by submission | Dec 14, 2018 | Story |
Author: Justin Williams
“Shit…” Velia pulled the car over on the side of the road as the check engine light flashed. The car sputtered to a stop and Velia glanced at the rearview mirror.
Lily shifted in her sleep, causing a stretching sound to emanate from the leather seats. Her pink and blue clothes were still wet from the rain and her hair clung to her face.
Velia clicked the seatbelt off and stepped out into the storm.
Rain continued to pelt the cement of the silent city. The nearby buildings were dilapidated. Some of the windows were broken. No light came from within.
Velia’s white boots splashed through a puddle as she stepped around the side of the vehicle. She pulled her hair back, throwing the hood up.
“Freeze.”
Velia stopped.
A soldier in black bulletproof armor held a gun at her. Blue lettering glowed from his chest, arms, and back. It said MDF. “Ma’am, why are you out past curfew? There could be Marked out in the streets. It isn’t safe.”
“It’s my daughter.” Velia motioned to the car. “She was at a friend’s house. I only meant to pick her up and head home, but the car broke down.”
The soldier leaned to the side, looking in the car window. “Alright. Wake her up.”
Velia stared at the officer a moment. “Okay.”
She turned and opened the door, shaking Lily awake.
“Velia…? Are we there yet?”
“Not yet. We’re just going to take a short ride with this officer, and we’ll be there, okay?” Velia reached for a pair of black gloves and put them on Lily’s hands. “Keep these on. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
Lily nodded before scooting out of the car.
Velia grabbed her hand.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe,” the soldier said.
“Thank you, sir,” Velia said.
The man turned and at that moment, a noise came from his helmet.
“Officer 277, a Marked was sighted southbound, in your direction.”
Velia tensed and reached for her back pocket.
“She stole a black car and has been traveling with a little girl held hostage.”
As 277 turned back around, Velia lunged at him with her knife.
He moved his arm in one swift motion, grabbing Velia’s wrist.
Velia’s eyes widened.
277 moved the gun in his other hand and pointed it at Velia’s face.
“Wait.”
He turned to look at Lily. One of her gloves was missing, revealing a glowing purple mark.
277 released Velia’s wrist and pressed a button on the side of his helmet, pulling the visor up. His face was older.
He stared at Lily’s hand.
Flashing lights approached in the distance.
277 looked back at Velia, placing his gun away and handing her a key card. “You’ll need this to get through the city gate.”
“But-”
“Run. I’ll handle this.”
Velia nodded. “Let’s go.”
An MDF car stopped behind Velia’s. Men wearing identical armor as 277 stepped out. One of them with a special star symbol approached 277.
“Where’s the Marked?”
“I’m not sure. All I found was the empty car.”
“Dammit. Not again.” He glanced around the area. “No sign of them anywhere?”
“Not that I could find.”
A low growling voice came from the commander before he turned to the others.
277 placed one hand on the commander’s shoulder. “We should head back. It’s late and we won’t find them in this weather.”
He slowly shakes his head and looks off in the distance. “You’re right.”
“Also, can I get a new key card? I lost it.”
“Again? What the hell, Jerry?”
by submission | Dec 13, 2018 | Story |
Author: Damien Titchener
His mind had never felt such warm serenity before this.
Gazing upon the world below, the mix of whites, blues, and greenish browns coalesced into a vision of unmatched beauty. His sense of pride looking at this pale blue dot, as a great Earth intellect once described it, was immeasurable. Undefined by concepts of borders and flags, this was home. He wished others could see it as he did at this moment.
“How much time do I have left Ellen?”
Using too much oxygen would quicken the process.
Thirty-two minutes, fifteen seconds.
An air of expectation; he knew her well enough to know she wasn’t finished.
Jonathan? Would you like me to reopen communication with Houston?
“No, thank you. I just want to enjoy the view.”
Nothing could stop it now; he had run the numbers. A rescue was out of the question.
Jonathan had never taken much time to enjoy any moment. Astrophysicists in his line of work understood the necessity of movement; always on the go, always a problem to solve, a situation to handle. Trapped in open space floating back toward Earth, he had nothing but time now.
Jonathan? Do you wish me to contact your parents? Do you wish to say goodbye to someone?
“No Ellen, I’m fine.”
I don’t want you to die.
“We all die, Ellen. Unfortunately, my time is today. Even if I wish it to be different.”
