by submission | May 15, 2013 | Story |
Author : Townsend Wright
The girl with the bright red hair walked into the dingy, ramshackle hotel. The lobby was edged with people, some standing, watching, most asleep under old coats or bags, except one man with a disfigured face who was sitting cross-legged in meditation.
She walked up to the old man behind the front desk. “Room for the night.” The man looked up and stared wide at her unnaturally red hair. “Relax,” she said and split a part in her hair to show him, “roots, see? Bad fashion statement.” She shoved a wad of bills, some ancient American some World Empire and a few from the numerous makeshift governments forming and dissolving the world over. He funneled them all into a bag and handed her a key, didn’t even bother counting. She took the key and headed for the stairs.
A voice from behind her, “Hey, bitch!” followed by a sharp pain in her right shoulder, “your roots have roots.” Shit, she thought, I waited too long to dye my hair and now there’s a knife in my shoulder. Even if he doesn’t know for sure as soon as the knife comes out there’s no hiding it. With her left hand she dislodged the knife and fire spewed from the wound. In a matter of seconds the fire ceased and all that remained was a smudge of scorched blood. “Ain’t seen a Phoenix in a long time.” Twenty seven generations of careful breeding and genetic manipulation creating dozens of different strains of super soldiers all gone to waste with the fall of another government. Hunted as freaks and recognized only by the visual abnormalities somebody thought might be fitting with the mythical creatures they named them after.
“Hyperactive healing stimulated by an extreme metabolic burn,” she murmured. “Makes someone like me very hard to kill.”
Another voice said “We can find a way.” She turned to see four large men holding knives and pipes.
“You can try.” One with a pipe ran at her. She ducked and swept the leg in one fluid movement, landing on her hands and toes while he landed on his face. She heard another coming at her and pushed off her feet into a front flip that put her facing the new attacker. This one had a knife. She blocked his jab with the knife that hit her shoulder. The third guy came at her with another knife, leaving her with only her left forearm to block. The result was a large gash from her thumb to her elbow. She stuck the flame in the face of the second knife guy. He backed off with his hands grasping his face. Where’s the fourth guy? she thought as her knife fight continued. The guy was advancing. He was good with a knife, but after a few swipes she could see he was going to leave his side wide open.
Before that could happen the man with the disfigured face jumped in and put his hand on the guy’s forehead for a few seconds. He put his knife away, “See you later,” and walked out.
The man looked at her with yellow eyes. “Hope you don’t mind.” A Sandman, able to alter the memories and thought processes of others. He put one hand on the back of her head and held up an old picture of a young man. Suddenly, in her mind, his disfigured face was replaced with that of the man in the photo. “I like my friends not to cringe at the sight of me.”
“Thanks. Good to have company.”
by submission | May 12, 2013 | Story |
Author : David Stevenson
“Come in, come in. Have a seat. Mind the filing cabinet. You wanted to speak to me?”
“It’s about my black hole paper.”
“Remind me.”
“Well, In theory, I have a way to generate black holes here, in the lab.”
“Really? Do we have room for massive degenerate stars? Might have to get rid of the filing cabinet!”
“No, that’s exactly the point. We’re not talking about black holes formed from collapsing stars; I believe that I can create a stabilisation field which means we can use essentially arbitrary mass. You could have one weighing a kilogram and carry it around in a box. The heaviest part of it would by my apparatus.”
“Don’t black holes give off all sorts of radiation? That’s not a problem?”
“Again, my stabilisation field. If we didn’t stop the radiation the black hole would evaporate to nothing. We can stop it radiating which means not only that it’s safe to handle, but it maintains its mass.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but what stops it just falling through the bottom of your box?”
“It’s electrically charged, so we can manoeuvre it.”
“And again, I’m sorry to have to ask this, but what on earth would we do with a little black hole in a box?
“What could we do with it? Why the opportunities for research would be practically unlimited!”
“I thought you would say that. Just to remind you: this is a business. We make things. One of the things we make is money. How does this thing make money?”
“If you won’t build it then there are plenty who will once I’ve published. Some things are more important than money!”
“Yes, I was afraid you would say that. Calm down and listen to me. I have some good news for you. Our engineers agreed with you. We could build this device. In fact we already have built this device. That was the easy part. Turns out that using it to make money wasn’t too difficult either. This business, like many others, has a lot of secrets. We can shred our paper and hard drives, but there are agencies out there who will put all the pieces back together. However, a small black hole takes care of this problem. Any information we put into it ceases to exist. It’s theoretically impossible to recover any information. That sort of service is worth money.”
“You’re planning on using my creation as a glorified paper shredder?”
“Firstly, it’s not your creation, it’s my company’s creation. And secondly, it can destroy a lot more than paper. That sort of service is worth even more money.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Ah, you theoretical chaps always need it spelled out. Bodies. You put bodies in, and you get money out, metaphorically speaking. We figure that the government will pay quite highly for that sort of service.”
