Kat Beyer’s Cabal story “A Change In Government” has been nominated for a BSFA award for best short fiction.

Read Rudi’s story “Detail from a Painting by Hieronymus Bosch” at Behind the Wainscot.

Jonathan Wood’s story “Notes on the Dissection of an Imaginary Beetle” from Electric Velocipede 15/16 is available online.

David Kopaska-Merkel’s book of humorous noir fiction based on nursery rhymes, Nursery Rhyme Noir 978-09821068-3-9, is sold at the Genre Mall. Other new books include The zSimian Transcript (Cyberwizard Productions) and Brushfires (Sams Dot Publishing).

Archive for June, 2010

End of the Line

Wednesday, June 30th, 2010

We stood in line because that’s what we do. There was a good-sized queue already formed in front of the dark entrance, so there must have been something worth waiting for.

The people who lined up behind us were clearly thinking the same thing, occasionally craning necks to see what was happening up ahead. Nothing attracts a crowd like a crowd.

After a few hours, with only inching movement forward, we started to wonder. What the hell were we doing? Was there really anything up ahead?

“I could go look,” I said. “See what it’s all about.”

“You could do that,” said the jovial looking bald grandpa with an impressive paunch and thick glasses standing behind me.

I nodded my thanks and moved to leave the line.

“But he won’t give you your place back,” said the pimply hat-on-all-stupid-sideways teenaged kid in front of me.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing personal,” old dude said, and smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“You don’t even know what you’re waiting for.”

“Neither do you,” the kid said. “Maybe you should go find out, huh?”

I didn’t leave the line.

I almost left a dozen times, but each time the line would move a few feet, the kid would shuffle forward, and I’d decide to stay. Maybe we were close. To something. It’s not like we had anything else to do. I’ve stood in lines for cheap clothes, bought fantastic gadgets I hadn’t known I wanted. Got great deals on stuff I didn’t need that looked cool when I got it home, making me wonder how I’d ever lived without it. The kid had won tickets to concerts from bands he’d never heard of. Once the old dude got half-price coupons for a year’s worth of gasoline. Then he only had to stand in line at DMV and hope they would reissue him a license.

Lost in thought, suddenly we were through the entrance, all three of us, and it was dark. Cue spotlights on three doors, cleverly labeled: beginning, middle, and end.

There were no lines at any of the doors. We hesitated. We looked at each other. It felt like a trap.

“It’s a trap,” said the kid.

“Probably more lines behind the doors,” I said. “More of the same.”

“Fuck it,” said the old dude. “What do we have to lose by shaking things up a bit?”

I hadn’t a clue. Not even a hint. We shrugged in unison, swapped places, and opened the doors. No idea what we’d find.

We couldn’t wait to find out.

The Fall of Isbanir

Tuesday, June 29th, 2010

Children’s counting chant, recovered from shards of crystal memory cores found in the ruins of the prophets’ quarter, Sarandib city, on Saturn’s moon Enceladus.

1 for the citadel, proud and unbreachable

2 for the ion ghosts, crackling at dawn

3 for the sky-rings, lined like the plains

4 for the cinder-general

5 for her ash-gray armies

6 for the Kuiper-kings, in their halls of ice

7 for the emissary, with his gold-foil scroll

8 for the assassin, waiting on the road

9 for the identity mask, stolen and recoded

10 for the masquerade and its merry confusion

9 for the misled Duke, lonely in his garden

8 for the ice stiletto, evaporating after

7 for the ducal court, split between his children

6 for the late alliance, desperate and dangerous

5 for the ash-gray armies, massing on the plains

4 for the armistice, hasty, fragile, brief

3 for the yearlong siege and the songs of hunger

2 for alliance with ghosts, more desperate, more dangerous

1 for the citadel, echoing and empty

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