Escape Pod 97: Cinderella Suicide

Show Notes

Rated PG. Contains violence, unsavory characters, and opaque slang.

Referenced Links:
Scott Sigler
Podiobooks.com

(Technical Note: There was an encoding error in the original that resulted in a few skipped seconds at 15:00. I’ve corrected it. If this bothered you, please download the file again. If you just want to know what you missed: Suicide asks “Split?” and Tintype replies “Each.” Sorry for the inconvenience, and thanks to Thaurismunths for pointing out the problem.)


Cinderella Suicide

by Samantha Henderson

List, then. 1788, New Holland becomes New South Wales, and dear England starts to send her slithies there, her dribs and drabs and pick-pocks and whores and cutthroats, to drain the cesspool Britannia’s become. And then we pin the gravitational constant, and solve Pringle’s Mysterious Logarithm, and then just when we’re ready for it there’s an explosion of a different sort (I’m a proud product of my state school, whoreboy though I became). From the skies over Van Diemen’s Land streaks a merry flaming angel arcing down to earth and boom! Kills most of the slithies, and their Bulls, and the Murri and the Nunga in their Dreamtime too, far as any know. Sky goes red from Yangtze to Orkney. A few Nunga are left, fishing the Outer Isles. And more slithies come soon, for England’s still all-of-cess, and we’d just as soon have them die.

But! Scattered all about, like Father Christmas tossing pennies, rare earth, yttrium and scandium in luscious ashy chunks. And soon there are Magnetic Clocks, and Automatons, and Air-Cars, and good Queen Vickie trulls about in a Magnetic Carriage like everybody else. But still there is cess, and ever will be, pretend as they might at home, so still the slithies are transported.

And a good thing for Merrie Olde too, because nowhere is there as much rare earth as Australia, being that’s where the Great Boom happened, and nothing so useful for gathering ore and jellies as a big jolly family of convicts. Work for the Squatters when you’re Docked; work for them after you serve your time and are pensioned, but on your own terms. Or whore-about. Or prentice to the tech gnomes. Or mine gold, which never goes out of style. Or wander the Nullarbor, looking for the Source, and die. Or fish with the Nunga, if they’d have you, which they won’t. Stick with your duet/triune mates, if you would live out the year.

Always something to do.

But don’t fly, not much, because the variable-mag will crash you deep, and don’t depend on Carriages to work all the time. Beware your metal, for it can betray you.

Escape Pod 96: Job Qualifications

Show Notes

Rated PG. Contains moderate violence, suffering, and politics.


Job Qualifications

by Kevin J. Anderson

“And do I agree with everything they say?”

“The statements are very much in line with your platform, sir.” Rana formed a paternal smile. “You are, however, welcome to read any of them you like — in fact, I encourage it. The experience would be valuable for you.”

Candidate Berthold gave a dismissive wave. “That won’t be necessary. I’m already tired of the incessant paperwork, and I haven’t even been elected yet.” He laboriously began to sign each one. “I’ll have plenty of time to learn after I get into office.”

Escape Pod 95: Blink. Don’t Blink.

Show Notes

Rated PG. Contains violent crime and unusual punishment.

Referenced Sites:
Stranger Things


Blink. Don’t Blink.

by Ramona Louise Wheeler

“Blink. Don’t blink. Don’t blink. Blink.” The human voice was familiar this time, expected. New orders did not come from computer voices. “This one will have to happen in a hurry, while we’re airlifting you to the crash site. It will be rougher than the first.”

It was. William listened to the hard drone of the aircraft engines in flight. He let that sound become the direction he followed while the pain made him into another shape so swiftly that even he did not know what he was becoming. His nanites had been commanded to emergency pitch. William was certain he could feel them racing through his cells.

Interviews with Steve


I’m usually not much for self-promotion (to a fault, I’ve been told) but if anyone here really wants to hear more about how the sausage is made, I did a couple of interviews recently that were released this week:

  • Rusty Tanton of the Georgia Podcast Network spoke with me for about ten minutes about Escape Pod at the SoCon 2007 unconference last week:
    Listen here.
  • Bazooka Joe of the Small World Podcast did a much longer and more detailed interview that covered Escape Pod in depth and some of my other opinions on science fiction as a whole:
    Listen here.

