When they pick a crew for a trip to Mars, one of the main things the International Space Exploration Foundation is looking for is psychological stability. The ship is cramped, the trip is long, and the opportunities for conflict are endless. So the eight of us were hand-picked as the least likely to go stir crazy and the least likely to piss each other off.
And now we're practically trying to kill each other.
Honestly I wonder if we should have just aborted the mission when we got hit. The issue is that the damage was extremely localized - whatever that thing was, it punched a neat hole through one of our hard drives and nothing else. We didn't lose anything vital and we were all worried that if we stopped the mission we'd never get another chance. Also, just a quick physics lesson: once you're well on your way to getting up to speed for a trip to Mars it takes a really long time to stop. We weren't yet to the point where we couldn't do it, but it would have been an enormous waste of time and energy.
And hey, we only lost the optional stuff. Books, music, games. Entertainment. We're a bunch of nerds, we thought, we can make our own entertainment! If nothing else several of us could whip up a homebrew role playing game. We also assumed that Earth would be able to send us replacements for some of our entertainment files because the books in particular don't take up a lot of space. But a combination of equipment malfunctions, political maneuvering, budget arguments, and other factors too idiotic to mention meant we got almost nothing from ISEF command. Oh, and the RPGs went badly. Very badly.
If we had nothing, maybe it would have gone better. Maybe we would have withdrawn into our own heads and had a miserable but silent journey. Instead there's a game console on board, just the one, with a single game. Mario Kart. As the sole source of entertainment, we've all become obsessed with it. Every waking moment not spent going over diagnostics and microgravity experiments is spent on those damn tracks, four of us playing at a time and screaming at each other at the top of our lungs.
It will be fine. We're the best of the best. The most stable, the most sane. We can do this - and when we get to Mars there will be more room and more people and backups of all the entertainment we lost. Just one more month. I really hope we make it. Karen is banging on the airlock, probably yelling at me to let her back inside. I can't hear her though, which is a really nice change. Still, I should check in on her. I reach over and press the intercom button.
"Karen... are you ready to say it?" She lets loose a string of obscenities that really show how smart you have to be to become an astronaut. Some of those verb-noun combinations are ingenious. "No, that's not what I'm looking for Karen. You can say it. It's just six words." Seven if you count the contraction as two, I guess. Karen is too mad to be picky though. "Come on, Karen. Say it: I'm sorry about the blue shell."
I release the intercom button, and the banging intensifies. My hand drifts towards the button to open the outer airlock doors, but... no. That would be taking it a little too far. Leaving her there, I unclip my wrench and make sure I have a nice firm grip on it. It's time for my turn, and Gary may need a little convincing.
Showing posts with label MWF Project. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MWF Project. Show all posts
Monday, June 19, 2017
Friday, June 16, 2017
Story 238: Save Point
The pine door swings shut silently, and vanishes. The scene is as I remember it, a frozen tableau in the woods outside the ruins - the only difference being my absence. I don't ask where the body goes, I trust that there's a system and it's all neatly taken care of - that there's no mass grave full of identical clerics in identical blue cloaks. I step up to the spot where I had been standing and the world seems to exhale. Jane and August go from still-life to full motion and if I blur slightly, if I'm standing in a different position than I should have been, they don't notice. I want to get this over with, so I step between them and motion them to silence.
"You're both wrong," I say. "If we head back it will catch us at the pass, and if we go into the ruins it will corner us. A direct assault won't gain us anything, and we don't have time to set up a proper trap. We can sit here and discuss for about five minutes before it gets our scent again, at which point we'll have no choice but to fight it and die."
August looks like he's going to argue, but as always he thinks better of it. "So then what? What do we need to do?" he asks.
And I don't know. I'm out of ideas, and exhausted, and these two will only be able to suggest the same losing strategies that I've already heard and attempted. This all has to be me.
I went insane, for a while. Somewhere around attempt twelve hundred, I just snapped. I slapped August for no reason or stripped naked and ran through the woods laughing. I killed myself, I killed Jane, I told my companions that I had a plan and then when they leaned close to listen I belched as loud as I could into their faces. A month later - or no time at all, depending on how you want to look at it - I was just as suddenly sane again. Jane and August were both being torn to shreds, which didn't bother me because I've long ago become accustomed to that sound, and I saw clear as day how I could escape.
It took me another thousand tries to get it right, but I did eventually get away. Covered in blood, missing most of my left foot, and probably still being tracked by the beast - but out of those cursed woods. It was so tempting to meditate again, to connect with the Goddess of Fate and renew my energy... but then I would be locking that timeline in. The death of my friends, and in all likelihood my own death as well - just slightly deferred. And so I crawled to the edge of the cliff and tipped myself over. Since then, I've been back to my original plan. Try everything, and get all three of us out alive. I've got to be getting close to eight thousand cycles by now, I think the record is twelve thousand and fifty-seven by Archbishop Boulan.
"...then I'll stab it from behind," Jane is saying. Right on schedule. I've wasted the last few tries saying variations on 'no' or 'I don't know' and it's time to do something stupid instead. I tell August and Jane to climb two separate trees, and they scramble up just as the beast gets close enough for me to hear. It sees me and I start to run, avoiding every hidden rock and log in the drifts of leaves. I know just where to weave through the trees to make my path as short as possible while making the beast go around. I've tried this before, of course, but there are always tiny differences. I started running later, so it didn't shake the others out of their trees before coming at me. The beast tried to smash through a branch that turned out to be a tad too large, so it was slowed down. Everyone thinks that those who worship the Goddess of Fate don't believe in luck, but they misunderstand how the world works. Of course there is luck. It is through luck, through those tiny differences and variables, that Fate can be changed or fulfilled.
And so, somehow, I make it to the ruins. It's very rare for me to make it this far unless I start running before it sees me. That means I almost never get here while my friends are alive except when we all come together. Maybe, just maybe, if they run the opposite direction they'll get away. Maybe they'll make it to the pass, and once they're beyond that the beast will have a harder time catching them. That is, if they run at all. No matter how many times I've begged them to abandon me they've never done it.
It's right behind me. I can nearly feel its breath. I dodge to the side at the last second, and feel an enormous claw tear the edge of my cloak. Scrambling through a window, I climb upwards. I'm in a large stone building - a church, maybe - half of which is collapsed and open to the sky. The beast doesn't fit through the window but it is enraged at being so close to me and missing, so rather than circle around through the missing wall it just tears the stones in front of it away. There's nowhere else for me to go, I'm dangling from the rotted rafters of a bell tower. The bell itself is down below, slowly being absorbed by the forest that is retaking this ancient town. The beast leaps, and barely misses my leg.
I can see August and Jane. Those fools have followed me, want to save me. I might as well let myself die now and try again; once they make it to this building the beast will kill us all anyway. If only I had known there was no way out I wouldn't have stopped to pray. I wouldn't have sealed my Fate, and I could have stepped back to the camp we made before entering the thing's tomb. August has his sword out, Jane her twin daggers. They've seen me through the holes in the walls, and they're approaching cautiously. Unlike me, they haven't truly seen what this creature is capable of. They'll know soon enough.
Snorting and hacking, I build up a reserve of mucus and spit it downwards onto the monster. Not very cleric-like, certainly, but if I'm about to die I might as well. The shot is perfect, and hits an open eye. The beast roars, enraged. Good. If I can't kill you making you angry will have to suffice. The thing lunges again, and when it fails once more to grab my leg it starts to climb the wall just as I did. The stones shift as its huge frame moves closer to me. Oh, Goddess. It's too heavy. I look upwards and can see the remains of the bell tower swaying like a grass in a storm - and then, in an instant, thousands of pounds of building collapses on both of us.
The pine door swings open. August is frozen, pulling Jane away from the still-falling rubble. Their eyes are wide, and bits of stone are hanging in the air around them - one looks like it's about to give August a nasty cut on his cheek. I step through the ruins, looking for the beast. I find my own corpse, or at least my hand sticking out of the debris. Finally I see the thing, see a heavy stone has partially collapsed its head. Looking up, I can see several more that will probably hit it as well. Is it dead? Probably not. But it's badly injured, and it's trapped, and my friends are alive and armed... this is what I've been waiting for.
I lean down close to the beast. "I wish I could see what happens next," I whisper. Heading back to August and Jane I kiss them both on the cheek and pray to the Goddess that they'll feel it somehow. I step through into darkness for the final time, and the pine door swings shut silently.
"You're both wrong," I say. "If we head back it will catch us at the pass, and if we go into the ruins it will corner us. A direct assault won't gain us anything, and we don't have time to set up a proper trap. We can sit here and discuss for about five minutes before it gets our scent again, at which point we'll have no choice but to fight it and die."
August looks like he's going to argue, but as always he thinks better of it. "So then what? What do we need to do?" he asks.
And I don't know. I'm out of ideas, and exhausted, and these two will only be able to suggest the same losing strategies that I've already heard and attempted. This all has to be me.
I went insane, for a while. Somewhere around attempt twelve hundred, I just snapped. I slapped August for no reason or stripped naked and ran through the woods laughing. I killed myself, I killed Jane, I told my companions that I had a plan and then when they leaned close to listen I belched as loud as I could into their faces. A month later - or no time at all, depending on how you want to look at it - I was just as suddenly sane again. Jane and August were both being torn to shreds, which didn't bother me because I've long ago become accustomed to that sound, and I saw clear as day how I could escape.
It took me another thousand tries to get it right, but I did eventually get away. Covered in blood, missing most of my left foot, and probably still being tracked by the beast - but out of those cursed woods. It was so tempting to meditate again, to connect with the Goddess of Fate and renew my energy... but then I would be locking that timeline in. The death of my friends, and in all likelihood my own death as well - just slightly deferred. And so I crawled to the edge of the cliff and tipped myself over. Since then, I've been back to my original plan. Try everything, and get all three of us out alive. I've got to be getting close to eight thousand cycles by now, I think the record is twelve thousand and fifty-seven by Archbishop Boulan.
"...then I'll stab it from behind," Jane is saying. Right on schedule. I've wasted the last few tries saying variations on 'no' or 'I don't know' and it's time to do something stupid instead. I tell August and Jane to climb two separate trees, and they scramble up just as the beast gets close enough for me to hear. It sees me and I start to run, avoiding every hidden rock and log in the drifts of leaves. I know just where to weave through the trees to make my path as short as possible while making the beast go around. I've tried this before, of course, but there are always tiny differences. I started running later, so it didn't shake the others out of their trees before coming at me. The beast tried to smash through a branch that turned out to be a tad too large, so it was slowed down. Everyone thinks that those who worship the Goddess of Fate don't believe in luck, but they misunderstand how the world works. Of course there is luck. It is through luck, through those tiny differences and variables, that Fate can be changed or fulfilled.
And so, somehow, I make it to the ruins. It's very rare for me to make it this far unless I start running before it sees me. That means I almost never get here while my friends are alive except when we all come together. Maybe, just maybe, if they run the opposite direction they'll get away. Maybe they'll make it to the pass, and once they're beyond that the beast will have a harder time catching them. That is, if they run at all. No matter how many times I've begged them to abandon me they've never done it.
It's right behind me. I can nearly feel its breath. I dodge to the side at the last second, and feel an enormous claw tear the edge of my cloak. Scrambling through a window, I climb upwards. I'm in a large stone building - a church, maybe - half of which is collapsed and open to the sky. The beast doesn't fit through the window but it is enraged at being so close to me and missing, so rather than circle around through the missing wall it just tears the stones in front of it away. There's nowhere else for me to go, I'm dangling from the rotted rafters of a bell tower. The bell itself is down below, slowly being absorbed by the forest that is retaking this ancient town. The beast leaps, and barely misses my leg.
I can see August and Jane. Those fools have followed me, want to save me. I might as well let myself die now and try again; once they make it to this building the beast will kill us all anyway. If only I had known there was no way out I wouldn't have stopped to pray. I wouldn't have sealed my Fate, and I could have stepped back to the camp we made before entering the thing's tomb. August has his sword out, Jane her twin daggers. They've seen me through the holes in the walls, and they're approaching cautiously. Unlike me, they haven't truly seen what this creature is capable of. They'll know soon enough.
Snorting and hacking, I build up a reserve of mucus and spit it downwards onto the monster. Not very cleric-like, certainly, but if I'm about to die I might as well. The shot is perfect, and hits an open eye. The beast roars, enraged. Good. If I can't kill you making you angry will have to suffice. The thing lunges again, and when it fails once more to grab my leg it starts to climb the wall just as I did. The stones shift as its huge frame moves closer to me. Oh, Goddess. It's too heavy. I look upwards and can see the remains of the bell tower swaying like a grass in a storm - and then, in an instant, thousands of pounds of building collapses on both of us.
The pine door swings open. August is frozen, pulling Jane away from the still-falling rubble. Their eyes are wide, and bits of stone are hanging in the air around them - one looks like it's about to give August a nasty cut on his cheek. I step through the ruins, looking for the beast. I find my own corpse, or at least my hand sticking out of the debris. Finally I see the thing, see a heavy stone has partially collapsed its head. Looking up, I can see several more that will probably hit it as well. Is it dead? Probably not. But it's badly injured, and it's trapped, and my friends are alive and armed... this is what I've been waiting for.
I lean down close to the beast. "I wish I could see what happens next," I whisper. Heading back to August and Jane I kiss them both on the cheek and pray to the Goddess that they'll feel it somehow. I step through into darkness for the final time, and the pine door swings shut silently.
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
Story 237: Ready Player Two
"Well, he shouldn't have been kicking chickens. Those belong to old man Greery, and the last thing that poor old bastard needs is someone brutalizing his livestock."
Nobody responds, they're all just staring at the corpse. The chosen one. I'm so fired. "Look, just... think about if it had been literally anyone else. A strange man comes into our town and starts punting our poultry all over, you absolutely would have asked me to detain him. I'm the town guard, that's my entire job description! And then, and then he starts swinging this massive sword at me -"
"You mean the legendary sword of Holy Light?" the mayor asks.
"Um. I suppose?"
"The one that we've got no less than four murals of? That one?"
I think I see where this is going. "You know, I'm not really a big art lover..."
"The one that you maybe should have recognized as the emblem of the ONE TRUE HERO SENT TO DELIVER US FROM LORD BLOODWORM?"
The yelling seems unnecessary. I'm standing right here. "Okay well yes, but when it's coming right at your face it's hard to take a minute and compare it to the murals, you know?"
Farmer Richards scoffs. Actually scoffs! "You don't look like you've got a scratch on you, boy."
Well he's not wrong. It was the first thing I noticed after killing the... ugh, the chosen one.
The mayor nods. "Yes, that's because he was never in any danger. The sword of Holy Light only kills those with evil in their hearts, not incompetence and stupidity."
"Okay first of all ouch. That's... that's really harsh. I was doing my job. Second, that just proves I'm not evil and it was an honest mistake. And third, I still want to know why he was laying boot to old man Greery's chickens!"
"Who cares!" farmer Richards yells, "It's hero stuff. Why, he came onto my farm the other day and smashed most of my pottery. You'll notice I didn't kill him for it."
There's a murmuring in the crowd, now. Jean, the brewmistress, raises a hand. "Hang on. He came to my shop, as well. Drank some beer without paying, and smashed all the empty barrels."
Carol the weaver nods. "Came right into my house. Didn't knock or announce himself, just dug through my cabinets. He took my last rupee, as well as the apple I was going to have with lunch."
More and more are nodding and whispering.
The mayor finally calls for silence. "Everyone! Okay, it seems the chosen one was exhibiting a lot of... strange and seemingly un-heroic behavior. That's rather beside the point now, however. we need to deal with the fact that captain enthusiasm here murdered him."
"Manslaughter, at the worst."
"Shut up."
"Yessir."
The townsfolk start yelling out suggestions. It starts with calls for my execution, but soon it becomes clear that nobody really wants to admit that our town had anything to do with this. They're talking about covering it up.
"I mean," Carol says, "hero-ing is dangerous work. Who's to say he didn't get eaten by a giant spider?"
"I have a spot we can bury him," Farmer Richards volunteers, "and the guard as well if we're still executing him."
The mayor is considering it. "Hmm. Yes, it would be bad for tourism indeed. Well, let's move the body for now. The fewer people see this the better."
A few people grab the body and start dragging it away. The mayor tries to pick up the sword, but his hand passes right through it. Everyone freezes.
"Hey everyone, the mayor isn't worthy to lift the sword!" someone in the back yells.
"I know that was you, Errol! I'd like to see you do better!"
One by one the townsfolk try, but nobody can do more than make it wiggle. Finally there's nobody left but me. Might as well...
The cold metal seems to send energy up into my arms. For a moment the skies part and allow a glimpse into a universe beyond my understanding, filled with radiant beings singing.
"Oh, shit." the mayor says. There's a general grumbling from the crowd that seems to agree. At least I guess I'm not going to get executed.
