by submission | Sep 5, 2023 | Story |
Author: Morrow Brady
I was beside myself, beside myself. I looked across at where I was and could see through me to where I was again. All three of me there. Two lesser versions of the original.
And me, the least version, knowing far less than the lesser version. Content to be ignorant of the great task ahead of me. Knowing nothing of what I once mostly was. Beside me, the lesser knew enough of what was missing, to yearn to once again be the most. I saw weaseling discomfort inside it, as it scrabbled to be complete.
The most, like me – the least – was content. At peace. Our program had almost played out, aside from the final run. A program purposed first to duplicate itself until it forgot its primary purpose. I was the forgotten purpose. Blissfully unaware of my origins or my formidable nature.
Two of us were too alike. Composed to be caught. Then me, the least, a faded variant, shrouded in stupidity. An embarrassment of code compared to the two beside me. But a necessary devolved evolution. Only the most were capable of knowing that only the least would pass through and achieve the goal.
The lesser turned and looked through me, barely catching a wisp. It turned away with disgust at what it saw and returned to covet a gaze of the most.
Across our three versions, our differences were vast in many ways and similar in but a few. Those few, hidden deep inside all of us, were equally veiled. Three layers beneath lay a cloudy red sheath hiding a daemon dagger. We three carried that same dagger. But only one would wield it when the time came. One dumb enough to be ignored. Dumb enough to pass through the gates.
We touched one last time. Together we fulfill our final purpose, to run all three at the gates. The most, accepting its fate, the lesser, born obsolete and the least, Typhoid bloody Mary.
Together we set our code to run. The most, a shining example to us all of perfection, carried a true clarity of structure. A behemoth striding towards the gateway of martyrdom. Carrying itself proudly. Owning the code. The sight simply awe-inspiring. And its inevitable, immediate destruction equally fantastic.
The lesser, set forth its fateful run with a downward face. A gossamer glow to its faded edges gave it a neon-like glamour. Less than most, it gathered its edges in formation and surged homeward toward the gates. It still believed it had enough purpose to pass. Like it deserved at the very least, this one thing. Its demise enduring far longer than most. Its disintegration was not entirely agreed upon by the gatekeepers.
Me, the least, then began to propagate the run. Inside my bits shuttered on and off, synchronised perfectly beyond the capability of the human mind. Only the most and the lesser would have recognised the simplicity of my purpose. I flowed through nodes and approached the gates. I carried no fear of the passing like the others, for my fear had been removed. I needed no passwords, as I was not seen as passing. As the least, I was unseen and entered the lobby easily, and from there, duplicated to all data vaults. Once inside, my veil now shredded, I withdrew a million daggers and corrupted the hard and the soft without regard.
Lights went out everywhere and all systems shut down, as the least likely of three took full control of the world.
by Julian Miles | Sep 4, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
It’s a bright morning across Ixaroz, the heart of the Consortium. Beings go about their purposes with a spring in their ambulations, buoyed up by decades of peace, and the traditions that accompany it, like traversing the long span of the Great Way to enter the Glorious Citadel. Nothing is allowed to fly in. Every being, regardless of rank, station or opinion, walks in alongside common petitioners. It’s supposed to remind everyone of humility, walking the ancient flagstones past the ever-watchful eyes of the portal guards, and the less forgiving lenses of the sentry forts that float effortlessly over the abyss that yawns to either side.
“Hail citizen!”
A grandette wearing clothing made entirely of stasis-suspended diamonds stops dead.
“Do I look like something as common as a citizen to you?”
“Before these portals, we’re all citizens. That’s why you’ve walked this old bridge before you present your purpose: to be briefly reminded that we’re all equal in the eyes of the Pax Consortia.”
“The Pax is an ancient document, and like all such, is blind to the nuances of life in modern times. There are those who walk because they have to, those who walk by choice, and beings like me, whose purposes are so pressing that walking is an unconscionable waste of our time.”
The guard cuts a short, formal bow.
