Poisoned Bluestripe & The Machine and Her Mahout

By Kater Cheek

Two hard science fiction short stories about the emotional perils of off-planetary colonization.

In Poisoned Bluestripe, and idealistic investigator tries to prove an impoverished colonial culture innocent of genocide.

The Machine and Her Mahout, a semi-finalist in the Writers of the Future contest, deals with the enduring love between a man and his sentient mining machine.

Includes bonus sample chapter of a new urban fantasy novel by the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kater Cheek
• Release date: Sep 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301216819

Book preview

Poisoned Bluestripe

&

The Machine and Her Mahout

By Kater Cheek

Poisoned Bluestripe

&

The Machine and Her Mahout

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Kater Cheek

2013

Table of Contents

Poisoned Bluestripe

The Machine and Her Mahout

Sample of ALTERNATE SUSAN

End

POISONED BLUESTRIPE

The video showed thousands and thousands of dead Aawulians: men, women, and children, still in their festival finery. Survivors wept and wailed. The cause of death was not in doubt; all of the deceased had eaten of the bluestripe fish that the Pilapians had given them as tribute. The mystery: why is it that none of the Pilapians--who ate the exact same fish--died? The Capital news feeds were calling it a massacre, but the Capital still sent an investigative squad.

Doesn’t look good for the Pilapians, especially seeing as how the Capital sent you along, Ex. Hola said, tinkering with her recording equipment. She had an expensive camera headset with a thin lens that fit in front of one eye and a cord that snaked to a tiny power pack concealed within her hair.

What do you mean by that? Kwela resented her tone. He had spent most of his first quarter century in school and training. Ex. Hola looked so old that her body was half prosthetic at this point. She could be as young as fifty, or as old as two hundred, depending upon what kind of radiation she’d been exposed to on her colonial jaunts. Old enough to have forgotten the first rule of training: keep an open mind.

Hola smiled, as if she was reading his thoughts. You have a molecular biology degree. Qualified to use the organic compound scanner on the ship. If they didn’t think that the Pilapians killed that Aawulian village, they wouldn’t have brought someone who knew about poisons.

I won’t submit my report until I know the facts.

Hola snorted, just barely, and leaned over the screen showing a glimpse of their descent. Below them, the planet surface looked dank and lifeless, except for the small glimmer of blue terraformed island, protected under its dome. From lower orbit, it looked tiny, like a bubble on the surface of a lake, but this dome contained one million people, the entire human population of the planet, all living under that dome. Like a terrarium.

You know anything about this planet? Hola asked.

I downloaded a complete dossier about both dominant cultures on this surface. Culture, background, local patois.

Only thing I ever hear of this place is Aawulian silks. That’s all they make for export, you know. Silk and problems. Capital doesn’t like problems.

Just what exactly are you an expert in, Expert Hola?

Mediation, she said. She gave him a warning glance. And watch the attitude. I’m in charge, and I won’t put up with backtalk from a man half my age.

My apologies, Expert.

She snorted, half mollified. People don’t change much, no matter what planet you put them on.

They were scheduled to land at the main settlement just after noon, and partake of official ceremonies and feasts that night. Kwela was looking forward to it. He’d already programmed in the coordinates of the main settlement, and was brushing his clothes in anticipation of having his image recorded, when he saw Ex. Hola take over the controls.

What are you doing? We have an itinerary.

Itineraries are for chumps. Ex. Hola piloted the shuttle towards one of the smaller fishing villages that ringed the island.

Kwela’s curiosity got the better of him. Is this a Pilapian village, or an Aawulian one?

Ex. Hola looked at him. Downloaded the whole dossier, uh? And you still need to ask that? The Pilapians are fisherfolk. Coastal villages are all theirs.

The shuttle