I glide along on a sandship, comma, a self-propelled model of the latest design, comma, softly pushing its way across the vast, comma, gently undulating granular plain. An unexpected pleasure is the midrange hiss of the sand as it is displaced by the ship, comma, the only sound one can hear, comma, a comforting noise whose effect is not unlike the rhythmic crashing of ocean waves back home, period. The ship-hire agency was kind enough to include a basket of locally-produced cheeses and baked goods, comma, and a hydroponic claret from the first vintage grown, comma, fermented, comma, and bottled under completely artificial conditions, period. This is in itself an amazing achievement, comma, since both wine making and proper cellaring depend so much on the precise force of gravity, period. Here, comma, viniculture is as much a product of pioneering and creativity as of craft, period. Processes which have been relied on for millennia must constantly be adjusted and reinvented, period, paragraph.

  Gazing around aboard ship, comma, I notice another amenity, comma, the loveliest decanter I have ever seen, comma, a handsome silver flask-shaped receptacle, comma, no doubt rendered opaque to protect the color and body of the fragile wine against the long-term ravages of light rays made especially harsh in the open air of this only partially terraformed environment, period. Note, recheck sentence for run-on, end note. Herein lies the most difficult task of an otherwise carefree excursion, period. I must confess that my technological skills are sadly lacking, since my best efforts to unstopper the bottle have proved futile, period. We pay a price for the remarkable transformation of this orb and the onward march of society, comma, and mine is that the use of a simple decanter in this place on this day evidently requires an instruction manual, period, paragraph.

  I run up the rotation of the fans with a simple motion on the console, period. The sail billows beautifully and the ship’s pace increases slightly, period. I savor an unusually sharp slice of superbly aged Jack as I cut the foil and push down on the pullscrew, period. The downward pressure soothes the plastic cork up and out, comma, a fascinating bottle design also attributable to the ingenuity of these artisans, period. What a glorious moment, period. The wine shows a brilliant ruby color against the white sand aglow with the soft starlight, period. I tilt the nosepiece to enjoy the aroma of cassis and black cherry, semicolon, it can be removed safely for up to two minutes at a time, comma, and this is most definitely the time, period, paragraph.

  I look again at the pullscrew and realized that I have solved my problem, period. The decanter design must match the bottle, period. I center the screw and push down the lips retracting into itself pulls me in t e r

  Let us be timid for a moment. In a continuum of limitless possibilities, the likelihood of random disaster is also infinite. How can one hope to predict the effect of a quantum inference into a singularity, or an encounter with antimatter? Learned ladies and gentlemen, the only thing of which we can be positive is that we cannot be positive. And since the indeterminants are unstable even in the best of circumstances, the consequences would be as subtle, and as profound, as that of an ounce of thrust used against a moving object in space, or on the waters. In such a scenario, the behavior of a theoretical malfunctioning device is something of which we can only speculate. Once again, the theoretical risks, being known to us, would certainly also be known by the issuing technology, which would doubtless have built in critical safeguards to prevent, or at least circumscribe, potential cataclysmic events.

  face down in the galley, babe. You call it a galley. Down there. It’s all gone now. But check out the coffee can.

  ’s up with that? You hiding it or something?

  From the man, yeah. From you, come here, babe. Mmm.

  Mmm.

  Dude tried to mess with me at the airport. I’m like, officer, I have a plane to catch, so if you want a body search, it’s gonna cost you, plus the plane ticket.

  Ek ek ek ek. What he say?

  She. She said look like it might be worth it.

  I’d pay it.

  Mmm.

  Mmm.

  I’m gonna check out that coffee can. You want something?

  Red Stripe.

  Here ya go, main man. Twist it up real nice, too.

  What took you so long?

  Had to twist one! Plus find a church key for your ice-cold Stripe. How long you had this boat anyway? Can’t find anything down there.

  Got it in April, last run to Cayman.

  Had it long enough to screw up everything down there, though. Needs a woman’s touch, sugar.