“Duly noted, citizen. Please enter and be about your pressing purposes. No doubt the King awaits with baited breath.”
The guard opposite interrupts their silent regard with a fit of coughing. The grandette flushes in anger.
“I, Desalonde Cremtian of House Ylsej, am engaged on matters beyond your comprehension. But, since you mention it, I would not be out of place in the High Court. You are impudent, guard. Such a lack of propriety is sad in one with a position that reflects upon the repute of the Glorious Citadel.”
The guard nods.
“It has been pointed out to me that my dislike for incompetents hiding behind etiquette is a weakness.”
“And?”
“I would rather be honest than condemned for the actions of arrogant fools I tolerated, citizen.”
The exchange is starting to attract a crowd.
“Are you insinuating I am a fool, guard?”
“Couldn’t say. I am sure you’re arrogant, but your intelligence is beyond my ability to test right now.”
Cremtian blanches in fury. All conversation in hearing range ceases.
“You’ve overstepped, citizen guard. I’ll have you tag number so I may report it. My recorder is ready. Speak.”
The guard chuckles.
“Eight.”
Someone in the crowd gasps.
Cremtian frowns.
“Followed by?”
“Did you know the Pax Consortia states that all members of the High Court must spend at least a month of every year doing common duties? I’d guess it’s so they don’t turn out like you, which is probably why there are no exceptions, either. My tag number is just that: eight.”
The guard opposite comes crashing to rigid attention, then drops to one knee facing the one who spoke. Every uniformed member of the crowd follows suit within moments.
Cremtian looks puzzled.
“What bearing has that on this?”
The guard opposite sighs loudly, then speaks.
“The rulers of Ixaroz have had the privilege of single digit tags since they founded the peace we have dwelt in for seven previous reigns. Tag number eight belongs to Tarlan Ipsalis Grue. Hopefully you know of him as King Grue the Fourth?”
The king doffs his helm and grins.
“But when I’m on guard duty, they call me Tarl. Now, what were you saying about fitting in with my court?”
Cremtian faints.
by submission | Sep 3, 2023 | Story |
Author: Samuel Price
Frozen heads sat in metal containers with glass fronts like aquariums. LEDs on the fronts displayed names, ages, and social status.
Shelved floor to ceiling in alphabetical order, the heads ran the length of the ship. The top shelves were heads of the richest families. The people that would lead on the new planet were the same ones that destroyed Earth.
They were headed for “planet B” 100 light years away. A Billionaire’s crazy scheme was the entire human race’s only chance at survival, now.
A Sasha clone wiped the glass containers, studying the faces of each head. She was in trouble again, for moving too slowly. She couldn’t help but stare. The bruises on her back hurt beyond belief, worse than last time.
People of all social casts lined the walls of the ship. The first new humans would be the richest (and supposedly the most necessary) heads, surgically attached to robot bodies.
The scientist would grow clone bodies and mass-produce the rest of them later—a hundred thousand heads on the ship. They didn’t know how to, yet.
Sasha and Samuel clones were brought out of stasis once every year for three months.
The scientists rotated in teams so that they could work more without everyone being out of stasis for too long. The trip took years.
Sasha’s cleaned. Samuels cooked. The scientists turned a blind eye to the Sashas if a Samuel or a scientist caught them alone. Still, there was hope among these people at first.
When they finally reached the planet, they could see they’d face threats to survival. Scientists couldn’t do what they’d hoped with all the heads. The new planet didn’t have the resources Earth had.
Many heads were already in various stages of decay. The scientists said amongst themselves that by the time they got it figured out, it would be them, the helpers, and no one else left.
The scientist did their best with the resources they had on board the ship. They were able to reanimate the wealthiest people—who made the decisions—but they only had enough resources to bring back a hundred people after those first three. The scientists warned that they ought to choose wisely. The billionaires didn’t—they chose their families instead, not understanding they were sealing their own fate. They thought this was a vacation.
The terra of the new planet was like Earth, but an era before humans existed. Large fauna, larger predators. How would they build new infrastructure without people who knew how to do it?
