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Radical Publishing

Call for Submissions (Fiction)

AGITATIONAL PROBABALLISTICS is soliciting short fiction putting unusual spin on current events and political affairs in the genres of science fiction, horror, crime, eclectic short fiction and political suspense thrillers. We especially invite material written from a socialist, anarchist or deep ecological perspective, but we support freedom of thought and will consider submissions from all points of view subject to the following exclusion. No manuscripts will be considered which advocate illegal activity or express racism, sexism, homophobia, gender oppression, body image oppression, age oppression or the glorification of fascist, totalitarian communist or similar oppressive ideologies except as judged to evidence countervailing social redeeming and literary values which, in the sole opinions of the editors, outweigh any violation of the exclusion. That being said, AGIT POL welcomes short fiction which dares to challenge the conventional boundaries of what is customary deemed socially acceptable, and in particular encourages short fiction which integrates evolved social awareness with such shockingly out of the ordinary themes as alternative sexual expression, alternative family arrangements and reproductive strategies, stem cell research, cloning and other cutting edge social issues. In cases where our editorial board is unable to determine with a sufficient plurality that a borderline submission meets our criteria, an author may be invited to submit a defense of their work in writing, authored by either themselves or by any critic, professional or amateur. For more information please email the editorial board with the email address and promotion code posted on this website. Below is a sample from our Eclectic Category.

Cover Up: New and Peculiar Horrors Near Roswell

By Margrave Edgar H. Duchamp

What follows is nominally a work of fiction. The only practical means to present these shocking revelations to the public without being dragged off in the middle of the night by government agents is to adopt the outward appearance of fiction writer and hope that this ruse might allow one to slip beneath notice of the all-seeing intelligence agencies who would like nothing more than to keep these matters from the public consciousness. As the expression goes, one must play the game. If such facts as are disclosed herein were to be told frankly and with the true names, dates, and places, the teller of the tale, and all who listened, would not last long. A knock on the door at midnight, a ride in a dark sedan, a mysterious sound in the night, and the provider of the information goes up missing. Nay, that is not a fate for the Margrave, who knows better than to disclose the details that would give up his sources and wizen the perpetrators that their deceit is laid bare before the public eye. If such a tale as you are about to read were true in all its particulars, it would not be possible to tell and live but one day hence. Consequently, a certain poetic license was taken, and some of the events herein are made up, to provide cover for those who might fall prey to the evil doers. Be assured, dear reader, there is a kernel of fact within, and it shall be incumbent upon the reader to sort fact from fancy.

On a blistering August day fifteen miles from the Mexican border, three guards led a well dressed man into a windowless cell block. A stocky fellow in his early thirties, he wore a pinstripe Yves St.Laurent suit with a tattered right sleeve and no tie. His chest bore a nameplate that identified him as a staff attorney with the office of the public defender. A metal door slid open subjecting them to a heat blast was so intense he immediately stopped, ran a handkerchief over his thinning blond hair, and removed the jacket. He shot the guards a glance silently expressing incredulity that such a place existed, much less that human survived within.
One isolated prisoner looked through the bars, his eyes glazed over with a crazed demeanor wrought by months of solitude and sensory deprivation. Bearded, hair matted, Kurt Eingraf was indeed weary of confinement. Nevertheless a Winston menthol dangled defiantly from his lip, unlit, jiggling around like a belly dancer promising exquisite pleasures in exchange for the modest consideration of a match.
The dank atmosphere beyond what even the guards could take, they quickly scurried back to their station, leaving the other two men alone. The young attorney looped his eyes through the prisoner's quarters, but there was nothing to see but three concrete walls and a metal grate for a ceiling.

"Mister Einzrgraf, I'm Matt Taylor, your court appointed ..."

Before he could finish his sentence, the prisoner was spewing a torrent of words, his face contorted in a desperate grimace.
“ I know who you are.?The prisoner grabbed the cigarette.?You've got to help me. I didn't do this thing - you've got to get me out of this place.?
Taylor didn't say a word, but just looked blankly at his client. He had heard these words before.
“I didn't have anything to do with those dead Mexicans, I swear..."

The mantra. For virtually every one of his clients, the same line. Over many years Taylor had developed a highly refined sense of who was and who was not telling the truth. Einzgraf had that insistent desperation that could not be faked. Either that, or he deserved an Oscar for best actor of the year.

Taylor reached into his pocket and produced a silver Zippo. It bore a monogram in an elegant script: MST. He flicked his thumb over the spark wheel and held it out to invite his client in for a light. Einzgraf pushed the Winston back into his mouth, leaned in and took a long drag, holding it in for a moment push out the cell dank and enjoy the soothing menthol. He suffered from bronchitis which had technically crossed the line into emphysema, but, as far as he was concerned, only on paper, and he was going to enjoy smoking while he still could.

