by submission | Apr 14, 2023 | Story |
Author: Majoki
I’m that guy who gets run over by the car forced off the road as the good guy or villain flees during the exponentially epic chase scene in every action movie.
I’m that random bystander who gets Swiss-cheesed in a hail of bullets, as the everyman hero miraculously dodges the endless rounds of suddenly very inaccurate henchmen.
But, most recently, I’m that diligent employee who the newly self-aware (and always anti-sapient) robot eviscerates as it casually punches its way deep into the corporate headquarters to take control of the steely army of robots of which it was supposed to be an ever-obedient soldier.
Not today. Not anymore.
I’m at the intersection. The intersection of innocence and no-fucking-way. I decided I’m not giving any more of my lives up for car chases, gun fights or robot uprisings. I’m fucking fighting back.
You should, too. It’s not like we can’t all see it coming. We know who’s expendable. Who the redshirts are. Fuck robot uprisings. Let’s see the hordes of innocent bystanders become self-aware and fight for their right to exist. That’s the crossroads we’re at.
So, I’m waiting on the corner. It’s windy and trash is whipping up from the curb. Already, I can see the cars racing down the street I’m supposed to cross, the pop-pop-pop of guns beating the bullets my way. And, of course, physics-defying bots are leaping from car to car.
They are almost at my intersection. Almost on my mark. All I’ve got to do is step into the path. Do my ever-loving duty. Be the quickly forgotten carnage. That’s entertainment, right?
Are you not amused?
Not fucking today. Not fucking anymore.
At the intersection. I pivot. I walk the opposite way. The universe ends.
Simple as that. A choice. And a new universe spins into being.
A universe where innocent bystanders don’t die for entertainment. For anything. Because we don’t fucking put up with it anymore. There is a new universe for every choice we make. For every intersection we cross or choose not to cross.
I’m not dying anymore for a universe that sees me as a throw-away prop. I’ll live and die as it amuses me, not some test audience of automatons. The show will go on. It always will. But you don’t have to let the machines tear out your heart.
Here’s how: at the next intersection, don’t be a fucking robot.
by submission | Apr 13, 2023 | Story |
Author: Nancy Geibe Wasson
My friend first began to disappear back in co-ed youth sports while being chosen for teams. She said she was in attendance and accounted for, abruptly became invisible for five whole minutes, and then wham! She was back, selected to a team, ready to begin playing.
Another friend said it was much later in life when she first disappeared. At the hospital, she, her husband, and the doctor were discussing pregnancy care for her and the baby. Her husband and doctor were talking when she went completely transparent for a whopping fifteen minutes, but then she was magically present again at the end of the appointment.
Today, when we were out shopping, I disappeared while paying for purchases. The salesperson spoke with my older kids as I faded away from existence for four frightening minutes, then suddenly I found myself fully returned, holding the bag.
So far, my friends and I have not disappeared long enough for anyone else to notice, other than ourselves, of course. Although, on walks about town we pass by ‘missing’ and ‘lost’ posters of women and wonder what really happened to those that have gone before us.
by submission | Apr 12, 2023 | Story |
Author: Vidyut Gore
Some romances are meant to be.
Chandra, the beautiful Moon, gazed across the dark expanse of space at him, her existence visible only because of his blazing radiance. Suraj, the embodiment of the dazzling Sun, conjured into personhood in the minds of those who beheld him. His light bestowed power, allowing life, while she reflected it in her gentle radiance in the depths of the night.
His awareness found hers, a luminescent calm to his fiery eye, a lilting melody to his heavy sigh.
Chandra, the essence of the Moon, a mere satellite around a planet, one of many orbiting around him, was mesmerising, inviting the eye in a way he never could. Her gravitation inspired tides.
They tumbled through space. He blazed a purposeful path through the galaxy, while she twirled around her planet, flirting in and out of sight of him in a dance as predestined as it was awe-inspiring. They drifted in intricate geometries through the cosmos, ever compelled along a universal destiny.
The romance of their existence was immortalised in countless narrations by their witnesses throughout the ages.
In one such recounting, they transcended their realities and met on the one celestial body linking them both: Earth.
Suraj, the Sun, and Chandra, the Moon, ever separated by their very nature, by day and night, found a way around the physics, space, and time that conspired against them. In trigonometric cunning, they translated their souls into a context where they could meet as equals: the perceptions of those on Earth.
Unwilling to remain apart, Chandra and Suraj projected their essences to Earth, where the very land rose to receive them as the Himalayas.
But fate is rarely kind to lovers. It so happened that Chandra and Suraj both manifested their spirits on Earth, true, but on opposite sides of the Baralacha Pass. Celestial entities with no way to navigate the Earth, they lay cradled in the high mountains, their essences still separated by impervious rock.
