by submission | Dec 17, 2016 | Story |
Author : Morrow Brady
Through my VR glasses, I opened the file and a 3D computer model of an office tower loomed before me. This century old relic, designed by a long dead Architect, was my job for today.
I worked my way down the building, systematically walking through each floor. Each 3D building element was interrogated and its information informed the recycling schedule of the drone demolition crew. By late morning, I had reached the concrete jungle of the underground car park.
At sub-level three, I approached three store rooms located near the lift core. Their steel doors were added to the work list of the drone crew responsible for reclaiming metal for recycling. I entered the third store room. It was sparse, except for electrical fittings and timber veneer shelving. Piecing through the specifications of each 3D object, I noticed a data discrepancy in a wall mounted light fitting. Under its warranty, where a time period was supposed to be, was a web-link. I frowned and clicked the web-link.
“Enter Light Fitting Identification Number ___” Said the simple text on display.
I puzzled at the odd workflow but switched back to the model and copied the light fitting’s number into the web page.
“Set light mounting height to 1500mm” Displayed the new text.
I cursed the convoluted processes of the dead Architect, then switched back to the model and selected the light. The computer model listed the mounting height at 1800mm. My OCD for closure, drove me to change the light fitting’s mounting height in the 3D model to 1500mm and to my delight, a fourth hidden room faded into the plan view of the model. Intrigued, I looked for a door in but found none. So I switched to god-mode to walk directly through the wall into the room.
“Limit of Model Boundary. Access Denied” Said the error message.
Frustrated, I removed my VR glasses and went for an early lunch. From the street-side café, I gazed across the park where my eyes settling on a tall tree. A concentration of bare winter branches revealed an empty bird nest. I had looked at that leafy tree all summer, but it wasn’t until autumn that it revealed its secret.
That was when a thought emerged.
I put on the VR glasses and linked to the control system of the tower’s onsite demolition unit that had been delivered a week before. I watched through the on-board camera of a survey drone, as it cleared its docking niche. A decayed tower of stained concrete and broken windows loomed before me.
As the drone descended down the abandoned lift-shift, rusted doors rose from darkness. It emerged onto the third sub-level. Inside the store rooms were crammed with old furniture and the walls stained from water damage and graffiti. The timber laminate on the shelving had peeled away long ago.
In the third store room, the light fitting waited impatiently. I manoeuvred the drone’s manipulator arm and yanked the light downward. It hinged toward the floor and an audible clunk sounded. The entire wall cracked and swivelled about its centre, sweeping blackened dust and debris in its path. Slowly, I orbited the drone around the wall and entered a room that lay silent for over a century.
It was empty.
Spinning the drone slowly, the far wall rotated into view. I trembled as I began to read the scribble of a long dead Architect.
“725, 5TH AVENUE – 2 OF 7”
And that is how my journey started.
by submission | Dec 16, 2016 | Story |
Author : David Burkhart
Where the hell is she? Joel searched everywhere for her. The cargo hatch was still securely sealed so she couldn’t be in the cargo bay. She couldn’t have opened the forward hatch or they would have been sucked out into space. It was only a small forward cabin on a space cargo ship – there was not anyplace for her to hide. He looked behind every panel, in every cupboard, under every floor tile, and inside each piece of equipment but she simply wasn’t there. Ellen couldn’t have just vanished like that.
Maybe I’m finally going space crazy, thought Joel. Maybe Ellen never really existed. He tried to remember the training and advice he had received to prevent going space crazy. But he couldn’t recall the shrinks mentioning anything about how to deal with a situation like this. In particular, he remembered Dr. Johnson, who had spent a considerable amount of time talking with him and coaching him. Ellen looked very similar to Dr. Johnson and the thought of the two of them made Joel even more desperate to find Ellen.
He checked the instrument panel. The clocks showed that they had left Earth 836 days ago and would reach their destination after another 283 days in space. Unloading the mining equipment from the cargo bay would take about 2 weeks and then they would begin the long journey back to Earth. He noticed one instrument with a red light on. The corresponding screen said ‘Error 45920. Rebooting from backup 36G’. Joel knew every screw and bolt, every instrument, every knob, every panel, every circuit, and every wire on the ship. He could take the whole ship apart and reassemble it by himself. But for some reason he couldn’t remember ever seeing the instrument with the red error light. I’m really going space crazy mad, Joel thought.
Suddenly the red light went off and the error screen went blank. Confused, Joel stared at the screen wondering what to do. Suddenly he felt her presence. He sensed her standing behind him.
“Where have you been? I’ve looked everywhere for you!” Joel asked.
“I was ill. I feel fine now.” smiled Ellen.
“Don’t ever disappear again. I‘ll go crazy without you.”
