by submission | Sep 28, 2024 | Story |
Author: Welsh Diepreye
The discovery was accidental, like most revolutionary things.
Dr. Elara Voss, a brilliant and obsessed astrophysicist, had spent years studying the gravitational anomalies at the edge of our galaxy.
What she discovered was not just a black hole or a pulsar, but something far more mysterious: a shimmering veil in the very fabric of space.The veil was invisible to the naked eye, detectable only through a complex array of instruments that recorded faint fluctuations in dark matter.
Elara could not believe her discovery. There it was, a seemingly thin membrane separating our galaxy from another that operated under entirely different physical laws.
She named it the Veil of Kosmos, a poetic nod to the ancient Greek word for the cosmos.
The Veil had become his obsession. For months, she had led a secret mission to understand its properties. The more she studied it, the more he challenged explanation.
It was as if the veil wasn’t just a boundary, but a sentient entity guarding the gateway to a parallel universe. Elara’s data showed that the veil pulsed with a rhythm akin to a heartbeat, as though it were alive. As word of the discovery leaked, the scientific community was split.
Some hailed it as the most significant finding in human history, while others warned of unimaginable dangers.
The military, predictably, wanted to weaponize it.
But Elara, with her unwavering determination, fought to keep the project in the hands of scientists.
The breakthrough came when Elara and her team successfully sent a probe through the Veil.
For a brief moment, they received data from the other side – a galaxy of inverted stars, where light behaved like a liquid and time ran in a loop.
But then the probe was suddenly destroyed, as if torn apart by an unseen force.
Undaunted, Elara prepared a manned mission.
She knew the risks were great, but the potential rewards were even greater.
A glimpse of another galaxy, another universe, was a dream no scientist could resist.
As the day of departure approached, however, a series of cryptic messages began to appear in their communications a language no one could decipher.
Elara was confused.
The messages were being transmitted through the Veil, but not to the other side.
They came from the veil itself.
As his team worked tirelessly to decode the messages, one word became clear: Stay.
The warning was ominous, but Elara insisted.
She could not let fear stop her from making the greatest discovery in history.
As the shuttle approached the Veil, they received one last transmission.
This time it was not a word, but a call: Do not cross.
War awaits. The crew debated whether to continue the journey.
Was it a trap?
A deterrent?
Elara, driven by curiosity and pride, made her decision.
They were going to cross.
As they passed through the Veil, the shuttle’s equipment failed.
The laws of physics were warped; the crew felt as if they were being torn apart, their atoms scattered across dimensions.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the chaos ended.
They were on the other side.
Before them lay a galaxy of breathtaking beauty: planets glittering like precious stones, stars pulsing with unknown energies.
But there was something else too: an armada of alien ships, massive and menacing, the likes of which they had never imagined.
The warnings were proven true.
In the distance, a giant rift rippled through space, a tear in the cosmos that threatened to destroy both galaxies.
The fleet was not prepared for battle; it was desperately trying to close the rift, to prevent the two universes from merging a cataclysmic event that would wipe them both out.
Elara understood that their presence was the cause.
By breaking through the Veil, they had destabilized the fragile balance, and now both galaxies were on the brink of destruction.
Wasting no time, she sent one last message through the Veil, a desperate plea for help for the world she had left behind: “Do not follow.
Seal the Veil.
Save yourself.
And then, silence.
by submission | Sep 27, 2024 | Story |
Author: India Choquette
The first word that comes to mind when I think about RE-Gen Beach: fresh. As soon as you step onto the property (see my post on cute protective boots), you’ll immediately feel why a day pass costs so much. You won’t find anything this strong in a city spa—it’s too potent to export! (It literally melts the containers!)
Start at the main resort building. The air is a little gentler there because it’s the furthest from the actual meltdown site, and when you’re aiming for a natural chemical peel, you want to ease into it and let the air slowly break down the outer layers. You will feel a little stinging to be honest, and definitely bring an umbrella because the sun will feel extra strong as the old skin melts off.
