Greenpeace

You may not remember your Uncle Vladimir – if ever there was a person at risk of being pounced on by a “Greenpeace Rescue Team” it was him; he was huge! especially on that day when he went down to that beach, just a little north of the Gold Coast, a place well known locally for nude bathing and whale sightings. He’d just finished swimming and was lying at the water’s edge; there was a moderate swell and the waves were gently breaking over his body. Enjoying the sun and water, he’d just closed his eyes, when they came.

The Cadaver

“Six drops of the essence of terror, Five drops of sinister sauce…” As the opening theme for Milton the Monster blared out from the console, something not so cartoonish was taking place. Frankensteinian castles, exchanged for Corporate Glasshousing – white coats and Teslarian laboratories pushed aside for clean room environments and holographic computational systems. The pink and purple cadaver in the gene pool, not some stitched up bag of decayed flesh, but a Japanese nanotech robotic marvel: “The Android of the Fucia!”

A Big Name

A drop of water, frozen in a moment of time, in it a teeming pool of microbial life. Another fraction of a second, frozen like a snapshot. The droplet has rotated. Now it is tinged with red, the red of blood that pollutes a watery splash that rises when an assassin’s victim falls in the rain. Its dark; and this victim had a name. A big name.

The Time Lords

“The keeping of stories is serious stuff,” said the Guild Master, not for the first time. Boergen just yawned, also not for the first time. “Stories, tales, legends, myths, these are the oral histories of our people, their beliefs, values and ideals.” A heavy book snapped closed, ominously close to Boergen’s ear. She came quickly to wakefulness with a start.

Breakdown

The Flats were hot, dry and dusty, the air shimmering in all directions with heat haze while small, dusty willy-willies danced back and forth along the side of the Princess Hwy. We’d broken down a kilometer and a half, or a bit more along the Maffra Road, from Kilmany – a ghostly speck of a town, devoid of all commercial venture. No water, in the middle of nowhere, the nearest soul a “cut lunch and water bottle” away. The heat can kill, still, even in 2007.

Replay

“…and he said, ‘There is but only one way! And George Bush is its messenger!’ with that he pushed a button, much like this one. A minute later he blew up! Just like that! Lucky for me, I’d walked far enough away, in time…” “Yes. Thank you for your time, some officers will be in…” For the second time in two days and explosion roared out, destroying government facilities, one minute after the push of a button, by a microbionuclear suicide, “Bushite,” bomber.

Cattle Class

The train left Chengdu at 5:56 PM. It’s Spring Festival Eve and we’re headed for Guangzhou. I leave the comfort of my “soft sleeper,” shared with three others I don’t know, nor can talk to and walk the corridors. The buffet car is almost deserted, the Hard Sleeper section – the usual crowd of six persons per bunk partition (open faced room). The Hard Seat area, what a shock! People everywhere, shoulder to shoulder, sitting at any available space on seats, bags, and each other. I partly force my way through to the end an meet a locked door. Beyond this portal, face after face, standing room only – “cattle class.” I wait for the next stop. Have a smoke, out, and walk back along the platform.