by submission | Mar 14, 2007 | Story
Author : Rusty
People of the earth, I am sorry.
Mostly, I am sorry for the weapon pointed at me head, which you cannot see on your screen. But I think I am not as sorry as the person holding that weapon, who is hopefully debating wildly whether or not he should shoot me as his superiors are no doubt screaming at him to.
I’m also sorry that you don’t understand what I’ve done. I expected it, but it still saddens me a little. I suppose I never really gave up hope that you would call me a hero. That said, I am a realistic man, heh, and I am not surprised that I was imprisoned and forced to issue an official apology. Not that it will do any good.
Now that I’ve finished apologizing, let me tell you what I am not sorry for. I am not sorry that, in less than four years time, this planet will be a barren and lifeless husk, littered with the bodies of those who were not strong enough. I am not sorry for the untold billions who will die. I am not sorry for the coming terror, panic, and death that will ensue. In short, I am not sorry that I have set into motion the extermination of all life on Earth and the destruction of this planet.
The Von Neumann fleet that I built on Ganymede cannot be stopped. It will complete constructing itself in three years, and then launch itself towards this planet with the intent of wiping out every human life in the galaxy. You can flee, and it will hunt you. You can hide, but it will find you. From now on, the life of every human will be a constant, terrifying struggle to escape the monster that I have built and unleashed. Because of this, the evolutionary process will continue; the human race will ascend from the pit of apathy and greed and overpopulation and disease, and become strong again. Those who survive will be forged in the volcanic heat of conflict, reared and made great by constant strife. In a thousand generations, perhaps, the ancestors of those few who make it will look back, and thank me.
For this, I am not sorry.
___________________
This is your future: Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows
365 Tomorrows Merchandise: The 365 Tomorrows Store
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow
by submission | Mar 13, 2007 | Story
Author : Duncan Shields
It’s Sao Paolo all over again. I’ve got three bullets left in the low-tech and half a charge left in the high. I have six pencil holes straight through me that are cauterized from the setting on the sniper’s gun. They want this to be extreme cat and mouse. They want to me to suffer and experience fear.
So far they’re doing a great job.
The thing about being shot with a plaser? You don’t feel a thing. You’ll be brushing your teeth that night and notice in the mirror that there’s light shining through a collection of holes that have turned your kidney area into a sponge.
Of course that doesn’t work if they hit your heart or head or anything vital like that. They have to aim carefully. Perhaps sever a tendon. Freak out the pancreas a little by punching a hole through it.
My left arm is useless and my suit is a ragged mess of torn tuxedo and smeared mud. I’m missing a shoe. I look like a time traveler in this poverty stricken suburb.
I was kidnapped from the party and set loose here. It’s been non-stop fun ever since they kicked me out of the van fifteen minutes ago.
I’ve had my cover blown before but this is the first time I’ve thought that I might not make it.
If I can get to a public webstation, I can alert my handlers and glaze the area, maybe get airlifted or even downloaded. In the parts of town with money, webstations are as common as McStarKings. Here’s they’re as rare as clock radios.
I prime myself for the dash across the alley necessary to put me into the flood of foot traffic on the main ramblas I can see through the crack in the buildings. I have no concern about body counts anymore. You can smooth out ruffled feathers if the collateral damage is poor.
I hold my breath and push forward like a frog across the orange dust of the alley.
I hate Mars.
___________________
This is your future: Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows
365 Tomorrows Merchandise: The 365 Tomorrows Store
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow
by submission | Mar 12, 2007 | Story
Author : Joshua Reynolds
“I’m glad you’re here.” Tom looked up at her, a smile on his face. It didn’t reach his eyes. Jane sat heavily, her belly swollen, brushing a strand of hair out of her face as she returned his smile with one of her own. It was weak though. Six months pregnant took a lot out of a girl.
“Well I couldn’t really say no now could I?”
