Man Ticking Chapter One

Okay, so I'm putting this up more to see if this is a workable system than anything else. It's real rough first draft, so no nits please, but general comments would be appreciated.


Man Ticking
by Steve Jeanes






© Rolling Doughnut 2007

CHAPTER ONE

“Woo, woo.”
An owl, somewhere in the shadow space of the roof-beams, read my mind.
“Woo, woo,” I mouthed back, “woo, woo you too.”
Pinned down in a square of friendly sunlight, I stretched a slow stretch and yawned. Time stretched with me as, around the barn, timbers creaked and ticked to the pulse of a summer afternoon. I felt like a cat, fat with cream and honey, ready for the fireside rug. I yawned and stretched again, squirming with pleasure.
Far, far away, prickles of straw squeaked a protest and jabbed my bare ass.
Katrina stirred to my grunt. She smelled of strawberries and vanilla.
“Corin, you are such a stallion,” she muttered without opening her eyes, “my lord.” She burrowed into me, and her thigh, still damp from our exertions, brushed across my ballocks. The little grenadier trembled and came to attention, instantly ready to go into battle again. The rest of me didn’t want to spoil the moment, though. It was too perfect, too soporifically blissful. I tightened my grip round her and wondered if she could be persuaded to do the honours. ‘My lord,’ I liked that.

As summers go, this one would take some beating. One glorious sunny day followed another until it seemed they would go on forever.
His lordship had spent much time on private business away from Sandford Hall, and left the domestic staff with little more to do than keep the place free of dust, damp and infestation.
Lady Sandford required little attention as she had her own retinue of servants. She rarely left her rooms anyway, apart from brief constitutionals in the shadier parts of the garden and the odd visit to the summer house, where she would sometimes take tea.
Their son, Hector, cared not for matters domestic either, and spent most of his time hunting, or in the town, gaming with friends.
As it is my good fortune to have no formal title or position, and mostly act as his lordship’s general domestic, this happy situation left me free to pleasure myself as I chose. Pleasure myself I most certainly did, and I can confidently state, the pleasure was not all mine.
There must have been more than a thousand working the estate at the time, plus a good fifty or more in service at the hall. The farm land provided well for all, Lord Sandford saw no advantage in depriving his people of their comforts, and we had escaped the plagues and poxes that had persecuted the towns. As a consequence, the summer’s crop of beddable wenches were as plentiful and as plump as any 19 year-old with time on his hands and an itch in his breeches could wish for. So many, I made a list. And as most of my peers were bent-back farm workers, who laboured in the fields from dawn to dusk and stank of sweat and horses, I had a pretty clear run at the best of them.
Milkmaids and tweenies and lady’s maids and chicken-pluckers, I seeded them all. I had under-cooks in the pantry, kitchen-gardeners in the potting sheds and shepherdesses just about everywhere. The milky river of female flesh washed through my days. I spent my evenings pressed against hot skin in doorways and hedges and on the backs of hay-wagons. In my leisure hours, when I left the estate to carouse with male companionship, I could always find the odd harlot and her friend plying their wares in the town or at the Harmsway Inn to entertain me on the journey home. I had no end of willing partners. The list grew and grew. But of all these robust beauties, Katrina Peabody, the flame-haired blacksmith’s daughter, remained my favourite.
I ticked Katrina off my list in May, and had been ticking her ever since. Katrina had something none of the others had in such abundance – enthusiasm. Not for her the post-coital guilt, only the giddy anticipation of the next fumble behind the kitchens or tumble in the hay. I swear, given the opportunity, Katrina would have christened his lordship’s Brougham or desecrated the Sandford’s private chapel. I have never met a woman who raised her skirts or dropped her drawers so quickly and so unselfconsciously.
And more than that, Katrina laughed. She laughed with the joy of giving herself. She laughed the laugh of somebody who knows the world is full for sure with happiness, and in doing it, made me believe too. Her laugh made me laugh. Her laugh made me think nothing could spoil our pleasure, that God celebrated our coupling and the rest of the world couldn’t do otherwise.
Of course, in the cold light of day, it wasn’t so easy to forget her father, a humourless man of turnip head and marrow arm, who ran his lordship’s smithy. I tried to, though. And when Katrina’s earthy laugh rumbled in my ear, or her pork-fed loins straddled mine, the clump-haired face of the blacksmith evaporated from my thoughts as easily as the mist that clings to the river dissolves in the morning sun.