Nobody responds, they're all just staring at the corpse. The chosen one. I'm so fired. "Look, just... think about if it had been literally anyone else. A strange man comes into our town and starts punting our poultry all over, you absolutely would have asked me to detain him. I'm the town guard, that's my entire job description! And then, and then he starts swinging this massive sword at me -"
"You mean the legendary sword of Holy Light?" the mayor asks.
"Um. I suppose?"
"The one that we've got no less than four murals of? That one?"
I think I see where this is going. "You know, I'm not really a big art lover..."
"The one that you maybe should have recognized as the emblem of the ONE TRUE HERO SENT TO DELIVER US FROM LORD BLOODWORM?"
The yelling seems unnecessary. I'm standing right here. "Okay well yes, but when it's coming right at your face it's hard to take a minute and compare it to the murals, you know?"
Farmer Richards scoffs. Actually scoffs! "You don't look like you've got a scratch on you, boy."
Well he's not wrong. It was the first thing I noticed after killing the... ugh, the chosen one.
The mayor nods. "Yes, that's because he was never in any danger. The sword of Holy Light only kills those with evil in their hearts, not incompetence and stupidity."
"Okay first of all ouch. That's... that's really harsh. I was doing my job. Second, that just proves I'm not evil and it was an honest mistake. And third, I still want to know why he was laying boot to old man Greery's chickens!"
"Who cares!" farmer Richards yells, "It's hero stuff. Why, he came onto my farm the other day and smashed most of my pottery. You'll notice I didn't kill him for it."
There's a murmuring in the crowd, now. Jean, the brewmistress, raises a hand. "Hang on. He came to my shop, as well. Drank some beer without paying, and smashed all the empty barrels."
Carol the weaver nods. "Came right into my house. Didn't knock or announce himself, just dug through my cabinets. He took my last rupee, as well as the apple I was going to have with lunch."
More and more are nodding and whispering.
The mayor finally calls for silence. "Everyone! Okay, it seems the chosen one was exhibiting a lot of... strange and seemingly un-heroic behavior. That's rather beside the point now, however. we need to deal with the fact that captain enthusiasm here murdered him."
"Manslaughter, at the worst."
"Shut up."
"Yessir."
The townsfolk start yelling out suggestions. It starts with calls for my execution, but soon it becomes clear that nobody really wants to admit that our town had anything to do with this. They're talking about covering it up.
"I mean," Carol says, "hero-ing is dangerous work. Who's to say he didn't get eaten by a giant spider?"
"I have a spot we can bury him," Farmer Richards volunteers, "and the guard as well if we're still executing him."
The mayor is considering it. "Hmm. Yes, it would be bad for tourism indeed. Well, let's move the body for now. The fewer people see this the better."
A few people grab the body and start dragging it away. The mayor tries to pick up the sword, but his hand passes right through it. Everyone freezes.
"Hey everyone, the mayor isn't worthy to lift the sword!" someone in the back yells.
"I know that was you, Errol! I'd like to see you do better!"
One by one the townsfolk try, but nobody can do more than make it wiggle. Finally there's nobody left but me. Might as well...
The cold metal seems to send energy up into my arms. For a moment the skies part and allow a glimpse into a universe beyond my understanding, filled with radiant beings singing.
"Oh, shit." the mayor says. There's a general grumbling from the crowd that seems to agree. At least I guess I'm not going to get executed.
Monday, June 12, 2017
Story 236: I Wish I Thought This Through
Someone is knocking on the door again. I ran in here rather suddenly, they probably think I'm puking my brains out. I wonder how long I can ignore them before they kick the door in to check on me? After all, they must be at least a little worried that someone has poisoned me. I'm sure people try that all the time. God, I just can't believe I'm Hitler - I really should have worded that wish better. I thought that since it wasn't something selfish the genie would take it easy on me. Although... I guess it was a little selfish. I wanted the glory. I wanted to be the one that prevented the holocaust, prevented world war. Instead I get to be Hitler. Well played, douche.
The calendar on the wall is thankfully one of those that just shows the current day - so it's almost certainly September 27th, 1940. I don't know why that specific date... I guess maybe I should have prepared for this a little more. What the hell happened on September 27th? The war started in like '38 or '39, right? God, I don't even know that. This was a really bad idea. Still, I'm here now. So. I could kill myself, or run away somewhere? But the war is already going. I may not remember dates, but I remember names - and Hitler isn't the only problem so if I go they'll just replace me - him - whatever. From what I've read Hitler was a nut who actually held Germany back in a lot of ways, which means if I take off now the replacement might be more competent. They could actually win this war. So I stay. I could... I could let the war happen, but sabotage it? And maybe make sure we skip the concentration camps part? Or has that already started?
Either way. Okay. I can do this. I can take over as Hitler, make Germany less evil, maybe cripple my own side. I can't stop the war entirely but maybe I can get Goebbels and Himmler killed, so that it's more of a regular war. I'll still be vilified. I'll probably be assassinated or executed or something. But... it's something. It's still a much better history than the one I came from. It feels good to have a plan. Tonight is it, tonight is the turning point in World War Two where Germany goes off the rails and prevents the Holocaust.
They've given up on knocking - there's a rattle as someone unlocks the door from the other side. It's showtime. I straighten up, adjust my coat. Deep breaths, get in character... I can do this... The door opens, and someone really serious looking raises an eyebrow at me. He says something in German. I have no idea what. Well, shit.
The calendar on the wall is thankfully one of those that just shows the current day - so it's almost certainly September 27th, 1940. I don't know why that specific date... I guess maybe I should have prepared for this a little more. What the hell happened on September 27th? The war started in like '38 or '39, right? God, I don't even know that. This was a really bad idea. Still, I'm here now. So. I could kill myself, or run away somewhere? But the war is already going. I may not remember dates, but I remember names - and Hitler isn't the only problem so if I go they'll just replace me - him - whatever. From what I've read Hitler was a nut who actually held Germany back in a lot of ways, which means if I take off now the replacement might be more competent. They could actually win this war. So I stay. I could... I could let the war happen, but sabotage it? And maybe make sure we skip the concentration camps part? Or has that already started?
Either way. Okay. I can do this. I can take over as Hitler, make Germany less evil, maybe cripple my own side. I can't stop the war entirely but maybe I can get Goebbels and Himmler killed, so that it's more of a regular war. I'll still be vilified. I'll probably be assassinated or executed or something. But... it's something. It's still a much better history than the one I came from. It feels good to have a plan. Tonight is it, tonight is the turning point in World War Two where Germany goes off the rails and prevents the Holocaust.
They've given up on knocking - there's a rattle as someone unlocks the door from the other side. It's showtime. I straighten up, adjust my coat. Deep breaths, get in character... I can do this... The door opens, and someone really serious looking raises an eyebrow at me. He says something in German. I have no idea what. Well, shit.
Friday, June 9, 2017
Story 235: Trial and Error
"Okay, one more time. What were his exact words?"
Arthur thought about doing an impression of the White Mage's voice, but it seemed just a tad disrespectful with the man's still-fresh corpse not twenty feet away. "Use the orb, it is the only way. Um. Then he called me some rather nasty names, and then he said... open it now, and be sure to."
"And that was it?" Taran looked at the brass sphere in his hand. It didn't look like it could open.
"Yes, that was it. Be sure to, and then he coughed blood all over me and died."
Taran tapped the orb and listened, just in case. "Arthur, you left out the part where you dropped him."
"He coughed blood at me! Right in my face! I was leaning in to listen, and - you would have dropped him too!"
Taran was pretty sure he wouldn't have dropped the legendary White Mage, just as he was sure he wouldn't have accidentally stabbed him in the first place.
"You know, Arthur, this is the second person that you've killed."
"Sardon wasn't my fault."
Taran squeezed the orb. "Well you stabbed him and he died. So."
"It's!" Arthur gestured wildly, not managing to indicate anything in particular.
This wasn't the first, or even the hundredth time Taran had brought up Sardon's death. Every time Arthur got just a little bit less articulate. Finally he took a deep breath, and lifted the Sword of Courage from the floor where he had tossed it.
"Fine, Taran. Fine. You're just jealous because you wanted to be the chosen one and you're not." Arthur held the sword out to Taran, who jumped backwards melodramatically.
"Don't point that thing at me, you're a menace!"
"No. Take it. That's what you want. You want to be me, fine. You can be the chosen one now. I'd give you the birthmark too if I could!"
Taran grinned as he idly spun the sphere on a workbench. "Keep waving that thing around and you're bound..."
Arthur hesitated. He liked to treat Taran as his servant, but more and more as they traveled together Arthur was learning that between the two of them Arthur was the dead weight. And when Taran passed up the chance to finish an insult it could only mean he was having an important thought.
"Arthur, take the orb. It has to be you, probably. Look, the sword is what you're supposed to use to kill the Dark One. So this must... I don't know, activate it or something."
He took it, and tried to concentrate on it opening. It remained stubbornly in one piece. He tapped it against the blade. He put down the sword, and rested the orb on the hilt. "Um. I could, like, try to chop it open?"
Taran shook his head. "No. No, because then it'll turn out that you're wrong but the stupid thing will be broken. Maybe it's not for the sword. Maybe it's for the armor?"
"But we don't have the armor. Willis stole it, and probably sold it."
Taran sighed. "You're so, so bad at this. Just... give me the orb. Let's get the hell out of here before anyone finds out we killed another legendary hero."
The two marched out and slammed the door behind them. Unnoticed, a brass and silver sphere sat in a nook that had been hidden by the open door - candlelight gleaming across its finely crafted hinges.
Arthur thought about doing an impression of the White Mage's voice, but it seemed just a tad disrespectful with the man's still-fresh corpse not twenty feet away. "Use the orb, it is the only way. Um. Then he called me some rather nasty names, and then he said... open it now, and be sure to."
"And that was it?" Taran looked at the brass sphere in his hand. It didn't look like it could open.
"Yes, that was it. Be sure to, and then he coughed blood all over me and died."
Taran tapped the orb and listened, just in case. "Arthur, you left out the part where you dropped him."
"He coughed blood at me! Right in my face! I was leaning in to listen, and - you would have dropped him too!"
Taran was pretty sure he wouldn't have dropped the legendary White Mage, just as he was sure he wouldn't have accidentally stabbed him in the first place.
"You know, Arthur, this is the second person that you've killed."
"Sardon wasn't my fault."
Taran squeezed the orb. "Well you stabbed him and he died. So."
"It's!" Arthur gestured wildly, not managing to indicate anything in particular.
This wasn't the first, or even the hundredth time Taran had brought up Sardon's death. Every time Arthur got just a little bit less articulate. Finally he took a deep breath, and lifted the Sword of Courage from the floor where he had tossed it.
"Fine, Taran. Fine. You're just jealous because you wanted to be the chosen one and you're not." Arthur held the sword out to Taran, who jumped backwards melodramatically.
"Don't point that thing at me, you're a menace!"
"No. Take it. That's what you want. You want to be me, fine. You can be the chosen one now. I'd give you the birthmark too if I could!"
Taran grinned as he idly spun the sphere on a workbench. "Keep waving that thing around and you're bound..."
Arthur hesitated. He liked to treat Taran as his servant, but more and more as they traveled together Arthur was learning that between the two of them Arthur was the dead weight. And when Taran passed up the chance to finish an insult it could only mean he was having an important thought.
"Arthur, take the orb. It has to be you, probably. Look, the sword is what you're supposed to use to kill the Dark One. So this must... I don't know, activate it or something."
He took it, and tried to concentrate on it opening. It remained stubbornly in one piece. He tapped it against the blade. He put down the sword, and rested the orb on the hilt. "Um. I could, like, try to chop it open?"
Taran shook his head. "No. No, because then it'll turn out that you're wrong but the stupid thing will be broken. Maybe it's not for the sword. Maybe it's for the armor?"
"But we don't have the armor. Willis stole it, and probably sold it."
Taran sighed. "You're so, so bad at this. Just... give me the orb. Let's get the hell out of here before anyone finds out we killed another legendary hero."
The two marched out and slammed the door behind them. Unnoticed, a brass and silver sphere sat in a nook that had been hidden by the open door - candlelight gleaming across its finely crafted hinges.
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
Story 234: Thinking of You
I finish cutting the crusts off of Toby's peanut butter and jelly sandwich and drop a handful of baby carrots onto the plate. Perfect. I look at the finished meal, and concentrate on it - forming a vivid image in my head.
I hear Toby's footsteps on the stairs.
He comes around the corner at top speed, radiating gratitude at me. He's such a good boy. Still, a little privacy is good for both of us so I put on my helmet - I only wear it when we're in the same room, but poor Toby has to wear his all the time. He looks up from his already half-eaten meal and smiles, peanut butter smeared at the corners of his mouth. I would have thought that his helmet couldn't have fit any more stickers, but it looks like he found a spot for a new one - a dinosaur on a skateboard.
"Okay kiddo, after this is naptime, and then the rest of the afternoon is yours. What do you want to do?"
The response is muted, muffled first by his helmet and then by mine, so I get something that's almost a regular sentence rather than a full sensory experience. He wants to go to the zoo. Oh boy.
"Buddy, you remember what happened last time?"
He nods, and I can feel his sadness. It wasn't his fault, and nobody was hurt, but having all the primates freeze in place and stare in Toby's direction - regardless of the concrete walls in the way - freaked out the zookeepers pretty bad. They had asked, politely, if I could keep him away after that.
"How about a hike? Get out in nature? That's kind of like a zoo."
He agrees to a nice quiet nature walk once I promise some ice cream will be waiting at the end. With minimal whining he heads upstairs to take his nap, and I settle into my recliner. He can't sleep with the helmet on, so I focus on soothing images that won't keep him awake. The beach, mostly. Waves, gently sweeping across the sand. A sunset glowing red on the water. Sleep. Sleep. I can feel it as he passes out, like a slight pressure has lifted off of me. The weight of his thoughts that can be felt throughout the house. I take my helmet off and recline the chair, waiting. It should be any minute now that the show starts. While I wait, I think about the facility we used to live at. Those horrible days of tests and needles and... but that's over now. Toby made sure of that. He was so young, but even then he was gentle with them. He could have killed them once I broke out of my cell and pulled Toby's helmet off. Could have utterly destroyed them. Instead, my sweet baby just made them all forget. They all smiled and helped us pack, helped us delete files, helped us burn the facility to the ground. And then, minds blank as children, they wandered away.
It's starting. He's all the way asleep now.
The walls seem to melt, sunlight streaming in. Fields of grass and flowers sway in an unfelt breeze, and what appear to be tigers fly smoothly through the clouds. I relax, and recline further - it doesn't look like there will be any nightmares today. Swaddled in my son's dreams, I begin to drift off myself.
I hear Toby's footsteps on the stairs.
He comes around the corner at top speed, radiating gratitude at me. He's such a good boy. Still, a little privacy is good for both of us so I put on my helmet - I only wear it when we're in the same room, but poor Toby has to wear his all the time. He looks up from his already half-eaten meal and smiles, peanut butter smeared at the corners of his mouth. I would have thought that his helmet couldn't have fit any more stickers, but it looks like he found a spot for a new one - a dinosaur on a skateboard.
"Okay kiddo, after this is naptime, and then the rest of the afternoon is yours. What do you want to do?"
The response is muted, muffled first by his helmet and then by mine, so I get something that's almost a regular sentence rather than a full sensory experience. He wants to go to the zoo. Oh boy.
"Buddy, you remember what happened last time?"
He nods, and I can feel his sadness. It wasn't his fault, and nobody was hurt, but having all the primates freeze in place and stare in Toby's direction - regardless of the concrete walls in the way - freaked out the zookeepers pretty bad. They had asked, politely, if I could keep him away after that.
"How about a hike? Get out in nature? That's kind of like a zoo."
He agrees to a nice quiet nature walk once I promise some ice cream will be waiting at the end. With minimal whining he heads upstairs to take his nap, and I settle into my recliner. He can't sleep with the helmet on, so I focus on soothing images that won't keep him awake. The beach, mostly. Waves, gently sweeping across the sand. A sunset glowing red on the water. Sleep. Sleep. I can feel it as he passes out, like a slight pressure has lifted off of me. The weight of his thoughts that can be felt throughout the house. I take my helmet off and recline the chair, waiting. It should be any minute now that the show starts. While I wait, I think about the facility we used to live at. Those horrible days of tests and needles and... but that's over now. Toby made sure of that. He was so young, but even then he was gentle with them. He could have killed them once I broke out of my cell and pulled Toby's helmet off. Could have utterly destroyed them. Instead, my sweet baby just made them all forget. They all smiled and helped us pack, helped us delete files, helped us burn the facility to the ground. And then, minds blank as children, they wandered away.
It's starting. He's all the way asleep now.
The walls seem to melt, sunlight streaming in. Fields of grass and flowers sway in an unfelt breeze, and what appear to be tigers fly smoothly through the clouds. I relax, and recline further - it doesn't look like there will be any nightmares today. Swaddled in my son's dreams, I begin to drift off myself.
Monday, June 5, 2017
Story 233: Reasonable Adults
"Mom!" Alex's voice echoed down the hallway, "Something is happening! The house is haunted!"
