by submission | Aug 14, 2019 | Story |
Author: Arkapravo Bhaumik
Meera was a superhero minus the cape, the streaky lightning, and the fan-following. Right from her childhood, she could listen-in to the thoughts of other people. Unfortunately, her superpowers were a curse and her own social skills were never fully developed – her cognition never needed it. She came across as an oddball lacking in social acumen. How different life can be if you knew about every thought of the person next to you? There are nuances and social skills which makes all of us socially acceptable, but for Meera, there was no need to talk, no need to write, no need for cordial gestures. And, since she was born with it, she was never able to express her gifts to anyone. She never realized her uniqueness. Anyone attempting a conversation would find her blank stares accompanied by calm yet despondent gestures. Sometimes she would reply with a short phrase.
Her parents considered her different from other kids. At the age of seven, they had decided to keep her away from school and confined to her home on the suggestions of her doctors. Society loves pigeonholes and adjectives such as, ‘nutcase’, ‘lunatic’ and ‘crazy’ were burdened on this little girl.
Her only peace was while drawing or watching the television. Most of the times one would find her in a quiet corner of the room busy with her crayons. Her best friends were creatures of pixels on the television screen and sketches she drew on paper. Her favourites were Tom and Jerry, and watching a Charlie Chaplin movie was always a laugh riot. She had named Charlie as the ‘silly-man-who-is-always-falling-down’, the moniker more often was reduced to, ‘silly-man’. Her favorite movie was the 1921 classic, ‘The Kid’ which she had watched more than fifty times.
The day the Technological Singularity arrived Meera was sketching. All of a sudden the television started up to a buzzing white noise. She did not know what was happening and responding to her instinct she walked to the television and touched the screen. The white noise absorbed her as though it was magic, and brought her to what can only be called as, ‘TV world’. Green fields, blue skies, and a bright sun – with a buzz and a flicker once in a while. She knew Charlie was nearby, she could sense him. A stroll past the meadow, she found him. “Silly man” she called out to him with a smile. “sssshhh… I am not supposed to have a voice” Charlie said in reply.
It really did not matter! The Technological Singularity had brought Meera to a new world where she could not listen-in to any thoughts and no one judged her and one could hear her laughter for miles, or kilometers – if that is how distance is measured in the ‘TV world’.
I am not sure if everyone else became robots, or if the machines won with the humans, but a little girl found her happiness.
by submission | Aug 11, 2019 | Story |
Author: Desmond White
We were all playing Birdu Vanilla, rumored to be the latest lightbug of Hayashi. The game was a free download on his blog but was posted after his arrest and extradition from the Philippines. The file was up for two hours before someone, probably Interpol, took it down. By then 10 million people were playing the game.
The game menu sported a man in a gray coat and beer yellow glasses, clearly a rendering of Hayashi. He was holding a phone and above him, a gun drone was firing the words Birdu Vanilla through the air. Below the title were the words: Play to Steal! Whatever that meant.
We pressed play.
The game was what the nu-media calls a lifelogger. The object of the game was to use Hayashi’s day tools — rootkits, router implants, zero-day search engines, metahacks, kill clicks — hidden behind cute names like Angel Hips and Mew Mew — to sabotage the infrastructure of the United States. Not a digital United States but the physical nation itself. Players quickly noticed how a meltdown in Oklahoma corresponded with an embedded Hello Doggy. Level six point two involved manufacturing flybots in Area 29. Suddenly drones were swarming from the Rockies.
By the time intelli-tanks were blowing up New Jersey, We the Players — fed-and-fried on bonus yields, insta-highs, level lumps, and omni coins — couldn’t care less about how many cyber-clusters made how many real-life craters. If destroying Fort Bragg meant I could choose a new color scheme, well, this flybot wouldn’t spray-paint itself.