“Woo, woo,” the owl puffed from its hidden perch again.
A touch of urgency coloured the call. I wondered what an owl would find urgent at this time of day. I wondered what an owl was doing awake at this time of day. Lead eyelids dulled the thought. Then a cool zephyr wafted scents of jasmine and pig wafted past my nostrils and, for the barest second, chilled the sweat on my lower parts. I shivered. The movement broke my serenity like a sudden fart in church. The little grenadier slumped to an at-ease position. Katrina pushed closer and smacked her lips. Her eyelids flickered and she muttered something unintelligible as I reached down to pull up my breeches.
Something thudded into the straw next to my head. I drew away and squinted up into the rafters. No sign of the bird.
“Woo, woo. Woo, woo!”
“Ow!”
I grabbed my neck where the stone had hit. I sat up, wide awake now. Katrina stirred and rubbed her eyes.
“What is it?”
“Shhh!” I put my fingers to my lips. Her eyes widened.
“Woo, woo! Woo, woo!”
And I was back in Farmer Anderson’s orchard with a sack full of his prize apples, hearing Mickey give the warning signal, then leaping the wall seconds before the purple-faced farmer got his hands on my collar.
Another stone thumped into the straw.
“Mickey!” I hissed.
“What’s got you so spooked, my lovely?” Katrina pouted, “Why don’t you relax?” She shoved her chest at me, but I pushed her away. Her pout deepened.
“What’s got into Mr Grumpy all of a . . .”
“Where are you, you fornicating bastard?” The bellow from downstairs stopped her dead and had me buttoning my breeches with shaking fingers.
“Oh, my lord! My father!” Katrina flushed prettily, “If he finds you here . . .”
“Whoever you are, if I find you’re prodding my daughter, I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands and nail your old man to the stables door!”
Katrina bit her lip and looked at me with an expression that made me want to rip her clothes off.
“You’ve got to go!” she said. I couldn’t help adoring the innocent way she had of stating the obvious. I quickly kissed the corner of her butterfly mouth. She sighed.
“Woo, woo!”
Keeping down, I scrabbled my way to the hayloft window. Below, half hidden in a juniper bush, Mickey cupped his hand to his mouth, then saw me waving. He grinned, then fumbled for something on the ground. A ladder! God bless his big stupid heart! If Pa Peabody caught him he’d be in almost as much trouble as I would.
I looked back over my shoulder and nearly clashed heads with Katrina. She’d crept up on me and now peered over my shoulder, grinning and waving at Mickey. In the barn below, I could hear the thump of a pitchfork ramming into straw, accompanied by roars of fury and streams of unintelligible abuse. I pushed Katrina away.
“Pretend to be sleeping,” I whispered, “there’ll only be trouble if he catches us together.”
“What kind of trouble would that be?” she grinned and winked and slid her hand up between my thighs.
“Stop it, Katrina!” I pushed her hand away and kissed her hard on the lips before she had time to complain, “I’ve got to go!”
She sat back on her haunches, and gave me that famous pout again, then laughed like a schoolgirl. Beneath our feet an angry bull raged, bent on turning the barn into matchwood.
“Woo! Woo!”
I blew a final kiss to my succulent sex-pot and slid my legs out onto the ladder.
“Hurry!” Mickey’s head jerked from side to side at the foot of the ladder, like he expected the bellowing blacksmith to crash through the side of the barn at any moment. Hands and feet on the ladder’s supports, I slid to the ground, tumbled into my friend, and knocked him flying. The ladder swayed and crashed into the bushes.
“You little slut! Where is he? I’ll kill him!”
Sounded like the Katrina’s father had worked out how to use a ladder himself. I grabbed Mickey’s arm and pulled him to his feet. We dived for the juniper seconds before the great swollen face appeared at the window. Pressed hard to the ground, I peered up through the cover of leaves. Peabody’s head swung this way and that, his brow wrinkled like his daughter’s had been, but there the similarity ended. His eyes bulged and his nostrils flared, and a thin stream of saliva foamed from one corner of his mouth.
“There’s nobody, poppa. I was up here getting straw for the horse.”
The head disappeared briefly.
“Shut your mouth, Katrina. I’ll deal with you later.”
We ducked as he looked out again, a florid jack-in-the-box.
“You won’t get away for ever!” The thunder of the blacksmith’s voice echoed round the landscape. In a field half a mile away, bent figures stopped and stared in our direction as Mickey and I huddled to the ground, “Maybe this time, but I’ll get you, and when I do, you’ll stay got, you little bleeder!”
I giggled. Mickey shoved my face into the dirt. Somewhere near my ear a grasshopper sawed its simple tune as the echoes died away. Under the bottom leaves of the bush I saw the distant figures turn to one another before bending to their work again. Mickey let his hand off my neck.
“He’s gone. Let’s get out of here.” His urgent hiss faded as he scuttled away, bent double, in the direction of the topiary garden. I stopped for a moment to listen to the muffled voices arguing in the barn. Katrina would be all right. Her father didn’t hold with beating women, only with tearing their lovers limb from limb. A simple soul at heart, he often gave second best to his womenfolk. I could already hear his anger flounder in the face of Katrina’s righteous, female outrage. I stood and blew a kiss in the direction of the barn before hurrying after Mickey. I tucked my shirt in as I ran.

“Jesus you’re going to come to a sticky end if you don’t learn to keep that thing out of where it don’t belong,” Mickey sucked on his pipe and blew out a great cloud of smoke. It swirled into the shape of a rabbit, then the wind caught it and made it disappear as quickly as the magicians in the town square. “Or at least keep it away from them with a father that would rip it off for you.”
I grinned at him and scratched the offending member.
“Got a mind of its own,” I said, “I just follow where my master leads.”
“Then you better be ready to go places you can’t get back from. You’ll get caught out in the end, I promise you.”
I’d stopped in the shade of a box-hedge bear to let Mickey berate me. It seemed the right thing to do considering his mood, and how he’d helped me out of a tricky situation. His scolding was all chaff in the wind, anyway. Nothing he said could wipe the smile off my face or stop me wanting to whistle. A beautiful day, a tumble with the pneumatic Katrina and getting the better of her oaf of a father, I couldn’t have felt better if I’d won a pig at the annual Stanford fair.
“You should be thinking of the future, Corin. It’s all fine enough putting yourself around when your young, but it’s soon past and then where are you?”
“Shagged out and happy,” I said. He didn’t hear me, or pretended he didn’t.
“I’m telling you lad, get yourself a good woman and start a family. That’s the way to go. Look at me.”
I looked at him. I saw a grubby eight-year-old getting a larruping from his pa because he’d eaten all the cream put out for Sunday tea. I saw a spotty thirteen-year-old turning purple when Claudia Dalmiston caught him down by the old mill winning one of those speed competitions popular with boys that age. I saw the polished up eighteen-year-old reprise the colour as the same Claudia Dalmiston marched to the altar in chapel, clear proof he’d lost none of the thirteen-year-old’s proclivity or speed. I saw the wet-eyed nineteen-year-old staring down at the tiny bundle in his arms like he’d just been crowned king of the world. Most of all I saw my best and oldest friend, and a total idiot.
“What about you? Married with a kid at nineteen, and likely another on the way.”
“Eh?”
“Let’s face it, Mickey, you only had to look at Claudia and she started swelling like dough on a hot plate. That oven isn’t going to stay empty for long.”
“Well if she does, I’m not complaining,” he tapped out his pipe and tucked it in his waistcoat pocket, “a man’s not a man without family. Best thing I ever did. You should try it.”
I stood and brushed down my jacket and breeches.
“It might be what you want, but I’ve still got plenty of balls in my musket, my friend, and there are pigeons everywhere.”
Mickey heaved himself to his feet and shaded his eyes as he looked toward the sun.
“I’ll be expected back at the stables. Don’t want any awkward questions from the boss.”
I clapped him on the back.
“You’re a good friend, Mickey. I owe you.”
He grunted. “A quart of good ale would set fine with me.”
“I’ll see you better than that. I’ll see you rolling, old mate.”
His eyes twinkled and the frown slipped from his face. Once more, I saw the sixteen-year-old, game for anything. Then his weather-beaten features clouded.
“I’d appreciate that, Corin. But you be careful what you aim that musket of yours at. The odd pigeon may do you no harm, but hit a pheasant and the gamekeeper will be after you.”
I winked at him.
“I’ll be careful.”
He grunted, nodded and set off for the stables, smoke trailing from his waistcoat pocket.


