by submission | Aug 14, 2016 | Story |
Author : Joseph S. Pete
The detective demanded to know why Kyle’s friend offed himself with the plasma blaster.
“He was playing Russian roulette,” Kyle stammered. “We had just seen it, in a movie.”
“What kind of movie?”
“An analogue movie, that he was streaming from some vintage hipster site.”
“What’s the difference between a plasma blaster and a revolver?”
Kyle clenched his jaw and stared hard. He opened his mouth, then judiciously closed it.
“What’s the difference between a plasma blaster and a revolver?”
Kyle stared vacantly at the opposite end of the table in the fluorescent-lit interrogation room.
“What’s the difference between low-tech and high-tech? What’s the difference between a revolver with a six-round cylinder that must be manually loaded with metal bullets and a plasma blaster that’s powered by an unending electrical channel of superheated, ionized gas? What’s the difference between an antique peashooter and a death pulse?”
“I.. I… “
“What’s the difference between an ancient dinosaur revolver with a spinning chamber that could hold six bullets or four or three or two or none, and a raygun you never need to reload?”
“We had just seen it, in the movie ‘The Deer Hunter.’ He wanted to try it out.”
“He wanted to try it out? He wanted to try it out? When would a raygun have an empty chamber? How dumb is your friend?”
The detective looked like his neck would explode in a rage aneurysm, that his temple would protrude like a balloon and then burst.
“You can’t play Russian roulette with a plasma blaster you stupid cretin dunce. Your friend is dead. He’s dead. Dead. I hope you’re happy. I hope you can live with this.”
The detective stormed out.
He had dismissed Kyle, written off his intelligence. Kyle made a dangerous gamble by playing dumb but it paid off. It paid off in spades. He had never felt such a shimmering thrill, never felt so alive.
He was there, he was alive.
by submission | Aug 13, 2016 | Story |
Author : Beck Dacus
“I assume you already know why the planet is called Trigger.” The tour guide had put too much faith in me.
“No, actually. I’ve been wondering.”
He let out a strained sigh. He then began to recite something scripted. At least I assume it was.
“From orbit you wouldn’t think that the planet had any animal life on it. Nothing appears to move on the surface. That was what our telescopes thought until we sent down a rover. It was immediately destroyed.”
This was a lot more fascinating that he was making it sound. “Really? It was because of some hidden animal life, wasn’t it?”
The guide was relieved someone could actually anticipate some of his mantra. “Yes, in fact. We discovered that later when we saw relentless movement all over the planet. It moved like a wave of activity across the whole surface of the planet. After several months, it calmed down.”
“Months!?”
“Yes. Many other people were surprised that such an energetic reaction could be sustained that long, too. It’s more surprising when you hear what it was.” He was allowing himself to get excited.
“They sent down another rover, this time monitoring what happened to it from orbit. The second it touched the ground, it triggered the sensors of several different animals (hence the name) which proceeded to destroy it. The movement of these animals set off the trigger of more animals nearby, and so on.”
“And so on?”
“Yes,” he said, reclaiming his annoyance.
“Across the whole planet?”
“Yes. It appears that all the world’s animals evolved the ambush strategy to hunting, and waited patiently for just one thing to move before pouncing. Then some began pouncing on each other, and so on. Except on rare occasions, the animal life on Trigger is paralyzed, waiting for one of the other animals to make the mistake of moving. It is hypothesized that stimulating this reaction too often could actually overwork the entire planet, even causing a mass extinction.”
“Wow! That was amazing. Thank you so much.” The guide could barely hide his enthusiasm to get away. I didn’t care. I thought about Trigger. About how a little, mischievous part of me just wanted to put one toe on the surface…
by submission | Aug 12, 2016 | Story |
Author : Terry J. Golob
I ride the slow rails on the trashed echelon in a dying sector of the multi-city; the rotting, moss-covered penthouses glow fuzzy green in an opalescent fog. Crusty, white-scaled pipes of flimsy scaffolding demarcate progress not made, improvements not implemented. This high up in the moist cloud cover I detect poverty stricken members of a failed ecosystem. Rot insects devour the wooden infrastructure. Spider vines and drastic weather patterns crack thick panes in cryptic increments. Creeping rust lichens consume concrete, metal, and plastic leaving flakes and grounded motes of soggy poly-colored dust.
My nameless guide (a human, scarred and cowering from too many experiments) left me many tiers down on a different rail with obtuse directions and next to no advice. I have to choose the drop and find my marks. To chase and be chased has me close to a fake state: the winding border between confidence, panic, and total collapse.
Nothing is solid. There are so many jagged fissures elegantly random in size and timing of appearance that I hesitate. The trains slow, quiet momentum means a well-timed jump is all that it would take, but it’s tricky as fuck and a plummet isn’t a variable that I have even remotely factored into this transient equation.
Winding down, no one rides these rails anymore. It doesn’t even make the stops. A platform appears in the fog. An illusion? I count a strange time signature, just like my nameless guide instructed. Remembering the sequence, I press the buttons. The door slides open. Soft shearing is the shallow voice of deceptive momentum punctuated by snapping cracks and the zigzag tear of widening fault-lines in stone, metal, and plastic. Fog and decay enter. The platform is almost passed.
I jump.
by submission | Aug 11, 2016 | Story |
Author : Samuel Stapleton
She shuts the door hurriedly behind her. Gently sets her pack on the floor.
“Raey, you were supposed to be back hours ago. Why wouldn’t you answer your comm?”
She freezes, too caught up in whatever she’d been doing to have remembered to craft a believable lie. She goes with the truth.
“I was in the Unreachable.” She says without turning around.
