Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“Shadrach.”

Ted Turnblatt spun on his heel, coffee roiling in his mug. “Only my mother calls me that, and she’s dead,” he said with a showman’s smile.

Omnibob, in its suit, did not return the gesture, though it was quite able to do so. “We need to talk about Toast That Bread, Shadrach.”

“Look, I know the contestants have been lousy lately, but that’s down to Acquisitions,” said Ted. “I’m doing the best I can with a game show designed to sell bread and toasters that has bread and toasters as its only prizes.”

“Corporate feels differently, Shadrach,” said Omnibob. “We feel that your approach may be too…old-fashioned.”

“Old fogies are the ones who get the most excited about toast,” sniffed Ted. “You don’t want a disaster like the time The Dietary Fiber Hour tried to appeal to the youth demo.”

“We’re not retooling the show; we are retooling you,” replied Omnibob. “Your resignation is requested, at the standard corporate buyout internal rate. You will finish this week’s filming and then report to Omnidyne Central Casting Unit for your new assignment.”

“I have an ironclad five-year contract,” Ted sputtered. “You should know.”

“We do know. That’s why you’re being asked to voluntarily terminate it.”

“Forget it,” Ted snapped. “I’ll finish my five years, and then we’ll talk.”

“Is that your…final answer, Shadrach?” said Omnibob.

“Absolutely.”

Ted gasped in pain as an object suddenly erupted from his chest, a gentle claw of bread, hardened in the oven, piercing him from behind and collapsing a lung.

“We will therefore invoke the death and disability clause,” Omnibob said. “Instead of replacing you at the end of the week, Contessa will replace you now.”

As Ted sank to the ground, his vision fading, he saw Contessa walking toward him, clad in a three-piece suit and wingtips, her hair ponytailed. She bent over, waved him goodbye, and then all was darkness.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

TED: Gooood evening ladies and germs! I’m your host, Shadrach “Ted” Turnblatt, and it’s time once again for…

AUDIENCE: TOAST! THAT! BREAD!

TED: That’s right! Omnidyne Consumer Products Toaster Division is proud to sponsor Toast That Bread, a high-stakes game of knowledge, heat, and luck where knowing your toaster inside and out is the yeast you can do! Say hello to today’s first contestant.

KAREN: My name’s Karen Gumplich, and I’m an administrative assistant in accounts receivable at Omnidyne Consumer Products, Nut and Bolt Division!

TED: Ah, the good folks at N&B are always so good to us, such unsung heroes. Okay, Karen, let’s see what we have today! Hit us with the details, Kevin!

KEVIN: Thank you Ted! Today we have an Omnidyne Type 92 Toaster, an improved version of the Type 87 designed for both home and light industrial use! And we’ll be using it to toast a five-gauge slice of Omnidyne Farms artisan pumpernickel, made by hand by robots in glorious, sustainable Facility 42!

TED: All right, Karen, you heard Kevin and you can see our toaster and bread before you. We’re looking for a Level 3 toast today, golden brown and firm but not stiff and not burnt. Tell us your settings, and the lovely Contessa will execute them.

KAREN: Thank you Ted! It’s so great to be here! Hi Barbara! Hi Mom! God bless!

TED: Okay, Karen, I know you’re excited, but we need those toast settings.

KAREN: I’m going to go with a single-slot toast, level 5 heat, for 25 seconds, Ted.

TED: Contessa? Oooh, I see that the slice is too large to fit top side up! She’s going to have to put it in sideways.

AUDIENCE: Oooooh!

KAREN: Is it too late to cut it in half?

TED: I’m afraid it is, Karen! Your choice is locked in.

CONTESSA: After a 25-second single slot toast, uncut and sideways on level 5, the pumpernickel is brown at the left but still soft on the right for an uneven and unpleasant overall effect, Ted!

KAREN: Can I put it back in the other way?

TED: I’m afraid that’s not possible, Karen. And it wouldn’t help anyway, since it would mean the center would be far more toasted than the edges as well. Judges?

KEVIN: The judges award Karen’s toast a 1.2 out of 5 overall, Ted!