“I won’t be any part of this!”
“Do you want to see it?”
“What?”
“Do you want to see the prototype? Just step over there and open the drawer on the cabinet. That’s the one. You’ll notice a bit of a blue glow.”
“FOOMF!”
“You didn’t notice me press this switch, or the electromagnets which moved the microscopic black hole right in the middle of your centre of mass. Of course, it wouldn’t have been possible for you to have noticed the next bit, where we released the shields for a nanosecond and all 80kg of your body was sucked over the event horizon, making a rather impressive noise, but also hurting my ears. And you can’t hear me talking to myself, so I’ll stop.”
by submission | May 11, 2013 | Story |
Author : K Esta
Time travel is impossible. Or so Charlie had always been taught to believe.
He stood shivering in the darkness of the November morning, his breath creating puffs reminiscent of his long-past smoking days. Worrying about cancer seemed so trivial now.
His leather gloves squeaked as he scrunched his hands inside them to warm his fingertips against his palms. Looking across the playground, motionless under a layer of frost, he ached to be home in bed curled up under the covers.
Watching from the shadows, Charlie saw the earlier version of himself arrive. The slightly-younger Charlie walked hesitantly passed the swing set, the slide, and the jungle gym to the archway sitting innocuously beside the perimeter fence. He strolled around it, getting a good look from all angles, before stopping to run his hand over the crumbling brick surface.
Charlie remembered being that man. The awe he’d felt from the knowledge of the structure’s history and how it had become linked to an infinite mass in subspace. He recalled the butterflies in his stomach during that first step through.
He knew instantly that he would be successful, for he caught a glimpse of a figure, his future self, on the other side looking back at him. The arch began to spin around him, first slowly, then faster and faster, dragging space-time with it like a swirl of chocolate being stirred into a bowl of cream.
With a deep breath and another step, he emerged over the threshold just in time to turn and watch his previous self step through and disappear. He actually giggled.
A few hours later, he would learn the consequences of what he’d done. Anna. Not just Anna, but every sign of her. Their apartment had been transformed from a cozy home to a stark bachelor pad.
This was Charlie’s fourth attempt to undo the damage. He had first tried to talk his previous self out of the trip, but hearing from his own future had caused the earlier Charlie to back away in alarm, and unwittingly stumble into the arch.
Sabotaging his research, even shooting his younger self in the back of the head, every tactic Charlie tried to stop that first foolish mistake was similarly thwarted. And each trip back had taken a casualty. His little brother, his best friend, his mother, they were all gone now.
And here he was, trying again, daring to believe it could be different this time. He watched the second Charlie arrive and approach the first. Then another Charlie appeared, pulling out a gun. He took careful aim and fired.
Charlie remembered this moment also. He’d intended to hit the first Charlie, but the pistol’s kick had been stronger than expected. He’d grazed the second Charlie’s ear instead.
As the first Charlie staggered backwards toward the arch, the second clutched his searing ear, and the third tried to line up for what would be another failed shot. This was his chance.
Charlie rushed them. Grabbing the coats of Charlies two and three, one with each hand, he pulled them forward—fighting repulsion from the sensation of sticky blood congealing on the injured Charlie’s sleeve. The three of them plowed into the first Charlie and they all crossed the threshold together.
The arch shuddered in protest, but began to rotate as it had before. The universe contorted, and Charlie’s memories fogged. It felt different this time; his body was consumed by prickling snaps of energy. The figures surrounding him blurred and vanished. Finally, the arch became still.
No one emerged. Time travel is impossible.
by submission | May 10, 2013 | Story |
Author : Morrow Brady
They legalised suicide to combat over-population but the widespread stench of decay demanded a more ritualised approach.
This emerged as a celebration of a life lived too long and metastasised into the suicide concerts.
In the summer of 2212, the festival of life was performed in an open ended quarry high on a mountain, overlooking a modern metropolis. The featuring artist was K from Underworld, singing his 9:47 remix of the anthemic track, Pearl’s Girl.
Two centuries of performance had trashed K’s body. Today, his brain and vocal chords resided in a customised maxiLED DanceBot which linked to an eclectic biomechanical orchestra. K walked on, red anodised arms to the sky, gradating LEDs rolling up his body and the crowd went mental.
Within the three sided granite enclosure, thousands of Enders grooved to a warming baseline that throbbed down from the musician’s platforms installed like rice paddies either side of the stage. The attending wake stilled to merge with friends and lovers for a solemn final hug.
From silence, the hardened wind of Pearl’s Girl wobbled slowly to life. Vibrating tones grew alongside repetitive vocals and when the hard breakbeats slammed into force, the front eight rows of Enders were thrown backwards. Distorted burbles and gurgles echoed off the blue lit rock wall faces as K started a hallucinatory swim dance across the undulating stage. Clinical sound layers began to build and light strobed like artillery fire, frightening loose debris from the quarry walls.
