by submission | Aug 5, 2007 | Story
Author : Grady Hendrix
“Wait!†he said. “Look at that!â€
“What the hell is it?†she asked, slamming on the hovercar brakes.
“You’ve never seen one?†he asked.
She shook her head.
“You’re in for a treat,†he said, bouncing up and down with excitement. “Come on.â€
He scrambled out of the hovercar and onto the blasted earth.
“I haven’t seen one of these since I woke up,†he said, jogging over to the green patch. “It’s called a tree.â€
“I thought they all died in the Great War?â€
His knees buckled a little and she caught him. It had only been two months since he’d been cracked out of his hundred year cryo-sleep, one of the first old growth humans to be brought back into this postwar world, finally judged capable of leaving the Citi-Dome and going on patrol with Sara-10.
“Steady on,†she said.
“They haven’t given me much history yet, but I haven’t seen a tree or a plant since I woke up. Look,†he said. “Its leaves change color with the time of year. See those tiny green things? They’re buds, new parts of the tree will grow from them. They’re capable of so many things that we can’t do…†a tear slid down his cheek.
Then a high pressure stream of burning liquid fuel hit the tree and it exploded into a fireball.
“What are you doing?†he screamed.
Sara-10 ignored him and burned the tree until her flamethrower was empty.
“We lost a lot of good men to bastards like that,†she said as the tree crackled.
“That’s maybe the only tree left alive after the Great War and you killed it?â€
She slapped another fuel tank on her flamethrower and hit the tree with another blast.
“Who do you think we fought the Great War against?†she asked. “Fucking trees. Taking up all the land, breaking up our cities with their roots, killing everyone – “ she broke down crying. He reached to comfort her but she slapped his hand away. “Let’s just go,†she snapped. “I have to report this.
The tree watched them depart, cursing the mobile ones.
“We’ll be back,†it thought as it died. “There are more of us…we will water our roots with your blood…â€
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by submission | Aug 4, 2007 | Story
Author : Sarah Klein
“You must think yourself pretty clever, Mr. Culler,” Parkinson said, snickering. “Look at all these devices you’ve rigged up to catch an intruder. Do you notice how I’ve been able to avoid every single one without losing a drop of blood?” He cackled.
Culler said nothing as he awoke from a drugged slumber, taking in his surroundings. He had been propped up in a chair and he was handcuffed. He clenched his teeth and very, very slowly eased his cuffed hands towards his pants pocket.
“You know, I’m just as smart as you, maybe even smarter,” Parkinson said evenly. He pressed the barrel of the gun against Culler’s temple. Click.
Culler had managed to get a couple fingers inside his pocket. He kept a straight face, looking ahead, groping silently.
“We were supposed to be partners! PARTNERS!!” Parkinson roared. “And you dismissed me! Why? Because you ‘felt like working alone’. Do you have any idea what that did to me, you worthless snob?!”
Flecks of spit hit Culler’s cheek as he grasped the lockpick and began to carefully ease it out, hoping he was being subtle enough. But Parkinson was too far gone to notice.
“You ruined my career!” he screamed, pushing the barrel in harder. Culler braced himself so as not to fall over. “You made me a disgrace! No one will even look me in the eye, much less work with me! All because you had to have all the glory yourself!” His red eyes bugged out as he trembled with rage.
Culler picked the lock without trouble, the small noise covered by Parkinson’s hysterics. He sat calmly with the cuffs still around his wrists, and slipped his hand into his other pocket just as subtly.
“You ruined my life,” Parkinson whispered darkly, “so I’m going to end yours.” He prepared to pull the trigger, but after a blink, saw only empty space. His mouth dropped open in surprise.
Click. A pair of handcuffs fell to the floor. Parkinson whirled around to see them, fallen on the floor – and unaccompanied by a person.
His heart sank as he remembered the theme of the project they were supposed to share.
Invisibility.
He felt his neck being squeezed. As his vision began to blur, he heard a voice.
“You must think yourself pretty clever, Mr. Parkinson…”
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by J.R. Blackwell | Aug 3, 2007 | Story
Author : J.R.Blackwell, Staff Writer
Maja’s ancestors conferred in her head before the date.
“Wear a dress!” said her great grandmother.
“Not that one!” cried her great grandfather “He will think you are a whore, and will offer you money for sex.”
“Old man, you are behind the times.” Said Florence, Maja’s grandmother. “Dresses like that aren’t considered slutty. Showing her nipples is a sign of strength nowadays, don’t you ever pay attention to the modern media?”
“Oversexed tripe.” Muttered Maja’s great grandfather.
They chattered on among themselves. Maja put down the orange dress and pulled out some pants and a long-sleeve shirt. She called her car to come to the front of the house and pick her up to take her to The Last Drop coffeehouse for her date.
“What if Maja marries this man.” Said great grandmother “I’m not sure if he would make a good husband. His job isn’t all that great.”
“It’s got lots of potential.” muttered Maja.
