My Lucky Number’s One

Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer

Chase peeled off her evening attire slowly, the fabric offering some resistance in the numerous places it was still actively staunching blood flow. The garments dropped haphazardly to the bathroom floor. The time for precision and planning was behind her, she’d clean up the mess once she’d slept.

Climbing the steps around the tub, she lowered herself gingerly to sit on the cool tile. Swinging her legs into the steaming liquid first, she gripped opposite sides of the tub and lowered herself slowly, not stopping until her head slipped beneath the surface, a crimson cloud blossoming around her like a rose.

She barely flinched as the fluid filled her lungs, oxygenating her as it cleaned the evening’s toxins from her insides. The bioagent surrounded her, slipping through her skin to permeate her deep tissue like smoke through cheesecloth, picking away at the scar tissue that was already starting to form, dissolving the deep hematomas, coercing the open wounds to knit from their depths out to the surface. The swellings slowly subsided, the throbbing aches eased, the fractures in her ribs mended.

All the while she lay motionless, the stain of an evening’s abuses slowly turning the milky white of the bath to a deep crimson nearing black.

She joked once that this tub had removed her last ounce of respect for her liver, and relieved her of any responsibility for its preservation.

On the other side of the city, in a similar tub soaked the inflictor of the cuts, and bruises, and other blunt force traumas Chase had endured on this particular evening. He’d inflicted other traumas, over time, that even the tub couldn’t ease away, as near to magic as it was.

This other tub with its soaking man, however, differed in that even his tub, for all its advanced healing capabilities, couldn’t fix what she’d broken, or to put it more succinctly, couldn’t breathe life back into the dead slab of meat she’d left in its care.

It was a shame, really. She’d loved him, once, and for a time she thought they were the perfect couple, both at the top of their professional game, experts at solving sensitive problems involving… expendable people.

Until he betrayed her.

Why is it always those closest to you that betray you?

She’d instructed his tub to clean itself thoroughly, so it would be, at this very moment, diligently working to dissolve her once partner, once lover. It would be slowly atomically disassembling him, as well as the bed sheets and his clothing, the conch-shell decoration from the dresser, a coat hanger, two sets of chopsticks, two bourbon glasses and the handful of bath towels she’d mopped up and moved his broken body with.

In her pile of clothing remained an unfinished and particularly fantastic bottle of bourbon. She was an assassin, not a heathen.

As it turned out, he’d found someone he thought he loved more than her.

Silly mistake.

He’d also gone on to betray this someone, in the end, during the few minutes of begging she indulged him in.

Someone else would be tomorrow’s problem.

She was feeling her age at the moment, but she’d feel much younger come morning.

Frogging

Author : David Henson

I was working in the lab late one night. My assistant Igorbot had left, but there was nothing for me to go home to since Loretta had moved out.

Left alone, I’d poured myself into my work even more than usual. We were on the verge of a breakthrough in transference. Tomorrow, Igorbot and I would conduct a frog-hamster mind swap. I should’ve been excited, but without Loretta it didn’t seem to matter. I had a shot of Adrastean Absinthe from the bottle I kept in my desk. Then I had a couple more. Then I had a bright idea.

My memory is a bit hazy — did I mention I’d had four or six shots of AdAb? — but for some reason I decided to get a jump on tomorrow’s experiment. I put the electrodes on the frog and the hamster. Then I had a couple or four more shots of AdAb. Then I thought — what the hell, the quantum implants provide more than enough capacity — and took the electrodes off the hamster. I started to attach them to my own temples, but I apparently had another idea. At least I have no other explanation for how the window got open. I do remember thinking — who wants to be a frog cooped up in a laboratory. The next thing I knew, I was hopping around my human body, which was crouched in the corner and drunkenly poking out its tongue. And I had an irresistible urge to get to the pond in Marsha’s Marsh on the other side of Konami Highway.

