Posts Tagged ‘Reprint’

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Escape Pod 944: How to Keep Your Cool If You’re a Mech First Day on the Job (Part 2 of 2)


How to Keep Your Cool If You’re a Mech First Day on the Job (Part 2 of 2)

By Vera Brook

(…Continued from Part 1)

Jenna gave herself a few moments to seethe in silence before she spoke, to make sure her voice was calm. “I can’t move.”

“Did you hear that?” Daron took a swig of his water, then bit into his sandwich. He looked around the table at the others. Not even a glance at Jenna. “She can’t move.”

“It’s a problem,” Skye admitted.

“Definitely is,” Irelyn agreed.

“Most unfortunate.” This from Khalil.

There was a pause as they waited for Uruk, but he was staring at his computer screen. He jumped up when Irelyn’s elbow poked his ribcage. “We’re still good. No delays. I’m keeping track.”

“We’re talking about the newbie, Uruk,” Irelyn said. “She can’t move.” (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 943: How to Keep Your Cool If You’re a Mech First Day on the Job (Part 1 of 2)


How to Keep Your Cool If You’re a Mech First Day on the Job (Part 1 of 2)

By Vera Brook

Damn, the exoskeleton was hot. Two minutes strapped into the smart harness with its thick exospine and the oversized, carbon-fiber limbs that grew from it, and sweat pooled between Jenna’s shoulder blades, over her own spinal column. The whole thing hummed with electronics and throbbed with support motors. Nothing like the black top, mini skirt, and sneakers she’d worn on her previous job, waiting tables and tending bar at Lazy Dog’s.

But the pay was three times what she made in tips, and she had the evenings to herself.

She was moving up in the world. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 936: Old People’s Folly (Part 2 of 2)


Old People’s Folly (Part 2 of 2)

By Nora Schinnerl

(…Continued from Part 1)

Kite was still curled into a bundle of blankets in front of the stove when Setti woke. The old woman sniffed, torn between surprise and annoyance. She’d have figured him for a quitter, sneaking out before dawn to escape the work. That’s what she’d have done when she was his age. Not like Setti was in any shape to chase after him. But he’d stayed and now she was stuck with him, just like she was stuck with her ghost. There was a thought to cheer her up in the morning.

“Ey, boy.”

The bundle of blankets stirred, then Kite woke with a start. The bruise on his face looked worse in the harsh morning light, his cheek all swollen and purple. From the way he winced, it wasn’t the only one either. Setti dropped a bowl of oats on the table for him.

“About time you start working for your food.” (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 935: Old People’s Folly (Part 1 of 2)


Old People’s Folly (Part 1 of 2)

By Nora Schinnerl

Setti knew the woman for a ghost the moment she appeared. It was the pink hair that gave her away, short and spiky. Real people didn’t have hair like that. Also, you couldn’t see the scratchmarks on Setti’s kitchen table through real people’s torsos.

“The hell?” was the first thing the ghost said. Setti’s grandfather had tried to tell her ghost stories when she was a kid, a long time ago, but he’d had a habit of smoking and drinking too, so none of the stories had ever made any sense and Setti didn’t like unannounced visitors.

“Get out of my house,” Setti demanded.

“Um,” the ghost answered, staring at Setti with her eyes rimmed in thick black mascara, then held holding up a placating hand. “Okay. Just let me find—”

The ghost blinked out of existence. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 931: The Rhythms of the World


The Rhythms of the World

By Johnny Caputo

As always, we’re starving to death.

From our place inside the leather pouch tied to Aamsaa’s belt, our two remaining stalks ache with hunger, barely able to hold our withered green-spotted spore caps upright. We reach down with what’s left of our network of hyphal tendrils, hoping to lap up any remaining contaminants from the patch of poisoned soil Aamsaa found last week, but there’s nothing left. No scraps of heavy metals or drops of industrial toxins. We’ve consumed it all. And if Aamsaa doesn’t find more food for us soon, we’re as good as dead.

What can we say? Toxic pollution isn’t as easy to come by as it once was. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 924: The T-4200 (Part 2 of 2)

Show Notes

Theater of the Midnight SunThis episode is sponsored by The Theater of the Midnight Sun (TOTMS) podcast, an anthology series of sci-fi/fantasy audio dramas. It’s a bubbly cocktail of fantasy, mystery, and sci-fi adventure, with a splash of comedy. And it’s all ad-free.

Praise from Listeners:

“Great (5 stars). Awesome show.”

Shadarko

“The first season of TOTMS is beyond brilliant. Fabulously well done.”

Zeus Legion

“Excellent series (5 stars). The disclaimer is that the performers have never acted before. Don’t believe it! These are original entertaining stories with professional production values.”

DigitalBeat

“Some of the best quality audio fiction I have ever encountered. High praise particularly for ‘Uniform’ and ‘Bluebirds and Dead Canaries.’”

rsnider

“Very Entertaining! (5 stars) The stories blend a superb mix of fantasy with old-time radio mystery.”

