by submission | Jul 20, 2014 | Story |
Author : George R. Shirer
“Well,” murmured Agent Dumphy, “you don’t see that every day.”
Brillson didn’t reply. He was too busy squinting at the luminous graffiti covering the alley wall.
“How many people do you think have seen this?” asked Dumphy.
Brillson pursed his lips. “Back here? Bunch a winos and some garbage men. Maybe some delivery guys.”
“That’s atypical,” said Dumphy. “Usually carriers tag someplace busy, with lots of eyes, to maximize the spread.”
“I think it knows we’re on to it,” said Brillson. “So it’s getting sneaky.”
“Well, crap.”
Brillson nodded. The command had been tracking this conceptual lifeform ever since the Beijing Disaster, when its ideogram had appeared on several skyscrapers, cunningly shaped by office lights and window shades. An estimated three million people had been infected, leading the Chinese to nuke their own capital and blame it on Hong Kong dissidents.
Since Beijing, the Text had gone underground, popping up on random websites that folded as quickly as they appeared. It had somehow infected a fashion designer in Milan, who had integrated the Text’s ideogram into his show, infecting hundreds of the rich and famous. Then it had infected a window display designer for Macy’s at Christmas, infecting hundreds more.
“What do you think it wants?” asked Dumphy.
“I don’t know,” said Brillson. “Maybe it doesn’t want anything. Just ‘cause it’s alive doesn’t mean it’s sentient. It could just want to reproduce and spread like a regular virus.”
“But if it’s getting sneakier, doesn’t that suggest intelligence?”
“Maybe,” said Brillson. He shrugged. “It’s really above our pay grade. You got the paint?”
Dumphy nodded, hoisted an industrial-sized can of spray paint.
“Do the honors.”
Grinning, Dumphy shook the can and then directed a blast of midnight black paint across the luminous ideograms.
Command had discovered they could neutralize the transmission medium by defacing it. How they had discovered it, Brillson didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Just like he didn’t think he wanted to know how Command had worked out people with achromatopsia – people like Dumphy and he – were immune to infection.
Thank God for small favors, thought Brillson. Otherwise they’d be in a quarantine camp, undergoing tests to chart the psychological and neurological changes the Text imposed on its carriers. Carriers spent their days doodling the infectious ideogram on everything they could between bouts of Tourette-like outbursts.
Not a pleasant existence at all, thought Brillson, as he watched Dumphy deface the graffiti.
Command was working on a weapon to kill the Text, a sort of memetic bullet they would release via the Internet. Brillson was certain they’d work it out, sooner than later. Command wasn’t about to let some random, viral thought-form take the world.
“After all,” murmured Brillson, to himself, “we were here first.”
by submission | Jul 19, 2014 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
“It’ll cost me that much?!” asked the thin man in a louder voice than he’d intended. The man in the black suit who sat across from him in the coffee shop leaned in and gestured for him to lower his voice.
“For the service you require, Mr. Dalrymple, the cost is quite reasonable.” The man sipped his espresso con panna.
“But that’s,” the thin man began and then leaned in and spoke more softly. “But that’s almost all the money I embezzled.”
“And you’ll get an equivalent sum back, plus or minus a few percent. Two percent of your funds will be invested in a very diversified portfolio. Even with taxes and market crashes, one hundred years of compound interest adds up.”
“But I’m losing ninety-eight percent up front,” protested the thin man.
The man in the black suit gestured at one of the waitstaff robots that ran along tracks in the ceiling. It glided over to the table. The machine telescoped down to eye level and took his drink order.
“Mr. Dalrymple, you appreciated the scope of the service I’m offering, do you not? A whole new identity including name, birth certificate, social security number, and detailed education transcripts, work history, and medical records. Suspended animation for one hundred years. A nanotech wetware package to give you knowledge of historical, sociopolitical, economic, and technological advances during your hibernation, as well as fluency in the top three predominant languages at the time of your reanimation. And there are, of course, the little matters of not going to prison and being able to enjoy the money you…appropriated.”
“How do I know I’m not going to simply be put in suspended animation indefinitely? Or maybe for just a day? And then I’m reanimated to discover my identity was never changed and the police are after me and you’ve made off with the money?”
The waiter robot returned, descended, and placed another espresso in front of the black-suited man.
“Do you recall a recent news item involving a man named Jason Underwood?”
“Yeah. He was that guy who pulled off that big bank robbery 20 years ago. The cops just caught up with him finally. Say, I remember them saying he didn’t look a day older. Was he…?”
