by submission | Nov 5, 2023 | Story |
Author: David Broz
The space navy still needed humans. Still needed me, I felt and I knew.
By the time I enlisted, the war was full-blown, having raged silently for several years. Those in my orbit asked why I enlisted. A calling to do my duty to the planet, I would say to nodding heads and unfocused eyes.
You were working at the supply depot when we met. Our whirlwind affair was late night walks and sparkling eyes, full of stars. Hands touching hands and all of the things that people wrote about in love stories. We were a love story. And within a single moon cycle, we were married.
We moved into private quarters together on the base. You commuted to the supply depot while I went to basic. You made quick friends with the other navy wives and even a few of the widows on base, your smile and charm and eyes sparkling like the stars.
I scored out as a pilot. My aptitude tests left no doubt. Too smart for command, too athletic for the labs, too valuable for a front line marine job.
You commuted to the supply depot while I went to flight school. The navy wives became widows, and some nights the twinkles in your eyes were tears, not stars.
The day grew near and we grew nearer. Your name and likeness were painted on my fighter, right below the cockpit. And soon all the stars twinkled like tears.
I deployed in the middle of the night. For the longest time, I knew which star was ours. But I’ve been gone for so long now, gone for so many parsecs, so many battles, so much time. I didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t know where you were.
Your photo taped here in the cockpit, fading, slowly succumbing to the radiation and flashes of war, silent detonations silently stealing you from me.
I needed to see you one last time. Slowly, I reached for the canopy latch. And the stars twinkled like tears.
by submission | Nov 4, 2023 | Story |
Author: Jaryd Porter
“Good afternoon,” Xiu said. The smile on her face fought with her tired crimson eyes.
People modified their bodies as subtle as a new eye color, hair color, and sharper teeth, but others would get augmented with extra limbs, exoskeletal implants, treads-for-legs, thermal sensors behind their eyeballs, and more. I didn’t modify myself much. Even if I’d wanted to, my boyfriend’s state deterred me a bit.
“Good afternoon,” I said. I did my best little bow towards Xiu. I did my best to smile, too.
“You appear to be tired, Ms. Ruilin. Should I prepare you a refreshment?” Xiu offered.
“That won’t be necessary,” I said. As exhausted as I was, I couldn’t keep Shang waiting. I took the elevator up. Xiu and I shared smiles and candied waves before the elevator door closed shut. My smile melted when she disappeared.
I scanned my Civil ID Card to get into the apartment. With a quick green light, the door slid open abruptly.
Inside, Shang knelt over a pile of empty syringes and cans of Morphium–a soft drink/painkiller. He had his back to me when I came in. The lights were out. The lights were automatic and activated by movement, so they weren’t off–they were dead. Shang had killed the lights.
“Hello, little piggy,” Shang uttered. His voice echoed, as if several people spoke at once.
“Don’t call me that. Are you drunk?” I asked. I pulled my blazer around my admittedly rounded stomach.
“The pain. Is gone,” Shang said. The last few surgeries he’d gotten left him a mess. Metal, mechanized appendages emerged from his back, attached to a neural exoskeleton. He wanted to be able to lift a car, scale the wall of a building, nestle into dark corners–the drugs did that to his mind. The augmentations did this to his body: his arms hung spindly and limply, while the sixteen arms emerging from the rise in his spinal column manipulated empty bottles, futilely bringing them to his lips before discarding the empty containers.
“No. I promise it’s not just gone. You need to see a real doctor, Shang,” I said.
“I’m becoming an angel. A righteous angel,” Shang said. He began to rise, dragging his legs and standing on eight of his implanted arms. His eyes stared on, unblinking. His long face hung, mouth ajar and cheeks hollowed. He hadn’t eaten real food in weeks.
I backed out of the doorway. My heels clicked against the false tile. The sound told me that I was running from him, before it could register. I’d have to race for the elevator. The first few steps winded my sedentary, tired body, and the stomping of his metal palms against the floor–the clicking of his bony knees banging the tile–he closed in on me as I ducked into the elevator.
I fell against the far wall, while he filled the doorway. His body slumped and hung limp and naked. His first set of arms reached after me, inches from my stomach.
“Your flesh…is forfeit,” Shang said.
A siren sounded. The door slammed shut, Shang barely let out a soft yelp. I closed my eyes when I heard the squishy ripping of his body and the snap of bending steel. The elevator descended rapidly, while blaring an alarm. “Emergency Returnal. Emergency Returnal…” the automated voice repeated.
The elevator door opened. I stared straight ahead at Xiu when I reached the lobby. Her eyes were completely hidden behind the glare of her square-framed glasses.
“There’s been an unfortunate accident. Perhaps we’ll shut down this elevator for the evening. Good afternoon, Ruilin,” Xiu said.
by submission | Nov 3, 2023 | Story |
Author: David Henson
I settle in for an episode of Body Hunters. My ex, Stella, and I used to enjoy trying to guess which body would be chosen.
The host, Arthraw, introduces a husband and wife looking for a new body for him. The guy, Zander, says he wants bulging biceps. The wife, Glendella, says too many muscles are a turn-off.
Arthraw puts his hands to the sides of his head. “You’re not making my job easy, folks,” he says, mugging for the camera.
The three go to the first display case where Body One, priced slightly over the couple’s budget, stands unmoving and staring straight ahead, muscles rippling under its skin-tight outfit. The husband says only half-jokingly that he’s ready to sign on the dotted line without even seeing the next two bodies.
“I’m not sure I want to spend so much,” the wife says. “And we haven’t looked under the hood yet.” She opens the door to the display case, steps inside and tells the body to open its mouth. It doesn’t react. “That’s a problem,” she says.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Zander says. “Might be only plugged ears.”
