by submission | Mar 6, 2022 | Story |
Author: William Kee
Captain J. P. Koontz was locked in the munitions bay. It was freezing. Thank God, I brought the suit. Soon he would need to put the helmet on. The crew was outside banging on the door.
“Give it up, Cap. We’ve turned off all life support except the oxygen. You’re going to freeze to death in there.”
Koontz shouted back, “I told you, you’re not taking this ship from me. She’s mine!”
“You know you didn’t give us a choice. Come on out now,” Carter’s voice held the anger and resentment it had since they left Earth. They won’t wait out there for long.
“If I come out, it’ll be with a phaser in each hand.” Koontz moved as he talked. They had taken control of the bridge, but he’d been able to do a complete lockout of the munitions bay and opened the weapons cases before his clearance was revoked. This room was his. If they want it, they’ll have to come in and take it. Koontz removed a single block of plastic explosives from the lockbox. It was soft in his hand and easy to mold and press into the seams of the exterior wall. He shouted over his shoulder, “Hey, Carter, how many of you are out there?”
“All of us. So you come out with however many phasers you want. It won’t make a difference. You can’t win.”
“I think you and I have different definitions of winning.” The sound of Carter typing into the keypad on the outside of the door was audible through the cold metal. They’ll be through soon. Koontz connected the wire between each packet of plastic explosives. He put his helmet on and turned it to lock it in place. Then, holding the detonator in his hand, he crouched down behind one of the large boxes of munitions secured to the floor of the hold and waited.
The door chimed and then hissed as it opened. The crew stood there in the doorway trying to get a look into the room. Captain Koontz made eye contact with Carter through the suit helmet. Carter’s eyes grew wide in fear and Koontz said, “I tried to tell you,” and activated the detonator. The sound disappeared along with the crew into the vacuum of space. Koontz was sucked back against the secured box for half a second before all the air was gone from the room. He floated through the door of the compartment and sealed it behind him, doing the same through each door as he made his way to the bridge. When he sat down in his chair the computer announced that the remainder of the ship had been pressurized. Koontz took off his helmet and said, “Computer, confirm I am alone aboard this ship.”
“Confirmed.”
Captain Koontz shook his head and said to the empty bridge, “Looks like I won. I tried to tell them.”
by submission | Mar 5, 2022 | Story |
Author: Kaci Curtis
You said that everything was going to change. I remember where we were sitting, sand clumped between our toes. I remember being afraid. Not of you; never of you. But of the picture of inevitability that you painted upon a rough and murky canvas.
“Everything will be different,” you warned.
And it was. The world took a turn that was so sudden, so irrevocable, we may as well have jumped off a cliff and tried to fly. Well, some of us tried to fly. The rest just fell, screaming all the way down.
You said that it would get better soon. We sat in the shadow of a crumbling bridge. A stringy bird charred over our fire. The darkness was full of enemies.
I remember scoffing when you said it. For the first time, I didn’t believe you. Nothing was going to get better. And you, once a mountain of a man, became a liar in my eyes. Because you couldn’t trust me with the bitter, relentless truth.
Fathers and daughters were supposed to trust each other. You feared that I would break; run screaming into the night and become of a victim of those who wanted what little I carried in my pockets. So you lied to me.
And in the same breath, you lost the parts of me that cared.
You said that I needed to be more careful. We soaked in a stream, scrubbing the blood from our clothes. I was humming a song from back before it all went silent. Your warning went unheeded; it was useless to me. I’d been careful for too long.
I wanted to be careless, to run shouting through the trees and draw them all to me, for miles and miles. I wanted to find the edge of the world and sail right off of it. To put an end to this monotony.
You could see my restless spirit, like prey trembling on exhausted legs just beneath my skin, jumping at the smallest noise.
“Be careful,” you cautioned.
As if I had a choice. As if my cavernous soul and rotting mind was something small to be swept away by the current; cleansed and forgotten.
But I was too often hunted, too often hungry, and far too gone.
You said that you were sorry. I was lying in a casket of mud when you finally found me. Someone had taken my knife and bundle of snare wire. They’d left me with a deep gash across my stomach.
