Shutters on Main

Author : Matthew Marchitto

The rain was heavy and it blurred the faces of the crowd on Main Street. Deb stood in an alley off to the side watching the people move like a herd of cattle. Neon signs for places like Rucker’s Bar and the Harlot Peepshow glowed with muted light. A billboard down on Second Street proclaimed the latest Han Dallaghan flick as the spectacle of the decade. Retro jazz was blaring from somewhere nearby.

She pulled out a cigarette, whistling as a fight broke out in front of Rucker’s. A man went down with a shattered jaw and everybody on Main kept walking like nothing happened.

The city was like a sewage pipe that never clogged. She couldn’t imagined what it must have felt like being a straight staring down the barrel of a place like Main.

She flicked the cigarette into a dumpster, and then let the cattle on Main take her. Pushing her down the street like a ripple in a pond.

She spied the alley she needed and broke off from the crowd. A few shapeless forms huddled against the walls. She moved fast, making her way through the cities arteries like no one else could. A spotlight beamed down from the sky and she ducked behind a dumpster. The Stinger hovered over the alleyway searching for something to shoot. Its propellers sent rain spraying like a whirlwind. Homeless ran from the searching light, finding even deeper arteries to hide in.

Deb watched the drone round a corner and disappear. She waited until the whirring of its propellers faded away. Then she made her way to a forgotten tenement.

A faint light was coming from one of the apartment windows, that was the one she needed. She climbed the fire escape and slid a cracked window open. The first thing that struck her was the odour of something like sweat and mold congealed together. The second was the man sitting on the floor with dead eyes. A too-large-to-carry camera was on a hog thighed tripod snapping pictures through the window. It was connected to a laptop and she saw two people on the screen rolling around each other on a not so distant bed. A thick wire ran from the laptop into the base of the sitting man’s skull.

It was odd for a husband to be so keen on watching his wife cheat him.

Deb snapped her fingers in front him. He didn’t move. She felt his pulse. Alive. That was good, it meant she was going to earn her pay.

A plastic countertop and soiled mattress made up the one room apartment. The walls were thin, sound could go far even with the thumping rain. A smile teased the corners of her lips, she couldn’t have set up the scene better. Deb took out a pistol and wrapped the husband’s hand around the grip, brought his arm up to press the gun to his own temple, and then she grabbed the cable at the back of his skull. It would look sketchy if he was still linked when the deed was done, but that was only part of it.

She pulled the cord. His head jolted backward, and it took him a second to feel Deb pressing a gun barrel to his head. Fear registered in his eyes. That’s what she wanted to see.

Deb pulled the trigger.

She liked her job too much.

The computer screen flashed as the camera’s automatic shutter continued to snap away. The wife and her lover looked out their window—straight at the camera.

Deb winked at the screen.

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What We Remember

Author : Thomas Desrochers

Tomov couldn’t help but climb up to the marble altar. It was underwhelming: red shroud embroidered with a white shepherd, a single candle, an offering of roses. A quiet place, hidden from the world by the rows of towering quartz, the vast and ancient ceiling hidden by their upper reaches. The southern edges of the silent worshipers glowed red and blue in the stained glass light.

“It used to look much different.”

Tomov jumped at the priest’s voice, turning to find her standing beside him, naked body glittering as the living memory drifted down her skin.

“Instead of stones there were benches,” she continued. “Instead of interning themselves after death, the flock would gather once a week in life to worship.”

“That’s not what my mother told me,” Tomov said. “She told me the church has always been this way.”

“Oh no,” the priest said, smiling. “Heaven on Earth has only existed for four hundred years. The church is almost two and a half thousand years old.”

Tomov frowned. “Is that even possible? What happened to all the people from before?”

“They died, just like we will. Their memories were scattered to dust.”

“Then they couldn’t exist after death?”

The priest laid a hand on Tomov’s head. “Do we exist after death?”

“That’s what my mother told me,” Tomov replied. “She said that we put our memories into the pews so that we can be with the flock forever. In this manner the essence of our ego can persist beyond the dissolution of our corporeal selves.”

The priest turned to Tomov, taking his hands in her own. Tomov watched the endless scripture as it slid down her hands, his eyes catching

how much of the nose on your face can you see, unless someone holds a mirror up to you?

before it slipped away between two knuckles.

“Tell me,” the priest said. “What do you remember of your own life?”

“Well.” Tomov paused. “I remember getting into a fight with another boy because he didn’t like my metal hands.”

The priest shook her head. “That’s your great-grandfather’s memory.”

“Wait.” Tomov frowned, trying to make sense of what he remembered. “I- I remember Job’s face when his heart fractured, the sound of it ringing in my ears as he stumbled. Wait, no…” Tomov shook his head, his eyes bright with tears. “That’s not who I am.”

He watched

away with those prophets who say to christ’s people “peace, peace,” where in there is no peace

crawl down the priest’s stomach.

