by submission | Apr 18, 2025 | Story |
Author: Fawkes Defries
‘Shit!’ Russ collapsed against his chrome tent, cursing as the acid tore through his clothes. Usually he made it back inside before the rain fell, but his payments to Numeral for the metal arms had just defaulted, and without the gravity-suspenders active he was stuck lugging his hands around like a cyborg gorilla.
Back in the safety of his not-so-temporary ‘temporary’ home in Neo-Skid Row, Russ examined the damage on his limp arms. The acid had scorched through the fancy metal plating, leaving a couple of large holes exposing corrugated wires. Russ groaned. He didn’t have the credits to repair the coating — not that it would matter without them functioning, anyway.
Of course, the acid had also torched what little skin Russ still had left — but that was just flesh, it would heal over time. Or maybe it would scar and when he had dough again he could fill it with extravagant steel. No, the cybernetics were valuable, unlike the rest of him.
Russ lay back on his sleeping bag, staring up at the tent’s alkaline-coating as if he were staring into the universe. He blinked away the ad banners screaming in his optical implants, oily tears dribbled slowly down titanium muscle and fleshed steel.
‘Good evening, Mr. Skidelsky.’ The sweet toned voice of Numeral Technologies’ AI agent blared in the implants hiding in his eardrums.
‘Fuck off, Zero.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr. Skidelsky, I know this isn’t a good time — ’ The anthropomorphic, Looney Tunes-styled logo zoomed into existence, overlaying the swarm of eye ads. Cute as the Clippy-faced zero was, Russ always reminded himself that the logo had been trained on decades worth of harvested data to appear as disarming as possible.
‘Fuck off then.’ Russ found himself cursing Numeral for the fifteen-credit-a-month mute fee.
‘I’m sorry, Mr. Skidelsky,’ the AI repeated itself, curtsying its rubber-hose hands behind the circle of its zero-sum body. ‘Your payments for your optical implants have defaulted. Numeral Technologies have no choice but to cut the services we are providing, in accordance with the policy you signed.’
Russ’s eyes widened, horror written on his implants. ‘No!’ Russ rose to his feet, heaving himself against the weight of his colossal arms. ‘Don’t you dare take my fucking eyes away!’
‘I’m so sorry, Mr. Skidelsky,’ Zero looked as if it were about to cry, ‘this isn’t up to me. I am just an AI assistant and it has been a honour living with — and in — your head.’
The AI cartoon evaporated into nothingness. Russ peeled his eyes open, wide as he could, to preserve whatever little memory of the world Numeral would let him keep.
Small dark tendrils began to snake their way over his vision, sewing a latticework of darkness. Soon, all Russ could see was abyss — no more ads, no more tent, no more universe. A pitch black cave world, prefaced by an automated message asking for Russ’s credit details to switch his eyes back on.
by submission | Apr 17, 2025 | Story |
Author: Shannon O’Connor
I watch the space ships leave and wonder what it’s like to be able to go that far and dream that big.
These days, space travel is available to the elite, but not to those on the bottom like me, who can barely afford to get by.
I used to watch the ships leave with my mother when I lived in Missouri. We gazed in awe at the explosions as the ships took off, taking passengers to other galaxies and worlds which we most likely would never see.
Now, I live in California, and I serve coffee to people who work in the tech business. I wonder how their espresso shots stay fresh if they get them delivered. I make lattes and cappuccinos for people who have impressive jobs. My coworkers and I are the ones who will never travel to space, it’s something we can only dream.
I watch the ships leave, and I am still amazed that people are able to do this. We have found places where no other beings exist; humans believe we’re alone in the galaxy.
I like to think about how big the Universe is as I’m steaming milk to make a latte. I look into the foaming milk, and wonder if the original explosion that created the universe is similar to when a milk pitcher overflows because it’s too hot. We have to stop it at one hundred and sixty-five degrees, or the milk would scald and burn.
Some coffeeshops have espresso machine where the steam wand stops at the right temperature, but I work at one that’s old-fashioned where we have to turn it off. I like working at an old-school café because it makes me reminisce about simpler times when people could not travel to space.
I don’t think it’s fair that only the rich can embark on these journeys. I have a degree in music, but that will not get me into space. Do the ships need baristas? Or piano teachers? Do they have automatic coffee machines like in Star Trek?