If you take the walkway, you’ll see venders who sell local oranges. Buy them! The oranges are infused with the chemicals and will give your colon a good cleansing. My advice: choose the vendors with the most deteriorated features. True locals will be missing all or part of their noses, and they sell authentic fruit (see my post on scammers).
I don’t recommend that first timers go off the walkway because you don’t want to trip, but if you’re a returning visitor, it’s worth seeing the foundations. People scratched messages as the disaster struck. My favorite: “I reach for you, but time has ended.” And at Re-GEN, time can end for your skin, too!
by submission | Sep 26, 2024 | Story |
Author: David Barber
So far, the Time Traveller had found nothing worth collecting.
Also, he was being stared at as he walked round the market. He seemed to be the only person dressed in a suit and tie as portrayed in pictures from this time, and while some of the locals wore head coverings, none resembled the brimmed hat of his own costume.
These were notoriously violent years, perhaps they sensed a victim.
He clutched the money tighter in his pocket.
#
“Books are all priced,” said Chelsea Dog. “Just sit and take the money.”
He had somewhere to be, details not explained, like everything Chelsea Dog did. Like his name.
“And don’t go putting customers off moaning about stuff.”
Frank said nothing. He owed Chelsea Dog a favour and was looking after his market stall for the afternoon.
The stall on his left was festooned with dream catchers and scented candles. On the other side was old vinyl. From opposite wafted the occasional smell of speciality cheeses.
Perched on a wooden stool in a cave of books, Frank watched people drift by as if borne by an invisible river. Sometimes they snagged long enough to examine a paperback or two.
Chelsea Dog couldn’t be making much money here. Frank thought it more likely it was how he laundered cash from his other dealings.
The record guy was about Frank’s age, with the same greying beard, but he kept his headphones on. The thin woman with the dream catchers didn’t seem very New Age and complained at length about inflation and rent increases.
A man in a grey double-breasted suit and trilby was studying the cover of Steppenwolf.
“A classic,” suggested Frank, but the gent dropped it back in the box.
“I already possess a less damaged copy.”
After a moment he asked about the badges on Frank’s lapel.
“These? Well, this one’s Kyoto Hi!” Frank pulled a face. “Some fights we lost, just hot air and Dubya moaning about the cost.”
The gent peered more closely, so Frank tapped another.
“Got nuclear power nein danke in Berlin the year the Wall came down.”
“This is most interesting. And do you have provenance for each of them?”
“Stop the bloody whaling. Remember those Greenpeace inflatables banging through the spray to put themselves between the harpoons and the whales?”
Usually by now folk remembered they had somewhere else to be, but the gent smiled encouragingly.
“I was in the Oil Wars,” Frank heard himself saying. “Hard to believe they put lead in petrol then. We put a stop to that and fixed the ozone hole.”
He ploughed on despite the man’s puzzlement.
“You know, the Montreal Protocol.”
“Ah, the banning of chlorofluorocarbons. Though the replacements were greenhouse gases and in the end it was all futile.”
Frank opened and closed his mouth. Who recalled Chernobyl now? There were always new spills, new melt-downs, new extinctions. He’d warned them, but no one ever listened.
“Ephemeral markers of history like your badges rarely survive,” the gent was musing. “So much was lost in the Melt.”
“If you would sell them,” he confided, patting his pocket. “I have money.”
Somehow whales had lingered on, pollution hadn’t fouled everything, and thanks to fossil fuels, sunsets took your breath away.
It’s believers who need hell the most. In his heart, Frank hoped global warming saw everybody roast.
by submission | Sep 25, 2024 | Story |
Author: Alastair Millar
I was between cons and heading down towards Damascus, Arkansas, when I heard the Word. It being Sunday, the holoscreens in the corners of the diner were showing a syndicated broadcast from one of the Texan megachurches.
“Welcome, friends! Welcome all, whatever your age, sex, gender, ethnicity or degree of cybernetization! The Church of Christ Spacefarer welcomes you!”
