by submission | Dec 24, 2008 | Story
Author : Mark Ingram
Filius was elated. He elatedly embraced his elatedness. His skyship soared just above the bulbous clouds, kicking up wake-mist when it graced the fluffy canopy. Before him, the sun appeared to be permanently stuck in its descent at the twilight hour, casting rays against the purple sky. Purple was his favorite color, and twilight was his favorite time of day; both filled him with a deep sense of blissfulness. He blissfully brimmed with bliss.
On the deck of his majestic ship, Filius bathed in the most soothing of oils, ate the most scrumptious of comestibles, and listened to the most exquisite of melodies. He viewed the most gorgeous of sceneries, smelled the most ambrosial of aromas, and perceived the most serene of affects. All his senses were immersed with the finest delights that he could desire. He gratifyingly indulged in gratification.
And he had Omni to thank for it.
Omni was infinitely benevolent, powerful, present, and knowing. In Omni’s immeasurable wisdom, Omni had created beings in Omni’s image, and Filius was among them. Of course, Omni wanted Omni’s creations to experience the most fulfilling lives possible, so Omni, possessing the inexorable aptitude to do so, fashioned a universe without pain or negative emotions—a universe overflowing with everything pleasurable.
For the beings involved, this included the unbridled capacity to act as they willed. Any idea could be conceived of; any object could be manifest; any action could be performed. Filius knew of Omni. He could envision this infinite designer who had bestowed immeasurable potential among his children and was more potent still. He could comprehend the proceedings of the members of his species and would be joyous because of them. He joyously enjoyed his joy. He could grasp the concepts of sadness, anger, and suffering and was able to rejoice that those would never befall him. His luxuries always brought him felicity, and if for some reason they ever lost their value, he could imagine a new time, a new place, and new comforts—all as valuable.
He felicitously contemplated his felicitousness. For a second, he visualized a universe without Omni or Omni’s influences. Down to the subtlest detail, he pondered the features of the organisms there. In his mind’s eye, Filius saw them—squishy, meaty beings fighting daily to survive without Omni’s gifts in hopes of shedding the surface layer of their misery. Without a second thought, he forgot their displeasure with a smile.
As his ship sailed off toward the eternal sunset, he happily resumed his happiness.
by submission | Dec 23, 2008 | Story
Author : Ari Brill
The galaxy is a dangerous and cutthroat place, with no room for the weak. So we have always known; intrinsic in the cruel laws of nature, all organisms must fight, or die. Knowing this, we were not unprepared. With the invention of hyperdrive came the invention of the hyper-torpedo, and with the invention of artificial gravity came the invention of the Gravitic Pulverizer. Not to say war was obligatory, of course. For instance, no one suggested attacking the Calee Empire upon first contact.
On the other hand, perhaps the Human Gravitic Pulverizer, capable of ripping apart a medium-sized star cruiser, was kept in line less by peaceful intentions than by the Calee Solar Annihilator, capable of ripping apart a medium-sized star.
Realizing this, we progressed rapidly in every facet of development befitting a newly minted interstellar empire. The Solar Annihilator rots in the Calee’s museums now, incapable of matching our most inferior weapons. We made contact with hundreds of species, and subjugated scores. The Grand Fleets of the Human Armada clashed with the hulking dreadnaughts of the Orthulla, never defeated in four thousand years, and emerged victorious. Trillions of humans swarm out from our fertile worlds, and see sights undreamed of only centuries ago. But one was so strange, so foreign, so impossible, that we at first thought we had made a mistake. One species, the Arpasi, had no space fleets, no weapons, no defensive platforms of any kind. They had never fought a single foreign war in the memory of even the longest-lived race. In short, they were totally pacifistic.
Surely, the traders who reported this back must have been mistaken. Such tall tales should not be believed by reasonable men. We asked the Calee, now reconciled and our greatest trading partners, if it were true. It was. “The Arpasi…yes, of course. They are a friendly species.” Unable to understand, we sent a secret delegation to the Hive-Home of the Krashni, to inquire of this matter to the Lords of the arachnid legions. The chitters we received in reply indicated only the same: the Arpasi are a friendly species. The subtle and complex wing-dances of the avian Zirkbo relayed a similar message, as did the deep rumbles of the Oowaan, the bitter transmissions of the ancient Orthulla, and the mocking chortles of the Hyakeks. In each of the highest councils of the myriad races of this galaxy, we received only one reply: the Arpasi are a friendly species. Reflecting on our own aggressive actions and the example of the peaceful and prosperous Arpasi, the Supreme Congress of Earth made a decision.
The Arpasi homeworld would make an excellent addition to the Empire of Humanity. It only took two days for a Grand Fleet to reach the planet. As per standard procedure, after failing to obtain an immediate surrender they glassed a continent and waited. The occupation commenced soon after. The Arpasi were rich, and the sack did not end for months. Unusually, the massacres only lasted several days.
That invasion occurred last year.
Today, the remnants of our once-glorious Grand Fleets flee in terror. Bashed and broken, they search for safe port but find none, for our planets are burned and shattered corpses. The alien vessels, black as death, have not reached Earth yet but they will soon.
Only now do we understand what we were told. The Arpasi are a friendly species.
