Dance While The Sky Crashes Down

Author : Sam Clough, Staff Writer

They met each other on the high wall that surrounded the empty city. It was truly empty now: even the soldiers had left, abandoning the surface, chasing the population underground, into bunkers or into the big groundstations in the desert.

He had a bag of food and drink, scavenged from shops and homes that had survived the evacuation intact. She looked like she’d just come from a party in the good end of town. She was wearing a long black dress, inset with reflective scraps so that it shimmered like the night sky, and she had a music box tucked under her arm.

When the evacuation order had come, they’d both separately judged that it would be pointless to run and hide. She was too proud, he was suspicious of the government. The cracks crazing across the sky drove them both to distraction.

The wall was as wide as a good road. The inside edge was a sheer drop, fifteen metres down into the leafy walldistricts. The outside edge was protected by a raised ledge about a metre high and the same wide.

He dropped his bag by the ledge, rummaged in it, and brought out a folded square of cloth. He spread it over the ledge: the edges draped over each side. He quickly unpacked a meal of bread, smoked meat and chopped vegetables that had been encased in clear plastic. Two tall metal beakers followed out of the pack. He poured wine into hers and water into his. Reflexively, he was deferring to her: she didn’t notice.

She sat delicately on the ledge opposite him, sipped his wine and took small bites of his meal. They didn’t say a word, but looked out from the city that had been their home, out into the desert that the walls had kept back. Every once in a while, one or the other of them would glance upwards at the sky, at the cracks which were perceptibly crawling across it.

The sun began to set. He produced several small lanterns from his bag and set them down on the wall, forming a wide circle of illumination. She placed her music box in the centre of that circle, and lightly tapped the top of it. And suddenly, they were not alone: the box grabbed photons out of the air, and reformed them, projecting four abstract figures. Blurry, unfocused musicians, each with a different instrument. For the first time since he’d seen her on the wall, he tried to speak, but found that he couldn’t. She pointed to the box and the phantom band, attempting to explain that the music box pre-emptively cancelled any other sounds. He didn’t understand, but shrugged and seemed to accept it.

The band struck up. She smiled, twirled and laughed silently, the lanternlight reflecting brilliantly from her dress. She hopped up onto the ledge, and beckoned him to follow. Slowly at first, but gathering courage and confidence with each measure the band played, they danced up and down the wall, within their pool of light.

The damage to the sky had reached a critical point, and fragments began to fall. They heard nothing, wrapped up in the music, the flash and whirl of it, the ever-quickening steps. A fragment crashed into the city, and they felt the shockwave. A moment of unsteadiness, but they carried on regardless: dancing under the light of a moon that neither of them had known was there.

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The 10:04

Author : Mishal Benson

“This is nuts!” Kitty whispered harshly to her companion, “Why did you bring me here?” He remained silent, framed by the subway’s exit, waiting as she surveyed the scene before her. Am I nuts? She thought. Tall glass buildings rose around her with aluminum sidewalks coiled at their feet beside streets of steel. Just as puzzling as the city before her was the realization that she had no memory of taking the subway to get here, wherever ‘here’ was.

There’s no one else here; is the city abandoned? No cars deserted, litter, or artifacts of lives no longer present. Is it new? No, there was a sense of history and age. The city felt ancient, despite its modern materials and architecture.

Her companion led her towards the tallest building. His black cloak fluttered around his feet; although the hood was thrown back, a featureless mask of white obscured his face from view.

Through the doors, across the lobby and into an elevator, Kitty followed her guide. Arriving on what seemed to be the highest floor, he led her down a hall to a door, with only the simple name plate: “President”. Kitty jumped despite herself as the door opened seemingly of its own accord. Through the door Kitty found herself in a spacious office overlooking the empty city below. Seated comfortably in a capacious burgundy leather chair behind an expanse of very expensive looking desk was the man she assumes was ‘The President’. He closed a file he’d been reading, and handing it to a similarly clothed guide chaperoning an equally confused looking woman.