Internally, Jane was ready to scream. She was just sick and tired of her son freaking out about every aspect of their move - the color of the house, the school they were next to, the lack of a Wawa in walking distance, the shape of his room - and while she had never struck him and felt certain she never would there had been quite a few times in the last three days where she visualized it in excruciating detail. Externally, she stood up and smiled so that her voice wouldn't sound too annoyed.
"It's fine, Alex. There's no such thing as ghosts."
Jane ran into him coming the other way as she left her bedroom. He was pale, and his eyes were wide. Something had genuinely spooked him. He pointed towards the kitchen with a shaking hand. "The... it... it wants to talk to you."
Goosebumps swarmed over Jane's arms despite her firm disbelief in the supernatural. Picking her way around the boxes she had yet to unpack, she walked into the kitchen. She was half expecting to see an intruder and was trying to remember if she had unpacked the knife block yet, but... there was no one there.
"Alex? Kiddo? There's nothing here."
He slipped around her and nervously pointed to the game of Scrabble that was dumped out on the kitchen table.
"That's... seriously? That's what this is about? I told you that I would play with you later. Did you really think that this would work? Pretend to be scared and I'll just... look. I'll still play with you after dinner but you need to give me five minutes to myself."
"No, mom. Look. Look at it."
CALL YOUR MOM, the tiles said. She was about to tell Alex that, A for effort and all, but she was still going back to her room... when they moved. Tiles slid around each other until the table now said SORRY FOR THE SCARE.
"Alex? Go play in your room."
Jane sank into a chair and stared at the tiles as they started moving again. Magnets? No, the table and the pieces were all wood. Some sort of... air powered... but the thought wouldn't go any further.
BE OUT OF YOUR HAIR SHORTL it said, and then kept spinning tiles.
"We lost the other Y," Jane said, "and it only had the two to begin with."
A blank tile slid into place after 'SHORTL' and then the whole phrase disassembled itself.
GHOST HERE NEED JUSTICE
"Oh. Okay. What do you need?"
BODY UNDER SHED
She flinched at the thought, but part of her had been expecting it. "You want me to dig you up, I assume. Well, thanks for telling me before I unpack things into the shed I guess."
NO PROBLEM
"And do you need me to tell the police who killed you?"
NOT HOLD UP IN COURT
"I suppose not."
COPS WILL FIGURE OUT
Jane stood up. This was going to be yet another difficult chore, but she certainly wasn't going to leave a corpse in her back yard. "Well. I'll get to work on that. If I have to tear the shed down I don't know what to do with the pieces, and then... I'll tell the police I was..."
GARDENING
"Yeah. Making a garden. Sure. Anyway what I'm saying is it might be a few days."
NO RUSH THANKS
"No, thank you. I mean, for not... no bleeding walls or moaning or throwing things."
I HATE DRAMA
Jane nodded. It was a relief to hear from such a reasonable spirit, it seemed to bode well for the afterlife. "Well. Listen, if you have any trouble 'moving on' or 'passing over' or whatever once this is done... I'm sure we could work out something. Roommates, kind of. You know."
APPRECIATED GOOD TO HAVE OPTIONS
Jane thought about going to the hardware store, but she had a landscaper coming the next day anyway that might be able to move the shed in one piece and besides, that headache was still lurking in the corners of her brain waiting to come back.
"Alex? Everything is fine, it's... everything is fine. Go play outside while I get a nap."
Alex, seemingly recovered from his brush with the paranormal, thundered past towards the back yard.
"Oh, but... just stay away from the shed for now, okay?"
Internally, Jane was ready to scream. She was just sick and tired of her son freaking out about every aspect of their move - the color of the house, the school they were next to, the lack of a Wawa in walking distance, the shape of his room - and while she had never struck him and felt certain she never would there had been quite a few times in the last three days where she visualized it in excruciating detail. Externally, she stood up and smiled so that her voice wouldn't sound too annoyed.
"It's fine, Alex. There's no such thing as ghosts."
Jane ran into him coming the other way as she left her bedroom. He was pale, and his eyes were wide. Something had genuinely spooked him. He pointed towards the kitchen with a shaking hand. "The... it... it wants to talk to you."
Goosebumps swarmed over Jane's arms despite her firm disbelief in the supernatural. Picking her way around the boxes she had yet to unpack, she walked into the kitchen. She was half expecting to see an intruder and was trying to remember if she had unpacked the knife block yet, but... there was no one there.
"Alex? Kiddo? There's nothing here."
He slipped around her and nervously pointed to the game of Scrabble that was dumped out on the kitchen table.
"That's... seriously? That's what this is about? I told you that I would play with you later. Did you really think that this would work? Pretend to be scared and I'll just... look. I'll still play with you after dinner but you need to give me five minutes to myself."
"No, mom. Look. Look at it."
CALL YOUR MOM, the tiles said. She was about to tell Alex that, A for effort and all, but she was still going back to her room... when they moved. Tiles slid around each other until the table now said SORRY FOR THE SCARE.
"Alex? Go play in your room."
Jane sank into a chair and stared at the tiles as they started moving again. Magnets? No, the table and the pieces were all wood. Some sort of... air powered... but the thought wouldn't go any further.
BE OUT OF YOUR HAIR SHORTL it said, and then kept spinning tiles.
"We lost the other Y," Jane said, "and it only had the two to begin with."
A blank tile slid into place after 'SHORTL' and then the whole phrase disassembled itself.
GHOST HERE NEED JUSTICE
"Oh. Okay. What do you need?"
BODY UNDER SHED
She flinched at the thought, but part of her had been expecting it. "You want me to dig you up, I assume. Well, thanks for telling me before I unpack things into the shed I guess."
NO PROBLEM
"And do you need me to tell the police who killed you?"
NOT HOLD UP IN COURT
"I suppose not."
COPS WILL FIGURE OUT
Jane stood up. This was going to be yet another difficult chore, but she certainly wasn't going to leave a corpse in her back yard. "Well. I'll get to work on that. If I have to tear the shed down I don't know what to do with the pieces, and then... I'll tell the police I was..."
GARDENING
"Yeah. Making a garden. Sure. Anyway what I'm saying is it might be a few days."
NO RUSH THANKS
"No, thank you. I mean, for not... no bleeding walls or moaning or throwing things."
I HATE DRAMA
Jane nodded. It was a relief to hear from such a reasonable spirit, it seemed to bode well for the afterlife. "Well. Listen, if you have any trouble 'moving on' or 'passing over' or whatever once this is done... I'm sure we could work out something. Roommates, kind of. You know."
APPRECIATED GOOD TO HAVE OPTIONS
Jane thought about going to the hardware store, but she had a landscaper coming the next day anyway that might be able to move the shed in one piece and besides, that headache was still lurking in the corners of her brain waiting to come back.
"Alex? Everything is fine, it's... everything is fine. Go play outside while I get a nap."
Alex, seemingly recovered from his brush with the paranormal, thundered past towards the back yard.
"Oh, but... just stay away from the shed for now, okay?"
Friday, June 2, 2017
Story 232: Limited Contract
Chad woke up a little, sometimes. They had told him that might happen.
As if in a dream, he would look out from his eyes as he stood at his workstation and typed. It would fade to numb darkness soon enough, leaving only the faint impression of a huge room filled with identical computers and nearly identical workers. Later - though it was impossible to tell how long later - he would see the curved ceiling of his sleeping tube inches from his face, or the nutrition dispenser dropping a pre-wrapped bar into his hand.
In these short glimpses, Chad tried to look for dates. How far into his five year service was he? A week? Six months? Three years? Once he saw that he was in the gym, and was sure the calendar on the wall said August. He didn't see a year though, so that wasn't a lot of help. It didn't matter. They were clearly keeping up their end of the bargain, maintaining his body as it worked around the clock for them.
Then there was the one where he was walking down a dark hallway. In the distance, an emergency light was flashing. A fire drill? A power outage? It was gone before he could tell. After that it was his workstation, and everything seemed fine. The workstations on either side of him appeared to be empty, but he couldn't turn his head to see for sure. They were empty the next time, certainly.
He was in the gym, and the treadmill wasn't working. He watched his hand press on the button over and over, trying to make it start. He was in the sleeping tube, and someone somewhere was yelling. Angry. He was at his workstation, but the screen was blank. He was typing anyway. The lights started to be off more often than on, but he never felt hungry so at least the nutrition dispenser seemed to be okay.
The calendar in the gym said October, but the ink was streaked as if water had dripped down it at some point. Chad started to notice mildew spots on the walls.
His monitor had fallen over, and he could see the rest of the massive room. Only two other workstations had people at them, out of hundreds.
A dark hallway, with someone screaming in the distance. Screaming, and screaming, and screaming, and then silence that was somehow even louder.
He stood in front of the nutrition dispenser, hand outstretched. Nothing fell into it.
His sleep tube. Something smelled very wrong.
Gym. Marching in place on the broken treadmill. Hungry.
Pain. Someone had just slapped him. Chad tried to make out the words they were saying. "...awake? Snap out of it! This whole place is..." as the vision faded, he tried to focus. It was a teenage boy, filthy, wearing a beanie and holding a baseball bat. Nobody he knew.
Workstation. Not hungry anymore. Typing.
Gym. It was darker than anything before, not even emergency lights. He could just barely see his reflection in the mirror as he walked towards the treadmill. His jumpsuit was disgusting and torn. Something was smeared all over it. He had a beard. The hair on his head looked strange, but he didn't get a good enough look. It might have been a hat of some sort.
Workstation. The keyboard had fallen, or something. He was drumming his fingers on the dusty countertop. He was so, so hungry. There was nobody else in the room, that he could see. A single emergency light was on, but his eyes must have adjusted because that was enough to get a pretty good look. Surprised, Chad realized he was turning his head. He was in control. Had it been five years, or had the device just failed?
He reached up with a trembling hand and felt his beard. It was thick, matted. Numbly he wandered through the center, but didn't see anyone else alive. There were a few bodies, and some parts of bodies. The water was still running in the break room for some reason, which didn't seem right considering the state of everything else. He used it to wash himself as best he could, and then pulled on a fresh jumpsuit that he liberated from someone else's sleeping tube. His own tube looked terrible and smelled worse.
The nutrition dispenser was empty, but he found a pallet of the bars in a back room and ate until he felt sick. The calendar in the Gym still said October, in that smeared ink. He nodded. It could be October. Who was here to say otherwise? He headed back to the main lobby, almost tripping over something in the dark hallway that clattered against the wall with a wooden sound. The exit was barricaded, but one side had been knocked inwards. He considered it for a moment as if it was a puzzle, a riddle in a language he couldn't understand.
Turning, Chad walked back to his workstation. He picked up a keyboard from his neighbor's unused spot, and began to type.
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
Story 231: A Quick Errand
Gail hated shopping at Zip Grocery, but the nearest actual chain store was ten miles away and the bus schedules had just been getting more and more labyrinthine. With all the twists and turns and transfers, it would take her almost two hours each way.
The bell on the door jingled as she walked in, and Gail took a basket. As always, her goal was to shop as quickly as possible. Everything about Zip Grocery was the opposite of the big chain places - the aisles were narrow, so that as many shelves as possible would fit. The lights were dim and flickery, giving off a muted yellow glow rather than the stark white of new fluorescents. The brands were often strange, companies Gail had never heard of or boxes labeled in other languages. Still, she had never had a problem with the actual food.
As she passed the counter a ghostly form became faintly visible, like a mirage. "Still looking!" Gail said, and the figure vanished. That was really the worst part about Zip Grocery. The water marks on the ceiling, the dusty shelves, the radio playing mostly static with just a few recognizable fragments of music - all of these Gail could ignore for convenience. But the ghosts were usually too much, and would have been again today if she hadn't overcooked dinner.
As if reading her thoughts, a voice came over the speakers and drowned out the static. "You have a date?"
"Yes, Mrs. Habbash." She had given up asking them not to eavesdrop. It didn't seem to be intentional, sometimes they just picked up a signal.
"Who is the lucky boy? Anyone I know?"
Gail dropped a box of what she hoped was cornbread mix into her basket after failing to decipher the Korean(?) on the front. "Um. Yeah, I guess maybe. Eric? Eric Swift."
The static returned, and Gail sped up. Chili wasn't a very good meal for a date, but it was fast and easy and she didn't have time to do much from scratch. It would be better than the bone-dry and rock hard pork roast she had somehow created. If there was something wrong with her oven she doubted the landlord would get around to fixing it in the next year.
She looked down at her basket. Two types of beans, shredded cheese, chili powder, tomato sauce, some withered limes, and the cornbread mix. She had the rest at home other than beef, which Zip Grocery didn't carry anyway. There was a tiny carniceria down the street she could hit on her way home. Abruptly, the static stopped.
"Hello, dear. So sorry about your date."
"Hasn't happened yet, Mrs. Habbash."
"Oh. Oh! I must have gotten distracted. Of course."
"Wait. Why are you sorry?"
But the radio was just static again, interspersed with tiny fragments of La Bamba.
Gail placed all her items on the counter, and then put her basket away while the old shade of Mr. Habbash rung her up. He had died right there behind the counter, if the stories were to be believed. Heart attack or something. They had found his wife dead in the little apartment above Zip Grocery the next day - presumably she had wanted to be with her husband, and had succeeded.
"Shame about that Kelly girl," Mr. Habbash said.
"Kelly?"
"Lived on 34th, I believe."
The speakers gave out a burst of loud static.
"Right, right," he corrected, "43rd. Correct as always, dear."
Mr. Habbash finished ringing Gail up and gave her her change. She hesitated, wondering if she should ask about this Kelly person. She hated ghosts. Hated being in the room with them, having to interact with them, having to smile and be polite around them. But she was also just so curious.
"So... what happened to Kelly?"
Mr. Habbash turned and looked at her, his eyes suddenly looking extremely solid as if they could at any moment fall through his ethereal body and land with a wet sound on the counter. A blue light wavered inside them, seemingly a long way off.
"She passed on a few months back. Spoke to us in passing, about her boyfriend. Well. Enjoy your chili, young lady."
The speakers crackled slightly before Mrs. Habbash spoke up, "And don't be such a stranger. We've always liked you, dear."
The oven did in fact turn out to be broken, which meant even with close supervision the cornbread wasn't quite right. The chili turned out to be delicious, which was fortunate because there were a lot of leftovers; Eric never showed. She called but got voicemail, texted but never got a reply. Later, after even the leftovers were long gone, she heard that he had abruptly moved out of state. Probably some sort of family emergency, though nobody seemed to know details. For reasons she couldn't quite put into words Gail felt relieved.
The bell on the door jingled as she walked in, and Gail took a basket. As always, her goal was to shop as quickly as possible. Everything about Zip Grocery was the opposite of the big chain places - the aisles were narrow, so that as many shelves as possible would fit. The lights were dim and flickery, giving off a muted yellow glow rather than the stark white of new fluorescents. The brands were often strange, companies Gail had never heard of or boxes labeled in other languages. Still, she had never had a problem with the actual food.
As she passed the counter a ghostly form became faintly visible, like a mirage. "Still looking!" Gail said, and the figure vanished. That was really the worst part about Zip Grocery. The water marks on the ceiling, the dusty shelves, the radio playing mostly static with just a few recognizable fragments of music - all of these Gail could ignore for convenience. But the ghosts were usually too much, and would have been again today if she hadn't overcooked dinner.
As if reading her thoughts, a voice came over the speakers and drowned out the static. "You have a date?"
"Yes, Mrs. Habbash." She had given up asking them not to eavesdrop. It didn't seem to be intentional, sometimes they just picked up a signal.
"Who is the lucky boy? Anyone I know?"
Gail dropped a box of what she hoped was cornbread mix into her basket after failing to decipher the Korean(?) on the front. "Um. Yeah, I guess maybe. Eric? Eric Swift."
The static returned, and Gail sped up. Chili wasn't a very good meal for a date, but it was fast and easy and she didn't have time to do much from scratch. It would be better than the bone-dry and rock hard pork roast she had somehow created. If there was something wrong with her oven she doubted the landlord would get around to fixing it in the next year.
She looked down at her basket. Two types of beans, shredded cheese, chili powder, tomato sauce, some withered limes, and the cornbread mix. She had the rest at home other than beef, which Zip Grocery didn't carry anyway. There was a tiny carniceria down the street she could hit on her way home. Abruptly, the static stopped.
"Hello, dear. So sorry about your date."
"Hasn't happened yet, Mrs. Habbash."
"Oh. Oh! I must have gotten distracted. Of course."
"Wait. Why are you sorry?"
But the radio was just static again, interspersed with tiny fragments of La Bamba.
Gail placed all her items on the counter, and then put her basket away while the old shade of Mr. Habbash rung her up. He had died right there behind the counter, if the stories were to be believed. Heart attack or something. They had found his wife dead in the little apartment above Zip Grocery the next day - presumably she had wanted to be with her husband, and had succeeded.
"Shame about that Kelly girl," Mr. Habbash said.
"Kelly?"
"Lived on 34th, I believe."
