by submission | Jul 14, 2007 | Story
Author : James Smith
When Rocky got home that morning, Victoria was sitting on the couch, wings molting, a pale, fragile bird. Rocky took a look in Victoria’s eyes, took her EMT kit off her shoulder and popped it open on the floor. She pulled out a thin white tube and uncapped it. She took Victoria by one shoulder, pushed her back onto the cushions and quickly ran the uncapped tube along her roommate’s top lip.
Victoria gagged. “Jesus fucking Christ! What-“
Bolt upright, she looked around the apartment, eyes of a cornered cat, panting loud and heavy. Rocky wondered how many animal metaphors she’d run through before the end of the night.
“Tea,” Rocky said, walking to the kitchen. She punched a couple buttons on the maker, stuck a cup in it and returned to the couch.
“Lay back. Your last gene tweak is breaking down.”
Victoria sputtered stupidly and Rocky ignored her, pulling more work out of her kit.
“I don’t have any way to stop it degrading, but I can ease the pain a bit. Where’s your goddamn useless boyfriend?”
Victoria had to try a few times before her tongue slipped into the present. Rocky didn’t press. She was certain Nile wouldn’t be back tonight, or the night after. He’d turn up, like a bad song lyric, a month or year later, strung out himself, asking Victoria to take him back, telling her he didn’t do anything wrong, getting her hooked on black market gene tweaks wasn’t his idea, and who was she going to listen to, him, the guy that loved her, or that bitch, Rocky, who had to ruin everything because she couldn’t get a man of her own?
“Oww!” Rocky jabbed the hypo in a little harder than she had to. “Rocky… I…”
“Vic. You don’t die, I’ll take you to the hospital tomorrow. You can be my first call.”
Rocky brought her the tea, with two crushed redcaps in it, and made her finish that and a slice of dry bread. She wished she smoked, so she’d have something to do with her hands while Victoria struggled into a chemical sleep. The wings were pretty. The sun shone through them as they spasmed, dancers in water, turning brown and wearing through like melted film stock.
The baby she couldn’t save that night, the baby that had been dead before they’d even responded to the call, crawled from the kitchen to the bedroom, slow, too damn slow, and never once looked at her.
Rocky picked up the mug of tea, threw it against the wall, and went to sleep.
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by submission | Jul 13, 2007 | Story
Author : Charles Musser
Welcome to Nanotron Technologies! ®
You have launched our Mental Acuity Accelerator (MAA).
Your brain is now functioning more than two million times faster than normal. These words are scrolling across your line of vision, courtesy of thousands of nanobots implanted in your brain. Do not panic!
All movement will appear to have ceased. This is normal. Your heart and breathing seems to have stopped. You cannot move your body. This is nothing to worry about. They are side-effects of brain acceleration.
We are analyzing…wait…wait…
You are on your back, looking up. A steel rod, 1/2 inch in diameter and eight feet long is moving at 75 meters per second toward your left eye. Do not panic! This rod will pierce your pupil, enter your brain and obliterate all higher functions in your left hemisphere within .01 seconds, real-time.
Nanotron recommends using our Muscle Reflex Accelerator (MRA), at your earliest convenience, to move out of danger. If you wish to use MRA, please think “yes,” now.
Yes!
We are sorry. You must first disengage MAA before engaging MRA. If you wish to disengage MAA, think “yes,” now.
Fuck, yes!
“Fuck” is not recognized.
Yes!
We are sorry. The Nanobot Unit you purchased does not allow the MAA to disengage early. Our Nanobot Unit “Platinum” includes this feature. You must wait until MAA expires. MAA will expire in .02 seconds, real-time. Your corresponding RET (Relative Experienced Time) will be 24 years, 3 months, 13 days, 4 hours, and 36.478 seconds.
While you wait for MAA to disengage, we will play a selection of tunes from the Broadway musical, Brigadoon. You can purchase this CD online at www.ritemart.music-cds.com
Thank you for using Nanotron Technologies®, a Subdivision of Rite-Mart International.
