Chandra Clarke's Blog, page 11

The Tooth and Nothing But the Tooth

Photo Credit: Needpix

 

There’s nothing like becoming a parent to make you re-examine your values and start asking yourself the bigger questions. Things like: What is the meaning of life? Why are we here? And (when looking at yourself in the mirror and discovering more baggage under your eyes than Air Canada has ever lost): When did I get to be a 47-year-old mother of four?

In the United States, some school systems are (still) embroiled in legal battles over a similar question: What about the origin of humanity? Some fundamentalist groups are advocating something called “intelligent design” which believes we are very complex beings that could only have been designed by a creator. On the other side are those who would prefer to keep the public school system curriculum secular and stick with teaching the scientific explanation, evolution.

Personally, I’m not sure either side* has it right when it comes to explaining some of our features. Consider teething, for example. I’m sure every mother would agree that when it comes to nursing, the fact that babies are born toothless is very intelligent indeed. On the other hand, why does teething have to involve pain? It doesn’t hurt to grown fingernails or hair or toes. And why, oh why, do babies only teethe at 3 am?

Babies also tend to put everything in their mouths. I do not understand how we still have this trait after thousands of years of evolution, as it’s not very conducive to survival. Back in our cave days, a baby might end up grabbing and chomping a poisonous plant. These days it’s even worse: he might grab and slurp his toddler brother’s favourite Thomas train.

Then there’s the waking up all through the night thing. In a way, having to settle your baby several times a night is much like using a computer. You get an error (crying), try to investigate the cause (usually no discernible reason), and reboot (pat him off to sleep). I don’t know about you, but I can’t think of a single person who thinks computer operating systems are intelligently designed.

Having a baby wake up crying in the night can’t have been good for our ancestors either, as you’re not likely to survive long if you advertise your position to the local wildlife. Plus being sleep deprived can make mothers do dumb things (like hand the bottle to the husband and the beer to the baby) or dangerous things (like cutting a sandwich in half and forgetting to move your finger). Er, or so I’ve heard.

Humans can’t walk for almost a full year and so must be carried around. From a design point of view, this doesn’t seem very smart … unless the creator is also the patron saint of chiropractors, in which case it all makes sense. Humans can’t talk very well for ages either, and so to an inexperienced cave mother, “waaah!” could mean “Feed me!” or “I’m tired” or “Look out! You are about to be stepped on by a woolly mammoth!” and she’d not know the difference.

Our feet do not seem to have been designed with, nor have they evolved with a protective layer against Lego bricks. We have only two hands to deal with four bags of groceries, a toddler, a baby, a purse, a diaper bag, and a stroller. And in spite of what our kids sometimes think, we do not have eyes in the back our heads, and darn it, that would be a really, really handy feature.

So what about our origins? Where did we humans come from? Clearly, there is only one answer:

We were designed by a committee. After a lot of arguments. And at least one of the committee members had a very sadistic sense of humour.

 

 

* For the purposes of this column. For reals though, evolution. Science is a thing.

 

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Child’s Play

My living room on any given day. Image credit: Pixabay

They say you learn a lot about life, and yourself, when you become a parent. As the mother of four children, I can safely say that’s very true. I have learned many things over the past several years, and I’d like to share them with anyone out there who is contemplating becoming a parent.

Clothes: Pregnancy books and magazines make a big (ha!) production over maternity clothes. The idea is that you need a special (read: expensive) wardrobe to help you stay fashionable as you expand. This is nonsense. The time you really need a special wardrobe is *after* giving birth, to help you deal with spit-up, spilled milk and diapers. Think Teflon-coated. Think Scotchguarded. Think, yes, biohazard suit.

Diapers: If you’re not feeding them, you’re burping them, and if you’re not burping them, you’re changing a diaper. Non-parents often think that parents exaggerate ‘the diaper thing’ but just do the math: change a baby approximately every two hours, 24 hours a day, for an average of 10 diapers a day. Seven days a week, for six months… jumpin’ Jehosephat! That’s 1800 diapers already! Save yourself a ton of money and the local landfill a ton of space, and buy reusable cloth diapers. Washing diapers is no more icky than changing them and you’ll need the money you save to buy…

Ankle bandages: No matter how young they are, no matter how many times you tidy up in a day, there will be toys on the floor. And you will step on them. In an effort not to crush them and/or avoid severe plastic pokey bit perforation of your foot, you will twist one way or the other and thus wrench your ankle.