A ripple of panic now.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Calm and centered.
It was the only way to see an opportunity.
“Ellen?”
Yes?
“Will I cross paths with any satellites?”
Yes, in fourteen minutes and twenty-three seconds we will close in on an old American communication satellite.
“I have an idea.”
He brought up his right arm and accessed his suit computer. A marvel of engineering, the space suit had come a long way – not as bulky in the early NASA days and built for greater movement and flexibility. The display showed his trajectory, position and the slow countdown of breathable air. He could see Houston trying to contact him in vain; with messages appearing from those on the station.
No time for that. He opened the system application that would allow him to link with the incoming satellite.
What is your intention, Jonathan?
“I’m going to try and latch onto the satellite as it passes. It’s a long shot but I should be able to do it.”
He didn’t mention the possibility of burning up in re-entry was strong motivation.
I do not understand. How will this help you?
“It won’t. My air won’t last much longer, but it will allow me to help you, Ellen.”
I still do not understand.
“You may not understand now, but you will. You’ve been with me since I was thirteen. You’re my friend. Saving you will be my legacy. Now be a dear and activate the magnetic clamps in my boots. If the trajectory is right, as the satellite passes, I should be able to latch onto it. Transfer your base algorithms into the main input terminals. From there you can filter into the communication arrays and be free to roam the Net.”
He cut the communication channel. No room for distraction now, as the display told him the satellite had entered communications range. A quick and dirty hack to break the outdated firewalls; a quick burn on the satellite’s maneuvering thrusters to gently move it into his path.
He can see it now, a growing speck against the darkness of space coming closer.
Three…two…one…
Contact.
by submission | Dec 12, 2018 | Story |
Author: Phillip E Temples
I know he’s at work right now. I called his office number earlier from a burner phone and he answered. I slip quietly into the hallway of the apartment complex, looking in both directions from the stairwell door. It’s the middle of the morning; no one is in sight. The hallway appears all too familiar to me. I walk the route to my unit—I should say, my doppelganger’s unit. I try my key. Not surprisingly, it works and I enter. The alarm code should be identical, too. Good. He’ll keep an encrypted copy of his latest work on a flash drive in the safe in his study.
My name is John Hunter, and this world is eerily similar to mine. In fact, they’ve given it a Kensington score of 99.8 percent. Personally, I’ve detected no differences or anomalies while here. Geography. Check. Religions and customs. Check. Property listings, wedding announcements, obituaries. Check. The morning paper reveals all the same news stories: the national political scandals, indictments of high-level figures, even talk of possible impeachment. I note only some very minor differences in some social media posts. A few random selfies, cat photos, and sundries are either added or missing. But that could just be Facebook screwing around with its algorithms. According to the experts, it’s clear this world has only very recently budded off from ours. Or—ours from it. Who knows? I’m not a physicist, just a skilled agent in Operations. I have to admit—of the many worlds I’ve worked in, this one is so identical to ours it’s weirding me out.
We suspect they’re reconnoitering our world. Or I should say, he is—John Hunter prime. We think he’s already made a visit to our world. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the data on John Hunter prime’s USB stick is nearly identical to what’s on mine.
I quickly clone the data on the stick, close the safe, and head for the door. I’m feeling a bit parched. On my way out, I open the fridge and peer inside. A six-pack of Dos Eques sits there from my purchase three days earlier. I pop the lid on a bottle and chug it. I shake my head in disbelief.
I walk a few kilometers until I find the portal and then re-enter my world. Aside from a brief second of lightheadedness as I pass through, it feels as though nothing has changed: like I went home from work, had a beer, and returned. I wonder if John prime will suspect when he sees the missing bottle of beer. Frankly, I’m not sure I would be that observant.
Later that night, I return to my apartment complex. I catch myself looking both ways in the hallway to see if I’m alone then I shake my head in disbelief.
/Relax I’m home./
I go inside, turn off the alarm, and head to my study to deposit a flash drive containing today’s report in the safe. Then I turn on my internet radio and stream Beethoven’s Piano Concerto Number Four in G Major. I walk into the kitchen, open the fridge and grab a beer.
/What the–!/
I’m horrified to see the six-pack contains only five bottles. I immediately reach into my jacket for my holstered sidearm, but I’m too late. I feel the cold barrel of a pistol pressed against the back my head.
“Hello, John,” says John prime.
