by submission | Apr 27, 2020 | Story |
Author: Isaiah Stott
The ship drifted through the starry sky. Its engines long cold. The walls on the inside of the ship had been stripped, cables and mechanical parts littered the halls. The emergency lights on the floor flickered, as somewhere in the ship another generator failed.
A synthesized voice echoed through the ship. “You haven’t started your daily tasks yet. Are you feeling well Ensign? Shall I play the video again?”
All the operational screens showed a beautiful young woman. “Hi, honey. I imagine you are busy right now, So I decided to leave this message for when you have a bit of free time. Addie was asking about you again today. I keep telling her that her daddy is off on an adventure saving people from pirates and thieves.” A gleeful squeal rings out off-camera and Addie runs past the camera in an onesie holding a toy. “She really loves the gifts you sent her from the outer colonies. I know we talked about this, but I think once your contract is up you should transfer into the private sector.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “We miss you and hope you can make it home soon. We will be waiting.” She signed off with a smile.
“I know, I know. I’m almost home, Sam. I’m almost home.” The Ensigns voice thin and weary. His footsteps heavy and methodical as he moved around the ship.
“Ensign, another generator has failed, we are down to 32% power. Restoring the generator may not be possible this time. I had to turn off some auxiliary functions. Currently, life support, heating, water purification, nutrient reclamation, and the distress signal are functioning at maximum capacity. Should another generator fail, I will have to begin cutting those off.”
“How many days until we are in Federation Space?”
“28 days, 13 hours, 12 minutes, and 58 seconds. Be sure to do your daily exercise as well, you need to keep in top physical form.”
“Generator first don’t you think? If it is fixable, I’d like to get that up and running as soon as possible.”
“Good call, Ensign. I feel it has been a while since your last psych eval. How are you feeling today?”
Ensign picked up his toolbox and made his way through the skeletal remain of the ship. He could still see the bridge no matter where he was. “Did you remember today is Addie’s birthday? I hope she has made some friends. She won’t want a cake, she’ll want . . . a pie. Yeah, a blueberry pie. Sam will wake up early to make her one. It won’t turn out well at first, she was never very good at baking.”
He groaned quietly as he bent down to look at the generator. “She won’t give up though. She will keep trying until she gets it right. She will probably drop it off and have lunch with Addie.”
“Ensign, that does not answer my question.”
He looks up from the generator his beard rough but kept short, he runs his hand through his salt and peppered hair. More salt than pepper these days. His eyes gleaming. “Hopeful, I’m feeling hopeful.”
by submission | Apr 25, 2020 | Story |
Author: Ananya Bhatt
I heard the bell. It was time for science class. I took a computer chip out of my brain and put in my science class one. By the time I got to class, the information was downloaded. I was ready for my test.
My name is Ava Johnson. I am 14 years old, and because of my accident, I have aced every single test for almost the past year. When I was 13 years old, I got into an accident and almost died. My parents were given two choices- to save me by putting a robot/computer brain into me or let me die. They picked putting a computer in as my brain.
Later that day, we played basketball. Kate, the girl in front of me, was running about 6 miles per hour and dribbling the basketball every 0.62 seconds. But, she was getting close, and not slowing down. If I moved over, stole the ball at the exact time, and ran, I could score easily! When Kate came, I stole the ball and ran. As I was running, I calculated exactly when to jump and at what speed so that I could get high enough to dunk the ball. And I did it! “Let’s go! I made it!” I said. When I looked back though, I saw Kate on the ground. I thought, “Well, obviously if you were running at that speed and didn’t slow down, then tried to pivot, you were going to roll your ankle. Didn’t everybody know that?”
Kate looked like she was crying, but I had no idea how she felt because I didn’t remember crying. Her mom and friends came down from the bleachers and hugged her.
As I walked out, I saw another girl crying. I walked up to her. She sniffled, “My cousin died of cancer!” “Well, at least 10 to 16 million people die from cancer a year so the chances of your cousin living were pretty slim,” I said. But, this just made the girl cry even more. I really wondered what I had done wrong.
