Read Asimov's Science Fiction - June 2014 for Free Online Page B
Authors: Penny Publications
carefully inspecting it.
"All the siggies are here," he said. John-john came over to look while Rob-o spun on his heels one last time, muttering "so sweet" in apparent ecstasy.
"My dad was a Burger King magician," Matilda said. "Kids' parties and stuff, on the little stage in the non-smoking section. He did a trick like this—but with an orange that turns out to have a dove inside. Or to seem that way. But the same thing, where the birthday boy signs his name on it to '
prove
' "—she used air quotes—"that it's his orange. It's a trick."
Buffalo Bill unclipped the gravity knife from his pocket, flicking the blade out with an icy click. He crouched on the linoleum and cut the grapefruit in half.
"Dude," Taylor said uncertainly, "I totally wouldn't eat that; it's gonna have been in my cubicle's mini-fridge for nine weeks." But Bill didn't acknowledge him. Johnjohn crowded close over Bill's shoulder, but you didn't need to be close: I could see the glints of metal in the still slightly moist flesh of the fruit from where I was standing.
"What are those?" John-john asked, "like, chrono-cicles?"
Taylor, for the first time that evening, was as saucer-eyed as the rest of us. "Yeah; what are those? What are chrono-cicles?"
Buffalo Bill continued to ignore them both, rooting through the citrus flesh with his grease-stained fingers. "Six," he said, "Seven. Nine." He stood, holding out his palm so we could all see the sticky straight pins. "They're all here. This is legit. This guy is legit."
Matilda plopped heavily into one of the chairs.
"Why does the Department of Agriculture have a time machine?" I asked numbly.
"Time machines," Taylor answered, his confidence restored after the brief off-script stage business with Buffalo Bill's straight pins. "Basically, to do this: Test preservatives, culture samples, whatever. Make time for stuff that takes time."
"I thought it would look like a DeLorean," I said lamely. I'd sort of meant it as a joke, but once I said it I realized I'd also sort of meant it for real.
"Yeah," Taylor said. "Everyone does. I mean, after 1985 they do. Then before that there's a phone booth period, and before that you get burned as a witch. The funny thing is that I've never even seen that old movie—" "
You've never seen
Back to the Future?
Everyone's seen
Back to the Future!"
"Maybe," he smiled his honest smile, "Maybe you could show me
Back to the Future?"
I could feel myself blushing, because this was the most awkward way I'd ever been asked out. "Maybe—" I began, but Rob-o cut me off, mock-yelling through his cupped hands:
"Maybe you could get a room, Suze!"
"Right!" Taylor exclaimed, clapping his hands and turning back to his audience. "Rob-o is right; I'm not here to drop ye olde timey pop-culture references. I'm here because Deke and I have a master key to the labs, and we're 99 percent sure that you guys can think of something 100 percent better for humanity than insta-rotting citrus."
This caught us off guard; in all the late-night-TV demo shenanigans, it had sort of slipped into the background that we'd been meeting to talk about our next direct action. We'd been planning to firebomb unoccupied cop cars. That suddenly seemed like small potatoes.
Predictably, it was Buffalo Bill who regained his equilibrium the quickest.
"We should kill Hitler," he said decisively. Taylor pulled a face upon hearing this. "I've got a Kalashnikov at my place," Buffalo Bill stood. "I can be back in ten minutes."
Taylor grimaced and held up a hand to stop him. "Yeah, that's good instincts—and I like your pluck," he smiled encouragingly, "But... why... why not think...
bigger?"
Taylor nodded as he said
bigger.
"How big?" Bill asked, his interest genuine and intense. "How big can the portal get?"
Taylor looked around the room. "Pretty big. And we can pop it up wherever."
Bill sat back down to think.
"Big enough to drive a truck through?" Bill asked. "A van?"
Taylor smiled and nodded eagerly,
"All the siggies are here," he said. John-john came over to look while Rob-o spun on his heels one last time, muttering "so sweet" in apparent ecstasy.
"My dad was a Burger King magician," Matilda said. "Kids' parties and stuff, on the little stage in the non-smoking section. He did a trick like this—but with an orange that turns out to have a dove inside. Or to seem that way. But the same thing, where the birthday boy signs his name on it to '
prove
' "—she used air quotes—"that it's his orange. It's a trick."
Buffalo Bill unclipped the gravity knife from his pocket, flicking the blade out with an icy click. He crouched on the linoleum and cut the grapefruit in half.
"Dude," Taylor said uncertainly, "I totally wouldn't eat that; it's gonna have been in my cubicle's mini-fridge for nine weeks." But Bill didn't acknowledge him. Johnjohn crowded close over Bill's shoulder, but you didn't need to be close: I could see the glints of metal in the still slightly moist flesh of the fruit from where I was standing.
"What are those?" John-john asked, "like, chrono-cicles?"
Taylor, for the first time that evening, was as saucer-eyed as the rest of us. "Yeah; what are those? What are chrono-cicles?"
Buffalo Bill continued to ignore them both, rooting through the citrus flesh with his grease-stained fingers. "Six," he said, "Seven. Nine." He stood, holding out his palm so we could all see the sticky straight pins. "They're all here. This is legit. This guy is legit."
Matilda plopped heavily into one of the chairs.
"Why does the Department of Agriculture have a time machine?" I asked numbly.
"Time machines," Taylor answered, his confidence restored after the brief off-script stage business with Buffalo Bill's straight pins. "Basically, to do this: Test preservatives, culture samples, whatever. Make time for stuff that takes time."
"I thought it would look like a DeLorean," I said lamely. I'd sort of meant it as a joke, but once I said it I realized I'd also sort of meant it for real.
"Yeah," Taylor said. "Everyone does. I mean, after 1985 they do. Then before that there's a phone booth period, and before that you get burned as a witch. The funny thing is that I've never even seen that old movie—" "
You've never seen
Back to the Future?
Everyone's seen
Back to the Future!"
"Maybe," he smiled his honest smile, "Maybe you could show me
Back to the Future?"
I could feel myself blushing, because this was the most awkward way I'd ever been asked out. "Maybe—" I began, but Rob-o cut me off, mock-yelling through his cupped hands:
"Maybe you could get a room, Suze!"
"Right!" Taylor exclaimed, clapping his hands and turning back to his audience. "Rob-o is right; I'm not here to drop ye olde timey pop-culture references. I'm here because Deke and I have a master key to the labs, and we're 99 percent sure that you guys can think of something 100 percent better for humanity than insta-rotting citrus."
This caught us off guard; in all the late-night-TV demo shenanigans, it had sort of slipped into the background that we'd been meeting to talk about our next direct action. We'd been planning to firebomb unoccupied cop cars. That suddenly seemed like small potatoes.
Predictably, it was Buffalo Bill who regained his equilibrium the quickest.
"We should kill Hitler," he said decisively. Taylor pulled a face upon hearing this. "I've got a Kalashnikov at my place," Buffalo Bill stood. "I can be back in ten minutes."
Taylor grimaced and held up a hand to stop him. "Yeah, that's good instincts—and I like your pluck," he smiled encouragingly, "But... why... why not think...
bigger?"
Taylor nodded as he said
bigger.
"How big?" Bill asked, his interest genuine and intense. "How big can the portal get?"
Taylor looked around the room. "Pretty big. And we can pop it up wherever."
Bill sat back down to think.
"Big enough to drive a truck through?" Bill asked. "A van?"
Taylor smiled and nodded eagerly,
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