by submission | Nov 8, 2014 | Story |
Author : CR Briffett
Welcome to Perfect Match. Please sign in through one of your professional or social media networks.
Thank you, we will now gather all of your digital data.
When you are ready to meet a perfect match, simply come down to one of our centres, donate a saliva sample and we’ll take care of the rest.
Jay shut down the monitor of his phone. It rolled back inside the device and he locked it with his little fingerprint.
“Hey, what are you up to?”
Jay looked up to see his housemate, Marc, had wandered into his room.
“I, uh, just signed up to an enhanced matching service.”
“Wow. I didn’t even know you were looking to settle down. I guess I’ll need to find a new housemate soon. When are you going to start the process?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I wonder if I shouldn’t just try it the old-fashioned way. Meet someone I like the look of and just see how things go.”
“See how things go? Who does that when they’re looking for a long-term relationship? That approach so clearly didn’t work. If it had there wouldn’t have been such a high divorce rate for generations. These matches are as close to perfection as you’re going to find.”
Jay sighed. “Maybe.”
“Anyway, you approach a woman in a nitecafé or wherever and suggest that, and she will assume that you’re only looking for a fling. No-one gets seriously involved without running a compatibility check first these days. We’re not cavemen.”
“A few people must still chance it.”
“Who has the time to waste? These companies can access everything about you: what you do, where and how you spend your money, where and how you spend your time. They can work out all your key personality traits and then their DNA testing ensures there is chemistry between you and the lady.”
“Sometimes I find it all a bit unsettling.”
“Don’t be a parano. You sound like my grandpa. People protested about their data being used by companies and then they got over it. Or they grew old and died. Whatever. They went quiet.”
“But these programs assume that I want someone who really closely resembles me. Maybe I’d rather someone whose personality complements my own instead.”
“Come on. In the end we all just want to date versions of ourselves. It’s been scientifically proven. What you want is yourself with breasts and a higher voice.”
Jay laughed. “Nice image. But maybe you’re right. I guess I’d better head out to the centre and spit in a tube.”
“If you don’t I might head out and do it under your name. Then some hot girl will be coming over to have great conversations with you, her dream man, and will be surprised to find she is lusting after me.”
“Lusting after you would be a shock to any woman. I’m not sure if that would work but anyway they check your ID when you give the sample.”
“Pity.”
Jay smiled and, saying goodbye, headed out to the clinic.
The metrotrain departed with its usual punctuality and smoothness, and then juddered to a halt. Cries of surprise filled the carriage. The last time public transport had been late it had made the national news.
“Unbelievable,” he said to a pretty brunette next to him.
“It’s rare,” she agreed. “But you know sometimes I like things to be unpredictable.” She smiled at him.
“Me too.”
“Do you ever enjoy just taking a chance and … seeing how things go?”
“Absolutely. My name’s Jay, by the way.”
by submission | Nov 7, 2014 | Story |
Author : Roger Dale Trexler
I knew she was dead when I saw the blood. It floated by me and splattered silently on the console. Everyone else—Yanders, Diorino, and Rector—was dead, too. They were floating at the far side of the cabin, congregated strangely like a bunch of line dancers doing the Conga.
Zero gravity took over when main controls failed. It was a slow process, and they were dead before the gravity failed, so there was no pain for them….just me. I hit the ceiling with the force of a bullet, the Kyllian plasma charge had rocked the ship. I was knocked unconscious; I do not know for how long.
But I awoke to the touch of Kipling’s body hitting me as it passed by. I must have nudged her a little bit while waking, otherwise she wouldn’t have hit the console; she would have hit the other bodies like a linebacker trying to break a defensive line. A stream of blood flowed from her like a crimson vapor trail as she collided with the console, then sprayed blood everywhere.
The view screen was still on. I saw the Kyllian ship, massive and undamaged, looming over us.
Why? I thought.
The answer was too clear, however. Just weeks ago, a survey ship had been destroyed in this quadrant. A rescue ship was sent to investigate, but they found nothing but wreckage and a buoy telling them to stay away. We heeded that warning, but the Kyllians were laying claim to sectors of space quicker than a drunken sailor spends money at a bar.
Our scanners told us of the approaching ship, and we tried to elude them.
They found us before we could escape.
