by submission | Dec 13, 2022 | Story |
Author: T. Thornton Gray
I stopped wearing a mask. I don’t know if it was because I was used to the stench around me or if it was because decomposition was turning to mummification. My search to find canned food that is over a year old has become far more difficult. If I don’t find more, I will soon be rotting away like everyone else.
I suppose I was right. I was the one who figured it out. I could now say I told you so, to all those who mocked me and thought of me as some kind of nut. But I told you so doesn’t register on the ears of the dead.
No one believed in “UFOs”, or an invasion from another world. But there were so many clues. For centuries they have been coming. Looking over and lusting after our Earth. Abductions, cattle mutilations and crop circles. They were not some attempts to contact us, but to eradicate us. They now knew how our bodies worked, what it took for us to survive. They knew what we ate.
It was as if a switch was flipped. Our food, beef, poultry, fish and vegetables were suddenly genetically altered. What once sustained us had become like rat poison. We gobbled it up only to find ourselves screaming out our agonizing last breath. Most passed in one night. Some small groups lasted longer, weeks, even months, but pretty soon everyone just has to eat.
I’m certain that I am the last. Soon they will come. I see the strange lights even in the day. They hover in the sky like the stars they came from. They wait and watch. Soon they will come and take Earth, their conquered prize without so much as a fight.
They don’t know about me, that I still live.
I have my pick of guns. The one I chose is the old lever action rifle. One like John Wayne would have used. It just seemed right. I hold no expectations of winning any sort of fight. I just want to land one good punch and make them pay as dearly as possible for my life and home.
Even now the ships descend. They really do look like saucers. I hide amongst the corpses and abandoned cars on the road near the field as the ships soundlessly touch down. An opening appears as I draw a bead with my rifle. A tall slender being steps onto the grass, its gray skin gleams under the sun as its large almond shaped eyes are shielded from the light by three long slim fingers.
My finger squeezes ever so gently until the rifle kicks against my shoulder. The creature crumbles so easily.
“Hello from Earth you dirty sons of bitches.” I scream and work the lever again.
The flash from the ship is blinding…
by Julian Miles | Dec 12, 2022 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“Any final thoughts, Captain Macawdy?”
Macawdy smooths their layers of bright clothing, then leans forward with a smile: “I’d like to thank you for having the courage to invite me on your show, Miss Dreams. All the other networks have been scared off by the Anti-Privateer Leagues.”
Bomanife Dreams nods. This coup took months of negotiations between network, council, and police – before even contacting the privateers. When the possibility of a privateer getting live airtime was leaked, the protests only guaranteed it would happen, and with a far bigger audience.
“Everyone deserves a hearing, Captain. Your honesty may not have won you any more supporters, but has allowed us to see you’re not a mindless brute. Before we finish, I’d like to ask a more personal question, if I may?”
Macawdy nods: “Ask away.”
“How did you lose your leg?”
They sit back, uncross their legs, then stretch out the claw-footed prosthetic limb in question.
“As I mentioned, the life of a privateer comes with ups and downs. Before I took command of the Nelson, the ship I crewed on was unlucky. Out in freespace, a few bad raids and unchecked greed goes through rations quick. After a few days of drinking condensation and eating emergency wafers, the crew run a long pig raffle.”
“That’s not a term I’m familiar with?”
“When you’re about to starve, the unthinkable becomes reasonable. Spacers can use their arms to get about in freefall. Legs aren’t as essential. Punchline being that out there, every human is walking about on three good meals and a breakfast.”
Bomanife pales.
“Certainly a cautionary anecdote to end our interview on. Thank you, Captain.”
After giving her closing monologue, she turns back to Macawdy.
“Can my people help you depart? The crowd outside has grown substantially. Not all are anti-privateer, either. Even with the extra police and military support, there will be clashes.”
“I’ve a private aircar coming. Seemed sensible, given the situation.”
