by submission | Jul 25, 2015 | Story |
Author : Nick Sousa
My senses returned to me slowly as I took stock of my surroundings.
“We’ve been watching, and waiting for quite some time. Your last day on earth has come and passed. You’re safe now, and you will never have to return to earth ever again. Take some time to familiarize yourself with your living quarters. We will return later.”
My body began to fill with warmth, and a collage of information appeared before me. This was a bit startling, but over time it became obvious that the room I existed within was modeling itself based on my own thought patterns.
After a bit of introspection, I set my sights on deepening my understanding of where I existed in relation to planet earth. Instantly, the borders of the room became transparent and a stunning array of galaxies appeared. The heads up display embedded within my body immediately outfitted each star system with a layered view of the relevant data available to me.
The focal point of my observation became magnified multiple times over until my scope of vision was assaulted with a bird’s eye view of planet earth. As my disgust registered itself, the apparition disassembled itself into a scattered array of billions of individual pieces. As the image faded away, a precise feeling of euphoria washed over me; planet earth was no more.
It was at that moment that I realized I was able to adjust the extent to which gravity kept my body tethered to the surface of the room. The feeling of escaping the bonds of gravity added an excellent complement to the joy that one naturally experiences after being freed from imprisonment. Earth’s influence was rapidly diminishing, and what replaced it was immeasurable.
I folded by body into a traditional lotus posture and began to silently reflect. The stress started to melt away, and what remained was a boundless sense of appreciation. Meditating in zero gravity was infinitely more pleasing than expected. I lost all sense of time, enveloped in the awareness that I would never be forced to interact with a human being ever again.
by Julian Miles | Jul 23, 2015 | Story |
Author : Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Upon a world a lot like our own, amidst ruins of wonders long fallen, there lies a single legible artefact, its surface unblemished by time, with words still clear under the transparent layer that keeps its metallic surface pristine.
Year 0001 U.S.T.
We are The Utopia Society, and we are victorious at last. Every whim that plagued you is either realised or edited from your psyche. Every flaw that made birth such a gamble has been repaired. You are what you can be, you are everything you can be, and you are that from birth.
Year 0011 U.S.T.
We are The Utopia Society, and whatever you need is provided. What you need is tailored for the greatest good. What you will be is chosen early so you can prepare for your productive lifetime without wasted effort. No disappointment, no heartbreak, no peer pressure or emotional burdens. You cannot be guilty, for guilt is a flaw and there are no longer any flaws.
Year 0092 U.S.T.
We are The Utopia Society, and we are done. We were perfect. Too perfect to aspire, too perfect to desire, too perfect to live. We existed flawlessly amidst a flawed universe, and it proved to be an intolerable burden.
by submission | Jul 22, 2015 | Story |
Author : Bob Newbell
“Another ten billion dollars a year?!” said the Senator incredulously. “And that on top of the billions already spent annually? And for a scientific toy that only worked one time for a few minutes? And that had some kind of radiation leak or something right after you switched it on? You better have one hell of a sales pitch.”
The quantum physicist nodded. “I realize we’re asking for a lot, Senator. And I’m not insensitive to the fact that the country has lots of other expenses. But the safety of not just the nation but the world depends on the SuperString Collider getting more funding.”
“I’m inclined to doubt that, doctor. You scientists already played the world safety card when you convinced Congress and the administration to write you a check sufficient to fund a major war just so you could build that giant dome over your white elephant.” The cantankerous legislator pointed at the kilometer-wide geodesic hemisphere that dominated the landscape. “And you’ve had four years to get it up and running again.”
“It will never be turned on again. In fact, the collider no longer exists. But we need our budget increased just the same.”
The Senator looked at the scientist with utter disbelief.
“Four years ago when we did a trial run of the SSC,” continued the physicist, “the machine worked perfectly. For the briefest of moments the collider’s detectors confirmed the presence of a ten-dimensional hyperspace just as was theoretically predicted. Exactly 17 hours, 21 minutes, and 11.3 seconds after the SSC was shut down, an area around the machine roughly three-quarters of a kilometer in diameter changed.”
“Changed? How?”
“The land on which the SSC had stood and the area around it had transformed into a desert. We detected low-level radioactivity in the soil. We thought the machine had created some kind of chain reaction that caused it and its surrounding to disintegrate. But 17 hours, 21 minutes, and 11.3 seconds after the facility’s security camera telemetry ceased, the area changed again, this time into a swamp.”
The Senator shook his head incredulously. “A swamp?”
“But like no swamp ever seen on Earth,” said the scientist. “We were able to retrieve several plant and animal specimens before the next transformation cycle occurred. Not one of them fit anywhere in the taxonomy of life on this planet. The military quickly took command of the situation. I and my colleagues had to sign nondisclosure agreements if we wanted to continue working on the project. A couple of acquaintances who refused have been ‘missing’ for some time.”
The car pulled itself up to the dome and automatically opened its doors. After going through a security checkpoint, the physicist and the Senator entered the dome. Steel and glass partitions reached from the floor to the inward-sloping interior wall of the dome. The partitions extended around the interior circumference of the structure hermetically sealing the area.
