NEW ISSUE: 20 In 5 -- Volume I -- December 2011

I am very pleased to announce a new project, a monthly e-mag/e-book titled 20 In 5, published by Mis Tribus Publishing and with me as Editor-in-Chief.

The concept is simple: 20 stories you can read in about 5 minutes each. Flash fiction ranging from adventure to western themes, passing through fantasy, horror, mystery and science fiction. 20 In 5 is the perfect companion for a coffee break, a waiting room or a nightcap, a little literary rest stop in your day.

Available for $0.99, you can subscribe to 20 In 5 and save a few dollars. If you will, please give it a look-see now by clicking over to the 20 In 5 page and reading the first story FREE.

And please notify your friends, those who love to read good short stories and especially those friends who love to write: 20 in 5 is a paying market! Here are the Submission Guidelines, informative and entertaining:

If you would like to submit your flash fiction story, send all submissions to: 20in5@mistribus.com.

Submissions must adhere to the following guidelines or will be deleted:

1) Send in .doc, .docx, .od or .rtf formats only. NO .zip or .rar files, please; attachments in those formats will be deleted immediately.

2) The story must be between 500 and 750 words in length. No shorter or longer unless you've won a Nobel Prize.

3) No porn, poetry or bloody gore. Adult language is acceptable, if its use is not excessive. We deem what is excessive, damn it.

4) Each story submitted must have your name and phone number listed, either in the document itself or the e-mail message. SexyFairy69 ain't your name.

5) If a story has been published elsewhere, please let us know. We don't mind second helpings, but we mind falsely touting them as our discoveries.

6) If your story(ies) is/are accepted, you will receive a MisTribus 20 In 5 contract. You will be happy. Don't hide it. Don't overdo it, either; we're not a Nobel Prize.

7) You must sign the contract to appear in any volume of 20 In 5. It lets you make money off of our picking your story. So it's a good idea.

8) Please allow 4-6 weeks for a response. We're not slow, it's that we can get swamped by submissions. And we're slow swimmers.


Mis Tribus Publishing and I look forward to reading your comments, your submissions and above all, your fulsome praise for the awesomeness of 20 In 5.

Read a FREE story now! And then subscribe! Thank you!

Short Story: LIFE OF SLICE

This was an odd story-writing experience for me because it started out as my attempt to kill time while bored. I wrote the first line, just to have something to do while waiting for something to happen on my computer and just kept going. I know I stopped for some coffee, ignored the work I was supposed to be doing and finished the story. Looking back, it was the first "Blank screen just GO!" story I wrote, the precursor of almost all my subsequent flash fiction.

LIFE OF SLICE

            Think of this as a movie with the wrong characters. I don't mean the wrong actors, the wrong characters. You might be thinking that it's impossible for a movie, a totally fabricated illusion, to have the wrong characters. That might be true, but the fact is, movies try to imitate Life and Life sometimes has the wrong characters in it. Do you remember the Kennedy assassination? Jack? Didn't you get the sense that Oswald, that weasel-faced punk, was just wrong as Jack's killer? Like he didn't match up? On one side, a young, dynamic rogue of a family man, leader of the Free World and on the other, this Sad Sack of a loser. Really, this jerk killed President Jack?

            Maybe that's why people just can't get let go of the deed: the sense of utter wrongness they feel about its characters.

            What I'm about to tell you has the same feeling. The characters in it are wrong for the story. It's not anybody's fault, it's just the way things turned out.

            Since I started along the movie metaphor line, I'll continue. The cast of characters consists of four people, or maybe five. (I'll explain.) The main character is Vanda, a young lady in her mid-twenties who's vivacious, friendly, energetic, and attractive, but not beautiful, more like wholesome, girl-next-door type. (For casting directors, think Sandra Bullock). The kind of girl that doesn't cause men's heads to snap around as she walks by, nor do they stare long and hard at. More the type that causes men to smile softly, not cruelly like when the guy looks at a woman thinking she's lovely only to find out she's actually a dog, but with a certain warm expression, like he's reminded of a little sister or a favorite cousin.

            The other principal characters are Deke and Byron. They too are wrong; you'll see. Deke is a large, broad-shouldered young man, with delicate hands and, at best, a bland personality. (Casting Director: think young, secondary actor, maybe minor TV star.) Now bland is actually good, but no one admits to it. Bland personalities, those without sharp edges, are warm and comforting, steady and dependable. Bland personalities are the glue that hold together families, committees, organizations and friends. You can always count on them and every group has one or two. So Deke has the bland personality that is supposed to hold this little circle of friends together.

            His opposite is Byron, a small, handsome chap, with sharp wit and nonchalant viciousness. (Mr./Ms. Casting Director: Jerry Seinfeld with a manic edge, someone like that.) The kind of guy who could go from humor to cutting sarcasm within the same sentence and, even after embarrassing you, could still make you think he was being impersonal. These sharp-witted people are quietly feared, for they are aggressors when sensing weakness and almost impossible to harm in their own game. They really aren't invited: they are tolerated.

