"Rieta Linbitter's Backstory"

RIETA LINBITTER'S BACKSTORY
By Curtis C. Chen

It still amazed Rieta that her husband could do so many delicate things with his metal appendages. The men in Rieta's family were rarely gentle. Her own father had earned his arms through military service, and he would have stayed in except that the rulers had discharged him. It happened to a few soldiers every year. The rulers never explained why, and nobody dared to complain.

Rieta's mother was happy to have her father home instead of being deployed to faraway lands at some commander's whim, but he had been denied a lifetime of glorious conquest and a warrior's death on the battlefield, and he felt cheated. Rieta's grandfather had been a ground general in the Amphibious War. All the men in Rieta's family had grown up in a martial atmosphere, conditioned to respect strength in others and cultivate it in themselves.

Rieta had learned the same lessons from the receiving end. Men were protectors, or destroyers, and for the longest time she believed that her own happiness and safety depended on choosing the right kind to be her husband. Then her father had been discharged, and she had watched him turn from a good man into something else.

She would always hesitate to say what he became after leaving the army. It wasn't that she couldn't put a name to it; she just feared that saying the word aloud would cement the concept in reality. Rieta knew the power of incantation, and she did not want to curse her father any more than he already had been.

He had only struck her once in her life. Rieta had been nine years old and late getting home for dinner one night. She had walked into the dining room to find the table set with food, and her parents sitting but not eating.

Rieta couldn't remember if she or her father had said anything. She remembered that her mother had stayed silent, with wide eyes and a pale face. She remembered that her father had stood and raised his arm, and she had wondered what he was going to do with it.

She remembered the pain. She winced when she thought of it, and her tongue went involuntarily to the space in her mouth where there used to be a tooth. She remembered blacking out for a moment, and her father being gone when she struggled back to her feet, and her mother still sitting at the table.

He had only struck Rieta once, and never again. The Pealers found him asleep in an alley the next morning and brought him home.

Rieta had not looked at made men and their metal arms the same after that. Where once she saw strength, she also now saw terrible power. She understood that even though those metal arms and legs were bonded to human bodies, they were no more or less tools than the shovels and lasers used by builders. And tools could be used for good or ill.



This week's 512 is an excerpt from my 2009 NaNoWriMo novel, which is based on a previous 512 story, "Better."

"Harold & Kumar Get Left 4 Dead Once Upon A Time In Mexico"

HAROLD & KUMAR GET LEFT 4 DEAD ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO
By Curtis C. Chen

Tijuana after the zombie apocalypse didn't look that different to Harold Lee. Of course, all the previous times he'd visited, he'd been drunk, stoned, or both.

He heard rustling outside the front door of the motel. Harold crouched down behind the counter and aimed his assault rifle.

The doorknob turned, and Harold hesitated. Zombies don't do that! Do they?

Kumar Patel threw open the door and ran in, holding an automatic shotgun in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. "Harold! Where are you?"

Harold stood up, his heart still pounding. "Close the door and keep your voice down, man!"

Kumar kicked the door shut. "You're not going to believe—"

"Dude!" Harold said. "Knock before entering. I almost blew your head off!"

"It's cool, I forgive you. Check this out!" Kumar laid his shotgun on the counter, opened the paper bag, and pulled out a plastic-wrapped green bundle.

Harold stared at the bundle. "What is it with you?"

"I know! It's like a sixth sense or something. I was just coming back through the alley—"

Harold slapped Kumar across the face.

"What the fuck!" Kumar said.

"Exactly," Harold said. "We're stranded in Tijuana. There are thousands of zombies between us and the border. We have two guns. It's going to be dark soon.

"And all you can think about is getting high?" he screamed.

Kumar nodded. "You're right. We'll probably be dead in a few hours." He held up the bundle. "So do you want to bite it with a stick up your ass, or do you want to go out in a haze of glory?"

Harold glared at him.

***

The back door of the motel clanged open. The noise echoed down the alley.

"Fuck me, that was loud," Kumar said, stepping through.

"It's cool, man," Harold said, following. "Zombies can't hear shit."

