Posts Tagged ‘Dominick Rabrun’

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Escape Pod 988: In the Palace of Science (Part 2 of 2)


In the Palace of Science (Part 2 of 2)

By Chris Campbell

(…Continued from Part 1)

B-Side

 

Track Five–

 

The automaton was unfinished, but even in a transitory state, it was a thing of marvel. In form, it was like a man. With two legs meant for bipedal ambulation and two arms with three-fingered hands meant for grasping. Although roughly, from the thickness of its fingers. The design of the machine differed most strikingly from the ideal human in the shape of its head and body, for it had no neck. Rather, a barrel-shaped torso attached directly to a head that was meant to be enclosed within the thick, vaguely egg-shaped glass dome sitting next to the machine.

The front piece of the barrel-shaped body was also set aside on a nearby table, exposing its chassis and internal mechanism. Peering inside, it became clear that filling the hole within this hollow man was the singular aim of much of the work I’d been doing for years.

“I call him Talos.” (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 987: In the Palace of Science (Part 1 of 2)


In the Palace of Science (Part 1 of 2)

By Chris Campbell

Track One–

 

If you’ve found this recording, two things can be said for certain. The first is that I have passed my greatest test as a man and, in doing so, have passed from this world. The second is that if this message entombed with me survives, a grave danger to humanity most assuredly survives with it.

To my listener, I urge you to lift the needle from the gramophone, return this plate to the hole where you found it, and dig no further into the ruins where once stood Professor Thomas Washington Kelly’s Palace of Science. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 969: Code Switching (Part 4 of 4)


Code Switching (Part 4 of 4)

By Malon Edwards

(…continued from Part 3)

  1. THIS IS THE TRUTELL

MICHAËLLE-ANNABELLE FEAT. JEAN-MICHEL

 

I strap into my rig, take a really big swig from my hydration dispenser tube I call The Ultra Black Vig, and settle back to begin this all-night white-hat gig.

At first, I decide to do this like the Stig, but instead I shake awake my lightbox, pull on my knee-high fuzzy socks, and momentarily disable my sigTell locks. This is my double-dog dare for Saffron Sutton to try and hack this whitefox. She and I have been doing this since the first day of SSI hacker sprints, which always takes place on the vernal equinox. Usually, I tell her she better kick rocks because my sigTell is damn well capable of delivering emotional shocks along her TruTell stalks all the way back to those frilly frocks she designs and thoroughly maligns (although, she would say signs) with a matte black gingham fox.

Now, watch me as I disregard all the clocks and enter the susso-sphere where the only thing I see is multicolored sigTell stalks everywhere. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 968: Code Switching (Part 3 of 4)


Code Switching (Part 3 of 4)

By Malon Edwards

(…Continued from Part 2)

 

  1. A SWEET-ASS HELICOPTER AND TEN STATER STRANGERS?

JEAN-MICHEL FEAT. THE NAUGHTY NINETY-DAY FANDANGO

 

I’m feelin’ this Bell 525 Relentless like Ellen Gilchrist playin’ bid whist wit her redheaded MILF temptress. She’s a proper drawers dropper chopper wit no love for the paupers. Her black chrome exterior makes me want to chill in her eighty-eight-square-foot cabin interior until homo erectus becomes superior.

And I’m not the only one.

Sittin’ wit me are ten Stater strangers who fear no danger because of the two exo-fighters flankin’ us as we drink an’ cuss, comforted by their protection against the Sovereign State of Chicago’s skanky trust.

Listen to me. Talkin’ like how a real Stater must.

Three of these girls might be smilin’ true, but on their faces you can see fear of Electric Resurrection, too. It’s a look all eleven of us have, but we play it cool—or at least try to appear to. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 967: Code Switching (Part 2 of 4)


Code Switching (Part 2 of 4)

By Malon Edwards

(…Continued from Part 1)

  1. ONE HUNDRED PERCENT PERFORMANCE OUTPUT

JEAN-MICHEL FEAT. KINSLEY CHASE

 

Lòske jounalis sa yo gade m—

Hold up. Let me say that again. I’ll wait. Y’all go grab y’alls paper an’ pen.

When these Stater journos look at me, they don’t juss see a Black boy. Nah, they also see a bio-electric, battery-operated toy, part of a Stanford Sutton Industries ploy to bring fat cat football alums joy.

(Wit money. Anpil, anpil lajan.)

An’ that pisses them off. So they gon’ keep rushin’ off an’ bustin’ off these queries at a machine-gun pace in my face while smirkin’ at my Haitian Creole vocabulary, pretendin’ they can only understand me, barely, ’cause my accent is too thick an’ scary.

Pakont—but on the flip side—them Chicago reporters gon’ give me the benefit of the doubt (that’s right) when they write they stories witout bias tonight. They embrace a sovereign state that thrives on a black market sparked by innovation an’ encouraged by a Haitian who planned a nation for secession from a State of Imperfection, then made Chicago the greatest an’ said to hell wit those Stater racists.