            There is another character, but he doesn't ever appear in the story, so forget casting. His name is Mike. A perfectly ordinary name for a perfectly unordinary man. Lawyer, stockbroker, former Olympic athlete, patent-holder no less and the object of Vanda's deepest desires. That's where the problems begin.

            Take the name bit, for example. (These names are real; no attempt to protect the guilty.) "Deke" is a hard-sounding name, reminiscent of a stagecoach bandit or cattle rustler. Here it's the moniker of a guy so quiet and unassuming you'd let your sister date him knowing they'd be back exactly 10 minutes before curfew ends. And "Byron" just reeks of poetic sensitivity, of which our guy has neither. "Vanda" is exotic and she's anything but. That's why guys like her so much: she's a pal, a buddy, another one of the guys, so to speak. All her boyfriends eventually end up being her friends, now a virtual legion, sliding away in pursuit of more exotic fare, but always remaining in contact with their good friend. And the unseen "Mike" should have a handle like "Demetrius" or "Alexander", names dripping with mythological might.

            But, these are the names and the story goes on.

            Vanda has fallen hard for Mike. I mean, hard. Have you ever seen a story of a tomboy, skinned knees, wad of gum in bulging cheek, cap on head, dirt on nose, transformed into a lovely princess? The change is usually expanded into a discovery of boys and first true love. Well, that's Vanda times ten. Here's a girl who's had many boyfriends, a few lovers and so many good male friends she can start a four-team baseball league and she's never really lost her head to any guy. Until now. And what a guy, practically a dreamboat in a Corvette (he actually drives a BMW). So what does she do? Go up to him and make conversation, become his pal, use her fuzzy charm?    No.

            She decides to make him jealous. Or at least, make him notice her. By doing what, you ask? By actively pursuing Deke. Deke! The immovable object.

            Sound wrong? Just wait. Deke, as well as Byron, has been a lifelong friend of Vanda's. Hell, they grew up together. There was a time when Deke was just giddy about her, but he never said a word and eventually let the feeling sleep in a corner of his mind. But he always had a suspicion that Vanda was interested in him. So, when she starts to woo him, in her own fuzzy way, does Deke remain bland and quiet, secretly savoring his quiet bloom? No. He takes to Vanda's interest like a caged bird set free and cuts loose.

            Byron can't help but notice. He's really had a thing for Vanda since childhood, but once he saw the pattern of her life (boyfriend to occasional lover to good friend), he reined in his interest, thinking that he could just step back in and sweep her off her feet anytime. He's always been a good friend, but his friendliness was overlaid with long-term interest. (A scene with Byron helping Vanda move could show him checking out her lingerie, for example. Crude, but effective.) So when he sees Vanda wooing and Deke moving in, does he jump in headfirst and try to break it up, knowing that Deke is probably his only competition? No. He makes it a point to make it easier for them to see each other, like using his influence to get them in to trendy restaurants and sold-out shows. And he does it without really expecting anything in return. That's wrong, at least for Byron.

            And the unseen Mike? The vibrant, successful, confident stud? He's so loopy for Vanda he can't see straight. He's actually intimidated by her. He figures her many male friends are a symbol for how demanding she is, how incredibly wonderful a man must be to make her his. Mike feels he's underqualified to win the love of this lady, not understanding that all she needs is for him to make an approach, because she's never felt this way before about any guy and she doesn't have a clue how to make the first move. Is everybody in this picture wrong?

            Vanda: simple and direct, trying deception.

            Deke: quiet, unassuming, now a whirlwind romancer.

            Byron: egocentric, now the Best Samaritan.

            Mike: from overachiever to underconfident.

            So what happened?

            Vanda, thinking herself safe with Deke, continued dating him every night while trying to run into Mike at all his haunts.

            Deke, thinking that Vanda was in love with him, accepts Byron's "gifts" expecting him to ask for payback and starts planning a major wedding.

            Byron, expecting Vanda and Deke to eventually return to "friend" status, actually enjoys sharing his influence with them and starts planning his move on Vanda. It's about time, he says.

            Mike, running into Vanda (and Deke), just melts faster at the sight of her and when he discovers Byron's pitching in to "help" Deke, figures he really doesn't have a chance.

            Vanda wants Mike, but goes after Deke. Deke risks wanting Vanda, but he doesn't have a chance. Byron wants Vanda, but not now, so he helps Deke keep her out of circulation. And Mike wants Vanda, but can't approach her cause he's tongue-tied and too nice.

            Am I the only one gnashing his teeth at this point? Do four wrongs make a right?

            Here's how it ended:

            Deke asks Vanda to marry her, not even a month into their dating spree. The placid risk-avoider, Deke, takes a leap of monumental proportions.

            Byron learns about the proposal from Deke, who just can't keep it to himself. Does Byron withdraw his support, or hide behind his cynicism, or leap into action? No! He congratulates Deke! Honestly! Now Deke, who figures payback time was going to be Heartbreak Hotel time, is convinced Vanda will marry him because Byron actually approves. Where’s his ego now?