“I believe you, Kurt. ? A spot of nicotine helped him project a confident air. “ Let's talk.?

Taylor thought to himself while Einzgraf smoked. He didn't think it was possible for his client to have commit the offense which he was in jail for. Not unless he possessed technology beyond human knowledge, or at least beyond American science. To execute the crimes, with their elaborate modification of the corpses, would have required the most current biomedical research facilities in the world.
Einzgraf was just an ordinary gunsmith who had tried to augment his business by getting involved with civilian border patrols, a network of hard core political activists with whom he had little in common. His last name gave him a certain hard edged cachet with right wingers, but any Germanic sophistication had long ago been been bred out of his family tree. A country shopkeeper, he had gotten in over his head gliding in and out of vigilante groups which were led by an increasingly savvy political leadership. Sooner or later the government was going to crack down on them, and, when the mutilated bodies of Mexican immigrants showed up in the Arizona desert, Einzgraf was odd man out. He had became the main scapegoat of an outraged and horrified public.
There had been demonstrations outside of his jail cell, calling for the death penalty, and both the Mexican Mafia and their rival Nortenos had a put a price on his head. He'd been moved to protective custody, but even there had been attacked and required fourteen stitches for slashes which opened up his ass like a slab of salt pork.

His notoriety was not difficult to understand .The victims' organs had been harvested, and speculation flourished that the vigilante groups were selling kidneys to transplant hospitals for huge profits. What the mob and the press did not know was that the work was done with a surgical precision only possible with advanced lasers. Microsurgery of that precision was not a technique that was available in hospitals; it was only practiced in advanced research facilities at the National Institute. According to Vicente Kolakowski, the senior Medical Examiner who performed the autopsies, it would have been an utter impossibility for anyone to have performed the procedures out in the hot deserts of Arizona and New Mexico, but the grim fact remained that someone had pulled it off.

There were even more peculiarities. The victim's DNA had been literally ripped out of cell tissue in the brain, the heart, and the reproductive organs. Kolokowski said he found it hard to believe, let alone explain. He performed electron microscopy and polymerase chain reaction tests which demonstrated conclusively that there was no human DNA present in those organs. Yet the scientific literature indicated no one had ever been able to excise DNA outside of three specialized facilities. As he explained to Taylor, “The procedure is not a field exercise.?

Taylor had asked if the human DNA had been replaced with other DNA, perhaps animal DNA, but Kolakowski had not tested for nonhuman markers. He promised to do so and call back. But he insisted that regardless of how those results turned out, they wouldn't explain how such an advanced technology could manifest in the desert scrublands of southern Arizona.
Taylor snapped out of his reverie when Einzgraf started becoming agitated.

"Look Taylor, we were only trying to protect America's border from the invasion of illegal immigrants. I don't got nuthin' against Mexicans, OK? It;s just that terrorists could mix in with the illegals, that's all we were concerned about. We din't have nuthin' to do with those mutilations, nothing."

Taylor gave him a circumspect look.

"As your attorney, my primary concern is that you get a fair trial, whether did something wrong or not. I believe your are telling me the truth so far, but I can only help you if you are straight with me. So let me ask you some questions, OK?"

"What if the cops are recording us?" Einzgraf looked around furtively.

Taylor pulled out a tape recorder, as if on cue.

"I'll tell you what. This tape is white noise. Traffic, trains. I'll play the tape. You talk. Qquietly. The white noise will drown out anything that might be picked up by the cops. You can even whisper."

A moment's hesitation, then a glimmer of relief and confidence came over Einzgraf as he decided to relax. He leaned in close, speaking in a barely audible whisper.

"OK, Taylor. What do you want to know?"

"Did anyone in your group have advanced knowledge of medicine or science, biology, anything like that."

Einzgraf pondered the question for a moment, then replied with slow, careful words, as if searching his memory for any minute scrap of information.

"Not unless you count military stuff. Most of us know how to sight in heavy ordnance. Some of us know about ballistics, munitions, how to make explosive and shit. Chemistry. I myself know quite a bit about primers, fuses, remote detonators. Radio activated shit."

"That's not what I'm concerned with. Did anyone in your group have specialized knowledge of lasers or of medicine, human anatomy."

Einzgraf looked at the fan on the ceiling, as if he was reading tea leaves.
"Well there was our medic. Andrew Fitzpatrick. He's a paramedic. I think he's working on his RN."

It wasn't much of a lead. The kind of knowledge it would take to extract DNA from human cells would hardly be available to a nurse or a medic. But later Taylor tracked Fitzpatrick down.
At first Fitzpatrick, who was charged in the initial indictment and later released for lack of evidence, didn't want to talk. He loosened up when he realized the attorney was trying to help Einzgraf.

