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    Mad Scientist Journal: Summer 2014
    Mad Scientist Journal: Summer 2014
    Mad Scientist Journal: Summer 2014
    Ebook205 pages2 hours

    Mad Scientist Journal: Summer 2014

    By Dawn Vogel and Jeremy Zimmerman

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    About this ebook

    Breeding coat hangers, alien spies posing as children, a war against interplanetary mold. These are but some of the strange tales to be found in this book.

    Mad Scientist Journal: Summer 2014 collects three month's worth of essays from the fictional worlds of mad science. Included are three new pieces of fiction written for the discerning mad scientist reader by Bruce Harris, Clint Monette, and Richard Zwicker. Readers will also find other resources for the budding mad scientist, including an advice column, horoscopes, and other brief messages from mad scientists.

    Authors featured in this volume also include Judith Field, Deborah Walker, Christopher D. DiCicco, Sylvia Wrigley, Andy Brown, James Hanson, K. Kitts, Nick Nafpliotis, Marcelina Jacobs, Antonio Urias, David Pring-Mill, Michael Peach, Kate Elizabeth, Sean Frost, Lorraine Schein, Parker McKenzie, and Russ Bickerstaff. Illustrations are provided by Shannon Legler, Katie Nyborg, Luke Spooner, Scarlett O'Hairdye, and Justine McGreevy.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDefCon One Publishing
    Release dateSep 4, 2014
    ISBN9781310528859
    Mad Scientist Journal: Summer 2014
    Author

    Dawn Vogel

    Dawn Vogel has been published as a short fiction author and an editor of both fiction and non-fiction. Her academic background is in history, so it’s not surprising that much of her fiction is set in earlier times. By day, she edits reports for historians and archaeologists. In her alleged spare time, she runs a craft business, helps edit Mad Scientist Journal, and tries to find time for writing. She lives in Seattle with her awesome husband (and fellow author), Jeremy Zimmerman, and their herd of cats.

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      Book preview

      Mad Scientist Journal - Dawn Vogel

      Mad Scientist Journal: Summer 2014

      Edited by Jeremy Zimmerman and Dawn Vogel

      Cover Illustration by Shannon Legler

      Cover Layout by Katie Nyborg

      Copyright 2014 Jeremy Zimmerman, except where noted

      Smashwords Edition

      Sport of Kings is Copyright 2014 Judith Field

      Data Crabs is Copyright 2010 Deborah Walker

      The Greater Migration is Copyright 2014 Christopher D. DiCicco

      The Front Line is Copyright 2013 Sylvia Spruck Wrigley

      Using Supernatural DNA to Enhance Sporting Performance, Carzak Frant's Travelling Circus, Away from It All... Retreats and Hideaways, Doctor Mulroon's Animated Organs, and Mirabelle and Sebastian Krasivaya are Copyright 2014 Andy Brown

      The Eversible Antarctic Sky is Copyright 2014 James Hanson

      When I Grow Up is Copyright 2014 K. Kitts

      Hard to Swallow is Copyright 2014 Nick Nafpliotis

      Diaries of the Margliss Expedition is Copyright 2014 Marcelina Vizcarra

      A Few Simple Instructions Regarding the Proper Methods of Weather Control is Copyright 2014 Antonio Urias

      Socialization and Entertainment Habits of the Human People is Copyright 2014 David Pring-Mill

      Vestes Uncus, A New Species Found in Several Closets with some Observations on Mating Habits, Sexual Reproduction and a Call to Action is Copyright 2014 M. Kelly Peach

      The Worst Man in London is Copyright 2014 Bruce Harris

      The Magician is Copyright 2014 Clint Monette

      The Rhetorical Detective is Copyright 2014 Richard Zwicker

      Horrorscopes is Copyright 2014 Kate Elizabeth

      You Oort to Know is Copyright 2014 Sean Frost

      Friends of Imaginary Animals, Female Mad Genius Academy, and UptoSpeed are Copyright 2014 Lorraine Schein

      For Sale (garbage disposal), Black Weasel Escape Equipment, Free to a good home (psychic cats), Found (vial), Hiring (portal removal), Lost (mutant seagulls), and Looking to Buy (lemmings) are Copyright 2014 Parker McKenzie

      Schrodingers kittens, Lost monster found on the beach, Lucrative new world, Temporal engineer, and 1-888-555-HTME are Copyright 2014 Russ Bickerstaff

      Art accompanying Sport of Kings, The Eversible Antarctic Sky (part 2), Hard to Swallow, and Diaries of the Margliss Expedition are Copyright 2014 Luke Spooner

