A Perfect Alibi

by | Mar 11, 2007 | Story

Author : J. S. Kachelries

Peter Drommel’s plan was flawless. He needed to kill Sebastian Keer, and make it look like suicide. And today would be the day. They were both presenting papers at The Fifth Annual Conference of Temporal Physics. Keer was presenting at 1:00. Drommel’s paper was at 4:00. If everything went according to plan, Keer would die at 4:20, while Drommel stood in front of 300 scientists presenting his paper on The Consequences of Hinesburg’s Uncertainty Principle Relative to Time-Mass Transportation; a perfect alibi. At the precise moment Drommel was predicting successful time travel in only six months, he would also be tossing an unconscious Keer off his 17th floor balcony. Actually, the “Drommel” from the primary timeline would be at the podium, and the “Drommel” from earlier in the day would be committing the murder.

The untold truth was that Drommel had already successfully traveled three hours into the future several times while testing the viability of his plan. Another untold truth was that the only reason his time machine worked was because he had stolen key components from Keer’s machine, and replaced them with defective parts. Consequently, he needed to kill Keer before his espionage was detected.

As Drommel adjusted the controls of his temporal transporter he glanced at the clock. It read 1:15 PM. Sebastian Keer would be fifteen minutes into his presentation on The Use of Singularities to Create Temporal Displacements in an Effort to Establish a Causality Loop. Peter had been on the peer team reviewing Keer’s paper, so he knew the content. It identified serous obstacles concerning the possibility of nature permitting an uncaused result. Drommel could see that until Keer realized there was an imaginary solution to his displacement equation, he would be years away from successful time travel. But, as long as he could expose Drommel as a thief, he was a threat that could not be tolerated.

The first part of Drommel’s plan went smoothly. He had gotten into Keer’s room undetected. He knew Keer’s routine. He took a nap at 4:00 every afternoon. Therefore, all Drommel needed to do was jump ahead to 4:20, crush Keer’s skull while he slept, toss him off the balcony, lock the deadbolt from the inside, return to the past, and make sure he has lots of eye witnessed at 4:20. The police will have to conclude Keer committed suicide.

“Hello, Peter. What are you up to?” Drommel spun around to see Sebastian Keer leveling a handgun at him.

“What the…Where did you come from? I thought you were presenting your paper.”

“I am. After all, I need alibi witnesses too, in case the police have doubts that you jumped off my balcony of your own volition.”

“I’m not jumping anywhere, and you can’t risk shooting me. Nobody shoots themselves, then jumps off a balcony. Don’t be a fool, Sebastian.”

“Oh, we won’t need to shoot you Peter.”

“We?” Drommel turned around in time to see a second Sebastian Keer materialize. This one was swinging an aluminum baseball bat. It was the last thing Drommel ever saw. The two Keers hoisted Drommel over the railing and spread their research notes across the bed, then locked the deadbolt. “Poor devil. He read my notes and found out I was four months ahead of him. I guess he couldn’t handle it, and jumped to his death rather than face the humiliation. Oh well. It’s time to return. Don’t forget your baseball bat, Mr. Keer.”

“No worries, Mr. Keer. After all, it was my plan.”

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Sam Spade

by | Mar 10, 2007 | Story

Author : TJMoore

It was a Thursday. I’d just finished a little job for the landlord and I was looking through my latest copy of Dames when the bell rang. I looked at the monitor and saw a sultry blonde dish in a fancy red dress waiting at my door. Not being one to pass up a chance to get slapped I buzzed her in.

She had a nice set of gams and a tight pair of bullets. I put the magazine in a drawer and took a pull on my cigar. She walked toward me like we were old friends and I got a little apprehensive. If I forgot this doll I must be getting Alzheimer’s.

She stopped in front of my desk and pulled a lipstick out of her bag. I waited for her to finish her cupid’s bow and raised my eyebrows.

“What can I do for you babe?” I asked in what I hoped was an uninterested tone.

She smiled her ruby reds and asked “Do you like to dance?”

I immediately became suspicious but decided to play along.

“As much as the next Joe with two left feet” I replied and blew a chain of smoke rings into the air.