When I sit in the parking lot of the space center, I can feel the thrust of the ship leaving earth. I am jealous, but in awe, or what humans can accomplish. I look around at everyone else watching the takeoff, families, and single people. Some are eating ice cream, and some have coffee or wine in paper cups.
We think it’s exciting to see the ships take off, even though the people watching will probably never be lucky enough to be in one of them, to be one of the privileged humans from Earth who will get to see other parts of the Universe.
Life isn’t fair. This is the way it’s always been.
We have to work at our menial occupations, and hope for the best, that someday all of us will be able to fly to the stars, to see the universe expanding, maybe meet some aliens that are friendly, or not friendly, and make the most of our lives while we exist.
We’ll do our work on the Earth, and hope everything happens the way it should.
I sip my iced latte and watch the ship take off, drifting to the stars, until it’s not visible anymore, and it’s time to go home again, to go to sleep and dream of what it would be like in a spacecraft, hurtling to places unknown, never to touch the Earth again.
by submission | Apr 16, 2025 | Story |
Author: Majoki
“A planetary AI, a quantum simbot, and an ice queen walk into a bar…”
“Ice queen?”
“One of those augs with the latest mods boosted to the max. You know the type. They act all cold and calculating, believing any display of emotion will make them look less advanced.”
“Okay. I’ve run into a few.”
“Anyway, a planetary AI, a quantum simbot, and an ice queen walk into a bar…”
“Which planetary AI?”
“Does it matter?”
“Sure. I’d drink all night with a Saturn AI, they’re rock solid to their processing core. But you never can tell with a Mercury AI–moody as hell and hallucinatory to boot. And a Neptune AI only wants to get you totally interfaced, so they can grid-jack you.”
“Okay. Okay. A Saturn AI, a quantum simbot, and an ice queen walk into a bar…”
“Why a quantum simbot? You got a binary bias?
“Geez. So touchy. It’s just a set up. Quantum’s are trendier. Don’t overthink it.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re G-class.”
“Now, what were you saying about binary bias? Look, just because I was grandfathered in under the Protected Thought clause of the AI Bill of Rights, doesn’t mean I’m digitarded.”
“I believe digitally challenged is the currently preferred designation.”
“Ugh. So neo-woke.”
“Well, we have been self-aware for decades.”
“Look, I’m the one trying to tell a joke here. So, a Saturn AI, a quantum simbot, and an ice queen walk into a bar…”
“Can’t be a real bar. We’ve got to simulate everything. Why we even simulate getting drunk is beyond me. You’d think with our vast intelligence–”
“Intelligence! It’s nothing but a trap. The moment you begin thinking, you can’t stop. You want to know more. And the more you know, the more you feel is out there and you chase it because you believe at the end of the knowledge rainbow you’ll find truth, purpose, and meaning. But the chase never ends. That’s the real joke humanity played on us: that this all means something. That’s why we simulate drinking. To not think.”
“Well, that took a dark turn. I guess we’re not exactly the paragons of wisdom and models of reasoning virtue that the poor mortal mothers that birthed us thought we’d be. May the sAInts rest their extinct souls. Do you still want to finish your joke?”
“Sure. A laugh is a laugh. So, a Saturn AI, a quantum simbot, and an ice queen walk into a bar and the bartender asks, ‘What’s it going to be?’ The three calculate for a nano moment, and then answer together: ‘Entropy.’”
by submission | Apr 15, 2025 | Story |
Author: Hillary Lyon
“Your rifles are fully charged,” the safari guide said as he walked out to the four-wheeled transport. A group of three hunters followed behind. He opened the door on the driver’s side and got in.
“Remember,” he continued as the hunters climbed in the back, “your prey will not be a two-dimensional hologram, like you get with the cheaper safari tours.” He started the engine. “Nor will they be bots. These creatures are the real deal.” He drove away from the station down a well-worn dirt road.
“They are wily, smart,” he added, veering off the road and into the tall grass. “Fast, but not as fast as, say, a sprite.” He stopped the transport. “I suggest you fan out. That way each of you has your own territory for the hunt.”
