Read Online Unidentified Funny Objects 2 by Robert Silverberg, Jim C. Hines, Jody Lynn Nye, Mike Resnick, Ken Liu, Tim Pratt, Esther Frisner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Silverberg, Jim C. Hines, Jody Lynn Nye, Mike Resnick, Ken Liu, Tim Pratt, Esther Frisner
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two days ago,” said the stainless steel toilet in the corner. A translucent panel separated it from the rest of the room, providing minimal privacy. “Poor woman was constipated from the meds they fed her to keep her from going manic.”
“She left you a message.” The words came from the pillow on the floor. Scaramouche had neither blankets nor a cot, presumably to keep her from creating some sort of evil mattress-based superweapon. “She asked me to tell you that you were almost out of time.”
“How did she know?” Socialization was kept to a minimum at Edgewood, but somehow the inmates always kept up on the latest gossip.
“Don’t ask me. I just hope the next inmate has better hygiene. Scaramouche would forget to shower for weeks at a time. Do you know what it’s like having that nest of greasy, sweaty hair press down on you every night?”
“Out of time.” He turned the phrase over in his thoughts, but before he could figure out the clue, a noise like a T. Rex gargling boulders erupted from his stomach.
Oh, gods. Not now. Not here. He froze in place, muscles clenched, but all his strength wasn’t enough to fight against his own body.
“Don’t blame this one on me!” his tumor yelled. “This is what you get for trying to kill me!”
“What’s wrong?” Doctor Alexander started toward him.
“Stay back!” He used his powers to fling her out of the room, then slammed the door. He ducked behind the partition.
“Wait, what are you doing?” the toilet cried. “What’s happening?”
Stranger’s belt flew from his costume, and his pants dropped as he flung himself onto the cold, metal seat.
“It’s a bird. It’s a plane!”
Stranger pressed a hand to the wall as his insides exploded.
“It’s Super Shit!”
“I’M SURE DOCTOR ALEXANDER understood,” said Jarhead. “The side effects of chemotherapy aren’t pretty.”
Stranger’s face burned. That hadn’t been the first such incident, but always before, he had been able to reach somewhere safe and private. “I blew a hole the size of a basketball through the toilet and the floor of Scaramouche’s cell. I left a crater two meters across in the sublevel below.”
“I see.” Jarhead pulled his lips tight, struggling not to laugh. “And how did that make you feel?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’M SO SORRY,” Stranger said for the fourth time. “I’ll find a way to pay for the repairs.”
His tumor hadn’t stopped babbling. “Did you hear when that shit went supersonic? We should weaponize this! What kind of range do you think we can get? We’d have to modify your suit, but—Ha! Your suit butt!”
“It’s all right,” said Doctor Alexander, though her face was pale, and her eyes were still watering. “Our insurance covers acts of superpowers. Even… even this.”
“Imagine dropping a bunker-buster like that on just one villain’s hideout. Every bad guy in the city would either surrender or run for the hills. Nobody’s going to stick around and risk that . It’s the fecal equivalent of the nuclear deterrent!”
“I think I need to turn this over to another hero,” Stranger said.
“No! We can do this! Just you and me, Tumor and his sidekick, Brown Thunder!”
“This isn’t your fault.”
Her sympathy made him feel worse. He swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat. He couldn’t control his own body, couldn’t control his emotions… the only consolation was that his helmet hid his anguish. “What if someone had been working in the sublevel?”
“You’ve still got a bit of gas in here. Stop clenching and let it fly, man! Wait—I’ve got it! This is brilliant! Methane’s flammable, right? If we install a rear-mounted pilot light, you could fight evil with your superpowered flamethrower!”
“Nobody knows Scaramouche as well as you do,” said Doctor Alexander. “You said she left you a message. No one else could have heard that. We need you.”
She was right, damn it. “Scaramouche said I
“She left you a message.” The words came from the pillow on the floor. Scaramouche had neither blankets nor a cot, presumably to keep her from creating some sort of evil mattress-based superweapon. “She asked me to tell you that you were almost out of time.”
“How did she know?” Socialization was kept to a minimum at Edgewood, but somehow the inmates always kept up on the latest gossip.
“Don’t ask me. I just hope the next inmate has better hygiene. Scaramouche would forget to shower for weeks at a time. Do you know what it’s like having that nest of greasy, sweaty hair press down on you every night?”
“Out of time.” He turned the phrase over in his thoughts, but before he could figure out the clue, a noise like a T. Rex gargling boulders erupted from his stomach.
Oh, gods. Not now. Not here. He froze in place, muscles clenched, but all his strength wasn’t enough to fight against his own body.
“Don’t blame this one on me!” his tumor yelled. “This is what you get for trying to kill me!”
“What’s wrong?” Doctor Alexander started toward him.
“Stay back!” He used his powers to fling her out of the room, then slammed the door. He ducked behind the partition.
“Wait, what are you doing?” the toilet cried. “What’s happening?”
Stranger’s belt flew from his costume, and his pants dropped as he flung himself onto the cold, metal seat.
“It’s a bird. It’s a plane!”
Stranger pressed a hand to the wall as his insides exploded.
“It’s Super Shit!”
“I’M SURE DOCTOR ALEXANDER understood,” said Jarhead. “The side effects of chemotherapy aren’t pretty.”
Stranger’s face burned. That hadn’t been the first such incident, but always before, he had been able to reach somewhere safe and private. “I blew a hole the size of a basketball through the toilet and the floor of Scaramouche’s cell. I left a crater two meters across in the sublevel below.”
“I see.” Jarhead pulled his lips tight, struggling not to laugh. “And how did that make you feel?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’M SO SORRY,” Stranger said for the fourth time. “I’ll find a way to pay for the repairs.”
His tumor hadn’t stopped babbling. “Did you hear when that shit went supersonic? We should weaponize this! What kind of range do you think we can get? We’d have to modify your suit, but—Ha! Your suit butt!”
“It’s all right,” said Doctor Alexander, though her face was pale, and her eyes were still watering. “Our insurance covers acts of superpowers. Even… even this.”
“Imagine dropping a bunker-buster like that on just one villain’s hideout. Every bad guy in the city would either surrender or run for the hills. Nobody’s going to stick around and risk that . It’s the fecal equivalent of the nuclear deterrent!”
“I think I need to turn this over to another hero,” Stranger said.
“No! We can do this! Just you and me, Tumor and his sidekick, Brown Thunder!”
“This isn’t your fault.”
Her sympathy made him feel worse. He swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat. He couldn’t control his own body, couldn’t control his emotions… the only consolation was that his helmet hid his anguish. “What if someone had been working in the sublevel?”
“You’ve still got a bit of gas in here. Stop clenching and let it fly, man! Wait—I’ve got it! This is brilliant! Methane’s flammable, right? If we install a rear-mounted pilot light, you could fight evil with your superpowered flamethrower!”
“Nobody knows Scaramouche as well as you do,” said Doctor Alexander. “You said she left you a message. No one else could have heard that. We need you.”
She was right, damn it. “Scaramouche said I
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