by submission | Mar 15, 2017 | Story |
Author : David Henson
“Honey, are you going to use the DreamMaster tonight?” Sally says to her husband.
“You bet. I’ve scripted a football match,” Jim says, laying the DreamTablet on his bedside table. “Big hero.” He taps his thumb to his chest. “You?”
“Think I’ll take a break tonight. Have you brushed your teeth?”
“Oops. ‘Bout forgot.” Jim goes into the bathroom. When he returns, Sally is scooting back to her side of the bed. “Well, good night,” he says, leaning over and kissing her.
“Night yourself,” Sally says.
Jim connects a wire from the DreamMaster controller to a contact at the base of his skull, turns off the light, and quickly falls asleep.
“We welcome the mighty earthling Jim to our planet, Sensuria. I am Queen.” says the statuesque woman wearing only a see-through chiffon gown. It is our custom that I and my 20 beautiful handmaidens welcome you with a night of wild lovemaking.” Jim quickly removes his spacesuit and follows the beautiful Queen into her chambers.
Adhering to the custom of Sensuria, Jim makes passionate love to the 20 beautiful handmaidens, saving his best for the Queen. “There has never been a man on this world who has pleased me so,” the Queen says hours later. She climbs on top of him.
“OK, one more time,” Jim says. “I know I’m hard to resist.”
The Queen leans down as if she’s going to kiss Jim. “We have another custom,” she says, turning into a giant spider. Its drooling jaws gape open and chomp his head.
Jim wakes up screaming. His wife is holding the DreamTablet. “Football match, huh?” she says. “How’d you like the little surprise I put at the end?”
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Honey. I just scored the winning goal is all. Honest.”
Sally nods at the tablet. “I saw what you wrote ‘mighty earthling.’ You know I hate it when you lie to me…But I forgive you. I wish you’d show some of that endurance and creativity with me.”
“I will. I promise. I think I’m addicted to this thing. Let’s put it in the basement.”
“Good idea. I’ll give you some encouragement,” Sally says. She leans over to kiss Jim and suddenly becomes a giant spider, gaping, drooling jaws opening around his head. He wakes up screaming.
“What…What’s happening?” He yanks the wire from his neck. “OK. Disconnected. Not dreaming.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I put that in your DreamScript — ‘Jim removes wire.’ ”
“No…that wouldn’t… Wait, it would…” Jim pinches his arm. “Ow! That hurt. I must be awake.”
“In the script.”
Jim pinches his arm twice more. “Ow! Ow!”
“Script script.”
“Wake up! Ow!”
“Does it hurt? Let Sally kiss and make it better.”
“No! Ow!”
Jim squeezes his eyes closed as Sally gives him a long kiss. Then they have passionate sex.
“That was wonderful, Honey,” Jim says. “I thought for sure…” He clicks his teeth.
“Don’t be silly,” Sally says, yawning. “Let’s get some sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open.”
Sally leans in to kiss her husband. As she does, Jim’s head turns into a jack-in-the-box and pops. Sally gasps and wakes up. Jim is holding the DreamTablet.
“Jim! What?”
“Turnabout is fair play. At least I didn’t chomp your head off.”
“OK, OK. I guess I had that coming. Really now. Sleep.”
The two lean in to kiss — stop, eye each other suspiciously, then turn over and say good night.
.
by submission | Mar 14, 2017 | Story |
Author : M. Irene Hill
September 8, 2040, Special Area Babylon, Planet Earth:
Control center: “We are offline and shield is down. Initiate cataclysm.”
The last vestiges of rosy light disappeared behind giant cumulonimbus clouds which rolled in from the four cardinal directions, converging above the massive base. Outside the reinforced glass of the launch control center, the pastel sky turned gunpowder grey, and thunder ricocheted through the valley. Golf ball-sized hail pounded the dusty red earth.
Within a fifty-mile radius, the storm wreaked havoc, and consequently, no civilians witnessed the titanic egg-shaped craft enter the Earth’s atmosphere.
“Trajectory is good. Cleared for landing.”
North of control center, a giant crater in the dusty red earth opened its maw and swallowed the incoming extraterrestrial vessel. The rumbling ceased and cloud cover dispersed, unveiling a starry sky, and a slice of moon.
With the egg safely in its nest, standby EVAC crafts returned to base hangars.
