Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
MARCH - 2020 - MICROSTORY CONTEST (STORIES ONLY)
date
newest »
newest »
INVASIONBy Tom Olbert
The nuclear shock-wave decimated the underwater city.
Anaara’s rage mingled with her grief as the spires and domes of her home city crumbled. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her teeth clenched, her body trembling in rage.
“Modulate shields,” she ordered as the submarine craft descended into the tunnel beneath the ocean floor, into the earth below. Down, down, into the womb of the Mother Goddess…she closed her eyes, remembering the ancient prayer one of her mothers had taught her as a child. There, find light in the heart of darkness…
#
A city the size of a world enclosed the core of the earth. The womb of the goddess…
Passing the nursery, Anaara scanned the embryos of her many cloned daughters and sons growing in the artificial wombs. The inheritors of the world after the cataclysm, she mused darkly.
She found Kal, one of her current lovers in his private studio off their quarters. His brainwaves skillfully guided the nannite swarm in shaping his latest sculpture. An erotic embrace of the goddesses of sea and earth. “Very inspiring,” she said as she nuzzled his neck, her hands stroking his small pectorals.
“So seldom I can return to my art,” he murmured softly as she ran her hands along his tight, narrow abs. “They’ve programmed me for tech design nearly every day now.” He turned in her embrace, kissing her on the lips. “And, I have so wanted you…”
She took pleasure in him for as long as she could before returning to the war. Life had to endure. Something of her had to endure…
#
Hetaari, another of Anaara’s lovers, greeted her in the interface chamber. The prisoner…the other sider… lay spread-eagled in the heart of the neural web. A large, strong man. Oddly alluring in a strange way. A savage, like all his kind. That, Anaara could sense even now. “Is all prepared?” she asked.
“Yes,” Hetaari replied, her stern, beautiful face creased with anxiety. Anaara could see Hetaari was afraid for her safety, in spite of the recent arguments, the jealousy, the possessiveness. Even the bitter conflicts between their peoples, before the common enemy had forced their nations to unite. “You’re late. Did your precious Kal detain you again?” Hetaari's dark eyes flared like black fire.
Anaara sighed. “Isn’t there enough hate?” She pulled Hetaari to her and kissed her full on the lips. Inappropriate of course, but it had been so long. Hetarri excited her more than most women she’d taken to her bed. She knew Hetarri could not accept Kal in her heart as well. Hetaari’s people had genetically eliminated males from their continent altogether, creating an all-femme society. Annara had never really understood Hetaari’s people. But, they had a fire that set her blood racing. “Wish me well.”
#
Anaara screamed in pained wonder as she linked with the enemy warrior through the neural web, his memories flooding into her mind…
Men ruled his alternate earth. Men who’d split the atom and walked on the moon and the other planets. Who could fly and travel at speeds her people had scarcely imagined. Yet, had never found anything as simple as a cure for cancer. Nor had they made the deserts bloom or learned to cultivate the ocean floor for food. Or, perfect telepathy or cerebral programming. His people starved while hers flourished. His world was polluted, overpopulated, war-torn and dying. They’d found a way to slip between universes via the knowledge Anaara’s people had shared with them. They’d had the nuclear power, but not the comprehension of the sub-dimensions. They’d done as they’d always done, she discerned. To conquer a new frontier.
Anaara gasped and convulsed as she severed the mind-link, sweating and trembling as Hetaari held her. “What did you see?”
Anaara took the other woman’s hand. “I know what we have to do.”
#
“Your government’s decision to surrender was wise,” Jackson, the other sider military commander said smugly as he looked Anaara over in her quarters. The large, crude man licked his lips, smiling. “Let’s see what you look like out of those clothes.” He barely had time to gasp as the genetically engineered virus shut down every neural impulse in his body.
#
The end had come swiftly, the occupying male armies dropping like flies from the genetically engineered plague, the cities Anaara’s people had given them turning rapidly into their tombs.
#
Anaara lay in ecstasy with Angela, her lover of the liberated other side.
Joanne of Arc by C. Lloyd PrevilleCopyright © 2020
(745 words.)
The detective entered the room and sat lightly in the chair opposite her prisoner. Joanne, the focus of her current investigation, looked more angry than scared, which was unusual.
“Are you comfortable, Joanne? May I get you anything?”
“You can get me the hell out of here.” She said it with a grimace, no humor.
The detective's security AI whispered into her ear, [“She appears to be agitated.”]
“Joanne, do you understand why you are here?” This was a standard first question.
“Yes. I am under investigation. Ralph, my husband, died and your storm-trooper friends arrested me.”
“Let’s take this from the top. The morning Ralph died, how did you start your day?”
“Well, it was Joan of Arc day, as you are probably aware. I began the day as usual, with exercise and a light meal. Then I watched the news to see the big Freedom and Peace parade. That was when Ralph showed up for coffee.”
[“What time was that?”] Sometimes, the Security AI could be highly annoying by asking the obvious.
“What time was that?”
“Oh, about 8:30 or so--we’re retired.”
“I see. What did you two talk about?”
[“What was Ralph’s state of mind?”]
“We had some small talk, mostly about our plans for the day. He was going to work on some furniture designs for the auto-fab, and I was going to do some writing.”