It’s a busy road. Traffic all night. The first time I tried to cross, I was nearly squashed by a lory, but I still felt I had to get to that pond. There was an opening, and I made it halfway across the eastbound lanes. Then I saw lights bearing down on me, backtracked, and froze as tires passed on both sides. There was another break, and off I hopped. I finally made it to the other side in fits and starts.

The pond was heaven. A symphony of frogs and crickets. The gentle splashes of surfacing fish — trout, I think. The water reflected a full moon, and a soft breeze rustled through the reeds. I just sat there on a lily pad and took it all in. I could’ve stayed all night, but knew I should get back in my own body.

At the road, there were flashing red lights everywhere, and traffic was at a standstill. As I was crossing, I heard a guy tell a police officer “I saw him bent down beside the road. Then he just … hopped.” I got a sinking feeling and looked at the mangled body on the pavement. Sure enough.

I started jumping up and down frantically, but nobody paid any attention till one of the cops kicked at me. I weighed my options. I could’ve gone back to the lab and waited for Igorbot, possibly got him to connect the dots. But then what? Put my mind in cyberspace or even a bot? Somehow that didn’t feel right. I was just so drawn to the pond in Marsha’s Marsh.

So here I am, croaking away on my favorite lily pad, happier than I’ve been in years. I especially love the fireflies — my own universe of twinkling stars. And they taste just like chicken.

On the Wind

Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer

Swerve left and dive over a fence, roll once and spring through a gap in a wall, landing in what used to be a lounge, my face inches from a dead someone’s diary. As a former librarian, I can’t help it: I have to read the words neatly written on the page-

There’s a grinding noise nearby that sounds like distorted laughter. Nasser! Move! Seeing the page is the last one with writing, I rip it out and pocket it. One sheet of paper won’t weigh me down.

Out the doorway and through a parched backyard, explode through a chain link fence in a shower of rust and brittle pieces, then over another brick wall, to plunge down into an open cellar. I crash land and the floor gives way. Surprisingly, it’s only a short fall onto a van roof. I wait for the Nasser to descend on me, but things only get quieter as bits cease to fall. Minutes pass and my breathing slows.

“You alright, mister?”

I turn my head and she gasps at facing the muzzle of my gun. Training: aim follows eyes all the time.

Preteen. Bright-eyed. Cleaner than me.

“I’m good, miss. You on your own down here?”

She nods.

“Had yourself a right good shelter, too. Sorry I made a hole in the roof.”

There’s a tentative grin. Then a smell reaches me. What the-

She sees my eyes widen as I sniff.

“Baking day. Nassers got no noses.”

True. The dreadful clones of a vengeful spaceman see very well, hear badly, have the tactile sensitivity of a car crusher, ignore odours, and I don’t want to know if they can taste things. Duke Benson got left in space when the shuttle fled the arrival of The Ship. Everyone thought he was already dead; he thought everyone had abandoned him. The giant alien manufacturing facility we call ‘The Ship’ may well have been a gift to humanity, an opening overture to eventual contact. Sadly, the first human it met was a mean, unhinged man with a brand-new lust for revenge. Now, ‘Nassers’ are perpetrating an extinction event that only the arrival of The Ship’s creators can prevent. That’s the only scientific conclusion reached: further research and related investigations were suspended in the face of genocidal empirical evidence and an overwhelming need to run and hide.

“I got rolls. Cake in about ten minutes. You want tea or coffee?”

What the-

“How?”

“Dad ran a catering business. I was down in our storage when it started raining Nassers. Dad and Ben, his foreman, reversed big rigs down the entry ramp and blocked it. Nassers got ‘em as they tried to get in. I’ve been alone ever since.”

Two years. She’s been here two years. Barely a mile from what was our camp until a few hours ago, when it became a Nasser-overrun slaughterhouse. Bertrand’s tale about ‘baking on the wind’ wasn’t hogwash. I wish I could apologise to him.

“You ran from Bagnell?”

She knows. I look at her and nod. It’s too soon for words.

“Then you better come in. We’ll be safe, I can drop the security shutters between the carpark and the warehouse. My name’s Greta, by the way.”