You said that you should have been there to protect me. That had never changed, even when everything else spiraled into something savage and unrecognizable. There was still a father and a daughter, and a desire to live.
Except that I lost mine, didn’t I? I think so. I think it fell off that cliff I was seeking and didn’t have anything to grab on the way down.
What else was there to do, when the world as we knew it ended and everyone lived off what they could steal from others? When food became as scarce as good water and there was nowhere safe to sleep? When the electronics that we’d let devour us went dark and half of us didn’t know how to start a fire? What else was there to do but to falter, crash, and break apart?
You said that you were sorry, and clutched my hand. And I would have told you that I was sorry, too. That I had fought to stay with you.
But I’d already gone.
by Hari Navarro | Mar 4, 2022 | Story |
Author: Hari Navarro, Staff Writer
There is a house that grows like a jar of cancer-rimmed razors from the very top of my head. I wear it like a hat and when it rains its central courtyard fills with water and makes my skull feel soggy with its burden and my neck hurts and cracks when it twists.
This house is where I was born and into it trickled the very first of my memories or at least those that I have been groomed not to forget.
Pretty things like the man with the buckle-head snake whose tail bound at his knuckles and swung and pirouetted at his thigh. It was vicious and it bit but I used it. I did and it distracted from the stains that bloomed and dripped from the cotton.
I have just boarded and been seated upon the transport and already feel the vibration between my legs as its mighty engines thrum and clamber in anticipation of lift-off.
It has been a long time coming but it will be this craft that finally pulls me away from my home and the creeping wet mould it has sown in the grooves of my mind.
I rest my forehead against my portholes cooling compress and my eyes dart to the side and for an instant in the cursive colours I can see the twin iron doors that lead to the boilers.
I can see the hideous verdant paint that he slashed upon them although he knew there was not enough to finish.
No care. No attention to the little things that matter. Every inch of that house splattered with spittle-lipped hate.
The constantly tinkering craftsman.
I remember the tools he used to hammer and bend and smash and… crack. Such skill as he left just enough of a gap so that the light got in and then froze and split me in two and three.
He pulverized my youth so effortlessly as he tapped his foot in time and ground me away between my tiny thumb and the swollen gorge of his forefinger grasp.
I wish I could forget that tune. Three chords are all you’ll ever need, he said. “Daddy’s lil’ girl ain’t a girl no more…”
I can feel the pincers of that house at One Zero Nine arch and dig into my sides as we power up and away and I finally am to be rid of this filthy mesa of such hopeless hope.
Its time to do the dishes.
The woman in the green knitted top that I think I remember from a pornographic clip about a polo-necked secretary who is surprised by a UPS delivery man screams at my feet.
I am a wet used sack of flesh on the floor and my peeled carcass slumps to the side and the exposed meat of my forehead feels again the cool calm compress on the portal glass and I wonder if I’ll be having the chicken or perhaps maybe the pork.
by submission | Mar 3, 2022 | Story |
Author: J.D. Rice
The end, it seems, is nigh.
I stare at the billboard strapped over the old man’s chest, telling me to repent of my sins before the apocalypse comes. Crudely written scripture verses surround big, bold letters saying “REPENT!”
I haven’t been to church since I was seven. I couldn’t tell you what any of the verses were in reference to, nor could I say with certainty that any of the books listed are even in the Bible. Mostly I’m just shocked that anyone actually has access to one of these signs in this day and age, and that anyone would take the time to patrol the streets the day before the asteroid hits.
“Repent!” he says. As if humanity has anything to repent for.
We’ve come so far in the last 100 years. Poverty is gone. Hunger, war, and disease have all been eradicated. People still die of chronic conditions, genetic defects, even some rare outbreaks of personal violence. But plague? Crime? These are things of the past.
Technology has progressed in leaps and bounds. Philosophy and experience has taught us how to use this technology for the good of all. The Earth is unified in a way that our ancestors never would have thought possible. Borders are a formality, and racism is confined to only the darkest corners of the world. After tens of thousands of years of struggle and hardship, mankind has finally come into its own. United and strong.