Arm strength: While pregnant, it’s a good idea to work on your upper body strength, particularly arm muscle tone. This is because you will have to lift your child no less than 347 times per day. You need to be prepared for both this, and the fact that your child is gaining weight at a rate well beyond what any fitness trainer would set for your Nautilus machine. You will also have to do at least 299 of your child lifts in the wee hours of the morning while half-asleep.

Arm strength 2: Figure on also having to carry at least 30 pounds of baby gear wherever you go. Children do not travel lightly, and at any given time you will need to have on your person: wipes, diapers, formula/milk, rattles, cereal, change pad, baby biscuits, eight changes of clothes (for you), changing pad, 10 changes of clothes (for the baby), more diapers, and toys.

Sleep deprivation: The pregnancy books all talk about preparing yourself for something called “sleep deprivation.” This term is deceiving — it makes it sound like you’re going to be a bit groggy every morning. Figure on not getting ANY sleep for the next, say, 20 years or so.

Strong stomach: If you’re the type that gets queasy easily, do not have children. Either that or prepare yourself for the sight (and feel) of pureed peas sneezed over a five metre radius.

Repetition: At all costs, stay away from electronic toys. This is not because the old toys are intrinsically better than the new toys. It’s because the electronic toys are not yet Internet-enabled and thus play only two tunes. Two. You will go mad listening to these same two tunes all day.

Weight loss: Getting back into shape after being pregnant is easy. Getting back into shape after being pregnant if you’re looking after a child, which, yes, goes kind of hand in hand with having been pregnant, is a whole ‘nother matter. This is because you will have sleepless nights and constant demands on your time during the day, and you won’t even have time for a sit-up, much less those Body Bounce classes you were taking last year. Also: it is one of life’s great cruelties that housework does not burn many calories.

Smiles and giggles: If you like this sort of thing, then parenthood is definitely for you. Children give them out freely, and it’s what makes it all so very worth while.

Even the sneezed peas.

 

 

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Why you should absolutely believe Margaret Mead and Mr. Rogers

Art and photo by Mark Reinhart. Used with permission.

 

A change of pace today: I’m going to tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, there was a smallish community located in a large and cold kingdom. The land was suffering from a great plague that, like many sicknesses before it, shuttered people in their homes, caused many to die, and many more to suffer.

In this community, the people who remained blessedly unaffected by the plague recognized that there was suffering, especially amongst those who, even in the best of times, didn’t have much on which to sup. So they sent messages by special courier to one another, and plotted and schemed for weeks to gather the spare resources of the kingdom. And they came together — in their thousands, as much as was safe to do so during a plague — and gave those resources to those in need. Yes, just handed them over, no conditions, no tributes required. It was a joy to see, and everyone celebrated the great day. The effort was even commemorated in artwork across the land.

Lovely fairy tale? Utopian dream?

No.

In fact, it’s a true story.

The plague, of course, is the coronavirus pandemic, and the community in question is Chatham-Kent, Canada. On May 16th, 2020, some 5000+ volunteers, following physical distancing protocols and wearing masks, collected more than at least 678,200 pounds of food, donated by residents (who had been asked to leave a non-perishable item on their porch or front step for collection). The goal was to restock local food banks, because donations had tailed off due to the lockdown. You can read about it here, and search for more info by looking up the community name and “May 16th Miracle.” The whole thing was organized in about three weeks, via video calls, texts, and emails. Local artists documented the effort, and also worked to provide inspiration throughout the lockdown.

And this is just one of many similar stories to come out of the pandemic.

I tell you this because right about now, after weeks of depressing news headlines and even more depressing comments on social media, I bet you can use the lift.

But even more important, I figure you can use the inspiration.

You see, problems like pandemics, climate change, homelessness and poverty all seem intractable. Too big to contemplate, much less solve, right? Especially if you’re just one person.

Except, the May 16th Miracle was just one person’s idea.

And the people who helped were just ordinary people.

This wasn’t organized by government. Or a church. Or any kind of organization, really.

