by Roi R. Czechvala | Dec 14, 2009 | Story
Author : Roi R, Czechvala, Staff Writer
Charred bodies littered the streets. The blackened faces frozen in the horrible rictus of death. They had been men and women once. Children. Families who had laughed, lived and loved together, reduced to carbonized grotesques of human beings.
Marine Gunnery Sergeant Stouffer laid down his collider rifle and for the first time since he was a child ,he wept. His tears formed neat craters on the ash covered pavement. Pulling himself together, and in a voice perhaps too harsh to cover his shame, he barked his orders.
“Awright Marines, saddle up. This is our house, and we have some cleaning to do. We have a gift for the slopes that did this.” He picked up his rifle and held it aloft. He was answered with a deafening “OOORAHHH” as the men scrambled to the lifters and strapped in.
Seven drop ships lifted into the dim twilight of Europa’s sky and merged with the carrier in geosynch orbit above. Within minutes the ship held position over Chien Kai, the outer most settlement of the Asiatic Alliance.
The population of the outpost consisted primarily of scientists and their families, with a small military contingent mainly for internal security. Aside from the Tesla Field containing the colony’s atmosphere and providing protection from the lethal Jovian radiation, the complex was defenceless.
Seven sleek flat black drop ships descended like avenging angels around the dome of the T-field. The complex had been built years before the war began. For safety’s sake the field generator was outside the field. Directly beside the spot where the lead ship had grounded.
The entire population spilled out of the warren of buildings and bunkers. They watched as the ships disgorged 210 Marines. Collider rifles in hand, singularity grenades hanging from their web gear. Their small arms were incapable of harming the near impregnable T-field.
They didn’t have to.
The men and women watched in confusion at first, then in horror as the realization of the unfolding events became clear. The marines, clad in black armoured battle suits formed a semi-circle around the generator. Inside the protective shimmering barrier the inhabitants watched.
Stouffer swaggered up, barely a yard separating him from the citizens of Chien Kai. Citizens no more but prisoners awaiting execution. They watched him, a wide grin splitting his face. Some sobbed openly, pulling at their hair. The small group of soldiers screamed and waved their weapons in impotent rage, but most wept silently, clinging to loved ones, stoically awaiting their fate.
A marine broke ranks and grabbed Stouffer’s shoulder. Tears streaming down his face. “Gunny, do we really have to do this? So many have already died. We’re the only ones out here. What good will it do?”
Gunny Stouffer’s grin widened, then quickly broke and fell as he thought back to the discovery of his own family less than an hour before. “You’re right,” he keyed his helmet mike to the company freq, “Everybody back to your ships.” As one the men snapped to and beat a hasty retreat to their lifters. “Not you corporal, you stay here.”
Before he vaporized the generator and watched as the faintly glowing womb of the Tesla field failed; before he gloated as five hundred people suffocated, their eyes bulging from their sockets; he raised his rifle and burned down the young corporal where he stood.
“Pussy.”
by submission | Dec 13, 2009 | Story
Author : Steve Ersinghaus
He gave away his parts at the proper time.
Downtown he saw a man without a foot, so he gave the man his foot. A friend told him that the box full of left shoes he put on the sidewalk was a good idea.
He gave his right arm to a construction company for they were in need of day labor and his right arm had always been his best.
“You’re fading in front of me,” his girl friend said. “We should discuss the benefits of travel through France.”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve heard about a town in Alaska in serious need of ears.”
He loved the train. He remembered the hammer of the mechanicals under the soles of his feet. But these were newer, faster trains. He disembarked somewhere in the middle of the country where the children asked, “How far can you kick with your robotic foot?” and “Those look like ear buds.”
“Because they are, you little shits,” he said. “And I’ll show you just how far I can kick. Come to me when you’re in serious need of livers.”
They needed eyes in Florida, testicles in Texas, whole shoulders in a small village in Queensland, legs here, fingers there. This neediness kept him busy. “You’re fading and fading fast,” his girl friend said. “You’re a machine and I sleep cold beside metal in the winter. We should seriously consider a cruise.”
“Some other time,” he said. “There’re dangerous places in space. Common flesh is unwilling. And my processors roast in this gravity. The sea air’d glue me to the shell.”
“Call me when you can,” she told him as they closed the hatch to the shuttle set for deep space.
Inside, the techs slipped him into a slot, watched as his file appeared on screen, mounted him into the communication and guidance system, then departed.