TED: Ooh, I’m sorry, Karen! Don’t despair, though, since you might still win if someone burns their toast or is disqualified. Stay tuned, everyone! We’ll be back after these messages from Omnidyne Consumer Products, Toy Division, with more…

AUDIENCE: TOAST! THAT! BREAD!

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The first survey dismissed the markings as a natural occurrence, a quirk of the bizarre dirty-snowball terrain on Iapetus. But when another set, 97.2% identical to the ones on Iapetus, were uncovered on Rhea, a full scale investigation was launched, complete with a lander. It was a mass-produced model, designed for mineral surveys, but it was able to confirm that the marks did not seem to be natural in origin.

The result was an explosion of interest, with the UNSA ordering a full survey, with bespoke probes, for each of Saturn’s inner and largest moons. Glyphs were found on all of them, with a 78% similarity across all seven: Rhea, Iapetus, Diona, Tethys, Enceladus, Mimas. It was the glyph on Titan, near the south pole, that truly startled the UNSA, as there was no known natural process that could have preserved it on such a geologically young world. In fact, if the glyph on Titan was discounted, the others were 96.2% identical, leading some to surmise that it was a character in an unknown language with a different meaning for Titan than for its six sisters.

Further investigation, including a manned mission to the glyph on Rhea, did not shed any more light on the subject. No clues about any tools used to make the marks could be gleaned, nor could their age be reliably determined. Worse, the glyph on Titan was accidentally destroyed by a wildcat hydrocarbon mining operation before it could be properly studied, further deepening the mystery.

In the end, the UNSA ordered all the remaining glyphs quarantined under solid domes, with the shattered remains of the Titan glyph gathered and conserved as much as was possible. They remain the great unsolved mystery of possible first contact to this day.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

“Come toward me very slowly,” Commander Nagumo said. “Put it down, gently, and come over here. Don’t panic.”

“Why would I panic when I’ve got such a snufflybuns to cuddle with?” said Technician Second Class Mdugu, hefting Tibbles like a fuzzy sack of purring potatoes. “What’s with all you today? You’re acting weird.”

“We are, yes, indeed acting a little weird,” Nagumo said. “Put it down, very calmly and gently, and come over here. Let’s talk about it.”

M’dugu noticed that, as Nagumo spoke, two others were edging around him to either side, partially hidden by the cargo pods in the bay. Chief Cummings on the left, Ensign Donohue to the left, both of them with weapons visibly strapped on.

“Come on, guys,” M’dugu said, giving Tibbles another stroke. “Did you open the arms locker? What gives?”

“We opened it, yeah, and you will be issued a weapon like everyone else, don’t worry,” said Nagumo. “Just gently put it down and come over here.”

Sighing, and with one last squeeze against Tibbles’s soft fur, M’dugu set the cat down. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll step away from this soft, warm, nice cat because you’re being such weirdoes.”

Nagumo, with relief visible on his face, beckoned M’dugu toward him. “Slowly walk over here and we’ll chat, now that you’ve put it down.”

Slowly, suspiciously, M’dugu walked over. “Why do you keep calling the cat ‘it,’ commander?” he said.

Nagumo, his eyes flitting to the growing shadow behind M’dugu, replied with a slow but quavering voice: “It’s not a cat.”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The five elders of each of the units had been given their designations by the Geomancer, from Tetrahedron to Isocahedron. They had always met during times of travail to reason together, to apply relentless logic to problems, and when that failed, to enter a trance to try to contact the Geomancer and its Wisdom Beyond.

The invaders had killed Tetrahedron, apparently caring little for her sacred status. Octahedron was missing, having last been seen personally leading his personal guard into a melee. He was a wily one, and survival was not out of the question, but for the time being, he was absent.

Of the remaining three, Cube had gone into a trance, seeking desperately to contact the Geomancer for advice. That left Dodecahedron and Isocahedron, who had always quarreled since the previous Isocahedron had died and been replaced with a younger and more insolent successor. With the sounds of battle ever more audible, they could not even bring themselves to quarrel but rather sat in dull silence, waiting and hoping. Perhaps Cube’s trance would bear fruit, or perhaps they would be cut down when the sanctuary’s doors failed. In either case, or even if the absent Octahedron reappeared to mount a rescue, they were silently weighing the fact that their life, as it had been, was over.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The bright purple liquid—water?—flowed down the gentle incline between a series of shallow pools that had been paid into the landscape with close-fitted stones and a patina of moss and lichen that suggested a wholly ancient origin. The water(?) purred softly as it flowed, a gentle noise that would have been soothing if not for its utterly alien hue and unknown composition. The spring at its head gave no indication, other than a light indigo staining of the surrounding rocks, where the fluid was seeping from.

