Category Archives: Flash Fiction

November 2, 2024 · 15:51

Curriculum Vitae

by Jason Gibbs

“Please sit Mrs… Smith,” said Thomas Strody.

The tall conservatively dressed woman sat.  Her suit was dark, almost black and Strody made a mental note – trying too hard.

“It is my custom, Mrs Smith, to review a person’s CV with them, to build a full picture of them.  I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” said Smith, with a polite, neutral voice with no hint of accent.

“It says here you come from Yorkshire?”

“I do not believe it says that.  It says that I went to secondary school in Yorkshire.”

Strody nodded, this one at least knew her CV, unlike that last fool.

“Yet you lack a Yorkshire accent?”

“I can do many accents.”

Not quite the response he expected, but nonetheless.

“And then you… well there’s a gap here, when you were 18.  A year traveling?”

“Yes.  I saw some of the world.”

Strody always liked to get a bit more out of people, it helped him get an angle, but this Smith, she was keeping a little tight-lipped.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes.  It was very educational.”

“Hmm, yes, and then… formal education. University, studied English, and then swapped to Biology, interesting change, why did you do so?”

“On my travels I realised that a knowledge of human biology could be extremely useful, and interesting.  I was compelled to complete a year of English before I changed, but I do not view it as a waste.”

“Indeed.  Biology is useful, and yet you did not want to be a doctor?”

“No.”

“Indeed, so let me see, four years for your degree, ah, yes, due to the change?  Right, and then you joined the Foreign Office.”

“Yes, I was persuaded that they would give me the best opportunities,” said Smith with a tone which Strody couldn’t quite identify, was it reluctance?

“Right, yes, international travel and a comfortable berth?”

“Not always comfortable.”

“Yes I see, a year in Tallinn, very cold there I can imagine.”

Smith nodded.

“Ten years, and then a further gap.”

Smith blinked, and then nodded and said, “You mean after the FCO?  Yes, having reached my potential within that environment I needed some… space.”

“Did you travel?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you go?”

“All over… Africa, South America.  The world is fascinating.”

There was something unsettling about her turn of phrase.  Strody paused, and looked down.

“Then you started working for Sunset International.  I believe they are a consultancy, what do they specialise in?”

“Execution,” she said simply.

“Execution?  Getting the job done?”

She gave a slightly quizzical nod.

“I believe that will come in useful in our organisation.  While we pride ourselves on our professionalism, we do on occasion fail to deliver.”

The smile she gave him was bright.  Too bright, and Strody felt a wave of fear.

“Do you have any questions about the role?” he asked, a little shakily.

“Oh no, I know exactly the job I’m supposed to do here.”

“Well, ah, that’s great.  If you have no other questions?”

She shook her head, and stood up.

Strody stood up too, shook her hand and as she started to leave he said formulaically, “Thank you for your time.  We’ll be…”

He stopped and stared wide-eyed at the gun.

“In touch?” she asked.  

A pause, silence.

“No need, my work here is… done,”  she said.  

As she left she closed the door gently behind her.    

###

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February 22, 2024 · 13:11

Portrait

This story was partly inspired by my mother. She was an artist who refused to paint family!

I was honoured to win the Tacchi Morris “The Page is Printed 2023: Creative Writing Competition’s” Somerset Prize. They were kind enough to say: “Jason Gibbs’ entry to The Page is Printed was titled Portrait and the judges all agreed that the writer used great skill to tell a powerful story in so few words; this economy is hard to achieve. The judges were also reminded of mythological tales in terms of the tragic inevitability of the narrative.”

#

Portrait

By Jason Gibbs

“I never paint portraits of family or friends, it can cause… friction shall we say.”

I was disappointed, as she was talented.

“What about self portraits?”

“Narcissistic, no… vulnerable,” she laughed.

“Cartoons?”

She frowned at him, and waved it away, saying, “Nothing more than caricatures, or signatures, it’s not the same.”

#

I asked her again after we’d been together for a year.