After take off, over the Com, he said. “I feel cool and calm and robust brothers and sisters. I fear losing nothing. I’m speeding through and can see the angels. Tell them to believe me: you won’t miss blood flow.”
by submission | Dec 12, 2009 | Story
Author : Ray Shirer
Vince hates dealing with the vets. They buzz like a swarm of angry bees, producing poison instead of honey. He hates the way they glare at him when he makes the rounds, collecting soiled bed linens and dirty clothes. Like it’s his fault they lost the war. Vince wasn’t even born when Earth fought the Hive.
The best way to deal with the vets, Vince has found, is to turn off his ears and pretend that he’s dumb. It’s no more than they expect of him, even though the doctors get pissed when they find out. Vince has been lectured more than once by the docs about his lack of empathy toward the patients.
He doesn’t really care. This job is just temporary. Vince is going to the black. He’s already had some of the work done. Replacement stuff mostly, switching out his eyes and ears and tweaking his circulatory system. The big stuff: altering his skeleton, his muscular and nervous systems, will have to be done by the Hive once he’s offworld.
Vince can’t wait.
Until then, he’s stuck in the hell of the veterans’ clinic, wiping the asses of bitter old men and changing their bed clothes.
What does he care if they look at him like he’s a traitor? He’s just moving with the times.
by submission | Dec 11, 2009 | Story
Author : Sam Davis
Today was the day, Kari decided. Today she was going to tell Abe. She was going to have a drink and work up the nerve and send him a message and then he would come by and then she could just tell him. She could take her time and explain—Abe was a good listener after all. That was one of the things she loved about him.
Kari sighed.
She really did love him. It wasn’t him that was the problem. Well not really. But she had decided that today would be the day she would tell him. She moved to the console and carefully typed up a note. It went much quicker than the casual observer might expect. Of course the casual observer didn’t know that Kari wrote him a new note every day and had been doing so for the past three weeks.
Today she pressed send.
And then panic hit. “ohgodohgodohmygod! What am I going to say? He’ll be heartbroken. How could I do this? He is such the perfect guy. Why am I such an awful girl to him? Why can’t I just be happy with him? I need gin!”
Two blocks away, Abe’s HUD displayed “1 new message”. A quick mental command opened the message. From Kari. Abe’s heart fluttered a little seeing her name. “Surprise,” Abe thought. “Everything works like normal.” This really was a pleasant surprise because sometimes feelings change after the transfer or the body responds differently than one is used to. Kari wanted to talk. She asked to meet at her place. She said ASAP. Kari never says ASAP. Abe knew that the decision had been the right one. Maybe a name was in order.
Minutes later, Kari jumped as she heard the door bell ring. Downing the gin and tonic—minus the tonic—she ran to the kitchen to deposit the glass. Again the doorbell sounded and she almost dropped the glass. “Deep breaths. Hold it together.” The glass clicked against the counter. She strode back into the living room and, mustering up all her courage, she opened the door.
“Abe look, the thing is I….” was as far as she got before she actually took stock of what was going on.
“Kari, I know. I’ve known for a while.” Abe paused, hoping that she wouldn’t pass out. The voice would take some getting used to but Kari was worth it. After all, Abe had already come this far. “I put in for the transfer about a month ago. And I know I should have talked to you about it but…” Abe looked down at the new body. “Well I wanted it to be a surprise and well…yeah. So here I am. Just for you darling.”
Kari stated to smile. Oh gosh he really was wonderful. No that wouldn’t apply any more.
“Oh and I guess you can call me Abbey.”
by submission | Dec 10, 2009 | Story
Author : John C. Osborn
The shakes began to violently intensify. Janus couldn’t bear it much longer, the nauseating craving, the blankness of mind, the emotional emptiness. He tightly gripped a long slender metallic canister that cost him a days worth of panhandling cash. His index finger rubbed a trigger button, which it wanted badly to press. The brown-washed beach accommodated others like himself – dingy-looking, rancid-smelling drifters caressing bottles inserted into their noses, some rolling on sand, others swaying in the warm sticky breeze absorbed in a deep trance-like state. This would be his refuge during the Trip.
After finding a secluded spot below a broken wooden pier, Janus stuck two short stubby tubes on top of the canister into his nostrils, felt the cold rubber scratch his sinuses, releasing a thin stream of blood that trickled down to his chin. Eyes closed, breathing deeply in and out, he pushed the button.
A rush raced right into his brain, bombarding his sensory centers with a barrage of scents. A salty sea breeze. Sun block smeared on skin. Sand saturated with a fishy smell. They formed images, resurrected long-buried memories of days before the giant dust bowls, the catastrophic toxic spills, and great global economic collapse.