Harold had to admit, Kumar had found some amazing weed. He took a long drag off the joint and handed it over.

Kumar puffed and said, "Fucking zombies." He hefted his shotgun. "Come and suck on this, you undead assholes!"

"Sshhh!" Harold hissed.

They stopped. The sound of a little girl crying drifted toward them. They inched forward until they saw a thin, pale body kneeling at the end of the alley, rocking back and forth.

"Witch!" Harold whispered. "Turn off your flashlight. We gotta sneak around her."

Kumar put a hand on his belt. "I have a better idea."

"What? Nooooo..."

Harold seemed to move in slow motion as Kumar raised the bottle, touched the gasoline-soaked rag in its neck to the burning joint in his mouth, and threw the Molotov. It smashed open against the witch's head, spilling flame everywhere. She screamed.

Kumar chuckled. A sparkle in the distance caught his eye. He squinted at a building across the street. A figure walked into the amber light of sunset. Kumar saw cowboy boots with spurs, a sequined shirt, and a giant sombrero. A dark mustache obscured much of the face, but it looked like—

"Neil Patrick Harris?" Kumar said.

"Part of the Solution"

PART OF THE SOLUTION
By Curtis C. Chen

"This job is killing me," Tim said.

"Maybe you should find a new job," Karl said.

"That's funny." Tim tossed back the rest of his drink.

"I think you've had enough." Karl waved a bill at the bartender. "I'll drive you home."

"I'll call a cab."

"Like hell you will." Karl paid their tab and grabbed Tim's left arm.

Tim made a halfhearted attempt to break free of Karl's grip. "What time is it?"

"Half past midnight," Karl said, shoving Tim forward.

"One more for the road," Tim said, spinning himself around.

Karl twisted Tim's arm behind his back and pushed him down into an empty chair by the door. "I'm the brawn, remember?"

Tim grimaced with pain. "Make it a coffee?"

Karl shook his head and flagged down a waitress.

***

Tim's wristwatch beeped on the hour at one o'clock, and he stopped struggling and let Karl maneuver him the rest of the way up to his apartment.

"You're a great partner," Tim said.

"Don't kiss me," Karl said.

"I ain't that drunk."

At the top of the stairs, Karl lowered Tim to a sitting position in the hallway, facing away from the door to Tim's apartment. Karl had to use both hands to turn the key in the ancient lock. He had stopped complaining after the first dozen times.

Tim closed his eyes and hummed loudly, trying to muffle the sounds he knew were coming.

Karl had been a good partner. It wasn't just his formerly sense-resistant brain structure or his physical strength. They had been a team. Karl hadn't simply shielded Tim's sensitive noggin, though he had lasted longer at that than anyone else. Karl had also helped with their investigations. He had been least as much a solver as Tim had. Sometimes more.

The whiskey was wearing off. Tim could feel the familiar tingling in his head which preceded the intrusion of another person's subconscious. The company called it a gift, but it felt more like a curse—he couldn't control it, couldn't even read people clearly most of the time, usually just got jumbled images—

Should have let him have that last drink. Might have been asleep by now. Wouldn't have to listen to his off-key humming.

Tim's head snapped up, and the thought flashed through his mind before he could speak: I'm reading Karl? That's impossible!

Karl looked down at Tim, frowning. "What's impossible?"

The door creaked open.

Tim launched himself sideways, slamming his shoulder into Karl's legs and knocking him down. The shotgun discharged a split second after Karl's head dropped out of the doorway.

Karl had already drawn his sidearm and was pulling his cell phone out of his jacket. Tim grabbed his partner's hand and stopped him from pushing the panic button.

Twelve-gauge rigged to a magnetic switch, activated by light and motion sensors, Tim thought, looking straight at Karl. Plausible deniability.

Karl blinked twice, then lowered his weapon. "You're—I'm—"

Tim pulled out his own cell phone, opened the case, and removed the battery. "Disappear first. Talk later."

"IM IN UR HAUS"

IM IN UR HAUS
By Curtis C. Chen

Alice put on her boots and gloves and went outside. The shoveling might have waited, but the tears wouldn't, and she preferred to be doing something rather than just sitting by the window using up Kleenex. Besides, the cat wouldn't shut up, and Alice didn't need the grief today.