The contained land, at the moment, was covered in ice. A large, white, frog-like creature slid on the ice on its belly, its hind legs beating furiously to propel it across the tundra.
“What…what is that thing? An alien?”
“No, Senator, that creature is as much an Earthling as you or I. But it’s from an alternate Earth, an Earth with a radically different history and evolution. Sometimes it’s like the surface of the Moon. Other times, ‘people’ show up. Not human, but intelligent and bewildered. For a little over 17 hours, anyway.”
“Are you sure,” asked the Senator, “ten billion more a year will be enough?”
by submission | Jul 20, 2015 | Story |
Author : Amy Sutphin
Sargent Pedlson watched the foggy mass forming through the streets from his birds eye vantage in the radio tower. It was thinner than traditional fog, but behaved as though fluid. The ghost oozed through the streets, around the houses, creeping though any crack or crevice it found. Pedlson knew the chemical vapor wasn’t alive, but the way it was attracted to living things created a very eerie anthropomorphism.
“That,” Private Michael said beside him. “Is the biggest ghost I’ve ever seen.”
“They used to get five times that size during the war.” Pedlson said. “Engulfed entire battle fields.”
Pedlson had seen the end of the war, when the weapons were getting out of hand. He’d watched from evac helicopters as the chemicals engulfed those either too slow, or too unlucky to escape them.
“Good thing we were able to evacuate that district.” Michael said.
“Mhm.” Pedlson grunted. The naturally forming ghosts were much slower than the ghosts catalyzed for swift deployment. He doubted anyone had the technology to catalyze a ghost attack now.
“Sargent there’s a person down there!” Michael cried.
Pedlson, and the two enforcers on patrol with them peered over the platform. A lone figure was indeed, making its way through the fog.
“We have to get down there.” Michael said.
“No time. That’s a dead man.” Pedlson said, peering through his binoculars
“Doesn’t look dead.” Said one of the enforcers.
He was right, Pedlson saw. The figure should have keeled over by now, convulsing on the ground.
“Maybe he had a gas mask.” Michael ventured.
“Wouldn’t help, stuff gets into your cells.”
“That’s not a person.” The other enforcer said. He’d hardly said two words the whole night.”That’s a pest.”
Pedlson whistled.
“A stray from the attack yesterday?” He wondered.
“Could be.” The enforcer said.
“Better call it in.”
by submission | Jul 19, 2015 | Story |
Author : Helstrom
“Hey honey, come look at this.”
I took my bearings and found Samantha’s voice, drew a bead on it and pinched space in her direction. She was far out on the edge of the universe, casually riding the expanding frontier.
“What is it?”
“Have a look. Out there.”
“There’s nothing out there.”
“Well, don’t look then. Feel. Do you feel it?”
She got like this sometimes. I squeezed in close beside her and playfully arranged some photons into the shape of a heart.
“Oh you,” she giggled, drawing an arrow across the photons before they blinked off on their way, “Now really, focus and feel it.”
“What am I feeling for?”
“Not that,” she said as she pulled slightly away from me, “Feel what’s out there.”
“Alright, so I’m feeling…”
I felt it. There was something out there. It was subtle but it sort of bent the edge of the universe. There was nothing that could do that. There wasn’t supposed to be anything out there. The whole concept of ‘out there’ didn’t even make sense.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
We sat there for an aeon or two peering into nothing. To our left a civilization of marsupials sprang up, spread across a few hundred thousand star systems and started to rip itself apart in a bloody conflict.
“Stop it,” said Samantha, briefly flashing an avatar before them.
I chuckled. Always the warden. Such an offhanded gesture for her, but to these creatures the universe would never be the same again. They suddenly realised they were not alone, that there was a great, powerful being watching over them who loved them and wanted them to be happy. There was a great potential for suffering among the stars. We had inherited enough memories from our progenitors to decide we were not going to allow that again, ever.
The edge began to buckle. The universe was no longer expanding in a uniform way. Something was pushing against it, into it, disrupting its fabric. Things started to go wrong. Time wasn’t spreading right, matter folded back in on itself, clusters formed in all kinds of grotesque ways.
Samantha got nervous: “Honey what’s going on?”
“I don’t know baby,” I said, drawing her close again, “I don’t know.”
It stopped in a singular instant. The buckle vanished. Galaxies were rattled like flakes in a snow-globe, shifting violently before finding new points of balance.
Something outside told us: “Sorry about that, I wasn’t paying attention.”
Neither of us knew what to say. I glanced over at the marsupials. They had been playing nice, building shining cities and many flattering monuments to what they called the Star Mother. But with their skies suddenly re-arranged they were having something of a panic.
I appeared before them: “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.”
A complimentary cult to the Star Father promptly appeared. Samantha and I pinched off in separate directions. There were a lot of scared species around that needed reassurance that their gods were still looking after them. It would only take a moment of negligence for them to feel abandoned and do all kinds of horrible things to themselves. That much we knew from experience.