  I need that, too.

  Mmm.

  Mmmaah.

  Now ain’t that better?

  Damn. I’m taking you downstairs, woman.

  Think you better rest up a little first. I want you in top condition before we go down there.

  Where’s that twist?

  You want me to wet it up?

  Damn.

  Taste better this way.

  Hold the tiller. Ppppph. That is some sweet shit, babe. They’re gonna be running for me when they hear this shit is coming.

  Ppppph. Where we headed?

  East. Down to Antigua, Martinique. Barbados if we still got some left. Big man in Barbados. Got a place at Crane Beach. Wants to talk about a whole shipload, me to him.

  I wish you’d find some sugar daddy like that and stick with him. Stop all this small-time shit. It’s dangerous, honey. The more times you make land, the more chances you’ll get caught.

  Yeah, well, nobody gonna catch us today. We got all the blue ocean to run in. I swear, I never ever get tired of my sweet Carib.

  Yeah, ppppph, this shit makes me look real close at it. Huh.

  While you’re looking, mama, gimme that tiller and get me another Stripe. And put on Billy Ocean or some shit.

  Aye aye, captain lover man.

  What took you so long?

  Look at this.

  What’s that?

  I thought it was yours. It’s not yours?

  Hell, no. Where was it?

  Sitting out on the counter.

  I never saw it before. Must be the last guy who owned this boat.

  You clean up some, you might see a lot more things around here. It’s beautiful.

  I repeat, what is it?

  Look like something on Babylon 5.

  I didn’t know you were a Rastawoman. Or whatever they call it.

  No, Babylon 5 the space show. God damn, there’s other things in this world besides a twist. I’m talkin’ about all chrome and shit, like space stuff.

  Okay, okay, Babylon’s in space now, I repeat again: what is that thing?

  Well, Captain Kirk-my-ass, it is some kind of silvery bottle, and we will find out exactly what is inside it when we open it, I mean, duh.

  What’s wrong?

  Can’t get it open.

  Come on, pull.

  Unhh. Won’t come.

  Give it to me! Unhh. Damn.

  Maybe we just heed to get a hole started. Got an ice pick?

  Nope.

  Wait—the church key.

  Okay.

  Okay. Now hold it tight, let me get a grip, and I’ll just get it started. Ready?

  Ugh. Sounds like a beehive.

  Baby, stop! You’re bleeding re

  There are those who would assign religious significance to the sudden appearance of this object, since it materialized aboard a merchant vessel whose cargo included consecrated items bound for an offworld settlement. The council acknowledges the holy starsailors who acted promptly and properly in referring this matter to its authority, and to this Sky Lab, where research may be carried on under the strictest quarantine conditions. The fact that we do not understand the origin or purpose of the device is incontestable, but that certainly does not make it extranatural. Quasi-natural might be a more fitting descriptor. At any rate, science must assume that an explanation exists, even if we cannot apprehend it today.

  set for meat. Meat run fast. Some meat swim. Meat swim, man swim. Swim on top. Me man make swim thing. On top. Some man say no man swim on top. No. Me man on top. Me man take meat that swim. Some man no swim on top. Man go down. Not me man. Me man have swim thing. Make from land. Stay on top. Make more swim things. Take meat that swim. Eat meat that swim. Ha!— shine thing! Take shine thing. Me man eat sh

  The positing of such unusual scenarios may seem unnecessarily reckless, but the fact remains that, as stated, some explanation must exist for the baffling condition of this object. Repeated tests conducted by the council, yielding data that has withstood our most rigorous crosschecking and redundancy procedures, have affirmed the anomaly again and again. In simple language, this object’s volume appears to be greater than its outside dimensions would permit. In fact, the differential is so astonishingly large that it defies the tenets of logic. These data indicate that inside this vessel is a theoretically infinite capacity for storage. But theory can only bring us so far.

  ut down! Perfect! It’s back!”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No, no, it worked!”

  “How long? What? A microsecond?”

