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Rudism.com

Rudism.com

De : Rudis Muiznieks
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 The Rudism.com podcast of serialized short fiction. Science fiction, horror, humor, and more, written and performed by the author. Drames et pièces de théâtre Science-fiction
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    • Return to Flesh

      Return to Flesh
      Jul 31 2022
      “Fuck Frank, and fuck Bruce, and fuck everyone in that old boy’s club,” Julie said, running her hands through her long blonde hair in front of the mirror. Her brown eyes stared back at her from a face that looked older than she felt. She turned on the faucet and held her hands under the cascade of cool water. The trembling was worse than usual today. “You know why that asshole Frank told me Bruce got the promotion instead of me?” “Why?” asked Rachel, turning her head slightly as she ran lipstick over her pursed lips. Her reflection in the mirror locked eyes with Julie. “He said Bruce is a team player.” Rachel rolled her eyes as she dropped the lipstick back in her purse. “What, and you’re not?” “It’s all bullshit,” said Julie. “I think they know about… You know.” She turned off the water and held a trembling hand up, staring at it accusingly. Rachel’s eyes widened. “But how? Who else have you told?” “Just you and my daughter,” said Julie, closing her eyes. She gripped the sides of the sink. “You don’t think she said anything in one of her videos, do you?” “No, it’s not that. I fucked up. I left some lab results out on my desk during lunch one day. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but ever since then Frank’s been treating me like I have the plague.” “He snooped on your desk?! What a dirt bag! They can’t do this to you, Julie. You should go to HR.” “HR?!” Julie snorted. “They’d have me fired in a hot second if they thought I’d make trouble for the company. Those clowns don’t give a shit about us.” “Well, what are you going to do?” Nothing, Julie thought, but couldn’t bring herself to say it. What else can I ever do? A buzzing in her pocket shook Julie out of her thoughts. The burner–that meant it could only be one person calling, and he only ever called for one reason. Julie decided that was exactly what she needed–the perfect distraction and outlet for her rage. The corners of her lips turned up slightly. God damn, did that prick ever have good timing. “Sorry Rach, I’ve got to take this. Let’s do lunch this week.” Rachel nodded. “Absolutely, babe. Take care, okay?” She frowned and brushed a hand over Julie’s shoulder on her way out of the bathroom. Julie hated that–hated how Rachel had started talking to her like she was already an invalid, staring at her with those sad fucking eyes all the time. Julie pulled the burner out of her pocket and answered it. “Normally I’d be pissed that you called during work, but you’re in luck, asshole. I’m in a mood.” “Hello, is this Julie Holden?” an unfamiliar voice greeted her. Julie frowned. She looked at the phone again to make sure she hadn’t accidentally mistaken her real one for the burner. She hadn’t. She glanced uneasily around the bathroom. “Who is this? How did you get this number?” she hissed into the phone. “Ah,” said the electronically disguised voice–it sounded deep and inhuman. “So this is Julie Holden? Julie Holden, Junior Vice President of Technical Operations at Flagtech Industries?” “Did Rishi put you up to this? Never call this number again, do you understand…” “Julie Holden who would greatly prefer to be Senior Vice President of Technical Operations at Flagtech Industries?” the voice continued. A wave of panic crashed over Julie, and she felt the blood drain from her face. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. “Julie Holden, Flagtech is considering a recent production order from a client calling themselves the Collective. We understand that the blueprint for the device requires your approval. It is in your best interest to ensure that the full order is accepted and fulfilled as-is.” “Is that some kind of threat?” asked Julie, narrowing her eyes. “Far from it, I assure you,” said the voice. “The Collective is prepared to reward you handsomely for your cooperation in this matter. You see, that blueprint is for a medical device. One capable of treating a certain neurological condition you may have become quite familiar with recently.” Julie’s eyes widened. “Aww, thanks for all the sweet messages. You guys really are the best!” Rose said, looking into her camera. She watched the stream of chat messages flowing up her screen. “I know, I know. I missed you guys, too. I’m sorry I haven’t been on as much. I’ve been dealing with some depressing stuff at home, so I didn’t feel much like streaming, and you guys wouldn’t have wanted to see me like that anyway.” The chat exploded with messages of disagreement. We always want to see you. You should stream more. We love you. You’re so hot. Will you marry me? She forced herself to smile at the effusive blocks of text and emojis as they sailed past. “Okay chat, it’s been fun, but I really need to eat something.” Rose waved at her camera. A notification flashed on her screen–one of her viewers had...
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    • Halloween Horror - Big Tech Edition