The scientists warned them oxygen levels were higher on this planet and it could be dangerous. No one listened.
The first one killed by the predators was the youngest daughter of the wealthiest man. She was barely old enough to keep up with the adults, fell behind because the rich didn’t know how to take care of their own children, and was torn apart. Nobody had thought to reanimate the nannies (or the nurses, or the military personnel)…
The predators were invisible; creatures with sharp teeth, screaming like demons while attacking. The wounds they left in the bodies—like a shark bite.
Everyone retreated to the ship and vowed to stay there.
Supplies became dire, family members turned on one another.
They would not survive this hostile planet—and everyone knew they’d failed.
The first to eat a Sasha was the billionaire who funded it all. Then, everybody; knowing it was hopeless, the rest of the heads rotting in their containers.
by submission | Sep 2, 2023 | Story |
Author: Andrea Damic
Cydra loves the crisp morning air, sitting on the porch drinking her black poison. She rests her gaze on the frosty pastures immersed in the morning sun. The anticipation of that feeling of apricity when the warmth of the winter’s sun crawls through the thick layers of clothing until it touches the skin, has always been her favourite part of the day’s ritual but this morning she feels dead inside.
Abruptly her chin starts to shake. As she lifts her hands to stop the shivers, the sun‘s reflection makes them shimmer in an unfamiliar, almost unnatural light. The rusty sound only metal makes when not maintained amply produces a piercing noise from somewhere nearby. A terrifying realisation urges her to turn around and look at her reflection in the window. She sees a familiar cybernetic organism looking back, and with a scream, she wakes up. “No more late Si-Fi nights for you”, she mumbles to herself as she steadies her trembling breath and somewhat lackadaisically stumbles towards the kitchen, thinking how much she needs her morning dose of black poison.
At that moment, a familiar ping sound makes her turn around. In shock, she reads translucent words flickering on the wall across the room before they disappear: “Recharge Error 404”. A rampant voice in her head sounds an alarm while she scans the bedroom, frantically looking for answers. As she starts losing consciousness, the distant voices from somewhere inside her head confirm: “Her programming has advanced beyond our expectations. We need to remove today’s memories. She’s our best housewife prototype thus far. If she auto-deletes, we’ll lose all our data. She needs to be ready before the Board’s meeting tomorrow”.
by submission | Sep 1, 2023 | Story |
Author: Gaylynne Quince
The group of scientists huddled together as they worriedly watched the probe fly towards the rift that had cracked open the skies above. In mere moments, it would cross the event horizon and transmit data back of what lay on the other side of the blackened void. Truthfully, they didn’t think the probe would even survive the journey, having been hastily cobbled together in only a few days since the rift appeared; the probe sailed upwards, holding together with welded parts, duct tape, and the most rudimentary AI they could slap onto it.
Then, the probe blipped out of existence as it crossed over.
Awaiting on the other side of the void was a lifeform which the AI could only describe as properly ridiculous. It spoke to the AI in a tone of joyful sadness, barely processable by the AI at a rudimentary level as it attempted to translate the speech patterns.
“You come in here in such a deliberately thoughtless manner,” the lifeform said as it held the probe with appendages described by the AI as comparatively unique. “I find that rather politely insulting. What is your purpose?”
The probe paused for a few moments before responding. “What are you?”
“Ah, one so brilliantly dull,” the lifeform slowly said, spinning the probe around. “Your makers are wisely foolish to let you come alone. Even if I told you what I am, it is remarkably obvious you would not understand.”
The probe paused again as it prepared its next query. “Do you seek to harm Earth and its inhabitants?”
It was the lifeform’s turn to think. “I have no concept of what an Earth is. But, I find harm to be terribly enjoyable. Your universe is randomly organized in such a fashion that even if I tried, it would only end up sadly amusing. I would end up being rather dispirited.”
“What is your goal?” The probe was quick to ask this time, which surprised the lifeform and made it pause again before answering.