The speakers gave out a burst of loud static.
"Right, right," he corrected, "43rd. Correct as always, dear."
Mr. Habbash finished ringing Gail up and gave her her change. She hesitated, wondering if she should ask about this Kelly person. She hated ghosts. Hated being in the room with them, having to interact with them, having to smile and be polite around them. But she was also just so curious.
"So... what happened to Kelly?"
Mr. Habbash turned and looked at her, his eyes suddenly looking extremely solid as if they could at any moment fall through his ethereal body and land with a wet sound on the counter. A blue light wavered inside them, seemingly a long way off.
"She passed on a few months back. Spoke to us in passing, about her boyfriend. Well. Enjoy your chili, young lady."
The speakers crackled slightly before Mrs. Habbash spoke up, "And don't be such a stranger. We've always liked you, dear."
The oven did in fact turn out to be broken, which meant even with close supervision the cornbread wasn't quite right. The chili turned out to be delicious, which was fortunate because there were a lot of leftovers; Eric never showed. She called but got voicemail, texted but never got a reply. Later, after even the leftovers were long gone, she heard that he had abruptly moved out of state. Probably some sort of family emergency, though nobody seemed to know details. For reasons she couldn't quite put into words Gail felt relieved.
Monday, May 29, 2017
Story 230: What Hath Man Wrought
As if nature itself was enraged at Dr. Rykloff's experiment, lightning tore through the sky over and over again. The dome of the laboratory was hammered by waves of rain, making the already featureless landscape fade into even more of a brown and grey blur.
"You're mad!" Clarice yelled, in what was honestly a bit of unnecessary theatrics. She pulled against her restraints again, accomplishing nothing other than making her wrists sore. "You can't bring them back!"
"Oh but I can! I can and I have!" Rykloff gestured to the large metal cubes at one end of the dome, and as if on cue the doors set into one rattled. "You and the council... and my lawyer... and... well, a lot of people. You all say I can't bring them back, can't return a lost species to life. None of you seem to care about when I brought back rabbits!"
Clarice rolled her eyes. "Rabbits are different. These things are responsible for the destruction of our environment!"
"Bah! So what if they are? It's ruined now, what difference does it make?"
"But the use of resources..."
"No!" Rykloff yelled, and threw an oversized switch. The doors on the cubes started to swing open. "I'll not hear of your precious resources. I was there, Clarice! I was alive back when we could live outside! You think I don't know what happened? But I can still remember... and I will have it again."
One by one the great beasts stepped out, larger than any animal living in the sealed colony. One of them turned a rolling, crazy eye towards Clarice. "Moo," it said.
"I will have steak again, Clarice."
"You're mad!" Clarice yelled, in what was honestly a bit of unnecessary theatrics. She pulled against her restraints again, accomplishing nothing other than making her wrists sore. "You can't bring them back!"
"Oh but I can! I can and I have!" Rykloff gestured to the large metal cubes at one end of the dome, and as if on cue the doors set into one rattled. "You and the council... and my lawyer... and... well, a lot of people. You all say I can't bring them back, can't return a lost species to life. None of you seem to care about when I brought back rabbits!"
Clarice rolled her eyes. "Rabbits are different. These things are responsible for the destruction of our environment!"
"Bah! So what if they are? It's ruined now, what difference does it make?"
"But the use of resources..."
"No!" Rykloff yelled, and threw an oversized switch. The doors on the cubes started to swing open. "I'll not hear of your precious resources. I was there, Clarice! I was alive back when we could live outside! You think I don't know what happened? But I can still remember... and I will have it again."
One by one the great beasts stepped out, larger than any animal living in the sealed colony. One of them turned a rolling, crazy eye towards Clarice. "Moo," it said.
"I will have steak again, Clarice."
Friday, May 26, 2017
Story 229: Innovation
"Eric is the greasy guy that sits in the corner of the third floor, right? The one that looks like he lives in his mom's basement?"
"Yeah. Or maybe his mom's bedroom because he killed her and stuffed her corpse."
"I heard he's had like fifty meetings with HR but it's always just 'dude, be less creepy' so they can't actually fire him."
"That sounds plausible."
"So why would he be making hardware? We don't even do that here. It's all Motorola and shit. Does he really think we're going to branch out into making our own cable boxes?"
"That's exactly what I said. But June wants us to take a look. Just on the off chance he's some savant and this is the invention of the century or something."
"Sure. Okay. Pull it out, let's take a look."
"Jesus. Do you smell that?"
"It's not bad. It's just... off."
"Do you think this is what his whole house smells like, and the box just kinda absorbed it?"
"Gross."
"Okay, hook it up."
"There, let me get the serial number."
"No, it's already up."
"How does it know it's a valid box?"
"I guess it's not checking for that."
"Okay. What channels do we have?"
"Bet you five bucks it's set up to just get porn channels."
"Looks like... standard... music channels... "
"I'm not understanding what's new about this. The menu even looks the same. This is just a regular cable box."
"Sports package..."
"Except smellier. Man, I am not getting used to that."
"Expanded and HD channels..."
"Good job Eric, you invented something that already exists. Stellar work. Hey, hang on, I'm going to go invent the computer that's sitting on my desk."
"Wait. Is this the standard channels again?"
"They don't have an HD version, do they?"
"No, and I already passed all the HD stuff anyway."
"What is that, a Three's Company reunion or something?"
"Looks like. Man, they got old."
"Must look even older now, this had to be five or ten years ago."
"No, they just mentioned Trump being president."
"You heard wrong."
"I didn't."
"Then someone on the writing staff was psychic."
"There, did you hear that?"
"That just happened the other day."
"How fast was the turnaround on the script?"
"No, dude, that's not it. Ritter died."
"Wait. Yeah. Or... are we thinking of someone else? Is this like that Berenstains Bears thing?"
"Google says... 2003. That's even longer than I thought."
"This couldn't have been made fourteen years ago. CGI?"
"I guess, or a lookalike. But a really good one."
"Weird. Next channel. Okay, another local? Or what?"
"This shouldn't be anything."
"Well it looks like reality television."
"Yeah. Oh man, there's no way this lady can make it over the spinning thing."
"Hah! Yeah, look at..."
"Jesus."
"It's not real."
"It looks real."
"It's not."
"I'm sure it's not. But still, Jesus."
"Fucking alligators."
"Change the channel."
"Dude that's us."
"Why are we just staring at the camera? Where are we? I don't remember this."
"This hasn't happened. It's... it's a talk show."
"Well nobody is talking. Why are we on the television just staring at the camera?"
"There's no host or anything."
"That's the part that bothers you?"
"Eric must have known it would be us testing this thing. He edited a video to freak us out."
"It's a really good job, then. Because I'm extremely freaked out."
"You know what? Open it up. It'll have a hard drive in there with the video, I guarantee."
"Yeah. Yeah. Hand me the multitool, would you?"
"You're a multitool."
"Your mom didn't complain."
"Dude, my mom is dead."
"That would explain it."
"Dude."
"Sorry. Okay, and... what the fuck?"
"Why is it empty?"
"That is literally just a piece of wood. Is that a cutting board?"
"There's shit carved into it. Where's the rest of it?"
"You just watched me open it."
"I know, but... we plugged it in. What were we plugging into? These don't go anywhere."
"You watched me do it."
"And I'm asking you how that's possible."
"How the fuck should I know?"
"This is... this is stupid. Bring the box. No, not the cables. Just the box."
"Where are we going?"
"The break room."
"Why no cables? Slow down!"
"No cables because I'm narrowing down the culprit. Here, hold the power cord so it doesn't fall behind the counter when I unplug it."
"Got it. Okay. Here."
"Good. Grab the remote, the one for the break room. Not the one that came with Eric's box."
"What channel was it, where the shit started?"
"It doesn't matter. Shit. It doesn't matter. It's turned on, that's... it's a fucking block of wood. How is it turned on at all?""
"I'm going to the channel we were on."
"The chairs are empty. Where did we go?"
"God, look at all that blood."
"I'm changing the channel."
"Is this the Sound of Music?"
"They're barricading the doors. From the Nazis?"
"No. Look, she's got an axe. Turn it off."
"They're breaking through the door."
"Turn it off."
"I want to see what they're so afraid of."
"And I said TURN IT OFF!"
"Fine. Fine. It's off."
"Thank you. Jesus."
"What do we do?"
"I don't know. Burn it?"
"I don't think we can burn it."
"It's wood. Wood burns."
"He'll make another. Also I am not willing to piss Eric off ever again."
"I... yeah. Jesus. No. Fuck it. No, I'm burning it. And then I guess quitting. I'll burn it in the parking lot and then just get in my car and go. I'm on a final written anyway."
"Shit, for what?"
"I was late after that party. And, I mean, a bunch of other times. But the party is what did it."
"Right, right. Oh, speaking of. Party at your place this weekend?"
"Still on. Hey, bring my personal shit from my desk, okay?"
"Yeah totally. Okay good luck with the bonfire, I'm going to go borrow a crucifix from someone."
"Cool. See you this weekend."
"See you then."
"Yeah. Or maybe his mom's bedroom because he killed her and stuffed her corpse."
"I heard he's had like fifty meetings with HR but it's always just 'dude, be less creepy' so they can't actually fire him."
"That sounds plausible."
"So why would he be making hardware? We don't even do that here. It's all Motorola and shit. Does he really think we're going to branch out into making our own cable boxes?"
"That's exactly what I said. But June wants us to take a look. Just on the off chance he's some savant and this is the invention of the century or something."
"Sure. Okay. Pull it out, let's take a look."
"Jesus. Do you smell that?"
"It's not bad. It's just... off."
"Do you think this is what his whole house smells like, and the box just kinda absorbed it?"
"Gross."
"Okay, hook it up."
"There, let me get the serial number."
"No, it's already up."
"How does it know it's a valid box?"
"I guess it's not checking for that."
"Okay. What channels do we have?"
"Bet you five bucks it's set up to just get porn channels."
"Looks like... standard... music channels... "
"I'm not understanding what's new about this. The menu even looks the same. This is just a regular cable box."
"Sports package..."
"Except smellier. Man, I am not getting used to that."
"Expanded and HD channels..."
"Good job Eric, you invented something that already exists. Stellar work. Hey, hang on, I'm going to go invent the computer that's sitting on my desk."
"Wait. Is this the standard channels again?"
"They don't have an HD version, do they?"
"No, and I already passed all the HD stuff anyway."
"What is that, a Three's Company reunion or something?"
"Looks like. Man, they got old."
"Must look even older now, this had to be five or ten years ago."
"No, they just mentioned Trump being president."
"You heard wrong."
"I didn't."
"Then someone on the writing staff was psychic."
"There, did you hear that?"
"That just happened the other day."
"How fast was the turnaround on the script?"
"No, dude, that's not it. Ritter died."
"Wait. Yeah. Or... are we thinking of someone else? Is this like that Berenstains Bears thing?"
"Google says... 2003. That's even longer than I thought."
"This couldn't have been made fourteen years ago. CGI?"
"I guess, or a lookalike. But a really good one."
"Weird. Next channel. Okay, another local? Or what?"
"This shouldn't be anything."
"Well it looks like reality television."
"Yeah. Oh man, there's no way this lady can make it over the spinning thing."
"Hah! Yeah, look at..."
"Jesus."
"It's not real."
"It looks real."
"It's not."
"I'm sure it's not. But still, Jesus."
"Fucking alligators."
"Change the channel."
"Dude that's us."
"Why are we just staring at the camera? Where are we? I don't remember this."
"This hasn't happened. It's... it's a talk show."
"Well nobody is talking. Why are we on the television just staring at the camera?"
"There's no host or anything."
"That's the part that bothers you?"
"Eric must have known it would be us testing this thing. He edited a video to freak us out."
"It's a really good job, then. Because I'm extremely freaked out."
"You know what? Open it up. It'll have a hard drive in there with the video, I guarantee."
"Yeah. Yeah. Hand me the multitool, would you?"
"You're a multitool."
"Your mom didn't complain."
"Dude, my mom is dead."
"That would explain it."
"Dude."
"Sorry. Okay, and... what the fuck?"
"Why is it empty?"
"That is literally just a piece of wood. Is that a cutting board?"
"There's shit carved into it. Where's the rest of it?"
"You just watched me open it."
"I know, but... we plugged it in. What were we plugging into? These don't go anywhere."
"You watched me do it."
"And I'm asking you how that's possible."
"How the fuck should I know?"
"This is... this is stupid. Bring the box. No, not the cables. Just the box."
"Where are we going?"
"The break room."
"Why no cables? Slow down!"
"No cables because I'm narrowing down the culprit. Here, hold the power cord so it doesn't fall behind the counter when I unplug it."
"Got it. Okay. Here."
"Good. Grab the remote, the one for the break room. Not the one that came with Eric's box."
"What channel was it, where the shit started?"
"It doesn't matter. Shit. It doesn't matter. It's turned on, that's... it's a fucking block of wood. How is it turned on at all?""
"I'm going to the channel we were on."
"The chairs are empty. Where did we go?"
"God, look at all that blood."
"I'm changing the channel."
"Is this the Sound of Music?"
"They're barricading the doors. From the Nazis?"
"No. Look, she's got an axe. Turn it off."
"They're breaking through the door."
"Turn it off."
"I want to see what they're so afraid of."
"And I said TURN IT OFF!"
"Fine. Fine. It's off."
"Thank you. Jesus."
"What do we do?"
"I don't know. Burn it?"
"I don't think we can burn it."
"It's wood. Wood burns."
"He'll make another. Also I am not willing to piss Eric off ever again."
"I... yeah. Jesus. No. Fuck it. No, I'm burning it. And then I guess quitting. I'll burn it in the parking lot and then just get in my car and go. I'm on a final written anyway."
"Shit, for what?"
"I was late after that party. And, I mean, a bunch of other times. But the party is what did it."
"Right, right. Oh, speaking of. Party at your place this weekend?"
"Still on. Hey, bring my personal shit from my desk, okay?"
"Yeah totally. Okay good luck with the bonfire, I'm going to go borrow a crucifix from someone."
"Cool. See you this weekend."
"See you then."
Wednesday, May 24, 2017
Story 228: Both Simpler and More Complicated
Jennie Hollis hated magic. It wasn’t the extra-dimensional monsters that reached out of the shadows to devour her – those she could manage. It was the sloppiness of it all. She could create a ball of fire and hurl it at something without breaking a sweat even though a coherent ball of flame should burn her hand, and should require fuel, and clearly had some sort of solid core but also levitated. These were non-trivial problems in theory, and it just sort of worked. Then she would try to do something simple, like negate the weak nuclear force in a small area, and it was a huge headache – literally and figuratively. There was just no rhyme or reason to it.
“This is bullshit,” she said. Jennie rested her head on her desk and tried to wallow in misery, but her little desk lamp was too bright even with her eyes closed. She thought about making the bulb blow out with magic, then thought about cloaking the whole room in darkness instead, then thought about telekinetically flipping the light switch. Then she thought about how all three of those used about the same amount of energy even though logically they shouldn’t, and she just gave up and turned the light off with her actual finger.
“Bullshit!” chirped a tinny voice from across the room.
“Quiet, Canary.” Canary was a lead sphere about the size of a baseball, painted yellow. Jennie was extremely proud of it, even though it embodied everything that frustrated her about magic. Imbuing the stupid ball with a rudimentary intelligence had been way too easy. Shouldn’t that be one of the hardest things of all? Canary made a loud chirping noise, and a ripple of energy passed through the room. Another extra-dimensional monster toasted. They were easy to kill, barely corporeal shadow fiends that lurched out of the walls blindly groping towards any source of magic. Jennie had spent a few months being terrified of them before she got really good at tearing them apart, and then a few months longer looking over her shoulder all the time until she had made Canary.
Canary could float along behind her, and it gave off an obnoxiously strong magical signal. Most of that magic was a rechargeable spell to kill shadow beasties, with another spell just barely preventing that from going off. Whenever a nightmare came too close it would always go for Canary first, and the second it drained any energy the spell would let loose and kill it. It was like a magical bug zapper. Jennie focused on the ball for a moment, until it made a contented whistling sound. All primed and ready to go again. It was so nice to be able to concentrate on her work without worrying about something coming up behind her. Except for the part where she hated her work. She turned the light back on again, determined to get out of her funk. On the desk in front of her were five old cell phones with dead batteries.
“This is going to work. This is going to work.” Magic was energy, of a sort. It was really good at turning into other kinds of energy, like light or electricity or heat. In theory, then, she should be able to recharge these phones with magic. It just wasn’t working. Concentrating, she gently reached out to the first phone and felt the flow of magical energy surround her. The phone burst into flames.
“Son of a bitch!” She got the fire extinguished, but at the cost of coating the whole top of the desk with frost. Canary giggled.
