http://escapepod.org The Science Fiction Podcast Magazine. Each week Escape Pod delivers science fiction short stories from today's best authors. Listen today, and hear the new sound of science fiction! Tue, 29 May 2012 14:00:01 +0000 en hourly 1 2005-2012 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0 editor@escapepod.org (Mur Lafferty) editor@escapepod.org (Mur Lafferty) science fiction 1440 http://escapepod.org/wp-content/images/pod-org-icon300.jpg http://escapepod.org 144 144 The Science Fiction Podcast Magazine The Science Fiction Podcast Magazine. Each week Escape Pod delivers science fiction short stories from today's best authors. Listen today, and hear the new sound of science fiction! science fiction, sf, stories, audiobooks, storytelling, fiction, short fiction, short story Mur Lafferty Mur Lafferty editor@escapepod.org no no http://escapepod.org/2012/04/05/ep339-run-bakri-says/ http://escapepod.org/2012/04/05/ep339-run-bakri-says/#comments Fri, 06 Apr 2012 01:54:18 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=3258 http://escapepod.org/2012/04/05/ep339-run-bakri-says/feed/ 0 0:30:42 By Ferrett Steinmetz Read by Mur Lafferty Discuss on our forums. Originally appeared in Asimov’s All stories by Ferrett Steinmetz All stories read by Mur Lafferty Rated 15 and up for violence “Run,” Bakri Says By Ferrett Steinmetz[...] By Ferrett Steinmetz Read by Mur Lafferty Discuss on our forums. Originally appeared in Asimov’s All stories by Ferrett Steinmetz All stories read by Mur Lafferty Rated 15 and up for violence “Run,” Bakri Says By Ferrett Steinmetz “I just want to know where my brother is,” Irena yells at the guards. The English words are thick and slow on her tongue, like honey. She holds her hands high in the air; the gun she’s tucked into the back of her pants jabs at her spine. She doesn’t want to kill the soldiers on this iteration; she’s never killed anyone before, and doesn’t want to start. But unless she can get poor, weak Sammi out of that prison in the next fifty/infinity minutes, they’ll start in on him with the rubber hoses and he’ll tell them what he’s done. And though she loves her brother with all her heart, it would be a blessing then if the Americans beat him to death. The guards are still at the far end of the street, just before the tangle of barbed wire that bars the prison entrance. Irena stands still, lets them approach her, guns out. One is a black man, the skin around his eyes creased with a habitual expression of distrust; a fringe of white hair and an unwavering aim marks him as a career man. The other is a younger man, squinting nervously, his babyfat face the picture of every new American soldier. Above them, a third soldier looks down from his wooden tower, reaching for the radio at his belt. She hopes she won’t get to know them. This will be easier if all they do is point guns and yell. It’ll be just like Sammi’s stupid videogames. “My brother,” she repeats, her mouth dry; it hurts to raise her arms after the rough surgery Bakri’s done with an X-acto knife and some fishing line. “His name is Sammi Daraghmeh. You rounded him up last night, with many other men. He is – ” Their gazes catch on the rough iron manacle dangling from her left wrist. She looks up, remembers that Bakri installed a button on the tether so she could rewind, realizes the front of her cornflower-blue abayah is splotched with blood from her oozing stitches. “Wait.” She backs away. “I’m not – ” The younger soldier yells, “She’s got something!” They open fire. Something tugs at her neck, parting flesh; another crack, and she swallows her own teeth. She tries to talk but her windpipe whistles; her body betrays her, refusing to move as she crumples to the ground, willing herself to keep going. Nothing listens. This is death, she thinks. This is what it’s like to die. # “Run,” Bakri says, and Irena is standing in an alleyway instead of dying on the street – gravity’s all wrong and her muscles follow her orders again. Her arms and legs flail and she topples face-first into a pile of rotting lettuce. The gun Bakri has just pressed into her hands falls to the ground. Dying was worse than she’d thought. Her mind’s still jangled with the shock, from feeling all her nerves shrieking in panic as she died. She shudders in the garbage, trying to regain strength. Bakri picks her up. “What is your goal?” he barks, keeping his voice low so the shoppers at the other end of the grocery store’s alleyway don’t hear. Why is he asking me that? she thinks, then remembers: all the others went insane. She wouldn’t even be here if Farhouz hadn’t slaughtered seventeen soldiers inside the Green Zone. It takes an effort to speak. “To – to rescue Sammi.” “Good.” The tension drains from his face. He looks so relieved that Irena thinks he might burst into tears. “What iteration? You did iterate, right?” “Two,” she says numbly, understanding what his relief means: he didn’t know. He’d sent her off to be shot, unsure whether he[...] Best-Of, Podcasts Ferrett Steinmetz no no http://escapepod.org/2012/02/02/ep330-the-ghost-of-a-girl-who-never-lived/ http://escapepod.org/2012/02/02/ep330-the-ghost-of-a-girl-who-never-lived/#comments Fri, 03 Feb 2012 01:55:58 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=3087 http://escapepod.org/2012/02/02/ep330-the-ghost-of-a-girl-who-never-lived/feed/ 0 0:00:01 By Keffy R. M. Kehrli Read by Mur Lafferty Discuss on our forums. Originally appeared in InterGalactic Medicine Show. All stories by Keffy R. M. Kehrli All stories read by Mur Lafferty Rated 13 and up The Ghost of a Girl Who Never Lived By Keffy R.