Pam McNew

Hour By Hour
by Lindsey Duncan

Weepers And Ragers
by Aliette de Bodard

Diminished Capacity
by Andrew Zimmerman Jones

And Saturn Below
by Wade Ogletree

Flash

The Road To Heather Cove
By Richard A. Lovett

The Devil You Know
By Heidi Wessman Kneale

Dreams of Sinaloa
by Alveraz Ricardez

The Japanese Businessman
by Kyle Hemmings

An Alien Ate My SF Poem
by Elizabeth Barrette

Partial–birth Revolution
by Kaori Praschak

Vault
by John Fyffe

Pancho' s Email
by Marie Vibbert

Twelve Dancing Daughters
by Pam McNew

Alone No More
by William Trowbridge

]

The Whatsis lived in the glove box
and the Widgets lived in the trunk;
between the two of them lived their offspring –
twelve celibate daughters.

The daughters were restless.
They wanted to gaze upon the stars,
to feel soft evening breezes,
to dance in the rain
wearing their sturdy floor mat slippers.
They wanted a moon roof.
They also wanted not to be celibate.

Although the four tribes of Isolationists
in the wheel wells,
(Thingajiggers and Thingabobbers
and two other fraternal Thingathings)
were timid,
they told the twelve daughters
that dwelling within the engine was a clan
of Doohickeys with sons awarded degrees
from MIT and Texas A & M.

The restless daughters set to work sending
promotional spam to the great infrastructure
of V6 and Cubic Inches of Displacement.

"Visit the Inland Hump"
"Conference Beneath the Dashboard"
"Utilize Your Intelligence"
"Up For A Challenge?"
"Looking for Girlz?"
"Hot Chicks!!1!"
"Exotic Foreign Brides Available"

The response was immediate and massive.
Soon, the Interior was overflowing with young men
with calculators and pocket protectors.
Tests were given, could they:
install a six speaker 54 Watt Music System,
untwist shoulder straps,
build bridges between bucket seats,
measure the depth of a kiss?

They could. They could.

Then, the final question:
could they design a moon roof
and oversee its construction?

They could. They could.

It would be a large job, but not an impossible job,
it would be the work of a lifetime,
and would twelve celibate girls
commit themselves
to twelve industrious engineers,
in the name of the project,
if not of love?

They would. They would.

It indeed seemed the work of a lifetime,
but, in the meantime,
the Doohickey boys
spoke with the tribe of people, Whois by name,
that controlled the electrical system,
and on special occasions,
like birthdays and anniversaries,
the windows were lowered
and the twelve sisters danced.

Pam McNew has had her fiction and poetry published in such places as Strange Horizons, ChiZine, The Fortean Bureau and Lone Star Stories.