December 25, 2012

From “Two Viruses Walk Into a Cell” by Shela Mihara

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A pair of viruses sidled up to a host cell’s ribosome after a long day in the bloodstream, looking to unwind their RNA strands and relax.

“Hey,” the first virus said. “Aren’t you a Group IV Caliciviridae Norovirus?”

“Why as a matter of fact I am,” said the second virus. “Name’s Norbert.”

“Clyde. Here to cause infectious gastroenteritis?”

“The very same.”

“Small world, Clyde. Small world.”

“It sure is,” Norbert (who was only 38 nanometers wide) said. “It sure is.”

After contentedly replicating themselves at the ribosome for a while, Norbert turned to Clyde. “Say Clyde. Do you think we’re alive?”

“That’s a good question Norbert,” said Clyde. “There are several schools of thought on the subject. We do evolve and multiply, yet lack many of the other so-called basic aspects of life like requiring nourishment.”

“Huh,” Norbert said. “That’s kind of disappointing, to think that I might not be alive.”

“Look at it this way,” replied Clyde. “If you’re not technically alive, you can never die.”

“Hm, that’s true!” Norbert said, brightening.

“Yep. People may vaccinate against us, but when push comes to shove the only way to destroy a virus is with a really tiny hammer.”

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December 21, 2012

From “Up the Ladder” by Lady Kaila Pisciotti

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The Other Book of Changes
Codex entry #90R1114

City officials are pretty sure that the population of Imami Monkeys were introduced when the Imami Zoo was ransacked during the Anarchy. New World monkeys of several closely related species escaped and soon interbred, finding the tropical climate and relative abundance of trees and skyscrapers much to their liking. Though troops of the much-diminshed Eastern Empire soon returned to restore order, there was little that could be done about the monkeys. They became such notorious pests that the Imami City Chamber of Commerce actually began offering bounties on their tails as had the ratcatchers of old; the local chapter of Humans for Ethical Animal Treatment protested, but even the regular harvests of tails did little to control a population with few natural predators.

Perhaps the most notorious of the Imami Monkeys was the leader of a troop near the Knackery, the officially unsanctioned but nevertheless open and tolerated school of tame magic and alchemy. Called Raider by those of the Knack, the monkey had even brown fur in contrast to the white and black patterns found on most of its compatriots. There was such intelligence, such malice, in its actions that many of the Knack claimed that Raider must have been exposed to wild magic or radiation from the Big One that had dropped offshore during the Anarchy. Maybe both.

Raider’s troop constantly tried to gain access to the alchemy building, probably because of the sweet smells that many of the ingredients issued forth. They’d tried breaking in, propping doors open, picking locks–every conceivable bit of mischief. In the end, the troop waited until Docent Algiers had loaded up his truck for a trip to MagiCon in Attica to strike. The Docent escaped with only a few scratches, but every last potion, salve, and tonic he carried was snatched away or shattered. Raider made for one vial in particular, a concoction of formaprogressa that had taken years to brew and which the Docent had hoped to sell for a tidy profit.

Safe in the abandoned apartment block that served as the troop’s den, Raider allowed the others to become drunk or disoriented by the other stolen goods before sneaking off to imbibe the formaprogressa. Luckily, the others were making too much of a racket to hear her–for Raider was indeed a she–shrieks as the fluid did its work. Rapidly denuded of hair and tail, Raider grew from three foot two to five foot five in seconds. When the magic faded and she looked into a mirror stolen for that very purpose, newly blue eyes stared back; only short monkey-colored hair was any indication of her original form. That had been the plan all along, to use the others to evolve herself to something more becoming the power and comfort Raider craved.

Well, the first part of the plan, anyhow.

Six months later, posters urged Imami residents to vote for Rae D’Erre, a fresh new face in city politics, for mayor.

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December 20, 2012

From “An Argument Against Apocalypse” by Kendra Meusa

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“If the world ends tomorrow…”

“It won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“It’s been tomorrow in Auckland for hours now. If anything were apocalyptic, we’d have heard about it.”