[...] By Keffy R. M. Kehrli Read by Mur Lafferty Discuss on our forums. Originally appeared in InterGalactic Medicine Show. All stories by Keffy R. M. Kehrli All stories read by Mur Lafferty Rated 13 and up The Ghost of a Girl Who Never Lived By Keffy R. M. Kehrli I am Sara’s second body. My first memory is of Sara’s resurrection in a room that smelled of cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide. “That’s funny,” a man said. The world felt raw, sore, and new. Under my back, my butt, my fingertips, I could feel every thread in the sheets beneath me. The blanket over my stomach scratched. Padded straps crossed my arms. “What’s funny?” This voice was a woman’s. “Got another error message,” the man answered. “Have you ever seen that one before?” I felt the sheets with Sara’s fingers, and the texture conjured memories I didn’t have. I should have known where I was and what I was there for, but I couldn’t catch hold of the fleeting thoughts. In the dim light of the room I could only see the ceiling. “Let me see.” I heard a frenzied clicking. “It failed twice?” “Nothing copied the first time, so I started over. It got about halfway through, and then it gave me this.” “Error two-one-five-two. Copy error,” the woman said. “I’ve never seen that before. I’ve never even seen an error in the middle of a transplant. Did you check the manual?” “It didn’t list this one.” The woman sighed and said, “The only thing I can think of is if we wipe everything back out and start over.” Operating tables, and the anesthetician’s face. Tissue paper examining tables, candles in a church. “She’s conscious, though,” the man said. “When the machine aborted, it sent the Copy Completed code. Don’t look at me like that! I don’t know if I ought to mess around with it anymore, or…” The woman interrupted, “You know we can’t do that without contacting the parents. Come on, we might as well go see what the damage is.” They stood over me. The man was the younger of the two, and he looked down at me from behind thick glasses. He held his clipboard tight against his chest like a shield. The woman stood closer to me; her hair was light, either blond or grey. She frowned like it was my fault. “Can you hear and understand me?” she asked. The man wrote something on his clipboard. I could hear graphite rubbed free, caught in the paper. My mouth felt dry, and my lips did too, as though if I tried to speak they would break apart. “Yes,” I managed. She unhooked the straps on my arms. I lifted my left arm and looked at the fingers, hand, wrist. Clean, and smooth, unmarked. Cat-scratch scar near my first knuckle, angry red and faded pink. “Do you know why you’re here?” I wanted to say the right thing, but I didn’t know what that would be. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t.” “She’s coherent,” the woman said. “We’ll have to call the parents.” The man nodded, and he was still writing. Scratch scratch scratch. He didn’t answer her. The woman disconnected something that slid out from under the skin of my scalp, and I didn’t like how it rubbed against my skull. “Make sure you tell them that we won’t require the final payment until we get this sorted.” “Copy error,” I said. “Is that why I don’t know where we are?” “Yes, Sara,” she said. “I think.” # I walk until I find a cabin in the woods, the windows broken out by tree branches, by wind and rain and thrown rocks. The door hangs far on its hinges. Shotgun shells, wet with rain. Raccoon droppings. These are the things that litter the floor inside. I step over them in Sara’s boots, into a [...] Best-Of, Podcasts Keffy R. M. Kehrli no no http://escapepod.org/2011/12/29/ep325-bad-dogs-escape/ http://escapepod.org/2011/12/29/ep325-bad-dogs-escape/#comments Fri, 30 Dec 2011 01:52:26 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2910 http://escapepod.org/2011/12/29/ep325-bad-dogs-escape/feed/ 0 0:00:01 By James Patrick Kelly Cast: Becca- AB Kovacs Sam- Pamela L. Quevillon Mel Gibson- John Cmar Discuss on our forums. An Escape Pod Original! All stories by James Patrick Kelly All stories read by AB Kovacs, Pamela L. Quevillon, John Cmar Appro[...] By James Patrick Kelly Cast: Becca- AB Kovacs Sam- Pamela L. Quevillon Mel Gibson- John Cmar Discuss on our forums. An Escape Pod Original! All stories by James Patrick Kelly All stories read by AB Kovacs, Pamela L. Quevillon, John Cmar Appropriate for older teens and up due to erotic imagery and war criminal comeuppance. Bad Dogs Escape By James Patrick