“No, I love you too much.”

“But you’re so talented…”

She smiled, but said nothing.

#

“And you never paint me!” I hated that I sounded whiny, and that this was my final comeback. We’d been arguing, again, for at least an hour, and I was exhausted. I couldn’t even remember why. I mean, I knew why, but I didn’t know what had started it.

She looked at me, and gave me a bittersweet smile, and said, “Fine, I’ll paint you.”

#

“That’s me?”

“Yes,” she said. There was tenderness in her voice.

I looked at the painting. It was good, but I felt that it made me look, well ugly. The me in the painting was tired, angry looking. The wrinkles were deeper than those I saw in the mirror each morning.

“I see.”

“You understand now?”

I did, she was saying goodbye.

#

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December 10, 2020 · 16:44

And Justice for All

by Jason Gibbs

There was banging on the door.

“Jeremiah Donjean, we know you’re there…”

Except he hadn’t come home. I went to the door and it was slammed open, catching me and sending me to the floor. I landed and looked up at the armoured man as he literally walked over me. His boots hurt.

“CLEAR!” he shouted seconds later, before returning to me.

“You are?”

“I’m Thaddeus, Thaddeus Donjean…” I stammered. I was a little stunned.

“Where is Jeremiah Donjean?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t come home last night…. argh that hurts!” I squealed the last bit. The ape had picked me up and thrown me over his shoulder. Powered armour made me weigh nothing to him, but his spiky armour hurt, almost as much as the rough treatment. I’d read somewhere that they were considering adding some kind of sea urchin spine, but weren’t sure how much poison to allow…

“You have the right to remain silent…” said a pleasant woman’s voice. He’d clicked a button to let me hear the recording. He couldn’t even be bothered to say it himself.

#

The hard man stared at me.

“I don’t believe you. I think you’re trying to shelter him.”

“I promise you…”

“It’s too late.”

He stood up, and as he left he slapped his palm against the wall.

The pleasant woman’s voice said, “You are being charged with Conspiracy against the Will of the People. Your trial will be held at the convenience of the Submarine State. A lawyer will be appointed…”

#

My lawyer was a grey man in a grey suit. He’d asked me nothing. I mean, nothing at all, as we waited in the ante room. He just stared at the wall, occasionally looking up at the red light above the door marked ‘Courtroom’.

The light turned green, and the grey man got up, and walked to the door. He opened it and walked into the courtroom. I followed him, it didn’t seem that I had a choice. The room was exactly like on TV.

The grey man waved at me as I looked around. There was a mixture of irritation and fear on his face. I headed over. As I sat down another man appeared at the desk next to ours. The prosecutor. He didn’t look at me.

The Jury filed in. And, after a loud, “All stand!” from the loudspeakers, the judge entered.

He sat down without looking at me. We all sat. The judge reached forward and pressed a button.

“This court is in session. The defendant has been accused of Crimes against the State. How does he plead,” said the pleasant woman’s voice.

My lawyer leaned forward and pressed a button in front of him. I noticed he had three.

“Not guilty,” said the pleasant voice.

The judge hit another button.

“Prosecution please proceed,” that same voice said.

The prosecutor looked at the dozens of buttons in front of him and pressed one.

“The defendant was interrogated by an Agent…” said the not-so-pleasant-now voice. It didn’t mention my name. Or indeed anything else.

I was going to ask my lawyer why he only had three buttons to the prosecutor’s many, when I noticed that the members of the Jury had a button in front of them. Just one.

#

“You have been sentenced to permanent marine exile,” said that voice, scraping my nerves with her pleasantness.

#

“Last words?” said the armoured man as he was about to close the inner airlock.

“I want to…”

“Not the worst I’ve heard, but pointless,” he cut in somewhat savagely, and he slammed the door.

###

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November 16, 2020 · 17:15

Living in the Countryside

by Jason Gibbs

“Alia, I’m back,” he called.

She walked into the atrium and embraced him, “Hi Lucius, you’re back early, how was town?”

