by submission | Aug 4, 2010 | Story
Author : W. Kevin Christian
The room was not cold. It was not wet. It was not noisy or colorful. It was quiet and white. No pictures on the walls. No carpet on the floors. There was just a table with a man on it and a black-and-white digital clock hung from the ceiling directly above his head.
The clock read: 9,999 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 58 minutes, 11 seconds…12…13…
The man felt no physical pain, no fatigue nor hunger. In fact, he was perfectly comfortable because he felt very little. It had paralyzed him. Though he could breathe and move is eyes, he could not blink. Not that there was much to see.
The man wiggled his eyes back and forth. He wanted to see how many times he could do it in a minute, a game he had invented.
9,999 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, 10 seconds…11…12…
He set a new personal record.
The man tried to picture the Earth, his home, his childhood. The vaguest shadows flickered in the back of his mind, but all he could really picture was a bright white ceiling and a black-and-white digital clock.
9,999 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, 45 seconds…46…47…
The man had been trying not to get his hopes up for 10,000 years. He had been disappointed before: at 1 day, at 1 week, at 1 month, at 1 year, at 10 years, at 25 years, at 50 years, at 100 years, at 500 years, at 1,000 years, at 5,000 years. But still there was that hope. He waited anxiously.
9,999 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, 57 seconds…58…59…
And then he came out of it. He was back in the bald man’s basement. Reminders of distant memories flooded his senses: a leaky pipe dripping into a small puddle, the smell of mildew and wet wood. They burned his mind like no fire could. He had muscle control! He was hungry! He hurt! There were so many possibilities! The feelings overwhelmed him like boiling water overwhelms an ice cube. And somewhere deep within, the cube cracked.
The man howled.
A perverse grin crossed the bald man’s face, his mouth letting out a slow, toad-like chuckle. The feeling of power intoxicated him. The look 30 seconds with the program could put on a person’s face! It tickled him in the darkest of ways, as if holding something young and innocent at the edge of a cliff overlooking hell. The power! The suffering!
“Are you ready to talk?” the bald-man asked.
“Anyyy…thing…,” the man said shakily, “…juuuusss ett it down…”
The bald man placed a chrome-colored metal box about the size of a deck cards on a black, homemade-looking table.
“So where is she?”
“Phoenix. Thaddriss…in…my wallet.”
The bald man chuckled again and grabbed the chrome box. He poked at it with his index finger and turned its backlit screen towards the man.
“How does 10 minutes sound?”
The man screamed and fought against the metal cuffs that bound him, blood streaming from his wrists as he did so.
The bald man rumbled with laughter. “Hmmm, I don’t know if I can wait that long. Better just make it five.”
by submission | Aug 3, 2010 | Story
Author : Andy Mee
It would be easy to say that they had disappeared, but that wasn’t quite true. What was once a row of Victorian terraced houses still lingered in the cold swirling air, now just a choking dust, like a visible air-borne virus. An hour before sunrise, as she trudged through the dusty remnants of the quarter, Eve impulsively guarded her eyes from the waltzing smoke and dust circling above. She couldn’t re-route. She’d be late.
This wasn’t an excuse to miss Lockdown. According to them, these bombings hadn’t happened.
Eve looked up at the star-poked violet-plum sky. In the eastern corner of the night sky a reddish-purple haze was spreading into the darkness above.
Lockdown had begun, she’d have to hurry. She gazed to the heavens and felt a slither of fear run the length of her spine as the stars started to disappear.
She remembered the clouds. At least, she thought she did. They had gone when she was very young. Yet, even now, she still pictured them, still drew their individual white shapes in her mind. No two the same. Not like them.
Her pale grey standard issue overalls were now a heavy brown of incinerated brickwork and slate. Maybe she’d stand out a little in the Vault.
If you listened carefully, you could still hear the elders whisper of ‘rain’, tales pouring from their mouths; storms of a time before. Echoes of an age before the sun burned away the clouds. They saw it coming, but they let it happen. That’s what they couldn’t understand.
