Escape Pod 187: Summer in Paris, Light from the Sky


Summer in Paris, Light from the Sky

By Ken Scholes

Adolf Hitler came to Paris in June 1941 feeling the weight of his years in his legs and the taste of a dying dream in his mouth. He spent most of that first day walking up and down the Champs Elysées, working the stiffness out of his bones and muscles while he looked at the shops and the people. Some of the dull ache was from the wooden benches on the train from Hamburg; most of it was age. And beneath the discomfort of his body, his soul ached too.

He’d never been here before, he thought as the Parisians slipped past in the noon-time sun. He snorted at the revelation. A fine painter you are, he told himself.

Escape Pod 186: Chrysalis

Show Notes

Sponsored by CONTAGIOUS, by Scott Sigler.


Chrysalis

By Mary Robinette Kowal

People ask me if I ever get involved with the subjects of my documentaries. I have a difficult time imagining that they would ask my male colleagues the same question, but they seem to expect women to be more emotional. In response, I tend to grit my teeth and answer very patiently with another question. How could I do my job if I were part of the story? Only by maintaining a sacred distance could I have any hope of understanding someone’s life. A documentarian records, but does not participate.

Escape Pod 185: Union Dues: All About the Sponsors

Show Notes

Sponsored by CONTAGIOUS, by Scott Sigler.


Union Dues: All About the Sponsors

By Jeffrey R. DeRego

I suck in my chest and tighten the buckles before getting lightheaded. I don’t have to wear the costume anymore, but it seems disrespectful to leave it in the closet for this one last mission. I get the boots on and struggle with the leather straps and silver buckles until my fingers feel like they’re ready to fall off. I surrender and creak back up to standing position. “Ok screw the boot buckles, Jim,” I whisper. “This is it.”

I glance at the open briefcase laid across the corner of my desk but I’ve got everything I need. I pick up the silver frame with the little black and white photo of me, Frida, Alex, Paul, and Steve in our original Liberty League getup. Frida Freedom called me four hours ago. Her voice broke when she said the words, “Alex is dead.” I drop the frame into the case atop a weathered manila folder then close the whole thing up before hobbling out towards the waiting jet.

Escape Pod Flash: Standards

Show Notes

Rated G. Contains proven impossibilities.

Statement from Rachel Swirsky:
Richard K. Lyon died on November 21. When I contacted him last month to ask if he still wanted this piece to run on our podcast, he said that the doctors didn’t give him long, but that he hoped this would give the world “one last laugh.”

Escape Artists dedicates this production to his memory. We wish the best to him, and to his family.


Standards

By Richard K. Lyon

After careful examination of your manuscript no 113785, Corbamite, An Insulator Against Gravity, the editors of Review of Physics have concluded that it is not suitable for publication in this journal. This decision is final and further correspondence on this subject will serve no useful purpose.

Since the above may seem somewhat harsh, let me say what I can to mitigate it. The editors do appreciate that you are working under difficult circumstances: when the senior author of a paper is deceased, it is always hard for the junior author to complete the work in an appropriate manner. Also let us assure you that we do believe you. You have told us that with his dying breath Professor Steinhardt handed you his notebook and said, “Have this published in Review of Physics.” Such an action would be completely in character for Steinhardt since he was a true scientist.

As for your claim that Professor Steinhardt made this statement as he was expiring from disintegrator rays wounds suffered during your escape from the City of Disembodied Brains on Altair IV, our believing that is a somewhat different matter but we need to go into that.

Escape Pod 184: As Dry Leaves That Before the Wild Hurricane Fly

Show Notes

Rated G. Contains Santa revisionism and aerial combat.

Special Closing Music: “Chiron Beta Prime,” by Jonathan Coulton.


As Dry Leaves That Before the Wild Hurricane Fly

By Mur Lafferty

Comet and Cupid were fifteen, and took after their father, both spending the most time in the workshop tinkering with Father’s tools. Christmas was coming soon and they were preparing their yearly trip to the same orphanage that had cared for them. With nine children to raise on his own, Claus could no longer adopt, but he still found it very important to care for the children in any way he could. So he took a load of toys to the children every year, with his children helping him distribute.

Their siblings sat around their great sitting room, some crowding on sofas, some sitting on chair cushions or arms, and Rudolph, the baby at eleven, sat at his father’s feet. He was an imposing man with a barrel chest and wild white hair and beard. When he would get excited about a project, his blue eyes would twinkle and he’d look like a madman.

Escape Pod Flash Fiction Contest, Honorable Mention: Silence


by Rachel Swirsky.
Read by Ann Leckie.  

Whatever the midwife told you, it’s not true.

I cannot walk through walls. I cannot conjure a chicken and make it dance or start a fire with my fingers. I cannot shape familiars from fog or examine entrails to see if a man will die. I cannot resurrect your son.

Rated PG.

Escape Pod Flash Fiction Contest, Honorable Mention: Hello, I Love You


By Katherine Sparrow.
Read by Rachel Swirsky.
All stories by Katherine Sparrow
All stories read by Rachel Swirsky

“Junk DNA? I’ll junk your DNA!” Sofia glared at Zorg.

“Apologies. It is only, don’t you find it interesting? Most of it is unused–“

“Junk? You supercilious aliens come to Earth to rein snottiness on us lowly humans? How sublime. I suppose your DNA is full of Porsches?”

Rated PG.

Escape Pod Flash Fiction Contest, Honorable Mention: The Way Before


By Anna Schwind
Read by Ann Leckie

When Chasca turned eleven, her father took her to a ship farm, to choose her vessel.  She stood on the observation deck, evaluating the herd.  Chasca selected the farthest ship.  It faced away from the others and bumped the edges of the corral.  She understood. 

Rated  G.

Escape Pod Flash Fiction Contest, Honorable Mention: From Liquid to Glass


By J. R. Blackwell.
Read by Rachel Swirsky (of PodCastle).

He smelled like new cars and cologne, he moved with a measured rhythm. His mouth tasted like mint toothpaste. She looked over his shoulder through the white light of the window. She was sweating into her sheets, her breath silent, and her lips thin and tight.

Rated R. Contains sex and melancholia.