by submission | Sep 9, 2016 | Story |
Author : Matthew Harrison
It was a struggle, but they managed to get the trainees ready just in time for the cocktail.
“I don’t see why we need to bother,” Simon said as he surveyed the work. He had crumpled his suit, and didn’t have a spare. “We can just explain the firm to the candidates ourselves.”
His partner Maggie, elegant despite the rush, would have none of it. “To attract the best law interns, we have to show them we have the best trainees.”
“And it’s not just getting them ready,” Simon went on, as if he hadn’t heard her. “They have to perform…”
There was no time for Maggie to argue. The first would-be interns were already at reception; Astrid couldn’t hold them for long. Maggie went briskly through the final preparations, glanced quickly at the trainees with their rouged cheeks and crimsoned lips, and then swung the door wide. “Welcome to Chancel Rose!” she beamed at the young visitors.
The cocktail went well. The would-be applicants were awed by all the smart suits and good looks. Maggie whirled around the room, introducing intern to trainee and trainee to intern, and smoothing all with her light banter. Simon, despite his grumbles, did the same, along the way attracting quite a gaggle of impressionable young girls.
“We’re tremendously proud of the professional work we do,” Maggie was saying to one group, “isn’t that right, Michael?” And before the trainee could answer, she had hurried on, “But one thing we insist upon in this firm is work-life balance. ‘Don’t let the law get ahead of the life’ – eh, Petra?”
Petra looked as though the witticism was beneath her. So Maggie took her arm and introduced her to the most talkative of the young male applicants.
That done, she rushed to another group where the conversation was slowing and got the waiter to pour more wine. Then it was on to ginger up another group, and another. Simon was keeping things going on the other side of the room. And Astrid was doing her bit with the young people in the corner.
Just as Maggie’s inventiveness was beginning to flag, Simon picked up a glass and tapped it with a fork. The room fell silent – and then the audio rang out with the firm’s song! Holding hands with Michael and Petra, Maggie led the trainees in a spirited performance, drawing applause from the interns. Simon, throwing himself into it, switched to pop, and cavorted about on the floor. The lights were dimmed, a revolving disco ball cast spangles of light over the proceedings, and the cocktail ended in general dancing.
As the tired applicants streamed out, Maggie was gratified to hear one of them say, “What a firm!”
“Sure,” said another, “they’re so alive!”
“Did you hear that, Simon?” Maggie said afterwards. “A good evening’s work!”
Simon could only agree. And, with Astrid helping, the two of them wound down the trainees so that they could go back into storage.
by submission | Sep 8, 2016 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
Wachter ran out of the bank just as the alarm sounded. It was not an auspicious beginning to what Wachter had imagined would be a long and successful criminal career. The teller had initially thought he was kidding when he’d asked for $20,000 in cash. And when he’d pulled out his 9mm automatic he’d dropped it on the floor and had to scramble to recover it. But if I can just make it to my car, thought Wachter, it’ll be smooth sailing.
Watcher leaped in through the open door of the waiting self-driving automobile and yelled, “Go!”
“Please tell me where you’d like to go,” the car responded in a pleasant female voice.
“Take me to the hideout! Fast!”
“Do you mean The Hideout at 27844 Ryan Road? If so, The Hideout is the city’s friendliest lounge, catering to LGBTQIA patrons but welcoming anyone who enjoys good food, great music, and–”
“I don’t want to go to a bar! Take me to the storage unit I rented on Blackburn Street! Quick!” screamed Wachter who thought he heard the wail of a police siren in the distance.
“Certainly,” replied the car. “Would that be Sammy’s Storage at 1132 Blackburn Street or U-Stor-It at 1610 Black–”
“Sammy’s!”
The car pulled out of the bank parking lot, drove 20 feet, and stopped at a red light.
Wachter nervously looked through the car’s rear window and saw a police cruiser pull into the parking lot. After an eternity of seconds, the light turned green and the car moved forward.
“Step on it!” commanded Wachter.
“I’m sorry, the speed limit is 45 miles per hour,” said the car. “This vehicle’s battery is in need of a recharge. There is a Fast-Charge station 0.25 miles up the street. Would you like to stop there?”
“No. Just go to the hideout.”
“Understood. Destination changed to The Hideout at 27844 Ryan Road.” The car darted into the turn lane and took a side street. “Tonight is karaoke night at The Hideout. Step up to the mic for your chance to win one of several prizes including–”
“I don’t want to go to that bar!” protested Wachter. “Take me to Sammy’s Storage!”
“Understood. Destination changed to Sammy’s Storage at 1132 Blackburn Street.”
The car turned left into the parking lot of a dentist’s office, circled the building, and exited back on the street. Wachter was sweating profusely. He heard a squad car’s siren but couldn’t localize the sound.
