by submission | Aug 21, 2026 | Story |
Author: Elizabeth Hoyle
“You have to leave! Now!”
“Not the reaction I was hoping for,” I muttered under my breath, uncertain where to look after such a lackluster response to the revelation that I was a time traveler. “Why do I have to leave? I just got here.”
“Every second you’re here gives them more of what they want.”
“Which is what? Who is they?”
He hurried to the back of the room, pulled at a loose panel on the lower half of the wall.
“I saw that this might happen in one of the company’s files. Their emergency situation protocols were thorough. I didn’t think you’d show up so soon after I got it active. Luckily I prepared.”
I crossed the room as he pulled more panels from the wainscoting. “I was prepared to be the one answering questions not asking them.”
“I don’t have time to ask so go ahead with your answers. I am curious.”
“My name is Diana Silverman. I am a traveler from the Chronos Sola Company. One of ten who have been given access to the first completed time machine. This is my third successful trip—”
“What year?” He threw the question over his shoulder.
“Three C.S.—”
“They even renamed the dating system after the company? Hubris is too small a word for those fucks. You’ll have to squeeze.”
There was a knock at the door I’d landed in front of.
“Judging by the look on your face, that is not good,” I said.
“No, it isn’t. Come on.” He waved me closer to him and covered my head as I crouched into the hole he’d made in the wall. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it in the room. A sleeker, smaller, and better version of the time machine I had left in the lab at the Sola campus. I turned to him, my hair obscuring our faces from one another. Whoever was at the door knocked again.
“How do you have this? We’re in seven C.S., right? The machines aren’t at this level yet.”
“You don’t think they recently made these machines, do you?” He fixed me with a stare that was wary and pitying. “Chronos Sola has helped destroy the earth but they are the best gardeners, planting the seeds they needed to make their rise inevitable, their technology ubiquitous.”
My mind raced at his words. “You mean all of this has been planned?”
The knocking turned to a booming at the door. He shoved me further into the uncovered room. “Nothing is coincidence or luck when it comes to making those with resources even more wealthy.”
“Then this trip has been planned, too, just like my other ones. They’re looking for you and for their machine.”
He has one more board to put back into place. “Go home. Fight them however you can.”
“Rebellion is ubiquitous, too.”
He grinned then finished hiding me. The door in the next room gave after I jumped in the machine.
by submission | Aug 20, 2026 | Story |
Author: Rick Tobin
“Fire the tracer!” Elliot commanded while centering a tiny submersible targeting an immature Nateria Squid in inky, frigid Saturn’s Enceladian waters near the moon’s deep thermal vent ridge. System data lit a screen indicating a direct hit as Mar’s artificial intelligence tracked the squid’s directions toward a large swarm.
“That’s a huge shoal of squid, El.” Trenton gasped as the tiny craft navigated automatically through the obscure darkness. “I can’t believe our luck. The Center will be pleased.”
Elliot stared with amusement at his junior assistant volunteer assigned to hazardous missions to establish the squid’s herding capacity, ensuring a continued supply of unique, priceless chemicals that extended human TERT gene activity tenfold. The elites of Earth would pay handsomely to triple their life extension with reinvigorated telomeres. Martians cared less for what they considered a sacrilege of the Creator’s will.
“This will be the final proof that we can perform measured culling while ensuring the species continues. There might still be a price for us to pay. I saw your vitals when we cut through the tiger stripe at the South Pole. One in six of us survives that, but the pay is worth the risk.”
Elliot’s tone calmed the young explorer’s excitement.
“You noticed?” Trenton whispered.
“It’s my third and last trip, kid. I’ve beaten the odds, but to do that, I notice everything. You replaced the second assistant who quit after his first voyage. I lost the first guy after a crash through the stripes. If we keep our heads on now and breathe slowly, we’ll have enough air for three days…then out we go, shooting up through a frozen geyser. The rescue craft tows us back to the space station. Then you can count your fortune and go home.”
“And that’s it? We discover one fact, and they reward us? Then let’s head out. I don’t want to end up like the first assistant.”
“A momma’s boy, huh? Keep cool and papa will…” Elliot went silent as his eyes scanned troubling sonar readings.