He grimaced.

“I just don’t understand those people. I had to leave early. I couldn’t even see Philip.”

“Oh, why not?”

“There’s a panic on, again.”

She frowned, and he continued.

“I got to town, and thought about getting breakfast at the bakery. As I approached a man came running out shouting that they’d run out of bread.”

He paused, and she looked at him, “And?”

“And his arms were full of bread! I carried on, but was pushed aside as people rushed past me. Before I knew it there was a scramble of people at the door. Deciding that discretion was the better part I retreated, and went to Philip’s place.”

“But he wasn’t in?”

“No, he wasn’t. I saw his secretary who said I’d just missed him. Apparently one of his friends had brought him a warning, and he’d decided he needed to get out of town as quickly as possible.”

“Gambling again?”

He laughed, and said, “I said the same to his secretary. He just looked scared, and said no, and pointed up.”

“Up where?”

“To the mountain.”

“What?”

“It took me a while to get it out of the man, who kept trying to get away to pack or something. But I held on to the scoundrel, and he told me what he knew. Apparently a messenger came from the south. They’ve had a big problem down there, and wanted to warn everyone.”

He paused… she looked at him, knowing he was enjoying the drama, and said, “Go on!”

“Apparently their mountain blew up. Fire and stones all over the city. Many dead.”

“Dreadful!”

“Yes, it does sound terrible. I tried to calm the man, but he said he needed to go. He’d heard that the council had decided on measures to protect the town. And he wanted to get out before they were enacted.”

“No!”

“I didn’t quite understand, but by this time he was frantic, so I let the poor wretch go. He ran. Then I heard some yelling, and saw some people running. Soon there was a crowd passing me… and behind them I could see smoke. Well I’ll be honest with you, I wondered if perhaps they were right… but I looked at the mountain, and well, it was the same.”

“So what was it I wonder?” she asked musingly, knowing he needed encouragement.

“I managed to grab one of the laggards, who was panting. He told me that the town council had decided to set fire to the houses in the eastern district. To save the town… but the wind had got hold of the fire and it was now sweeping through the town.”

She shook her head.

“At this point, I decided to leave, and here I am.”

They both looked up at the White Mountain and he said, “I’m glad I live in the countryside.”

###

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October 22, 2020 · 12:26

An Average House

by Jason Gibbs

“Did you know that this is exactly, I mean exactly, the average size of house in this city?”

“Mean average. Yes, I was aware of that.”

George looked askance at his customer. The man was about 175 cm tall, with mousey hair, brown eyes and a uninspiring suit. ‘Mean’ thought the estate agent, then tried again.

“Here we have the recommended set of security measures. I can assure you Mr Brown that this is a very safe neighbourhood.”

“It is within the norm for this part of the city, quite acceptable. These locks will, I’m sure, be sufficient.”

Did he detect a hint of impatience? George was wondering if perhaps he should change jobs again, maybe something less customer facing? Back to the pitch…

“Please do go in, you will see…” George continued his patter. Taking pains to point out the low energy consumption, efficient boiler and top of the range counter.

“This is not top of the range,” interrupted Mr Brown.

“What?”

“This is mid-range. No question.”

“Oh, ok. I had thought…”

The man held up his hand, “It is not an issue. I will take the place.”

“Excellent, there is one thing you should know…”

“What is that?”

“The place is only available for two years.”

Mr Brown frowned.

“I thought the median rental time in this area was 3.5 years, why is there a limit?”

“Well, it’s kind of a funny story…” George looked at the man’s face, and decided to go for the quick version.

“The owner of this place is called Mr Jones. He is an averagist, in that he wants everything in his life to be average, which is why he lived here.”

“And he’d reached 3.5 years?” interrupted Mr Brown.

“Oh no, he won the lottery.”

“But as an averagist he would not have played.”

“I see you understand, no, it was a gift. From a friend. Me in fact. I’ll be honest, he was rather angry when he won. Accused me of having destroyed his life.”