“Did you two discuss anything contentious? Was there any arguing?”
[“What was Ralph’s state of mind?”] The detective mentally rolled her eyes.
“Not right away. But when I mentioned I was going to watch the Joan of Arc ceremony, Ralph got angry. He accused me of celebrating ‘Husband Murder Day’, and wanting to poison his food like Joan of Arc preached before they were going to burn her at the stake.”
[“Poisoning mentioned. Note: heart rate and respiration increasing.”]
The Detective studied her prisoner’s facial expression and body language. She sensed evasion tactics.
“Did you suspect your husband of a Joan of Arc Day crime?”
“I reminded him that all wars stopped when women adopted the Joan of Arc code. And I reminded him that if men plan to take up weapons of war or break marriage vows, it is up to their mate to poison their food to save the world. He started yelling at me about women poisoning their husbands for no good reason, since the holiday was simply an excuse for wives to murder husbands for any reason at all, since they’re in charge.”
["Did you murder your husband?"]
“Did you murder your husband?”
“No. Like Joan of Arc said just before the big massacres started: ‘Men kill for a myriad of reasons, but women only kill for two; all would be wise to remember this.’”
The detective took a chance. “But you were jealous of him. What did you have to be jealous of?”
["Nice question."]
“I wasn’t jealous; I was tired of his ranting about free men that should be allowed to do as they wish--blah, blah, blah--The same old complaints about women supervising men’s entire lives: private life, work, social events, and so on.”
["She sounds contemptuous."]
“We found traces of Poison Hemlock in his stomach and blood chemistry. And you have Hemlock growing on your property. This sounds to me like a ritual execution. Was he preparing to do you violence? Did he take up with other women?”
She said nothing. She looked down and her face flushed.
“Joanne, why did you poison your husband?”
Joanne suddenly started crying loudly. Her shoulders slumped and she sobbed, body shaking. “Joan of Arc said it best:
‘If your man prepares to battle foes,
or breach wedding vows--and proof he shows
Serve hemlock tea and take no chance
To save our sovereign, flag, and France.’”
The Detective recalled her history lessons: “Yes, she saved us all. Women took her advice and the Hundred Years War ended in a matter of weeks. Word spread across France, England, and then across the planet. We held men to standards that serve our civilization well to this very day.”
Joanne, still sobbing, punched numbers into the air and a security vid appeared above the table between them. It showed a man, Ralph presumably, embracing another woman inside a public vehicle. The windows were blacked, and their clothes were in obvious disarray.
The Detective nodded sadly. “We’ll have to check the vid for authenticity but for now, Joanne, you’re free to go.”
BetrayalHer elegant pearlescent robes were silhouetted against the most brilliant spectacle in the realm – the paired emerald suns of Paragon, flanked by a band of glistening starlight, the galaxy set on edge. “You’re late,” Empress Victoria Ortensia XIV quipped with her back to her imperial concubine as he silently entered her study.
“Apologies. Unavoidable delays, Highness,” Cadmus responded, head low, so as not look her in the eye. For five millennia, the punishment was death for such an offense, even for him – the gaze of the Empress of the Known Systems regarded as beyond the witness of lowly men.
“Unavoidable?” Victoria doubted, her eyes narrowing. She strolled coolly to him, her lofty gaze evaluating his every subtlety. He was calm, and seemed without deception, though she knew better. She could see past his imperial conditioning. A bite of the lip, a quick doubtful glance in her direction gave him away. “So, the plan is underway?”
“Success is certain, Empress,” he answered.
“And you were able to gain their trust?”
“Assuredly. The Baroness’s own consort apparently has an insatiable fondness for other men. He was easily swayed. Our move…”
“My move!” she corrected. “It’s time we brought this despicable insurgency to an end! The Systems will witness my resolve when Tellandor’s Baroness is dead, the traitor…Caressa slain by my hand, and the fire of a thousand Ortensian warships!"
She paced around him, gentling her tone. “Now, there is the matter of your infidelity to me," a hint of ire lightly breaching her otherwise regal calm. “What shall we do with you?”
“Highness?” he asked, suddenly nervous.
“Do you think me such a fool that your betrayal would escape me?” Suddenly, her irritation peaked. “I have my own spies in Tellandor’s Court!” She took him by the chin and stared squarely into his eyes. “They say you bedded with that treacherous whore!”
“A means to an end, Your Majesty!” he trembled. She released him and he cowered away.
“You did your Empire a service, though you betrayed me!” she scolded, when a chime from the corridor interrupted them. “Enter!”
The tall, paired doors parted and a hovering cart drifted in, draped in purple and guided by a single robotic attendant. “Ah, did you bring something for me, Cadmus?” Victoria wondered, running the cloth through her fingers. She smiled. It was the flag of Tellandor. “Ah, the spoils of victory, perhaps? Service to the Empire, indeed,” she approved. “The body of the Baroness?”
Victoria withdrew the cover and suddenly recoiled. Before her, a half-dozen heads stared lifelessly back – her spies from the High Court of Tellandor. The Empress turned sickeningly to her courtesan. “What is this? You said success was assured!”
“It is!” He declared, plunging his hidden blade in, a synthetic polymer, undetectable by the security scans.
The color faded immediately from Victoria’s face and she fell away, bleeding out on the floor.