“Your time has not yet come,” he said. From the desk he produced a basket of flowers, with a card nestled among them. “You saw a lovely landscape with flowers, green grass, tall trees and a beautiful rainbow. Relatives who had come before comforted you and said to return later.” He smiled, handing the woman the basket. She took it, numbly allowing her companion to guide her from the room.

He then turned his attention to Kitty. “Welcome”, he smiled politely beneath dark emotionless eyes. She sensed her companion retreating from her side.

“Where am I?” She demanded, forgoing pleasantries, “What is this place?”

“Where we are has many names, and you may decide on one at your leisure.” He walked towards the all encompassing windows, motioning her to follow. “Come, look, tell me what you see.”

“I see nothing,” she answered, “Where is everyone?”

“They are all here,” he beamed. “Being new you may not see them at first, but one purpose in my greeting newcomers is to open your eyes to see what surrounds you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember how you arrived here?” his question tugging at some recent memory, “What do you remember last?”

“I got off the subway, no I was leaving the subway station, but I don’t remember riding the subway itself.”

“What else? What where you doing before that?”

“I left work early, and was riding home on my bike, listening to Gary Jules on my headset, ‘Mad World’ I think it was, and I’d just crossed the tracks on 14th when…,” she paused, “No. I didn’t cross. I was crossing the tracks, and then I was at the Subway station…then that man brought me here.”

“Look again, tell me what you see.”

“I’ve just told you, nothing…” she stopped, gaping at streets suddenly teeming with cars, sidewalks crowded with people.

He rested a hand on her arm, speaking gently. “The 10:04 train is usually past 14th by the time you get there on your bike.”

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The Yellow Room

Author : Seth Koproski

“Mr. Jones, is it?”

“Yep.”

“Hello. I’m Doctor Jack Worth, head of the research team. Do you have any questions you’d like to ask?”

“So how much ‘compensation’ will I receive for this?”

“Enough to last you and your village a lifetime, however long that may be.”

“Alright. Must be an important study.”

“It is. Now shall we get started? I want to start this briefing with a question. Have you ever thought about time travel, Mr. Jones?”

“When I was young we used to have some science fiction books with time travel in them, but my mother threw them away when I was real young. Never thought of them much afterwards.”

“Well, I’ve always loved a good science fiction read. What if I told you that we have discovered a way to travel through time?”

“I’d be surprised, but I’d believe you. You’re a scientist.”

“Now what I am going to tell you is completely confidential- in no way can it leave this room. Is that clear?”

“Alright…”

“We, indeed, have found a way to travel through time and return to the present, but! at a certain… cost.” He left his seat and stood up. “Imagine, if you will, a bare room. A husband wants to paint it blue, the wife yellow. The wife, as usual, wins out, and they paint it yellow. The husband hates the color so much that he eventually gets agitated enough to leave her.” He paused. “Imagine these are dramatic people.” He chuckled. “The wife, realizing that all the anger could be traced back to that one decision, decides to time travel backwards and somehow paint the room blue. She does so, and returns to the present, where she is still married to her husband, and they have a happy blue room.

“Now there is one question I’d like to ponder: Did the yellow room ever exist? Surely no, but in actuality- it must have. The wife distinctly remembers it. It was there, she knew. Or did she? It’s all rather absurd and utterly impossible to prove one way or another. Or so we thought.” He was pacing across the room at this point. “Then we found a girl named Dana. Dana Aude. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?”

“Never in my life.”

“Oh yes, I forgot you’ve been with your village. Dana is a peculiar girl. Very peculiar. She has a mental consciousness that is unheard of. It’s a trait that she alone has, a power to use a special part of her brain to connect to and find any human that has ever existed. She is, although I hate the term, equivalent to a scientifically proven psychic.”

“Huh.”

“Now you’re probably wondering what this has to do with the experiment and all- or have you made the connection? A yellow room cannot tell us if it has existed or not- there is no way to know. However, with a human being and Dana in our laboratory… it’s very possible.”

“But that human would… like the room…”

“Cease to exist. It’s regrettable, but my colleagues and I are willing to push forward. Many lives have been lost in the pursuit of a better world. What was your mother’s name, again?”

