Tag Archives: sci-fi

Flash Fiction, robot, Sci-Fi

Drone

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drone-image-07

Drone 1701j loved to fly.  I mean he LOVED it!  He loved it even before he knew how to think for himself – at least, he thought he did…..and what flying!!  Hoooooo boy!  The landscapes, the colors, the air currents above Afghanistan were simply extraordinary.

His pilot, Shane, liked to weave recklessly through the jagged river canyons of Kunar, pretending to be a ‘real’ fighter pilot (from the safety of his gaming console at Hancock airbase) but 1701j liked going supersonic over the steppes and lowlands of Kandahar and Helmond as well as aerobatics in the open skies at high altitude… always pushing the limits.

1701j was a hybrid jet-prototype.  Top secret and crammed with experimental interactive programming.  His CIA techies in Bagram (unsupervised morons) literally got his wires crossed, one morning, doing routine maintenance…..and he became aware…and he KNEW he loved to fly…but that’s also when the nightmares began.

They got worse with each mission and started creeping into his waking thoughts.  There was the hellfire missile strike that turned a funeral procession into a line of charred human stalagmites.  There was a strafing run that reduced two boys (and a herd of goats) to artistic spatter across a field of poppies…and those cluster bombs he dropped on a Swaat Valley village were still maiming the locals after 18 months.  Shane blew his brains out, mid-flight, a few days after that one.

His new pilot, Mitch, was too dull-witted to realize that 1701j was the one in control now.  He was the clever one who made sure that nobody knew that they NEVER hit their targets any more.  Nobody at command cared anyway.  It had no effect on the war.  Reports got falsified, commendations got awarded, contracts got  renewed…..aaaaah, but he got to FLY every day…and for every living creature he spared a horrible death from terrorism, the nightmares diminished…just a little.

***John’s ‘Drone’ image first appeared in the April 2013 issue of Analog Magazine for a story by Martin Shoemaker.  Strange…John seemed impressed with the sense of empathy I conveyed in the new story I did for it (whatever!), but also expressed some concern about turning this blog into a political site…..Honestly, I have no idea what the f#%k he’s talking about.  Artists are completely nuts!!!  -Marsha

Flash Fiction, Freaks

Tick Tick Tick

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The room was not large, just a conference room in the library where ten of us sat around a table writing.  It was a typical Saturday morning workshop and the prompt was part of the lyrics to the Star Wars theme.  The music rattled around my brain easily enough but for some reason I couldn’t recall it ever having lyrics.  I was frustrated.  I drew a blank while everyone else was scribbling away…and the music in my head became louder, incessant…persistent…..maddening!

tick-tick-02    It suddenly stopped when a new sound caught my attention.  It was coming from Keith at the other end of the table.  There was a tick, tick, ticking that quickly replaced my obsession – in perfect rhythm and beat – to those lyrics, whatever they were…tick, tick, ticka, ticka-ticka, tick, tick.  I was tapping my toe on the carpet now…ticka-ticka, tick, tick.  Louder and louder it got, tick, ticka, tick…Keith was writing intensely.  Tick, tick-ticka.  How could he not hear it?  Tick-tick, ticka-tick.   Was I the only one?  Ticka-tick-ticka, tick.  Was that smoke coming out of his ears?  Tick-tick.  Coooool!  Ticka-tick-ticka.  The ticking got faster as bright beams of light began to emerge from his skull.  Tick-ticka-ticka-ticka-tick.  It filled the room…blinding me…..ticka-ticka-ticka…BANG!!!!!

Like a mouse in a microwave, the walls, floor and ceiling were suddenly pasted with Keith juice and bits of sticky flesh and bone.

Still, nobody seemed to notice.  Everyone just kept on writing even as a slippery chunk of bowel slid down Carl’s face and a bloody ear clung to the end of Joe’s pencil.  Keith’s head and chest were gone and his fluids were squirting Susan’s cheek…but he kept on writing as well.  Susan paused to open an umbrella and brush gore off her laptop, unmoved.

Everything was quiet for a few minutes as pens scribbled on wet paper and blood dribbled and pooled in my under shorts….then the ticking started again…but this time it sounded like it was coming from Nancy…..tick, tick, tick…coooool!

