Asimov's Science Fiction: April/May 2014 by Penny Publications Page A
Authors: Penny Publications
Tags: Asimov's #459 & #460
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moments, Jimmy would leave this room, heading toward the levees, in search of a destructive device or in search of the man he'd called Methusaleh. Or...
Or a knock would come. He would open the door. The Old Man would say, "We have to go. Follow me." Jimmy would step out into the fraught and waiting and damaged world. At last he would be free.
----
THE PRINCIPLES
Robert Reed | 23168 words
Bob Reed remarks, "For a lot of years, I've been working on a giant alternate-history novel. This is a part-time project, mostly. The story is wrapped around the spectacle of ordinary life, and while some details have been pulled from my past, the interesting stuff is mostly invented. My protagonist, Quentin Maurus, endures quite a lot. 'The Principles' is one of those adventures, teased free from the story's body and the action compressed, building what might be confused for a traditional story." The author's first novel in years comes out this spring.
The Memory of Sky
is a Great Ship story published by Prime Books. He is also flirting with self-publishing a collection called
The Greatship,
which strings together most of his tales in the Marrow universe.
A word of warning: This story contains scenes that may be disturbing to some readers.
Honest labor made for honorable men. Every woman understood that principle, and that's why when Quentin turned thirteen, a lawn-cutting business was born. His mother rounded up local war widows and elderly dykes, and his father showed him how to mix gasoline with the oil and how to curse at the old mower's quirks. Then with pleas for safety and a manly slap to the back, one generation sent the next into the honorable world of commerce.
Madam Lorton walked her yard afterward, making certain her warhorns and roses were still standing.
Madam Codmarm insisted on giving orange-and-fizz treats before inventing new ways to shortchange the child.
Because Christian mothers often stole from their sons, Madam Bernstein made certain that Quentin had an extra blue bill to hide outside his wallet.
Across the street from Madam Bernstein lived a young widow named Madam Dobs. Her husband died in Vietnam, making her an object of pity in the neighborhood. She wasn't one of the boy's clients, but one afternoon she stepped out on her porch, smiling when she promised to double his wages if her yard was cut today.
Quentin readily agreed. But the Sussex-gold in her yard looked like hay, and the windfall soon became a torment of endless pushing and bag dumping. Drenched in sweat, Quentin paused to gasp, and looking up, found the lady watching him from behind her storm door, wearing nothing but a small shirt with no bra, and no pants, white legs ending inside slender panties that couldn't have been more red.
He stopped in the middle of the half-cut yard.
She asked, "What's wrong, Quentin?"
The mower wasn't powerful enough, he explained. He was tired and it was dinnertime and maybe he could finish tomorrow.
"Would you like something to drink, Quentin?"
Very much. But that wasn't the subject of the moment.
"Come here," she advised.
He climbed one porch step and another, reaching a vantage point where he could see twisted black hairs pushing out from under the panties' elastic.
He stayed where he was, and eventually she said, "Come back tomorrow then."
And he rolled the exhausted mower home.
Dad didn't show for dinner, which was happening more and more. The kitchen television was turned to the news. Some little battle had been fought on the Armistice Line, twenty Queensland soldiers dead but plenty of Mongols too. Then the phone sang out. "Hello, Madam Bernstein, how are you?" Mom began. The Jewish lady said she was well, thank you, and then she mentioned something about Madam Dobs. Mom pulled the phone cord as far as it would reach, leaving the kitchen, and after a couple of minutes she returned and hung up, thinking carefully before giving her son the most important sex lesson of his life.
"Women are
Or a knock would come. He would open the door. The Old Man would say, "We have to go. Follow me." Jimmy would step out into the fraught and waiting and damaged world. At last he would be free.
----
THE PRINCIPLES
Robert Reed | 23168 words
Bob Reed remarks, "For a lot of years, I've been working on a giant alternate-history novel. This is a part-time project, mostly. The story is wrapped around the spectacle of ordinary life, and while some details have been pulled from my past, the interesting stuff is mostly invented. My protagonist, Quentin Maurus, endures quite a lot. 'The Principles' is one of those adventures, teased free from the story's body and the action compressed, building what might be confused for a traditional story." The author's first novel in years comes out this spring.
The Memory of Sky
is a Great Ship story published by Prime Books. He is also flirting with self-publishing a collection called
The Greatship,
which strings together most of his tales in the Marrow universe.
A word of warning: This story contains scenes that may be disturbing to some readers.
Honest labor made for honorable men. Every woman understood that principle, and that's why when Quentin turned thirteen, a lawn-cutting business was born. His mother rounded up local war widows and elderly dykes, and his father showed him how to mix gasoline with the oil and how to curse at the old mower's quirks. Then with pleas for safety and a manly slap to the back, one generation sent the next into the honorable world of commerce.
Madam Lorton walked her yard afterward, making certain her warhorns and roses were still standing.
Madam Codmarm insisted on giving orange-and-fizz treats before inventing new ways to shortchange the child.
Because Christian mothers often stole from their sons, Madam Bernstein made certain that Quentin had an extra blue bill to hide outside his wallet.
Across the street from Madam Bernstein lived a young widow named Madam Dobs. Her husband died in Vietnam, making her an object of pity in the neighborhood. She wasn't one of the boy's clients, but one afternoon she stepped out on her porch, smiling when she promised to double his wages if her yard was cut today.
Quentin readily agreed. But the Sussex-gold in her yard looked like hay, and the windfall soon became a torment of endless pushing and bag dumping. Drenched in sweat, Quentin paused to gasp, and looking up, found the lady watching him from behind her storm door, wearing nothing but a small shirt with no bra, and no pants, white legs ending inside slender panties that couldn't have been more red.
He stopped in the middle of the half-cut yard.
She asked, "What's wrong, Quentin?"
The mower wasn't powerful enough, he explained. He was tired and it was dinnertime and maybe he could finish tomorrow.
"Would you like something to drink, Quentin?"
Very much. But that wasn't the subject of the moment.
"Come here," she advised.
He climbed one porch step and another, reaching a vantage point where he could see twisted black hairs pushing out from under the panties' elastic.
He stayed where he was, and eventually she said, "Come back tomorrow then."
And he rolled the exhausted mower home.
Dad didn't show for dinner, which was happening more and more. The kitchen television was turned to the news. Some little battle had been fought on the Armistice Line, twenty Queensland soldiers dead but plenty of Mongols too. Then the phone sang out. "Hello, Madam Bernstein, how are you?" Mom began. The Jewish lady said she was well, thank you, and then she mentioned something about Madam Dobs. Mom pulled the phone cord as far as it would reach, leaving the kitchen, and after a couple of minutes she returned and hung up, thinking carefully before giving her son the most important sex lesson of his life.
"Women are
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