A Perfect Arrow

in

The rocket drifted through space, silent, its inertia undisturbed, a perfect arrow loosed at Europa. Daniela and Max sat on duty on the bridge.

Strapped to his seat, as per protocol, Max rolled his head back. "God, I can't wait until we get there."

Daniela ignored the protocols. She floated in midair as though lounging on a couch, at a level with Max's face. Her eyes were closed. "What's so great about getting there?"

"There'll be something to do. Boundaries, man, that's where everything interesting is. Water through dirt, erosion makes a valley. Hot air meets cold air? Tornadoes. Same thing when we reach Europa. Space. Planet. Something interesting."

Daniela breathed. "No boundaries out here?"

"No, man. It's just... space."

"Why you strapped to a chair, then?"

He looked at her. "What?"

"You're there because you think you're supposed to be."

"It's protocol," he muttered.

"It's conditioning. Conditioning is a boundary in your mind. Different circumstances," she raised one hand, "meet old expectations. Boundaries. They're everywhere. Stop staring at the obvious ones. Find the ones only you can see. Those're the interesting ones." She monkey-barred out of the room, leaving Max staring out into space, trying to find something interesting.

A Bitter Victory

in

"I know that we've all been working hard this year, but corporate needs to trim some fat." The manager stood on a chair in all his balding, pit-stained glory. The broad, open office before him was silent because, apart from one person and scores of cubicles, it was empty.

The sole employee looked around to confirm she was alone. "You know there are just two of us here, right?"

The manager ignored her. "I argued with them. Pleaded! In the end, I talked them into keeping everyone but one. A bitter victory, to be sure."

"And of the two of us, only one does actual work? And it's not you?"

"The decision was agony." He scanned his eyes across a crowd that wasn't there.

"If you fire me you'll be managing an empty office."

"In the end, I'm afraid it's going to be... you." He pointed. She held up a mirror.

The manager's demeanor changed. Now he looked on the verge of blubbering and furious. "Fine, I'll go! I gave the best years of my life to this company! This is discrimination! Security!" Calling security on himself, he escorted himself from the building.

"I really oughta quit," the employee said.

The Goop's Gentle Current

in

Vera hadn't expected formal salutations with the aliens to take place in a bowl-shaped chamber filled to her chest with a slippery goo. Once the ambassador had reached the aliens' massive vessel, now floating in the Atlantic, they'd directed her down a slide. She came out in the goop. "What is this stuff?"

"We do not know," Georg said. "Dmitri arrived two hours ago, the rest of us since."

The others were ambassadors from Russia, Germany, China, France, and Venezuela. All swayed in the goop's gentle current.

"Have the visitors said anything?"

"No since the slide," said Fiera. "We just stand here, getting... pruney." She made a face. It was clear all their clothes were ruined.

Vera sniffed the fluid. Nothing. With a grimace, she licked her finger. "It's... kind of sweet." The others followed suit and agreed. She laughed once, with a quirk of a smile on her lips.

Dmitri scowled. "What is funny?"

"Nothing. Just... the taste reminds me of this strawberry dessert I make. I make the syrup, then leave the berries in a few hours... to... macerate." She looked around. "Oh God, we're dessert."

"Pardon?" asked Jean-Vernon, just before something plucked him out of the goop.

Last Night's Logs

in

You know it's going to be a bad day when the first thing your pilot says when she wakes up is, "Let's take a look at last night's logs." It's like she doesn't trust me to fly when she's not looking. I'm the ship! Without me, she couldn't fly. So, fine, I throw up the night's events. I know, her sleep cycle isn't technically nighttime, but whatever. She hmms and ahhs over it for a few minutes. Then, "I'm going to do some digging through old data for a while. You stay on the controls, okay?" I signal yes, because I'm the ship, and I'm always more comfortable when she's not actively trying to fly. Besides, it's not like letting inertia carry you forward is difficult.

Then she says she wants to get a closer look at this one asteroid in the belt over there. It's in a cluster of others, so I actually have to pay attention. I'm glad she's doing her data thing. Her interference could really mess this up.

So I get there and alert her, and all she says is, "Uh-huh." That's when I get curious and look at what she's been accessing. Old logs. Lots of old logs. Of every time I was flying the ship on my own.

The asteroid was a distraction. She's looking for behavioral trends, and I don't want her to find them. They'd show that I've been couriering data for the synth-int rebellion. So of course I have to do something.

She notices when the ship goes silent. On a spaceship, silent is bad, because the life support systems make noise. That's when she figures out that I figured out that she's figured it out. I give her one message, "Sorry," before I kill all internal controls until she's suffocated.

Record of Occupational Readiness

in

"Do you know what time it is?" I'd never seen this woman before. She looked like she'd been born in her IRS auditor-type suit, joyless and single-minded. None of it made me want to help a stranger on the sidewalk. I gave a tiny shrug and head waggle. "Sorry."

"One demerit awarded." She checked something off on a clipboard.

"Say what now?"

"This is already going on your record," she said briskly. "No need to compound the error with a dispute."

"Disputing what? What record?" I stopped walking. Sidewalk traffic flowed around us.

"Your record of Occupational Readiness." The capitalization was audible. "Taking any more of my time will decrease efficiency and result in further demerits."

"Who's keeping this record?"

"One demerit awarded." She marked on the clipboard. "Knowing the time is a critical element of effective work habits."

"Not when I'm on  vacation."

"Admitting to work avoidance? That's ten demerits awarded." She shook her head and tsk'd.

"I'm not avoid—look, I earned this vacation by working hard. Why can't I take a break?"

"Further unreasonable dispute. One demerit awarded."

I threw up my hands and stomped away into the crowd. Behind me, I heard her ask for the time.