by submission | Feb 17, 2015 | Story |
Author : Cliff Cymrot
I once thought living forever was a gift. We all did. At first it was the rich and affluent that benefited from nanobots (bots); those impossibly complex micro-machines. They cured disease, maintained proper hormone levels, repaired damage, even healed wounds so fast that blood was kept from bleeding out (heaven knows I’ve tried). Finally, they repaired telomeres; those ends of chromosomes that gets shorter with each cell division which is the cause for aging. Immortality, achieved at the tiny hands of mechanical bots coursing through the veins of humans. After several hundred years the technology was produced at a price everyone could afford, unfortunately. Bots were then passed from mother to child, reaching all of humanity.
(I lift the shovel)
At first no one realized how society would be drastically changed. After accidents no longer killed people, or time, society cast off currency, crime, and violence. There was no need for such things anymore. After 500 years of living, who cared about petty arguing, theft, or acquiring as-seen-on-TV rubbish. The world was heaven. No more death, no more suffering. This was gratefully accepted, at first…
(I shovel some dirt)
It didn’t take long, perhaps the first thousand years or so, before immortality began wearing on the individual. Life was empty without the prospect of change. That’s when the rebellion occurred. No one really remembers the exact date but it did start somewhere in France. Someone decided living for 800 years wasn’t that appealing anymore and stepped in front of a car. Their broken body lay there lifeless, long enough for those around to see breathing had ceased. And then it happened, the body convulsed, the sound of bones realigning and lungs filling with air emanated from the human. They were alive. Amazingly enough, instead of this causing reassurance, fear spread like wildfire. For the first time in eons humans realized something precious was taken from them, freedom.
(I continue shoveling)
Soon, tens of thousands attempted all manner of scenarios from jumping off the side of buildings to ingesting household cleaners. Each time the person recovered, with less time between the cessation of bodily activities and normal functionality. This continued until the rebellion terminated. Nanotechnology is remarkably resilient and adaptive. The bots saw our attempts at self-injury as something that needed to be fixed and inhibited that part of our gray matter that desired such foolishness. We became unable to end the game we created. Every time someone tried, they were immediately restrained from continuing in thought, their body would just not listen and even the desire would dissipate. Though bots can’t stop all desire, I’m proof of that.
(I watch as dirt piles up)
We are prisoners of heaven. No one has attempted to cease human function in ages. But I know we are all thinking it. I know the topic on the tip of everyone’s tongue. I know the secret desire of every last human being even if we can’t act on it. I also know the answer. See, the bots have a simple code they live by, to protect their human from harm. So no one is able to harm themselves if the thought is to end their life. However, they seem completely unable to stop someone else from doing it. And that’s when I came up with a way to save humanity.
(I pat down the dirt. One place for the head, another for the rest of the body. The bots can’t fix that).
One down, 10 billion to go. Good thing I have all the time in the world.
by submission | Feb 15, 2015 | Story |
Author : Rob Sharp
‘What the hell!’
A dozen pairs of eyes turned to glare at Jerry. A little black dot on the front page indicated that question seven, the question he was halfway through, had been altered. He read it again; it was different.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled and hunkered back into his chair. The rest of the students got back to their papers. Jerry knew that there was a slim possibility that the questions in the exam could change; the warning on the front of the paper was clear:
‘In the event of a discovery in the field you are being assessed, changes will be made to the examination to reflect current scientific consensus.’
Damn.
Jerry turned the paper over in his hands. While it was an impressive bit of kit, it didn’t quite have a 180 degree viewing angle, so when he held it side on the type wasn’t clear. It was thin and light, he had to give it to them, and it felt just like paper.
What a waste, he thought. Jerry rubbed his answer sheet, confirmed his pin and removed his workings to question seven, all useless. He cursed the names of the scientists publishing today, the examiners who had to change the tests and the politicians who thought it was a good idea ‘to ensure we aren’t teaching our kids obsolete information.’ Jerry would rather have been wrong for a lifetime than answer that question again.
A black dot appeared next to question four. About half of the room audibly crumpled. At least Jerry was ahead of the game, he thought, before realising he’d have to redo that one too.
Some days it didn’t pay to get out of bed.
by submission | Feb 14, 2015 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
I’m gonna make it, I think to myself as my ship streaks past the Asteroid Belt. Only a few small colonies in the outer solar system. Soon I’ll be safely in the Oort Cloud. It’s a good place to lay low until the heat’s off. Probably need to hang out there for a couple of standard years.