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by submission | Jul 12, 2007 | Story
Author : Terri Monture
The glare of the klieg lights blinded Godwin as he watched the limo pull up to the edge of the red carpet and he was dazzled as the digital camera flashes started blazing. He scanned the crowd eagerly, his heart pounding with excitement. The culmination of a lifetime’s ambition was upon him; he now had the perfect vehicle upon which to fulfill his greatest dreams.
“Omega! Omega!†the crowd was screaming as one long, elegant leg appeared from the plush depths of the hover-limo. The flashes reached a blinding crescendo; a uniformed attendant reached down and a diamond-crusted hand reached outward and a preternaturally beautiful woman stepped forward from the depths, her white, perfect smile nearly as brilliant as the lights being flashed upon her. She emerged from the vehicle like Botticelli’s Venus from the froth of the sea, her luscious blond locks flowing down her sinuous back, the delicate white sheath skimming over her incredible body like a translucent second skin.
Rosenberg leaned into Godwin. “So how much was your investment?†he asked carefully, in the studied tones of someone who could barely contain their envy.
Godwin watched Omega’s perfectly poised progress up the red carpet, her every movement flawless and graceful, as if every gene had prepared her for this moment – which indeed they had. “Ninety-two million dollars to date,†he answered absently. “From the initial design to the gene splicing, the ideal womb environment – we used a Swedish brood mother – to the final decanting. And of course the grooming, the drama education and the designer clothes. That’s how much she cost.â€
“And how much do you anticipate the return?†Rosenberg was being droll, but Godwin didn’t care.
“Initial estimates put her at nearly ten billion revised dollars by the end of next year,†he replied, ignoring Rosenberg’s low whistle of disbelief. He was mesmerized by Omega’s glowing skin, her unearthly blue eyes, her million-megawatt smile. Even at this distance, a man could not take his eyes off her. She had been designed to attract the male gaze, designed to make women aspire to be her. “She’s worth every penny, don’t you think?â€
There was the sudden sharp crack like a firecracker and a lethal red blossom appeared in the centre of Omega’s chest, a fountain of blood bursting from her shattered heart. She pitched headfirst onto the red carpet. Thunderous screaming burst from the crowd and Godwin’s breath stopped in his throat. “Abomination!†he heard one voice shriek above the crowd. “Abomination!â€
Godwin was trying to reach Omega through the panicked crowd. He saw the white-robed figure holding the gun. “Born Humans Only,†the woman screamed. “Born Human! Not decanted!†Security guards wrestled her to the ground. “Born Humans Only!†she kept screaming until her voice was silenced.
By the time Godwin was able to breach the crowd all life had drained from Omega’s body and her blue eyes stared unseeingly into the sky. Beside him, Rosenberg shuddered sympathetically. “There goes your investment.â€
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by submission | Jul 11, 2007 | Story
Author : Benjamin Fischer
“This is your final test,†said Captain Fang.
Bai sucked in a breath, the entirety of his vision replaced by the externals of the Nanking. The sun somewhere behind him, he looked down on a field of stars smeared with the broken viscera of a Martian freighter. Bai zoomed in on the clumsy, struggling figures of the other ship’s crew as they went EVA to launch their life raft. Their suits were silver emergency gear, the creases still in their sleeves and the oxygen probably stale.
Fang’s raider, the heavily armed Honor of Nanking, had exchanged greetings and gossip with the other ship for several hours. Red Rover was two hundred and three days out of Deimos Port with a belly full of transuranics, bored out of their minds and bound for somewhere in the Belt. They had almost come alongside for tea when Captain Fang had unholstered the dorsal cannon and fired a burst of caseless thirty millimeter high-explosive rounds into the Rover.
Now that gun was in Bai’s hands. More literally, it was in his brain courtesy of his neural interface. He watched the two survivors of the ambush struggle with the manual release for the tiny white life raft, the weapon tracking with whatever object he focused on.
“They were resupplying the El base at Ceres,†Captain Fang had said in his typically matter-of-fact tone. Then he’d ordered Bai to take the First Mate’s seat and the other crew to leave Control. For three long years Bai had been laboring and learning under the Captain but the initiation had still come as a surprise.
He had thought he was prepared for it–he’d thought he was ready the day he had come aboard the Nanking.