“Would you like to change your destination?” asked Maja’s car in a friendly voice.
“No! No.” said Maja. “I’m talking to myself, disregard. ”
“Look at that.” Said Florence “You are making Maja nervous before her date! You old fogies. All of you shut up until she asks for our guidance.”
“You mind your own-”
“Honored ancestors. Please allow me some peace?”
“Fine,” said Maja’s great grandfather, “but only because you asked politely.”
At the restaurant Maja missed the end of Tachi’s joke, listening to her great grandfathers lecture on the indecent table manners of the youth of today. Tachi was offended, and then surprised, when she told him why she had missed his witty banter.
“You have what, where?” said Tachi, his silver fork still poised in his hand.
“My ancestors.” Shrugged Maja. “They’re all in my head. They got their personalities patterned and I carry an electronic implant that carries them with me.”
“But why?” Tachi put down his fork, shuddering while he imagined his grandmother in his head at all hours of the day.
Maja leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “They guide me. They care about me, love me, they help me make choices.”
“They’re with you all the time?” Tachi fidgeted with the tablecloth. “Even when-”
“Even when what?”
“Even when you are in the bathroom?”
Maja sighed, relieved. Sex was a touchy subject with her ancestors. “Yes, all the time, even in the bathroom. They don’t really care much about what I do in the bathroom though. They care more about what I’m wearing or who I’m going there with, where I’m sticking my credits, my job, the entertainment I watch. You probably think this is weird.”
“It’s different, sure, but not weird. I mean, my grandparents live in a polyamorous commune where everything thinks they are teenagers. At least you’ve never had to worry about your grandfather stealing your girlfriend.”
Maja snorted. “I guess not.”
“That actually explains a few things about you.”
“Like what?”
“Well, when we met, at Rudolf’s party. I remember thinking how elegant you looked, both modern and refined all at once. Classic, I guess is the word. You’re classic.”
“He thinks we’re classic!” cried Florence. “Oh, what a nice man.”
“He’s trying to get into her pants.” Said Maja’s great grandfather.
“Thank you.” Said Maja.
“Do your ancestors say anything about me?” asked Tachi.
“Rude.” Said Maja’s great grandfather.
“I don’t think they’ve all made up their minds.”
“What about you? What do you think about me?”
“I’ve made up my mind, but you’ll have to stick around for dessert to find out what it is.” Maja smiled.
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by Duncan Shields | Aug 2, 2007 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
The correctional facility did not work for me.
I left the building with the need to make up for lost time.
I waited exactly one day and sixteen hours before I grabbed someone and dragged him into an alley to resume work on cleaning the world like I was destined to do.
I guess the cops didn’t tell me about the remote probation device they’d installed in me.
I had my hand drawn back to start working on this terrified man the way the voices had directed when all of a sudden my body felt like it was on fire. My muscles spasmed and I collapsed to the ground in the dirty alley amongst the needles, newspaper and grease.
I stayed there for half an hour. People went through my pockets and found nothing. They stole my shoes.
I woke up angry.
I punched the dumpster beside me, denting it with my hands. My body erupted in searing pain again as I did this. My muscles spasmed and I collapsed to the ground for a second time.
The probation device was wired to my body’s pulse and respiratory system. It was wired to my brain waves.
I needed to remain calm and positive or I would be shocked into convulsions again.
No problem.
I practiced on cats and stray dogs for three months.
Now I can kill an animal with no change in my heartbeat or breathing. I can do it with nothing but positive thoughts in my head. The creator would be proud.
All the time I’ve been practicing on the animals, the voices have been demanding I resume my job. They don’t understand about the probation device. It’s maddening. It’s been torture knowing that I can’t resume my work until I perfect my innermost emotions.
It’s time now. I’m ready to do a human.
I leave the front door of the cave of boxes I’ve made in my squat like a trap door spider coming into daylight.
For the second time in my life, I feel like I’ve been released from prison.
I have to make up for lost time.
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by Sam Clough | Aug 1, 2007 | Story
Author : Sam Clough, Staff Writer
…I’d do all the same things. Just faster.
There’s so much to see, so much to do. When I stop and think of how much time I’ve wasted – sleeping, procrastinating, unemployed and misemployed, it makes me want to cry. There are all the things I’ve seen that I’d kill to see again, and all the things I’ve heard about but never had the time to see at all. The key is speed. Don’t waste any time.
The chainstars. I absolutely have to see them. I hear that they’re an incredible sight – three distinct toroidal suns, interlinked and whipping around each other with blinding speed, photospheres bleeding across the gaps. We don’t know why they hold together but it’s just amazing to look at. And then, after that, the Medr breeding grounds. It’s in the same sector. I’ve seen a vid of them: amazing creatures. Two klicks long, with eight-hundred metre sails. Smart as sin, they are. Rumour has it that some of them use humans and antifearac as symbiotes. Weird, I know, but I would like to see if I could speak with one of those symbiotes.
