by submission | Jul 21, 2010 | Story
Author : Andrew Hawnt
I didn’t look back.
The explosion tore through the upper floors of the building first, raining white hot debris onto the street below. It was late enough for the streets to be empty, so no harm was done beyond a few damaged cars and scorched pavement. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Nothing really important.
I ran outside without looking up. If I had tried to dodge anything that was falling from the chaos above, I would no doubt have put myself at risk of being hit by something else. Best just to run as fast as I could and hope for the best.
The police and fire brigade would already be on their way. A building so heavily guarded by secrets and covert technology would no doubt have a fail-safe trigger for getting the emergency services out to it. They would be here soon, but they wouldn’t find anything.
There would be nothing for them to find.
As I got to the corner of the street I finally turned and risked a look upwards at the madness that had consumed the top half of the building. I had to. I would never get another chance to see something like this, something so pure.
The structure was in flames now, and orange tendrils of fire worked their way throughout the whole place, plumes of thick smoke twisting from them into the night sky, obscuring the devastated upper floors. Debris continued to fall like molten tears from its ruined concrete face. Windows exploded. Columns of flame leapt from the new spaces in roaring protest.
Where there had once been a government-designed hangar hidden within that seemingly inconspicuous office block, now there was a massive blossom of flame and smoke and dust, opened up and forced out at terrible speeds by the power of what had been held captive inside.
I watched the ship emerge from the blinding furnace, the heat oppressive against my face even at that distance, but it didn’t matter. The craft ascended on a column of shocking blue light, which almost looked tangible in its glory. The building had begun to crumble under the repeated shockwaves pummelling it into nothing, sending massive chunks of masonry and steel girders into the street before me. Still I could not look away. Danger be damned.
The ship’s engines kicked in, and the sleek vehicle sped over me in an arc of glowing thrusters and strange metals. There was a glimpse of the crew as it passed, freed from their cages, just as their craft had been, by my own hands. They had no idea who I was. They never will, either. I wish there could have been some contact, but I wouldn’t have changed the way things had happened.
The ship was gone in seconds. Sirens grew in the distance as flames destroyed evidence.
I ran. Home was calling me, just as their home had called to them for so long.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jul 20, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“Don’t go,” he cried.
“I am here Vasilly. I will always be here. I will always be with you. I love you,” she said as she slid away.
Those last few months, she suffered horribly. Almost all forms were curable, and the ones that weren’t, weren’t much of a problem. Lung cancer for instance. Still incurable, but if caught in time, a new lung could be grown and the old replaced, all on an out patient basis.
Lymphoma was ruthless. Lymphoma was a cruel killer. It spread fast. ‘Nites couldn’t keep up. Ancient remedies such as chemotherapy were tried. They slowed the spread, but in the end, it did no good. The result was inevitable.
Her once beautiful, athletic body had wasted away to nothing. She had become a 39 kilo caricature. Her beautiful mane of flaming red hair had become an orange halo about her nearly bald pate. Her voice, once low and sultry was only a dry rasp. None of that mattered, he still loved her. He always would.
He held her hand as she slept. The doctor walked in. “Mr. Kovalevsky, it’s time. There is nothing more we can do.”
“But she’s here, I can still hear her.” He tapped his temple, indicating his sphenoidal implant. “I can feel her dreams. She’s not suffering in here. I can hear her laughter.”
“Mr. Kov… Sergei. Please, she may not be suffering in her dreams. I pray that she isn’t, but she’s suffering out here. It’s time to let her have her peace.”
“I won’t let you kill her. I WON’T.”
“Nobody is killing her. It’s her time. We all die. Every one must die.”
“Not her, Lord. Please Lord, don’t take her.”
38 minutes after the life giving machines had been removed and the medi ‘nites neutralized, Tatiana Ivonovich Kovalevsky, sighed one last time and quietly slipped away. Sergei Vasil Kovalevsky gently laid his head upon her breast and wept.
Dr. Korolenko drew a stylus across his tablet noting the time of death and turned to leave the grieving man alone. “I heard her, Doctor,” Sergei said, tapping his temple, “I heard her say, ‘Goodbye.’”
Vasilly, Vasilly. You should be ashamed of yourself.
Sergei woke with a start. The dream had been so vivid. He could see Tatiana clearly. She was admonishing him for some unknown transgression. He got up and crossed to the window of his study in the small apartment he and Tatiana had shared near Gorky Park. Tatiana loved taking the pedal boats out on the ponds in the summer. That was gone now, Tatiana was dead.
He went to the small kitchen for a cup of tea. He added a large dose of vodka and returned to the study. Books littered the desk and floor. He had taken an early retirement from Lomonosov University, where he had taught physics to bored students.