This, certainly, was the source of all the mysterious blue, indigo, and violet flora and fauna that had been reported in the area. But as for the origin of the purring purple fountain, the land offered no clue. The opening was tiny and the pressure such that even a branch would struggle to be thrust down against the current.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

“I am but a humble stair, upon which you may climb to reach the next level of consciousness,” the toad whispered. “My kind have for ages untold held this secret close, brewed it within our skins, sharing it freely with those who ask.”

“And I suppose you’ll tell us next that it is not a poison,” Codswallop said. “It certainly won’t paralyze us so that you can devour us at your leisure.”

“I certainly would never make such a claim, for to give such an absurdity voice is to plant it in the mind as a suggestion,” the toad hissed. “But if you wish to ascend, you must tred upon the stair. There is no other way.”

“And if we choose not to tred upon it? What then, O whispering stairtoad?”

“Then you die,” the toad said, in a tone of voice that suggested it was a matter of indifference. “So if my goal is to eat you, it really makes no difference one way or the other, does it?”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The garden sprite, Enon, knew it could not approach the house closely enough to reach the kitchen without being found by the cat again. So it decided to take up the head of a dandelion that had fallen to the ground and wear it as a hat and as a disguise. In this way, more of the delectable sweets could be had without the risk to life and limb.

The first part of Enon the sprite’s plan worked brilliantly, for it blended in to the yard spectacularly well. Not only the cat, but all other creatures, seelie and unseelie, failed to detect it. However, the one thing that Enon failed to take into consideration was that a dandelion disguise, no matter how perfect, stood out rather strongly in a kitchen.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The last of the Prungha, a people who lived on Murkatoiak Island for millennia before they were wiped out by Europeans and disease, sat down with a journalist during her final illness and recounted the stories and language of her people. The first and most important myth was that of the moose in the moon, with the Prungha holding that the creator of the world had ascended there to build anew, having painstakingly created the earth from a similarly lambent and desolate state.

When the journalist asked if this deity—whose name was taboo to utter unless a shaman was present—could be found on the moon if someone were to travel there, the last Prungha laughed and told another story.

A young Prungha man, she said, had once decided to ask the great creator-moose a question, and to that end had managed to sail to the moon to seek its counsel. When he arrived, though, he found that there was no way to return, no food for him to eat, and no water for him to drink. His earlier question forgotten, the young man instead asked asked only how to get home.

Suspicious, the journalist asked whether this was a true tale that the Prungha had told, or if the woman had made it up on the spot. Laughing, the woman asked who there was left to say otherwise. She died of her illness not long after, leaving the question wholly unanswered.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The marigolds had been thoroughly undone by the drought, barely growing at all and producing so few flowers on top of that that the annual Marigold Festival held in downtown Jubilation had to stoop to purchasing flowers from Chile. Live marigolds had traditionally been used to adorn decorations all over downtown, but with so few flowers available it was decided to use plastic flowers for everything guests wouldn’t see close up. So every lamppost along the Marigold Mile was decorated in plastic, as were the floats, the reviewing stands, and most of the buildings. Only the bouquets available for purchase or given as prizes had real flowers, and most of those were Chilean besides.

But the October timing for the Marigold Festival proved misleading. Jubilation broke all temperature records that weekend, with the mercury hovering around 95˚ in the shade. The cheap plastic marigolds began to melt in the intense heat, softening and sagging and in some cases literally dripping and running like tallow. Jubilation’s city council had hoped that the plastic stopgaps would go unnoticed, but once they began oozing, it was all anyone could see.

Eventually, the melting marigolds caused much of the planned festivities to be canceled, with the usual economic boost to the town offset by the costs of cleanup and ordering the faux flowers in the first place. A few vendors nevertheless wound up collecting the plastid runoff and re-pressing it into souvenirs, the first-ever Jubliation Marigold Money.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!