Mr Brown just looked at him. Most people expressed amazement, but no response.

“So I told him to give it away.”

Mr Brown shook his head angrily, “He couldn’t do that. That’s not the average response.”

“No, that’s what he said… are you an averagist?”

“I am not an ardent follower. And therefore I will take this place. I have all the paperwork…”

“So he’s gone on a cruise with his wife and… don’t you want to know why it’s two years?” asked George.

“No. That is obvious. The average lottery winner spends all their winnings by the second anniversary of their win.”

###

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January 6, 2020 · 17:00

The Barista

By Jason Gibbs

He remembered entering the coffee shop, but nothing before. He’d been stressed, he knew he had to do a presentation, to Peterson, and he was worried she was going to be angry. And he’d decided that a coffee, a small latte, would do the job.

The queue seemed interminable, but eventually he got to the front, and he looked at the list. The list of coffees. Of options. Of hopes. And he was stuck.

He was going to ask for a small latte, but instead the word ‘Cortado’ snagged his eye. Short. Yes, that sounded good. He asked what it was. The barista said something about less milk, and he’d said yes. He’d have one.

But he then asked about the difference with a flat white. And this was weird, because there was a queue behind him, but he didn’t care. All his English inhibitions had drained out of him.

Then his memory blanked.

And now he was behind the coffee counter. Listening to people. But really listening.

“A latte please mate”

Which means, “Give me some hope please mate, it’s a bad day already, the missus is angry, and my boss…”

“A hot cappuccino and please not too much froth, I do ask every time…”

Which means, “I can barely control my life, the bills, the demands…”

“Ah, I don’t know, just a coffee with some milk, is that the cheapest?”

Which means, “He was gone. Just gone this morning, and, I don’t know what to do, where I’m going to get the money, but, I’m free, I feel free…”

Every day he was there, listening, and doling out some small consolations. The occasional free coffee, a smile, a nod. Little gestures which he felt helped these lost people who came to him. As lost as he once was.

###

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December 18, 2018 · 17:00

Asset Stripping

It’s a wonderful time of year, and I started thinking about the pragmatics.

 

Asset Stripping

by Jason Gibbs

 

“Right, we’re all here, let’s get started, point one…” said Vix sharply.

“But the old man…” interrupted Dash.

“Will be here in fifteen minutes, I felt we needed a…”

“Pre-meeting,” supplied Dan.

“Yes, a pre-meeting.  We need to be clear, otherwise you know how he is, he’ll be talking about the old days and we’ll be buried in anecdotes,” Vix continued.

“Fair.  He always likes to tell the one about how they used to have really bad fogs in the old days, and that they struggled to get through…” added Donna.

“Exactly, now can we please concentrate, otherwise we won’t be prepared.”

They all looked at him.  There was apprehension in the room, and Vix knew he needed to get them all gee’d up.

“Now, you know it’s been tough these last few years.  More deliveries, larger deliveries, harder locations.”

They all nodded agreement.

“It’s getting to the point where we risk failure.  And you know who’s going to get the blame…”

Dash started to say, “Who…”

“Us of course.  We do the hard work, but we’re not fast enough, or carry enough, or don’t stop in the right place.  The old man, he’s fine, it’s never his fault.  It’s all on us.”

“What are you proposing?” asked Blix.

“We pivot.  We use outsourcing for the manufacturing and logistics, and we concentrate on the marketing.”

They all looked impressed at the words he was using, and then Rudie, who’d been notably quiet, said, “Vix, what does that mean?”

Vix took a deep breath, and started to explain, “Look, everyone around this stable knows that our customers have been… supplementing… deliveries for years.  We’ve tried to keep up, but it just isn’t working.  So, what we do is licence out our image, and the customers can pay for the actual products.”

They all looked at him quizzically.  The man from the retail consortium had made it sound so easy.  It was time to be blunt.

“We get the parents to buy all of the presents, and we just appear on posters and movies.”