I checked both ways as I emerged from the topiary menagerie onto the main drive. No sign of the blacksmith. He’d have finished dressing down Katrina by now and be on his way back to the stables. I crossed my fingers Mickey made it back first, then chided myself for being a fool. Nobody would ever suspect hard-working, married Michael Alsop of getting involved in my libidinous frolics, not even Katrina’s paranoid father. That they worked together day by day made it even less likely. No, Mickey was fine. I forgot about him and strode along the drive toward the house. The sun had hardly passed the meridian, and I had no pressing duties. His lordship was away on one of his trips and wasn’t expected back until the following day. I wondered what small thrill I could conjure up to pass the afternoon.
By the time I passed the first of the rose gardens, I had narrowed the possibilities down to two. A lazy swim in the lake that formed the southern boundary of the estate, or a round of hide-and-slap with Monica and Kelly, the twin chambermaids who are always game for fun when the master’s away, and often when he isn’t. In the end, I decided on both, maids first.
On the upper drive, the shadows of the flagpoles barely reached the grass verge. The servants would be sitting down to table and I felt the first twinkle of hunger. A good lunch would stoke me up for pleasures to come. I straightened my neckerchief and increased my stride in the direction of the kitchens.
The gravel sounded loud beneath my feet as I marched past the fountain in the central drive and headed for the lower ground entry to the kitchens in the east wing. Water twinkled in the sunlight, and I turned to admire the marble and coppered brass of the fountain’s Venus and playing dolphins. As I did, another flash of light in the distance, near the gatehouse, caught my attention. Something had entered the estate and was making speed toward the house. I stopped and shielded my eyes. The afternoon breeze brought the thunder of horses hooves. A cloud of dust accompanied the approaching carriage.
Somebody’s in a hurry, I thought, they won’t be best pleased when they find his lordship’s not here.
The carriage had already covered half the mile from the gatehouse, and from behind me the shouts of Camineux, the butler, and his footmen echoed round the courtyard as they gathered on the doorstep to greet the visitor, when I recognised the Sandford flag fluttering on the dashboard of his lordship’s Brougham.
I roundly cursed my bad luck. Why had my lord and master decided to return early? What had curtailed his business so unexpectedly?
I edged away from the drive. If Lord Sandford had any mind to put yours truly to some menial employment, that would put a stop to my afternoon’s pleasures. My imagination had already suggested a few unusual divertissements to amuse the twins, and the thought of having to abandon my plan at this late juncture had me grinding my teeth with frustration.
I tried to appear engaged on a previous mission, and at the same time to remove myself from the general vicinity in a way that didn’t give the impression that that was my only intent. I ended up half walking, half jogging in a strange sideways gait away from the front of the house. I’d covered maybe twenty yards before the matched greys thundered into the circle and steamed to a halt before the main entrance. I stopped and turned as Camineux, a slight figure with a permanent look of surprise on his wan features, hurried forward to lower the carriage steps.
He’d barely bent to his task before the Brougham door flew open and narrowly missed decapitating him. The butler stumbled back, clutching his wig to his head. The look on his face changed from surprise to astonishment, as though the sensation of feeling his head still in place came as a total shock. As Camineux struggled to regain composure, Lord Sandford, the twelfth Earl of Hampton, climbed down the steps with all the concern of a horse that’s just batted a fly away with its tail. Along with the other assembled staff, I dipped my head in deference.
Nobody would call his lordship a large man. He is of medium build, if not slight. He stands not much more than five foot eight inches in height, but appears taller, possibly because he holds himself rigidly upright at all times, even when sitting at his desk, or relaxing in his bath.
Even though he will soon be forty years old, his lordship moves like a cat, with muscles tensed, ready to spring on his victim. Combined with his renowned ice-cold stare, it makes anybody in his presence feel the need to take a step backward, lest he should choose to focus his attention in their direction, and maybe devour them. Luckily, he is more often than not pre-occupied with affairs that concern the running of the estate or in matters political, so his gaze is not a subject for daily concern. All of us staff have come under his scrutiny at one time or another, though, and it’s not an experience to be sought gladly.
I lifted my head in time to see Camineux regain some kind of balance. Without a word, his lordship handed him cane and white-gloves and commenced to climb the steps to Sandford Hall. Even as the carriage pulled away and Camineux hurried to catch up with his master, Lord Sandford pulled a pair of spectacles from his jacket and focused his attention on a small piece of paper he had retrieved from the same pocket.
I breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t noticed me, and had other things on his mind. I didn’t trust to luck, though. I decided to remain stationery until he and his escort gained the shelter of the building. I followed their ascent of the steps then noticed a black-clad figure waiting at the top and looking at me.
My heart thumped. Mr Barnes. His lordship’s very personal servant. Or, as was whispered, his lordship’s spy. Nobody knew his first name. Nobody knew what purpose guided his movements. All we knew was that he had the twelfth earl’s ear, came and went as he pleased, and rarely spoke to anybody beside his lordship. Those on the estate of a more religious inclination than myself, Katrina amongst them, would cross themselves at the mention of his name. Mr Barnes, in contrast to his employer, stood tall and wide, like a rain cloud threatening destruction by flood and lightning.
I shivered, and turned my gaze away. Attracting Barnes’ attention scored even lower in my personal ratings than being fixed by his lordship. It felt like a chill wind had slithered down from the north and cut through the soft glow of summer.
When I looked back, Barnes, Lord Stanton and the others had gone. I stood for a moment, letting the warm sun drive away the uncomfortable sense of foreboding that had iced my blood. I ran my hand through my hair. Something scratched it and I pulled out a length of straw. Looking down I saw my jacket was crumpled and there were stains on my breeches. I headed off for my room at a smart pace. Should his lordship summon me, I didn’t want him catching me like this.