“You could. I’m glad you didn’t.” Tom looked up at the multi-hued windows of the church they sat in. “What do you think?” He gestured, one hand patting the back of the pew they were sitting on. “Nice hunh?”
“If you like churches then yes, I’d guess this is a nice place.” Jane looked around, frowning. “You know I’m not much for churches.”
“I know, but I figured it was appropriate.”
“Really.” It wasn’t a question. Jane was more an answer kind of girl. “You figured.”
“Yep. The first time we met it was here, right here in this pew.”
“I remember.”
“Hoped you would.” Tom grinned and reached out, pushing that same stray strand of hair back up out of her face. The smile slipped from his face after he saw her expression. “It wasn’t all bad.”
“Speak for yourself.” Jane gently but firmly pushed his hand away from her face. “What do you want Tom?”
“Just to see you. Both of you.” His fingers tapped her belly. “To see you one last time.”
“I wondered how long it would take you to leave town.” She batted his hand away. Harder this time. “Scared of your fatherly responsibilities? Don’t worry, I don’t want anything from you.”
“What you want doesn’t honestly matter Jane. Not at this point.” He looked at his watch. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry for what? Getting me pregnant? Or abandoning me?”
“Either. Both. And for what comes next. We have to go home. I’m sor-rr-orry-” His voice rose to a squeal, piercing the stillness of the church. It wasn’t a human sound. It was an electronic noise that caused the stained-glass windows to rattle in their frames and her teeth to vibrate in her gums. Jane clutched her ears, trying to block out the noise. She could taste blood in her mouth where she’d bit her tongue. Tom’s body wavered in the sunlight streaming through the windows. It expanded and contracted, growing fainter and fuzzier as if Tom was a television set on the fritz. Jane watched as he reached towards her, his face sad. Why was he sad? What was going on?
Her stomach twisted and she couldn’t hold back a scream. Pain rippled outward from her womb, crawling up her spine and down her legs. Blood dripped from between her legs to plop onto the floor of the church.
We have to go home.
He hadn’t meant her. But then, he’d rarely thought about her at all.
Tom faded to static and Jane fell to her knees, weeping.
___________________
This is your future: Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows
365 Tomorrows Merchandise: The 365 Tomorrows Store
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow
by submission | Mar 11, 2007 | Story
Author : J. S. Kachelries
Peter Drommel’s plan was flawless. He needed to kill Sebastian Keer, and make it look like suicide. And today would be the day. They were both presenting papers at The Fifth Annual Conference of Temporal Physics. Keer was presenting at 1:00. Drommel’s paper was at 4:00. If everything went according to plan, Keer would die at 4:20, while Drommel stood in front of 300 scientists presenting his paper on The Consequences of Hinesburg’s Uncertainty Principle Relative to Time-Mass Transportation; a perfect alibi. At the precise moment Drommel was predicting successful time travel in only six months, he would also be tossing an unconscious Keer off his 17th floor balcony. Actually, the “Drommel†from the primary timeline would be at the podium, and the “Drommel†from earlier in the day would be committing the murder.
The untold truth was that Drommel had already successfully traveled three hours into the future several times while testing the viability of his plan. Another untold truth was that the only reason his time machine worked was because he had stolen key components from Keer’s machine, and replaced them with defective parts. Consequently, he needed to kill Keer before his espionage was detected.
As Drommel adjusted the controls of his temporal transporter he glanced at the clock. It read 1:15 PM. Sebastian Keer would be fifteen minutes into his presentation on The Use of Singularities to Create Temporal Displacements in an Effort to Establish a Causality Loop. Peter had been on the peer team reviewing Keer’s paper, so he knew the content. It identified serous obstacles concerning the possibility of nature permitting an uncaused result. Drommel could see that until Keer realized there was an imaginary solution to his displacement equation, he would be years away from successful time travel. But, as long as he could expose Drommel as a thief, he was a threat that could not be tolerated.