“Christy. Christy Jones before and after she was married. Hey, wait… You aren’t going to…!”

“Of course not! We would never dream of it.” The doctor shot a smile. He then tapped his hand on his watch. “Oh, is it that time already? Well, we’ll continue this in an hour. I’ll let you… digest.”

~~~

“Get the machine ready.”

“Of course, Dr. Worth.”

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Laziness

Author : Timothy T. Murphy

Lola heard shuffling footsteps behind her and cursed her laziness. Lingering at shops she could no longer afford, dreaming of days long gone. Now she was out after dark in a bad neighborhood. She was only a few minutes from home, but it only took a few moments for something to go wrong.

She risked a glance back. A limping figure, a girl in torn sweats, hands in her pockets, eyes cast to the ground. There was a heavy scarf around her face and wild shocks of black hair sprouting from under her hood. As she turned, the figure stopped and turned to look in another direction.

She hurried her pace, her breath heavy. The shuffled steps behind her quickened, and she began to really panic. She cast her eyes, looking for some escape, someone sympathetic in a window, even a light on, but found none.

Half a block ahead, a door opened, and voices spoke. Boys, rough-looking and drunken. She stepped back quickly, eyes on the boys, and was grabbed from behind. Her follower pulled her back fast, a gloved hand over her mouth, pulled her into the alley and spun her around, pressing her against the wall. Through the folds of the scarf, Lola saw eyes that were brown, bloodshot, and determined.

A shushing gesture and the girl glanced around the corner, back towards the boys. Lola’s chest tightened unbearably and she shook. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to open her purse for her pills, but the bag dropped from her trembling fingers.

The girl looked down at the bag, then up at Lola’s ashen face. Seeming to understand, she picked up the purse. Lola watched, dumbfounded, as the girl flipped through its contents, leaving the wallet and taking out her pills. These, the girl opened and gave to her.

She stared numb as the girl went back to watching the boys. After a moment, the girl saw her and tapped the pill bottle for emphasis before looking back at the street. Lola took out two pills and swallowed them dry.

A moment more, and the voices died away. The young girl stepped back and faced Lola, bowing respectfully.

“Thank you,” Lola told her.

The figure reached out a gloved hand towards her hesitantly and Lola started to back away. The girl waited patiently, though, like she was dealing with a frightened animal. She stood still, then, and the girl reached up to pull a single hair from Lola’s head. She stretched it out, holding it up to examine, and seemed to smile under her scarf. Turning back to Lola, she held up the hair in one hand and with the other, tapped on the pill bottle, a question in her eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Lola told her, and the girl pushed the bottle towards Lola and pulled the hair to her own chest. “Yes, it’s fair,” she nodded.

The girl smiled, and bowed respectfully. She glanced back out at the street one last time, and waved Lola on, then turned to shuffle down the alleyway.

Lola ran the rest of the way home and locked herself in.

Sheevey lay the precious hair under her tongue and cursed her laziness. One day she must learn this species’ languages. She’d nearly scared that poor woman to death.

Her saliva broke down the hair and the microscopic bots in her tongue dissembled the D.N.A. inside it. In moments, the pain in her hips faded and she could walk better. A fair trade, she’d thought. Medicine for medicine.

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Bio Bill

Author : B.York, Staff Writer

“I guess you found me. I just wonder what’s keeping you from cutting me open to find out how I do it.”

The doctor sitting in front of him adjusted his glasses and smiled, trying to remain reasonable with the locked up felon before him. The white room they were in with the standard mirror left no illusions for the man being held there today. His eyes were a soft brown, his hair thinning and his stubble overgrown. No special features, no distinguishing marks or habits.

The doctor clicked his pen, “So, Mr. Fieldman-“

“Call me Bill. No one calls me Mister.”

“All right, Bill. So before we begin let me tell you that we’re not going to cut you open. We just want to ask a few questions just to make sure and then we’ll run some tests.”

“Tests. Right.”

“How long have you known how to do it?”

“For a while. Listen, it’s not knowing how, it’s kind of automatic for me. It’s like seeing a smudge on a kids face and pointing at them and going ‘Hey kid, you got some shit on your face'”

