Archive for the ‘Authors’ Category
The Pasha’s Panda
Friday, December 3rd, 2010
Maleek knew the safe thing to do was to turn himself into a cobra and get out of there before the Chinese soldiers arrived. The Pasha was dead and the Red Army soldiers had taken over the sook and probably all of Marrakech. It was only a matter of time before they found their way into the Pasha’s riad.
The Pasha’s panda sat against the sea blue courtyard wall nestled between two giant potted bamboo plants, chewing the elegant green stems uncaring or unknowing of the turmoil happening not very far away. All of the animals, even the parrots and monkeys, were calm. Maleek wondered if they were real. It mattered not. The Panda was non-synthetic, the cobra in him told him so. Never mind the squads of soldiers tearing the city up looking for it.
The Pasha bought his armaments from the Chinese. Patrol-bots. All the flavors of smart-side arms for his guards. A few tanks and vehicles for parades and affairs of state. The Pasha, or more accurately his primary wife (a newer series Cleopatra consort he acquired in the aftermath of the fall of Egypt), fancied herself an enlightened zookeeper. Her head was full of all sorts of autonomous mods and thus the medina was full of all sorts of exotic animals both caged and free roaming. Maleek had once seen a family of raccoons and gray ground squirrels from the Americas. On hungry days, the cobra in him lusted for them.
The Pasha’s mistake was giving into his wife’s whimsy to acquire the real panda. He should have returned the crate as soon as the arms dealer offered it. China needed panda parts, real panda parts- they always needed real panda parts and this one hadn’t escaped their notice for long.
Maleek looked at it. A study of black and white resting peacefully and chewing softly in the afternoon sun. How long until it ended up in a Beijing vat farm? Animals deserved to be wild. Or kept in comfort and style as was the custom of the Pasha’s wife. Except for the cobra in him. He had fought so hard to keep it locked down.
Boot stomps echoed in the labyrinthine maze of passages leading to the Pasha’s riad. Maleek let himself go. He felt the skin on his neck transform into black scale. Even now the panda chewed blissfully unaware of what was to come. He hated becoming the cobra. But he hated what the Red’s did with the vats even more.
Maleek’s teeth became fangs coursing with poison. He knew the cobra would not be caged again so easily. Still, he sunk his teeth deep into the Panda’s soft skin. The soldiers were upon them. The sook was in chaos. Perhaps he would not have to cage the snake so soon.
– END –
Outpost
Thursday, December 2nd, 2010
A cold wind blew in off the desert. The walls of the bunker vibrated in sympathy, producing a low moaning at the limit of audibility. The wind never varied. Chalmers played the radio constantly to drown out the ghostly sound, but he could feel the vibration every time he touched anything that was anchored to the floor or walls.
Easy money, he’d thought, when he saw the job listing. Staff the outpost for a year. If anything needed to be replaced, like a battery or a memory block, replace it. There would be plenty of consumables and an almost infinite library of films and videos. He had never particularly needed company anyway. Discharged from the Guard and having no other prospects, he couldn’t say no.
Chalmers made coffee as hot as he could stand. He stood by the small circular window and stared at the blowing sand. The wind seemed to be whipping the sand past the window faster and faster, but the instruments consistently reported no change in wind velocity, no change in temperature. Chalmers shivered. He reheated the coffee and took a cautious sip. The trembling walls formed words. “We will blow you away, you cannot stay,” repeated again and again.
Chalmers woke with a start. He was at the hatch, fumbling with the controls. He had undone two of the 12 latches. And he had been, still was, whispering. “We will blow you away, you cannot stay.”
Chalmers put the table and chairs in front of the hatch and returned to bed, huddling under the blankets. It was hours until dawn, but he didn’t sleep at all.
One month. Chalmers had been in the outpost one month.. Under the relentless pressure of the wind the entire station was moaning. He had woken up again fumbling with the hatch, and had since rigged metal cables to seal it shut. There was no way he could undo them in his sleep.
–
The outpost was abandoned. The hatch was open and a meter of sand covered the floor of the facility. Chalmers had missed his weekly checkin and had not responded to queries over the radio, so a team had been sent.
They finally shoveled enough sand out to close and seal the hatch. Tegmen pulled off her helmet and rubbed her scalp vigorously.
“Oh God, that feels good!” She looked around. “This place is cozy. Killer video system. It would be a nice gig.”
Lambert cocked his head, listening. “The walls are shaking. Almost sounds like words.”
End