by submission | Jul 29, 2010 | Story
Author : Liz Lafferty
Life insurance was easier to write now that Sovereign Earth had established a predestined day of death. I’m not saying that everyone died on the predestined date, but some politician with a mind toward the future had discovered that incentives and tax credits went a long way toward getting a perfectly healthy person into a TC.
A trained actuarial could calculate the value of human life over said fifty-six years, factor in the benefit of wages and tax payments, subtracted out the costs of food, medicine, wear and tear on resources and — there you have it — a TC incentive payment.
The trouble with TC payments was that they didn’t go to the individual being valued. It did, however, go to the individual’s designee. Someone else would get the benefit of the forfeiture.
Sovereign Earth said it was a voluntary program for conscientious worldview citizens who knew they would be a drain on the planet at some point in the future.
I never thought I’d be one of the many lining up for the benefits. I’d considered myself above Sovereign Earth’s progressive model for the future. In fact, had protested and ridiculed the proposal thirty years ago.
I think it was the soothing water, blue sky and green grass of their advertising program that finally won me over. The building size ad was in perpetual playback on the science center walls that I could see from my office window.
Things were bad now for the average citizen, and that was most of us. Once I set my mind toward the possibilities and the actual money involved, the decision was simple and my family complicitly happy with my choice.
So, here I stand at Termination Center Forty-Seven. Don’t be fooled by my sanguine attitude. I’d thought long and hard, but the truth was, from here on out, I’d cost Sovereign Earth more than the benefits of my labor. I had nothing else to give.
My actuarial calculation was astonishingly high because my mother’s side of the family had cancer genes but my father’s side had longevity. I guess they figured the cost of my cancer treatments over my natural lifetime, and the huge amount of resources I would use, made me very expendable and they dangled the tempting carrot until I gave in.
My fifty year-old wife and my only son would have a more comfortable life. My wife had already decided she was going to do the same thing on her birthday.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jul 20, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
“Don’t go,” he cried.
“I am here Vasilly. I will always be here. I will always be with you. I love you,” she said as she slid away.
Those last few months, she suffered horribly. Almost all forms were curable, and the ones that weren’t, weren’t much of a problem. Lung cancer for instance. Still incurable, but if caught in time, a new lung could be grown and the old replaced, all on an out patient basis.
Lymphoma was ruthless. Lymphoma was a cruel killer. It spread fast. ‘Nites couldn’t keep up. Ancient remedies such as chemotherapy were tried. They slowed the spread, but in the end, it did no good. The result was inevitable.
Her once beautiful, athletic body had wasted away to nothing. She had become a 39 kilo caricature. Her beautiful mane of flaming red hair had become an orange halo about her nearly bald pate. Her voice, once low and sultry was only a dry rasp. None of that mattered, he still loved her. He always would.
He held her hand as she slept. The doctor walked in. “Mr. Kovalevsky, it’s time. There is nothing more we can do.”
“But she’s here, I can still hear her.” He tapped his temple, indicating his sphenoidal implant. “I can feel her dreams. She’s not suffering in here. I can hear her laughter.”
“Mr. Kov… Sergei. Please, she may not be suffering in her dreams. I pray that she isn’t, but she’s suffering out here. It’s time to let her have her peace.”
“I won’t let you kill her. I WON’T.”
“Nobody is killing her. It’s her time. We all die. Every one must die.”
“Not her, Lord. Please Lord, don’t take her.”
38 minutes after the life giving machines had been removed and the medi ‘nites neutralized, Tatiana Ivonovich Kovalevsky, sighed one last time and quietly slipped away. Sergei Vasil Kovalevsky gently laid his head upon her breast and wept.
Dr. Korolenko drew a stylus across his tablet noting the time of death and turned to leave the grieving man alone. “I heard her, Doctor,” Sergei said, tapping his temple, “I heard her say, ‘Goodbye.’”
Vasilly, Vasilly. You should be ashamed of yourself.
Sergei woke with a start. The dream had been so vivid. He could see Tatiana clearly. She was admonishing him for some unknown transgression. He got up and crossed to the window of his study in the small apartment he and Tatiana had shared near Gorky Park. Tatiana loved taking the pedal boats out on the ponds in the summer. That was gone now, Tatiana was dead.