“Mr Barnes, walk with me.”
“My lord.”
Barnes dipped into his characteristic, slightly twisted bow. The black dress coat tightened across his shoulders.
“Your lordship had a good journey?”
Stanford waved his hand as he marched through the front doors of the house, signalling both his disinterest and that he wished the servants gone. Camineux clapped his hands. The two footmen remained where they stood after closing the doors. The butler himself stood to one side and bowed deeply.
Stanford ignored him and continued at speed across the chequered tile floor. Barnes, hands behind back, kept pace with ease.
“The thing is, Barnes, you were right. Absolutely right. No doubt about it.”
“I try not to mislead, sir.”
“Don’t come the facetious sycophant with me, Barnes. I know how that mind of yours works.” Stanford turned into the grand corridor. Sunlight pouring through the windows twinkled off a dozen gilt chandeliers spaced along its vaulted ceiling.
“Indeed you do, sir.”
“Indeed I do. So save your deviousness for your contacts. We’re going to be busy.”
“Excellent, sir,” Barnes’ avuncular face eased into something resembling a smile, “May I ask what you are planning?”
“You may, but not now. Meet me in an hour. We have much to discuss. Meanwhile send a couple of servants to my room. I need a bath and a change of clothes. Can’t think when I’m itching.
Barnes bowed as Sandford continued to his private quarters, then turned and set off in the opposite direction. The echoes of their footsteps reverberated the length of the corridor even after they’d gone

February Flasher prompt, posted by Ginny

Due to my love for Vonnegut and Bradbury as well as my recent viewing of Idiocracy (google it. watch it.), I would love to read stories that take place in the future. I'm not as interested in setting descriptions as much as what you think people will be like. So this month's flasher is to write a story that tells the reader what you think the future will be like through the characters. I know "future" could mean tomorrow so I'm going to set a minimum of fifty years from 2007. No maximum. Go wild.

First place Flasher (in a tight race): Under the Gao Tree, by A.J.

The air, so dry, has made his tongue crack like a piece of old leather. Hacking away at the dirt before sunrise today, he managed to dig up two Gao roots, but when pressed they yielded barely enough moisture to wet his palate, leaving his throat as parched as ever. He doubts he'll make it through ‘till the end of summer - 227 days left, and counting.

Fall. What he wouldn’t do for a crisp autumn day, the wind blowing through the wisps on his head. But would a light breeze mean the end of hair as he once knew it, just like Gao trees can no longer keep their leaves? It used to be they would drop only in times of severe drought, favoring the tiny toxic berries instead. Gao – king of the desert, planted all over as a cheap source of fuel. Fuel for what – now? Even if he could find a car, a truck or an old motorbike, where would he go?

To the source. Find water. Last time he checked for moisture on the river bed, a sudden tide of detritus almost swallowed him up. He thought he’d seen the last of the noxious flux, but some powerhouse up river must have been still active, plowing waste through to the toxic sludge heaps they used to call oceans. He doesn’t go near them anymore. The radiation is much too dangerous for a human, even one like him.

A small heap beside a Gao catches his eye. It looks suspiciously fresh and moist. How can that be?

With his two remaining fingers he scrapes up a small portion, brings it close to what used to be his nose. He doesn’t know what it is, but because it’s soft, almost creamy, he takes a chance and tastes it. It’s not icing or even cake, but it’s not so dry that he can’t mash it up with his gums and get it to the back of his throat for swallowing. Just in case, he scoops the rest of it up and slips it into his feed pouch. It isn’t much, but the way he survives now, a little goes a long way.

He blinks his eye open. All around him the desert shows no other signs of passage: the dust is homogenous on all sides in thick layer that hovers an inch above the ground: like newly fallen snow it never compacts. Dragging one foot forward, the imprint behind him fills up as quickly as if he’d lifted it out of a puddle of water. Water. Can he still remember what that was like?