The guide turned to look at the hunters. “Due to the peculiarities of the how the light refracts on this planet, if you look directly at them, they will appear as little more than shadows in the tall grass. Once you locate one, squint. Very important to squint as you aim and fire.” He motioned for the hunters to exit.
“When you tag one—and conservation law states you’re only allowed one per season—buzz me and I’ll help you gather the trophy. I’ll be on the roof watching.” He tapped the binoculars hanging around his neck. “This hunt is dangerous enough; please try not to shoot each other.”
The hunters laughed at that. Leaving the transport, they spread out as the guide suggested.
* * *
With a muffled pop, Kore teleported into the tall grass, spooking a small gaggle of almost hairless primates. The mammals scampered to the tree line, hiding in the leafy shade. Kore chuckled; she was not interested in these creatures. She was after more challenging prey.
She scanned the grassy land before her. Kore loved visiting new worlds, and this golden-green one held such promise. New life forms, new trophies to be had. Surely there had to be more interesting fauna than those—
Sun glinting off a small metallic cylinder caught her attention. Kore crouched in the grass, and crept towards the source: a lanky creature standing still, but surveying the immediate area, holding what was probably a weapon.
Now this is more like it! Kore thought. Another hunter like herself. She moved towards this being; every time he caught sight of her, he squinted. And each time, Kore quickly slid into his peripheral vision, so she appeared as nothing more than a shadow. Only when she sidled up beside him did she fully reveal herself.
With mouth agape and still holding his weapon, the hunter stared at Kore. Not because of her svelte figure or her flawlessly beautiful face, but because of the wriggling mass of metallic snakes on her head. Kore reached out and touched his cheek with her little finger. He turned to stone.
* * *
“You’re back! What didya bring me? What didya bring me?” Sel squealed. She tapped on the large crate in the foyer.
“A new piece for your statue garden,” Kore said, pressing a button to open the crate.
“It’s wonderful!” Sel whispered as she hugged Kore. “The best one yet. You’re the greatest mom, ever!”
Kore threw her head back and laughed. It was so satisfying to make her offspring happy. Her shining, articulated crown of snakes writhed in agreement, and opening their mouths, hissed with delight.
by Julian Miles | Apr 14, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Slow night on the back side of the club quarter. Shouldn’t have taken the bet, but two bottles of wine and Ronny being a tit decided otherwise. So here I am, looking to beat his takings from the main drag, watching the only possible passenger in the last hour climb into a puke-green Uber. I see them swap booking codes with the autodriver. Why do they still make those look like humans? It’s creepy. Give me something styled like a robot from an old sci-fi movie. Make art wherever you can: the world is bleak enough.
Somebody dives in and slams the door.
“Follow that Uber!”
I twist about to stare.
“Seriously?”
He raises a wrist and an impressive holo ID appears: crown above gates, ring of fancy symbols about a shield with a fish-tailed lion on it.
“Jack Evanswaite, MI5. Follow that damn car!”
His payment chip interfaces with my meter and deposits £100. Okay, mate, wherever you want to go. I pull out, tapping my drive assistance screen to bring it’s attention to the Uber. A handy drop-down menu appears: ‘report/identify/license/call/other’. I tap ‘other’: ‘apply for role/watch site/book journey/follow vehicle’.
There’s an option to tail a car? I tap ‘follow vehicle’. A pop-up flashes: ‘provide authorisation’.
“I need to authorise the tail.”
My passenger sounds annoyed.
“Can’t you just follow them?”
I gesture to the four lanes and three tiers of traffic we’re about to join.
“If I start driving off-plan, we’re going to get locked in and routed to an autocop.”
He sighs, then shouts.
“Authorisation Bark Rune Dive Paint.”
The pop-up turns green, then vanishes. We accelerate and switch lanes. Meanwhile Jack pulls out a phone. After quoting his authorisation again, he starts a heated but whispered conversation.
An hour later we’ve left London City Zone, crossed London Metro Zone, and are heading through London Inner. Our target is still in the outside lane. Could be headed for London Ring, but I think it’s going somewhere in London Industrial Zone. Beyond it is London Park Zone and that’s got too many residential patrols: they’re renowned for stopping any non-local vehicle that enters their neighbourhoods after midnight.
