by submission | Jun 7, 2010 | Story
Author : Richard “Zig” Zagorski
Sloosh, slosh … Sloosh, slosh …
Another hour had passed … one of how many Gerald could no longer tell. He’d lost count long ago, or at least he thought it was long ago; time was meaningless here. Each hour melted into the next, and a human can only count so high. He wasn’t even sure if he slept at all or if he was constantly aware of the marking of each hour’s passage.
In the pre-voyage information session, all of the passengers making the long trip to the new colony were briefed on how the slumber pods functioned. Each person would climb into his or her assigned pod, which would then be sealed. A sleeping gas would permeate the enclosure. After the inhabitant was asleep, the pod would fill with viscous stasis fluid, which would be refreshed every hour. The passengers would spend the 200-year voyage asleep and unaware of the passage of time, to be revived once the ship arrived in orbit around the second planet of the Morgan system. Their new home.
Sloosh, slosh … Sloosh, slosh …
One more hour had passed.
For whatever reason, Gerald was not asleep and unaware in stasis – not completely anyway. The only sense that functioned was his hearing. He felt nothing against his skin, he saw nothing …he wasn’t even sure if his eyes were open. And with his nasal passages filled with stasis fluid, he smelled nothing at all. But he could hear the slushing of the stasis fluid being refreshed periodically, as it would do each passing hour of the 200-year voyage.
How many hours, how many days had passed … there was no way to know.
Sloosh, slosh … Sloosh, slosh …
Another hour …
Were any of the other colonists awake and aware? Or was he the only one?
Why was he awake? He’d never heard any reports of malfunctioning stasis pods.
It was horrifying.
Time just stretched great distances, both forward and back.
With the lack of external stimuli, his mind had drifted into fantasy … every fantasy life he’d ever thought up, he re-created. When he ran out of material for that, he relived his entire life in his mind … and relived it again … and again … and again …
Now he had nothing to focus his mind upon. Just noting the passing of each hour, but unsure how many still lie ahead of him.
Once the ship got to the new colony, who would he be? Would any of himself still exist after two centuries of complete solitude and sensory deprivation? Would he be sane? Would he be able to recognize the difference? Would he care?
Sloosh, slosh … Sloosh, slosh …
Another hour …
Sloosh, slosh … Sloosh, slosh …
Another …
Sloosh, slosh … Sloosh, slosh …
——————–
by submission | Jun 6, 2010 | Story
Author : Charity Bradford
Time moved toward a decision that would affect millions of lives. They needed more information and there was only one way to gather it. Someone must be chosen to be their eyes and ears. A human counterpart would process the emotions. Then the decision.
They watched the earth as a whole for a thousand years, and then focused on individual lives for another hundred. The chosen one waited patiently as his leaders decided on a human female. After watching the female for weeks, they recognized the signs of her pain even though they did not comprehend the sensation or meaning of it. She packed her bags and started to drive. She was utterly alone…and perfect.
A deer in the headlights, swerving, rolling, hanging upside down with tears running down her cheeks, and a melancholy love ballad crackling on the radio. This is how they met her in the flesh. Humans were so fragile. They cut. They made improvements, implanted the sensor relay connecting her to the chosen one, wiped her memory and returned her to the earth. A new start. A last chance to understand. When she woke in the hospital, she remembered nothing, not even her name, and they began to watch through her eyes.
Everyone watched the visual and audio feed, but only the chosen one received all the sensory data. Sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. For the first time in his twenty three hundred years he felt something. The cold metallic edge of fear and a blanket of gray wretchedness began to cover him as it slid through the relay. He tried to shrug off the heaviness, but it only settled lower into his chest. The darkness formed itself into a ball and slipped between his clenched lips. The sound of sorrow shattered the silence of millennia. All eyes turned toward him with the same question swimming in their fathomless depths. How?
Thin fingers wrapped around an elongated neck, probing for understanding. Vocal chords unused for generations awakened at the first stirrings of emotion. One small moan and they throbbed with new pain, delighted to be needed again.
“I did not think, or take action to cause the sound. It happened in response to” there were no words in their vocabulary to describe the sensations, “what I feel.”
The relay works, but vocalization is unexpected. Keele, the expedition leader continued to study the chosen one.
The emotions are strong, heavy. I do not understand how humans can function with them. Even his mind voice quivered as the emotions continued to fill him.