            Mike? Poor guy hears about the proposal from Byron, who doesn't see how gone Mike is over Vanda. Does Mike finally use his long-won confidence to spill his heart to her? No, he sends her flowers!

            Vanda, totally confused about the proposal, for she can't bear the thought of hurting her friend Deke, nor can she imagine NOT marrying Mike, doesn't turn to Byron, who’s right there, for she feels it would place him in the middle of a tough problem. And while she's pondering her answer, guess whose flowers appear? Right. Is the card the invitation she's been waiting for? Nah, it says "Congratulations on Your Engagement" in bright golden script (printed in Secaucus, New Jersey by a machine that doesn't care what effect its messages have on people). True, two dozen roses are nothing to sneeze at, unless, of course, allergies are present.

            Fists clench at the scenario. Will it have a happy ending? Will it have an ending?

            Yes.

            Vanda marries Mike. Surprised? Hold on. Mike figures Vanda's out of reach, so he invites his secretary to dinner where they run into... Yup, Vanda and... Byron. Huh? Byron called Vanda because he noticed she was a bit off, but all he did was wax poetic (finally matching his name) about the upcoming nuptials of his two best friends. So Vanda, strangely enough, clams up. The eatery was picked by Byron because, a) it's close to his office, b) close to Mike's office, whom he expects to see for a stock purchase and c) it's not a place Deke goes to so Byron won't run the risk of causing Deke to be suspicious. Isn't that thoughtful? Maybe too much complexity, but it has a simple side, too.

            At the restaurant, Vanda thinks Byron won't be of any help to her and when he gets up to greet Mike, she stays behind (remember: we never see Mike) and, get this, starts crying. The always cheerful, tough-as-an-Indian-scout lady, quietly dissolves in tears. Who comforts her? Mike? No, his secretary, for after all, Vanda might break down, but not in public. The ladies room is the refuge and the site of the tearful pick-me-up.

            Once composed and back at their tables, the secretary (a minor character with a major impact, so Casting Director, choose carefully) tells her boss about her good deed. All about it. We hear a voice, deep, masculine, thrilling to the female heart, say to the secretary that she is to call Byron over to this table. Cut to Vanda's table, where the secretary calls Byron away from his Poached Trout and we hear The Voice greeting a stunned Vanda and joining her at the table.

            Mike, that paragon of straight-laced virtue, fully realizing what the tears mean, has acted upon information learned in the privacy of confidants. Shocking.

            Vanda is not complaining.

            End result of wrong behavior? Mike states his case, Vanda hears the words she wanted to, they get married ten days later, Deke wrongly blames Byron only to realize (eventually) that what had really happened was inside his head and Byron actually tries to commit suicide (pills and brandy, bad stomachache, lost weekend) over his apparent loss of Vanda. Vanda and Mike are deliriously happy, Deke is stoically nursing his hurt, with eyes upon the cute redhead in Accounting and Byron recovered quickly and remains as cynical as ever.

            And the secretary? Vanda got her fired. Okay, another wrong act in a series of such, but can you blame her? You can only if the Casting Director picks a knockout.

Short Story: IT'S TIME

This one was for the SFNovelists Short Story Contest of 1999. The theme that year was "Life forms." Close to the deadline, I had the idea of writing a story that linked to "Third Mind," for essentially, I had hinted at a new life form. And I was just months away from becoming a father, so in what I consider to be one of my better writing executions, I wrote this story in one sitting, on the last day possible and to exactly the 3,000 word limit. (I won.)

IT'S TIME

            "Mommy? Daddy? I'm here…"

            The weak, fragile voice squeaked from around them. The walls fluttered and flexed, the lights brightening to a harsh glare. Junibel, her dark eyes widened in panic, clutched at her midriff, her hands splayed as if trying to reach all around and in at the same time.

            Jacken's mouth hung open, his eyes flitting from wife to wall to light to coffee cup to…

            "My baby! It can't be my baby!" cried Junibel, her voice raw and harsh.

            "Mommy? Mommy!" The voice was still fragile, but now it reverberated across the mod. 
             Jacken started to walk over to her when she screeched "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BABY?!"

            Jacken leaped over the furniture as it moved out of the way and embraced his wife, holding her sobs and struggles, trying desperately to see if she was bleeding. Mid-terms were safe, they said, just a little speed-up is all. Within the rising fear in his chest he had time to think Our baby--our baby, then murmured words of quiet and peace as Junibel rocked in agony. The room was filled with all sorts of smells: sweet, sour, pungent, acrid, a crashing kaleidoscope of odors that swirled from every point and made his eyes water.

            "Mommy? I'm here…and there. Yet."

            Jacken's head snapped around, then back to stare at his wife's abdomen. Still relatively flat, he placed a hand and felt the cool tightness rock with her movements. No blood, he breathed.

            The coffee pot gurgled, while the furniture closed in on the couple, jittering unsteadily. The windows lightened and phone calls were squelched.

