From The Desk of Nerd³ - June 2024 Edition

Dearest Patreons,

This past month every hour of mine that hasn't been taken up with chicken wrangling has been dedicated to the final sets of edits of the fifth and final draft of The Paradox Paradox. With the deadline for it this weekend, I don't entirely have the time to write anything substantial here... but I do have an entire book open in front of me... and what's a little bit of ctrl-c, ctrl-v among friends?

Enjoy,

Daniel

Wellington, New Zealand | 2783

‘You’re late, Mr Shupple,’ boomed the voice of the Beatific Excellence, Fatoumata Aria, from their chair.

‘Sorry about that,’ Osheen said, waving to them as he walked down the centre aisle of the auditorium, thousands of empty chairs bracketing him as he went. ‘I went to the wrong Great Hall of the Affinity.’

Fatoumata smiled, deepening creases in skin as dark as the night sky that held the stars they loved so much. They shook their head softly, sending gentle waves down their equally dark hair. The small, golden orbs braided into the bottom clinked together gently like a Newton’s cradle with nothing to prove. ‘I’m disappointed in you,’ Fatoumata said with playful authority. ‘You used to come up with much, much better excuses.’

They stood up, placed their book down on the table in front of them, and elegantly swept across the stage, their blue and green gomesi billowing slightly behind them, climbing down the three or four stairs at the side, and embracing Osheen the moment they could.

‘Hello, old friend,’ Fatoumata said, hugging him tight. ‘It’s been too long.’

The hug broke apart, but Fatoumata kept hold of Osheen’s shoulders. They gave him a smile that lit up the entire room – a considerable feat considering the sheer bloody size of it – and stared at him happily. Osheen was again surprised to see how little Fatoumata seemed to have aged over the years. All the marks and wrinkles had done nothing but sharpen their beauty. He wondered what they thought of his face, which had matured like a damp tea towel left in a quarry.

After a few moments of embrace, a small sphere, about the size, shape and polish of a snooker ball, floated up next to them and coughed.

‘Bea!’ exclaimed Fatoumata, holding out their hand for the Compat to land on. ‘I can’t believe that shell of yours is still going!’

Bea laughed a digital laugh as she settled into Fatoumata’s hand. ‘Me neither! You should see the state of my interior wiring these days.’

With their free hand, Fatoumata dragged a couple of seats from the front row and offered one to Osheen. ‘I watched him build it. It’s a miracle you can fly at all.’

‘Hey, steady on,’ said Osheen, taking a seat. As he sat, the intelligent cushion slightly reformed under him, becoming about 37 per cent more comfortable. ‘I received a good grade for that shell!’

‘Wasn’t quite an A though, was it?’ Fatoumata giggled.

Osheen nodded over to the stage, where eight small chairs sat in a semi-circle, with an equally semi-circled table in front of them all. ‘So, what’s on the docket tonight? Anything exciting?’

Fatoumata slightly tilted their head in thought, as their eyeball feeds showed a timetable for the Affinity council meeting. ‘Plofbare solar experiments are the highlight, with the twist that they’ve just lost another one. Should be lively.’

‘Fun,’ Osheen nodded, desperately trying to look interested. Politics was a subject he found about as entertaining as slowly sliding his face into dry cement.

‘Then, the next session…’ Fatoumata sighed and took a moment. Their hand wrapped around the pendant dangling from their neck, its cool surface focusing their mind. Once upon a time this black sphere had been the very centre of the solar system, inside the core of our sun. It was extracted hundreds of years ago, polished up with some difficulty, and was now handed down from Earth leader to Earth leader. Fatoumata thought back to these leaders, the struggles they had encountered while wearing it, and drew on that as they prepared to give their oldest friend what they assumed was the very worst news of his life. Fatoumata just wanted to make sure that everything they were about to say was kind.

‘The next session is about your time machine.’