by submission | Jul 20, 2024 | Story |
Author: David Henson
“Hello, this is Claire Rains with Now You Don’t Enterprises, maker of the Light Bender Extraordinaire. Whom do I have the pleasure of assisting?”
“Claude Wells. I’m having problems with my new invisibility cloak. I —”
“I’m here to help, Mr. Claude. Let’s make your troubles …” — fingers snap — “disappear. Tell me: How do you know your cloak isn’t working properly?”
“Well, when I’m wearing the cloak, I can sort of see myself in the mirror. I’m not invisible. More like I’m wrapped in foggy plastic wrap.”
“We call that a phantom image, Mr. Claude. Your mind reconstructs —”
“No psychobabble, please. I’ve heard it all. Are you going to assist me or not?”
“Sorry, Mr. Claude. Let’s do some troubleshooting. Ready?”
“Yes, please, get on with it. I was counting on this thing to allow me to get out more.”
“Did you hang your cloak overnight when you first unwrapped it? Many people are so anxious to disappear, they skip this step. One wrinkle can screw up the photonics and adaptive camouflage dynamics of the whole cloak.”
“I did that. I promise you there isn’t a single wrinkle, crinkle, crimp or crease.”
“Excellent, Mr. Claude. Secondly, are you certain you’re not wearing the cloak inside out? That sounds silly, but it’s easy to do with an invisibility garment. It’s two-way, you understand. You can see out, but—”
“I’m certain. The thing doesn’t work. Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I have to admit, Mr. Claude, I’m stumped so I’m going to elevate your case to second level support. Don’t go away, I’ll stay on the line. This shouldn’t take long. Our experts have seen it all. Except of course, when they shouldn’t.” She chuckles.
“Very funny. I just need the cloak to perform as promised. I’m so tired of people staring at me. You know in school, the other kids called me … I can’t say it.”
“So sorry to hear that, Mr. Claude. Have you — hold on. I’ve a message from second level support … We need to go to video call. Can you do that?”
“… I’ve accepted your invite. But wait til I put on the—”
“Oh … there you are.”
As Ms. Rains stares at him, Claude freezes then drops to his knees out of sight. “You saw me. Now you understand why I need to be invisible. I’m hideous.”
“Mr. Claude, I don’t think you’re—”
“Stop pandering.”
“Why do think you’re hideous? Sorry, that’s not what I’m here for. Please put your cloak on and stand so I can see you.”
Claude does as the agent asks.
“It’s as you said, Mr. Claude. You’re blurry but not invisible. You look like … a ghost. That’s a first. Creepy. Must be a flaw in the weave. Now that I’ve seen for myself, I can approve a return. Would you like a replacement or refund?”
“Like a ghost, eh? On second thought, I think I’ll keep it.”
“You … what? Your choice, Mr. Claude, but I’d think about. People are used to invisibles, but you might freak out people in that. It’s been my pleasure assisting you. And, truly, I don’t know why you think you’re…” Her voice trails off. “Please hold for a brief survey.”
Claude exits the video call, goes into the bedroom and looks at his spectral image in the dresser mirror. He decides to haunt the night wearing the cloak. Pay a visit to the old neighborhood.
by submission | Jul 19, 2024 | Story |
Author: R. J. Erbacher
The Stormwatch was wrong.
There was nothing on the scanners for this. The projection was for only light chop for the nine-hour trip from New York to Plymouth, England.
Captain Hendrick squinted through the rain slashed windshield, at the tenebrous horizon, the wipers furiously trying to keep them clear. But the USS Table Bay was steady because it rode above the waves. The diamagnetic repellers held the vessel an average of twelve meters above the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. On a calm day. Four blade-like arms descended into the water, supported by graphene nanotubes, connected to hydro-propulsion engines that separate the hydrogen and oxygen atoms of the ocean water and converted the reaction into electricity. The thermolysis motors powered the Table Bay up to speeds of 350 knots per hour. In calm waters. Stabilizers maintained the hydrophobic ceramic keel relatively level regardless of the size of the waves, assuming they were of normal height, but straining that limit now as the storm progressed. Because it was not a calm sea.
The outer door slammed open briefly then closed, letting the lashing rain momentarily drench the wheelhouse, the colloquial mariner term still utilized even though there wasn’t a wheel to steer anymore. Coming in with the wet weather was the first mate, his water-shedding gear dripping onto the floor.
“Where the hell did this come from, Captain?”
“I don’t know, Bernard. The forecast was clear when we pulled out. How are things down below?”
“Operating systems are still green but hovering just below redline. We’re right on the edge. Passengers are a little worried.”
With air travel being curtailed, due to elevated radiation levels leeching into the upper atmosphere, high speed ocean travel was the safest way across the ‘pond.’ Customers were sometimes annoyed that scheduled departures were cancelled or delayed because of weather conditions but they felt secure boarding the SkimShips knowing that they were going to arrive without incident. Stray storms like this were very rare.