He went to the small kitchen for a cup of tea. He added a large dose of vodka and returned to the study. Books littered the desk and floor. He had taken an early retirement from Lomonosov University, where he had taught physics to bored students.
Look at what you’ve become Vasilly. Is this any way to behave?
Sergei fell to his knees. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Tatiana. I hear you. Where are you?”
I am here. His implant buzzed painfully.
And here. His phone began to ring.
And here. His computer announced incoming mail.
And here. Outside the window, down in the wintry streets, air raid sirens blared. Car alarms sounded. Burglar alarms screeched. All across the city, a cacophony grew to a wailing crescendo and just as quickly silenced.
In the deafening quiet, he heard her soft sultry voice from deep within himself. I am here now.
I am here Vasilly. I will always be here. I will always be with you. I love you.
by Stephen R. Smith | Jul 19, 2010 | Story
Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer
Atto hovers at the end of the bar furthest from the dance floor. Under the harsh lights his skin seems translucent even to him. The revelers around him tipping bottles back and clinking glasses look right through him. He knows a kind of invisibility now he’s never felt so completely before.
The music slips between songs without apparent effort; the DJ has phase shifted something new so that the thumping of the bass tracks line up perfectly, one giving way to the other without missing a beat.
While he watches, Edie glides out from a crowd of dancers, hips swaying, arms pumping and wearing a smile that splits the room in two.
For a moment Atto loses his composure, hands shaking and head reeling he worries that his legs may not support him. He looks for something to lean against and realizes the futility of that. Instead he counts the bottles on the back bar until his anxiety passes.
On the dance floor Edie draws a crowd, young men with bulging muscles and unquestionable intent cycle in and out of her personal space, each trying to outdo the last in some form of tribal mating ritual.
She used to look at him like that, once.
Atto wasn’t bulging muscles and animal dance moves, he was stoic and intelligent, a pragmatist. He was project lead at his laboratory where people trusted him to create things no one imagined possible, trusted him with secrets no one else could know. Atto was known as the ‘Science Spook’, he knew more and was seen less than anyone else in the business. Why Edie had loved him he didn’t know, but she had always danced like that with him, for him. That was then.
Trembling, he stepped toward the lights, towards Edie. The bass rumbled in his chest, and he pictured for a moment the tissue samples they had blown apart with low frequency noise not entirely unlike these tones. A waitress passed by with a test tube rack filled with shooters, their bright colours fluorescing in the ultra violet lights and he reflexively flinched away.
Edie gyrated, sweat rolling off her body and soaking through her clothes. Her eyes almost met Atto’s as she pushed a lock of wet hair back behind her ear, only to shake it free again as she turned.
Atto squeezed his eyes shut, trying hopelessly to shut out the sights in the bar. The music assailed him from all sides, pounding away at his senses until he was sure the pain of it had reached his limit.
“Hey baby, come dance with me.” Her voice cut through the haze like a velvet blade, and for one incredible moment she was looking right at him. He stepped forward, reached out his hands towards her. For an instant he thought everything could be alright again.
The sensation of the younger man passing through him wasn’t nearly as gut wrenching as was watching him take Edie’s hand and slide back onto the dance floor, stealing his Edie right from his grasp.
Edie had looked right at Atto, looked right into his eyes but where there should have been recognition there was nothing. In an instant she was gone.
Atto stumbled towards the door, passing through crowds of people like damp breezes without them even knowing. The door came and went and he found himself out on the road, street lamps casting long shadows in the late night gloom, shadows of everything but him.
He imagined her smell on him, the taste of the sweat from her skin on his lips.
As a scientist he’d done what no one imagined he could do, shifted himself just enough to see but not be seen, neither touch nor be touched.
As a spy he was without equal, he could observe anything, be anywhere.
Except with her.
by submission | Jul 16, 2010 | Story
Author : Adam J Keeper
I swear there’s a curse on my spaceship.
As my vision returns I see the spiderweb of cracks in my visor, the now familiar sight of bodies spinning in zero g, the red pulse of the warning lights, the squeal of the proximity alarm.
I try to reach out, grab a rail, a console, but my body is too weak, I rotate helplessly suspended in mid air. I look at the oxygen gauge on my wrist… its running low. If I can just hold out long enough the distress beacon will be answered, I will live another day, more than I can say for the crew.