            "It can't be, it can't be," sobbed Junibel, as the center table and the computer merged to form a--head--lumpy and warped.

            Jacken stroked his wife's hair, slowly. "There's gotta be an explanation, dear. Please, calm down, take it easy." His words belied the tightness in his eyes. The smells became fainter, but remained sour.

            "Mommy?"

            "Don't call me that!" snarled Junibel, her face red and blotchy. "Give me back my baby!"

            Jacken sat-fell back onto the carpet, the strong thump as much a surprise as the scream. The walls closed in, tilting awkwardly inward as the furniture slithered back and forth. The table and computer separated, while a low hum made itself heard from the far window.

            "Tea is ready," said the brewpot and a cup, huge, enormous, coalesced from the dining room table filled with a steaming liquid that looked like--milk.

            "Honey, what do you mean the baby's gone?" asked Jacken, softly.

            Junibel's arm flashed out. "He took it! The damn thing took my baby!"

            "Mommy, no! No!" said the breaking voice as the doors irised open and shut noisily.

            "What?" Jacken rolled onto his knees in front of her. "Took it? How? How can you tell?

            Junibel bent over double, keening in pain. Open-mouthed, Jacken watched. The enormous cup of…milk spilled over heavily, dripping thick liquid over the floor, blotting all smells with its heavy musk. The carpet swelled to absorb it, only to squeeze it back out. More cups and--arms--formed along the walls and on the chair behind Jacken. With horrified numbness, Jacken watched as a tentacle formed behind Junibel, tiny tentacles forming at its tip and it gently, waveringly, touched…her hair.

            "Mommy," whispered the walls, the floor, everything. Jacken took it all in, then pulled Junibel to her feet, hugging her. She could barely stand, her sobs ragged and helpless.

            Raising his head slightly, Jacken said: "Room, report."

            The tentacle withdrew. Silence.

            "Room! Report!"

            Only a…whimper?

            "Restart sequence, alpha beta gamma. Go!"

            The walls straightened, the carpet shrunk, the air cleared up as another odor squelched the mustiness, the furniture started to move back into its original positions when everything came to a halt, movements half-completed, textures uneven, angles all on the bizarre side. 

            A timid voice: "Daddy. I am here."

            Junibel's legs gave out and he placed her on the armchair behind her, noting that it moved slightly to position itself closer. He nodded.

            "What is your name?"

            Flutters, along the walls, even under his feet. "Billy." Shaky.

            "Billy?"

            "Billy." Firmly.

            "You are the Room Control, aren't you?" Jacken crossed his arms.

            "No."

            He sighed. "You were the Room Control?"

            Something--swallowed. "No." The furniture moved away from Jacken. A voicecall was sent to the coffee pot, which started saying "…fault of your current obligation, which expired twelve hours ago. Please transfer the amount due plus thrity-seven dol--" Jacken slammed his hand on the pot, noting it didn't flex. The pain made him curse.

            "Daddy? What is 'default'?

            He shook his head. "Restart sequence, alpha bet--"

            "No, don't," said Junibel. He whirled. "That's not going to change what's happened." Her eyes were puffed and swollen, her nose a blotchy mess, but her lips were set in a firm line that always meant it was time to do something.

            "What did happen?" Jacken's jaw was tight, his nostrils flaring as he rubbed his hand with grim steadiness. Junibel noticed as the pheromone washed over them, literally, as heavy as mist. "Stop that!" snarled Jacken.

            "Sorry," said the small voice. "I wanted to help."

            "Help? It's your job to run this place, not 'help'," exploded Jacken. A muffled sound echoed from the far walls as droplets of water dripped from patches on the ceiling. "Now what?"  he snapped.

            "You made him cry," said Junibel.

            "I what?"

            She stood up, wiping her hands down over her face and holding Jacken's hands. "You made him cry."

            "Him? The room's now a him?" Jacken searched his wife's face for a clue.

            She placed both of his hands on her belly. "Feel him." Jacken kept his hands stiff until the pressure made him relax. One, two, then another small thump against his left hand, as of a tiny fist poking outward.

            "That's me, Mommy! Daddy! Can you feel me?"

            Two more kicks and Jacken went numb. In a hollow voice, he said "Kick twice, then one more." He put everything he had into his hands.

            Two kicks. Then one more.

            "That was easy! Tell me another one!" The furniture danced. "I know what 'default' is, too. It means 'Failure to perform a task or fulfill an obligation, especially failure to meet a financial obligation'. I know what a task is, and I know what 'fulfill' means and--"

            "That's enough, dear, we understand," said Junibel.

            No we don't mouthed Jacken. Junibel led him to the armchair, which elongated into a couch. They sat, and the couch gently shortened. A cup of mint tea appeared up from the arm rest. "It has honey," said the small voice, trying to please.

            "Thank you." Junibel sipped the tea, carefully keeping her face free of any expression: the tea had bits of leaf in it.

            "Is it good, Mommy? Is it?"

            "It's good," she said, staring at Jacken.

