Nineteen Thirty-one

"Horographer Kinsley!" Head of Timekeeping Julia Newton strode toward Kinsley, her clear call stopping him in his tracks. "What's this I hear about a US quarter snafu back in the nineteens?"

Turning in the plain, concrete hallway, Henry Kinsley adjusted his labcoat, making sure to prominently display the badge proclaiming him Head Horographer, Economics. Not that the appointment would carry weight with Newton. "Um, yes. Nineteen thirty-one. No quarters struck. Nothing to do about it, unfortunately."

Newton's eyes narrowed: her infamous nail-you-to-the-wall stare. "There's always something to do."

"Not after some damn fool leaves a horology text charting currency trends for the five-hundred-year period out where anyone can see." He headed off Newton's coming demand. "She's been timed out, naturally."

"Damn." She looked through him into the middle distance. "So. No way to get any quarters struck?"

"Not in thirty-one. It's everything we can do to get the offender, one, um, Grant, evicted from the Mint by thirty-three. We have a possible justification we can apply. Something that'll make the lack of quarters from nineteen thirty-one make more sense. With approval."

"Go on..."

"So, my team down in Economics has been working on this thing they're calling the Great Depression..."

One-Line Review: The Foreigner (2017) starring Jackie Chan and Pierce Brosnan

The Foreigner used neither Old Jackie Chan nor Old Pierce Brosnan to their best effect, and especially miscast Brosnan's Irish accent.

Even in the Morning Rush

Linsey seated herself. Even in the morning rush, her table was vacant, and a steaming cup of coffee appeared as she sat down. Her breakfast would follow in a few minutes: eggs scrambled with cheddar, a bowl of fruit, and a single pancake, every day without exception.

Linus sat down across from her. "Doctor Verdun," he said. "Have you ever thought about parallel universes?"

"You're sitting at my table," she said.

"I know. But what if that one were your table?"

Linsey clenched her teeth. "This is my table, and you should be working."

He continued as though she hadn't interrupted. "What if you took tea instead of coffee?" She glanced down at her coffee, now a smooth au lait color. "How would it feel if you woke up in that universe instead of the one you remembered?

"Or what if," Linus continued, "I had gotten that grant fifteen years ago? What if you worked for me instead of you working me to the bone?"

Linsey sighed. "Is there a point to all this?"

"Maybe not. Enjoy your breakfast." He walked away as the server returned with her food: eggs scrambled with cheddar, a bowl of fruit, and a waffle.

Beyond Sustainability

The people elect the president. The president appoints the admiral. The admiral tasks the battle group. The commodore commands the engineer, who activates the hyperdrive, made possible by the scientist's breakthrough. The ships orbit the exoplanet.

The society grows beyond sustainability. The colonists select the exoplanet, discovered by the astronomer, and depart on a ship funded by the billionaire. The child discovers the natives. The parent expresses fear to the mayor. The mayor prioritizes the colony. The relationship strains.

The tension threatens violence. In orbit above the exoplanet, in a metal shell lit only by the local star, the planet's albedo, and electricity, the captain overreacts and orders the weapons officer to fire on the natives' position. The weapons officer relays the command to the gunnery officer, who directs it to a gunner's mate, whose team targets and fires the missile. The missile, designed by a dozen people and refined by hundreds more, flies to the exoplanet and activates its artificial intelligence. The artificial intelligence, designed by the programmer and taught by thousands of hours of input from the people, selects its target among the many on the ground and primes the explosive. The explosive detonates.

Who is the murderer?

In My Power

His pale skin shone like marble in the moonlight. She could see almost nothing else, he loomed so close over her. "At last," he breathed, "I have you in my power."

"Uh, no?" She looked up at him without fear. "I have the power here." His face, a moment before sensual in his certainty, blanked with confusion. Like that, his mystery vanished, leaving behind a pale guy in dark clothes.

"What?"

"Yeah, so, I can struggle and run—"

His face reassumed its predatory gaze. "Go ahead," he purred, "fight the inevitable." She rolled her eyes and waited, looking bored. The predator in him fled again. "Sorry. Go on."

"Well, if you want a struggle, I can just lie here. I can scream in fear, or I can sing The Sun'll Come Up Tomorrow. How would you feel about that?" His face fell in dismay.

"That would..."

"Suck?" She smiled.

"Yeah." He un-loomed into a slouch, hands in the pockets of what could only be a cloak. "Don't worry. I can give you what you want. But only if you give me what I want first..."

She started him out small, but that was how she acquired her first pet vampire.

A Morality Tale

To begin with, you are a prince, or a farmer's third son, or a young woman. You will come upon the test: a fairy pretending to need somebody's last bit of bread, or a challenge to do something impossible. You display your virtue, usually clever perpendicular thinking but possibly generosity, hard work, mercy, or piety, and earn the prize: a princess, kingdom, treasure, wish, or a combination of the above.

Here's the catch: you're flawed. The most important bit is when you overcome your flaw. You have to learn your lesson from it before it's too late. Did you fail the test but learn a valuable moral lesson? Then the lesson was the test, and overcoming your flaw was your virtue. Move ahead, collect your prize.

Maybe you discover your flaw later. You've passed the test and you're ready to collect your prize. Here is where your flaw rears its ugly head: pride, or greed, or ambition maybe. Despite passing the test, your prize recedes from your grasp. Only overcoming your flaw at this late stage—when it again becomes your real test—will get you what you seek.

But what if the story's over without finding your flaw? You've quested, tested, bested, and want to be rested. But without a flaw, then the story's not over... or yours is a morality tale, and it's about to make an example of you.

Embedded in the Stone

Veretta hopped off the cart first. The other fifteen year olds jockeyed for position behind her, but no one contested her right to be first. They hadn't moved until she stood, though she'd delayed in the hope that someone else would take the lead. So it had always been. Tall, dark of hair, a natural leader, her peers deferred to her almost by reflex. And after that, she couldn't let them down.

Youths from dozens of other carts hopped off and jostled into a semblance of order before a helmed and halberded guard. Behind him stood a courtyard and castle. In the center of the courtyard, a stone. And embedded in the stone, a sword. The sword.

Veretta tried to stay near the back, but the companions from her long cart ride pushed her to the front with them, chanting her name. The guard invited her forward. With a trembling lip, she stepped forward and took the hilt in both hands.

When the sword shifted, she froze. Had anyone seen? Their hushed silence told her no. Heart in her throat, she strained, body trembling with effort, but against only her own muscles, never the stone's grip on the blade. It felt like an hour before the guard told her she had to let go. He didn't notice the sword slide a millimeter back into place as she released it.

With a humble grin and shrug, Veretta slid back into place in the crowd, and quietly left while everyone else failed.