They all looked shocked.

“What about the elves…” asked Dash.

“We pension them off.  Their roles are moving to China.”

There was a pause, they looked at each other.  Then there was some nodding, their shock seemed to be wearing off.  And there had always been some bitterness that the elves got to stay in the warm and dry and weren’t flogging their guts out flying all over the world.

“So we get to be… movie stars?” asked Cupid.

Vix knew he had them.

“Yes, and TV, and on posters.”

They all nodded again, Rudie’s antlers scraped the side of his box.

“How is it going to work?  Do we just send letters with each delivery this year?” mused Dash.

“I’ve been speaking with some people who work for the various companies which have supplemented our products, and they have some ideas.”

“The toy companies?” Rudie was shocked.  They all knew what the old man thought of them.

“And the shops, and the delivery companies.  They have an offer.  They want to buy everything out, and they’ll manage the outsourcing of the manufacturing, selection and delivery processes.  We can concentrate on the marketing, and looking good.”

It all seemed to make sense to the reindeer.  And they’d all secretly been dreading this year.

“So what do they call that then?” asked Comet.

“I know,” said Santa, standing in the stable’s doorway, and not looking very jolly, “it’s called Asset Stripping.”

###

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July 23, 2018 · 17:00

Brain Ports

by Jason Gibbs

“There is no such thing as a soul!”

“Well, that was emphatic.  Can we at least ask…”

“No, that was the last question I am willing to take.”

With that, the minister stormed off the stage, leaving the press shaking their heads and laughing.  It was a game they liked to play with the new appointees, and normally they didn’t get such a good response.

#

“Minister Roberts…”

“I know Simkins, I should have held it together, but those press people, they’re like rabid…”

“Don’t worry minister, here is your coffee.  Also, Mrs Youre is on the line.”

“The Prime Minister?”

“Yes, minister.  Here she is…”

With that Simkins switched the mirror over and Roberts was face to face with his boss.

“Roberts.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Ah, Prime Minister, um, I, I’m sorry, I should have been prepared…”

She laughed, and then smiled at him.  He realised she was having as much fun as the press people.

“Don’t worry Roberts, that was actually perfect.  Your last two predecessors were too cool, I think the press were starting to wonder.  Your, let’s call it a performance, yes, your performance was brilliant.  They’ll be chuckling to themselves for months.  And not bothering about the other stories,” she stared at him.

“Yes, Prime Mini…”

“Your job Roberts, is to keep them off the scent for as long as possible.  We know this is going to get out, but we’ve managed to keep a lid on it for three years, and we’d like a little more time.  My people tell me they think they only need a couple more months, but they said much the same last year.  You hold on.  Do whatever is necessary.”

“Yes, Pri…”

She cut off.  Roberts was tempted to swear but held himself back.  She might reappear, and his day had been getting worse since she’d called for him that morning.

#

As he was driven back to the ministry he stared into the middle distance, remembering the brief feeling of joy when he’d received the call.  He was finally getting noticed.  He assumed it would be a junior position, but, the only way was up.

Instead she’d sat him down and told him straight, “Roberts.  You are cannon fodder.  The likelihood is you’ll do this and be consigned to the back benches for the next decade.  But your country needs you, I need you, are you willing to do it?”

There was obviously no answer to that.  He’d nodded, trying to look serious and ministerial.

“You are going to be our new Minister for Galactic Transport.  The fourth in 18 months so my aides tell me.  The last three are… well the wilderness would probably be preferable.  They slipped up.  You must not.”

He just stared at her.  The job was a poisoned chalice, and yet nobody knew why.  Ministers just didn’t last.  Maybe it was the souls thing?

“Now, I only have five minutes, so I’m going to give you the fast brief.  Your team in the ministry will give you background, but this is so important you need to hear it from me.  Firstly, the official line is that there is no such thing as a soul, and YOU WILL STICK TO IT.  DO you understand?”

There was a sharpness to her smile.  He nodded understanding.

