by submission | Mar 30, 2022 | Story |
Author: Mark Renney
There’s a new drug on the market but it’s exclusive. You can’t buy it from the Runners, you have to seek out the Supplier. Both he and his place are an integral part of the trip or so I have heard. It isn’t something you can take away in a phial or tablet form and whilst that is certainly a part of it there is more but along with the Supplier that something remains elusive.
The subs money isn’t great but I have a cell and I am clean, have been for almost a year and I am able to save. As I roam from Enclave to Enclave I have come to realise that the people here rarely move. They tend to stay put and the Sector is rife with rumour and conjecture and wherever I go the perspective on this particular story is a little different. Everyone is having their say and it is difficult to glean anything solid. But on a couple of factors at least all are agreed; that a visit to this particular Supplier is a very singular experience and for those who can afford it, it is the drug of choice. Although expensive it is rare that anyone needs to indulge more than once. It is literally the trip of a lifetime.
I keep moving from first light until after dark. I return to my cell when possible but mostly sleep rough. Settling down wherever I find myself and as long as I am clear of the Communals I am able to rest easy.
I find myself constantly checking the money – counting it and re-counting it, moving it about my body. Not because I am concerned that it will be stolen but rather that I might lose it. Surprisingly, money isn’t really a part of the equation here in the Sector. We have our subs and those who can be bothered make a little from scavenging. But it is all destined for the Sector’s epicentre.
The Communals are an Enclave of long since disused cell blocks. Gutted and most of them roofless, it is maze like, a murderous place. Business there is violent and bloody, guns and knives are prevalent and the decisions are made there as to what will be available in the Sector at any given time and how much it will cost. The Runners deliver the product every day without fail and it is critical that the Sector’s citizens are able to get high and that they can afford to do so.
News of the new drug has reached the Communals and the Runners are asking questions. Clearly, they are acting upon instructions and are both bemused and amused, considering themselves above such a wild goose chase and resent the task. But they are merely henchmen and I wonder who is pulling their strings.
It seemed impossible a year ago that I would be able to save the money. And now I am sure that I have it yet I am no closer to reaching my objective. I have taken to tailing the Runners, dogging their every move, which mostly consists of standing still, lurking in doorways or loitering on the pavement and doing my best to appear nonchalant. I am growing restless; my frustration is rapidly worsening. It would be so much easier if I was high.
It has been so long since I scored but I don’t even need to talk. I hold out the money and the Runner takes it. I look down at the derms in their cellophane bundle and they look so delicate and so precious.
by submission | Mar 29, 2022 | Story |
Author: Majoki
Of all the Nerv there is just one who thinks humanity shouldn’t be obliterated. Of all the Nerv there is but one who does not hold the presumption that Homo sapiens are an inferior species. Of all the Nerv there is only one who has stuck up for the human race.
Its name is Spineblatt. And it is a Nerv with a lot of nerv.
Thank great Caesar’s ghost for Spineblatt. For the one alien who sees potential in humanity is also the one alien who controls the lion’s share of nerv in the galaxy. That is cosmic karma on a level only a Buddhist actuary can suss.
If Spineblatt hadn’t shown up with all his nerv, we’d all be gamma ray toast by now. And Spineblatt would never have shown up with all his nerv, if I hadn’t tried to port from the Luna station to Ceres with a stolen batch of ridiculously unstable, highly illegal darken.
Darken is the crystal meth of antimatter. It’s cooked with dark energy, which itself is illegal to possess. Tightly controlled and mercilessly regulated by the gov, dark energy makes porting possible, allowing for rocketless travel between the seven Sol colonies. Because of inherent molecular instability, darken is considered the most dangerous substance in the system, and I ported with nearly a kilo of the stuff.
No wonder I bent the universe out of shape. One millisecond I was being reduced to a quantum algorithm on Luna and about to be recalculated on Ceres. The next millisecond I was surrounded by Nerv prodding me with mindsticks demanding to know where I got my nerv.
Thanks to the mindsticks, it didn’t take me long to get the picture that I’d been ported clear across the galaxy to Nerv, a rocky little planet the Nerv call home. The Nerv are a bit rocky themselves (silicon-based) and more than a bit imperious. Especially about their nerv, which not incidentally is identical to darken—the stuff I was attempting to smuggle to Ceres.
Evidently, nerv, aka darken, is the manna of the Nerv. It powers everything on their world and their expanding empire which I was mindsticked to understand is vast. Like many many galaxies vast.