“How far down?” I ask.
“Furthest I’ve ever been. Couldn’t get a reading, no comms. Sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry.
“And? What good that do you? What good does it do us?” I prod.
“I can prove it. Finally. Seymour, I can prove that magic isn’t real.” She says. I put my head into my hands.
“Christ almighty Raey – how many times…you promised me you were done with this!? Plenty of people can use magic nowadays. It’s as real as anything in the Rebuilding.”
“No just listen, actually just look.” I wait patiently as she unzips the bag. Slowly, she pulls out an object wrapped in cloth scraps. Bits of grey dirt and yellow sand fall to the floor.
“Magic isn’t real. It’s a lie.” She starts.
“IT IS REAL.” I yell.
“IT ISN’T. IT’S NOT MAGIC.” She screams back at me. There’s an awkward silence.
“Babe I love you, but we can’t get wrapped up in this again. You and I have seen what magic users can do. I know what you can do. You saved me. Healing wounds, reading minds, moving objects, interacting with tech.”
“Babe,” she retorts, somewhat mockingly, “I know what I can do. I’ve felt the fire in my veins like every magic user. All I’m saying is that there is a better explanation. You know why everyone believes it’s magic and that it’s unexplainable? Because that’s what we’re told. And no one has the time or energy to question the way things are because the world went to shit and has never come back.” I shake my head and sigh in frustration.
“No one but you.” I say quietly. “No one questions it but you.” Another silence. Less awkward this time.
“Fine.” I concede. “Show me.”
She smiles at me and I feel my chest crack in half. In one swift movement she unfurls her treasure and holds it out into the dim lighting of our makeshift bunker. It’s long. And thin. Partially reflective. Glass. A long tube perhaps. Hollow, but sealed at one end like…like a container. I wait for her earth-shattering explanation.
“Seymour, there was a whole room of them. Thousands, scattered everywhere. Cartons and cartons of them. I took pictures. The dates, the dates on the cartons Seymour look…” She trails off as I look at the images. Close-ups of blue boxes. Expiration dates of …nearly 90 years ago. My heart sinks.
“These are from before the Collapse?” I whisper.
“No Seymour, these are from the year of the Collapse.” She holds the broken vial up to me. On the surface of the glass I can barely read the tiny print:
Ilaria Pharmaceuticals
For Use in Humans Only – Trial Version
MAG1.K© Nanoes
She doubles over suddenly. And starts screaming. I’m down by her side in an instant, trying to figure out what’s wrong.
I hear her struggling to speak.
“Babe.” She chokes out, “…run.”
At the exact moment that her arm reaches out and closes around my neck with inhuman strength I recall the recent reports of magic users psychotically killing non-magic plebs.
“I love you Raey.” I gasp out.
Then like magic, my world goes black.
by Julian Miles | Aug 10, 2016 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
First we got lost. Then we got ambushed. If we hadn’t got lost, I’m sure that wouldn’t have happened. Which would have saved the lives of sixty-eight beings, and let me avoid drifting through uncharted space in a Terlestraian escape pod: not quite enough oxygen in the atmosphere and way too many toxins in the water.
It was day three. I had just torn the last apple juice pouch open and greedily licked up the remaining droplets, when something occluded the wan starlight coming through the viewport. I paddled awkwardly across to it, fumbling for a handhold. Accidentally turning on the exterior lights allowed me to see the hold I was looking for.
Secured, I looked out to see a huge letter ‘V’ painted on a grey hull plate so big that I couldn’t see the sides. Then I launched myself down the pod to grab my helmet, because the ‘V’ was approaching fast. The impact was tremendous, but the crumpling and subsequent shattering of the escape pod left me hanging in space, surprisingly unscathed, and drifting slowly toward the great hull.
The ‘V’ was the leftmost of a series of letters: VARANGIO. The only ‘Varangio’ I knew of had been one of the earliest colony vessels, loaded with enough to start an entire human civilisation, providing primitive defrosting and revivification routines worked, and that only if first generation cryotech did not fail along the way.
I tore a shoulder keeping myself from glancing off the hull, but I could feel the low-key thrum of a working vessel through my gloves! It took me ages to find an airlock, which was wide open: outer and inner doors. Making my way inside, I found the whole ship was under power, with lights and just enough heat in the surfaces to keep ice from forming. But this sector of the behemoth was airless and apparently deserted.
My thoughts on that were interrupted by an impact that shook the deck plates. Moving quickly to a viewing console, I checked the hull cameras. On one, three vessels had appeared. Zooming in, I saw that one of them was my former ship!
Zooming further, the other two ships were revealed to be a heavily armoured corvette of primitive design, and freighter similar to mine.
The corvette entered the Varangio, presumably returning to dock. I saw a swarm of figures start to empty the two freighters. I switched views and saw that the figures were using manoeuvring rigs but wore no suits!
Then something filled the screen – someone had seen the camera move. Pupilless ruby eyes in a white face, more lupine than human in jaw shape. The mouth split in a wide, predatory grin, revealing jagged teeth: more incisors than molars.
As I fled, I cursed. You know what survives flash freezing well? Meat. Ghoul ships are a rare menace, as the terrible tribes that crew them are loathed by all, and hunted vigorously whenever survivors live to tell of an encounter. It looked like the Varangio was the granddaddy of all ghoul ships. Fortified, bigger than any ship currently under power, running primitive technologies, cruising far beyond populated and patrolled areas, sending its corvettes out to hunt. How many degenerate generations had passed to evolve what had stared into that lens?
All I needed now was more weapons and a place to make a last stand. This meal was going to cost them dearly.