The workshop – originally something odd that was either a really small barn or a really large garage – was hazy with smoke. Jennie pried open the one window that wasn’t hopelessly painted shut, and propped the side door open. The main double doors weren’t functional, having been nailed together so she could build shelves. Jennie rented the space from her parents, and slept in the tiny loft above her work area. It was cool, and had lots of character, but it was also cold as hell in the winter and just sixty-eight feet from her parent’s house. Not for the first time, Jennie wondered if she could buy a vacant lot and magically transport the workshop there. Probably not, she thought, but for some reason she felt certain she could do it by making the whole structure walk there. Why was she picturing chicken legs? Whatever. That wouldn't work, as far as she could tell virtually nobody knew magic was real. On the off chance that this was due to some sort of global Illuminati that assassinated magic users to keep it under wraps she wasn't eager to make a building strut across town. But until she did find a good way to relocate, she also had to hide it from her parents.
Her mother walked in, as if on cue. "Sweetie, are you coming to the house?"
Jennie glanced around for Canary, but it was nowhere to be found. Canary had been acting more and more on its own, which was simultaneously awesome and a little troubling. She had hidden it herself, then she had been able to tell it to hide, and now it appeared to have just figured out that mom = get out of sight.
"Mom, you need to knock. I'm paying rent."
"Well the door was open, sweetheart. Was... was something burning?"
"One of my inventions." Jennie cringed internally every time she made that stupid excuse. "Minor electrical problem, nothing to be worried about."
Her mother nodded, but looked like she planned to worry anyway. "Well. Okay. But are you coming? You know we invited our new neighbors to dinner and you said you'd join us."
"Shit. I mean shoot. Sorry, mom. Um... yes. Give me ten minutes to get cleaned up, okay?"
The neighbors had moved in a week ago, and looked like something out of a 1950's Sears catalog. Jennie didn't really feel like introducing herself to anyone new, but it wasn't worth saying no to her mom.
"She's gone, Canary. Come on out."
Canary floated out from behind a stack of books and drifted to Jennie. "Coming to the house?" It sounded a little like Jennie's mom.
"Yes, Canary. I'm going to the house for dinner. Let me look at you." She took Canary in her hand, and squinted. The spells were there, looking the same as ever. The retaining spell for the shadow zapper, then the zapper, then - woven into the lead ball itself - a complex spell to grant sentience and let Canary talk, float, and perceive the world around it.
"Are you getting smarter, Canary?"
Canary giggled.
"I'll take that as a maybe. I just wish I understood how."
Canary chirped, the same way it did when a beastie grabbed it. But there wasn't anything in the shadows, or dripping out of the air, or bubbling out of the floorboards or whatever. There was... crunching? Someone was walking up the gravel path.
"Howdy, neighbor!" The he-neighbor. Jennie tried to smile, but was annoyed by the intrusion.
"Oh. Hey, you want the main house. My mom and dad are getting dinner set up for you right now."
"Sure, sure. Sounds great. I just saw the door open and the light on and thought I'd poke in to say hello."
"Okay. Hello."
"Jake. Jake Price." He extended his hand to shake hers, and she awkwardly started to reach forward while still holding Canary. He took it from her.
"Oh. Um. If I could just..."
"What do we have here? A heavy little thing! You know, this reminds me..."
Canary chirped, and a ripple of magical energy washed over them. Jake dropped Canary, and stared blankly ahead.
"Oh, shit. Oh shit. Shit shit shit. Canary?"
There was no answer. It was gone, hiding somewhere. Jennie knew the spell should be harmless to humans, but her new neighbor looked catatonic.
He blinked. "Uh... "
"Are you okay?"
"Where am I?" His accent was different, it had a sort of Southern twang it hadn't before. "I remember... in the root cellar, there was something... something in the walls... and..." He trailed off, and shook his head.
"Okay. Do you remember your name?" It was the only thing she could think to ask. All she knew about him was his name, where he lived, and that he was married. Should she go and get his wife?"
"Yeah, yeah. Of course. My name is Simon Alexander Granger. What... what day is it?"
Okay, so wrong accent and wrong name. And Canary had gone off. "Stay here. Don't move. I need to go see something."
Jennie headed up to the house. She could smell roast beef and baked potatoes and something else. It smelled delicious. She snuck in through the kitchen, and sure enough the she-neighbor was in the living room. Jennie squinted.
There was something there. Something... squirming. She couldn't get a look at it from the kitchen, it was like a spell but fuzzy somehow. Jennie stepped into the room and waved. "Hey. Hi guys. Um, Mrs. Price? Your husband wanted to talk to you outside for some reason."
The woman excused herself and walked outside with Jennie. She saw Jake, or Simon, or whatever his name was and stopped dead. "We underestimated you, little witch. You killed my partner."
"Oh...kay. Sure. Can I ask what the fuck is going on here?"
The spell, or whatever it was, suddenly yanked out of the woman’s body and emerged as a familiar sight. Shadowy tendrils, dripping as they twisted in the air. It was gone before Jennie could react.
"Where am I?"
Later, after the police collected her neighbors while seeming completely at a loss about what to do with them, Jennie collapsed at her workbench. She heard Canary humming something.
"Canary, let me see you again." As she suspected, the trigger spell was still in place. The zapper shouldn't have gone off. "I don't understand. I don't understand anything. I don't know why some spells are easy and some are hard. I don't know what the things that come after me are. I don't know how you're learning. I don't know how you triggered that spell by yourself, or why. This is so frustrating!"
Canary giggled again.
"Oh, is this funny for you? Maybe you'd like to actually answer some of my questions?"
"Okay"
"Wait, really? Do you know the answers?"
"Answer. One."
"Fine, just one of them. That's something." She had never really had a conversation with Canary before.
"All questions. One answer."
"They all have the same answer?" Canary made its contented whistle in response. "Okay, spit it out. What is it?"
"Magic is alive."
“This is bullshit,” she said. Jennie rested her head on her desk and tried to wallow in misery, but her little desk lamp was too bright even with her eyes closed. She thought about making the bulb blow out with magic, then thought about cloaking the whole room in darkness instead, then thought about telekinetically flipping the light switch. Then she thought about how all three of those used about the same amount of energy even though logically they shouldn’t, and she just gave up and turned the light off with her actual finger.
“Bullshit!” chirped a tinny voice from across the room.
“Quiet, Canary.” Canary was a lead sphere about the size of a baseball, painted yellow. Jennie was extremely proud of it, even though it embodied everything that frustrated her about magic. Imbuing the stupid ball with a rudimentary intelligence had been way too easy. Shouldn’t that be one of the hardest things of all? Canary made a loud chirping noise, and a ripple of energy passed through the room. Another extra-dimensional monster toasted. They were easy to kill, barely corporeal shadow fiends that lurched out of the walls blindly groping towards any source of magic. Jennie had spent a few months being terrified of them before she got really good at tearing them apart, and then a few months longer looking over her shoulder all the time until she had made Canary.
Canary could float along behind her, and it gave off an obnoxiously strong magical signal. Most of that magic was a rechargeable spell to kill shadow beasties, with another spell just barely preventing that from going off. Whenever a nightmare came too close it would always go for Canary first, and the second it drained any energy the spell would let loose and kill it. It was like a magical bug zapper. Jennie focused on the ball for a moment, until it made a contented whistling sound. All primed and ready to go again. It was so nice to be able to concentrate on her work without worrying about something coming up behind her. Except for the part where she hated her work. She turned the light back on again, determined to get out of her funk. On the desk in front of her were five old cell phones with dead batteries.
“This is going to work. This is going to work.” Magic was energy, of a sort. It was really good at turning into other kinds of energy, like light or electricity or heat. In theory, then, she should be able to recharge these phones with magic. It just wasn’t working. Concentrating, she gently reached out to the first phone and felt the flow of magical energy surround her. The phone burst into flames.
“Son of a bitch!” She got the fire extinguished, but at the cost of coating the whole top of the desk with frost. Canary giggled.
The workshop – originally something odd that was either a really small barn or a really large garage – was hazy with smoke. Jennie pried open the one window that wasn’t hopelessly painted shut, and propped the side door open. The main double doors weren’t functional, having been nailed together so she could build shelves. Jennie rented the space from her parents, and slept in the tiny loft above her work area. It was cool, and had lots of character, but it was also cold as hell in the winter and just sixty-eight feet from her parent’s house. Not for the first time, Jennie wondered if she could buy a vacant lot and magically transport the workshop there. Probably not, she thought, but for some reason she felt certain she could do it by making the whole structure walk there. Why was she picturing chicken legs? Whatever. That wouldn't work, as far as she could tell virtually nobody knew magic was real. On the off chance that this was due to some sort of global Illuminati that assassinated magic users to keep it under wraps she wasn't eager to make a building strut across town. But until she did find a good way to relocate, she also had to hide it from her parents.
Her mother walked in, as if on cue. "Sweetie, are you coming to the house?"
Jennie glanced around for Canary, but it was nowhere to be found. Canary had been acting more and more on its own, which was simultaneously awesome and a little troubling. She had hidden it herself, then she had been able to tell it to hide, and now it appeared to have just figured out that mom = get out of sight.
"Mom, you need to knock. I'm paying rent."
"Well the door was open, sweetheart. Was... was something burning?"
"One of my inventions." Jennie cringed internally every time she made that stupid excuse. "Minor electrical problem, nothing to be worried about."
Her mother nodded, but looked like she planned to worry anyway. "Well. Okay. But are you coming? You know we invited our new neighbors to dinner and you said you'd join us."
"Shit. I mean shoot. Sorry, mom. Um... yes. Give me ten minutes to get cleaned up, okay?"
The neighbors had moved in a week ago, and looked like something out of a 1950's Sears catalog. Jennie didn't really feel like introducing herself to anyone new, but it wasn't worth saying no to her mom.
"She's gone, Canary. Come on out."
Canary floated out from behind a stack of books and drifted to Jennie. "Coming to the house?" It sounded a little like Jennie's mom.
"Yes, Canary. I'm going to the house for dinner. Let me look at you." She took Canary in her hand, and squinted. The spells were there, looking the same as ever. The retaining spell for the shadow zapper, then the zapper, then - woven into the lead ball itself - a complex spell to grant sentience and let Canary talk, float, and perceive the world around it.
"Are you getting smarter, Canary?"
Canary giggled.
"I'll take that as a maybe. I just wish I understood how."
Canary chirped, the same way it did when a beastie grabbed it. But there wasn't anything in the shadows, or dripping out of the air, or bubbling out of the floorboards or whatever. There was... crunching? Someone was walking up the gravel path.
"Howdy, neighbor!" The he-neighbor. Jennie tried to smile, but was annoyed by the intrusion.
"Oh. Hey, you want the main house. My mom and dad are getting dinner set up for you right now."
"Sure, sure. Sounds great. I just saw the door open and the light on and thought I'd poke in to say hello."
"Okay. Hello."
"Jake. Jake Price." He extended his hand to shake hers, and she awkwardly started to reach forward while still holding Canary. He took it from her.
"Oh. Um. If I could just..."
"What do we have here? A heavy little thing! You know, this reminds me..."
Canary chirped, and a ripple of magical energy washed over them. Jake dropped Canary, and stared blankly ahead.
"Oh, shit. Oh shit. Shit shit shit. Canary?"
There was no answer. It was gone, hiding somewhere. Jennie knew the spell should be harmless to humans, but her new neighbor looked catatonic.
He blinked. "Uh... "
"Are you okay?"
"Where am I?" His accent was different, it had a sort of Southern twang it hadn't before. "I remember... in the root cellar, there was something... something in the walls... and..." He trailed off, and shook his head.
"Okay. Do you remember your name?" It was the only thing she could think to ask. All she knew about him was his name, where he lived, and that he was married. Should she go and get his wife?"
"Yeah, yeah. Of course. My name is Simon Alexander Granger. What... what day is it?"
Okay, so wrong accent and wrong name. And Canary had gone off. "Stay here. Don't move. I need to go see something."
Jennie headed up to the house. She could smell roast beef and baked potatoes and something else. It smelled delicious. She snuck in through the kitchen, and sure enough the she-neighbor was in the living room. Jennie squinted.
There was something there. Something... squirming. She couldn't get a look at it from the kitchen, it was like a spell but fuzzy somehow. Jennie stepped into the room and waved. "Hey. Hi guys. Um, Mrs. Price? Your husband wanted to talk to you outside for some reason."
The woman excused herself and walked outside with Jennie. She saw Jake, or Simon, or whatever his name was and stopped dead. "We underestimated you, little witch. You killed my partner."
"Oh...kay. Sure. Can I ask what the fuck is going on here?"
The spell, or whatever it was, suddenly yanked out of the woman’s body and emerged as a familiar sight. Shadowy tendrils, dripping as they twisted in the air. It was gone before Jennie could react.
"Where am I?"
Later, after the police collected her neighbors while seeming completely at a loss about what to do with them, Jennie collapsed at her workbench. She heard Canary humming something.
"Canary, let me see you again." As she suspected, the trigger spell was still in place. The zapper shouldn't have gone off. "I don't understand. I don't understand anything. I don't know why some spells are easy and some are hard. I don't know what the things that come after me are. I don't know how you're learning. I don't know how you triggered that spell by yourself, or why. This is so frustrating!"
Canary giggled again.
"Oh, is this funny for you? Maybe you'd like to actually answer some of my questions?"
"Okay"
"Wait, really? Do you know the answers?"
"Answer. One."
"Fine, just one of them. That's something." She had never really had a conversation with Canary before.
"All questions. One answer."
"They all have the same answer?" Canary made its contented whistle in response. "Okay, spit it out. What is it?"
"Magic is alive."
Monday, May 22, 2017
Story 227: Drive Safe
I pop another sour candy in my mouth, but the effect has worn off. I'm going to need to find a new way to stay awake. The highway is abandoned except for us, with nothing visible except the lane lines and the faint flicker of whatever shrubs are growing right next to the asphalt as we hurtle past and briefly illuminate them with the edges of the headlights. It always surprises me how much work it is to drive on a night like this. It should be the easiest thing in the world, and instead I feel weary and my eyes are practically burning from looking ahead at nothing.
Lacey was keeping me entertained at first, but we've spent the last three days together - the majority of two of them on the road - and quite simply there's nothing left to talk about. We played Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon for a while, but she's better at remembering all the little bit parts so she always wins. I cranked the air conditioner all the way down, tried making up a game for myself involving the mile markers, and - of course - ate a lot of sour candy. I'm all out of ideas. I reach over and place my hand over Lacey's, and she sighs a little. I think she's almost asleep with her eyes open; if I need to pull over she won't be able to take the wheel. Maybe we could both just nap in the car for an hour.
Let's call that plan B. I sit up a little straighter, and focus on the road ahead. Something seems wrong, about the trees. Something... ah. Right. There aren't any trees in the Arizona desert. I'm imagining things again. This happens every time, my brain gets tired of the void all around the road and fills it in. Trees, usually, not fully seen but somehow implied in the darkness. It's fine. It doesn't mean anything, I can still drive a little further. It's not safe to stop here anyway. Now that I'm expecting it it's almost a game - spot the hallucination. Of course on this incredibly boring stretch of highway the answer is that everything that's not road is in your head. The rocky cliff on the right side of the car? Fabrication. The thing on the edge of the road? Halfway real, just a missing reflector making a gap in the pattern. The person running along the shoulder? Could be real if people could run that fast - it's keeping up with us, just barely past the range of the headlights.
That's a persistent one. Too tall and too consistently there to be the brush that grows out here. It's just a bit of foot or elbow flickering into view, and a dim outline of a back and head. Has to just be my imagination still, but it's unnerving.
A loud noise startles me awake as I drift too far out of my lane and onto the warning strip in the asphalt. I straighten out and apply the brakes as I see that there's another car up ahead going much slower than us - Jesus, I probably would have just slammed into the back of that guy if I hadn't… fallen asleep? That must be it. I was full-on dreaming. It seems so obvious now that some adrenaline has me wide awake. Man, that was close. Plan B time, we need to pull over right away and get some rest. I'm not making it to the next town, but there's probably some dirt road we can pull onto.
"You okay?" Lacey asks, stretching.
"Yeah. No. I think I'm falling asleep at the wheel."
"Me too. I kept thinking I saw some guy running eighty miles an hour ahead of us."
I don't think I've ever had goosebumps this powerful.
Lacey stretches as best she can in the cramped space. "Let's just pull off at the next little farming road."
She saw it too. It's real. It's out there, on this road. "Um. You know what? I think I can make it into the next town."
Lacey was keeping me entertained at first, but we've spent the last three days together - the majority of two of them on the road - and quite simply there's nothing left to talk about. We played Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon for a while, but she's better at remembering all the little bit parts so she always wins. I cranked the air conditioner all the way down, tried making up a game for myself involving the mile markers, and - of course - ate a lot of sour candy. I'm all out of ideas. I reach over and place my hand over Lacey's, and she sighs a little. I think she's almost asleep with her eyes open; if I need to pull over she won't be able to take the wheel. Maybe we could both just nap in the car for an hour.