Kelly /SFX/ CLOCK TICKING, FADE TO /SFX/ DOGS BARKING IN DISTANCE SAM: Like? BECCA: Like. SAM: (growls like a dog, sexy) BECCA: Like? SAM: Like. /SFX/ DOGS BARKING IN DISTANCE BECCA: Lick? SAM: (giggles) Like. BECCA: (howls like a dog) /SFX/ DOGS BARKING CLOSER SAM: They’re busy today. BECCA: Man’s best friend. (SAM and BECCA laugh) MEL: (in distance) Help! SAM: Uh-oh. BECCA: Company. /SFX/ DOGS BARKING, CLOSER MEL: (outside) Open up. Help! /SFX/ PANICKY KNOCKING ON DOOR MEL: (outside) For God’s sake, let me in! SAM: Already with God. Leave him. BECCA: No, let’s take a look. I could use a laugh. /SFX/ FOOTSTEPS. WINDOW SLIDES OPEN. SAM: Good enough to eat? BECCA: You’re bad. /SFX/ DOGS BARKING MEL: I can see you in there. Hurry. Please. BECCA: Where’s the controller? SAM: You’re not letting him in? /SFX/ DOGS BARKING /SFX/ MORE KNOCKING BECCA: This’ll be fun. Is the taser charged? SAM: Let’s see. /SFX/ TASER ZAP SAM: Yep. BECCA: I bet nine minutes. SAM: Not fair. You can see him. /SFX/ GARAGE DOOR OPENING BECCA: Nine is my bet. Yours? SAM: Way too quick. Ten minutes. No, eleven. BECCA: Done. (calls to Mel) It’s an overhead door. You have to crawl. MEL: (outside) What? They’re coming fast. SAM: Crawl under! /SFX/ CRAWLING, GRUNTING MEL: Shut it, shut it now! /SFX/ GARAGE DOOR CLOSING MEL: Thank you, thank you, thank you. You saved my life. /SFX/ STANDS, MORE GRUNTS, DUSTS HIMSELF OFF MEL: But who are you? BECCA: Me, Becca. She, Sam. You? SAM: Mel Gibson, maybe. BECCA: Our road warrior. (SAM and BECCA laugh) MEL: (confused) No, my name is Fish. Robert Fish. You can call me Bob. SAM: Or I can call you Mel Gibson. MEL: I beg your pardon, but that’s not my name. My name is Bob. SAM: Mel. (beat) Gibson. BECCA: You’re bad, Sam. (beat) So Mel, you must be from the vault. MEL: The vault? BECCA: The big underground storage thingy. All the fatcats snoozing away. MEL: You mean the Cultural Preservation Facility? That was top secret back when … but I suppose you must know all about it by now. BECCA: Not all. SAM: Something about your old government. BECCA: You people wasted everything. And then millions died. SAM: Billions. MEL: We tried. We tried very hard. It wasn’t as if we couldn’t see what was coming. The droughts, tornados, the economy going south. But it didn’t happen all at once. Then the Raccoon flu, the antibiotics were useless. The wheat crop failed two years in a row. Then came riots, cities on fire, madness. When we lost control we gathered the best — scientists, economists, engineers, architects into the CPF …. SAM: CPF? MEL: The Cultural Preservation Facility. The vault. The Congressional Committee selected a hundred volunteers to enter suspended animation pods to sleep through all the disasters. Wait, how long has it been? SAM: Since when? MEL: I mean, what year is this? SAM: Pick one. They’re all available. BECCA: My mom never kept a calendar. Did yours, Sam? SAM: You met my mom. BECCA: Right. So anyway, Mel, you decided to snooze while the world went to the dogs. MEL: Everything was flying apart. We tried to save what we could. But something went wrong. SAM: You think? MEL: No, I mean in the CPF. The main power was rated for fifty years, then if nobody woke us up the backup was supposed to kick in. But for some reason, it’s only running at half power. Whole sections are shutting down. I was lucky, I just barely escaped being d[...] Best-Of, Podcasts James Patrick Kelly no no http://escapepod.org/2011/11/17/ep319-driving-x/ http://escapepod.org/2011/11/17/ep319-driving-x/#comments Thu, 17 Nov 2011 20:02:18 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2829 http://escapepod.org/2011/11/17/ep319-driving-x/feed/ 0 0:00:01 By Gwendolyn Clare Read by Mur Lafferty Discuss on our forums. First appeared in Warrior Wisewoman 3 All stories by Gwendolyn Clare All stories read by Mur Lafferty Driving X by Gwendolyn Clare Carmela wouldn’t have stopped if she had known th[...] By Gwendolyn Clare Read by Mur Lafferty Discuss on our forums. First appeared in Warrior Wisewoman 3 All stories by Gwendolyn Clare All stories read by Mur Lafferty Driving X by Gwendolyn Clare Carmela wouldn’t have stopped if she had known that the kid was still alive. She spotted the body lying under a creosote bush, maybe ten yards from the road, and she hit the brakes.  She grabbed the roll cage of the old dune buggy and pulled herself up, standing on the driver’s seat to scan in both directions along the unpaved road.  A dust devil twirled a silent ballet off to the southeast, but hers was the only man-made dust trail in evidence for miles.  She raised her hand to cover the sun and squinted into the bleached, cloudless sky–no vultures yet, which was good, since vultures attract attention.  Minimal risk, she decided. The dune buggy itself wasn’t that valuable, but the newer-model solar panels powering it would be enough to tempt any sane person, and the carboys of potable water were worth a small fortune out here. Carmela swung out of the dune buggy and jogged over to check out the body.  