by submission | Mar 14, 2017 | Story |
Author : M. Irene Hill
September 8, 2040, Special Area Babylon, Planet Earth:
Control center: “We are offline and shield is down. Initiate cataclysm.”
The last vestiges of rosy light disappeared behind giant cumulonimbus clouds which rolled in from the four cardinal directions, converging above the massive base. Outside the reinforced glass of the launch control center, the pastel sky turned gunpowder grey, and thunder ricocheted through the valley. Golf ball-sized hail pounded the dusty red earth.
Within a fifty-mile radius, the storm wreaked havoc, and consequently, no civilians witnessed the titanic egg-shaped craft enter the Earth’s atmosphere.
“Trajectory is good. Cleared for landing.”
North of control center, a giant crater in the dusty red earth opened its maw and swallowed the incoming extraterrestrial vessel. The rumbling ceased and cloud cover dispersed, unveiling a starry sky, and a slice of moon.
With the egg safely in its nest, standby EVAC crafts returned to base hangars.
Thousands of feet under Babylon, visiting dignitaries of the Grey and Draco Nations were greeted ceremoniously by many of Earth’s highest-ranking officials and monarchy.
The travelers were ushered to the Libra Lounge where half-human, half-reptilian servers in prismatic outfits offered them burnt toddlers, and virgin plasma cocktails, with brightly colored straws to sip from.
Assembled members of Akkad Confederacy discussed interplanetary matters, new technologies and business relating to soul farming on Earth.
The recently cryo-resuscitated Elvis Presley quit the stage for the evening and sat at the bar, drinking a glass of buttermilk with his grilled PB&B, while hybrid-reptilian dancers twerked to the music pumping out of the sound system.
At half past eight, a female Grey dignitary named Tiamat motioned for attention.
The music hushed and the dancers discreetly exited the lounge. Tiamat took a quick sip of her plasma cocktail before speaking.
“Asteroid Apophis was a complete f@*k-up, leading to the situation we are in now.”
Sighs and expletives issued from the assembly.
“The Planetary Council has claimed responsibility for defeating our undersea bases on the West and East Coasts. Thousands of our members have been brutally slaughtered; many more cross-breeds have been captured and relocated to other star systems where they are being deprogrammed by the Planetary Council.”
More murmurs and heavy sighs.
Tiamet’s voice softened: “I know – it’s discouraging, but we still have operatives positioned in all levels of government and military. The implantation program has been very successful to date, and we are working on a new vaccination that will allow for greater modification of the human brain in utero. The soul farms on Earth and other colonies continue to thrive, as we learn new cultivation technologies and seed the cosmos with our bloodlines.”
Tiamet noisily sucked though her purple straw, her big black eyes blinked several times. Her words rang out boldly:
“Moon, Mars, Mercury, Venus, Saturn and Jupiter have all come together in a golden conjunction – an event that was foretold hundreds of centuries ago, predicting our victory in the House of Libra.”
Tiamat made a three-fingered salute, and the gold band on her middle finger shone brightly, projecting a holographic image of a fish and a dove on the ceiling.
Ecstatic sighs and reverent murmurs.
Tiamat’s puckered, o-ring mouth spread in a gruesome grin.
On cue, several tall, pale-skinned hybrid beings wearing white sarongs served red wine and biscuits inscribed with Odin’s cross to the gathered patrons of The Libra Lounge.
Tiamat waited for everyone to be served, and tasted a tiny morsel of her biscuit. She raised her wine glass and toasted the crowd:
“We may have lost the battle, but we will win the war.”
by submission | Mar 12, 2017 | Story |
Author : D.J. Rozell
Agent Jackson sat down across the table from the bio-hacker and started in before the guy had a chance to size him up, “We’re not here to collect evidence – we’ve got plenty of that – but to discuss motives. Clearly you are a genius.” The agent was priming the pump. “So, why use your considerable talents for this?”
“Well, as the media correctly surmised, my little experiment had a social agenda. I decided to give the world a nudge in the right direction.”
“That was some nudge,” Agent Jackson remained polite despite the annoying false modesty.
“True, my expectations have been exceeded.”
“How so?”
“Well, as you know, the virus copies the genetic material of an infected male to a subsequent infected male’s sperm, but only those with Y chromosomes. The result is male offspring with random paternal genetic origin, but female offspring that still bear the original parents’ genes. This manages to preserve both the traditional mate selection process and the basis for families while at the same time elevating the status of females in society. I’m pleased to see that nobody prefers male children anymore.”
“Except for families in isolationist compounds and the wealthy who can afford sorted in vitro fertilization.”
“One virus can’t fix every problem…”
“Yeah, back to the main point. Did you actually think you could end sexism with a viral infection?”
