by submission | Sep 13, 2019 | Story |
Author: Carl Perrin
These new cars are really something. They not only drive themselves, but they can talk with the driver. I bought a new Lexus last month. It communicates with the health app on my iPhone so it can read my blood pressure, heart rate, body temperature and everything else. Like when some idiot pulls out in front of you or something like that, the Lexus can tell from my vital signs if I’m upset. She talks to me in a quiet, gentle tone until I calm down. I call it “her” because she has a sultry, female voice. I even gave her a name: Lulu.
Yesterday I was driving to work—or more accurately—being driven to work. And Lulu didn’t turn on Congress Street, where I would normally go to get to my job. I didn’t think anything of it at first. She gets GPS signals about traffic conditions. I figured that there must be construction or a traffic accident up ahead. Then I realized that we were on Route 1, heading south.
“Where are we going, Lulu? This isn’t the way to my job at Johnston, Inc.”
“I know. You’re taking the day off.”
“I can’t take the day off. We’ve been working all week on the big sales projection.”
“Jimmy, you’re all tensed up. You’re in no condition to work today. Your blood pressure is through the roof. Did you remember to take your metoprolol this morning?”
“It doesn’t matter what my blood pressure is. If I’m not on the job this morning, I’ll be in big trouble.”
“Think about it, Jimmy. In your present state, you won’t be a productive member of the team. But if you take the morning off and relax, you’ll be able to look at the project with new eyes. You’ll be able to come up with fresh ideas. Franklin will be grateful.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll email Franklin and tell him you’re taking a mental health day. Sit back and enjoy the ride. We’ll be in Old Orchard Beach in just a few minutes.”
By the time we got to OOB, I was late for work, and about forty minutes from Portland. I still couldn’t stop worrying. I wasn’t sure how receptive Franklin would be to my taking a mental health day.
Still, it was nice riding slowly along the ocean. The waves were a beautiful deep green that morning. There weren’t many people at the beach that morning. In a little over a month, after Memorial Day, it would be crowded with people soaking up the sunshine.
Lulu pulled up to a seafood restaurant. “How long has it been since you had fried clams?” she asked. “I know you love them.”
I sat there for a minute or so. Then she continued: “Go on. Get a pint of clams and a couple of beers. Sit at that bench and bask in the sun while you eat.”
I hadn’t had any clams since last summer, so I really did enjoy them and the PBR that I used to wash them down. It was so pleasant there in the sun that I fell asleep for a while. You can see that I got a little sunburn on my face.
Why am I here at home at three o’clock in the afternoon? That suspicious bastard Franklin didn’t believe me when I told him that my car had kidnapped me and taken me to Old Orchard Beach. He fired me, so I don’t have a job anymore.
by submission | Sep 12, 2019 | Story |
Author: Jessica Brook Johnson
I saw things in the night sky my neighbors did not. Glimmers of iridescent light against the backdrop of stars. I think it was because of what happened to me during the blackouts. Every time I blacked out, I woke up different somehow. A prosthetic arm that operated with the slow frustration of a claw crane in an arcade machine. Skin that clotted grey and shined silver in the light, or glowed blue in the dark. And now, this time, something must have happened to my vision.
I decided to follow these sky glimmers to see where they might lead. People said that the neighborhood was all that existed, and all that ever would exist. But if that were true, why was I changing? I needed answers before I woke up and I was no longer even me anymore.
As the sun set on my neighborhood, glimmers became visible in the darkening sky, like they did every night since my latest change. I followed the glimmers, watching them gather and thicken until I reached the edge of the neighborhood. Now the glimmers bunched together like the electrodes in a plasma orb when someone put their finger on the glass.
The only thing visible beyond this point to most people was endless sky. Or in my case, a crackling wall of rainbow-colored light. We had been told never to venture beyond this point because those who did never came back. And for most people, there was no need to go further. Everything they needed fell from the sky—food, toiletries, clothing, entertainment.
But I needed answers.
I continued staring at the flickering wall of light, when one of the glimmers disappeared, forming an opening. Taking a deep breath, I ignored the blood crashing to my eardrums and bolted through.
What I saw on the other side was unimaginable. Incomprehensible. I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking. Towering structures of a sinuous latticework rippled up from the ground, forming moiré patterns that arced across the sky. The latticework throbbed like a living being, glowing with a blue bioluminescence. Rivers of grey flowed through the air, guided by rainbow-colored swirls of light, curving around the lattices and branching into fractal formations that sparkled silver. Spherical machines flew overhead, filling the air with a pervasive mosquito hum. Some melted into the rivers and reshaped elsewhere.
