by submission | May 7, 2025 | Story |
Author: Colin Jeffrey
On some mornings, around eleven, the postman will drop a letter or two into the mail slot. But many of these are not letters – they are coded messages disguised as bills or advertisements. Only I know their secrets.
You see, I am a messenger of the gods.
Just yesterday, I was instructed via a gas bill to telephone my local hardware store and inform them of a circuit breaker that was about to overload, and burn their building down.
Two days before that, a brochure for “Happy-clappy kitten wash” told me to address a football match crowd through the PA system to tell them that they were – with the exception of Harry Fleagle in seat 28 – all sinners.
And, three weeks ago, I averted a major meltdown at a nuclear power plant, when I convinced its computer system that the “blue glowy things” in the water weren’t drowning, and it should leave them where they were.
Since I lost my online government job two years ago for supposedly being “too disruptive,” I have been given a greater number of tasks by the gods, and I have carried them out diligently.
Lives have been saved, wrongs righted, passive-aggressive warnings delivered.
Though my internet connection has been disrupted quite severely recently (by nefarious agents, no doubt) and I have had to resort to manually printing out my communications for hand delivery. I can only hope that this method has been effective.
Interference will not thwart me, however. My mission is one that has been diligently carried out by humans for millennia: Joan of Arc was a notable one, as well as Saint Francis, Giordano Bruno, and many others. But not Rasputin. He was a nut.
Speaking of nuts, that’s what they call me. But I don’t mind, really, I know my work is vital for the safety of humankind. Taunts do not move me from my hallowed path.
Just now I have received a menu from the local pizza place. It is dripping with coded messages.
When they put a red circle behind the word, “pepperoni” that means “trouble”, three holes on the picture of a cheese means “aliens”, and a line under the words, “family size” is code for “invasion”. As such, the whole world is in trouble, and they need to launch a counter attack.
I must warn the government.
“Dad!” Missy yelled from the kitchen, “The stupid AI toaster is making up stories again!”
Missy’s father, Mike, walked into the room, looked at the toast in her hand. “See,” she said, pointing to the words burned into the surface of the bread.
Her father read aloud. “Alien attack imminent. Launch counterstrike Alpha nine dash thirty.”
He sighed, yanked the toaster plug from the wall.
“I’ve had enough of this stupid thing,” he said, carrying the toaster outside. “The warranty has expired, it makes terrible toast, so it’s going in the trash.”
With that, he swung the toaster by its cord, and hurled it into the garbage can. “Who on earth needs an AI toaster anyway?” He said out loud as he wheeled the bin out front for the weekly pickup. “Stupid companies trying to make dumb things smart so they can charge more, that’s who.”
As he turned to go back indoors, Mike looked up at the sky for what would be the last time.
A hundred thousand battleships of the Graxian war fleet surged through the upper atmosphere glowing bright red as they hurtled downward, spraying fiery death from their enormous array of fearsome armaments, hell bent on destroying the Earth.
by Julian Miles | May 6, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The control room is gleaming. Elias Medelsson looks about with a smile. The night watch clearly made a successful conversion of tedium to effort. He’ll drop a memo to his counterpart on the Benthusian side to express thanks.
“Captain Medelsson.”
Elias turns to find Siun Heplepara, the Benthusian he had in mind, beckoning from the privacy alcove.
He joins his counterpart, settling against the opposite wall as privacy screens activate.
“Greetings, my friend. What’s kept you away from your tank this morn?”
Siun raises four tentacles, carefully holding the corners of a red-banded hardcopy.
“This, Elias. Sufficiently grim tidings that I could not settle until the matter is resolved.”
Elias leans forward and reads the memo. Anything significant enough to be transmitted in code only unravelled in a K-Phase printer is never going to be good. He finishes, then looks at Siun in disbelief.
“Montelordo? As in Gram Montelordo, President of the Orcan Federation?”
“The same. I have confirmed it.”
“You used your network?”