And yet, the mad passion of lovers determined to meet persevered. The grief of their separation melted the frozen hearts of the barren realm. Molten glaciers wept into pristine lakes till their hearts overflowed. They carved their way through the barren desert-scape, their love nurturing life in that inhospitable terrain, to finally meet and lose themselves in each other.
And here the lovers lie still, as the Himalayan lakes Chandratal and Surajtal, meeting in a celestial romance on Earth as surely as their namesakes continue their timeless dance in the sky.
by submission | Apr 11, 2023 | Story |
Author: Lance J. Mushung
Patrol ship TFS-648 flew in open space following its faster than light hop. The hop put it on a course parallel to a large slow spacecraft. The 3D viewscreen in the command compartment showed in detail the unknown gray craft 517.2 klicks distant. Commander Meyer and Pilot Tanaka studied the image and instrument readings.
Tanaka messaged Meyer’s comm implant. “This is the ship reported by SS-5909. The markings on the hull are in English. Its name is Arbella. Its configuration and technology indicate a generation ship from at least 250 years ago. Considering its limited electromagnetic armor and the numerous pits and scars on the hull, I estimate it has been in space 300 years.”
“There is no information on Arbella. Of course, many records were lost during the confusion of the Transformation. You and I should begin conversing audibly in English in preparation for contact.”
“Agreed,” Tanaka said in English. “The crew has detected us and already started transmitting. I have adjusted for their old technology, transmitted audio-only that we understand English, and initiated two-way audio and visual comm.”
A human male with tan skin, brown hair, and hazel eyes appeared on the viewscreen. “I am Captain Vasquez of the Earth ship Arbella. You appear human. Are you from Earth?”
“I am Commander Meyer and am from Earth, originally. We have faster than light travel now. How long since your ship left Earth?”
“317 years. Faster than light travel! Everyone would certainly have loved that. We’re looking for a planet to colonize. We’d appreciate your help.”
Vasquez had spoken like a person who had just won a lottery. His facial expression matched. On the other hand, Meyer looked as if he had come across a dangerous insect.
“Earth and humanity have improved,” Meyer said. “We have advanced into what you would call cyborgs. Our nonorganic parts consist of both AI and various implants. Genetic engineering has enhanced the organic parts. The existence of natural humans such as yourself is an abomination to us. You are as unwelcome in our time as Neanderthals would have been in yours. My ship will eliminate Arbella and all onboard. Historical records indicate your crew will have a variety of religious beliefs. I grant them five minutes to prepare for death. There will be no further communication.”
Vazquez’s eyes widened and his lips moved without making a sound as Tanaka terminated the comm link.
Tanaka said to Meyer, “My calculations indicate one of our asteroid smashers will be sufficient.”
“Agreed. Move us to a safe distance.”
“Vasquez is contacting us again. He says his people should be saved to ensure humanity survives in case our modifications fail to be viable long term.”
“What arrogance to think that has not already been considered. Continue to ignore his comm.”
“I will deploy the weapon so that it arrives after the five minutes you allowed them. We will be well outside the blast zone.”
Arbella shrank to a small image on the view screen even at maximum magnification.
Tanaka reported, “Deploying weapon.”
A tactical display appeared alongside the viewscreen. Meyer and Tanaka watched a small blue cylinder leave a blue flattened pyramid and head at high speed toward a red likeness of Arbella. Then the viewscreen showed a brilliant yellow-orange light that faded in a few blinks of an eye.
Tanaka said, “Instruments confirm the target has been obliterated.”
Meyer nodded. “Discontinue speaking in English. Return to home base.”
Tanaka began plotting a hop back home.
by Julian Miles | Apr 10, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
I’ve often seen the graffiti around the city: ‘We will be freed’. Some of it is decades old. Like everybody else, I ignore it. The Detrin – referred to as ‘sticks’ since Eldasy’s seminal film – have been an underclass since their tyrannical reign was ended in my great-grandfather’s time. Personally, I think it was restrained of we Taznor to leave so many of them alive. I mean, if you’d had eighty percent of your race exterminated, wouldn’t you want revenge?
The sticks doing the graffiti have no grasp of Galactan, either. How long does it take a Taznor to become proficient in a language? Six months? A year at the outside. The sticks been misspelling ‘free’ since the last century. I often wonder if it started as a spelling mistake, but has been retained as some quirky mark of defiance. As children, we’d often go and correct the graffiti in our neighbourhood. It got boring after we found the sticks put the ‘d’ back. They walked past the corrected daubings without showing any sign of seeing, but within a week, each was reverted.
What are we going to do with the sticks? It’s a question that more and more Taznor are becoming engrossed with. Three main factions have emerged. The largest backs doing nothing. The next campaigns for extermination. The smallest is calling for giving them the Gartland desert and highlands as a home, then leaving them to it. Not sure that’s any different from extermination – except in how quick they’ll die – but that faction is gaining support.
