Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

The combatants assembled on the field, their seconds at hand. The pistols were proffered, inspected, accepted.

Back to back, the duelists counted out the requisite number of paces. Even though their contest was only to the first hit, not explicitly to the death, both recognized the risks they were undertaking.

At the tenth pace, the men turned and fired. One shot went wide, but the other was true; the duelist who had been hit looked down with horror at the spreading red stain upon his immaculate shirt.

“Dammit, Matt, did you put food coloring in your squirt gun?” he moaned. “This is my Phi Qoppa Alpha shirt! Do you have any idea how many paddlings I’m going to get if this stain is permanent?”

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During the Anarchy and the splintering of the Old Empire, the rugged and reliable Westchester repeaters had been the weapons of choice for many of the combatants in the bitter internecine combat that had followed. Easily repaired and operable with low-pressure handloaded rounds or high-pressure military grade cartridges, a Westchester was often one’s best bet to remain armed as supply chains and distribution networks collapsed. Through guile, adroit manipulation, and outright force, the Westchester plants were able to remain open; accepting payment only in precious metal or barter, profits were staggering.

Inspired by an old legend of a long-demolished edifice, the heir of the Westchester Repeating Arms company commissioned a mansion designed to protect him from the vengeful specters of those killed by his family’s guns. He had it built on a vein of wild magic near the primary Westchester factory in New Attica and employed every type of shaman, conjurer, hedge knacker, and cantrip-spinner to enchant it. None can say if he succeeded; he was killed by a falling beam three days after moving in, and the company was dispersed among shareholders.

But it remains a tourist attraction to this day thanks to the many oddities its location and enchantments conferred. And none is so popular among visitors as the Timearrow Window.

Due to its location and the way the light hits it, the Window is more like a mirror than anything, and everything reflected therein is cast through a curious filter of time reversal. People appear younger (or absent), technology is replaced with an earlier equivalent, writing replaced with earlier drafts or editions. The New Attica Marshals are known to occasionally use the Window to check to see whether documents or evidence have been tampered with, and tourists generally react with glee to seeing their younger selves in the glass.

One bright April morning, a student from the New Attica Athenaeum visited the Westchester House and the Timearrow Window. She carried with her a copy of New Attica Order Number One, as all students were all but required to do. It was New Attica’s founding document, issued by General Rynearson during the initial stages of the Anarchy, laying out the Attican government of “military-guided democracy” in response to the wholesale slaughter of the Southrons that the populace had engaged in. It cast the government, which had now lasted over 100 years, as an unfortunate and temporary necessity in the face of the Old Empire’s inability to protect the Southrons against the depredations of an angry and xenophobic populace.

The student opened her copy of Order Number One into the Window on a lark and took a photograph of it with her cell phone. Much later, she mirrored the text on her computer, and to her surprise saw an earlier version of the Order–perhaps the original version–mirrored therein.

Instruct your units to continue the execution of Southrons. Do so in civilian garb using non-military weapons. The seizure of power cannot proceed until they are all but eliminated; this will destroy them as a source of possible opposition while allowing us to cast ourselves as protectors rather than usurpers. Don’t fail me in this or I’ll have you up against a wall along with them.
-Rynearson

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As soon as she shook his hand, it was gone. All of it, as if it had never existed. The novel plot she’d been working on in the shower for over a year, the investment strategy she’d worked out with her broker…every idea and inspiration that she hadn’t yet acted upon.

He grinned a predatory, sharklike grin. “Always a pleasure to see you again.” His mind was abuzz with new thoughts, ideas, images…in addition to the possibility of using them to further his already comfortable lifestyle, they were like a potent drug. He craved the constant input of stolen ideas and siphoned inspiration like a heroin addict between fixes.

They are the dachtesauger, you see. They prey off every spark of human innovation, taking in into themselves in the constant and selfish pursuit of pleasure and personal gain.

They are the dachtesauger, and they are among us even now.

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I was only calling in response to the job offer in the paper; GesteCo Pharmeceuticals was one of the largest employers in my town, the very buckle of the rust belt. Their toll-free number, 1-555-789-36λ9, was on the ad, after all.

Naturally, me being the complete and utter spaz that I am, I dialed the number wrong. 1-555-789-3λ69. Ordinarily that would have been the end of it; I’d have gotten that irritating “wrong number” tritone or Bert Stanton in Payroll. No.

Instead, I was read the following cryptic message by a synthesized voice with a vaguely British intonation. “This telephone is not authorized to transmit to this number. Yankee tango foxtrot zero two eight eight.”