It was just a bunch of people who saw a pressing need and decided they were gonna be the ones to fix it. And they got together and did so.

Fred Rogers, of PBS children’s programming fame, once said that in a crisis, it was important to “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

He was right. There are always people who are helping, even in the worst of times. Many, many more than the media or those awful clickbait websites would have you believe.

Margaret Mead once said: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”

She was also right. You don’t need everyone on board. You just need enough.

Believe them both. And then have a think about what you might do to make a fairy tale come true in your community.

Because I believe you can.

 

The post Why you should absolutely believe Margaret Mead and Mr. Rogers appeared first on Chandra Clarke.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

“Did you *see* what they did with that press release, Frank?” Image credit: Pixabay.

It’s tough being a humour columnist right now. There’s a flood of whacky stories, and it’s difficult to tell what’s real and what’s satire, and what’s just flat out fake.

So, it was with a jaundiced eye that I read an old news release by the Zoological Society of London about chimpanzees. After explaining how chimps are our closest living relatives, with similar expressions and behaviours, the group — apparently in all seriousness — calls for volunteers to talk like chimpanzees.

“Animal behaviour experts at ZSL are asking volunteers to ‘talk chimp’ in everyday life,” says the press release, “and see how primate patter can resolve workplace conflicts, express emotions and strengthen human bonds.”

The Society helpfully provides a form that explains six chimpanzee behaviours, and asks you to report back where you used the behaviour and how it helped you. Never one to shy away from progress and research, I have performed my own experiments. Here are the results:

Distress: For this behaviour, you’re meant to form an ‘o’ with your mouth and make a short, high pitched “oo oo oo” sound. I attempted this during my last call to technical support, while navigating the voice mail options. After pressing 384 for “please start again because you’ve gotten completely lost,” I made a very loud “oooooo” noise. An operator immediately broke in over the hold music and asked if I was okay. Results: I made several more noises, and was not only immediately patched through to a technician who solved my problem, but I received a free software upgrade CD.

Fear: Here you’re supposed to bare all your teeth, lower your head, and crouch down. I did this the last time the postman brought me a fistful of utility bills. Positive results: He doesn’t come around anymore. No more bills! Negative results: No more Christmas cards either, I suspect.

Play face: This requires a smiley type face and a high-pitched hoot that rises, sometimes changing into a throaty laugh. I did this several times at the last hockey game that I attended. Results: No one appeared to notice.

Authority: Usually demonstrated by males, during this display the chimp makes as much noise as possible to shock and awe his foes, brandishing objects and trying to seem bigger. Results: I didn’t bother trying this one as clearly there are a few world leaders using this behaviour already.

Greeting: Here the arm is to be extended with an open fist, and the greeting is to be accompanied by a throaty “huh huh huh.” I never did work out what an open fist was supposed to be, but I tried this behaviour at a convention recently. Positive results: I had several offers of employment. Negative results: They were all for, erm, ‘adult chat’ phone services.

Grooming: A more dominant chimp presents his or her back to another chimp for grooming. Since the best place to observe groming behaviour in modern society is at a teenaged girl’s slumber party, I crashed one this weekend. Positive results: I have way cool hair now. Negative results: I am also sporting a tattoo that says “Hoobastank rocks!” and I have no idea what this means.

The Zoological Society claims that it will publish the results of this study later this year. Given the reactions of some of the people I tried “chimp talk” on, I suspect the study will say one of two things:

1) “The chimp talk experiment provided valuable data on both chimp/human interactions and corporate communications techniques.”

or

2) “The lads at the society had a jolly good laugh at the expense of all the dorks who actually went around talking like monkeys at their family and friends. Results: It’s amazing what you can get people to do with a press release!”

 

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Playing With Fire

Image credit: Pixabay

Although we still have a long way to go in North American households, these days, men share at least some of the housework burden. That is, they do chores that traditionally have been “women’s work” — things like laundry, floor mopping, dusting.

However, there is one task that remains divided along ridiculously binary gender lines: women cook, men barbecue.

How do I know barbecuing is still the man’s job? Well first, there’s the issue of, ahem, size. When I was a kid, a barbecue consisted of a metal dish full of charcoal on a tripod. Throw on a rack and some hot dogs, and that was it.

