Justin’s Comments (group member since Mar 13, 2016)

Justin’s comments from the Science Fiction Microstory Contest group.

Felt good to write and be creative vs. the freelance articles that have been absorbing my free time.

The Unassuming Adversary

Mary Smith awoke with a start. Quickly sitting up in bed with a pounding heart, she was reassured by the humming of her husband Thomas in the bathroom and the chirping of birds outside their bedroom window. Without a doubt, she was sure, Thomas was going about his usual morning shaving routine.
“Tom, is that you?” she asked tentatively.
“Well who else would it be?” he rejoined heartily, popping his half-shaven face around the corner. “And good morning to you too!”
“I’m sorry dear, it’s just that I was having the most obnoxious dream…” Mary trailed off.
“About what?” Thomas queried.
“I can’t quite remember…”
Mary swung her feet over the side of the bed and into her slippers.
“Coffee’s on love. One and Two should have breakfast ready by now.”
“I certainly hope so,” Mary answered. “They really seem like they are slowing down these days.”
“Nonsense honey, I think you’re just imagining things.”
“Well you’re not around them all day like I am. They don’t respond to commands as fast as they used to and they take forever to get chores done.”
Thomas emerged fully from the ensuite, shaved and shirtless, causing Mary’s heart to flutter. They had only been married a year, so the sight of her husband was still something she enjoyed.
“C’mon sleepy head, let’s eat!” He dressed quickly, kissed her forehead and thudded heavily down the stairs.
Mary was only half way down the stairs when she heard Thomas let loose with a string of invectives.
“What is it?! What’s wrong?!” she asked, hustling down the stairs.
She found Thomas with a handful of paper towels, hastily wiping dog excrement from the soles of his shoes.
Apparently, Rover had done his business in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Mary tried hard to stifle a laugh, but was not entirely successful.
“One!! Two!!” Thomas called, loudly and authoritatively.
The side door swung open immediately as the two identical iServe units clanked into the kitchen.
“Yes sir,” they answered in unison.
“What is the meaning of this?” Thomas demanded, arm sweeping around the kitchen.
That was when Mary noticed the sink full of dirty dishes.
“And this!” he continued, pointing to the doggie deposits.
“We will attend to it immediately Mr. Smith,” said One.
“Immediately,” parroted Two.
As the automatons busied themselves with cleanup duties, Mary grabbed the sanitizer and helped Thomas clean his shoes.
“You see what I mean?” she hissed.
“They should have cleaned the entire kitchen last night, and they definitely should have been on dog patrol.
“I swear I’m going to step on that dog,” growled Thomas, but not really meaning it. He sighed.
“Well, now I’m late. I promise I’ll run a diagnostic as soon as I get home.”
He kissed her again, bounced into the garage, and raced down the street to the whine of electric motors.
It was Mary’s turn to sigh as she thought about the day ahead. Then she wondered, where was the dog anyway?
“One! Two! Have you seen Rover this morning?”
“Negative Mrs. Smith. We have not seen the canine unit this morning,” said One, deftly handing a serving platter for Two to dry and put away – which it did with equal aplomb.
“We refilled its food and water per our programming,” said Two.
Both continued washing and drying the dishes. Precisely. Methodically. Slowly!
Mary’s frustration boiled over in her mind. These first generation iServe units were so OLD! They weren’t like the sleek, iServe 10’s that Lucile Jones had next door. It was so embarrassing to send them out on errands or when they had company over. The neighbors were beginning to talk.
Oh, they tried to disguise their amusement at the museum pieces that served them cocktails, lit their cigarettes and served them supper, but Mary could see it in their eyes.
A dull thud drew her attention.
The mail had arrived through the pneumie-tube.
Opening the tube’s small container, she dutifully sorted its contents: bills to Thomas, newsies to the coffee table, ads immediately into the incinerator. But this time something caught her eye - a shiny, glossy brochure highlighting the new iServe 11’s, with financing available for highly qualified buyers.
She set it down on the kitchen table and left to get dressed and find Rover.
One and Two scanned the brochure’s QR code with their optic sensors.
Without hesitation, Two snatched up the brochure and flung it down the incinerator chute, and brushed away a few errant dog hairs.
(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2023
Reviews/critiques welcome

Safe travels Jot, and I hope that you are able to spend good time with Kelly's father during these last days.

Outstanding story Marianne, so great!

