Archive for the ‘Series’ Category
Secret Pocket
Thursday, May 1st, 2008
Warning: this story contains explicit violence towards a child. If the subject matter disturbs you, or if you just don’t feel like reading this kind of thing now, you should probably move on. Check out our archives: there’s lots of stories in there that you might like.
Limp crept into camp. He hoped to get good night’s sleep before having to face Chief. He thought of the nano in his secret pocket, enough to buy a house, and leaned on the branch he carried for balance. He’d been away for three days and he’d lost the crutch. His mother wouldn’t be happy.
“Patrice, is that you? Where have you been, you idiot boy?” Only his mother called him Patrice.
He tried to look as tired and bruised as he felt, but she came at him at full speed and slapped him before he could talk.
“You better have something for Chief, boy. He’s been looking for you everywhere and he’s not happy. What are you hiding? Where is it?”
Limp produced a couple of computer chips, a vial of penicillin and some nano. Finally, his mother was satisfied and stopped hitting him.
The boy got up and hopped to his tent, but was intercepted by Chief himself. Limp was prepared. He threw the rest of the nano at Chief’s feet. Chief looked doubtful. It was more than could be expected from three days of scavenging, but he kicked Limp a couple of times for good measure. Limp sighed and took the wad of compressed nano out of his secret pocket.
“That’ll teach you to keep things from me!” Chief threw Limp a worthless chit.
Limp washed the blood off his face and examined his body for broken bones. The lead residue under his skin protected him from the worst of the sun’s radiation, but it also gave him a molted color that kept most of the bruises from showing. He blessed the missionaries for geneering his ancestors to survive in the Waste.
He thought of the skid he’d stolen from one of them. It was worth more than all the nano in Chief’s coffers and he didn’t plan on handing it over to him. It had taken two days of digging, but Limp had made sure it was buried deep.
This story is part of the Children of the Waste series. You can check out a longer story set in the same world at http://www.strangehorizons.com/2007/20070115/godtouched-f.shtml
Parthenia Rook, Episode 7: The Gory Candlestick
Monday, April 21st, 2008
The Bonobo King paced the marble floor of his bedroom in his crimson silk pajamas, unable to sleep again.
His spider monkey lover, Flamenca, stirred in the massive canopy bed. “Come to bed, darling,” she said in a sleep-heavy voice. “Whatever it is, you can destroy it in the morning.”
“That’s exactly it,” said the Bonobo King. “I haven’t been able to destroy it. It … her … Parthenia Rook. I’ve tried every approach conceivable–an android toddler, zombie photographers, an opposite gender identical twin raised to evil, unbalancing her fruit … if it weren’t for my esophogeal implants, that last miscalcuation would have cost me my life!”
“Let me take your mind off it,” said Flamenca, tracing a fold in the gold-embroidered coverlet with one slender toe. “You’ll come up with another evil plan tomorrow.”
“But if I do, it will come to ruin,” said the Bonobo King. “My evil plans are much too fiendishly clever to fail this often. Someone or something is foiling them.”
“But no one’s smarter than you, darling. And no one could foil your plans unless he were as clever as you are.”
The Bonobo King stopped short as an ugly realization came to him. Flamenca must have noticed, for her toe froze in place, and she said in a very careful tone, “What is it?”
“No one is smarter than I am, and only someone as clever as I am could foil my own plans,” he said. “Ergo, I am my own nemesis. For some reason I cannot fathom, I am sabotaging my own evil schemes.”
Flamenca gasped and the Bonobo King turned and leaped onto the bed, where he crouched over her tiny form. “What?” he said. “What did you think of just then?”
A tear trickled down her furry little cheek, and she shook her head, trembling.
“What is it?” he roared.
“You’re …” she whispered, “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
The Bonobo King screeched with fury and indignation. Snatching a heavy gold candlestick from beside the bed, he struck at Flamenca with it, smashing it down on her fragile body until she was little more than a smear of bloody fur.
Bits of brain stuck to the candlestick, and the Bonobo King threw it aside in disgust as he hopped calmly off the the bed. He resumed his pacing.
“Yes,” he said pensively. “You may be right.”