by submission | May 6, 2012 | Story |
Author : Jeri Otero
She’s so beautiful. Just lying there with her eyes closed. All that long black hair, still in its long curls even after last night. Lashes like feather dusters, lying against her skin. She has those slightly turned up eyes that are almost Asian. Strong cheekbones that look almost Native American. Full lips. But not too full. Her skin is that beautiful golden tan that no tanning booth could copy. She’s lying on her stomach. She has an athlete’s body long, and lean, and toned. She’s so perfect. Long thin fingers on beautiful hands. Pianist fingers with short nails. “You can’t play piano with long nails,” she’s always telling me. Today they are bright purple. She does love color. Almost as much as music. She has such tiny feet. And couldn’t you just write a sonnet to those calves? How can she be so perfect? She says she was just made that way. I suppose so. I look at her and, sometimes, I wonder which one of us is real. We both breathe, our hearts pump, our hair grows. We each worry in our own way. We make love like wild things. All needing. Taking. Giving. I just have to bless technology. Thank those geeky gods. I wish I could just look at her for days. Of course I can’t. Who could? I’ll just slide slowly off the bed so as not to wake her. It’s so hard sometimes, but I have to turn off and plug in.
by submission | May 5, 2012 | Story |
Author : JD Kennedy
The bridge of Earth’s first colony ship, Columbia, was a beehive of activity. The newly awakened ship’s officers were carefully reviewing the system readings at each of their stations. Captain James Branson sat in his chair admiring the efficiency of his crew. They were all relying on their training while they worked through the fog from a century of cold sleep. It seemed like just yesterday when they left lunar orbit. The ship’s automated systems had taken them to within a week of mankind’s first direct encounter with a planet around a distant star.
Aboard the ship was a very precious cargo – 250 carefully selected men and women that would establish the first human colony on an extra-solar world. Other than the ship’s bridge crew, they were still in cold sleep. Once the ship entered orbit around New Terra, they would be awakened in a preset order based on their role in establishing the new colony. Awaking them all at once aboard the cramped ship would put a strain on the ship’s resources since a landing site has to be prepared before the big ship could safely land to unload the considerable supplies they brought with them.
As the crew settled into their routines and the fog slowly began to diminish, excitement began to grow. The historical significance of what they would soon do was not lost on a single crewman. They would be immortalized by all of humanity as the ones who started Man’s expansion in the universe.
All of those thoughts were suddenly interrupted by an unexpected voice hailing them on the radio channel intended for communications between Columbia and her landing craft. The comms officer, Lt. Keller, had been running through her system checks and had the circuit patched to the bridge speaker instead of her headset when the call came in.
“Columbia, this is New Terra. Please respond.”
All activity stopped as each crewman stared in disbelief at the speaker above the viewscreen.
Several minutes passed before the hail was repeated. This time Captain Branson nodded to Lt. Keller. She hesitated a moment before responding.
“This is Columbia. Um, please identify yourself.”
“This is New Terra. Is Captain Branson there?”
“This is Captain Branson. Am I to understand that you are hailing us from New Terra? Please explain.”
“Yes, sir. We are an advance team on New Terra. You see, 40 years after you left, we discovered the secret to faster-than-light travel. It took many more years to build a manned ship capable of safely reaching here. Sir, it took us just over a year to make the same journey that took you a hundred years to make. A dozen of us have been here for several months preparing for your arrival, but FTL ships cannot yet carry the amount of material you could. I think you will be pleased with our preparations. You will be able to land Columbia just a few days after you achieve orbit.”
Captain Branson sat in silence for a few moments before responding.
“Very well. Needless to say, this is a bit of a shock for us. By the way, what is your name?”
“I’m Captain James Branson. The fourth. Sir, I am your great grandson. I am looking forward to meeting you when you land.”
by submission | Apr 30, 2012 | Story |
Author : Colin W Campbell
When it all started, Duke was just one of these overpaid, do anything, off-home-world operatives.
The planet administrators were little impressed when he asked for a Council Meeting to propose a new section for what he called dirty-tricks. What happened at that meeting is now well written into the lore.
“So, why do we need dirty-tricks?” said one admin-guy.
“Look,” said Duke pointing to the clock on the wall.
Of course, their eyes went to the clock so they didn’t see Duke throw his water-bottle into the corner of the room. It made a noise loud enough to make them all jump and for the security-guys to reach towards the well concealed tools of their trade.
“So what?” said the admin-guy. “Now we know the time.”
“Yes, and I know where their weapons are,” said Duke.
They gave Duke his section. It was small at first but soon grew strong as the young planetary colony fought to survive its early years of political intrigue, pirate incursions, unequal trade deals, attempted coups and so on, the usual.
At first, it operated under gentle cover names. For a while it was The Office for Planetary Welfare then it grew into the Department for the Protection of Planetary Welfare. However, any young colony is pretty much a small closed society and soon everyone was calling it the “Ministry of Dirty Tricks.” Then at one Council Meeting that followed on from a generous lunch, they made it official. It was formally proposed, seconded and agreed and the department was raised to the status of a full Ministry and so Duke formally became the Minister of Dirty Tricks.
In the years that followed, anything published by Duke’s ministry became a collectors piece. Any well authenticated item bearing the heading “Ministry of Dirty Tricks” could command a high price at auction. Many thought this went a long way to explain how Duke was becoming ever wealthier. Others thought it might go only some little way to explaining his success but knew it would be best to keep such thoughts to themselves.
