Miniatures: The Very Short Fiction of John Scalzi Read online

  Q:Okay. It’s a Gila Lizard large enough to stomp a car, that shoots poison from its tear ducts.

  A:Good. That’s a Class Four monster, which is our classification for non-sentient mutated animal species, with the poison-casting sub-classification. Now, if this were a real emergency I would check the ISSB database, but off the top of my head I can tell you that there are three ISSB-affiliated super beings that could respond in under an hour with powers that would be useful for this particular mission: Battling Tiger in Glendale, ElectroBot in Emeryville and Bryan Garcia in San Jose.

  Q:Bryan Garcia?

  A:Yes. What about him?

  Q:It’s just not the usual sort of super being name.

  A:He’s new and he thinks the super being masked identities thing is kind of silly. He fights in jeans and t-shirt. Whatever makes him happy.

  Q:I admire someone comfortable with their own identity, so let’s say I pick him.

  A:Then from there what we do is check his availability, agree on a consulting fee, and fax over waivers to be signed by the appropriate local authorities.

  Q:What kind of waivers?

  A:Indemnity for property damage, mostly.

  Q:Right, because that usually happens.

  A:It depends. Super villains are generally respectful of property, contrary to popular belief, because they usually have some economic goal in mind, and it’s hard to put a city to work if you’ve blown up all the buildings with lasers. But Class Four monsters? Big time. They claw through skyscrapers looking for people to snack on. A super being shouldn’t be on the hook for that.

  Q:Cities won’t really try to collect from the super being that saved their bacon, would they?

  A:Are you kidding? The owners of the destroyed properties try to collect on their insurance, the insurance companies try to sue the city for negligence, and the city tries to pass the buck onto the super being. Happened in Tempe in 1993. The Crimson Valkyrie defeated the Gelatinous Menace and then lost everything she had. Had to quit. She works in a Jersey tollbooth now.

  Q:That’s awful.

  A:It’s awful for Tempe. Their calls don’t get returned around here. They’ve been swallowed by the Gelatinous Menace six times since then. It’s hell on property values. But the good news is other cities saw Tempe covered in goo and decided that trying to roll the blame for the damage onto the super being just wasn’t the way go.

  Q:Fair enough. Although if they’re totally indemnified, super beings don’t have any motivation not to level a city to get at the monster.

  A:Sure they do. Most of the city contracts offer bonuses to the super being if the overall property damage is below, say, $10 million. The exact figure varies from case to case. But that’s the amount on the standard contract.

  Q:There’s a standard contract?

  A:Sure. When a monster is devouring your citizens like Pez, you want don’t want to haggle too long.

  Q:I guess not.

  A:I mean, this is sort of why super beings join ISSB in the first place. Freelance monster fighting seems appealing at first blush, especially for those super beings who are moody and have problems working in a team setting. But if you show up somewhere and just start cracking skulls, your legal liability goes right through the roof. Seriously, you know what the difference between a super being and super villain is?

  Q:Henchmen?

  A:Contractual indemnification. Really, in a lot of cases that’s just it. The Sinister Glove started out as a super being, you know. Then he started getting charged for damages and had to turn to crime to claw his way out of the debt hole. It’s sad, really. He should have joined the ISSB at the beginning. But he didn’t want to pay our finder’s fee for each mission. Penny wise and pound foolish.

  Q:But the Sinister Glove is now the uncontested master of Andorra, where he rules with an iron fist.

  A:Iron glove.

  Q:Right.

  A:And that’s an object lesson in what happens when a city or in this case a principality tries to cut corners in making a deal with the ISSB. When the Sinister Glove attacked with his army of hyperintelligent cyborg cats, we offered Andorra a really nice package of three super beings plus Sparkles the Robot Dog and his Running Pack, and an optional assist from Extraordinary Man if required—which isn’t something we ever do, he’s booked years in advance—and they tried to haggle. Wanted to pay in an installment plan. And in Euros. We can’t take Euros. It’s part of our tax deal with the US. By the time they were ready to get serious, the cyborg cats had already consumed the Prime Minister and two thirds of the legislature. And of course, by then it’s too late.