It wasn’t much of a battle. We were a survey ship, not a battlecruiser. The Kyllians opened fire and, now, everyone but me was dead.
I heard the airlock claxon going off.
We were being boarded.
I panicked. I was a stellar cartographer. I mapped stars. I hadn’t signed up for this. We were supposed to be out for a month from Starbase 3, mapping an uncharted region of space.
I could hear the sound of magnetic boots clanking, then pulling free, from the catwalks.
They were getting closer.
There were several of them.
I knew where the weapons were, but there was no chance I could kill them all. I wasn’t a fighter.
So, I did the only thing I could….and I waited.
##
Four Kyllian soldiers entered the control room. I chanced a glance before I closed my eyes. They were huge. Bigger than men. They ambled into the room awkwardly. I could tell that they were looking around, touching things, taking artifacts. Then, I felt motion. Something was pulling us toward it. I cracked my eyes opened just a hair—just enough to see—and I saw the Kyllian’s ugly face regarding us. It was looking at Diorino. It was cutting away a portion of her jumpsuit, revealing her breasts. Maybe it had never seen a human female? It started to turn its head toward me, and I closed my eyes again….but not too tight.
For a long, long moment, nothing happened. Then, it pushed away the clump of dead bodies I had become a part off and walked off.
The Kyllians stayed a few more minutes, then they moved off to another part of the ship.
I did not move or open my eyes for a long, long time.
When I did, it was to the sound of the airlock closing.
The Kyllians were leaving.
I waited a while longer, then detached myself from the bodies. I had intertwined my arms in theirs, effectively meshing us together.
The bodies floated away.
I pushed off and looked at the view screen. The Kyllian ship was receding in the distance.
I watched them leave.
I looked at the bodies.
I cried.
And, when I knew the Kyllians were out of range, I activated the distress signal…and waited.
by submission | Nov 6, 2014 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
“This is the day it all ends,” said Brosh.
“Why don’t you take one of the mood stabilizers the doctor prescribed?” asked Querna, Brosh’s wife. She often wondered why she’d married Brosh. If I’d married that engineer who had a crush on me, she thought to herself, I’d probably be enjoying a canal cruise right now.
Brosh ignored Querna’s suggestion and returned to his study. He was and had always been an odd sort of Martian. Even as a child he had thought there was something seriously wrong with the world, something both ineffable and inescapable. His parents had taken him to a string of psychiatrists who had given him various diagnoses and prescriptions. None of them helped. Part of Brosh’s ill-defined neurosis was that whatever was wrong with Mars was somehow related to Earth. As a result, he had devoted himself to the study of the lifeless, desiccated third planet from the Sun. He was Mars’ foremost expert on that world.
Brosh had been working in his study for about a quarter of an hour when he heard Querna yell from the living room.
He rushed in and saw his wife looking at the vid screen in disbelief. On the screen was a live feed from Elysium City. But the video looked strange. Both the people, running about in terror, and the buildings were all translucent.
“…have been unable to explain the phenomenon which started just over half an hour ago,” a newscaster was saying. “Weather stations in Elysium are reporting that barometric pressure is plummeting in the region. Just a moment. We’ve just received a report that radiation levels in Elysium are rising…”
Brosh rushed back to his study and interfaced his terminal with the observatory’s computer. He called up the latest telescopic image of Earth. “It’s…blue!” he said in astonishment. The spectrograph confirmed what he already suspected: The dead desert world of Earth was now mostly covered in water.
“It’s happening in Utopia Planitia now!” Querna screamed from the adjoining room.
Brosh didn’t respond. He just kept watching Earth. He saw something on the crescent of Earth’s nightside. Lights. Dozens, then hundreds. “Cities,” he said aloud. And somehow he knew that paradoxically the cities materializing before his eyes had been there for a very long time.
Somewhere along the line, Brosh thought to himself, a great mistake had been made. By whom or by what, he didn’t know. Mars with its thick atmosphere and butterscotch-colored sky and great canals and oceans and majestic cities piercing the clouds was not supposed to be. Likewise, Earth was never intended to be a barren rock, the subject of science fictional invasions and the target for the space agency’s unmanned probes.
“It’s happening here now!” Querna shrieked.
Brosh felt strangely calm and composed. This isn’t armageddon, he thought. This is a return to normality. He saw that his garden was now bereft of foliage. It looked like a desert. After a moment, he realized he was seeing his garden through his study’s wall, not its window.