“What is it?” Trenton asked with concern.
“Company. I heard they were here again. There’s a group of harvesting pirates from Earth’s Moon that has other ideas. Call them competitors. They don’t want the old ones. They’ll decimate this new swarm if they can find it. Immatures have higher drug concentrations. We led them right in, but they’ve made a dangerous mistake. We need to veer course immediately. Head for the geysers now!” Elliot screamed his order as he pulled the guide yoke hard to the left after turning on a rescue beacon.
Trenton lurched to the side against his security straps. “Won’t help. They’ve already seen the squids. It’ll be a massacre.” Trenton’s jaw went tight in the G-force of the craft’s acceleration.
“We need to be gone, now!” Elliot yelled again.
“But…” Trenton tried to protest the wild evasive maneuvers.
“You hear that kid? That screeching noise? It’s not from our gear. They make it. I know what comes next?”
“They…those make this? God, it’s almost deafening!”
Trenton ground his teeth from the overwhelming screeching flooding his ears.
“They aren’t stupid fish, kid. They own this world. I saw it on my first trip. Another ship was with me before we knew two craft were a threat to the squid. We heard chatter from a mother and her young. We didn’t understand without intel. They control the ice.”
The aquanauts heard spikes of sheer, violent shards of giant frozen spears colliding from the surface, descending on the hunter’s vessel behind them, becoming filaments of fresh food for their prey.
by submission | Aug 19, 2026 | Story |
Author: Alzo David-West
A ship moved on the ocean. The vessel was big, and its sides were covered in salt. Young people were all over the deck, wearing fitted t-shirts and short shorts. Warm air blew gently. Some of the passengers leaned against the railings as others rested in deckchairs. Music played, and the ship kept traveling.
Daylight flattened with mist descending over the horizon. The big ship crawled into the low, colorless haze. There, the young voices grew uneasy, quieting for a while. Gradually, the brightness returned, and a distant landfall appeared. The crew steered toward their destination.
Then, closer, everyone saw it was not the right place. The land was crowded with overgrown ferns and colossal trees, and there were no docks, buildings, or people. Something came out from the tall wild grass — a massive caracal the size of a lion. The carnivore looked at the ship, tracking the vessel. More of the territorial wildcats approached the green edge of the shore in order to see. The men and women aboard understood they could not disembark.
Between human and leonine eyes, a heavy-toned announcement reported a navigation error, even though the instruments confirmed the ship had arrived at the coastline of Norfolk. The helmsman held off for an hour until the captain, second officer, and third officer decided what to do. The land sank away as the ship drifted back into the sea and the mist. Mornings and nights passed into each other.
The vessel continued on for many days, yet all designated ports and harbors were the same untamed land. Small armed launches that went to explore did not return from the tangled beachheads.
Tidal currents surged, and the music became low. Once full of sound and certainty, the young and old in their locked cabin compartments now dreamed somberly about the feral shores: wilderness, mutant air, creatures stalking in the forests, powerlessness. There was no conquest of nature here. The officers and crew murmured.
Below deck, in the central galley, the kitchen lights were dim. Ovens and grills glowed; steamers hummed; and large stock pots simmered. A cook with a ladle stirred a mixture. Inside, the softening pieces shaped like something familiar turned and slid back in. Ocean water sprayed against the hull of the ship as it cut through the deep waves.
by submission | Aug 18, 2026 | Story |
Author: Majoki
Of course it’s overrated. You knew it would be before you paid the outrageous charter fee, travelled almost a thousand parsecs, endured the too-pious passengers aboard, and stood before the worn and crumbling fortress of stone that pilgrims claimed began it all.
And by began it all, they meant, astrolgia. A longing for the galaxy as it once was. These pilgrims pined for the ancient days before space travel, terraforming, colonization, and the general gentrification of the Milky Way. A time when the night sky held myriad mysteries and endless possibilities. When destiny and fate meant something.
The final frontier was all too copacetic nowadays. So fervor for the past, for ancient beginnings, for days of yore and quests for lore spawned quite an industry. And nothing more hyped than a holopost on the etherthreads that went metaviral: Moon over the Ruined Castle.
