Morning Routine Next

When the integrator fields hit my skin with that light electric tingle, my whole body relaxes. I sag until only the maglev field holds me up, and just then the immobilizer kicks in. I feel completely safe, protected and nurtured in my electric swaddle. The light tingle becomes a funny bone buzz all over my body as the fields remove my skin, atom by atom. It doesn’t hurt; the system has set my neural chip to filter out pain sensations. The vibrating numbness doesn’t exactly rouse me, but it tells my body that night is over and morning has begun.

But not quite yet. I luxuriate in the sensation as it sinks deep into my bones, spreading like warmth. I review my dreams as the maglev slowly turns me, exposing all of me to the integrator fields.

That moment of maximum disintegration humbles me. I feel vulnerable, weightless, alone in all the universe. I’m a mind unburdened by body, function without form, God of my own tiny everything.

The rush of reintegration thrills me. I love the way it starts my day. Whole and hale from inside out, ready to burst free from the maglev cocoon and conquer the world.

Morning Routine

When the hot water hits my back, muscles throughout my body relax. I sag until only my skeleton holds me up, and I enjoy the pressure on my neck, the heat pooling there and flowing down my body. I need to clean, but first things first. I loll my head back, rolling my hair under the stream of water until it is a mat of glowing wet heat warming my head. Then my face goes under the showerhead. It often doesn’t wash the sleep away, but the water takes something of the night away with it, leaving me a new face for the day.

I could stand here forever, but I can’t. Soap in the loofah, scrub the body, arms, legs, feet. Rinse it out, hang it up. Rinse off. Shampoo the hair, the armpit hair, the genital hair. Rinse them out. Bar soap on the face, in the armpits to make sure I get rid of the smell of yesterday. Rinse them all.

That leaves me nothing to do but enjoy the hot, damp pressure streaming onto my neck, until I convince myself I need to be doing something better with my time.

God, I hope that takes forever.

How to Crash a Spaceship

An inferno raged around the tiny ship as it tumbled through the atmosphere. The craft was just big enough for two control chairs and one bunk, swapped during long missions, and its two inhabitants struggled to regain control. "Firing explosive bolts on damaged wing. Now," she shouted. The wing blew off, the explosion barely noticeable in the chaos, and the tumble became a spin.

"Ejecting ammo," he said.

"No," she screamed, "we need the mass up front. Rear ammo reserves only!"

"Right, ejecting now." The ship shook, and the end-over-end tumble became the point-first spin of a dart.

"We're stabilizing," she said. She yanked at unresponsive controls. "But we can't pull up!" She loosed a string of curses.

"Got the inertial dampeners working," he said, and the turbulence of reentry faded away, bringing peace to the cabin. "Not that it's going to help."

They looked across their panicked, flashing control panels for anything else they could try. Their hands, a moment ago frantic on the controls, were still.

"Y'know," she said, "I always kinda wanted to fuck you."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah." She grinned. "Want to?"

"Now?" he asked.

"I'd rather die fucking than bored."

"Okay."

"Help me with my pants."

The Princess and the Pauper

"It's perfect," cried the Princess. "We'll switch clothes, you can go see palace life, and I can experience your freedom!" "Uh, no," said the Pauper. "It's rubbish. I don't look anything like you, and I'm a boy."

The Princess waved the objection away like a bad smell. "You'll say you've been cursed by the gnome who lives under the streets, and he wants food each day or he'll keep me like this for ever. Oh, brilliant! And that way they'll bring me food. Tell them to leave it here."

"They'll never believe me, they'll just think I'm some street kid who's taken your clothes." The Pauper paused. "And I'll be that, I guess. And then they'll execute me."

"Not if you're cursed," she said.

"Look, your highness, I don't think they'll believe curses the way you, eh, you or I do," said the Pauper.

The Princess thought about this. "You might be right, urchin. I will return to the castle, where I will faint and act sick and complain of a curse. That way they'll believe it. After two weeks, I'll return here and we can trade places. Very well?"

Pause. "Yeah, okay."

The Pauper left town the next morning.

Market Research

The Market Research was on Abraham's desk when he returned from lunch. A smile lit Abraham's face. He sat down in his ergonomic chair, told his secretary to hold his calls, and sat back to read the word. His smile quickly disappeared. He read it all the way through to the end, then started back at the beginning and read it again. Before he left that day, Abraham canceled his meetings for the rest of the day. He had more important things to do.

Early the next morning, Abraham got up and loaded his car. "C'mon, son," he said. "No school for you today. We're going camping." The boy was ebullient. Tents and bedrolls and grill packed, they drove for the mountains.

High in the mountains, Abraham arranged the firewood he'd brought for a fire, and the rope, and tied his son down on top of the wood. He had just pulled out the knife when his Blackberry announced a top-priority message.

Additional Market Research led to a different conclusion. Abraham sighed. He cut the ropes and released his son.

"You understand, Son," he said. "It was Business."

"I know, Dad. I love you."

"Let's have a great camping trip."

Unknown Caller

Driving along Kam Highway on her way back into Honolulu. It'd been a too-short two weeks on the North Shore, and it was time to go home.

A rooster pecking on the side of the road as she drove by. "Hey, chicken," she said.

Her phone rang a minute later. Fishing it out of the bag on the passenger seat, she looked at it. Unknown caller. She answered.

"Ba-cawwww!" It was a loud, aggressive chicken clucking.

"What?" she said.

"Ba-ba-ba-CAWWWWWW!" She hung up.

"Who puts a chicken on the phone?" she muttered to herself.

Her phone jingled with a text message. She almost didn't look, but she was at a stop light anyway.

"Buhcaw," read the text.

"What the huh?" she said. She threw down the phone and focused on the car in front of her.

At the airport, rental car returned, baggage checked. The airport voice paged her to a white courtesy telephone. She picked it up.

"Ba, buh-CAW!"

"For gawssake!" She slammed the phone down.

She spent the flight home fuming, and then called all her friends hunting for the prankster. No one admitted to anything, and she finally let it go.

A week later, the postcard arrived.

Judgment Delivered

The prince sat in the throne room, alone with the royal crown. His every move caused echoes in the massive stone chamber, and dawn threatened to give some color to the room's deep shadows.

He brushed his hand across his balding head for the ten thousandth time since sequestering himself in the throne room last night. With dawn came his coronation, and the setting of the royal crown on his royal head.

Enchanted, the crown judged the fitness of an heir to rule. All his life he had anticipated the crown on his brow, its mystic gem glowing triumphant green. He had studied, negotiated treaties, settled disputes, been king in all but name.

But never king. Until impatience moved him to suffocate his father beneath a pillow and let the royal physician declare heart failure.

Now, the jewel would shine crimson, declaring him unfit. Fleeing would brand him just the same. His life, wasted, because of his impatience. Better to face justice now than after years of hiding.

So he bathed, and dressed, and knelt for the ceremony. When the crown touched him, it shone green. The prince—the king—felt a stunned relief… and then a confusion that would haunt him.