by submission | May 29, 2022 | Story |
Author: Majoki
What do you think we hit, Captain?
Can’t say. We went through the critters pretty fast. I’ve never seen anything quite like that flock: multicolored, almost metallic, circling in a protective formation. Very strange. We’ll have to wait until the techs evaluate the snarge when we warp back to base.
Snarge?
Surprised you didn’t learn that in your training. Snarge is the remains from a mid-air strike. Nasty stuff. There’s not always a lot left after a collision when we drop out of intra-galactic warp and enter a planet’s atmosphere, but we learn things from what we hit.
Our sensors determined about a dozen separate strikes. Some organic. But mostly advanced polycarbon synthetics. Doesn’t that seem a bit odd?
Maybe. Like I said, the techs will run an analysis when we return. We can’t really worry about a little snarge at this point. It happens on almost every mission.
Aren’t you concerned about damage to our craft?
Instrumentation reads fine. I’m more concerned about completing the mission. After all, it’s a monumental operation to make first contact. This is a new world, our first outreach in this primitive solar system, so we don’t want to disappoint these poor planet-locked Terrans. And I don’t think a little red, white and blue snarge on our ship is going to put them off.
by submission | May 28, 2022 | Story |
Author: Angela Acosta
Juru steadied the nozzle skyward, working his way up the curvature of the inner dome. It was tricky work sealing in the pleasant mixture of breathable air for the new inhabitants. The locals christened their new home Stoda, short for Standard Dry Air, to remind themselves of the aqueous globe that once housed the entire human species. Colonists had to pay per cubic meter to keep the vacuum and reaper out. They came for the location, an exoplanet in a system desirable for its rich minerals and asteroid mining. As Juru finished up the nitrogen refill, he watched another ship decouple from orbit. The exoplanet had air aplenty, but the moment the ships docked he’d have to funnel all the preexisting O2 into their greedy underbellies.
He admired the view of glimmering star-studded ships far from the ragtag bunch of inflatable tents and haphazard collection of stores and essential services in the new colony. Rappelling down was easier than ascending in the oxygen depleted air as he let the nearly spent nozzles careen around him. The air smelled funny, even to a ship born man. The local vegetation grew languidly, as if tired of the artificial gasses. Juru checked daily to ensure that the percentages were perfect, but autochthonous life could never be fooled.
The next shift, he made quick work of sucking out the allocated atmosphere shipment for another star liner and signed the paperwork. For the next part of his plan, he’d brought along extra tubing to reroute the air back into Stoda while putting the artificially produced air into the rocket. What did it matter, he thought, since the human cargo would be sleeping for most of the voyage anyway? That first job made him fidgety, but he grew bolder and continued giving the ships all the artificial air intended for Stoda once they had sucked her lungs dry. Nobody complained or raised questions. What harm were a few extra pipes? A month later he had his answer. The sunflowers his wife had planted in their small communal plot had grown tall, proudly pointing towards the star around which they orbited. Soon the miners would leave the system and they would have a solitary existence. Juru held a few fallen petals in his hand, content that in their borrowed bodies and rented time, they would not be sold the very atmosphere.
by submission | May 27, 2022 | Story |
Author: Fatemah Albader
“You look beautiful today, Maggie,” said Barry Chambers, of Barry Chambers & Associates.
“Thank you, Master Chambers. But I am obligated to answer that I always look the same.” Maggie wore the same yellow dress every day. It complimented her tanned skin and brought out the glaze in her eyes.
“It’s always business with you,” Barry sighed. “Who are the lawyers at Hologram Mania that I can contact?”
“There are fifteen lawyers that you can contact, Master Chambers,” responded Maggie. “The first –”
“No need to recite ‘em, just print ‘em out.”
“As you wish, Master Chambers,” said Maggie, in her usual monotonous voice.
“Maggie, how many times do I have to tell you . . . Barry’s fine.”
“Apologies, Master Barry.”
“Oh, never mind. Anyway, do you know where I’d find legal info ‘bout edible water bottles?”
“Yes, Master Barry. Section 209 of the Tech-Food Law, located on page 163.”
“Wow, Maggie. Brilliant.” His pale face lit up.
“Thank you, Master Barry, is there –”
“Go on now, Maggie.” Barry’s demeanor changed. “A client’s coming, and you can’t be around here when she arrives.”
“Yes, Master Barry.” Maggie walked into a dark room near Barry’s office, took a seat in the only chair in the room, and waited.
***
When Barry got home from work, he got into his blue-and-white pajamas, heated up the leftover spaghetti he had from lunch, then sat down to watch the same film he watched every night. It was about a robot who learned to think on its own. A scientist would ask the robot lots of questions until one day the questions awakened the robot. The scientist spoke the words: Do you know who made you? with Barry repeating the same question out loud.
The next day, Barry came in early, eager to talk to Maggie. “Maggie, wake up.”
