Without Safety Precautions

"Ms Brown," said the attorney, "please demonstrate the action that has brought you here today." "I can't," Ms Brown said. She was tall and muscled. Even sitting in the witness stand, she seemed imposing. "It's not safe."

"If it's not safe," said the lawyer, "why should you get to wander around in public with this ability?"

"Well, it's safe when used responsibly."

"So you can't use it responsibly?"

"That's not—" Ms Brown took a breath. "It would be irresponsible to use it here. Um, without safety precautions."

"What sort of... precautions?"

One short conference with the judge later, the bailiffs cleared the room of spectators and found ear protection for everyone else. At the judge's nod, Ms Brown focused on the block of wood they'd brought in as the subject. A moment later, a wave of concussive force rocked the viewers back, and the block of wood flew to the floor. Even with ear protection, the sound hurt. Officers burst in a moment later, guns drawn, looking for a gunman.

"Very like a firearm," said the lawyer. "You can see why the Second Amendment protects Ms Brown from punishment or discrimination based on this ability, whatever its origin and nature."

Life After Afterlife

Rupert died and went to Heaven. Standing for judgment, he saw other souls receive weighty deliberation before being admitted. When his turn came, the angel only waved him through with a bored flick of the wrist. Lacking guidance, Rupert wandered. Heaven was a city like where he'd grown up, but clean and bright, abuzz with the sounds of joy but absent the pain and anger. He watched other new admittees moving with purpose. Apparently they had someplace to go.

Neither wearying nor growing hungry, Rupert didn't know how long he wandered. He felt it had been a long time, perhaps years. Absent anything else to do, he ascended to the roof of a building and calmly stepped off.

Rupert died and woke again. Where Heaven had been bright, this was twilight. "You lived an acceptable life, Rupert," said a faceless angel of swirling light and dark, "and so went to Heaven. But you were bad at being in Heaven, so your second afterlife will be in the Hell of Heaven."

Ahead of him lay another city, louder and dirtier than the one he'd just left. "It's basically like Earth," said the angel. Rupert smiled, and went to find a job.

Kind of Allergic

"You don't have any cats, do you?" Kevin looked nervous. "No, don't worry." Laurie smiled. "You allergic?"

Kevin couldn't look at her. "Kind of." Laurie dropped it and let him in. Her birthday party was in full swing, and everyone toasted her again as she returned to the living room. She danced with Marla, arm wrestled Ben, opened a bottle of beer with her teeth, and frolicked her night away.

Hours later, she was outside, saying goodbye to the last friends to leave, Kevin among them. Everyone was laughing at one of Chuck's jokes until, one by one, they noticed Kevin standing stock still and silent. They tracked his stare across the street to a stray cat, equally frozen, staring back at Kevin. Laurie looked at him. "What—"

Kevin bolted. The cat shot after him. He'd only gotten a few steps before the cat leapt on his back and Kevin fell to the ground. Someone cried, "Oh my god!" and someone else moved to help. Everyone slowed to a stop and stared as Kevin's clothes collapsed, deflating inward. Dozens of rats ran in all directions, save one the cat caught, leaving Kevin's clothes empty, smelling faintly of rat and deodorant.

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.