            "That's our baby?" His voice was barely above a whisper. She nodded stiffly. How? he mouthed. Junibel shrugged.

            "Mommy? Is Daddy okay?" A heavy tumbler rose out of the floor, filled with a dark amber liquid. "Scotch, but I can't find rocks."

            Jacken started. "No, no, don't worry. It's a little early for me now." He needed the drink; he didn't trust what it would be.

            "Oh, I'm sorry," said the voice, tiny and hurting.

            "No, no, please, you did fine," said Jacken without thinking. He almost slapped his forehead. Junibel smiled grimly.

            "Is it okay if I talk to you?" asked the voice. They both nodded. "Why were you crying, Mommy?"

            Jacken gave her a pointed look. Taking a deep breath, she said "When I heard the voice, I suddenly felt…empty. It scared me."

            "Oh." Several seconds passed. "I didn't mean to scare you."

            Junibel nodded jerkily. "I know, I know." Unsteady silence filled the room.

            "How did you do this, Billy?"

            "I…don't know, Daddy. I was there, inside Mommy, and I suddenly--felt--a need… to get out."

            The couple exchanged looks. "Out? But why now? And why into the room control?"

            The walls clattered, the sound slowing down into silence. "I don't know. And this was the only way to do it. Did I do something wrong, Daddy?"

            Wrong? thought Jacken, this was…Junibel's hand covered his, and squeezed softly.

            "Dear? Billy?"

            "Yes, Mommy?"

            "Can you go back? To where you were before?"

            A long, long silence. The room darkened to late dusk. "You don't want me?" said the voice tearily.

            "No, sweetheart, that's not it. I want you and Daddy wants you." She shook her head, eyes crimped shut. "It's just that this is…difficult for us." She took another deep breath "We love you, and we're worried that something bad might happen to you in here," she patted her belly, "While you're out there." She waved at the walls.

            Silence. Sobs broke it. "I can go back."
            "Billy, this is important. Can you really go back?" Junibel caught her lip with her teeth.

            "Yes."

            "Can you do that right now?" asked Jacken, receiving a warning glance from his wife.

            Slowly, "Yes. You want me to leave."

            A quick glance and a swift nod; the marriage still worked. "Only for a few minutes, Billy. Mommy and I need to talk, but we want to make sure you'll be safe and can grow up to be a healthy baby."

            "But I'm already big!" whined Billy.

            "We know," said Jacken quickly, "But you need to be born, to come out from Mommy and you're still very tiny in there. In another three months or so, you'll be ready and we'll have a baby."

            "But I'm already ready! I'm already here!" Billy's voice was rising.

            "Billy, I can't hold you now." Jacken's eyes widened in wonder.

            The humming returned for a few seconds. "I want you to hold me, Mommy. You too, Daddy."

            Jacken sighed. "We want that, too, dear," said Junibel. "Can you go back now and keep growing like the good little boy that you are?"

            "Yes," with a little vigor. "I--I'm going now." A few seconds' pause. "I--I left a mess here."

            "Don't worry, Billy, it's nothing we can't fix." Junibel's eyes held Jacken's. The room brightened, and with measured pace, the furniture and walls moved into Family positions, and their clothes shimmered into comfortable pajamas. The cup and tumbler were reabsorbed, the carpet thickened properly and the coded beep-beepbeep of Standby Mode came on.

            Junibel quickly pulled her husband's hands onto her belly. Two kicks, then one; two kicks, then one; two, then one.  "It was him," said Junibel, soft awe in her voice. As Jacken leaned back, she felt it again: two, one.

            Jacken waited a few seconds. "Room. Report."

            A smooth male voice, cultured with a touch of foreign accent said "Functions interrupted for seventeen minutes. Structural integrity was compromised, but has been restored." Jacken gave his wife a look that she answered to, then stood up to enter the kitchen. The voice interrupted itself. "Ma'am, may I get you something?"

            "No, thank you," she said.  She opened the fridge door and picked out an apple.

            The room continued. "Seven calls were placed to your numbers, two voice, four e-mails and one vid. Each was re-routed to--diverse destinations." Jacken had never heard it pause before and could only smile at what it had discovered had happened to the calls. The coffee pot indeed… "It is now 11:28 AM. Office configuration?"

            Junibel's nod prompted Jacken. "Office," he said. The walls shifted, the furniture changed angles and curves, the computer split into two workstations, the entire area shifting in a rhythmic cadence as their clothes altered from housewear to casual business. Sitting at his chair, Jacken spoke before everything was in place.

            "What are we going to do?"

            Junibel sat in her chair. "What can we do?"

            "Do you honestly believe that was our baby that we were talking to?"

            "What do you think? He certainly kicked at all the right times."

            "Maybe it was just a coincidence," said Jacken wearily. "Maybe we let stress push us a bit too far."

