Asimov's Science Fiction: February 2014 by Penny Publications
Authors: Penny Publications
Tags: Asimov's #457
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His entire death so far had been focused on just one goal, and whether he chalked it up as a success or a failure, it was done. Now he was facing eternity with absolutely no idea what to do with it.
"Howdy, Sheriff."
Oxford turned to find Cassandra perched on the chair next to him. She was wearing a pair of cutoff shorts and a bikini top. It was a far cry from her seeserv business suit, but at least she was human.
"I thought you were a cat in the zone," Oxford said.
"You didn't notice?" she said. "House rules. Humans only."
"Come to check up on me?"
"I just thought you could use a friend." Oxford looked at her, trying to decide if she was lying or not. "You narcs take seeserv pretty seriously."
"Listen to you, slinging the lingo like a zonie." She laughed, but quickly settled down into a more serious mood. "Honestly, Oxford, if you want to talk..."
He nodded. "You knew all along, didn't you?"
"I still don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I just know that when someone gets lost around here, it's usually because they don't want to be found. Speaking of which, Bones told me where he dropped you. How'd you find the bridge before the place shifted again?"
"There's a bridge?"
She laughed again. It was a nice laugh. "Come on, Oxford, tell me how."
"Really," he said. "I sort of flew. Bounced. Flounced, maybe. It wasn't pretty."
She looked at him for a moment, a curious expression on her face. "Maybe not," she finally said, "but it worked."
"Of course." He spread his arms, taking in everything around him. "The zone is my natural habitat. You just see what you want to see and the world plays along."
"Sometimes," Cassandra said. "Sometimes not."
"Oh, that's right. Heaven's got bugs."
"No." She stood up and her clothes transformed into a long, deep blue evening gown with an open back and a scandalous slit up the left side. She held out her hand to him. "But it has more than a few rats."
He took her hand and stood up. He tried for a tux, but he couldn't get the bow tie right, so he left it with an open collar. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"Down to the night side. There's a balcony spot where the stars are ferocious." She led him to the stairs and down, still holding his hand as if she were afraid he'd run away. "We can talk about you helping with the zone's rat problem."
"Me?" His stomach flipped when the downward stairs suddenly became upward stairs. "Sheriff Brown, riding the red range with his high-end six-shooter mojo PAL?"
"If you like," she said.
She really did have a nice laugh. He pulled his hand from hers and offered her his arm instead. "Don't look so surprised," he said. "You know I'm the old fashioned kind."
She smiled and took his arm. "And the world plays along," she said.
----
STEPPIN' RAZOR
Maurice Broaddus | 13296 words
www.MauriceBroaddus.com
> has written hundreds of short stories, essays, novellas, and articles. His dark fiction has been published in numerous magazines, anthologies, and web sites, including
Cemetery Dance, Apex, Black Static,
and
Weird Tales.
He is the co-editor of the Dark Faith anthology series (Apex Books) and the author of the urban fantasy trilogy, Knights of Breton Court (Angry Robot Books). Maurice has been a teaching artist for over five years, educating creative writing students of all ages. The author's first
Asimov's
tale takes place in a steampunk influenced Jamaica and provides us with a fascinating look at an alternate world history.
"Some people have written the story of my life representing as truth what in fact derives from ignorance, error or envy; but they cannot shake the truth from its place, even if they attempt to make others believe it."
—My Life and Ethiopia's Progress, Autobiography of H.M. Haile Selassie I
I. Crazy Baldheads
1988
Desmond Coke no longer jumped at the thunder of artillery in the sky. They were the weapons of the age. Born in violence, Jamaica had been settled by bloodshed and held by cruelty. The great thrumming sound
"Howdy, Sheriff."
Oxford turned to find Cassandra perched on the chair next to him. She was wearing a pair of cutoff shorts and a bikini top. It was a far cry from her seeserv business suit, but at least she was human.
"I thought you were a cat in the zone," Oxford said.
"You didn't notice?" she said. "House rules. Humans only."
"Come to check up on me?"
"I just thought you could use a friend." Oxford looked at her, trying to decide if she was lying or not. "You narcs take seeserv pretty seriously."
"Listen to you, slinging the lingo like a zonie." She laughed, but quickly settled down into a more serious mood. "Honestly, Oxford, if you want to talk..."
He nodded. "You knew all along, didn't you?"
"I still don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I just know that when someone gets lost around here, it's usually because they don't want to be found. Speaking of which, Bones told me where he dropped you. How'd you find the bridge before the place shifted again?"
"There's a bridge?"
She laughed again. It was a nice laugh. "Come on, Oxford, tell me how."
"Really," he said. "I sort of flew. Bounced. Flounced, maybe. It wasn't pretty."
She looked at him for a moment, a curious expression on her face. "Maybe not," she finally said, "but it worked."
"Of course." He spread his arms, taking in everything around him. "The zone is my natural habitat. You just see what you want to see and the world plays along."
"Sometimes," Cassandra said. "Sometimes not."
"Oh, that's right. Heaven's got bugs."
"No." She stood up and her clothes transformed into a long, deep blue evening gown with an open back and a scandalous slit up the left side. She held out her hand to him. "But it has more than a few rats."
He took her hand and stood up. He tried for a tux, but he couldn't get the bow tie right, so he left it with an open collar. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"Down to the night side. There's a balcony spot where the stars are ferocious." She led him to the stairs and down, still holding his hand as if she were afraid he'd run away. "We can talk about you helping with the zone's rat problem."
"Me?" His stomach flipped when the downward stairs suddenly became upward stairs. "Sheriff Brown, riding the red range with his high-end six-shooter mojo PAL?"
"If you like," she said.
She really did have a nice laugh. He pulled his hand from hers and offered her his arm instead. "Don't look so surprised," he said. "You know I'm the old fashioned kind."
She smiled and took his arm. "And the world plays along," she said.
----
STEPPIN' RAZOR
Maurice Broaddus | 13296 words
www.MauriceBroaddus.com
> has written hundreds of short stories, essays, novellas, and articles. His dark fiction has been published in numerous magazines, anthologies, and web sites, including
Cemetery Dance, Apex, Black Static,
and
Weird Tales.
He is the co-editor of the Dark Faith anthology series (Apex Books) and the author of the urban fantasy trilogy, Knights of Breton Court (Angry Robot Books). Maurice has been a teaching artist for over five years, educating creative writing students of all ages. The author's first
Asimov's
tale takes place in a steampunk influenced Jamaica and provides us with a fascinating look at an alternate world history.
"Some people have written the story of my life representing as truth what in fact derives from ignorance, error or envy; but they cannot shake the truth from its place, even if they attempt to make others believe it."
—My Life and Ethiopia's Progress, Autobiography of H.M. Haile Selassie I
I. Crazy Baldheads
1988
Desmond Coke no longer jumped at the thunder of artillery in the sky. They were the weapons of the age. Born in violence, Jamaica had been settled by bloodshed and held by cruelty. The great thrumming sound
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