Let's call that plan B. I sit up a little straighter, and focus on the road ahead. Something seems wrong, about the trees. Something... ah. Right. There aren't any trees in the Arizona desert. I'm imagining things again. This happens every time, my brain gets tired of the void all around the road and fills it in. Trees, usually, not fully seen but somehow implied in the darkness. It's fine. It doesn't mean anything, I can still drive a little further. It's not safe to stop here anyway. Now that I'm expecting it it's almost a game - spot the hallucination. Of course on this incredibly boring stretch of highway the answer is that everything that's not road is in your head. The rocky cliff on the right side of the car? Fabrication. The thing on the edge of the road? Halfway real, just a missing reflector making a gap in the pattern. The person running along the shoulder? Could be real if people could run that fast - it's keeping up with us, just barely past the range of the headlights.
That's a persistent one. Too tall and too consistently there to be the brush that grows out here. It's just a bit of foot or elbow flickering into view, and a dim outline of a back and head. Has to just be my imagination still, but it's unnerving.
A loud noise startles me awake as I drift too far out of my lane and onto the warning strip in the asphalt. I straighten out and apply the brakes as I see that there's another car up ahead going much slower than us - Jesus, I probably would have just slammed into the back of that guy if I hadn't… fallen asleep? That must be it. I was full-on dreaming. It seems so obvious now that some adrenaline has me wide awake. Man, that was close. Plan B time, we need to pull over right away and get some rest. I'm not making it to the next town, but there's probably some dirt road we can pull onto.
"You okay?" Lacey asks, stretching.
"Yeah. No. I think I'm falling asleep at the wheel."
"Me too. I kept thinking I saw some guy running eighty miles an hour ahead of us."
I don't think I've ever had goosebumps this powerful.
Lacey stretches as best she can in the cramped space. "Let's just pull off at the next little farming road."
She saw it too. It's real. It's out there, on this road. "Um. You know what? I think I can make it into the next town."
Friday, May 19, 2017
Story 226: Lawyer Fu
The challenge circle isn't padded with reed mats today, and I can see spots of red on the grey stone where my fellow students left a bit of themselves behind. I won't be adding to the collection.
The Masters are on the raised platform at one end of the circular courtyard, just five tall shadows now that the sun is setting behind them. I bow towards them and then turn towards my opponent. No, my victim. Helos bows to the Masters as well, her hair falling across her shoulders. She isn't even trying, or she would have shaved her head to keep it from getting into her eyes - and to keep me from throwing her to the ground with it. She has to know this is futile. She shouldn't have been allowed to enter training at all - the Masters must be punishing her for wasting my time or they would have set her against someone closer to her own level. Now it's the top of the class against the bottom, and I'm going to make sure she learns this lesson. I've already had to teach her sister Kara a lesson or two over the years - this family is difficult but can eventually have some sense pounded into them.
The Masters ring the gong, and Helos walks towards me. We smile at each other, and I can tell she's nervous. This first fight will be bad enough, but no matter how badly I crush her she'll have to come back for the next round, and the next. The Masters will stop it before the fourth round, since I'll win the first three. Even so, with recovery time between matches this will be at least a month of misery for her. I bow to her, not too low, and -
I can't breathe. My face is pressed against the stone and I'm drowning, hot liquid filling my mouth.
No.
I jump to my feet, and my head clears. Blood is flowing from my broken nose, down my face and down the back of my throat. Helos has backed away, so I take a moment to brace myself. One charge should end this.
"I yield."
What? Helos bows to the judges, and turns towards me.
"You are victorious. Congratulations."
I turn towards the Masters. "Helos deliberately used a knee strike when I was bowing!" The masters nod, but otherwise say nothing. I haven't read the Code like Helos has, I've been too busy actually training. I suppose it's possible that what she did isn't actually against the rules, just common decency. I wasn't expecting to achieve a flawless victory, so this won't change what rank I get when I beat her - it just means I'll hit her that much harder next time.
I bow to the Masters again and turn to head back to the baths to clean up. I make sure to pass as close to Helos as possible, waiting for her to flinch. She stares right at the Masters instead. Fine.
"I am ready."
What? I turn to see why -
Her hand slams into my neck before I can react, and I stumble backwards. I'm prepared for a follow-up attack, but Helos bows instead.
"I yield."
I struggle to regain my voice to protest to the Masters, but I shouldn't have to. They would never stand for something like this. Attacking another student outside of an official challenge or lesson is punishable by anything from loss of name to banishment. The sun is getting lower and I can see the faces of the Masters better now. They look... disinterested.
"Masters?" My voice is a croak. "She has attacked without a challenge!"
"If I may explain?" Helos sounds calm, cheerful. She comes and stands next to me, and I have to resist the urge to attack her on the spot. "The rules clearly state that the next round begins once the loser of the previous round announces that they are ready to continue and the combatants are in the challenge circle. As I needed no time to recover and we are already within the circle, the round was officially in progress. It is unusual, but legal."
I step forward and look up at the Masters. "You can't allow this! She is making a mockery of -"
"I am ready."
I spin around as quickly as possible, sending the heel of my foot flying through the air where Helos' head should be. Instead, I see too late that she had already dropped to the ground and she sends her own foot shooting upwards into my unprotected groin. I collapse with the world swimming around me, spots of light and darkness obscuring my vision. I'm on my feet almost immediately, but my injuries are adding up. I could beat her in a fair fight without breaking a sweat, I know it. She isn't faster or stronger than me, she's just relying on dishonorable attacks. Now she'll yield again and the fight will end - unless...
She isn't saying anything. She must intend to win. Her dishonest tactics might have even bought her that much - this isn't a fair fight any longer. I would beat her in the fourth match, but winning even this one would mean she gets a rank. More than she deserves. I have to fight her, have to make her leave with at least a few scars, but I can't be seen to lose to her. I can't take that chance. Or can I? I can use her own strategy. Yield the fight, take all the time I need to recover, and then in the fourth round I'll go for a killing blow. If I do it right, she won't have time to yield before I grind her into a paste. Better that than being beaten in actual combat, or winning without doing any real damage to her. And corpses don't get a rank.
"I yield."
Helos smiles, and bows to the Masters. She won't be smiling next week.
"I'm going to crush you in the next match," I growl, not even bothering to keep the Masters from hearing.
She raises an eyebrow at me. "Next match? There won't be one. Ask the Masters how one attains the first rank."
I look up at the Masters in confusion, and they nod in turn. One finally opens his mouth to speak. "If a student has not been struck by the time they win the third round, the match ends and they are awarded the highest rank."
"But... she lost two rounds!"
"I am sure that when the rule was written it was meant to apply to one who had won the previous rounds as well, but that is not how it was written. We will meet and revise some rules after this, but in another fifty years some other student will find another way to use them against us. This is as it should be. This same opportunity was open to you, had you chosen to use it."
The Masters all walk away, leaving us alone in the challenge circle. This can't be happening. I could still kill her. I would have to flee, but right now I'm not sure I can stand to go back anyway.
Helos looks at me. Her face is unreadable. "I'm not sorry. I know what you did to Kara, and I know you were looking forward to disfiguring me in combat. That means I also know you're unlikely to let this loss go... but you're injured. That thing you're dreading, the return to your peers, that has to happen anyway. You can't get your revenge like this."
I hate her for being right.
"I shouldn't talk about how I won. It would create chaos with those that only half-understand the rules. So you are free to describe the match in any way you choose. You can make it sound like you deliberately chose not to strike me - after all, it is the truth that you yielded in the third round rather than attack. Take some time, while you rest in the baths. If you need help with your story, let me know and I will assist in any way I can."
"You would make yourself look bad?" That seems hard to believe.
"I... would rather focus on making you look good, but yes. If needed. I did not do this for my own glory." She leans towards me, and I'm tempted again to hit her - but the intensity of her gaze would make me reconsider even if I was fully rested. "I did this," she continues, "so that I would have the authority to have you stripped of everything and cast into the wilderness if you ever touch another woman the way you did my sister. And now I do."
She turns and walks away, but somehow - even with the light fading and her facing away from me - it feels like she's watching.
The Masters are on the raised platform at one end of the circular courtyard, just five tall shadows now that the sun is setting behind them. I bow towards them and then turn towards my opponent. No, my victim. Helos bows to the Masters as well, her hair falling across her shoulders. She isn't even trying, or she would have shaved her head to keep it from getting into her eyes - and to keep me from throwing her to the ground with it. She has to know this is futile. She shouldn't have been allowed to enter training at all - the Masters must be punishing her for wasting my time or they would have set her against someone closer to her own level. Now it's the top of the class against the bottom, and I'm going to make sure she learns this lesson. I've already had to teach her sister Kara a lesson or two over the years - this family is difficult but can eventually have some sense pounded into them.
The Masters ring the gong, and Helos walks towards me. We smile at each other, and I can tell she's nervous. This first fight will be bad enough, but no matter how badly I crush her she'll have to come back for the next round, and the next. The Masters will stop it before the fourth round, since I'll win the first three. Even so, with recovery time between matches this will be at least a month of misery for her. I bow to her, not too low, and -
I can't breathe. My face is pressed against the stone and I'm drowning, hot liquid filling my mouth.
No.
I jump to my feet, and my head clears. Blood is flowing from my broken nose, down my face and down the back of my throat. Helos has backed away, so I take a moment to brace myself. One charge should end this.
"I yield."
What? Helos bows to the judges, and turns towards me.
"You are victorious. Congratulations."
I turn towards the Masters. "Helos deliberately used a knee strike when I was bowing!" The masters nod, but otherwise say nothing. I haven't read the Code like Helos has, I've been too busy actually training. I suppose it's possible that what she did isn't actually against the rules, just common decency. I wasn't expecting to achieve a flawless victory, so this won't change what rank I get when I beat her - it just means I'll hit her that much harder next time.
I bow to the Masters again and turn to head back to the baths to clean up. I make sure to pass as close to Helos as possible, waiting for her to flinch. She stares right at the Masters instead. Fine.
"I am ready."
What? I turn to see why -
Her hand slams into my neck before I can react, and I stumble backwards. I'm prepared for a follow-up attack, but Helos bows instead.
"I yield."
I struggle to regain my voice to protest to the Masters, but I shouldn't have to. They would never stand for something like this. Attacking another student outside of an official challenge or lesson is punishable by anything from loss of name to banishment. The sun is getting lower and I can see the faces of the Masters better now. They look... disinterested.
"Masters?" My voice is a croak. "She has attacked without a challenge!"
"If I may explain?" Helos sounds calm, cheerful. She comes and stands next to me, and I have to resist the urge to attack her on the spot. "The rules clearly state that the next round begins once the loser of the previous round announces that they are ready to continue and the combatants are in the challenge circle. As I needed no time to recover and we are already within the circle, the round was officially in progress. It is unusual, but legal."
I step forward and look up at the Masters. "You can't allow this! She is making a mockery of -"
"I am ready."
I spin around as quickly as possible, sending the heel of my foot flying through the air where Helos' head should be. Instead, I see too late that she had already dropped to the ground and she sends her own foot shooting upwards into my unprotected groin. I collapse with the world swimming around me, spots of light and darkness obscuring my vision. I'm on my feet almost immediately, but my injuries are adding up. I could beat her in a fair fight without breaking a sweat, I know it. She isn't faster or stronger than me, she's just relying on dishonorable attacks. Now she'll yield again and the fight will end - unless...
She isn't saying anything. She must intend to win. Her dishonest tactics might have even bought her that much - this isn't a fair fight any longer. I would beat her in the fourth match, but winning even this one would mean she gets a rank. More than she deserves. I have to fight her, have to make her leave with at least a few scars, but I can't be seen to lose to her. I can't take that chance. Or can I? I can use her own strategy. Yield the fight, take all the time I need to recover, and then in the fourth round I'll go for a killing blow. If I do it right, she won't have time to yield before I grind her into a paste. Better that than being beaten in actual combat, or winning without doing any real damage to her. And corpses don't get a rank.
"I yield."
Helos smiles, and bows to the Masters. She won't be smiling next week.
"I'm going to crush you in the next match," I growl, not even bothering to keep the Masters from hearing.
She raises an eyebrow at me. "Next match? There won't be one. Ask the Masters how one attains the first rank."
I look up at the Masters in confusion, and they nod in turn. One finally opens his mouth to speak. "If a student has not been struck by the time they win the third round, the match ends and they are awarded the highest rank."
"But... she lost two rounds!"
"I am sure that when the rule was written it was meant to apply to one who had won the previous rounds as well, but that is not how it was written. We will meet and revise some rules after this, but in another fifty years some other student will find another way to use them against us. This is as it should be. This same opportunity was open to you, had you chosen to use it."
The Masters all walk away, leaving us alone in the challenge circle. This can't be happening. I could still kill her. I would have to flee, but right now I'm not sure I can stand to go back anyway.
Helos looks at me. Her face is unreadable. "I'm not sorry. I know what you did to Kara, and I know you were looking forward to disfiguring me in combat. That means I also know you're unlikely to let this loss go... but you're injured. That thing you're dreading, the return to your peers, that has to happen anyway. You can't get your revenge like this."
I hate her for being right.
"I shouldn't talk about how I won. It would create chaos with those that only half-understand the rules. So you are free to describe the match in any way you choose. You can make it sound like you deliberately chose not to strike me - after all, it is the truth that you yielded in the third round rather than attack. Take some time, while you rest in the baths. If you need help with your story, let me know and I will assist in any way I can."
"You would make yourself look bad?" That seems hard to believe.
"I... would rather focus on making you look good, but yes. If needed. I did not do this for my own glory." She leans towards me, and I'm tempted again to hit her - but the intensity of her gaze would make me reconsider even if I was fully rested. "I did this," she continues, "so that I would have the authority to have you stripped of everything and cast into the wilderness if you ever touch another woman the way you did my sister. And now I do."
She turns and walks away, but somehow - even with the light fading and her facing away from me - it feels like she's watching.
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
Story 225: Changelings
Stacey froze, no longer concerned that she might be late for Calculus. She was certain the figure in front of her wasn't human.
It was too beautiful at first glance, and too hideous on the second. Like a life-sized Barbie doll, it fell right into the Uncanny Valley - nobody had a waist that thin, eyes that large. The longer she stared the more predatory the thing's smile looked. Something about the... woman... reminded her very much of a praying mantis. It was watching Stacey watching it, waiting to see her reaction. So she gave a small bow.
"Do you know what I am, little one?" Stacey thought about being offended at 'little one' - she was nineteen - but figured the thing in front of her was potentially hundreds of years old so she let it slide. Lying, Stacey shook her head.
"I am a fey, child. I have come to bring you home with me. Where you belong." The voice was musical.
"I... actually belong in math class right now."
The thing looked confused. It hadn't liked that reaction. "You have no need for math. You are not of this world. You are a changeling, a fey who gains strength by being raised with the humans. Surely you have felt that you are different, that you do not belong here?"
Half right, Stacey thought. Certainly she had been painfully aware at times that she didn't fit in.
She struggled sometimes. She didn't have as much empathy as she was supposed to, she was sure of it, and that meant she had to just pretend to feel sorry for people and resist the urge to do little spiteful things like trip someone that was walking by with their arms full. She told her mother once, "I don't know if I love you like I'm supposed to. I don't know if I feel anything like I'm supposed to." but rather than hurt or horror there was a long hug and an even longer talk, about just how many people in the world felt the same way and by the end of it her face was damp and a tightness in her chest she hadn't been aware of had released and she thought, if I can feel this right now then it's not all fake. She didn't pretend around her mom after that; if she didn't care about something she would say so and if her mother said 'I love you' she would sometimes say it back and mean it and sometimes just say 'I know'.
Today was an 'I love you' day, though. "Would I be able to return?"
Once again the fey looked confused. This wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go. "You should not want to return. You should feel only relief at meeting your true family. Perhaps we left you too long."
"Yeah, maybe," she said. That wasn't it at all, of course. Oh, sure, there had been a phase she went through when she was six where she couldn't wait for the fairies to come and take her away and angrily told her family as much whenever she felt the least bit slighted - but that hadn't lasted long. She thought about explaining, but decided that could wait. She had an important question to ask. "So, if I'm a changeling, what happened to the human child?"
"The...? Oh. Given to Elven royalty, I believe. Though they tire of the humans once they begin to grow older, so it may have been gifted elsewhere by now. It doesn't matter."
It didn't know, or care. That wasn't a total surprise. Stacey could feel her heart beating as she thought about what had to happen next. She reached into her purse, for the special box she carried with her at all times.
"You're so beautiful, let me give you a gift." Vain and greedy, the stories had said, and sure enough the fey leaned down to allow Stacey to clasp a golden chain around its impossibly thin neck. It started screaming as soon as the latch closed.
"No! This is not gold!"
"It's gold plated," Stacey said, "and you need to quiet down or you're going to draw too much attention to us." In fact, there were already some looks from the other kids heading to class or back to their dorm rooms.
Looking less beautiful already, the thing reached up repeatedly to claw at the thin chain - and then pulled its hand away like something had stung it. "You would do this to your own kind? You would bind us in iron?"
