by submission | Jul 3, 2022 | Story |
Author: Moh Afdhaal
Bile singed Vesper Krel’s throat as he squirmed at the dark shapes that haunted his periphery. The curious ailment that wreaked havoc on his gastric system, had been diagnosed as a probable symptom of expedited re-acclimatization to Earth’s atmosphere following a prolonged tour of duty. The Cosmic Guard’s mandatory psych eval suggested otherwise; a manifestation of survivor’s guilt. Vesper knew the simpler truth—remorse.
A grand stage lined with the Cosmic Guard’s upper echelon, adorned in their planetary insignia, towered over their underlings crowding the auditorium. Commander General of the Jupiter Orbit, Fezyhl Acrom, flashed a toothy smile at the flock as he concluded his meandering speech, ushering in the call of names for distinguished service medals. Vignetted by the shadowy hues that swarmed the edge of his vision, Vesper observed as his moustachioed supervisor took his place with the other Commander Generals.
Aebrems. Twenty-six recipients of those godforsaken medals; honouring their heroic act of being alive. Ax’mbele. The unseen AI calling out the honourees moved through the list with unnecessary swiftness, an apt analogy for the transience of their valour. Carsonson. Each announcement was followed by a tight ten-second round of applause. Fikaayo. Chrome hearts glinted as they bounced on the lapels of the ceaseless flow of broken veterans. Iniguez. Vesper stifled a shudder and its accompanying acidic retch. Jwon-Piir. Honouring the soldiers that remained. Krel. Soldiers that should’ve perished with their squadron, but somehow remained. Krel?
Vesper leapt to his feet. Krel. He hurried towards the stage, avoiding Acrom’s glare and the nebulous crowd that shrunk behind him. He had recently discovered that large crowds presented as a sea of chartreuse scales and fetlocked hinds in his vision. A stomach-churning revisualization of the Ganymedoran attack on Vesper’s squadron at the ganymite quarry they had been assigned to defend.
As the last remaining member of the Cosmic Guard’s Ganymede Squadron-Rho, no one debated Vesper’s heroism in being the sole survivor of the largest recorded alien attack on any of Earth’s occupations in Sol-System One. No one questioned the serious lapse in defence required for the primitive Ganymedorans to even consider making a claim for territory they had already ceded. No one delved further into Vesper’s missing daily logs leading into the attack or even hypothesized an event where he had been taken captive at that time.
No one considered the inherent damage the mining of Ganymede’s resources caused, the systematic genocide of its pacifist inhabitants; all in the name of humankind’s development.
No one scrutinized Vesper’s ammunition archives, check if his cache had been emptied into the assailants or the chartreuse military fatigues and jointed lower-limb exoskeletons of his confounded squadron. No one contemplated the possibility that the gates were opened from the inside, to actuate the siege. No one even dreamt that the sole surviving hero of the largest recorded alien attack on any of Earth’s occupations in Sol-System One; was the man who devised the attack himself.
Vesper returned a calculated smile at the Commander General, as the man pinned the Chrome Heart for Distinguished Service in Extraterrestrial Combat onto the lapel of his chartreuse service dress coat. Shaking Acrom’s hand, Vesper twitched his thumb to discretely release a ganymite nanite into the man’s bloodstream. The implosion of Earth’s invasion of Ganymede had begun, starting with the death of the man who stood before him. The shadows in Vesper’s periphery seemed to convulse in ecstasy.
by submission | Jul 2, 2022 | Story |
Author: Hillary Lyon
In a far corner of the town’s public dog park, K’wren took out a small soft cloth from her designer back-pack purse and began polishing her gold-plated robodog. “I love how you shine in the sun,” she gloated out loud. It wagged it’s tail.
“Now, that’s a beaut,” a young man, unknown to K’wren, offered as he sauntered up to her.
“We think so,” she smiled, standing up.