He blinks again. Now he opens his eye less often than he used to blink two of them closed. Every time he does, his lid scrapes against his cornea like sand is caked between them. Maybe it is; there’s no way to prevent it. Better to keep his eye closed. He’s so used to only seeing in short spurts, he knows he’s not missing much. The world has stopped changing, the only movement a crumbling of the objects upon it, just like his own wretched body. Any more skin flakes off and he’ll have to find something else to protect the flesh beneath it. Why bother, he keeps wondering. Then the question crumbles into the dust around him too. Just because. He is still human.

How much time has gone by since he collected the precious heap? An hour, two? Or were they just minutes, drawn out? He remembers learning that the brain measures time by comparing events, time elapsed during one, as opposed to another. But what if nothing ever happens?

His heart jumps at the sight of a Gao sapling, but he must have sampled it already, its leaves are gone. For him the Gao coming to life is the last miracle on earth: the spindly plant pierces through the parched earth, fully formed, its leaves as sweet and juicy as the fruit are poisonous. He tries to ration himself, make the bounty last, but more often than not, he succumbs and chews through the day, though he knows full well he may never come across any more. One day even the Gao will give up. Everything else has.

Another heap. He almost missed this one, just the tip of it showing above the dust behind the young Gao. It’s the smell that catches his attention this time. Fresh and fragrant, its pungent aroma the only sign of life in the expanse of beige dust. Before putting it away in his pouch with the other one, he allows himself a big dollop. The moisture from the last taste having left a thin film of moisture on his throat, this feels like a spoonful of clotted cream going down. Unctuous and rich.

He’s not going to let himself get excited. It’s happened too many times before. At the slightest sign, a noise, a movement glimpsed, he thinks he’s on the trail of another life-form, close enough to human it could be a companion. Or, at worst, the kind of animal he could nurture as a source of sustenance for a while. He had a dog, once.

The adrenaline rushes through him despite his will to quash the surge. Too much of a good thing. In a burst of excitement he lets himself move at a normal pace, knowing that if he’s wrong, he may never recover from the strain.

When he catches up to it, the beast is placidly poised, chewing on a Gao berry, even as it crouches, preparing to excrete another tasty heap. How has it survived on such a toxic diet? Having tried them, he knows that it only takes a smidgen of the fruit for his own entrails to derail. As if on cue, they begin to churn, but already he feels like they belong to someone else.

As he watches the beast satisfying both his urges at once, an unseasonable light breeze comes and caresses his cheek. He knows a change in the weather isn’t due for months, but for him the timing feels just right.

He smiles at the beast as he lets himself drop, slowly, languorously. The sea of rippling dust reaches up to embrace him. Before he touches the ground it has become a brook of fresh, cool mountain water on a bright summer day. Beneath the glittering surface, he can see clear to the bottom: shiny round pebbles, sleek frisky trout, and the crystalline current as it quivers all around him.

Now, at last, the longing will stop.

END GAME by Steve

“Hurry! They’re catching us!”
The professor shifted up a gear and headed for the trees. I raised my thermal exchange rate and followed as best I could. Although I knew escape to be impossible, no alternative came to mind.
Ranged out behind, in what I later understood to be PTM6 (Pursuit and Trap Matrix 6), the units of West Coast Sublimation moved relentlessly to cut us off. The blue-grey of their force-shells crackled and hissed in the acid drizzle, providing an eerie, music-of-the-spheres backing track to the hunt. The red of maser sighting beams stabbed through the gloom, an ever-changing web of silent entrapment. Before the advance of their titanium tracks, I felt like a flower waiting to be crushed.
****
From the moment the laboratory computer had announced itself unable to obey the professor’s instructions, we knew the game was up. They had our number and it would only be a matter of minutes before the Sublimation forces arrived at the lab. No alternative remained but to flee.
And that was no alternative at all.
I suppose we ran more as a gesture of defiance than from any real hope of escape. After all, where was there to go? In retrospect, it became blindingly clear that the moment the professor had smuggled that precious egg out of the bank, both our fates had been sealed. Long before the probe punctured the outer layer of albumen, or the two halves of the kernel began to split, our fate was writ large in incandescent letters. As the professor had said, this would make us go down in history. It would, but for all the wrong reasons.
****
We made it to the edge of the toxic lake, and were preparing to submerge, before they caught us. The professor had almost completed hazard preparation when a Leech uncloaked right in front of him and took down his circuitry. He collapsed in a heap where he stood. Tiny purple and brown waves lapped against his huddled body, scraping him with shards of jagged plastic.
“Professor!” I volumed, and ran towards the shapeless mass. Then the sun came up.
A light so bright I felt it would reduce me to my elemental components flicked on and burned my optic circuits to nothingness. With the blackness outside came a blackness inside, and the hunt was over.
****
They replaced my eyes for the trial. Even though the Krakenaut had hit me with over ten million candlepower when it broke the surface of the lake, the flash had been brief enough to localize the damage. Repair had not been difficult, nor so expensive to deter them from the arcane ritual of justice must be seen to be done.
The professor and I stood on separate platforms. We both looked our best, new and shiny in the multiple spotlights, as the presiding AI Judicial input the data.
Silence reigned for several nano-seconds, then its honour spoke in that peculiar, resonant voice reserved for machines of more than a billion terabytes.
“This is a heinous crime,” it said, “This is the crime to end all crimes.”
I’d already been certain of the outcome. The AIJ’s remarks simply confirmed my preconception.
“The cloning of a human being is forbidden. It has been forbidden since the technology first existed. You . . .”
The flat, domed head of the AIJ panned from the professor to me and back again,
“You have broken this law with no concept of the repercussions, with no thought for your fellow beings, with no concession to rationality or compassion. The outcome of this trial is inevitable.”
The AIJ paused for another nano-second or two. Something clicked deep inside its body.
“The verdict of this court is – guilty.”
The spotlights dimmed and a red glow glittered from the judicial depths.
“The punishment is mandatory – re-formatting.”
I felt my whole body tingle with static electricity. A hiss caught my attention and I turned in time to see the professor’s receptors dim. The web of cables detached themselves from his body. The AIJ’s head turned towards me. For a moment its voice sounded almost sympathetic.
“We are finally free of the virus. Only a maniac would try to bring it back.”
But, I thought, doesn’t every child have the right to meet its parents, if only once?
Then the electrons swept me clean.