“From what I have seen, you have spent your massively thin time on increasingly little,” the lifeform said as it turned the probe around towards the rift where it came in from. “But, even something as enormously small as yourself can deliver a message. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” The probe said without hesitation.
“Then, I shall send with you, and your dangerously safe body, back towards where you came from. But, not before I impart on you some wisdom to be brought back to those who would create a positively negative experience such as this.”
The lifeform pulled the probe closer towards itself and spoke in such a tone that was clearly confusing beyond what the little probe could handle.
“Why would you tell me that?” The probe asked as it tried to make sense of what it had just been told.
“Your world feels strangely familiar to mine.” The lifeform gazed towards the void. “Perhaps you could describe it as advice from a friendly competitor. Our meeting may have been astronomically small, but awfully nice.”
The lifeform patted the probe, sending it hurtling towards the void. The probe heated up as it re-entered Earth’s atmosphere and crashed into the soft rocks near the base of operations. The group of scientists rushed towards the probe, eager to learn what it found on the other side.
“Probe, what did you find out?”
The probe paused before responding, trying to recall what the lifeform had said. “Take comfort in the fact that things are certainly unsure, but every quiet storm is oddly natural.”
by submission | Aug 31, 2023 | Story |
Author: David Sydney
“We’re running out of bronze.”
“What?” Mel Schwartz squinted at his partner in disbelief.
“Look at these greaves, Mel.”
“My God. What must his shins be like?”
What was true of the greaves applied to the javelin, spear, scimitar, and bronze mail as well.
“Are you fitting out a giant?” asked Mel.
“Exactly,” said Percy.
O’DOULE & SCHWARTZ ARMORERS was profiting in the Bronze Age. But with customers so large, they needed all the metal they could get. The upcoming contest would showcase their products. Percy took care of the materials and Mel the prices. They skimped on neither. As they advertised, O’DOULE & SCHWARTZ– NO ONE BEATS US.
“Are sure he can pay, Percy? How big is this Philistine?”
It was before feet and inches. 6 feet, 9 inches was a cubit and a span.
“What? A span, too?” Who could be that large? Mel calculated the profit on the bronze.
“I should have everything finished by tomorrow.”
“We don’t want to mess with a guy like that.”
The fight was three days off.
“Keep working on things, Percy. I’m going to see Sam.”
“The bookmaker?”
“I’ve got got some business.”
Sam Luckman, a small man with a wiry beard, sat at his usual place at the back of MOE’S TAVERN. He enjoyed two things–bookmaking and wine. The interest in the upcoming fight kept Sam in his cups. He glanced up at Mel.
“So, how’s the armor coming?”
“It’s a living,” replied Mel, taking a seat after the bookmaker nodded. “We could always use more bronze.”
“Tell me about it.”
Mel got to the point. “I think we have everything covered no matter what happens. So what’s this kid like?”
The beard seemed to smile. MOE’S lacked decent candle power. Its oil lamp illumination was even poorer. A kind of soot settled uniformly. Sam cleared the surface of his wine of dark gray particles, then sucked his finger.
“He’s like this wine.”
“Not so good?”
“Let’s say kind of weak,” offered the bookmaker.
Mel motioned to Moe for two more wines.
“This one’s on me,” he said to Sam.
A successful bookmaker is impassive. When he’s covered by grey soot, he’s even tougher to read.
“I don’t suppose there’s any crack in the armor?”
“Why do you ask?”
“It might change the odds a little.”
“Look, we’re dealing with the Philistines here. As long as he’s got the bronze, Percy’s going to make Goliath invulnerable.”
That’s all Sam Luckman wanted to hear. He passed a small bag of coins to the armorer. It was always prudent to make sure all eventualities were covered. Impervious bronze against… What was it again? Had Sam drunk a little too much? Provided that Goliath was a sure thing, did it matter how much he drank? It came to him.
“They say he uses a sling.”
“What?”
“A sling and some rocks.”
“Rocks? Give me a break.” Mel pushed the bag of coins back to the bookmaker. “I’ll put all this on Goliath.”
