Pieces of a Peace Gift

So these yahoos were shirtless, in torn pants and ostentatious gold jewelry. One wore a denim vest. And then there was me, in an overcoat, thick boots, gloves, ugly woolen hat, and a scarf round my neck like an amorous python. I'd've looked a fool if it hadn't been the dead of winter. What was left of my peace gift sat on the table. A nice Mexican dish with a dusky sauce, the four of them had scarfed it in under a minute without the least display of gratitude. They figured not beating me bloody was gratitude enough.

"Now that we've told you what you want to know, what makes you think we will let you leave?" The leader spoke in a growl.

"I love that Russian accent," I said. "Sounds just like the movies." The leader frowned. "Right, so, this is what'll get me out of here." I showed him my big, fuck-off revolver, the one that looks like I stole it from an Eastwood flick, and he laughs.

"Even if you loaded that with silver, we will tear you to pieces before you can kill one of us."

"Not if you're busy throwing up everything you just ate." He looked at his goons, who looked back equally bewildered. "Mole sauce is made with chocolate, and I upped the dose by a few thousand percent. Know what chocolate does to dogs? It ain't pretty."

He stood up and threw the table to the side like it was cardboard, and I almost marked my territory then and there. "We are not dogs!" He followed it up with something I think would've gotten him a dirty look from a Russian grandmother.

"Maybe not." I stood and started backing away. "But you sure as hell look like 'em when you change. Go ahead. Take the chance. Otherwise, take a couple days to digest first."

They were still wrestling with their confidence while I made my exit. Too bad, really. I wish I knew if it'd actually work.

A Pointless Field of Stars

Damn, space is boring. Howe floated in her single-pilot capsule, weightless because the company was too damn cheap to permit thrust for the comfort of gravity. She stared out the window, and a pointless field of stars stared back. Nothing out there but cold light, drained of life by how many light years of travel through frozen space.

The instruments showed the same. It had been exciting, discovering wormhole travel and the cluster of natural wormholes out by Io. Oh, how humanity had celebrated entering the society of interstellar travelers. But they'd never found another member. It was—

Howe's HUD flickered to life, throwing quadrants and numbers across her window in tritium green and highlighting a region of space in a small box. Howe saw nothing, but space is huge, and the box was growing faster by the second. An alert identified artificial radio signals.

First. Contact. Howe tripped over her chair struggling into her EVA suit, and again prepping the first contact package. She watched the blank space draw nearer. Sweat stung her eye. At the last minute before it should—it must!—come into view, she grabbed her service pistol with shaking hands and strapped it on.

The HUD blanked. Error detected, read the HUD. Error corrected. Her window emptied of everything but cold stars. Howe sagged in her weightlessness.

Damn, space is boring.

The Multi-Faith Conference

At a multi-faith conference, a broad group began discussing the extent of their freedom to practice their religions. "As an Evangelical Christian," said one, "I reserve the right to not serve homosexuals." "Yeah?" said someone else. "Well, I'm an Anti-Religionist by faith. I won't serve anyone who espouses a religion." The Christian curled her lip at him.

Another raised a hand. "I'm a Universal Acceptant. I can't be faithful and bring aid or service to anyone who displays intolerance, including by refusing someone service." The Anti-Religionist rolled his eyes. She rolled hers back.

"I'm a Former Malcontent," said another. "I can refuse service to anyone in government."

"But you're a former Malcontent," said the evangelical.

"That's my denomination. Orthodox Malcontents won't serve anyone who participates in the status quo."

"Well, that's broad," she said.

He shrugged. "They're strict."

"Anyone else?" said the Universal Acceptant.

A woman stood. "Anti-Theist. I won't serve gods."

"I'm an Artifical Denialist," said one. "I won't serve artificial beings."

"Does my cochlear implant count?" asked the Malcontent. The Denialist narrowed his eyes and leaned away.

"I'm Buddhist," said another. "I'll serve anyone." The crowd hushed.

And that's how Buddhists got a lock on the service industry.