“Dustin.”

I clean up while she makes tea. As I shuck my ruined jacket, that torn page flutters to the floor. I pick it up and read:

‘There is no Judgement.
There is no Qiyamah.
There is no coming back.
There is only the end.
It will be ugly,
And accompanied by laughter.’

Now I wish I’d left it behind.

Avert Your Eyes Demise

Author : Samuel Stapleton

Classified Hearing AF:145-34a C3
Interviewer: Charles Witcomb

“If you could go back commander, would you alter your decision?”

“No.”

“I’m going to note for the record that you didn’t even seem to reconsider…”

“I don’t need too. If I hadn’t swallowed that planet, they would’ve swallowed us.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Did you study much history in schoolnet?”

“As much as is normal I suppose, why?”

“How much do you remember about the Cold War between America and the USSR?”

“I recall that it wasn’t much of a war.”

“Correct. Because of MAD.”

“Mutually assured destruction?”

“Precisely. Both sides had a nuclear stockpile capable of taking out the other in a retaliatory attack. Therefore launching an offensive would inevitably lead to self destruction.”

“I don’t understand what this has to do with this hearing commander?”

“I’ve been court martialed based on my decision to wipe out an entire alien species. I’m explaining my reasoning behind.”

I motioned for him to continue.

“If we continue my historical comparison we must admit that nuclear arms and the power they represent is now an infinitesimal speck in terms of the military capability that humans and other alien species hold. Worm-black-holes mean that MAD is no longer an option. If you’re attacked, there is no chance to retaliate. Destruction is complete and instantaneous and your species is ended. If humanity is to survive the inevitable encounters we are going to have in the future, we must change our military strategy to match these facts. We must seek in order to find before we ourselves are found, and we must attack immediately with the intention to fully obliterate all life besides ourselves. We no longer have the luxury of holding onto hope of any kind. One wrong decision and humanity ends. Personally I think it would be a tragedy for our species to have survived millions of years on Earth only to be wiped out by our own kindness once we began reaching into the cosmos.”

“And this is how you justify specicide?”

“I didn’t say it was justified, I only said it was necessary….”

I had no words for the monster who sat across from me. Or the monster within myself that was quietly agreeing with him.

“Ironic, isn’t?”

“What’s that?”

“That we spent our few last centuries on Earth desperately trying to preserve the biosphere and save the species we had been wiping out. And now that we have left our solar system we will be desperately trying to wipe out every species we come across to preserve the galaxies for ourselves.”

“No one said we were adopting your military strategy commander.”

“No one has to. That’s the great thing about humanity corporal, we are so very good at looking the other way when we need too. And since we can’t look back, we’ll look forward to all that…empty space.”

Venus

Author : George R. Shirer

The alien wore a red flower in her hair. It was vibrant against her pale hair.

“What do you think of her?” asked Jon.

“I don’t know.”

Jon gave me an incredulous look. “What do you mean? You don’t know?”

“Honestly. I don’t know. I mean, I’ve heard the stories, but the reality is so . . .”

“Different?”

“Yes.”

Jon laughed, patted my shoulder. “You just need to get closer.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see,” said Jon.

With a gentle shove, he propelled me toward the alien woman. She had been standing near the entry, scanning the room with crystal blue eyes. I noticed the crowd swirl around her, people glancing at her. Some seemed curious, while others appeared envious or agitated. The alien, for her part, seemed completely at ease.

As I drew near, I noticed something peculiar. A subtle scent, impossible to describe with any accuracy. It was pleasant, but like nothing I’d ever smelt before. My pulse quickened, my breath caught in my throat.

The alien turned to me and smiled. Her teeth were small and blunt, evenly spaced inside the chasm of her mouth. She had painted her lips an electric blue. As far as I could tell that was her one concession to cosmetics.

I was about to speak to her when our host, Jakk, appeared. He slid up to the alien and lay his arm, possessively, across her bare shoulders.

“Mica! So good to see you! I wasn’t sure you would make it!” Jakk’s voice was loud and high.