      Halloween Horror - Big Tech Edition
      Oct 24 2021
      This week’s podcast features two spooky stories for your listening and/or reading pleasure. Wake Words starts at around 3:40The Walled Garden starts at around 17:05 Wake WordsThe sun hung low over the horizon, its fizzled edges shimmering through the soup of thick brown smog obscuring the tops of distant skyscrapers. Three kids–Mohammed, Jack, and Wendy–stood facing each other, casting long dark pillars of shadow across patches of yellow-brown grass and frowning down at a smoking machine in the dirt. “Augmented reality projector? More like augmented shit projector,” Jack said. He spat, missing Wendy’s foot by an inch. “Eww, gross!” Wendy cried, taking a step back. Mohammed shook his head, still looking down. “But it worked,” he said listlessly. “We had it working.” “Yeah, for three seconds,” said Jack. He scuffed his foot across the dirt toward the broken projector. “Maybe we can try again tomorrow,” said Wendy. She glanced hopefully at Mohammed. Mohammed looked at Wendy, then back down at the machine. “Nah,” he said. “Jack’s right, it’s a piece of shit. I’m sorry I wasted our money, guys.” “Why did you buy this one anyway?” asked Jack. “Kevin’s is a Samsung. Nobody’s ever heard of this brand. You shoulda bought a Samsung.” Mohammed shrugged. “This was the only one I could afford with our allowances. Besides, Amazon recommended it.” “Fuck Amazon,” said Jack. In her pocket, the Alexa app on Wendy’s phone listened. The three friends stood in silence around the metal contraption that had vexed them all afternoon. Oh, what promise the day had held–it had arrived! Their very own augmented reality projector! At last they would know first-hand the delights of AR gaming that, until now, they could only experience vicariously–watching strangers on YouTube, or hearing Kevin brag about his projector at school. But as the afternoon dragged on, the crisp, visceral excitement in the air gradually faded into bitter frustration. The projector was impossibly complex. None of its functions made sense. They pushed buttons, connected it to apps on their phones, swiped screens, screamed crude voice commands at it–all in vain. As the sun dimmed, dipping below the haze and signaling the onset of evening, it seemed all was lost. In what was to be his final attempt, Mohammed hit an untried combination of buttons on one of the projector’s control panels. There was a flash of light, and for a moment the field transformed into a vibrant AR space–a glowing playground filled with strange and exciting holographic toys. Then the machine sparked, fizzled, and the environment evaporated, taking with it the kids’ last glimmer of hope. “Can you return it?” asked Jack. “I want my money back.” “I dunno. Maybe. I guess I’ll take it home and see,” replied Mohammed. “Well I’m gonna give it a shit review,” said Jack. “I’m gonna give it zero stars. Can you give zero stars on Amazon? I wish you could give negative stars.” Wendy’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Mohammed and Jack watched as she took it out and swiped its screen. Wendy shrugged and put the phone back in her pocket. She glanced toward her house, then behind her at the fast-setting sun. “I gotta go, Mom gets mad when I stay out past dark.” A small black dot rose into the air in the distance, accompanied by an almost imperceptible hum. It started moving, cutting through the smog hanging over the city center as it approached. None of the kids noticed. Mohammed knelt and delicately prodded his finger at the projector, bracing for electric shocks or hot surfaces. Finding it safe, he gathered it up in his arms. Jack watched with a look of disgust. Wendy looked over her shoulder at her two friends as she walked toward her house. “See you guys at school tomorrow.” Mohammed waved to her, then headed to the path where he had stashed his bicycle and backpack. Jack stood and watched them leave, grumbling to himself. “Fuck that projector. And fuck Amazon for selling trash.” The hum was louder now, tickling the edges of Jack’s perception. He turned and looked out toward the city, not entirely sure why. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Jack pulled it out and saw a message from Wendy: See you at school tomorrow, it said. He looked back over his shoulder. Wendy had reached her yard, not so much as glancing up as she closed the tall wooden gate behind her. “You said that already, weirdo,” Jack muttered. He slipped his phone into his pocket and returned his attention to the city. The smog hanging over the tall buildings had turned from brown to dark gray in the dwindling twilight. Jack began his downhill trek, marching away from Wendy’s house and the neighborhood that Mohammed lived in and toward the street that led to his own. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the darkening sky. The hum was louder now. He thought he saw movement–a dark shadow gliding toward him through the...
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    • Three Million CE - Episode 7

      Three Million CE - Episode 7
      Aug 29 2021
      Three million years was a long time. An awful long time. It was so long that Doyle Tingler believed his brain fully incapable of processing the implications of its length, and so did his best to spare the poor thing that unpleasantness. Doyle vacillated his thoughts between two subjects. The first was his quest to find his girlfriend Kirsten, who ran off to join the Nikola’s Children cult shortly after Doyle had proposed to her. Three million years crammed in a stasis chamber with Sarah the security officer–his friend’s would-be-kidnapper–had not dulled his desire to complete that quest, though thinking about how he might go about it now, given his current predicament, tended to darken his mood considerably. The other subject towards which Doyle more frequently steered his thoughts was, much to the chagrin of those around him, thinking of and listing all the films, television shows, and books he knew of that resembled his present situation in some way. “Red Dwarf,” said Doyle, staring absentmindedly at the ceiling. Sarah put her face in her hands and sighed dramatically. “You’ve said that one.” “Have I?” Sarah nodded emphatically. She put down the small black book she had been writing in before Doyle had interrupted her, and launched into a nasally voiced imitation. “Dave Lister, after being put in stasis for smuggling a cat aboard the deep space mining ship Red Dwarf, finds himself resurrected in deep space three million years later and…” “It’s odd, isn’t it?” interrupted Doyle, ignoring Sarah’s mockery. “I mean that it was also three million years.” “Whatever,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “Except in that show Lister was the last human alive, so it’s not exactly like this, since there’s two of us. We do have an android, though,” Doyle added, thinking of Desmond, the artificial intelligence that had piloted the Nikola’s Children ship–the Ark–for three million years before crashing it into a planet and copying himself into the robot body they found abandoned there. Doyle shook his head. “But no holograms. What about Farscape? Have I mentioned Farscape yet?” “You mean the show where John Crichton finds himself flung to a distant corner of the galaxy where he has to navigate the socio-political fabric of several unfamiliar alien races as he searches for a way home?” asked Sarah. “Yes,” said Doyle. “Never heard of it,” said Sarah. She returned her attention to her book. “That doesn’t fit, either,” said Doyle. “It didn’t take place in the future. Also in Farscape there were aliens, but I think everyone we’ve met so far is essentially human, give or take a few million years of evolution. Zuli says it’s a widely held belief that all known life originated from a common source. I suppose that would be Earth, though I gather that’s a religiously contentious opinion nowadays. “No, Farscape is close, but I feel like I’m forgetting something even better…” Sarah snapped her book shut and stood up. “Well, be sure not to bother me with it when you’ve figured it out.” She pushed past Doyle toward the hallway that led to her quarters. Bae, the tiny rhino-pig that had been napping at Sarah’s feet, woke up and stretched lazily, then trotted after her. “Oh, I know! Planet of the Apes. Not the new ones, but the old Charlton Heston one. Or the Tim Burton remake. Except those were all on Earth,” Doyle mused, following Sarah and Bae into the hall. “Leave me alone,” said Sarah, quickening her pace. “Maybe the Culture books by Iain M. Banks. Or Dune. Didn’t that desert planet with the sand worm remind you of Dune?” “I’m not listening,” said Sarah. “Oh! Did I tell you about Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy yet?” Sarah screamed. Zuli leaned back in the captain’s chair and frowned at the patterns that danced across the large curved screen in front of her. She had agreed to help Doyle find Takkah IV, where he believed the Ark had been taken, but to do that they would have to find someone who knew more about the Orubus Belt–an area of space not widely renowned for its abundance of friendly encounters. “I’ve zoomed the sensors out,” Desmond said. “You see those jiggly patterns in the upper left? It’s radiation that the ship’s computer calls non-random chatter. And it’s at a volume that indicates a totally massive communications hub of some kind. Like a station or an inhabited star system. Might be a good direction to head, see if we can get close enough to decode some of it and listen in.” “Very well,” Zuli said, glancing over at the large robot. A snaking tendril of cable connected Desmond’s arm to a console against the wall of the bridge. “I am grateful to you, Desmond. Your interface to the ship and your instruction in its operation has been invaluable. It is just too bad the ship computers did not contain more information about the Orubus Belt.” “Nobody ever mapped ...
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