For my next short story I thought I would try something different, for fans of my existing work (2448 and Damaged) I would like to try and write some short stories set in the lives of each of the characters, but before the events of the books. If you haven't read these books it doesn't matter hopefully you will find them enjoyable ;)

On Shabbat, everything stops. Everything.

The more zealous of Sector Shalosh's inhabitants sometimes look out of their windows, trying to spot the brave hovercraft drivers who dare to fly over the neighbourhood, so they can put their suits on and take out the methane pellets or the bottle of molten iron, depending upon what time of year it is, in order to hurl them at the transgressors. G-d Himself would approve of this I am sure.

One particular Shabbat, I was at Rav Feldman's house as we prepared for this wholesome pastime. With any other form of entertainment banned (although my mother paid little attention) and the use of electrical appliances out of the question on this, the holiest of days, this was the one ray of Shabbos joy on an otherwise dismal day.

On this particular occasion, it was winter. We trooped outside and picked up the bucket of methane pebbles, preparing to throw them at the unsuspecting apostates flying overhead. Breaking Shabbat was justified if it was 'for the sake of heaven' and what could be more heavenly than this?

I hurled the methane pellets at the hovercraft.

'You little two-sunner freaks!' the pilot yelled, to much amusement and another round of pellets. Rav Feldman picked up a particularly large lump of methane and aimed it at the side of the hovercraft, shouting abuse.

'Shame on you, Rabbi, brainwashing children!' the pilot shouted. Of course, we did not need much encouragement. Rav Feldman's house on Shabbat was always far more interesting than my own. My eight year old mind found this hilarious.

'Come on kids, time for Seudah,' Rav Feldman said, as the irreligious pilot sped over the house. 'Let's make a bracha and eat, then go back out.'

It was then that I saw the goat.

It was wandering around the street next to Rabbi Feldman's back yard. There were oxygen cylinders strapped to its back, just like ours. Its shaggy, genetically modified fur protected it from the harsh Shtetlonner winters, where the temperature reached as low as -177 Celsius.

It looked at me. There was a small bell round its neck.

Rabbi Feldman was the next to see it.

'This goat must be a sign from G-d,' he said, as he led it inside across his frozen ammonia and ethane-covered garden. "He must be pleased with us.'

The L-rd plainly wasn't as pleased with him as he was with me. We took it home. We kept it.

That goat, however, was to bring me a lot of troubles.