Like the ones in front of me now. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 966: Code Switching (Part 1 of 4)


Code Switching (Part 1 of 4)

By Malon Edwards

INTRO: ALL I’M EVER GON’ DO IS STAY BLACK AND DIE

JEAN-MICHEL FEAT. KINSLEY CHASE

Kinsley Chase sits on manman mwen plastic-covered couch. The InTell HumbleBrag subprogram Stanford Sutton Industries chipped me with says she’s wearing a circa 2020 Theresa Frostad Eggesbø Resurrection skinload.

I had no idea this shit actually worked. I don’t HumbleBrag. I thought it was all about narcissism and went in one direction, so I said fuck that shit.

But Kinsley Chase HumbleBraggin’ ’bout how unique (meanin’ how expensive) her skinload is makes sense. These days, pourin’ honey like that into some poor Black people’s ear can be an effective war propaganda tool. We all know both the State of Illinois and the Sovereign State of Chicago recruitin’.

Too bad I don’t like siwo. Or lagè.

‘Sides, manman mwen and I don’t need no tools. We juss need to pay our bills. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 903: Bishop’s Opening (Part 4 of 4)


Bishop’s Opening (Part 4 of 4)

By R.S.A. Garcia

The attendants set little bowls shaped like flower petals in front Sebastian and Olly. Steam drifted upward, redolent of fresh herbs and a hint of lime. Bits of white flesh speckled with green seasonings, and rolled dumplings floated in a golden broth.

“You must be hungry by now,” Sticky said. “I made this fresh earlier today. But of course, you know that. I dropped an entire pot–”

“This is mom’s fish broth, isn’t it?” Olly said in a low voice, staring at the delicate transparent bowl.

“Her favourite,” Sticky’s voice was gentle and Sebastian’s heart pinched at the melded love and loss in his expression. “The Bishop has a fondness for it as well. I make it often for him.”

“Why do you call him the Bishop? Isn’t Bishop his name?” Sebastian asked. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 902: Bishop’s Opening (Part 3 of 4)


Bishop’s Opening (Part 3 of 4)

By R.S.A. Garcia

(Continued from Part 2…)

The Pawn was seated at the table with arms outstretched along its surface. Metal restraints held their forearms and wrists immobile. They had been stripped naked and their mask removed. Their neck and torso were fastened to the chair, which was bolted to the floor.

Bishop took the clear plastic robe Second Rook held out to him and wrapped it around himself. He strolled to the other end of the rectangular table, which had deep grooves around its edges. Sitting, he placed his left ankle on his right knee, gripping it lightly with his fingers.

The two Rooks stood on either side of the door as he studied the Pawn. Studied the even rise and fall of their pale brown chest and the smooth, emotionless face with its dark, angry eyes.

He gave himself time to bring his focus back to the task before him, instead of the swirl of conflicting emotions he’d left in the cabin, along with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

“No lies,” Bishop said. “Or there will be consequences. Unlike some, I keep my word.” (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 901: Bishop’s Opening (Part 2 of 4)


Bishop’s Opening (Part 2 of 4)

By R.S.A. Garcia

(Continued from Part 1…)

Bishop was alone in the Grandmaster’s Penthouse suite when the call came from the Kingston. Once it was over and his Grandmaster’s virtual form had dissipated, Bishop cursed under his breath.

The Grandmaster Valencia’s ship had failed to jump to the nearest Arbor after leaving Consortium space because of another instance of miscalculation by the Coretrees. There had been minor errors before, on Valencia. He’d heard of an incident several tempi ago, when a Sept vineyard transition deposited travellers at the wrong Sept. But this was far more serious. This time, a mistake had left the Valencia’s flagship stranded half a galaxy from their planned destination.

Whatever had caused the error, the crew no longer trusted the ship’s quantum exchange would work accurately. As a result, the Grandmasters had chosen the long, slow flight to another Arbor. From there, they would transition to their Septhold vineyards safely, and allow the ship to be inspected and repaired.

But that meant his Grandmaster would not arrive in time for the meeting. He expected Bishop to handle it instead. Bishop did not look forward to the task of soothing the Bartica’s temper once he realised the Kingston was not in attendance. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 900: Bishop’s Opening (Part 1 of 4)


Bishop’s Opening (Part 1 of 4)

By R.S.A. Garcia

Old as she was, the Kiskadee had done three full delivery runs without a single safety incident. So naturally, with the crew relaxed after a fourth successful delivery and launch, and eight cycles after Reece slingshotted the starship around Tavaco to head back to the Roost and their next job, their luck ran out.

Sebastian was in the middle of his daily workout when the shrill bark of the fire alarm brought him to a halt.

“Where’s that coming from?” he shouted as he hurried to unbuckle himself from the treadmill’s harness with sweaty hands. Officially, he was the newest crewmember, two years into a three-year contract and designated as a cargo handler. The alarm meant the ‘other duties as assigned’ part of his contract was about to kick in.

“Ventilation shafts ten and eleven,” Reece replied in his ear.

Sebastian was shoving his feet into his mag boots when the pilot added, “Origin point–Oxygen unit four.” (Continue Reading…)

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