It was tall but skinny, with the not-yet-filled-out look of a teenager.  Pale skin, a tint of sunburn, brown hair cropped at chin-length.  The girl was lying face down in the dust, so Carmela rolled the body over and checked her front pockets for anything of interest.  A month ago, she would have felt ashamed, but scavenging was the norm down here; after all, dead people don’t miss what you take from them. Carmela was rifling through the kid’s backpack–shaking her head about the nearly empty water supply–when she heard the girl moan. She froze, one hand still buried in the bag.  She should gather up the loot and make a run for the dune buggy before the girl came around. The kid was probably a goner, anyway, she told herself.  Instead, she leaned in closer, looking at the face plastered with sand and sweaty clumps of brown hair. The girl’s eyelids peeled back and stared up at Carmela with the glazed slowness of delirium.  Her cracked lips parted and she said, hoarsely, “Mom?” Nobody had ever called Carmela that before.  She slid her hands under the girl’s shoulders to lift her. # Swinging her legs, nine-year-old Carmela knocked her heels lightly against the side of the exam table.  Mama sat in a plastic chair, flipping through a magazine the way she always did when she was getting impatient.  Carmela’s test result had come in, and for some reason that was beyond her, Mama was really nervous about it.  And the doctor was running late. Carmela didn’t know why Mama was all bent out of shape over the non-Mendelian genetic test.  To be fair, she wasn’t entirely sure what “non-Mendelian” meant, except that it was something bad that your genes could be.  Driving X was a chromosome that was bad that way, and pretty much everybody had it, and for some reason you had to get tested for it anyway.  That’s what Carmela knew. Dr. Tanaka entered the exam room, holding a manila folder to her chest.  ”Afternoon Ms. Perez, Carmela.  Sorry to keep you waiting.” Mama dropped the magazine on the floor next to her chair and stood, fingers knotted together nervously.  ”Well?” Dr. Tanaka opened the folder, took out a single sheet of paper, and handed it to Mama.  Mama stared at it for a long minute, like she couldn’t quite see it properly.  She made a choking noise. In her tight, mustn’t-cry-in-public voice, she said, “I’ll be right back.”  She left the paper on her chair and hurried for the door. Carmela hopped off the exam table and picked up the sheet of paper. It had a lot of gobbledygook on it, but right in the middle, in bold, it read, “XDXD”. She didn’t understand what the big deal was.  Pretty much everybody had the Driving X allele on at least one of their X chromosomes. [...] Best-Of, Podcasts Gwendolyn Clare no no http://escapepod.org/2011/10/20/ep-315-clockwork-fagin/ http://escapepod.org/2011/10/20/ep-315-clockwork-fagin/#comments Thu, 20 Oct 2011 20:47:16 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2757 http://escapepod.org/2011/10/20/ep-315-clockwork-fagin/feed/ 0 1:15:35 By Cory Doctorow Read by Grant Baciocco Discuss on our forums. First appeared in Steampunk! An Anthology of Fantastically Rich and Strange Stories Music by Clockwork Quartet All stories by Cory Doctorow All stories read by Grant Baciocco This one is[...] By Cory Doctorow Read by Grant Baciocco Discuss on our forums. First appeared in Steampunk! An Anthology of Fantastically Rich and Strange Stories Music by Clockwork Quartet All stories by Cory Doctorow All stories read by Grant Baciocco This one is a long one! This is considered appropriate for kids 12 and up – it’s a YA story with one murder. Clockwork Fagin By Cory Doctorow Monty Goldfarb walked into St Agatha’s like he owned the place, a superior look on the half of his face that was still intact, a spring in his step despite his steel left leg. And it wasn’t long before he *did* own the place, taken it over by simple murder and cunning artifice. It wasn’t long before he was my best friend and my master, too, and the master of all St Agatha’s, and didn’t he preside over a *golden* era in the history of that miserable place? I’ve lived in St Agatha’s for six years, since I was 11 years old, when a reciprocating gear in the Muddy York Hall of Computing took off my right arm at the elbow. My Da had sent me off to Muddy York when Ma died of the consumption. He’d sold me into service of the Computers and I’d thrived in the big city, hadn’t cried, not even once, not even when Master Saunders beat me for playing kick-the-can with the other boys when I was meant to be polishing the brass. I didn’t cry when I lost my arm, nor when the barber-surgeon clamped me off and burned my stump with his medicinal tar. I’ve seen every kind of boy and girl come to St Aggie’s — swaggering, scared, tough, meek. The burned ones are often the hardest to read, inscrutable beneath their scars. Old Grinder don’t care, though, not one bit. Angry or scared, burned and hobbling or swaggering and full of beans, the first thing he does when new meat turns up on his doorstep is tenderize it a little. That