An hour later, her muscles ached, her cheeks were cold and wet, and there still seemed to be an entire mountain range of snow between her and the street. She looked back toward her front door. The winding path she'd dug along the walkway was a twisted, purposeless trench, going nowhere, coming from despair.

The cat was staring at her through the window. Alice stared back, catching her breath, exhaling fog. The cat blinked slowly, then began grooming itself, licking one paw and dragging it over its face.

"Stupid cat," Alice muttered. She hadn't even wanted a pet. The cat had been a stray, and adopting it had been Nathan's idea. It was also the last thing Nathan had touched before leaving the house that day, exactly one year ago. He had kissed Alice, the cat had rubbed up against his leg, and he'd scratched its head and smiled at Alice and then vanished. Probably forever.

Some people still held out hope that their loved ones might reappear someday, returned by the whim of whatever mysterious force had snatched them away in the first place, but Alice knew better than to delude herself. Even if he did return, he would be different, changed by whatever experience he'd had. And if, as some supposed, he was trapped inside a time bubble, frozen while the rest of the world spun on—well, then Alice would be the changed one, and they would still be separated by a gulf of difference. She had long ago decided to move on.

But Alice couldn't get rid of the cat. She just couldn't.

The cat stopped grooming, sat up, opened its mouth, and began convulsing.

"Not again!" Alice dropped the shovel and ran back into the house. She managed to scoop up the cat and position it on the tiled kitchen floor before it coughed up a very large hairball.

"What is wrong with you?" Alice asked the cat. "I've told you, if you think you're going to puke, go into the bathroom."

"Right," said the cat. "You remember that the next time you're on a tequila bender."

Stupid cat, Alice thought. The vanishings by themselves were bad enough without all the animals on the planet also starting to talk on the same damn day. How many weird things did the world need in it, anyway? "Are you done?"

"Yeah. Thanks a million." The cat squirmed out of her grip and sauntered down the hallway. "By the way, you're going to need more Kleenex."

Alice looked up at the windowsill. The side of the cardboard box was torn open, and a pile of shredded tissue paper sat on the carpet below.

"I hate you," Alice said.

"Hate you too," the cat sang, and disappeared into the bedroom.

512 Words After Hours

My appearance on last Friday's Strange Love Live: After Hours (NSFW) included an exclusive reading of "The Wren and the Hen and the Men in the Pen." To get to the reading, scroll the video forward a few minutes until you see me staring down at a piece of paper. It's shortly after I flash a copy of Cory Doctorow's Overclocked and offer to read from it (I would have done "Printcrime"). If streaming video isn't your thing, you can also just listen to the audio.

Thanks to Cami Kaos and Dr. Normal for having me on the show!

This Is It

I'm a guest on the Strange Love Live tech podcast tonight. Watch the streaming video starting at 10PM Pacific! And for the 512 podcast fans (both of you), there's a good chance I'll be reading something aloud.

"Why You Watch"

WHY YOU WATCH*
By Curtis C. Chen

I want to—no, actually, I need to tell you how I lost my virginity. I want you to understand why I do what I do.

He was an actor. I won't tell you his name, for oh so many reasons. My dad worked on his show, I had met him on set a few times, and—this part's not really important. The point is, he asked me out, and I thought I was the luckiest girl on the planet.

So he took me to dinner, and then we were supposed to attend a performance, but he said he didn't want any paparazzi to snap me, and did I just want to watch something in his hotel suite instead? Of course I said yes, because I was a stupid kid with stars in her eyes and I was crushing on him even harder for being so considerate.

Back at his hotel, he put on some music, we drank, we danced, he held me and kissed me—I know, it's all so clichéd, but back then, in the moment, it was like a dream. I was the princess, he was the prince, and he was So. Damn. Charming. I didn't have a chance.

He had a vid capture setup in the bedroom. He didn't ask me, just started recording. He didn't ask me a lot of things. He hurt me and he didn't stop, and I couldn't stop him. The look on his face—it was like I wasn't even a person to him, like I was just a prop.

