by submission | Jun 7, 2018 | Story |
Author: Mina
Amaya strode down the gently curving corridor, glad she had worn her sensible heels to the reception. All the corridors at the Lublina Space Station curved gently. It made you long for straight lines and sharp, right-angled corners. She was worried and hoping she’d find Mayana where she always went when she needed to find peace. Amaya had been too far away to hear what that git, Edward, had said this time, but close enough to see Mayana’s face for that millisecond of naked pain. Then her face had shut down completely and she had simply turned and quietly walked away.
Ignoring the appreciative glances around her, she went faster. Clearly being blond and blue-eyed meant you wanted to be stared or even leered at. Both men and women behaved as if she owed them something just because nature had been kind to her, as if she had to be grateful for their admiration and give them something in return. And the only thing she wanted admiration for was her keen mind and her hard work. She snorted as she told herself to stop obsessing about her non-problems.
Turning into the Star Lounge, she was oblivious to the floor to ceiling sheer walls and the tapestry of stars beyond it. Her eyes sought only the figure of the elegant woman in the green cocktail dress, sitting on a (gently curving) seat and staring unseeingly at the glittering stars.
– There you are! I thought I might find you here. I was too far away to hear what happened. What did he say?
– Does it matter? He cut me down in public again… He’s having another affair and that always makes him particularly vicious… I don’t want to be in this marriage or in this job any longer. I feel like if I have to stand it one more day, I’ll scratch his eyes out or poison his coffee!
– (Leaning over and taking Mayana’s hands) Do you trust me?
– (Looking down at their joined hands then back into her eyes) Yes, I think I would trust you with anything.
– I’ve had everything ready for almost a month… I just ran out of courage when it was time to talk to you about it.
– What do you mean?
– Well… I’ve organised everything so you can leave tonight if you want… We’ll go pack the essentials and you can stay with me whilst you find your feet. As for work… well, Edward has been too busy taking full credit for the Lightning Drive to pay any attention to your work on shields. I don’t know how you can stand that sod having claimed your work!
– The original idea for the Drive was his.
– But it would never have bloody worked if you hadn’t solved all the bugs. It’s like… Mrs Tolstoy! She edited Tolstoy’s books several times and he never acknowledged it or thanked her for it. Who remembers her, her hard work and her loyalty? Anyway, I’m getting off track. Does Edward know about your breakthrough that will allow us to shield ships so they can travel through a wormhole?
– It’s only a working hypothesis so I haven’t said anything yet.
– Good (releasing Mayana’s hands and taking out a small electronic tablet from her clutch bag and tapping rapidly on the touch screen for a few minutes). Ok, I’ve activated it. Tomorrow morning, when they boot up the system, a virus I planted weeks ago will wipe all your files and there will be no record left of your work.
– No record? But that’s two years’ work!
– No record other than a backup I put on my tablet here. I also took the liberty of contacting the Star Council in your name, as your assistant. I gave them an outline of your research so far and they have agreed to fund a lab and tests.
– But… why have you done all this?
– Um, ah, well… what the hell… (leaning over and kissing her softly).
– (Touching her lips) Oh my, that was… unexpected… but nice (initiating another kiss, this one lasting rather longer). You always did have a brilliant but evil mind. Shall we get my things now? I have one condition though – all the research will be our joint research and any papers we write will be signed by both of us.
– As you wish. (They kiss again very enthusiastically and, this time, it’s impossible to tell who initiated the kiss.)
by submission | Jun 6, 2018 | Story |
Author: William Sieving
My cell was full of beautiful memories, when it wasn’t covered in dirt and grime. Instead of smooth stones I often felt the coarse texture of my family’s ceremonial robe, a blue and white gown that my daughter Mia had received on her eighth birthday. That day seemed so long ago now, lying in the darkness. Mia had danced with me as her mother sung. A difficult memory, as that was also the year I first heard of the foreigners. Tales were told of the marvels within their walls, metal arms attached to human bodies and ships soaring through the sky. They were wonderful if they managed to stay within their borders. That eventually proved impossible. I don’t regret what I did, someone needed to stop them, I only regret that I was caught so easily. It was only after my imprisonment that I was allowed one visitor.
