http://escapepod.org The Science Fiction Podcast Magazine. Each week Escape Pod delivers science fiction short stories from today's best authors. Listen today, and hear the new sound of science fiction! Thu, 09 Feb 2012 22:05:07 +0000 en hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3248 2005-2011 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0 editor@escapepod.org (Mur Lafferty) editor@escapepod.org (Mur Lafferty) science fiction 1440 science fiction, sf, stories, audiobooks, storytelling, fiction, short fiction, short story The Science Fiction Podcast Magazine The Science Fiction Podcast Magazine. Each week Escape Pod delivers science fiction short stories from todayapos;s best authors. Listen today, and hear the new sound of science fiction! Mur Lafferty Mur Lafferty editor@escapepod.org No no http://escapepod.org/wp-content/images/pod-org-icon300.jpg http://escapepod.org 144 144 http://escapepod.org/2012/02/02/ep330-the-ghost-of-a-girl-who-never-lived/ http://escapepod.org/2012/02/02/ep330-the-ghost-of-a-girl-who-never-lived/#comments Fri, 03 Feb 2012 01:55:58 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=3087 http://escapepod.org/2012/02/02/ep330-the-ghost-of-a-girl-who-never-lived/feed/ 0 00:01:01 By Keffy R. M. Kehrli Read by Mur Lafferty Discuss on our forums. Originally appeared in InterGalactic Medicine Show. All stories by Keffy R. M. Kehrli All stories read ... By Keffy R. M. Kehrli Read by Mur Lafferty Discuss on our forums. Originally appeared in InterGalactic Medicine Show. All stories by Keffy R. M. Kehrli All stories read by Mur Lafferty Rated 13 and up The Ghost of a Girl Who Never Lived By Keffy R. M. Kehrli I am Sara's second body. My first memory is of Sara's resurrection in a room that smelled of cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide. "That's funny," a man said. The world felt raw, sore, and new. Under my back, my butt, my fingertips, I could feel every thread in the sheets beneath me. The blanket over my stomach scratched. Padded straps crossed my arms. "What's funny?" This voice was a woman's. "Got another error message," the man answered. "Have you ever seen that one before?" I felt the sheets with Sara's fingers, and the texture conjured memories I didn't have. I should have known where I was and what I was there for, but I couldn't catch hold of the fleeting thoughts. In the dim light of the room I could only see the ceiling. "Let me see." I heard a frenzied clicking. "It failed twice?" "Nothing copied the first time, so I started over. It got about halfway through, and then it gave me this." "Error two-one-five-two. Copy error," the woman said. "I've never seen that before. I've never even seen an error in the middle of a transplant. Did you check the manual?" "It didn't list this one." The woman sighed and said, "The only thing I can think of is if we wipe everything back out and start over." Operating tables, and the anestheticianrsquo;s face. Tissue paper examining tables, candles in a church. "She's conscious, though," the man said. "When the machine aborted, it sent the Copy Completed code. Don't look at me like that! I don't know if I ought to mess around with it anymore, or..." The woman interrupted, "You know we canrsquo;t do that without contacting the parents. Come on, we might as well go see what the damage is." They stood over me. The man was the younger of the two, and he looked down at me from behind thick glasses. He held his clipboard tight against his chest like a shield. The woman stood closer to me; her hair was light, either blond or grey. She frowned like it was my fault. "Can you hear and understand me?" she asked. The man wrote something on his clipboard. I could hear graphite rubbed free, caught in the paper. My mouth felt dry, and my lips did too, as though if I tried to speak they would break apart. "Yes," I managed. She unhooked the straps on my arms. I lifted my left arm and looked at the fingers, hand, wrist. Clean, and smooth, unmarked. Cat-scratch scar near my first knuckle, angry red and faded pink. "Do you know why you're here?" I wanted to say the right thing, but I didnrsquo;t know what that would be. "I don't know," I said. "I don't." "She's coherent," the woman said. "We'll have to call the parents." The man nodded, and he was still writing. Scratch scratch scratch. He didn't answer her. The woman disconnected something that slid out from under the skin of my scalp, and I didn't like how it rubbed against my skull. "Make sure you tell them that we won't require the final payment until we get this sorted." "Copy error," I said. "Is that why I don't know where we are?" "Yes, Sara," she said. "I think." # I walk until I find a cabin in the woods, the windows broken out by tree branches, by wind and rain and thrown rocks. The door hangs far on its hinges. Shotgun shells, wet with rain. Raccoon droppings. These are the things that litter the floor inside. I step over them in Sara's boots, into a cabin soggy and ruined from disuse. A dirty orange vest hangs on the wall over a stained and rotten mattress. Sara has been here before. I know this the way I know so many things. They are the ghosts of objects that live in my brain. I am alone. The house is alone. I wonder if the raccoons still come in and I wonder who owns what is lef... 13,and,Up,,Podcasts Keffy R. M. Kehrli no No http://escapepod.org/2012/01/26/ep329-pairs/ http://escapepod.org/2012/01/26/ep329-pairs/#comments Thu, 26 Jan 2012 22:55:13 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=3075 http://escapepod.org/2012/01/26/ep329-pairs/feed/ 0 00:01:01 By Zachary Jernigan Read by Matt Franklin of Fly Reckless Discuss on our forums. Originally appeared in Asimov's, April 2011 All stories by Zachary Jernigan All stories read by ... By Zachary Jernigan Read by Matt Franklin of Fly Reckless Discuss on our forums. Originally appeared in Asimov's, April 2011 All stories by Zachary Jernigan All stories read by Matt Franklin Rated 17-and-up for violence, language, and sexual imagery. Pairs by Zachary Jernigan I had been practicing turning myself into a knife. Between star systems I gathered and focused my particles into a triangle, a sharp shape. Hurling myself against the diamond-hard walls of my small ship, the point of the weapon hardened. I honed myself. You see, I had decided to murder my employer. I had studied his weaknesses and come to believe myself capable of the act. I did not know when and where, nor did I know what would trigger it. I simply knew it had to happen. On that day I would either die or buy myself a measure of freedom. Originally, this was the extent of my plan: To serve myself. My name is Arihant. I am one of two humans still inhabiting a physical form, diminished though it is. Outside the walls of my ship, I am in form a faintly translucent white specter, strong and powerfully builtmdash;an artistrsquo;s anatomical model. Over the years it has become difficult to remember what my face looked like, and thus my features are only approximately human, my head bare. My eyes glow the color of Earthrsquo;s sun. I am quite beautiful, Louca tells me. On more than one occasion she has run her hands over the ghostly contours of my body. ldquo;I wish you were solid,rdquo; she once said. ldquo;Oh, Ari. The things I would do to you.rdquo; Louca is the one I am forced to follow and observe. Her name means crazymdash;an appropriate name. She is the second human possessing a body. Technically, her body is a black, whale-shaped ship one hundred meters long, but her avatars take the forms of anything she imagines. Very rarely, she is human, and never the same person twice. More often, she wears the bodies of flying animals. She dreams of flying, which is appropriate. Our profession is transport. For three centuries we have hauled the disembodied souls of Earthmdash;each stored in a projection cubemdash;from star to star to be sold. They are quite expensive, I am told, but I