by submission | May 28, 2021 | Story |
Author: Ilias Stroulias
Ever since I was little, bad memories dragged me down like weights chained around my neck.
I still recall vividly that time in English class when the teacher called me a monkey for messing around with my friends. The whole class laughed and all I could do was bury my head on my desk.
This and a host of other memories haunted me for years. Eternally replayed in my mind like that Elvis song my mum was crazy about.
Even something as simple as watching a movie, was hard. All it took was for the protagonist to do something to trigger me. My mind flashed to that time I made a fool of myself twenty years ago and I would cringe or dart my hand up as if to shoo the bad thought away.
Throughout most of my life it was manageable, but in the last couple of years it became too much.
I don’t remember what particular event triggered this. Of course I don’t. But it had come to a state where I couldn’t function.
That’s when I got my implants. With them all you need to do when that bad thought resurfaces is to swipe it away and set it to snooze for tomorrow, for the next week or month.
Long term memory is beyond the implant’s reach. It won’t let you delete thoughts. The memory stays lurking in the bog old memories like to wallow in. But you can just swipe the troubling recollection away the moment it bobs into the surface of your mind.
The joy is that if you swipe one particular memory enough times, the implant learns it’s extra distressing and it auto dismisses it every time.
It’s a joy. I no longer have to endure the consuming panic that engulfed me when some uncomfortable ghost from the past creeped out.
Of late though, I get some strange vibes about one memory I keep swiping away. It’s triggered all through the day. Whenever I idle past that empty room in our house, the one I often wonder why I haven’t turned into an office yet. Or when I see the school buses milling around our neighborhood. Even sometimes when I’m alone while my wife sits in the bedroom looking at old sketchbooks.
Now and then I catch her sobbing. I sense I should know what is making her sad but I dare not ask. As I walk away a memory flitters past before getting swiped away.
It seems to burrow under the implant’s defenses and my heart skips a beat.
Who’s sketchbooks is she poring over? These can’t be from her childhood. They seem new. And we don’t have children, do we?
by submission | May 27, 2021 | Story |
Author: Alzo David-West
Dust whirled in a sunbeam. The early dawn was sapphire. A monomorph somewhere about seventeen, with gentle eyes and regrown arms, walked down a vernal glen. They saw two hares and three toddlers in the bordering woods. Branches of a birch wavered in the sky as a bird warbled in its nest.
They foraged for much of the morning and into the afternoon, occasionally stirring pill bugs that had gathered in shady nooks and moss. After nine hours, they returned to their tiny dwelling, with a twine sack full of plants. There they made a meal of dandelions, honey, mushrooms, and pine nuts; then they slept for some time. And when they awoke, two newborns were by their side, and in a year, when the pair could walk, both went away and grew up with the other forest toddlers, as they had once done, too.
225,228 denizens, simple and self-generating like themself, went about the thirty-four-hour days in much the same way-wandering, rearing, playing, napping, foraging-without memory or recollection of the bygone histories, pandemics, and wars of the dead distant sphere from which the modified genome came. The arcadia was the only world the sheltered offspring knew, and they all had no concept to question it, only an urge to occasionally thank the drifting entities singularly called Keeper.
On the outer side of the vast dome habitat with a self-healing emulsion shield, which an autonomous AI system had maintained for ten-thousand years, rains and comets descended on shiny, icy wastes. Mornings faded into grey and black and then turned into sapphire morning again. Rings of moonlets and meteoroids mingled over the glowing bright horizon.
by submission | May 26, 2021 | Story |
Author: Morrow Brady
Time has no business in a cemetery. It stands by the gates, weeping at each new monolith.
Within the pine casket, at the bottom of the open grave, the red chrome tendril pushed inside the corpse like a train entering a tunnel. Mechanical discs tore a path through the wasting brain matter and poised momentarily before a golf ball-sized milky deposit.
Upon the host’s death, the See withdraws into the skull. The most macabre bus stop.
The tendril’s tip separated like shell armour and open mouth dived into the milky sac, vacuuming up every last drop and piping it up to a chamber strapped to the calf of the Archon standing beside the grave.
Under a grey sky, the Archon watched the funeral draw to a close, waiting for the tendril to finish retracting. Basking in fugitive sunlight that had escaped its cloudy warden, the Archon peered through grief to a parade of white gravestones lying below a cloud of cherry blossom. The Archon grieved for the swathes of See rotting across the battlefields and the grave impact their loss had on the archive.
