by John White

Created on: December 12, 2009

The Chinese Undertaker

ZaoZhi Harbor, China— Year 2042

The large ferryboat skimmed across the water on its pontoons at two hundred and twenty knots, nearly completing its fifty-mile trip in less than fifteen minutes. It slowed to twenty knots for the one mile left to the harbor. The pontoons sank off the surface into the oil-soaked bay, and the 150 or so riders in the enclosed upper area passenger lounge, walked out on the deck to enjoy the light breeze off the water.

Five hundred yards to the portside of the ferry, a peculiar looking circular cloud seemed to hover just above the water. To disinterested onlookers, it looked like an innocent cloud of diesel smoke, but had they inspected more closely they would have seen millions of tiny black mosquito sized objects swirling one behind the other, creating the effect of a fifty-foot wide whirlwind.

Suddenly, as if responding to an order, the cloud of black atoms aligned themselves in perfect order into the shape of a huge javelin. With a tremendous blast of air and water, the spear bolted skyward, high into the air, until it reached the apogee of its flight and then reversed course straight down into the bay. Traveling at nearly the speed of sound, it turned just below the surface and raced toward the underside of the ferryboat.

No one on board saw or heard the projectile, but when the boat listed forty degrees to the port, immediate panic ensued as the now fifteen-foot diameter hole in its hull sucked in thousands of gallons of seawater.

The ferryboat sank in seconds, dragging down motorcycles, automobiles, and all but a few passengers into the putrid dark bay.

A mile away, on the starboard side of where the boat had once been, a large black arrow surfaced from the bay, reformed into a swirling dark cloud, and sped off toward the green hills behind the port.

Three days later, the old undertaker, Cheng Lee, sat quietly at a small table erected on the rear lawn of his funeral home. He sipped his tea and contemplated the work still left on the three corpses laid out on tarps nearby.

He had processed twenty-two bodies that day, and though very tired, he thought he must finish the last three, out of respect for the families. As he was about to return to his work, he saw a police car drive up the mountain road toward him. The car hovered several feet above the road, the wash from its underside jets propelling dirt on either side. As it came to a stop next to him, he was able to make out its occupant. It was

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