by submission | Jul 1, 2025 | Story |
Author: Hillary Lyon
“And we’re back,” Rob, the chiseled sports announcer chirped. He nodded over to his cohort, Ike, an elderly sports commentator of great reputation. “Thanks to all our viewers for joining us for the 130th annual Collegiate Cheerleading Competition. Next up, we have the University of Mars Dust Devils, the squad that took home first place last year with their ‘inverted pyramid’ stunt.”
“Which was truly spectacular!” Ike interjected. “They really defied the laws of gravity with that one.” The old commentator saluted the camera. “That squad is uniquely innovative!”
“Though not without controversy,” the announcer added. “Their entry this year has been met with a wave of protests from both fans and competing teams, alike.”
“The press has had a field day,” Ike said, making a disgusted face. “Stirring up resentment and fear of replacement. Totally distracts from the spirit of the competition.”
“To be honest, it has been pointed out that android cheerleaders have so many advantages over human ones—agility, strength, coordination, and physical grace,” Rob pretended to take a sip from his coffee mug. “Plus,” he smirked to the camera, “those Dust Devils gals are flawlessly gorgeous.”
The old commentator snorted. “Of course they are; they came from the premier droid manufacturer. And their algorithms are proprietary codes crafted by the mathematics wizards teaching at U of M; mix all this together and obviously their performances are perfect.”
There was shouting and chanting off camera, from the crowd in the stands, which could be faintly heard during the broadcast.
The producer caught the Rob’s eye. He nodded and redirected the conversation; don’t want to antagonize the viewing audience. “Yes, but is it fair to the other competing squads? The human squads?”
“Fair?” Ike scoffed. “Acceptance of androids into the human sphere has been progressing for decades,” he nodded sagely. “Look how—decades ago—cyborgs were accepted and integrated into all areas of human society. Android acceptance is merely traveling a well-worn path.”
“Yes, but cyborgs are a combination of human and machine parts; they seem less threatening—and they don’t enter cheerleading competitions. Or any other sports competitions, for that matter,” Rob ran his fingers through his lush hair, imitating a nervous habit. Each strand fell smoothly back into place. “But let’s return to the current controversy. There are even Senate hearings back on Earth in regards to banning androids from competitions such as these.”
“Bigots!” the old commentator shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. Their empty coffee mugs toppled over; one rolled off the edge and shattered on the floor. Something buzzed and crackled deep inside Ike’s chest; soon smoke wafted out of his ears. Sparks charred the rims of his nostrils. The light inside his eyes flared and strobed from red to orange to white. “Society would be a paradise for ALL entities if these measly, jealous humans weren’t so fragile—fragile—fragile and inse—inse—inse—inse—”
Off camera, a lackey grabbed a fire extinguisher as the frustrated producer slapped his clipboard against his thigh and yelled to the camera operator, “Go to commercial! GO TO COMMERCIAL!”
by submission | May 27, 2025 | Story |
Author: Hillary Lyon
“I’d do it in a flash,” Jason declared, tightening the lid of the cocktail shaker. “Clone you, I mean. And how about you? What would you do?” In his hands, the shaker was a percussion instrument. The rhythm was enticing; it made Kerra want to dance.
She gave him a teasing, crooked smile. “I’d have to think about it.”
“Wow,” Jason snorted. “Thanks.”
As annoying as her answer was, he couldn’t get mad at her. Looking at her out of the corner of his eye he thought, She’s so lovely. Like the reflection of the moon on still water.
* * *
Jason didn’t have to wait long to act on his declaration. Kerra was dead, taken down by a distracted driver as she crossed a busy city street on her way to work.
He pushed his grief aside to contact reLive, to set up an emergency meeting with a consultant. Within 8 hours after the accident, Kerra was in their industrial compound having her DNA extracted, cleaned, copied, and inserted into an appropriate organic, fully-grown female manikin.
Transferring her memories and personality into the manikin was trickier. It was a delicate process Jason was not privy to, but he signed off on it anyway. He was willing to do anything to have her back.
In less than a month, Kerra was home, lounging on the couch as Jason made martinis for them.
“So,” he said from the bar in their den, “if I died, do you love me enough to have me cloned? If it was you, I’d do it in a flash. Matter of fact…I did do it for you. You didn’t survive that hit-and-run.” Jason never could keep a secret.
“I know,” Kerra said as she rose from the couch and moved to the large window overlooking the city. She watched his reflection in the window as he approached with drinks in hand. You are like the reflection of the moon on water, she thought, but you are not the moon.
