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October 28, 2014

From “The 303rd Fighting Unicorn Division” by R. G. Lemure

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“I won’t do it,” Gibbons cried. “You can’t make me.”

“Make you do what?” laughed Spinelli.

“Make me your guinea pig in all these magical insect demonstrations!” Gibbons replied, her voice shrilly passionate. “I’ve been mauled by a toothless ghast, mind-controlled into eating an Iowa’s worth of corn…orders or no orders, I’m not doing it!”

“Relax,” said Spinelli. “The Fighting Unicorns aren’t about coercion. Would it make you feel better if I was the next demonstration subject and you got to release the insect on me?”

Gibbons nodded eagerly, a fiendish gleam in her eyes, and Spinelli obligingly handed over a small case and a cue card before standing in the middle of the proving ground.

“This is a species of Auchenorrhyncha, best known for…producing loud noises in summer,” read Gibbons from the card. She opened the container and a repulsive insect resembling a giant housefly with oversized (and bright green) wings buzzed out. It made a beeline for Spinelli, who held out his arm for it to land on.

“Go on,” Spinelli said.

“The creature’s natural song…has evolved into a strong magical defense mechanism that uses sound to cause nausea at a distance,” Gibbons continued. “The sound becomes more potent at greater range, with a zone of safety extending about one meter…to…all…sides.” She looked up. “Oh no.”

As if on cue, the insect on Spinelli’s arm buzzed loudly. Spinelli himself felt nothing, but Gibbons, standing some distance away, was immediately and violently nauseous, and turned to hurl a mixture of various kinds of corn all over the waiting cadets.”

“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” Spinelli said with a grin, “is why we call this particular specimen a Sick Ada.”

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October 27, 2014

From “Paramedic Descending” by Lael Apgar

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“You’ll be happy to know, my friend, that the law firm of Spiner, Hernandez, and Xon has a full stake in the local private hospital, run by the prestigious Infrared health care network.” Spiner said, in an upbeat tone of voice more fitting for a used car salesman than an attorney.

“Uh-huh,” Jake said from between clenched teeth. “And that means what to me?”

“Well, I’ll have you know that fully 10% of your legal fees paid thus far will count against your bill at Infrared Health,” Spiner said brightly. “It’s one of the first vertically-integrated docket-to-death systems in the state, and we’re very proud of it.”

“What good does that do someone who’s just been shot?” Jake cradled the phone with his shoulder, both hands being busy pressuring the seeping bloody wound in his abdomen.

“I’ll have them send you a paramedic.” Spiner’s tone was dismissive, as if that were a minor obstacle on the way to health, happiness, and an astronomical bill. He once again hung up before Jake could offer much in the way of an answer.

Moments later, the silence of the alley was broken by the hum of diesel engines as the C-47 from earlier wheeled overhead; Jake noted that it bore Spiner, Hernandez, and Xon roundel and fin flash. “Oh, not again.”

Someone leaped from an open door of the plane and drifted on thermal air currents down into the alley. “Hi there!” they said upon landing. “I’m your Spiner, Hernandez, and Xon paramedic. I can be with you as soon as I repack my chute.”

“And how, exactly, is that going to help me?” cried Jake. “Are you going to carry me to the hospital?”

“Now, now, the ambulance will be here in 30 minutes or less or your tetanus shot’s free. In the meantime, I have three flavors and six colors of chewable morphine tablets for you.”

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October 26, 2014

From “El Dia De El Gancho” by Gildea Delanoche

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The mysterious assassin was known only as El Gancho. He didn’t use weapons in his killings; no, he preferred a hand-on approach. He was an expert in getting close to targets, usually by blending in with a larger party of onlookers or hangers-on, and then getting them alone on a pretext. By the time a target’s guards heard the screams, it was too late.

Word had it that the president of the República de San Martín, the first democratically elected head of state after a half-century of rule by the corrupt Alvarez, the insane Gonzaga, and the brutal Exposito. Powerful people wanted the new president to disappear, and El Gancho was just the one to make it happen for the right price.

Detective Ramirez, on loan from Interpol, was scouring recent pictures of the president at galas and balls, trying to root out inefficiencies and outright holes in the security detail. As he did so, he came across a recent photograph of the president opening the Sanmartínese legislature. A variety of dignitaries were pictured applauding…including a man in a formal suit striking a hook where his left hand should have been against his right.

“…El Gancho…!” Ramirez hissed.

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October 25, 2014

From “The Three Juliets” by Calvin Higgins Joachimthal

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Les trois Juliets (1970)
Director: Auguste Des Jardins
Producer: Jens Dardis
Writer: Auguste Des Jardins & Jens Dardis
Cast:
Juliet Delacroix
Marguerite Delacroix
Géraldine Delacroix
Sid Jendras (voice)
Music: Georges Delerue
Editing: Auguste Des Jardins
Distributor: Union Générale Cinématographique

Long considered the masterpiece of French auteur Auguste Des Jardins and overshadowing the other projects he completed before his death in 1976, Les trois Juliets reportedly came about as part of a dinner conversation about the minimum number of actors that would be required for a fantasy film. Des Jardins’ longtime paramour Nadeau Struggs argued that a large cast was necessary, while the filmmaker himself insisted that it could be made with as few as two people, which he later revised to one and a half (with the half person being a voice-only role).