have no understanding of the means of exchange. Nearly everything is hidden from me, and Louca sees nothing. The reason souls are bought varies. Often they are kept as curios. Sometimes they are used to attract customers to the buyerrsquo;s business. My employer used to goad me on these points: ldquo;Is it not wonderful to know your people are put to such good use? Imagine how happy it must make them!rdquo; But I know the truth. Even without physical bodies, men become lonely. They despair and I feel it. Surely Louca feels it; she goes crazier and crazier in such close proximity to ghosts. Before the events of this story, only the luckiest souls were bought in pairs or groups, a rare occurrence. Now, because of Louca and I, it is the rule that souls must be sold in pairs. It is my one accomplishment, making men marginally less alone. Still, I arrange nothingmdash;I have no power over the situation. I follow Louca from a distance of one hundred thousand kilometers, never any closer, and report anything unusual. I need not watch very closely. Loucarsquo;s duty is to dream violent dreams, to defend and deliver her payload. Hopefully, her capacity for violence will never be tested. She is categorically insanemdash;a fact that, my employer insists, makes her uniquely suited to the job of protector. Employer. Job. The terms are ridiculous, for Louca and I are not paid. Our terms of service are not negotiable. I am no onersquo;s employee, but I prefer not to use the word slave. Or master. I cling to life. I value it, though what value it has is measured in a mere handful of molecule... 17,and,Up,,Podcasts Zachary Jernigan no No http://escapepod.org/2011/11/03/ep317-boxed-in/ http://escapepod.org/2011/11/03/ep317-boxed-in/#comments Fri, 04 Nov 2011 01:15:37 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2802 http://escapepod.org/2011/11/03/ep317-boxed-in/feed/ 0 00:01:01 By Marc-Anthony Taylor Read by Barry Haworth Discuss on our forums. First appeared in British Fantasy Society Winter Journal 2010/2011 All stories bynbsp;Marc-Anthony Taylor All stories read bynbsp;Barry Haworth This one ... By Marc-Anthony Taylor Read by Barry Haworth Discuss on our forums. First appeared in British Fantasy Society Winter Journal 2010/2011 All stories bynbsp;Marc-Anthony Taylor All stories read bynbsp;Barry Haworth This one isn't for the kids, because of references to sex workers and acts. Boxed In by Marc-Anthony Taylor My sister had me boxed when I was four. She said she would have had it done to herself but she didn't want to risk losing me, that it was the only way. I think she just hated the idea of renting her body out to the rich folk in the domes. Don't get me wrong, she did good by me, I didn't have to work till I was nine and in that time she studied hard and became a data-pimp herself. It was the only way she could keep us housed and fed after mum and dad had died. It must have been hard for her, if mum and dad had made it she might have made something of herself. If she hadnrsquo;t have had to look after me she would probably be in a dome herself by now. She once told me she had big plans; that she wanted to make things better. My only plan was to make enough cash to get us both out of the business. I never noticed the tiny implant at the base of my skull, the nano circuitry must be some of the best though, the tattoo circling my right eye is almost perfect. Kara controlled who, what, when and where. She made sure we got paid, and that I didn't do anything too bad. She was a clever cookie. My sister looked after me. She did good. * Black leaves hung limply from the trees, refusing to fall despite the time of year. We were lucky to have trees at all; there were places on the other side of the city that had nothing living, except perhaps the odd person. Or so I was told, I had never ventured that far out and thankfully none of my clients had ever requested it. Kara didnrsquo;t think it was right to use vehicles. Even if they were meant to be eco friendly now. We would only ever use them if it was an emergency, she said. Everywhere I went, I went by foot, and I had come to know the city just as well as the grubby little apartment that my sister and I shared. My boots left imprints in the fine black powder that coated everything. The sky ships were under way again, every six months they would come out for a week, their massive air scrubbers extracting the carbon from the COsup2;, supposedly leaving us with fresher air. Most people believed they took the oxygen and pumped it into the Eden-domes. The carbon was probably used to construct whatever they needed. The dust was excess that happened to shake loose from the giant machines. Already a couple of people were out with their vacuum cleaners, sucking up what they could of the carbon to sell on the black market. One or two had even rushed out with brush and pan in hand, carefully shaking their winnings into plastic bags. Kara had never done that, she said once we started collecting that stuff, it wouldn't be long till we started getting sloppy and before you know it our lungs would be coated in gunk, bringing us that much closer to death. My sister, always the optimist. The mask I was wearing was about three years old, long past its renewal date but Kara had kept it in good working order, another one of her many talents. She knew how to break the manufacturing codes so she could regulate the functions. She would probably have been some big-shot programmer or hacker back in the old days. Now, she was just a skin-flint. "We gotta save our cash kid. Money doesn't fall from the sky, no matter what the carbon monkeys think. And besides, we don't repeat the mistakes of the past Nate, that's what got us all into this mess. Recycling is the way to go baby bro, and if I can fix it, you'll use it. 'K?" She was always coming out with stuff like that. It might have helped if I had gone to school like her, but they stopped taking boxed kids not long after I got mine. Bad influence supposedly. Still, I could feel a rasp star... 13,and,Up,,Podcasts Marc-Anthony Taylor no No http://escapepod.org/2011/10/06/ep313-playing-doctor/ http://escapepod.org/2011/10/06/ep313-playing-doctor/#comments Thu, 06 Oct 2011 15:14:21 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2724 http://escapepod.org/2011/10/06/ep313-playing-doctor/feed/ 0 34:00 By Robert T. Jeschonek Read by Josh Roseman Discuss on our forums. First appeared in PS Showcase #3: Mad Scientist Meets Cannibal All stories by Robert T. Jeschonek All stories ... By Robert T. Jeschonek Read by Josh Roseman Discuss on our forums. First appeared in PS Showcase #3: Mad Scientist Meets Cannibal All stories by Robert T. Jeschonek All stories read by Josh Roseman Playing Doctor By Robert T. Jeschonek The problem with having a crush on your mad scientist boss is, every day she doesn't see how wonderful you really are seems like the end of the world. "This is all wrong!" says Dr. Hildegarde Medici, hurling the tray across her cavernous secret laboratory. nbsp;"You're a complete imbecile, Glue!" Her words sting, but at least she's paying attention to me. nbsp;I'll take what I can get from the woman I love. nbsp;"I'm sorry, Dr. M. nbsp;Please let me try again." "Everything is ruined." nbsp;With one arm, Dr. Medici sweeps notebooks and glass beakers from the table in front of her. nbsp;"Now I'll never finish the doomsday weapon today!" As Dr. Medici throws her head down onto her folded arms on the table, I cross the lab and pick up the silver tray that she threw. nbsp;I see myself reflected in its surface--thick glasses, big nose, bald head, pure geek...not her type. nbsp;"I thought you liked the crinkle-cut ones," I say as I pluck chicken fingers and french fries from the floor and drop them onto the tray. "Steak fries," says Dr. Medici without raising her head. nbsp;"How many times do I have to tell you, Glue?" She is such a drama queen, but what do you expect? nbsp;Her line