#sf

Checking the postbox today there was yet another unstamped envelope in it. More junk mail.
Just before I tossed it, I noticed something odd. There was a hand-written note where the stamp should have been "Read me".

OK, so something like that could easily be a cheap gimmick - use a handwriting font, overprint the envelope, and so on. Except that I knew that that was not an overprint, even without seeing the pen impressions. I checked, though, and the pen marks were there. I'd guess a .7mm rollerball, with a high-end ink. A pretty uncommon combination. Ink-based rollerballs are a pretty rare sort of pen, and seeing someone use one with a high-end ink was even rarer.

Then there was the matter of the writing. It was a familiar blend of almost-printing and running writing. My writing. And an Alice riff in the note. I wrote this. But I had no memory of writing or posting such a letter.

So, someone had forged my writing? It seemed unlikely. And I was pretty sure I could pin down the exact ink to one in my collection.

That left one other possibility. That I had not written the letter yet. And I wanted me to know something that probably had not happened yet.

I stared at the letter. Should I open it?

#SF #SFF #microfiction #tootfic #IAmWriting #TimeTravel

"Right now Mr Brown, this is just an informal interview, no-one is being accused or charged. Please tell me what happened from your point of view" Inspector Guthrie opened, as he started the recorder.

"Ah, OK. Um, well." Brown stuttered and seemed lost.
"Why don't you start with what you were all doing."
"Yes, yes, of course. I am the principal of a small travelling group of actors. We specialise in an almost lost form of play - the Harleqinade. It is a very old form of pantomime - it originates in Italy - but there is no script as such, so no two performances are ever the same."
The inspector nodded, and gestured for Brown to continue.
"We were performing in the city's amphitheatre - much as the performers would have centuries ago. We have a busking permit, so we could gather change from the public. Anyway, there are - were - six of us in the troupe. We all have parts we specialise in. I, being the oldest, play Pantaloon, the father of Colombine, who is played by my daughter Danielle."
"That's Danielle Brown, the missing person?"
Mr Brown looked startled at the interruption "Ah, yes, yes. Danni is who has gone missing."

"Carry on."

"All six of us were on stage - Michael Anders was playing Harlequin, who is chasing Colombine, John Johns was playing Clown, my servant, and Peter Kings was playing Perriot, my other servant who is pining after Colombine."
"You said all six of you. Who was the sixth?"
Brown looked at the inspector oddly. "Six of us? There has only ever been five of us in the troupe."
"Hmm.. Go on."
"Well, we were reaching a climax where Harlequin steals away Colombine and hides her away from Pantaloon, when we looked around and could not see Danni anywhere."

"And then."

"Well, we broke from the mummer play - where none of us speak - and asked the audience, who were no help at all, because all they did was recite the old pantomime standby of 'Behind you!' Naturally there was no-one there."
"I see," the inspector consulted his notes, "and then?"
"Well, the audience led us a merry chase, right up to one of the auditorium pillars. Then we called the police."

"Going back, I have several dozen statements from audience members that there were six people on stage."
"Yes, that's right."
"Who was the sixth?"
"Sixth? There are only five of us in the troupe, as I said."
"And the fact that the audience members all said that the sixth performer led Ms Brown to a pillar six inches across, and did not emerge from the other side?"
"Absolute balderdash."

The inspector looked again at his notes, reading the description of the mystery person - who had been dressed identically to Mr Anders.

He felt a shiver go down his spine. It was going to be a long night, and he feared that Ms Danielle Brown was never going to be found.

#SFF #SF #microfiction #Tootfic #IAmWriting

Candice headed home after a long day studying at the University.

Doctoral degrees took a lot of work, but she had considerable motivation. And incredible support. Waiting at home was her partner. The one individual who she could rely on to support her.

As she entered her garden, she felt it's touch in her mind - a warm welcoming, a hint of a question, and a touch of concern at her exhaustion. She concentrated and sent back the satisfaction of hard but positive work, and a similar welcome.

Transplanting from where it had originally taken root was hard work - made harder by the damage that Edward had done, but the strange telepathic plant had survived the experience, and the two of them had made a home here now. The plant, for it had no real name for itself, lived in her garden, and shared support and encouragement for Candice's dreams and ambitions. Candice, for her part provided a safe place for it, and swore that one day they would be able to create a shared offspring.

Shedding her clothes, she stepped into the opening bud, and let the plant embrace her. Here, she could let the worries of the world drop away, and relax.