The good news is, I spent those minutes figuring out how I could get away. And I noticed the blinking red light in the corner. So after he finished, when he let go of my arms and rolled off of me, I went straight for the capture to grab that disc.

His last bad decision of the night was to chase me across the room, yelling the whole time so I knew exactly where he was. I picked up the capture and swung it as hard as I could into the side of his head. Smashed the equipment and knocked him out cold. I took the disc and called Emergency. I was still crying when the medics showed up.

But I didn't destroy the disc. I kept it after the trial. The thing is, the vid itself isn't even that shocking. It's ugly and sickening, but it's ordinary. That was the worst part: realizing that something so horrible could be so mundane.

I have no illusions about what I do. I know it's all impulse-mapped and computer-enhanced, but I don't lie to my audience, and it's the best sex that some of them will ever experience. They need to know that sex can be enjoyable, even beautiful. Even if this is the only time they feel that, at least they can keep the memory of it.

That's why I do this. If you can't accept that, well, then you need to leave.

But I'd really prefer it if you stayed.



* With apologies to http://whyiwatch.com

Photo credits: "My eye" by Jean-Jacques MILAN; "Canon FD lens rear" by Matthew J. Brown; editing done in GIMP 2.6.3.

"Broken Morning"

BROKEN MORNING
By Curtis C. Chen

There's a unique color, the dark blue of distant mountains behind fog, that Helen has never seen in a city. It's not the most important reason she left, but it is the one she remembers every morning.

Today, there's noise. Percival's whinnies draw Helen out of the tent. She sees a bright orange dot in the sky, trailing a corkscrew of smoke. There's no chance it's natural.

"Well, Percy," she says, "we'd better make sure that doesn't burn."

No aviation alerts have appeared on the datalink. That either means nobody's noticed the falling star yet, or nobody wants to talk about it. She tweets her status to the nearest ranger station and rides into the forest.

Helen is surprised to see that none of the timber downed by the crash is burning. The pilot must have doused the engine fire before hitting the ground—which means a dead-stick landing. That's no mean feat.

She ties Percival to a tree about fifty yards from the wreckage, then checks the load on her revolver. The wolves get bolder all the time. Helen holsters the pistol and moves forward, stepping around debris.

This is no ordinary aircraft. The tail number isn't a civilian series, and the engine pods have no air intakes. The cabin hatch has been blown open. Helen's reaching for her penlight when a woman springs up on the other side of the fuselage.

"Stop right there!" the woman shouts. She's holding a shotgun and wearing combat fatigues.

Helen raises both hands and studies the face: sharp nose, pale skin, angry blue eyes, blond hair. Nothing like Helen, who is short, stocky, and dark.

"Who the hell are you?" the woman asks.

"Just passing through," Helen says. "I heard the crash and thought someone might need help."

The woman's eyes flick from side to side. "You a park ranger or something?"

"Nope," Helen says.

"That your horse back there?" the woman asks.

Helen shifts her weight slightly, feeling the ground. "I call him Percy."

"Well, me and 'Percy' are going for a little ride," the blond woman says. She starts walking backwards, limping.

"You need a doctor," Helen says.

"And I'm going to get one," the woman says. "Don't worry, I'm sure someone tracked me on the way down. They'll find you in a few hours."

Helen keeps her hands in the air and stands perfectly still.

Halfway to Percival, the blond woman turns and starts running. She probably figures she's gotten far enough away that Helen can't catch up. She didn't count on Helen having bullets.

Helen draws, breathes, and fires two rounds into the blond woman's back. The woman stumbles and falls. Her shotgun topples into the dirt.

Percy is still braying when Helen reaches him. "Hush," she says. "I wasn't going to shoot you."

The blond woman groans. "You... bitch..."

Helen looks down. "Don't worry. I tagged you with tranquilizer pellets. The authorities will be here long before you wake up. Maybe they'll even bring a doctor."

The woman swipes at the air and closes her eyes.



Photo credits: "Mount Hood seen from OHSU" by Cacophony; "Texas cowboys 2" by Pschemp; editing done with GIMP 2.6.0