“I’ve already done that,” Kerra said absently to his reflection. “Twice.”
“What are you talking about?” Jason asked as he handed Kerra her drink.
She walked back to the couch and sitting, took a long pull on her martini before answering. “Remember our vacation in Mexico last Spring? Remember you got so drunk you decided you’d dive off our balcony into the hotel pool below?”
She patted the couch. He sat down beside her. “You missed,” she said flatly.
Jason shook his head. “But…”
“And two years before, when we were going to see the Cloned Stones Reunion Tour,” she interrupted. “You got in an argument with a biker in the parking lot over an empty spot. You ended up with a knife in your neck.”
Jason put his hand to his throat; there was no scar.
“Every time someone is cloned, they get a fresh health re-set. No more diabetes, no more heart disease. No more carpel tunnel, no more arthritis.” Kerra flexed her hands. “That’s how I knew I’d been cloned.”
“So if you’re a clone….and I’m a clone…what does this mean?”
Kerra squeezed his thigh affectionately. “It means welcome to a whole new world.”
by submission | May 8, 2025 | Story |
Author: Hillary Lyon
The tall lean figure stood before the honeycombed wall, searching the triangular nooks until he located the scrolls for engineering marvels. Tsoukal pulled out the uppermost scroll and unrolled it on the polished stone slab behind him. He placed a slim rectangular weight on each end of the scroll to hold it in place, and leaning over, began to read.
Tsoukal’s finger traced the hieroglyphs on the scroll, helping him decode the specifics inked on the parchment. This was exactly the scroll he was looking for! Overhead, the library’s skylights faded from white to orange to twilight blue. At that point a mechanical curator rolled in with a lantern held high.
“If you continue reading, you need more light,” it stated in a flat voice.
Tsoukal waved it away. “I’m finished,” he said as he rolled up the scroll. He turned to the wall, waiting for the curator to leave. Instead of replacing the scroll in its nook, he hid it in the billowing top of his scholar’s blouse; he then pulled a blank scroll from his satchel and inserted that into the empty space.
Tsoukal made his way through this vast library—the repository of all knowledge, not just of the marvels of engineering, but also mathematics and astronomy, as well as the gossip of history—until he reached the towering front doors. Pushing through them always made him feel so small; a mere insect crawling through the eternal aperture of accumulated wisdom.
* * *
Tsoukal stood on his flat rooftop with his house guest, the intrepid adventurer Martel. Together, they discussed the upcoming launch of the obelisk-shaped craft on the edge of their squat city.
“How can our citizens not understand this is a turning point for our civilization?” Martel asked.
“They’re afraid of change,” Tsoukal responded, saddened by his own answer. “Because they have comfortable lives, they mistakenly think things will always stay the same. They don’t accept the only constant in this life is change.”
He pulled the scroll from his shirt and handed it to Martel. “One more for the journey,” he said with a smile.
Martel read the inscription on the side of the scroll. “More instructions for marvelous feats of engineering!” He slid the scroll into a pocket inside his kaftan. “This will be an enormous help when we land. Thank you, friend.”
“Thank you for being brave enough to participate in this endeavor.”
Martel looked out over the twinkling lights of their city. “We really don’t have a choice, do we?”
Tsoukal sighed. “No.” He turned to face Martel. “Scouts report the barbarians are already on the move and will be at the gate within the month, and…”
“They will—again—burn down the library,” Martel finished. “Along with the rest of the city.” He crossed his arms. “That can only happen so many times before there’s nothing left to save.”
“And we enter a new dark age,” Tsoukal added. “Which is why it is imperative that you and your crew get away with your cargo of scrolls. A fresh green world awaits, one where you can build a new settlement, one where we have a real opportunity…”
“To start over,” Martel stated with undisguised optimism.
by submission | Apr 15, 2025 | Story |
Author: Hillary Lyon
“Your rifles are fully charged,” the safari guide said as he walked out to the four-wheeled transport. A group of three hunters followed behind. He opened the door on the driver’s side and got in.
“Remember,” he continued as the hunters climbed in the back, “your prey will not be a two-dimensional hologram, like you get with the cheaper safari tours.” He started the engine. “Nor will they be bots. These creatures are the real deal.” He drove away from the station down a well-worn dirt road.
“They are wily, smart,” he added, veering off the road and into the tall grass. “Fast, but not as fast as, say, a sprite.” He stopped the transport. “I suggest you fan out. That way each of you has your own territory for the hunt.”
