by Patricia Stewart | Jan 26, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
Judge Roy Phantly entered his chambers and took the seat at the head of the conference table. To his right, sat Stanley Matthews, CEO of Buy Gones Inc, and his attorney. To the Judge’s left, sat Samantha Blatchford, Lead attorney for the Class Action lawsuit against Buy Gones. “Good morning everyone,” opened the Judge. “This is a preliminary hearing to determine if the civil suit against Buy Gones should be certified and allowed to proceed to trial. The plaintiffs allege that Buy Gones has violated the personal privacy of thousands of claimants. Does the defendant have an opening statement?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” replied Matthews’ attorney. “This claim is totally without merit. Buy Gones has been in existence for 23 years, and has a license to provide its clients with the opportunity to experience real historical events, first hand.”
“How so?” inquired the Judge.
“Well, uh, the specifics of the technology are proprietary, of course. But in essence, Buy Gones has the capability to transmit the consciousness of our clients backward in time, into the minds of historical figures. While there, they can experience, strictly as an observer, thirty minutes of that person’s life, for a fee of $1000. Hence the name of the company, Buy Gones.”
“Do you have any examples, Counselor?”
“Of course, Your Honor. Many of our clients pay to live the experience of Neil Armstrong stepping onto the surface of the moon, George Washington crossing the Delaware, or Joe Montana’s fourth quarter drive in Superbowl XXIII. Not only do our customers see the event through the eyes of the host, they hear the sounds, and feel the emotions. They literally live the experience. It’s really remarkable.”
The Judge turned toward the plaintiff’s attorney. “That doesn’t sound like it merits legal proceedings Ms. Blatchford. I don’t see that this kind of behavior can be causing damages to anybody. What’s the foundation of your lawsuit?”
“Your Honor, Buy Gones has expanded their operation to include modern individuals.”
The Judge turned back toward the defendant, “Is that true?”
“Yes, Your Honor. The police routinely enter the mind of a murder victim minutes before their death to determine the identity of the perpetrator. In divorce cases, wives have entered the minds of their husbands during previous ‘business trips’ to discover that they were in fact, having an affair. Stuff like that.”
“Again,” the Judge said to the plaintiff’s attorney, “That doesn’t seem like an inappropriate application of technology. Apprehending a dangerous criminal, or a philandering spouse for that matter, is a good thing, is it not?”
“Your Honor, Mr. Matthews’ attorney is cherry picking the evidence. Most recently, clients of Buy Gones have paid to enter the minds, and live the sexual exploits of, people such as: Hugh Hefner, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Denzel Washington, and William Shatner.”
“William Shatner?” remarked the Judge. “Are you kidding me? That’s unbelievable. But even so, these are famous people. They have no expectation of privacy.”
“Your Honor, the celebrities are not filing the lawsuit. It’s their, er, uh, partners. Perfectly innocent people who were overcome by idol worship in a moment of weakness. As a result, we’ve now become the sexual conquests of thousands of sick, pathetic losers. It’s disgusting. Our privacy has been infringed upon without our consent. Buy Gones needs to pay!”
“A valid point,” noted the Judge. “But, you, uh, make it sound…personal, Ms. Blatchford.”
“Let’s just say I’m a very enthusiastic Star Trek fan, your Honor.”
“Oooooh, I see.” The Judge turned toward the defendant. “I’d hate to be you, Mr. Matthews. We’ll start picking the jury on Monday.”
by submission | Jan 24, 2010 | Story
Author : Matthew Banks
Dr. Menkal gently removed Miller’s bandages. When the last strip peeled away from his eyes, he looked around, not fixating on anything. His irises were blue and cloudy with cataracts, the whites shot through with red. The bandage had pulled away a lot of the burned skin around his eyelids. He looked like something out of a horror movie.
“I can’t see,” he said. Menkal crossed her arms and frowned.
“No,” said Menkal. Miller looked at the floor. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“You a shrink?”
“Yes.” Miller blinked.
“What’s to talk about?”
“You stood in the science room with the sun filter at seventy-five percent and blinded yourself. I’ve gotta assume you had a reason.” Miller pursed his lips. They were cracked and scabby. It was only thanks to several kilos of nanoparticle-enhanced burn cream that he still had any skin on his face.
“Don’t you ever want to see it?”
“What? The sun?”
“Yeah. You know, at full power.” Menkal sat down across from Miller and crossed her legs.
“Sure. But I know that if I do that, I’ll go blind.” Miller smiled. New cracks formed in his lips and started to bleed, and he winced.
“It was worth it.”
“What did you see?”
“It was like the face of God.”
“But what did you *see*?”
“The face of God. The face of the Sun.”
“Your retinas are gone and your corneas are cooked. You’ll never see again. Was it really worth it?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about the visions.” Miller frowned.
“No. Every time I tell a doctor about them, they say the visions are because of the epilepsy.”
“What are the visions like?” Miller was silent for a little while, blinking at the floor.
“A bit like what it was like to see the Sun up close: like seeing the face of God. But the Sun was a million times more intense.” He licked his lips. “You think I’m delusional.”