Look at what you’ve become Vasilly. Is this any way to behave?
Sergei fell to his knees. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Tatiana. I hear you. Where are you?”
I am here. His implant buzzed painfully.
And here. His phone began to ring.
And here. His computer announced incoming mail.
And here. Outside the window, down in the wintry streets, air raid sirens blared. Car alarms sounded. Burglar alarms screeched. All across the city, a cacophony grew to a wailing crescendo and just as quickly silenced.
In the deafening quiet, he heard her soft sultry voice from deep within himself. I am here now.
I am here Vasilly. I will always be here. I will always be with you. I love you.
by Stephen R. Smith | Jul 19, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Atto hovers at the end of the bar furthest from the dance floor. Under the harsh lights his skin seems translucent even to him. The revelers around him tipping bottles back and clinking glasses look right through him. He knows a kind of invisibility now he’s never felt so completely before.
The music slips between songs without apparent effort; the DJ has phase shifted something new so that the thumping of the bass tracks line up perfectly, one giving way to the other without missing a beat.
While he watches, Edie glides out from a crowd of dancers, hips swaying, arms pumping and wearing a smile that splits the room in two.
For a moment Atto loses his composure, hands shaking and head reeling he worries that his legs may not support him. He looks for something to lean against and realizes the futility of that. Instead he counts the bottles on the back bar until his anxiety passes.
On the dance floor Edie draws a crowd, young men with bulging muscles and unquestionable intent cycle in and out of her personal space, each trying to outdo the last in some form of tribal mating ritual.
She used to look at him like that, once.
Atto wasn’t bulging muscles and animal dance moves, he was stoic and intelligent, a pragmatist. He was project lead at his laboratory where people trusted him to create things no one imagined possible, trusted him with secrets no one else could know. Atto was known as the ‘Science Spook’, he knew more and was seen less than anyone else in the business. Why Edie had loved him he didn’t know, but she had always danced like that with him, for him. That was then.
Trembling, he stepped toward the lights, towards Edie. The bass rumbled in his chest, and he pictured for a moment the tissue samples they had blown apart with low frequency noise not entirely unlike these tones. A waitress passed by with a test tube rack filled with shooters, their bright colours fluorescing in the ultra violet lights and he reflexively flinched away.
Edie gyrated, sweat rolling off her body and soaking through her clothes. Her eyes almost met Atto’s as she pushed a lock of wet hair back behind her ear, only to shake it free again as she turned.
Atto squeezed his eyes shut, trying hopelessly to shut out the sights in the bar. The music assailed him from all sides, pounding away at his senses until he was sure the pain of it had reached his limit.
“Hey baby, come dance with me.” Her voice cut through the haze like a velvet blade, and for one incredible moment she was looking right at him. He stepped forward, reached out his hands towards her. For an instant he thought everything could be alright again.
The sensation of the younger man passing through him wasn’t nearly as gut wrenching as was watching him take Edie’s hand and slide back onto the dance floor, stealing his Edie right from his grasp.
Edie had looked right at Atto, looked right into his eyes but where there should have been recognition there was nothing. In an instant she was gone.
Atto stumbled towards the door, passing through crowds of people like damp breezes without them even knowing. The door came and went and he found himself out on the road, street lamps casting long shadows in the late night gloom, shadows of everything but him.
He imagined her smell on him, the taste of the sweat from her skin on his lips.
As a scientist he’d done what no one imagined he could do, shifted himself just enough to see but not be seen, neither touch nor be touched.
As a spy he was without equal, he could observe anything, be anywhere.
Except with her.
by submission | Jul 18, 2010 | Story
Author : Liz Lafferty
“Abbot Cryogenics. Pod 47. Earthdate: 2870513. Final log entry. Dr. Amanda Davidson, Director, Abbot Cryogenics. All pods have successfully entered cryo-preservation.” I punched the final sequence starting the five minute countdown to my first wake cycle, hopefully to occur in 3870 minus 10. “All pod directors have confirmed successful shutdown. I have further confirmed that all directors entered stasis at zero mark twenty.”
Every cryo control panel operated independently with a domino failsafe. If one pod failed due to a malfunction, the other forty-six were ensured a successful reentry on the designated date, provided there were no further natural disasters to threaten the extinction of mankind.
Pod 47 at Svalbard also contained the world’s largest seed vault. I had the mild reassurance that if our pod failed, eventually someone would arrive to retrieve the seeds and repopulate the planet. The other pods had lesser collections, including the cryo-preserved insects and animals necessary to rebuild and restock.
Just as it seemed we had turned the corner for restored healthy marine and animal life, this had to happen.