These days, barbecues are huge, gas-powered, gleaming, chromed-up affairs with rows of dials, gauges, and buttons. They’re measured in BTU output, and of course, the bigger that number, the better.

Then there are the goodies that go with these modern fire pits. A man who shakes his head at his wife’s desire to coordinate the look of the countertop appliances will not think twice but to accessorize his barbecue to the max. There are smoker boxes and rotisserie kits, special planks for doing up salmon, side burners and veggie baskets. Can a remote barbecue starter be far behind?

The tools are also a sight to behold. While Mom works with a 99 cent nylon spatula from Wal-Mart for years, Dad splashes out on special tool sets. These are precision machined tungsten-carbide, with extra long handles, complete with mahogany wood inlay, and Italian leather hanging straps. Commercial airliners should be this well-crafted.

Another reason I know barbecuing is still in the man’s domain is because it reflects the unreconstructed man’s approach to house care.

For example, consider a typical dinner party, where the husband announces he’s going to give his wife the night off cooking by doing it as a barbecue.

The wife picks the time and date, making sure it doesn’t conflict with the schedules of anyone in the family. She also invites all the guests, either by phone, email or mail, and keeps track of those who have RSVP’d.

Once the number of people is confirmed, the husband makes the difficult choice between t-bone and sirloin steaks while tagging along at the grocery store. The wife meanwhile, buys extra food, napkins and other necessities.

On the big day, the wife cleans the house, picks up the kids toys in the yard, mows the lawn, and hoses down the lawn furniture.

She cleans, cuts and boils potato for a salad. She then defrosts the rolls, and shucks the corn on the cob. After that, she bakes a cake.

About mid-day, the husband strolls out to clean the barbecue.

She will set out the picnic table, put on a table cloth, stock it with cutlery and plates, and set out a variety of drinks for the children and anyone who is driving.

Guests start arriving in the afternoon. He will hand out beer. She will ice the cake and finish the potato salad before taking the stack of corn cobs out to the barbecue.

He will show his mates his latest barbecue accessory and then start cooking the corn and the steaks. She will make sure everyone gets enough to eat, restocking the table every ten minutes, and keep an eye on all fifteen children careening around the yard.

As guests start to disappear she will begin the long process of cleaning up. As he says goodbye to everyone he gets lots of congratulations for “putting on such a great spread.”

That night as they go to bed, he will cheerfully express his hope that she enjoyed her night off cooking. He will not understand why he gets a pillow in the mush for saying this.

The post Playing With Fire appeared first on Chandra Clarke.

A Broken Record

Image credit: Pixabay

I know this is sacrilegious, but I have to say that I’m not much of a summer Olympics fan.

This is perhaps because I’m Canadian and the Canadian teams have traditionally, to use the technical, sports medicine term… sucked at the summer games. We frequently get beat in the medal counts by such economic and social powerhouses as Bulgaria.

To be fair, this is not the fault of our athletes, who are top notch. Our beach volleyball players, for example, are among the toughest in the world. This is because for 10 months out of every year, they’re practicing on beaches that are about as warm and inviting as a meat locker, wearing nothing but fur-lined swimming trunks.

This is mostly the fault of our Olympic team management. For a start, most of our athletes didn’t even know they were going to be on the Canadian team until last month, when they received a phone call that went something like this:

TEAM CANADA: Good morning, Bob? We’ve selected you to be on our cycling team.

BOB: Oh. Right. I didn’t even know I was under consideration.

TC: Well you were. We think you’re top notch.

BOB: Okay, well, I suppose I should take the snow chains off my tires eh? Practice biking in Athenian conditions.

TC: Hey! Great idea!

Canadian summer athletes aren’t very well-funded either. Indeed, most of them earned the money for their airplane tickets to the Olympics by selling fur-lined swimming trunks and snow chains to each other.

It’s also not like our athletes are missing by much. At first it’s disheartening to think your country’s entrant came in eighth place … until you realize that the difference between first and eighth is less than one quarter of one second.

Which brings me to the issue of human achievement. The games have long ceased being of interest to me because we’ve reached the limits of what we can do. Desperate for any competitive edge, athletes are doing things like buying special swim suits that cut drag, using performance enhancing drugs, or even worse, practicing their sports cliches by telling journalists that they gave 110% percent out there.