Concern grew back on the home world, for Duke’s power and influence were spreading unchecked across the known occupied reaches of the galaxy. An assassin was sent.
* * *
Jake knew well that would be assassins should not touch alcohol. But the ladies who worked as hostesses on the deep-space transports were well known for their discretion and it was a very long journey.
“It’s OK,” said the lady with the sky blue eyes and the expensive perfume. “You can only imagine how very discrete we can be here.”
It was not long before the drink was taking effect but Jake was careful to say nothing of his mission.
“Time to go now,” she said. Her sky blue eyes had a beckoning look and her hand felt reassuringly firm on Jake’s arm.
“Wow!” said Jake as he stumbled to his feet. “That is powerful stuff.” He gestured broadly towards his last glass, knocking it over.
“Don’t worry, I know where you’re going,” she said as they set off. Her words had a faraway quality as they echoed down the now mostly empty passageways of the deep-space transport.
And then they were there.
“So, this the way into your quarters?” said Jake, Turning, he saw a heavy door close behind him with his companion still outside.
“Actually, it’s an airlock,” said the lady with the sky blue eyes, the lady from the Ministry of Dirty Tricks.
by submission | Apr 29, 2012 | Story |
Author : TJMoore
I’m starting to get a little worried now.
Some more kids stopped by to visit Adrian today.
At first it was just his friends, kids that I know and have met before. Now, it seems like every teenager in the county is stopping by.
Almost as troubling is the fact that his friends don’t seem to come by at all anymore.
I thought I saw one or two of them a week ago sitting in a car along the road, like they were waiting for someone or something.
Now, it’s just strangers who say they know Adrian from school, but I don’t know them.
I’m not even sure why they come. Adrian’s condition hasn’t changed. He still lies perfectly still in the bed, staring at the ceiling, whispering.
I tried to make sense of what he was saying, even recording it to slow it down or speed it up, but it’s just unintelligible noise.
At first, the scientists at the university were asking a lot of questions. Questions about how and where he found the strange metallic shell.
Now, they don’t even answer my calls and the offices where they work are mostly vacant. I don’t even know where the shell is now.
I’m not even sure the shell is to blame for Adrian’s condition. How can listening to a shell cause such a catatonic state?
I think it’s just coincidence, but still, it is very peculiar that he went into that fugue state right when he put that shell to his ear.
The really disturbing thing is that I thought one of the kids I saw sitting in the car was also staring ahead and whispering.
I’m really starting to get a little worried now.
by submission | Apr 28, 2012 | Story |
Author : Jack Barton
‘Joy, joy, I wish joy to you all.’ Karl raised his arms as he addressed the crowd. ‘And joy is what you shall have, if you can accept it.’ Beaming, he eyed the hesitant audience. It wasn’t just junkies and religious zealots anymore; there were businessmen here now, students, even a few families with young children. Word had spread.
‘Nothing could be simpler, nothing could be more worthwhile. If you sign up tonight, you’ll be corrected before next week. Perhaps some of you have things to do on Monday morning, things you’re not looking forward to? Get corrected now, and whatever you have to do on Monday, the tough job, the break up, the funeral… it will seem like a picnic, like a walk in the park. It will be joyful.’
He allowed himself a long pause and clocked those who were biting their lips or rubbing their temples, those about to break.
But don’t take my word for it,’ he continued. ‘Here are some folks who signed up at the last session. Please welcome the corrected.’
The applause grew as two columns of people, smiling amiably, strode on to the stage.
Karl let the applause slow before bounding across the stage and thrusting his microphone into the face of the first volunteer.
‘You sir, what made you get corrected?’ The man blinked in the spotlight, but spoke clearly. ‘I worked for the same firm for thirty years and was passed over for promotion several times. When I asked my boss about it he said I’m too old to be promoted now. I was angry, but now I’ve been corrected I can accept it and move on.’
‘Great.’ said Karl, ‘and has your personality changed?’
‘No. Not my personality. I’m just happier now.’
Karl spun around and held the microphone in front of a small woman. ‘And what’s your story?’
‘I fell out with my son when he told me he was gay. We hadn’t spoken for years, but the correction changed how I feel, and now we’re speaking again.’
‘And did the process hurt?’ asked Karl.
‘Oh no, not at all. You go to sleep for an hour and then…joy.’
There was more applause as Karl went up to another, younger woman.
She giggled nervously for a second. ‘My husband and child were killed in a car crash. I was very depressed for a long time and even tried to commit suicide. But now I’m corrected, I don’t even miss them.’
Shaky applause followed and Karl asked her, ‘Is getting corrected better than taking the anti-depressants dear?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘much better. They just drowned my feelings. Now I’m corrected, thinking about my child fills me with joy.’
Karl accelerated and started to leap around the stage, rapidly cycling through the speakers.
‘My wife cheated on me, but I’ve been able to easily able to forgive her and my brother.’
‘I’m long-term unemployed, but I don’t mind.’
‘My ex-wife won’t let me see the kids. Which is fine.’
‘Now I have joy, I don’t need heroin.’
Karl kept the wild applause going as the group shuffled off the stage, standing motionless in the centre until there was silence. When it finally came, he held a small silver tube aloft, feeling every eye in the house fixating on it.
‘It’s bigger than people expect,’ he said, ‘and it actually goes around the top of the spinal column, not in the brain. It weighs six grams, it’s three centimetres long and it lasts forever. It will change your life; it is joy. Stand up if you can accept it.
