“A weird wave of electricity surged through my fingers where they touched him. I snatched my hand back, staring at the digits. The charged feeling dissipated within me, but increased in the air around us, swirling and darkening. I tentatively touched his arm again, and the energy shot into me once more. It was like focused euphoria.”
“Hey,” I said. “Don’t I get a backpack?”
“No, boss,” said Snix. “You get something better. You’re the commander of this operation, so you, uh …” He looked around and then picked up something from under the driver’s seat of the Camaro. “You get this special Inter-Modal Communications Module. With it, you can monitor and direct our incursion.”
He handed me what looked like an espresso cup.
“This looks like an espresso cup,” I said.
“It’s designed to look like that,” said Snix. “Camouflage, boss. It’s all about camouflage. Okay, men. Are you ready?” (Christopher Bunn)
Hilarious and irreverent short-story about Santa and the elves.
Sharon looked at him as thought he’s just suggested she take up pole dancing. “You think the five of us, here in an unmarked office, with no reason to be here except a mysterious phone message, and a dead body just happens to be in the other office, aren’t going to become the immediate persons of interest to the cops, no matter how he died? You think they’re going to believe how we all ended up here on the basis of some strange phone message from god knows who, for an unspecified interview for an unnamed, unknown company none of us sent a résume to? I don’t know about you, but I don’t need that shit in my life.” (p. 61)
If you really come down to any large story that interests people, or holds their attention for a considerable time, the stories are practically always are human stories, and the stories are practically always about one thing aren’t they: Death and the inevitability of death. (J.R.R. Tolkien)
Identifying a ruling class and state posed no such problem. The upper and usually senior ranks of the various corporate bodies, patricians and patriarchs or the merchant houses, administrators of cooperatives, guildmasters and latifundists, heads of religious orders and philosophical schools, retired courtesans, professors emeritus, and so on and so forth, formed what was blatantly called the Electorate, who just as blatantly elected the Senate and staffed its administration, and that was that. Volkov had no scruples about elites – having been part of one – and was surprised to find himself shocked by the sheer effrontery of the Republic’s lack of the forms of democracy. All his experience had been with people who insisted on at least the illusion of popular rule, and it was disquieting to encounter a people who seemed satisfied with the substance of self-government in everyday life while letting his politics and statecraft go on over their heads – as it almost always and everywhere did, of course. (Ken MacLeod)
So on a sunny summer afternoon, it was not unusual to see a priest walking up and down on the edge of a field for an hour or so, his hands waving, his mouth working, extolling the tenets of Catholicism to children who were hidden from sight. (Gifford MacShane)
“You chose Moreus over me,” she said. “Over all of us. You know what, the more I think about it, the easier it is to understand. That’s not so hard to forgive, after all.”
“It isn’t?” Gauce said, surprised.
“No, it isn’t. I mean, I’d choose Moreus over you any time.”
“You knew my brother?” Gauce asked, his shoulders slumping.
“Oh, no. Never met him.”
Location 6191 of 9046