Goodbye Jenny

Author : Tris Smith

She sat down on the bench, overlooking the local park. She and James used to meet here. It seemed a fitting place to say goodbye. After the operation, she might never come here again. Worse, she might never want to come here again.

At 13, it had been minor. A doctor had suggested she try self harming, and that was it. With modern technology the scars weren?t a problem, and for some people it worked really well.

By 15, she was having weekly online therapy. The AI was great, but somehow it just never worked. CBT just wasn’t her cup of tea. Eventually, they gave her one-to-ones with a specialist. No matter what memories they removed, nothing seemed to help.

The final step had been to test her out in a few different virtual realities, to see if she could be happy. Apparently she couldn’t. After that it had been official. They said she was mentally defective. That no amount of talking or support could help. They suggested drugs or surgery.

She couldn’t stand the drugs. The weight gain, the constant tiredness, the knowledge they were targeting everything in her brain. The systems which worked, and the systems which didn’t. Gradually changing and modifying all of them, building up all kinds of long-term side-effects.

James sat down beside her, taking her hand. “You don’t have to do this” he said.

“I do.”

“Why?” he said.

“I can’t do it. I can’t keep going.”

“I know” he said.

“I might not change that much. Some people don’t.”

“Most do” he said.

“Jenny” he said “Don’t do this. I can’t lose you Jenny. We can find another way.”

“No James, we can’t.”

“It’s nonsense Jenny. Mental deficiency is nonsense. The brain’s still too mysterious for us. Even doctors don’t understand it” he said.

“If I killed myself tomorrow, you’d lose me. This way we have a chance.”

“Goodbye James.”

“Goodbye Jenny” he said, standing to leave. James walked away.

“Goodbye Jenny” she said, smiling slightly.

 

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For Love of Kraytor

Author : Julia Reynolds

My darling Lord Kraytor,

I’m so sorry. You know I would never leave you; you are my love, my life, my everything. I long to feel your tentacles wrapped around my hips, to kiss your face parts, and feel the delicious sting of your mandibles when you honor me by drinking my filthy human blood.

The Resistance has taken me against my will. I’m aboard one of their dirty Earther ships somewhere in the asteroid belts. Oh, if I could only find a way to call out to you so that you could come and rescue me.

This ship is full of stinking monkeys, humans who all wear clothing even though they know that you and your Overlord have expressly forbidden it.

I’m ashamed that I have been wearing clothes too, because when I try to undress they always stop me. I must confess also that my hair has all grown back, my love, although I know you prefer me bald. When I try to pluck it out they bind my hands. I’m so tired of fighting them, I wish Your Greatness were here to destroy them for their heresy.

They’ve informed me that I’ve been brainwashed by the pheromones in your saliva, that your surgeons have altered my body and mind so that I could provide blood for you.

They say that I am your slave, but we both know the truth. I am your lover, now and for always. I miss everything about you, the smell of your mucal discharges, the rattle of your mating barks, and especially the rasp of your undercarriage. I want only to kneel before you again, my dearest.

They have encouraged me to write this letter as part of my “therapy”, although of course they’ll never deliver it. They say they want to “de-program” me. Nonsense. No heart is more loyal, no love is more pure than my devotion to you, my gallant master.

I hope that when my captors read this they will understand the pointlessness of their constant counseling sessions, the operations, the psychiatric drug regimens, and the erasure of your branding tattoos from my breasts and buttocks.

These are all war crimes against me, against us. Worse, they are love crimes, a blasphemous insult to the special bond between us.

Until I see you again, my love, I remain yours, until Death and perhaps even afterwards. I hope for eternity at your feet, and I beg your forgiveness for my absence from your bed and your feeding chamber.

Yours forever,
Cynthia

———————————————
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE SECURITY BULLETIN

A TERRORIST ATTACK AT PLANET 544 HAS KILLED LORD-GOVERNOR KRAYTOR. THE LORD-GOVERNOR RECEIVED INTO HIS CHAMBERS A RECAPTURED INDIGENOUS FEED ANIMAL. THE ANIMAL HAD BEEN A FAVORITE OF THE LORD-GOVERNOR BEFORE IT DISAPPEARED DURING AN UPRISING IN THE CAPITOL CITY FIVE MONTHS AGO. IT HAD BEEN ASSUMED DESTROYED UNTIL DISCOVERED ALIVE IN THE WRECKAGE OF A REBEL CARGO SHIP.

UPON CONTACT WITH THE LORD-GOVERNER, THE ANIMAL ACTIVATED A BOMB THAT HAD BEEN IMPLANTED INSIDE ITS BODY BY AN UNKNOWN INSURGENT FACTION. ACCORDING TO VIDEO FOOTAGE, JUST BEFORE IGNITING THE DEVICE, THE ANIMAL SAID: “My love, forgive me.”

