by submission | Oct 7, 2013 | Story |
Author : Andrew Bale
I see the truck drift across the median. In my mind, seconds become hours, but to my body, they flash by like lightning – I am paralyzed, watching my own doom in slow motion, unable to stop it. The impact is a blessing, a return to real time where the agony of my death passes like the beat of a hummingbird’s wing.
Somehow, I dream. I dream of something like a man, but not quite – he is too tall, too thin, and far, far too old. I see his life laid out before me, see his wives, his children, his vocation. It passes too fast for details, but I see joy turn into sorrow, see abject grief turn into steely resolve. Suddenly, his face is replaced by another, a real man, who ages from baby to senility in an instant. The unman appears again for the briefest moment, like a single frame inserted in a movie reel, before another baby takes his place. The cycle continues, a parade of lives interspersed with that one, sad, unchanging countenance.
And then I wake. Gasping, panicked, it takes my mind a little while to adjust, to relearn this body, to reconcile the old with the older. I am in something more than a bed, and sitting near my feet is another unman. He smiles at me, and I feel my heart slow, my mind calm.
“Welcome back. How do you feel?”
It isn’t English, it is a language I learned long before the idea of English existed. I cannot respond at first – awareness brings new sorrow, new joy. When I can, I tell him. Honesty is of the utmost importance.
“Sad, that they grieve. Happy, that someday they will wake.”
I glance around the room, picturing the profusion of waking rooms surrounding me, and behind, the great mass where the bodies of the dreamers lie dormant.
“Let me see it.”
He smiles again. Everyone asks. He waves a hand, and the wall before me clears.
I cannot help but cry at the beauty of Earth laid out before me, just six inches of transparent wall and half a million miles of empty space away. So small, so perfect. I glance up, wondering where Jack’s body lays sleeping, waiting for his return. I will probably never see him again – he was healthy, he will not wake until I am again gone.
“Are we close?” I ask the unman.
“Yes, and no.” He gestures toward the window. “The model is near the point where we broke. Nothing past that has meaning, so we will end in a few generations regardless. But the answer still eludes us.”
He leans close, full of quiet, desperate hope. “Do you have the answer?”
I think back on my life, on everything I learned, everyone I knew. It seemed then so full of worry, now it seems so full of hope. I shake my head.
“No. I will return and try again.”
He nods sadly as I rise, walk to the window on the world. I look at my reflection. So tall, so thin, so old, I barely recognize it.
“We will start the formal debrief soon. I will find you a new host. Any requests?”
I glance at my reflection again.
“Yes. I would like to be a woman again. I need that perspective some more, I think.”
“Just that? There are two and a half million returns a week now, requesting female is trivial.”
“It is enough. “
I glance at the window, at the Great Experiment. We lost something. We must get it back.
by submission | Oct 6, 2013 | Story |
Author : Alexis Voltaire
My fist thumps heavily on the metal door, echoing down the corridor. I’m soaking wet, some of it water, some of it blood. some of it mine. “Sandogan!” I yell. “I know you’re in there, dammit, you’ve got business!”
I thump a few more times, but I can’t make too much racket. If anyone else sees me here they’ll turn me in. I wait. At last I hear the soft thumps of feet coming nearer. “Go away.” A gruff voice says from behind the door.
“I’ve got the chip, you miserable old fool!” I snarl. “Eighty thousand is triple your normal rate, now open up!”
I hear a loud deep whuffing sound. And a growl, a real animal one. “Back, boy, back down! Now sit!” Sandogan’s voice. A metallic chattering of a chain-lock, and then a rasp of bolts sliding back from all around the door. The door opens, and Sandogan peers through the gap.
There’s a scuffle and a blur of movement, more growls. Sandogan tries to close the door but it’s too late, a lean furry beast slips through the door with three mouths wide, glowing green fangs reaching for my arm, my throat.
I stumble back. Sandogan tries to grab the leash but it slips through his hands. My hands go automatically to my phase pistol, before I really realize it I’ve aimed and fired. A bolt of purple light sears through the beast and splashes off the metal wall. When my vision clears I’m left staring at a pile of ash and charred bones.
“Give me the chip and get in here.” Sandogan growls, holding the door open. I hand him the box and slip through the door while he counts the contents.
The room inside is a dump, a sagging couch, repli-pizza boxes scattered over the floor, a string of industrail LEDs instead of proper fixtures. But that’s the best you can get when you’ve got a blacklisted identity and a stolen bio-programmer module sitting in the corner, shining like the light at the end of my tunnel.
“I need a new face, one the corporation can’t find.” I say. Looking out the window, I can already see the red and blue lights gathering below. “Fast… And I’m sorry about your pet, really.”
