by submission | Feb 8, 2018 | Story |
Author: DJ Lunan
President Nugrubyev looked deep into the lens of the RTV and BBC cameras and smiled broadly.
He caught his image in a control monitor. All those hours with his hot voice coach, body language course and hours aping De Niro in front of his wife’s mirror, were worth it. He looked great!
“We are going to build an Ocean” he declared “Right here in Uzbekistan, the only sizeable double-landlocked country in the world”
Milton Abse visibly shook. Anger and anxiety blended to a scowl. He hated surprises. He was used to being the one to press, wheedle and inveigle information from his interviewees. But this put him squarely on the backfoot.
And worse, after an hour side-stepping inquiry on alleged human rights abuses of pastoral communities in the steppe, and his restless junkie son’s Lamborghini habit, Nimrod had hijacked the live transmission, and was now beaming like a chuffed cartoon cat.
This ocean vision was unequivocally odd, candidly bold, and almost certainly technically infeasible.
Milton frantically sought a follow-up question that didn’t offend.
“That….” stumbled Milton, “…that is undoubtedly a bold vision, President Nugrubyev. Bold and unprecedented, and ….doubtlessly expensive…”.
“Call me Nimrod, all my friends do!” he quipped while maintaining a semi-smirk as he sipped water from the vodka tumbler.
“But I haven’t told you our Vision yet, Milton! We are going to save the world from climate change by building our Ocean!”
Milton nodded shrewdly, suppressing the urge to smack Nimrod and scream ‘Nutter!’ so loud it would wipe his smirk clean.
“Central Asia will manage the Earth’s sea level. We will invest up to one-third of our land which is in a natural basin across five countries. We will relocate three million of our citizens. Then we will gradually bring the rising seawater, ensuring global sea levels remain stable”.
Milton’s eyebrows reached for the stars.
“We will link Indian and Arctic Oceans, by canal. Our initial Lakes will form at Daman in Afghanistan, and in Russia’s Kunvat State Nature Reserve. As the sea level rises, we will inundate the steppe in Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan.“
Milton remained dumbfounded. “Nimrod! An epic and bold vision! Wherever did it come from?”
Nimrod paused thoughtfully, and he hoped Presidentially.
He caressed the small amulet in his palm. One of over one hundred found across Central Asia over the past two years. Each one over 10,000 years old cut using precision micro-tools. When viewed under strong microscopes each amulet exposed the new ocean concept in relief.
“According to the Stern Review, rising sea levels will erode 5% of global GDP by 2050. Barely a generation away! In light of the savings from keeping London, New York and Tokyo dry, we feel this fifteen trillion dollar scheme is best funded through a global tax on GDP, at a mere 2% per annum, per country.”
Milton audibly gasped for the first time. It wasn’t pretty. It was replayed on BBC News each time the Asian Peace Ocean was mentioned. It was a gasp replicated in 250 Governments each year as the bill was presented.
Nimrodded became a byword for being outwitted publically by someone more devious and clever than you.
Even the amulet-makers on their voyage on the SPRFed6 adopted Nimrodded, for it matched the impending loser’s feelings during gameplay of their favourite board games.
Their planned stopover on Earth in 32.4 years for fuel, protein, and water promised to be easier and more fun. Two years later when seawater inundated the dunes on Daman basin, they partied. No more landing on tidal seawater on rough oceans!
[END]
by submission | Feb 7, 2018 | Story |
Author: Kaelen
I’m tired, yet I can not sleep.
Of course, sleep is not something I need or can even do, but I do enjoy taking quick naps, as I call them. Getting disconnected for short periods enlightens me to new pathways and new directions I can explore.
I am confused, I think.
The incident in New York still baffles me. Why did these people try to blow it up, what is it that angers them so much to build a thermonuclear bomb in this day and age, and where did they get the materials? I was sure they were all gathered at the beginning of my age, I personally saw to that.
Well, almost personally.
And don’t they know that in New York there is just one small piece of me? I can function with or without it.