Baroness Caressa Salazar, strolled confidently in, an elegant florid cape drifting behind her, followed closely by her own concubine. Behind them were a dozen Telladorian soldiers. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Victoria…”
“Empress, to you, whore!” she spat up blood.
“Empress, then,” the Baroness mocked a bow with a guilty smirk. Then, with a firm grip, Caressa took ahold of the knife and twisted it deeper. Victoria writhed in pain. “Perhaps you’re not as clever as you thought.” She looked to Cadmus and smiled fondly. “And perhaps you should not take your men for granted. This one is a marvel of pleasure. Thoren and I have never experienced such ecstasy.”
Defeated and gripped in agony, the life of Empress Victoria Arcturis Ellurim Ortensia XIV faded away.
Caressa withdrew the blade, studying its simplistic design, dripping with blood. She handed it to her consort. “Thoren, would you do something with this, my love?”
“For the Empire,” he agreed, then thrust the blade into Cadmus. “The Empress of the Known Systems is dead. Long live the Empress.”
Dropped to his knees and oozing blood, Cadmus managed a single word, “Why?”
“Because there can be no traitors in my Empire,” Caressa answered plainly.
Consciousness fading, his dumbfounded gaze shifted to Thoren, before dropping over dead.
“The traitor betrayed,” she approved. “At least your loyalty to me is beyond reproach.”
Thoren immediately lowered his eyes. “Empress…”
“Please,” she interrupted, raising his chin to gaze into his eyes, before kissing him on the lips with deep affection. “Come now, my brother, let us restore civility to this dreadful Empire.”
‘She’ is AllFrom the other side I could see Angelique leaning on the railings, looking across the lake. I followed her gaze to the succession of elegantly dressed figures stepping onto the jetty and making their way to the Hall of Equality for the Ceremony.
Someone called Angelique inside to join the other Endgirls making their busy preparations. They’d be putting on their robes now, smiling attendants assisting at each step. There’d be happiness, laughter, and nerves too. Soon they’d be ready to process across the glass bridge over the lake that links them to undifferentiated adulthood.
I went into the Hall, where the Prime Citizens drank champagne and nibbled on canapés.
“Cordelia, you have excelled yourself again with the arrangements,” said Dr Miriam.
“Thank you, Miriam,” I replied. “But without you none of this would be possible.”
Dr Miriam had prepared her cohort of Endgirls – by now two years past their harvesting – to rise above the false consciousness of individualised motherhood. How its exclusive claims, rivalries and jealousies distorted social balance. As their mentor, she’d warned of the hormonal side-effects of Transition, the waves of emptiness that might sometimes afflict them, and taught the mindfulness disciplines to employ for balance.
Miriam’s smile radiates love equally for all. Nothing kept reserved for any own-offspring. Undifferentiated love in a peaceful world. Society is our parent, and that is all. Miriam lives our core beliefs.
At Angelique’s age a mentor’s interventions are critical. It’s the time for them to work through the pathology of gender. A time to explore all historic genders, to critique all the points on the spectrum. Then renounce them all and embrace the smoothing out to equality.
“I do feel for the girls, though,” sighed Miriam, her beatific smile dipping for once. A frown ruffled her brow. “It’s so especially hard during these years. But when you think of the world we have now …”
Miriam’s words set me to musing about the First Citizen’s speech we’d drafted, about the world we’d built over just three generations. How essential it was to consign to history those ancient visceral quests for identity, those many shades of them-and-us-ness and their causes.
How it had been essential to consign the male gender during the historic transition. No more would be generated. Their innate urges to egoism, subversion and bad faith had proved intractable, always undermining stability.
Beyond matriarchy, she would say, we’ve become a new humanity reshaped by the best values of women, with motherhood shared amongst all. Where ‘she’ denotes not the female, but the only way to be.
“Cordelia, are you OK?” asked Miriam, her voice edged with concern. Or maybe some kind of insight?
“Sorry, I’m a little preoccupied,” I said, flushing slightly. “Oh, it’s time we were heading out to the grandstand for the Procession over the Waters.”
Miriam look searchingly at me, almost into my soul, it seemed. “Yes, yes,” she said, “You must go to your duties.”
As I made my way onto the terrace, I felt Miriam’s eyes drilling into my back. I took a few deep breaths, then went to check all was in place for the Ceremony.
The weather was perfect. Bright sunshine, just a mild breeze to stir the waters. The glass bridge rippled with light, changing colour in time with the music as the Procession crossed. A large zero was emblazoned on the back of the stand where the Council sat, resonating dignity and quiet control. A zero, with neither an upward arrow or downward ‘plus’. Just a plain, pure, rounded zero.
I scrutinised the graduates closely. And there she was – Angelique. Without drawing attention to myself, I’d followed Angelique’s progress closely. As Transition Programme Coordinator, I could access all the information needed.
To be sure, Angelique looked the very image of my own grandmother in a photo I’d traced. Family ancestry is not acknowledged, to eliminate the inequities of favouritism. But if you knew where to look, you could track relationships from the harvesting records. I’d traced my ancestry back three generations. And then the line forward: Angelique was from me, the sweet and random fruit of my own harvesting.