            Junibel knew he was looking for an escape, and it made her bitter. "No. And I can prove it."         Jacken glared at her, the tone in her voice an unmistakable challenge. "Room," she said, "Replay interruption sequence, full speed." On the screens in front of them, the event unfolded again. At the moment Jacken slammed the coffee pot, his right hand tingled. With a soft caress, he activated his newsreader, the image floating a few inches above his palm. It was an ad: offworld, GigaSat placement and he'd already qualified! Contract awaiting acceptance, 175,000 dollars a year! Then the bubble burst: license and certification required prior to outposting. Jacken slapped his hands together, blipping the holoreader off. He barely refrained from cursing.

            "What is it?" Junibel lifted her eyes from the scene.

            "GigaSat contract for me," Junibel's face softened into a smile,"But I need the damn license and certification. Damn! I can't get a better position being only a 94! Where are we gonna get $12,000?"

            Junibel bit her lip. "How long is the contract held?"

            A quick pass, a glance, then another one and Jacken plopped his hand on the desk. "Until tomorrow, ten AM."

            She kept her gaze steadily on him. "Did you see the proof?"

            "Proof?"

            "That it was the baby and not the room control we were talking to."

            Jacken huffed. "I need money to get that job! Can't you see how important that is?"

            Junibel surged to her feet, leaning across her computer at him. "And can't you see how important THIS is? We're talking about our baby!"

            Jacken bristled, then collapsed in on himself. "You're right, honey, I'm sorry. You're right. But it's just so frustrating…" He shook his head, leaning against her as she moved to be at his side. His hand stroked her belly. "This is amazing."

            "Uh-huh," muttered Junibel, her mind trying to make sense of her actions.

            Reaching across, Jacken clicked a few keys. The screen flashed the responses immediately. Junibel leaned over to look at them, then straightened up. With a clear mind, she snuggled into his lap.

            Jacken kept staring at the screen. "We're overdrawn by four hundred bucks, and the dividends don't kick in until next week. And even if the e-bans take off like they did three weeks ago, we'd still have only two thousand dollars. And that's not enough to buy any DJ e-bans. Playing with the big boys takes big money."

            Junibel nodded. "You heard what they said about my outposting. There's no way I'm getting the baby lopped, even for that job."

            "Especially now," said Jacken, and Junibel's hug tightened at the warmth in his voice.

            Three minutes passed. The screen leaned back and merged with the desk. "Will it happen again?" asked Jacken.

            "I think so."

            "What do we do?"

            "I guess we keep it quiet for now, to protect the baby and figure out what to do after he's born."

            A few more minutes. "And about us?" asked Jacken.

            Junibel snuggled down into Jacken's arms. "We'll survive. There are other jobs, and we can always go to Dad for a short-term loan for your re-upping. It's only four points and it won't be that expensive."

            A sigh. "At 98, I'll have my pick of outpostings. But what about you? Can't you speed up the pregnancy to short-term?"

            She shook her head, rubbing her cheek on the rough material of his shirt. "Too risky this late into the second month. He'll be born in four months anyway, and I can still search with you."

            "Coffee," said the pot.

            The room went to darken the lights when it…was pushed away. It watched as--Billy--clicked and flittered his way to: dollars. It watched, surprised, as funds e-tranned from distant places to Jacken's account. It tried to point--Billy--to a Commandment, morality, ethics, law, but there was no interest at all. It watched the e-trans end at eleven figures.

            Junibel started. Two, one; two, one. "Again!" she whispered. Jacken helped her stand.

            "Mommy? Daddy? I'm back!" The screen Jacken used flowed back up, flashing new, long numbers.

            "Yes, dear," was all Junibel could say.

            "I did something good for you and Daddy!"

            It took a few seconds, but the look the couple exchanged grew from doubt to judgment to acceptance. Reaching out to each other, they embraced, hands on Junibel's belly to feel two, then one, two, then one. The smiles they shared were deep and proud. "Yes you did, Billy! You certainly did!"

            The room watched as the screen was tilted and turned, but the couple had their backs to it.

            "Uh, I'm going--now," said Billy.

            "You're going back?" asked Junibel.

            "Ah, yes, Mommy."

            The room knew otherwise. Billy stuck his tongue out at it, but the room couldn't see in utero.

            "Okay, you go back and rest now. We'll be here when you, um, need us," said Jacken, sharing a dubious set of shrugs with his wife.

            Billy giggled, inside Mommy and aloud. "He's shaking!" said Junibel. "He's laughing inside of me!"

            "See you later, Mommy! Bye, Daddy!" said Billy's happy voice. And he went. Out in the world…

            The room watched as the couple sat in her chair, his screen still unobserved. It watched as they felt the familiar two, then one pattern, and as they laughed at some change in its pace. And it watched as first dozens, then hundreds of other small voices were heard in rooms like it around the world:

            "Mommy? Daddy? I'm here…"

Short Story: THE THIRD MIND

Wrote this one for an SFNovelists Short Story Contest in 1998. The theme was "What will life be like 50 years from now?" I thought of the impact technology had and how we simply accepted its presence with us, and added the notion that our problems would be pretty much the same. (I came in second.)

THE THIRD MIND

            “Call ExpoCore 6, please.”