“What do you call it?” the young man queried. He had a mild manner and the wild hair so many idle youths sported these days.
“We wanted to call it Gizmo, but that name was already registered.” She shrugged. “So we decided on Gadget, instead.”
“Ah, so it’s registered as Gadget?” Hearing it’s name, the robodog displayed an open-mouthed smile, and looked from human to human. It again wagged its tail.
“We’ve been too busy, so—” K’wren, slightly embarrassed, continued awkwardly. “We haven’t gotten around to registering it.”
“It seems docile, affectionate, even,” the young man observed, changing the subject.
“Yeah, we paid extra for the affection upgrade—I insisted on that,” she stressed. “Like everyone else, my husband always wants the latest techno gadget—no pun intended. I agreed to the robodog, but only if it had the Pure-Love brand affection chip factory-installed.”
“Does it need exercise?” The young man wondered aloud, as he swept his arm to indicate the dog park. “Or fresh air?”
“Nah, but its owner does.” K’wren put the polishing cloth back in her jeans’ pocket. “Obviously, it doesn’t need sleep, or food—though it’s batteries need recharging every week or so, depending on use. And there’s no pooping, either,” K’wren giggled. “Which I appreciate.”
“Does it play fetch? Retrieve?” The young man teased. “Because if it did, that would make your robodog a—”
“No, it’s not a golden retriever,” K’wren blushed. Was he flirting with her?
“I suppose Gadget makes an excellent guard dog, though,” the young man winked at K’wren.
“Not at all,” she laughed again. “We didn’t opt for that upgrade. Where we live, we have security guards and gates, so we didn’t think we’d need it. And I mean, after all, the gold-plating was expensive enough!”
“May I?” The young man motioned to pet the robodog.
“Sure,” K’rewn replied. She loved the attention her Gadget attracted; in her mind, it made the robodog worth every shiny penny.
The young man knelt beside the robodog, reaching into the pocket of his second-hand coat as he did. Cooing sweet words and promises to Gadget, he surreptitiously withdrew his personal mini-taser.
“So,” K’wren sighed, relaxing in the warm glow of this friendly encounter with a handsome young stranger, “which of these dogs running around this park is yours?”
Wearing a mischievous grin, the young man rose to face K’wren. “Oh, I don’t have a pet,” he answered as his mini-taser connected with the bare skin of K’wren neck. She tumbled heavily to the ground like a dropped sack of dog food. The young man swept up the gold-plated robodog in his arms.
Gadget wagged its tail and licked his face with its silicon tongue. “But I do now.”
by submission | Jul 1, 2022 | Story |
Author: Rick Tobin
The starship Seeker One’s domed Hall of Wisdom sweltered below its scintillating chandeliers. High Commander Razzra’s lavender skin glistened against his white majestic draping required for Priestess Masotulama’s Task of Finding for the Achaeans. She would be graced with honor or chastened, as required, clearing their group transgression for failure. It was her twelfth attempt at planet recognition during their endless pilgrimage to the home world Ah’Ya.
“Are you prepared, Masotulama, for tasting? Is your source pure?” To Razzra’s right shone a holograph of a twirling blue sphere representing Ah’Ya. At his left, a glowing yellow star projection surged with solar flares as foretold in origin mythos. He presented images to the High Priestess for her approval to attempt the ritual. She nodded, gathering her white robes as she bent her legs to sit before Razzra, his violet eyes and shock of orange hair lowering to follow her descent.
Masotulama’s jade-green flesh shuddered as blue plasma orbs from her pineal gland awakened, rising above her forehead, surrounded by flowing tresses of fiery red and gold. “I praise the moment, for our seeking of Founders, Commander. Let dust of life be given.” She passed the test of purity earlier while blindfolded; faultlessly identifying three fruits from the ship’s gardens using only her sense of taste, a gift only blessed ones possessed among Achaeans. Beside her rested the Holy of Holies—few remaining residues from Ah’Ya, sent with colonizers millions of years past, before the journey of returning.