means a good long session with the belt — and Grinder doesn’t care where the strap lands, whole skin or fresh scars, it’s all the same to him — and then a night or two down the hole, where there’s no light and no warmth and nothing for company except for the big hairy Muddy York rats who’ll come and nibble at whatever’s left of you if you manage to fall asleep. It’s the blood, see, it draws them out. So there we all was, that first night when Monty Goldfarb turned up, dropped off by a pair of sour-faced Sisters in white capes who turned their noses up at the smell of the horse-droppings as they stepped out of their coal-fired banger and handed Monty over to Grinder, who smiled and dry-washed his hairy hands and promised, “Oh, aye, sisters, I shall look after this poor crippled birdie like he was my own get. We’ll be great friends, won’t we, Monty?” Monty actually laughed when Grinder said that, like he’d already winkled it out. As soon as the boiler on the sisters’ car had its head of steam up and they were clanking away, Grinder took Monty inside, leading him past the parlour where we all sat, quiet as mice, eyeless or armless, shy a leg or half a face, or even a scalp (as was little Gertie Shine-Pate, whose hair got caught in the mighty rollers of one of the pressing engines down at the logic mill in Cabbagetown). He gave us a jaunty wave as Grinder led him away, and I’m ashamed to say that none of us had the stuff to wave back at him, or even to shout a warning. Grinder had done his work on us, too true, and turned us from kids into cowards. Presently, we heard the whistle and slap of the strap, but instead of screams of agony, we heard howls of defiance, and yes, even laughter! “Is that the best you have, you greasy old sack of suet? Put some arm into it!” And then: “Oh, dearie me, you must be tiring of your work. See how the sweat runs down your face, how your tongue doth protrude from your stinking gob. Oh please, dear master, tell me y[...] Best-Of, Podcasts Cory Doctorow no no http://escapepod.org/2011/10/13/ep314/ http://escapepod.org/2011/10/13/ep314/#comments Thu, 13 Oct 2011 14:36:43 +0000 Bill Peters http://escapepod.org/?p=2734 http://escapepod.org/2011/10/13/ep314/feed/ 0 0:00:01 By Nancy Fulda Read by Marguerite Kenner Discuss on our forums. First appeared in  Asimov’s March 2011 issue All stories by Nancy Fulda All stories read by Marguerite Kenner Movement By Nancy Fulda It is sunset.  The sky is splendid through th[...] By Nancy Fulda Read by Marguerite Kenner Discuss on our forums. First appeared in  Asimov’s March 2011 issue All stories by Nancy Fulda All stories read by Marguerite Kenner Movement By Nancy Fulda It is sunset.  The sky is splendid through the panes of my bedroom window; billowing layers of cumulous blazing with refracted oranges and reds.  I think if only it weren’t for the glass, I could reach out and touch the cloudscape, perhaps leave my own trail of turbulence in the swirling patterns that will soon deepen to indigo. But the window is there, and I feel trapped. Behind me my parents and a specialist from the neurological research institute are sitting on folding chairs they’ve brought in from the kitchen, quietly discussing my future.  They do not know I am listening.  They think that, because I do not choose to respond,  I do not notice they are there. “Would there be side effects?” My father asks.  In the oppressive heat of the evening, I hear the quiet Zzzapof his shoulder laser as it targets mosquitoes.  The device is not as effective as it was two years ago: the mosquitoes are getting faster. My father is a believer in technology, and that is why he contacted the research institute.  He wants to fix me.  He is certain there is a way. “There would be no side effects in the traditional sense,”the specialist says.  I like him even though his presence makes me uncomfortable.  He chooses his words very precisely.  “We’re talking about direct synaptic grafting, not drugs.  The process is akin to bending a sapling to influence the shape of the grown tree.  We boost the strength of key dendritic connections and allow brain development to continue naturally. Young neurons are very malleable.” “And you’ve done this before?”  I do not have to look to know my mother is frowning. My mother does not trust technology.  She has spent the last ten years trying to coax me into social behavior by gentler means.  She loves me, but she does not understand me.  She thinks I cannot be happy unless I am smiling and laughing and running along the beach with other teenagers. “The procedure is still new, but our first subject was a young woman about the same age as your daughter.  Afterwards, she integrated wonderfully.  She was never an exceptional student, but she began speaking more and had an easier time following classroom procedure.” “What about Hannah’s…talents?”my mother asks.  I know she is thinking about my dancing; also the way I remember facts and numbers without trying. “Would she lose those?” The specialist’s voice is very firm, and I like the way he delivers the facts without trying to cushion them.  “It’s a matter of trade-offs, Mrs. Didier.  The brain cannot be optimized for everything at once.  Without treatment, some children like Hannah develop into extraordinary individuals. They become famous, change the world, learn to integrate their abilities into the structures of society.  But only a very few are that lucky. The others never learn to make friends, hold a job, or live outside of institutions.” “And… with treatment?” “I cannot promise anything, but the chances are very good that Hannah will lead a normal life.” I have pressed my hand to the window.  The glass feels cold and smooth beneath my palm.  It appears motionless although I know at the molecular level it is flowing.  Its atoms slide past each other slowly, so slowly; a transformation no less inevitable for its tempo.  I like glass — also stone — because it does not change very quickly.  I will be dead, and so will all of my relatives and their descendants, before the deformations will be visible without a microscope. I feel my mother’s hands on my shoulders.  She has come up behind me and now she turns me so that I must either look in her eyes or pull away.  I look in her eyes because I love her and because I am calm enough right now to handle it.  She speaks softly and slowly. “Would you like that, Hannah?  Would  you like to [...] Best-Of, Podcasts Mur Lafferty no no http://escapepod.org/2011/08/11/ep305-midnight-blue/ http://escapepod.org/2011/08/11/ep305-midnight-blue/#comments Fri, 12 Aug 2011 02:43:16 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2586 http://escapepod.org/2011/08/11/ep305-midnight-blue/feed/ 0 0:52:20 By Will McIntosh Read by Paul Haring First appeared in Asimov’s Discuss on our forums. All stories by Will McIntosh All stories read by Paul Haring Rated appropriate for everyone! Midnight Blue by Will McIntosh He’d never seen a burgundy befo[...] By Will McIntosh Read by Paul Haring First appeared in Asimov’s Discuss on our forums. All stories by Will McIntosh All stories read by Paul Haring Rated appropriate for everyone! Midnight Blue by Will McIntosh He’d never seen a burgundy before.  Kim held it in her lap, tapped it with her finger.  She was probably tapping it to bring attention to it, and Jeff didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of asking to see it, but he really wanted to see it.  Burgundy (Kim had insisted on calling it burgundy red when she showed it at show and tell) was a rare one.  Not as rare as a hot pink Flyer or a viridian Better Looking, but still rare. A bus roared up, spitting black smoke.  It was the seven bus–the Linden Court bus, not his.  Kids rushed to line up in front of the big yellow doors as the bus hissed to a stop.  A second-grader squealed, shoved a bigger kid with her Partridge Family lunch box because he’d stepped on her foot.  All the younger kids seemed to have Partridge Family lunch boxes this year. “What did you say it did when you’ve got all three pieces of the charm together?”  Jeff asked Kim.  He said it casually, like he was just making conversation until his bus came. “It relaxes time,” Kim said.  “When you’re bored you can make time pass quickly, and when you’re having fun you can make time stretch out.” Jeff nodded, tried to look just interested enough to be polite, but no more.  What must that be like, to make the hour at church fly by?  Or make the school day (except for lunch and recess) pass in an eyeblink?  Jeff wondered how fast or slow you could move things along.  Could you make it seem like you were eating an ice cream sandwich for six hours?  That would be sparkling fine. “Want to see it?” Kim asked. “Okay,” Jeff said, holding out his hands too eagerly before he remembered himself.  Kim handed it to him, looking pleased with herself, the dimples on her round face getting a little deeper. It was smooth as marble, perfectly round, big as a grapefruit and heavy as a bowling ball.  It made Jeff’s heart hammer to hold it.  The rich red, which hinted at purple while still being certainly red, was so beautiful it seemed impossible, so vivid it made his blue shirt seem like a Polaroid photo left in the sun too long. “Imagine finding this in the wild?  Pushing over a dead tree and seeing it sitting there under the root?” Jeff said. “Yeah, right,” Kim said.  “Not likely.”  She shook her long brown hair back over her shoulder.  She did that all day long in class.  She thought she was so gorgeous. A few of the other kids circled around to take a look.  Jeff spun it around until he found the hole where it would be fitted to one side of the staff, when someone got the whole charm together. “Will your father try to get the other two pieces, do you think?” Ricky Adamo asked, reaching to pet it once, probably just so he could say he’d touched one. “He’s only keeping this as an investment,” Kim said, holding out her hands to take it back from Jeff, who passed it over, his fingers suddenly feeling much too light.  “My father’s going to buy me a whole chartreuse to absorb when I’m 18.  