Indeed, we have so little room for improvement in standard sports anymore that people are resorting to participating in increasingly silly competitions, like, say, running for the US presidency.

Or consider the entries in the Guinness Book of World Records. Kevin Cole of Carlsbad, New Mexico, USA, holds the record for — I kid you not — the longest spaghetti strand blown out of a nostril in a single blow. Vincent Pilkington of Cootehill, County Cavan, Republic of Ireland, plucked a turkey in 1 minute 30 seconds. There is even an entry for the fastest winkle picker in the world. (And is it just me, or does winkle picker sound like a Shakespearian insult? “Horatio! Thou art a winkle picker, methinks!”)

All of which leads me to ask important journalistic questions like: How does one learn one can eject spaghetti from one’s nose? (Answer: I really don’t want to know.) and Did the turkey get any sort of recognition for being the fastest plucked of its species? (Answer: Yes, a pot of cranberry sauce and a good basting.) and Just what the heck is a winkle anyway? (Answer: A close relative of the wonkle, obviously.)

Perhaps it’s time then to consider some new sports and sports venues. Why not put the next summer games on the Moon?

Then athletes really would have to put in 110% … just to deal with the lower gravity. And Canadians might just have a chance.

It’s darned cold up there, you see. We could sell fur-lined spacesuits.

 

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Echoes Launches Today

So, my novel launches today, and I have to say I’m thrilled to have this officially “out there,” even if “out there” looks kinda scary right now. Indeed, I’m happy to be able to provide a distraction in these strange times.

The preorders exceeded my expectations and the early reviews are gratifying:

“A highly immersive and imaginative cyberpunk tale.” — Kirkus Reviews

“…an engrossing blend of thriller and hard sci-fi that will delight readers looking for crossovers that pepper social issues and developments into the story line.” — D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

“I found the author’s vision for the world of tomorrow to be one of my favorite things about Echoes of Another. My other favorite thing about this book is that it’s just a really good story told in a way that felt fresh and even cutting edge. ”

– Scott Cahan, Readers’ Favorite, 5/5 Stars

“I would highly recommend this book for someone who likes science fiction settings without the heaviness of hard core science fiction. This is a character driven vehicle in a science fiction setting. It doesn’t get bogged down in the science. It tells the story of people.”

– Mimi L., NetGalley Reviewer 5/5 Stars

“Very enjoyable science fiction. I appreciated the author’s use of description and suspense. A recommended title!”

– Dr J R, NetGalley Reviewer, 5/5 Stars

I’ve also had early readers tell me that even though they didn’t think they were into science fiction that much, they enjoyed this one anyway. Kirkus calling it ‘cyberpunk’ aside, it’s a near future tale, so not that far removed from what you see around you today. And, for those of you looking for an uplifting distraction right now (and who isn’t?!) as we either isolate or provide essential services, it depicts a hopeful, positive future.

It’s available as an ebook and a paperback, and the Audible/Amazon audiobook will be out soon. Some links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2RhNGwx

Chapters: https://www.chapters.indigo.ca/en-ca/books/echoes-of-another-a-novel/9780973039580-item.html

Bookshop: https://bookshop.org/books/echoes-of-another-a-novel-of-the-near-future/9780973039580

Indiebound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9780973039580

I look forward to hearing what you think!

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A Free Sample Chapter For a New #scifi Book

I figure we could all use a distraction right about now. So, I’m going to share the whole first chapter of Echoes of Another with you, right here, right now.

Chapter One: RAY

Ray stepped out of the shadows of his apartment block and shivered in the cold.

The sky was beryl blue and clear. The sun was just high enough over the horizon to send brilliant beams of light skittering across the snow, making it sparkle like diamonds. Drifts and rooftop snows had begun to evaporate, wraith mists gently rising into the air.

He tugged his coat collar a little higher. If he had to guess, he figured it was about twenty degrees below freezing. Not so bad, especially for the first week of January, but he knew the buildings lining the downtown could sometimes funnel the cold wind until it howled.