Ketani, you are the chosen one. You will endure and you will decide the fate of this planet. We will enclose you for protection. Keele waved to those standing around, and Ketani felt himself being helped into a stasis room. The stark room curved around him like a womb, undulating in random patterns to sooth and comfort. The others set him gently on the floor and walked away. He tried to stand and follow them out, but the flood of emotions coming from the female weighed him down.
Please, I can not do this alone! Don’t leave me alone.
The door closed. In light of his own solitude, he began to understand the source of the female’s fear and anxiety. Once more his vocal chords vibrated with the sound of emotions too physically powerful to hold inside a thought.
by submission | Jun 3, 2010 | Story
Author : Q. B. Fox
The music for News Night faded from the surround-sound speakers. Robert waggled an outstretched finger towards the sensor on the TV and, on the second attempt, dragged the window containing the security camera feed to one side.
“Tonight,” the interviewer intoned, “we are speaking to the controversial Home Office Minister, John Simmons about recent legislation…”
Robert let his mind wander, watching the three figures, hoodies obscuring their faces, who stood in view of the camera that overlooked the front gate.
“But Mr. Simmons,” the interviewer sneered, “the Prisoners’ Rights Group is up in arms about this.”
“This is not about prisoners, is it?” countered the Minister. “The very name of the organisation shows that they are out of touch, both with our policy and public opinion.”
Robert was distracted again: one of the men at the front gate pointed directly into the camera, then at the control panel for the gate; he was saying something to his companions, but the security system did not carry audio.
Robert turned his attention back to the Minister.
“There is no longer room in our country’s prisons to hold every person convicted of a crime. Nor do the police have time to protect every scumbag, mugger or rapist…”
“Please, Minister, can we restrain the emotive language,” the interviewer interjected.
“This is an old solution to an old problem.” the Minister stated, calming himself. “Placing repeat criminals outside the protection of the law allows the public to protect themselves, the police to do their job and the treasury to save taxpayers’ money.”
“And they can no longer claim benefits or access health care?” the interviewer queried.
“Did you know that 80% of attacks on nurses are carried out by known offenders?” The Minister thumped his fist on the desk for emphasis.
Robert looked around the room, at the top of the range 110” television, at the Rembrandt sketch in the gold leaf frame and at the latest auto-barista. Then he looked back at the camera feed: one of the men was stabbing a finger at the screen of his mobile. Did he imagine that another, half in shadow, was cocking a gun?
On the TV, the interview continued.
“A citizen’s status is visible on any console,” the Minister justified. “There is no reason innocent people should become involved.”
Unconsciously Robert checked his own status in the bottom left of the display.
“Still green and clean,” he mumbled to himself.
“And how do you respond to accusations that this is a criminals’ charter;” the interviewer asked, “that it allows career criminals to target those already convicted without any fear of reprisal.”
“Live by the sword, die by the sword,” the Minister said emphatically. “Would you rather they targeted law abiding citizens?”
Outside, Robert noted, a man was now hunched over the gate’s control console, hands moving in quick, precise motions.
On the TV the interviewer was now holding up a copy of the Times, showing today’s headline: “CRIME BOSS CALLAGHAN TO BE SENTENCED”. Even though he’d been waiting for this, Robert was no longer listening; in the bottom left hand corner of the screen his status had changed from green to red.
Then the power cut, the TV was silent and everything was illuminated by the soft, red glow of the emergency lights.
Robert Callaghan stood, lifted the pump action shotgun from the table and cocked it.
But the whole time he stared at the now-blank screen, stared at where a single yellow word had been, block capitals on the red background of his status box. That word had been OUTLAW.
by submission | May 30, 2010 | Story
Author : James Riley
“Oof!” Miller grunted, raising the bar for John to take it. He exhaled deeply and sat up. John casually dropped the weight onto the maglev lifts and patted his friend on the back.
“Think that’ll do it?” John asked.
“Should. . .” Miller replied, tapping his left forearm twice. A pale blue display appeared on his skin. A graphic was rotating and a box of text popped up that read “Updating. Please wait.” Expectation began to stir within him.
A faint vibration on his forearm indicated that the calculation was complete. Miller watched a cherry red bar slide from left to right on the display. He urged it forward. There was just a bit further for it to go. . . and. . . a loud metallic chime was emitted from the display and rang through the gym. It was wholly satisfying, like taking a long drink of water after waking up in the middle of the night. “Ding,” Miller said, grinning widely.