They had both been members of the so-called Alamo Brigade, a citizen's auxiliary that was trying to help the Border Patrol watch the lonely stretch of desert between Albuquerque and Tombstone, Arizona. They called themselves a neighborhood watch, but if the analogy were accurate they would more accurately be called a neighborhood watch on steroids. What other kind of neighborhood watch was outfitted with automatic rifles and private planes? Rumor had it they also possessed hand grenades, rocket launchers and armored personnel carriers.

The whole operation was shut down by the Federal government after one of the vigilante groups got into a shootout with a renegade unit of the Mexican Army. The Republican senator from Arizona claimed that the Mexicans were protecting drug runners, and that the gun battle had occurred on American soil. But an independent investigation revealed that the vigilantes crossed the border first, exchanged fire with the Mexican army unit, and the Mexicans had crossed over in "hot pursuit." In order to avoid an international incident, the whole matter was swept under the rug, but the controversy spun out of control when the bodies of scores of illegal immigrants were found with their internal organs missing.
The US Attorney for Arizona responded to a blizzard of negative publicity by cracking down on the Brigade, even though there was nothing but the most tenuous of links between them and the bodies. A string of indictments for murder and conspiracy pointed a finger of blame at the vigilantes, but rather than calm down the public grew more hostile once suspects were in custody. The villagers were out for blood, and Einzgraf was, to their mind, the flesh-eating monster that had to burn at the stake.

It was later discovered that most of the deceased died from heat exhaustion and dehydration, but the indictments were simply amended to manslaughter and reckless endangerment. The prosecutor claimed that the victims were driven deeper into the desert when the vigilante groups "lit up" the desert migration routes with million-watt illumination lamps. It was foreseeable, he told reporters, that the illegals would flee into the desert, where they would then die of dehydration.

Opponents of the civilian patrols compared the “illuminations? to KKK cross-burnings, secret conspiracies of the Illuminati and Lucifer, Angel of Light. More pragmatic human rights organizations simply wanted them to be prosecuted for endangering lives. Defenders of the civilian patrols banded together in protest and got most of the manslaughter indictments dismissed on the basis that it was not foreseeable that anyone would die as a result, and the main vigilante groups signed an agreement not to engage in further “illuminations?.

Einzgraf was part of the last group of defendants who were linked to migrants who were found missing organs. Those defendants were charged with outright murder one, premeditated mass killings. The press called them “massacres? and likened them to Nazi raids and the depredations of Saddam Hussein.
But despite the fervor of their accusers, there was not a shred of evidence linking the defendants to the bodies, and most of the corpses were "clean"- no traumatic injury, no sign of a struggle.
The lack of linkage was sure to seriously complicate any prosecution, but the Mexican press nevertheless seized the incident and student demonstrators occupied the US Embassy.
Hector Navarro, El Presidente de Mexico went before the United Nations and denounced the "gruesome" killings and pointed a finger at vigilantes who were operating in the area. Human rights organizations claimed that the bodies were evidence of "extra-judicial executions? and castigated US officials for allegedly looking the other way while the crimes took place.

When Taylor spoke to the prosecuting attorneys, he pointed out that there was no physical evidence linking his client to the bodies, but he knew that his hand was forced by the press and the internationalization of the incident. Nevertheless, he reasoned, justice is blind to political pressure, or is supposed to be. He reminded his opponent that the evidence was entirely circumstantial.

"Taylor, I think that's up to the jury."

“That doesn't guarantee your success. The jury has to establish guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. You don't even have probable cause..."

"Taylor, probable cause is not at issue. The indictment was issued already. Your clients can plead to second degree and tell us how they did it, or we go to trial on murder one and conspiracy. "

"Look, you have the element of concerted action but no furtherance of a criminal objective. You don't even have proof of the underlying crime, much less conspiracy."

"It's obvious that they were acting in concert. That's clear from their website. It's a foregone conclusion that we'll get conspiracy."

The prosecutor had a strong case for the conspiracy charge - if he could connect the group to the underlying killings. There was no question that the Alamo Vigilantes were an organized militia trading information and ideas on the internet. All of that had been recorded by Echelon, the National Security Agency's super snoop software that monitors all electronic communications traffic. This case was unprecedented in that the NSA had released its super secret Echelon material to a mere homicide prosecution. That highly unusual step was due to the international pressure on the White House, and the tenuous link to national security. Tenuous, at least if one considered the case a straight forward homicide investigation. But if someone out there had a technology that enabled them to rip DNA, and to harvest human organs without leaving any visible incisions, there were serious national security implications. A whole new class of weaponry is suggested, and yet it was not the NSA itself which had the inside story on that aspect of the case. The real lowdown was held by the local Medical Examiner who performed the autopsies, and the Joint Interstate Forensics Lab in Sante Fe.

