Some say stasis dreams are as close as the human mind can come to a vision of Heaven. Some say every wish is granted in the mind while the body simply exists, devoid of electrochemical function. Some even claim to faintly remember their dreams, to weep when roused from the little death required by lengthy space runs and to pine away for all that is lost upon awakening.
As far as Charles E. Stone was concerned, some were full of shit. He'd never dreamed a damn thing in stasis, never lost a moment of the time spent in a body that didn't breathe or pump blood or piss down its leg. He spent every jump fully aware and usually bored out of his skull. And planning his next escape, of course.
This time, though, cutting loose would be a miracle. Apparently tired of fucking around with him, the pigs sent Enforcers to escort him.
He stood, stretched and walked around the small space, trying to get the blood flowing back to his muscles. As usual, he'd dreamt nothing; obviously he wasn't the one full of shit. Cold fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. He turned at the sound of feet scuffing at the entrance.
The Enforcers came in, shackled him and led him to the Interrodome. The pigs were there already, lining the periphery of the vast chamber, standing on their hind legs like humans, but squealing and oinking like the feral beasts they were. The Enforcers chained Charles between two pillars. Then lights flashed and thunder boomed as the Grand Inquisitrix rose from beneath the floor, lifted on a pneumatic platform. Mist swirled around her, gradually dissipating until her face was revealed.
Charles recoiled in terror; it was Miss Piggy. Suddenly he noticed his clothes seemed stuck to his skin. No, he assured himself, Charles E. Stone isn't full of shit . . . Not any more.
Opening: Gutterball.....Continuation: Lightsmith/Anon./EE