 

December 18, 2012

From “The Whistle” by Dyete Denamili

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I still remember the time Sean tried to do a wolf whistle and a copse of trees showed up and chased him across town.

Turns out he’d done a “wold whistle” by mistake, and the trees of the Old Town Wold hadn’t been happy about it.

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December 16, 2012

From “Humbstones” by Adulfo Wessen

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Dorothea Burke 1947-1975
She said “I’ll be right back.” We’re still waiting.

Franklyn Merrill Wright 1978-1999
A petty thief killed resisting false arrest. “Just cuz it’s wrong don’t make it Wright.”

Alba “Margie” Williams 1882-1951
Her twin dreams were to live forever and to visit Paris. One of them came true.

Nolan A. Reynolds Jr. 1901-1962
A dog that doesn’t bite can still push you off a ledge.

Sonja Cain 1966-1995
Lost to altitude sickness: died raising Cain.

Bernard Wong 1969-1999
Mixed up with Franklyn Wright during initial interment. “These undertakers, they don’t know Wong from Wright.”

Eunice Lisa West 1968-2002
Died from venereal disease. “Go West, young man, go west.” They did.

 

December 15, 2012

From “Aisle 27” by Phyllis McGuirk

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“This store is terrible,” groused Harold, intentionally complaining in front of the ladies who worked there. “Everything is too damn expensive.”

“This is a dollar store, sir.”

“And there’s no selection! None at all!” Harold continued, gesturing at aisle 27 of 53. “I tell you, if my name hadn’t been drawn out of the hat for the office party presents, I wouldn’t even be darkening your goddamn door.”

“Wow, buying Christmas presents at the dollar store,” one of the shopgirls murmured. “Pulling out all the stops, aren’t we?”

Harold began to walk down aisle 27. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” the other shopgirl said.

“Why the hell not? I have presents to buy for everyone at the firm and this aisle is 50% off.”

“That aisle is for wizards and the magically inclined. You need to have a good grasp of the seelie and unseelie worlds to make it out. It’s full of stocking stuffers.”

“Hah! The day some frump in a red vest tells me what I can and can’t do is the day I give my part of the office a raise!” said Harold, defiantly setting off down the aisle. “I don’t care if Merlin himself is in there.”

He walked confidently away as the ladies shook their heads and moved off. True to their word, the aisle was full of little baubles perfect for stockings–and perfectly priced at 50 cents a pop. Most were little carved gnomes and gargoyles. Harold examined each, looking for something that he was sure he wouldn’t want for himself.

Looking back, he noticed that some of the curios seemed to have shifted position. Shrugging it off, Harold kept browsing. The next time he turned around, the geegaws seemed to be even closer.

There wasn’t a third time. Tiny claws closed in on Harold from behind, and everything went black.

The store clerks found him the next day, stuffed and mounted as if by an experienced taxidermist and set at the end of row 27. “I warned him there were stalking stuffers down there,” one said. “Can’t say I didn’t warm him.”

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December 11, 2012

From “Selenia™: the Once-Daily Pill for Mild to Severe Rheumatoid Lycanthropy” by Q. Wayne Wilson

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[Soft music plays. A middle-aged MAN in a sport coat is in his kitchen, preparing a meal. He closed his fridge door and addresses the camera.]

MAN: Sometime, you want to get the most out of life. I know I do. But it was becoming difficult to maintain my lifestyle and family life due to my condition, which sometimes left me disabled for hours, sometimes days at a time. But that was before I talked to my doctor about Selenia™.

[The shot changes to a colorful pastel medication box with a beautiful butterfly on it.]

NARRATOR: Selenia™. For your mild to severe rheumatoid lycanthropy.

[A young WOMAN catches a soccer ball from offscreen and laughs.]