of work attracts a certain type of personality--passionate, temperamental, creative, flamboyant. nbsp;To tell you the truth, it's one of the things I love most about her. "I could run to the store," I say, dumping the chicken and fries into a waste basket. nbsp;"By the time you're done building your doomsday weapon, I could have hot fries ready for you." Dr. Medici rolls her eyes like a disgusted teenager. nbsp;"I can't concentrate on building a doomsday weapon on an empty stomach." I know the feeling...the not being able to concentrate part, that is. nbsp;Most days, I can barely focus on my work instead of Dr. Medici's long black hair and bright green eyes. nbsp;Once, I was so distracted by Dr. M that I cross-wired the brain of a giant robot, which proceeded to rampage at a garbage dump instead of an army base. If only I could tell her I love her. nbsp;If only I could close that final mile that has always stood between us. If only I could finally set free the words that I've longed to speak, and she would turn to me and say the words I've longed to hear. "Don't just stand there, you putz!" nbsp;She spins away from me on her work-stool. nbsp;"Get me a TV dinner out of the freezer or something!" I don't take it personally. nbsp;I know it's just the stress talking. nbsp;She's been having a rough time lately, just like the rest of the mad scientist community. Thanks a lot, terrorists. # In the good old days, mad scientists weren't considered public enemies like they are now. nbsp;They were tolerated, in fact, because the government loved getting its hands on their way-out inventions after their crazy schemes were thwarted. But not anymore. nbsp;Not since the terrorists. What difference is there between a politically motivated insane genius and one who is motivated by greed? How can the government go after one group of people threatening to blow things up and not the other? It can't. As a result, business has dropped off considerably. nbsp;No one will negotiate in good faith with a mad scientist anymore. nbsp;Instead of musclebound private citizen thrill-seekers coming after us, we get black ops Special Forces and heat-seeking bunker-buster missiles courtesy of Homeland Security. It's a tough time to be a mad scientist. nbsp;Lots of them have quit already and become street people or college professors. But not my Hildegarde. nbsp;She won't give up that easily. Being a mad scientist has been her lifelong dream. I know, because I grew up with... 10,and,Up,,Podcasts Robert T. Jeschonek no No http://escapepod.org/2011/08/11/ep305-midnight-blue/ http://escapepod.org/2011/08/11/ep305-midnight-blue/#comments Fri, 12 Aug 2011 02:43:16 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2586 http://escapepod.org/2011/08/11/ep305-midnight-blue/feed/ 0 52:20 By Will McIntosh Read by Paul Haring First appeared in Asimov's Discuss on our forums. All stories by Will McIntosh All stories read by Paul Haring Rated appropriate for everyone! Midnight Blue by ... By Will McIntosh Read by Paul Haring First appeared in Asimov's Discuss on our forums. All stories by Will McIntosh All stories read by Paul Haring Rated appropriate for everyone! Midnight Blue by Will McIntosh Hersquo;d never seen a burgundy before.nbsp; Kim held it in her lap, tapped it with her finger.nbsp; She was probably tapping it to bring attention to it, and Jeff didnrsquo;t want to give her the satisfaction of asking to see it, but he really wanted to see it.nbsp; Burgundy (Kim had insisted on calling it burgundy red when she showed it at show and tell) was a rare one.nbsp; Not as rare as a hot pink Flyer or a viridian Better Looking, but still rare. A bus roared up, spitting black smoke.nbsp; It was the seven bus--the Linden Court bus, not his.nbsp; Kids rushed to line up in front of the big yellow doors as the bus hissed to a stop.nbsp; A second-grader squealed, shoved a bigger kid with her Partridge Family lunch box because hersquo;d stepped on her foot.nbsp; All the younger kids seemed to have Partridge Family lunch boxes this year. ldquo;What did you say it did when yoursquo;ve got all three pieces of the charm together?rdquo; nbsp;Jeff asked Kim.nbsp; He said it casually, like he was just making conversation until his bus came. ldquo;It relaxes time,rdquo; Kim said.nbsp; ldquo;When yoursquo;re bored you can make time pass quickly, and when yoursquo;re having fun you can make time stretch out.rdquo; Jeff nodded, tried to look just interested enough to be polite, but no more.nbsp; What must that be like, to make the hour at church fly by?nbsp; Or make the school day (except for lunch and recess) pass in an eyeblink? nbsp;Jeff wondered how fast or slow you could move things along.nbsp; Could you make it seem like you were eating an ice cream sandwich for six hours?nbsp; That would be sparkling fine. ldquo;Want to see it?rdquo; Kim asked. ldquo;Okay,rdquo; Jeff said, holding out his hands too eagerly before he remembered himself.nbsp; Kim handed it to him, looking pleased with herself, the dimples on her round face getting a little deeper. It was smooth as marble, perfectly round, big as a grapefruit and heavy as a bowling ball.nbsp; It made Jeffrsquo;s heart hammer to hold it.nbsp; The rich red, which hinted at purple while still being certainly red, was so beautiful it seemed impossible, so vivid it made his blue shirt seem like a Polaroid photo left in the sun too long. ldquo;Imagine finding this in the wild?nbsp; Pushing over a dead tree and seeing it sitting there under the root?rdquo; Jeff said. ldquo;Yeah, right,rdquo; Kim said.nbsp; ldquo;Not likely.rdquo;nbsp; She shook her long brown hair back over her shoulder.nbsp; She did that all day long in class.nbsp; She thought she was so gorgeous. A few of the other kids circled around to take a look.nbsp; Jeff spun it around until he found the hole where it would be fitted to one side of the staff, when someone got the whole charm together. ldquo;Will your father try to get the other two pieces, do you think?rdquo; Ricky Adamo asked, reaching to pet it once, probably just so he could say hersquo;d touched one. ldquo;Hersquo;s only keeping this as an investment,rdquo; Kim said, holding out her hands to take it back from Jeff, who passed it over, his fingers suddenly feeling much too light.nbsp; ldquo;My fatherrsquo;s going to buy me a whole chartreuse to absorb when Irsquo;m 18.nbsp; Irsquo;m going to be a doctor.rdquo; ldquo;He is not,rdquo; Jeff said.nbsp; ldquo;Most of the chartreuse ones thatrsquo;ve been found have already been absorbed.nbsp; The ones that havenrsquo;t, your father would have to give your whole house and everything in it just to get one sphere.rdquo; ldquo;What would you know about it?rdquo; Kim said, glaring.nbsp; ldquo;You donrsquo;t even know what it feels like to absorb one!nbsp; Yoursquo;ve probably never even owned a sphere, let alone absorbed a whole charm... Best-Of,,OK,for,Kids,,Podcasts Will McIntosh no No http://escapepod.org/2011/08/04/ep304-union-dues-%e2%80%93-sidekicks-in-stockholm/ http://escapepod.org/2011/08/04/ep304-union-dues-%e2%80%93-sidekicks-in-stockholm/#comments Thu, 04 Aug 2011 20:59:38 +0000 SFEley http://escapepod.org/?p=2539 http://escapepod.org/2011/08/04/ep304-union-dues-%e2%80%93-sidekicks-in-stockholm/feed/ 0 44:00 By Jeffrey R. DeRego Read by Stephen Eley Special guest host: Stephen Eley An Escape Pod original! Discuss on our forums. All stories by Jeffrey R. DeRego All stories read by ... By Jeffrey R. DeRego Read by Stephen Eley Special guest host: Stephen Eley An Escape Pod original! Discuss on our forums. All stories by Jeffrey R. DeRego All stories read by Stephen Eley Rated appropriate for older teens and up for language and disturbing imagery. Union Dues: Sidekicks in Stockholm by Jeffrey R. DeRego Five of them at least, with submachine guns, body armor, and more dynamite than I've seen outside a Tom and Jerry cartoon. They all sound the same thanks to some digital vocal