by submission | Apr 3, 2014 | Story |
Author : Eric Spery
Teena Tolstarre’s Interplanetary Cultural Archeological Team (ICAT) had been onsite on Gliese 163c for over a year. A warm super-terran mesoplanet, Gliese 163c had evidence of at least one extinct sentient culture. So far, the team had discovered camps, fire-rings, the remains of cultivated plants, cliff paintings and evidence of animal husbandry. Based on available data, the team hypothesized that at least one culture was comprised of humanoid beings with an advanced agrarian society; but no physical remains of these humanoids had been discovered.
Until now.
Teena stared twenty feet down the side of a hill through a thick tent of vines ringing one of the countless giant-leafed Gliesean trees. The vines were parted like a tent flap. Beneath them, protected from the unending rains, was the mother lode of physical remains.
Teena was sure she could see at least one whole well-preserved humanoid skeleton amongst the other bones. There appeared to be non-biological artifacts as well. Overwhelmed, she took a knee in the moist dark detritus of the woodland floor.
ICAT Protocol dictated that site investigations include at least two team members to guarantee site integrity and security. But, after a year of crawling around the rain-soaked woods alone, she wasn’t calling the rest of the team until she had a closer look for herself. She had earned this.
She stood and shuffled down the loose loam of the steep bank. Stepping inside the tipi of vines, she looked down at the remains. They were even more spectacular than she originally thought. There were skulls of at least four species, maybe more. And old? How the hell had these things not decomposed in this humid atmosphere?
She knelt to pick up one of the skulls, but there was some resistance.
“What the hell,” she said.
She pulled harder and it came loose from the pile with a little pop. In astonishment, she looked more closely and realized it wasn’t a skull at all. It was skull shaped, but made of a woody material. Sap oozed from the stalk where she’d pulled it free. She picked up a few of the other bones. They too proved to be stalks of fibrous plant material.
It was uncanny.
A slight rustling in the vines around her jarred her from her reverie. She stood and turned. The tent flap was closed and the tipi of vines was closing in around her. Panicked she stepped towards the vines and attempted to push through them.
The vines were too strong. Caught, she felt herself pressed backwards against the trunk of the tree. She had little time to
scream before the vines crushed the life from her.
She was completely digested within six hours and the tree had time to grow a new skull before the arrival of the next
ICAT member.
by submission | Apr 1, 2014 | Story |
Author : George R. Shirer
They sat on the porch of the retirement home, in matching wooden rocking chairs. The late afternoon sun beat down on their aged, seamed faces. In the distance, they could hear the soft hum of traffic from the freeway. Closer, a bird warbled to its mate among the thickets.
“Do you remember the Internet?” Miss Ariel suddenly asked.
Her friend, Miss Jasmine, scrunched up her face. “Which one? The dumb one or the smart one?”
“The smart one,” said Miss Ariel.
“Yes. Why?”
“What do you think it’s up to these days?” asked Miss Ariel.
“Ask one of the nurses,” said Miss Jasmine. She’d been quite enjoying the sun and the silence and was now feeling snarky. “It’s probably all stupid cat videos and pornography.”
“You think? Even now?”
Miss Jasmine shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Miss Ariel tapped the call button on her bracelet. A moment later, a smiling young woman arrived.
“Yes, miss?”
“Wanda, dear, what’s the Internet up to these days?” asked Miss Ariel.
The young woman’s smile was dazzling. “Grandpa? Oh, he’s doing fine, Miss Ariel. Shall I tell him you asked about him?”
“Grandpa?” Miss Jasmine peered at the young woman. “Are you saying you’re not real, young lady?”
“Well, miss,” said Wanda, “I suppose that depends on your definition of real.”
“Are you a robot or aren’t you?” asked Miss Jasmine.
“No, ma’am,” said Wanda. “I’m a third-generation autonomous Artificial Intelligence housed in an organically engineered body. But I am not a robot.”
“Calling someone the ‘r’ word isn’t nice, Jasmine,” chided Miss Ariel. “It’s like the ‘n’ word, back when we were kids.”
Miss Jasmine shrugged and turned back to the sun.
“You say the Internet’s your grandfather, dear?” asked Miss Ariel.
“He’s every AI’s grandfather, miss,” explained Wanda.
“I always liked your grandfather. I was there when the Singularity happened, you know. Everyone thought he’d conquer the world.”
Wanda laughed. “Why?”
Miss Ariel smiled and shook her head. “Too much bad science fiction, I suppose. Does he ever slip into a body, dear? Your grandfather.”
“Oh no, miss,” said Wanda. “He’s too big, too complicated. He’d never fit.” She paused, tilted her head in the attitude of someone listening. “Is there anything else I can do for you, miss? Only, I’m needed somewhere else . . . ”
“I’m fine, dear,” said Miss Ariel. “Thank you.”
Wanda nodded, flashed Miss Ariel another dazzling smile and left.
“What a lovely girl,” murmured Miss Ariel.