“Summon,” he said, enjoying the way his words formed plumes and floated away. The snow squeaked under his feet as he shifted the weight of his short, stocky frame from one to the other nervously. Several anxious moments passed before a single-seater pod emblazoned with the Toronto Transit Commission logo glided around the corner and stopped in front of him. He calmed down a bit, grateful the transponder he’d pickpocketed actually worked. The door opened, and he climbed into the small patch of warmth. There were no controls or amenities, just a thinly cushioned seat showing its age, a restraint that automatically clamped across his lap as soon as he sat down, and a hard, bioplastic dashboard with nothing on it other than an embedded screen. A small heater under the chair blasted hot air at his shoes. There was room enough for him and not much else. His sun visor fogged over from the abrupt change in temperature when the door closed, but he ignored the sudden blurriness, knowing it would clear on its own shortly.

“Destination?” the pod asked, startling him. He’d been expecting to have to tap in a station.

“Uh, Edward. Go by way of Sheppard and Queen’s Park Flows please.”

The pod nav did a quick calculation. “Estimated arrival time, 7.3 minutes. Entertainment options?”

“Nothing, thanks,” he replied. He wouldn’t have known what to ask for, anyway. Besides, he wanted to look at the beautiful old university buildings as they zoomed past. Perhaps he’d catch a glimpse of that determined-looking woman with the light-brown hair he had seen there. It would be a good omen, and he needed one. He had a lot riding on getting everything right this morning. This job would change everything.

The pod accelerated, smooth and silent. There was hardly any traffic in his seedy neighbourhood, but as they approached the city core where the buildings were bigger and newer, the trickle of pods became a stream, and then a torrent. He tensed as his pod hurtled towards the major flow that would take him the rest of the way downtown. But the rushing vehicles adjusted, parting to reveal a pod-sized space into which they merged effortlessly. He looked at the dashboard and discovered that the screen showed him his position in real time. He marvelled at the thousands of pods pulsing like white blood cells through the arteries of the city.

Ray tried to relax into his seat, but he was too jittery, and the chair was rather hard and uncomfortable. The pod slowed a little as it neared his destination. Already, he could see people hurrying along the footpaths, their shoulders hunched against the cold. He wondered how many of them were tourists; most city natives knew to use the downtown’s underground paths in weather like this.

A familiar face flashed by the window. Startled, he spun around in his seat to look out the back.

“Stop!”

“Emergency stop,” the pod replied.

Unfazed by the sudden change of plan, the pod decelerated and pulled carefully onto a footpath, its warning lights flashing brightly. Pedestrians walked around it but otherwise ignored both it and him. Ray wondered how often pods must have to make unplanned stops for it to be so unremarkable. He tumbled out of the pod and jogged back up along Bay Flow, rounding the corner in time to see the man he was looking for duck into an alley off Elm.

“Hey, Mick!” Ray shouted, running faster.

Mick was a tall man now; much different from the gangly, skinny teenager Ray remembered. Mick’s long legs and lithe frame meant he took rangy strides and had a fast pace. He was already halfway down the alley when Ray reached the entrance.

“Mick!” Ray shouted again.

Mick stopped and turned, frowning a little. His face broke into a wide, easy grin when he recognised Ray. He waited for him to catch up.

“Hey man,” Mick said, pushing a wayward lock of brown hair out of his eyes. He wore a couple of day’s growth of beard. “Look at you, all grown up. You’re a long way out of J-District, aren’t you?”

“I could say the same about you,” Ray replied, panting a little after his unexpected sprint. “What happened? You kinda disappeared on me.”

“Yeah, I—”

A drone dropped out of nowhere, stopping between them, hovering almost silently. It was big and black and unmarked, and it steamed like a dragon in the frigid air.

It flicked a scanner beam, long and red, a tongue, up the length of Mick, tasting him. Mick’s eyes widened in fear.

And then the drone exploded.

~

Kirkus Reviews is calling Echoes “A highly immersive and imaginative cyberpunk tale.” The future it depicts is one of hope and rationality. If you’re interested in reading more, I’ve got it as an ebook at a discounted price to help people stock up with cheaper distractions. Buy it now:  Echoes of Another: A Novel of the Near Future. Paperback is available now and audiobook is coming soon.