Taylor went back to see Einzgraf. He had very few questions for him.

"Did you notice anything peculiar when you found the bodies?"

"That's what I bin trying to tell. Those bodies were cooking. They glowed like they was radioactive or something. I saw it and Andrew saw it. They was cooking."

Taylor didn't remember him saying anything about that before.

"What do you mean glowing."

"They was green. A green glow."

"Was the glow all over, from head to toe?"

"No. It was over the head and over the heart and over the groin. Three little clouds of was freaky man like something in the outer limits."

"Are you sure it wasn't some light in the sky? Reflections? Aurora Borealis??

“You a lawyer now your a real smart lad. You knows they don't got no Aurora Borealis 'round here. Just, those things...?

“Those things??

“Taylor you ain't never heard about Roswell??

“Oh. Those things. You think maybe the y had something to do with all this??

“Mister Taylor, I knows it.. How could it be anything else??

The prisoner glared at his attorney as if the obvious was being missed. But if it was obvious, it was also an impossibility that no jury would ever buy. Taylor changed the topic and concluded the interview as fast as he could. He needed to get out of there and he needed to talk to Kolakowski.

He left the prison and headed for the parking lot. As soon as he got in his car, an old Chevy Impala, he picked up his cell phone.

“Kola, whatcha got for me??

“I ran those DNA tests. They came up zip. No animal proteins, no DNA, no RNA, nothing. But I found something else which was quite peculiar.?

He paused, and Taylor knew he was trying to create dramatic effect. Kolakowski used to teach at Phoenix State University, and he had developed his own style of “edutainment? which carried over into his new career. He was never satisfied with simply telling the story.

“I did find molecular chains which replaced the DNA. But they don't use carbon oxygen and hydrogen like human DNA, or animal DNA for that matter.?

Kolakowski paused again. Taylor was supposed to be impressed. But it had been years since he had taken high school biology or chemistry or whatever it was that might have prepared me to be impressed by this finding.

“So what does that mean, professor??

“What it means is that I am interested in what this replacement DNA is made of. It also means that the world scientific community will also be interested.?

Excitement rose in his voice.

“There's more,? he continued. “ This weird DNA that is not DNA is made of three elements: nitrogen, silicone and oxygen?

“So what does that mean??

“It means that somebody is experimenting with some kind of alternative life form, one that doesn't use the building blocks of life as we know it. It uses silicone, which is in plentiful supply in the desert and many planets which have no life as far as we know.?

Taylor thought about all of the attention Roswell had garnered with its legendary UFO controversy.

“Other planets. So are you suggesting aliens may have killed those people??

“You're the lawyer, Matt. It's up to you and the DA to fight over who killed them. All I know is that whoever it was knew a hell of a lot more about the life sciences than anyone else in the scientific community.?

“Don't you think his is a little far fetched.?

“Do you really think that white trash you're representing is capable of an advanced scientific technique beyond the ken of modern day science??

“I'll have to think about this Kola. I'll call you – I have a call coming in on the other line right now.?

“OK. We'll be talking to you. Goodbye.?

Taylor clicked through to the other line.

“Counselor Taylor, Matt Taylor??


“This is Officer Gonzalez, warden Casey's deputy director of inmate affairs. Kurt wasi found dead in his cell at 3:00 PM today. The cause of death is unknown, but he appears to have a slight indentation on his chest and forehead.?

“What? Who found him.?

“Counselor, that is all I can tell you. I have to say goodbye now.?

The phone went dead. Taylor had had clients die in custody before, but never like this, never when there were suggestions of the most inordinate string of events. He staggered backwards and for a moment felt as though he was going to vomit.

Then he saw a flash of white light on a blue field, and everything went black.


Luisa Jones-Sanchez, anchorwoman on the KWLA evening news reported some related deaths which she described as “a pair of unrelated tragedies bound by a common theme of diligent public service.?

“Attorney Matt Taylor with the Los Angeles County Public Defender's office was found in his West Hollywood apartment this afternoon dead from an apparent drug overdose ..authorities reported finding evidence of drug use. Janis Revillo, managing director of the public defender's office reported that she was shocked to hear the news, and that attorney Taylor gave no indication of being a drug user. Funeral services are scheduled for St. Mark's Episcopal Church on Friday.
In a related development a physician from the offices Los Angeles County Medical examiner was found dead of natural causes. Authorities described Vincent Kolakowski as a “hard worker who will be remembered with the highest esteem by all of his colleagues? but dismissed the possibility of any connection between the deaths as “pure speculation about a pure coincidence.?

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Re: Radical Publishing

margrave_duchamp (at)
Submissions should be in Word, under 5,000 words.
Email for comprehensive writer's guidelines.

Re: Radical Publishing

National Security Agency could do that stuff.


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