The elders still talked of the colours of dawn, the star-poked violet-plum sky, a million shades, oranges, reds, purples – dawn’s tapestry. Nowadays they waited for the blackness of safety. She believed they missed colours the most.
Eve finally arrived at the checkpoint, seven minutes after Lockdown, fifty three minutes before sunrise. It was folly that she would beat herself up about later as she slept through the day.
She handed her pass to the guard.
She noticed (or perhaps it was just her over-active imagination) a different expression in his face today. What was in it exactly, she couldn’t tell. Anger? Disappointment? Relief? She was, after all, later than usual. His face soon fell back to default: blank, glazed. The black-metal gun was placed back into its holster to rest, while they went through the daily routine: her spreading, him scanning. The hand-held detector ran over her rigid body but, obviously, remained mute. She knew the rules. He detected the chip in her left forearm, opened the gate, and she entered.
The darkness swallowed her as the warmth of the coming day wafted into the open wound of the vault’s concrete tunnels.
by Patricia Stewart | Aug 2, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
The weakening of Earth’s magnetic field was becoming critical. It had been decreasing five percent a decade since the early twenty first century. If the decay could not be reversed, near-lethal doses of charged cosmic radiation would bombard the surface of the Earth without being diverted. Although humans could tolerate the higher radiation levels, it was predicted that the increase in charged particles would kill the bacteria in the soil that create the nutrients that sustain the plant world. Without the base of the food chain, humans would eventually perish too. Therefore, twenty-five nations voted to fund Professor Johnson’s radical idea to jumpstart Earth’s hydromagnetic dynamo.
The “Dynamo Regenerator” was ten kilometers in diameter, and more than three hundred meters tall. During operation, it consumed the entire output of two dozen 60-gigawatt fusion reactors.
“What do you expect will happen when you throw the switch?” asked a reporter from the Global Post.
“It’s quite simple, really,” replied the Chief Engineer. “Earth’s magnetic field is primarily generated by eddies caused by the interaction between the liquid iron-nickel outer core and the lower mantle. Right now, they are rotating at the same rate. That means no eddies. No eddies; no magnetic field. The Dynamo Regenerator sets up a harmonic frequency wave at the boundary layer between the outer core and lower mantle. It’s analogous to a skier on an unstable pack of snow on the side of a steep mountain. We’re simply attempting to start a Hydromagnetic avalanche. If it works, we’ll create a super-eddy, and reestablish Earth’s magnetic field.”
A disembodied voice then announced, “All systems are green. Start the Regenerator, Chief.”
The Dynamo Regenerator was activated. The lights dimmed and a high pitched whine began to build to a crescendo as unimaginable energy pulsed into the bowels of the Earth. The effect was almost instantaneous. The digital magnetometer began to climb from 2 to 10 microteslas in only a few minutes. The reporter asked, “Is that good?”
“So far,” replied the Chief Engineer. “At this latitude, the field needs to stabilize between 30-60 microteslas.” As they watched, the field climbed to 25…50…100…500…and then the meter started flashing 88888. “Oh shit,” moaned the Chief Engineer.
Nervously, the reporter asked “Higher is better, right?”
by Stephen R. Smith | Aug 1, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Thomas was spending another Saturday afternoon looking for deals. Today it was furniture, specifically something unique to fill the vacant corner by the window in his apartment.
“That’s Ralph Lauren,” he hadn’t heard the salesman approach and he jumped despite himself. The salesman ignored the reaction and continued speaking. “Avalon Lounge Chairs, very nice, very expensive. These two are kind of a matching set.”
Thomas regarded the pair of chairs carefully; indian red leather, featureless seat and back held aloft by a tubular frame which formed the base and arms in a continuous gleaming rectangle of chrome.
It was apparent that one wasn’t quite the same as the other, it was close but there was something a little strange about it.
“That’s a knock off,” Thomas pointed to the slightly misshapen piece, “how much are they?”