Benthusian interspatial communications are the envy of human worlds. They’re also a bone of contention as every negotiation that includes an attempt to acquire them for human use has those parts removed prior to agreement. The use of K-Phase printers on a ‘black box’ basis is the only concession, and that only in the last decade or so.
“Then fill me in on the scion of unbelievable wealth and power we know better as Engineering Apprentice Ridal Klon.”
Siun softly clicks his beak before starting, a sure sign of distress in this normally unshakeable octopod.
“Hossaw Montelordo, heir to an empire that threatens so many, harboured dreams of being something different. To be recognised for his engineering genius on his own merits, apparently. This placement is the end of an elaborate, year-long identity switch.”
Elias raises a finger.
“Switch, not construction?”
Siun folds the memo rapidly and intricately until it turns to dust.
“We offered Ridal employ after receiving a recommendation from Lamarry.”
Elias blinks. A recommendation from the Benthusian royal caste. They never come without fair reason. He suddenly realises why Siun stayed awake.
“Where did they find the body?”
“Pieces of him found in an agricultural shredder. Ridal had a spanner forged from meteoric alloys in his pocket. It jammed the unit.”
“Somebody was clumsy. Not Hossaw, I presume?”
“Two thugs employed by the boarding officer he bribed. They gave him up. He gave us Hossaw, complete with recordings.”
Elias takes a moment.
“This is a potential diplomatic incident. It could start a war.”
Siun slowly shrugs. Elias still can’t work out how a being without shoulders does it so well.
“You’ve received a suggestion, Captain Heplepara?”
“The loss of Ridal has insulted Lamarry, but they understand it is the act of a selfish child.”
Elias smiles.
“What have those illustrious minds recommended?”
“Ridal was an orphan. While he showed tremendous promise, it would not be unheard of for an apprentice to make a mistake. Especially as the replacement Ridal has proven to be nowhere near as good.”
“Something like forgetting to safety the flash chamber before cleaning?”
Siun nods.
“I like it: caught in an emergency meteor-avoidance burn. Tragic. Not even a body remaining. But Ridal would get a memorial on the walls of Habshedur.”
Elias nods.
“A proper tribute, while Montelordo junior stays lost.”
Siun swipes left to reveal a live feed.
“We have secured him in Benthusian quarters.”
Elais checks the schedule.
“The next maintenance cycle starts in an hour.”
“He’ll not miss his accident.”
“I’ll draft a memo for command.”
“I will inform Lamarry.”
Elias nods.
“Justice for Ridal.”
by submission | May 5, 2025 | Story |
Author: Chelsea Utecht
Today is the day our masters treat us to sweet snacks of expensive corn and sing a song to celebrate their love for us – “Happy Earth Day to you! Happy Earth Day to you! Happy Earth day, our humans!” – because today the orbit aligns so that we can see a blue glimmer that is the planet of our origin. While this day will come to the masters ten or twelve times, we tend to only live long enough to see it twice (and I was too young to remember my first time).
“Look!” My master points, but their eyesight is better than mine. I squint, and they laugh, ruffling my hair, which they keep short so it sticks up on end. They sing, but I’m still squinting, wanting to badly to see that speck in the sky they say my ancestors once owned. They’re talking about the loneliness, living among other humans in cramped boxes, sometimes ten in a family. They’re saying I’m lucky to have all this space all to myself, to never even see another human but a few times an orbit. They’re saying we used to have no masters to feed us and groom us and pick our clothes. “So sad,” they say, pouring corn treats from Earth into my bowl, but I wonder if it doesn’t sound a bit like ruling.
“Eat up!”
I want to hush them as I stare desperately at the night sky that is a mess of stars, but they’ll take away my treats if I do.
There. Tiny. Blue. Somehow mine. “I see it…” I breathe.
“Good job!” They clap. “Quick with your treats. It is time to sleep now.”
I turn to look at them, wide black eyes full of the only love I’ve ever known. And that’s probably enough. Certainly Earth hadn’t been better than this. That’s what they always say.
They whisk me away.
Happy Earth Day.
I’m grateful for my master.