“You are Tomov,” the priest said. “You are thirteen. You wanted to stargaze, but the stars were clouded by smoke and the horizon was lit with the fires of the Sixth Cleaning. Do you remember?”

Tomov was still for a moment. Tears began to move. “I remember it was so hot,” he said. “I remember the fires, and I didn’t see the scrappers until they were on me, with their masks and tools.”

“And they shattered you,” the priest said. “They were afraid of you.”

“I’m dead, aren’t I,” Tomov said. “I remember it now.”

“Yes,” the priest said. “You died out there. Which is why you’re here, among family.” The priest knelt down, looking Tomov in the eye. “Would you like to enter into heaven?”

Tomov nodded.

“Welcome,” the priest said. She kissed Tomov’s forehead, sending his essence off into the milky stones of home.

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Mr. Clean

Author : Rick Tobin

“C’mon, judge, you can’t be serious. That’s an old Earth name for an ancient product. There can’t possibly be trademark claims. There isn’t anything living in North America…it’s under a mile of ice.” Praxton Billings sat up straight before the judge. He rubbed his mustache a few times. Nerves.

“We, the court, understand your defense, but the retention of ancient code is a tradition upholding our humanity, far beyond our origins. This is the last Earth colony. We maintain our culture or we become another lost, migrating species passing through space.” Three judges sat before the lanky space cleaner, under a fiber tree, as was the custom.

“Look, I just clean ships. I barely make out after costs for fuel and repairs. You have to admit it’s one reason they come to our little outpost; that, and the water. If they don’t get the crap off their bulkheads they risk miscalculating exits from star drive. No one wants to eat an asteroid through the hull. Penalizing me for using Mr. Clean as a business name could close me down.” He raised his pale hands, stretching his white jump suit in supplication to the tribunal.

“You had an approved name from the licensing council. Was that not sufficient?”

“Not really. They picked it. Barnacle Bill…really? Nobody out here knows what the hell a barnacle is, and my name is Praxton. Their business name dishonored my parents.”

“And your reasons for desiring to continue this line of work?”

“Not too hard there. With my puny physique I was unfit for farming or water works. Sex slave would have been ridiculous. But the first time I learned about dark matter, and all those life forms that were building up on the skins of spaceships, I knew I could make a difference just removing debris, making junkers and cargo hulks look shiny again. I could bring pride back to the lonely pilots and crews that were ashamed of the hulks they pushed through vacuum. I love what I do and my clients relate to me as Mr. Clean.”

“So why didn’t you reapply to the council? That is the normal process.”

“And be down for six months, waiting on their decision? Think of the lives lost if those ships aren’t sparkling. I couldn’t sleep if I knew that I caused their deaths. And consider the critical cargoes that show up late when stellar customs finds creatures on the outside that are forbidden in our sector. Pilots have no way of knowing what snatched a ride as they move out of hyper drive. So, not only do I protect other worlds, I protect ours, before they land. In fact, I was scheduled to work on a contaminated cruiser before it sets down over there this afternoon.” Praxton pointed at the city’s single space port.

The senior judge scowled before calling his adjutants to his side to whisper. They soon turned and faced Praxton.

“We have judged that you have a special case worthy of dismissal. Based on need and value, we have selected to overturn the council’s claim and we reinstate you as Mr. Clean. Now, for the sake of us all please go decontaminate that ship.”

Praxton rose, bowed lightly to the tribunal, and walked off the field to his waiting cleaning scow. His brain was spinning, trying to remember if there was any scheduled incoming freighter he could offer free services to cover his story.

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The Roamer

Author : Ian Hill

Tumultuous ocean waves crashed against the ship’s vertical hull, spraying the flat deck with salt, white froth, and chunks of viscera torn from oceanic creatures by the raging storm that had passed over only a few minutes before. The vessel crested the dune-like water’s ridges and sunk low in the valleys, moving like the rocking cradle of an infant. The sky, still wounded from the raging storm, stood as a minefield of densely packed grayscale clouds surrounded by endless, pristine, pearlescent blue punctuated by flocks of ivory birds that flew in arrow patterns. The water itself was dark and choppily faceted like a field of imperfect gems, blue on the ship’s right and violet on the left where the sun cut bloody hues at steep angles through the thunderheads that dominated the western horizon.

There was something violent about the atmosphere despite the relative calmness that had settled in the storm’s wake. The air itself felt purified by the raging wind, still and raw like a freshly cut wound. Those who stood at the guard rail of the ship’s deck stared out at absolute sterility contrasted by the accumulating chunks of slashed organic material that slid about, caking the heels of their rubber boots.

Adrian Galbraith was one such watcher, a land-faring man who now found himself tossed about by a tormenting, playful sea. He clung white-knuckled to the rusted iron guard rail, eyes focused on the infinitely flat horizon line where fluffy white clouds blew from right to left like the leftover smoke of a war-torn battlefield. Adrian’s sluggish eyes slid down to focus on the gradually calming waves that collided with the undecorated hull, covering his pale face with invisible flecks of liquid. The way the skewed sunlight played against the angular, ever-moving surface caused his stomach to churn.