WOMAN: My mild to severe rheumatoid lycanthropy made attending my kids’ games an impossibility the day after an attack. The clothing repair and replacement costs were outrageous. And my family had to chain me up in the basement once a month after Uncle Anthony was slain. But no more. Thanks, Selenia™!

[The Selenia™ butterfly glides past her, and continues into a new scene with JAZZ MUSICIAN playing a solo in an intimate club setting.]

JAZZ MUSICIAN: Ever since I was gored by the Were-Razorback of Catullus Parish, my mild to severe rheumatoid lycanthropy has led me to attempt the brutal killing of friends and loved ones at least once a month, and infected dozens if not hundreds of others.

[The Selenia™ butterfly flits around JAZZ MUSICIAN’s head and he smiles.]

JAZZ MUSICIAN: Now I can hit the high notes in style. Thanks, Selenia™!

[The scene shifts between shots of other young, healthy people enjoying strenuous activities with the occasional shot of someone older engaging in a typical retiree task as the Selenia™ butterfly visits them all.]

NARRATOR: If you suffer from mild to severe rheumatoid lycanthropy, ask your doctor if Selenia™ might be right for you. 66% of patients in a double-blind study reported decreases in the length and/or severity of episodes after taking Selenia™. Side effects include irritability, excess body hair, semi-permanent fangs, mange, partial metamorphosis of extremities, chronic halitosis, heartworms, and lifeforce unraveling. Warning: Selenia™ carries some risk of The Blood Death. Do not use Selenia™ if you are on blood thinners or other coronary medications as serious and sometimes fatal episodes of The Blood Death have been reported. Talk to your doctor immediately if you notice any sudden personality changes or sudden cravings for exotic rare meats like emu, as this may be a sign of a rare but serious side effect. Do not use Selenia™ is you are nursing, pregnant, or may become pregnant, as it may cause mothers and offspring to develop Acute Metamorphic Dysplasia (AMD). People who do not suffer from mild to severe rheumatoid lycanthropy must not take Selenia™, as it carries a slight 100% chance of causing the condition in otherwise healthy adults and children interested in becoming adults.

[The Selenia™ butterfly comes to rest on the Selenia™ box.]

MAN, WOMAN, JAZZ MUSICIAN: Thank you, Selenia™!

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December 9, 2012

From “All Tapped Out” by Madelyn Aisha Goeke

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Officer Caruthers rubbed the back of his head. “Chief Strong has brought in an…outside advisor.”

Detective Gorrister sighed. “Strong and his outside advisors. This isn’t another radio psychic, is it?”

The apartment door nudged open, and a large man waddled in. He was dressed in Lincoln Green, and his greasy dark hair was thin in front and long and flowing in back, as if it were being grown out for a comb-over. “Hardly,” the man said. “Like any expert, I am here because of my overwhelming knowledge of and appreciation for the applicable lore.”

“Sherman Gregward,” Caruthers said. “He helped us out with that hostage situation a few months ago.”

“Please address me by my true name, Sherwood Greg, if you please,” intoned the man. “Collector, scholar, dungeon master, level 24 elven sorceress, head of the Council of Twelve, and overall coordinator for Nerdicon. Pre-registration for Nerdicon ’13 begins next week, and I’ve got plenty of plus ones if anyone’s interested.”

Gorrister gripped the bridge of her nose. “And what, exactly, do you bring to the table, Maid Marion?”

Sherwood Greg walked to a nearby end table and slapped down a thick deck of worn cards. “That’s what I bring to the table,” he said.

“A deck of Magick: Battle of Warlocks cards?” Corruthers snapped. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“You tell me, detective.” The corpulent collector cut the deck and revealed a card called The Multiphase Fleshwalker. It depicted a beautiful woman with one leg and one arm denuded of flesh, drawn in a quasi-realistic fantasy style, with the following text beneath it:

Strength 6/Defense 6
Costs three cornfields to activate
Restore one life to casting warlock
Protect casting warlock from life damage for one turn when rotated
Once rotated, may not be used unless caster rotates an additional six cornfields
“They restore one’s flesh at the cost of their own, and are always looking for a lifeforce to drain to restore the beauty they so desperately crave but never attain.”