“I’ll always be with you, Joel. Trust me.”
by submission | Dec 15, 2016 | Story |
Author : Michael Jagunic
There was an asteroid belt made of bones on the other side of the quasar. I saw it, long ago. It is all that I remember of the last place.
Of the place that came before that, I remember nothing except that I was there, long long ago.
Sometimes I stop among the stars, briefly, but long enough for the light to touch me, to catch me. This new place is white with stars. There are so many worlds here, civilizations mighty and sprawling. A place of near limitless possibility.
But possibility leads to actuality. Actuality leads to decay. And decay leads back to the old places. This white place will soon rot black. These civilizations will become bone and dust like the last.
I resume. The light falls away from me, too slow.
*
For a time, I linger here. I think this is what I always do, but I cannot be certain. The eons erode my memories. Soon the recollection of the asteroid belt of bones will slip from me forever.
But I enjoy the lingering, so I think that I am likely to have done it before, in the last place, and the places before that.
There are places here, worlds, that glow and warm and invite. The creatures of these worlds cannot perceive me as I move between the slow plodding light of this place. But they call out to me, nonetheless.
In one green place, I touch the creatures with my hand, I caress them with winds and rains. They are born and die within a moment. It is a marvel to behold.
They do not know the way I know. They do not see, or sense, or treanitivate, or derundicale. But watching them gives me the illusions of these things. They swarm together, they blossom together, they die together.
I see in them the possibility of treanitivation, of derundicality. But possibility leads to actuality. Actuality leads to decay.
They will grow, they will ungrow. This white place will soon rot black.
*
I resume. I take some of them with me. Perhaps this, too, is what I always do. I do not remember, but this time feels different.
I spread these creatures across this place, leaving them to grow and ungrow in beautiful flurries of illusory meaning. As I leave them in my wake, I know that they will call out to me. But I will not hear them.
The light cannot touch me here, and neither can the sound of their voices.
This place is aging. Soon it will be like the last places, the ones I have long forgotten.
*
There was a planet full of two-legged creatures on the other side of the quasar. I created it. It is all that I remember of the last place.
Of the place that came before that, I remember nothing except that I was there, long long ago.
by submission | Dec 14, 2016 | Story |
Author : Steven Carver
One last tremor ran through the pod as it passed into the atmosphere of the small blue planet. The heat shield retracted from the viewport and the pilot got his first view of a real ocean. His home planet had dried into an uninhabitable barren husk long before he had been born. None of the old pictures could have prepared him for the real thing. Deep blue unbroken from horizon to horizon, lines of white marked the top of waves, where the light of their star reflected off the surface, blinding. The sight so enthralled him it was several moments before he registered the descent warning; his entry angle was too steep. With great reluctance, he tore his eyes away and adjusted his trajectory. As his course corrected, it brought into view his targets. Two grey vessels came into view far below him, cutting proudly through the waves.
Others had tried to persuade him, convince him to stay. Too violent, they had said, too shortsighted. He couldn’t deny their arguments, but he had studied them long after others had given them up as incompatible. He had a good feeling about them. For a species so good at violence, they also had a penchant for beauty rarely seen in the galaxy. Paintings, sculptures, poems, music, games, movies, stories, dance, their creativity was endless.
Destroyers, his research had revealed, they were called. Arleigh Burke-class. Powerful warships belonging to a powerful nation. His best chance to for an audience. By now he was low enough to start maneuvering into position to land. He could see the symbols painted on the front of the ships, 97 on the left one, 88 on the right. His control panel indicated they were tracking his flight with high power beams of microwave radiation. RADAR they called it, and he laughed to himself, remembering reading about when his people used before they had abandoned their home world.
For such a small planet, they were certainly noisy. Broadcasting audio and 2-D video into space without even trying to hide where they were. They didn’t even know there was anyone that could be listening. He had listened though. They were a young species, but curious. They could grow replacement organs in labs, they were cloning livestock and launching probes into deeper and deeper space. They were ready.
His gamble paid off, they were more curious than cautious today. He guided his pod to a gentle landing on the flat portion of the rear of the ship marked 97. As the engines shut down he could already see them coming out of the interior. Wearing protective armor and pointing their projectile weapons at his ship, they almost would have been intimidating if they could pierce his survival suit, let alone the hull. Placing the clear helmet over his head with trembling hands, he took a deep breath of the canned atmosphere he would be breathing for the foreseeable future and tried to contain his excitement. The pod slowly slid open and he stepped out into the sun. He slowly lifted his hands to show them to be empty. He moved his face into the unfamiliar expression they would recognize as a smile, and hopefully interpret as friendly, and took a breath.
“Take me to your leader.”
by submission | Dec 13, 2016 | Story |
Author : Elle B Sullivan
“I’d like to file a complaint.”
The teller looks back over the counter at me, and sighs audibly. “You will have to fill out form 3C,” he replies in a monotone voice.