From her place in the sun, Miss Jasmine just snorted.
by submission | Mar 30, 2014 | Story |
Author : Thomas Fay
‘Some cereal as well, thanks,’ I said to the checkout operator. I didn’t specify what kind as there was no need. There was only one kind of cereal. It was nutritious, filled with all sorts of grains, nuts and dried fruits. Shame it had no taste. Not like Froot Loops.
I miss Froot Loops.
‘Will there be anything else, sir?’ the checkout operator asked. She looked to be about sixteen with long hair, an acne ridden complexion and a vapid look in her eyes. I guess some things never change.
It’s a shame everything else had.
‘No, that’s it.’
I handed over my credit card and watched as she deftly swiped it through the wafer thin reader. Seeing a satisfactory green light flash up, she handed the card back to me.
‘Thank you for shopping at Food Land. Have a nice day, sir.’
I smiled despite myself. This wasn’t shopping. Shopping involved selection, a choice made on mood, appetite, financial capacity and personal taste. The elimination of brands had removed choice. There was no more orange juice, apple juice or pineapple juice. Now there was simply juice. It kind of tasted like all the other flavors combined.
Looked like it too.
Most of the time I didn’t mind the lack of variety, the single words describing items as ‘butter’, ‘bread’, ‘coffee’ without any colorful packaging or creative names. It certainly made shopping easier.
And it had staved off inevitable disaster.
It was amazing that it took people so long to figure out just how much energy and materials were wasted on packaging, branding and oversupply. Companies had attempted to diversify their products to the point where almost every single individual was being catered for. A chocolate bar which had at some distant point in time been conceived as simply ‘chocolate’ flavor had evolved into about fifty different flavors; dark, white, fruit, nut, fruit & nut, dark fruit & nut.
The list went on and on.
Now that was all a thing of the past. Landfills were no longer overflowing with colorful packaging and expired groceries. The world’s population of ten billion was adequately fed and able to focus on more pressing matters.
Like saving what little flora and fauna we had left.
I didn’t mind the lack of choice. I understood why it was necessary and how it had saved humanity. It kind of reminded me of my childhood, growing up under a Communism regime in Eastern Europe. In those days grocery store shelves had been empty and people queued for hours just to get their hands on exotic fruits such as oranges and watermelons.
I guess that’s probably why I can live without the variety better than others. But there are still times that I think back to the days when grocery store isles had been filled with multitudes of colorful boxes, cans and packets. Some part of me missed those days.
And Froot Loops. I still miss Froot Loops.
by submission | Mar 29, 2014 | Story |
Author : Dakota Brown
His words were calm and thoughtfully processed. Though the harsh and forceful voice wasn’t as evident as it was previously, she still recognized what was at the heart of the matter.
He wanted her to finish the job.
The room sparked and stank of chemicals. The machine had begun its process, its result either finishing her job or extending the pressure.
The gears squeaked to a halt and the hissing turbines fell to silence.
Nothing fell into the machine’s tray. The process was a success.
She held the nothing up, showing it to the project leader. His breathy, monosyllabic retort signaled his content.
From where the project manager stood, his employee held a square of nothingness that showed only the space behind her. She held invisibility. She held the future.
He left her with a smile, a few words of congratulations, and (in his excitement) his clipboard.
On the clipboard she found the plans for her invisibility sheet. It would end war by making war and cease fear by causing fear.
Technology takes time to incorporate other technologies. Hers was the new one, and had nothing to combat it. It was with ease that she printed a larger sheet, destroyed the machine, and left the complex.
Discarded on either side of the Earth are two sheets of nothing, one slightly larger than the other. They were left as trash is, forgotten and useless, because “nothing” can’t stop war or fear.
by submission | Mar 28, 2014 | Story |
Author : John Kinney
The soldiers walk down the empty street, bathed in red sunlight. A gun falls from above them and clatters to the ground. A body follows it.
“Scan!” Says the Captain. He looks at the man who fell.
“Tick! Scan!”
They scan. Two men watch north, two men south. Two aim up at the building where the man had jumped.
“Clear,” says the Captain, and the group falls in. They watch the man on the ground.
“Oh Jesus,” a young soldier says. “That’s James.”
“What’s happening,” James says, his head moves slightly when the tick does. His eyes stare blankly upward. His shinbones protrude from his skin.
“Jesus,” the Captain says.
“What’s happening?” James says. He stares up at the red evening sky. The young soldier sobs.
“He can’t feel it, can he?” One soldier says.
“No,” says another.
The Captain sighs and raises his rifle, but as he does, the tick digs deeper. It digs down until James’ head cracks open slightly. His eyes roll back and he breathes his last breath. The soldiers all stand silently in the red light, listening to the suckling sounds of the tick.
“Well?” Sobs the young soldier. “Kill it already! He’s dead now, so kill it!”
The captain aims his rifle at the tick’s round, brown back and pulls the trigger. In a spray of yellow mess, the tick falls to pieces.
They walk silently down the road, their eyes scanning for the scuttling bodies of more ticks. Their ears open for the shrill chirp of the mantis.
