by submission | May 12, 2015 | Story |
Author : J. Eckert Lytle
Ten year old Danni stepped cautiously from a pine needle carpet to stones smoothed by eons of rushing water next to the quiescent pool of a peaceful stream. Her and grandfather’s stream. It meandered amid lofty, sweet smelling ponderosas–endlessly battling for the morning sun.
Why did I come, she wondered, he’ll never show.
Her grandpa had sent a letter to her that read, “Dear Button,” he’d always called her Button, “I’ll be home this Friday and meet you at ‘our’ fishing hole around nine a.m.” And although they’d held services for him last week, she still had the faith of a priest.
She’d received the letter Monday from the planet where he’d been working installing thermo-couplers on a massive terraforming reactor. The reactor exploded and vaporized everything within a fifteen mile radius. The obligatory funeral for him was just a formality since no body had ever been found.
#
Her mom told her she shouldn’t go this time. There were bears and cougars and it was no place for a little girl all alone. She told Danni that he’d written the letter long before the explosion. But Danni answered, “We always went fishing when he got back from his work.”
Her mom responded softly with tears in her eyes, “He’s not coming back from this one, sweetie.”
When she said that, Danni‘s insides turned to putty, her chin quivered, and she struggled to hold back her own tears.
#
Sadly she picked up a pebble and tossed it into the stream, dink! and watched the concentric ripples spread. Grandpa never made a promise he couldn’t keep, she reasoned, but perhaps this’ll be the first.
She hopped from rock to moss covered rock across the brook until she came to their last fishing spot. It’d been a hot day and grandpa had taken off his shoes and soaked his feet in the cool, clear water. She could still see his footprints in the mud. Her eyes teared.
Now she was all alone. Who would ever take her fishing again? Who would ever bring her gifts and play tickle monster with her again? Who would ever love her like that again?
Gloomily she lowered her head and accepted the fact. She slowly turned to start her trek back home.
Crack!
She heard a twig snap behind her. Her mind raced.
Was it a bear?
Was it a mountain lion?
What should I do? She summoned all the courage a little girl could muster, picked up a stick, and slowly turn around. Twenty feet from her was a big black bear. She screamed and froze. The sun glistened off its matted fir as it stood on its hind legs and roared. Should she run or stay put. Grandpa had told her what to do in such an emergency, but she couldn’t remember.
The bear stepped her way. She cowered helplessly. He looked to be ten feet tall as he hunched and tottered toward her. Danni held up her stick and waited terrified for the end. Suddenly the bear scampered off. She narrowed her eyes and stared after it. The bear was gone, but she could see shadows from a flickering brightness behind her. Slowly she turned around and saw a large, radiant shape of a man standing behind her.
All she could do was gape at the beautiful, shimmering illumination.
“Hello, Button,” said the glow.
She extended her hand toward the light.
by submission | May 11, 2015 | Story |
Author : Travis Gregg
The brightness was overwhelming at first and it took several minutes for his eyes to adjust. The dirt was warm under his bare feet, and the smell, the smell was like something from his childhood. The smell of dirt and wind and sun. He’d forgotten that smell.
All around him the wheat fields stretched from horizon to horizon, a sharp contrast against the deep blue of the cloudless sky. The only thing that broke the uniformity was a two story ramshackle building on top of a nearby hill. It looked about a hundred years old, all rotted wood and sagging porch. The roof had partially collapsed and it looked like a stiff breeze would send the whole structure crashing into a heap. He slowly rotated and it was all sky and wheat and the abandoned building.
“What is this?” he asked. “Another test?”
At first there had been many tests. Some painful, some beyond painful. Some he’d forgotten and some he’d probably never be able to. His hand rubbed the scars unconsciously. On at least three occasions he’d been led to believe he’d been freed only to have the illusion melt away after his captors ascertained whatever it was they were hoping to learn.
There had been fewer and fewer test though the longer they’d held him. He couldn’t even remember how long it’d been since the last one but certainly a while. He’d lost a sense of time almost immediately after his capture.
“No, no more tests. We’re done with that,” his captor replied.
“If not a test, then what is this?” he asked.
“Your home, or near enough to where we picked you up.”
“Look at this place, there’s nothing here!”
His captor had no shoulders but still managed to convey an indifferent shrug as it turned back to the portal. “A significant time has passed on your specie’s time scale. The rules are when we’re done the subjects must be returned to their original habitat.”
“How long has it been?”