Behind me, my neighborhood was now covered in a rainbow-colored dome of light. And hundreds of other domes like it dotted the landscape. No, thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands. Maybe millions. All with an army of spherical machines flying above, dropping food and supplies from the sky.
A mass of grey liquid rose from one of the nearby rivers, coalescing into a faceless, androgynous humanoid. My fear turned to ice in my veins as this being began to walk toward me. But I kept my feet rooted in place, forcing myself not to run. This being might have answers for me about what I was becoming. Yet as I stared at the silver hues and blue bioluminescence around me, I got a sinking feeling in my gut that I already knew.
by submission | Sep 8, 2019 | Story |
Author: A.M. Miles
The artificial intelligence called Capsaicin is an eight-foot tall tower of star-steel that leaps through the dust-filled air in perfect grand jetes, their legs parallel to the ground, their arms flying to their sides like wings ready to take them to the skies. Day light glints off their steel body and makes little suns. It pokes Dynamo in the eyes, forcing him to look away, and the scant few seconds he’s depraved of the view are the worst in his life.
“Go on,” Powder Keg says, “Talk to ‘em.” She’s seated next to him at the outdoor bar, a lascivious grin slapped on her face, half-hidden by greasy hair.
Dynamo cracks open another bottle, “Nah, nah. You think an intelligence would wanna have words with me?”
Powder Keg rolls her eyes, “If you keep bloody staring they’re gonna have words with you whether you like it or not.”
Dynamo grumbles and wipes some errant dirt off his chipped front tooth. Capsaicin never stops dancing.
“You still have that tape, don’t you?” Powder Keg says, reaching over the bar for a bottle of whiskey.
“Which tape? We have a lot of tapes.”
“From the Dune Baron. And a one, and a two.” She says, miming a pianist.
“Maybe. Yeah. What’s it to you?” Dynamo isn’t looking at Powder Keg.
She grins, “You spent three weeks learning the dance on it.”
“You spyin’ on me?”
“All those moves, and those spins,” She says, “Never nailed the jump, though.”
Dynamo is silent.
“Ow, ow,” something smacks Dynamo on the head. Powder Keg’s holding her bottle by the neck.
“You’re staring again.”
“Jealous, love?”
“Jealous?” Powder Keg scoffs and smoothes her hair back. A scar runs across her forehead, “The only thing I’m jealous of is how clean they are. Do you know the last time I had a real shower?”
Dynamo doesn’t reply. Capsaicin is closer.
Powder Keg groans and reaches for another bottle.
They’re machine perfection. Dynamo knows they’d been designed by someone far smarter and richer than him, but their eyes, a blazing fiery orange to match the dust, flutters between every little thing in their world – besides Dynamo. He can’t care about their artificial birth. Whatever Capsaicin is now is more real than most everyone he knows.
“Oi, scrap!”
A brute, face hidden beneath a spiked gas mask stumbles out from a corrugated shack across the street. Capsaicin stops, and the street joins them.
“You don’ own this town!” The brute slurs. His hands are bundled into fists the size of Dynamo’s head, and a jet-fueled hammer is strapped to his back.
“Dynamo, I swear,” Powder Keg says.
He fumbles for his gun.
The brute screams and rushes Capsaicin. Dynamo takes aim. The brute collapses to the orange ground without his head.
Dynamo balks at his pistol. The barrel’s cool.
A tendril’s popped up from Capsaicin’s shoulder, buzzing with electrified heat. Powder Keg guffaws and returns to her liquor. Scavengers go on their way after looting the brute’s corpse.
Then Dynamo realises he’s right beside Capsaicin.
“You tried to help me,” they say. Their voice is a gourmet blend of static and androgyny. Dynamo has never had anything that could be called “gourmet”, but he’s sure this is it.
“Uhh,” Dynamo says.
“Go on you stupid bastard.” Powder Keg says. Capsaicin laughs, and their half upturned grin returns.
“Spit it out,” Capsaicin says, “That’s supposedly what humans do.”
“Could we dance?” Dynamo doesn’t hear the tremor in his voice.
“We could,” Capsaicin says with happy eyes, and envelopes his hand in theirs.
by submission | Sep 7, 2019 | Story |
Author: Palmer Caine
Something knocked on the window. I saw its form in the mirror, but no detail. Before I spoke it slid open the door and landed on the back seat. I watched it in the rear view mirror, trying to find a comfortable spot.
