by submission | Nov 9, 2018 | Story |
Author: Ken Carlson
The pain in his side was a steady series of jabs. Alone it wasn’t enough to knock him down; no, the bill from the hospital was good for that. Six months of security work on this mining colony might just cover it if Murphy didn’t worry about food or shelter.
The lights flickered and the jingle of his doorbell interrupted his misery, startling him as he had never received a visitor. He gripped his side and lumbered to the door. It slid open, revealing a doctor he recognized from the hospital. The man was wearing a suit now, instead of his hospital garb, carrying a briefcase and a small computer screen.
“Mr. Murphy? Brian Murphy?”
Murphy nodded.
“You may remember me, Mr. Lewis, from the hospital? May I come in?
Before Murphy could respond, Lewis swept into his quarters and took a seat in Murphy’s recliner, humming quietly to himself. Murphy slowly eased onto the couch, grabbing at his side.
“So, Mr. Murphy, the hospital has completed quite a bit of work on your liver and kidneys, yes…quite a bit, and at no small cost, I must say.
Murphy cut him off. “You did say, Mr. Lewis, not Dr. Lewis?”
“Correct. I’ve only got a few minutes before my next appointment. Now, you’re working this week outside Parsec 5, guarding the energy station, correct?
“What about my work, Mr. Lewis? Am I going to be all right?”
“Let’s talk about your condition.”
Murphy was getting angry and confused. “Stop! What is my condition? Do I have cancer? Is this about the surgery?”
Lewis paused, hummed again, rummaging through his briefcase. “One of your kidneys was removed in surgery, and a continuance energy source, part of the Rawplex series, good brand, was attached to your remaining kidney and liver.”
“Was I shot?” Murphy asked. “Is this part of the plague?”
“There’s no plague, Mr. Murphy. Your kidney was healthy and is helping one of our party leaders to guide us toward a better future. The plague is just something we, uh, well, it’s nothing you need worry about. Now about your work schedule. You have been selected for a very special, and may I say patriotic venture which will benefit you and your family.”
“I have no family. My wife left.”
“No matter. Next Tuesday, at 17:45 you will receive a visit from two gentlemen dressed as repair engineers. When they arrive at your station, you will approve their identification and let them pass. Done. For this task, we will provide you with a small token of our appreciation. In the future, should we require assistance, we will contact you with those opportunities.”
“What? I’m calling the Head of Security. I don’t know what’s going on here.”
“Or,” Mr. Lewis reached into his briefcase and produced a small box, like a thick calculating device, and clicked a button. Murphy cried out in pain, throwing himself to the floor.
“You see, Mr. Murphy? This Rawplex series is quite a machine, efficient, yes?” He collected his materials back in his briefcase. “It has been connected directly to your liver and remaining kidney, important organs for you to survive. As long as you follow instructions, they will have no impact on your life. If you don’t, well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”
Lewis rose to his feet, stepping over Murphy. “Don’t forget! Tuesday, 17:45. Thank you for your assistance.” Lewis exited into the hallway, checking his schedule for his next appointment.
by submission | Nov 7, 2018 | Story |
Author: David Henson
I go to the woman at the check-in of the Identity Bureau and touch the space where my right eye used to be. “I’m Roger Sanders and —”
“Look at the scanner to verify.”
I clear my throat and swirl my finger around in my empty eye socket.
The woman frowns. “Oh, dear. Take a number, please.”
After several minutes, a small, drab-looking man calls my number, and I go to his station.
“I’m Mr. Rire,” he says. “How can I help you?”
“Somebody stole my identity eye.”
He looks at me closely and makes a face. “Get away from me, kid, you bother me.”
I turn to leave.
“Don’t go. Sorry. It’s Open Mic Night at the Anti-Gravity Club. The classics are trending.”
I shrug.
“That was WC Fields. I hear a big-time talent scout’s going to be there tonight.”
“Yeah, sure. How about this hole in my head?”
