Timestream
by Rhianon Jameson
November 2009
Imagine that we share our reality with many others, both geographical and
temporal.
As we move inexorably from one day to the next, as on a mechanical escalator,
so, too, are other times moving on their own escalators.
Those metaphorical devices do
not always move at the same speed relative...
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Timestream by Rhianon Jameson November 2009 Imagine that we share our reality with many others, both geographical and temporal. As we move inexorably from one day to the next, as on a mechanical escalator, so, too, are other times moving on their own escalators. Those metaphorical devices do not always move at the same speed relative to one another. Time slips and slides. In the gaps, one can pass through…if one knows the way. But beware, traveler: fifty years in the future may not be fifty years in your future. And customs may be very strange indeed… ### I opened the front door and stepped into the darkened hallway. Turning on a lamp, I called out, “Anybody home?” but received no reply; indeed, the house had the feel of emptiness. This was odd, because I had been detained on an interview for a story, and expected my sister to have arrived well before me. A small notecard was on the side table near the entrance. Have been asked to conduct a small investigation out of town. M
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Опублик. 30th дек. 2009
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A Caledon Christmas
by Rhianon Jameson
December 2009
I knew from the start this would end badly.
One December day, Dr.
Tesla Steampunk announced that, to express his gratitude
toward his new country and the famous tolerance of her people, he would host Christmas
dinner at his laboratory high above Windemere.
Kathy Jameson, my sister...
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A Caledon Christmas by Rhianon Jameson December 2009 I knew from the start this would end badly. One December day, Dr. Tesla Steampunk announced that, to express his gratitude toward his new country and the famous tolerance of her people, he would host Christmas dinner at his laboratory high above Windemere. Kathy Jameson, my sister and partner in crime, looked at me with an expression of deep unease. We were the scientist’s closest acquaintances in Caledon, and could see no way out of attending. Much to our surprise, a fair number of our neighbors accepted the invitation. Many were in the military – Commodore O’Toole of the Fleet of Wrath Exiles; Colonel Creeggan; Lord Middlesea; and Lord Primbroke; among others – and perhaps the oftenlonely life of the military officer engendered some sympathy for Dr. Steampunk. Others came, no doubt, to satisfy their curiosity about the reclusive Tesla Steampunk. Still others were powerless to decline a free meal. In all, we expected close
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The Sins of the Fathers
by Rhianon Jameson
April 2009
The boy looked to be about twelve, and was small for his age.
He wore a blue
sailor suit, which had the unfortunate effect of making him look even younger and, sad
to say, less masculine.
A larger, pudgy boy was administering a beating to the smaller
one while three others looked...
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The Sins of the Fathers by Rhianon Jameson April 2009 The boy looked to be about twelve, and was small for his age. He wore a blue sailor suit, which had the unfortunate effect of making him look even younger and, sad to say, less masculine. A larger, pudgy boy was administering a beating to the smaller one while three others looked on, cheering the bully. “Stop it, boys!” I said – sternly, I hoped. I had no experience with children save from a safe distance, and had no idea what they responded to. I aimed for a note of authority in my voice. The three audience members looked up at the sound of my voice, but the larger boy kept hitting and kicking the smaller as though I had not spoken. Having reached the group, I saw that the victim was Sammy Thraxon, who lived two blocks from me in the Downs. I also recognized the three who preferred to watch rather than participate. The bully was not someone I recalled. I tried again. “Stop it this instant!” That one worked – eventually.
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Опублик. 10th апр. 2009
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Smoking Can Be Deadly
by Rhianon Jameson
October 2008
The messenger pounded on my door early in the morning.
I was still abed, and
hastily threw on a robe over my night clothes as I stumbled to the doorway and threw
open the door.
“For goodness’ sake, boy, quit that racket!” It had been a long night for
me – all in the name...
