Employee of the Year

by submission | Feb 9, 2008 | Story

Author : Ryan F. Bracy

After a couple of weeks, Alan didn’t even notice the feeding tube. It took him a bit longer to stop trying to control his bladder and his bowels and just let the tubes do their work.

He’d used to get stiff, sore from hours of non-stop work, but the new tube bringing him a constant IV drip to suppress his pain centers took care of that. Now he could really get some work done! Eighteen hours a day he would type away, coding, debugging, and testing. He was never hungry, never tired, never needed a break. If the EEG sensed he was bored or sad, no problem, just a little extra something in the drip. Sex? No need for that when an orgasm is a button press away during his off time.

Alan used to be an insomniac, now his sleep was perfectly regulated, and he always woke feeling rested. Alan paused from his work for a moment to reflect on just how good it felt to have been given this opportunity to serve his company so efficiently. A gentle buzzing at the base of his skull reminded him that his woolgathering was happening on company time. Right back to work then! He was peripherally aware that the buzzing would increase in intensity if he ignored it, but it wasn’t fear that got him back to work, it was loyalty. The same sense of loyalty and commitment kept him on his task even when two men entered his cube.

“Alan here is one of our very best tubers Mr. Lipton. He works day and night, rarely makes mistakes, never complains. A fine accomplishment.”

“Yes, I’ve read the reports, 902-71-8430 is one of our greatest successes. One of the earliest volunteers. Now, about your latest reports; am I to understand that 45% of your original employee base has agreed to the tubes?”

“Yes Mr. Lipton, and we’ve only experienced a 3% attrition rate, more than that wanted to leave of course, “offended” at the very thought they claimed, but the brainwashing was very effective.”

“Oh yes! About that, didn’t you get the memo? Corporate has decided that “Brainwashing” sounds too controversial, we’re calling it “Re-Education” now.”

“Very good Mr. Lipton. Would you like to see some of the other tubers?”

“No Bill, I’ll let the efficiency reports speak for themselves. Let’s get some coffee.”

Alan smiled as the two men walked away; he wasn’t bothered one bit by the thought of brainwashing. Just to know that Mr. Pallmer thought he was one of the best had made his day.

Battle Moves

by Duncan Shields | Feb 6, 2008 | Story

Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer

The housing of my pilot node rang with impact. I snapped out of my reverie and watched the six targets arc away from either side of my display. Missiles away. My helmet was crooked but I didn’t dare let go of the sticks for a second until I was sure I was in the green.

I wasn’t dead so I fired back. It’s amazing how much of war’s battles could be encapsulated in that single sentence.

Small flowers bloomed kilometers away from me in the desolation. No impacts.

My breathing was ragged. Something must have been damaged in the last attack because it was rapidly getting much too hot in the cockpit. No sensors were whining and hull integrity seemed stable but I was coated with battle sweat.

The six targets looped around. Panic-stricken, I watched their icons hit their apex of retreat and then start to enlarge as they returned for attack run number six.

Immediately the grid flashed up on my screen and the stars blotted out. The enemy ships became red triangles. My targeting comps clacked into life like overactive children.

I could only count four triangles.

I took my hands off the sticks and adjusted my helmet with a sigh. Two unaccounted targets could only mean one thing.

The housing of my pilot node rang again as one half of it pounded inwards, closing on my leg. I screamed as the alert beacon drowned me out.

My screen went to static and my stats came up.

I looked up in agony to the ceiling. Of course it was Andrea who opened the hatch. It just had to be the girl I had a crush on who was next in line. I had no kills, my leg hurt, I stank, and she didn’t even know my name.

I begged God to not let this time be the time that she remembered me.

Her large brown eyes looked down at me in amusement. She cocked her head. Her hair was just an inch longer than regulation but she hadn’t been reprimanded. Her scores were high. With the light shining behind her, she looked angelic.

“You okay soldier?” she asked with a mocking smile.

Later, in sick bay, I came up with about a dozen great replies to that question. All of them would have been better than the answer I stammered back.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

Dance While The Sky Crashes Down

by Sam Clough | Feb 4, 2008 | Story

Author : Sam Clough, Staff Writer

They met each other on the high wall that surrounded the empty city. It was truly empty now: even the soldiers had left, abandoning the surface, chasing the population underground, into bunkers or into the big groundstations in the desert.

He had a bag of food and drink, scavenged from shops and homes that had survived the evacuation intact. She looked like she’d just come from a party in the good end of town. She was wearing a long black dress, inset with reflective scraps so that it shimmered like the night sky, and she had a music box tucked under her arm.

When the evacuation order had come, they’d both separately judged that it would be pointless to run and hide. She was too proud, he was suspicious of the government. The cracks crazing across the sky drove them both to distraction.

The wall was as wide as a good road. The inside edge was a sheer drop, fifteen metres down into the leafy walldistricts. The outside edge was protected by a raised ledge about a metre high and the same wide.