Twenty of the starship’s robed tribal leaders circled her, calmly droning prayers of recognition, “Ah’Ya…Ah’Ya…Ah’Ya.”
Masotulama rocked gently in trance below the Commander as a floating sampling probe arrived fresh from the blue planet spinning below their ship’s orbit. The device halted, suspended near her head. She moved her left hand upward, summoning probe soil chambers to grind their contents, releasing shimmering brown mists to gather around her head. She opened her mouth wide, drawing deep breaths as dust surrounded her face, clouding her sparkling third eye.
She sat still as if turned to stone until snakelike undulations began emerging from her head and slowly swept down her nearly supine torso. Her arms flew upward as she coughed out the dark planet residue across the floor. She twisted right, gently reaching behind as Razzra continued lingering over her. She lifted the crystalline decanter of original precious soil from Ah’Ya close to her palm, carefully opening and tipping the vessel, catching a few grains, and then lapping the minute treasure into her face using her huge black tongue before securing the lid.
Chanting halted. Masotulama stilled, her eyes rolling back as she moaned for a few moments, and then went stiff again.
“What say you, Priestess of Taste? Is this Origin?” Razzra rested his arms as the holographs disappeared. All assembled remained in vigilant anticipation.
Masotulama sighed hard as her torso retracted inward, squeezed by agony. “No, my Commander. This world’s beings resemble Achaeans, but they are not from our Originator. This is not Ah’Ya. Forgive my failure.”
Razzra reached down with his glowing ring, searing flesh on the priestess’s exposed back as an act of tribal contrition, branding one empty square of her checkerboard service tattoo containing her ritual result history. She would integrate into breeding stock after ten more fruitless attempts, creating potential offspring with rare gifts of taste required for future planetary confirmation.
“My people,” he proclaimed, loudly, “Take what ores, food, and water we need from below. Gather new slaves as servants. We renew our sacred search for home. Let us find our beloved Ah’Ya.”
by submission | Jun 30, 2022 | Story |
Author: Rachel Sievers
The old man sat with the shotgun in his lap. He sat in the wooden rocker facing the door. He had survived on this earth for eighty-seven years and when death came he would face it as he had lived, eyes open and hands full.
The wooden cabin had been built by the man more than sixty years ago when he first homesteaded the place in Alaska. He had carved out a life here living off the land fighting beasts and the Alaska elements his whole life. He was not surprised to be fighting one more thing for his survival.
The old man had not heard about the attacks on humans throughout the world until over the Ham radio he heard distress calls being thrown out on the regular. The creatures, never described the same way, seemed to be targeting humans. The descriptions varied but claws, tall, and serrated teeth seemed to be the most consistent. The word alien had been thrown around a lot, but ancient and from the deep were equally broadcasted.
The creek from under the rocker broke the quiet of the cabin. The rocker was handmade, a project the man spent time on for several long winter nights. He had built the chair when he was younger and his hands were not gnarled and twisted with age and overuse. It was something he was proud of and something he was glad to die in.
The door rattled and shook in the dim light from the kerosene lamp light. The north winter wind made the door rattle and shake like that but in the middle of fall, the winter storms had yet to make an appearance. The old man had on occasion had a grizzly interested in his cabin. The smells of an easy meal too hard for the predator to pass up. The door had shaken similarly, but more animalistic than the shaking that was happening now.
The door beat rhythmically and in a steady motion, something intelligent was testing and prodding the door, looking for a weakness to exploit. The old man had bolted the door from the inside. The sound stopped and the movement started at the windows. A gentle shutter and then a breaking of glass as the window exploded in on itself.
The old man had packed the glass all the way from Anchorage at the request of his new bride. She had said the cabin was too claustrophobic and so in a failed attempt to get her to stay he had packed the window into the backcountry.