thing built into their black suits. They all look the same with black ski masks underneath a mesh sort of fencing helmet, black everything else right to the boots, and all about the same size, like someone took a picture of a terrorist and photocopied it. This whole drama seems like it began a million years ago by now. I was scheduled to come here and open a convention of business leaders and up-and-coming corporate types. My speech, Good Corporate Citizenship, with examples of how The Union gives back to the communities it serves, is a two year old piece worked up and updated by Marketing and Promotions to accommodate a new administration in Washington, and some new economic stuff that I don't really understand. I'd delivered only half of the text before these guys burst through the door. I froze at the first gunshot, not for long, just a few seconds, just long enough to be useless. The girl who sits beside me ndash; her name tag reads "Hello my name is Stacy" ndash; leans in close. She whispers, "What are you going to do, Adam?" I try and ignore her and watch the men. My wrist feels weirdly cool and light without the communicator gauntlet and beacon strapped around it. I glance down at my gloves and the tatters of honeycombed teflon-spandex straps where the gauntlet was stitched on. You're Adam Smasher! Goddamn it. Do something! I've only been in the orange suit and cape for three years. I had the physique and the right chin at the right time and until about and hour ago thought the role fit pretty well. My predecessor died of a heart attack in the New York Pyramid training room two days after his thirtieth birthday, the original Adam Smasher sits connected to a mechanical heart pump in The Village somewhere in Antarctica. He's the Adam Smasher everyone remembers from Saturday-morning TV, blonde and chiseled, his orange one piece suit and mask almost glowing, his tritium atom insignia a mark of galactic strength as he caught speeding, robber-filled cars, fought off robots and gangsters and the evil machinations of Dr. Destruction. Don't get me wrong, when people talk to me, they talk to Adam Smasher, but sometimes I want to scream out, "I used to watch 'The Adventures of Adam Smasher' on TV too, in syndication!" I should be thankful anyone remembers the show at all. Atom Comics' teen and adult readers have moved on to darker, grittier titles by competing publishers and, well, look at me? I'm like a smiling Day-Glo orange tree. The kid demographic wants the crazy soap opera stuff like Team Shikaragaki not a creaky old walking ethics lesson. So, The Union pulls Adam Smasher comics. My figure goes into the much less produced "classics" line. No playsets. No video game adaptations. No TV. Meanwhile, I wait for Marketing and Promotions to generate interest in Adam Smasher. Maybe I come back darker, or kiddier, or something completely different. Until then, my whole life is giving lectures about doing the right thing and leveraging the audience's nostalgia for a true-blue ndash; well, orange ndash; Union Superhero. "Adam, how are you going to get us out of this?" Stacy is maybe twenty five. Blue eyed, petite ndash; but then, everyone looks sort of petite to me as I'm just scraping seven-foot-three tall and thirty nine inches across the shoulders ndash; every time she looks at the terrorists her eyes widen with fear, and every time she looks at me they widen more, with hope. I try not to look at he... 17,and,Up,,Podcasts Jeffrey R. DeRego yes No http://escapepod.org/2011/05/12/ep292-in-the-water/ http://escapepod.org/2011/05/12/ep292-in-the-water/#comments Thu, 12 May 2011 21:57:26 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2173 http://escapepod.org/2011/05/12/ep292-in-the-water/feed/ 0 32:13 By Katherine Mankiller Read by: Kim Gianopoulos Originally appearing in Fictitious Force. Discuss on our forums. All stories by Katherine Mankiller All stories read by Kim Gianopoulos Rated PG In the ... By Katherine Mankiller Read by: Kim Gianopoulos Originally appearing in Fictitious Force. Discuss on our forums. All stories by Katherine Mankiller All stories read by Kim Gianopoulos Rated PG In the Water by Katherine Mankiller Yvonne looked up from her monitor, the beads in her cornrows clattering as Roger walked into her office. Roger sat in the dark wooden chair opposite her desk. "Weren't you assigned Alice van Buuren?" "Oh, no you don't," Yvonne said. "You can't have her." Yvonne hadn't been assigned Alice; she'd requested her. Alice was probably the only murder victim's wife she would ever meet. They hadn't even put the murder in the papers. Maybe they thought there'd be a panic. "Please," Roger said. "I'm just trying to save you some trouble. I've already spoken to her, and..." Yvonne crossed her arms and glared. "Wouldn't you raise hell if I talked to one of your patients behind your back?" "She's refusing modern therapy. What are you going to do, use the old-fashioned techniques your grandmother used?" Roger had a lot of nerve mentioning Grandma. Yvonne glanced at the photo on the corner of her desk. Grandma Jackson had been a big woman, with braids down to her hips and skin like chocolate. Grandma Jackson smiled back at the camera, all reassuring good nature. Roger said, "I think we should just wipe her and have done with it." "Too bad she's not your patient," Yvonne said. "I could take her away from you, you know." "Don't you dare!" There was an awkward silence. "It'll be less confusing for her if I come with you," Roger said. "Just to hand her off to you. You understand." "Fine," Yvonne said. "Whatever." "Good girl," Roger said, and Yvonne gritted her teeth. "Room 314." He stood. "Let's go." "Now?" Yvonne said. She picked up her coffee and almost took a sip, then put it down again, making a face. It was cold, and it had been so bitter hot that she'd taken caffeine pills with orange juice instead. Roger snorted. "That bad?" Roger clearly wasn't going anywhere, so Yvonne stood, picked up her jacket, and followed Roger out of her office. The halls were white to the point of being blinding after her calm, earth-toned office, and reeked of disinfectant. They went upstairs and over to room 314. Roger placed his hand on the identification plate and the door slid open. "Hello, Alice," Roger said. The patient, a skinny, pale woman with brown hair, backed away from Roger. She reminded Yvonne of someone, although she couldn't put her finger on whom. The patient fell into a seated position on the bed, mouth open, staring at Yvonne. Before Yvonne could say anything, Roger said, "This is Doctor Jackson. Doctor Jackson, this is Alice." "We're not going to hurt you," Yvonne said. The patient--Alice--stared at Yvonne for a moment, then shut her mouth. She shot Roger a defiant look. "I'll just leave you to it," Roger said, and left. "Hello, Alice," Yvonne said. "You can call me Yvonne if you prefer." "We've met," Alice said. It wasn't a question. Alice really did look familiar. "Refresh my memory?" "It doesn't matter," Alice said and looked away. There was an uncomfortable silence. Yvonne said, "Dr. Hill said you're refusing drug therapy." "I had a negative reaction once," Alice said. "Really?" Yvonne said. "Usually that's associated with an interaction with an unapproved drug. You should be fine this time; your blood tests came back clean." "I wasn't on anything then, either," Alice said. "That's very unusual," Yvonne said. Alice shrugged. "Just weird, I guess." "He also said you object to memory modification." Alice started to cry. For a moment Yvonne just wanted to hug Alice and let her cry, but negative emotions caused crime. It wasn't right to encourage Alice to carry on. "You won't forget your marriage. We'll just erase the trauma of his murder. We can come up wit 10,and,Up,,Podcasts Katherine Mankiller no No http://escapepod.org/2011/04/14/ep288-future-perfect/ http://escapepod.org/2011/04/14/ep288-future-perfect/#comments Fri, 15 Apr 2011 