The resulting film follows a lonely woman named Juliet (spelled in the English fashion rather than the more Gallic Juliette) who lives in a Montmartre hovel working an unfulfilling job after the collapse of her dream to move to Paris to become an actress. Through an inventive use of ambient sound, camera angles, and deep focus techniques, Juliet is the only person ever seen onscreen despite the bustling inner city setting. She speaks only to herself or in telephone conversations to her father (Des Jardins’ frequent leading man Sid Jendras in the aforementioned voice-only role).

Only when Juliet spies another young woman in her neighborhood who looks exactly like her does another human being appear on screen, and the meat of the film revolves around her discovery of not one but two young women who seem to share her appearance, background, and even memories (albeit with some key differences). The film plays out as an extended metaphysical meditation with the occasional moments of levity as the three young ladies, each presided over by a father on the telephone that may or may not be the same man and is evasive in his answers. The ambiguous ending, which can be interpreted as a suicide, a merger of the three Juliets into one, or a belated agreement to live their lives as if they had never met, is still cited as an influence by filmmakers to this day.

One noteworthy piece of trivia revolves around the casting. While Jendras is clearly and unmistakably the telephone voice, the situation with the three credited actresses (Juliet, Marguerite, and Géraldine Delacroix) is much murkier. Des Jardins himself claimed that he had happened upon a set of triplets of the proper age and appearance purely by chance (and counted the three as one as a “clever trick” vis-a-vis the original wager). Nadeau Struggs and many critics disagree, insisting that it was a single person filmed with camera tricks, with the reason for the farce cited as a liaison between the star and the director with a triple credit for triple pay (Struggs, for her part, did concede the wager). No triplets Delacroix have ever been located, and Des Jardins’ insistence that the girl or girls weren’t professional actors has made the topic an occasional cause of friction among cineastes. None of the three girls have been seen in public since accepting various awards in 1971.

That point aside, the film is and remains widely popular among devotees of minimalist and fantasy cinema; Kubrick and Tarkovsky both lavished the film with praise and an English language remakes were released to lukewarm reviews in 1977 (Three Juliettes) and 2003 (The Three Juliettes), both notably using the French spelling of “Juliette” rather than Des Jardins’ preferred “Juliet.”

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October 24, 2014

From “Le Pont de Douleur” by Upton Le Duor

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“It’s a paingate,” said Leland. “Haven’t you ever read Tarboski?”

“How about just telling me what it is,” said Cliff, “instead of trying to make me feel stupid.”

Leland sighed. “Tarboski’s a science fiction author, a pretty good one, even though people don’t read him as often as they used to. One of his best books is about how weird alien artifacts start showing up in some podunk town and screwing things up, and one of them is a paingate. It’s shown up in some other stuff that people have written too.”

“Okay, but why is it called a paingate?” Cliff said. “It looks like a coffee cup for clumsy people.”

“Well, according to the book, any liquid that you put in that middle part there–coffee or otherwise–is immediately crystalized into a valuable gemstone,” said Leland. “Diamonds, rubies, alien gemstones of incomparable power that emit lethal radiation, that sort of thing. But there’s a catch.”

“A worse catch than lethal radiation?” Cliff tapped at the plexiglass box containing the three-handled ceramic ‘cup.’

“Yeah. If you touch it with bare skin, you die. Really, really painfully.”

Cliff backed away violently. “You could have said that to begin with!” he cried.

“Relax. It’s obviously a replica that some super-geek bought at Nerdicon.”

“Where’s the ‘gate’ part come in?” Cliff said, with a sideways glance at the case and its contents. “I get the ‘pain’ bit now.”

“That’s the best part of the book. Well I think it’s the best, anyway.” Leland grinned. “If you die from touching it, another you–identical to the dead one in every respect aside from having no memory of the last day or so–appears randomly nearby after 19 minutes and 17 seconds.”

“You mean they could…see their own dead bodies?” Cliff said.

“Could and did. It’s a pretty intense book.”

“I guess so.”

“You want to open the case and see how accurate the reproduction is?” said Leland eagerly.

“Not in a million years.”

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October 23, 2014

From “Wit for a Queen” by Quin Faetower

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“I stayed up all night,” I said, “trying to think of something witty to say to the Queen.”

“Really now?” The Queen’s eyes twinkled. “What did you come up with?”

“I just said it,” I laughed.

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October 22, 2014

From “The Memory of Cameras” by Marco Másmeyer

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“Sir, can I see that camera?” The Metromart employee held out his hand.

“It’s my camera,” I snapped. “I came in with it.”

“Sir, do you have a receipt?”

“Of course I don’t have a receipt!” I cried. “Here, look at this.” I turned the camera on and handed it to the Metromart greeter. “See this picture of me in the park? With my nephews? Do you think I just took those in the store?”