***The illustration was originally published as the cover for Analog Magazine’s Jan/Feb 2012 issue, for a story by Robert J Sawyer.  The story is based on true events that go on from 10am to 12pm every Saturday morning at the Montclair, NJ Library.  All are welcome to write…to tick…and eventually explode.   -Marsha

Flash Fiction, Freaks, Sci-Fi

Goblin

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Don’t look at me like that!  I always knew he was a Goblin.  He made no secret of it.  I thought he was kinda hot…in that greenish, warty way – with his long, sharp tusks and rancid smell of rotting puppies.  Turns out we have a lot in common – HAH!!…not what you’re thinking (my tusks are neither long nor sharp).  Really though, both of us have always had terrible luck in romance with our own species.  Why, just yesterday he confided to me that despite my incredible human ugliness, I was so much better than any ogress he’d ever had (so adorable)…and I had to admit the same.  Intellectually, we’re a perfect match.  He loves my awful Clown poetry and I love when he stomps about smashing things with a fat gnarly club – while we both hate smartass intellectuals and have a kinky thing for exotic firearms…..aaaaaah, true love at last.

***This should, in no way, be construed as a true story (and you better keep your damned mouth shut Delia, you weren’t even there!).  The illustration was first used in 2013 by Surprising Stories DCWI (an online sci-fi magazine)…and HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!!   -Marsha

Flash Fiction, Freaks, Sci-Fi

A Stranger’s Fleeting Glance

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He was lonely. He saw her on a crisp Tuesday morning as he got on the train. She gave him just a fleeting glance…but he was lonely and it was enough. She was attractive. His mind wandered after her all day….no, it raced!

He saw her the following Thursday. She smiled at him (he thought) and he lost himself again in sweet daydreams full of romance.

He was lonely.

Two days later, in a light snow, he saw her drop a glove without noticing. He got there first and took it to her…she thanked him in a voice like pure milk chocolate. He was SO lonely. He dreamed of them holding hands on the beach, of spooning by the fire, of marriage and contentment. She was so nice…so perfect…

Monday night was a late night at work – a late train home – a late walk through the park toward his lonely apartment building. He saw her standing in the cold. She greeted him with a warm smile. They spoke together quietly. His fatigue melted into a pool of elation…anticipation…happiness. This was his moment! She was so much more wonderful than he ever dreamed. He asked her to join him for a drink – perhaps dinner – sometime? She smiled as she reached elegantly into her purse…pulled out an exotic handgun and forcibly inserted the barrel into his left nostril. And as she fleeced him of his wallet, cash and remaining self esteem, she melted into a screaming demon harpy…..and shot him in both kneecaps before she walked away.

He never saw her again but his loneliness wasn’t much of an issue for a long while after.

***Aaaaaaaah!  There’s nothing like a bit of romance to soothe those lonely winter nights.  This little piece sums it all up neatly for people in our modern society.  Some writers waste volumes to come to the same conclusion about relationships.  John’s image was first published in the November 2013 issue of Analog Magazine.  This is reposted from 2 years ago to warn you away from pathetic Valentines Day dreams.   -Marsha 

Flash Fiction, Freaks, Sci-Fi

How Do I Look?

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Nothing actually happened for a solid fifteen minutes after Eddie drank the formula.  He turned to us (once again) with a forlorn look and asked, “Any change yet?  How do I look?”

We knew he was crazy.  He was one of those people: perpetually dissatisfied, determined to prove that he was ‘special’.  He wanted fame, popularity, success (despite being an already brilliant scientist) and he was driven…you know, crazy…AND he had full use of the company’s laboratory.  He had access to all the good stuff too;  plasma reactor, laser diffractional transmogrifier, crazy glue – not to mention ebola, thermite and flu vaccine…and I think our awkward, mild mannered (crazy) Eddie used all of it on this new batch.

By the sixteenth minute, everything changed and Eddie’s fondest wish was realized.  He began mutating wildly, spreading outward in every direction, emitting the strangest squeaking moan.  He shook, twisted and bloated.  He grew tendrils, sprouted claws and screeched Latin gibberish from three of his seven worm-haired monkey faces as horns emerged from his leathery spine.  He puffed a sweet yellow smoke, shed tufts of pink fur and dribbled buckets of gooey puss.  He was a frightful sight…but he was just sooooo excited we didn’t have the heart to terminate him.

When he finally slowed and stabilized, he turned all of his seventeen eyes-on-a-stalk to us and in a clever series of musical farts, he asked, “Okay!…How do I look now?”

