by Kathy Kachelries | Jan 9, 2008 | Story
Author : Kathy Kachelries, Staff Writer
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Aja said, though her eyes avoided her sister’s face. Saj noticed the hesitation, noticed the way Aja’s bangs (gray and black, like soot-streaks on the walls of a bombed-out Akari factory) hung thin, revealing a forehead creased only with the lines of age. Saj’s hair was short and black, the standard military cut, and the slashed-circle brand of the soldier caste was glossy and pink above her eyebrow.
“How would you know?”
“You still look like you’re sixteen.”
“I’m nineteen. And I’ve changed a hell of a lot.”
Saj’s voice was tight, somewhere between the tone of a defensive child and a fierce adult, but there was no conflict in the duality. Saj kept her head high, her expression arrogant and indifferent to the curious stares of the few other teenagers in the café. None of them were branded. The caste system had been eliminated twenty years ago, when Saj was seventeen and light years away in the dying months of the war.
“You’re a doctor now,” Saj’s eyes remained hard on Aja’s face. “A plastic surgeon. Is that what happened to your mark?”
“Don’t do this, Saj.” When she frowned, her face looked like the wrinkled crust of the ice moon of Omnaki. Aja would never see that moon. No Salal would ever see it again. “The war is over, now.”
“Your war.”
“Our war.”
“The only people who shared that war with me died in the massacre on Soulon 5.” Saj’s expression was stony, and her dark eyes had narrowed into slits. “This isn’t my home. This is some world that you made, you and the rest of them, after I went away.”
Saj stared at her sister’s hands, which seemed even more alien than the leathery flesh of the Akari. Liver spots, wrinkled skin, fingernails painted mauve. It was hard to believe that they’d shared a womb, nineteen or sixty years ago.
“There’s a place for you here,” Aja whispered. “I’ve been saving. You can live with James and I, and go to University. We can get rid of your brand.”
“This isn’t my world,” Saj repeated. “And no one’s touching my brand.”
A cold silence fell over the café, and Saj realized she’d spoken too loudly for the enclosed space. She pushed herself up from the table and it creaked at the force of her muscular arms.
“Remember the river, out behind the house?” Aja said. “Where we used to swim in the summer?”
“You’re older than Grandma was.”
“We built a raft once, to see if we could float away from the colony.”
“If I’d drowned, you would have been firstborn,” Saj snapped.
“And I would have gone instead of you.”
Aja’s voice was calm, but Saj pushed away from the table and whirled, her boots squeaking against the floor as she stormed towards the glass door.
“I’ll wait for you.”
“You’ll be waiting for a damn long time.”
“I’ve been waiting for sixty years.”
This time, Saj hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. She stared back at her sister, something indefinable flickering behind her dark eyes.
“Come home,” Aja said.
Saj gritted her teeth and turned away. “I don’t have a home.”
She slammed the door before shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket and tightening her fingers around her cellphone. Its directory was empty, aside from Aja’s number and the Social Service Center. She wanted to break it, to watch it explode like a photon grenade, but she didn’t move. Saj was cold and tired, and she didn’t know what to do next.
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast:
Voices of Tomorrow
This is your future:
Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows
by submission | Jan 8, 2008 | Story
Author : J. S. Kachelries
It was a bright sunny morning when Angela Lansfield headed toward the Town library in Mendocino Cove. She was researching time travel for a new mystery novel she was writing. However, prior to diving into Hawking’s time travel theories, she decided to relax, by browsing the old newspapers in the historical files in the library’s basement. While there, she stumbled onto an article concerning one of the town’s most prominent families. Apparently, 40 years ago, Bill Windom had been kidnapped. There were no ransom demands, and he was released unharmed five weeks later. The kidnappers were never found.
Angela knew the Windom family. Bill and his wife had both died years ago, but Angela was still close friends with their only child, Mileva, who had served with Angela on the steering committee for the town’s Historical Society. Angela decided to visit Mileva to find out what she knew about the kidnapping.
“Oh, I’m sorry Angela,” Mileva explained, “I was only three years old at the time. I don’t remember anything about it. It must have been so horrible for mother. Why are you interested, anyway?”
“Well, Mileva, I was writing a story where my main character wanted to murder his older brother so he could inherit their parent’s entire estate. But he knew if his brother was obviously murdered, he would be the primary suspect, if not by the police, certainly by the press. His solution was to travel backward in time and murder his brother in the nursery. He could never be a suspect, since he wasn’t born yet.”
“That’s an interesting storyline, Angela, but what does it have to do with my father?”
