Third Strike

by | May 9, 2007 | Story

Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer

Tutime paid for the bus ride from Centerville to North End with traceable credit, being sure to show his face to the cameras at either end. Three blocks on foot brought him to the Art School campus, and two more hours riding through culverts on a stolen bicycle brought him undetected to his destination in South End, just a five minute walk from the Mechanic’s District.

Tutime scratched beneath greasy hair at the barcode tattoo on the back of his neck. The judge had warned him about getting into trouble again, had tried to impress upon him the severity of the third strike penalty, but he was careful, there was no chance anyone could have followed him tonight.

He’d curled up in the shelter of a dumpster until the sun had purpled and faded out of sight. He stayed still, dozing until all the lights in the shop yard had dimmed on powersave, only then did he slip quietly from the shadows. Chain link and razor wire stood guard at the street around the shop parking lot, between Tutime and a row of Ambulances, fresh off the street for maintenance. Strategically cracked windshields and broken running lights made them unsafe for service tonight, and left them here, exposed.

He skulked along the fence line until he found a spot out of site from the garage where he made quick work of the fence, a mono filament blade passing effortlessly through the heave gauge wire.

Tutime closed the distance to the nearest Ambulance and slipped his backpack off his shoulders, singularly focused now on the stash of drugs that would surely still be onboard. He raised the filament blade to the door lock and was startled by a sudden booming voice from behind.

“Charles Tutime Birkit, you are under arrest for breach of parole, put your hands on your head and remain motionless.”  

Whirling around, Tutime froze in fear, his reflection cowering back at him from the visor of a police trooper, armoured and towering over him.

Impossible. How’d they get here so fast? He’d been so careful. How’d they know his name? Darting to the left he raced around the corner of the vehicle, only to come face to face with a second trooper.

“Please remain motionless”. Beads of sweat formed on his reflection in the trooper’s visor, and over his shoulder the first trooper reappeared, barring his retreat.

Tutime broke into a full body sweat, a searing pain crawled up the back of his neck into his brain. He could feel heat radiating through his skin, like his body was on fire. Something was terribly wrong.

“Charles Tutime Birkit, you are guilty of a third strike violation. Transport has been dispatched for your immediate retrieval.  Please remain motionless”. He couldn’t tell which of the two spoke, the sound seemed to permeate his consciousness from all around.

At the base of his skull, the second strike processor was straining to maintain the visual of the troopers. If only Tutime would look at the ground, but no, he was fixated on his own reflection, and with it both guards. Billions of polygons were rendered and raytraced into Tutime’s cortex as the tiny unit approached near critical core temperature. Wrapped around his carotid artery, heatpipe mercilessly seared tissue as it raced to dissipate heat through Tutime’s bloodstream.  There was a good chance that his heart would burst or his brain would boil before any real troopers could get this far out to South End, but no matter, this was his third strike after all.
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Perfect Mates, Inc.

by | May 8, 2007 | Story

Author : Patricia Stewart

James Stevens sheepishly peeked around the doorjamb. “E-e-excuse me m-m-mister, can you help m-me?”

Robert Boyer looked up from his desk, and smiled. “Of course, sir. Come in, and take a seat. What can I do for you?”

“I’d-d-d like to order a w-w-wife.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Any idea of what model you want?”

“I’m not s-sure. M-my m-m-mom recommended I c-come here.”

“Son, your mother is a smart woman. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll walk you through the basic package, and explain the upgrade options. For $50,000 you get a baseline female. Thirty seven years old, five feet six, 140 pounds, sandy blond hair, hazel eyes, two of course.” He waited for the customary chuckle. Not even a smile. Mr. Stevens sat there like an unblinking mannequin. Best to push on, Boyer thought. “She can cook, clean, do the wash, has an IQ of 100, and can make love in four positions. By the way, how much do you want to spend?”

“I d-don’t know. A-about $80,000 I s-suppose.”

“How do you want to spend it:? Intelligence, looks, age, sports knowledge, house keeping skills, or maybe the deluxe bedroom package, if you know what I mean?”

