by submission | Mar 24, 2013 | Story |
Author : Daniel Martin Fairbairn
Along the track the city slid past. Like an anamorphic visual soundtrack to the passing of time and past and present in his mind. The music from the earphones pulsing like some outer heart, reflecting the heat from the sun, and ejecting it from within through the tears stinging his eyes. The carriage rocked from side to side. The sound of the streets impinged into his insular void, sirens, yelling, trucks and music. All scratching at his mind.
A time ago, under a tree, he’d seen the truth. She’d held him in her hands, and awoken a being within him, that voice now clamoured in silence at the walls of his soul. An occasional disruption in the rythym of his heart. He felt like a double exposure. Two negatives exposed upon the photo paper of this skein of reality. Neither belonged, neither could break free. He closed his eyes and fought for the touch of the sun through those leaves once more.
Crowds. Bustle. Utter isolation within such diversity. Without warning he stopped and roared out loud, a primal gutteral pained screaming roar. Arms wide, people stopping, some just avoiding and rubber necking. Spittle issued forth from the back of his throat as he emptied his lungs and fell to his knees. Weep. Weep and be clean.
A month passed, and with it the seasons brightened. He found himself back in the mountains. The distance between him and the troubles of his concious mind was geographically tangible. His demons still haunted his dreams. Dreams that went untouched by his waking mind. The air racing up the mountain kept him wide and open. One day in late June, she returned. Early evening, as the mountain reflected the sunset off it’s shroud of snow, she settled onto the ground near his small fire. Wood crackled, and a kettle was knocked from it’s stand as she moved over the tundra towards him. Soundlessly. His breath caught in his chest, tongue moving without making noise. A terrific surge began in his chest and moved to his hands down his arms. Glowing gently. She reached out to him, and cast out a soft searching mist from her finger tips. It found his hands and they both rose up above the plateau.
The stars brightened as they welcomed home a pair of their own Kin. And somewhere above a silent mountain, a man wept with joy.
by submission | Mar 22, 2013 | Story |
Author : Michael F. da Silva
“I didn’t know you were such a fight fan!” he said with a huge, dumb grin on his face. He couldn’t believe his luck.
“Oh, totally!” she beamed. “I got really into it because of my Dad. We’ve watched the Pan-Orion Championships every year together since I was little.”
“That’s awesome!”
Andre could hardly pry his eyes away from Julia’s perfect oval face. He led the way to their seats nearly tripping twice over groups of short, stocky Dokiads. She giggled each time making the lanky young man begin to shrink out of self-consciousness. As if to reassure him she moved close enough to wrap a hand around his bicep and helped him find their seats.
“Here we are!” he said, leading her around the torso-head of a ten-legged Thronumite.
Andre had spent two weeks’ wages on these seats in hopes of impressing her. They were close enough to smell the musk coming off a confident-looking horned gastropod waiting for its opponent across the tower cage.
“So, how long have you been a fan?” she asked as she put on a cute pair of pink-rimmed safety glasses.
“Pretty much since they divided up the fighters into divisions.” He said as he put on his own eye protection. “There wasn’t much point in watching Humans getting pounded by three-hundred-plus-kilo fighters. They might have a better chance now that the POC are letting fighters keep their military augs, I think.”
They talked excitedly about their favourite fights in between matches and cheered when a massive Stranoterste knocked the fangs out of a Sknenian’s outer jaws.
Summing up all of his courage, he slipped his hand into hers. She looked up and gave him a warm smile while she squeezed his hand in return before looking back at the action in the cage.
By the beginning of the main event, the much anticipated Carreira versus Fl’rk’k, they had fallen into each other’s eyes again. The thunderous roar of the crowd seemed to push them slowly into each other’s arms. The green blood spray across their faces was a distant sensation as they shared their first kiss.
by Clint Wilson | Mar 19, 2013 | Story |
Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
His genius was detected at an early age. His penchant for numbers, particularly those relating to the intricate workings of world financial markets, was second to none.
To the delight of his parents he excelled beyond all expectations in his academic pursuits, receiving not one but two masters degrees by the age of sixteen.
By his twentieth birthday he was a world-renowned investment guru, appearing on media around the globe, giving new confidence to world leaders and common folk alike with his stalwart advice concerning all things financial.