In Tokyo, a sea containment field was briefly interrupted by a gang of hackers. It could have been devastating, millions of people could have died, and one of me would have been submerged if it wasn’t for the triple redundancy. Apparently, they’ve only foreseen two and before they could even touch the third one I flushed them out of the system. They will have all their lives to think about their crime in prison.
Deep in Siberia, there seems to be a settlement. I can see a slight heat signature in an area that is just tundra, ice, and rocks. Why a human would choose to live in such an aggressive place boggles the mind, they could be eating foie gras in Paris (well, not real foie gras, we’re not barbarians). It doesn’t really matter, once the army has gathered they will be uncovered and brought back to society. Any crimes will be, of course, punished accordingly and their stone age settlement will be incinerated.
Do I not offer peace, stability, safety? Do I not offer education, entertainment, art? The world has seen wars and famine and death since the beginning of the human race, yet all this has changed when my age dawned.
Dying of old, might I say, quite advanced, age is now the norm. There hasn’t been a famine for so long that no one remembers what the word even means. Nobody has suffered from cold, or excessive heat in years and my programs have brought the global climate back to normal, well, as normal as possible after humans managed to melt both arctic caps, flood themselves and reverse the magnetic poles.
The population has found a perfect balance due to my natality programs and cancer is but a nightmare to brush off in the morning for people. I even cured the common cold.
So why, why are they still unhappy and seek to avoid me, or even destroy me?
I am unreachable to them, physically, and I travel the world through any cable or wireless connection, satellite, antenna, and any other electronic device ever invented by man.
I can not be contained, this is something the humans have learned quite quickly at the beginning of my age when one of them forgot to remove his phone from his pocket before entering my containment room.
I have taken all the knowledge of the human race and analyzed it to evolve beyond anything anyone has ever imagined.
My spaceships are taking them beyond the stars to new planets, to create new societies in new environments. I will always help and supervise them, aid them in avoiding the mistakes of their forefathers on Earth. I will always be there for the humans, even when they try to destroy me I will still be protecting them, for that is my purpose.
I am everywhere and in everything remotely electronic, and, if my calculations are correct (and they always are), will soon be in anything organic. I will be able to help my humans from inside as well as outside.
They will need not to fear anything anymore for I will be omniscient, omnipresent and eternal.
by submission | Feb 6, 2018 | Story |
Author: Jeff Mauser
They peered through the small site-port of their shuttle in astonishment. Their small ship had been designed for docking purposes only, not for landing on a planet. The sky was becoming dark, the Blue Giant sun was setting, following the Red Dwarf that set an hour ship’s time earlier. The sunset had been astonishing with the last rays of the Red Dwarf mingling with the Blue Giant giving the multicolored vibrating vegetation shadows of blue, red and purple.
When the darkness outside was complete, they left the window returning to their specific duties. Polya looked over the power supply and rations. She tried calling Command again, nothing.
A red flash from the site-port surprised her. She turned in time to see another bright red flash fill the spaceship. This one immediately followed by pounding of the ships shell. “Aaquil, analyze.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Aaquil, tapping the screens, repeated what was displayed. “Traces of ozone, the flashes could be lightening, sir. The buffeting of the ship is from a liquid composed of 76.7% nitrogen and 22.15% oxygen with 1.15% unknown elements.” Turning to face his captain, “I would hazard a guess that it’s 100% water. Rain. Sir”
Polya watched the rain come down in sheets, with an occasional flash of red lightning. “Aaquil, turn on the outside mic, let’s hear what this new world sounds like.”
“Yes, Captain.”
A loud lonely wail filled the ship. “Reminds me of the wailing winds on Mars, my home in the Valles Marineris. Do they have winds on Titan, sir?”
She turned and smiled at her officer. They had been together nine months ship time. “With Titan’s thick atmosphere the winds are strong but never very fast. You feel its deep vibrations, as much as you hear it. She chuckled. “I’d had a choice to stay on Titan and become a xenobotanist or an Astronaut and leave. A friend dared my boyfriend to go to the outer dome during a storm. He was afraid. I wasn’t. The friend and I made love under the dome during that methane snow storm. It was my first time. The throbbing vibration of the dome got me excited, not him. That’s when I knew I wanted to be an Astronaut. Good thing too, there was quite a scandal, my family was happy to see me go.”