Stevens turned beet red. Boyer reconsidered going for the big commission options. The sex models would probably freak the kid out, or maybe even kill him. “If I were you, I’d go for the intelligent type, but still hot. Am I right?” Stevens was smirking and nodding his head. Boyer pulled out a stack of photographs. Tall blonds with blue eyes, athletic brunettes with olive skin, top heavy redheads with long legs, and a dozen other options and/or combinations. As predicted, Stevens’ index finger tapped the photo of the Asian woman with the beautiful smile and long, straight, butt length black hair. “Excellent choice, sir. You should have enough money left over to purchase the 125-130 IQ upgrade. We’ll get started on her right away. Cloning and programming should take about 30 days. Then 5 days of additional training. Let me see…You can pick her up on the twenty third of next month, anytime after four o’clock.” He stood up and walked around the desk to shake Stevens’ trembling hand and to escort him to Financing. “This way, Jim. Tony here will handle the money end. Good luck, and feel free to call me with any questions.”

A few minutes after Boyer returned to his office and sat down; he heard a barely audible tapping on his opened door. He looked up to see a slender female with straight brown hair and glasses. “Come in, please. Have a seat, young lady. Would you like some coffee? No? Well, OK. What can I do for you?”

“Nancy, my sister, said she got her husband here. And that you have lots of good choices.”

That we do, ma’am. That we do. Let’s start with the baseline male. Forty years old, five feet eight, 198 pounds, balding, brown eyes, two of cour…ah, IQ of 100, missionary position only. They start at $10,000 dollars. Of course, there are thousands of upgrade options available. How much were you planning to spend?”

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Alternatively

by | May 7, 2007 | Story

Author : Mur Lafferty, featured writer

Dr. Emmett Black stumbled home, tears still streaming down his face. Katie was there, as always, with dinner. Wonderful, beautiful, sweet Katie.

She rushed to his side. “Darling, what’s wrong?” She helped him to the couch where he choked back sobs and glared at her.

“We did it. We used the IBID Projector to tear a hole through reality,” he said. “We could see through to another universe.”

“That’s wonderful! Ten years of work paid off for you!” She beamed at him.

He laughed bitterly. “No, I was stupid. There were so many tests to run, but I couldn’t help it. I stepped through.” She gasped. He glared at her again. “It was amazing. So very like our world, and so different too. God, Katie, the colors were different. Hues I can’t even describe.

“Instead of cars, people traveled by personal mechanical striders, like in Star Wars or something. Instead of streets there were dirt paths. The buildings were made of something rubbery and synthetic, but very strong.”

“Did you get to test your theory that we all have doubles in this world?”

Emmett had hatred in his eyes. “Yes. I found you.”

She beamed. “Was I a movie star? Oh, Emmett, please tell me I was rich and famous.”

“You were rich, yes. A successful businesswoman. I looked you up. But we weren’t together.”

She pouted. “Aw, honey, I’m sorry. The alternate me must be very stupid. Or an old maid.” She laughed.

He cut off her laughter. “No. She was married. To Tim Muse.”

Katie stared at him. “Tim? Tim Muse?” Tim was their longtime friend, a nice guy but no one Katie had ever found attractive. And she’d told her husband this on more than one occasion.

Emmett finally let his rage break through. “Yes! You slut! How could you do that to me!”

Katie stood up, getting distance between them. “Emmett, it wasn’t me. I am here with you. She is someone else. You know this!”

He stood as well. “Katie, if our love isn’t strong enough to span universes, then what’s the point?”

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked, her voice hollow.

He looked at her one more time, his eyes full of rage and despair, and stormed out.

Katie sat on the couch, stunned. Something clattered to the hardwood floor. Emmett’s wedding ring.

The evening passed quietly. She ate the dinner she’d prepared for him, and got in the bed she’d made for him. She lay in the darkness for some time, the hollowness filled first with rage, and then curiosity.

In the dark, she dialed her cell phone.

“Hi Tim, it’s Katie Black. I’m going to be downtown tomorrow and would like to meet for coffee … well, it’s been a while, and besides, I’m getting tired of the housewife routine. I was wondering if you could get me some leads on some entry level jobs downtown. Emmett tells me I have a head for business.”