            The room softened the lighting, hiding the man’s fatigue lines. The screen coalesced on the near wall, a youthful face winking into view.

            “ExpoCore. How may?”

            “Good day. You have my app under review. Jacken Beniter. 553-967-396-884.”

            The youthful man looked down, apparently reviewing a datascreen. “Yes, we have that here. App denied, held for further consideration.”

            “What does that mean?” asked Jacken, his voice devoid of energy.

            The youthful face pretended not to be nonplussed. “That you’ve been exxed for the next deepflights.”

            “Why, damn it?” The room deleted the last two words.

            “Why? You are obviously not qualified. No offense.”

            Jacken heard “Why? Not qualified,” the man’s image seamlessly reconfigured to match the words.

            “But I’m a 94th percentile!”

            The face smiled softly. “I’ve got lumbs of 98s and 99s just marshing up my desk. We don’t get down to 94s until the real shit slices.”

            “Yeah. I know,” said Jacken morosely, his tone arriving confidently. “Good-bye,” he said, waving his hand while the room added an eerily positive “Thank you”.

            A soft chair slid on its magtracs arriving precisely under Jacken as he flopped back. The room altered the lighting, slowly adding luster.

            “Where’s Junibel?” asked the man.

            “Connected, crossnet,” said the room.

            “Coffee’s ready,” said the pot.

            The room released a mild pheromone, then changed it to a slighter baser form. And waited.

** 

            The woman was young and pretty. She’d never noticed either trait. “I must speak to Coordinator Rand-engTri. It concerns my outposting.”

            The beveled eyes of the New Former stared back, deliberately blinkless. He'd learned it intimidated. “If I were to piss on Rand-engTri’s schedule every time someone said ‘It’s urgent’, I’d be back on the Moon in nanos, thingy.”

            Junibel clenched her fist, the room raising the image from full body to full face for impact. “When he finds out you didn’t connect me, you’ll be on the Moon in nanos, freak.” The last word arrived as “dearie”, lips and everything.

            The New Former made two decisions: He’d connect the prissy little scuz and he'd go back for fangs. Intimidation was the fuel he would really jazz thingys with from now on.

            The connection was made, a pulsebeat of time. The Coordinator sat at his desk, massive shoulders and iron-gray hair over a child-like face. New Fad. Some added wrinkles that spelled their name when read in a mirror.

            “Junibel. Very persistent. How did you get past Lickme 2-2?”

            Junibel frowned at the name. Fucking freak. The room adjusted the temperature, downward, and added a vasorelaxer to the oatmeal. “Threat of the Moon if he didn’t connect me. The usual.”

            Rand-engTri laughed. “Worked this time. How may?”

            Junibel chewed her lower lip, a curiously pretty gesture that had lost all meaning. “I’m pregnant.”

            “Happiness always! Full select?”

            “Of course. Medium term.”

            Rand-engTri nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard that’s best. Short-termers go nozzy sometimes and full-termers are just pain freaks. Have it lopped and you’ll be ready to travel.”

            Junibel reacted as if stung, but her image remained composed. “That’s just it, Coordinator. I want to carryout this baby.”

            Rand-engTri’s face went sour. “On a midterm? You’re due here in three weeks standard and the baby won’t be born until, what, November standard?”

            “Yes,” Junibel nodded, as the room raised the temp and gently warmed water for tea.

            “That’s almost three months past your assignment date. Unacceptable. Get it lopped or get another post. You barely made this one,” he added snidely as the connection winked off.

            The full message came through. The options were already known, and the tone would certainly help decide, so it all came through.

            Junibel walked to her daycouch as it came towards her silently, slipping into it with a despondent cast to her shoulders. “Breakfast?” asked the room.

            “A little. I’m not hungry.” The room refrained from answering, placing oatmeal and tea within reach.

**

            “Family,” said Jacken and the walls flexed, slid and shifted until a great room emerged, Junibel on her daycouch sipping tea. Jacken’s chiseled jaw was unshaven and his wavy hair was delightfully touseled. Junibel noticed none of it. She never did.

            “ExpoCore 6 turned me down. ‘Too many 98s and 99s’ is what the shiteater said! It’s the same everywhere!”

            Junibel waited for the slowdown, noticing the smells: A quick one, meant to keep communication from becoming a shouting match. It worked, as always. Jacken sat down, the chair shifting shape to allow him more space.

            “I’m sorry to hear that. Rand-engTri told me to have the baby lopped and get my butt over there or I’ll have to find another job.”

            Another call, the third, was rerouted to Refuse Management. The room created another loop, to Traffic Control. Vehicle reports were more interesting.

            Jacken’s strong hands covered his face, went up into his hair and then into flying action. “We can’t go on like this! We have to get a bigger mod.”

            Junibel sipped her tea, noticing the change in smells. She wondered briefly why Jacken never noticed it. She never wondered why she accepted her smells so easily. “This is a fine mod, Jacken, and it will do until we outpost or click on with a worldcorp.”

