by submission | Feb 5, 2016 | Story |
Author : Ben Sixsmith
John Byrne woke up, a hundred and ten years after he had died. He had the vague impression that he had been sitting at his desk, but now he was suspended in the air. He tried to move his arms and legs but found they were immobile.
“Mr Byrne?”
John found it hard enough to accept what he could see that there was no room in his brain for what he could have heard. Unable to move his head, he looked up at the ceiling, where lights blinked in colours even ecstacy had not exposed to him.
“Mr Byrne?”
Two men appeared above him. They had smooth scalps, angular beards and pained expressions. One was tall and one was short but both were lean. Around their necks were stiff white collars and around their brows were strange devices that resembled scorpions.
“Yes – what – where…”
John was breathing hard and fast and rough. There was a hissing sound and a warm feeling spread up to his chest from his legs. John realised that the air bore the faint scent of vanilla. He began to feel embarrassed for being unwashed and unshaven in such clinical surroundings.
“It is 2026,” said the shorter man, “You have been resurrected by the Christie Group in accordance with LD4564. I must inform you that you have been injected with a mild shock suppressant.”
It occurred to John that he would have liked a more powerful shock suppressant. He remembered a hideous bolt of pain striking his chest but then everything was black.
“You have – you have cured death?”
“In a sense.”
“Look, Mr Byrne,” the tall man said, “This technique has been controversial. Its use is strictly limited and regulated.”
He smiled.
“We haven’t cured regulation yet, you see? We applied to resurrect you and for a good reason. You write novels?”
“Yes…”
It had been a good way to earn a crust a hundred years before: cranking out doorstoppers about sex, drugs and serial killings.
“You were working on a novel when you died. The Third Betrayal.”
John remembered seeing his text blur on the screen in front of him.
“So?”
“Your books are popular.”
“Really? Jesus. I was eating out of cans before I died.”
“Well, Mr Byrne, filth is always in fashion.”
“What we want, Mr Byrne,” said the short man, “Is the ending.”
“What?”
“The ending, Mr Byrne! Your book was published incomplete and people want to know what happened.”
John realised that he could open and close his eyes and did it several times in quick succession.
“You have cured death! You have cured death! You never have to die! And people want to know if DI Frayn can catch the killer of the prostitute in the pond?”
The short man looked impatient.
“People want to know. Surely you can understand that, Mr Byrne? People always want to know.”
“But this is…I’m alive! I have another chance to…Can my wife come back? I feel like I could…”
“Look, Mr Byrne, if you will not cooperate we are under no obligation to keep you…”
“Okay!” John yelped, “Okay! It was DI Frayn. The divorce sent him mad and he killed her with…”
There was a click. John suddenly felt as if a whirlpool had materialised in his stomach. He disappeared before he had a change to scream.
“A bad ending,” frowned the tall man.
“Yes,” his colleague shrugged, “Well, let’s move on. I don’t want to be here all month.”
He pressed a button and a name appeared before his eyes. It was “Shakespeare”.
by submission | Feb 4, 2016 | Story |
Author : Beck Dacus
“Sorry,” Merida said, “but why did we let him come aboard with a gun?” She looked warily at Jonathan’s holstered pistol, his hand guarding it from her and preparing to draw it.
“You do know why he’s here, right?” Vennix asked her. “Right?”
“Yeah. To show him the world’s not flat. One of the last Flat Earth theorists, right?”
“Yes. He is. So think about it. We’re willingly taking him into orbit to show him this. Don’t you think he would think that we were trapping–”
“I know, but this is a space shuttle, for God’s sake! We can’t possibly–”
“Is this lady tellin’ me to get off?” Jonathan asked. “Because I can if I can’t carry–”
“It’s fine,” Vennix told Merida, telling her to shut up with his eyes. “We’re taking off as soon as your men are finished with their… inspection.”
“What. The hell. Are you talking about?” Merida asked.
“He’s having his men check the rocket to make sure the windows are actually windows, and not screens. What did you expect?”
“’What did you expect?’” Jonathan interjected. “What else was this dumb freak gonna do, right? I’m making sure that you’re not tricking me! What’s so hard to understand about that?”
“Because we’ve done experiments for thousands of years! Because we’ve verified this over and over again! Because you can see the horizon, moron! We’re letting you have too much power in all this!”
“MERIDA!” Vennix said. “We’re trying to show him that with this trip! Remember?” He pulled her up the ladder, to the pilots’ seats. “This is the last known Flat Earth theorist on Earth. We’re bringing down an immense amount of ignorance, superstition, and bigotry right now! Do not ruin this. He won’t shoot us if we don’t provoke him, which we obviously won’t. Understand?”
It wasn’t really a question. “Yes, commander.”