Hendrick was checking all the scopes and readouts, calculating in his head. “We should be clearing this nasty cell in about seventy nautical miles. If we stay true. We could divert to the south and be free of this rather quickly, even though it would take us further off our route to circumvent around the severe weather and we would lose a lot of time. But I’m more inclined to broach straight through it. We are already delayed, travelling at this reduced speed, and I would hate to…”
The rest of his words died on his lips.
Sailing from the port side came another ship. And even though it was vastly different in design, it too glided above the water. Its black wood hull was flying untouched, over the crest of the waves, but still lilted to one side, the red canvas sails billowed to tearing, full of the powerful winds. Shadowy men in tattered clothes worked the rigging and ropes. A figure in a cocked hat and matted gray beard stood steady on the center of the quarterdeck, his hands gripped onto the spoked wheel. Unbelievably, the fluyt was moving faster than they were, closing in on their left side, cutting across their bow. Hendrick saw the other captain turn his head from looking over the helm to glare at him, his eyes glowing with blood and fire.
“For God’s sake, turn the ship south Captain! Turn!” Bernard’s scream snapped Hendrick out of his trance, and he manipulated the control panel until the directional servomechanisms angled them starboard.
Toward safer waters.
As the Dutchman sailed onward into the dark distance.
by submission | Jul 18, 2024 | Story |
Author: Mark Renney
We have been instructed not to refer to her as the alien or the extra-terrestrial or even the visitor. I’m sure she has told the Scientists and Government officials her name or has informed them of the system she and her society use in order to identify themselves but we, the service and security staff, are not privy to this information.
They provide her with all that she needs, although the access she has via the screen is limited. This doesn’t seem to have hindered her in any way and she is progressing rapidly.
She has already mastered our language and I would like to ask the Subject her name, but we are not allowed to communicate with her.
She is so open and honest and pliable, allowing herself to be prodded and poked, embracing the tasks and tests they set for her and completing them oh so quickly and easily.
The Subject seems entirely unaware that she is being held captive here, is a prisoner and that we are her jailers. She hasn’t had access yet to these words: jailer, captive, prisoner and countless others, subterfuge, paranoia, fear. She doesn’t understand these concepts and they are not a part of her own vocabulary.
I wonder what will happen when she becomes corrupted and the cynicism begins to settle and harden within her brain.
The Scientists are excited by her innocence and I wonder if this is why she is being held here, hidden away from the world. Not to protect her but in order to conduct their experiments before this happens. Or is it because, despite these admirable traits and her sparkling intelligence, she isn’t so very different from us.
by submission | Jul 17, 2024 | Story |
Author: Rachel Sievers
We stood there unable to say or do anything. Looking was all that our minds seemed capable of at that moment. I wondered if it was because we were the same person. Maybe we would have the exact same amount of time in shock and horror and then we would both speak in unison.
“How is this possible?” The other me said, apparently prone to a quicker mind and mouth.
I groped for words still stuck in my throat and when they did emerge they were clogged and dry making my voice stranger than my exact copy, “I don’t know,” I said dumbly. It was becoming clear I was the lesser model of the two. “Maybe twins separated at birth?” The more intelligent me suggested. The hope in his voice made me grasp at that possibility until I saw the scar.
“How’d you get the scar above your eye?”
“Skateboarding, when I was,”
“Nine,” I finished.
“Oh, no,” the other me said.
“Yeah,” I finished.
We both knew what this meant, and it was not good. As a species we have known for hundreds of years that multiple universes exist. Like a paper accordion folding in on itself, sometimes these universes fold in and become collapsed and one will transfer to another, like an old press and stick tattoo.
“Do you think there are others?” I ask.
We both look out at the city street beyond the entryway of our high-rise apartment. Everyone else seems to be going on with their life undisturbed.
“No, I think it is just us,” the other me says. Well, at least that is good news. If it was a planet wide cross over there would-be large-scale population control, maybe even planet wide death if the crossover numbers were bad enough.
“At least it is just us, we better head to the Department of Human Resources and get this sorted,” I say. I know that there is a fifty-fifty chance that one of us will be put down, but I can’t imagine it is me. I would know if I accidently crossed over. But there was a chance, and if I just took matters into my own hands there was a one-hundred percent chance I would make it out.
The pain that exploded across the back of my head was sharp and hot, damn if I wasn’t the slower copy.
by submission | Jul 16, 2024 | Story |
Author: Majoki
Poets aside, the universe is not indifferent. It runs on love and hate. Attraction and repulsion. It has a physical obligation to bind or repel. Sometimes both.
Which explains my relationship with Enth. Like orbital and subatomic decay, we clung to one another, attracted and repulsed, in a pan-dimensional death spiral.
Sorry. That’s the heartbreak talking. Though not indifferent, the universe is far from sentimental. Life, not matter, invented the struggle bus. And I’m obliged to crash it. Drive it right over the cliff.
Or in this case, straight into a gravity well. A big ass gravity well in the Black Eye galaxy which got its nickname due to a dark band of dust surrounding its bright core. Likely the result of a cataclysmic collision with another galaxy eons ago.