That night, I went to sleep. I saw a younger version of myself who looked about 9 to 10 years old. I had gone out with my mom to get ice cream. As we walked back to the car, I dropped my ice cream. I started crying, but it wasn’t just because of the ice cream. My mom and I would spend time together by going out for ice cream. However, we couldn’t afford it all the time, so when we got it, it was a treat. As I was crying, my mom came over and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her hug made me feel warm inside. As she let go of me, I was already feeling better.
When I woke up, I knew right away that eating ice cream was not good for you and could cause colds. I also knew that hugs and kisses were one of the best ways to spread germs. I knew it was a dream, but unlike most dreams, it didn’t go away. It stayed. It felt so real. It was like this had actually happened to me. But, the thing was, I had seemed so much happier and full of life. Back then, I had felt happier. I had been able to feel. After the accident, everyone told me I was very lucky to be alive. In a lot of ways, I could do a lot more than I could before, but, is this life truly better than before?
by submission | Apr 23, 2020 | Story |
Author: Michael Anthony Dioguardi
Important information for all Galpasorean invaders!
It is imperative that you read this entire message before invading this human-occupied quadrant. Following the initial provocation that concluded with the deaths and consequent consumption of more than half of the Earth’s animal population, there has been new information released regarding the trends of the human race.
Please continue to the adjacent wall, as that information will be disseminated after these declarations of paramount importance are read and understood in full. It is unorthodox to be reading this message written on the walls of this building, but be sure to continue moving forward, and most importantly, don’t stop reading!
The humans now know that Galpasoreans are capable of decoding human language and writing. After witnessing the full-scale assault and devouring the United Nations’ representatives, it is evident that the preliminary objectives set forth by Galpasorean leadership have deceived the public. Your objectives were never peace nor prosperity; you came to dominate. Earth became your sandbox, and humans—your toys. How predictable of human nature, for us to open our doors to the invaders standing on our footsteps.
Is this message boring you? Just wait! Walk past this next wall and you’ll receive all the information you need to know—faster than a bullet! But don’t look away! There are still more declarations to be made!
I had a family. I had a husband, three kids, a dog, and a cat. I watched you take them and shove them into your cages floating high above our atmosphere. God can only tell what you did with their poor souls—yes God! Are you familiar? I don’t think you’ve grasped the concept of religion yet; it’s uniquely human. He’ll have his vengeance though—just you wait!
It’s almost time to share the information regarding the recent developments in human activity and behavior. Please continue reading, as this will be relayed momentarily! Gather your comrades and squeeze together! This message might be washed away by dawn!
Humans are curious creatures, aren’t they? Solitary, but organized in communities, and naive yet so cunning! I know you’ve scoured our history and are aware that we began in caves. We dwelled in the dark, exiting only when necessary, in search for food, water and knowledge, and sometimes, for other reasons…
You’ve made it to the final wall!
Amid your domination, you must realize that we—just like you, can wait in the shadows…
You must continue reading! It is very important that you realize…
That as you finish this sentence…
we are taking aim …
right…
now.
by submission | Apr 22, 2020 | Story |
Author: Michael Anthony Dioguardi
The last man on earth to beat a cyborg on the track? That would be Galen Ryan, of course. To this day I don’t remember why he did it, or rather, what point he was trying to prove; he wasn’t any good, at least in the professional sense. He had only won five times during his professional running career. From the time he started racing his own flesh-and-blood, until the time he took his last steps—literally (he lost his damn legs) against those souped-up bucket-of-bolts, he was a lane one, or lane six starter at best. He went out too slow and had too much pride. With that goofy mustache and bulky build; he looked more like a wrestler.
But that fifth win—there won’t be anything like that, ever again. It definitely started the great ‘conversion,’ or ‘purge,’ depending on who you ask.