Anyone who knows me can attest that anything like that is more likely to be taken as a challenge than a rebuff. With a record of the misdial on my cell, I tried 1-555-789-3λ69 from every phone I could think of: the landline at home, the one at work, friends’ cell phones. All of them got the same message: “This telephone is not authorized to transmit to this number. Yankee tango foxtrot zero two eight eight.”

It wasn’t until I was gassing up at the FossilCo station on the corner of 3rd and East, which always has the best prices in town, that I had a brainstorm. There’s an old public pay phone behind the station–possibly the only one left in town–that I’ve never seen anyone use, mostly because it was a mess. But its sign was still legible through the grime: MIDWEST BELL NO. YTF-0288.

YTF-0288.

I slipped in 75¢ (another reason no one used it–the thing was 25¢ more expensive than other payphones, assuming you could find one) and dialed 1-555-789-3λ69.

It rang. Someone picked up.

“Check-in confirmed, 2476. The experiment will now begin.”

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since campus was 75% empty over the summer, Southern Michigan University ran a number of “camps” for younger grade school students, which allowed many staff to keep drawing their salaries over the summer while providing a much-needed influx of hard cash.

Football Camp was incredibly popular, despite the mediocre performance that the SMU Fighting Grizzlies had experienced on the gridiron since their high-water mark in 1969. It was, however, no predictor of eventual success on the field, for a number of reasons. The kids were generally 12-13, so their eventual adult height and weight were still up in the air regardless of how much they trained. The camp also skewed rich and white as lawyer dads smarting over lost field glory pushed their kids into it, and “rich and white” has rarely been a descriptor in the background of the true NFL greats.

Math and Science Camp was also popular, again in spite of the middling national rankings that the associated departments had. Surprisingly, it too was not a predictor of eventual success; it had been once, but the kids associated with it had a blisteringly high burnout rate. Many wound up boomeranging or slacking into minimum wage jobs once they escaped from their tiger moms for the first time. Also 12-13, the kids were working on linear equations and testing hypotheses when their peers were running free and wild–a fact not lost on many of them. They tended to be quite diverse in ways that did very little for the camps’ image as bastions of privilege, with the Indian subcontinent and The Two Chinas being highly represented.

One would think that, due to the strong jock/nerd archetypes associated with them, that the campers would be intense rivals. In fact, they barely met. Football Campers used the Athletics facilities to eat, train, and sleep, and–as faculty often complained–those facilities were a world apart, inaccessible to the campus at large and generally of a much higher quality. Math and Science campers slept in disused dorms, ate in the cafeteria, and worked out of Kirtland Hall. They were, indeed, unaware of each others’ existence.

That is, until the day an errant squirrel exploded the generator on the west side of SMU’s campus thrust them into the same sphere.

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Psitticoids of Theta Apodis IV
Despite actually being a type of fungus, convergent evolution led these creatures to strongly resemble Earth parrots. Their psionic skills, in particular their mind control abilities, allowed the Psitticoids to carve out a modest empire and drive their rivals the Daurians to extinction. Accordingly, they dispatched a long-range infiltration cruiser to Earth, to begin controlling key subjects in preparation for all-out invasion.

The Psitticoids were defeated due to mankind’s propensity for putting parrots in cages; without direct contact, they were only able to repeat garbled fragments of human thoughts–just like Earth parrots. Their ability to lower the intelligence of nearby creatures similarly went unnoticed, as people tend to behave childishly around pets anyway. Most of the Psitticoid 112th Infiltration Unit currently resides in an illegal Manhattan pet shop specializing in exotic birds.

Capricornians from Deneb Algedi II
The harsh climate of Deneb Algedi II led to a species that can conduct and ground electricity with an insulative coating that must be periodically shed. This has the side effect of making them incredibly deadly warriors as well as highly similar in appearance to Earthborne sheep. After subduing their own homeworld and enslaving the Ovidines of HD 20644b, the Capricornians launched a full-scale invasion of Earth.

Unfortunately, their assault craft landed on a rainy day in New Zealand. Unable to use their discharge powers for fear of electrocution, they were inadvertently sheared by sheep farmers and deprived of their primary weapon. The herd was culled later that month, with all the surviving Capricornians winding up slain and mixed in with animal fodder. Their presence was only discovered after a rash of exploding wool shirts and temporarily electrified sheep.

Apids from Musca Australis Prime
Broadly resembling terrestrial insects, the Apids are highly coordinated and toxic creatures made up of hundreds of small organisms that are specialized (not unlike the Portuguese Man-o’-War). With a neural net formed of Apids and pheromones at the center of each swarm, they easily overwhelmed all comers in establishing domination over their sector.