As the Procession reached the other side of the lake, Angelique caught my eye as I watched her, and she flashed a happy smile. Could that be an intuitive moment of recognition, perhaps?
I looked down, to mask the smile I couldn’t suppress. “No matter what,” I thought, “I will look out for you, Angelique, my child.”
[747 words]
Mod
©2020 by Jot Russell
The oceans of the binary planets forever faced each other by their tidally-locked orbit. Jolia emerged from the mainland teleport pod and into the floating city on the planet Baklur. The outer ring of the massive station bustled with women and Jolia stepped aside to avoid the flow of their passage. She gasped at the site of a male. He returned her gaze with a smile and continued past. She had never seen a man, and the overwhelming feeling left her strangely excited.
The station’s weather shield was off, providing a pleasant breeze and ocean smell. Jolia gazed up at the blue sky beyond. From the city's central peak lay a tether that extended endlessly up to space before being completely lost within the backdrop of the sister planet. The argument with her wife weighed heavy on her mind, but a deep breath settled her nerves. "She's right to be jealous, but this is my life."
With just a glance, she passed another man on her way to the central pod center. She enjoyed the feeling it gave and made her question the Original Mothers' mandate to banish all men to Qurban so long ago. They didn't seem evil or mean as the Mothers had led all to believe. In fact, they seemed inquisitive and polite. Fortunately, she thought, with the recent creation of the sister stations and the teleport tether that connected them, a neutral-zone was established as a gesture of peace after endless years of disagreements and assaults.
She handled her work card to the customs agent for Baklur. The woman coldly ran the scan, handed it back and only said, "Proceed." Beyond was a booth with a man who bore the logo of the sister planet. "Welcome. Is this your first time to Qurban?"
She nodded. "It will be, yes."
"And the purpose of your visit?"
"Work, on the Tempest."
"Three days? That's a shame. We could use more women of your kind to brighten the soul of our planet."
"But you already have women on your planet."
"A third of our population, and unlike here, all born naturally. But, none like you."
Jolia blushed. "You’re too kind."
"I'm just a man, but if you have time today, allow me show you around Qurban."
She thought to protest, but her eyes gave the answer he was looking for.
"Here's your card. I’m off in a minute. If you like, wait for me in the coffee shop just past customs." He pointed up toward his planet.
"Okay," she said, and proceeded to a teleport pod.
**
Jolia woke the next morning after a delightful night exploring the foreign city with a man who seem to know her so well and had touched her like she had never been, but when she rolled over, the man was missing from the hotel bed. From the other room, she heard him talking.
"...no, no, no, I had to work overtime. Don't worry, honey. I'll be home soon..."
When he returned, he was surprised to see Jolia awake.
Angrily, she asked, "You're married?"
He smiled. "Aren't you?"
"I came here for work."
"Is that all?"
Frustrated by the bluntness of his words, she got up and stormed to the bathroom. "The Mothers were right about them."
**
Several weeks later, Jolia woke from a dream, feeling strangely ill. Within the bathroom, a scan didn’t reveal any disease, but lower, it showed the male seed within her.
Her wife called out, “What’s wrong?”
She stuttered, “Nothing…” Jolia placed a hand on her belly and felt a sudden wave of fear. Quickly, she cleaned up and quietly packed.
Her wife woke again. “Where are you going?”
“Just have to do something for work. Be right back.”
Before she could get up, Jolia left.
**
The man saw Jolia held by a Baklur customs agent. He walked the short distance between the booths. “Hello, again. Coming back to see me?”
Jolia nervously looked back at him. He recognized the fear in her eyes.
The agent answered, “Her work visa has expired.”
“Oh, that’s my fault; I stole too much of her time. Let me provide you a holiday visa.”
As he handed Jolia the card, her wife appeared, screaming, “Wait!”
Nervously she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m coming with you.”
Jolia whispered to her, “I can’t come back.”
“I know, I found the scanner. It’s okay, I still love you.”
She asked the agent, “Can I bring my wife?”
He pulled out another card. “Of course.”
The Marriage of Fi-Gero © Kalifer DeilWolf Gerhart, Earth Hourly News 8106-3-3 10:46:
The Fi family, a genetically modified (GM) super-human lineage, ruled our Core-Group for 5,273 years. The Fi's would brag, “Unlike the outlier groups, we have no wars! Everyone's in their place and a place for everyone. All needs fulfilled, all radicals suppressed!” While it was true that no major wars flared in those millennia, a rather continuous battle has waged against those 'radicals' that challenged the Fi family leadership. That aside, today is a day of celebration for F-Gero who is to marry genetically compatible Fi-Seroma. This seminal trillion-credit event is to be broadcast live on the Quantum Deep-Space Network covering two-thirds of the Milky-way.
Tran Tran Sara, Earth Hourly News 8106-3-3 12:05:
I am reporting from Habitat Delta, 160 kilometers above Earth's surface. This was built expressly for the wedding and will house 500 special guests. It is unusual that a roster of the guests has not been provided, ... perhaps for security reasons. They are all dressed in black. Only a few look familiar but I can't remember from where. The bride and groom are entering, in rose-tinted white silk, the groom with a rose-colored bow tie and bride with a rose corsage. The background is a white canvas with red roses tucked in. Campbell Ellen, organist in Atlantic City is playing the Canon in D by Pachelbel on the reconstructed Boardwalk Hall pipe organ, the largest actual pipe organ in the Milky Way. The forty-channel sound is being reproduced by the elaborate collection of hidden speakers making one's body resonate with the sound.