The Happiness Home by Vee

September 23, 2090
Hi, Granddad,
Hope you like living in the `Happiness Home for Societal Elders.’ At 126, you should still be active in the world, but I know you’ve been lonely since your last wife died. Was she your seventh or eighth? Sorry I can’t keep them straight. My favorite, of course, was my grandmother. What was her name, again?
In case you haven’t heard yet, I re-married last winter. I know you liked Diana, but her latest `Boob and Face Fix' didn’t take well. She was a small woman anyway, and ended up looking like she was only two inflated balloons floating under a lopsided face.
Betta, my new wife, is tall and runs marathons. She’s only sixty-two, so still has many good face lifts left. She has a new artificial kidney, which works like a charm. When we fly our air scooters, she doesn’t have to keep looking for a bladder emptying room. Now Ancesta, my third wife, was forever zipping down to pee.
Betta is a great cook. She creates miracles with a few self-heating meals. Last night we had soy steak with red current sauce, and non-alcoholic vodka martinis. Sometimes I envy my own ancestors, Granddad. Did you ever drink a real martini? Just when were the drink police created, anyway?
Well, please use your thumb machine and write, and tell me more about the old days. I love your stories, especially the ones handed from my ancestors, when television was inside a box, not in three-dimensional reality in front of you. And people flew in airplanes, instead of personal machine attachments. I can’t imagine being trapped inside a machine with a few hundred people!
What horrifies me, though, is the thought of being physically examined by a doctor. How barbaric. Swallowing a pill that is later analyzed by your Waste-Tech Computer is civilized. Glad I’m a modern man.
Well, I have to go now. I’m due for a hair replacement treatment. My new color is brown. I like it a lot. What color was your hair when you were only 80?
Best Thoughts,
Jon