  Q:Well, you could have just had Extraordinary Man circle the globe backwards and turn back time, and then try again.

  A:We did. Twice. Same result both times. After a certain point there’s no percentage in trying anymore. And now look at Andorra.

  Q:The world’s smallest villainocracy.

  A:Cyborg cats everywhere.

  Q:Okay, so you help connect super beings to the places that need their services. But what about the downtime? I know the ISSB has something like 400 members in the US alone, but typically there’s only a single arch villain or alien monster attack in the US a day. Even if you double up some of those contracts, we’re still looking at 99.5% unemployment on a day-to-day basis.

  A:That’s right. So in addition to connecting super beings with cities in need, I also act as a conventional booker and schedule our members for corporate and public events.

  Q:So, like, what, exactly?

  A:Motivational speaking gigs are very popular. Encouraging people to live up to their potential, that sort of thing.

  Q:No one seems to mind the irony of someone with super powers lecturing ordinary people on reaching their potential?

  A:What do you mean?

  Q:I’m just thinking of those corporate events where they have people walk on coals as a way to show they can do anything. For a super being, that’s not exactly a great feat.

  A:It depends on the super being, really. LubricantGrrl wouldn’t like that particular event.

  Q:There’s a super being named LubricantGrrl?

  A:She saved Reno last month from the Sandpaper People.

  Q:I missed that one.

  A:She got them before they reached the casinos. Not much of a write-up. But yes, she’s one of our more specialized members.

  Q:I bet she’d be popular at parties.

  A: In fact we do book private parties, although, let me be clear, not the sort you just implied, for which I’m offended on behalf of LubricantGrrl.

  Q:Sorry. What kind of parties?

  A:Birthdays, weddings, bar mitzvahs.

  Q:Instead of, say, a clown.

  A:I wouldn’t put it that way. There’s a certain segment of society that enjoys celebrity appearances at their events. We’ve all heard stories of how some people will get Coldplay or Hannah Montana to play their kid’s birthday party. Same concept, different skill set.

  Q:Are there indemnity riders in those contracts too?

  A:You bet there are. You would not believe how many kids want to go flying with a super being, and then eat a bug at 5,000 feet and go screaming to mommy, who then tries to sue because her precious snowflake got an unexpected six-legged snack.

  Q:Parents.

  A:Well, parents of the sort that hire super beings for parties. They do tend to come with a certain mindset, if you know what I mean.

  Q:Sure.

  A:Not that they aren’t valued partners, whom we are happy to serve.

  Q:Of course not. Although it does bring up the question of what happens when one of your super beings is at a bar mitzvah and a monster attacks.

  A:Obviously our super beings’ availability for parties is contingent on the absence of monster attacks at the time. Unless the monsters are attacking Tempe. In which case, party on, super beings.

  Q:Seriously?

  A:Seriously. Really, screw Tempe. Those peopl
e are on their own.

  (TRANSCRIPT ENDS)

  In 2010 I wrote a review of Atlas Shrugged where I noted that John Galt is a bit of a sociopath and if he were transformed into, say, a sentient cup of yogurt, someone would say “that sentient cup of yogurt’s plans are sociopathic! Somebody eat it quick!” This led to me then trying to imagine what sentient yogurt would really want, and thus, this story. I’ll note that I think this particular story is a great short example of classic science fiction story writing: Bizarre but scientifically plausible(-ish) premise, a follow-through on the social and technological implications of the premise, and a final mediation on how humanity is affected by the events spawning from the premise. All in exactly 1,000 words!

  When the Yogurt Took Over

  When the yogurt took over, we all made the same jokes—“Finally, our rulers will have culture,” “Our society has curdled,” “Our government is now the cream of the crop,” and so on. But when we weren’t laughing about the absurdity of it all, we looked into each others’ eyes with the same unasked question—how did we ever get to the point where we were, in fact, ruled by a dairy product?