K in full control, coated aural complexity into the frenzy while maintaining a flurry of dance moves that physically embodied a storyline of pure emotion. In reaction, the mile long sweating sea of Enders rhythmically marched motionless away from the city’s shimmering lights in rolling waves as white dust from the raving energy filled the quarry like a milk bath.
Behind K, a townhouse row of hand sized LED panels, hinged and pumped, creating glistening sequinned serpentine forms. Blood red smart mist spiralled from the panels, as each panel faceted to create K’s face streaming consciousness.
“and old man Einstein crazy in his attic. crazy crazy crazy crazy…..”
K pulled inhuman dance manoeuvres, releasing blinding blue light from fissures in his torso as he hovered inches above the floor. His pitch perfect verse synchronised with an ellipsoid shaped white laser that beamed out from his voice box and launched to the heavens.
Slowly the backdrop faded to an avalanche of light distorted by its own sound energy and flanked by fluorescent yellow robed choirs that washed the fervent dance floor in angelic harmonies. Amongst them, chrome search lights emerged to sweep the grinding tribe as the sun finally slipped below the horizon.
The song descended into a pit of streaming synth tones, peppered with skin pricking breakbeats, offering a glimpse of self reflection before the final push.
No one dared stop.
Synchronised orb-lights appeared from mist above centre stage forming a truck sized glowing sphere that expanded and contracted to the beat. These flickered to merge into iridescent squids that throbbed around K.
Shuffling, spinning and smiling, K began to rise atop a gyroscopic crystalline entity. The backdrop faded to grey as the baseline echoed to silence. K thrust his arms to the night sky and imploded in light, releasing shadowy spectral clouds that descended to sweep the audience of life.
Listeners cried pain-free blood.
The final dancer dropped.
The sweaty corpses lay with locked smiles from ear to ear.
The harvesters commenced preparations for day nine, as Justin Bieberbot cried a fearful tear for his impending finale.
by submission | May 9, 2013 | Story
Author : Alex Skryl
“Computer, report!” yelled the Captain.
“Sir, all primary systems are online but the star orientations do not match anything in my database.”
“What was our entry confidence?”
“It was six nines, sir.”
Captain Nurbek swallowed hard, “Show me the trajectory map.”
It looked like a water droplet in zero-g, slowly morphing while the computer was busy plotting all the possible routes the ship may have taken. Nurbek was temporarily entranced by it's beautiful complexity.
Lost in thought, he recalled the great men of the past. Men who believed in a deterministic universe, where one could predict the future by simply knowing enough about the present. It was an idea that was hopelessly wrong, yet perfectly seductive, because it made men feel like they could become gods. But much to Man's dismay, the real gods had other plans.
Space has no shortcuts, he mused. Dreams of determinism died at the hands of Quantum Mechanics and General Relativity. But would he be any less screwed if the Universe was actually a Laplacian dream? No, it made no difference. Determinism was still susceptible to chaos, the law of nature which was responsible for his current snafu. Chaos is what made the long jumps effectively unpredictable and extremely sensitive to small errors in entry calculations. He simply made a wrong guess in a profession where bad guesses were the worst possible offense.
Six nines. Six fucking nines. He needed at least nine nines for a jump of this magnitude. But he was in the middle of a war zone. Any longer and the ship would have been blown to bits. Would waiting another second really have killed him? He would never know. All he knew was, he would be looking at the familiar starscape of the Virgo Cluster had he just waited. Instead he was here. Somewhere. Nowhere, as far as the computer was concerned. He glanced back at the rotating shape on the screen.
He suddenly remembered his old physics professor running different colored threads through a blob of silly putty.
“Imagine the strings are flight trajectories and the putty is our little cosmos. Where would you need to enter the blob in order to come out with the red string?” asked the professor.
“Where the red string enters,” I replied, not seeing where he was going with this.
“What if you messed up your calcs and entered at the green one next to it?”
“Then you would come out close to your intended destination, where the green one does.”
“Right,” he said, “this is how space travel would work if space was linear. You could make a mistake and still get to where you were going.”
He mashed the putty in his hands for a few seconds, keeping the entry points of the strings untouched.
“Where do the two strings exit now?”
“Far apart,” I said after locating the strings in question.
“So what would happen if you messed up your entry calcs in this case?”
“I'd be totally screwed,” I responded with an air of understanding.
“Good, this is how real space travel works. Except the strings are infinitesimally thin, and your room for error is almost non-existent. The lesson here is, get your calcs right, always! And then maybe well get to have this conversation again some day.”
Nurbek snapped back to reality, finally gathering the courage to ask the lingering question.
“Computer, based on your survey of the cluster, will we make it out of here alive?”
The computer paused for a few seconds, as if to heighten the suspense.
“Unlikely, sir, but I can never be certain.”
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