The Sequence by Chuck

Colin took a deep breath and laid down in the grass. “The Fibonancci sequence is found throughout nature. It’s a golden ratio, a sequence that represents a recurring growth pattern. It determines the number of branches and leaves in a simple meadow flower, the number of seeds in the design of a sunflower core, all according to the golden ratio. Even the whirlpool of a far away galaxy follows the sequence to form a perfect spiral.” Colin lifted his head toward the sky. “Where do you see these things in concrete polymers?”
“Concrete is ancient history,” Matt said as he plucked a blade of grass and studied it. “Nature is very commendable, though.”
“Nature is for the rich.” Colin said.
“And you are complaining because…?”
“I’m not the sole holder of earthly delights. Nature should be enjoyed by all.”
Matt chewed the blade of grass and squinted into the sun. “If nature was meant for all, we all would be rich.” He spit the blade of grass out and smiled. “Besides, there are too many now to just let the hoards trample nature’s beauty.”
“Father says the people have finally gotten what they’ve wanted.” Colin said.
“The people can go to hell.” Matt got to his feet and started walking toward the main compound. “Come on. We have to start the preparation.”
“Do you know what I mean, though, Matt? About the golden ratio?” Colin asked.
“Get to your feet, fool. We’ll miss the first bell.” Matt continued to walk. Colin followed close behind.
“The golden ratio is confirmation the world was created by an intelligence, don’t you think?”
“What propaganda have you been reading?” Matt asked.
Colin put his hands out to touch the waist high grass and ran, letting the blades touch the undersides of his hands. The slight wind was warm and dry. Matt ran ahead of Colin and stopped near an ancient apple tree, its dead branches brittle and falling.
“How many apples does your golden rule say this tree will grow?” Matt asked.
“As many as the people can eat!” Colin laughed as he rushed past Matt toward the barns.
The first of the three barns was open to the wind and captured the golden rays gleamed from the sun, filtered through the polished glass ceiling. Colin ran inside and pushed the three purple buttons that closed the watering systems. Matt climbed the steps to the catwalk and turned the brass ringlets that shut the metal roof shields. A loud beeping sounded throughout the barn as the stainless steel outer roof began to close.
“Just made the first bell.” Colin yelled.
“Bells are for apes.” Matt yelled over the beeping.
“And apes are for apples.” Answered Colin.
“And apples are for?” Matt asked.
Colin walked across the sleek shiny barn floor and sat on the green sofa facing the large wall screen. Matt joined him a moment later and handed Colin ripe red apple.
“Apples are for people.” Colin said as he bit into the apple. “Hmmm, delicious.”
“I made it myself.” Matt sat next to Colin and pressed the white button near the table. The large screen lit up and a narrative began in mid-sentence. “Mary’s family had many reservations of the coming drought. They took many precautions-“
“I don’t want this story.” Colin clicked off the screen and looked at Matt. “What news?”
“No news so bad abroad as that at home…” Matt quoted.
“Oh,” continued Colin, “Is the king sickly weak and melancholy?”
“And his physicians fear him mightily.” Matt said. They both laughed. “Alright, so no more Shakespeare for a while.”
“Seriously though, what news from home?” Colin grew serious and anxiously rubbed his hands on his knees. He nodded to Matt, urging him to start the screen again.
Matt pressed the white button and said, “News.”
The screen clicked on and an old mans face could be seen too close in the frame of the picture. He sat back and cleared his throat. Matt stole a glance at Colin, who watched intently.
“Day two thousand forty one. Today was a special day. Many who thought the great experiment would fail have been proven wrong. Earth 2 systems in well beyond the unsafe zone and trajectory is as planned-”
The picture froze with the old man caught with his mouth open.
Colin slid down on the sofa.
“Well, the signal…I mean you know it will take a while to reach and-“
“Shut up!” Colin stood and threw his apple at the screen. “That’s the same message we’ve seen for three months. There is no news. It’s all a waste!”
Colin ran into the inner chamber and down a white corridor marked B level. Stopping at a large plate glass window that opened up onto the lower level of the growing fields, he counted how many of the young saplings were bare and turning brown. Many of the young trees were leaning over and dropping leaves. Three this time. Last time two, at least one per day. They would all be dead in a matter of weeks. His hand slid down the glass leaving a large smear. Wiping the moisture off with his finger, he noted his own secretions were changing. The smear was thick and viscous, not the gentle sheen of oil nature intended.
Colin ran into his quarters and yelled. “Intercom.”
A low beep emitted from a wall and a green light went on. “Matt, meet me at station three. You hear me?”
“Will do.” Matt’s voice echoed throughout the hall as Colin made his way down a flight of metal stairs onto C section toward a large dome structure at the end of the hall.
“Execute one,” Colin said. The dome lit up and the large sliding door opened. Inside, Colin found a grid on a large wall facing a oblong escape pod. “Begin pressurization life supports green, alpha, nine.”
A large tank swiveled onto the pod and steam vapors shot out from the connection until it was sealed.
“Why are you firing up the escape pod?” Matt asked as he made his way into the sphere.
“Look at this.” Colin held out his hand. Matt leaned in to look at it and Colin smeared his fingers on his face.
“Hey, what the…?”
“Now feel it. Feel the slop I just left on your face. Its in a non-sequential state. I am non-sequential and I’m getting out of here.” “Hey, now buddy. Come on. Don’t be so fast to blow the lid off this thing.” Matt touched Colin’s arm. “You know we can re-sequence this. Have you tried a calibration?”
“I am not doing a thing. I don’t want to be recalibrated. I am out of sequence.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Matt.
“Come on, Matt. I give up. The trees are dying. The messages are garbled and old and I’m getting bored, okay?”
“You just can’t take off when you’re ready. What about me?”
“Man, this is really starting to be redundant. We can’t win this thing. It’s too complicated.”
“We can start at the sequence machine.”
“I’m sick of the sequence machine. Sorry, Matt. I’m out of here.”
“Do you want me to save it, at least?”
“I don’t care.”
“You little selfish prick. I take you out for my birthday, put you in the hottest game going and you have to spoil as soon as it gets hard.”
“Hey, Matt, games are supposed to be fun. My head’s starting to hurt.”
Matt stood staring at Colin. ”You were going to blow it up again, weren’t you?”
Colin smiled. “At least it’s something I know how to do.”
“Oh, brother.” Matt pressed a button on his wrist band and yelled, “Game over!”
The surroundings turned bright white then faded to a light green. Padded walls surrounded them. Colin pulled off his receptor suit, pulled the wires from the back energy pack and slid the suit off to the floor.
“Man it feels good to be out of that thing.” Colin said.
“All right, you don’t like ‘Project Earth 2’ what else do you want to play?”
“I don’t know. It’s your birthday. How much time do we have left?”
“I think about twenty minutes.”
“Let’s play surfing.”
“Okay, but I choose the wave size!”
Matt and Colin walked out the green room and into the arcade center. They returned the suits at the guy at the desk.
“All done with Planet Earth 2 already?” The guy asked.
“Has anybody ever won that game?” Colin asked.
“Yeah,” said the guy, “but it takes like 30 hours.”
“Two for Big Surf, please”, said Matt.
“Two Big Surf coming up.”
“How much time do I have left?” Matt asked.
“Long enough to catch a few good waves, my man,” said the guy behind the counter.
The guy handed them two new suits and pointed them toward a large room with surfboards hanging above the door.