I’m grateful for my corn.
I’m grateful for my cage.
by submission | May 4, 2025 | Story |
Author: Kelleigh Cram
I told my daughter I didn’t want the dang thing but you know kids; they understand technology and we are just senile.
The robot folds my clothes, which I must admit is nice. The shirts are stacked so precisely I just take whichever one is on top, not wanting to mess up the robot’s hard work. Being a housewife for thirty-two years, I can appreciate the effort that goes into chores. Jenna worried so much when her father died, hence the robot. She always acted like he was the stronger one of us, just because he used to work and knew how to send an email. If that’s the case how come he’s gone and I am still here? To punish me, I assume.
The robot reminds me to take my medicine.
“Martha, it is time to take your medication,” the robot says, its computerized voice even more condescending than Jenna’s.
“Fine, I. Will. Take. My. Medication,” I say, one word at a time to mimic its tone.
The robot turns its head, the gears in its neck making a sound that must be the robotic equivalent of a sigh. The robot watches me swallow the pill and I open my mouth wide to prove I did as instructed before sticking my tongue out.
The robot cooks my meals. Today, lunch consists of chicken nuggets and corn. The food is bland, rubbery, forcing me to spit it back out onto the plate.
“Eat. Doctor’s orders,” the robot says when I try to excuse myself.
You mean Jenna’s orders, I want to say. I manage to force it down before going back to the living room.
“Can you make some tea?” I ask as the robot washes my dishes.
The robot sets the kettle on the stove, just standing there waiting for it to boil, something we humans know never happens. But it must have, because a few minutes later the robot sets a mug on the coffee table in front of me. I reach for the handle, but the robot grabs my wrist.
“Too hot,” the robot says.
I wait, watching the news, something about the decline of education since the introduction of simulated classrooms. Figuring the tea must have cooled off by now, I try again.
The robot stops me, its grip a little firmer.
“Too hot,” the robot repeats.
This time I give it so long the drink would be lukewarm at best, if not downright cold. I snatch the cup with as much speed as my frail arm can muster. I take a triumphant sip, spitting the liquid right back up. The inside of my mouth is scalding, the shock of it making me cough so hard I struggle to catch my breath. A heat retentive mug, it has to be. These were recalled after too many lawsuits, people burning themselves. I try to go to the kitchen, maybe get a glass of ice water to cool my throat. As soon as I stand the room starts to spin and I fall in a heap on the floor.
“Robot?” I call out.
“Robot, get help.”
“Robot, call 911.”
“Robot, call Jenna.”
I try different commands, hoping one of them will summon the robot to rescue me.
Finally, the robot comes into view, sitting above me on the couch. The robot crosses its legs and takes a delicate sip of my tea before setting it back down on the coaster.
“Too hot,” the robot says.
by submission | May 3, 2025 | Story |
Author: R. J. Erbacher
He turned the corner at a run and slammed his shoulder into the white partition leaving a smear of sweat and blood but kept going. His bare feet slapped franticly on the tile-like floor as he sprinted down the hall. He wished he could wake, but he knew this wasn’t a ‘naked in school’ dream. This real nightmare was a thousand times more intense. And although the corridors somewhat had the look of an institution, he knew he wasn’t even on earth anymore. The differences were ominous, there were no doors anywhere, only stark blank walls. And no ceiling, just blackness overhead, an artificial light came from someplace illuminating the passages. He didn’t slow and the terror behind him was keeping pace. The passage he was racing down was coming to an end and he had to decide whether to go left or right. He had done this before, but he momentarily forgot where he was along the route and had an instant of panic trying to remember which way he needed to go. The wrong choice would mean he’d come to a dead end and be cornered and devoured. There was only a precious few seconds to choose as he struggled to gasp in air and push his legs an iota quicker. Left. He took the turn as fast as he could using his hands to propel him forward off the wall without slowing much. To his disadvantage, the thing behind him had remarkable agility because of its segmented body and it cut down the gap between them at each turn. Down the straightaway he accelerated to his fastest to stay ahead, the voracious snorts right on his ass a reminder of what awaited him if he stumbled for even an