The salesman stepped up to the suspect piece, carefully polishing the seat back with one corduroy sleeve. “It’s a novelty, not a knock off. Twenty three hundred for the pair,” he paused, revealing nicotine stained teeth in a practiced smile, “Twenty two hundred cash.”
He didn’t really have room for two chairs, and while it appealed to sense of style to purchase the genuine Ralph Lauren piece, he found himself quite enamored with the odd reproduction.
“How much for just that one?” He pointed to the chair the salesman was now leaning on.
“Two hundred. One eighty if you pay cash.” His tone reflected his lack of interest in pursuing the larger purchase his customer was obviously not going to make.
Thomas was already counting out the bills.
It took the pair of them to carry the deceptively heavy piece of furniture and lift it into the trunk of the Audi, the suspension sagging noticeably as Thomas fastened the trunk lid down with a bungee. It took the promise of a six pack at the apartment to convince the superintendent to help wrestle the chair out of the car and onto the elevator, then down the hall to Tom’s apartment.
Finally in its new home, Tom was surprised at how much darker the chair seemed than in the store. The leather was almost black in the late afternoon sunlight, and decidedly more rubbery than he’d realized. He’d need to find some leather cream to soften it back up again, but that was another days work.
On Sunday Thomas travelled to the nursery, buying a pair of five foot tall indian rubber plants in terra cotta pots. One he placed beside the pseudo Avalon chair, the other flanked it in the other corner of the room.
From the kitchen around a mouthful of beer he could swear that the chair had turned green, and the chrome was reflecting back the terra cotta color in such a way as to almost look like terra cotta itself.
Heating a plate of leftovers in the microwave, he took the food and another bottle of beer to sit in the new chair and wait for his girlfriend to arrive. He finished the food, downed the last of the beer and dozed off.
It was nearly midnight when Jilly knocked at the apartment door and then let herself in. She dropped her purse and keys on the kitchen counter as Thomas entered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Hey baby,” she met him halfway and gave him a quick kiss, “did you get a haircut or something? You look different somehow.”
by submission | Jul 31, 2010 | Story
Author : Aaron Henderson
“It’s going to be a kick-ass weekend,” Gus thought to himself as he maneuvered the ratchet and claw, carefully removing a panel from the dusty robot that lay a few feet in front of his maintenance pod. He was looking forward to watching not one but two great games and spending some quality time with the wife.
He was about to finish up the last procedure in his monthly check on Spirit and Opportunity, those two Mars-roving robots that seemed to live forever. Usually he just had to knock loose some of that coarse Martian sand from their servos, or give their batteries a little more juice. Most of the time he didn’t even need to leave the relative comfort of the pod. Today was going to be a little different, as he could see by the caked-on dirt on the inside of the panel.
Those NASA boys had pushed Spirit a little harder than usual this week, and some of that red grit had collected in the rover’s main arm control unit. Gus let out a heavy sigh as he grabbed his helmet and outer boots. He shook his head as he sealed his suit and picked up his toolbox. “Delay of game!” he shouted and chuckled to himself, stepping onto the Martian surface for the first time in several months.
Gus cocked his head as he approached the robot, planning his repair and dreading the tight spaces he’d have to tackle. He had nothing but respect for the guys who designed and built the tough little rovers, but they sure didn’t leave much room in ’em for a grease monkey to turn a wrench or solder up an abraded power line.
He dismantled the control unit as much as he dared and started cleaning it out with a microvacuum. There was no maintenance manual for these things, and if he screwed something up he was about 78 million kilometers from the manufacturer. He could fabricate almost any part he needed back at the shop, but he was entrusted to preserve as much of the original equipment as possible for the sake of history.
He was in luck: the dust hadn’t bound up the servo unit yet. Gus put down the microvacuum and pulled out his finest brush, then cleared the visible dust from around the servo. He gently put the control unit back together and sealed it in its compartment on the rover. After a quick diagnostic check on the robot, he climbed back into his pod and took off his boots and helmet.