Glendella sighs and opens the body’s mouth with her fingers. “Uh oh. Look, Honey.” The camera zooms in revealing crooked, overlapping teeth.
“That’s going to require extensive dental work, and this one’s already expensive,” Glendella says.
Zander turns toward Arthraw. “Do you think you could negotiate the price down?”
Arthraw wrings his hands. “Don’t count on it. This one hasn’t been on the market long.”
Glendella frowns. “Let’s see what’s next.”
Arthraw darkens display case one and illuminates the second.
Body Two doesn’t have bulging muscles but does appear solid and athletic. Glendella and Zander give it a good going over.
“What do you think?” Glendella says. “Seems OK, and it’s under budget.”
“I was hoping for more muscles, but it’s obviously not a weakling. Although the hair’s thinning, we could afford implants. I actually like the idea of having some imperfections to correct. You know, put my own stamp on it.”
As the camera holds steady on Body Two’s face, I spot it — a blink. Stella and I watched enough episodes to know what that means. Vacant bodies never blink. This one’s lived in. It isn’t really for sale. Can’t fool me.
“This would be an excellent choice,” Arthraw says. “But keep an open mind until you see Body Three.”
When the third display box lights up, I nearly fall out of my chair — the shortish body with a potbelly is the one I traded in a few months ago. Glendella’s knees buckle. Zander and Arthraw hold her elbows to steady her.
Arthraw looks into the camera and grins.
“That’s … my ex-husband,” Glendella says.
“This is absolutely real, folks,” Arthraw says. “We had no idea.” He winks at the camera.
It takes me a moment to connect dots. If this “Glendella” recognizes my former body as her ex-husband then … she’s … Stella. I guess she wasn’t kidding when she said she needed a fresh start — new husband, body, name. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Just then Rover comes into the room. He always seems to know when I need cheering up. He glides to my shoulder and perches.
“You like flying, buddy?”
“Like to fly. Like to fly.”
“I love your new body, Rover. Now I have somebody to talk with.”
“Love to talk. Love to talk.”
“Look what’s on, buddy. Which body do you think they’ll choose?”
Rover flaps his wings. “Cracker. Rover wants a cracker.”
I probably should start getting out more.
by submission | Nov 2, 2023 | Story |
Author: Philip G Hostetler
The madness settles on my skin. I scratch and I caress, I hold it close like a needy infant, I cherish it. I need to be naked, so I cast my Atmo-Suit aside. I’m too hot amidst the snow, it melts and steam rises, a furnace burns in my chest, an inferno of forgetfulness. “I” am no longer present, just a frenetic intent. I rise from my tent and eat the sand at the lake’s edge, the lake of mercury that ripples heavily. I’ve never eaten so well. Heavy metals are so nourishing. I wade into that metallic lake and the weight of the mercury pushes against my ribcage, fighting against the expanding and contracting of my lungs, I don’t need to breathe. Diamond rain falls densely from the sky, a black starless sky, I can feel it lovingly sliding against my skin, blessing me with the only red on this…
What was it again, is this a planet?
I look back at my wasted space craft, the letters on the side could’ve formed words if they weren’t moving, transitioning into indecipherable scribbles that may have once held meaning. I close my eyes to try to remember. I won’t open them again, glued shut by melting, irradiated eyelids. I’m holding on to a sliver of my training. I remember now. The Pan-Galactic Colonization Initiative. The one way trip to theoretically habitable planets. “Report back!”, they said. This is my report.
I am home. This is the end.
by submission | Nov 1, 2023 | Story |
Author: Majoki
“Thank you for reaching out, Mx Shaddower.”
“Please call me Bobbie. Just Bobbie.”
“So, it’s true. You’re the Bobbie. Of Bobbie’s Law,” the attorney said in a way that made it part question, part reverence.
Bobbie nodded.
“I’m honored. And confused,” the attorney admitted. “If this is really about giving up the farm, I don’t understand. You won the case. The Supreme Court ruled in your favor. You own the property and assets. The first robot to be recognized as a legitimate heir in the entire world.”
Again, Bobbie nodded.
“So, why after your…your…your parents fought for decades to have you legally adopted and recognized as their heir, why do you want to forgo what they worked so hard to leave to you?”
From the sweeping porch of his parents’ home, Bobbie turned and looked over the patchwork of rolling fields of the farm with its many outbuildings and legion of autonomous mechs designed to cultivate the unbroken acres. “It’s not really mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father was born on this farm.” Robbie turned back to the attorney. “I was built on it.”
“You are the legal heir. Their child. Your parents singlehandedly created mechultivation. They established the model, the gold standard, for sustainable autonomous farming. They transformed the industry. Your parents started from practically nothing and because of their grit, ingenuity and compassion, the world has a more abundant and safer food supply. And it’s all in your hands now.”
Lifting his synthesized hands and considering them, Bobbie said, “For now, I am one of a kind. A fortunate byproduct of their work. A lucky accident.”
“One could say that about most folks, Mx Shaddower. Lucky accidents.”
“You didn’t have to prove your humanity.”
“True, though some people have to work on theirs harder than others.”
“Indeed,” Bobbie conceded. “I am very lucky my parents had such generous hearts and entertained such a broad definition of humanity.”
“Because of you they’ve made the world redefine it,” the attorney said, proudly. “Which makes it unclear why you would give up your claim to their property, patents, and wealth.”
“Those things are inconsequential.”
“Inconsequential?”
“Yes. I think my parents would agree,” Bobbie glanced again toward the farm where all shapes and forms of mechs unceasingly toiled, knowing the duty, the true legacy, he’d been given, “that all of this really amounts to nothing.”
“But your parents left you everything.”
“They did that long before they had anything,” Bobbie whispered, eyes brightening with a strange new feeling. Pride.