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Smoking Can Be Deadly by Rhianon Jameson October 2008 The messenger pounded on my door early in the morning. I was still abed, and hastily threw on a robe over my night clothes as I stumbled to the doorway and threw open the door. “For goodness’ sake, boy, quit that racket!” It had been a long night for me – all in the name of chasing down a story, mind you – and I was feeling a little fragile. “Sorry, miss, but I gots a tellergram fer you,” the boy replied. He was a sootyfaced urchin in hand-me-down clothing. I felt a little ashamed of myself, as he was earning his living, and surely was as uninterested in being up at this hour as I was. “The guv’ner said there was an extra ten Lindens in it fer me if I got this to yer by haff-pass six. ” I took the note. “As indeed you have. Thank you very much. ” I pressed some coins in the boy’s hand. He tipped his hat and was off. Sinking into a stuffed chair, I ripped open the envelope. Something up your alley. Come at once. 613 1/2
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Опублик. 10th марта 2009
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Suspicious Minds
by Rhianon Jameson
February 2009
“Suspicion is a thing very few people can entertain without letting the hypothesis turn, in
their minds, into fact.
” – David Court, Social Astonishments (1963)
Suspicion is a terrible thing.
It can tear a marriage apart, slowly, silently.
The only
solution to a nagging...
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Suspicious Minds by Rhianon Jameson February 2009 “Suspicion is a thing very few people can entertain without letting the hypothesis turn, in their minds, into fact. ” – David Court, Social Astonishments (1963) Suspicion is a terrible thing. It can tear a marriage apart, slowly, silently. The only solution to a nagging suspicion that one’s spouse is being unfaithful is to find proof of it. No, wait. How can that make any sense? Mr. B is sitting in his office, stewing about the possibility that Mrs. B has taken her affections elsewhere – perhaps at this very moment, when Mr. B can do nothing but contemplate the gray filing cabinets to his left and the window that overlooks a garbage-filled alley to his right – so he decides his best shot at happiness is to retain a private detective to find out. Now, this can end in one of two ways only. First, the detective finds no evidence of a clandestine lover. How does that help the situation? One cannot prove a negative, so the suspicio
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Опублик. 9th февр. 2009
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A Steampunk Christmas
by Rhianon Jameson
December 2008
1: Frosty, the Steam Man
The day broke clear and cold.
A fresh blanket of snow lay on the ground,
covering the soot-covered walkways and streets, and making everything look new again.
By the time Kathy found her way to my house to help me prepare for a Christmas Eve
dinner, the...
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A Steampunk Christmas by Rhianon Jameson December 2008 1: Frosty, the Steam Man The day broke clear and cold. A fresh blanket of snow lay on the ground, covering the soot-covered walkways and streets, and making everything look new again. By the time Kathy found her way to my house to help me prepare for a Christmas Eve dinner, the sun was well up in the sky. She greeted me as I opened the door, “Hello, sister. Did you know there was a metal man in your front yard?” I looked beyond Kathy and, indeed, a brass man stood in my yard. The new snowfall had accumulated around his feet, and some remained on his shoulders and head. A small puff of steam would occasionally emanate from his head, which helped to melt any local accumulation. “Well, that’s something one doesn’t see every day,” I observed. “What do you plan to do about it?” “It’s not clear there is anything to do about it. I suppose some scientist misplaced his creation, and will eventually be by to collect it. In the mean
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Опублик. 19th дек. 2008
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The Soul Camera
by Rhianon Jameson
October 2008
“Have you ever wondered what your soul looks like, Roland?” With that question,
Uncle Roland and I became embroiled in a fantastical adventure.
The scene was the Prop Spinner’s pub in Steam Sky City, where the eccentric
inventors and mad scientists of Caledon would occasionally...
