25
Jun

Swamped!

by melanofly (メラノ飛) (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/216010.html)

25
Jun

Bodies in Space

Isaac didn’t make mistakes. He was a very thorough and hard worker, and had been praised for that by his supervisor on so many occasions that he’d lost count, and something had to happen very many times before Isaac lost count of it.

He’d made a mistake today, though, and the part of the computer that checked his work for mistakes told him of his error with a box with a message in it saying that he needed to check again. After that he took his break (the one he was supposed to take twice every day, even though he usually didn’t and just said that he had) and went to stand in the bathroom with the light off and the rattling old duct fan on for exactly ten minutes. When he had counted six hundred seconds, he turned on the light again and took two pieces of paper out of his wallet.

One was a picture of Saturn, its rings, and two of its moons; that picture had arrived on earth on November 3, 1980, exactly six years, four months, and three days before Isaac was born, though it had been taken by the Voyager 1 spacecraft before that, because light took time to travel no matter where in the universe you were (at least on the scale at which humans and spacecraft operated).

The other was a list of things from Dr. Mazzy that were okay, and the third thing on the list was ‘making mistakes’. He read the whole list over four times, focusing on those two words in particular. He didn’t forget things; sometimes he just didn’t remember to remember them.

He decided it was okay to make a mistake when he was excited, and he was excited. On Friday, Rick would be back. That made thinking about anything else difficult.

25
Jun

Through the hostile jungles of Gaia

Xander glared at his backpack as the shirt he had been trying to stuff in one-handed caught on the zipper and unfolded itself. Again. With an annoyed humpf, Xander gave up on any semblance of neatness and just shoved the damn thing in the bag. He stared at the rest of the items laid out on his bed and, after a moment of consideration, did the same with the rest of them.

25
Jun

I survived a deadly camping trip with an Australian park ranger

In Simon Carroway’s view, there were three things that were particularly wrong with his current situation.

First, he was stuck up a gumtree and there was a protuberant piece of branch sticking into his arse; second, there were five dingoes sitting under the tree, muzzles upturned as if they expected him to just drop into their waiting jaws; and third, he had no mobile phone reception.

“Hungry, are you?” he called down at them. “Well, I’ve got news for you. Fuck the lot of you; I can sit up here all day.”

One of the dingoes stuck its tongue out of the side of its mouth and panted.

25
Jun

Tastes Like True Grit

“Illian Nikado?”

“Illian Nikado.”

The name swept over town. It was spoken with varying degrees of contempt, praise and curiosity; tossed lightly from one person to another, appearing at the start of a scornful growl only to disappear again at the tail-end of a besotted sigh.

Despite all of these different entangled opinions, however, one might very well be able to find a common thread underlying it all given a close enough look.

Closer.

Closer.

There.

25
Jun

On Earth My Nina

Jonathan Crowe @birdsinmybeard
Yesterday was not the first time I told someone I was an ornithologist and they thought I meant orthodontist, but I can pray it is the last.

Pen Hamilton @pen_ham
@birdsinmybeard It’s ’cause you got such beautiful chompers!

Pen Hamilton @pen_ham
I’m thinking: braces for birds — “Your smile will be im-pecker-ble!”

Jonathan Crowe @birdsinmybeard
@pen_ham I’m confiscating your phone.

Pen Hamilton @pen_ham
@birdsinmybeard Come and get it, chickadee.

25
Jun

Deadly Scorpions Ate My Shirt!

Jimmy Olsen slapped his tattered passport on the table and pointed to the first page. It’s a long shot, he thought, but it might just work.

“Do you know what this says?” he asked.

Seid Suhail shook his head. Smoke eddied around his furrowed brow and collected in a thick layer beneath the trading post’s low ceiling. He bent over to examine the dog-eared page with a sceptical expression.

“It says that Her Britannic Majesty’s Secretary of State requests and requires in the name of Her Majesty all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance, and to afford the bearer such assistance and protection as may be necessary.” He smiled and pushed the passport towards Seid Suhail. It was lucky for him that the Arab trader had no way of knowing that Olsen was in the Sahara without the embassy’s knowledge or consent. “Assistance, Seid Suhail, and protection. Keid is still a British province. That means you have to help.”

25
Jun

Professor Worthington and the Search for the One-Eyed Trouser Snake

I was balls-deep in secondhand embarrassment from the start of the safari.

Let’s be clear, this was not my usual sort of client. As the only Good Ol’ Boy offering tours on Nakkavara Island (it’s this little uninhabited place a fuckton of miles away from any coast, don’t bother), I tend to attract a certain personality type. Like the rich asshole who wants to shoot something with horns. Or the trust fund asshole who wants to shoot something with claws. Or (my personal favorite) the rich asshole who brings his kids along so they can watch daddy be a man while he, yes, shoots something. I don’t know, something about having the only Texan accent for 200 miles tends to draw them to me.

But anyway, this character wasn’t one of those assholes. He was an entirely different type of asshole. No, not an asshole. Douchebag? Dumbass? Something like a cross between a ‘tool’ and a ‘twit,’ with a major emphasis on ‘dork.’ Fuckwit? Fuckwit.