And they have very, very powerful friends.
by Patricia Stewart | Dec 22, 2008 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
When Mati Forish was five years old, she could move coins across the table using only her mind. At ten, she could make small stones levitate. As a teenager, she could fly an aerocar from the back seat. Out of fear, Mati’s parents tried to stop her from using the power. It was the “Devil’s work,” they had said. But Mati knew that this gift could make her wealthy. And Mati wanted to be wealthy. When she turned twenty one, she left home to seek her fortune. While in the city, she met a doctor. He had understood her abilities, and said that he had “friends” that could help her achieve her goals, for the right price. Late one night, in a run down clinic on the south side, they implanted an experimental telekinetic booster into her brain. Astonishingly, it magnified her natural ability a thousand fold. Thrilled with the results, Mati rushed home to tell her fiance. But when she arrived, she found him in bed with another woman. In a fit of rage, she snapped both of their necks with her telekinetic power. And, to her surprise, she enjoyed it. That was the day that “The Assassin” was born. Over the next several decades, hundreds of people died at her will. It didn’t mater if the target was a tyrant or a saint. They were just paychecks to Forish.
***
(Circa 2067, Medellin, Colombia) After passing through security, Forish entered the auditorium from one of the rear doors and took an isle seat in the last row. She discreetly surveyed the auditorium to identify anything, or anybody, that could interfere with her task. It was probably an unnecessary precaution, since her mode of execution was undetectable, but if Forish was anything, she was meticulous.
Forish listened indifferently as several men on an elevated stage spewed their hateful political rhetoric in an effort to pique the intensity of the partisan crowd. After an hour of rabblerousing, Cattivo Guida, a ruthless and brutal dictator, marched onto the stage and stood behind the podium. Well it’s about time, thought Forish. She sat upright and eyed the target for several minutes trying to decide how she wanted to take him out. In a public venue such as this, it would be best to do it by either a heart attack, or brain aneurysm.
Forish began to concentrate on the task of focusing and modulating the psychokinetic synapses in her brain. Gradually, an invisible energy bubble began to coalesce above her head. She strengthened it and molded it. She willed a tendril to immerge from it and elongate toward the stage. The invisible tendril began to snake its way forward above the heads of the audience and across the stage. It entered Guida’s torso and slowly spiraled up his spinal column and wrapped itself around his heart. As Forish caused the tendril to contract slightly, Guida stopped speaking and clutched the sides of the podium. The tendril squeezed Guida’s heart tighter and he dropped to his knees. Tighter still, and his face contorted in agony as his eyes pleaded for someone to help him. Finally, he collapsed to the floor, motionless. Guida’s bodyguards rushed to his side. Their feeble attempts at CPR were wasted. Guida’s heart would not beat again.
As chaos and panic flooded the audience, Forish stood up, and calmly left the auditorium. Once outside, she walked down the marble steps and hailed a hovercab. “I’m famished,” she said to the pilot. “Take me to the best restaurant in the city.”
by submission | Dec 21, 2008 | Story
Author : Joey Cruz
There are certain rules in this world that we must abide by. We don’t always agree with them, and they rarely agree with us, but if we are to survive to see tomorrow, we need to place our personal feelings aside and just accept things for what they are.
Take rule #86, for instance.
Rule #86 states that every time someone speaks your name, it creates a duplicate of you.
Consider that.
Every time your parents ever scolded you using your full name, they’ve given birth to another you. Every time someone at the doctor’s office told you the doctor could see you now, somewhere in the world, another. Every time a lover cried it out in a fit of passion… another.
Think about that. Think about this thing you take for granted. This beautiful gift given to you by your ancestors and forefathers. Your name.
Imagine living in a world where your name was a curse instead of a gift.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
You people are so funny.
For us, your name wears *you* out. It hunts you down. It fights for survival. Tries to steal your life to save its own. After all, who is the real you when you all bear the same name?
But then… those are the rules. Just one more in an endless stream of governing laws that warp and disrupt and diminish our world, little by little, piece by piece, one name at a time.
I just wanted you to think about that. Remember it every time you sign a check. When you introduce yourself. When you gift your newborn child.
Remember rule #86, and remember that we are watching you, and we are waiting.
Every world has rules. You test the boundaries of yours every day. Someday you will find a way to break those rules, and in doing so, you will let us in.
And then you will have to learn the rules all over again.
See you soon.
Signed,
X
by submission | Dec 20, 2008 | Story
Author : Asher Wismer
30,000 feet above the ocean, my fighter jet went into a barrel roll. This was not optimal. I hung on the control stick for dear life, opened the flaps, and grunted as we decelerated hard.
In the air around me, flashing lights tailed and surrounded my plane. With a shriek of terror, my copilot hit the eject and blew out, leaving me with a malfunctioning plane and a big rushing hole in the canopy. Over the roar of the wind, I worked to stabilize the jet while the flashing lights moved in.
Nothing happened. I lowered to 20,000 feet. Some of the lights moved through the plane, through me. I felt nothing. A small chuckle escaped my lips as I contemplated my copilot. Shaky on the nerves; he’d key a transponder and the Coast Guard would pick him up.
Of more concern were the lights. Several of them were congregating in front of my plane. Others were still trailing me by several yards.
In front of me, the group of lights came together in a blast of white. My mirrored visor kept the lights dim, but I still squinted. There was now a big flashing light, keeping pace with me. I checked the radio. Still jammed. Ahead, I could see the coast. There was no landing strip nearby, but I could dry-land the fighter if necessary. I just needed a long enough stretch of relatively smooth ground. A low-traffic highway would be perfect.
The big flashing light suddenly came toward me and enveloped my plane. I could see nothing except the light, not flashing from the inside but bright and steady. My instruments said I was still about 15,000 feet above sea level.
A voice came from around. “You have been selected for our special offer, just 19.95 while supplies last! Just relax and take it easy, and you’ll receive three nights and two days in beautiful Las Vegas! As seen on TV!”
Shocked, I watched as my altimeter plunged towards the ground. I hit the eject, but there was no response. I braced for the impact–
And nothing happened. In awe and horror, I saw that my altimeter was registering 10,000 feet below sea level.
“Ah, shit,” I said. “All this time we’ve been looking to the sky–”