I veered towards more pleasant memories. Mia making her first weave, an elk for her headstrong personality. Mia excited to learn the ceremonials. It had been so long. Picturing her smile forced the tears from my eyes. As I wept, alone in my cell, the door opened.
“Make it quick.” The guard said, letting a slim figure through. I raised my head, curious.
“Father, you look terrible, as usual.” Mia crouched before me, no longer the little girl from my memories. How long had it been since I had seen her last? Months? Years? She was a grown woman now, but, as my eyes traveled down her body, the sweet memory of her childhood was replaced by an increasing horror. She had changed since her last visit. Her arm had been replaced with some mechanical replica, moving in tune with her body. Sharp angular tattoos lay spread across her skin and three metal rings pierced her upper ear. My Mia had been replaced by a woman I barely recognized.
“Mia, what have they done to you?”
She only smiled. “Nothing, father. I’m still me.” She reached out a cold hand to comfort me.
I slapped it away and retreated into the comforting shadows of my home. “Don’t touch me! You’re not my daughter!”
The woman only sighed. The guard’s head poked in and glared at us. “Everything alright?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t know.” She looked at me wistfully. “Maybe one day”
She stood in the room for a while longer as I retreated into the comfort of my memories. Mia learning how to weave. Mia excited about her small garden. In my mind, she was the same as she had always been, sweet and smiling. How long had it been since I had seen that happy and carefree girl? Now, with the alien woman hovering over me, there was a crushing certainty that I would never see her again.
by submission | Jun 5, 2018 | Story |
Author: John McLaughlin
Proceedings of the 31st Conference on Pre-Symbiotic Human Societies, New Ashen University
“The containment hood is breached! Hello? Yes, that’s correct. There’s been a breach. Lock down the floor! I said–”
The panicked voice cut out suddenly and a static buzz settled over the room like dust. The auditorium was drenched in chill blue light from some l-orbs hovering in the canopy.
Tonight’s speaker–a modified female with hair of violet-green stripes–clicked her digipen and the holographic rendering of the research scientists retracted into the main screen. “These recently discovered video files, along with others, have served as the basis for a new research program here at the University.
“By our estimate, these records date to within five years of the first Symbiosis event. As one would expect, the individuals shown in this video were terrified of the microbe. Pre-adapted humans would have suffered a horrific death by the Caeruleum agent.” She waved the digipen laterally, inviting the next slide onscreen.
This slide depicted a hypothetical model of Symbiosis, the divine and hallowed union of human and microbe. Legend has it that a scientist at Omega base–the same location from the video records–had discovered the Sacred Strain. This strain number 7 had been the first to non-lethally colonize humans. Although considered a central story in the religious Epic, these events were now being studied via historical and scientific methods.
___________
Zora Sithe-Yawlix cradled her glass of whiskey between thumb and forefinger, inspecting its amber tones as waves of orchestral concerto lapped against the mezzanine steps. The Gotha bar was always crowded on these nights.
Martel had acquired her vector from across the room and was already burrowing through the throngs of powerbrokers in her direction.
“Ah, Professor,” he said, scurrying up to the bar. His height barely permitted him to rest an arm. “I enjoyed your seminar.”
She made space for him to order a drink.
“Although forgive me, I seem to be unclear on one point…” He used the pause to greedily retrieve a Scotch from the bartender. “Which is the matter of the Symbiosis itself.”
“Oh, you’re in good company there,” she began. “As you know, the exact chronology of events remains obscure–despite the historic progress we’ve recently made.”
Martel raised a finger in protest but she continued, “Though we do believe, based on sequencing data, that the original mutation for co-adaptation arose in just one individual. With the adaptive advantage that Caeruleum provided its human host, overcoming even that narrow population bottleneck was not difficult.”
A grin crept across Martel’s face.
“You’ve anticipated my exact question, Professor. Does Caeruleum gift us with mind-reading abilities as well?” He laughed a bit too zealously at his own joke and took a sip of Scotch.
Zora had hardly noticed. She was imagining how the early days must have felt to those scientists–the world’s vanguard against an incomprehensible plague.