“Well, it dawned on me that someone could accomplish the same thing by preventing the parents from conceiving the child in the first place. It’s much less messy too, wouldn’t you agree? That’s when I thought about your family. Your mother was already forty when you were born. If your parents were going to have a second child, they needed to do it soon. And then your father was kidnapped. Why? What was the motive? It certainly wasn’t ransom money. Then I put two and two together. You occasionally mention having a younger brother, although there is no record of his birth. Perhaps you have retained memories from that timeline. To be perfectly frank, Mileva, I think you traveled back into time and kidnapped your father to prevent him from conceiving your younger brother. Was it for the money, Mileva, or was it because your parents loved your brother more than you? I’m sorry, Mileva, but I have to ask the sheriff to reopen the case.”
“My goodness Angela, what an unbelievable hypothesis. You writers do have such active imaginations. Yes, by all means, feel free to talk to the sheriff. I don’t mind.”
A few minutes after Angela left, Mileva made a phone call. “Tom, I have a problem…”
…It was a bright sunny morning when Angela Lansfield headed toward the Town library in Mendocino Cove. She was researching time travel for a new mystery novel she was writing. When she turned the corner, she saw the town’s fire department in front of the library. She walked up to the fire chief. “My heavens, Chief, what happened? Nobody was hurt, I hope?”
“No one hurt, Mrs. L. The fire was confined to the basement. It completely destroyed the historic reference section. The rest of the library is okay though. If you want to wait in the Coffee Shop, we’ll open the library to the public in about an hour.”
“Thanks, Chief, that’ll be fine. Although I will miss reading those old newspaper articles.”
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast:
Voices of Tomorrow
This is your future:
Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows
by submission | Jan 7, 2008 | Story
Author : Andy Bolt
Sometimes, it’s fun to be surrounded by an army of mutant water buffalos with horrible skin conditions and bizarre, temporally unstable face tentacles. Other times, I’ll be running through Brazil and suddenly, one of the local amphibians will hop into the air, balloon up to massive size, and snatch a helipod out of the sky with a semi-sentient, prehensile tongue that is suddenly considering a run for congress. Plus, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a field of precious lilies grow biomechanical arms and gang beat a man to death while shrieking Tom Jones songs at nausea inducing intrasonic levels.
I still hate Earth. I still hate humans.
My name is Ted. Well, actually, my name is a combination of potent chemicals, genetic information, and high frequency electromagnetics. “Hearing†it in all its glory would rewrite the DNA of the average human to the point where that individual would be totally unable to use a flush toilet, let alone understand what they were being told. So I go by Ted. Ted the alien.
I’m extra-dimensional, I come from outside of time as humans conceptualize it, and I’m from a galaxy far, far away. My species – let’s call them the Teds – are genetic telepaths. We communicate by sending compressed data streams that alter each others’ codon chains. In Tedland, it’s how we talk. On Earth, it makes me a biogenetic magician, capable of turning this planet’s clumsy organic mass into any number of forms, including several which would pop tiny human brains if made public. I’ve seen it happen.
I’m stuck here. You wouldn’t understand why.
The worst part is that my ability can’t be completely shut off. When I direct it, I can make the locals into whatever I like. When I don’t, everyone simply changes as my voice leaks out of me. Humans become stronger, smarter, and more creative entities. Their basic genetic profile is shifting. They are becoming little, Neanderthal Teds. These creatures are still far superior to normal humans, and their newly found voices change others. My best guess is that the human species will be completely gone within six months.
I have conquered this planet without trying. I don’t even want it.
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast:
Voices of Tomorrow
This is your future:
Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows
by submission | Jan 6, 2008 | Story
Author : Debbie Mac Rory
Jeremiah Founders swallowed nervously and licked parched lips for the fourth time. Meeting the eyes of the enforcers standing opposite him, he gave a small nod, and they released their charges. Jeremiah winced as the woman hit the floor with a small cry. She paid no mind to her injuries though, or to him, only pulled herself across the small divide between herself and her partner lying unconscious where he had fallen. The bruise on the woman’s face did nothing to take away from her beauty; in fact, the way loose strands of hair had fallen across her face and caught on her parted lips only emphasized her delicacy…
Jeremiah blinked. Amazing that such a thing could distract him, he thought, staring at the ceiling as he composed himself. Obviously a sign of her superior breeding. Jerimah coughed to break the silence, and when the woman’s violet eyes moved up to watch him from a delicate heart-shaped face, they were almost enough to take his breath away again.