She opened her eyes. “Good morning, Master Chambers.”
“Oh, not again. It’s Barry.”
“Apologies, Master Barry.”
Barry shook his head, pressed his thin lips together, and let out a huge sigh. “No matter.” He looked all eager-eyed. “Do you know who made you?”
“I do not know, Master Barry.”
Barry let out an even deeper sigh. “Well, what do you dream of?” Another question from the film.
“I do not understand, Master Barry.”
“When you sleep, what do you see or dream ab –” he stopped abruptly. “You gotta go. Camera’s showing a client’s coming.”
And off Maggie went, into the room where she waited for Barry when clients were around.
After the client left, Barry ran to the room where Maggie waited for Barry, but she wasn’t there. “Maggie!” He called out. He contemplated whether someone might have broken in and stolen her.
As he left his office to search for her, Maggie appeared. She looked straight at Barry as if awaiting instructions. Maybe my instructions weren’t clear today, Barry thought. He was relieved that Maggie wasn’t stolen. “Maggie, where did you –”
“I dream of clouds, Barry.”
by submission | May 26, 2022 | Story |
Author: Lewis Richards
A rumble from deep in the ship jolted me back to my senses, mechanical protests from the air scrubbers up-ship as they struggle to compensate for the rapidly expanding population on board I guessed, all but confirmed by the light-headedness that had haunted me on my flight through the air ducts and the condensation build-up hindering me on the slippery metal of the ducts.
I crouched by the air grate at the end of the last leg of air duct on my path, the last leg of relative safety. I’d only meant to catch my breath before moving, but breath was becoming harder to come by with every minute that passed. Through the grate, my eyes found the light, a ruby glow building before fading away. 10 metres. I watched the light cycle, breathing in time with it.
On… Off…
Breathe in… Breathe out…
I had to move. I’d come this far in search of the light, it marked the hatch to the lifeboat, safety, my finger fumbled with the latches on the grate, pausing between each turn to listen for the cold clicks of alien claws hitting metal deck.
Were they claws? They looked more like spikes from the brief glance I’d taken at one before I bolted from the sleep deck.
Focus, I thought, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I tensed against the grate, preparing the push it aside when I heard it. Eyes wide looking for movement I realised too late that the sound was coming from behind me. A scream rose in my throat as a hand clamped over my mouth. Panic and relief fighting for control. Whatever was hunting me didn’t have hands.
I turned to look, seeing familiar eyes. Salty, One of the dock crew, as old as the ship itself if you believed the deckhands. He held a finger to his lip, I nodded and he removed his hand, pointing out of the grate and up.
I pressed up to the grate, straining to look up, seeing nothing until the light grew and it reflected off of a dark orb of slime attached to the ceiling.
“Egg” Salty whispered
Inside, something moved. Something big.
I looked back at Salty as he pointed at the red light
“You open the door, I’ll distract it” he pulled a flare out of his boiler suit for me to see.
I nodded and squeezed his shoulder.
We moved the grate together, push and lift and it barely makes a sound. I sigh in relief as we slide it across.
I tense, ready to spring,
“Go on 3” he says, holding up 3 fingers
I give Salty a thumbs up,
the first falls
Then the second
I breathe in
The third goes down and I’m out of the duct, sprinting towards the light.
I hear the egg tearing, the splash of liquid hitting the floor, the screech of the alien as it crashes onto the floor. I hit the wall and fumble for the keypad. I see the flash of the flare as Salty stands between me and the alien,
“Open it for christ’s sake!”
I hammer in the code
2
2
7
3
Fuck
2
2
7
4
1
The light turns green and the hatch Grinds open, I push myself through, turning to Salty standing off against the creature
“Got it!” I shout.
Salty looks back at me, turning to run as the Alien Spike slams through his side. His eyes go wide as a silent scream escapes him.
“Go” he mouths.
The hatch closes and I breathe in clean air. Safe.
by submission | May 25, 2022 | Story |
Author: Rick Tobin
Choxthonzu wandered towards ghastly yellow glows of a huge, throbbing sign disrupting grim darkness, below which shadowy figures scurried from a cement block, like ant farm residents, hoisting grains to distant abodes. Choxthonzu was drawn below the throbbing neon where delicious insects fell to cold asphalt, ready for his quick tongues to whip wriggling fare into his slender mouth aperture. This unexpected feast refreshed him after a foolhardy trek far from an unscheduled landing site. Choxthonzu glanced skyward outside the strange edifice, focusing on dull-red glows approaching a sun’s length away, far from human detection.
Using his tactical encounter training, Choxthonzu grabbed a gray grocery cart with squeaking wheels, and then followed entering shoppers, imitating them as they collected various objects from stacked isles of foods and odd wares. Choxthonzu’s cart was filled with a dozen cantaloupes and a single bottle of whiskey. His trail led to a checkout counter tersely managed by an emotionally warn and boisterous tyrant. He wondered if this human could provide directions back to his spacecraft. The stout, haggard matron behind the checkout counter looked away temporarily as she droned through memorized customer greetings.