“Only a new development for a customer.” Sandogan waves his hand dismissively, but there’s an edge in his words. “Only a two hundred thousand chip project.”
I swallowed nervously. It’s bad to piss off someone about to tinker with your genome. But unless I step into that booth… If I fight I’m dead, no two ways about it. If I surrender the corporation will turn me inside out to find out how much data I just stole. Heck, they’d probably do it anyway if I told them up front. Sandogan’s apartment is shielded, they can’t come in but they know I’m in the building. Living the rest of my life in a twelve-by-twelve metal box with a back-alley bio-engineer made the first two sound charming in comparison.
The booth door slides back with a clunk. “Get in.” Sandogan says from behind his computer.
I toss my phase pistol and keys on the couch, take a deep breath, and step inside the cold metal cylinder. White chemical fog and light flood my vision, my skin prickles as the alteration field strips away and dissolves my clothing. Automatic clamps and straps take hold of my limbs and torso, holding them in place. A needle pricks my skin, everything gets distant and fuzzy.
I really hope I don’t wake up with fur and fangs.
by Desmond Hussey | Oct 4, 2013 | Story |
Author : Desmond Hussey, Staff Writer
PROGRESS REPORT
To: B’naar Vetch, President of Trans-galactic Mining Conglomerate (TMC)
Subject: Increased Efficiency
Submitted By: T’lal-fphoon of Gondol Prime
Bio-Geo Engineer, 6th Rank
Galactic Epoch 62, Cycle 4350.5.3.874-Q
PROPOSAL: The primary objective of the Indigenous Harvesters Project (TIHP) is to train the indigenous, sentient populations of resource rich planets to do the preliminary ground work of harvesting their assests for us via a six phase program.
PHASE 1: Identify and Infiltrate primitive societies on planets with abundant desirable assets.
PHASE 2: Genetic Encoding. Covertly accelerate species’ natural evolutionary processes, i.e. mutations for better tool manipulation, and/or adaptability to hostile environments, and/or increased intelligence for enhanced productivity. The latter should be used with extreme caution.
PHASE 3: Control. Mandatory to ensure loyalty from and/or provide incentives for indigenous workers, including, but not limited to, one or several of the following:
– Establishment of Religious Institutions. TMC operatives will impersonate powerful deities. Failure to comply with”Divine Law” would result in being made to suffer some form of “Existential Punishment”.
– Modification of target species’ psychology. Enhancement of the cognitive dissonance required for religious/political control, coercion and/or bribery.
– Military force and/or slavery may be required due to costly/ unalterable aspect of genetics, an advanced/old species, or a particularly hostile/inscrutable intelligence. (Note: To be explored only if the financial input/output index is considered profitable.)
PHASE 4: Training. Educate a select few natives on the basic properties of desired assets, including efficient harvesting methods.
PHASE 5: Wait. Within 2-5 Cycles the newly indoctrinated species will have mastered the skills required to extract and stockpile target assets.
PHASE 6: Harvest. When target quota has been accumulated harvest ships are dispatched. During a swift, efficient operation a planet’s assets could be collected within a single day (galactic standard).
PRELIMINARY FINDINGS: Our trial of TIHP has been a tremendous success! No one anticipated the ingenuity of the species known as Homo Sapiens (HS) in the Sol system when we began TIHP experiments over 20 cycles ago.
Phases 1 and 2 identified HS as a primitive, easily manipulated race requiring minor adjustments to their already adaptable biology and intelligence. They took to religion eagerly in Phase 3, even believing they were fashioned in the image of their “creator” – a stroke of genius on the part of the agent involved. < (Recommend immediate promotion to entity known as Yahweh.)> Throughout Phases 4 and 5, our observers recorded the evolution of a complex culture obsessed with the accumulation, manufacture and/or distribution of primary, secondary and tertiary assets. Those endowed with our specialized knowledge assumed a privileged lifestyle while the rest of society toiled in substandard conditions.
The species exceeded expectations, even developed, independently, new methods of mining and extraction which are now being taught in TMC training halls. The profit input/output index of this TIHP has become the new benchmark for all present and future operations.
The harvest ships have been deployed several cycles ahead of schedule.
CONCLUSION: Despite initial output, we anticipate colossal long-term profits through TIHP. Consequently, TMC will be free to expend materials and manpower to exploit uninhabited, mineral rich planets, meteors and asteroids.
Note: The environmental impact of TIHP has left the planet pockmarked with massive open mining pits, all major rivers dammed and a majority of forests harvested. Domestic and industrial pollutants contaminate land, air and waterways. The overpopulated indigenous workforce will be left to live out the rest of their days on a planet stripped of the basic necessities for a stable, sustainable existence.
To be considered collateral damage.