Just like Enth and I were on a similar collision course.
Remember how the universe is all about love and hate, attraction and repulsion? Yup. That’s how it was. Enth telling me I’d never get it, never understand Enth’s planet, Enth’s family, Enth’s dreams. All the while, I was risking my life to save Enth’s planet and everything Enth cared about.
Which, at the moment our little jumpship entered the aforementioned gravity well, didn’t seem to include me. Enth’s planet was facing a runaway wafuco: wave function collapse. In essence, that’s a quantum identity crisis that messes with consciousness. In this particular case, the collective consciousness of Enth’s entire planet. Not something from which most relationships can recover.
So, we were diving down the gravity well trying to achieve a relative point of decoherence that would, in theory, cancel the wafuco and keep everything peachy on Enth’s planet. I was also hoping it might help reset our relationship. You know, stop us from chasing our tails, our impulsive actions, our general snarkiness—all seeming to be what the universe and my inter-planetary relationships were predicated on.
Anyway, the plan looked to be working. In our little ship, things were becoming less coherent. Enth’s sharp words became soft glances. Gravitons pushed us ever closer and we were not repelled. Heat created less friction. We melted together, our beings bonded, as we finally achieved relative decoherence.
Enth’s planet became mine. Enth’s family became mine. Enth’s being became mine.
The great swirling vortex no longer sucked. It wrapped. It surrounded. It embraced us.
Equal and opposite. Enth and me.
The universe sighed. Then exploded, obliged to see what would become of us.
by Julian Miles | Jul 15, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The scream of fighters passing overhead fades. Silence resumes. The three sat at the undamaged end of the table return their gazes to rest on the woman sitting at the other end. Minutes pass. Finally, the middle one of the trio speaks.
“I’m not sure ‘you’re late’ adequately covers this.”
The one on the left adds.
“Good point, Virgo. Maybe ‘treason’? What do you think, Runcie?”
The right-hand one shakes their head.
“No, Shane. More likely ‘cowardice’.”
The woman smiles.
“The thinking behind those three sentences is reason enough for my tardiness.”
The Virgo raises a finger.
“I’m thinking it’s more about the cost of Project Bifrost.”
The woman whispers.
“Money or power. Every time.”
Runcie leans forward.
“What?”
She looks up.
“Have you read the report?”
Bemused glances are exchanged. Shane replies.
“My people prepared an executive summary. The short version of it is: you failed.”
The woman bursts out laughing.
“The failure lies not with Project Bifrost.”
Bemusement turns to astonishment, then scorn. Runcie points at her.
“We brought you in on a frankly ridiculous proposal as part of a worst-case scenario initiative. Three years later, the worst case is rapidly becoming true. Yet the initiative we spent trillions upon can offer nothing to save us.”
The woman shakes her head.
“Project Bifrost does. The criteria are very clear. You have chosen not to meet them.”
Virgo shakes his head.
“That nonsense? I fail to see how suicide gets us anywhere, unless you’re working for the other side.”
She brings her hand down on the table so hard they hear it crack. Splinters of wood spin away from fingers sunk into the tabletop.
“Then listen well: the concept of immortal warriors has fascinated those obsessed with war for as long as man has had gods. Project Bifrost proposed that the mythical rainbow bridge is, in fact, a novel variant of an Ellis-Deutsch wormhole. It further proposed that establishing a link from our world to the one regarded as, or containing, the mythical destination Valhalla would yield a near-inexhaustible army of hardened veterans for the principals to draw upon.”
Virgo snorts derisively.
“Ignoring the obvious limitation that if the place exists, the beings who oversee it might have a few things to say about us borrowing their army, not matter how righteous our cause.”
The woman nods.
“A factor taken into account by the offering of whatever war being fought here as an extension of the training regimes legended to be performed every day by those in Valhalla.”
Shane shrugs.
“A good idea, that.”
Runcie chuckles.
“So, you covered all the bases and made your variant wormhole. Why am I not seeing Viking berserkers with XM7s rolling the opposition up like a rug?”
“You know why.”
Virgo sighs loudly.
“Suicide again? Pathetic. This failure will ruin your career, Professor Gefna.”
She stands.
“Gefna gave everything to save those she worked with. Such dedication persuaded me to come here.”
Virgo leaps up.
“Hold on. If you’re not Gefna, just who are you?”
She waves her hand dismissively.
“One final time: the criteria are clear. Will you rise to meet them?”
Virgo grins nastily.
“One final time: suicide is not an option, woman.”
Her eyes start to glow.
“You refuse to prove your worth as leaders of warriors in the same way you expect of them. Thus, you offer nothing. Therefore nothing shall be given. I, Valfreyja, have spoken.”
She vanishes.
Shane slumps back in the chair.
“That could have gone better.”
Runcie throws a pen at him.
“Oh, shut up.”
Virgo runs a hand through his hair.
“Well, fuck.”