I’m going to be a doctor.” “He is not,” Jeff said.  “Most of the chartreuse ones that’ve been found have already been absorbed.  The ones that haven’t, your father would have to give your whole house and everything in it just to get one sphere.” “What would you know about it?” Kim said, glaring.  “You don’t even know what it feels like to absorb one!  You’ve probably never even owned a sphere, let alone absorbed a whole charm.” Cindy Schneider and Donna Ruiz laughed.  Ricky laughed too, even though he’d never owned one either. “I have too owned a sphere,” Jeff said.  “I’ve owned dozens.” “Right,” Cindy said.  “You must keep them under your bed at the Garden Apartments.”  Everybody laughed, except Ricky, who lived at the Garden Apartments too and couldn’t pretend he didn’t. Kim took a pack of Double Bubble out of he[...] Best-Of, Podcasts Will McIntosh no no http://escapepod.org/2011/07/21/ep302-flash-extravaganza/ http://escapepod.org/2011/07/21/ep302-flash-extravaganza/#comments Fri, 22 Jul 2011 01:03:23 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2457 http://escapepod.org/2011/07/21/ep302-flash-extravaganza/feed/ 0 0:35:59 Winners of our 2010 Flash Contest! London Iron by William R. Halliar (narrator Andrew Richardson) Wheels of Blue Stilton by Nicholas J. Carter (narrator Christian Brady) Light and Lies by Gideon Fostick (narrator- Mur Lafferty) All Escape Pod Origi[...] Winners of our 2010 Flash Contest! London Iron by William R. Halliar (narrator Andrew Richardson) Wheels of Blue Stilton by Nicholas J. Carter (narrator Christian Brady) Light and Lies by Gideon Fostick (narrator- Mur Lafferty) All Escape Pod Originals! And we end with a grand “It’s Storytime” montage put together by Marshal Latham! Discuss on our forums. Best-Of, Flash, Podcasts Mur Lafferty no no http://escapepod.org/2011/06/30/plus_or_minus/ http://escapepod.org/2011/06/30/plus_or_minus/#comments Thu, 30 Jun 2011 16:00:53 +0000 Mur Lafferty http://escapepod.org/?p=2386 http://escapepod.org/2011/06/30/plus_or_minus/feed/ 0 1:20:10 By James Patrick Kelly Read by: Christiana Ellis Originally appearing in Asimov’s Discuss on our forums. All stories by James Patrick Kelly All stories read by Christiana Ellis Nominated for the Hugo Award for Novelette, 2011 Rated appropriate[...] By James Patrick Kelly Read by: Christiana Ellis Originally appearing in Asimov’s Discuss on our forums. All stories by James Patrick Kelly All stories read by Christiana Ellis Nominated for the Hugo Award for Novelette, 2011 Rated appropriate for older teens and up for sexual situations and violence. Plus Or Minus By James Patrick Kelly Everything changed once Beep found out that Mariska’s mother was the famous Natalya Volochkova.   Mariska’s life aboard the Shining Legend went immediately from bad to awful.  Even before he singled her out, she had decided that there was no way she’d be spending the rest of her teen years crewing on an asteroid bucket.  Once Beep started persecuting her, she began counting down the remaining days of the run as if she were a prisoner.  She tried explaining that she had no use for Natalya Volochkova, who had never been much of a mother to her, but Beep wouldn’t hear it.  He didn’t care that Mariska had only signed on to the Shining Legend to get back at her mother for ruining her life. Somehow that hadn’t worked out quite the way she had planned. For example, there was crud duty.  With a twisting push Mariska sailed into the command module, caught herself on a handrail, and launched toward the starboard wall.  The racks of  instrument screens chirped and beeped and buzzed; command was one of the loudest mods on the ship.  She stuck her landing in front of navigation rack and her slippers caught on the deck burrs, anchoring her in the ship’s  .0006 gravity.   Sure enough, she could see new smears of mold growing from the crack where the nav screen fit into the wall.  This was Beep’s fault, although he would never admit it.  He kept the humidity jacked up in Command, said that dry air gave him nosebleeds.  Richard FiveFord claimed they came from all the drugs Beep sniffed but Mariska didn’t want to believe that.  Also Beep liked to sip his coffee from a cup instead sucking it out of a bag, even though he slopped all the time.  Fungi loved the sugary spatters.  She sniffed one particularly vile looking smear of mold.  It smelled faintly like the worms she used to grow back home on the Moon.  She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her jersey and reached to the holster on her belt for her sponge. As she scrubbed, the bitter vinegar tang of disinfectant gel filled the mod.  Not for the first time, she told herself that this job stunk. She felt the tingle of Richard FiveFord offering a mindfeed and opened her head.  =What?= His feed made a pleasant fizz behind her eyes, distracting her. =You done any time soon?=  Distraction was Richard’s specialty =No.= =Didit is making a dream for us.= She slapped her sponge at the wall in frustration.  =This sucks.