“Ms. Azar, I am here as a legal representative of Renew, and it is my duty to inform you that following the illegal actions of both yourself and your partner, Renew as of today has repossessed its property…”
The woman continued to stare up at him, her mouth moving soundlessly as if trying to piece together words spoken in a foreign tongue. Jeremiah sighed and removed the necessary paperwork from his briefcase.
“I am here to present you with a…contract,†he said, flourishing the documents, “that if yourself and your partner sign to the effect that you will make no further difficulties for Renew regarding this case, such as attempts to contact persons within the organisation, no further charges will be pressed against youâ€.
“You’ve taken my child awayâ€
Jeremiah sighed and after a moment, placed the documents on the counter top in the small kitchen. “I’ll leave the documents here for your perusal. I understand that this may be an emotional time, and you shouldn’t make a decision like this in hasteâ€.
“But you can’t just take away my child…â€
“Ms. Azar, I must remind you that while Renew acknowledges your payment in full and discharge from service of both you and your partner, your genome remains copyright and licensed property of Renew. Therefore, any and all products and copies thereof remain the property of Renew.â€
“Please!†Azar sobbed, throwing her hands out to him. Crackling filled the air as one of the enforcers shifted, small arcs of static rippling across his gloves. Jeremiah held out a hand, forestalling any further action on their part while he leaned down to take hold of the woman’s hands.
“Pleaseâ€, he said, “do not misunderstand the kindness of my tone. I speak softly only to make this process as pleasant as possible for myself. Any other affection I may show towards you comes only from the knowledge that I have taken pleasure in your … sisters on occasion, maybe even yourself once though that is most likely doubtful. But the fact remains, even if I was able to help, I would not. I would not willingly lower myself to aid your kindâ€.
With that Jeremiah pushed her back to lean against her companion as he straightened to leave.
“I don’t believe your kind should ever have been given rights at all, but what’s done is done, and it’s still a healthy pay check for me at the end of the monthâ€.
Tears spilled freely and silently down silken cheeks. Azar hugged herself as the guards began to move towards the door.
“I just want my baby backâ€
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast:
Voices of Tomorrow
This is your future:
Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows
by submission | Jan 5, 2008 | Story
Author : Kyle DeBruhl
“That boy’s a hatchet.†She spoke with absolute resolve, setting her half finished mug on the counter as she did so. Her lips carefully sounding the words out and letting each one linger for a moment before dissipating in the air. Dennard nodded vigorously. He knew exactly which one she meant, often wondering whether or not the boy would live long enough to regret.
“Can we-“ suddenly the wooden moon gate across the way shrugged open and a small frail-featured boy appeared, escorted on either side by the colossal guards of the compound.
Din was small. To say small is to misjudge him, he was tiny. He stood at least a foot under the other boys his age. His thin arms hung limp at his side and his chest showed bone and the movement of the organs underneath. His matted hair belied the insight that lay beneath it. To say he was small was to misjudge him, but to say he was intelligent couldn’t do him justice. His gaunt cheeks hemmed a diminutive face; however entrenched in that face sat two focused eyes: the eyes of a owl. They glanced and rechecked everything as if always attempting. The muscles of his jaw clenched and relaxed rhythmically with the heaving of his chest. The closed mouth, always upturned in a sort of scowl-smirk, whispered at its loudest and more often then not said nothing at all.
Din saw the faces of the two elders. He saw the mug and her long, unpleasant looking tendril. He saw the vast garden which had stood for centuries, a testament to the complex society from which it came. He saw everything and took in more. He saw the nervous hand of Dennard, the beady eyes of the head mistress, the cavernous stare of the behemoth at his side. He saw more than anything the feelings. They echoed out of each individual in the garden, emanating and reverberating. He saw them in words and sounds, colors and numbers, and he understood. Din knew what was coming before she ever opened her grey lips.
“Dennard and I were just discussing your place in this academy.†When he was not there, she didn’t miss him. She hated him. Hate was such a strong word, but she despised his kind, they always refused to go along with anything. However when she was in his presence, she felt a sort of glow. A feeling that made her refuse to give up on this diminutive little one.
Din at once saw the faces change. He knew his control. His smirked as always and began his game. He spoke without opening his mouth. He released his own colors and numbers and he saw theirs change. He bled empathy and they swallowed it up.
When Din left the garden he knew his place was safe for a bit longer. He chuckled, not out loud of course, and smirked in his all knowing manner. Too easy.
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast:
Voices of Tomorrow
This is your future:
Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows
