by submission | Dec 15, 2010 | Story
Author : Steven Odhner
Charles is scared, which is understandable. If I had to guess I would say that in his head he's attempting to dial the police right now, over and over, even though I've blocked all transmissions. The lab has to be heavily shielded for my experiments, the fact that it helps with this kidnapping is just a happy coincidence. The tiny jerks of his eyes stop and he focuses on me.
“Walter… please. You need help. Don't do this. Don't kill yourself.”
I have to smile at that. “I'm not trying to commit suicide, Charles – although it's true that the machine will destroy the planet upon activating whether it works or not. So, yes, there's at least a ten percent chance that I'll kill myself… but those odds are acceptable. I have one shot for this, one chance to meet my maker. In one way or another I'll be walking in the footsteps of God.”
The reaction will begin at the core of the planet, if I've done everything correctly, and just before it tears the Earth apart I'll be flung backwards in time. Impossible, according to all my peers. Insanity, according to Charles. He's trying to get my attention again, encouraged by my mention of God. I've avoided his religious debates in the past, but here at the moment of destruction I see no reason to hold back. I take the double-crucifix pendant from his neck and snap the chain. “This? This is a lie, Charles. There is no afterlife, no soul.”
“There is a God,” he says, “and you can turn to Him! Walter, God loves you and wants…”
His voice dies off as I point the gun at him. I will enlighten him, but I don't have time for debate. The device is nearly ready.
“Before the big bang, there was only God. God was without limits and without time, and was one with Himself. God knew that nothing could exist while He did, because God was all and all would be God. And so He chose to die, to explode and cast His body into the universe we know. Time and Space are the corpse of our dead creator, and we are maggots crawling within. You say there is a God. I tell you there is not, and the proof is all around you. Look upon His scattered remains and weep in mourning and in joy. You foolishly ask me to enter into a relationship with Him, but the truth is that God is a mother who died in childbirth – He never met us, never knew our thoughts or wrote books to guide us. All we can do to know Him is to look at what is left behind, the laws of physics that he used to commit suicide.”
I step into the chamber. The reaction is already building, the Earth eating itself from the inside. The readings are excellent. Charles is screaming something, but I can't hear him over the machines. They all told me it was impossible. But they never thought large enough. They need to go to a time without time, a point where no physics yet exist to say what can and can't be done. I'm going to meet God, right now.
—
For a timeless instant God is aware of an arrival. He notes the relevant information: Elapsed time, 13.82 billion years. Complex DNA present. Method of termination? Pre-event time travel. And God saw that it was good. God ponders Himself, and resolves to try a 0.005% higher matter/antimatter ratio for attempt number 497.
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by submission | Dec 13, 2010 | Story
Author : Ellen Couch
I guess there are two things I really remember from that time. The noise, and the feeling of the blood running down my hands.
What was it like? Are you for real? Well, if you really want to know…
When we saw the silver people in their little ship the world went crazy. Some folks were straight down to the park, rollin’ out the welcome wagon. Some got theyselves in bunkers. No idea what happened to them- maybe they’re still there. Maybe they didn’t get ‘cured’ like the rest of us.
Yeah, cured. That’s what the silver people said. Told us they had been watching us. There was so much suffering in our world, they wanted to help. To serve mankind…You ever see that show? Prob’ly not. Never mind. It freaked me the hell out, is all as you need to know. I went back to my apartment, packed a few things, headed out of town. Didn’t do no good, no how. When they opened people’s minds so we could read each others’ thoughts, they did it to the whole damn planet.
Things were very, very bad for a while. All those secrets, spillin’ out to anyone around you. A lot of people did a lot of things they regretted later, includin’ me. A lot more people died- because someone else found somethin’ out, or because it was the only way to stop the noise. So much noise. It’s hard to think straight with so many people talkin’ at you, and no way to block it out. You got no idea- trust me, man, you don’t want no idea what it was like.
The silver people said they could teach us how to block out all but what we wanted to hear. For a price, o’course. They wanted the planet- said their own had got all used up, oh, so sad. And the governments- what was left of ‘em- they agreed! I s’pose they didn’t think we had a choice.
Yeah, it was clever, thinkin’ about it. One little ship full of guys, and they get us to do their dirty work for them. Two weeks later, thousands of them silver people turned up.
But they didn’t know about- you know, that plant we brought with us? That. Didn’t have nothin’ like it. I was one of the first realised it cleared your head real good- then a group of us found that the silver people couldn’t hear us if we was high. Weren’t too hard to steal one of those little silver ships, when they couldn’t see what we was plannin’. The silver guy we tied up was a living instruction manual.
We found this place about a month after we left. Told your guys we didn’t want no trouble, just somewhere to stay. You don’t think like us. It’s a relief. No noise.
Naw, man, it’s OK. S’been a while, we’re pretty sure they ain’t followed us. But we’ll keep our little garden growin’, and an eye on the sky. Just in case.
by submission | Dec 12, 2010 | Story
Author : Nathaniel Lee
“Good morning, Tibbs,” Rasa said. She said it every morning, even when there wasn’t a morning. If she hadn’t stopped when Tibbs left, why stop when there wasn’t a sun to rise? Rasa rolled out of the bed, sinking too deeply into the foam and the overlarge depression in it. Tibbs liked it soft. After a quick rinse, Rasa squeezed through the corridors to the bridge, where the dispenser gave her hard-boiled eggs and sausages. Rasa only ate the eggs. Sausages were something Tibbs liked.
Rasa lived on a haunted spaceship. She didn’t have to. She could have told the computers to fix it, to clean it up, to erase it, but she didn’t. Rasa let the spaceship stay haunted. The computers didn’t care. That was why Rasa liked them.
In the too-large chair at the navigation center, Rasa did her best to keep things on course. She’d just done the jump yesterday, so it was another six days of deceleration before she’d reach Pendergast and deliver yet another cargo. Mostly data, these days. Shipping wasn’t profitable unless you had a far larger ship than she and Tibbs could have afforded, and the money for a license and a scanner and certification. People were nervous about contamination. And so Rasa was sitting behind an enormous jet of heated particles, watching the blueshift fade, riding on what amounted to a giant metal mail bag. A haunted mailbag.
Rasa squirmed in the space meant for Tibbs and called up a view of the stars ahead. She wondered how many of them were burned out already, light from dead stars. “I’m using you up,” she told them. “Too fast now.”
She wondered what it would be like to not stop. To turn off the decel and fire up the Keppler Tank over and over and over until she ran out of fissionable material and the nanobots stopped rebuilding, just fly out into the dark spaces in between, read other people’s mail until she knew their stories better than her own. She could grow old out there, in the places between the stars, the gaps and holes left behind. She could jump back and back and back to the place where the star’s light was still new and fresh.
But she’d seen that light before. She had the tan and the scars to prove it. It wouldn’t be the same light, anyway; it would be older, light that had been around the block and seen a few things since it bounced off her skin, since it reflected in her eyes and his eyes, inches apart, in the warm dark flying through the cold dark.
The computers whirred to life. They’d hit the laser-comms from Pendergast, information beamed out five or six days ago, traveling at the pokey speed of mere light. This was new light, shaped light, light serving other people’s needs. News. Information. Connections.
Rasa watched the computer screens flicker for a long while before she reached to type in the commands.
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by submission | Dec 11, 2010 | Story
Author : Harris Tobias
Suron tapped the console impatiently. It was bad enough having to tutor 75 idiots in this jerkwater part of the galaxy for no hope of reward or recognition, but these particular young minds were spread out over half a light year on weather stations, research stations, agricultural stations and Krom knew what else. Not a single city within a month's travel, not even a single habitable planet for Krom's sake.
How did a teacher of his superb training and intellect wind up on this decrepit station so far from the gleaming centers of commerce and art? He who was third in his class at the academy and could have had an appointment at the great university on Helms. It was all politics. “Politics!” Suron spat out the word and fetched the console a resounding smack.
One by one the consoles lights winked off as the far flung students submitted their assignments, communicated with each other and signed off after the day's lessons. Seventy five little lights connected him to seventy five little minds. Some bright, some hopelessly dull; all of them reluctant to work but eager to win his praise. He demanded nothing less than perfection from them. This may be the despised ass end of the known universe but by Krom it will have seventy five well spoken and highly literate young minds. One light stubbornly remained. A young third former named Veech who lived on a small mining station at the very limit of The People's expansion.
