by submission | Nov 10, 2022 | Story |
Author: Bill Cox
It was a surprise to us all when Callum volunteered to inwardly migrate. We all knew a ‘friend of a friend’ who’d done so, but Callum was the first in our extended family.
I’ll be honest, I was disappointed that he’d signed up without consulting me. As brothers, we’d always been close. I’m not saying we didn’t have our secrets from each other, but inward migration was such a huge life decision that I would’ve expected at least a discussion.
I see the sense in it, given all the immigration from the Mediterranean countries and the pressure that puts on our resources, even in this quiet corner of Scotland. You can’t walk down the High Street these days without hearing conversations in half a dozen different languages. I understand that the Warming has rendered these places unsafe for human habitation, but home feels less like home every year.
Callum seemed happy with his decision and once you sign up that’s it, so it wasn’t as if he could change his mind. He’d the usual two weeks to put his affairs in order before reporting to the Migration Centre. He did his best to avoid me for that time, attending a seemingly endless procession of parties, but finally I got him to myself just two days before his migration. It all boiled down to one simple question. Why?
“I’m just fed up,” he explained. “Each year things get just a little bit worse. More blackouts, more shortages of food. More crowds, more disease outbreaks, more crime. You’re not stupid. You can see the way things are going.”
“But why inward migration? You’ll lose everyone that cares about you!”
“Don’t you remember what it was like when we lost Mum? She had breast cancer and twenty years ago they could have cured that. Now, everything is a death sentence. No chemotherapy meds, no radiotherapy. We had to watch her fade away in front of our eyes. I don’t have the strength to do that again. Don’t you see? The way things are going, the inevitability of it all, I’m going to lose everyone I care about. This way, I won’t have to see it, I won’t have to live through it. Instead, I’ll be living in a world without limits, without shortages, without death.”
Ultimately, I couldn’t agree with his decision. It felt too much like cowardice to me, running away from reality. Nevertheless, I still found myself by his side, on that final day at the Migration Centre’s reception area. The rest of the current crop of volunteers were there too, with their families, crowds of people laughing, crying, saying their goodbyes.
I hugged my brother one last time, then watched as he joined with the rest of the volunteers passing through the doors of the clinic. I thought about the machines waiting behind those doors, where Callum would be anaesthetised and have his brain scanned, one slice at a time. I knew that bodies were never returned to the families, as those who underwent inward migration weren’t considered to be legally deceased.
A version of Callum will live on in a virtual world, where time runs at a much faster rate. Fleeing from a collapsing civilisation, where energy and resources are at a premium, these digital refugees will live extended lives in paradise. As uploaded humans, their energy use and ecological footprint will be but a fraction of their biological counterparts.
The government tells us that they’re heroes who’ve made a sacrifice for the greater good.
All I know though is this.
I miss my brother.
by submission | Nov 9, 2022 | Story |
Author: Bridger Cummings
She walked along the path in the forest glade. Idyllic, towering trees of various species lined the wide path like a gauntlet all the traffic flowed between. Mossy rocks dotted the sides of the leaf-blanketed path. She walked amidst a herd of animals: elk, ostriches, gorillas, and even bears on two legs. They all shuffled along while a stream of bigger animals ran by to her left. A stampede of rhinos, horses, bison, and elephants ran in one direction, rushing past her. Curiously, another stampede of similar animals ran in the opposite direction just past them, creating two rivers of animals running parallel against each other. Beyond the dual stampedes, another thin herd of elk and ostriches and other various animals milled before the thick trees with the ruins of crumbling stone walls obscured in the shadows.
She stopped to look around and smile. The animals snorted and huffed while the buzzing of insects filled in any moments of otherwise silence. All the animals walked by each other in peace, and she couldn’t stop from smiling at the harmony. But the smell was off: diesel and gasoline fumes, sewage, and the general mustiness of civilization. It clashed with what her eyes and ears experienced. She sighed and looked up at the blue sky dotted with marshmallow clouds. Her face twitched; something unseen pecked her face.
The green number in the corner of her vision was harder to ignore against the blue backdrop. It ticked down intimately close to zero. She closed her eyes at “one” and waited a few seconds before opening them. But the illusion had already shattered. The sounds of wildlife and rustling leaves were replaced with cars, people talking, and the buzz of a city that permits no silence.
Her eyes opened, and a sheen of gray clouds releasing a light drizzle replaced the blue sky. Her face twitched with each splat. She looked at the road and her shoulders slumped at her true reality when she ran out of credits. An ugly city, lined with concrete buildings and trash in the street that honking cars inhabited. Some rushed people frowned deeply as they marched by, but most wore similar AR googles on that she wore, and most of them looked drunk-happy as they ambled down the street in a reality of their choosing.