REPORTED BY THE CLAW OF ACTING LORD-GOVERNOR PRYTOR, FOR THE GLORY OF THE HIVE-MOTHER – LONG MAY SHE BREED.

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Dust

Author : Chris Daly

The dust was unbearable. Dry, grey, clinging powder draped over every surface, clogging the machinery, grinding against gears and wheels. Water refused to wash away the dirt, forming only a cloying mud that was just as abrasive. His hands bled, crisp and chafed. He had no gloves, no protection from the work that consumed his effort.

‘Clean-up’, they called it. He installed the engines that probed the ground, searching for deep, buried water, enough to wash all this filth away. The dust was all that remained of a civilisation that once dwelled here, cities and towns incinerated away. First came the embers, smoke and ash, later the rubble broke down into that dust, surrounding and coating everything. He worked tirelessly, checking gauges, replacing worn cogs, lubricating the gearboxes, as the machine drilled deeper, through asphalt, dirt and bedrock.

He looked up at the brown sky, past the great towers and twisted metal girders, watching the light straining against the permanent cloud cover. One day, he knew, his work could clear that sky. He would clear away the grey blanket smothering his world. Each passing year, fewer and fewer of his kind searched for that dream. Occasionally, a small pocket of moisture would be found, enough to keep some of them going, but so much was trapped in those clouds, refusing to fall, and the rest entombed in aquifers deep under the old lakes, rivers and mountains. Almost every week now one of them fell, sharing their water with the rest. The algae and fungus in the waste pits kept them alive, but it was bare sustenance, not the abundance that the ancestors had enjoyed.

Even with that abundance, they destroyed each other. Now their offspring fought like pack animals, scavengers over what was left around them. He could never understand why the old ones did it; the others told him not to try. ‘Keep drilling’, they said, ‘One day you’ll bring back what once was.’

The machine let out a whine, cable and wire straining, snapping over bare metal. An acrid cloud rose up, the smoke from a burning motor. He coughed, then sat back and sighed, face in his cracked hands. A tear crept into his eye, traced its line down his face, darkening the grey dust he constantly wore. He sat up again, wiped his nose with his tough sleeve. Useless to cry, he told himself, it just wastes the water. He lifted a rusted tool from the floor, set down his rifle, and returned to work.

One day, he thought. One day soon.

 

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The Message Goes On

Author : Andrew Bale

“Jack! Come in here a minute!”

“All right Mary, what is it?”

“Check this out. I was running down that noise on the comms channel, but it wasn’t noise. Listen.”

Mary touched one of the controls in front of her, and a crackling voice erupted from the starboard communications station.

“…the best friend I ever had, closer than my actual brothers, far better to me than I ever was to him. I spent a hundred nights…”

She turned it off.

“It’s an old radio signal from Sol! It must have mixed with one of the local oscillators and gotten upconverted into our comms band! It has to be a thousand years old!”

“If it was original and that old, we would never have gotten it at all. You have the whole message?”

“Sure, it cycled at least twenty times, that’s why it’s so clear – I was able to stack the repeats and drive the signal above the background. Want a hardcopy?”

“No, just copy it to a thumb, but… there’s a tradition. After you copy it, re-record the message in your own voice. Loop it a hundred times or so, then transmit it on the directionals. Send it back to Earth, and maybe twenty of your other favorite directions. Pick places people might catch it, other than that it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, what frequency?”

“Same as the original signal – if you send it on the comms channels we’ll get flagged, but no one cares what goes out at radio frequency. Besides, as strange as it may sound, that mixing wasn’t accidental – it’s not in the specs, but these rigs are designed to catch signals like this one.”

“Why?”

“I told you – tradition. Get to it.”

“Jack, why my voice, why not the original?”

“It will be clearer than the one you received. Besides, the voice doesn’t matter, just the message. Meet me in the wardroom when you’re done.”
The wardroom was filled to capacity when Mary finally reached it. The entire comms staff was there, along with most of the older crew and a few others. Jack took the portable drive from her hand and replaced it with a glass of brandy before playing the recording to the crowd. For several minutes, the room was silent save for one scratchy voice, telling of a friend, a brother, a son. When it finally fell into static, Jack raised his glass and cleared his throat.

“Friends, tonight we heard a voice in the dark. The speaker is forgotten, but the message goes on, and we honor it. Raise a glass tonight to Jeremy Coonradt. He is not dead while his name is still spoken. To Jeremy, and to those he left behind.”

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Passing of the Baton

Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer

There was a knock at the door. Now who would be calling at this time of night, I wondered? I got up from my workbench and headed toward the door. When I opened it, I found myself staring at myself. “Now, I can’t possibly be that fat,” I said to the android that had been built to replace me.

“I’m afraid so, old man,” it said with a chuckle. Then it did a slow pirouette where it made a slight pause at the 180 mark to shake its rotund buttocks. As it completed the 360 degree turn it added, “I am an exact facsimile, right down to the gray hairs on my chinny chin chin. Deny it if you want, but laser scanners don’t lie. Besides, I’m grateful for all this extra space,” it said as it padded its ample midsection. “They were able to pack 30% more batteries in here. Now, I could probably complete the Iditarod without needing a recharge.”

