by submission | Apr 8, 2023 | Story |
Author: David Broz
You breathe life into me, I breathe life into you. Inhale, exhale, breathe, breathe.
The fans no longer spin, nothing spins, all is still.
Face to face, inches and miles apart, we breathe through this splintered air scrubber, through each other. You breathe out, I breathe in. You keep me alive, I keep you alive. We are alive.
Eyes like oceans, fathoms deep, there is nowhere else to look, we cannot look away. Each breath your breath, each breath mine, each breath you and all of me.
This moment an eternity, an eternity in this moment.
Slowly now, you reach for the beacon, your eyes in mine, only mine in yours, only your eyes, only our eyes. Softly, slowly I touch your arm. In this moment, a rescue, an eternity away, an eternity in this moment.
by submission | Apr 7, 2023 | Story |
Author: Jeremy Nathan Marks
Grandpa Damon leaned back in the recliner by the bay window. The late afternoon sun set his bronze face aglow. He turned to his grandson, Dominic, and said, “Son, Pluto is really two people. They are a planet and the God of the underworld.”
Grandpa Damon Carra spent several nights each week at his daughter’s house. He said he slept best when he stayed in the guest room she (Angelica) and her husband, Derek, offered him. At home, Mr. Carra complained to Angelica; Carolina always woke him up to shush him.
“You’re snoring again, Dam,” she would say, pushing her elbow into his side.
“So much better that I don’t have sleep apnea!” he would grunt. Then Damon would neglect to turn over and fall asleep again and commence to snore. Carolina would once more wake him with an elbow, only this time to his belly.
“Damn it, Cara. I will go and sleep and Angel’s place all week!”
“I wish you would.” Carolina muttered as she left the room.
“Grandpa,” Dominic asked, “Is it true you are an astronomer?”
“I was, yes.”
“And that you discovered a planet?”
Damon smiled. “Where did you hear that, Dom?”
“Mom said so. She said you discovered Pluto.”
“I didn’t. A man -a friend!- named Clyde Tombaugh did. Poor old Clyde. Do you know they said his planet is not actually a planet? It was once one of the ‘big nine’ in our solar system. And then they said, ‘No, it’s not a planet, Clyde. We call it a dwarf planet.’ Well, my buddy had to defend the majesty of that frozen rock he found in deep space. And do you know who caused all the trouble?”
“Who?” Dominic asked.
“Charon!”
“Who’s that?”
“Charon is Pluto’s wife. She’s the moon that orbits Pluto so closely that, from Earth, it looks like she and Pluto are one planet. Like an old married couple! But you can’t have coupled planets. Planets must be singular. Pff!”
Angelica brought her father a glass of lemonade and set it down on the small wooden stand beside the recliner. Then she returned with a glass for Dominic, who gave his mother a big smile.
“Look at these glasses, Dom,” Damon said. “They are practically the same size.”
“They are the same size, Grandpa!”
“No, they are close to the same size. They are like Pluto and Charon. They are so alike in size; you cannot tell the difference. But here’s the thing! If you look really closely, you can see how they are not the same. Your glass looks more golden yellow than mine in the sunshine. Why? Is it the qualities of your glass, or is it because the ratio of sugar to water in your glass is different than mine?”
“Can I taste yours, Grandpa? I want to solve the mystery.”
“I like your thinking. Go ahead.”
The boy took two large gulps, one from each glass.
“So? What’s the answer?”
Dominic wiped his mouth and said, “I don’t know. My tongue likes them both. It sees the same amount of sugar.”
“Sees the sugar. That’s good. So, imagine you are looking at Charon and Pluto through a telescope. What you see are two things that look the same. Which is the planet, and which is the moon? Astronomers thought Charon was only different from Pluto because she was a little smaller. And since she was the moon and orbited Pluto so closely that Pluto also orbited her, they got paired up and dismissed from that big nine planetary list.” Grandpa Damon shook his head. “Does my glass of lemonade have to be a lot bigger than your glass to make your glass a dwarf glass? Or are they both still glasses?”
“They are both glasses, Grandpa.”