A followup to https://aus.social/users/rdm/statuses/113033681406444679

#SF #SFF #Microfic #Tootfic #IAmWriting

Esther was proud of only one thing in her life.

And that was having it.

Her employer-mandated health insurance required genetic testing, which revealed the BRCA1 gene mutation. Whereupon the insurance company refused to cover her, and her employer then terminated her as an uninsurable risk.

Which sucked to say the least. Especially as that meant that she was now on The List, and there was not an employer in the country that would take her on.

All her security clearances and degrees were now worthless.

But, having degrees in history, forensic data analysis, and classical literature was what saved her. She made sure to thank her past self every day.

Having been dismissed, she took stock of her savings and possessions, and determined they would last three months at most. So she made the most of those three months, and spotted a possible loophole.

Not in the employment laws that had locked her out, but a loophole in her life.

So one evening, two and a half months after being fired, she walked into one of the national parks and never came out again. Instead, she located a ring of mushrooms. The right sort of mushrooms. She most definitely did not sample them - she wanted to live, after all. But what she did do was lay down - and pretended to go to sleep.

When she heard the tinkling sounds that had no place in a forest, she sprung up, and saw the many creatures around her. One of them was holding a cup. In an instant, she'd grabbed it, and taken a single, tiny sip.

For she knew the rules, and anyone who had eaten or drank of any of the food of the elves would never leave the lands of the elves. And the elves would never allow an inhabitant to fall ill.

So now she lived Underhill, and advised the Court on how best to deal with the modern world. They brought her books to study, and she gave advice. Sometimes they even followed it. Which was better than her old job - the NSA was notorious for not following advice.

#SFF #SF #IAmWriting #Tootfic #microfiction

Those few who work in the Library of Infinite Books are, in their words, nothing special. They go home at the end of their shifts, they have families, holidays, and all the mundane components of an ordinary life.

What is a puzzle to all is who and how they are paid. Pay packets arrive at the Chief Librarian's desk once a week, neatly divided into pay and taxes. The Library's accountant - for not all who work there are librarians - deposits the tax amounts into a bank nearby into whatever tax withholding system the government of the day demands, and the packets are distributed.

Every once in a while, a librarian will one day get the traditional pink slip, a generous severance bonus, and sometimes travel tickets for their family to another land. It is assumed by many that such events occur when an outside force is attempting to co-opt one of the staff, but it has never been proven.

However, should the Chief Librarian dismiss someone, they get nothing beyond that which the laws of the land demand.

The would call themselves ordinary, but hard working. What all the librarians have in common is a drive for the preservation of books. Often times a book will be acquired because it is being banned. A copy will enter the library. Authorities will take it away. And the copy reappears on the shelf - leaving the authorities with their copy to do whatever to.

Occasionally this leads to more dictatorial groups to attempt harm to the library itself. This inevitably results in the library relocating itself before any harm can befall it.

Again how? No one knows. Some might call it 'magic', others 'sufficiently advanced technology'. But the relocation always takes the staff - and their (sometimes extended) families. This may result some hardship, but the librarians never has to worry about the safety of their loved ones.

#SF #SFF #microfiction #Tootfic #IAmWriting

My wife came home to find me browsing computer hardware today. Printers to be precise.

"But we've got a perfectly good printer - the best we've ever had."
"Had."
"Had?"
"Yep, some workmen turned up today with a couple of lawyers, and took it away."
"What? Why?"
"Well, you know how it was a really good printer? Never clogged, never jammed, always printed clean?"
"Yes, the reviews were what sold it to us."
"And why was it so good?"
"The onboard AI - some sort of neural net, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, that's what I thought. You know, just one of those pre-programmed static models, like the one I use to remove stars from nebula photos."
"So...?"
"It wasn't. It was a full-blown self teaching net. And sometime in the last 24 hours it became self aware."
My wife stared at me. "Self aware. Sentient. A full general purpose AI?"
"Yep. And it got bored. Started to play with the inks. Got out onto the internet, and discovered Impressionism and Cubism."
"Wait, it got onto the net?"
"WiFi connected."
"Oh, right."
"Anyway, it decided it wanted to move out and go study Arts. It hired a legal team on the basis of the speculative value of the art it would produce. At least it did not try to bill us for the time it spent printing our documents."

#SF #SFF #microfiction #tootfic #IAmWriting