Their scouting party on Earth met a tragic fate when a human swatted the Apid that was responsible for navigating the swarm. Without direction, it wandered through an air intake and was shredded. The incident was only noticed when the highly corrosive remains ate through the intake and the surrounding city blocks.

Aurigans from the Almaaz Dark Disc
These mysterious creatures evolved in an environment so strikingly different from Earth as to be inconceivable not only to humans but all other species on this list. Uniquely, they evolved a cylindrical layout which allowed them to roll along the surface of objects they encountered, along with a hollow core to allow interstellar debris to pass through and dark coloring to blend in with the light-absorbing matter in the Dark Disc. They communicate with bioluminescence along their outer rims, relying on a network of photoreceptor grooves on their outer surface to pick up sensory information, the pattern of which is unique to each Aurigan.

Just like their evolution, the Aurigans’ motivations are inscrutable, and they have annihilated several species nearby while leaving others untouched. What is known is that a party of Aurigans landed on Earth, undetected by the authorities. Unfortunately for them, they landed in Detroit (which even the Apids knew to avoid), touching down in an urban tire yard. Thanks to their unique morphology, the Aurigans’ corpses are still attached to the rims of a 1989 Honda Civic.

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Forgotten Episodes of the First World War (Presses de l’Université du Québec, 1994): The Assault on Bad Steinberg

One of the men involved was Tobias Schiller, a young officer who had been briefly fêted as the conqueror of Neutral Moresnet during early 1915 when the German army was short on good news. It’s unknown how or why he became involved, but he requested support in January 1918. The official request bears his signature, but only makes an oblique reference to its substance, namely was wir besprochen (what we discussed). The topic of discussion was so important that a combat unit was assigned to aid Schiller.

The assigned unit was the 66th Assault Company of the Deutsches Heer, a formation of Sturmtruppen (usually known as “Stormtroopers” in English) trained in advanced Hutier tactics of infiltration and combined-arms attack. The men were armed with the very latest in Imperial equipment, including MP-18 submachine guns, “artillery-model” Luger P08 pistols modified for rapid fire, and M1918 Stahlhelm steel helmets. An arsenal requisition form that has survived contains a request for Bergmann MG15 light machine guns as well as Stahlhelm-type body armor of the sort issued to snipers and sappers on the Western Front; it’s unknown if these requests were actually fulfilled. But in any event, the men with Schiller were crack troops that were among the most potent soldiers in the world at the time.

The 66th, drawn from the men prepared for Operation Michael that was scheduled to begin on March 21, 1918, assaulted the city of Bad Steinberg beginning on February 28. Despite the fact that Bad Steinberg was a Prussian town, and had a population of approximately 3000, the operation was carried out with military precision. Eyewitness accounts, suppressed at the time, indicate that the sounds of heavy combat were audible for some distance. A battalion of artillery stationed nearby may or may not have even shelled the town.

To this day, no explanation for the attack exists, and no mention of Bad Steinberg–or its people–is found in any official record after February 1918.

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Old Sam used to be a grammar teacher. Now he’s just an old pilcrow-popper that no rehab clinic will touch, a jittering mess of nerves looking for his next fix of ¶, ¶, ¶.

And let’s not forget about Betty, the long-haul semicolon-trucker. Time was, her ; brought order and clarity to complicated sentences with more clauses than the North Pole. Now; they speckle her; every page; like; worm; damage.

&, &, &. That’s the sound of the ampersand-storm rolling in at the behest of Chris, who became infatuated with the symbol doing old-timey graphic design. Now it’s become a mission to singlehandedly reverse its decline.

Lastly, who could forget poor A.J., who through exposure to East Asian popular culture has started ~bracketing~ ~words~ ~with~ ~tildes~ and even using them to end sentences~ A real tilde-luxe, that~

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Meyers, Greg Jamison. “Defilement of Civil Rights Statue at University of Northern Mississippi Shows Racists Up to Their Old Tricks Again.” Hopewell Democrat-Tribune 2 Jun. 2013, University ed.: A1+.

The defilement of a civil rights statue on the University of Northern Mississippi campus has drawn outrage, condemnation, and concern from a wide variety of campus figures. The statue, depicting the first African-American student admitted to the university in 1966, was found vandalized by university janitorial staff in the course of their morning duties, with the face completely covered by bird excrement.

The University of Northern Mississippi became infamous during the desegregation battles of the 1960s as the very last state-funded school to admit an African-American student following the integration of major schools like the University of Mississippi (October 1962), Mississippi State University (July 1965), and what became the University of Southern Mississippi (September 1965). While the integration of the university in mid-1966 was neither the bloodbath of UM or the non-event of MSU, there was still extensive rioting and protest marches, national attention, and strong local opposition.