“Cafe Zoltan is 0.4 miles up the street,” said the car. “Would you like to stop in for a thick, luscious cup of Turkish coffee? Cafe Zoltan also has a selection of–”
“No! Keep going to the hide– Keep going to Sammy’s!”
“Okay,” said the car.
The vehicle quietly rolled on for several minutes. Wachter no longer heard any sirens. He sat back and relaxed. He looked at the bags of money in the passenger seat and smiled. “I did it,” he said with satisfaction.
A moment later, the car’s right turn signal came on. The vehicle pulled into the parking lot of a police station. Wachter stared out through the windshield in disbelief.
“What are you doing?!”
“This vehicle’s battery charge is critically low. Per state law, this vehicle has diverted to the nearest safe parking facility. Would you like me to call Shane’s Roadside Recharge?”
Wachter opened the door and ran from the car, leaving his gun and stolen money behind.
“I’ve got to get to the hideout!”
Behind him a distant voice said, “Tonight’s featured cocktail at The Hideout is a gin fizz.”
by submission | Sep 7, 2016 | Story |
Author : Alicia Cerra Waters
“Don’t touch that,” I said as I slapped Henry’s hand. His doughy cheeks formed a pout as he let go of the zipper of his thermo suit. Somehow, hiking through the mountains of a planet on the brink of being engulfed by a dying star had not helped melt the baby fat away from his face. I thought about telling him that the silvery material that covered his body was much lighter and more comfortable than it had been thirty years ago when my sister and I settled here, but it probably wouldn’t have done any good. There was no forgetting his horrified expression as he got off the shuttle and took in the crumbling mountains, saying
“This is a planet?!”
Through the plastic of his helmet, I saw him frown the way that he did when all that was left for dinner were dehydrated peas. “It itches. I hate this.”
“The rays from a sun this hot will give you cancer in about three minutes, not to mention burn off your skin,” I told him, for the thousandth time. “If you want to live, don’t take off the suit.”
Henry dug his toe into the sand and made an angry, red tornado out of dust. What did I expect? My sister raised him on one of the developed blue planets where every building had indoor plumbing and you were the poor kid if you didn’t own at least two hoverbikes. For a moment, I felt sick. She never imagined her son would live here.
“This is where we’re sleeping,” I said. We were behind the crest of a mountain, which offered a small portion of shade. I took off my pack, and instantly my head and shoulders felt light enough to float away from my body. Sometimes I thought that getting us off of this planet would kill me before the exploding sun got a chance.
I unfolded the tent, wondering if today would be the day that I finally managed to get the anchors to stay in the crumbling earth. Henry was watching a black salamander crawl down the side of a boulder. The salamanders were some of the only creatures that hadn’t gone extinct in the heat; except for a few rare birds that scientists had rescued, every other life form had already perished.
The salamander crawled into the palm of Henry’s hand and raised its head as if it were searching for something. I was about to ask the kid to help me, but then he said, “My mom used to live here, right?”
I put down the anchor. “Yeah, we lived here when we were your age.”
He squinted. “Why are we leaving?”
“The sun is going to swallow this planet soon.”
Henry turned his head towards the red orb and watched it sink wearily towards the mountains. “So, where will everything go?”
“Nowhere. It’ll be dust floating through the galaxy.”
“This mountain, those rocks, those dead trees,” he said as he looked into the valley.
“I guess.”
Where he grew up, he used to have a hoverbike and a nanny with scaly purple skin who was an immigrant from one of the outer planets. He used to have other rich kids for friends. He used to have a mother.
Henry lowered his pointer finger onto the salamander’s head and gave it a light touch. His round, dark eyes were fixed on the small creature as its pink tongue flicked in and out of its mouth, as if he were still waiting for the real answer.
by submission | Sep 4, 2016 | Story |
Author : Leanne A. Styles
“Welcome to your new life,” the foreman says, thrusting a set of gardening tools and a pair of overalls at me.
I take them and file in line behind my little brother.
“Have you ever seen so much green in your life, Della?” my brother says, pulling on his overalls eagerly. “I’ve heard it’s all done by converting the sea water to fresh water.”
“Fascinating,” I say flatly as I step, reluctantly, into my overalls. “I still can’t believe mum made us leave the desert to come and work in this place.”
“Oh, please cheer up. At least we’re all together.”
“Not all of us,” I say under my breath.
He ignores my comment, and says, “Anyway, you know the developers would have bought the land eventually. And I know you found all that moving around just as tiring as we did. You’re only sour because you had to set the horses free.”
The line starts to move. One by one, we reach our stations. My brother, having already committed his training manual to memory, drops to his knees and immediately starts plucking any dead leaves from his tomato plants.