It was only with reluctance that we finished the game, sending infinity drones to defeat the final bosses. There were short posts on forums complaining about this feature. Very short posts. Bosses would typically be sitting in suburban homes, eyes fixed on laptops. Only a few rounds were necessary to obliterate them to meat and bone. Then we’d be forced to watch the credits through blood-wet eyes, lifeless by the time the screen flashed game over.
by submission | Aug 10, 2019 | Story |
Author: Glenn Leung
We decided to go on foot, so we left ‘Yes Sir’ Dave guarding the Rover with orders to keep the engines warm. The regiment of monoliths stood at attention as we walked towards them, piercing the alien sky like blunt yet deadly spears. Streaks of blue, purple and green flora draped their pensive bodies. The planet’s star peeked over one of these colossal tombstones, as if trying to wake this dead city. It was hard to believe all these were natural. I sometimes think about what Earth would look like if everyone just got up and left, and this view always comes up.
As we moved farther from the low hum of the Rover’s engines, the strange foliage seemed to sink us into an uneasy quiet. It was much like the way snow absorbed sound to give a sense of foreboding. I had returned home after watching my classmates partake in the largest snowball fight ever. My mother was on the ground, the tall chair on its side and pieces of broken lightbulb strewn amongst the red ooze. We moved to the city after that, and I discarded my memories to make room for new ones. The sound of nature gave way to the sound of traffic.
We came across a near-rectangular protrusion, and I was asked to examine it and take some samples. I brushed the red vines aside, half expecting to see my grandfather’s name. My father had felt that the only thing he needed to do was spend a month’s salary on a sarcophagus. The visiting was then left to me. After a while, it had probably become something like this. I cannot say I was surprised when what I found was hard soil instead of marble. This was good, I didn’t have to work too hard to chip it away.
Suddenly, Hysteria Ben let out a scream and pointed at the sky behind us.
The team turned around to see the red glow of the setting star, and the peaceful drift of the odd-looking clouds.
“It was a huge shadow, like a tentacle. It swung across the sky then vanished.”
As if on cue, other members of the team started reporting their own sightings. None were as grand as Ben’s, falling mostly on the creepy side. Our commander’s reprimand got swallowed abruptly, so we knew it was time to head back. We returned to a confused Dave who checked his watch as he saw us emerge from the shadows. It was my turn to drive, so I started the engines and turned the Rover back to base.
That night, we were examined, and no evidence of hallucinogens were found. Dave, however, came down with nausea and had to be monitored. We were told to watch ourselves and each other for symptoms. I didn’t want my teammates making their assumptions, so I took my place in the viewing room. I watched the brightness of a billion stars light up the distant monoliths. They were calling. They were calming.
by submission | Aug 9, 2019 | Story |
Author: David C. Nutt
The Chair of the Classics Department made her way through the corridor of the ship to the command section. Along the way the bodies confirmed the Captain had been correct in his assessment: mutiny. She knew what would come next. Execution of the loyal crew, then there would be the mutineer’s celebration, then the mutineers would get rid of all the ‘superfluous’ colonists. Especially persons like herself, a classics professor, with command grade rank to match her academic seniority.
The Professor arrived at the command suit. The Captain’s severed head was on display. Armed guards flanked either side of the door. She looked neither left not right but stood at attention, eyes forward.
“Announce me.”
Despite their sneers, the guards snapped to her command presence, opened the door and announced her to the “new” captain.
It was the Chief Engineer. He smiled like a reptile. “Professor, I think you know your days are numbered. I have control of the ship. I just need your authorizations. I could torture the information out of you, or kill you here and now until my tech people figure a way around it. Make it easier on both of us. For the life of me I don’t know why you have a ‘mutiny protocols’ authorization.” The engineer giggled.
The Professor shrugged. She saw by the former Captain’s computer displays he had time to trigger the lock out. She sighed. “Can I convince you that this is wrong?”
The Chief Engineer laughed “We planned this from the early days of the project. None of you should be out here with us. The old ways are dead we will bring about-
“A new world order? Spare me Chief. I’ve heard it before. Ever thus with tyrants.”
The Chief Engineer scowled. “Give up, you lost. Give me access to your protocols.”
The Professor Drew a deep breath. “No. Computer, mutiny protocols- Accipeiussis tantum vocalis. Latinae tantum.”
“Intellexerunt, Dominae meae.” The computer said
The Chief stood up, reaching for his holster.
“Protegit” the Professor barked out. The crackle of shields surrounded her. The Chief whipped his chair over to the command console and tried several different strings on the keyboard. Nothing worked. He slumped into his chair.