At twenty-five he earned his first billion. The next year he doubled it. By age thirty he was easily the wealthiest man on the planet, being worth nearly double that of his closest challenger.
By age forty he was quite possibly the most famous person of all time, worth more than many small countries, and the face every single person, with a nickel to invest or a postage stamp to trade, looked up to for advice.
And his super computers both monitored and controlled the financial world. Each and every single transaction that took place, from a mining corporation in Brazil buying property in Siberia, to a child buying a stick of gum at the corner store, was all tracked and analyzed.
* * *
Leaders from around the globe were amassed in the deeply classified meeting. They had all come to hear him speak. Everyone sat motionless as he spelled out his plan.
“True the world market has gotten stronger but there is still this massive underlying debt. Everybody owes somebody else, in fact if you add up all the countries together the planet is over one-hundred trillion dollars in debt.”
The faces around the room remained transfixed, no one interrupted him. “And to whom are we in debt, hmm? Mars? How can a planet be in debt to itself? Yet here we are. It’s the perfect solution, and the only way it can work is if we act simultaneously and without warning. Not one person in this room may send even a single text if we vote yes, not until the announcement is made, then it’s game-on for all.”
“Don’t you fear the mayhem that this will cause?” asked a concerned delegate from Iceland.
“Not if we do it right and follow the new law. Everybody must abide, no exceptions!”
In the end an eighty-nine percent majority passed the act easily. Now all the politicians once again looked to the man at the head of the room. And as the cameras turned on and his image was simultaneously broadcast to every known media screen around the globe he began to address the citizens of Earth.
“Good people please know that by a majority vote of the world congress we are proceeding directly with the forgiveness act to take place as of now.” A copy of the act was beamed to all desktops everywhere. “Please abide by these rules as any variance from this new law is punishable by death.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Good, from this moment all old debts are erased forever. Nobody in the world owes anybody else anything. Your house is yours. Your car is yours. What is not yet yours is not yet yours. All wages continue, all people will be paid fairly for the work they do, but everybody starts over right now with a clean slate. Go ahead, the computers have already done their job. Check your mortgage balance… you no longer have one. Happy forgiveness day everybody, now behave yourselves, and get back to work!”
by Desmond Hussey | Mar 18, 2013 | Story |
Author : Desmond Hussey, Staff Writer
“I’m thinking of breeding,” Theo declairs.
Teressa ponders Theo’s statement as she slices with butch determinism a bite-sized cube from her Viti-Gel (containing 33.3% of all her daily dietary requirements). She stabs the gelatinous orange chunk with a silver skewer before speaking. “You must be joking, darling. No one’s Bred in a hundred span!”
“I know,” Theo bubbles enthusiastically, “It’s so retro!” The two burst into hysterics. Theo’s shrill giggle duels riotously with Teressa’s atonal nasal quacking.
Finally catching her breath, Teresa barks, “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I want to have a baby!” Theo’s grin is wide and capricious. “With you.”
Teressa freezes, still as a basalisk. Half-way from plate to mouth an incredulous cube of acme-food jiggles at the end of her utensile.
“Don’t be absurd. The very idea makes me nauseous.” Her skewer clatters resentfully to the table. “There’s an excellent reason why we don’t have babies anymore, Theo. Life’s better off without the hassle. Trust me. As a woman, I know.”
“Oh, really? When’s the last time you even saw a child?”
“The Tenders manage everything marvelously and I’m perfectly content to let them. They raised you and I, right? We turned out civiilized.”
“Civilized.” Theo spits the word.
“Well, in my case, anyway,” Teressa smirks. “But I don’t think they were very thorough with your psyche profile.”
“Hardy-har-har.”
“Theo, babies only distract us from persuing what we want in life. Just look at what humanity has accomplished since the Tenders took over the whole messy ordeal of reproduction. Everyone’s free to pursue their passions, unburdened by a – well, a parasite basically.”
“You’re so melodramatic, Teressa.”
“And you’re a genetic throwback, Theo!”
“I prefer neo-bohemian.”
“Theo, I’ve got more important things to do than play with children.”