Thousands of feet under Babylon, visiting dignitaries of the Grey and Draco Nations were greeted ceremoniously by many of Earth’s highest-ranking officials and monarchy.
The travelers were ushered to the Libra Lounge where half-human, half-reptilian servers in prismatic outfits offered them burnt toddlers, and virgin plasma cocktails, with brightly colored straws to sip from.
Assembled members of Akkad Confederacy discussed interplanetary matters, new technologies and business relating to soul farming on Earth.
The recently cryo-resuscitated Elvis Presley quit the stage for the evening and sat at the bar, drinking a glass of buttermilk with his grilled PB&B, while hybrid-reptilian dancers twerked to the music pumping out of the sound system.
At half past eight, a female Grey dignitary named Tiamat motioned for attention.
The music hushed and the dancers discreetly exited the lounge. Tiamat took a quick sip of her plasma cocktail before speaking.
“Asteroid Apophis was a complete f@*k-up, leading to the situation we are in now.”
Sighs and expletives issued from the assembly.
“The Planetary Council has claimed responsibility for defeating our undersea bases on the West and East Coasts. Thousands of our members have been brutally slaughtered; many more cross-breeds have been captured and relocated to other star systems where they are being deprogrammed by the Planetary Council.”
More murmurs and heavy sighs.
Tiamet’s voice softened: “I know – it’s discouraging, but we still have operatives positioned in all levels of government and military. The implantation program has been very successful to date, and we are working on a new vaccination that will allow for greater modification of the human brain in utero. The soul farms on Earth and other colonies continue to thrive, as we learn new cultivation technologies and seed the cosmos with our bloodlines.”
Tiamet noisily sucked though her purple straw, her big black eyes blinked several times. Her words rang out boldly:
“Moon, Mars, Mercury, Venus, Saturn and Jupiter have all come together in a golden conjunction – an event that was foretold hundreds of centuries ago, predicting our victory in the House of Libra.”
Tiamat made a three-fingered salute, and the gold band on her middle finger shone brightly, projecting a holographic image of a fish and a dove on the ceiling.
Ecstatic sighs and reverent murmurs.
Tiamat’s puckered, o-ring mouth spread in a gruesome grin.
On cue, several tall, pale-skinned hybrid beings wearing white sarongs served red wine and biscuits inscribed with Odin’s cross to the gathered patrons of The Libra Lounge.
Tiamat waited for everyone to be served, and tasted a tiny morsel of her biscuit. She raised her wine glass and toasted the crowd:
“We may have lost the battle, but we will win the war.”
by Julian Miles | Mar 13, 2017 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The prototype bodyguard robot stands over both of us, waiting for emergency services that will arrive too late.
“Git.” John’s voice is a whisper.
I’ve never seen anyone with an expression like his: confused and peeved.
Whilst the expression is novel, it is entirely justified. After all, I’ve just knifed him.
“I’d say I was sorry, but it’d be a lie. Instead, I’ll go with ‘I told you so’.”
The whisper is weaker, but suffused with anger.
“You stabbed me!”
“Five times, all perforating wounds. You’re a dead genius talking. Proven wrong in the most authoritative case of empirical testing for some while to come, I suspect.”
“Bastar- What?” His eyes widen as my words register with his fading consciousness.
“You wouldn’t accept that your design had a massive flaw. Most murders are committed by persons known to the victim. And, aside from America where they gun each other down over the slightest thing, the weapon of choice is a knife. Usually of a household variety.”
“I allowed for that.”
“No, you didn’t. You allowed for a ‘trusted friends’ list. You actually installed a single point of failure in a system where a single failure is one too many.”
“What are you blathering about?”
“Look, I know the light is dimming, but try to grasp this: most murders are committed by people known to the victim. Therefore, having a trusted list allows those most likely to kill you to bypass the bodyguard robot’s vetting. Darwin is turning in his grave.”
“Darwinism is some delusional justification?”
“Actually, I’m a sociopath. Justification is always a moot point. Anyway, the Darwin reference was to highlight the fundamental nature of your design flaw. It really is a dead-end feature for your creation. And, yet again, you failed to grasp that.”
“You utter nutter.”
“Really? I walk by your defender, get a knife from the kitchen, come back past it with a blade in my hand, then shiv you up and down. I thought you’d be grateful for the insight. Your bodyguard is, in effect, partially blind.”
“You killed me to prove a point? You’re crazy.”