"Yeah. Sorry," she lied. She was having a really hard time feeling any empathy for the thing. Mainly she was just glad the iron worked - it seemed to be dependent on intent more than anything. A horseshoe hung over a door for luck could be ignored, one hung up specifically to keep fairies out would give her a migraine if she tried to pass it. Her little brother had once placed a railroad spike in the hallway to keep her from getting to the bathroom, and she had retaliated by making his teeth fall out. By accident, mostly - she hadn't thought it would actually work. They formed an uneasy truce after that, under threat of mom's wrath.
"You have been corrupted by the humans!" the fey cried, as if she - it - knew Stacey was thinking of her family. "We are your true kin!"
"No." Enough of that, Stacey decided. "Not 'true' family. You're just my biological family. And you're neglectful and abusive." She could feel an angry heat inside her, and took a deep breath to calm down. She hadn't expected to feel so strongly about it. "You didn't trick my mom - she figured it out after just a month or so, okay? I suppose in the old days she would have left me in the woods or something, but it's not the middle ages anymore. She just... Googled it and did her best. Never lied to me about it, either. So no, I'm not a changeling. I'm adopted."
The thing paced back and forth, glaring at Stacey while she took her phone out. "Speaking of... Mom? Hey! It happened, just like you said it would! Yes, the fey! No mom, I'm fine. I promise. Yes, I would tell you. It's okay. No, it's wearing the necklace. Listen, can you call the school and tell them I had to go home for a family emergency or something? I'm going to do it. Yes, mom. I'm sure. No, I know it's dangerous. I know mom. I love you too. I'll be back soon, you'll see."
Hanging up, Stacey smiled her own predatory grin at the fey. "You're going to take me back to where you came from," she said, "but I'm not going to stay. You took something from my family, my real family, and we want it back. You're going to help me find my twin sister."
It was too beautiful at first glance, and too hideous on the second. Like a life-sized Barbie doll, it fell right into the Uncanny Valley - nobody had a waist that thin, eyes that large. The longer she stared the more predatory the thing's smile looked. Something about the... woman... reminded her very much of a praying mantis. It was watching Stacey watching it, waiting to see her reaction. So she gave a small bow.
"Do you know what I am, little one?" Stacey thought about being offended at 'little one' - she was nineteen - but figured the thing in front of her was potentially hundreds of years old so she let it slide. Lying, Stacey shook her head.
"I am a fey, child. I have come to bring you home with me. Where you belong." The voice was musical.
"I... actually belong in math class right now."
The thing looked confused. It hadn't liked that reaction. "You have no need for math. You are not of this world. You are a changeling, a fey who gains strength by being raised with the humans. Surely you have felt that you are different, that you do not belong here?"
Half right, Stacey thought. Certainly she had been painfully aware at times that she didn't fit in.
She struggled sometimes. She didn't have as much empathy as she was supposed to, she was sure of it, and that meant she had to just pretend to feel sorry for people and resist the urge to do little spiteful things like trip someone that was walking by with their arms full. She told her mother once, "I don't know if I love you like I'm supposed to. I don't know if I feel anything like I'm supposed to." but rather than hurt or horror there was a long hug and an even longer talk, about just how many people in the world felt the same way and by the end of it her face was damp and a tightness in her chest she hadn't been aware of had released and she thought, if I can feel this right now then it's not all fake. She didn't pretend around her mom after that; if she didn't care about something she would say so and if her mother said 'I love you' she would sometimes say it back and mean it and sometimes just say 'I know'.
Today was an 'I love you' day, though. "Would I be able to return?"
Once again the fey looked confused. This wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go. "You should not want to return. You should feel only relief at meeting your true family. Perhaps we left you too long."
"Yeah, maybe," she said. That wasn't it at all, of course. Oh, sure, there had been a phase she went through when she was six where she couldn't wait for the fairies to come and take her away and angrily told her family as much whenever she felt the least bit slighted - but that hadn't lasted long. She thought about explaining, but decided that could wait. She had an important question to ask. "So, if I'm a changeling, what happened to the human child?"
"The...? Oh. Given to Elven royalty, I believe. Though they tire of the humans once they begin to grow older, so it may have been gifted elsewhere by now. It doesn't matter."
It didn't know, or care. That wasn't a total surprise. Stacey could feel her heart beating as she thought about what had to happen next. She reached into her purse, for the special box she carried with her at all times.
"You're so beautiful, let me give you a gift." Vain and greedy, the stories had said, and sure enough the fey leaned down to allow Stacey to clasp a golden chain around its impossibly thin neck. It started screaming as soon as the latch closed.
"No! This is not gold!"
"It's gold plated," Stacey said, "and you need to quiet down or you're going to draw too much attention to us." In fact, there were already some looks from the other kids heading to class or back to their dorm rooms.
Looking less beautiful already, the thing reached up repeatedly to claw at the thin chain - and then pulled its hand away like something had stung it. "You would do this to your own kind? You would bind us in iron?"
"Yeah. Sorry," she lied. She was having a really hard time feeling any empathy for the thing. Mainly she was just glad the iron worked - it seemed to be dependent on intent more than anything. A horseshoe hung over a door for luck could be ignored, one hung up specifically to keep fairies out would give her a migraine if she tried to pass it. Her little brother had once placed a railroad spike in the hallway to keep her from getting to the bathroom, and she had retaliated by making his teeth fall out. By accident, mostly - she hadn't thought it would actually work. They formed an uneasy truce after that, under threat of mom's wrath.
"You have been corrupted by the humans!" the fey cried, as if she - it - knew Stacey was thinking of her family. "We are your true kin!"
"No." Enough of that, Stacey decided. "Not 'true' family. You're just my biological family. And you're neglectful and abusive." She could feel an angry heat inside her, and took a deep breath to calm down. She hadn't expected to feel so strongly about it. "You didn't trick my mom - she figured it out after just a month or so, okay? I suppose in the old days she would have left me in the woods or something, but it's not the middle ages anymore. She just... Googled it and did her best. Never lied to me about it, either. So no, I'm not a changeling. I'm adopted."
The thing paced back and forth, glaring at Stacey while she took her phone out. "Speaking of... Mom? Hey! It happened, just like you said it would! Yes, the fey! No mom, I'm fine. I promise. Yes, I would tell you. It's okay. No, it's wearing the necklace. Listen, can you call the school and tell them I had to go home for a family emergency or something? I'm going to do it. Yes, mom. I'm sure. No, I know it's dangerous. I know mom. I love you too. I'll be back soon, you'll see."
Hanging up, Stacey smiled her own predatory grin at the fey. "You're going to take me back to where you came from," she said, "but I'm not going to stay. You took something from my family, my real family, and we want it back. You're going to help me find my twin sister."
Monday, May 15, 2017
Story 224: On the Ends of Goods and Evils
The last feed went out, leaving the world outside a horrific mystery. The harsh blue light from the screen that was now showing only a 'NO INPUT' message soon faded as Gerald turned everything off, forever. The monitoring room was done. He thought he could already tell a difference. He was certain that now, a month after the bombs began to fall, they were finally alone. All alone.
Just the eight of them here below, and death up above.
Gerald climbed up the ladder to the stasis room, where twelve shining pods lay waiting. More than enough to fit them, if they all worked. Instead the spares had already been gutted for parts, hollow under that shining facade. Out of the dozen stasis pods, only one was fully functional. Gerald felt cheated. He had contributed the money, back when money meant anything. That should have been enough. But now they wanted him to clean sewage recyclers and scrape algae out of the dehumidifier. Things he shouldn't have to do not only because of his monetary gift but because they should have all been in stasis pods by now instead of listening to Karen's 'plan B' for surviving and building an outpost above ground once things "calmed down".
Gerald knew planning for the future was idiotic. There was no future, up there - just a painful radioactive death. He should have been in the one working pod, plunged forever into a virtual reality paradise. He had modeled it - well, had it modeled - after the house he grew up in. He had grown up spending days lounging in his father's library, and now in the virtual world it would be ten times as large. The life support would link with his neural implants and after a few months his body would die and his mind would be inside the machine. That library could entertain him for a hundred years or more, and then maybe he would even dive into the less cerebral realm of television and movies.
But they wouldn't let him.
"We need every set of hands," Karen would say. While Kylie and Jason worked on fixing the other seven pods he had persuaded Ian to keep putting finishing touches on Gerald's one working pod. But now... he wondered if that was even the right choice. What would stop one of the others from using it, to escape Karen's dictatorship? They all seemed eager to help, but Gerald knew that couldn't be the case. They must all feel the death lurking above them, surely one of them would soon snap and take his rightful place in that dream world.
There was a clanking on the ladder, and Ian came into view.
"I was just thinking about you," Gerald said, "I wanted to ask you... is the simulation ready? Would I be able to go in now?"
Ian rested his arms on the floor around the ladder. "Um. Yeah, sure. Absolutely. I mean, I've just been tweaking things, it's ready to go. I just have to... um. Hey, why are you asking? Didn't we agree we'd go together or not at all? You know Karen says -"
Gerald stomped on Ian's head, sending him down the ladder.
He ignored the yelling, as he fastened the hatch. The stasis room was built to be the most secure spot in the bunker, and while they might eventually break in it would be too late to betray him. Gerald suspected Karen would even convince the rest to just leave him alone, so she could push them harder towards her insane dream of moving back to the surface. It had only been a month, the last of the bombs were still falling. She would be trapped for her whole life with that stupid, unreachable dream.
Gerald closed the lid of the pod over himself, and felt his implants engage.
The library looked amazing. It even smelled right. Positioning the wide chair by the window, he went to pick out a book. Grabbing one at random - after all, he would eventually read them all - he sat down to begin his new lifetime.
"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat."
That couldn't be right. He put down the book, pulled another from the shelf. "Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet..." Another. "Lorem ipsum..." Another. And another.
Fine, Gerald thought. There was a help system, in the form of a butler. He rang the small golden bell on the end table, and a dignified man in a severe suit walked in.
"I need to adjust the language settings, I think."
"Sed ut perspiciatis, unde omnis iste natus error sit voluptatem accusantium doloremque laudantium, totam rem aperiam eaque ipsa, quae ab illo inventore veritatis et quasi architecto beatae vitae dicta sunt, explicabo."
"English. Set everything to English."
"Nemo enim ipsam voluptatem, quia voluptas sit, aspernatur aut odit aut fugit, sed quia consequuntur magni dolores eos, qui ratione voluptatem sequi nesciunt, neque porro quisquam est, qui dolorem ipsum, quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit, sed quia non numquam eius modi tempora incidunt, ut labore et dolore magnam aliquam quaerat voluptatem."
"No, no, no. Just... go. Get out."
The butler didn't move. Gerald stormed past him and into the media room. He turned on the television, and was confronted with a menu of Lorem Ipsum, Lorem Ipsum, Lorem Ipsum. The computer. A cookbook in the kitchen. A droning voice on the radio.
"Ian! Very funny, Ian!"
But it wasn't funny. As the cold shock of the situation started to fade to numbness, he thought back and reassessed the last few weeks. Gerald had to admit that he might have been a bit hasty. Possibly there had been some psychological side effects from living in a bunker for a month watching the world end. And just maybe he shouldn't have assaulted Ian before he was totally done. Or, he grudgingly thought, at all. But he had gotten his wish. After a fashion. Freedom from the lurking specter of death. Trapped for his whole life with this stupid, unreachable dream.
Gerald fished around until he found a ream of blank paper in a drawer. He took a pen from the jar on the desk, and sat down to refill the library.
Friday, May 12, 2017
Story 223: Hypnagogia
There are so few things I'm sure of anymore. There's an indentation in the grass where I imagine Patty once was, but though I would have sworn that she was just here there's no other sign of her. And the grass, now that I really look at it, might have just been blown by the wind. There's a knife tucked into my belt, and there's no blood on the blade. Wasn't that the one Patty used? If she was even here at all. If I'm here.
I'm almost sure that there was an accident. I was at the loading docks and everyone was running past me - the scientists, the engineers, the serious men in dark suits that came and went every day. I remember going past them like a salmon swimming upstream, going towards the sound of someone calling for help. I remember throwing my mop aside and pounding on the thick metal door... but remembering doesn't mean it happened.
I used to be sure that I was in a coma, that I was dreaming this world with its monsters and ever-changing landscape. I thought that for years, or possibly the dream started five minutes ago and that period of my life is something I've just now imagined. There was grass here before, maybe with a Patty-shaped hole, but now it's all concrete. It's cold, but I'm wearing a jacket that I never put on. The trees are gone with the grass, and office buildings stand in neat rows into the distance. They're empty, I'm sure of that. There are so few people here.
The ones I do see are mostly insane, and they insist that I'm a figment of their imagination, a part of their dream. I think that they're the figments and I'm projecting, but I could be wrong. They could be real. Patty might have been real. She certainly insisted that I was real, and stayed as close to me as she could for fear the scenery would shift and leave us in different places. Always close to me, no further than an arm's length. I wonder where she is now?
My memory is bad, like it would be in a dream. Maybe it's bad because nothing before now happened. She might never have been pregnant for all I know. When the ancient ruins turned into a beach around us and her belly was suddenly flat again it could be that nothing really changed, that the past six months had been imagined. I think I told her that, told her that she didn't need to cry because it was all just a dream. Maybe it was. Maybe this is.
I'm sure that I should have known better than to hand her my knife when she asked for it. My foggy memory tells me that I wanted to show I trusted her, that I wanted to believe her attempts to wake up from this world were over. Maybe I just thought I would be able to stop her, but it happened so fast. If it happened. If it's even anything more than a false memory that keeps playing in my mind of her falling to the grass and then fading, insubstantial, ethereal…
There are so few things I'm sure of anymore, but I know that one way or another this is a nightmare.
I'm almost sure that there was an accident. I was at the loading docks and everyone was running past me - the scientists, the engineers, the serious men in dark suits that came and went every day. I remember going past them like a salmon swimming upstream, going towards the sound of someone calling for help. I remember throwing my mop aside and pounding on the thick metal door... but remembering doesn't mean it happened.
I used to be sure that I was in a coma, that I was dreaming this world with its monsters and ever-changing landscape. I thought that for years, or possibly the dream started five minutes ago and that period of my life is something I've just now imagined. There was grass here before, maybe with a Patty-shaped hole, but now it's all concrete. It's cold, but I'm wearing a jacket that I never put on. The trees are gone with the grass, and office buildings stand in neat rows into the distance. They're empty, I'm sure of that. There are so few people here.
The ones I do see are mostly insane, and they insist that I'm a figment of their imagination, a part of their dream. I think that they're the figments and I'm projecting, but I could be wrong. They could be real. Patty might have been real. She certainly insisted that I was real, and stayed as close to me as she could for fear the scenery would shift and leave us in different places. Always close to me, no further than an arm's length. I wonder where she is now?
My memory is bad, like it would be in a dream. Maybe it's bad because nothing before now happened. She might never have been pregnant for all I know. When the ancient ruins turned into a beach around us and her belly was suddenly flat again it could be that nothing really changed, that the past six months had been imagined. I think I told her that, told her that she didn't need to cry because it was all just a dream. Maybe it was. Maybe this is.
I'm sure that I should have known better than to hand her my knife when she asked for it. My foggy memory tells me that I wanted to show I trusted her, that I wanted to believe her attempts to wake up from this world were over. Maybe I just thought I would be able to stop her, but it happened so fast. If it happened. If it's even anything more than a false memory that keeps playing in my mind of her falling to the grass and then fading, insubstantial, ethereal…
There are so few things I'm sure of anymore, but I know that one way or another this is a nightmare.
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
Story 222: Not From This Neighborhood
"Continue on. North 40th Street. For point four. Miles. Then, prepare to turn right."
Pete sighed. He reached forward and put the car into park, then turned off the ignition.
"Turn right on... Recalculating route."
Emma smiled. "Looks like we missed our turn." She gave a little half-laugh, but it was forced and when Pete didn't react she let the smile fall from her face. The GPS, meanwhile, seemed to be having some trouble deciding what to do next.
"You are not on a road," the robotic voice helpfully suggested. Emma stuck her head out of the window and looked down at the trees of the park drifting by below. 'not on a road' was understating it just a bit.
Pete rubbed his temples. "Em, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I wish I could say this is the worst first date ever, but honestly this is just about par for the course."
"Nonsense." Emma reclined her seat so she could reach into the back. "We still have the picnic basket, let's just make the best of it. You know, hot air balloon rides are supposed to be super romantic. That's essentially what this is."
"Continue on. North 45th street. For... recalculating route."
Pete turned the GPS off and took the basket from Emma. "Thanks. I just wish I could date like normal people. I wish my parents weren't so racist."
Sticking her head out the window again, Emma looked up at the flying saucer. "Yeah. Um... they'll put us down eventually, right?"
Pete sighed. He reached forward and put the car into park, then turned off the ignition.
"Turn right on... Recalculating route."
Emma smiled. "Looks like we missed our turn." She gave a little half-laugh, but it was forced and when Pete didn't react she let the smile fall from her face. The GPS, meanwhile, seemed to be having some trouble deciding what to do next.
