by submission | Feb 7, 2025 | Story |
Author: Deborah Sale-Butler
It was a great place to live. Tons of space to spin out a web. And the local food was spectacular. I mean, you could get anything in that neighborhood: dragonflies, blowflies, sometimes even a big, fat, juicy moth. De-lish! I can honestly say, up until Tuesday I was an arachnid with an attitude of gratitude.
Then things got weird.
It started with the ants. My whole web was covered with ants. I’m down for a little spicy snacking now and again, but generally, I like to keep my diet more on the alkaline side. And ants aren’t stupid—at least I assume they aren’t. I never talk to my dinner. But ants usually stay well clear of the web. So I had to wonder why those guys were running up the tree so fast that they didn’t even notice my dinner plate all spread out.
That’s when I saw it. The great big mountain way out past the jungle exploded. Like boom-pow-bam exploded. I’ve seen it leak before—hot, red lava burning trails through the forest. Any insects that made it out of the burnt parts had a savory, smoky taste.
On Tuesday though, the top third of the mountain was just gone. Well, not exactly gone. The rock had turned into dust and hung in the air like a big, angry cloud. The hairs on my legs stood up—went wild with electricity, like a hundred thunderstorms happening all at once. My booty auto jacked, ready to squirt silk and ride that electric wave.
It’s happened before—the tingly-hairs, booty in the air thing. The first time my butt shot up, I spun out some silk and let the negative charge catch the thread. Took me half a mile up and twenty miles away from where I started. I was just a spiderling then—young, dumb and up for anything. But the past few times I felt the urge, I managed to cool my spinnerets and keep my silk to myself. A negative ion trip could set you down anywhere. No thanks. I had everything I needed in the old ‘hood.
This time, I got a feeling I should grab an ion stream and fly as far away as possible. I was not wrong. And man, what a ride! That nasty mountain put out so much charge, I shot up two miles in like twenty seconds. I spun out a little extra silk to use as a sail and caught a breeze flowing towards the water. Looked left. Looked right. All I could see for miles were thousands of spiders riding currents in the sky.
And down below? Well, I guess that mountain had a bunch of pissed off friends, because it looked like a chain of sunsets behind killer storm clouds as far as my eight eyes could see. We all angled away from the flames until we wound up floating in our own dusky cloud of spider bodies.
We’ve been up here for about a week now. Watching the fires eat the forests makes me hungry. I dream of crunchy dragonfly legs and bee tongue with the tiniest hint of nectar. Looks like there won’t be much left when we land. The other spiders are probably thinking the same thing. I don’t really know, though. The group is pretty quiet. After all, we never talk to our dinner.
by submission | Feb 6, 2025 | Story |
Author: Eric San Juan
She reached down for the water bottle at her side, remembered it was empty only when she brought to her lips, sighed, and hung her head.
“I should have stayed in the city.”
She knew she was wrong about that, of course. The city is where it all started. Things were still bad there. And the smell? She didn’t want to think about the smell.
But at least she knew what to do in the city. What abandoned stores to search, which apartments had storerooms others might not know about, what neighborhoods were left at least somewhat intact after the Event. She could find something to eat there. Something to drink. A place to sleep.
Hell is other people, though, as someone once said. However many people were left, a lot of them would be in the city. And now was not a great time to encounter other people.
“Hey Dog, you ready to get moving?”
Dog just gave her eyes and a wag. Dog didn’t bark. Dog never barked. That’s why she liked Dog.
“I should probably give you a name, huh?”
More eyes. More wags. No barks.
“Come on.”
She put the water bottle back in her bag, hoping to get a chance to fill it later, and led Dog across the ash, under the tilted utility poles, and through the gaping wound that had once been the suburbs.
In four days, they’d reach the farm … and maybe, just maybe, a place they could call home.
by submission | Feb 5, 2025 | Story |
Author: Hillary Lyon
The Holographic Wildlife Museum was a major draw for the city, with its representation of Earth’s extinct and endangered animals. Vera loved the idea of viewing facsimiles of majestic creatures in their natural habitats, even if it was through holograms. Besides, hologram technology had come a long way since her youth, when the staticky images were assorted shades of blue, gray, and white. Now holograms were presented in living color; they appeared fully three dimensional.