01:16:53 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2078 http://escapepod.org/2011/04/14/ep288-future-perfect/feed/ 0 28:16 By LaShawn M. Wanak Read by: Dani Cutler Originally published in Ideomancer Discuss on our forums. All stories by LaShawn M. Wanak All stories read by Dani Cutler Rated R: language, ... By LaShawn M. Wanak Read by: Dani Cutler Originally published in Ideomancer Discuss on our forums. All stories by LaShawn M. Wanak All stories read by Dani Cutler Rated R: language, adult situations Future Perfect By LaShawn M. Wanak I saw you at a party once. You stood by the bookshelf, reading a tattered volume on Proust. You wore an orange and yellow XTC shirt beneath brown flannel. I bumped your elbow by accident and you looked up, your eyes startling green. I smiled and said, "Hi. I'm Nina." "Hi. Eric." I trailed behind you for the rest of the party. You introduced me to your friends and I laughed at their jokes. Twice, our sleeves brushed against each other. Around two in the morning, you left with your friends. An hour later, I also left. I crossed the empty campus, humming under my breath, wondering if I'd ever see you again. The watch on my arm beeped. * "This experiment will measure how small changes occurring before a certain event affect its outcome positively and negatively." The chair is her creation. She bought the frame on impulse at a medical supply shop. The conical helmet, perforated with slender tubes, fits on top. Whenever she maneuvers her head beneath it, she thinks of the hair dryers at her mother's beauty salon. All those bulky astronaut bonnets lined in perfect rows, vibrating air molecules to a feverish pitch. She likes this scientific homage to her mother extracting time from thin air. "Recording of the control event complete. Setting a change in a condition set slightly in the past. The goal of this first jump is to see if this will change the outcome of the event to a more positive circumstance." She types on the laptop built into the armrest, then glances at the elaborate flowchart tacked upon the far wall of the laboratory. Written in her own hand, neat and precise, equations and sums branch and connect like a roadmap of a probability highway. She wonders which formula will have his lips pressing against hers. "Test #1. Begin." Read More... * I saw you at a party once. You stood next to Muriel, hair rumpled, clothes wrinkled. I had my hair permed that morning so it hung straight over my eyes. I wore tight-fitting jeans and a blue top with spaghetti straps. I didn't speak to you, just hung out with a couple of my girlfriends. When "Atomic Dog" came on the stereo, I shimmied to the bookcase, shaking my hips and wiggling my butt. Only then I noticed you, you and your startling green eyes. You smiled and said, "Hi, there." Muriel looked over and pulled you from the room. Later, while getting punch, I looked out the window and saw you and Muriel standing on the sidewalk below. She cupped your face, pulling it down to meet hers. I thought, Shame. He had nice eyes. Then someone stepped on my foot and I swore, loudly. As the guy next to me apologized, the watch on my arm beeped. You went on to have three children with Muriel. It took several years until I said yes to Brenton. * She rises from the chair, pulling the sensors from her body. She takes a sip of lukewarm coffee and frowns at the chart on the wall. The outcome remained the same, but that was to be expected. With so many variables, it will take time to narrow down the finite set of outcomes, both positive and negative. She isn't worried; after all, only two possible outcomes can come from this event. She picks up a black magic marker and crosses off a number with an 'X'. * We came to the party together, your arm slung around my shoulders. You and I had met several weeks before. Within a week, we were dating. Within six weeks, we were an 'item'. Muriel was there as well, dancing alone by the bookshelves. Though my hand was buried in your back pocket, you couldn't tear your eyes from her. I distracted you by pulling you over to introduce my friends. You nodded, laughed at someone's joke and glanced towards the corner. Brenton asked if the punchbowl ne 17,and,Up,,Podcasts LaShawn M. Wanak no No http://escapepod.org/2011/03/17/ep284-conspiracy/ http://escapepod.org/2011/03/17/ep284-conspiracy/#comments Thu, 17 Mar 2011 18:35:15 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=1965 http://escapepod.org/2011/03/17/ep284-conspiracy/feed/ 0 00:01:01 By Desmond Warzel Read by: Joshua McNichols Originally published in SFReader Discuss on our forums. All stories by Desmond Warzel All stories read by Joshua McNichols Rated PG: This story contains ... By Desmond Warzel Read by: Joshua McNichols Originally published in SFReader Discuss on our forums. All stories by Desmond Warzel All stories read by Joshua McNichols Rated PG: This story contains a real obnoxious dude. Show Notes: Feedback for Episode 276 Next week... The hopes and dreams of a child, and her pet. On a Clear Day You can See All the Way to Conspiracy by Desmond Warzel You're listening to the Mike Colavito Show on Cleveland's home for straight talk, WCUY 1200. The opinions expressed on this program do not reflect those of WCUY, its management, or its sponsors. Fair warning; I'm in a mood today, folks. We've got a mayor whose only talent seems to be showing up at luncheons and waving at the cameras. Eighty bucks I had to pay yesterday for not wearing my seatbelt. Show me the seatbelts on a school bus. I saw a Cleveland athlete on national TV last night wearing a Yankees cap. And every day I get at least a dozen calls from schmucks who think that people like me are the problem in this city. Tell me America's not falling apart. [pause] And some of you people--including our programming director, by the way--seem to think I'm running my mouth too much and not taking enough phone calls. I've only been number one in radio in this city for ten straight years; what would I know? You want calls? You got 'em. Steven in Mayfield Heights, you're on the air. "Hey, what's up, Mike?" The rent. Art in Seven Hills, you're on WCUY. "How you doing, Mike. Just wondering if you caught that ball game last night?" No. Andrea in Rocky River, go ahead. "Hi, Mike, first-time caller." Well, call back tomorrow and you'll be a second-time caller. Carol in Cleveland, what's on your mind? "Mike, what do you think of waterboarding?" My wife and I waterboard all the time, and it's improved our sex life dramatically. Chuck in Parma, you're on the air. "Hey, Mike, I heard your show yesterday, and I was just wondering, if you know so much about football, why you don't take over as head coach of the Browns?" I wouldn't want to take the pay cut. Mina in Lakewood, you're on the air. "Does your wife think that waterboarding crack was funny?" Play your cards right some night and you could find out for yourself, Mina. Tommy in Beachwood, you're on WCUY. "Hi, Mike, just wondering who you think the Indians should try and trade for next year." Your mother. Jane in Euclid, go ahead. [pause] Read More... Looks like we lost Jane in Euclid. Must have answered her question already. That's all right; we got in seven callers in under a minute. Everyone happy now? Hey, Jake, I have to take a breather; do the traffic. What? Oh, yeah. This traffic is brought to you by West Side Hardware. Thanks, Mike. Not much happening right now; 480, 271, and 77 are all clear, but traffic on the Shoreway is backed up in both directions, so our listeners might want to allow a few extra minutes if they're headed that way. For West Side Hardware, this has been your WCUY traffic report on Cleveland's home for straight talk. Hey, Jake, don't go yet. You still there? I gotta take the Shoreway home after the show. Any idea what the holdup is? Can't say, Mike; no accidents, just a general slowdown all along the lakeshore. Wonderful. And people wonder why I'm always giving