      Art accompanying Data Crabs, The Greater Migration, The Eversible Antarctic Sky (part 1), When I Grow Up, and A Few Simple Instructions Regarding the Proper Methods of Weather Control are Copyright 2014 Shannon Legler

      Art accompanying The Front Line is Copyright 2014 Scarlett O'Hairdye

      Art accompanying Using Supernatural DNA to Enhance Sporting Performance is Copyright 2014 Justine McGreevy

      Art accompanying Socialization and Entertainment Habits of the Human People is Copyright 2014 Dawn Vogel

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Table of Contents

      Letter from the Editor

      Essays

      Sport of Kings provided by Judith Field

      Data Crabs provided by Deborah Walker

      The Greater Migration provided by Christopher D. DiCicco

      The Front Line provided by Sylvia Spruck Wrigley

      Using Supernatural DNA to Enhance Sporting Performance provided by Andy Brown

      The Eversible Antarctic Sky provided by James Hanson

      When I Grow Up provided by K. Kitts

      Hard to Swallow provided by Nick Nafpliotis

      Diaries of the Margliss Expedition provided by Marcelina Vizcarra

      A Few Simple Instructions Regarding the Proper Methods of Weather Control provided by Antonio Urias

      Socialization and Entertainment Habits of the Human People provided by David Pring-Mill

      Vestes Uncus, A New Species Found in Several Closets with some Observations on Mating Habits, Sexual Reproduction and a Call to Action provided by Michael Peach

      Fiction

      The Worst Man in London by Bruce Harris

      The Magician by Clint Monette

      The Rhetorical Detective by Richard Zwicker

      Resources

      Horrorscopes provided by Kate Elizabeth

      You Oort to Know provided by Sean Frost

      Classifieds

      About

      Bios for Classifieds Authors

      About the Editors

      About the Artists

      ________________________________________

      Letter from the Editor

      Hi

      M

      Gus

      Gus The Hatchet Jones is an escapee from federal prison where he was serving a life sentence for twenty-seven counts of murder and one count of riding on the hood of a car without a legal safety harness. He has assured us he will let us live if we included his favorite letter, M. Which he tells us stands for Dad.

      Essays

      Sport of Kings

      An essay by Rick King, as provided by Judith Field

      Art by Luke Spooner

      I woke up, rolled over and collided with something solid. Stretching out a shaking hand, I opened my eyes. I was facing the oak tree in the front garden. Rainwater dripped onto me from the branches. A moment of calm, then images of the night before tried to shove their feet in the doorway of my memory. I groaned, and tried to get up.

      Francine, my fiancée, stuck her head out of the bedroom window, her mouth pursed up like a cat's backside. She was saying something I couldn't hear, all I could lipread was my name, Rick. Touching my ear, I looked up at her and shrugged my shoulders: no hearing aid. I clenched my right fist and rubbed it in a circle on my upper chest: Sorry. Francine didn't understand sign language but it couldn't do any harm. Bit like praying, really.

      I'd only recently got this new hearing aid, and it wouldn't stay in properly whatever I did. In these days of health cuts, would they give me another? The best cost thousands, if you went private. I'd been paid last week but was still overdrawn. And only another £500 to spend on the credit card.

      Francine tiptoed round the puddles. I lip-read pissed, knob head (she had her own sign for that), and AGAIN. I turned away. She walked round till she was facing me.

      "Billy's stag night. You'd better not act like that on yours. And I suppose you didn't hear all that thunder. Silly bugger, picking the most dangerous place to lie, under a tree. Why didn't you come in?"

      I couldn't find the keyhole. I could just about hear my own voice, sounding as though it came from the other side of the house, via socks stuffed in my ears. Stop shouting--it's impossible to lip-read. Shut up and let me get some sleep. See you tomorrow. Unless I die first, please God. I staggered into the house. Then I remembered. Jeez, I can't even do that, I said, shaking off Francine's hand clutching at my arm. I'll have to see if the hospital will give me another aid, spin them some sob story.

      Oh no, not today, Francine said. Tomorrow you can go and get an ear trumpet for all I care, but in half an hour you and I are off to Aintree. It's the Grand National, and I bust a gut getting these tickets. Remember?

      I held my head and groaned.

      Get out of those wet things, have a shower, put on something smart, Francine said. I'll see if I can find your hearing aid in the garden. Hurry up, the cab'll be here soon.

      I pulled random items of clothing out of the wardrobe onto the floor, looking for something that complied with the no dress code but smart is preferable nonsense on the Aintree website. Francine's fancy hat was on the bed, showcasing her favourite race day outfit (website again). Someone should tell her it made a short girl look like a hallucinogenic mushroom. Someone.