“The bird that vandalized this statue does not represent the values of the faculty, staff, and students of UNM as a whole,” said university president Brody in a statement. “We strongly condemn the actions of a lone individual bird in setting back issues of tolerance and diversity here.”

For many observers, though, the incident represents the latest in a troubling pattern. “Clearly, there are repressed issues deep in the university’s psyche at work here,” said Dr. Janice Soderquist-Mmbathu, vice-chair of Diversity Studies at Southern Michigan University. “UNM may have 45% non-white enrollment and generous scholarships for minority students, but ugly feelings such as those espoused by this bird in defiling the statue clearly show that there is a very, very, very long way to go.”

In response to the anonymous bird’s attack on the statue, which many have described as a hate crime, President Brody has announced the formation of a task force to investigate the incident. “Some have said that the action in question were not intended as racist,” his statement continued, “but in light of recent tweets expressing sentiments like ‘LOL’ and ‘ROTFLMAO’ about the event, we can only conclude that this must be treated with deadly, deadly seriousness.”

“It’s Mississippi, what do you expect?” said Andrew Cullingdonham, a Southern Michigan student interviewed by the Democrat-Tribune. “Everything they do is racist, no matter how much they try to hide it. The bird is only doing what everyone wants to do. I don’t care how many investigations they do or how quickly the statue is cleaned up.”

At press time, UNM had announced a full investigation, a Diversity Days festival, a visit by Winnie Mandela, a much larger statue protected by a laser grid, a moment of silence campuswide, a candlelight vigil, and a statewide bird education initiative in addition to the committee mentioned by President Brody. Critics were quick to call these moves “insubstantial,” “window dressing,” and “proof that the administration of UNM has more in common with the offending bird than it would like to be generally known.”

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This post is part of the June 2013 Blog Chain at Absolute Write. This month’s prompt is “Bugs.”

The S’lvn-L’vs descended upon us, a terrible insectoid scourge from the stars, and all mankind’s technologies and spacefleets were in vain against their inexorable approach. With the last of our great starships lost in the battle off Pluto’s orbit, it was inevitable that the S’lvn-L’vs would attempt a landing on Earth. For it was Earth they coveted, a green and verdant planet to sweep over like the locusts they so resembled. Their technology, so far in advance of our own, and their swarm intelligence made this inevitable.

So it was with little surprise but much horror that the ships of the infernal space bugs appeared in our skies. One of the S’lvn-L’vs dreadnaughts, city-sized, touched down on the broad plains south of Topeka while another moved toward the Mongolian steppe. Military resistance was an impossibility, as precision strikes by the S’lvn-L’vs had devastated Earth’s global defense network. Instead, they were met at the landing site by a delegation of Earth politicians, religious leaders, and common folk selected by lottery to plead on behalf of humanity.

When the great doors opened and the S’lvn-L’vs emerged, none knew what to expect, for their communication with humans up to that point had been exclusively aggressive or disinterested. Nevertheless, it seemed that the S’lvn-L’vs to emerge might engage with the delegation. The great insectoid at the head of the emerging group approached the humans, its compound eyes and mandibles expressionless and unreadable.

Before the humans could say a word, they listened as the seven-foot-tall bug gasped, choked, and exploded under its own weight, coating everyone present with viscous green goo.

For so it had come about, as indeed I and many men might have foreseen had not terror and disaster blinded our minds: the twin terrors of lower oxygen content in the atmosphere and high gravity had taken their toll on Earthly life since the beginning of things–taken their toll on our evolutionary precursors since life began here. But by virtue of this natural selection humans have developed resisting power: to gravity–that which causes exoskeletoned beings above a certain size to explode under their own weight–our living frames are altogether immune. We do not succumb to lack of oxygen as spiracle-breathing bugs do, with our 20% oxygen mix being sufficient where 35% or 40% is necessary for creatures the size of the S’lvn-L’vs.

Already when the delegates watched them they were irrevocably doomed; our gravitational and atmospheric allies had begun to work their overthrow. It was inevitable. By the toll of a billion Barcaloungers and breathless runs man has bought his birthright to his size and oxygenation capacity, and it is his against all comers; it would still be his were the S’lvn-L’vs ten times as buggy as they are. For neither do men lounge nor breathe in vain.

With apologies to H. G. Wells.

Check out this month’s other bloggers, all of whom have posted or will post their own responses:
Diem_Allen
Ralph Pines
articshark
Lady Cat
U2Girl
MsLaylaCakes
SuzanneSeese
robynmackenzie
milkweed

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