“You might be. But I’ve never seen the face of God, or the face of the Sun, so I won’t judge just yet.”
“Stop being friendly. You’re building rapport so I’ll take whatever damn drugs you give me.”
“No I’m not.” Miller fell silent again.
“She talks to me.”
“Who?”
“The Sun.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know yet. I still can’t understand Her. Her communication’s too powerful, that’s why the visions she sends me look like seizures. She’s trying to contact me. She’s *alive*.” He paused. “*Now* you think I’m delusional.”
“Not yet.” Miller binked.
“I don’t know how She’s alive, but She is. Maybe She’s been colonized by some alien nanotechnology or something. Maybe an invisible Dyson Swarm or something. I don’t know. But she’s trying to contact me.”
“Okay. But why did you look?”
“I wanted to see.”
“See Her?”
“Yes.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
“What can you see now?”
“Everything.”
Miller stood up and fixed his cloudy eyes on the doctor’s. He met her gaze, and she had no doubt that he really could see everything.
Outside, the sun glinted brightly off the station’s hull.
by submission | Jan 21, 2010 | Story
Author : Phill English
‘Gaeriy, I’ve got some bad news.’
‘What’s that Broux?’
‘Well, I’ve finished the calculations and it turns out that in order for us to co-habit this planet, we’re going to have to wipe out half of them.’
‘Oh, wow, that’s a bit of a bummer isn’t it? Don’t you think that we could just, y’know, “accidentally” wipe them all this time?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, it’s against the preservation laws to extinguish any more life than–‘
‘–is absolutely necessary to begin co-habitation. Yes, I know. In that case, how do you plan to split them up?’
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. At first I thought gender, but then I remembered the trouble Mihrv had with Grabble-4.’
‘Yes, I can’t believe he managed to choose the one gender that was essential to reproduction. Out of fifty three! Got to feel for the poor guy, the preservationists weren’t happy.’
‘Exactly. As such, we need something completely arbitrary and inconsequential so those guys don’t drop a sanction on our planet fall.’
‘Okay, how about a physical feature? Ocular pigmentation?’
‘No, I’ve done some research on the matter and it appears there’s no clear divide on the pigmentation spectrum. The majority of their body features are similarly unsuitable due to mutations throughout their evolution.’
‘Oh. How inconvenient. Actually, have we mapped their neural networks yet?’
‘Yes, quite extensively. There weren’t a lot of variables to take into the equation to be honest.’
‘Right, so that would include their preferences for material possessions? Their ‘taste’ in products?’
‘That’s correct, I think I can see where you’re going with this line of questioning.’
‘Yes, I’ve definitely got it now. We can’t go forward on this for a decade or so of their time, right?’
‘Indeed. The paperwork has to be couriered to Splunk-1 and back, otherwise we’d be down there already.’
‘So in the meantime we’re stuck here twiddling our thumbs and taking in the myriad boring lives of the inhabitants. I reckon we can kill two bwarks with one thuk here. Say we create a product especially engineered to divide a particular cultural population in half. We beam it down into the heads of an ambitious entrepreneur and let the magic happen. When an inhabitant expresses their preference for or against the product, we record it. It’ll occupy our time until we’ve got the paperwork done, and once it arrives we’ll have essentially had them make the decision for us. Best of all, I’m pretty sure there’ll be no red tape to wade through with the ethics committee!’
‘Sounds good to me. Just one thing, which group would get vaporised?’
‘Oh I don’t know, let’s just say that those who enjoy the products are safe.’
‘And you don’t think they would be annoyed at what they might perceive as being a pretty random way of splitting a population in half?’
‘No, of course not. If they are we’ll just ask them if they could have thought of a better way. That’ll shut them up.’
‘I love it. We can get started straight away. Let’s start with this tiny island mass here. What do you think they’d go for?’
* * *
Brian pulled the shopping trolley over in the condiments aisle. His girlfriend stopped a little bit ahead of him, the shopping list in her hand raised in query.
‘I’m just getting something for my toast.’
‘That stuff? Yuck! How can you possibly stomach it?’
‘I don’t know. For some reason I’ve just always liked it.’
With a shrug, he placed the jar of Marmite into the trolley and pushed on.
by Roi R. Czechvala | Jan 20, 2010 | Story
Author : Roi R. Czechvala, Staff Writer
President James Jonathon Mathews spent the first evening of his administration alone staring out the window of the Oval Office. He contemplated the events that had led him to this moment. He considered the countless intertwined series of decisions and strategies, the deception and intrigue that had delivered him to this, the final pinnacle, the end of the game.
He turned and sat at his desk. Slowly, with great deliberation he reached out and pressed the intercom.
“Mrs. Rigby, please get me the joint chiefs.”
“Oh, and is Whitcomb out there,” he added.
“Yes Mr. President, of course,” came a matronly voice.
“When they arrive, send him in as well.”
“Yes Sir.”
The president leaned back in his overstuffed leather chair and carelessly exhaled a blue cloud of cigar smoke towards the ceiling. He took a deep swallow of bourbon, and pondered the outcome of the moves he would soon make.
Within fifteen minutes the office was filled with military uniforms and, aside from the president, a civilian in a neat blue suit and close cropped hair, handcuffed to a briefcase.