The rocket swiftly made its way to orbit, as they all did now. It was this affordability that inspired this crusade to remove all doubt about Earth’s shape. Because it didn’t cost millions of dollars to launch five people into space anymore, they could manage to remove this man’s twisted ideology.
“There it is,” Vennix said. “You saw it unfold, right from launch. You saw it turn from the launch pad to the entire, spherical planet.”
“And that,” Jonathan said, “was incredible.” His eyes were glued to the window, his face contorted with deep thought. “I just– everything, put into perspective like that… my God.”
“Do you acknowledge Earth’s curvature?” Merida pressed.
He looked back at them. “I… can I have my moment?”
“No!” she said. “We brought you up here for one thing, and I’m not going to let you evade the matter to spare your pride! Do you accept, or do we need to send you outside to have a look for yourself?” Her face had turned red.
Jonathan sighed. “Fine. All right?” He put his right hand on his heart, and said, “The Earth, my planet, is round.” He sighed. “Now all my friends are gonna disown me. Call me flaky.”
Merida sidetracked. “Why do you care? You’ve seen Earth from up here. Didn’t you just say that was amazing? Focus on that.”
Silently, he turned away, and took her advice. Merida turned to Vennix, who was smiling.
Now everyone knew.
by submission | Feb 3, 2016 | Story |
Author : Jared Lynch
The water quit flowing from the taps shortly after the sirens stopped. I hadn’t paid my rent in three months, but I didn’t expect to receive an eviction notice. None came. There hadn’t been a train for four months.
Karen and I were always in before curfew. At night we hid away in our attic apartment, looked at the empty faces of the houses. Sometimes we read by candlelight. Sometimes there was light in other windows.
Gunfire eventually replaced the vacant ambience of the trains. Sporadic became more frequent. Pistol shots, then automatic. It reminded me of the fourth, lighting sparklers down by the river, gunpowder accumulating in a cloud beneath the fireworks.
The pepper plant and onion were growing well in the planter hung outside my kitchen window. Then one day heavy boots thudded up the stairs, a gloved fist on my door, an AR-15 pointed in my face. “Food can only be grown by government approved producers. This is your only warning.”
The next day we drove to my sister’s and stood in their yard with her husband. The peppers, lettuce, onions, carrots, kale, cucumbers, zucchini, garlic, rhubarb, corn, and radishes were all gone, picked clean from the stem. There were boot prints in the pumpkin patch. Mark said, “We’re leaving soon, going to your dad’s. Come with us.”
I said, “We’re still waiting to hear from her parents.”
That night there was an explosion in the distance. We saw fire on the horizon. Gunfire moved across the river. When she pulled back the curtains, and saw what our world had become she crawled back into my arms. I said, “Calm your fearful pulse my lover.”
She said, “The skyline is beautiful…everything is washed in a thin orange haze.”
I said, “You’re beautiful. Kiss me.”
We fell into each other. Automatic outside. Short bursts. Another explosion, closer. There were no lights in the windows.
The next morning we drove to my sister’s. The trunk was filled. Our packs were in the backseat. Gallons of water stacked on the floor. We parked off the alley in the back, walked through the trampled pumpkin patch. Empty house. A note on the kitchen table: Had to leave. Made copy of map for you. Meet us.
We drove through empty neighborhoods. We approached a checkpoint on the road leading out of town. Five bodies haphazard on the shoulders of the road, four soldiers and a man dressed in combat boots, cargo pants, and empty holster, laying facedown in a halo of blood.
We followed the map out through the country. The smoke was sporadic. That day the solitude felt barren. We hadn’t left the city since the spring’s green. She asked, “What are we going to find out here?”
I said, “Another house. Maybe the future.”
There was smoke in the rearview mirror.
by submission | Feb 2, 2016 | Story |
Author : Elle B Sullivan
The taxi pulled up outside of the school, right into the center of the large circle dive. This driveway had been the barrier between me and the rest of the world throughout my entire childhood – and I was terrified to leave it. My caretaker walked me to the door of the car and put a rigid arm around me, “goodbye 726H,” she said sternly.
I smiled, but couldn’t feel my hands as I made my way into the back of the taxi, sitting next to another boy about my age. On his name-tag, “678L” was written and the date listed below his name was tomorrow’s date. The windows suddenly turned black and the barrier between the front seats and the back raised, isolating us from the outside world.
“Do you know where you’re going?” The boy asked, looking towards me and studying my name-tag, and then my body.
“I believe I will be going to a famous genetic scientist of some sort – he was recently in an explosion.” I smiled a rehearsed smile.
“That’s wonderful.” He responded back, “I believe I am also going to a scientist.”
“Oh how wonderful.” I replied, and then felt warmth in my heart from sharing a similar fate with someone I had just met.
“Will you miss your home?” I asked 678L.
“I wouldn’t know anything different,” he responded. “What about you?”