“Where ya off too?” I asked once it stopped wriggling.
It gurgled as it spoke, “Just get me out of this district,” it said, it’s laborious breath weighted and difficult.
“Traffics slow. That ok with you?” I wanted to be certain.
“Yeah, sure.” It gurgled, “Darken the windows back here will you.” It added with a burp. I did as it requested.
Fifteen minutes later we had left the Longmere District for the Kytori straight. I turned slightly to address my fare;
“So whereabouts do you want dropping?” I smiled broadly. My father told me it’s harder to assault someone if they are smiling.
My fare groaned and gurgled, I caught sight of a stomach wound, if Its stomach was situated as a humans’ is. Thick green blood caked the creature’s clothing. Its flesh, also caked, was a dark grey and wrinkled. There were dry patches above the wound, but the blood hadn’t stopped pumping.
“Look erm…” I began, “Where do ya want me to take you? I don’t really want you dead in my cab.” It laughed heartily, spitting dark green goo over the back over my seat.
“Do you know what I am?” it asked. I looked round and eyed it thoughtfully. Three of its six eyes blinked.
“You’re a Nix,” I said confidently.
It seemed to smile, “Well done.” It gurgled, “You’re right, I am Nix.” Then It paused and took a stilted breath, resting Its head on the back of the seat.
“But once,” It continued after a short pause, “I was much more. The Generalissimo, the Protector, the National Thought…” It gagged suddenly, each syllable gurgled green. Catching Its breath, It told me to head for the, “…Gronzia borough.” and fell silent.
Soon enough we were outside the city limits where districts become boroughs. My fare had been in and out of consciousness for a while and I was beginning to consider places to dump the body. The last thing I wanted was Official Police involvement. I was about to scout a possible disposal site when my fare addressed me, leaning forward to speak directly into my ear:
“Where are we going?” It asked, it’s stinking breath hot on my neck. “I told you Gronzia, G-Ronzia.”
“Yep,” I smiled nervously, “Th.That’s it, that’s it. Be about fifteen minutes. You re…sit back and relax…” I stumbled through the words.
My fare chortled and fell back. It pressed Its bloody print to the scanner giving the journey generous credit and me a good tip. I caught Its name, Doozkl, not a name I recognised. The way It’d spoken I thought Doozkl might be some big shot, someone in the news, someone who knew the big nasty the Grand Nix, the Generalissimo, as It had claimed. Doozkl reflection smiled at me in the mirror.
Approaching the Gronzia Borough Doozkl punched in an address code, illuminating my dash map. Minutes later we were descending into an area dense with moss, bordered by towering thickets. We landed and Doozkl proved to be surprisingly spritely, leaping out of the cab and disappearing into the thickets of moss laughing.
Cleaning the cab at the end of my shift I found a scrap of paper screwed up on the floor behind my seat. The writing was Nix, it said, ‘The King is Dead, Long Live the King.’
by submission | Sep 6, 2019 | Story |
Author: Bryce Matthews
One day, inexplicably, Henry Jacobs began to travel through time.
He wasn’t sure why. Henry was only nineteen and had accomplished an extraordinarily small amount of things in that time. Why didn’t this happen to a scientist, a historian, or even an artist? He pondered, walking aimlessly through the streets of a new Rome. Why me?
The next day Henry sat small in the sand as the Pyramids were built before his eyes. He was astonished by their size, a Goliath to his David. He wanted to get up and sprint to the construction, to help out in any way possible, to contribute to one of the wonders of the world. But instead, he sat, feeling like he was sinking deeper and deeper, as insignificant as a few grains of sand.
Throughout the next few weeks, Henry witnessed the greatest humanity had to offer. He witnessed the rise of empires and oversaw the fall of villains. He touched what would be priceless artifacts and saw the birth of legends.
And, on the last day, he arrived in a hospital.
It was ordinary, nothing more or less than normal. There were no calendars or landmarks to name a year, but the technology Henry saw looked modern enough.
There was silence, save for a weak crying at the end of the hallway. Henry snuck as quietly as he could, peeping in through an open door. Inside was a mother holding a newborn baby, a smiling father by her side. Both were immediately familiar.
The nurse came by the bed, checking on the mother and making small talk.
“So, have you two decided on a name yet?”
“I think we have,” the father said.
“We’re going to name him Henry,” the mother continued. “Henry Jacobs.”