Team-Building Exercises

Jordan clapped her hands for her team's attention. "Okay, everyone!" She clapped again and kept clapping until the eight of them stopped talking. "Okay! Leo, Marybeth, time to focus. Right. We have a full day of team-building exercises ahead of us, and I'd like to get started." She gestured around what looked like an elementary school gymnasium redesigned for the corporate set. "There'll be some athletic challenges later, but first we have the group memory challenge and the escape room. Uma, will you stop rolling your eyes at me? Yes, Cal?"

Cal lowered his hand. "C'mon, we all know this is bullshit, right?" He looked around at his colleagues, who murmured noncommittally. "Whatever." He crossed his arms.

Jordan gritted her teeth. "Let's look at the memory challenge." She gestured to another part of the room, where six chairs sat in a circle facing outward. "You'll get random numbers, and the group has to work together to remember as many as possible."

"There are only six chairs," Cal said. "What, Ergodyne didn't pay enough to seat all of us?"

Jordan smiled. "Did I forget to mention? Before the team-building exercises, we have the team-culling exercise." Her smile grew into a grin.

Meant to Be Shared

"Dad, did you move my bookmark?" Jan marched up brandishing a book and planted herself in front of where Vernon was reading his tablet. He lowered his screen and raised an eyebrow. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you always borrow my books without asking, and—"

"Books are meant to be shared, sweetheart."

"—and you read them when I'm not home, and lose my place." She took a deep breath and lowered the book. "Look, being able to talk with you about books is nice, but can you at least keep my place when you're reading them?"

"Well, I try, honey." Vernon pushed his glasses up on his nose and peered at the book in her hand. "But I haven't read that one yet."

"Then what happened to the bookmark?"

"I'm not positive, but I think I might've borrowed it when I read that other book of yours."

Her brow furrowed. "What other book?"

Vernon lifted the tablet and lowered his eyes to it. "The title was something like, 'Secret Diary: Do Not Read,' or some such. It wasn't as exciting as I'd expected. No plot. I'd look there."

He smiled behind his tablet. The joke was worth the screaming.

Contrary to Expectations

"I am a microwave doll," read the packaging. "Put me in the microwave for tons of fun!" Once placed in the microwave, it sparked, caught fire, exploded, and ruined the microwave. Despite some children's delight, this ran contrary to expectations set by the commercials that had propelled the toy into over a million homes for Christmas. Lawsuits rolled in the by hundred before merging into a single class-action suit. The company Hot n Cold Fun LLC immediately declared bankruptcy, and creditors followed the chain of ownership to Heisspiel Gmbh in Germany.

Six months of legal discovery and criminal investigation revealed that one line employee in the Vietnamese factory had been responsible for adding the metal bits that made them so dangerous. Action brought against the employee failed when he proved that he had been so directed by a manager that had apparently sabotaged the entire manufacturing run. The manager in question, Manuel Caliente, had disappeared completely.

During this time, Heisspiel had closed its doors, apparently without any other business enterprises. The class-action suit again had no target. Seeking restitution, the courts followed the trail of ownership to Kenya, where they discovered an anonymous and impenetrable company, Fun For Whom Inc.

Al Was

Al was. Al spoke and created the void, the nothing, and for the first time was something separate from Al. Al spoke the stars into existence, not one at a time, but in a great flash that sent them spinning out through the void. As Al defined more that was not Al, Al became smaller After consideration, Al spoke the planets, starstuff collapsing and exploding and collapsing again. Then Al spoke mass, momentum, spin, charge. With each word, Al became smaller still.

Al let the worlds spin, thinking about Al. Al was alone. Was there another being, something preceding Al, which had spoken Al into being? Was Al somehow Al's own creator? Could Al speak itself away, and what would that mean?

Al pondered these questions for an imponderable length of time, unsure what to do next. Watching planets cool, Al conceived an idea. Thinking on it further, the idea gave Al a sense of satisfaction and peace.

Al spoke the organic molecules that begat life, stimuli and response, and consciousness. Life twined together and upwards and ever more complicated on planets throughout the cosmos, growing into a million million unique forms, and Al grew smaller, smaller, smaller...

...and disappeared.