“Oh… certainly. Your retinal pattern should be on file. You need to get it imprinted on an artificial implant.”
“How? I can’t prove to my insurance company who I am or access my bank account. I can’t even get through security at the plant where I work.”
He stares at my eye socket. “Did it hurt?”
“A guy lurched at me in broad daylight and shlupped it out with a vacuum-thingy and cauterized it all at once. Felt only a pinch.”
“They’re getting more brazen and sophisticated. You’re my second today.” Mr. Rire nods at a woman seated in the back of the room. She has her head turned slightly to the right and is tapping a pad. He hands one to me. “Complete this identity questionnaire. We’ll use it to confirm you are who you claim.”
I scroll through the form. “You’re kidding. All this?”
Mr. Rire smiles. “Lucy, you’ve got some splainin’ to do.”
I shrug and glance back at the pad. “How am I supposed to know the name of my great grandmother’s favorite pet?”
“All that information’s been previously uploaded. So normally you confirm your identity, and the form auto-completes.”
I turn my head to the left and lean close to his face.
“I know. Kind of a catch 22 for people like you, isn’t it? Fill in what you can. I’ll see what I can do.” Mr. Rire waggles his eyebrows. “Those are my principles, and if you don’t like them, I have others.” He looks at me expectantly.
I shake my head.
“Julius Henry Marx.”
“The Communism fellow?”
Mr. Rire sighs. I take a seat next to the one-eyed woman and spend the next two hours working on the form.
***
Mr. Rire turns out to be a good guy. He gets the one-eyed woman and me temporary ID codes synced to our left retinas. He also gets us jobs waiting tables at the Anti-Gravity Club. Neither of us makes much, and I’m becoming way too familiar with old, corny humor. But at least we’re paying our rents and not starving. Ethel and I should both have implants with our real IDs in a few months.
Ethel talks constantly about returning to her holo surgery practice when she gets her validated identity back. I go on about how much I miss my work as a geologist on an interplanetary explorer. I don’t know why I lie. I guess the good thing about being nobody is it gives you a chance to be somebody.
by submission | Nov 4, 2018 | Story |
Author: Mark Joseph Kevlock
“They all came to see me: the man who could age — or de-age — at will. They all thought it was a trick. When you reach one hundred years of age, the body becomes elastic, the flesh conforms to the soul. If I thought myself a ten-year-old, I became such again, as I had once been. The body remembers its past, catalogues its every phase for later retrieval. If, boy, you know how. That’s why I’m tellin’ you all this: to teach you. You can’t learn if you don’t believe. So believe. The universe won’t let me die until I pass on its secrets. There’s a train coming at midnight down the celestial tracks. I mean to be on it, boy. So time is short. Listen again. They made me the main attraction. Even my fellow performers said I had six relatives, stashed in the wings, poppin’ up on cue. They didn’t believe, either. Happened right in front of them. They thought they were hypnotized somehow. The real secret to the transformation is in grabbin’ a memory, not lettin’ go. Fear attaches itself to failure in all human endeavors. Just don’t be afraid, boy. Let old Malcolm Manchester perform for ya’ one last time. Here it goes… I’m thinking of springtime up on the roof. Suburban beginnings, before I ran away to join the circus. Thirteen years of dreaming ready to explode its seed, shower the landscape of this crummy town. And… voila! Presto chango! Look at me, boy. I’m younger ‘n you. Soprano again. My body ain’t forgot. Time unwinds, before the power of the human will. Wait, now. Feel those tracks, gettin’ up a vibration? I can’t miss that train, boy. Won’t be another for some time. Heaven’s Own Special. ‘Course you can’t feel it comin’. You have a century plus before your train arrives. I hit a hundred and discovered my talent. Thought about quitting when I was ninety-eight. A long time to wait for something to happen in one’s life. Hey, look at me now. I’m seventy-three. Still a child, though, in the places it counts. At seventy-three I clambered back upon that same suburban rooftop over my family home. The world gets older if you live long enough to perceive it. The eras try to leave you behind. Don’t fall for that linear nonsense, boy. If you lived in outer space, what time would it be? What seasons would change? I’m hearin’ a hum. Lucky thing, got my bags packed. Before I go, you’ll have to show me. Demonstrate that you’ve learned, mastered my elementary parlor trick. Try it now. Pull down your courage… and show the world your wonder. Hurry up. Once the moment passes, you never get another just like it. I put in a word for you under the big top. Gave you a recommendation as my protege. Let’s see somethin’ I won’t believe. Wait, I’m thirty-nine now, playing with toys on the floor. I just saw Santa Claus. What’s that, boy? The power to set wishes free? Good choice. Wishing is half of reality. My wish? To bring out the children inside of us. Children of all ages. Stand back, here she comes. I’m ten years old. I’ll never get any older. I can roll like a boulder down a hillside and never break a bone. The train doesn’t stop, boy. You gotta run to catch it. You gotta leap on board and never miss. My legs will carry me anywhere. See ya’, boy, at the end of the line.”