The doctor smirked, “Bill if we’re going to get you out of here, we’ll need to be more precise. Fewer metaphors. Can you remember the first time?”

“Right. Less emotions and humor. I’ve hated doctors all my life. They told my mother she had something she didn’t. I knew because of the thing… so when I was old enough I found the bullshit ones and I roughed them up a bit. Oh, you mean the first time I did the thing? Middle school. Some kid with a runny nose and a cold.”

“How does it work? Do you feel anything when it occurs? Any numbness or even pain?”

“Naw, I just let it happen. Sometimes I shake their hand or just give’m a slap on the shoulder but I think it happens before that. I can see it happening. I feel bad and worse until the moment I do it and it doesn’t take much. It’s like giving in.”

“A few more quest-“

“So, did you tell your wife?”

“Excuse me?”

Bill pointed to the ring on the doctor’s finger, “You’re married. I was just wondering if you told your wife that you had it. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“I never… wait, what are you talking about?”

Bill sighed and turned his head looking at the mirror, “Nothing you need to worry about anymore. So, you were going to ask me another bullshit question?”

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Good Help

Author : Benjamin Fischer

“So you’re a butler.”

Xero repressed the urge to roll his eyes and sigh. The woman across the aisle on the maglev had seen his replicant’s sigil, a broad tattoo of the symbol for Gemini on the back of his left hand. She’d also seen his impeccable dress and the parcel he’d retrieved from the spaceport. She’d put two and two together and now she wanted to talk.

“I am an executive,” he replied, setting down the display screen for his book.

“Which is another word for butler,” the woman said.

Xero would have slapped her if she hadn’t reeked of money, but the ostentatious garnish on her purple dress suggested it was straight off some Euro runway.

“You are new to Luna, ma’am?” he asked her.

“Why–yes,” she said. “You can tell.”

“I pick up on such things,” Xero said.

“Like a good butler would,” said the woman. “So, he cloned himself to get out of doing the household chores? You Lunies amaze me.”

“Yes, I do the chores,” nodded Xero, ignoring the slight. “But our relationship is much more than that of a servant and master. I manage his economic interests and his wives when he is traveling or indisposed.”

“Wives? In the plural?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” she snorted. “The casual polygamy of this place still astounds me.”

“Oh, they get along,” said Xero. “Never bored for company.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You’ll bet what, ma’am?” asked Xero, even though he knew.

She leaned in.

“So in the dark,” she said, blushing, “can they tell that you’re not him?”

Xero chuckled.

“I’m his executive, ma’am.”

“But do you–do you, you know?” the woman asked.

“From time to time.”

“And what about him?” she asked.

“Not his taste,” Xero said, and then seeing the continued color in the woman’s face:

“Sometimes when I’m with them,” he said, “he will watch.”

That shut her up for a moment and Xero almost got back to reading the latest chapter of his favorite serial when she piped up again.

“How large is your household?” she asked.

“About average for Copernicus,” he replied.

“What’s average?” she asked.

Xero set aside his book’s diamond case.

“Two of us, the three wives, the pool girl, the plumber, the gardener, five different Intelligences, two sponsored children, and maybe three entertainers on contract. That’s everyone who lives in the quarters, at least,” he said.

“That’s average?” asked the woman.

“Mmm, yes, ma’am. About average.”

“Everyone lives like that?”

“No, but the option is always there,” said Xero.

“But that must be expensive-”

“Twelve adults and Intelligences, ma’am. We all pull our weight.”

The woman shook her head.

“Absurd,” she said.

“Maybe,” Xero said, “but it’s damn good fun.”

The woman snorted.

Xero glanced at his darkened book. He sighed and opened his mouth anyway.

“In the Concourse Level, ma’am. There’s a club called Young’s.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, not understanding.

“When your husband starts looking,” he said. “You might as well begin with the best.”

“What?” she said.

“It’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?” said Xero. “Getting replaced.”

“Jim would never-”

“Ma’am,” Xero said, grinning, “I’m sure he’s thinking of you as well–he’s probably already getting an executive of his own.”

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