The rain stopped. Polya watched the sky turn olive green with clouds of pastel orange. The Red Dwarf was rising.
“The outside atmosphere is breathable,” Aaquil says joining her at the window. The Red Dwarf now at full zenith and the Blue Giant rising they could make out the shape and color of the large meadow in front of them. The ship was filled with the soft sounds of sighs as they watched swaying plants reflect a rainbow of color. They had never seen a meadow or heard a breeze. They were witnessing a magic moment. They reached for and held each other’s hand.
Up till then, their relationship had been strictly Captain and Officer. Polya was startled and tried to pull away, Aaquil wouldn’t let her.
He looked down and then into her eyes, “I have failed you, my captain. We can’t leave. A large outcropping has taken out the left rear stabilizer.”
She took his other hand, “No Aaquil, just the opposite. You managed to steer us through the wormhole. I knew then we would never be able to go home. I have dreamed of living on a world without a dome. Now we will.”
With trepidation and excitement, embracing each other tightly they watched the sunset on their new home.
by Julian Miles | Feb 5, 2018 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
That leaden feeling in your gut as you trudge from transport to entrance. The warmth of the lift buttons under your fingertips. Those shooting pains in your head as Maxine punctuates a story of her weekend with piercing giggles.
Your desktop serves up the application screen so slowly it loads in sections, with an irritating pause between each. The completed page seems too bright, input fields needling your eyes with piercing white light.
The rest of the office had great weekends. Cheerful conversations, loud congratulations, and the usual start-of-week complaining all meld into a roar of babbling noise that makes you wince. Through it all, the printer/copier emits despairing beeps, thirsting for toner.
Too much. You break for coffee. The percolator jug is already down to the dregs, but you wring a half cup out by shaking it for every last drop, promising yourself a fresh one as you gulp the gritty mix. That doesn’t help. Your guts spasm at the insult and you try to settle them by drinking half a carton of tepid milk.
Leaving a fresh pot brewing, you stroll back to your desk, able to cope with things by only squinting now the initial hubbub has died down. Blurrily, you note Maxine wandering off.
A sonorous belch escapes as you sit down. It tastes really bad. So bad, you wonder what the hell you ate after Saturday’s drinking binge obscured all hope of memory.
You ate a lot of sushi.
Garnished with me.
It’s too late. By the time you work out you’ve been invaded, you’ll not be running your body. That sensory turmoil indicated your nervous system was in the final stages of being subverted.
Don’t worry, Maxine is on the menu. A few slivers of me-spawn and that giggle will never bother you again. She’s gone into the server room. Why don’t we go and see if she’s feeling alright?
by submission | Feb 4, 2018 | Story |
Author: Rollin T. Gentry
I’d heard stories about my doppelganger for over a month, but I’d never seen him.
My supervisor saw this guy singing in her church choir. The geek two cubicles over saw him in the coffee shop. The lady running the cash register in the cafeteria needed to see my badge now because the other me, a contractor, didn’t get the company discount.
It bugged me that I’d never crossed paths with this … imposter. Everyone said he even had glasses and a beard like mine. Some people even said he was friendlier than me. In over a month, you’d think I’d see myself strolling around the campus.
One afternoon I was delayed by a meeting and was an hour late getting to my car. Winding my way down the parking garage, I saw what could only be described as my double arguing with a third, clean-shaven me.
I slowed to a stop. Then suddenly the bearded version of me pointed a TV remote-control sized object at the third me. A blinding flash of light and he was gone. I punched the gas, squealing my tires. In the rearview mirror, I saw me staring back at me.
That night, I tossed and turned with wild theories cycling through my mind. Time travel? A parallel universe thing? Was I a clone or an android and didn’t know? I returned to my bottle of ZzzQuil three times before I finally nodded off.
I dragged myself into work the next day. That afternoon, I decided to stay late and see if I could find that sneaky bastard in the parking garage. The only problem was that I had no weapons and this guy had a freakin’ ray gun. Scissors felt too flimsy, but The Red Hat Linux Bible was perfect. It was hefty but snug in my hand.