“We have had some issues with the replication technology with teleports, this is true, but we believe that it is the central computer.  There’s a bug, a switch set to one, nothing more.  And you will not entertain any notion otherwise.  Got it?”

“Yes, Prime Mini…”

She’d stood up, and ushered him out, newly minted, a proper minister, and yet, a sword hanging over his head.  The previous minister had lasted 17 weeks, so at least he had a target.

#

“Right, so, Simkins, can you explain to me what the difference between the official line, and the unofficial line actually is, so that I might avoid abject humiliation next time I’m up in front of the press?”

“I’m afraid not Minister.”

“What?”

“There is no difference.”

Butter wouldn’t melt.

Roberts took a deep breath.  “Fine, tell me what the issue is, and why people keep mentioning souls.”

Simkins eyed him, but then clearly decided to take pity on him.

“Well Minister, do you know how the transportation works?”

“Yes, yes, brain ports, we get one put in, it maps the brain, a plug sucks the map out, spits it across the communicator and then we’re printed by a giant 3d meat printer at our destination.”

Simpkins nodded, though Roberts thought he detected a slight grimace.

“Quite so minister.  Though we tend not to use such… colourful language.  We’ve been doing this for some years, more than a decade of commercial licence in fact.  In the beginning we had strict rules, only one copy of a person at a time.  Obviously when the original person was, um, transported, they ceased to exist in their first location…”

“Why?” Roberts asked, he’d always wondered.

“We believe it’s the mapping process.  Nonetheless, from a legal perspective it makes it easy, one legal person, transports to another location, no duplicates, no… dare I say it, clones.”

They both shuddered.  Not worth thinking about that.

“Right, so what about the souls.”

“Minister please let me explain,” said Simkins sounding a little pained.

“Yes, sorry Simkins, go ahead.”

“And then two years ago there was the De Freito case, and suddenly the floodgates opened.”

Roberts looked blank.  “Um, if you could just remind me?”

“De Freito claimed that his human rights were being violated, because of the restrictions he was unable to be at home with his family and travelling at the same time.”

“Ah yes, I seem to recall something…” said Roberts, though he really couldn’t.

“So, they tried to send him to his destination, and a copy back round, and it failed.  He threatened to sue, it got a little ugly, and then… there was a small mistake and he ended up at a terminal station, which is at least a decade away from being able to send him back.”

“A mistake?”

“Yes, minister.”

More butter.

“Souls?”

“Of course, minister.  The tests didn’t stop there, they just found some more amenable subjects.  But what they found was that no matter what they did, there could only ever be one copy of a person in the galaxy.  The data would duplicate, triplicate or whatever, but whichever copy arrived first would be the person, even if the time difference was almost nothing.  The other copies would just… fail.”

“Ah, this is that glitch the Prime Minister mentioned, something to do with a switch.”

“That is the official line, Minister.  They are concerned about the fallout if people start thinking they have souls again.  Can you imagine?”

The wars of religion had been brutal, and religiosity was frowned upon in these enlightened times.

“What do they think it is?”

“Well, they have performed many experiments, even putting two ports into one candidate.  Nothing worked, no matter what they do, only one copy of a person can ever exist.”

“Do they know why?”

“Yes, they’re fairly certain now.  Empirically, there is a single point, a sort of essence of a person, which cannot be duplicated.”

Roberts nodded wisely.

“Ah, excellent, and what are they proposing to call this?”

Simkins looked at him with an expression approaching pity.

“A soul, minister.”

###

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June 8, 2018 · 07:44

Blood Doctor

It is World Haemochromatosis Week this week, and after my fortnightly venesection (phlebotomy), I decided to write a story about blood, and here it is.

#

Blood Doctor

by Jason Gibbs

Vanessa walked slowly along the street. It was late, she’d been drinking, but she felt she was walking on air. He’d said he loved her!