“Right. Size does not matter. Take Jupiter. It is mostly gas. It is a planet, and so is Earth! And Earth is mostly water and rock with far fewer gasses. Is Jupiter the planet, or is Earth?”
“Jupiter is much bigger, but they are both planets.” Dom said.
“That’s right. Size does not matter. And something funny is that Mercury is about the same size as Pluto.”
“Yeah,” Dom said. “So, why is it a planet, but Pluto isn’t?”
“I tell you, Dom. I tell you; Charon is the problem. She is so close to her husband, and he is so close to her that they are attracted to each other. Jupiter has so many more moons than Pluto, but Jupiter is not affected by any of them because they are so small. None are so close in size to make any difference to Jupiter. Jupiter orbits no one save the sun, so it gets to be special. But Pluto doesn’t because astronomers have an issue with dependency! They don’t like that Pluto needs Charon!”
“Astronomers don’t mind dependency, Dad,” Angelica said, entering the room. “They know that planets depend on the sun.”
“Well, the sun is a God! And all things depend on Gods.”
“But so is Pluto. You were just telling Dom that.”
“Ok. Let me be clear. Pluto is different because, in the Roman myth, he needed company. He had to have Proserpina stay in the underworld with him. Zeus didn’t need company. To him, everyone was the same. But his brother, Pluto, was lonely. He valued companionship. And astronomers have it in for lonely planets!”
As Dom nodded in agreement, Angelica put her hand on her father’s shoulder. “I’m going to make a phone call.”
A few minutes later, Carolina entered the room. She sat down beside her husband and held his hand. Neither one said anything. Dom went into the kitchen and brought out two more identical glasses of lemonade, which he handed to each grandparent.
“Grandma, you will never be able to tell the difference between these glasses. They are like the planets Charon and Pluto, two gods who are inseparable!”
by submission | Apr 6, 2023 | Story |
Author: Mark Renney
This is how I see it. The land mass is vast and the population is sparse. The people are scattered across it and the Settlements sprouted where something was still standing. Amongst the ruins of housing estates and of larger buildings; hospitals, schools and factories. They built up against the old walls and shored up the dilapidated and rickety structures, recycling what could be salvaged from the rubble.
Later, they improved on these early makeshift shelters building bigger and better and a hierarchy was quickly established based on one’s usefulness, abilities and skills. But once the Settlements had taken root and the heavy ground work had been done this hierarchy began to change and the Scholars took control.
Now don’t get me wrong, I know that what the Scholars did is important. They were the gatherers of our history. They quite literally instructed the people to go out and find it. To search for the literature, for the books and the newspapers and the magasines, for any scrap of paper with words printed or written on it. No matter how degraded or unreadable, the instructions were for the people to bring it back. The search was hard and time consuming. After all, the Alteration had consisted of much flooding and water and paper don’t mix; the one turns the other to mush.
But the people trekked far and wide and they did manage to search out all of the surviving literature and they brought it back and it was enough. And the Scholars put it in order, into sequence so that we wouldn’t forget how much people were capable of, how much they had achieved. The Scholars preach this is to what we should aspire, to keep on building bigger and better.
by submission | Apr 5, 2023 | Story |
Author: Majoki
The fire was burning low. Overhead the stars were a mighty river. Shrieks and howls threatened from the darkness beyond. The clan huddled nearer the flames seeking primitive protection. Talismans hung around their necks. Glittering things. Useless things.
The hunt had not gone well today. Nothing to cook on the fire. Nothing to feed their shrinking bellies. It had not always been like this. The clan had once prospered. Then, the clan had not feared the night. They had welcomed it. Reveled in their strength. Their dominion.
The clan couldn’t understand what had happened. How had they fallen so very low.
One clansman sat a bit apart from the others. He fingered the talisman around his neck as he mulled the clan’s plight. Their fall. He had once been their chief, directing many of his clansfolk. Building their greatness. Their prosperity. Their dominion.
But he had lost face. The clan blamed him. They said he should have foreseen their downfall. He’d been a chief. He claimed to know things. To know the world. How to keep their dominion. He should’ve known.