The impact of the image wasn’t something easily explained or dismissed. It stuck. Then burrowed into the galactic psyche and became a thing unto itself. A need. A must. More and more traveled the great distance to see it for themselves. Even though there were wonders of wonders spread among the stars, this became the destination, the experience, the most sacred place.
But only when the full moon rose over the ruined castle. Only then.
You had resisted. You had scoffed. You were not going to be dragged into a fad, a ploy, a pilgrimage. Yet, you are here, one of many thousands, at the foot of the hill where the ruined castle stands. Barely.
It is not an imposing sight in the late afternoon after a long trek from the starport on a narrow path through rugged countryside. This planet is being rewilded. All because of this: crumbling stone blocks on a hill overlooking a long narrow lake that is growing black as dusk settles.
Edging towards the forest that seems to eat the remaining twilight, you move as far away from the pressing pilgrims as possible. You still cannot fully understand why you are here. Why you joined in. You are not a joiner. You are a critic. An outsider. A bastion against all that is trivial, ordinary, pedestrian. Yet, you are here.
The castle is in deep shadow now. Only a hint of history remaining. A stillness grows around you and then in you. The moon begins to rise above windswept hills on the far side of the lake. This is it. You fully expect to be disappointed and so vindicated. Sentiment, crassly packaged and sold to the masses. You are not fooled. You will not be moved by a manufactured moment. You are sure.
Nothing like that happens.
Nothing like it.
The moon rises and the castle seems to grow larger. In time. Once upon a time. You feel a heaviness in your heart, but not sadness. The immensity of being fills you. You look to the reverent host of pilgrims and understand their longing. This is humanity. A humanity spread far among the stars, but still seeking.
A place. Our place.
The moon is bright. The castle proud. The pilgrims hushed. The moment ardent. There. Then. Here.
Now. Your heart is beating wildly. Something must happen. Surely, something must happen.
And it does.
Of course it does.
by Julian Miles | Aug 17, 2026 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The displays on the wall scroll through the major global news channels. They’re all showing mushroom clouds. Usually it’s the one nearest to their HQ.
Nat leaps up, pointing to the screens.
“It’s a declaration of war. Has to be!”
Allie turns from her desk to look at him.
“By who?”
“Ru- Ko- Ch- Iz- Am… Oh.”
He winds down, but doesn’t sit.
Guido applauds.
“Thank you for demonstrating the problem, sport.”
Sandy stands up so she can see round the comically high stacks of books she has on her side desk.
“There’s a problem apart from nuclear strikes on shipping bottlenecks?”
Allie raises a hand.
“You’re nearly there. Follow that line of thought.”
Sandy counts off on her fingers.
“First one was off Paraiso, followed by in the Strait of Hormuz and Great Bitter Lake, then off Malacca, and finally the one in the Strait of Dover.” She looks at Guido. “Have they confirmed whether the Channel Tunnel is damaged yet?”
Guido types a couple of quick queries.
“Yes. I’m seeing early reports and videos of seawater ingress and mass panic. Expert opinion is tending towards a breach rather than a collapse, but it’s still very grim, plus there’s the radiation hazard.”
Nat waves his arms about.
“See? It’s war!”
Allie spins round to face him.
“Shut up unless you can name the country who would start a war against everybody. With no guesses or bias. Speak or get down.”
Nat scowls and half-raises a pointing finger, then abruptly sits.
Allie nods.
“Thank you. Go on, Sandy.”
“Well, like you said, the strikes don’t seem to benefit any of the obvious factions. Five mass-casualty events that are going to render the routes inoperable for long periods: Dover and Hormuz straits will adapt first, followed by Malacca. But the two canals are going to be down for decades, and possibly won’t be usable in the current layout for centuries, depending on the yields of the weapons used. Which may have been substantial. A full-size shipping container could conceal a bomb of significant size, even allowing for shielding.”
Guido applauds again.
“Summed that up well. Now all we need to do is-”
Nat sits up.
“Follow the money – more correctly, define who benefits. For which, we need to establish the impact of this atrocity.”
Allie smiles.
“My money’s on militant accelerationists.”
