by submission | Jun 26, 2007 | Story
Author : James Smith
Murphy took a bench and pulled a paperback from his coat pocket. He dialed down his shades to read better, and sipped his coffee. After a few pages, he became aware of a presence on the bench next to him.
“Oh, wow. Paper. You drive gas, too, huh?”
He looked up. White girl, half his age, red hair cut into some sort of n-dimensional shape that confused him and made him feel old.
Murphy smiled. “Digital paper. The real stuff’ll get you thrown in jail.”
“Mm. What are you, a cop?”
Her eyes widened a bit when he told her he was a detective. She leaned closer, their knees touched. She asked if he carried a gun, if his job was dangerous. She saw the scar on his cheek. He wouldn’t tell her the story of how he got it; she was sure it was something fantastic. He had the kind of body you’d imagine a dangerous man to have; she told him her hotel room wasn’t far.
In the hotel. She sat up in the bed, rolling a joint. Murphy lay on his back with his eyes shut.
“You wanna smoke this with me?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got to meet my ex-wife later.”
“You really a P.I.?”
“You really a redhead?”
“I think there’s a few real ones left. A generation to go, at least, before they’re all bred out.”
He asked her how she got into the business. Most Modern Girls were depressives looking for some way to hurt their parents, but feel like they were hurting themselves. This girl, who called herself Pepper, claimed to really have DID, and had gotten the chip implant to referee her various personalities. She had three, she said: Pepper, August and Katherine.
It was a cliche’, she admitted, to get the chip and become a Modern Girl. But the freedom people talked about, to simply turn that person on, to do whatever you wanted in that body, and then- at will- to shunt it aside like it never happened… Well, not many people had that option. It was hard to pass up.
His phone rang. It was the one ringtone he couldn’t ignore, so he crossed the room and pulled it out of his pants. Pepper licked the spliff and watched Murphy as he talked in clipped, cryptic phrases. She watched his shoulders. He didn’t get tense or upset; she figured it wasn’t his ex.
He finished and turned to look at her.
“I’ve got to go.” He took a wad of bills out of the same pocket, already clipped together, and put it on the dresser.
“Mm hmm. Same thing next week?”
“Why don’t we try a little older. Maybe Asian. Japanese?”
“Thai would be more convincing, with my bone structure. And the melanin tweak will run you extra.”
“Sure.”
“You gonna let me read that book one of these days?”
“No,” he said. “Every good romance needs a bit of mystery.”
He dressed and left.
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by submission | Jun 24, 2007 | Story
Author : Francesco Navarro
The air scrubbers were failing. Generators were running at less than fifteen percent. Only one large bio dome and four of the sixty life support shelters remained of the mission complex.
Father Nandres died a week ago and there was no one left who could operate a harvester or any of the larger terraforming machines.
This field was the only one remaining and it was slowly dying.
Still, there were twenty six other souls whose bodies needed the nourishment the field could provide. Most of the survivors were acolytes with only a class three technical training, just like him.
There were no clouds anymore. Only a baleful yellow sun glared down at him from a fiery orange sky. The seminary had not prepared him for the magnitude of the impossible.
The recirculated air in the containment suit was stale and dry. Thick gloves made pulling up the low tubers clumsy. The words of a four thousand year old prayer formed on his parched lips as he worked.
â€Teach me to be generous,
Teach me to serve you as I should,
To give and not to count the cost,
To fight and not to heed the wounds,
To toil and not to seek for rest,
To labor and ask not for reward,
Save that of knowing that I do your most holy will…”
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by submission | Jun 23, 2007 | Story
Author : Joe Carter/Kyle French
37 hands. Zed shook his head. The 84 candidates running for President were asked if they believed in Sixism, and only 37 raised their hands.
He couldn’t believe this debate was still going on. For years they had assumed that the Manhattan Inflation Trial in 4838 had put the lid on the silly notion that the universe contained billions of galaxies. Billions! Zed looked out the window at the smooth black plane of the night sky. One-two-three-four-five-six. Six galaxies. There they were. It was so basic, so obvious. Any kid with a neutron telescope could make the observation for themselves!
The moderator turned to Governor Tembke of South Africa. “Madam, are you a Big Banger?†There were dampened giggles at the pejorative. Everyone knew what a ‘banger†was.
Rev. Tembke sniffed. “I’m running for the office of president, not planning on writing a 5th-grade textbook on astrophysics.”
“Aargh!†Zed threw his shoe at the screen, but it flew through the image of the Senator from Zimbabwe instead. He stood up and began to pace. He tried to breathe deeply, as if that would lower his blood pressure.
