Edit Red for this writer, and probably many others, was the first place where I had a presence on the internet.  I have just received an e-mail saying that Sean, Alan, and Chris are closing down the site.  I’ll have to confess that I neglected it as it became more and more a social networking site (and as FaceBook took more and more of my time).  The internet is a continuously evolving beast, but Edit Red, the old version anyway, will be missed.

As some of my readers and writer colleagues know, I have several short stories posted to Edit Red.  These will be eventually moved to the “Steve’s shorts” category in this blog–still free and perhaps more conveniently available.

So, let’s wish the Edit Red founders and their collaborators luck on all of their future enterprises.

If you’re a soon-to-be or recent retiree, this short story might have special meaning.  Consider it a new twist on Huxley’s Brave New World.  Or, for the people out there looking for jobs, consider it a warning to check out the retirement plans when you are interviewing.  It is a brave new world.  Enjoy.

***

Brenda moved along the dim corridor and stopped at room 114.  After checking off the visit on her list, she peeked into the room at her patient.

Rafael, the old retiree, sat in his rocker, muttering to himself.  As usual, he was smiling and staring out the window between the thick wrought iron bars at the bleak Virginia countryside.

(more…)

(For those who have read The Midas Bomb, you already know detective Dao-Ming Chen.  This short story takes place when she still worked on the narcotics squad, before joining forces with Rollie Castilblanco.  So, if you haven’t read The Midas Bomb, this story will serve as an introduction to this tough lady cop.  Enjoy…)

(more…)

This is yet another entry into the Odri genealogy.  Enjoy.

Hexenkoph

Copyright 2008, Steven M. Moore

“Witches.  Demons.”

Children repeated the words as they played on Williams Township Common on a summer evening in 1798 Pennsylvania.  Holding onto their kerchiefs, they danced around a ring, their cotton shirts and calico dresses billowing in the light breeze.   The German immigrant parents gave a wink and a nod to their play, although for them witchcraft was more serious business.  Only a few months earlier jurors under oath swore the widow S. B. had bewitched a horse so that it “worstened and wasted” away.¹

The children then sang the witches’ song their parents brought from the old country:

“Merrily dance we, merrily dance we, round this old oak tree,

Full many will dance this terrible night, but none will be merry but we;

The ships shall dance on the yeasty waves, the billows shall dance and roll,

And many a screech of despair shall rise from many a sin-sick soul.” ¹

***

Odri e’Mon Ruspi e’Fom tested the air.  Many centuries had passed since this planet was last visited.  It was necessary to be prudent.  The dominant species could have permitted an industrial revolution to slip into run-away mode or turned the area into nuclear slag.

(more…)

Bits and Dribbles

Steven M. Moore

Copyright 2007

Need  water.  Have to get me some water.

Sparky stopped at the puddle and sniffed.  A pink tongue that was already hanging out to cool him off quickly sampled the dirty water.

Water good.

He sniffed at it again and carefully made a few slurps, splashed around in the puddle a bit, and then drank some more.

Happy.  No longer thirsty.

(more…)

Marcello and Me

Copyright 2008,  Steven M. Moore

I knew my leg was broken.  I gave up trying to move it.  Although it was still hot, the sun had just gone down behind the edge of the precipice, leaving me in shadow.  Soon night would come, the temperature would plummet, and I would freeze.

It was always hard growing up on Hard Fist.  The planet was really a satellite orbiting a huge gas giant about twice the size of Jupiter.  The gas giant was not even the largest in the star system but it was in the E-zone.  Thus its moon-planet was habitable, barely.

(more…)

The following short story features Sgt. Rolando Castilblanco of the NYPD.  He is also a main character in my new novel The Midas Bomb, soon to be published.  Enjoy.

The Best Route from Here to There

Steven M. Moore

Copyright 2008, Steven M. Moore

The follow-through was good, but Grace missed with the vase.  It soared by Jack’s ear and crashed into the wall.

“I bought you that vase in Paris!”

“And I hated it even then!”

She grabbed her laptop and stormed out of the house.

She’ll be back, he thought.

(more…)

The Force of Tradition

Steven M. Moore

Copyright 2006, Steven M. Moore

Ardus of the Oprazni Hive belched with contentment.  His guest, a Human scientist, stopped a moment in her note taking, quite pleased with her new-found ability to calm her queasy stomach.  She had just watched the Arlamati dine on what the latter considered an exquisitely prepared reef polyp, a foul-smelling live meal that he normally couldn’t afford, even if he was Skel’s most famous physicist.  Moreover, from her point of view, his contented demeanor was decidedly in contradiction with what it should be, considering the fate that awaited him.

(more…)

Retiree Number 114 at Pine Hills Manor

Steven M. Moore

Copyright 2008, Steven M. Moore

Brenda moved along the dim corridor and stopped at room 114.  After checking off the visit on her list, she peeked into the room at her patient.

Rafael, the old retiree, sat in his rocker, muttering to himself.  As usual, he was smiling and staring out the window between the thick wrought iron bars at the bleak Virginia countryside.

She thought he might like winter because he used to ski, but she couldn’t be sure.  Most of the retirees didn’t remember much with all the drugs they took.  He often drew pictures of skiers, though, especially of children on skis.

“Ready to start your day, Rafael?”  She always tried to be cheery with her patients.

He gave her a dour look.  She knew he was a warm and caring person-he just hated to be rushed.

“What’re they having for breakfast?”

“Oatmeal, OJ and coffee, what else?  Do you want me to come back?”

“No.  I don’t want to get out of my routine and I don’t want to take you out of yours.  Besides, my daughter is coming to visit today.  I’d better spruce up.”

She nodded.  She had known Rafael Reyes for four years.  It was what he said nearly every morning.  The drugs had that effect.  All her patients were docile.

She helped him get dressed.  He was in better shape than the average retiree in the nursing home.  Lean body, flat abs, not confined to a wheel chair-at seventy-seven Rafael Reyes could pass for early sixties.  Without the drugs he could have been a handful.  With the drugs, it was like dressing a sleepy baby.  Under their influence he would often start muttering in Spanish.  She wondered if those were his secrets.

* * *

(more…)