“End, no. Greatly diminish, yes.” The bio-hacker was getting more animated. “The current generation of children already accepts the new paradigm. Unless a vaccine is developed soon, motivation to return to the old ways will quickly fade.”
“What about men with genetic diseases who were ostracized or worse?”
The bio-hacker inspected the table, “Every technology has unintended consequences.”
“Unintended consequences?” said the speaker in the wall. Agent Williams was standing on the other side of the mirrored glass. His marriage had been part of the early collateral damage of the virus before scientists realized what was happening.
Agent Jackson segued, “Yes, one unintended consequence has been for our profession. Violence has emptied some countries of bioengineers, while others are stockpiling them like weapons. So, the real reason we have you here is to offer you a job.”
“Why?” The bio-hacker was faking surprise.
“Reformed bio-hackers are the best security specialists.”
“What if I say no?” Now he was trying to bargain.
“We go public with your identity. Long trial. Life in prison.” There was a long pause.
“OK, I’m in.”
“Good. The official story will be that the virus was created by a scientist that died three years ago. Case closed. Meanwhile, you create a treatment and vaccine.” The bio-hacker’s eyes narrowed. “Consider it the appropriate conclusion of your ‘experiment.’ A good scientist always cleans up when done. Right?”
The bio-hacker brightened and leaned in, “Actually, now that we’re colleagues, I think you’ll be more interested in what I’ve been working on since the first release. It’s a benign bacterium that will end religious conflict.”
“Very interesting. Excuse me for a moment.”
Agent Jackson and Williams had a brief discussion and then sent the bio-hacker home with a handshake and some paperwork to complete. Agent Williams made a phone call. Later that evening, the bio-hacker would be abducted by an isolationists group in black ninja-like biohazard suits. Agent Williams said it was apropos – vigilante justice for vigilante science. Meanwhile, Agent Jackson erased all records of the day. Then, both agents went home to enjoy their Father’s Day weekend.
by submission | Mar 11, 2017 | Story |
Author : David Kavanaugh
“First day on the job?” asked the women in the lab coat, twirling a set of digikeys on one finger.
“Yep.”
“You excited?”
“Sure am. I’ve been on the waiting list for ages! It’s funny; there seem to be job openings here all the time, but I put in my application months ago and only just heard back.”
“Yes. Well, we go through a lot of interns.”
She turned and set off down the hallway, keys jingling.
“They quit or something?” asked the intern, jogging to keep up.
“The job certainly takes its toll. But it’s noble work, in my opinion.”
“I’m not worried. I’ve been obsessed with genetically modified creatures since I was a kid. My bedroom was covered in posters of all the best GMC’s: rhinodiles, land orcas, condorosaurs, super grizzlies. I’m psyched about working with them, even if it means cleaning up after them.”
“Oh, we’ll handle the clean up.”
She swiped a key at a set of steel doors which slid silently open. They walked through into a cavernous room, their footsteps echoing of the bare walls. In the center of the room stood a colossal cage constructed of hundreds of crisscross titanium beams. A bright orange DANGER sign was posted dead ahead.
“Oh. My. Freaking. God!” shouted the intern, eyes wide. “A living, breathing komodosaurus! I can’t believe I’m really looking at one. It’s incredible!”
A forked tongue hissed from between the massive jaws. The dark, stony eyes of the twenty-foot monster stared down through the cage bars, curious and cold.
“It’s huge! What do they like to eat, anyway?”
“Mostly underpaid, uninsured interns,” the woman answered wryly.
The intern’s eyes rolled. “Ha. Ha. Seriously.”
“Originally we gave them a variety of meats; venison and pork mostly. But one got loose at the company party last Christmas. Ate a jar of caviar and got all but addicted to the stuff. And that’s a not a joke.”
“So you actually have to feed it caviar now? Wow. Must be really expensive.”
“Oh, the bills were dreadful. But we found something else they like just as much, and the price is far more reasonable.”
“That’s good.”
The woman swiped a second key and, to the intern’s surprise, a doorway on the cage swung open. The beast blinked.
“Is that… safe?”
The woman shrugged. “All part of the job. Come closer.”
The intern smiled nervously and inched forward through the cage’s opening, heart racing.
“Whoa. I think it likes me. See the way it’s looking at me. I’m sure it likes me.”
“No doubt.”
In a single, fluid motion the beast’s scaly head darted downward, snatched the intern in its jaws, and tore the body from the ground. A moment later, with a little belch, the intern was gone. Only a sneaker remained, dangling from a shoelace looped around a yellow tooth.
The woman in the lab coat sighed, locked the cage, and spun her keys as she sauntered from the room.