      Francine came in, holding out her hand. It was in a puddle by the tree. Hope it never got struck by lightning. Have to let it dry naturally, like that mobile phone you dropped down the bog. Maybe we should stick it in some rice.

      No time--I want to be able to hear the racing commentary. You know how it is--the horses go past in a whoosh, I swept my arm round, the sudden movement making me stagger, then you don't see them till the end. I wiped the aid on my sleeve then inserted it, poking the soft dome on the end of the tube as far inside as it would go. It made me cough. It'd be a miracle if it worked.

      WELL? Francine asked.

      It's OK, stop shouting.

      Great, maybe it's our lucky day. She shoved the hat onto the back of her head so that it looked like a halo and went downstairs.

      #

      Francine opened the cab door and turned her back on it. Bending her knees slightly, she shuffled backwards till she was sitting on the seat, then swung her legs inside.

      What are you doing? I said. Trying to stop your drawers falling down?

      The driver laughed then, seeing Francine's expression, turned it into a cough.

      Don't show me up, Francine said. "It's the only way to get into a car with a skirt like-this-one." She gave the offending garment staccato tugs as she spoke.

      I closed the door. As I walked round the cab, a hiss came through the hearing aid. Then a high-pitched voice.

      Lamppost, lamppost, schnell, schnell!

      What? I turned round.

      Nothing, boss, said the younger of two boys, chasing after a dachshund.

      Hearing aid's picking up radio now, I thought, shame it's not the racing.

      The boys came back, carrying the dog between them. It stared at me.

      That was me, mein Herr, said the radio voice again, and I'm dog tired after that run.

      You're not the only one, I thought, getting into the cab and closing my eyes.

      The bigger of the two lads pointed at Francine. Look at Lady Muck of Turd Hill!

      Take your hat off, Fra, I said.

      No chance! I paid good money for this, and I'm going to get some wear out of it. You never take me anywhere I can show it off.

      Don't you be minding them hardfaced little so-and-sos, the driver said, starting the engine. Who do you fancy in the National? Samarium?

      No, he's carrying too much weight, Francine replied. I've got a twenty quid each way on Algol, the favourite. Although the going's a bit soft for him now, after that rain.

      Oh aye?

      Yes. I'm not one of those silly buggers who pick horses just because they like the name.

      She nudged me. Remember that spavined old nag you fancied at Cheltenham? Good for nothing but the glue factory.

      It was going to be a long day.

      Francine and the driver debated the merits of Yankee, Trixie, and Heinz bets. She'd always been good at maths. It was marvellous really, all these hard sums she could do in her head.

      We arrived during the first race.

      You should put a bet on for later, Francine said.

      No cash, and I don't suppose these blokes take credit cards, I said, inclining my head towards a bookie. I've brought my Blackberry, I might do it online.

      Well, ask me first--don't make a mug of yourself. Let's get something to eat.

      Not me. I leaned back in my seat and stretched out my legs. You go, I'll just rest my eyes for a bit.

      #

      It felt like only five minutes later when Francine shook me.

      Wake up! Eeyew, you've been dribbling. The National starts in 10 minutes, let's go and watch the horses in the Parade Ring.

      Francine pointed at a black horse. That's mine! She walked round to the other side of the ring, following the horse.

      I heard the hiss again, followed by voices introducing themselves.

      Combat Kid here.

      Afternoon, Combie. Algol here.

      I didn't think jockeys called each other by their horses' names. And none of their lips were moving.

      Samarium here.

      I took the hearing aid out--the voices stopped. I replaced it.

      ...withers better?

      I'd have to see if the hospital could fix the stupid thing--tell them it fell into the bath or something. The voices continued.

      Fine, thanks. But the handicappers have got me dragging 9 stone round today--I just can't be bothered.

      Same here! Mud clogging my hooves, so hard to get going. I don't feel like anyone's favourite today. How about you, Clarry? CLARRY!

      Oh! You gave me a fright. And, my name's Clarification. Perfectly good name. I just wish we could get started. I've been building up to this for weeks, I'm so nervy.

      We thoroughbreds are meant to be highly strung. And we all are, don't worry. Well, except for Iffy. Should have called him Dobbin, the plodder.

      The horses were looking at each other and nodding whenever I heard a voice. I must have had a very bad pint the night before. I poked the aid as far in as it would go, with the aid of my index fingernail.

      Look at him digging inside his ear, filthy creature!

      I whipped my finger out again and shoved my hand in my pocket. Francine was on the other side of the ring and nobody else was looking

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