Play dirty! That just wasn’t in the cyborgs’ wheel-house. When you’re built on efficiency, it’s tough to pull off something that’s considered ‘illogical.’ But Galen did it anyway—thoroughly embarrassed the suckers too.
We were in Vegas. The cybies loved the dryness and the sun beating down; any moisture would rot them to the core. Galen was the only person entered in the 1,500 that didn’t have a chunk of metal replacing his limbs. And it was a damn-talented field: National champions with robotic legs, decision-enhancing chips implanted in their cerebellums, robotic spines—the list goes on.
The media pounced on Galen. The Vegas odds screamed against him. But he had an ace in the hole. He visited Myron Partridge Stadium the night before the race, broke into the ruined pump house, and tinkered with the pipes. In the locker room the day of, he shared that tidbit with me, telling me to bet big on him winning. I sensed he was up to something but went along with it anyway—put what I had on a first-place win for Galen Ryan, much to the bewilderment of the odds bots.
The stadium roared when he stepped on the line. Thousands of folks were here to witness, what they expected to be, the nail in the coffin for humans in athletics. The gun went off and the cyborgs lurched off the line. Galen did his usual trailing game but seemed unusually comfortable sitting in last place. I shook my head and turned away. My money was gone and Galen was toast—that stubborn pride.
As if from God himself, rain spurted up from the ground. Galen turned on the sprinklers, somehow still installed beneath the turf. The runners sparked and collapsed, and the crowd—mostly cyborgs—panicked and stormed the field.
At some point in the chaos, Galen got his legs blown clean off. Cauterized! Right above the knees.
Galen’s career was over, his final bout ending with a ‘W,’ by default. And the cyborgs learned how to play dirty. Considering I was the only one to bet against the cybies, I purchased myself the best protection dome a homeowner could buy with the winnings. Galen became public enemy no. 1, but I made sure he got a piece of the pie. He lives comfortably, just with two fewer legs.
They watch us every day though. I’m just counting down the days until they finally learn to commit to their new-found logic and play dirty. That day is yet to come. And Galen Ryan is still alive—for now. There are a lot of shadows gathered outside my dome. They’ve been listening.
Better grab the hose again!
by submission | Apr 21, 2020 | Story |
Author: Irene Montaner
I take one last look around the beauty aisle. Combs, hairbrushes, face creams and cleansers, body moisturisers, shampoos and conditioners, bath foams, hand soaps – empty racks by the way – ear buds and cotton pads. And then, black ragged plastic bags where makeup used to be on display and a paper that reads ‘Item temporarily not for sale’. No foundations, concealers or mascaras. Damn it! Whoever thought that makeup was not an essential.
A mirror still shows between the makeup stands. I glance at my reflection. The purple beneath my eyes no longer passes for dark circles. And I’m already sporting a mauve sheer glow on my skin. I clearly have two options here. Commit to lockdown and hide. Or show my true colours. My people are still far away. One point two light-years away, to be precise, and at their cruising speed of twenty-five percent the speed of light it would take them another five years to reach Earth, give or take a month or two considering the time spent in deceleration and approximation manoeuvres. And there are only four hundred seventeen thousand fifty-nine of us on site carrying out different undercover experiments and investigations on the human folk. A lot, I know you’re thinking, and you hadn’t even noticed. Until now.
“Mwahaha,” I laugh as I glide on my tentacles along the stranded corridors of the supermarket. The few cashiers on duty scream and run, just like everyone else who had ventured outside on this sunny day to shop for groceries. I make myself comfortable at the customer service booth and begin my broadcast. “This is a call to all earthlings. Stay home, stay safe. That’s what your authorities are telling you. And that’s what we, the people of Rigel, will tell you. Because we, Rigelians, are the new authority on Earth. Do not fight, do not fear. Stay home, stay safe. And we may allow the few survivors of this pandemic to live a quiet life of servitude for the rest of your days. Mwahaha.”