Janus smiled and opened his eyes. He looked awestruck watching the plump orange sun igniting the sky with red and purple colors as it fell below the skyline. The crystal blue ocean stretched infinitely into the horizon and stretched back toward shore, waves breaking against the white sand. He felt the warm water wash against his bare feet as the tide rolled in with a whoosh. A tear rolled down his cheek feeling the soothing sea breeze tickle his ear, listening to seagulls fly overhead, embracing the stillness – the serenity – of the moment.
Then the vision broke. The scene shattered like glass. The once pleasant smells morphed into stagnant sewage. The ocean became a brown sludge. The blue sky hid behind a curtain of thick dark yellow smog. The carcass of seagulls and other animals lay scattered across the trash-covered, discolored beach.
Janus felt that familiar sorrow return. He held the canister, which had the word Nostalgia® – the Breezy Beach flavor – written down the side. It felt empty, like he did. He discarded it into the sand and dropped to his knees, already itching for the next Trip, anything resembling the world he once lived in. He laid on the sand in a fetal position, sobbing, shaking, yearning for another hit.
Janus controlled his breathing and sat up. He scanned the beach glimpsing others like himself seize with euphoria in the sand like fish flopping out of water, metal canister pumping scents that recalled memories straight to their brains.
It wasn’t always like this, he thought. There was a time when you could swim in the ocean here, a time when you could hike in the woods, even a time where you could drink the water without it being in a bottle. But it all changed.
Janus sniffed and rubbed his nose. The rebound from his Trip subsided, leaving a lingering lust for another hit that he could feel on his lips. He stumbled to his feet, looked down at the empty Nostalgia® bottle in the sand. Perhaps, he thought, I’ll try the Redwood Rush next.
by Stephen R. Smith | Dec 9, 2009 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
She watched him, often, from the other side of his bedroom mirror, a floor to ceiling affair that allowed her the privilege of spectating from the comfort of her own space.
He would come and go, sometimes alone, sometimes with others. He would wrap himself in sheets of colour, most times his companions would too, but other times they would press just their flesh against one another.
This fascinated her.
The shapes his face made were peculiar, and she began to recognize them as states of being. Sometimes his face was broad, his mouth wide, insides showing white and gleaming. Other times his face creased, contracted in upon itself, on occasion becoming shiny in patches as he quivered.
An unusual specimen to be sure.
She knew she was pleasing, knew from the various shapes and colours of the creatures he kept company with that she too could be satisfying to him, be satisfied by him. She was certain that he would share with her his illuminated state of being, the broad face and gaping maw that she believed was an indication of pleasure.
While he idled, resting, she reached out to him, siphoning away vibrations from his unconscious mind. These things excited her, these random experiential happenings that he shared so unknowingly.
She needed more from him.
There were times when he would stop while passing, looking at his mirror, looking right at her, as though he knew the mirror was merely a window, a portal into her space. She knew he could not see, knew with absolute certainty, but in these moments she froze, not daring to move. Sensations of fear, the need to escape overwhelmed her, but so did the need to stay, to be with him, to have him near her. He would shake away his gaze, his visage one of unusual creases, motion and contraction.
The sensations stayed with her for a time after he departed, and she found she was developing an insatiable appetite for them.
In the darkened hours, when the only light in his space was that filtering in from the portals to his outside world, she would thin the membrane between their spaces to its limit, pressing herself as closely to it as she dared without crossing over so as to be as close to him as was possible. Sometimes he would stare at her through the darkness, unsure of what he could see.
It was one such dark period that found them only the barest distance apart. He searching the darkness with his eyes, reaching tentatively towards a mirror that no longer showed a reflection he recognized, and she pressed against the membrane from the other side, frozen in place.
The sensations that flooded her senses were overwhelming, beyond even her ability to control them. She fought the urge to escape, to slip away, to opaque the wall between them and retreat to a safe distance. When his hand touched her from the other side, it was more than she could bear.
He slipped easily through the membrane, joining her in her own space without resistance. Where his hand first contacted her skin, she felt the heat of his presence, and she craved more of it. Enveloping him, she watched as his face began to undulate through the variations she was sure were those of pleasure. His eyes widened, his mouth opened, white endoskeletal elements exposed. His mouth gaped, closed and opened again, eyes wider as his body undulated, his fire radiating outward from him, through her into the cold vacuum of her space.
She found him beautiful, first in motion, then still.
Recognizing his stillness as a rest state, she contented herself with holding him as he cooled.