“Brosh! We have to get away from here!” Querna was standing next to Brosh but her voice sounded like it came from far away.
Brosh suddenly felt cold. He had trouble breathing. He noticed something in his increasing insubstantial living room. A strange wheeled vehicle. It slowly moved toward him. The machine stopped and began taking a panoramic photograph. About 20 minutes later, the mission controllers at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in California received the image of the arid, sterile vista.
by Duncan Shields | Nov 5, 2014 | Story |
Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer
One ingredient can change so much.
In this case, it caused a genocide that’s lasting my entire life.
It’s my birthday today. Me and my siblings. Well, I call them my siblings but they’re just hundreds of variations on a theme. Millibicentadodecaheptuplets, technically. One thousand, two hundred and 19 of us. All hatched on February 20th, 2352.
The fact that we still use dates out here based on the orbit of a planet a few thousand light years away makes me laugh. That we use month and day names based on rulers, gods, and religions of that planet makes me laugh even harder. The further away we get, the more arbitrary the names seem.
I wonder if we all would have died on the same day. I mean, those of us that haven’t killed themselves already.
We were supposed to be the first generation of a ship that would reach a fertile planet and populate it with little baby humans. It was to happen on our 25th birthday. Such will not be the case.
An intense wave of EM radiation knocked out the genetic blueprint downloads. The computer was left with one useable sample instead of the thousands that had been saved. Such an event wasn’t foreseen by the creators. A loss of up to 80% of the information was planned for but just one surviving blueprint was not predicted as a possibility.
At the appointed time, the ship did what it was supposed to do with limited information; it made a lot of people. Or, to precise, it made a lot of one person
Today we are all 22. We were awakened by the nurse AI at a physical age of 13 so technically we’re 35 but we don’t count those years we slept in the dream schools learning our specialities.
Genetically, we should have been diverse enough to make gloriously different children in wild combinations, creating a stable population base resistant to disease and illness. But being so similar, we cannot impregnate each other. No babies take hold. There is no purchase in our womb walls. Our sperm don’t recognize their targets.
That didn’t stop us from trying at first. They didn’t need us until puberty, you see. That was the plan. Keep us asleep in our incubeds and educate us through thoughtfeeds until we could start the party. Then wake us up and get half of us good and knocked up so that we’d land on the planet with a bunch of twelve-year-olds a few years away from starting another party of their own on the ground.
It’s all automated. The ship is going to arrive at the planetoid dubbed Sisyphus II in three years to the day. The plan was to head out, build buildings, and take stock of what wildlife is edible.
We won’t build schools or nurseries.
We stopped celebrating our birthdays here on the ship. We don’t keep a lot of eye contact and we don’t talk much. It’s like looking into a mirror but your reflection is a different gender or has a different haircut than you.
The one surviving genetic blueprint we’re all modeled on was a donation specimen from Earth labeled Jacob (Jake) Peterson. If we’re like him, it’s apparent that he was a sad person who would rather end his own life rather than face extreme hardship. Not that big a deal if he was only one person amongst a thousand. But a thousand people prone to sadness?
The ship is dark. This ship is silent. We only cry in our quarters but we cry a lot. I honestly can’t tell you if anyone will be left alive when the ship touches down.
by submission | Nov 4, 2014 | Story |
Author : Roger Dale Trexler
The ship closed in on Earth.
They’d been there many, many times before: Easter Island, the Pyramids, and the South American crop circles. Three tweenagers looking for adventure. It was off limits for them to come to Earth, but that was the very reason they were there.
Tredac sat at the controls. “Watch this,” he said to Venso and Hu.
Venso wobbled a drug-addled tentacle at him. “You know we’re not supposed to be here,” he said.
Hu leaned forward and licked up a long strand of semi-solid pinkness off a flat metal table. His tongue rolled into his mouth and he swallowed. He let out a long, hiss-like sigh.
“That’s good Yodsplotin,” Hu said.
Tredac grinned, but thought: it’s the cheapest Yodsplotin you can buy. The stupid son of a bitch wouldn’t know good Yodsplotin from bad Yodsplotin if his mother’s life depended on it.
Still, they nudged tentacles and Tredac said: “Watch this.”