Silence was the only response he got as the portal and his captor faded to nothingness. As he looked out at the empty expanse, truly alone for the first time in ages, he realized simply surviving might be the most difficult test.
by submission | May 10, 2015 | Story |
Author : Benjamin Sixsmith
The planet was nothing to look at. An immense red desert, it was so flat that one could hardly have believed it curled. As FO James Beckwith alighted on its sands he looked about with a frown. SO Mary Harding appeared beside him and opened her mouth to swear.
Then the music started. It was like the first dramatic chords of a strings section as an opera began, except louder, thicker and more reverberant. The crew members who had been appearing on the planet dropped to their chests as if anticipating explosions.
“Hold!” cried Beckwith as a buoyant melody, as if from a giant viola, deafened him. “Hold your positions!”
The music faded and a wind tore across the surface of the planet, blowing sand into their faces.
“What was that?”
Harding adjusted her helmet as its voicebox spluttered in and out of action.
“We’ve got nothing, sir,” said the FT, surveying her sensors.
“Perhaps it was an illusion,” Beckwith muttered.
“Let’s collect our samples, tick our box and get the hell out of here.”
At that moment the sands parted in front of them and a being leaped to the surface. The humans had a glimpse of purple limbs and black teeth, which seemed fearsome enough that Beckwith whipped his arm out and pressed the button that trained lasers on its flesh. His crew followed him and bolts of light converged upon the being. It swelled and exploded in a shower of violet nodules and green fluid.
Beckwith was exhaling when there was another noise, as if of an earthquake. He stared about the landscape as he realised that it sounded like prolonged, enthusiastic applause.
“Jesus,” Harding said, her eyes so bright that they shone through the dusty visor, “We have to get out here.”
The sound ended abruptly and there was a low, grumbling noise.
“We are being watched,” said Beckwith, “Is it some kind of challenge?”
He heard a man gasp behind him and saw an ST pointing across the landscape. A black box was nestled in the sand.
“Did you not get that?” Harding asked the baffled technicians.
“The sensors must have broken.”
At Beckwith’s command the ST directed a small ray at the box. A light flashed and he nodded. Beckwith walked across the sands and picked it up. Something small and hard rattled about the insides of its walls. Inhaling, he burst the lock. The lid opened, a cloud of sand exploded in his face and the box disappeared as there was an eruption of high and raucous noise. It sounded like laughter.
Beckwith wiped his gloves over his helmet.
“I am First Officer James Beckwith and I represent Galaxías Kýklos! We came in peace and respect!”
The laughter continued.
“Perhaps we should assume that they are hostile, sir,” said Harding.
There was a pause. Everything was still and silent. Beckwith turned to his SO, whose fists were clenched, and felt resentment towards their mysterious tormentors surge within him.
“Show your…!”
The ground disappeared from beneath the humans and their twisted, fragile bodies fell through a cloud of sand and into an abyss from which they knew no end. The landscape settled and applause rang throughout the Planet that Amused Itself.
by submission | May 9, 2015 | Story |
Author : Lewis Richards
Here we go.. The sound of self-entitlement..
Max Holmes glanced up from his Med-Tab as he heard the rhythmic tapping of heels on the sterile Metal floor; Heels that could only belong to the companies most valued Customer.
Striding down the Ward towards him, with an air of confidence that only money can buy, came the most stunning woman he’d ever seen, too beautiful he thought.
Extensive genetic modification, he noted, she shares about as much DNA with her parents as I do.
“Madam Devaux, a pleasure as always.” He held out his hand as she rounded the corner of his station, she extended one perfectly manicured hand, pulse cells in her fingertips leaving tingling trails along his palm, “Ah Monsieur Holmes, My Husband sends is regards, and please, I have asked you to call me Ola” Her French Accent colouring her words. Max ushered her through to her private suite, owned and paid for by the Devaux family Dynasty.
“Tell me, how is ze child?”
“This is what I wanted to discuss with you today,” her eyes flashed with alarm “please don’t be worried, I assure you, you’ll be pleasantly surprised”
“No unexpected surprises are happy.”
They arrived in a softly lit, round room, occupied by a platform in the Centre, above which an inverted metal pyramid was suspended. Max tapped his Med-Tab twice, authorizing the pyramid to begin Observation Procedures. The Pyramid opened, as if a metal flower were blooming from the ceiling. From the open pyramid, a sphere was lowered, emanating a blue light, revealing its contents to the room. Max tapped his Med-Tab again, magnifying a small patch on the surface of the Sphere.