“Oh,” said the greeter. “I’m sorry. We’ve just had a lot of thefts lately.”

I took the camera back with a harrumph and left. As soon as I was out of view, I popped it open and removed its SD card. I’d taken the pictures with another camera over a year ago; by switching the cards, it was very easy to make the camera look like it was mine. By the time Metromart found the discarded packaging, it was too late.

Starting up the car, I headed over to Berkeley’s to pawn my new acquisition.

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October 21, 2014

From “A Twisted Chinese Calendar” by Denis Eschewitt

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For us, those years took on the aspect of a sort of twisted Chinese calendar. Anyone who was born in the Year of the Rat or the Year of the Pig already knows that calendar isn’t without its downsides, but we took it a step further.

For instance, who could forget the Year of the Skunk? An irascible musteloid moved in under the deck outside and defended his territory with the ferocity of a Frenchman at Verdun. In addition to the persistent odor, the dog took it upon himself to root out the intruder and found himself repeatedly sprayed with foul musk (before tracking said musk in through the doggy door).

And the Year of the Hornworm had its trials and tribulations as well. We decided to invest in some tomato plants to try and eat healthier on a budget, but all we managed to do was raise a crop of hornworms. The thumb-size green caterpillars devoured the whole crop no matter how many we plucked off and dunked into the alcohol-filled Jar of Death. We probably could have given the seeds directly to the caterpillars and cut out the middleman. Or eaten the caterpillars.

Our personal Chinese calender wouldn’t be complete, of course, without the Year of the Mole? Our yard looked like some kind of a crazy quilt mosaic with mole tunnels and molehills and mole superhighways. We tried poisoning them, flooding them, and of course the dog did his best to dig them out. The only casualty? Our lawn. The moles left of their own accord once they were sure every last blade of grass was dead.

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October 20, 2014

From “This Little Lunch of Love” by Nicholle Lofthus Levitt

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“I packed you your favorite lunch, sweetheart.” Mary-Beth held out a paper bag, delicately wrapped, and laid it at her daughter’s feet. “It’s just what you’ve been asking for. I’m just sorry I can’t make it more often, since you know what a bother it is.”

Her daughter made no move to accept the bag.

After a moment, Mary-Beth continued. “Don’t tell me you won’t take it! You’ve been begging for this for months, and it’s been so difficult not to indulge you at every turn…”

The greasy stains on the bag began to spread, and soon the paper started to sog and soften under the weight. Viscous and red liquid began to dribble from it, staining the carpet and her daughter’s clean new shoes.

“It’s a little messy,” conceded Mary-Beth, “but what isn’t, when made with love?”

Her daughter said nothing; the breath had long since departed her body. Through the intercession of the spirits in Mary-Beth’s head, she had been begging for months for a sweet embrace about the throat and a meal of her father’s fresh heart. Her doting mother had granted both, and when she was found the next day, still whispered sweet nothings to her child while the body of her husband cooled on bloodsoaked sheets nearby.

Inspired by this image.

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October 19, 2014

From “Agustin Exposito, Corregidor of Veracruz and Scourge of the Pirates” by Georgia Rainford

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“King Philip V is wracked by illness and madness, and his son and heir Louis is a simpleton who even his wife refuses to see,” Exposito cackled from behind the bars. “What a wonderful opportunity this presents to a man of vision and initiative! The Viceroy Balthazar prepares to sail to Spain to take up residence as majordomo of the palace on the strength of his campaigns against the pirates infesting our waters and the remarkable innovation of the so-called Spanish Plate and the Spanish Cannon.”

“Is that it, then?” said Hume. “He was building his power here to return to Spain in triumph?”

“Or so he thinks!” Exposito cried, hurling himself at the bars. “Little does he realize that it has all been my doing! I am a native son of this land, born here and raised here, the Corregidor of Veracruz. Everything that passes from the New World to the Old must also pass through my fingers. I built myself up from nothing, because the visions have told me that I must.”

“You’re mad,” Hume spat, “and your visions are just the ravings of a lunatic Balthazar keeps on a chain so that he might have a mad dog to unleash when it suits him.”

“Of course you would say that; you foul pirates lack vision and purpose. It is simple, pure, and revealed to me with a blinding light when I came into myself.” Exposito leered at Hume, his eyes wide and mad behind the iron. “For I am the beast spoken of in Revelations, destined to lay the world low in chaos and despair that it might be redeemed through suffering. Don’t you see? Only with the emergence of the Beast, with chaos and hardship, may the way be paved for redemption and the Redeemer. Those I kill are sent to their own just rewards, and those that suffer will be assumed unto their own once the trumpets sound.”

“Madness,” said Hume. “Utter lunacy.”

“To the contrary, it all makes so much sense! Of course it would be an Expositio, abandoned by family to a wasting death in the wilderness, a product of both worlds, who would bring this about. Of course the New World would have the means to accomplish the Revelation and the end times. And to that end I will have the viceroyalty, I will control that fool Balthazar and that greater fool Louis on the throne, and I will redeem this world through the agony and ecstasy of divine will.”

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