=  Mariska couldn’t remember the last time Didit or Richard FiveFord had pulled crud duty. =Should we wait for you?= =If you want.=  But she knew they wouldn’t. =Might be another hour.= “You’re working, Volochkova.” Beep’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker.  One of his quirks was snooping their private feeds and then yelling at them over the ship’s com. “Yes, sir,” she said.  Beep liked to be called sir.  It made him feel like the captain of the Shining Legend instead of senior monkey of its maintenance crew. “She’s working, FiveFord.  Leave our sweet young thing alone.” She felt Richard’s feed pop like a bubble.  He was more afraid of Beep than she was even though the old crank hardly ever bullied Richard.  Mariska hated being called sweet young thing.  She wasn’t sweet and she wasn’t all that young.  She was already fifteen in conscious years, eighteen if you counted the time she had hibernated. When Mariska finished wiping the wall down, she paused at the navigation rack.  She let her gaze blur until all she saw was meaningless shimmer of green and blue light.  Not that she understood the rack much better once she focused again.  She had been job shadowing Beep for 410 million kilometers and eleven months now.  They had travelled all the w[...] Best-Of, Podcasts James Patrick Kelly no no http://escapepod.org/2009/04/10/ep194-exhalation/ http://escapepod.org/2009/04/10/ep194-exhalation/#comments Fri, 10 Apr 2009 05:00:49 +0000 SFEley http://escapepod.org/?p=362 http://escapepod.org/2009/04/10/ep194-exhalation/feed/ 51 0:51:24 2009 Hugo Nominee! By Ted Chiang. Read by Ray Sizemore (of X-Ray Visions). First appeared in Eclipse 2, ed. Jonathan Strahan. Narration first appeared at and produced by Starship Sofa. Special thanks to Tony Smith and Ray Sizemore for their kind per[...] 2009 Hugo Nominee! By Ted Chiang. Read by Ray Sizemore (of X-Ray Visions). First appeared in Eclipse 2, ed. Jonathan Strahan. Narration first appeared at and produced by Starship Sofa. Special thanks to Tony Smith and Ray Sizemore for their kind permission to resyndicate this award nominee. Audible.com Promotion! Get your free audiobook at: http://audiblepodcast.com/escapepod But in the normal course of life, our need for air is far from our thoughts, and indeed many would say that satisfying that need is the least important part of going to the filling stations. For the filling stations are the primary venue for social conversation, the places from which we draw emotional sustenance as well as physical. We all keep spare sets of full lungs in our homes, but when one is alone, the act of opening one’s chest and replacing one’s lungs can seem little better than a chore. In the company of others, however, it becomes a communal activity, a shared pleasure. Rated PG. Contains entropy, eschatology, and empirical evisceration. Best-Of, Podcasts Mur Lafferty no no http://escapepod.org/2006/09/28/ep073-barnaby-in-exile/ http://escapepod.org/2006/09/28/ep073-barnaby-in-exile/#comments Thu, 28 Sep 2006 05:07:21 +0000 SFEley http://escapepod.org/?p=160 http://escapepod.org/2006/09/28/ep073-barnaby-in-exile/feed/ 38 0:00:01 By Mike Resnick. Read by Paul Fischer (of The Balticon Podcast) Discuss on our forums. All stories by Mike Resnick. All stories read by Paul Fischer. “Very good, Barnaby,” she says. “And what is this?” “Kitten,” I[...] By Mike Resnick. Read by Paul Fischer (of The Balticon Podcast) Discuss on our forums. All stories by Mike Resnick. All stories read by Paul Fischer. “Very good, Barnaby,” she says. “And what is this?” “Kitten,” I say. We go through the whole book. “Where is Barnaby?” I ask. “Barnaby is an ape,” she says. “There is no picture of an ape in the book.” I wonder if there are any other Barnabys in the world, and if they are lonely too. Rated G. Contains nothing age-inappropriate. However, some listeners may find it excessively sad. Today’s Sponsor: Referenced sites: 2006 Podcast & Portable Media Expo Best-Of, Podcasts Mur Lafferty no no http://escapepod.org/2005/06/23/ep007-the-trouble-with-death-traps/ http://escapepod.org/2005/06/23/ep007-the-trouble-with-death-traps/#comments Thu, 23 Jun 2005 07:00:00 +0000 SFEley http://escapepod.org/?p=30 http://escapepod.org/2005/06/23/ep007-the-trouble-with-death-traps/feed/ 12 0:00:01 By Marjorie James. Read by Stephen Eley. All stories by Marjorie James. All stories read by Stephen Eley. A razor-sharp blade shot out of the wall and whipped in front of the teen’s face. Xnab hauled him back and spun him around. “First [...] By Marjorie James. Read by Stephen Eley. All stories by Marjorie James. All stories read by Stephen Eley. A razor-sharp blade shot out of the wall and whipped in front of the teen’s face. Xnab hauled him back and spun him around. “First thing you have to learn in this business: never kick anything. Got that?” “Yes sir. Sorry sir.” “Good.” “Sir?” “Yes?” “What’s the second thing?” Rated PG. Contains no sexual content or strong language. Does contain whirling blades of death. Best-Of, Podcasts Mur Lafferty no no