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Quantum Visions 6: Quantum Visions Chapboks, #6
Quantum Visions 6: Quantum Visions Chapboks, #6
Quantum Visions 6: Quantum Visions Chapboks, #6
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Quantum Visions 6: Quantum Visions Chapboks, #6

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Short fiction from Orange County, California's finest writers.  Science fiction, fantasy, and scifaiku.  Featuring CHROME OXIDE, Writers of the Future Published Finalist, SHAUNA ROBERTS, Clarion Science Fiction Writing Workshop Graduate, JUDE-MARIE GREEN, Speculative Literature Foundation's Older Writers Grant winner 2013.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 8, 2018
ISBN9781386489375
Quantum Visions 6: Quantum Visions Chapboks, #6
Author

Jude-Marie Green

Jude-Marie Green has sold stories online and in print anthologies for the last decade.  She writes science fiction, mostly, with occasional forays into fantasy worlds and situations.  She is a graduate of Clarion West Class of 2010, the premier science fiction writers seminar.  Currently she helps with the Speculative Literature Foundation to foster the art of science fiction writing.

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    Book preview

    Quantum Visions 6 - Jude-Marie Green

    November 2017

    Rights Page

    Geomagnetic Reversal, Jupiter, Jupiter Storm, Probe, Sublimation, scifaiku and art previously published online, all rights held by Wendy Van Camp

    Art Project, previously unpublished, all rights held by Jamie Cassidy-Curtis

    Day Of The Ficus, previously unpublished, all rights held by Wendy Van Camp

    How Harvey The Turtle Saved Ms. Horry’s Sixth-Grade Class, previously unpublished, all rights held by Shauna R. Roberts

    In The Salad Bowl, previously unpublished, all rights held by Ralph Cox

    Possession, previously unpublished, all rights held by Chrome Oxide

    Timeless Baseball, previously unpublished, all rights held by Robin Walton

    Trash Talking, previously unpublished, all rights held by Timothy Cassidy-Curtis

    ––––––––

    Front and back cover design by Jude-Marie Green

    Story art for ‘Timeless Baseball’ by Jonny Vasquez

    Inside front cover by Wordle.net

    Interior design by Jude-Marie Green

    Inside back cover, OCSFC meatball by Greg Funke and Mac McMahon

    ––––––––

    November 2017

    How Harvey the Turtle Saved

    Ms. Horry’s Sixth-Grade Class

    By Shauna Roberts

    I detest being a turtle.

    Imagine being buried alive in a coffin that taunts you with holes too small to escape through.

    Or being the filling in a sandwich whose bread is bone and keratin. Or, in my case, metallic microlattice laced with sensors and electronics and painstakingly painted by pros to look like your everyday Terrapene carolina carolina. In other words, an Eastern box turtle.

    Did I tell you I have claustrophobia? Or that I prefer the old days when scientists at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention wore suits, looked dignified, and stayed in their labs?

    Those days are gone. Combating today’s public-health threats often requires fieldwork and fresh thinking.

    I was the one who came up with the idea for the CDC’s program Human-Animal Rescue Via Educating Youngsters, or H.A.R.V.E.Y. Who knew I’d be the only person in the lab whose mind could tolerate occupying a robot body for more than five minutes as Harvey the Rabbit, Harvey the Hamster, or Harvey the Turtle?

    I was also the nitwit who argued that each H.A.R.V.E.Y. rider have as realistic an experience as possible. Each H.A.R.V.E.Y. received instincts appropriate to its species, a system to circulate hormones and cytokines, and a rudimentary eating and excreting system to maintain the illusion of reality. The result: When I’m Harvey the Turtle, I endlessly fight a hankering to head for something that smells tasty—strawberries in a kid’s lunch bag, a dead bird in the schoolyard, or the fresh running water of a creek miles away.

    That’s right, fight—present tense.

    Tired of being a turtle, I had already written a letter of resignation when a routine mission turned out anything but routine and convinced me to continue as Harvey the Turtle.

    #

    The thick air of my childhood welcomed me, made even more humid than usual by Charleston’s recent tropical storm. Somewhere close, sweetgrass released a nostalgic perfume.

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