The pieces fell together at random. Bit by bit, the parareal jigsaw took on vestigial shape. Only the key pieces were missing: the key pieces, always the ones which don’t appear right away.
Showing posts with label futuristic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label futuristic. Show all posts
Saturday, 11 February 2017
Tomorrow’s News
The pieces fell together at random. Bit by bit, the parareal jigsaw took on vestigial shape. Only the key pieces were missing: the key pieces, always the ones which don’t appear right away.
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Pullitzer Petrograd Escapes
Pullitzer Petrograd hauled himself out of the waste-disposal skip. Unceremoniously discarding the banana skin from his left shoulder, he leapt to the ground. The street was quiet; too quiet.
With a scream of tyres, an auto-tank materialised from a side-street, uniformed Strato-cops pouring from the open flank-doors, zap-guns ready. Pullitzer broke into a trot. Under his leisurewear djellaba he fingered the power toggle to his auto-boots. He knew the battery flux was low. But it might give him the edge he needed.
'Halt or I fire!' bellowed the cyber-vocal circuits of Leader One. Zap-guns swung to bear on their target, set at stun level, Immense Pain. Pullitzer slammed the engage unit and his boots hummed. Power surged into the fibro-soles as the torque members throbbed with raw energy. Hot exhaust fumes billowed from his trousers. Dust kicked up into the faces of his enemies. In a flare of zap-beams he was gone. The agony rays hit nothing but air. A smouldering corner of djellaba fibre fluttered to the ground. Pullitzer Petrograd had escaped again.
© BH 1990
I don't officially remember when this came out. After 1974, obviously. I'd never posessed, let alone worn a djellaba before then.
In the light of more recent upheavals in North Africa, it has a certain resonance. The sci-fi flavour makes it more so, don't you think?
Still, no more (super)heroes anymore, don't you know?
With a scream of tyres, an auto-tank materialised from a side-street, uniformed Strato-cops pouring from the open flank-doors, zap-guns ready. Pullitzer broke into a trot. Under his leisurewear djellaba he fingered the power toggle to his auto-boots. He knew the battery flux was low. But it might give him the edge he needed.
'Halt or I fire!' bellowed the cyber-vocal circuits of Leader One. Zap-guns swung to bear on their target, set at stun level, Immense Pain. Pullitzer slammed the engage unit and his boots hummed. Power surged into the fibro-soles as the torque members throbbed with raw energy. Hot exhaust fumes billowed from his trousers. Dust kicked up into the faces of his enemies. In a flare of zap-beams he was gone. The agony rays hit nothing but air. A smouldering corner of djellaba fibre fluttered to the ground. Pullitzer Petrograd had escaped again.
© BH 1990
I don't officially remember when this came out. After 1974, obviously. I'd never posessed, let alone worn a djellaba before then.
In the light of more recent upheavals in North Africa, it has a certain resonance. The sci-fi flavour makes it more so, don't you think?
Still, no more (super)heroes anymore, don't you know?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