And they were not happy to see another species (especially one that had to be mindsticked into understanding the basics of their grand civilization) in possession of their nerv. I tried to explain that darken was not nerv. That it was created by my kind. Through their mindsticks, the Nerv scoffed at the mere thought of so lowly a life-form able to manufacture nerv.
They condemned me as a bottom-feeding cheat and thief. They condemned all my kind as lowly parasites, opportunistically leeching the quantum entanglements that nerv made possible. That made the Nerv’s inter-galactic porting possible. The Nerv know how to deal with cosmic vermin and they mindsticked how they would follow my wayward quantum path back to Sol and sterilize my whole system. Burn out the rot and all my scum with it.
Of course I was royally flummoxed by the Nerv’s proclamation and my imminent extermination along with every living creature in Sol. Especially since it had all transpired in the course of five or six mindstick pokes. I wouldn’t even have had time to gape stupidly before all of humanity was summarily executed, if at that very moment Spineblatt hadn’t shown up.
All the Nerv in the room seemed to straighten, though that’s hard for a silicon-based creature to do. They lowered their mindsticks and turned their full attention to Spineblatt. It seemed to already know what was going on. Spineblatt examined my kilo of darken with one of its forward protuberances and then mindsticked me.
Rather than feeling like my mind was being jacked open by a crowbar, Spineblatt’s mindsticking felt more like a magician teasing scarves out of a top hat. It delved so deeply into my psyche that my toes tingled. And yet I hungered for this Nerv to know all of me, all I represented of humanity. Even my baldest lies and boldest crimes. Spineblatt was that smooth. I guess if you controlled two-thirds of the nerv in the known universe, as Spineblatt did, nothing but smooth would do.
When Spineblatt released his mindstick, the other Nerv gathered around him. They were motionless for a brief second. And then they simply left.
Spineblatt’s thoughts entered my head. [[ Greetings, Sol traveller. You are safe now. Your kind is safe now. ]]
“Why?” I said too loudly. “I thought we were to be exterminated.”
[[ I convinced my fellows that your kind could be useful to our kind. ]]
“How? After delving so deeply into my psyche, you of all the Nerv must know how flawed, how weak I am. How powerless my kind is compared to yours.”
Spineblatt pushed the stolen kilo of darken back into my hands.
[[ Yes, we’ve got all the power. ]]
And though I have no way of verifying this, I believe Spineblatt winced.
[[ But you have all the nerve. ]]
by submission | Mar 27, 2022 | Story |
Author: Anonymous
I prowl in the dark shadows. I inch into one’s thoughts and destroy all that is good, leaving man with nothing but me. It is inevitable for man to descend, and it is happening now. I keep mankind in the dark; I am what man fears most: fear itself.
__ * __
Tyrone
The dictator was worried. I lurk in his shadow, never leaving him alone for who knows what could heal him. The doctors feared he had a mental disorder that was causing hallucinations, bipolar thoughts/actions, and PTSD of Earth and his past decisions. I am only clasping harder on his soul. Tyrone stopped pacing and began to record a message to all of Mars, telling them to be purified and continue the fight in becoming superior compared to Earth.
__ * __
Adonia & Liam
Traveling to Athens together had been a treacherous journey. They were now in the capital city of Athens, which was full of danger for them both. Liam was briskly guiding Adonia through the paved streets while trying to keep her invisible to danger. He hadn’t been this close to her in a while. He had forgotten how cloudy-blue her eyes were, they brought a new sense of beauty. He wanted to stay on Mars if it meant being with her. Soldiers passed by. Liam stood in front of her so her eyes, those beautiful eyes, could not be seen. “Urian, finding a purifying building should be easy. I want to be able to see you.” Adonia said while counting the drains they were passing.
“Not this way, not by getting purified,” he said, refocusing.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I love–”
“Love what?”
“Nothing,” Liam said as he lead her towards where the ship was that would take them to Earth.
“We’re not going to a purifying building, are we?”
“We are.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m trying to save you Adonia! Can you not see that?” Liam yelled.
I was lurking in the alleyway and slithered between them.