The speaker was tall and boyishly handsome; I was pretty sure he was bodysculpted, and to hell with vanity (one way or the other).
“We’re delighted to see you all today, and to share with you a unique and exciting opportunity: the chance to ascend to a truly blessed planet! Yes! As the Lord sent his Messenger to us from the Cosmos, now you can come closer to Him by going forth into the galaxy yourselves! Leave poverty and inequality behind! Move on from being constantly extorted by governments or badgered for handouts by heathens who have not seen the Truth! If you’ve been successful in life, now is the time to reap the rewards! Bring your family to an idyllic world that’s being shaped with Believers in mind, by joining one of our annual Ark Flights.”
Not a bad pitch, I thought. The outer worlds were always looking for colonists, and this seemed like a religious spin on the usual recruitment and resettlement efforts. Hey, why not? It worked for the Pilgrim Fathers. And with the World Government looking to deal with overpopulation by sponsoring flights and subsidising the up-front equipment costs for terraforming, the barriers for entry were getting lower all the time.
“We’re offering you the experience of a lifetime, and more – the chance of a righteous afterlife! Let the Oasis class warprider “Zion Express” usher you in comfort to Chalice III, a homeworld for people of faith seeking a purer life. Find peace and joy through the Church’s simple, Biblical teaching as you initially stay in our orbital chapterhouse.”
My ears pricked at that. The marks wouldn’t be dirtside? This was new.
“You’ll be joining a community where Mammon holds no sway, a cashless society devoted to creating a new Eden on a pristine planet. There’s a place for everyone as our enlightened clergy help you to discover your new purpose and apply your God-given talents for the good of all: from working with the climate change or tectonic realignment teams to helping maintain the aeroponic market gardens and protein vats, from providing medical support to keeping the air circulating.”
Aha. So they were looking for people to actually tame the planet… and didn’t plan on paying them for their labour. That was suss.
“Talk to one of our deacons today for details of how to assure your place by making a suitable donation – and don’t forget to ask about our reduced rates for larger and extended families, and young children.”
And then it hit me. It wasn’t suss, it was brilliant. A masterclass, even, and I’d almost missed it, something bigger than anything I’d ever dreamed of pulling off. The devil was in the details: they were getting people to actually PAY to effectively become serfs. Leaving themselves as the ultimate planetary owners without needing to pony up the cash. They were getting set to make a fortune.
“Remember, whatever your status in this world, a new and better one awaits you on Chalice III! Join us now!”
I noted down the number. If they were hiring, this was a grift I wanted in on. Truly, I had seen the Light.
by submission | Sep 24, 2024 | Story |
Author: Mark Renney
We spend most of our time within the game. Until less than a year ago, I had been one of the majority and I believed that the opportunities we had were unlimited. It is all right there at our fingertips. All we have to do is simply reach out and grab it and we can do whatever we want to do; climb Mount Everest or swim the channel or trek across the Sahara. There isn’t anyone alive now who remembers a time before the game. All those old arguments that, whatever we do within it, isn’t real, that it doesn’t count or matter are of course redundant. If you decide to climb the mountain you have to be prepared and committed because you will experience every single footstep. Every second of the journey will feel authentic and the experience will be real.
But it isn’t the big stuff that concerns me, or at least it wasn’t to begin with. It was the small things, the mundane and everyday rituals that hardly register with us. Sitting and reading a book or newspaper, watching television or a film, listening to music. We all do these things but only within the game. But of course, it didn’t matter, everything was available, and our choices were infinite and then I discovered my grandfather’s list.
I found the list tucked in a drawer whilst sorting through my mother’s belongings. I presumed at first my grandfather had recorded his reading habits for that particular year, although there was a no preamble or introduction, and he hadn’t reviewed or rated any of the books. He had simply listed the titles and the names of the authors, none of whom I recognised.
It was a printout of a blog post but when I looked for the site on the outside it had been deleted. I was intrigued and decided it would be interesting to read some of these works and was surprised when I found they were all unavailable within the game. But I assumed that when something fell out of fashion and was forgotten it was removed. After all, the game is all about what we want and what is relevant. Anyway, I could easily find the books on the outside.