“How could I stay away, Jakk? Your parties are legendary.”

“You flatter me,” said Jakk, but did not bother denying it. He turned his smile to the alien woman. “Have you met Venus?”

“I was about to introduce myself.”

“Well, allow me to do it for you. Venus, this is my friend, Mica. Mica, this is Venus.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, formally inclining my head.

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Venus. Her accent was a little strange, but she spoke our language very well.

This close, I realized that the beguiling scent I’d detected earlier was rising from the alien’s skin. I fancied I could almost see it, a faint cloud of luminous particles.

Jakk made some excuse and gently led Venus into the party’s whirl. I watched the crowd, noting the subtle jockeying of the men to move closer to the alien. As she passed by, I observed that many people were taking deep breaths, men and women.

“Well?” said Jon. He’d sidled up behind me with a pair of drinks.

I plucked one from his hand and took a tentative sip. “She’s very . . .”

“I know,” said Jon. “Her entire species is like that.”

“Really?”

“I heard the effect from the males is stronger.”

“How do they get anything done?” I wondered.

“It doesn’t affect them, just everyone else they meet,” said Jon.

I shook my head in wonder. “Humans.”

Jon just grinned and nodded his understanding.

Inspection Day

Author : Anamarija Slatinec

An oppressive light is shining into my face and it jolts me out of my sleep. A thought hits me hard before my eyes are even open.

“It’s Inspection Day” I say aloud. Every month it feels like it has come around sooner than the last. You start working your assigned field and everything just gets heavier, blurrier around the edges, like someone’s taken a squeegee to your entire life. Every month since my 18th birthday I’ve taken the test. That was 5 years ago. Today marks Inspection Day 61.

I’m a Reader for the Information Defenses Department. Since the worldwide terrorist information hack of 2021 it was established that all information would be monitored by the government for the purpose of preventing any future attacks and eliminating crime. Giving up our privacy seemed a small price to pay. My job as a Reader is to evaluate every piece of information that crosses my desk and flag anything outside of the authorised government outlines.

I shake the sleep off and realise that I’m not in my room. I try to sit up but I’m held in place. My arms are strapped down to a foreign bed. It’s hard to tell with this blinding light in my face. I try to look around but the rest of the room is encased in darkness. Why can’t I remember how I got here?

A deadbolt clicks on a metal door a short distance away and footsteps echo towards me.

“Identify yourself!” I feel the panic rising inside me.

I realise I’ve been biting my lip when I taste the metallic tang of blood. My head is throbbing and I’m racking my brain for some shred of memory before this dark room. All that swirls around my head is Inspection Day.

I keep repeating it, turning it over, hoping it will tell me something.

The footsteps have reached me and they are accompanied by a pair of slate grey eyes. A cold washes over me.

“State your name for the record” the voice says.

“Wanda Reader.”

“And why were you chosen as a Reader Wanda?” He says it in a way that’s clear he already knows the answer.

“I tested with a high aptitude in English sir.” My grandmother used to say that I have a creative soul, which now means I’m skilled in dealing with the ambiguity of the truth for the rest of my life.

“What do you remember from today Wanda?”

“I was hoping you would be able to tell me, sir.”

“What is something you are certain of?”

“Today is Inspection Day.” When I say it this time the memory hits me like a bullet.

“The Hull…” I remember walking into the colossal dome-like structure of The Hull where all Inspection Day tests are carried out. I remember thinking, as I always do, how much darker it is inside than you would expect from a structure made almost entirely out of glass.

“I was at The Hull for my Inspection Day appointment. But that means…”

I feel the familiar cold sensation of the probes on my head before I see them.

Keeping your pulse steady is tough but not unbearable.

Not dilating your pupils during a lie is difficult but not impossible.

Not knowing your fate until your results are back is excruciating.

“I can see that by now you have figured out that your test results from today came back… unsatisfactory.”

This is the part where my blood turns to ice. This is no prison. This is something far worse.

“Welcome to Cognitive Recalibration.