“That may be our very problem!” Theo stabs his finger righteously into the air. “We never play, let alone with children. We don’t see new citizens until they’ve graduated – at sixteen! I’ve no idea what kids are like, but they must be fun. We used to spend so much time making them.”
“Because if we didn’t, we’d’ve died out long ago. But it’s different now. We have the Tenders.”
“That’s a good thing?” Theo queries dubiously.
“Look, if you want to start wiping your ass with your hand – like we used to – go ahead, but don’t drag me into another one of you’re hair-brained experiments with antiquated human behaviours.
“But – “
“Is this about sex?” Teressa blurts.
“No.”
“Is your Companion functioning?”
“Yes, dear. It’s working fine.”
“Sure you don’t want an upgrade? A new model came out last week.”
“Positive.”
“I was thinking of getting one for myself anyway. I’m sure we can swing a deal for two.”
Theo flares, “I don’t want a new sex-bot, Teressa! I want a child! With you. Our very own child to –“
“To do what, Theo? You don’t know the first thing about raising a child.”
“That’s the whole point – to not know! We know everything now. Or think we do. Pretty much anything anybody would care to know about is simply an implant away. But kids! Kids are a whole new mystery. Each one unique. What do the Tenders know that we don’t?”
“I am not having your child, Theo. End of discussion.”
Theo, slumps into his chair defeated, deflated and dejected, hope oozing from his bleeding heart. A thoughtful silence hangs over the table long enough for the wall ambience to shift from morning to afternoon décor.
Theo takes a plaintive sip of his nutrient tetrapack – – before asking, “What if all you wanted to be was a parent?”
by submission | Mar 16, 2013 | Story |
Author : Holly Jennings
“January 18th, 2311. Patient is Makayla Jenson. Session one.” Dr. Rhan sets the recorder down on the table between us and clears her throat. “John tells me you’re having trouble with your dreams?”
I glance down at John’s ring on my finger. I try to wear it as much as I can when I’m not working.
I like when I’m working.
“Yes.” I nod. “They’ve taken over my sleep.”
“I’d say so. The whole crew has heard you screaming to wake.”
She squints over her glasses at me. The blue-speckled frames cut through the center of her eyes as if she’s half blind to the world. Everything else about her is so plain that she blends into the ship’s stark grey walls behind her. I let my vision blur. She disappears. Only the frames remain behind like the grin of a Cheshire cat.
Screaming to wake, I repeat to myself and chuckle inwardly. Screaming to go back.
“What do you dream about?” she asks.
Sunlight. Warmth on my face. Dry air percolating in my lungs. I never thought a desert could be so refreshing, especially when I rouse to John’s touch, icy as the galaxy around us.
I could have chosen a bigger ship. No, had to take John’s vessel so we’d be together all the time.
All the time. No escape. No way out.
After some piddle-paddle about the latest research on nightmares and how common it is for space dwellers to dream of being elsewhere, the doctor says our time is done and I’m to come back tomorrow. When I turn to leave, she deposits a little white pill in my hand.
“Put it under your tongue before bed,” she says.
More like down the sink.
I nod to satisfy her and leave the room.
I return to my quarters. The far wall is a sheet of clear aluminum silicate, like a floor-to-ceiling window. It catches glimpses of my reflection as I move about the room though none of my dark features show: my raven hair, brown eyes or tanned skin. Just a shadow of myself.
I walk up to the window, press my forehead against it, and look out the cold, empty vastness that doesn’t seem nearly as deep as the one inside. Against the backdrop of a foreign world and its lifeless moons, I can still see the faintest image of a girl I once knew trapped in the tiny space between the ship and the universe.
There’s no smile on her face.
I wave at my reflection with the tips of my fingers. The phantom image waves back from within her prison.
Something tiny nudges my palm and I looked down at my other hand. My fingers uncurl and I study the sedative resting in the cavity of my palm. I put the pill where it belongs. It spirals around the sink until it disappears into darkness of the drain. Then I crawl into bed to escape into my dreams, the one place where I’m free.
The one place where John can’t find me.
I look back at the window. The ghost girl appears again and the heaviness in her face tells me she’s tired too. I watch her drift to sleep. Though still trapped within the glass, I notice something’s different just before she closes her eyes.
She’s smiling.