Escape Pod 94: The Last Wave

Show Notes

Rated G. Contains aquatic monsters with a penchant for memorabilia. That’s about as scary as it gets.


The Last Wave

by Kay Kenyon

From what I gather, there are two competing theories about me. The ones who come with binoculars and cameras believe in the monster theory. I consider myself as siding with this group. The scientists, on the other hand, with their annoying echolocation devices, hold that I’m a prehistoric Earth creature, the last of my kind, cut off from my fellows. Sentimental drivel, of course. Drifting along under their hulls at night, I eavesdrop. They think I’m some kind of fish. But if they ever caught me, the DNA analysis would give them a bit of a jolt.

Escape Pod 93: {Now + n, Now – n}

Show Notes

Rated R. Contains sex, nudity, and explicit finance.


{Now + n, Now – n}

by Robert Silverberg

All had been so simple, so elegant, so profitable for ourselves. And then we met the lovely Selene and nearly were undone. She came into our lives during our regular transmission hour on Wednesday, October 7, 1987, between six and seven P.M. Central European Time. The moneymaking hour. I was in satisfactory contact with myself and also with myself. (Now — n was due on the line first, and then I would hear from (now + n).

Escape Pod 92: The Boy Who Yelled “Dragon!”

Show Notes

Rated G. It’s a children’s story. Not recommended for cynical audiences.

Today’s Sponsor:


The Boy Who Yelled “Dragon!”

by Mike Resnick

Now, this Land was the home of exceptionally brave warriors and beautiful damsels (and occasionally they were the same person, since beautiful damsels were pretty assertive back then). Each young boy and girl was taught all the arts of warfare, and were soon adept with sword, mace, lance, bow and arrow, dagger, and the off-putting snide remark. They were schooled in horsemanship, camouflage, and military strategy. They learned eye-gouging, ear-biting, kidney-punching, and — since they were destined to become knights and ladies — gentility.

So successful was their training that before long enemy armies were afraid to attack them. Within the borders of the Land justice was so swift that there was not a single criminal left. It
would have been a very peaceful and idyllic kingdom indeed — except for the dragons.

Escape Pod 91: The Acid Test

Show Notes

Rated PG. Contains some sexual innuendo, relationship issues, and unpleasant cheese odors.

Referenced Sites:
Aliens You Will Meet
EP Flash Fiction Contest


The Acid Test

by Kay Kenyon

“It’s my husband. He’ll go. He wants to go.”

The alien looked down the hall as though he’d rather be home nursing a beer than dealing with a disgruntled housewife at 4:00 p.m. on a Friday afternoon.

“Please.” She tried not to sound desperate. “He’s young and healthy. College degree, business administration.” She thought that last might not help. “With a math minor.”

Genres:

Escape Pod 90: How Lonesome a Life Without Nerve Gas

Show Notes

Rated PG. Contains battle scenes, Imperial propaganda, overenthusiastic chemistry, and bad poetry.

Referenced Sites:
Befuddled by Cormorants by Frank Key
EP Flash Fiction Contest


How Lonesome a Life Without Nerve Gas

by James Trimarco

After the first week of practice, I knew how to anticipate Mickey’s every move. I knew how to sense weariness in the jogging of his spine and would inject increased levels of oxygen into his airflow when I did. I knew that his heartbeat grew irregular when the platoon crossed a rope bridge high over the practice-room floor, and for that exercise I would work a calming agent into his stream. I liked to chant patriotic slogans in his ear as we practiced. “Oh the children of empire are marching,” I sang, “to crush the rebel threat.”

Although my programmers intended these songs to stimulate high levels of patriotism, Mickey didn’t like them. Perhaps that’s when the first droplets of doubt moistened the soil where the pendulous flowers of my confusion would one day bud. . . .

I’m sorry, your honor, if my poetry offends you. That’s when I first questioned his loyalty, I should have said.