Now one rogue asteroid, set on its course for earth thousands of years ago, is going to end it all. And all this man can think to say is, “Repent!”
I glance down at the bag in my hand, filled with food my wife is going to use to prepare a last meal for our family. My son and daughter don’t fully understand what is happening. We haven’t had the heart to explain it to them. Better for them to die in a flash than sit quietly pondering their own mortality. We’re going to give them one last night of joy, tuck them in for the night, and then pray that death finds us before they wake up the next morning.
Now, instead of walking the rest of the way home, I stare at the man across the street, my blood boiling. How dare he stand in judgment? What moral superiority could he possibly have to justify his actions? What sins does he suppose we committed to deserve this?
He’s just a blind, stupid fool unable to cope with the inevitable.
I step up to him, wanting to tell him off, wanting to yell and scream and tell him that his God never did anything for the world but plunge it deeper into the darkness.
But then – quite of their own accord – my lips starts forming words that lack any of the venom and vitriol my id so desperately wants to unleash.
“I know you are scared,” I say, looking into the man’s eyes, which I see – now that I am up close – are on the brink of tears. “I don’t know why you are out here. Maybe your religion is all you had growing up. Maybe you’re clinging desperately to anything that might give you a glimmer of hope. Or maybe you’re just lonely.”
The man lets out a deep exhale, the tears welling up in his eyes.
“You aren’t alone,” I say. “You have me.”
My bag of groceries falls to the ground as the man unexpectedly hugs me, the flimsy billboard bending between our bodies. We hold the hug for some moments, unspoken emotions washing between us, before finally breaking.
In the end, he joins my family for dinner and sleeps peacefully on our couch as my wife and I wait for the end. We face the catastrophe in the same way mankind has learned to face all its challenges.
Together.
by submission | Mar 2, 2022 | Story |
Author: Chana Kohl
In the smallest nook of my consciousness, there is a tiny computer that tabulates risk vs. reward. It guides my decisions at any given moment. The ‘reward’ is clear, like a B-roll on a constant loop inside my mind. A split-level cabin built with my own two hands, it sits off-the-grid with a wrap-around deck overlooking a pristine lake in Somewhere, Alaska. Lana is there, working in the greenhouse, fretting over stink bugs on her heirloom tomatoes. Sometimes, when I’m feeling bored, I even throw in a little crumb-snatcher or two. What the hell.
Then, there’s the ‘risk’ side of the equation.
I’m not talking about the burst of adrenaline before launch, carrying payloads at hypersonic speed in a cat and mouse game of catch-and-release. Or the knot in my belly, inching past my throat, as I near Mach 12.
No. I’m talking about the risk from not taking these jumps…
Same as every other Joe, I was up to my pacifier in debt the day I was born, a 2nd-generation Red-Ledger. With what remained after The War, many of the few left in charge agreed—as part of sweeping fiscal reforms—to eradicate government-funded education. Now, a kid’s best shot in life today is a private teacher, if their parents can afford, after that, e-tutoring vouchers or, if that’s not feasible, taking out crypto-loans at the age of six to attend a proper brick and mortar school.
By the time I was sixteen, I was eager and ripe to earn off my family’s debt working construction for the United Republic. Eventually I worked my way onto the Skyhook team, piloting hybrid scramjets like a flying trapeze artist to transfer the consortium’s precious cargo into high orbit. I made just enough will-o’-the-wisp crypto that I could actually dream of retirement.
Now, if all goes as planned, today’s my last jump. My body can’t take these gravitational stresses forever. At least I’m spared from excessive radiation exposure, unlike the poor saps earning their supper on the Ring. Lana’s a worrier though: made me freeze some of the boys just for contingency.
Receiving an all-clear from Space Force Command, I have ample time to make the rendezvous window for Tether Facility 6. Approaching Mach 7, my orbital altitude and flight angle matching tether rotation rate and phase, I switch to jet propulsion. Coming in for the soft dock I can almost smell the breeze from Denali Mountain and savor the scent of Lana’s marinara simmering on the stove, but I get a warning light. Some problem with the hawser cable.