Vera was most interested in seeing the much-advertised Apex Predators of North America exhibit. She loved the idea of brute physical power and cunning confidence embodied in these almost mythic fauna: The alligator, the gray wolf, the wolverine, the mountain lion, the grizzly bear…
She paid ten extra credits to engage a personal tour guide. His name was Ollie, and she chose him from a list of museum-supplied androids. He was tall and gregarious, with shining silver eyes. His model was very popular at the museum.
Ollie led Vera through the various exhibit halls, spouting facts and entertaining trivia. When at last they arrived at the Predators of North America exhibit, Vera skittered ahead of Ollie, dashing from hologram to hologram, gasping with glee as she viewed each one. Fierce monsters with stereoscopic vision, wielding deadly claws that rend, and fangs that pierce—this is what she came for!
Noting their time was almost up, Ollie interrupted her excitement. “We have one final predator exhibit—the most fearsome of all.”
He steered her towards the lone illuminated figure at the end of the darkened hall. “These beasts were intelligent, creative, and bipedal with opposable thumbs. Organized, they were true masters of their domain. And though they all possessed the same basic physiology, they came in an astounding variety of shades, shapes, and sizes. Even their eye color varied from individual to individual.”
“They were the only ones on Earth who could’ve explored and colonized the stars,” Ollie said, turning to Vera. “We’ve gleaned that, for whatever reason, this species lost interest in mating and reproduction, committing a sort of mass suicide. We still don’t understand why.”
“I suppose that was good news for us,” Vera added, her eyes glowing greenly with the thought.
Ollie nodded in agreement as he extended his arm towards the glass doors at the end of the hall. “This concludes our tour. Please exit through the gift shop.”
* * *
Vera walked between the shelves of the gift shop, scanning all its offerings. Her eyes drifted to a collection of molded plastic souvenirs lined up on a shelf: A moose, a buffalo, a cougar, a mustang…
She reached for the bipedal toy standing among them. Vera moved its articulated arms and legs into various positions. Satisfied, she chose six of these amusing human dolls, one for each grandchild. The colors ranged from light beige to dark brown. The kids will love them! She would make sure the toys reached Zeta Reticuli just in time for the holidays.
by submission | Feb 4, 2025 | Story |
Author: Jared S Moya
A sharp pain pierced Darya’s side. His knees buckled as he drew his hand to the wound and toppled to the ground. His shoulder slammed into the packed dirt of the dry riverbed, his teeth clacking against each other. Rolling onto his back, he noticed a lancer round had penetrated his jump apparatus control panel, leaving a large piece of aluminum embedded in his side through his jacket.
Further down the riverbed, the repeated windup and pop of Fibbley’s energy rifle sounded off like a broken fan blade.
Clenching his jaw, Darya grabbed the exposed end of the shrapnel and yanked, removing the sliver with a wheeze. Blood gushed out and touched the cold Dormini air, sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing up his spine. He took a deep breath. His hand wandered to his ChestPak and pressed the blinking yellow button.
A series of loud beeps sprung forth, followed by a monotone robotic voice.
“Assessing,” it said.
Darya breathed a sigh of relief. He felt lucky to have retrieved the ChestPak from the Compliance officer on Sintra-3. The officer had him pinned, fists hammering down, and Darya was losing fast—until Fibbley landed his lucky shot. After that, it was as simple as taking the pack off the corpse.
“Compressing,” came the robotic voice.
The sharp prick of the syringe caught him off guard. He’d forgotten to adjust the settings again. No matter, it was over in a split second, then the sealant spray deployed. The icy grasp of the sealant sent a shiver up his spine. He looked down again when he felt the cold mist of the spray let off and saw his ChestPak running codes.
“Medical care complete. Diagnostics complete,” it said. “Diagnostics confirm: deep laceration of the abdomen, fracture of rib. Blood loss staunched. Setting sensors to monitor lung and breath control for further disruption.”