He dropped his bag by the ledge, rummaged in it, and brought out a folded square of cloth. He spread it over the ledge: the edges draped over each side. He quickly unpacked a meal of bread, smoked meat and chopped vegetables that had been encased in clear plastic. Two tall metal beakers followed out of the pack. He poured wine into hers and water into his. Reflexively, he was deferring to her: she didn’t notice.

She sat delicately on the ledge opposite him, sipped his wine and took small bites of his meal. They didn’t say a word, but looked out from the city that had been their home, out into the desert that the walls had kept back. Every once in a while, one or the other of them would glance upwards at the sky, at the cracks which were perceptibly crawling across it.

The sun began to set. He produced several small lanterns from his bag and set them down on the wall, forming a wide circle of illumination. She placed her music box in the centre of that circle, and lightly tapped the top of it. And suddenly, they were not alone: the box grabbed photons out of the air, and reformed them, projecting four abstract figures. Blurry, unfocused musicians, each with a different instrument. For the first time since he’d seen her on the wall, he tried to speak, but found that he couldn’t. She pointed to the box and the phantom band, attempting to explain that the music box pre-emptively cancelled any other sounds. He didn’t understand, but shrugged and seemed to accept it.

The band struck up. She smiled, twirled and laughed silently, the lanternlight reflecting brilliantly from her dress. She hopped up onto the ledge, and beckoned him to follow. Slowly at first, but gathering courage and confidence with each measure the band played, they danced up and down the wall, within their pool of light.

The damage to the sky had reached a critical point, and fragments began to fall. They heard nothing, wrapped up in the music, the flash and whirl of it, the ever-quickening steps. A fragment crashed into the city, and they felt the shockwave. A moment of unsteadiness, but they carried on regardless: dancing under the light of a moon that neither of them had known was there.

The 10:04

by submission | Feb 3, 2008 | Story

Author : Mishal Benson

“This is nuts!” Kitty whispered harshly to her companion, “Why did you bring me here?” He remained silent, framed by the subway’s exit, waiting as she surveyed the scene before her. Am I nuts? She thought. Tall glass buildings rose around her with aluminum sidewalks coiled at their feet beside streets of steel. Just as puzzling as the city before her was the realization that she had no memory of taking the subway to get here, wherever ‘here’ was.

There’s no one else here; is the city abandoned? No cars deserted, litter, or artifacts of lives no longer present. Is it new? No, there was a sense of history and age. The city felt ancient, despite its modern materials and architecture.

Her companion led her towards the tallest building. His black cloak fluttered around his feet; although the hood was thrown back, a featureless mask of white obscured his face from view.

Through the doors, across the lobby and into an elevator, Kitty followed her guide. Arriving on what seemed to be the highest floor, he led her down a hall to a door, with only the simple name plate: “President”. Kitty jumped despite herself as the door opened seemingly of its own accord. Through the door Kitty found herself in a spacious office overlooking the empty city below. Seated comfortably in a capacious burgundy leather chair behind an expanse of very expensive looking desk was the man she assumes was ‘The President’. He closed a file he’d been reading, and handing it to a similarly clothed guide chaperoning an equally confused looking woman.

“Your time has not yet come,” he said. From the desk he produced a basket of flowers, with a card nestled among them. “You saw a lovely landscape with flowers, green grass, tall trees and a beautiful rainbow. Relatives who had come before comforted you and said to return later.” He smiled, handing the woman the basket. She took it, numbly allowing her companion to guide her from the room.

He then turned his attention to Kitty. “Welcome”, he smiled politely beneath dark emotionless eyes. She sensed her companion retreating from her side.

“Where am I?” She demanded, forgoing pleasantries, “What is this place?”

“Where we are has many names, and you may decide on one at your leisure.” He walked towards the all encompassing windows, motioning her to follow. “Come, look, tell me what you see.”

“I see nothing,” she answered, “Where is everyone?”

“They are all here,” he beamed. “Being new you may not see them at first, but one purpose in my greeting newcomers is to open your eyes to see what surrounds you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember how you arrived here?” his question tugging at some recent memory, “What do you remember last?”

“I got off the subway, no I was leaving the subway station, but I don’t remember riding the subway itself.”

“What else? What where you doing before that?”

“I left work early, and was riding home on my bike, listening to Gary Jules on my headset, ‘Mad World’ I think it was, and I’d just crossed the tracks on 14th when…,” she paused, “No. I didn’t cross. I was crossing the tracks, and then I was at the Subway station…then that man brought me here.”

“Look again, tell me what you see.”

“I’ve just told you, nothing…” she stopped, gaping at streets suddenly teeming with cars, sidewalks crowded with people.

He rested a hand on her arm, speaking gently. “The 10:04 train is usually past 14th by the time you get there on your bike.”