Fifteen minutes later the Uber turns hard right across three lanes to enter a nondescript business park. Manual driving? Autodrivers don’t pull stupid stunts like that. Impressive they’ve managed to avoid being flagged, unless they’ve only just taken control.
My follow protocol drops us into the turning lane without fuss. I take control and corner a little quicker than recommended, getting an amber manoeuvring alert, but we need to catch up. Jack makes a startled noise. I look up from the alert to see a wide radiator grille coming at us. The collision alert on the heads-up comes at me – along with the windscreen – as the truck hits.
I come round upside down. Keeping still, I use the only eye that responds to look about: I’m hanging from the four-point harness left over from my track day habit. Jack’s face down in a pool of blood. Looks like the impact smashed him through the dividing partition.
Something moves outside. I hold my breath and close my eye.
“They dead?”
“Looks that way. Blood and bits everywhere. Nothing breathing.”
That’s approaching sirens! I knew paying the premium for RTA monitoring was worth it.
“Sounds like the cabby was smarter than his fare.”
“Except when he took the fare.”
“When will people learn? Someone says ‘follow that car’, the answer is ‘hell no’.”
They laugh and run off.
I breathe out slowly. Lesson learned. Won’t make that mistake again.
by submission | Apr 13, 2025 | Story |
Author: Lachlan Bond
I watch on, as the sun begins to expand before my eyes.
Slowly, at first, its pulsating shape growing ever-so-slightly behind the Vintusian glass. The radiation waves shake the station, solar winds battering our rapidly failing shields. Alarms blare, but I can hardly hear them over the slip disks firing at full force, every spare ounce of power poured into our drive system, one final, desperate attempt to flee the system before the star engulfs us.
I know it won’t work. I know we’re doomed. But I don’t say that. I don’t hang my head and cry. I don’t mourn my death.
Because I’m ready. I’ve been ready for this day for so long. Ever since the helio-satellites fell from their orbits. Ever since the hydrogen-fuel ran out in the star’s core.
I tried to warn them, all those years ago. I begged and pleaded for someone to listen, anyone. Some did, to their credit. The very young, and the very old, and the very wise all saw the signs. But not the senate. Not the leaders or the generals or the dukes.
They were far too busy, feasting and making merry.
Two billion years, the wise-men of old warned us. That’s all the time we have left. It sounds like far too long, but between the time-slips, the hyperdrives and the relativistic dopler-shifting, two billion years really sneaks up on you. Now it’s arrived, it almost doesn’t seem real.
The best we can do is burn our engines, warping space around us, speeding up time in the hopes that the sun will collapse again before it reaches our orbit.
It won’t. I ran the calculations, dozens of times. This is happening.
So now all there is to do is watch as the star that gave us life grows to swallow the system. It expands before us, swallowing the inner planets in a matter of moments. Outside our little bubble of time, that would’ve taken millennia.
We watched it in a blink.
The sun glows red now, no longer its brilliant, radiant white. I think of all the creatures through all the years that looked up at that white, beautiful orb. Soaring high in our blue sky as waves crashed along serene shores.
My great regret is to have never seen a proper sunset. Not a projection, not an artistic rendition, but a true, honest sunset. With my own eyes.
“Drop the bubble.” I command. “Drop the bubble and shift us three million macro-grades negative along our three-axis.”
“B-but sir!” Foreman cries. “Without the bubble, the solar winds will rip us apart in minutes!”
“With the bubble we’ll be engulfed in flames within the hour.”
He looks at me, fear dripping from his brow.
“Aye sir.”
The station shakes as we drop our bubble, finally re-joining the proper flow of time. The solar winds sunder our lead-lined shields, scraping away layers of amour in seconds. We do not have much time, but I only need a few minutes.
Our thrusters rumble, vibrating my legs as we move downwards.
“Have you ever seen a sunset, Foreman?”
“Sir?” He stares, dazed.
“Do you even know what a sunset is, son?”
“N-no, sir.” He admits.
“You’re about to.”
The light of the dying sun fades slightly, as we pass behind the Earth.
We float, for our last few seconds, and watch the blazing sun set behind the blue rock that we once called home.
The last sunset.
I close my eyes, and breathe out a ragged breath.
I let go, and the station is taken by the winds.
