get back. How far are we from Zorix?”

As the man tried to reach for a panel on the wall, the ship lurched, throwing us off our feet. I braced for my impact with the floor, waiting for the hot tendrils of pain to spike out from my wounds again, but they never came. It appeared the gravity in the ship cut out.

“We shouldn’t be docking!” He squirmed in midair. “This isn’t right, this whole day isn’t right!” We floated awkwardly until gravity kicked back in. Then everything, including me, slammed to the floor.

“The General will kill me!” I gasped like a fish out of water and tried to stand, clutching my burning midsection. The madman muttered to himself, ignoring me as he clambered up off the floor. “Wait!” I shouted again, reaching out to stop him.

Before he reached the com on the wall, it sputtered to life of its own accord. “Death Inspector B3, secure all beings. We are under attack!”

Enjoy this 8,000 word short story from Grayson Walker, and enter the Fringes!