instant. One more turn, left again, nearly lost his stride, banged into the wall and pirouetted into a three-sixty, reestablished his frenetic pace losing only a fraction of time. But would that cost him? The end was ahead, sixty seconds of distance run, but the breath of the beast was rank heat on his back and thighs. Had to push the limitations of his body for the last stretch. Almost there. He dove over the threshold and the divider instantaneously closed behind him, separating himself from the pursuant. Whatever it was, thumped into the barricade and yowled in protest, having been denied its prize. Rolling onto his back, the cool floor solace against his fevered skin, he desperately tried to satiate his lungs. Opening his eyes he gazed up into the darkness above him wondering if they were pleased that he had made it again or disappointed that he was not caught. For the next few minutes, he slowed his hammering heart and smoothed out his breathing, knowing they were probably monitoring his vitals. Calmed to near normal, he finally rose and went over to the table and chair, dropping his bare ass into the seat. He partook of the fine meal that was laid out before him, all his favorite foods, or at least an incredible facsimile to the point that he could not detect the difference. As he enjoyed his dinner, he did his best to push away the thought that inevitably, one of these times, he was not going to be here eating his treat at the end. He was going to be the treat. Just not this time.
by submission | May 2, 2025 | Story |
Author: David C. Nutt
My team assembled on the roof of factory near Prahova, Romania. Our objective was the next building over. Non-descript, a gray cube with the latest security measures at all entrance points, to include the heavily tinted sky lights. That’s why we were going to saw a hole in the roof. Repel down to the floor, disable the fire alarms (who the hell does that?) and then torch the interior.
We ziplined to the target roof. The industrial laser we brought was more than adequate for the job. We dropped through the roof and hit the floor. NODS up and on, target acquired. Six palettes of interactive voice assistants, tablets, and laptops. Each one indistinct from any other of its kind on the market- except for some rather strange characters after the UPC stickers. Stamped on like stock or model numbers.
I bought my beloved his device for his 30th birthday, got a fantastic deal on it. He loved it and honestly it worked great. A timer. A juke box. An argument solver. A cookbook. A polite know-it-all. It really made our lives easier. I don’t know how many times I said “We should have done this a long time ago.”
Then he started getting sick.
At first, he was just tired here and there, but things were really hopping at work for him so it made sense. Then he was so tired on some days he could barely move. I took him to the doctors. “Chronic Fatigue Syndrome” they said. There’s no real cure for that so it was some over the counter energy boosters. It didn’t help one little bit. He just got worse.
They did blood tests. “Extreme anemia” they said. So it was shots and pills. The counts kept going down. He was not the man I married. Thin, gaunt, confused. More blood tests.
“He has a rare type of hemophilia,” they said. “Not much in journals about it yet but the symptoms are lining up.” He died four days later. Then our kids started getting sick. “Mommy, daddy keeps coming into my dreams and sitting on my chest.”
That was my wake-up call. I sat bedside with my littlest that night. Around 3:00 am a mist crept along the floor. I was prepared. I turned on the UV grow lights. The mist retreated and back into our beloved virtual assistant. The speaker even made its signature two- toned “off” chime.
I went back to my room, went online and discontinued the service to our device. The next day I unplugged it, bashed it all to pieces and left it out in the sunlight. A few moments later, it burst into flames. My kids didn’t have the dreams that night.
Fast forward back to today. We’re done at the objective and back on the other roof, watching the flames rise. We see ground hugging mists gathering, exiting the building, coalescing. “It’s a dog,” one of my team says. “No,” says another, “Look, it’s a child.”
Whatever it was, it was moving fast, but not fast enough. The light of dawn hit it and there was a bright flame, and it was gone. I switched channels on my radio and keyed my mike. “Mission complete, target eliminated.”
Once, they occupied bodies of loved ones and walked the earth. Once, they had to be invited in, step across actual thresholds. Now? Say a pet name for your device into thin air. Click for notifications.
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