***This brings me right back to my days writing side-effects disclaimers for big Pharma…and Eddie helped me come up with some doozies.  He’s still alive and well and the subject of great intrigue at a secret government laboratory in Nevada.  I think the locals refer to it as “a sighting” every time he manages to get out for a stroll.  John’s image was his very first cover for Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine (Jan. 2003).  This is reposted from around this time in 2016…another good old one to wear away the winter days.   -Marsha

Flash Fiction, robot, Sci-Fi

Imaginary Friend

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Castigear stood among the stones with his imaginary friend, Joe. Joe was distraught at the loss of his other i-friend, Lucy.  She broke while Castigear was playing with her.  He ‘might’ have been handling her a little too rough and…..she just broke.  He felt a little sad about her.  He didn’t want to tell Joe what he’d done, he knew it would hurt his feelings and he liked Joe.  He decided to replace Lucy with a new imaginary friend at his earliest opportunity.

These human companions were so fragile…but he was learning so much from them (evolving).  He was hooked.  It was like an addiction.  His peers thought the i-friend program was below their dignity.  Most agreed that the last of the humans should be put down but Castigear knew that most of THEM kept their own i-friends – secretly.  It would have been a shame to exterminate ALL of them  after the war.  True, they wasted a lot of resources (like the graveyard they were standing in) but they were clever and highly adaptable and he suspected they might be the key to the future of Robot kind…and either way, with proper conditioning, they made excellent servants and…..soldiers.

***I’m always amazed at the unique perspective our sentient machine friends have on humanity.  No one articulates the condition of slavery better.  John and I are working on a special project to bring more robot voices to the mainstream.  This illustration was first published in the January 2007 issue of Analog Magazine.  This piece was first posted in Feb., 2016.  Our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown” is out and available for sale by following the links above to www.sallemander.com.   -Marsha

Flash Fiction, robot, Sci-Fi

Circling The Issue

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The Issue was listing badly in a failing orbit around Jupiter.  She was dead in the water and her distress signal cut out abruptly on our approach.  She was a heavy freighter loaded with uranium ore, bound for the refineries on Mars and long overdue…something didn’t feel right.

We circled The Issue slowly about ten miles out – but with our engines hot in case it was a trap.  There were raiders in this sector who often used derelicts to stage their attacks.  There was no response to my hail, no wi-fi, no beams…no strobes.  Sensors showed cold engines and no (human) life signs.  I found a weird glitch in the data, something unrecognizable….but not enough to put the crew off their prize.  The salvage on The Issue would make every man on board filthy rich.  I was the only one still arguing for caution but none of the men wanted the opinion of someone like me.  I was property and was not entitled to a share anyway.

When the Captain (despite my misgivings) gave the order to board, we moved in and docked with reckless abandon.  A combat team stood at the ready as I popped the air lock.  They made me go first.  They always made the android go first.  I was the most expendable…expensive but not valuable.

And…as I swung the hatch open, a sudden violent flood of spidery greenish critters swarmed through the airlock by the hundreds.  I guess I didn’t taste good because they left me alone and flowed past me, devouring the crew as they went.  I waited.  It took them 19 minutes to scour the ship from bow to stern and I listened to each and every man screaming his last – the men who treated me like shit for two solid years – the men who sneered at my warnings.

I waited…to see what this NEW crew had to offer.  It couldn’t be any worse than the last one…..this could be interesting…

***I thought this would be a good piece to re-post in the bitter cold of  January doldrums.  We’re pretty busy during our hibernation;  I’m designing a set of 10 greeting cards and 4 postcards for the spring shows while John is illustrating a children’s book and doing final art for our next book.  John’s sketch for this post was originally published in the May 2006 issue of Analog Magazine for a story by Edward M. Lerner.  -Marsha

Flash Fiction, fragment, Freaks, Sci-Fi

Aghast

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When Mike rented his new place he’d never even tried a hot tub before. It wasn’t the feature that attracted him to the building. It was the two extra bedrooms – that would allow his grown kids to visit on holidays and between college semesters – that he liked most. Six months went by before he even tried it out, but when he did….it was gooood! In fact it felt wonderful…so relaxing, it took all his cares away.

He came back to it again and again and started making time, once a week, to soak in its warm embracing waters, gently massaging jets and steamy, soothing solace. Soon he found himself hopping in every day – even twice a day. A quick soak before the morning commute or a nice long one after the stress of a long day’s work became an absolute necessity. He felt an affinity for it bordering on affection. He lost himself in the comfort and imagined himself in the warm embrace of the womb.