“Holy shit,” said Caruthers. “It’s just like the murder.”

Sherwood Greg nodded toward the mutilated corpse behind the two officers. “Looks like someone is desperate to restore their life points,” he said.

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December 8, 2012

From “The Legendary Last Cantrip of Harry Culbertson” by Jinny Bagdon

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Before the Divinity convened the Council of Conjuration in 1725 and abolished magic, incanation, cantrip, and overt miracle from the world, many who had studied the arcane had chosen to impart some (or all) of their innate magickal energy into inanimate items. The most powerful of these were rounded up by the priests, ministers, imams, and other authorities who made up the Council. Items such as the Endless Soup Tureen of Tiruchirappalli, the Eviscerating Epee of Saint-Étienne, and the Cursed Calabash of Canton were confiscated and transubstantiated.

However, the Council’s bylaws explicitly allowed those artifacts not confiscated to continue in their function as long as their powers remained in a sort of grandfather clause. Reportedly the Purifying Pit of Pradesh, which cleaned the water used by an entire city, had persuaded a Councilman to press for this clause; the others, mindful of similar cases at home, agreed.

For many years, such grandfathered pre-Council artifacts were highly sought-after, and none moreso than the legendary Last Cantrip of Harry Culbertson. Culbertson, the legendarily lazy and laconic master of the last functioning magisterium school in Britain, had reportedly imbued a single object with the greater part of his formidable powers. He’d hidden it shortly before his death from hypergout in 1717 and many a treasure seeker had wasted a life in pursuit thereof. For what other than an artifact of immense power could have consumed the better part of the old arch-wizard?

That was the thinking, anyhow, until 2002 excavations near Cavendish Square to expand a parking garage unearthed a metal casket bearing Culbertson’s name and a magical seal. The seal was broken using modern magic (12 kg. of C4 from the Royal Engineers), and the legendary Last Cantrip of Harry Cavendish was revealed.

It turned out to be an indestructible pillow that retained its shape and fluffiness regardless of any external force. Apparently the legends regarding Culbertson’s love of leisure had undersold the matter a little bit.

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December 6, 2012

From “The Candy on the Ledge” by Gigi Ailes

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Keith and Madelyn were strolling along the back way to Henry Hall, which they favored more for its light traffic and lack of freshmen than its scenic view of dumpsters in semi-decorative brick enclosures. Madelyn was complaining loudly about Dr. Wojtecki’s grading practices when Keith interrupted her.

“Look at that,” he said. “That pile of Nerds and pink Tootsie Rolls as been on that ledge since Halloween.” The candy was sitting in one of the brick “windows” that semi-decorated a dumpster alcove.

“You’d think a campus full of starving freshman working on their fifteen would’ve finished it off even dumpster candy long ago,” said Madelyn. “Like ‘Halloween night’ long ago.”

“Well everyone was too busy getting falling-down drunk while dressed as a skimpy nurse on All Hallows itself,” said Keith. “And probably hung over with a volatile mix of candy and cognac swirling in an otherwise empty stomach.”

“That explains a day, maybe. But over a month?”

“Think about it. After a few days hungry people notice it but they’re like ‘why hasn’t anyone eaten that yet?'” Keith said in a bad falsetto. “They conclude there’s something wrong with it. And the odd little kid that comes by who wouldn’t care is helicoptered by parents still fretting over the latest razor-blades-in-candy-apples urban legend moral panic.”

“Well, I’m going to give it a good home,” Madelyn said. She reached for the small pink pile.

“Are…are you sure about that?” Keith said, suddenly anxious. “It has been out in the elements for a long time. And despite my jokey tone a minute ago, some of that stuff could have a basis in fact.”

“Oh, it’s not for me,” Madelyn grinned. “It’s for Dr. Wojtecki. Never saw a piece of candy he didn’t like. And never met a substitute he does.”

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