by submission | Jan 6, 2008 | Story
Author : Debbie Mac Rory
Jeremiah Founders swallowed nervously and licked parched lips for the fourth time. Meeting the eyes of the enforcers standing opposite him, he gave a small nod, and they released their charges. Jeremiah winced as the woman hit the floor with a small cry. She paid no mind to her injuries though, or to him, only pulled herself across the small divide between herself and her partner lying unconscious where he had fallen. The bruise on the woman’s face did nothing to take away from her beauty; in fact, the way loose strands of hair had fallen across her face and caught on her parted lips only emphasized her delicacy…
Jeremiah blinked. Amazing that such a thing could distract him, he thought, staring at the ceiling as he composed himself. Obviously a sign of her superior breeding. Jerimah coughed to break the silence, and when the woman’s violet eyes moved up to watch him from a delicate heart-shaped face, they were almost enough to take his breath away again.
“Ms. Azar, I am here as a legal representative of Renew, and it is my duty to inform you that following the illegal actions of both yourself and your partner, Renew as of today has repossessed its property…”
The woman continued to stare up at him, her mouth moving soundlessly as if trying to piece together words spoken in a foreign tongue. Jeremiah sighed and removed the necessary paperwork from his briefcase.
“I am here to present you with a…contract,†he said, flourishing the documents, “that if yourself and your partner sign to the effect that you will make no further difficulties for Renew regarding this case, such as attempts to contact persons within the organisation, no further charges will be pressed against youâ€.
“You’ve taken my child awayâ€
Jeremiah sighed and after a moment, placed the documents on the counter top in the small kitchen. “I’ll leave the documents here for your perusal. I understand that this may be an emotional time, and you shouldn’t make a decision like this in hasteâ€.
“But you can’t just take away my child…â€
“Ms. Azar, I must remind you that while Renew acknowledges your payment in full and discharge from service of both you and your partner, your genome remains copyright and licensed property of Renew. Therefore, any and all products and copies thereof remain the property of Renew.â€
“Please!†Azar sobbed, throwing her hands out to him. Crackling filled the air as one of the enforcers shifted, small arcs of static rippling across his gloves. Jeremiah held out a hand, forestalling any further action on their part while he leaned down to take hold of the woman’s hands.
“Pleaseâ€, he said, “do not misunderstand the kindness of my tone. I speak softly only to make this process as pleasant as possible for myself. Any other affection I may show towards you comes only from the knowledge that I have taken pleasure in your … sisters on occasion, maybe even yourself once though that is most likely doubtful. But the fact remains, even if I was able to help, I would not. I would not willingly lower myself to aid your kindâ€.
With that Jeremiah pushed her back to lean against her companion as he straightened to leave.
“I don’t believe your kind should ever have been given rights at all, but what’s done is done, and it’s still a healthy pay check for me at the end of the monthâ€.
Tears spilled freely and silently down silken cheeks. Azar hugged herself as the guards began to move towards the door.
“I just want my baby backâ€
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by submission | Jan 5, 2008 | Story
Author : Kyle DeBruhl
“That boy’s a hatchet.†She spoke with absolute resolve, setting her half finished mug on the counter as she did so. Her lips carefully sounding the words out and letting each one linger for a moment before dissipating in the air. Dennard nodded vigorously. He knew exactly which one she meant, often wondering whether or not the boy would live long enough to regret.
“Can we-“ suddenly the wooden moon gate across the way shrugged open and a small frail-featured boy appeared, escorted on either side by the colossal guards of the compound.
Din was small. To say small is to misjudge him, he was tiny. He stood at least a foot under the other boys his age. His thin arms hung limp at his side and his chest showed bone and the movement of the organs underneath. His matted hair belied the insight that lay beneath it. To say he was small was to misjudge him, but to say he was intelligent couldn’t do him justice. His gaunt cheeks hemmed a diminutive face; however entrenched in that face sat two focused eyes: the eyes of a owl. They glanced and rechecked everything as if always attempting. The muscles of his jaw clenched and relaxed rhythmically with the heaving of his chest. The closed mouth, always upturned in a sort of scowl-smirk, whispered at its loudest and more often then not said nothing at all.