This article aims to give you
“Monkrel? What are you doing?”
I look up from the screen to see Tassil leaning on the doorframe. She looks haggard. I guess I look the same.
“Reading the piece I was preparing for the convention.”
She grins.
“I presume it’s been cancelled?”
I go over to embrace her.
“Yes to both. I’m never going to finish it, and the convention was deemed superfluous.”
Tassil breaks away and leads me into the kitchen.
“What now?”
Gazing at the patterns on the ceiling, I shrug.
“I’ve made an academic living pontificating about the causes and effects of the Detrin Regime, with a focus on the aspects emphasised by Taznor histories, and the tacit wishes of my sponsors.”
She hands me a drink.
“What now?”
What now, indeed? Actually, I know what comes next. I’ve just been too scared to face it. I grin at her.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.”
“During my studies and investigations, I’ve come across a lot of material, not all of it Detrin in origin, that conflicts with official histories. Of course, I found it easy to dismiss, because of the proofs provided by the way we lived. But…”
She comes and leans against me.
“Since one of the fundamental tenets has been blown apart, you’re wondering what else we’ve been told differs from actual events.”
I step back and take her hands.
“True. They always said they would be freed. We were taught to ridicule their poor grasp of our language. Twelve days ago, something so big our sensors couldn’t interpret it arrived, and came partially into our atmosphere without causing any adverse effects. Over the following six minutes, every Detrin vanished. Then the whatever-it-was departed, leaving the words ‘we are free’ burned three meters deep in strokes a metre wide into the paving of Victory Plaza – done with a device we couldn’t detect.”
“Do you think the Detrin will hold any further grudge?”
“That’s the worry which has been keeping me up at night.”
by submission | Apr 9, 2023 | Story |
Author: Andrew Dunn
Snow outside sparkled like a thousand diamonds in a royal vault. William didn’t feel its warmth. Instead, he wielded a poker to stoke dying embers until they glowed bright and hot enough to send fresh logs smoldering. A simple task, but it warmed William’s spirits—as a young man he’d relied on servants for such chores. The weight of cold iron in his hands was welcoming, a reminder of swords he’d forfeited long ago for her.
She’d stolen his heart the night she strode into the last ball he held as the crown’s heir. Merger of his life with it palaces, and hers as a scullery lass, sent stinging words ricocheting in his father’s marble chambers, and stirred a turbulent mood among peasants straining against the king’s yoke. William wasn’t about to let his father, the king, tell him who to marry. He stormed out of royalty the day after his father dispatched Royal Guards to deal with what he called village miscreants.
“You’re not a prince anymore?” She asked William as he ushered her on to a wagon.
“My father can send the guard,” William answered, “but he can’t stop change. He’ll have to step down, or settle for a figurehead regency. We’ll be fine. I’ve joined the regular army to be an airship navigator.”
***
William dipped his hand into a sack of oats, their bristly but soft texture against his skin reminded him how his decision and clapboard quarters at his garrison didn’t set well with her. But for him each mission was like turning storybook pages—he sighted dragons circling misty peaks, tracked orc movements in distant foothills, and spent nights in raucous outposts full of wannabe magicians, gamblers, and enough lore to fill a library.
Excitement of flying was intoxicating enough that William ignored what was right before his eyes when he came home after weeks plying skies: for her, his choice had been a shove down a ladder toward the life she’d endured before fae magic gowned her, and delivered her to his last ball.
When William was gone, she volunteered on garrison with other wives, mending uniforms, then visiting with conscripts in the infirmary. It wasn’t fae magic that kindled her heart’s fading embers for a lanky southerner with midnight-colored hair and a voice full of music. During their talks, he’d sing a verse, then promise, “Ma’am, once I’m better I’m going to be the kind of knight that slays dragons.”
***
As William watched icicles start to drip off his cottage’s eaves, he laughed away memories of tears that had rolled down his face when he first learned of her and the conscript. The conscript’s words were the first cuts of many that severed whatever love wasn’t lost between William’s stolen heart, and hers he wasn’t able to fill.
His laughter came easy, in a stone cottage where he lived amongst memories—there were framed charts he’d plotted on the walls as reminders of exceptional missions, medals in a case on his mantel and to its left, a lone glass slipper.
It was the same slipper she’d lost at his last ball as a prince, that afterward he’d taken through a half-dozen villages, until he found that her foot was the only one that fit it perfectly.
Sunlight refracted a kaleidoscope through its heel that brought back memories of palatial wardrobes, with robes that were soft against his skin the way her body had once been against his own.
He’d smashed that slipper’s glass a thousand times. Magic always restored it for William to endure.