Adonia stumbled, then forced Liam to let go of her. “No!” Liam shouted. It was too late, for Adonia had already drawn attention to herself and was taken by soldiers to a purifying building. Liam followed behind, rushing after them. Cries of mothers, fathers, and children could be heard as Adonia entered the building. She squirmed in the soldiers’ grip. She realized the situation far too late. The soldiers placed her with the other crippled and disabled citizens, all of who had no part in the dictator’s plan. Adonia felt a shiver go up her spine as she heard a metal-framed door shut behind her. “Urian?” she started to yell, “Uri–”
__ * __
Liam
Liam can picture the final scenes on Mars as if it had happened just seconds ago: The cries of families being torn apart, the screams coming from inside the purifying chambers, and the panic seen inside Adonia when she realized what would happen, but then the doors to her death had separated them. All he had wanted was to live a life with her, and tell her who he really was: Liam from Earth not Urian from Mars. “She would not come. It’s all my fault,” he whispered to himself repetitively as he traveled back to Earth empty-handed. I finally have won, for I have his soul.
__ * __
Tyrone
In a prisoner ship heading back towards earth, I forced Tyrone to shutter at his past decisions: such as when he left his family when they arrived on Mars, forcing everyone to be purified, declaring war, and when he did not shut down the machine as he recognized his blind daughter in the clustered crowd of disabled in the last purification group before the invasion.
These thoughts crowd his mind as I morph his body into something less than a man, a monster of what I am: fear.
___
by submission | Mar 26, 2022 | Story |
Author: Philip G Hostetler
These are strange places we live in; I won’t say ‘times’ because we transcended time a long time ago, before and after time. But the places, the feelings, the sights and the smells are oh so intoxicating. A good desire from which to draw our chaos. We’ve become so many animals, so many plants, rocks and pebbles and all in such strange places. A species of changeling, or simply, changing species? Can’t say I’ve ever seen my true form, or yours, but this is what we do, isn’t it? For as long as I can’t remember.
We somehow embody the desire for more in a universe of infinite potential. Does our desire drive the engine of creation? That great mana wheel of emergence? I don’t suppose I’ll ever know, but I’ve heard that being a hindhu cow is a pretty safe bet, so I’ll catch you later, see you at the next cycle!
by submission | Mar 25, 2022 | Story |
Author: David Penn
On this world in the Pica region each house has a bell. It calls constantly to the families in every other house and the bells there call back. It is the business of all Tzogg-Charans to keep these bells ringing, and so sacred do they hold that duty that if one stops they will scythe off parts of their own glassy flesh to repair it.
The clamour of the bells is considered beautiful and something that must be allowed to grow to perfection. Over many decades the bells may be shaved, re-layered or otherwise modified, as households tune each to its own individual sound, or “ke-ra”, a term for which there is no adequate English translation.
The tone-field, shape, harmony, pitch and clarity of each bell must reach certain levels of perfection which are beyond the capacity of human ears to distinguish. An achieved perfection of tone-field is particularly important as it will please the whole household, with its many levels of occupants. It is intended that it will also please the community at large, though it is well understood that this is not easy, given the differences of tastes between households, which can be profound while at the same time subtle and hard to discern. Nevertheless, it is the avowed desire of every Tzogg-Charan community, however large, that one day all its bells will chime in harmony, and the highest and most skilled levels of tuning and re-tuning are dedicated to this probably impossible goal.
The tuning of the bells, however, cannot go on indefinitely. Though the bells are extremely long-lived, each one reaches a point after many decades when adjustments, modifications, grafts, and shavings and so on no longer have any effect, and at this point a bell is considered to be in decline, indeed “dying”.
Through some interior agency or process that no outside observer has ever understood, at a certain point the sounds of the bell will begin to convert to light, which pulses in a vast range of dazzling colours, many unknown to the human eye. When the bell is fully agreed by the whole household to be, now, a lamp – or a “krin-girri” (again, translation into English can only be very approximate for this term) – it is placed on a long, tough kind of Tzogg-Charan leaf, much like a banana leaf though gold in colour, and “given to the river”. This is floated gently and with much ceremony on the surface of any local flowing body of water and allowed to travel downstream.
Tzogg-Charans wear special metallic red and blue feathers for this occasion, giving their intricately plated armour a tinselly effect, which is a sign both of mourning and celebration.
Strangely, as the lamps float along the river – particularly after they reach the community’s outskirts or disappear out of sight of the mourners – they begin again to emit sounds, often more beautiful than they ever gave out during their whole life as bells. When this happens, the guardians of each bell-lamp will find each other and embrace, however estranged by distance or time they may have become over the course of their lives.
It is outlawed for any Tzogg-Charan to see what forms the bell-lamps have taken during this final transformation, an edict which all obey out of the deep respect they hold for their planet and the unseen ocean beyond the rivers, and so no living Tzogg-Charan has any idea what the bell-lamps in this last stage look like, though the flashing lights seen above the jungle in the distance, and the occasional clear, mesmerising note of music, provoke endless speculation.