“Grats,” John said, giving him a high five. Several other weightlifters echoed John’s congratulation. Miller’s strength level was now 42, almost where he wanted it to be.
His display buzzed and he looked down. A message had popped up in a small square toward his elbow, “Just reminding you about our date tonight–Marina.” A heart graphic pulsed below the text. Miller smiled again and headed to the showers, he didn’t want to be late.
For hours the sun had been setting, but Marina and Miller, walking hand in hand, never noticed. Part of the reason they didn’t was that the light posts lining the street had been smoothly illuminating, little by little, to compensate for the waning sunlight, but mostly it was due to the fact that they were having so much fun together.
As they were walking Marina was telling a story about how her shoes got stuck in a vent that day at work forcing her to walk around barefoot for the rest of the day. In between laughs Miller quickly glanced down at his display. Tonight’s date pushed the little bar forward that measured their relationship. He wasn’t surprised. He had ordered Eggplant Parmesan, her favorite, for her at the restaurant, given her his coat when they went for a walk, and had even complimented her new shoes— Miller had done everything a good boyfriend should. And each correct decision had automatically been given a value and recorded.
Soon, they reached Marina’s apartment. “Oh,” she said, before opening the door, “Julie’s engagement party is next month. Want to be my date?”
Miller chuckled. “Want to? Nah. Boring small talk with people I don’t know isn’t my thing. But I’ll come, because I know it’s what you want, and that’s what good boyfriends do,” he continued.
“But you’d rather not come?” she asked, her tone cool.
“No, to be honest, but I will, because it’ll make you happy.” He hadn’t noticed her demeanor change because he was glancing at his display. Sure enough, his willingness to do something he didn’t want to for her sake caused the relationship bar to inch forward. According to the meter, Marina should be elated with him. He looked up from his arm, though, just in time to see her slam her front door in his face.
Miller stood for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. The meter indicated Marina’s happiness with him should be at a peak. He snorted. “Stupid thing’s broken again,” he muttered, shutting the display off by punching his arm so hard that he made himself wince.
by submission | May 29, 2010 | Story
Author : Cesium
They were together when the city stopped.
Their office perched atop a spire reaching up from the business district. Usually holoscreens afforded them a panoramic, unobstructed view of the city, or of whatever other landscape they wished to see, but those were dead now and only a single transparent wall afforded them a view of the neighboring towers, now suddenly gone dark and silent.
Then, because it was their job, they ran down the hall to the backup interface and tried to trace the problem.
Basic systems were still running — power, water, air — but all higher-level functions had ceased. Citywide routing and guidance algorithms had failed, leaving vehicles to come to a halt on their own collision-avoidance routines. Only a few emergency lights, designed to be always on, still cast their soft glow onto the streets. And of course all information and communications systems were down, including the interactive panels that lined these corridors.
The backup interface was a wide area packed with machinery whose purpose even she wasn’t sure of. It was the first time either of them had seen the city go down, and even their teachers had only been able to offer advice instead of concrete knowledge about this situation. He glanced at her; she shrugged, but tossed him a manual. It was a physical book, thick and bound, and he fumbled for a second before he could open it. Outside, some of the lights were starting to come back on, as they were switched over from the city’s unresponsive power-management grid to standalone controllers.
The first test was to try the direct neural interface. But the link was down; her thoughts couldn’t establish a connection. Similarly, the giant holoscreen mounted on one wall flashed red and displayed an apology; it couldn’t locate the city server.
They tried then interface after interface, going through the long list of communications protocols that the city understood, which it had accumulated over centuries of upgrades to its computer core. And slowly they discovered what the machines filling the room were for. After the first hour they had to abandon the holoscreen. One method used an interface combining hand motions with voice control, which she found immensely tiring. The fifth hour found them both staring at a flat screen, touching a pad in front of them to manipulate symbols and icons. And still they kept running into failure after failure. The protocols they were using were too high-level; the error was somewhere deeper.
By the seventh hour, they’d gotten out an ancient piece of polymer called a mouse, and were moving it around on a table. And then, the screen lit up. It was something he’d tried on a whim, activating a function buried deep in the code. The screen bore the words “more magic”, and a crude line drawing of a bearded figure on a cloud. Below was a button labeled “let there be light”. She glanced at him; he shrugged.
She clicked on the button.