Adrian flicked his glassy, red-rimmed eyes back up. He focused instead on the sky this time, attempting to smother the ceaseless parade of nausea that had begun to fester ever since they launched this research expedition. He selected a particular island of grayish clouds that hung like a paralyzed insect in the sky, rolled over and exposed. Anything could be hidden behind that façade of indistinct haze, he thought. It was a strange idea that didn’t help set him at ease.

“You ever hear of The Roamer?”

Adrian flinched at the intrusive voice and glanced over his shoulder to find one of the sailors, a particularly old man with a white beard, standing not far away. He leaned against nothing, staying upright against the vessel’s wallowing as if it were no feat at all.

“Well?” the sailor asked, one hand in his jacket’s pocket and the other tugging at his beard.

Adrian shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”

The sailor smiled and moved to Adrian’s side. He leaned against the guard rail and stared up at the cloud. “He’s up there now. Watching, eh?”

Adrian followed the man’s gaze but remained silent.

“The Roamer roams, stalking the creatures of the sea. It passes overhead, droning like some giant mother beetle. It crouches and it glides, its tendrils hanging low and dragging across the ocean’s surface. But,” he turned to face Adrian and wagged his finger menacingly. “But if someone like us comes a-calling, The Roamer stops roaming. It retreats to the clouds and watches from a distance. Observing. Waiting.”

Adrian narrowed his eyes, feeling a dreadful sense of unease creep over him. He glanced up at the gray patch of clouds and suddenly felt as if he were being watched.

“Don’t fret, son.” the sailor said with a grin. “We’re roaming now.”

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Will Work For Electricity

Author : Gray Blix

[In the control room they hear what she hears in stereo and see what she sees on left and right vision monitors.]

A well-dressed man is sitting behind a desk, talking on the phone. His tag IDs him as “Technical Recruiter.” She stands nervously until he gestures for her to be seated.

[“What a prick.”]

After several minutes, he hangs up and, dispensing with a greeting, starts the interview abruptly with, “Your name?”

[“Now he’s turning on the charm.”]

“Maddison Fox. That’s with two d’s.”

His expression is quizzical.

“Is that a British accent?”

“Australian.”

[“Synthetic voices with foreign accents are accepted more readily as human.”]

He makes a notation on a pad, “Of course.”

“Excuse me, sir, but do you have my resume?”

“No. My assistant reviewed it, but I’d rather you tell me about yourself.”

[“She doesn’t recognize that as a request.”]

“Tell me about yourself,” he repeats.

“Oh,” embarrassed, she begins, telling him she graduated with high honors in mechatronics from a respected Australian university and worked three years for a startup robotics company in Sydney.

“Why are you leaving them?”

“Well, I haven’t made a final decision to do so, but I’m combining my vacation in San Francisco with interviews. Actually, FirstAmeriBot is at the top of my list. I want to work with the best in the world.”

He asks about projects she’s worked on, and as she talks, he makes notations and shows increasing interest in her answers.

[“She fits the specs perfectly; he’s taking the bait.”]

As the interview progresses, he becomes more cordial and it’s obvious he’s not only impressed with her professionally, but personally. He cracks a smile.

[“Her hair, facial, and body features, as well as her clothing and behavioral patterns, are all designed to make her irresistible.”]

He says her education and experience would qualify her for a temporary worker visa, and she says she won’t need one because her mum is an American, so she has dual US-Australian citizenship.

[“Reel him in.”]

The interview turns into a relaxed conversation in which the two laugh often. When he hands her a brochure, she lets it drop to the desktop and brushes her fingers on his hand. He quickly withdraws it and summarizes medical-dental benefits. Finally, he says he will arrange for her to meet the team leader for robotics before week’s end.

[High fives all around.]

Answering the phone, he holds his hand over it to say “Sorry, I’ll have to take this privately, but I’ll call you this afternoon, Maddy.”

[“Maddy?”]

As she exits, a glance back shows him admiring the sway of her hips.

[“He can’t stand up or she’d see his…”]

Her POV approaching an elevator shows a man risking his fingers to stop the door from closing. He’s all smiles as she enters.

“Do you work here?”

[“After she’s hired, we’re going to have to dial back her… She’s not equipped for intimacy.”]

[“What’s the point of planting her in FAB, since they’re behind us?”]

[“To take them down technical dead ends, sabotage their R&D, make sure they don’t catch up.”]

Two people enter the interview room. Their tags ID him as “Team Leader, Robotics” and her as “Chief Scientist.” She unplugs the interviewer and pulls him backwards, revealing an upper body and chair back attached to a metal box on wheels.

Removing a side panel, “I can’t wait to get her in the lab and reverse engineer her locomotion hardware and software.”

“It’s Thanksgiving in July and she’s a gift turkey,” he says, “to be plucked, gutted, and devoured.”

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