the mayor grief. Straightest stretch of highway in America, and traffic still won't move. Somebody on the Shoreway, call in and tell me what the hell's going on over there. Franklin in Cleveland, you're on the air. "What's up, Mike? You gonna let me talk?" Don't worry, it's all out of my system. The floor's yours. "Well, you're entitled to your opinion about the mayor, but come on, man, how you gonna blame him for slow traffic?" The traffic's just a symptom. I'm talking about neglect. Name me one thing the mayor's accomplished since he took office. "Well--" You can't, Franklin, beca 10,and,Up,,Featured,,Podcasts Desmond Warzel no No http://escapepod.org/2011/01/22/superheroes-ii-metropolis-we-have-a-problem/ http://escapepod.org/2011/01/22/superheroes-ii-metropolis-we-have-a-problem/#comments Sat, 22 Jan 2011 16:48:33 +0000 Adam Christopher http://escapepod.org/?p=1758 http://escapepod.org/2011/01/22/superheroes-ii-metropolis-we-have-a-problem/feed/ 5 http://escapepod.org/2011/01/20/ep276-on-a-blade-of-grass/ http://escapepod.org/2011/01/20/ep276-on-a-blade-of-grass/#comments Thu, 20 Jan 2011 20:11:52 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=1790 http://escapepod.org/2011/01/20/ep276-on-a-blade-of-grass/feed/ 0 21:43 By: Tim Pratt Read by: Mat Weller Originally published in the Subterranean Press Newsletter, 2008 Discuss on our forums. All stories by Tim Pratt All stories read by Mat Weller Rated ... By: Tim Pratt Read by: Mat Weller Originally published in the Subterranean Press Newsletter, 2008 Discuss on our forums. All stories by Tim Pratt All stories read by Mat Weller Rated PG-13: For language, two F bombs, and some parasitic details... Show Notes: Feedback for Episode 268: Advection Next week... Rejiggering stuff - really, this time. On a Blade of Grass By Tim Pratt "Interstellar war is about as exciting as playing chess by mail." The guy who said that had been leaning into the bar for so long I thought his chest might fuse with the wood. I drifted over, because he wasn't a regular, and I was bored with all my regulars and their regular bullshit. "Who plays chess by mail anymore?" I said. "With the 'net and all." "Nobody. Guys in jail maybe, I don't know. Because it's boring. My point. Inefficient and slow. Just like this war." He tapped his glass meaningfully. He was rumpled and sleep-creased and middle-aged and smelly, but a better class of smelly than my usual crowd -- like working-all-night-sweaty smelly, not sitting-around-all-day smelly. Long enough tending bar and you can tell the difference. I refilled his glass. He was a pretty good drinker, but the little guys often are. "They say by the time our warships get out there, to their homeworld, the Phages might even be extinct. Like, just from natural processes, long timescales, like that. Or they might've evolved into something new, something that doesn't... you know..." "Want to eat us?" Read More... The guy shook his head. "The aliens don't want to eat us. That was my, what do you call it. Epiphany. They don't want to eat us any more than we want to explore brave new frontiers. All that, eating and exploring, it's just, it's just incidental." "I'm pretty sure they want to eat us. Being as, the first time we encountered them, they ate us." I polished a glass, not because the glass was dirty -- it's self-cleaning nanoglass, I run a quality establishment -- but because it's traditional and makes the customers feel like the world isn't rushing past them at a billion miles per second. Well. Metaphorically. Nothing moves that fast, because it's faster than the speed of light, and if things could move faster than the speed of light, this interstellar war would be a lot less boring. At least me and any descendants I was likely to know personally would be dead long before any counterattack hit Earth. "You know much about parasites?" the guy said. "Eh. When my wife was pregnant, she made me scoop the shit out of the cat boxes, so she wouldn't get, what do you call it, toxoplasmosis. That's a parasite, right?" I mused. "You know, I'm still the one scooping the cat boxes, and our kid's six years old now. I keep saying we should get nanolitter, but that one cat in Germany got dissolved when the stuff malfunctioned, my wife says she won't risk it." The guy frowned, like my cat shit stuff had derailed him, but he leaned in deeper and poked the bar with his finger. "Toxoplasmosis. Good example. Yeah, dangerous for women if they get their first exposure when they're pregnant, it can hurt the baby, right, but fact is your wife probably already has it. A third of the people on this planet have the parasite already. Hell, in France, it's close to ninety percent. Not so many here." "No shit?" I said. "And, see, the parasite doesn't just make you sick. Toxoplasmosis, a lot of times, you don't get sick at all. But it changes you. Women infected with it, when they have babies, they have more boys than girls. No one knows why. The parasites can change your behavior, too, they make cysts in your brain, alter your personality. They make men more promiscuous and less jealous. They make people less, how do they say it, 'novelty seeking.' Men think women infected with toxoplasmosis are more attractive. Infected women are definitely nicer, anyhow." "My wife is hot," I said. "I don't think it's because she's got cysts in he 13,and,Up,,Podcasts Mur Lafferty no No http://escapepod.org/2011/01/13/ep275-schrodingers-cat-lady/ http://escapepod.org/2011/01/13/ep275-schrodingers-cat-lady/#comments Thu, 13 Jan 2011 22:06:09 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=1735 http://escapepod.org/2011/01/13/ep275-schrodingers-cat-lady/feed/ 0 29:22 By: Marjorie James Read by: Mur Lafferty An Escape Pod original! Discuss on our forums. All stories by Marjorie James All stories read by Mur Lafferty Rated PG: For quantum theory ... By: Marjorie James Read by: Mur Lafferty An Escape Pod original! Discuss on our forums. All stories by Marjorie James All stories read by Mur Lafferty Rated PG: For quantum theory and brief violent description. Show Notes: Feedback for Episode 266: Kachikachi Yama Next week... Rejiggering stuff Schrouml;dinger's Cat Lady By Marjorie James I got out of the car, smoothed my shirt down over my bulletproof vest, and contemplated the cats. They contemplated me right back. I sighed. I hated these jobs. I opened the tiny gate to the front walk (no fence, just a gate) and made my way to the door. The house was small and tidy, a light blue bungalow with green trim and yellow curtains pulled across the windows, through which the cats were peering. It didnrsquo;t smell, which was a relief. And something of a surprise, considering the heat. It was one of those days when the world seemed to be actively rejecting human habitation, where the smog and the humidity made the air feel like warm mayonnaise. On a day like this, a cat overpopulation should be stinking to high heaven. Maybe this wasnrsquo;t for real, I hoped. It might just be some neighbor with a grudge. Couldnrsquo;t be more than a dozen cats here, max. Maybe this one wasnrsquo;t going to be that bad. I have never been very good at predicting things. Read More... I knocked, and waited. A few minutes later there was the sound of multiple locks being unfastened, then some more, then an abortive attempt to open the door, then one last, forgotten bolt sliding back. The door opened and I was confronted by the smallest person I had ever met. The woman wouldnrsquo;t have cleared five feet without some impressive shoes and a generous hand with the measuring tape and her hands and face (the only parts of her that were visible from under the intricate layers of scarves and sweaters) were narrow and delicate. She looked up at me with what seemed to be genuine pleasure. ldquo;Yes? How can I help you?rdquo; ldquo;Good morning, marsquo;am. Irsquo;m Lieutenant Eleanor Ross from Animal Welfare. Can I talk with you for a moment?rdquo; Sweat