“One of my clients? Yes. Mr. Underwood was a stubborn man. I recommended a much longer duration of suspended animation than 20 years. He wouldn’t hear of it. And then he was foolish enough to contact his old girlfriend after his reanimation. It was she who betrayed him to the authorities. I always warn my clients never to contact old family or acquaintances. A clean break with one’s past is required.”
“Aren’t you worried he’ll tell the authorities about you?”
“What name will he give them? The one I gave you? I have nearly two dozen identities I employ. And I put myself into suspension for years at a stretch with some regularity. One does not pursue this career successfully for half a millennium by being sloppy.”
The thin man considered his words. “Alright,” he said at last. “How do we begin?”
The man in the black suit handed him a card. “Bring the money to this address tomorrow at 9:00 am. Don’t arouse suspicion by telling your family and friends goodbye. Simply know that after tomorrow morning you will not see them again.”
The thin man took the card, stood up, and walked out of the coffee shop without a word.
“Pleasant dreams, Mr. Dalrymple,” the black-suited man said to the empty chair. “Give my regards to the future.”
by submission | Jul 15, 2014 | Story |
Author : Lester L Weil
“Are you sure you want to do this,” he asked. “If so, you need to sign this release. We may be on another planet, but Earth laws apply on this station.”
Hell yes I want to do this. I grabbed the paper and signed. I was excited.
We had captured an alien beast yesterday. The beasts resembled the grizzly bear, except were much larger. I was going to enter and take over this beast’s mind and body. A chance of a lifetime. Chance of a million lifetimes more like it. Controlling—becoming—this creature was beyond anything I could have ever imagined.
This planet’s atmosphere was caustic to humans, hampering our exploration. Using the beast we hoped to explore certain otherwise inaccessible parts of this wild planet. That I was a geologist was a decided plus. Our expeditions always hoped to turn a profit, and licensing mining projects was a sure way.
We had studied the beasts and knew quite a bit about them. They were magnificent physical specimens with very large brains. But in spite of the large brain, our intelligence tests had determined that they were no more intelligent than the bears of Earth. They were almost always seen alone, so we had little knowledge of their social patterns.
I stood the lab window and stared at my Beast. I was beyond excited. I could not wait till tomorrow.
* * *
We started the process before daybreak. The initial set up seemed to take forever. But at last it was time.
“Last chance to change your mind,” the tech said.
“Not a chance.”
He pushed the button.
* * *
I slowly regained consciousness. I flexed and stretched, getting the feel of this new body. I brushed off the wire leads and stood, gave the “OK, I’m good” sign to the tech and walked out into the meadow. Then I began to run. I ran like the wind. Wow! Fantastic! What a great body this is!
I spent the day roaming the area, becoming acquainted with my new body and what I could do. My strength was amazing, the quickness of movement astounding. I could not get over the sheer joy of controlling this magnificent body. I also began reaching into the edges of Beast’s mind for information. There seemed to be no language to master. The only sounds I could make were bearlike growls and roars.
That night I dug deeper into Beast’s mind, trying to get a feel for his life. It was all very confusing. The beasts seemed to be solitary wanderers most of the time and only gathered for mating and… Here, I could not quite understand the rest of what was involved. But there would be plenty of time to figure all that out.
Beast’s mind started to push back a little, but it was weak and I had no trouble keeping it down. As the night deepened, my mind grew tired and I slept.
* * *
I awoke suddenly. Something was wrong. I was not in control. Beast was moving through the meadow near our compound and I could do nothing to affect his movements. He brushed aside my attempts effortlessly. He seemed to be talking with others, but made no sound. Telepathy. He must be using telepathy. More beasts appeared, coming to join us.
Beast began picking my brain to determine how best to destroy the “alien invader’s” compound. My efforts to resist were futile against Beast’s vastly superior mind.
Well, so much for our intelligence testing.
A beast laughing is a unique and terrible sound.
by submission | Jul 14, 2014 | Story |
Author : Josh Escobar
(Host) Welcome, tonight we have a very interesting guest with us. Please welcome [REDACTED].
(Clapping)
[REDACTED] Thank you, it’s great to be here. I’m a huge fan of the program.
(Host) The pleasure is all mine. For those who don’t know, please tell our audience what you do?
[REDACTED] I’m a Visual Effects Artist.
(Clapping)
(H) The unsung hero of the industry!
[R] Yeah, our best work is the stuff people don’t notice. Most of my friends think my job is all about wizbang effects. You know explosions, blood splatter, and all those exciting visual treats.
(Laughing?)
[R] I just laugh inside. Don’t take me wrong. I do work on those effects when needed, but what I get really excited about is my work on the small details.
(H) Can you explain that, because I love a good explosion?