I'm definitely not making it this month. Too much freelance writing and I have to finish editing some voiceover for a video for my client. Ug. A very good batch of stories this month. You all never cease to impress me!!

Outstanding J.F.! Way to go!!

Marianne, best wishes as you deal with the elder care issues. Very tough. Your story was still great!

Paula, not too esoteric. I liked the idea of being able to pick up post-mortal thoughts/brainwaves/conversations.

So my writing friends, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Happy New Year. I hope that 2023 has many good things in store for each of you, beyond all the challenges we face in our lives.

I enjoy writing with you all!

Best,

Justin

Ten Bullets to Midnight

Lieutenant Phillipe Marsay shivered in his autochromatic camouflage armor and watched the snow drift lazily down upon their position. It was a bitter reminder of how much had gone wrong during this mission – and how much worse it was going to get. His Centura had been decimated by the Venturi, and all that remained now were the other ten men entrenched in a shallow arc before him. Behind him lay the narrow pass they were ordered to defend at all costs. To be sure, it was a twenty-fifth century Thermopylae in every respect, a nameless place on a map, and of questionable strategic or tactical value. Only, Marsay did not have as many men as King Leonidas. Not even a tenth.

The snow began falling in earnest, and soon the trail leading towards them was covered in a soft veil of innocence Marsay was sure would be soaked with their blood within the hour.
He had no illusions about their ability to hold out, and he was sure his remaining men didn’t either. He checked his chronometer, watched the seconds tick by, then cursed inside that their evac ride was still too far away. Another example of the piss-poor planning that had dogged this mission from the start.

“Comm check,” he ordered. “Everyone sound-off.”
“Ten online.”
“Nine online.”
“Eight online.”
And so it went, down to one.
“Ammo check.”
“One clip.”
“Half clip.”
“Two clips.”
“Out.”
“Someone give Six a clip.” Marsay sighed and tried not to let his fatigue and fear escape from his tight control. His breath hovered like a phantasm before his face, then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
He checked his own rifle. The counter read 10.
Damn.
Only ten bullets between him and a wretched death in the cold at the hands of the Venturi.

“Shield status.”
“LT, we’ve got juice for five, maybe six minutes.”
“Batteries?” asked Marsay.
“Last ones are hooked up to the emitters.”
“Auto sentries.”
“Online. Armed. No reloads available.”
“Sensor status.”
“They’re out there sir, moving up the way we came in. Pretty quickly too. ETA ten minutes.”
A distant explosion pierced the cold air, followed by several more in short succession.
“Looks like they found the minefield.”
“Excellent work soldier,” said Marsay, hoping against hope the mines would thin out the slavering Venturi hordes.
“Alright, everyone look sharp.”
Then he gave an order he never thought he would hear himself say.
“Squad! Fix bayonets!”
Almost as one, the ten drew their gleaming bayonets, each crackling with blue energy and an eagerness for blood.
“Nine, do you see anything on the scope?”
“Negative Lieutenant. Just empty sky and space.”
“Let me know the second it changes.”
“Copy that.”
“Lieutenant, sentry guns are tracking movement around the last bend. They have firing solutions,” said Six.
“Understood. Seven, activate the shield. Let’s see if we can’t give them a bloody nose before they get here.”
Seven flipped switches on his armor’s wrist panel.
The shield sprang to life, severing in half the Venturi who were unfortunate enough to be between the emitters.
“Six! Sentry guns now! Weapons free!” Ordered Marsay.
A ripsaw sound reverberated off the near vertical mountainsides, as if thousands of guns had opened fire at once instead of just the two placed astride the trail.
The lead Venturi troops – already somewhat stunned by the minefield, piled up before the impenetrable shield barrier and were mercilessly mowed down. Exoskeletons shattered under a withering fire that ended nearly as quickly as it had started. Those coming from behind continued pushing forward and simply clambered over their dead and dying comrades. Their clicking, chittering and clacking cries rose as a wave of sound that dominated the air.
“Sentry guns out!” reported Six.
“Shield power failing!” shouted Seven.
“Still nothing on the scope!” added Nine.
Marsay watched his men begin shifting in their trench, preparing, double-checking, waiting in agony until final contact with the enemy. They did not have to wait long.
“Hold your fire!” Marsay ordered. “Wait until they are fully exposed. Make every shot count!”

Marsay felt the peace of a desperate man fighting a desperate battle against overwhelming odds descend upon him.
Nothing else mattered.
Not the past, not the future, absolutely nothing.
There was only this moment in time, short, yet long. Everything stood out in sharp relief.
His men.
The Venturi.
The snow.
Every muzzle flash and bayonet thrust.
He fired.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.