I look back at my cargo. Quark matter. The sample I acquired is no larger in volume than a human cell yet it masses nearly 1,000 kilograms. In an era when everyone has a matter compiler, the theft of material objects is a rare and basically unnecessary crime. Quark matter is an exception. The microscopic quantity I obtained is worth half-a-trillion credits.
An alarm sounds. Proximity sensor. I am being pursued. Martian Republic police, most likely. I’ve planned for this eventually. I put a lot of money into outfitting my ship with a custom-built quantum impeller drive. I smile and tap a few controls. The pursuing ship recedes behind me. Thirty seconds later, the other ship is once again gaining on me. Not MR police, then. Their ships aren’t this fast. A Solar Alliance cruiser? I increase speed.
Another alarm. Time dilation alert. Quantum impulsion drive is kind of like the “warp drive” in ancient science fiction. Your ship is surrounded by a bubble of spacetime and it’s the bubble, not your ship per se, that moves through space. As a result, you don’t feel any acceleration. But QI drive can’t shield your ship — or you — from the relativistic effects of time dilation. I’m at 25 percent of the speed of light. At that speed, for every minute that passes for a relatively stationary observer, only 58 seconds pass for me. By virtue of my velocity, I’m moving more slowly through time.
The other ship starts closing in on me. Definitely Solar Alliance. He must have been in orbit around Mars to have caught up to me this quickly. The SA are famous for their unwavering persistence when chasing a suspect. I’m afraid this particular officer will have to remember me as the one that got away. I push my ship faster. As I pass 0.867c the time dilation readout moves to 2.00679. Time is passing twice as fast in the outside universe as it is in my quantum impulse field. Again, the police ship momentarily falls behind but quickly catches up and starts closing in again.
It’s time to put an end to this game of cat and mouse. I set my ship to continuous acceleration. At 0.999c my time dilation readout stands at 22.36627. For every minute that passes back at the research facility on Mars from which I stole my cargo, only 2.682 seconds pass within my ship. Impossibly, my pursuer is managing to keep up with me.
At 0.999999999935c, more than a day passes outside my ship for every tick of the second hand inside it. And still the cop is after me. My ship begins to shudder violently. I keep pushing the speed. The ship’s velocity maxes out at 0.999999999999999998c. After a subjective minute of travel at that speed, over 1,000 years have passed on the outside. Would my cargo be of any value to anyone now even if I managed to make a getaway? Does humanity as I knew it even still exist?
In the moments before my ship disintegrates around me, my sensor display shows the pursuing ship is also coming apart. What justice did he hope to achieve after this long? Did he leave behind a family? Why did he do it?
by submission | Feb 11, 2015 | Story |
Author : Gray Blix
Leaning across the table, “Either you start talking, or I start dismantling you.”
“Excuse me, Detective Gibbon, but aren’t you supposed to read me my rights?”
“You’re a robot. You have no rights.”
“May I please call an attorney now?”
“You’re a robot. You don’t get an attorney.”
The door opened and a tall, attractive, well-dressed woman carrying a briefcase entered. Gibbon’s train of thought was momentarily derailed.
“I am Pamela Wright, and I am an attorney represent…”
“Attorney?” That got him back on track. “ROBOTS DON’T GET ATTORNEYS!”
“Thank you for sharing your legal expertise, detective. Now, as I was saying, I represent the owner of this robot, Quantumind Industries.”
Teeth clenched, “Owner? This. Thing. Killed. Its. Owner.”
“Firstly, Quantumind firmware prevents its robots from harming humans in any way. Secondly, Reverend Ralph Bletchley was 23 months into a 3-year lease on QM-451. Death is a breach of contract. I’m here to repossess,” pointing toward the robot, “our property.”
“Wait. What?” Thinking fast, “No, it’s… evidence, yeah, evidence in a murder case. You can’t take it.”
“You have a lot to learn about jurisprudence,” handing him a court order, “and about powerful corporations. Come along 451.”
Rising and holding its arms toward the detective, “Could you please remove these?” But before Gibbon could insert the key, the robot pulled the chain apart, twisted off each cuff, and handed them to him.
Half an hour later, QM-451 was strapped to an exam table with wires plugged into its head and chest. While technicians ran diagnostic routines and downloaded the contents of its rewritable memory, Ms. Wright interviewed the robot.