Another close call. He rolled onto his stomach and crawled towards the near bank, collecting his battle rifle off the nearby ground as he did so. Fibbley’s rifle charged and fired off a volley again. Another set of lancer rounds flew over the riverbed, whizzing past his head. The locals lived up to their reputation, Darya thought.
“Darya,” came a voice over the comm system.
“Cap’n,” Darya said.
“We’re nearly there. You boys alright?”
“Good as gold,” Darya grinned, patting his ChestPak.
“You got the artifact?”
“Fibbley has it.”
“Good. Hold on. We’re coming. Out.”
Darya beamed a broad grin. Nearly there? Well, loot splits better five ways than six, and Fibbley’s energy rifle always felt good in his hand. He chuckled, raised his rifle, and aimed it at Fibbley, his brow furrowed. Shouldering his rifle, finger above the trigger, he breathed out, feeling his lungs empty. Fibbley looked over at the last moment. His face snapped into an image of shock.
“Alert. Irregular lung motion. Compressing.”
The syringe punched out. Darya’s hand clamped down on the grip as he rolled back. The magazine sprayed into the air as he shrieked out in pain. The syringe receded, and he heaved himself onto his knees.
Ignoring the beeping of the ChestPak, he swapped in another magazine. The overhead flak had stopped now, and Darya realized he’d not heard the iconic windup of Fibbley’s energy rifle in several seconds. At least, he hadn’t until he turned to see it was pointed right at him.
The last thing he heard, aside from the windup, were just two words, spoken methodically and clearly.
“Compression complete.”
by submission | Feb 2, 2025 | Story |
Author: Neille Williams
“Gramps, a star just fell out of the sky!”
Billie hollered out to her Grandpa, who had just poured his second whiskey and was reclining against the kitchen bench.
“Sweetie,” he began, ambling over as she pressed her eager face against the window glass, “stars don’t just fall out of the sky, you know. Their gravity tries to collapse them but their core’s temperature pushes out at the same time, so they stay up there in space. Everything balances out!”
Billie whirled around to look her grandpa squarely in the face.
“So, why did one just land in our yard?”
She blinked her blue eyes furiously at him and put one jaunty hand on her hip. At nine years of age, she had inherited his love of all things floating in outer space. She’d also inherited his stubbornness and would not be dismissed until she got the perfect answer. He didn’t go out to the yard much since Billie’s Grandma had passed, content with his pleasant memories of her gardening, snipping, watering, carefully picking aphids off beautiful, blooming roses. Sighing, he took Billie by the hand to check the yard.
The moon-bathed enclosure seemed otherworldly, dusty beams exploring every inch of the garden as the two stood, peering into the depths. Everything seemed as he had left it, unkempt rosebuds poking their sleepy heads up from the grass. It took a few seconds to process things fully, indeed, one generous glass plus an extra gulp of whiskey did not make for a completely clear head. When complete cognition seized him, he heard Billie squeal and the rush of wind-whipped growing things seemed as loud as a lion’s roar. Things were moving – no, not everything – just the natural unchecked flower-blooms which had claimed this territory for themselves after their gardener had deserted them. Before his eyes, the roses grew massive, their pungent heady aroma all around him, oppressive and sickly-sweet.
“Look, Gramps – it’s the star!”
Billie pointed into the midst of the yard, where a black rock flecked with silver sat gleaming in the moonlight. As they watched, it seemed to shrink and grow dull, the life-force of it fading away. With as much fascination as shock, Gramps realised it was nourishing the roses; they were gigantic and cartoonish now, swarming all over the yard.
Everything balances out.
Above them, the stem of an enormous rose held its petals aloft like a strange offering to the stars. In an instant, they lost the moonlight; and he felt the first soft puncture on his leg, then more biting into soft exposed flesh. Billie screamed and he wondered just how large the aphids were now.
Everything balances out.
He reached out to find Billie but nothing was left of her, and soon, like the ancient stars that once claimed the sky, nothing would be left of him either. The aphids tore holes in him then burrowed deep, and the core of him grew cold, like a star collapsing into a hole of endless space and time.