And he had known. And he was to blame. He’d studied the world. Knew its deepest mysteries. Its initial conditions.
Upon this understanding of initial conditions, he claimed the right to lead. In the chaos that was life, only a chief sensitive to initial conditions could map a path of dominion with certainty. That is what he’d done.
And it had worked. Prosperity. Dominion. Certainty.
Still, the fall had come. Battle. Fire. Famine. Plague.
It troubled the once-chief and his sensitivity to initial conditions. His clansfolk said he’d misled them. Had not spoken truth. But that was the initial condition: truth. He had always told his truth. His vision. He had led them there. Here.
One of his clansfolk yelled for him to feed the fire. That was his task now. To keep the fire burning. To keep the threats of night away.
When he’d been chief there was almost no night. The cities, the streets, every corner of the land glowed with their dominion. Until it went dark. As it had to. Because the once-chief was wrong. Had always been. The initial condition he’d built the clan’s dominion on was not truth. Otherwise this darkness would not have come.
The once-chief clasped his talisman of shiny fobs, offered a prayer to his silicon gods, and darted into the darkness for fuel to stoke the fire.
A few minutes later he returned, grimy and winded, carrying a heavy load. His clansfolk made room for him. He heaved the tires from the autonomous vehicle onto the ones that had burned low in sizzling toxicity. Thick, acrid smoke belched as the new tires flared and sputtered.
His clansfolk pushed him back from the miasmic light and heat. But the once-chief leaned into the choking smoke obscuring the stars. He watched as ragged moths, strange attractors, flocked to the sickly light, until they dropped from the crippling smoke, their wings beating erratically, each dying beat influencing unseen currents of air, somehow creating ripples that could change the course of history somewhere in the universe.
But not here, the once-chief thought.
For he knew the initial condition of this world was not truth. It was greed.
by submission | Apr 4, 2023 | Story |
Author: Sarah Klein
Paul put on some jazz music as he set up the Webcam. He was pumped. After weeks of boredom, the Doppelganger program had launched. It was a steep fee to be included, but they were essentially cloning you, with some proprietary software that was supposed to mimic your brain too. Plus, he and his friends were too wealthy for it to even be a second thought. The first week had been great, and it was his turn to host. He shimmied his hips to the music as he set out the cheese plate.
The doorbell rang. It was Cindy. “Hey baby!” He said, giving her a peck on the cheek, and running his hand down her tight red dress. She giggled. “Beer’s in the fridge, wine is on the counter, I’m just setting up the hors d’oeuvres.” He ran back into the kitchen while Cindy settled herself on the couch.
A minute later the door went again, and Cindy yelled “I got it!” Mike, Steve and Jenna piled in together raucously. After some hubbub, they finally all sat down, and Paul hit “Launch” on the program.
“This wine is fantastic,” Steve said, and Jenna made a noise to agree, her mouth full of crackers. They all took turns holding their thumbs to the biometric scanner and sat back to watch.
They were all at a big party, with a bunch of other doppelgangers. They took turns zooming in on each other and eagerly gossiped. “Wow, Jenna, your boss really does not want to leave you alone,” Mike observed. Jenna put her head in her hands. “God, I know! I put in my two weeks, Steve and I have more than enough so it’s fine, but what a creep!” Steve put his arm around her.
“Ooh, Steve and Cindy are going off somewhere together,” Paul crooned. Internally, though, his guts twisted. Cindy giggled and sipped her wine. They all craned their heads in and Mike hit commands to zoom and follow them.
The jeering continued as the couple entered the spare room. But silence struck abruptly as the Cindy and Steve doppelgangers began to passionately kiss. Paul coughed and tried to steady himself. The doppelgangers started to undress each other. They watched, rapt, until Steve went to caress Cindy’s naked body, and Paul yanked the webcam out of the computer. He looked up at Cindy. Her face was bright red. He looked over at Steve, who looked pale and uncomfortable.
“What the fuck,” Paul said. It came out too loud.
“We were watching that,” said Mike, but he was ignored.