Nat nods enthusiastically.
“Supply chain chaos leading to more lifestyle breakdowns for their fascist appeals to take advantage of.”
Guido rocks his hands in a ‘maybe, maybe not’ gesture.
“Not convinced. Goading governments across the world to clamp down on extremism works against violent and clandestine groups. They wouldn’t want to make themselves targets for the anti-terrorist tornado of enforcement overreach backed by knee-jerk politics that’s sure to hit everywhere soon.”
Sandy waves towards Allie.
“I think she’s nearly right, but not militants. It’s nihilistic accelerationists. They don’t care what comes next. They just want to destroy this civilisation. They think it’s degenerated beyond remedial action. The sooner it ends, and the more violently it does so, the better.”
Allie turns to stare at Sandy.
“That makes horrible sense. The clampdowns that are coming will piss people off even more. Then add climate-driven mass migration on top. Shortages will get much worse. The ultra-rich will stockpile essentials, straining things even further. Hate-mongers and rabble-rousers will cause civil wars fuelled by nationalism. Those will eventually burgeon into open warfare over resources, first locally, then nationally, then internationally.”
Guido grins.
“There’s a billionaire backer out there somewhere. Tried to be a kingmaker -”
Sandy sighs.
“Started an apocalypse instead.”
by submission | Aug 16, 2026 | Story |
Author: Damon Sweeney
Jupiter, a colossus pale orange disk against the black backdrop of space, shone mellowly, its stripes standing out in faint washes of red-brown colour. Scintillating meteor trails weaved the stars together.
Olman stared in awe, rigid in his bulky white spacesuit. “It’s majestic!”
Mondon wasn’t filled with a sense of awe, he’d become all too familiar with the harshness of the Ganymedean giant and felt sick revulsion. “Not to me,” he murmured.
Olman turned to him, his brow wrinkled. “Why?” Then he said in a less passionate voice, “Oh, the Jovians.”
“They’re mysterious,” Mondon said. “After years of communicating with their species, very little has been learned. They seem unfriendly and belligerent, I think they’re hiding something!”
“You sound paranoid, my friend,” Olman said flatly. “Why take the assignment as minister of intergalactic affairs if you’re so mistrusting?”
“Trust is earned. We don’t know what’s happening on the planet’s surface or how advanced their technology is, only what they tell us.”
Olman sighed and said, “I’ve heard all the conspiracies about the Jovians. They’re unfounded, it’s sheer hysteria.”
Mondon stopped walking. “Listen to me, Olman. They’ve constructed an intricate civilization of silicates, synthetic components and force fields. All without external assistance?”
“What’re you suggesting?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ve detected no intelligent life originating beyond the milky way galaxy. These fear induced delusions might sabotage our chance of long-lasting–”
“Peace? I’ll always strive for peace and prosperity,” Mondon said, “the rebellion is spreading through the dominion like a plague, it’s my job to try and nullify that.” In spite of his unwavering efforts at the Foundation’s red board meeting, he knew at this rudimentary stage in the development of the interstellar program, that the same degeneration would exist in society, the same injudicious thinking, the cultural and social disparities would still prevail. However, his belief in a distant utopia was cardinal to restoring faith among the anarchic factions.
“Their behaviour is too capricious,” Olman said bitterly, “you have as much hope of changing their moral attitudes as I do living to see humanity develop light-speed travel and colonize faraway solar systems.”
“The seed must be planted.” He smiled, starting to walk again.
Olman stepped gingerly over jagged basalt rocks, glancing around him at the valleyed, barren landscape of the moon. Staring out at the ebon gulfs of the cosmos made him uneasy. The soft glint of the stars had an almost hypnotic effect on him. He saw a bluish-purple nebula. It was beautiful and frightening.
In the distance, Mondon saw the Moonbase – a vast, oval-shaped building. Eggshell white paneling. A spherical transmission tower illuminated with green light. Crimson sensor scanners swept the moon’s surface, aiming like targeting lasers. Trepidation twisted in his gut. This mission is ill-conceived he thought glumly. He looked at Olmon, his face ashen. A disturbing notion occurred to him. What if all that lay ahead was a bloody prelude to war?