When he arrived at home, Jan had the main viewscreen tuned to Spirit’s main camera. “Spying on me again, darling wife?” he asked jokingly. Jan was the mission coordinator for preserving the two rovers, and she watched with interest any time they were being worked on. “It’s always nice to see a professional at work,” she replied. He kissed her cheek on his way through the kitchen to the family room. Gus had commandeered the couch, kicked off his workboots, and was about to change the channel to something more interesting. “But even professionals sometimes make mistakes,” Jan said.
Gus was confused. The robot worked perfectly. It had passed all the diagnostics… Jan knew the look on his face. “The rover’s fine, dear. Your craftsmanship is not in question at all, but I think you might need to check your toolbox.” She pointed at the main screen. Gus watched as Spirit’s main camera tilted down to reveal his microvaccum laying in the dust next to the rover’s front wheels. “I’m sorry, I didn’t spot it until you landed just now.”
“Oh, no…no, no, no!” He knew what this meant. Gus pleaded, “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“The Earthlings are already starting to wonder why those two rovers have lasted this long. They need to discover life on other planets, but we’d rather not have them do it by finding your misplaced gadgets. If you hurry you can be there and back before the game starts,” Jan said firmly.
“I’m tempted to put a certain bacteria-laden present in their sample scoop!” Gus grumbled as he put his boots back on.
“Well that would certainly be a discovery,” Jan chuckled. Gus kissed her on the cheek as he headed out the door.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jul 30, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“Don’t show it, please don’t show it, for the love of all that is holy, please don’t show it.”
“Gentlemen, as you can see from the footage, the XA – 4 reactive armour system is effective against all small arms ballistic ammunition as well as low wattage phased plasma weapons.”
“Pleasedontshowitpleasedontshowitpleasedontshowitpleasedo…”
“… and this gentlemen, best exemplifies one of the smallest, yet one of the most devastating bugs in the new reactive armour system.”
“OH GAWD, PLEASE DON‘T SHOW IT!!!”
“As you have seen, the armour becomes rigid when struck by ballistic ammunition. The problem being that the entire suit becomes rigid as opposed to just the area of impact, thus immobilizing the soldier for up to 45 seconds after impact. This was not a problem under combat situations in which the individual could be pulled to safety by his squad and the armour relaxed. Indeed, it had not really been noticed and had not been considered a problem but rather a minor inconvenience. The footage you are now about to see was taken from a scout camera drone of one of our soldiers taking part in the study on solo patrol in a “safe” zone.”
The holovid image switched to that of an up armoured soldier taken from approximately fifteen feet above. He carried his M-68 varical smart weapon low, but at the ready. He was making his way down a rubble strewn street, when something caught his attention. Out of range of the camera a loud yelp could plainly be heard. The soldier spun and raised his weapon. He quickly dropped it and walked in the direction of the disturbance.
The drone’s camera followed him and soon a group of children came into view. They appeared to range in age from eight to fifteen. He spoke with them, when one gave him a sharp kick in the shin. Instantly the armour became rigid and he toppled over.
The street urchins were surprised for a moment, but only for a moment. Having known nothing but war and hardship their entire lives, they quickly stripped the soldier of everything they could, the fifteen year old snatched up the rifle.
The armour soon gave up its grip and the soldier began to rise. The child with the rifle delivered a butt stroke to the head and the soldier went down again. Though lacking a traditional education, the kids were smart. They quickly put two and two together and began a barrage of blows and kicks on the downed man in an effort to keep him paralyzed.
The oldest unzipped his fly and began to urinate on the soldiers face. Soon the others were drenching the prostrate fighting man in urine, laughing merrily all the while. The holovid ended just as the oldest pulled his pants all the way down, bared his grimy ass, and began to squat over the soldiers head.
Somewhere in the back of the room, amidst muffled titters and outright guffaws, could be heard the low, quiet words, “Kill me now, Lord.”