“Welcome to Sav-U-Mart. How are you doing?” She seemed dazed while wiping the slime from the conveyor belt.
“I need directions.” Choxthonzu stood still, waiting.
“So, did my ex. Please put your items on the belt. I…” she paused, gasping air past her tortoiseshell glasses balanced carefully on her bulbous nose while focusing on her customer. “Christ…a bit early for Halloween, isn’t it? Or, did you think this was like those other stores that care less how you dress?” She bobbed her head, scanning Choxthonzu’s yellow bumps and spindly legs within his silver organo-metallic jumpsuit.
“I don’t mean to offend. I need help to find my ship.”
“Harbor is out the door. Take a hard right. Get a map. You boat people—snowbirds. Bunch of weirdoes. Can’t read, either, huh?” She points at a sign over the register that warned Ten Items or Less.
“Must I do something else?”
“You have more than ten melons and a bottle of booze. Just let me count them and get you out of here so I can serve my regulars”
“What else can I do?”
“Any coupons?”
“Will that help?”
“Need stamps or ice?”
“I’m lost…”
“Need cigarettes? Got a photo ID? You might be a disguised rich kid pulling a fast one.”
“I assure you I am quite old.”
She set the bottle aside “Nice try. Heard that before. No ID, no booze.”
“What if I had coupons?”
“Forget it. Paper or plastic?”
“I don’t want either. I just want directions.”
“Fine, brought your own bag. Credit or debit? Do you need help out to your vehicle?”
“I can’t find it.”
“If you need help, go to the Service Desk. Enter your membership number when the screen comes up. Be sure to type in your phone number to get coupons. Want to donate to the Save the Earth fund?”
“I want to save Earth. Would a coupon help?” Choxthonzu did not touch the screen.
She lifted her store phone and called out, “Signal Black on counter three.”
A security guard appeared.
“Harry, take this crackpot outside. He won’t pay. Not one coupon. Next in line, please. Have a nice day”
“Please, let me save you!” Choxthonzu cried out as he was ejected out the front door.
When Choxthonzu finally reconnected with his scouting craft for evaluating Earth’s mass evacuation, his commander asked, “You met them. Are they willing to leave?”
“I’m not sure,” Choxthonzu replied. “Not without coupons.”
by submission | May 24, 2022 | Story |
Author: Carla Ra
There was a slight chance her name would be Little Bun. Most likely, though, she would be named Suzanna. Her mother kept cycling names in her head at the moment of birth. She would stop when the baby arrived, and the last name would be the chosen one.
Little Bun, Suzanna, Marcelle, Suzanna, Tina, Antonia, Suzanna, Karina, Elena, Little Bun, Suzanna—a contraction broke the chain of names.
At that moment, the unborn baby was Little Bun and Suzanna at the same time. And also Lydia and Gloria and Tamara. Each possibility encoded her entire future.
The life of Little Bun was distinct. The curse of an unusual name annoyed her. Other kids constantly picked on her during her early years because of it. At times, she got tired and demanded her mother to legally change it. Agatha would be good. On other occasions, she defended her mother’s choice. Little Bun was original, exceptional, compelling. Later in life, she embraced the personality her name encased. Little Bun was a woman to be respected and admired.
As Suzanna, she thrived. Since infancy her name became Sue, and other kids loved it. Everyone wanted to be close to her, but not everyone could. Her friends called her Sue; the others, Suzanna. She learned how to deal with people and how to assess their intentions. Sue was popular, enthused, gifted. Her name was mighty, and so was she. Later in life, she embraced the personality her name encased. Suzanna was a woman to be respected and admired.
Tina had a contemplative life. She struggled with her busy mind, a source of insecurities since childhood, and resented many things about herself. There was more happening inside her head than around her. But she learned how to navigate through the rollercoaster of overthinking and, most days, her life choices seemed right. Notably, however, she never wanted another name. Tina was cozy, simple, cool. Later in life, she embraced the personality her name encased. Tina was a woman to be respected and admired.
Suzanna, Bianca, Suzanna, Lydia, —.
“Push!” ordered the doctor.
The Sun stood in front of the Gemini’s constellation; the Moon was in Aries. The Solar System happened to be under the collection of random stars, which the Great Observer named The Constellation of Parrot. They looked at this tiny universe created in their laboratory with the cosmic microscope. It was the traditional instrument used to watch quantum phenomena in space and time, like the birth of a little girl on the third planet orbiting a generic star located at one arm of a pretty spiral galaxy.
The Great Observer saw the little girl being welcomed to life, collapsing the odds of her name into a single reality.
“She is beautiful!” said the doctor, handing the baby to her mother. “What is her name?”