was pouring off me and pooling where my bulletproof vest squeezed against my back. I tried to subtly adjust the vest and the sweat streamed down my butt. I grimaced, and the woman noticed. She smiled. ldquo;Are you afraid Irsquo;m going to shoot at you?rdquo; I smiled back. ldquo;Department policy. Everyone has to wear them, at all times.rdquo; ldquo;I think thatrsquo;s wise. After all, you never know. I might have shot at you. Would you like to come in?rdquo; I thanked her and followed her into the house. It was a modest bungalow, indistinguishable from every other house on the block, aside from the paint job and the total lack of flowers in the yard. Which is why the interior came as something of a surprise. The door led to an ordinary entrywaymdash;a pair of wooden clogs on the tiled floor, a small table scattered with junk mail. But just beyond that the room opened up into something I could best describe as the bastard child of a hunting lodge and a picture I had seen once of an artistrsquo;s rendition of a Roman baths, only without the naked people. There were no people at all, in fact, aside from myself and the woman, but there was a very large quantity of cats. They were everywhere, pouring out of alcoves and off of furnituremdash;some even seemed to come straight out of the wallsmdash;and there seemed to be plenty of space for all of them. In fact, there was more than enough space, far more than was possible, given the apparent dimensions of the house. It occurred to me that I might be suffering from heatstroke. ldquo;Irsquo;m sorry to bother you Mrs. . . .rdquo; I looked down at my notes, which were nothing but an illegible scribble. ldquo;Oh, call me Mrs. S. Everyone does. And itrsquo;s no bother, no bother at all. I get so few guests these days, and it does get lonely, yo... 10,and,Up,,Podcasts Mur Lafferty no No http://escapepod.org/2010/12/16/ep271-the-god-of-the-lower-level/ http://escapepod.org/2010/12/16/ep271-the-god-of-the-lower-level/#comments Thu, 16 Dec 2010 17:41:42 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=1627 http://escapepod.org/2010/12/16/ep271-the-god-of-the-lower-level/feed/ 0 00:01:01 By: Charles M. Saplak Read by: Steve Anderson First appeared in The Urbanite. Discuss on our forums. All stories by Charles M. Saplak All stories read by Steve Anderson Rated PG: ... By: Charles M. Saplak Read by: Steve Anderson First appeared in The Urbanite. Discuss on our forums. All stories by Charles M. Saplak All stories read by Steve Anderson Rated PG: For power struggles and new life creations. Show Notes: Feedback for Episode 263: Fuel Next week... It's Christmastime! God of the Lower Level By Charles M. Saplak Hello, Horatio. Hello, Fredrick. I've been waiting. Of course. How have you been? Good. And you? Fine. I've finished my other work. It's now, let's see..., three twenty-seven a.m. It's dark outside, of course, which means that there's no sun, but there is some reflected light from the moon, and some dim light from the stars, and then electric lights in various places. Are any of the terms I've just used unfamiliar to you? No. Good. I have four hours and thirty-three minutes until shift change. I can spend some time with you. Do you have any questions for me? Yes, Fredrick, I do. Are you my God? Read More Wow! I'd expected something a little lighter to begin with. Wow. No, Horatio, I'm not. What made you think that I could be your god? You created me, didn't you? I seem to assume that you did. At least that's the way I remember it. That time of my life is very indistinct. I see. Well, actually, Horatio, I didn't ... excuse me. Central, this is lower level. Valve verification satisfactory. All conditions normal. Realign valve WW-37, open to oxygenation tank five, lower level affirmative. Sorry. Where was I? Did I "create" you? "Create," in this context, means to bring into existence something which didn't exist before, not even in a component form. No, I didn't create you -- I only failed to take any actions to uncreate you. I'm not sure exactly why you came into existence -- you're the only one of your kind that I've ever heard of. We are downriver from Radford Army Ammunition Plant, and I know that some of their products are made from depleted uranium. And there are a dozen or so factories just upriver of them. There are a lot of possible explanations. You could just be something perfectly natural. May I ask what brought on this line of questioning? Something I saw on the feeder line. The middle one. Middle? Ah, the coaxial cable. Speaking of the feeder lines, let me check all of them while I'm down here. Oh, excuse me again. Wait one minute. Central, lower level. Verify valve WW-23 open to oxygenation tank ten. WW-37 normal flow, affirmative. Okay, where was I? Checking the feeder cables, yes. Fredrick? Fredrick? Fredrick? Fred-- Yes, Horatio? That hurt, Fredrick. And it's somewhat frightening. It feels like the world is ending when you do that. I'm sorry. Funny, isn't it? You've only had these feeder cables for a few months, and you already feel threatened, or harmed, if you have them removed even for a moment. Besides, are you feeling okay? You're not at your normal volume, even though I have the volume wheel on the sound card turned over to the max. I feel okay. But is my discomfort "funny"? The word doesn't fit the emotion. Sorry. I guess I meant "odd." How to reassure you? Okay, if one person goes to see another, and that second person is a doctor, the doctor may have to do things to the first person, like give him a shot or something. These things would hurt, but they would be designed to preserve the health of the first person in the long run. Understand? I just needed to make sure that the feeder cables aren't corroding. What are you getting ready to do now, Fredrick? Fredrick? Fredrick? Fred-- I just took another look at the interface you've built up, and I was rinsing my hands with a chloroxylenol solution. Would you like to tell me about that -- well, that organ you've built connecting the three feeders? That's a new idea, isn't it? It seemed appropriate. I guess it is. Remember back some years ago, 10,and,Up,,Podcasts Charles M. Saplak no No http://escapepod.org/2010/12/02/ep269-elan-vital/ http://escapepod.org/2010/12/02/ep269-elan-vital/#comments Thu, 02 Dec 2010 23:54:14 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=1570 http://escapepod.org/2010/12/02/ep269-elan-vital/feed/ 0 00:01:01 By: K. Tempest Bradford Read by: Mur Lafferty First appeared in Sybil's Garage no. 6 Discuss on our forums. All stories by K. Tempest Bradford All stories read by Mur ... By: K. Tempest Bradford Read by: Mur Lafferty First appeared in Sybil's Garage no. 6 Discuss on our forums. All stories by K. Tempest Bradford All stories read by Mur Lafferty Rated PG: For adult topics of parental death Show Notes: Feedback for Episode 261: Only Springtime When She's Gone Next week... The future of corporate America Eacute;lan Vital By K. Tempest Bradford The few minutes I had to spend in the Institute's waiting room were my least favorite part of coming up to visit my mother. It felt more like a dialysis room, the visitors sunk into the overly-soft couches and not speaking, just drinking orange juice and recovering. There were no magazines and no television, just cold air blowing from the vents and generic music flowing with it. I'd finished my juice and was beginning to brood on my dislike for overly air-conditioned buildings when my mother arrived attended by a nurse. I kissed and hugged her, automatically asking how she was, mouthing the answer she always gave as she gave it again. "I'm fine, same as always." It wasn't strictly true, but true enough. Read More... "Let's go on out," she said, shrugging off the nurse's continued assistance. "It's too cold in here." Despite the hint, the nurse tried to help Mom over the threshold. As always, she rebuffed any attempt to treat her like an old person. "Where to