[R] Yeah, no problem. Most people will not notice a half assed explosion, no offense, because it’s literally gone in a flash. However, people can tell right away when the small things are off. Take the human face. When the effect of a human face is done wrong, it doesn’t fool anyone. They can tell right away it’s fake. We call this unsettling effect “The Uncanny Valley”.
(H) Interesting, how then have you fixed this effect to work on set?
[R] Well better computers for one, but we study the human face a lot. Some of us even have participated in medical procedures where they peel back the skin observing the muscles and how they interact.
(Audience) EWW!
(H) I agree that’s a bit much….
[R] Sorry, research is messy.
(H) Moving on, what’s your biggest accomplishment?
[R] I’m most proud of my eye rendering. When done correctly they make all the difference between an ok face and a great one that can withstand minute scrutiny. You can tell the difference between my work and my colleagues when you see sunglasses, because in the amount of time they have they just can’t do the eyes right, so they hide them behind sunglasses. You see my colleagues work more in the bulk or rush jobs we get, while I get called in on the quality assignments, those that are going to be seen up close.
(H) We have a test for the Audience, can you spot the effects from the real ones?
(Murmuring)
(H) Well I can’t!
[R] Good, that’s when I know I’ve done my job right.
(Clapping)
(H) Well that’s fabulous. Are you working on something in particular right now?
[R] Its still hush-hush, so I can’t say anything. But, it will revolutionize our long term subtle affects.
(H) Great, would you run this clip of your latest mission through for us?
[R] This project was an up-close test of my eyes. Here we have a Salesman all in black, with a fedora no less, and he walks up to a suburban household briefcase in hand. As the door opens he takes off his sunglasses and puts on his best smile a twinkle in his eye. After his pitch and some idle chitchat with the homeowner, she invites the man inside to seal the deal….
The door locks….
She pulls the stun-gun out…
Ah, the surprise on the salesman’s face, classic! He never suspected she wasn’t human!
(Clapping)
(H) Wonderful just wonderful, and here is that Salesman! Fresh from the examination room.
(Salesman) Where am I? What have you done to me! Let me go you gray bug-eyed freaks!
(H) Stay tuned to The White Room as we explore and experiment on the anatomy of this human, live!
by submission | Jul 13, 2014 | Story |
Author : Matt Handle
Dex felt the sleek machine between his legs thrum even deeper when he twisted the throttle, opening it up to full speed as he zipped through the streets of Central City. He weaved in and out of traffic as the wheelgaunts honed in on his signal. He could sense them getting closer, their hideous high-pitched shrieks echoing off the DBS towers that loomed over the slender corridors of silicon and steel. Blue and green luminosity streaked by as he gritted his teeth and pressed on, a leather-clad comet blazing across an electric night.
The warmth of the golden runes that were etched into his pale skin radiated inward, flowing through his nervous system like quicksilver. The skeletal wraiths nipping at his heels would stop at nothing to carve that power source from his tender flesh. They’d caught wind of him as he’d descended the Spindle and now he had only one chance. Reach the protection of the Night Lotus or die.
He leaned into a curve as he neared the last tunnel, his body nearly parallel to the smooth surface of the interior artery. Every fiber of his being tingled as the narrow sleeve of insulated circuitry approached. He was almost there.
The lead wheelgaunt was drafting him. Its sinewy arms and clawed talons grasped for the back of his cycle as the creature’s translucent and spiny wheels tore into the sponge-like track. Needles of fear spiked their way down Dex’s spine and stabbed at his heart. He’d made this treacherous route dozens of times before, but the wheelgaunts had never been so close. He could smell their stench of atrophy and death as he sped into the red passage that marked the final length of his journey.
Vermilion light washed over him as his bike darted through the channel. The whine of his engine reverberated off the rounded walls, mixing with the furious sound of his pursuers to create a cacophonous song that announced his arrival. There was no turning back. The tunnel contained no tributaries or retreats. Either he would reach the safety of the Bloom or the wheelgaunts would drag him to ruin.
In the final milliseconds of the chase, Dex felt the icy tips of the wheelgaunt’s barbed fingers as the creature leapt forward in desperation, lashing out before it came up short and slammed into the ground, tumbling away into a tangle of bent wheels and broken limbs. The screech of its two fellows’ brakes immediately followed, their shrill screams of hatred heralding his narrow escape.
Dex burst free from the pipe, shooting across open space in the blink of an eye. The runes that covered his body blazed forth in a torrent of light at the proximity of the Lotus’s welcoming folds and then the flower enveloped him, engulfing him in a lover’s embrace. He was home.