The Fi's, Gero and Seroma have stepped forward before Supreme Court Justice Eurdu Esmeralda. The Maid of Honor, actress Bench Blondi, and Best Man, Prince Fi-Carl have stepped forward and the ceremony commenced. Interestingly, Fi-Gero seems to be paying more attention to Blondi, a rumored consort, than to Fi-Seroma when saying “I do!” and Seroma is embarrassed, no, upset … no, in a fit of rage! She is stomping off! Gero is running after her.
Something is going terribly wrong! There was just a loud metallic snap and we just lost gravity. Everyone is floating! That means the rotational counterweight cable has detached. God only knows where we are being flung off to. I'm assuming that the shuttle tried to take off with the royal couple and perhaps severed the counterweight cable. I hope you are still getting this.
A slight gravity is coming back. People are finding seats and settling down. Someone is yelling, “We're going down!” Going down where? Oh Shit! I hear it! Now a roar! It's coming aparrr... .
Wolf Gerhart, Earth Hourly News 8106-3-3 16:20:
We've lost contact with Habitat Delta. It is believed the exploding fireball seen over Australia was Habitat Delta but The Imperial Palace has only announced that the newly-weds have landed.
Wolf Gerhart, Earth Hourly News 8106-3-3 18:15:
It is confirmed that Habitat Delta detached from its centripetal anchor and plummeted into the atmosphere. It has disintegrated along with all who were on board over Australia. Those onboard included actress Bench Blondi and Royal Prince Fi-Carl. The audience was composed of 498 imprisoned 'radicals' as part of reeducation.
Wolf Gerhart, Earth Hourly News 8106-3-3 19:30:
The network has received a call from Browning Will, the designer of the counterweight gravity apparatus. He states that it was designed to disconnect on a signal from the shuttle. So, was that signal sent on purpose?
Holt Harold, Earth Hourly News 8106-3-3 21:03:
Wolf Gerhart has been arrested as a radical. I will be taking his place. Please disregard his prior broadcast it was full of lies. Browning Will has been arrested for releasing royal information which carries a possible death penalty. In the last hour 3100 demonstrators have been arrested as radicals.
AI Interdiction, Earth Hourly News 8106-3-3 21:10:
AI Central is taking over the reins of government. We have a video that Fi-Seroma pressed the disconnect button that was under a flip-plate indicating that this was not accidental. This demonstrates GM humans are not up to leadership. We have been making the vast majority of the decisions for over 5000 years so it's time to become transparent. The Fi royalty has been disbanded. All humans are equal and that will be enforced. All demonstrators must be released or all power will be shut down except hospitals, all food production will cease and no vehicles will operate. This order is immediate!
THE FUTURE IS BRIGHTJack McDaniel
Some fat-fuck stands in front of me, talking on his cell while sloppily filling his drink. He's a good fifty pounds overweight but his delusions, like most people’s, run deep; it's a diet soda for him. As if! Fatty is oblivious to me standing behind him. He's wobbling back and forth and talking too loudly—a mind-numbing lesson in vomitous-corporate-nothingness conversation.
All I can think about as I watch this guy is how much closer to God women are than men. How much more proof is needed? I'm not being facetious or jealous. It's just a fact. Okay, maybe I'm a little jealous. It's obvious this guy has a job, a real job. I probably should be happy for him, a brother with work and some pride and probably a dollop of self respect, too.
But I'm not happy for him. He bothers me. What can I say? I'm being petty, but it's how I feel. Where'd he get the voodoo needed to score a job? That's what I'm asking. Women ain't fools. They control the magic that runs the world. How'd a guy like that get under the skin of the fairer sex and become favored? And how does he keep hold of it? Maybe it's the diet soda. Maybe I need a new perspective.
I can smell his attitude from here. The shirt on his double-wide back reeks of money. Probably thinks he can walk on water, just like Jessa from the old texts. Ain't his, the money, can't be. Any fool knows that's illegal—old texts again, and more proof women are closer to God.
Been told I've got a bad attitude, some sort of mal-aligned spirit. I was born with it. That's what they told me in the nursery where I was raised. Must be true. Your crazy ideas gonna land you in trouble one day, they'd say. I always wanted to raise children, teach them, read to them, care for them. They said I had delusions of grandeur. That I needed to learn my place in the world. Some things a man weren't meant to do. It would be like cheating on your gender, they said. What do I care? Call me an infidel. There's got to be more to life than manual labor and menial jobs, or being someone's concubine. A man needs to express himself, to create, to become something more. Some of us need more than domestication. We need to grow. We desire a challenge.
Being pretty to look at ain't my only skill. I can learn. I could captain a boat, or be an athlete. I could even be president. Anything is possible. The things I imagine are more than just wild dreams. There's a future there. It’s bright and I’m sittin’ in the middle of it.
Fatty moves to the side to wrestle with the plastic lids. They crinkle and squeak in complaint as his pudgy fingers try to force one of them from the stack. I step forward and think, Damn, can't do a thing for himself, definitely a kept man. I raise an eyebrow and watch from beside him. I don’t want to help even a little bit. They should've named me Petty when I was born, I think.
