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Contents (Are What You Make Of Them) Editor’s Note —3— EP287: A Taste of Time By Abby Goldsmith —4— Speculative Fiction And Engagement Marketing By Josh Roseman —13— EP288: Future Perfect By LaShawn M. Wanak —15— Book Review:God’s War By Sarah Frost —22— EP290: Tom The Universe By Larry Hodges —24— Escape Pod Interim Publisher: Paul Harding – paul @ escapeartists.net Founder: Steve Eley – steve @ escapeartists.net Editor: Mur Lafferty – editor @ escapepod.org Assistant Editor: Bill Peters – bill @ escapeartists.net The Soundproof Escape Pod and all works within are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial- NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. All works are copyright their respective authors. Hello all — We have listeners all over, and some of them will be heading into the winter months, but where I am spring has finally shook off the claws of winter. But in the slice of science fiction fandom we all inhabit, spring is really notable for the return of Doctor Who to the airwaves, and thankfully for US fans, it is far closer to simultaneous transmission now that it has been the last few seasons. Physical distance matters less and less for communication, which in prac- tice means that it is incredibly annoying to be in the US and looking at a twitter stream full of UK tweets about what the Doctor’s been on about that week. Spoilers suck (sweetie). And speaking of the UK, we were very lucky and happy to run an interview with Lauren Beukes, who won this year’s Arthur C. Clarke award for her novel Zoo City. It’s available in an audio episode on our website, along with a (still audio) excerpt from the book. This month we were happy to bring you six stories, three of them flash. We ran three of the four honorable mentions from our flash contest fiction, which we should have done well before this. The forth and the three outright winners of the contest should be following in fairly close order. We also brought you Abby Goldsmith’s A Taste Of Time, LaShawn Wanak’s Future Perfect, and Larry Hodg- es’ Tom the Universe. If you didn’t already listen to the on the ‘cast, I implore you to flick, scroll, click, or otherwise navigate several pages further in this to read them. Until next time, ——Bill Bill Peters Assistant Editor —30— 3 EP287: A Taste of Time By Abby Goldsmith 1. On the night she turned twenty-nine, Jane sat on her narrow bed, watching TV and drinking alone. She’d gone through a bottle of wine and was mostly through a second bottle. Tomorrow morning would be pain- ful. Or she could stop worrying about tomorrow. The ibuprofen in her cabinet kept popping into her mind. Jane wasn’t sure if all those pills chased by alcohol would be enough to end her life, but the idea of look- ing up how to commit suicide online seemed just too pathetic. The front door of her tiny apartment creaked open. Jane leaned forward, peering through her bedroom doorway. A black wine bottle stood on the floor, with a placard dangling from its silver ribbon. Her gaze immediately went to the deadbolt. It was in place, as she’d left it. Jane shut the TV off and listened for noises from the hallway. All she heard were the sounds of Boston traf- fic outside. Several weeks ago, after she’d come home to find her boyfriend screwing a fat chick on her couch, she’d had the locks changed. No one could have gotten in. Yet the bottle sat mysteriously on the wooden floor. At last, Jane crossed her apartment, checking every shadow for an intruder. She picked up the bottle. The placard had gilded letters, making it a potentially expensive gift. Tabula Rasa Warning: There Is No Return Jane flipped the placard over twice, but nothing else was written on it. She listened, alert for any noise. Mystery had never been much a part of her adult life, and it gave her a strangely excited feeling. If the warning label meant something like _poison_, it seemed like a more digni- fied way to go than pills and alcohol. Her reflection on the black surface of the bottle was disturbingly clear. There she was: Plain Jane, a frumpy woman with a double-chin and acne scars. She unscrewed the cap and popped the foil underneath. A stringent smell wafted up, making her wrinkle her nose and salivate at the same time. “Happy birthday, Jane,” she told herself, and swallowed a mouthful. Read More—> 2. Jane gagged on the sour taste in her mouth. She was so dizzy, she’d fallen . but she was sitting in an of- fice chair, with no memory whatsoever of leaving her dark and quiet