I look down at the blood streaming from the smoking hole blown through my shirt and abdomen: “Says the man who ignored the obvious but programmed a ‘retaliate’ function in.”
Amusement glints in his eyes as he replies: “Fuck you.”
He dies. The grin remains after his eyes lose their vitality.
Bastard.
by submission | Mar 12, 2017 | Story |
Author : D.J. Rozell
Agent Jackson sat down across the table from the bio-hacker and started in before the guy had a chance to size him up, “We’re not here to collect evidence – we’ve got plenty of that – but to discuss motives. Clearly you are a genius.” The agent was priming the pump. “So, why use your considerable talents for this?”
“Well, as the media correctly surmised, my little experiment had a social agenda. I decided to give the world a nudge in the right direction.”
“That was some nudge,” Agent Jackson remained polite despite the annoying false modesty.
“True, my expectations have been exceeded.”
“How so?”
“Well, as you know, the virus copies the genetic material of an infected male to a subsequent infected male’s sperm, but only those with Y chromosomes. The result is male offspring with random paternal genetic origin, but female offspring that still bear the original parents’ genes. This manages to preserve both the traditional mate selection process and the basis for families while at the same time elevating the status of females in society. I’m pleased to see that nobody prefers male children anymore.”
“Except for families in isolationist compounds and the wealthy who can afford sorted in vitro fertilization.”
“One virus can’t fix every problem…”
“Yeah, back to the main point. Did you actually think you could end sexism with a viral infection?”
“End, no. Greatly diminish, yes.” The bio-hacker was getting more animated. “The current generation of children already accepts the new paradigm. Unless a vaccine is developed soon, motivation to return to the old ways will quickly fade.”
“What about men with genetic diseases who were ostracized or worse?”
The bio-hacker inspected the table, “Every technology has unintended consequences.”
“Unintended consequences?” said the speaker in the wall. Agent Williams was standing on the other side of the mirrored glass. His marriage had been part of the early collateral damage of the virus before scientists realized what was happening.
Agent Jackson segued, “Yes, one unintended consequence has been for our profession. Violence has emptied some countries of bioengineers, while others are stockpiling them like weapons. So, the real reason we have you here is to offer you a job.”
“Why?” The bio-hacker was faking surprise.
“Reformed bio-hackers are the best security specialists.”
“What if I say no?” Now he was trying to bargain.
“We go public with your identity. Long trial. Life in prison.” There was a long pause.
“OK, I’m in.”
“Good. The official story will be that the virus was created by a scientist that died three years ago. Case closed. Meanwhile, you create a treatment and vaccine.” The bio-hacker’s eyes narrowed. “Consider it the appropriate conclusion of your ‘experiment.’ A good scientist always cleans up when done. Right?”
The bio-hacker brightened and leaned in, “Actually, now that we’re colleagues, I think you’ll be more interested in what I’ve been working on since the first release. It’s a benign bacterium that will end religious conflict.”
“Very interesting. Excuse me for a moment.”
Agent Jackson and Williams had a brief discussion and then sent the bio-hacker home with a handshake and some paperwork to complete. Agent Williams made a phone call. Later that evening, the bio-hacker would be abducted by an isolationists group in black ninja-like biohazard suits. Agent Williams said it was apropos – vigilante justice for vigilante science. Meanwhile, Agent Jackson erased all records of the day. Then, both agents went home to enjoy their Father’s Day weekend.
by submission | Mar 11, 2017 | Story |
Author : David Kavanaugh
“First day on the job?” asked the women in the lab coat, twirling a set of digikeys on one finger.
“Yep.”
“You excited?”
“Sure am. I’ve been on the waiting list for ages! It’s funny; there seem to be job openings here all the time, but I put in my application months ago and only just heard back.”
“Yes. Well, we go through a lot of interns.”
She turned and set off down the hallway, keys jingling.
“They quit or something?” asked the intern, jogging to keep up.
“The job certainly takes its toll. But it’s noble work, in my opinion.”
“I’m not worried. I’ve been obsessed with genetically modified creatures since I was a kid. My bedroom was covered in posters of all the best GMC’s: rhinodiles, land orcas, condorosaurs, super grizzlies. I’m psyched about working with them, even if it means cleaning up after them.”
“Oh, we’ll handle the clean up.”
