by J.R. Blackwell | Oct 5, 2005 | Story |
Foolishly, my people thought the alien ships were asteroids on a collision course. We launched our most deadly weapons into the sky, which exploded harmlessly off the liquid hull of the invaders, raining poison onto our world. Dust flakes on my head as I walked to the sacred ground.
During the ceremony, my younger siblings held me underwater in the pool of our temple, that blue chalice just big enough to immerse my adolescent body. I was arrogant in my new development, confident that I was ready to become an adult. Then, as I let out the last of my held breath, I began to panic; nothing had happened, no painful change, no sudden epiphany, no realization of adulthood, I wasn’t ready, I was going to drown.
There, in the water, hands pressing down on my head my head and flailing limbs, I met death for the first time. I was a frightened child, drinking and choking on water, weakened, desperate, ashamed, tearing and helpless. Hope lost, I stopped, just stopped, and let myself die, lay still, peaceful under the web of my brothers’ hands. It was then I felt the closed slits in my side softly open and I became the water, not breathing with my mouth but with my body, my whole self suffused. I looked up through the shining pool to my siblings, and they were crying, dropping tears of worry and hope into the water, and each droplet spread on the surface, a rippling miracle.
Two days later, the little insectoid robots came, crawled into my home and sawed through the flesh of my family. My uncle, who slept at the doorway, was already dead when I woke up, his vocal cords severed. My father, though, screamed and thrashed, filling his bed with blood as my mother tried to tear the silver bugs off his skin, her fingers severed by their tiny metal blades.
In the pool, gazing up through the water, the faces of my siblings became like stars against the open sky, and in that moment I believed in everything. I lay there, in wonder, my body water, my eyes the open night.
Four days later the stink of blood and dust had us all covering our heads with wet scarves, debris slashing our eyes, the water toxic, the air polluted. Our schools were piles of rubble, mass graves for dead children. My mother held her surviving children in the remains of her bleeding fingers and told us that our lives were coming to an end. We fled, like ants on a hill, scurrying from our homes and schools, but nowhere was safe, and nowhere we could go was better than where they were.
Later, we were blamed for our resistance. If we had just waited, listened calmly while strange shaped ships plummeted from the sky spewing garbled language of conquest. If we had just laid down in the streets, if we had never picked up anything that could have been interpreted to the invaders as a weapon, then the metal bugs would not have crawled into them and tore them apart from the inside. If my people had not built such strange schools, they would not have been mistaken for military barracks, if we had not fought wars amidst ourselves, we would not need to be ruled.
Since the day my siblings lifted me out of the pool, I have never again felt trust so complete. Do not ask again, why I go armed to speak to you. Do not tell me that my people should surrender. Do not accuse me of being irrational till all your own family lay dead, and till your culture is beaten, erased, and chained.
Do not question me, for I know death well, and I will send him to you.
by J.R. Blackwell | Sep 27, 2005 | Story |
In the full body cycle Linda’s chest burned, sweat slipping into her eyebrows. She could feel their eyes on her, the children watching the old woman strain. The lines of her skin betrayed her. Generations blended, their cells dividing perfectly, making exact copies, eternally renewed. She pressed her arms and legs into faster rotation.
Last night she lay with her lover, his head on her naked breast, silent, exhausted, fulfilled. He traced his fingers over her body, touching the tiny red dots that marked her age. He pressed his nail harder with each mark, pinching her skin.
“Can’t you get rid of these?†She stiffened.
“Gregory, I was stabilized late.†His soft face twisted.
“I know, I just thought there might be some treatment.†She shook her head.
“There isn’t. They’ve stopped looking into those problems a long time ago.†He rolled his eyes and bit his lip, like a child denied its favorite toy.
“Are you sure? Have you asked your doctor?†She laid her hand on his soft curls and swallowed. She wanted to sound firm, but her voice was small.
“No. There isn’t anything.†He rose and sat on the edge of the bed. His back was a blank screen.
“It just looks like you don’t care.â€
Linda spun faster till she could feel her heartbeat, till the sweat salt reached her chin. Around her, the frozen faces of youth skipped blithely though the gym routines, perfect curves in infinite wheels.
by J.R. Blackwell | Sep 23, 2005 | Story
“What I want to know, really, is where we are.” Lee was aggravated, partly at himself, for following Jason’s directions, and partly at Jason, for being a dick.
“Where we are my friend, is in grave danger.”
Lee looked around. “We are in grave danger in a toy store?”
“This is just the evidence of the danger Lee, not the danger itself.” Jason was in one of his moods. He had probably stopped taking his medication again. Lee tried to think patient thoughts.
“Jason, we are late to the party. Lets ask for directions and get going.”
“No, there is something I need to show you.”