No big deal, I’ll miss the soft dock window. It’s happened before. I release the mechanical arm, angling to maneuver a hard dock. The payload transfers successfully, but the clamps don’t release. I get an alert from ground control to scrap the jump, the facility is losing too much altitude. The payload starts to tumble.
My tiny computer boots up, powered by fear. The amount of credits the consortium will surely subtract from the no-damage/no-loss payload clause in my contract will set me back eighteen months; even that’s no guarantee.
No way I’m going to abort.
So I punch the thrusters and drag that SOB payload up earth’s magnetic field like Santiago’s Marlin. I burn the last of my methalox reserve, pushing it back on its trajectory. Too far up for rescue ops—the consortium’s not known for wasting fuel—I relish the view of Alaska. Buoyed in the strange sensation of weightlessness, I transfer my last credits and death benefits to Lana.
Catch and release: I’m finally free.
by submission | Mar 1, 2022 | Story |
Author: Alan J Wahnefried
Shurkarr was excited and little scared. He was waiting for the results of his driving test. Finally, the Examiner called his name.
The Examiner offered Shurkarr a seat. Shurkarr could barely keep himself in the chair.
“In cases like this I find it best to give the result before we analyze your driving. You failed.”, the Examiner began.
Shurkarr was stunned. He thought he had nailed. “How can that be?”, he stammered.
The Examiner sighed. “You did a good job with the maneuvers. You missed something bigger. Let’s take it a step at a time. The first step on the test gave you a heading and you were to follow it at a set speed. Right?”. Shurkarr concurred. The Examiner queried, “What did you do?”
Shurkarr gulped. “I went slower. I was trying to show I was not a reckless driver.”
The Examiner must have heard that before. He sighed and continued, “What was the second step on the test?”
“When I reached Luna, I was to turn to my right.” Shurkarr answered.
“The instructions were based on the speed you were given. If you had driven at the specified speed, a right would have turned you outside Luna’s orbit. Luna is not stationary. By the time you reached Luna, a right turned you inside Luna’s orbit. What was the first thing you were taught in driver’s education?”, the Examiner intoned.
“If you are inside Luna’s orbit, get outside Luna’s orbit immediately!”
“Correct. Why didn’t you do that?”, queried the Examiner.
“I was just trying to follow the test directions.”, Shurkarr said sheepishly.
“Not good enough! You always must follow the instructions concerning Luna’s orbit. You could have asked for help and still passed. Continuing with your test. The next step was to stop and turn on your emergency beacon. You realize starting the beacon turns off your stealth shield?”
Shurkarr wanted into crawl under the woodwork. “Yes.”, he whispered.
“Due to your wrong turn. Your beacon was clearly visible on Earth. If we are to keep our base here on Venus secret, we can’t have mistakes like that! Fortunately, the balance of the maneuvers on the test got you behind Luna and out of sight. You fail. You can try again in 2 vesuvian days.”
Shurkarr was crushed. He made a mistake. What was the big deal? It was night on Earth. He doubted anyone even noticed.
Meanwhile on planet Earth. The lead story in the Maple Stump Idaho’s morning paper was “Red Flashing Orb Buzzes Maple Stump”. The story related the police and newspapers phones were deluged by panicky people….
On television, the first story on Idaho Today was “Police Work to Clear Numerous Vehicle Accidents”. Over 300 vehicles stopped on I-80 south of Boise. People were mesmerized by a flashing red orb in the sky. Multiple collisions were reported. Fortunately, no one was killed or seriously injured…
The US Space Force issued a statement om the orb seen over Idaho. The orb had been tracked until it went behind the moon. The investigation is continuing ….
Dr. Thurston Stahlschiff called his agent. He wanted his publisher to know his book the Imminent Alien Invasion would be postponed another month. He had to investigate the orb that was sighted over Idaho.
Several radio preachers tried to have a field day on the orb, with varying results.
UFO tourists started flocking to Maple Stump, Idaho. The motel owners were happy.
Shurkarr was right. Nobody noticed. The Examiner had a no reason to be upset.
