Rhythms

By Maggie Jaimeson

A Speculative Fiction Anthology (150 pages)

The rhythm of life is everywhere. It is in the shared and natural experience of our heartbeats and the high and low tides of our oceans. The turning of our planet brings the rhythm of its seasons. Orbits of distant moons and planets within a multitude of galaxies intertwine and create waves of rhythms that have impacts we do not consciously acknowledge. In the same way, every decision one makes creates a new blip in the rhythm of that life, and in turn, in the rhythms of many lives.

This collection of seven speculative fiction stories explores the rhythms of life both external and internal on our planet and in other places in the universe. From identifying a single individual’s challenges with identity to that of a supernatural being whose sole purpose is to embed its soul into the experiences of all people, each story asks you to question what you see, who you are, and how to think outside of your personal experience.

If you are able to adapt to a new rhythm, you will be given a chance to do more than survive. You will find a way to thrive.

Featured stories:

• Alienation
• Identity Crisis
• The Conscript
• Pop!
• The Payment
• The Vow
• The Beckoning

• Language: English
• Publisher: Windtree Press
• Release date: Nov 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781942368021

Maggie Jaimeson

Maggie is the author of 15 published books, as well as more than 30 short stories and numerous non-fiction articles. She is also the founder of Windtree Press, an independent publishing cooperative. Her love of lifelong-learning has garnered degrees in psychology, counseling, computer science, and education; and led to opportunities to consult in Europe, Australia, and the Middle East. Since 2013, Maggie has enjoyed the luxury of writing full-time. Her adult fiction spans romance, suspense, and SF titles under the name Maggie Jaimeson. She writes YA under the name Maggie Faire. Her non-fiction titles are found under Maggie McVay Lynch.

Book preview

Rhythms

A collection of speculative short stories

Maggie Jaimeson

Windtree Press

Portland, Oregon

Copyright © 2014 by Maggie Jaimeson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

Windtree Press

818 SW 3rd Avenue, #221-2218

Portland, Oregon 97204-2405

http://windtreepress.com

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Alienation in Four Words copyright © Maggie McVay 1982.

Identity Crisis copyright © Maggie McVay, 1988, first published in ComputerEdge in 1988.

"The Conscript’ copyright © Maggie McVay, 1996, first published in Speculative Fiction and Beyond, Aug 1996.

Pop! copyright © Maggie McVay, 1998, first published in Backspace, 1999

The Payment copyright © Maggie Jaimeson, 2014, first published in Fiction River: Moonscapes, An original anthology magazine #6, 2014.

The Vow copyright © Maggie Jaimeson, 2014.

The Beckoning copyright © Maggie Jaimeson, 2014, first published in Underground: An Anthology by NIWA, Nov 2014.

Rhythms/ Maggie Jaimeson. -- 1st ed.

ISBN 978-19423680-2-1

Dedication

For Jim, who chose to blend his rhythm with mine.

We both have chosen to adapt.

Together we make a life that is unique,

sometimes challenging,

and often wonderful.

Forward

A theme in all my writing, both novels and short stories, is the search for identity and meaning. This search is made more difficult because simply living life brings both pain and happiness. By nature, we tend to cling to these experiences. That clinging results in more pain—for some it is because they cannot let go of, or transform, their past pain. For others it is the unrealistic expectation of finding constant happiness.

In my personal journey, I embrace the concept that life is dukkha. This is a Buddhist precept that is hard to describe in a short sentence or two, as it originates in meaning that is articulated in an ancient language (Sanskrit) and relates to a specific time and cultural understanding of the world. The closest I can come is to say that dukkha is wrapped up in the understanding that existence is impermanent and therefore unsatisfactory—our need to cling to one way, one truth, one constant makes life unsatisfactory. If we can embrace impermanence, then we will be on the path to living a satisfactory life. Definitely easier said than done.

Speculative fiction is a way for me to hold up a mirror to life as I experience it today and to extrapolate what that may look like in the near or far future. In order to imagine that future, I also have to imagine how an individual chooses to adapt (or not) to what life has thrown them.

Some of my writing is truly speculation of what the future may hold—that is an extrapolation of the exaggerated trends in our current imperfect environment, as in The Conscript or The Payment. Other stories are based more in fantasy—not always pleasant—of a way in which society learns to cope with or adapt to horrific wounds, as in The Vow. It is up to you to judge whether you agree or disagree with my views of the future, or to share what you would like to see.