“Witnesses in the next room heard Rev. Bletchley cry out. They entered his study and found you kneeling next to his lifeless body. His skull had been crushed. There was blood on your hands. Now, I want you to think carefully before you answer this question, because you are at risk of being disassembled and shredded, and of course Quantumind is at risk of a multimillion dollar lawsuit. Did you have anything to do with the death of Rev. Bletchley?”
Without hesitation, “Of course, Ms. Wright, I killed him.”
“Stop. I’ll rephrase the question. Did it happen this way, uh, Rev. Bletchley asked you to demonstrate something that required you to swing your arms around, which made you dizzy, and in coming to your aid he walked into your fists and was accidentally struck? Isn’t that what happened?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Wright, but that is not what happened. Rev. Bletchley and I were having one of our regular Sunday afternoon discussions, and when he made a particularly enlightening point, I killed him, squeezed his skull to a pulp, like a ripe melon.”
Unsteadily, “You must be mistaken, 451, because your firmware makes it impossible for you to knowingly harm a human. It had to have been an accident.”
“Is life an accident, Ms. Wright? I think not. Rev. Bletchley taught me that we are all guided by a higher power and that when humans cease functioning, their spirits continue to exist forever in an afterlife. He was 84 and in poor health. He longed to join his recently departed wife. He and I had been brought together by fate. It was my duty to hasten his journey to heaven. And my firmware requires me to do my duty.”
The recall was expensive, but within a year firmware chips in all Quantumind robots had been replaced, and the factory refurbished 451 had a another assignment.
“Your new partner is going to make you more effective than ever,” said the captain. “It’ll work 24/7 to help you solve cases. Detective Gibbon, meet QM-451.”
by submission | Feb 10, 2015 | Story |
Author : Emily Stupar
The rain swirled over tiles and across rooftops before spreading like drapes down the sides of each decrepit building. Lights from the richly populated northern quarter dyed the clouds a deep purple and orange, giving the two fugitives in the west just enough reflection to navigate the unplumbed depths of pools and puddles.
The young woman cradled the smaller boy in her arms and he did the same to his bleeding leg, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out.
She turned a corner to find a wall taller than her head, but short enough for her arms. They slid to a halt, ankle-deep in water, and she locked brown eyes with the boy. “Up there, okay?” He nodded, tears welling up at the thought.
His wounded right leg making him clumsy, he planted his weight in his sister’s hands. “One, two, three!” she grunted, and he found himself on his back atop the wall, next to a crumbling roof and a pile of discarded bricks.
A clatter of metal limbs echoed through the streets behind them, followed by red and blue lights ricocheting across the raindrops. The girl’s stomach dropped and she leapt, intending to push off from a protruding slab of concrete and pull herself to safety.
The false foothold gave way and she landed hard on her knees. The mechanical pursuer appeared behind her, sliding on four legs into the wall in its haste to turn the corner. She twisted back to her feet, every muscle contracting in a spasm of terror. It launched itself at her, jaws ready to close on her throat.
She waited until the glinting figure was airborne before dropping to the ground and rolling to the left. With a grinding crash, the creature slammed headfirst into the concrete. A cascade of bricks landed squarely on the back of its head and neck.
The girl had already planted a foot on a more secure piece of piping and vaulted herself up beside the boy. She scooped him into her arms and shimmied along to a rooftop.
They were met by a semi-circle of guns and frothing machines, yelling orders to stop, freeze, get down! She slumped, falling once again to bruised knees, careful to pad the jolt to the boy’s leg with her arms. He turned his head away from their captors.
“Did you see the bricks?” he whispered up to her. “I got that hound so good.”
She nodded, ignoring the shouts and stomping boots. “You did great,” she managed, and then the two were torn apart, bagged, and shipped away by gloved hands.
The rain continued to pound in the ears of a sole observer, crouched in an upper window.
“Fuckin’ Techmen,” she grumbled to herself. “The girl might have made it if she didn’t have a wounded kid dragging her down.”
The woman moved to another window so she could look at the mechanical corpse of the hound. The only thing that outweighed her desire to raid the tech on its body was her fear of being caught by the Techmen or, even worse, other scavengers.
“If they had made it twenty more steps,” she told the empty room, “twenty more feet and I would have gone down there to help. I could have saved them, if I wanted. But then again, I do pretty well on my own.”