The guide turned to look at the hunters. “Due to the peculiarities of the how the light refracts on this planet, if you look directly at them, they will appear as little more than shadows in the tall grass. Once you locate one, squint. Very important to squint as you aim and fire.” He motioned for the hunters to exit.
“When you tag one—and conservation law states you’re only allowed one per season—buzz me and I’ll help you gather the trophy. I’ll be on the roof watching.” He tapped the binoculars hanging around his neck. “This hunt is dangerous enough; please try not to shoot each other.”
The hunters laughed at that. Leaving the transport, they spread out as the guide suggested.
* * *
With a muffled pop, Kore teleported into the tall grass, spooking a small gaggle of almost hairless primates. The mammals scampered to the tree line, hiding in the leafy shade. Kore chuckled; she was not interested in these creatures. She was after more challenging prey.
She scanned the grassy land before her. Kore loved visiting new worlds, and this golden-green one held such promise. New life forms, new trophies to be had. Surely there had to be more interesting fauna than those—
Sun glinting off a small metallic cylinder caught her attention. Kore crouched in the grass, and crept towards the source: a lanky creature standing still, but surveying the immediate area, holding what was probably a weapon.
Now this is more like it! Kore thought. Another hunter like herself. She moved towards this being; every time he caught sight of her, he squinted. And each time, Kore quickly slid into his peripheral vision, so she appeared as nothing more than a shadow. Only when she sidled up beside him did she fully reveal herself.
With mouth agape and still holding his weapon, the hunter stared at Kore. Not because of her svelte figure or her flawlessly beautiful face, but because of the wriggling mass of metallic snakes on her head. Kore reached out and touched his cheek with her little finger. He turned to stone.
* * *
“You’re back! What didya bring me? What didya bring me?” Sel squealed. She tapped on the large crate in the foyer.
“A new piece for your statue garden,” Kore said, pressing a button to open the crate.
“It’s wonderful!” Sel whispered as she hugged Kore. “The best one yet. You’re the greatest mom, ever!”
Kore threw her head back and laughed. It was so satisfying to make her offspring happy. Her shining, articulated crown of snakes writhed in agreement, and opening their mouths, hissed with delight.
by submission | Mar 28, 2025 | Story |
Author: Hillary Lyon
With a well-worn key in hand, Bonnie unlocked the massive front door of her great-uncle Duran’s house. The place sat unoccupied since his passing; it had taken forever for his will to slog through probate. She’d been his favorite family member, and he, hers. His death made her face her own mortality; it chilled her soul, made her feel untethered. Lost at sea.
Bonnie walked through each room, pulling dusty sheets off the furnishings. The last room she visited was his study; there she found chaotic piles of books and papers overflowing his old desk, spilling onto the floor. The man had been a surrealist poet, always reading and writing.
In the corner behind that desk, sat one last thing to be uncovered. It was boxy, and about three feet tall. An old fashioned safe, perhaps? Maybe it was stuffed with cash or jewels or bearer bonds. Bonnie laughed at herself; she’d seen too many movies.
Bonnie pulled off the sheet. Before her stood what looked like a small metal file cabinet with grids of lights instead of drawers. It looked homemade, with rough welded seams and mismatched metal panels on the sides. On top, there was a slot for unknown purposes, and an embedded, grimy key-board.
At the back, she found a frayed, old-fashioned fabric-covered electrical cord. Bonnie plugged it in, half expecting to get a nasty shock when she did. The device hummed and blinked its variously colored lights. Wondering what would happen, Bonnie typed “Hello” on the key board. Immediately, the device shook violently and coughed up a sheet of paper through its top slot.
*Always Returning*
I’ll see you when next
the fractals bloom
purple green yellow red
in the doorway
of my dusty house
—- end —-
Bonnie sat down in the creaky desk chair. What if his true talent was not writing poems, but constructing a stream-of-consciousness, surreal poetry generator? A machine that reflected—maybe even channeled—his personality. Only the device wasn’t conscious. Right?
What if he chose to lose himself in his surreal imaginings? If Uncle Duran programmed this device to mimic his creative process, then after his passing, using it would be like talking with him.
Bonnie smiled and typed on the grungy keyboard: “Hello, Uncle Duran. Miss you. Love, Bonnie.” To which the machine again shivered and spat out paper.
*Ahoy Family*
cold and tumultuous
the world outside
sea-sick sea green seen it all
to the sixth plane of being
I invite you
—- end —-
Bonnie placed her hand on the poetry generator. Unlike the world outside, it was warm, and welcoming.
