"Creation Blues"

CREATION BLUES
By Curtis C. Chen

"You there! Cake or death?"

Patrick blinked with surprise. "Um, cake?"

The clerk grinned. "Just seeing if you're awake. All right, come on through."

Patrick trotted quickly through the open doorway and into an empty corridor. He limped forward, following the glowing signs, and once again regretted not bringing his cane today. His wife had called it foolish pride. She was probably right.

The interview room was just as featureless as the corridor. Even the desk and the examiner's suit were a flat, off-white color, making it look almost as if a disembodied head and two hands were floating in the air.

Patrick handed over his application papers and sat down in the white chair. In his dark dress uniform, he felt like an invader, the germ in a sterile laboratory.

"Right. I see you've ticked the 'non-lethal' and 'Homo sapiens' boxes," the examiner said. "Those two features are naturally opposite. How do you intend to reconcile them?"

"Mutually repellent biological auras," Patrick said. "No species may harm its own kind. I've described the mechanism on the 505/B."

"Interesting." The examiner flipped through Patrick's forms. "That covers proximate cause, but what if, for example, someone drops a hammer onto someone else's head?"

"That's negligence," Patrick said. "Not homicide."

"Fair enough. And how do projectile weapons fit in?"

"No individual may cause intentional harm to another," Patrick said, rubbing his knee. "Accidents may be tragic, but they're not malicious."

"What about evolution?" the examiner asked.

"What about it?" Patrick asked.

"Well, how does speciation affect your aura mechanism? Let's say your Homo sapiens eventually mutate into a new, biologically distinct but physically similar species which exist contemporaneously with their ancestors. It's happened before--like Neanderthals, or Homo erectus. Would those two species be able to kill each other?"

"I hadn't thought about that."

"Well, you must consider these things when you're a god," the examiner said. "It may not technically be homicide, but it would certainly look like it, wouldn't it? One hominid cracking another's skull? And if they're both sentient, does that mean it's murder?"

"I don't know," Patrick said, his face feeling hot.

"Don't feel bad," the examiner said, selecting a rubber stamp. "Most applications are rejected initially. Just last week I had a bloke in here wanting to create a miniverse where faster-than-light travel was possible. Wasn't happy when I told him he had to actually do the math on a 447/A."

Patrick shifted in his seat. His leg throbbed with a dull pain.

"Now, your problem's a bit simpler," the examiner said. He stamped each of Patrick's forms with a blood-red REVISE AND RESUBMIT. "You've basically got magic in your 'verse; you just need to work out the logical rules, and the computers will take care of the rest."

Patrick took the forms back.

"Best of luck," the examiner said. "And by the way, thank you for serving."

Patrick nodded. His walk back down the corridor seemed much longer than before.

Audio: "Creation Blues"

Why is the examiner Scottish? I can only think it's because I love Kelly McDonald's accent as Della Smith in the BBC miniseries State of Play (remade this year as an American political thriller)--especially the way she overenunciates "murdered."

Music: 'Acoustic Guitar 1' + 'Bass' + 'Drums' stems from "Tom Cruise Crazy" by Jonathan Coulton, licensed under Creative Commons.

Happy Memorial Day

The inspirations for this week's story include Eddie Izzard...



...Terry Gilliam, Douglas Adams, and John Scalzi. Any failure to execute on their ideas is entirely my own.

"I Can See for Miles"

I CAN SEE FOR MILES
By Curtis C. Chen

"Please forgive me, Madam."

"You are forgiven," she said.

She clutched his face with both hands and pulled him into a kiss. He did not resist. The sound of a door opening pulled them apart.

"Soon," Lonea whispered.

Gerdan turned away and took the odor bottle from his belt. He didn't like to think what was in the foul mixture, but he closed his eyes and sprayed his face, twice, to mask Lonea's scent.

"Milord," Lonea said. Gerdan turned back and saw Lord Martilid waving a jeweled hand as he left the classroom. Martilid's son, Arton, sat inside with his arms folded.

The lesson began as it always did, with Lonea leading Arton in the seer's chant. She enunciated each syllable carefully, and he mumbled his way through the litany.

"Do you remember what we covered last week?" Lonea asked.

"Pin-pointing and focusing," Arton said.

"Good. Select a location you visited recently."

Arton smiled. "The docks."

Lonea frowned. "Very well. Show me."

She folded her hands and closed her eyes. Arton followed suit. Gerdan put one hand on his dagger and prepared to do his part.

"A stack of wooden crates," Lonea said.

"Markings on the crates," Arton said.

They began speaking as one. "A man rides a serpent."

Watching Lonea use her abilities always unnerved Gerdan. He disliked knowing that some noble blood flowed through her veins, and he disliked even more the likely cause for its being there.

"Emblem," teacher and student said in unison. "Great Ocean Trading Guild. Manifests. Prices."

