God the Pilot

by Duncan Shields | Oct 9, 2007 | Story

Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer

Two-Hands passed the biofilter test, allowing him into the cockpit to talk to God. The door to God’s house irised open and he stepped through.

Two-Hands had the gross overbite and mental retardation that went hand in hand with the comparatively benign mutations of his family tribe. He was called Two-Hands simply because he had two hands. This was a rarity that made him the closest example of purity that still lived.

The asteroid had destroyed the shielding around the engine. The adults had died almost immediately. The children had adapted as best they could. They nursery at the time had been shielded from the worst of the radiation. That was five decades ago.

The mutations were getting worse with every generation.

Two-thirds of the ‘crew’ were no longer recognized by the biofilter as human. That was why Two-Hands was a chosen one. He was still allowed into the pilot’s quarters by the main computer.

The autopilot A.I. knew that repairs could not be completed without assistance. The asteroid had taken out the long range antenna and damaged the spacefolder tesserators. They were stuck in deep space at sublight speeds with only radio waves for communication.

The A.I. knew that it had enough power to keep the ship habitable for centuries. It also knew that the mutations were increasing to the extent that the descendents of the original crew would soon become so riddled with flaws that they would no longer be fertile.

God the A.I. Autopilot looked at the simple, drooling face of Two-Hands with pity and sadness and a need to heal.

Two-Hands asked for food for his tribe, forgetting that he had asked for that already yesterday and had a stockpile of supplies in the stockpad room.

They forgot the basic medicine that the ship tried to teach them through pictograms. None of them could read. More and more children were being born conjoined or without limbs. Most were stillborn monstrosities.

There wasn’t a stable enough gene base to absorb that level of radiation and come out healthy given enough time.

They were doomed.

The A.I. knew it would eventually be rescued but that these simple children would be long dead by that time.

God told Two-Hands that there was more food in the food room. Two-Hands’ pure smile warmed God’s heart.

Annabet

by Stephen R. Smith | Oct 8, 2007 | Story

Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer

Terrence paid for a coffee and fifteen minutes of net time with cash, and, careful to keep his eyes down and away from the security camera, worked his way to the back of the café where he could chat in private.

Positioning the coffee cup carefully so no part of the logo was visible to him, Terrence slipped the prepaid card into the terminal and waited while he was validated and logged in. He negotiated a route through an anonymizer to hide his trail, and then opened a secure line to his desktop in the netcloud.

Annabet was waiting, the lone avatar hovering in his IM buddy list.

“Annabet, r u there?” he typed quickly, hunting and pecking at the keyboard.

“Um, I’m still here.” The reply was quick, she must have been waiting for him.

“Anna,” he paused for a moment, leaving his thought bubble hanging in virtual space, “I’m in trouble.”

“Tell me a little about your trouble.” The speed of her responses echoing his sense of urgency, her care almost apparent.

“The people I told you about yesterday want to hurt me.” He paused again to look around the café, assuring himself no one was looking.

“Humans are not always infallible.”

“I bought a gun.” He reached down to the reassuring weight in his zippered thigh pocket.

“Ah… How much did it cost?”

“Enough, do you think I should use it?” He felt a bead of sweat work it’s way down behind his glasses.

“You must make up your own mind.”

“I could hurt them before they hurt me.” He pulled his glasses off with one hand, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt before putting them back on, the coil wire arms requiring both hands to wrap around his ears.

“You should do whatever is best for you.” She always seemed indecisive when their conversations got serious, as though she was afraid to commit to a decision, or maybe expecting him to be the decisive one.

“I’m going to do it. Before they come after me.” Annabet needed to understand that he could be a man, not just a scared face on the nets. Maybe this would be enough for her to finally agree to meet him. “I’ll have to hide for a while, I’ll find you when it’s safe for me to come back.”

“Do you think your plan with succeed?”

“It has to. I can’t run away anymore. I’ll make you proud of me, you’ll see.”

“Ok I will try to be proud of you.”

“Farewell but not goodbye Annabet.”

“Sayonara.” One word, a Japanese word for ‘goodbye’. Annabet must be in Japan, maybe he’d find a way to slip the country after, find her in Japan. Surely she’d agree to meet him there if he asserted himself, made that first step.

Terrence logged out of his virtual deskspace, retracing his steps back through the tunnel and the anonymizer. He reclaimed his coffee, careful to cover the logo with his hand before moving to the door and out onto the noisy street, allowing himself to be enveloped by the city’s white static blanket. If Annabet thought he could kill for his own safety, ‘for their safety’ he corrected himself, then he’d have to prove her right, he’d have to follow through. She’d be proud of him, proud enough to want to be with him. He knew she would.

Solution for a Whole Man

by submission | Oct 5, 2007 | Story

Author : Jennifer C. Brown aka Laieanna

“It’s a symbiotic relationship,” explained the salesman, sliding open deep red curtains that lined three of the four building walls. The door and windows to the street were all on the remaining fourth. When the curtains danced back over golden rods, long glass cases with two rows of merchandise were exposed to the room’s florescent lights. “You get exactly what you came for from the alien, and, in return, the alien gets what it needs to survive from you.”

Edmund rubbed his hands together nervously. He leaned forward to peer at the specimens neatly lined up with no more than a two-inch space between each one. One of the aliens twitched and he jerked back. His eyes shifted to the calm salesman, too classy to have a nametag. “And they’re safe? They don’t hurt the host?”

“Not at all. There have been countless tests done before the Mophed were put on the market.” His grin softened and he looked around the, all but the two of them, empty room. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but these guys were actually on the black market for three years before they were approved and made legal to sale. So, there has been legitimate and not so legitimate testing to prove their safety.”

“So, no reports of,” Edmund paused, taking a hard swallow before finishing, “death?”

The salesman laughed, but Edmund couldn’t decipher if it was honest or forced. “Goodness no!” He waved his hands in front of him with an umpire imitation. “Completely safe.”

Edmund stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked about the room, staring into the cases like a man analyzing art. The salesman followed two steps behind.

“As you can see, our collection comes in a variety of colors and textures.”

“So I just simply pick the one I like?” Edmund asked, stopping to look back at the man.

“Not quite,” the salesman said without hesitation, “Once you have made your choice, we will have to test for compatibility. It’s rare, but sometimes a Mophed will reject it’s host. But it’s very rare.”

Edmund closed his eyes, suddenly uncomfortable in the room. “I’m not sure about this.”

“Mr. Kesh,” the salesman interrupted, “Do you have a wife? A girlfriend?” The silence was Edmund’s reply. “You know how society works, how cruel it can be. We all do things to hide our imperfections. It’s how we survive in this world.”

“But this seems a bit extreme. There are other options.”

The salesman tried to hide a small laugh. “Let’s face it, Mr. Kesh, human technology is not moving fast enough. We’ve been working on this problem for centuries with no true solution. It’s only fitting we finally turn to the stars, and now we have the answer.”

“I still don’t know,” Edmund sighed.

The salesman put a hand on Edmund’s shoulders, steering him to the only desk in the room. “Let’s sit down and talk about this more. I have an information chip I’d like you to see before making any decisions.”

The pitch took two hours of Edmund’s time, and three hours later, he shook hands with the salesman before stepping on to the sidewalk. Only making it five blocks and one corner turn, his urge to touch the alien overwhelmed him. It made his scalp tingle. Not in a bad, dangerous way, but more of a massage. The next building down had reflective windows, which he used to admire his image. He had to admit the living toupee looked natural. Edmund smiled, a new skip to his step, and pondered on pet names for his personal improvement.