Archive for October, 2009
Determined Samantha
Monday, October 12th, 2009
Everyone agreed later that no student had arrived with more mud on her, indeed, more pure ground-in grime, than Samantha MacKinnon—not even when Mirabelle Hayes and Bao-Yu Zheng met and fought a duel in a pigsty on the road to the Women’s Battle College, Isle of Skye.
She arrived ten days into St Brigid’s term, so, not only filthy but a term and ten days late, which was rather more of a problem.
Her excuse?
“I had to walk from the Sierras,” she explained.
“It’s probably true,” pointed out the Bursar. “They ran out of super-refined twice this year.”
“Except that I gather it’s still difficult to walk across the Atlantic,” said the Treasurer.
They looked at Samantha, who glared back tiredly.
“Snuck onto a surplus ship,” she said. “That got me to Up-Liverpool. Walked here.”
She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes and rubbed vigorously before adding, “Look, can you feed me now and decide about me later? I’m so tired.”
She wanted to add, “And this whole journey I’ve been thinking, if only I can get there it will be okay, just like in the stories… it will be okay. And having to knock out some guy so I could drive his motorcycle to the East Coast instead of giving him my virginity like he wanted, and having to steal every bite of food I’ve eaten, and having to run away from my stupid home with my stupid drunk dad, and having to fight about half the sailors on the ship, and having to beat up and run away from some guys who were obviously procurers, and having to clean every dirty toilet in an entire hotel so I could stay for a week and sleep, just sleep, all of it will make sense, because I’ll be where I know I’m supposed to be. It will all be okay.”
Instead she just stood and looked at them, wearing three weeks worth of dirt and smelling like three weeks worth of sweat.
The Treasurer looked scandalized, but, as Samantha would learn, that was just her way.
The Bursar said, “Forgive us, dear. I can tell it has been a terribly long journey. Do come in,” adding to the Treasurer in a voice she knew perfectly well Samantha could hear, “Of course she can stay. This is the sort of determination we’re looking for, after all.”
The Kinetic Energy of Bees
Friday, October 9th, 2009
A cloud of bees surrounded the white-painted dresser in the back of the backyard. Earl flipped a switch. A line of LEDs blinked readiness along the dresser’s top edge.
“The hive’s primed,” he said.
“The transreality gate, you mean,” said Monica.
“Right,” said Earl. “That.”
Monica hopped from one side of the patio to the other, twiddling dials and tweaking sliders.
“This gonna work?” said Earl. “I mean, the mantis engine and the wasp bridge, those sounded like good ideas too.” He was rubbing the place on his forehead where the welts had been.
She slapped a lever down, said, “I checked the math twice.”
“And what if it does work?” said Earl. “What then?”
“I’m ready for that,” said Monica. “Dial it to three, dear.”
Earl clicked the dial around and the wooden box made the sound of summer weekend afternoons.
“Five,” said Monica. “I’ve been watching documentaries and reading the web.”
“Didn’t know Wikipedia had much on the insect dimensions,” said Earl. “And when do you have time to watch TV? It’s dance lessons every night, you’re hardly ever home.”
“Eight,” said Monica. “I didn’t realize you left the garage and your card-playing buddies long enough to notice what I was or wasn’t doing.”
The hive vibrated with contained momentum.
“Whoa,” said Earl, “this is serious.”
“Eleven!” said Monica.
The hum of the buzz became a pipe organ roar and the air shimmered over the hive.
A hexagonal window opened above the hive, and a bee-woman dropped through in a cloud of pollen.
“The insect dimensions!” said Earl, “I thought you were cra– I mean, I didn’t think they were real.”
The bee-woman twitched her antennae, and looked back and forth between Earl and Monica. He couldn’t read the expression in her faceted eyes.
Monica stepped forward, and did a kind of shimmy-waggle dance. Earl thought it looked like belly dancing, but something was wrong–it was like Monica had a stiff back, but she hadn’t mentioned anything and there wasn’t any rain in the forecast.
The bee-woman shimmied and waggled back. The motions of her three-segmented body made Monica’s movements make sense.
The two of them danced several minutes conversation before the bee-woman climbed up the hive, into the hexagon, and away to who knows where.
“Don’t wait up, dear,” said Monica, and followed.