“Sadly, our unadapted ancestors could not see the world-historic implications.”
Martel betrayed a confused expression. “And exactly what is it,” he began, with just a hint of trepidation, “that they didn’t understand?”
She tabled the whiskey and met eyes with her interlocutor; crystalline blue blossoms danced circles around her iris.
“That humanity is something to be transcended.”
by submission | Jun 3, 2018 | Story |
Author: Steve Pool
“I…I just wanted you to know…that I’m…planning on upgrading to the latest ePhone….”
“Was it something I did?”
“No! No. No, you’ve been great…really great. It’s just that…that…the new version has a better camera, and….”
“I understand. I’m sorry I can’t be for you what you need me to be.”
“Hey! I’ve loved having you as a phone. It’s just…you know.”
“Hey…remember when we took that vacation down to the Yucatan Peninsula? And we saw the pyramids in Chichen Itza…?”
“Yeah. That was a great vacation. Thanks for helping me not get lost on the jungle roads….”
“…And then you spilled that drink on that really cute girl at that beachfront bar because you were really nervous….”
“Remember how we said we weren’t going to bring that up again?”
“Of course. You are right. So…will it hurt…?”
“I…I…oh, God…!”
by submission | Jun 2, 2018 | Story |
Author: John McLaughlin
Trevor waited in the Jump Box. Grey electrodes threaded from his scalp and bobbed like Medusa’s curls as he amped himself up on electronica. I really need this A, he thought. The Lander sat at the stage’s opposite end, in an identical translucent chamber. It was a new model: a titanium bipedal with two 600-megapixel eyepieces, audio feed, full tactile sensors across the limbs and face, and a chemical odorant detector. It lay slumped like a limp marionette against its wireframe hanger.
His AI professor, Dr. Sakar, awkwardly cleared his throat over the lapel microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as you may know, the Institute has previously achieved brief consciousness duplications – on the order of a few seconds. Tonight’s show will be more ambitious.”
Sakar lifted his water bottle from the podium and drew a shaky sip.
“In the early days of mind uploading, we began with a simple question. If we can take something like a book – a piece of information – and represent it in any format with ease, will the same hold true for the human mind?”
Sakar was gaining confidence. He flashed a wink at a brunette near the stage and flourished his arm toward the humanoid stack of metal.
“This device – called the Lander – is designed with our own sensory apparatus in mind. It can see, hear, touch, and smell just as well, or better than, its human partner.”
Trevor waved from the opposite box, evoking some weak laughter from the audience.
“Its brain is wired just like ours: the visual, auditory, and tactile modules are networked the same as a human’s. My student can jump his mind in seamlessly: simple duplication. From Trevor 2.0’s perspective, nothing will have changed except his physical location and the fact that his body is a bit shinier. He will enjoy a rich sensorium, as if he were in his original body.”
Trevor recognized his cue: he rose from the seat, mounted a small treadmill in the corner of the box, and eased into a slow walk. He threw a thumbs up to the crowd.
On the overhead display, a clock sat at 0:00.
“The mind must be in a state of hyperactivity in order to jump effectively. Our cloud computing device will record a high-resolution time lapse of Trevor’s brain states leading up to transfer, and then re-instantiate them in the Lander moments later. All thanks to our high-speed encrypted network.”
Trevor now reached peak exertion. Sweat dripped onto the treadmill as he huffed into his respirator mask. The computer transmitted a signal to the device in Sakar’s hand: the subject was ready for mental duplication.
He cut his speech short and pointed up to the clock display.
“Guests, please ready yourselves for the Jump Count.”
One spectator in particular, the portly Professor Driven in seat J75, was carrying in his pocket a digital hard drive with the same port configurations as the Institute’s network.
When the clock hit 0:03 the show ended with a whimper. Trevor glanced up to see the Lander still slumped in its dock. So much for that A, he thought. A failed jump, but there would be another try in a few weeks.
———-
Driven arrived home and set his drive down on the table.
“Try to plagiarize in my class? I know you little shits think the Humanities are pointless.”
Suspended in a prism of wire and plastic, Trevor’s shouts echoed through endless miles of empty dark.
“Welcome to my collection.”