Oh, oh – after that, Earth! The skyhooks and the orbital – miracles of engineering, both. And the space fountain. Antarctica’s rolling hills have been green ever since they set up the eye to bounce sunlight round there. The fountain must be a sight – almost invisible tethers, the entire apparatus puncturing the atmosphere and staying up purely on the energy of the projectiles sent streaming up full of cargo and passengers. And on Earth, too – the pacific cities. Got to see them. Maybe fly over, spend a few days. See what it feels like to be outstripped by the pace of cultural change: those floating metropolises are apparently unrecognizable from one day to the next. But I’d have to keep moving. You can’t relax when there’s so much to see! You’ve got to go faster, keep up a blistering pace. Just to stay in the human race, you’ve got to go so quick.
After the pacific cities, I’d go to the Kupier belt outside cygni-two-alpha. There’s big, big freedead enclaves out there. Utilitarian bodies driven by people centuries dead, hacking minerals from the rock. Their spidery habitats, strung between rocks, they’re meant to be so beautiful. They have culture unlike anything the living could conceive of. It’s unique and incredible and I want to immerse myself in it. Out there, in hard vacuum, there’s life so visceral you can almost breath it.
Now, am I making haste, or could it be that haste is making me?
No time to worry. Just accelerate.
Then Calypso! Calypso, oh that would be sweet. Paradise planet, like Santa Vincente, but with fewer beasties. There’s an appeal to grabbing a rokkit launcher and hunting big things with teeth, but Calypso, you just don’t care anymore. Most of the pollens are narcotics: great for export. But skydiving in those purple skies, that’s something you need to do.
But my time’s up. Life has caught up with me – and boy, is it pissed. The resurrection machines only work the first three or four times: I’ve had five. The doks said I was lucky as anything to get that last one. It’s been almost three hundred years.
But there’s so much left to do, it can’t stop here..
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by Kathy Kachelries | Jul 31, 2007 | Story
Author : Kathy Kachelries, Staff Writer
“I think mine is a girl,” Anju said as she stretched her legs out over the sofa in the resting room. Her hands crossed over her round stomach, which was covered by the stork-printed flannel shirt Special Delivery issued to everyone in the compound. A larger embroidered stork rested over her heart, carrying a swaddled infant in a sling. Most girls were horrified by the logo when they first arrived, but an aide explained that it was simply an ancient myth. No children would actually be dropped from the sky.
“You can’t tell what it is,” Jahnavi said. Her shirt hung around her stomach, deflated, but the next few months would change that. Even with an empty womb, she carried herself as if in her third trimester. Jahnavi had lived in the complex for seven years.
“I can tell,” Anju said. “She feels like a girl.”
“You’ve never been pregnant before,” Jahnavi pointed out.
“I know.”
Shaila listened to the conversation with mild interest, though part of her attention was directed towards the television. For weeks, she’d been trying to teach herself to read by watching American sitcoms with subtitles on, and sometimes, she thought she was getting close. Special Delivery didn’t allow anything but light comedy in the facility. A healthy mind makes a healthy baby, they said. Shaila’s dark eyes drifted to the other two women. “If she thinks it’s a girl, let her think it’s a girl,” she said. Her voice was a quiet warning. “They won’t let her see it, anyways.”
Anju’s hands pressed more firmly against her stomach, but she did not argue. For long moments, the only sound in the resting room was the laugh track of the television and the quick, poorly-dubbed dialogue. Shaila bit at her fingernail as she studied the rapidly moving words at the bottom of the screen. In three years she’d be too old to work for Special Delivery, but she didn’t intend to go back to the factory like most retired surrogates did. Shaila was going to move to the city and get a real job, the kind that she saw in the sitcoms.
“They really won’t let me see her?” Anju asked quietly.
“Why would they? It’s not your baby. Let the real parents worry about it.” Jahnavi waved her hand dismissively, though there was a hint of derision in her voice.
“I’d just like to know if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“Yeah, well. You’ll get over that.”
Another long silence. Shaila rubbed her stomach, which was just beginning to swell. This would be her thirteenth birth. “They look like that,” she finally said as she lifted her hand to the television. “Like those people. Blue or green eyes, red or blond hair. They get named things like Courtney and Jeremy.”
Anju looked at her intently, then fixed her eyes on the screen. “All of them?”
“Most of them. It’s what the parents want.”
Anju looked down at her belly, then back to the colorful television. She seemed to consider the statement carefully. “I hope she has blue eyes,” she said.
Jahnavi grunted. “It’s not your baby,” she said again.
“I don’t care. I hope she has blue eyes and black hair and I hope they name her Madhuri.”
“No one is going to name their baby Madhuri,” Jahnavi said. “No one. You ever seen a Madhuri on TV?”
The silence was tense, and after a few seconds, Shaila turned up the volume on the television. “It’s a perfectly good name,” she said, her words almost drowned beneath the laugh track of the television. “Just save it until you have a kid of your own.”
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