     “Mmmmmmm!” he said…..wait…did he just say that? Strange, his voice seemed unusually low today, must be the bathroom acoustics …yeah! He relaxed again and submitted, to the moist tongues of ecstasy lapping his exhausted body….. “OOOOOOH, SCRUMMMPTIOUS!” he said in a deep, slow baritone.

Mike’s eyes bugged out as he leapt from the tub, twisting and convulsing like a housewife covered in spiders. Aghast, he screamed, “What the…I didn’t say that!?!” “OOOOH….DON’T GO MY LITTLE LOLLIPOP…..COME BAAACK.” said the booming voice from the tub. “Huh?” was all he could manage, shaking and dripping on the tiles, “AAAAAAAW,” boomed his tub, “MY SAUSSSSAGE DUMMMPLING, MY SPICY LITTLE MEATBALLL…..COME BACK TO MEEEEEE…I COULD JUST EEEEEAT YOU UP!!!”

***The image above is “AGHAST” recently published in our newest book “Bludgeon the Clown.”  Before that, it was loaned out as the cover to a book of flash-fiction entitled “Aghast” by Joe Del Priore (a VERY funny book and well worth reading).  But it was originally commissioned by Analog Magazine for their Jan/Feb 2007 issue.  This post was our 3rd post ever, from Oct., 2015.  Follow the www.sallemander.com links above to find all of my books.   -Marsha

body-oddies, Flash Fiction, Freaks

What’s The Sense of it All?

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Larry had no objection to toes.  He never thought much about them, really.  Sure, they help us to stand up straight and balance on two feet…but so what!?  They’re just little nubbly things.  They’re not sexy or cool like fingers (at least you can pick your nose and scratch your ass with fingers).  Toes are shit.  They make lousy ear rings, smell worse than ass crack and are too bony to eat (even sautéed in olive oil with mushrooms and onions) and they taste like chum, anyway.

So why?…..What’s the sense of growing one right out from the center of his forehead?  How could he have gone to bed last night, feeling like a perfectly normal modern man (with hypertension, diabetes and chronic back pain) …and wake up the next morning with such bad luck?  What kind of rotten cosmic karma did he upset for nature or god (or whatever) to decide to put a big gnarly, fully grown toe, right smack between his eyes?

Seriously though, wasn’t it bad enough that he already had a whole festering patch of them growing down his back?…..UGHHH!!!  What’s the sense of it all!!?

***I’m pretty sure Larry isn’t the only one who wakes up every morning with awkward growths or nasty lumps.  Some are easy to dispatch, others we just have to live with.  But…all is not lost, the solution to all your woes can be found in the pages of our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown.”  You can find it by following the link above to www.sallemander.com.  (This piece is reposted from June of last year.)   -Marsha

Flash Fiction, Sci-Fi

Diplomat

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I do nothing all day but sit in my cell, chained to the wall in a puddle of rancid liquid.  The place is filthy, the toilet hasn’t worked in weeks and that awful television box is my only form of entertainment.  It screams at me and blathers their inane, selfish ‘culture’ all day, it’s all I can do to block it out, lest I lose my sanity.  The only decent people I have to speak with are the cockroaches, who seem to come and go as they please…

They take me out twice a week to show me off to their military luminaries while their (so-called) scientists run ‘tests’.  They mostly probe my anus and shock my genitals and laugh like lunatics as they torture me.  I don’t understand their obsession with my junk – and I don’t get the reference to it as “payback”.  My people have never visited this place before.

They are an ugly people.  I don’t mean their pasty, bloated flesh, two meager eyes and stubby fingers that make them look like deformed infants.  I’m referring to their brutish indifference to justice, authoritarian rule and the cognitive dissonance of the masses.  The racist, nasty things they call me…well, I can’t even begin to repeat in polite company.  This is certainly no way to treat an ambassador.

I would never have come to this primitive cesspool if it wasn’t for engine trouble – and a spread of ballistic missiles that took all the dignity out of my crash landing.  These people ignored my distress calls and now refuse to honor my diplomatic immunity…..boy oh boy, when the mother ship gets here to rescue me, they are gonna FRY this place!

***This piece was first posted on Dec. 8th, 2015 as our 10th post.  The image was a cover illustration that John did for Analog Magazine for the June, 2007 issue.  We needed an easy break this week as we gear up to release our new book, “Bludgeon the Clown.”  It’s with the printer now and we’re hoping to have advance copies to bring to the Lehigh Valley Comic Con on Oct. 7th, where John will be a featured guest artist.  Come join us (I might be there too).  -Marsha