“Yes. Actually, to make it easier, get them to land on our rooftop pad. Jeremy! Show the Captain up to the executive suite, would you?”
She smiles at the contrast between the swaggering, wide-shouldered pirate and the neat stride of her prim, grey-suited aide.
Jeremy returns after a few minutes. Bomanife occupies herself with preparation for tomorrows show.
The studio door slams open. Chief of Police Grunzam storms in, accompanied by three other officers, and two men in military uniform.
“Where is the cunning bastard?”
Bomanife raises an eyebrow.
“I presume you’re referring to Captain Macawdy, who departed by aircar a short while ago.”
The group charge back out.
“Jeremy, something’s happened. Please find out what.”
He works away for a minute or so, then looks up.
“While police and military were occupied by the rioting protesters crowding this area, privateers hit the central vault, the gemstone exchange, and the rare metals trade hall. They overwhelmed local security, stole anything not bolted down, loaded it all into cargo pinnaces, and left.”
Grunzam stomps back in.
“That aircar? In the surveillance video, you can see it’s a small pinnace done up in Aleut Hire colours.”
One of the military types comes in and whispers to Grunzam.
He swears.
“It’s confirmed. The fake aircar exited atmosphere with eleven other pinnaces. All were taken aboard a large vessel, likely the Nelson, which then entered transit space. They’re effectively untraceable.”
Bomanife sighs.
“Your people insisted on handling the security. Your exact words were: ‘you talk to the pirate; we stop them from stealing the place’. Well, they didn’t steal anything from here. Good job.”
Grunzam glares at her.
by submission | Dec 11, 2022 | Story |
Author: Rachel Handley
“Bloody hell.”
“Shush, Terry, don’t go invoking hell willy nilly.”
“I’m neither being willy nor nilly, Martha. Did you not see the email?
“Oh, what email?”
Martha pressed the button on her wrist. A small hologram screen spread over her left hand.
Dear Angelic Members
Due to unforeseen circumstances, we will have to cut costs in the coming eon. We are sorry to say that this will mean certain roles will be made redundant, whilst others will be redeployed. He will be in touch shortly.
Best,
Viv
“What the fuck.” Said Martha. Three angels turned to look at her as she repeated every swear word she knew. Several thousand eyes followed her lips as she tried to keep her voice as low as possible.
“Exactly. Also, what the hell is Viv doing signing his letters? Is this real? Is it a Him-Damned prank?”
“Never mind that, what about ‘unforeseen circumstances’ – what the shit is that, Martha? Unforeseen? Have you ever heard God say such a thing, bloody no you haven’t, because he bloody sees everything. Jesus.”
“Christ.”
“Exactly.”
“What will we do? You know what redundancy means? It means being recycled to the material plane. It’s way too fleshy down there. And humans only have two eyes you know, it’s weird as fuck.” Said Martha.
“Only two? I thought they had four?”
“Two!”
“Wow. How can they even see?” Said Terry.
“No clue. It’s a miracle, I bet. Some sort of wonky flesh magic He likes to fling out once every million years.”
Martha and Terry looked at an angel who, whilst shrieking about costs, tried to punch a nearby angel. They were grabbed by the fires of Down Below so swiftly the angel barely made a yelp as they were taken.
“Maybe they’ll send us to the Down Below instead?” Said Martha looking at the dwindling smoke.
“They might, it is a bit toasty down there. Fleshy too, I bet.”
“I bet.” Said Martha.
Swearing could be heard from all corners of the room, if it could be called a room. Imagine walls of mist. A place made of cloud. Sounds all damp doesn’t it, but angels seem to like it.
“I wonder if we can petition Him, see if He’ll change His mind?” said Martha.
“Not likely, when does he ever budge on stuff?”
“Rarely.” Said Martha.
“Rarely?” Said Terry.
