Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

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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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“You got the job, kid,” Dennis said. “Kid’s birthday party. Standard clowning, but with the possibility for tips above and beyond the listed pay rate if you do a good job.”

“Oh gods,” said Squids. “Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. I didn’t actually think I’d get the gig. Oh gods. What am I gonna do?”

“You’re gonna do a little kid’s birthday party,” Dennis said, “and be grateful that his grandfather’s raising him on old Bozo tapes.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Squids said. “I’m part of the Disguise Club. We meet once a week in disguise and just…you know…hang out. It’s all right,” Squids said, though her painted smile did not budge. “I dress like this because it represents what I would like to be: more outgoing, better with kids, less concerned with what people think of me.”

“Great,” Dennis said. “This is your chance. All the details are in the packet. You need a ride, or you driving yourself?”

“But I’m not any of those things!” cried Squids. “I’m a smartass, sarcastic, stick-in-the-mud who smokes.”

“Well, no smoking at the party, for sure,” Dennis said. He took another look at Squids, seated and trembling, and had a momentary swell of empathy. His daughter was only few years younger, after all, and he felt the same swell of fear and self-loathing whenever he had to speak in public.

“Listen,” Dennis added. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Nobody is who they present themself as, especially not people who seem to have everything all put together. Those folks who go out there every night to entertain? They’re just as scared as you and me.”

“But how…?”

“Fake it,” Dennis said. “Pretend. Pull one over on them. You’re already halfway there with that makeup, now go the rest of the way. The idea, Miss, uh, Squids isn’t to stop being afraid. It’s to get so good at resending otherwise that it’s second nature.”

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The spirit wavered. “I cannot pass on from this mortal plane until I slay an evildoer.”

“Should be easy enough,” said Al-Arjun. “I know some evildoers that could use slaying.”

“Oh?” He’jan drew an ethereal blade from is scabbard. “Like this?” He lunged at Al-Arjun in a practiced, savage manner.

“AAHH!” Al-Arjun’s squawk was cut short when the blade pierced her chest. It passed harmlessly through, like a shaft of light.

“Oh,” she added. “I see. Tough to slay an evildoer when you can’t interact with the corporeal world.”

“It’s all I can do to stay standing on the ground rather than sinking through it,” said He’jan sadly. “I have tried many things. I even arranged for a criminal to be caught for a crime that led to his execution. Nothing.”

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