Only one way to easily get more credits; she waved her arms in front of her, moving around some digital menus only she could see. She activated the advertising layer, and every possible surface became a billboard. Every other person became NASCAR drivers of ads, and suggestions on which product would make her the most beautiful whispered in her ear. She tried to ignore it all as the green counter in the corner of her vision started counting up, and she continued her commute to work, eager to afford another visit in her forest.
by submission | Nov 8, 2022 | Story |
Author: Majoki
My forehead tingled as the woman walked by and an ice pick stabbed between my eyes. I couldn’t see, couldn’t scream, couldn’t subvocalize. All routines froze. Datalocked.
She was unbeheld.
Unusual. Almost impossible. Even the crisp pain couldn’t distract me from the improbability. Unbeheld.
Reflexively, I massaged my head, fingers finding forehead and temples. The pain eased, sense returned, subroutines rebooted. My shakti was restored, energy flowed, perception spread, data channeled, function found, and I stood as before. Three eyes on the world.
An other self would have chased down the woman. Challenged her. Marked her. For shivakind demands that. To make visible, to be known, to lay bare the interior world. Beheld.
Yet this self could not. The pain, sensory loss, datalock were not an assault, not a warning, they were an invitation. A door opened, a path cleared, a mystery offered. The woman was shivakind and more. Beyond beheld.
Where was that to take me? Shivakind was meant to pierce the veil, reveal all, and one woman walking past scoffed at the illusion. In a glance she pierced the implant in my forehead, pierced shivakind. My superiority, my complacency, my arrogance: all telling to my failure of imagination. What I believed of minds and machines was a parody of thought.
None of my selves understood what shivakind promised: to tap akasha, the aether of information, of knowledge, of being. The unseen made seeable.
Yet, this woman, this parvati, this equal and complementary force of being, rendered all my selves powerless. And therein it turned. The wheel. Unspun. Uncharged. Chakra depleted, shivakind bereft. All unbeheld.
I wandered the hot, dusty streets of the city for a time, reviewing the encounter, spooling, collating, quantifying, but not thinking. Unbeheld thought felt dangerous. And then she was there. Sitting under a tree whose broad canopy slowed light, welcomed shadows, stilled the air. Head bowed, she beheld. But not as shivakind.
I kneeled at her rough feet, sensing the power of one well travelled, though not in my world. Her energy did not flow as my data did. She was connected elsewhere. The longer I knelt, the less I felt of myself. The implanted third eye of shivakind was to bring clarity, true knowing, beyond karmic memory. To behold oneness.
In her presence, I felt separated, though not separate. Alone, though not lonely. My third eye shut down. My world was unbeheld, but hers was before me. She lifted her head, her pupils sparkling like diamonds. Like Vjarasana.
I saw. I had only to clear my cache.
by Julian Miles | Nov 7, 2022 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Gantel waves me over.
“Chief, I know this woman. How did she get selected for a dissident watchlist?”
He looks worried, and is right to be: first degree contact can turn to guilt through ideological contamination very easily. But he’s raised it, which goes in his favour.
I wave my ID over the authorisation pad for his terminal.
“Bring the details up. Let’s see.”
Polly Tanith Smythe, 22, of just down the road from here. That’s surprising. The disaffected tend to migrate to the outskirts or unwanted sectors, like the Port. She’s a certified artist, subcategory: literature. That’s never good. People who work with words have been known to rouse the public. At least she’s not a folk singer. We got rid of most of them during the New Year Purge at the start of the One England Initiative. Any left are keeping their heads down, and play their illegal shows far away from anywhere that could matter.
Gantel points to an entry on a side screen.
“Found it: content creation – detrimental allegorical political comment.” He nods: “She always was a bit vocal about freedom and all that. Even when we explained the 1EI, she couldn’t grasp it.”
You have a go at the powers that be, and the powers that be will have a go in return. It’s an uneven match, but people know the odds. I never understood why they’d risk it. Then again, I’m now a Senior Supervisor at Monitor One, Division Two. The rest of my class are Urban Processors or members of Utility Crews.
“What’s her social media score? Skip the aggregate with shopping and public behaviours, just give me the raw social stability number.”
He checks, then shakes his head sadly: “Whitelist, currently at 1.4, with a strong downward trend.”
Four tenths from blacklisting? I swing the other sidescreen so only I can see it, then bring up her interaction matrix with Gantel. He’s not seen her for eight months, but there’s a sexual liaison query flag. I negate it. Gantel’s been in a stable relationship for two years. I sign off on the quarterly vetting myself.
“Gantel, I don’t think there’s anything you can do. I can transfer her to another monitor if you’d prefer?”
He shakes his head.
“Last time we spoke she said she couldn’t tolerate a friend working for any branch of GCHQ. The argument after that was horrible. I’d be wrong to let this get passed to someone else because of discomfort. Plus, I might spot something others would miss. She’s slipped down very fast.”
“Sterling attitude, Gantel. Clear this through and carry on. At this rate, it looks like you’ll finish your task queue with time to spare, and get a performance brevet for today.”