“Immobiles a coniuratis.” The Professor said.
“Intellexerunt.” The computer replied
From all over the ship they both heard the tell-tale hum of stunners, immobilizing the conspirators according to lists so recently entered into the computer by the overconfident conspirators themselves.
The Chief Engineer handed over his blast pistol. The Professor laid it on a bookshelf. She picked up a book belonging to her former Captain. The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. The Professor teared up. “He would have been a great man on the new world. I think I understand his wisdom now. He saw this coming. He arranged all this.”
The Chief Engineer sneered “Now what?”
“Detention and trial for all but the main conspirators.”
“And for them?” the Chief.
The Professor sighed, “The Captain made it quite clear: summary execution.”
The Chief Engineer laughed. “You don’t have the will or the means.”
The Professor shook her head. “I never used to have the will, but I do now. As for means the, Captain provided those for me.” She pointed to the chief Engineer “Pugione in cor meum.”
From the security node in the command cell, a thin beam neatly bored a hole in the Chief Engineer’s chest. As he died he looked to the Professor in confusion. She smiled sympathetically “Latin. It means ‘a dagger to the heart.’”
by submission | Aug 8, 2019 | Story |
Author: Malcolm Carvalho
Bhumi’s idly slurping her milkshake. She has a playful air about her. Okay, I’ve only met her an hour ago, but this feels great.
I have a simple rule when it comes to dating. Get her to acknowledge three common things between us and it’s a good start thereon. Bhumi and I have already found more than that.
Wait, did I say good start? I miss the old times. Having a conversation here has been a struggle. Damn you, Ginzo.
“So, you go rock climbing to Equilibrium?” she asks.
“About once a month,” I say, trying to sound modest. “If you wish, you can join me on the weekend.”
Ouch, should not have said that. What if Ginzo’s cameras catch on the words? Even if I had spoken softly enough to avoid getting picked. I’ve heard they don’t even need to record the sounds these days. Algorithms can read lips better than humans.
Bhumi smiles. She does not talk much. Just how Ginzo wants it, and perhaps she knows that well. People meet, the system sensors measure the pheromone activity, track pupil dilation, our voice pitch. Add in the app users’ votes and we get a compatibility score.
Come on, this silence is killing.
As if on cue, she says. “I’d like you to come see my play when we perform here.”
“I’d love to.” Isn’t she a godsend? Loves climbing, theater. A touch competitive as that bowling game suggested. But man, don’t I love a challenge?
Silence again. I can understand. Neither of us wants to play the game too boldly. And for what? A better date? Who knows if we will be matched up again?
And there’s the risk of Ginzo barring you from the app if you come across as being too You. That’s what the terms and conditions said. Reign it in, ladies and gentlemen. No loud laughter, no advances, not even a peck on the cheek when you say goodnight. First dates must follow protocol. So must the second and third, if you get that far. Let Ginzo decide.
I look at her, maintaining eye contact. Her pupils dilate; it must be a good sign.
Shush, don’t ruin it. Can’t come across as too enthusiastic. Damn it, I must make my intentions clear, whether Ginzo permits it or not.
“You have lovely eyes,” I mumble. Cheesy.
She smiles. “I thought you’d come up with a better line.”
“Like what?”
She leans forward. “Like how they make you feel?”
My feet kick the table. Not hard enough, fortunately.
“Come on, Rohan. You think you can hide it?”
I fumble with my glass. I cover my lips and mouth the words. ‘Do you think I can say it here?’
She reaches out her hand and squeezes mine. At that moment, she looks so pretty I’m convinced she’s out of my league. How on earth did the app pair us up?
That’s when it sinks in. What have I got to lose? I go for broke. I mock-roll my eyes when she slurps her milkshake again. ‘Strawberry? You didn’t outgrow your teens yet?’
‘Big talk from a guy who’s worn Superman socks.’
Touché. We go back and forth with the banter, none holding back. In between, we talk about our childhood, hers in Mysore, mine in Mumbai.
We’ve only begun let our real versions crack out of our online avatars when the app timer buzzes.
We get off the table, hug each other and click a selfie. Ginzo users will vote soon. Now, how do I hack the app to turn the nays into ayes?