Ever since we refuelled on Riggs planet, my luck seems to have turned bad, this is the fifth crew I have lost, each time the circumstances more horrible, each time I am the only survivor.
I’m a man of science, an astronaut, rationally I know there is no such thing as bad luck, bad conditions maybe, poor decisions yes, but a curse, no, no it can’t be. As my air begins to run out I hear the heavy clang of the rescue shuttle, I will live another day, run another mission, lose another crew… its been the same ever since Riggs world…
I put a curse on your spaceship.
I put a hex on your engines.
When your black hole drive kicks in I wouldn’t want to be you.
I have no sympathy for you Mr. Spaceman, since you came to Riggs planet you have brought nothing but pain. Before you came I was happy, free, I hadn’t been planning on falling in love.
When you left you took everything from me, you stole my soul, so in return I demand yours.
I remember when you first came, a great metal bird from the sky, your body covered in pipes, a great glass dome where your head should be. When everyone else ran it was I who talked to you, befriended you, became your lover.
When you left you took everything, you mined our fields, stole our ore, our life’s blood, our soul food. When my people tried to stop you, you had them arrested, de-programmed, murdered, without conscience.
I tried to stop you, to stop you taking from us, from leaving me, you just laughed, our planet was just a fuel depot to you, me just a pitstop.
After you spurned me I crept aboard your ship, I used the sacred ore you took from us against you, made your fuel sources impure. I didn’t stop there, I re-programmed your navigation systems, I downloaded pieces of my mind into your shipboard computer; my thoughts are now its thoughts, its will is no longer its own.
So good luck to you Mr. Spaceman, your ship loaded with my dark magic, the odds stacked against you.
Don’t break the heart of a robot from Riggs world Mr. Spaceman; we are programmed to never forgive.
by Patricia Stewart | Jul 14, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Earthforce engaged the Denebian fleet in the gap between the asteroid belt and Jupiter. During the battle, a lone Denebian ship broke formation and streaked toward the inner solar system. “Pursue the Denebian ship, warp factor three,” ordered the captain of the Endeavor. “Open a hailing frequency, Lieutenant.” When Lieutenant Smith nodded his head, the captain stood. “Denebian vessel,” he said, “stand down, or be destroyed.”
“No response, Captain” stated the communications officer.
“Fine,” remarked the captain, “Let’s take them out. Release two falcons.”
“Aye, sir,” replied the tactical officer. Two sleek torpedoes exited the forward tubes. Falcons were Earthforce’s most formidable weapon. They were autonomous, warp powered, killing machines. Individually, they could take out a target a dozen different ways. In tandem, they were unstoppable. The bridge crew of the Endeavor watched the forward viewscreen and the falcons streaked toward the Denebian ship. Moments later, two bright flashes appeared. “Captain, both falcons destroyed. No damage to the Denebian ship.”
“Impossible,” whispered the captain. Calmly, he pivoted to plan B. “Helm, overtake them. Warp factor six. Place us between them and the Earth. Put us one thousand kilometers in front of them.” The Endeavor passed the Denebian ship, slid into position, and rotated 180 degrees to face the oncoming ship. “Fire all weapons. If that doesn’t stop them, we’ll ram them. They can’t be permitted to reach the Earth.”
Dozens of singularity mines and cannon blasts erupted in front of the enemy ship, and a steady drone of phaser fire bore down on the ship’s hull. Finally, the Denebian ship veered to port a few degrees. “She’s changing course, sir. It looks like they got the message.”
“Maintain position,” ordered the captain. “Keep the Earth at our stern.”
The Denebian ship arched around the Earth and continued onward, as if it were unable, or unwilling, to return to the fight. “We must have damaged her guidance system,” stated the helmsman, “It’s on a collision course with the sun.”
It wasn’t until a minute later that the captain realized that he may have been outfoxed. He turned toward the helm, “Lay in an intercept course, quickly.”
“It’s too late, sir,” was the solemn reply. “The Denebian ship has already entered the sun’s corona.”
“All sensors on the sun,” said the captain as he collapsed into his command chair and watched the viewscreen. “Let me know if there are any changes,” he added.
For two minutes, there were no changes. Then the science station reported, “Neutrino emissions rising. It’s bad, sir. Three hundred percent and climbing. Damn, the core is beginning to expand. Sir, the sun is going nova.”