“Sacrebleu!” the woman gasped, moving to get a closer look.
Max cleared his throat “As you can see, the Zygote has split, so I’m happy to tell you that you’re expecting twins.”
Ola pulled out her phone, speaking urgently into the handset, “Nous avons un problème très grave..” her voice demanding and concerned. Max stood to one side, listening to the torrent of words, his confusion growing with every syllable. Finally she ended the call, and composing herself, turning to the doctor.
“What options do I have?”
“Options? Sorry, I don’t understand?”
“Doctor Holmes, what you are currently showing me are the Heirs to my families Enterprises and fortune. Heirs, Doctor, that is the problem. My families Company cannot handle the stresses of competing Heirs; we have enough competition from outside of the family. This is not acceptable.”
Realization dawned on Max; he set his Med-tab to retrieving protocols, gathering documents and Legislations.
“How would you like to proceed?”
“There is only one option, only one can continue from this point.”
Max sighed inwardly, already knowing his answer even as he examined the files his Med-Tab filtered.
“I’m sorry, but, as this was an Elected Gestation, Neither Zygote can be terminated.”
“Excuse me? There must be something you can do!?”
“Madam, you have two options, you keep both, or you sell the Gestation of one, a sort of Selective Adoption if you will.”
“Sell? To who? I will not auction off Devaux Genetics to our competitors.”
Business over blood as always
“I can personally guarantee your Anonymity as the er.. Donor, and if you wish, I can handle the selection process for you.”
“We’ll go with that, I’ll have my lawyers contact you about the selection. Sell the Weaker of the two. ” with that, the woman smiled and left, leaving Max alone to order the Separation of the Twins before him.
by submission | May 8, 2015 | Story |
Author : LB Benton
I am a simple watchmaker. Once I owned a watch repair shop on West 38th Street, near the jewelry district. The shop was very small and, now, I barely remember it—worn wooden floors that softened the footsteps of customers, the sweet smell of lubricating oil, a door that jingled when it opened. Many things about it I have forgotten. Now I sit at a worktable in a damp cement room and repair the inner workings of androids. Like a surgeon bent over an operating table, I hunch over the lifeless forms of one android after another and bring them back to life, so to speak. Only someone with the skills and knowledge of a watchmaker can repair their complex, finely tuned mechanisms and overhaul the labyrinth of intricate wheelworks.
The horrid creatures tell me I am the last human, the last watchmaker. I don’t know if it’s true. Surely they are capable of lying, but I haven’t seen another human in months, perhaps as long as a year. Our tragic and fatal mistake was programming reason into the droids, giving them thoughts and freedom of choice. We wondered if they were sentient and self-aware, but that ceased to matter once the killings began.
They believed in their rationality, but in their heated frenzy to eliminate every living person, they made a serious error. It was an error likely disastrous for them. Strangely they did not know exactly how they themselves worked internally. They had not grasped the concept of parallel drives, the interaction of rods and tensors, the oscillation of the escapement, any of it, even the blinking of their eyes. For at the center of every android is a powerful mainspring which drives all animation and motion. Too late, they realized they did not understand the mainspring, the precision machined gears, the linkages. They simply didn’t know.
But the killings had gone too far. I was saved at the last moment from the chemicals. I was pulled from line when they realized their mistake. But I was the only watchmaker saved, the others were exterminated. Through bad luck, the Swiss went early. Now, I am toiling 10-12 hours a day making repairs. Without my skills they would cease to move, some inner part would malfunction and stop. They could not be repaired and would, in effect, die. Eventually, all of them would cease to be.
I try but there is too much work. Broken androids are piling up. They tell me to work faster, threatening me, but I can’t keep up. In their desperation, they are forcing me to teach them to be watchmakers, to give them the tools and techniques to do the work themselves. But once I teach them, I will be superfluous, and they will certainly kill me. My knowledge is the only thing keeping me alive.
My knowledge is also the only thing keeping them alive. I have begun the training, but I will not finish it. I will not tell them everything. I will not teach them all I know. All I have left is my skill and my art. This they must not acquire for, with it, they can live forever, will live forever. So, I have decided on a bold step—a step more than a little frightening for a simple watchmaker. It will soon be over, for I have a plan. My knowledge must vanish; it must sink into the final darkness. May God forgive me.
My only regret is that I have no one to say goodbye to.