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Proctoring the Exam

by | May 6, 2007 | Story

Author : Grant Montoya

Everything was prepared. My satchel carried all the tools. They could not be too advanced; I would not have access to gas or electricity, and batteries would only backfire my intentions. I checked my watch, which said it had plenty of life left for the week I anticipated needing. I looked at the technician. “Activate.” The cold, clinical office melted away, and I was on the outskirts of a seventeenth-century village.

Hurrying to the center of town, I pressed through the crowd and entered the church. “Mister Danforth, I have evidence that will acquit the accused. May I be allowed to speak?”

I expected mayhem, but I also expected the judge to be a good man, and to carry the day. He did; I was given the floor. I stepped to the sacramental table, which had been cleared for the proceedings.

“My lord Judge,” I began, “I know you are concerned that these people cannot be tested through natural means because their affliction appears supernatural. However, the methods of Galileo can demonstrate to you that they are indeed natural, albeit dangerous afflictions.”

“Continue, sir, but first tell us in God’s Name, who you are!”

“I am a scientist. My work descends from medieval alchemy and while we have not found the philosopher’s stone, we have found many wonders, including a liquid that will show you what afflicts these girls.” I spoke quickly, setting up a series of test tubes, some of which hung over candles. “This yellow liquid has a substance in it that reacts in a most extraordinary way. If you add a chemical which in Latin is called lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD, it will turn blue. Observe.” I took a small dropper and added a few drops to the first vial. It immediately turned a bright blue.”

I spoke over the gasps and murmurs. “I assure you, my lord, this is no witchcraft. The response of this liquid is purely natural.”

“This rye came from Boston.” I dropped a few grains in the next vial. Nothing happened. “This rye came from Reverend Parris’ stores.” The liquid turned a bright blue, to the amazed gasps of the men around me.

“If you test the grains of the other afflicted girls in Salem, you will find the same. The rye in this village is contaminated with a fungus that produces LSD. If I am permitted to bleed the girls, you will also find their blood is contaminated. The substance causes hallucinations—wild visions, my lord, as well as seizures and catatonic behavior such as afflicted young Betty Parris.”

It was done, and the girls were tested. John Proctor was saved from the hangman’s noose, and it was time for me to go. I left the village with my tools and deactivated the field which kept me in 1692, and saw again the cold, clinical laboratory in front of me. My research partner greeted me with a question. “Well, John, did you save your great-great-great grandfather?”

“Yes, yes I did.”

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The City

by | May 5, 2007 | Story

Author : e b major

Alissandra lay sideways on her balcony bed in a camisole and skirt, wings folded to the side. Twin tracks of pointless tears traced through the freckles dotting her face. Her eyes were closed now; she, engulfed in a final, hopeless dream.

All she could have done was done. The city, twinkling far below like a condemned diamond- black gold, stolen time- danced before her unseeing, shuttered eyes.

Ren watched from the doorway, scowling from the pain of seeing her like this. He’d tried to tell her again and again that a city condemned is lifeless- nothing she could do would help it or sustain it through it’s final years. Now the city fell about their lofty flat and he could only grimace and watch the one he loved suffer.

He kneaded his forehead with his knuckles and stared at Alissandra. He was only grateful she wouldn’t have to watch the city die.

Hours passed, and stars rose above the decimation below. A single spire contained all the living creatures left: Alissandra and Ren yet lived. Ren moved gingerly to her side and knelt there, watching her face. As morning sent fingers above the rubble, Ren shifted her head tenderly off the pillow and laid it in his lap.

Alissandra’s eyes flickered open, for one blissful moment still and calm, reflecting the dawn. She shivered: out of pain or cold Ren didn’t know, but just in case he stripped off his flannel shirt and eased it around her shoulders.

Alissandra looked up: at him, at the sky- so clear blue today, with a few shreds of cloud scudding across it, that it was impossible to conceive that last night it had ripped the landscape in parts jagged as mirror shards and as fragmentedly beautiful.

After a while, he took a steadying hand to her hair, smoothing it just once in an intimate gesture. He moved to put the hand back, but her hand caught it, keeping it in hers, and pulled herself up, leaning into Ren. Her wings, so long inactive, fluttered for a moment in the breeze, and they sat looking out at the morning.

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