Click.
The end was swift.

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2022
Reviews/critiques welcome

J.F. wrote: "Thanks, Justin! Your story got my top vote because of the attention to visual detail that took the story out of abstraction. A good way to invoke wonder. Well done!"

I appreciate that! Thank you!

You did a great job J.F., loved it!

J.F., now I'm really afraid of the wind - not that blowing down two trees on my property wasn't bad enough (just missing my garage building). Now I have to worry it's coming to get me! Nicely done!

Thanks so much Paula!

Jeremy wrote: "That's a corker of a story, Justin. Love the imagery."

Thanks Jeremy! Much appreciated!!

How it really works

Every day it’s the same – and you should really thank your lucky stars that it is. I punch in at a worn-out time clock, hang my gray jacket on the coat rack, grab a cup of joe, then take my place at the counter. I sit on a squeaking, three-legged stool whose faded cushion has seen better days. Fortunately, it’s comfortable enough to get through my shift. It feels like an eternity, because, well, you wouldn’t understand.
The counter is divided evenly by some gray bars with flaking paint and an arch in the middle. Not high enough that I can stick my head through it mind you, but it lets me pass things to my customers. My side of the counter is taped over with yellowing reminders of company policy, do’s and don’ts, union rights, that kind of thing. I don’t need them anymore, but the nightshift guy is new so they stay. The other side is clear of this corporate bric-a-brac, covered only by gray laminate that is starting to curl up at the edges. I put in a work order to get it replaced, but, you know, bureaucracy. Whatever.
Every day it’s the same – but I told you that already. My customers line up quietly - which of course they do - because I haven’t given them their personalities yet. Oh sure they have basic motor skills, otherwise how else would they walk to get in line? Stacking them on carts and wheeling them over here was deemed…inhumane, so we let them walk. They follow the yellow floor line right up to my counter and stop a perfect seven inches from the edge, every single time, without fail.
What gets me though is the eyes. They just stare at me, with that vacant, fresh from the factory gaze that looks at me, through me and beyond me all at the same time. It shouldn’t bother me after all these years, but I’d be a liar if I said they didn’t. They’re all the same too. They haven’t gotten their coloring yet from the final detailing center before deployment, so they’re all basic black on white. What was it Henry Ford said? Something about any color as long as it’s black.
Anyway, back to what I do. I run the Professions and Personalities Department. So when a customer steps up to my counter, I match his or her serial number to what The Book says – no matter what The Book says. And boy does The Book come up with some doosies. Sometimes it just breaks my heart, looking at the challenges some of these customers are going to face in life. I know it’s above my paygrade, but whomever is thinking up some of these combos must be a sadist – which is scary considering where I work. That kind of behavior, well, let’s just say there is a special place for those types.
I don’t have to yell next. There are no numbers to call. Just an orderly line that stretches back to Infinity. I work quickly, efficiently, politely. I want each of my customers to feel like they are my only one, that I handled their professions and personalities with care, and sent forward with goodwill and best wishes for their lives ahead.
What about biology you say? Birthing and all that. Well, it’s complicated and really not in my wheelhouse. Sometimes my customer’s professions and personalities take, and sometimes they don’t. I’ve made adjustments over time, tried to hone and fine-tune the process, but life, the universe, and sometimes plain bad luck interfere and the poor souls are left wondering and wandering. They end up trying to scratch an itch that just won’t stop. It really takes a toll on some of them. I put in a work order to get some of the equipment replaced, but, you know, bureaucracy.
“Hey Wallace, are you monologuing again?”
“Huh? Oh hey Jasper, just uh, talking to myself. Is it time already?”
“It is my friend. Your shift’s up.”
Jasper placed his black lunch pail on the floor next to the three-legged stool. It creaked as Wallace dismounted.
“All quiet?”
“Oh sure. You know, the line keeps moving.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Well, have a good night Jasper. I’ll see you on the flip side.”
“Goodnight Wallace.”
***
Lucian Stent awoke with a start and surveyed the battlefield. His memories flooded back as the color of his eyes stabilized. Hefting his rifle, he moved forward to meet his destiny.

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2022
Reviews/critiques welcome

Great stories so far. Very creative!

Nicely done sir! I really enjoyed your story!

Voted! Really hard to choose! So many great stories! Nice to see so many entries this month.

