Read Online Asimov's Science Fiction: December 2013 by Penny Publications - Free Book Online
Authors: Penny Publications
Tags: Asimov's #455
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blinking head fixed to a useless body. She saw someone—a dark-haired male nurse—he very much resembled a flight attendant she knew—feeding her; she swallowed. Her spit didn't want to go down, and she coughed. The cough brought her chest up from the linoleum floor, ending her fantasy of incapacity. She sat up and folded her legs. The loose knob had ended up just to her left.
"Help!" she shouted. "Hurry! Help me!" She listened.
Her back was sore, and when she stood, she found her bottom was sore too. There'd be bruises. She went to the linen closet and stood before the door. "Can you help me?" she shouted. "Send help! Hurry!" She put her ear to the white-painted wood and listened. "Hello?" she said more quietly.
She yanked the door open. The head stirred among the towels. "Hello," it said.
"Didn't you hear me calling?"
"I hear what you're saying," it replied.
"I fell off the counter and it was pretty unpleasant."
"Gravity," he replied, "is a cruel mistress."
"That's not good enough," she said, and shut the door.
Her arms, hanging straight down, seemed compelled to plunge downward and through the floor. Her hands balled into rocky fists and shook. A strange force rumbled through her body from feet to head. "Dammit!" she shouted at the door. "God damn you!"
Then she became creative, combining words and making up new ones, telling the head it was no good, pathetic, sitting there doing nothing, a waste, pure shit. Her head vibrated. When she opened the door, the face took a moment to find her eyes.
"Did you hear that?" she demanded.
"I hear you," the head said, frustratingly calm.
She unleashed another torrent of words straight at the face, which blinked twice during these proceedings. The mouth opened when she paused, causing her to recommence so it couldn't find any space in which to speak.
When she was done, she wiped her wet mouth. "That's how I feel. So what do you think of that?"
"You've indicated feelings," said the head.
She exhaled loudly through her nose. "Thank you." "You're welcome."
When she awoke, she vividly recalled a dream, a dream she would remember for some time to come. She'd found herself drifting in outer space. Helmetless, though space-suited, she held her breath. Every point of light seemed equally far off, so she rolled over to seek a planet she might reach before her breath ran out. In response to this expectation, she found the blue crescent of a nearby world. Swimming motions brought her closer, but practical considerations surfaced: How would she control where she landed? Would anyone see her approaching? Would she be late for her scheduled flight? The spread of waking logic made her aware that she was cold. Of course, space was tremendously cold. The planet's crescent thinned: the world was rotating away from her, and she felt colder still.
Her arms jerked and she awoke. The room was darker even than outer space, which had been littered with stars and occupied by at least one world. Turning revealed the digital clock's faint light on the other side of the bed.
She considered getting up for water, but the notion that she might wake the head in the closet made her curl tighter into herself and pull the sheets up over her face.
Though she'd taken quite a few psychology courses during her undergraduate years, Karen had never, till now, worried about her own psychological state. She had talked to a counselor a few times, a requirement for her senior seminar. The coun selor's room had windows on either side and, as these sessions had taken place on winter afternoons, was always filled with blue light, the kind of light that filtered through a wall of snow when as a child you dug down into a snowdrift. The only other light was from a yellow desk lamp angled toward a stack of papers. The room might not have been cold, but it had felt cold, even when she wore a sweater. But she'd enjoyed talking.
"What's my diagnosis?" she asked after the first session, and the man had said, touching
"Help!" she shouted. "Hurry! Help me!" She listened.
Her back was sore, and when she stood, she found her bottom was sore too. There'd be bruises. She went to the linen closet and stood before the door. "Can you help me?" she shouted. "Send help! Hurry!" She put her ear to the white-painted wood and listened. "Hello?" she said more quietly.
She yanked the door open. The head stirred among the towels. "Hello," it said.
"Didn't you hear me calling?"
"I hear what you're saying," it replied.
"I fell off the counter and it was pretty unpleasant."
"Gravity," he replied, "is a cruel mistress."
"That's not good enough," she said, and shut the door.
Her arms, hanging straight down, seemed compelled to plunge downward and through the floor. Her hands balled into rocky fists and shook. A strange force rumbled through her body from feet to head. "Dammit!" she shouted at the door. "God damn you!"
Then she became creative, combining words and making up new ones, telling the head it was no good, pathetic, sitting there doing nothing, a waste, pure shit. Her head vibrated. When she opened the door, the face took a moment to find her eyes.
"Did you hear that?" she demanded.
"I hear you," the head said, frustratingly calm.
She unleashed another torrent of words straight at the face, which blinked twice during these proceedings. The mouth opened when she paused, causing her to recommence so it couldn't find any space in which to speak.
When she was done, she wiped her wet mouth. "That's how I feel. So what do you think of that?"
"You've indicated feelings," said the head.
She exhaled loudly through her nose. "Thank you." "You're welcome."
When she awoke, she vividly recalled a dream, a dream she would remember for some time to come. She'd found herself drifting in outer space. Helmetless, though space-suited, she held her breath. Every point of light seemed equally far off, so she rolled over to seek a planet she might reach before her breath ran out. In response to this expectation, she found the blue crescent of a nearby world. Swimming motions brought her closer, but practical considerations surfaced: How would she control where she landed? Would anyone see her approaching? Would she be late for her scheduled flight? The spread of waking logic made her aware that she was cold. Of course, space was tremendously cold. The planet's crescent thinned: the world was rotating away from her, and she felt colder still.
Her arms jerked and she awoke. The room was darker even than outer space, which had been littered with stars and occupied by at least one world. Turning revealed the digital clock's faint light on the other side of the bed.
She considered getting up for water, but the notion that she might wake the head in the closet made her curl tighter into herself and pull the sheets up over her face.
Though she'd taken quite a few psychology courses during her undergraduate years, Karen had never, till now, worried about her own psychological state. She had talked to a counselor a few times, a requirement for her senior seminar. The coun selor's room had windows on either side and, as these sessions had taken place on winter afternoons, was always filled with blue light, the kind of light that filtered through a wall of snow when as a child you dug down into a snowdrift. The only other light was from a yellow desk lamp angled toward a stack of papers. The room might not have been cold, but it had felt cold, even when she wore a sweater. But she'd enjoyed talking.
"What's my diagnosis?" she asked after the first session, and the man had said, touching
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