I delight in the unfolding chaos. People circling around, not knowing where to hide. Children crying and cars crashing. A few ones getting out their guns and aiming at me and then panicking because they realise that bullets don’t get me – they’re actually being refracted by my personal and transparent defensive shell. Smart, ha! It takes approximately half an hour Earth time for the folly to be over. No more shootings or yelling. All is quiet and there’s no one around. At least no one alive. Time for the next step in the first phase of Rigel’s plan for Earth domination.
I close my eyes and synch my brainwaves with those of my comrades. I transmit coordinates, details of my situation and the information we’re allowed to share at this stage. The message spreads quickly through every country and continent. Confinement becomes even more real. The future is here and the future is purple. Rigellian purple.
by Julian Miles | Apr 20, 2020 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
We’re eighty-four days out from Sondehaven before we pick up the right beacon. I get everyone’s attention with a short blast of the klaxon, which prompts a round of rude guesswork as to my parentage and next sexual partner.
“You’re all hilarious. Now, we’re on beacon, so decide what we need to get repaired and fake it. You’ve got about an hour before we enter nosey bastard range. I’ll klaxon again five minutes out.”
The Firefly-class freighters that gad about the free trade routes often provide settings for broadcast soap opera. I presume scriptwriters associate independent minds and close quarters with dubious morals and tempestuous relationships. I wish. While free traders might be prone to cowboy-esque antics, the real problems occur in the freespace habitats. Even the folk on orbitals have the option of getting groundside for a holiday.
In space, no-one can hear you argue. Having to put up with every little foible without respite is a recipe for disaster when you add the levels of stubborn and strange that attract people to living in the big empty. No-one can hear you kick the living spit out of your partner – or partners – either. Cults and abusers love freespace.
I let the klaxon wail fade slowly this time, knowing how the diminishing sound spurs us on to get things completed before it goes quiet.
The moment we get within range, Sarah comes over the comm.
“Emma, we’ve just been double-tapped by lifeform and weapons scans. Both wide spectrum, just inside legal limits for civilian use.”
Indicator number one: paranoid overreaction. Somebody’s expecting something.
“Jahnee, time to turn the macho up and do the aggrieved owner routine.”
I listen in.
“Bluebitch calling beacon site. Bluebitch calling beacon site. Request assistance.”
The voice that comes back is grating: “Bluebitch? Good name for a ship, brother. What can Halla Station do for you?”
“Something in the air scrubbers is fried and none of the fluffies on this tub have enough mechanic to fill a cup.”
“See that too often, brother. A breathable berth and tech access for a day do you? Got decent food if I gee my skirt up, so you come down for a chinwag and leave the fluffies to the scutwork. They’re on your tab, after all.”
“Got a point there. I’m Dean. What do I call you, and can I bring my own waitress?”
The laugh is menacing.
“Name’s Tom. Bring whatever you like, as long as it’s pretty.”
I’m going to enjoy this.
An hour later, Jahnee’s in combat gear, while I’m in a demure little bodysuit that’s a size too small. I call it my ‘fishing gear’.
Jahnee might as well be invisible. Tom’s an eager lad. With him pawing my anatomy, this is too easy.
“Hello, precious. What’s your name?”
“Stungun Surprise.”
“Wha-?”
Down he goes. Jahnee gets the sedative in fast.
Natalie and Mike dash past, calling for our passengers: “Nameh? Raxon? We’re from Bluebird.”
We help victims vanish into the big empty, off to better lives. As we’re free traders operating under aliases, the abuser has next to no chance of tracking us.
Another thin woman, another boy with haunted eyes, another small trunk of belongings.
Natalie explains.
“A shipman on your supply run called Bluebird. They monitored things for a while. After they confirmed the shipman’s opinion, they sent us.”
Nameh gestures to Tom.
“What about him?”
“There’s warnings on the courtesan networks and other useful places. He’ll have to adjust.”
Or die.
She looks at me like I said the last two words out loud, then nods.
“Let’s go.”