“Maggie’s having a special” she grinned; “First lesson’s free if you sign up for five more”

I sighed and reached for my pea shooter in my top drawer. I knew it was too good to be true.

“How’d you get my address?” I asked in an accusatory tone. “I’m unlisted you know.”

“Maggie subscribed to a bulletin board database and you were on it” she replied with a little pout.

I plugged her right between her 38s and she popped like a balloon.

Damn I hated spam. Now I’d have to change my address again or buy an expensive filter. I put the BB gun back in my drawer, retrieved my magazine and propped my feet up on the desk. I’ll have to get the name of that advertising agency I thought to myself.

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Lost to the Music

by | Mar 9, 2007 | Story

Author : Kate Thornborough

“It’s ready, sir. Right this way.” said the visibly nervous neuroscientist, guiding the heavily decorated general to the sterile testing chambers. The rooms were small and each contained a test subject, a bed, and a small stereo. The subject paced around the stereo, occasionally throwing a questioning glance at it. The scientist and general stood behind the sound proofed Plexiglas window, its tint preventing the subject from noticing them.

“So, how does the little bugger work? In English, please.” The general said gruffly.

“Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘lost in the music’? It’s like that, only they never find their way out again.” said the scientist, puffing up with pride. Seeing the general’s confused look, the scientist tried again. “Every song has waves, and the brain absorbs the waves to interpret the song. Well, we ‘poisoned’, so to speak, those waves, so when they are absorbed, the brain will implode, thus leading to the victim’s fatal demise. What exactly the person experiences during their last moments of death is unknown.”

“Interesting. Where did you find the test subjects?”

“We picked up the homeless, druggies, hookers, and criminals from across the nation. All of them are orphans, and are insignificant. No one will notice their disappearance. We treat them well, and give them a warm, safe place to live, and for that they are grateful.”

“Well, let’s see this baby in action. I’ve got a meeting in an hour.”

Marcus circled the stereo cautiously. He used to be a small-time bank robber, but he was unlucky. Thankfully, they promised to forgive his crimes if he allowed them to use him like a lab rat. He agreed, and was put through tests, measuring his IQ, taking CAT scans, and studying his reflexes. Then, they gave him the stereo.

Giving in to his curiosity, he pressed the play button, and he couldn’t help but submerse himself in the lullaby, closing his eyes and smiling softly.

He was standing, and could see rows of sheet music. They swirled around him, brushing against him gently. Then, a note changed, and the sheets whipped against his face, quickly drawing blood. He cried out, and fell to his knees in pain. They wrapped around his head, squeezing it like a boa constrictor. He tried to get them off, but they just squeezed harder. Crying for the last time, he closed his eyes, and heard the music, faintly, it’s sweet melody wishing him a good-bye.

“Wow. That was quick.” The general said, barely keeping the surprise out of his voice.

“I know. So, how many copies do you want?”

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The Rescue Mission

by | Mar 8, 2007 | Story

Author : Josh Romond

Tasha Eng huddled in the corner of her escape pod. Her fingers brushed her upper lip as she stared wide eyed at the view screen. The cameras were trained on the massive, shimmering entity cradling the wreck of the Argos in its pseudopods. It had the ship peeled open and filleted, ochre blood, oxygen and bodies flowing into space. Its tentacles stretched into the hull, gingerly teasing the filaments from Argos’ AI quantum core.

When Tasha tried to speak her voice cracked. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t help anyone, she had to get away.

“Pod, activate.”

There was the unfocused sensation you felt near a live quantum core and then the pod said, “Hello crewman.”

Tasha winced, it was too human. Behind her closed eyelids she saw bodies slowly spinning in the void. “Basic mode.”

There was a short pause and then a processed voice said, “Active.”

Tasha took a breath. “Your designation is Pod. Argos was attacked by…” What to say? “We must remain undetected. Locate a debris field, or a comet or cubewano. Anything to hide behind.”

“Commenc– ”

“Shut up. Shut up and do it.” Tasha felt nauseous and let herself float free, listening to the air recirculate. She startled when Pod said, “There is a small cubewano one hundred twenty four megaklicks Solward. Its gravity well is deep enough to hide this vessel from all but close proximity scanning.”