The game is a vast online continent where we all reside, and the outside is the abandoned wasteland that surrounds it. Equally as vast, it is the continent that hardly anyone now visits.
I was shocked to discover that the books were also missing on the outside. Some of the writers were fleetingly mentioned in a few articles and reviews but there was no real information about them. No biographies or obituaries. And I couldn’t accept that, because something had been forgotten, it could disappear entirely.
I was determined to find the books and I have begun to search out in the real world, where there are still mountains of old books and although hardly anyone buys or reads them, there are still shops and libraries. These places are often hidden away and difficult to locate but I will seek them out wherever they are and whenever I am able.
I still spend time within the game of course but my heart isn’t really in it, not anymore.
by Julian Miles | Sep 23, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“Time of death: five twenty-one.”
Ben glances away from the clock as the doors of the operating theatre swing open. Three figures in grey suits enter. Following behind them is a cadaver drone.
The foremost points to the body on the table.
“Ours.”
Ben’s about to obstruct the intruders when Nurse Kino grabs him by the arm.
“Let them.”
The nearest figure turns slightly and inclines their head towards her. Ben notices the rest of the surgical team have stepped back.
The drone opens to reveal a padded bench. As it does so, the body on the operating table lifts into the air. Implements and equipment drift down to settle gently on the table. Sutures and staples spring from the body and alight like feathers.
With the shedding of medical sundries completed, the body floats into the drone and settles on the bench.
The rearmost figure speaks.
“Thank you for your respect.”
Before Ben can formulate a reply, the three visitors exit, drone in their wake.
The doors swing to.
He looks about, watching the others exchange glances.
“Somebody care to tell the contractor what just happened?”
Nurse Kino hastily releases his arm, then pats it lightly.
“That was a retrieval team from Re:Life.”
He pauses, smirks, then bursts out laughing.
“Okay. You caught me with that. Don’t try following up with cryogenics, though. Who were they?”
Senior Nurse Clara steps across to back Kino.
“She wasn’t joking. You just encountered the Beings from Heaven.”
Ben raises a hand.
“You’re serious. You believe those were Angelics?”
“They exist. Third time this year they’ve come for the dead.”
Ben looks about. He sees nods of agreement.
“I thought they only turned up for the rich?”
Nurse Naront waves a tentacle in disagreement.
“It is said they come for those who have made an arrangement with them. Others do say it’s down to being able to pay. Yet some say they’re being taken to pay for another’s sins. A few believe it’s selection by genetic purity, but there’s no agreement about criteria. The truth? Nobody knows.”
Ben dodges the nurses and runs through the doors. Only way to find out is to ask, because it’s clear the surgical team haven’t. He calls to a nearby orderly.
“Three suits. Drone carrier. Which way?”
The man points back past him towards the grav shafts, then points up. Ben races that way and throws himself into the ascent shaft. Wafting rapidly upwards, he thinks about which floor: long term care, premiere ward, Skyline Restaurant, or landing pad?
“Landing pad.”
Exiting the grav shaft, he jogs along a short hallway and arrives on the open roof, chill early morning air cutting through his scrubs to make him shiver.
The pads are empty.
“We don’t need vessels, Ben.”
Ben spins about. One of the figures stands nearby, a portal of sparkling energy at their back.
“We merely avoid witnesses.”
“Why?”
“Secrecy. The truth you want is simple: some beings deserve a second chance, free from the ties of their previous existence. We provide it.”
“How much?”
“Nothing. We choose.”
“Why bother to talk to me, then?”
“You’re wasting your talent because of one mistake.”
Ben takes a step back.
“If you die without forgiving yourself, we will offer you this chance.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because if this encounter changes the direction of your life, another can be gifted.”
“How will you know?”
“Things work differently where we come from.”
“So that’s it?”
They step back through the portal.
“Yes.”
The portal closes.
Ben stands and watches the dawn, wrestling with both conscience and disbelief.
