SF Drabble #460 "The Gourmand"

"My name is Alistair Forsythe, I'm from the UN Bureau of—"

"You're here for the alien?"


"I assume you can cover his bill?"

"How much is it?"

"Well, he ordered one of everything, so I'm afraid it's up there. He's made a hefty dent in our wine list as well. It's been an hour since I ran a new total, but—"

"A new total?"

"Yeah. We're probably into the low five digits by now…"

"Of course we are."

"I'm surprised he's still eating, considering—"

Forsythe fished out the 'company' card. "The Shchinwhee have two stomachs. And they're remarkable elastic."

All The Noise And The Hurry

"He could be anywhere," Mandy whispered, facing Fleet, eyes darting from side to side as the crowd streamed by on either side of them oblivious to his costume and her injuries.

"Keep looking."

He was here, he'd told them so in the broadcast, somewhere in the crowd or in one of the buildings, suitcase bomb armed and ticking, waiting for them, half-hoping Dreamland would stop him.

A man flew through a plate-glass window high above them, panicking and thrashing against thin air until his anti-grav belt kicked in and let him swoop away towards uptown.

"Looks like Rapture found him."

The Youngest

We were kids, just kids.

There wouldn't be any more of us after Rabbit, but we didn't know that then. Mother and father were intent on a big family, one of those noisy clans that threatens to burst from its pew, one where for all intents and purposes the older children raise the younger. Rabbit changed their minds. About having a lot more kids, then about having any more, then about staying married to each other.

Whether something evil was born into her, or something good was left out, it wasn't her fault, not really. It's never a baby's fault.