He hands the form over to me and I take it to the seating area behind me, grabbing a pen on the way.
I look down at the form and fill in the fields I already know without hesitation. However when the complaint form asks what the complaint is about – there is a subsection for the subject or name of the item I am complaining about.
“Roxanne,” I mumble. I write down “Program vixen vacation: Roxanne” and the correct program number.
“What is your complaint?” The prompt asks me and I stare back at it.
Where do I begin?
Do I start with my initial experience and explain how pleased I was?
Do I talk about the program’s ending and my expectations which – were not met?
Or do I talk about the dreams… and her voice… and all of the memories still haunting me?
“Program did not sufficiently end.” I write and look back over the form. “Program was enjoyable at first, left a euphoric feeling once completed as expected. However the expected feeling has not subsided, I am still feeling euphoric and-”
Sad… Distraught… Inconsolable…
Heartbroken.
“- the program has not ended. I have restarted the system, cleaned out the cache, and re-integrated all visualization elements.” But all I see is her face… I miss her. “And I would like the program to be fully terminated.” I finish the form and look over the completed form before handing it over to the teller.
As I walk home, a couple walks past me and I swear it’s her voice I hear. Every passing face on the sidewalk looks like hers… Every curve of the passing woman’s hips feels so familiar. I see her bouncing hair, her big eyes, and her full lips, and every face – it’s her face. I love Roxanne. I miss Roxanne.
Once I get home, I put on my visualization device and enter into a new program. It’s one I purchased that is meant to calm anxiety and instill a mental calm. As soon as it begins, I think about how much she would love it. How much she would enjoy doing it with me.
Where is she now? Who is she with now? Does she think of me?
No.
She can’t.
She can’t think of me. I am but the flavor of the week for her, just her client for that day.
–
Two days later I received a message back about my complaint. It reads:
“Dear Sir or Madam,
We are sorry the “Program Vixen Vacation: Roxanne” did not end well for you. We are not sure what could be causing the issue of recurrence, as the effects of the program should terminate once the program has been removed from the device. However we are happy to set up a service date for your device, and we will resolve this issue as soon as possible.”
But they can never get rid of Roxanne.
Roxanne is not in the visualization device. Nor is she in any program I own. She is real.
The time we spent together will stay with me forever, my heart belongs to Roxanne. And I will never forget her.
by Julian Miles | Dec 12, 2016 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Remote data entry: 17-10-94:00:21:12 – Origin: Earth 50.825024, -0.383835.
There’s a crater in the ceiling and blood on the floor. It forms a crimson ring around the leg sheaths and pelvic girdle assembly that used to contain Chris. As for Chris, well, that’s anybody’s guess. But, given the wisps of smoke rising from the bowl of the assembly, I don’t think he enjoyed his last moments as an agent of our overlords.
I don’t know what happened to him out there, but he came in with their first wave as an ‘ambassador for peaceful integration’. The Chris I knew was gone, replaced by the half-man, half machine that presumed I’d accept the him/it without a fuss.
Chris and I had had an intensely physical relationship. This new Chris couldn’t partake but revealed voyeuristic needs that I wasn’t up for. Chris took to working extended hours in the spaceport ring. Where knocking shops and streetwalkers were plentiful. He didn’t realise that after whatever strange release he needed, his pupils would glow for a few hours.
The newsfeeds were heavily censored, but our overlords were ignorant of the depths of the ‘net. News got out. The overlords were heavy handed, relying on total eradication of witnesses or ‘terrorist bombings’ when dealing with any opposition.
The day I saw Chris on a video feed, choking the life out of a protester who could have been me, I became a resistance member. Not that there were clandestine meetings or anything like that. I just took what I did best – chemistry and biology – and applied it to the problem of the ambassadors.
Our overlords still hadn’t arrived – some reports said they were desperately fighting off our forces out the back of beyond and had sent the ambassadors as part of an attempt to relieve the pressure on them. So, we had to quickly deal with these things ourselves.
I spent a couple of weeks collating whatever dietary and environmental information I could, then started experimenting on my resident guinea pig. Three weeks later, I have a smoking pelvis in my kitchen. The clue was Chris’ sudden aversion to salt and vinegar crisps, something he had formerly loved: he’d been a bag a day devotee and hated being posted to countries where crisps were called ‘chips’ – he said they couldn’t get the flavour right.
Sodium acetate is the primary ingredient in the flavour of salt and vinegar crisps. It had been easy to obtain, but supplies had dwindled. I suspected I knew why, and my third test – with baking soda in the sugar and a 100-grain vinegar base for the salad dressing – blew Ambassador Chris apart. I wish I knew the exact reasons, but the disintegration of the torso has removed any autopsy options.
Fight on, folks. Earth has got the measure of this infestation now. We’ll be clean and clear by the time you return victorious.
