PodCastle 536: The Threadbare Magician — Part 2

“P-put me d-wn – put me d-wn a minute–” X9 likes to pull the wings off butterflies. They flutter in through cracks far above, bringing with them the promise of the world out…

A short story by Jackson, from 2014.

You had to fall into mine. Lord, but you are a sight for jaded eyes. Hair like liquid night, eyes a man could drown in, lips that form a bow Robin Hood would kill for. via Pocket

Doctor Jessup is terribly polite. We’re stirring our coffees before he asks his first question. “You asked what started it. That question is the answer. I can’t remember when it became an actual question, though. via Pocket

2 tablespoons wheat flourYes, Admiral, I know we have developed superior, genetically enriched starches on the New Worlds, but when I found this crumbling recipe card in the archives and r via Pocket

Is it an invasion if it’s only one alien? Some media did call it so, even if this alien didn’t come with guns a-blazing. Was he even male? No one could tell, but from the start the media defaulted to their perceived gender of an assumed conqueror. v…

Pursuant to the Presidential Leadership Utilizing Representative Individual Brains in Unified Simulation (PLURIBUS) Act, you are hereby given notice of your selection to serve as this district’s contribution to the collective leadership of the natio…

Autonomy is a beautiful thing. 06:00: The time of rising. Not the best time to learn of an asteroid hurtling past Uranus at more than 40 million metres per second. via Pocket

Jessa, age 9. Yorknet is my favourite sentience because it is dependable, protective and wise. Yorknet is dependable because there are several back-ups, so that if one system goes down, the sentience is mirrored in several other places, my mam says.…

The rossum accomplished many useful things that morning — it recalibrated the colony’s solar generators, it installed new satellite signal boosters, and it created fresh topographical via Pocket

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Bryant bit his lip as three-Michelin-starred chef Jean Christophe assessed the evening’s final plate. The pinkish meat, coarsely butchered, sat in a pool of steaming liquid. Chef bent over and wafted the aroma, catching himself before he recoiled. “…

On the M block of Fiction Street, a gust of wind pushed a hardback dangerously close to the curb. Bibliobot Eight-Ef rolled after it and extended its grasper, but another gust caused the robot to wobble and the book to dance away. via Pocket

An ephemeral layer of crinkly ice coated the surface of the microphone, falling in glistening flakes as Matilda ran a gloved hand over the mic’s surface. via Pocket

I should kill them all … What? We’re transmitting? Greetings, fellow researchers, wherever you are. Important news! In my laboratory earlier this week. I — Really? Oh, very well. via Pocket

via Pocket

What apocalypse am I creating today? I feed two blank sheets of onionskin, carbon paper sandwiched between, through my typewriter’s platen. I stop a moment, remembering this joke. This guy gets on a bus, it starts, but I don’t write that. via Pocket

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