The first part of Drommel’s plan went smoothly. He had gotten into Keer’s room undetected. He knew Keer’s routine. He took a nap at 4:00 every afternoon. Therefore, all Drommel needed to do was jump ahead to 4:20, crush Keer’s skull while he slept, toss him off the balcony, lock the deadbolt from the inside, return to the past, and make sure he has lots of eye witnessed at 4:20. The police will have to conclude Keer committed suicide.
“Hello, Peter. What are you up to?†Drommel spun around to see Sebastian Keer leveling a handgun at him.
“What the…Where did you come from? I thought you were presenting your paper.â€
“I am. After all, I need alibi witnesses too, in case the police have doubts that you jumped off my balcony of your own volition.â€
“I’m not jumping anywhere, and you can’t risk shooting me. Nobody shoots themselves, then jumps off a balcony. Don’t be a fool, Sebastian.â€
“Oh, we won’t need to shoot you Peter.â€
“We?†Drommel turned around in time to see a second Sebastian Keer materialize. This one was swinging an aluminum baseball bat. It was the last thing Drommel ever saw. The two Keers hoisted Drommel over the railing and spread their research notes across the bed, then locked the deadbolt. “Poor devil. He read my notes and found out I was four months ahead of him. I guess he couldn’t handle it, and jumped to his death rather than face the humiliation. Oh well. It’s time to return. Don’t forget your baseball bat, Mr. Keer.â€
“No worries, Mr. Keer. After all, it was my plan.â€
___________________
This is your future: Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows
365 Tomorrows Merchandise: The 365 Tomorrows Store
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow
by submission | Mar 9, 2007 | Story
Author : Kate Thornborough
“It’s ready, sir. Right this way.†said the visibly nervous neuroscientist, guiding the heavily decorated general to the sterile testing chambers. The rooms were small and each contained a test subject, a bed, and a small stereo. The subject paced around the stereo, occasionally throwing a questioning glance at it. The scientist and general stood behind the sound proofed Plexiglas window, its tint preventing the subject from noticing them.
“So, how does the little bugger work? In English, please.†The general said gruffly.
“Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘lost in the music’? It’s like that, only they never find their way out again.†said the scientist, puffing up with pride. Seeing the general’s confused look, the scientist tried again. “Every song has waves, and the brain absorbs the waves to interpret the song. Well, we ‘poisoned’, so to speak, those waves, so when they are absorbed, the brain will implode, thus leading to the victim’s fatal demise. What exactly the person experiences during their last moments of death is unknown.â€
“Interesting. Where did you find the test subjects?â€
“We picked up the homeless, druggies, hookers, and criminals from across the nation. All of them are orphans, and are insignificant. No one will notice their disappearance. We treat them well, and give them a warm, safe place to live, and for that they are grateful.â€
“Well, let’s see this baby in action. I’ve got a meeting in an hour.â€
Marcus circled the stereo cautiously. He used to be a small-time bank robber, but he was unlucky. Thankfully, they promised to forgive his crimes if he allowed them to use him like a lab rat. He agreed, and was put through tests, measuring his IQ, taking CAT scans, and studying his reflexes. Then, they gave him the stereo.
Giving in to his curiosity, he pressed the play button, and he couldn’t help but submerse himself in the lullaby, closing his eyes and smiling softly.
He was standing, and could see rows of sheet music. They swirled around him, brushing against him gently. Then, a note changed, and the sheets whipped against his face, quickly drawing blood. He cried out, and fell to his knees in pain. They wrapped around his head, squeezing it like a boa constrictor. He tried to get them off, but they just squeezed harder. Crying for the last time, he closed his eyes, and heard the music, faintly, it’s sweet melody wishing him a good-bye.
“Wow. That was quick.†The general said, barely keeping the surprise out of his voice.
“I know. So, how many copies do you want?â€
___________________
This is your future: Submit your stories to 365 Tomorrows
365 Tomorrows Merchandise: The 365 Tomorrows Store
The 365 Tomorrows Free Podcast: Voices of Tomorrow
