Tales of the Storage Space, Part 56

The Storage Space was aghast.  This was hardly the person it wanted to see again after all that…unpleasantness.  Yet here she was, that young girl, and now she was…  Well, really, her condition was quite obvious and…

“Finally!  I, like, really need my things!”

And she hadn’t even looked up at poor Karen who’d opened the door to the street and found her there.  Instead she kept her eyes on that idiotic “smartphone,” just like she had no matter what Le Grand Rat had done to her the first time she tried getting her things back with no money.

Her fingers flew over the smartphone’s screen.  Then, eyes still on her phone, she touched a nasty scar on her cheek.  The Storage Space would have shuddered if only a building…  No, the Storage Space reminded itself that to be human was no honor, especially since it remembered all too well how that nasty scar came into being.

Briefly, as she touched that nasty scar, raw agony twisted her otherwise silly young face, making her seem real as her fingers froze and her eyes, though still on the phone, were obviously no longer seeing it.  “I know what you’re going to do to me, but it’s better than what my parents are doing to me over the things they think I lost but was only hiding from them.”  Then her eyes snapped into focus, and her fingers resumed their flurry of activity as her face became young and silly again.  “Just, like, actually give me my stuff back this time!”

Karen wobbled a bit.  How could the Storage Space have all but forgotten her when she had been about to break its poor, long-suffering heart…and, yes, a building could have a heart…by leaving?  Karen was the one person in all this long, weary, helpless, heartbreaking time who could actually hear the poor, long-suffering Storage Space.  But now she grabbed the carvings surrounding its door, the carvings she’d so lovingly caressed so long ago, as she started to faint again.

Even the young girl…at long last…looked up from her phone.  “Like, where’s Irwin and who are you?  Suh?  You look horrible!  This is totally cray cray!”  With an odd glint of a smile, she started taking pictures of Karen, then looked back at her phone as her fingers again flew over its screen.

Karen, catching her breath, studied the young girl for a long time, her eyes lingering on each scar and bruise, amateurishly concealed by makeup, then lingering on her body long enough to observe her condition.  “When are you due?”

Tales of the Storage Space, Part 55

Sam needed all his government training to remain conscious with a fucking stiletto heel embedded in his neck.  It hurt even more than the TOPS knife some foreign operative he’d failed to frisk properly once stuck in his back.  Every instinct had yelled at him to yank that TOPS knife out of his back then, and every instinct yelled at him to yank the damn stiletto heel out of his neck now.  But he knew that…as long as the blood wasn’t spurting outright and he could still breath…his life could depend on leaving the heel in his neck till he made it to a hospital.

That yell.  Had he, only half conscious at the time, imagined it?  Sam peered through the crack between the wall and the door he was hiding behind.  No.  Must have been Ms. Twitch, she who’d stabbed him with the fucking stiletto heel.  (Not that he blamed her, half passed-out from Alex’ chloroform at the time and undoubtedly aiming for Alex.)  And that yell was just in time, judging from the all-but-strangled homeless woman Alex dropped to look up at Ms. Twitch.  Sam noted that the homeless woman jerked almost imperceptibly when she hit the floor.  A good sign.

But now Ms. Twitch was in trouble.  And Alex was distracted by Ms. Twitch and had just walked past the door Sam was hiding behind.  Shame he never had a TOPS knife CAT 1095 when needed, but he swung around the door and toppled Alex before Alex even heard him.  Too easy.  He was about to contain Alex with a full-nelson slam…

But his head spun hard.

Though he dreamed of her incessantly yelling, when he woke up Ms. Twitch was only whimpering and then silent.  Her blood was everywhere.  Alex, back turned to Sam, was still at work on her.

Only one solution that was fast enough.  Biting his lip to avoid screeching in pain, he yanked the stiletto heel out of his neck and sank it into Alex’ neck.  Whereas Ms. Twitch had missed Sam’s jugular, Sam did not miss Alex’.

While a now-helpless Alex spasmed across the floor, Sam could feel the huge clot of blood that spurted out of his own neck.  His knees buckled.  He fell on top of Ms. Twitch.

Unexpectedly, considering her lips weren’t even twitching any more, her eyes fluttered open.  Sam was heartened by a reaction to the sight of him that he’d seen often enough to interpret as a healthy female reaction.  “You,” she said with a sudden smile, “are real!”  She looked even less appealing to him than usual, but he did his best to smile back.  I mean, what the fuck.  But then she, like Alex, also spasmed.  “You’re real,” she said between spasms, “and…I can see my whole life now…everything that was real.  You’re real…and so was my evil twin Judy.”  She went limp.

Sam was sweating the protocol of calling 911 for them all, without blowing his cover, while fumbling for his phone.

It slipped out of his hand and slid across the floor, out of reach.

He checked Ms. Twitch’s neck and found no pulse anyway.  But there was still himself and the homeless woman.

Then it started, like the kind of corny old movie you only watch when you’re up in the middle of the night and desperate.  His life.  Starting with when he used to play secret agent man with the brother that had died in a terrorist attack long before him.

Boomers for the Stars, latest news

Every year lately, my publishing credits have consisted of one sci fi novella.  For 2017 it was Boomers for the Stars.  Since it’s on the reading list for a Nebula award, I’ve made a free audiobook version available for the convenience of those who will vote.  But, at least for now, all are welcome to enjoy it here:

(All rights to all versions of Boomers for the Stars, including this audiobook, are exclusively reserved by Sue Hollister Barr.)

