but suspected otherwise.
A moment later Simone slammed a hand on her desk. “Dammit, look at this. The hair ornament I need is a reproduction. Because naturally a reproduction is indistinguishable from an original. The people of 1743 Kyoto will never notice. Are they hiring antiques dealers out of primary school these days?”
Simone pushed away from the desk in disgust and left through the door to the shop, heels clicking.
Petra smoothed the front of the kimono. It was heavy grey silk, painted with cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums. Near the hem, Petra had added butterflies.
The light in the shop was still on; Petra saw it just as she was leaving.
Careless, she thought as she crossed the workshop. Simone would have killed me.
She had one hand on the door when the sound of a footstep stopped her. Were they being robbed? She thought about the Danish Bronze Age brooches hidden behind the counter in their velvet wrappers.
Petra grabbed a fabric weight in her fist and opened the door a crack.
Simone stood before the fitting mirror, holding a length of bright yellow silk against her shoulders. It washed her out (she’d never let a client with her complexion touch the stuff), but her reflection was smiling.
She hung it from her collarbones like a Roman; draped it across her shoulder like the pallav of a sari; bustled it around her waist. The bright gold slid through her fingers as if she was dancing with it.
Simone gathered the fabric against her in two hands, closed her eyes at the feel of it against her face.
Petra closed the door and went out the back way, eyes fixed on the wings at her feet.
When she came around the front of the shop the light was still on in the window, and Simone stood like a doll wrapped in a wide yellow ribbon, imagining a past she’d never see.
Petra turned for home.
Disease Control hadn’t made the rounds yet, and the darkness was a swarm of wings, purple and blue and gold.
Attitude Adjustment
ERIC JAMES STONE
Eric James Stone (www.ericjamesstone.com) lives in Eagle Mountain, Utah. He has a degree in political science and a law degree, and currently works as a website developer. He began publishing in the genre in 2004, when he was a winner of the Writers of the Future Contest. He has since sold seven stories to Analog, six to InterGalactic Medicine Show, and several more to various other publications. In 2009 he became an assistant editor for InterGalactic Medicine Show.
“Attitude Adjustment” was originally written for a contest held by the Codex Writers Group (www.codexwriters.com), of which he is an original member, and was published in Analog, which survives by persisting in publishing the same thing it always has. This story is good old-fashioned problem-solving space SF in the Astounding tradition, done well. It has a touch of the Heinleinesque in its characterization and resolution.
Danica Jarvis switched off the Moonskimmer’s main engine, and her stomach lurched in the familiar way that marked the change to zero gravity. She fired the attitude thrusters, turning the mushroom-shaped ship until it floated head-down over the Moon, so the long stem of the engine wouldn’t get in the way. The clear diamondglass of the Moonskimmer’s hull allowed an unobstructed view of the lunar landscape.
From her pilot’s chair in the center, she looked around at the eight tourists strapped to their seats along the circumference of the cabin. “This is the fun part of the trip. Unbuckle your seatbelts and float while you enjoy the view.”
“Fun?” A teenage boy—Bryson Sullivan, according to the manifest—snorted. “Can we go back to the Hilton now?” He sported a bright purple datavisor and a shaved head.
Danica mustered her best be-nice-to-the-people-who-pay-my-salary grin and said, “Don’t worry, Eddie and I will have you back to Luna City before the basketball game tonight. Right, Eddie?” Lunar-gravity basketball was a major tourist draw.
“Yes,” said Eddie, the Moonskimmer’s A.I. “Our total flight time is less than two and a half hours. You’ll get to see the far side of the Moon, something fewer than a thousand humans have seen with their own eyes. You should enjoy it.” Eddie’s voice was enthusiastic.
The boy rolled his eyes, then opaqued his visor.
Danica decided to ignore the useless brat and turned her attention to the rest of the passengers. She pointed to one of the craters below and began her routine tour-guide patter.
“Okay, folks, if you’d please return to your seats and buckle up,” said Danica. “I’m going to turn the ship so you can see the