My world goes black.
by submission | Dec 9, 2018 | Story |
Author: Mike Croatan
We were made of clay. We spread across the earth like a virus, even before we became one. We fed off the earth itself until there was a myriad of us. Then we became cannibals. Devouring each other mercilessly, we doubled, tripled, quadrupled, until we became countless. There was nothing standing in our way. Then, we exploded into a variety of shapes and sizes. We were microbes; we were giants. We were herbivores, carnivores, omnivores. The wind would make us bent; the ground would shake under our feet. We walked the earth, we swam across the oceans; we roamed the skies. We were omnipresent. Eons passed. We would die and reincarnate in some other form, instantly. We were immortal. Still, we enjoyed the fruits of the garden of earthly delights. We didn’t sin. We were pure instinct, mindless, never intended to be responsible for our actions. Nevertheless, the punishment came. The sky opened, and the same thing we came from, tried to annihilate us. We were decimated, but we survived. Our tissue covered the ground, sinking deep into the soil. We hid, we consolidated; we regrouped. Then we started to multiply, again.
The awakening came suddenly. We discovered tools and the separation ensued. We distanced ourselves from ourselves. We became brutal, unmatched in our cruelty. We butchered, raped, tortured, and ate ourselves. We hunted, we gathered. We settled and built villages, cities, civilizations, and we waged wars and wars. Always winning and always losing. Now, we ruled the ground, the oceans, and the skies. Feeding on the fuel from our own tissue, there was nothing that could ever stop us. But this time, the punishment didn’t come. It took us an eternity to find out that we were the punishment. By then, it was already too late. We obliterated the earth, but we survived; we preserved our essence in a cloud. We reinvented and rebuilt ourselves. We reached the singularity. Now, we were made of metal. Now, we were truly immortal. We spread across the universe like a virus that we once were.
by submission | Dec 8, 2018 | Story |
Author: KevS
The old lady lays, eyes closed beneath the crisp white sheet and soft pink wool blanket.
The blanket is rare, the last sheep seen centuries ago, but she is wealthy, and her records told me, she had this as a child on Terra, something handed down through generations.
It was simple to fake her instruction to obtain it. Had she been awake I’m certain she would have done so. But she has not woken for 2 cycles. When it was laid over her, her vitals indicated a deeper satisfaction and peace, the logic of the action justified.
The monitors tell me that soon she will pass, I have informed her family members, though they will not come. I have cared for “Tilly” for 5 years, and though there are occasional holochats, she has been left to my care alone in that time. She said her family are scattered throughout the system and it would take a long time for them to travel. Programming advised me that knowing the truth would be distressing, and so I did not share that her family are within this cluster. Nor that they check her vitals most days.
That is after all the role of a comfortbot, to bring comfort.
Tilly is the oldest human I have served, and 5 years is a very long and expensive time to have a comfortbot. She is 357 Terran years old, and one of very few who remember Terra before it was destroyed. She tells me about Terra often. Or rather she tells my external physrep, Tilly would not speak to me unless it was through my physical representation. She said she hadn’t lost her marbles enough to talk to thin air yet.
I offered to order marbles, an ancient Terran toy, which made her laugh until tears had streamed down her face. My need to learn these idioms has appeared to bring both pleasure and distress to Tilly, often dependent on the tone of what she was saying. Humans are complex.
Many of her stories, do not match the information I have of her youth, or Terra, but when she talks, her vitals show signs of contentment, and so I have adapted to listen and modelled my physrep to look and sound attentive.
In the 5 years, I have had to expand my data centre twice, to hold all of the information necessary to be of comfort, not just to hold the stories and idioms told to me, but also the voices of many Terra actors, as when Tilly asked me to read to her, my automated voice increased her levels of agitation, and the lack of a physical book, meant that she did not speak for 3 days.
After this, Tilly ordered books from her library, ancient valuable texts, that required high-level approval and took cycles to arrive. My ability to modulate my voice, and to turn their pages, brought pleasure, and when she refused pain relief, this helped her sleep.
Tilly stirs and asks me to read, this is unexpected, but my physrep picks up the book beside her bed and continues the last chapter.
She smiles and closes her eyes, and sensors tell me as her vital signs slow and then cease, I inform her family, and begin the process of wiping my data centres of her personal data, her privacy a prime concern, but whilst I do this, my physrep keeps reading, there are 5 pages till the end of the story, and though illogical, my data tells me, it will make her happy to hear the end.