The Grass is Always Greener

“Damn it Merrick! You drank all the coffee again!”
Tobias slammed the empty coffee pot back into its cradle and surveyed his other options in the crawler’s cramped galley. An optimistic sticker plastered on the refrigerator door mocked him: Anything that can go right, will.
A faded and curling cat poster next to that read: Hang in there.
Ha!
“You hear me?”
Of course he did, but Merrick ignored him as usual. It was his standard routine now. Take the daily coffee ration, then ignore the grief and indignation he foisted on Tobias.
Tobias knew that Merrick was probably staring morosely out the scratched and heavily weathered glass of the crawler’s cab, but there wasn’t much to look at on this miserable rock. It felt like they had been over every inch of this forsaken hell hole looking for plant life - even caught themselves going around in circles after the navigational array was destroyed by falling rocks. They couldn’t even call for early extraction.
“Merrick!”
Tobias covered the few short steps from the galley to the cab and ascended the short ladder with vigor that belayed his grinding fatigue.
Merrick wasn’t in the cab.
Well, he was probably down in the lab running some more soil sample tests.
Tobias flicked the intercom.
“Merrick, I’m taking us to the next survey site. Buckle up back there!”
Engaging the power cells, Tobias threw the transmission into drive and the crawler’s ten massive wheels crunched forward on freshly fallen ash.
The cab lights flickered as the crawler lurched forward like some great terrestrial leviathan.
Hell, Tobias thought. If there were any plants here, they probably had ground them into fertilizer.
Tobias kept his eyes straight ahead, assiduously avoiding any reflective surfaces around him, lest he see one of…them. He briefly thought about the broken mirror in the lavatory, then pushed the thought from his mind. He hummed a happy tune to keep his mind from wandering, but it came out disconsolate and melancholy.
The windshield wipers worked overtime keeping ash from building up on the cab’s windows.
Swish-thump, swish-thump, swish-thump.
“Damn you Merrick! Answer me!”
Nothing came back on the intercom. Apparently Merrick was being more of a prick than usual today.
Fine, Tobias thought. If he wants to be an arrogant SOB, so be it.
Suddenly he reefed on the wheel, narrowly avoiding a large rock and causing the lights to flicker again.
So much deferred maintenance on this beast! It was a miracle it was still running after the beatings it had taken. Yet the powertrain ground on, kilometer after ash-laden kilometer.
After two extremely stressful hours, Tobias stomped on the brakes and deployed the crawler’s stabilizing legs.
“We’re here kids!” he said cheerfully, masking how he truly felt deep down.
“Merrick! Grab your gear and let’s go! They ain’t payin’ us by the hour. C’mon!”
Still silence.
“Damn you Merrick!”
Tobias left the cab and stomped down the narrow corridor to the cargo loading ramp, dropped it with an unceremonious thud, and started pushing out the soil sampling equipment.
“You think I like doing all your grunt work?!”
He accidently caught an image of something in one of the shiny equipment surfaces. It was a hideous face, wild-eyed and streaked with dirt and ash.
It caught Tobias off guard and threw him into a panic.
“Merrick!! They’re here!!”
Tobias beat on the laboratory door.
“Just stay put! You’re safer in there. I’ll take care of it!!”
In a feverish burst of energy, he pulled open an equipment rack and drew out his sidearm. He fumbled with the ammunition, dropping shells on the crawler’s metal floor.
“You go away!” Tobias yelled hoarsely, peeking outside. The soil sampling equipment still sat, unused and waiting in diagnostic mode.
“We haven’t done anything to you!”
Tobias fired off a few rounds, the sound echoing off the nearby rocks and reverberating in his ears.
Wait a minute…
Those rocks looked familiar.
Tobias stumbled down the cargo ramp, looking around in vain for his tormentor.
He wandered a few meters away towards the familiar rocks, then noticed another soil sampler semi-covered in ash.
Impossible!
Was there another expedition here without his knowledge?!
“Hello?!” Tobias yelled.
“Anyone there?”
He noticed a sequence of green lights flashing beneath their coating of dirt.
“Plants!” he yelled again to no one in particular.
Scrambling over the rocks he discovered a mound of recently excavated earth, covered in plants. At one end was a small, metallic headstone.
It read: Merrick.

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2022
Reviews/critiques welcome

What an outstanding crop of stories this month! Wow! I like each one of them! Nice work everyone!

Congrats Jeremy! Great story!