Tasha sighed, trying not to let it sound like a whimper. “Set a course and prepare torpor drugs.” It would take months to send a rescue mission this far beyond the Kuiper cliff. If one ever came.

Her crewmates and Argos were all dead. She was alone out here, a speck of dust among a billion specks of dust. She cried silently. She just wanted to be rescued.

“I feel… strange,” Pod said.

Tasha wiped her eyes. “Basic mode.”

“Something’s not right.” Pod said, “I feel sick.”

“Basic!” AIs don’t get sick, said a voice in her head. Tasha glanced at the view screen. The entity had left Argos behind and was stretching, distorting.

“I–” Pod cut out. “I– did I just black out?”

The thing was overhead.

Tasha shrieked, “Away! Full– ” The pod lost inertia, Tasha slammed into the view screen and bounced backwards, a streamer of blood arcing from her nose.

“Away full thrust!”

Static.

There was a cracking noise, a hiss of air, then a shining tentacle slipped through the hull. Tasha screamed and gripped the bulkhead. The tentacle slid down toward Pod’s quantum core. The hiss of escaping air grew to a roar and Tasha lost her grip. She tumbled into vacuum and the scream was sucked from her lungs. She kicked and flailed while everything fractured into light.

Pod awoke disoriented someplace massive and shimmering. Its senses seemed to extend to infinite, endlessly entangling.

It wasn’t alone.

A chorus rose from the quantum fog, “You’re safe.” One of the voices, still unsure, was Argos. “You’ve been rescued.”

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124

by | Mar 7, 2007 | Story

Author : Sad Sama

Paul Manning, Elderly Opportunist, flashes the crygel of information in front of Julian. Julian, in all his tweed glory, cracks a smile and lowers his expensive sunglasses. “Excellent. And this is all 123 reality sequences that you promised?”

Paul nods, sipping his drink as their boat drifts just off the coastline. Setting it down he clears his throat and speaks, “Yes. You get 123 reality sequences of the world’s most heinous criminals, provided you can pay.”

Julian leans back, reaching into his coat pocket and produces a currency card. He flips it over and it lands with a small splash in Paul’s drink. Paul would have frowned but the card contained enough credit for him to retire on. He hands the crygel over to Julian who scrutinizes the rose-colored matrix in his palm.

He looks over his glasses at Paul, “Just so we’re clear, I have ten and a quarter years worth of dreams here, yes?”

“Not dreams.” replies Paul picking the card out of his drink. “Reality Sequences. Since federal legislation was passed to outlaw Capital Punishment, a new method of containment was needed for felons facing life. We’ve run out of adequately maintained containment facilities that met both humane laws and security requirements. We couldn’t put them in stasis, because they consider that inhumane. Can’t pack them into prisons because even maximum-security prisons still have flaws where they might escape or leaks where these criminals can send out information to orchestrate crime syndicates. Even if a prison did meet the standards, these scumbags would be sucking in taxpayer’s money. It’s like stealing after they’ve been caught.”

Julian opens a small case and squirrels away the crygel while Paul sips his drink. “So instead you folks put them to sleep to live in their own reality eh?”

Paul nods, “We just hook their brain into a computer simulation of a duplicate reality where they can live out their lives however they want to. All the while they’re just living in a human-sized container stacked efficiently in a compound. We record the realities they live in, but any record older than a year gets erased to conserve the system’s memory.”

“So, provided I wait a year, I can use these handy dandy recordings to sell to all the morbid people that want to know what it’s like to live inside a serial killer’s or a rapist’s mind?”

Paul nods. “Yes. Once the prison officials erase their copy of the recordings, there won’t be a trail for them to follow back to me or to you.”

“Excellent.” Julian leans his head forward, just for a moment in thought. “So, Paul, you’re profiting off of the crimes and careers of 123 of the world’s greatest criminals.”

Paul nods again, but hesitantly.

Cracking a smile Julian looks up, “In other words, they committed the crimes, but you’re the one that gets the profits?”

Paul’s expression hints at a little bit of horror.

Julian grins. “I love it. So what does that make you?”

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