But now he paused.
One of the Rover’s survivors was hurt. He’d jammed his boots under a handrail, and was trying to work the release with one hand. The other was limp and useless. He nearly drifted loose, and he flailed for a grip.
Bai paused.
The other man was more successful. He had triggered his side of the escape pod and was working his way around the raft to assist his companion.
The Captain spoke.
“You are asking yourself, why should I pointlessly kill these men? They, like me, have families. They want to live,†Fang said.
Bai was silent.
“That is what you are thinking, correct?â€
“Yessir,†Bai finally managed.
The Captain sighed.
“You are a good technician and a gifted cosmonaut, Bai. In two days at New Tianjin you will disembark my ship.â€
Against all his years of training, Bai started to cry.
The Captain continued: “You will serve us in dozens of little ways for the rest of your life, one of the many thousands who support our great cause. You will warn us of traps and give us the keys to great victories. You will hide us when we need to disappear, and help heal those who fall on the field of battle.â€
The Captain ejected Bai from the external view, and the young man rubbed his eyes clear. The starfield disappeared, replaced by the familiar muted crimson and gold trim of Control. But Captain Fang loomed before him, his weathered, splotchy face frowning.
“You will marry a beautiful and obedient woman, and she will bear you many strong sons,†the Captain said, setting a wrinkled hand on Bai’s shoulder.
“And when the El come and break through your hatch and rape your wife and execute your sons and leave you hemorrhaging to death on the deck of your ruined home for the crime of nothing more than being Chinese, you will know the answer to your question.â€
Fang’s eyes rolled back in his head for a moment. Then he blinked and gave Bai a wan smile.
“It is done. Come, let us pack your things.â€
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by submission | Jul 10, 2007 | Story
Author : Liz Shannon Miller
The last panhandler to go digital isn’t the last panhandler. One man left behind, and that man is Stinkpot Pink, great orator of the Ravenwood line, the Prophet of the El.
Stinkpot Pink has only one arm, so carrying the charger, for him, is an impossibility. But he stands among them anyway, swaying with the train’s motion like a sea captain from a story, all misfortune his white whale. He screams over the rattle of the rails:
“Books hold the secrets to happiness, but you stare at your plastic, and you keep your heads down!”
He has a book tucked into his front jacket pocket, half-obscuring the name embroidered over the breast, leaving only a faded “–eter.” It’s all the real name he has left. The book is the Bible, and he hasn’t read it in years. He hasn’t needed to.
He keeps on shouting.
“But try and look down at the ground! Try and find a patch of dirt! Look, for once in your lives. Remember what man didn’t make!”
People keep their heads lowered, because they hold the world in the palms of their hands. They talk, they play, they learn, all with eyes focused on small screens. Here but not there. Making use of the daily commute.
Stinkpot Pink rocks with the motion of his now-small world, his one arm twined around the center pole like it’s the woman who got away. He has lived in more cities than any of these people would expect, assuming as they might that a man with no shoes has never traveled. That is, if they’d noticed about the shoes at all.
The chargers are bulky, cumbersome, and prone to error. They tag those who use them, leaving them easy for the government to pick off, one by one. That’s what Stinkpot Pink screams at his fellow man. He screams to be heard, over the rails and the beeps and the clicks and the buzz of his oh-so-light head.
The train arrives at the station, and Stinkpot Pink nearly loses his balance. It’s that stumble which makes a few of the passengers look. One woman, eyes narrow and strained from the screen, but still able to express some sympathy, pulls her credit card out of one pocket. Her eyes rake over the man, expecting the charger to be somewhere easy to see.
“Spare some change?” the man asks, the old phrase.
The woman shrugs. “All I have is cards.”
The man sniffs. “Plastic.”
The woman puts her card in her pocket, her smile helpless, her money safely locked inside machines. “Sorry.”
He watches her go, then turns to the rest, the new arrivals, as the train again picks up speed. He rants and raves about the world long ago, eras long since lost but so much more real. The Middle Ages, the Gold Rush, men killing each other over nuggets. The days, as he says, when the god who ruled man could be held in one’s hand.
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