  “If that. I just barely saw a flutter, and I’m not even sure I didn’t imagine it.”

  “I missed it completely.”

  “Get the temperature. Is it hot?”

  “No change. No change.”

  “Okay, then. How do we know it went anywhere at all?”

  “What did you set it for again?”

  “First thing I could think of. I just entered the word ‘ship.’”

  “Ha, that’s the swashbuckler in you. I tell you the truth, man, a couple hundred years on and Robert Louis Stevenson’s still got to be the most influential author in the Valley. A generation of nerds with swords, right? Geocoordinates?”

  “Free float. Slice and dice.”

  “So it could have been anywhere.”

  “And any time.”

  “Past and future?”

  “Unknown, but in theory, yepper. In theory, it could have been everywhere. Everywhere there’s a ship. Or was a ship. Or will be a ship. And very nice range, too.” “Hope you typed very carefully when you set the control sequence, my friend.”

  “Vox, man. Get real.”

  “Then I hope you really popped your P, know what I’m sayin’? Something smell around here?”

  “Ha. Nobody types any more except newszappers. For the solid-mail packets. So last century. This thing’s got thought recog, too, but I decided to play it safe. Let’s see, it can’t have had an infinite ride, else it’d still be gone. Or would it? Is infinity ever over? I guess it could be, in a finite but expanding universe.”

  “Too deep, too deep. You’re starting to hurt my head. I blew off physics in school. I’m just in marketing, man.” “Well, get ready to market your ass off. This is the most outrageous bot anybody ever saw.”

  “You got that right. New rules from now on. This is the hottest patent ever. This is the future, sitting right here on this beautiful little counter, and people are gonna be killing themselves to get at it.”

  “Pop the Dom. We’re rich, my little demographics-running chickadee. We are stone cold rich. Roaring drunk rich. Private yacht rich. Private island rich! We are now the Microdiz of information retrieval.”

  “It’s badder than that. We just put every search engine on the net out of business, man. Microdiz got nothing on this. It’s the ultimate selling proposition: everybody wants it, and only we have it. This is a company-maker. A dynasty-maker.”

  “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.”

  “Great touch, making it fold inward to open.”

  “Just makes it a bit tougher for accidents to happen.”

  “Hey. Feels like static electricity, man.”

  “No sweat, I’ve got gloves.”

  “Hey, it hurts.”

  “Me, too…get it over with. Okay, little baby, spit it all out. Play

  This council has been assembled to address one simple question at the heart of the matter: how are the two physical states—within and without—able to coexist? To that end, and you may follow me on your monitors, we now enter the stasis chamber where the object has been stored since its arrival at this laboratory. Omnalysis reveals that the vessel has no fracture points, that it is evidently one solid construction. Now we probe the device for possible entry vectors. It has already been demonstrated that it is built to resist all the lateral force we can bring to bear on the neck versus the bowl. Of course, learned colleagues, physics gives us another option, which we will now explore. To pull has been heretofore futile. Therefore, as may have become obvious by now, we will push—attempt to collapse the subject item in upon itself, and hope that we may thus expose the nature of its construction and use.

  Please assume your protective position and wear the goggles that have been assigned to you. You may begin the pressure sequence no

  back from Good Hope, that was a damn deep dive all right, but it still wasn’t as dark as this. Not nearly. Get the whole thing, Willy. That’s right, hold, hold on the stern as we drop. Try not to shake. Perfect. Jeez, look at the fish down here. Way underwater is like going to Mars. Same thing. Watch it, Willy. Don’t get antsy. Cool and calm. Keep it focused, focused, get the phosphor patch, now zoom in, nice, nice. David, take us in very slowly, and…wonderful. Lovely. What a pilot, Dave… very sexy moves. Okay, out again and once more, like we’re entering the wreck. Move the sphere in like a dolly, David. Fantastic. Willy, great work. Get some cutaways now. Beautiful. Beautiful. God, she’s a handsome ship. How long ago did you say? Hundred and fifty? What in the world could have made that mess? Me, too, but they just didn’t have that kind of explosive back then, did they? 1 mean, cannon shot can’t do that. Poor bastards. What’s that, Willy? No, back, back. That’s no fish. What is that? How close can you get, David? Can you use the arm? Easy, easy. Hold it up. My God. Jesus. A bottle, you think? It looks brand new. Can’t be from this wreck, can it? How come it isn’t covered with shit like everything else? Get it aboard, David. Tight on it, Willy. God, what a piece of work. Man. Great dive, gentlemen, thank you very much. David, put it in the compartment with the rest of the stuff. We’ll open it upstairs.