I had great fun writing this fast-paced romp into a darkly imagined future!  Baby Boomers have been kept alive long enough to be elder-abused in brand-new ways, including…but not limited to…the rigors of interstellar travel.  Here are some reviews:

From “verified purchases” on Amazon:

“This is both a fun and thoughtful piece of writing. Being a Baby Boomer myself, I was curious about how the topic would be handled in Science Fiction and whether it would just be another superfluous old people story. Instead, I found it witty, insightful, suspenseful, and thought-provoking. She writes very well, too. I like her style. Oh, yes, and I laughed a lot!”

“This intriguing novella tells an adventure-filled story with twists and turns that will captivate every reader – young and old.”

“All the fast-paced fun of pulp fiction without any of the creaky, inept, embarrassing bits that might lead you to question reading sci-fi. What a great read!”

From Claudia Deutsch, journalist:

“Sue Hollister Barr deftly walks that fine line between science fiction and horrifying reality. Let’s face it, the aging of the Baby Boomers would be causing massive societal problems, even if climate change didn’t threaten famine and mass dislocations. Barr’s vision of how unscrupulous folk can take advantage of the situation is unfortunately quite realistic. But her vision of how a few courageous folk can successfully fight back leaves her reader with hope. Brava!”


Tales of the Storage Space, Part 54

Karen struggled to regain consciousness.  Yet again.  How long had it been since she ran out of poor, now-dead Martin’s back door?  Half-naked and leaving all her clothes in the suitcase she’d planned to move in with…  Her job!  In all this time, however long it was, this was the first time Karen had given it a thought, perhaps at least in part because she rarely gave it a thought anyway.  The investment banking firm where she did due-diligence number crunching that involved no contact or concern for other people was hardly…spiritually fulfilling.  But Karen hadn’t even called in sick, and she did need to pay the rent…

Wait a minute…  Pay the rent where?

She realized she still wasn’t fully conscious, didn’t even have her eyes open yet, and was struggling to piece together things that would have been immediately obvious otherwise.  Frank…The apartment they shared.  It was all over with Frank, who she’d left after finding him in bed with her best friend, which was why she had been at Martin’s in the first place.

She didn’t even have a place to stay…

Her eyes snapped open.

She didn’t even have clothes…

But there was someone with her.  Someone who could help her!  She shook his shoulder.

He rolled over…completely unnaturally.  The mess that was all that was left of his face forced her, with great reluctance, to check the carotid artery in his neck.  Nothing.

Irwin.  She remembered hitting him with that heavy metal thing, remembered the little girl and her mother, remembered thinking she should ask for help…it was self defense after all…but then remembered a strong warning against doing so from the building she was still imagining was sentient.  But that was ridiculous.  She had to get out of this fucking storage space and get help!  It was self defense!

Karen yanked his clothes off him, despite revulsion over Irwin and screams of pain from her own injuries.  After struggling into his filthy clothes, she scrambled around her storage unit for whatever little she’d brought from Martin’s or anything in her boxes that could be of the least use.  She at last made it out to the hall…on her feet…and started down the hall toward the front door.  When the inevitable dizziness struck again, she resolutely clung to a wall and stayed on her feet.

The stairs were a nightmare.  She cried from the effort, but she made it down.  She could see the front door.  She staggered over to it and swung it wide open.


However appropriate that word was, she didn’t think she’d said it aloud.  It hadn’t even been said in her voice.  Blinded by the sunlight, she was confused.  Slowly, her vision returned.  She saw a teenage girl, who looked even more pathetic than she did, standing in front of her.

“Like, I thought this effin’ storage space would never open!  I don’t, like, have the money to pay you but…please!…I really need my things.”

Tales of the Storage Space, Part 53

Martin peeled back the sheet so he could run his fingers over Karen’s naked hip. She stirred in her sleep, mumbling, “I love you, Martin.”

It was then that he knew he was dreaming. His eyes fluttered open: odd lighting, something funny and hard about his bed. But the dream had been so, so sweet, and sleep felt so, so good. He smiled and turned over, settling into a deep and dreamless slumber.

“Time to wake up, Mr. Barclay.”

Huh? Bloody hell! Who was Barclay? And who was this strange woman who was shaking Martin, when the chap she wanted awake was named Barclay?

Some canned announcement about commencing a descent into San Francisco.

Bollocks! What was he hallucinating now? He opened his eyes wide, prepared for anything up to and including pink elephants.

“That’s better, Mr. Barclay. You were sleeping so soundly I was afraid you’d miss your breakfast.”

“My name’s not…” Martin trailed off, suddenly remembering with crystal clarity. The woman at the counter at JFK, flirting with the man dressed in blue. He’d bribed her to put him on this flight; he’d told her his name was… “I mean, of course my name’s Barclay, but you can call me by my first name, Randolph.”

He looked around. He had, in fact, been in a bed of sorts. “Carol” at JFK must have put him in First Class. A pretty girl across the aisle, struggling with her rolling carry-on case, smiled at him. Martin smiled back and, oddly, felt it. Vaguely he remembered something about a stop on the way across the country and a delay of some sort, but he’d slept through it all…a great, wonderful sleep. He felt great, and looked around again.

Nothing was undulating. Except for being in First Class, it all looked normal.

“You didn’t have any luggage, not even carry-on, did you…Randolph?”

“That’s right,” he told the flight attendant, smiling at her too. Then he dove into his pockets. He also didn’t have any money.