It's Just the Chronosphere Unfolding as It Should by Ira Nayman

Author:Ira Nayman [Nayman, Ira]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FL Science Fiction, WHP Parodies and Spoofs, FIC028010 FICTION / Science Fiction / Adventure, FIC016000 FICTION / Humorous, FIC052000 FICTION /Satire
ISBN: 9781911409113
Publisher: Elsewhen Press
Published: 2016-06-18T00:00:00+00:00

16. Meanwhile, Elsewhen

Radames had meditated for three hours, fourteen minutes and twelve seconds. She was ready. Standing up, she instructed the videowall of her living cubicle to enter attack mode. The videowall protested that she was in her underwear, which was not standard issue battle gear. Radames informed it that her bra and panties were all the battle gear she would need, and would it please go into attack mode. The videowall refused to go into attack mode until she wore something more than a bra and panties. That’s what I get for being polite! Radames thought.

She put on a pair of socks.

The videowall rolled its eyes. It actually projected a pair of three foot wide baby blues in order to roll them. The programmer must have been quite the literalist. In a moment, the eyes faded out and in faded a vast grey battlefield littered with burning machines and unrecognizable corpses. Terminator scenario 27b, Radames snorted derisively in her mind. Not the best test – next time, I’ll have to be more specific!

Radames crouched into a fighting stance, one arm fully extended with a fist at the end, the other curving in front of her with a different fist at the end. She cautiously mimed moving forward (no sense breaking her nose in a training exercise), looking this way and that for threats. One soon appeared: an unarmed robot skeleton with glowing red eyes ran towards her. Radames mimed running towards it and, just as they were about to meet in the action film in her mind’s eye, Radames raised her arm and there, in her hand, was…an oversized wooden spoon.

Radames looked dumbly at the spoon as the robot skeleton made hacking motions with its arms and blood and skin and viscera flew all over the screen. Wooden spoon. Not exactly a chopstick. The damage she could do with a wooden spoon was substantial, and it was more in keeping with her Armenian/Italian heritage than an Asian eating utensil; still, Radames knew that while it was as impressive as chopsticks, it wasn’t as elegant. (Nobody was keeping track of how many different ways you could kill a man with a wooden spoon, for that very reason.) Noomi Rapier would be disappointed. And she did not want to disappoint Noomi Rapier. Waving a hand, she instructed the videowall to show her a busy street scene, and, amid the honking and obscure obscenities, sat in a lotus position on the mat on the floor of her living cubicle and began to drift off into her meditative state.

Hey! – whatever gets you to nirvana, right?

Two and a quarter hours and 2,021 “Be one with the chopstick”s later, something gently squoorked outside Radames’ door. The squoorking interrupted an especially spirited “Be one with the chopstick,” so spirited, in fact, that it’s hard to see the phrase’s meditative qualities; Radames was both annoyed by and grateful for the distraction from the distraction.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Hold your…” Radames abruptly stopped. What would a highly

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