I humbly recommend immediate implementation of TIHP on all suitable planets.
Signed:
T’lal-fphoon
by Julian Miles | Oct 3, 2013 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
The rage in her eyes has faded. My head is in her lap. From the look on her face, she’s realised it too.
“You stupid bastard.” Her voice is hoarse. My last throat-chop had been vicious.
We were both ultimates. For rival corporations. It was inevitable that we’d clash. This rain- and wind-swept ruin was the setting for our twenty minute battle. I spent the first few minutes running, having seen my mother’s face on my adversary.
“I thought you looked familiar.” She’s crying.
I swallow and smile. “You too.”
“Cleveland Bight?”
I nod and wince.
“With dad?”
I nod slowly. “Only for a little while. He wasn’t as good as he thought. Pilmarken took him down and adopted me as his protégé.”
Her face goes white with shock. “Mum turned down Pilmarken several times just after dad took you. The last time, he said we’d all be sorry.”
“What happened to him?”
“Napalmed in a dead-end alley.”
I smile at her. “Saves us having to kill him.”
She nods and smiles. “You’re not dying?”
I check my diagnostics. I had been. “Not any more. You came closest.”
I see my mum’s righteous grin on her face. “Too right. What now?”
“Phuket.”
“Swearing won’t – oh, of course.”
The Vory-Triad alliance has been desperate for ultimates. A brother-sister team with inside knowledge of two corporations? We’re a bargain no matter what we ask for.
“If you pull your cyber-breaker out of my lower spine, I can make the intercontinental on my own legs and do my share of the fighting on the way.”
Her eyes go wide and she gasps. “Oh crap! Sorry.”
by submission | Oct 2, 2013 | Story |
Author : Carter Lee
Welcome to Snuff Artist: A Retrospective on the Artwork of Kolin 34 Kan
‘Mr. Bargeld? Welcome to the Central Museum! I’m Ronild; Director March has asked me to show you through the exhibition hall before your meeting with Artist Kan. If you’d follow me?
‘As you can see we’ve set up a small display here, so that prior to entering the actual display hall, anyone who isn’t familiar with the history of ‘Thanatotic Art’ can get a basic understanding. I know Artist Kan prefers the title ‘Snuff Artist’, which is, of course, his prerogative as a master, but the Director felt that the more academic title would help newcomers to understand how this branch of art developed prior to Artist Kan’s ascendancy as it’s greatest artisan. So many people think Artist Kan was the first to use his own bodies death as an artistic medium, when the truth is, even prior to the possibility of recreating the artist through cloning and memory implantation, some were using the end of their ‘mortal coil’ as an artistic statement. Some have even argued that the death of E.A. Poe, V. Woolf, and R. Akutagawa should be read as part of their creative life.
‘Inside the hallway, the first display the patrons will come upon is Artist Kan’s seminal work, ‘Blown Mind: Shotgun’. While this composition, formed, as you can see, of chair, shotgun, corpse, and wall covered with the artist’s blood and brains, is the first that brought Artist Kan to wide attention, not many know this is actually the third in the ‘Blown Mind’ series, each using a different weapon to create varied aesthetic dispersion of Artist Kan’s brain. It is unfortunate that we weren’t able to arrange for the entire series to be displayed together, but we are indebted to Counsel Atmarch for the loan of ‘Blown Mind: Shotgun’ which has formed the centerpiece of the Counsel’s personal art collection for many years.
‘The rest of the hall represents the best efforts of the Museum’s display design artisans, who worked with replicas and copies of Artist Kan’s oeuvre to create an almost overwhelming effect, organized not chronologically but by aesthetic effect, to allow the returning patron to be unable to wholly take in the totality of the Artist’s work in any single visit. The two ‘Smear’ canvasses form the background on either side, the almost thirty foot length of each covered in the viscera and lifeblood of the Artist left by his being pressed and rubbed against them by vehicle or machine, while ‘Crucifixion’ and ‘Impalement’ anchor the near and far walls. You can see, the highlights of Artist Kan’s works are represented, ‘Draw and Quarter’, ‘Cruel Lye’, and ‘I’m of Two Minds’, which still has the original ax still embedded in the skull…’
‘Hmm? Yes, the empty display at the end is where ‘A Year and a Day in the Life of Death’ will be. At 5pm precisely, Artist Kan will leap from 200 feet above the canvas covered floor. His body will lay within the enclosure, untouched, for 366 days, allowed to decay, before Kolin 35 Kan is awoken, so that the Artist himself can oversee the sealing and preservation of the piece.
‘Well, it appears we should head to the Artist’s preparation chamber, if you’re to arrive on time. It would be a pity if he leapt before you could interview him, wouldn’t it!’