“OK, never. Crap.”
by submission | Dec 9, 2022 | Story |
Author: Andrew Bird
Kerrrrr-SHAZ felt his taut antennae shudder as he struggled to slow the Flying Saucer’s plummet towards jagged Nevada mountains. His face, reflected in the mirrored control panel before him, drained from bright to pale green in fear. Desrius in the co-pilot’s seat beside him tilted his grey elongated head, looking bored as he regarded Kerrrr-SHAZ with oblong obsidian eyes. Kerrrrr-SHAZ heard in his brain: [May I propose a solution?].
The electro magnetic pulse from the Earthlings’ atom bomb test had fried the anti grav engine and pumping more power into it was merely postponing the inevitable. If they could not fix the engine quickly, they would create their own Martian crater right here on Earth.
“How about we lighten the load?” shouted Kerrrrr-SHAZ over the roar of the struggling engine as his beady red eyes flicked to the ejection handle on the back of Desrius’ seat. Kerrrrr-SHAZ imagined pulling the handle and the look of surprise on Desrius’ face as the ejection seat rocketed him out of the Saucer. But with Desrius gone, he might be paired with Glerius (nooooooooo conversation) or Blorius (Mr “Sayings of the Emperor” himself). With a mountain range looming larger in the viewscreen, Kerrrrr-SHAZ realised desperate measures were called for. “What do you suggest Desrius?” he spat out between gritted sharp teeth.
The corners of Desrius’ tiny mouth curved upwards slightly in pleasure. [Well, Ker-Shaz, the gravitational engine has been somewhat overwhelmed because someone insisted on observing the detonation rather closer than advisable]. Bright green returned to Kerrrrr-SHAZ’s face as anger mounted. [Perhaps…], Desrius pondered as a particularly bleak mountain filled the viewscreen, […you might consider culminating the current energy transfer then reinitiating it.] “So, turn the engine off and on?” Kerrrrr-SHAZ said, stabbing a big red button. The roar of the engine was replaced by the rush of air outside as the Saucer entered freefall. A second stab and the engine coughed back into life, causing the Saucer to lurch upwards, narrowly missing being skewered by the mountain’s peak.
Kerrrrr-SHAZ felt his antennae droop in relief. “Well, the Saucer got zapped but you recorded the test, so the Emperor should have mercy on us, right Desrius?” […]. “You were recording, right Desrius?” The mirrored control panel before Desrius reflected the grey draining from his face.
by submission | Dec 8, 2022 | Story |
Author: Arkapravo Bhaumik
FADE IN
(A newsroom setting with the reporter and the President seated face to face)
Reporter: Mr. President thank you for this interview.
President: (smiles, nods in an affirmation)
Reporter: Mr. President, as it has often been claimed by your critics, you are not a human being so you will never connect with human beings and their problems. How do you reply to that?
President: As a start, I AM a ‘People’s President’, my sex, voice, intonation, personality, and even my name were chosen by people over a nationwide poll. I very literary represent the country. As far as problems are concerned, I am guided by AMAX-R-67 database and the real-time response system – anything that even remotely goes into mild orange is immediately attended by my team and the other federal organizations, be it floods, arson, burglary, medical emergency, etc.
Reporter: When the McSullivan committee recommended for a robot as our President, most of their argument was based on two primary concerns – corporatization and corruption.
President: Allow me to summarize that, a robot-like me doesn’t need to have sex and I do not have a son-in-law who is a pain in the ass!
Reporter: … on the contrary you have a fabulous sense of humor!
President: (raises his eyebrows, smiles)
Reporter: 28th October, you were attacked and you lost a limb. You have always been evasive on the details. Any reasons for that.
President: It was a bomb and I lost a leg, it was put together by the next day and I was back to my peak performance in the following 96 hours. It surely discouraged the terrorist organization – a President who is unharmed by a bomb. Even if I would have blow-up in that incidence, all my information and experience is storied in the Ambinet-G servers and within a week I would be ‘alive and kicking’ so to say. Next question, please.