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The Soul Camera by Rhianon Jameson October 2008 “Have you ever wondered what your soul looks like, Roland?” With that question, Uncle Roland and I became embroiled in a fantastical adventure. The scene was the Prop Spinner’s pub in Steam Sky City, where the eccentric inventors and mad scientists of Caledon would occasionally gather to discuss their latest triumphs and failures over a pint of ale and, no doubt, conjure up some tall tales and wishful thinking as well. The interlocutor was Professor Diggory Foster, a plump man of about fifty, with long hair in the back compensating for the thinning of the crop up front, whose work in electromechanics had lately been superseded by an interest in metaphysics; and his victim was Dr. Roland Luminos, a somewhat elderly, decidedly eccentric inventor-of-all-trades, notoriously scatterbrained, and a close friend of mine, though no biological relation. “Pish. No such thing, old man. ” Roland did not like to drink; he merely liked the social a
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Опублик. 29th окт. 2008
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Fever Dream
by Rhianon Jameson
October 2008
In another life I must have been bad
In another life I must have been real bad
Stripped down, break my pride
Straight through the other side
Rip through my memory
Nothing that I want to see
I love the way you punish me
In another life I must have done wrong
In another life I must have done...
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Fever Dream by Rhianon Jameson October 2008 In another life I must have been bad In another life I must have been real bad Stripped down, break my pride Straight through the other side Rip through my memory Nothing that I want to see I love the way you punish me In another life I must have done wrong In another life I must have done wrong Don t tell me what I ve done Don t see what I ve become Ravish me, tear me down Stub my life into the ground I love the way you punish me (Steve Wynn, “The Way You Punish Me”) The day was unusually warm for late September. I discretely blotted my brow with my handkerchief – at least, I hoped the action was discrete – as I leaned back in my chair. Mr. Donald Chisholm and I were having a cup of tea at Steamperk and I was wondering why I felt feverish while, simultaneously, I attempted to keep up with his explanation of how he planned to make a great deal of money in a falling real estate market. I was failing at both tasks. Mr. Chisholm was a land
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Ray Guns at Dawn!
by Rhianon Jameson
September 2008
This is the tale of how Uncle Roland stopped driving.
The other day, walking in the Moors, Mr.
Peter Pettifog encountered Dr.
Roland Luminos
while the latter was en route to Victoria City.
The two were acquainted, and Mr.
Pettifog
greeted the other with a hearty, “Hello,...
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Ray Guns at Dawn! by Rhianon Jameson September 2008 This is the tale of how Uncle Roland stopped driving. The other day, walking in the Moors, Mr. Peter Pettifog encountered Dr. Roland Luminos while the latter was en route to Victoria City. The two were acquainted, and Mr. Pettifog greeted the other with a hearty, “Hello, Luminos! Where have you been hiding, you scalawag?” Dr. Luminos is an eminent scientist – you may recall some of his experiments, such as the anti-gravity belt (not entirely successful; most believe the test pig is still accelerating away from Earth, though long since dead, of course), or the zombie re-animation elixir (sadly, the newly alive remained psychotic; the Home Guard killed six or seven before the Guv made Dr. Luminos stop experimenting). However, he is also somewhat elderly, and suffers from hearing loss, though he refuses to admit it. He simply does the best he can with what he does hear. “I say, it’s Pettifog! Good day, old chap. Haven’t seen y
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The Duchess and the Diamonds
by Rhianon Jameson
July 2008
I was late to the ball, and the music had already started when the coachman let me
out at the marbled steps in front of the Duchess’s residence.
Gathering my skirts and
summoning my courage, I walked past the stone lions, chipped and weathered with age,
up the steps, and to...
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The Duchess and the Diamonds by Rhianon Jameson July 2008 I was late to the ball, and the music had already started when the coachman let me out at the marbled steps in front of the Duchess’s residence. Gathering my skirts and summoning my courage, I walked past the stone lions, chipped and weathered with age, up the steps, and to the doorway, where Bartholomew, the butler, waited to greet me. My late arrival was not because of habitual tardiness on my part. Rather, I was new to Caledonian society – or, here, Society – and spent far too long ensuring my hair and makeup were just right before slipping into the ball gown I could scarcely afford and leaving my cottage for the waiting coach. I had no lady’s maid of my own, being a humble scrivener, so I had to apply the powders and unguents myself, then act as my own critic. Knowing I was running very late for the ball, my first important social invitation, made my hand unsteady, lengthening the process still further. “What can you t
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