Echoes of Another: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Indiebound

The post A Free Sample Chapter For a New #scifi Book appeared first on Chandra Clarke.

A Present For You Today

I figure we could all use a distraction right about now. So, I’m going to share the whole first chapter of Echoes of Another with you, right here, right now.

Chapter One: RAY

Ray stepped out of the shadows of his apartment block and shivered in the cold.

The sky was beryl blue and clear. The sun was just high enough over the horizon to send brilliant beams of light skittering across the snow, making it sparkle like diamonds. Drifts and rooftop snows had begun to evaporate, wraith mists gently rising into the air.

He tugged his coat collar a little higher. If he had to guess, he figured it was about twenty degrees below freezing. Not so bad, especially for the first week of January, but he knew the buildings lining the downtown could sometimes funnel the cold wind until it howled.

“Summon,” he said, enjoying the way his words formed plumes and floated away. The snow squeaked under his feet as he shifted the weight of his short, stocky frame from one to the other nervously. Several anxious moments passed before a single-seater pod emblazoned with the Toronto Transit Commission logo glided around the corner and stopped in front of him. He calmed down a bit, grateful the transponder he’d pickpocketed actually worked. The door opened, and he climbed into the small patch of warmth. There were no controls or amenities, just a thinly cushioned seat showing its age, a restraint that automatically clamped across his lap as soon as he sat down, and a hard, bioplastic dashboard with nothing on it other than an embedded screen. A small heater under the chair blasted hot air at his shoes. There was room enough for him and not much else. His sun visor fogged over from the abrupt change in temperature when the door closed, but he ignored the sudden blurriness, knowing it would clear on its own shortly.

“Destination?” the pod asked, startling him. He’d been expecting to have to tap in a station.

“Uh, Edward. Go by way of Sheppard and Queen’s Park Flows please.”

The pod nav did a quick calculation. “Estimated arrival time, 7.3 minutes. Entertainment options?”

“Nothing, thanks,” he replied. He wouldn’t have known what to ask for, anyway. Besides, he wanted to look at the beautiful old university buildings as they zoomed past. Perhaps he’d catch a glimpse of that determined-looking woman with the light-brown hair he had seen there. It would be a good omen, and he needed one. He had a lot riding on getting everything right this morning. This job would change everything.

The pod accelerated, smooth and silent. There was hardly any traffic in his seedy neighbourhood, but as they approached the city core where the buildings were bigger and newer, the trickle of pods became a stream, and then a torrent. He tensed as his pod hurtled towards the major flow that would take him the rest of the way downtown. But the rushing vehicles adjusted, parting to reveal a pod-sized space into which they merged effortlessly. He looked at the dashboard and discovered that the screen showed him his position in real time. He marvelled at the thousands of pods pulsing like white blood cells through the arteries of the city.

Ray tried to relax into his seat, but he was too jittery, and the chair was rather hard and uncomfortable. The pod slowed a little as it neared his destination. Already, he could see people hurrying along the footpaths, their shoulders hunched against the cold. He wondered how many of them were tourists; most city natives knew to use the downtown’s underground paths in weather like this.

A familiar face flashed by the window. Startled, he spun around in his seat to look out the back.

“Stop!”

“Emergency stop,” the pod replied.

Unfazed by the sudden change of plan, the pod decelerated and pulled carefully onto a footpath, its warning lights flashing brightly. Pedestrians walked around it but otherwise ignored both it and him. Ray wondered how often pods must have to make unplanned stops for it to be so unremarkable. He tumbled out of the pod and jogged back up along Bay Flow, rounding the corner in time to see the man he was looking for duck into an alley off Elm.

“Hey, Mick!” Ray shouted, running faster.

Mick was a tall man now; much different from the gangly, skinny teenager Ray remembered. Mick’s long legs and lithe frame meant he took rangy strides and had a fast pace. He was already halfway down the alley when Ray reached the entrance.

“Mick!” Ray shouted again.

Mick stopped and turned, frowning a little. His face broke into a wide, easy grin when he recognised Ray. He waited for him to catch up.

“Hey man,” Mick said, pushing a wayward lock of brown hair out of his eyes. He wore a couple of day’s growth of beard. “Look at you, all grown up. You’re a long way out of J-District, aren’t you?”

