Archive for the ‘Authors’ Category
As You Know, Professor
Thursday, April 16th, 2009
“As you know, professor,” said the earnest young man, “an Embry-dissipative microsingularity striking the earth would be drawn irresistably to its core, where it would cause a cataclysmic gravitational distortion, drawing all matter down into it until the earth collapsed in on itself like a rotten grapefruit.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I said. “I study acoustics.”
“Professor,” he said, leaning in, whispering urgently, the mothy smell of his ill-fitting suit coat forcing me to fight a sneeze. “Please don’t ask me how I know about your top-secret government work, but understand that I have information of the greatest importance for you. A microsingularity is bearing down on Earth at this very moment, and the vector and velocity information I have for you–”
Top-secret government work? This fellow was a nut case!
“Just a minute,” I said, picking up the phone. I dialed security. “Hi, I have a special package for you to pick up on the second floor,” I said.
“Dr. Womack, is that you?” said Rob the security guard over the phone. “You’re saying there’s some kind of problem? What’s wrong?”
“Absolutely, and you have a nice day, too,” I said, smiling and nodding at the young man. I hung up, hoping Rob had gotten the idea.
The young man held out a thumb drive. “These are the coordinates–” he broke off as he heard the noise of feet pounding on the stairs down the hall. A moment later, Rob and the red-haired bodybuilder type, what’s-his-name, burst in and grabbed the young man by the arms.
“Stop!” he cried. “You’re making a terrible mistake! Please, professor, please!”
They dragged him away.
About ten minutes later, Dr. Fennelgrüb walked in with a latte and a chocolate pastry.
“You’re in my office again, Womack!” he bellowed, pastry crumbs flying from his lips. “So help me God, the next time you blunder in here, I’ll kick your ass!”
I looked around, and of course he was right: wrong office again. My mind had been on the impact of air currents on sound conductance in low-heat environments, and I just hadn’t noticed. I meekly scraped together my papers and left. On the way out, I wondered if Fennelgrüb needed to be told the young man’s news, but then I was struck with an idea about heat differentials that completely put the matter out of my mind.
Raiders
Wednesday, April 15th, 2009
‘It’s raiders,’ says my da, but I know what the big drum means. Last time the smith was bellowing and beating on it, a longship bore down on us from some distant land. The prow was carved into a serpent’s head, and the boat bristled with oars like a hedgehog.
I was too young, they sent me up to the wood to hide with the women and children. The raiders leapt from their ship with flame and axe. Butchered six men that day and burnt half the village down.
We were lucky. A passing company of the Duke’s men saw the smoke and drove the reavers back into the sea. This wasn’t so much for us but to defend the monastery from pillage. Now the drum beats again, but the Duke is off fighting another Duke. Our luck is run out.
Da gets his sharp hatchet, passes me the pitchfork. Twelve years old and now a man.
‘That God-house brings them,’ my da says, ‘when they come driving across the seas for plunder and killings.
They know the monks keep treasures in there.’ The abbey stands high, on top of the big hill. You can see it for miles. Will God help me today, when a raider drives an axe into my head? I’ve never raised a hand in anger.
I can see the long-ship now, the sail limp against the mast, torn in several places. They’re not even driving the oars. When the prow pushes into the sand I can see the raiders on the deck, their helmets reflecting the sun. There’s movement on board, but they don’t leap over the sides like last time.
The first of them falls over the railing, landing heavily in the shallows. He gets up, an axe tethered to his wrist with a thong. He isn’t gripping it, and leaves his shield bobbing in the water. He takes a teetering step towards us, then another. An almighty stink comes from the boat now, the worst thing I’ve ever smelt.
Even from here the raider doesn’t look well.
‘Plague!’ someone screamed, but we’ve seen plague. There’s none can walk under the pox, let alone sail the seas.
Another raider slips into the water, and when they notice us standing on the shore they begin falling over themselves in a rush. We can hear their groans now, their excited slaverings.
Two dozen of the reavers are shuffling through froth and foam, groaning and gnashing their teeth. Now I can see the flesh fallen from their faces, yellowed bones where there should be muscle. They trudge out of the water, all reaching hands and hungry eyes.
‘Run!’ someone says, and by God we run.