I kneel beside him and start tending to my own plot. “Let’s move to the eco city, mum said.” Pluck. Pluck. “It’ll be fun.” Snip. Snip. “Who needs fresh air and freedom?”
But my brother doesn’t respond. He’s chatting and laughing with the boy next to him.
I wonder if he misses dad at all.
The girl next to me says, “It’s not that bad once you get used to it. We have fun too. Everybody looks out for each other here. We’re one big community. And as part of a community, you have to do your bit.”
“What if I don’t want to be part of a community?”
She frowns. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Wild horses.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Pluck. Pluck.
At dinner, the performance evaluation. My brother grins proudly as the foreman leads the team in applause. All plants tended to. Hydroponics running at maximum. A record first day for the new boy.
“Better luck tomorrow,” the foreman says to me.
“Maybe you can get the horses to carry the fruit for you?” someone mutters.
My bother giggles with his new clan.
Dad would be so proud.
Through the towering glass wall of the hive, the sun is steadily sinking below the mountains, a fractured stream of orange laying an inviting path across the ocean waves. Beyond the shore, at the path’s end, the prairie lands, my home. Where my father taught me to track animals and tame foals. Maybe I could swim, and run, and find him…
The window suddenly dims, turning into a huge screen. A list of names in big green letters runs across the middle. I count five.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“At the end of each day we see who we lost,” the older girl sitting opposite me says.
“Lost?”
“Passed away.”
“How did they die?”
“Accidents, probably… Sometimes people drown.”
“In the ocean?”
Nod. “The guards try to stop them, but sometimes they just―”
The boy sitting to the left of the older girl clamps his hand around her wrist. “What she means is, sometimes people ignore the warnings and… go for a swim,” he says to me. “The guards do their best to revive them, but, you know?” He shrugs.
“Don’t worry, though.” He tightens his grip on the girl’s arm and smiles. “We all look out for each other here.”
by submission | Sep 1, 2016 | Story |
Author : Callum Wallace
“Forward! Move forward!”
I duck the humming blue blow as the throng presses me onwards.
“How much further?” Davos looks afraid, scared of the dark, frightened of the ubiquitous pressing weight above.
I grip his hand, “We’ll know soon enough.”
The ceiling thickens. Air becomes thick, nasty, hard to swallow.
Sallow lanterns joke about light as the darkness squashes us, making us formless, one, a huddled mass, the underclass, alone in our multitude.
“What’s going to –” His whisper is cut off by a booming voice that echoes around the tightly packed space, ignoring the bodies trapped there, strong, powerful.
“Friends! Fellow slaves! Urchins, off casts, dregs. I’m sure you’ve been called them all. But listen now! We are mistreated, pushed about, abused and used, only to be cast aside and discarded when it is no longer appropriate for us to be seen above ground, broken and useless!”
There is a heavy pause as the voice soaks up the eagerly listening air around them.
“It is time for this to end! It is time for us to rise up! Look at us! How many of us are sent underground to await death? Ten-thousand? Twenty?
“More than enough. With this number, we could –”
I turn away, pulling Davos close. His eyes are still wide, still deathly afraid, but I note the dangerous gleam, the spark that leads to violence. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We can still find a hab-shelter, I’m sure.”
“No. He’s right. This is too far.”
Grimace. “This is your first ramp?” He nods. “I’ve lost count, Davos. It never changes. Every time, it’s the same. Trust me. Now come on.”
He pulls his hand from mine, eyes wide as saucers in the gloom. “What do you mean? There are other ramps? They’ve sent more of us down? That means there are more of us to fight!”
I shake my head. “No. One ramp at a time. They send us down the ramp, wait for the inevitable fight, wipe you out and start all over. Do you recognise anyone down here? Ever seen any newscasts, any footage of any rebels at all? Think about it.”
“Only Archangel.”
Shudder. “She was the first. And one of the first to die, or go missing. Every rebellion happens because of her, and thousands of humans have been culled because of her.
“Please, Davos, come with me. It isn’t worth throwing your life away. Do an old woman a favour.”
The speech overhead is raising the crowd to a fever pitch. You can taste the metallic quality of the peoples’ excitement in the rank air.
“I have to do this. You would agree if you weren’t a coward. If you cared.”
He pushes away and into the swarm, one of the chosen, a hero in the making.
I shrug sadly, and go the other way, heading deeper down into the oppressive black of the ramp.
I know I should try harder, but it’s happened so many times before. I know it’s pointless, and I know what’ll happen. Davos will be dead by morning.
The Tregeél communicator vibrates silently against the inside of my skull, and my vision blurs.
They’re waiting.
“This is Twelve. It’s happening again. You’ll have to kill them all.”
Another buzz that shakes my teeth, and I find a hidden alcove where I can watch, safely above the surging idiots below me.
And I sit.
Archangel sits.
Waiting.