He smiles and nods. There’s nothing we need to be concerned about with Gantel. I put a pre-emptive ‘cleared’ on his side of the interaction matrix, then close the sidescreen and turn away.
Back to policing the things that could threaten our society. It’s a never-ending, ever-expanding remit.
by submission | Nov 6, 2022 | Story |
Author: Kelian Quinn
It certainly was some kind of plant. Maybe.
I’d gone out to water the small garden my apartment complex had allowed me to have, hoping that I would find something other than dandelions this morning. Even if I didn’t, any moment away from my roommate was a moment I cherished.
It sat at the edge of the dirt patch I’d tried to get flowers to sprout out of. Even if I didn’t have a green thumb, Dan drunkenly rolling in them one night definitely hadn’t helped.
I thought it was a fake plant at first. It was green, like most plants, but a shade that was… wrong. A little too saturated, a little too glowy. There were blooms of sorts, but they weren’t so much petals as giant, mushroom-like bulbs that flayed out in inconsistent ways, some rounded, some spiked.
It wasn’t in the ground, and it wasn’t in a pot. And most significantly of all, it was moving.
The tentacle-like tendrils beneath it writhed slowly. It shifted in place, as if this was its idle animation.
Just in case it was poisonous, I put on my gloves before grabbing a bucket. I then did my best to shove it into said bucket, wondering too late if I also should have put a mask on in case it released dangerous spores.
I carried what I was sure was an alien plant inside, freaking out the entire time. I set the bucket down in my room, adjusting my desk lamp over it. The plant-creature shied away from the light, trying to climb up the side of the bucket. I noticed for the first time it had eyes on its stalk, about eight, like a spider.
There was a pounding at my door. The plant shuddered, petals folding in.
“What is it, Dan?” I shouted back.
“Can I borrow your car?”
“No, you can’t borrow my car! What happened to yours?”
“There’s this weird plant growth coming out of the engine! Wriggly vine things! It’s freaky, man!”
“For real?”
“For real!” My door burst open, Dan tromping in with his muddy boots he refused to take off in the house. “They’re all over the goddamn complex, except for your car, for some reason! Maybe it’s because you drive an electric, and they’re after gas.”
“Dan, that’s about the smartest thing you’ve ever said.” I stood up, going into my closet. I removed the container of gasoline I kept in case I decided to snap and burn the place down, bringing it over to my plant friend. I started to pour some in.
The plant blossom immediately popped open, a tongue-like appendage darting out to rapidly lap up the gasoline.
“Check this out,” I said, tilting the bucket toward Dan.
He squinted, leaning in. “I don’t have my contacts in, I can’t—”
The plant creature let out a horrible, shrill sound, launching itself at Dan’s face.
I watched as Dan collapsed on the ground, screaming as the creature jabbed several tendrils into his eyes and neck. His body started to shrivel, and I realized the plant was sucking the blood out of him.
After about thirty seconds, Dan stopped moving. I got up, hitting his shoulder with my foot. I was no doctor, but if I had to guess, he was gone.
I turned to the plant, which blinked innocently at me with its eight eyes.
I smiled at it. “Well, you’re one plant I think I can take care of just fine!”
by submission | Nov 5, 2022 | Story |
Author: Emerson Dillon
Valued Somatech customer,
We’re honored to bring you all of the miracles of modern medical robotics. Whether it’s a replacement limb, a pair of Optimeyes, or a Cyber Heart, we understand the importance of our products for billions of ordinary people. Tech like this means innovating and disrupting the human body in ways no one has ever done before. We’re proud to accept such an awesome responsibility. We know that the future of the species is in our sleek, stainless steel hands. And that’s not something we take lightly. We know that each new part is more than a product for you.
And so it makes me genuinely happy to announce the next line of cyber-augmentations. Rolling out next monday, these disruptive new body parts will make you faster, stronger, and better. And as a loyal member of the Somatech family, we want to help you ascend to the next level as easily as you can. Therefore, we’ll be granting anyone with one of our products already installed a 2% discount on the next generation upgrade at participating clinics. And be sure to be first in line, because supplies may be limited.
Of course, such a monumental disruption means that the world’s going to look pretty different in a week. And because every change has a tradeoff, we regret to announce that as of monday, we will no longer be supporting older models. When support ends, you may notice a few differences, including a substantial decrease in functionality. This is, regrettably, one of the costs of progress. However, we do have good news. We’re excited to announce that once you upgrade to a new model, you’ll find functionality fully restored.
We understand that some customers will not be able to immediately afford these new, premium products. In recognition of that fact, we are also excited to announce a generous program of borrowing, allowing any prospective customer to take out a loan in order to cover the cost of the upgrade. Do note that failure to meet any payment may result in repossession of one or more of our products, etc.
For all your basic bodily needs, Somatech is your choice.
Warm regards,
CEO Anthony Works
