Trash Golem

by Luc Reid

When I woke for the first time I had a little trouble focusing, since my eyes seemed to be made of burned-out light bulbs. Soon enough, things began to come clear, and I found I was slumped in the corner of a weedy dirt lot between two shabby row houses. Crouched in front of me was a grubby little Rabbi.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said the Rabbi. “You’re thinking, ‘Where am I? Who am I? Who is this disreputable person in front of me? Why do I have light bulbs for eyes?’ Don’t worry. It’ll all make sense soon when I turn you loose on my enemies.”

“Something smells bad,” I said.

“Smells bad? Smells bad? Never mind that, you have a job to do. You know what you are? You’re a trash golem. I didn’t have the clay and things they usually use, so I asked myself what we have a lot of here in this city, and I said ‘Trash!’ Of trash, we have plenty. Now, you’ll need instructions.”

I heaved myself to my feet, one of which was a dishwasher and the other of which was part of a rusted-out old street sweeper, with the brushes still on. I shuffled in the dirt, trying out the brushes. It kicked up a lot of dust on the Rabbi, who coughed.

“For crying out loud, never do that,” said the Rabbi. “Are you ready for your instructions?”

“I’m ready,” I said, although I didn’t know if I was or not.

“All right. So, you’re a trash golem. Why trash? It’s ironic! Listen, all these people around you, in all these houses, with their rich families, they make more trash than you could imagine. They’ll bury the world in that trash, so I want you to go and destroy them.”

“The children too?”

“Well, not the children, but everyone else.”

“The parents, but not the children?”

“What are you, a conversation golem? OK, you’re right, not the parents with the children.”

“Young couples?”

“You’re giving me a pain, you know. Right here in my neck. OK, they’re sweet, they’re happy, they’re in love, I get it. So no, not the young couples.”

“So just the people on their own?”

The Rabbi sighed heavily, and I went over and put my lawnmower gently on his shoulder.

“All right, I admit it: the whole thing about the enemies with the trash, I made that up. It wasn’t even a very good lie.”

“You’re just lonely?”

The Rabbi kicked an old tin can across the lot. “Well,” he finally said, “do you play chess? We could go to the park and play chess.”

I followed the Rabbi out of the lot and along the river toward the park. The sun glinted on my metal parts and warmed my rusty parts, and I thought longingly of destroying someone.

An Incident at the Mars Debates

by Kat Beyer

Captain Daneham met his wife in the following way.

He was at the House of Commons, watching the Mars debates; he’d gone alone, and the Shadow Minister for Space was wittering away about fuel sources, as if all that hadn’t been sorted ages ago.

Two girls in moonsuits were standing nearby, and, unable to pay attention to the old windbag any longer, he watched them instead. They were whispering and laughing softly. The tall one was what he would call Junoesque, a regular Amazon, who wore her stars and bars as if born in a rocket, while her friend had close-cropped red curls, a naughty pixie face, and a shockingly careless way of wearing her uniform—sleeves rolled up and unpolished boots. When she turned his way he saw the Mechanics’ 101st patch on her chest pocket and understood. Posy bunch of know-it-alls, they were, but too good at their job by half.

He watched them, and they watched him, while down among the green leather seats of Parliament history was made.

Then came the quick, sturdy tap of boot heels, and a flash of brown leather, followed by the flick of a blue-black ponytail.

“Sorry we’re late—got held up,” said the girl with the ponytail. “Miss anything?”

“Only old al-Rashid going on and on,” said Juno, and the redhead laughed. “Where’s Sarah?”

“In the loo, she’ll be along in a minute. Literally, we got held up. Four lads and two guns in an alley.”

“No!” Juno stared.

“Good heavens. Are they all right?” Asked the redhead.

Ponytail laughed; he could hear the adrenalin draining from her.

“One won’t walk again, I’m afraid. The others are probably still up the station explaining things. You know what she’s like.”

Captain Daneham couldn’t help but stare himself. And then she came around the corner, brown hair with a touch of red in it, checking her purse, looking up at her friends with the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen, as if she wondered what all the fuss was about.

He couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward, saying, “I beg your pardon, but I couldn’t help overhearing…”
The rest of his stumbling speech was drowned in the sound of shouts and roars from the benches below, the noise of history—but he did manage to get out for a drink with them afterwards, once colonization was decided upon.