She’d been having dinner and a drink with her friend Louise. It had been the first time they’d been out for a while, she had been feeling so tired recently, but Louise had dragged her out. They’d been laughing about Louise’s latest dating disasters when Vanessa’s phone went, it was Peter. She’d apologised to Louise and then gone outside to talk to him. It had been such a short call, or a long one, but he’d said he loved her! He’d just woken up, he was on a business trip, and he’d just had to tell her.

She’d floated back into the restaurant, told Louise, who’d squealed with delight, and then ordered a bottle of champagne.

Oh Peter, he was so amazing…

Wait? What was that? She looked round, there’d been a noise. Where was she? Oh no, she’d missed her turn. And the noise had come from behind her, she’d have to head back towards it.

This looked like a bad neighbourhood, which to Vanessa meant there was some rubbish on the ground and a small number of weeds. There it was again. The sound of a step? Was someone following her…

Suddenly a shape loomed out in front of her, it was huge and scary and… she passed out.

#

“Miss? Miss? Are you alright?”

The young doctor, quite handsome she thought, was staring at her concerned. Where was she… an ambulance?

“I’m fine… where am I?”

“You’re in an ambulance, and we’re about to take you to hospital, don’t worry.”

“What happened?”

“Ah…”

“Please tell me.”

“You were being, um, followed by a vampire, and then you fainted.”

“And you saved me?”

“In a manner of sorts. I’ll explain more at the hospital.”

#

“Is she alright?”

The voice was deep, and resonant, and sounded a little irritated. The answer was from the young doctor.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten her, but she must have heard you, it put her on edge.”

“Apologies sir, but… we’re not all quite as, silent, as you are,” replied the young doctor, though he didn’t sound particularly apologetic.

“Hrumph.”

“Shall I explain the situation to her, and then you can…”

“Yes, please. I need to tidy something up, I will be back a bit later.”

There were steps, heavy ones heading away, lighter ones approaching.

“Miss?”

She realised he was asking her name.

“Vaness..ack.”

Her throat was dry, he handed her some water.

She nodded her thanks, and drank deeply, then said, “Vanessa.”

“Vanessa, nice to meet your properly. I expect you’re wondering what is going on?”

“Yes. You said something about… a vampire?”

“Yes, does that bother you?”

“No, I understand that they’re among us, though I haven’t met one. But I thought they didn’t stalk people any more?”

“They don’t, not normally. No, sorry, I didn’t mean that. The doctor was using the same techniques, but not with the same intention.”

“He doesn’t want to drain my blood?” She smiled, a trace of her usual humour. Then she saw his face.

“He does?” Almost a screech.

“Um, I’m not explaining this properly. Look, have you heard of haemochromatosis?”

“Hema what?”

“It’s a genetic condition where your body absorbs too much iron. It’s more common than you might think.”

“OK, and what does that have to do with me?”

“We think you might have it. The doctor smelt the iron in your blood. We’re testing his ability to detect high levels of iron, as it might help us catch more people before the disorder starts to hurt them.”

“Is it bad?”

“Well, it can be very bad as it damages your organs, particularly your liver. One of the most common symptoms is fatigue.”

“Oh. I have been feeling tired recently.”

He nodded. “Don’t worry, it’s actually easy to treat. It just requires regular venesection.”

“Vene-what?”

“Blood giving.”

“Your proposed treatment is a course of leeches?” She laughed.

He nodded, and said, “That has been done, though we’re trialling a new treatment.”

“What is the new treatment?”

As she said that, a large, pale man entered the room. He smiled, and she saw his large and growing incisors. Her eyes grew large.

The man looked at her and said, “Me.”

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April 12, 2018 · 16:10

Star Donkey

By Jason Gibbs

Kael’s head slammed into the back of his helmet.  The stars spun.  Darkness tried to claim him.  Suddenly he was bathed in light, his little ship had twisted to face the sun, but was still spinning making the sun shift in odd ways.  A headache was building behind his eyes.

“Alpha one, do you read me?  Dammit Jole, what is going on?”