Gerdan's dagger was nearly at Arton's throat when the boy and his teacher both jumped in their seats. Gerdan jerked back instinctively.

"What was that?" Arton and Lonea turned their heads from side to side, eerily synchronized. Arton's eyes snapped open. Lonea gasped and stood up.

"You saw it!" Arton cried.

"Yes, milord," Lonea said, looking past Arton and straight at Gerdan. "But we must continue."

"No!" Arton pointed at Gerdan. "You! Guard! Sound the alarm!"

"What did you see?" Gerdan asked Lonea.

"We must continue," Lonea said.

"An explosion!" Arton said. "One of our warships aflame, and alien troops emerging from the water! You must—"

Arton noticed Gerdan sheathing his dagger and scrambled to his feet.

"What is going on here?" Arton demanded.

"Yes," Lonea said, "I would ask you the same question, guard."

Gerdan stepped around the table. "I go to sound the alarm. As my duty demands."

"Duty!"

"I have chosen."

"You made your choice in my bedchambers," Lonea said.

"I have chosen," Gerdan repeated.

"And so have I."

Lonea moved faster than Gerdan anticipated, pulling the dagger from his belt and throwing the blade into Arton's throat. The boy gagged and fell. His blood dripped onto the floor.

Lonea smiled. "And what do you choose now?"

Gerdan took a step toward the door.

Lonea shouted his name.

Gerdan turned his head but did not look at her. "I choose to let you clean up this mess by yourself."

She screamed as he left, but he was no longer listening.

Audio: "I Can See for Miles"

PRO TIP: Anagrams of common English words can often make quite serviceable fantasy-world names.

Music: 'Burbles' and 'Pad' stems from "I Crush Everything" by Jonathan Coulton, licensed under Creative Commons.

The Who

'nuff said.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCsN3goNV58

"Reunion"

REUNION
By Curtis C. Chen

The girl standing on Ellen's doorstep is drenched. She looks like a wet cat, her dyed red-and-purple hair flattened against her small head. Cold wind blows past her into the house as Ellen stands there, frozen.

"Are you Ellen Montgomery?" the girl shouts over the storm.

Somewhere behind Ellen, a tea kettle whistles.

"Ellen Montgomery!" the girl repeats, enunciating as if she thinks Ellen might have a hearing problem. "Is that you?"

"Yes!" Ellen says. "Yes, that's me."

"Can I come in, please?" the girl asks, her voice a little more respectful now.

Ellen says, "Who are you?"

The girl says, "I'm your daughter!"

***

Neither of them drinks her tea. Ellen's cup sits on the table, steaming away its heat, while the girl--she says her name is Theora--cradles her cup with both hands, still shivering.

Ellen shakes her head as she flips through the contents of the folder, the papers and films still curled and warm from being hidden beneath Theora's hoodie.

"Where did you get all this?" Ellen asks.

Theora shrugs. "It wasn't easy. I mean, the DNA I did first, that was easy--I just sent away for one of those heritage-testing kits from NatGeo, right? And then I knew I was adopted."

"I'm not sure what I can do for you," Ellen says.

"I just wanted to meet you," Theora says. "And warn you."

"Warn me? About what?"

Theora's face is an unreadable mask. Ellen wonders if that's a natural expression, or if the girl's been practicing for a long time.

Theora takes both hands away from her teacup. Ellen lunges forward to catch the cup before it hits the floor, but it hangs there in midair. Then it rises. Ellen watches it float up to Theora's eye level.

"That's not--" Something sparks inside Ellen's head, and she crumples to the ground, unconscious.

***

When Ellen wakes up, she's got a splitting headache. She sits up on the couch and sees Theora on the floor.

Ellen feels a sharp pain as she turns her head. She touches the back of her neck and feels a patchwork of bandages. Her hand comes away sticky with not-quite-dried blood.

"What did you do?" Ellen asks Theora.

The girl holds out her left hand. Her palm has been stained red by the tiny tangle of wires she's holding. Ellen can see a small bulb at the center of the mass, like a spider with too many legs.

"They lied to you," Theora says. "They can't do a permanent memory wipe. This thing was suppressing your recall. My biological father had one too."

"You met Michael?" Ellen asks. "You found him?"

"Yeah," Theora says, looking down. "I couldn't remove his implant before it--I couldn't get it out in time. I'm sorry."

Ellen feels like she should cry.

"We need to go," Theora says, standing up.

"Go where? Why?"

Theora starts to reply, but Ellen can't hear her. A vivid flood of sounds and smells and sensations is filling her head, blotting out the present with the past.

Audio: "Reunion"

Canny moviegoers will notice that I named the mother and father in this story after Ms. Page and Mr. Cera, respectively, who played similar roles in the 2007 Academy Award-winning movie Juno (Best Original Screenplay by Diablo Cody).

Music: background stems from "You Ruined Everything" by Jonathan Coulton, licensed under Creative Commons.