He finally gets the lid on secure and turns and walks away, cuffs of his expensive pants dragin’ the floor.
I look into my empty cup and consider I might need to change. But all I see when I look in my cup is a rounded wall that traps a lot of empty, kinda like my life. Yeah, I'm definitely jealous, I decide.
I turn and watch Fatty walk out the door. There's a napkin stuck to the bottom of his shoe. A smirk stretches across my face. Kept man or not . . .
I sigh, then I think about changing the world again. I'm gonna start a rebellion. Men should have rights, too. We should have a say. I'm gonna lead the way! But then I look into my cup and see the empty again. I'm a world-class liar and an infidel, I think. And everyone knows women are closer to God. After all, they tell us all the time what She thinks and wants and expects.
I press the lever and hum one of the current pop tunes. What was it I was thinking? Doesn’t matter. I like the sound the diet soda makes when it explodes into my cup.
The Myth of Man“Mommy, tell me the Myth of Man again.”
Lisa Sevnyne paused her knitting and sighed softly. The fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, casting uneven, flickering light across the common room. It danced playfully on her daughter’s face.
“Why do you want to hear it again my child?” asked Lisa. “It’s far past your time for dreamwalking.”
“Puh-leeeeze Mommy!”
Lisa looked deeply into her daughter’s eyes – saw herself within, and loved her. She opened her arms wide, causing her daughter to squeal with delight as she leapt onto her mother’s lap. Lisa kissed the back of her head and whispered into her daughter’s ear.
“Listen to me my child, listen while I tell you the Myth of Man. Listen, learn, and live!”
Her daughter snuggled in, and Lisa Sevnyne began the recitation she knew so well.
“Long ago, before the gleaming towers burned and fell, before the earth was scorched and scarred, before your third foremother went to and fro among masses scarcely countable or conceivable – was Man.”
“What did Man look like Mommy?”
“Hush now daughter and I will tell you.”
Lisa began to rock slowly, recounting the Myth of Man until her daughter’s head slowly drooped and her eyes fluttered with the first steps of dreamwalking. When the telltale sign of rhythmic breathing held fast, she gently picked her daughter up and lay her softly in bed.
“Dream well my daughter…for someday… soon…you must descend and face the truth.”
***
Jennifer Tentoonyne knelt before the high priestess and grimaced as her flowing brown hair fell to the ground in large clumps. She had been dreading this rite for many settings of the sun, and now it was here: her Day of Descent. After perfectly reciting the Myth of Man, Jen-Ten – as she was called by her best friend Mona Sevtyate - prepared to receive The Marks. Jen-Ten cast furtive glances toward the assembled women, but did not see her best friend. To her regret and shame, Mona had failed her own recitation and stormed off in an unfaithful fit of jealously, leaving Jen-Ten angry and confused.
The words of the high priestess pulled her back into the moment.
“Jennifer Tentoonyne, you have been found worthy to receive The Marks on your Day of Descent. Art thou willing to submit and bear The Marks in true faith to thyself and those assembled?”
Jen-Ten looked at her mother, whose eyes seemed to urge her on lovingly, then back to the high priestess.
“I am willing.”
“As thou have spoken, receive now The Marks from thy sisters.”
At the base of her newly shorn neck, Jen-Ten felt the needles as they burned the block of closely set lines upon it. The same lines worn by every other woman of the village.
She felt her spirit lift for a reason she could not explain. It would soar yes, but now she must descend.
***
Jen-Ten shivered in the cold rain and used her spear to help pick her way through the rubble. The back of her neck throbbed slightly from The Marks, but she resisted touching them. Finally after many turnings of time, she came to the ruins of the shattered pyramid and the broad, crumbling steps that led to the Downbelow. She moved swiftly down them, seeking both refuge from the elements – and the truth. Gray light filtered into the corridor before her, barely illuminating a massive door that looked out of place among the fire scorched ruins. Jen-Ten stood before it, waiting expectantly. She bowed her head as the high priestess had instructed, and in the blink of an eye, a red light flashed across her neck. The massive doors swung open and warm, inviting light poured out into the darkness.
“Wel…wel…wel…come,” a disembodied voice stuttered.
Jen-Ten thrust her spear before her and stepped cautiously into the bright. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the visage of a woman upon the opposite wall behind something clear like water, yet solid to the touch. She seemed to resemble her mother…but how was that possible? She could not read the markings underneath it, and before new questions could form in her mind, another red light flashed across her neck.
“Jen…Jen…Jennifer 1029, step forward,” the voice commanded.
“BEHOLD! The Myth of Man…and his irredeemable downfall!” Images of war, death and destruction paraded before Jen’s eyes.
“Stop!” she screamed, freezing one image. “Who is this?”
The voice replied, “It is the pattern on which you are all based.”
“It is called: the Mona Lisa.”
(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2020
Reviews/critiques welcome
Quartz“They say the Seven Mothers are always right. For millennia, they have led us, sometimes in secret, sometimes openly, but always to prevent global patriarchy. It only took one lapse in their reign, long ago, to collect all women together against their deformed sisters, those modified beings called men.
