by Ian Creasey
“I’m trying to help you here, Willie. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Whitecoat peered intently at Willie.
Willie leaned forward and looked hard at the objects. He reached forward, but it was impossible to tell if he would have gone to the right or the left, because his hand froze just as he was lifting it. Willie dropped his hand in futility.
“Do it. I’m done.”
Whitecoat sighed and shook his head. He scanned the objects. “Okay, boys,” he said, and walked out of the room without looking back.
Both soldiers moved forward. One had a bag labeled RIGHT, the other a bag labeled LEFT . They put the objects in the appropriate bags, sealed them, and walked out. The cop reached out and took the box cutter from the far corner of the table where Willie had laid it, and also left the room.
In another room, everyone sat back on the comfy couch, watching Willie on the monitor. “Whaddaya think, boys?” Whitecoat asked.
“Definitely a deport case,” the cop pronounced.
“Good mimic, though,” one of the soldiers said. The other nodded.
“I’m with you boys. Too shady, too much ancient history, too many cover stories for too many slip-ups. Even a couple of nice bluffs,” said Whitecoat.
“They get so cocky over that treaty,” the cop spat.
They watched.
Willie sat there. His knee bounced spastically.
Willie read the address on the box. He looked inside it. The knee kept pumping.
Then Willie picked up the bubble wrap. He turned it in his hands along the edge, until he’d gone through all four.
And then he popped one of the bubbles.
“DAMMIT,” Whitecoat said.
“We were all wrong,” the cop chuckled.
Willie continued to pop the bubble wrap.
“Think they’ll ever catch on?” one of the soldiers asked.
“Naaah,” the other one said. “They’re too methodical. They don’t understand pointless physical activity. It just doesn’t jive with them. Culturally impossible to counterfeit.”
“And even if they do,” the cop said, “they just won’t be able to pop. It’s too close to their own physiology. They can’t bring themselves to do it. Too repugnant. Whereas we … ,” he said, reaching for a square of bubble wrap.
“Yes,” Whitecoat said with a dreamy smile, already nine pops into his square. “It is quite irresistible, isn’t it?”
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Science Fiction Anthologies
First Contact –Anthology 1
Therefore I Am –Anthology 2
Pressure Suite – Anthology 3
Heir Apparent – Anthology 4
Visions Imprint Science Fiction Short Stories
A Moment of Clarity
Vintage Imprint Science Fiction Classics
The Colors of Space
Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Preface
How I Lost Eleven Stone and Found Love
Biting a Dead Man’s Hand
The Caretaker
Masks
Hera’s Tempest
Roanoke, Nevada
Nectar of the Gods
The Tortoise Parliament
Black Sun
Pop Quiz
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