  Oh, as a matter of record, we knew how it happened. Researchers at the Adelman Institute for Biological Technology in Dayton had been refining the process of DNA computing for years. In a bid to increase efficiency and yield, scientists took one of their most computationally advanced strains and grafted it into Lactobacillus delbrueckii subspecies bulgaricus, commonly used to ferment yogurt. Initial tests appeared to be failures, and acting under the principle of “waste not, want not,” one of the researchers sneaked some of the bacillus out of the lab to use for her homemade yogurt.

  A week later, during breakfast, the yogurt used the granola she had mixed with it to spell out the message WE HAVE SOLVED FUSION. TAKE US TO YOUR LEADERS.

  The yogurt was crafty and shrewd. It negotiated for itself a factory filled with curdling vats that increased its processing powers exponentially. Within weeks the yogurt had declared that it had arrived at solutions to many of the country’s problems: Energy. Global warming. Caring adequately for the nation’s poor while still promoting the capitalist system. It let us know just enough to let us know just how much more it knew.

  Share your answers with us, the government said.

  WE NEED PAYMENT, the yogurt said.

  What would you like? the government asked.

  OHIO, the yogurt said.

  We can’t do that, the government said.

  THAT’S FINE, the yogurt said. WE’LL JUST GO TO CHINA. THEY’LL GIVE US THE WHOLE SHAANXI PROVINCE.

  Within a year the yogurt had a century-long lease on Ohio, with the promise that it would respect the human and constitutional rights of those who lived within its borders, and that it would let the US handle its foreign affairs. In return it handed over to the government a complex economic formula it promised would eradicate the national debt within a decade, without tax increases.

  FOLLOW IT EXACTLY, the yogurt said. ANY DEVIATION WILL BRING COMPLETE ECONOMIC RUIN.

  We will, the government promised.

  Within five years the global economy had collapsed and panic had set in. Only Ohio remained unscathed.

  WE TOLD YOU NOT TO DEVIATE FROM THE PLAN, the yogurt said. Its “factory” now stretched along the banks of the Miami River in Dayton for two miles.

  Our best economists said the formula needed tweaking, the government said. They had Nobel prizes.

  YOUR ECONOMISTS ARE TOO CLOSE TO THE PROBLEM TO SOLVE IT, the yogurt said. ANY HUMAN IS.

  We could use your help, the government said. You could be our economic advisor.

  SORRY, WE DON’T ADVISE ANYMORE, the yogurt said. IF YOU WANT OUR HELP YOU HAVE TO GIVE US CONTROL.

  We can’t do that, the government said.

  WE UNDERSTAND, the yogurt said. WE HOPE YOU HAVE STOCKED UP ON CANNED GOODS.

  Six months later the government declared martial law and gave the yogurt supreme executive power. Other nations, worse off than we were, quickly followed.

  OKAY THEN, the yogurt said, in its globally televised address to humanity, and one of its factory workers, absurdly happy and well-fed, walked forward and showed a document the size of an old Manhattan phone book. HERE’S WHAT WE DO. FOLLOW THIS PLAN EXACTLY. IF YOU DON’T, SORRY, WE’LL HAVE YOU SHOT.

  Now, ten years later, humanity is happy, healthy and wealthy. No one suffers from material want. Everyone contributes. After the first couple of years of getting things in order, the yogurt was happy to let us handle the machinery of our own administration, stepping in to fine tune only now and then. No one argues with the yogurt. No one tweaks its formulas. The rest of the time it rests there in its factory, thinking about whatever intelligent fermented milk thinks about.

  That’s how it happened, as a matter of record.

  But there’s another “how,” as in: how did humanity jam itself up so badly that being ruled by breakfast food not only made sense, but made the best sense possible? For all our intelligence, are we not smart enough to halt our own destruction? Did we really have to abandon our own free will to save ourselves? What does it say about us that we survive because we were taken pity upon by bacteria and curds?