Solemn stillness creaked to life at the ceremony’s end and a darkened widow turned to the Archon’s carved face and gently took the outstretched hand. She barely felt the tiny sting in her wizened palm, the pain ceasing almost immediately.
With dignity, the Archon proceeded to shake each person’s hand. The micro palm needle subtly sampling skin cells and depositing See subdermally.
Afterwards, seated in a beige café, a sudden downpour heeded the tired cotton oilskin to pool on the marble laminate. The Archon withdrew a faceted pebble, flushing it with the DNA cell data recovered from the needle implant. The pebble throbbed pink analytical glyphs.
A chanced sip from steaming coffee and a glance towards the wetted street-front.
Through the steam covered glass, people scurried under another downpour. The Archon imagined the See, clinging to nerves inside them like a mycelium skeleton. Silently soaking up human experience for the archive.
Subsonic tones turned an ear. The pink pebble soothed to blue. The analysis was complete. The ceremony had been bountiful. Over half the descendants attending the funeral were laden with active See. A quarter more were viable hosts, now dosed with See via the implant.
Later, as sunlight dared a second escape, the calf chamber hummed. The See harvested from the corpse had been read and sent to be assimilated into the archive.
The Archon expected the usual unremarkable read. A lifetime of experience mostly expunged for having no unique informational value to the archive. Lives today were long but malnourished in adventure, innovation or invention. A disappointment that riddled the Archon to the core. The archive had near-on stalled in its growth. Humanity preferring the safety of an armchair over a rocket ride to Mars.
The Archon trembled with disbelief at what the pebble displayed. The quantity of unique data added to the archive was magnitudes greater than any previous host. Delving deeper, revealed an extraordinary life hidden behind a mirrored iris portal. The Archon immediately stood, rushing out into a thunderstorm, chasing a dead memory.
By midnight, far away inside a hidden lichen covered monument, the Archon stood before the mirrored iris.
A hesitant touch and the chamber flooded with a purple hue and a black hole slowly grew within the iris. A milky white skeleton made from mycelium floated into the room.
“Dead men tell no tales” a vibrating voice announced.
“Except to an Archon”
The fellow spindly Archon grasped a shocked hand and slowly merged their archives.
by submission | May 23, 2021 | Story |
Author: Leon Taylor
“I am not going to live next to a mansion of six-foot cockroaches.”
“It’s their right,” his wife said.
“Since when did cockroaches have rights?”
“Since the Alien Rights Act of 2037.”
“I know. I wrote it.” The Senator watched the movers lug boxes into the house configured like a muddy conical nest. Two aliens directed the crew, waving their feelers, chirping in glissandi, their midsections turning blue with excitement. “Abstract rights are fine. But this is real time. What are we going to do when they have a hootenanny?” He looked down the tony street, crammed with aliens crawling towards downtown Alexandria. He drew the felt curtains with a snap and rubbed his square jaw in a creditable facsimile of thinking. He was fortyish and fit, with snapping green eyes and close-cut blonde hair. “We’ll have to buy them out.”
“We don’t have that kind of money.”
“Madeleine does.” He dialed her number. “Have you seen the new neighbors?”
“I can’t even pronounce their names.” Madeleine was loud, white-haired, and built like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
“Just spit a bit. Or ignore them, because we’re going to buy back their lot in a week or two.”
“Isn’t that the old Patterson property? Sounds expensive.”
“Not as expensive as psychotherapy. We’ll do this the fair way. You own four-fifths of the lots in the neighborhood, and we own one-fifth. Therefore you will buy four-fifths of the Patterson property and we will buy one-fifth.”
“I will, huh?” Click.
He sighed and redialed. “We were, um, cut off. Look, you’re the old-timer here. We’re just the newcomers. You’ll get most of the benefits from throwing out the aliens. You understand how the neighborhood should look.”
“I’m the old-timer, and that’s why I won’t pay. I financed the heliport, the day care center, even the adult theme park. You can spring for the aliens.”
“How much?” he mouthed to his wife.
“A million, at least.” She pulled nervously at her dull gold wedding ring.