  PYRATS! by Jody Lynn Nye

  Pink one, hear me!” the captain shrilled, loud 1 enough to break glass. “Come out at once!” Tobie Marley started, knocking her head on the ceiling of the maintenance duct. It was just barely high enough and wide enough to accommodate a big-boned woman 170 centimeters tall. The telekythe interface that had been painfully attached into her skull didn’t hurt anymore, but voices seemed to be loud because they were carried by bone conduction. She pulled herself out from underneath the captain’s bathtub (swimming pool, really, since the captain was a white lab rat only the size of her shoe). His fur was ruffed up, a sure sign of bad temper. She stayed on her hands and knees, eye level to the rat perched on the edge of the tub.

  “What’d I do?” she asked.

  “It looks like you have done nothing!” he screamed. She winced. “Does it work?”

  Marley flipped on the taps using her little finger. Water, clean water, gushed out of the spout. “Yes, it works. But don’t use it in zero gee.”

  The captain’s fur settled down immediately, and his pink-rimmed eyes slitted with pleasure. He trotted over to test the temperature of the water on his tiny handlike paw.

  “Good,” he squeaked, and the interface translated it. “Leave me. Go eat. The bell rang a while ago.”

  Marley held up her wrists, showing him the sensor bracelets. She needed him to deactivate them for this zone. If she tried to pass outside the allowable area, powerful electrical shocks would bring her to her knees with pain. It had happened too many times during her early captivity for her to leave without making sure.

  Impatiently he scurried to a control panel a few inches square at the foot of the door, fiddled with the controls for a moment, then scampered back to the steadily filling tub.

  Marley didn’t wait for dismissal. She stood up and strode out. Food was the only reason she was putting up with the rats at all.

  She walked as quietly as she could through the maze of auxiliary tunnels and corridors leading to the workers’ mess hall. She sniffed the air. The scrubbers were working again. The one thing that had been hardest for her to stand at first was the smell of ammonia produced in the rats’ urine. They didn’t mind, but Marley’s eyes watered for weeks. She thought she would never get used to it, but between improvements in the ventilation system and the passage of time, she’d stopped smelling it unless it got really bad. Amazing, when she stopped to think, there must have been a few hundred thousand rats on the freighter.

  All the primary passages, the direct ones, had been roofed over at about knee height, for their exclusive use. The area above them had been divided into warrens, complex, multichambered living quarters for rat nurseries, as had almost all of the comfortable cabins. The few sleeping quarters that remained intact were kept for the exclusive use of the captain and ship’s officers, all rats, as a sign of high status. Marley envied them the room to stretch out. The enslaved human work force lived miserably by comparison, stuffed together four to a cabin. It was adequate; the workers weren’t supposed to be in them except to sleep and groom.

  The conditions were meant to make the humans want to move on as soon as possible, or die.

  The rats really didn’t dare, once they’d gotten a decent amount of work out of them.

  That wasn’t completely true, Marley had to admit. The rats treated her reasonably well, except when she stepped out of line. Their discipline was brutal. She had bite marks all over her body from massed attacks she had suffered while she was being “trained,” for being defiant. In spite of her fear and distrust, she was fed, housed, allowed to be clean, given work to do, and—above all—kept alive. When she fell sick with an internal complaint in the early days of her captivity, they allowed a human medic, a fellow prisoner-of-war, to tend her. And they fed her good food.