She swiped a key at a set of steel doors which slid silently open. They walked through into a cavernous room, their footsteps echoing of the bare walls. In the center of the room stood a colossal cage constructed of hundreds of crisscross titanium beams. A bright orange DANGER sign was posted dead ahead.
“Oh. My. Freaking. God!” shouted the intern, eyes wide. “A living, breathing komodosaurus! I can’t believe I’m really looking at one. It’s incredible!”
A forked tongue hissed from between the massive jaws. The dark, stony eyes of the twenty-foot monster stared down through the cage bars, curious and cold.
“It’s huge! What do they like to eat, anyway?”
“Mostly underpaid, uninsured interns,” the woman answered wryly.
The intern’s eyes rolled. “Ha. Ha. Seriously.”
“Originally we gave them a variety of meats; venison and pork mostly. But one got loose at the company party last Christmas. Ate a jar of caviar and got all but addicted to the stuff. And that’s a not a joke.”
“So you actually have to feed it caviar now? Wow. Must be really expensive.”
“Oh, the bills were dreadful. But we found something else they like just as much, and the price is far more reasonable.”
“That’s good.”
The woman swiped a second key and, to the intern’s surprise, a doorway on the cage swung open. The beast blinked.
“Is that… safe?”
The woman shrugged. “All part of the job. Come closer.”
The intern smiled nervously and inched forward through the cage’s opening, heart racing.
“Whoa. I think it likes me. See the way it’s looking at me. I’m sure it likes me.”
“No doubt.”
In a single, fluid motion the beast’s scaly head darted downward, snatched the intern in its jaws, and tore the body from the ground. A moment later, with a little belch, the intern was gone. Only a sneaker remained, dangling from a shoelace looped around a yellow tooth.
The woman in the lab coat sighed, locked the cage, and spun her keys as she sauntered from the room.
“Thank god for interns.”
by submission | Mar 10, 2017 | Story |
Author : Madison McSweeney
It was 9:30 AM on a Friday when the Martians landed on Dave McQuilty’s farm. The ship, which was more spherical than saucer-shaped, touched down in the midst of some cows. A long silver platform descended and a little grey man stepped out.
Dave waved. The little grey man made a strange hand gesture and said, “Take me to your leader.”
“What a marvellously egalitarian system the Martians must have!” Dave declared, as he set out to make the arrangements.
He started by calling the office of the Prime Minister, whose number was conveniently listed on the Parliamentary website, and requesting a meeting between himself, the Prime Minister, and a special foreign guest. A pleasant secretary told him that the Prime Minister was very busy, but should his schedule free up they would contact him.
Dave was not surprised by this. The Martian, however, did not understand. “How can this man be your leader if he refuses contact with his citizens?”
Dave shrugged. “I suppose, in a way, it increases his esteem. Perception of exclusivity and all that.”
Dave’s second step was to contact the Government House Leader, who, he figured, had an impressive enough title for the Martian’s purposes. The House Leader, however, was also very busy that day. Dave then tried to call his local Member of Parliament, the provincial Premier, his local Member of Provincial Parliament, and the Mayor. No luck.
He decided that the best he could do was take the Martian on a nice tour of Parliament Hill. So he and the Martian drove an hour to Ottawa and parked in an underground lot. Reading the list of hourly rates, Dave hoped the tour would be quick.
To partake in a public tour of Parliament, visitors must wait in line at a Service Canada building across the street from the Hill. It being a Friday, the building was packed with other tourists waiting for the same thing. Dave and the Martian settled into the back of the line.
After waiting forty-five minutes, Dave reconciled himself to the fact that they would not be getting a tour of the Hill any time soon. He pulled the Martian out of the line and the two walked back to the lot, where Dave paid his $30 parking fee and wondered why the alien could not have landed on the Hill itself and saved them both a lot of trouble.
“So, to summarize,” the Martian said, adjusting his seatbelt, “I travelled fifty-four-point-six million kilometers from the planet Mars on a diplomatic mission to make contact with the Leaders of Earth, and I cannot meet your Prime Minister, your Government House Leader, your Member of Parliament, your Premier, your Member of Provincial Parliament, or your Mayor. I cannot even set foot in your Parliament Building.”
“Listen here,” Dave snapped. “If you wanted any of these meetings you should have called ahead. It’s a Friday, for Pete’s sake. I’m doing the best I can.”
His options exhausted, Dave took the Martian to the Canadian War Museum. The Martian interpreted this as an aggressive act, and an invasion was launched.