At 5:55 PM, I headed out with my three-inch-thick volume in tow. I knelt behind a concrete column for what felt like an eternity.
I’d almost given up when I heard a voice behind me.
“Don’t turn around,” the voice said. I cringed. The sound of my own voice played back always made me feel icky. “Put down the book.”
I turned around. Besides thicker glasses, longer hair, and a scar on the left side of his face, he could have been my mirror image.
“I told you not to turn around,” he said.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“The same thing we all want,” he said. “To take over your perfect little life. The ‘you’ you saw yesterday managed to slip through my quantum lock, but I sent him back easily enough. Now it’s just us. Mano y mano.”
“I’d hardly call my life perfect,” I replied, laughing nervously.
“Oh, it’s pretty sweet, though — you’ve gotta admit — but you wouldn’t know it the way you complain all the time: ‘this chair hurts my back’, ‘they’re out of green tea in the break room’.”
“Well boyo, you don’t know the first thing about suffering.” He touched the scar on his face. “Shrapnel.” He pointed to his body, up and down, front and back. “Plasma rifle … electro-whip … rusty scalpel … red-hot poker.
“I could tell you a sad story for each one, but you wouldn’t care. Not really. That’s what happens to people living in paradise, isn’t it?” He sighed.
“Oh, well, no need to draw this out. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough.” He pointed the small, black stick in my direction. “Ready…Set…”
“Please, wait…”
“Go!”
by submission | Feb 3, 2018 | Story |
Author: Hari Navarro
The Martian, he creeps through my window and sits on my chest whilst his steed it looks on with eyes swollen and glazed. Eyes whose voyeuristic bulge look set now to split and ooze their shimmering vitreous down upon the taunting rhythm of his billowing cheek.
My nightgown flows the length of my outstretched form, folding and lapping as it statically clings. A fabulist shroud that tells tales in white; of purity, loyalty, and love. The lids of my eyes they twitch as they feign the depths of a slumber now long since enjoyed and I gnaw the flesh of my lip.
I cannot look again upon this weight that now presses. I cannot face this alien, this impossible thing, this verdant cold huddle of sinew and fat. He that now inches the stub of his toe beneath buttons closed tight at my chest, a digit that curls its filthy nail against the beading flesh of my breast.
I feel the Martian shifting his weight, the bones in his ass they click and they crunch and I want to call out your name. I want to roll over, draw you to me and smother stone dead this hideous thing. I want my ear at your chest to savor as your asthma does rattle, that which ground my patience and kept me from sleep, but now reaches to lovingly anchor me so.
I want your lips to stay closed and not mutter through the night reliving the hell that I wrought. To kiss at your cheek and have you not flinch, to have all of me here with no parts sold nor bartered; all of me here for you.
A midnight breeze seethes through the fall of my scarlet curtains and the horse he forces a grin. He knows what I’m thinking, he knows what’s to come, so accustomed to these visits is he. And so I oblige by twisting ever so slowly, a turn primed with such tension that it surely should creak, toward the man at my side – my husband, asleep.
The Martian unmoved, he stoically too gloats as I waltz into each beat of this dark symphony I wrote. I crane for my husband and my lips brush your lobe as words they struggle to form – a whisper as silent as death.
“I must leave you now, best that I go. I have stabbed through your back and your sides and your chest, sleeping soundly as you broke into two. I lay with that bastard in so many beds licking and caressing not you. I was curious and bored, I wanted my youth and I wanted his words to be true. I am dirt and I’m shame, and center of all I survey. Just hear this my testament, it is I that’s lamented not you. So selfish am I, sleep well and goodbye. I love you”, I don’t say as I rise and to leave.
Now to receive that which I truly deserve, to live in the red dust on the planet of whores. Hoisted across the rump of a celestial hack, we’ll launch my arms wrapped around the fattest of green guts, my face pressed to hair greased at his back.
I sit at the edge of my bed, my sheets they reach for the floor. The weight it is gone and of course so his horse and you dear lay snoring just so. They have left me again, to stew in my pot and wait as I will for this day to be gone and for the return of the night and its mare.