“I could say the same about you,” Ray replied, panting a little after his unexpected sprint. “What happened? You kinda disappeared on me.”

“Yeah, I—”

A drone dropped out of nowhere, stopping between them, hovering almost silently. It was big and black and unmarked, and it steamed like a dragon in the frigid air.

It flicked a scanner beam, long and red, a tongue, up the length of Mick, tasting him. Mick’s eyes widened in fear.

And then the drone exploded.

~

Kirkus Reviews is calling Echoes “A highly immersive and imaginative cyberpunk tale.” The future it depicts is one of hope and rationality. If you’re interested in reading more, I’ve got it as an ebook at a discounted price to help people stock up with cheaper distractions: Echoes of Another: A Novel of the Near Future. Paperback is now available and audiobook is coming soon.

The post A Present For You Today appeared first on Chandra Clarke.

A Twinkle In Your Eye

Image credit: Pixabay

 

Over the last fifty years, we’ve discovered that a lot of traits that we thought were exclusive to humanity, really aren’t. For example, chimpanzees wage war, dogs have a sense of humour, and dolphins like to watch reality TV shows like Fin Factor.

One thing animals don’t do — at least, so far as we know — is accessorize themselves. For example, you’d never hear the following conversation between cats:

Powderpaw: Hmm. Do you suppose if I spat in this kohl deposit to make it wet, and then applied it to my whiskers, that it would make them look longer and more feminine?

Muffin: Ooooh, definitely. Just don’t let the human see you do that or he’ll think you’re having a hairball.

Or for that matter, this conversation between dogs:

Rover: Hey Sam! Check out this bone I just found. I’m thinking of carving it with scenes of dog fights and then piercing my nose with it. I figure it will make me look fiercer. Whaddya think?

Sam: Quick Rover, what’s that over there?

Rover: Where?

Sam: [Crunch] Stupid ideas about perfectly good bones [munch, munch, chew]. Make you look fierce indeed. [Chew, chew, swallow.]

Humans, on the other hand, are obsessed about their appearance. In 1997, pre-teens and teenagers in the US spent $5.3 billion on cosmetics designed to make them look older. In 2002, adults in the US spent $42 billion on products designed to make them look younger. In 2020, analysts predict that toddlers will enter the market in a big way, demanding diapers that look slimming and blusher to reduce the appearance of chubby cheeks.

Tattoos are also very popular, as thousands of people who usually avoid the doctor or the dentist voluntarily submit to the tender mercies of skin artists named Bruno.

Previous generations of tattoo enthusiasts went for messages like “Ben & Becky 4Ever,” which have to be removed when Ben and Becky split up after two months. This generation feels much wiser, having gone for things like Chinese characters that are supposed to express messages of love or peace. They’ll feel less wise when it turns out they’ve been sporting an advertisement that says “Eat at Fu Lam City” because Bruno can’t speak Chinese.

Piercings are another method of self-adornment. While most people spend entire lifetimes actively avoiding things that will put holes in their body, some enjoy this sort of thing. Indeed, the human need for piercings has rather unfortunately combined with our competitive side. This means that in an effort to outdo their peers, people have become more aggressive in their piercings — putting holes in bits that shouldn’t be discussed in public, much less discussed in the same sentence as the word piercing.

This brings me to the latest fashion accessory: eye jewellery. I do not mean jewellery made to look like an eye. Nor do I mean jewellery meant to be worn near your eye. What I mean is actual bit of jewellery embeded *in* your eye.

Yes, it’s true: people are paying perfectly good money to have glittery half-moons or hearts implanted into the mucous membranes of their eyes. The surgeons who developed the technique say that “So far we have not seen any side effects or complications and we don’t expect any in the future.” However, I’m sure there are going to be some, including:

1. Half the people you meet will do a double take and make gestures at you, hinting that you’ve got something in your eye.

2. The other half will not be able to look at you without having their own eyes water uncontrollably, and you’ll get a reputation for making people cry. (This may be a positive thing if the networks want to bring back Barbara Walters-style interviews).

I don’t know why humans are compelled to coat themselves in chemicals, inject themselves with toxins, or poke strange things into their bodies.

I just hope this is one trend that will be over… in the blink of an eye.

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