Plugs

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

Edd Vick’s latest story, “The Corsair and the Lady” may be found in Talebones #37.

Trent Walters, poetry editor at A&A, has a chapbook, Learning the Ropes, from Morpo Press.

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).

Oh My

by Ken Brady

Here at The Daily Cabal, we’re in the midst of a gradual expansion, introducing you to more practitioners of very short fiction over the next couple of months.

Today, we’d like to introduce Ken Brady, who brings us something science fictional for his first cabal story. Find out more about him from the members link above.

But first, give Ken a moment to take you to colony somewhere far off in space, although perhaps not far enough…


The bears were the latest annoyance.

Not the only annoyance, rather the most recent in a string of irritations plaguing Colony 17’s third most populous city over the last few weeks.

Kayzee, Colony 17’s outgoing manager, knew there were no indigenous bears on Colony 17. Just like there were no snakes, no porcupines, no woodchucks, and no marmots. Well, there was the one pet marmot in City 1. So, one marmot, but absolutely no bears.

She shook her head. Calvin was certainly to blame. Again. A teenaged boy was always dangerous, but none so much as a teenaged boy whose father was Doc Blakeman, the head of colony engineering. While Blakeman was away in deep space checking out a distress signal, his son had gained back door access to the colony’s matter transfer system.

The problem was how to get Calvin out of the air shafts where he’d been hiding, teleporting innocent animals from Earth to Colony 17. It was all security could do to capture and return the damn things.

“I’m just making our environment more Earth-like,” Calvin had said over the colony PA system. “There are no animals here. Don’t you think that’s unfortunate? Do you like big cats?”

Kayzee thought what was unfortunate was that Calvin hadn’t fallen down one of the vertical shafts along with his love of animals. No, she didn’t like big cats, she told him. No lions, no tigers; instead she’d gotten bears. Forget that there was no natural ecosystem here. Forget that the light gravity caused the animals to jump ten percent higher than they could on Earth — which the marmots loved. No, it was the smell that got to Kayzee. The colony simply wasn’t equipped to deal with wild animal detritus. And Kayzee wasn’t equipped to deal with Calvin.

She wracked her brain for an answer as she called security to take care of the bears. As luck would have it, a call from Doc Blakeman said he was heading back, and was, in fact, just inside the transfer zone. He needed Kayzee to do an emergency matter transfer directly to colony quarantine. Hurry, and tell no one, he said.

Kayzee knew the alien creature she was about to teleport from Blakeman’s ship was dangerous, but, really, how bad could it be? From the blurry image he’d sent it certainly looked nasty, but it couldn’t be any worse than bears. There was only one, after all. Since it liked to use air shafts to move around, it was perfect for the job.

If Calvin wanted wild animals roaming the colony, this one would certainly be the last. She paused, considered the uproar Doc Blakeman would certainly cause and what that would do to her career. Then again, she was retiring. Kayzee triggered the matter transfer system and “accidentally” teleported the creature into Colony 17’s main air shaft.

They’d figure out how to get rid of it later.

Little Bird

by Jason Fischer

‘Lookee,’ I gab to me fella. ‘She works and all.’

Runi go and spec the little silver bird, lifts a wing and her workings are in there, clicking away. Be feeling her shiver in his fat paw, shiver like a frightened little animal eager to dart into windstream and safety.

‘Junken,’ he gab. He drop her to the workbench, a little rough. ‘Junken and dross.’

He gone, the screen slamming and the tall grass shaking in the wake of his gyro. His gab is oft false. I know that he gone for sheet-cheatin, and more’n one sheila in his life.

Not much love left for him. I hurt and just want to howl like a bab, tear off me gear and bleed out in the bath like the Romans of old. Twist me wed-ring, over and over, just want to rip it off me finger but show me a sheila who hasn’t held some hope, somewhere in her heart, that her bad fella can change.

He left his tellingphone, and I spec it. I know all Runi’s dud mates, and com-lines are in there that I don’t reck. Don’t need me smarties as to know I’ve lost me fella.

I tink with the sparrow, I tink her a clever little mind, tink her a tongue as sharp as Runi claims mine to be. I spec her hopping along me arm all excited and chirrup, and a-perch on me finger I let her drink from a toxic brew.

I open the screen and off she fly, her silver wingspan all pretty flash, me sparrow carving through air. She’ll find Runi now, and she will be the last little bird to ever kiss him.