“What? Jason, did you mean to take me here to this toy store? You told me you were lost!”
“No, YOU were lost Lee, I have always known the way.”
“No. You told me you had a shortcut and then you said you were lost. You lied to me!”
“This is important.”
“It is important to me that you tell me where the fuck we are.”
Jason pointed above Lee’s head. There was a yellow digital banner that read in shining digital letters: NJ Toy Emporium, Largest on the East Coast.
“We are in New Jersey.” Jason said.
“I can see that.” Lee wondered how many of their mutual friends he would upset if he punched Jason in the eye.
“I have to show you something.” Jason began running wildly into the maze of giant displays. Lee followed him, despairing.
Jason sprung from behind a pyramid of boxes. “What, exactly, is THIS!” He was holding a grotesque orange globular oozing toy. Lee had seen the nasty things before on DTV.
Lee sighed. “It’s a Bubbit.”
“And what exactly is a Bubbit?”
“Jason, this is stupid.”
Jason glared menacingly at his friend. Lee shook his head and read the package. “A Bubbit is a “˜Interactive Puppet for Aggressive Play! Bubbits will change shape to entertain and amaze! Scare your friends and learn new ways to beat the Bubbit Blue.”
“Beat the Bubbit Blue.” Repeated Jason reverently. “It’s a training device.”
“For ages four to ten?”
“Lee, the situation is dire. We are clearly preparing for Epic Hegemonic Warfare.”
Lee realized that there was no way of getting out of this argument but through it. “Jason, that’s impossible. Other than peacekeeping police actions by the UN there are no military conflicts. The world’s nations have finally done with it. Jason, this is the greatest time of peace since humanity came down from the trees.”
“And you don’t find that suspicious.”
“No Jason, I don’t. People want peace and besides, even if we tried to fight we are all so economically interdependent that it wouldn’t be feasible.”
Jason smiled then, his terrible glinting smile. “Oh Lee, then you finally see it.”
Lee shrugged. “See what?” Jason grabbed Lee’s shoulders and shook him.
“Lee! Do you mean that you can see all that but you can’t see to the next level? The very next logical conclusion!” People were staring.
“Keep your voice down.” Jason grabbed Lee by the elbow and started pulling.
“Do you remember when Ziggy-Stiggy changed voices?”
“I remember a time when my friend Jason wasn’t a lunatic.”
“It was a corporate takeover. Ziggy-Stiggy was popular and totally non-violent. The creator of Ziggy-Stiggy refused to voice the part after the government ruled that the hostile takeover of Ziggy Inc by Brascow was legit. Brascow is highly subsidized by the government, a pawn of the executive branch itself. And what was the first thing that happened to Ziggy-Stiggy when he changed hands?”
“I don’t know, what?”
“He started hunting mushroom people. What does that tell you?”
Lee rolled his eyes. “That the government is preparing us for war?”
“Not us, the children.”
“Why the children?”
“Because something is coming, from very far away. Far enough that the children today will be the ones fighting it.”
“Aliens?”
“Aliens.”
“Jason, if that’s true, then we are the last generation that will have peace. If you are right, shouldn’t we enjoy this while we can?”
“You just want to go to the party.”
“Yes. I want to go to the party. Because the aliens are coming.”
by J.R. Blackwell | Sep 16, 2005 | Story
I was a Nexus then, regulating and regurgitating information into packets that were fed to the meat files of mainstream media. I was constantly hooked in, floating in nutrient-gel, eyes covered, fingers locked, steering, loading and filtering information so that people engaged in other pursuits could be kept current on politics, art, media and technology. My efficacy made me rich and my wealth allowed me to submerse myself further into my work. I could afford the kind of technology that would stimulate my muscles, feed me, and provide sufficient entertainment so that leaving the tank was unnecessary. We still have reporters, first person raw information sources that spend their time in transit on the ground, transmitting unfiltered data, video, audio, occasionally an opinion. Reporters are paid in tiny increments by hundreds of people like me.
I was aware that the northern guerilla fighters might attack me, for what I distributed in regards to their recent carnage. They didn’t care that I had written a similar critique on the atrocities of the UBE Army, they just wanted vengeance. I knew, but I was so disconnected from my own sense of physical self that I took no action to move, I could only watch it happen.
His spider arms, hard and agile, curled around my naked body and lifted me from the tank. It was dull and shadowy; the tank was the only source of light in the room. I craned my neck to look back at the tangle of wires and screens and sense-pits. I wanted to go back, but I let myself be lifted from the gel by the military machines. I looked at the lean silver face of the military cyborg, eyes black reflective surfaces, the smooth metal expressionless. I was not weak or tired, just disinterested. It spoke.