“Well,” I rebutted, “there’s a team of huskies thankful that you’ll be too busy to compete.” I motioned it in and closed the door. “My retirement doesn’t begin until the day after tomorrow,” I pointed out. “I didn’t think you were coming until then. Surely you know that I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, and I won’t be back for 24 hours.”

“Sure do,” it replied with a knowing smile. “I was hoping to go with you. You know, learn the route. Come on,” it pleaded, “it’ll be fun. What do you say?”

“Well, I suppose so,” I relented. “Last year, I got so tired, I almost crashed into the Himalayas. The Missis was furious. So, I guess it’ll be good to have a co-pilot, and you can help me with the heavy lifting too.” That’s when I noticed the android eyeing the inside of my shop like a child in a candy store.

“This place is awesome,” it remarked. “But it’s much smaller than I imagined it would be.”

“This is just my personal workshop,” I pointed out. “There’s a five hundred million square foot factory up the road. But your tour will have to wait. We need to get going. Grab that bundle over there and let’s head to the hangar.”

Once it became obvious which exit I was heading for, the android rushed past me claiming ‘shotgun’. I shook my head and laughed at its enthusiasm. Kudos to the programmers, I thought. I’ll make sure they receive a special ‘thank you’ gift for their efforts. After I put on my winter coat and hat, I climbed the access ramp and took a seat next to the android. I quickly secured my safety harness, and entered Kiritimati into the GPS. Then I pressed the remote control that opened the large hangar doors. In the moonlight, we could see a light snow falling outside. The android could barely sit still. “Do you want the honors?” I asked it.

“Oh boy, do I,” it replied. It took the reins from my outstretched hands and shouted ahead, “On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen…”

 

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Advancement of the Xzeckqi

Author : Clint Wilson

The intelligence level of the Xzeckqi people was growing at an exponential rate. Just a few centuries prior they had been cooking over open fires and using stones to sharpen animal bones into spears. Now they were hunting with exploding projectiles and using electric ovens to prepare meals. And in the populous Jagxso region, a wide flattish land running nearly half the circumference of the tiny green world’s equator, there were wheeled carts moving by means of autonomous engines. All in all the Xzeckqi were proving to be quite inquisitive and inventive.

Their curiosity and thirst for learning had recently caused them to take up great interest in their planet’s geology. Prehistoric Xzeckqi had taken for granted the random and varying intricate formations of their world’s topography. Geometrically perfect shapes and angles littered the globe, all covered by the vibrant green of the thick ever-nourishing moss that grew from pole to pole. But the people knew that when digging down through the life-giving organism one found many different colors and strange materials. The moss was thought to feed directly on some of this mysterious layer that occupied the space between the biocrust and the ‘dock’ or dirt-and-rock layer whose great depth had yet to be determined.

Their curiosity of the middle layer went all the way back to the early development of tool making which was based on the study of some of the strange giant ‘stones’ found there. Early Xzeckqi people had studied the threaded lines on house-sized spiral formations and by copying them had developed one of the earliest simple machines — the screw. Of course the wheel had already been long invented by now, as giant wheels seemed to occur naturally nearly everywhere in their world, along with other wheel-based phenomena such as cogs, gears and pulleys, plus axles, levers, hinges, and countless other devices, waiting to be studied and then duplicated down to a manageable scale. Almost all modern technology now owed its existence to the excavation and copying of various formations found in the layer.

But the people wondered — how could natural formations be so perfect, with parts that looked as though they could still move with the precision of any modern machine or device. On they poured, searching for answers.

***

Meanwhile aboard the star freighter Constantine.

“Sergeant, why haven’t we stopped to dump our garbage? I want to get into warp before lunch!” The Captain rubbed his weary eyes and sipped his coffee. He could view the navscreen from where he stood well enough to see that the bright green dump planet, Tilpot IV, was below but falling away, yet the yellow lights on the custodial array glowed bright, showing the ship’s waste containers still quite full.

“Sorry Cap,” the young sergeant replied. “Collective orders. No more dumping on Tilpot IV until ecological survey performed. Don’t worry though. Jack’s Port, the big moon of Tilpot VII has been designated temporary dumping site until the survey is completed.”
The captain didn’t look impressed. “All the way out to the seventh planet at fuel-speed? I’d rather we drop back and do a little illegal dumping that aint gonna hurt a soul.”

Knowing fully that he could exercise his legal right at any time and place his superior under arrest based on Environmental Absolute 1.9 he decided to let his captain finish his coffee. “Like I said, don’t worry sir. I can get us up to .002 by fusing some of ‘hotter’ waste we have in container three. We’ll be there in no time. And besides…” He said sternly. “There might be something intelligent down there.”

 

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