Din saw the faces of the two elders. He saw the mug and her long, unpleasant looking tendril. He saw the vast garden which had stood for centuries, a testament to the complex society from which it came. He saw everything and took in more. He saw the nervous hand of Dennard, the beady eyes of the head mistress, the cavernous stare of the behemoth at his side. He saw more than anything the feelings. They echoed out of each individual in the garden, emanating and reverberating. He saw them in words and sounds, colors and numbers, and he understood. Din knew what was coming before she ever opened her grey lips.
“Dennard and I were just discussing your place in this academy.†When he was not there, she didn’t miss him. She hated him. Hate was such a strong word, but she despised his kind, they always refused to go along with anything. However when she was in his presence, she felt a sort of glow. A feeling that made her refuse to give up on this diminutive little one.
Din at once saw the faces change. He knew his control. His smirked as always and began his game. He spoke without opening his mouth. He released his own colors and numbers and he saw theirs change. He bled empathy and they swallowed it up.
When Din left the garden he knew his place was safe for a bit longer. He chuckled, not out loud of course, and smirked in his all knowing manner. Too easy.
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by submission | Jan 4, 2008 | Story
Author : Debbie Mac Rory
Jennifer staggered and fell to the ground. Barely feeling the impact, she forced herself forward, straining her tired legs to run faster.
Throwing a glance back over her shoulder, she let out a strangled cry. The strange figure was still there. She willed herself faster, straining to reach the peak of the dune ahead as her feet slipped and sank in the fine black grains.
“Jenny…”
Jennifer’s breath caught in her throat and she stumbled to a halt. It had never called her by name before.
“Jenny, do not run away from me”
Jennifer turned, something in the voice compelling her. A man dressed all in black stood at the bottom of the slope, extending one gloved hand towards her.
“Come hereâ€.
Slowly she began to move towards him. Something in her mind screamed at her to run, to keep running, not to go near this too-solid stranger, but her legs moved with a power of their own, and within moments she stood facing him.
He smiled as he placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning forward to whisper to her. Her eyes rolled back in her head and he caught her weight easily as her body went limp. He lay her down on the ground and turned on his heel, vanished from the disintegrating dreamscape.
***
Derek’s hands quivered as he took a long pull from his cigarette. He started suspiciously across the table at the man seated opposite him, seemingly asleep with the points of three fingers resting gently against his temple. He drew hard on the cigarette, starting at the credit chip lying on the table in front of him. He looked up again to see the stranger’s sharp blue eyes regarding him and jumped, spilling ash across the fine linen of his trousers. Silence stretched for what seemed like long moments…
“It’s done?†he demanded, impatience making his voice harsh.
“It is done†the stranger said, sitting upright and stretching languorously. “She was already dreaming, so investigators will find nothing. They will probably settle on heart failure, an autopsy will show nothingâ€.
Derek heaved a sigh of relief, stretching some of the tightness from his shoulders. He took another drag on the cigarette, before picking up the credit chip and tossing it across the table. The black clad man still smiling cocked his head to look at the chip for a moment, before reaching to pick it up.
“Paying in fullâ€, Derek said, watching his associate twirl the chip in his fingers. “And yeah the thing’s unmarked. Don’t ya think I know how easily ya could track me down if I tried cheatin’ ya?â€
The stranger’s smile broadened to a wide grin. He stood and tucked the chip into his jacket pocket. “A pleasure to complete business with you†he purred, turning on his heel to stride out the door.
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by Duncan Shields | Jan 3, 2008 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
With lost marbles over mixed drinks, I stare at the face reflected in the oak bar. It looks more real to me, somehow, than I feel.
The bartender comes over to me. His huge moustache is waxed to slippery perfection. He looks down at me with crossed arms and a scowl. I know what that means. Time to pay up and leave.
I look up at him. I smile to let him know that I’m alright. The mirror behind the bar shows me that I’m a clown with wide rubbery lips smiling an idiot’s smile. The five-o’clock shadow on my face has turned into a two-in-the-morning carpet.
I’m having trouble balancing on the wide stool that I’m on. He doesn’t even need to say it. The bartender’s right. I’m done for the night.
I reach back to get my wallet. It takes five tries. He’s patient.
I pull out my credit card and lay it on the bar. The bartender picks it up and carries it over the credit card machine. The last half inch of my martini is trying to keep the bottom of the olive damp.
I try to fish the olive out of the glass but I fumble. The glass skips away and falls over, spilling the last little bit of gin onto the bar.