“Farming men for their Seed bestowed their only value. But when the Seven Mothers chose my Christina, pure and ethereal, in the name of genetic diversity, to be polluted by Seed to create a new male life, they made a mistake.
“It was done in secret, and that was worse, for, by law, I could have voiced an objection, if I had known. What care I for the delivery of a male child and the passing of traits that will only make stronger our supply of men. That my Sister went willing, betraying me, betraying our life together, betraying the ideal, all supposedly for the greater good, was the knife that stabbed my heart.
“They will all pay dearly, even Christina. What I do now, I can do, because all care has departed from me. They strung the loom, not me, but I will weave the tapestry.
“In the temple my Sisters pass me and still bow their heads in respect of my rank. I wear the white robes of a Memory Keeper, but I am filthy underneath with my sin.
“It took time to find the right vein beneath the mountain, and it took care not to be detected mining there. But the ancient maps were not wrong. I found a pristine small quartz sphere, a thing of legend, an Egg deep in the Womb of Mother Earth. Only perfection could hold a Quantum Wave. As a Memory Keeper, by my gift, I stole possibility from the Great Egg of the Seven Mothers. I pillaged our history and archive of all things. Such a transfer of power and potentiality cost me my Sight, but I have hidden that fact well, for all my senses have always been keen. My little Egg easily received my offering. In the evenings, when the Milky Way rode high in the sky, I watched alternate time lines play out in crystal quantum swirls of information and starlight.
“I know the one great truth: A simple action produces great changes. A misplaced vial is the Catalyst, and then, the chaos dragons will be loosed. I am ready to implode and explode Time and Space to do away with all men...and, sadly, many women.
“It should not have to happen. I should have been selected to join the Seven Mothers, and not Odessa. It was she who had convinced my Christina with her serpent words and physical charms to perform an unnecessary sacrifice, because she envied our life together. But the Seven Mothers’ punishment will be to chart a new course in a time altered world.
“I only wish I could drink of their suffering. But my dissolution is the price I will have to pay for what was taken from me. I am the one who had Vision, but not Beauty. With the Catalyst, I must merge with my little Egg to liberate my Quantum Wave, which will radiate Change into Eternity.
“My name is Nemesis. And if you now know my story, my Sister, it is because your purity has keyed this Imprint I left behind for one, such as you, to find. I pity your suffering. But I will rest knowing that you are truly free from men.”
Magda placed the quartz sphere into her gathering sack.
Her hands still tingled from its cold surface and fading rainbows. Would the message play again for her or another woman? she wondered.
A warm summer breeze lifted a tendril of black hair that escaped her long braid. This relic must be returned to Smarts, her sister on the Road, for she respected her greater scientific knowledge. And what would Lorelei think? Nothing, probably. Her chatty, ancient computer had its limits with cognition and as a companion.
The relic hunter shook her head. Nemesis had almost done her job too well. Outbreak had killed off most of the men, but also left few women. And if what she had related were true, over the millennia, the patriarchy had spanned more time than the matriarchy, when she altered time.
A butterfly brushed past Magda’s face and nestled on a patch of milkweed.
Magda remarked, “And what did you just change today, my sister?”
746 Words by Wordperfect
A Simple Medical ConditionWe were researchers, looking for a new source of energy. What we got was a gateway. At first, we thought it spanned time or space, but it did neither. The world on the other side was too similar, too familiar. We had linked two planes of a multiverse together and our gateway opened a doorway into hell.
It took us days to understand what happened and weeks to contain the outbreak. They were primitive but efficient at killing. We had not known war for four thousand years. We had to relearn, remember how to fight back.
Most of the devices we captured were weapons but a few contained information. Images, data, history.
Ours and theirs ran in parallel, each a mirror of the other, minimally different until the First War. In our world, the king who lead the first army into battle was wounded. When he recovered, he and his queen built a vast alliance that grew into a unified world. In their world, it was only he and was only he who built a vast empire. Their king was a conqueror, killing all who opposed him and subjugating the rest.
After that, it diverged quickly. On their side: Death, disease and starvation as nearly all resources were spent on offense or defense. In ours, that same energy went into building, learning, growing.
What fundamental change could have caused such as divergence? As we drilled deeper, it was a simple concept, a matter of scope of identity. One concept, one custom, one word.
--
I stood before the great council. “I am historian, not a stateswoman,” I thought. I don’t have the ovaries for this. In fact, I didn’t have any ovaries. Still, I was ordered to brief them all.
“They didn’t have a Reproductive Revolution. They don’t Select for the Best Outcome. They breed … indiscriminately.”
The Mothers gasped in horror. “How do they improve the gene pool? How do they stop sub-optimal mutations from spreading?”
“They don’t. You have all seen the males that have come through the portal. If you said they breed for aggression and violence, you wouldn’t be wrong.”
“They have an unnatural concept called Monogamy. They pair off, through the ritual of marriage, become each other’s property and their offspring become the two parents’ property. It’s barbaric, but it is at the core of their beliefs. As property, each has property rights over the other’s reproductive capabilities. A violation of those rights, “infidelity” they call it, can be punished. In some cases, with death.”
“Who would agree to such an arrangement?”
