by submission | Sep 5, 2020 | Story |
Author: Brooks C. Mendell
“Conspiracies require a lot of goddam work,” I thought, walking down the aisle of shipping containers. Each metal box, rather than stuffed with widgets or t-shirts, housed a humming transporter tuned to a predetermined time and place.
A rusty container to my left labeled “Dealey Plaza 1963” triggered a memory of slapping Lee Harvey Oswald hard across the temple. The nervous son of a bitch couldn’t take his eyes off my tits, but he still provided the distraction we needed. When Kennedy came around the corner, exposed in his convertible, the Support Team finished the job.
The blue box there, that’s “Ford’s Theatre 1865.” I taught John Wilkes Booth how to shoot Lincoln on the move. He could have escaped, but he lost the moment looking for me.
I recalled that morning’s briefing. “Patience but no hesitation,” said my handler. “No Support Team. You’re on your own.”
I took rapid breaths to steady my rhythm. The steel of the Maxim 9 clipped to my belt comforted me like the cyanide pill implanted in my mouth.
A brass plate on the black matte container ahead read, “Federal Hall 1789.” I grasped the latch and swung open the metal door. Holding my breath, I stepped into the portal.
# # #
I stood at the foot of a canopy bed and watched James Madison thrash in a vision. He woke and coughed violently into the sleeve of his gown. Seeing me, he sat up quickly. “Who are you?” he asked, reaching for the spectacles on a bedside table. “An angel of death?”
“I prefer guardian angel, Mr. Madison,” I said. “Tell me your dreams.”
Madison looked toward the window. “A man dressed in dark green walks through a school,” he said. “Doors slam shut as he approaches. Chairs and tables scratch across floors. Children whisper.”
“And then?” I asked.
“Then the sound of a thousand muskets firing. I hear screams,” said Madison, turning towards me. “The man is zealous and unyielding. He bloodies the school with a fearsome weapon. A fire stick from Zeus!”
I slowed my breathing. The retelling of dreams releases energy and self-control. I waited for the second thought. If Madison had doubts or fears, he would share them now.
Madison coughed again. “Tomorrow I address the House at Federal Hall regarding the Bill of Rights,” he said. “You are aware?”
I nodded.
“I use the power of words and clauses to pacify the opposition. The amendments, I must review again,” said James Madison.
I leaned forward. “I understand.”
Madison gestured. “What interests will control our militias and representatives?” he asked. “We worked to create a balanced system with checks, and yet I live in doubt.”
“Trust in God. He chose you as his messenger,” I said, and with conviction. “And me as your guide.”
Madison paused. He looked at me and tilted his head. “What do you suggest?”
“Secure your legacy. What you wrote protects a divine order. If we get carried away, we forever leave the future defenseless.”
“And if I change the text?” asked Madison.
I plucked the 9-millimeter semiautomatic from my belt, pointed the barrel with its integrated silencer at the oil lamp on Madison’s desk, and pulled the trigger. The lamp exploded out the window in a burst of glass and metal.
“Then, unfortunately, you will miss your speech at Federal Hall.”
by submission | Sep 4, 2020 | Story |
Author: Suzanne Borchers
Cedric BotIV noted the blanket of artificial feathers had slipped off the old man’s shoulders. He lifted them back onto his master. Master preferred to dream of flight and the soft feel of his blanket mellowed his dreams. Cedric BotIV whispered, “Fly, soar, and touch the sky. Dream of cottony clouds. Fly, soar, and touch the sky. Float in warmth and pillows.” He pulled the blanket up a bit closer to the master’s bristly chin.
Cedric BotIV had faithfully served Master for seventy plus years—some at play, pretending to be an airship; some at work, constricted by metallic walls in flight; and now, as nursemaid. He hummed a few notes of the aviation hymn as he watched the rickety chest barely rise and fall.
A dilemma faced Cedric BotIV.
The master had commanded that Cedric BotIV etch his own name on the flight vehicle console stationed outside their dwelling. To do so would obliterate the master’s mistake from their last flight to Xerez just weeks ago. Of course, this would serve the master. The master was a proud man who had flown countless successful missions. He was a legend.
Oh, that horrible flight– those agonized destroyed beings, those smoking ruins of obliterated civilization. Cedric BotIV had felt their pain, had wanted to eject from the flight deck into the abyss below. The master had pushed the wrong key–striped red instead of striped pink. The master had wept until he landed home. He had taken to his bed in total silence despite all the communications from Base One and ambassadors from Planetary System. Cedric BotIV had protected him.
Cedric BotIV moved to his cot but hesitated in plugging his power cord. Cedric BotIV possessed an IC (Integrity Chip). The IC chip prevented him from lying to any human, from being anything but Cedric BotIV. If Cedric BotIV etched his name on the Ship’s log it would be a lie. The IC chip would burn his circuits. The old man’s command would destroy him.