by submission | Nov 3, 2018 | Story |
Author: J. H. Malone
“Happy Valentine’s Day!”
“Oh, Honey, for me? How sweet!”
“Open it. Then I’ll take you out to dinner.”
“Ok, just let me… What could it be?… Wow!… A CRISPR valentine…”
“I taped the pills to the back. Let’s take them now and in a month, every cell in our bodies will contain a swatch of the other’s DNA.”
“Are the pills homemade? They’re kind of…”
“My cousin has a setup in his garage.”
“Leonard?”
“Don’t be mean. Leonard is a smart guy.”
“Hmm…”
“Come on, Baby.”
“How did you get my DNA?”
“Uh…”
“Oh… Right… Ok, then. Down the hatch!”
“Here goes nothing!”
“Together forever! I love you, Peter… and I don’t think it takes a month once we swallow them.”
“What? Leonard said…”
“No, never mind. You’re right. In a month.”
“Why would you say it doesn’t take a month?”
“I just… I probably heard…”
“Wait a minute. Have you done this before?”
“Listen…”
“It was Fred, wasn’t it. That bozo. All your cells are polluted with Fred DNA, aren’t they? I don’t believe it. I’ve shared my toothbrush with you.”
“I’m so sorry! I was young. I was innocent. I thought I was in love.”
“I’m just… I can see him in you. That skunk.”
“No, no, Peter. His pill didn’t change me at all… I can tell when I’ve eaten asparagus, but that’s about all… and I’m allergic to peanuts…”
“You can hold your liquor too, for a girl. I’ll bet that came from Fred.”
“Forget about Fred. What am I getting from your DNA? Your jealousy?”
“Hey, don’t blame the victim here.”
“It was after Fred’s valentine that I started getting a yen for you, out of the blue. Maybe you ought to be thanking him.”
“Fine, Janice. Whatever. I just wanted it to be a surprise, is all.”
“It is totally a surprise. Actually, I’m honored. You’ve had so many girlfriends, but now I’m the special one.”
“Yes…”
“Oh my God! The guilty look on your face! Your lying gene is lousy. I hope that one isn’t in my pill… You’ve got some Lucy McGowan in you, don’t you? That tramp. She lies every time she opens her mouth. And Vanessa Pazzoli. How could you? And Mai Lei Sook? Afrina Bokadella? I’ll bet you’ve swapped DNA with all of them. Peter, you’re not the man I thought you were.”
“At least I’m not allergic to nuts. Plus, I’ve still got the old Y chromosome. I’ll prove it after dinner.”
“Ok, that’s it. I want you to leave. Please. Take one of your other valentines out to dinner. I’m just another girl to you.”
“No, no, Janice. Listen. This is a CRISPR PLUS valentine. First time I’ve ever given one.”
“What’s CRISPR PLUS?”
“The pills include the CRISPR gene drive, so our babies are gonna get extra me and you genes.”
“Our babies?… Oh, Peter… Are you saying…”
“Yes. And these pills will also swap our love genes.”