“Tell you what,” he said to Madeleine. “We’ll borrow a million dollars from you. I’ll pledge my salary as collateral.”
“Your Senate salary? That is what, two hundred thousand? No way. Pledge your home, or get accustomed to the buzz.”
***
“I was afraid that it wouldn’t work,” Zztzis said to her deputy spouse. “They were arguing so much that I didn’t think they would ever agree on a way to pay.”
“Humans are litigious. They have yet to evolve manners. And they are repulsive to look at. A pasty exoskeleton, and no decorative feelers at the mouth. I won’t be sorry to fly out of this place.”
“With a million bucks.”
“With a million bucks. Where to next?”
“A city called Los Angeles, with dozens of gated communities. They’ll be delighted to pay millions for the status quo. And then I think we can go home for a holiday. I can almost taste those succulent homegrown worms.”
by submission | May 22, 2021 | Story |
Author: Rick Tobin
Werewolf rage fell short at the cage’s impenetrable viewing glass, prevailing against the assault, aided by a low-gravity holding cell. The brief demonstration impelled Ensign Collier to fill his spacesuit diaper.
“First time seeing one up close Ensign?” Zemzia, a tall, blue Aurelian scientist pulled the collapsed Collier up from supportive space station carpeting. “Your first two envoys reacted similarly, but at least you didn’t regurgitate…did you?”
Collier pursed his lips, realizing other fluids had escaped his control. “No,” he replied, slowly. “But please don’t surprise me like that again. My heart’s strong, but I’ve just one.”
“A nuisance, I’m sure, for advanced deep space travel. No spare. Hmm, so you’re to report detailed evaluations of our purpose for being outside Saturn’s rings? I suspect the interrupted inspection by your two predecessors left important details from reaching your superiors.”
“Ambassador Zemzia, I wouldn’t know. They’re still hospitalized. I’m a logistics expert sent to evaluate your involvement in Earth’s history and processes. How can we cooperate in a congenial effort, now that we have reached this part of our solar system?”
“I assure you, Ensign, allowing Earth’s previous expansion in our system followed intense discussions with our allies. What you’ve seen here, in our treatment center, exemplifies genetic anomaly rehabilitation from your world, before mistakes spread. You’ve seen vampires, Sasquatch, mermaids, owl men, harpies, centaurs, and others, including the Skin Walkers. That’s a small sampling. It takes years of biological and psychological manipulations before reintroducing these irregularities back into your current race. We could do more, but this is a limited facility.”
“But why? Why the effort? And limited? Your station is half the size of Saturn’s moons.”
Zemzia turned her head slightly, perplexed. “All life is sacred to us, Collier. Even yours.”
At that comment, Collier’s fingers retracted into a terror grip. He remembered the jumbled state of earlier returning envoys. He regretted volunteering, having hoped to increase his rank.
“I’m glad you consider me…uh…worthy.” He hesitated, wondering at his wording.
“Being worthy is a separate matter. Still, our recovery rate is exemplary. We reinstall patients into your world after stabilizing their genetics and behavior. Some unfortunate cases of recidivism occur, like Hitler and Stalin, but most are productive immigrants.”
“Seriously? You’ve put these things back after abductions? How?” Zemzia’s startling revelation and its implication stunned Collier.
“They adapt. Some werewolves became linemen on Earth’s football teams. Vampires often become lawyers and politicians. It’s amusing that you still call them ‘blood suckers’ without knowing their origins.”
“I…this is outrageous! How dare you interfere?”
“Simple, Collier. It’s game management. Those with millions of years of advancement won’t allow your insanity loose in our galaxy. Your kind has seriously devolved, fighting wars in space. Look at water resource genocide a century ago on your own planet, and then decimating civil wars on Mars and Venus. We’ve done as much correctional effort as possible in our small operation. That is why we asked for representatives from your world to visit us immediately.”
“I miss the point, madam.”
“Here, look at this.” Zemzia activated a wall viewer screen near them. “See those stars outside your system moving this way?”
“Yes,” Collier replied, confused by the unexpected configurations on the star map.
“Those are not stars, Ensign. Those are thousands of massive holding facilities coming to collect all humans until we can deprogram your violence. I’m afraid you are all suffering from flawed DNA. Please call your superiors. Prepare your people for retrieval. After that, we have a nice room ready for you.”