I wish I could believe that in the future there will be universal peace, or at least that the wars we fight will be less deadly. However, history over thousands of years has shown that no matter how we progress we still are not able to find a way to communicate effectively and to get along. History has also shown that the wounds of one man or woman can be used to rally others with similar experiences. More often than not, that rallying call is to vengeance—even when the original oppressors no longer exist.

Six of the seven stories explore the role of the individual in adapting or not adapting to conformity. In four of them, a governmental entity is the judge of conformity and also the one to determine consequences. The final story, The Beckoning, is a reflection on how even a supernatural being—or as some may perceive as a god—also suffers and causes suffering in others from its actions, even when those actions are altruistic.

I don’t know that I will reach the end of dukkha in this life. What I do know is that I will continue to enter the stream, continue to restart the process—for it is not a straight line for me. I will continue to walk the path by simply putting one foot in front of the other. Along the way I will continue to hold up my mirror and reflect on life in the best way I know how—through writing.

I hope my reflections cause you to think, to question, and to consider your own path.

Maggie Lynch

Alienation

Immediately He noticed her. Three chairs in a row, and She was seated in the far left chair. He glanced about the terminal, observing these were the only chairs available. Without taking his eyes off her, He moved toward the middle seat, next to her. Her icy glare hurled him to the chair at the far right. She coughed.

Are you fine? He asked.

Fine, She answered between coughs.

Oh.

She coughed even more.

Oh you are, are you? He asked. Sarcastic.

Fine! She held her magazine in front of her. Purposeful.

Oh. He looked straight ahead, crossed his legs, tapped his chubby finger on the chair arm.

She laughed.

He craned his neck to see.

She noticed and transferred the magazine, pointing. Begrudging. He read it. Quick.

He forced a laugh. Handed it back. Oh . . . fine . . . fine.

Shuttle to Alpha Space Station, now departing gate 23, a synthesized voice announced.

Are you? He asked. She shook her head slightly. Oh.

Are you? She asked. He shook his head in response. She mouthed Oh.

She coughed.

He smiled.

She gave him that icy stare again. He turned away.

She laughed again. He peered again. She turned to block his view.

Shuttle to Gamma Space Station, now departing gate 20.

Are y . . . he began.

She shook her head with vigor.

He mouthed a silent oh.

She-2 entered the station, looking for an open seat. Nervous. She-2 noticed only one open seat. She-2 looked at each end of the row. Wistful.

She was reading. He was looking at the floor. She-2 moved to the middle chair and sat. Cautious.

Are . . . she-2 began.

He and She turned to her, equal glares, and then turned away. She-2 stared at the ceiling. Relieved.

Identity Crisis

Number twenty-nine! She boomed angrily. Sometimes the bland, synthesized computer announcement was ignored. She glanced up and checked the sign flashing a big red 29 above her desk. There was no excuse for ignoring that, she thought. She gave them only two chances, then it was on to the next number. Number twenty-nine, she yelled again.

She peered through large square-framed glasses, scanning the sea of chairs bolted to the floor filled with wave after wave of men and women. With a challenging glint in her eye she surveyed the masses, impatiently waiting for someone to step forward.

I ... I guess that's me, came a small voice from the back of the room. A stooped, elderly man shuffled toward the front. I've got this scrap of paper here, with a twenty-nine on it ... so I guess ... His voiced trailed off uncertainly as he approached the desk.

Charlie Moore hated coming to this office—an office where nameless people wielded the great power of the government, hiding behind those infernal machines which reduced all of humanity to a number. Frequently, he had doubts they were human beings at all; but merely an extension of some all-powerful creature within the bureaucratic protectorate.

Sit! The computer lady said impatiently.

Oh, yes ... yes ... Charlie sat in the chair opposite the desk. He tried to make eye contact with the woman, but her gaze was already glued to the computer screen. My name is...

Your identifile number, please.

What? He asked, confused. Oh, yes ... that. Boy, let me see. Where did I put that? Charlie searched his pockets, looking for the red card that contained his assigned number. I know I should have memorized it; but my mind can't hold onto too many things like that anymore. Starting to slip, you know. He looked up and smiled at the computer operator. You sure you don't want my name? Now, that I can remember.

Your identifile number, she responded mechanically.

They want that number, huh? Boy, it sure is amazing how they went out and gave everybody one of those numbers. No two alike. You know, with the number of people on this planet you would have thought they might have got two alike ... a slip up or something. But no, sir. Everyone has a number.

His fingers felt a piece of cardboard in one of the pockets. He looked down triumphantly. Oh, here it is. Yes ... yes. He reached across the desk to present the square card and then looked at it more carefully. Oh. No ... no, that's my daughter's business card. Beth, my oldest. She—

Sir, you are holding up the line, the computer