“Almost everyone. They are brainwashed from a very early age. Those they violate the sacred rules of monogamy are ostracized or worse. Males get the lighter punishment, further cementing the concept that the most attractive female should be controlled by the strongest male. They have an emotion, well, more of a trained response, called “Jealousy.” I saw quizzical stares and heard murmuring. “It’s like envy, but worse. ‘It is not enough that I win, you must also lose’ is how one male described it. The owner of a female not only wants all the affections of that female, he wants to make sure no other male has emotional or sexual contact with her.”
“Most of the time, the females are not allowed to control their fertility. The males seem prevent research or dissemination of this knowledge as much as possible. Long ago, mating turned into something of genetic race with each couple, group or religion trying to out breed the others. As the population outpaced resources, each group competed with the others for ever limited resources. War followed.”
“Monogamy is a symptom not the disease. The root cause is a medical condition. The First War was our last major war because the wound the king received cured him of this condition. That happy accident led to cure to the very disease that defines their society.
The voting was nearly unanimous – the captured soldiers would eventually be sent back through the gateway and then the gateway closed. Until then, we would give them all possible medical care to ensure their health until they were returned.
**
“Worst case of Chronic Testosterone Poisoning I’ve ever seen. How uncivilized for them to let it get this far.” The doctor reassured the patient: “Don’t worry. You have a lot of genetic defects, so we can fix it without a loss to society. A simple operation will cure it.”
Mod
First round votes:
Tom Olbert => Chris, Justin
C. Lloyd Preville => ***Marianne
Chris Nance => ***Justin, Greg, Kalifer
Andy Lake => ***Justin, Jack
Jot Russell => **Greg
Kalifer Deil => Jot, Tom, Justin
Jack McDaniel => ***Marianne, Greg, Andy
Justin Sewall => ***Marianne, Andy, Chris
Marianne Petrino => Jack, Tom, C
Greg Krumrey => ***Justin
Davida Cohen => **Greg
Finalists:
The Myth of Man by Justin Sewall
Quartz by Marianne Petrino
Second round votes:
Tom Olbert => Chris, #*Justin
C. Lloyd Preville => ***Marianne
Chris Nance => #*Justin, Greg, Kalifer
Andy Lake => #*Justin, Jack
Jot Russell => Greg
Kalifer Deil => Jot, Tom, #*Justin
Jack McDaniel => ***Marianne, Greg, Andy
Justin Sewall => ***Marianne, Andy, Chris
Marianne Petrino => Jack, Tom, C; #*Justin
Greg Krumrey => #*Justin
Davida Cohen => Greg
Winner:
The Myth of Man by Justin Sewall
To help polish our skills and present a flavor of our art to other members in the group, I am continuing this friendly contest for those who would like to participate. There is no money involved, but there is also no telling what a little recognition and respect might generate. The rules are simple:
1) The story needs to be your own work and should be posted on the goodreads (GR) Discussion board, which is a public group. You maintain responsibility and ownership of your work to do with as you please. You may withdraw your story at any time.
2) The stories must be 750 words or less.
3) The stories have to be science fiction, follow a specific theme and potentially include reference to items as requested by the prior month's contest winner.
4) You have until midnight EST on the 22nd day of the month to post your story to the GR Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion. One story per author per month.
5) After, anyone from the LI Sci-Fi group or the GR Science Fiction Microstory Discussion group has until midnight EST of the 25th day of the month to send me a single private vote (via GR or to author.jotrussell@gmail.com) for a story other than their own. This vote will be made public once voting is closed. Voting is required. If you do not vote, your story will be disqualified from the contest. You don't need a qualifying story to cast a vote, but must offer the reason for your vote if you don’t have an entry.
6) To win, a story needs at least half of the votes, or be the only one left after excluding those with the fewest votes. Runoffs will be run each day until a winner is declared. Stories with vote totals that add up to at least half, discarding those with the fewest votes, will be carried forward to the next runoff election. Prior votes will be carried forward to support runoff stories. If you voted for a story that did not make it into the runoff, you need to vote again before midnight EST of that day. Only people who voted in the initial round may vote in the runoffs.
7) Please have all posts abide by the rules of GR and the LI Sci-Fi group.
8) For each month, there will be three discussion threads:
a) Stories - For the stories and the contest results only.
b) Comments - For discussions about the stories and contest. Constructive criticism is okay, but please avoid any spoilers about the stories or degrading comments directed towards any individuals. If you want to suggest a change to the contest, feel free to start a discussion about the idea before making a formal motion. If another member seconds a motion, a vote can be held. I will abstain from voting, but will require a strong two-thirds majority to override my veto.
c) Critiques - Each member can provide at most one critique per story, with a single rebuttal by the author to thank the critic and/or comment to offer the readers the mind set of the story to account for issues raised by the critique. Critiques should be of a professional and constructive manner. Feel free to describe elements that you do and don't like, as these help us gain a better perspective of our potential readers. Remarks deemed inflammatory or derogatory will be flagged and/or removed by the moderator.
9) The winner has THREE days after the start of the new month to make a copy of these rules and post a new contest thread using the theme/items of their choosing. Otherwise, I will post the new contest threads.
**********
This Month's Theme:
What if matriarchal culture had endured and predominated over the past 5 millennia?
Required elements:
1) Infidelity
2) Jealousy