Tag Archives: sci-fi

Without A Clue

Without a Clue-43 

Cornelius lost his head…just went completely off.  One moment he was calm, cool and collected, the next – frantic and frustrated.  He had no idea where he left the darned thing.  It was gone without a clue.  Sometimes he left it somewhere he wanted to remember to return to later (which was smart, right?) but couldn’t remember where it was later without his head.  Some times it just rolled off and bounced away on its own.  Somebody said he should get it fixed… but it wasn’t broken.  That’s just the way he was.  Besides, what would all the others say if HIS was permanent…but what does everybody else do when they lose theirs?  Oh phoooey!!  Permanent heads…..that’s just crazy, it just isn’t done!

***While we stay strictly and completely away from politics on this blog, I can’t help but notice how much John’s image resembles the American electorate in each election cycle (although for this one – 2016 – I should have an image of a moron chugging draino).  It was originally published in Analog Magazine, Sept., 2006.  My short, flash-fiction fragment is good for keeping my twitter friends comfortable.  Long posts make them skiddish.  -Marsha 

Peek-a Boo

Ana-Aquaman-26

I had a good breath diving under…good for at least 3 minutes.          50 yards out from the dock, I went down deep, about 35 feet and counting. The fish were strange today. They weren’t acting right. Just my instinct but…they seemed to crowd me instead of scattering at my approach. Pensive.

Weeds were thick but I didn’t mind. I liked swimming through them, like parting curtains…..until I saw the eyes – big eyes – cunning eyes. They were staring back at me with unnerving intelligence and all the little fish were darting about frantically – and I nearly lost my breath.

Through the gloom, I began to make out the long, hulking form behind the eyes; Strange limbs, sharp fins, long feelers, fleshy lips with menacing barbs, monstrous teeth…..smiling at me?

Now I was afraid! In one swift motion my hand swept down to draw my knife from its ankle sheath – but lightning fast, the creature’s arm shot out from between the weeds and wrapped its long scaly fingers around my throat – my jaw – my entire skull.

I lost my air…and then, lost consciousness.

I woke up. I was breathing. I started to remember…..I was swimming through weeds – fish acting oddly – then the eyes…and a massive claw, engulfing my head. As it all went dark I thought I heard a sinister, gurgling: “Peek-a-boo!”

I was inside now. It was stifling and it smelled like cat food mixed with burning tires. I sat up in a lumpy soup of viscous bile and big bloody chunks of meat. My hands and face burned but my wet suit protected the rest of my skin. A sphincter opened behind me and sucked me along with my steaming meat-soup down a tube, whose bulbous nodules bathed us in a spray of acid. It stripped the fur and skin from the meat and dissolved my hair and a painful layer of exposed skin.

I dropped into a bony chamber in which long, razor sharp blades shredded the meat into hamburger (along with most of my wetsuit). I was quickly evacuated into another chamber which flooded with thousands of tiny, finger sized worms (with very sharp teeth), who consumed every speck of the remaining meat sludge before I alone, the inedible lump, was expelled once more, through slimy bowels, into a vat of solid waste.

This wondrous fleshy sack looked and smelled like the inside of a rotting, bloated elephant carcass. Minutes passed, possibly hours, while a steady stream of sticky, gloppy gunk filled the space, until there was no more room…this was the end. With goop filling my ears and covering my mouth, I took my last solid breath of air (a three minute breath?) before black sludge covered and consumed me. One minute…two minutes…nearly three minutes passed before I felt a great shuddering shift, followed by a resounding (satisfied) grunt….and I was suddenly shot, like a torpedo, out into clean lake water.

I surfaced near the shoreline, gasping for air. Although I emerged from the lake a raw, tattered and thoroughly disgruntled piece of fish poop…I was alive. It was, perhaps, not my greatest adventure but surely a ‘fantastic journey.’

 

***The only thing better than a giant fish swallowing a dude and crapping him back out is doing the same thing to a great old Asimov concept (like I did here).  Aaaaah, fish poop!…one of the great mysteries of life.  ‘Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks’ is nearly ready…e-mail me for advanced copies. -Marsha

Imaginary Friend

i-friend-19

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 than them.  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.  -Marsha

How Do I Look?

Junk-DNA-17

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.

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).  -Marsha

 

A stranger’s fleeting glance

demon-harpy-16

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 most people in our modern society.  Some writers waste volumes to essentially come to the same conclusion (though I have been known to be pretty cynical).  John’s image was first published in the November 2013 issue of Analog Magazine.   -Marsha 

 

Circling the Issue

circling the issue-12

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…

***Another lovely Christmas themed piece for today.  I’m not religious but I love Santa Clause…and everybody knows he’s a time travelling alien robot, so…..but honestly, the Santa bit we had planned for today turned out far too gruesome to show…yet.  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

 

Diplomat

 

diplomat-10a

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 they put that awful television box in with me as my only form of entertainment.  It screams at me and blathers their inane, selfish ‘culture’ all day and its all I can do to block it out, lest I lose my sanity.  The only decent people I have to talk 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!

***John’s illustration was first published as the June 2007 cover to Asimov’s Science Fiction magazine for a story by Neal Asher.  I wrote this tiny ‘Diplomat’ piece for fun.  There was NO intention to sympathize with the treatment of political prisoners currently held, without charge or trial, by the United States….none what-so-ever.   -Marsha   

Goblin

goblin-image-08

Don’t look at me like that!  I knew he was a Goblin all along.  He made no secret of it.  I thought he was kinda hot…in that greenish, warty way – with long, sharp tusks and the 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, we found that we both have 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 both 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.  -Marsha

Handyman

handyman-image-06     Darryl woke up with that feeling again – impossible to describe but all too familiar at this point. He kept his eyes closed for a while longer, savoring the dream he was having about his old, normal life…before all the changes…before every morning became a horror show, wondering if he would find another growth.

He did his best to soothe his anxiety, tried to make lemonade out of the lemons that seemed to be smothering him.  After all, how could yet another, extra hand possibly be all that bad for a skilled craftsman who worked with his hands?  Each one seemed to have all his talent and strength.  His productivity tripled, he was making money hand-over-fist (no pun intended) and for the first time in his life, people found him kinda interesting…..

But…waking up every few days with another fully formed hand growing out of some empty patch of his flesh was really starting to effect his sanity.

***This was a tough image to pull out of John’s thick head but with an iron skillet and a power drill I finally managed it (long story) and it lead to a new book project called “Body-Oddies” (which won’t be done for at least a year).  -Marsha

Aghast

aghast-image-03a

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 almost a necessity. He felt an affinity for the thing 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” by Joe Del Priore (with cover by John Allemand) is a VERY funny book and well worth reading.  It is available on Amazon and you can find more by Joe at;  plowedin.BlogSpot.com.  Joe is a good friend and mentor to us.   -Marsha