“Huh? What’s our love genes?”
“Leonard didn’t say, exactly, but he said now we’ll love each other forever, guaranteed. The divorce lawyers tried to get it banned but they couldn’t. So will you marry me?”
“Oh my God, Peter. I… I don’t know what to say… I think the pill’s kicking in. I can feel the love… Yes! I’ll marry you!”
“Excellent! So where do you want to go for dinner?”
by submission | Nov 2, 2018 | Story |
Author: DJ Lunan
Earth’s first extra-terrestrial visitor for 500 years is a peace offering and a miscalculation.
Intended for a swift twenty-year journey through its own solar system in the Monfix Galaxy, the visitor that breached Earth’s atmosphere had voyaged for almost 4,000 years from Urabia.
The visitor is a Fexil Box. It is tiny, no larger than a human fist. This Box contains a graphene alloy 3D printer, with Yttrium salts for energy and Lithium trioxide for connectivity. The printer is remarkable technology to humans, while for Urabians, it is a veritable antique that we only use to teach schoolchildren the value of inter-species communication. Indeed, Earth’s visitor is a peace offering from Class 5Vx of Vihin Primary School. Of course, they are all long dead.
“My Great-Grandfather was in Class 5Vx”, began President Monbieux, barely holding back tears, standing in front of footage of the long-forgotten Fexil Box falling to the blue planet.
When it lands on a remote beach on the Skua Islands, it barely disturbed the hot white sand. First, an umbrella emerges for communication and shelter. Next eight limbs sprout and the voyager struts into the forest, where it has identified the crucial mix of basic grapheme, terbium, and fresh water. Here, it extends a drilling syphon into the forest floor and quickly begins extraction. Then, silently, the visitor begins printing.
Under the umbrella, the production line is efficient, with newly-printed parts neatly stacking and self-assembling.
Meteorological tempests on Skua are violent and punctual. Beginning at 11 pm each day, wind and heavy tropical rain lash the island. Every living thing does its best to hide.
The first Limax maximus – a large slug – finds the Fexil Box at 1 am, and shelters happily under its communication umbrella, overhanging the efficient, silent industry of the printing press. Like all residents of Skua, Limax dream of unreserved shelter, and being gregarious, this first slug uses its happiest pheromones to signal to its family scattered across the forest.
Bliss proves an overwhelming draw, and within an hour, forty slugs are clinging to the underside of the umbrella, sleeping, mating and defecating.
Little did the slugs, Urabians or humans know that those specific mucous secretions from the sheltering slugs are caustic to the printer’s bullet-proof graphene alloy. By 3 am, the printer structure was visibly corroding, slowing production. Soon the printer begins malfunctioning and emitting sharp industrial noises. Its newly-minted components began disintegrating.
“This barbarity is obscene, criminal!”, announced President Monbieux to the transfixed Urabians watching the disintegration.
Dawn broke the storm. The Limax secretions had corroded tiny holes in every hinge, joint, pivot, and fulcra which were perfect for early-rising Neuroptera – net-winged flies – to lay their eggs. The larvae hatch within an hour and gorge on the nutrient-rich cocktail of love mucus and base minerals abandoned during the ongoing corrosion of the graphene alloy. The hungry larvae devour for the morning in the shade of the umbrella, before transforming into winged giants and flying to their nocturnal feeding grounds.
The larvae albumen provided the final fatal ingredient to the chemical cocktail, rendering the printer inert. By dusk, all components new and old stopped communicating. The unstable umbrella detached with that evening’s first winds, and communication with Urabia was lost.
Across Urabia, pictures loomed on screens around Urabia of Limax and Neuroptera tag-teamed destruction of the Fexil Box and its printers. Nostalgic Urabians wistfully remembered the innocence of their schooldays, and the midnight launches of the homemade Fexil Boxes promoting peace and love across their solar system.
“This aggression cannot go unpunished! What sort of race deserves to live that would destroy a child’s toy!”