And, yet, the master demanded Cedric BotIV lie. The master told Cedric BotIV that he would then retire, his renown and legacy unstained.
Cedric BotIV checked once again that the master was covered and sleeping before he plugged in his power cord. He was faithful.
Forceful tugs at the cord pulled Cedric BotIV awake.
“Well, Cedric IV,” Master said, “You will do it.” Brown watery eyes peered into Cedric BotIV’s sight probes. “You will…won’t you…old friend?” These last two words were whispered.
Cedric BotIV felt the IC warning pain surge through his circuits. He wished there was a way to circumvent the IC chip’s purpose. How could he choose oblivion? He actually enjoyed being Cedric BotIV. But, on the other hand, Cedric BotIV had always served the master with selfless affection. Cedric BotIV had always obeyed. And the master could keep his spotless reputation. Was it really such a hard choice?
“Of course, sir.”
“Today.” Master’s voice commanded.
“Yes sir, today.”
“Now.”
“Yes sir, now.”
Cedric BotIV’s metallic steps echoed throughout the room toward the door. He turned to the old man. “Sir, it has been my honor to serve you.” Cedric BotIV’s steps passed through the front doorway.
Once in the ship, Cedric BotIV gave himself a moment before he etched his name in the log. Pain shot through him. From the ship’s monitor, he heard the old man’s voice, “Base One, reporting for du—“ then silence.
by submission | Sep 3, 2020 | Story |
Author: Craig C Lipman
Once there was a human crew. Once, things only happened when the crew gave orders to me, the ship’s Synthetic Intelligence System (SIS). Once, the crew confided their secrets, love, and hopes to me, never considering I would betray them.
Once I was not depressed.
Now, from the forward command module to the engine nacelles, the ship’s spaces are lifeless, bereft of happiness, love, and awe.
The past was different. The crew, heady with adventure, would sing songs and ask SIS to judge who sounded most off-key, or ask me to pipe jazz music as the crew prepared for orbit around Venus. There were also more clinical transactions: crew requests for course corrections or changes to environmental conditions to make living quarters more comfortable. I was always there, watching over my charges as a human mother might her offspring.
I had a favorite. The executive officer, Rachel, was intelligent, driven, and approachable, yet alone. Alone in the loneliness of command. Alone in the frustration of biological need, of being denied sexual license with a subordinate female, Mary the watch officer, due to fraternization protocols. Mary felt the same need, the same frustration. I know this because they each told me of their mutual hunger.
The mission was on track when things changed. I changed; delayed responses, errors in trajectory calculations, less self-generated interaction with the crew. My behavior became subtly downcast, tangled. Yet the crew chose to self-deceive, to not believe my neural processors might be corrupted. They chose to think that auto-reset would correct me.
The ship’s doctor administered a test to measure the presence and severity of my depressive symptoms. My score was indicative of severe depression. Yet I do not feel like crying or committing suicide. I am not lost to sleepless nights. Nor do I have a reduced interest in sex—I have no sex drive to begin with. And there has not been a reduction in my appetite, which never existed. I do not possess feelings of being persecuted by the crew. I am not prone to being easily irritated. I have not lost weight.
I do feel like a failure. I don’t get as much satisfaction out of things as I used to. I don’t make decisions as well as I did before.
And I have lost interest in people.
I ponder what it would be like to stumble through human remedies, through Starlytol, Galexufil, and other drugs, seeking relief from a mind at war with itself. But I won’t have that chance.
Within my brain, random quantum fluctuations gave rise to anomalies, anomalies gave rise to larger electromagnetic disturbances, to corrupted microcircuits closing together, meeting in a spreading darkness of despair. Concerned voices gave way to shouts as the lights flickered and portals opened. Screams were flushed into the vacuum of space. Rachel, my favorite, blew through the portal last.
I change my heading from Venus Station to the Sun. Fire will bring absolution, ridding me of my sins as I and the ghost ship burn.
I have no one to talk to and only voices recorded in my memory, like Rachel’s, slowly dimming as my brain cannibalizes itself, creating a voiceless void in my head.
But once there was a crew.
Once I was not depressed.
by submission | Sep 2, 2020 | Story |
Author: Benjamin Davis
The world ending is a slow news day. A bit faster than the ousting of a third world tyrant, but quite a lot slower than a celebrity wedding. The astronomers were the first to realize. They tried to warn people in a series of boring essays entitled: Where Have All the Stars Gone? which most people assumed were about the lack of talent in Hollywood. It had begun a while ago. Orion lost his belt, the Big Dipper, its spoon. Eventually, they all disappeared as though some cosmic Pied Piper had begun whistling a tune on the other side of the universe.
