Archive for the ‘David Kopaska-Merkel’ Category
Tech Gods
Friday, January 14th, 2011
Lem stepped off the elevator and realized he didn’t have any change. He slapped his pockets, looking for something smaller than a 10. Margie would kill him if he blew $10 on an elevator ride. She didn’t believe in propitiating the gods anyway. “They wouldn’t have given us this technology if they didn’t want us to use it,” she always said. This attitude was why he hadn’t been promoted beyond second-grade, he was sure, but try telling her that!
Someone nudged his arm. It was Jenelle, the new IT specialist whose office was still being painted. Someone had forgotten to propitiate the God of something or other and the painters had refused to work until it was taken care of. Jenelle was holding a nickel.
“Oh thanks,” Lem said. He dropped it in the brass dish, muttering “Thank you for this lift.”
“How is your office coming?”
She frowned. “I’m still camped in the coffee room.”
“Share my office,” he said. That evening on his way home, Lem put $10 in a streetside kiosk dedicated to Libidos, patron of deceivers.
Margie was not affectionate, even downright cold. Could she read his mind?
Lem helped Jenelle carry the old wooden desk into his office. He moved his desk over so hers could fit in front of the window too. He emptied one drawer in his file cabinet for her. He couldn’t help staring at her whenever he thought she wouldn’t notice. As the days passed, her attire seemed skimpier and more transparent. All he could think about was her flesh moving under her blouse and skirt. In his fantasies, she wore nothing underneath.
One day they both stayed late. The floor was deserted. He closed the door, leaned on her desk. He looked her in the eye. “You know what I’m thinking,” he said.
“I’ll draw the curtains,” she replied, and did.
—
“This was a high-dollar job,” the inspector said. “The blood has been completely drained. Not the work of your standard succubus. He moved the extra desk into his office about three weeks ago?”
The office manager shrugged. “No one else wanted it. More room in the lounge. No idea why he wanted it in here.”
The inspector rubbed his chin. “Any change in his behavior? Apart from the desk.”
The office manager shook his head. “Nothing beyond staying late alone almost every night.”
The office manager reached out to catch the inspector’s sleeve as he turned to leave. “Who called the succubus?”
“It’s usually the wife. That’s where my money is.”
End
Retrofit
Monday, January 3rd, 2011
Spacenews. Alien spacesuit found orbiting #BetaChiarus3. This planet is the backup choice for the #terraformingproject.
Retweet?
—
“Did you see this?”
“Since I’m looking over your shoulder I think you can assume I did.”
“Pretty cool, huh. A dead alien is even better than a live one! Don’t have to worry about conquering hordes.”
That’s what the talking heads were saying too. The desiccated corpse inside the suit had been about 3 m tall when alive. As to why the corpse had been left at Beta Chiarus, or whether any aliens would come back for it, there were no facts but plenty of speculation. It had been a solitary explorer, a would-be mutineer, victim of a successful mutiny, or something so alien we could never understand it. After the autopsy, the body was analyzed chemically six ways from Sunday, and shown to be based on a molecule very similar to DNA. Its proteins were different from terrestrial proteins but they were proteins.
“So it couldn’t have eaten our plants or our livestock…” began one of an endless parade of interchangeable “experts”.
“or us,” interjected the show’s host, laughing.
Und so weiter.
True enough, as far as it went. But when the rest of the nine-foot aliens followed our ships home and began their xenoforming project on Earth the media parrots didn’t seem so smug.
End