“I’m the same. I have nothing to hold on to back there.” I replied, and then noticed his hands were shaking slightly. “Would you like me to hold your hand?” I asked him, and his face transformed into a smile as he nodded slightly.
“You are the first person I’ve met who isn’t a caretaker.” He said with a smile, “perhaps even my first friend.”
“You are my first friend as well,” I smiled back. “Even my caretaker wasn’t very friendly.”
“Me as well.” He replied.
The car began to slow, and we turned onto a different road. Then the car came to a stop, and the windows began to lighten, as the barrier between the front and back seats of the car lowered.
“Yes this is 678L for tomorrow’s three o’clock transplant and 726H for tomorrow’s at eight o’clock.” Our driver told the intake person who greeted him at his window.
“Great, we’ll take them both now.” The woman said, dressed in a blue linen outfit.
I believe I felt afraid. But I knew my fate. I knew that my entire life had been leading up to… I just didn’t know I would feel so alone.
“Promise me something?” I asked 678L quietly.
“Anything.” He said while nervously waiting to be taken from the car.
“We will be friends forever?” I said, feeling silly – but needing something to hold on to.
“Always,” he said.
Both our doors were opened, and we were taken out of the car, and asked to lie down onto large rolling carts. Once settled, we were both fitted with masks placed over our faces. Suddenly my head felt light, and I –
– – – –
“Professor Johnson?” A nurse dressed in blue scrubs asked as the patient began waking from his anesthesia.
He tried to speak, the sound unintelligible, groggily struggling to open his eyes.
“I just wanted to let you know the heart and lung transplant surgeries were both a success, and you’ve been recovering wonderfully. The two children donors were very healthy, and we believe your body is having no issues with the new organs.”
“Good,” he struggled to say through his oxygen mask before closing his eyes to rest again as his body healed.
by submission | Feb 1, 2016 | Story |
Author : Bryan Pastor
An officer sprinted down the hall, past superiors and subordinates alike. Nearing the end of the hall, he slid to a stop, upsetting two chairs outside the deputy legate’s office. He quickly set them back in place, then checked himself in the reflection of a picture’s glass. Confident that he was in order, he marched around the corner toward the Marshal’s office.
A pair of guards flanked the high officer’s door. A young female officer sat behind a desk, upon noticing the officer’s appearance, she fixed him with a dower glare.
“The marshal is not to be disturbed.” The female officer growled, even as he was only halfway down the hall.
“I have an urgent message for Marshall Kana.” He replied, snapping her a salute.
“You can give it to me.”
“It’s for his ears only ma’am.” He replied. “It’s is about…” he paused and cleared his throat.
“Alpha.”
“Send him in.” a voice barked from the office.
The interior of the Marshal’s office was decorated in deep red and gold. A wooden desk sat opposite the door, a rare item this far from the home world.
“This better be important.” Said the Marshal, a half-finished plate of food sat among maps and troop deployments.
The officer steadied himself then made the ten steps to the front of the Marshall’s desk.
“Who are you?”
“Second Corporal Lew, intelligence corp.”
“Spit it out, Lew.”
“We have him, sir.” Lew beamed.
The marshal’s hand reflexively shot to the patch over his left eye.
“Where?”
“On an inbound transport that will be docking in less than ten minutes. I have an interrogation room ready for his arrival.”
“Good.” The Marshal chuckled. “I have been waiting a long time for this.”
Four heavily armed guards led a shackled and hooded man down a dimly lit corridor. They marched on for what seemed like an eternity until they came to a plain, unmarked door.
“You sure this is the place?” a guard asked.
“This is where we were directed.” His superior replied. He knocked on the door.
A camera dropped from the ceiling, scanned the small group then retreated. There was a clank and a hiss, the door and surrounding wall faded. In its place were a dozen more guards.
Second Corporal Lew stepped forward.
“We will take him from here.” He dismissed the men.
“There is someone who is eager to see you again, Duren’La” Lew grabbed the prisoner by the arm, pulling him toward a table. The Marshal sat behind it.
“Duren’La, my old friend.” The Marshal laughed, “I haven’t seen you since…”
“You lost your eye?” A voice offered from beneath the hood. Lew motioned to have the hood removed.
The man squinted as his eye’s grew accustom to the light.
“I am going to make the last days of your life as miserable as possible.” Kana rose, anger emanating from every fiber of his being.
“Six long months I languished on that desolate rock waiting to be found. Then another six months spent in a field hospital. It’s a pity I don’t have an asteroid to plop you down on.” Kana jabbed a finger at his prisoner’s chest, it sank in nearly up to his knuckle.
Kana stared, a look of incredulity crossed his face. Duren’La looked at him and smiled, before collapsing into innumerable nanobots.
“You brought me to the center of your citadel, right?” Duren’La’s voice seemed to come from everywhere.
Men screamed as the swarm engulfed them in a maelstrom of destruction, none louder than Marshall Kana.