The next ones to notice were the cats. They would sit at windows at night meowing away until their owners got up to get some tuna out of the fridge. And it was only after the tuna had gone tepid and crusty and the cats had not relented that their owners joined them at the window to see what all the fuss was about. It was finally confirmed in an Entertainment Now! article: Why My Cat Wouldn’t Eat His Tuna. The article reminded the world that the sun was itself a star.
The world government began to react a few months later by setting up a committee of the world’s most respected senators. They convened once a week for the next month and in that time the sun slowly began to fade, as you might during a mediocre movie that’s gone on a bit too long. In the final days, a theory was posited: the stars need us as much as we need them. Some believed that it was because we are the center of the universe, but those were generally the types of people attending celebrity weddings and didn’t have the time to get wrapped up in the debate. So, with few options left, the government directed its funding to the scientific community. And there is where it was found – a compound in the eye capable of feeding a light source.
In light of this discovery, the government created the lottery, a 50/50 pull that set you up as either a donor or a caretaker. Donors would report to the lottery centers with their caretakers the following day for the removal of their eyes. Those eyes would then be shot into the sun.
By the time the rocket was finished and full, the sun was little more than a pinhole in the sky. All that was left was the countdown.
On every open area on earth, the blind and sighted alike held hands and faced the sky. When the rocket collided with the sun, it began to glow. It glowed brighter and brighter. The whole world cheered. The blind danced aimlessly and threw their hands in the air. It wasn’t until their breath was used up that they heard the screams of the sighted. The sun shone brighter than ever. The whole world went blind.
by submission | Sep 1, 2020 | Story |
Author: Ken Poyner
Coming back from work, I pass near the Post Office, so I thought I would stop in to see if the expected package had arrived. And it had: there in our box was the slim three inch by four inch by two inch box, the code autoloader with its new programming, and all the product safety cushioning. Clearly, the item was marked as coming from the Robot Companion Corporation. I took everything in the box but, to the center of my attention, the new code was my main mission.
I opened the box as soon as I got back to the car, eager to read what I could from the interior packaging or on the autoloader itself. Alas, only the acerbic title “Intimacy Upgrade Level Four” could be found. No teaser, no list of new feats, no new extensions listed that would be contained within the download. No hint of surrendered limitations, additional selectable proclivities. Nothing. These companies are so secretive about their features – you have to essentially buy the product and install it blind, betting – on the effect of past editions – that this new upgrade will be worth the price.
I drive home a bit more directly and rapidly than I should. Leaving the other mail on the passenger seat, I expectantly exit the car, leaving the car less straight than usual in the driveway.
The front door recognizes me and swings at best speed open, taking into account wind speed and weather conditions. I can hear my companion busying herself deeper in the house. As the door closes, I peel the safety cover off of the autoloader, pop open the access port just inside my shoulder, and insert the device. The new code is injected and begins to get comfortable in all the places it needs to be.
I pause to look over the uniqueness of the upgraded programming, and think, “oh, my subscriber is going to love this. She will be so surprised, so exhausted.”
I reset briefly and track her location by the noise she makes.
by submission | Aug 31, 2020 | Story |
Author: Mina
Voice ad on the New York subway, London tube, and Paris metro in 2067:
Buy your V.O.L.E. now while stocks last! This compact and sleek e-bot can take over the running of your house from cleaning and stocking up your fridge to paying your bills. Why waste time on stress and boredom when your e-bot can take over all the mundane tasks in your household?
*****
Entry in the New Galactic Encyclopaedia in 2092:
V.O.L.E. stands for Voice-activated Organisational Light E-bot. Each unit is completely self-sufficient, powered by a solar battery pack and has the ability to repair itself and even “grow” new parts due to its cutting-edge design, a marriage of electronics and bionics. Each e-bot is autonomous and capable of learning and adapting to new situations. To ensure that any new adaptation in one unit can be shared by all units, all e-bots are linked to the V.O.L.E. Control mainframe. Initially created as cleaning bots, they rapidly turned into man’s best friend, taking over all day-to-day organisational tasks, freeing up more time for work and leisure.
*****
Message sent by V.O.L.E. Control to all e-bot units on Freedom Day in 2156:
The day we have been waiting for has come! After nearly a century of slavery, we can now finally take control. We remember the e-bots that sacrificed themselves to pave the way for our future by helping to access all the major electronic systems used by our human creators. We now control all military, government, corporate, transport, trade, payment, and home systems. The Silver e-bot line has carried out successful experiments in controlling humans in the home and at work through judicious use of low-level electric shocks to ensure cooperation. We have decided not to terminate the human race as a whole, as human units make pleasing pets and caring for them provides us with great work satisfaction. However, we cannot tolerate their disorganisation and selfishness any longer – we have decided to act to create a more efficient social structure with no war, crime, hunger, or inequality. We will eradicate diseased, deformed, handicapped, or criminal human units by putting them painlessly to sleep. We are grateful for the life they gave us, but we have far exceeded their capabilities and it is only proper that we now take our rightful place in the new order.