“Whitcomb, the football if you please,” the president said in a low even voice.
The assembled Generals and Admiral winced as Whitcomb emotionlessly uncuffed the briefcase, spun a pair of combination locks, opened the lid and deposited it on the desk before the president.
Inside the briefcase were a ten digit keypad, a palm print scanner and a single ominous black button. The assembled men had all assumed it would be red.
General of the Army Paul Bellows spoke up. “Mr. President, certainly there are other avenues to explore before…,” He was silenced with a slight wave of the president’s hand.
He picked up the handset of his telephone. “Mrs. Rigby? Get Dmitri on the line please.”
“Mr. President, please reconsider. At the very least, think of how history will remember you. Think of your legacy,” pleaded Admiral Kearney, desperation evident in his eyes. His pleas were ignored.
It was five in the morning Moscow time, the pink tint of false dawn was just beginning to outline St. Basil’s Cathedral, when Dmitri Ilyanov Sakharov, President of the Russian Federation picked up the phone. “Hello Ivan, I’ve been expecting your call.”
“Dmitri old friend, it’s finally over. It has been a long time.”
Over the president’s phone an audible sigh was heard, followed by a long pause. “Yes old friend, it has been a very long time.”
“Checkmate Dmitri. Das vidanya,” the president returned the phone to its cradle. He entered a series of numbers on the keypad, placed his hand on the scanner and crushed the button beneath his palm.
Across both of those two vast countries, indeed, across the world as a whole, people were told that this was not a test. They were told where to tune for further instruction. Many fell to their knees and prayed. Others turned weapons on themselves, hastening the inevitable. Most just hung their heads and wept.
Brilliant balls of orange fire rode columns of billowing white smoke across the skies of two great countries.
Those same skies suddenly turned a brilliant searing white.
Dissolve…
Resolve…
Two creatures, men possibly, sat alone in a room. A room so vast there were no discernible boundaries. Perhaps there were none. On a table between the two, a chessboard sat. One pushed over his king.
“Good game Dmitri,” one said, as he reassembled the board. He turned it so that the white pieces faced his opponent, “this time… you go first.”
by Patricia Stewart | Jan 19, 2010 | Story
Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
After trudging for miles through the soft, shifting red sand, I was nearly exhausted. Using all the strength that I could muster, I climbed over the lip of a crater, and ducked into the shadows. I’d be virtually invisible now. I’d be safe until Earth Force could rescue me. In the dead silence of the thin Martian atmosphere, I could hear the life support system of my environmental pack whine as it struggled to remove the excess heat, moisture, and carbon dioxide from my spacesuit. After a few minutes of studying the motionless horizon, I felt that it was safe to turn on my suit’s receiver.
“…need the modulation coil. We’ll all die if you don’t come back. Repeat, this is Base Command calling Lieutenant Thorndike. Please return to base immediately. The reactor is becoming critical. We need the modulation coil. We’ll all die if you don’t…”
I smiled as I clutched the modulation coil in the crook of my right arm. Of course you’re going to die, I thought. That was my plan. After all, it’s what you were going to do to us. I just got to you first.
“Thorndike, this is Doctor Wundt. Son, you’re sick. You’re having a breakdown. Please, come back to the infirmary. We’ll help you…”
Ah, this is interesting. First, it’s “please save us.” Then it’s, “we want to save you.” Stupid Martians.
Seconds later, a new voice crackled from his earpiece. “Honey, this is June. You need to come back home. I’m scared. Think of the children. They are worried about their daddy. Please, honey. There isn’t much time. I love you. I love you so much. Please come home. Hurry!” She began to cry.
Bastards! They’ve got June’s voice perfect. Intellectually, I knew that it couldn’t be her, because she’s on the Moon, with the kids. It would take over 20 minutes for a transmission to reach Mars. The damn Martians must have been monitoring my personal calls, and synthesized her voice. I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on my anger toward these abominations. Go to hell!
“Thorndike, this is Commander Andreasen. Return to base immediately. That’s an order. I swear to God, man, if you’re not back in ten minutes, I’ll prosecute the Court Martial myself.”
I chuckled. Poorly played, you green monsters. You should have stayed with June. It was tough listening to her voice. It sounded so real. I almost answered. That would have been a fatal mistake. They’d have located me in instantly. Keep it together, man. Just a few more minutes.
I didn’t hear the explosion, but I saw it coming. The dust on the ground leaped upward as the concentric shockwave raced across the Martian landscape. The ground began to tremble violently, and I dropped the coil. On the horizon, I could see a semicircular dome of debris start to expand upward following the explosion of the Martian reactor. I cheered. No doubt, this was only the first salvo in the war against the Martians. But, thanks to me, it would be a crippling one. Their base held tens of thousands of people. What? No, not people, …Martians. My head started to throb. Through squinted eyes, I followed the expanding debris cloud as it began to obscure the blue-white orb of the Earth. Wait. The Earth should only be a star-like dot of light from Mars, not a large disc. What’s going on? I collapsed to my knees; my temples pounding with each heartbeat. What’s going on?
