Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Founded by Governor J. Thaddeus “Tad” Ryan, the Mississippi Department of Evil (MDE) was constituted as part of the overall push in the state government to appeal to a primarily wealthy, white, suburban, and evangelical electorate. Pledging to use state resources to “root out the forces of Satan wheresoever they may rear their ugly head,” and to promote a “patriotic, American, and Christian” atmosphere, the department was created and invested with sweeping investigative and law enforcement powers in a 110-64 joint-session vote.

The legislature delegated the actual bylaws and charge of the new agency, as well as the specifics of its budget, to the Mississippi House Select Committee on Wildlife, Fisheries and Parks, which in turn sub-delegated it to the Mississippi House Select Subcommittee on Fish Hatcheries. Having created the department, held a press conference, Gov. Ryan and his allies were finished with it and were content for the particulars to be worked out by others.

True to form, the Mississippi House Select Subcommittee on Fish Hatcheries delivered a budget that was largely underwater, with a central office in the Jackson Auxiliary Annex, a director, office staff, and five field agents. The positions were originally intended to be filled by major Ryan donors on the cusp of retirement, but poor records control led to the five field agent positions being offered to people with the same names as the intended donors. For instance, one of the field agents had been intended to be Rev. John A. Byck, the pastor of a megachurch in Madison County. Instead, the job was offered to, and accepted by, J. Avery Byck, who had briefly worked for the state forestry service in the 1970s.

With a budget sizable enough to pay its staff but not much else, broad authority (with gold badges to match!), and no threat of being disestablished for the further four (and possibly eight) years of Gov. Ryan’s term, the MDE–with continuing oversight from the Mississippi House Select Subcommittee on Fish Hatcheries–was here to stay.

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The library’s uppermost levels, where Nerissa seldom ventured as the books there were still a rather difficult read, had a book with a similar blossom on the cover, and a mysterious title: BOTANY. She was still reading the book when Steamy found her, bearing fresh eggs from the ducks and fresh water from the discharge tanks to swap out and clean his power unit.

“What are you doing, my lady?” he asked upon finding her. The lenses that served him for eyes whirred as they focused on the object in her hands.

“I’m cutting the flower’s stem and putting it in water,” Nerissa said. “The book says this will keep it longer.

“My lady, that is salt water. Much like myself, the flower can only run on purified sweetwater.” Steamy gently poured the water down the floor drain before replacing it with discharge tank water. “There. Perhaps it will last for some time, and delight my lady thereby.”

Nerissa thanked him, and held up the book. “I think I’ve identified it,” she said, pointing at a picture. “What does ‘cultivated’ mean?”

“A very good likeness and a distinct possibility,” Steamy whirred at the illustration, a similarly red blossom. “Cultivated means that it must be cared for, like our gardens above and below the water, or it will not survive.”

“So someone is out there,” Nerissa said triumphantly. “If this plant was cared-for, a person must have done it!”

“I cannot speak to the existence or nonexistence of that which is not in my program,” Steamy said. “Now, if my lady will excuse me, I have chores to perform.”

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“Aren’t you worried you’ll run into…you know…an alternate version of yourself?” the kid asked.

Logona laughed before turning to spit. “You think that Amai-of-the Wormholes, the Grease Trap of the Universe, the Super-Sargasso Sea, is just crawling with parallel universe duplicates of folks?” she said.

The kid shrugged.

“Well, it ain’t,” said Logona. “Oh it happens, on occasion, but it’s usually not too tough to figure out. You meet someone from a skein that’s 50 years ahead of yours in time, you won’t have any trouble tellin’ the difference.”

“What about you, have you ever run into another Logona in Amai?”

The woman fell silent a minute, and a dark look passed over her features. “There’s only one Logona,” she said a moment later, “and you’re lookin’ at her.”

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“Almost done” is a recursive, very nearly fractal statement
The Race Course paradox, fresh from Zeno’s lips, modernized
We see with modern eyes in what would have been perfect
If this had taken days to carve, not extruded fresh plastic
Would it be so easy to throw away, to dismiss, to tweak?

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They go down the list
A who’s who of illnesses
Of the mind
But the only boxes
I can tick
Are the usual
Anxiety
Depression
Stress
The background radiation
Of anyone born
After 1980

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CARL: This is Carl Drake, play-by-play commentator for NBS Broadcasting, coming to you live from the Robo-Sumo Quarterfinals!

TOM: That’s right, Carl. This is Tom Hicks, color commentator for NBS Broadcasting, and I am also coming at you live, from the 2021 Robo-Sumos.

CARL: Good to see so many smiling faces after nothing but a sea of masks for the last eighteen months!

TOM: That’s right, Carl, but given this state’s abysmal vaccination rate of less than 30%–not even half the required rate for her immunity–as well as the continued rise of new and exotic variants, I’m personally putting off and celebrating.

CARL: That explains the double-mask and sneeze shield.

TOM: That’s right, Carl. Not taking any chances, especially given that NBS has cut back on our health insurance, benefits, and basic human rights as part of a broadcast-industry-wide belt tightening. Now, why don’t you remind viewers who are just joining us about Robo-Sumo?

CARL: Unlike the high school robots we covered the other month, these are professionals dedicated to pushing each other out of the ring, as the name sumo would suggest if our viewers were aware of it as anything other than a source for fat jokes.

TOM: That’s right, Carl. Before the break, we saw Roboto-San defeated by Killdozer-117 in a major upset in the nano weight class. Now let’s have a look at the ring to see whether Killdozer-117 has what it takes to defeat our other quarterfinalist, Ch0nk.

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“We have men that can take care of this,” said Exposito.

“More of your gangbangers, going in with pistols defiantly held sideways?” Garcia said. “You’ll excuse me if I’m not impressed.”

“Hardly. These are former GAFE men, trained in special weapons and tactics.”

“Why would they work for you?” Garcia sneered.

“Regardless of what you might think, I pay and treat my best men well,” Exposito replied.

“Well enough to fight human opponents, perhaps,” Garcia said. “But those…things?”

“Have your boys coordinate with them and see.”

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Uthar Trask gasped wetly at the sight of He’jan in all his spectral glory, while the spirit pierced the air with an unearthly wail. His dagger clattered to the ground, leaving Al-Arjun’s neck unscathed as she broke his grip and backed away.

“His heart!” cried Al-Arjun. “It’s giving out!”

The slum lord, white as a sheet, sank to the ground as the life visibly ebbed from him. His men, seeing their leader seemingly killed by the very sight and sound of He’jan, dropped their weapons and headed for the hills.

“Do…do you think that counts as slaying a malefactor?” Al-Arjun gasped.

“You tell me,” He’jan said, smiling, already beginning to dissolve into points of brilliant, upward-floating light.

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“The Collection of M. Amber Tillmann: Last of the Tillmann Collectors,” Jeff read. “Very nice.”

“It’s already on the auction house schedule, but we need to get everything catalogued, photographed, assessed, appraised, and moved out of here before then,” Essie said. “That’s why we hired you and your crew.”

“Uh-huh,” Jeff said. “And we’ll get it done. But I like having all the information before I start a job. Why’d your usual crew quit?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Essie said, indignant.

“Okay, pack it up,” Jeff said. “We’re leaving.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Essie cried stepping in front of the exit. “Look, we usually have Forrestal’s boys handle this, all right? But they all quit on us day before yesterday and we’re desperate.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! This place is old and full of weird old stuff,” Essie said. She flipped up one corner of a sheet covering one of Ms. Tillmann’s artifacts and read the brass plate beneath it. “Maybe reading the names scared them off. But really, what does ‘Electro-Mechanical Messiah’ even mean?”

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