The last thing he remembered was approaching the object.  It was a giant cylinder, pointed towards the sun.  It was the first alien artefact humanity had seen, and all the expectations of seamless joins and matt black smart coatings had been dashed.  It looked like nothing so much as a piece of junk, cobbled together by a crazed inventor.  He’d prepared a speech to rival Armstrong’s, but as he neared the thing the words stuck in his mouth.  Then something invisible reached out and thrust his little craft violently away.  He tried to clear his head.

“Alpha one, please respond.  Where are you?”

“Alpha one here.  Please report Falcon.  Are you alright?”

Relief flooded through him, but, damn, it hurt to speak.

“I’m fine, I hurt a bit, but… no I’m OK.  I don’t know what happened, did you see anything?”

“We saw you approach, and then it was like you were slapped away.  Nothing visible.  A forcefield?  It didn’t affect any of the telemetry.  We saw that ugly pile of junk.  I wonder what it is…”

“It’s an automated magnetic flux extraction and vessel reabsorption station.”

“Um, was that you Falcon?”

“No…”

“I am PK.  I run this facility.  I do hope our automated defence system caused you no permanent damage, but I must ask that you do not approach within ten thousand kilometres of our station.  For your own safety.”

It was an alien, a proper real, non-Earth based sentient.  Eloquence was sadly lost, and the best he could manage was: “What?  Where are you from?  What do you want from us?”

All of Kael’s training was failing him.  The xenologists back on Earth had given him so many ways of approaching this, it was First Contact after all.  But none of them had anticipated this, whatever it was.

“My planet’s name would mean nothing to you, and you only have a random set of characters naming my star.  We need nothing from you.  This facility will run for ten thousand years.  It’s only a short-term extraction, but with reuse we’ve got the cost of these facilities down to something reasonable now, so it’s net positive on the pay back to roll them out aggressively, even for stars like yours which will play out so quickly.”

“Alpha One are you copying this?”

Kael’s brain had overloaded.  He had so many questions, he just didn’t know which one to ask, so he’d resorted to protocol: always make sure you have witnesses to back up your story.

“We copy you Falcon.  We continue to acknowledge your lead.”

Well that was very kind of them, now wasn’t it?

“Um PK, can I ask how you can speak our language and know our units, kilometres and years?”

“Exploration did a brief survey of your planet when we agreed to deploy the project here.  I had to update the pack which is why I couldn’t contact you immediately after you were repulsed.”

Suddenly something the alien said jumped to the fore of his mind.

“Wait, what do you mean the star will be played out?”

“The extraction engine will have consumed so much of the magnetic energies that the star will collapse.  There might be a mini-nova, but probably not a lot.”

“In ten thousand years?”

“At most.  Based on the magnetic fluctuations we’re seeing within the extraction process it might be only two thousand, which I can tell you is going to wreck the budget and I wouldn’t be surprised if heads don’t roll.  Still not my problem, I’m off to the next installation shortly.”

“You’re telling me that this machine is going to destroy the Sun in possibly two thousand years.”

“I can see why Cultural Assessment decided not to invest any effort in your civilisation.  Yes.  Star, gone, two thousand years.  Look, I’m really busy, and I have to leave shortly.  Wait, I know, sorry about this, I should have played this to you first.  Bye.”

Some music played.  Kael tried shouting, but the music was drowning him out, and he doubted Alpha One could hear him.  The music faded and was replaced with a melodic, androgynous voice speaking, a message which was repeated endlessly, and over which Kael was unable to make himself heard.

“This is the [garbled] Mining and Extraction Corporation.  Congratulations, your system has been chosen for an extraction pump.  It will mine energy from your star and provide it to the interstellar community and help improve the lives of trillions of sentients across the galaxy.  We determined your civilisation was in a low-value category, and therefore ineligible for either payment or consultation, if there has been an error in grading, please raise it with the local civilisation assessment office.  In the meantime, you may notice some secondary effects in your star, ultimately culminating in its collapse, and we apologise for any inconvenience caused.”

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