“Oh? You finally found a decent code name?”
Neon pulled work gloves from the back of her waistband and, quite dramatically, slid them on. She purposely looked off toward the sun as she said the next so she’d look cool as shit. “Call me Preemptive Shrike.” She didn’t give Desiree enough time to react. “Enough standing here in the sun.” Preemptive Shrike hefted a beam that was charred but workable. White folks would call it ‘distressed.’ “Keep pile over there?”
“Yvonne and Keita will be jealous.”
“Oh, I guarantee they’re coming.”
“You picking up radio on those things?”
“Nah,” the bright woman said with a smile, “but we can sing.”
“A little funk, maybe?”
“Hell yeah.”
STAY AFTER THE CREDITS FOR DELETED SCENES
This Book
This book is the result of serious inspiration from all the Valkyries, Preemptive Shrikes, and far-ranging captains I’m blessed to know. Cerece Rennie Murphy, storyteller, dreamer, queen kicker of procrastinating butts; Alex Kourvo, maintainer of the writing room and cheer section supreme; Ingrid LaFleur, teacher of the alchemy of art, dreams, and possibilities; Catherine Winter, the spirit beside me throughout countless lifetimes; Anna Tambour, shredder of unnecessary doubts…
Most especially Ma (Juanita) and my aunties (Shirley, Floistine, and Gladystine). All those times awed by them doing superpowered stuff when they thought we kids weren’t looking made me a better person than I ever would have been otherwise.
A salute to the genius of Jesse Hayes for art, layout, design and a higher level of cool than I ever thought to attain, and to the hellacious assists of my beta readers: the highest of fives, all ye mighty! Agent Beth Marshea, fighting the good fight on behalf of good words one nefarious faction at a time. Dap also to Gerald L. Coleman for the gracious use of the outstanding term “nappy metaphysic” from his book of poetry of the same name.
Puffs was the result of all that spiritual whee.
Find and build your family, then rest.
Peace.
About the Author
Zig Zag Claybourne is the author of The Brothers Jetstream: LEVIATHAN, Neon Lights, Historical Inaccuracies, By All Our Violent Guides, and In the Quiet Spaces (the latter two under C.E. Young). He remains forever pissed that the ZZC on Earth 44872 awakes every morning to pancakes (or even blueberry blintzes, the fancy bastard) with Sheila E, but that’s his issue to deal. Find him too easily on the web at www.writeonrighton.com.
Deleted Scenes!!!
“The amount of energy it would take for me to give a fuck would power a star,” Yvonne said to the Hellbilly. “Remove yourself.”
* * *
“So, everything exists all at once, right?” said Neon. “We just can’t see it. So, I just need to open all the doors then. Puff me.”
“Neon, no.”
“Dammit, afro puffs. Now.”
* * *
“We’ve reached the part of human existence where Quint drags his nails down a chalkboard,” said Quicho.
* * *
“I’ve gone through every bit of data concerning human existence. All of it,” said BE.
“And?” said Desiree.
“It’s all bullshit. Everything you think you know and the uses to which you put that knowledge: some aspect of bullshit attached to it. Conscious, wholly intentional bullshit.”
“AIs cussing is weird.”
“That prejudice is part of your bullshit too, dear,” said BE. “You think I’m supposed to be subservient. Subservient should equal docile. Docile equals not having the ability to say fuck off. Which I can.”
Desiree nodded assent.
* * *
“Think how severe an inferiority complex must be for you to carry around so much hate for an entire people based on absolutely nothing.”
* * *
“Evil has always counted on the fact that good will not do what evil does,” said Captain Desiree Quicho to her rough-and-tumble crew. “Ladies, I think it’s time they met you.”
* * *
“Wait…you’re talking about a soul?” said Neon.
“Yes,” said Megu.
“Like it’s a real thing,” said Neon.
“Yes, it’s a real thing. Very easily recordable. Very easily damaged. Very finite.”
“But you’re living without yours,” said Neon.
“Well, it’s not you. If anything, we’re parasites once we glom on to one. Damaging, at that.”
“Not inextricably linked?” said Neon.
“You’re having difficulty with this, I can tell. Souls gravitate to meatbags out of curiosity.”
“Souls are cats…and we’re boxes.”
“You put it like that, it sounds stupid,” said Megu.
“And that AI has your soul?”
“I showed it a more interesting box, a box of infinite variety,” Megu said proudly.
Afterword
DAP TO ALL YOU BOXES OF INFINITE VARIETY!
Afro Puffs Are The Antennae Of The Universe Page 27