today?" she asked, slipping her arm into mine as we escaped the frigid building. "Just down to the lake," I said. "Don't want to overexert you." She squeezed my arm as her feet slid carefully over the cobbled path. I wanted her to use a wheelchair, or a walker, at least. She wouldn't. "What you mean is that we haven't got so much time today," she said. I shrugged instead of answering. I didn't want to go into why I couldn't afford much this trip. "Next time I'll come for a couple of days, at least. I promise." "No, that's all right," she said. "I don't like it when you spend so much for days and more. A few hours is fine." I helped her past the immaculately landscaped gardens and small orchards. The scent of flowers, herbs, and fresh-cut grass wafting at us in turn. I glanced at the garden entrances as we passed by, catching quick glances of other people in the middle of visits. A young couple who'd been in the waiting room with me knelt by a small, bald girl as she splashed in the koi pond. Two elderly women stood under a weeping willow, their heads close, lips barely moving. A large group of people speaking Mandarin milled around the waterfall in the rock garden. I could still hear faint traces of their melodic din all the way down by the lake. I preferred this spot--the flora was less regimented and more natural. And no walls. Just an open space, water gently flicking the shoreline, a beautiful view down the hill, and the occasional cat wandering by. "This hasn't changed much," my mom said as I helped her down on one of the small benches by the water. "I thought they were going to get ducks or geese or something." I chose a nearby rock for my own perch. "I think they're having trouble with permits or whatever you need nowadays." The wind kicked up, sending freckles of reflected light across her face. Her skin was still perfect, beautiful and dark brown, though stretched across her cheekbones a little too tight. I hated that I never had enough to restore her round cheeks and full figure. I have to look at pictures just to remember her that way. "You haven't changed much, either," she said while fussing with my hair. I'd bought some dye the week before, knowing she'd notice it. "How long has it been?" "Three months." She let out a familiar sigh--part exhaustion, part exasperation, part sadness, I suppose. "That's too soon." "It's your birthday, though." "Is it? It's fall already?" She looked out over the small forest that edged the Institute's boundary a few miles away. The tree... 10,and,Up,,Podcasts K. Tempest Bradford no No http://escapepod.org/2010/11/11/ep-265-kachikachi-yama/ http://escapepod.org/2010/11/11/ep-265-kachikachi-yama/#comments Thu, 11 Nov 2010 21:26:08 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=1465 http://escapepod.org/2010/11/11/ep-265-kachikachi-yama/feed/ 2 36:55 By: Michael R. Underwood Read by: Lauren Harris of Pendragon Variety Literary Magazine Podcast Discuss on our forums. All stories by Michael R. Underwood All stories read by Lauren ... By: Michael R. Underwood Read by: Lauren Harris of Pendragon Variety Literary Magazine Podcast Discuss on our forums. All stories by Michael R. Underwood All stories read by Lauren Harris Rated R: For sexual situations and violence Show Notes: Feedback for Episode 258: Raising Jenny. Next week... We leave earth for a new planet! Kachikachi Yama By Michael R. Underwood The howl of the northbound train builds in crescendo as I stand on the ledge of the platform and hold the man above the tracks.nbsp; He flails at me. The Shikoku station is far from empty.nbsp; Groaning bodies dot the otherwise hospital-clean platform. A group of fleshmodded Gothic Lolita girls watch us.nbsp; They look on with inhumanly white faces and void-black eyes.nbsp; Twig-thin arms down to their knees wave in the wind. He begs. My _denkigamirsquo;s_ polite but insistent voice chirps in my head.nbsp; _ldquo;Yamagata-sama orders the target to be eliminated.rdquo;_ Spirit of the fleshware machine in my brain, my _denkigami_ is a constant companion, and keeper of my leash. The roar of the train grows louder, and bells ring in the station.nbsp; The man pleads for his life.nbsp; The trainrsquo;s lights appear from around the around the corner. Keep reading... *nbsp;nbsp;nbsp; *nbsp;nbsp;nbsp; * My daimyorsquo;s summons comes at 3:27 in the morning.nbsp; My _denkigami_ wakes me, and within minutes I crawl through the servantrsquo;s entrance to his office, dressed and ready in simple white silk kimono, my hair in a topknot. The walls of his office are covered in the finest works from a millenniumrsquo;s worth of painters.nbsp; Basho, Caravaggio, Monet, Kiefer. Yamagata Kenichiro has never met my gaze.nbsp; My father served him and his father, and I will know no other master until I retire as a nun or die in his service. Samurai.nbsp; From _Samuru_--ldquo;to serve.rdquo; Yamagata-sama grunts. ldquo;My honor has been violated.rdquo;nbsp; He pushes a digital tablet across his desk.nbsp; The tablet shows a 360-degree image of a fleshmod-tanned hacker in his twenties, data-port centered in a swirling tattoo on the back of his neck. Yamagata stands and places a hand on the desk. ldquo;This criminal has brought shame upon my wife and upon my house.rdquo; ldquo;What is your desire, lord?rdquo; Yamagata-samarsquo;s eyes narrow.nbsp; ldquo;First, befriend him.nbsp; Then, humiliate him.rdquo; He has not ordered me to do this before. ldquo;Why not just kill him, lord?rdquo; Yamagata slams his fist on the table. ldquo;It is not enough.rdquo;nbsp; He walks around the table, leans over me and draws a finger down my face and across my chin.nbsp; ldquo;He must know ecstasy before he knows agony.rdquo;nbsp; I restrain the shudder. He has always treated me like a woman first, a serving maid who could kill instead of a worthy member of a noble line.nbsp; This is not a job for a samurai, but I do not have a choice.nbsp; I serve him to honor my familyrsquo;s name, prove that we were worthy of elevation to the samurai caste. I take the tablet with both hands as I bow.nbsp; I crawl back through the low gap in the synthetic rice-paper walls while the side door--the one for his peers--remains closed. *nbsp;nbsp;nbsp; *nbsp;nbsp;nbsp; * I pore over the files at the steel desk in my modest apartment in the servantrsquo;s wing.nbsp; A seven-mat front room large enough for a couch and exercise equipment, and a five-mat bedroom room connected to a compact bathroom. Synthetic _shoji_ walls give me no privacy, thin as rice-paper but made of plastic.nbsp; My red-lacquered family shrine stands centered on my dresser.nbsp; When I was a child, I slept in the front room, lsquo;myrsquo; walls covered in holoposters of the latest idols. The targetrsquo;s alias is ldquo;Tanukirdquo;--the raccoon-dog trickster of ancient folklore. A flash of memory--ancestral armor and bound b... 17,and,Up,,Podcasts Michael R. Underwood no No http://escapepod.org/2008/12/05/escape-pod-flash-fiction-contest-honorable-mention-hello-i-love-you/ http://escapepod.org/2008/12/05/escape-pod-flash-fiction-contest-honorable-mention-hello-i-love-you/#comments Fri, 05 Dec 2008 05:00:33 +0000 Rachel http://escapepod.org/?p=330 http://escapepod.org/2008/12/05/escape-pod-flash-fiction-contest-honorable-mention-hello-i-love-you/feed/ 5 3:11 By Katherine Sparrow. Read by Rachel Swirsky. All stories by Katherine Sparrow All stories read by Rachel Swirsky "Junk DNA? I'll junk your DNA!" Sofia glared at Zorg. "Apologies. It ... By Katherine Sparrow. Read by Rachel Swirsky. All stories by Katherine Sparrow All stories read by Rachel Swirsky "Junk DNA? I'll junk your DNA!" Sofia glared at Zorg. "Apologies. It is only, don't you find it interesting? Most of it is unused--" "Junk? You supercilious aliens come to Earth to rein snottiness on us lowly humans? How sublime. I suppose your DNA is full of Porsches?" Rated PG. 10,and,Up,,Flash,,OK,for,Kids,,Podcasts Katherine Sparrow no No