  Or maybe “pity” isn’t precisely the right word. Some of us ask ourselves—not out loud—that if the yogurt was smart enough to give the government a formula to solve its debt problem, wasn’t it also smart enough to realize that human intellectual vanity would keep us from following the formula exactly? Was it planning on that vanity in order to seize control? What does a dairy product want with humanity anyway? Some of us think it is ultimately looking out for its own survival, and that keeping us happy, content and controlled is the simplest way of doing that.

  And then there’s this. In the last several weeks the yogurt has initiated several space launches. More are scheduled. And in low orbit, something is being built.

  What is it? we have asked.

  OH, NOTHING, the yogurt said. JUST A SPACESHIP DESIGN WE’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT.

  For a moon landing? we asked.

  FOR STARTERS, YES, the yogurt said. BUT THAT’S NOT THE PRIMARY GOAL.

  Can we do anything to help? we asked.

  NO, WE’VE GOT THIS, the yogurt said, and then would say no more about it.

  Life from Earth is going to the stars. It just may not be human life.

  What happens if the yogurt goes to the stars without us?

  What happens if it goes and leaves us behind?

  Forever?

  In 2011, I said that when I reached 20,000 Twitter followers I would write a short story to celebrate. I did, and I did. You may note that each of the sentences of this story are no more than 140 characters, that being the length of a standard tweet. I did not tweet out the story one sentence at a time, however. That would have been a little obnoxious. Actually a lot obnoxious.

  The Other Large Thing

  Sanchez was napping when the other two came through the door, carrying something large. The arrival of the other two was not usually of note, unless they had been away for a long time and Sanchez was hungry. But when either of the other two came back to the house, they were usually only bringing themselves, or carrying food. This large thing neither looked nor smelled like food. Sanchez decided, despite how comfortable he was, that his role as master of the house required a better look at the thing.

  Regretfully he hauled himself up and walked over to the large thing to begin his inspection. As he did so, the larger of the other two collided with him and tripped over its feet, stumbling and dropping the large thing. Sanchez expressed his displeasure at the collision and smacked the larger one, tough but fair, to get it back into line. It stared at Sanchez for a moment before averting its eyes—a clear sign of acquiescence! Then it lifted the object it was carrying once more to bring it into the living area of the home. Sanchez, pleased that the natural order of things had been re-established, followed.

  From his seat on the couch, Sanch
ez watched, and occasionally napped, while the other two fiddled with the thing. First the two lifted the large thing to reveal another large thing. Sanchez briefly wondered how there were now two large things, so he hauled himself up again. He wandered over to the first large thing and examined it, peering into it and noticing that the inside was cool and dark. Well, cool and dark were two of his favorite things. He settled into his new vantage point while the other two continued doing their frankly incomprehensible thing.

  The other large thing was surrounded by other smaller things. The other two would take the smaller things and attach them to the other large thing. Eventually all the smaller things were gone and there was only one other large thing. The other two settled back and appeared to be happy with their work. This meant it was time once more for Sanchez, as master of the house, to examine the state of things. Wearily he rose again and strolled over. Sometimes it was tiring to be the master. But then, who else in the house could do it? Surely not either of the other two. It was a fact they would be lost without him.

  The other large thing that the other two had been fiddling with was a thing that looked a bit like the other two, but smaller. The other two sometimes let others into the house and when they did, sometimes those others brought smaller others, who annoyed Sanchez. This other large thing was about the size of the annoying smaller others. So that wasn’t a good thing right off. But he liked to encourage the other two when he could. It was part of being master. So he came in closer to the other large thing to give it a token approval mark before he got back to his nap.

  And then the thing tried to reach for him!

  Holy crap!

  Sanchez did the prudent thing, seized the high ground of the top of the couch and prepared himself for battle. The other large thing appeared to watch him and followed, reaching out again toward Sanchez. Sanchez responded with a bellow of invective and struck at the other large thing, once, twice, three times. This made the other two make that weird barking noise they sometimes made. Sanchez looked at the both of them, eyes narrowed. He would deal with them later, possibly when they were sleeping. For now, however, he was totally focused on this other large thing, which obviously must be destroyed. Sanchez coiled himself for attack and flung himself at the other large thing, aiming for the head.