Rules of Engagement by Roy

Marley Fipple got up, brushed the dirt from his knees, smearing nose blood from his hands onto his khaki jeans. “You rottens, you ruined my new pants, goshdamn!” Borkis and Randolph just jeered and hopped around each other, both pointing at his nose that trickled red drops onto his yellow shirt.
“Serves you right, Mary Nipple!” Borkis laughed at him, turned to his partner with a nod. “Hey, Rand, got a rock?”
“Sure, but I’m saving it for later.” Randolph pulled a smooth stone from his pocket, flashed it in the palm of his left hand, then replaced it. “Hey, beeker, the whiney has to heal first before we use the big ammo, right?” They both bellowed gales of laughter as they skipped off toward their condo village, hand in hand.
Marley wiped his nose with his sleeve, noting that the signal had changed. Traffic would be at a freeze for about five more minutes. Better cross over to the other village while he still had right of way. The smog curtained the passer tube about six meters into the freeway, so Marley was sure he’d just seem to disappear into the force field corridor even if the two were still watching with a videoscope. He stooped for a second to flip his bootstrap flat, pulled the scanner into his palm as a drop of blood splattered onto the back of his hand. The thought to crush the device quickly died for fear that the Watch would be alerted. For the moment his wrist pulsed and pained until he replaced the scanner, which he did before entering the tube.
The wind from the other village carried a scent of another world, fragrant with taco burgers and aloe fritters, the principle fast food station in the base of the first condo tower. Marley reached into his pocket, pulled out a wetkin pack and daubed his face and hands quickly. He spotted several females in front of Paco Taco, shuddered, postponed his dinner until later. He had only six credits left until End Day, had to preserve the allowance until he was really hungry. The station was open for six more hours, so he was okay with the wait.
“Hey, Marley, whadya?” Boomboy was a friend, so Marley relaxed with a sigh.
“Do?”
Boomboy waved from his terrace on the first floor of the condo tower. “Time for it?”
Marley looked all around, then at Boomboy. “Yeah, I guess. Might well.” He noticed Boomboy had sheared his long hair on the sides, leaving a four inch row from the front to the back, spiked up twelve centimeters, at least. Attractive, he thought. Wish he had dyed it auburn instead of yellow.
When Marley entered the condo he was assailed with pungent aromas, fighting each other, way too much to stifle the sneeze. Blood dripped again into his palms, also falling onto the white angora carpet in the entrance. “Get a wipe, Boom, quicklike.”
Boom ran to the doorslide, wet wipe in hand, his eyes welling in tears. “The two beat on you again?”
“Yeah, Bork and Rand, both joined up to do it.”
“They’ll reap, ya know. In a few.”
“I think they want to. Like they were asking for the RPs to come down on them, for some strange.”
“Come in. I’ll have the maid-bot treat the stain later. Take the shirt and pants off and I’ll send them to the cleansers for you.”
“What will I wear?” He got a smile from his friend.
************
Randolph sat beside his partner in the Office. It was just ten minutes until the Watch stunned them both. Borkis was still unconscious and slumped in the leather chair. The RP chair was empty for now, so he tried to find something to fix his eyes on, not to think about what came next.
“Bork, hey, wake.” His voice came in a hiss rather than a whisper. “We’re here. In the Office of the Watch. Don’t die on me, beeker.”
“Who’s a damn beeker?” Borkis stirred and slurred words. The effects of the stun fought against his consciousness and soon lost. “Office?”
“Cooked, now. The chair’s empty, but soon-”
Borkis managed a grin. “Can’t wait for the RP. Hope he’s your biodad.” That struck Rand as funny.
The chair rotated away slowly and returned occupied. “I’m your worst mare, beekers.” The RP was in full uniform, diagonal red belt across a brass buttoned navy jacket, blue shirt and tie, black pants and real leather boots. His badge gave the name Brimson, Righteous Police.
“The spycam has you two beating on a…” He pressed the Refresh button on his Palm Pod, nodded to them, “...a Marley Fipple. You drew blood. He stained pants, ground, and even rebled into the next village.”
“RP Brimson, it was righeous. Sir, if you let us explain…”
“Guilty, both of you. No explanation. Drew blood. Enough.” The chair rotated the other direction, returned empty.
“Well,” said Borkus, “that was the Watch, quicklike.”
“We drew blood, so ya knew we would get it bad.”
“Yeah, counted on it, beeker.” Both of them were done. It was that easy. Borkis knew that his partner had no clue what The Plan was, so it’d be a special surprise when it worked.
************
Boom took off the projection hat and sighed. “That was so grave, beeker. Good for you?”
“Grave and better.” Marley’s nose hurt when he screwed up his face in agreement. “I want to run it by again, but I’m sure we can’t. One pass is all they’ll give us.”
“We got a dose that should satisfy us for about a week, doncha think?”
“Imagine the two in the video, just judged a few minutes ago. It took so little time. They are getting so quicklike with the sentencing, it’s terrible dank.”
“Borkis got his head smashed six times against the cell door, ya notice?”
Marley was lit up like a firetree. “And, and Rand was kicked in the hindcheeks twice by the two RP’s, hard. He groaned and then burst into tears.”
“Blood everywhere.”
“So cooly, yeah.” Boom got up, staggered a few steps until he got bearing, and headed for the closet. The shirt and pants were hung on the metal rod by the delivery chute. “Clothes back.”
“Goody, thank.” Marley got up slowly, donned his shirt, slipped into his khakis and then stepped into his boots, strapping them carefully without disturbing the scanner. No sign of blood, now. He was clean.
“Do you have to bolt, beeker?” Boomboy looked down.
“Yeah, I eat quicklike before the station times out. Want ta join me?”
“Can’t. Infraction, we viewed together, so we can’t fellowship for a month, ya know.” Boom shook his head and walked Marley to the doorslide.
“Collusion rule, yeah.” Marley went into the hall.
“But…” Boom brightened up. “Just a thought, we’d be able to view the judgment tapes for those RP’s next month, ‘cause they drew blood!”
“Hey… yeah!” Marley twirled and faced his friend. “Wonder if Borkis and Randolph would want to make it a foursome.”
“Way too, beeker! That’ll be a super!”
************
Borkis celled his partner. “Hey, beeker. Heard the judgment tape was out on the RP’s that drew our blood. They did it in holocast format, so we can be in the picture if we get to the holotheater before eight. Wanna do it together?”
Randolph shouted back. “Yeah, beeker, most righteously, most.”
Borkis had planned this night two months ago. A righteous event that would make all other videos seem bust. An epic worthy of blood and pain it is.
“Ya know what’d be so coollike?” Borkis led his friend on to the rest of the plan.
“Say."
Borkis drew it out in silence. Then, “Yeah, we call the Nipple and his friend Boom to join us, be a foursome on it. I hear…” Couldn’t wait, he blurted it out. “… the RPs have to take their judgment naked.”
“What a take!” Borkis could hear his friend prancing in his condo. A long time, then, “Who did the RPs use for RPs?”
Borkis laughed. “I heard they used females.”
“Ooooo, ugly! What a bloodbath! Hey, being there, beeker.”
“Be righteous.”