Keying the switch with contempt Suron spoke to the boy, “Yes Veech, why do you tarry?” Static and the garbled sounds of voices and commotion came over the speaker. Suron turned to the small screen. A picture of the floor or perhaps a wall. Finally a panting and dishevelled Veech. “Professor! Thank Krom! Help! Help us please. Explosion. People hurt. I don't know what to do.”
“My dear young man,” snapped Suron, ” you will address me in the correct manner. You will ask permission to speak. And then you will speak clearly and in whole sentences as I have instructed. You will state your case in precise declarative sentences without emotion. In fact, I would prefer to read a written report on your problem which might help your flagging grade in composition. I will expect your report before class tomorrow. That is all.” So saying, Suron flicked the switch cutting off communication with the horrified Veech.
Several hours later this report came through on the data transfer machine:
Dear honored professor,
I do not have much time. Several explosions and fire have killed everyone but me. The station is in ruins. Only this channel of communication remains. I have no food and very little air. All life support systems are destroyed and there are no escape pods in this part of the station. I do not think I can last more than a few days before I slowly die of thirst or cold or asphyxiation. I might be better to simply throw open the airlock and end all suffering. I hope you find this composition to your liking.
Your most respectful pupil,
Veech
Sighing deeply and tut tutting to himself Suron takes the red pen from his pocket and begins to circle the obvious grammatical and syntactical errors in the report.
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by submission | Dec 10, 2010 | Story
Author : J.D. Rice
[Serial 3: Level One. Simulation Start]
The words fade from my vision as the VR hud appears on the edges of the “screen.” From this point on, I’ll be able to track my environmental impact just by focusing on the little blips of light around my eyes. Noise levels, shadows, I’ll know exactly how stealthy I am in completing my objective. VR gaming has reached such a height in recent years, creating levels from real life memories, that at times it’s hard to tell the game from reality.
[Mission One: Your first victim is an elderly woman, living alone in the alarmed house next door. You are armed with a knife. Kill her and escape before the police arrive.]
I grin with delight at the game’s choice. It read my memories and found the nearest person against whom I hold a grudge. Mrs. Mulis is a self-righteous old hag. Killing her will be perfect.
I make my way out of the house, careful not to be noticed by my mother, who the computer has left sitting in the family room, watching old sitcoms. I wait for a laugh track and slip out the back door. Thankfully, our dog is asleep, but I eye my noise levels as I make my way across our yard and into Mrs. Mulis’s. He doesn’t awaken. Perfect.
Stalking my way up to the old woman’s back door, I examine her security box. It’ll be tricky. Using the knife from my pocket, I cut a few wires and wait. No alarm. I turn the doorknob slowly, watching the sound bars on my hud bounce to the creaking of the door. I enter the house without incident.
I hear muted voices above. Mrs. Mulis’s bedroom television. The house is old, and the stairs creak as I make my way up. I wait patiently at the top of the steps. The light from Mrs. Mulis’s television slips through her cracked bedroom door, illuminating the hall. My heart pounds in expectation. Sweat forms on my forehead. I grib the knife tighter, my palms becoming slick.
I remind myself of all the times Mrs. Mulis shouted at me as a child. The times she called my mother a whore or threatened to have my dog put to sleep. I muster up all the rage and anger that I’ve long held in. The lights in my hud change from green to red. Instead of tracking my stealth, it tracks my health and injuries. My knuckles go white. The old woman dies tonight. And I’ll be the one to do it.
All my pent up emotions explode at once. Racing down the hallway, I burst through the bedroom door and dive at the screaming old woman. I slam the knife into her chest, again and again. Blood spatters over my chest and face. My hands are soaked red.
The woman’s screams turn to moans. Her moans turn to silence.
Breathing heavily, I wipe my hands on my shirt. I’ll have to burn my clothes when I get home, if that’s where the game leads me next.
As I look down at the woman’s dead body, my hud changes to yellow. Error report.
[Warning: Simulation malfunction. Please wait for reboot.]
I stand and wait for the simulation to continue. As I wait, Mrs. Mulis’s body goes cold. Blood drips from the bed to the floor. The minutes pass and a creeping sense of numbing horror overcomes my senses. The simulation never started.
This game is too perfect.
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