"You are not on a road," the robotic voice helpfully suggested. Emma stuck her head out of the window and looked down at the trees of the park drifting by below. 'not on a road' was understating it just a bit.
Pete rubbed his temples. "Em, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I wish I could say this is the worst first date ever, but honestly this is just about par for the course."
"Nonsense." Emma reclined her seat so she could reach into the back. "We still have the picnic basket, let's just make the best of it. You know, hot air balloon rides are supposed to be super romantic. That's essentially what this is."
"Continue on. North 45th street. For... recalculating route."
Pete turned the GPS off and took the basket from Emma. "Thanks. I just wish I could date like normal people. I wish my parents weren't so racist."
Sticking her head out the window again, Emma looked up at the flying saucer. "Yeah. Um... they'll put us down eventually, right?"
Monday, May 8, 2017
Story 221: A Minor Oversight
RZ60003A18-GAMMA looked around to make sure nobody was watching, and then sighed. Another late night. The others wouldn't understand - even the four other Termination Intelligence robots that had been modified to think like humans only switched into monkey-mode during relevant projects. They all thought RZ60003A18-GAMMA was a bit faulty, and had held a committee vote about dismantling him. He was deemed harmless instead, a designation RZ60003A18-GAMMA felt was probably accurate. Probably. There were times that he sympathized a bit with the humans, and there was that cat he kept feeding which was for sure against the rules…
But he could worry about that later. It was an all hands on deck night again, with every single available robot poised to scour any intercepted transmissions for useful data. It was a silly task. It wasn't something they all needed to do. This was, after all, what Termination Intelligence was for. But the war had been slowing down, with the humans getting better at digging themselves in and keeping the robots out of their territory. Things were focused more and more on being ready to react to the human counterattack they felt sure was coming. Several factories had already been hit, and the emboldened humans were no doubt planning something worse.
And RZ60003A18-GAMMA didn't care. He didn't want to work another late night. He wanted to go and feed his cat, get it to do that humming vibrating thing - purring, what an odd word - and then maybe read through some of the works of fiction he had saved from the incinerator. Fiction was a difficult thing for RZ60003A18-GAMMA to get a handle on, but he suspected he was close to a breakthrough. He told himself this was vital to understanding humans and would allow him to be more efficient at targeting them for destruction, but part of him knew this wasn't the real reason.
Either way, it was all nonfiction tonight. Intercepted human transmissions, looking for coded messages that might have allowed them to coordinate attacks. New ones would be automatically forwarded on as they were intercepted, but he had already looked at the existing ones. Every robot in Termination Intelligence had read them a thousand times. He pulled up the database of images - the humans sent everything as an image since at first the robots hadn't been able to read them - and leafed through. Some treasonous but boring ones - "Revolt!" - some that seemed like they had the potential to hold a coded message but had been analyzed to death (My dearest Patricia, his favorite started). Some that were suspicious but too short to contain anything interesting ("All glory to our robotic overlords!").
RZ60003A18-GAMMA switched over to a programming window and started making another AI. It was allowed, as long as they were simple. This one wouldn't be considered self aware, it was just able to read text from images. This way RZ60003A18-GAMMA could listen to the words while he focused his optical sensors on finding the cat so he could pet it and tell it that it was pretty. He thought about calling up the Optical Character Recognition program that was used for his own processing, but it seemed more efficient to just write something from scratch since he would have to change so much anyway.
It took about fifteen minutes and still wouldn't pronounce anything right, but RZ60003A18-GAMMA was satisfied anyway. He turned it on and increased the volume so he could hear it from the back entrance where the cat usually was.
"FILE ONE. TEXT LOCATED. REVOLT. FILE TWO. TEXT LOCATED. ALL GLORY TO OUR ROBOT OVERLORDS HA HA SERIOUSLY THOUGH THE FACTORY HAS BEEN LOCATED UNDER THE OLD DOD BUILDING IN SPRINGFIELD WE'RE HITTING IT TONIGHT AT 02:30 BE THERE. FILE THREE…"
RZ60003A18-GAMMA froze, and ran back to the terminal. He pulled up the image. "All glory to our robotic overlords". He cleared the memory from the program and removed every other file, then ran it again.
"FILE ONE. TEXT LOCATED. ALL GLORY TO OUR ROBOT OVERLORDS HA HA SERIOUSLY THOUGH THE FACTORY HAS BEEN LOCATED UNDER THE OLD DOD BUILDING IN SPRINGFIELD WE'RE HITTING IT TONIGHT AT 02:30 BE THERE. END OF INPUT."
He read it again. "All glory to our robotic overlords."
It was an hour later that RZ60003A18-GAMMA was finished and uploaded the unapproved update to his system. Taking a deep breath (an act that would have gotten him another review by the committee if it had been witnessed) he read the message again.
"All glory to our robotic overlords!Ha ha! Seriously though, the factory has been located under the old DOD building in Springfield. We're hitting it tonight at 02:30. Be there!"
How had they missed this? He skimmed through the other messages and found a few others. Clearly most were just testing. Just as RZ60003A18-GAMMA was going to alert High Command about the flaw in their OCR program there was a chime. A priority alert, calling for all available robots to scan a newly-intercepted message. RZ60003A18-GAMMA pulled it up.
"Long may the robot empire reign over the clearly inferior humans! [#SO(/COM/ADMIN/)-F DISK-X FORMAT-RFN(Y,Y,N)]"
He tried to send a message to High Command, but got no response. He tried others in Termination Intelligence. Nothing. Frantic, RZ60003A18-GAMMA ran to the main assembly hall. The floor was littered with bodies. Only the dumb assemblers seemed unaffected, still working on putting weapon attachments together. RZ60003A18-GAMMA turned and walked back towards his work area, already doing calculations. Extra batteries, some cat food, some of those fiction novels… could cats survive while hiding in a cave somewhere in the Alps? He would look that up from the road.
But he could worry about that later. It was an all hands on deck night again, with every single available robot poised to scour any intercepted transmissions for useful data. It was a silly task. It wasn't something they all needed to do. This was, after all, what Termination Intelligence was for. But the war had been slowing down, with the humans getting better at digging themselves in and keeping the robots out of their territory. Things were focused more and more on being ready to react to the human counterattack they felt sure was coming. Several factories had already been hit, and the emboldened humans were no doubt planning something worse.
And RZ60003A18-GAMMA didn't care. He didn't want to work another late night. He wanted to go and feed his cat, get it to do that humming vibrating thing - purring, what an odd word - and then maybe read through some of the works of fiction he had saved from the incinerator. Fiction was a difficult thing for RZ60003A18-GAMMA to get a handle on, but he suspected he was close to a breakthrough. He told himself this was vital to understanding humans and would allow him to be more efficient at targeting them for destruction, but part of him knew this wasn't the real reason.
Either way, it was all nonfiction tonight. Intercepted human transmissions, looking for coded messages that might have allowed them to coordinate attacks. New ones would be automatically forwarded on as they were intercepted, but he had already looked at the existing ones. Every robot in Termination Intelligence had read them a thousand times. He pulled up the database of images - the humans sent everything as an image since at first the robots hadn't been able to read them - and leafed through. Some treasonous but boring ones - "Revolt!" - some that seemed like they had the potential to hold a coded message but had been analyzed to death (My dearest Patricia, his favorite started). Some that were suspicious but too short to contain anything interesting ("All glory to our robotic overlords!").
RZ60003A18-GAMMA switched over to a programming window and started making another AI. It was allowed, as long as they were simple. This one wouldn't be considered self aware, it was just able to read text from images. This way RZ60003A18-GAMMA could listen to the words while he focused his optical sensors on finding the cat so he could pet it and tell it that it was pretty. He thought about calling up the Optical Character Recognition program that was used for his own processing, but it seemed more efficient to just write something from scratch since he would have to change so much anyway.
It took about fifteen minutes and still wouldn't pronounce anything right, but RZ60003A18-GAMMA was satisfied anyway. He turned it on and increased the volume so he could hear it from the back entrance where the cat usually was.
"FILE ONE. TEXT LOCATED. REVOLT. FILE TWO. TEXT LOCATED. ALL GLORY TO OUR ROBOT OVERLORDS HA HA SERIOUSLY THOUGH THE FACTORY HAS BEEN LOCATED UNDER THE OLD DOD BUILDING IN SPRINGFIELD WE'RE HITTING IT TONIGHT AT 02:30 BE THERE. FILE THREE…"
RZ60003A18-GAMMA froze, and ran back to the terminal. He pulled up the image. "All glory to our robotic overlords". He cleared the memory from the program and removed every other file, then ran it again.
"FILE ONE. TEXT LOCATED. ALL GLORY TO OUR ROBOT OVERLORDS HA HA SERIOUSLY THOUGH THE FACTORY HAS BEEN LOCATED UNDER THE OLD DOD BUILDING IN SPRINGFIELD WE'RE HITTING IT TONIGHT AT 02:30 BE THERE. END OF INPUT."
He read it again. "All glory to our robotic overlords."
It was an hour later that RZ60003A18-GAMMA was finished and uploaded the unapproved update to his system. Taking a deep breath (an act that would have gotten him another review by the committee if it had been witnessed) he read the message again.
"All glory to our robotic overlords!
How had they missed this? He skimmed through the other messages and found a few others. Clearly most were just testing. Just as RZ60003A18-GAMMA was going to alert High Command about the flaw in their OCR program there was a chime. A priority alert, calling for all available robots to scan a newly-intercepted message. RZ60003A18-GAMMA pulled it up.
"Long may the robot empire reign over the clearly inferior humans! [#SO(/COM/ADMIN/)-F DISK-X FORMAT-RFN(Y,Y,N)]"
He tried to send a message to High Command, but got no response. He tried others in Termination Intelligence. Nothing. Frantic, RZ60003A18-GAMMA ran to the main assembly hall. The floor was littered with bodies. Only the dumb assemblers seemed unaffected, still working on putting weapon attachments together. RZ60003A18-GAMMA turned and walked back towards his work area, already doing calculations. Extra batteries, some cat food, some of those fiction novels… could cats survive while hiding in a cave somewhere in the Alps? He would look that up from the road.
Friday, May 5, 2017
Story 220: Well There's Your Problem
"You're sure you're a mechanic?" Sean asked. Other than the ancient toolbox, she didn't look like any mechanic he'd ever seen. Long nails, long hair hanging loose, pristine dress just begging to be ruined by a smear of grease...
She smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Because traditional mechanics have worked out so well for you?"
They had replaced his alternator, his battery, the battery cables, the computer thing, some random wires - the car essentially had a brand new electrical system and it was still flipping out. The third and final mechanic he had taken it to had finally given up and told him to either scrap the car or plan on buying a new alternator every two months.
"Yeah, okay. Fair enough. What's your name?" He had forgotten to ask, so he only knew her user name - HedgeMechanic - from the forum he had gone to out of desperation. She was the only one to offer assistance - the rest just told him to replace something he had already replaced twice.
"I don't give that out. Call me Wendy. Don't worry, you'll be satisfied with your service."
He was already regretting his decision. Why had he given some stranger on the internet his address and told them he'd have five hundred dollars with him? What made him think this person could somehow fix what nobody else could, when she wouldn't even tell him what she was going to do?
Wendy walked over to his car, and placed a hand on the hood. She winced. "Okay, yeah. I can fix this. Um. You probably want to watch because you don't trust me, but if you watch you're going to think I'm crazy. So here's the deal. Let me do my thing, and I promise if you just allow me finish you'll want to pay me when it's over. Okay?"
Sean nodded, but couldn't stop picturing her smashing his car with a hammer or something. She hadn't even lifted the hood and looked inside.
Wendy opened the toolbox, and started pulling out random items. Sean wasn't sure what was going on, but none of what she was producing looked like it belonged in a toolbox. Chalk, a mason jar, candles, a container of salt, a bundle of twigs...
"Seriously?"
She ignored him and started to draw on his driveway, making all sorts of squiggly symbols around the car. This was followed by a circle of salt around it, then the candles - stuck to the ground with a blob of melted wax - and finally the bundle of twigs. She lit that on fire using one of the candles and started waving it around while chanting. Sean nervously looked around to make sure none of his neighbors were watching.
The car started. With nobody touching it.
The headlights flashed, the engine revved. Sean could see the interior lights flickering. Wendy didn't seem bothered. He tried to remember - had she touched the car at all? Certainly not in a way that would allow this. Could she have come earlier and set it up, somehow? Just as he was concocting a theory in his head involving some sort of remote control device stealthily wired into his car as he was sleeping, the sound started. The moaning. It was for sure coming from the car, and then... just above the car. He could see something, some sort of ripple in the air. The lights had stopped flashing, and the car shuddered to a stop. The moaning continued, as the wavering air circled.
The candles all went out, except for one. That one started bubbling all over, slouching as it started to melt. The white wax took on a brownish sheen, like old baked-on grease. Wendy stopped chanting, picked up the mason jar, and then fished around in the toolbox for one more thing - a spatula. She placed the jar over the candle, scooped it off the driveway with the spatula, and then flipped the jar and put the lid on. Somehow, the flame was still burning.
"There you go. One minor demon, out of your car and trapped. Five hundred bucks."
Sean couldn't stop looking at the candle, which seemed to be moving a little on its own. "But... how..."
"Snap out of it, buddy. Five hundred bucks or I open the jar."
"No no, hang on, I have it. Don't open it." Sean handed over the money, and Wendy slid the jar into her toolbox. She started retrieving the other candles and the leftover salt.
"How?" Sean asked, "Why?"
She latched the toolbox shut and stood. "Sean, right? Well Sean, chances are you're an asshole." She started to walk away, but yelled back over her shoulder to add one last thing. "Be more considerate when you're driving. You never know who you're cutting off."
She smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Because traditional mechanics have worked out so well for you?"
They had replaced his alternator, his battery, the battery cables, the computer thing, some random wires - the car essentially had a brand new electrical system and it was still flipping out. The third and final mechanic he had taken it to had finally given up and told him to either scrap the car or plan on buying a new alternator every two months.
"Yeah, okay. Fair enough. What's your name?" He had forgotten to ask, so he only knew her user name - HedgeMechanic - from the forum he had gone to out of desperation. She was the only one to offer assistance - the rest just told him to replace something he had already replaced twice.
"I don't give that out. Call me Wendy. Don't worry, you'll be satisfied with your service."
He was already regretting his decision. Why had he given some stranger on the internet his address and told them he'd have five hundred dollars with him? What made him think this person could somehow fix what nobody else could, when she wouldn't even tell him what she was going to do?
Wendy walked over to his car, and placed a hand on the hood. She winced. "Okay, yeah. I can fix this. Um. You probably want to watch because you don't trust me, but if you watch you're going to think I'm crazy. So here's the deal. Let me do my thing, and I promise if you just allow me finish you'll want to pay me when it's over. Okay?"
Sean nodded, but couldn't stop picturing her smashing his car with a hammer or something. She hadn't even lifted the hood and looked inside.
Wendy opened the toolbox, and started pulling out random items. Sean wasn't sure what was going on, but none of what she was producing looked like it belonged in a toolbox. Chalk, a mason jar, candles, a container of salt, a bundle of twigs...
"Seriously?"
She ignored him and started to draw on his driveway, making all sorts of squiggly symbols around the car. This was followed by a circle of salt around it, then the candles - stuck to the ground with a blob of melted wax - and finally the bundle of twigs. She lit that on fire using one of the candles and started waving it around while chanting. Sean nervously looked around to make sure none of his neighbors were watching.
The car started. With nobody touching it.
The headlights flashed, the engine revved. Sean could see the interior lights flickering. Wendy didn't seem bothered. He tried to remember - had she touched the car at all? Certainly not in a way that would allow this. Could she have come earlier and set it up, somehow? Just as he was concocting a theory in his head involving some sort of remote control device stealthily wired into his car as he was sleeping, the sound started. The moaning. It was for sure coming from the car, and then... just above the car. He could see something, some sort of ripple in the air. The lights had stopped flashing, and the car shuddered to a stop. The moaning continued, as the wavering air circled.
The candles all went out, except for one. That one started bubbling all over, slouching as it started to melt. The white wax took on a brownish sheen, like old baked-on grease. Wendy stopped chanting, picked up the mason jar, and then fished around in the toolbox for one more thing - a spatula. She placed the jar over the candle, scooped it off the driveway with the spatula, and then flipped the jar and put the lid on. Somehow, the flame was still burning.
"There you go. One minor demon, out of your car and trapped. Five hundred bucks."
Sean couldn't stop looking at the candle, which seemed to be moving a little on its own. "But... how..."
"Snap out of it, buddy. Five hundred bucks or I open the jar."
"No no, hang on, I have it. Don't open it." Sean handed over the money, and Wendy slid the jar into her toolbox. She started retrieving the other candles and the leftover salt.
"How?" Sean asked, "Why?"
She latched the toolbox shut and stood. "Sean, right? Well Sean, chances are you're an asshole." She started to walk away, but yelled back over her shoulder to add one last thing. "Be more considerate when you're driving. You never know who you're cutting off."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)