“Oh Jesus, Danny!†I hear from the end of the bar. I recognize the voice. I look up from licking the gin off of the bar to see what the problem is.
It’s the bartender again. He’s looking straight at me. I wonder why he’s doing that until I remember than my name is Danny and he’s probably found a problem with my credit card.
He comes back and puts the card down with the receipt. It’s gone through just fine. Of course it had. This is the magic card given to me by the government after the war. It never runs out. I was determined to drink the treasury dry.
I bring my other arm, the heavy one, up with a clank onto the bar. Its jagged shapes are cornered with rubber to prevent it from scratching furniture or people. Its barrel has been filled and plugged, never to fire again.
It’s too wired into my head to be removed, they said, and this credit card is their apology.
“You can’t lick the bar, Danny. You know that.†The bartender says and shakes his head.
â€But….I shpilled.†I explain, amazed at the thickness of my own tongue.
“Come on, Danny. You can’t stay here. Go on. Get out. See you tomorrow morning.†Said Danny, not unkindly.
I stand up, aim for the door and walk outside. It takes five tries. He’s patient.
I fall over with a crunch of glass into the garbage in the alley behind the bar. I smell limes. I don’t get up.
Home Sweet Home. I’m enjoying the freedom I fought to preserve.
I’ve drunk enough that the faces of the screaming children in a country far away won’t wake me up. That’s the theory, anyway.
I close my eyes.
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by submission | Jan 2, 2008 | Story
Author : Robert Niescier
The bacterium was our lab’s greatest achievement. An organism engineered to metabolize cellulose into ethanol quickly and efficiently would eliminate humanity’s dependence on fossil fuel and make energy shortages a thing of the past. It was our gift to an energy-starved world.
Sure, there were numerous obstacles to overcome. Sequencing and sorting through the thousands of cellulase and fermentation pathways to find the perfect combination of efficiency and output took time, and we were forced to manually engineer multi-branched carbohydrate metabolic pathways to maximize usage of all the monomeric sugars. The ethanol toxicity posed another problem, but through the optimization of an existing efflux pump the microbe was able to protect itself.
This led to what I considered the coup de grace: the septic cellulose liquefaction efflux pump. The biggest problem, the one we spent years of headaches trying to fix, was getting around cellulose crystalline structure. Sure, the bacterium was able to metabolize the carbohydrates once they got into the cell, but the fermentation was limited by the surface area of the substrate used. Even sawdust took too long to be considered effective. But in mere hours the SCLE-pump turned any cellulose sample, even blocks of wood, into soupy globs of cellobiose disaccharides ripe for absorption and fermentation.
The day after publication we received phone calls from nations all over the world. The Nobel Prize came a year later.
It was a few weeks after Sweden that I noticed something strange happening in the wooded areas around my lab. It was the deer. Their behavior was quite unusual, coming out during the daytime, stumbling into roads, even passing out in odd positions in the open. A graduate student joked that they looked drunk, and a certain suspicion made my stomach rise to my throat. I immediately called an ecologist friend of mine and asked him to look into the blood alcohol count of the local fauna; a few weeks later he called back and said, with astonishment, that it was off the charts.
That day I assembled my team and asked them if any of them had ever poured samples down the drain without properly bleaching them first. A few people looking at their feet were all I needed to see.
Sure, it was a big joke at first, drunk animals, hobos sucking bark for free booze. It became significantly less funny when houses began to slop down onto their foundations, then burst into giant fireballs and fried everyone unlucky enough to still be inside.
It wasn’t the bacterium we engineered that was making the forests melt into goo; it was the DNA. To avoid complications with the microbe’s main genome we had placed all the pathways onto two plasmids; pRN45 and pRN86. We didn’t stop to think that, in a world where 50% of the carbon is locked up in cellulose, that plasmids optimized for its digestion would be so highly selected. Hindsight, I suppose.
It was happening all over and got worse every day. Once it got into the groundwater there was no way to stop it. A plague on everything green and photosynthetic in the world was upon us. Pictures from NASA showed black spots lined with red all over the planet, growing bigger day by day.
We had to retreat to the deserts and tundra and live in caves; there was no other choice. I don’t expect to survive much longer as there is little left to eat, but I don’t want to say that to the others in my cave because they already don’t like me. I can’t imagine why.
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