The rim of fire in the Pacific had been unstable for the last two hundred years. Fortunately, somewhere along the way, someone had made the decision to expand the Earth Preservation Project. The history books are full of the contentious debates that went on at the time. Those folks are long gone now.
The ones that remained neither appreciative nor ungrateful of the foresight. It just was.
The four minute mark sounded. I walked to my cryo-storage unit. I wanted to run one last time before I entered stasis. I shook my head to refocus my energies. Childish thoughts like that had no place for the seriousness of the day.
We had successfully restored cryo-preserved bodies as old as four hundred years. We had never tried this long before, but it was necessary. Scientists estimated it would take that long for the atmosphere and the weather to stabilize after the massive round of volcanoes that had polluted the atmosphere, plunged the earth into near darkness and caused the temperatures to plummet.
In a short two weeks, the planet had become uninhabitable. Most people entering stasis were in shock, not even having the will to decide if they wanted to attempt the centuries long journey.
Those that lived near the pods were the ones who had a chance at life in the future. Everyone and everything else on Earth was dead.
I stretched out one last time and rolled my neck trying to relieve the tension. I was going to have one hell of a headache when I woke. Tubes went into my arms. The breathing hose lowered perfectly as the reinforced glass lowered and sealed. Cool preservation fluid ran through my veins. I allowed my eyes to close with the pretense of sleep.
One last look nearly caused my heart to fail. A man stared back at me on the other side of the glass.
He banged on the glass with both fists. “My unit didn’t shut down properly. What do I do?”
“Nothing,” I mouthed through the glass enclosure as the computer counted down, “Three, two, one.”
I saw the swirl of the cold fog and the terrified face of the only known man on Earth, not in cryo-preservation mode, stare in horror as I slipped into my one-thousand year sleep.
by submission | Jul 17, 2010 | Story
Author : Matthew Banks
Dr. McLaren stood in front of the tank with a printout in one hand and an ampoule of pale yellow liquid in the other. Octopus 2935 squirted through the tank in front of him, dodging nimbly around the tall coral outcrop in the middle. Excited waves of white and dull brown scintillated across its body. It knew the daily food packet must be hidden somewhere. It splayed out its tentacles as it rounded the coral spire, slowing down, gills pulsing rapidly. It hovered upside-down over a crevice, looking at the unfamiliar thing that had been secreted there: a little safe with an over-large keyhole in the door. 2935 hung suspended over the curiosity, then whipped its tentacles downward and grappled it, then groped it, then poked at it, slipping the end of a tentacle into the keyhole. Its skin was dark and pebbly, like the surface of an orange.
Hard shoes clicked down the corridor. Behind McLaren, the security lock beeped and the door opened and closed. Tanaka clicked up behind him, and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Tom should have done it himself,” McLaren said, meaning the project administrator.
“It wasn’t his idea, Ray.”
“But why do *I* have to do it?” Tanaka released his shoulder and stood next to him, watching 2935 make quick laps around the tank, searching.
“*Somebody* has to.”
“Fuck!” McLaren rubbed his face and turned away from Tanaka. He felt like he was about to cry and he didn’t want her to see it. When he’d regained his composure, he said, “He’s the one who couldn’t get us funding. Make him do it!”
“It’s not his fault.” It wasn’t. The new President had campaigned on two promises: to re-structure the tax system, and to immediately outlaw all genetic research. Ever since Riley Fever had left half of rural Maine blind and psychotic, the public opinion of geneticists had turned homicidal. Their own lab had a full-time security team, who lay in hiding all around the complex with assault rifles and tear gas.
“They don’t understand what they’re making me do. I can’t do this.” 2935 was now floating above a crevice opposite the one with the safe, probing with a tentacle, scintillating brown and white with excitement. In a moment, it had fished out the key, and was gliding back to the safe. After a few clumsy attempts, it fitted the key into the lock, turned it, and pulled the safe open. It tucked itself into the safe while it greedily munched the packet of crabmeat. McLaren heaved a deep sigh, wiped his eyes, and walked over to the tank’s water filter. He opened a little maintenance hatch and cracked the ampoule into it like an egg. 2935 had stopped eating and squeezed itself into the corner of the tank, watching him. He walked back and stood next to Tanaka, looking pale and shaking with restrained sobs.
“I wanna kill myself,” he said. Tanaka frowned, not sure how seriously to take him. They watched 2935 float over to the white square of plastic mounted in the far corner of the tank, watched it extract a waterproof pen from its holder, watched it scrawl three clumsy question marks on the square while brown and yellow patches rose and sank on its skin, then watched it shudder, spasm, and sink as the ampoule of anesthetic diffused through the tank.
“They think they’re killing a bunch of animals,” said McLaren. “They think they’re killing a bunch of fucking animals.” He turned and walked out of the room, weeping.