“Simona Rysler, you are herby confiscated by the UBE military forces. You are to remain docile while in transit to the holding facility. Your life is in danger. Remain calm.”
The voice was oddly soft, masculine and terribly earnest.
“I produced a story about the UBE converted forces.” I said, touching the thin metallic limbs that surrounded me.
“I know.” He said gently.
“It wasn’t complimentary.”
“I know.” He began to move. The UBE conversion forces are almost completely limbs, just a small center section barely as wide as my thigh comprises the center, which encases the spine and the brain. The thin cylinder that comprises the head is made for us more than anything else, something for the civvies and officers to look at. His spider limbs, one side a silver jointed blade and the other a flatted rubber surface alternatively held me and moved to catch the ground beneath us. I had seen videos of the UBE cyborgs rolling leaps and soft ballet landings, but to be inside the cage of his limbs, extending and contracting with his movements was magnificent. The wind was harsh on my sensitive wet skin. I watched us, detached, uncomfortable, as he leapt across silver buildings, spinning and landing on stone artifices. I was like a small egg inside a carefully constructed metal box. I looked through the web of his arms and saw the chasm of the city spinning down beneath us. I vomited, a dribble of fluid and then wretched empty heaving. He pulled my shaking body close to his metal center.
I had written about the cyborgs when their existence was revealed to the public. Young men stripped of their healthy human bodies and placed in robotic shells. It was dissemination of information and a philosophical treaties about waning humanity, the loss of human community and the devolution of mankind from a spiritual being to a materialistic creature. Robots would never war with us, as predicted in the old science fiction stories; rather, we would discard our bodies, our humanity, and hand our world to them without resistance. The essay had been very popular.
“Close your eyes, breathe deeply.” He said. There was a sharp sting on the back of my spine. The nausea drained and my muscles relaxed. When I opened my eyes, all I could see were his limbs and cylinder head.
“Where are we?”
“On the side of the VRINN building.”
“Oh.” I was feeling giddy. “You’re nice.”
“I’m designed for human transport. Retrieval and relocation is my specialty.”
“Don’t you ever miss sex?”
“Don’t you?”
I was about to protest, talk about my active sexual life, but the truth was, although I was often involved in simulation, I hadn’t had a skin lover in nine years. I whispered to him.
“I’m sorry about what I wrote.”
by J.R. Blackwell | Sep 13, 2005 | Story
“Everyone in the room wants to eat you, kid.”
U-Tee shrugged. “Whatever.”
He hated it, but the Verba was right. When U-Tee stumbled into the bar, he immediately knew he had walked into the wrong place. The diamond eyes and lizard-like movements in the shadows betrayed the presence of Yunni and T’shesh, predators with a taste for the sentient. To turn around and walk directly out of the bar was inviting trouble to follow, so U-Tee sat down in a dark corner and hoped he wouldn’t attract attention. Twenty minutes should have been enough to let him walk out without arousing suspicion, but seven minutes into his stay, a Verba took an interest and now the attention of the room was focused on U-Tee, the little omnivore.
The Verba had a humanoid outline, but his head was topped with tentacles, not hair, and patches of his skin were covered by a thick chitin. He was wearing patchy armor held together with worn leather straps. The Verba leaned across the table, his claws tapping on the metal surface.
“Everyone can feel the tension kid†he lowered his voice. “But I made the first move, and they’re scared of me. I’m a big bomb, and you’re mine to claim.” He slid in closer, fluid like blood, his mouth next to U-Tees’ ear. “You come with me and you might just get out of this.”
U-Tee whispered into the four-pointed flower nestled in the Verbas tentacles, a spot he assumed was an ear.
“Piss off.” He whispered. The Verba pulled back, grinning. U-Tee knew enough to recognize that it wasn’t friendly. He was showing teeth.
“How did humans ever get into space?” The Verba opened his arms, speaking to the room. “Flat-toothed plant eaters were meant to stay dumb, but here you are, pretending to be a hunter.” He closed his lips and inhaled, his wet nostrils flaring. “But you smell like meat.” He shrugged. “You don’t want to go with me, fine.”
He turned and took a step away from the table. There was the sudden screech of plastic against metal as the room’s occupants rose from their chairs. U-Tee jumped and the Verba turned quickly, leaning back on the table, looking around the room, tense, defensive. U-Tee tried to slow his breathing as the hunters in the room relaxed back into their seats.
“Then again kid, if you change your mind, you can come with me.”
U Tee trembled, and felt his heart beat a staccato under his skin. “Why should I go with you?” The Verba leaned in and lowered his voice.
“Because I think that you are worth more alive. Because I can hear your heart thrumming. Because you’re alone. But mostly kid, because I am the only one here who isn’t hungry.”
U-Tee reached out his hand. “Let’s go.”