“Thank god for interns.”
by submission | Mar 10, 2017 | Story |
Author : Madison McSweeney
It was 9:30 AM on a Friday when the Martians landed on Dave McQuilty’s farm. The ship, which was more spherical than saucer-shaped, touched down in the midst of some cows. A long silver platform descended and a little grey man stepped out.
Dave waved. The little grey man made a strange hand gesture and said, “Take me to your leader.”
“What a marvellously egalitarian system the Martians must have!” Dave declared, as he set out to make the arrangements.
He started by calling the office of the Prime Minister, whose number was conveniently listed on the Parliamentary website, and requesting a meeting between himself, the Prime Minister, and a special foreign guest. A pleasant secretary told him that the Prime Minister was very busy, but should his schedule free up they would contact him.
Dave was not surprised by this. The Martian, however, did not understand. “How can this man be your leader if he refuses contact with his citizens?”
Dave shrugged. “I suppose, in a way, it increases his esteem. Perception of exclusivity and all that.”
Dave’s second step was to contact the Government House Leader, who, he figured, had an impressive enough title for the Martian’s purposes. The House Leader, however, was also very busy that day. Dave then tried to call his local Member of Parliament, the provincial Premier, his local Member of Provincial Parliament, and the Mayor. No luck.
He decided that the best he could do was take the Martian on a nice tour of Parliament Hill. So he and the Martian drove an hour to Ottawa and parked in an underground lot. Reading the list of hourly rates, Dave hoped the tour would be quick.
To partake in a public tour of Parliament, visitors must wait in line at a Service Canada building across the street from the Hill. It being a Friday, the building was packed with other tourists waiting for the same thing. Dave and the Martian settled into the back of the line.
After waiting forty-five minutes, Dave reconciled himself to the fact that they would not be getting a tour of the Hill any time soon. He pulled the Martian out of the line and the two walked back to the lot, where Dave paid his $30 parking fee and wondered why the alien could not have landed on the Hill itself and saved them both a lot of trouble.
“So, to summarize,” the Martian said, adjusting his seatbelt, “I travelled fifty-four-point-six million kilometers from the planet Mars on a diplomatic mission to make contact with the Leaders of Earth, and I cannot meet your Prime Minister, your Government House Leader, your Member of Parliament, your Premier, your Member of Provincial Parliament, or your Mayor. I cannot even set foot in your Parliament Building.”
“Listen here,” Dave snapped. “If you wanted any of these meetings you should have called ahead. It’s a Friday, for Pete’s sake. I’m doing the best I can.”
His options exhausted, Dave took the Martian to the Canadian War Museum. The Martian interpreted this as an aggressive act, and an invasion was launched.
by submission | Mar 9, 2017 | Story |
Author : Trevor Doyle
Sex droids don’t do it for me, but I’ve never had a problem with clones.
My most recent Romeo, for instance. The last time I saw him, he was standing on my gold plated balcony, his back to the city that worships at my feet. He looked like a pop star in the clothes that I’d dressed him in.
It’s a thorny problem, of course, getting them to forget everything I’ve done for them without making them tame. The first one forgot too much; the second one, not enough. This one had found his footing somehow on his own.
Memory implants and hypnosis can only do so much, after all. Put a shirt on your clone’s back, and he resents it; teach him to be civil, and he becomes soft, a sorry putty you abhor. I’ve learned the hard way that virility and duplicity are inextricably linked; the noblest man alive will spin incredible yarns in obedience to his first master, that metamorphic creature that he keeps hidden in his pants.
This one was different though. His desire to please was genuine; he was gracious but never fawning, capable of maintaining his self-respect even though he had no place in the world aside from the one I’d made for him. And yet he wasn’t docile or subservient; he could be unpredictable, which I liked, and he was forceful when my mood called for it.
Only last week, the psychiatrists who’d supervised his training and conditioning told me that he’d passed his total personality test. We’d succeeded where others had failed, which meant that we had the complete package, a clone who would be the perfect companion for any woman who could afford him. They showed me the numbers, the graphs that always bore me, and assured me that I was going to be a thousand times wealthier than I already am. But I wasn’t convinced, not entirely. There was one more test he had to pass.
Because it isn’t enough for a man (or a clone) to say that he loves you, is it? This is a fundamental truth, and that’s why I had to ask that all important question while he was standing there on my balcony with the wind roiling his perfect hair.
“So you love me. What would you do to prove it?”
He nodded to show that he understood, and then he turned around. He swung one meaty thigh over the railing, then the other, and he looked at me one last time.
“This,” he said.
And he jumped.
I had to smile. I couldn’t help myself, because it was the ultimate answer, the only answer that could expel my final doubts.
So he was perfect, a little too perfect. But I’ve learned my lesson; true love is overrated anyway.
We’ll do better with Romeo-4.