Steve looked at Paul and shrugged, holding his hands palms up. “I don’t know, man, it’s just like, dolls. I’m not touching your girl, man. Not me.” He jammed his thumb into his chest for emphasis.
“You want to,” Paul said, and looked over at Cindy, who was silent and still. “Cindy? I’m not enough for you, huh, babe?” Cindy began to sniffle, and held her hands to her face.
“Cut it out,” Jenna yelled. Paul shot back, “it’s based on US, dummies! The behavior is based on us!”
“Come on man,” Mike said evenly, “it’s probably crap software and like, human desire translates to it weird, or like, we all wanna fuck everybody.” But Paul wasn’t listening.
“You piece of shit,” he screamed, as he lunged for Steve’s throat. Cindy wailed. Mike and Jenna tried to restrain Paul.
The phone rang at the police department. “I swear to God, if this is some doppelganger shit again, I’m not sending a car. Fucking ridiculous,” the sergeant said, picking up the phone.
by Julian Miles | Apr 3, 2023 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
There’s something glowing. Must be close. My vision flip-flops, greys out and back in, then snaps into focus.
I have a digital clock embedded in my forearm panel! It reads 00:01:19:36, the last pair is seconds, and they’re decreasing.
“Hello, Jarn.”
I roll onto my back. The voice in my ear isn’t from nearby in the car park. Not good.
“Listen carefully, Jarn.”
Like I have a choice?
“That timer shows how long you have before the modification we made to your battery turns your cyborg body into a hundred-kilo fragmentation bomb.”
And the rest of me into mince. Nice.
“We’ve blanked your comms, and I have overwatch on your vision, so let’s get down to business. In a fraction under an hour, Ethan Plamswythe will be opening the new CyberWatch facility in Duraton.”
I can only hear him in my right ear. I wonder? I close my right eye.
“Stop that. Reflexive moves I’ll allow. Anything else is out.”
I open it, then close my left eye.
“As I was saying: Ethan. New facility. You’re going to go and kill him. After you do that, I’ll shut down the modification, and you can explain it all to the police.”
Right after the Easter Bunny pops up and gives me a big kiss, I’m sure.
“I suggest you get a move on. Duraton is a good 40-minute drive away.”
No mention of my closed left eye. Which means there’s a rider on my right side, audio and visual only: it’s basic, and easy to implant. Likewise the timer is a straightforward swap of forearm cover plates. Battery tampering presents no challenge – I can change my pack in under a minute if I need to hurry. I’m guessing they swapped my custom cell for a smaller cell, giving room for their control package. After all, it’s not like I’m going to need extended battery life in their plan. The question is: how fancy is their unit? Ah. That’s an easy find.
“Hey, Mister Bomberman, you got wheels for me? My vehicle’s ex-service: still has anti-interference sensors.”
“Good to know you’re co-operating. Use one of the autohire vehicles by the exit stairs.”
Their modification is bottom of the range: a shielded cell would be impervious to sensors. Mister Bomberman is running a budget operation, and doesn’t seem to be aware of what I am. Wait a minute. He couldn’t be that cocky? I look about.
“The way out is on your left. You came from the right, remember?”
“I’m a little fuzzy on details. Somebody compressor pulsed me.”
There’s a chuckle.
“Had to put you down fast. Even stockers like you can be dangerous.”
I’m no stock trooper. My public ID says so, but a second level query would reveal it as a cover. You’re an amateur, Mister Bomberman.
I close my right eye and shout: “What did you do? I can’t see.”
“We did nothing. What are you trying to pull?”
“I’m trying to obey! Shutting down my vision doesn’t help.”
There’s whispered conversation, then I hear a van door slide open – both in my ear, and from my left! I sprint that way.
Leaping two cars, I slide across its roof, then slam the door shut. I unload some pent-up cyberviolence, leaving the van immobilised and them trapped inside.
Finally, I call for help. Then I pop the rigged battery and slide it under the van, before using my whole seventy kilos of non-cybered body to drag myself to a safe distance. Painful, but worth it.
“Better hope the police arrive before the timer runs out, Mister Bomberman.”