He wrapped a tentacle around a control and, on the view screen; they saw thousands of rocks lift effortlessly into the air.
“What the hell are you doing?” Venso asked.
Tredac let out a giggle. “Relax,” he said. “Have a little fun before you die!”
Venso sank back in his seat. In a moment, he leaned forward and had a lick of the Yodsplotin. “Sorry,” he said, slurring his words. “You know my Dad….”
He didn’t have to finish the statement. Everyone knew Venso’s Dad was a hard ass when it came to interfering with other planets. He kept an eye on things. But, this planet was so far off the beaten path that he would never find them.
“Whatcha gonna do with those?” Hu asked, pointing at the rocks floating in the air ahead of them.
Tredac reached out, ran his tentacle across the Yodsplotin, and then sucked the bounty off his tentacle. “These creatures are sooooo stupid,” he said. “I’m gonna lay those rocks out in a long row. It’ll freak them out.”
He reached out, took the controls and plotted a layout for the rocks. Then, systematically, the computer controlled the anti-gravity ray and dropped the rocks into long, perfect lines.
Hu let out a laugh. “They’ll be trying to explain this for centuries!” He slapped Tredac across the shoulder. “You’re so damn evil!”
“Why, thank you!” replied Tredac as he acquired another tentacle of Yodsplotin.
Just then, as they were laying the final rocks in ground, the communication claxon went off.
Tredac looked at Venso and Hu. Hu looked at the console. “It’s your Dad, man,” he said, more than a hint of fear in his voice.
“Oh hell,” Venso said.
Tredac lurched out of the pilot’s seat and let Venso take over. After all, it was Venso’s Dad’s ship, and they had “borrowed” it for a while.
Venso sat down in the seat uneasily and stared at the console. After a moment, he keyed in the code to activate the monitor.
His dad, all fat and gray like the old ones were, was grimacing on the screen. “Where are you?” he said.
“We just went out for a ride,” Venso said. “Honest.”
His father drooped his mucusy jaw. “I know where you are,” he said. “Get home…. now!”
Tredac nodded. “Yes sir.”
The video screen went blank. No one said a word for a moment. Then, Tredac let out a little scoff and said: “To hell with that old coot!”
He turned back to the controls and, ever so quickly, placed the over 3000 stones in perfect rows in the French field. “Stupid Earthlings,” he said.
##
Later, on the hyper jump home, they struck a rogue asteroid and died.
by Julian Miles | Nov 3, 2014 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“Bald Eagle, this is Leopard, are you receiving?”
“Leopard, good to have you back. Confirm reinforcements. ETA three minutes.”
“Bald Eagle, this is Leopard: abort, abort, abort. Total loss inevitable.”
“Leopard, intel disagrees. Target is viable. Enemy has no backup.”
“Bald Eagle, when will you people listen? The enemy needs no backup because he has got the stolen unit online. I repeat: enemy has one of our Command Servers!”
“Leopard, we show no interference – boards are green.”
“Bald Eagle, our position is in basement of building flagged as East Nine.”
“Leopard, are you assaulting the enemy position?”
“Bald Eagle: no, you moron. We are the poor bastards in East Nine.”
“Say again, Leopard.”
“Bald Eagle, we are the sole inhabitants of building East Nine.”
“Leopard, where is target?”
“Bald Eagle, you’re supposed to be telling me that.”
“Leopard, what is your twenty?”
“Bald Eagle, corner of west and south walls in basement of building East Nine.”
“Leopard, do you have eyes on target?”
“Bald Eagle, do not have eyes on target, because he is nowhere near building East Nine.”
“Leopard, we show target at your twenty.”
“Bald Eagle, we know that! Six flights of our drones are trying to kill us!”
“Say again, Leopard.”
“Bald Eagle, the only target in building East Nine is a friendly. Your command protocols are compromised.”
“Leopard, ID on friendly.”
“Bald Eagle, oh, for pity’s sake. ID on friendly is Team Leopard!”
“Leopard, that is you. Need ID on friendly with you.”
“Bald Eagle, are you not listening? We are the friendly! You are targeting the wrong people!”
“Say again, Leopard.”
“Bald Eagle, how many times… Oh, you bastard. You’re not Bald Eagle!”
“Leopard, this is Wolfhound. Kiss your sorry butts goodbye.”