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You can find Theater of the Midnight Sun on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts, and other podcast directories.


The T-4200 (Part 2 of 2)

By J. R. Johnson

(…Continued from Part 1)

Carl scrambled to follow Mango past the loading dock to the parking corral. Her T was an early model with a lot of light-years on it, but its shell still shone and its maxillae were well-filed.

He stepped gingerly up onto one forelimb and squeezed between Mango and a delivery box.

“So,” she asked over her shoulder, “why do you need to get to the Core bad enough to spend a couple days’ pay on the trip?”

He snorted. “Try a week. I work for the government.”

Her eyes widened.

“No, it’s cool, I like my job. Second Assistant Director for Core Planning and Development.”

She didn’t respond, a familiar reaction when he talked about his job. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 923: The T-4200 (Part 1 of 2)


The T-4200 (Part 1 of 2)

By J. R. Johnson

Carleton T. Lowengren, low-level civil servant, single twenty-something and refugee from the war-torn Outer Rim, woke to the remnants of a gaming binge and a killer headache courtesy of his interface. The implant had been trying to wake him for some time.

He rolled off the couch. Another day, another commute from his nondescript apartment to the center of the Galaxy, trying to do the one thing his mother said he never would: make a difference.

The walk-in wardrobe straightened his collar as he registered the time. Carl sprinted past the pre-programmed bowl of cereal to the garage door.

“Leo? Where are you, boy?”

Carl’s ride was usually parked in the garage on a mat of sweet-grass and clover. It was nowhere to be seen. And it’s not like he could overlook a car-sized dimension-hopping tortoise. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 914: #buttonsinweirdplaces (Part 2 of 2)


#buttonsinweirdplaces (Part 2 of 2)

By Simon Kewin

(… Continued from Part 1)

The news the following morning was bad. An explosion in the middle of a market-square in Libya had been variously blamed upon a suicide-bomber and upon over-zealous security forces trying to control crowd trouble. The truth of it made little difference to the eighty who’d died, the hundreds left broken in the aftermath. Tensions had flared on the Mexican/American border after a young man fell to his death attempting to climb the wall to reach the USA. In Ireland, the names of old republican and nationalist groupings had been resurrected, wielded anew by figures wearing balaclavas and holding assault rifles.

Cho switched off the car radio. Sometimes it seemed the world was intent on tearing itself to pieces, and she needed to focus on the plan.

She’d travelled north to the Ma On Shan Country Park. Her predictions suggested there would be a button near the top of one of the remoter peaks. If it was there, it not only helped confirm her theory, it also meant she could experiment without any interruptions – something impossible part-way up a skyscraper. (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 913: #buttonsinweirdplaces (Part 1 of 2)


#buttonsinweirdplaces (Part 1 of 2)

By Simon Kewin

The buttons started to appear on the last day of April, 2022.

A six-year-old boy from Nairobi, Jomi Mbenzi, was perhaps the first to spot one. Dawdling along behind his mother, her swaying yellow-orange dress and the bag of melons and paw-paws she carried, his attention was caught by the shiny button set in the stone of one of the city’s office buildings. He squatted to study it. Strange that it was so low-down, right near the ground. In his experience, switches – and all other interesting aspects of the adult world – were kept high-up, out of reach, but here was this button set right where he could get at it. He was sure it hadn’t been there an hour ago when they walked down the same road toward the fruit market. Ground-level was his domain and he noticed everything there, while the confusing, noisy grown-up world went on around him and above him.

There was no writing on or near the button, nothing to suggest what its purpose might be. Buttons often had words on them to say what they did, words he rarely understood. Or else, they had warnings nearby telling you not, under any circumstances, to press – a fact which always struck him as odd. Why have a button you couldn’t press? (Continue Reading…)

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Escape Pod 907: A Layer Thin As Breath


A Layer Thin As Breath

By T. K. Rex

“Valley. Can you still hear me?”

Julian’s voice filtered through her dying radio. The Prince of Cats was a speck of light, dimming through the gold-grey film that, atom by atom, was devouring her helmet.

Valley tried to say something, anything. Failed.

Julian was sobbing on the other end. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so kzzzzzzchchchcffft-” and that was it. Her radio was gone.

“Oh god,” she breathed to herself, to no one. “Oh god,” I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. She sobbed once, twice, and then, with tears pooling in her eyes and the Prince of Cats invisible through the liquid, she found a pocket of calm, like stepping from a noisy bar onto a cool, quiet street.

Something brushed against her hand, and she cried out, startled. Her vision was still blurred by tears, and the thing dissolving her space suit was like an iridescent veil across the glass of her helmet, but through it all she could see the outline of her hand.

Not her glove.

Her hand. (Continue Reading…)

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