apartment. Florescent lights beat down on her, and the familiar voices of a call center surrounded her. None of this was possible. She was back at her old workplace. It was a workday, late afternoon, judging by the angle of light. Ultimata Insurance had laid her off months ago, yet here she was. A man rapped his knuckles against Jane’s desk. “I gave you the files you needed, right?” Her old boss, 4 Moore, didn’t bother to wait for a reply. He was always in a hurry. Jane barely started to nod before he rushed away. The walls of her cubicle looked exactly the way she remembered. There was the photograph of herself and mom. There was the generic Ultimata calendar, flipped to October 2009 . Jane double-checked the year. 2009 was a full two years before the company downsized. If this was October 2009, then she was still employed. And still dating the jerk, Aaron. Her fists tightened, and she realized that her hand was clamped around the black wine bottle. She might lose her job more quickly this time, if they saw that. She hid it beneath her desk. “Jane!” Jane swiveled to face Stephanie, who worked in the cubicle across from hers. Stephanie was slim with bouncy golden hair, and never deigned to speak to plain Jane. Stephanie hurried across into Jane’s cubicle, giving a sneaky look both ways before crossing. She beamed at Jane. “Did I just see you sneak a bottle of wine under your desk?” she asked in a low voice. “Holy crap, Moore didn’t even notice!” Jane searched for a good, attention-deflecting explanation. “It’s a gift.” Stephanie’s look became sly. “Oooh. For your boyfriend. Is this your anniversary?” Jane shrugged, unequipped to answer. She wanted to study the wine. Tabula Rasa. Blank slate. But instead of erasing her memories, it seemed to have stuck her in one. She blinked at her computer monitor, then Stephanie. But Stephanie had never entered her cubicle before, she was fairly certain. This all felt far too real to be a hallucination. She glanced down at herself, and was thrilled to recognize her white floral-print blouse, which she’d ruined with a grease stain. This was 2009, before the grease stain. She decided to roll with it, and see how events played out. “Yes, our anniversary’s tonight,” she lied. Stephanie grinned. “How long have you been with him?” Jane was surprised by Stephanie’s interest. When she answered, she fully expected Stephanie to return to her own cubicle, but it seemed Stephanie wanted to talk about relationships. She’d just started dating a man whom she had doubts about, and wanted advice. Jane told her it was better to be alone than with a man who didn’t respect her. “Yeah, that makes sense.” Stephanie gave her a little wave. “Well, I’d better get back to work, but thanks for the advice.” The remainder of the workday passed without mishap, although Jane kept eying the clock on her monitor, wondering when–or if–she would wake up in January 2011. She had trouble remembering the details of the insurance claims she was supposed to be updating. Instead of cross-referencing data, she kept checking the news online, verifying that it was indeed October 2009. Earthquake recovery in Sumatra. Astronomers discover 32 exoplanets. The news gave her a weird sense of deja vu. Was this stuff really new to everyone around her? She wanted to ask Stephanie about future events, such as the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. Would Stephanie look at Jane and say, “You’re crazy,” or would she laugh? Eventually, five o’clock rolled around. Stephanie wished Jane a happy anniversary and a cheerful, “See ya tomorrow!” Jane kept expecting this hallucination, or whatever it was, to end. But the office was clearing out. 5 She had nowhere to stow the black bottle, so she wrapped it inside her light jacket as best she could, and hurried outside. Colorful leaves against a deep blue sky confirmed that this was indeed October, not Janu- ary. She walked to the T stop and waited, trying to not smell the familiar stink of urine on the brick wall. A sick feeling bubbled in her stomach. Aaron would be on her couch when she got home. Unshaven, unem- ployed, alcoholic Aaron. Jane didn’t want to deal with him. Part of her would be pathetically grateful to see him, especially knowing that he hadn’t met the fat chick yet. But how could she forget the sight of him cheating on her, in her own apartment? Jane wasn’t good enough for him. He’d made that clear. The train doors parted, and Jane joined the crowd, taking the first seat that opened up.

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