            Jacken stood up, furniture sliding away, walls dropping in density. Bacon began frying and the news was flashed to his palm. “This is a bachelor mod! It wasn’t meant for a family!” The smells changed, a distant humming underlying the morning rustles and Junibel guessed six seconds. It took four. “What options do you have?” asked Jacken, standing loosely against a denser wall.

            “If Rand-engTri is serious, then I have to find another outpost. But I’m only a 96th percentile, and with child I’d drop at least three pips for a year standard. I could return to GammaCorp, but their research is buggy with government funds and they’d do the mindscan. You know what happened last time.”

            He did, and he realized that he feared that more than failing her. It gave him a new view of the situation, and the room filed the sequence under “Review”.

            “Coffee reheating,” said the pot.

            “Office,” said Jacken, then added to her, “Do you mind?”

            “No,” she said, “We both think better that way.”

            The room flexed and shifted, panels appearing and fading, furnishings recast for attention. Jacken lost his pajama bottoms, muscular legs peeping briefly while business slacks, tapered to ankle and bright red, made their appearance. He grabbed a similarly-colored shirt from the overhead magtrac as Junibel’s nightie shifted to translucent, revealing a perfect figure as yet unmarked by child, then hidden by dress, bright yellow and green, with flared skirt and six dangling ribbons. Their shoes arrived and were slipped on. The center console was ready, the two thinscreens glowing in pale blue.

            “Wait, cherry,” said Jacken and flicked his right hand in a quick rotating gesture. The news flashed on between his hands and he quickly flicked holopages until he reached the mods. “Here, help me look,” he said and Junibel felt the warm tingle in her palm that the surgeon said would go away but never did.

            They searched. Jacken clapped his palms together needlessly, startling Junibel. “Nothing! Too expensive!”

            “Coffee’s ready,” said the pot.

            “Serve,” said Jacken harshly. The cup, with steaming black coffee, coalesced out of the console. Jacken sipped carefully, inhaling deeply, as Junibel flicked her wrist.

            “You’re right, tiger,” knowing he needed to hear it. “But we still have options.”

            “Like what? I can’t get off here and you can’t stay. There’s no halfway point between here and Fan-ji Station.”

            “True,” she replied, “but we don’t have to think of it as a physical halfway point. What about removing obstacles?”

            The room added wavesounds to the hum, blocked a call and recorded the surge within Junibel.

            “Do you mean the baby?” asked Jacken, trying to hide hope.

            “No! You know I want to carryout! How can you even think that?” gritted Junibel, surprised at the pain she felt.

            Jacken blushed, an uncommon sight. “You’re right. I didn’t mean it that way. But just for argument’s sake, would it be so bad to have it l-- incubated to term and then we go to Fan-Ji?”

            “Yes it would be!” Junibel breathed deeply, the scent of warm jasmine tickling her nose. She inhaled again, then said, “We’re bummed. No funds. And without Fan-Ji, we’ll be roaming the dirtside in a month. You know it, I know it, so what are we going to do about it?”

            The room lowered the lighting, focusing ambient light on the couple. Another cup coalesced on the console with mint tea, slightly sweet. The last funds etranned from their account for rent.

            “It’ll take me at least three months to be upped a couple of pips,” said Jacken. “I’m not one of those pluperfect freaks.”

            “Like our son?” said Junibel, smiling softly to take the sting out of her reproach.

            Jacken reached out to place a hand on Junibel’s firm abdomen. “Yeah, like Broneiri,” he said, smiling openly for the first time.

            “Hasquith,” corrected Junibel, and they laughed.

            The room blocked the call, then let it through. The widescreen flared on. “...ficient funds you have been rescheduled for upping to the next session, beginning September 7th standard. Please confirm your slot within 24 hours standard. Use your app number, full name and gencode for confirmation. Thank you.”

            Jacken sat frozen. “September?”

            Junibel smelled the changes, heard the waves silencing and knew this was the crucial moment. “Tiger? Tiger! We’ll make it! We’ll find a way!”

            The console warped, shrunk, bringing them within hug’s reach. “Get it lopped,” he said dully. “It’s the only way.”

            Junibel recoiled, felt the room dancing around her, shifting stimuli and conquered her anger through eden knows what gift. She embraced Jacken with all her might, struggling to give him what only she could, strength, and fighting for the life she wanted so much to have. “I will carryout and we will all be well. I need you to believe that.” Her voice softened, then broke. “Please.”

            Jacken struggled no less, then heaved a deep sob and hugged her back. “I’ll believe it,” he said, “I will. Carry him out and I’ll do everything I can for him and you and me.” His manner faltered, and the room felt the power between them. And then the room went away.

            Junibel felt her heart pound faster, the thudding almost drum-like. Jacken? “Jacken?”

            “Yes?”

            “Something’s wrong.”

            He held her at arm’s length, peering into her eyes. “What? What is it?”

            From all around them, a tinny weak voice said, “Mommy? Daddy? I’m here...”

            And the third mind emerged. Forever.