He used to be patient with relativists. He really did. But at a debate at ultra-conservative Harvard University, he’d made the mistake of asking one to explain how this galactic disappearing act occurred. The answer the nut had given him had been so ridiculous, he’d written it down:
“As the universe expanded, the force pushed the galaxies outward faster and faster. As they surpassed the speed of light, their light shifted to infinitely long wavelengths and dimmed. A similar “cloak of invisibility†befell the afterglow of the Big Bang, a faint bath of cosmic microwaves, whose wavelengths shifted so that they are now buried by the radio noise in our own galaxy. There was also an element called deuterium, but it is in deep space now. To be seen it needs to be backlit from distant quasars, and quasars, of course, have also disappeared.â€
Totally unqualified. Unprovable! Billions of galaxies–similar in size and shape to the six observable galaxies – simply sped up and – poof! – became invisible. “Yeah, that happened,” Zed chuckled to himself, turning back to the debate.
Zed was particularly frustrated that the relativists were able to prop up their beliefs with… ancient texts! The silly belief was dying out until an archaeological dig in New Atlantis produced evidence of near universal belief in relativism by ancient world civilizations. Einstein, Hubble, Hawking… proto-scientists believed in an inflationary universe, so why shouldn’t we?
“Science is based on observation,†he grumbled, “not faith in theories about a Big Bang, cosmic radiation, and an expanding universe in which galaxies go missing.†Why couldn’t they just embrace the facts? Why did they insist on clinging to mythical beliefs? Were they just stupid?
Zed collapsed back into his recliner. Fortunately, time was on the side of science. Eventually, the old beliefs would finally fade away. After all, everyone knew the modern system would collapse if the rules could ever change.
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by submission | Jun 20, 2007 | Story
Author : Mark Lindquist
“I’d like to order an arm, please. Left, if you have them. I’ve always liked left arms.”
“Certainly, sir. Have a seat while — oh, my apologies, that was quite rude of me.”
“Think nothing of it. It’s by choice, not by circumstance; sitting has always been highly overrated.”
“So I’ve heard, so I’ve heard. I wouldn’t wish to do without it myself, you understand, but I can see how … ah, here we are. Did you need it coloured to match?”
“I don’t suppose you have green…”
“No, sir, only the natural colours. There’s a dyist some of our patrons use that we can highly recommend, if you’re interested.”
“No matter, I have my own. Did my ears.”
“Remarkable work. Modified?”
“Not much. Standard frequencies and AM/FM radio. Decent quality, but I pick up a bit of static when I get too near a microwave.”
“Common problem, or so I’ve heard. Now, if you’ll take a look at the monitor, you can see what we have in stock.”
“The, ah, black one…”
“An excellent specimen. Professional ball player, or so I’m told. A pitcher.”
“The cost seems low in that case.”
“Well, he was right handed. But it’s still a very high quality arm. Do you play?”
“I must say — never quite got the game. I mean, I understand it … but why?”
“Quite, sir. I was never very good at it myself. Would you like to see another, then?”
“Ah… one moment. Hm. 3X23.”
“I am compelled to tell you, sir, that that is in fact a female arm. We certainly don’t oppose such things, but we’ve had some complaints from customers who weren’t aware when ordering.”
“What’s the motor control like?”
“Rated at 73%, sir. Very good for a left hand.”
“Not a primary hand, then?”
“We get very few of those, I’m afraid. Not for lefts.”
“Understandable. I’ll take it. Put it on my account.”
“Certainly, sir. Will you need that installed here or delivered?”
“Neither, thank you. I’ll eat it here.”
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by submission | Jun 19, 2007 | Story
Author : Grady Hendrix
When new Aunt Sally arrived, David had just one question burning in his brain. He managed to make it all the way through her visit before it came out.
“What happened to old Aunt Sally?†he asked.
“She’s gone on to a wonderful place where it’s always summer vacation,†his mother said. “She’s much happier there.â€
Being a normal eight-year-old boy, David knew that this meant that she was dead.
New Aunt Sally was exactly the same as old Aunt Sally. She brought the same presents, she said the same things, she embarrassed him the same way. The only difference was that she didn’t seem to upset his father as much. He and old Aunt Sally were always shouting at each other, but new Aunt Sally and his dad got along just fine. It was like she was the same, only better. Better for his dad, at least.
“Why did new Aunt Sally come?†he asked his mother.
“Because we asked her to,†said his mother.
“But why? What was wrong with old Aunt Sally?â€
“Nothing was wrong with her, but new Aunt Sally is so good, don’t you think? Now go do your homework and stop asking so many silly questions. It’s nothing you need to worry about.â€
But he did worry about it. He worried about it all the time. Old Aunt Sally had just been plain Aunt Sally, but suddenly one day she became old Aunt Sally and new Aunt Sally took her place. What if one day he was suddenly old David Lighter? Come to think of it, he was already old David Lighter, just nobody had called him that yet.
He lay in bed all night, staring at the ceiling and promising God that from now on he would be very, very good. He would be very, very, very good. He dug his nails into his sweaty palms until they bled and he bit his lip until it tore and he swore that he would be so good that his parents would always want the old him. Always.
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