Skin, Bone And Sinew

 
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By Ashley Arnold © 2005 E-mail  the editor about this story

Ashley has been writing science fiction and fantasy stories for many years. This is his second published piece in AntipodeanSF, and his first exploration of being wooden. He lives in Adelaide with his family, and enjoys ambulance chasing and pie fights.

This author resides in the Antipodes


 

This is Lustra. She is the boss, in charge of all the men at the factory. "Right, you stickheads, back to work," she calls, ending their break.

They all trudge past Lustra. The clack of their wooden feet is harsh to her ears.

Lustra waits until the last of the men has entered. She looks across the grey smoke and literal timber of the docks. The factory makes puppets, and their only contract is in the balance. If the contract cannot be secured the factory will die.

Finally Lustra goes back inside, the clack-thump-clack-thump or her one wooden and one prosthetic leg painful to hear. She has an artificial leg made from skin, bone and sinew.

Tino, one of her faithful stickheads, is waiting in her office. The walls of Lustra's office are tasseled with production and efficiency awards. The office befits her; it is spare, with no space wasted.

"The men grow restless," Tino says.

"The contracts dry up. Our customers want puppets later and later, or not at all." Lustra takes her seat and clacks a guttural rhythm on her desk. "I can't work out why people would put off having puppets. They are so squishy and podgy and cute. Who would not want one?"

"What will you do?"

"We are already the best factory. Our men are the most efficient, our machines the best maintained. If we can't survive as it is..."

Lustra stares at the shiny paint of her body, which glows in the office light. Her paint is flawless except for the matte flesh of her leg, which Tino's gaze carefully avoids. "The men trust you. You will think of something."

Tino returns to the floor.

Lustra slaps her leg. The flesh shudders and then reddens. She feels nothing, as always. Even disabled by flesh she can still work on the production line. The repetition always relaxes her mind. She has a good solid wooden head — having an artificial leg doesn't mean she can't think.

She works at the end of the line, where the puppets are almost done. The wet eyes have been tucked inside the skull. Only the fleshy brain is needed to hold everything together, then the soft head can be closed and sealed.

Lustra does several brains, plucking each one fresh from the growth stalk and connecting it to the puppet's spine. Tonight the regular buzz of satisfaction is not with her though.

"If you go any slower we'll need to put them all in storage," Tino calls from across the floor.

Lustra prepares a scathing reprimand, as worker banter should not include the boss. But then she thinks — storage. A whole marketing scheme unfolds in her mind. ‘Keep your puppets in storage until you're ready for them'. That way the orders can come years ahead and they will have time for demand to pick up again.

"Tino, you stickhead," Lustra says. "You're the new manager of storage."

 

 

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