The glass on the roughly hued floor sparkled in the lamplight creating little glass diamonds. The man could appreciate beauty when he saw it and he had seen a lot of it. The rise of the sun over mountains that had not been touched by the pollution of man. Rainbow trout rising for the first hatch of the season on a long-forgotten lake. The old man had experienced beauty and never stopped enjoying the small and meaningful moments it created.
The creature outside gave up on the windows finding the boards the old man had nailed over them too tough to penetrate. The creature’s movements around the cabin no longer veiled by attempted stealth. It stalked the cabin scratching and clawing trying to find a way in.
Then there was a long silence. The old man refused to break the silence with the sound from the rocker and instead held the quiet in reverence. He sat still and unmoving, hand gripping the shotgun. He knew the two shots the twelve-gauge over and under carried would not be near enough for what stalked him but he didn’t mind. He knew he would die tonight and like the Vikings of old, he would die with a sword in his hand.
The door exploded in a rage of splintered wood. The shock of it hit the old man and froze his finger on the trigger. There before him was a strange and terrifying beauty and like all the beauty in his life, he appreciated it. It was the last beautiful thing the old man’s eyes ever saw before darkness engulfed them forever.
by submission | Jun 29, 2022 | Story |
Author: Jenna Hanan Moore
What began as an ordinary morning walk with the dog did not remain ordinary for long. As usual, Thomas was oblivious to his surroundings. He didn’t notice the coolness of the breeze, the birds chirping, the pink and gold hue of the eastern sky, or the smell of the wildflowers.
Maggie, his golden retriever, was anything but oblivious. She didn’t care about the sunrise or the flowers, but her ears and nose drank in the sounds and smells of the birds and critters flitting about nearby. This path through the woods was her favorite walk.
When they reached the wooden footbridge near where the path curved towards home, a bright flash appeared in the sky, followed by a “whoosh!”
They stopped in their tracks. Maggie growled softly. Thomas looked at the sky. “Couldn’t be lightning. No thunder, and not a cloud in the sky.” He shortened Maggie’s leash. “Let’s go home. Maybe there’ll be something about whatever that was on the news.”
They crossed the footbridge and rounded the bend. Standing in the middle of the path was a sleek, black cylinder, about four feet high. A man dressed in silver stood beside it. “Your world will soon end. What will you do?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your world will soon end. What will you do?”
Thomas looked at Maggie. She’d stopped growling, and was wagging her tail at the stranger. He looked back at the stranger. “Who are you and how would you know a thing like that?”
“Pardon my lack of manners, but you haven’t much time and I didn’t want to waste any of it on pleasantries. My name is Aldous Alterian, and I saw your world end in a parallel universe.”
Thomas stared at the man, lost for words.
“I use Universe B62 for intergalactic travel. It physically parallels our own universe, but its laws of physics allow for travel faster than the speed of light.”
“That’s not possible,” Thomas stammered.
“It’s quite possible. I’ll show you.”
Aldous Alterian twisted a dial on the cylinder. Another flash, another whoosh, and they were in a spaceship with windows on all sides. To the left was a planet identical in appearance to Mars. To the right was the smoldering remnants of another planet.
Another twist of the knob, another flash, another whoosh, and they were back on the path through the woods.
“I discovered the time shift between universes on my last trip to your galaxy. I could explain, but you haven’t much time left. Do you really want me to waste it on the details of inter-universe temporal dynamics?”
“I guess not. How much time do we have?”
“That I cannot say. Could be months, could be weeks. It could be as much as a year or a little as a day. The important thing is to use it well. Will you do that?”
“I’ll try,” Thomas said.
“That’s all I ask.” With that, Aldous Alterian twisted the knob on the cylinder. A flash and a whoosh, and he was gone.
Thomas walked towards home, thinking of ways to make the world a better place. By the time he reached the house, his thoughts returned to the mundane tasks ahead of him. He abandoned his lofty plans, convinced they’d never work.
