by submission | Jun 9, 2018 | Story |
Author: Roger Ley
We were all staring up at the sky, waiting for the ‘Dawn Treader’ to light up her Hawking drives and start the journey to Alpha Centauri. There were hundreds of us, all members of the design and construction team with our partners and children, partying at our complex, near the foot of the Kisumu Space Elevator. A fair proportion of the world population would be watching.
I pulled the letter out of my back pocket. Estella had given it to me after the pre-launch ceremony two days ago, just before she and the rest of the ‘Dawn Treader’s’ crew entered the space elevator and began the first leg of their journey to the stars.
We’d both worked on the project for eleven years and had been ‘together’ for six of them, the first six. We’d married, had two kids, I thought we’d been reasonably happy, but then came the horrible business of finding out about her affairs. Everybody seemed to know about them except me; nobody tells you.
It wasn’t an amicable divorce, she never forgave me for getting custody of Hank and Cliff. What was I supposed to do? She would be leaving when the ship was finished, a few years hence, it made sense that I give them a stable home. She was absent half the time anyway, either training or supervising, up at the Synchronous Space Station where the ship was being assembled.
She was gone now, not dead, but unreachable. It wouldn’t be possible to communicate through the blizzard of elementary particles leaving the rear of the ship. They’d be accelerating for eighteen months subjective time, but forty-seven years would pass, back here on Earth. By the time they shut the drives down and turned the ship around to start decelerating, I’d be ancient or dead. Past caring either way. The boys would be older than their mother, I wonder what she’d say to them, given the two-year time delay on her transmissions. The boys would have sent their messages two years before so that they arrived after the drives shut down. I expect they’d send pictures of themselves, their wives and children, Estella’s grandchildren. The next time they’d be able to talk would be when Dawn Treader arrived at its destination. The boys would both be about a hundred years old, but Estella would still be in her late thirties. When she returned to Earth there wouldn’t be a single person left alive who she knew. A big sacrifice to make for the sake of being the first woman to leave the Solar System.
The brazier of glowing charcoal crackled and sparked, a sudden roar from the partygoers. There, exactly on time, in the constellation of Centaurus, the Hawking drives lit up and blossomed like a three-petaled flower, as big and bright as the Moon. Visible from Africa to Norway.
I looked at the letter, would Estella want to put things right between us, or did she want to have the last poisonous words? Make accusations I had no opportunity to refute, say things that would leave me bruised and angry for months or years? I paused for a moment, then threw the envelope, unopened, onto the brazier and watched it crisp and burn as her words turned to smoke and ashes. Hank and Cliff were both staring up at the beautiful multicoloured bloom of energy fields, they were both crying. I knelt down, laid my arms across their shoulders and pulled them into a family hug.
‘We have to remember the good times, boys, that’s what we have to do.’
It was, after all, my choice in the end.
by submission | Jun 8, 2018 | Story |
Author: Salvatore Difalco
Clanking past the barber shop, the parking bot looked ramshackle—steel alloy and green rubber, with the jaw of a hippopotamus.
“They could’ve made those things more attractive,” said Varner, a Third Grade Nonpolluter, proud of his pathological recycling habits and negative carbon footprint ideal. He’d recently traded in his electric car for a leg-powered cabriolet-cycle.
His friend, Anton, a Population Analyst, waited for the barber bot to finish trimming Varner’s locks, which together with the shaggy beard made him look like a creature from the past. The bot, dressed in barber’s whites, and possessed of a single, flexible eye-shaft, surveyed Varner’s head.
“How is that?” the bot asked.
“More off the top.”
“If you say so. And the beard?”
“Leave as is.”
“It looks—barbaric.”
“That’s the idea, pal. Now get back to it. I’m not paying you for your scintillating conversation.”
“Take it easy on the bot,” Anton said. He’d seen these things lose it when provoked. They always blamed mechanical or electrical malfunction. But as far as Anton could see, bots lost it like any other creature.
Whirring and clicking, the barber bot took some hair off Varner’s top with its scissor hand. The comb hand tugged the hair as the scissor blades sheared it.
“Varner, it’s tagging you.”
“What?”
“The parking bot. It’s tagging your vehicle.”
Varner pulled off his bib and scrambled to the door. The barber bot froze and followed him with its eye.
“Hey, hold on!” Varner cried.
The parking bot ignored him.
“You stupid tomato can! Where’d they find you? The junkyard?”
The parking bot paused and turned toward his harasser, who stood some ten meters away. Varner watched it warily, but had not cooled off.
“Stupid heap of junk, going around tagging zero-carbon vehicles. Bet you leave a larger carbon footprint than my cabriolet. Bloody fascist.”
Anton had exited the barber shop, and stood by the swirling barber pole hologram watching the confrontation. He started when the parking bot spoke. He thought they lacked that function.
“I am warning you,” said the parking bot, the buzzy voice coming from a horn-shaped appendage on its lower carriage.
“What are you gonna do? Stop me from speaking? Freedom of expression, you stupid fascist. Or hasn’t that penetrated your stupid processors?”
Anton agreed about the freedom of expression thing, but he also didn’t trust the parking bot to take it all in stride.
“Varner,” he said, “these things are unpredictable.”
“Unpredictable? On the contrary, tomato can is totally predictable, going around tagging Grade Three Nonpolluters!”
“Shut up,” the parking bot uttered from its buzzy horn.
“Or what?” Varner said. “You gonna hurt me? You gonna chase me down and penetrate me? That what you have in mind, you piece of junk?”
Rather than attack Varner, or speak further, the parking bot turned toward the cabriolet-cycle, engaging its hippopotamus jaw.
“Hey,” Varner said. “What’s it doing?”
“Uh, I think it’s doing exactly what it looks like it’s doing.”
The parking bot’s jaw began to chomp at the cabriolet-cycle. The sounds of metal crumpling and glass shattering filled the air.
Mouths open, Varner and Anton watched the parking bot completely destroy the cabriolet-cycle. When it was done, it made a honking sound from its horn and proceeded down the street.
Varner, in shock, staggered back into the barber shop. Anton, speechless, followed him. The barber bot stood there with its raised eye-shaft peering down on them. Varner automatically went for the barber chair, but at the last moment, Anton grabbed his arm and led him back outside.
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.”