Reporter: McSullivan’s team was briefly considering keeping the President more as a computer than as an android capable of …
President: Now, what is the fun in that? … in a room and spitting out lines of codes.
Reporter: There maybe a woman robot president after you.
President: All I know, once my term is over, my memory will be wiped clean and I will be put in the mandatory two weeks of quarantine.
Reporter: You have built up a fan following, and your personality has attracted and appealed to people both from within the country and internationally.
President: They gave me a good neural-net and the rest has been the love of the people. (smiles)
Reporter: Political pundits have been speculating that politics may well become the sole domain of AI
President: Hmmm … I do not see any harm in it. We have long come off the killer robot syndrome where AIs were blatantly branded. I, President and a team to assist me seems to be working well.
Reporter: Any plans to be completed prior to the end of the term?
President: Since you asked, there are two in my mind. First, I have been a proponent of robot rights and we need social instruments and organizations to enable the co-existence of AI and biologicals. I have been trying to get the right legislature for this.
Reporter: … the second?
President: I wish to go to space, maybe the moon. I want to set the records as the first President in space. (laughs, tones it down)
Reporter: It has been a pleasure talking to you. Thank you for your time.
President: Likewise, and thank you.
FADE OUT
by submission | Dec 7, 2022 | Story |
Author: Majoki
Thang Danang balanced the hypodermic on the tip of her index finger.
Reckless. Irresponsible. Crazy.
That’s what her cousin Luc had called her. He’d yelled that her visions of their family ancestors weren’t real, that she was hallucinating.
Thang had pointed to her great grandmother Binh sitting in her finest silk near the gene editing equipment in her lab. “Ask her if I’m hallucinating.”
Throwing up his hands, but trying to dial down his tone, Luc once again tried to explain. “Thang, I think you’ve got melioidosis. It’s caused by the bacteria Burkholderia pseudomallei. You’re a scientist. A very good scientist. Look it up. It’s a soil bacteria found here in parts of Vietnam. You must have gotten some dirt in a cut or rubbed your eyes when your hands were dirty. Melioidosis can cause an inflammation of the brain and induce hallucinations. You’ve got a disease. A disease that can be treated.”
“I’m not sick,” Thang said.
“You are!” He motioned around the room. “We’re the only ones here and yet you keep insisting our long dead ancestors are with us.”
“They are.”
“They are not, Thang!” Luc raised his voice again. “And they are not directing you to try this crazy experiment. It is wrong and it is dangerous. And you are sick!”
Luc was adamant. But Thang was certain. The certainty of her ancestors convinced her. For days they’d been appearing in her lab, exhorting her to listen to them. To believe in their dao duc, their virtue and integrity. Her many, many ancestors had come to provide her with the power to protect all her family past, present and future.
And Thang believed the world was her family. As a geneticist, she knew at the mitochondrial level we are all one. And at the behest of her ancestors she was ready to instigate a change at the cellular level that would bring humankind even closer together.
So many of her ancestors had been taken by violence and war, or by the dislocation, crime, disease and famine that war fosters. They were begging her to end humanity’s endless cycles of violence. And Thang could.
In the hypo balanced on her finger was the enzyme she’d developed over years and had methodically tested on a variety of mammals. These were lab animals that displayed overly aggressive and belligerent behavior. Thang’s enzyme radically altered that behavior. Eliminated it. At the genetic level.
Thang had a cure for violence. For war. Her ancestors were sure of it and told her so. Only Luc stood in her way. He was a neurologist. A good scientist, too, and Thang respected him. But, he said she was sick. Out of her mind.
Wild.
Thang looked from Luc to her long gone great grandmother. The living and the dead. The present and the past. She clasped the hypo. Who did she owe more to?
Wild Thang knew the only answer: the future.
Luc was too slow to react, as she plunged the hypo into the meat of her thigh and depressed the plunger.
